You wonder at finding me here? she asks him, bored with the contest. Why am I not in New Kethia raising an army? She notices how Lieza flinches and realises she has spoken aloud. Judging by the rigidity of the slave girl’s posture this is not the first time she has heard her Empress address a question to thin air.
His answer is faint, though more controlled than before; he has grown accustomed to taking command of his dreams. There is still time. I will wait for you.
Touching, beloved, but unnecessary. That bitch you bow to was clever, sending you in advance of her mighty fleet. Not so mighty now, I’m afraid. Just driftwood and corpses.
His thoughts shift, from uncertainty to denial, though she knows he senses the truth in her thoughts.
How do you find Viratesk? she continues, taking satisfaction from the resultant surge of alarm. Your scouts were careful but we saw them. The townspeople didn’t want to leave so I let them stay. You did think to check the sewers didn’t you?
He came awake with a shout, his hand reaching for the sword propped against the bed, finding nothing. His eyes scanned the darkness, seeing only shadows. He felt Lemera’s weight in the bed next to him, her visits a nightly ritual now, though they never did more than lie together. He nudged her gently, ready to clamp a hand over her mouth as she woke, pausing at the familiar chill to her skin. Her eyes were half-open, the lips drawn back from bared teeth in an agonised grimace. A single, neat cut stretched the width of her throat.
“You are a disappointment.”
Frentis tumbled free of the bed as a figure stepped from the shadows, a young man with the build common to the Kuritai, though he wore red armour and a mocking grin. Behind him two more resolved out of the darkness, one holding his sword. The grinning man’s hands blurred and something looped around Frentis’s neck, drawing tight to steal his breath before dragging him to the floor. Something fast and hard slammed into his stomach, doubling him over, the coil around his neck tightening ever further as his vision dimmed, the grinning man’s words following him into the blackness. “She promised us a challenge in you.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Lyrna
“The Thief’s Snare,” Lyrna said, surprised at the reflective calm she heard in her voice.
“Highness?” Murel looked at her from where she was attempting to keep the shutter on the porthole in place despite the gale hammering at it like an unseen monster seeking entry.
“A rare feature of the long game,” Lyrna said. “Any piece taken by the Thief can be used by the opposing player. The snare involves sacrificing both pieces only a few moves later, giving the illusion of weakness in the centre of the board. A stratagem to be employed by only the most skilled players.” And I am an arrogant fool, she added silently.
It had begun a full two hours ago, descending in a shrieking black tide as she stood watching Lady Reva’s thirty ships approach the dim shoreline. Within minutes the world beyond the Queen Lyrna had disappeared and Iltis was dragging her towards the cabin as sailors frantically sought to secure the rigging. She caught sight of Brother Verin, standing in frozen panic on the bustling deck and gestured for Benten to pull him along.
“This storm is not natural,” she said, turning to the brother as Iltis slammed the door on the fury outside. “Is it?”
“Highness, I…” The young brother shook his head, bafflement and shock dominating his features. “Some are known to have the power to turn the wind, but this…” He blanched at her obvious consternation, stammering as he forced himself to continue. “There was … something, as the ships neared the shore.”
“What something?”
“It was faint but I felt it. A … burning you might say. It’s commonly felt when another Gifted dies, as if all their power has blossomed at once.”
She moved away from him, sitting on her bunk, lost in the enormity of her blunder. I killed Arklev too soon. Though I doubt he knew his true role. She gave herself over to contemplation as the ship pitched and groaned around her, there being little else to do. The Thief’s Snare leads to victory in no more than ten additional moves provided the player exploits the opportunity with a swift attack on the opposing Emperor.
“Lerhnah?”
She looked up to find Davoka standing over her, features softened in concern. Beyond her Murel stood back from the porthole, now open to reveal a sunlit sky. From the height of the sun she judged she had been sitting in silent meditation for some hours. “I need to speak to the captain.”
The day?to?day command of the Queen Lyrna had been given over to a Nilsaelin named Devish Larhten, a lanky veteran of the trade routes to the Northern Reaches who had also commanded a warship in her father’s fleet during the Alpiran war. She found him at the mainmast overseeing repairs to a patch of deck shattered by a falling block. Fortunately it seemed to be the only major damage they had suffered.
“Highness,” he greeted her, glancing up as she strode towards him, clearly preoccupied with his task.
“Captain, turn this ship south and make ready for battle.” She cast her gaze at the surrounding ocean, finding only four other ships within view and the shoreline no longer in sight. Scattered and ripe for harvest, she thought, suppressing a wave of self-reproach. Indulge your guilt later. “And signal those ships to close with us.”
“All in good time, Highness. We have much to…”
“Do it now!” she snapped. “The Volarian fleet is currently north of us and I have little doubt we’ll see them within the hour.”
Larhten’s gaze flicked momentarily to Iltis, who had taken a purposeful step forward. “At once, Highness,” he said before moving away and voicing a torrent of orders.
“Find Lady Alornis,” Lyrna told Murel. “She is to ensure her engines are in working order. Lord Benten, please tell Lord Marshal Nortah to ready his regiment for battle.”
Captain Larhten advised that they tack to the west for a time, bargaining they would find more Realm vessels farther from the coast. By midafternoon they had gathered another forty ships, a few missing masts and rigging but all able to make headway. Predictably, the Meldenean ships displayed the least damage and she was heartened to find the Red Falcon among them, Ship Lord Ell-Nurin waving from her bow as she came alongside. Only she and the Queen Lyrna had so far been equipped with Alornis’s fire-spewing engine, upon which she now rested a great deal of expectation.
“We could head back to shore, Highness,” the captain suggested as Lyrna stood at the rail, her eyes fixed on the northern horizon. “Pick up a few more strays on the way.”
She surveyed her fleet, finding two of the great troop-ships present as well as a good number of Meldeneans. “No,” she said. “Drop anchor and pile one of the boats with all the rags and wood you can spare, douse it with pitch to make sure it smokes, and set it ablaze. Signal the other ships to do the same.”
This time he knew better than to linger and the boat was swiftly set adrift, casting a tall, twisting pillar of black smoke into the sky, soon joined by dozens more as the other ships followed suit. “Quite the beacon, Highness,” Larhten complimented her with a bow.
“Thank you.” She returned her gaze to the north. Though it’s like to draw as many enemies as friends.
The Volarians appeared as the sun began to fade, at least a hundred masts cresting the northern horizon with more appearing by the second. Lyrna’s beacon had gathered over thirty more strays as they waited at anchor but she knew any further delay would prove fatal.
“Raise all sails, Captain,” she told Larhten. “And signal the Red Falcon to remain at our starboard side. The other ships are to follow us.”
Larhten gave a sombre nod, eyeing the Volarian fleet with well-justified but controlled trepidation. “The course, Highness?”
She gave a laugh as she moved away, making for the bow, “Towards the enemy, good sir. With all possible haste.”
She found Alornis busily checking her engine, her hands moving with a speed and deftness that seemed almost unnatural. “Any
damage, my lady?”
“Had to drain water from the pipes. And the fittings require a slight realignment.” Alornis hefted a mallet and began hammering at a copper tube on the engine’s underside. “But she’ll work, Highness.”
“Good. Take yourself below. Lords Iltis and Benten will see to the engine.”
Alornis didn’t even glance up, continuing to hammer away as the Volarians drew ever nearer. Lyrna sighed and turned to Murel. “There’s another mail shirt in my cabin. Please fetch it for Lady Alornis.” She drew Davoka aside, speaking softly in Lonak, “No harm is to come to her, sister. Promise me.”
“My place is by you.”
“Not today.” She gripped the Lonak woman’s arm. “She is your sister today. Promise me.”
“You fear her brother’s wrath so?”
Lyrna lowered her gaze. “You know it’s not his wrath I fear.”
Davoka gave a reluctant nod, taking the mail shirt from Murel and striding towards Alornis. “Put this on, little one.”
Lyrna joined Lord Nortah arranging a fighting party on the deck, fifty of his best fighters equipped with broad wooden panels for shielding against arrows. “My lord, I should like to address your troops.”
He bowed and issued a curt order, the company snapping to attention with a uniform stamp of boots. She scanned their faces, gratified by their lack of fear and the devotion that continued to colour every gaze. “I said once I wouldn’t lie to you,” she told them. “And I won’t. We face a hard fight because I have made a grievous error. But I also tell you no lie when I say that this battle can be won, if you will stand with me.”
The instant shout of acclaim was enough to convince her further words were unnecessary. “Spare no enemy,” she told Nortah. “Every Volarian that sets foot on this deck must be killed before he can take another step.”
Unlike his soldiers, Lord Nortah’s agreement was softly spoken, his expression the same cautious frown he always wore in her presence. “I’ll see to it, Highness.”
She returned to the bow, taking a position on the raised platform just behind Alornis and the engine. Benten and Iltis were close on both sides of her whilst Murel stood behind, dagger in hand. Davoka crouched at the side of the engine, spear held low in readiness.
“I should fetch some shielding, Highness,” Iltis said. “Their arrows were many at the Teeth if you recall.”
“I recall very well, my lord. But that won’t be necessary.”
Lyrna watched the Volarian ships come ever closer, the leading vessel closing to a range of about five hundred yards. She glanced towards starboard, taking satisfaction from the sight of the Red Falcon alongside, a man standing ready at their own engine. She could only hope he had been properly taught how to use it. A glance towards the stern confirmed the other ships in their small fleet were following in an orderly narrow line, every deck crowded with soldiers and pirates.
The port-side ballista began to clatter as the Volarian ships closed, casting its bolts at the rigging of a small but swift warship tacking into their path. At first the arcing fountain of projectiles seemed to have no effect but they were soon rewarded by the sight of a figure tumbling from the warship’s mast to land heavily on the deck, raising an instant cheer from the ballista crew. Soon, however, the Volarian archers were able to bring their own weapons into play, a shower of arrows thumping into the Queen Lyrna from end to end. Lyrna watched a shaft smack into the planking an arm’s length away but managed to control an instinctive flinch. Fear is a luxury today. They need to see a queen.
The port ballista continued to clatter, the crewman winding the mechanism whooping with excitement at the effect on the Volarian vessel, his first bolt striking with sufficient force to pin a man to the deck. A dozen or more close-packed Free Swords fell as the archers in the Queen Lyrna’s rigging soon joined in, wreaking havoc on the warship as it veered away, littered with corpses.
A whooshing roar dragged Lyrna’s attention back to the bow where she was greeted with the sight of Alornis raising the engine to its full elevation, a stream of fire arcing towards the oncoming Volarian ship. It was one of their troop-ships, only slightly smaller than the Queen Lyrna, the archers in her rigging assailing them with a cloud of arrows as they closed at ramming speed. At first Alornis’s fire-stream fell into the sea, raising enough steam to momentarily obscure the oncoming ship. However, when it cleared, they were rewarded with the sight of a blaze covering her bow from sea to rail. The Volarian ship seemed to shudder, her course altering abruptly like a wounded boar shying from a spear-point.
Alornis turned a fierce glower on the two soldiers working the bellows. “Pump harder! I need more pressure!”
She realigned the engine as the Volarian vessel wallowed in their path, unleashing another torrent of flame that licked along her side before ascending to sweep the deck, igniting men and rigging alike without distinction. Flaming bodies began to leap from the ship, a chorus of screams reaching them through the thickening smoke along with the stench of burning flesh. Alornis faltered then, her hand falling from the spigot, the flames dying, a pale stillness seizing her features.
Lyrna moved quickly to her side, placing a hand on her shoulder and turning her. “A burden not to be shirked, my lady,” she said, taking her hand and placing it firmly back on the spigot. “To your duty, if you would.”
An arrow came arcing down to smack into the engine, its steel head shattering on the iron fittings as it spun away. Alornis barely seemed to notice, her pale face still frozen as she nodded and returned to her task, altering the angle of the engine to cast flame at the Volarian’s sails. Lyrna could see men running around the ship, buckets in hand as they fought flames that wouldn’t die. Soon her rigging was ablaze and her crew began to abandon ship with a frenzied alacrity, men trailing flames as they tumbled into the sea by the dozen.
Lyrna cast about for another victim, spying a fast-moving warship some two hundred paces off the port bow. “Tell the captain to make for that one,” she said to Murel before turning back to Alornis. “My lady, I believe your engine requires more fuel.”
By evening they had burned their way through the centre of the Volarian line, dividing their fleet in two and sowing chaos and panic in every sailor and Free Sword to witness the spectacle of a dozen warships blazing in the gathering dark. But the battle didn’t end. Although their cohesion had been lost, the Volarians fought on, ships mounting lone, often suicidal attacks, soon left burning in their wake or stormed by the Meldeneans. Only one came close enough to mount an assault on the Queen Lyrna. Her helmsman displayed considerable skill by swinging her around just beyond the range of Alornis’s device, then hauling the tiller to slam into the Queen Lyrna’s starboard side, her complement of Varitai heaving ladders into place and storming across despite appalling losses inflicted by the ballista and the archers above.
Lord Nortah’s company met them head?on before they had seized more than a few feet of the deck, attacking with a disciplined ferocity that did great credit to their months of training. The Lord Marshal himself hacked his way through the Varitai’s ranks, breaking their formation apart, fighting with an unconscious skill and precision Lyrna hadn’t seen since her days with Brother Sollis. His war-cat fought at his side, reaping death with every swipe of its claws. With the Varitai all hacked down or forced over the side, Nortah rallied his soldiers into a tight wedge and led them onto the Volarian ship, overcoming the remaining crew as they mounted a desperate stand around the mainmast. A few had evidently attempted to surrender judging by the number of unarmed men Lyrna saw cast into the sea.
“Highness!” A sailor came running from the helm, pointing to port. “Captain Larhten begs to report more ships to the west.”
Lyrna peered into the gathering dusk, making out the faint lines of tall masts. The dark brings scant relief, it seems. She looked to the east where the Red Falcon could be seen, fire spouting from her prow to engulf a Volarian troop-ship. Beyond her more Meldenean vessels were assaulting th
e remaining enemy line, the sky alight with a continual cascade of flaming balls as the mangonels did their deadly work.
“Tell the captain to turn west,” she told the sailor. “And signal the Realm vessels to follow us. Our allies have this matter in hand.”
Unfortunately, it was clear an unseen hand still exercised some form of command over the Volarian fleet, and felt no desire to allow her to confront the latest threat. A squadron of ten vessels separated from the central cluster of ships to plough towards them at full sail. The wind was in their favour and they managed to place themselves directly in the Queen Lyrna’s path, heaving about to face them, arrows and ballista bolts filling the air between them as they closed. Lyrna clasped her hands together and stood still as the air buzzed about her, a bolt flicking through her hair just below the ear. Iltis moved his bulky frame in front of her, holding his arm in front of his face as if shielding himself from a rain shower, grunting as an arrow grazed his forearm.
Lyrna turned a questioning gaze to Alornis as she finished refuelling the engine. “The last of the oil, Highness,” she reported, her voice as devoid of expression as her face.
“Don’t spare it, my lady,” Lyrna advised. “A blazing ship makes a bigger impression than a scorched one.”
The first Volarian ship to come into range was of considerably smaller draught than the Queen Lyrna and Alornis was obliged to depress the spout of her engine as she swept by, liberally dousing her in flame from bow to stern, heralding the now-familiar chorus of screams. Alornis managed another fulsome blast at the next ship, a considerably larger troop-ship well supplied with ballistae and archers. The stream of fire managed to sweep many from the rigging but not before they had killed a dozen or more Realm Guard and the crew manning the port ballista.