The Saints of the Sword by John Marco

Author:John Marco [Marco, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-8041-8087-0
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2014-09-30T16:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-ONE

Queen Jelena stood in the bow of her jarl, the walls of an ancient canal rising high above her. The Serpent’s Strand had a primeval quality that harkened back to when rock and water ruled the world and mankind’s mark was yet unmade. A silent fog draped the surrounding hills, chilled by a breeze and the constant rush of the river. On both sides of Jelena’s little boat, sheer faces of stone reached skyward, blocking out the sun and darkening the passage with shadowy reflections. It was a wide waterway but it always felt claustrophobic, and as her jarl drifted through it she imagined the cliffs tumbling down on her, trapping her forever in the watery gorge. For the bloody business at hand, it was ideal.

“There,” she said, pointing to a place high in the eastern cliffs. “That’s it. Timrin, stop the boat.”

Timrin ordered the sailors to bring the jarl to a halt. The oarsmen retracted their blades and let the boat drift with the current. Jelena spied the eastern wall of rock, then swiveled to assess its western brother. It, too, was craggy and somber, high enough to hide them but close enough for the needed range.

“This is where we’ll place the cannons,” she decided. “A dozen on each cliff. We’ll cover them with brush until the Fearless comes in range.”

Timrin shielded his eyes as he looked up at the cliffs. “We can do that. But it’s going to be hard getting cannons up there. You’re talking about a lot of men, too. A dozen guns, five men per gun.” Quickly he did the math and came to the same conclusion. “Lots of men.”

Jelena looked over the side of the jarl. The water was deep—deep enough for a dreadnought to navigate. That wasn’t a problem. But somehow they had to stop the Fearless. Otherwise she’d escape the guns.

“How deep is the water here?” Jelena asked.

“I don’t know for certain. Maybe thirty, thirty-five feet.”

“Thirty-five feet,” Jelena mused. “Kasrin told me the Fearless has a draft of at least twelve feet. The Dread Sovereign maybe ten.” Again she glanced up to the cliffs. “When we start digging those gun emplacements, there’s going to be a lot of rocks.” She smiled at Timrin. “Twenty-three feet’s worth, you think?”

“You mean to ground her?”

“Just the Fearless, not Kasrin’s ship. He needs to be able to get away. He’ll be leading the Fearless in. If we set up a barricade, he has to be able to get through it.”

“You’re sure of that? If Nicabar comes in first it will be a lot easier. Then Kasrin can just hang back and watch the Fearless rip her keel.”

“No,” said Jelena. “We talked about that. Kasrin doesn’t want Nicabar getting suspicious. He’s going to be leading the way.” She went to the edge of the jarl, but from the corner of her eye she saw Timrin frown.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

“You’re thinking something, Timrin. Tell me.”

Timrin sighed. “I think you’re putting too much trust in this Kasrin. I think he

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