Free Hunt the Space-Witch! by Robert Silverberg Page A

Sea-Lords.
    â€œTake it,” Gowyn growled to his underlings. Each of the subordinates stooped, easily lifted a heavy coffer, and deposited it in the dinghy. Gowyn struck a demoniac pose, one foot athwart Morgrun’s debased body.
    â€œFor another year,” the Thalassarch rumbled, “I, Gowyn of the Western Sea, declare the city of Vythain under my protection. The gold is solid weight, is it not?”
    â€œOf course,” Morgrun mumbled.
    â€œIt had better be.” Gowyn kicked the Councilman away from him contemptuously. “Back to your shelter, guppy! Run! Hide! The Sea-Lord will eat you unless you can flee!”
    With undignified haste Morgrun scrambled to his feet. He gathered his robes about him, made a perfunctory bow and muttered thanks, turned, and, flanked by the other seven Councilmen, retreated swiftly toward the carven stairs. Gowyn’s sardonic laughter echoed through the silent city as they ran.
    The Thalassarch turned to his waiting comrades. “This city has no fight,” he remarked. “Each year they hand over the tribute like so many frightened fleas. Damn, but I’d love a good fight some year from one of them!”
    A heavily-tanned, red-bearded man in jeweled helmet said: “Never, sire. They need your protection too desperately for that!”
    Gowyn roared in laughter. “Protection! Imagine—they pay us for what we most dearly love to do!” He looked up at the massed bulk of the floating city, and chuckled scornfully.
    The Sea-Lords turned to enter their dinghy. Suddenly Dovirr rose from his hiding-place.
    â€œWait, Thalassarch!” he shouted.
    Gowyn had one foot already in the dinghy. He drew it back in utter astonishment and looked up to see who it was had spoken. Dovirr faced him squarely. “The tribute is yours, mighty Gowyn—but you leave too soon.”
    â€œWhat want you, boy?”
    Dovirr bristled at the offhand, impatient “boy. ” “Boy no more than any of you, Sea-Lords. I seek to leave Vythain. Will ye take me with you?”
    Gowyn roared in amusement and nudged one of his companions. “Ho! A sucker-fish wishes to run with the sharks! Into the water with him, Levrod, and then let’s be off for the ship.”
    The Sea-Lord named Levrod smiled eagerly. “The work of a moment, sire.” He stepped toward Dovirr, who backed away half a step and then held his ground. “Come to me, landman,” Levrod crooned. “Come and taste the sea-water!”
    â€œYou come to me ,” Dovirr snarled back. “I’ll stand my ground.”
    Angrily Levrod charged. Dovirr waited for the enraged Sea-Lord to cover the concrete pier and draw close. Levrod was wiry and strong, Dovirr saw. Levrod was planning on a running charge, a quick flip—and a dunking for the rash townsman who delayed the Sea-Lords. Dovirr had other ideas.
    Levrod reached him; the Sea-Lord’s strong fingers clutched for his arm and leg. Deftly, Dovirr stood to one side, stooped, caught the astonished Levrod by the crotch and shoulder. In one swift motion he straightened and catapulted the Sea-Lord into the water. Brine splashed on the pier as Levrod went under.
    Dovirr whirled, expecting the other Sea-Lords to retaliate. But they were holding fast. Levrod swam rapidly to shore—there was never any telling what lurked in the offshore waters—and clambered up, cursing and spitting saltwater. Red-faced, he groped for his sword.
    Dovirr stiffened. Unarmed, he could hardly hope to defend himself. Levrod whipped forth his weapon—
    And Gowyn the Thalassarch drew his, crashing it down ringingly on Levrod’s blade. Stunned, the Sea-Lord let the sword drop from his numbed fingers.
    Gowyn glanced at Dovirr. “Pick it up,” he commanded.
    Silently, Dovirr obeyed. He gripped the jeweled hilt firmly and looked at the Thalassarch.
    Gowyn was smiling. “Run this carrion through,” he said, indicating