The Crucible of the Dragon God

There at least eight people continued to busy themselves with piloting the craft, a couple of them agitated, pointing and shouting roughly in his direction. But what they said, was lost in the shrieking of the wind. Slowhand tried waving once more, one-handed, keeping a firm grip on his makeshift rope, but his potential saviours were clearly too involved with their duties to notice him.

Who the hells were these people?

Timing his drop to a split second, so that he would impact directly in the centre of the flying machine's airbag, he let go.

He manoeuvred himself as the wind whistled by him, turning so that he would impact on his back, glancing downward to ensure his target remained dead centre of his fall.

Slowhand suddenly found himself impacting so hard on the flying machine's airbag that the wind was knocked out of him. He lay there for a second, squirming and cringing in pain — not quite as soft as he'd expected considering this thing was light enough to fly.

The realisation came once more that he was lying on some unknown machine that flew like a bird or floated like a cloud but clearly wasn't either, and a sudden desire to feel something firmer than cloth beneath him possessed him.

The main centre of activity was towards the front of the airship, however, and until he knew who he was dealing with he thought it wise to descend from the airbag at the opposite end of the craft.

He turned onto his front and crawled towards the rear, using the thick ropes that reinforced the airbag to pull himself along. Slowhand was about to flip downwards when he pulled suddenly back with a 'Whoa! '

The reason for this was what had so far been hidden from his view behind the vast balloon. A great, orange orb that pulsed there with an energy unknown to him, but which made his scalp itch, his eyes bulge and his skin throb. Whatever it was, it seemed to be powering the craft, but he wanted nowhere near it.

Instead, Slowhand manoeuvred himself to where he could drop to a quiet part of the deck and, using the ropes to restrain his descent, slipped downwards until he could grab the lowest rope and flip himself over to land feet first on the deck below. His impact was quiet enough but he still dropped into a gentle squat, as if his additional weight might prove too much for the airship and force it out of the sky. He stayed that way for a few moments, gazing left and right at the still level skyline, then experimented further by thumping the deck with his fist, harder and harder with each swing. Satisfied that the machine was still aloft, he rose to a standing position and jumped on the spot, once — tentatively — then again, and then, in a state of merry disbelief, over and over again. The deck remained solid beneath him.

There was only one thing left that he had to do to prove to himself that what was happening was happening. Slowhand ran to the side of the deck and peered over its railing, down towards the floor of the valley, far below. If he could have reached, he would have swung a hand below the hull, checking for invisible supports or struts. But he realised that was even more implausible than what he was seeing and, at last, came to accept that he was indeed up in the air with nothing underneath him.

No doubt about it. He was flying.

Well, okay, the machine beneath him was flying.

'I see your clothes still fall off at every opportunity. For the Lord of All's sake, throw him a cloak someone.'

Slowhand turned around.

The crew had made their way from the nose to where he stood and were gathered in a semi circle, regarding him. Whatever individuals he had expected to be manning this strange craft, he had to admit he hadn't expected it to be them. He looked at the cloak emblazoned with a crossed circle without saying a word. It wasn't the fact that they were Final Faith that disconcerted him but rather who appeared to be leading them.

Tall, lithe and possessed of the same windswept mane of blonde hair as himself, she hadn't changed much in the six years since he had last seen her.

'Hello, sis.'

'Brother.'

Slowhand swallowed. It wasn't the unexpected encounter that made him do so, but the way Jenna had said that single word. For a moment he had forgotten that while his sister may not have altered physically, the Faith had long since indoctrinated her into their ways. She was not the person he had known, and that 'brother' had been delivered almost as if she were conversing not with her own flesh and blood but simply a fellow member of her damned religion.

'Jenna,' he said. 'Jenna…'

'As touching as this reunion is,' a figure behind Jenna said, 'we have a problem requiring your attention.'

Jenna looked at him and the figure threw back his hood. Slowhand felt an involuntary snarl curl his upper lip. He was staring at a man he had not seen since his incarceration in the Final Faith's dungeons beneath Scholten Cathedral. Querilous Fitch. That he was here, with Jenna, made his blood boil — because this was the man who played with people's minds.

'Was it you?' Slowhand demanded. 'Was it you who took my sister away?'

'I hardly think now is the time — '

'We're talking!' Slowhand growled.

'You will be dying if you do not heed my words,' Fitch said matter-of-factly, and looked up.

Slowhand followed his gaze, as did Jenna.

The airship was now passing out from under the shadow of Thunderlung's Cry, but the outcrop of rock was barely visible for the number of dark shapes that were dropping from it towards them. The archer felt his heart lurch. Seemingly with scant regard for their own survival, the k'nid were flinging themselves at the airship, many of them plummeting past into the abyss, but others falling on the balloon, whilst their brethren clawed for purchase on the hull of the gondola.

'Dammit!' Jenna declared. 'Persistent little bastards, aren't they?' She span to the crew. 'All hands — prepare to repel boarders. Mister Ransom, Mister Leech, take us hard to port, full power. This'll be a rough ride, people, but trust me we'll shake our visitors off.'

'Shake them off?' Slowhand said. 'You must have weapons. Use them!'

'What good did your weapon do, brother?' Jenna snapped back at him, striking Suresight dismissively with the back of her hand. 'Tell me that!'

Slowhand couldn't deny how useless his bow had proven, and looked desperately at the k'nid, biting his lip. 'Is there something I can do?'

'Yes. Stay out of the way.'

With that, Jenna moved off to position herself just behind the two men manning the airship's twin wheels, barking orders from where she stood, omitting only Querilous Fitch whose duty seemed to consist wholly of standing stock still and glowering at the archer. Slowhand ignored him, unable to help but be impressed with the way this crew handled their strange vessel.

Since the debacle of the Clockwork King, he had come to regard the Final Faith not only as dangerous but as dangerously irresponsible. Blundering buffoons whose interference in the peninsula's past could bring it close to doomsday. But here it was different and he was sure that was due in no small part to the tactical skills of his sister. She handled her crew with ease and they repaid her with utmost loyalty. Slowhand felt a momentary surge of pride, recognising that she had obviously come a long way since the last time he had seen her, even if her development had taken place under the auspices of the Faith.

The only thing that gave him cause for concern now was what the hells she was doing — especially as the airship was heading straight for the rock face.

'Urm, Jenna…'

'Steady as she goes,' Jenna ordered, seemingly unphased. 'Steady… steady… and… turn now!'

Both of the men manning the wheels reacted instantly, spinning hard to the left. Slowhand felt the deck tip