Witch of the Demon Seas Resailed

good purpose.'

  'You did, didn't you?' chuckled the wizard dryly. 'If you want the truth, we are after their help in seizing the government of Achaera, as well as certain knowledge they have.'

  'If you succeeded,' argued Coruna stubbornly, 'why should you then let Conahur go?'

  'Because power over Achaera is only a step to something too far beyond the petty goals of empire for you to imagine,' said Shorzona bleakly. 'You must decide now, woman. If you refuse, you die.'

  Chryseir moved one slim hand and the erinye padded forward on razor-clawed feet. The leathery wings were folded back against the long black body, the barbed tail lashed hungrily and a snarl vibrated in the lean throat. 'If you say no,' came the man's sweet voice, 'Peria will rip your guts out. That will at least afford us an amusing spectacle for our trouble.' Then he smiled, the dazzling smile which had driven women to their doom ere this. 'But if you say yes,' he whispered, 'a destiny waits for you that queens would envy. You are a strong woman, Coruna. I like strong men—'

  The corsair looked into the warm dark light of his eyes, and back to the icy glare of the devil-beast. No unarmed woman had ever survived the onslaught of an erinye—and she was chained.

  At thought of returning to the dark home of the Xanthi, she shuddered. But still wondrous sweet, and—once free to move about, she might still have some chance of escape or even of overpowering them.

  Or—who knew? She wondered, with a brief giddiness, if the dark warlock before her could be as evil as his enemies said. Strong and ruthless, yes—but so was she. When she learned the full truth about his soaring plans, she might even decide they were right.

  In any case—to live! To die, if she must, under the sky

  'I'll go,' she said hoarsely. 'I'll go with you.'

  The low exultant laughter of Chryseir sang in the flare-lit gloom.

  Shorzona came up and took a key from her belt. For a bare moment, the thought of snapping that skinny neck raged through Coruna's mind.

  The magician smiled grimly. 'Don't try it,', she said. 'As a small proof of what we can do—'

  Suddenly she was not there. It was a monster from the jungles of Umlotu standing in the cell with Coruna, a scaled beast that hissed at her with grinning jaws and spewed poison on the floor.

  Sorcery! Coruna shrank back, a chill of fear striking even her steely heart. Shorzona resumed human shape and wordlessly unlocked the chains. They fell away and Coruna stumbled out into the corridor.

  The erinye snarled and slipped closer. Chryseir laid a hand on the beast's head, checking that gliding rush as if with a leash. His smile and the faint sweet scent of his hair were dizzying.

  'Come,' he said. One hand slipped between her own fingers and the cool touch seemed to burn her.

  Shorzona led the way, down a long sloping tunnel where only the streaming torch-flames had life. Their footsteps echoed hollowly in the wet black length of it.

  'We go at once,' she said. 'When Khromona learns of your escape, all 'Tauros will be after us. But it will be too late then. We sail swiftly tonight.'

  Sail—whither?

  'What of my women?' asked Coruna. 'They're lost, I'm afraid, unless Khromona spares them until we get back,

  Chryseir. 'But we saved you. I'm glad of that.'

  A faint smell of fresh salty air blew up the tunnel. It must open on the sea, thought Coruna. She wondered how many passages riddled the depth under Tauros.

  They came out, finally, on a narrow beach under the looming western cliffs. The precipices climbed into the utter dark of night, reaching into the unseen sky. Before them lay open sea, swirling with phosphorescence. Coruna drew deep lung-fulls of air. Salt and seaweed and wet wild wind—sand under her feet, sky overhead, a man beside her—by the gods, it was good to be alive!

  A galley was moored against a tiny pier. By the light of bobbing torches, Coruna's mariner's eye surveyed him. He was built along the same lines as her own ship, a lean black vessel with one square sail; open-decked save at stem and stern, rower's benches lining the sides with a catwalk running between. There would be quarters for the women under the poop and forecastle decks, supplies in the hold beneath. A cabin was erected near the waist, apparently for officers, and there was a ballista mounted in the bows. otherwise no superstructure. A carved sea monster reared up for figurehead, and the sternpost curved back to make its tail. She read the name on the bows: Brisceir. Strange that that dark vessel should bear a boy's name.

  About a fifty-man capacity, she judged. And he would be fast.

  The crew were getting aboard—they must have come down the cliffs along some narrow trail. They were all Urnlotuan blues, she noticed, a cutthroat gang if ever she saw one but silent and well disciplined. It was shrewd to take only the mercenary warriors along; they had no patriotic interest in what happened to Achaera, and their reckless courage was legendary.

  A burly one-eyed officer came up and saluted. 'All set, sir,' she reported.

  'Good,' nodded Shorzona. 'Captain Imaza, this is our guide, Captain Coruna.'

  'The raider, eh?' Imaza chuckled and shook hands in the manner of the barbarians. 'Well, we could hardly have a better one, I'm sure. Glad to know you, Coruna.'

  The pirate murmured polite phrases. But she decided that Imaza was a likeable chap, and wondered what had led her to take service under anyone with Shorzona's reputation.

  They went aboard. 'The Sea of Demons lies due north,' said Shorzona. 'Is that the right way to sail?'

  'For the time being,' nodded Coruna. 'When we get closer, I'll be able to tell you more exactly.'

  'Then you may as well wash and rest,' said Chryseir. 'You need both.' His smile was soft in the flickering red light.

  Coruna entered the cabin. It was divided into three compartments—apparently 'main slept with her women, or perhaps on deck as many women preferred. Her own tiny room was clean, sparsely furnished with a bunk and a washbowl. She cleaned herself eagerly and put on the fresh tunic laid out for her.

  When she came back on deck the ship was already under way. A strong south wind was blowing, filling the dark sail, and the Briseir surged forward under its thrust. The phosphorescence shone around his hull and out on the rolling waters. Behind, the land faded into the night.

  She'd certainly been given no chance to escape, she thought. Barring miracles, she had to go through with it now—at least until they reached the Sea of Demons, after which anything might happen.

  She shivered a little, wondering darkly whether she had done right, wondering what their mission was and what the world's fate was to be as a result of it.

  Chryseir slipped quietly up to stand beside her. The erinye crouched down nearby, her baleful eyes never leaving the woman.

  'Outward bound,' he said, and laughter was gay in his voice.

  She said nothing, but stared ahead into the night.

  'You'd better sleep, Coruna,' he said. 'You're tired now, and you'll need all your strength later.' He laid a hand on her arm, and laughed aloud. 'It will be an interesting voyage, to say the least.'

  Rather! she thought with wry hum. It occurred to her that the trip might even have its pleasant aspects.

  'Goodnight, Coruna,' he said, and left her.

  Presently she went back to her room. Sleep was long in coming, and uneasy when it did arrive.

  When she came out on deck in the early morning, there was only a gray emptiness of waters out to the gray horizon. They must have left the whole Achaeran archipelago well behind them and be somewhere in the Zurian Sea now.

  There was a smell of rain in the air, and the ship ran swiftly before a keening wind over long white-maned rollers. Coruna let the tang of salt and moisture and kelp, the huge restless vista of bounding waves, the creak and thrum of the ship and the thundering surge of the ocean, swell luxuriously up within her, the simple animal joy of being at home. The sea was her home now, she realized vaguely; she had been on it so long that it was her natural environment—his, as much as that of the laridae wheeling on w
hite wings in the cloud-flying heavens.

  She looked over the watch. It seemed to be well handled—the sailors knew their business. There were armored guards at bow and stern, and the rest—clad in the plain loincloth of ordinary seawomen the world over—were standing by the sail, swabbing the decks, making minor repairs and otherwise occupying themselves. Those off duty were lounging or sleeping well out of the watch's way. The helmsman kept her eye on the compass and held the tiller with a practiced hand—good, good.

  Captain Imaza padded up to her on bare feet. The Umlotuan wore helmet and corselet, had a sword at her side, and carried the whip of authority in one gnarled blue hand. Her scarred, one-eyed face cracked in a smile. 'Good morning to you, Captain Coruna,' she said politely. The Conahurian nodded with an amiability she had not felt for a long time. 'The ship is well handled,' she said.

  'Thanks. I'm about the only Uthlotuan who's ever skippered anything bigger than a war-canoe, I suppose, but I was in the Achaeran fleet for a long time.' Again the hideous but disarming smile. 'I nearly met you professionally once or twice before, but you always showed us a clean pair of heels. Judging from what happened to ships that did have the misfortune to overhaul you, I'm just as glad of it.' She gestured to the tiny galley below the poop deck. 'How about some breakfast?'

  Over food which was better than most to be had aboard ship, they fell into professional talk. Like all captains, Imaza was profoundly interested in the old and seemingly