Tides of Blood Page 13

  One of the other imperial ships was too eager. Bastion heard a crack; then a huge, round projectile flew toward the rebels.

  It landed short, creating an eruption of water that splashed harmlessly onto the deck. Those aboard the Donag’s Shield cheered the premature shot, which at least had been well aimed.

  “Not long now, my lord,” Magraf promised. “We can cover that ground in a few minutes! Then we can let the heavy shelling begin!”

  Bastion nodded, adding, “Just remember, captain, when they are in range for us, we will also be in range for them … and General Rahm will make full use of that, be certain of it.”

  The rebel ships seemed to be moving in slow motion. The imperials raced toward them, cutting through the waves without effort.

  “We’re not goin’ to outrun those new ships!” portly Captain Botanos snarled. “We’ll have to stand and fight, general!”

  Rahm only had one good ear, and it visibly twitched as he called back, “Signal the others! Two red banners, one green!”

  “Aye!”

  In short order, the long, pointed banners began to flutter from atop the command ship, signaling the other rebel vessels.

  Almost instantly, the rebel fleet steered around to face their foe. However, they maneuvered according to Rahm’s plan, circling to line up in two uneven, alternating convoys.

  The Dragon’s Crest came about, taking the lead. Rahm eyed the approaching imperials, seeking the one carrying Bastion.

  It did not take long for him to spot the black warhorse banner flying high above the green sea dragon at the head of the fleet.

  “Ballista loaded and primed!” a crew member shouted to Captain Botanos.

  The two warring sides drew nearer. The crews aboard the lead ships scrambled, setting the sails and positioning the weaponry.

  “What if the imperials strike first?” rasped Jubal.

  “They’ll be patient now that we are trapped,” General Rahm replied. “They want their next shots to hit; then they’ll attack full force with everything in their arsenal. That’s my hope.” He turned to the captain. “Red flag only, Botanos! Red flag only!”

  “Already going up!” The single, larger banner rose, fluttering defiantly in the wind.

  The rebel catapults let loose.

  Massive boulders soared into the air, screaming toward the imperial fleet. Most would drop short, but a few flew accurately.

  As the first of the missiles descended, those ships with ballistae also fired off a round. Crews cranked the framework weapons tight, then let fly. The long, metal pikes filled the air. The pikes did not fly as high as the boulders, but they moved with more speed, more force, and that was what mattered.

  At least three of the missiles found their marks. One smashed the upper sail of an imperial, sending cloth, rigging, and wood raining down upon the crew. Another crashed against the hull of a second ship, smacking it hard just above the water line. The vessel rocked violently, toppling one sailor over the side.

  The third was the best or luckiest shot, crashing squarely onto the deck and into the base of the mainmast of an imperial ship. With a loud, creaking sound, the mast tipped toward the bow, its rigging snapping free. The lookout fell from the crow’s nest. Two other crew members were buried under a collapsing sail.

  The ballistae-propelled lances proved even more deadly. Three struck the ship already foundering from a rock strike, shattering its already ruptured hull and violently rocking the vessel back and forth. The sea began pouring in; the warship listed. Sailors and marine fighters tumbled over the rail.

  Several more vessels also suffered damage from the airborne metal pikes. Pikes tore sails, ripped rigging, and plummeted with disastrous results onto sailor-filled decks. Bodies lay everywhere on the ship closest to Bastion’s, Rahm noted grimly.

  As for the flagship, the main target of the Dragon’s Crest, two pikes now protruded from its hull while a third lay half buried in the deck near the bow. A bad tear was inflicted on one of its sails, and as the gale picked up, the incision worsened.

  At last, the enemy catapults responded.

  Some went wide, but many ominously arced on target.

  Then suddenly, the windstorm picked up intensity, howling and turning wild the already treacherous waters of the Courrain. Many of the enemy missiles were blown off target by the abrupt shift in the wind, and a number dropped harmlessly into the ocean.

  Yet the rebels did not emerge unscathed. The bow of one ship vanished as a heavy boulder crushed it completely, sending splinters of wood spraying everywhere. The crew screamed as the wreckage pierced and bombarded them. The mainmast of another rebel ship cracked in half, collapsing into the sea. The hulls of two more ships received heavy blows and counted damage.

  From the Dragon’s Crest, a blue banner now flew.

  Though outnumbered and outflanked, the rebel ships now surged confidently forward to close with their enemy. Rahm’s tactic appeared suicidal, except the imperial catapults would be rendered useless at near range, and the rebel ships were primed for close tactics. The trained crews had their ballistae ready, and lowered their sights to spray the decks and hulls of their enemy.

  Despite superiority, the hunters had become the hunted.

  Bastion swore. Everyone continued to underestimate the audacity of General Rahm Es-Hestos. Hotak’s assassins had failed to capture and kill him during the Night of Blood. The emperor had assumed that the renegade commander of Chot’s Imperial Guard would flee far from Mithas, yet Rahm had sailed right back to the capital and almost succeeded in assassinating Hotak. Lady Nephera’s ghostly spies somehow failed to detect him. Ardnor and his Protectors had not only squandered the opportunity to arrest the traitor after the aborted assassination, but in the process, the debacle had cost the life of Bastion’s younger brother, Kolot.

  Now Bastion saw that he, too, had blundered. He had expected Rahm to put up a fight if cornered, but not in such an unpredictable fashion. Providence was on the rebel commander’s side; that strange wind had spared him from what should have been a devastating strike, causing ten times the damage to his fleet.

  And now the rebel ships moved to mingle in with his, rendering useless his dominant weaponry—the catapults. But Bastion could also be unorthodox, and now he swiftly ordered Captain Magraf to veer away from the two lines of approaching rebel vessels, indeed to give the impression of disarray and retreat.

  Two of his ships did not get the command soon enough. They came alongside a smaller rebel ship, no doubt certain as to their advantage.

  The first volley from the rebel ballistae ravaged the overconfident imperial ships, ripping both from aft to bow. Lances perforated the wood hulls and ripped across the crowded decks, sending wreckage and bodies flying. The aft mast of one tumbled over into the ocean, ripping apart the rigging.

  “The fools! The Maelstrom’s Spawn is a wreck!” snarled Magraf, “and the Ocean Lion has fared little better!”

  Even as he spoke, the ship carrying General Rahm had made swift progress and now sailed even with them, narrowing the gap.

  Bastion drew back from the rail. “That’s Rahm’s ship. We’re vulnerable here. Pull away, captain! Quickly! Quickly!”

  Magraf had already given the order, his quick thinking perhaps the only thing that saved the warship. Even still, the numerous lances unleashed by the Crest’s ballista tore away a good portion of the aft rail and flung three of the crew into the sea. Other sailors screamed with injuries, and loose wreckage, including much of the rail Bastion had just abandoned, pelted the deck.

  Armed with longbows, archers aboard the Donag’s Shield tried to retaliate, but the crew of the rebel vessel kept low, giving them few targets. One archer managed a fortunate shot that pierced a rebel crew member, but considering the destruction the rebels had wrought, Rahm had seized the momentum.

  “We need to surround that ship, captain. Signal the Belar’s Ax. Take another volley if need be! Lure and lull them!”

  The waves
thrust higher and higher, as the sky crackled with thunder. Lightning crackled through the dark clouds.

  “We’ve no choice. We have to make a stand, take them here! If they slip away, we’ll never find them in this storm!” Bastion shouted.

  “We’ll keep cozy with her, my lord!” returned Magraf, his blood pounding. He was eager to add another ring to his ear. “Don’t doubt it! The trick is steering shy of her teeth!”

  Then a bolt of lightning struck the water, near an imperial ship, causing a rare explosion of hissing water. Bastion gazed up at the roiling skies. Did the elements themselves conspire against him? What strange magic did Rahm have at his disposal?

  Rebel hopes surged. The turbulent ocean and raging heavens seemed their allies in the fight against the imperial navy.

  “If the storm worsens, it’ll give us the opportunity we need to slip away!” Rahm bellowed to Jubal. The most important thing was the survival of the rebel initiative. Rather than stay and fight—and likely die—the outnumbered rebels needed to retreat.

  The imperial fleet was regrouping curiously, ships pairing off and then veering around. General Rahm studied their movements. General Bastion was hardly a novice; he had something up his sleeve—and was cutting off any chance of easy escape.

  “Shall we fire on their flagship again, then?”

  “Do it!”

  The Dragon’s Crest immediately obeyed. The Donag’s Shield had shied away, but two rebel lances struck and penetrated the hull.

  More imperials began converging on the Dragon’s Crest. Too late, Rahm saw, Bastion’s ships had run from other encounters to cluster around him.

  Again lightning struck—this time the crow’s nest of an enemy warship burst into flames, the body of its lookout tossed into the thrashing waters. Torrential rain hampered visibility.

  In addition to the flagship, four other imperials now surrounded the Dragon’s Crest. The ballista crew quickly reloaded.

  Turning to gaze at the rear of the rebel fleet, Rahm shouted into the wind and rain, “Go, damn you! You’ve got your orders! Go now!”

  As if suddenly hearing him, one of the vessels began a sharp turn around. Another and another quickly followed suit.

  Two others angled away; then the others joined the growing flight. The rearguard rebel vessels were ill equipped for close-quarter fighting, and they were the first to sneak away under cover of the chaotic, darkening weather.

  Their retreat at first went all but unnoticed. Two ships pursuing the rebels found trouble battling the wind, rain, and waves. Though the rebels all but vanished, the wind unpredictably lashed the imperial ships, and the waves battered them back.

  “Well, most of ’em got away,” Jubal offered with a grim smile. He hefted his ax. “Shall we go meet the enemy face-to-face now?”

  “That all depends, governor,” Rahm returned. He turned to Captain Botanos and asked, “Are the barrels ready?”

  “Just about! This close it could be us as well as them, you know,” the mariner warned.

  “Better to take them with us to the Abyss, than to die a failure.” The general indicated the flagship of the imperials. “Especially if we can destroy that one in particular.…”

  Bastion saw the other rebel ships steering away, but he had neither the ability to give chase, nor the inclination. General Rahm’s vessel—the infamous Dragon’s Crest—lay virtually in his grasp. Conquering it would be a great coup, and perhaps he might even capture the general alive, to parade the traitor before the multitudes in Nethosak. That would certainly cement his father’s glory.

  “If we give ’em some room, we can use the catapult on them,” suggested Magraf.

  “If we give any room, they slide past us and we’ll never find them in this murk. Let’s take no chances! There is no telling what tricks or spells Rahm may yet have up his sleeve!”

  The storm-churned Courrain continued to punish the imperial ships worse than the rebels. While it had long been rumored that General Rahm had magical resources from some mysterious source, Bastion remained unconvinced. True, the rebel commander had stunning and inexplicable successes, but he was a seasoned, cunning warrior—and what wizardry could command the weather?

  Bastion studied the alignment of the other fleet ships. “Let them continue to box him in, captain, then only when he is pinioned and squirming will we come alongside and board.”

  “What about their ballista?”

  “Can the Donag’s Shield withstand many close shots?”

  Magraf snorted. “Better up close than further back. The damage’ll be mainly demoralizing. We’ll lose some men, and may have to scuttle the ship afterward, but we’ll get our prize.”

  Bastion nodded. “Go ahead, then.”

  The captain left to give orders. Hotak’s son peered through the rain, wondering how Rahm would try to slither out of the trap.

  One rebel ship was aflame; another, bereft of sails. In the distance, a third was being boarded. Of the remainder still in the vicinity, he could not tell for certain. The high winds and ferocious waves mingled with pelting rain to obscure his vision.

  “I believe I finally have you, General Rahm,” the black minotaur murmured.

  The archers were impotent in this wild weather, but soon the Donag’s Shield would be near enough for grapplers and boarders. Bastion watched as Rahm’s rebels scrambled in preparation. Several still worked at the ballista, intending one final strike.

  Ears twitching in sudden concern, Bastion leaned forward. The ballista crew was attempting to strap something he had never seen used as a weapon before, to the eight-feet-long javelins.

  Small barrels?

  “Captain Magraf! Ho! Pull away! Now!”

  The storm drowned out his words. Bastion barged past crew members as he sought out the captain. “Magraf!”

  The shaggy mariner turned in surprise, his earrings jingling madly. “Aye, my lord?”

  “Get the Shield under way! Hurry! It’s—”

  There was a sharp crack akin to thunder, but it wasn’t thunder.

  Bastion looked back over his shoulder, eyes widening.

  An explosion ripped across the port side of the Donag’s Shield, throwing Hotak’s heir across the deck. He heard a roar of outrage from the captain, then debris—lengths of rail, planks, loose objects—rained down upon the ship, wounding several of the minotaur sailors and almost burying the black minotaur.

  Cries of pain filled Bastion’s ears. He pushed himself to his knees and only then felt the warmth at his back.

  Flames licked across the deck. The smell of burning oil filled the air. General Rahm had a fondness for explosions, Bastion recalled belatedly. Somehow he had rigged a barrel of oil with some sort of fuse, then bound it to the lances. And it worked—even in this damnable weather, it had spread hellfire.

  “Luck is surely your comrade-in-arms, general,” the shaken minotaur muttered. Had Bastion attempted the same clever trick, he was tempted to think, the rain would have doused the fuse, or the barrel would have vaulted into the air and then come crashing down directly upon his head. Rahm was a cagey old fox.

  Members of the crew rushed about, trying to douse the flames. The storm helped, but the oil had spread and was difficult to tamp down. At least three minotaur bodies lay among the carnage.

  And now, through the flames and rain, Bastion saw the Dragon’s Crest racing away. It sailed past the stricken flagship. A third ship, which could have given chase, instead sped toward Bastion’s vessel, making certain the emperor’s heir was safe and alive.

  Because of their concern for him, Rahm was about to elude the ax.

  With a look of frustration on his face, Bastion struggled forward. “Captain Magraf! The catapult! Is it still—”

  But he looked around in vain; of Magraf there was no sign. The Donag’s Shield was bereft of its valiant commander.

  With no one else to turn to, Hotak’s son leaped over the smoldering wreckage and headed for the catapult.

  He found it unt
ended, the crew either dead or gone to aid others. It was primed for launching, but was facing the wrong direction, and all tangled up in burned rigging.

  As he desperately tugged at the ropes, Bastion glanced over at the Dragon’s Crest. Despite the storm, it was plying the waters with relative ease, rapidly retreating. Soon it would be beyond catapult range. Once more, General Rahm would defy him.

  And this time the disgrace the throne would suffer would belong to Bastion, who had wasted his opportunity.

  He struggled with the rigging. The heat surrounding him was blistering. Finally freeing the ropes, Bastion shoved at the mechanism, trying to push the catapult to face the enemy vessel.

  And the Dragon’s Crest continued to recede from range.…

  As the Crest left the burning flagship behind, Jubal roared with delight. Others aboard the ship, including Captain Botanos, waved their weapons gleefully at the imperials. True, they had experienced terrible losses, but this defeat had been transformed into victory. They had confounded, perhaps even killed, the usurper’s heir.

  Leaning against the mast, Rahm inhaled deeply. “We live to fight another day.…”

  “Better than that!” called Captain Botanos. “This is a day the usurper’ll rue!”

  “Maybe so—”

  “Look out!” someone yelled.

  The general and others turned, their expressions frozen in horror, as they looked heavenward.

  A moon fell out of the storm-tossed sky, filling Rahm’s astounded view.

  The huge missile crashed through the deck, rocking the ship and tossing broken planks, barrels, and other debris everywhere. Screams arose. Rahm lost his footing, falling onto his back.

  A fierce pain coursed through him. Rahm nearly blacked out. Fumbling with his fingers, he discovered a moist, sticky hole in his chest just under his rib cage … and a two-feet-long piece of broken plank deeply embedded in that profusely bleeding wound.

  Pulling his shaking fingers back, the general looked in shock at his own hand drenched with blood.