“How is that possible?” Miro said. “I can understand using revenants to man the cannon, but naval strategy?”
“I don’t know.” Deniz shrugged. “But we’ll soon find out.”
“Do you think we can stop them in the sea?”
Commodore Deniz hesitated. “No. Scherlic is correct. They’ll wear us down with sheer numbers.”
Miro looked from one face to the other. Both men were stone-faced. “I understand,” Miro said.
He knew what he was asking these two brave men and their crews to do. They all knew that every ship sunk meant several hundred revenants the enemy would lose to the ocean. Even so, Miro didn’t know if the Buchalanti and the Veldrins would fight to the end; it was something only they could decide for themselves.
“High Lord.” Miro turned when he heard a voice. Beorn entered the command tent with his mouth set in a thin line, blood staining his lord marshal’s uniform.
“What news?” Miro said.
“He’s dead,” Beorn said flatly. “He lasted to the end, the wretched creature. Fanaticism like that makes me sick. I hope his soul rots wherever it is now.”
“So you found out nothing?”
“He gave us something, but I have no doubt he was holding a great deal back. There are over a hundred vessels in the armada. Among them are different factions from across the sea: Sentar Scythran has enlisted three kings into his service. Each brings his own ships, along with his own men. One has a red flag with blue crossed swords. Another device is a white trident on a field of blue. The third king’s flag is black-and-white checked.”
“Farix, the pirate king of Torian,” Deniz said. “He is the first, the one with the red flag and blue swords. Diemos of Rendar is the one with the white trident on blue, and the black-checkered flag can only be Gorain, the king of Nexos.”
“What do you mean ‘enlisted?’” Miro asked. “Why would anyone in their right mind follow the Lord of the Night?”
“They’re revenants, just like the others, but under duress the necromancer said Sentar personally brought them back. They’re almost the men they were in life, and can give orders and plan strategy. Sentar has made promises in return for their service.”
“What promises?” Miro wondered.
“Does it matter?” Beorn said.
“My guess is Sentar Scythran says what he needs to in order to control his subordinates,” Deniz said. “These men will be dangerous opponents.”
“What else?” Miro asked Beorn.
“The necromancer said Sentar plans to drive all the way through from Sarostar to Seranthia overland,” Beorn said, scratching at his beard. “He ranted a lot about the Lord of the Night’s rightful place as god of all Merralya. You know, the usual stuff.”
“It doesn’t change anything,” Deniz said. He glanced at the Buchalanti sailmaster. “We face the hardest day of our lives tomorrow. I must rejoin my men.”
“Deniz,” Miro said. “Before you go”—he paused, not knowing what to say—“I’ll see your people returned to Veldria. You have my word.”
“Thank you, Miro,” Deniz said. “But for me Veldria is dead.”
The fourteen Veldrin warships left Castlemere in a precise line, each captain knowing his duty, and every crewman leaping to follow orders. The faster Buchalanti ships would follow on their heels.
As Deniz left the placid waters of the sheltered harbor behind, he felt a strange sense of calm and pleasure as the Seekrieger easily met the larger waves, and looking up, he saw the great sails snapping in the wind. It was a good day for a fight.
The dawn sky was brilliant and beautiful, with shades of peach and orange spreading across to banish the last of nighttime blue as the rising sun in the east shone on the Seekrieger’s stern. Deniz’s ship flew the blue and brown colors of Veldria tall and proud, with a second gold flag indicating this was the squadron’s flagship, with the commodore as effective admiral.
Deniz had been denied a naval engagement when the revenants came to Veldria. Emirald had been taken by surprise. Today he would show his enemy what they’d missed.
The wind came across his beam, and when he turned to meet the armada, he would have the all-important wind gauge. Deniz’s ships would be able to broadside the enemy with impunity for the first moments of the battle. The guns were out, and the weather was good. His marines were ready with grapples and muskets, and he even had a bladesinger, one of the fierce Alturan swordsmen he’d heard so many rumors about, standing tall and proud with his hands on the rail.
Deniz heard a cheer and saw his crew look to the left. The Buchalanti ships flew past him as if he were standing still, and Deniz raised a fist into the air and cheered along with his men. The three storm riders led the graceful vessels, with the Infinity foremost, sails blazing as runes activated and deactivated, and Deniz could swear he heard the sounds of sonorous chanting from the sailmasters.
Two blue cruisers followed the storm riders: these were bigger than the Infinity, and Deniz classed them as merchantmen, somewhere between a cargo ship and a war vessel.
Finally, the dreadnoughts passed by close on the Seekrieger’s port side.
The two lumbering ships, each nearly as big as a Veldrin warship, followed in the wake of the Buchalanti blue cruisers. Deniz corrected himself: they weren’t lumbering; they easily out-distanced the Seekrieger, but in comparison with the storm riders, they were slow. Deniz had yet to see the dreadnoughts in action. Scherlic said they needed to conserve their power.
The nimbler Buchalanti ships would approach the enemy from the rear. It was deemed best for the two fleets not to get in each other’s way, and when the enemy came to meet the Veldrin fleet, the Buchalanti would hopefully surprise them from the other side.
Deniz watched as the Buchalanti vessels grew smaller and finally disappeared into the distance. Hours passed by in a blur, the ocean beckoned, and Deniz tacked to gain speed, noting each of the following warships tack behind him in perfect synchronization. The waves grew in size, and the color of the water changed until it was the deep blue of the open zone. Deniz put on all sail and felt his ship lean forward like a Narean racing horse at the gate.
“Sails, ho!” the lookout called.
“Where away?”
“Dead north, Commodore!”
Deniz risked one more tack, drawing close at an oblique angle to confuse the enemy, and he watched the incredible vision of countless sails appear out of the horizon. He checked the line behind him and nodded, then returned to watching the armada.
He could now make out individual ships on the fringes; these were smaller scouts, faster than Deniz’s warships, and they fled as he approached, heading for the safety of the larger cruisers and warships, huddling close to the bigger ships like a duckling seeking its mother’s protection.
“Send the order! Close ranks!” Deniz cried.
He turned a point closer to the wind and bled speed to give his fleet time to draw up into battle formation. Deniz didn’t want any gaps in his line when he fired the cannon.
Deniz was now close enough to make out individual men, and he gasped.
Every ship, large and small, swarmed with men. They were in the rigging and clustered on the decks, the vessels wallowing so heavily they no doubt filled the holds. As Deniz’s Veldrin squadron approached, he could now make out the glow of runes on the enemy ships’ planking, though he didn’t know what the purpose of the lore was. He put it out of his mind; there was nothing he could do about it now.
Their cargoes of revenants would make these ships slow, and the warriors on the decks would get in the way of the sailors, Deniz reminded himself. The advantage was his.
“Ready . . . Tack!” Deniz cried.
The Seekrieger heeled over, and the snapping mainsail swung the heavy boom from one side of the ship to the other with deadly force. The sound of more sails resounded like the cracking of whips, and Deniz almost laughed with the beauty of it; these men were the best crew he’d ever sailed with. With perfect
precision, every following warship in Deniz’s line tacked at just the right moment, turning hard from one keel to the other, close enough now that a daring man could leap from one Veldrin warship to the next. The ships now traveled bow to stern, moving past the prows of the enemy vessels, the cannon murderously facing just where they needed to be.
There was no point in parlay. This army was the same force that had destroyed Veldria. This was war.
“Fire!” Deniz roared.
The report of the cannon crashed through the air, a booming thunder that shook the Seekrieger and sent her heeling before she righted herself.
Behind him he heard another boom, and then after a heartbeat’s pause, another growl of thunder. If they’d fired together, their strength would have been wasted; the task was to launch each salvo one after the next. Deniz’s captains knew exactly what to do.
Deniz watched the terrible destruction as the heavy iron cannon balls tore through the enemy vessels.
The air filled with the whiz of hurtling balls, and the subsequent crashes sounded like twigs snapping under the foot of a giant. Splinters flew in the air; masts and rigging came crashing down; and smoke obscured Deniz’s vision so that he cursed. Then a breeze carried the black clouds away, and Deniz saw a cluster of enemy ships sinking. Fires raged and bodies filled the water. An enemy warship exploded as her magazine caught, the detonation so massive it took down two clustered scout ships.
Deniz saw a number of enemy ships behind those he’d destroyed. Dodging the return fire, he called out to tack again, and circled around for another strike.
24
Scherlic caught a puff of smoke through his seeing glass, far away on the other side of the huge fleet: Deniz had made contact with the enemy. Scherlic saw the heart of the armada still moving inexorably forward, and marking an enemy flagship by its cluster of gold and red flags, Scherlic called out a series of runes, singing constantly as he sent the Infinity surging ahead.
The eight Buchalanti ships sailed forward together, and unlike the Veldrin and enemy ships, their weapons didn’t point from their sides in long rows. A ship faced forward, so its weaponry should face the same way.
The three storm riders led the pack like hounds on a scent, with the blue cruisers guarding the flanks and the dreadnoughts lagging behind. Two mortars jutted from the front of the storm riders, whereas each blue cruiser carried four of the Louan devices. The dreadnoughts’ weaponry was of an altogether different nature.
Scherlic glanced at the bladesinger standing on the deck, with one hand on the mast and the other shading his eyes. Scherlic knew the man’s goal: to find which ship or ships contained the enemy’s essence and to do all he could to sink it. Scherlic had been searching, but so far he hadn’t seen any sign of a vessel being especially protected.
Scherlic returned his attention to his course. The point of a wedge, the Infinity struck directly into the armada’s core.
Realizing the threat from the deeper sea, the enemy vessels came around, rotating slowly to bring their cannon to bear. Clouds of smoke rose from the enemy warships and cruisers, the smoke seen a split second before Scherlic heard the thunderous roar that followed.
The cannons’ range was greater than the mortars, and Scherlic’s voice rose as he called on the runes built into the very fabric of his ship. The deck lit up and the Infinity came alive from planks to sails in a splash of vibrant color. A series of balls smashed into the storm rider’s side. Scherlic winced as he felt his beloved ship tremble beneath his feet.
Sparks followed each strike, but the lore held, and the heavy balls didn’t penetrate the Infinity’s enhanced superstructure.
Scherlic now led the Buchalanti vessels deep into the armada’s soft belly. Each of these enemy vessels stole wind from the other, but the lore built into the Infinity and her sister ships meant they could sail with impunity through the clusters. Scherlic’s voice rose as he used every bit of his skill to keep his ship moving, to turn away from the broadsides and navigate around the smaller ships.
He set his eyes on a warship directly ahead; he was chasing this ship’s stern and would easily catch up to the slower vessel.
Scherlic’s weapon master lined up the twin mortars and fired a salvo of orbs.
The glowing spheres sailed through the air. One struck the warship on the outside, just below the waterline; another landed in the mass of grotesque revenants. Taking sight as he fired, the weapon master launched more orbs at the rigging.
The enemy ship burst apart with a series of detonations as the prismatic orbs exploded. Clouds of flame flung up splinters of wood and pieces of bodies. In seconds the vessel sank below the waves.
Scherlic’s crew didn’t cheer, but set their sights on the next enemy ship. Risking a glance around him, Scherlic saw more warships destroyed in the hail of prismatic orbs from the storm riders and blue cruisers.
Scherlic’s breath came ragged, but he chanted through the roar of blood in his ears, fear coursing through his body as his weapon master fired a salvo at an enemy cruiser. The sailmaster called on every rune carved into his ship’s hull to ward off the growing frequency of cannon fire. Another enemy warship exploded, and then Scherlic nearly cried out as he saw the storm rider on his right flank break up under a direct volley of leaden balls.
A blue cruiser came up to fill the gap, and yet another enemy warship went down, but Scherlic could see the blue cruiser’s runes had faded on half the decking. The lore was failing.
Scherlic looked for the Veldrin fleet but couldn’t see Deniz or his naval force. Then he forgot all about Deniz when he saw one of the biggest enemy warships he’d yet seen emerge from behind a screen of smaller vessels. Most of the enemy ships were painted in the garish hues the Veldrins seemed to prefer, but this ship was painted with black pitch. A small golden flag indicated it was a flagship. High on the mast a second flag displayed a black withered tree on a field of white.
Scherlic signaled and one of his men bellowed, “Brace yourselves! Ramming speed!”
Forgetting about the formation, Scherlic pointed the Infinity’s prow at the black warship. Below the waterline, the storm rider’s steel ram carved the sea, ready to plunge into the vulnerable planking of its enemy. Scherlic chanted the runes in quick succession, singing with all his strength, feeling his wondrous ship alive beneath him in the way a Hazaran rider must feel his mount.
Scherlic would strike from an angle so the enemy couldn’t broadside him. The black ship was doomed.
Then Scherlic saw a figure on the deck, calmly watching the approaching storm rider. He wore black clothing with embroidered silver thread, and his hair was the color of blood, slicked back to his head with streaks of black at the temples.
Scherlic felt red come to his vision as he roared the activation sequences now.
The black ship loomed over the smaller Buchalanti vessel.
The Infinity struck with a sickening crunch.
Scherlic lashed out a hand, grabbing hold of the mast to arrest his motion as the collision flung him forward. Buchalanti sailors fell from the rigging to land on the deck with shattering force.
Scherlic watched the figure in black rise into the air and disappear into the haze of the gun smoke. With satisfaction Scherlic saw he’d mortally wounded the black ship. It began to sink while the revenants swarming the decks launched themselves forward, running for the Infinity’s deck.
Scherlic called out more activations as he felt his ship tremble. A third of the symbols on the storm rider’s deck went dark. Finally the Infinity pulled away from its crippled enemy, but Scherlic’s eyes widened as he saw three revenants throw themselves into the air to land, sprawling, on the decks.
The Alturan bladesinger went into action.
His armorsilk flared up faster than the time it took Scherlic to take a breath, and his zenblade was suddenly alive in his hands. He threw Scherlic’s men aside as he lunged forward and before the first revenant, a woman in ragged clothing, could stand, he’d taken her he
ad from her shoulders. The next snarling monster climbed to its feet and charged at the bladesinger, but the man somehow rolled under the blow, and his backswing cut the revenant in two. The third revenant, a big barbarian with a horned helmet, now faced the bladesinger and growled as it launched itself forward. It moved at a speed that belied its size, a blur of motion.
But the bladesinger was faster, and three successive blows sent putrid flesh flying in all directions. Panting, the Alturan checked his enemies by prodding them with the tip of his blazing sword. Finally, he threw the larger pieces off the ship.
The Buchalanti sailors cheered the Alturan.
Finally free from the grip of the sinking black ship, Scherlic willed the Infinity forward again as another enemy warship closed in, turning in a tight circle to present a row of cannon mouths. As Scherlic saw the unfolding disaster, a Buchalanti dreadnought appeared in the distance.
Scherlic called on his ship’s speed as he gave as much strength as possible to the weakened planking. He started to move away, but then the enemy broadside smashed the Infinity.
Splinters of polished wood flew in all directions as the cannon tore holes in sails and took chunks out of the deck. Scherlic prayed a hole hadn’t been opened up below the waterline, but though there was damage at all quarters, the storm rider could still sail.
Scherlic’s weapon master attempted a salvo of orbs, but the enemy warship’s range was greater; it was too far away.
The dreadnought fired.
A wide beam of golden light launched from the mighty vessel, striking into the heart of the enemy warship. The beam carved through the ship, instantly splitting it into two halves down the middle. In moments the warship was sunk, its clawing cargo of revenants dotting the water before they too sank.
Scherlic drew in a shaky breath, and the Infinity came up to support the dreadnought.
The Lore Of The Evermen (Book 4) Page 18
