David Gemmell - Echoes of the Great Song

Other bolts struck home — to no effect. Rael fired again. This time the bolt flashed into the mouth of the weapon just as the fireball was emerging. It exploded in the tube. The weapon was ripped away in the explosion, sections of bronze soaring into the sky. Fierce, raging flames engulfed the ship's prow.

Listing to port, the golden vessel backed away. Another ship entered the harbour. Rael swore softly.

Questor Ro tried to open his eyes. His body was a sea of pain, his left eye swollen shut, his left arm pinned beneath a mound of rubble. He tried to move his right hand — and realized that three fingers were broken. His chest felt cramped, his breathing restricted. Opening his right eye he saw that one of the roof beams had fallen across him. His right hand was wedged against the Sunfire. It was no longer vibrating. Broken stone blocks had half-covered the weapon and the roof beam was resting on its barrel. That was why Ro had not been crushed. As the ceiling fell the beam had struck him but then been stopped by the Sunfire.

Am I dying? he wondered. The pain was excruciating. His legs ached and he tried to move his toes. It seemed to him that he could, but then he remembered an amputee once telling him that he could still feel the fingers of the hand that had been lost. Ro dragged back his broken right hand and tried to reach the pocket of his torn tunic.

The fractured fingers flared with fresh pain as he reached inside and he was unable to draw out the crystal.

Instead he laid his hand gently upon it and began to speak the first of the Six Rituals. The pain subsided and he felt the bones begin to knit. As his strength returned he pushed away the rocks covering his belly and legs and wriggled free. As he did so he saw one of the golden ships, its prow aflame, backing out of the harbour. A second ship was moving alongside.

Ro scrambled to the rear of the Sunfire, pushing aside the rubble. The firing handle had snapped off halfway down and the rear sight was gone. Even so he could see that the weapon was pointing directly at the two ships.

He paused momentarily. Even if the weapon fired he could only take out one of the vessels. The other would certainly destroy him.

Death. That long descent into darkness. It was an appalling thought for a man who could live for ever.

What is life without honour? he asked himself. Grabbing the broken handle he wrenched it down. For a moment nothing happened. Then a blue flash erupted from a fracture in the barrel — and the last bolt it would ever fire tore itself clear of the Sunfire. The weapon had been tilted by the roof fall and the massive bolt of energy almost missed the second ship. The charge struck high on the upper deck, ripping the control cabin clear.

Deflected, the bolt shot high into the sky where it burst with the sound of a hundred thunders.

The stricken golden ship increased its speed and clove through the water towards the docks. It loosed no fireballs, nor slowed as it approached the wharf. Its prow struck the stone. The timbers shivered and gave. And the ship ploughed on, smashing its hull, then listing heavily. Men scrambled to the decks and jumped over the side.

Ro eased himself clear of the ruined Harbour Tower and sat down on the rubble. He was tired and still in great pain, but he watched with dispassionate interest as Rael and his archers killed the survivors.

The golden ship tilted once more, then rolled and sank.

Outside the harbour the lead ship drew back. Across the bay four more of the golden vessels were sending fireballs into the helpless city of Pagaru.

Crouched on the western battlements of Pagaru, Niclin and four senior officers waited for the invasion.

Behind them a score of buildings were ablaze. Bodies littered the streets. A section of the wall to Niclin's right was torn away. Three Avatar soldiers were carried to their deaths.

Keeping low, Niclin edged along the battlements and peered through the hole in the wall. The first of the golden ships was gliding towards the dockside. Openings appeared in the ship's hull and Niclin could see warriors gathering there.

Suddenly a huge explosion lit up the sky. Niclin blinked, and transferred his gaze out to sea. One of the golden ships was listing badly, smoke pouring from her mid-section. As Niclin watched she toppled and sank swiftly below the waves. Below, in the harbour, the openings in the golden ship's hull were swiftly being closed as the vessel drew back. His view restricted, Niclin pushed himself to his feet — and saw salvation!

Like a black shadow of death Serpent Seven hove into sight, her dark prow cutting through the waves at full speed. A blast of light flashed from her, striking a second golden ship, ripping away the stern. The two remaining Almec vessels sped out to sea, and the Serpent swung back into the harbour.

Avatar soldiers moved from their hiding places at the dockside and began cheering. Niclin himself felt a wave of exultation, but he quelled it and marched back along the battlements to where his officers waited.

Keeping his voice calm he told them to organize fire crews and rescue workers. Then he strode down to the dockside.

As the gangplank was lowered Niclin boarded the ship. A young Vagar sailor led him to Talaban's cabin.

Niclin entered. The tribesman Touchstone was seated on the rug. Talaban rose from behind his desk, bowed and offered the Questor a goblet of wine.

'Your arrival was timely, captain,' said Niclin, accepting the drink. 'Though it would have been more pleasant to see you an hour ago.'

'The fault was entirely mine, Questor. We took shelter from the storm last night. It delayed our arrival.'

'A shame it did not do the same for the Almecs.'

'They are under no power restraints,' said Talaban. 'Are your casualties high?'

Niclin sipped his wine. He did not like Talaban, but he knew he was being surly towards a man who had proved the saviour of the city. He sighed, and when he spoke his voice softened. 'Rescue work is just beginning, but I would think several hundred lost their lives. You used the Sunfire well, Talaban. If we had five more like it we could even win this war.'

'It is not lost yet, Questor,' Talaban pointed out.

'No, not yet. Eight of the golden ships sailed up the Luan. They will have landed an army to our rear. An equal number moved south. The Questor General has sent orders to Pejkan, Boria and Caval to surrender without a fight. He believes such a move will prevent excess casualties, and destruction to property. I disagree. If he had commanded the Vagars to fight they would have killed at least some of the enemy.'

'And been wiped out in the process,' Talaban pointed out. 'And that would have affected the morale within the twin cities.'

'Those are all we control now,' said Niclin, sourly. 'Five golden ships have been destroyed. Nineteen remain.

And, within days, there will be two — perhaps three — land-based armies to oppose us.'

'One problem at a time, Questor,' said Talaban. 'Today we have a victory. Let that suffice for now.'

Niclin nodded, and when he spoke again there was sadness in his voice. 'I saw three Avatars killed today. In an instant. Men I have known for more than two hundred years.' He flicked his fingers. 'Like that they were gone. This morning they were immortal. They were gods. Now they are twisted dead flesh. If I were a religious man I would suspect that the Source has deserted us.'

Talaban poured a goblet of wine and handed it to Niclin. 'It seems to me,' he said, 'that victory always goes to the strong. The Source — if such a creature there be — has little to do with it.'

Touchstone chuckled and shook his head.

'You have something to say, savage?' said Niclin.

Touchstone moved smoothly to his feet. 'You dream small dreams,' he said. Then he left the room.