Kellanved's Reach

The last of the party was the Kartoolian mage. Tayschrenn stood with Dancer, which said a lot, as it implied he was comfortable with neither the Napans nor the Malazans, and apparently preferred to stand with a notorious assassin instead.

They now hugged Dariyal’s built-up city shore, the Napans scanning it eagerly for something. It was nearing dusk, the sun lowering towards the western horizon, more or less behind them – a deliberate choice of timing in the assault as it put the sun in the defender’s eyes.

Despite keeping a close eye on the shore Dancer was startled when a long low vessel came darting out between two piers and aimed straight for them, churning the waters with double-banks of oars.

‘’Ware!’ he shouted. ‘Ready to repulse!’

The Napans crowded the side. Surly stood behind, arms crossed, a strange sort of secret smile on her lips. The vessel came aside quickly, blue banners fluttering. It was a swift bireme, some sort of shore picket. Urko actually threw down a rope ladder then, and Dancer opened his mouth to object, but Surly raised a hand, asking for a moment.

A single Napan climbed aboard, one of the largest Dancer had seen to date, almost as wide as Urko, but much heavier about the middle. This man opened his arms and the Napans, Cartheron, Urko and Tocaras, all exchanged slapping hugs with him. Then he approached Surly and took her hand, bowing from the waist.

‘Amaron,’ Surly greeted him.

‘You are all under arrest,’ Amaron announced with a wink. ‘I’m afraid I must escort you to the palace.’

*

Everything went well, at first. Nedurian watched from the Insufferable as the empty caravels bulled ahead into the harbour, taking a pounding from the mole defences. But no flame attacks, he noted, thinking that the Napans must be worried about their own vessels.

Yet he could not see most of the harbour piers and docks from where the Insufferable was laid up, sails lowered, waiting while the troop-carrying oared galleys and longboats charged in ahead.

After a time, Choss ordered minimal canvas, and the Insufferable leaned in, heading for the harbour mouth. Uneasy, Nedurian headed to the stern deck.

‘Won’t we be unable to manoeuvre in there?’ he asked the admiral.

‘Oh yes,’ Choss agreed, cheerily enough. He turned aside to give orders to a flagwoman.

Nedurian raised a brow. ‘Speaking as an ignorant landsman – perhaps we shouldn’t enter, then.’

‘Have to. Under orders to give a good show.’

‘I understand that. But we might end up being captured.’

The admiral rubbed a hand over the kinky black beard he was growing. ‘Just might.’

‘So that’s the plan? Lose?’

Choss offered up a disturbingly merry smile. ‘Surly made some refinements on the plan. The idea is to lose the battle to win the war.’

‘Now you tell me this?’

The admiral slapped him on the back. ‘Don’t worry yourself. That doesn’t mean we can’t put up a good fight.’

Nedurian returned to his troops, shaking his head. These Napans are crazy.

The full Malazan fleet was now crowding the harbour entrance and it immediately became obvious to Nedurian that he was right – there was no way to manoeuvre in the confines of the sheltered bay behind the mole.

Moreover, the Napan ships at their piers were now coming to meet them en masse. In no way had they been caught unawares or unprepared by the Malazan strike. Any sane commander, facing this, would order the retreat. Choss, however, raised the flags for attack.

Nedurian understood a desperate gamble, but this seemed unnecessarily callous. How many good men and women had to die to feed a diversion? It was frankly distasteful, and he stormed back up to the stern deck.

‘Crews are going to die for this!’ he shouted to Choss. ‘A fighting withdrawal at the least!’

The blue-hued commander was in the midst of belting on a set of matching long-knives. Instead of being insulted, he gave Nedurian a nod of understanding. ‘All captains have been given leave to decide for themselves how long to fight, or to withdraw at will.’

‘Withdraw at will …’ Nedurian echoed, eyeing the two fleets now coursing towards each other. Three of the gigantic lumbering Malazan caravels had caught fire at last and were now bearing down upon the Napans as fireships of their own creation. ‘Generations of enmity and you think any one of them would dare be the first to withdraw?’

Choss gave him a wink. ‘For a Talian you catch on fast.’ He pointed to a flagwoman, who signalled furiously, then slapped Nedurian on the shoulder again. ‘Don’t worry. Surly doesn’t waste resources. I’ll order the general retreat long before that.’ He motioned Nedurian to mid-deck. ‘Your concern does you credit. But, if you don’t mind, I’m rather busy right now …’

The old soldier in Nedurian reflexively saluted. ‘Of course, admiral.’ He returned to his troops, yelling, ‘Prepare to repel boarders!’

The marines lined the sides, shields raised.