Commodore Deniz hesitated. “No. Scherlic is correct. They’ll wear us down with sheer numbers.”
Miro looked from one face to the other. Both men were stone-faced. “I understand,” Miro said.
He knew what he was asking these two brave men and their crews to do. They all knew that every ship sunk meant several hundred revenants the enemy would lose to the ocean. Even so, Miro didn’t know if the Buchalanti and the Veldrins would fight to the end; it was something only they could decide for themselves.
“High Lord.” Miro turned when he heard a voice. Beorn entered the command tent with his mouth set in a thin line, blood staining his lord marshal’s uniform.
“What news?” Miro said.
“He’s dead,” Beorn said flatly. “He lasted to the end, the wretched creature. Fanaticism like that makes me sick. I hope his soul rots wherever it is now.”
“So you found out nothing?”
“He gave us something, but I have no doubt he was holding a great deal back. There are over a hundred vessels in the armada. Among them are different factions from across the sea: Sentar Scythran has enlisted three kings into his service. Each brings his own ships, along with his own men. One has a red flag with blue crossed swords. Another device is a white trident on a field of blue. The third king’s flag is black-and-white checked.”
“Farix, the pirate king of Torian,” Deniz said. “He is the first, the one with the red flag and blue swords. Diemos of Rendar is the one with the white trident on blue, and the black-checkered flag can only be Gorain, the king of Nexos.”
“What do you mean ‘enlisted?’” Miro asked. “Why would anyone in their right mind follow the Lord of the Night?”
“They’re revenants, just like the others, but under duress the necromancer said Sentar personally brought them back. They’re almost the men they were in life, and can give orders and plan strategy. Sentar has made promises in return for their service.”
“What promises?” Miro wondered.
“Does it matter?” Beorn said.
“My guess is Sentar Scythran says what he needs to in order to control his subordinates,” Deniz said. “These men will be dangerous opponents.”
“What else?” Miro asked Beorn.
“The necromancer said Sentar plans to drive all the way through from Sarostar to Seranthia overland,” Beorn said, scratching at his beard. “He ranted a lot about the Lord of the Night’s rightful place as god of all Merralya. You know, the usual stuff.”
“It doesn’t change anything,” Deniz said. He glanced at the Buchalanti sailmaster. “We face the hardest day of our lives tomorrow. I must rejoin my men.”
“Deniz,” Miro said. “Before you go”—he paused, not knowing what to say—“I’ll see your people returned to Veldria. You have my word.”
“Thank you, Miro,” Deniz said. “But for me Veldria is dead.”
The fourteen Veldrin warships left Castlemere in a precise line, each captain knowing his duty, and every crewman leaping to follow orders. The faster Buchalanti ships would follow on their heels.
As Deniz left the placid waters of the sheltered harbor behind, he felt a strange sense of calm and pleasure as the Seekrieger easily met the larger waves, and looking up, he saw the great sails snapping in the wind. It was a good day for a fight.
The dawn sky was brilliant and beautiful, with shades of peach and orange spreading across to banish the last of nighttime blue as the rising sun in the east shone on the Seekrieger’s stern. Deniz’s ship flew the blue and brown colors of Veldria tall and proud, with a second gold flag indicating this was the squadron’s flagship, with the commodore as effective admiral.
Deniz had been denied a naval engagement when the revenants came to Veldria. Emirald had been taken by surprise. Today he would show his enemy what they’d missed.
The wind came across his beam, and when he turned to meet the armada, he would have the all-important wind gauge. Deniz’s ships would be able to broadside the enemy with impunity for the first moments of the battle. The guns were out, and the weather was good. His marines were ready with grapples and muskets, and he even had a bladesinger, one of the fierce Alturan swordsmen he’d heard so many rumors about, standing tall and proud with his hands on the rail.
Deniz heard a cheer and saw his crew look to the left. The Buchalanti ships flew past him as if he were standing still, and Deniz raised a fist into the air and cheered along with his men. The three storm riders led the graceful vessels, with the Infinity foremost, sails blazing as runes activated and deactivated, and Deniz could swear he heard the sounds of sonorous chanting from the sailmasters.
Two blue cruisers followed the storm riders: these were bigger than the Infinity, and Deniz classed them as merchantmen, somewhere between a cargo ship and a war vessel.