Though the ironclads were trapped in the Ishalem canal, Destrar Broeck had no intention of failing in his mission. Ishalem was his target, and his armored warships had already penetrated to the heart of the holy city. He wasn’t going to let rows of chained powderkegs stop his assault.
“Iborians have never needed ironclads to win a battle. We’ll go ashore and storm the city on foot!” While the Uraban army faced Queen Anjine’s main force at the wall, his hundreds of soldiers would surprise the enemy from behind.
His orders spread down the line of ironclads, and the men cheered as they lowered boats down into the narrow canal. Some of the eager men simply dove overboard and swam toward the nearby docks.
The ironclads were invaluable military assets, and Broeck disliked simply abandoning these giant warships in the canal. But where could the Urecari take them? In fact, he had half a mind to ignite the line of powderkegs himself, sink the heavy vessels, and clog the strategic waterway just to spite the Curlies.
But the destrar was more optimistic than that, and he wanted to keep the Ishalem canal open for when the Tierrans conquered the city. Comdar Rief could lead the full Tierran navy into the Middlesea and devastate all those enemy ports that had never before faced an outside attack.
However, the trapped ironclads were directly within range of the watchtowers on either side of the canal. From the top of the towers, sentries creaked small catapults forward and turned winches to pull down throwing arms. Iaros yelped a warning as Urabans filled the catapult baskets with large stones and debris.
The first boulder crashed down on the deck of the Wilka, sending shattered boards and crewmembers flying. From the opposite bank of the canal, a second watchtower catapult launched its load with a loud thwack and whistling cry. A stone block crashed through the Raathgir’s mainmast and into the water, narrowly missing some of the Aidenist fighters who were splashing their way to the canal’s edge.
A few of Broeck’s men shot arrows at the watchtowers, but the Urabans took cover on the battlements while they continued to load their catapults. The canal waters were clogged with swimming men and crowded boats. Many Tierran soldiers reached the docks, where they climbed out of the water and turned back to watch the continued catapult bombardment.
Next, the Urabans hurled burning tar-covered timbers that crashed into the ironclads’ sails, setting them aflame. Within moments, a stray spark was sure to catch on one of the floating powderkegs in the line. Broeck shouted for all of his men to jump overboard and make their way to shore by any means possible. “Abandon ship!”
Giant boulders struck three of the ironclads, projectiles large enough to crack even the reinforced hulls. As water rushed in and the flames rose high, the armored ships wallowed and sank in the shallow canal. Another thump sounded, then a buzzing sound rolled overhead just before a block smashed the stern of the Raathgir. Iaros was still waving his hands, shouting orders for his men to leave the ship.
Broeck bellowed to his nephew, “Go! Get off of there!”
He saw a flash of light from behind the line of ships, followed by a rumbling roar. Someone had lit the rear lines of powderkegs. Explosions erupted in a steady, deadly succession, one keg igniting after another. The rearmost vessel, and possibly two beyond that, sank. Flames were everywhere. Smoke curled into the sky.
Looking ahead, the destrar spotted two Uraban men swimming along the forward line of chained kegs, holding firebrands up out of the water. The destrar grabbed a bow that someone had dropped on the deck, found a loose arrow, and made his shot.
The arrow knifed into the water near the kegs like a leaping fish, making the Uraban man jump. With greater urgency, the man worked a bung free, pushed a wadded cloth fuse into the top of the keg, and pressed his burning brand against it. Broeck shot three more arrows and received momentary satisfaction when he saw one strike the Uraban in the back. The man floated next to the smoldering fuse of the powder keg.
When the small barrel exploded, it ignited the second, which exploded and caught the next along the chain, and the next. When the other lines detonated as well, the firepowder hurled flames and shards into the air, ripping out the Wilka’s bow. Broeck was thrown to the deck, his skin sliced in a thousand places, his hair singed, maybe even on fire. He forced himself back up to his hands and knees.
The watchtower catapults launched a renewed storm of huge stone projectiles.
Iaros barely knew how to swim—the waters of Iboria Reach were too cold to consider such a thing—but now he thrashed across the canal to the shore. Though his heavy leather armor, shield, and sword dragged him down, he gasped and paddled and kept going.
The firepowder explosions deafened him, and he ducked his head under the water to avoid the rain of debris. He pulled himself up again, coughing, and swam forward. A stubby pier was close at hand, and when he grasped the wet piling, he felt safe again.
Around him, many fellow soldiers climbed out of the canal, their bloodthirsty mood sodden as they looked back at the smashed and burning warships. Iaros climbed up onto the dock, panting, dripping—and turned to see the Wilka a flaming wreck, her bow destroyed. The sails were an inferno, and she canted to port as her hull filled with water through a ragged dark hole in the side.
Iaros stared in dismay, as if someone had wrenched his heart from his chest. He could still discern a figure on the deck—his uncle!—struggling as the warship heeled over. The flames were high, and the ship was collapsing like a wounded mammoth. He could do nothing to help Broeck. Another catapult projectile—a giant block of whitewashed stone, colorfully decorated with…frescoes?—crashed into the Wilka’s deck, sending up a geyser of sparks and splinters.
On shore, the men roared in anger and prepared to run through the streets intent on revenge. Iaros stood in nauseated shock, but he knew that if he did not lead the soldiers now, they would run off without a plan and divide into smaller groups, which would be slaughtered one by one. He had to rally them into a single charge. Yes, that was what Destrar Broeck would want him to do.
The burning hulk of the Wilka continued to sink, and he watched the destrar go down with his ship. Iaros swallowed hard to realize that he was the Iborian destrar now. He had never expected this day to come so soon.
And as the new destrar, Iaros would not let his first act be the loss of his men! He shook dripping water from his hair, brandished his sword, and shouted to the hundreds of Tierran soldiers who were already ashore. It was time to lead them deep into Ishalem.