The Nephilim leader performed rapid mental arithmetic. Inside the clamshell behind the three thrones was a smaller craft, the vimana-kal. Intended as a royal transport so that he could travel without moving the entire fortress, it had only limited space within. It could take perhaps twenty, twenty-two at the tightest squeeze – but it still needed room for the tracker and the annoying human, Zan.

‘Then continue,’ he told her. ‘Those we cannot fit into the vimana-kal will defend the fortress until we can leave.’

‘My lord!’ shouted a man in the throne room. ‘One of their machines is coming!’

‘Destroy it!’

‘It is behind us! We cannot bring the lightning spears to bear.’

Gadreel cursed. ‘They are going to attack!’ He picked out eight of the warriors in the throne room. ‘You men, go outside. Find cover and shoot down the machine if you can. If the beasts reach the ground, kill them.’ They ran from the chamber.

He went to the thrones. His seat at the centre had several stones and crystals inset into its arms. He touched his hand to one. To his relief, there was still enough earth energy flowing through the fortress to open the enclosure behind him. The clamshell slowly split apart.

Gold gleamed within. The vimana-kal was a flattened ovoid, its orichalcum skin polished to a near-mirror shine even after uncounted years. Three round crystal windows were spaced across its upper surface, an entrance hatch at the rear. It had been built to accommodate six travellers in comfort; how it would fare with almost four times that number remained to be seen.

But he would have to find out. He headed for the smaller craft’s entrance – then paused as he passed his son’s body. The wounded vimana’s unsteady flight had slipped the robes from his face. The sight of the youth filled him once more with grief – and rage. ‘I shall make them pay,’ he promised, gently drawing the covering back over Turel’s head before entering the vimana-kal.

The pilot brought his helicopter into a hover a hundred metres above the ground, facing the fortress’s right rear quarter. ‘Ready.’

Major Wu did not waste a moment. ‘Open fire!’

Both gunners swung their weapons at the grounded dragon and pulled the triggers. The miniguns spat out a vicious barrage of gunfire. Wu felt a surge of angry triumph as the first rounds hit home; the fortress’s shield was indeed down, bullets ripping into its hull. ‘Aim for the window!’ she ordered. ‘If you see anyone, kill them!’

The gunners obeyed. Metal splintered, the storm of bullets hosing through the broken window—

‘There!’ cried the co-pilot, pointing. ‘Someone’s coming out!’

Wu saw several giant armoured figures rush from the open hatch. Most charged across the hull, but a couple dropped into cover behind the strakes and brought up their spear weapons. ‘Incoming fire! Take evasive action!’