“What is this?” Casull said, visibly trying to gather his wits. He didn’t need to be sober for the sort of temper-fit he’d had in mind, or to give the necessary orders afterwards. He hadn’t expected to be engaging in the elenchos of the Grove.
“In this very harbor, while I showed him the ship Wodep’s Fist, Prince Tenny commanded me on pain of his utmost wrath that any Confed movement towards Preble must be stopped—since the Royal garrison would be on shipboard for the great battle. Thus I saw Confed ships break away towards Preble, and thus I laid the commands of the Prince upon my brother. What could he do but obey, my lord King? What could I do? We were as dust beneath his feet. And see the wisdom of the Prince’s commands; the walls of Preble stand, a strong base for our next attack!”
“Next?” Casull roared, shaking a fist. “You want me to lose my whole fleet, and see the Confeds sacking Chalice? Are you in their pay?”
“Ah, my lord pleases to jest! See how I laugh, taken by his wit! My lord will have noticed today, that our triremes—those that carried, as I advised, many arquebusiers, rather than spreading them about in small numbers—could devastate the slower Confed ships from a range that neither catapult nor bow could match. Thus were five sunk, and five captured, with hardly any loss. Next time—”
“Get out! I’ve had my belly full of your lies, and my son is dead, and I must beg the Confed commander for his body. Get out, before I kill you!”
“The King commands,” Adrian said, bowing again.
* * *
“What are these things?” Helga asked, fascinated, touching one gingerly but trying to make it seem as if it was to steady herself against the gentle rocking of the anchored ship.
Demansk frowned at his daughter, but it wasn’t really a formal occasion where it was grossly improper for a woman to speak. Most of the Confed force’s commanders were asleep in their tents, and so were most of the surviving men. Only a few aides and some troopers to hold torches were with him on the deck of the captured Islander quinquereme.
He peered at the bronze shape that lay on a carriage of oak with four small wheels, amid a cat’s-cradle of ropes and pulleys. A smell hung about it, of hot metal and sulfur. Death farts from the Lord of the Shades, he thought sardonically.
“It’s like those arquebuses, only much bigger,” he said. “Look, there are the stone balls it threw—or those sacks of lead ones. Hellpowder down the muzzle, the ball or bag on top, set fire to it, and out it goes—smashing ships and men.” He shook his head. “This changes the whole face of war, forever, do you understand?” His anger was distant, muffled. “We can’t keep it secret, now—not with the Islanders still having more. If they use these things, we must too, and . . .” His voice stopped with an enormous yawn.
“And you can curse Adrian more tomorrow, Father,” she said. “I still think you weren’t recovered enough for a battle—even if you did destroy the iron ram all by yourself.”
Pride glowed through the sarcasm of her words, and Demansk felt himself swelling a little. Well, it was something of a feat . . . perhaps enough for a triumph in Vanbert? Perhaps even the Speaker’s chair; there was so much that cried out to be done, to make safe the State.
And I’m out on my feet and getting delirious, he told himself severely. “Back to camp.”
The captured quinqueremes were with the surviving capital ships of the Confed fleet, tied up to bollards at their bows, sterns out into the artificial harbor. They couldn’t be drawn up like the dozens of triremes beached on either side, but they were secure enough here. More than secure, Demansk thought. The rock-filled merchantmen that made up the breakwaters reached well out into the ocean, defining a rectangle five hundred feet by a thousand; out at the entrance, two wooden forts rested on two large cargo carriers each. Flaming baskets of wood reached out on poles, to show the boom of chain-linked logs that sealed the entrance against raiders. The forts had archers and slingers and catapults, and they were well within range of each other. Shoreward were the dockyards and the whole Confed camp, still sixteen thousand regulars and as many auxiliaries—they’d even had time to run up timber barracks and housing, while the fleet was being made ready.