She turned to the man behind her. “Ciellō, I spent half a year with the Free States Raiders in Oromondo. The commander and I … grew close. Together Commander Thalen and I burned Femturan to the ground; that is actually how I sustained the injuries that brought me to Salubriton.” She had been holding her cloak closed against the wind with her hands about chest-high; she let go of the fabric and interlaced her fingers together. “A few days ago, at Harvest Fest, we were reunited.”
Almost overcome with gratitude to this man who had saved Cerúlia, Thalen moved forward to clasp his hand, but the Zellishman gave him a stiff but respectful half bow, so he followed in kind.
“Sir,” said Thalen, “I—we—are forever in your debt.”
“I didn’t save the queen for you,” said Ciellō.
“Of course not,” said Thalen, drawing back half a step in bewilderment. “But I can be grateful just the same.”
An uncomfortable silence fell. The bodyguard inclined his head in Thalen’s direction.
“Well, Commander,” said the queen, with a dismissive wave of her hand, “let’s put General Yurgn’s cursed family aside and consider our current quandary: the defense of the city.”
She led Thalen to a plank of wood held up between two supports near the cliff edge. On it, weighted down with stones against the wind, sat a map of Cascada Harbor and the city.
Thalen shoved other worries to the side and turned his full attention to studying the map. Then he walked around the lighthouse as far as the path would take him to the south, surveying the harbor itself. He wheeled around and followed the path as far as it led to the north; then, he returned to the map table where Cerúlia stood, her shoulders hunched against the wind, her face tense with worry.
“As you’ve undoubtedly figured out, Your Majesty, you have an open harbor, with no defensive fortifications. Much too late to miss them now. And what are your plans?”
“I have summoned all the whales in the Bay of Cinda. Like birds, whales don’t count, but as far as I can tell about thirty are swimming toward us now. However, most are smaller pilots, incapable of sinking a full-size ship. I believe I only have six blue whales and eight humpbacks. And three of those are juveniles, so their fighting power might be limited. In fact, their mothers will insist the calves stay out of the fray.”
“Will they obey you?”
“I’m not certain. Today, the ones nearby”—she pointed out into the sea—“are more interested in singing different songs and new verses to me, but I hope that tomorrow they’ll settle down to business.”
“And you will have the whales…?”
“Ram, strike with their tails, breach from underneath—anything they can do to stave in or upend the Pellish ships.”
“Where will they accost them?”
Cerúlia pointed to an area outside of the harbor, deep enough for the biggest blue whale. “Once the invaders are inside the harbor area where we have some shoals, the whales would find it tricky to maneuver or build up speed.”
Thalen picked up a quill and drew an oblong in the waters of the map. “This will be your first line of defense—the line of whales. Don’t spend all your forces at once; keep a number in reserve for the battle’s twists and turns.
“So, say they succeed in sinking some of the ships,” Thalen thought aloud. “The Pellish sailors might be able to manage, but the Oros—especially if they don’t get their breastplates off—they’ll drown. Oros don’t swim.”
Cerúlia nodded. “The pilot whales are supposed to tip over any small boats carrying enemies. Our second major line of defense will be the ships that Seamaster Wilamara is readying. She is making a cordon of all the ships currently docked; we don’t have very many, and most are just fishing boats. But we do have one war galley, Queen Carra, and Wilamara will put her most experienced seamaster, a veteran from the Green Isles, in command.”
“Where will the cordon be?” Thalen asked.
Cerúlia drew a line on the map. “She’s been keeping me up-to-date on which ship she plans to place where, but I don’t understand the advantages or disadvantages. You’ll confer with her?”
“If you like. And her ships will have archers?”
“Yes. With fire arrows.”
“Right.” Thalen nodded. “So let’s think this through. Surely, the armada will send its warships first to shatter our defenses and keep its troop carriers in reserve. So if attackers escape the whales and others bull through the seamaster’s cordon—then what?”
“Then they will dock in the harbor, and we will have to fight them on the quay. I’ve called in the Ice Pikemen and the Catamount Cavalry.”
Thalen walked back to the harbor overlook again, and Wareth, who had been standing idly about nearby, joined him, pointing at the layout of the quay.
“They’d run into each other; it would be a fuckin’ mess,” Wareth said.
“Of course. I see it too.” In a louder voice, he said to the queen, “No cavalry on the quay.”
Thalen returned to the map table. “Besides, were I your enemy, once I saw that the harbor had a flotilla guarding it, I would flank it. I would send ships to dock north and south and march my troops in overland. Are you absolutely certain they haven’t done so already?”
“The birds have reported no landings as of yet,” said Cerúlia, “but I didn’t think that they might try this once the battle starts.”
“So, I would station your cavalry here and here, to protect your flanks,” Thalen marked on the map, “depending upon where on the coastline the devils can pull close to shore. Can we get good information from locals who know about all possible landing sites?”
“I’m sure we can. And I can post birds to watch the coastline.”
“Archery is going to be key here,” Thalen said, studying the map. “Fortunately, we’ll have plenty of high positions with cover and clean sight lines in the buildings that surround the harbor.”
Cerúlia rested her hand on his forearm. Her touch was more than casual, but less than a caress.
“Do we have a chance?” she asked.
“You haven’t told me: When will the fleet arrive?”
“Tomorrow. Midmorning is what we calculate.”
Thalen repressed a wince at the time frame, but answered her truthfully. “Time is not on our side. But several things have already broken in our favor. Your enemies expect you to be dead; they hoped to catch us unawares; and they know nothing about your whales. So, yes, we have a chance.”
“Thalen, will you assume command of my forces? I don’t know my Weir officers, but even if I did, I’d rather entrust this to you.”
Thalen wanted to object that he’d never commanded more than two dozen men (well, except for the Battle of Jutterdam—did that count?) and that he was a foreigner in her land. Why would her people follow him? But he could not deny that he had developed a talent for strategy. And he had the queen’s trust. Besides, he had learned not to protest when responsibilities were thrust at him.
He sank down on one knee. “Your Majesty, I am yours to command.”
Cerúlia looked around to all the retainers on the cliffside. “Commander Thalen is in charge. Pass the word that this is my direct order.”
“Your Majesty, he should have an escort of flag bearers,” called Shield Pontole from his position guarding the trailhead. “Then everyone will know who he is, see, and also it’s easier for messengers to spot him.”
“Thank you, Shield. You will see that this happens right away.”
“May I requisition Fedak and Wareth from this cliff top?” Thalen asked Cerúlia. “I’ll have need of them.”
“Yes. With Ciellō and the dogs, I am as safe as I need to be. I will stay here; though it is a climb to send me messages, I find it easier to confer with the whales and the birds from this vantage.”
“You’ll stay here all night?” Thalen asked.
“Kiltti made me a pallet in the lighthouse last night. I slept a little. Tonight I will sleep”—she shrugged—�
�as much as I can sleep. I have slept rough before.”
Thalen smiled at her reference to their past.
“One more order, Raider Wareth and Commander Thalen. Get your wounds”—their grimy bandages apparently had not escaped her notice—“looked at by a healer before you do anything else. You’re no good to Cascada if you fever. Food and sleep too, as soon as you can.
“Not that I care about you two; no, not at all.” Her lips formed a teasing smile, and light crept back into her eyes. “But because your judgment will be impaired if you don’t.”
“Of course.” Thalen whirled around. “With your permission…” He was already in motion, already planning the agenda of his conference with the seamasters and the captains of the cavalry and pikemen. Already desperately wishing he had Kran by his side to supervise the building of barricades, and Captain Yanath’s advice.
As he hurried down the slope toward their weapons and horses, flanked by Wareth and Fedak, Thalen realized that he’d neither kissed her nor said goodbye. He paused, wanting to run back, and then redoubled his pace downhill. Focusing on the battle ahead was the best way to contribute to her safety.
And if he was the one to perish?
Well, at least he had known love.
52
The massive Pellish fleet with its black sails approached the perfect half moon of Cascada Harbor on a chill day in autumn. The wind stretched their sheets taut, and with the tide also in their favor, the ships flew forward. Those observers perched on SeaWidow Cliff spotted the tops of the first masts in early morning, and as they kept watching, mouths agape, more and more sails rose above the horizon, arrayed in a chevron.
Since this was the first time ever that an enemy fleet had threatened this peaceful harbor, the scene would have made a stirring composition for one of Stahlia’s tapestries, if she had been standing on SeaWidow Cliff to sketch it. She was not there. Although she and Percia had refused to flee the capital (no matter how much Marcot implored them), they also had no place amongst the combatants. With great reluctance, Marcot left them in West Cottage, with only Lemle as an inadequate guardian. Stahlia occupied herself by working on “Cerúlia and the Catamounts” while singing “The Lay of Queen Callindra”; Lemle set aside his late uncle’s sword and joined Percia in starting to prepare a celebratory feast, hoping that their confidence would demonstrate to Nargis how much they trusted the Spirit to shelter the realm.
* * *
On Pexlia’s Passion, a troop ship, General Sumroth finished one more letter to Zea and tucked it into the chest in his cabin. This long voyage had kept him away from her for too long: in order to maintain secrecy and to stop for water and provisions at less-populated ports, they had sailed around the west side of the continent and up the Ribbon, thus totally bypassing the Free States and the Green Isles.
The general strode on deck to watch the shore of Weirandale as the ships neared. With his spyglass Sumroth could see the Ice held aloft by the Nargis Fountain. But Oro Protectors would not be deterred by a pretty piece of frozen water.
Admiral Hixario had determined the order of attack. The six war galleys, each with sixty oars on a side, would strike first to establish a beachhead. Hixario spoke glowingly about the fighting skills of his oarsmen; these were freemen, well paid with Oro gold. The fleet also used galley slaves to row, but since slaves could not be counted on in a battle, they kept these in the cargo and troop transport ships in the rear, closely supervised by guards.
The Pellish admiral, a veteran of the War for the Green Isles, had high hopes for the new weapons mounted on the front of his galleys—weapons not available during the contest against the Allies more than a decade earlier. The “striker” resembled an enormous crossbow; when cranked to tension it sent a spear-like missile with such force that its steel-tipped point could punch through a hull. The Pellish also had a slingshot device designed by Smithy (in which Sumroth placed more faith). The Pellish named this “the lobber.” What made the lobber uniquely deadly was not its design but its ammunition, also fabricated to Smithy’s instruction: earthenware balls, which would shatter on impact, filled with white phosphorus.
Sumroth’s soldiers had grumbled over the tedious task of collecting aurochs urine, then distilling and drying the residue; but the powder that remained glowed white when exposed to air. Sumroth had seen a demonstration of its usefulness as a weapon; on contact, phosphorus would eat through the wood of a barn or straight through the body of an aurochs. The Pellish mariners were wary of using the lobber, however, because if winds blew the white cloud back at them, they could suffer terrible burns.
After Hixario and his sailors cleared the harbor of defenses, Sumroth would send his troops ashore in “swifts”—shallow, twelve-oar-to-a-side transport boats. If events transpired according to plan, the Witch Queen would already be dead at that point, which would be a pity, since Sumroth would like to kill her personally. He reminded himself that those seabirds the Pellish used, those petrels, had not relayed messages that the assassination attempts had succeeded, so he might still have an opportunity to dispatch her with his own hands. Either way, the general intended to take her scalp of blue hair back to Femturan to show his people that he had wrought their vengeance and lifted the destructive blights.
Vengeance would also win Sumroth the indisputable right to govern. He would lead his people back into the Land and have himself declared king. On the long voyage, he drew in the margins of his letters little sketches of crowns with gold-and-ruby flames. Mayhap Smithy would forge one.
And to make up for his long absence, he would cut a lock of the blue hair and have it fashioned into a ring for Queen Zea.
* * *
From her perch on SeaWidow Cliff, Cerúlia sent her last instructions to the whales. A large blue bull had appointed himself Leader of the Pods. The queen had no choice but to leave the timing and targets to him. In return for their assistance, she promised to have a song composed about the whales’ heroic deeds today. Many tedious hours were wasted as the whales argued about how the song should start; they ultimately decided on:
Smash them, crash them,
Drop them in the Sea!
Foes of Nargis
Are foes of We.
Cerúlia spared a moment to glance around at her hilltop retinue. Shield Pontole and Shield Gatana stood as sentries at the spot where the narrow path crested the cliff edge. The queen had learned her lesson from yesterday, when she had not had her canine corps protecting her; all six dogs attended her today. The deerhounds and Vaki patrolled the hillside, continually on alert for intruders, while Whaki sat near the edge of the drop-off and Cici slept curled in a ball inside the lighthouse where it was warmer. Darzner stood, quills at the ready, at the map and message table; Ciellō shadowed Cerúlia’s movements, always a pace behind her, scanning everyone and everything, only rarely looking out to sea. Kiltti tended a fire in the shelter of the lighthouse, trying to keep a kettle of coffee warm.
Due to her ability to use birds, the queen didn’t need any messengers, but six horses—one for each person on the cliff top, saddled and at the ready—bunched together for warmth as far away as they could get from the cliff edge.
The wind blew fiercely, ruffling the short grasses, making her cloak billow around her, and pushing Whaki’s ears straight behind him as if he were the figurehead of a vessel named SeaWidow Cliff.
* * *
Seamaster Wilamara had given her longtime colleague, Seamaster Gourdo, the command of the Queen Carra, the only Weir war galley currently berthed in Cascada Harbor, crewed by fifty oars on a side and gleaming with blue-and-silver paint. Gourdo was no longer spry, because his captivity in a Weir jail had drained away the last of his youth, but he was seasoned and valiant. Wilamara tucked two other fighting ships—thirty-oar-per-side galliots—temporarily out of sight: one hidden between wharfs and the other maintaining its position in the lee of a merchant ship. She herself set up her command station, complete with flagmen and a trumpeter, on the largest f
ishing boat available, named by its owner The Big Catch. The owner had a younger brother who’d named his own fishing boat The Little Catch. If their plans worked, The Little Catch would serve as a decoy, leading a Pellish war galley aground on the shoal close to the mouth of the harbor.
In addition to the three fighting ships, she had three passenger/merchant cogs and seven sizeable fishing boats at her disposal—that is, if one didn’t count all the tiny rowboats that dotted Cascada Harbor. Commander Thalen had asked her what she planned to do with those; she kept twenty of the sturdiest and best-crewed as lifeboats to rescue any of her sailors. He said he had a plan for the rest, so she turned the others over to him for whatever he had in mind.
Her trumpeter was staring off into space as she strode the deck. Wilamara kicked his boot.
“Look alive,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am,” he answered.
* * *
Nithanil and Mikil stood at the helm of the trailing ship of the Pellish armada, Pexlia’s Possession, scanning ahead. Iluka sat comfortably on a large coiled-up rope, darning a sock to give herself something useful to do.
As his fingernails dug at his itchy skin, Nithanil, standing near the wheel, muttered, “Lautan. What’s a few cross words between old comrades? That was a mighty storm you threw at me. I have given my son to serve you; I would happily trade my own life if you see fit to help Cressa’s daughter.”
At the same time, Mikil stared into the gray-green depths at the ship’s stern, praying and pouring in a libation of wine. Lautan the Munificent, you have helped the Nargis Heir before. You brought us here, to this battle; you must have a plan for us. I will just rest in faith.
* * *
Nana sat on the ledge of the Fountain in the Courtyard of the Star. Probably she should have stayed out of the way in her little room in the palace, but she hadn’t wanted to wait through this ordeal alone. Her friends in the kitchens were in a frenzy, baking loaves stuffed with meats and cheeses; Hiccuth had lent his services to a cavalry troop north of Cascada; Cerúlia and her retinue stood on SeaWidow Cliff; and staying behind, alone and in suspense, was intolerable.
The Cerulean Queen Page 39
