The incoming Valerian attack flotilla was closing at forty knots.
Lord Giles Croft stood on the northern battery castle wall of the sky wharf, observing the approaching line of war-skiffs and armored wyverns.
The beasts shrieked all at once, their leather wings beating the cold air as they formed an attack echelon.
Behind them, the ten black corsairs lowered their bow-mounted fire-lances.
“Range fifteen hundred yards,” Captain Kenneth Drake reported, standing beside the battery low roof wall.
“Their riders are preparing incendiary jars.
If they reach the wooden staging of Bay Sixteen, burning pitch will rain down upon the lower railway depot.
Shall I have the guard post archers loose iron-tipped fire-arrows?”
