There was no way of knowing how the Tiste Edur warlocks had found it, or came to understand its nature and the potential within it. But they had bound it, fed it blood until its strength returned, and it had grown, and with that growth, a burgeoning hunger.
And now, I must find a way to kill it.
She could sense its approach, drawing ever nearer beneath the Edur raiders. Along the harbour front below, soldiers were crowding the fortifications. Crews readied at the trebuchets and ballistae. Fires were stoked and racks of hull-breaching quarrels were wheeled out.
Arahathan in his black furs had positioned himself at the far end of the main pier and, like her, stood facing the fast-approaching Edur fleet. He would seek to block the spirit’s attack, engage it fully for as long as it took for Nekal Bara to magically draw close to the entity and strike at its heart.
She wished Enedictal had remained in the city, rather than returning to his battalion at Awl. Indeed, she wished the Snakebelts had marched to join them here. Once the spirit was engaged, Enedictal could have then shattered the Edur fleet. She had no idea how much damage she and Arahathan would sustain while killing the spirit – it was possible they would have nothing left with which to destroy the fleet. It might come down to hand to hand fighting along the harbour front.
And that is the absurdity of magic in war – we do little more than negate each other. Unless one cadre finds itself outnumbered …
She had six minor sorcerors under her command, interspersed among the companies of the Cold Clay Battalion arrayed below. They would have to be sufficient against the Edur warlocks accompanying the fleet. Nekal Bara was worried, but not unduly so.
The red sails fluttered. She could just make out the crews, scampering on the foredecks and in the rigging. The fleet was heaving to. Beneath the lead ships, a dark tide surged forward, spreading its midnight bruise into the harbour.
She felt a sudden fear. It was… huge .
A glance down. To the lone, black-swathed figure at the very end of the main pier. The arms spreading wide.
The spirit heaved up in a swelling wave, gaining speed as it rushed towards the harbour front. On the docks, soldiers behind shields, a wavering of spear-heads. Someone loosed a ball of flaming pitch from one of the trebuchets. Fascinated, Nekal Bara watched its arcing flight, its smoke-trailing descent, down towards the rising wave. It vanished in a smear of steam.
She heard Arahathan’s roar, saw a line of water shiver, then boil just beyond the docks, lifting skyward a wall of steam even as the spirit’s bulk seemed to lunge a moment before striking it.