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The Conqueror

Page 15

by Louis Shalako


  Lowren and a seaman made their way to the poop deck, a raised platform where the helmsman and captain rode, and where his own small party tended to congregate. It was out of the way of the soldiers and the oarsmen, although the small area seemed crowded at the best of times. The treads were narrow and the ladder steep.

  They had been waiting for just such a moment. It was a risk, but a calculated one.

  With the breakup complete, a strong northwest wind had blown all the ice far out to sea. Most harbors to the south and west would still be clogged—but Lemnia’s small coastal ports, as well as that of Windermere and the Heloi had been clear for several days before the order was given. Sailing up the coast from Helois and Windermere, the combined fleets had gathered up the Lemni and especially their archers. He had a thousand archers dispersed throughout the fleet, one small part of his contribution.

  The wind had shifted to the west and that would hold for a week at this season, according to all the almanacs.

  Kann and Theodelinda were sort of entwined together, looking forward to the bows, as the captain caught Lowren’s eye.

  “Told you so.” They were right on schedule.

  Lowren, not quite trusting himself to speak, grinned and nodded.

  The Cygnus led the port column, but now it was time to cut them loose. They were all volunteers in the ships that followed Lowren into battle.

  The starboard column was composed of much larger vessels. With their two and three masts and tiers of sails, they still capable of keeping up with the Lemnian long ships, but packed with troops, siege engines and supplies. The bigger ships were from Windermere and the Heloi. The latter ships were manned by a rather husky breed of free men, fighting oarsmen who loved nothing better than swinging over on a rope, a boarding at sea and a pitched battle with hatchet, short pike or cutlass on enemy decks. While the Heloi didn’t use shields aboard ship, their swords were long. It was said men standing on one ship had stabbed men standing on another—and who probably weren’t all that expecting it at the time.

  The Cygnus’ first mate turned his hooded lantern to the stern. His hand worked the metal shutter and began flashing a dim yellow glow to the next ship in the left-hand column.

  ‘We are breaking off. You are under your own command. Good luck. Cygnus.’

  The flicker came quickly back.

  ‘Stand by to take us off. The Black Duck.’

  The response was a quick series of flashes, repeated here and there, all up and down the line as they located themselves, and then it was over. Lowren had two little ships trailing behind for that little detail. They would be coming in with the second wave. There were twelve ships in this initial assault. He had two more columns, a total of forty more ships, following two or three miles behind. They could follow up a successful attack, cover a withdrawal. They would be in a position to land on the flats below the town and invest it in a more conventional manner. An initial two-pronged assault had been ruled out. It just seemed too improbable in terms of timing and communications back and forth over several miles of disputed sea or land. Lowren had a fair degree of confidence in his plan.

  If anyone could do it, these were the men to have with you.

  The captain muttered low words.

  “Ten degrees to starboard.” This would take them to a lead point out front and in between the two leading columns, six ships in each, for the attack on Sinopus. “Tighten sail please.”

  The second instruction was for the mate, and he bundled off down the centre of the boat to make it happen. They were keeping their voices low, and the slop and lap of the waves drowned most of it out. Off to port, they could barely make out the sound of surf crashing on a beach. The boat pitched more noticeably with the wind more to the rear again. The ship was sheltered from the waves by a lee shore but the wind was still with her. There was a bare foot and a half of a rather confused chop now and that was about all.

  Lowren felt the men’s eyes on him. He nodded, and looked the nearest ones in the eye.

  “Pass the word. Prepare to attack, gentlemen.”

  A low mutter went through the ship as the armor clinked and the boots and sandals shuffled in anticipation.

  Lowren stared, fascinated, as a low headland seemed to reach out towards them from the northern shore. There was a line of hills backing it up, and then the shore turned right away to the northwest again. This harbor was unique along the windswept northern coastline. He could only hold his breath so long, and then the water magically got calmer as the captain spoke and the helm brought her around.

  Off to port and behind them, the first of the pale and ghostly shapes of the fire-ships loomed, a long line of large fishing smacks and schooners from the express coastal trade. All were laden to the gills with pitch, dry kindling, and other combustible materials. Each of them had a good turn of speed, with a dinghy or small boat trailing along behind for the crew to escape...hopefully.

  Theodelinda and Kann were holding on, trying to avoid a tumble into the helmsman.

  “Whoa. Steady her up. Five degrees to port.”

  They waited.

  There was a gasp, and Theodelinda was gripping both of their shoulders now.

  Lowren licked his lips, trying to take it all in at once. The water calmed to a sheet of glass and ahead of them, outlined against the lights and pale towers, the seven hills of Sinopus rising above, he saw a forest of masts.

  The bulk of the shipping was concentrated here, in the outer port. This was where the warships would be, unless they were building, undergoing refit, or being careened, scraped and re-caulked.

  That didn’t seem very likely, although it would have been a factor later in the season. According to sources, the major naval ships of Sinopus were tied up along the main pier, with skeleton crews and under guard against scuttling or sabotage. It would take only so much time for the Great Khan to find crews and train them.

  He craned his head to the right. The only hint of the starboard column was a ragged saw-tooth impression of bleak, dark shapes against a dull grey horizon and the water, which appeared lighter than the sky in this light. They were to deploy to the left and right of the first ship to land. So far no other ships were edging out in front, not as far as he could make out. The second column was right where it was supposed to be.

  “Two miles, sire. Ah—maybe a bit less.”

  The captain’s voice carried the length of the ship. A quick mutter went through the men before their serjeants settled them down again.

  “All right. I’d better get ready.”

  “Sire.”

  “No, Kann. You have your orders.”

  In the event of disaster there would be, must be, leadership that would be obeyed.

  Kann didn’t argue, knowing it would only irritate his king at a time when Lowren needed all his wits about him. That’s not to say he didn’t have a peculiar look on his face as they quickly grasped hands and Theo stepped in for a quick hero’s-kiss.

  “You’ve got a fine lady there, my friend, my brother.”

  Kann couldn’t speak.

  Lowren dropped carefully down the steeply-angled short ladder to the duckboards below the helm.

  There were soldiers here too.

  “Sire.”

  The one on the right handed him his helmet. The one on the left had his sword and buckler, with Lowren’s arms, a golden eagle on a black field displayed. Everyone else looked ready and with their weapons and equipment in good order.

  He heard a voice up above.

  “One mile, sire. Our fire-ships are about to engage.”

  Lowren raised his voice.

  “Gentlemen.”

  There was not a moment’s hesitation.

  “Sire!”

  He didn’t care who heard him now. With men slapping him on the arms, slapping him on the butt, slapping him on the back, he stumbled and lurched to the front of the ship with the two young soldiers right behind. A ragged babble came from off to the right and there was the sound of booms com
ing down and oars hitting the water. Men were shouting to the right and from up ahead now as someone up there on the battlements caught on.

  “Ladder.”

  “All set to go, sire.”

  He grabbed a man.

  “Out of the way, son.”

  The fellow snarled at him, but then saw who it was and hurriedly dropped his case.

  “Sire!”

  “It’s all right, boy. You’ll get your chance.”

  “Yes, Lowren!” The kid had tears in his eyes.

  “Half a mile, sire!” The captain meant to be heard.

  “Who are we?” His voice rang out into the night, and the first echo of it was coming back from the hard walls ahead of them, when the stunned troops around him recovered from the shock.

  “We are the soldiers of Lemni!”

  “Windermere! Windermere!”

  Off in the distance came snatches of song and the clearly made out word Heloi!

  Similar calls and battle-cries came from behind and all around them now as the men on the fire-ships, the bravest of the brave, gave it their all.

  Torn on the wind, there were further shouts from the ships behind. There was a commotion off to the left, as the first fire-ship rammed itself into a fat merchantman and the two ships, one big and one ridiculously small, shuddered in a death grip. It would be an uneven battle.

  The wind was gone and the captain was barking orders.

  The men on the oars dropped them into the water and threw their backs into it. The mate and a trio of boys dropped the boom. The sail settled over the heads of a few oarsmen in the centre of the boat and the ship slowed as if confused.

  There were curses and shouts all around now as they struggled to get the sail and mast stowed, or at least out of the way, the rowers trying to keep time as one of them shouted out a song of defiance and Lowren took one last look.

  There was the captain, there was the helmsman clinging desperately to his rudder, white and pale in the face, with the predawn light making him seem bigger than he was in his oddly light clothing.

  Theodelinda was staring up at the tall stone walls of Sinopus, practically hanging over their heads, clinging to the captain’s arm, and Kann was in front of the mast now, directing someone on the ballista. They had it elevated and pointed at a guard tower just to port of their bow. A boy struck flint and steel expertly. He lit a brand and as it blazed up, touched it to the point of the projectile. They were all fully exposed now.

  “Hey! Wake up in there!” Kann’s eyes and teeth gleamed and the other man yanked the lanyard as the boy ducked away.

  “Ten pieces for the lad! You have the honor, son!”

  There was a loud spanking sound as the spring-catch was tripped and a heavy javelin hummed away, to twang off of the highest of the battlements.

  Krump.

  The second of the fire-ships hit home and grappling hooks were tossed, the ships were pulled in close, the ropes were tightened and tied off.

  Men were yelling and screaming and jumping overboard already—it was a seaman’s worst nightmare, a fire at sea. There were many slaves below decks, and many a man that had been impressed into service. More than one would fight half-heartedly, or so they felt reasonably assured...

  Krump, krump.

  Krump.

  Orange blossomed and the harbor lit up on an instant. There were a few fires going now. Another blazing mob of ships were coming in…the shouting had become a continuous thing.

  The harbor was unprotected by a chain. It had been dislodged by the Horde themselves, and the city’s engineers had pronounced it unsalvageable before the spring. Spring had sprung, but they hadn’t made any sort of a start on it, as spies had revealed. It was amazing, literally amazing what a few gold pieces and a little hate could do for a liberator. This was especially true if the right people knew you were coming and could keep a secret. The sort of people, who once bought, stayed bought. They had a plan to overcome any chains of course, but this was almost looking too easy.

  An agonized glance revealed the hot and predatory shapes of more fire-vessels coming into view, the glare lighting up their sails and forepeaks and the small golden glow-worms in the mizzen-decks foreshadowing an ugly fate for any ship they managed to entangle. Even as he watched, the fires in the midsections flared higher. The shapes of men dropping into the boats were perhaps more sensed than actually seen...

  “A hundred yards.”

  Something hissed past the gunwale and plunked into the cold, dark sea. Another hit the deck and someone jumped in their surprise.

  There were heads bobbing around on the top of the wall.

  “Archers! Loose.”

  Bows bent, they were ready and waiting for the order.

  The men all around Lowren began emptying their quivers of arrows, swords in their scabbards and bucklers handily lined up along the inner gunwales in the front of the Cygnus.

  The twang of the bowstrings and the thrum of arrows and quarrels filled the air in pulsing waves.

  “Ladder—ladder.” Four men dropped their bows and began shoving it upwards, desperately trying to clear the obstruction of the stem and its dragon-head decoration. “More men! More men!”

  Lowren was almost blinded by something in his eyes, a suspicious moisture that spurted when he heard Kann and Theodelinda calling his name and the name of his country. He used his free left hand to guide the ladder past his head. They got it to the upright position as a total of six husky soldiers sweated and cursed and others yanked ropes and lines out of the way. They had it up vertical and one man looked at him...

  “Go! Go! Go!” The captain was yelling and the men were cussing and with a crunch the ship ran aground a good twenty feet before the base of the walls. She only got a little further. The battlements were about twenty-four feet high along this part of the shoreline, fronted by a small beach of gravel and dead seaweed.

  It was high tide and this was as close as they were going to get.

  The bow sat with her nose on the gravel and the men, not unnaturally, were hesitant to let the ladder fall down. It would be impossible to recover.

  “Ladder! Ladder! Damn it, I need the ladder.”

  Run hard ashore as they were, there was nothing for it but to let it drop...

  The ladder fell forward, and Lowren could hear men’s voices and running feet and the clink of weapons and steel up above as someone pounded him on the back. There were men on each side of the ladder, stabilizing it. It was a sublime moment when he realized the ship was almost silent and the men up above were shouting in pure consternation, looking out at the harbor and yelling their fool heads off. The ladder leaned crazily upwards, slanting slightly to the right but oh, well.

  “I’m right here, sire!”

  “Good for you, son. Good for you! Lowren comes! Lowren is coming! Prepare to die, you wretched foes, for Lowren himself now comes this way!”

  Gripping his sword in his right hand, and with his small round buckler pulled hard on its strap as far as he could up the left arm, Lowren took the rung strongly in his left hand and carefully with the fingertips of his right hand. With the sword gleaming in front of his face in its rhythmic movement, Lowren, King of the Lemni began to climb.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The archers focused their efforts on the battlements at the head of the ladder, with the clinks and snaps of hard maple arrows hitting and throwing sparks from their steel heads as he came to the last few rungs. The ladder was a foot and a half short. If the boat had hit a little farther out, it would have been a damned difficult climb to get up and over. As it was, they were lucky.

  The sounds of men shouting orders and observations from right up close, and the gleam of weapons was all he needed to see. He paused, hunkering there, and another volley of arrows smashed into the cold white stones of the crenellation he was aiming for. His ladder was just short, and there was no way for them to know it was there, if not for the ship below. They seemed rather reluctant to stick a head out and hav
e a proper look...

  A serjeant down below him told them to mind their targets and their king.

  Someone up there screamed, mostly in fright, as an arrow bounced off the inside of the firing slot and went on, striking home somewhere off in the distance even as another volley was loosed upon it.

  A glance to the right showed at least three ships, tucked right in against the walls, each a hundred feet apart, and Lowren picked out at least one man almost as high up a ladder as he was. Even as he watched, another ladder went up...shouts and cheers came on the light morning breeze.

  There was a whole line of ships coming in and his heart exulted in the madness of their success so far.

  He looked behind and saw the eager faces.

  “Watch him! Don’t hit the king!”

  Lowren waved his sword, shrugged his buckler down into position, exhaled and sucked in cold, clean air. His powerful upper legs, all trembling in the knees as he was, forced him up over the edge and into the clear view of the man right there.

  The man had his shield up, he had his head down, and yet he was still peeking around the corner of the big stones, trying to get another look at the ships and the situation below. He was also blinded by the glare of the now roaring fires off to his immediate right.

  “Oh! Ah! Ye Gods.” The fellow reared up and back as Lowren gave one final kick, hoping the ladder didn’t fall and that he didn’t follow it.

  He was up on the wall and there was no going back now.

  “Here I stand. I is I, Lowren, King of the Lemni!” He jumped at the dim paving stones below.

  The man was backing up and heading to the left as fast as he could go. Beyond that, it was a long drop to the ground below.

  The walkway was a good eight feet wide. Spinning in place, Lowren saw it with a corner of his awareness. He kept the wall as close to his left as he dared, shield up, even then hearing more feet drop over the wall fifty or a hundred yards further to the southeast. The man pulled and yanked and finally cleared his sword...

 

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