First Lord's Fury (Page 76)

Marcus strode to the front of the ship, stepping over a pair of heavy, loose poles on the way – replacement spars for the rigging, probably – and banged his fist to his heart in salute. "Captain."

"Marcus," the captain replied. He frowned and nodded down at Marcus’s armor. "What happened?"

Marcus glanced down. He hadn’t seen any blood splatter on his armor aboard Khral’s ship. It must have happened during the tunneling, when Sha had gutted the scheming ritualist. The speckles of blood had been smeared by the wind of his short flight, but fortunately that helped to thin it out, disguising its true color. Canim blood was darker than Aleran, but spread thin over the surface of his armor, it looked almost the same. "Just one crowbegotten thing after another, sir," he answered.

"Tell me about it," the captain said. He squinted up into the grey sky and nodded at the incoming enemy. "Tell me what you see, First Spear."

Marcus grunted and turned to look as well. His eyes weren’t what they used to be, but he could make things out well enough to understand what the captain meant.

"That’s not an attack force, sir," he said after a moment. "There’s not enough of them, and they’re spread too thin."

The captain grinned as the wind began to gust harder than it had all morning. "That was my thought as well."

"Scouts," Marcus said.

The captain nodded. "Maybe spread all up and down the Shieldwall."

With a grinding sound, the vessel nearest the Slive began to move, her sails bellying out before the cold wind. Up and down the line, other ships were getting under way, though the Slive’s sails were still furled.

"Why?" Marcus asked.

"Looking for us, naturally," the captain replied. "I think odds are good that the vord knew we left Antillus marching north. And even though this idea has worked out, it wouldn’t take a genius to deduce that the only major structure north of Antillus might play a role in whatever we had planned."

Marcus grunted. It made sense. The vord could spare a few thousand fliers for scouting duties, and barring the windcrafters enslaved by the enemy, the vordknights were the fastest troops they possessed. More ships passed the motionless Slive. "What is the plan, sir?"

"Oh, we run," the captain said offhandedly. "They’re flying against the wind, and we’re with it. They can’t maintain the pace as easily as we can. They’ll tire, and we should lose them within a few hours."

Marcus nodded. "Yes, sir." He cleared his throat. "I’m not a sailor, sir, but don’t we need to use the sails if we’re going to leave the vord in our wake?"

Behind the captain, Ambassador Kitai grinned wolfishly.

"I don’t want to take unnecessary losses in a general skirmish," the captain said. "We are going to remain behind. If they see a lone ship, potentially unable to run, I believe the vordknights will see it as an opportunity to attack."

"You want to stop them from running off to tell their Queen about us," Marcus said, nodding.

The captain spread his hands. "That, and I need to explore a few theories. It might be better to test them now than when we reach the enemy’s main body. I’d like you to coordinate efforts with Captain Demos and make sure he has someone who can advise him on how he and his crew can best work in tandem with our Knights."

Marcus saluted. "Of course, sir."

"Thank you," the captain said. "Demos is on the aft deck, I believe."

Marcus checked his weapon and armor as he marched down the length of the ship to Demos, an old soldier’s habit long since become something very near a reflex action. As he walked, he watched the ships of the fleet gliding gracefully around the Slive and proceeding to the east. He went up several short, steep stairs to ascend from the deck to the raised afterdeck, and noticed his legs shaking with fatigue. The tunneling had taken a great deal more out of him, physically, than he had anticipated. The realization seemed to spark a general revolt of his limbs, with muscles and joints each voicing distinct and unique complaints.

Marcus gritted his teeth and exchanged nods with Demos and the bosun.

"First Spear," Demos drawled. As usual, the sword-slender captain of the Slive was dressed in plain, well-made clothing, all of it in black. He wore a long dueling blade at his side, its handle plain and worn. "You all right?"

Marcus grunted. "Starting to think that maybe I’m getting too old for all this running around."

"Maybe you should retire," Demos said.

"Soon as the work is done."

"Work’s never done," Demos said.

"Hngh. Maybe I’ll get lucky and catch an arrow in the eye."

Demos’s bland face barely showed a shadow of a smile. "That’s the spirit." He turned his eyes to the sky and pursed his lips. "Octavian was right."

Marcus squinted up to see that the scattered line of vordknights were gathering into a more cohesive swarm. "How many?"

"Ninety, maybe a hundred," Demos said.

Marcus drummed his fingers on the hilt of his sword. "And how many on your crew?"

"Twenty-seven," he replied calmly. "And me. And you. And the Princeps. And Antillar. Plus young Antillus and his flyboys overhead. Enough."

"Assuming the enemy isn’t bringing something new to the fight."

Demos showed his teeth. "Don’t go all giddy on me."

"If the world were a giddy place, it wouldn’t need men like me," Marcus said.

Demos nodded. "Me, either." He squinted speculatively. "Wonder if Octavian’s going to stretch his muscles."

"As far as I know, his talents are still rather limited."

Demos gave Marcus a deadpan look. "We’re sailing down a smooth, flat sheet of ice, which is staying cold in the middle of spring, running in front of a wind coming in from a good angle to move us that hasn’t wavered or fluttered for two days." He looked back up at the oncoming vord. "That isn’t luck. There isn’t that much of it in the whole world."

Marcus had long suspected that the captain’s talents had begun to blossom, and Demos had a point. If he was unsure of his abilities, the captain might well decide to test them upon a real foe in some controlled fashion – somewhere out of sight of the rest of the fleet, in the event that things did not proceed well.

The last of the fleet’s ships went gliding past, and Demos watched its stern speculatively. "There they go."

"Might want to get your men out of the rigging," Marcus said. "Vord’ll be here shortly. The flyboys will be making it too breezy for them to come down on us all at once."