Beneath a Burning Sky (The Dawnhawk Trilogy Book 3) (24 page)

Admiral Wintermourn allowed himself to relax a little.
The scoundrels are routed and their fort taken. That’s another victory sorted.
“Bring us back around alongside the
Giantess,
” he said to Lebam. “I am going up once the fort is secured.”

“Aye, sir,” replied the lieutenant.

Thomasen moved up to the rail to stand behind Wintermourn. “Well,” he snorted. “At least we’ve won through. I’d have hated to have sacrificed my ship on some damned boondoggle.”

Wintermourn stiffened, feeling the usual affront at such presumed familiarity. While he had actually known Thomasen a goodly time, it still wasn’t any excuse. Turning to deliver a sharp chastisement, he paused upon seeing the ex-captain’s face. Behind the well-practiced countenance of a stern naval officer hid something raw.

The man had good reason for the emotion. What had been done was downright infuriating. Gwydion had ordered an entire warship sacrificed for the sake of a fleeting tactical advantage. True, the tactic had won them the day, and the
Ogre
had been worst off of all the fleet at the moment. Fire ships weren’t anything new in the history of naval warfare. Such things simply weren’t
done
, however. A ship might be lost in glorious combat, but to throw it away as if it were worth so little as the men who crewed it? To use it as a...a trap?

Not that it would do to make such thoughts clear, even to his senior captains. “We have managed no less than I expected,” Wintermourn lied. “The
Ogre
proved us the superior force. Take heart in that, Thomasen, if nothing else.”

“I don’t think I’m getting a royal appointment out of it,” replied the man in ill humor.

“No,” agreed Wintermourn. “Likely not.” Chesterly’s reassignment as royal adjutant still rankled. Who did the crown prince think he was, to assign such an inexperienced, undeserving minion such a plum of a post?

He turned his attention to the Bluecoat running down the deck. It was Sergeant Adjutant Lanters, his blue uniform bloodied and his round black cap all torn. The man climbed up the stern cabin and made his salute.

“Sir,” said the sergeant, a finger-long splinter embedded in the meat of his shoulder. He didn’t appear to give it notice, of which Wintermourn approved.

“Yes, Sergeant? Out with it.”

“The other lads up top signal that they’ve taken the fort.”

The sergeant adjutant’s voice was as subservient as ever, but Wintermourn could tell that he was unhappy. The man had wanted to be part of the charge, where the fighting was thickest and the most glory could be gained.

Wintermourn had refrained from sending his own company of marines into the assault, though. It seemed only prudent. Along with the
Titan
, the
Colossus
had kept up the battle from the water, shelling the fort and braving bombardment from the pirate airships above. He hadn’t thought it too unlikely that some of the damned fools would try to board, even after the
death of the
Powderheart.
Among their many failings, pirates simply didn’t seem to learn. And he hadn’t intended to get butchered by some last-ditch show of desperation.

“Very good,” he replied. “Signal back that I will be coming ashore personally to inspect the site. I want a cordon set—”

The thump of the cliff battery at the western edge of the lagoon interrupted him. Looking up, he watched shells burst in the air all about
Solrun’s Hammer.
The now-fleeing airship gave a violent shudder in return. Flames shot from the semirigid gas bag as it ripped out along the stern, a propeller exploded, and men flew screaming from a lucky shot that slipped along her decks. The airship managed to hold together somehow, though, and ponderously moved out of range, flying past the fort and above the channel leading east, straight for port in Haventown with the rest of the retreating foe.

“Aye, sir,” said Lanters. He completed his salute and retreated to find the signalman.

Other ships entered the lagoon as First Lieutenant Lebam brought the
Colossus
up alongside the
Giantess,
moored to the southern cliff. With the enemy in full retreat, it was safe to advance the new steamship, which was capable of maneuvers that would have been impossible with an older vessel. The other ships presented a stirring tableaux, their gunports open and at the ready, ranks of marines in blue at her rails. Still, the sinking wreckage in the middle of the lagoon caught his eye.

The
Colossus
pulled up alongside the
Giantess,
sending a shiver through both ships as they touched hulls. Lines were tossed over and made fast. As soon as the boarding ramp had been extended, Wintermourn crossed over, followed by Lanters and a small honor guard of Bluecoats. Captain Roderick, commander of the
Giantess
, was waiting for him, the toady, and began an obviously rehearsed bit of fluff congratulating him on the larger victory. Wintermourn paid him no mind. Instead, he went straight to the far side of the vessel, where a rope ladder and a bosun’s chair dangled against the cliff face, each held by a sailor. Wintermourn sat upon the chair, disdainful though it was, and barked a command. In moments he rose in jerky fits up the cliff.

A bosun’s chair was a simple bench attached to two ropes, much like a swing. Usually he avoided them. They were perfect for situations like this, though, where the alternative was a hundred-foot climb up a swaying rope ladder. As much as it galled Wintermourn to think on, he wasn’t all that young anymore. The chair lacked dignity, but arriving at the top winded and out of sorts would be simply unconscionable.

Two
Giantess
Bluecoats grabbed for him once he’d reached the top. Wintermourn swallowed his disapproval at the contact and let them assist for just long enough to find his feet. He nodded as they made their obeisance, then turned away to view the top of the cliff.

It was much as he’d expected from below. Verdant jungle undergrowth grew thickly, running out from the recessed tree line to spill over the edge of the cliff. The only exceptions were the artillery battery they’d built to the west and the Salomcani fort up ahead. A loose path of sorts had been torn through the foliage by the Bluecoat charge.

The place wasn’t much to look at. But this was what he’d come for: to stand on something the enemy had held, something that he’d taken from them.

Wintermourn waited impatiently for Lanters and his men to finish their ascent. “Come along then,” he said as they rose over the cliff, and then pushed his way in the direction of the fort. Behind and below, Captain Roderick’s voice echoed up, plaintively telling the men to hurry with the chair.

The Salomcani fort wasn’t much to look at anymore. If any decoration had improved it at an earlier time, it had long since been wiped away. Now the fort was a simple square of weathered and gun-battered stone, open to the lagoon past a crenellated wall that hid the cannon emplacements. Wintermourn disdained that entrance in favor of a hole blown into one wall by fortuitous cannon fire.

Inside, the place was just as dull as the exterior. Blood and gun smoke fumed the air, but there were surprisingly few pirate bodies. They lay still, all slain in battle or savagely executed by the marines, their faces frozen in rage, fear, or horror. Admiral Wintermourn watched them a long moment, half expecting them to rise up as unholy Revenants seeking revenge.

There were few other exits: an arched opening led out back to the jungle, and a stairway in the floor that led to lower levels. Marines tended minor wounds and stood about chatting idly; the fort was secure.

Sergeant Adjutant Lanters bellowed out, calling attention to their presence. The other squad sergeants stepped to, roaring orders and driving the rest of the men to weary attention. Wintermourn gave a cursory nod, mildly enjoying their respect. He did not smile, though, quickly pressing his way past the men, looking to the walls, the roof, and the walkway with its cannon emplacements. Nothing would make it a proper Perinese fortification. But it could be repaired and fortified—there was still value here.
I’ll need to pull masons and carpenters up from the fleet. We’ll move the cliff battery here—maybe we can get better facing from the roof?

The clatter of boots and muttered cursing told him that Captain Roderick had arrived. Surprisingly, First Lieutenant Thomasen was with him as well. Wintermourn raised an eyebrow, though he shouldn’t have been surprised. It wasn’t like the man had anywhere else to go.

“Sergeant Adjutant,” he said, turning back to Lanters. “What do you think about these walls? Should they be reinforced?”

“Don’t know, sir,” he replied. “Far one looks a bit shoddy.”

“Aye,” added Roderick, pushing into the conversation. “We’ll need to get the masons and carpenters up to take a look. Shouldn’t be too hard though, eh?”

The man was an idiot. Wintermourn prepared a withering retort. A shadow fell across the fort exterior, though, cutting him off. It was the
Glory
, crossing the lagoon to the fort. Shouts from marines out back made it clear that the airship was descending. Wintermourn frowned and walked over to the rear exit. He should have expected this. It was inevitable that the crown prince would have wanted to consult after the battle.

That didn’t mean that Wintermourn was looking forward to it.

Out back, the airship hung overhead like some ugly mechanical bird. It made its way down, propellers buzzing to hold it somewhat stationary. The hull had barely touched the ground before the ramp shot out and the crown prince stormed down onto the newly claimed Perinese soil, outpacing his ever-present guards while Captain Broadlow watched from along the gunwales.

Gwydion had replaced his torn finery, looking again as he had before haring off on his ill-advised chase after the
Dawnhawk
. The prince seemed far from stately at the moment, though, as his features were screwed up in consternation. One hand was tight on his hip, holding the relic Danlann in place as he stalked over.

“What are you
doing?
” he demanded.

Wintermourn drew himself up stiffly at the tone. The sheer
cheek
of this lad. He may have been the prince, but Wintermourn was still Lord High Admiral of the Sea, one of the Order Gallant. “Surveying the ground we’ve just taken,” he replied, reaching up to straighten his wig. “I would have thought it obvious.”

“I can see that,” Gwydion said, an edge of irritation to his voice. “But why, in the Goddess’s name?”

Wintermourn pursed his lips and gave the crown prince his best condescending look. It was a good one, which he’d worked years at perfecting. “Apparently,” he said slowly, “there is still much for you to learn, sir. For all of its shoddy construction, this fort is an immeasurably better spot for entrenchment than what we’ve got across the lagoon. We’ll repurpose it, move the naval banner from the cliff battery, and turn it into an excellent forward base for the rest of the assault.”

“Only if we are damned fools.” Gwydion gestured behind him, past the
Glory,
at the jungle to the east. “The pirates are injured, on the run. We’ll never have a better time to press our advantage than we have now.”

“Impossible,” said Captain Roderick.

Gwydion looked at him in surprise, one eyebrow upraised. “I wasn’t talking to you. Say another word, Captain, if you want to be a midshipman.”

Captain Roderick rocked back in surprise. Wintermourn merely sighed. “My prince, Captain Roderick is correct. We may have taken the lagoon for now, but haring off willy-nilly for Haventown will only raise the stakes. Doctrine is clear: a forward base is needed to support the next step of the assault. That way we’re not pushed completely out of these islands should we fail. A steady, unstoppable advance. That is how these things are done.”

“I don’t care a used apple for doctrine, and we both know the pirates aren’t going to do any pushing back unless we give them time to lick their wounds! Get back down to those boats and push on to Haventown! Now is the time to make haste.”

“Because haste worked so well for you this morning,” growled Wintermourn. He looked exaggeratedly about. “Oh. But I don’t see that pirate airship you wanted so badly to capture.”

The crown prince glared at him with eyes like grey ice. “It worked well enough last night, and got us this far, when your lot would have sat out there on the ocean, content to suffer a bombing that would have sent us packing back to Edrus. I am not reasoning with you, Admiral. This is an order. Get everyone back down aboard the ships and push on through.” He pointed a sharp finger at Roderick. “You’re in the vanguard, and the
Colossus
is behind, followed by the
Titan
. Now get moving, or I’ll see you all broken! And capture any Mechanists you come across!”

Wintermourn bristled.
Insolent, foolish pup. Spoiled rotten princeling.
He grit his teeth to keep from saying any of this. Instead, he gave a short, sharp nod before turning on his heel and walking angrily away.

Lanters shadowed him, as expected. Captain Roderick rushed up to follow, joined by Thomasen. Wintermourn ignored them both, not trusting himself to speak. Fortunately, Thomasen had no such compunctions.

“That boy is a damned fool,” said the ex-captain, looking back over his shoulder as he did so. “Who does he think he is, to ignore centuries of tradition?”

“The Crown Prince of the Kingdom of Perinault,” snarled Wintermourn in response.

They reached the ladder back down to the
Giantess
, where the Bluecoat guards still stood at attention. Lanters moved to assist with the bosun’s chair, but Roderick paid no attention to it. Instead, he glanced furtively back over his shoulder, then reached out and grabbed Wintermourn’s sleeve.

Wintermourn rounded on him, outraged. But he held back at the look of earnest furtiveness on Roderick’s face. “Sir,” he said. “A moment. We do not
have
to listen to his ineffectual chirping. All the others agree: we should have held back offshore and waited for the pirates, battered them at sea, and then sent in the marines as was planned. Luck has held so far, but it’s only a matter of time before this fiasco crushes us all. The king surely would understand.”