Via a trance with Zenida, Clay had confirmed that the Greens appeared to be keeping to the western bank of the river. Greens were renowned as good swimmers but at this latitude the river was too fast-flowing even for them, meaning their assault would fall on that side of the city. Colonel Kulvetch seemed to enjoy almost absolute authority over the western side for the bulk of the populace obediently decamped for an orderly transfer to the other side of the falls. Many made their way over the bridge but most were moved by the ships in the harbour.
At Kulvetch’s insistence an entire quarter of the eastern side had been cleared to make way for the new inhabitants. The civilians were preceded by a large contingent of Marines, who cordoned off the allocated streets. There were complaints, of course, few west-siders relished the prospect of taking up residence in what one middle-aged manager referred to as “the hovels of the uncontracted.” But the mood for the most part was one of fear rather than defiance. At least for the time being the citizens of Stockcombe were willing to forgo their bitter little war for the sake of survival.
It took over thirty hours to fully clear the west side, save for a few die-hards who refused to leave their homes. They were mostly former senior management types, those who had survived the initial bout of conflict but then found themselves side-lined in the days that followed, their skills and prior authority suddenly rendered meaningless. Colonel Kulvetch displayed an unsuspected sentimentality in not having the heart to compel obedience from these impotent luminaries. Hilemore, finding the issue a distracting nuisance, didn’t press the matter when she refused his offer to have the stubborn old buggers forced into boats at gunpoint.
With the transfer complete he arrayed the ships into a defensive line across the harbour, starboard hulls facing the other side. Every cannon, rifle and harpoon in the fleet was arrayed along the starboard rails and west-facing upper works. Unsurprisingly, the Dalcian vessels proved to contain the most armaments, piracy being a time-honoured hobby amongst those who plied the merchant trade. Altogether, Steelfine reported a total of seventeen cannon and three hundred rifles, plus the harpoons of the Blue-hunters. It was less than the combined fire-power of a single Protectorate flotilla but it would have to do.
Hilemore put more faith in the mines with which they had seeded the harbour waters. The value of such devices had been made clear to him amidst the southern ice and he had the survivors from that travail to thank for the rapidity with which the mines had been manufactured. Furthermore, a number of nasty surprises had been prepared in the streets of the west side. Hilemore knew this would all take a fearful toll on the Greens, but the Reds were another matter.
He had Kulvetch and the Voters place all the armed personnel under their command on the roof-tops of the east side. There were a few Contractors amongst the Voters with experience in killing drakes, but the bulk of the defenders had been told to aim for the wings rather than waste ammunition in vain attempts to achieve a head-shot. Positioned at various points in the streets were numerous fire-fighting squads armed with buckets and pump hoses. It was a measure of Hilemore’s assessment of their ability to defeat the coming assault that the fire-fighters outnumbered the armed defenders by two to one.
Time, he reminded himself as he made his way to the crest of the arched bridge. Night was coming on fast and his gaze was fixed on the northern horizon beyond the moonlit waters of the river. We just have to buy enough time.
He had left Steelfine in command of the Superior in favour of occupying a vantage point atop the east-side bridge tower. He had complete faith in the Islander’s ability to command in combat, besides which the plan allowed little scope for improvisation when set in motion. In fact there was only one decision to be taken dependent on the outcome of events. Mothers with children had been secluded in the cellars closest to the docks, ready to be rushed to the ships for a swift evacuation should the coming battle turn into a disaster. It would entail raising the harbour door on a one-moon night, meaning the lower portion of the city would be lost along with many of the townsfolk, but he considered this preferable to the alternative.
Hilemore had asked for only one volunteer to accompany him, Lieutenant Talmant stepping forward immediately. Hilemore’s first impulse had been to inform him that he belonged on the ship, being technically third in command. But faced with the young man’s stern, almost demanding expression the words died on Hilemore’s tongue. The lad’s earned the right to stand where he likes tonight, he thought, clapping the lieutenant on the shoulder and ordering him to draw a rifle.
Besides Talmant, he had been joined by the Wash Lane Defence Volunteers, there on Coll’s order with instructions to “keep the corporate bastard alive.” Hilemore thought them a strangely cheerful lot in the circumstances, clustering round a flaming brazier as the night drew on and engaging in banter rich in mutual ridicule and lacking any mention of the impending danger. He detected a forced tone to much of their profane humour and knew it to be a refuge from fear, one he didn’t begrudge them.
The company included one additional recruit, there at Hilemore’s insistence and provisioned with as much product as he felt able to spare. Jillett had objected to being placed under his command, expressing a desire to stand alongside her Voter comrades in a speech that was rich in indignation but, to Hilemore’s ears, lacking in conviction. He could see the palpable fear in her eyes as she stood amongst the Volunteers. As the Voters’ only Blood-blessed she had been shielded during the conflict and tonight would be her first true taste of battle. He had wanted to place her aboard the Superior as added insurance in case the ships were forced to flee, but knew that Coll and the rest of the committee would never have stood for it.
The time before battle was usually a trial of jangled nerves and unnaturally long minutes, so he felt a pang of paradoxical gratitude when the drakes chose not to keep them waiting. “Sir,” Talmant said, handing him a spy-glass and pointing to the north. It didn’t take Hilemore long to find them, Nelphia’s light shimmering as it played over the mass of Greens on the western bank of the river. They were moving at a steady loping trot rather than a mad rush, presumably to conserve energy for a charge when they drew closer. He quelled an upsurge of dismay, realising it indicated some kind of reasoning intelligence behind this attack.
“We could just go,” Zenida had said before he took his leave an hour earlier. “This lot are intent on killing each other in any case. What do we owe them?”
“There are children here,” he said. “And others who took no part in this bloody farce. I can’t just abandon them.”
She hadn’t pursued the issue, merely shaking her head with a weary grin as she said, “You would have made a terrible pirate.”
“Send the signal,” Hilemore said. He raised the spy-glass to the sky finding it a starlit, partially clouded spectacle free of any drakes. They’re up there, he knew. Too high to see, probably.
The night was split by the flat crump of an exploding rocket as Talmant let the fleet and the city know the enemy was in sight. The message was answered with a prearranged chorus of sirens and steam-whistles from the ships, intended to wake any drowsing defenders on the roof-tops. Hilemore lowered the glass to gauge the progress of the Greens. They were keeping close to the edge of the river, those in front increasing their speed, mouths gaping as they let out their challenge calls. It grew in volume as the mass drew nearer, the screeching barks combining to produce something that resembled the burgeoning growl of a hungry monster.