Off Armageddon Reef

by David Weber

  "Actually, I do think you may have been harsher than he deserved," he said after a moment. "Which isn't to say King Rahnyld didn't deserve everything you said. Although you might want to think about the potential diplomatic consequences of flaying him quite as thoroughly as he deserves."

  "After what we've done to him—and what he's tried to do to us—I don't really think it's very likely even Father or Rayjhis could negotiate any sort of treaty with him, whatever I said or didn't say," Cayleb said with a snort. "Even if Rahnyld had any desire to forgive and forget—which he won't have—Clyntahn and the rest of the Group of Four wouldn't let him. And unlike Charis, Dohlar is effectively right next door to the Temple. So I might as well tell him what I really think of him."

  "I'm sure it was personally satisfying," Merlin said mildly, and Cayleb barked a laugh.

  "Actually, it was extremely personally satisfying," he corrected. "That wasn't why I did it, though." Merlin quirked an eyebrow, and the crown prince shrugged. "Thirsk's going to report this conversation when he finally gets home. And when he does, Rahnyld's going to be absolutely livid. Well, that was going to happen anyway, no matter how 'diplomatic' I might have been. But now two other things are going to happen, as well.

  "First, in the impetuousness of my youth and immature anger, I've 'let slip' the penetration of our agents in Tarot. That should serve as an additional layer of protection for your 'visions,' Merlin. But, possibly even more importantly, Rahnyld—and, hopefully, the Group of Four—are going to believe Gorjah was responsible for letting out the information that allowed us to intercept the Southern Force. Either he deliberately fed it to us, or else he was criminally careless, and the fact that the only survivors of this entire debacle are all going to be Tarotisian galleys may help convince his 'friends' he set the whole thing up intentionally. In either case, it's going to leave him just a tiny bit of a problem, don't you think?"

  Cayleb's evil smile made him look remarkably like his father in that moment, Merlin reflected.

  "Second," the crown prince continued, "what I said to Thirsk, and what he's going to repeat to Rahnyld, is going to get out. Don't think for a moment it won't. And when it does, it's going to affect the thinking of all Rahnyld's nobles. It's also going to get out to all the other rulers of Howard and Haven, as well, and I suspect that's going to make it a bit more difficult for the Group of Four to arrange a repeat performance of this. They certainly won't be able to approach it as if it were no more than 'business as usual.' And if their next batch of potential catspaws understand exactly how we're going to regard them, and what can happen to their navies if they lose, it may make them just a bit less eager."

  Merlin nodded slowly. He wasn't at all certain he agreed with everything Cayleb had just said, but the decisiveness it reflected was typical of what he was coming to expect out of the youthful heir to the throne.

  As far as the effect on Tarot and King Gorjah was concerned, he probably had an excellent point, Merlin reflected. It was the other side of it Merlin found worrisome. Yes, it might make it more difficult for the Group of Four to marshal the forces for their next attack, but the stark ruthlessness of Cayleb's expressed attitude might also provoke a matching response from future opponents.

  Still, Merlin asked himself, how much worse could it get? Cayleb's absolutely right about what the Group of Four wanted to happen to Charis this time. Is it really likely their objectives are going to get less extreme after their tools got hammered this way the first time around?

  "Well," he said aloud, "at least Thirsk accepted instead of forcing your hand."

  "Yes." Cayleb nodded. "And you were right this morning when you suggested offering him the option of putting his men ashore on Opal Island, instead of the mainland. Personally, I don't think I'd find putting Crag Reach between me and the demons he expects his people to be so worried about would be all that reassuring. But I'm just as glad they'll find it that way, if it makes them happier about accepting and means I don't have to kill them all after all."

  "I'm glad to have been of service," Merlin said dryly. "And, now that he's accepted, what are your other plans?"

  "Well," Cayleb said slowly, turning to look out across the water at the tree-covered slopes of Opal Island's three thousand-plus square miles, "I'd really prefer to head back home immediately. But if Typhoon's as badly damaged as you say, she's going to need time for repairs. We've got damage to other ships, as well, and all of us used a lot of powder and shot. We need to get Traveler and Summer Moon in here and replenish our ammunition. And I'm thinking that before we burn Thirsk's galleys, we'll strip them of anything we can use, as well—especially spare spars, lumber, cordage and canvas, that sort of thing—then stay here long enough to complete at least our major repairs."

  "Is that wise?" Merlin asked in a deliberately neutral tone.

  "I'll discuss it with Domynyk, get his suggestions and advice, of course," Cayleb said, "but I don't think we have a lot of choice. We can't leave just one or two ships here to repair by themselves, not when Thirsk's going to have several thousand men right here on Opal Island to try something with. So, either we burn our worst-damaged ships right along with the galleys—which, much though I don't want to, may turn out to be our best choice—or else we all stay here long enough to repair them and take them with us when we leave."

  The crown prince shrugged unhappily.

  "I'm not delighted with either option, Merlin. But whatever we do, we're still the better part of a month's hard sail away from Charis. Taking another five-day or two to make repairs isn't going to add very much to how long it takes us to get home. And, for that matter, Hektor and Nahrmahn won't be expecting Malikai for almost another month, anyway. Your own 'visions' say they're still waiting under the original timetable, and they aren't going to be that surprised if Malikai and his fleet are later even than that. Not after traveling that far in Dohlaran galleys.

  "So, unless Domynyk comes up with some compelling argument which hasn't already occurred to me, I think it's more important for us to fully repair all of our surviving galleons than it is to try to get home a couple of five-days earlier."

  MARCH, YEAR OF GOD 892

  I

  HMS Dreadnought,

  Off Armageddon Reef

  Merlin gazed across the hammock nettings as the southern tip of Opal Island passed slowly to port.

  The schooner Spy led the line of Charisian ships, moving with saucy grace as her more ponderous consorts followed heavily in her wake. The summer sun shone brightly out of a blue sky polished by a handful of fair-weather cumulus clouds, while torrents of the gulls, puffins, and sea wyverns which nested in the cliffs of Crag Hook circled and dove. A gentle surf broke against Sand Islet, off the port bow, and the lower line of cliffs leading the way to Bald Rock Head, to starboard.

  Nothing, he thought, could have presented a greater contrast to their arrival in Crag Reach.

  "I can't say I'm sorry to be going," Cayleb remarked from beside him, and Merlin turned his head to look at the prince.

  Cayleb wore a tunic and trousers, not the armor and helmet he'd worn that violence-wracked night, and he ran a hand over his bare head as he, too, looked across at Opal Island.

  "You do realize this is going to go down as one of the greatest naval battles in the history of the world, don't you?" Merlin said quizzically.

  "And rightly so, I suppose." Cayleb shrugged. "On the other hand, I did have certain . . . unfair advantages."

  He smiled, and Merlin smiled back.

  "I do feel sorry for Thirsk, though," Merlin said after a moment, his smile fading. "You were right when you said he deserved a better cause to serve."

  "He'd be more likely to find one of those if he'd find a better king," Cayleb said tartly. "Trust me. That's something I know a little about."

  "Yes, you do."

  Merlin turned his eyes back to the island's forested slopes. Earl Thirsk and his survivors should be just fine until someone sent the necessary ships to take them ho
me again. Opal had plenty of fresh water, they'd already erected sufficient shelter, especially for the summer, and landed enough provisions to carry them for at least six months, even if they were unable to add anything by hunting and fishing. And Cayleb had relented, just a bit, and left a small store of captured matchlocks and arbalests on the beach when his ships weighed anchor this morning.

  Of course, what's going to happen to Thirsk when he gets home may be something else entirely, Merlin thought grimly. He's the senior Dohlaran admiral who's coming home after the worst naval disaster in Dohlar's history, and what I've seen of King Rahnyld suggests he's going to be looking for scapegoats, more than explanations.

  He thought about it for a moment longer, then put the matter of Earl Thirsk's future away and leaned out across the hammock nettings to look back at the line of sails following along astern of Dreadnought.

  The last thick, dark pillars of smoke from over fifty blazing ships still trailed across the sky, following the galleon fleet out of its anchorage. The line of ships looked impressive and proud after two five-days of repairs, with the brooms lashed to the heads of their main topgallant masts. Cayleb had laughed out loud when Merlin suggested that gesture and explained the symbolism behind it, but then he'd sobered as he realized how apt it was. His galleons certainly had swept the sea clean of their enemies.

  Merlin's lips twitched in a remembered smile of his own, but then it faded, for three sails were missing, and he felt a fresh stab of grief for the schooner Wyvern.

  He didn't know what had happened to her. She'd been there, riding the fury of the gale, in one SNARC pass; in the next, she'd simply been gone. He'd been able to locate no survivors of her ninety-man crew, not even any wreckage.

  Then there was Dragon, lost so spectacularly in the final stage of the Crag Reach action. And HMS Lightning, one of the converted merchantmen, from Sir Domynyk Staynair's column, had taken more damage in the action off Rock Point then Merlin had first thought. She'd made it to the rendezvous in the lee of Samuel Island with the rest of Staynair's ships, but then she'd slowly foundered over the course of that long, stormy night. The good news was that they'd at least gotten almost all her people safely off before she finally went down.

  Typhoon's repairs had taken the full two five-days Cayleb had predicted, but she had a brand new mainmast, and the rest of the fleet had made good use of the time it had taken to replace the original. They'd replenished their water from Opal Island, their provisions from captured stores, and their magazines and shot lockers from Traveler and Summer Moon, and all of the other galleons had been able to repair their own battle damages while Captain Stywyrt worked on his. The survivors from Dragon and Lightning had been distributed throughout the rest of the fleet, making up the worst of their personnel losses, as well, so at least all of the surviving galleons were combat-ready.

  "I wish we could have gotten out of here sooner," Cayleb muttered. The prince was talking to himself, but Merlin's hearing was rather more acute than most, and he gave Cayleb another look.

  "You were the one who said we needed to make good our damages," he pointed out. "You had a point. And Domynyk agreed with you."

  "But you didn't," Cayleb said, turning to face him fully while the steady, gentle breeze ruffled his hair.

  "I didn't disagree, either," Merlin responded, and shrugged. "You were right when you pointed out that there wasn't a perfect decision. Somebody had to choose, and you happen to be the Crown Prince around here."

  "I know," Cayleb sighed. For just a moment, he looked twice his age, then he shook himself and produced a wry smile. "You know, usually being Crown Prince is a pretty good job. But there are times when it's really not so much fun."

  "So I've observed. But the important thing, I suppose, is that you need to remember you are the one who has to make the decisions, and you aren't usually going to have lots of time to sit around and ponder them. By and large, the people who're going to second-guess and criticize you after the fact are going to be doing it from someplace nice and safe, with all the advantages of hindsight and plenty of time to think about what you did wrong."

  "That's more or less what Father's said, once or twice," Cayleb said.

  "Well, he's right. And the good news, you know, is that when you do get it right, like the decision to go straight into Crag Reach, you also get all the credit for it." Merlin grinned. "Just think—now you're a certified military genius!"

  "Yeah, sure." Cayleb rolled his eyes. "And I can already hear Father cutting me back down to size when I get too full of myself over it, too!"

  II

  Eraystor Bay,

  Princedom of Emerald

  "What's so important you have to drag me out of bed in the middle of the night?" Duke Black Water demanded irritably, tying the sash of a light robe as he glowered at Tohmys Bahrmyn, Baron White Castle.

  The baron rose from the chair in Corisande's great cabin as the duke stamped in from his sleeping cabin. Black Water had been in bed for less than three hours after yet another contentious conference—or perhaps "acrimonious debate" might have been a better term—with his unwilling allies.

  He was not in a particularly good mood.

  "I apologize for disturbing you, Your Grace," White Castle said, bowing respectfully. "I think, however, that you'll agree this is something you need to know about now."

  "For your sake, I hope you're right," Black Water growled, and waved the baron brusquely back into his chair.

  The duke snapped his fingers, and his servant appeared as if by magic, carrying the brandy decanter and glasses on a silver tray. He poured two glasses, handed one to each nobleman, and then disappeared just as expeditiously.

  "All right," Black Water said, a bit less snappishly, as he lowered his half-empty glass a moment later. "Tell me what's so important."

  "Of course, Your Grace." White Castle leaned forward in his chair, clasping his own unsampled glass in both hands. "As you know, of course, I've been stationed here as the Prince's ambassador to Emerald for over four years now. During that time, by and large, he's been very careful to keep me separate from Earl Coris' operations here in the princedom."

  He paused, and Black Water grimaced, waving impatiently for him to continue, yet White Castle noticed that a spark of interest had begun to glow in the duke's eyes.

  "That's just changed," he said in response to the duke's gesture. "I was contacted this evening—less than two hours ago, in fact—by a man I'd never met before, but who had all of the correct codewords to—"

  "Correct codewords?" Black Water interrupted.

  "Yes, Your Grace." If White Castle was irritated by the interruption, he was careful not to show it. "When I was first sent to Emerald, my instructions included a sealed envelope to be opened only under certain specific conditions. That envelope contained a series of codewords to be used by especially trusted agents of Earl Coris."

  Black Water was listening very intently now, leaning slightly forward while he rested one elbow on the table beside him.

  "This man, who correctly identified himself, was placed in Tellesberg over twelve years ago, Your Grace. He was placed in complete isolation, totally separate from any other agents in Charis. None of Earl Coris' other agents knew him; he knew none of them. His job—his sole job—was to be a good, loyal Charisian, hopefully employed in or near the royal dockyards, until and unless war broke out between the League of Corisande and Charis. Apparently, Earl Coris assumed that in the event of a war he'd lose access to at least a portion of any spy web he'd established, and this man was part of his insurance policy."

  He paused again, and Black Water nodded.

  "Continue, Baron," he said. "I assure you, you have my attention."

  "I rather thought I might, Your Grace." White Castle finally allowed himself a small smile. Then his expression sobered once more.

  "Apparently, Wave Thunder and his people knew a great deal more than any of us had imagined about Earl Coris' 'official' spies in Charis. And, it would a
ppear, Wave Thunder—and Haarahld—also knew what was coming quite a bit earlier than we thought they did."

  "Why?"

  "Because, Your Grace, they very, very quietly arrested virtually all foreign spies in Tellesberg, and apparently everywhere else in the entire kingdom, clear back in early October."

  "October?"

  "Yes, Your Grace. Obviously, they must have realized at least part of what was coming much earlier than we've been assuming they did. And I think that probably accounts for the silence from Earl Coris' other agents which you've mentioned."

  "But they missed this man because not even Coris' other agents knew about him," Black Water said slowly.

  "That's certainly what appears to have happened, Your Grace."

  "But," Black Water's eyes sharpened, "I'm willing to guess he didn't come to you just to tell you all the rest of our spies had been arrested three months ago. So, Baron, what brought him to your door at this particular time?"