by John Marco
He turned his back on Moth, returning to his father’s side and taking the ruler’s frail hand. A veil of sorrow darkened his face. Korace closed his eyes and whispered to his son. Though Moth couldn’t understand his words, it was obvious Korace wanted to go.
“Come,” said Alisaundra, taking Moth’s arm and leading him away.
“Wait,” Moth protested. “Artaios, don’t you dare harm Fiona, you hear me?”
“Stop!” Alisaundra hissed into his ear.
“Do you hear me, Artaios? If you hurt her, I’ll—”
Alisaundra covered his mouth with her powerful hand. Quickly, she dragged him away.
MORNING PATROL
SKYHIGH SCANNED THE HORIZON as the warm sun of dawn struck the side of his face. He had taken flight less than twenty minutes ago, but already he was many miles away from the safety of the Avatar, streaking southward over hills and forests. He watched with awe as sunlight peeled back the darkness, marveling at the world it uncovered. Since the grounding of the Avatar, Skyhigh had made this same patrol a dozen times. So far, he’d seen a handful of Redeemers and some distant, flashing clouds that looked oddly like horses, but he hadn’t seen a single Skylord yet. They would come soon enough, he supposed, because Rendor was sure of it. But for now, for this one brief morning, they were safe.
Wind buffeted the dragonfly’s glass wings. Skyhigh fought the craft for control. She hadn’t flown the same since her fight with Alisaundra. Though Bottling and his crew had patched her up, she handled more like a donkey cart now than a precision machine. Still, her guns were working and she was airborne, and for that Skyhigh was grateful. In a day or two more the Avatar would be airworthy too, and they could finally get moving again. Skyhigh hoped Rendor would keep his promise and not leave the Reach, but there were men like Donnar onboard who wanted to head home—without Moth and Fiona.
Skyhigh leveled the craft and stretched his vision as far as he could. Twenty minutes south, in daylight hours only. Those were his orders, and as he watched the chronometer on his console tick down the seconds, he prayed he’d see nothing more than a bird up ahead. Once the Skylords came they’d be trapped. And once they were trapped, no one would be in the mood to search for the children. Skyhigh still didn’t know if Rendor wanted Fiona back or just the Starfinder, but it didn’t really matter. If they fled home to Calio, the kids would be doomed.
“Ten . . . nine . . . eight . . . seven . . .”
Finally the chronometer clicked down to zero. Relieved, Skyhigh banked the dragonfly westward, toward the rising sun.
“Sorry, Skylords,” he sang. “Not today!”
He could report a clear sky, at least for one more patrol. Skyhigh settled back, letting out the breath he’d been holding. He narrowed his eyes against the sunlight, estimated a flight time, and dialed up a new time on the chronometer. In less than an hour he’d be back at camp. He’d breakfast quick, catch a nap while the crew checked and fueled the dragonfly, then head back out for his late morning loop. If things stayed quiet . . .
A sudden mass eclipsed the sun, heading straight for the dragonfly.
“Holy . . . !”
Skyhigh jerked back the sticks, shooting the craft upward and back. The engine shrieked in the riptide of air. Up came the thing, racing toward him, the biggest, darkest Redeemer Skyhigh could imagine. He made to turn, but the creature was already on him, beating its gigantic wings as it hovered in midair. Skyhigh’s finger curled around the gun trigger. If he could just draw a bead . . .
The outline of the thing against the sun seemed wrong somehow. Finally, a great horned head shot fearlessly toward the tiny craft. Through the clouded glass blinked massive yellow eyes. A fanged mouth opened wide, revealing a reptilian tongue.
“Rendor!” roared the creature.
Skyhigh’s hand slipped from the trigger. It wasn’t a Redeemer’s voice that shook his craft, but a dragon’s. Its scaly face filled the canopy, frowning in annoyance at Skyhigh’s silence.
“Are you hard of hearing, human?” it bellowed. “Take me to Rendor!”
THE PROMISE
MERCERON REMOVED HIS PIPE from his coat, sighing as he stuck it between his teeth. He was out of tobacco, out of patience, and grateful just to be on the ground again. Lady Esme rested on his shoulders, slumping in the very same way, both of them exhausted from days of flying.
“I told you,” the dragon growled, “My name’s Merceron. Just tell that to Rendor—he’ll remember me.”
A dozen humans with rifles had swarmed out of the tethered airship the moment he and Esme landed. His arrival caused the expected commotion, but none of the men dared come any closer than twenty-odd yards. Nearby, the noisy contraption he’d faced in the sky landed hastily in the shadow of the airship. Its buzzing wings came to a stop, the glass top popped out, and out came the man he’d terrified in the air. Merceron raised a curious eyebrow at the machine.
“It does look like a dragonfly.”
The young man tossed his helmet to the ground as he rushed forward, his expression incredulous. Lady Esme gave a call when she noticed him.
“Esme?” he exclaimed.
Merceron took the pipe from his mouth. “You’d be Skyhigh Coralin. Right?”
“How’d you—?”
“We have a mutual friend.” Merceron waved his tail in annoyance at the others. “Tell your buddies to back away, would you? I’m tired and cranky, and if anyone shoots me, I might accidentally incinerate them.”
“You must be Merceron!”
“So I’ve been saying,” sighed the dragon. He looked over the airship, impressed by its size. “Is Rendor inside that thing?”
The young flier searched the camp. “He must be. Why are you looking for him?”
Suddenly another man appeared, stepping out from a curtain of rifles. “Coralin, move away from that thing!”
“Thing?” harrumphed Merceron.
The flier gave a surprising smile. “Commander Donnar, this is Merceron,” he said with a flourish. “The dragon who helped Moth and Fiona. That bird on his shoulder is Lady Esme.”
Hearing her name, Esme flew from Merceron’s shoulder toward the Skyknight. The man stretched out his arm, where she landed with a delighted screech.
“You must be a friend,” Merceron observed. “Lady Esme was always rather prickly.”
The older man—Donnar—stood before his soldiers. “What do you want, dragon? You’re not the only one here with firepower.”
Merceron tilted his horned head. So far, every human he’d ever met had been audacious. Then, another figure came rushing through the throng, buttoning up a long frock coat.
“My god!” exclaimed Rendor. “Fifty years and you look exactly the same.” He shouldered confidently past his men. “All of you, put your guns down,” he ordered.
The one called Donnar started. “Governor?”
“Forget it, Erich. This old beast is harmless.” Rendor walked right up to Merceron and crossed his arms. “Aren’t you?”
Merceron looked over the rim of his glasses. “You’ve gotten chubby.”
Rendor didn’t laugh. He turned toward the others, waving them away. “Hey, work to do, remember? I want to get airborne by nightfall.”
Slowly the crowd dispersed. Rendor told Donnar to stay, then turned to Skyhigh. His words fell away when he noticed Esme on the young man’s arm.
“Esme . . .”
His voice was whisper soft. He moved toward the kestrel, reaching out his hand, then pulling it back. “Merceron, does she know what happened to Leroux?”
Merceron shrugged his enormous shoulders. “She’s heard the talk, but it’s hard to know how much she understands. She’s more bird than Skylord now.”
Skyhigh studied Esme sadly. “She doesn’t know about Moth either.”
“Uh, Coralin . . .”
Merceron frowned. “What about Moth?” He looked between the humans. “Rendor, what’s happened?”
Rendor blanched. “I’m sorry, Merceron
. I know why you’ve come, but we don’t have the boy any longer. Whoever told you that—”
“What?” Merceron’s voice boomed through the camp. “You had Moth? He was here?”
Rendor gestured toward the airship. “Before the attack. Our ship . . .”
“Rendor, I didn’t come here looking for Moth! What happened?”
“He’s gone, Merceron. Like I said, we were attacked. A Redeemer—”
Merceron’s head roared forward. “Tell me where he is!”
Rendor stood firm, even as the others backed away. “The boy is gone,” he said calmly. “My granddaughter, too. We tracked them with the help of a Redeemer named Alisaundra. When they saw us, they ran. Fiona fell into the river by the mountains. Captain Coralin picked up Moth.”
“Gone? No! Not dead!”
“We don’t know,” said Rendor. “Maybe Moth’s still alive. Fiona . . .” He paused. “Maybe not.”
“Merceron, I was the one that chased them,” said Skyhigh. “They ran when they saw my dragonfly. We tried to find Fiona, but . . .” His voice trailed off. “We just don’t know.”
“What about this Redeemer?” pressed Merceron. “She did that?” He pointed a claw at the obvious hole in the airship, now covered by mismatched fabric. “She’s the one that took Moth?”
“The night we found them,” said Rendor. “She didn’t take anything else. Just Moth.”
Merceron tried to think. “Then he’s still alive,” he mused. “The Skylords know he can use the Starfinder. They know everything by now.”
“How?” wondered Rendor.
“Because you let a Redeemer get close to him, you fool! They can pick a human brain like a lock. Everything he knows, she knows now. And that means the Skylords know it, too.”
“But he’s alive?” asked Skyhigh. “You’re sure?”
“The Skylords don’t care about Moth. All they want is the Starfinder.” Merceron glared at Rendor. “Sound familiar?”
Rendor brushed the insult aside. “Do you have it?”
“Fiona, Rendor,” Merceron reminded him. “Where did you look for her?”
“Along the river bank,” answered Skyhigh. “It was raining the night she disappeared. I flew out the next morning but didn’t find anything.”
“What about the mountains? Did you search over the mountains?”
“How could we, Merceron?” countered Rendor. “They’re too high. Look at our ship!”
Already Merceron was regretting the reunion. “Look past the mountains for her,” he said. “If Fiona’s alive, that’s where she’ll be.”
Rendor squinted at him. “How do you know that? Did you send them there?”
“Moth didn’t tell us where they were heading,” said Skyhigh. “Why were they following the river?”
“There’s a narrow gorge in the mountains, like a tunnel. The river flows under the mountains there. You may not be able to fly over the mountains, but you can swim there.”
“Where?” asked Rendor.
“Pandera.” Merceron stuck the pipe back in his mouth. “That’s where I sent the children.”
“To the centaurs?” Rendor exclaimed. “Why?”
“To keep them safe, both from you and from the Skylords.”
“Oh, brilliant,” scoffed Rendor. “Now Moth’s been kidnapped and Fiona is drowned. If you wanted to keep them safe you should have kept them with you!”
Merceron snapped back, “Don’t pretend to care so much about your granddaughter. You’re only here for one reason, Rendor.”
“You have the Starfinder,” accused Rendor. “I know Moth gave it to you. You’re lucky the Skylords haven’t found you yet!”
“Whoa!” said Skyhigh, stepping between them. “Merceron, where is Moth? Do you know?”
“The Palace of the Moon,” said Merceron. “Most likely.”
“Great,” grumbled Rendor.
“Palace of the Moon?” Commander Donnar looked at each of them. “What’s that?”
“The city of the Skylords.” Merceron glowered at Rendor. “All these men and you couldn’t even keep a boy safe. And look at your ship!”
“Stop!” cried Skyhigh. “Merceron, why would they take Moth there?”
“It’s obvious,” said Rendor. “They want the Starfinder and they think we’ll trade for it.” He looked expectantly at Merceron. “Well? Do you have it?”
Merceron had almost changed his mind. He’d flown all this way, flown to the very edge of exhaustion, just to face this inscrutable man. He reached into his pocket. He thought about Moth. He thought about Elaniel, his long-dead son. Then he pulled out the Starfinder.
“You want this?” enticed Merceron, holding the Starfinder just beyond Rendor’s reach.
Rendor smirked. “You know I do. And you know why.”
“Here, then.” Merceron placed the Starfinder into Rendor’s hands. Donnar and Skyhigh Coralin leaned in to see it.
“That’s it?” remarked Skyhigh. “It doesn’t look like much. And it sure doesn’t look worth all this trouble.”
“That’s because you have no idea what the Starfinder can do,” said Rendor. “Anyone who masters the Starfinder masters all the creatures of this realm.” He looked up with a wink. “Isn’t that right, Merceron?”
“Is that what you told Moth?” Merceron asked.
“I told him the truth, which is more than you or Leroux ever did. Now tell me—Why did you come here, Merceron? If not for Moth and Fiona, why?”
“Because I am defeated,” admitted Merceron. “Because I’m trapped and have nowhere else to turn. The Skylords know I have the Starfinder. They won’t rest until they find me.”
“And kill you,” Rendor pointed out. “So you’re giving it to me?”
“Yes,” nodded Merceron. “If you agree to take it back across the Reach. The Starfinder can’t be destroyed, and the dragons won’t help me hide it. You’re the only one who can get it out of here, Rendor. You must take it back to your own world before the Skylords come for you.”
“Take it back?” cried Donnar. “To Calio?”
“The Skylords won’t follow you through the Reach,” said Merceron. “At least not yet, not until they’re ready to fight you for it.” He looked intently at Rendor, who was vexingly silent. “I see you thinking, Rendor. Stop it. No schemes this time. Promise me you’ll take the Starfinder away from here.”
Rendor turned toward his damaged airship. “It’ll take time to get underway again,” he said, troubled. “Tomorrow morning at the earliest.”
“Be as quick as you can,” Merceron insisted. “Redeemers are already gathering to stop you from leaving. Soon there will be Skylords too.”
Skyhigh nodded gravely. “I’ve seen some Redeemers out on my patrol. Mostly in the south.”
“Blocking the way home,” said Donnar.
Rendor asked, “What about Fiona? If she’s alive . . .”
“There’s no time for you to get her,” said Merceron. “If she is alive I’ll find her. I’ll get her back across the Reach, but for now she’ll be safe with the centaurs. The Skylords won’t bother her there.”
“And Moth?” asked Skyhigh. “We can’t just leave him with the Skylords.”
Merceron smiled at the young pilot. “I’m glad to hear you say that, because we’re not going to leave him. We’re going after him. You, me, and Esme.”
Skyhigh didn’t hesitate. “Tell me how.”
“That contraption of yours,” said Merceron, pointing at the dragonfly. “How fast can it go?”
“Fast enough,” said Rendor. “I designed it, after all.”
“You designed it? And it actually flies?”
“Probably faster than you, you winged frog.”
“Even so, it’s a long way to the Palace of the Moon. Can she make a three-day flight?”
“Of course not. Maybe four days at worst. If you fly carefully and carry extra tanks. And glide a lot.”
Merceron groaned. “Then I’ll have to carry it there
myself. You too, Skyknight.”
“Why?” asked Skyhigh eagerly. “What’s your plan?”
“I will tell you,” said Merceron. “But first . . .” He rocked back on his hind legs. “I want to hear you swear it, Rendor. Swear to me that you’ll take the Starfinder home with you. And I don’t want a politician’s promise. Swear it to me as an Eldrin Knight.”
“Fine,” grumbled Rendor. “I give you my word as an Eldrin Knight, Merceron. I’ll get the Starfinder out of here.”
THE WORD OF AN ELDRIN KNIGHT
RENDOR SAT BACK AGAINST the nobbly trunk of a pine tree, far enough from the Avatar to be alone with his thoughts. Dusk was falling, and his men were still hard at work. After stripping everything imaginable out of Skyhigh’s dragonfly, Rendor had managed to cram it full of extra fuel, leaving barely enough room for Skyhigh and Esme to squeeze themselves inside. Merceron had spent the day getting much-needed sleep. He and Rendor hadn’t bothered speaking again, and that was fine with Rendor, because he had nothing to say, not even good-bye. He watched with the rest of them as Merceron lifted the dragonfly into the air, disappearing north as the sun slipped down the horizon. Then, wanting desperately to get away, Rendor wandered out of camp.
His pistol lay ready in his lap. The Starfinder remained aboard the Avatar under heavy guard. Riflemen stood lookout atop the airship, searching the sky. Rendor took a cigar from his breast pocket. He’d been craving one all day but only had a handful of them left. He snapped open his lighter, flamed the tip, and drew his first, pleasure-filled puff.
It was a long, dangerous way north to the Skylords. And Merceron was old. Rendor wondered at his chances, but he knew why the old beast was so willing to try. He’d already lost one boy.
Rendor stared at the mountains through the cigar smoke.
Minutes passed. The sun crept lower, nearly gone now. Rendor heard a noise behind him but didn’t bother reaching for his pistol.
“Governor?” Donnar appeared from behind the tree. “Bottling’s finished securing the tarp. He wants you to look it over, make sure of it.”
“Fine,” Rendor nodded. Patching the hole in the Avatar’s carriage had been harder than he’d guessed. He was glad the job was finally done. “Still working on the engines?”