Tower Lord

“I,” he said after a moment, “am a fool.”

“They did not split their fleet?”

“Oh they split it all right. Their feint sails south as we speak. Five hundred ships.”

Five hundred. “The spies said their fleet was no more than twelve hundred ships. That would mean we sail towards only six hundred.”

“The fleet that landed in Varinshold was twelve hundred strong, the fleet in front of us nigh on two thousand. They have been reinforced whilst at sea.” He closed his eyes, cheeks bunching and fists balled on Skerva’s wooden shoulder. “Why did I not see this?”

“What do we do?” Lyrna asked.

He straightened, unclenching his fists and breathing out slowly then turning to her with a grin. “We do what we came to do, Highness. The wind is at our backs and there are many prizes to claim this day.” He turned back to the deck, pausing to brush his fingers over her hand, breath soft on her ear. “And I am so keen to hear of your true intent.”

? ? ?

The Volarian battle line came into view all too soon, a long parade of dark-hulled ships all following the same southward course. “Trying to get some wind in their sails,” Belorath explained. “Probably want to hook round and have at our arses.”

“Watch your tongue in front of the queen,” Iltis growled but Belorath just laughed and tossed him a broad leather-bound shield.

“You and your fellow lordships can keep the arrows off the women. Best leave the fighting to us, eh?”

“Pirate dog,” Iltis grumbled, fixing the shield’s strap over his arm, Benten and Harvin doing the same, as the first mate strode away. They wore much the same kit as the Meldeneans, a broad helm with leather chin-straps and mail shirts, though Iltis had been forced to stitch two together to fully cover his chest. Lyrna and her ladies had donned specially tailored mail of smaller dimensions which proved remarkably uncomfortable with a tendency to produce large amounts of unladylike sweat. However, she felt it preferable to a stray arrow in the chest. She also had a small dagger strapped to her forearm, the blade a little longer than she was used to but she had practised and found she could still throw it with reasonable accuracy. She doubted it would be much use in the coming maelstrom but drew some reassurance from the feel of it against her skin. Never be without it.

The Meldenean fleet were strung out in two roughly equal divisions, one following the Sea Sabre the other a narrow-hulled vessel commanded by Ship Lord Ell-Nurin. “The Red Falcon,” Belorath had said. “Fastest ship afloat, some say.”

The lead Ell-Nurin’s ship was building over the Sea Sabre gave truth to his words, the prow cutting through the waves like a sword blade, sails seeming to strain against their lines from the wind that filled them.

“The bugger wants them all to himself!” the Shield called from the helm, raising a laugh amongst the crew. “Tighten those lines, I’ll not be beaten to first blood!”

At his insistence Lyrna had positioned herself close to the entrance to the hold, ready to retreat below if the deck became too dangerous.

“What’s that for?” Murel asked, seeing a sailor tossing sand from a bucket over the deck as the Volarians drew ever nearer.

“Blood,” Benten said. “It’s like to get slippery underfoot when it starts. Do the same thing on my father’s boat when we do the gutting.”

“Oh,” the girl said in a small voice.

“My lady,” Lyrna said. “You may go below.”

“Thank you, Highness, but I prefer to stay.”

No tears now, Lyrna saw as Murel straightened her back and drew a calming breath. No longer just a girl.

“Mangonels ready!” the Shield shouted and crewmen ran to pull the coverings from two bulky contraptions in the centre of the deck, others bringing baskets filled with projectiles and buckets of pitch.

The engines consisted of a single throwing arm fastened to a crossbeam around which thick lengths of rope had been wound. The ropes twisted as a crewman worked a lever to draw the arm back level with the deck. Their munitions were melon-sized balls of hemp, the rope wrapped tight around an iron core. Two were placed in the bowl at the end of the arm and soaked in pitch, a man with a torch standing by. One engine was positioned to cast its projectiles to the port side, the other starboard.

“I thought we’d be ramming them,” Harvin said. “Then jumping on board to kill the crew.”

“Most sea battles are won with flame,” Lyrna said. Though I’d hazard you’ll see all manner of death this day.

The Shield steered them towards the middle of the Volarian line, the Red Falcon heading for their rear. The archers began to loose before they were in range, tiny waterspouts appearing in the sea between the closing ships, the faint hiss of the falling shafts soon joined by the hard thunk of arrowheads on wood.

Lyrna could see the Volarians now, dark figures clustered at the starboard rail of a broad-beamed vessel, swords drawn and grapples ready.

“Loose!” Belorath barked and the torch-bearer lit the hemp balls in the mangonel bowl, standing back as his comrade kicked the release lever and the arm sprang forward, casting its flaming contents at the Volarian ship. The two fireballs described a lazy arc, trailing smoke as they fell amongst the Volarian soldiery, a cheer rising from the Meldeneans as the battle claimed its first victims, a few flaming men jumping into the sea.

The Shield put them alongside the opposing ship at a distance of no more than fifty paces, the air between them now thick with arrows.

“Down, Highness!” Iltis raised his shield as Lyrna and the two women crouched, Orena wincing at the hard rain. A cry came from above and Lyrna glanced up to see a crewman fall to the deck with a bone-snapping thump, an arrow jutting from his chest as he gasped out his final breaths from a bloody mouth.

The starboard mangonel loosed again, the fireballs flying into the Volarian rigging this time, their mainsail catching light and sending burning debris onto the men below, their arrow storm faltering as fire took hold. The ship lurched towards them in a last desperate attempt to board, grapples flying from the deck to fasten on the Sea Sabre’s rail. The Shield spun the wheel and the prow swung to port, the crew hacking away the grappling ropes but not before a small group of Volarians had managed to scramble across. They were lightly armoured men with twin short swords on their backs, moving along the ropes with an unnatural speed and sure-handed grace. A few fell to the Meldenean archers in the rigging but four of them managed to make the deck, vaulting over the rail and drawing swords to hack down the nearest crewmen. They charged for the mangonels, parrying the slashing sabres of the crew with ease, killing the men servicing the engines in a matter of seconds.

Then the Shield was amongst them, his sabre moving in a blur, killing one then ducking under the thrust of another to hack through his lower leg. The other two launched a coordinated attack, one slashing at Ell-Nestra’s face whilst the other sought to deliver a killing blow to the chest. He backed away, parrying and twisting as they forced him against the starboard rail.

Iltis gave a roar and charged forward with his sword levelled, Harvin and Benten on either side. The Volarian managed to turn aside the big man’s thrust but had no defence against the overhand slash delivered by Harvin, the sword cleaving through his shoulder. Benten hacked at the remaining Volarian as he continued to battle the Shield, earning a cut on his arm as the man easily side-stepped the blow and delivered a counter, only to fall dead a second later as Ell-Nestra’s sabre speared him through the neck.

Lyrna saw that the Volarian ship was adrift now, her deck covered in flame and her sails burning rags. All around the sea was full of battling vessels, many already fully aflame. Through the smoke she could see a Meldenean ship jammed between two enemy vessels, her deck a seething mass of combat.

She called to the Shield and pointed. He went to the rail, sabre dripping blood across the deck. “We’ll need those mangonels working,” he said.

She nodded and beckoned her lords over to the engines, dragging the bodies clear and gathering the remaining ammunition. “Can’t say as I know how to work such a thing,” Harvin said.

“It’s easy,” Benten said, grimacing a little as Murel tied a bandage about his arm wound. “This lever draws back the arm, that one releases it.”

They managed to have it readied by the time the Shield had steered them within range of one of the Volarian ships. Lyrna touched a torch to the pitch-covered hemp and Benten kicked the lever, the fireballs sailing into the centre of the enemy ship without any obvious effect. They repeated the process two more times as the Sea Sabre closed, their efforts rewarded by the sight of a decent-sized blaze rising from the Volarian ship’s deck but also drawing the ire of her archers.

“Faith!” Iltis grunted as they huddled under his shield, an arrowhead appearing through the leather binding just above his arm.

“Grapples out!” Belorath yelled as the Sea Sabre scraped against the Volarians’ hull. Crewmen ran to cast their three-pronged hooks across the gap, one falling to an arrow and plunging over the side. However, the thickening smoke offered some protection as the rest of the crew clustered around and hauled on the ropes, pulling the two ships together then throwing boarding planks across the divide.