by P D Ceanneir
Amphorae was covered in shredded rope and cable from the rigging, but she still unfurled her wings and flew in the opposite direction from the Licessia, the harpoon ropes tightened again on the deck cleats and the little boat screamed as she was jerked forward. Two cleats ripped off and a rope snapped; it lassoed backwards ripping through part of the sail.
The remainder of the ropes ripped free as the dragon pulled with all her strength, several harpoon guns were wrenched from their stands or were pulled from their base bolted on the deck. The dragon turned, eyes blazing hatred as she bore down onto the Licessia. She breathed in deeply.
‘Everyone down!’ screamed Carbaum as he gripped the helm and closed his eyes.
Havoc woke refreshed from a good long restful sleep. The dreams that he had now flittered away into ungraspable fragments but some still worried him and it concerned the Blacksword. When he questioned his twin about the dreams, his only answer was brooding silence.
His stomach however was not silent, and he realised how hungry he was. Quickly slipping on his thin quilted under-armour shirt and linen trousers, he left his bunkroom to see if any hot food was available in the small cookhouse at the rear of the ship.
Gunach met him in the corridor with his arms folded and a small half smile on his lips.
‘Evening Kervunder,’ he said, looking the king up and down as he began brushing his bearded tassels with a small pudgy hand. ‘My, that is not clothing to be wearing for battle. I wonder if I have anything more suitable.’
Havoc knew better than to ask his friend what he meant.
‘Yes, you could be right,’ he said, frowning. ‘I have the feeling you are going to show me something?’
Gunach nodded and instructed the king to follow him. Havoc did so but gave the corridor, which led to the galley kitchen, a forlorn look as the passed it by on the way to the dwarf’s temporary forge.
Gunach must have been up all night and most of the day repairing dented Raider armour, because most of his hard work was scattered around the forge room or hung on the wooden pegs that lined the walls. The master smith took Havoc to the corner of the room and pointed at the armour there, which caught the light from the orange coals spluttering in the forge.
He was astounded to see his father’s armour stacked up in a neat pile, newly mended, and polished to a bright silver sheen. He could clearly see the etched spiral patterns of whirls and interlaced knot designs among the dancing shadows that the forge light cast around the room. Havoc picked up the front chest piece by one of the leather buckles, he looked at the lacquered design of Dex on the manly chest, and muscled abdomen. The high fanned shoulder guards made the whole thing look even more menacing especially when he tilted the picture of the dragon to the forge to get a better look and a reflective glint of an orange spark issued from the creatures mouth.
‘I had to make some adjustments, your father was shorter than you are,’ said Gunach respectively.
‘My friend,’ said the king, overcome with the moment, ‘I don’t know what to say. This is a marvellous thing you have done; I’m honoured and indebted to you for this.’
‘Oh, it was nothing,’ said the dwarf as he turned towards one of the shelves at the back of the forge. ‘You are a king now and should look like one. There is also this,’ he handed over a gold circlet with an enamelled crest at the centre depicting the Cromme Coat of Arms. It was his father’s crown, usually worn over the armoured helmet.
‘I will tack it back onto the helmet,’ informed Gunach as Havoc took it silently and brushed his finger over the crest, ‘it must have fell off when…well…’
‘Thank you, my friend,’ said the king and handed it back with a genuinely happy smile, ‘thank you very much.’
The Cybeleion and the fleet of Ternquin cargo ships landed some ten miles to the west of Dulan-Tiss to unload the, now very relieved, army from their cramped holds. As they formed up and prepared to march, the king made final preparations. Lord Rett and the cavalry were still miles away behind them but he could not wait for him. He wanted the main force to move quickly to the citadel, especially when he saw the first pall of dark smoke rise up on the horizon.
‘Do you think Carbaum has made his move as we planned?’ he asked Powyss.
The commander scanned the smoke in the distance and the darker clouds that flashed with electricity.
‘I think that’s the least of our worries,’ he said pointing out the approaching storm to the king. ‘Shadowfall?’
Havoc frowned and then shook his head, ‘the Blacksword does not think so, could be naturally occurring, this area of the continent is prone to storms at this time of year.’
‘I hope you’re right. It looks to be a monster.’
Havoc nodded in agreement. Already they had to shout over the noise of the wind. Around them the other ships anchored themselves to the ground as if in anticipation of the violence to come, most of the soldiers huddled by their huge hulls for shelter.
‘Get them on the move as soon as possible,’ Havoc ordered and Powyss nodded, but reached out as the king turned back towards the Cybeleion.
‘You’re not coming, sire?’
He shook his head and pointed east, ‘I want a closer look.’ His intention was to see the destruction for himself, hoping that the Ternquin fleet and the Rogun Navy had done the damage or, less likely, that Mad-gellan had somehow stormed the city.
The Brethac Army swelled in numbers as King Kasan forced marched them over the Dulan Plain throughout the night and most of the next day without a break. Reports of villages destroyed by Rogun Navy raiders that had landed on the Dutrisi shore reached him on the morning of the fourth day. He changed course and found a thousand Rogun Marine Infantry fleeing from a smoking town when they saw his numbers. The Brethac cavalry, under the command of Lord Nethroin, caught up with them and slaughtered them to a man. Only the young commander of the force survived, though he was already dying from a terrible wound. Kasan, though the use of a Thought Link, learnt he and his men were from the Sky Mountains and were only a token force that was part of a larger invasion intent on taking Dulan-Tiss. The man died with a smile on his lips.
The all too short rest after the battle was testing for Kasan’s tired army, but he forced his men onward when the columns of black smoke from his home appeared and spread into the sky.
The miasma of cannon fire, cloying smoke, scalding heat from the burning Sky Ships, and the occasional ballistic shrapnel of wood and iron were blocked out of Captain Carbaum’s peripheral vision as he focused solely on the blue dragon that spread her leather-like wings and sucked in the air of smoke and fumes. Even with the wind picking up and the slanting rain stinging his face, the prospect of braving the coming storm was a far higher option on his agenda than being burnt to ashes by this angry creature.
No sooner had he prepared himself for death, than the shadow of darkness crept over him. At first, he thought it was a black cloud billowing from one of the crippled ships floating listlessly with a dead crew and an unwatched Wind Orrinn. But this shadow had purpose, it adjusted course, swooped over the little white yacht, and descended through the smoke towards the other dragon.
The roar from the shadow was deafening. Carbaum got the briefest glimpse of it before it collided with Amphorae, and it was easily twice as large as the blue dragon, with sparking scales of light green. Its huge wingspan was perhaps twice the length of his boat and the creature’s down draught pushed the craft off to port with a violent lurch.
As the yacht spun through the cloud of smoke Carbaum tried to steady her. Three men tipped over the side, luckily one of them had the good sense to tie his harness to a cleat and he hung under the hull as Carbaum wrenched the tiller to starboard. Something glowing orange loomed out of the smoke and the Licessia narrowly avoided collision with a burning Sky Ship. He noted the unicorn prow and recognised it as the White Prancer, one of his own ships. The odour of bitter chemicals scoured his nose and stung his eyes and he could smell the stench of b
urning pitch. He realised that the dragon’s Wyrmfire had ignited the Nephi drums on-board, the ship was completely ablaze and burning sailors were jumping to their doom to avoid the flames.
Once again, something large nearly struck the yacht as the rolling mass of the two fighting dragons swooped by. This larger creature must be Ciriana, the older dragon Havoc had mentioned to him. He watched as the smaller dragon break free of the grappling claws but was unable to speed away before the larger one bore down on her amidst a flurry of wings and gnashing jaws; she turned and braced herself. Dragon reflexes were five times faster than a human’s, so she had time to turn and lift her four claws before the other dragon struck. Ciriana gripped Amphorae’s limbs with her own, used her momentum and the weight of her body to spin the smaller dragon around full circle and so disorientate her. Carbaum watched as they spiralled off through the thick smoke and out of sight, leaving a dozen spinning vortices in their wake.
Orlam rose slowly from the deck where he had dived. Carbaum looked at his pale face which was etched with relief and smiled back, and then the shrieking roar of another Fire Drake rumbled some distance away in the opposite direction.
‘By the gods these things are everywhere!’ moaned Orlam.
Ciriana and Amphorae spun and dropped towards the burning city. The smaller dragon’s rider clung on to his saddle pommel for dear life as the sky blurred dizzyingly around him. Over to the east lay the Hub, in its centre where the flames had not reached sat the tall spires of the Museum of Arcun. Ciriana used her wings to change direction so they headed for the museum while still spinning, at the right moment she let go, Amphorae tumbled through the air, her wings curled around her like a ball, and her increased speed meant she could do nothing to slow her descent. She crashed through the east spire and then the slate roof. Her trajectory meant that she continued through three walls of the inner sanctum coming to a halt in the west wing’s reception rooms whose walls and roof beams collapsed on top of her. Ciriana finished this off by sending out a long stream of flame over the fallen roof and ensuring it burned intensely. She landed, breathing heavily, and watched as the museum’s west wing was engulfed in flames.
However, the pile of ruin moved and rippled as the smaller dragon climbed out of it. Amphorae crawled out, oblivious to the flames and minus her rider who obviously did not survive the fall, the saddle burned and melted off her back. Her softer, thinner scales had cut and buckled badly in several places and her left wing looked crumpled at the tip and slightly askew at the inner joint. She nevertheless walked confidently towards the larger dragon. Her ridged brow frowned menacingly.
‘So,’ she rasped, ‘the old bitch has finally shown herself. We were beginning to think you were a coward, Ciriana.’
‘Happy to disappoint you,’ growled the larger dragon.
‘We had planned on the three of us taking you on together, but it looks like it is down to me.’
‘It will have to be just the two of you now, I flattened Tyre into the ground, and he did not get up again.’
The smaller dragon stayed silent for a while, regarding the other with her cold eyes. Then she leapt with impressive speed, clearly not as maimed as Ciriana was led to believe. Amphorae’s attack was quick and she saw the older dragon twist to catch her in her claws, but she shifted away from the sharp talons with amazing agility and gouged a deep line along Ciriana’s soft underbelly. She continued to hack and scratch as her opponent fell onto her back, but Ciriana tucked her rear right leg under the smaller dragon and pushed upwards sending Amphorae hurtling over her head and crashing through more smoking ruins.
Amphorae’s rage, as she righted herself from the debris and turned to Ciriana, was tangible in the cloying atmosphere. She flicked her tail, clipping Ciriana on the jaw so she stumbled and then lunged again, but it was a ruse from the larger dragon as she stepped out of reach of the sharp teeth and sunk her own into the wing muscles at the shoulder, tearing a huge chunk out as Amphorae moved past. The smaller dragon roared in pain and her wing flapped uselessly on the ground. She had the ability to heal quickly if her energy levels were high, but she needed to concentrate on the danger before her. Ciriana jumped high, landing on Amphorae’s back and the weight was too much for the smaller dragon as her legs fell out from under her.
‘Can you fly with one good wing, my dear?’ taunted Ciriana in Amphorae’s ear.
‘Get off me, you old crone!’
Ciriana’s wings flapped and she took off with the smaller dragon gripped in her claws. Amphorae raved and ranted, she snapped at the underbelly of the larger dragon drawing blood with her sharp incisors, but this did not deter Ciriana. They rose high over the museum and then hovered for a few seconds above the thermals.
‘This is the end I saw for you,’ said Ciriana in a sad voice, ‘if you had lived long enough you would have developed the gift of prophecy, yet your doom cannot be averted. Do the Children of the Sept of Red deserve a better death? That is not for me to decide.’ She let go, Amphorae dropped like a stone, one wing flapping uselessly as she plummeted, and the long drawn out scream of her denial echoed over the burning wreckage. Here cry then abruptly cut off as her body impaled on the only remaining stone spire of the museum; the point punched through her gut and her body slid down it to about halfway. She mewed in agony for what seemed like an age, and then the life left her body forever just as the tower collapsed into the remainder of the burning building below.
The storm increased in intensity. Waves turned into large swells that crashed onto the rocky shore. The wind picked up speed and it became even more difficult for the captains of the battling Sky Ships to control their vessels as they lurched in an ocean of wind and driving rain.
The Vallkyte Navy had been skilful enough to exit the burning harbour, but found the Rogun Navy bearing down on them. A long drawn out sea battle took place on the churning waves and the Vallkytes won through the cordon of war galleys and attacked the Rogun ships that bombarded the walls of the citadel’s east coast. The attack was such a surprise for the southern line of ships that they had no chance to defend themselves as the Vallkyte vessels opened up a destructive barrage of cannon and catapult. Six sunk with all hands before Admiral Uriah ordered them to break off from the bombardment and regroup. The admiral judged correctly that the storm was only going to get worse so he issued another order for all ships to ground themselves or anchor near the shore, or find a sheltered cove to ride out the storm. In doing this they stopped the Vallkyte Navy from doing the same. While trying to sail back to the harbour the Vallkyte vessels met with strong winds and stronger currents, which dashed many against the narrow inlet of rock stacks that peppered the route to the harbour. They had no choice but to endure the storms energy out in deeper water. Therefore, they pulled away from the shore and disappeared into a curtain of rain.
It was said that Admiral Hurnac of the Vallkyte Navy died as his flagship, the Henrietta, became the first casualty of the storm’s rage. In truth, he was not at sea but in the Admiralty Naval Headquarters, a large grey-blue building that sat on the edge of the Spur Harbour entrance. He had been there, on and off, for a year now since the king demoted him after returning from his failed attempt to retrieve the Gredligg Orrinn. On the evening of the Ternquin attack, he was entertaining his mistress, the ravishing Lady Martinet, Countess of Ramón, when the second wave of Ternquin Sky Ships opened fire and demolished his headquarters. Hurnac and the countess were partially buried under the collapsed roof beams, and would have survived the attack if the next cannon shot that hit the building were not one filled with Nephi. The flames burned the lover’s bodies to ashes and the wind added them to the smouldering wood beams. Dying on board his flagship would have been more heroic.
The Vallkyte Navy lost nine ships to the storm and a further seven were blown off course and sent south. The dawn of the next day found them crippled and broken sixteen miles off the headland of Eveni Neuk where they met the entire Hoath fleet of small twelve-oared Birlinns. The subsequ
ent sea battle of Eveni Neuk was one of ordered and accomplished sea fighting tactics by the Hoath Navy, even if the Vallkytes did put up very strong resistance. In the end, the Hoath Birlinns won and all seven remaining enemy ships were boarded and taken.
The battle that was to take place outside the burning ruin of Dulan-Tiss two days later overshadowed this legendary sea battle against overwhelming odds.
That day was still a long way off when the Cybeleion and four ships of the Ternquin fleet arrived at the city’s outskirts. King Havoc, newly attired in his father’s armour with a light red and gold-fringed cape that depicted the Royal Standard of the House of Cromme in the centre, stood beside Admiral Danyil at the helm. Both men were amazed at the devastation that Captain Carbaum and his people had wrought on the citadel. It burned brightly even as the wind-lashed rain beat down upon the jagged ruins of the buildings.
‘Remind me never to make Carbaum angry, your highness,’ said Danyil grimly.
‘Agreed,’ nodded Havoc.
The high winds were slowly pushing the grey clouds of the storm over the coast and the rain stung exposed flesh and rung loudly on armour. The remaining Sky Ships that continued to fight above the citadel were in the majority Vallkyte, although most were badly damaged. Havoc could see the Licessia zipping quickly in and out of the larger ships.
Three of the enemy vessels had obviously spotted the new arrivals and they now turned to attack them as they lined up to fire catapults broadside. They unleashed a widespread volley that hit a Ternquin vessel on either side of the Cybeleion, both ships suffered heavy damage to their bows with spinning shrapnel cutting through men and rigging. The quest ship moved into evasive action and turned sharply to starboard, she brought her cannon to bear on the closest enemy vessel. The captain was about to give the gun crew an order to fire when a long stream of flame slammed into the Sky Ships starboard forecastle. The impact rocked her to port and made her judder as if in pain. The attacker exposed his underbelly as he flew over the ships horizontal sail. Havoc watched as the black dragon, Basilica, issued several more jets of flame from his mouth and he groaned as they struck the flanking Ternquin vessels. The damage to the Cybeleion’s hull was minimal, the Wyrmfire had stripped hard resin plates on the starboard side and the wood underneath was badly scorched and smouldering around a gaping hole in the hull. Fire crews were running below decks to douse the flames. It was obvious the ship would not survive another attack like that.
