To Caldason’s surprise, and regret, Rad Cheross had taken his little brig into the conflict. It was already paying for its bravery. Tilting at an unnatural angle, sails askew and smouldering, water lapped at its decks.
Glamour cascades pounded timber. Ships burned, and some collided, casting men overboard. Others were embroiled in gory melees as they battled to repel boarders. There was a cacophony of fighting and dying, the sounds of rent oak and magical reports drifting across to the silent onlookers.
Similar clashes were going on all around the island. Their primary purpose, as far as the empires were concerned, was to destroy as many ships as they could, making escape impossible. The defenders reasoned that as their small, disparate fleet was likely to be lost anyway-they could hardly drag the craft inland for protection-they might as well sell them at a price in blood, even if that was a modest cost to the invaders.
Some craft were fired and sent out crewless to ram and ignite enemy ships. The twilit sky was beginning to turn ruddy over the coasts.
‘This isn’t going well for us,’ Caldason said.
Disgleirio took a swig from his flask, then offered it. Caldason shook his head. ‘It’s buying us time. They expected to do no more.’
‘I hope we’re using it wisely.’
As he spoke, several detachments of islanders jogged into view, ready to strengthen the line. Many were Righteous Blade members, the backbone of the island’s defences.
‘I think so,’ Disgleirio said. ‘How long before they try coming ashore, do you think?’
‘Now the fighting’s started, I’d say sooner rather than later. And this area’s going to be a shambles.’
‘We won’t be sticking around for that. We’ll hinder them as much as we can, then cut and run.’
‘Have a direction in mind?’
‘Straight back inland, the bulk of us. We’ve an ambush or two planned to slow them further, then we basically scatter and strike as bands. There are bound to be some set piece confrontations, like here on the beach for example, but in the main we intend avoiding them. Guerrilla methods, as you said.’
‘What about the fort? Is it sealed yet?’
‘All but a couple of well guarded entrances for stragglers. Damn, that reminds me. We need to get those sorcerers moved.’
‘Who?’
An unusually intense flash bathed the trench in scarlet light for a second, as a series of booms swept in from the sea battle.
Disgleirio blinked. ‘Phoenix and some of his Covenant people. They’re over at the Ferrymen’s Inn, by the end of the quay, with the old man you brought back and Kutch and the girl. I don’t think they’re going to be sufficiently clear if we start getting landings.’
‘I’ll get ’em out.’ Caldason rose to leave, adding, ‘If Serrah comes back-’
‘I’ll be sure to keep her here for you.’
Caldason nodded and set out at a dash.
His sprint took him past a crowd milling portside, waiting for orders, and more columns of defenders bound for the shore. They seemed pitifully small in number. He pushed on, huffing steam.
The sorcerers’ faction and their attendant aides were spilling from the tavern’s doors, such was the attraction of the Source. He elbowed his way in.
Phoenix was to be found in a back room from which most were barred, a prohibition no one felt inclined to impose on Caldason. Praltor Mahaganis was there, stretched out on a couch and apparently asleep. Kutch and Wendah were present too. Several Covenant adepts, engaged in preparing aromatic concoctions or note-taking, made up the party.
‘Not much to report yet, I’m afraid,’ Phoenix announced as the Qalochian barged in. ‘We’ve barely begun.’
‘It’s fascinating, Reeth,’ Kutch said. ‘Phoenix plans to try drawing out something of the Source using a form of deep hypnosis, the inhalation of certain herbs and-’
‘You have to get yourselves out of here.’ His tone left no room for doubt, and the chamber fell instantly quiet. ‘And any of these sorcerers not directly involved with your work, Phoenix, are needed to defend the island.’
‘We’re trying to do our bit here, Reeth,’ the elderly wizard argued. ‘Any interruption of our efforts is only going to delay the possibility of our coming up with something that might help us all.’
‘I know, and I have a vested interest in it too, remember. But we can’t guarantee the safety of this place.’
‘We thought we’d have much longer before-’
‘Not from the way things are going out there. Our sea defences, such as they are, aren’t proving too much of an obstacle. Pick the help you need and get yourselves and Praltor to one of the fastnesses in the interior. Do it now. If you loiter, the enemy’s going to be on us.’
A buzz began. The sorcerers started gathering their paraphernalia and packing their books. Caldason pushed his way to Kutch and Wendah.
‘I want you to go with them,’ he said. ‘You’ll be safer in the interior with Phoenix, and I’ll try to get to you as soon as I can. Failing that, I’ll send somebody. All right?’
‘Things are really that bad?’
‘And about to get worse. I’ve always tried to be honest with you, Kutch. What’s coming is going to be frightening and more destructive than you can imagine. I want you both to stay as far away from it for as long as possible.’ He noticed that Kutch and Wendah were holding hands, and added, softly, ‘Look after each other. Being with someone helps the fear.’
Caldason was due for another surprise. Wendah moved to him, stood on tiptoe and planted a kiss on his cheek. Before he could say anything, a kind of chant rose. It took him a moment to realise that it was his name being repeated by successive voices, and getting nearer as the message spread his way. He was being summoned.
Giving Kutch’s shoulder a squeeze, he worked his way back to the outer doors. Outside, in the cold night air, people were pointing for him to see. A disc was diving from the sky, its metallic surface reflecting the multicoloured explosions originating seaward.
In seconds it was hovering in front of them. Darrok sat in its hollow, Pallidea at his back, her crimson hair streaming.
‘Welcome home, my friend,’ Darrok growled. ‘You’ll forgive me ignoring the formalities but we have a situation and I could use your help. The first landing’s just taken place.’
29
A harsh wind and eddying snow. Heavy, wet sand underfoot. Clashing steel and the cries of dying men.
They fought on a beach in semi-darkness. Two groups, one from the sea, the other defending the land, brawling ankle-deep in freezing waves. Above, a crescent moon beginning to show, and the brittle pinpricks of stars.
Caldason cracked an opponent’s skull, then spun to pierce another’s chest. The void he created was quickly filled by a further pair, looking to down him. He proved a disappointment. The first took a slash of steel across his throat, while his crony yielded to a punctured lung. Still the intruders came, uniforms ill-assorted, looming out of the dusk like murderous phantoms.
Glamour phantoms mingled with the raiders too, as confusion sowers; part of a parallel conflict raging between the small number of sorcerers present. A quarrel that saw blazing flashes of magical vitality exchanged, and men falling with blistered cavities in their chests.
The band Caldason had joined was at best half the size of the invaders’, and not overburdened with skilled fighters. But they had the edge in ferocity, born of desperation, and they had Darrok aggravating the enemy with his diving disc. And so the landing party was slowed, checked, and finally forced to withdraw.
Darrok swooped down to join Caldason, arriving as the Qalochian took up a discarded spear and lobbed it at a fleeing seafarer’s back. The rest of the islanders’ band was in hot pursuit of the retreating invaders, many of whom were already scrambling into boats.
‘If there had been more of them,’ Darrok said, ‘I’m not sure we could have held.’