Beasts of Antares by Alan Burt Akers Page A

nasty-looking axe. He ran a thumb along the edge.
    “Soon now, majister, yes.”
    “Find out about the voller.”
    Cadet Bolan the Tumbs ran off, like an alley cat, leaping the cumbered decks, disappearing over the bulwarks to shinny down onto the grappled voller. His freckles had blazed with his passionate enthusiasm.
    Travok Arclay yelled.
    “One is swinging in below!”
    Certainly, there were only two vollers circling above us and trying to drop nasty objects on our decks. Stationed at the end of the chain of men reporting from the lower fighting galleries, Travok kept looking up at the top where his twin screeched with excitement and hauled up barrels of arrows.
    I wondered if these harum-scarum lads were disappointed that the thought that crossed our minds on first sighting the strange vollers had proved false. The island below was rich in gold. Well, then, if the secret got out, wouldn’t you expect hordes of renders to come sailing piratically down? Of course. But there was a lot more to this little fracas than mere piracy.
    The nearest flier was close enough now to bring a catapult into play that hurled larger and altogether more unpleasant chunks of rock than their small varters. A section of our bulwarks broke in and men staggered away yelling. Portable mantlets were dragged across to give shield cover against arrows and crossbow bolts. Lookouts tried to spot the catapult on the crowded enemy decks and shooters tried to knock out the crew. The fight was becoming personal.
    The crash splintered through the uproar and a barrel of arrows burst and showered shafts skittering across the deck. A rock had cleanly severed the rope by which Tom Arclay hauled up replenishment arrows. At once he started to shinny down the line, swinging like a monkey down to the deck, ignoring both the ratlines and the ladder affixed to the mast for landlubberish soldiers.
    “He’s almost under us!” Travok jumped in excitement Tom hit the deck near him. They were both wrapped up in their work.
    The lookouts below reported the progress of the airboat almost under us. Probably the voller captains were quite unsure how to deal with us, a weird contraption the like of which they had not seen before. They must quickly have realized we had no power and were wind-driven. That made them incautious. No doubt they sought to fly in below and swing up, judging it nicely, and land boarding parties along our keel galleries. They would be in the ship far more easily and quickly that way than by any attempt to land across our mast and rigging-encumbered decks.
    If this captain below us wanted to try that, he was welcome...
    “Another few murs!” shrieked Travok.
    Tom glanced across at his twin.
    The bulwarks broke back just by the two lads. Yellow splinters of wood whirred murderously. A bowman screamed, transfixed by a shaft ten times thicker than those he shot. The two boys were down, rolling on the deck. A trumpet pealed.
    The trumpet rang above all the noises of the combat.
    Instantly,
Opazfaril
dropped like a stone.
    The silver boxes had been thrust apart, the lifting power vanished, the ship fell. She fell crushingly down upon the voller under us. The noise racketed maddeningly. But I saw the Arclay twins, rolling on the deck, sliding toward the shattered side and the awful drop into nothingness.
    Somehow I was there. There is no memory of leaping across the planking. I grabbed Tom, who was nearest, and threw him back. He pitched over and reached out, grasping for a handhold.
    A smear of blood across the wood told of some poor devil who had been in the way of the flung rock. Travok was over the side, gripping with his fists into the folds of the netting, the tarred cordage biting. He was slipping down. The net was running out, ripped through on its eyelets.
    His head vanished below the shattered bulwarks. In only moments he would fall free of the ship as the net and its supporting booms collapsed away.
    Four long leaps should carry me to the