The dreadnoughts grew larger. Their speed was unprecedented, far faster than any water-borne vessel. Yet they slowed as they came near to the islands, the northern and southern flanks of the armada curling about to encircle the thirteen land masses and the arc of warships. Here was Undutu’s first tactical mistake. Assembling in the eastern waters did not provide a barrier to protect the islands; the lofty positions and great numbers of the dreadnoughts allowed them to completely encircle their enemies before the fighting even began.
The dreadnoughts were still too far out to attack or be attacked, and the spheres of light still enclosed them. But Khama could see now the glitter of spears and mail upon their decks–the rush of activity that preceded a strike on the forces below. The moment their protective shells fell, the airships would rain destruction upon Undutu and his allies. At that same moment the defenders would unleash forty thousand flaming arrows, seven hundred ballistae bolts, and two hundred balls of flaming pitch. As for what forces the dreadnoughts would deploy, Khama could only guess.
The circle of three thousand sky-ships grew tighter. In three concentric rings Zyung’s Holy Armada now had surrounded the Jade Isles. Those in the innermost circle would be the first to attack–and only those on the east side of the circle would be in range of the aquatic fleets. Then Khama saw it: Along the eastern third of the circle all three ranks of dreadnoughts would be close enough to attack the allied fleets–assuming the dreadnoughts’ weapons shared a range similar to those of the water-borne ships. There the attack must come first.
Along the sides of each dreadnought round apertures opened and tubes of black iron emerged, swiveling toward the lands and ships below. The sky-ships sank lower now, as they converged upon Ongthaia and its anxious defenders.
Khama tensed his coils, remaining hidden on the rim of the volcano. The enemy must not see him until he attacked. And he must wait until the moment those radiant spheres blinked out of existence. The sea was calm as glass, the wind had escaped to some other world, and the ward drums of a thousand ships counted the moments until conflagration.
Tighter grew the circles. The drums beat on, steady as eternity.
Behind the black walls of the Jade City, fifty thousand people cowered and prayed to the Gods of Sea and Sky for succor. Zharua was not among the ships; he was no Warrior King. He must be pacing the tops of his palace ramparts, hearing the drums, watching the convergence of his sky-borne enemies, and perhaps wishing he had accepted Zyung’s offer of surrender. It was too late now. His fate lay in the hands of the Southern Kings and their valiant navies. As did the fate of all the Five Cities. In truth, all hope lay in the hands of Iardu the Shaper. If Khama believed in the Gods worshipped by Men, he would have prayed to them in that moment.
The circles tightened and lowered. The drums thundered.
The spheres of light faded and time ceased. The nature of the world itself seemed to shift, reality dilated, and the clouds inhaled the muttered prayers of men.
Khama launched himself into the air, a streak of rainbow flames. He raced toward the nearest of the sky-ships as the iron tubes spurted streams of white fire. The same liquid flames exploded from the irons along all three rows of the eastern dreadnoughts. In that same moment the war drums ceased, and thousands of flaming arrows flew toward the golden hulls. Khama was a bolt of light gliding between the rising and falling firestorms.
The sky ignited with a maelstrom of fires pale and orange and red as blood.
Khama’s head struck the hull of a dreadnought as a wreath of lightning swirled along his Serpent body. The cries of dying men filled his ears beneath the splintering of wood and the booming of strange sorceries. He burst from the great ship’s midsection like an arrow shot through an overripe pear. Armored bodies flew in all directions, and the airship lurched behind him. He sped on, cracking two of the three masts with his forehead, grabbing the third between his fangs. He vomited bolts of lightning along its length to engulf the shattered vessel and every living thing on it.
He snapped the mast off and spat it out as the sky-ship rocked and spilled toward the sea. A gargantuan tree fell in the midst of the plummeting wreckage and howling crew. The tree burned and withered even as the ship fell apart. A thousand armored warriors clutched at falling debris. A few escaped on leather-winged lizards, but not many.
Khama rose high above the dreadnoughts now. The eyes of captains, bowmen, and sorcerers rose toward him as he wheeled in the hot air. He would get no more surprise attacks. One of three thousand ships had died instantly from his explosive power, but now the enemy had marked his presence with weapon and spell.