She hauled him across the deck of the burning ship to the starboard side, practically dragging him. The flit that had crashed earlier lay jammed against the railing, its frame twisted and bent. «That won’t hold us both,” he said. «Leave me.»
She ignored him, pulling the flit around so that it faced the port side of the airship, then jerking open the diapson crystal housing and yanking out the depleted crystal. Reaching into her pack, she retrieved her spare and fitted it in place. How she still managed to have that pack after what she had been through was incomprehensible to Pied. «What of the others?»
She laid him across the frame, strapping him securely into place. «As far as I know, all gone.»
Thick smoke and flames surrounded them, forming a wall that closed them away from everything that lay beyond, hiding them from view. Federation soldiers were shouting wildly from somewhere close, and they heard the sound of boots thudding across the ship’s decking by the ruined weapon. Troon ignored them, concentrating on the task at hand, her hands steady and sure. When she was satisfied that he was held fast, she lay down on top of him, wrapping her arms around his chest and her legs around the back part of the frame.
« Ready, Captain?» she whispered.
« Ready.»
« This won’t be pleasant. Hold tight.»
She opened the parse tube, pulled back on the rudders, and threw the throttle all the way forward. The flit shot ahead as if catapulted from a sling, burrowing a tunnel through the smoke and flames, and lifting off the deck to clear the jagged stanchions of the broken railing with just enough room to spare.
An instant later, they were soaring across the Federation airfield, shouts rising from the throats of those below, missiles whipping past them in swarms. Pied heard Troon grunt, and her grip on him tightened. He felt a stinging in his leg, then another on his neck. He closed his eyes, waiting to die. The flit jerked and twisted as it flew, a victim of its damaged frame, unable to fully right itself. But Troon held the controls steady and kept them flying, moving out of the light to gain the darkness beyond.
They flew on for what seemed like an impossibly long time, wrapped together on the flit, sweeping through the night on an erratic path, the flit repeatedly jerking as if stricken, its frame shuddering. Pied wanted to look back to see if there was any pursuit, but he lacked both strength and maneuverability. He settled instead for staying quiet and balanced, trying to help them stay aloft.
« Are they back there?» he asked finally, the wind whipping the words from his mouth as he spoke them.
She pressed close. «Somewhere, but they haven’t found us yet.»
He fought to stay awake, but that was growing increasingly difficult. His strength was failing, and he thought that if she hadn’t lashed him to the frame, he would not have been able to hang on. He felt the dampness of his own blood all down his body, and the arrows and darts buried in his flesh burned and throbbed.
After he hadn’t heard or felt anything from Troon for a long time, he said to her, «Are you all right?»
There was no response. She lay heavily atop him, unmoving.
« Troon?»
« Still here.»
« You’re hurt?»
« A little. Like you. But we’ll get through.»
« I think I’m hurt pretty bad.»
« Don’t say that.»
« You should have left me.»
« Couldn’t do that, Captain.»
« You should have saved yourself.»
She didn’t say anything for a long time, then she put her lips close to his ear and said, «Saving you is the same as saving myself.» And then he thought he heard her say, so softly he couldn’t be sure, «I love you, Pied.»
There was light ahead of them now, a fuzzy ball against the black, dim but growing brighter, and he found himself staring at it, watching it grow. He was a deadweight atop the flit, and Troon was a deadweight atop him. The flit was no longer flying straight, but beginning to slide downward, to dip and sway like a leaf tumbling from a tree.
« Troon?»
No answer. Pied stared at the light ahead. It didn’t seem to have a source, didn’t seem to be coming from anywhere. It occurred to him that there wasn’t any light at all, that the light was inside his head. It occurred to him that he was watching the approach of his own death.
Fascinated, he kept his gaze fixed as it became a huge glowing ball and then swallowed him.
Nineteen
Sen Dunsidan was awake long before his guards came to rouse him, dressed and waiting by the time they did. A light sleeper in the best of circumstances, he heard the sounds of the battle being fought on the airfield from inside his tented compound at the center rear of the Federation encampment almost a mile away. At first, he thought the entire camp was under attack, and his sole thought was to reach his private airship and flee. But as he dressed, frightened and angry and confused, standing in the dark to keep from becoming a ready target, he realized that the tumult was much farther away than the site of his compound and that any danger to him was still remote.
Nevertheless, he was edgy and impatient by the time his aide called to him from outside the tent flap. «My lord?»
« What is it?» he snapped, unable to keep his voice from betraying him. «What’s happening?»
« The airfield is under attack!»
He knew the truth at once then. He didn’t even have to leave his tent. The Free–born had watched him test–fly theDechtera the day before, had taken note of how she performed, and had decided to act on the results. Having already witnessed the devastation wrought to the Elven airfleet, they would not have held anything back in their efforts to destroy her this time. He cursed himself for a fool, waiting one day too long, confident that he had them hemmed in and helpless, waiting for the end. He should have paid better attention to what had happened to the command he had sent to finish off those Elves. He had thought them helpless, too.
Still, why was it that his army, the biggest and most powerful army in the Four Lands, couldn’t manage to keep the Free–born from breaking through the siege lines and reaching the airfield, which was miles away? Why was it that his soldiers couldn’t manage to protect a single airship?
He pushed through the tent flap into the night and saw the huge blaze east, the flames rising up against the darkened horizon, an inferno. He felt a sinking feeling in his stomach, the last of his hopes fading, his worst fears confirmed. TheDechtem was destroyed. His weapon was gone. His plans for a strike against the Free–born on the morrow were ruined. He knew it as surely as he knew his own name. He stood looking at the flickering glow of the fire in stunned silence, his aide hanging back, his guards keeping well away from him until they knew what his reaction was going to be.
He turned to his aide. «Find Etan Orek. Bring him to the airfield.»
His aide hurried away, and he signaled to his guards to bring up the carriage. Someone was going to pay for this.
It took them only minutes to reach the airfield, which was filled with soldiers running in every direction, some of them carting off the bodies of the dead and wounded, some of them trying to put out the flames of the fires that burned all across the field. The biggest of the fires was fed by what remained of the charred hulk of theDechtera, a smoking, blackened ruin, as he had known she would be. Several other airships were burning, as well, but it didn’t appear that they would be a total loss. Weapons lay scattered everywhere, and he could just barely identify twisted pieces of flits.
Composing himself, putting in place his politician’s look, the one that masked his true feelings and left his features devoid of expression, he climbed from the carriage.
