Ships burned at dawn. Nicholas’s fleet had lost sight of the Emerald Queen’s northern squadron after sundown the night before, and had turned south, piling on all the canvas the ships’ yards could hold. Two hours later, the entire fleet had swung toward the east, and the Straits of Darkness.
They had been rewarded with the sight of fires before dawn as they encountered smoking hulls, burned to the waterline and sinking, both Queen’s ships and Keshian. Lookouts reported fires farther to the west.
As the sun rose, Nicholas saw the vast navy that still waited to slip through the Straits. He couldn’t judge how many had already made the difficult passage; perhaps as many as a third.
To the south, fighting was still under way as Keshian ships from Elarial were engaged with an equal number of the Queen’s warships.
Captain Reeves said, ‘Where are the rest of her escorts?’
Nicholas shouted, ‘We have her!’ To the lookout aloft he cried, ‘All ships: attack!’
As the orders were relayed, Nicholas turned to Reeves. ‘We’ve outrun those ships we were tangling with yesterday.’ He calculated. ‘We have perhaps an hour to do as much damage as possible before they come into sight. What she’s got left here are engaged with the Keshians, and the rest of them are on the other side of the Straits!’
He went to the quarterdeck rail and shouted, ‘Ready ballistas!’
Ballista crews ran to the fore of the ship, where a pair of huge crossbow-like engines of war waited. Each could launch an iron-headed missile three times the size of a man, used to strike at the waterline, or to foul rigging. Instead of the usual missile, though, a special shaft had been designed, one filled with the deadly Quegan fire oil. To use them was dangerous, for any mistake could result in the Royal Dragon burning to the waterline.
Behind him the attacking fleet, forty-seven of the original sixty ships he had left Tulan with, fanned out in attack formation. Nicholas’s ship lost wind, dropping her speed so the two flanks of the flotilla could sweep in from either side, doing the most damage to the huge body of ships milling in the water, almost at a dead stop, waiting for orders to enter the passage.
Nicholas shouted, ‘Master of Arms! Fire as you bear!’
The officer in the bow shouted back, ‘Aye, aye, Admiral!’
Two of the larger ships at the rear turned to engage, wallowing awkwardly, but potentially dangerous. The lookout shouted, ‘They bear catapults, Admiral!’
Nicholas said, ‘So I see,’ as a huge war engine on the aft castle of the closest ship unleashed its cargo, a huge net of rocks. ‘Port your helm. Captain Reeves.’
‘Aye, aye, sir,’ came the calm answer as the net unraveled at the top of its arc, releasing the shower of rocks, each the size of a man’s head - or bigger.
The more nimble Kingdom ship swerved to the left and the rocks splashed harmlessly to the right of where Nicholas stood. ‘That would have made a fair mess of the rigging, sir,’ said Captain Reeves.
‘Take us back to starboard,’ said Nicholas.
The helmsman did as ordered, and the bow of the warship swung back on line, bringing it to where it would cross to the port of the big ship. They were close enough now that Nicholas could see the catapult crew frantically attempting to reload. ‘Bad choice,’ said Nicholas. ‘Takes too long to reload and the men are exposed.’
As if reading his mind, bowmen in the rigging began firing on the catapult crew on the enemy ship. The Kingdom’s Royal Marines were ground soldiers, yet experienced at fighting aboard ship. They used short bows with good effect. Then the Master of Arms ordered the starboard ballista fired and it struck the middle of the enemy ship with a fiery explosion. Men screamed and Nicholas could see the mid-deck was packed with soldiers, many looking sick from the months at sea. At least a score fell over the side, partially or completely on fire. Others frantically and vainly attempted to beat out the fire, but discovered to their horror the secret of Quegan fire oil. Once it was ignited, only smothering in sand could put it out. Those throwing buckets of water on it were just spreading the flaming oil faster.
Nicholas tore his gaze from the grisly sight and looked at their course. ‘Hard to port,’ he said. ‘It’s a mess in close, and I don’t want to get stuck in there with no place to turn around. We’ll keep nibbling at the edges.’
Orders were passed, and other ships in the flotilla did the same, launching their fiery cargo, then turning hard lest they become entangled with the ships they were attacking.
The lookout above shouted, ‘There are two war galleys backing oars in the middle of those burning ships there, Admiral.’