Off Armageddon Reef (68 page)

“Your Majesty, please, I—” Gray Harbor began, but Haarahld shook his head once more.

“No, Rayjhis. I
need
you here.”

Gray Harbor seemed prepared to continue, but then he stopped himself and bent his head in silent submission.

“Thank you,” Haarahld said quietly. Then he chuckled harshly. Gray Harbor looked up again at the sound, and the king smiled at him.

“I know that wasn't what you wanted to hear, Rayjhis,” he said. “So, I have a little treat for you. Well, you and Bynzhamyn.”

He smiled at Wave Thunder, who'd sat silent so far. The baron's expertise lay in other areas than grand naval strategy, and he knew it. But now his eyes brightened and he sat straighter in his chair, and the king chuckled again at the evidence of his eagerness.

“Under the circumstances,” he said, “I see no particular advantage in allowing Hektor's and Nahrmahn's spies to continue to operate in Charis. I'd like to wait another two or three five-days, just in case we miss someone who manages to go scurrying off to Emerald before we're ready. But, as of…twelve days from today, the two of you have my permission to pick up every single spy you and Merlin have been able to identify.”

Trumpets sounded across the dark blue water of Gorath Bay, and harsh, answering shouts of command rang out across the decks of the gathered strength of the Dohlaran Navy. White storms of seabirds and many-hued clouds of coastal wyverns swept back and forth across the crowded harbor in a ruffling thunder of wings, shrill cries, and high-pitched whistles. Brisk wind and thin, high bands of cloud polished a sky of autumn blue, and the broad waters of the bay had never before seen such a concentration of warships. The green wyvern on red of the kingdom's banners snapped and cracked sharply in the brisk wind, command streamers flew from the mastheads of the squadron flagships, and, despite himself, Admiral Lywys Gardynyr, the Earl of Thirsk, felt a stir of pride at the sight of such massed power.

It faded into something much less pleasant a moment later, however, as he turned his eyes to the galley
King Rahnyld
. The towering, high-sided vessel flew the command streamer of “Admiral” Malikai, and Thirsk felt a sudden temptation to spit over the side at the sight.

Shouted commands swept over his own flagship, and the capstan's pawl clanked steadily as the crew of
Gorath Bay
hove her anchor short.
Gorath Bay
was smaller and older than
King Rahnyld
, with less gilding, and her carving was far less intricate and ornate, while her figurehead was a simple carved kraken, rather than the half-again lifesized, magnificently painted and gilded figure of King Rahnyld which graced the fleet flagship. She was also lower to the water and far handier than the huge, lumbering white dragon of the fleet flagship. Malikai's ship had been built as an exercise in royal ego, plain and simple, as far as Thirsk could tell. Which, of course, made it unthinkable that Malikai should fly his streamer from any other ship.

Gorath Bay
curtsied suddenly as the flukes of her anchor broke out of the sandy bottom of her namesake anchorage. The men on the pump heaved the handles up and down, and a stream of water gushed from the hose, sluicing mud and slime off the anchor hawser as it came steadily up out of the water.

The anchor had held the galley's head to the wind; now she fell off, and fresh orders rang out and the row master's drum began its deep, steady beat as her oars dipped. The bay's waters were ruffled with white, and the rowers had to lean hard into the sweeps before they could get steerage way on her and the helmsman could bring her back up into the wind.

That wind was out of the southwest, which meant it was almost directly into the fleet's teeth as it headed out of the bay. The galleys would leave the anchorage under oars, and stay that way until they cleared Lizard Island and turned northwest. After that, the wind would be almost broad on the beam, at least until they had to turn due west for the run down the Gulf of Dohlar to the Sea of Harchong. That promised to be an exhausting ordeal, given the prevailing winds this time of year.

Thirsk grimaced at the thought and folded his hands behind him as he strode briskly to the after rail and gazed back at the rest of the fleet.
King Rahnyld
, predictably, was slower and clumsier getting underway than almost any of the other ships. Not that it mattered all that much. A fleet of over a hundred and twenty galleys, accompanied by twenty-six clumsy transports and supply ships, wasn't going to get out of the bay in a tearing hurry. There'd be time for Malikai's lumbering flagship to tag along with the others.

Now if the “Admiral General” only had the least damned idea of what he was supposed to
do
with all these ships.

Thirsk stood atop the aftercastle, watching the panorama of the huge harbor as
Gorath Bay
moved slowly past the breakwater. The Dohlaran capital's walls gleamed in the sunlight, and the massive crowd of shipping made a splendidly stirring sight. But despite the dutifully cheering crowds which had seen Thirsk's crews off, and despite the stern proclamation from the king setting forth Dohlar's reasons for enmity with the distant Kingdom of Charis, none of the seamen and soldiers aboard the galleys really seemed to understand exactly where they were going, or why.

Which doesn't make the poor bastards so very different from
me,
does it?
he thought mordantly.
Of course, I do understand whose idea this really is. That puts me at least a little up on them, I suppose.

His lips tightened at the thought, and he spread his feet a bit further apart, balancing easily as
Gorath Bay
's motion freshened.

Magwair
, he thought.
That's who came up with this
.
And Rahnyld and Malikai actually think it's a
good
idea, Langhorne save us all!

He drew a deep breath and commanded himself to stop fretting. It was an order more easily given than obeyed, but he was a disciplined man. Besides, if he didn't get a grip on his temper, sheer spleen was going to carry him off long before they reached the Straits of Queiroz. Still, only a landsman—and an idiot general, at that—could have come up with this brilliant idea.

We're supposed to “sneak up” on Haarahld
, he thought disgustedly.
As if anyone could move a fleet this size through the Harthlan Sea without every trading vessel west of Tarot knowing all about it! And what
they
know, Haarahld will know within five-days. Certainly, he's going to know we're coming long before we get there
.

Well, he supposed surprise wasn't really essential when you'd been able to assemble four times your enemy's maximum strength. But committing a fleet of coastal galleys to the passage of the Sea of Justice wasn't exactly an act of genius.

Left to himself, and assuming he'd had no choice but to carry out these lunatic orders and attack a kingdom which had never threatened his own, he would have gone about it quite differently.

Their orders were to follow the eastern coast of Howard as far as Geyra, in the Desnairian Empire's Barony of Harless, then swing due east for the rendezvous off Demon Head, at the northern tip of Armageddon Reef.
He
would have hugged the coast all the way up to the Gulf of Mathyas and then around southern East Haven to reach
Tarot,
without going anywhere near the Reef. It would have added five-days to the journey time, but it would also have gotten them there without facing the Sea of Justice. And he would have taken his fleet straight from Tarot to Eraystor Bay, around the Stepping Stones and the southern part of the Anvil, and availed himself of the Emerald Navy's yard facilities to scrape his bottoms and get his galleys fit for combat once more before he went picking any fights with the Royal Charisian Navy in its own waters.

Unfortunately, he was only a professional seaman, not important enough to be consulted over minor matters like choosing the fleet's course or deciding upon its tactics.

Well, that's probably not
entirely
fair
, he told himself.
Obviously, they've got some sort of wild hair up their arses about Charis—Langhorne knows why! Whatever it is, though, they want Haarahld smashed fast, which means there's no time to follow a coastal passage all the way. Still, I wish to hell they'd let me stay out of the
middle
of the Sea of Justice! If we have to use the southern route, then I'd prefer to stay still farther east, closer to Armageddon Reef, all the way.

His lips twitched as he realized what he'd just thought, but it was true. Just thinking about Armageddon Reef made him…nervous, but not as nervous as the thought of crossing through the heart of the Sea of Justice outside of sight of land.

He blew air through his mustache and gave himself a shake.

If it worked, everyone was going to call Magwair's plan brilliant. If it didn't work, Malikai would undoubtedly blame
Thirsk
for failing to execute it properly. And whatever happened, when they got to the other end—in whatever shape they were in when they arrived—they were going to have to take on a Royal Charisian Navy fighting in defense of its own homes and families and with it's back to the wall.

Which,
he thought grimly,
is going to be about as ugly as it gets. And all because Trynair offered our useless sot of a King a break on his loan payments
.

He grimaced and gave himself another, harder shake. That sort of thought was dangerous, not to mention being beside the point. King Rahnyld was his sovereign, and he was duty and honor bound to obey his king's orders, whatever he thought of the reason they'd been given. Which was why it was also his job to do whatever he could to rescue this campaign from Admiral General Duke Malikai.

It promised to be an…interesting challenge.