Kellanved's Reach

by Ian C. Esslemont

  He found her sitting up against the mizzen mast, legs straight out and crossed atop a spar. He took hold of the spar and swayed there in the netting far above the deck. From her papers he knew her name to be Hyacynth, but he suspected that she must be mortified by it as she was known only as Hy. ‘Going to hide up here all day?’

  ‘I’m not hiding,’ she corrected. ‘I happen to be in plain view.’

  ‘Okay – run as far as you can?’

  ‘I didn’t run,’ the pale, delicately featured redhead corrected again. ‘I climbed.’

  Nedurian blew out a breath. ‘Look, child, I know this isn’t some fine salon in Quon, but you signed up for this, and this is how it is.’

  She rolled her eyes to the sky. ‘What is that supposed to mean?’

  ‘It means that yes, they’re crude and lewd and ignorant and use rough language and just want to drink and screw, but what do you expect? Half are fresh off the farm or the fishing boat. You’ll just have to put up with it for now.’

  Hy crossed her arms over her thin chest. ‘Why for now? What could possibly change?’

  ‘Action, child. Once you all see action, everything will change. Trust me. I’ve seen it a thousand times.’

  She bit at a gnawed thumbnail. ‘You’re obviously an educated man, captain. How could you bear to serve with such … such …’

  ‘Peasants?’ he offered.

  ‘Gauche rubes,’ she supplied.

  ‘Because some of them proved to be among the best people I’ve ever known. Now, c’mon down and stop pouting.’

  ‘I’m not pouting,’ she corrected yet again.

  He popped his head back up to say, ‘Yes you are,’ and climbed down.

  *

  At the stern deck he joined the fleet’s admiral, Choss, who alone among Surly’s Napans would not be accompanying the landing party. The burly veteran raider gave him a nod.

  ‘So, an attack on Dariyal’s harbour defences – defences that have never been breached.’

  ‘That’s the size of it,’ Choss affirmed, distracted, as he eyed the progress of the ragtag flotilla spreading out from Malaz.

  ‘After the failed assault we pull back to form a blockade.’ The admiral nodded. ‘Will they respond?’

  ‘Oh, they’ll probably come chasing out right after us.’

  ‘And that’s good?’

  The fellow murmured orders to a flagwoman, then returned his attention to Nedurian. ‘Good and bad. We might be overrun, but at least everyone will be watching the harbour.’

  ‘Ah. And Surly?’

  ‘On board the Twisted, with the mage and Dancer.’

  ‘Will she head in with them?’

  ‘She keeps threatening to. So I wouldn’t be surprised. Now,’ and he gestured with a wide hand to the surrounding vessels, ‘I have to send some messages.’

  Nedurian bowed, withdrawing. ‘Of course.’

  Despite all his decades of campaigning, Nedurian had never before been in a proper naval engagement. Oh, he’d seen river crossings and lakeside assaults aplenty, but no ship-to-ship action. So he leaned on the side and eyed the preparations with the appreciative eye of an interested, if inexperienced, fighting man.

  The trip would take nearly the full day. He watched the vessels using the time to order themselves. Fat and heavy modified merchant caravels lumbered to the front. These, he knew, from sitting in on briefings, had been adapted to look like the troop-carriers they would be in any normal port assault. In this case, however, they were not. They were hollow canards, meant to lead the way and attract the heaviest barrages from the formidable harbour mangonels, catapults, and scorpions.

  Behind these would slip in the majority of the Malazan galleys. Swift and low, the troops they carried actually working the oars, they would strike while the caravels took the punishment – at least that was the plan.

  The rest of the fleet, including the Insufferable, would follow.

  Caught up in the atmosphere of the preparation, Nedurian had to remind himself that all this was actually merely a diversion, meant to keep attention focused on the water, and away from the palace.

  It occurred to him that should these Malazans subdue Nap, they would effectively rule the seas and the entire coastline surrounding Quon Tali – a continent where none of the cities or states had invested in a navy of any significance. Why bother when you had potentially hostile neighbours on all sides? And hence his own lack of naval experience even after so many years.

  So, he wondered, did this mage Kellanved know all this when he selected Malaz as a base from which to launch his ambitions? Or had he merely chosen to make the most of the available strengths of wherever he found himself? It was a debate that could go back and forth for ever, he supposed. Scholars might grind their quills down to nubs over it all – but only if they succeeded this day.

  When afternoon came, he went from man to man and woman to woman, examining their gear, pulling on straps, and setting aside heavy equipment they wouldn’t be needing, such as the shovels and other siegeworking and saboteur gear. Their job would be to repel boarders. And there would be a lot of them, as the Napan fleet outnumbered them well over three to one.

  Later, as the afternoon waned, a call went up from the high shrouds and everyone, Nedurian included, looked to the west. After a few moments he caught a glimpse: the bonfire atop the great lighthouse at the end of the Dariyal harbour mole. Defensive lookout during the day, and light to guide Napan mariners by night.

  There was certainly no turning back now, for if they could see the lighthouse, then the Napan lookouts could see them.

  *

  It was a statement of where the Napan Isles’ power and interest lay that the traditional palace of the kings stood next to Dariyal’s harbour. Tarel hated the damp draughty place, and planned to move to the upland estate district of the capital once he’d settled things with his sister, which looked to be soon.

  He and his inner circle of advisers – those who had backed him early on and now held high political appointments from him, and were profiting mightily from said positions – all waited, laughing a touch nervously and loudly, in one of the guardrooms overlooking the harbour while a steady stream of messengers came and went.

  ‘Fewer than fifty ships, you say?’ Tarel demanded of one naval officer messenger.

  This officer bowed. ‘So say the lookouts.’

  Tarel turned to High Admiral Karesh, frankly incredulous. ‘So few? Could this be a trick?’

  The admiral shook his head. ‘No, my lord. Our spies on Malaz reported such numbers. This is all their complement, thrown in together against us. This usurper mage is a fool,’ he added, and chuckled in a self-satisfied way that irritated Tarel.

  ‘My sister is no fool,’ he snapped.

  Admiral Karesh bowed, hands fluttering. ‘Of course, m’lord. But what choice does she have? She has thrown in her lot with these criminals and murderers.’

  Tarel nodded to himself while peering through an arrow slit to the waters beyond the harbour. Yes, criminals and murderers. A dark mage and an assassin who – and he could not help but rub his neck – reportedly had already killed one king … ‘I do not see them,’ he complained.

  ‘Soon, m’lord. Then, as agreed, we allow them to push into the harbour. There they will not find us unprepared and surprised. Every vessel is already manned and crammed with soldiers. We will overwhelm them.’ He finished, confidently, ‘Not one Malazan ship will escape.’

  Tarel eyed the corpulent fellow uneasily. He did not like such confidence – to him it bespoke stupidity. ‘My sister will be on board one of those vessels. It is her I do not want to escape.’

  Admiral Karesh bowed again. ‘Of course, m’lord.’

  Tarel found the eye of a waiting messenger. ‘A hundred gold Untan crowns to whoever brings me the head of the traitor Lady Sureth.’

  The messenger bowed and darted from the chamber.

  Admiral Karesh pursed his thick lips in disapproval. ‘Unnecessary,
m’lord.’

  ‘It should help the fighting spirit, I imagine,’ Tarel opined, eyeing the open waters anew. He clenched and unclenched his hands and found them damp. What had he forgotten? Had he forgotten anything? Those impetuous lawless Malazans would be encircled and eliminated – along with his sister who sought refuge with them. Malaz would then be his for the plucking, and Nap would once again rule the southern seas.

  All under his rule. He might go down in history as among the greatest of her kings and queens.

  And as for this dread dark mage who had taken the island in his fist. Well, he had his check in place for that contingency as well.

  What more could one do? One placed the pieces on the board as best one might and prayed. It was all in the hands of the gods now, and he must await with everyone else the turning of the throw.

  Chapter 10

  As if having lost her nerve for the coming fight, the Twisted peeled away from the flotilla at the last possible moment. She swept west, skirting along the base of the salt-stained stones of a towering seawall. Dancer watched from the side while the skeleton crew of volunteer sailors dashed from line to line, adjusting their running.

  ‘They’ll let us go,’ opined the veteran sailor on the wheel, Brendan. He’d been promoted to captain of the vessel but somehow couldn’t part from his usual station. ‘One less ship to fight.’

  Dancer nodded his distracted agreement. Getting to shore somewhere, somehow, and relatively undetected, was the puzzle that occupied him. But – his gaze strayed to the shut cabin door – it wasn’t his responsibility. That lay elsewhere.

  Surly’s Napans watched from the side as well, Surly herself among them. How they had howled when she climbed aboard! But what could they do? Throw her off? She’d played her hand well; demurring and quietly agreeing to Cartheron’s advice to hold back, all the while fully intending to come along anyway.

  The main body of the force was some thirty Malazan fighters, hand-picked and led by Dassem, and including their early recruit Dujek and his shadow, Jack.

  The last of the party was the Kartoolian mage. Tayschrenn stood with Dancer, which said a lot, as it implied he was comfortable with neither the Napans nor the Malazans, and apparently preferred to stand with a notorious assassin instead.

  They now hugged Dariyal’s built-up city shore, the Napans scanning it eagerly for something. It was nearing dusk, the sun lowering towards the western horizon, more or less behind them – a deliberate choice of timing in the assault as it put the sun in the defender’s eyes.

  Despite keeping a close eye on the shore Dancer was startled when a long low vessel came darting out between two piers and aimed straight for them, churning the waters with double-banks of oars.

  ‘’Ware!’ he shouted. ‘Ready to repulse!’

  The Napans crowded the side. Surly stood behind, arms crossed, a strange sort of secret smile on her lips. The vessel came aside quickly, blue banners fluttering. It was a swift bireme, some sort of shore picket. Urko actually threw down a rope ladder then, and Dancer opened his mouth to object, but Surly raised a hand, asking for a moment.

  A single Napan climbed aboard, one of the largest Dancer had seen to date, almost as wide as Urko, but much heavier about the middle. This man opened his arms and the Napans, Cartheron, Urko and Tocaras, all exchanged slapping hugs with him. Then he approached Surly and took her hand, bowing from the waist.

  ‘Amaron,’ Surly greeted him.

  ‘You are all under arrest,’ Amaron announced with a wink. ‘I’m afraid I must escort you to the palace.’

  *

  Everything went well, at first. Nedurian watched from the Insufferable as the empty caravels bulled ahead into the harbour, taking a pounding from the mole defences. But no flame attacks, he noted, thinking that the Napans must be worried about their own vessels.

  Yet he could not see most of the harbour piers and docks from where the Insufferable was laid up, sails lowered, waiting while the troop-carrying oared galleys and longboats charged in ahead.

  After a time, Choss ordered minimal canvas, and the Insufferable leaned in, heading for the harbour mouth. Uneasy, Nedurian headed to the stern deck.

  ‘Won’t we be unable to manoeuvre in there?’ he asked the admiral.

  ‘Oh yes,’ Choss agreed, cheerily enough. He turned aside to give orders to a flagwoman.

  Nedurian raised a brow. ‘Speaking as an ignorant landsman – perhaps we shouldn’t enter, then.’

  ‘Have to. Under orders to give a good show.’

  ‘I understand that. But we might end up being captured.’

  The admiral rubbed a hand over the kinky black beard he was growing. ‘Just might.’

  ‘So that’s the plan? Lose?’

  Choss offered up a disturbingly merry smile. ‘Surly made some refinements on the plan. The idea is to lose the battle to win the war.’

  ‘Now you tell me this?’

  The admiral slapped him on the back. ‘Don’t worry yourself. That doesn’t mean we can’t put up a good fight.’

  Nedurian returned to his troops, shaking his head. These Napans are crazy.

  The full Malazan fleet was now crowding the harbour entrance and it immediately became obvious to Nedurian that he was right – there was no way to manoeuvre in the confines of the sheltered bay behind the mole.

  Moreover, the Napan ships at their piers were now coming to meet them en masse. In no way had they been caught unawares or unprepared by the Malazan strike. Any sane commander, facing this, would order the retreat. Choss, however, raised the flags for attack.

  Nedurian understood a desperate gamble, but this seemed unnecessarily callous. How many good men and women had to die to feed a diversion? It was frankly distasteful, and he stormed back up to the stern deck.

  ‘Crews are going to die for this!’ he shouted to Choss. ‘A fighting withdrawal at the least!’

  The blue-hued commander was in the midst of belting on a set of matching long-knives. Instead of being insulted, he gave Nedurian a nod of understanding. ‘All captains have been given leave to decide for themselves how long to fight, or to withdraw at will.’

  ‘Withdraw at will …’ Nedurian echoed, eyeing the two fleets now coursing towards each other. Three of the gigantic lumbering Malazan caravels had caught fire at last and were now bearing down upon the Napans as fireships of their own creation. ‘Generations of enmity and you think any one of them would dare be the first to withdraw?’

  Choss gave him a wink. ‘For a Talian you catch on fast.’ He pointed to a flagwoman, who signalled furiously, then slapped Nedurian on the shoulder again. ‘Don’t worry. Surly doesn’t waste resources. I’ll order the general retreat long before that.’ He motioned Nedurian to mid-deck. ‘Your concern does you credit. But, if you don’t mind, I’m rather busy right now …’

  The old soldier in Nedurian reflexively saluted. ‘Of course, admiral.’ He returned to his troops, yelling, ‘Prepare to repel boarders!’

  The marines lined the sides, shields raised.

  As he watched the limited jostling among the vessels that was the only manoeuvre possible, it slowly became evident to Nedurian that Choss’s flag-waving and communiqués had established a loose arc, or Malazan defence, just inside the harbour mouth – he was prudently not about to allow his retreat to be cut off.

  That at least was something of a relief. Now it was up to them to hold out and wait – for a time. It occurred to him then, rather belatedly, that as the flagship the Insufferable would be the last to withdraw.

  He pulled a hand down his face and rubbed the scar that bisected his cheek. Things just kept getting better and better.

  *

  While the landing party climbed down the side of the Twisted to the waiting bireme, the Blue Star, Dancer bade farewell to the sailors who would take their vessel offshore to await the dawn, and the outcome of their gamble. He then knocked and entered the single stateroom to fetch Kellanved.

  He found the fellow at the desk, h
astily dropping something into his pocket. Irritated, he asked, ‘What is that thing you keep fiddling with?’

  The short mage brushed past him, walking stick in hand. ‘Nothing.’

  Jaws clenched, Dancer followed.

  On deck, Kellanved frowned down at the launch. He cocked an eye to Dancer. ‘This wasn’t the plan.’

  Dancer nodded. ‘Apparently Surly’s made some refinements.’

  Yet instead of being angered, or insulted, the mock-ancient mage lifted his brows in appreciation. ‘Of course. The little details.’ He motioned to the launch, inviting Dancer onward.

  On board the Blue Star, Urko, Cartheron, Tocaras and Surly changed into Napan guard uniforms, while Dassem and his troop, Tayschrenn, Dancer and Kellanved would play the part of captured Malazan invaders. Dassem handed over his weapon to his Napan ‘captors’ first, and the rest of the troop followed suit. Dancer surrendered his two visible weapons – the rest he kept.

  Docking at a pier, they filed up the gangway under the watch of Amaron’s picked crew, and were then marched to the palace.

  Walking the empty narrow city streets, Dancer noticed that Kellanved had his hand in his pocket again, and lost his temper. ‘What is that?’

  The mage yanked his hand free. ‘Nothing. Nothing at all.’

  ‘No. What is it? Show me.’

  The grey-haired ancient waved a dismissal. ‘It’s nothing, really.’

  ‘No. Now,’ Dancer hissed furiously.

  ‘Quiet, prisoners!’ Amaron barked from the front.

  Dancer glared his impatience as they walked along. At first Kellanved looked away as if admiring the architecture, but he kept glancing back, guiltily, Dancer thought, until finally, quite sheepishly, he dipped his hand into his pocket and withdrew a dark object.

  Dancer couldn’t believe he was looking at the flint spear-point. ‘I knew it!’ he yelled, and reached for it. Kellanved covered it in both hands.

  They tussled until strong arms – Urko’s – pulled Dancer away, and he found himself staring at a very worried-looking Cartheron. ‘Prisoners will remain quiet,’ the Napan hissed.