broad-beamed barge depended primarily on the wind for its motive force. The meager complement of twenty oars to a side was used only in calms such as this or to aid in coming quickly about.
Looking forward, Alodar could barely see the gently heaving forecastle. The bowsprit, some three hundred feet away, was completely hidden by the mist. The main deck ran a full fifty feet beam to beam but was broken into many small areas by the masts, stays, capstans, chests, and hatches which led below. On the poop itself were stowed two longboats for use in shallow water, and a small deckhouse that sheltered the wheel stood near the ladders that descended to midship. All along the superstructure, nothing broke the silence of the calm sea except for the slow creaking groan that coursed down the great ship as each wave rolled under its hull.
'So you are a page to the lady Aeriel,' the man continued. 'Though I hear that you are also well watched by lord Basil of the bottomless purse.'
'Yes, Quantos, that I am.' Alodar laughed. 'He and his followers at court do not wish me well. Nor, for that matter, does lord Feston?or Duncan, the practitioner in magic. But so long as the queen maintains the ban on confrontation between the factions, I think nothing will come of their desires.'
'So I understand,' Quantos said. 'The court cleaves itself asunder. The lot of them have no courage to stand on their own merit but seek instead to ingratiate themselves with one of the suitors. Depending on who seems to have the upper hand in the struggle for the fair lady's favor, they shift allegiances like the tide, ripping first Feston's colors from their sleeves and then Basil's. Why even Duncan has a following, though he has been here less than a week. And look what distortion it brings to our order on deck. Feston's supporters are to man the starboard watch, Basil's the port; Duncan's cluster about the queen below deck. The rest of us spend our idle hours up here out of the way on the poop. Let us hope that the queen gives no new sign of favor. It will take a good day to reassign the stations once again.'
'Why do you not speculate with the rest?' Alodar asked.
'I serve the queen, man,' Quantos said with a thump of his bow to the deck. 'I served her father in many a sea battle before. My men and I are marines for the crown of Procolon. We earn our pay by keenly sighted arrow and sharply swung blade, not by the foppish exchange of wit in the palace.'
Several voices about Alodar grunted agreement but suddenly, before more could be said, a high whistle pierced the fog. Alodar turned to listen and heard a heavy splash off the starboard bow. He strained to catch the direction from which the noise came and heard the whine of two more projectiles hurling by.
'Catapults,' he shouted as the memory from Iron Fist raced back. 'Catapults. We are under attack!'
As he spoke, he saw, breaking through the mist, the flash of banked oars moving in unison and a low-riding hull gliding across the waves.
'A wargalley,' Quantos added to the cry, 'by the markings, from the south. Somehow it slipped past the rest of the fleet in the fog. And it is on collision course at the beam. Below decks quickly, Grengor! Sound the alarm.'
One of the marines left Quantos' side and quickly ran down the ladder to the main deck and then into the hatchway to the levels below. Alodar watched in fascination as the sleek vessel cut the water with graceful ease, a small wave bubbling outwards from a two-pronged ram just beneath the waterline. Unlike their own giant, the trireme had some two hundred rowers crammed into a freeboard of no more than five feet. A hundred feet long but only fifteen across, it seemed like a dagger, rapidly closing to pierce the balloon that was the royal barge.
Another shot from the wargalley whistled through the air and then another. A third found the range and, with a splintering of wood, a heavy stone rattled across the decking between the masts and then: stays. As the two ships closed, the hatchways of the barge suddenly discharged a volley of men, scrambling upwards to prepare for the attack. Two more missiles crashed down into their midst, and cries of pain mingled with the curses of confusion as the various contingents shouldered past one another to their stations on the deck.
Finally a deep voice boomed out above the rest. 'Archers fire to starboard,' Feston bellowed as he hurried up from below and saw the trireme approaching. 'Rake their decks before they close. Oarsmen to port, back your oars; oarsmen to starboard, stroke at ram speed.'
Two more stones plunged from the sky, striking the forecastle as Quantos' men nocked their shafts and fired. 'Archers to your mark,' Feston shouted in anger as arrows flew only from the stern. 'Strafe their decks, I say.'
He looked rapidly about as his men struggled to form at the starboard rail, and then vaulted across to the other side.
'Sweetbalm, Basil,' he shouted in a rage as the next volley crashed into them. 'You know that I have no bowmen in my contingent. Yet I am the commander still. Have your vassals arch their fire over our heads and aid in our defense.'
'Your men have the fortune to be the closest to the engagement,' Basil answered over the growing din. 'Use them as you see fit. We will aid in repulsing boarders when the moment is the most propitious.'
Alodar saw Feston clench his fist in frustration and then leap back across the deck. In mid-stride, he grabbed for the main mast as the ship lurched from its smooth forward motion. The portside oars were stroking backwards and the huge ship began to lumber about, swinging out of the oncoming vessel's way. Alodar's eyes darted between the rapidly closing trireme, its ram kicking up foam, and the changing geometry of the gap as the royal barge slowly spun.
He heard the hum of arrows and ducked instinctively behind his shield, as did Quantos at his side.
'It is too late,' the marine said as the flight of arrows from across the waves struck the deck and bulwarks around them. 'We turn too slowly to avoid the ram. Brace yourself for the blow.'
With a shocking jolt, the ships collided, and the air was filled with the shrieking protest of ripping wood and metal.
'A sound hit,' Quantos shouted as he sprang from the bulwark. 'And guided no doubt by a sorcerer's vision far keener than Kelric's. Lively, lads. We must grapple on before they reverse oars and strike again.'
Alodar saw the trireme's oars come to a stop and then reverse in synchronism so that their pull backed the smaller ship away from the hole it had made. Following the examples around him, he picked up one of the coils of rope at his feet and flung the attached iron hook across and down to the wargalley's deck. He glanced forward and saw Feston's men doing the same amidship. The enemy crew abandoned the catapult and hacked away at the grapple lines as they came and stuck.
The compact sleekness of the trireme left little room for other than the rowers, however, and the hooks were being cast faster than they could be cut away. Two launched from the poop lodged firmly, high on the sternboard, out of the deckhand's immediate reach. In an instant, Quantos and his men had the lines firmly secured to anchor capstans near the stern of the barge. With a precision that was the product of years of drill, the crew bent to the crossarms and began to crank the two ships closer together.
'The angle of contact becomes too shallow for them to ram again,' Quantos shouted as he watched the slack being taken up. 'If our port side rows vigorously enough, we can get the ships alongside and then have a chance.'
Alodar looked down towards the bow and saw the closing gap. The men aboard the trireme abandoned their attempt to cut free and, except for a few archers still harassing the queen's men in the stern, most of them converged on the beam opposite Feston's forces.
The ropes flew faster as Feston's followers sensed success in their endeavor. Then, as the last few feet closed and the two vessels hit with a dull thud, Alodar saw at least a dozen grappling hooks strike out and pull the bond fast.
'Forward and at them,' Feston called above the yell of success and he sprang up on the rails with his sword flying. He leaped without hesitation to the lower deck alongside. With a mighty slash, he hacked at the first man who opposed him, tumbling him back onto the galley's deck. Feston's momentum carried him forward into the middle of the other vessel and his men on either side began to follow. But Alodar saw the reluctance increase up and down the line on either side of Feston until no man moved in the bow and near the stern. Across on the port, Basil and his men stood silent, awaiting the outcome.
The fighters on the trireme converged on the small party that had boarded, attacking at the flank and pushing to cut off the bulge of Feston's line at the rail.
'We must storm the poop and aid from behind,' Quantos shouted. 'Come, my lads, drop your bows and draw your blades. Across the guardrail we go.'
Quantos drew his sword; with his banner in the other hand, he placed his foot up on the rail to wave his men on. His troops prepared to follow. But just as the first of them drew up to the rail, a fresh shower of arrows hailed
