A Mighty Fortress (29 page)

And it was going to have to climb. Assuming the Church completed its current construction programs, it would command a fleet of over three hundred and ninety galleons—better than four times the current Charisian strength. A hundred and fifty of them would be converted merchant ships, but so were a quarter of the Charisian Navy’s galleons. And that didn’t even consider the two hundred– plus galleys the Church had built before it realized just how outclassed galleys had become. They might not be well suited to decisive broadside duels, but they more than doubled the total number of hulls the Church could throw at its opponents, and if they were free to operate while the Church’s galleons neutralized
Charis’
galleons....The good news was that the ships in question were scattered between five widely separated navies. No single kingdom or empire could match the Charisians’ numbers, although Harchong would come close once its winter-delayed construction could be completed. Concentrating those widely dispersed squadrons would be at least as difficult as it had been to concentrate the forces detailed for the Group of Four’s original plans for Old Charis’ destruction. And even after they were concentrated, their companies would be sadly inexperienced compared to the Imperial Navy’s crews.

Earl Thirsk, at least, obviously recognized that fact. So did Gahvyn Mahrtyn, the Baron of White Ford, King Gorjah of Tarot’s senior admiral. Unfortunately, from the Church’s perspective, they were the only two fleet commanders still available to it who had ever faced the Charisian Navy in battle. The Duke of Black Water, the Corisandian commander at Darcos Sound, had died there, and Gharth Rahlstahn, the Earl of Mahndyr, and Sir Lewk Cohlmyn, the Earl of Sharpfield, who had commanded the Emeraldian and the Chisholmian components of Black Water’s fleet, were now in Charisian ser vice. Even more unfortunately (for the Church), the fact that Thirsk and White Ford had been devastatingly defeated by then- Crown Prince Cayleb had caused their advice to be discounted by almost all of their fellow flag officers.

That was clearly changing in Thirsk’s case, but neither Harchong, nor the Desnairian Empire, nor the Temple Lands seemed overly inclined to profit by Dohlar’s example. Tarot did, but King Gorjah continued to languish under a cloud of disapproval. It seemed clear that the Group of Four continued to blame Tarot for the disastrous intelligence leak which had permitted King Haarahld of Charis and his son to deduce the Church’s strategy and come up with a counterstrategy to defeat it in detail. That was grossly unfair, although with no knowledge of Merlin’s SNARCs, it was understandable enough. Particularly given Charis’ efforts to encourage exactly that reaction.

As a consequence, none of the Church’s galley fleet had been laid down in Tarotisian shipyards. Following the Group of Four’s belated switch to a galleon- based fleet, Tarot had been admitted to the building program, yet even then the Tarotisian component remained the smallest of all. And White Ford— who was quite possibly an even better combat commander than Thirsk—had been almost totally ignored.

Under the circumstances, the Church’s numerical advantage was considerably less overwhelming than it might appear. To set against that, however, the Empire of Charis was a very large, very vulnerable target. Charis and Chisholm, in particular, were six thousand miles apart, as the wyvern flew, and it was over two thousand miles from Port Royal, in Chisholm, to Corisande’s Cape Targan. A ship deployed to defend Charis was a minimum of a month from Chisholm under even the most favorable conditions of wind and weather, and it would take almost that long for a ship stationed in Chisholm to reach Manchyr, in Corisande.

Distances and transit times like that prevented High Admiral Lock Island from concentrating his own forces in a central position. In fact, he’d been forced to station twenty galleons in Chisholm, under Admiral Sharpfield and supported by the Chisholmian Navy’s surviving galleys. Another ten galleons and twenty- five galleys had been stationed in Corisandian waters under Earl Mahndyr, and Lock Island had retained twenty galleons under his own command, covering Rock Shoal Bay and the approaches to Howell Bay and the Sea of Charis.

That left barely forty galleons for other ser vice, and freeing up even that many had been possible only because the Church’s war fleet was so widely scattered . . . and still so far short of completion. As more of the Church’s galleons became available for ser vice, the various Charisian defensive fleets would have to be strengthened, which would reduce the strength available for other tasks still further.

Unless something could be done in the meantime to reduce the numbers opposed to them.

That was supposed to be Manthyr’s and Rock Point’s assignment. Manthyr, with eighteen galleons and six thousand Marines, was bound for the Sea of Harchong. More specifically, he was bound for Hardship Bay, on the largely uninhabited Claw Island. There were reasons very few people lived on Claw Island. It wasn’t very big—barely a hundred and twelve miles in its longest dimension. It was also little more than two hundred miles south of the equator, and its barren, mostly treeless expanses of rock and sand were about as welcoming as an oven the same size. On the other hand, Hardship Bay offered a good deep- water anchorage, and the small city of Claw Keep would offer his squadron a home port . . . of sorts, at any rate. Even more importantly, it was better than twenty- one-thousand sea miles from Tellesberg, which put it “barely” five thousand sea miles from Gorath Bay. It also lay off the western coast of South Harchong, however, where a quarter of the Harchong Empire’s galleons were under construction, and it was less than fifteen hundred miles from the mouth of the Gulf of Dohlar.

The voyage to Claw Island would actually have been slightly shorter if he sailed east, by way of Chisholm, instead of west, past Armageddon Reef and around the southern tip of the continent of Howard, but he’d have both favorable winds and currents going west, especially this time of year. He’d probably average at least fifty or sixty miles more a day on his projected course . . . and it would
still
take him better than three months to complete the voyage.

Once he got there, his Marines ought to be more than sufficient to capture Claw Keep and garrison the island, especially since the only reliable source of water on the entire sun- blasted spit were the artesian wells that served Claw Keep itself. That would provide him with a secure base from which to operate against both Dohlar and Harchong. He’d be a long way from home, although he’d be within nine thousand miles of Chisholm, but he’d be well placed to blockade the Gulf of Dohlar and intercept any effort to combine Thirsk’s galleons with the Harchongese contingent building farther south around Shipwreck Bay, in the provinces of Queiroz, Kyznetsov, and Selkar. Even if he did nothing but sit there (and Merlin was confident that an officer of Manthyr’s abilities and personality should find all manner of ways to make himself an infuriating pest), it was unlikely the Church—or King Rahnyld or Emperor Waisu, for that matter—would be prepared to tolerate a Charisian presence that close to them.

His galleons would be substantially outnumbered—by almost four- to- one by Dohlar, alone, assuming the Dohlarans got all of their own warships completed and manned—but the greater experience of his crews and captains would offset much of that disadvantage. And the simple fact that Charis was once again taking the initiative, despite its numerical disadvantage, would have profound implications for the confidence and morale of his opponents.

And if worse came to worst, he could always load his Marines back aboard his transports and withdraw.

That’s the idea, at least,
Merlin thought.
And as a way to throw a spanner into the Church’s plans, it’s got a lot to recommend it. But I’d still feel better with Domynyk in command. Or if we could give Gwylym a com, at least! I
hate
having that big a chunk of the Navy out at the end of a limb that long when we can’t even talk to its CO.

Unfortunately, as he himself had just pointed out, they were going to need Rock Point closer to home. He and the remaining twenty galleons currently available to Charis would be moving their base of operations to Hanth Town on Margaret Bay, which would put him across the Tranjyr Passage from the Kingdom of Tarot. His new base would be well placed to assist Lock Island in meeting any threat against Old Charis from East Haven or Desnair. More importantly, however, he’d be in a position to operate directly against Tarot.

And Sharleyan was right about that, too,
Merlin reflected.
It’s more important than ever to . . . induce Gorjah to consider joining the Empire voluntarily. Or, failing that, topresent him with a somewhat more forceful argument. Neutralizing Tarot would be worthwhile in its own right.
Gaining
Tarot as a forward base right off the East Haven coast would be even more worthwhile. And getting our hands on the galleons Gorjah’s building for the Church wouldn’t hurt a damned thing, either!

“I’d like to be able to do a lot of things we can’t do right now,” he said out loud. “Desnair’s starting to worry me, for one thing, and I
really
wish we could get at Harchong and the Temple Lands yards! But we can’t afford to uncover Old Charis and Chisholm, and that’s just the way it is. If Gwylym can keep Dohlar busy long enough for you and Gray Harbor to convince Gorjah to see the light, it’ll help a lot, though.”

“Then we’ll just have to see what we can do about that, won’t we,
Seijin
Merlin?” Rock Point said with a smile. “We’ll just have to see what we can do.”

City of Fairstock,

Province of Malansath,

West Harchong Empire

The falling snow was so thick no one could see more than a ship’s length or two in any direction.

The Earl of Coris found that less than reassuring as
Snow Lizard
crept cautiously into the Fairstock roadstead. Captain Yuthain had furled his sail and gone to oars as soon as the leadsman in the bow found bottom at ten fathoms. Sixty feet represented considerably more depth of water than
Snow Lizard
required, but only a fool (which Yuthain had conclusively demonstrated he was not) took liberties with the Fairstock Channel. It measured the next best thing to two hundred and fifty miles from north to south, and if most of it was easily navigable, there were other bits which were anything but. And there wasn’t a lot of room to spare. At its narrowest point, which also happened to offer some of the nastiest, shifting sandbanks, it was barely fourteen miles wide . . . at high water. Fairstock Bay itself was a superbly sheltered anchorage, well over two hundred miles wide, but getting into it could sometimes prove tricky.

Especially in the middle of a snowstorm.

Frankly, Coris would have preferred to lay- to off the entrance of the channel until the weather cleared. Unfortunately, there was no guarantee the weather
would
clear anytime soon, and Captain Yuthain was under orders to deliver his passenger to Fairstock as quickly as possible. So he’d crept very cautiously and slowly inshore until he’d been able to run a line of soundings which let him locate himself by matching them with the depths recorded on his chart. Even after he was confident he knew where he was, however, he’d continued to proceed with a caution of which Coris had wholeheartedly approved. Not only was it distinctly possible, in these visibility conditions, that
Snow Lizard
wasn’t really where he thought she was, but there was always the equally unpleasant possibility that they might meet another vessel head- on. The narrowness of the channel and the atrocious visibility only made that even more likely, and Phylyp Ahzgood hadn’t come this far at the summons of the Council of Vicars just to get himself drowned or frozen to death.

“By the mark, seven fathom!”

The cry floated back from the bow, oddly muffled and deadened by the falling snow, and despite his thick coat and warm gloves, Coris shivered.

“I imagine you’ll be happy to get ashore, My Lord,” Captain Yuthain remarked, and Coris turned to face him quickly. He’d been careful not to intrude on the captain’s concentration while Yuthain conned
Snow Lizard
cautiously up-channel. It wasn’t the sort of moment at which one joggled someone’s elbow, he reflected.

Something of his thoughts must have shown in his expression, because Yuthain grinned through his beard.

“This next little bit’s not all that bad, My Lord,” he said. “I wouldn’t want to sound overconfident, but I’d say the really tricky parts are all safely past us. Not but what I imagine there was a time or two when you were less than confident we’d get this far.”

“Nonsense, Captain.” Coris shook his head with an answering smile. “I never doubted your seamanship or the quality of your ship and crew for a moment.”

“Ah, now!” Yuthain shook his head. “It’s kind of you to be saying so, but I’m not so sure telling a fearful lie like that is good for the health of your soul, My Lord.”

“If it
were
a lie, perhaps it wouldn’t be good for my spiritual health. Since it happens to have been a completely truthful statement, however, I’m not especially concerned, Captain.”

Yuthain chuckled, then cocked his head, listening to the leadsman’s fresh announcement of the depth. He frowned thoughtfully down at the chart, obviously fixing his position afresh in his brain, and Coris watched him with the respect a professional deserved.

As it happened, what he’d just said to Yuthain really had been the truth. On the other hand, despite his recognition of the captain’s skill and the capability of his crew, there’d been more than one moment when Coris had strongly doubted they would ever reach Fairstock. The Gulf of Dohlar in winter had proved even uglier than he’d feared, and once they’d cleared the passage between Cliff Island and Whale Island, they’d encountered a howling gale which he’d been privately certain was going to pound the low- slung, frail, shoal- draft galley bodily under. The steep, battering seas had been almost as high as the galley’s mast, and at one point they’d been forced to lie to a sea anchor for two full days with the pumps continuously manned. There’d been no hot food for those two days—not even Yuthain’s cook had been able to keep his galley fire lit—and icy water had swirled ankle deep through the earl’s cabin more than once as the ship fought for her very life. They’d survived that particular crisis after all, yet that had scarcely been the end of the foul weather—or the crises—they’d faced. Snow, bad visibility, and icy rigging had only made things still worse, and Coris’ respect for Yuthain and his men had grown with each passing day.