"Pick your target," Derec told the marine. "Steady now! Fire."
The four-pound mankiller barked and the air filled with a peculiar whirring noise as grapeshot and a handful of scrap iron flew toward the enemy. "Fire the murderers!" Derec spat. "Now!"
Another three minions banged out, and then there was a massive answering roar as every enemy gun went off, flinging their iron toward Birdwing. The smaller ship shuddered as balls slammed home. Derec took an involuntary step backward at the awesome volume of fire, but then he began to laugh. He'd tricked Monarch into firing prematurely, before all her guns bore. They'd wasted their first and most valuable broadside, half the shot going into the sea.
"Reload, you men! Helmsman, larboard a point!" Derec cupped his hands to carry down the ship's well to the gundeck below. "Fire on my command! Ready, boys!" Birdwing began a gentle curve toward the giant ship.
"Fire!" The deck lurched as the big guns went off, the long fifteen-foot main deck culverins leaping inboard on their carriages. Derec could hear crashing from the enemy ship as iron smashed through timbers. "Reload!" Derec shrieked. "Fire at will! Helmsman, starboard a point!"
Enemy guns began crashing. Derec saw a piece of bulwark dissolve on the main deck and turn to a storm of white fifteen-inch splinters that mowed down half a dozen men. Shot wailed overhead or thudded into planking. Musketry twittered over Derec 's head: the enemy castles were full of marines firing down onto Birdwing's decks. The smaller ship's guns replied. For the first time Derec felt a magic probe against his defenses; he sensed Tevvik parrying the strike. There was a crash, a deadly whirl of splinters, and the yellow-bearded marine was flung across the deck like a sack, ending up against the starboard rail, head crushed by a grapeshot. Derec, still in his haze of concentration, absently sent a man from the starboard side to service the gun.
Guns boomed, spewing powder smoke. Birdwing's practiced crews were loading and firing well. Derec smiled; but then his ship rocked to a storm of fire and his heart lurched. His crews were faster in loading and firing, but still the enemy weight was overwhelming. Derec's smaller vessel couldn't stand this pounding for long. He gnawed his lip as he peered at the enemy through the murk. His next move depended on their not seeing him clearly.
The deck jarred as half a dozen gundeck demi-cannon went off nearly together. Smoke blossomed between the ships, and at once Derec ran for the break in the poop.
"Sailtrimmers, cast off all tacks and sheets!" he roared. "Gun crews shift to the starboard broadside! Smartly, now!" He could see crewmen's bewildered heads swiveling wildly: man the starboard guns? Had Torn II run up to starboard and caught them between two fires?
"Cast off all sheets! Fly 'em! Run out the starboard battery!"
Topsails boomed as the great sails spilled wind. Birdwing's purposeful driving slowed as if stopped by a giant hand. The flogging canvas roared louder than the guns. The galleon staggered in the sea, the black ship pulling ahead. Frantically Derec gauged his ship's motion.
"Hard a-larboard, Sandor! Smartly, there!"
Losing momentum, Birdwing rounded onto its new tack. A rumble sounded from the gundeck as the demi-cannon began thrusting from the ports. "Sheet home! Sailtrimmers to the braces! Brace her up sharp, there!"
There; he'd done it: checked his speed and swung across the black ship's stern. He could see the big stern windows, the heraldric quarterings of the Two Kingdoms painted on the flat surface of the raised poop, officers in armor running frantically atop the castle, arms waving …
"Fire as you bear! Make it count, boys!"
Birdwing trembled as the first culverin spat fire. The whole broadside followed, gun by gun, and Derec exulted as he saw the enemy's stern dissolve in a chaos of splinters and roundshot, a great gilt lantern tumbling into the sea, the white triangle of the bonaventure dancing as grape pockmarked the canvas … He'd raked her, firing his whole broadside the length of the ship without the enemy being able to reply with a single shot. Derec laughed aloud. "We've got upwind of them!" he shouted. "They'll not catch us now!"
"Holy Thung! Look ahead!" Randem's young voice was frantic. Derec ran to the weather rail and peered out.
Torn II was bearing down on them, bow to bow, within a cable's distance. She'd been trying to weather Monarch so as to attack Birdwing from her unengaged side, and now the two race-built ships were on a collision course.
"Hands to the braces! Stations for tacking! Starboard guns load doubleshot and grape! Put the helm down!"
Birdwing, barely under way again, staggered into the wind. Canvas slatted wildly. Torn II was bearing down on her beam, its royal figurehead glowering, waving a bright commanding sword.
"Fire as you bear!" Derec pounded the rail with a bleeding fist. "Run out and fire!"
The marines' murderers spat their little balls and scrap iron. Then a demi-cannon boomed, and another, then several of the long main deck culverins. Birdwing hung in the eye of the wind, all forward momentum lost, the gale beating against her sails, driving her backward. More guns went off. Torn's spritsail danced as a roundshot struck it. Captain-General Collerne was curving gently downwind, about to cross Birdwing’s stern at point-blank range.
"Starboard your helm! Help her fall off!"
Too late. Captain-General Collerne's scarlet masthead pennant coiled over the waves like a serpent threatening to strike. "Lie down!" Derec shouted. "Everyone lie down!"
He flung himself to the planks as the world began to come apart at the seams. The ship staggered like a toy struck by a child's hand as an entire rippling broadside smashed the length of Birdwing's hull. Gunsmoke gushed over the quarterdeck. The taffrail dissolved. The bonaventure mizzen collapsed, draping the poop in pockmarked canvas. Yards of sliced rigging coiled down on the deck. Below there was a metallic gong as a cannon was turned over on its shrieking crew.
Then there was a stunned silence: Torn had passed by. Through the clouds of gunsmoke Derec could see Marcoyn standing, legs apart, on the fo'c'sle, sword brandished at the enemy, an incoherent, lunatic bellow of rage rising from his throat. "What a madman," Derec muttered, his ears ringing, and then he got to his feet.
"Brace the spritsail to larboard!" he called. "Clear that wreckage!" The tattered remains of the bonaventure were turning red: there were bodies underneath. As the canvas was pulled up, Derec saw one of them was Facer, the sunburned man cut in half by his homeland's iron. Derec turned away. He would pray for the man later.
Slowly Birdwing paid off onto the larboard tack. The sails filled and the galleon lost sternway. Water began to chuckle along the strakes as the ship slowly forged ahead. Canvas boomed as Torn II, astern, began to come about. Derec looked anxiously over the shattered taffrail.
Monarch was only now lumbering into the wind: she was almost a mile away and had no hope of returning to the fight unless the wind shifted to give her the weather gage once again. But Torn II was the ship that had worried Derec all along, and she was right at hand, completing her tack, moving onto the same course as Birdwing. If she was faster sailing upwind, she could overhaul the fugitive ship. Derec gave a worried glance at the set of his sails.
"Keep her full, Sandor. Let her go through the water."
"Full an' bye, sir."
"Set the t'gallants." He was suddenly glad he hadn't sent down the topgallant yards.
"Aye aye, sir."
"All hands to knot and splice." The topgallants rumbled as they were smoothly sheeted home. Birdwing heeled to starboard, foam spattering over the fo' c'sle like handfuls of dark jewels tossed by the spirits of the sea. She was drawing ahead, fast as a witch as she drove through the black gale. Water drizzled from the sky, washing Facer's blood from the planks. The water tasted sweet on Derec's tongue, washed away the powder that streaked his face.
Torn's topgallant yards were rising aloft, a swarm of men dark on her rigging. Birdwing made the most of her temporary advantage; she'd gained over a mile on her adversary before Torn's topgallant bloomed and the larger ship began to
race in earnest.
Derec felt his heart throbbing as he slitted his eyes to look astern, judging the ships' relative motion. Birdwing had lost its bonaventure: would that subtract from the ship's speed? He continued staring astern. His face began to split in a smile. "We're pulling ahead!" he roared. "We've got the heels of her, by Thurn Bel!"
A low cheer began to rise from the crew, then, as the word passed, it grew deafening. Birdwing was going to make its escape. Nothing could stop her now.
Two miles later, as Birdwing neared a half-mile-wide channel between a pair of boundary isles, the wind died away entirely.
The sails fell slack, booming softly as the ship rocked on the waves. From astern, traveling clearly from the two enemy vessels, Derec could hear the sound of cheering.
•
"Sway out the longboat! Ready to lower the second bower! We'll kedge her!"
The words snapped from Derec's mouth before the enemy cheering had quite ended. There was a rush of feet as the crew obeyed. Derec wanted to keep them busy, not occupied with thinking about their predicament.
"Send a party below to splice every anchor cable together. Fetch the wizard. A party to the capstan. Bring up the tackles and the spare t'gallant yards. We're going to jury a bonaventure. SuKrone, help me out of this damned armor."
One of the two longboats was swung out and set in the water. Carefully, the remaining bower anchor was lowered into it, and the boat moved under oars to the full length of the spliced anchor cables. Then the anchor was pitched overboard into the shallow sea and crewmen began stamping around the capstan, dragging the ship forward by main force until it rested over its anchor.
Tevvik appeared on deck to Derec's summons. He looked haggard.
"Hot work, Captain," he said. "Their wizards are good."
"I felt only one assault."
"Good. That means I was keeping them off."
"We're going to need wind."
Tevvik seemed dead with weariness. "Aye, Captain. I'll try."
''I'll work with you. Stand by the rail; I'll be with you in a moment."
The sound of clattering capstan pawls echoed from astern. Torn and Monarch were kedging as well.
"Up and down, sir." Birdwing was resting over its anchor.
"Bring her up smartly."
"Aye aye."
Birdwing lurched as the anchor broke free of the bottom. Derec moved toward the poop ladder, then frowned as he saw the two stream anchors lashed to the main chains. A shame, Derec considered, that so much time was wasted getting the anchor up, then rowing it out again. Capstan pawls whirred in accompaniment to Derec's thoughts.
"Swing out the other longboat," he said. "We'll put one of the stream anchors on the other end of the cable. Have one anchor going out while the other's coming in." He grinned at SuKrone's startled expression. "See to it, man!"
"Sir."
Crewmen rushed to the remaining longboat. Derec walked to where the Tichenese was waiting. propped against the lee rail where he'd be out of the way.
"We shall try to bring a wind, wizard," Derec said. "A westerly, as before. Ready?"
"I'll do what I can."
Wearily Derec summoned his power, matched it to the wizard's, and called the elements for a wind. Meanwhile a spare topgallant mast was dropped in place of the broken bonaventure mizzen, a lateen yard hoisted to its top. a new bonaventure set that hung uselessly in the windless air. Derec and Tevvik moved into its shade. Capstan pawls clattered, drawing the race-built ship forward, through the channel between barrier islands, the two longboats plying back and forth with their anchors. The pursuers were using only one anchor at a time and were falling behind. The water began to deepen, turn a profounder blue. Torn II crawled through the island passage. Monarch's topgallant masts loomed above the nearer island.
The heat of the noon sun augured a hot afternoon. Pitch bubbled up between the deck seams and stuck to crewmen's feet. Weary sailors were relieved at the capstan and fed.
"Deck, there! Captain! Right ahead! See what's happening!"
Derec glanced up from his summoning, and his heart lurched as he saw the wind itself appear, visible as a dim swirling above the water; and then the sea itself rose, a wall of curling white foam. Desperate energy filled him.
"Clew up the t'gallants! Close the gunports! Call the boats back! Clew up the fores'l!"
The sea was coming with a growing hiss, a furious rank of white horsemen galloping over an azure plain. Tevvik looked at the wave with a dazed expression. "It's all coming at once," he said. "It's been building out there, everything we've been summoning since dawn, and now it's all on us at once."
"Helmsman! A point to starboard! Use what way you can!"
Sails were clewed up in a squeal of blocks. The entry port filled with frantic sailors as one of the boats came alongside. There was a cry of wind in the rigging, an anticipation of what was to come. Derec ran to the mizzen shrouds and wrapped his arm around a stout eight-inch tarred line. He looked at Tevvik.
"I suggest you do likewise, wizard."
And then the summoning was on them. The bow rose to the surge of white water and suddenly the air was full of spray as the frothing sea boiled around the ship. Canvas crashed as it filled with wind, bearing Birdwing back 'til suddenly she came up short at the end of her anchor cable, and with a plank-starting shudder the galleon was brought up short, burying her beak in foam, a wave sweeping the decks fore and aft, carrying crewmen and capstan bars and everything not lashed down in a frantic, clawing spill for the stern … Derec closed his eyes and mouth and tried to hang on, his shoulders aching as the water tore at his clothing and body. His mind still registered what was happening to the ship, the jarring and checking that meant the anchor was dragging, the demon shriek of wind in the rigging, the thrumming tautness of the shroud around which Derec wrapped his arms …
Just as suddenly, the white water was gone, past. A strong sea breeze hummed in the rigging. Half-drowned crewmen lay on the planks like scattered driftwood, gasping for air. Exultation filled Derec.
"Hands to the capstan! Prepare to set the fores'l and t'gallants! Lively, there, lively—we've got a wind!"
The stunned survivors raised a feeble cheer and dragged wearily to their work. The other longboat—miraculously it had survived, bobbing on the wave like a twig—picked up a few swimmers who had been carried overboard, then came to the entry port in a mad thrash of oars. Wind whipping his hair, Derec gazed astern to see the wall of white as it drove toward his enemies.
Torn II had seen it coming and had had time to prepare. Her boats were in, her anchor catted home; and Derec suppressed a surge of admiration for the proud way her head tossed to the wave, the clean manner in which she cut the water and kept her head to the wind. Then the wave was past, and she began setting sails. Derec's gaze shifted to Monarch. The wave was almost on her.
She hadn't seen it coming; that much was clear. She'd just kedged clear of the southern tip of the island, and the white water was within two cables' lengths before Monarch was aware of it. Suddenly there was frantic movement on her decks, sails drawing up, the boats thrashing water; but the white water hit her broadside, driving her over. She staggered once, then was gone, only wreckage and the tips of her masts visible on the rushing water. Derec blinked: it had happened so fast he could scarce believe the sight of it. He looked again. His eyes had spoken truly: Monarch was gone.
"Thurn Bel protect them," Derec said, awed, reaching automatically for his amulet and finding nothing. He knew precisely what had happened. The gunports had been open on this hot afternoon, and the wind and water had pushed her lower ports under; she'd filled and gone down in seconds. Six hundred men, their lives snuffed out in an instant. Derec shook his head, sorrow filling him. Why was he fated to kill his countrymen so?
"The sea trolls will feed well tonight," Tevvik said solemnly. His hairpins had been torn from his head, and his long dark hair hung dripping to his shoulders.
SuKrone's voice broke i
nto Derec's reverie. "Cable's up and down, sir."
"Break the anchor free. Lay her on the larboard tack."
The anchor came free with a lurch, the yards were braced round, the birdwing sails set and filled with wind. Birdwing heeled gracefully in the stiff ocean breeze. "This isn't over yet," Derec said as he watched Torn II flying after them. "The captain-general's lost two ships, half his squadron, with nothing to show for it. He's got to bring us back or he's done for. He'll never have another command."
"We're faster than he on this tack."
"That won't end it. He'll spend the rest of his life in the Sea of Luck if he has to."
"Let us hope," Tevvik said, his eyes hardening, "he will not live long."
Derec shook his head: he couldn't wish Collerne dead, not Collerne who had been such a friend to him, who had raised him to the highest rank to which a non-noble could aspire.
The brisk wind carried Birdwing smartly over the water, the bow rising to each ocean wave. But then the wind dropped little by little and Torn II began closing the distance, her red admiral's pennant snapping in the breeze like a striking serpent. Birdwing was only faster in stiffer winds: Torn had the advantage here. Derec's heart sank.
"We shall have to fight, then. Gun captains to draw their cartridges and replace them with fresh—they may have got wet. All hands check their powder."
Derec donned his cuirass—the helmet had been washed overboard—and reloaded his pistols. Tevvik returned to the safety of the orlop. There was no cheer among the crew as they went to their tasks, only a kind of grim despair.
They had labored all day, escaped death so many times. Were they cursed, to be so forced into yet another struggle?
"Stations for tacking," Derec said. "We'll see how badly the captain-general wants to fight us." He could still not bring himself to speak of the man disrespectfully.
Liavek 8 Page 6