The Barons' War
Copyright© 2025 by Lumpy
Chapter 2
Bleakwater 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 practice sessions.
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 Rendalia 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 quickly 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 the 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 leverage; 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, 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 link 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 when 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 used to.
As he 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 overboard. 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 mother’s virtue depends on it!”
The deck erupted into organized chaos as men rushed to retrieve weapons from below and move into position. William stayed out of their way, moving up to the quarter deck 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 in 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, deep in 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 that William had done.
“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 as the ships closed, 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 hold of. Pain shot through his arm as it was wrenched by the force of the impact.
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 the vessels. Iron claws bit into the wooden rails of William’s ship, and ropes were pulled taut.
“Cut the lines!” Sir Drummond yelled, coming up next to William.
William was already 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 while 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 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 his ship between them. 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 all their forces to one side or the other until needed.
As they waited for the two Alchmaran 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 appearing 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 do the same to them.
“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.
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