Dark Empress

by S. J. A. Turney

  Behind him, the artillerists, their weapons already reloaded, were swivelling their machines of war on the small castle amidships, and taking aim at their next target: the hull of the ship directly ahead of the Retribution’s prow.

  Faerus held his breath as the two ships closed with an unstoppable force. The Retribution continued to pick up speed as the oarsmen strained and heaved like they had never done before.

  The first two shots of heavy iron ammunition punched into the enemy ship in tightly-aimed locations, one just below the waterline, ahead of their ram, the other smashing into the rail and shearing the main deck as it smashed through the timbers, ripping up boards. Squinting at the need to be perfectly accurate, the artillerists released the third and fourth shot only a moment later. Both of these hit in the areas previously devastated by the initial shots, entering the main structure of the ship and ripping apart beams and bulkheads.

  New cries of dismay went up among the crew of the enemy ship and the captain rushed to the rail of his command deck to survey the damage, waving his arms and shouting to his juniors, but there was no hope. His orders went unheard as the faster-thinking members of his crew ran to either stern or prow, whichever was closer, and threw themselves into the water, far from the site of the impending breech.

  Faerus shut his eyes as the shadow cast by his ram slowly made its way up the side of the enemy ship, marking every inch as they closed. This was it… they were either going through, or down…

  At the far end of the fleet, another tale was unfolding, though this was far from a happy one. The barrel-chested and fork-bearded Orin, captain of the newly named Revenge, surveyed the damage and sighed, scratching his chin. He would have liked at least once to have stood on the deck as it entered port a legitimate naval vessel. He was no longer a young man and had long ago begun to tire of the attitudes of his peers. When Faerus and Samir had tentatively approached him with the plan, it had been a dream come true.

  But then all dreams faded.

  As soon as the first shot was fired, the ships on either side of Orin had leapt into action. The Imperial fleet had taken its toll on a number of vessels between here and the centre of the line, but the ones flanking Orin had been sharp enough to launch an immediate assault on him, even before he’d had a chance to strike the new colours.

  By the time his artillerists had launched their first shot, the prow had already been hit by a ball of oily fire and leapt into a flickering blaze. He’d had the oars run out to try and begin pulling back from the line, but the solid and canister shot from both sides had been aimed at the banks of oars and he’d lost half the rowing capability only moments after the oars touched water. As he’d watched in horror, trying to decide how best to deal with the growing nightmare, the second and third fireballs had hit, one amidships at the mast, effectively ending the use of his artillery, while the other burst through the side of the ship, below the command deck, ravaging the cabins within.

  Orin ground his teeth in anger as he felt the boards beneath his feet beginning to warm with the fierce heat of the flaming cabins below.

  He’d had plans, for certain, but they’d relied on him having at least a second to breathe before the fight began. But the shrewd bastards to either side of him had clearly been planning on taking him out regardless of the day’s actions. Their artillery must have all been loaded and trained on him from the start for things to have happened so damn quick.

  He sighed again. There was no other option.

  “Leave that!”

  The crew amidships looked up in surprise at their captain where they worked tirelessly with buckets of water, trying to douse the ever expanding flower of billowing flames.

  “The Revenge is done for, but we’ll not go down alone, eh lads?”

  There was a somewhat half-hearted cheer. He couldn’t really blame them, of course. Many of them would now be wondering why they ever decided to turn against their colleagues. Still, Revenge was both the name of the ship and the order of the day… he’d see those bastards to either side whipped through three hells for what they’d done to him this morning.

  “Grapple lines… every available hand on both rails!”

  The men stood for a moment in confusion, but then realisation dawned on them and they ran to get the ropes and grapples. The Revenge would burn for a while yet before she began to sink. The other ships were so busy concentrating on taking him down that they hadn’t given thought to pulling out of the range of danger themselves.

  With enough strength on the grapples, the Revenge would pull its assailants relentlessly in until they all three became one great flaming mass. But he would have to make sure that did for them too…

  Scouring the deck, he spotted the dejected face of the second in command of artillery and beckoned to him.

  “We’ll make use of your stuff yet, Khaim. Drop that grapple and get three men with you down to the armoury. Remove the protective coverings on all your firepots and get them charged and up on deck. As soon as we’re within reach of these bastards, we’re going to turn this ship into the biggest explosive you’ve ever seen!”

  In which the line breaks

  As the Redemption, formerly the Dark Empress, backed out of the chaotic line of vessels, making for somewhere with enough room to turn, Ghassan and Samir stood at the rail with Saja and Culin, trying to make sense of what was happening. Almost every ship in the line was now moving, though with an unplanned, chaotic and desperate edge to the action.

  The left flank of the line was one of the main areas of trouble, though Samir had felt sure that Faerus could handle whatever the morning threw at him. The ships to either side of him were in trouble, one thoroughly ablaze and already starting to lean badly, the other…

  Samir laughed as he watched his friend’s ship in the distance hit the enemy vessel amidships, tearing through the hull as though it were parchment and passing through, cutting the pirate ship in half in the process. How he’d managed that without more damage to his own ship, Samir couldn’t fathom, but he’d certainly be asking him if they got out of this well.

  So at least one of their allies was safe, he thought as he watched Faerus tear through the last of the ship and out to open sea where he could turn and manoeuvre. And in the process he seemed to have crippled or destroyed two of the remaining eight enemy vessels.

  The two remaining ships on that side of the rail were now heavily locked in close combat, captain Sho-Han of the Sea Witch having, not surprisingly, declared for his old commander who now stood side by side with Samir on the command deck. Those two vessels were an even match and far too close for effective use of anything other than small shot artillery. It would come down to man-to-man fighting on deck, which would be nasty for both sides but, whatever the outcome, that meant the entire line to the left of Samir was involved or dealt with.

  The Imperial fleet had finished its bombardment, but that was expected. The agreement had called for only one volley since, by the time a reload had been effected, the pirate fleet would be moving and likely mixing among one another, making targeting almost impossible for a crew at such distance. Still, from the roiling smoke that filled the bright morning air and the steady roar of flaming timber, their single volley had been devastating enough to turn the fight immediately Samir’s way.

  To the other side…

  Samir rocked back on his heels as he turned and the far end of the fleet suddenly exploded in a fireball the like of which Samir had never even imagined. The expanding mushroom of red and orange boiling flame engulfed several vessels at the far end and Samir blinked in shock. Second and third subsidiary explosions marked the detonation of spare ammunition among the vessels involved in the conflagration.

  It took a moment for Samir’s reeling mind to pull itself together in the wake of the mind-numbing blast. With a deep sadness of the soul, he realised, from the direction of the blast, that Orin’s ship was somewhere in that fireball. Precious little hope of anyone surviving that… if there were any survivor
s at that flank it would be those who had the foresight to jump from the rails and were underwater when the blast occurred. Samir shook his head and turned to his friends to realise that they were all standing, staring, as shocked as he.

  “Orin knew the risks. We need to concentrate on what’s still to do.”

  As if shaken from sleep, the three other commanders on the deck blinked and nodded. As Ghassan ran to the rail to yell orders at the men and Culin put a rare and expensive spyglass to his eye, Saja fumed at the Hart’s Heart, already completing its turn and heading for the reef ahead.

  “We’ll have go some to catch them” he barked.

  Samir turned away to examine the line once more. The fireball had contracted once more and left three ships in a state of almost complete destruction, hardly anything standing above deck. Fragments of wood and other more unthinkable things rained down from the sky, trailing little flames like falling stars, while chunks of timber and bodies floated in the water around them. Oh it was too far away for Samir to actually see what it was that darkened the waves around the ships, but he’d been in enough brutal engagements these past two decades to know what caused that stain.

  Trying not to think how many of those tiny dots that speckled the water had shared a drink with him in the bar on Lassos, Samir forced his gaze away from them and to the remaining two enemy vessels on that side. Along with the Hart’s Heart they were the only remaining enemy ships that were not engaged. The question was: what would they do? Faerus’ ship, the Retribution, was at the very other end of the line and too far away to engage, Orin’s vessel was a burning shell and the Sea-Witch, their surprise ally, was already engaged with another ship in vicious hand-to-hand.

  Samir shifted round the rail to keep watch on them as the Redemption turned as fast as Ghassan could manage, trying to catch the Hart’s Heart in open water.

  There was clearly chaos on board both enemy vessels, though that was hardly a surprise, given the sudden turns of events in the past few minutes.

  As he watched, sliding his hands along the rail while the deck turned, he frowned. The nearest of the two vessels was beginning to wheel around. Given that they now had plenty of room to manoeuvre and no close enemies and could simply pull forward out of the line, turning meant only one thing: they were planning to head the same way as Samir and his prey, though whether in order to engage the Redemption or merely to try and hook up with the Hart’s Heart and try to return to Lassos remained to be seen. Either way, in a few minutes Samir and his crew would be trapped between the ship they were pursuing and this new one following them in. The situation could turn unpleasant then.

  His lip curled into a slight smile as he realised that the remaining unengaged ship had struck out at full speed for open sea, past the three burning wrecks. More fool him… the Governor could spare up to half a dozen ships to chase him down and apprehend him, but the likelihood was that, now they had all had a chance to reload their artillery, the running fool would be used as target practice. He wouldn’t get a half mile away from here before he touched the sea bed. Still, that was one ship that he didn’t have to worry about.

  He turned back to the two pirate councillors standing at the rail.

  “How far are they from the reefs?”

  Saja, his bright eyes flashing anxiously in that dark face, turned to Samir.

  “Not far enough. They’ll be among the rocks before we can touch them. They’ve got away.”

  Culin, next to him, nodded unenthusiastically.

  “He’s right, Samir. With the best will in the world, I know your crew are good, but unless you happen to have a God in your pocket, there’s no way we can catch them. Lassos is theirs and it’ll be hell trying to lever them out then.”

  Samir shook his head.

  “That would be no use anyway. My deal with the governor stipulated all the folk of lassos and their ships. We let Gharic get back to the island and we’ve broken our side of the deal. While I can’t guarantee that the governor would renege on his side, I’m not about to take that chance.”

  He smiled wickedly.

  “I have a plan. We don’t have to catch them.”

  As Saja and Culin narrowed their eyes suspiciously, Samir turned to his brother.

  “Ghassan? Give us every bit of speed you have, but count to fifty and then bring us to starboard at a narrow angle, as though we’re trying to come alongside from behind.”

  Ghassan frowned for a moment and then shrugged, turning to the crew and muttering something unheard under his breath before bellowing out the orders once more.

  Samir smiled and brushed his fingers along the edge of the object in his pocket.

  So, Gharic wanted to run back to the island, did he?

  Captain Faerus heaved a sigh of relief as the Retribution pulled free of the mass of the stricken pirate ship. It had been, he had to admit, a dangerously lunatic idea. The whole idea of the ram was to puncture the enemy and then pull out and flee while they sank. Nobody, to his knowledge, had ever attempted this and, despite the awesome weight and strength of the Retribution’s ram, it was still idiotic. But then the fiery mass that was the other ship behind them was listing in this direction and any attempt to reverse after impact would be to present themselves to a whole new burning danger.

  After the initial collision, his main worry had been that they would stick fast, or even that the rudder would jam on the wreckage before they could get clear. It had been a fascinating and heart-stopping minute and a half as his ship had sliced somewhat messily through the midsection of the enemy vessel.

  The initial heavy shots had been well-placed enough that they had shattered the main beams and bulkheads in the hull, and Faerus’ ship had long been renowned and feared for its outsized ram; just under a ton of iron, fifteen feet long and reinforced all the way from the keel up along the breakwater and to the bowsprit. As they had struck, the ram had punch through with ease, the iron breakwater shattering the remaining boards as they met. The main problem had been that the Retribution had not had enough room to build up ramming speed and the initial impact had slowed their ship further. In danger of grinding to a halt, jammed across their enemy, Faerus’ artillerists had begin to fire shot, both solid and canister, into the structure of the ship ahead, beside and below them.

  Even then, they had almost become wedged. The oarsmen, given their objective, hauled their oars in at the last minute, a couple of them in the front half of the ship waiting too long and watching helplessly as the long wooden implements shattered on the enemy hull while they came up. Most, however, had managed to get the oars up in time and spent the next minute using them to push the disintegrating hull of the enemy ship away from them, heaving as hard as they could as though they were punting a barge, every ounce of strength adding to the ease of passage.

  Had the crew of the pirate vessel had their wits about them, they could have taken the opportunity to pick off many of Faerus’ crew as they sawed their way through, but the imminent demise of their own ship had them panicked and those that hadn’t already run fore or aft and dived into the water before impact were desperately running up the tilting deck away from the scene of the destruction.

  By the time the Retribution was far enough through the enemy hull for the foremost oars to be dipped into the water once again, the pirate ship had separated into two neat halves and was beginning to disappear below the waves.

  “Are we clear?”

  Alif, the weathered second in command, standing on the main deck above the hatch, shivered and rubbed his head.

  “I can’t believe you even tried that, cap’n let alone that it worked!”

  “But are we clear?”

  Alif nodded.

  “We’re able to manoeuvre a little, but we’ve taken a hell of a lot of damage, sir. The prow’s a mess and people are shouting up from below that we’re taking on water in a dozen places.”

  “Critically?”

  Alif shrugged.

  “Water coming in is never good,
captain. In a perfect world, the water stays on the outside of a ship.”

  Faerus smiled. That his grouchy subordinate felt the subject worthy of humour spoke volumes.

  “Then let’s get those holes plugged as best we can and set the crew to emergency repairs only. We’ve not got time to affect a full repair; I want to get us back into the fight as soon as possible.”

  “With respect, captain… you’re barking mad! Has anyone ever told you that?”

  “You, Alif, and on more than one occasion.”

  The swarthy man grinned.

  “At least five minutes for a desperate patch up before I’ll feel safe even trying to make a turn, alright sir?”

  “Whatever you say, Alif.”

  He sighed as he stood back and leaned on the railing. His ship may have taken a pounding form this, but they came off better from the attack than the other two vessels. He watched with a slight undercurrent of sadness as the last timbers of the shattered ship around them disappeared beneath the waves. A glance behind revealed the burning mass of the other vessel, now leaning at a dangerous angle as it began its descent to the underworld. Unfortunate for the crew, caught between the choice of a fiery death or a watery one. In the most perfect of worlds they would help the stricken sailors bobbing in the water and shouting for help, hauling them aboard to save them.

  But that was for military engagements with men of honour, such as Faerus had faced in the old days. He knew those men in the water from the last decade or more, though. Most of them would gut him the moment his back was turned and, realistically, what chance did they stand? If Faerus relented and rescued them, he would have to deliver them to the governor, who would hang them in Calphoris of M’Dahz, watching as they jerked and soiled themselves in front of a jeering crowd. Better that they disappeared here, forgotten.