Assail

by Ian C. Esslemont

  Tulan shot Reuth a questioning glance, which he answered with a nod. He turned to Gren: ‘Hug the starboard shore as we come in the mouth. Be ready to swing full to port.’

  ‘Aye.’

  Tulan nodded at this, reassured, and returned to facing the bows.

  The roar of churning waters swelled. In the unruly yawing and bucking of the galley, Reuth felt the currents beneath them swirling and hammering as the incoming high tide wrestled with the narrows’ outflow. The first of the rocks passed as dark blotches in the channel – submerged now, but still lurking tall enough to snatch a keel. Already Reuth’s face was chill and wet from the spray suspended in the gusting winds that howled down the constricting cliffs of the narrows.

  Gren stood hunched over the tiller arm, his bare feet splayed wide. ‘You do what you have to do, lad,’ he urged, winking.

  Reuth swallowed hard and drew a hand down his face to wipe away the spray. ‘Chase speed,’ he shouted.

  ‘Chase speed!’ Tulan immediately bellowed, hands to mouth.

  ‘Chase speed!’ Reuth barely heard Storval echoing. He did notice that the first mate no longer paced the walk. Now he stood with an arm round the mast, probably gripping a line.

  Gren had lost something of his grin now as he studied the oars. Reuth spared a glance and saw right away that they were far from the ideal unison in their slashing dip and rise. He recognized the interference of the inexperienced swordsmen – regrettable, but necessary for power. He’d have to take it into account in his estimates. ‘Ramming speed,’ he called.

  ‘Ramming speed!’ Tulan bellowed.

  The Lady’s Luck surged ahead, rocking Reuth on his feet. They shot between the first of the black jagged teeth of the Guardian Rocks. The foaming slew of waves danced about them. One fat swell of webbed olive-green water rose taller than their side. Reuth now kept his vision far ahead of their position. ‘Ready on the turn,’ he warned.

  ‘Aye.’

  Reuth delayed until he dared not wait a heartbeat longer and yelled, ‘Full port!’

  Gren drove the tiller arm aside, grunting, legs straining. He even set his shoulder against it. The Lady’s Luck groaned around them as she slewed over. Tulan steadied himself against the stern railing. Reuth grabbed hold of the line holding him upright as the galley rolled frighteningly. They started across the narrows and Reuth saw immediately that their line wasn’t what he was shooting for.

  ‘Port oars ease off!’ he called, panic now in his voice.

  ‘Port oars ease off!’ Tulan roared.

  Reuth assumed Storval was relaying the commands but he heard none of it over the grinding thunder of the waters about them. The port oars rose to stand straight out from the side. The Lady’s bow nosed over as the opposite row of oars powered on. ‘Resume oars!’ Reuth yelled.

  Tulan relayed the command. The line of port oars dipped. Reuth breathed a sigh of immense relief. Their line looked good to him, but they’d lost speed. He leaned, pointing, to shout to Gren: ‘I want a line between that short rock and the cliff for another sweep to the middle.’

  The steersman’s thick brows rose, but he nodded. ‘Aye.’

  The Lady’s Luck jumped then, flinching as if stabbed, and slewed aside. The grinding of wood over rock momentarily silenced the water’s roar. Reuth leaned over the side in time to see a black shadow sweep past beneath the surface. They’d struck a submerged rock a glancing blow.

  Gren strained to bring the bow back into line. ‘Chase speed!’ Reuth yelled.

  Tulan repeated the command with a good deal of cursing and fuming.

  Reuth felt the surge of renewed speed as the oarsmen leaned into their work. The swordsmen were useless on their timing, but they had real power. And the Lady was responding as before: she didn’t feel sluggish at all. The planking held, thank their Mare carpenters and Ruse enchantments of seam and timber.

  They were coming abreast of the short black tooth of rock that Reuth had named the pony in his mental map of the route ahead, and he called out: ‘Ready for the return!’

  ‘Aye!’

  ‘Now! Sweep to the middle!’

  Gren cursed and heaved, bringing the heavy timber arm back the opposite way. The Lady’s bows now swung over, but heavily, as they fought the swifter current in this narrow pinch close to the port cliff.

  ‘Ramming speed!’ Reuth called out.

  ‘Ramming speed, you dogs, or we’ll drink with Mael this night!’ Tulan roared.

  The oars dug in, pulling. The Lady shuddered. So close did they draw to the cliff that one rear oar on the port side clattered from the face. They gained speed as real panic seemed to take hold and the Lady shot out towards the middle of the channel.

  Reuth was pleased: they’d avoided the worst of this lowest section of the Rocks, stretches where the waters swelled and boiled signalling many hidden teeth below. The line ahead promised smooth glassy portions. Briefly, he wondered how the trailing vessels fared, but he dared not glance to the rear to search for them.

  He pointed to the coming maze of rocks. ‘Take that first one on the port side, Gren.’

  ‘Aye.’

  After that first turn of the crowded middle section, Reuth couldn’t be certain of the route he chose. He only had split seconds to send the bow one way or the other and the answers came to him more or less on instinct: the fat curl of one swell; the deeper blue of one particular channel; the foam gathered in one side pool that promised a slower current. The teeth brushed past so close Tulan stepped in to order oars raised, or poles deployed to fend the Lady off a rock the current was pressing her against. Wood scraped in tortured groans. Oars cracked on stone, or were bashed aside in a rattling head-smashing sweep of the benches.

  At one point a sideswipe knocked the entire starboard side into disorder in a running clatter of breaking oars. Tulan leapt the stern railing to help clear the chaos. Here the discipline of the Stormguard paid off as they immediately followed every command. Reuth glimpsed one of them pulling blind, his face a solid sheet of blood pouring from a gash in his scalp. Another yanked one-handed while his other hung useless, the bone of his forearm shattered.

  These men know how to fight the sea, he realized. This was their life, their sworn calling. He had one moment to realize that this was why they’d left Korel – they could no longer find a battle there – then the next instant he had to select an escape even as the Lady, losing headway, began a spin driven by the current.

  ‘Back round!’ he yelled to Gren. ‘Circle the rock for another try!’

  The steersman shot him a mad grin and laughed. He pushed the arm fully over.

  This particular rock was a huge one, which was why Reuth could try the move. He only hoped that Tulan and Storval could knock the starboard banks into order before they came round once more. As the Lady made its dancing turn round the great tooth, Reuth was treated to a view back up Fear Narrows. He glimpsed many ships yet in play, all galleys, the pirate vessel closest behind. Its sweeps flashed in poor timing but with massive deep bites that seemed to lift the entire ship.

  Spelling, he said to himself. They must be spelling the oarsmen – no one could sustain such an effort for longer than one quick rush.

  The bow continued its arc and then came the time for them to catch the current once more. Reuth looked to the banks: the port oars were raised waiting to start, but disorder still reigned among the starboard sweeps.

  ‘Trapped,’ Reuth breathed aloud. ‘We’re caught!’

  ‘What for it then, lad?’ Gren answered.

  ‘Port side drag oars!’ he yelled. Gren took up the call as well, yet Reuth could well imagine that their voices hardly carried over the thunder of the churning waves pounding on all sides.

  Then Tulan’s great bull-roar sounded out: ‘Drop them port sweeps! Back oars! Push, you dogs! Break your backs!’

  The drag pulled on the bow and in the widening gap a portion of the starboard sweeps bit into the swell.

  ‘Take us into the open,’ Reuth
told Gren. He nearly dropped then, quivering, his legs almost without strength.

  The steersman nodded. ‘The line?’

  Reuth gestured up the middle. ‘It looks to be opening up.’

  The Lady limped along now, but the narrows broadened here, the current slower. The vertical cliffs still allowed no respite for any crippled vessel, but they made headway. Reuth allowed himself a glance to the rear: incredibly, many vessels still followed.

  He returned to scanning for the best route ahead. Don’t fail now, he told himself. Not when we must be nearly through. He examined the waters emerging from round each looming rock ahead; some frothed far more than others, suggesting a rougher path. He decided to keep to weaving through the middle to avoid getting pinched against a cliff.

  This long drawn out section of the way wore hardest upon him. He was already exhausted, unable to focus as well as he had. He dragged a hand down his face and rubbed his stinging eyes. Then he thought of the oarsmen still pulling below him and shook off the mood. None of them had been spelled through any of this. The Lady simply didn’t have a large enough complement.

  ‘We might be through,’ he told Gren.

  The steersman rolled his massive shoulders to loosen them. ‘We might.’ Then he frowned. ‘I smell smoke.’

  Reuth squinted ahead. Smoke? How could there be … He caught coils of black smoke now curling round the rocks ahead. What in the Lady’s name …?

  The stern of a tall three-tiered vessel came edging out from behind the looming centre tooth – an enormous galley entirely engulfed in flames.

  Shouts of alarm sounded from the crew below.

  ‘Lad …’ Gren murmured.

  Reuth simply stared. A sea battle ahead? A sea battle in the middle of the narrows? But the Lady’s entire crew was given over to the benches. How could they possibly hope to —

  ‘Lad, choose …’ Gren prompted, louder. ‘Now.’

  Reuth shook himself. Choose? Now? He studied the vessel’s aimless spin as it came heading broadside down towards them like a wall of fire. Black smoke billowed, cloaking a portion of the channel.

  ‘Hard Port!’ he shouted.

  Gren thrust the tiller arm over. The Lady’s bow swung towards the port shore of the narrows while the burning vessel, helpless in the current, came directly across their line. Smoke blew across their deck in thick sooty billows that blinded Reuth.

  ‘Pull!’ Tulan urged, coughing. ‘Keep pulling!’

  The hungry roar of flames now overtook the rush and hissing of the waters about them. Gouts of flame penetrated the wall of smoke like bursts of those damned Moranth munitions. A firestorm much taller than the Lady came crackling and thundering, as searingly hot as an enormous kiln, directly past their starboard side. Reuth covered his face. He coughed and gagged in the thick oily smoke. Something hot kissed his hand and he yelped, jumping and waving the hand.

  ‘Put those fires out!’ he heard Tulan barking. ‘Douse those embers!’

  The pall of smoke began to clear. ‘Sail’s caught!’ Storval shouted.

  ‘Drop it!’ Tulan ordered.

  ‘Cut the ropes!’ Reuth heard Storval call.

  Blinking, Reuth felt more than saw the bundled sail come crashing down, crossbar and all, while flames licked about it. ‘Overboard!’ Tulan bellowed. ‘Now!’

  Men grunted and heaved. Wood grated, then a heavy splash announced that the burning bundle had struck the waves.

  Reuth started then, remembering his duty, and called out: ‘Back over, Gren.’

  The steersman grunted his surprise and slammed the arm across. ‘Sorry,’ he murmured.

  Reuth wiped his face and his hands came away black with soot. ‘Is it a sea battle, Gren?’

  ‘Don’t know, lad.’

  ‘Because we can’t—’

  ‘Never mind. You just get us through.’

  Reuth gave a quick shamed nod. ‘Yes. Sorry.’

  He studied the possible paths ahead. The way appeared to be broadening. He did his best to choose the turns that would send them into a line that would allow the most options. His main concern now was their waning speed. The men were spent, of course, and their headway was flagging. Yet the current was weakening. Portions of this section even ran smooth.

  After a few more slow turns they emerged into a full wide channel marred only by a few isolated rearing teeth. It appeared they’d run the Guardian Rocks.

  Gren shot Reuth his mad grin.

  Tulan came stomping up to the stern. Soot blackened his sodden furs and his beard seemed to have caught fire along one side. He was drawing in great breaths as he laid a hand on Reuth’s shoulder and squeezed. ‘Well done, lad,’ he croaked, his voice almost gone. ‘Well done.’ He turned to peer ahead, drew in a great lungful of air. ‘Now what?’

  ‘There are a few mentions of a settlement here. Ruse, some write it.’

  Tulan grunted. ‘Fair enough. We’ll make for it. We need safe moorage for a refit.’

  Gren began untying himself from the tiller arm. ‘You’ve your sea legs now, I think, hey?’

  ‘I’ve had enough of the sea.’

  Gren laughed. ‘There you go. You’ve the way of it now.’

  A sailor Tulan had sent up the mast now called out: ‘Our shadows are with us. One close, others distant.’

  Reuth glanced behind. Indeed, more vessels were limping out from among the rearing teeth. They were far behind, but it appeared that the lead one was their pirate friend.

  The crew continued to row, but at a leisurely pace. The narrows broadened. There was almost enough of a breeze to warrant lowering a sail, if they still had one.

  ‘Something ahead,’ the lookout shouted.

  Reuth shaded his eyes but couldn’t make anything out. Tulan called up: ‘What is it, man?’

  ‘Hard to tell … ships! Looks like a mass of ships!’

  Reuth thought of his worries about a sea battle. Tulan’s brows crimped and a hand went to check for the sword at his hip. ‘See that everyone’s armed,’ he ordered Storval.

  ‘Aye.’

  They closed at a slowing pace. What awaited ahead was a mass of ships, but no fighting. The forest of mismatched galleys, launches, fishing boats and cargo vessels were congregated around a slim side channel. As they neared, it became clear that most had seen heavy fighting. Reuth made out archers crowding almost every deck. ‘Don’t like the look of this,’ he murmured to Gren.

  ‘We’ll surprise ’em,’ Tulan answered. He leaned over the stern railing. ‘Full speed! Looks like a reception committee.’

  ‘You heard the man,’ Storval announced. ‘No more easing off! You and you – back to your positions.’

  Ahead, a single arrow took flight above the ragtag navy and with that signal the vessels dispersed like a swarm of bees. It looked to Reuth as though they meant to cordon off the entire narrows.

  ‘Chase speed!’ Tulan bellowed out.

  The Lady’s Luck surged ahead, though with not nearly the power and crispness of earlier in the day. It was now a race. Reuth motioned to the opposite cliff face and Gren nodded. He slowly angled the bow aside.

  ‘Ramming speed!’ Tulan ordered. In answer, the Lady’s Luck hardly accelerated. ‘Row, you wretches!’ the huge man raged. ‘Put some effort into it for a change!’

  The fastest of the navy vessels were leading the dash to the opposite cliffs, but it looked to Reuth as if they might just slip past first. He congratulated himself on being of Mare – the greatest seafarers and shipbuilders on the earth.

  He turned to Gren with a smile on his lips. ‘We might just—’

  ‘Get down!’ the steersman cried, and yanked him by an arm.

  A rain of arrows came slamming into the Lady’s Luck. Men yelled all up and down the benches. The sweeps clattered and slapped into chaos. Some caught the water to drag. The Lady lost headway as if sliding up a sand bar. Tulan was now bellowing among the oarsmen. A second volley of arrows swept the deck and Gren held Reuth in the cover of the ship�
�s side.

  Something rammed them in a snapping of sweeps and grinding of timbers. Reuth’s head struck the side, leaving his vision blurry. He peered up to see that a smaller galley had struck them a glancing blow. Grapnels flew from the enemy vessel while a crowd of archers continued to rake the Lady.

  ‘Cut those ropes!’ Tulan roared.

  A second blow shuddered through the Lady’s Luck as another vessel scoured alongside.

  ‘Repel boarders!’ Storval called.

  ‘Doesn’t look good,’ Gren hissed, looking down. Reuth followed his gaze to see an arrow standing from the man’s thigh.

  ‘Gren! What should I do?’

  ‘Be a good lad and tear a piece of cloth for me.’

  Reuth tore at his own shirt. The steersman snapped off the standing length of shaft then reached under his leg, clenched his teeth, and yanked on something. He grunted his agony, then lifted a hand holding a bloodied arrowhead and shaft. He tossed it aside then sat heavily, nearly passing out. Reuth tied off his leg.

  Another impact threw him from his feet to roll across the stern deck. He clambered up and peeked over the side. They’d been rammed from behind to be knocked clear of the ships that had surrounded them and now they drifted with this new galley – the pirate vessel that had followed them in.

  Armoured men and women, all in deep blood-red tabards, leapt from its bows to the Lady’s stern. One of them, a shorter fellow with a strange grey-blue pallor to his skin, peered down at him. Surprisingly, the fellow carried no weapons, only two short sticks. ‘Where is your captain?’ he demanded.

  ‘I command here!’ Storval answered, climbing the stern deck, sword out.

  The newcomer raised his hands, fingers spread. ‘Man your sweeps. We’ll cover your retreat.’

  ‘And who in the Lady’s name are you?’ Storval sneered.

  ‘Doesn’t matter. Get your banks in order. They’re closing again.’

  Storval peered past the man to the rear, grunted his assent. He sheathed the sword and thumped down to the main walkway. ‘Man the sweeps!’ he called. ‘Everyone! Now!’

  Reuth leapt the stern railing. Storval? Why Storval? Where’s … He searched among the benches then found him lying sprawled among some other bodies. His uncle, fallen, motionless. Dead.