“Leave war to true men, khaffit,” Khevat said. “I was studying the conquests of Kaji before your father wore his bido. There is nothing the dal’Sharum can do to stop the landing. They will have to prevail on open ground.”
Abban wasted no time arguing, skimming his lens to the south, finding what he sought at last. There, coming in fast from their hidden cove, his small fleet was nearly invisible on the dark water, unnoticed by the enemy.
The lead vessel was Everam’s Spear, commanded by Drillmaster Qeran and crewed entirely by men from Abban’s Hundred, a sleek galley with twenty oars to a side and square sails that could catch most any wind. But the black sails were furled, the galley shooting like an arrow for the enemy fleet under oar power alone. The fore and aft castles had no slingers, only specially designed scorpions and many, many men.
Two more galleys followed, and a score of smaller vessels—these carrying neither slinger nor scorpion, their holds packed with Sharum.
Abban produced a second warded distance lens, a cheap copy of his own, but effective enough. He wanted his old teacher to see this.
“You are right, dama, not to put faith in the dal’Sharum to stop the enemy. Watch now as my kha’Sharum do what they could not.”
Khevat looked doubtful, but he raised the lens to where Abban pointed. “Our captured ships. What of it? A handful of ships cannot sink so many.”
“Sink?” Abban tsked. “Where is the profit in that? If we are to win this war, Dama, the enemy fleet must become ours.”
A moment later, Qeran’s ship was in range of a large Laktonian galley, an elegant vessel with great pointed sails and wide deck lined with armament on both sides.
The Krasians fired great barbed stingers that stuck and held fast in the enemy ship’s hull. The trailing ropes were attached to heavy cranks, and muscular chin slaves bent their backs, drawing the ships in close.
Before the Laktonians knew what was happening, agile kha’Sharum Watchers were already running up the taut ropes like nie’Sharum on the top of the Maze walls. They carried no shields, but all had half a dozen throwing spears on their backs, and by the time planks were dropped for the other warriors to follow, the biggest threats on deck were eliminated.
In moments, Abban’s warriors swept the deck. He saw Qeran among them, the drillmaster easy to spot with his missing leg. He killed with an efficiency that would have frightened Abban, if not for the man’s aura. Abban could not read hearts like Ahmann or the Damajah, but the glory of victory was bright around him.
You see, Drillmaster? Abban thought. I have given back all you have lost.
When the deck was clear and the ship firmly in the hands of the Hundred, Mehnding were brought aboard, the teams running to man the chin armament. A skeleton crew was left in place, and Qeran leapt back to Everam’s Spear even as the lines were cut.
All across the lake, Laktonian ships were being similarly boarded by teams of Sharum that had rowed silently into position. The greenlanders might have the advantage in ranged fire, but in close-quarters killing, there were none in all the world to match the Sharum of Krasia. Jayan had given Qeran men, and the drillmaster had run them mercilessly back and forth across tilting ship decks until they found their water legs.
Qeran himself had taken four ships, and the rest of his fleet another sixteen, before the cries of alarm reached the rest of the Laktonian fleet.
Only then did the Mehnding on the decks open fire, aiming for the enemy ships that had pulled up to the docks and struck ground on the beach. As the Laktonian troops disembarked, the Mehnding rained the greenlanders’ own demonfire down on them. Chin warriors screamed and burned as Abban’s pirates turned their attention to the next ships in line to unload. Great chains were slung, tearing sails and splintering oars to leave the ships dead in the water.
The Laktonian captains, still outnumbering the pirates, shifted fire to the new foe, but the Mehnding archers let fly flaming arrows, catching their sails and strafing their decks while the chin fire teams struggled to recalibrate.
Sharum’s Lament appeared, the agile vessel tacking around the others to bring its armament to bear. The advantage of surprise was soon lost, and the numbers began to tell. But unlike the greenlanders, Sharum warriors were ready to die. When their ships were damaged, they were more than willing to ram the enemy and leap the gap, fighting in close.
But still it seemed the battle on the water would be lost, and the Laktonians escape back to their stronghold. There was one last trick Qeran could try, but the drillmaster had argued long and hard against it, and even Abban agreed it was a desperate move that might do more harm than good.
Jayan lowered his veil. “I am Jayan asu Ahmann am’Jardir am’Kaji, firstborn son of Shar’Dama Ka and Damajah, Sharum Ka of all Krasia.” He gave a slight nod from his saddle. “May I see your face and have your name, chin, before I send you to Everam to be judged?”
“Don’t …” Sament began, but Thamos ignored him, sticking his spear in the ground within easy reach, unfastening his helm.
As he lifted it away, Jayan’s eyes widened. “You. The princeling who came with the Par’chin to …”
Thamos nodded. “I am Prince Thamos, fourth son of Duke Rhinebeck the Second, Lord Commander of the Wooden Soldiers, third in line to the ivy throne and Count of Hollow County.”
Jayan bared his teeth. “The one who dared touch the Deliverer’s intended.”
There was an angry murmur through the Sharum at this.
“Leesha Paper chose me even before Ahmann Jardir fell to his death.” Thamos pointed at Jayan with his spear. “And you will share his fate. I challenge you to Domin Sharum.”
Jayan laughed, and after a moment, the warriors joined him.
“Domin Sharum is honorable combat before Everam, chin.” Jayan pointed his spear back at Thamos. “You have attacked men in the night on Waning. You have no honor.”
“We have your brother and his lieutenants,” Thamos said. “Harm us, and you will never see them again.”
“Icha?” Jayan asked.
Thamos nodded. “And three kai, half a dozen drillmasters, and more than fifty Sharum. Grant me honorable combat, and they will be released.”
Jayan turned to his dal’Sharum. “See how even chin warriors attempt to bargain for their lives like khaffit merchants!”
The Krasian warriors jeered, many around the ring spitting at Thamos.
Jayan turned back to Thamos. “Keep my brother and his men! If they were weak and stupid enough to be captured by chin, they deserve no better. We will come for them soon enough.”
He raised his veil. “But if you wish me to kill you personally for thinking you could cuckold the Shar’Dama Ka, that I will grant.”
Thamos was quick to replace his helm and snatch up his long spear, kicking his horse to circle counter to Jayan as he readied himself.
Neither man hesitated long, kicking their great mustang into nearly identical charges, spears lowered.
At the last moment before they struck, Jayan lifted his spear to take aim at Thamos’ chest. Thamos, unexpectedly, tossed his long spear expertly in the air, catching it in a reversed grip much closer to the head.
Jayan’s spear struck the count full in the chest, but there was a flare of light from the wards on Thamos’ armor, and the weapon shattered.
And then Thamos was in close, able to put force and speed to a series of rapid spear thrusts, poking holes at Jayan’s defenses, searching for an opening.
Jayan tried to ride off and regroup, but the count was the better horseman, his mare herding Jayan’s stallion like a sheepdog, keeping them locked close as the count continued the battering.
Jayan moved his shield with frantic speed, and under its wide shade and his own glass armor, he found shelter enough. But he was on the defensive, and without a spear to strike back. It seemed the count would soon manage to find a seam in his armor and deliver a killing blow.
Jayan shoved against his shield, knocking Thamos back just enough to strike at his mount. The back of the mare’s neck was armored, but its throat was not, and Jayan buried the broken haft of his spear into it.
The giant mustang reared and gurgled, stumbling on hind legs as its forelegs kicked wildly. Thamos kept his seat until the animal began to topple, managing to throw himself clear of its bulk as they struck the ground.
Briar thought it would end there, but Jayan rode back to his lieutenants, dismounting and taking up a six-foot infantry spear.
Thamos was back on his feet as Jayan began striding toward him. He left his ten-foot cavalry spear in the mud, pulling a three-foot Angierian fencing spear from its harness on his back as he waited for his enemy to come.
Jayan growled, his feet set in the stance Briar’s father had taught him long ago. His skittering steps forward were fast and economical, spear resting on his shield arm. His arm was a blur as he pumped the weapon much as the count had on horseback, searching the wooden armor for weaknesses to exploit.
Thamos took most of the barrage on his shield and breastplate, thrusting his own spear low at the gap between the armor plates on Jayan’s thigh.
But Jayan twisted the limb out of the weapon’s path. With his shield hand he grasped the harness straps on Thamos’ back and hauled, driving a knee into his stomach as Thamos was flipped onto his back, momentarily stunned.
But again Jayan let the advantage go, circling while the count shook himself and rose to his feet, growling. He hunched low, tamping feet like a cat.
“I may not see the dawn, but neither will you,” Thamos promised.
Jayan barked a laugh. “You have great balls, chin. When I have killed you, I will cut them off and shove them down your throat.”
Thamos came in fast—faster than Briar would have thought possible. The wards on his armor were glowing now as his fencing spear whipped through the air in thrusts and parries.
Jayan picked them off confidently now, his skittering steps never losing balance. He circled away from one thrust, spinning around to strike Thamos hard in the face with the rim of his shield. The count stumbled back, and Jayan pressed in, delivering hard jabs into his armor that battered and stung, even if they could not penetrate. Thamos was herded like an animal into the center of the ring.
The count struck back with a shield attack of his own, but Jayan was ready for it. He dropped his own shield and reached in to take the biceps of Thamos’ shield arm. He pivoted clockwise, straightening the arm, then thrust hard into the gap beneath Thamos’ helmet.
The count stood shaking a moment, then dropped limply to the ground.
At last Qeran gave the signal, and the slinger teams let loose another volley, casks of heated tar that shattered against the hulls of the enemy ships making their final press for the port.
Marring the wards.
The effect was immediate. Abban saw the glow of water demons as they came streaming toward the vulnerable ships, and caught a rare glimpse of the creatures as they broke the surface here and there to break hulls with tentacle and snapping claw. A few braved the open air long enough to slither onto the ships, sweeping the decks as easily as a wedge of Sharum.
The surface of the lake turned to a churning froth, men and women screaming as they were pulled under.
Then, as they looked on in horror, a huge demon came close to the surface. The water heaved in great spumes as tentacles the size of Sharik Hora’s minarets rose around one of the largest vessels, wrapping about the hull and squeezing. The deck splintered in the crush, hapless sailors flailing as they were sucked down. In moments, the entire ship vanished beneath countless tons of water.
Khevat turned his dark glare on Abban. “Is this your doing, khaffit?”
Abban swallowed, but after what he had just witnessed, there was little the cleric could do to frighten him.
He straightened, steeling himself. “It was, dama. Do not blame Drillmaster Qeran. He argued most vehemently against the plan, and Jayan was never told.”