Ravens Shadow 02 - Tower Lord (70 page)

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.

“They don’t come with mercy!” the Shield yelled, standing at the rail with his sabre held aloft. “Don’t show them any!”

The crew responded with snarling assent as they followed him across the planks, sabres and spears raised high, the sight of the ensuing battle lost to the smoke now billowing about the Volarian deck.

“Um, Highness?” Lyrna turned to see Murel standing at the starboard rail and beyond her a very large Volarian ship ploughing directly towards them.

“Reload the engines!” She went to the starboard mangonel, working the lever as fast as she could, casting glances at the approaching monster.
A few fireballs won’t stop this one.

“Murel!” she shouted. “Get the pitch!”

The lady didn’t respond, still staring out to sea, but not at the Volarian ship, at something moving towards it at great speed, its fin leaving a wake like a streak of white fire.

The shark rose from the sea, tail whipping and jaws agape, falling onto the Volarian deck in an explosion of splintered wood. It thrashed, scattering men and rigging like chaff, bodies and wreckage cast into the air, some men leaping into the sea in terror. The Volarian ship listed under the weight of the shark, the upper deck collapsing as she keeled over and the sea washed across her hull. Dozens of men thrashed in the water, the sea roiling as the great ship sank into the depths, then turning red as the shark’s head rose amongst the survivors, jaws snapping. Within a few seconds they were gone, the only sign of their ship a few splintered planks and barrels bobbing on the swell.

Very good,
Lyrna thought, catching sight of the shark’s red stripes beneath the waves.
Do it again.

◆ ◆ ◆

By the onset of evening what remained of the Volarian fleet clustered together for protection like bison facing a wolf pack as the Meldeneans circled, casting forth an unending rain of fireballs. Occasionally a Volarian captain would try to strike out at the tormentors, but the sight of the shark was usually enough to turn them back. Three times it had leapt from the sea to destroy any ship coming close to the
Sea Sabre
, spreading terror amongst the Volarian fleet and sapping their crews’ courage with every shattered hull and blood slick. After the destruction of the third ship, a huge troop carrier which had gone down accompanied by the screams of the hundreds of men trapped belowdecks, many Volarian vessels had simply turned about and sailed off towards the east with every sail hoisted. By the time the sun began to wane Lyrna counted only some two hundred ships bunched together as the fireballs fell. The pirates’ skill and the shark had tipped the balance, but at a cost. She estimated at least half the Meldenean fleet was gone, numerous vessels adrift on the surrounding sea, their decks thick with corpses.

The last Volarian ships attempted to break out as night descended, the flaming hulls of their sisters robbing them of concealment as the Meldeneans closed for the kill. She saw a troop ship assailed by three pirate vessels at once, the crews swarming aboard with spear and sabre, sounds of battle soon replaced by screams of slaughter and torment. By midnight it was over, the Shield ordering sails trimmed and a south-easterly course set.

“We still have five hundred more to sink,” he said. “You’d best rest, Highness.”

He had given her his cabin to share with her ladies. They were both already abed, lying fully clothed side by side, hands dark with dried blood after hours spent tending the wounded. Lyrna settled next to Orena, provoking a fearful whimper. She began to stir but relaxed as Lyrna stroked a hand over her hair. “Shhh, all over now.”

Lyrna relaxed into the bed, bone-weary and hoping sleep would come soon, but knowing it was likely to elude her for some hours. She had seen too much today, the wondrous and the terrible, all crowding into her mind and making her long for the ability to forget. But when her memory brought forth a vision it was not of battle or screaming men snapped in half by a shark’s maw, it was an old man on a bed . . .
so old, so sunken into age and regret, barely recognisable as her father, barely believable as a king.

She looked down at her hands and found they held no scroll . . .
It’s different.
Her hands went to her face, finding the burns, the fingers tracing over a scalp of stubble and ruined flesh.

“You are not my daughter,” said the old man on the bed. “She was beautiful.”

“Yes,” Lyrna replied. “She was.”

He coughed, a trickle of blood appearing in the corner of his mouth, his voice weak, pleading. “Where did she go? I have things to say to her.”

“She went to speak with the Alpiran ambassador.” Lyrna moved to sit on the edge of the bed, taking the old man’s hand. “But she did give me a message.”

His tired but still-shrewd eyes narrowed. “I trust it’s an apology. I’ll not have a lifetime’s planning ruined by her weakness now.”

Lyrna laughed, realising she still missed this dreadful old schemer. “Yes, an apology. She said she was sorry for beating you at Keschet all those years ago. But she was too young to realise how galling it would be.”

“Hah.” He grunted, pulling his hands from hers. “Every chance taken for a jibe. Her mother was the same. Took the board away for her protection. Couldn’t have it known she was so . . . special. But that day I knew I had an heir.”

Lyrna felt a tear trace down her cheek, smiling at the old man’s scowl. “She didn’t do what you ordered. You must know that. She agreed to the Emperor’s terms and Malcius returned to take the throne. Your grand design was all for nothing.”

“And is he a good king?”

Lyrna stifled a sob. “He’s dead, father. He was killed before my eyes, with his queen and his children. Your wish is finally fulfilled, I am queen now, and I rule a land of ruin and death.”

His scowl transformed into a wry grimace, a bony hand coming up to lift her chin. “After the Red Hand it was all ruin and death too. But it rose again, because I made it. Grabbed it and dragged it to its feet in the space of a generation.”

“The people may not accept me as I am . . .”

“Then make them.”

“Our enemies are many . . .”

“Then kill them.”

Lyrna felt a sudden chill on her scalp, turning to find the windows open, drapery tumbling in wind and rain. She turned back to the old man, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I wish you had been a better man, Father.”

“A better man would have left no realm for you to inherit, ruined or not.” He smiled at her as the wind built, filling the room, the air cold enough to make her gasp . . .

She woke to find Orena and Murel battling to close the shutter on the window in the face of gale-driven rain, a dim lamp jerking about on the ceiling above. “Sorry, Highness,” Orena said, forcing the shutter in place. “We’d hoped not to wake you.”

Lyrna rose to be sent sprawling against the bulkhead by the pitching deck. “A storm?”

“It started about an hour ago,” Murel said, hunching her shoulders as a thunderclap reverberated through the ship, wincing in fear. “After today I thought I’d never be afraid again. Now this.”

Lyrna put a comforting arm about her shoulders and they sat on the bed, the howl and crash of the storm banishing all chance of sleep. “The crew think you’re touched by their gods, Highness,” Murel whispered. “Calling the shark from the depths. Odonor’s Hand they call you.”