Hell's Foundations Quiver (66 page)

“Actually, no special arcane
seijin
lore was required, Sir,” he replied almost, but not quite, honestly. “I'd heard rumors of Charisian ships having seized Talisman Island and it seemed reasonable to assume they might be operating farther east than they had been. For someone who doesn't want to come any closer to Admiral Rohsail than I had to, the Hilda Channel would seem like the best route from Gorath to Claw Island.” He shrugged. “All I had to do was keep a close lookout on the way through, and your ship's not exactly hard to recognize, Sir Bruhstair.”

There was, he decided, no need to mention that Owl had used one of the air lorries with a heavy-lift tractor to deliver his fishing boat to just outside visual range of
Thunderer
before he started keeping a close lookout for her.

“I see.” Ahbaht nodded, although he suspected it hadn't been quite as simple as the
seijin
seemed to imply. “On the other hand,” he continued, “I rather doubt you stopped by simply to exchange observations on other people's height.”

“You doubt correctly.” Cudd's expression sobered. “In fact, when I heard you'd been sent to take possession of Talisman, I decided it was even more important for you to have this information than Earl Sharpfield.” Ahbaht raised his eyebrows politely, and Cudd grimaced. “It seems Earl Thirsk's had an inspiration where his screw-galleys are concerned, Sir Bruhstair. In fact—”

*   *   *

“Thank you both for coming so promptly,” Captain Ahbaht said as Daivyn Kylmahn, his first lieutenant, showed Horayshyo Vahrnay and Lywelyn Pymbyrtyn into his day cabin.

Nine days had elapsed since his meeting with Dagyr Cudd, during which
Thunderer
had made her laborious way back to Talisman Island against persistent headwinds. A Charisian officer—especially a Charisian
naval
officer—was supposed to exercise his own judgment in the absence of specific orders from his superiors, and Ahbaht had spent those days considering the implications of the
seijin
's information. All of his squadron was now gathered in Rahzhyr Bay, taking on fresh water from the water hoys sent forward from Claw Island, and he'd signaled for the other two captains to repair aboard the ironclad almost before her anchor had hit the bay's sandy bottom. They had to be afire with curiosity over the sudden, peremptory summons.

Vahrnay commanded HMS
Vengeance
and Pymbyrtyn commanded her sister ship
Vindicator
. After
Thunderer
, the pair of sixty-eight-gun galleons were the two most powerful units of Ahbaht's entire squadron, and Vahrnay was his second-in-command. He was also a consummate seaman, and one of the finest warship commanders Ahbaht had ever seen, but Pymbyrtyn was even more interesting in many ways. He was a subject of Old Charis, but he spoke with a heavy Tarotisian accent, because until five years ago, he'd been a subject of King Gorjah of Tarot rather than Haarahld VII. When King Cayleb and Archbishop Maikel decided to bid defiance to the Group of Four, however, Pymbyrtyn had abandoned everything he owned in Tarot, resigned his commission in the Tarotisian Navy, and traveled to Tellesberg to offer his sword and his loyalty to Charis. An ardent Reformist and a skilled seaman, he'd also become a fervent Charisian patriot who thoroughly deserved his powerful command.

“Your signal did indicate a certain urgency, Sir Bruhstair,” Vahrnay answered for both of them, and Ahbaht nodded.

“Yes, it did. We have a problem, gentlemen.” Ahbaht tapped the map spread across his dining table with a pair of brass dividers. It wasn't a nautical chart, and his visitors wondered why he was looking at a map showing features as much as a thousand miles inland. “In approximately twenty-five days, Admiral Pawal Hahlynd of the Royal Dohlaran Navy will be arriving at Yu-shai with at least twelve and possibly as many as fifteen of Thirsk's armored screw-galleys.”

The other two captains stared at him for a moment, then turned their heads in unison to look at each other before turning back to him.

“Excuse me, Sir Bruhstair?” Pymbyrtyn said, and Ahbaht showed his teeth.

“I don't blame you for wondering if I've lost my mind, Lywelyn, but I'm serious. And, no, they aren't going to try to sneak them through the Shweimouth Passage past us.” He tapped the map again, the dividers' points touching the thin blue line of the Sherach Canal. “They're sending them by canal.”

Pymbyrtyn's eyes narrowed, then widened in sudden understanding.

“Shan-wei!” he muttered, and shook himself. “They
are
small enough for that, aren't they?”

“They are, indeed,” Ahbaht agreed, “and we're very fortunate certain spies of ours were able to get word of it to us this quickly. The same word's on its way to Earl Sharpfield. Unfortunately, it won't reach him for another two five-days. Even after it does, it would take at least another ten days for any reinforcements he might send us to reach us here. For that matter, he only has ten galleons of his own, so there's not a lot he
could
send us. And there's always that bastard Rohsail to worry about. We didn't see any sign of him east of Whale Island, no matter how assiduously we trailed our coats. That may suggest he has something else in mind. If he knows Hahlynd's coming—and I trust nobody thinks Thirsk's stupid enough to have sent this sort of reinforcement without informing Rohsail about it—and the two of them combine forces, the only ships we've got that could hope to stand up to them would be
Thunderer
and
Dreadnought
 … and the last we've heard,
Dreadnought
's still on the binnacle list. That's probably changed by now—in fact, I'm confident it has—but we can't be certain of that. And even if she's on her way to us right this moment, what happened to her indicates we could always lose one or even both of the ironclads all over again, at least temporarily. For that matter, Hahlynd's supposed to be bringing along a sizable supply of those ‘spar torpedoes' Earl Sharpfield warned us about. If his screw-galleys reach Yu-shai, especially with those damned torpedoes, they could make any attack into Shwei Bay prohibitively expensive. For that matter, if the Saint Lerys Canal's been repaired, Hahlynd could send some of them all the way to Yu-kwau to cover the Bay of Alexov.”

Both of the other captains were back on mental balance now, gazing at the map intently.

“I'm sure you're telling us this for a reason, Sir Bruhstair.” Captain Vahrnay's tone suggested he had his own suspicions about what that reason might be, and Ahbaht smiled at him.

“I am indeed, Horayshyo. I am indeed.”

He dropped the dividers on the map and beckoned for the other two captains to join him on
Thunderer
's sternwalk. They stood under the hot afternoon sun, watching seabirds and wyverns soar against a cloudless blue sky, and gazed out across the thicket of masts. It was a peaceful scene, and all of them conscientiously reminded themselves of the Dohlaran ships based on Jack's Land, less than five hundred miles away.

“If Hahlynd's supposed to reach Yu-shai basically this time next month, then they'll be reaching Symarkhan, where the Hahskyn-Varna Canal enters the Hahskyn River, seventeen days from now,” Ahbaht said, “and unlike most Harchongese rivers, the Hahskyn's navigable for blue-water ships as high as Symarkhan. It's not anything I'd call an easy channel, but it's navigable.

“If we were to sail today, assuming average wind conditions, we could reach Ki-dau, where the Hahskyn enters Hahskyn Bay, in nine days. It's a hundred and seventy miles upriver from Ki-dau to Symarkhan, and assuming a fair wind, we might be able to make three knots against the current. That means we could be there in eleven or twelve days from the moment we weighed anchor here at Talisman. Taking
Thunderer
and the other galleons or the bombardment ships that far up the river, especially without local pilots, would run some pretty serious risks, but if we had that much time in hand, we could use the schooners and our own small craft to find us a way through. And if we were to do to the Symarkhan canalfront what Captain Haigyl did to the
Yu-kwau
canalfront, Hahlynd and his screw-galleys would be stuck fourteen hundred miles from Yu-shai and even farther than that from the Gulf of Dohlar.”

“If you took the entire squadron, we'd leave Talisman unprotected behind us, Sir,” Vahrnay pointed out after a moment.

“And if the wind didn't cooperate, we might not reach Symarkhan in time to keep the screw-galleys bottled up,” Pymbyrtyn added. He shook his head, although his expression was thoughtful, not one of disagreement. “I don't like to think about what they could do to us if they caught us in a river where we couldn't maneuver freely.”

“First, you're absolutely right about leaving Talisman exposed, Horayshyo,” Ahbaht agreed. “They'll send word to Rohsail the minute they spot us passing through the Shweimouth on our way south, and I don't think any of us believe Rohsail's going to just sit there with his thumb up his arse. He might decide to attack us here, but, frankly, I wouldn't be all that concerned if he did. First, because I'm fairly confident Major Ohmahly and Commander Makgrygair between them would be able to stand him off, and secondly, because
Dreadnought
's repairs should be pretty much complete by now. That means Captain Haigyl will be coming forward, which means he'd be available to help defend the anchorage.

“Bearing all that in mind, I think it's more probable Rohsail would come in pursuit of us, especially if he already knows Hahlynd is on his way. Depending on his deployments when he came after us, he could have a substantial numerical advantage. In fact, I imagine he wouldn't pursue us in the first place if he
didn't
have a heavy numerical edge, but even if he does, I'm not too concerned about our ability to handle him out on Hahskyn Bay without the screw-galleys to support him. He'd still have to deal with
Thunderer
, and the rest of you aren't likely to be standing by doing nothing in the meantime.

“I'd be more concerned about his arriving close enough on our heels to hold the rivermouth against us before we could get back to the bay after attacking Symarkhan. But even his Jack's Land squadron would be at least four days behind us, and that's assuming he's ready to sail the instant he gets word we've entered the Shweimouth, without calling in any additional galleons from Saram Bay. That would cut down on the numbers he could bring to bear, and we should still have enough of a lead to hit Symarkhan and get back out of the river again even if he did it. No one can guarantee that, of course, but I plan on leaving a few of our schooners in South Shwei Bay to watch our backs.

“As for encountering the screw-galleys in the river, I'm no more interested in that sort of foolishness than either of you are. If we get to Ki-dau and it's clear we won't have time to reach Symarkhan before Hahlynd does—or even if it's simply not clear that we
would
have time—I'm perfectly ready to turn around and go home again. Let's be honest, keeping those screw-galleys out of Shwei Bay—and out of the Bay of Alexov, for that matter—would be highly beneficial. Keeping them from getting up to anything adventurous, like attacking Talisman while the rest of us were at sea, would be even more beneficial. But it's not exactly critical to High Admiral Rock Point's long-term plans for the Gulf and for Dohlar. This is eminently worth doing; it's not
worth
losing valuable ships and men if the timing goes belly-up on us. If that looks like happening, I
will
turn around in a skinny Siddarmarkian minute.”

“Can't say I'm sorry to hear you say that, Sir,” Vahrnay said. “I realize I'm the only Old Charisian in this little conversation, but the truth is, I get nervous when there's anything besides saltwater under the keel. Fresh water's all very well for drinking and even the occasional bath, but it's no place for a Navy man, if you'll pardon my saying so.”

“I don't think Lywelyn or I would disagree with you under normal circumstances,” Ahbaht replied. “On the other hand, as I say, this is definitely something worth doing if we can pull it off. And if we decide we can't, and if Rohsail
has
tried to follow us, we might just snare a consolation prize. I think we'd all enjoy an opportunity to engage an isolated portion of his squadron with
Thunderer
to lead the way, don't you, gentlemen?”

 

.VI.

Guarnak, Mountaincross Province, Republic of Siddarmark

“Have you seen Colonel Fyrgyrsyn's latest report?” Bishop Militant Bahrnabai Wyrshym asked.

Icy wind whistled around the eaves of the mansion he'd commandeered as his headquarters, and it was cold in the splendidly furnished dining room. He and Auxiliary Bishop Ernyst Abernethy sat at a small table across the hearth from the frugal fire which was all Wyrshym permitted himself as the Army of the Sylmahn's stocks of fuel and food dwindled once more. The spartan breakfast before them—little more than two bowls of porridge, sweetened with the last of Wyrshym's chef's jealously hoarded sugar and enormously out of place on the expensive, polished table—was another sign of that army's tightening belt.

“I haven't seen one in the last day or two,” Bishop Ernyst replied. “I'm sure if I had it would've made depressing reading, though.”

“Depressing, but not surprising,” Wyrshym agreed. Colonel Tayrens Fyrgyrsyn was the Army of the Sylmahn's senior quartermaster. He was intelligent, good at his job, and only in his early fifties, but anyone looking at him would have guessed his age at at least sixty-five or seventy, and for good reason.

“They slaughtered the last draft animal yesterday. Assuming nobody has to burn up energy marching around or performing heavy labor—and that the mortality rate keeps climbing the way it has—he and Father Zherohmy estimate they can feed what's left of the Army through the second five-day of June. Which, of course, means for another four five-days, total. After that, we'll be well below Pasquale's minimums, and it'll only get worse. If their numbers are accurate, the Army will literally starve to death by the end of next month.”