The captain screamed without shame or restraint, letting out all his agony along with all his breath, in a long raw gushing of bubbles and sound. He writhed wildly in the water, trying to clasp his hands over his blood-gushing stomach. His body arched into a bow, and his set mouth and clenched teeth forced out words that Blade could just barely catch.

«Ambush-Stipors's a fool. Wanted us-do-somethinnnnng!» The last word was half screamed out, then Nezdorn's body arched still further. Blade heard the unmistakable crrrrack of the spine snapping, then the captain's body was drifting down aimlessly toward the bottom.

So was a good half of the vanguard, most dead but some only dying. Blade realized from their contorted faces that the Fishmen arrows must be poisonous as well, to kill so fast. He also realized that the only hope was to dive down and attack the concealed Fishmen archers in their own holes. To stay up here was to become a target.

Waving his arms in the «Follow me» signal, Blade dove toward the bottom, drawing one sword as he did so. Looking behind him, he saw the rest of the vanguard hesitate for a moment, then follow him down. Beyond them, he could see the Fishmen clustering in front of the raiders. Now they were beginning to move in, streaking through the water to the attack.

The battle was joined.

Alanyra swam up the tunnel from her chamber deep in the Reef of Clan Gnyr and emerged on the open bottom, in the shelter of a great cluster of dark-blue branching corals. Oknyr swam over to meet her. For all his age and his long and disciplined service to the Clan, he could not keep admiration for the Lady's beauty out of his one eye as he looked at her. She wore her usual fighting outfit of a red loinguard and belt with two swords, and nothing else except the black fins on her slender feet. No, that wasn't quite true. Her dark green hair was gathered up under a silver tiara set with rubies.

Oknyr frowned. «You wear that into battle?»

«Why not? It is of our Clan.»

«But you should not-«

«Should not risk it in battle, Oknyr? Not even when I lead my Clan in battle?» The Orderer shrugged and turned away. Alanyra swam after him, to join the fighters of her Clan on the open sand on the other side of the coral.

There were more than three hundred of them there, picked men and women, plus a dozen of the trained yulons. Those great monsters were well off to one side, with their trainers and riders holding their reins tightly.

Alanyra saw some of her followers throwing nervous glances at the reptiles and fingering their bows. Indeed the yulons were not the easiest comrades to have in a battle. But it had been demonstrated in the great attack on Talgar that they were deadly and utterly terrifying to the enemy. They would not terrify the Stranger, but then Alanyra doubted if anything could terrify a man who had fought and slain a yulon with only thrown stones. The average raider from Talgar would not be so courageous.

Some of the Fishmen archers had died, thrust through with swords or spears or knives. Others fled or at least tried to flee. Those who tried to make a break for open water usually died, for the Talgarans were crowding forward. The wise Fishmen plunged down into the darkness of the tunnels that honeycombed the coral bottom. Few of the raiders had the nerve to follow them, and those who did were called back by their officers.

For the moment, Blade was one of those officers. In the moment of panic after the first volley of bolts, he had been the first to act and the first to be followed. His plunge down among them had surprised a dozen Fishmen archers before they could fire a second time. They had not recovered from that surprise before the remainder of the vanguard was diving down on them also, swords out and spears thrusting furiously. It had been a desperate few minutes of swirling bloody struggle, down there among the sharp-branched corals and weedy boulders. The Fishmen had lost three times as many men as the Talgarans. It was a time for cool heads and hard fighting, and Blade showed himself the best man in the company at both.

He rose up from the bottom, to take command of the company just as the Fishmen swept in to the attack from the front. Between one second and the next, all order went out of the battle. These Fishmen were not attacking from ambush, nor were they darting away. They were coming in to stay and fight.

At first the attackers didn't single Blade out for special attention. Three of them swept past him, leaving their backs open as they drove for the main body of the company farther on. They paid for that mistake. Blade kicked off from a boulder and rose like a rocket behind them, thrusting down with both swords simultaneously. Both thrusts went home into the backs of exposed thighs. The two victims turned, eyes blazing with surprise and pain and fury, but they did not turn fast enough. Blade whipped over in a complete somersault in the water, thrusting up with both finned feet to block his opponents' vision. They were still looking for him when he rose. With another double thrust his swords darted into their throats. They drifted away, darkening the water with outpouring blood as Blade swam off.

Blade sensed a shadow and a movement in the water behind him, and spun and dove away in the same instant. A spear drove through the water where he had been, and an enemy warrior followed the spear. Blade dropped down until he could push off from the bottom again, then arrowed upward. As the Fishman's leg came within striking range, Blade used all his enormous strength to slash the leg open from knee to ankle. The Fishman dropped his spear and doubled up, clutching his leg, exposing his neck to a thrust from Blade's other sword. The thrust went home, and another dying Fishman floated away.

Blade dove again, this time plunging all the way into the holes where the Fishmen archers had been. There were abandoned crossbows there, and he wanted to get one, or at least keep the enemy from retrieving them.

Two Fishmen barred his way, one of them a woman. The woman closed. Blade lunged at her, twisting his sword at the last moment so that the flat rather than the edge came up under her jaw. The blow rolled her halfway over backward and gave Blade time to turn and meet his other opponent.

This one seemed to be a commander of some sort. He wore a jeweled ornament on his headband and a sleeveless jerkin of scaly skin over his chest. His weapon was a double-pronged spear, like a giant tuning fork. It lashed out at Blade with a speed that nearly drove it through his thigh. He twisted aside with inches to spare, then closed with the warrior and hooked an arm around the man's neck.

Blade couldn't risk dropping either sword, and the Fishman warrior couldn't risk dropping his spear. So they grappled clumsily with each other, kicking or trying to kick, each trying to get a firm and deadly grip. As they grappled, their struggles sent them rolling over and over in the water, like a barrel going through rapids. The Fishman clamped his hand over Blade's mouth, trying to rip away his breathing mask. Blade clamped a hand down on the pale, slippery flesh of the man's shoulder, squeezing hard on the nerves. The warrior gasped and jerked the attacking hand away. As he jerked, he weakened his grip on Blade's other arm. Blade found room to pull his hand back six inches, then drive it and the sword it held forward again.

The Fishman jerked so violently as the steel went into his belly that Blade's sword was twisted out of his hand. His opponent's foot drove up against his chest with a solid thud. Blade was driven back as the Fishman writhed and doubled up in the water. But the man was obviously dying. Blade made no effort to return to the attack. Instead he dove down again, heading for the half-concealed pits where the abandoned bows lay.