Magick and Lead: Dragons and Aces Book 2, page 25
North. Straight toward Essa. Great.
There was no time for more talk. The planes around me were starting to taxi. I bounded up and into the seat. The ground crew pulled the blocks out from the wheels as I fired up the engine. In seconds, I was bounding down the runway then lifting into the air.
Lay low. Don’t take off, okay? I thought in Essa’s direction. I’m going to try to get them to change course somehow, but right now we’re heading your way. …Essa?
Something was wrong. The simnal wasn’t working. When I probed for Essa’s mind, I didn’t feel her there. It was probably just because Parthar was still so far away, I told myself, not because Essa had closed her mind to me—or because of whatever Kortoi had done to Othura. But whatever the reason, it was dangerous. If our planes caught Essa in the air, alone, with no other Skrathan to help her, she’d be in trouble. I had to figure out some way to divert our squadron, and I had to do it fast…
I leaned on the plane’s throttle, making the engine roar as I pushed ahead from my place on the right side of the V formation until I was flying next to Blaize at the front of the V. He noticed and glared at me through the glass circles of his goggles. Then he looked ahead and pushed his own speed, pulling slightly ahead of me.
If only aces had simnal. Or telegraph lines stretched between planes. Then, I could talk to Blaize and try to convince his dumb ass to change course. As it was, I’d have to be more creative.
I pushed the throttle until I was next to him again, inching in so close my upper wing was overlapping his, then hit the flaps, thumping his wing with mine. This time, his head snapped toward me fast, a snarl of outrage on his face. I pointed emphatically back the way we’d come. He lifted his fist and gave me a middle finger, shaking it for emphasis. Then he pushed his speed even faster, until his engine was screaming, pulling ahead of me once again.
The bastard. I should have known he wouldn’t make anything easy….
Below us, the shoreline extended until it was lost in mist, dark blue sea on the right, a patchwork of green and amber fields on the left. Soon, we’d be reaching the farm. Then, it would be too late.
I lowered my speed and jogged left, falling in behind Blaize. He wouldn’t like this. Neither would Peckham. If I’d been cruising for a court martial before, I’d be sure to get one now. But I couldn’t risk the squadron spotting Essa.
I clicked off the safety, put my finger on the trigger of the machine gun, and took a deep breath. This was it. I was standing with my toes at the edge of a cliff. One more step, and I’d be falling. This was an action I couldn’t talk my way out of, a leap I’d never climb back from. Open fire on Blaize now, with the whole squadron watching, and I’d never be the Silver Wraith again. Never be a hero again. I’d be a fugitive. An enemy of the state.
Throwing it all away. For her…
Everything I was. Everything I had. Everything I’d worked so hard to become. And that was if Blaize didn’t turn around and blast me out of the sky.
Still... for Essa…
For a girl who flew across an ocean to kill you… a cynical voice inside me said.
No, I thought, for the woman who had every reason to kill me and still couldn’t bring herself to do it.
If our situations were reversed, she’d do the same for me. She had done the same for me when she rescued me from that tower after I’d been sentenced to death.
And yet it would be so easy to simply keep on flying. To perform the mission normally and hope Blaize didn’t happen to catch sight of Essa crossing the channel. To continue to my old life. A hero.
But if they did see her. If the squadron spotted her, caught up to her, opened fire on her…?
No. It was too large a risk to take.
I would burn it all down. I would throw it all away. For Essa, I would do it a thousand times over.
And so, I squared up behind Blaize’s tail, adjusted my flight path until he was squarely in my crosshairs….
And fired.
It was just a quick burst, enough to rip a few tatters in Blaize’s lower right wing—but it had the desired effect. He immediately took evasive action, diving and banking left, and since he was the leader, the whole squadron followed. I, on the other hand, banked right, making a 180-degree turn until I was heading back south, toward the base. And I pushed the throttle to the max.
Now they had a choice. Continue on their planned flight path north—or turn and follow me. It didn’t take a genius to guess which path Blaize would choose. And when I looked back, my assumption was confirmed.
Blaize and the whole squadron fell in behind me, their engines louder than rolling thunder, and over their din, I heard the crackle of a machine gun as the first tracer rounds whizzed past my wings.
Here we go…
I jogged right. Dipped. Climbed and then barrel-rolled left. I could almost feel Blaize’s irritation as he tried to match my motions and get a bead on me.
Lucky for me, the rest of the squadron wasn’t about to open fire on the iconic Silver Wraith... not yet, anyway. But I could feel them there, the presence of all those planes, all those guns, bearing down on me. If they did decide to open fire, I’d be shredded, burning, and falling in a heartbeat.
Go, Essa. The path is clear. Cross to Maethalia, I thought. But I could tell she didn’t receive the message. Dammit.
Blaize kept trying to blast me out of the sky, his gun thundering, tracers sizzling past. And I kept dodging, sweat slicking my forehead, my hand aching on the stick, my heart thudding in my ears, my mind reeling with the knowledge that if I made one wrong move, if Blaize’s guns caught me with a solid hit, I was a dead man.
We were nearing the base again, and beyond it, the gray skyscrapers of Ironberg. And—
What the hell was that?
To my left, out in the ocean, almost lost in the hazy distance, it looked like hundreds of dots on the water. For a second, I thought I was getting spots on my vision from all the drastic maneuvers I was pulling. But no. I blinked, and the dots were still there. Dim yellow lights. They were real. I dropped altitude and squinted out over the water. As the distance melted away, I saw that the dots were in fact lights on ships. There had to be hundreds of them—thousands, maybe.
What the hell was this?
I should be heading back to base, landing to face court martial—before Blaize could shoot me out of the sky and kill me. But something wasn’t right. As many flights as I’d made over the ocean, I’d never seen so many ships. And so, I banked left, heading further out to sea, still jogging left and right all the while to dodge Blaize’s gunfire, which had grown sporadic now as he sought to conserve ammo.
As the first ships drew near, I dropped altitude, trying to get a good look. The moonlight lent just enough illumination for me to make out ships. They had high prows, silver-timbered hulls, and an array of triangular sails in a strange configuration.
They were sylph barges, and they were a hell of a long ways north from their home ports in Koratain. It wasn’t unusual to see sylph ships in these waters. The sylph were known as the merchant people, and they traded freely throughout the world. Some said that the only winner of the war between Admar and Maethalia were the sylph, who profited handsomely selling arms, steel, and provisions to both sides. But this wasn’t just a few trading ships. It was thousands.
As I passed over a ship now, I saw that its deck was laden with crates. That also wasn’t unusual. Except as I watched, one of the crates burst open. I tilted, banking to get a better look, and saw something crawling out of the box. Red eyes, gray wings. A golenae. As I watched with growing horror, the other crates began bursting open, too. I looked out across the sea to the next ship. The crates on its deck were cracking like eggs as well, revealing more golenae.
Sophi in heaven…
It was Issastar all over again. The same devastation that had befallen Maethalia was about to happen in Admar. I had to warn Peckham, had to—a burst of gunfire erupted from behind me and I felt the plane around me vibrate as the shots found their target.
Blaize, you dumb son of a bitch. Can’t you see I’m the least of your worries right now?
But it was too late. Smoke billowed from my engine. Half blinded by it, I banked, pointing the plane back toward McNally airbase, and pushed the throttle.
When these golenae arrived in Ironberg, there’d be a bloodbath. Civilians. Women. Children. Everyone. Millions. I had to get there first to warn Peckham, so he could sound the alarm and evacuate the city. That, or die trying.
43
ROHREE
Out of the forest they came. Lacunae on sleek black horses, their dark armor glinting in the starlight. Deranged, brainwashed commoners bearing rusty swords, pitchforks and scythes. Ravens, flying from tree to tree above, giving raucous calls as if to say, here they are. Attack!
Behind them came a wave of golenae, their glowing red eyes unblinking, their misshapen bodies lurching among the trees. And amidst all of it, she could feel the power of the witch. Her energy seemed to steal the air, leaving Rohree breathless.
The Skrathan’s dragons must have sensed it, too, because they came winging in from behind, six of them, and the Skrathan mounted hastily.
The dragons’ size made Clua look even smaller—and made Rohree feel smaller by comparison.
“We should run,” Rohree whispered.
No,” Clua said. “I told you, I have a debt to pay to this witch. Your debt.”
Rohree plucked at her sleeve. “Don’t be a fool! That mace of yours is no good against a witch’s magic, nor is this little knife of mine. Let’s—”
Clua wheeled on her, eyes fiery. “You talk in your sleep,” she said.
Rohree blinked, confused. “What?”
“I know what that witch did to you. What she put you through. And she’ll answer for it.” The dwarf’s face went red as she blinked back tears. “Anyone who hurts you will answer for it.”
Her hand reached out, two fingers linking with two of Rohree’s. And Rohree suddenly felt as if she had a warm stone sitting on her chest, pressing the air out of her. She knew what the look in Clua’s eyes meant, and the tremor in her voice. But how could it be true? Rohree was nothing but a lowly sprite servant. An unremarkable girl from an exiled race, and she wasn’t even pretty. No one had ever looked at her like this before…
But there was no time to reflect, bask, ask, or explain. The first wave of Lacunae charged, their red-tipped lances leveled. The dragons gave a horrific battle-roar and met them with blasting fire, gnashing jaws, and slashing claws. Lure’s dragon batted aside a lacuna and his warhorse, and they dropped to the ground right in front of Rohree, hitting hard enough to shake the earth. The force only made Rohree even more aware of the futility of the tiny dagger in her hand in the face of all this power. But not all small people were weak—Clua stepped in front of her and brought her mace down on the lacuna’s head with such force that his helmet was driven halfway into the ground.
A flying golenae swooped in from above, some bastard cross between a kelmoon and a lion, and Pocha and her dragon met it with sword and talon. The two beasts collided and spun off to Rohree’s left, snapping trees as they went. Three more lacunae were galloping toward them, clods of dirt flying in their wake. Rohree looked back, ready to flee, and saw Dagar coming up from behind. He wore his riding leathers and held a rider’s lance, with his blue Skrathan cloak furling out behind him, but he was riding Essa’s horse instead of a dragon.
“For Issastar!” he shouted. Parring one lacuna lance with his shield and ducking another, he managed to strike one of the dark knights in the shoulder with his own lance, knocking him from his mount.
Rohree glimpsed a scrabbling, reddish shape trailing along behind Dagar and saw it was the little dragon—Parthar—the one who’d been bonded to Kit the Admite—flapping along with his young wings and barking feisty little spurts of fire. Since Rohree had last seen the dragon, he’d grown to the size of a small wolf. But though his spunkiness was cute, he was far too young for battle. Clearly Lure agreed, shouting:
“Rohree! Grab Parthar.”
The little dragon was just flapping over Rohree’s head and she leaped up and grabbed him by the tail, tugging him down to earth. They both landed in a heap and he turned on Rohree with a growl. For a second, she thought he might attack. Small though he was, his claws and teeth looked sharp as needles. But when he saw Rohree, recognition kindled in his fiery orange eyes and a hoom of happiness rose from his throat.
“Listen, you,” Rohree scolded. “This is no place for a baby dragon. We’ve got to—”
But the words died in her mouth as something in the air seemed to shift. Leaves on the ground prickled and stood at attention. The trees subtly bowed, as with a sudden, sustained wind. The atmosphere felt somehow heavier, as if the sky were pressing down and the air in her lungs were as thick as soup. And then Rohree saw her on a hilltop at the end of the glade, riding on a stag as dark as midnight with antlers as broad and black as the branches of a charred tree. The witch.
Gods, could she truly have so much power that the whole world trembles before her? Rohree wondered.
Even the dragons halted in their rampaging at the sight of her. As one, they crouched in defensive postures, their wings cocked in to shield their riders, their growls vibrating the earth.
Only the golenae kept moving, giving the dragons wide berth as they skirted around them and continued toward the village.
Where is Princess Essaphine?
The witch’s mouth didn’t move, but her words nevertheless pierced Rohree’s mind like a knife.
Pocha emerged from a stand of trees, still astride her dragon. “Queen Essaphine is not here,” she shouted. “You’ll have to deal with us.”
Who is your leader, then? the witch demanded in their minds.
“Me,” Ollie stepped forward. The slender, star-steel Torouman blade glinted in his hand, but he seemed at ease as he stood opposite the witch. The stag she rode on snorted and pawed the earth.
“Well met, Ollyvar the Torouman,” she said, speaking aloud this time. “You have a prisoner of mine who stole something which belongs to me. Give them both back, and I’ll be on my way.”
Rohree’s hand went to the satchel at her side. The letters inside must contain valuable information if the witch still cared enough to demand them. And she hadn’t even had a chance to read them or show them to anyone. To give them back now, before they’d been examined, could be a terrible loss. And besides, the amount of suffering she’d gone through to get them and bring them back here…
She couldn’t just give them back. No chance. And she certainly wouldn’t let herself be taken by the witch—not alive, anyway.
But Ollie called to the witch. “Of course.”
“What?” Pocha shouted, nearly leaping out of her saddle.
Ollie turned to her. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re outmatched,” he said quietly. “Fight, and we all die. But give up Rohree now, and whatever she took, and we can negotiate her release later.”
“Give up Rohree?” Pocha sounded aghast. “If Essa were here—”
“Essa is not here,” Ollie reminded her. “And as her Torouman—”
Rohree could already see where this was heading, and she already knew Ollie was a traitor. There was no time to explain that to Pocha now, but if they were quick, there might be time to save the letters.
“Pocha,” she called, unslinging the satchel from her shoulder and tossing it to her. “Take it. Go!”
Pocha looked at the satchel, confused.
“It contains their letters. Their plans,” Rohree shouted. “Make sure Essa gets it. Go!”
Pocha hesitated for one more instant, then obeyed, her dragon flapping its wings, taking flight and winging back towards the village.
Ollie snarled with irritation and reached to take hold of Rohree’s arm. Instinctively, she lashed out with her knife. It slashed across Ollie’s forearm and he pulled back with a hiss. Clua stepped between them, brandishing her mace.
“Touch her again,” she growled, “and I’ll beat your head into mush. I know exactly what you did to her.”
The Torouman’s eyes narrowed.
“What’s she talking about?” Lure asked.
Before anyone could answer, the witch’s voice came again.
I tire of waiting. Take them! she said.
Rohree looked up to see the black stag galloping toward them, the witch on its back. The world seemed to shiver like a rippling pond in her wake. And with her, an army of lacunae knights and golenae came, sweeping in like a storm.
44
CHARLIE
My plane screamed through the sky, coming in for approach at McNally Air Base, and all of hell was coming behind me. My own squadron remained on my tail, but they’d given up trying to shoot me down—for now. They realized they had bigger problems with the vast swarm of golenae that loomed in our wake, picking off stragglers.
The tarmac below grew larger and larger as I thundered toward it, but I couldn’t cut speed too much, not if I wanted to get my warning message out before it was too late.
I felt weightlessness against my straps as I dropped altitude fast. At last, I did throttle back and level off, but my tires still hit the pavement with a terrible shriek. I cut the engine and hit the brakes, gritting my teeth as the plane fishtailed left, then right, then began to tip. As it came to a rest sideways on the runway, it did tip over, the bottom of the right lower wing grinding against the blacktop. The instant it stopped, I was already unbuckling, leaping from my seat, and using the wing like a slide. My feet hit the pavement, and I sprinted for the administrative building.
Ground crew members came out to glower at my landing. They fussed over the planes like mothers over their babies and always got pissy when we’d abuse them. But then, they looked to the sky and saw what I’d been running from, and their expressions of disapproval changed to ones of horror and wonder. I hazarded a glance back, too. The other planes and golenae were still pretty far back—I’d done a good job getting ahead of them. For now, most were nothing more than black dots against silvery clouds, glinting in the moonlight. But they were becoming more prominent in the dark sky with every passing second, and as more ground crewmen emerged from the hangars and pointed upwards, their murmurs of dismay grew.
