“You’re right that assuming the Harchongians got their sums right—of course, we are talking about Harchongians, so let’s not get carried away counting on that—this is everything we think they had at Talisman. And if that’s true, then we do have twenty-six galleons to their fifteen. Unfortunately, two of that fifteen are those bombardment ships of theirs, and another is one of their damned ironclads.”
“Yes, Sir. But one ship can only be in one place and engage one or two other ships at a time,” Hamptyn pointed out. “And if Admiral Raisahndo weighed anchor as soon as he indicated he intended to, he and the rest of the Squadron are already a full day out of Saram Bay headed this way.”
Rohsail nodded. Caitahno Raisahndo remained as stubbornly low born and uncultured as ever, and he was still far too soft when it came to disciplining common seamen, but much as it irked Rohsail to admit it, he had a good head on his shoulders otherwise. There was no doubt in his mind that Hamptyn was right and that Raisahndo was on his way with twenty-four additional galleons, three-quarters of them purpose-built ships. Pulling them out of Saram Bay posed a nontrivial risk if the Harchongians were right and only one of the ironclads had accompanied the force headed into Shwei Bay, but it would probably be survivable. According to the documents they’d salvaged from the wreck of HMS Turbulent when the heretic galleon was driven ashore on Martyn’s Point, Sharpfield could have no more than eight to ten additional galleons at Claw Island. He was unlikely to get too adventurous with such a small force, even if it did include one of the ironclads.
In theory, then, Raisahndo could safely join him and bring his force up to forty-nine galleons as opposed to the heretics’ fifteen, and three-to-one odds should prove crushing even if they did have one of their accursed ironclads in company. The problem would be bringing them to battle, since even now less than half his own ships had copper-sheathed bottoms. After so long at sea, those which hadn’t been coppered were sadly foul and at least twenty percent slower than the heretics’, all of whom had been coppered. There was a reason the handful of schooners the heretics had lost since retaking Claw Island had each fallen prey to one of his own copper-sheathed galleons and even then only in heavy, blowing weather where the larger Dohlaran ship had been able to carry more sail than the schooner.
“I wonder.…” he said slowly, tapping his lower lip with one index finger while he looked at the chart.
“Wonder what, Sir?” Hamptyn asked after he’d stood silent for over two minutes.
The admiral shook himself and snorted. It was a sign of how long Hamptyn had served as his flag captain that the other was willing to break in on his thoughts. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that the flag captain had learned to recognize when he was lost in his thoughts and needed to be recalled to the world about him.
“They’ve passed through the Shweimouth,” he said. “The question is where they’re headed.”
“The most reasonable target would be Yu-shai, Sir.”
“Perhaps. And I suppose it would make sense for them to secure an emergency anchorage at Talisman before their regular war galleons ventured into the Yu-shai Inlet and risked taking damage from the shore batteries. It would also explain the presence of the bombardment ships. But what if they had something else in mind?”
“There are a lot of potential targets around Shwei Bay—around both Shwei Bays,” Hamptyn said. “Yu-shai’s probably the richest one, though.”
“Only because it’s the collection point for everything passing through the Shweimouth and across the Gulf,” Rohsail pointed out. “If the heretics are serious about shutting down the entire western half of the Gulf, Yu-shai’s going to be about as useful as teats on a bull dragon.”
Hamptyn frowned. The Western Squadron’s job was to see to it that the heretics did nothing of the sort, and he was more than mildly surprised that Rohsail would mention the possibility so calmly, even to him.
On the other hand, there’s nobody here to hear him except me. And, come to think of it, he’s not saying the heretics are going to succeed; he’s only saying that’s what they seem to intend. Because if it is what they mean to accomplish, they’ll be choosing their coastal targets based on that outcome, won’t they?
“You’re thinking about what they did in the Bay of Alexov, aren’t you, Sir?” he said out loud.
“Yes,” Rohsail acknowledged. “What I’m really wondering about, though, is whether or not they know Admiral Hahlynd is on his way to Yu-shai?”
“How could they, Sir?” Hamptyn asked reasonably. “We’ve only known about Earl Thirsk’s plans for three five-days ourselves.”
“One thing we’ve learned the hard way is to never underestimate heretic spies,” Rohsail said grimly. “What I find … interesting about this is that if they do know about Admiral Hahlynd, and if they have the sheer gall to penetrate that deep, they’ve given themselves more than enough time to reach Ki-dau. For that matter, if they’re really ballsy—and Shan-wei knows, the heretics’ve never seemed especially short in that category!—they might actually have time to get as deep as Symarkhan before Admiral Hahlynd gets there.”
“Take galleons that far upriver, Sir?” Hamptyn rubbed his chin. “I suppose they might. And Admiral Raisahndo reported they have a half-dozen of their schooners along. They’re fitted to row, which would make them handy in a river under most circumstances. What sort of defenses does Symarkhan have? Could they put Marines ashore using just the schooners?”
“I don’t imagine Symarkhan is fortified at all.” Rohsail shrugged. “With so many potential targets so much closer to the coast, why would anyone in his right mind fortify a town almost two hundred miles inland? Fortunately, Raisahndo says the Harchongians sent messengers and semaphore messages off in all directions as soon as they spotted the heretics in the Shweimouth. What we need to do is to send off a few messages of our own.”
“Yes, Sir. What sort of messages did you have in mind?”
“I realize Raisahndo’s already at sea, but I want wyverns off to Captain Kharmahdy within the hour.” Hamptyn nodded; Captain Styvyn Kharmahdy commanded the batteries and shore facilities at Rhaigair on Saram Bay. “He’s to use the semaphore to pass a priority message to Earl Thirsk informing him of the heretics’ movements, warning him the Harchongians should expect the possibility of an attack on the canal head at Symarkhan, and urging Admiral Hahlynd—and the Canal Service—to expedite the ironclads’ movement as much as possible.”
“Yes, Sir,” Hamptyn replied.
It was a pity Defiant hadn’t been supplied with messenger wyverns that could have carried the warning directly to Yu-shai. Still, the semaphore system could transmit the message all the way from Saram Bay to Gorath around the northern shore of the Gulf of Dohlar in less than eight hours—in daylight and under normal weather conditions—and any order from Thirsk to Hahlynd would move along the semaphore stations which paralleled virtually every major canal behind the screw-galleys at the same speed.
“As soon as we’ve seen to that,” Rohsail continued, “I want all ships in company ready to weigh anchor within four hours. We’ll drop a boat with a message to Governor Cloud Shadow on our own way through the Shweimouth. He’s smart enough to move heaven and earth to prepare Symarkhan. We’ll just have to hope the local militia has enough artillery to at least hold those damned schooners at bay. If the heretics have to use their ironclad, just getting that beast up and down the river will buy us at least three or four more days to catch up with them.”
“Yes, Sir. I’ll see to it.”
“I know you will, Markys. And while we’re worrying about what the heretics may want to do to us, let’s not overlook the possibilities of what we may get a chance to do to them. They’ve got time to get there, as long as the wind doesn’t decide to screw them over. But if Admiral Hahlynd’s able to expedite his movement and get his ironclads into the river before they get to Symarkhan, they’ll make mincemeat out of their damned schooners. For that matter, they’ll kick the arses of the
ir regular galleons! And if we can turn up close enough on their heels and the wind lets us pin them against the coast somewhere.…”
Hamptyn nodded again, because his admiral was right about the potential opportunity. The flag captain didn’t like to think about how many Dohlaran galleons that single ironclad would smash before they managed to overwhelm it. In fact, it was more than possible that it would be able to cut its way through their entire squadron. But the conventional galleons with it wouldn’t, and the Royal Dohlaran Navy had a bone to pick with the heretics.
* * *
“North Shwei Point bears four points on the starboard bow, Sir,” Lieutenant Stahdmaiyr said, and Captain Kahrltyn Haigyl grunted in satisfaction.
“Thank you, Dahnyld.”
The captain stood beside HMS Dreadnought’s binnacle, rubbing the patch over his left eye socket with an index finger while he peered down at the illuminated compass card. Then he lifted his head, gazing up at his ship’s canvas.
Kahrltyn Haigyl was not the finest ship handler ever to serve in the Imperial Charisian Navy, and the truth was that he would have felt more confident—or happier, at least—threading his way through the Shweimouth Passage in daylight. The Harchongians had removed all of the Shweimouth buoys as soon as Earl Sharpfield’s light cruisers started raiding their shipping in the Gulf of Dohlar. Admittedly, the passage was seventy miles wide at its narrowest point, but the sky was covered in clouds, there was no moon, the deepwater channel was far narrower than that, he had no local pilot, and there was always the odd shoal, mudbank, or unbuoyed rock. Dreadnought’s armor wouldn’t do her very much good if he managed to poke a hole through her bottom.
Time was more important than caution, though. He’d reached Talisman Island considerably sooner than he’d expected, barely a five-day after Captain Ahbaht’s departure, to discover the message Ahbaht had left for him. In fact, Commander Makgrygair had sent the message out to him in a small boat before Dreadnought had fully entered Rahzhyr Bay, and Haigyl had turned back to the open Gulf within ten minutes of reading it.
He understood exactly what Ahbaht was up to, and Kahrltyn Haigyl always approved of taking the battle to the enemy, especially if it meant keeping those armored Dohlaran galleys out of the squadron’s hair. It couldn’t hurt to provide the dapper little Emeraldian with some additional support, though. And even if that hadn’t been true, Haigyl had no intention of allowing Ahbaht to have all the fun.
Still, he would have preferred daylight. Shot, shells, and cold steel he could deal with; rocks and shoals were something else entirely.
“Steady as she goes, Dahnyld,” he said calmly.
.III.
Aivahnstyn, Cliff Peak Province, Republic of Siddarmark, and Stahlberg, Earldom of Usher
The servant topped off Bishop Militant Cahnyr Kaitswyrth’s cup of tea and withdrew silently. The bishop militant raised the cup in both hands, holding it close enough to inhale the fragrant steam, and tried not to think about the rain pounding on the townhouse roof. He would have vastly preferred for it to be more snow and ice.
“Have you heard anything more from Vicar Allayn, Cahnyr?” Father Sedryk Zavyr asked from the other side of the breakfast table, and Kaitswyrth grimaced as he heard the worry in Zavyr’s tone. Obviously his intendant’s thoughts were following his own.
“Not since last Thursday,” he said, in less than cheery tones. There was no point dissembling with Zavyr. They’d been together for far too long—and thought far too much alike—for that. “I’d be a lot happier if we had heard something more, but let’s face it, from what he said in his last message, there’s not much more he can send us until the canals farther north thaw. And it sounds to me like somebody in Zion’s pushing for anything that becomes available to go to Wyrshym.”
He’d tried hard to keep any edge of complaint out of his voice, but he knew he’d failed, and Zavyr’s cheek muscles tightened. The upper-priest sympathized completely with him, yet his ultimate loyalty was to the Grand Inquisitor, and both of them knew who was behind the effort to divert resources from the Army of Glacierheart to the Army of the Sylmahn.
“In fairness,” Kaitswyrth made himself say, “Vicar Allayn points out that between the draft from the Army of Tanshar and Baron Wheatfields’ Jhurlahnkians and Usherites, he’s already sent us the next best thing to fifty-three thousand men and another sixty guns. He agrees it’s … unfortunate that he can’t send us any more artillery, but fifty-three thousand rifles are fifty-three thousand rifles when all’s said, Sedryk.”
“But if your estimate of the strength the heretics are amassing is accurate,” Zavyr began, “you don’t—”
“Given how hard it’s been to get any sort of hard count on the heretics, I’m afraid our estimate’s probably actually low,” Kaitswyrth said somberly. “And I strongly doubt Cayleb and Stohnar are finding it quite as hard to scrape up additional artillery for Symkyn.” He showed his teeth in a humorless grin. “They’ve damned sure made it one of their top priorities, though—I’ll promise you that! And with good reason, Shan-wei take them.” He shook his head. “I’m inclined to think that some of our superiors in Zion who haven’t personally experienced heretic artillery are underestimating the threat.”
“If they are, it’s not because I haven’t fully endorsed your reports.” Zavyr took a sip from his own teacup and grimaced. “I hate to say it, but I think you’re right about how … out of touch certain parties in Zion are, though.”
“At least the canals are finally beginning to thaw,” Kaitswyrth said in a determinedly more cheerful tone. “I could wish the entire Mighty Host wasn’t strung along the Holy Langhorne like beads on a string, given how much later the thaw comes farther north, but it is coming. And we can always hope the rain and mud will keep the heretics home in their nice, snug barracks until someone gets us enough reinforcements we’ll actually have a chance of holding our position.”
* * *
“I have that Canal Service report for you, My Lord,” Wynshyng Pahn, the Baron of Crystal Sky, said in a white puff of breath as he drew rein beside Lord of Horse Gwainmyn Yiangszhu, Baron Falling Rock.
“Am I going to want to hear it?” Baron Falling Rock asked him.
“Probably not,” Lord of Foot Crystal Sky admitted. “It’s still a solid block of ice north of Mhartynsberg.”
“You’re right. I didn’t want to hear that. Not that it comes as any great surprise.” Falling Rock smiled thinly and waved his off hand at the flurries of snowflakes eddying down out of a heavy pewter sky.
“At least we’ll be able to get you under a roof tonight, My Lord,” his senior brigade commander and second-in-command pointed out. “That’s something.”
“But the men in the ranks won’t be able to say the same thing.”
“No, I’m afraid they won’t,” Crystal Sky agreed.
It always surprised him just a bit when Falling Rock said something like that. The lord of horse was eighteen years older than Crystal Sky, and tough as an old boot. He was also a noble of the old school, who’d never been noted for his solicitude for the serfs bound to his substantial estates in Maddox. In fact, he’d obviously been a little dubious, initially, about having Crystal Sky under his command, given the younger baron’s reputation as a liberal who’d actually been known to suggest—hypothetically, of course—that a free peasantry might actually be preferable to serfs permanently and legally bound to the soil. Yet he’d embraced the effort to rearm and retrain the Mighty Host of God and the Archangels, and he clearly recognized that those “men in the ranks” were an essential component of the Jihad. In fact, Crystal Sky suspected he’d come to feel a responsibility for their welfare that went beyond keeping his weapon sharp, although he doubted Falling Rock would ever admit anything of the sort.
“I think we’ll at least get them bivouacked in time for them to cook a hot meal, tonight, Sir. And at least the canal’s thawing south of us. If the flooding doesn’t slow the rest of Host too badly, it should start catching
up with us within the next few five-days.”
“And I’ll be glad if that happens,” Falling Rock acknowledged. “But we’re still a long way from the Army of the Sylmahn, and the truth is, we’re not going to make it in time.”
Crystal Sky’s head snapped around more quickly than he’d intended, and his eyes had widened ever so slightly as he looked at his commander.
“There’s no point pretending differently, Wynshyng,” Falling Rock said heavily. “Oh, I’ll keep on pushing the pace. We are fighting in God’s name, so I’m not going to foreclose the possibility of a miracle. But short of that, the heretics are going to hit Bishop Militant Bahrnabai at least a solid month before we could reach him.”
“If that’s true, Sir—and I’m only surprised to hear you say it, not surprised that it probably is—won’t Vicar Allayn allow the Bishop Militant to fall back?”
“If it were up to Vicar Allayn, he’d already have fallen back,” Falling Rock said bluntly. “It’s not, and you and I both know it.” He held the younger man’s eyes until Crystal Sky nodded, then shrugged. “From a military perspective, it’s the wrong decision; from the perspective of the Jihad, it may be the right one. If nothing else, the time it takes the heretics to deal with him will be that much more time for the Host to move up the canal to meet them head on. And given the Bishop Militant’s supply situation, he’s probably too short on rations and draft animals to get more than a tithe of his army out at this point, anyway.”
Crystal Sky’s nostrils flared, but then, slowly, he nodded again.
“Oh, don’t look so down in the mouth, Wynshyng!” Falling Rock reached across and punched the lord of foot gently on the shoulder in an unusual gesture of affection. “God never promised us it would be easy, and if Shan-wei wasn’t loose in the world and doing everything in her power to help the heretics, there’d never have been a Jihad in the first place. And however much it may hurt to think about losing it, Bishop Militant Bahrnabai’s entire army’s barely a tenth the strength of the Host and Earl Rainbow Waters will have every man and gun we’ve got coming up this canal behind us. Whatever happens to the Army of the Sylmahn, the heretics will have us to deal with long before they get to the Border States’ frontier, and we’ll have the entire summer to show them that not even Shan-wei can save them from the wrath of God.”