The Tyrant by Eric Flint and David Drake

Somewhere along the way, Demansk reminded himself that small errors needed to be corrected along with great ones. He commanded his new First Spear to his side.

When the man trotted up, Demansk considered him a moment. Cut from the same cloth as Jessep Yunkers, obviously. Perhaps not as intelligent, but thoroughly capable at his trade.

“First Spear,” he said, “what is your name?”

Chapter 10

“I’d feel better about this if you were part of a convoy,” said Demansk. He stared out from the headland at the western ocean. It might just have been his overactive imagination, but the waters seemed to be already turning gray with the change of seasons. The last convoy of the summer had left a week earlier.

“The skies are clear,” said Helga. “We’ll reach Marange well before the first big storm hits. We’re only in the early part of autumn.”

“Still—”

“Come on, Father.” She shifted the baby into the crook of her left arm and pointed to the ship moored at the pier below. “Sharlz Thicelt may be a pirate, but—like all pirates—he knows his ships. That thing must have cost you a small fortune.”

Demansk scowled down at the vessel. As a matter of fact, it had cost him a small fortune. Thicelt had selected the finest “one and a half” he could find in the ports of the western Confederacy. The “one and a half”—technically called a demibireme—was a bastard design. In essence, it was a fast, two-banked galley, adapted for both sailing and fighting. The adaptations, which allowed for the quick removal of the second bank of oars as battle approached, required a great deal of expensive detail work. Demibiremes were therefore a rarity. They were only used for precious cargo—and were highly treasured prizes for pirates, for whose depredations the design was perfectly adapted.

It was the latter factor, not the expense, which was really causing Demansk to scowl. Granted, the demibireme was the ideal ship to get his daughter to Marange quickly and give her the best chance of escaping pirates. It was also sure to draw the attention of every pirate ship which spotted her.

Helga was having no difficulty following his train of thought. “Relax,” she insisted. “That ship is more than seaworthy enough to stay out of sight of land, except for—”

“Every other night,” growled Demansk. “Prevailing winds be damned, Thicelt still has to make landfall often enough to determine where he is. Pirates are rife all down the middle portions of the coast, in the no-man’s-land between the Confederacy and the powerful Southron tribes of the interior. You know that as well as I do. If you have the bad luck to encounter a pirate nest . . .”

She shrugged. “We’ll just move out to sea again. Even if the winds aren’t favorable, that ship can be rowed almost as fast as a war galley.”

Demansk left off the argument, but kept scowling. Helga was exaggerating the capability of a demibireme under oars. True, it could be rowed much more quickly than a normal merchant ship. It still couldn’t hope to match the speed of a light galley, packed full with pirates at the oars. The only real chance it had was to stay far enough ahead of a pirate to exhaust the pursuers. Rowing was brutally hard work, especially at pursuit speed.

But the chance of this demibireme being able to exhaust an enemy crew in a long chase was . . . almost nonexistent. Most demibiremes carried very light cargoes. Gold, gems, jewels, spices, fine linens, the like. This demibireme would be carrying—

“And here they come!” said Helga gaily. “Come on, Father. Don’t tell me that sight doesn’t cheer you up.”

Despite himself, Demansk couldn’t help smiling. The sight did cheer him up, after all. As well equipped and disciplined a hundred as he’d ever seen, trotting down the long pier toward the waiting ship. Their thick-soled sandals, studded with iron nails, hammered the heavy planking in unison. Left, right, left, right, moving in the quick but orderly manner of experienced troopers.

Not all of them were experienced, of course. Demansk couldn’t see much, at this distance, of the faces beneath the helmets. Confederate helmets, unlike Emerald ones, left the nose uncovered. But the cheek flanges, combined with the jutting forehead protector and the lobster-tail flare at the rear, still left the soldiers’ features obscure. Probably a good half, judging from what Demansk could determine, were youngsters newly signed up.

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