“You wanted to fight Pelasians, Samir. Now might be the time.”
The young first officer growled and shook his head.
“I didn’t mean a suicide engagement, captain.”
Khmun shrugged again.
“Nothing else for it. At least we’ll take one or two of them with us.”
Turning to the deck, the captain began bellowing orders. Samir ignored them, settling down to think as quickly yet clearly as he could. West and north there were ‘haraq’-class warships; south was the coast, and east was the fleet he’d mistaken for M’Dahz…
Mistaken as a blur on the coast.
The coast.
He turned back to the captain, taking a deep breath.
“Pardon this, sir, but…” he turned to the crew and raised his voice. “Belay those orders! Take us in toward the coast at full speed.”
There was a strangled silence. Khmun stared at Samir but, noting the grin spreading across his first officer’s face, he nodded.
“Do as he says, lads!”
As the changes were made swiftly and efficiently and the Dark Empress gave up pursuit of the scout, angling directly toward the coast, still two miles away, the captain dropped down from the raised deck platform to where Samir stood, grasped his shoulder and pulled him over to the rail.
“What’s your plan?”
“We can slip by them, sir” he shrugged.
“Are you mad?” Khmun blinked at him. “Slip by where?”
Samir grinned.
“Alright, sir. I’ve got good eyes, but it took me a while to realise that black smudge was ships and not the town. The heat haze on the land makes everything a little blurred and uncertain from out at sea. We need to get to shore as fast as possible. Then we’ll turn sharp west and head out deeper into Pelasian waters. With any luck, they’ll continue to close on where they think we’ll be. I’m sure they won’t expect us to head further west.”
Khmun slapped his forehead.
“You know why that is, Samir? Because there’s more and more Pelasian warships that way. We’ve no idea what we’ll be sailing into. Besides, you mistook the fleet because it was black against the brown land. Our sails are white. We’ll be visible for miles!”
Samir laughed.
“I’d rather sail into the unknown than into what we do know. And if we furl the sails and rely on the oars, we’ll be almost invisible against the shore. Trust me, captain. I know we can do this.”
Khmun stared at him for a moment and finally shook his head in amazement.
“You really are something, Samir. If you and that brother of yours were on the same side, no other ship on the ocean would be safe. Very well, let’s do it your way. Better than being sunk by a Pelasian haraq while trying to break out.”
They returned to the raised command platform that gave a clear view to every direction not obscured by a mast. The coast, brown and speckled, with rocky coves and inlets and low headlands, raced toward them, growing every moment. Samir smiled to himself. For every foot the coastline seemed to grow to him, the Empress would shrink to the slower warships closing in behind. Any moment now, even the masts would be visible against the backdrop of cliffs rather than sky.
Now was the time to pull his little manoeuvre.
“Furl the sails!”
The crew, taken by surprise, rushed to follow orders and, in a testament to their abilities, moments later, the three heavy sails crashed to the deck and were shuffled out from underfoot.
“Alright, men” Samir shouted. “Keep the sails ready. We’ll need to raise them sharpish when we’re out of danger, so that we can run. We’re going to head toward land for another minute or two and then bank sharply west along the coast. During that minute I want anything white or colourful or brightly polished below deck level. We’re going to blend in with the coast and slip past them, so we need to be as brown and unobtrusive as possible.”
There was a note of relief to the low comments and affirmative noises among the crew. Clearly they had been hoping for one of Khmun and Samir’s miraculous ruses and it looked as though the first officer had a trick up his sleeve.
As Samir watched tensely, the men went about their tasks, stowing anything that might draw unwanted attention and preparing everything for a sudden turn of speed the moment it was needed.
Counting down under his breath, Samir watched the cove and the headland looming ever closer. This had to be done right. They had to be as close to land as it was possible to be, but not quite close enough to beach, or they’d really be in trouble.
In his head he tried to estimate the distance to shore and then calculate the depth of the water. A dromon had a shallow draft for such a large ship, but this was still very tight.
He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment, expecting the crunch of gravel at any time.
“Starboard sharp!”
The oarsmen and the rudder master responded instantly and, without the wind in the sails to push them off course, the ship turned tightly and, mercifully, without the sound of wood grazing on gravel. Within a heart-stopping half minute the ship was turned and racing along the coast toward Akkad and the heart of Pelasia.
“Hold it steady now, lads.”
He and the captain shared a look for long moments and, as the ship battered on in silence, Khmun glanced up and called to the lookout.
“What are they doing?”
The lookout remained silent for a moment and then replied.
“I think they’re continuing on, sir…”
There was a long, tense pause.
“Yes, sir. They’ve not turned. I think they’ve lost us.”
An explosive venting of air echoed round the ship as almost every member of the crew released the breath they had held for over a minute.
“Samir, there are times when you surprise even me.”
The young first officer grinned at his captain and turned to look along the deck. Things were back under his control, where he liked them. A quarter if an hour’s journey along the coast and they’d be well away from any pursuers. Then they could set sail once again and head out into the open sea. His need to see his home town had almost cost them…
His train of thought was interrupted as an arrow came from nowhere and thudded into the railing a few inches from his head. He snapped his head round in shock to see a scout party of Pelasian riders on the headland, firing from horseback. There were only perhaps a dozen, but Pelasian horse archers were renowned the world over for their accuracy and rate of fire from the saddle. The Empire had employed them as mercenaries many times and, with the speed the Empress was currently achieving, the archers would have no trouble choosing targets.
“Get us out of arrow range of the coast, but no more!”
Scanning back along the deck, he spotted the artillerists loading the fire thrower and growled loudly.
“Stop that! If you fire that thing we’ll be spotted five leagues away!”
The artillerists, taken aback by the ferocity of his tone, changed tasks and began loading the bolt throwers and taking pot shots at the horsemen. They would never hit them, a moving target from on board a moving vehicle, but it was making the Pelasians wary and causing them to pull back a little, which would give the Empress time to get out of range. Once that was done in half a minute, nothing would catch them.
He turned, sighing with relief, to ask the captain’s opinion on keeping the bolt throwers loaded while they travelled the shoreline and realised in horror that Khmun was not where he had been.
His eyes dropped to the deck. The captain lay propped where he had fallen by the railing, an arrow protruding from his neck and blood running down his throat and back and soaking his tunic.
“Captain!”
Khmun issued a wheezing noise and grasped Samir’s breeches, hauling him down to deck level. In a hollow
