by James Hunter
Osmark rode in a custom saddle, strapped in by a leather five-point harness studded with brass buckles and more rivets. And instead of a set of reins to control his mount, he had an odd collection of gear shifts, pedals, gauges, crank wheels, and a bizarre joystick. The fantasy equivalent of a fighter jet. The creature’s eyes glowed with fiery power, but they were also devoid of life. The Clockwork minion was a machine, pure and simple, one entirely in Osmark’s control.
“What happened here?” I asked, turning away as Osmark shrugged free from his harness and dismounted, boots crushing blood-soaked grass underfoot.
“Goblin Thralls,” the mayor said, his voice tired, dark bags loitering under his eyes. “Based on their gear”—he hefted a set of steampunk goggles from his inventory—“my guess is they came from the Bastion of Innovation on the Anemoi Overwatch.” He glanced up, his movements lethargic, crushed under the weight of sorrow, and pointed to one of the massive tree-covered islands floating off in the distance.
“And how exactly did they manage to get past all our defenses?” Osmark asked, his voice hard as stone and sharp as steel. “They didn’t breach the gates, and your siege weapons are still intact, so how?”
“They didn’t come on foot,” Abby said. “Not all of them, anyway. A few squads stormed in from the tree line, and more came through the meadow, but the traps and proximity grenades took care of those. The main force, however, came by air—a whole swarm of them, piled into airships. While the guards were busy at the gates, they flew in and rappelled down. Flooded us before we could get any kind of proper responses in place.” She paused, stealing a look over my shoulder. I glanced back as Cutter, Amara, and Jay slipped past Osmark’s mount.
“Boss,” Jay said, nodding to Osmark, “good to see you two made it back in one piece. How’d the mission go below?”
Osmark waved the question away with one hand. “Later,” he barked, the reflection of the flames flickering in his goggle lenses. “Casualties?” he asked, his voice hardly a whisper.
“Twenty dead,” the mayor replied. “Six Satyrs, four Gnomes, ten Pixies.” He hesitated, eyes flickering toward Ari, then darting away again.
“Nirug,” Ari said from my shoulder, her voice soft, her gaze laser focused on the mayor. “Tarvo? Is he okay?”
The Satyr’s lips pressed into a thin line as he shook his head. “I’m afraid not, little one. He fought bravely.” He faltered, eyes sad. “You would’ve been proud, dear one. But he fell. His body is with the others.”
The little Pixy wheezed, choked back a little sob, then darted away from us, the muted sounds of her crying quickly lost to the crackle-pop of burning fires.
“Tarvo was her brother,” the mayor explained. “Her twin. A sweet boy. And I’m afraid that isn’t the only piece of bad news. On top of the deaths, we lost the children. Twelve, all abducted by the raiders.” He paused staring up at the Artificer, eyes pleading. Do something, that look said. “No doubt bound for the Bastion of Innovation on the Anemoi Overwatch.”
“Why kidnap them?” Osmark said as the circle grew strangely still. Heavy. “Why not kill them on the spot like the others?”
The mayor faltered, dropping his head, hand tightening around the handle of his rapier. “Impossible to say,” he finally replied, “but my guess? They intend to feast. Their king, the Elemental Architect, has a taste for the flesh of Gnomes.”
“Can we catch them?” Osmark asked, wheeling in a circle.
“Aye,” the mayor said, rubbing at his chin. “Possibly. They have a twenty-minute head start on you, but the Anemoi Overwatch is a ways off and the Goblin Zephyrs are slow. Powerful but slaggin’ slow. With mounts such as these”—he swept a hand toward Devil and the Clockwork Dragon—“aye, you might catch them.”
“Mount up. Now,” Osmark growled, long legs carrying him to his mount in three strides. “We don’t have a second to waste. There’s no doubt this was a counterassault—retaliation against the Vale for assisting us. Which means these things are in active communication with Vox-Malum. I’d wager my left hand there is another pillar located at this Bastion of Innovation. And if not, it’s likely their Elemental Architect will be able to provide us with another clue.”
Osmark played it off as pragmaticism, but something in his eyes, in the lines of his face, told me this wasn’t just about the mission. This was about the kids. This was about the Gnomish girl with her pigtails.
“It’s treacherous flying, though,” the mayor said, though a spark of hope gleamed in his eyes. “Brutal winds, a warren of shifting asteroids. And that’s to say nothing of the natural predators. Formidable creatures, fashioned from the mind of the Elemental Architect. Part metal, part flesh, likely twisted by necrotic power.” He paused, grimaced. “You’ll need a guide.”
“I can lead them,” Ari offered, zipping up from wherever she’d been and alighting on the mayor’s shoulder like a hummingbird. “I’ve visited the Overwatch before. I can do it.”
“You sure you’re good?” I asked, eyeing the blood decorating her hands.
She grimaced, murder burning away the unshed tears in her eyes. “This is on me. I led the Dark Wanderer here. I helped unleash this plague on our land. I’m going to fix it.” She pulled her tiny sword free, the blade glimmering as it caught the firelight. “And I’m going to make the Stuk vuile Goblins who killed my brother pay. I’ll make all of them pay.” She might have only been eight inches tall, but the heat in her words sent shivers racing along my spine.
I was just glad she was on our side.
“Hey, before we get in the air,” I said, pulling open my inventory, “I have a couple of trinkets that might help even the playing field.” I handed out the loot we’d taken off the crab, giving Cutter and Amara their gear, then grabbing Abby’s staff and whipping it toward her. She caught it with one hand, a malicious grin spreading across her face as she pulled up the stats.
“Let’s go blow some shit up,” she said, a green fireball forming above the head of the staff.
NINETEEN_
Getaway
We cruised through the night, the Vale only a pinprick of firelight fading away far below. The sun had fully set, but between the winking stars and the twin moons—both full and round—it was easy enough to make our way. I rode point on Devil, Ari clinging low against my shoulder so she could whisper into my ear, Cutter at my back. It felt weird to have him riding with me instead of Abby, but I didn’t trust the thief not to shank Osmark in the kidneys. And pairing him with Jay would’ve been like packing fireworks and matches into a drum of napalm.
So instead, Abby rode with the Artificer and Amara rode behind the monk. I just prayed the Huntress was professional enough not to “accidentally” push Jay from his seat mid-flight.
Devil leveled out from his breakneck climb as we broke through a hazy bank of clouds blazing with silver moonlight. Below us, a purple river snaked its way through rolling hills interrupted by occasional rocky outcroppings and thickets of trees. Ahead lay the implausible drifting islands, pushed along by stiff winds and partially obscured by meandering cloud pockets. It was hard to tell from below, but from here, I realized there was actually a series of larger islands—each one the size of a city—around which the smaller islands orbited.
According to Ari, the Anemoi Overwatch, housing the Bastion of Innovation, was the largest of the air-bound islands. It loomed on the distant horizon like a brooding giant, overseeing its lesser children. You see anything, Devil? I sent through the link while straining to make out the shapes of blimps. If they were out there, I didn’t see them.
Not yet, came a terse reply. But I can smell them. Their vessels reek of oil and smoke, dead leather, and sweaty bodies. Fresh. Which means they move slowly. We will catch them. And when we do, we will skin them alive and eat their bones. The statement was vicious and bloodthirsty, but Devil delivered it matter-of-factly, the way someone else might say they were going to go to the grocery store to pick up bread and milk. We flew in silence f
or a handful of minutes, the winds beating furiously against us, and the smaller drifting islands—some the size of SUVs, others as large as a house—drew closer.
Osmark stuck to my left while Jay flew on my right, each one lingering just behind me so we formed a classic “V.” I hadn’t seen the monk’s mount in action since Ravenkirk—and that had only been secondhand—but the creature looked formidable: a giant tiger, easily the size of a grizzly bear, its fur made of living flame, its golden eagle’s wings easily thirty feet across. What is that thing? I asked Devil, my curiosity getting the better of me.
Flame Sphinx, the Drake replied, stealing a sidelong glance at the beast, right wing lifting a hair, nudging us left. Dangerous. Intelligent. Honorable. Rare. They dwell in the Barren Sands. Most act as vault guardians, but a handful roam free and wild. I have never heard of a human claiming one as a mount. He paused, eyeing the creature again, cataloging its pumping wings and burning fur. One day, I’d like to pit my strength against it. To kill it.
I snorted and rolled my eyes. Of course that’s the first thing Devil would want to do. Strip away the scales, spikes, and wings, and Devil was really just a giant cat with an overinflated sense of his own self-worth and a desire to hunt mice.
“This is where things are going to get rough,” Ari yelled into my ear as we approached the outer edge of the first island. “We’ll have sporadic gusts of high wind from the westerly jet stream, plus the asteroids and the hunters. I have no doubt they’ll be watching from the trees.” She gestured toward the nearest island covered in thick greenery. Forests, filled with unseen monsters. Flying made it borderline impossible to talk, so I pulled up comms and reached out to Abby and Amara, relaying the info as Devil swooped beneath a slowly rotating stone the size of a minivan orbiting the first island.
A gentle wind beat at my face, thick with the scent of pine, though a sickly-sweet smell like rotten fruit loitered just beneath.
Devil banked left, angling toward the island, sheltering us from the winds on the leeward side of the floating mountain. We skirted along the jagged cliff line, Devil sampling the air for signs of the zephyrs while Cutter and I scanned the forest, searching for any sign of potential trouble. Each island seemed like its own little ecosystem, trees straining skyward, thick foliage covering the ground like a carpet. A babbling brook meandered through the vegetation before spilling off the edge, raining water down, down, down toward the earth below. Droplets of misting water caught the silver moonlight, filling the air with night-dark rainbows.
Beautiful. Haunting.
“I don’t like this, Jack,” Cutter muttered behind me, shifting uncomfortably in the saddle. “We’re being watched. Hunted. But they’re keeping out of sight, whatever the bloody hells they are.”
“Yeah,” Ari hollered in my ear, “he’s right. Probably the Architects’ experiments.”
I caught a blur of movement in the leafy canopy, almost as though we were being taunted, but whatever had moved was too quick to track. Here then gone, leaving only the faint rustle of leaves behind. We flew that way for another few minutes, the rustling growing in intensity the farther into the warren of islands we flew. Now, it seemed an unseen army of eyes watched our every movement. Stalking out path. Branches snapped, undergrowth shifted, tree boughs swayed.
I tried to nudge Devil out away from the lush islands—to give us a greater buffer—but then we risked heading into the asteroid fields, erratically orbiting around in never-ending loops.
As eerie as the eyes were, the fast-moving rocks were far more dangerous.
Eventually, we zagged around a crescent-shaped island covered in towering palms and improbable fruit trees and caught sight of the zephyrs for the first time. A pair of them.
They were massive things, each the size of a naval destroyer, puttering along through the sky. The blimps were bulbous canvas objects, covered in wooden bows and fastened together with heavy rivets. The ships dangled below, suspended by great iron chains, each link the size of my closed fist. They looked like old-timey pirate clippers, the hulls fashioned from heavy planks of red oak, fortified with steel slabs, copper fittings, and brass piping. A great steam-powered engine was affixed to each ship’s stern, belching greasy smoke into the air.
A double fistful of formidable cannons jutted from each side, ready to unleash a barrage of firepower, while a Gatling gun adorned both the bow and stern. Green-skinned Goblins scampered across the deck, some scaling the ratlines like gangly spiders while others worked crankshafts and gearshifts or shoveled coal into an inferno of an engine located toward the aft of the ship. A few pointed at us, shouting manically, though I couldn’t hear what they were saying. Not with the wind stealing their words.
I didn’t know a lot about naval vessels, but it was safe to assume the crew quarters would be belowdecks, along with the cargo hold. If the Gnomish children were still alive—and I could only pray they were—that’s where they’d be.
“Hang on tight,” I hollered, digging my heels into Devil’s sides, urging him on. A rumble built in Devil’s chest, smoke wafting from his nostrils as he beat his leathery wings, rocketing recklessly forward. Devil could be single-minded, and with the scent of blood in his nose, he would stop at nothing. I pulled my warhammer free as I focused on the rear zephyr, two hundred feet and closing. It was obvious now the behemoth airships couldn’t outrun us; instead they were scrambling to engage. A handful of Goblins zipped over the ratlines, tugging at a set of ropes. A great wooden jibboom popped from the side, unfurling a canvas fin that billowed out as it caught a stiff breeze.
The shifty bastards were bringing the starboard side of the vessel to bear on us so they could blast us from the air with their cannons. But even this movement was slow and ungainly. These things were built to withstand buffeting winds and the unpredictable asteroids circling the floating islands. To haul their raiding crew and carry off the spoils of war. They were obviously not build for high speed chases or fancy aerial maneuvering. Thunder rolled in a wave as the cannons unleashed their first volley—muzzles belching green flame and acrid smoke.
A wall of metal careened toward us, but Devil was already moving.
“Bloody hells,” I heard Cutter bark behind me, arms flexing tight around my gut as Devil barrel-rolled right. Ari giggled madly, clinging to my shoulder for dear life as a burning ball of lead the size of a basketball screamed past us and the world inverted, once, twice, three times. Devil swooped low and leveled out, left wing angled down, right propped up as another cannon ball shrieked by just overhead. Cutter was tugging frantically at my shoulder, but I was in the zone. I whipped the reins, faster, faster, faster, gaze fixed on the blimp ahead.
Devil climbed as we shot past the edge of one floating island, less than a hundred feet away now from the rear blimp and closing.
Cutter kept at his frantic tugging, hollering at me from behind. But without the island to shelter us from the jet stream, his words were lost in an instant, snatched away and replaced by the howling of the wind. I hunkered low, pressing my forearms against my thighs as Devil banked left and climbed again, narrowly avoiding an incoming boulder as large as a horse. We were nearly across the blusterous gulf between islands when something slammed into us like a battering ram. The world flipped and spun, a chaotic whirl of light and sound and movement as we plummeted from the air.
Before I could get my bearings, inch-long teeth sunk into my left calf, and pain raced through my body like wildfire. I kicked my leg, desperately trying to shake the jaws free, but the teeth only dug in deeper, the pressure mounting on my leg until I heard a resounding crack. Blinding pain enveloped me, stars momentarily cavorting across my vision as a pop-up flashed:
<<<>>>
Debuffs Added
Fractured Leg: You cannot use your left leg! Movement Rate reduced by 65%; duration, 2 minutes.
<<<>>>
Devil pulled us from the dive, wings straining against the gale, and I caught sight of the thing gnawing on my leg for the first
time. The creature was the size of a Rottweiler, its body covered in a combination of brilliant emerald scales and slabs of bronze riveted into the creature’s flesh. It had a long crescent head with the huge tearing beak of a toucan, which was positively studded with flesh-ripping teeth. An honest to goodness pterodactyl. Though it had been heavily augmented with mechanical parts like some sort of lab experiment.
[Winged Bio-Thrall]
Great.
I thrust my hand down and conjured an Umbra Bolt, firing into the creature’s beady, reptilian black eyes. The blast landed with a wallop, eating through a chunk of the Bio-Thrall’s HP and jarring its jaws free from my skin. The teeth hurt almost as much coming out as they had going in. Blood leaked from the myriad of puncture wounds, staining my armor crimson, but I ignored that as the creature dropped away and Devil swerved right, bringing us just out of the Thrall’s range.
A brilliant prismatic beam of rainbow light exploded from Ari’s petite hand, spraying the Thrall in the face. The attack didn’t hurt the creature, but it sure dazed it, buying us a little extra time. Exploiting the opening, I conjured another Umbra Bolt in my palm, but Cutter beat me to the punch: a wave of smoky, conjured blades sliced the air, peppering the creature’s face, chest, and wings.
Critical Hit.
Its HP lurched again, though not enough to kill it for good. Still, the real damage had been done. One of Cutter’s blades protruded from a buzzing mechanical servo mounted near one of the creature’s wings. The compact box vomited sparks and smoke as the engine gave out and the creature’s wing ceased. With one wing down, the creature lurched, fighting to maintain altitude while flapping uselessly with its remaining wing. No luck. It twirled in circles, spiraling toward the earth far below.