Tanis stretched his jaws, his brows furrowing, the spikes across his skull ridge catching a reflection off the water.

‘You do not have the Brood strength to protect us from the Naik.’

‘But it’s like this, you see,’ said Sha-Kaan very calmly. ‘We are at war with the Naik, as we are with a number of minor Broods, because they determine to fly through our gateway. They have allied with you and, we expect, other Broods they can threaten successfully. We have no choice but to be at war with these Broods too. Break your alliance. Trust me. Trust the Kaan.’

‘Sha-Kaan, I cannot.’

‘Then we will continue to destroy your Brood wherever it is a threat. And if that threat grows, then the next time you see me here, it will be at the head of an echelon. Try to avoid us where you can. I will not see the Kaan fail.’

‘I am sorry it is this way.’

‘It is in your power to change it, Tanis-Veret. Should you do so, you know I will hear you.’

Tanis met Sha-Kaan’s eyes again at last. ‘You should leave. I will not relay your message until you have cleared my skies.’

‘Fair winds, fair tides be with you,’ said Sha-Kaan.

‘Beat the Naik.’

‘I will,’ said Sha-Kaan. ‘The tragedy is that you do not believe I will.’ He took to the air, calling his farewell and rose back to the relative safety of the upper layer where the winds blew the anger from his mind.

Chapter 19

Trees jutted into the path three hundred yards from the camp, the elbow they created obscuring the onrushing cavalry. Aware that the sound of their hoofbeats must be clearly audible, Darrick roared the order to split and charge.

In front of him, the horse archers increased their pace, a dozen swordsmen flanked them and five mages trailed them, each invoking a HardShield. They kept to the outside of the path, aiming to attack the watch-towers as Darrick brought the rest of the cavalry into the main body of the camp.

The General dug his heels in and his horse responded. He tore around the elbow at the head of his cavalry just as the first volleys of arrows were exchanged, those of the Wesmen bouncing, while those of his men hit home. He never ceased to wonder at the skill of horseborne archers. Gripping only with their thighs they compensated for the movement of a galloping horse and still managed to shoot accurately. He saw four Wesmen fall in the first volley.

The encampment was in no way prepared for an organised cavalry charge. Not for any attack, come to that. There were no close furrows of tentage, no narrowing path down which an enemy might be driven and no killing ground. Though the camp was roughly organised, it was with one goal only - to facilitate the storage and onward movement of supplies across the Bay of Gyernath. It was paradise for the tactically aware General and, in Ry Darrick, the Wesmen were facing the best.

Darrick ordered the split, holding up a gloved hand and pointing first left, then right and backing it up with a yelled command. He galloped down one side of the stores, a mirror force taking the other. Swords flashing in the afternoon sun, they rode through the camp, hacking aside the ineffective defence, slashing at rope, canvas and beam, collapsing tents on to helpless Wesmen and simply riding down any who got in their way. Clear through to the beach rode Darrick and his cavalry, wheeling in the shallow surf and pausing then to assess the damage they’d caused.

The watch-towers were home to corpses now, his archers waiting for their next orders. In the main body of the camp, cries for aid mixed with those of anger as Wesmen struggled to come to terms with the whirlwind that had engulfed them, those trampled by hooves picking themselves up if they could, the defence beginning to gain shape. But they were too few and too late.

‘Mages, fire please.’ Sounding like an invitation, the order was met by two dozen FlameOrbs arcing across the sky to fall among the defenders, igniting their camp and stirring the chaos. Barely had the screams of the burning reached his ears than Darrick called the second charge and mêlée.

Almost two hundred cavalry rode into the middle of the Wesmen, trampling scorched canvas under hoof, bloodied swords rising and falling on the confused workers and warriors whose easy peace had been so effectively shattered. From the path, archers picked off any threat and mages using MindMelt, ForceCone and concentrations of DeathHail smashed fence, flesh, brain and stone. It was all over in no time.

Darrick sat at the head of his whooping, cheering cavalry, surveying the damage he had wrought. Just like old times, he thought.

He hadn’t lost a man.

They waited for him, three of them, downwind but not closed of mind. They had thought to surprise him but their thoughts were crystal to the Great Kaan.

He had been flying steadily in the upper strata, the winds against him as he returned to Teras. The Naik had apparently been advised of his journey and from the right and below, he felt them coming before their challenges to battle rang out in the cold sky.

Sha-Kaan turned quickly and dived on the trio, using his altitude advantage to give him speed and angle. The Naik saw him coming and split left, right and down in an attempt to confuse but he had seen too many battles and his eyes were already fixed on his target. The Naik was small, perhaps little more than fifty feet in length, less than half Sha-Kaan’s size, but used his body badly.

As Sha-Kaan closed, he saw the attitude of the enemy’s wings was all wrong, body shape at odds with the direction of his travel and legs splayed. The Naik was either a clumsy flier or . . . Sha-Kaan curved away from his dive and angled back up, a breath of flame scorched the air just under his belly, a second missed by a wingspan. Roaring their disappointment, the Naik who had sprung the trap passed each other beneath him and he flipped on his back into a steep dive after the decoy who had not yet regained his shape.

Plunging through the line of the two attacking Naik, Sha-Kaan opened his mouth and poured flame down and to his left, searing the flank and wing of the struggling Naik. The beast shivered away, howling pain, a tear evident in its right wing, wind whistling through the rent in the membrane and damaged flank scales bubbling.

Not waiting for the response, Sha-Kaan furled his wings briefly, barrel-rolled away, then arced steeply right and up, head looking behind him. He could only see two of the Naik.

He rolled in the air again but a fraction too late. His snapshot all round vision picked out the third attacker bearing down from above, aiming for his exposed underbelly as he rolled. Knowing he couldn’t hope to avoid the flame, he spun half circle, collected his wings and waited for the pain, his momentum carrying him on up. The gout caught him high on his shoulder and seared low across his neck. He felt scales tear and skin contract, knew he had lost some movement but refused to yield his position, knowing where the Naik would complete his move.

With the breeze of the enemy’s passing very near him, he opened his armoured outer eyelids, deployed his wings and snaked his neck down his body, ignoring the yank of pain to clamp his jaws on the Naik wing. The younger dragon had great strength and threatened to break away but Sha-Kaan’s balance was born of long years of fighting and his opposite pull tore muscle and membrane. He breathed fire over the ruined wing and let the crippled dragon take the long spiralling drop to its death.

Roaring in pain and triumph, Sha-Kaan beat his wings wide. In front of him, the undamaged Naik hovered, looking for a point of attack. At right angles the injured but very mobile second enemy circled tightly.

For a time, they stood off but Sha-Kaan knew what was coming. At a signal, the dragons flew, one up, one down, before angling in to the attack. It was a well-worn manoeuvre and exposed their lack of real fight experience.