"Secure the fortress. When night falls, we must take the keep, before they discover the source of their affliction."
The fight was not quite over. There would be more lives lost, and possibly more snags like those caused by Falol and the wizard, but God was with them. Lonal doubted the garrison would hold the spot as long as his father had. Joren's spirit would rest easy tomorrow.
XXXVII
The messenger stopped in the center of the briefing room of the Royal Elandri Naval Headquarters, out of breath. Many of those in the room knew the man; he was not the kind to joke. Keron was the first to rise from his stately chair of office. The other high officers were right behind him. They ran, full-speed, to the building's tower.
They climbed up the inner walls of the great ventilation shaft, frustrated at the slow, lazy spiral of the stairs. Finally they emerged on the watch platform at the top, their elderly and middle-aged bodies complaining of the exertion, and stared in horror over the battlements.
It was true.
The Dragon wheeled joyously in the air above Firsthold, sunlight resplendent on his body, awesome in speed and size.
"He has wings," one of the vice-admirals whispered. "He flies."
Many of the men could not take their eyes off Gloroc, but soon Keron and a few of the others turned toward the northern horizon, where they spotted a large warship. It was not one of theirs. Not far from it a ship of the harbor patrol was burning.
The high officers had met because they had not received word from their northeastern patrols for almost a week. Now they understood why. Even the fleetest scout ship could not outrun a dragon. As if in confirmation, Gloroc opened his great jaws and spouted a purple, narrow bolt of flame. It was so bright the observers had to turn away.
"Gods! How can we fight that!" asked one of the tower guards.
"His supply of flame is limited," Keron said.
The Dragon glided over them, its great, dark eyes directed at the royal palace. Soon Keron and all those on the platform felt the insides of their heads violated by triumphant, malevolent dragonspeech.
"Spawn of the wizard! I have come for you! I will have back what was stolen from my parents! See if you can stop me!"
One of the catapults on the top of a nearby tower flung a load of rock shards at the Dragon. He ignored the attempt. Gloroc stayed high, out of range of the city's siege engines and far above any attack the ships of the harbor patrol could mount. The shards fell harmlessly into the ocean, sinking and ultimately settling on the city's dome.
He still respects our strength, Keron realized. He did not, however, understand why the Dragon had come. Gloroc had always been cautious. What did he hope to prove here, at the stronghold of the royalists? Like most of the cities built by Alemar Dragonslayer, it was completely underwater, save for the tall ventilation towers and the Tower of Trade, and the only access was through the towers or the airlocks far under the surface. The airlocks, if kept sealed, were impregnable, and the towers had the advantages of height and the catapults permanently mounted at their tops. The Tower of Trade, where merchant ships loaded and delivered their wares, was even now being barricaded. In addition, the home fleet was huge. Furthermore, Firsthold had been built on beds of thrijish coral. The proximity of the coral negated the Dragon's sorcery, reducing him to dependence on his physical powers alone. How could Gloroc, with one ship to back him, pose any significant threat? To come close enough to use his flame or physical strength would make him vulnerable to counterattack.
The Dragon flew back to his ship, dipping so low that the men in the towers momentarily thought he had collided with it. When he rose again, he had something clutched in his foreclaws. He flew straight to the center of the harbor and hovered over a particular vessel.
"That's theWhite Lady!" one of the admirals cried.
Then Gloroc dropped his burden. An instant later, the flagship of the Elandri fleet was surrounded by brilliant orange flame.
Oil! Gloroc was carrying receptacles of burning oil. There was no need to endanger himself trying to use dragonflame. He could stay at a safe height and simply bomb his target.
The flame around theWhite Lady fell away. The vessel was untouched.
A cheer went up from the tower top. Like most of the important ships of the fleet, theWhite Lady had a wizard aboard. Hers was Hecren, one of the best. He had set up a ward to protect her.
The Dragon seemed unperturbed to see that he had failed. He streaked back to the horizon, rendezvoused with his ship, and returned to the Elandri flagship with another fire bomb. His shot missed or perhaps was deflected off the edge of the ward, and fell into the ocean, briefly setting the waves alight.
Again, Gloroc paid little attention; he simply flew back to his supply ship. Keron saw his strategy and began to issue commands.
"Send more wizards to theWhite Lady!" he roared at a pair of the aides standing by. They gawked in surprise.
"How – how many?" one asked.
"Ten, if you can find them! Just hurry!" To others he yelled, "Send twenty ships after that Dragon's boat!"
They soon heard trumpets playing the song of attack. Sails began to rise, and men could be seen scurrying across the wharf and docks. Anchors rose. By that time, the Dragon had bombed the flagship three more times. Seeing the activity below, he increased his speed.
Nothing that big should move that fast, Keron thought. The only times when the Dragon slowed was to pluck the pots of oil from his ship and to rain his deadly gifts on theWhite Lady. He took careful aim now and never missed.
Hecren's ward was holding, but the ship was staggering in the water with each impact.
"Why don't they move?" asked one of the tower guards. "A moving target would be harder to hit."
One of the rear admirals explained. It was hard enough maintaining a ward over an immobile object. At this point, the wizard didn't need any more challenges.
Another fire bomb. Two. Three. Four.
"Hang on, Hecren," Keron whispered to himself. He saw two separate dinghies speeding toward the beleaguered ship as fast as their oarsmen could row, a sorcerer riding in each. Another was nearly ready to leave the quay. TheWhite Lady was now afloat atop a film of burning oil. Stray bursts of fire licked at her hull. The first dinghy paused at the edge of the area, daunted by the obstacle.
The Dragon arrived with another bomb. He dropped it. Both the container of oil and the ward exploded at the same time, engulfing the ship in a fireball. The men in the dinghies covered their faces against the heat. When the burst settled, the officers in the tower could see that their proud flagship was burning from prow to stern. Men, clothes and hair on fire, were leaping from her decks into the ocean.
None of them could keep the Dragon's laughter from their minds.
Keron gritted his teeth but would not take his eyes away from the carnage. Gloroc had made his point. The royalists could stay in their impregnable cities. Their ships, however, would have to ply the seas, where they could be destroyed one by one at the Dragon's leisure. Without the navy, free Elandris would have no supply lines.
The Dragon sailed gracefully to the northeast, his mirth audible until he was only a speck over the horizon. His ship had turned to run. Keron could see its lines; she was built for speed. Almost a dozen royalist ships were closing on her. They might catch her. The Dragon might protect her. It didn't really matter.
"Admiral Olendim!" a page called from the top of the stairs. "The king sends for you!"
The king was in the royal observation dome, a structure at the top of the palace from which one could view the harbor, towers, and nearby ocean in all directions. It was made of the same vartham as the city's great roof and would resist even dragonflame. Pranter stood just inside the transparent walls, morosely watching theWhite Lady burn. Keron approached and waited quietly by his monarch's side.