Firebrand

Chapter 517: The Beating of the Drum

Chapter 517: The Beating of the Drum

The Beating of the Drum

The captain shouted commands that Martel did not understand, but which sent the sailors scattering across the ship. Slowly, the vessel began turning, but it seemed obvious even to Martel that it would avail little; the wind was in the wrong direction, and the galley had oars. Battle was inevitable.

He looked around for Eleanor and the optio of the soldiers; between them, they would have to take charge and prepare defences. Martel did not know what to expect from Khivans in a fight, but they had two mages along with fifty legionaries.

Martel saw Eleanor race past him towards the ship's wheel and the captain, and he quickly followed. "Turn around!" she commanded. "We are more than able to fight!" Evidently, she had reached the same conclusion as Martel.

"You think they'll let us get that close?" the captain roared. "Their ship's got cannons! Once they see soldiers on the deck, they'll sink us rather than risk a confrontation!"

"We should hide," the optio suggested, arriving as well. "Keep every soldier below deck and lure the Khivans in to board us."

"That might work," Eleanor considered. "But we shall be vulnerable when making our way up to the deck again the stairs are narrow, and they might hold us back. If we are not swift, they will simply defend the chokepoint."

"I assumed a mageknight would be able to lead such a charge and break through," the optio argued.

"I would, but if anybody following me will survive is another matter."

The sound of thunder, despite a clear sky, tore the air. Martel blinked as he looked around in confusion.

"They're firing! Stars blast them, they won't risk getting close! They'll blow us to pieces long before there's any fighting," the captain shouted. "Our only hope is to outrun them before they hit us!"

Martel ran to the back of the ship. The galley had turned, showing its side to the Asterian vessel. All along the hull, little gaps had opened up with large metal tubes sticking out. The crash of thunder came again, and Martel finally understood. These were the dreaded Khivan cannons.

Great metal balls flew through the air, landing in the water churned to foam by the Red Emerald. The galley began to turn again, resuming its pursuit of the Red Emerald as oars beat to pick up speed and get close enough that the next volley might hit.

"Our only hope is to turn and attack them head-on!" Eleanor yelled.

"I'll not bring my ship one inch closer to those guns!" the captain retorted.

Martel did not listen. He closed his eyes and let his magic sweep through the emptiness between himself and the enemy ship. Too far. He felt nothing but air and sea.

"There's no shame in raising the white flag!" the optio added. "Else we'll all drown!"

"And allow the Khivans to capture my battlemage?" Eleanor shot back. "I will not fail in my duty before we even reach the front."

"Let them close the distance." Martel appeared in their midst again. "Slacken the sails," he added, repeating a phrase he had heard the other day. "Let them approach."

"They'll blast us out of the water!" the captain shouted.

"I won't let them get the chance." Martel stared at the old sailor. "I'm a battlemage. I will deal with this."

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

The captain looked from Martel to Eleanor and the optio. Neither of them spoke. "Stars damn us all!"

***

With the wind unfavourable, the galley quickly gained on the merchant vessel. All the legionaries stood on deck, clad for battle; Eleanor likewise wore armour and weapons. Martel did not, as he had not dared to leave his position by the helm, standing as close to the edge of the ship as he could. Constantly, he reached out with his magic to form a connection with anything other than saltwater. He knew that he had assumed responsibility for every soul aboard, most pertinently Eleanor's; if he was wrong and the Khivan cannons reached further than his magic, she would die.

Martel could do this. He had outstripped every other fire acolyte at the Lyceum, including when they practised how to extend the reach of their spellcraft. With all his emotions surging through him, Martel pushed his magic to the limit.

Standing with closed eyes, Martel told himself he could hear the rhythmic beating of the drum from the galley, even as he knew that was hardly possible; perhaps it was his own heart that beat with such ferocity. He allowed himself a glimpse and saw his most pressing fear come true; the Khivan galley had begun to turn. Soon, they would be in position and begin their barrage, sinking the Red Emerald.

At last! He felt it. The timber of the ship, the rigging that ran like sinews throughout, and the spots of heat from all the people aboard.

He chose his target like the time he had sunk a ship in Morcaster's harbour. Although furled together, making it harder to feel, the canvas would burn more easily than the soaked wood and rope that constituted the ship.

With a burst of spellpower that left him worn, Martel ignited the sail.

Fuelled by magic, it burned swiftly and fell from the mast to lie across the deck, spreading the fire further. Even from a distance, it was clear to see that chaos had erupted on the galley. Some vain attempts to contain the blaze were made, quickly abandoned. Already, somebody began lowering the boat to make their escape.

A strange sight also met Martel's eyes; the gaps in the hull that allowed the cannons to shoot were pushed further open. Soon after, the big machines of war came rolling through the holes and plunged downwards to the depth of the sea, breaking several oars in the process.

"What are they doing?" he asked.

"They're afraid we'll capture the ship. They won't allow us to seize any of their cannons," the optio explained.

"A needless concern," the captain added. "Sails back up!" he shouted at his crew. "Let's get as far away from here as we can!"

"Why?" Martel asked. "All the men below deck, they'll burn or drown!"

"So?" the captain replied. "They're probably Khivan criminals, all of them."

"Or Asterian prisoners of war," Eleanor interceded.

"Look, you know what makes those cannons work? Khivan powder. They must have barrels of the stuff on that ship, and once the flames reach it, the whole thing explodes! I'm not risking my ship for some Khivan scum!"

Martel did not have to close his eyes. The conflagration behind him almost eagerly seized the connection to his magic. Another burst of spellpower, his last, and every flame went out. "No risk of that. I suggest you make haste before the Khivans in the boat decide to turn back and salvage their ship."

The captain stared at the battlemage with disbelief turned into anger, but Eleanor spoke before he could. "You heard the prefect. The ship is safe to board. Close the distance now, or the Imperial administration will be told of your unwillingness to support us in battle."

Another moment passed. Interspersed with curses, the captain barked new orders and grabbed the ship's wheel.

"Optio, prepare the men for battle!" Eleanor commanded, and the soldier saluted and left the helm. "Do you have any spellpower left?" she asked Martel.

He shook his head.

"Stay below deck, just in case. Fighting should not take long."

He gave his protector a smile. "Yes, sir."

***

The Khivans in the boat did not turn back, taking their chances with the cliffs rather than the Asterians. As for those unlucky to have been left behind, they surrendered without a fight. Soon, the deck of the galley was filled with the former oarsmen freed from their chains. Most were Khivans, and they regarded their liberators with suspicion; a few were Asterians, and they cried hysterically.

As for the galley itself, the captain determined it had to be left behind; they lacked the sailors to crew both the Red Emerald and the seized ship. However cramped, everyone had to be taken to the Red Emerald. Anything worth salvaging from the galley was taken as well before a few well-placed blows with an axe condemned it to a slowly sinking fate.

As for the Khivans taken prisoner, whether oarsmen or sailors, the chains from the oars were returned to use. Faced with two mages and half a centuria of legionaries, they could only grumble in their own tongue as they had to accept manacles once more. Once they were all secured, including soldiers to guard them, the Red Emerald continued its journey towards the Savena Delta.