Wings Over Talera

by Charles Allen Gramlich

  For an awful moment I had the fear that Rannon would come up with them, a sword in her own slim fist. I should have known that Rhandh would not have allowed it. He shouted one word, “Jhesana,” before dropping down the hatch to keep his princess safe below. It felt good to know that Rannon had the Vlih to protect her, that she was all right for now. Unless we lost the war above.

  I’d not let that happen.

  The reinforcements provided by Rannon’s guards were winning the fight for us when the slowing of the ship let the vullwings catch us from behind. Once more the rain of enemy arrows loosed, but this time our people were ready with shields and few of the darts found their mark. Those arrows would slow our attempts to clear the decks, however, and given a chance the reivers would land more of their own to counter our hard won advantage. We had no bows on deck, no way to strike back at them in the air.

  Or did we?

  I was on the midship riser, the aft ballista sitting below me. I dropped down beside the weapon, Valyan warding my back, then spun it outward from the ship and pulled the lanyard to fire the five side-by-side arrows. Those arrows weighed almost four pounds apiece. They cut the air with a heavy swish, and they scarcely slowed as they went through the feathers and flesh of two vullwings flying close together. I regretted the birds. But not the men on their backs.

  A slap of my hand reloaded the weapon and I swiveled the mechanism to the left and fired again. A vullwing was just landing at the stern. Two raiders stood beside it. The ballista load swept the deck clear like a broom, spraying crimson over the railing.

  A vullwing was above me then, on its back a lean Human in black leathers. His dark brown hair was braided at the sides and a savage scar writhed palely through the stubble of beard at his chin.

  Strange how one notices details at such times. I noticed most the man’s crossbow, jaguar-spotted and of an odd design. Its quarrel was triple sized and glittered like the sun. He fired it at me. And Valyan, who was beside me with his emerald skin splashed red with blood, dove in front of me and caught the quarrel in his shield.

  The glittering bolt thunked home in the lacquered surface of the buckler and exploded, literally exploded, as if pregnant with gunpowder. I’d thought there was no gunpowder on Talera, though there were the materials to make it. It seemed someone had discovered how.

  Valyan’s shield shredded in the explosion, scattering shrapnel on the wind. The heavy boss knocked down a guard nearby and a wood fragment as long as a nail went through the meat of my forearm. Valyan was down, the front of his body porcupined with splinters.

  The man in black hung only a few feet above me, the wings of his mount buffeting the deck. He was reloading. I shouted in rage, put one foot on the bracing of the ballista, and leaped upward for his throat. At the top of my arc I swung my sword overhand and down.

  The reiver was quick; I’d give him that. He got the crossbow in the way of my saber and the steel blade snapped on the steel heart of the bow. The second bolt released on its own, hissing evilly as it went past my head. I didn’t see it strike, though I heard it boom. My hand caught the man’s boot on the way down.

  The good leather failed to yield and my weight yanked the outlaw from the saddle. There were straps and ties that held him to that saddle, and they didn’t yield either. But the combined weight of the two of us dragged the vullwing to one side and crashed it to the deck. Its neck snapped, killing it.

  I was on my feet in an instant. Only a stub of blade hung in my hand but it would be enough for this outlaw, whether or not he had murdered Valyan. The fellow was trying to get up, and trying to draw the rapier belted at his left side. I took a step toward him and the deck dropped beneath me, stealing my balance and throwing me to the planks.

  I cast a glance toward the pilot’s glass chamber and saw it cracked open like an egg. Now I knew where the second explosive bolt had landed. The inside of the chamber was splashed with blood, and fire licked around on the deck beneath.

  We were going down in flames. Without a pilot. Toward the snake curve of the Shauval River beneath us.

  And Rannon was below decks.

  CHAPTER THREE

  SHOT DOWN IN FLAMES

  We hung half a verlang in the air—three-quarters of a mile—in a flyer with no pilot. The only hope we could cling to was that we were sinking rather than falling. The toir’in-or charged wands that provided lift for the flyer seemed to be draining slowly of their power rather than failing all at once. That gave us a sliver’s hope of living. A very thin sliver, for we were also on fire.

  The few mercenary reivers still on our decks didn’t seem to think much of our future. They were busy grabbing the nearest vullwing and abandoning ship. I looked across at the black-clad outlaw whose explosive bolt had killed our pilot and set our ship ablaze. He would not be joining his fellows. I would see to that, and gave him a look that let him know it. He shrugged, then calmly began unhooking the ties that bound him to the dead saddle bird at his side.

  My rage at him evaporated as other concerns stabbed at me.

  Valyan! The flyer!

  The thoughts tortured and I turned under their goad, saw Valyan lying near me painted with his own blood. I dropped to my knees beside him. He was breathing. And I breathed as well, in relief. He seemed more stunned than anything. Though a number of splinters from the shield had been driven into his chest and the lower part of his face, the concave surface of the buckler had directed most of the force of the small explosion around his body. He’d live, and even as I thought it he opened his eyes.

  “Lie still,” I told him. “We’ve got a problem.”

  His pupils dilated but I didn’t take time to explain. He’d smell the smoke soon enough. Kreeg was nearby with an axe, his broad body scarred, sweat beaded on his hairless head. I told him to watch Valyan and our mercenary guest. There would be questions to ask the latter if we lived. Then I came to my feet to see what might be done about the ship.

  The surviving members of Rannon’s elite guard, less than half a dozen men, had turned away from the fleeing reivers and were gathering amidships to douse the flames surrounding the pilot’s chamber. Hope surged inside me as I saw that those fires would soon be out, and I ran to the hold instead, to find Rannon. She and Rhandh were coming up from below as I arrived at the stairs. Their faces were smoke-smudged, their eyes streaming, and I could see by their expressions that my hope of moments before was dust.

  “In the cabin,” Rannon shouted. “The curtains caught. By Sevarian I’ll never listen to those court fools again about what a princess should have in her flyer.”

  Seldom had I seen Rannon so angry, and I almost laughed despite the shock of our situation. Or maybe because of it. But Rhandh grabbed my shoulder, jarring me back into control.

  “The pilot?” the Vlih demanded.

  I shook my head at him. “Dead,” I answered.

  Just then, Rannon’s guards finally got the flames beat out around the pilot’s chamber and carried the fellow’s body out to lie on the cool wood of the deck. A sliver of glass the size of a man’s forearm had been driven through his throat. His flying days were over. And it wasn’t like anyone could pilot the ship. The power sources for airboats are the toir’in-or charged energy wands controlled by a trained and disciplined mind. Even for those with talent, it takes months of practice just to manage the lift of a flyer. I couldn’t do it. Nor any of the others that I knew of. It seemed our choices were to wait until the wands gave out and we crashed to our deaths, or until we burned alive in the air.

  “If we could take the ship down faster,” I said. “If we could get to the river before the cabin fire catches the decks we might have a chance. Is there anyone aboard with pilot training?”

  Rannon shook her head. And someone behind us cleared their throat for attention.

  “I have a bit of experience,” a voice said.

  It was the mercenary
in black leathers who had spoken. He had risen to his feet, with Kreeg directly behind him, an axe poised while he debated whether to strike. I put up my hand for the ex-slave to hold his blow.

  “I can’t fly it much,” the reiver continued. “But if you keep the flames off me I might be able to land it in the river without killing us all.”

  “A few minutes ago you were trying to kill us all,” I said. “Why should we believe your change of attitude now?”

  “Because that was for money and I had a saddle bird. Now my mount is dead and my life is worth more than money to me.”

  “Axe him and throw him over the side,” Kreeg said.

  “Yes,” agreed Rhandh. “Only, let me do it.”

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “This one fought like a devil to stay alive when I wanted him dead. I doubt he’s changed his mind now.”

  “Believe it,” the man said. “Only, we’d better do something fast or the flames will cook our decision-makers for us.”

  “No they won’t,” I said quickly. “I’ll get you the time. Have you more exploding quarrels?”

  “To what purpose?”

  “To fight fire with fire. Now where are they?”

  His eyes lit with sudden understanding. “In my bags,” he said.

  He dropped to one knee beside his dead vullwing, his fingers dipping into a handy leather pocket of his saddle, coming up with a thorn-wood box that opened to show the glittering heads and shafts of three more darts.

  “You haven’t a crossbow,” he said, as he handed me the box.

  “They’ll explode on impact if I throw them hard enough, won’t they?”

  “Aye,” he nodded. “They should.”

  “Then that’ll have to do.”

  “Wait,” said Rannon. “What are you planning?”

  I grabbed her shoulders, kissed her. “I’m going below,” I said. “I’ll use these darts against the fire to slow it. You put this man in the pilot’s chamber and have him take the ship down to the river.”

  “No,” Rannon said, but Rhandh was taking her arm and I was pulling away, tucking the case of darts into the belt at my waist.

  The mercenary was already running for the pilot’s position. I took the axe from the hands of a surprised Kreeg and staved in one of the water kegs that stood against the midship riser. I ripped off my shirt and dunked my upper body. Skin burns more slowly than cloth, wet skin more slowly than dry.

  Rannon recovered herself then. She’d been afraid for me. Still was. But she trusted that I knew what I was doing. She tore off the silken sleeve of her garment and wet it before tying it across my nose and mouth. I plucked up a second water keg and stumbled down the stairs into the burning symphony of the cabin below.

  At the bottom of the steps I hesitated. Some of the rundal-oil lamps were still alight, but even without them I could have seen well enough. Streamers of fire bloomed across the front of the long cabin in brilliant shades of red and gold, like sunlight come down to earth to play. And it was as frightening as anything I had ever seen. Or hoped to.

  The pilot’s chamber had stood directly over the forepart of the cabin and the explosion above had driven fiery debris into the room. Curtains had caught. Silk hangings had gone up like tinder. The heavy oak paneling of the walls and ceiling had not yet started to burn. But the temperature was rising. I could feel it in the sweat on my skin. There was no way through to the far end of the room, where the heaviest flames ate the rugs and bed, and gnawed at the floor.

  Almost, I turned to go back up the stairs, but the image of Rannon’s face held me where I stood. I axed open the keg I carried and splashed the water against what flames I could reach. Then I jerked out the case containing the three explosive bolts and opened it. The swollen heads of the darts gleamed a sullen yellow. They looked evil, though I knew it was my imagination that dressed them so. I drew one out, balanced it in my hand, and threw it at the point on the floor just beneath where the fire ate most furiously.

  I understood, as few people on Talera probably did, that an explosion could rob a fire of its fuel. Destroying the material upon which the flames fed, or even scattering that material, would dissipate the heat. And it was the heat that would cause the walls and deck to catch. Until that happened, we had a chance.

  For more than one reason, my breath held as the first dart struck. Valyan’s shield had nearly blocked the blast of one of these quarrels so I knew their explosive power was weak. They didn’t have enough punch to blow holes completely through the ship. I hoped.

  A rush of light dazzled; the boom followed like thunder, half deafening me in the echoing space. Ashes and embers swirled upward, thickening the air, and the floor planks buckled beneath the bed, dropping one side of it to hang over the ship’s hold below. But the wash of the blaze went quiet where the blast had hit. I coughed, choked, but quickly threw the other two darts, the explosions caving in floor and wall panels but scattering the thickest of the flames. The temperature dropped.

  The effect would be temporary. The fire would escape the confines of the cabin and the decks would burn. But we needed only moments. Already, I could feel the ship slanting downward under the guiding hand of the mercenary who had claimed a bit of pilot’s knowledge. I hoped it was enough.

  My coughing had turned to gagging now, as I fought to clear my lungs of smoke and draw in a breath. I tried to yell up the stairs for more water but no words came out. I stumbled for the steps, tripped and went down to a knee. Then sturdy arms grabbed me and I felt myself half carried toward the stairs. Kreeg was beside me, one arm wrapped around my shoulders. Rhandh stood next to him and took the axe from my left hand as Kreeg dragged me past. I heard the sound of shattering wood as the Vlih broke open a barrel of water he’d carried with him.

  The blue-white window of the sky seemed far away at the top of the stairs. I wished it closer, and in another moment the wish came true. I staggered out onto the deck where the cool breeze thrust against my body. Rannon was there with a sweet, wet cloth pushed against my face and lips. I hacked up black grit. My ears were still ringing from the blasts.

  We were headed downward at a steep angle and I could see the mercenary at the controls with his legs spread and locked. His face made a study in concentration as he channeled his mind into the toir’in-or charged wands that drove us.

  Braced against the pull of our descent, I glanced over the side of the flyer. The air looked clear and hard beneath us, and further below surged the verdigrised copper of the Shauval River. Grasslands stretched to either side of the banks, broken by large tracts of dark wood, with here and there the blunt square of a plowed holding.

  I looked back at the mercenary, who had said he didn’t want to die. No flames roiled through the torn deck by his boots, a sign that my attempts at explosive surgery had been successful for the moment. It was time to get ready for a landing. Or a crashing. We were only a few hundred yards above the river.

  I hoped the mercenary had been truthful about what he wanted.

  An injured Valyan was carried over to the midship riser and braced between two hitching rails where saddle birds could be tied. Most of the men joined him.

  Having dumped the last of his water, Rhandh came up from below to be with us as well. His shoulders steamed smoke as he joined Kreeg, Rannon, and myself. The four of us wedged ourselves into a corner where the riser met the railing. We locked arms, Rannon in the center. My legs were tight about one stanchion, my free arm wrapped around another. The river was coming up hard toward us.

  Now, I knew, our makeshift pilot would bring up the nose of the craft so that we would strike the water at a shallower angle, so that we would skip like a stone instead of disintegrating.

  Yes. At any instant he would bring up the nose. At any instant!

  “Damn!” I muttered, reverting to my native tongue. Why doesn’t he bring up the nose?

  But
then he did. Slightly. And we hit.

  The bow slapped the water firmly and we bounced. Then the port railing smashed in as we slewed sideways in the water. A wave of green river sluiced across us. It held a winter cold and took my breath. I clung tightly to my stanchion, and to Rannon. She nestled quiet in my arms, though some of her men shouted in their fear. We slowed and began to settle. We’d float for a bit.

  A ragged cheer erupted. We were down; we would live.

  I glanced toward the pilot’s chamber. Already damaged, it had broken up the rest of the way on impact. Flames were reaching through the deck from below now, but the mercenary in black leathers was not there to be burned amid the debris. I saw him go over the railing, by intent, with a stolen sword at his waist. He would try to escape us, knowing that the best he could hope for would be a dungeon in the capital city of Timmuzz. Worse would be if he were turned over to the pilot’s guild for having killed one of their number.

  I did not resent the man’s attempt to flee—I would have done the same in his place—but I was determined not to let him get away. There was information to be had.

  I came to my feet, loosing my hold on Rannon.

  “The reiver,” I shouted.

  The others saw, leaped up as well.

  “I’ll fetch him,” I said. “Rhandh! You and Rannon get everyone ashore.” I had no fear for their safety. All of them were excellent swimmers and there was plenty of wood to cling to.

  I ran forward, stopping only long enough to borrow a rapier and thrust it into my belt before diving over the side in pursuit of the mercenary.

  I wondered if I would have to kill him to stop him.

  I wondered if he was better with a sword than I was.

  CHAPTER FOUR