‘Aye, sir!’
Without waiting for the order to be relayed, those bowmen aloft started peppering the rear of the enemy ship with arrows. Nicholas didn’t know if they could see the enemy helmsman, but he thought it likely an incoming fusillade might cause him to duck and lose hold of the helm. Even a deviation of course by a few yards might spare the Royal Dragon.
Nicholas watched in mute fascination as the enemy ship bore down relentlessly on his ship. He could hear the faint thud of the horator’s drum from below decks as he shifted tempo, and he knew the call for ramming speed had been given. ‘I think you’d best grab on to something solid. Captain Reeves.’
‘Aye, sir.’
Then the Royal Dragon moved, slightly, and heeled over even more, as the wind freshened. Whether it was the incoming arrows, or the bunding smoke from the flaming bow of his own ship, the steersman on the galley did not compensate for the speed of his target.
The grind of steel against metal accompanied the sight of the Royal Dragon’s helmsman being flung from his wheel as the other ship’s ram struck hard into the tiller of the Kingdom ship. A low grinding continued and the flames from the galley fired the Dragon’s spanker. ‘Fire stations. Captain Reeves,’ said Nicholas evenly.
‘Sir,’ said the captain. He started shouting orders, and the crew raced toward the buckets of sand. Men aloft started cutting away rigging to loose the flaming sail.
As if being pushed along, the Royal Dragon jumped forward, and another sailor hurried to grab the helm as the helmsman lay stunned. ‘Well, Reeves,’ said Nicholas, ‘it seems providence may be with us for a moment.’
‘Sir,’ said the captain, relief on his face as the two ships separated. ‘I hope we don’t come that close again any time soon.’
‘Agreed-’ said Nicholas, then his eyes widened. He looked down to see the shaft of an arrow protruding from his stomach, and blood beginning to flow down his white trousers. ‘Oh, damn,’ he said. His knees gave way.
A flight of arrows struck the rigging above their heads as the marines from an enemy ship nearby launched a random attack on the Dragon, hoping to strike anyone. Captain Reeves shouted, ‘I want best speed!’
Men flew through the rigging and the Kingdom fleet disengaged itself from the struggle. ‘Get the Admiral below!’ Reeves shouted.
A short time later, Nicholas lay on his bunk with the ship’s chirurgeon attending to the wound. Captain Reeves entered and said, ‘How is he?’
The chirurgeon said, ‘Bad, sir. I fear the worst. If we can keep him alive until we reach Freeport, a healing priest may be able to save him. But he’s beyond my meager talents.’
The captain nodded and returned to the quarterdeck, where his first officer waited. ‘Mr Brooks?’
‘We lost the Prince of Krondor, the Royal Swift, and a score of the cutters. We estimate we sank thirty or more of their cargo ships, and a half-dozen of their war galleys.’
Reeves glanced to the stern, where the enemy fleet was now a low black mass on the horizon. ‘Is there no end to them?’
‘Apparently not, sir.’ The first officer asked, ‘How is the Admiral?’
‘Touch and go.’
‘Can we turn to Tulan?’
‘No, we must make best speed for Freeport. Those are the orders.’
‘But the Admiral?’
Reeves said, ‘Those are his orders.’ He sighed. ‘We wait a week in Freeport, then we head to Krondor.’ Softly he said, ‘Those are the orders.’
‘What then?’
‘I don’t know. Until Lord Nicholas recovers, everything rests in Lord Vykor’s hands in Krondor.’
The first officer saw how troubled the captain was, and felt the same. Prince Nicholas, youngest son of Prince Arutha, had been Admiral of the Prince’s Fleet, supreme commander of the Royal Navy in the West, as long as either could remember. He was the man who held the fleet together and, more, he was royalty, the King’s youngest brother. For him to die on any captain’s watch would be difficult enough, but for him to die when the Kingdom needed her fleet at its best was tragic.
Reeves, who was Nicholas’s second in command, said, ‘Orders to the fleet. I’m taking command. Pass word of the Prince’s injury. Then order best speed for Freeport.’
‘Aye, sir.’
Nakor studied Pug. Calis asked, ‘Will he wake soon?’
‘Maybe. Maybe not. Who can say?’
The Isalani watched as his student continued to administer the healing energies, aided by the Spellweavers of Elvandar. Nakor had dined with Calis, Calin, and their mother the night before, and they had discussed the best course of action.
Nakor had agreed to ride with Calin to Crydee, where they would use the Tsurani transport device to get to Krondor. Sho Pi would remain behind in Elvandar and continue to help heal Pug.
‘I wish I knew what was going on in there,’ said Nakor.
‘In where?’ asked Calis.