The turnout of the Guard was more disciplined than just a few days before. Every male, female, and youngling on Salissa Home that was old enough, fit enough, or large enough to bear arms was technically a member of the Guard, but the "active" Guard consisted of the strongest and most fit from each clan. Its members spent time each week engaged in martial exercises. These consisted of athletic training and practice with weapons, but since they were so rarely called to fight, the training was geared more toward preparation for the frequent competitions between the various clans.
Rivalry was fierce and provided entertainment for the People. But the rivalries sometimes became bitter, so the active Guards of the various clans, even while preparing for the common defense, almost never practiced together. The combined active Guard of Salissa numbered nearly four hundred and, when the reserves swelled their ranks, Home could boast almost sixteen hundred defenders. But many had never fought, and fewer had fought together. Standing together clan by clan, they didn't even know how. And none of them—none of Keje's people in all the world—had ever faced more than one Grik ship at a time.
As he paced, Keje stared aft and to the left, toward the distant haze of land. He confirmed with his own eyes no fewer than six ships of the Ancient Enemy stalking his people. His insides twisted. He wasn't afraid to fight, and he didn't think he was afraid to die, but he'd fought the Grik before. One-sided and seemingly senseless as those fights had been, he'd seen a glimpse of what they were capable of. Their appalling savagery and apparent disdain for their own lives was so utterly alien that he'd always harbored a secret terror of what might happen if they ever attacked in sufficient force to gain the decks of Home. Now it seemed that the nightmare was upon them. He would see what it was like at last.
The Grik were closing fast, and their speed made it seem that Salissa really was an island, incapable of independent movement, even though the great wings were taut and straining against the freshening breeze. He watched as weapons were issued to females and younglings who'd never held them in their lives, other than to prepare food. His eyes blinked furiously in impotent realization. It was all his fault. He'd lived with the nightmare for many years and he should have prepared his people better.
The festive tarpaulins and awnings came down. Perhaps the most evil and insidious thing about the Grik was they seemed to delight in using fire as a weapon. The Homes of the People were built to last virtually forever, and his Home was barely a generation old. But it was made of wood, and the woods that served best were hardwoods steeped in resin. Resin that took fire with an obdurate flame. Barrels of sea water were always kept at hand, but now more barrels and buckets of water were hauled up by ropes as quickly as possible while they prepared for the unprecedented deluge of fire that they knew would come. Water droplets misted down as the fabric wings were doused. More water sloshed on the decks, making them slippery, but it couldn't be helped. He hoped they wouldn't soon be slick with blood.
He looked around. Adar was there, surrounded by his acolytes. All were armed, but they blinked nervously, since none had ever trained for war. The Sky Priests trained only in the mysteries of the Heavens. It never occurred to them to study the mysteries of one race intent on destroying another. They couldn't be risked on the walls, but if the enemy reached this place there would be no noncombatants. There would be only fight or die.
Keje's immediate family was with him on the battlement as well, but that was ancient tradition, not favoritism. In battle, the High Chief had enough to worry about without adding concern for his family. That family held no official power simply by familial association. In theory, their status was no higher than that of any fish cleaner or wing runner of the People. They often held status of their own, through merit, but the idea of a fixed aristocracy—at least for the High Chief—was repellent to the fiercely, if inconsistently, egalitarian People. In practice, it was more complicated. The office that Keje held was hereditary—subject to ratification by the Clan Assembly, of course—but no one remembered when a succession had been blocked. Therefore, a certain "royal family" atmosphere and collective protectiveness existed toward the heirs of any High Chief.
Unlike the wings, whose chiefs passed their position to the elder heirs, the elder, or "senior," of the High Chief 's heirs were expected to move on in Homes of their own when the time came. When the final heirs came of age and the High Chief died or stepped down, they would succeed him. All could have Homes, if they chose, peopled by the younger heirs of the "parent" Home. This ensured continuity on the parent Home through the experience of the wing clans, as well as the Homes newly founded and led by the High Chief 's elder heirs. "Wars of succession" did not occur, populations were controlled, and all the Homes of the People were distantly related to some degree. That more and more of the "elder heirs" were choosing to establish "Land Colonies" with the resources granted them concerned some, who feared dissolution of the old, traditional ways, but practically, the burgeoning Land Colonies provided support for the still-growing number of Homes. In any event, because of this arrangement, there really was no "crown prince."
In theory at least. In Keje's case, his only mate died young, leaving him a single heir, Selass. Keje wasn't old and would certainly mate again, perhaps many times, but for now, Selass was it. She therefore constituted the only "immediate" family to stand with him on the battlement that day.
Her new mate, Saak-Fas, was another matter. Keje didn't like him and his daughter knew it, but he couldn't describe his dislike beyond a general discomfort over a supremely self-centered attitude. His dislike intensified considerably today when Saak-Fas appeared on the battlement with Selass instead of on the wall where he belonged. The only fighters posted to the battlement were the High Chief 's personal armsmen, and just a few of those. Everyone else, besides the Sky Priests, were bearers of commands, or runners, who would race down the catwalks and carry his orders where directed. Keje decided he would send Saak-Fas on such an errand when the time came, and he had no regard for what his daughter would think of that. He did notice that Selass appeared uncomfortable, and he wondered if it was shame, or simply the fact that death was so near.
He studied the Grik ships as they approached in three pairs. They looked identical to others he'd seen, but they did seem somewhat larger. Possibly sixty or eighty tails long. Even at a distance, he saw their decks teeming with the loathsome creatures, their mail and weapons glittering in the bright sunlight of the otherwise perfect day. Keje summoned the first of many runners he expected to send before the battle was done. One way or another.
"Instruct the lance throwers not to shoot beyond one hundred tails, and to shoot only where their hulls meet the water." The runner blinked acknowledgment and raced away. The lance throwers had the only standoff weapons Salissa Home possessed. They were like the crossbows of the Guard except they were much, much larger. Intended for defense against mountain fish, or to slay their smaller cousins, four of the lance throwers were mounted on pivots along each side. It took six people considerable effort to crank the wrist-thick bowstring into the firing position, but they could hurl a spade-headed lance three tails long and a hand-span in diameter a distance of three hundred tails with accuracy enough to hit a mountain fish in the eye. That was a target only slightly larger than Keje's breakfast table. Such accuracy was essential because the eye was the creature's only vulnerable spot.
That was Keje's only preparatory command. Maneuver was pointless; the far more agile Grik could easily counter anything he tried. All that remained was to wait and see how the blow would fall.