Assail (Malazan Empire, #6)(109)

‘Aye.’

They closed at a slowing pace. What awaited ahead was a mass of ships, but no fighting. The forest of mismatched galleys, launches, fishing boats and cargo vessels were congregated around a slim side channel. As they neared, it became clear that most had seen heavy fighting. Reuth made out archers crowding almost every deck. ‘Don’t like the look of this,’ he murmured to Gren.

‘We’ll surprise ’em,’ Tulan answered. He leaned over the stern railing. ‘Full speed! Looks like a reception committee.’

‘You heard the man,’ Storval announced. ‘No more easing off! You and you – back to your positions.’

Ahead, a single arrow took flight above the ragtag navy and with that signal the vessels dispersed like a swarm of bees. It looked to Reuth as though they meant to cordon off the entire narrows.

‘Chase speed!’ Tulan bellowed out.

The Lady’s Luck surged ahead, though with not nearly the power and crispness of earlier in the day. It was now a race. Reuth motioned to the opposite cliff face and Gren nodded. He slowly angled the bow aside.

‘Ramming speed!’ Tulan ordered. In answer, the Lady’s Luck hardly accelerated. ‘Row, you wretches!’ the huge man raged. ‘Put some effort into it for a change!’

The fastest of the navy vessels were leading the dash to the opposite cliffs, but it looked to Reuth as if they might just slip past first. He congratulated himself on being of Mare – the greatest seafarers and shipbuilders on the earth.

He turned to Gren with a smile on his lips. ‘We might just—’

‘Get down!’ the steersman cried, and yanked him by an arm.

A rain of arrows came slamming into the Lady’s Luck. Men yelled all up and down the benches. The sweeps clattered and slapped into chaos. Some caught the water to drag. The Lady lost headway as if sliding up a sand bar. Tulan was now bellowing among the oarsmen. A second volley of arrows swept the deck and Gren held Reuth in the cover of the ship’s side.

Something rammed them in a snapping of sweeps and grinding of timbers. Reuth’s head struck the side, leaving his vision blurry. He peered up to see that a smaller galley had struck them a glancing blow. Grapnels flew from the enemy vessel while a crowd of archers continued to rake the Lady.

‘Cut those ropes!’ Tulan roared.

A second blow shuddered through the Lady’s Luck as another vessel scoured alongside.

‘Repel boarders!’ Storval called.

‘Doesn’t look good,’ Gren hissed, looking down. Reuth followed his gaze to see an arrow standing from the man’s thigh.

‘Gren! What should I do?’

‘Be a good lad and tear a piece of cloth for me.’

Reuth tore at his own shirt. The steersman snapped off the standing length of shaft then reached under his leg, clenched his teeth, and yanked on something. He grunted his agony, then lifted a hand holding a bloodied arrowhead and shaft. He tossed it aside then sat heavily, nearly passing out. Reuth tied off his leg.

Another impact threw him from his feet to roll across the stern deck. He clambered up and peeked over the side. They’d been rammed from behind to be knocked clear of the ships that had surrounded them and now they drifted with this new galley – the pirate vessel that had followed them in.

Armoured men and women, all in deep blood-red tabards, leapt from its bows to the Lady’s stern. One of them, a shorter fellow with a strange grey-blue pallor to his skin, peered down at him. Surprisingly, the fellow carried no weapons, only two short sticks. ‘Where is your captain?’ he demanded.

‘I command here!’ Storval answered, climbing the stern deck, sword out.

The newcomer raised his hands, fingers spread. ‘Man your sweeps. We’ll cover your retreat.’

‘And who in the Lady’s name are you?’ Storval sneered.

‘Doesn’t matter. Get your banks in order. They’re closing again.’

Storval peered past the man to the rear, grunted his assent. He sheathed the sword and thumped down to the main walkway. ‘Man the sweeps!’ he called. ‘Everyone! Now!’

Reuth leapt the stern railing. Storval? Why Storval? Where’s … He searched among the benches then found him lying sprawled among some other bodies. His uncle, fallen, motionless. Dead.

The newcomer now stood at his side. ‘Lad? What is it? Are you all right?’

Reuth raised his gaze to the man. Behind, across a gap of water, three of the leading chase vessels suddenly burst into flames for no reason that Reuth could see. Figures dived overboard. But it was all muted and distant. As if everything was a long way away. He heard himself say woodenly: ‘My uncle is dead.’

‘I’m sorry, lad,’ the fellow murmured. ‘You are the pilot? We saw you here, at the stern.’

Reuth nodded. The fellow was looking at him strangely, and nodding to himself. ‘We are in your debt,’ he said. ‘And the Crimson Guard pays its debts.’





CHAPTER VIII



ORMAN JOGGED NORTH without pause, ever upwards; he collapsed only when it became too dark to see. The next dawn he drove himself onward again. He stumbled and tripped the entire way. He found himself missing handholds, or falling over rocks as he misjudged them. He cursed the throbbing blindness of his left eye then. He also knew he was climbing faster than he should for his own safety. The change in altitude was making him light-headed. His nose bled. He was so short of breath he sometimes gasped, bent over, almost blacking out. His legs burned as if he was dragging them through coals, and the vision of his one eye swam.