by Patty Jansen
“Not so fast, boy.”
A stream of light cut through two of the table legs. As if in slow motion, the table lurched, and Jevaithi started sliding off. She crashed into him and they both fell on the muddy ground. Jevaithi scrambled onto her feet, holding the cloak around her naked body.
Rider Cornatan laughed. “So, you think we served you badly?”
Carro glared up at him while on his hands and knees in the mud. He pushed himself onto his knees, picking up one of the severed table legs.
“So, you think no one noticed all the mistakes you made, clumsy pup? The fact that through your bungling, I lost two very good men. The fact that you had to tread on a stick to let the Queen escape?”
“I am no ace fighter. You had all the right to tell me off and made sure I wouldn’t do it again. You could have returned me to where you found me. I didn’t want the attention. I am a scholar or an accountant.” He never thought he’d say that, but he knew how much he meant it. His stepfather, no, the man he knew as his father, was a cold, hard bastard, but if there were any ethics to be taught, he was far better at it than any Knight had been.
“You’re right,” Rider Cornatan said, and his voice was cold. “I could have done that. Yet, I did not. Time and time again, I gave you a chance. I sent you with the hunters—”
“To murder my best friend!”
“I gave you a patrol—”
“And told me to rape them!”
“I gave you a job at a desk—”
“So that I could take the blame if something went wrong!”
* * *
Carro runs home through the street. The snowy ground is lit by orange light from the blazing warehouse fire behind him. The ground shakes from explosions. Fires in the Outer City are always dangerous, but this, in a tanning warehouse, is worse than usual.
People are running through the street, while burning debris rains down from the sky.
His mother stands at the door of their limpet, holding his sister. His father is looking anxiously into the crowd of people fleeing.
Then his eyes meet Carro’s.
He smiles. He opens his arms.
Carro runs, stumbling over his feet as another explosions rocks the ground.
Into his father’s arms. The familiar smell of his fur cloak. The smell of his shaving cream. His hands ruffling his hair.
* * *
Tears pricked in his eyes. His father cared. He was harsh and at times unreasonable. He never showed his emotions except in rare occasions, but he cared. Why had Carro taken so long to remember that?
In all the memories of bad things, this was what really mattered. There was nothing wrong with his family. It was him. He was a whiny, ungrateful kid who didn’t appreciate what he had.
And now the merchant was dead and his real father would kill him soon with a weapon that used icefire.
Rider Cornatan laughed. “And I had great hopes for a son of mine. You’re a pathetic weakling, too fragile for the Knights. I should simply kill you when you’re off-guard, but I’m going to give you a chance. Come on, stand up straight and fight.”
He swung the staff and Carro thrust out the table leg. He had no great sword skills and the move was as inelegant as much as to protect himself. The staff hit the wood with a great clunk. The table leg jarred in his hand and he almost dropped it. He stepped backwards, and almost tripped over the remains of the table. But something was pressed against his back.
“Take this.” Jevaithi, with his dagger.
He freed one hand without taking his eyes off his father. “Give it.”
Jevaithi put the dagger in his hand, blade first. By the skylights, what use was that? He needed to hold it by the hilt. And he needed two hands to change his grip, and his other hand needed to hold onto the table leg.
He gestured to Jevaithi. “Your Highness, turn it around.”
The moment Carro glanced aside, a hissing beam of air shot through the air. He ducked, without knowing where the beam was. Lightning crackled.
Carro lunged, his dagger poised. Rider Cornatan put up a hand and the blow deflected. The blade of the dagger ran through the sleeve of his tunic.
Carro regained his balance. By the skylights, he was no fighter. He was going to lose this badly, even though Rider Cornatan was now bleeding from the cut in his arm.
He held the staff in front of his face. The metal was rimed with frost.
There were splashing footsteps. The tent flap opened, letting in a blast of icy air. Minno came inside followed by—thanks the skylights—Rider Barton.
Rider Cornatan glanced over his shoulder.
Carro pounced. He could only see Rider Cornatan’s weak spot: his throat. He’d learned to hunt large animals with a dagger. He knew how to cut a throat. The movement was mechanical. Rider Cornatan toppled backwards onto the tent fabric and Carro fell on top. He drove the dagger down and sliced. Blood spurted everywhere.
Carro scrambled up, unable to tear his gaze from Rider Cornatan’s convulsing body. Blood had drenched the front of his pants. It was sticky and cold. The fountain of blood weakened until it was a mere ooze. The body twitched a few times and finally lay still.
Rider Barton bent and retrieved Carro’s bloodied dagger and returned it to its owner.
Much calmer than he felt, Carro took it with blood-covered hands, wiped the blade and stuck it back in his belt.
Rider Barton gave a Knights’ salute, which was only ever performed to superiors. “I am glad you read my signals.” His voice was soft. “Let’s get the south back to being a respectable country.”
Then he knelt before Jevaithi, who stood there muddied and covered only in a cloak, shivering.
Carro also sank to his knees. A feeling of relief washed over him. The fight had left him exhausted. He swelled with the enormity of his actions. This was his decision.
Rider Barton said, “I am an Eagle Knight bound by honour to serve the royal family of the City of Glass with fairness and obedience to our laws. I, and my men, are at your service.”
Carro picked up the medallion that lay in the mud and put it in Jevaithi’s hand.
She studied it, and then met Carro’s eyes. “You’re Rider Cornatan’s son?”
Carro nodded, pressing his lips together. He’d gained a father, he’d lost a father. Maybe he’d never felt like Rider Cornatan was his true father.
“It is time that this feuding was forgotten,” Rider Barton said.
Carro put a fist on his chest. “It is time that the Knighthood behaved according to its motto.”
“Agreed,” Rider Barton said. “Give the order, Your Highness, and I and my men will carry it out.”
Jevaithi said, “Stop the fighting between our people.”
Rider Barton bowed. “At your service.”
He turned on his heel and left the tent. Carro followed him.
Chapter 30
* * *
THE FORMATION of balloons had left the army base and was making its silent and deadly way over the outskirts of Tiverius, under the cover of menacing clouds and occasional squalls of rain. Seated in the centre of the gondola, in seats normally reserved for ground troops being transported, Sady was uncomfortable in his sonorics suit. He hadn’t worn the suit since his trips to the City of Glass, and the smell of those trips lingered inside. The rank scent of meals consisting of nothing but meat, the restrictive atmosphere, the claustrophobic feel of hearing his own breath echo back at him.
Chevakia was in uncharted territory now. No one knew how bad sonorics was going to get, and how long it would last, how far it would reach and whether or not anyone would survive.
Sheets of rain lashed the side of the gondola, rocking it
from side to side. Sady pulled his legs as close to the seat as possible, to keep them out of the way of the crew who were running around opening and closing flanges. Every now and then, the pilot would shout an order, or would start up the burners with a roar that echoed over the landscape.
Sady felt cold and hot at the same time. He couldn’t see the ground over the edge of the basket. The feeble light from the vessel’s bridge only reached to the railing to allow the armsmen to see. The gunner in the corner closest to him scanned the sky with binoculars attached to his weapon. He wore an army-issued khaki sonorics suit that was so badly scuffed on the knees that Sady wondered if it still worked.
On the empty seat next to him stood a portable sonorics meter and a rack of gel-coated measuring tubes. He’d taken on the task of taking air samples in a sampling balloon, blowing the air through the tube and inserting it into the machine, because he knew nothing about military action and this was something he did know well. But he might as well have given up on the measuring thing. Each time he shoved another tube into the meter, the measurement was wildly up or down. He’d plotted a graph, but it was all over the place. There was no logic to it. In the back of his mind, he wondered if that meant the flying creature was about.
Loriane sat on his other side, wearing a Chevakian army outfit. The trousers were too big for her so she had rolled up the hems. The shirt and jacket fitted better. She had her hair tied at the back of her neck, but did not wear a suit. She stared into the darkness, clutching the safety belts over her shoulders. Occasionally, their eyes met. For someone who had never seen steam engines until a few days ago, she was holding up well.
She also cast regular glances at the balloon’s pilot, a sturdy woman of about Loriane’s age, who bossed the crew about in a loud voice.
General Finnisius had been adamant that Sady travel in one of the support vessels at the back of the column. There were about twenty balloons ahead, an army of menacing dark bubbles punctuated by tiny lights in each gondola and the occasional flare of a burner. Already, the merest of dawn light silvered the horizon.
“You see that, Proctor?” The pilot pointed.
Sady pushed himself out of his seat, and quickly crossed to the railing to keep out of the way of the crew. The floor rocked with the wind.
They were flying over the farm land immediately to the south of the city, neat rectangular plots interspersed with roads and farmhouses. The southern forest started on the crest of the hill, a dark mass of waving pine trees.
The pilot pointed at the blackness of the clouds threatening to the south, which had grown into a huge roiling wall with the occasional flash of lightning within. It chilled him deep inside. Sady had never seen anything like it. He even doubted that this used to happen in the days before the barrier. This weather cell was deeper and more vicious than anything this country had ever seen.
“How long before that is here?” the pilot asked.
Sady eyed the clouds, trying to remember Viki’s maps. “Half a day, I guess.”
“We’ll need to be out and packed before that hits.”
Sady nodded. Having balloons packed away would probably be the least of anyone’s worries once that storm front hit.
“Has the wind carried the sonorics away yet?” the pilot asked.
“The sonorics levels are all over the place. On average, it’s probably not safe to go without suits.”
“I feared as much,” she said. “Much as the men hate wearing them. Anyway, we’re almost there.”
They had come over a ridge and the camp was easily visible, the source of firelight and smoke. Up here, dressed in the muffling suit, Sady couldn’t hear anything, but there were people running between tents with flaming sticks.
The balloon’s signaller was waving lights to communicate commands. General Finnisius travelled in the next balloon and his gondola was a frenzy of flashing lights. Sady understood a mere fraction of their coded meanings.
A number of dark shapes rose from a spot uphill from the camp.
The pilot cursed. “Eagles incoming.”
Both gunners, one on each side of the gondola, already had their weapons aimed.
“Everyone to their stations! Everyone else, out of the way!”
Sady rushed back to his seat and buckled up his safety belt with trembling hands. He met Loriane’s eyes which were wide with horror.
He took her hand. “We’re safe here.”
She nodded, pressing her lips together, but she looked scared more than anything.
“Watch it. Here come the eagles,” called the gunner. He swung the gun around, following a huge dark shape swooping past.
Bangs echoed over the hillside from the firing of the gun on the other side of the gondola. Gunners in other balloons were firing as well. Loriane clapped her hands over her ears.
Sady put an arm around her shoulders, shielding her with his body as much as he could.
The birds lost their formation, swooping between the balloons. When they had passed, one fluttered to the ground.
One balloon appeared to be losing air, but the rest held formation. The eagles had disappeared into the darkness. The gunner searched the sky for them through the binoculars.
Sady didn’t dare move. His muscles felt rigid as if he’d frozen in place. Loriane trembled under him. He had volunteered to come, had even demanded it, but he regretted his decision now. He was no soldier.
A squall brought stinging rain from the sky, lashed against the side of the balloon’s gas bag. Even the suit could not keep out the fingers of cold.
One of the gunners shouted. A flash of lightning blinded Sady.
The birds returned, huge flying shapes plummeting towards them, with menacing claws outstretched, accompanied by the war cries of the riders on top.
The balloon shuddered when a bird hit it. The gunners on both sides were shooting into the air, the pilot screaming orders at the crew. One of the men jumped onto the ladder and scaled the side of the air bag. He vanished out of sight. A moment later, two loud bangs echoed, the balloon jerked and huge wings flapped past so close that Sady could feel the air rushing past, even through the suit. The basket swung from side to side. A crew member slipped on the wet floor and hung onto the railing until the movement stopped.
Loriane stared, her eyes wide.
“How did we come through? How many of them are there?” Sady asked.
“I’ve counted at least twenty.” The pilot peered into the sky.
“That’s not many.”
“They won’t have their entire force active, with this type of attack.”
“Looks like they’re in trouble,” the gunner said looking ahead.
Sady pushed himself up in the harness high enough so that he could see where the man pointed. An eagle had its claws stuck in the netting that covered a balloon at the front of the formation. Its huge wings flapped as it tried to take off with the balloon struck to its claws swinging violently underneath.
Light signals flashed between the remaining balloons. Hold fire.
It would be easy to finish off the eagle, as it was a pretty large target and well within range for the crews close to it, but bringing it down would unbalance the entire balloon and would endanger the men in the gondola underneath.
But it managed to free itself, releasing the balloon with such force that it swung almost vertical. Something fell out—Sady hoped it was not a person—and it swung a few times back and forth before it stabilised. The eagle flew off slowly before it was shot from two different directions. It fell, soundlessly.
Meanwhile, the other birds came back around and unleashed an attack of arrows. This time, Sady’s balloon was in the firing line. The shield netting deflected the crossbow bolts, and one fell into the basket
next to Sady, a southern thing made from bone and feathers. The two gunners on either side of the gondola were going gangbusters, swivelling their guns on their mounts as they followed the eagles swooping past. A small projectile pierced the balloon skin above Sady’s head. Hot air whistled out. The pilot fired the burners with a roar.
Then the eagles were gone for another fly around. Sady made a quick inspection of the balloon’s crew and found them all unharmed. Two other balloons had now sunk so low that they weren’t going to make the camp. General Finnisius was busy signalling commands to these men, and a bit later a third balloon went to join them, presumably so that they could lead an attack from outside the camp. Sady suspected that this had been a potential strategy.
There was a shout, and the eagles were back, silhouettes against a flash of lightning in the nearly black sky. There were a lot more than twenty this time. A thunderclap shook the ground. Sady could hardly see anything after the flash, but heard the lashing of rain against the side of the balloon.
The guns went off again. There were soft pops of things bouncing off the balloon netting. Another eagle went down, a flutter of feathers and claws that plummeted past. Sady kept as still as he could. Loraine clutched onto his suit.
General Finnisius’ signalling light changed to red, indication that they were going down.
They were now so close to the camp that Sady could see the people running between the tents. Huge bonfires, fight. Shouts reached up to the balloons. The three balloons were already down outside the camp, their crew having jumped clear of their deflating gas bags.
The eagles swooped again. New volleys of arrows came from below. Sady sat as still as he could, feeling the thunking of the arrows hitting wood under his feet.
Many people down there were cheering, too, but Sady couldn’t see what was going on. Now that they were almost on the ground, the eagles couldn’t attack anymore.
The first balloons touched down, and their fighting crew jumped out before the basket rose again once their weight was no longer inside. Each balloon would hover for as long as they could, given the prevailing wind, containing a pilot and gunner to help defend those troops on the ground.