When Blade boarded the Lugsa, he was so thoroughly disguised that he suspected Mirasa had been right. His own mother would have had to look at least three times to recognize him. And no casual observer would have ever guessed he was other than what he seemed-a merchant's agent of half-Chiribuan, half-Gonsaran blood, headed downriver on a master's business. His head was shaved to the skin, and his beard and body hair had been tinted black with a long-lasting dye. They had tried to dye his skin as well, but a spectacular purple rash made it obvious that he was allergic to the dye. Hurakun's men had resigned themselves to letting him go with his natural tan. «If you stay dirty enough,» one of them suggested helpfully, «nobody will notice.»
He also sported intricate black patterns tattooed under both armpits and around his penis. The tattooing had been prolonged and painful. Considerably longer and more nerve-wracking had been the wait to see if the tattooist's needles had been cleaned adequately. Blade had threatened him with blood-curdling tortures if he didn't clean his needles, but he couldn't be sure the man had understood, or obeyed. In spite of their healing drugs, the people in this dimension seemed to have rather rudimentary notions of cleanliness.
Barges manned by teams of slaves towed the Lugsa out into the river's current. Then the crew, naked except for breechcloths, unfurled the two big ribbed sails. They stiffened as they caught the north wind. Blade saw water begin to curl white at the Lugsa's broad bow.
With wind and current both behind her, the ship made good time. Tzakalan was well out of sight behind them by lunchtime. Blade ate the bean soup and coarse bread, drank the sour beer, and stared at the towns passing by on the shore and the other boats on the river.
One boat in particular caught his attention. She was long and narrow, almost like one of the canoes on the Upper River. With six fast-moving oars on each side and four sails on two masts, she swept past the Lugsa. The other boat was also riding high in the water, so she must have been either heading downriver empty-possible but unlikely-or carrying a high-value cargo. Jewels, drugs, goldsmith's work? All of these were articles in the Gonsara-Chiribu trade. In fact, the boat looked too shallow to even have a real cargo hold. Her rowers sat on the open deck, and a number of bundles wrapped in blue and white canvas were piled amidships.
Blue and white! The colors of the cult of Ayocan! Blade started. Was the fast boat carrying a cargo for the cult? Or did she perhaps belong to the cult? And if so, why was she heading downriver at the same time as the Lugsa with Blade on board? Coincidence, or something more? Blade decided to assume it was something more.
The captain of the Lugsa did not know who Blade was or what he was going to do in Gonsara. But he was a trust-worthy man, known to hate the cult of Ayocan as much as was prudent. Blade had no hesitation in voicing his suspicions to the captain.
«Indeed,» replied the captain. «And I watch her myself. Nothing unusual I see. But warning you give is wise. I have six men on Lugsa to fight if they are needed. But I think Ayocani not become just river pirates.»
«Perhaps. But King Hurakun will not give them what they want. Perhaps they are getting desperate.»
«Maybe,» said the captain. «If so, they maybe have Death-Vowed on board. Can you fight?»
«I can fight well enough in a pinch,» said Blade. He hoped he would not have to show off his fighting skills on the voyage downriver. That might reveal his identity.
«Good,» said the captain. «I watch for that boat. If she get close, I call you.»
Blade nodded. For the moment the suspected boat seemed to be drawing rapidly away from the slower Lugsa. He decided he could go below for the moment.
Within an hour the other boat was out of sight downriver. The Lugsa crept onward at her own more sedate pace. By the time Blade came on deck again it was nearly twilight. Lights twinkled in villages and isolated houses along the shore. Out in the middle of the river there was a breeze to cut the tropical mugginess.
Blade ate his dinner-more bean soup, more bread, more beer that was even worse than what he had drunk at lunch. By the time he had dropped his bowl into the washtub by the foremast, the swift tropical night had fallen. The banks no longer showed any lights. Apparently they were passing along an uninhabited stretch of the river. The only sounds were the creak of the slats in the sails, the splash of water at the bow, and an occasional foot thumping down on the planks of the deck.
An insect whined past Blade's ear. He batted at it. When it had whined away into the darkness, he thought he heard another sound, a new one. He held his breath and listened. It was unmistakable now. Off to the left, the splash of water. A large fish jumping? There were no large fish in this river. The little carnivores ruled the murky waters. A local boat on its private occasions? Small boats stayed off the river at night, as far as Blade knew. He found himself gripping the hilt of his sword as he stared into the darkness, trying to pierce it, strip it away from whatever was out there. Was it his imagination, or did he see a pale flicker of bow-wave and behind it the even fainter loom of a ship?
The captain came aft, and Blade beckoned to him. His voice a whisper, he said, «I think there's another ship out there.»
«Temple boat?»
«Perhaps. Do ordinary boats run without lights along here?»
«Never!» The captain stepped to the cabin doorway, stuck his head inside, and called softly, «Fighters, on deck.» Murmurs came back, and the faint clatter of weapons being gathered up.
The captain was just turning back to Blade when the night fell apart. As swift as thought, the low-slung boat lunged out of the darkness. Clawed grappling hooks soared through the air from her decks and dug into the Lugsa's railings. With a grinding crash, the enemy boat came riding up against the Lugsa's port side. Heart-freezing shrill screams sounded above the crash of wood. They were not screams of fear or pain, but of insane fury. And then above the railing, Blade saw six blazing white bat-masks.
He had no time to see more before the Death-Vowed leaped high into the air, screaming again. They rose so high that for a moment Blade wondered if they were going to take off into the sky like real bats. Then with yet more screams they thudded down on the Lugsa's deck.
If Blade had not seen the approaching boat and if the captain had not alerted his fighters, the Death-Vowed would have swept the Lugsa's decks in seconds. The men came down in fighter's crouches, then sprang toward Blade, swords and knives flashing in their white-gloved hands. More chilling screams poured from the mouths of the hideous white masks.
Blade and the captain surged forward to meet the Death-Vowed. Blade's axe split open a mask and the head behind it. Then the Death-Vowed gave a scream of a very different kind as Blade's sword chopped off his arm. But a cloven skull and a missing arm could not stop the Death-Vowed at once. Legs moving by pure reflex drove him forward still. Blade had to back away to keep from going down under the man's dying lunge. A gap opened between him and the captain.
Two of the Death-Vowed charged into it, and the captain howled in agony as their knives drove into him. One eye gone and a knife sticking in his belly, he reeled back. But sheer courage kept him on his feet. As one of the Death-Vowed closed in, knife raised to carve the sign of Ayocan on the captain's flesh, the captain's teeth closed on the attacker's wrist. The Death-Vowed screamed and jerked his arm back and forth, trying to shake off the dying man's jaws. Then he screamed again as Blade's axe chopped off the arm at the shoulder.
Two of the Death-Vowed down, four to go. But four against one was more than Blade wanted to face, particularly when the four were men with no care for their own lives. Blade knew such were the deadliest possible opponents, willing to die to take you down with them-sworn to do so, in fact. He backed up again. Out of the corner of his eye he saw other figures appearing at the railing. Not Death-Vowed this time, but the regular Holy Warriors of Ayocan. They were going to leap down behind him. .