Off Armageddon Reef (96 page)

“If they have any sense at all, they're going to turn and run for Silver Strait.”

“They still have him outnumbered at least six-to-one, Your Majesty,” Tryvythyn pointed out, and Haarahld snorted with harsh, fierce pride.

“Cayleb is here, Dynzyl, with the loss of only two galleons, and Duke Malikai isn't. What do you suppose that means happened to the
last
galley fleet that outnumbered my son six-to-one?”

“A point, Your Majesty,” his flag captain conceded. “Definitely a point.”

“And one that won't be lost on Black Water,” Haarahld said, his expression and voice grimmer. “I wish it would be. I wish he were stupid enough to stand and fight, but he's smarter than that, and I think he has the moral courage to run if that's the only way to save what he can.”

“That's my own assessment of him, Your Majesty,” Tryvythyn agreed.

“Well, in that case, I think it's up to us to argue with him about his choice of courses.” Haarahld gazed up at the masthead pendant and the royal standard of Charis, then turned back to his flag captain.

“General signal, Dynzyl. Form in columns of squadrons, course east.”

The Emeraldian galleys in Black Water's two western columns never saw his signal. There was too much smoke, and they had other things on their minds.

Staynair's squadron forged steadily down the flank of Earl Mahndyr's column, pounding savagely. None of the other nineteen ships were hammered quite as brutally as
Black Prince
had been, but that was mostly because they were able to strike their colors while they still had at least some men on their feet. Staynair closed to within fifty yards, artillery bellowing, dismasting his targets, wreaking carnage on their crowded oardecks, slaughtering the hapless soldiers and seamen packed together on their decks and aftercastles for boarding attacks that never came.

Staynair had no time to take formal possession of the surrendered ships, but there wasn't much need. While some of them might violate the terms of their surrender, or claim they'd never struck their colors in the first place, and escape, most of them were too shattered and broken to do much more than tend their wounded as best they could until someone did arrive to take custody of them. And if Staynair and Cayleb didn't have sufficient ships to gather them all in, King Haarahld certainly did.

While Staynair finished crushing that column, Cayleb continued steadily to the east, angling slightly southward. He crossed the tracks of the third and fourth columns, close enough to rake the last ship or two in each column as he passed.

“Black Water's trying to break north!” Merlin shouted in Cayleb's ear as
Dreadnought
poured fire into yet another victim. “He's got four columns—about ninety ships—turning north-northwest!”

Cayleb glanced at him, then closed his eyes, obviously summoning up a mental chart. He studied it from behind his eyelids, then nodded sharply.

“Captain Manthyr!”

Duke Black Water paced savagely back and forth atop
Corisande
's aftercastle. He knew it wasn't doing a thing to settle the nerves of his flagship's officers and crew, but standing still was beyond his power.

He paused every so often, glaring west and north. The signaling procedures he'd worked out for his combined fleet were more sophisticated than those of most navies, but far inferior to the ones Staynair, Seamount, and Merlin had developed. They simply weren't up to the task of keeping him accurately informed of what was happening, even assuming any of his squadron commanders and captains had truly known in the first place.

What he
did
know was that at least one column of Sharpfield's Chisholmian galleys had failed to see—or chosen to ignore—his signal to turn north. It was continuing steadily to the south, taking a tenth of his total strength with it.

And he also knew he could hear the thunder-grumble of massed cannon fire, distantly and intermittently, but growing stronger and steadier.

The turn to the north had reversed the order of sailing in the columns which had obeyed.
Corisande
had been leading her column on its original heading; now she found herself the last ship in line, which meant the admiral supposedly commanding the fleet was going to be one of the last to find out what in Shan-wei's name was happening.

“Your Grace.”

Black Water whirled and found himself facing Captain Myrgyn.

“What?” he managed—somehow—not to snap.

“Your Grace, the masthead's reported gunfire and heavy smoke to the west and north. I sent Lieutenant Wynstyn to the crow's-nest for a better evaluation.”

The flag captain indicated
Corisande
's first lieutenant, standing tight-faced at his shoulder, and Black Water turned to Wynstyn.

“Well?” he demanded.

“Your Grace, I couldn't see very much to the west, but the smoke extends from about one point abaft the port beam to about one point forward of the starboard bow.”

Wynstyn's voice was steady enough, but Black Water heard the control it took to keep it that way, and he couldn't blame the lieutenant.

“Thank you, Master Wynstyn,” he said, after a moment, and turned to the aftercastle rail, leaning on it with both hands while he considered what Wynstyn had said.

If the lieutenant's observations were correct, Cayleb must, indeed, have arrived in almost the perfect position. With the current brisk breeze, the far greater sail area of his galleons gave him a marked speed advantage, and he must have split his ships into at least two forces. One of them was obviously sweeping south, and if Wynstyn's bearings were accurate, it must already have overtaken the head of Black Water's most western column, which meant it was probably smashing Mahndyr's
Triton
even now. Even worse than that, it was also in a position to start curling around to the east, directly across his original line of advance.

That was bad enough, but the smoke to the north was even more frightening. Cayleb was casting his net about Black Water's entire fleet, despite the fact that he must be hugely outnumbered. And if he was already so far east, he'd already cut across at least a third of Black Water's formation, probably more.

The duke's hands clenched into fists on the rail, and he swore with savage, silent venom.

From the speed with which Cayleb's galleons were advancing, it was clear no one was even slowing him down. Surprise, and the resultant panic, could explain a lot of that, possibly even all of it, yet Black Water was sickly certain the true reason was far simpler.

He remembered again what the Charisian galleys had done, and the rumble of the galleons' guns came to him on the wind once more.

If he continued north, he would be heading directly into those guns, and his own flagship would be one of the last of his vessels to engage. It seemed obvious that Cayleb's northern division had the speed to get across in front of him whatever he did, and he could count on the force to his west to sweep in astern of him, as well.

It was possible his galleys would be able to absorb the galleons' fire and still close with them for a conventional boarding melee, but he doubted it. Even if the galleons' firepower advantage was less than he feared, he could already sense the incipient panic of his personnel, even here, aboard his own flagship. It took courage and determination to close with an enemy under the best of circumstances. Closing through the sort of rapid, rolling broadsides he heard echoing down from the north would require far more determination than usual. Determination his badly shaken officers and men almost certainly no longer had.

But there were still the comparative numbers to consider. Even if it proved impossible to bring on the sort of close action which was his galleys' only hope of victory, Cayleb simply didn't have enough ships to take or destroy
all
of Black Water's fleet. Some of them would have to break through, if only because the galleons would be too busy with other victims to stop them. Yet Cayleb was in a position to smash every ship he
could
engage, and Black Water's own words to Myrgyn came back to whisper viciously in the back of his brain.

You wanted to kill as many as possible of Haarahld's trained seamen even if their ships
were
out of date
, he thought.
Now Cayleb's in a position to do that to
you,
isn't he?

He looked at the sun's position, then back to the northwest.

If he held his present course, he would be feeding his ships directly into Cayleb's guns by the quickest possible route. He'd be giving Cayleb a gift of time. Time to shatter and splinter Black Water's galleys as they closed on him. Time for him to pursue anyone who managed to break past him. Time for Haarahld to bring his own galleys sweeping up from the south behind Black Water.

But if the duke turned southeast himself, made directly for Silver Strait, he'd be headed
away
from both of Cayleb's divisions. A stern chase was always a long chase, he reminded himself, even if the pursuer did have a significant speed advantage, and if he could stay away from Cayleb until nightfall, then order his remaining ships to scatter and evade pursuit individually…

Yet turning away from Cayleb would give
Haarahld
an opportunity to intercept him, assuming the king reacted quickly enough. Still, Haarahld's galleys were a known quantity, and surely Black Water still had the strength to fight his way through anything Haarahld might manage to put into his path.

Besides
, he told himself grimly,
his galleys aren't those Langhorne-damned galleons
.
The men are less likely to panic at the thought of taking him on
.

“Captain Myrgyn,” he said, turning from the rail to face the flag captain.

Merlin watched yet another ship stagger as
Dreadnought
's first broadside ripped into her. The sight was becoming horrifically familiar, like some infinitely repeating act of butchery. The galley's sweeps flailed wildly as the round shot slammed home among her rowers, and bits and pieces of her hull flew lazily through the air until they hit the water in white feathers of spray.

He looked away, concentrating once again on the SNARC's overhead imagery, and stiffened. Then he turned quickly to Cayleb.

The prince stood beside Captain Manthyr, his young face bleak as he watched his flagship's guns slaughtering yet another crew.

“Cayleb.”

Cayleb turned at the sound of his name, and Merlin leaned closer.

“Black Water's changed his mind,” he said, speaking as quietly as he could and still be heard. “He's turning his columns back around, heading southeast.”

“Silver Strait,” Cayleb said flatly.

“Exactly,” Merlin agreed, and his expression was grim. Cayleb raised an eyebrow as his tone registered, and Merlin grimaced.

“Your father obviously anticipated what Black Water might do. He's already heading to cut them off short of the strait.”