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Sixty-Three

It was night, but not as dark as it might have been. Great Liilia was rising two-thirds full, and Little Firtollio was about on the meridian, halfway through his swift transit. Ten boats in a loosely formed column of twos, rowed through an almost eerie silence broken only by the squeak of oars on tholepins. There was no breeze at all, and the swells, slow and easy, were unruffled, smooth as oil, reflecting the moonlight in two silvery trails.

Lieutenant Korvassu sat in the stern of the lead boat, a fishing boat, holding the steering oar, glancing up now and then at the lodestar which circled only three degrees off true north. On a sea like this, one of the steersmen could easily fall asleep, so most of Korvassu's attention was on the other boats of his flotilla. His was the "flagship," all twenty-five feet of her, and he the "commodore," responsible for seeing that no one got lost—that they all stayed together.

For a moment Korvassu removed his attention to look around as far as light allowed. Somewhere there were supposed to be forty more boats like these, in four separate flotillas. He'd probably never see them; they'd launched from other streams, and hadn't been intended to meet, or to land in the same area. Each flotilla had 250 troops, and the idea after landing was to destroy as much and kill as many, and generally disrupt as much, as they could.

What he hadn't been told, but could figure out for himself, was that the Hrummean army would react by sending a few regiments to hunt them down and kill them. Major Hamaalu was to have them stave their boats after they landed, stave them very thoroughly, supposedly so the Hrummeans couldn't use them. Of course, he couldn't use them either; that was the main and unspoken point. They were supposed to survive and keep fighting until the grand army took Hrumma over.

"Lieutenant!" called a voice from another boat. "My Hrum-bedamned hands are so sore I can hardly row. They're oozing, and sticking to the oar."

"Who's calling?" Korvassu asked.

"Private Nebbek, sir."

"Nebbek, any more bitching out of you and I'll have you thrown overboard. Now shut up and row!"

Their bit of the sea became very quiet again, except for the gentle rub and dip of oars. Korvassu was incensed. What the fuck does Nebbek think this is? His mother probably didn't wean him till he was twelve. He'd make sure to adequately punish the man for bypassing his boat sergeant. That would be Sergeant Serrak.

His thoughts went back to their mission in Hrumma. The first thing they had to do was get there. Korvassu had four experienced oarsmen in his own boat. Two were fishermen and one a sailor like himself; the fourth was the son of a river merchant, who'd taken a few minutes to get the hang of rowing in the swells. He'd assigned three of them to row the first hour, to get some progress made and show the lubbers how it was done. Now he was using one or two seasoned oarsmen at a time.

He wondered if he'd really throw Nebbek overboard. Ashore the man had seemed like a pretty good soldier.

Actually they weren't doing badly, probably making somewhat better than two knots. At that rate they'd get to Hrumma in a day or so more of steady rowing. Assuming the men held up, and they'd have to. He had men enough that no one needed to row more than one hour out of two or three.

Now if they'd just get a west wind. Or better yet a north wind, but that was too much to hope for this time of year. Just be thankful there's no headwind, he told himself.

Or storm. It was seventy miles or so across the Gulf of Storms, and being so shallow, a squall could build big waves quickly.

A sound pulled Korvassu out of his revery, a sound he couldn't place, and he looked in the direction he thought it had come from. A hiss. Then it repeated, but from the opposite direction, and a voice came across the water.

"Lieutenant! There's a serpent follow—he's gone now. It was a really big one, not ten feet off my . . ."

There was a sudden yelp from the same boat, maybe eighty feet away, then a half shout, half scream. Korvassu stared uncomprehendingly as an oar seemed to lift from the gunwale and fly through the air. A serpent head raised well above the water then, and a man jumped overboard on the other side. There was more yelling, another oar lifted in toothy jaws. His own men had stopped rowing to stare with him.

Abruptly a loud hiss sounded behind him, with a feel of warm, moist, fishy-smelling breath on his neck. Korvassu jerked around to face a large serpent at a distance of fifty inches, its open mouth rimmed with spiky teeth. He managed not to scream. The long neck curved then, the head swooping. It grabbed an oar, lifted and threw it to splash fifty feet away.

"Everyone ship your oars!" Korvassu yelled. Most of the men had never heard the term before, but almost everyone got the idea, and pulling their oars from between the pins, tried to put them on or under the seats. Then serpent necks lifted from both sides of his boat, jaws reached among the men, and more oars were slung away. Most of Korvassu's crew were screaming; two panicked and plunged over the side. Shouts and screams came from everywhere, serpent heads appeared by every boat, and some men threw their oars overboard.

After a wild minute, things went quiet again. Korvassu looked around in the moonlight and saw all ten boats still afloat. None had tipped over. No one was rowing.

"All right men!" he called. "Take a deep breath and relax. Nobody start rowing again, got that? Boat commanders, count the oars you have left, not counting the steering oar, and give me your oar counts starting with Boat Two. If you're missing any men, tell me."

He could hear them murmuring, then Boat Two gave its count. "Boat Two, four oars!" When the report was finished, one had seven oars, the most of any, and a couple had only two. Of the men who'd jumped overboard, all but two had been hauled back dripping. The two either couldn't swim, or the serpents had killed them. Probably, Korvassu thought, the damn fools couldn't swim. If the serpents wanted to kill, none of us would be alive.

They'd play hell rowing to Hrumma with the oars they had left. It would be tough just getting back to their own shore. He looked at Private Kaldibbi. "Kaldibbi, you see that oar over there about twenty feet?"

"Yes, sir."

"You just volunteered to get it. Jump!"

"Yes, sir." The man got off his seat and jumped.

"Boat sergeants, if there are any oars floating near your boat, get 'em."

Kaldibbi swam back dragging the oar. "It doesn't look very good, sir. It's kind of slivered." Korvassu reached down and got it. Holy Hrum! he said silently. Those fucking teeth! I'm glad he didn't grab me.

"Lieutenant?" It was his own boat sergeant; the voice spoke quietly.

"Yeah?"

"Maybe Hrum sent them as Messengers, like in the first days. Maybe we aren't supposed . . ."

There was another yell, of pure terror, jerking their faces in that direction. "What the fuck now?" Korvassu said. There was wild splashing, high-pitched keening, and he saw someone being pulled back into Boat Four. "What happened?" he demanded.

"Anezzu was swimming back with an oar and a serpent grabbed it," a voice called back. "Anezzu didn't let go soon enough and got pulled under for a minute. He's okay."

Korvassu looked at his sergeant and nodded. It was time to stick his neck out. The major could counter-order if he wanted to, but at sea, Korvassu was in command. Or supposed to be; he'd soon know. He called to his little flotilla. "All right, everyone, listen up! And forget about recovering any oars. Here's what we're going to do. Remember what serpents are; they're the Messengers of Hrum. Well, we got his message! Turn your boats around. We're heading north for home!"

Cheers greeted the order.

"Stow the cheering!" Korvassu said. "Boats that don't have at least four oars, get more from Boats Four and Nine."

He waited then, for the exchange of oars, and possible trouble from Major Hamaalu. The exchange of oars took place, but if the major said anything, it was too soft to hear. Korvassu called once more: "All right, row." They started, and he pushed the steering oar in a long turn to starboard. When they were aimed at the lodestar, he straightened his course.

They hadn't rowed ten minutes when he felt the breeze on his neck and turned to face it. In a minute it was blowing at about ten knots.

"Boat sergeants, listen up! We've got a south wind now. Ship your oars and step your masts! Hrum's being good to us!"

They did, and quickly. The boats began to move faster than they had with ten oars driving them. It won't be longer than maybe four hours at this rate, Korvassu thought. Now all I've got to worry about is what the hell the army's going to do to me when we get back.

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Framed