Shadowgod (30 page)

Night and the shifting currents had loosened much from the sunken ships and a line of flotsam had been washed up along the shore while a scattering of crates and wooden debris drifted and bobbed further out. Keren could see hooded figures in boats scavenging with hooks and nets, then the sight was gone as the stilt road they were on dipped between two buildings.

The southernmost roadways were busy with detachments of archers and spearmen taking up positions, and more than once she saw some bargee shouting in fury as his vessel was tied up and shackled. Then a well-fed officer on horseback rode up accompanied by a standard bearer and a scribe, and haughtily demanded who they were and what business they had in the Bridges district. Once Redrigh told him, his manner changed from disdain to unpleasant amusement.

“Ah, our friends from Besh-Darok. Your task is to patrol the main wharfs along Wracktown – there are several squads of spearmen there already, so you won't be lonely.” He laughed but Redrigh and Keren remained impassive. “The way down is over there behind that warehouse, so be quick about it.”

With that he wheeled and trotted off. Keren stared at the device on his banner, a torch and a bow, and committed it to memory.

The way down to Wracktown was a series of shallow ramps built against the heavy timber shafts that supported the buildings, roads and walkways of South Bridges. Beyond a dilapidated gate the first of them sloped down between two warehouses to a dim landing from where the next led off at an angle underneath a confusion of joists and cross-beams. The damp air stank of rotting fish and there were heaps of rubbish everywhere, some identifiable, others less so. They had reached the third and final ramp when the sound of trotting hooves made Keren turn in her saddle. It was Medwin.

“What are you all doing here?” he asked. His hair was dishevelled and his beard was straggly in a way that brought a smile to Keren's lips.

Redrigh explained their encounter with the officer, and when Keren told him what the man's blazon was Medwin snorted in annoyance. “Gaborig of Goldenbow, a self-important know-nothing. Almost no-one uses this road – too many footpads and kidnappers, and the planks themselves are unsafe. Any accidents, twisted hooves?”

“None, ser Medwin.”

“Well, thank the Mother for small mercies.” He nudged his horse forward. “I'll ride the rest of the way with you.”

“I came here last night,” Keren said. “Road down a sloping road east of here, not far from one of the canal entrances.”

“That is really the only safe way in,” Medwin said. “In fact, I spoke to someone who saw Gilly arrive there by carriage and walk in. Same person also saw a mastless ship sail away from the outer jetties listing badly.”

At last they came to the main quay of Wracktown, a long, low dock swamped in perpetual shadow. A dank chill crept through Keren's clothing and the breath of the riders and horses around her turned white. As they rode along the mostly-deserted quayside, Keren could see hoarfrost glittering on the black flanks of the great hulks, and icicles fringing their timber supports and webs of hawsers.

“Night's edge but it's cold!” said Redrigh.

“It may be less icy by the time the rebel ships arrive,” Medwin said. “But not noticeably so.”

“What about reinforcements?” Keren said. “I heard that message birds have been winging to and fro all night.”

“Yes, several companies of infantry are rushing from the northeast but they won't arrive until mid-afternoon. The invaders, though, will be here within the hour.” Medwin inhaled deeply, let out a great foggy plume and regarded Keren and Redrigh with frowning concern. “I want both of you to exercise common sense and caution in this – no wild heroics, mind. There are plenty of ordinary militia and spearmen to hand, so if it comes to the enemy trying to gain a foothold here leave the hand-to-hand fighting to others. Look after your men and get back to shore safely afterwards –”

“Indeed Medwin, we shall,” Keren said with a smile, suddenly realising how worried he was. “Only our skills shall guide us.”

“Which will mean worrying me into my next life, no doubt,” the mage said. “Remember, no unnecessary risks.”

With that, he turned his horse and left at a light canter. Keren and Redrigh shared a smile as they watched him recede along the shadowy quay. Then they fell silent when a militia guard officer and two spearmen emerged from between a couple of the mouldering hulks. Seeing the group of riders they came over, identified Redrigh as the commander and saluted.

“Red-sergeant Jirgo, ser. Are you the Beshdars we were told about?”

“That's us, sergeant. I'm Captain Redrigh and this is my second, rider-sergeant Asherol. How many men have you here?”

Keren almost grinned at this field promotion but managed to keep her face straight as the militia sergeant replied.

“Four hands of spearmen, two of axemen. All the bowmen are up on that road, or deck or whatever they call it.”

Three heads craned back to peer up at the balustraded edge where a line of figures was just visible. It was like gazing up a weathered, rain-stained cliff of massive wooden columns.

“Wracktown seems pretty quiet,” Keren said when they looked back down. “Did you evacuate the locals overnight?”

Sergeant Jirgo gave a bemused look. “There's been no evacuation, ser Asherol.”

“Isn't that dangerous?” she said.

“Mayhap it will,” Jirgo said, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. “For the invaders. If you come with me, sers, I'll show you what I mean.”

Leaving one of the other senior riders in charge, Redrigh and Keren dismounted and followed Jirgo down half a dozen worn, wooden steps to a lower, narrower wharf. The slanted, cracked and decrepit hulls on either side turned it into a shadowy gulf, deserted and quiet but for the knock of their bootheels on the old planks. A good distance ahead Keren could make out a detachment of men with spears and axes lounging by a barricade of crates and ballast sacks – she also noticed a growing murmur of voices which drew her gaze upwards. In the sterns of the vessels on both sides figures stood along the bulwarks, mostly men armed with spears and slings, but there were women and children too, the latter cavorting as children do, without a care in the world.

As Redrigh went over to talk with the militia men, Keren looked at Jirgo. “Aren't they taking stupid risks, these people? This is an invasion we're facing, not a day in the forest.”

The sergeant shrugged. “No one can force them to do what they don't want to. Besides, some of them are better-armed than we are. Trust me, ser Asherol, you'll be glad of them when those mad Islesmen get here.”

Keren was not convinced but the more she saw of other end-of-wharf defences, the more she realised that any force of invaders would also face retaliation from the old hulks, which were effectively small forts. The walkways between them would become killing ditches and clearly Redrigh and his riders were meant to come down hard on any invaders who made it through.

After seeing about half of the dozen or so defensive positions, Keren made her way back to the higher quayside at the eastern end of Wracktown, near the sloping ramp she had come by the previous day. Redrigh had stationed half of his riders there, including her own mount. She led her horse along the line of abandoned huts and lean-tos, stopping by a shabby Earthmother shrine to feed the creature a handful or two of grain. She was staring at the shrine's weatered statue, pondering the red tears on its face, when shouts went up from a number of places. Quickly she tied her horse to one of the shrine's posts then hurried down to the nearest low wharf and along to its end.

“Ware sails!”

By the time she reached the low wall of crates and barrels, the rigged masts of the enemy ships were clearly visible, sailing in fast on the chill breeze that was coming up from the Sea of Drakkilis. Around her, the militia speculated excitedly on what the Islesmen's tactics might be – would they try to establish a beachhead on the east shore, aiming to seize the city? Or would they put troops ashore on the other bank and capture the western half of the Dalbar mainland?

As the moments passed, the invading fleet grew nearer and the sheer size of some of the vessels became apparent. While most were the long, narrow two-masters favoured by the Islesmen for their speed and manoeuverability, another six or seven were of a different scale entirely and had two or three decks, three or four masts, and a bank of oars. Still closer they came and Keren could feel the mood about her become sombre, and heard lowered voice pointing out the banners flying from the large ships, identifying the clan each belonged to. Yet everyone agreed that these giants of the sea came from across the Bay of Horns to the north, from the Jefren Theocracy.

The fleet slowed, the greater vessels moving into a rough line parallel with the eastern shore while the smaller ones formed groups at either end with a sizeable cluster holding close formation nearer the centre of the wide channel. Frowning, Keren peered out at the nearest of the Jefren ships and noticed what appeared to be large outriggers attached to either side of its hull with heavy booms. It looked like nothing she had seen before on a ship that size and as she stared, trying to make out more details, fires bloomed on one of the upper decks, amid a jumble of large, upright supports. For a moment she was buoyed by hope that some mishap had occurred. Then a ball of fire shot up from the ship's deck in a long, high arc towards the city.

There was a collective gasp of horror, and the reason for the outriggers was suddenly clear. As the deck-mounted catapults hurled more missiles into the air, the great ship bucked visibly but the outriggers kept it from rolling back.

The soldiers around her, and the Wrackfolk watching from their decaying hulks, cried out in anger and fear as the first blazing knot fell like a comet into a cluster of buildings well within Scallow's perimeter wall. Burning chunks erupted from the point of impact and fire took hold on nearby roofs and walls. The missile was probably an oil-soaked bale of rags, hay and tinder bound around a keg of pitch.

Mothers name!
Keren thought.
If they're using such weapons against the city, what are they going to do to us? Or are they just going to ignore us?

The militia soldier next to her raised his axe, a long-hafted, double-bladed piece, tugged off its waxed canvas sheath and laid it flat on the crate before him, As he retied his long black hair into a warrior's knot, he glanced at Keren and offered a small, grim smile.

“I'd return to my horses, ser, if I were you.” He looked up at the sky. “The koltreys are gathering.”

She followed his gaze and saw the dark, soaring carrion birds. “On the north Cabringa coast,” she said, “they're known as blackwings, but they mean the same thing. I think I'll wait a little longer, see what happens – ”

A mass roar of defiance went up from everyone along the edge of Wracktown as several ships tacked their way out from the shore, the few ships remaining from last night's chaos. Keren knew little about sea warfare, but she could not see how half a dozen vessels might prevail against such a fleet as this. And sure enough, they had covered less than half the distance when a volley of boulders fell upon them, swamping two and smashing one into a floating wreckage of timbers and struggling figures. The other three veered round to bear west, as if trying to get behind the firing arc of those terrible catapults. But the enemy had other weapons and as the Scallow ships approached the nearest Jefren dromond a flock of long black spears leaped out from its forecastle. The effect was devastating – two of the ships sunk immediately and the third, listing badly, turned away and headed for the jetties of Wracktown.

Angry murmurs came from the onlookers at this terrible onslaught, then someone shouted – “Look!”

All eyes gazed past the crippled vessel to the tight formation of Islesmen ships. Some had unfurled sails and were moving slowly west, opening the formation. From it emerged a larger, wider vessel, mastless and flying no banners, and even at that distance Keren could see that a sorcerous emerald nimbus hung about it. A dread chill trickled down her spine as the ship turned to move straight towards Wracktown.

“One ship?” snorted the axeman beside her. “They'll have to do better than that.”

“They probably will,” she muttered under her breath. Then she glanced over at the continuing bombardment of Scallow and cursed – almost a quarter of the city seemed to be on fire and a great pall of smoke was drifting north on the breeze. For a moment she thought she could hear the screams of the trapped and the dying but knew that was impossible.
The wind
, she thought.
The sound of the waves
.

Looking back out at the attacking fleet, she saw that the mastless, eldritch ship was closer and on a course that would cross with the fleeing Scallow vessel. The crippled vessel's helmsman managed to turn it slightly to avoid a collision but then, to Keren's horror, the glowing ship altered course to ensure that it would happen and sailed on relentlessly. Crewmen on the Scallow vessel gesticulated frantically at the oncoming ship, all to no avail. In the remaining seconds figures leaped into the cold waters and struck out to either side.

Then the sorcerous ship struck. The Scallow ship did not shift or roll over, for the attacker's prow crunched straight into the port side near the stern and carved right through all the timberwork of hull, deck and keel without pause. The attacking ship ground its way through, exiting the starboard just to the rear of the prow. Almost hacked in two, the wrecked craft sank. The glowing ship, its wake aswirl with wreckage and bodies, quickly veered to port, bringing it back on course for Wracktown. It was, Keren reckoned, more than a minute away.

Her feelings of peril and foreboding surged. She turned to the axeman and his companions. “We can't stay here – that thing's coming straight for us!”

Some of them just laughed. “Don't get afeared girly. We'll protect you!…”

“Fools!” she cried and ran back along the wharf, shouting at the people up on the hulls to either side, telling them to abandon their homes and flee along to the main quay. A few obscenities were the only replies, until someone back at the end of the dock shouted:
“Night's blood – she's right!”