Tell that to the drakes, Morradin answered, his thoughts coloured by grim amusement. So many days at sea seems to have riled them a great deal. Can’t you feel it?
Sirus could indeed sense the blood-lust in the surrounding flock of Reds and knew it to be mirrored in the Greens and Blues below. It went beyond just the endless hunger of the natural predator, more a collective feral need shot through with a depth of enmity he might once have imagined beyond a non-human soul. Although their minds remained out of reach, his continual exposure to these creatures left him in no doubt that their mental faculties were far more developed than any naturalist had previously guessed. They do not think like us, but they do think. And they remember. He found he had to summon an upsurge of fear as the knowledge that Feros was about to suffer the full vengeance of the Arradsian drake brought Tekela’s face to mind. Please just sleep on, he implored her silently. Don’t wake up.
He saw the first fires appear in the northern suburbs a few minutes ahead of Morradin’s schedule, blossoming like bright yellow flowers in the dark earth. There would be screams, he knew, and gun-fire. Constables would be sounding the alarm and the Protectorate garrison roused from its slumber. Within minutes companies would be formed and sent towards the scene of chaos, away from the docks.
It’s time, he told Katarias, colouring the thought with an urgent sense of command the beast couldn’t fail to understand. A low, rattling growl emerged from the huge Red’s throat as he dipped his head and drew in his wings. They descended towards the harbour at a near-vertical angle. Only the strength of Sirus’s refashioned body enabled him to stay in place, so fierce was the air-current. He glanced back to ensure the other Reds were following, seeing them all streaking in Katarias’s wake, the flock dense enough to obscure the pale disc of Serphia beyond.
In accordance with the plan the flock split apart after descending to a point some five hundred feet above the docks. A dozen smaller flocks veered off to assault specific gun-positions whilst a dozen more made for the warships anchored within the harbour. Some repeating guns started up as the flock descended the final few hundred feet as shipboard gunners overcame their shock. The smaller guns growled as they cast glowing streams of bullets into the air, soon joined by the more percussive thump of the larger cannon. Sirus saw several drakes tumble into the harbour waters, but not enough to stem the onslaught.
Katarias banked low over the western mole, spewing flame at the sailors positioned atop it, lashing out with both tail and talon as he flared his wings and brought them down on the quayside. Sirus leapt clear of the drake’s back, war-club and knife in hand. He cut down a dazed Protectorate rifleman who stood staring at him with smoke rising from a half-melted face, then ducked as Katarias’s tail flashed overhead, scything into a squad emerging from a near by blockhouse. The tail spike cut one clean in half and left the other four slumped against the wall of the blockhouse, gaping in shock at the blood leaking from their gashed flesh.
The Red gave a brief squawk of triumph before turning about and launching itself from the quay, wings blurring as it sought the air. Another dozen Reds descended a heart-beat later, rolling over to deposit their riders on the dockside. Forest Spear landed close by, soon joined by Katrya and ten more Spoiled. They were hand-picked fighters, tribals, Islanders and former soldiers, all chosen for their battle prowess.
Before leading them from the docks Sirus cast his gaze over the harbour. The battle was far from over, rifle fire cracking continually, but most of the repeating guns had been silenced. Fires seemed to be raging on every ship and he saw burning men cast themselves from the decks whilst others attempted to make a stand. Officers hounded groups of riflemen into defensive knots only to suffer a blast of flame as Reds swooped down from above before rolling over to cast their Spoiled riders into the smoking confusion. Despite the apparent success of this attack Sirus also saw the truth in Veilmist’s calculations. Many wounded Spoiled and Reds thrashed in the water, the drakes crying out their death calls as they sank from view. In contrast Sirus felt the final moments of the Spoiled as a silent, sputtering scream.
They encountered a full platoon of Protectorate infantry a few streets from the harbour. They were led by a youthful, pale-faced officer who wasted precious seconds gaping at them in shock rather than ordering his men to open fire. Sirus drew his revolver and shot the officer dead as his chosen Spoiled tore into the troops, knives and war-clubs blurring. It was over in seconds, all but a handful of riflemen lying dead or close to it, the survivors casting their rifles aside as they pelted away in terror.
Just boys, Katrya observed, angling her head to inspect a young soldier who lay on his side, hands feebly attempting to gather his spilled intestines back into his belly. Sirus saw she was right, this fellow couldn’t have been much older than sixteen.
It seems the Protectorate is becoming desperate to fill its ranks, he commented, gathering his Spoiled and leading them on.
Bodes well for victory, Forest Spear added. Like Katrya his mind was perennially lacking in any suggestion of doubt or disloyalty, a common trait amongst the tribals.
The cacophony of multiple repeating guns firing at once erupted as they pressed deeper into the town, intersecting lines of flaming bullets arcing up into the sky. Sirus spied a gun emplacement on a near by roof-top, one of the heavy four-barrelled cannon. As he watched the gun loosed off a burst of fire, the shells streaking upwards to impact on a Red, blasting it apart.
Deal with it, he ordered Forest Spear, the tribal immediately charging off with five Spoiled in tow. Sirus didn’t wait to witness the gun’s destruction, instead making for a broad avenue that sloped up towards the Artisan’s Quarter. The army had plenty of minds with intimate knowledge of Feros and he knew this district was home to one Professor Graysen Lethridge, famed inventor and father of the equally famed Lizanne Lethridge, better known as Miss Blood, Defender of Carvenport.
They encountered numerous fleeing townsfolk upon entering the quarter. They appeared to be from the outlying neighbourhoods, many running past clad in night-clothes, eyes wild in panic. Most were so intent on flight they failed to register the fact that they were running towards greater danger. However, one woman stopped in midstride to stand pointing at the Spoiled, screaming out an incoherent warning that sent her fellow townsfolk scurrying in different directions.