Igniting Darkness (Courting Darkness Duology #2) - Robin LaFevers Page 0,154

Noire—the Dark Mother’s fire.

 Chapter 86

I stand next to Lazare, waiting. Rohan’s banner was raised nearly an hour ago. The tide is high, and the wind is at their backs. Why aren’t they coming?

At first, we fear they have somehow managed to sniff out the trap and will not enter the bay. But at last two of the smaller ships draw anchor and head toward us. The cannon at the mouth of the bay remain silent, the charbonnerie positioned behind them hidden, as the ships come through. Once Lazare confirms that the rest of the fleet is following, we get on our horses and gallop the four miles down the coast to where we have set the trap.

Along both shores, the charbonnerie have set up all manner of siege engines and artillery. The cannon with the longest ranges are positioned at the widest points of the river, but are hidden for now with branches and other bracken.

None of these hold cannonballs or stones, but the specially made projectiles and fire pots filled with the Dark Mother’s fire.

Behind the artillery, fire pits roar, their flames crackling, eager and hungry for their work.

Across the water, just within sight, are the machines of the second group of charbonnerie. By the time the ships see us, it will already be too late. The passage is too narrow here, and the way forward blocked by the chain, which the initiates of Saint Mer, along with six teams of oxen, helped retrieve from the deep.

My blood fair bubbles with—I do not even know what I am feeling. The tension and apprehension before any fight, yes, but also a sense of standing on some precipice beside the Dark Mother herself.

When the first of the ships finally reaches our location, my heart begins to beat faster, and a murmur of excitement runs through the charbonnerie. “Not yet!” Lazare says, his voice loud enough to reach them, but not so loud as to carry over the water.

I keep my eyes glued to the ships. Men scramble on deck, trimming their sails, manning the rudder, and readying the anchor. Do they have any inkling or premonition of what is about to rain down on their heads?

More ships come into view, filling the wide bay with their wooden hulls, canvas sails flapping in the wind. There are more here now than came to the duchess’s aid over a year ago.

“Steady, steady,” Lazare says. We have set the artillery up behind a thin screen of trees and bushes so that the English will not catch sight of it, but with wide enough openings that our missiles can get through.

At last, the first ship reaches the chain, which stops its progress altogether. The crew appears confused, growing more active as they try to see what the problem is. Then their confusion becomes alarm as the following ships draw ever closer. But still our signal has not come. The last of the ships has not yet entered the bay.

“My lady?” I turn at the sound of Lazare’s voice. He holds up a burning torch. “Would you do the honors?”

He means for me to light the incendiaries. “Have you forgotten how?”

He does not rise to the bait. “The men would prefer that you light the first fire.”

I draw in a sharp breath, but do not refuse. Instead, I take the torch from Lazare and wait for the three flaming arrows to arc up into the sky—our signal.

May the Dark Mother bless this fire, I pray. And me, I add, for lighting it. I set my torch to the tightly bound and weighted explosives in the bucket of the catapult. The men bow, then Lazare takes the torch from me, and in the same time it took for me to light one weapon, they have lit them all.

“Now!” Lazare orders.

The wooden frame creaks as it lurches forward, followed by a ground-shaking whomp as a ball of flame is launched at one of the ships. The sailors barely have time to see it coming before the incendiary crashes onto the deck and explodes into a mass of thunderous flames. Screams quickly follow.

A second incendiary is launched, then a third, each one striking a ship with deadly precision. Within moments the first six ships are consumed in flames. Behind them the crews on the other ships panic, but there is no room to maneuver, no room to tack or order the ships to turn around. In the distance we hear the boom of cannon as they launch similar loads