But the first ship, then the second one, got a rope ashore and they were slowly hauled in close to the docks. The only place they were unable to close was where the earlier three ships had sunk. Ships beyond were tossed lines, and William saw their plan. Originally they thought they’d see a slow siege, with an orderly docking once this portion of the city was secured. But now he saw that there would be no attempt to move empty ships away from the docks.
Only a few ships would actually tie to the docks, but they would act as shields for those farther out. They would be tossed grapples, and soon the ships would be tied off. A raft of ships would extend out into the bay, a platform that would let thousands of invaders race from deck to deck, to land on the docks of Krondor, across the breadth of the waterfront. It was a dangerous ploy, for if the defenders were successful in starting fires on any of the ships, all were at risk.
When the Queen’s ship was close enough, every war engine within range launched an attack. A hundred heavy boulders flew through the air, accompanied by a dozen flaming bales of fire-oil-soaked hay. As William had suspected, all met an invisible barrier and bounced or slid off. He was pleased to notice that one large boulder crashed back onto another ship, which wasn’t protected, doing significant damage to the soldiers packed tightly on the decks.
William turned to order as much fire oil directed at the frontmost ships as possible. The flames exploded along the entire length of the balcony. William was thrown backward as if batted by a blinding hand of fire, and lay stunned on the floor of the palace balcony. Blinking away tears, he could barely see, and everything was tinged red.
After a moment he realized his eyes were burned and bloody. The only reason he wasn’t completely blind was that he had glanced behind him when the attack occurred. He felt around and saw a dim shape next to him, which groaned when he touched it. A pair of hands lifted him and a voice said, ‘Marshal?’
He recognized the voice of one of the pages, who had been standing back in the room. ‘What happened?’ William asked in a hoarse croak.
‘Flames erupted along the wall, and everyone . . . is burned.’
‘Captain Reynard?’
‘I think he’s dead, sir.’
Voices from the hall shouted and men came running in. ‘Who’s there?’ William could see only shadowy shapes.
‘Lieutenant Franklin, my lord.’
‘Water, please,’ said William, and he felt the lieutenant take him from the squire, holding him up as he made his way to a chair. In his nose he could smell only the stench of his own burned hair and flesh, and no matter how he blinked, he couldn’t dear his eyes of the blinding red tears.
Once he was sitting, William said, ‘Lieutenant, tell me what is happening.’
The lieutenant ran to the balcony. ‘They’re sending men ashore. It’s a dreadful fire we’re pouring on them, but they’re coming, sir.’
The squire brought a basin of water and a clean cloth and William applied it to his face. The pain was incredible, but he used a trick taught him as a child by one of his teachers at Stardock to ignore it. The water didn’t help his vision much, and he considered that he might be blinded for what would be the remainder of his life, however short that might be.
The loud sound of wood shattering followed by shouts and the sounds of fighting below caused William to ask, ‘Lieutenant, would you please tell me what is happening in the courtyard?’
The lieutenant said, ‘Sir, they’ve crashed the royal dock. Enemy soldiers are landing.’
William said to the squire, ‘Son, would you please help me to my feet?’
The boy said, ‘Yes, my lord,’ attempting to sound calm, but failing to hide the fear in his voice.
William felt young arms around his waist as he stood. ‘Turn me toward the door,’ he said calmly. The sounds of fighting were now echoing from the halls outside the room, as well as coming from the courtyard below as enemy warriors mounted the flight of stairs leading to William’s command center. ‘lieutenant Franklin,’ said William.
‘Sir?’ came the calm reply.
‘Stand on my left, sir.’
The officer did as he was bidden, and William slowly pulled his sword from its scabbard. ‘Stand behind me boy,’ he said softly as the sound of fighting in the halls grew louder.
The boy did as he was asked, but he kept a firm grip around the Knight-Marshal’s waist, helping the injured man stand upright.
William wished he had something to say that would make this better for the boy, but he knew it would end in terror and pain. He just prayed it was quick. As the sounds of fighting got closer, and those remaining soldiers in the room rushed to defend the door, William finally said, ‘Page?’
‘Sir,’ came the soft, fearful voice from behind him.
‘What is your name?’
‘Terrance, sir.’
‘Where are you from?’
‘My father is the Squire of Belmont, sir.’
‘You’ve done well. Now help me stand fast. It wouldn’t do to have the Knight-Marshal of Krondor die on his knees.’
‘Sir . . .’ From the boy’s voice, William could tell he was crying.