He saw the two masts and high-castled hull of a large sailing ship rising slowly above the horizon. There was only the faintest of breezes. If the calm held, Kukon would be able to run rings around the enemy. Perhaps she could even take a position off her bow or stern that would be safe from the enemy's heavier guns. Perhaps the commandant's idea would turn out to be a good one after all. Perhaps

Never mind the «perhaps.» There was a battle to fight. Blade leaned over the railing of the crow's nest and shouted down to the deck.

«Dzhai! Luun! All hands to battle stations!»

Dzhai nodded. Luun cupped his hands and shouted back, «Tek doon t' sails?»

«No time!» That wasn't strictly true, but Blade wanted to make absolutely sure that Kukon had something beside her oars to rely on if something-anything-went wrong. He swung himself back into the shrouds and slid down to the deck.

Two hundred of Kukon's men were now scrambling to their places on the rowing benches. Each man had a sword, bow, axe, spear, or musket ready under his bench. The rest of the men not needed for handling the ship were manning the guns or lining up, ready to board. Blade saw Prince Durouman take his place on the foc'sle, surrounded by his thirty green-clad guardsmen. The prince's face seemed one great smile.

Most of the other men on the deck were smiling as well. Some of them might not have gone out of their way to fight against the Emperor Kul-Nam, but none of them seemed to regret the chance to do so, now that it had come to them.

The drummers were beating out the cruising stroke. They would approach slowly, saving the rowers' strength for the final dash across the last three miles when they would be in range of the enemy's guns. Blade looked toward the Imperial ship. She was now hull-up, even from Kukon's deck. Her sails still hung as limply as wet wash from the yards.

Blade strode up and down Kukon's deck as she crept across the sea toward the enemy. He talked briefly with Dzhai, more briefly with Luun, still more briefly with Prince Durouman. The prince wore a full mail hauberk and a plate helmet and breastplate over that. In spite of the damp coolness and the breeze, he was sweating heavily and his dark beard was as limp as the enemy's sails.

The commandant was also sweating as he stood by the heavy gun forward. He wore no armor and carried no weapons except a sword and a dagger. Doubtless he was planning to rely on speed rather than protection. He was a first-class swordsman. He was also a man who'd been a soldier for twenty years without ever seeing a real battle. No doubt that was why he was sweating. The first taste of the real thing was always a nerve-wracking moment for any man in any Dimension.

Now the enemy was showing signs of alarm and alertness. Blade could see sails being hastily furled and hear a faint roll of drums as the enemy's crew scrambled to their battle stations. Kukon swung more sharply to starboard to cut across the enemy's bow.

A puff of white smoke came from the sailing ship's side. There was a long moment's wait, then a fountain of spray three hundred yards short of Kukon.

«Not shooting very well, are they?» said the commandant. His voice was brittle.

«They'll be doing better before long,» said Blade.

The galley continued her crawl across the sea toward the sailing ship. The enemy continued to fire single shots, testing the range. Six fell short. The seventh landed just astern. The eighth sailed over Kukon, with the familiar ripping-canvas sound, and splashed into the water on the other side.

Blade looked back along the swaying ranks of the rowers. All were sweating heavily, but most still smiled and none showed signs of strain. Some were eyeing their weapons. There was plenty of strength left in them.

Blade sprang up onto the breech of the heavy gun, drew his sword, and flourished it over his head. The pale sunlight glowed along it.

«Men of Kukon-forward! Drummers-the attack stroke!»

The roar of the drums was almost instantly drowned out by the furious clatter of the oars. Kukon seemed to dig in her stern like a speedboat as she shot forward. Water fountained up over the ram and spray doused Blade and the commandant. The gunners turned their backs to shield their lighted matches with their bodies.

The enemy ship grew steadily larger. Now Kukon's bow gunners spun around, holding their matches. They shouted, and Blade and the commandant sprang clear. Then four gunners pressed four matches into the touchholes of four cannon. All four went off together with an eruption of sound, flame, and swirling smoke. By the time Blade's eyes stopped watering, all four balls were nearing their target. Two struck home. Blade saw splinters fly and a chunk of the enemy's bulwark suddenly vanish.

«Good shooting!» he shouted. The gunners acknowledged the praise with brief smiles, white teeth showing in powder-blackened faces, then bent to their work again.

The commandant licked his lips and clamped a white-knuckled hand on the gold-chased hilt of his sword.

Blade ordered the boarding party to lie down on the deck. Prince Durouman's guards grumbled, but a dark look from the prince sent them down on their bellies with the rest. The prince himself continued to stand beside Blade.

Blade no longer kept track of the firing of Kukon's guns or the answering shots from the enemy. His attention was concentrated on judging the angle between the two ships. As soon as the enemy's broadside could no longer bear on Kukon, he would close straight in as fast as the rowers could move the ship.

The moment arrived. At a sharp order from Blade Kukon began a turn so fast and so tight that she heeled far over to one side. Blade and the commandant had to hold onto the railing to keep from losing their footing. Only Prince Durouman stood by himself, feet braced wide apart, helmet shoved back on his head, hair and beard blowing. He was a magnificent sight, and Blade only hoped he wouldn't also be a magnificent target.

As Kukon approached the sailing ship, Blade saw that the enemy's decks were surprisingly empty. A little cluster of men stood with muskets and bows on the foc'sle. Another cluster stood on the stern castle. The deck amidships was empty except for a few half-naked sailors standing by with axes to cut loose fallen masts and rigging.

«She must have just enough men aboard to man her guns,» said the commandant.

«That's their problem,» said Blade cheerfully. «We'll swing around her bow and run along her port side, grapple, and board. If she's that short-handed, this should be easier than I expected.»

The commandant seemed to quiver all over at Blade's words, and his eyes widened. Realization was striking him that his first moment of hand-to-hand combat was fast approaching.

Kukon swept onward. Her guns were firing steadily, hammering away at the enemy's foc'sle. Blade saw a swirl in the little cluster of figures there as a shot ploughed through it. Several did not rise. Splintered wood showed white in a dozen places around the enemy's bow.

Then Kukon was rounding the enemy and swinging back to run alongside. Without waiting for orders, the men of the boarding party sprang to their feet and ran to the port gangway. Some of them swung ropes and grappling hooks in their hands.

The port rowers heaved their oars back in through the ports and sprang up from the benches. Kukon ran alongside the enemy with a great squealing and grinding and bumping of wood. Ropes hissed through the air and bright steel hooks dropped over the enemy's bulwarks. Blade opened his mouth and filled his lungs to roar out, «Boarders away!»

Then there was a flurry of movement among the cluster of figures on the enemy's foc'sle. A knotted rope sailed over the bulwarks and came snaking down to land on Kukon's deck between Blade and the commandant.