Kushiel's Chosen

the sun-warmed planks beneath my knees. And Kazan's wordless shout, building full of rage and fury until it seemed it would crack the very sky.
    I never saw the blow that separated my would-be executioner's head from his shoulders, only his body crumpling at my knees, blood pooling about his truncated neck. My gorge rose and I suppressed a wave of sickness, scrambling away from the soldier who'd held me. By the time I gained my feet, chaos reigned on the deck of the galley-and in the center of it all was Kazan Atrabiades, wielding his sword like a man possessed.
    Outnumbered, the Illyrians fought to secure their retreat, aided by a volley of javelins and fire-arrows from the outlying ships. Set aflame, the pitch-soaked rags wrapped about the arrows set a dozen small fires on deck, adding to the confusion. Kazan and the Serenissiman Captain alike were roaring orders, half-heeded by skirmishing soldiers and pirates. And then I saw no more as one of the latter grabbed me about the waist, hauling me over the railing and handing me down into the waiting arms of Glaukos, waiting anxious-eyed in the ship below.
    How long it lasted, I could not say-hours, it seemed, though I daresay not more than a span of heartbeats had passed before the rest followed, of those that might, and Kazan himself came over the railing. Our ship wallowed under their staggering weight, archers atop the forecastle grimly firing arrow after arrow at the galley to cover their retreat.
    "Fly!" Kazan shouted at the oarsmen, flushed with fury. "Fly!"
    And fly we did, oars churning at ragged speed while others dropped their arms where they stood, racing to hoist the sails. In the prow, the flag-bearer signaled frantically to the other ships, urging them to flight.
    There would be no pursuit from the galley; Kazan's pirates had done their job well. Even in bright daylight, I could see the flames that licked at the mainsail. Small figures raced around the deck, forming a bucket brigade to keep the vessel from going up entire.
    But there were the others, those hidden by the isle, and they moved swiftly, looming out of the distance. The wind that had blown steady at our backs all the way from Illyria worked against us now. Gone was the elegant, concerted flight of before; now, all six ships scattered wildly, working against a strong headwind. Three men lay wounded on the deck, groaning. I made a count; two had never returned. Glaukos worked steadily, satchel open beside him, endeavoring to bind the worst of their wounds. I went to aid him, and he glanced briefly up at me.
    "I didn't know, my lady," he said. "I swear it."
    "I believe you." I did; there was naught else I could say, and no more time for speech. We worked quickly together, doing the best we could for them, and I thanked Blessed Elua that I had learned somewhat of field medicine after the terrible battle of Troyes-le-Mont. And all the while, the Serenissiman war-galleys bore down upon us.
    They caught the sixth ship, the straggler, when we were scarcely three hundred yards away. I knew from the resonant, thumping sound that carried over the waves that the war-galleys had ballistae mounted on their forecastles. It was an unlucky shot that did them in, a spring-loaded bolt that split the yard and brought down their sails. We could not help but watch as the smaller craft wallowed in the water, helpless and waiting. Serenissimans swarmed the vessel, for it had one of the coffers of gold. It went quickly, at least.
    Lukin was on that ship, I thought, remembering hearing his voice. The one that boarded the far side of the galley; it had been the slowest to make its escape. I would have wept, if I'd had any tears to spare.
    So began our flight, that even in memory seems endless. Like hares coursed by hounds, we fled the Serenissiman war-galleys across the great, roiling sea, day and night, tacking and doubling without surcease. Against the speed and agility of the Illyrian vessels was pitted the remorseless beat of the great war-galleys, that cared naught for the wind and had manpower to spare. I learned, later, how many men Marco Stregazza contributed to that enterprise; it numbered well into the hundreds. Betimes they drew near, and the ballistae thumped; then, bolts split the air, sending up great geysers of water all around us. One such pierced our mizzen sail, and Kazan shouted commands, unfaltering, ordering the sail stripped and the storm-sail raised. How they managed it in those surging waves, I