The Deepcombers

Chapter Eight

The slave revolt on the second boat waned when the rebels couldn't break free. Why could they not get away?  Then Lon saw then how a towrope connected all three vessels. The minuchin were tied to the shore party. The mutineers must not have a blade or any way to cut that cord.

Now these soldiers armed themselves to kill the slaves they'd ensnared.  These mutants had dared to quest for their freedom and would be destroyed. Lon sensed how the Crols rejoiced at the prospect of murdering them and he knew they'd be distracted by that horrible task. He watched as one fetched javelins from the bow of their beached landing craft.

Lon saw two slaves abandon the middle skiff and wade to shore with boat oars held as weapons. 

Out at sea, the two galleys disgorged more troops into more small craft. How many boats did they have? There'd be two dozen soldiers on shore in ten minutes.

Lon hustled across the tide pools as quick as he could manage. He switched hands with his saber to keep his balance as he leapt rocks and rivulets. He ran in a gully to hide his approach. When he finally emerged he was forty paces behind the javelin thrower. But then to his dismay he watched that Crol kill another captive. Chase Kluth, I'm too late to save that one.

The javelineer was skilled at throwing his bolts. Two rebels lay dead in the lorry with oak poles in their chest. The enemy cackled with pride and readied his third rod.

Further down the beach his comrades battled rebels waist deep in the water. That pair of escapees appeared to work together quite well.  One of them was Jarl the lionfeigor! He'd managed to trade his boat oar for a guard's sword.

The other escapee was Tharus. The green skinned swampkin ruled the surf. He'd appear just long enough to strike and then disappear from sight. He rose behind a roller and knocked a Crol sideways into Jarl's slashing blade. The enemy howled and held up his bloody hand. The javelin thrower grumbled loudly and took aim at the big cat in the waves.

The sea drover's white hair was spotted by the soldiers on approach. The occupants of the third boat issued a loud hue-and-cry as they tried to warn their comrades. But the spear-thrower was too absorbed in his murderous marksmanship to hear anything beyond the waves and his own heartbeat. Their warnings came too late.

Lon raised his saber, blunt from all the vegetation he'd hacked that day, and bounced off the bones in the spearcaster's neck. The dull blade was still sharp enough to sever his spine and the homicidal hunter dropped like a sack of potatoes. Lon didn't waste another thought on him.

The third landing craft, no longer in such a hurry to reach the shore, went silent at the grisly spectacle. But they came alive again when the dreaded renegade carried-on down the beach toward the shore party. They tried to warn their unsuspecting brethren with fresh shouts. 

It was Jarl who first saw Lon and he couldn't keep the surprise from his eyes. A look of pure amazement came over the big cat's face and the soldier he dueled backed away from the match. The Crol knew something had changed. He shifted around and saw Lon and tried to warn the other guards. Jarl drove his blade into his mouth and silenced his cry. The lion retracted the steel and a vomitous torrent of blood flowed-out over his body and he collapsed in the surf. The second feigor-at-arms tried to avenge him but Lon beat him back with his dull metal saber and Jarl stabbed him through the heart. The water ran red around their corpses.  The third Crol nursed his cut-hand and tried to flee out to sea. Tharus appeared and pulled him under.

Lon checked the third landing craft just in time to see an athlete hurl a lance. The lad ducked the well-aimed spear which sailed a few inches over his head.

"Lonny?" Jarl still stared at him in disbelief. He appeared more concerned with his sudden appearance than the next boatload of Crols. "Is that you?"