The Saints of the Sword (55 page)

“Sir? What is this?”

“This is a celebration, my friend,” said the admiral. There was a corkscrew on the crate that he used to open the bottle. “We have much to be thankful for tonight, and I don’t want this moment to pass without regard.” Nicabar sniffed at the vintage, smiling with pleasure. He poured a glass and handed it to Kasrin.

“Thank you,” said Kasrin awkwardly. He was getting nervous, and that familiar guilt began gnawing at him again. “Sir, shouldn’t the others be here, too?”

“No.” The admiral raised his glass. “A grand wine for a grand moment. Cheers.”

Kasrin clinked his glass against the admiral’s. They both drank. Then Nicabar placed his goblet on the crate and stared out over the sea. The warship’s wake was grey and blue and lit with starlight. He let out a heavy sigh. Finally, Nicabar said, “What I did to you was for your own good. I hope you know that.”

“I know,” lied Kasrin. “You don’t have to explain.”

Nicabar looked at him. “You were angry with me. But you came back, because you know I was right. I’m glad to have you back, Kasrin. There’s no one I’d rather be with tomorrow.”

“You honor me, sir. But there are others just as capable as I am.”

“You mean L’Rago? He is a fool. A good captain, but too ambitious. He does things to please me, like you used to do. Remember?”

Kasrin nodded. He remembered all too well.

“What we’re about to do tomorrow will change history,” said Nicabar. “You’ve given me a chance at my greatest dream; to bring Liss to its knees. Ah, they have haunted me for years.”

“I know,” said Kasrin. He was sad for Nicabar; such a keen mind shouldn’t rot as his had.

“And now they are in my hands. Once we have destroyed their soldiers and taken Karalon, we can attack their islands and pick off their cities one by one. I will send for more of my fleet. It will be glorious.”

“Yes, sir. Glorious …”

The two continued talking as they drank the bottle of wine. Kasrin listened to Nicabar’s tales for more than an hour, and found to his astonishment that he enjoyed the man’s company. But it didn’t matter.

In the morning, he would kill him.

At the first hint of sunrise, the
Dread Sovereign
led the
Fearless
toward the coast of Liss. Kasrin stood in his vessel’s forecastle, watching the land grow in his vision, sure that the waters would remain undisturbed. According to Jelena, there would be no schooners on the way to the strand; nothing at all to frighten Nicabar. As he surveyed the approaching terrain through his spyglass, Kasrin knew Jelena had kept her word. As far as he could see, not a single vessel came to challenge them. Relieved, Kasrin ordered the
Sovereign
ahead. He could see the estuary of the Serpent’s Strand through the lens. Beyond the estuary were high ridges, rising up on both sides. Kasrin chewed nervously on his lower lip. Somewhere in those hills, Jelena and her people were waiting for them.

“I hope that girl’s ready,” he said. He collapsed the spyglass and handed it to Laney. “Because here we come.”

“Ready or not, she’ll have her work cut out for her,” Laney observed. He glanced over his shoulder toward the
Fearless
. “Look. Nicabar has his guns ready.”

Kasrin didn’t bother to look. He had already noticed the flagship’s gleaming flame cannons poking out from her gun deck. They were positioned in the forward-most arc of fire, ready to strafe anything that might emerge from the Strand. But anything straight ahead of her was safe, for the
Fearless
didn’t have a bow cannon. Kasrin didn’t intend to get within her arc.

“Let’s try and stay a good distance from her,” said Kasrin. Laney agreed, watching with his captain as the
coast of Liss rose up to swallow them. The estuary was wide and muddy, spilling brackish water into a valley and feeding the Serpent’s Strand with high tide. The passage itself was surrounded by cliffs, great ledges of brown rock and unrecognizable foliage. As they slid into the waterway, the
Dread Sovereign
groaned as unseen debris scraped her hull. But the current was swift and sucked the
Sovereign
in. The
Fearless
came after her. Nicabar’s huge warship lumbered through the mouth without incident, sped on by the rushing water until she, too, was safely into the passage.

The world grew silent.

Kasrin looked up into the high cliffs. It seemed no man had come this way for decades, for the hills were pristine, without a single mark of human habitation. Birds nested in the ledges and multilimbed vines tumbled down to the water, dropping tendrils into the river like fishing lines. Lagoons and tiny inlets dotted the shores, the homes of egrets and swarming mosquitoes. The water was crystal clear, a perfect sky-blue that reflected the sunlight.

Not a bad place to die
, thought Kasrin.
Lucky Nicabar
.

A few moments later, when they had left the mouth behind, Kasrin called to Lieutenant Moonduck. The lieutenant had been standing ready at the prow of the ship. Next to him was a folded pile of crimson cloth, about the size of a bedsheet. Kasrin nodded to the lieutenant.

“We’re far enough,” said Kasrin. “Do it.”

Laney went ahead and helped Moonduck unfold the crimson flag. Together they dropped it off the prow of the
Sovereign
, working carefully so not to look suspicious. Kasrin glanced back toward the
Fearless
. He doubted that Nicabar was watching them, but he didn’t want to take any chances, so he ordered a group of nearby sailors to form a line around the prow, blocking the view. Moonduck and Laney continued to work, using lines to secure the makeshift flag. When they were done, they stepped back and inspected their handiwork.

Now the
Dread Sovereign
had a crimson nose, and only those ahead of them could see it. Kasrin hoped Jelena would remember their little signal.

• • •

Timrin waited on the east side of the Serpent’s Strand, perched on a high ledge overhanging the river. With him were two men, both servants of Jelena. Like Timrin, they had volunteered to watch the waterway. For the past several days the watch had gone in shifts. Occasionally, boats arrived from Karalon with fresh supplies and men to relieve them. But Timrin had stayed the entire time, and had set up a camp on the cliff. Despite the tedium, he was devoted to his duty. But he had yet to sight a single ship, much less anything that looked like a Naren dreadnought.

Below him, waiting at anchor, was the Lissen schooner
Enchantress
. She was a fast ship, stripped of all cargo and weaponry so she could speed back to Jelena at a moment’s notice. She was piloted by a good and dedicated commander named Darvik. Darvik shared Timrin’s skepticism of their mission. They both thought Jelena too trusting of Kasrin, and were convinced that her trap for the
Fearless
was pointless. The
Fearless
wasn’t coming.

But Timrin adored Jelena, and so had gladly taken on the chore of waiting for Kasrin. Today was like any other on the watch. Timrin busied himself whittling tent stakes while his comrade Gowon manned the spyglass. He was thinking about the
Dread Sovereign
when he heard Gowon’s shout.

“There! There she is!”

Timrin dropped his knife and dashed toward the edge of the cliff. Gowon had a spyglass to his eye and was pointing north, toward the mouth of the passage. Timrin squinted and saw something coming toward them.

“That’s it? You’re sure?”

“She’s flying crimson from her prow,” said Gowon. “That’s her, I’m sure of it!”

Timrin snatched up the spyglass. A ship appeared in the lens, very small and difficult to see. But its crimson prow was clear—as was the behemoth lumbering behind her.

“I don’t believe it,” Timrin muttered. “He actually came.”

Gowon jumped to his feet. “We have to warn the queen.”

Timrin dropped the spyglass and went to the edge of the cliff. Far below, he saw the
Enchantress
waiting.

“Hey there!” he called to the men on her deck. “Look alive! Here comes trouble!”

Queen Jelena studied the gun emplacements. She was on the east side of the river, and from her place among the rocks and bramble she could barely detect the cannons on the opposite cliff. Hidden behind leaves and camouflaged with branches, the cannons would be invisible from the river below.

Hopefully.

Jelena didn’t know how much punishment the
Fearless
could take. She only knew that she had done her best, and that she and her workers had exhausted themselves excavating the gun emplacements and sinking the rocks to construct the barrier. Just this morning she had measured the barricade; twelve feet, just as Kasrin had suggested. She supposed it would be enough to ground the
Fearless
but she didn’t know for certain, and that irritated her. More, she was growing agitated out in the wilderness. Timrin was gone, standing watch up the passage, and she had ignored the pleas of her other advisors to retreat to Karalon. Jelena didn’t care about her safety anymore. Now her every thought was of the
Fearless
.

It was nearly noon when one of her scouts sighted the
Enchantress
. The cry galvanized the men and women along the cliffs. Lieutenant Vin, whom she had put in command of the western batteries, looked at her from across the divide. He was young, like her, and suddenly seemed uncertain. Jelena tried to look confident.

“Make ready,” she cried. “They’re coming!”

Along both sides of the strand her crews scrambled to work, loading shot into cannons and deftly peeling back the camouflage. As Jelena had ordered, they removed only the heaviest branches, and left the cover on the north side
of the guns so that the approaching ships wouldn’t discover them. Jelena glanced up at the sky. It was a bright afternoon, and she worried that the sun might glint off their cannons, exposing them. She looked up the river to where the
Enchantress
was swiftly approaching, her sails full of wind. How far behind was the
Fearless
? she wondered. And what about Kasrin; was he with them?

Soon her twenty-four guns, a dozen on each side of the river, were ready. Crews stood by, awaiting her orders. Scouts along the cliffs studied the passage through spyglasses, watching for their quarry. Jelena gave her troops a final order.

“Don’t fire till she’s grounded,” she said. “Then we’ll blast her to pieces.”

On board the
Dread Sovereign
, Kasrin kept a careful watch on the hills. The Serpent’s Strand had already narrowed, and the river ahead was becoming a bottleneck. He had furled the sails so that the current provided by the tide let them drift lazily and without noise, and he could see the
Fearless
behind him doing the same. The big dreadnought still had her flame cannons ready, searching the hills for targets. Nicabar stood on her prow, swaying in the breeze, resplendent in his spotless uniform. Kasrin’s gaze lingered on him.

The world simply wouldn’t be the same without him. He wondered what L’Rago and the others would do without their commander. Maybe Gark would take command. Kasrin hoped so. Gark had always been a reasonable man.

“Blair,” interrupted Laney. “Look.”

The first officer pointed to the cliffs ahead, where they bulged out into the river. The current rippled strangely there, changing from a placid mirror to a pocked surface. Kasrin scanned the hills carefully. There was a lot of bramble, but no movement.

“Slow ahead,” he ordered softly.

The
Dread Sovereign
drifted toward the narrowing gorge. Kasrin held his breath, certain that Jelena was
somewhere in the hills. He wondered if Nicabar suspected anything, but the
Fearless
kept coming.

Then came a horrendous noise, a scratching like claws being dragged across their hull. The
Sovereign
shuddered, and for a moment it felt like she would ground. Kasrin held fast to the railing, his knuckles going white. The noise continued, tearing at the hull …

 … then was over. Kasrin let out his breath and looked at Laney. Together they caught the first glimpse of movement in the hills.

“Get ready to turn us broadside,” said Kasrin. “Here we go.”

Admiral Nicabar waited on the prow of the
Fearless
, puzzling over the
Dread Sovereign
. The smaller dreadnought had just gone through a rough patch of river, and Nicabar had seen her stern shudder. He’d also heard a noise. Blasco gave him a suspicious look. Together the veteran seamen tried to figure out what had happened. Now the
Sovereign
seemed to be sailing fine. A little voice inside the admiral spoke.

“Blasco,” he said softly, “all stop.”

“All stop!” cried the captain, waving his arms. The crewmen looked at him, confused. The
Fearless
was adrift on the current. Only lowering anchors could stop her. The men along the deck scurried to carry out their captain’s orders.

Nicabar glanced up into the hills. He saw something. A glint of metal. Movement.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered.

His mind raced for an explanation, and came up with only one.

“We’ve been duped,” he hissed. His fists came crashing down on the railing. “Kasrin!”

Blasco hurried over. “Sir, we won’t be able to stop in time.”

“No,” said Nicabar. “Belay that order. Hard to starboard.”

“Sir?”

“Do it!”

Blasco gave the order, and the giant warship slowly turned. Nicabar knew there wasn’t much time. He bit his lip as the
Fearless
gradually turned her starboard guns toward the
Dread Sovereign
.

“Come on, come on …”

A sudden jolt nearly pitched him overboard. Beneath them, something slammed into the hull. There was a gargantuan noise and the sound of ripping timber. Men spilled across the deck. Nicabar held onto the rail and saw Lissens in the cliffs.

“You treacherous snake,” he muttered. “Oh, Kasrin, I will kill you for this.”

Then he ordered the gunnery officers to take aim.

Kasrin watched as the
Fearless
dragged her hull against the unseen rocks, coming to an abrupt and noisy halt. The
Fearless
had run aground as planned, but Nicabar had discovered their plot. Now the dreadnought was beached sideways—with her starboard guns toward the
Sovereign
.