Брайан Макклеллан - Sins of Empire

A hook suddenly clattered over the wall immediately beside her, and she spared a glance to find a longboat at the base of the fort, a Dynize infantryman already a quarter of the way up the rope by the time she could pull her knife and cut it. There was a startled scream, then a splash, and three Riflejacks suddenly joined her position and fired down into the longboat while grappling hooks continued to be flung over the wall.

The same was happening all up and down the wall. For almost half an hour the Dynize had tried to gain purchase. The fort was surrounded by corpses and the wreckage of longboats, but more persisted in their attempts. Over on the land, Olem’s men had been driven all the way back to the causeway, where they had now dug in, refusing to budge, fighting in fierce hand-to-hand with the Dynize.

“Colonel coming in!” a voice yelled.

Vlora forced herself off the ramparts, barely able to hold her own weight on the railing as she made her way down into the muster yard. The main gate was opened briefly and Olem staggered in, supported on either side by a pair of privates. His face was covered in blood, his jacket was gone, and one arm was in a sling. She hurried over to him, grabbing him around the neck and pulling him into an embrace.

“Report,” she whispered.

“Still alive,” he grunted. “I left Major Supin in command with orders to hold the causeway at all costs. Pit, I need a cigarette. Whole bloody tobacco pouch is soaked with Dynize blood.”

“At least it’s not your own,” Vlora said, choking back a sudden, unbidden sob. She wasn’t sure where it came from – fear of seeing him like this, or joy that he seemed to be in better shape than he looked.

“No,” Olem replied, “ my blood ruined my rolling papers.” He took his arms off the privates and waved them away, testing one foot tentatively before limping over to a bench along the inner wall and sagging into it. Vlora sat down beside him, allowing herself a moment’s rest.

“You look as bad as I feel,” she said.

Olem looked up sharply. “Those ships out there. That was you?”

Vlora nodded.

Olem suddenly turned, grasping her by the face and forcing her to look him in the eye. He studied her for several moments before letting go. “You’re in shock,” he said.

“I’m fine,” she tried to assure him. Distantly, she was aware that he was probably right. Detonating so much powder had consequences, even for someone experienced like her. “Okay, maybe I’m not fine.”

“Don’t do that again,” he warned. “The kickback could kill you.”

“You know,” she said, trying to give her voice a joking tone, “I’m the powder mage here.”

“And, when you were thinking more clearly, you told me in no uncertain terms not to let you pull this kind of shit. An entire magazine going up is no joke.”

Vlora turned away, wishing he didn’t worry so much. This was the time for fighting, not concern. Regrets could be had later. “I’m still alive,” she said. “And I wouldn’t have done it if we didn’t need the help. How’s it going out there?” She flinched as a Dynize cannonball tore through the northeastern wall, sending bits of masonry and bodies flying. Within moments there were Dynize at the breach, but the Riflejacks beat them to it, filling the space with a wall of bayonets.

“Not great,” Olem said. “The Riflejacks are holding together, but the garrison has taken a massive pounding. They’re wavering, and I don’t blame them. The bloody Dynize should have conceded the fight an hour ago, but they just keep coming.”

Vlora watched as a Dynize threw himself over the wall, musket in hand, only to be pincushioned by Riflejack bayonets. “It’s sorcery,” she said.

“You’re certain?”

“It has to be. No one is that brave, or that stupid – no one. Norrine said she hasn’t seen a single Dynize turn and run. I think it’s the bone-eye.”

“Have you been able to find him?”

“Believe me, I’ve tried. Ka-sedial’s ship is three miles out. Taniel could make that shot. I can’t.”

Olem grimaced. “Well, we don’t have Taniel. Is Ka-sedial working alone?”

“I’ve sensed a few other bone-eyes. Managed to kill two. Still looking for the third. Unless we break the will of these bastards, they’re going to overrun us.”

“They don’t have much left,” Olem said hopefully. “Half their fleet is at the bottom of the ocean or on its way, and there aren’t many longboats left in the water.”

“All they have to do is overrun us,” Vlora said. “And they’re real damned close.”

Another Dynize managed to gain the top of the wall. Vlora’s heart leapt in her throat as she realized this wasn’t a normal foot soldier, but a leather-clad dragonman. He was a big, brutish man with a long, delicate-looking white sword, and he cut through several Riflejacks before Vlora could even reach for her pistol. By the time she had it out and loaded, the dragonman had gone down beneath a hail of close-range rifle fire, but he’d done more damage than twenty Dynize soldiers.

“I need to be back up there,” Vlora said, getting to her feet.

Olem grabbed her hand. “You’re not in any shape to do anything but get in the way.”

“Commanders aren’t just there to fight. They’re to be seen.” She limped back toward the stairs, only to come up short at the sound of an inhuman groan that echoed across the bay. The sound sent a shiver down her spine, and she ignored her pain, snorting an extra charge of powder, forcing herself up the stairs to the ramparts. What she saw there took her breath away.

Across the bay, half the ships at port were on fire, smoke billowing high and black into the sky. But that wasn’t what caught her attention. Several of those burning ships were no longer moored, and were actively being pulled out to sea by the departing tide. She rubbed her eyes, uncertain she could trust them as she saw tiny figures running along the decks, untangling rigging, and trying to put out the fires.

“What the…” Vlora stared, openmouthed, as a ship belching black smoke from two sails, with the flames quickly spreading, creaked and groaned in a savage turn, sweeping through the bay waters, coming within spitting distance of the walls of Fort Nied. Its prow crashed through dozens of longboats, forcing the occupants to leap into the water, where they were quickly dragged under by the weight of their armor.

A handful of sailors worked frantically to keep the ship steady, while the familiar figure of Vallencian stood on the aft-castle, legs planted, laughing madly as he fought the wheel.

The merchantman was quickly past the fort, heading at an alarming speed out past the breaker walls. Another merchantman followed suit, then another, while a fourth was quickly abandoned by the sailors trying to keep it under control as the flames grew too perilous. It drifted madly, crashing into breakers.

“What the pit are they doing?” a soldier behind Vlora asked.

Vlora watched, awed, trying to find words. “The Ice Baron is sacrificing his fleet to save this battle.” She remembered his comment about the tide going out, then balled her hands into fists. There was no way he was coming back from this – even if he abandoned ship, he wouldn’t be able to swim back, not against the tide. It was a suicide mission for his ships and him and his sailors, and they had to know it.

The remaining Dynize ships quickly turned their cannons on Vallencian’s merchantmen, but to little effect. The merchantmen were already ablaze, nothing more than floating battering rams, and Vallencian’s ship collided full-on with a ship of the line that had managed to avoid Fort Nied’s guns all afternoon. The sound was terrible, a horrible screech like a hundred demons clawing their way from the pit. Both Dynize and Vallencian’s sailors leapt into the water, abandoning the wreckage as both ships began to sink.