Wings Over Talera - Charles Allen Gramlich [6]
The open nature of Taleran airships invites attack and most all are armed. Rannon’s ship was no exception. At fore and aft were ballista that could hurl four pound arrows upwards of four hundred yards. Amidships was a trebuchet for throwing stones. Also aboard were two dozen gray-cloaked guards of the Princess’s Own Elite, among them the massively thewed figure of Rhandh the Vlih.
Rhandh and I had fought side by side in the lava mines of the Klar and I knew him as a professional, worth as much on his own as any dozen other guards. With steel strapped to both his prehensile tail and to the glistening dark tentacles that writhed below his arms, Rhandh made a formidable opponent. I regretted that I could not count him a great friend of mine, as I did Heril and Valyan, but we did share a mutual respect, not least of which came from our love of Rannon.
It was Rhandh’s love for Rannon, for his Jhesana, that kept him by us as we lifted into the blue-white Taleran sky and turned our prow to the south. It was love that kept his huge, dark fist on a sword. And I believe that it was love that sent him away from us when Rannon moved closer under my arm and lifted her face to be kissed.
So much time had passed since we’d seen each other that I wanted the kissing to last forever. But Rannon was too excited by something she had to show me on the way to Timmuzz. As it turned out, I was not to find out that day what she meant. For even as the torpedo shape of the Aestor cut swiftly through the wind, our enemies stalked upon us. And even as I stood there with Rannon and felt a moment of incredible peace, I should have known better. This was, after all, Talera.
Ten verlangs north of the capital, nearly a mile above a river called the Shauval, the reivers struck from out of the sun’s glare.
CHAPTER TWO
THE END OF AN IDYLL
When the attack came, it marked the end of an idyll. Rannon had gone below, out of the cold, and I was standing at the stern with Kreeg and Valyan, on what would have been called the poop deck on a sailing vessel. The pilot was in his glass enclosed cage amidships, and Rhandh had positioned himself at the hatch leading below to his Jhesana, his princess. At the prow were a few more of Rannon’s gray-cloaks.
The raiders struck first at the prow. They were mounted on vullwings, huge saddle birds the likes of which had never graced the skies of Earth. Before now, I had only seen such creatures on the ground. There was no comparison to when they were in flight. They were savage and beautiful, their eagle-shaped bodies bearing elongated necks and massive wingspreads, the sunlight spilling dark from their indigo feathers. Their riders wore swords and carried short, recurve bows, light metal lances, and multi-bladed throwing knives called wheel-daggers.
The plan was clearly to take the Aestor and those aboard her. They had perhaps fifty men to do it. We had fewer to stop them.
The first wave of attackers came in above the front of the ship and their heavy bows cleared the forecastle of everything living. The second wave consisted of vullwings carrying double, and the spare warriors were soon dropping onto the foredeck with drawn blades. They had to board us. The vullwing is swift but a flyer can outpace it. They must have dived on us to pick up speed, and now they had to rain men onto our decks if they were to hold us. Our job was to throw them back overboard.
Rhandh stood closer to our foes than the rest of us did. He shouted below for more guards, then charged forward, broadsword clutched hard in a black fist. His off hand carried a shield and the two tentacles below his arms were strapped with daggers. Only his prehensile tail bore no weapon. An arrow caromed off his brigandine; another cut flutters from the coarse mane of hair that ran the mid-line of