by John Marco
“Talistan’s going to be rather busy, don’t you think? Gayle won’t be sending Leth any help; not if Biagio does as he says.”
“Oh, Biagio.” Richius rolled his eyes. “I don’t know what to think about that one. Alazrian trusts him, but, well …”
“It’s impossible to trust him,” said Jahl. “I know what you mean. But my lack of faith in Biagio is made up by my faith in Alazrian. He’s a good boy, Richius. And I know he’s not lying.”
“He doesn’t have to be lying,” said Richius. “Maybe he’s just been taken in by Biagio. You don’t know the emperor the way I do, Jahl—he’s a trickster. And he can be a real charmer.”
“Alazrian says he’s changed.” Jahl grinned. “Don’t you think a man can change, my lord?”
“Don’t lay traps for me, Jahl. You know what I mean. Biagio is going to have to prove himself. As far as I’m concerned, we’re alone in this.”
“Maybe,” said Jahl. “But we have Praxtin-Tar’s horde, and we have you to lead us. And we have God. Not a bad army, that.”
Richius nodded absently. Jahl looked up at him.
“My lord?”
“Uhm?”
“You didn’t come here to talk about the attack, did you? Why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind?”
Richius chuckled. “Now you sound like Biagio. Am I so easy to read?”
“When you walk around with such a long face, yes. Sit, please.”
Richius sat beside Jahl, crossing his legs beneath him like a boy and staring into the night. He did not speak, but rather let the silence grow around him as he contemplated Aramoor. Jahl said nothing, giving Richius time to collect his muddled thoughts.
Finally, Richius said, “They have accepted me again.”
Jahl nodded.
“I didn’t expect it. I don’t think I deserve it.”
“You are their king,” said Jahl. “They always wanted you back.”
“King,” scoffed Richius. “A real king wouldn’t have left them.”
“A real king would return. As you have.”
“This isn’t easy for me. I never thought I’d see Aramoor again, and now I can hardly bear to look at her. She’s too beautiful.”
“She’s waiting for us,” said Jahl. “She needs us.”
Richius put his hands together. “Then I hope I don’t disappoint her again.”
Jahl glanced down at his clasped hands. “Praying, my lord?”
“No.”
“No? Well, you should. God can help you.”
“God and I aren’t on speaking terms, I’m afraid.”
“You should talk to Him. He can ease your burdens. He can take away your guilt.”
“What guilt?” asked Richius sharply. “I don’t feel any guilt.”
Jahl looked at his king. “I see the struggle in you. You’re wondering why the Saints have accepted you after what you’ve done. You’re feeling guilty for abandoning us. You think you’ve sinned.”
“I’m not a sinner.”
“God can take away your sins,” said Jahl. “If you let Him. Ask Him to forgive you, Richius. You’ll feel reborn.”
Richius shifted. “No. I don’t think so.”
“Why not? You believe in God, don’t you?”
“I don’t know what to believe.”
“So then? What have you got to lose?” Jahl sat up straight. “Unburden yourself. Let me hear your confession.”
“I have nothing to confess,” said Richius. “I’m just … nervous.”
Jahl poked him forcefully. “You’re the King of Aramoor,” he said. “We have all forgiven you. Now you need to know that God has forgiven you, too.” Jahl closed his eyes, preparing himself. “Your confession, my lord. Speak it.”
“Jahl, let’s talk about our plans,” said Richius impatiently. “We’ve got a lot to do. And your men have been asking about you. You should be involved. Come with me; we can meet with Praxtin-Tar.”
“Later,” said Jahl. “First, we pray for God’s guidance.”
“Jahl, we’ve only got two days left!”
“There’s always time for prayer, Richius. Now, ask God to forgive your sins.”
“I’m not a sinner, Jahl. I’m just a man who made mistakes. I’m not going to beg forgiveness.”
Jahl kept his eyes closed. “I’m waiting.”
For a moment he thought the king would speak, but then he heard the scraping of dirt and the sound of departing footfalls. When at last Jahl opened his eyes, Richius was gone.
“Ah, forgive him, Father,” sighed Jahl with a smile. “But one step at a time. At least we’ve gotten him back.”
FORTY-FOUR
Of all the ships in Wallach’s fleet, the Gladiator was the finest. Built a dozen years ago in the shipyards of Gorkney, she had carried gold and rubies up from the Casarhoon coast and along the Empire’s eastern shore, making countless runs with pirates on her tail and captains of the Black Fleet dogging her for bribes. She was square-rigged and triple-masted, and had served for a short time in Gorkney’s navy before the government of that principality abandoned the idea of its own military for reasons of expense. Because of the Gladiator’s brief career as a ship of the line, fitting her with weaponry had been remarkably easy. Now she sported ten cannons port and starboard. She was the most dangerous, well-armed ship in Zerio’s armada, and that was why he had made her his flag.
On Elrad Leth’s orders, Zerio had set sail from Aramoor, heading south toward the coast of the Eastern Highlands. With the Gladiator at its head, the armada sailed in formation, each ship following its sister. Once they reached the Highlands, they would take up positions offshore. They would be the opening volley in a war that would tear the Empire apart, setting nation against nation, and Zerio couldn’t be happier. For a privateer, nothing was as profitable as war. He had gladly endorsed Tassis Gayle’s plan, because he knew that he would be safe aboard the Gladiator, even if the King of Talistan lost his life on the antlers of a Highland elk. There was money to be made and Zerio and his crews had been well paid from Duke Wallach’s coffers. And when the duke’s money dried up, they would find other employers. The Black Fleet was in chaos, war was coming to the Empire, and Zerio thrilled at the possibility of gold. For a full day they had sailed south, leeward with the wind at their sterns. Until this evening, they hadn’t sighted a single other vessel.
Then they saw the dreadnought.
Captain Zerio leaned against the bow of the Gladiator, peering through a spyglass at the windward-tacking warship. The sun was low in the sky, but the opposing vessel was obvious. She was a dreadnought of the Black Fleet, but she struck no flag or colors. Zerio chewed his lip as he spied her, wondering at the vessels sailing abreast of her. He had never seen the golden schooners of Liss, but he had always imagined he would know them if he saw them.
“Sweet mother of God,” he whispered. “I don’t bloody believe it …”
Next to Zerio, his “first officer” and drinking comrade Duckworth stomped his feet anxiously. The crew of the Gladiator had gathered on the bow.
“Are they Lissens?” asked Duckworth.
“I think so,” said Zerio. “I … I’m not really sure.”
“They must be,” cried a mate.
“What the hell are they doing here?” demanded Duckworth. “And what’s a dreadnought doing with them?”
“God almighty, how should I know?” snapped Zerio. He closed the spyglass and handed it off to one of his mates, a boy from Gorkney no older than sixteen. The boy’s face had gone from seasick green to a terrified white. “All of you, get back to work!” Zerio barked. “This isn’t a circus. Man your stations!”
The crew of the Gladiator slowly scattered from the bow. Behind the flagship, the other privateer vessels were slowing. Duckworth looked at Zerio blankly.
“What do we do?” he whispered. “They’ve already seen us. They’re heading right toward us!”
“Shut up and let me think.” Zerio looked over the bow, gauging
the distance. The dreadnought and its Lissen escorts were still a mile away, far enough for Zerio to plan a defense. Though he struggled to make sense of it, he couldn’t imagine why the Lissens were so far north, or why they were led by a dreadnought. But it really didn’t matter. His commission was to protect Talistan. Wallach had paid good gold for his services, and despite his reputation as a pirate, Zerio intended to honor his bargain. He would not let the Lissens pass without a fight.
“Duckworth, signal the other ships for a line of battle formation. We lead. Turn port and get us broadside.”
“What?” sputtered Duckworth.
“We’re not going to let them through,” said Zerio. “Not while we have this kind of firepower.”
“Zerio, those are Lissens. Let’s get out of here!”
“And go where, Duckworth? Back to Talistan? Don’t you think that’s where those cursed devils are heading?”
“Then let them go without a fight. Damn it, Zerio, I didn’t sign on for this! This isn’t our business.”
“It is now.”
“But …”
“Follow my orders!” Zerio exploded. “Get these ships in line of battle. Now!”
Duckworth fell back, then gave the order. Slowly the Gladiator began its turn to starboard. Zerio rubbed his hands together, trying to think. He was a smuggler, not a tactician, and he had never been up against a dreadnought before. Or a Lissen. But something compelled him to fight this battle. If he could manage to sink a schooner, he’d be the highest-paid privateer in the Empire.
Aboard the Dread Sovereign, Kasrin, Jelena, and Laney waited on the forecastle, pondering the strange armada ahead of them. Upon sighting the Narens, Kasrin had ordered his fleet to slow, giving him time to consider their options. His lookouts had counted well over a dozen ships. From this distance, he couldn’t tell if they carried arms, but he thought it likely. To starboard and port, the Lissen schooners sailed abreast of the Sovereign, with Vares’ vessel closest, clinging to the dreadnought’s starboard side. The Hammerhead gleamed in the fading sun, its ram ready to devour its Naren adversaries. But Vares kept a careful pace with the dreadnought. Because Jelena was aboard the Sovereign, Vares never dared question Kasrin’s command.
“Look,” said Laney suddenly, pointing. “They’re forming a line.”
Jelena understood instantly. “They’re not going to let us pass,” she said. “They want a fight.”
“Or they want us to turn around and go home,” said Kasrin.
No one bothered to reply. They were along the coast of the Eastern Highlands, barely a full night’s sail to Talistan. Tomorrow was the first day of summer. In the morning, the Dread Sovereign was to be on the coast of Talistan, ready to open fire. For almost two weeks they had sailed, blessedly without incident. The weather and wind had cooperated, speeding them northward. Now, staring down the Naren blockade, Kasrin couldn’t believe his quick change of luck.
“We don’t have a choice,” said Jelena finally. “We can’t get around them.”
Laney nodded. “It would take too much time. We’ll have to go through them.”
Kasrin rubbed his temples. “Who the hell are they? And what are they doing here?”
“Talistan doesn’t have a navy,” said Jelena. “Isn’t that what you told me?”
“Yes. And I don’t know what that is out there. Maybe Biagio’s right about Talistan. Maybe they are planning a strike against the Black City.”
“But where’d they get the ships?” asked Laney.
“Purchased them, most likely. Tassis Gayle has money. Looks like he bought himself a navy to go with his army. And whoever they are, they’re not going to let us pass without a fight.”
Jelena scowled. “Privateering rabble,” she stated. “No match for our crews, Blair.”
“We don’t know that,” Kasrin cautioned. “Gayle may have hired someone from the Black Fleet to command. We don’t know what we’re up against.”
“We will best them,” said Jelena. “If they want a fight, we’ll give them one.”
“Whoa,” said Kasrin, taking her by the arm. He pulled her away from Laney, who politely looked aside. “Jelena, I told you already, this isn’t your fight. I can’t let you or your people do this.”
Jelena straightened, pulling away from Kasrin’s grip. “I am not a little girl. And I’m not about to let you run that blockade alone. My ships are coming with you.”
“Jelena …”
“No,” said Jelena firmly, “no arguing. We’ve come this far. We won’t abandon you now; we’re not afraid of battle, Blair.”
“I know,” said Kasrin. “Let’s not argue, please. I need ideas.” He turned again to his first officer. “Laney? What do you think?”
Laney surveyed the fleet. “They outnumber us, no question,” he said. “But Jelena’s right—a bunch of pirates aren’t a match for the schooners or their crews.”
Kasrin nodded. “That’s it, then. We fight.”
“No,” said Jelena. “The schooners will fight. We’ll go through them.”
Kasrin and Laney faced her, puzzled.
“The Dread Sovereign has to get to Talistan,” she explained. “We have to break through, get past those ships and keep on going, then let the schooners do the rest.”
“Jelena, I can’t!”
“You know I’m right, Blair; it’s the only way. Look …” Jelena went to the rail and pointed toward the privateers. “They’re forming their line, flagship first. That’s where their commander is, right?”
Kasrin nodded.
“So we change course,” she said. “We go right for that flagship, bringing the starboard cannons alongside. We bloody her nose, then sail past her for Talistan. Vares and the schooners will make sure they don’t pursue.”
Kasrin considered the plan. Since the Sovereign’s port cannons had been melted in her battle with the Fearless, only the starboard guns were operational. They would have to go after the lead ship. Without port guns, punching through the center of their line was impossible.
“It’s difficult,” said Kasrin. “We’ll have to be fast.”
“We have the windward,” Laney reminded him. “And once we turn broadside, they’ll be expecting a full assault. They won’t think we’ll try to slip past them.”
“What about Vares and the others?” asked Kasrin.
“Vares will keep them busy,” said Jelena. “Don’t worry about that.”
“Yes, but will he agree?” asked Kasrin. “This isn’t his battle, Jelena.”
Queen Jelena gave a sharp smile. “Vares knows his mission, Blair. And you don’t know him like I do. Those are Narens out there, remember. When it comes to fighting Narens, Vares is insatiable.”
Flags and colored pendants flashed along the deck of the Dread Sovereign, and Commander Vares paused to read the message. The Sovereign’s signalmen were competent sailors, Vares supposed, but their inexperience with Lissen signals was obvious. Vares deciphered the message as best he could, and when the signalman had finished, the Lissen commander laughed.
“Dorin,” he called to his lieutenant. “Did you get that?”
The young sailor grimaced. “Uhm, not completely, Commander. Are we going to attack?”
“We are absolutely going to attack,” replied Vares. The news heartened him. On the command bridge of his schooner, he put his hands in the pockets of his coat and let his chest swell, imagining the Naren rabble watching through their spyglasses. When he had agreed to Jelena’s request to escort the Dread Sovereign to Talistan, he had never imagined they would see battle. According to the signalman, the schooners were to break formation and fall in line after the Sovereign, starboard broadside. Remembering that the Sovereign’s port guns were useless, the tactic didn’t surprise Vares. He was about to pass the order down the line when the dreadnought’s signalman started waving more flags. Vares watched him, trying to decipher the confusing mix of numbers and colors.
“Line ahead, then break formation?” he said. “Wh
at does that mean?”
Then suddenly he understood. Not all the ships would break formation—just the Sovereign. Vares waved to his queen on the deck of the dreadnought.
“I understand, my queen!” he shouted, not sure that she could hear him. “Good luck to you!”
“Commander?” queried Dorin. “What’s happening?”
Vares gave a vicious grin. “Put your fingers in your ears, Lieutenant,” he advised.
While Duckworth ran across deck shouting orders to the crewmen and cannoneers, Captain Zerio stared through his spyglass at the rapidly approaching armada. He had done a fair job of getting his privateer navy into position, forming a wall of cannons as they turned their vessels broadside. Known as a line of battle defense, Zerio had learned it during his short stint in the Naren navy. The formation gave his force an advantage, for all their guns were already turned against the enemy. But now Zerio could see that his adversaries were taking up similar positions, gently turning to port as they sailed northward. They would bring their starboard cannons against his privateers, Zerio knew. The tactic vexed him. He had expected them to try barreling through with their rams, a strategy that would have left their lightly armored bows open to cannon fire. The dreadnought had taken the lead and was heading toward the Gladiator. She had the windward, which meant she had the speed, and would soon be within firing range. Zerio cursed his stupidity. Dreadnoughts had flame cannons, and flame cannons had greater range than his old-fashioned powder guns. But it was too late to change tactics. Zerio collapsed the spyglass and let out a string of curses that brought Duckworth hurrying to the bow.
“What’s the matter?” asked his friend.
“The dreadnought,” said Zerio. “She’s ours.”
“So?”
“So she has flame cannons, stupid. She can out-range us.”
“Well goddamn it, why didn’t you think of that?”
“Because I didn’t expect her to take the lead, that’s why,” hissed Zerio. He looked over his shoulder. Behind the Gladiator, the Glorious was waiting, her crew ready behind their cannons. An idea occurred to him. “Duckworth,” he said, “signal the Glorious to follow us. We’ll pull ahead of the others, and try to get the dreadnought between us. Once we’re in position, we can pull around to her portside.”
