Chapter thirteen
“Ram! Ram! Ram!”“By Zair!” I said, enraged. “The cramph means business.” Moons-light shone on the bronze ram of the swifter ahead. She had turned directly into line. Her oars lifted and remained level. Our own wings continued to beat on. Once again the hail reached us, and this time there was no mistaking the violence of the shout, the decision taken on that swifter’s quarterdeck.
“Your last chance! Heave to or we smash your oars!”
I said to Fazhan, “Signal Neemu to come up. Drop the tow.”
“Quidang,” he said and was off.
I shouted in a voice pitched just to reach Pugnarses Ob-Eye, our oar-master. “At the signal, Pugnarses. Full speed.”
We had a few murs grace. The swifter ahead, two-banked, fast, designed for patrol and scouting duty, still held her oars leveled. In
