"I recognized him, of course: Det-Edklark. We’d had our share of run-ins over my theory of evolution."

"He’s the Master of the Faith."

"Yes."

"A priest."

"Yes."

"He can lie in the light of day."

"What?"

"I said, he can lie in the light of day."

"I heard you. That’s not possible."

"It is for him. It is for some priests."

"Then why have him give the briefing? I mean — oh! Afsan, no."

"What he told you about the docks being our most vulnerable spot was a lie. We are in fact waiting in ambush for the Others there."

"My God. It will be…"

"A slaughter, I suspect."

"But how did you know the Others would force information from me?"

"I didn’t know it for sure." Afsan shifted slightly, a grimace crossing his face as he did so. "You said you trusted this Jawn completely. But I’d been in a similar situation once before myself." He paused, catching his breath. "I had trusted my friend Dybo. That had cost me my eyes. Dybo was pushed aside by Yenalb, the High Priest at that time." Another grimace as the boat was rocked by a large wave. "I was concerned that your associate, Jawn, would be only one voice."

"A slaughter, you say?"

"Unquestionably."

Toroca looked sad. "I didn’t want this to happen."

"Nor did I, which is why I went with you on your mission of peace." He paused while pain worked its way across his face. "But as I once admonished Dybo, a leader rarely has any choice in what he or she does."

"But how did you know I’d talk, even if the Others tried to coerce me? You didn’t recant, despite Yenalb’s threats."

"No, but back then no one I cared about was being directly threatened. Your kindness was your weakness."

"You’re wrong, Father," said Toroca, his voice firm. "It is my greatest strength."

Afsan shrugged. "Regardless, if this works, at least Mokleb will be happy."

"I don’t understand," said Toroca.

Afsan’s muzzle scrunched as he fought again against raging pain. "She thinks I’m The One, and as Lubal said, The One will defeat demons of the land and of the water.’"

*29*

The first wave of Other ships was sailing in toward the harbor of Capital City. Emperor Dybo had already ordered all Quintaglio vessels removed from there. Even if the Others hadn’t fallen for Afsan’s trick, the target would be too tempting; the docks provided easy access to the city itself via ramps carved into the rocks.

Standing on the top of the cliffs just north of the docks, Dybo used a far-seer to watch the approaching vessels. He was amazed at how their decks swarmed with the yellow beings. They were approaching at a good speed, the steady breeze toward Land driving the strange triangular sails of their ships.

Closer. Closer still. At last, Dybo raised his left hand, just like a hunt leader about to give a command. As he did so, the three metal bracelets he wore that indicated his rank slid down toward his elbow. And then, at last, he brought the hand down in a chopping motion, signaling the attack.

The Lub-Kaden, one of the small fleet of gliders built based on Novato’s plans, swooped over the edge of the cliff, sailing high above the ships below. The glider resembled a wooden-frame replica of a giant wingfinger, with a wide triangular canopy and a small hollow undercarriage containing a Quintaglio lying on her belly. The pilot could steer the ship by moving her tail; a harness connected it to the glider’s pointed prow which could move left or right on hinges.

The pilot did much better today than Novato had done a few kilodays ago when she had become the first Quintaglio to take to the air; this female had no trouble staying on her planned course, and she could keep airborne for an extended period, taking advantage of the upcurrent as the wind blowing against the cliffs was deflected toward the sky.

Dybo could see the tiny yellow beings on the deck pointing upward. He hoped it was in astonishment; flight was so new to the Quintaglios, he was betting that the Others hadn’t yet discovered it. Indeed, Novato hadn’t been able to work it out until she had actual bird specimens to work from, and they could only be found in the blue ark, something the Others had no access to.

Dybo could see some Others trying to maneuver the heavy weapon tubes on their decks, hoping to aim at the airship swooping above. But these tubes weren’t designed to point that far overhead; their rear ends butted into the deck before they could swing that high.

Some Others were firing their handheld sticks up at the flyer, too, but so far, no shot had connected.

The Lub-Kaden was circling now over the lead ship. Dybo watched as the first bomb dropped from its central chassis: a heavily weighted ceramic container, divided internally into two parts by a wall, each section containing a different chemical. When the container hit the deck of the ship — which it did now — the ceramic shattered and the chemicals mixed, bursting into flame.

Dybo watched as a ring of fire widened on the sailing ship’s foredeck and soon began climbing the mast. Fire touched the triangular lead sail, and the whole thing went up in flames. Several Others dived into the water, but their big weapon tubes and supply of other devices on this ship would soon be lost.

The Lub-Kaden was now over a second ship. It dropped another ceramic canister, but this one missed, plunging beneath the waves. The pilot circled around again and dropped her third bomb. This one actually hit the top of the mast, and fire spread down the triangular sail in a widening path toward the deck.

Dybo made a chopping motion with his arm again and a second glider soared off the cliff. This one, the Irb-Falpom, sailed straight and true farther out from the docks, toward some of the ships in the rear. In a beautifully executed arc, the glider dropped bombs in rapid succession onto the three farthest ships. They started to burn slowly but persistently, and soon yellow beings were trying to get away in lifeboats or by swimming.

From a nearby ship, one of the Others had scrambled up to the lookout’s perch atop the mast and was carefully aiming his weapon tube. He squeezed off three shots. One missed completely. The second tore an insignificant hole in the leather covering of the Irb-Falpom’s wings. But the third hit one of the ceramic bombs directly. A chain of liquid fire dribbled downward from the craft toward the waves, but enough had splashed up as the canister blew open to set the whole glider ablaze. Burning brightly, like an apparition from one of the sacred scrolls, the glider pilot bravely took aim on an Other ship and let her flaming vessel plow into its decks, the fragile glider breaking apart like kindling wood as it skidded along, finally smashing into the base of the foremast. Within moments, the Other ship was engulfed in flame.

A huge explosion split the air. Dybo brought his hands to his earholes. Below, a giant ball of fire was expanding upward, and thick smoke was everywhere. One of the ships must have been carrying a supply of blackpowder, and the fire had set it off all at once.

Three Other ships had turned now and were heading out of the harbor, desperately trying to get away.

Dybo launched a third glider, the Sor-Denkal, but it failed to catch the wind properly, and, spinning wildly, it spiraled down toward the waves. As it hit the surf, one of the Others’ big weapons blew it and its pilot apart, sending a huge spray of water onto the Quintaglio docks.

With another chop of his arm, a fourth glider, the Jal-Tetex, took to the air, swooping out to drop a series of bombs.

Meanwhile, the Lub-Kaden had bombed four more ships; the water was now thick with flaming timbers and yellow backs swimming for shore. The glider swooped up once more, catching the air current perfectly, and swung around to drop the last of its bombs in a neat series — plink! plink! plink! — onto three more boats. The pilot then swung her glider back in a giant arc that swept her over the cliff tops, buzzing Rockscape before coming in for a smooth landing on an open field.