另类小说人亚洲小说

The disadvantage, of course, is that you just can’t parry everyone all at once.

Or perhaps I should rephrase; I can’t parry everyone all the time, and when I’m busy defending myself, I’m not attacking.

“Let me at him! Let me at him, I’ll show him who’s a bitch!”

“Quit shoving!”

An overhead blow with an axe sent me down to one knee, and took a good chunk off the bottom edge of the shield to boot. I’d like to say that I dodged and ducked and weaved and rolled, but the truth is I bumped too many legs, took too many cuts and nicks and bruises.

I’m surprised I was still on my feet when Gamilla made her way onto the deck. I was trying not to slip in a widening pool of blood, most of it my own.

She might not have been Xinyi Shi, but she lay about herself with her spear, and people died. Or at least were out of the fight, which may have been more important.

Someone kicked at me, but I had an ankle block from Pankratios for that. It even did half my normal unarmed damage to him, but he resisted the effect that would have sprained or possibly broken the ankle.

.....

Whenever one of the idiots moved for a grapple, I made them hurt. One would grab me from behind, trying to hold me for his fellows. I would whip my head around and bite them.

Wait, bite? Oh crap! I had a full four doses of deadly spider venom, and the fangs to use them! And soon, I had only the one, reserved for the Black Hound, should he ever push past his crew to reach me. I would catch glimpses of him, of Gamilla, of Kismet, of something or other (sometimes someone) on fire.

It was chaos; there was no time to sort through it all.

Heart’s Protector (my customized sword) still had plenty of Condition left, but the blade was dulled from blocking so many attacks. My shield was another story; it was hanging on by... nope, there it went.

Now, rumor has it that sailors aren’t big on shields. The truth is, it depends on culture. The crew of the Black Hound, for example, preferred having a secondary weapon to a proper shield.

I mean, I could parry and dodge, but not as well as I could Shield Block.

That, and the multi-tasking penalty was already up to a minus two.

No surprise that I was below a third, then a fourth of my health. We had been four, facing a crew of... wait, where was everyone going?

They retreated toward the aft, the back.

“Shadow Puma,” the Black Hound yelled, “I summon you! Come forth!”

“Dismiss Spirit!” I countered, wishing I had salt to throw or spread or...

Oh. Shadow Puma was the size of a man, and its statistics were all three to five. Yeah, with a Resolve of four, it wasn’t going to listen to me.

“Rhishi! To the front! The FRONT!” Kismet yelled.

And they were there, hulking ogres made of algae. Dang it, I didn’t have the health left to fight those.

Well, nothing to lose, then.

I sent back.

There was a palpable aura of confusion.

“Let them past! Let them past!” I urged.

We made way, and they managed not to stomp any of us.

“Husband, I need healing. Before I bleed to death, if you please.”

When had Madonna gotten to the deck? But she did, indeed, have a crossbow quarrel through her body, just above her hip.

Normally, I oppose combining mana types during a combat. It is better and safer done as a ten minute ritual. And the way the deck reacted...

“Anti-Taint WARD!” I called out, creating a circle barely big enough for both Madonna and I to shelter inside. But it was enough to hold the Taint outside, for me to magically heat my knife and to sear the blood into artificial scabs.

“What about the miko light, you dolt?” she asked.

“Same mana types as need to be used for the ward.”

“Ugh! If you’d JUST learn to work with the Taint, you could heal me AND gain power.”

“And risk spreading the Taint to every single person I healed?”

“Ambassador, we need to get back to our boat.” Gamilla said, looking forward.

The ship did seem to be pitching oddly.

A quick look at where our boat had been tied revealed why. The plant ogres may have been large, but they were clearly nothing compared to the Sargasso that held the ship. I could make out three layers of tendrils splitting off into tendrils, with the bulk of the thing remaining in the depths.

“There’s no boat. We’ll need to... What option is there other than jump?” I said.

“The rope!” Kismet said. “We jump from the end of the rope.”

And this we did, me carrying Madonna. From the water, we watched as the ship was picked up, broken against some rocks, and left there to sink. As the thing withdrew to the north (and one presumes, into the deep sea), it created a current that nearly swept us along with it.

“Everyone! Get close!” I called. And “Move Water!” when they were.

Madonna couldn’t swim, not without tearing open her injury.

“Okay, that island looks closest, then.” I said.

Kismet tapped me on my shoulder. “That one has birds on it. Birds mean food, are food if they’re tricking us.”

I sighed. “Okay, let’s go. We can make it before dusk.”

And we did, with the aid of some helpful sharks. We wasted close to four minutes gasping in the shallows.

“Okay. Fire first, just above the beach.” I said.

“You took care of that sleep curse, right?” Kismet asked.

Gamilla stood, started striding toward shore. “I will gather food.”

“Not the awakened, if you can help it.” I said.

“Crap.” she said. Her spear vanished back into her inventory.

“What?” Madonna asked.

I let out a sigh. “This island is already inhabited.”

“Figures.” Kismet said. “Well, let’s go meet the natives.”

We helped each other stagger to shore.

“Hm. Four.” grunted a young woman. “The sea flower is generous, this time.”

“We are only three, but they are tired.” a man said. “We could kill them before they made trouble for us.”

“Gawp.” and old man said, leaning heavily upon his spear. “Look at them. Those aren’t civilized folk, those are novelty slaves.”

The woman shook her head. “Look at the bearing of the big one. She is nobody’s slave.”

“Huhm.” the elder said. “You seem to be right. But she did put her weapon away. Perhaps these outsiders are peaceful.”

“Or perhaps it’s a trick.” the young man said.

“Yeph, or perhaps it’s a trick.” the elder replied.

“Well, no help for it, then.” the woman said. “Come, let’s meet the new neighbors, at least help them to build a fire and dry off.”

I wonder if they’d have been so friendly if they knew that I could hear them, even at that range? Likely not, given that they guided us to visitor’s hut that was nowhere near their village.

“This house is where we shall also bring other survivors of your crew.” the young man told us.

“Do not explore to further than the lake in that direction.” the woman told us. “Unless you mean to be captured and made women of public use for the tribe, until our young men grow tired of you and trade you away as slaves.”

The Benapongo, or people of Pongo, were a large and prosperous tribe, being just south of the trade route between Vernice and Yvettesport. Near enough that they sometimes were visited by traders, but generally out of sight, which seemed to be how they enjoyed things.

Winter in the Shining Islands was more temperate than we to their north think of the season, but every decade or so, it would get cold enough to snow. We were wet and there was a strong wind, and I had to carry Madonna, who was lapsing into and out of consciousness.

Not that I minded; I’d spent more than my fair share of victories prone and insensate.

In any case, the one of us it was worst for was clearly Kismet. Her fur curled and knotted, and seemed to gather twigs from the very air. It discolored in the campfire smoke, which seemed to follow her.

No actual playful spirit, just one of those campfires.

There were nuts and birds and rodents, and the lake was full of fish.

Things were looking up, until the next day.

Yes, of course after removing the bolt.

Benapongo, or North of Pongo. They were a people of two villages, whose location they preferred outsiders not know. They’d heard of my loss of the Unapongo title, but didn’t particularly hold that against me.