Off Armageddon Reef (94 page)

“Sir!” Mahlry said suddenly, pointing across at the Charisian leader. “That's the Crown Prince's standard!”

“Are you certain?” Khattyr asked urgently. “Your eyes are better than mine, boy—but are you
certain?
”

“Yes, Sir,” Mahlry said firmly.

Khattyr slammed his balled fists together, wheeling to stare along the column once again. He could hear other galleys' drums beating to quarters, see crewmen dashing about the decks of the nearer ships, but
still
there was no signal from Earl Mahndyr.

He waited another five minutes, then drew a deep breath and nodded sharply.

“Take in the sail!” he ordered harshly. “Out sweeps! Bring her about!”

“There's someone with his wits about him, Your Highness,” Captain Manthyr observed as the northernmost galley in the nearest column suddenly brailed up her single big sail.

Her oars thrust out of their ports, and she turned sharply, swinging out of her column. One or two derisive taunts went up from some of
Dreadnought
's seamen, but that galley wasn't fleeing. As they watched, she turned into the wind and steadied on her new course—straight for
Dreadnought
.

“They've seen your standard, Your Highness,” Ahrnahld Falkhan said quietly as the galley's oars started to stroke.

“Yes, they have,” Cayleb agreed.

He gazed at the oncoming galley for a moment, judging relative motions with a seaman's eye. Then shook his head slowly.

“They've seen it, but they didn't turn quite soon enough,” he said.

“With your permission, Your Highness, I'd still prefer to give him a bit more sea room,” Manthyr said. “The last thing we need is to have your flagship damaged or taken out of action early.”

“Oh, no, we couldn't have
that
, Captain,” Cayleb agreed, eyes glinting with amusement at his flag captain's careful choice of words.

“I'm glad you agree, Your Highness,” Manthyr said gravely, and looked at his helmsmen again. “Bring her up another point to port.”

“Shan-wei seize it!” Khattyr snarled as the long line of galleons altered course slightly. His eye was as good as Cayleb's, and he could see clearly what was about to happen.

He'd waited too long, assuming there'd ever been any real chance of success at all. But the absolute necessity of maintaining formation had been drilled into every captain of Black Water's fleet. Leaving it without orders was a court-martial offense, and he'd taken too much time wrestling with himself before he acted.

Unfortunately, there wasn't much he could do about it now. Turning away would only make it worse, and there was always at least the chance he might actually be able to carry through despite their guns, still get to grips with the Charisian heir's flagship. If he could do that, then every Charisian ship in sight would swarm in to save Cayleb. The consequences for
Black Prince
would undoubtedly be fatal, but if he could just delay those galleons, just tie them up for an hour or two while the rest of the fleet reacted…

“
Open fire!
”

Captain Manthyr's order rang out clear and sharp. The inevitable noises of a ship underway seemed only to have enclosed and perfected the taut silence of
Dreadnought
's company, and despite everyone's tense anticipation, the command came almost as a surprise.

For one tiny slice of a second, nothing happened. And then, every gun captain in her starboard broadside yanked his lanyard simultaneously.

“You wanted me, Your Majesty?”

Captain Tryvythyn had arrived quickly. Quickly enough, indeed, that he hadn't fully completed dressing and appeared in his cotton shirt, without his uniform tunic.

“Yes, Dynzyl.”

Haarahld turned to face his flag captain as Sergeant Gahrdaner finished buckling his cuirass for him. The captain's eyebrows had risen in surprise at finding his king obviously arming for battle, and Haarahld smiled tightly.

“No, I haven't lost my mind,” he said reassuringly. “But I've got a…feeling we're going to be busy today, and shortly.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.” Tryvythyn couldn't quite keep his mystification—and perhaps just a hint of skepticism—out of his voice, and Haarahld snorted in amusement.

“I don't blame you for cherishing a few doubts, Dynzyl, but trust me.”

“I do, Your Majesty,” Tryvythyn said, and there was no hesitation at all in that statement.

“Good. In that case—”

“Excuse me, Your Majesty,” Midshipman Marshyl said from the cabin door. “We've just received a signal from
Speedy
.”

“What signal?” Haarahld asked.

“She reports hearing gunfire to the northeast, Sire. She's moving to investigate it.”

Tryvythyn stared at the midshipman for a moment, then back at his king, and Haarahld saw the wonder—and the questions—in the flag captain's eyes.

“General signal, Dynzyl,” he said. “Prepare for battle.”

The Charisian flagship disappeared behind a sudden blinding eruption of gunsmoke shot through with flashes of fire. The range was still almost two hundred yards, but these guns
weren't
double-shotted. The press of
Dreadnought
's canvas heeled her to starboard, bringing the sills of her gunports closer to the water, but she had ample freeboard, and it actually made her a more stable gun platform. Better than half her shots still missed…but almost half of them
didn't
.

Captain Khattyr saw the fiery blast of smoke an instant before the first round shot slammed murderously into his galley's port bow. It was a quartering broadside, coming in at an angle of perhaps sixty degrees, and splinters flew as thirty-eight-pound spheres of iron crashed through her timbers. Shrieks of agony came from the oardeck, and her forward sweeps flailed as the men manning them were smashed and mangled by cast-iron and the pieces of their own vessel.

More shots came in higher, slamming through the bulwarks, carving gory furrows through the borders still assembling on her forecastle and in the waist. Bits and pieces of men were snatched up in that iron hurricane, and blood sprayed as human bodies were torn apart.

Black Prince
staggered, like a runner who'd caught his toe on some unseen obstacle, and Khattyr shouted orders to the helmsmen, trying to compensate for what had just happened to a third of his port sweeps.

“What did you say?” the Earl of Mahndyr demanded of his flag captain.

“
Black Prince
reports enemy in sight, My Lord,” Captain Nyklas Zheppsyn repeated.

“That's ridiculous!” Mahndyr said. “How could Haarahld have gotten clear around us that way?”

“My Lord, I don't know,” Zheppsyn said. “We've just received the signal, and—”

“What was that?” Mahndyr snapped, cocking his head at the sound of distant thunder.

“Gunfire, My Lord,” Zheppsyn said grimly.