Douglas Niles - Goddess Worldweaver

“Beyond horror,” the elder druid agreed. “I don’t know if the armada will reach shore that quickly, though. There are still two more wings to Roland’s fleet, and they were close.” She glanced at the sky, where the sun was already receding upward, purple twilight closing in from all horizons. “I think they will wait until Lighten before attacking.”

“All those ship masters, the warriors who fought with such courage… all of them were brought here by druids, performing the spell of summoning?”

“Yes… many of the same druids were spinning the winds for their warriors. The loss of each boat meant the loss of at least two lives.”

Shandira nodded, and her eyes narrowed. “There was that serpent flying above-like the Beast of my church’s nightmares, though you call it benign-and the man astride his back. He is your lover?”

Miradel drew a quick breath. “How did you know? I said nothing about Natac.”

“I saw the way you clenched your fists, tightened your jaw, when the picture was upon him. Also the way many other druids looked in your direction, quickly and secretly, when the picture moved to him.”

“You are right. I love him very much… have loved him for more than four hundred years.”

“You brought him here, with your Spell of Summoning?”

“I did, though it cost me my youth. And I had no regrets. It was the mercy of the goddess that I returned to earth and lived through seven more lives there, before again returning to Nayve in this young woman’s body.”

“But if your goddess was to command you to give yourself to another, to work the magic to bring a warrior here, you would do so?”

Miradel stared at Shandira, astounded by the question-and by the rush of outrage that arose within her at the thought of giving herself to another man. “I told you… one druid can only summon one warrior. Natac is my warrior,” she said, sensing the evasion even as she tried to sound decisive.

“That is no answer.” The black woman’s tone was not accusing, but blunt. “Anyway, I know the answer: you would not. Because you love this man, and the love you share is a treasure. Can you not know this about me: the love I hold for my Savior is as precious, or more, to me. I cannot betray it by performing this carnal act!”

“Even though you know that Savior, the promise of Heaven and the threat of Hell, are myths, created by humans to explain that which they did not know? Cannot you see that this is real, here… the truth lies with the Worldweaver, at the Center of Everything? Do you deny the existence of Nayve?”

Shandira shook her head sadly. “My faith has been shaken in so many ways, yet I feel that it is all I have left. Perhaps this is a test of that faith… a temptation to deny the real truth.” She raised her head, looked at Miradel from beneath that great mane of hair, then extended a hand and placed it on the shorter woman’s shoulder. “I believe that there is evil here, just as there was upon earth. And I will devote myself to fighting that evil. But I cannot do it in the way you ask. Is there not some other means with which I may wage my battle?”

Miradel felt those strong fingers squeeze her shoulder, and she was surprised by the comfort she derived from that touch. She placed her own hand over Shandira’s and nodded, watching the druids in the garden start filing back into the viewing chamber. “There will be a way,” she promised. “I don’t know what it is, but we will find it.”

T HE coast of the Blue Coral Sea was obscured by smoke, a thick dark cloud that rolled from the water onto the land, stinging the eyes and nostrils of the elves arrayed above the beaches. Tamarwind Trak stood on the highest sand dune, a wet kerchief pulled across his face in an effort to alleviate the pain of each breath. One eye was closed, the other pressed to the viewpiece of a telescope.

“I can’t see any more of our boats,” he said grimly to Gallupper.

With an angry snort, the centaur pawed one of his fore-hooves through the sandy ground. “It was as brave an attack as I’ve ever seen or imagined,” he said, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder. “They deserved a better fate.”

“Just because I can’t see them doesn’t mean that no one escaped,” the elf demurred hopefully.

In truth, however, there was little hope. The two arms of the armada had simply been too large, hundreds of ships surging in front of Fritzi Koeppler’s wing, blocking the advance even as the fire-bolts tore through their hulls. The valiant warriors and druids had found themselves trapped by fiery wreckage before them as well as offshore, while land itself blocked flight toward the center. Thus, when the death ships had surged around behind the wing of druid boats, the Prussian’s vessels had no route of escape.

For more than two hours Tam had watched the black ships closing in. He lost count of how many had burned, but even this had been a vain tactic: the flaming ships of the enemy had been blown right into the mass of sailboats as the defenders had been packed into tighter and tighter quarters. At last, the entire surface of the sea was obscured by smoke, broken only by bright plumes of crackling fire.

“I don’t see how any of them could have survived,” the elf said, his words hushed by awe.

“But they have managed to buy us some time,” the centaur pointed out. He indicated behind them, where a long column of warriors-centaurs, giants, and elves-was marching into view, pouring out of the gap between two mountain ridges. “And that will allow us to give them a real pounding, once they try to land.”

“I lost a hundred or more boats before pulling back,” Crazy Horse announced grimly. “There were too many death ships; I could not break through to Fritzi’s wing, though we charged four times. They have coordination and tactics, these ghost warriors, for they closed ranks to prevent our advance and paid no heed to the numbers they lost-five hundred ships ablaze, just in the last hour.”

“They are well led, it seems,” Natac noted, not surprised by the observation. Even so, it was a chilling realization, for he couldn’t imagine the nature of the enemy general.

“But by the goddess, what a blow,” the Sioux warrior continued, his eyes moist. “To hear that Fritzi’s fleet perished to the last vessel! Even that Prussian-I thought he would live forever!”

“He fought and died as well as any man could,” Natac replied. “I saw it from the sky. He had a death ship to either side, ghosts swarming onto his deck. Faerwind wielded a sword like a master, guarding his back while he launched volleys from his two batteries, canister blasts into the hulls rising up to either side of him. Only then did he fall, and the druid perished on top of him-but not before the black ship to each side was engulfed by flame.”

Darken had come to the warriors gathered on the wide beach. A large bonfire, fueled by driftwood, illuminated a ring of grim-faced men and women. Dick Rudolph was here with his druid, Christina, who stood beside Cloudwalking Moon, the windcaster for the Sioux’s boat. Tamarwind Trak had ridden Gallupper to the meeting on the beach, and now the lanky elf stood beside the grim-faced centaur. Roland Boatwright and Sirien Saramayd were also in the circle, while Regillix Avatar was coiled on the dunes above the beach, extending his long neck so that his crocodilian face loomed just above the conference.

“And the armada?” asked Roland. “Will they wait for Lighten to move in?”

“We saw a dozen death ships crash on the reefs,” Natac reported, “and then the rest of them drew back. I think we have until morning.”

“We have ten thousand elves of Argentian entrenched above the beaches,” Tamarwind offered. “All the batteries in the centaur arsenal are there in support, and we have two regiments of giants held in reserve, ready to strike at the first sign of a breakthrough.”