Before the boat could do anything, however, Unionists in the turrets of two of the captured fliers discovered they had a clear field of fire. Two beams chopped into it in the same second; it flew apart in a tremendous blast that sent spray, smoke, flames, bits of debris, and mangled bodies hurtling into the air for a hundred yards in all directions. Then the flier-mounted beamers began picking off the shore mounts, and screams, crashes, and the flare of more explosions ashore told of their accuracy. Blade grinned. For the first time, it seemed that the heavy firepower was on the side of the «good guys.»
In the middle of the uproar on shore, the bombs he had placed on the first flier went off, a double-barreled whump that sent a painful concussion battering through the water against Blade's body. The fuel aboard the flier went up in a sheet of green flame, and again pieces of metal splashed down all around Blade.
Now the second of the captured fliers was firing up its engines; the first was already well out on the lake, turning for its take-off run. As its engines went to full thrust the bombs attached to the second of Blade's victims went off, and flames once more spewed high. The second captured flier began taxiing out; then Blade's view of it was cut off by the loom of the third one as he thrashed up to its hatch. Hands-Leyndt's among them-reached down by the dozen. He seemed to fly out of the water and fall headfirst through the hatch, to sprawl with a thump on the metal floor at Stramod's feet. He barely had time to sit up and look forward to Pnarr seated at the controls, when the beamer turret above blazed out, and he heard another distant roar as something on shore collapsed or exploded.
Simultaneously came a much closer roar, as the third and final pair of bombs went off, and fragments pattered and clanged on the fuselage of the flier. Then Pnarr rammed the throttles forward and the engines built up to a roar as the flier came around, heeling over so hard that one wing skipped along the surface of the water. Then it straightened out, the engine roar swelled still further, the acceleration slid him back along the floor into the heap of people huddled dripping against the rear wall of the cabin, and he felt the flier lurch up on its ski. A moment later he felt it lift, and looking forward, saw nothing but sky showing through the windows beyond Pnarr's hunched head. And a moment after that the soupy blackness of the clouds swept past, and in the windows ahead the stars shone out bright and clean in the black sky as the flier banked around on to its new northbound course.
Chapter 11
As soon as all three fliers were well clear of the lake area, Pnarr, the most experienced pilot, took the lead. He led the formation straight toward the coast, crossing it less than twenty minutes after take-off. Looking down, Blade could see the lights of houses and vehicles flash by underneath, then the faint glimmer of the surf as they headed out to sea. The idea was to confuse the radar that was undoubtedly tracking them. Also, over the sea there was less chance of being spotted and reported by ground-based observers.
They were well away before the floor tilted as Pnarr took the flier up to its most economical cruising altitude. There were no signs of pursuit, although Pnarr kept the beamer turret manned and ready all the way north.
Three and a half hours later Pnarr turned west again, heading toward the coast and dropping down as he approached. Through the windows Blade saw the mountains south of the lake marching over the horizon and plunging down into the sea in long rocky points. The white of breaking waves skirted their feet; the white of snowcaps crowned their peaks and crests, pink-tinged by the rising sun.
The fliers raced over the coast less than two thousand feet up and held that altitude, dipping and bobbing to avoid tree-crowned hilltops, until the lake sprawled blue and shimmering across their field of view ahead. Near its northern end, Tengran squatted on its island, as far as Blade could tell unchanged since the last time he had seen it, barely two crowded months ago.
On Blade's suggestion Pnarr led the formation well clear of the town on the final approach, to avoid alarming the people unnecessarily or picking up ground fire. Not that Blade had much hope of getting a friendly reception in the town, at least not without a good deal of fast and persuasive talking. He and Nilando had volunteered to go out and meet whoever came out from the town; hopefully the fact that Nilando was Treduk and he himself not Graduk would persuade the townsmen to not shoot first and ask questions afterward.
Pnarr put the flier down so that it glided to a stop only a few hundred yards from the piers of Tengran. Blade could see boats already putting off and men clustering around the guns of the forts as he peered through the cockpit window. He didn't entirely like being so close in, where even a well-aimed cannon ball from one of the shore guns could damage the flier. But putting themselves so much at the mercy of Tengran's guns was a useful gesture of good faith.
By the time he and Nilando climbed out of the hatch and inflated the life raft that would carry them to shore, the boats were a good deal closer, and Blade could see that they were packed with men and bristling with weapons. Two of the larger boats carried sizable guns both fore and aft, and in general the fleet gave a ready-for-anything impression. They were not concentrated either, but formed a long arc, encompassing all three fliers. Even with beamers, a really hostile force would have had a fight on its hands this time.
They launched the raft, climbed in, and began to row toward the boats. As they did so, the men in the boats crowded to the railings, lifting muskets and nocking arrows to their bows. The cannon slewed around until Blade could look straight down the black bore of one.
When they were within easy earshot, Nilando rose to his knees and spread out his empty hands.
«Hoy, people of Tengran! I am Nilando of Irdna. This is the warrior Blade, who slew a Dragon Master and his Dragon. We are returning from Graduk captivity.»
There was a long silence in the arc of boats, then a voice called out:
«We have heard of both of you. But why return you in Graduk warfliers?»
«There are those among the Graduki who would aid us in fighting the Dragons. Have you not heard of these?»
«Tales. When was a Graduk ever a friend to us?»
«Many are. Or were. Those among the Graduki who hate you also are enemies to those who would aid you. They have defeated and slain most of them in a great battle. Some have fled in these fliers, and seek your aid.»
«Why should we aid any Graduk?»
«These have much of the high Graduk learning. I know you have heard of it, and I know you have seen it, for I was taken prisoner in the battle where your town lost so many of its fighting men. Would you not like to see two-score or more Graduk aiding you to slaughter the Ice Dragons as their enemies and yours have slaughtered you?»
That brought the Tengrans in the boats up short; a great buzz of debate and argument arose, but the guns and bows did not waver. Nilando took the chance to mutter to Blade. «I think they will not kill us now. But trusting us-that is another thing.» The debate and argument went on, until Blade began to wonder if the people of Tengran held a town meeting every time some critical question arose, even though it might be in the middle of a battle, or the middle of the lake.
Then the same voice that had spoken previously called out:
«We will send boats to you. Let your people come out one at a time, and give us their firethrowers as they do so. We will take them ashore and keep them safe until we decide what to do with them.»
«We accept.»