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Jass Gebrem’s warning nearly came too late. As dusk became darkness, Jass Eshana had only a limited amount of time to organize Khambawe’s defenses before the attack the Leba’s ashuma had detected came. The city was in a frenzy, its populace gathering weapons and barricading their homes. For Gebrem’s ashuma had told him this was no coastal raid, as was usual from the Uloans. This was a full-scale assault against the city – the first in several generations.
A hastily assembled wall of warships and other vessels guarded the entrance to the harbor. The Fidis’ ship, however, was still not sufficiently seaworthy to join the others. Eshana dispatched soldiers to stand beside Captain Muldure and his crew on the White Gull’s wharf to help defend the foreigners’ ship. As for the Believers, they had joined Kyroun in the city to aid in preparations for the defense of the city.
Squadrons of other soldiers lining the docks formed Khambawe’s second tier of protection. In the shadows of the Ishimbi statues, they stood in silent, armored ranks, shields raised, swords and spears poised to strike and thrust. Archers were stationed on rooftops and in windows of buildings in the wharf district. Their arrows would be the Matiles’ first greeting to any Uloans who breached the barrier of ships in the harbor. Then the rest of the soldiers, aided by officers mounted on quaggas, would charge forward and drive the invaders off the docks.
That was how the last Uloan raid against the city had concluded. The first indication that circumstances would be different this time came with the wail of steel drums in the distance. Only a few Matile – fishermen driven close to the Uloan Islands by errant winds – had ever heard that sound. And they had described it as akin to the outcries of ghosts or demons.
Now, it was as though all the doomed souls in the Uloan Islands and the Matile Mala alike had united to howl a chorus of damnation and woe. On the ships and the docks, some of the soldiers covered their ears to keep out that sound, which had obviously been enhanced by ashuma. Their officers angrily ordered them to keep their hands on their weapons, even as they wished that they could cover their own tortured ears.
Eventually, the skirl of the steel drums faded – only to be replaced by voices raised in a repetitive chant. At first, the words were unintelligible, like the muttering of thunder in the distance. As the invaders drew closer, however, the two words they were saying over and over carried clearly through the mist, as though everyone in the Uloan islands was speaking in a single, demented voice:
“Retribution Time!”
Then, like gigantic beasts of prey, the vanguard of the Uloan war fleet burst through the harbor mist. The ships’ sails were furled. Single banks of oars propelled the invaders’ vessels at a speed that was both unnatural and alarming, leaving high tails of water in their wake. And they did not do what they had always done in the past.
Instead of dispersing to engage the Matile ships individually, the Uloan vessels focused their attack directly at the center of their enemies’ line of defense. Before the astonished Matile could maneuver their ships out of the attackers’ path, the rams on the Uloan prows punched hard into their hulls.
Planking cracked and caved at the devastating impact of the rams’ points. The Matile ships lurched violently, hurling soldiers and sailors off their feet and into the harbor. Their cries were barely audible over the snapping of timbers and groaning of wood wrenched asunder as the Uloan rams probed deeper into the stricken ships’ bowels.
The gap in the Matile defense line grew wider as the momentum of Uloan ships’ uncanny speed forced the ships they had targeted to move aside. Savaging their victims the way a big cat shakes its hapless quarry, the Uloan warcraft reversed the motion of their oars, pulling away and leaving the Matile ships to founder and sink. The surviving Matile sailors swam frantically toward the docks. Weighed down by their armor, the ship-borne soldiers went down like stones.
Realizing what their foes were attempting to do, other Matile ships moved to close the gap. But they were too late. In a seemingly endless stream, Uloan vessels now hurtled toward the docks. The magnitude of the onslaught was even greater than Jass Gebrem had thought. Not since the Storm Wars had the islanders mounted such a massive assault on the mainland. Those Matile who had time to reflect wondered if the Uloans had finally become irrevocably insane, and intended to destroy not only the Mainlanders, but themselves as well.
Through a desperate effort, the defenders managed to close the gap before all the Uloan ships could break through. As the remaining Uloans came under attack, the outer part of the harbor became a maelstrom of clashing warships as the Matile vessels launched a vicious counterattack against the invaders. But they could only engage part of the invaders’ fleet. The rest of the Uloan ships were ranging free, unimpeded by defenders.
Most of the ships that had taken advantage of the opening in the line of defense made for moorings at the docks – spots the Matile ships had vacated to join the defense line. However, three of the Uloan vessels veered away from the rest and headed directly toward the White Gull at a speed that was impossible for human rowers to have attained. It was as though the Fidis’ ship was a specific target for the invaders.
The Uloan ships fanned out, then struck with devastating impact. One rammed the White Gull amidships; the others hit its bow and stern. The three loud, crunching impacts came nearly simultaneously. After the Uloan ships pulled free, the White Gull began to sink. Pel Muldure’s frenzied curses were loud enough to be heard even above the din of the sea-battle and the Uloans’ cries of “Retribution Time.”
As soon as the other Uloan warcraft slid into the Matiles’ moorings, they disgorged their cargoes of invaders, who marched stiffly across hastily dropped gangplanks and climbed onto the docks. Shields raised, weapons pointed outward, the Uloans began a slow, deliberate march toward their waiting foes.
The way the Uloans looked startled the Matile soldiers who faced them. The warriors seemed to be fully encased in gray, form-fitting armor of a sort no one had ever seen before. Masked helmets of the same color covered their heads.
Ordinarily, the islanders fought nearly naked, like the Thabas, with bright paint decorating the scars on their skin. The uniform, armored grayness of the invaders was disconcerting. And some of the Uloans were smaller than others, as though women and children had donned the gray armor along with the men. The movements of all were awkward, as though they had awakened from a long sleep. But they marched steadily forward, and in silence as well, for the cries of “Retribution Time” had suddenly ceased.
“Loose arrows!” the commander of the Matile archers cried from the roof of an overlooking building.
A thousand bowstrings twanged. A thousand arrows arced over the heads of the Matile soldiers toward the invaders. The Uloans made no attempt to escape or protect themselves as the arrows struck, nearly every one of them reaching its target. At the commander’s order, two more volleys of death tore into the Uloans.
And not a single invader fell.
Most of the arrows had bounced from the gray patina that covered the Uloans’ bodies. Others were embedded point-deep, as if they had become lodged in hardened mud. The Uloans made no effort to pull the arrows free. Undamaged, the invaders continued to march forward. As they came closer, the Matile realized their foes were either more – or less – than human. And with that awful understanding came the beginning of the kind of fear that steals courage and causes battles to be lost.
From his vantage point alongside the commander of the archers, Jass Eshana watched the advance of the invaders. More Uloan ships had broken through and tied up at the docks. Hordes of other Uloans disembarked without interference, since the Matiles’ attention was focused on the first wave of attackers.
The newcomers did not have the peculiar crustation that covered and protected the others. The familiar daubs of bright paint adorned the scarification patterns on their bodies. Screaming maniacally and shaking their weapons, they fanned out behind their vanguard. As soon as they landed, the invaders again began their maddening chant: “Retribution Time!”
Eshana and the commander of the archers, whose name was Jass Kidan, looked at each other in dismay.
“Everyone on those damned islands who can fight must be out there,” Jass Kidan said in a near-whisper. “And the ones in front ....”
“Ashuma,” Jass Eshana said.
He turned an archer who was staring wide-eyed at the scene below.
“Go to Gebrem,” the Dejezmek instructed. “Tell him his skills are needed now, and tell him why.”
The archer nodded, slung his bow over his shoulder and headed for the nearest passage off the roof of the building. The sound of shouts and the clash of weapons rang in his ears as the Uloan and Matile forces met.