Reuth kept apart from the band of fighters Storval had gathered about himself: the sneering Stormguard and other disaffected swordsman from Fist. The Mare sailors generally avoided the fighting men as well, siding now with his uncle in any discussion regarding strategy or ship’s business.
It was, he knew, a very dangerous situation for the future of their venture – and for the future of his uncle, for that matter. Not to mention himself, he slowly began to understand. Navigator or no, the swordsmen in no way hid their contempt and dislike of him.
Again he wished Whiteblade were still with them.
He
would’ve sided with his uncle, he was certain. But then, who knew? Had the champion revealed himself these Stormguard might have attacked him immediately, as they had every reason to loathe and hate him for the loss of their Lady.
In any case, there was no way to know now.
Under Reuth’s constant guidance, the
Lady’s Luck
successfully rounded the tip of the Bone Peninsula and reached the mouth of the narrows. Here they found a great flotilla of vessels from seafaring cities and states from all four corners of the world. All at anchor while their pilots and steersmen studied the maze of jagged spars and stone teeth that were the Guardian Rocks.
Tulan ordered them to drop anchor here as well, and the
Lady’s Luck
joined the informal queue of vessels all awaiting some change in the currents, or a fellow navigator’s brash attempt to dare the rocks. Reuth had no doubt that everyone carefully watched how well these ventures fared: what course to follow, what turns to avoid.
For the rest of that day and the next he watched as well. They witnessed two attempts to thread the maze, both at high tide. One in the evening and one at the next dawn. Four ships set out in the evening. None survived the twisting, foaming course, though one nimble galley nearly made it through.
The wreckage of broken timbers and tangled rigging came washing out to pass between the anchored vessels. Few of the sailors waving their arms and begging amid the flotsam were picked up; most coursed onward past the flotilla to bob out into the grey waters of the Sea of Hate, where, Reuth was certain, all would eventually drown or be consumed by sharks.
At one point in the day Storval came ambling up to where Tulan and Reuth stood close to the bow. ‘Well,
captain
?’ the mate asked. These days the man said ‘captain’ in a strange tone, as if he were winking, or worse. It came to Reuth that now that they’d arrived, the mate and his gang must think themselves close to free of them.
He
knew that they had a long way to travel as yet, but he also knew there was no way Storval would listen to him.
‘We’ll see,’ his uncle answered.
The first mate just nodded, rather insolently, and ambled off.
‘Can you get us through there, lad?’ Tulan whispered to Reuth as they faced out over the waters, away from the crew.
‘I think so,’ he said, with far more certainty than he felt.
‘Well,’ his uncle answered in an almost apologetic sigh, ‘seems we’ve no choice in the matter now. Damned if we do, damned if we don’t.’
‘So we might as well.’
His uncle didn’t speak for a time and Reuth glanced over; he found the older man eyeing him with something like surprise. Tulan grinned then, and cuffed him, far harder than usual. ‘There you are, lad!’ he exclaimed. ‘This voyage will make a man out of you yet.’
Reuth rubbed his shoulder. ‘If I live long enough …’ he muttered.
Tulan jerked a thumb out towards the narrows. ‘What do you think?’
Reuth just shrugged. ‘Doesn’t matter. The crew won’t follow my commands.’
‘They’ll bloody well follow mine. ’Least till they throw me overboard.’ He leaned down to rest his thick forearms on the railing. ‘These fools are such asses that all you have to do is give me the commands and I’ll shout ’em out.’
‘Would that really work?’
‘Sadly so, lad. Sadly so.’
Reuth shook his head in disbelief. Seemed he truly was learning a lot on this trip regarding the nature of men. He returned to studying the mouth of the narrows.
An angry hiss from his uncle brought his attention round to the stern. Three vessels were coming up from the south, all alike in cut and banners: three fat merchant ships specially altered for fighting, with archers’ castles fore and aft.
‘Where do they come from?’ his uncle asked.
Reuth frowned as he ransacked his memory of the sheets of ships’ sigils and heraldry he’d scanned. Plain dark blue field, a black chair or throne, with horizontal bars of gold beneath. Then he had it. ‘Lether.’
His uncle grunted. ‘Hunh. No competition at sea from them then.’
Reuth agreed with his uncle’s assessment. Not known for their seamanship, those Letherii merchants.
The gathered Stormguard suddenly raised a great ruckus, cursing and raising their spears at a ship now hugging the side of the
Lady
. It dropped anchor not very far from them.
Reuth saw immediately why: it was an obvious pirate vessel, a long low galley.
‘Bastard chisellers!’ Storval yelled. ‘Ready to ride our wake in, the scum. I’d like to swing over and clear their boards.’
Reuth studied the figures crowding the deck: a large contingent of warriors. Most in metal armour, banded or mail, with shields. All in similar dark tabards. Quite grim-looking, too. Serious and watchful. Reuth wasn’t sure that the Korelri swordsmen would have an easy time of it.
He returned to watching the eddies and churning currents. If these pirates – if that was what they were – wanted to try to follow them in then they were welcome to do so. Personally, he didn’t think they’d have any chance.
Finally, he decided on his course. He told Tulan to ready for a dawn run.
His uncle pulled on his greying beard and nodded sagely. ‘We’ll show these outlanders just what a Mare galley can do, hey? Join me at the stern.’
‘The stern? Must I?’
‘Aye, next to Gren.’ Gren was their best tillerman. Reuth nodded, though unhappily. He hated being at the stern where Storval and the Stormguard held court. Yet it made sense.
Tulan reached out but this time gently squeezed Reuth’s shoulder in his big paw. ‘High tide, then.’ Reuth nodded. ‘Good. Get some sleep till then, won’t you? Rest, hey?’ Reuth nodded again, and slid down the side to sit with his back to the timbers.
He wrapped himself in a blanket and tucked his hands under his armpits. His uncle might be eager to show off to everyone the superiority of a Mare galley, but what he wanted to do was wipe the superior sneers off the faces of these Korelri soldiers with a clear demonstration of his skill and worth.
He just hoped to all those false foreign gods that he didn’t mess it up.
His uncle’s barked orders woke him before dawn. He had the crew readying for the run: stowing gear, preparing the sails for quick deploying, drawing out every pole and oar on board. Reuth made his way to the stern deck. Gren was already at the tiller, his broad arms hanging over the wooden arm. The veteran Mare sailor gave Reuth a wary nod. Other than Gren, Reuth and Tulan, the stern was empty; Tulan had everyone, the Stormguard included, manning the oars, or ready to step in. Storval paced the main walkway, overseeing the oarsmen. He would pass along Tulan’s orders.
Reuth already had a shaded eye on the waterline of the foremost rocks where the honey glow of the false dawn shone across the narrows. He was alarmed; the waters were rising faster than he’d anticipated. He caught his uncle’s gaze. Tulan raised a brow in an unspoken question. Reuth nodded. Tulan leaned against the stern railing, shouted: ‘Lower oars! Full speed.’
Storval echoed the orders.
The oars slapped the waves to either side of the narrow galley and they shot ahead with such power that Reuth had to take a backward step. Gren shot him a grin, but not a superior one; the man was actually grinning with a kind of savage anticipation. Reuth was fascinated to see him wrapping one of his arms in a rope attached to the tiller.
‘Better tie yourself off there, lad,’ the veteran warned.
Reuth started, surprised, then peered around: he found a line and wrapped it about his waist, then secured himself to the side.
‘Going to see us through, hey, lad?’ Gren observed.
Reuth felt his cheeks heat.
Gren drew a bone-handled knife from his side and slammed it into the tiller close to the rope.
‘No – Tulan’s in charge. What’s the knife for?’
‘In case we capsize, lad, an’ I have to cut m’self free. Now, none of this talk of your uncle. We’re Mare sailors, you ’n’ I. These Korelri Chosen, what do they know of Ruse? Nothing. In pointa fact, they hate the sea. But between you ’n’ me – you have the Ruse-sense, lad. I seen it.’
Reuth blinked at the burly fellow. ‘You’ve seen it?’
Gren winked. ‘Oh, aye. When they look out over the water they scowl and glance away. They’re frightened. But when you watch the sea, you smile. That’s why they don’t like you, lad … you’re not scared of the sea.’
Reuth stared, speechless. Such an idea had never occurred to him.
‘Full speed I said, damn you!’ Tulan shouted again. He glanced back to Reuth then glared past him, his face darkening. ‘Damned shadows sneaking in after us!’
Reuth glanced back: numerous ships were under way, all sweeping into line along their wake. The first was the local pirate vessel. He thought them foolish to come chasing in – their galley had far too little freeboard for the manoeuvring that would be needed here.
‘Over ten ships, lad!’ Gren laughed. ‘There’s a compliment. They know we’re Mare sailors, and this is a Mare vessel. If any sailor can thread this needle, it’s us!’
Tulan shot Reuth a questioning glance, which he answered with a nod. He turned to Gren: ‘Hug the starboard shore as we come in the mouth. Be ready to swing full to port.’
‘Aye.’
Tulan nodded at this, reassured, and returned to facing the bows.
The roar of churning waters swelled. In the unruly yawing and bucking of the galley, Reuth felt the currents beneath them swirling and hammering as the incoming high tide wrestled with the narrows’ outflow. The first of the rocks passed as dark blotches in the channel – submerged now, but still lurking tall enough to snatch a keel. Already Reuth’s face was chill and wet from the spray suspended in the gusting winds that howled down the constricting cliffs of the narrows.
Gren stood hunched over the tiller arm, his bare feet splayed wide. ‘You do what you have to do, lad,’ he urged, winking.
Reuth swallowed hard and drew a hand down his face to wipe away the spray. ‘Chase speed,’ he shouted.
‘Chase speed!’ Tulan immediately bellowed, hands to mouth.
‘Chase speed!’ Reuth barely heard Storval echoing. He did notice that the first mate no longer paced the walk. Now he stood with an arm round the mast, probably gripping a line.
Gren had lost something of his grin now as he studied the oars. Reuth spared a glance and saw right away that they were far from the ideal unison in their slashing dip and rise. He recognized the interference of the inexperienced swordsmen – regrettable, but necessary for power. He’d have to take it into account in his estimates. ‘Ramming speed,’ he called.
‘Ramming speed!’ Tulan bellowed.
The
Lady’s Luck
surged ahead, rocking Reuth on his feet. They shot between the first of the black jagged teeth of the Guardian Rocks. The foaming slew of waves danced about them. One fat swell of webbed olive-green water rose taller than their side. Reuth now kept his vision far ahead of their position. ‘Ready on the turn,’ he warned.
‘Aye.’
Reuth delayed until he dared not wait a heartbeat longer and yelled, ‘
Full port!
’
Gren drove the tiller arm aside, grunting, legs straining. He even set his shoulder against it. The
Lady’s Luck
groaned around them as she slewed over. Tulan steadied himself against the stern railing. Reuth grabbed hold of the line holding him upright as the galley rolled frighteningly. They started across the narrows and Reuth saw immediately that their line wasn’t what he was shooting for.
‘Port oars ease off!’ he called, panic now in his voice.
‘Port oars ease off!’ Tulan roared.
Reuth assumed Storval was relaying the commands but he heard none of it over the grinding thunder of the waters about them. The port oars rose to stand straight out from the side. The
Lady
’s bow nosed over as the opposite row of oars powered on. ‘Resume oars!’ Reuth yelled.
Tulan relayed the command. The line of port oars dipped. Reuth breathed a sigh of immense relief. Their line looked good to him, but they’d lost speed. He leaned, pointing, to shout to Gren: ‘I want a line between that short rock and the cliff for another sweep to the middle.’
The steersman’s thick brows rose, but he nodded. ‘Aye.’
The
Lady’s Luck
jumped then, flinching as if stabbed, and slewed aside. The grinding of wood over rock momentarily silenced the water’s roar. Reuth leaned over the side in time to see a black shadow sweep past beneath the surface. They’d struck a submerged rock a glancing blow.
Gren strained to bring the bow back into line. ‘Chase speed!’ Reuth yelled.