When it did, Aphenglow raised her head and saw the ships turning from port to bring their starboard weapons to bear.

“We should get off these walls!” Cymrian shouted, crouched close beside her. “We aren’t doing any good here!”

But she was determined to see this through. The wards had defended them earlier; surely they would do so again. She glanced down the walls at the damage done by the Federation weapons. There were gaps and cracks in the stone, but the Keep was essentially intact.

She shook her head at him. She would stay.

Then, as the airships turned all the way to starboard and prepared to launch a fresh attack, the wards she had known were there—that she had prayed would act to save them—finally responded. The giant that had swatted the airships away once already now turned visible. A darkness rose out of the Keep—a huge swirling form that might have been smoke or brume, but was clearly something far more substantial—coalescing to form the Keep’s protector, hanging in the air over Paranor’s walls. The giant howled in fury, a whirlwind releasing the full force of its power, exploding from the Keep with an audible blast, catching up the airships like toys and sending them flying—this time for hundreds of yards. Spinning, whirling, and juddering on wind currents that tore light sheaths to shreds, snapped off spars, and even brought down entire masts, the airships were carried away. Aphenglow saw the cruiser simply fall apart, its occupants spilling out of its shattered container like discarded toys. The other two, stronger and more durable, survived, but only just.

It was over almost before it began. Their giant protector had formed out of nothing, struck out at the airships, and faded away, all in about a minute. The air over Paranor was clear again, the giant gone as if it had never existed. It was the most incredible display of power that Aphenglow had ever witnessed. Whatever wards had been set in place to protect the Druid’s Keep, they were deadly beyond belief.

Beside her, Cymrian breathed out in a harsh whisper. When she glanced down the ramparts to find Bombax, she saw mirrored on his face the same look she knew he would find on hers.

The Federation warships that had survived limped away to join the transport, each managing with some difficulty to effect a landing. Tattered, broken, and mangled, they looked as if they were derelicts destined for the scrap heap. It would take days to make them right enough to fly. Surveying the damage, she felt an undeniable sense of satisfaction.

Drust Chazhul and the rest of his command would think twice before attacking Paranor again.

23