She turned and gasped when she saw the ship.
It was painted in garish colours, just like the facades of the abandoned buildings on Valetta, and as big as the great vessel Miro had seen in the dry dock. It was much larger than the Delphin, the free cities galleon they'd travelled in with Captain Meredith, and while it had a similar construction, with three masts and raised decks fore and aft, it was different in more than just its colouring.
Shuttered windows were lined in a row along the ship's side, shutters now pulled open by chains. Bronze tubes, akin to those Miro had seen back on the island, had been run out of the openings, their mouths pointing out the ship's port side.
There was a puff of smoke, and Miro again heard the explosive sound. It reminded him painfully of the device from the wedding. Water shot up, close to the caravel's bow this time.
"I think they want us to stop," Miro said. "We don't have a chance against those weapons."
Amber scurried to the bow where she furled in the sail while Miro turned the caravel into the wind. They instantly lost all speed.
Miro looked at the looming ship as it steadily grew larger and closer. He could now see men with swords, stocky men with bronzed skin and uniforms coloured blue and brown.
"Amber," Miro said, "you'd better go below decks."
The foreign ship hit the caravel with a crash. Looking for the cutlass, Miro found it looped to the makeshift mast by a length of rope. He drew it and faced this new enemy.
He wasn't sure if they wanted to fight, or to parlay, but if they wanted to fight, he would oblige them.
A clipped voice called out. The accent was foreign, but the words were clear. "Take the ship. Check the hold," the voice ordered. "Kill the crew. They're in our waters. They should know better."
"Stay below decks!" Miro called back to Amber.
A sailor with a curved sword jumped down to the deck, while another followed. Miro moved back to give himself space. It didn't matter now what strange weapons the ship possessed. The captain wouldn't fire on his own men.
The cutlass wasn't as sharp as it had once been, but the handle was ribbed, providing Miro a firm grip, and the hilt encompassed his hand in a protective guard. The blade was curved and heavy at the front, made for slashing combat in confined quarters. The last time Miro had fought on board a ship, he'd been taken unawares, his sword too long to wield. This time he was ready.
Miro's first opponent hacked down from overhead. Miro came in close and slammed the solid metal of the cutlass into the sailor's jaw. He kicked his opponent away as the man went down, keeping the deck clear and the sailor where he could see him.
The next swordsman slashed from left to right, coming in fast. Miro shifted to the side as his attacker came forward, spinning around the sailor's back and thrusting into his chest, withdrawing the cutlass tipped with blood. Like the first man, Miro kicked this one to the side, clearing space for his next attacker and making it difficult for his enemies to surround him.
Miro's training at the Pens under Blademaster Rogan had prepared him for this day. The boys Rogan had taught didn't use enchanted blades, they used normal swords, but the practice swords were sharp, and a mistake could be deadly. Miro thanked Rogan that he wasn't dependant on the magic of his zenblade and the protection of his armoursilk. Miro was a bladesinger, but he didn't need Altura's lore to be deadly.
A third swordsman feinted and thrust. Miro blocked the thrust, turning the sword to the side, before punching the sailor's lantern jaw with his left fist. Miro's opponent dropped his guard, and a slash across the throat finished him.
Miro shoved the dying man into the next attacker, and as the sailor stumbled Miro chopped at his neck. Crying out, the sailor fell over the side of the caravel with a cry.
Miro's breathing came strong and regular, though sweat poured down his face as he fought in the late afternoon sun. The lump on his head was forgotten, the weakness caused by the travails of his journey now gone. He took down two more men, yet still more attackers took their places, jumping down to the deck of the caravel and roaring as they attacked.
Miro thrust and slashed, leaping up to the rail and dodging behind the mast. All the while, he guarded the companionway that led below decks. He would never let his enemies past to where Amber waited in terror.
He despatched a swordsman with a feint and thrust, and another with a cut across the abdomen. More men kept coming, and Miro kept taking them down.
Suddenly Miro heard a crack, and felt a bite on his arm. The sound caused his attackers to halt.
"Stop!" a voice called out. It was the same voice Miro had heard order the attack.