The roar of churning waters swelled. In the unruly yawing and bucking of the galley, Reuth felt the currents beneath them swirling and hammering as the incoming high tide wrestled with the narrows’ outflow. The first of the rocks passed as dark blotches in the channel — submerged now, but still lurking tall enough to snatch a keel. Already Reuth’s face was chill and wet from the spray suspended in the gusting winds that howled down the constricting cliffs of the narrows.
Gren stood hunched over the tiller arm, his bare feet splayed wide. ‘You do what you have to do, lad,’ he urged, winking.
Reuth swallowed hard and drew a hand down his face to wipe away the spray. ‘Chase speed,’ he shouted.
‘Chase speed!’ Tulan immediately bellowed, hands to mouth.
‘Chase speed!’ Reuth barely heard Storval echoing. He did notice that the first mate no longer paced the walk. Now he stood with an arm round the mast, probably gripping a line.
Gren had lost something of his grin now as he studied the oars. Reuth spared a glance and saw right away that they were far from the ideal unison in their slashing dip and rise. He recognized the interference of the inexperienced swordsmen — regrettable, but necessary for power. He’d have to take it into account in his estimates. ‘Ramming speed,’ he called.
‘Ramming speed!’ Tulan bellowed.
The Lady’s Luck surged ahead, rocking Reuth on his feet. They shot between the first of the black jagged teeth of the Guardian Rocks. The foaming slew of waves danced about them. One fat swell of webbed olive-green water rose taller than their side. Reuth now kept his vision far ahead of their position. ‘Ready on the turn,’ he warned.
‘Aye.’
Reuth delayed until he dared not wait a heartbeat longer and yelled, ‘Full port!’
Gren drove the tiller arm aside, grunting, legs straining. He even set his shoulder against it. The Lady’s Luck groaned around them as she slewed over. Tulan steadied himself against the stern railing. Reuth grabbed hold of the line holding him upright as the galley rolled frighteningly. They started across the narrows and Reuth saw immediately that their line wasn’t what he was shooting for.
‘Port oars ease off!’ he called, panic now in his voice.
‘Port oars ease off!’ Tulan roared.
Reuth assumed Storval was relaying the commands but he heard none of it over the grinding thunder of the waters about them. The port oars rose to stand straight out from the side. The Lady’s bow nosed over as the opposite row of oars powered on. ‘Resume oars!’ Reuth yelled.
Tulan relayed the command. The line of port oars dipped. Reuth breathed a sigh of immense relief. Their line looked good to him, but they’d lost speed. He leaned, pointing, to shout to Gren: ‘I want a line between that short rock and the cliff for another sweep to the middle.’
The steersman’s thick brows rose, but he nodded. ‘Aye.’
The Lady’s Luck jumped then, flinching as if stabbed, and slewed aside. The grinding of wood over rock momentarily silenced the water’s roar. Reuth leaned over the side in time to see a black shadow sweep past beneath the surface. They’d struck a submerged rock a glancing blow.
Gren strained to bring the bow back into line. ‘Chase speed!’ Reuth yelled.
Tulan repeated the command with a good deal of cursing and fuming.
Reuth felt the surge of renewed speed as the oarsmen leaned into their work. The swordsmen were useless on their timing, but they had real power. And the Lady was responding as before: she didn’t feel sluggish at all. The planking held, thank their Mare carpenters and Ruse enchantments of seam and timber.
They were coming abreast of the short black tooth of rock that Reuth had named the pony in his mental map of the route ahead, and he called out: ‘Ready for the return!’
‘Aye!’
‘Now! Sweep to the middle!’
Gren cursed and heaved, bringing the heavy timber arm back the opposite way. The Lady’s bows now swung over, but heavily, as they fought the swifter current in this narrow pinch close to the port cliff.
‘Ramming speed!’ Reuth called out.
‘Ramming speed, you dogs, or we’ll drink with Mael this night!’ Tulan roared.
The oars dug in, pulling. The Lady shuddered. So close did they draw to the cliff that one rear oar on the port side clattered from the face. They gained speed as real panic seemed to take hold and the Lady shot out towards the middle of the channel.
Reuth was pleased: they’d avoided the worst of this lowest section of the Rocks, stretches where the waters swelled and boiled signalling many hidden teeth below. The line ahead promised smooth glassy portions. Briefly, he wondered how the trailing vessels fared, but he dared not glance to the rear to search for them.
He pointed to the coming maze of rocks. ‘Take that first one on the port side, Gren.’
‘Aye.’
After that first turn of the crowded middle section, Reuth couldn’t be certain of the route he chose. He only had split seconds to send the bow one way or the other and the answers came to him more or less on instinct: the fat curl of one swell; the deeper blue of one particular channel; the foam gathered in one side pool that promised a slower current. The teeth brushed past so close Tulan stepped in to order oars raised, or poles deployed to fend the Lady off a rock the current was pressing her against. Wood scraped in tortured groans. Oars cracked on stone, or were bashed aside in a rattling head-smashing sweep of the benches.
At one point a sideswipe knocked the entire starboard side into disorder in a running clatter of breaking oars. Tulan leapt the stern railing to help clear the chaos. Here the discipline of the Stormguard paid off as they immediately followed every command. Reuth glimpsed one of them pulling blind, his face a solid sheet of blood pouring from a gash in his scalp. Another yanked one-handed while his other hung useless, the bone of his forearm shattered.
These men know how to fight the sea, he realized. This was their life, their sworn calling. He had one moment to realize that this was why they’d left Korel — they could no longer find a battle there — then the next instant he had to select an escape even as the Lady, losing headway, began a spin driven by the current.
‘Back round!’ he yelled to Gren. ‘Circle the rock for another try!’
The steersman shot him a mad grin and laughed. He pushed the arm fully over.
This particular rock was a huge one, which was why Reuth could try the move. He only hoped that Tulan and Storval could knock the starboard banks into order before they came round once more. As the Lady made its dancing turn round the great tooth, Reuth was treated to a view back up Fear Narrows. He glimpsed many ships yet in play, all galleys, the pirate vessel closest behind. Its sweeps flashed in poor timing but with massive deep bites that seemed to lift the entire ship.
Spelling, he said to himself. They must be spelling the oarsmen — no one could sustain such an effort for longer than one quick rush.
The bow continued its arc and then came the time for them to catch the current once more. Reuth looked to the banks: the port oars were raised waiting to start, but disorder still reigned among the starboard sweeps.
‘Trapped,’ Reuth breathed aloud. ‘We’re caught!’
‘What for it then, lad?’ Gren answered.
‘Port side drag oars!’ he yelled. Gren took up the call as well, yet Reuth could well imagine that their voices hardly carried over the thunder of the churning waves pounding on all sides.
Then Tulan’s great bull-roar sounded out: ‘Drop them port sweeps! Back oars! Push, you dogs! Break your backs!’
The drag pulled on the bow and in the widening gap a portion of the starboard sweeps bit into the swell.
‘Take us into the open,’ Reuth told Gren. He nearly dropped then, quivering, his legs almost without strength.