Peter Brett - The Skull Throne

The device allowed him to see in Everam’s light—wardsight, the greenlanders called it. With it he could see the enemy ships as if they were right before him in bright day, with every hand illuminated and the wards on the their hulls glowing as if written in fire.

The water was dark, all its drifting magic drawn to the ships’ wards, but underneath the surface Abban could see the glow of demons, drawn to the commotion. They circled like a whirlpool, waiting only for a gap in the wards to pull whole ships down to Nie’s embrace.

On the docks and beach, the enemy slingers were taking a heavy toll. The demonfire was concentrated farther inland—the chin did not wish to destroy the docks. Their slinger baskets were filled with stones the size of a man’s fist, scattering to smash through fortifications, warriors, and engines alike. Scorpions added precise kills to the chaos, taking out shooters and kai when they stepped from cover.

And still, the withering fire from Colan’s Rise.

“They cannot hold,” Khevat said, pointing to galleys moving in behind the barrage, large enough to be seen in only the light of wards and fire. “The chin will overwhelm them when they land their forces.”

“ If they land, honored dama, ” Abban said.

Asavi appeared beside them, looking out onto the lake. Abban pretended to adjust his lens, stealing a glance at her through it. As he suspected, her many jewels glowed fiercely with magic, particularly the warded coins at her brow. No doubt she could see as well as he in the darkness.

“Leave war to true men, khaffit, ” Khevat said. “I was studying the conquests of Kaji before your father wore his bido. There is nothing the dal’Sharum can do to stop the landing. They will have to prevail on open ground.”

Abban wasted no time arguing, skimming his lens to the south, finding what he sought at last. There, coming in fast from their hidden cove, his small fleet was nearly invisible on the dark water, unnoticed by the enemy.

The lead vessel was Everam’s Spear, commanded by Drillmaster Qeran and crewed entirely by men from Abban’s Hundred, a sleek galley with twenty oars to a side and square sails that could catch most any wind. But the black sails were furled, the galley shooting like an arrow for the enemy fleet under oar power alone. The fore and aft castles had no slingers, only specially designed scorpions and many, many men.

Two more galleys followed, and a score of smaller vessels—these carrying neither slinger nor scorpion, their holds packed with Sharum.

Abban produced a second warded distance lens, a cheap copy of his own, but effective enough. He wanted his old teacher to see this.

“You are right, dama, not to put faith in the dal’Sharum to stop the enemy. Watch now as my kha’Sharum do what they could not.”

Khevat looked doubtful, but he raised the lens to where Abban pointed. “Our captured ships. What of it? A handful of ships cannot sink so many.”

“Sink?” Abban tsked. “Where is the profit in that? If we are to win this war, Dama, the enemy fleet must become ours.”

A moment later, Qeran’s ship was in range of a large Laktonian galley, an elegant vessel with great pointed sails and wide deck lined with armament on both sides.

The Krasians fired great barbed stingers that stuck and held fast in the enemy ship’s hull. The trailing ropes were attached to heavy cranks, and muscular chin slaves bent their backs, drawing the ships in close.

Before the Laktonians knew what was happening, agile kha’Sharum Watchers were already running up the taut ropes like nie’Sharum on the top of the Maze walls. They carried no shields, but all had half a dozen throwing spears on their backs, and by the time planks were dropped for the other warriors to follow, the biggest threats on deck were eliminated.

In moments, Abban’s warriors swept the deck. He saw Qeran among them, the drillmaster easy to spot with his missing leg. He killed with an efficiency that would have frightened Abban, if not for the man’s aura. Abban could not read hearts like Ahmann or the Damajah, but the glory of victory was bright around him.

You see, Drillmaster? Abban thought. I have given back all you have lost.

When the deck was clear and the ship firmly in the hands of the Hundred, Mehnding were brought aboard, the teams running to man the chin armament. A skeleton crew was left in place, and Qeran leapt back to Everam’s Spear even as the lines were cut.

All across the lake, Laktonian ships were being similarly boarded by teams of Sharum that had rowed silently into position. The greenlanders might have the advantage in ranged fire, but in close-quarters killing, there were none in all the world to match the Sharum of Krasia. Jayan had given Qeran men, and the drillmaster had run them mercilessly back and forth across tilting ship decks until they found their water legs.

Qeran himself had taken four ships, and the rest of his fleet another sixteen, before the cries of alarm reached the rest of the Laktonian fleet.

Only then did the Mehnding on the decks open fire, aiming for the enemy ships that had pulled up to the docks and struck ground on the beach. As the Laktonian troops disembarked, the Mehnding rained the greenlanders’ own demonfire down on them. Chin warriors screamed and burned as Abban’s pirates turned their attention to the next ships in line to unload. Great chains were slung, tearing sails and splintering oars to leave the ships dead in the water.

The Laktonian captains, still outnumbering the pirates, shifted fire to the new foe, but the Mehnding archers let fly flaming arrows, catching their sails and strafing their decks while the chin fire teams struggled to recalibrate.

Sharum’s Lament appeared, the agile vessel tacking around the others to bring its armament to bear. The advantage of surprise was soon lost, and the numbers began to tell. But unlike the greenlanders, Sharum warriors were ready to die. When their ships were damaged, they were more than willing to ram the enemy and leap the gap, fighting in close.

But still it seemed the battle on the water would be lost, and the Laktonians escape back to their stronghold. There was one last trick Qeran could try, but the drillmaster had argued long and hard against it, and even Abban agreed it was a desperate move that might do more harm than good.

Jayan lowered his veil. “I am Jayan asu Ahmann am’Jardir am’Kaji, firstborn son of Shar’Dama Ka and Damajah, Sharum Ka of all Krasia.” He gave a slight nod from his saddle. “May I see your face and have your name, chin, before I send you to Everam to be judged?”

“Don’t …” Sament began, but Thamos ignored him, sticking his spear in the ground within easy reach, unfastening his helm.

As he lifted it away, Jayan’s eyes widened. “You. The princeling who came with the Par’chin to …”

Thamos nodded. “I am Prince Thamos, fourth son of Duke Rhinebeck the Second, Lord Commander of the Wooden Soldiers, third in line to the ivy throne and Count of Hollow County.”

Jayan bared his teeth. “The one who dared touch the Deliverer’s intended.”

There was an angry murmur through the Sharum at this.

“Leesha Paper chose me even before Ahmann Jardir fell to his death.” Thamos pointed at Jayan with his spear. “And you will share his fate. I challenge you to Domin Sharum. ”

Jayan laughed, and after a moment, the warriors joined him.

“ Domin Sharum is honorable combat before Everam, chin. ” Jayan pointed his spear back at Thamos. “You have attacked men in the night on Waning. You have no honor.”