clear water, the towers and roofs of a town rising up behind a thick harbour wall, a crowd of black ships.
The King of the White Isles said, ‘We go straight to Morr Town. Land at harbour.’
Lord Bemann said, ‘They’ll be waiting for us. Closed the harbour. Have ships out. We need to land in the wilds, come to Malth Elelane overland. Somewhere they can’t predict.’
The King of the White Isles said, ‘I am their king. I am Lord of Malth Elelane. I will not creep into my own home. Morr Town will open her gates and her harbour to me gladly.’
Lord Fiolt said, ‘My Lord King … Malth Elelane is indeed yours. But …’
Lord Stansel said, ‘What he means, My Lord King, is that sailing straight into Morr Bay would be … unwise.’
Lord Fiolt said, ‘What I mean, Marith, is that sailing straight into Morr Bay would be suicide.’
The King of the White Isles said, ‘Malth Elelane is mine. Morr Town is mine. She will open her gates and her harbour to me. She will.’
Swords ready. The sound of the waves slapping against the hull. Drumming. Gulls.
Oh fuck, Tobias thought, watching the line of ships grow nearer.
Tiothlyn’s ships were moving towards them, the same black ships with red painted staring eyes. The drums coming up from them also, the same dull beat to keep the oarsmen steady, loud over the water calling the oarsmen to their work. The only sound they could hear in the world. The dark water between the two lines narrowed. Trumpets began to blow in the ships and on the shore. Trying to frighten the other side off. But there was nowhere for either other side to go. The town, and the cliffs, and the sea. In the sea things were beginning to move and surface, drawn by the drums.
‘Archers: draw!’
‘Archers: loose!’
A flurry of arrows from the leading ships. Beautiful, like the shuttle of a loom. But too early: they fell short, floating on the water, bobbing on the waves. Tiothlyn’s men jeered. We meant that to happen, we’re just doing this to taunt them. Aren’t we? The figure of the king standing in the prow of the first ship with the sunlight on his silver crown. He is death. He is ruin. He is Amrath reborn. He will be victorious. The dead body of the luck horse, the sky’s offering, hangs from the mast as a sign. The enemy’s ships are fewer. Weaker. Bloody glorious. Bloody victorious. Kill and kill and kill until the water heaves with bleeding. Kill them all! But the arrows float on the water, bobbing on the waves. Sticks. Long green fingers reached and pulled one under, snapped it. Flaccid fucking sticks. We meant to do that. Miss everyone. Didn’t we?
An enemy arrow clattered onto the deck of Tobias’s ship. Hissing. Burning. Green. Fire. Green tendrils rushing across the planks, scouring channels as they went.
Oh gods and demons, not again. Not again. Not a-fucking-gain.
‘Earth! Get earth on it! Now!’ Men ran forward, throwing mud from a barrel. The flames died in a choking sputter, stinking wet smoke for a moment and then gone. Another arrow shot past, dripping flames. Then a rock. Dripping flames.
Salt-soaked pitch-soaked well-seasoned damp wood is … astonishing when it explodes.
Two more rocks: the ship jolted wildly as waves hit it from both sides. Boiling waves. Green waves. On fire waves. The ship’s timbers smelled kind of funny, hot like singed wood. The hull was beginning to smoke.
So, what, King Marith just clean forgot Morr Town had two massive banefire shooting trebuchets set up on the harbour in the entirely unlikely event anyone ever decided to invade an island kingdom by sea?
Or never noticed them?
Thought they were purely decorative?
‘Archers: draw!’
‘Archers: loose!’
Patches of green twisted on the water, fighting with it, the sea churning and boiling at this unnatural thing searing into it, fire it cannot quench, steam rising with a hiss of clenched teeth. The ship the rock had hit was sinking almost to the mast top, spewing out steam and fire and dead men. The mast of another ship was burning, crackling and hissing, sparks of salt and the crack of old wood, green and blue flames. Gnawed apart, swaying as the banefire tunnelled into its veins.
‘The oarsmen! Aim for the oarsmen!’
Another shower of banefire arrows. Another volley of burning rocks. More frantic scrabbling with mud until the flames died. The burning mast came down, shattering the side of its ship. Still burning. The stricken ship tilted down into the water. Long fine fingers like coiled skin reaching up for it, pulling. Men leapt screaming into the sea, then screamed louder and began frantically trying to crawl back onto the burning ship. The water was stirring. Thrashing about. Something down there. Screams. Men’s arms trying to cling to anything to get out. A whirlpool, and for a moment maybe you saw eyes. A fountain of blood shot up from the water, bits of flesh and bone bobbing. Higher than the masts of the ships. A nasty crack that might be someone’s spine breaking. A sound like the gnashing of giant teeth. A man with another man’s innards floating round his neck, as though some kind soul had thrown him a rope. Actually he did seem to think some kind soul had thrown him a rope, from the way he hung on a moment before he realized what it was and screamed and let go and something pulled him under. Bubbles. Then no bubbles. Then another fountain of blood. Screams.
Still they were pressing slowly forward, another volley of arrows from each side crossing each other in the sky, the sea on fire, voices in the sea laughing. Long fine fingers probing the planks of the hull. The king in his silver crown.
More ships. We’ve still got more ships. Stronger men.
‘Archers: draw!’
‘Archers: loose!’
‘The oarsmen! Aim for the oarsmen!’
The two fleets finally came together, the first ships meeting, men screamed and the voices in the water laughed. Ramming each other, swords clashing. Like a cavalry charge, really, Tobias saw then. Two big things driven straight at each other in the desperate hope one breaks. The red eyes of the ships staring at each other, and suddenly the eyes were alive, the ships were dragon things in the water, twisting and fighting, and he saw that the men didn’t control them, the ships were fighting among themselves, taking their crews with them down into the water, enjoying it as they fought. The planks of Tobias’s ship groaned as it surged forward. Came up alongside one of Tiothlyn’s ships, rushing fast towards them, there was a channel between them in the water and then the ships met and men were fighting across the gap trying to board, lashing out with swords, the oars meshing and striking together, each shoving at the other ship, trying to pull it in and push it away. Like a beast with too many legs, scrabbling at itself.
Tobias swung his sword at the figures facing him. Very little art to this with the world moving and the men really too far away to hit. The deck tipped, suddenly he was near enough, got a man on the arm. Blood dripped into the water. A crash as the two ships collided. He was fencing for a moment with the man he’d just injured, up very close, got hit himself on the shoulder leaving a hard pain through his armour, then the ships moved apart again and he was looking across grey water at his opponent, their swords flailing at each other across the gap. Again like a thing with too many
