Ian Esslemont - Assail

‘Make for the nearest berth,’ Jute told Lurjen. The Dawn curved across the smooth waters on its own for a time. Lurjen directed it to the north side of the broad arc of the harbour.

‘Our friends are with us,’ Dulat called down.

Jute glanced to the stern: so they were. Their entourage nosed into the cove one after the other. Closer now, Jute recognized the lines of the first vessel: Genabackan. No doubt some damned pirate out to make a quick fortune. The middle vessel, a tall three-tiered ship, remained a mystery. He’d frankly never seen anything like it on any sea, from Quon to Seven Cities. The Malazan galley brought up the rear. Quite dilapidated Jute thought it. A veteran, that one. Or just damned sloppy.

‘Movement all about,’ Dulat called, sounding bemused.

Jute turned to the wide arc of wharves and slips. Indeed, crews were swarming out on to the ships and boats, which, it now occurred to him, were a mishmash of various styles and origins. Oars slapped the water up and down the harbour.

Behind him Ieleen had stopped humming. ‘Luv …’ she began tentatively.

A small voice whispered in Jute’s thoughts: oh, dammit to Mael.

‘Swing us round!’ he bellowed to Lurjen though the man stood right next to him. The squat fellow savagely heaved the thick wooden steering arm over. ‘Port side back oars!’

The port side oarsmen raised their arms high to bite deep then pushed with all their might, gasping and grunting. The Dawn lurched into a tight circle. Glancing back, Jute saw their companions reach the same conclusion as all three vessels now struggled to bring themselves about. The Malazan galley was the quickest to respond, obviously crewed by old hands. The Genabackan vessel followed. The foreign ship, however, responded slowly and awkwardly; she was clearly a top-heavy ungainly design. How she could possibly have made it through the rocks was a mystery to him.

‘Archers!’ Dulat warned from atop the mainmast.

Jute cast a quick glance over the arc of ships approaching under oar. Arrows flew here and there, but not a steady volley. Not yet. Just testing the range. No, too distant yet. It appeared to his eye that these Old Ruse pirates had sprung their trap too soon. They might all make the channel before being intercepted and engaged. All except the tall three-tiered vessel that, now that she was circling near, had the look of a strange class of oared galleon about her.

‘The entrance!’ Dulat yelled, and real alarm choked his voice. ‘The towers!’

Something was happening at the channel entrance. The water across the way was foaming and tumbling. Squinting, Jute made out chains rising from the course. They climbed each tower wall, crossing the narrow channel from side to side.

A gods-damned harbour chain. No wonder they jumped to the attack. We’re trapped within. It occurred to Jute that in a way they were still on the Wreckers’ Coast, after all. And, he supposed, this town must be its damned capital city. They’d avoided every hazard, side-stepped every pit so far, only to walk right into the mouth of the very last trap. He almost hung his head at the injustice of it.

‘I know your moods, luv,’ murmured Ieleen. ‘Don’t you despair.’ She shifted her blind gaze to the starboard. ‘That foreign vessel near?’

‘Yes,’ he answered, his voice heavy. ‘We’re passing her.’ Not that any of it mattered any more.

‘Well. You call me a sorceress …’ and she offered another wink.

Jute frowned his confusion. Sorceress? Even if she was, they were still trapped.

‘The Genabackan trader’s circling behind!’ Dulat called.

Jute looked. The Genabackan vessel was now heading to brush past them as if meaning to intercept the entire fleet. As she stormed abreast, oars flashing, a man hailed them from her side. ‘Wait by the channel!’ Then they were gone.

That was strange enough, but what was really odd was that the man was armoured like a heavy infantryman. He wore a white tabard over a banded hauberk of iron and iron greaves and vambraces, was bearded with a great mane of black hair, and had a helm in one hand and the tall grip of what must be a great bastardsword at his side in the other.

But what was strangest of all was that the entire deck was jammed from one side to the other with soldiers all armoured alike. All wearing white tabards. And on the chest of each tabard a triangular shield shape of a pale sky blue.

‘There must be over two hundred soldiers on that ship!’ Dulat cried out, and he threw his hands in the air in amazement.

‘We’re not out yet,’ Jute growled under his breath. Blue — that struck a cord in his memory somehow. ‘Who in Togg’s name was that?’ he murmured to himself, and he crossed his arms to tap a thumb to his lips.

‘The voice of command, dear,’ Ieleen answered. ‘Now do head for the channel.’

His response was a snort, but he nodded to Lurjen.

‘And I may be blind but shouldn’t we ready our own archers?’ she added sweetly.

Jute let a hard breath escape between his teeth. Not that it would matter. He searched amidships, found their master-at-arms. ‘Letita! Ready archers!’

‘Aye!’ she answered, ever eager.

Half the crew at the oars stood for the detail. Jute knew he was lucky; some of the greatest sea-fighters in Falar had volunteered for this voyage, archers and swordsmen and women. If this were an even fight he’d place his bet on them any day — but they faced over a hundred damned ships.

‘The Malazan’s drawn near one o’ the towers,’ Dulat shouted. He was shading his gaze. ‘They’re readying springals and arbalests at stern and bows.’

Jute squinted at the far galley. Siege weapons? Did they mean to try to take the tower?

‘Engagement with them Genabackans!’ Dulat called.

Jute almost shook his head; the lad was actually excited by all this. Couldn’t he see how it would play out? It would soon be his own guts spread upon the waters.

The Genabackan pirate ship with its crew of soldiers had pretty much ploughed into the front rank of wrecker vessels. It was now surrounded by the rag-tag flotilla of ships and boats. Grapnels flew. They were being boarded from all sides.

‘That foreign ship!’ Dulat shouted.

The tall vessel had fallen behind as well. It too was being surrounded as it and the Genabackan now held the rear, engaging the wreckers, while the Dawn closed on the Malazan vessel.

Jute watched the fighting, fascinated despite his dismay. Hordes clambered up the side of the Genabackan ship. From across the smooth waters of the cove came the clash of iron and screams of the wounded. Shapes came tumbling over the sides. Most fell limp to splash into the water or crash on to decks.

‘They’re slaughtering them,’ Dulat breathed, awed.

Aye, for the nonce, Jute added darkly. But eventually they’ll be overrun. Numbers will tell. He shifted his gaze to the foreign ship. The wreckers appeared to be having trouble climbing the sides of the supernaturally tall vessel. Some few made it, clambering hand over hand on ropes, up and over the side. But what became of them he couldn’t see. Nor in all this time had he seen any crew on board either, for that matter.

No shouts or noise of fighting crossed the water from that vessel.

Then he physically jumped as explosions thumped the air behind him. They slapped him in the back to concuss the air from his lungs and the Dawn shuddered from stem to stern. Some of the oarsmen lost their grips, so shocked were they. He turned, gaping. ‘What in the name of the dead god of death was that ?’

Blossoming clouds of smoke enmeshed the top of the north tower. Even as Jute watched, disbelieving, amazed, stone shards came flying through the swelling black clouds to arc over the waters before they struck, punching great tall towers of spray.