Hell's Foundations Quiver (61 page)

“It won't.” Thirsk exhaled a jet of smoke. “The problem is, Pawal, it looks to me as if the Charisians and Siddarmarkians are working to a grand plan. I think they intend to crush the Army of God's formations—
all
its formations, not just Wyrshym's—in the field before the Harchongians can come forward to reinforce them. I know they're pushing Rychtyr steadily back along the canal, but that's going slowly enough it'll be high summer, at the earliest, before they reach the Kingdom. By then, we'll have largely rebuilt the Army, and it's pretty obvious their spies are so damned good they have to know that's going to happen. The fact that none of the forces they used to pulverize that stupid bugger Harless are helping hammer the Army of the Seridahn suggests they're about to be used doing something else. Something they think is even more important than finishing
us
off before our Army does that rebuilding. So after pondering what that ‘something else' might be, I'm guessing Bishop Militant Cahnyr'll see them in Cliff Peak before very much longer.”

Hahlynd nodded slowly, his eyes intent as he followed Thirsk's logic. The earl's access to information about the larger war was more extensive than his own, and he suspected Staiphan Maik was showing Thirsk even more than his own religious superiors might have preferred. It was sad that Mother Church had decided to keep so much secret from her own defenders, but there seemed little chance that was going to change anytime soon.

“Unfortunately,” the earl continued, “the mere fact that they aren't reinforcing Hanth doesn't mean they don't have some
other
plan to deal with us.”

“Beyond taking Claw Island back from us?”

“Oh,
definitely
beyond that.” Thirsk smiled with no humor at all. “They've been a little more cautious than I really would have expected out of Charisians, to be honest. As far as Rohsail's been able to determine, they haven't been operating in any sort of strength east of the Narrows, but I think that's about to change.”

He paused for a moment, gazing up at the white clouds drifting above the harbor, then looked sharply back at Hahlynd.

“How much have you heard about what happened at Yu-kwau?”

“I heard it was bad,” Hahlynd said slowly. “Why?”

“Because it was a hell of a lot worse than ‘bad.'” Thirsk's expression was grim. “They took their time kicking the shit out of the Bay of Alexov, and there wasn't a damned thing the Yu-kwau squadron or the shore batteries could do about it. They brought along one of their armored galleons to take out any battery that might've threatened their regular galleons and backed it up with a couple of those bombardment ships. The Yu-kwau waterfront's a total loss, and it's going to take over a month to reopen the Saint Lerys Canal. And they paid visits to all of the Bay's other ports, as well.”

Hahlynd's face tightened, and Thirsk nodded.

“They spent more than a five-day doing the job right. And I'm sure you can figure out as easily as I could how badly that's going to hurt the Jihad. The good news is that they didn't have enough troops to get far enough inland to take out most of the foundries, and apparently at least some of the coasters on the bay managed to dodge around and evade them. For all intents and purposes, though, Queiroz and western Kyznetzov are completely cut off until either we push the Charisians back out of Claw Island or they get the canal open again. Oh, they could still move some material south out of Su-shau and up Anvil Bay to Brusair, but not enough to do any good. And even if the Harchongians get the canal fully back into operation, there's nothing in the Bay of Alexov to stop the Charisians from coming right back and wrecking it all over again.”

It was Hahlynd's turn to nod in bleak understanding. The damage was more severe than even the worst rumor he'd heard. And he also knew what Thirsk hadn't said. Even if the St. Lerys Canal was fully restored to service, it could handle only a fraction of Queiroz and Kyznetzov's shipping needs. It was one of the primary canals, built in accordance with the
Writ
's instructions, yet even the broadest and deepest canal was a narrow, shallow substitute for the open sea. Vicar Rhobair and his carefully trained specialists, in conjunction with the Canal Service, had done wonders to streamline and improve canal traffic, but even at their best, the canals had never been intended to meet the transport needs of a Jihad which had enveloped the entire world.

“I'm afraid, however,” Thirsk continued, “that the Charisians—actually, the admiral they sent out to seize Claw Island is Earl Sharpfield—are well enough satisfied with what they've done to the Bay of Alexov to begin looking farther afield. According to Rohsail's dispatches, their schooners and light cruisers are operating west of Saram Bay. In fact, they've been reported as far west as Jack's Land and Whale Island. And given what they did to Yu-kwau, I have to think a return visit to Shwei Bay might strike them as a worthwhile excursion.”

“That's … not good,” Hahlynd observed, and Thirsk snorted.

“You could put it that way. I won't say Shwei Bay's stark naked, but it's not a lot better than that, especially given all the other threats Rohsail has to deal with. He's a good man, but he doesn't begin to have the hulls—or the right
sort
of hulls—to be everywhere he needs to be.”

Hahlynd considered mentioning the fact that the Earl of Thirsk was not one of Sir Dahrand Rohsail's favorite people, but he thought better of it. It was typical of the earl that he was able to recognize the capability of an officer whose politics differed so radically from his own. And, to be fair, Rohsail's attitude towards Thirsk seemed to have mellowed somewhat under the corrupting influence of the earl's sheer competence.

“He's got forty-two galleons,” Thirsk went on, “and we've just dispatched ten more to reinforce him, but you know as well as I do how quickly ships get used up when it comes to commerce protection. It looks like at least some of Sharpfield's original galleon strength's been recalled, although I wouldn't want to count on that too heavily. It'd make sense—despite what just happened to Geyra Bay, there are a
lot
of Desnairian privateers making their merchant galleons' lives miserable. But even if the reports are accurate, his
light
units are still a pain in the arse, and with the Charisians raiding that far east, Rohsail's had to organize local convoys. That eats up a lot of
his
available strength, especially his lighter units. He's managed to keep thirty or so of his galleons concentrated—enough to prevent the Charisians from dispersing their own line of battle too broadly—but he can't engage armored ships at sea. Certainly not ships whose armor is thick enough it could shrug off our Claw Island batteries or the guns at Yu-kwau!”

Hahlynd nodded again, and Thirsk shrugged.

“Part of me's inclined to take the entire Home Squadron west, combine it with Rohsail's force, and go hunting the Charisians on the theory that we'd have to have enough cannon to handle their ironclads. There has to be some reason none of the steam-powered ones have come forward, so theoretically, if we destroyed the two they have based on Claw Island, we'd be free to deal with the rest of their galleons. Unfortunately, we'd lose far more of our fleet than they'd lose of theirs. And unless we could go back in and retake Claw Island ourselves, which seems unlikely, they'd still have a secure forward base. Worse, I'm inclined to doubt they only built two of the damned things, so losing a third of the Navy beating the ones we know about strikes me as pretty poor tactics. By the same token, while your screw-galleys would stand up to their guns better—and longer—than our galleons would, you and I both know they aren't the most seaworthy ships ever built.”

That was a tidy piece of understatement, Hahlynd reflected. However—

“I can't disagree with you about that, but if the situation's that bad, my captains and I can sail for Saram Bay tomorrow, Lywys.”

“I appreciate that offer—deeply. But given the weather this time of year, I doubt you'd get as far as the Dohlar Bank before a half-dozen of you broke up and went to the bottom.”

“Maybe so, but we're not accomplishing anything sitting in the harbor, either,” Hahlynd pointed out. “I don't want to lose any of them to weather, either, but if we're the only ships that have any chance against those armored galleons, I don't think you have any choice but to send us. It's all very well to think about defending Hankey Sound when the heretics finally get around to attacking it, but if we lose the rest of the Gulf and get driven solely back onto the canals.…”

He waved at the crowded harbor, and Thirsk grimaced.

“As it happens, I agree with you,” he said. “On the other hand, a thought occurred to me when all of this came up. We've been thinking in terms of operating the screw-galleys only in company with the Home Squadron, but we don't
have
to do it that way. And if all I want is to send your squadron to reinforce Rohsail, I don't have to send you via the Gulf at all, do I?”

Hahlynd looked at him in puzzlement for several seconds. Then, slowly, he smiled in understanding.

*   *   *

“That
's profoundly irritating,” Admiral Sarmouth remarked.

The admiral and his flag lieutenant sat on HMS
Destiny
's sternwalk with their chairs cocked back and their heels resting on the rail while a spectacular tropical sun settled into the sea off the galleon's larboard beam. Sarmouth, to the extreme displeasure of Sylvyst Raigly, his longtime steward and valet, had developed a taste for the cigars which were a Corisandian specialty. The Duke of Darcos agreed with Raigly. Unlike the majority of sea officers, Hektor had never felt any inclination to smoke, and he understood why the steward was less than enthralled by the cigar ash which had invaded his world.

“Cayleb's always said Thirsk's the best commander the Church has,” he agreed now, grateful for the brisk northeasterly that blew his admiral's smoke out to disappear far, far from him. “I asked him once if he meant the Church's best
naval
commander, and he told me, no—he meant best commander, period.”

“I think there are a few army commanders who could give the earl a run for his money,” Sarmouth demurred. “On the other hand, His Majesty has a point. Worse, Thirsk seems to have a gift for training up additional good commanders. Rohsail, for example. And Hahlynd, for that matter. I never actually realized how true that was before—”

He waved his cigar in a gesture which somehow indicated the imagery he and Hektor had been watching on their contact lenses, and Hektor nodded.

“I know what you mean, Sir. It
is
sort of … addictive, isn't it?”

“That's certainly one way to put it,” Sarmouth replied dryly.

Clearly, the baron remained in two minds about the earthquake which had reordered his world, yet he was too good a sailor not to recognize the staggering value of Owl's SNARCs. Simply knowing about weather changes in advance was a huge advantage for any seaman, yet the advantages for any
naval
officer were still greater. And that didn't even consider the ability to actually sit in on his opponents' conversations. On the other hand.…

“I can see why you wanted someone with this sort of access out with Earl Sharpfield,” he said now. “But I'm still trying to figure out how I can make best use of it. I suppose it's human nature to always want more than you have, but I'd give two or three fingers to be able to hand coms to each of my captains.”

Hektor snorted.

“At least you've got signal flags, Sir,” he pointed out. “And I suppose if we really needed to,
Seijin
Dagyr could pay another visit on Earl Sharpfield. I know accounting for the time for him to have gotten to Gorath and back to Claw Island quickly enough might be tight, but still.…”

Sarmouth drew heavily on his cigar while he considered that.

The reports on the Dohlaran screw-galleys had emphasized their small size, yet until he'd gotten access to the SNARCs and “seen” them for himself the implications hadn't truly registered.

And they damned well should have
, he thought.
The frigging things're twenty feet shorter and thirty percent narrower than
Delthak.
If Merlin could decide to send Bahrns up the Guarnak-Ice Ash to trash Wyrshym's logistics, why shouldn't someone as sneaky as Thirsk see the advantages of being able to fit
his
ironclads into the canals? And why am I so surprised he did?

Like most Charisians, Sarmouth had a tendency to overlook the mainland canal system's ubiquity. Because of that, he'd never considered that Thirsk could send Hahlynd's ironclads from Gorath to Saram Bay—or, in this case, Shwei Bay—without having to traverse the Gulf of Dohlar to get there.

It'll be a longer trip, but less than half of it'll be over saltwater
.

The screw-galleys would have to cross six hundred and fifty miles of Hankey Sound to the Desnairian port of Ershalla, at the mouth of the North Hankey River, but from that point, they could travel well over two thousand miles “overland” to Hahskyn Bay, which connected in turn to Shwei Bay. The entire trip would take at least five five-days, as opposed to the sixteen days for a galleon to reach the same destination, but it would get the fragile screw-galleys there safely.

And they'll reach Yu-shai a five-day before
we
get to Claw Island … without the possibility of their being spotted by any of Sharpfield's cruisers
.

“I'm afraid we do need to dust off
Seijin
Dagyr,” he said. “Sharpfield needs to know about this—and get warnings to his squadrons—as soon as possible.”