swells that surged in steadily from the direction of metal.
The harbor, which was nearly two miles long and half that in width, was crowded with small, sturdy sailboats. Natac knew from his earlier counts that there were well over a thousand vessels here, but the reality of the fleet was still enough to bring him up short. The watercraft were small by comparison to the looming bulk of the death ships, single-masted, opposed to the triple masts on each vessel of the invaders’ fleet, but they were fast and nimble, with sleek, weighted keels. Each bore a shining steel spike jutting from the bow, a ram capable of tearing the planking out of a much larger ship.
A metallic battery glinted coldly above the ram on each boat, well forward of the single mast. Looking like an oversized crossbow mounted on a metal pivot, the weapon was based on a design invented by the dwarf Karkald. It could launch a spray of incendiary spheres at a nearby target or fire a single, heavy missile-a steel arrow dubbed a fire-bolt by the crews-that could fly for a thousand meters and still punch through a hull of thick planks. The sailboats, each of which was crewed by anywhere from four to eight sailors, had small cabins, protected by thin steel plate, and an armored cockpit where the druid who captained each vessel could windcast in some safety, while still getting a good view of the surroundings. Many employed human warriors, men drawn from earth in the spell of summoning, to man the batteries and otherwise fight.
“I don’t know if we can stop them, but we can make them know they’ve been in a fight.” Roland Boatwright had come up to Natac while he looked at the fleet, and now the druid-and master sailor-voiced the speculation that all the defenders of Nayve had trained themselves to believe. “Any new word from the sky?”
“If they hold course, they’ll make shore about a hundred miles up the coast, metalward, from here,” Natac replied. “You’ll have to leave today, if you have any hope of intercepting them.”
“We’re ready,” Roland declared. “My wing captains rowed in to the beach when we saw you coming. Do you want to give them a quick briefing?”
“Sure.” Natac followed the druid down the narrow footpath that switched back and forth across the steep, grassy bluff. Sunlight sparkled on the waters, and the boats were gleaming, clean and freshly painted. He grimaced at a momentary image of marred perfection, the destruction and death that would decimate this picture by the time the battle was done. But there was no point in that worry. He reminded himself that this fleet had been gathered, this band of druids and warriors trained, with one purpose, and that purpose, that need, now came to fruition.
Many of the boats, he saw, were already hoisting anchor, each sail filling with its local, druid-cast gust of wind. A few of the craft were closer to shore, still idle, and a group of men and a few women were clustered around some small dinghies that had been pulled up onto the beach.
“Greetings, General Natac,” said one, a hawk-faced man of medium height with an impressive nose and red bronze skin that was similar to Natac’s in tone. “Have you the latest word on the enemy fleet dispositions?”
“We flew over them this morning, Crazy Horse,” replied the Tlaxcalan. He embraced the Indian, former chief of the Sioux tribe, who had been brought to Nayve nearly forty years earlier. He felt the tension in the great leader and leaned back to look at him in the face.
“Once I thought my days of war were over,” the Sioux warrior said grimly. “But now I stand ready to shed blood in a new cause. Once my men rode ponies and whipped Custer…” He gestured to the boats. “Now we ride a different kind of steed, make a new kind of war,” he declared.
“I am glad to have you leading a wing of the fleet,” Natac said sincerely. “In all my studies of the Seventh Circle, I never observed a bolder warrior.”
Next Natac turned to Richard Rudolph, a squat and dark-haired Englishman of unfailing strength and cheery disposition. He had been a sergeant-major in the British Army, an Earthly victim of the inept officers who had commanded him during the Zulu war of 1898. With his keen eye for enemy weakness and his affable and courageous disposition, he was much admired by his warriors and one of Nayve’s most trusted commanders.
“We’ll be sailing soon, I’m thinking,” he remarked.
“Before Darken, if you can,” Natac confirmed.
Richard clapped Natac’s arm, an expression preferred to the more formal salute among the army of Nayve, then stepped aside to let Fritzi Koeppler join the circle.
Natac shook hands with the Prussian, the man he had known the longest of these three captains. In 1879 Fritzi had led a cavalry regiment into France, until, at Sedan, the men on horseback encountered the repeating fire of modern weaponry. As with Crazy Horse and Richard Rudolph, Fritzi had been brought to Nayve by the magic of a druid’s seduction: the Spell of Summoning that lifted and bore the soul of a warrior to Nayve. Fritzi was an enormously capable soldier with a keen eye for detail. Like his fellow commanders from England and America, he had learned to fight on land, but in the decades of preparation since then he had become a master of nautical tactics. Though Roland Boatwright was in overall command of the druid fleet, Natac was immensely glad to have these three veteran warriors to oversee the three individual wings of the sailboat force.
“The death ships are spread out across a frontage of twenty miles, maybe more; they seemed to be dispersing as they moved toward shore,” he explained.
“Does it look like they will land this side of Argentian?” asked Richard, who had extensively surveyed this section of coast over the last fifteen years.
“I’m guessing they’ll make for the Blue Coral Arc,” Natac replied, referring to a smooth shoreline about a hundred miles away. “There’s lots of good beaches where they can come ashore, and the reefs will protect them from the worst of the ocean waves.”
“Good guess,” Richard concurred. “There’s rougher land, rocky bluff and the like, beyond. Closer by there’s a whole mess of swamp and sea marsh.”
“Then we need to get there first, to stand in their way,” declared the Prussian. “Perhaps we can hold them back from the shore.” He didn’t sound as if he believed the last part of his statement, but neither did he sound at all reluctant about making the attempt.
“Our best hope is to destroy a great part of their fleet and insure that the rest of them land in confusion,” Natac confirmed. “Tamarwind’s elves, ten thousand strong, are already arrayed along the shore, and Rawknuckle Barefist is making a forced march with almost as many giants. They have a full regiment of rolling batteries in support, nearly a thousand centaurs hauling them. The whole force will fall upon the first wave to land… or try to hold the line if too many of them reach shore.”
“You really think they’ll make it to the beaches?” Richard asked. “This is a mighty fleet we send against them!”
Natac nodded. “As mighty as any fleet on any of the seas of Earth, I agree. But you have not seen these death ships from the air, the way they cover the seas for miles in every direction. No matter how much damage you inflict-and I know that all of you will do brave deeds-you must be prepared to fall back before you can be enveloped.”
The normally jovial Englishman looked at him seriously, his expression grim. “Aye, then, General, we’ll do as you ask. What are your orders?”
“Fritzi, your wing is closest to the mouth of the harbor?”
“Already on the way, yes,” replied the Prussian. He indicated a strapping druid, wrapped in the traditional turban of Earth’s Persia. “Reza will have to cast a gale just so that I can catch up to them.”
“He can do that, I know.” Natac smiled at the dour windcaster, who had spent nearly a thousand years in Nayve. “So you will go first. Get in front of the death ships, use your weapons to hit from a distance, to scatter as many as you can. Stand and fight while you can, but then pull back. Richard, you bring your wing right behind. Engage as you close in, but also keep an escape route open for Fritzi’s ships-I don’t want them trapped against the shore.”
“Aye, General… we’ll char a few of those black hulls, you can bet.”
“Crazy Horse,” Natac continued, turning to the Sioux. “You’ll come behind, in reserve. Give the battle time to develop. Regillix and I will be overhead, keeping an eye on things. When we give you the sign, you should sweep around their left with all of your strength.”
“It shall be my honor, General Natac, to strike a blow for Nayve,” replied the valiant warrior with a stiff bow.
Minutes later they were all headed back to the boats. Natac, from the top of the low bluff, watched the procession of sails exiting the harbor and allowed himself a glimmer of hope-hope that was quickly quashed by the memory of the numberless enemy they faced. Even so, he could only admire the bravery and dedication of these warriors, each of whom had been brought to Nayve for just this purpose, and who had accepted the grim task with
