As her soldiers scrambled for weapons and armor, she continued to shout, “We’ve been expecting this.” She felt no fear, only the hot metal of anticipation. Then she whispered only to herself, “And, oh, how I’ve been waiting for this.”
The enemy warships approached at remarkable speed. Though the pennants flapping and snapping from rooftop poles showed that the breezes pushed in the opposite direction, somehow the Isharans were making great headway against the weather. Evil magic, no doubt.
Three Commonwealth warships were stationed here at Fulcor, dispatched after the murder of Konag Conndur. Klea expected more reinforcements, but even she had not anticipated a full-fledged Isharan naval assault so quickly.
Two of the Commonwealth vessels sailed to the eastern side of the island, while the third defender remained docked in the narrow cove below, the island’s only safe harbor. The clamor of alarms continued, and sailors rushed down the cliff stairs to the docks, preparing the third ship for departure.
On the west side of the island, a small vessel had recently departed, having delivered supplies and arms to the garrison, along with the news that Konag Mandan was preparing for an all-out war against Ishara. Soon Fulcor Island would be a beachhead for the great invasion of the new world, surrounded by many dozens of warships, but Klea couldn’t think of the entire land now. This garrison was hers. She was the watchman, and she would defend it.
Though they were greatly outnumbered, the two defender vessels sailed directly toward the Isharan ships, ready to fight. Decades ago, Isharan blockade vessels had tried to starve out the garrison soldiers, but Utho—Utho of the Reef—had worked his way out onto the exposed rocks at low tide and taken the anchored ships by surprise, launching fire arrows from a place they had considered safe. Now, Klea’s defenders could use those same longbows as they approached the enemy ships and set them on fire.
From the garrison walls, she watched the red-striped sails close in. A flurry of bright dots arced out from her two ships like sparks from a grinding wheel. Most of the burning arrows missed because the eager archers had fired too soon, but several struck the lead Isharan vessel. One smoldered in the taut sail. Klea knew her captains would drive forward until they landed several solid volleys of fire arrows, then they would break for safety. Two warships couldn’t hope to destroy seven.
Before the lead enemy ship could start burning, though, wooden shutters opened near the waterline … and what boiled out of the cargo hold filled Klea with revulsion: a formless shape of wind and clouds, smoke and terror, faces and tendrils, lashing tentacles and battering-ram fists.
“They’ve brought a godling!” she cried. The soldiers crowding the garrison’s defensive wall shouted in dismay, which soon turned to rage.
The monster spewed from the hold and launched itself across the water, swelling as it pulled up spray.
A swirl of fire arrows struck the warship’s hull, but they were snuffed out, causing no damage. Within moments, the godling was upon the first Commonwealth ship, smashing its prow with a flash of lightning and fire and splintering the wood into smoldering wooden stakes.
Dozens of the sailors tried to flee, their bodies peppered with flying splinters. The godling flowed onto the Commonwealth ship, roaring across the deck, ripping up planks until it reached the mast. Lightning crackled up and down the rigging, and the sailcloth burst into flames. The tall mast shivered, toppling backward onto the deck and crushing more of the crew.
Klea stared from the wall, holding her breath.
The godling attacked like a rabid wolf, and the ship rocked from side to side, then the entity plunged down through the deck into the hold. It smashed through the keel and out the bottom of the hull, rocketing under the water until it burst up like a waterspout, spraying waves in all directions.
The second Commonwealth defender tacked to one side, trying to get out of the way, but it was at the mercy of normal winds. The Isharan fleet closed in, trapping the doomed ship among them. As they drew closer, the Isharans began to shoot their own fire arrows.
The Commonwealth ship’s sail caught fire, but before the flames could take hold, the godling swept toward it like a fist of whitecaps and thunderstorms. A huge yawning mouth stretched watery intangible jaws, and poisonous mists spewed out to engulf the vessel. The godling smashed through the hull and broke the ship’s back.
Unharmed except for a few smoldering spots from fire arrows, the seven Isharan vessels pressed toward Fulcor Island, straight for the harbor.
Sickened, Klea touched the ramer band at her hip and knew she would have to use it.
In the sheltered cove, the third Commonwealth warship was finally manned and ready. Its sails were set, the mooring ropes released, and the crew furiously rowed it out of the harbor cove. With tall cliffs blocking their view of the other side of the island, Klea knew the captain had not yet seen the attacking godling, and was unaware of what they would face.
As the Isharan ships closed the distance, the unleashed entity charged across the waves, plowing a wide white wake. Klea could see that the third Commonwealth ship was doomed as soon as it sailed out of the sheltered cove. She whirled, shouting to her people, “To the walls! Set the catapults. Prepare flaming oil.” She ground her teeth together. “Kill all of them! Protect the walls!”
She touched her sword. The ramer would drain her, but she could kill the most enemies with it—when it was time. The garrison soldiers had all the weapons, armor, and supplies they would need for a conventional siege. She swallowed hard, but let no one see her fear. Even a Brava didn’t know how to fight a godling storming the walls. One such deity had wiped out their entire colony of Valaera. How could barricades, arrows, and battle axes protect against a thing like that?
The godling crashed into the third Commonwealth warship, sideswiping it and caving in the hull. Without pause, it moved toward the island, leaving the broken vessel to sink behind it. As the roiling, ravening thing came close, it seemed smaller than when it had first emerged, as if waning from the expenditure of energy. But it wouldn’t be enough to save the garrison.
The godling waited for the Isharan warships at the mouth of the harbor. The first of the enemy vessels sailed right into the narrow cove, and when the ships ground up against the docks, Isharan soldiers disembarked and swarmed toward the cliffside stairs. The first four Isharan ships filled the available docks, and smaller landing boats were dispatched from the outer vessels, carrying more soldiers.
The last invader ships cruised around the island to hunt down any other Commonwealth vessels. Klea glanced in the opposite direction, saw the supply ship racing away west toward Osterra. She felt a small relief to see that this one at least would escape. The supply ship captain would have seen the attack on Fulcor, and he would take word back to the konag.
“Fly!” Klea whispered. “Tell them what happened here.”
The narrow steps leading from the docks up the cliff wall passed through a bottleneck, another natural defense of the garrison. As Isharan attackers swarmed up the steep ascent, their boots pounding on the metal slats, the first ones had to know their lives were forfeit. “For the empra!” they screamed, waving their swords as they raced up.
The top of the stairs led into a cleft beneath the base of the garrison walls, which allowed entry into the fortified compound above. A thick metal barricade blocked the entrance, but for now, the heavy barrier remained open so Klea’s defenders could hurl rocks down at the encroaching force. Some poured barrels of oil onto the steep metal and stone stairs, followed by a thrown torch, which ignited the front ranks of the invaders. Isharans covered with flaming oil toppled off the cliff stairs, screaming.
At the cliff gate, the Commonwealth defenders used long spears to skewer anyone who made it to the opening beneath the walls. Although it was a bloodbath, a seemingly inexhaustible force of Isharans continued to swarm from their docked warships. Even though the Fulcor defenders were determined and well armed, their numbers were limited.
Lik
e a storm in black armor, Klea worked her way into entry tunnels beneath the walls and fought beside the other defenders. The Brava was eager to spill Isharan blood, and she became a numbing blur, killing dozens and dozens, but the Isharan invaders seemed driven by a pathological hatred. She could understand that.
Before long, the enemy commanders changed tactics. They sent the godling.
The entity rolled up the sheer side of the cliff adjacent to the metal staircase. The godling did not need stairs. The formless, swirling thing rushed up the flat stone like fire following a rivulet of oil.
Through the open gate, Klea saw it coming and felt an atavistic horror swell within her. The soldiers nearby moaned in panic but braced themselves and stayed in place. Raising spears and swords, they faced the oncoming deity, but Klea knew they couldn’t hold the opening themselves. “Close and barricade the gates!”
The defenders didn’t need to be told twice. They grunted against the heavy iron-reinforced wooden doors and swung the barrier shut. A howling roar smashed into the barricade just as the defenders jammed in place a crossbar the size of a tree trunk.
The godling struck again with a tremendous crunch. The cliff rock shivered, and several defenders retreated into the catacombs, but the gates held. Outside, the deity became a living battering ram, and it careened its fury with one shapeless arm after another.
Klea watched the thick iron plates buckle, the wooden crossbar crack. Beside her, grim soldiers raised their swords. It was time. She clipped the golden cuff around her wrist and squeezed hard, felt the metal fangs. She ignited the ramer with her determination and blood, and a circle of flame engulfed her hand.
The fighters stood, their weapons ready, their faces gray. The godling smashed into the gate again, and the wood splintered.
“Fall back to the stronghold.” Klea cautiously retreated. “We’ll make our last stand above, in the walled garrison.” The soldiers withdrew. She lowered her voice. “At least we can die in the open where we have room to fight.”
More garrison soldiers gathered in the courtyard in front of the high-walled keep, where the Isharans had murdered Konag Conndur. Archers lined the defensive walls as the angry deity continued to pummel the gate below. The iron barricade wouldn’t last long, and once it fell, the invaders would rush in after the godling. Klea vowed that they would pay dearly for their victory.
With an explosion below, the gates shattered, and the angry entity surged forward followed by a charge of Isharan fighters. After expending so much energy, so far from home, the thing seemed weaker, but it was still terrifying.
Klea didn’t think—there was no time. Extending her ramer like an incandescent whip, she let out a wordless yell and threw herself at the godling. Her weapon bit into the thing, the fiery blade slashing through gelatinous smoke, and a blast of lightning twisted back at her.
Shrieking faces emerged from the shifting mass, and snapping mouths lunged toward her. She slashed again, cut deep with the ramer fire, but the godling knocked her aside. Stunned, Klea tumbled away, while the entity pushed into the training yard, mowing down the first ranks of defenders.
The Brava shook her head and sprang to her feet, turning to attack the godling again, but it had roared past, tumbling toward the barracks.
A squad of Isharans rushed through the shattered gates and surged into the garrison. They fell upon Klea, who swept her ramer across the first three. The purifying fire cut them down as if armor and enemy blades didn’t even exist. But more attackers pressed forward, forcing her back.
The godling caused a great tumult in the open yard.
Following the ranks of invaders came one man in a dark caftan similar to the one Key Priestlord Klovus had worn in the delegation with Empra Iluris. The priestlord looked exhausted, but he shouted orders in a strangely compelling tone, and the godling roared, as if celebrating his arrival. This must be the man who guided the thing.
The priestlord reined in the uncontrollable force, and the godling refrained from destroying the barracks buildings, which it could have leveled in minutes. No doubt the invaders wanted to inhabit the structures once they killed her and her comrades.
With her sword in one hand and ramer in the other, she fought like a fury. She struck down five Isharan soldiers, wading through their bodies as she tried to reach the priestlord. Killing him was her goal. With the man dead, maybe the godling would be cast adrift.
Around her, Fulcor defenders were dying one by one, vastly outnumbered. Trapped on the perimeter walls above, her archers rained down arrows, but Isharans stormed the walls and drove the sentries over into the sea. “For the empra!” they kept yelling.
Klea added her hoarse scream. “For the Commonwealth! For what you did to Konag Conndur.” The remaining defenders responded, but in vain.
As her ramer struck down enemy after enemy, Klea slaughtered her way closer to the priestlord in the dark caftan. He saw her coming, and his expression showed fear. She killed another enemy and lunged toward her victim.
With a roar and a whistle, an intractable convulsion of air hit her from the side. She whirled and fought the creature, still desperate to crash forward and kill the priestlord. She had to eliminate that man, extinguish his connection to the godling. But the entity yanked her back, and she spun, slashing with the ramer. She felt hot breath burning her throat, her lungs. Her muscles were shaking, but she kept fighting to the last. “Priestlord!” she howled.
Then the godling pummeled her with blunt tentacles of smoke, fire, and dust. The sheer force threw her against the nearby stone wall, cracking her head.
Stunned, she struggled to hold on to consciousness. After collapsing, she hauled herself back to her knees, saw the priestlord retreating to safety. Her ramer blade flickered and sputtered. She gritted her teeth, forced more fire to come out.
The godling lifted her into the air and slammed her back to the ground.
The fire in her golden cuff snuffed out, along with all her thoughts.
25
LORD Cade’s holding house had a pervasive damp chill that was not dispelled by the fireplaces. Though Utho felt no discomfort, Mandan complained about the cold. The young konag wore a woolen sweater covered by a fur-lined cape and chose his seat nearest the roaring fire in the dining hall. Utho took the seat beside him, watching.
Cade’s home had thick, dark wooden walls and narrow windows that blocked the northeasterly breezes and the frequent rains, which gave the place a brooding air. The vassal lord seemed to enjoy the firelight and shadows for hosting an intimate banquet. Beeswax candles in branched holders looked like burning eyes along the table, and hanging lanterns shone from the walls. A pot of salty fish chowder made with sheep’s milk had been served with warm crusty bread. Platters of steamed rock crabs were offered as a delicacy, though Mandan found extricating the meat too difficult to bother with.
Cade smiled at his guest. “I hope the food is to your liking, Sire.”
“The company is to my liking,” Mandan said. “I am impressed with what I saw today, and I’m glad to have a vassal lord who recognizes our true enemy. You will be of great aid to our war effort.”
Utho spoke up. “We have private political matters to discuss, Lord Cade. Konag Mandan is faced with serious decisions, now that a real war is upon us.”
“Isharan animals,” Cade grumbled.
Lady Almeda, the only other person in the hall, sneered. “There are animals everywhere. Isharans are just the most obvious ones.”
“Some animals are useful,” Cade said. “The slaves harvested enough saltpearls to fund my army, and this holding has far more wealth now than the dowry fortune your family offered me when we got married.”
Almeda set her silver fork on the plate with a clatter. “Don’t imagine you can do without me, Husband! I’m not expendable. That would be another of your foolish decisions.”
Mandan interrupted the sharp discussion, though Utho wasn’t sure if it was on purpose or just because a stray thought had passed th
rough his mind. He opened a velvet-lined box that Cade had placed in front of his plate. “I will have my craftsmen incorporate saltpearls into my crown and chains of office. Ah, they are like milk mixed with diamond dust. They are even more beautiful because they’re coated with a sheen of justice.” He ran his fingers through the pearls, letting them trickle back down with a faint pattering sound. “Work the captives hard to atone for what their people have done.”
Almeda fell back to eating in sullen silence. The spiteful woman had caused many problems. Volatile and full of herself, she devoted more energy to personal slights than to the larger political benefit of Cade’s county, the kingdom of Osterra, or the Commonwealth in general.
Cade shrugged at the suggestion. “I could have the Isharans do much more work, but they keep dying. With the dwindling work crews, it will soon be problematic.” He met the Brava’s gray eyes, then remembered to look at Mandan.
The young konag said, “We will get you more prisoners, although I would be happier if they all just died in battle.”
“I would prefer they died here after years of useful service,” Cade retorted, then lowered his voice. “But it is your choice, of course, my konag.”
The paneled door to the dining hall swung open without a knock. Gant stood at the entryway dressed in his full black uniform. His face was a mottled red, as if he’d been out in a blasting wind, but Utho knew it was just the normal flush in his rough skin. “Can I be of service, my lord?”
“Attend me during the meal,” Cade said. “Konag Mandan has his loyal Brava, and I will have mine.”
With a brusque nod, Gant stood at attention against the wooden wall behind the lord’s chair. Almeda looked at him, but seemed to have no opinion about the Brava’s presence.
Utho gave an approving nod. “It is good that Gant is here. I have news.” The other Brava was a strong fighter, brave and loyal to Cade and to the Commonwealth. Together, he and Gant had helped rescue Mandan on Fulcor Island, whisking him away to the ships while leaving Klea behind as the new watchman. “It is in reference to your previous Brava, Lord Cade—Elliel.”
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