Queen of Fire

“I should fetch some shielding, Highness,” Iltis said. “Their arrows were many at the Teeth if you recall.”

“I recall very well, my lord. But that won’t be necessary.”

Lyrna watched the Volarian ships come ever closer, the leading vessel closing to a range of about five hundred yards. She glanced towards starboard, taking satisfaction from the sight of the Red Falcon alongside, a man standing ready at their own engine. She could only hope he had been properly taught how to use it. A glance towards the stern confirmed the other ships in their small fleet were following in an orderly narrow line, every deck crowded with soldiers and pirates.

The port-side ballista began to clatter as the Volarian ships closed, casting its bolts at the rigging of a small but swift warship tacking into their path. At first the arcing fountain of projectiles seemed to have no effect but they were soon rewarded by the sight of a figure tumbling from the warship’s mast to land heavily on the deck, raising an instant cheer from the ballista crew. Soon, however, the Volarian archers were able to bring their own weapons into play, a shower of arrows thumping into the Queen Lyrna from end to end. Lyrna watched a shaft smack into the planking an arm’s length away but managed to control an instinctive flinch. Fear is a luxury today. They need to see a queen.

The port ballista continued to clatter, the crewman winding the mechanism whooping with excitement at the effect on the Volarian vessel, his first bolt striking with sufficient force to pin a man to the deck. A dozen or more close-packed Free Swords fell as the archers in the Queen Lyrna’s rigging soon joined in, wreaking havoc on the warship as it veered away, littered with corpses.

A whooshing roar dragged Lyrna’s attention back to the bow where she was greeted with the sight of Alornis raising the engine to its full elevation, a stream of fire arcing towards the oncoming Volarian ship. It was one of their troop-ships, only slightly smaller than the Queen Lyrna, the archers in her rigging assailing them with a cloud of arrows as they closed at ramming speed. At first Alornis’s fire-stream fell into the sea, raising enough steam to momentarily obscure the oncoming ship. However, when it cleared, they were rewarded with the sight of a blaze covering her bow from sea to rail. The Volarian ship seemed to shudder, her course altering abruptly like a wounded boar shying from a spear-point.

Alornis turned a fierce glower on the two soldiers working the bellows. “Pump harder! I need more pressure!”

She realigned the engine as the Volarian vessel wallowed in their path, unleashing another torrent of flame that licked along her side before ascending to sweep the deck, igniting men and rigging alike without distinction. Flaming bodies began to leap from the ship, a chorus of screams reaching them through the thickening smoke along with the stench of burning flesh. Alornis faltered then, her hand falling from the spigot, the flames dying, a pale stillness seizing her features.

Lyrna moved quickly to her side, placing a hand on her shoulder and turning her. “A burden not to be shirked, my lady,” she said, taking her hand and placing it firmly back on the spigot. “To your duty, if you would.”

An arrow came arcing down to smack into the engine, its steel head shattering on the iron fittings as it spun away. Alornis barely seemed to notice, her pale face still frozen as she nodded and returned to her task, altering the angle of the engine to cast flame at the Volarian’s sails. Lyrna could see men running around the ship, buckets in hand as they fought flames that wouldn’t die. Soon her rigging was ablaze and her crew began to abandon ship with a frenzied alacrity, men trailing flames as they tumbled into the sea by the dozen.

Lyrna cast about for another victim, spying a fast-moving warship some two hundred paces off the port bow. “Tell the captain to make for that one,” she said to Murel before turning back to Alornis. “My lady, I believe your engine requires more fuel.”

• • •

By evening they had burned their way through the centre of the Volarian line, dividing their fleet in two and sowing chaos and panic in every sailor and Free Sword to witness the spectacle of a dozen warships blazing in the gathering dark. But the battle didn’t end. Although their cohesion had been lost, the Volarians fought on, ships mounting lone, often suicidal attacks, soon left burning in their wake or stormed by the Meldeneans. Only one came close enough to mount an assault on the Queen Lyrna. Her helmsman displayed considerable skill by swinging her around just beyond the range of Alornis’s device, then hauling the tiller to slam into the Queen Lyrna’s starboard side, her complement of Varitai heaving ladders into place and storming across despite appalling losses inflicted by the ballista and the archers above.

Lord Nortah’s company met them head-on before they had seized more than a few feet of the deck, attacking with a disciplined ferocity that did great credit to their months of training. The Lord Marshal himself hacked his way through the Varitai’s ranks, breaking their formation apart, fighting with an unconscious skill and precision Lyrna hadn’t seen since her days with Brother Sollis. His war-cat fought at his side, reaping death with every swipe of its claws. With the Varitai all hacked down or forced over the side, Nortah rallied his soldiers into a tight wedge and led them onto the Volarian ship, overcoming the remaining crew as they mounted a desperate stand around the mainmast. A few had evidently attempted to surrender judging by the number of unarmed men Lyrna saw cast into the sea.

“Highness!” A sailor came running from the helm, pointing to port. “Captain Larhten begs to report more ships to the west.”

Lyrna peered into the gathering dusk, making out the faint lines of tall masts. The dark brings scant relief, it seems. She looked to the east where the Red Falcon could be seen, fire spouting from her prow to engulf a Volarian troop-ship. Beyond her more Meldenean vessels were assaulting the remaining enemy line, the sky alight with a continual cascade of flaming balls as the mangonels did their deadly work.

“Tell the captain to turn west,” she told the sailor. “And signal the Realm vessels to follow us. Our allies have this matter in hand.”

Unfortunately, it was clear an unseen hand still exercised some form of command over the Volarian fleet, and felt no desire to allow her to confront the latest threat. A squadron of ten vessels separated from the central cluster of ships to plough towards them at full sail. The wind was in their favour and they managed to place themselves directly in the Queen Lyrna’s path, heaving about to face them, arrows and ballista bolts filling the air between them as they closed. Lyrna clasped her hands together and stood still as the air buzzed about her, a bolt flicking through her hair just below the ear. Iltis moved his bulky frame in front of her, holding his arm in front of his face as if shielding himself from a rain shower, grunting as an arrow grazed his forearm.

Lyrna turned a questioning gaze to Alornis as she finished refuelling the engine. “The last of the oil, Highness,” she reported, her voice as devoid of expression as her face.

“Don’t spare it, my lady,” Lyrna advised. “A blazing ship makes a bigger impression than a scorched one.”

The first Volarian ship to come into range was of considerably smaller draught than the Queen Lyrna and Alornis was obliged to depress the spout of her engine as she swept by, liberally dousing her in flame from bow to stern, heralding the now-familiar chorus of screams. Alornis managed another fulsome blast at the next ship, a considerably larger troop-ship well supplied with ballistae and archers. The stream of fire managed to sweep many from the rigging but not before they had killed a dozen or more Realm Guard and the crew manning the port ballista.

Lyrna turned to see the last dregs of fire dripping from the engine’s spout, Alornis meeting her gaze and giving an apologetic bow. Lyrna pointed her towards the now-silent ballista.

Despite the flames still licking at its ropes and sails the Volarian troop-ship maintained its course, a full Free Sword battalion assembled on deck. Lyrna was about to order Nortah to bring up the rest of his regiment but saw that the Lord Marshal had anticipated the need, the soldiers running to form ranks with remarkable precision despite the confusion all around.

The port ballista clattered into life once more, Alornis aiming whilst Davoka worked the handle. Lyrna followed the flight of one bolt as it streaked across the gap to claim the life of a Volarian Free Sword officer who had unwisely chosen to stand tall at the rail, no doubt as an example to his men. She hoped they learned the lesson well.

“Highness!” It was Larhten, calling from the helm and pointing to something beyond the Volarian ship. Lyrna blinked away the smoke-born sting in her eyes and sought to discern something through the haze. The King Malcius, she saw as the view cleared. Fitting that my brother should come to save me.

The King Malcius came on at full sail, her archers casting a shower of fire arrows at the Volarian troop-ship before she ploughed into her starboard hull with a splintering crunch. The fires now littering the sea painted the subsequent spectacle with flickering shadows, the sight of a host of steel-clad men rushing from the King Malcius to assail the Free Swords seeming unreal somehow, like something from a dream, or a nightmare.

Lyrna’s gaze was soon drawn to the sight of a burly man throwing himself into the densest knot of Volarians, his mace rising and falling with deadly effect. At his side was a taller and more slender figure wielding a longsword. She watched as together they hacked their way the length of the ship, their knights following in a thrashing mass of steel, driving the Free Swords back with such murderous zeal most chose the scarce safety of the sea rather than stay to fight on. By the time the Queen Lyrna had drawn up alongside the troop-ship the two figures were standing at her port rail, removing their helms to greet her with a bow.