by Paul Collins
‘Then you will be the deputy navigator’s assistant. It’s not much of a rank, but the position outranks a liaisory.’
‘Thank you, Sir. Very grateful, Sir.’
‘Now then, returning to you, Liaisory Velza. After his flogging, Deckhand Third Class Dantar will become a junior attached officer. As an unattached officer, you may not give him orders or discipline him in any way. Violate the code of seniority, and I shall have you before this court again and declared to be . . .’ the marshal paused for emphasis, ‘a passenger. If your father had not been the fleet’s battle warlock you would be dealt with a lot more severely.’
There was more, but Velza’s mind had ceased accepting any new words after passenger. She was being sent to the quarterdeck as a liaisory. She had followed the rules to the very letter, but her command had been taken away and her brother was to be flogged – then promoted over her. She was not sure which was worse. What will father say? With luck we may lose the battle and all be killed before I have to explain this over dinner tonight.
‘Is the court in agreement with my decision?’ the marshal concluded.
The other officers of the court raised their thumbs. The court rose, and Dantar was taken out to the mid-deck. Here the sergeant of irregulars was waiting with a cane, along with the captain and most of the off-duty men. The sergeant waited for the officers of the court, Calbaras and Velza to take their places.
‘Touch your toes, be quick about it, boy,’ said the sergeant.
‘Please, Sir, I want the cat, not the cane,’ said Dantar.
The sergeant blinked. The men stopped joking and making wagers.
‘The cane is for those under seventeen,’ the sergeant growled. ‘You’re fourteen. Now bend over and be quick about it!’
‘Please, Sir, officers can never be flogged. One day I’ll have to command commoners. I want to know what it’s like to be flogged before I ever have to order a flogging.’
The sergeant’s eyes narrowed. ‘It can’t be the cat, five lashes would kill you.’
‘What about one with the cat and four with the cane – and on my back, like a real sailor?’
The sergeant raised the cane. ‘Enough of this nonsense, boy –’
The marshal held up his hand and the sergeant’s hand fell to his side. ‘Grant his wish, Sergeant. Be quick about it.’
Most of the watching men smiled and nodded.
‘Very well,’ said the sergeant grudgingly. ‘Off with his tunic, tie him to the mast and gag him.’
‘I’d rather not be gagged, Sir.’
‘It’s for you to bite on,’ said the marshal. ‘Open wide for the sergeant.’
The sergeant delivered four hard, precisely placed strokes with the cane. The single lash with the cat o’ nine tails left bleeding cuts on Dantar’s back. The entire ship’s company cheered as he was untied. Velza was surprised to find herself cheering too, and realised that for the first time she was immensely proud of her younger brother.
‘I do believe the boy has done more to restore morale than a double ration of ale,’ said the marshal to the sergeant. ‘Can he use a sword?’
‘More or less.’
‘Then put him in charge of five men before the battle and assign that sailor Marko to look after him. Good example to the others.’
‘Sir!’
Dantar collapsed on the deck. The cheering drowned his screams when the sergeant poured wine onto his cuts.
‘There’s dye in the wine, that’ll make sure your scars don’t fade,’ he explained.
‘Very grateful, Sir,’ gasped Dantar.
‘Marshal’s orders,’ the sergeant said.
Marko, Latsar and Pandas hurried over.
‘Come along, Sir, let’s get you cleaned up before the battle starts,’ said Latsar, as he and Marko helped Dantar to his feet.
The captain strode over to Dantar. He was about half the marshal’s age, yet he had the same sort of swagger and authority. He was also the youngest captain in the fleet, and had established his reputation in patrols against the pirates of the Secastar Archipelago. Fifteen years at sea had left him rather too weather-beaten to be called truly handsome, but then good looks were not needed to be a good commander.
‘Wear this, it marks you as a navigaton officer,’ he explained, handing Dantar a violet crystal on a chain. It was about the length of a finger.
Captain Parvian turned to Velza. ‘Come along, Liaisory Velza. New duties.’
Mortified, Velza walked away with him toward the steps of the quarterdeck. All the sailors stood well clear of her, as if she were poisonous.
‘Now you understand the fog of battle,’ said the captain.
‘No, Sir, I don’t,’ said Velza.
They climbed the steps to the quarterdeck, then Velza followed him past the steersman to the aft rail of the ship. Here the captain folded his arms and gazed out at the fleet that they were leading.
‘After any battle, it’s easy to find fault with people’s actions. Rules can be bent in the fog of battle, and sometimes they must be bent. Remember that. Stupid officers are often found dead after battles, and the wounds are always in their backs.’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘I’ve made worse mistakes than yours, but I learned from them. Show what you’re made of by learning from this one. The marshal actually admires you in secret.’
‘One would never guess it, Sir,’ replied Velza, wondering whether the captain was making this up because he was sorry for her.
‘It’s true, and the other officers call you the Iron Claw. It’s probably meant as an insult, but I would be proud of a name like that.’
So, I’m the Iron Claw! thought Velza. That almost makes up for losing my squad.
‘Your first task will be to find Meslit,’ said Parvian. ‘Fetch the three remaining cabin boys, have them search the ship and ask everyone when Meslit was last seen. Going into a naval battle without our most senior water wizard would be very bad for morale.’
Velza now knew that there were unwritten rules for young officer-shapers, and she wanted to learn more of them.
It’s so unfair, she fumed to herself. She had obeyed the rules, yet she had lost her squad. How was I to know rules don’t apply to heroes?
Stationed on the quarterdeck close to Admiral Dalzico and Captain Parvian, Velza saw and heard the preparations for the battle. Dalzico was a huge man with mutton chop whiskers. He towered over Captain Parvian, and the captain was not short. The marshal-at-arms called all the officers together.
‘Battle Warlock Calbaras has retired to the master cabin to prepare himself for the attack on the city of Teliz,’ the admiral began. ‘The fighting will not be long in starting, so all of you should also get in the martial mood, so to speak.’ The admiral was facing aft on the quarterdeck, as if he were addressing the entire fleet. Velza was facing forward with the rest of them, and noticed that there was something wrong with the magically bound fog bank that was moving ahead of the fleet. It seemed less dense than before, in fact she could see a coast and mountains through it.
‘The fleet will approach the Savarian capital in a great arc behind the fog,’ Dalzico continued, gesturing to the other ships. ‘At my signal, two hundred rowboats of marines will set off from the leading ships into the fog. When they land, our air shapers will dissolve the fog and the Savarians will find themselves defeated before they even realise they’re being invaded. Any questions?’
Captain Parvian raised his hand.
‘What do we do now that the fog has vanished?’ he asked.
Dalzico whirled around. The sea was clear all the way to Teliz, Savaria’s port city. Judging by the distant alarm bells, the fleet had been noticed.
‘The fog’s gone!’ gasped Dalzico. ‘How can that be?’
‘Our air shapers created the fog; the Savarian air shapers must have dispersed it,’ replied the captain. ‘It’s also a clear, sunny day, not good for maintaining fog.’
‘But it was meant to cover our app
roach.’
‘Quite so, Sir.’
Forty or fifty Savarian galleys were gliding out of the harbour. None were as large as the massive Dravinian warships hurriedly preparing to attack Teliz, but they were fast enough to run down and smash the landing boats.
‘They were ready!’ Dalzico said. ‘They must have been warned.’
It was our emperor who warned them, thought Velza. You can’t gather a fleet of this size without spies noticing. I’m getting really sick of taking orders from stupid people.
‘Orders, Sir?’ asked the captain.
‘What does our water wizard advise?’
‘Meslit has been missing since just after the oil store fire, Sir.’
‘Well . . . carry on as before. This doesn’t matter, the Savarian defences are puny.’
That’s Rule Five from Morale and How to Raise it When Commanding Peasants, thought Velza. Say something encouraging, even if it’s not true. That’s a very stupid book.
‘It’s important to have some form of battle,’ Dalzico said after a moment. ‘If the victory is too easy, we will not be honoured as highly.’
That’s Rule Three, thought Velza. If the enemy gains an advantage, tell the men it’s part of your plan.
‘The Savarians are positioning their galleys to block our landing boats,’ said Parvian. ‘They don’t expect an attack from our fleet.’
‘But that’s absurd, of course we shall attack them.’
‘I don’t like this,’ Parvian muttered as he took off his tricorne captain’s hat and mopped his brow. ‘I’ve read a report by a survivor of our last invasion attempt. The Savarians have the Deathlight.’
‘Deathlight? That weapon is only a sailor’s tall tale.’
‘If you say so, Sir.’
The admiral snorted and looked down at Parvian, his eyes glaring fiercely as if his flagship’s captain were to blame for his plans going awry. Velza wished her father were there to mediate.
‘The enemy galleys are small,’ said Dalzico.
‘With our flamethrowers and ballistas we can obliterate them before they draw close enough to inflict damage.’
‘With respect, Admiral, if they are in range, then so are we,’ said Parvian.
‘Even the dragon disagrees with you!’ exclaimed the admiral impatiently, waving at the sky. ‘The dragon attacked a ship of our fleet – it believes we shall be victorious today.’
‘Very good, Sir,’ said Parvian. ‘Do you have any more orders?’
‘Attack!’
‘Liaisory Velza, have the signaller run up the flags for General Attack.’
Velza saluted, hurried away and passed the order to the signaller, who was stationed beside the stern mast. When she returned, Dalzico’s lackey was strapping plate armour onto him. He had been burned by drops of burning pitch after the dragon had attacked, so wearing metal seemed like a sensible precaution.
‘And be sure to stuff cloth into the upper joints,’ said the admiral. ‘I have six burns from being hit by drops of burning pitch yesterday.’
‘Regrettable, Sir,’ said the lackey.
‘My best parade uniform, ruined.’
‘Wise not to wear your best into battle, Sir. Except if it’s your best armour, of course.’
Velza glanced at the distant city. At the tops of all nine watchtowers there were odd twinklings. The towers were like no buildings she had ever seen; they looked like white stalks, each with a shining, silvery flower at the summit. A lot of work had gone into building them, and she did not believe they were just decorative.
A shout came from the makeshift crow’s nest on the mainmast: ‘Ship a-fire!’
Parvian spun about and looked up at the crow’s nest, then turned in the direction that his lookout was pointing. Nearby, a great battle gallerine was ablaze. The ocean-going galley had a full rig of sails for when the oars were shipped, but those sails were on fire, the entire ship lit by an intense, unnatural light. Velza could see sailors and marines leaping overboard rather than fighting the fires.
‘Now it begins,’ said Parvian.
The admiral stared at the stricken ship, shielding his eyes from the sun.
‘A freak accident, Captain,’ said Dalzico.
‘Accidents happen.’
‘If you say so, Sir,’ said Parvian, scanning the rest of the fleet.
‘Fire magic doesn’t work at sea,’ Dalzico continued.
‘Another ship a-fire,’ called the lookout. ‘Off to larboard – and there goes another. And another!’
Bad day for freak accidents, thought Velza.
‘What’s happening?’ demanded Dalzico.
‘With respect, Sir, remember the Deathlight weapon that the survivor of the first invasion, Lord Zandale, reported?’
The officers on the quarterdeck were milling about and pointing, aware the Invincible was a prime target for whatever was attacking the fleet.
Gallerines, thought Velza. Our gallerines are being set a-fire first. They’re targeting the only ships that can move without wind power. Surely the admiral sees that?
‘They must have spies aboard all our ships, starting fires,’ said Dalzico, clearly floundering.
‘The fires are in the rigging, out in the open,’ said Parvian.
‘Then what?’ shouted the admiral.
Parvian had spent fifteen years at sea, but Admiral Dalzico was only a nobleman whose family had influence at court. Normally Dalzico had to do no more than point at a city or fleet and shout ‘Attack!’, then take credit for the victory.
Nine more ships were on fire.
The emperor will not like that, thought Velza. Ships cost a lot of money.
‘Sails are rubbed with mutton fat to stop them rotting in the damp salt air,’ Parvian explained patiently. ‘Rigging ropes are coated with tar for the same reason. Start a fire in the sails and rigging, and it’s like lighting a candle.’ He pointed upwards. ‘Everything up there burns easily, Sir.’
‘But fire can’t work at sea.’
‘Fire magic can’t work at sea, Admiral, but flamethrowers, fire pots and fire arrows don’t use magic,’ Parvian said. ‘The Savarians’ Deathlight weapon is some type of flamethrower with a range of miles instead of yards. It’s roasting our ships, one by one.’
‘Well, do something! Attack the Savarian fleet.’
‘We are sailing straight for the Savarian fleet, but the Deathlight weapons are in the city.’
‘Fog!’ cried the admiral. ‘Fog! Have our water and air shapers raise more fog.’
‘Waste of time,’ said Captain Parvian. ‘The enemy shapers can disperse fog as fast as we can raise it.’
‘Water shields?’
‘Only Meslit can conjure those, and he is still missing.’
‘But we can’t just sit here and be destroyed!’
‘We’re attacking, as you ordered.’
‘Where is Calbaras? He said our magicians are better than theirs.’
‘The Savarians are not using magic! Deathlight is as unmagical as a fire arrow.’
The admiral’s mouth opened and closed silently as he searched for words.
He looks like he wants someone to toss him a worm, thought Velza. Why can’t he be charged with being stupid and hanged before he gets anyone else killed?
‘How does Deathlight work without magic?’
Dalzico asked at last.
‘Mirrors and sunlight,’ said Parvian.
The admiral’s eyebrows rose. ‘Mirrors?’
‘Yes. Enormous arrays of little mirrors, polished to perfection. They focus the sun’s light into an intense beam. There’s one mounted on each of the city’s towers.’
‘How do you know?’
‘It’s in the report by a survivor of the first invasion. The Savarians let your fog bank remain complete until it was too late for us to retreat. When we were committed, they unleashed Deathlight.’
The admiral didn’t read the report, Velza realised.
‘What would you have done?’
Dalzico asked.
‘Attacked at night. I did recommend a night attack when you first told us your plans. Their weapons are useless without sunlight.’
The admiral’s nerve finally broke.
‘Do something!’ he pleaded. ‘Anything!’
‘I shall need fleet command, conferred by yourself and witnessed by at least one officer.’
‘Yes! Yes! You, Liaisory!’ Dalzico strode over to Velza, seized her by the arm and marched her across to the captain. ‘Witness that I appoint Captain Parvian as acting admiral!’
He pushed Velza aside. I might well be murdered if Parvian wins the battle and Dalzico wants to retract his words, she realised. I’m pretty sure the rule book doesn’t say it’s my duty to be murdered so that a nobleman doesn’t look stupid.
‘Liaisory, go to the signaller,’ said Parvian.
‘Raise flags for sweeps and fire alert.’
The captain had ordered all sails to be furled, right across the fleet. The decks were to be doused with water, and more water was to be kept ready. Each ship had a few long sweep-oars for docking, and these would now be used. They were not as effective as sails, but they worked.
Even with the sails furled ships caught fire, but more slowly than before. The tarry ropes burned like candle wicks, and rained burning tar down onto the decks and furled sails. Huge plumes of smoke like thunderclouds twisted into the sky.
‘We’re doomed,’ Dalzico croaked, taking his polished helmet off and flinging it to the deck.
‘Not at all,’ explained Parvian. ‘The smoke from our burning ships is blowing ahead of the fleet, protecting us from the mirror weapons. Ships in the vanguard are being set on fire, but those behind will move closer to the city before they burn. When we are near, we shall be attacked by the Savarians’ galleys. However, a few landing boats will get through.’
‘But – but we may well lose three quarters of the fleet.’
‘Maybe more. It will not be an easy, glorious victory.’
‘How will I explain the losses at court?’
‘I can’t say, Admiral, I’m not a courtier. Come with me to the mid-deck.’
‘But we command from the quarterdeck.’
‘The quarterdeck is exposed to the mirror weapon.’ Parvian shouted for all to hear, ‘All officers, down to the mid-deck. Steersman, get below, steer from the storm cabin. I’ll call directions through the speaker tubes.’