The Hero (Navarre Book 3), page 14
“I don’t understand how this helps us,” Lieutenant Douglas confessed.
“Lieutenant,” Whitelock quietly explained, “the sheriff is telling us that if we are able to kill the torture victims, that the orc vessels will sink.”
The lieutenant shot to his feet. “That is monstrous!” He pointed at Navarre. “You are a halfling. How could you even think such a thing?”
Navarre turned to Captain Grant. “I do not understand how my race is relevant to this situation.”
“If I may, captain?” Owen the Druid intervened. “I think what the lieutenant is trying to get at is that halflings are typically overly nice—even when they are being mistreated, they do not raise their hands to defend themselves.”
As the druid spoke, Navarre frowned.
“He’s unnatural,” Douglas emphatically agreed. “What kind of halfling can even pick up a weapon?”
“Oh, I don’t think it’s unnatural,” the druid said. “I just think the sheriff is highly unusual. Nature is harsh and it often adapts itself to new predators. I think the sheriff is like that. And just as we sometimes have to burn out a few trees to stop an infection from spreading to the whole wood, I think he is saying that putting these poor people out of their misery may be the only way to save our town.”
“If they really can’t be healed,” Camille considered the problem, “then this would be an act of kindness, not cruelty.”
“All three of you are mad,” Douglas insisted.
“I don’t know if I agree with that,” Grant announced. “Does the thought of killing the victims of these orcs make me happy? No, quite the opposite. It enrages me. But if they can’t be helped and if it will let us stop these orcs from reaching Queenstown and exterminating thirty thousand more people—I’m willing to give it a try. Aren’t you, Douglas?”
The lieutenant swallowed hard and nodded. “When you put it in those terms, captain, I don’t see that we have a choice.”
“I don’t want any of you to think that this little trick will make stopping the orc vessels easy,” Navarre warned them. “There are a lot of sacrificial victims on these vessels and the orcs will fight to keep us away from them. We are still going to have a furious battle on the decks of their ships. But if you have a few magic users capable of putting these poor victims out of their misery from a distance—that will greatly boost our efforts to save the people of your town.”
“I will speak with my juniors,” Whitelock told them. “We will develop a strategy.”
“Just be certain you make them aware that the shamans and the witchdoctors will fight back hard,” Navarre reminded him. “And they too can fight from a distance.”
“Now,” the halfling changed subjects. “I think we should spend some time considering actual battle tactics. When hunting down a vessel, the orcs use blood magic to empower a ballista to fire huge distances—half a mile or more—to strike the hull of a ship. The bolt then becomes like the hook on a fishing line, or a harpoon in a whale, connecting the orc vessel to their prey and allowing them to use their magic to haul the fleeing vessel in.”
“That’s terrible,” Douglas exclaimed.
“But I don’t know if that will be a problem for us,” Grant suggested as she analyzed the possibilities. “We are going to charge toward the orcs, not run away.”
“I bring it up because it may permit the orcs to interfere with the strategy I am going to suggest,” Navarre informed her. “You need to understand that the orcs have a method of interfering with the free movement of your vessels, so that they may be able to prevent you from swarming one of theirs to board and slay its crew.”
Alfred Whitelock nodded his head in understanding. “We will consider whether we have magic that would disrupt such a spell.”
“Swarming is your recommendation then?” Grant asked as if she were hoping for something more.
“Not precisely,” Navarre corrected her. “Swarming is what the orcs do. They will mass their numbers on the side of their vessel coming closest to ours and then charge onto your deck in one awe-inspiring mass. What we do is find ways to weaken that first charge, preferably to take to their decks ourselves.”
“So, you recommend swarming them ourselves to keep them from putting all of their warriors into a single battle,” Grant said.
“That would be part of the plan,” Navarre agreed. “By attacking their battle barges from multiple sides, we force them to spread their warriors to counter us. But they have more ships than we do, so we will have to be wary of orcs attacking us from behind. There is no easy solution here.”
He looked at the faces around the room looking grim and depressed. “But our chief tactic must be to find ways to break their crude formations before the face-to-face fighting commences. We must sew chaos in their ranks and look for ways to quickly kill their leaders—especially the shamans and the witchdoctors.”
“That is going to be challenging,” Whitelock told them. “Because we are also going to need our spell casters to protect our people from what their priests of whatever sort can do.”
“It will not all be on your wizards,” Navarre told him. “In point of fact, we didn’t have any wizards on the Sea Hawk when we sailed into battle. We did have Sister Agnes who could hold motionless critical leaders among our opponents, and then later, as the tide of battle ground down both sides, she did something with the blessing of Thorne that she has not since been able to duplicate.”
“Yes,” Whitelock remembered. “She made a reference to it in the meeting on Hidden Harbor.”
“What precisely did she do?” Sister Camille asked.
“I will describe it to you,” Navarre said. “Perhaps you have the education to recognize this gift that Thorne bestowed upon her”
He noticed, as he always did, that the voices in his head were silent on this subject.
“That,” Trblietat explained, “is because the real Thorne—the god, not the reflection in your head—granted this gift and it is to our knowledge unique. The mysteries here are for you to puzzle out.”
“She was trying,” Navarre told Camille, “to bolster the courage of those around her as orcs teleported onto the Sea Hawk and began to cut down its crew from behind. What she did instead is remarkable. A warm sphere of light like the dawning sun spread out around her immediately ending the suffering of all those injured and dying around her and beginning to heal them. The sphere quickly grew to encompass the whole of the Sea Hawk and then spread outward to begin to cover the battle barge. Orcs were struck with uncertainty and fear while humans and half elves found their courage soaring and their vigor restored. Perhaps most importantly, all of those touched by the light ceased to suffer.”
“Which means the battle barge started to sink,” Grant realized.
“So, you really didn’t defeat the orcs after all,” Lieutenant Douglas accused, drawing surprised and disapproving glares from everyone else at the table. “It was the gift of Thorn that sank that barge.”
“Are you going to let him get away with that nonsense?” Furaidh raged inside Navarre.
“The dwarf has it right this time,” Tyran thundered.
“Put him in his place, boy!” Thorne ordered.
“Navarre, my champion,” Rose whispered. “The human is terrified. Can you not show him a little compassion?”
Navarre decided that he could. “You may be correct, lieutenant,” he admitted. “I don’t think that you are. We did, after all, defeat the first orc incursion without any special help from the gods. And we did defeat three war sloops and more than half the orcs on the battle barge before Thorne blessed us with additional help. But perhaps we would have failed at the last without his aid. I, personally, had been poisoned, lost my maul and my axes, and was faring poorly in my confrontation with the hobgoblin in command of the orc fleet. But that light warmed my soul, cleansed my body of poison, and restored my strength so that I was able to survive where he did not.”
“Why does it trouble you, lieutenant, to think that Thorne might have personally intervened in this battle to save his followers?” Sister Camille asked.
“But they weren’t his followers,” Douglas argued. “They were just a bunch of pirates and privateers—lawbreakers.”
Navarre shook his head. “And there again we see the madness of humans. Do you really think Thorne smiles only on those who call themselves Forestrians?”
“For my part,” Captain Grant took control of the conversation again, “I am greatly reassured to hear that Thorne aided one of his priestesses in this battle against evil. But I would like to return to the tactics you mentioned earlier. How did Captain Braddock disrupt the orcs formations, and in your words, sew chaos in their ranks?”
“Oh,” Navarre said. “I think I was largely responsible for that. I swung from the mast onto the orc ship and attacked the warriors from behind.”
“You,” Douglas’ voice dripped with disbelief. “A halfling?”
Navarre shrugged. “I am quite formidable, and with my thunder maul in hand, I am even more so. “I will do the same as we engage in battle, Captain Grant. My efforts, combined with that of your wizards and your priests, should blunt that first wave of orc warriors and give your marines and sailors their chance.”
Grant nodded, clearly visualizing what the halfling told her. Then she turned to Whitelock. “Take three hours and talk to your people. Douglas and I will use that time to war game strategies to both swarm one of the battle barges and keep those orc war sloops and brigs off our backs. When I have my strategy firmly in mind, I will halt the fleet, gather my captains together, and lay out my plan of battle.”
She stood. “We only get one chance to do this right, people. Let’s get working.”
***
Three days later, the Steadfast caught its first sight of Crater Island in the distance.
“It isn’t burning yet,” Grant breathed a sigh of relief. “We got here first. There’s still time to warn the town so the population can flee deeper into the island.”
Navarre, balancing easily on the ship’s railing shook his head. With his superior sight, he could see the truth. “Use your glass, captain. We didn’t get here first. But just maybe, we are still in time to save the townspeople.”
“The orcs are in the bay!” the lookout in the crow’s nest shouted. “The orcs have entered the bay.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Fleets Close
The hobgoblin, Broken Tusk, one of the ten great chiefs leading the quest for the Great Transformation glanced curiously at his chief shaman as the large orc approached. “What is wrong, Taint? It looks to me as if everything is going perfectly.”
“Yes, it is, your immensity,” Taint reported, “But something strange is happening. My acolytes report that a small squadron of ships is trying to catch up with us.”
“That is unusual,” Broken Tusk agreed. “How small?”
“Eight vessels,” Taint answered.
Broken Tusk blinked. He had far more ships than that under his command even without considering the other flotillas that made up the fleet. “Do they not know how badly we outnumber them? Even one battle barge would be sufficient to crush a mere eight ships.”
“I believe they must know at least something of our numbers,” Taint analyzed. “They are attacking our crows with sea gulls. Presumably, they can use those sea gulls to count the number of ships in our fleet.”
Broken Tusk pursed his lips as he considered the possibilities. “Are they elves then?”
“I don’t think so, your immensity. They fly the flags of Forestria and Anundal and the crews are mostly human.”
“Interesting,” the great chief acknowledged. “How many did you say?”
“One cruiser, one schooner, five frigates, and a yacht,” Taint elaborated.
“A yacht?” Broken Tusk repeated before barking with laughter and punching his chief shaman on the shoulder. “That’s a good one. I believed you.”
Taint did not smile. “When my acolytes reported this to me, I too thought they were joking, your immensity. But their report is true.”
Broken Tusk stopped chuckling. “Hmmm. Perhaps they are trying to commit suicide.” He shrugged his shoulders. “It’s strange, but let’s give them what they want. It’s rare to find prey with balls. Signal Chief Scar on the Dragon Claw to drop his sails. Let’s let them catch up.”
“Should my acolytes ready the fog, your immensity?” Taint asked.
“No,” Broken Tusk decided. “We don’t want them to sail past us by mistake and I want to finish this quickly. We’re not going to miss the Great Transformation because of a few stupid humans who don’t know enough to run.”
***
“Two of the barges have lowered their sails,” Navarre noted from his perch at the front of the Steadfast. “And other war sloops and the bigger brigs are turning back to fight with us.”
“This is it then,” Captain Grant said, more to herself than to the strange halfling. Her whole naval career—her whole life really—came down to the next hour or two. She was going into a battle that she didn’t really believe she could win against a superior number of ships packed to the gills with orcs that legend said were worth any three or five of her sailors.
She raised her voice. “Signal the attack! I want the Coventry to pick out a brig and keep it from supporting the battle barge when we attack. Sea Hawk and Dame Matilda will support Coventry. Sir Oswald, Sir Charles, and Sir Broderick will take the southernmost battle barge on its northern side while we attack it from the south.”
“What are your orders for Terrence’s Pride, captain?,” the young ensign preparing to relay her orders asked.
“I honestly don’t know what we’re supposed to do with the yacht,” Braddock admitted. “Let them pick their own target, I have to worry about winning this battle.”
The ensign nodded and ran off.
Grant continued to watch the distance to the enemy diminish.
***
“Why isn’t Coventry maneuvering toward that big brig?” Captain Meredith Braddock wondered as she scanned the coming battle scape with her spyglass. She’d been a captain in the Anundal merchant marine for twenty years, getting her start in the navy of Westeria before someone had assassinated their king and the land had splintered into an ever-increasing-number of warring principalities. The navy had fractured with the rest of the kingdom, with many captains simply claiming ownership of their ships and either bringing them to the service of their own home province or setting out to use them to make their own fortunes. Braddock had gone home, and then, at the direct request of her new queen—the obviously rightful heir to the throne of Westeria—she had mortgaged everything she had inherited from her father, bought the first Sea Hawk, and hired a crew. Somehow, through a mix of honest commerce and plundering Devon merchant ships, Braddock had paid off that mortgage and made a good name for herself. But Devon was wealthier than Anundal and the ever-shifting alliances of the former provinces of Westeria had turned the war against her homeland. Then Forestria had intervened and matters had gotten even worse. And while she had never completely lost hope, she admitted to herself that her aims had become decidedly more personal these last few years. She’d wanted to hunt down Miles Blake because he’d killed too many of her friends—not because he was Devon’s most successful privateer.
Then she had met the little halfling sheriff of Hidden Harbor and her world had changed. She hadn’t noticed it at first, but the incredible little warrior of a race known only for its sweetness and kindness had restored her belief in the impossible. Afterall, if one tiny halfling could tame the crazy town of Hidden Harbor, why couldn’t Anundal defeat its larger neighbor and win the war?
Then the orcs had attacked and she’d begun to see an even larger purpose for herself and Anundal. She’s sent a report to her queen with three different merchants and started seeking out not Devon merchants or privateers, but further news of the invaders who were unexpectedly approaching her shores.
And now, somehow, she was here at Crater Island trying to save Queenstown from the largest fleet she had ever personally set eyes upon. And that damned worthless Captain Edward Bryce wasn’t following the plan to hold off the biggest orc ships approaching Steadfast. No, the worthless bastard in the schooner twice the size of the Sea Hawk had chosen the smallest of the orc vessels as the first target for Coventry and Dame Matilda.
That left the sea lane open for that orc brig to sail straight up on Steadfast’s unprotected flank.
“Not on my watch!” she muttered before giving orders to put Sea Hawk directly in the enemy brig’s path.
***
“Sea Hawk is not following us in support against that war sloop, Captain Bryce,” the lieutenant reported.
“Turned tail and ran, has she?” Bryce asked. “Damned Anundals, I knew we couldn’t count on them.”
“No, sir,” the lieutenant informed him. “She appears to be moving to block that huge orc brig moving toward Steadfast.”
“The orc brig?” Bryce repeated, then grabbed his spyglass and moved to take a look for himself. “Well now, it appears I was wrong,” he admitted. “I can’t say much for that woman’s brains, but she certainly has huge brass balls.”
***
“Theodore, if you could take the wheel for a moment?” Reginald asked as Terrence’s Pride drew closer to the orc ships that were even now turning about to face them. “I want to buckle my sword on.”
The older man tore his gaze away from the terrifyingly large number of vessels ahead of them and came to the young baronet’s side. “Of course, sir.”
Reginald went to a sea locker and took out the longsword and scabbard he had chosen as his primary weapon back in Hidden Harbor. Most of his training had actually been with the much lighter rapier which many preferred for the low-armored fighting on the decks of ships, but Reginald had decided to go with the heavier weapon. The orcs were very hardy and he felt that he wanted the ability to hack at their limbs as well as poke holes in their chests.
