As the first of them reached the dock Rael led his fifty Avatars from hiding. Swiftly they formed a fighting line and zhi-bolts slammed into the gathering enemy soldiers. Scores died, but the survivors, with great discipline, did not panic. Instead they raised their black clubs to their shoulders. The sound of thunder followed. More than half Rael’s men were punched from their feet. From further along the dock the 200 Vagars emerged and charged the attackers. It seemed to Rael that their fire-clubs were suddenly useless, and only sporadic shots followed. Vagar swordsmen hacked and cut their way through the enemy ranks. Rael yelled to his remaining archers: ‘The openings! Aim for the openings!’ Lifting his zhi-bow he sent a flashing bolt through the first of the gangplank doors. It exploded within, creating a burst of bright light and flame. Bolt after bolt followed. Fire sprang up within the ship.
On the dockside the Vagars in their armour of iron continued their advance. The golden ship drew back. Soldiers still on the gangplanks toppled into the bay. The fighting on the dockside was fierce now. More than a hundred of the copper-skinned warriors had made it to the shore, but they were heavily outnumbered and fighting for their lives. Casting aside their fire-clubs they drew daggers or short swords. But they were no match for the heavily armoured Vagars.
As the ship pulled away a ball of fire whooshed from it. Rael saw it. ‘Get back!’ he shouted to his Vagars.
No-one heard him above the battle clamour. The fireball exploded in the midst of the fighting men. Scores on both sides died instantly, their clothing aflame, their limbs torn from their bodies. Others began to writhe in agony on the dockside, hair and skin on fire.
Panic-stricken, the surviving Vagars ran back. Almec soldiers leapt into the sea and tried to swim towards the ship.
Rael pulled his Avatars back to the alley. Flames were flickering inside the golden ship, but these were soon snuffed out.
Turning to his men he took ten of them and smashed the door to the warehouse that backed onto the alley. Once inside he ran to the stairs, climbing up to the roof and emerging high above the dock. The golden ship was approaching again. A fireball sailed over the dock. The roof of the next building exploded. Rael began to count, slowly and evenly. As he reached fifteen a second ball hissed overhead, falling behind the building.
‘On my mark shoot at the mouth of the fire weapon!’ he ordered his men.
Running to the edge of the roof they aimed their bows. Rael counted slowly to ten then loosed a bolt which struck the long bronze tube jutting from the forward deck. Light blazed, but there was no damage to the weapon. 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.