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Vohanna seemed to have a few small manned flyers as well, and they had entered the fray to worry the wounded galleons like wolves at an elk. With their masts and catapults wrecked, the damaged Nyshphalian vessels were easy prey. I saw one such ship, tiny in replica though it would have been huge in reality, being cut to shreds by coordinated arbalest fire from a group of five enemy flyers.

Then, from out of the sun’s glare swept a dark-hulled warship with maroon sails straining at the bright sky. It came down upon the five flyers from above, veering close into the wind in a feat of sailing worthy of heroic sagas. A bronze ram that I knew to be the length of two men gleamed like a splinter at the warship’s prow. But it was magnificent. And the black clusters along the ship’s rails had to be soldiers massed and ready with weapons.

The enemy flyers saw the bigger ship coming. I watched their bows start to turn. But there was no time. The warship was on top of them, coming down at a hard angle. Its oaken hull rode straight across the upper-structures of two flyers, smashing masts aside, splintering wooden cabins, turning crowds of fleeing men into red smears against the decks.

Then the heavy ram took a third flyer straight through the heart and sheered its way out the other side. The flyer’s wooden hulls exploded with the impact. Knots of struggling figures were thrown free of the dying ship to pinwheel like dark dots toward the earth.

My heart surged; I almost cheered, for even in diminutive I could see the flag snapping at the mast of the rescuing warship. It was gray and maroon, bordered with gold and with the image of a trenkil, the Taleran eagle, charged in its center. I knew that flag; I knew that ship. It was the personal war-craft of Hurnan Jystral, emperor, father of Rannon—and Rannon was aboard it. The woman I loved could have been nowhere else.

Below me on the floor of the dark sphere, Vohanna laughed. My exaltation fled as my throat choked in sudden panic. My glance found the witch, saw her attention focused upon Jystral’s vessel, saw her lift one delicate finger and stroke it over a milkstone that vibrated rapidly in its small hollow of metal. That single stone flickered from opal to scarlet, and even as I screamed out, “No!” it was too late.

From deep within the pyramid came the shuddering thrust of the cannon firing. I saw the Nyshphalian flagship hit, saw flames erupt as the masts and proud banner fell. And then I saw only Vohanna as her gaze rose to mine and locked. Bodies burned in the depths of her eyes. Lovers entwined their silken limbs. Visions of horror and beauty followed one upon another, beating against my awareness.

Somewhere in my mind I knew that Hurnan Jystral’s ship was torn, though not how badly. Perhaps Rannon was hurt. Or dead. Yet, I could not rip myself away from Vohanna’s soul-less orbs. Her pupils were black rubies within black ovals—scorpion eyes in a face that was inhumanly lovely. She chuckled, though how that sound arose from such an alien throat I did not know.

The unconscious Bryce slid from my arms and thumped to the floor. Trapped by the witch’s mental compulsion, I could not care. Before, when I’d faced Vohanna in human guise, she had tried to conquer my mind with hers and almost succeeded. Only my use of Rannon’s name as a mantra had saved me. This time, in the winged body I’d begun to think of as her natural form, the Asadhie’s power was much greater, her hunger much worse. My spine curved; my knees trembled; I bit my tongue on a scream that could not escape my constricted lungs.

“Mine,” Vohanna said. “Bent to my will.”

I tried to shake my head in negation but found myself shackled by Vohanna’s eyes. There was nothing else in my universe.

Then there came one other thing. There came heat. Heat!

A searing lance of pain leaped up my right arm. My right fist burned! I lifted it, amazed that I could move it under my own volition when the rest of my limbs belonged to Vohanna. From within