The smaller brother shot an irritated look at his sibling.
“If things get too bleak, make sure you throw that compass over the side. That has to be the end of it.”
Ghassan nodded soberly and Samir turned and cupped his hands around his mouth.
“To arms. Prepare to board!”
Ghassan stared at his brother.
“Board? Are you mad? We should be trying to repel them. You don’t try and board a ship that outnumbers you by four men to one!”
“Indeed,” replied Samir, “which is why it’ll throw them completely off track!”
Behind them, the men of the Redemption drew their weapons as they picked themselves up from the deck and clambered across the wreckage toward the rail.
“Samir, they’ll die.”
“Better to go out trying than cowering, Ghassan. I’m leaving you in charge of the Redemption and the compass. You know what to do when things get too bad.”
“Oh no you don…”
“Yes I do. Good luck, brother.”
As Ghassan launched off on a tirade at the smaller man, Samir, grimacing, leapt down to the main deck and ran to join the men who were even now clambering at the rail.
Ghassan watched from the command deck, helplessly. Samir, however irritating, was right. Someone needed to stay back in charge of the compass. It must not fall into enemy hands. And he, since his back was still weeping when he moved wrong, was the obvious choice. He thumped his hand on the rail as he surveyed the scene.
It was a mess. Many of the oars on both ships had been smashed when the collision occurred, and the pirate vessel had slid to a stop side by side with her prey, both ships rocking and shaking. The gap between the two hulls was almost narrow enough to leap, but if a man missed, given the fact that the two hulls kept washing against one another, drowning would be a blessed option. Ghassan had seen men crushed between two ships’ hulls before and it was never pretty.
The sailors of both sides were clamouring at the rails, awaiting the chance to cross and cause havoc, but neither was ready yet. The collision had left both ships in a state of chaos. No one was willing to take the leap between ships and neither side had expected a boarding action, so the boarding ramps were being brought up hurriedly on both sides.
The crews, who looked largely identical, roared their anger and defiance at one another and the sight was almost comical, given the impotent inability to actually reach the opposition until the ramps were in place.
Ghassan, however, a veteran of so many years of combat, could see a subtle difference in the two crews.
Not the numbers. There was nothing subtle about the fact that the enemy ship’s rail was crowded by a throng of bloodthirsty cutthroats at least four men deep while there were few enough men on board the Redemption that small gaps remained at the rail.
No. The difference was in the tone of the shouts. The enemy ship had that roar of true violence. They knew they had the upper hand and that they would be safe if they overran the Redemption, stole the compass and retreated into the reefs. They had every reason to believe that the fight would go their way.
Samir’s crew, however, knew they were doomed. Though their cries were as angry as those of the enemy, the undercurrent was that of quiet resignation. The crew of the Redemption knew that they were likely to lose here and that the enemy would leave no survivors.
The roaring intensified as the boarding planks were run out on both sides, falling to the opposing deck and jamming there as the iron teeth fitted to the end dug into the boards; yet another potentially humorous moment unfolding as both sides tried to charge one another before the other could prepare.
The result was, of course, chaos. Men from both ships ran out onto the same boarding planks, meeting at the centre between the two vessels. The forces clased in a sea of bellowing colour, men screaming and hollering as sword blows landed and helpless, desperate men fell from the planks into the churning waters, only to stare terrified and boggle-eyed at the hulls of the two ships as they trod water. The waves brought the hulls inexorably closer and closer together once more until they met with a crunch.
Ghassan winced at the sound of a dozen desperate cries being cut off instantly with that wooden bang.
The initial attack was beginning to slow. The numbers were thinning out and more people now fell foul of the drop between the hulls than made it either forward or back to either deck. The gore and viscera of the vicious fighting had, within the first minute, coated every ramp, making the crimson timber slippery and treacherous.
Anger was quickly giving way to frustration and desperation, as men from both sides fought as carefully as they could. Then, as Ghassan watched in horror, the figures of Samir and Saja appeared out of the rear of the Redemption’s massed crew, nodded at one another, turned, and ran, using the banks of rowing seats as a launch pad.
From his vantage point on the command deck Ghassan watched, his heart in his throat, as the two men leapt across the gap with its bloody boards, crushing depths and battling men and came down in a heap on the enemy deck, amid a pushing crowd of surprised pirates, knocking a number of men to the deck as they hit.
The pair vanished from sight in a pile of men and the area suddenly became a focus of intense fighting. Ghassan closed his eyes.
“Samir, you bloody idiot!”
A call escaped his attention for a moment as it was almost lost in the noise of the battle raging around him and it took precious seconds for Ghassan to realise that the voice was addressing him from somewhere above. Raising his eyes and sheltering them from the brightness of the blue sky above, he spotted a young sailor at the top of the smaller rear sail, hanging onto the cross bar.
“What is it?”
The young man shouted something garbled that Ghassan couldn’t quite make out and pointed toward the enemy ship’s rigging. Ghassan frowned as he looked across at the sails, ropes and masts of the pirate vessel, with the shouting men dotted here and there among them. There was nothing unusual there. He frowned again and was just about to turn and try to frame a mouthed question at the lad when he saw it…not among the enemy ship’s rigging, but behind them.
Two vessels! Not just one, but two! Saja’s former ship: The Sea Witch. She’d not been officially part of the rebellion, so she had no new name and no imperial pennant to fly, but she’d dropped her own colours and was sporting a plain green flag the captain had found somewhere.
And she was bearing down on their aggressor at a frightening pace, with Faerus’ Retribution at her side, like a charge of heroes from the tales of old.
Ghassan took a deep breath.
“Stay safe, Samir. Help’s on the way…”
In which a last assault begins
There was a moment when the madness of the act flashed across Samir’s mind and almost shocked him to a standstill. He was a man who never did anything without a plan and at least one card up his sleeve. He had rarely in his adult life entered into any situation that he was not already absolutely sure of. There always had to be a way out.
Not this time.
For years he had bent every effort and guided every possible thread he could find to one end: to this very end. But once the governor had accepted the deal, the pirate fleet had been coerced or dealt with and the passage through the reefs had been sealed for all time, there had been no more plans. And now he had found himself fighting a sea action for which he was unprepared and which seemed to be heavily weighted in favour of the enemy. And the upshot of everything was that he had to do what he could without that all-too-important card up his sleeve.
In the press of men pushing up against the rail of the Redemption, trying to get to the rabid pirates on board the enemy vessel, Samir’s mind had finally gone blank, leaving him floundering with no plan; directionless. He and his men had to gain the advantage over the much larger enemy, but he just kept coming up blank; there was no clear way.
Around him the men of his crew pushed and shouted, itching to prove their worth
over the one remaining enemy vessel, and Samir could do nothing but watch helplessly.
He had jumped and almost lashed out when a hand clamped down on his shoulder. Swinging round, he found himself staring helplessly into the eyes of Saja, ex councillor of Lassos, renowned pirate lord and tactician and equally famed warrior. Saja’s face wore a deep frown of concern, causing some of his tattoos to meet around the corner of his eye and his various gold adornments to move hypnotically around his face. Samir, his mind reeling with the unfamiliar feeling of uncertainty, found himself lost in the movements of the various rings and studs.
He suddenly realised that Saja was saying something to him, just as the man stopped and raised his brow, waiting for an answer.
Can’t show my growing panic, Samir thought… not amid the crew.
Taking a deep breath, he held his hand to his ear, miming that he couldn’t hear Saja over the rabble. The large, ebony-skinned captain nodded and, grasping Samir’s shoulder harder, turned and propelled him back through the press and toward the open deck behind them.
As they left the heavy crowd, the councillor leaned close to Samir.
“We have to do something to break them.”
“Yes” Samir nodded emphatically “but what?”
“It’s up to us. Men fight twice as hard when they are led by men they believe in; you know that, Samir. It’s up to us to turn the tables on the enemy.”
Samir nodded again, uncertainty still freezing his mind.
“But how?”
Saja shrugged as they neared the open space.
“We have to lead the attack. Give them something to aim for.”
Samir nodded, the uncertainty still filling his mind with emptiness. He had to do something. He was never this useless; always had the next five steps worked out.
So… they had to get ahead of the press and onto the enemy ship. They had to give them ‘something to aim for’ as Saja said. There was plainly only one thing they could do.
“We’ll have to dive in feet first and come up fighting. We need to be the incentive.”
Saja nodded.
“Swing down from the rigging?”
“Too slow. Things could go badly by the time we’ve climbed up there and swung across. We need to get our men over there now, before they break us and we all end up fighting on the Redemption!”
“Then we need the clearest area and a good run up.”
Samir nodded and scanned the deck as the pair finally came out of the rear of the massed sailors.
“There… past the main mast. The place with the least men. That’ll be where they break through first!”
Saja followed Samir’s gaze and then turned to him and nodded. The two men jogged back across the deck, angling themselves so that when they turned back to the press, they were facing one of the remaining gaps where the mass of shouting sailors was thinnest.
“See you on the other side” Samir laughed, the sudden attainment of direction giving him purpose and clearing his mind of the fluff that seemed to have settled there.
“Ha’Rish smile on us with a good face.”
The pair grinned and then ran. There was surprisingly little run up across the deck, and the charge was hampered a little by the many obstacles on the wooden boards, but the two men reached the raised benches of the oarsmen just behind the press of men and took an agile step, jump and then leap from the highest point, drawing their weapons at they rose.
Ghassan would not approve, Samir thought briefly as he watched the surprised upturned faces of the men of his ship while he passed over the top of them, and then the equally astonished raised faces of the enemy just before reality reasserted itself and the two men crashed back to the floor in a tangle of body parts. Fortunate they were that the enemy had been so taken by surprise that they’d not had time to react. Just one man having the forethought to raise a sword to the descending men could have put an end to the foolhardy attack all too soon.
As Samir and Saja felt the squashed bodies of fallen men and the hard surface of the deck boards beneath them, a roar went up from behind. Their attack had enthused the Redemption’s crew and, hopefully, spurred them into a stronger push. The two men had precious little time to think, though, and could pay no further heed to what was happening behind them. Already the effects of their shock arrival were wearing off and men nearby were picking themselves up and collecting weapons.
Samir struggled to his hands and knees, his fist wrapped around the hilt of his short sword and supporting his weight as he tried to take stock of the immediate situation. As he turned, he found himself face to face with one of the pirates, picking himself up in the same fashion. As their eyes met, the man tried to free the blade in his hand enough to manage a stab at this mad captain. Samir, instinct taking over as always, had already considered and then abandoned the sword as an option. Still leaning on that hand, he lashed out with his free fist, punching the crouched pirate full in the face, shattering his nose and knocking the man flat.
As the stunned man toppled to the side, his hand came up and Samir reached out and calmly plucked the longer, curved blade from it. Standing slowly, hefting his shorter Imperial sword in his right hand and the long, curved desert blade in the other, Samir remembered a day, so long ago, when he had stood on a ruined tower at the edge of M’Dahz with their uncle Faraj teaching them the difference between the two and why they had to learn the use of different weapons.
He smiled grimly as he twisted his wrist and spun the straight blade in his hand. The nearest pirate took a look at his face, the man’s gaze passing down first to one hand and then the other, and he backed away carefully as much as he could into the press of men.
Behind him, Saja had acted with much less flourish, style and honour, but with considerably more effect. As the big man had come to his senses on the floor, on top of two fallen pirates, but surrounded by many more still standing, he had brandished his weapon, elbowed a little room and then taken as strong a swing as he could.
Despite the lack of space, Saja was a powerful man, huge muscles rippling under his dark and decorated skin, and the golden bangles jangled as he scythed out with his own curved blade, cutting easily through calves, shins, knees and hamstrings. The effect was horrifying. Blood pumped from a dozen wounds and begun to flood the area as men collapsed in a screaming mass at this sudden and debilitating attack. And, as the pirates above him fell like a field of wheat before the scythe, Saja rose from the mass, slowly, covered in fresh blood and brandishing his evil blade while grinning like some monster from legend.
Samir stood slowly, a sword in each hand, and nodded to his companion. The attack had certainly started something. Back among the press, he could see occasional faces he recognised from the crew of the redemption, snarling and shouting among the enemy. Samir’s crew had begun to push once more.
The pirates were being pressed by a considerably smaller force, against all odds, and Samir and Saja grinned as they faced a motley collection of nervous-looking men, waiting for the tense standoff following their initial onslaught to break.
The first strike came suddenly after three heartbeats, which had felt like months, passed. The man closest to Samir lunged with the speed of a viper and Samir had to step back to parry the blow with his short imperial blade, stumbling slightly into Saja, who consequently almost fell foul of a simultaneous attack from the other side.
In the brief moment that followed before all hell broke loose, Samir took the opportunity to swap hands with the two blades, the heavy, curved sword in his right, striking hand, the smaller straight Imperial blade in the left for parrying. He barely had time to get a full grip before the force hit them.
The men around Samir and Saja came in like a tide, the ripples of a cast stone in reverse, swinging curved blades and lunging with short swords and long knives, the attack only faltering a little through lack of organisation and of room to manoeuvre.
Samir found he had no time to make an attack of his own, being forced instead to
raise and shift both swords in a constant whirr of steel in order to block the various blades that thrust, swiped and cut at him. Even so, in the massive press of men, he felt three blows land in the initial flurry: one glancing blow cutting a thin sliver of flesh from his upper arm just below the shoulder, another taking a small piece from his earlobe and the third cutting deep into his outer thigh.
Another set of blows like that and he’d be down! He was damned lucky none of those three had been debilitating, as they easily could have. Behind him, Saja yelped as a blow bit home somewhere on his powerful physique.
And then there was chaos. After the initial surprise and the standoff, then the tentative lunges, the full-blown assault by the enemy that surrounded them had given the men all the incentive they needed and Samir and Saja found themselves beleaguered and fighting desperately for their lives, parrying blow after blow and managing only rarely to get in a thrust or swing of their own as opportunity allowed.
Again and again Samir felt the shock of swords hitting his desperately-raised blade and sliding with a jarring, grating feel down the blade. More blows connected, drawing blood and leaving fine lines or small wounds on his flesh. Samir was a good swordsman; maybe as good as Saja, even, but no man could hope to hold his own for long in a pressing circle of dozens of bloodthirsty, screaming enemies.
This was it. No regrets, of course. What they did, leaping in among the enemy, had been the spur the men of the Redemption had needed and had changed the whole direction of the battle. Ghassan and Culin had better take advantage of the change and use it, or their sacrifice would have been in vain.
Another blow, well placed while Samir’s own swords were raised to block other attacks, swung in beneath his guard and cut deeply just above his left knee.
Dark Empress Page 53