Spelling, he said to himself. They must be spelling the oarsmen – no one could sustain such an effort for longer than one quick rush.

The bow continued its arc and then came the time for them to catch the current once more. Reuth looked to the banks: the port oars were raised waiting to start, but disorder still reigned among the starboard sweeps.

‘Trapped,’ Reuth breathed aloud. ‘We’re caught!’

‘What for it then, lad?’ Gren answered.

‘Port side drag oars!’ he yelled. Gren took up the call as well, yet Reuth could well imagine that their voices hardly carried over the thunder of the churning waves pounding on all sides.

Then Tulan’s great bull-roar sounded out: ‘Drop them port sweeps! Back oars! Push, you dogs! Break your backs!’

The drag pulled on the bow and in the widening gap a portion of the starboard sweeps bit into the swell.

‘Take us into the open,’ Reuth told Gren. He nearly dropped then, quivering, his legs almost without strength.

The steersman nodded. ‘The line?’

Reuth gestured up the middle. ‘It looks to be opening up.’

The Lady limped along now, but the narrows broadened here, the current slower. The vertical cliffs still allowed no respite for any crippled vessel, but they made headway. Reuth allowed himself a glance to the rear: incredibly, many vessels still followed.

He returned to scanning for the best route ahead. Don’t fail now, he told himself. Not when we must be nearly through. He examined the waters emerging from round each looming rock ahead; some frothed far more than others, suggesting a rougher path. He decided to keep to weaving through the middle to avoid getting pinched against a cliff.

This long drawn out section of the way wore hardest upon him. He was already exhausted, unable to focus as well as he had. He dragged a hand down his face and rubbed his stinging eyes. Then he thought of the oarsmen still pulling below him and shook off the mood. None of them had been spelled through any of this. The Lady simply didn’t have a large enough complement.

‘We might be through,’ he told Gren.

The steersman rolled his massive shoulders to loosen them. ‘We might.’ Then he frowned. ‘I smell smoke.’

Reuth squinted ahead. Smoke? How could there be … He caught coils of black smoke now curling round the rocks ahead. What in the Lady’s name …?

The stern of a tall three-tiered vessel came edging out from behind the looming centre tooth – an enormous galley entirely engulfed in flames.

Shouts of alarm sounded from the crew below.

‘Lad …’ Gren murmured.

Reuth simply stared. A sea battle ahead? A sea battle in the middle of the narrows? But the Lady’s entire crew was given over to the benches. How could they possibly hope to —

‘Lad, choose …’ Gren prompted, louder. ‘Now.’

Reuth shook himself. Choose? Now? He studied the vessel’s aimless spin as it came heading broadside down towards them like a wall of fire. Black smoke billowed, cloaking a portion of the channel.