Passing the lead vessel, they gained height and banked, turning to attack.
Break their formation. Take the masts if you can. Spells will come, pulsed Sha-Kaan.
They dived, roaring into the rain-sodden air, each targeting a ship, seeing the fleet begin to break up as wheels were swung, rudders bit into the ocean and the vessels turned and scattered. Much too slow.
Sha-Kaan came in low and across the bow of his target, wings beating back to slow him, great talons biting into the deck as he landed, his weight causing the ship to bounce and slew. Water poured over the bows, a torrent streaming for the holds, weighing it down.
His neck lashed forwards and his jaws bit at the mast in front of him, the wood splintering. Another bite and it fell, bringing down sail and line. He pushed away from the ship, seeing a group of men running along the deck towards him. Mages. They sprawled as the aft of the ship smacked back into the water. With a lazy beat of his wings, he angled towards them, lashing out with his jaws, dragging his hind claws along the deck and sweeping with his tail, not caring with what he connected.
Behind him, the raised foredeck was shattered and men lay where they had been hit, or crawled away, limbs broken. Sha-Kaan swept back up into the sky, high above the range of any spell, and looked down at what he had done. One mast was down, the humans were terrified and the dragging sail hindered their progress. It was not enough.
He came in again, higher this time, coming across the ship broadside. Feeling the first edges of pain from individual spells as he closed, he braked sharply, brought his hind claws around and grabbed the main mast, feeling the wood compress under his talons. Unable to get a grip to wrench the mast clear, he used his momentum, beat his wings hard, and slowly, slowly, the ship began to tip.
More spells crashed into his back, intense heat and harsh cold eating into his drying scales. He barked in pain, shifted his weight and the mast snapped beneath his enormous bulk. He tumbled towards the sea, letting go the part of the mast he held in his claws and diving straight into the water to quell the magical fires, depriving them of the air they needed before surfacing and racing again for the heights. He was surprised by the severity of the damage he had suffered and pulsed new warnings to the Brood. He looked back as he climbed, feeling the weakening in his scales where the spells had struck. The mast had broken through the deck and ripped its way down the hull to below the water line. The ship was sinking. Time for a fresh target.
Sha-Kaan circled, calling the Brood to him. Below, two ships were going down but the one targeted by Hyn-Kaan was still afloat and as Hyn climbed, Sha could see the damage to his already wounded wing was severe.
Hyn, the battle is over for you. You can land on one of the islands. You must rest.
No, Sha, not unless you order it. I can still fly.
Sha-Kaan sighed. I will order nothing of you. But I wish to see you live. They will be better prepared this time and we still have much work to do. Do not risk yourself.
We may all live to see Beshara again, pulsed Hyn-Kaan. But not unless these enemies are stopped.
Sha-Kaan agreed. We have broken the fleet, their direction is lost. One ship at a time. Nos, the masts, I will take the helm and rear mast. Hyn, seek the rudder then swim clear. Follow me.
For the third time, Sha-Kaan dived, his Brood at his sides once more. He bellowed his approach, choosing an undamaged vessel that was coming about to regain its original heading. Spells soared out. Orbs of flame hissing and spitting by, and gouts of intense cold that caught his wingtips and froze vein and oil where they struck. He switched direction, presented his back to the mages and swung in hard left, jaws sweeping across the wheel deck, taking wheel, helmsman and compass with him, spitting out what lodged as he made for open sea again.
Behind him, a loud impact on water told of Hyn-Kaan entering the ocean and a series of rending cracks signalled a mast toppling. More flame caught on his back as he flew away. The pain was deep, grinding into his scales and flesh and every beat of his wings pulled at his wounds. Their time in Balaia had made their hides and scales far more vulnerable than he could have imagined. Perhaps the humans would have to complete the battle for Herendeneth alone after all.
Vuldaroq watched the dragons attack, his words about not underestimating The Raven repeating like bile in his mind. His mood had turned from victorious joy to near desperation in a few scant hours, his careful plans scattered like his surviving ships.
Once it had been clear that the Protector army was driving towards Arlen, he'd left the town to rot, choosing to take ship at Gyernath with a much larger force than he'd originally planned, following his skirmish with Sytkan.
Readying the standing College fleet, bringing the crews to Gyernath and provisioning for the long voyage had delayed him by several days. But the relayed news that Erienne had been taken in Arlen vindicated his decision; and he'd already envisaged sailing to destroy the Al-Drechar and the Malanvai child, shown the way by the mother herself. It had been beautiful irony and he'd confessed grudging admiration for the efficiency of Selik and his Black Wings. Another decision proved correct.
Selik, of course, would not be returning to Balaia. Those who murdered Dordovan mages in cold blood suffered a similar fate themselves.
But slowly, it had all begun to unravel. The fool Gorstan had failed to take ship at Arlen. The battle had gone the wrong way. Worse, The Raven had stolen the vessel. And they hadn't settled merely to the chase; unbelievably they had managed to steal Erienne from beneath Selik's idiot nose.
Even that, though, shouldn't have been too bad because in the sky now was a new beacon that only the blind could miss. Navigating the legendary treacherous shallows would be difficult but then that was what the long boats and masted skiffs were for.
Yet now The Raven had called on their pets and his fleet had been badly hit. However, the dragons were not as invincible as Vuldaroq had believed. They had no fire, that much was plain. And their bodies had proved vulnerable to spells. They just needed to be correctly focused.
Vuldaroq stood waiting with thirty mages. Their preparations had been fortunately unbroken, the ship unmolested as yet but heading away from the desired direction. But there would come a time and Vuldaroq had bade those ships closest to be ready as he was.
And the chance would come very soon.
The Dordovan Tower Lord watched the three dragons tearing the heart from the Chaser, saw the masts fall, the wheel deck disappear in a hail of splinters and the ship savaged in the water as the third beast tore at its rudder.
It was an unequal struggle with each of the dragons being as big as the ship. They were a staggering size and bulk, toying with it like a plaything. And when they had wrecked it, they'd turn to another. Vuldaroq would not let that happen.
He pointed to the thrashing waters at the stern of the Chaser.
'There. The most injured one,' he said to the ranks of mages behind him. 'On my command.'
The dragon bit and tore, the hull sluicing back and forth. With a wrench, the rudder came clear and the boiling waters calmed. The dragon had dived.
'Wait,' said Vuldaroq. He scanned the sea in front of them, the heavy waters, white-capped and angry still as the storm pounded away. Yet there they were. Ripples at odds with the seas, moving away from the crippled Chaser. 'Wait.'
The dragon broke the surface forty yards distant, scales glinting wet, wings powering its body out of the water, its belly exposed for a few precious moments.
'Aim high. High. Now!'
He jerked down an arm though they wouldn't have been watching. The IceWind, the single product of all thirty mages, howled away.
The dragon climbed fast but not fast enough, the spell catching it on the lower belly and along the length of its tail. An unearthly screaming wail tore from its mouth, a sound that rose above the roar of the wind and the crashing of the waves.
Vuldaroq watched it still climb but its tail could no longer balance it and the IceWind gouged into its flesh. Slower and slower, the wings beat. It angled its head down on its slayers, long neck curling down, tipping its body over. Its eyes glinted, another bellow, answered by the others, escaped its mouth and it fell from the sky.
He'd been disoriented under water and had surfaced too near the enemy, and now Hyn-Kaan couldn't drag in his breath. Where the spell had struck, his whole lower body was numb, alien to him; his scales were cracked with cold and his flesh burned like it was on fire.
He called to the Kaan and entreated the Skies to keep him though he could never now return to Beshara. It was to be a lonely death, far from the Brood ancients, far from peace. His great body shuddered, his mouth gaped and his wings swept at the air but drove him no further. Hyn-Kaan's energy was spent, his mind registered the slowing beating of his heart and the deep cold spreading up to his chest.
He sucked another breath into his tortured lungs. In his final moment of clarity, he knew there was one more thing he could do.
The cheer from the deck was cut short.
'Oh dear Gods,' muttered Vuldaroq. He rounded on the mages. 'ForceCones now. Linked spread. I want that reptile bounced. Do it!'
Feverish muttering rose from the deck, the mages kneeling for stability as they prepared. The dragon barrelled on in, neck outstretched but wobbling, wings beginning to ripple but determinedly spread, its angle steep but true. It would hit the ship. They only had a few heartbeats.
He felt a movement in the mana. ForceCones flashed out, invisible barriers anchored by the casting mages, a desperate attempt to deflect the beast as it hurtled right at them.
Hyn-Kaan struck the wall of ForceCones, his massive bulk slapping them away, catapulting mages from the deck or crushing their bodies into the rails.
'Run!'
Anyone that could already was, fore or aft, scattering from the point of impact. Men jumped into the sea and the helm spun the wheel, the ship lumbering into a turn.
Too late.
The dying dragon smashed head first into the vessel, catching it square, just below the level of the main deck. The impact was enormous, echoing out over the ocean. The huge body slammed in amidships, breaking its neck and driving its shoulders straight through the hull. The ship shuddered, whipping sideways and down, pitching some men into the turbulent sea and knocking every other over.
Wood and timbers exploded up and out, the main mast was chopped at its root to slap on to the ruins of the deck and bounce into the water. The dragon's wings tore rents in the weakened hull, buckling back as they went, the frozen tail shattering as it struck.
Its back broken, the ship collapsed in on itself, Hyn-Kaan's body coming to rest amidships, dead weight dragging the vessel down.
Above the noise of splitting timbers and rushing water swallowing the ship, the screams of the injured and trapped, doomed and pleading for help, was a wailing cacophony, smothered by the ocean that sucked them all down.
Slipping away on the ShadowWings he had prepared as he ran, Vuldaroq flew close to the waves to a sister ship, shaking and terrified, fearing what might fall next from the storm-filled sky.
Sha-Kaan's bellow of rage and grief tore the silence that followed. He and Nos-Kaan sliced through the heavy skies, entering the water where Hyn-Kaan and the ship had gone, wings tucked in, bodies like great bolts, seeking their lost brother.
And he was dead when they found him, tangled in rope and wreckage, his carcass slipping gently deeper. His head, with eyes glazed, pointed skywards as he went, his slack, broken neck graceful with the support of the sea which bore him down so carefully.
Sha-Kaan turned, pulsed Nos to follow him and drove back up to the surface, breaking into the air, his wings thrashing, his mind ablaze, his brother lost after so much hardship on Balaia, his life taken by man. There would have to be revenge.
But as he soared up to just beneath the clouds, neck coiling round, his head searching for the next enemy, one man saved him from himself and his anger.
No, Sha-Kaan, said a voice in his mind. They'll kill you.
And he looked down again, saw the massed mages on the decks of the surviving ships and knew that Hirad Coldheart was right.
The Calaian Sun ploughed on, riding through the wreckage that was strewn across the sea. Sail cloth, baggage, broken timbers, ropes and lines. Bodies. Dozens of bodies. All rippling on the swell, the rain still pounding down.
The Kaan had scattered the Dordovan fleet. Only three ships still sailed and they were all angling away from the battle, north and west. Two mortally damaged vessels subsided into the ocean, their surviving crew frantically lowering any boats they had left and leaping into the sea. A third was also in serious trouble, its sails and mast fragments dragging in the water, its deck tilted at a crazy angle while waves crashed across it, battering the helpless crew.
They could be seen hacking and pulling at line, mast and sail, trying to shift the dead weight that dragged them over. And, with no control over direction, they sat broadside to the swell which was inexorably destroying them.
But Hirad didn't really take it all in. He had watched Hyn-Kaan's death plunge and had seen the surviving but severely wounded dragons dive after him. Now he tracked them high in the sky as they flicked in and out of the cloud layer. His heart was heavy. He had bade them come to The Raven's aid. And now Hyn-Kaan was dead and neither Sha nor Nos would survive a further spell attack.
Fly to Herendeneth, pulsed Hirad. Rest.
We will stay above you for now, came the reply. No enemy will fly to attack you. When darkness comes we will find a hiding place. The spells burn us still. We had no defence. We weaken with every beat of our wings.
I am sorry, Great Kaan.
Skies save me, Hirad Coldheart. Your land has brought us to this, not you. The air is bad, the food does not sustain us and we cannot renew ourselves. Good luck in what lies ahead.
Thank you, Great Kaan. You have made it possible for us to win this.
But Sha-Kaan's mind had closed to him. Hirad knew they would be gliding in the upper skies, resting on the wind until they had to land when darkness came.
Hirad looked again at the ocean. The Kaan had done their work. Whether it would be enough, only time would tell. Small sails were up and long boats were struggling to make headway as crews abandoned crippled vessels. Some of them headed for sister ships. Others, lost in the swell with the soldiers and mages they carried, might make it to shore. The Raven had the Protectors and they were worth five of any warrior. If they could force battle in tight confines, they could win.
But mages were what The Raven lacked. Dordover must have sixty-plus left alive. Maybe more. The Raven had three, and whatever the Al-Drechar could summon up. Very little, if Erienne's assessment of their deteriorating condition was anywhere near accurate. Even before any mage battle, though, they had to establish what it was they had to defend. And they had to get there with enough time to make preparations.
There was work to be done. Hirad turned from the bow rail and walked back down the ship. He waved Darrick over from where he was standing near the forward doors.
'Get The Raven together. We need to talk. Make sure The Unknown is there and include yourself and Ren'erei. Captain's room. I'll be there in a moment.'
'No problem,' said Darrick.
Hirad carried on to the wheel deck, pulling himself up the ladder. Jevin nodded as he approached.
'An extraordinary display. They're majestic creatures,' said Jevin. 'We have an edge.'
'But it's slight and we'll lose it unless we push on now,' said Hirad. 'This is the time to risk everything if you believe in what we're doing. Can you make this thing go faster?'
The skipper of the Ocean Elm noted the progress of the Calaian Sun with pleasure and saw more sail than was wise billow on her masts. Every face had been astern as the dragons attacked the Dordovan fleet. Every heart had beat double time with fear at the awesome, alien sights and sounds. Every eye had widened and hardly a breath had been drawn.
The skipper had heard there were dragons on Balaia, marooned after the Wesmen wars. And he knew they were linked in some way with The Raven. He had not considered his ship under threat and had passed that message around his crew but had not seen the necessity to extend his thoughts to the Black Wings and Dordovans on board. Watching their panic, hasty spell preparation and taut faces as they lined the deck had given him brief satisfaction. More stamina wasted, more nerves frayed. It could only be good.
He had never thought to see dragons and the sight of their extraordinary size and power had been breathtaking. The death of one and the obvious and possibly mortal wounding of the other two had been regrettable but their action had turned the tables. And now he could ensure that Ren, if it was her on the Sun as he assumed, would reach Herendeneth first.
She knew the channels well, and knew the route that had to be taken. What she didn't know was exactly where the Calaian Sun's draft would make passage impossible. The skipper would show her in the only way he thought likely to work.
The rain was just beginning to ease but the mountainous seas were unabating. He ordered a trimming of the sails to slow them just a little, sighted on the beacon that dominated the southern skies, prayed the Al-Drechar still lived, and patted his helmsman on the shoulder.
'Keep her steady, lad,' he said. 'Keep her steady.'
Chapter 34.
There had been anxious moments through the night. The rest of the afternoon had passed under heavy clouds, strong winds and occasional sudden downpours mixed with the ever-present sounds of rolling thunder and lightning flashing in the storm fronts.
They were several hours ahead of the Dordovans as night fell and perhaps one behind the Ocean Elm and though any sensible captain would have ordered a dropping of the anchor as they entered the channel of the first islands of the Ornouth Archipelago, that was an option not open to Jevin.
The Elm was not slowing and Jevin could not afford to lose sight of the sleek, fast elven vessel. Neither could he let the chasing Dordovans catch them. And so his crew had a sleepless night, those not directly engaged in sailing the ship being on watch port, starboard, fore, and aft. Plumb lines were swung and dropped to give an indication of depth under the swell, which was subsiding as they reached relatively sheltered waters, and the lookouts kept up a constant commentary on conditions all around them.
Ren had stayed on the wheel deck throughout the night, advising Jevin on safe channels and calming his nerves as the ship sailed perilously close to rock walls to find the best depth, running in the wake of the Ocean Elm.
After the meeting had broken up and the mages had retired to bed to rest and maintain mana stamina levels, Hirad, The Unknown and Darrick had stayed in the Captain's room, mulling over defensive tactics and the strength of their forces. The remains of a meal lay on the table still and the three men picked at the scraps, washing it down with a light wine diluted with water.
The Unknown was preoccupied, his left leg stretched out in front of him, his hand constantly massaging the hip, a grimace on his face.
'I think it's time you told us how it really is,' said Hirad. 'We'll have to work it into our formation.'
'I want Aeb on my left,' said The Unknown. 'Aside from that, no special treatment, all right? We can't afford it.'
'You're not getting off that easily. Tell me how it feels.'
'Stiff and weak,' said The Unknown. 'I've had no time to build the muscle so what's there now is what Erienne patched up. It's locked up on me more than once and though Erienne says that'll pass, I don't have the freedom I need.' He chewed a lip. 'It's not going to be very easy to fight.'
'So?'
'So I'm not going to use the double-hander, I won't have the strength to brace it through any kind of swing. The elves have got some spare blades on board. Not exactly what I'm used to but what choice do we have? I'll use a dagger in my left hand, I suppose.' He shook his head. 'Sorry, Hirad. Looks like I'll be a bit of a liability.'
Hirad raised his eyebrows. Darrick couldn't stifle a laugh.
'Liability?' said the General. 'It may reduce you to the status of better-than-most rather than absolutely-everyone but that's about it.'