Travis Starnes
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The Barons' War - Chapter 2
🕑 Added 2025-03-08 14:00:04 +0000 UTCBleakwater Straight
The weight of Marrow’s Bane felt strange in William’s hands. For as long as it was, the full length of a longsword, it wasn’t as heavy as he would have expected it to be. Not as light as Eskild’s curved sword, but still, lighter than what he’d been training with his whole life.
And the weight change was still throwing him off.
“Higher guard, Your Highness,” Sir Drummond called from where he stood at the ship’s rail. “Keep your elbow tucked closer to your body.”
William adjusted his stance, although it was still less steady than he would have liked. While the time on board had given him time to practice, he was no sailor and still found the rolling of the deck beneath his feet difficult to account for, much to the amusement of the sailors who’d been watching him through all of his practices.
They were making good time. They’d sailed out of Drayford four days ago, crossing east out of the Iron Straits, along the coast of Iron Keep, and had made it halfway up the Bleakwater Straits. If they kept this up, they would manage to sail all the way around Sidor and down to Rendallia in less time than it had taken him to cross the Leviathan Straits just over a month before.
“The Sidorian forms won’t serve him well with that blade,” Eskild countered, his accent thick with the harsh consonants of his Thay homeland. “It moves too quick for such rigid postures.”
“We’ve had this discussion before, Sergeant. The prince is Sidorian. He’ll fight as befits his station.”
“And die quickly if he meets someone who knows how to counter such predictable movements,” Eskild said, pushing away from the mast he’d been leaning against. “I’ve seen men with lesser blades cut down knights in full plate because they fought like water instead of stone.”
William lowered Marrow’s Bane and waited for them to finish. This argument had become something of a daily ritual at this point. While he could see both their points, it was also not helping him get any better.
“He has a point, Sir Drummond. I’ve spent a lot of time with the weapons masters, and learned the long sword well. This weapon feels nothing like that.”
“That’s because it’s not. You need to match the weapon, not force the weapon to match you. Watch.”
The Thay sergeant drew his curved saber, stepping sideways to make sure he had room. Unlike the straight blades favored by Sidorian knights, the weapon had a graceful curve to it as he moved into a series of flowing forms, his body pivoting and turning as the blade traced circles in the air.
“See how I redirect the momentum?” Eskild demonstrated, his movements almost dance-like. “I don’t stop the blade between strikes. I let it continue its path, guiding it rather than forcing it.”
“Yes, I get that, but this sword is also much longer than that. If I’m not careful, I’ll lose control of it or get it stuck in the floor.”
“True. There will have to be some adjustment to the form, but the principle remains. Feel the blade’s weight, or lack of it, and let it guide your movements.”
“Which ignores the reach advantage of the weapon. Thayans like to fight close because their weapons don’t have levers, they’re too short. A longsword allows you to keep enemies at a distance.”
“A distance easily closed by someone who knows how to move,” Eskild countered.
And back around we go again, William thought as he raised Marrow’s Bane again, trying to incorporate elements of both styles. He began with a traditional Sidorian guard, then flowed into a more circular motion as he brought the blade around in a sweeping arc.
“Better,” Eskild said, nodding. “Now try to chain the movements together without pausing.”
William attempted the sequence again, feeling the strange lightness of the sword working with him rather than against him.
“Mind your footwork,” Sir Drummond said. “You’re keeping your balance how you would with a heavier weapon. If you’re going to prance around, at least be light on your feet.”
For the next hour, William practiced, although if he was getting better with the weapon or not, he couldn’t tell. At times, it felt natural, and he thought he’d figure it out, only to nearly take his own leg off.
This wasn’t something that could be solved in a few days, which meant he’d have to do what he’d done when he was younger and just starting to learn.
He’d need to train every day until he mastered his new weapon.
“You’re improving,” Sir Drummond admitted grudgingly as he paused to take a break. “Though I still maintain that proper form…”
He was cut off by a cry from the crow’s nest far above him.
“Ships ahoy! Three vessels approaching fast from the north!”
William sheathed his sword and went to the port rail, squinting into the mist. At first, he saw nothing but dark gray water and swirling fog, but then dark shapes emerged. Smaller vessels with high prows made for riding low into the water.
Fast ships.
“Raiders,” the captain said grimly, joining William at the rail. “Alchmara.”
William felt a surge of both fear and excitement. This would be his first naval engagement, far different from the land battles he’d fought in Lynese. The fear didn’t last long. Maybe a different form of battle, but battle all the same.
Something William was getting used to.
As they watched the ships approach they began to separate, clearly intending to surround his larger vessel.
Turning to Sir Drummond and Eskild he said, “Ready the men. Crossbowmen to the rails.”
Both men were professionals and knew their jobs. Sir Drummond headed toward the knights, who’d have to fight in lighter leather armor, since anything heavy would be a death sentence if they went over. At the same time, Eskild was getting the men-at-arms in position.
“Form ranks, you lazy dogs! Crossbows to the starboard and port rails! Move as if your mothers’ virtue depended on it!”
The deck erupted into organized chaos as men rushed to retrieve weapons from below and get in position. William stayed out of their way, moving up to the quarter deck to where the captain was standing, looking out at the approaching ships through a glass.
“Can we outrun them?” William asked, though he already knew the answer.
“Not these waters, not with their lighter vessels.”
William was afraid he’d say that. For a few minutes, as they closed with the approaching raiders, William watched them and thought. Each ship could hold as many as thirty men, forty if they were packed in tight. He had a total of fifty all included. If all three ships got to grips with them, they would be overrun easily.
“How sturdy is our bow?” he asked, seemingly out of nowhere.
The captain frowned. “Sturdy enough. Why?”
“Because I want you to turn hard toward that nearest vessel,” William said, pointing to the smallest of the three raider ships.
“Your Highness?”
“Turn the ship toward them and put whatever sail you need to keep us going as fast as we can. Do not slow down.”
“Your Highness, if you’re suggesting we ram them, the damage to our own ship could be severe. We are not built for that.”
“And what happens if we allow them to surround us? How many raiders will we face?”
The captain did the same calculations William did.
“Exactly,” William said when the grizzled old sailor frowned. “Those aren’t odds I favor. Better to eliminate one threat immediately.”
The captain hesitated, clearly torn between protecting his vessel and the logic of William’s strategy.
“Do it,” William said, looking the man hard in the eye.
After a moment’s consideration, the captain nodded.
“As you command, Your Highness.” He turned to the helmsman. “Hard to starboard! All hands, brace for impact!”
The deck tilted beneath William’s feet as the ship lurched toward the raider vessel. Men scrambled to brace themselves, gripping ropes and rails.
William stayed by the railing, watching the ships close, wrapping his arm around a nearby rope and drawing Marrow’s Bane with his free hand.
The impact came with a thunderous crack that shook the entire ship. Wood splintered and men screamed as their vessel plowed into the side of the raider ship. William was thrown forward, and would have gone over the side if it wasn’t for the rope he’d grabbed. Pain shot through his arm as it wrenched at him.
The raider vessel listed immediately, its hull shattered below the waterline. Men tumbled from its deck into the cold waters of the strait, their cries cut short as the dark waves claimed them. Those who remained aboard the sinking ship stumbled and slid across its tilting deck.
But they weren’t giving up. Even as their ship took on water, they hurled grappling hooks across the narrowing gap between vessels. Iron claws bit into the wooden rails of William’s ship, and ropes pulled taut.
“Cut the lines!” Sir Drummond yelled, coming up next to William.
William had already been moving to the nearest grappling hook. Raising Marrow’s Bane, he brought it down in a swift arc, the blade sliced through the thick rope as if it were thread. He moved to the next, and the next, each swing of the ancestral blade severing the raiders’ lifelines.
They got most of them, but not all. A few steps away, An Alchmaran came over the rail near William, a short sword in hand. William pivoted, bringing his sword up in a defensive stance. The raider was fast. He lunged, his blade aimed at William’s throat. William parried, catching the man’s sword on the flat side of his weapon and then recovered quickly, slashing across the man’s chest. The raider staggered back, eyes wide with shock as crimson bloomed across his tunic as he toppled backward over the railing and into the sea.
More grappling hooks flew over the rails. They couldn’t cut them all. A dozen raiders made pulled themselves onto the deck, weapons in hand.
“Form up!” Sir Drummond shouted to the knights, who moved to intercept the boarders on the starboard side.
The raider ship was now half submerged, its deck at a steep angle. The last of its crew abandoned the doomed vessel, either trying to grab a line up to William’s ship or plunging into the icy waters.
“The other two! They’re closing fast!”
William spun to see the remaining raider ships approaching from opposite sides, clearly intending to trap them between. They would be boarded from both directions at once.
“Eskild!” William called. “Take the port side with your men!”
The Thay sergeant nodded and yelled orders to the men-at-arms with him, who rushed to form a defensive line along the port rail.
The men from the injured ship didn’t last long against trained knights and a dozen sailors. Seeing Eskild already heading to the port side, Sir Drummond led his knights and most of the sailors to the opposite end of the ship.
William positioned himself between the two groups with some of the sailors and the remaining men-at-arms still coming up from the hold, not wanting to commit their forces all to one side or another until needed.
As they waited for the two Alchmara vessels to close, the ship’s carpenter rushed past, shouting about checking for damage from the ramming. A concern, but not one William could dwell on at the moment.
The raiders’ ships drew alongside, archers appeared on their decks, nocking arrows.
“Down!” William shouted, but too late.
A volley of arrows whistled through the air. Men cried out as shafts found their marks. One of Sir Drummond’s knights and two sailors on that side of the boat fell, one with an arrow through his neck, the other clutching at a shaft buried in his eye. On the port side, three of Eskild’s men-at-arms dropped to the deck.
William ducked behind the main mast and some crates lashed to the deck as arrows thudded into the wood around him. The raiders were using the range to thin their numbers before boarding. He needed to close that gap.
“Crossbows! Return fire!” he ordered.
His remaining crossbowmen stepped forward, leveling their weapons at the raiders. They loosed their bolts, dropping several pirates, but it wasn’t enough to halt the attack.
Grappling hooks flew over the rails again, dozens of them biting into wood and metal. The smaller raider ships heaved on the ropes, drawing themselves closer to William’s larger vessel. Men on both enemy ships began climbing across the ropes, hanging by their arms and legs as they inched toward William’s ship.
His men rushed to the rails, hacking at the lines with swords and axes. Each severed rope sent raiders plunging into the waters below, but there were too many. For every line they cut, two more hooks found purchase.
The enemy vessels pulled closer, their hulls now scraping against William’s ship. William ran to the starboard side, where Sir Drummond’s knights were being pressed hardest. He cut down a raider who had just swung aboard, then another.
“Your Highness, behind you!” Sir Drummond shouted.
William spun to find three raiders had circled behind him. He parried the first man’s thrust, sidestepped the second, and with a backhand stroke opened the third man from shoulder to hip.
The raiders tried to press their advantage, attacking in tandem. William deflected one blade, ducked under another, and with a twist of his wrist that would have made Eskild proud, drove Marrow’s Bane through the first raider’s chest.
He couldn’t keep up with the attackers, however. For each he killed, three more came on board. Both enemy ships had secured multiple grappling points, and pirates swarmed over the rails and up the sides of the ship. William found himself cut off from Sir Drummond’s group, forced back toward the center of the ship.
Through the press of bodies, William spotted a tall figure directing the raiders from the starboard side. His beard was forked and bound with silver rings, and in his hands he held a massive battle axe.
The raider captain locked eyes with William across the deck and he smiled, probably picking William out as an easy target by his fine clothes.
“Bring me his head!”
Three raiders immediately changed course, heading straight for William. He met them with sword raised high, then dropping into a low guard as Eskild had shown him. The first man lunged, and William stepped aside, letting the raider’s momentum carry him past. William’s blade cut through the man’s armor and deep into his chest, as if William had pulled the blade through water and not a man.
William recovered in time to parry one of the other men, but couldn’t avoid the other completely, and felt it slice across his upper arm. It was a surface wound, painful but not serious.
William killed the man who’d wounded him with a thrust through the chest, then turned to face the third raider. But the man was already falling, an arrow from one of William’s surviving crossbowmen protruding from his back.
The raider captain was already coming for him even as William recovered, surprisingly fast for a man of his size. His axe swept a deadly arc through the air, forcing William to step back.
“I’ll take that pretty sword, boy, after I’ve taken your hands.”
William didn’t waste breath on a reply. The axe came down again, a blow that would have split him from crown to navel if it connected. William sidestepped, the massive blade missing him by inches. Before the captain could recover, William slashed at the axe’s wooden haft, the axe head falling to the deck with a heavy thud, leaving the captain holding a useless stick.
The raider’s eyes widened in disbelief. “What …”
His words died in his throat as William thrust Marrow’s Bane through his chest. The captain’s hands clutched at the blade, blood running down its length and over William’s fingers. William wrenched the sword free, and the captain collapsed to the deck.
There was no time to savor the victory. More raiders swarmed over the rails from both sides. Looking around, William saw his men were being pushed back on both sides.
William realized they couldn’t win this way. They were going to be overwhelmed by sheer numbers.
His eyes darted between the two enemy ships. The one on the starboard side had the most men aboard now, still waiting for their turn to climb up and on board.
William sheathed Marrow’s Bane and grabbed a coil of rope hanging from the rigging. He tested its strength with a sharp tug, then backed up several paces. Taking a deep breath, he ran forward and leapt onto the rail, pushing off with all his strength.
The rope went taut in his hands as he swung out over the cold waters of the strait. For a heartbeat, he hung suspended between the ships, the wind rushing past his face, and then he crashed onto the deck of the enemy vessel.
He landed hard, rolling to absorb the impact. Four raiders turned to face him, shock evident in their expressions. They clearly hadn’t expected anyone to board their ship.
William drew his weapon in a single fluid motion, striking before they had could gather their wits, cutting down the nearest man with a diagonal slash across the chest. The second raider backed away, tripping over a coil of rope. William’s blade found his throat before he could regain his footing.
The remaining two attacked together, one with a spear, the other with a short sword. William parried the spear thrust, stepped inside the man’s guard, and drove Marrow’s Bane through his stomach. As he pulled the blade free, he spun to face the fourth raider, only to find the man already fleeing toward the bow.
More pirates rushed aft from the forecastle, having noticed the commotion. William counted six men, armed with a mix of weapons, axes and swords.
They weren’t, however, his goal.
Turning, William charged toward the main mast, ducking under a swinging axe and sidestepping a sword thrust. As he reached the mast and swung his sword with all his strength.
The ancestral blade bit deep into the wood. No ordinary sword could have cut more than a few hairs into the thick seasoned oak, but Marrow’s Bane was no ordinary sword. The sword continued to slash through, coming out clearly at the other end of the arch.
The mast was too thin to cut all the way through, at least not without a second swing, but William had slashed through two thirds of it on the side facing away from his vessel.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then a creak, followed by a groan of timber under stress. The mast swayed, then toppled with a thunderous crash, taking sail and rigging with it. The heavy timber crashed into the water, dragging down ropes and canvas, and the ship lurched violently to one side.
The remaining raiders staggered as the deck tilted beneath them. William had already started moving before the mast had even started to fall, however.
He made his way to the starboard rail, where grappling hooks still connected the raider ship to his own vessel. With quick slashes, he severed most of the ropes. As the last rope parted, the crippled ship began to drift away, carried by the current and its toppled mast.
He looked up at his own ship, where the battle still raged. Without the reinforcements from the ship he’d disabled, his men might stand a chance, but he needed to get back aboard.
The gap between ships widened with each passing heartbeat. Soon, it would be too wide to jump. William spotted a loose line hanging from his ship’s yard, swaying with the vessel’s movement. It was now or never.
He sheathed Marrow’s Bane, backed up a few paces, and ran for the rail, launching himself into the air, arms outstretched, fingers grasping for the rope. For a terrible moment, he thought he would miss, but then his hands closed around the rough hemp. His momentum carried him in a wide arc, and he used the swing to propel himself upward, climbing hand over hand until he reached the railing, pulling himself up behind a group of raiders who were pressing Eskild’s men from the rear. They didn’t notice him over the chaos of battle.
The first raider fell without a sound, his spine severed by William’s blade. The second turned just in time to see death coming for him, eyes widening in surprise before William’s sword cut him nearly in two. The third managed to raise his weapon, but too late, as William’s sword slashed through the weapon and into his head.
The remaining raiders turned to face this new threat, momentarily easing the pressure on Eskild, who used the distraction to his advantage.
“Forward! Push them back!”
Caught between William’s furious attack and Eskild’s renewed assault, the raiders broke. Several jumped overboard rather than face a blade.
They only needed to push these remaining attackers over the rails. With two ships disabled and their crews either dead or stranded, the raiders were no longer being reinforced. Those remaining on deck fought with increasing desperation, aware that their advantage was slipping away.
Trapped between the two forces, the raiders didn’t last long. Some threw down their weapons, while others fought to the bitter end, either cut down or forced over the railing into the sea.
Within a few minutes, the only armed men on the vessel were his own.
“Bind them,” William ordered as they gathered the men who’d managed to surrender without being slain. “We’ll deal with them later.”
“They’re fleeing!” a sailor shouted, pointing to the last ship, which had cut away its lines and had started to pull away.
“Let them go,” William said.
William wiped Marrow’s Bane clean on a scrap of cloth before returning it to its scabbard. His arm throbbed where he’d been cut, but he paid it little mind. He’d suffered worse in the campaign at Twyver.
“Your Highness,” Sir Drummond approached, a fresh cut on his temple. “Nine of ours dead, eleven wounded, two of whom won’t last the night.”
“And the raiders?”
“Twenty-seven dead on our deck, another fifteen bound. Gods know how many drowned when you sank their vessel and crippled the other. That was a dangerous gambit.”
“One that worked,” William said.
Whatever chastisement Drummond might have had for him in response, however, was cut short when the captain emerged from below decks, his face grim, the ship’s carpenter following in his wake.
“Your Highness. We have damage to the bow. The forward compartment has taken on water.”
“How bad?”
“We drove her hard into that raider ship, milord,” the carpenter said. “Cracked the forward beam and splintered three ribs. We’ve got water coming in, but we’ve managed to slow it with patches and pump it out faster than it’s coming in. For now.”
“For now?”
“It is unclear how long that will remain true, my prince. We’re seaworthy at the moment,” the captain said, “but in need of proper repairs. The patches won’t hold forever, especially if we hit rough seas. The Frozen Sea is a difficult stretch of water for a hale ship, let alone one in our state.”
“What do you suggest?”
“We should turn back and find a friendly port. Most of the Iron Keep cities this far are still in Icelander hands, so there are none until we get south of the mountains, Your Highness. Maybe a day and a half sail from where we are now. The shipyards there could make proper repairs in a week or so.”
“Eight days,” William turned away, walking to the starboard rail.
The ship they’d crippled was now far behind them, its mast trailing in the water like a broken limb. The third raider vessel had disappeared into the mist.
Eight days wasn’t a lot, in the scale of things, but in war it could mean the difference between victory and defeat. His uncle had intended to march out soon, to pick up as much ground as possible before winter set in.
He might be in battle even now.
“Captain, could we continue with temporary repairs?” William asked after thinking for a minute. “With the reinforcements and what you’ve done?”
The captain frowned deeply. “Probably, Your Highness, but there is no guarantee the repairs will hold. I would strongly advise against it.”
William was silent for a minute more, staring out at the water.
Finally, he turned back to the men and said, “I’m willing to risk it. We continue on our original course.”
“As you command, Your Highness.”
The captain didn’t seem happy about the decision, but he was not about to argue with a prince.
William just hoped it was the right one.
Comments
David Howe
I'm glad to see the third book starting.
