“And if they don’t take the bait?” one of the Temple guards asked, clearly concerned.
Deihm glanced back briefly. “Then I hope you can swim.” Of course he had no intention of losing his ship to the Toranado; he just liked to scare the hell out of land lovers. He glanced to the starboard to check the Rhondono formations and cursed again. The Hermes was positioned perfectly only a hundred yards away and keeping to a parallel course, as were a half dozen other ships but one trireme and two smaller galleys had slowed to swing about and move back toward land.
“Cowards!” Deihm spat then checked the port and was gratified to see that only one ship was attempting to make the slow turn back to Massi. ‘They’ll never make the turn,’ he thought but didn’t dwell on their fate.
“Five degrees port!” He yelled trying to make for a gap between two Toranado heavy triremes but they only made about three degrees before the two fleets finally met.
ǂ
Captain Tramm stuck his head in the tent quietly to see if Captain Hothgaard, lead commander of the Temple Knights was awake. He was, though he was lying very still on his bunk with a fever and a raging headache.
“Captain,” Tramm said softly. “It’s confirmed. The Massi cavalry have arrived in Manse.”
Hothgaard groaned inwardly but was careful to make no audible sound. He sat up slowly throwing off his blankets, the chills had left him in any case but his skin was still clammy with sweat. He swung his legs around and stood up, feeling weak.
“That does not bode well for the Palmerrio,” Hothgaard said and walked to the small table near the back wall of the tent. Earlier the doctor brewed a strong batch of willow bark tea for the pain and fever and Hothgaard was working his way quickly through the large pot. He would need more soon.
Tramm just watched his commander without a word. There was a sickness running through the camp, debilitating but not deadly as yet, though a full fourth of the Knights were down with the illness.
“There’s been no word from King Weldon,” Tramm commented.
“He must be weakened or dead,” Hothgaard said, drinking a cup of luke warm tea.
Tramm shook his head. “Not necessarily. We nearly broke through their defenses; perhaps Prince Gwaynn is concerned about losing Manse. The war will be all but over when the city finally falls. He must realize this.”
“Perhaps,” Hothgaard said, though deep inside he did not believe it. His instincts told him that the young Prince of Massi had crushed the Palmerrio army just as he crushed the Deutzani. He was proving to be an excellent field general and was beginning to make Hothgaard uneasy.
“Any word from the High King? Has he landed yet?”
“No word yet,” Tramm answered but he was not worried, when the Rhondono arrived with their ten thousand foot soldiers they would be the dominant force in the land. It would just be a matter of time before they ground the Massi down.
Hothgaard just frowned. From the beginning he argued against splitting their forces but King Mastoc insisted the Palmerrio circle around to the Plateau. If their armies had stayed together the Massi would have had no chance of defeating them. And though the High King’s plan could have led to a quick and decisive victory, it also left them vulnerable to many unforeseen variables. Now, it seemed they were being picked apart.
“He’s not due to land until later this afternoon,” Tramm added.
Hothgaard drained his cup. “I’ll still feel better once his forces are on dry land.”
Tramm glanced at his commander, suddenly concerned. “You still fear the Toranado navy?”
Hothgaard nodded. “Always. The latest reports put them in the harbor around Cape, but if they extend their patrols it’s possible they could spot the slow moving troopships. They would not fare well against heavy triremes.”
“Should I send for Speaker Nadler?”
Hothgaard shook his head. “No…we’ll wait. If there’s no word by tomorrow morning we’ll contact the High King. Now let me rest and get over this damned sickness. Have the doctor brew more tea.” He ordered and moved back to his bunk. His fever was returning and with it the chills. He crawled back under the covers without another glance at his fellow Captain. For the first time in his life he was actually grateful for the siege; it allowed for the luxury of rest.
ǂ
“ Port oars!” First mate Armitage yelled and with smooth precision half the ships oars were raised and pulled inside the trireme for safety. Captain Wicks grabbed tightly to one of the reinforced railings that weaved throughout the ship and hung on as the bow of her trireme struck the smaller Rhondono vessel in the aft quarter. Almost immediately the Toranado ship, the Universe, lurched and shuddered, but its momentum carried it through the smaller ship with a colossal explosion of wood and noise. Planks, oars and beams cracked and tore under the massive force of the ramming and the collision threw large splinters of wood all about the wounded vessel. Wicks was vaguely aware of the screams of men and boys, and caught sight of a few enemy sailors as they were hurled out and into the sea below.
“Archers!” Armitage shouted but there was no need, already nearly two dozen men were launching flaming arrows down at the stricken vessel. “Starboard full oars!” the first mate added over the noise and chaos and immediately the oarsmen began to pull for all they were worth. The grinding of the two ships continued for several long minutes and then quite suddenly they were through and in the open sea once more.
“Turn us about,” Captain Wicks commanded loudly but with her unusual calm. The large ship began its slow turn, and the ship’s archers rushed from the port side to the starboard. “Hold you fire,” Wicks added, glancing at the wounded ship and watching dispassionately at the mad scramble. The enemy sailors were trying desperately to stay out of the sea while their vessel quickly foundered. Wicks knew the stricken Rhondono ship was doomed and any additional shot was just a waste of good arrows.
Captain Wicks turned, looked out to sea and saw a mass of destruction in the wake of the two colliding fleets. Nearly a dozen Rhondono ships were now damaged and sinking, some slowly and some incredible fast. An equal number were now disabled and floating dead in the water. Only four of the Rhondono ships managed to successfully make their way through the Toranado threat and were now heading toward open water, all pulling full oars.
To the north Armitage spotted and pointed out a Rhondono ship that failed to pull their starboard oars in time before the Blue Bull, another Toranado trireme struck, and now the side of the Rhondono ship was a mass of splintered wood. The starboard oars on the stricken vessel were now useless, but the ship was still largely intact. Once through, the Blue Bull angled south and zeroed in on another small galley. Wicks could see the crew of the damaged Rhondono vessel scrambling to push pieces of the shattered oars out into the sea while shifting a portion of the port oars to the starboard side.
Wicks nodded grimly. “Make way…full oars, ramming speed,” she said calmly and the ship slowly began to turn in the direction of her new victim. The Universe was pushing through the light seas at nearly full speed by the time the Rhondono vessel finally began to right itself and get underway, very slowly.
“You’ve seen the flag?” Armitage asked softly standing close to Captain Wicks’ side.
The Captain glanced up expecting to find the royal flag of the Rhondono. She’d not given the matter any thought, and in fact had not even bothered to look until now; an enemy ship was an enemy ship, no matter who was on board. But what she saw caused her heart to skip a beat and excitement to swell in her breast.
The flag was easily recognizable, a stark yellow griffin on a field of black; the flag of the High King.
“Could it be?” She wondered aloud as the distance between the ships steadily declined. The Rhondono vessel was now moving directly away from them no more than three hundred yards ahead, but with only half its oars cutting through the water it was moving at a much slower pace.
“Should we continue?” Armitage asked, clearly concerned
about mounting an attack on the High King of the Inland Sea.
But Captain Wicks did not answer directly. ‘Here was the man who’d given his blessing to the attack on Toranado; here was the man who’d ordered the destruction of her beloved fleet; here was the man who was the ultimate killer of her mentor Admiral Cantu. And here, High King Caiman Mastoc would die at her whim, at her hand.’
A smile slowly spread across the face of Captain Wicks. “Full speed…full speed! Prepare the archers.”
ǂ
High King Mastoc watched in horrified fascination as the Toranado heavy trireme steadily gained on the slightly smaller Rhondono vessel.
“We need more speed,” Captain Astis of the Temple Knights said loudly.
The Rhondono Captain ignored the obvious statement as foolish. There was little he could do but run as fast and as far as they could and hope that perhaps another Rhondono ship would come to their aid. But as Deihm scanned the nearby sea, he realized that there were no friendly ships near enough to reach them before the Toranado trireme. He was both gratified and disappointed that the Hermes, the flagship carrying King Donnis, was successful in running the gauntlet and was presently moving away from the battle at top speed.
“We’ve three men to every oar,” Maglo, the first mate informed the Captain, meaning they were moving at their maximum speed. Normally they pulled two men to an oar but with twice the number of oars, but working with a full complement of oars was no longer an option.
“Aye,” Captain Deihm answered quietly, continuing to watch the gap between the two ships shrink. When it was gone it would undoubtedly mean the death of his ship, the Cardinal.
“We should turn,” Maglo offered. “Hope they make a mistake.”
Deihm shook his head. “We’d never make it with half oars.”
Maglo made no reply, He knew his Captain was correct, so the four men just stood and waited for the inevitable, which was nerve racking.
“Archers!” Maglo yelled when the Toranado vessel was within range, and soon flaming arrows were flying across the shrinking expanse between the two ships
“Make for land!” Mastoc ordered moving away from the arrows that were now falling on the aft section of the ship.
Captain Deihm glared at the High King but made no reply instead after a few moments he yelled. “Prepare for impact!”
Mastoc rushed by the Captain and his first mate, the Temple Knights in his wake, but they all stopped and turned as the Deihm yelled out another warning. Mastoc gasped. The trailing trireme was now only fifteen yards behind and growing impossibly large. Mesmerized, Mastoc stood frozen and just watched as the heavy ship surged closer and closer until it finally hit. The impact was far greater than the High King would have guessed. It was loud and violent, throwing the Mastoc to the deck along with nearly half the Rhondono crew.
The Toranado ship struck the Cardinal in the rear, just to the right of center, and smashed through the tail section causing the smaller ship to violently swing to port. Just before the collision, the heavy trireme pulled in its own oars for protection, but its momentum continued to push it through the wounded ship with terrifying force.
High King Mastoc climbed to his feet, watching in awe as the large ship slowly smashed through the rear of his own and then it was by and gliding past. Arrows flew steadily from the Toranado vessel and they fell all around; a few struck dangerously close to the High King. Mastoc shifted and crouched behind a low bulkhead until the Toranado ship sailed farther on.
All over the deck sailors were climbing to their feet, though Mastoc was quick to notice that both Captain Deihm and his first mate were already up and shouting orders. Miraculously the men below were still manning the oars and the ship was making headway.
“Ten degrees port!” The Captain yelled, but the ship failed to respond. Maglo ran aft to inspect the damage but returned quickly.
“The rudder is smashed,” the first mate reported, “and we’re taking on water.”
“Make for land!” Mastoc yelled moving closer to the Captain.
“Shut up fool!” The Captain replied and was about to turn away when his head suddenly jumped from his body and rolled across the deck. Captain Astis of the Temple Knights pointed his bloody kali at first mate Maglo.
“Make for shore,” he said with just a touch of anger, and after the briefest hesitation Maglo nodded.
“Forty degrees port!” He ordered loudly, knowing with the rudder smashed the order was all but useless. The aft section was just so much kindling and with only oars to negotiate steering they would be lucky to make it through the turn at all. They had no chance of making it to land before they foundered. But surprisingly fear made the sailors of the Cardinal strong and they nearly made the turn before the Toranado trireme returned and this time the ship rammed them dead center on the starboard side. It knifed cleanly through the smaller ship, cutting it neatly in two.
The High King was again thrown to the deck, which pitched steeply; he held his hands to his ears trying to lessen the deafening sound of splintering wood. When the immediate danger passed, Mastoc glanced up, dazed. He tried to gain his feet and yelled for help, but his voice was lost among the screams of the mortally wounded. Mastoc struggled to stand but suddenly the ship rolled violently and the King began to slide toward the water. At the last minute, just before pitching over the edge, he reached out and grasped a railing and held on for his life. Surprisingly the ship seemed to right itself and for a brief moment Mastoc thought everything might be alright, but a quick look around showed only chaos. The ship was cut in two; the aft section was already going down with surprising speed. The High King caught sight of dozens of men on the doomed section hanging on; their eyes wide with terror, while others fell or jumped off into the sea. He glanced about for help, any help and realized that Captain Astis and all the Knights were missing from the deck, as was the first mate Maglo. There was a young sailor perhaps twenty feet away, but the horror reflected in her face convinced Mastoc that she would be of little help. He could swim and looked out to sea trying to gauge the distance to land and noticed that the Cassinni were indeed attacking the troopships.
‘Traitors!’ He thought once again.
The fore part of the ship stayed upright and afloat for several minutes before suddenly tilting and with astonishing speed tipped nose first and dove into the deep. In his terror, the High King foolishly kept a death grip on the railing as the ship sliced through the surface. Mastoc was ten feet underwater before he thought to release his hold on the doomed craft, but finally he relaxed his fingers and tried to push away. But instead of popping to the surface, Mastoc continued his descent, caught in the strong undertow of the sinking vessel. Ten, twenty, thirty feet farther into the deep he went until finally he managed to move far enough away to stop himself from plunging deeper. Lungs bursting, the High King began to frantically struggle toward the surface. He did not see the mast of the ship as it raced downward until it was less than a foot from his face. It struck with enough force to break the King’s nose and jaw and without thought Mastoc jerked back and gulped for air. He was rewarded with only seawater for his effort. Lights burst from behind his confused eyes and he tried to breath once more and was lost. A minute later the High King was dead and slowly following the Cardinal to the bottom of the Inland Sea.
XV
Vio knocked softly on the door, feeling nervous and a bit queasy. Her stomach started its internal gymnastics during the battle with the Palmerrio, just after she killed her first person, and it had been flipping and flopping ever since. She tried food, water and finally a strong mash offered by an older veteran Massi soldier, but nothing seemed to help, so finally she just decided to fall back into her daily routine. She would run, spar and practice with her bow, and try not to think of the dozen or so men she had ushered into death.
She was about to knock again when she heard a faint shuffling on the far side of the door.
‘Gwaynn couldn’t be sleeping still,’ she thought as s
he waited. ‘The sun was up full.’
But when the door finally opened it was a sleepy Samantha who stood on the far side.
“Oh!” The two young women said in unison. Samantha frowned slightly at the sight of Vio. The younger girl was shocked to find Samantha sleeping in Gwaynn’s room, though it was common knowledge that she was carrying his child, a fact that was pronounced through her thin sleeping gown.
“Yes…” Samantha said a little irritably.
“I…I was looking for Gwaynn,” Vio stammered, feeling somehow foolish.
Samantha frowned again. “What about?”
“I…I haven’t been feeling well since the battle,” Vio said hurriedly just wanting to get away. “I’ve never killed anyone before…I know it sounds stupid. I’ve been training to kill for almost five years on Noble with all sorts of deadly weapons, but somehow I never envisioned myself actually using them on a living person.” The words just fell out of her mouth as if on their own bidding, and Samantha’s features softened. Vio was a beautiful young woman and she obviously carried a torch in her heart for Gwaynn, but she was still nearly a child. Killing and war could be very traumatic for even hardened soldiers and Samantha’s heart went out to the girl.
“Killing is a horrid business,” Samantha said sleepily and reached out and grabbed Vio’s hand and pulled her into the room.
“Gwaynn’s out riding with Bock…scouting the Scar, but he should be back by mid-morning,” Samantha explained and plopped down on the edge of the bed. The bulge in her belly was clearly visible and Vio’s eyes moved from her obvious pregnancy to her missing hand and back. When she finally glanced up Samantha was smiling at her, somehow she no longer felt threatened by this young Deutzani woman.
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