‘There must be over two hundred soldiers on that ship!’ Dulat cried out, and he threw his hands in the air in amazement.
‘We’re not out yet,’ Jute growled under his breath. Blue — that struck a cord in his memory somehow. ‘Who in Togg’s name was that?’ he murmured to himself, and he crossed his arms to tap a thumb to his lips.
‘The voice of command, dear,’ Ieleen answered. ‘Now do head for the channel.’
His response was a snort, but he nodded to Lurjen.
‘And I may be blind but shouldn’t we ready our own archers?’ she added sweetly.
Jute let a hard breath escape between his teeth. Not that it would matter. He searched amidships, found their master-at-arms. ‘Letita! Ready archers!’
‘Aye!’ she answered, ever eager.
Half the crew at the oars stood for the detail. Jute knew he was lucky; some of the greatest sea-fighters in Falar had volunteered for this voyage, archers and swordsmen and women. If this were an even fight he’d place his bet on them any day — but they faced over a hundred damned ships.
‘The Malazan’s drawn near one o’ the towers,’ Dulat shouted. He was shading his gaze. ‘They’re readying springals and arbalests at stern and bows.’
Jute squinted at the far galley. Siege weapons? Did they mean to try to take the tower?
‘Engagement with them Genabackans!’ Dulat called.
Jute almost shook his head; the lad was actually excited by all this. Couldn’t he see how it would play out? It would soon be his own guts spread upon the waters.
The Genabackan pirate ship with its crew of soldiers had pretty much ploughed into the front rank of wrecker vessels. It was now surrounded by the rag-tag flotilla of ships and boats. Grapnels flew. They were being boarded from all sides.
‘That foreign ship!’ Dulat shouted.
The tall vessel had fallen behind as well. It too was being surrounded as it and the Genabackan now held the rear, engaging the wreckers, while the Dawn closed on the Malazan vessel.
Jute watched the fighting, fascinated despite his dismay. Hordes clambered up the side of the Genabackan ship. From across the smooth waters of the cove came the clash of iron and screams of the wounded. Shapes came tumbling over the sides. Most fell limp to splash into the water or crash on to decks.
‘They’re slaughtering them,’ Dulat breathed, awed.
Aye, for the nonce, Jute added darkly. But eventually they’ll be overrun. Numbers will tell. He shifted his gaze to the foreign ship. The wreckers appeared to be having trouble climbing the sides of the supernaturally tall vessel. Some few made it, clambering hand over hand on ropes, up and over the side. But what became of them he couldn’t see. Nor in all this time had he seen any crew on board either, for that matter.
No shouts or noise of fighting crossed the water from that vessel.
Then he physically jumped as explosions thumped the air behind him. They slapped him in the back to concuss the air from his lungs and the Dawn shuddered from stem to stern. Some of the oarsmen lost their grips, so shocked were they. He turned, gaping. ‘What in the name of the dead god of death was that?’
Blossoming clouds of smoke enmeshed the top of the north tower. Even as Jute watched, disbelieving, amazed, stone shards came flying through the swelling black clouds to arc over the waters before they struck, punching great tall towers of spray.
Dulat, atop the very highest spar, threw his arms in the air, howling in triumph: ‘Munitions! The damned Malazans are demolishing the tower!’
Jute felt an immense weight lift from his shoulders. By the Queen’s soothing embrace … there’s hope yet. He swung his gaze to the Genabackan; but have we the time? The vessel was completely surrounded, its sides aswarm with boarders — yet from the furious action on the deck, the soldiers fought still. The foreign vessel was equally engulfed and overrun, but oddly, disturbingly, quiet.
‘Send us a touch southerly there on the channel,’ he told Lurjen, who nodded profoundly, his eyes huge.
‘Yessir.’
‘They’re reloading their arbalests!’ Dulat called.
Jute ignored that to study the wreckers closing upon them in what he now understood to be a fleet of captured launches, traders’ coasters and unsuspecting travellers’ galleys. ‘Take the range,’ he called to Letita. She nodded, now fully armoured, her iron helm with its long camail of chain link hanging past her neck, bronze cheek-guards closed. She raised her bow.
The shot fell just short of the bow of the closest vessel.
‘Target that nearest one,’ Jute ordered.
‘Ready archers!’ Letita shouted. ‘Fire!’
All forty archers loosed. Most of the flight struck true over the open galley, raising chaos among the oarsmen. ‘Fire at will,’ Jute called. ‘Pound them!’
Buen appeared on the quarterdeck and handed Jute his blade, wrapped in its belt, which he tied on. The first mate then thumped into the wood of the deck next to Lurjen the wicked cross-hilted parrying daggers the man favoured for close-in fighting. The steersman grinned and winked his thanks.
Jute turned to Ieleen. ‘Sorry, lass,’ he said. ‘It’s time you went below.’
His wife shook her head. ‘I can’t hear so good down below.’
‘Ieleen …’
‘Never mind ’bout me.’
Jute sighed his exasperation. ‘Lass …’
She just smiled. ‘Every time we have this argument. And every time you lose. Now, forget about me and mind our speed.’
Jute spun to the bow and choked. They were so close to the channel opening he could make out the individual weed-draped links of the chain swinging and dripping ahead. ‘Ease off, y’damned blind fools!’ he bellowed. ‘Back oars!’
Movement above caught his eye: Dulat hunching, one arm covering his head and the other hugging the very tip of the mainmast where he sat atop the yardarm. Oh, for the love of D’rek … ‘Back oars!’
Multiple punches assaulted his ears and chest. Clouds of pulverized stone and black smoke blossomed above. A rain of stone shards came arcing for the Dawn. ‘Take cover!’ he yelled and bent over Ieleen, hugging her to his chest.
The striking rock sounded like cloth ripping as it punished the decking and splashed all about. It reminded Jute of the impact of shot from arbalests during his naval engagements. Men and women of the crew grunted their pain or slumped, unconscious or dead, from dull thumping impacts. The huge links of the sea-chain rattled and bumped as they swung. Jute grunted himself as small stones and gravel pelted his back and shoulders. He cast an eye to the barrier and the length appeared to slump lower in the water.
Beneath him, Ieleen squeezed his arm in empathy. He straightened to see that Letita had not allowed her archers to let up. The foremost boat that had been heading for them now wallowed, having lost all headway, and she’d turned her attention to the next — but some six more now came closing in upon them.
‘I think this is it, dearest,’ he murmured to Ieleen.
‘You’re always saying that.’ Then her head snapped up as something captured her attention. Her brows rose and she breathed an awed, ‘Oh my.’
He followed her blind gaze; it was fixed upon the tall foreign vessel. Something strange sounded then. Or failed to sound. It was like the tolling of a massive bronze bell as tall as a house, but silent. Something came rolling from that ship. It struck sharp expanding waves in the water. It swept over all the wreckers’ vessels. Wood of oar and hull snapped and splintered as the invisible wave engulfed them.
‘Here it comes!’ Jute shouted, but heard nothing of his own voice. Indeed, at that moment it was as if he was deaf to every sound.
The Dawn rocked as if punched, pitching from side to side. Yet the concussion merely passed over them while at the same time utterly crushing the nearest wreckers’ boats as if clenching them in a giant’s fist. Ieleen, wrapped in his arms, let out a gasped breath, and he heard, faintly, ‘Now there’s a sorceress!’