Antiagon Fire

27

On Solayi morning Captain Nykaal had insisted on having Quaeryt and Vaelora served breakfast in his stateroom, and Vaelora had insisted that Nykaal join them. In turn, Quaeryt had added his invitation, not only out of courtesy and thankfulness, but also because he sensed a certain tenseness about the compact captain. The steward served tea to everyone, and set platters with egg toast, biscuits, and ham slices before the three, then slipped out of the stateroom.

Quaeryt sipped the tea, then said, “The weather’s holding so far.”

“The test of that will be when we round Cape Morain and set a northwest course.” Nykaal took another swallow of tea from his porcelain mug before continuing. “We may have another more pressing problem.”

“Antiagon warships?” asked Quaeryt.

“There are sails to the southeast, and they’re closing. Five vessels. The Montagne and the Solis could put on more sail and likely outrun them, but the merchanters can’t…”

Quaeryt nodded politely, but privately doubted that the two warships could outrun Antiagon warships designed for speed.

“If they’re Antiagon, and with five ships they’re not likely to be anything else, they’ll insist that the merchanters pay passage tariffs. That’s just an excuse to board and pillage.”

“Aliaro’s still insisting that the Gulf waters belong to Antiago?” asked Quaeryt.

“When it suits his purpose,” replied Nykaal dryly. “Or that of his captains. They’re more like pirates at times.”

“How long before we’re in range of their cannon?”

Nykaal shrugged. “If the winds hold, midafternoon. They must have set sail within a glass of when we lifted anchor. The tides would have been against them for the first few glasses.” He took another swallow of tea. “Can you and your imagers do something about them?”

“How close can you get without endangering the ship?”

“There’s always danger, but their cannon are limited to about six hundred yards, and they’re not very accurate above four hundred.”

“I heard that some of the cannon from Kephria could almost reach ships anchored at Ephra.”

“They’ve got one or two huge long-barreled things at Kephria that might reach half a mille on a good day with the wind behind them. They’ve occasionally hit or come close to careless captains. But on board a ship…” Nykaal smiled ironically. “Anything with that range would be too heavy or too small to fire a ball heavy enough to break a ship’s timbers.”

“They don’t have Antiagon Fire shells?”

“They say some of their ships do. There’s a merchant fleet out of Estisle or Nacliano that has cannon like that. Wouldn’t carry those for the world. Too easy to set the entire ship ablaze.”

Quaeryt nodded once again. He saw no sense in mentioning what the Diamond ships could do, especially after seeing how careful the captains had to be.

After Nykaal had finished breakfast and excused himself, Vaelora looked to Quaeryt. “You didn’t agree with some of what he said, did you?”

“I don’t think a vessel this big with this broad a beam could outrun an Antiagon warship. They’re designed almost as pirates and raiders.”

“So Nykaal either doesn’t know or is misrepresenting what his ship can do?”

“One or the other.”

“Then we must be even more careful.” She paused before going on. “Dearest … whatever you do … do what is necessary with the smallest effort possible on your part. Use the other imagers as much as you can.”

“Yes, dear.”

“Quaeryt Rytersyn, husband dearest … do not condescend to me, and do not patronize me!” Vaelora’s eyes flashed.

Quaeryt winced. “I’m sorry.”

“You should be. I rode across most of Lydar for you.”

“I am truly sorry,” he replied. “I was thinking about how it never ends.”

“Dearest…”

He laughed ruefully. “You’re right. I was condescending, and I shouldn’t have been.”

“No … you shouldn’t.” She smiled. “But since you admit it, I’ll forgive you. This time.”

Quaeryt managed not to wince again.

Somewhat later, he met with Zhelan and then went through the troopers’ quarters, undertaking an informal inspection.

When he returned to the upper deck of the sterncastle, he could see that the sky remained clear, especially to the northwest, and that the wind had shifted slightly, coming from more to the south. The Antiagon ships were closer, but still several milles astern.

Nykaal crossed the deck. “The wind shift will favor them a bit more than the merchanters. We’ll need to drop back slightly before long. What they’ll do is send two or three of their ships to engage us and the Solis, while the other ships pick off the merchanters.”

“So we need to stop the ones readying to attack the Montagne as quickly as possible?”

“Anything you can do would be most useful,” said Nykaal dryly.

“If you can get us as close as possible, but just out of cannon range, we may be able to take care of several of them. We’ll have to see, but I have several things in mind.”

Over the next several glasses, as the Montagne reefed sail enough to slowly drop to the rear of the Telaryn formation, Quaeryt kept track of their pursuers. In between that, he checked with Vaelora, who alternated resting and reading Rholan and the Nameless. He refrained from asking her what she thought, fearing such a question might be thought patronizing.

Before he knew it, or so it seemed, the ship’s bells were striking third glass, and Quaeryt and the four imager undercaptains stood on the port side of the upper deck of the sterncastle. He could hear the commands and the movement of sailors and gunners on the lower decks, as well as see the men stationed by the lighter guns on the main deck.

The lead Antiagon vessel was perhaps eight hundred yards away, two hundred south and six hundred off the port quarter of the Montagne. The ensign flying from a jackstaff was large and clear-a jagged lightning bolt of green and yellow crossed with a stylized halberd, all against a bright maroon background.

The second Antiagon ship was less than a hundred yards astern of the first, with a third behind, and two others moving northward, as if trying to close on the Solis and the four merchanters ahead of and to the north of the Montagne.

Nykaal crossed the deck to Quaeryt. “They’re getting close enough to range us with their bow gun.”

“We’ll see what we can do.” Recalling Vaelora’s advice, Quaeryt again studied the Antiagon ship, clearly narrower in the beam than the Montagne, with a lower fo’c’sle and gun ports not that much above the waterline. He thought about imaging out a chunk of the lead vessel’s keel, then recalled Vaelora’s advice.

“Imagers! Stand by.”

Quaeryt concentrated on removing a section of the hull perhaps a yard square, just below the waterline immediately aft of the stem, then followed up by imaging out a chunk of the mainmast. A flash of light and pain seared across his eyes, then vanished. He watched as the mast swayed, then slowly toppled back, smashing through the sails and the yards of the mizzenmast. As it did, the upper section of the mizzenmast snapped as well.

The second Antiagon vessel turned in toward the Montagne, just enough to clear the faltering first vessel.

After another quint, the second ship was close to cannon range. Quaeryt turned. “Horan … image out a chunk of the mainmast on the nearest vessel. That’s the second mast,” he explained.

“Lhandor … can you put a large hole in the hull below the waterline just aft of the bow?”

“Yes, sir.”

The young undercaptain swayed, then grabbed the railing, but straightened. “I think I did it, sir.”

“Good.”

Quaeryt looked to Khalis. “We’ll wait a moment or so.” His eyes went back to the first Antiagon ship, whose crew was trying to cut away the tangled mass sails and rigging, as well as the shattered and fallen masts. The bow was definitely lower in the water, and dropping, if not as much as Quaeryt would have liked.

After a moment, he imaged again, this time concentrating on creating a smaller hole, perhaps a half yard across, midships and below the waterline. He scarcely felt the effort. Smaller holes are better. Then he shifted his attention to the second ship, smiling when he saw similar damage there, as the second ship seemed almost to stop dead in the water.

Even so, the third ship began to close on the Montagne, continuing past the first two stricken vessels under full sail. Quaeryt considered the distance, almost a half mille, then concentrated, wincing, and watching as another mainmast toppled backward, snaring the mizzenmast. He didn’t want to try holing the third ship at that distance. Still …

“Khalis … a hole in the third vessel there, below the waterline and as large as you can make without overstraining yourself.”

“Yes, sir.”

Quaeryt turned his attention to the two vessels that had been angling northward toward the Solis, but as he did, Nykaal issued an order to the steersman, and the Montagne eased onto a more starboard heading, as if to close the range to the two remaining Antiagon vessels. He wondered if the two remaining Antiagon ships would continue to pursue or whether they would break off the engagement and see to the three sinking ships.

After perhaps half a quint, both remaining pursuers reefed sails and turned, heading back toward the stricken vessels. Quaeryt watched for a time, but it was clear the two surviving ships were trying to aid the others.

“Imagers, take a break. Get some lager or ale and biscuits, but stand by … just in case.”

As the Montagne swung back to the northwest to move up on the slower merchanters, Quaeryt crossed the deck to where Nykaal stood to the side of the steersman. “I think we’ve removed that threat … for now, anyway.”

“How did you break their masts?”

Quaeryt smiled. “We just imaged out sections of the mast. We also put some holes in their hulls. I don’t think the first ship will make it back to port. I don’t know about the others.”

“How big a hole?”

“One a yard square in the lead vessel, and a second one midships half that size.”

“You can image away things?”

“Sometimes.”

Nykaal shook his head. “With two masts gone … and that kind of holing … they won’t be going anywhere.”

Except to the bottom of the Gulf.

“They might try a night run, though.”

“Not tonight,” said Quaeryt. “They’re not that much faster than the merchanters, and by the time they deal with the damaged ships…”

“They might be waiting for us to return.”

“What are your orders?”

“We’re to see what the situation is in Kherseilles. I’m to consult with you, then decide.”

“That makes sense.”

Vaelora appeared, holding his water bottle. “You need this.”

“You shouldn’t…” He decided against saying more.

“I didn’t come up here until the steward told me the Antiagons had turned away.”

“You told him that would happen, didn’t you? And that he should tell you when it did?”

“Of course … dearest.”

Quaeryt didn’t know whether to laugh, groan, or shake his head.

Instead, he took a long swallow of lager from the water bottle.