Fires blazed on dozens of warships made entirely of timber. Sparks flew through the air, tossed around by the constant sea breeze. Masts came crashing down as the supports holding them crumbled into kindling. Every time he heard a crash, Dion felt a surge of triumph, for the longest pieces would certainly spread the flames from one ship to the next.
With flickers of firelight banishing the encroaching night, he ran along the line of burning ships, pointing men in the direction of oil-filled buckets and taking one himself, his face covered in soot as he tossed lamp oil onto flame, pretending to fight the blaze. Smoke filled his nostrils and burned at the back of his throat. The heat was growing so intense in the area that some of the sailors were giving up, heading to fend off the flames where the ships were still undamaged.
He’d thrown his satchel and the jug onto the last of the fires, leaving no evidence. He even threw some buckets of actual water onto a burning vessel, choosing an inferno he knew was past the point of saving. A sailor ran up and grabbed his arm, pointing at a ship that had so far escaped the fury. Dion nodded and pointed at the empty bucket in his hand while the sailor ran away.
All around him men were crying out to one another, with little cohesion to their movements. He saw Roxana pulling a few of the sailors together, organizing a crew to ferry water up from the river, with each man passing a bucket along the line. She saw him and waved, but Dion turned his head as if he hadn’t seen her.
He had done what he could here, and he now had to flee the city and give warning to his family. Checking that Roxana’s attention was occupied, he twisted his leg to the side and feigned a severe limp. Grimacing as he hobbled along, he headed for the exit.
He was just approaching the gate – now unguarded, for everyone was fighting the harbor fire – when he heard something new in the nature of the cries.
Despite his desire to get away, Dion looked over his shoulder. He stopped in his tracks, stunned by what he saw.
A winged dragon, a scaly monster with a missing eye and a wedge-shaped head, plunged down from the sky, landing on a patch of clear shore and shifting form even as it landed. The air around it wavered and mist filled the air. The gray clouds elongated and then dispersed.
Suddenly the dragon was a serpent, long and thick, a true leviathan. Wriggling like an immense snake the creature slithered into the water until it was fully immersed.
It followed the shore until it was abreast of a line of burning warships.
The leviathan lunged forward until most of its scaled form shot into the air. It brought its body down and a torrent of water erupted as waves rolled into the shore. The water enveloped the ships and the serpent convulsed again. This time the volume of water was even greater: a mighty inundation that doused raging flames in a heartbeat.
Dion watched as the huge serpent traveled along the shore, sending surging water at the burning ships with every leap of its body. It worked tirelessly to control the fires, and after their initial shock, the men at the harbor realized what was happening and redoubled their efforts as they cheered it on.
This was no wildran, Dion realized, but an eldran. Somehow, Solon had enlisted an eldran into his service. And in its changed form it made even the gigantic serpent that had cleared the narrows look small.
Dion shook himself. He realized he was still standing in the gate where he could easily be seen. He had to go back to the House of Algar to fetch his bow. Then he would find the Calypso and sail as quickly as he could to Xanthos. He had destroyed a great portion of the Ilean fleet. But the attack would still come.
He had to warn his people.
44
The stench of wood smoke now drifted into the palace. Triton had just altered his shape, flying from the terrace in the form of a dragon. Kargan had left the palace by the front, several hastily gathered soldiers in tow.
Chloe still hadn’t moved a muscle. She stood in front of Solon’s throne. The men who guarded the audience chamber were in disarray: some out on the terrace watching the harbor fire, others running with courtiers in the same direction as Kargan, and the remaining few uncertain, milling around without orders. Solon was in the midst of a coughing fit. A single guard held Chloe’s arm twisted behind her back. The second man in her escort stood nearby, his mouth open and brow furrowed as he wondered what to do.
Tomarys suddenly spoke in Chloe’s mind, as clearly as if he were standing right next to her.
‘Winning means choosing the right moment. You want your enemies to be distracted. Then, when you take action, be bold. Be strong. Be confident. Nothing is more powerful than the warrior who will achieve his objective or die trying.’
Chloe let her body continue to be limp as she drew in a slow, steadying breath. She closed her eyes and opened them. She resisted the urge to try to move in order to test the strength of the guard’s arm lock.
‘The key is to use surprise. You are a woman, and surprise is your main strength, for they will not be expecting you to have any skill or power.’