by Simon Brown
‘We’ll have to do something about that,’ Avier said out loud, and almost immediately realised the full implications of what was happening. The Hamilayans had come expecting to find the Kydan of three years ago, with perhaps no more than a few added walls or a few hundred extra militia in place. Now that they knew the truth, they must not be allowed to escape back across the Deepening Sea. Kydan’s secret had to remain a secret for a while longer at least.
He called an ensign to his side and gave his orders.
*
The thick hemp cables to Hetha’s huge bow anchor and smaller stern one had been hacked through with boarding axes. Almost immediately the bow started to drift towards the sea, pushed on by the race tide from the Frey. Oble saw that the schooners and Kethleralt were also free, but that they were having trouble on Richer. Well, the Richer would have to look after itself.
‘Full steam!’ he shouted to the boiler crew. ‘I want the best speed you can give me!’
In his mind he did a rough calculation of how much coal they had left, and figured it would last them a day at least. But steam power by itself might not be enough. He ordered the sails on the ship’s two masts to be set as well.
‘We’re not going to fight them, man?’ Agwyer demanded, although his tone suggested he was quite relieved the captain had made the decision to retreat for both of them.
‘We can fight them all you want, sir, once we’re in open water. At least long enough to let one of the schooners escape and get word back to the empire about what we’ve found. But let’s get out of this bay first.’
‘Right,’ the admiral said. ‘Of course. Quite proper. As you say.’
Oble leaned over the quarterdeck rail and used the glass to study the enemy ships more closely. They were not as wide as Richer or Kethleralt, and nowhere near as wide as Hetha, but they were longer, he thought, and judging from the number of longgon ports, better armed. And he was amazed at the amount of sail they put on.
A series of booms from the city made him look back. The Citadel was wreathed in smoke. Which of the ships was their target? he wondered, trying to be courageous by hoping it was Hetha and not High Alt or Ferberin. The schooners were the fastest ships in the flotilla and so the most likely to escape the closing trap. With relief but guilty regret he saw it was the schooners after all. Waterspouts leaped all around the two smaller vessels, but he did not think either was hit until a small explosion erupted from High Alt’s stern, spraying bits of sailor and hull behind it. A cough of smoke erupted from the hole that was made and water poured in. Within moments the schooner’s bow was lifting into the air.
Oble forced himself to look away. ‘Be mindful of your duty!’ he shouted to the crew around him, all of whom were staring at the tragedy unfolding not more than four longyards from them. ‘Keep your eyes forward. We must do everything in our power to ensure Ferberin makes it out of the bay. Load all the guns!’ Despite his commands some did continue to stare at High Alt, and their cries let him know when she slipped beneath the waves. He hoped some of her crew had escaped, although what reception they might have in Kydan after the fleet had attacked the city without provocation he could not say. ‘I said load all the guns!’ he shouted. ‘The rest of you attend to your stations!’
There was a desperate scramble as sailors rushed to obey.
*
‘They think we were lucky,’ Kadburn said. ‘They have no idea about the screw barrel in our longgons.’
‘They’re not stupid,’ Galys warned. ‘They may not know why we’re hitting them, but they can’t pretend we’re using the same kind of weapons any more. That’s why they have to be stopped. Can you target the second schooner? Its sails are set already.’
‘Why not leave it to Avier? I can reach Hetha or one of the other big ships easily.’
‘Avier may have his hands full soon.’
‘You set the trap, Galys. Trust Avier to figure out his part. The schooner’s too far now, even for our longgons. We’re just wasting gonblack and ammunition.’
Galys shrugged resignedly. ‘All right. Take out the big ship having trouble with its anchor. It’s still close enough to seriously damage the shipyard if it decides to stick it out and fight.’
Kadburn passed on the order, and the three longgon captains trained their barrels, slightly adjusted elevation and put one hand up when they were ready.
‘Fire!’ Kadburn cried, and a furious whirlwind of black smoke, cartridge cloth and dust whipped around them.
*
Avier signalled for Prince Maddyn to head off the fleeing schooner, then directed Sorkro towards Hetha. Using the glass, he could just make out the name of its companion ship. Kethleralt. Both were from Somah, which meant the other big ship probably was as well, which would make it the Richer. So, virtually the whole Somah squadron had been sent out. He checked the Hetha again, saw that the admiral’s flag was flying from the foremast. That would be Agwyer, Avier mused, who had been well known for a fool, and a yellow fool at that, even when Avier was still an officer in the navy. So the captain, if he has any sense, would have taken charge. If Agwyer truly was as much a coward as he was an idiot, however, Avier might be able to drive him into usurping command once more.
‘Straight for Hetha!’ he shouted. ‘Head straight for the steamship!’
‘Sir, the other one’s got the bigger broadside!’ one of the lookouts said.
‘Straight for the Hetha!’ Avier ordered. ‘Damn the other ship!’
*
Agwyer saw three things happen within moments of one another. The first was watching Richer, with its stern anchor still connected and its bow being forced by the current to swing west, hit by at least two shot from the Citadel. The ship was too big to sink as easily as High Alt, but the admiral saw the top of the rudder post blown away and the second shot bounce along the whole top deck, throwing sailors aside like bloody skittles. Then he saw the more distant enemy ship bear down on Ferberin, cap its course and fire a broadside down the schooner’s length, then sail around while barely losing any wind and rake Ferberin with a second broadside. The Ferberin did not sink, but it listed dangerously to port and its crew had to chop down the masts to stop the sails filling with water and dragging down the whole ship.
Lastly, he saw the other enemy ship bearing straight down on Hetha with speed and determination, and it seemed to Agwyer that it was coming for him alone.
‘By the Sefid,’ he muttered weakly, his knees giving way.
Captain Oble saw the admiral going down, hefted him up by the elbow and hissed, ‘Stand up, man! The crew will see!’
But it was too late. The crew had already seen High Alt go down more quickly than any ship had a right to, seen Richer crippled, seen Ferberin battered into uselessness, and finally their admiral’s heart give way to it all. They glanced desperately between Agwyer and the enemy ship, even now turning to port to present its broadside, and panic rose in them like black smoke in the sky. Two of them rushed to the stern mast to bring down the jack to show the enemy they were surrendering, but Oble laid into them with the flat of his sword.
‘Get back to your posts!’ he shouted at them. ‘Get back and do your du –’
There was a single shot. Oble looked down at his chest with surprise, saw his white shirt bloom with his own blood, and toppled forward.
Agwyer calmly replaced the firegon in its rack around the mizzenmast and nodded to the jack. ‘Take it down,’ he said to the sailors, and they rushed to obey. ‘And signal Kethleralt to do likewise. There will be no more dying.’
He clasped his hands together behind his back so no one could see them shaking.
*
Soldier Cade bit the end of a strip of beef jerky and chewed it slowly. He found having a mouthful of food now and then was the best way to stay awake on watch, although why the commander had set a watch was beyond him. It was not as if there was anything around that threatened them. In fact, Cade admitted uneasily to himself, there was virtually nothing around at
all except for a pig or two gone feral and a handful of hungry-looking dogs and cats and mice.
Cade checked the position of the stars. It seemed to him they had hardly moved at all since the last time he looked, but he estimated he had been on watch for over three hours, so not long to go before he could wake his relief.
Something clattered in the deserted farmhouse, and it made him jump. He realised it must have been a cat chasing its dinner.
Cade had overheard the commander talking about going back to Koegrah and coming back with just the cavalry. As an infantryman, that suited Cade just fine. He was tired of tramping around these awful highlands. Bleak and windswept and not a pub in sight. Cade could forgive an awful lot of disagreeable landscape if there was a pub on it somewhere.
More sounds from the farmhouse. Two cats, Cade thought, surprised there were enough mice around for more than one. Then a door creaked open. Cade automatically lifted his firegon and pointed it in the general direction the sound had come from. The house was a dark shadow almost indistinguishable from the night.
‘Umm.’ Cade was unsure if he should wake the ensign. He could see in his mind how it would play out if he did. The ensign would swear at him, wake a few others to keep him company and keep his backside safe, explore the house from top to bottom, find nothing, return to his bedroll while swearing a few more times at Cade and putting him on watch the next night for waking him unnecessarily.
Footsteps.
Or he could wake his relief early. Better an angry mate than an officer. Yes, that’s what he would do.
And now breathing.
In fact, Cade would not put it past his relief to try something on. Cade grinned in relief.
‘All right Belov,’ Cade said, lowering his firegon. ‘You’ve had your laugh. Now get over here before I shoot you, you bastard.’
‘What?’ said a voice behind him.
Cade jumped in fright and twisted around.
Belov was shaking his head and rubbing sleep from his eyes. ‘What’s your problem?’ he asked.
Cade pointed over his shoulder. ‘I thought . . . oh, bugger me . . .’
He twisted around again, this time bringing up the firegon to his shoulder and sighting along its barrel. Belov caught some of Cade’s anxiety. ‘What are you playing at? What is it? Do you see something?’
Belov waited for an answer, but none was forthcoming. Belov stood by Cade and opened his mouth to repeat the question when he noticed the firegon barrel vibrating up and down. He put a hand out to hold it. ‘Now calm down, Cade. There’s nothing out there.’
But Cade was not listening. He was too busy staring. Belov followed his gaze. Something was coming out of the dark. At first he thought it might be a man, but then he saw the eyes, as bright and yellow as fire.
17
‘I need a special detachment,’ Paimer told Montranto first thing in the morning.
‘Your Grace?’
‘Of your best soldiers.’
‘Yes, your Grace. What duty will they be performing?’
‘Guard duty,’ Paimer answered.
‘For yourself? Is the special guards unit attached to the palace not sufficient?’
‘More than sufficient, thank you. This new detachment will not be on duty at the palace.’
‘May I ask where they will be assigned, your Grace?’
Paimer nodded to Avenel, who cleared his throat and said, ‘An estate less than a day’s march from here.’
‘An estate?’
‘Once belonging to Queen Sarra,’ Avenel went on. ‘Her winter residence.’
‘She never did like the sea storms in winter,’ Montranto remembered.
‘And on the queen’s death it passed into the hands of the Safety Committee.’
‘And on the demise of the Safety Committee,’ Paimer picked up, ‘passed into my purview. Avenel was kind enough to reconnoitre the place for me, arrange for any minor repairs and hire servants, gardeners, that sort of thing.’
‘You are going to use it yourself as a retreat, your Grace?’ Montranto asked neutrally.
‘It has its own forest and stream,’ Paimer went on, ignoring the question. ‘And a sizeable but not unduly ostentatious house.’ He traced a pattern on his desk with his finger. ‘In fact, Commander Montranto, I’m transferring my estate from Hamilay to Rivald.’
Montranto blinked. ‘This is . . .’
‘Yes, I know, a great burden after going through all the trouble of deposing Queen Sarra and all my other distant relatives.’
Montranto blushed. ‘Your Grace! I was going to say it was a great honour for Rivald!’
Paimer studied the soldier carefully, understanding the necessity of the lie but almost believing him. Not quite, but almost.
‘You are very generous,’ Paimer said sincerely. ‘The point is, my estate in Hamilay currently plays host to several guests, and these will be coming with my household to the new estate outside Beferen. Undoubtedly they will have to get used to the cold, but I’m sure that will be more than compensated for by the distance from Omeralt.’
‘The distance from Omeralt?’
Paimer said carefully, ‘I will not elaborate further at this point in time. A messenger from me left here two days ago and will probably arrive at my estates inside a tenday. Obviously it will take some time to prepare the move, but within another tenday I expect my people to set off from Hamilay. Give them another two tendays to arrive at the estate – taking into account everything they will be bringing with them and that I have instructed them to come by horse instead of sedan. That gives you almost four tendays.’
‘My Lord Protector, I do not need that long to raise the unit.’
‘And get them to the estate, and get them to know its terrain as well as they know their own mothers’ faces, and to build them their own barracks, and so on.’
Montranto nodded. ‘Of course. I will see to it right away.’
‘Excellent,’ Paimer said. ‘Let me know when they are established and I will give you more details.’
*
It was just dawn, and Chierma stood over the grave of Lady Englay Kevleren. He had not attended it for a long time, since before the invasion of the empress. Daisies were growing over it, some onion grass. Beetles enjoyed the miniature forest, and a skink chased the beetles. It seemed better somehow than before, when Chierma had cleaned the mound fastidiously and left cut flowers and moped for hours over what was nothing but a memory in the end, and a pretty hopeless one at that. She had never loved him in life, not truly, and was certainly not about to in whatever state she now existed, dust or exaltation. He knew that at last.
‘But you can be loved,’ Englay said, standing on the opposite side of the grave. ‘You just need to accept it. Stop questioning what you see. Stop questioning me.’
Now, left to its own devices, nature had taken over the care of Englay’s grave and was making new life from her remains. Chierma wondered whether it could ever have been different, if the revolution had not occurred, if Englay still was governor of Hamewald and Chierma her Beloved, whether she could have learned to love him.
‘I would have loved you,’ Englay said. ‘Given the chance. If only I had known how you felt about me.’
Chierma breathed deeply. The truth was that Englay had been a Kevleren, and they did not love. They used. They cajoled. They threatened and stole and enslaved and killed. But they did not love.
‘Goodbye, my lady,’ he said, and walked away from the grave.
‘What about me?’ Englay cried after him.
Chierma refused to answer.
*
It was the sun that stopped the rout. It was not as if any of the soldiers could see whether or not the things were still after them, but as soon as light touched the highlands all the surviving men knew the pursuit was over, as if the creatures that had attacked them had been nothing but phantoms or mist without any real bodies, and the sun had burned them away.
Mikhel had managed to keep most of th
e remaining cavalry together and, standing on one of the hillocks, they were in plain sight of any infantry. Within a short time the survivors had gathered around him and, under the urgings of their ensigns, formed ragged lines. They looked around, searching for friends, and to their surprise found most of them were still there. The biggest gaps were among the half-troop of cavalry. The creatures had terrified the horses, and if one got close enough the horse would throw its rider and gallop off.
Mikhel was about to ask Master of Horse Mon Ouncel to organise a count, then remembered Ouncel was one of those who had not made it through the night. He ran his fingers through his hair, tried simultaneously to understand what it was that had happened to them and what he should do next.
One thing at a time, he told himself.
‘Right,’ he said aloud. All eyes turned to him. Mikhel pointed to the nearest ensign on a horse. ‘Organise ten riders to take the horses back to Koegrah.’
The ensign nodded dumbly, not even saluting.
‘Unencumbered by infantry, you should get there by evening. Alert the city militia. And tell the local commander to send reinforcements. But foot only. I will wait here.’
‘Here?’ one of the soldiers called out. ‘What if those things come again tonight? What are we going to do? Why can’t we all go back to Koegrah?’
There were many shouts of agreement.
‘How many of you come from Koegrah?’ Mikhel demanded. The shouting stopped, and although everyone stared sullenly at him no one answered. ‘How many? Put your hands up!’
Reluctantly, most put up their hands.
‘Do you want those things reaching Koegrah? What chance would your families have? Your friends?’
Again, no one said anything, but Mikhel could see on their faces what they thought would happen.
‘Get going,’ he said to the ensign, dismounting from his own horse and handing the man the reins.
The ensign quickly organised ten riders to help him with the other horses. The remaining troopers dismounted, taking as much of their gear from the saddles as they could comfortably carry.
