“You haven’t seen the bolts hit a solid target,” Cedrick had continued, “so let me just say that after a direct hit, the scorpion won’t be a problem anymore. Aim at the base of the mount, and the bolt will do the maximum amount of damage to the fo’c’sle and make it difficult or impossible to bring one of the sternchasers forward and get it mounted.”
The captains’ advice and orders had made sense to Alan, assuming the Islander warships didn’t have mages capable of protecting the scorpions. His main worry was that, having spent forty to fifty percent of the firestones’ power, that he wouldn’t have enough left to put the enemy ships out of action. He’d raised this point, and the two captains had conceded that three enemy ships would be a tough nut to crack, and that if they were so unfortunate as to be facing four, the operation would be called off.
“Wouldn’t it be better to hit them at the waterline at maximum effective range and damage them as quickly as possible?” Alan had asked. He didn’t relish being the target of one of the scorpion gunners, but he didn’t think he had enough power to scuttle three ships if they cut loose on the snipers’ positions.
Cedrick had shaken his head. “Islander scorpions have a longer range than our ballistae, Alan. That means we’ll have been under enemy fire for at least a few shots before we reach our range. If we don’t destroy their bowchasers, they’ll range in and start inflicting casualties before the ships could take on enough water to be sure they’re out of the action.
“I don’t think they’ll be able to hit anyone at the extreme range, but give them time and they’ll make adjustments,” he’d concluded.
Now, as Alan stood by the prow, he wondered if their strategy was the best plan. Neither Lord Grey nor Gem had liked the captains’ plan, and landing Reidar with the mercenary company meant Searcher was bereft of magical defenses—or rather, defenses that Alan dared reveal.
They’d agreed that if the situation became desperate, Lord Grey would reveal his spellcasting capabilities but Gem would remain silent. It didn’t make any of the four companions happy to leave Gem’s powerful defensive capabilities out of the upcoming conflict, but it was fairly well known that Prince Lian had an intelligent sword, and the tales that would spread wherever Searcher made port would be like a giant finger pointing south toward the prince.
If the Varshans had only one or two ships, the situation wasn’t quite as grim, and if that was the case, assuming he and the other engineers were accurate in their delivery of the anti-sniper firebolts, they’d have three quarters of their firepower to finish off the warships.
Snog favored hitting the Varshan ships at night, taking advantage of Alan and Snog’s ability to see in the dark to hit them while they were at a disadvantage. However, Cedrick vetoed the idea, explaining that many of the Islander watchstanders, not to mention their engineers, carried enchanted carbuncles or other gemstones bound with a dark-seeing spell. He explained that attacking at night would be just as much of a handicap for Searcher as it would be for the Islanders.
Snog had shrugged and said, “Yer the Cap’n, o’ course, sir,” before drifting away to talk to the healer.
I think they’re focusing too much on the land engagement, Alan said to Gem over their telepathic bond.
She agreed. Reidar should bring in fog and cloak our approach so we can attempt to take them by surprise, she replied. If we don’t achieve surprise, we can still follow the plan.
Reidar needs his strength for getting the men ashore without drowning, Alan said. That spell of his is a pretty piece of sorcery, but it’s going to take just about all he has to sustain it.
No argument here, said Gem. That song’s not one that Arden’s chanting can help; it’s too complex. I could help him, but that’s unfortunately out of the question.
Lian gave the mental shake that signaled a nod between them. Maybe there’s more to him than Lord Grey and I think, he finished as he turned to Kess.
“Make sure you get a good night’s sleep and a good breakfast, Mr. Kess,” he said aloud. “It’s no good going into battle with your head muddy and your stomach empty.”
Kess laughed nervously. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep or eat, Mr. Alan. At least with the lizard men, I didn’t have time to worry about it ahead of time.” Kess referred to the deepwater lizards who trapped and then attacked the ship while it was entangled with their immense captive jellyfish. The situation had seemed so hopeless that Lord Grey and Gem had almost been forced to reveal themselves, if not for the intervention of the Tiny Companion, the vampiress Sileth. She’d boarded Searcher to make a crossing from Mola to Seagate and, fortunately, had regarded the lizards as an impediment to her voyage.
Her violent and ferocious attack had stunned the mercenaries as well as the lizards, and the latter had broken and fled the ship after she waded into the middle of them and started literally ripping them apart. That such destruction had come from such a tiny package made it doubly shocking.
“Don’t worry about what you cannot change,” Alan advised his young mate, using one of Gem’s favorite sayings. “And I’ve seen you eat in a roaring gale; I don’t think losing your appetite is very likely,” he said teasingly.
Kess blushed a little but nodded, heading starboard to tend the gear around his station. As he finished with that task, Garvel called Kess down to the main deck to assist with an adjustment to the standing rigging. Kess was young but strong, and he heaved on the hawser as hard as any of the riggers.
Gaelin Island was a fairly small crag of rock, the top of an undersea mountain. Less than a mile across at its widest point, it was the place the head of the Varshan dynastic line, Trebor Vars, had stood in defiance of his Pelorian masters, and it was there he’d met his end. Trebor’s descendants had made good on their bid for independence from Peloria and had named both the Kingdom of Varsha and the island upon which it sat after him.
Vars’ remains were kept on the island where he fell, and the Varshans built a temple over the site. From what Alan had been able to gather, the Varshans revered their founder but didn’t worship him. Still, their mission to destroy the relic of the hero made Alan uneasy and smacked of sacrilege. He knew that Cedrick shared his disquiet over the matter, but Arden had accepted the job and the ship’s company was obliged to carry it out.
The garrison that watched over the site was supposedly an honor guard, although their intelligence stated that it was actually something of a punishment duty. The incompetent or incorrigible were assigned there, making it likely they’d lay down arms rather than fight the well-armed and highly experienced mercenary company.
At least, that was the plan.
The garrison’s fort overlooked the dockworks, which had enough space to tie up two of the Varshan three-riggers or one of their larger vessels in the island’s only harbor. On the backside of the island, opposite the garrison, jagged rocks thrust up from the sea or, worse, just under the surface, waiting to eviscerate any ship so unfortunate as to approach too closely. It seemed likely that any vessel assigned to island duty would be tied up in the harbor and that Searcher would be able to approach to within range of Reidar’s spell before the Varshan ships could circumnavigate the island to threaten them.
That was also the plan.
Unlike the land-based garrison, the ship or ships assigned to protect the island were an honor guard, and Arden had warned them that they’d mount an effective resistance. No Islander unworthy of his salt commanded a man-o’-war in any of the Island Kingdoms’ navies, no matter what his post. It was common in the Island Kingdoms that naval crews, including their marines, treated shore-based forces with contempt. In these nations, the navies got most of the money and their exploits most of the attention; that was very much true of the Kingdom of Varsha.
Hyriel, and for that matter, Pellorn, didn’t have the same attitude. The Green Men of Seagate were an elite and much-esteemed force, for example, and Princess Marshelle could call upon her Harriers, an even more storied and reknowned unit with a history of battle h
onors that extended back to before the fall of Peloria.
Alan fixed a smile on his face as he spotted Mari Suris climbing the stairway to the fo’c’sle. She threaded her way through the four soldiers sitting on the foredeck making minor repairs on their boiled leather inner shirts. She paused to give each a warm welcome by name; she and Alan were a pair in that respect, with heads for names and faces.
“Good eventide, Alan,” she said in her soft, calm voice. When singing spells, she could project her voice as the magics demanded, to a point, but she was even more soft-spoken than the chief mate. Alan usually found himself having to devote his entire attention to her in order to hear her when they were on deck and thought it was probably deliberate on her part.
Alan bowed in the Staikal manner and replied in Bryhiri, “Blessings on you, Mari. What brings you to my little corner of the ship?” Snog had been nervous when the healer had spoken in “Alan’s” native tongue after they were introduced, but as the prince had told his companions months before, he spoke the Bryhiri tongue fluently and could mimic a Staikal accent almost without thinking about it.
The healer smiled at Alan’s courtesy. “You may have heard that I’m going ashore with Reidar’s party,” she said, meaning the mage and the four soldiers who were his bodyguards in action.
Alan nodded.
“While your friend seems…somewhat…skilled at wilderness aid,” she continued, dragging the dubious compliment out as if it were a major concession on her part, “I’m quite concerned that he won’t be up to the task of handling heavy casualties, and I wanted to discuss that with you.”
The sorceress’ family hailed from the eastern end of the Kingdom of Rutal, one of Dunshor’s more distant neighbors across the Redwall mountain range. In addition to having to deal with the horseriders of the Western Great Plains—Nanavi’s people the Rodan being one of the more civilized examples—the Rutali were old enemies of the goblins, dating back nearly as far as Dunshor’s long history with them. Despite the two captains’ confidence in Snog’s abilities as a healer, she continually underestimated him, edging him out of treating even the most minor injury on board.
She’d learned contempt for the gray-skinned Gov from an early age, Alan knew, but that didn’t make him like it any better. Snog had proven to be a reliable and true cohort in the months that the nobleman had known him, but having grown up in the heart of Dunshor, he was also accustomed to what most people thought of goblinkind.
However, he’d had this particular discussion with the healer-mage before and knew how to reply. “I assure you, he knows that I’m responsible for his conduct and that I expect him to perform at his highest level,” Alan said. “I believe his training is mostly in how to kill men, but it’s taught him which arteries to staunch first well enough. His herbal knowledge is excellent, as I’d expect from a Sh’rek k’lass’rik scout.” He knew that she’d interpret that to mean poisonous herbal knowledge, which wasn’t actually that inaccurate.
She seemed pleased that the second mate was taking her concerns about his liegeman seriously. He knew that both of the captains had taken a dim view of her opinion of Snog’s capabilities and that Cedrick, ever blunt in his relations with his crew, had told her so outright in the goblin’s own hearing.
“I don’t know what event bound the goblin to your service, Alan, or what moved you to spare him at the time,” she stated, wrinkling her nose in distaste. She assumed he’d captured the goblin in battle and forced him to serve, which in its own way was also true. “He’s useful, I grant you that, but I’ll feel better knowing you’re keeping an eye on him.”
“Olaf and I have some medical training as well, Mari,” Alan replied evenly, “as does Quindo, for that matter. I’m sure that between us, we can treat any injuries that occur.” The sailmaker was a master with a needle and thread, and Snog had helped him suture more than one injury.
She nodded. “If there’s a really serious injury to an extremity, I know that both Ervin and Lagne have done some chirurgery.” Alan had done an inventory of medical training aboard the warship long before Arden had hired the Rutali sorceress, and he knew that the carpenter and his mate had performed emergency amputations. What Mari had called chirurgery was more akin to butchery in his mind, but in the absence of an actual chirurgeon or spellworker, that was too often the best that could be done. Alan knew that the carpenter’s mate, Lagne, had only been called upon to remove an infected finger, but Ervin had removed limbs on a number of occasions throughout his career.
It was one of the reasons the man drank so heavily, a fact Garvel, Alo, and Alan (and Gem) all kept watch for. The rum aboard ship was under lock and key, but the carpenter had been known to smuggle his own supplies on board. Typically, that was only enough to get him drunk for a week or so once they put out, and Olaf had instructed the bosuns and Alan to ignore it officially unless it got out of hand.
So far, it hadn’t.
“Gods forbid,” Alan said. “Let’s hope we don’t need them to perform that particular duty!” He felt a little queasy thinking about having to amputate limbs in the absence of magical healing, and he hoped it didn’t show overmuch.
He realized for the first time that not only might men and women be killed in the upcoming fighting, but aboard Searcher, they might also be maimed if the two mages weren’t back aboard in time. Gem’s ability to heal was, like nearly all of her magic, sung aloud, and the one thing they could not do was to reveal her for what she truly was. He found the concept disturbing.
“If you can keep a wounded man from bleeding to death before I return,” Mari said, recognizing but not understanding Alan’s discomfort, “I can probably save a limb, Alan. Don’t worry about what you can’t change.”
He let out a rough laugh at her turn of phrase, which mirrored what he’d just told Kess. “The captain has a few healing draughts that ought to do that job, if the injury’s too severe for Snog and Quindo’s talents,” he said.
She peered at him with a quizzical expression. “You must have served some time in a nobleman’s personal retinue to think that way,” she said. “That kind of magic, whether we like it or not, is reserved for officers and critical personnel in a unit like this one. I can imbue such potions with power, but the ingredients to hold the magic for longer than a halfday are expensive!”
Recognizing his error, Alan hung his head. In Bryhiri, whispered so softly the healer could barely hear, he said, “Aye, Mari. I was a retainer for the Baron of Ishveld’s son before I had to leave Staikal. I guess I haven’t had to think about the monetary side of such things much.” He’d met Baron Markel and his son Lord Markel, usually referred to as Lord Dunwold for the lands he held as the baron’s son, in Dunshor City just three months before the coup. Lord Dunwold was a drunkard, generous to a fault with those who served him well, but notoriously short-tempered.
As a prince of Dunshor, he had been carefully shepherded whenever the dark-haired Lord Dunwold was around because the man was also a notorious duelist. Quick to take offense, Baron Markel’s son was also slow to forgive, and Alan had once seen him dismiss a loyal manservant for a simple, honest mistake. He was just the sort of nobleman to give the lot a bad name, and nearly a perfect reason to be on the road—and on the run.
Replying in the same tongue, Mari said, “I’m sorry, Alan. I didn’t mean to pry.”
Switching to Dunshorian, Alan replied, “Don’t worry about it, Mari. It’s something I needed to realize, if only because it might take Kess or Snog out of action.” Or me, he thought to Gem.
Cedrick would use one of those draughts you mentioned on his second officer, I would think, Gem said.
She thought to herself, Although if he didn’t, rather than let you lose a limb, I’d have to reveal my magic, and wouldn’t that be a fine kettle of fish?
Satisfied that Snog wouldn’t start slitting the crew’s throats in her absence, Mari bid him good fortune in the upcoming fight and took her leave. Alan knew that she’d set gossip in motion about w
hat the supposed yeoman had done to get dismissed, and that by the next day, there’d be twenty or thirty different versions, but that was fine with him. A confusion of past misdeeds was more likely to serve his needs than a single story.
Chapter Four
“It’s often the little lies that catch you out. The big ones fly past unnoticed.”
-- Attributed to Elowyn, Master of Assassins, Kingdom of Dunshor
It was deep into the mizzen watch, but the bosun hadn’t made his appearance yet. While Alan slept fitfully, as was all too often the occasion, the skull-bound necromancer named Lord Grey spoke with the spirit of the sword called Gem.
Both of the beings had supernaturally sharp senses and, as Gem had discovered, the ability to clearly enunciate at exceedingly soft levels, such that their conversation went unnoticed by the humans and goblins aboard. Even though Alan was aware that they could communicate in this manner—it had been how Lord Grey had warned Gem of the bipedal, man-like lizards swarming up the undersides of Searcher without being detected—the two refrained if he was awake.
This was not from necessity but simply because both beings were by nature exceptionally patient. Unless something was critical, the conversation could wait until Alan was asleep.
“The discrepancies are piling up,” Lord Grey said, “as well as some physical issues.”
“I thought he covered his slip with Mari Suris fairly well,” Gem observed.
The ages-old necromancer chuckled. “That he did, but she’s marked it as unusual. The next slip he makes in her presence will be more likely to be noticed, especially if it’s in the same vein. He’s intelligent, our young friend, and the elf taught him to be crafty beyond his years, but he’s made dozens of small mistakes since coming aboard.”
“I can’t disagree with you, and I know he’s aware of many of them.” Gem paused, then asked, “Physical issues—you mean like the fact that he’s outgrowing his boots and his sleeves are noticeably shorter?”
By Blood Hunted: Kingsblood Chronicles Part Two (The Kingsblood Chronicles Book 2) Page 5
