The Saints Of The Sword (Tyrants & Kings)

by John Marco

  Kasrin didn’t bother to look. He had already noticed the flagship’s gleaming flame cannons poking out from her gun deck. They were positioned in the forward-most arc of fire, ready to strafe anything that might emerge from the Strand. But anything straight ahead of her was safe, for the Fearless didn’t have a bow cannon. Kasrin didn’t intend to get within her arc.

  ‘Let’s try and stay a good distance from her,’ said Kasrin. Laney agreed, watching with his captain as the coast of Liss rose up to swallow them. The estuary was wide and muddy, spilling brackish water into a valley and feeding the Serpent’s Strand with high tide. The passage itself was surrounded by cliffs, great ledges of brown rock and unrecognizable foliage. As they slid into the waterway, the Dread Sovereign groaned as unseen debris scraped her hull. But the current was swift and sucked the Sovereign in. The Fearless came after her. Nicabar’s huge warship lumbered through the mouth without incident, sped on by the rushing water until she, too, was safely into the passage.

  The world grew silent.

  Kasrin looked up into the high cliffs. It seemed no man had come this way for decades, for the hills were pristine, without a single mark of human habitation. Birds nested in the ledges and multi-limbed vines tumbled down to the water, dropping tendrils into the river like fishing lines. Lagoons and tiny inlets dotted the shores, the homes of egrets and swarming mosquitoes. The water was crystal clear, a perfect sky-blue that reflected the sunlight.

  Not a bad place to die, thought Kasrin. Lucky Nicabar.

  A few moments later, when they had left the mouth behind, Kasrin called to Lieutenant Moonduck. The lieutenant had been standing ready at the prow of the ship. Next to him was a folded pile of crimson cloth, about the size of a bedsheet. Kasrin nodded to the lieutenant.

  ‘We’re far enough,’ said Kasrin. ‘Do it.’

  Laney went ahead and helped Moonduck unfold the crimson flag. Together they dropped it off the prow of the Sovereign, working carefully so as not to look suspicious. Kasrin glanced back toward the Fearless. He doubted that Nicabar was watching them, but he didn’t want to take any chances, so he ordered a group of nearby sailors to form a line around the prow, blocking the view. Moonduck and Laney continued to work, using lines to secure the makeshift flag. When they were done, they stepped back and inspected their handiwork.

  Now the Dread Sovereign had a crimson nose, and only those ahead of them could see it. Kasrin hoped Jelena would remember their little signal.

  Timrin waited on the east side of the Serpent’s Strand, perched on a high ledge overhanging the river. With him were two men, both servants of Jelena. Like Timrin, they had volunteered to watch the waterway. For the past several days the watch had gone in shifts. Occasionally, boats arrived from Karalon with fresh supplies and men to relieve them. But Timrin had stayed the entire time, and had set up a camp on the cliff. Despite the tedium, he was devoted to his duty. But he had yet to sight a single ship, much less anything that looked like a Naren dreadnought.

  Below him, waiting at anchor, was the Lissen schooner Enchantress. She was a fast ship, stripped of all cargo and weaponry so she could speed back to Jelena at a moment’s notice. She was piloted by a good and dedicated commander named Darvik. Darvik shared Timrin’s skepticism of their mission. They both thought Jelena too trusting of Kasrin, and were convinced that her trap for the Fearless was pointless. The Fearless wasn’t coming.

  But Timrin adored Jelena, and so had gladly taken on the chore of waiting for Kasrin. Today was like any other on the watch. Timrin busied himself whittling tent stakes while his comrade Gowon manned the spyglass. He was thinking about the Dread Sovereign when he heard Gowon’s shout.

  ‘There! There she is!’

  Timrin dropped his knife and dashed toward the edge of the cliff. Gowon had a spyglass to his eye and was pointing north, toward the mouth of the passage. Timrin squinted and saw something coming toward them.

  ‘That’s it? You’re sure?’

  ‘She’s flying crimson from her prow,’ said Gowon. ‘That’s her, I’m sure of it!’

  Timrin snatched up the spyglass. A ship appeared in the lens, very small and difficult to see. But its crimson prow was clear – as was the behemoth lumbering behind her.

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ Timrin muttered. ‘He actually came.’

  Gowon jumped to his feet. ‘We have to warn the queen.’

  Timrin dropped the spyglass and went to the edge of the cliff. Far below, he saw the Enchantress waiting.

  ‘Hey there!’ he called to the men on her deck. ‘Look alive! Here comes trouble!’

  Queen Jelena studied the gun emplacements. She was on the east side of the river, and from her place among the rocks and bramble she could barely detect the cannons on the opposite cliff. Hidden behind leaves and camouflaged with branches, the cannons would be invisible from the river below.

  Hopefully.

  Jelena didn’t know how much punishment the Fearless could take. She only knew that she had done her best, and that she and her workers had exhausted themselves excavating the gun emplacements and sinking the rocks to construct the barrier. Just this morning she had measured the barricade; twelve feet, just as Kasrin had suggested. She supposed it would be enough to ground the Fearless but she didn’t know for certain, and that irritated her. More, she was growing agitated out in the wilderness. Timrin was gone, standing watch up the passage, and she had ignored the pleas of her other advisors to retreat to Karalon. Jelena didn’t care about her safety anymore. Now her every thought was of the Fearless.

  It was nearly noon when one of her scouts sighted the Enchantress. The cry galvanized the men and women along the cliffs. Lieutenant Vin, whom she had put in command of the western batteries, looked at her from across the divide. He was young, like her, and suddenly seemed uncertain. Jelena tried to look confident.

  ‘Make ready,’ she cried. ‘They’re coming!’

  Along both sides of the strand her crews scrambled to work, loading shot into cannons and deftly peeling back the camouflage. As Jelena had ordered, they removed only the heaviest branches, and left the cover on the north side of the guns so that the approaching ships wouldn’t discover them. Jelena glanced up at the sky. It was a bright afternoon, and she worried that the sun might glint off their cannons, exposing them. She looked up the river to where the Enchantress was swiftly approaching, her sails full of wind. How far behind was the Fearless? she wondered. And what about Kasrin; was he with them?

  Soon her twenty-four guns, a dozen on each side of the river, were ready. Crews stood by, awaiting her orders. Scouts along the cliffs studied the passage through spyglasses, watching for their quarry. Jelena gave her troops a final order.

  ‘Don’t fire till she’s grounded,’ she said. ‘Then we’ll blast her to pieces.’

  On board the Dread Sovereign, Kasrin kept a careful watch on the hills. The Serpent’s Strand had already narrowed, and the river ahead was becoming a bottleneck. He had furled the sails so that the current provided by the tide let them drift lazily and without noise, and he could see the Fearless behind him doing the same. The big dreadnought still had her flame cannons ready, searching the hills for targets. Nicabar stood on her prow, swaying in the breeze, resplendent in his spotless uniform. Kasrin’s gaze lingered on him.

  The world simply wouldn’t be the same without him. He wondered what L’Rago and the others would do without their commander. Maybe Gark would take command. Kasrin hoped so. Gark had always been a reasonable man.

  ‘Blair,’ interrupted Laney. ‘Look.’

  The first officer pointed to the cliffs ahead, where they bulged out into the river. The current rippled strangely there, changing from a placid mirror to a pocked surface. Kasrin scanned the hills carefully. There was a lot of bramble, but no movement.

  ‘Slow ahead,’ he ordered softly.

  The Dread Sovereign drifted toward the narrowing gorge. Kasrin held his breath, certain that Jelena was somewhere in the hills. He wondered if Nicabar s
uspected anything, but the Fearless kept coming.

  Then came a horrendous noise, a scratching like claws being dragged across their hull. The Sovereign shuddered, and for a moment it felt like she would ground. Kasrin held fast to the railing, his knuckles going white. The noise continued, tearing at the hull . . .

  . . . Then was over. Kasrin let out his breath and looked at Laney. Together they caught the first glimpse of movement in the hills.

  ‘Get ready to turn us broadside,’ said Kasrin. ‘Here we go.’

  Admiral Nicabar waited on the prow of the Fearless, puzzling over the Dread Sovereign. The smaller dreadnought had just gone through a rough patch of river, and Nicabar had seen her stern shudder. He’d also heard a noise. Blasco gave him a suspicious look. Together the veteran seamen tried to figure out what had happened. Now the Sovereign seemed to be sailing fine. A little voice inside the admiral spoke.

  ‘Blasco,’ he said softly, ‘all stop.’

  ‘All stop!’ cried the captain, waving his arms. The crewmen looked at him, confused. The Fearless was adrift on the current. Only lowering anchors could stop her. The men along the deck scurried to carry out their captain’s orders.

  Nicabar glanced up into the hills. He saw something. A glint of metal. Movement.

  ‘Son of a bitch,’ he muttered.

  His mind raced for an explanation, and came up with only one.

  ‘We’ve been duped,’ he hissed. His fists came crashing down on the railing. ‘Kasrin!’

  Blasco hurried over. ‘Sir, we won’t be able to stop in time.’

  ‘No,’ said Nicabar. ‘Belay that order. Hard to starboard.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Do it!’

  Blasco gave the order, and the giant warship slowly turned. Nicabar knew there wasn’t much time. He bit his lip as the Fearless gradually turned her starboard guns toward the Dread Sovereign.

  ‘Come on, come on . . .’

  A sudden jolt nearly pitched him overboard. Beneath them, something slammed into the hull. There was a gargantuan noise and the sound of ripping timber. Men spilled across the deck. Nicabar held onto the rail and saw Lissens in the cliffs.

  ‘You treacherous snake,’ he muttered. ‘Oh, Kasrin, I will kill you for this.’

  Then he ordered the gunnery officers to take aim.

  Kasrin watched as the Fearless dragged her hull against the unseen rocks, coming to an abrupt and noisy halt. The Fearless had run aground as planned, but Nicabar had discovered their plot. Now the dreadnought was beached sideways – with her starboard guns toward the Sovereign.

  In the hills, Jelena’s troops had emerged from their cover, pulling back their camouflage and revealing their cannons. There were swarms of men and women with scimitars, clamoring to fight. Kasrin glimpsed Jelena’s blonde head. She had a sword in her hand and was shouting orders.

  ‘Get us broadside, Laney,’ cried Kasrin. ‘Now!’

  The Dread Sovereign slowly turned to port, trying to get the Fearless in her arc of fire. As he looked down the barrel of flame cannons, Kasrin wondered what Nicabar was thinking.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered. ‘I swear, I am.’

  On both sides of the cliffs, the Lissens opened fire. Two dozen batteries roared to life. The gorge shook with thunder and red lightning, and a veil of gun smoke obscured the hills. Kasrin heard shouting from the Fearless and watched as the shots from the hills tore into the dreadnought’s sails and rigging.

  The Fearless took the bombardment. Her starboard cannons rose into position. Kasrin gave the order to fire, just as Nicabar did the same.

  From her place on the cliff, Jelena watched the two titans begin their battle. The Dread Sovereign fired first. She had three port flame cannons and opened up with two of them. Great blasts of fire blew across the river, buffeting the Fearless. Jelena put her hands to her ears, thinking she had never heard anything so loud.

  Until the Fearless fired back.

  With one massive gun, the Fearless trained her sights on the smaller dreadnought. The volley turned the river orange. An earsplitting boom detonated in the gorge, shaking loose rock and sending the cannons jumping. A haze of smoke and fire veiled the passage. Jelena shouted at her fighters to continue firing, desperate to save Kasrin from the onslaught of the flagship. The single shot had torn the Sovereign’s main-shroud. Bits of blazing cloth floated down to her deck. Jelena saw Kasrin on the prow shouting orders that were swallowed in the noise.

  ‘Keep firing!’ she told her troops. ‘Send that big bastard to hell!’

  Kasrin’s head split with the noise. The Fearless attacked again, sending out a wall of flame. Kasrin and Laney ducked behind a railing as the fireballs flew overhead. An enormous heat tore at their skin. Below, the gun deck rang with the hoarse cries of officers returning fire. The Sovereign’s flame cannons exploded, drubbing the Fearless and glancing off her armored hull. The barricade of rocks had lifted the front of her keel out of the water and a shot from the Sovereign splintered it. Jelena’s cannons continued to pummel her decks and riggings. Her port cannons fired uselessly into the hills; the Lissens were out of her arc. Jelena was safe, at least.

  But still the Fearless fought on. Her starboard cannons continued to pound the Sovereign. Kasrin stumbled as a blow detonated against the hull, sending him tumbling. He smashed his jaw against the deck and felt a tooth fly from his mouth. Bleeding, he staggered to his feet just as a second blow incinerated the bowsprit.

  ‘We have to get out of here!’ cried Laney.

  ‘Don’t stop firing!’

  ‘Blair . . .’

  ‘Don’t stop!’

  They weren’t going anywhere, not with the mainshroud shredded. Kasrin knew this fight was to the death. The stink of kerosene assailed him, and he realized his face was burned. Blood dribbled from his jaw as he shouted to his men. Already the stern was ablaze. Crewmen battled the flames with blankets. Soon the cannon barrels would be melting, but there wasn’t time to rest. Only continuous fire could sink the Fearless.

  On board the Fearless, bedlam reigned.

  Nicabar stood in the center of the forecastle, trying to see through the smoke and flames. His head rang and his ears bled from the bombardment; he could barely stand against the dizzying concussions. Around him, men were screaming as cannonballs rained down from the hills, blasting holes in the deck and pulling apart the flagship’s rigging. High above, the Black Flag of Nar was in tatters, clinging defiantly to the mainmast. A man had fallen out of the crow’s nest and lay broken on the deck. His crewmates stepped over him as they fought off the attack.

  Nicabar stumbled across the forecastle. In front of him was the Dread Sovereign, badly damaged and unable to move. Her heavy armor had defended her against most of the flagship’s attacks, but the continuous volleys had destroyed her bowsprit and cracked her foremast, which was leaning like a falling tree. Her stern was in flames.

  But Nicabar knew his own ship was faring no better. The massive dreadnought continued to take damage from the constant barrage of the Lissens, and because the cliffs were out of their arc, they couldn’t return fire to beat them back. Soon they would swarm aboard with their scimitars. The thought made Nicabar cringe. A cannonball collided a few yards away, boring a hole in the forecastle and sending up a shower of wood. Men were jumping overboard to avoid the barrage, some with only stumps for limbs. Nicabar shook his fist at the hillside.

  ‘You won’t defeat me!’ he cried. ‘Do you hear? I am your master!’

  The Lissens replied with a blanketing barrage. A storm of cannonballs riddled the deck.

  Captain Blasco hurried toward him, dodging the cannonade. ‘Sir? We have to get out of here, seek cover!’

  Nicabar barely heard him. On the eastern hillside he saw Lissens jeering. One in particular caught his attention, a hissing wildcat of a girl with long blonde hair. She called down to him, shaking a scimitar in her fist.

  ‘Admiral,’ cried Blasco, ‘the sails are in flames. We can’t stay here.
We must abandon ship!’

  ‘No!’ cried Nicabar. ‘We won’t leave the Fearless to these dogs!’

  He turned to glare at his captain just in time to see a shot slam into his skull. Blasco’s head shattered, showering Nicabar with brain and bits of bone. Blasco’s body teetered for a moment, then crumpled to the deck. The sight stunned Nicabar. For a moment he couldn’t move. He couldn’t even breathe. Absently he wiped at his bloodied face.

  ‘Kasrin,’ he growled. ‘Kasrin!’

  Quickly he stumbled from the forecastle, shouting the order to abandon ship. The Fearless had been defeated the moment they’d run aground. Despite the continuous fire from their flame cannons, there was no way they could best the waiting Lissens.

  But Nicabar still had a score to settle. And if he couldn’t do it with cannons, he would do it with his bare hands. When he had finally made it amidships, he tore off his coat and tossed it to the deck. Far below was the river, quickly filling with flotsam and turning red with blood. Nicabar took one last look at his beloved vessel, then jumped overboard.