galleons, swooping and bobbing as they hoped for garbage in the ships’ wakes, seemed confused by the sudden, rolling bursts of thunder on such a perfect day. They were circling away from the ships, although they didn’t really seem panicked yet. On the other hand, they were probably bright enough to realize that what was about to happen was none of their business.
The rest of his squadron forged along in Destiny ’s wake, and astern of them was a moving forest of masts and canvas weathered to all different shades of gray and tan and dirty white. The imperial standard flew from mastheads throughout the fleet-some of the more enthusiastic captains had one at each masthead-and the long, thin, colorful tongues of flag officers’ command streamers blew from mizzenmasts for rear admirals and commodores, from mainmasts for admirals, and from foremasts for the newly introduced rank of vice admiral. Up until the last year or two, Yairley couldn’t have imagined seeing that many ships in one place, all bent on a single mission under the command of a single admiral. Even now the sheer magnitude of the spectacle seemed preposterous.
He couldn’t pick Destroyer out of the mass of her consorts, but she was back there, sailing along in the middle of that huge sprawl, rather than leading the way as he knew High Admiral Rock Point would have preferred. But that exposed position wasn’t the proper place for a high admiral-not in something like this. No, that was more properly left to a more expendable flag officer… like one Sir Dunkyn Yairley.
“The signal to Captain Rahzwail is ready, Sir,” Ensign Aplyn-Ahrmahk said respectfully, and Yairley gave himself a shake.
“Very well, Master Aplyn-Ahrmahk, let’s get it sent,” the admiral said with a crooked smile. “And then I think we should probably signal the squadron to reduce sail, don’t you think?”
“They don’t seem very impressed by General Stahkail’s gunnery, My Lord,” Captain Mahlyk Ahlvai observed dryly.
“No, they don’t, Captain,” Baron Jahras agreed.
They stood on the poop deck of HMS Emperor Zhorj, Jahras’ forty-eight-gun flagship. Unlike the majority of the Desnairian Navy, Emperor Zhorj was a purpose-built war galleon, with much heavier framing and planking than her converted merchant consorts. Despite that, she was considerably smaller and more lightly armed than the ships sailing steadily towards her.
Jahras had strongly considered remaining in his shoreside office. With access to the semaphore and the signal flag mast on top of the main dockyard building, he’d actually have been better able to send orders from there (at least until smoke obscured all signals), especially with Emperor Zhorj ’s masts truncated because of his orders to send topmasts and topgallant masts ashore. It would also have been considerably safer, in a personal sense. But while Jahras had steadfastly avoided combat with the Imperial Charisian Navy, there was nothing wrong with his personal courage. If his fleet had to fight, his proper place was with it. And from a somewhat more cynical and calculating perspective, he was more likely to avoid condemnation for the debacle about to occur if he could point out to Vicar Allayn and Vicar Zhaspahr that he’d commanded from the front, in the very heart and fury of the action. He didn’t know how much more likely to avoid condemnation he might be, but anything was worth striving for.
At the moment, however, he could only endorse Captain Ahlvai’s opinion. General Lowrai Stahkail, the commanding officer of the Triangle Shoal fortress, had not been Jahras’ choice for his job. He could think of at least a half-dozen officers he would have preferred to see commanding that fort, but Stahkail had friends at court and a reputation-mostly self-bestowed-as an artillerist. Jahras had never seen any evidence he deserved it, although, to be fair, he was an Army artillerist, not a naval gunner.
Not that the baron was interested in being any fairer to Stahkail than he had to at the moment.
He raised his telescope and picked up the white flaws of round shot skipping across the waves. Perhaps Stahkail was trying to ricochet the shot into the ships, extending his range by bouncing the projectiles the way an artillerist could sometimes do on land. If so, he didn’t seem to be succeeding.
You really should be at least a little fair, Urwyn, he told himself. There’s not much chance the Charisians are going to come into his range. If he wants to hit them at all he’s going to have to do it from a long way away.
Unfortunately, Stahkail’s… enthusiasm seemed to be contagious, and some of the floating batteries closest to Triangle Shoal were beginning to fire sporadically, as well. Their guns were much closer to the water, giving them even less range than the fortress, and he lowered the glass with an angry grimace.
“Signal to the floating batteries if you please, Captain!” he snapped. “Cease fire! Do not waste powder and shot!”
“Aye, My Lord,” Ahlvai replied, then cleared his throat. “Ah, should I address the signal to General Stahkail, as well, Sir?”
“By no means, Captain.” Jahras actually managed a smile. “First, he’s got a lot more powder in his magazines than any of the batteries do. Second, I don’t think he quite grasps that the Navy is in charge of Iythria’s defense. There seems to be some confusion in his mind as to the exact structure of the chain of command, and I’d hate to overtax his clearly overworked brain trying to explain it to him in the middle of a battle.”
“I see, My Lord.” Ahlvai seemed to be having a little difficulty keeping his voice level, Jahras observed. Well, it wasn’t as if his opinion of Stahkail should come as any surprise to his own flag captain, although he supposed he really shouldn’t be throwing more fuel on that particular fire.
The captain turned away, his shoulders quivering with what certainly looked like suppressed laughter, and beckoned to his signals lieutenant. Jahras watched Ahlvai for a moment or two, then turned back to the oncoming Charisians as they began reducing sail.
Stripping down to fighting sail, he thought. Langhorne, I hope you and Chihiro are both keeping an eye on us down here, because I think we’re going to need you.
Sir Dunkyn Yairley had little attention to spare for the line of anchored galleons and floating batteries, even though that was his own squadron’s immediate objective. He was too busy watching Captain Ahldahs Rahzwail’s ship and her half-dozen sisters.
HMS Volcano was an… odd-looking vessel. She was actually larger than Destiny, although she was rated at only twenty-four guns and showed only twelve ports on a side, and all of her guns were mounted on the spar deck, which put her ports a good twenty feet above her designed waterline. Her bulwarks were higher than most galleons’, and the ports piercing them were disproportionately tall, as well. She was disproportionately beamy and massive-looking, too, although that was less evident watching her in profile the way Yairley was at the moment.
There was a reason for her odd appearance, and also a reason she’d been built at King’s Harbor, rather than one of the more publicly accessible yards the Navy was using for the majority of its construction these days. No one had wanted anyone getting a close look at her or her sisters and wondering about their peculiarities. In fact, even though Yairley had seen Volcano herself on the ways, he’d never noticed most of the unusual features of her design until they’d been pointed out to him by High Admiral Rock Point.
The reason she carried so few guns was that each of the ones she did carry weighed more than twice as much as one of the new model krakens on Destiny ’s gundeck. Despite that, the gun tubes looked short and stubby, and their carriages looked downright bizarre. Not too surprisingly, he supposed, since each of those guns had a ten- inch bore and those ridiculous, tall carriages were designed specifically to permit them to be elevated to absurd heights. That had required some tricky engineering, particularly given the recoil forces involved. The mammoth guns took either a hundred-and-fifty-pound solid shot or a hundred-pound shell, and the stresses when one of them fired were… extreme. The downward thrust engendered by their high elevations had to be absorbed by the ship’s deck, which helped to explain Volcano ’s extraordinarily massive frames and thick deck planking. All war galleons were basically mobile gun platforms, but Volcano and her sisters took it to ridiculous extremes.
That had been Yairley’s initial reaction, at any rate. Before he’d sailed to join Admiral Shain, however, he’d had the opportunity to exercise with Captain Rahzwail’s squadron, and he was rather looking forward to sharing that experience with the Desnairians.
