Voidhawk

by Halstead, Jason

  The Voidhawk cleared a thousand feet before the first of the airships launched. A second and third soon followed, and then two more joined them. They raced up towards the Voidhawk, although to Dexter and the others they seemed pathetic and slow. They leveled off more than halfway to the ground and waited for the small ships to approach.

  When they did, a man operating a heavy ballista on the bow of the small skiff called across to them, “This is Lord Falson’s territory, land your vessel and lay down your arms!”

  Dexter chuckled and shook his head. “This is the Voidhawk, and I’m her Captain, Dexter Silvercloud. We’re under contract with your Lord Falson. We’ll land, but only to speak with General Havamyr.”

  Dexter waved the metal scroll case that contained the contract meaningfully. The spokesman conversed briefly with the man in the covered helm of the flying boat and then turned back to regard Dexter. “Follow us down,” he said, trying to sound menacing.

  Dexter nodded and called out for the crew to set the Voidhawk down, following the skiff that served as a harbor pilot. The final trip was easy since the wind had died down. The crew had plenty of experience taking off and landing, it was flying through clouds and high winds they were unaccustomed to.

  Dexter was the first one off the ship, meeting the self-proclaimed speaker for the armies on the ground. Dexter presented him with the scroll case silently, not bothering to speak with the man.

  The soldier skimmed through the concord and then rolled it up and slipped it back into the case. He handed it back to Dexter without a word, but the Captain did notice that he seemed upset by the terms of the document.

  “Follow me, Captain,” he said, his voice clipped.

  Dexter smiled and followed, taking Rosh and Keshira with him, but leaving Jenna behind with the rest of the crew to tie down the ship and stand guard.

  Many of the soldiers had their own servants. They served as pages, messengers, cooks, cleaners, squires, and even whores. Some dressed plainly while others were not dressed at all. Rosh stared open eyed into a tent they passed where a soldier was busying himself with bedding a woman. Dexter cleared his throat to regain his attention and, when that did not work, he smacked the large man on the arm.

  Rosh just grinned and continued to look around him.

  “I could get used a place like this, Dex,” he said.

  Dexter sighed and continued to follow the soldier through the camp. Slavery was not confined to just the palaces of the nobles.

  “A day will come when the slaves will rise up and overthrow their masters,” Dexter said in a low voice for Rosh’s benefit.

  “I ain’t saying you’re wrong,” Rosh responded, smiling and watching a shapely slave walk away from him with a bucket in her hands and only a scrap of a loin cloth hanging from her waist. “Just saying this might not be so bad a job after all.”

  Dexter bit back his reply and kept walking.

  They entered a large tent without preamble. A man wearing worn and stained clothing that had been fine before he started his campaign was finishing up some stew and looking at some maps on a table. He glanced up at them and put down his bowl, taking a long drink of water from a skin.

  “General Havamyr,” their guide said, “this is the Captain of the airship.”

  He smiled and rubbed his hands together. “That is a fine ship you have there, Captain…”

  “General, Lord Falson sends his greetings and bids you to read this,” Dexter said, stepping forward and presenting the scroll case to the general.

  The smile faded from General Havamyr’s face. He took it and removed the scroll, unrolling it and scanning its contents. The smile returned slowly. Finished, he rolled it up and put it back in the case, returning it to Dexter.

  “Well, I can say I’m disappointed I can’t commandeer the Voidhawk for my army,” he admitted honestly. “But I can also say I’m pleased to have you on my side regardless.”

  Dexter returned his smile. “We’re happy to offer assistance, General. The sooner we can help you, the sooner we can be on our way.”

  The general nodded and looked down at his maps again. “Tell me what help you can offer, Captain Silvercloud.”

  Dexter glanced at Rosh and then down at the map. He studied it briefly, then began to speak on what the Voidhawk could do to help them out, from spying to high altitude bombing runs. It was even possible for them to transport a few dozen troops or more at a time behind enemy lines. They stayed late into the night, discussing strategies and tactics.

  * * * *

  The very next day the Voidhawk flew out on her first mission. Simple reconnaissance, she flew high over head and mapped out the enemy positions. Several enemy airships took the sky to thwart them, but none could come high enough to be a threat. They returned that afternoon, laughing at their own invulnerability and their growing ease with handling the gusts of wind and other weather conditions that developed.

  The following day Xander glanced at the dark clouds that rolled in on them. He abandoned his post and hurried to the bridge. Jenna snapped at him on his way past to return to his post, but he ignored her and hurried past. Cursing and promising him punishment his ancestors would feel, she hurried to the ropes he had been manning and readied herself to do his job.

  “Captain, they’re using magic against us!” Xander said when he burst through the doors.

  Dexter glanced at him and then out the windows at the darkening sky, but he saw nothing to worry him. “What magic? How do you know?”

  “I’m a wizard!” He snapped, then took a breath and calmed down. “You wanted me for my talents, don’t turn them aside when they may be most useful.”

  Dexter held up his hands. “Stand steady there, I’m just asking questions. Now tell me about it, all I’m seeing is some rain clouds.”

  He nodded. “Yes, a weather summoning spell of some sort. They came upon us too quickly to be natural. A little rain may not hurt, but what of lightning? Or gusts of wind… perhaps even a twister?”

  “A twister?” Dexter asked, confused.

  “Yes,” Xander realized the confused look on Dexter’s face meant he did not understand. “On worlds with complex weather systems, the collision of hot and cold air can cause wind to gust heavily. We’ve seen minor examples already. Based upon the lay of the land and the way the wind is blowing, the gusts of wind can actually be funneled around and feeding itself and making it faster and faster. It becomes a twister, or a cyclone of air so powerful that trees can be torn from the ground and houses destroyed. Imagine what that would do to the Voidhawk.”

  Dexter blinked, unable to comprehend how air could be so dangerous. “I can’t,” he admitted.

  Xander sighed. “Trust me, it would be bad. We’d have our rigging and sails torn from us, our masts broken and perhaps even the hull torn apart. At best we’d be spun about and thrown through the air, stunning, killing, or casting overboard the majority of us. Those not on the main deck would be bounced off the walls and ceiling, injured and killed. Without anyone to recover from the jarring damage and redirection, we’d plummet to the ground like a rock.”

  Dexter held up his hands again. “Alright, I get it. You paint a grim picture… how do we get out of it? Can you work a counter-spell?”

  Xander looked at him, surprised. “You know of counter-spells?”

  “No, damn it, it just seemed like the right words to be speaking!”

  Xander laughed, briefly, then returned to business as usual. “Take us up… higher and higher, until the air is too thin for the weather to touch us. Then bring us back down and out of it.”

  Dexter nodded, that they could do. “Bekka, we’re going up!”

  She nodded and instantly the ships course changed. Dexter and Xander both hurried out onto the deck, feeling the biting cold of the sudden weather shift when they cleared the door.

  “Stand your post!” Jenna yelled, seeing him emerge.

  “Belay that,” Dexter called out, looking around. “We’re going up, ou
t of this spell. We might need him to do something.”

  “Aye, that something is tend to the rigging!” Jenna responded.

  Dexter shook his head, “no, I meant magic-wise.”

  Jenna scowled but relented and refocused on helping to guide the ship upwards through the rapidly gathering clouds. Strong winds buffeted their sails, rocking the ship and making it slip sideways from time to time. The first shock of lightning streaked through the clouds, followed almost immediately by a crash of thunder that deafened them all. The acrid tang of burnt ozone assaulted their noses and they were suddenly more alive and frightened than ever before.

  Fighting a visible, tangible enemy was one thing. There was excitement and fear, but the source of the threat was apparent. This blind rush through a cloud as thick as night, with the stinking crack and boom of lightning around them at random places and intervals was terrifying.

  A gust of wind snapped the mainsail so taut that one of the ropes holding it snapped, sending Willa off her feet with the remains of it. She slid across the decking, her plight worsened by the wind rocking the ship and tipping it to an angle. She screamed, the stub of her arm reaching instinctively for a handhold that it would never find.

  Rosh grabbed her arm, his fingers squeezing her forearm tightly to hold a grip while his feet and other arm sought purchase in the decking where he had landed from his leap. He found nothing, and only barely managed to slow their slide as the ship tilted perilously again. Willa’s legs caught for a second on the raised side of the ship, but she was traveling too fast to take advantage of it and stop herself. Her legs buckled and she plunged over the edge. Rosh, sliding headfirst behind her, tried to soften the impact of his head against the edge of the ship with his other hand, but it still left him groggy and weightless.

  She managed to grab on to the railing with her other hand, much as Rosh instinctively had grabbed with his. They hung off the edge of the ship, Rosh gritting his teeth in pain with his back to the ship while Willa panted in terror, her chest and stomach facing the ship.

  Rosh shook his head to clear it and, still angry at the pain, he looked over at her. “Can you pull yourself up?” He yelled to be heard over the echoing thunder.

  She tried but failed, her arms and back not possessing the strength. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. “Help me!” She cried, her voice so panicked the words barely squeaked out.

  Unseen above them, Dexter sprinted across the canted decking to secure the flapping sail. He managed to grab the rope and held on to it for dear life. It was now too short to be tied off or secured otherwise.

  “Let go!” Rosh yelled at her, wondering if he had enough strength in his arm to do what he needed to. “Let go and grab my arm with yours. I’ll swing you up onto the deck.”

  She stared at his meaty forearm and large hand and nodded. Closing her eyes, she made the leap of faith, her hand desperately scrambling for his arm even as gravity and the wind tried to pull her down. Rosh’s fingers dug into her forearm, but she would take all the pain in the world from him if only it meant she could live.

  Her hand closed on his wrist and she squeezed tight. She opened her eyes, staring into his and shared a moment in time.

  “I ain’t letting you fall,” Rosh promised her.

  She nodded, fresh tears blown by the wind falling from her eyes.

  He began to swing her beneath him even as the ship slowly righted itself. On the third arc he growled and hoisted with all his might, lifting her up and sending her over the lip of the rail. She let go of him and grabbed onto the railing desperately, clinging to it and breathing deeply between sobs as she lay in the relative safety of the deck.

  Rosh flipped himself around, using both hands now to hold himself steady. With a grimace of exertion, he pulled himself up and threw his leg over, pulling himself onto the ship beside her. He glanced back and saw only the swirling darkness of the clouds below, then he forced himself to his feet and reached down, offering her a hand.

  Willa looked at his hand. How could he be willing to stand up again after what had happened? Her eyes followed up his arm and climbed to his face. His stony expression soothed her, quelling her panic and reminding her that these people – these strangers – depended on her. They entrusted their lives to her. She reached up and grabbed his hand, rising from her spot of perceived security and back onto the only slightly angled deck.

  They returned to their stations, freeing Dexter to return to where Xander was studying the thinning clouds around them. He nodded approvingly and turned back. “We’re free of it,” he said to Dexter, shouting to hear himself over his own deafness.

  Dexter nodded and waited, unwilling to count his blessings so quickly. It seemed as though they were indeed free and clear of the worst of it though, for nothing more than a few distant streaks of lightning and weak blasts of wind came at them. With time even the ringing in their ears ceased.

  “Can you do anything about it next time?” Dexter asked Xander once they put some distance between the ship and the storm.

  Xander thought for a long moment, then shrugged. “I’m not sure. Invoking the weather is the magical act, there was no control over it though. Our best course is to fly high, above it, and not drop down until we must.”

  Dexter nodded. “Makes it hard to ferry men behind their lines that way,” he said.

  Xander smiled. “I’ve been thinking about that, actually.”

  Dexter raised his eyebrows. “Well, what are you thinking then?”

  “I’ll need some ingredients, but I can craft some potions. Drinking them will cause the imbiber to fall slowly, like a leaf falling from a tree.”

  “You mean to have them jump off the Voidhawk and just fall like leaves to the ground?”

  Xander nodded. “Too fast for archers to shoot, but slow enough that they can land without injury.”

  Dexter thought about it and nodded. “Perhaps… I’ll be sure to mention it to General Havamyr. Prepare a list of the ingredients you need.”

  Xander grinned, finally proving his worth. He turned and hurried off, anxious to complete his task.

  “Captain.”

  Dexter turned, seeing a rather stern faced elf standing behind him. He glanced over and saw that Logan was keeping an eye on the place she had been working. They were out of the worst of it, so the demands on the deck crew had been reduced as well.

  “Look, Jenna-”

  “I wanted to say I’m sorry,” she said, interrupting him.

  He stopped talking but his mouth stayed open. Finally he snapped it. “You what?”

  “I was furious at you,” she admitted. “But then I realized I was the one arguing with you and countering your orders. It makes us look divided and makes me look stupid in front of the crew.”

  “Jenna, these aren’t nameless sailors or soldiers. This crew, these people… they’re friends and family. Every one of them is knowing you care and you’re trying to do what’s best. There’s not a one fool enough to be thinking you’re stupid.” He paused for a breath, then chuckled as a thought struck him. “Not even Rosh.”

  She smiled and nodded. “Thank you, but still, I just wanted you to know I’m not angry.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I’m more worried that you’re not angry,” he said. “What have you done with my first mate?”

  She rolled her eyes and stuck out her tongue at him. Making him laugh. Then she reached down to the bottom of her vest and started to pull it up. His eyes widened and she laughed before dropping it back down.

  “Ah, there she is,” he grumbled. “Get back to work.”

  She laughed again and turned to help prepare to land. Dexter watched her go then scanned his crew working. He wanted to yell at Rosh for his actions earlier, risking his own life to save Willa’s. It was foolish and damn near impossible, but he had to admit, it worked. What was worse, Dexter knew he’d have done the same thing without a second thought. Not having the strength of an ox as Rosh did, he suspected he would have failed.<
br />
  He sighed and admired how everyone was coming along. The only enigma remaining was Logan and his ever present mysteries, still insisting on spending nights locked in the hold.

  He caught Willa studying Rosh while the big man was busy working. He smirked, seeing the appraising gleam in her eyes. He shook his head and turned back, walking up and peering over the bow of the forecastle to the approaching ground below them.

  Their mission had been a failure. They learned some valuable lessons from the failure, and Xander’s latest scheme, inspired by the near tragic events, might very well serve to help them turn the tide and hasten the end of their contract.

  * * * *

  Later that night Dexter sat in his room thinking about his ship and his crew. He could not help but feel the pang of Kragors loss, along with a stab of guilt for the pain Jodyne endured every day. Jenna and Rosh adapted well to their duties and the ship ran as fine as ever. Dexter’s greatest concern remained. None of them were skilled with repairing the ship, should she take damage. Simple repairs, sure, they could do those. Making the ship as whole and sound as it was though, that he feared, was beyond them.

  A knock at his door roused him from his thoughts. He took a drink from the cup of ale before crossing to the door. He opened the door, surprised to see, of all the people on the ship, Willa.

  He offered her a seat at his table and took one opposite her. He smiled and offered her a cup, but she refrained. “What can I do for you, Willa?”

  Willa rubbed the stump of her arm with her other hand, fidgeting. She seemed so very different from the spitfire waif he had rescued from prison. It was almost a pity; he rather liked the feistiness he had seen in her when she lay on her deathbed.