He felt like he'd only just put his head down when Rennic was shaking him awake. "Prince Lyonel, get up, we need you!"
He rolled to a sitting position, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "What is it?" He asked. The blue hint of dawn was just starting to brighten the sky, indistinct shapes moved on the decks around him, the crew was being roused. "What's going on?"
"The enemy ships are moving."
In a heartbeat he was on his feet, snatching up his quiver and sprinting for the railings. He caught the rigging, leaning out and staring at the Redwynes. "Curse that man." Lord Redwyne had started moving before dawn. Bold, bolder than Lyonel would have guessed. "Rouse the fleet, every man to battle stations!"
Drums and bells rang out a heartbeat after his command had escaped his mouth. His men, the veteran crews of a hundred expeditions, leapt from their covers. Those sleeping below decks rushed up, one hopped up the steps still pulling on his boot.
Lyonel turned from them, they could get ready alone, he needed to watch the enemy. His lip curled in anger. They Redwyne fleet had move almost half it's spread out length. Given how slowly they were moving, they must have been moving for nearly an hour. No doubt the speed was kept low to not alert his fleet. Indeed, the bells and drums from his fleet got a reply from the Redwynes. Now they'd been spotted, they were moving at full speed. The drone of oars rose into the air. "Dale, are the ships ready?!"
Dale glanced over from the rear castle. "Not quite lord, they're still loading the hay and pitch."
"Tell them to move faster I need them now!"
He didn't wait for the reply. "Light the braziers! Ready arrows and bolts, load the catapults, oarsmen, to your stations." Archers lined up at the side, notching arrows to their bows. The tips were wrapped in rags ready to be lit.
Again he was forced to watch as his plans seemed to unravel in slow motion right before his eyes. The Redwyne ships continued to move onwards, soon they would be beyond the threat of his squadrons and be moving on the mouth of the Rush.
Agonising minutes later, Dale's voice called to him from across the deck of the ship. "The ships are ready prince Lyonel!"
"Send them out, now! Archers, ready!"
And so the smaller ships he'd assembled in the second line pushed out between the larger warships of the first line. He glanced at the two that sailed either side of the Fury the sails hanging flacid in the bay, but the oarsmen and tides were carrying them onwards. Ten ships. He raced to the prow of the ship. Even from here, he could see the straw, packed around the railings, the deck slick and shiny with lamp oils. Bundles of light, dry woods were also gathered and strapped to the sides of the ship, far above the water line. They swept towards the Redwyne fleet, the rest of Lyonel's fleet falling in behind in a deadly spear of warships, interspersed with plenty of room between them. Heavy warships at the front, with his Fury right on the tip, and smaller ships filling out behind.
"Light arrows!" He ordered, the call was repeated on the deck of his ship and signalled out to the ships either side. A crewman hurried down the line, lighting the arrows of his archers. "Signal to abandon the ships!" THe signal was given on flags and drums. The last of the crew that were guiding the ships in roughly the right direction hurried onto longboats and lowered themselves off the side of the ship, oaring away as fast as they could. "Draw and loose!"
The flaming arrows arced through the air and peppered the oil slick decks of the prepared fireships.
The fires licked along the deck, sweeping up the mast and rigging, igniting the bundles of sticks, the dried wood going up in flames. The crackle and roar of it all audible from his ship. The other ships were lit, all ten of them, a wall of flaming wood streaking towards the enemy fleet.
But Lord Redwyne had scuppered his preparations. By moving ahead early, his ships were in the wrong angle, and the fleets were close enough that the ships didn't have time to account for the new positioning. Four of the fireships sailed right past the end of the enemy fleet to break on the rocks of the cliffs behind. Another two were towed off course by longboats lowered from the fleet. The sailors braving death and fire to save their larger ships. But the rightmost four were not going to be avoided, the majority of the enemy fleet was too compact, too tight, and Lord Redwyne was going to regret walling most of his ships within his largest vessels.
There were only two options for the rear vessels in the enemy fleet. They could take the impact of the fireships, or they could scatter. Given how bunched up the enemy fleet was, a fire would spread far too quickly, so they did all they could, they broke up. It didn't save one large galley, which backed water right into the path of one of the fireships. The burning vessel drove up into the ship, the tied bundles of burning wood dropping from the prow onto the ship and fire spreading from hull to hull. The enemy crew knew there was no hope of saving their ship, he saw longboats already being lowered over the side. It was unlikely all would escape, and a horrible death awaited those who would not be able to make it out.
The enemy formation was broken, the ships hovering like islands in the water, without co-ordination or leadership. Idle targets. They would make good prizes, but they were nothing compared to what waited beyond them.
There, still ploughing through the waters of Blackwater Bay, was the Redwyne Fleet, with a gaping hole in it's shield formation. His plan had been for the fireships to attack the fleet head on, force the entire formation to break up and allow him to swarm over the fleet in waves. Now a new plan. "Dale, signal the fleet to fall in behind us. The first lines are to ignore the isolated vessels, leave them for the third line unless they are directly engaged. The rest are going to follow us straight into their rear."
The orders were given and in seeing them carried out, Lyonel knew all the training he had put his crews through was worth it. The ships weaved as neatly as a war ship could around the enemy ships. One of the scattered warships intercepted The Pure Lady,one of Lyonel's front line warships. He didn't need to give the order, The Great Stag from the second line immediately turned to sweep on the other side of the enemy vessel. The rest of the second line followed the first, ignoring the enemy ships, whatever the temptation to attack and seize them.
"Load scorpions and catapults, prepare to bring fire!"
As his ships advanced and curved to follow the Redwyne fleet, they surged forward, caught on the tide. "Ready boarding bridges!"
He drew out his bow and nocked an arrow. The enemy were rallying, their sailors seizing weapons to defend their flanks. The exposed heart of the enemy fleet was seeking to defend itself. But the ships in the heart of the enemy fleet were smaller. Behind the great wall of the enemy's largest ships, they were well protected. The diamond formation had been strong, but now that it was broken, the smaller ships were unable to manoeuver out of the way of his fleet, hemmed in between their allies and his encroaching fleet.
"Launch oil!" He ordered as they got within range. Even over the din of so many ships, he heard the thrum of taut catapult strings as the war machines at stern and prow launched barrels of lamp oil and pitch into the enemy ships. No stones this time, just oil, they would destroy the enemy fleet with fire. Soon after the scorpions joined in, sending yard long bolts of flame wreathed iron into the enemy ships, and after that, Lyonel led the archers in taking shots at the enemy decks, sweeping them with flights of arrows. The enemy was below them, his archers had height and cover. They were close. "Ready boarding ramps!"
With an almighty crash, the iron tipped prow of the Fury drove into the enemy ships, right between two smaller enemy vessels. "Now, get me those ships!"
The grapples were thrown and the boarding ramps lowered and soon his first squads were pouring down onto the enemy ships, heavily armed knights.
Weakened by his archers, and already outnumbered, Lyonel's men swept the enemy ships with ease. By the time he led the second and third waves across, the enemy sailors were dead or marooned, Lyonel's pollaxe still gleamed grey yearning for the blood that would come. "We don't stop here men!" He ordered, raising his pollaxe above his head to get their attention, then pointing it at the next enemy ship that was only feet away. "Take their grapples, I want that ship as well!"
And so his men looped grapples through the air, snaring the next enemy ship, preparing to take it. As this was happening he passed orders back to Dale, with the enemy so tightly packed, now was their chance.
When the next enemy ship was pulled within range of boarding bridges, Lyonel took up his position in the front line, Ardahan and Shahrbana at his shoulder. He would lead the next wave himself.
He charged across the bridge. An arrow skidded off his breastplate but it didn't even break his stride. He leapt up and brought his pollaxe down in a viscious blow. The sailor opposite him, a grizzled marine with a scar covered face snarled and raised his spear to defend himself. Lyonel's weapon sundered the spear and the skull beneath. He drove forward, his pollaxe pulled free by sheer momentum before he brought the weapon around. Three sailors in Redwyne colours came at him but darted back at his wide blow. One was too slow and the blade of his weapon buried into his side. Lyonel felt the steel connect with his spine, sticking and scraping. He gave the weapon a tug, but it stayed stuck. Another sailor saww his chance and darted forward, falchion raised. Lyonel released his pollaxe and stepped back, his weapon hand dropping to his waist where his mace hung. He snatched it up and swung it into the sailor's face, shattering his lower jaw, sending teeth and bone fragments scattering to the deck. He brought his mace down in another blow that caved in what was left of his face. The third sailor made for him, but Shahrbana got in the way and with three quick cuts quartered the man. Ardahan came up on his other side to cover his flank.
They spread out methodical and vicious. Another marine charged at him, spear lowered. Lyonel dodged to the side just in time for the spear tip to scrape off his pauldron, then drove the spike of his pollaxe into his mouth, the tip punching out the back of his skull, shining red. All his hours of training returned to him, his movements are efficient and deadly. His pollaxe rose and fell, and every time it fell, someone died. In what felt like no time at all his soldiers had cleared the enemy deck.
"Ready again!" He called, gesturing to the enemy grapples and boarding bridges. "We take the next ship!"
"Prince Lyonel," Rennic asked, sprinting across the bridge, his quiver half empty. "We don't have the men to keep doing this, unless," he glanced at where enemy sailors were bound and kept under watch. "Unless we kill all of them," he whispered.
Lyonel clapped Rennic's shoulder. "Not necessary captain, look," he nodded back in the direction of the fury.
More soldiers were pouring from the ship, squads of heavily armoured marines, archers and knights. "How?" Rennic asked.
"The rest of the fleet is pulling in behind us," Lyonel explained. "Their soldiers are coming safely onboard the front line ships and using them to get to us here." The new soldiers were bringing extra boarding bridges, and they came with fire. Burning torches held above their heads let him trace the progress of his reinforcements. "We have to keep pushing," he said "with the fire here, it won't be long before the enemy fleet breaks formation, I want us to push as deep into it as we can until then."
The same story was repeated on other vessels. From every vessel of Lyonel's first line, the sailors had poured down on the weaker enemy vessels, taking them with ease. At the same time his second line ships attached to the back of his first line, allowing reinforcements to flow along wooden walkways to the front line, ensuring that for every warrior Lyonel lost or had to retreat due to injury, another was ready to replace them. Lyonel led his forces to take the next ship, and the one after that, the rear of the enemy formation was falling to them. But Rennic had been right. With every ship taken he had to leave guards behind to watch over the prisoners and prizes. The next ship was more of a battle to take, the enemy more determined, fresher, Ardahan took a blow to his side that nearly split his scaled armour and Lyonel had to intervene to save Shahrbana from being surrounded by three marines.
He knew they had gone as far as they could. No more prizes could be taken. "Round up the prisoners!" He ordered, taking off his helm to wipe the sweat from his brow before it stung his eyes. "Bring them back, we've gone as far as we can."
"What do we do with the ship Prince Lyonel?"
He glanced up at the sail. It was a good ship, sturdy, in the open water it would be fast. A pity. "Bring up the fires," he ordered. "I want flaming arrows attacking the other ships until we've evacuated the prisoners, then set this one alight as well."
And so, with practised precision, Lyonel's men retreated with their prizes, the ships at the fore of his advance made into in a wall of flame. As he retreated back to the Fury, he gave orders for the prizes to be taken away. The guards he'd left on them would be enough to control the enemy oarsmen, but not enough to press the attack. By the time he was back on his ship, he saw that fires had sprung up in every direction and would soon catch light. The other attacking waves, spreading out from his other first line ships had seen the fires and knew what they meant.
"Back water," he ordered, when the last of his men were back on. As the ship retreated, Lyonel climbed up the rigging, his myrish lens in hand. Once he was high enough he looked out over the fires, through the smoke. He smiled. Just as he wanted. With a wall of flame coming behind them, either Lord Redwyne or his captains had decided the formation was a lost cause, they were splitting up, spreading away from the flames that by now had fully engulfed four ships, with many more well under way.
He glanced behind him. One of the enemy rear ships was still resisting, despite being boarded from three directions, but the rest were taken, burned or sunk. So, no threat to his rear then. He turned back to the fore, to the true target of his fleet. Lord Redwyne had two options now, break for the rush, or turn to fight. He seemed to be taking the former, or enough of his captains were that he no longer had a choice in the matter. He leant out and called down. "Dale, signal the fleet! We advance," he jabbed his finger out beyond the burning ships. "No holding back, take or destroy any of those ships that can't make it to the Rush!"