The Crown of the Conqueror (17 page)

  It was a frustrating time waiting for the fleet to close with the enemy. He had not felt so tense since he had watched his father march away with his legions to take Askh from King Lutaar. Remembering the sense of impotence that had plagued him during the long days before hearing word of Ullsaard's victory darkened his mood even further.

  While resigned to simply waiting, Urikh saw that the situation ahead was changing quickly. The Askhan galley furthest downstream had stopped in the water, hull leaning at a slight angle, grounded on a rock or shelf under the surface of the water. Two Mekhani ships were slowly and inexpertly closing in through the shallows, suffering the wrath of the beached vessel's catapult and spear throwers.

  The other Askhan ship was almost clear of the Mekhani, sail taut with a following wind, oars crashing into the water with relentless rhythm.

  With a slap of ropes and a crack that startled Urikh, the fore catapult of the flagship launched a rock. The prince watched the blurred arc of the rock, following its course until it hit the river with a tremendous eruption of water just in front of the closest Mekhani galley.

  More boulders descended on the enemy from the rest of the fleet, pocking the surface of the river like children throwing pebbles into a stream. One shot hit the side of a galley near the stern, sending up a cloud of shattering planks and splintering oars. A short cascade of bodies flopped into the water from the ragged hole in the oar deck.

  Two of the Mekhani ships started a slow turn downstream, giving up their pursuit of the closest Askhan vessel. Three others continued on their course, hoping to reach their prey before the reinforcements arrived. Beyond them, the other two galleys were drawing along the port side of the grounded Askhan ship. Distant shouts carried up the river, announcing the commencement of the boarding action.

  Following the instructions passed by Eroduus earlier, the main fleet split into two lines. The ships closest to the duskwards bank steered towards the shore, seeking to close off the Mekhani's route back to the channel from which they had emerged. The rest of the ships, headed by Urikh's flagship, continued directly towards the scattering Mekhani flotilla.

  Acrid smoke wafted along the ship from braziers lit next to the spear throwers. The war engine crews loaded bolts swaddled in oilsoaked cloth and stood ready with brands, their machines trained as far to forward as possible. Fire flickered on the decks of the other vessels and soon trails of smoke drifted behind each warship.

  The fighting on the beached galley was in full ferocity, a swarm of red-skinned warriors battling against the legionnaires on board to gain a foothold. The purpose behind the higher fronts of the Mekhani ships became apparent as the savages leapt down from the bow of their vessels, into the heart of the defenders. More swung across from mast to mast, many to be cut down as they arrived by sailors waiting in the rigging of the beleaguered galley.

  Eroduus gave the order for the spear throwers to shoot, the command repeated like an echo from one end of the ship to the other. Crewmen put their brands to the tips of the bolts while others made last-moment adjustments of aim and elevation. With the general order given, each team was free to shoot when they bore on their target. Timing their shots between the thrusts of the rowers, the two spear engines hurled their flaming ammunition at the closest Mekhani ship. One spear fell astern of the target, the other slammed into the planks beneath the aftdeck; the successful crew jeered the poor aim of their shipmates even as they were loading the next bolt and winding back the firing arm.

  The blur of more boulders against the blue sky followed swiftly as the flames from the embedded bolt licked along the pirate vessel. Timbers exploded from two direct hits, planks rupturing with a storm of splinters. The yard arm of another ship snapped, dropping the tattered sail onto the red-skinned men below, the two parts of the heavy wooden beam smashing through the decking.

  Urikh smiled at the destruction and felt relief that it was unlikely he would have to tangle with the Mekhani face-to-face. Askhan ingenuity was again triumphant over savagery.

  "Brace for ram!" bellowed Eroduus.

  "What?" Urikh turned on the captain, aghast at the announcement.

  The prince realised he had been so intent on the target of the catapults and spear throwers, he had paid no heed to a Mekhani galley directly in front of the flagship. Debris hung over the stern of the enemy ship in a tangle of wood and rope, dragging through the river like an anchor. Powerless to stop the huge trireme bearing down upon them, the Mekhani crew were lining the side of the ship, stone-tipped spears and crude hide shields in hand.

  They were so close now; Urikh could see the wild anger of the foe, their crimson faces contorted in screeches and howls, spears clattering against shields in defiance of the massive vessel looming over them. The drumming and pounding of the oars had quickened beneath Urikh's feet, the ship constantly a-shudder as it reached ramming speed. The sailors manning the fore catapult secured their engine against the imminent impact and scurried back along the length of the ship. From the mastheads, soldiers with bellows bows loosed bronze-tipped shafts into the massed Mekhani.

  As the flagship continued on its course, oar blades a blur of wood and water, most of the savages quietened, backing away from the side of their ship. Quite a few jumped into the river rather than face the terrifying six-rammed monster bearing down on them, only to thrash wildly for a few moments before they disappeared beneath the water.

  "Hold on to something," said Eroduus, snatching hold of a line running tautly from the masthead to the stern of the ship. Urikh wrapped an arm around the wood of the rail and braced himself as the Mekhani galley vanished beneath the foredeck.

  With a deafening crash, the flagship smashed into the galley almost directly amidships. Pieces of broken wood and mangled bodies sprayed over the bow, the impact hurling Urikh against the rail, almost sending him over it. The fore of the flagship rode up over the galley, tipping the prince backwards, driving the Mekhani vessel downwards. The deck heaved violently underfoot, the mastheads swinging, a clatter of cracking oars joining the creak of straining timbers and panicked shouts of the Mekhani.

  With a snapping of ropes and tearing of canvas, the Mekhani ship's mast sagged and broke as the vessel keeled over under the weight of the flagship. Air escaping from the galley's fractured hold burst through the river, the water bubbling and frothing as if boiled. The wails of wounded tribesmen were piercing, and Urikh could see dozens of Mekhani stumbling around the slanted deck of their ship, blinded by splinters, limbs sheared off, bodies punctured and pierced with wooden shards.

  "Hold boarding!" Eroduus called out as Harrakil headed up the tilted deck towards the enemy vessel, his companies of legionnaires right behind him. "That bastard's going to sink any moment."

  The First Captain accepted this judgement with a raised hand and a look of disappointment. Sailors gathered on the foredeck, pointing down at the ruined Mekhani ship, laughing at the predicament of the barbaric tribesmen. The red-skinned natives dashed to and fro as their vessel slipped further and further into the embrace of the river, the current tearing away planks, widening the gaping holes in the galley's structure. Some cowered by the stub of the mast, clasping each other in horror, screaming in terror at the water surging up between the deck planks; others sought the sanctuary of the listing foredeck, delaying the inevitable by clambering up to the highest remaining part of the galley. The marksmen in the flagship's mastheads made sport of the tribesmen, easily picking off the red-skinned warriors with their bellows-bows.

  "It will be a long time before these bastards come back on the water," said Eroduus.

  Urikh only half-heard the captain. He was still in a semitrance, enraptured by the destruction wrought on the Mekhani galley. It had taken only moments, but the whole plateau was inscribed on the prince's memory in vivid detail.

  He wandered across the aft deck as the flagship settled back into the water, spumes of water from the sinking galley spraying up over the ship's bow. Urikh lowered himself down to the main deck and advanced, pushing his way through the throng of sailors and legionnaires crowding towards the foredeck. His hands trembled as he grabbed the rope ladder to pull himself up to the bow. One hand on the rail to steady himself, he advanced cautiously to the prow and peered over to examine the wreckage of the enemy. All but the tip of the galley's foredeck was beneath the water. Red-skinned bodies bobbed amid the tangle of shattered wood and split rope; a few of the Mekhani clung to the debris, kicking fitfully at the water to reach the shore.

  Hands tightly gripping the rail, he leaned further, casting his gaze down at the six trunk-like rams jutting from the hull of the flagship. They were draped with ruin, mangled bodies crushed against the hull, the water foaming red from under the keel. The pounding of feet shook the ship as the oarsmen were ordered to reverse their stroke. Slowly, the flagship was backed away with long sweeps, leaving a trail of corpses and broken wood.

  Urikh laughed. It was quiet, barely audible above the scrape of the oars and the sluice of water along the hull. The prince looked up to starboard and saw the rest of the fleet hounding the other Mekhani ships. Two were boarded, legionnaires advancing along their decks, cutting and hacking with ruthless determination. Another three were sinking, the current at the centre of the Greenwater pulling them apart, dragging a slick of blood and dead downstream.

  Clenching his fists to hide the shaking of his hands, Urikh turned aft. He was met with a sea of faces, jubilant and expectant. I'm supposed to say something, Urikh thought. A speech, to punctuate this moment of victory. The prince was at a loss; what would his father say? Urikh had no idea. He looked at the companies of legionnaires, Harrakil at their front, and the gangs of sailors up in the rigging and standing on the rail to see their prince. Over the heads of the crowd, he could see Eroduus on the aft deck.

  It had been brutally easy. For all their guile, the Mekhani had been outclassed from the moment they had attacked. Urikh wondered if all victory felt like this; to him it was a job done and nothing more. The expedition would be a success, but it was just a small step on a long road for Urikh. The men he looked at cared nothing for that. They wanted to be told how magnificent they had been; they wanted to be reassured that they were invincible; they wanted to hear how they would be rewarded for the triumph.

  Urikh looked at them, their faces shining with sweat, and felt cold inside. The excitement of the battle was ebbing out of his body, leaving his stomach tied in knots, his throat tight, his mind numbed. He could think of nothing to say.

  A small part of his brain prompted Urikh into action. He raised his arm into the air, fist clenched. A simple sign of approval. It was all the excuse the men needed. They answered his signal with a roar, the deck shaking as the sailors stamped their bare feet and the legionnaires hammered spear shafts of shields.

  Urikh heard someone shout his name, and the call was taken up. He grinned, yet knowing inside that he had done nothing to earn such tribute. Hearing his name shouted from all around, Urikh headed aft, the crowd of his men parting in front of him, all the while their praise ringing in his ears.

  A day ago he had been a troublesome governor, making people's lives miserable with his demands. Today, he was a hero. It did not make any difference that he had been near rigid with terror throughout the experience. This victory and his name would forever be entwined. There was no secret to being a ruler. No amount of money, influence and politics could replace the power of victory. Give the people an enemy to hate and then rid them of that enemy; that was all a ruler had to do.

  One day, his father could be that enemy. The empire could be turned on him as they had been turned on Lutaar. All Urikh would have to do is point the finger; the weakness of everybody else would do the rest for him.

  All too easy, he thought.

 

There were voices coming from the fire pit. They were laughing, saying spiteful things. Aegenuis lifted his head from the table and stared at the flames with bleary eyes. He could not quite make out the words, but he felt their mockery. The only other sounds were the rain on the roof timbers and the crunch of the dogs gnawing at bones.

  "Go away," the king muttered, pushing upright.

  He grabbed the nearest jug and tipped it to his mouth. It was empty. Casting aside the ewer, he grabbed another, but there was only a dribble of ale in the bottom. Aegenuis let the beer drip onto his lips and then licked them, his tongue feeling thick and furry.

  A sad-faced hound nuzzled his leg. Aegenuis reached down and tickled it behind the ear, scrunching long grey hair between his fingers.

  "Just us, eh?" said the king. The dog stared back at him with thoughtless devotion and said nothing. "They deserve to die, all of them. Turn their backs on me, their king? They've made their choice. Ullsaard can fuck their grandmothers for all I care, and their grandfathers too, if that's what he wants."

  Aegenuis surged to his feet and swiped his arm across the tabletop, sending plates and cups clattering to the floor. He took a step and stumbled, falling against a wooden carving of his father – one of many former kings whose likenesses lined the long hall.

  "Sons of pig-fuckers! Accuse me of trying to grab their lands? My own son!" Aegenuis rounded on the dog, eyes narrowed. "What's that? Yes, I'll show them why I am their king. I'll have that bastard Ullsaard's head on a plate, and they can come grovelling back, begging me to help them. I'll wear that Askhan bitch-whoreson's balls around my neck and they'll come running."