This one paused, eyed him up and down. ‘A new hand, hey?’
‘Yes.’
‘Who swore you in?’
‘Stoop.’
This fellow nodded, impressed by the name. Kyle wondered what could possibly be impressive about the broken-down one-handed saboteur.
‘Know ships?’
‘No.’
Then you are now officially a marine. Scrounge armour and weapons – especially missile weapons. Ready for blockade.’
‘Blockade?’
‘Aye. We'll need all their ships.’
Kyle forced down a laugh of disbelief. ‘But that's an entire city!’
The Guardsman's smile shone bright in the dark. ‘Just their best ships then.’ The smile disappeared. ‘Below, collect equipment.’
‘Yes sir.’
Kyle expected blood-spattered slaughter belowdecks and so descended the set of steep stairs slowly. But what he found disturbed him in a far worse way; all the holds and bunk-lined ways he explored he found completely empty. Not one person, dead or alive. Where was everyone? What had happened? He could find no arms or armour anywhere.
The rattling of metal sounded from sternward. Kyle readied his tulwar and edged forward. The narrow corridor ended at a room cramped by benches and tables. An open door led further to the stern. The noise of metal rattling continued. Kyle peeked in to see the back of a man, barefoot, in a wet shirt and trousers, struggling with a closed and chained cabinet door.
‘Wait a moment,’ the man said in Talian without turning around. Kyle wondered how he could have possibly known he was here. The noise of the vessel's rocking and creaking had covered his approach, he was sure.
‘Aye.’
More rattling, then the chains fell from the door. ‘Ha!’ The man pulled open the metal-bolted and barred door. Kyle glimpsed racks of spears and bows and swords within.
‘Help me bring these up.’
‘Where is everyone? The crew, I mean.’
The Guardsman began unlocking the racks. Kyle now saw that he carried an immense ring of keys. ‘Merchants,’ the man sighed. ‘They want weapons locked away yet they expect to be protected at all times.’ His thick black hair, hacked short, shone like wet fur and the lines of his face appeared ready to creep up into a constant grin. ‘The crew? Just a skeleton watch. Some fought, some dived overboard.’
‘What's the plan?’
The man stopped short, gave an exaggerated frown then returned to his grin. ‘The plan? Ah, you're a new hand. Capture the ships.’
‘Right. Capture ships.’
Thunder rolled over and through the vessel, a burst from the middle distance. Kyle frowned, puzzled – it was a clear night. The Guardsman's grin turned eager. ‘It's started. Let's go.’ He collected an armful of weapons.
A faint orange glow flickered over the deck. Flames now engulfed the Kurzan waterfront. While Kyle watched, a fresh burst of yellow and white flame rocked one harbour tower. It hunched, then, with an awful slow grace, toppled sideways, flattening as it went. More thunder rolled up the inlet.
‘Something's got Smoky all in a froth,’ murmured the Guardsman.
‘What about the ships?’
‘Naw. Don't worry about them. Cowl would murder him.’
‘They're on their way!’ someone shouted from the bows.
The Guardsman laughed. ‘You see? All they needed was a little encouragement.’
‘And just what do we do when they get here?’ Kyle asked.
Surprised, the mercenary looked to Kyle. ‘Sorry. I keep forgetting. It's hard for us old-timers. My name is Cole. You?’
‘Kyle. Are you – Avowed?’
‘Yes.’ Cole gestured to two others with him. ‘I'll hold the deck. You two flank me. You,’ he pointed to Kyle, ‘can you use a bow?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. Get up on the foredeck with the man there – follow his orders.’
‘Aye, aye.’ Kyle gathered all the arrow sheaths he could hold.
The man at the raised bow deck was pale, skinny and obviously freezing cold as he stood in a soaked linen shirt and hide trousers hugging himself and stamping his feet.
‘You an archer?’ the Guardsman asked Kyle in accented Talian.
‘I can shoot.’
‘OK. Try out those. Find one you like.’
Kyle strung one bow, took a test shot out into the darkness. Weak, he judged, but true. ‘What's the plan?’
‘I'll pick out targets. You hit them.’
‘OK.’ To get a better feel for the bow, Kyle shot more arrows into the dark.
‘You a local recruit?’ the man asked.
‘Yes. Kyle. You?’
‘Parsell, Lurgman Parsell. Genabackis.’ Distracted, the man peered out over the dark waves of the inlet glimmering with reflected flames. ‘Less than one league now,’ he called to mid-ship.
‘I mark them,’ Cole answered.
Kyle squinted out over the calm waters. He could barely discern dark shapes approaching, pale lines at their bows, let alone any possible target. How was he to hit anything? ‘Ah, there's a problem. I can't see a thing.’
‘You can't-’ Lurgman sighed, pulled a leather pouch from under his shirt, took out a slip of oiled cloth. ‘There might be enough left on this, try it.’
‘What do I do with it?’
‘You rub it over your eyes. Open, mind you – they have to be open.’
‘Doesn't that hurt?’
‘Like a rasp.’
Kyle studied the parchment, dubious. ‘Do I have to?’
The thump of distant crossbows and catapults echoed across the inlet. Incendiaries shot high up into the night, arced to reveal scores of vessels bearing down upon them.
‘No choice now.’
Kyle opened one eye wide and pressed the cloth to it then flinched, snarling and cursing as acid ate at his eye. ‘Wind take you! Gods, man! Gods!’
‘The other one – quick.’
Cole roared, ‘Get rid of those two war-galleys! We don't want them.’
‘Aye, aye.’
Blinking, eyes watering, Kyle straightened to a near monochrome half-light of blindingly bright flames, searing stars in the night sky, and a clear vision of ships, all under oar, making slow progress towards them. Distantly, the clash of battle sounded as ship met ship.
Lurgman was grunting and hissing his effort, eyes shut, hands held out before him, and the hair on Kyle's neck and arms tingled as he realized he stood with a mage, possibly another Avowed.
‘Are they in range?’ Lurgman ground through clenched teeth.
The nearest vessels, two broad-bellied cargo ships, had been attempting to pass to either side of their ship. Both had lost all headway and rocked as if rudderless. The decks of both swarmed with soldiers. Kyle was surprised to see how all their oars were warped and curled – utterly useless.
‘Now, yes.’
Arrows pelted down and Kyle hunched low for cover behind the gunwale. Lurgman didn't move. ‘Stand up. We won't get hit.’ Then he flinched as if slapped. ‘’Ware a mage!’ he bellowed.
At that moment a ball of actinic-bright energy burst alight on deck. It spun about randomly, striking a mast with a flash then ricocheting to a barrel that it consumed in a deafening eruption.
‘Bring that man down!’ Cole bellowed, outraged.
‘Aye,’ Lurgman answered. He scanned the ships.
Grapnels struck the gunwales. The cargo ships drew closer, one to either side. Beyond, two long and low war-galleys foundered in the relatively calm waters, sinking for no reason Kyle could see. Soldiers jammed the decks. They wrestled frantically with their armour. Some fell overboard to disappear instantly. For the first time Kyle felt safe in his thin leathers.
‘There!’ Lurgman shouted, catching Kyle's arm. ‘The stern. The old fellow in the dark hat like a hood. Gold at his neck.‘ Kyle spotted him, sighted and loosed. The arrow hung in the dark as if suspended then took the throat of a man at the mage's side. His gaze darted to Kyle, narrowed to luminous slits. His hands rose, gestured. Gold and jewellery glittered at the fingers.
‘’Ware your back,’ someone called behind Kyle who spun to see a darkening and swirling like oil-smoke at the far side of the bow deck.
‘Lurgman!’ he warned.
The mage turned and gaped. ‘Hood's curse! Cole! A summoning!’