But it wasn’t the rammings that stood out in Renald’s memory, the descriptions of rending wood and the ghostlike groan of a hull taking on too much water. No, it was the combat that followed the collisions. The boardings and bloody sword battles as the warriors aboard those ships clashed, fighting for control of the vessel that remained seaworthy.
He could still hear the voice of one old sailor-a grizzled old man with leathery brown skin and a misshapen stump where his left arm should have been-asking his companions how many soldiers had been swallowed by the dark waters of the bay during that last war, and laughing at what he saw on Renald’s face. Even as a foolish child, easily impressed and more easily frightened, Renald had known that this man could not have fought in the Empire Wars, and later he had come to wonder how much of what those men told him that day had been true, and how much of it had been the blustering yarns of old sailors eager to scare a court boy. Still, watching this new battle in the cold Galdasten rain, Renald thought he could see bodies falling over the sides of the Eibitharian vessel, lost forever to Amon’s waters.
The fleets of the two realms had been arrayed against each other for several days, their commanders waiting far longer than Renald had ever guessed they would to begin the war. It almost seemed that both sides were awaiting some sign that they should attack. That sign had finally come this morning, and much to the duke’s surprise, it had been the Eibitharian fleet that made the first move. Renald couldn’t be certain, but he thought it likely that the rain and wind prompted the attack. On open waters, in calm weather, Eibithar’s ships had little chance against Braedon’s larger fleet and more skilled seamen. Perhaps the captains of Eibithar’s vessels thought that this storm would mitigate the empire’s advantages somewhat.
Already it seemed clear to the duke that they had been tragically mistaken. In the span of only a few heartbeats, two more of Eibithar’s ships were rammed, and now he was certain that he could see soldiers dressed in the gold and red of Braedon swarming onto the stricken vessels. It would be a slaughter.
“My lord!”
Renald started so violently that he nearly lost his balance. He hadn’t heard Ewan Traylee’s approach for the rain and the keening wind. “What is it, swordmaster?”
“Forgive me for disturbing you, my lord, but the duchess is asking after you, and no one knew where you were.”
“Well as you can see, I’m right here,” he said, staring out at the ships again. “And I’ve no desire to speak with the duchess just now.” It wasn’t a tone he would usually have taken with Ewan. Damn this rain. Damn the empire.
“Yes, my lord.” The swordmaster looked out at the bay as well. An instant later, his voice rising again, he said, “They’ve begun!”
“Yes. Just a short time ago.”
“It’s going poorly.”
Renald glanced at the man. Rain plastered his black hair to his brow, and ran down his broad face before being lost in his beard. “Did you doubt that it would?”
“Not really, my lord. But I had hoped. .” He shrugged, his gaze fixed on the battle.
“Is all ready for a siege?”
“Yes, my lord. We can withstand whatever the emperor’s soldiers throw at us.”
“Very good, Ewan.”
They stood in silence for several moments watching the ships dance. For a time it seemed that Eibithar’s vessels might actually be gaining the upper hand. No more Eibitharian ships had been rammed, and in fact they managed to incapacitate two Braedon ships in quick succession. But their success was short-lived, and it soon became clear that the empire’s vessels were simply too swift. What had started as a battle was fast turning into a pursuit. Eibithar’s ships were no longer looking for openings to attack, but were instead doing all they could to avoid being shattered and boarded.
“Do you think the king sent word to Wethyrn?” Ewan asked after some time.
“He would have been a fool not to. Wethyrn’s ships are the only ones in the seven that would stand a chance against the empire’s fleet.”
“Then perhaps there’s hope yet.”
“Not unless they arrive today. Now that this battle has begun, it won’t last long.”
“Yes, my lord.”
He should have been pleased. Certainly that was what Elspeth would tell him. Soon Kearney’s guard would be routed by the empire’s men, and when the army of Galdasten joined the war, turning the tide for Eibithar, the throne would be his. Still, he couldn’t help thinking that he had betrayed his forebears, his people, and his kingdom. What if Kearney had been telling the truth? What if the conspiracy was behind the murder of Lady Brienne of Kentigern? What if Tavis of Curgh was not a butcher, but rather a victim of white-hair treachery? Then wasn’t Renald himself helping the renegades? Wasn’t his refusal to fight the invaders tantamount to treason?
“You say the duchess wishes to speak with me?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Do you know what she wants?”
Ewan grimaced. It took Renald a moment to realize that he was actually grinning. “The duchess rarely tells me anything, my lord.” He looked like he might say more, but then he merely shrugged and faced the bay again.
“It’s not you, Ewan. She’s like that with everyone.” She knows that she’s smarter than all of us, and it galls her that she doesn’t lead this house.
“Yes, my lord. Thank you.”
Renald’s hands had grown numb gripping the stone ramparts. He wanted nothing more than to return to his chambers where he might change into some dry clothes and sit before his hearth. But he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the ships.
“I’ll keep watch for you, my lord. If something changes, or-” he swallowed, “or if it ends, I’ll let you know first thing.”
What would his father have said? The lords of Galdasten had long envied the supremacy of the House of Thorald. For more than one hundred years now, there had been no measurable difference between the size of Thorald’s army and that of Galdasten, between the riches in Thorald’s treasury and those in Galdasten’s. Yet, by dint of the Order of Ascension, determined hundreds of years ago, Thorald was the highest ranking house in the land, and Galdasten second. Over the course of Eibithar’s history, Thorald kings outnumbered those from Renald’s house by nearly three to one. Yet in all that time, no duke of Galdasten had ever led a rebellion against the Rules. True, no duke of Galdasten had ever faced the bleak future that awaited Renald and his sons.
But did that give him just cause to defy the Rules? He could hear Elspeth’s reply. Hasn’t Galdasten suffered long enough under Thorald’s dominance? Don’t the other realms of Eibithar deserve to be freed from a supremacy that has no basis in fact?
You are weakening the realm to nurture your own ambitions. His father’s voice. And once again it was countered in his mind by Elspeth’s, just as reasoned, and far more strident. You do this for our sons, so that they might fulfill their destiny and rule this land.
“My lord?” Ewan said, interrupting the colloquy in his mind.
“Yes, swordmaster, thank you. I would be grateful for a warm cup of tea and a fire.”
“Go, my lord. I’ll keep you apprised of all that happens.”
Renald nodded, but stood there a moment longer, watching the ships, searching for some shift in the course of the battle, some sign that Eibithar’s fleet might still prevail. Seeing none, he finally left the tower, descending the winding stairs to the lower corridor, and making his way from there to his bedchamber. Even the cold stone of the castle passages seemed pleasant after the wind and rain. His chamber was bright and warm, and as comfortable as a child’s blanket. He stripped out of his wet clothes and a servant helped him into a dry robe. He was just tying it when he heard a knock at his door. Before he could call a response, Elspeth let herself into the chamber, looking lovely and formidable in a dark violet dress, her brown hair tied back from her face and her eyes glittering with the lamplight.