The _Kraken_ sped seaward. And, chained to his oar, straining at the
unaccustomed toil, Elak's dark wolf-face bore a smile that was not
pleasant to see.
_4. The Ship Sails North_
Orpheus has harped her,
Her prow has sheared the spray,
Fifty haughty heroes at her golden oarlocks sway,
White the wave before her flings,
Bright from shore she lifts and swings,
Wild he twangs the ringing strings--
Give way! Give way!
--Benet.
They drove down along the coast and skirted the southern tip of
Atlantis. Then the galley crept northwest, up the long curve of the
continent, and all the while the days were cloudless and fair, and the
skies blue as the waters of the Ocean Sea.
Elak bided his time until the _Kraken_ dropped anchor one afternoon at
an uninhabited island, to replenish the water supply. Drezzar went
ashore with a dozen others, leaving only a few men in charge of the
ship. This was apparently safe enough, with the slaves chained.
Moreover, Drezzar had the only keys. But, at sunset, Elak nudged Lycon
awake and told him to keep watch.
"What for?" Lycon's voice was surly. "Do you--" He broke off, staring,
as Elak took a tiny twisted bit of metal from his sandal and inserted it
delicately in the lock of his ankle-cuff, "Gods!" Lycon cursed. "You
had that all the time--and you waited till now!"
"These locks are easy to pick," Elak said. "What? Of course I waited!
We've only a few enemies aboard now, instead of more than a dozen. Keep
watch, I tell you."
Lycon obeyed. Footsteps creaked upon the deck occasionally, and there
were lanterns here and there on the ship, but their illumination was
faint enough. The lapping of water against the hull drowned the soft
scrape and click as Elak worked. Presently he sighed in satisfaction and
opened the cuff.
Metal clicked and scraped. Elak was free. He turned to Lycon--and then
hurrying footsteps sounded on the raised deck. Rasul, the overseer, ran
up, dragging his long whip. He peered down--and dragged out his sword,
cursing. With the other hand he swept the whip in a great singing blow,
smashing down on Elak's unprotected shoulders.
Lycon acted. In one swift motion he flung himself forward, guarding
Elak; the lash ripped skin and flesh from Lycon's side. And then Elak's
sinewy hand closed on the tough hide; he pulled mightily--pulled it from
Rasul's grasp.
"Ho!" the overseer shouted. "Ho! To me!" His voice roared out over the
dark sea. His long sword was a pale flickering light in the glow of the
lanterns.
Two more men, armed, came running up behind Rasul. They spread out and
closed in on Elak. He grinned unpleasantly, as a wolf smiles. The whip
was coiled in his hand.
It sprang out suddenly, like a striking snake. The fanged, vicious tip
hissed shrilly. In the dimness the lash was difficult to see, impossible
to dodge. Rasul roared in pain.
"Slay him!" the overseer shouted.
The three ran in, and Elak gave way, his wrist turning as he swung the
whip. A thrown dagger brought blood from the Atlantean's shoulder. And a
man staggered back, screaming shrilly, clawing at his eyes that were
blinded by the tearing rip of the lash.
"Slay me, then," Elak whispered, cold laughter in his eyes. "But the
dog's fangs are sharp, Rasul."
He caught a glimpse of Lycon, bent above his bonds, busily manipulating
the bit of metal that would unlock them. Voices called from the shore.
Rasul shouted a response, and then ducked and gasped as the whip
shrieked through the dark air.
"'Ware my fangs, Rasul!" Elak smiled mirthlessly.
And now the two--Rasul and his companion--were in turn giving way. Step
by step Elak forced them back, under the threat of the terrible lash.
They could not guard against it, could not see it. Out of the gloom it
would come striking, swift as a snake's thrust, leaping viciously at
their eyes. The slaves were awake and straining in their chains, calling
encouragement to Elak. The man who had been blinded made a misstep and
fell among the rowers. They surged up over him; lean hands reached and
clawed in the lantern-light. He screamed for a time, and then made no
further sound.
Lycon's voice rose, shrill and peremptory, above the tumult.
"Row!" he yelped. "Row, slaves! Ere Drezzar returns--row for your
freedom!" Alternately he cursed and threatened and cajoled them, and
worked at his bonds with flying fingers.
Elak heard a whisper at his side, saw a slave thrusting a sword at him,
hilt-first--the blade the blinded one had dropped. Gratefully he seized
it, hurling the whip away. The feel of the cool, leather-bound hilt was
grateful. Tide of strength surged up Elak's arm from the sharp steel.
It was not his rapier--but it would do.
"My fangs, Rasul," he said, laughing--and ran in. His two opponents
spread out, but he had foreseen that move. He turned his back on Rasul,
cut at the other, and almost in the same motion whirled and leaped past,
dodging a thrust by a hair's-breadth. And now Rasul only faced him. The
other man was down, tearing at a throat sliced through to the spine.