Amos shouted for the helmsman to come to a southwest heading, then sprinted for the stern, Arutha behind him by a step. When they reached the stern, they saw the turn had halved the distance between the ships. Amos said, “Martin, can you mark their helmsman?”
Martin squinted, then said, “It’s a bit gloomy, but he’s not a difficult mark.”
Amos said, “See if you can take his mind off holding course.”
Martin uncovered his ever-present bow and strung it. He drew out a cloth-yard shaft and sighted on the pursuing ship. He waited, shifting weight to compensate for the rolling of the ship, then let fly. Like an angry bird, the arrow arched over the water, clearing the stern of the following ship.
Martin watched the shaft’s flight, then quietly hummed an “Ah” to himself. In a single fluid motion he drew out another arrow, fitted it to the bowstring, pulled, and released. It followed the path of the first, but instead of clearing the rear of the other ship, struck in the transom, quivering mere inches from the helmsman’s head.
From the Sea Swift they could see the Royal Griffin’s helmsman dive for the deck, releasing the tiller. The warship swung over and began to fall away. Martin said, “A little gusty for fine shooting,” and sent another arrow to strike within inches of the first, keeping the tiller unmanned.
Slowly the distance between the ships began to widen, and Amos turned to his crew. “Pass the word. When I give the order for silence, any man who drops so much as a whisper is fish bait.”
The warship wobbled behind a minute, then swung back on course Martin said, “Looks like they’ll keep a little less broad to us, Amos. I can’t shoot through sails.”
“No, but if you’d oblige me by keeping those lads in the bow away from their ballista, I’d be thankful I think you irritated Radburn.”
Martin and Arutha saw the ballista crew readying their weapons. The Huntmaster sent a flurry of arrows at the pursuing ship’s bow, one arrow following the last before it was halfway to the target. The first struck a man in the leg, felling him, and the other men dove for cover.
“Fog dead ahead, Captain!” came the shout from above.
Amos turned to the helmsman. “Hard to port.”
The Sea Swift angled to the south. The Royal Griffin came hard after, now less than four hundred yards behind. As they changed course, the wind died. Approaching the fog bank, Amos said to Arutha, “The winds fall off to less than a bilious fart in there; I’m reefing sails, so the sound of flapping canvas doesn’t give us away.”
Abruptly they entered a wall of grey, murky fog, quickly becoming black as the sun sank over the horizon. As soon as the warship vanished from sight, Amos said, “Reef sails!”
The crew hauled in sails, quickly slowing the ship. Then Amos said, “Hard to starboard, and pass the word for silence.”
Suddenly the ship became graveyard quiet. Amos turned to Arutha and whispered, “There’s currents here running to the west. We’ll let them carry us away from here and hope Radburn’s captain is a Kingdom Sea man.
“Tiller to midships,” he whispered to the helmsman. To Vasco, he said, “Pass the word to lash down the yards. And those aloft are to remain motionless.”
Suddenly Arutha became aware of the quiet. After the clamor of the chase, with the fresh north wind blowing, the ropes and sheets singing in the yards, the canvas snapping constantly, this muffled fogbank was unnaturally silent. An occasional groan of a yard moving, or the snap of a rope, were the only sounds in the murk. Fear dragged the minutes out in the seemingly endless vigil.
Then, like an alarm ringing out, they heard voices and the sounds of a ship. Creeking yards and the snap of canvas as it moved in the faint wind echoed from all quarters. Arutha couldn’t see anything for minutes, until a faint glow pierced through the murk to the rear, passing from northeast to southwest, lanterns from the pursuing Royal Griffin. Every man aboard the Sea Swift, on deck and above, stayed at his station, afraid to move for the noise that would carry over the water like a clarion In the distance they could hear a shout from the other ship, “Quiet, damn it! We can’t hear them for our own noise!” Then it was suddenly still, save for the rippling of canvas and ropes from the Royal Griffin.
Time passed without measure as they waited in the blackness. Then came a hideous grinding sound, ringing like a thunder peal, a tearing, cracking shriek of wood being crushed. Instantly the cries of men could be heard, shouts of panic.
Amos turned to the others, half-seen in the darkness. “They’ve shoaled out. From the sound, they’ve torn the hull right out from under. They’re dead men.” He ordered the helm put over to the northwest, away from the shoals and reefs, as sailors hurriedly set sail.
“A bad way to die,” said Arutha.