by R. J. Louis
“They’re all camps.”
“And if it’s dark, how will we know when we reach dragon territory?” Jonas asks.
Kendra looks at him, then down at her feet. Captain Thunder crosses her arms, her servos whistling as her duster billows in the desert breeze.
“We’ll stop seeing camps.”
12 - Best Laid Plans
The Kingfisher makes for the dark patch, after an hour or two of flying, it becomes clear. A great plot of the desert without any torches burning, a sky without stars. The air changes as they fly over the invisible threshold. It is still dark and cool, but tension grips the crew, beads of sweat from a humidity half-imagined paint faces and drip down spines.
“Molly, bring us to a quiet hover.” Even Captain Thunder’s voice is a terse whisper now, as she speaks into the refractive metal tube that connects the fo’c’sle to the engine bay.
Molly acknowledges quietly, and a few seconds later, the hum in the air stills. The Widowgas engines keep the ship afloat, but now she relies on the wind. The crew run the sails, scurrying across the deck and over the netted rigging with Thunder and Mudge giving quiet, muttered orders. It’s a far cry from their usual jolly shanty-songs, this beat of tense hearts and scurrying footsteps, but it gets the job done, as they coast slowly towards a great mount of rock rearing out of the sand.
Captain Thunder walks Mudge and Jonas to the sloop, where a few voyagers have finished their work of tying a great mess of ropes to the hull of the small boat.
“You sure you’re up for this?” Mudge asks Jonas quietly. “Be a shame to lose that nice sword so soon after you got it.”
Jonas just grits his teeth. “The captain makes an order, and I see it through,” he says. His amber eyes gleam in the night sky. “Plus, the way your plan works out, I’m sure you’re going to be in the most dangerous place, and there’s a certain thrill I get from seeing you cock up.”
“Boys, you can measure each other later,” Thunder says. “We’ll lower you down out front, you just keep your eyes and ears peeled, and get the trap in position. Sure you don’t want to leave that with me?” Thunder gestures to Jonas’s sheathed blade. “Might come in handy.”
“Apologies Captain, but this here is a family heirloom,” Jonas says of the Windblade with a completely straight face.
“You took it off the Admiral of the Wrathhowl,” Thunder says pointedly.
“I inherited it off of him.”
“Right...” Thunder squints at Jonas, who grins wolfishly in the darkness. “Then keep it safe. Heaven knows we don’t want to lose a magic sword, so if the dragon does roast you, if you could just try and throw that upwards before the flames get you, I’d dearly appreciate it. Now, get in, and be quiet.”
“Aye captain.”
* * *
The air around the mound of rock is warm, and rank with the smell of burnt, rotten meat. As a small crew of voyagers lower the sloop down over what can only be the entrance to the dragon’s lair, a second team rappel down off the other side of the ship. Three broad-shouldered voyagers, Kendra Stoutheart, with a longbow strapped to her back, and Lily, the slender Shadewalker, a bandage still strapped around her torso, and a blade between her teeth.
Kendra, her gold eyes dancing nervously, descends last, to find the other four voyagers quietly scrambling around the rocks and over the gritty sand of the dragon’s lair. Silently, she curses what bad luck and bad decisions brought her back to this place. She hasn’t missed Flare, hasn’t missed her home, in years. There is no telling whether or not this dragon was the same one she’d seen paint her camp a bloody red with fire and fury, but if it is... She clenches her fist around a broad-headed arrow, Pandora’s bearlike strength causing it to splinter in her grip. She drops the two pieces to the ground and reaches for another one, before reconsidering. Can’t go breaking all of them.
She can hear it. The rumbling so low it sounds like the Shard drawing breath. The great beast in the cavern sleeping, or lying in wait. A soft whumph interrupts her thoughts as the sloop hits the scorched sand in front of the lair’s entrance. Mudge and Jonas scramble out of the tiny boat and begin moving, laying out the great mess of ropes that the sloop is full of. Kendra and her crew of voyagers, Lily excepted, grab the ends of those long, heavy rigging ropes and begin dragging them into position. Her heart pounds in her chest as they work, laying out the webbing like big, clumsy spiders, while the true daughter of Nox searches out a hiding place big enough for them.
Finally, the work is done. Jonas and Mudge slink back to the sloop, grinning in the darkness. Kendra stands, stretching. She draws a deep breath, before almost choking on the musty scent in the air.
Lily materialises out of the shadows beside her and nearly gives her a heart attack. Kendra swears, and Lily grins. The Shadewalker’s skin and clothing is covered in gritty, sandy mud.
“Come on,” she whispers, and they gather the other voyagers and disappear up the face of the mountain, all of them but the muddy Lily moving like pale ghosts in the moonlight. Lily stops them at her chosen hiding place, and points to the wet mud at their feet. “Don’t be shy. Get it all over, confuses the dragon’s nose.”
Kendra glances down at the pit, and back up at Lily.
“What did you use to wet it?” she asks slowly.
Lily pauses in confusion. “Water, why do you—oh. Ew.”
“Just checking,” Kendra says, relief palpable in her voice, then she reaches down and begins smearing mud across her skin.
13 - Bold, Brash, Bad Decisions
On board The Kingfisher, Captain Thunder waits in tense silence. They sit in a steady hover, circling the mount as the wind ripples the sails. It is a reckless mission, foolhardiness of the worst kind, and yet it feels right. She’s not one for hiding or sneaking around, you don’t get far as a Captain like that. Her crew respects bold, brash decisions, and it’s high time she started making more of them.
Presuming that they survive this one.
“Captain. They’re ready.” Jamala’s voice cuts into her reverie, but Thunder can see the flaming arrow surely as the rest of the crew. She traces its path in reverse, giving some idea of where her team are.
“Aye. Dinah, adjust that cannon a few degrees down,” Thunder says. “Don’t want to hit our cook, you’ve seen what Molly’s food is like.”
“Yes sir.”
“Molly, be ready to give us everything we’ve got.”
“Aye-aye—”
“What did I fuckin’ say, Molly?”
“Fine. Yes Captain.”
“Better.”
“I don’t understand what the big deal is—”
“Even if I did need to explain it to you, now is hardly the time,” Thunder snaps. “Prepare to fire.”
“Ready on your command, Captain,” Dinah says, her eye sighting through the cannon’s porthole.
Thunder waits, she glances down below them, to where Mudge and Jonas sit in the sloop, half-hidden in a sheet of sand.
“Are we really doing this,” Artemis asks, breaking the tense silence before the command is given. “Riling up a dragon?”
“You didn’t have to come,” Thunder says coldly. “In fact, I seem to recall you deciding not to.”
“Well, Rico convinced me to stay.”
Thunder’s thoughts turn to Rico, below decks. She could have really used his special brand of magic about now. “That’s good of him. We’re going to need you. As soon as the cannon fires, get the shield up. Quickly.”
“I know my place, Captain.”
“Good. Then everyone else, places please.” Captain Thunder raises a fist, and the crew draws in a short sharp breath. “Now.”
Dinah lights the cannon’s fuse, and everyone stares as the thin filament sparks fitfully, burning a final countdown between them and the point of no return. It hits the powder and the cannon bucks, launching a ball of smooth black iron at speed into the waiting lair of the dragon. It flies with an unerring grace, catching the moonlight and gl
inting in a perfect parabola for a few seconds before impacting with a heavy crash into the rocky side of the lair.
There’s a second or two of silence, as a quiet dread floods the animal brains of each voyager. For my part, I sit in terror in the officer’s cabin, unable to look away from the worlds unfolding behind my eyes.
Then a roar of rage and anger rips out of the lair.
14 - Fire Like A Knife
Fire comes first. A fierce jet of red-orange flame pours out of the lair. It lights the night sky, painting the world in horrible hues. The Kingfisher begins to move, its engines roaring their own battle-cry as moments later the dragon erupts from its hole like lava spewing forth from a volcano. It flies through the flames, scales a glistening, gleaming red, shining like rubies. Great muscles beat powerful wings as serpentine eyes scan the sky for the threat. Its massive body, hulking impossibly in the sky, ripples with jewelled scales and molten gold, shaped and wrought around its broad shoulders like a mantle. The gust of rotting air from between its mammoth jaws as it screeches in bestial defiance is enough to cower even the bravest of men and women.
“MOVE! MOVE! MOVE!” Thunder’s voice roars needlessly, the crew are already in motion. The engines roar, the ship shuddering as it is forced forwards, accelerating far faster than it was ever intended to move. They burst away from the dragon’s lair as it climbs out of the cavern. It rips through the netted rigging splayed across the entrance to its lair with a gnashing of teeth and a burst of fire. Great strands of rope burn away, scattering around Mudge and Jonas’s sloop in a rain of ash. Enough of the rope remains though, wrapping around the broad shoulders to jolt the sloop, hidden between two small hummocks of sand, into motion. The great beast rises filling up the sky like a great, deadly kite, gnarled claws with molten rings of gold and warped gemstones fused to its scaly hide reach out into the sky and catch the violet after-image of The Kingfisher’s engine fumes as the dragon attempts to take flight after its quarry.
* * *
“Hold on,” Mudge yells, as the ropes tangled about the dragons broad shoulders and torso go taut.
“What a great fuckin’ idea—” the last of Jonas’s word is cut off as the sloop roars off across the dunes at a blistering pace. Jonas and Mudge are thrown backward into the sloop, nearly knocked from the fragile boat.
“It’s strong—” Mudge grunts as the dragon beats its great wings. “This is going to be a close run thing.” The sloop lifts a little off the ground, skidding across the sand dunes. The ropes tethered between the ascending dragon and the small boat creak and strain as the dragon attempts to gain ground, roaring at the departing hull of The Kingfisher overhead. Fire lances out toward the sky, cooking the night air with a sizzle.
“Fuck me,” Jonas drawls as the wind rips at his loose clothes. “This isn’t working.”
“We’re slowing it down,” Mudge says, shrugging. “And it can’t get too high.”
“And what happens when it turns around?”
“It—”
There’s a roar of cannon fire from The Kingfisher and a hail of iron balls fly out at the dragon. It shrieks, roaring bloody murder as the tiny metal objects impact into its scaly hide. They barely leave a dent, dropping to the ground around Mudge and Jonas’ sloop. The dragon breathes fire again, the flames licking the outer hull of The Kingfisher. It strains, and the sloop below picks up speed as its wings rend the air.
“Too angry to turn around,” Jonas says with a nod. “Stupid animal.”
“Careful,” Mudge hisses. “We’re still not out of the woods.”
* * *
“Artemis. It’s getting close! Where’s that shielding?!” Thunder’s roar sounds over the deep hum of the engines as they burn, bright lines of light searing the crew’s retinas. Dragon fire flashes behind them, the heat in the air enough to singe hair and cloth. “If that shield doesn’t come up soon, we’re going to lose our brand new bloody sail!”
“Working on it, Captain!”
Knives flash around the ship as Artemis leads a few voyagers to smear blood on the runes engraved into the hull. Cut fingertips trace arcane lines. Nobody knows where the runes came from, but they know well enough how to use them.
The shielding that protects the sky-ship from the void of space and the fierce heat of atmospheric re-entry flickers on. There is a moment of still silence as the wind and the dragon’s cries are muted.
Then without warning or explanation, the shield flickers out.
“Oh no,” Artemis says softly, his voice drowned out by the blast of wind across the ship.
“What—get down!” Thunder roars, and another gout of fire sizzles across the deck. The Kingfisher is suddenly engulfed in a wave of deadly flame. Screams of pain and fear echo through the deep crackle of the fire as it rips overhead. Voyagers are sent sprawling, stumbling away from the flame as the heat blisters skin. Thunder, her duster hot and heavy on her back, slams her hands into the wheel, trying to catch a burst of wind before the flames catch in their brand new sails.
15 - Grand Larceny
“It’s up to us to make this worth it,” Kendra says, watching as the dragon, with Mudge and Jonas in the sloop weighing it down, wings off over the dunes after The Kingfisher. “While the cats away, the mice they go in and steal all her cheese.”
“Great metaphor,” Lily says with a grin. “Let’s go get this cheddar.”
The three voyagers fall in behind Lily as she leads them, muddy and tense, down the side of the mound of stone and sand and up to the dank entrance of the lair. Kendra takes up the rear, her golden eyes straining into the pitch darkness of the tunnel.
“Let’s keep this quick and professional,” Lily says. “We go in. We get as much gold as we can safely carry, then we get out and wait for pick-up. Easy job.”
“The worst thing we’ll have to deal with is the smell,” Arn, one of the stout voyagers says to a few quiet chuckles.
“Let’s hope,” Kendra pulls a thin length of rope from her belt and grips it tightly. “We’re going in blind, so let’s stick together, and keep quiet. Grab the rope, hold to it. Lily, you see best in the dark. Bring us in.”
Lily nods, taking the lead of the rope and disappearing into the darkness without hesitation.
“Bloody hells,” Guy, a normally stoic Wolfpack voyager says before following her in. Arn goes next, one hand on the rope, the other over his nose. Kendra nudges the third voyager, Boris, a Builder who goes only by Boss.
“You right, Boss?”
“Nope,” Boss says firmly, then steps into the darkness after the others. “Fuck nope.”
“Good man. I’d be worried if you were,” Kendra says, following him into the dank tunnel. The smell is overpowering, the heat almost as bad. The night air outside over the desert is cool and crisp, but stepping into the tunnel feels like walking into an oven. The very walls of the cavern seem to have absorbed years of desert heat, not to mention the fires of a dragon with a penchant for melting jewellery.
Lily walks with sure footsteps into the darkness. Her eyes wide, pupils dilated to let in as much light as possible. Her feet crunch on what could be shells or gravel, but might actually be the crisply cooked bones of unfortunate camels. She doesn’t make sure, just keeps her head up and her gaze fixed down into the depths where a shimmer and gleam catches her eyes.
As they grow used to the darkness, any hope she might have had of maintaining blissful ignorance about what is underfoot dashes away. Bones of all shapes and sizes, most charred dark, litter the tunnel floor. The ground beneath her feet smells like dried blood and old fear. The part of her brain that remembers evolving from a prey animal screams at her to turn away, turn back, that here there be monsters.
She walks on. They all do, picking their way through the corpses of beasts and other too-human bones.
“Where’s Wilhelm when you need him,” Lily says, as she accidentally stands on a femur which cracks loudly, making them all jump. “He’d be able to get us in and out without gettin
g our feet dirty.”
“Guess he got tired of keeping our feet clean,” Kendra whispers. Lily looks at her, and sees her golden eyes glowing brightly. Lily chuckles and continues walking, then nearly slips as something slides under her foot.
“Gotcha,” Guy says, her hand gripping Lily by the shoulder. “What—ooh.”
Lily bends down, scrabbling among the bones, then straightens, a gleaming gold coin between her fingers.
“Treasure,” she says proudly, before pocketing the coin.
“Look,” Kendra says, gesturing ahead of them. They squint as shapes begin to resolve in the darkness, mounds which glint and sparkle even in the rank depths of the lair, gleaming as if lit from within. “More treasure.”
“Dibs.”
16 - Storm-Father
Wilhelm wakes up with a groggy moan. His one eye sees little in the dark, cramped space. His head swims. His hands are bound behind his back, his shoulders ache from the pressure, and the coarse rope chafes his scarred wrists. By all measures, he would have preferred to not wake up.
But wish in one hand, spit in the other. He leans forward, and feels the tightening of his bonds. So, tied to the wall behind him. He leans back, and his head bumps the wall, a red hot stinging alerting him to a wound he’d not yet become aware of.
“Talos’s crack,” he hisses, jerking forward as his mind spins. “Where the fuck am I?”
“Nice and easy gramps,” a voice says, a shadowy fixture resolving in the darkness. Wilhelm squints at the strange shaped person, before realising the reason he seems to be made of a grid of bars is because he’s looking out from within a cage. No, he’s on a ship... A brig. He cant hear the tell-tale hum of an engine, either it’s a particularly quiet ship, his head wound has screwed up his senses, or they haven’t left Rezir yet.