The remaining two migaradons flew inland, low over the beach. They’re going to try and break the wall. Kylen aimed and shot at the limit of her range, the leading migaradon screaming as she pierced one of its hearts. Around her, other bowstrings twanged and the huge beast plummeted to the ground, just short of the first trench. A large spear, launched from a ballista, tore into the breast of the second migaradon. A lucky shot, the scale-tip spear ploughed along the line of the three hearts. The beast crashed so close to the wall it made the parapet shake. It lay twitching as its blood ran out and mingled with the wet sand. They had withstood the first attack.
Out to sea, things were not going well. Kulleen’s damaged lugger had been overrun. The others continued to plough through the oncoming boats, but they couldn’t stop them all. Boats began to reach the shore, unleashing wave upon wave of black-uniformed soldiers and Kyrgs, distinctive with their red faces and flaxen hair. The invaders struggled as their boots sunk into the sodden sand, but it would not be long before the fight started in earnest.
‘Stand ready,’ Kylen cried, walking down the wall. ‘Wait until they reach the trenches. Make every shot count.’
One of the catapults of the northern battery launched a bolus of rocks. It landed short of the leading ship, which had yet to break across the bay entrance. Another catapult snapped forward, with a similar result.
‘Amateurs. No point shooting until they’re in range,’ Torvin remarked. Kastara looked across as the catapult crews hurried to reload. Torvin was being unfair. The crews had only had a few days’ practice. She wondered if he would be as dismissive of her efforts when the time came. After all, she was every bit as inexperienced as the catapult crews. A convoy of four warships entered the bay, the wind blowing off the island forcing them to approach on a diagonal.
‘They’ll need to swing their catapults round on each turn,’ said Torvin. ‘That’ll slow down their shooting speed.’
‘But at least they are moving. Won’t that make them difficult to hit? While we sit here like nesting woodcocks.’
‘Them fools might struggle with a moving target, but we won’t,’ Torvin said confidently. Kastara noticed he hadn’t denied the part about themselves being sitting targets. The warships powered towards the northern headland. Another catapult fired. Plumes of water drenched the starboard quarter of the lead vessel. Torvin shook his head.
‘They are better off waiting until they tack. Target’ll be easier to hit then.’
The leading ship began its turn and all four catapults launched their missiles, as if they had listened to Torvin’s advice. The ship’s foresail split down the middle and a chunk of quarterdeck was torn away. Faint cheers mingled with the sound of the wind and rain.
‘Dunno what they’re cheering for. That won’t stop ‘em,’ Torvin muttered as a gust of wind sent spray through the rigging. Kastara wiped the salt water from her face. The convoy sliced into the bay, another following close behind. The south battery began to engage. They at least, had proper ammunition – rocks large enough to crash through a hull and sink a vessel. However, their first volley was erratic and only one of the projectiles landed anywhere near the enemy.
‘Where are the migaradons?’ Kastara peered through the drizzle.
Torvin spat. ‘They’ll pound us a bit first before going for the kill, I reckon. Clever.’
‘Why don’t we fire?’ The Wind of Golmeira‘s catapult crews showed no signs of activity as the convoy began another turn that would set them on a heading directly towards the four rebel ships. The enemy were close enough for her to see the pale faces of the sailors as they pulled the huge lateen sails round. The south battery launched again. The second ship in the line was mid turn as a huge chunk of rock crashed through its middeck, opening a gaping hole in the hull.
‘Good shot!’ Torvin exclaimed and cheers from the deck below echoed his cry. The damaged ship listed heavily to starboard. ‘What idiot is helming the ship behind? They’ll collide!’
The third ship in the line attempted to skirt round the damaged vessel, but their sails were aback and they ploughed into their stricken comrade. The south battery fired again. The entwined ships made a juicy target. Masts collapsed and more holes appeared in both hulls. Figures began to abandon the sinking vessels, leaping overboard. The remaining two ships regrouped and bore down on the rebels. Below her Kastara heard Kendra instruct her crews to wait. A volley of rocks was launched towards them, followed by a second. Kastara flung up her shield, but the rocks landed a good fifty paces short. She laughed nervously at her misjudgement and collapsed her shield quickly so as not to block their own barrage.
‘Hold tight now,’ said Torvin, gripping the masthead tightly. Kastara copied him.
‘Fire!’ Kendra ordered. Both catapults launched in perfect synchrony. As the arms crashed against the catapults’ posts, the Wind of Golmeira recoiled violently. If Kastara hadn’t been hanging on so tightly, she would have been thrown clear. Beside them, the Obala launched its own missiles, followed by the Mystique. The air was filled with the crash and recoil of catapults and the smashing of stone against timber. A rock the size of a small cart hurtled towards them. Kastara thrust out her shield, instinctively putting her right hand across her face as the rock filled her vision. It bounced off her barrier and dropped into the sea, just missing the deck. Her heart was pounding, and she realised her left hand was gripping Torvin’s arm so tightly her fingers were white. He was just as pale.
‘I thought we was goners.’ He puffed out his cheeks. ‘Glad you’re here.’ Kastara felt a flush of pride. They held off the first line of ships, and the next, but the convoys kept coming. The bay was soon filled with billowing sails. Kastara learned to gauge which rocks would fall short, or go long, sending out her defensive wall only when it was really needed. Even so, the mental strain was starting to tire her. The other ships in the line were not so fortunate. Kastara’s wall wasn’t wide enough to protect them. The Obala’s rear mast had broken off at the base and a jagged hole in the deck revealed its rock-filled hold. Nerika darted around the gap, gesturing furiously. The Daydream and the Mystique also showed signs of damage. Five enemy ships advanced to within grappling range, their decks swarming with soldiers. Black-robed figures gathered in clumps, too many for Kastara to count. Her head pounded as they tried to tear down her defensive walls. Beside her, Torvin fired. One of the black-robed figures slumped to the deck and there was a slight easing of the pressure on her mind.
She glanced down, looking for Findar. He had linked hands with Myka and Wricken to form a circle. Mata led her crew to the side of the ship to repel the boarders. None seemed affected by the black ravens, which meant Fin and the others were doing their job. A warship closed to within a few paces. Mata and her crew suddenly ducked down.
‘Fire!’ cried Kendra. The catapults had been set with almost no elevation and a volley of mid-sized rocks scythed through the attackers, including the black ravens. The weight on Kastara’s mind lifted momentarily, and the ravaged ship drifted past them without engaging. Beside her, Torvin was shooting rapidly, reloading and shooting again. Another ship emerged from the driving rain and hurled a wall of rock towards their deck. Kastara’s shield burst out of her and the deadly shower was diverted harmlessly into the sea. She shuddered at the thought of what the barrage might have done had she not blocked it. Kyrgs leapt onto the bulwarks of the approaching enemy ship in their eagerness to board. Another volley from the Wind of Golmeira’s catapults swept them aside but more filled the gap. At the end of their line, the Mystique was sandwiched between two ships, her crew fighting desperately on both fronts.
‘I knew it,’ Torvin groaned. Four dark shapes rose from the decks of ships further out to sea. Kastara’s heart sunk. Torvin had been right. Thorlberd had waited until they were barely holding on before releasing his most terrible weapon. One migaradon dived towards the northern battery. It ripped apart two of the catapults before it was downed by a flurry of bolts and spears. Another made f
or the southern pontoon. Two more headed straight for the Wind of Golmeira.
Chapter Forty-one
Zastra drove the lugger headlong into the driving rain, its timbers groaning under the press of sail. Ignoring Kayled’s protestations, she had set topsails above the mainsails and their leeward rail dipped in and out of the foam as they flew along, the deck slanted like a pitched roof. The iron-taut rigging sang, a high insistent note that told her she was within an inch of carrying away a spar, or even one of the masts. Yet she pressed on, their bow flinging water aside. Waylin stood near the prow, clinging to a stanchion as the rain sluiced down. Every so often he leaned over to vomit into the sea. Polina too, was pale, although doubtless due to worry as much as seasickness. Thunder rumbled ominously overhead.
‘There!’ Waylin cried. Uden’s Teeth loomed out of the grey fog. Resting the tiller between her knees to keep their course, Zastra took out her telescope and slid it open. Krysfera leapt into view. Sails swarmed around the island like flies around a carcass. A flash of sheet lightning illuminated the sky, throwing the shadows of four migaradons into relief. Somehow the rebels were still making a fight of it, although the hopelessness of their position was clear. Only the Wind of Golmeira was intact. There was no sign of the Daydream and the Obala sat low in the water, her masts gone. A single catapult flung rocks defiantly from the northern headland. There was no time for reflection, only action. Zastra leaned hard on the tiller and laid a course for Madwoman’s Rest.
‘You can’t be serious?’ Polina cried. ‘You can’t send poor Orika into battle.’
But Zastra saw no other choice. If she did nothing, Thorlberd would win and Orika would be killed with the rest of them. Or worse, taken back to Golmer Castle to be experimented on. The tide was in and Zastra ran the lugger right up to the beach. Orika ran towards them, her face a mask of fear. The lugger’s timbers began to shudder and groan.
‘This is madness,’ Polina protested. ‘The poor girl is already losing control.’
‘Orika, merge with me,’ Zastra cried. It was the only way she knew to calm Orika down. She began to dismantle her mental barriers. They were so much part of her now that it took some effort to open herself up. Polina grabbed her shoulder.
‘Zastra, no. It’s too dangerous! You could be infected with Orika’s madness. And opening your barriers means you’ll be defenceless against the black ravens.’
‘Then you’ll have to protect us.’
Zastra knew the risks. She had let Orika into her mind once before to stop the terrified girl wrecking the ship they were on. It had been distressing for both of them, but it had worked. She shuddered as Orika entered her mind. The girl was drawn towards her saddest moments and her deepest pain. In an instant, she experienced Orika’s pity at the death of her parents, felt again the pain of Rastran’s torture. When Orika saw the image at the forefront of Zastra’s mind – the fleet attacking Krysfera – the girl’s terror almost overwhelmed them both. Zastra strove for calmness and authority. We need your strength, Orika. I will be with you the whole time, I promise. Come with me.
Orika strode out into the surf and Zastra hauled her aboard, pushing them off with a long pole before spinning the lugger round on its heel. Foam curved in their wake as she set course for the heart of the battle.
Kylen’s arms felt like rods of burning steel, so heavy she could barely lift them. Her supply of bolts was long gone and their ballistae, too, had run out of ammunition. The churned-up beach was littered with the bodies of the dead, the trenches overflowing. They had killed eight migaradons. One spear-riddled carcass lay so close to the wall that she could hear the rain bouncing off its hard scales. As she glanced out to sea, yet another migaradon rose from a ship that had only just joined the battle. Kept until last, knowing that the defenders would be exhausted.
‘Does anyone have any scale-tip bolts?’ she cried, but the defenders were too busy fighting off the invading soldiers to answer. The top of a siege ladder clattered against the top of the wall. She shoved it away before anyone could begin to climb, but a Kyrg climbed to the top of another ladder, right next to her, and slashed at Beregan’s chest. The small woman swayed back and plunged her spear into the Kyrg’s chest. He fell backwards, but another followed close behind. Kylen summoned the effort to swing her sword and sent the Kyrg to join the growing pile of bodies at the base of the wall. She sensed the despair and weariness of those around her.
‘Hold!’ she bellowed. ‘For all that we love, hold the wall!’
The fresh migaradon dived towards her, trying to break a hole in the wall, like the others before it. Kylen looked around for something she could use. Her eye stopped on the dead migaradon just beyond the wall, spears poking out of its scaly hide. She took a running jump and launched herself over a wave of attackers and onto the dead beast, grabbing one of the embedded spears to stop herself sliding off. Once she had her footing, she yanked it out. It was scale-tipped.
The living migaradon dived towards a defender who was aiming a crossbow. Kylen’s throat constricted as she recognised her brother. He released a shot and the migaradon squealed, blood spurting from a wound beneath its neck. The beast continued its dive, and Zax’s bow was now empty. He sprinted along the wall towards Kylen, the enraged migaradon in pursuit, ripping stones from the top of the wall as it flew. A defender got in its way and the migaradon reached out and flung him, screaming, from the wall. Kylen leapt onto a nearby siege ladder, levering off a climbing Golmeiran soldier with her spear, and arrived on the parapet just as Zax reached her.
‘Duck!’ she cried. He obeyed, and Kylen thrust the spear into the belly of the charging migaradon. Warm blood spurted over her, blinding her for an instant. The beast screamed and reared up, dragging her up into the air. She clung grimly to the spear, the only thing that could provide the final death blow. Someone grabbed her feet. Zax. Beregan added her weight to his and together they tore the spear loose. The migaradon landed heavily on the wall, thrashing wildly, sending stones flying in all directions. Kylen ducked beneath a scything claw and thrust the bloodied spear into its third heart. It rolled off the wall, crushing attackers as it plunged to the ground. But in its death throes it had torn a deep hole in the wall. The rain began to ease, and the sky took on a coppery hue. The attackers swarmed towards the gap the migaradon had made. Kylen clutched Zax in despair. She had nothing left to give.
From out to sea came the sound of rending wood, so terrible that even the attackers stopped to stare. A tiny boat with orange sails raced between Thorlberd’s warships. It was dwarfed by the huge vessels, yet they crumpled in its wake, their hulls staved in as if they were made of crackerbread. The ships began to turn and flee, their sails flapping in panic, but the little boat weaved through the enemy fleet and ship after ship was ripped to shreds. The attackers on the beach hesitated as they saw their means of escape destroyed. Kylen saw her chance.
‘Send the signal,’ she cried. She had kept back a few hundred men and women in case the wall was breached. They were untrained, but willing. Most importantly, they were fresh. Her brother carried her message to the tower and moments later a green flag was waved. It was time to commit everything they had.
‘Forward!’ she cried, somehow finding the strength to lead the rebels through the gap the migaradon had made. Others descended from the sides of the channel, flanking their attackers on three sides.
Chapter Forty-two
Kastara glanced along what remained of their defensive line. The Daydream and the Mystique had been pounded to kindling by enemy catapults and the deck of the Obala was heaving with enemy soldiers. Mata was at the head of a knot of sailors, attempting to fend off a horde of invaders, swords and scythals clashing in the rain. A second ship latched onto their quarterdeck. Torvin continued to fire rapidly into the enemy, but made little impression. There were just too many. Emerging from the dark clouds, a vast four-masted ship bore down on the melee, dwarfing the other warships. It was square-rigged with maroon sails and completely u
ndamaged. Thorlberd’s standard flew atop each mast. Her uncle’s flagship. Disregarding Mata’s orders, Kastara scrambled down the mast. Myka and Findar were still standing by the mainmast while Wricken lay dead at their feet. They were fully focussed on protecting the minds of Mata and what was left of her crew, not noticing the Kyrgs pouring onto the quarterdeck behind them. Kastara stepped between them and sent forth her shield, sweeping the Kyrgs clean over the quarterdeck rail. The power of her push forced the attacking ship away. The stern of the Wind of Golmeira swung round, wrenching them clear of the other enemy vessel. A few attackers were left stranded and Mata and the others despatched them quickly. Mata strode to Kastara.
‘Was that you?’
Kastara nodded.
‘Can you protect the whole ship?’
‘I think so, but I don’t know for how long.’ Kastara’s head pounded and she felt exhausted from the effort of repeatedly wielding her power. Her bursts of effort were getting shorter and shorter.
‘Zastra is here,’ cried Findar. Mata whirled round.
‘What? How do you know?’
‘The gulls. They can see her. Look!’
He pointed towards a lugger as it darted round the headland and into the bay. Either side of it, enemy ships crumpled like discarded sheets of paper.
‘Orika!’ Findar exclaimed. ‘She’s got Orika. They’re going straight for the flagship!’
The flagship hastily launched a migaradon. Another had been harrying the northern battery, but in response to some signal it turned, and the two colossal beasts converged on the lugger. Fear flooded Kastara’s body. Orika’s power didn’t work on migaradons, and not even Zastra could handle two at once.
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