Falcon Lord — Book One

by D. A. Metrov

  The excitement was over, now replaced by utter terror. Brighton had initiated the theft of the airship. He had to bring it under control or he was going to blow his whole plan of destroying the shipping docks. He got back to his feet, grabbed the throttle in one hand and the steering wheel in the other. The ship finally reversed its course. But no sooner did it back away from the vessel it had just hit, when it crashed into the ship behind it. This time he was braced for the collision. Still he was almost thrown back to the floor.

  Why doesn’t this thing behave?

  The other ship blew a noisy protest from its horn. Brighton looked out the port side of the cabin. He watched as untold tons of wheal erupted from the other vessel’s cargo bay, and cascaded in a waterfall of black dust onto everything below.

  Looking out the starboard window, he saw workers on the loading docks gathering in the loading ports. An emergency whistle went off somewhere in the docking zone. So loud it hurt Brighton’s ears.

  The sound was especially hurtful to Malgor. The bat’s hearing was acute. So the pain he felt from Gretch’s whippings was exacerbated by the whistle now piercing his small, knotty brain. He squealed and tried to veer back into the interior of the mountain. But his rider dug his massive heels so deep into his ribs the creature had no choice but to continue forward.

  Gretch, too, had Brighton’s scent. He led his squadron of bat flyers up the throat of the main transport channel. They burst into the shipping docks in a great commotion of wings. They soared around the chamber, eyes scanning the shouting bodies. And the nooks. And the crannies where the young man might be hiding. Gretch saw the haywire dirigible outside the docking area, colliding into the other ships. And the ore bags flying out the open cargo doors, bursting in the night, spilling their precious contents into the air. It didn’t take him long to suspect who was responsible. He dug his hooves into Malgor’s belly, and led his squadron of killers out through one of the portals.

  Brighton’s heart was banging in his throat. He thought he’d suffocate from lack of air though his lungs were hyperventilating. He struggled to keep calm, but his every move seemed to bring greater disaster. Pello and Biffee could only hang on for dear life.

  “He’ll let us know when to jump, eh?” shouted Biffee, his jaw clamped in dread.

  “No worries. Hang tight, mates.” Brighton shoved the throttle forward again to back away from another imminent collision. Too late. They hit with force. Another dirigible ejected ore dust from its hull as it spun around in the air.

  Brighton looked down just in time to see the captain crawling on his belly toward the cabin door. The man had loosened his bonds enough to become mobile. He made it to the open portal. For an instant, he met Brighton’s eyes. His escape from the dirigible was completed by yet another collision. He fell into the night. Brighton gasped. But he saw the man had the great fortune to land on a ledge where he appeared to lose consciousness.

  Brighton could now see most of the men in the cargo hold had made similar exits. They were either clinging to the mountainside or floundering in the sea.

  Brighton focused back on the helm. He felt he was finally getting the hang of maneuvering the giant airship. Spotlights from the loading docks were now aimed into the cabin forcing him to squint. It was those same lights that illuminated Gretch and his warrior squadron heading straight for him. At once, Brighton sensed something wasn’t right.

  “Commander Gretch!” Pello barked.

  “Coming to our rescue!” Biffee shouted.

  “He’s leading gorpes,” Brighton said, watching Gretch and his monsters heading right at him. “Take the controls!”

  Brighton, Pello, and Biffee dodged the arrows and lances from gorpe bat flyers, which penetrated the cabin walls like pins in a cushion.

  Pello took the steering wheel. Biffee grabbed the throttle. The two monkrats commenced to learn how to maneuver the ship all over again. In short order, they collided with yet another dirigible. Brighton managed to pull his crossbow from his rucksack. He returned fire on the gorpes through one of the cabin windows.

  Gretch and the gorpes circled the airship, which was still turning, dipping, rising, and falling completely out of control. There was so much chaos in the air harbor around the shipping portals, dozens of dirigible freighters were now crashing into each other. And spilling more of their black cargo into the sky. Airmen leapt for their lives. Most of them splashed into the chilly waters below.

  Brighton could see gorpe bat warriors leaping from their mounts overhead. They seemed to be landing on top of the ship’s hydrogen filled body. In one of the instrument windows, he saw them sliding down the ratlines with the skill and agility of seasoned pirates.

  He fired his crossbow again. Pello and Biffee struggled to maneuver the ship. Their efforts were in vain. Gorpes crawled in through the windows and swarmed the cabin. The devils swung their sabers and fired their bows. Brighton sent several screaming to their deaths with arrows in their chests. Pello fell back onto the ship’s throttle sending it straight toward the mountainside with full force. Biffee clung to the top of the steering wheel. With the weight of his body he unwittingly turned it a full hundred and eighty degrees.

  Brighton reached for more arrows and realized he was out. Squealing gorpes moved in to finish him off. He grabbed a saber off the floor and swung it wildly around his head. He felt like a living tornado, hollering, flailing and screaming. “You might kill me, but I’m taking plenty of you with me!”

  Gretch shouted from Malgor who was now flying a tight circle around the chaos-filled cabin. “I want his head while he’s still alive!” But Gretch and Malgor had to dodge Brighton’s airship as it swung broadside.

  It slammed into the mountain.

  And exploded in a blinding fireball.

  The blast nearly sent the troll and his bat to their deaths. The face of the cliff broke loose causing an avalanche that roared and thundered into the sea.

  Brighton and the monkrats had managed to leap from the cabin just before impact. Brighton found himself clinging to the steep mountainside slipping toward certain death. He saw his hands were blackened from the explosion. He could see the monkrats inching their way to a more secure position. He climbed toward them. By the time he regained his footing, Gretch was leaping through the air. A pair of massive feet landed with their full thunderous weight on either side of him. At the same time, he caught a glimpse of gorpe bat flyers snatching up Pello and Biffee by the scruffs of their necks.

  Brighton managed to turn himself over only to find the gigantic, odiferous troll drooling on his face. Gretch held a broadsword in one hand and gripped Brighton’s throat with the other.

  “Where’s the falcon?” rumbled Gretch.

  Brighton knew Gretch had been fighting with the Valkyrians. So to see him here, leading a squadron of gorpes could mean only one thing. “You? A traitor?” Brighton managed to squeak.

  “Where?” Gretch roared so loudly Brighton gagged from the stinking winds that escaped the monster’s lungs. Gretch raised his blade.

  “My mother—” Brighton squeezed the words out despite the vice-like grip on his throat.

  Gretch froze.

  “...will bring about your demise.” Brighton’s world began to turn dark.

  Gretch stared at him. The old troll seemed to go into such a fluster, he nearly dropped his weapon. He rolled over onto his rump. He sat there, looking stunned, and stared out at the lights from the hovering airships.

  Brighton heaved in a great breath of air. Gretch’s gorpes circled overhead, looking confused by their leader’s sudden lapse. Still, they swept down and swarmed around Brighton.

  Gretch moaned. “Take him.”

  The leader of the bat warriors dropped in. His bat clutched Brighton’s body with its massive claws and flew off with him. “Let me down!” Brighton screamed, feeling the pain of the bat’s claws gripping his shoulders.

  As they flew off, Brighton saw Malgor land next to his master. The great bat appeared
to be scowling, as if he were most unhappy. Gretch climbed onto his back. They lifted off the mountainside, and joined the rest of the bat squadron. Brighton saw Pello and Biffee, dangling helplessly beneath their captors. The monkrats were gazing at him, their faces eerily blank. Brighton saw the airmen watching from their ships as Gretch and his crew headed back inside the mountain. He saw the workers watching on the loading docks as he flew over them. He also realized the emergency whistle was still wailing like some bully who’d just suffered a beating from a boy half his size.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  CAPTIVES

  Kragmaur howled with all his fury. He conjured his winds and his waves into one of the most terrible storms since the Age of Archean—a time when the young earth was no more than water and stone. The contemptuous Magradore had escaped the god’s ire on his last trespass through the cape. This time he would not. After all, there was his reputation to uphold.

  Handower kept his eyes narrow, his head low, and drove his wings into the tempest. All the while he maintained his grip on little Mitor hanging beneath his belly. Bill clung to the falcon’s neck with her arms and clamped her knees against his ribs. She buried her head into the thick, wet feathers of the bird’s head. She prayed that somehow they’d escape Kragmaur’s wrath.

  But the giant raptor was tossed about like a moth in a windmill. The rain pounded him with the force of bullets. The storm surf battered the rocks below and leapt up to strike at their prey. Mitor calculated his ability to fly should it be necessary. He deduced he wouldn’t get more than a few leapspans in these conditions.

  Bill screamed as gusts of wind turned them topsy-turvy. Her wet hair clung to her face. She gasped for air in between the sheets of rainfall.

  The sight of the Magradore in such a desperate state was cause for the gorpe scouting party to rejoice. Soldiers had been dispatched all over the isle to track down Handower and return him for Dredgemont’s reward—a golden treasure kettle that would buy anything imaginable.

  Here there were ten of them, heavily armed and rugged as could be. They’d been clever enough to realize the bird would be most vulnerable should he be forced to navigate the Cape. And so they’d been waiting. And now their cleverness and their patience was about to pay off. They’d set their trap in the rocks above Kragmaur’s domicile—a great net, spring-loaded by evergreens chosen for their suppleness and strength. When the gorpes saw Handower approaching in the storm they grew confident they’d soon be dividing coins of gold.

  The leader of the scouting party readied a harpoon used for hunting whales. A mighty gust of wind blew Handower toward the cliffs and almost sent his body smashing against the rocks. The great bird floundered and fought to recover. The gorpe let the harpoon fly.

  The weapon sailed through the squall, its deadly iron tip piercing the rain, its bowline trailing behind it. It found its mark in the falcon’s shoulder.

  Handower squealed in pain, but continued to beat his wings. Bill’s terror grew worse. She saw the harpoon waggling to her right, blood spreading from the spot where its ruthless barb held fast in Handower’s flesh. Little Mitor raised his head, knowing the bird’s scream was more than sheer defiance of the storm.

  Despite his agony, Handower flew on. The harpoon’s bowline reached its end. The falcon snapped taut. He was flung back into the face of the cliff.

  Just as he made impact with solid rock, the gorpes launched their net. It came down like a giant’s open hand, and closed around the bird. The impact knocked Mitor from Handower’s grasp. The robot flew through the air, and crashed on a rocky ledge. Bill was not far behind him.

  Even Kragmaur could hear the Magradore’s agonizing screeches. The ogre god wondered who was interfering with his attempt to destroy the audacious intruder.

  The gorpes bounded down the rocks with astounding agility. They took hold of the ropes that were tied to the corners of the net. They hauled it in, binding Handower ever tighter in its grip. They whooped and hollered, mocking the falcon’s cries. They pulled their catch up onto a slope, and beat the bird with their lances. Handower grew dizzy. The storm became a blur. He experienced something he never imagined possible—his strength draining from his limbs and his own blood running down his legs. The gorpes became so crazed, they screamed and pulled with five times their normal strength.

  Bill was stunned by her fall. She huddled against the face of the ledge, feeling the rain driving against her body. The water stung her face so badly she could barely open her eyes. She saw Mitor coming for her. His wooden arms reached out. His wheels knocked up and down over the rocky terrain.

  “Master, come!” he said. She took his hand. Together they made their way toward the ravine that might provide a bit of shelter from the unholy tempest.

  The gorpes dragged Handower, struggling, up the mountainside, back toward the tunnel entrance from which they’d emerged two days earlier. They were focused on their prize. Salivating with visions of their reward. But one of them spotted Bill and Mitor slipping away down below.

  “Female!” cried the fiend. “Extra gold!”

  The gorpe leader looked down. A broad grin exposed his rotting teeth. “Get her!”

  The gorpes took off howling and laughing.

  “Hurry, master,” Mitor said, as he puffed and steamed toward the ravine. She looked up and saw the thugs coming. Her heart raced even faster.

  Kragmaur saw them as well, in the darkness of his fuming mind. He grew even more enraged the devil-men were trying to steal his victims. He blew and rained ever harder. He lashed out with fifty foot waves, trying to knock them all into his roiling waters where he could suck them under and drown them.

  Bill felt the tug of the storm and the slippery surface beneath her feet. Mitor’s little steam engines whistled. His wheels spun and skidded as he strained to help her to safety. The rain came down in such heavy sheets, she could no longer see. Her foot slipped out from under her. Mitor felt her weight pulling him down. He couldn’t hold her. Together, they plummeted toward the wild sea. Falling. Bouncing. Helpless to slow their fall. Bill, so exhausted, assumed it was the end. She prepared to embrace her death.

  They hit the water. Bill felt herself sink beneath the surface. A calm came over her. She saw the faces of her parents, jubilant about their unexpected reunion. She reached out to her mother’s loving arms, grateful for this respite from Kragmaur’s violence. Their fingers were about to touch when something grabbed her from behind. Something that felt like the pinchers of a giant crab.

  The two gorpes gripped her arms and pulled her to the surface. Little Mitor managed to clamp his hands on one of the fiend’s legs, trying to stop him. The gorpes swam to the rocky shoreline. They hauled Bill up behind them. She struggled wildly, swinging her fists and kicking with the little strength she had left. The gorpes wasted no time knocking her unconscious. They battered Mitor so viciously he fell back into the sea. The little robot fought his way back to shore. But the storm surf picked him up, and nearly bashed him to pieces on the rocks.

  “Master,” he gurgled as the backwash pulled him under. The sight of his beloved Bill being dragged up the craggy slope in the tenure of devil men was enough to fracture his poor mechanical heart.

  The gorpe soldiers, salivating and deranged, disappeared into the mountain tunnel with their prisoners, Handower and Bill.

  Mitor sank into the sea. His life flashed before him as he plummeted deeper and deeper. He recalled the first time he’d opened his eyes in Dredgemont’s robot factory so many years ago. He and several dozen others. All the same. All programmed to do the bidding of a madman. They hung in rows from an overhead conveyor and were already on their way to the mines. He remembered realizing, even then, that his life would be harsh. Before he’d met the girl known as “Lizard Bill,” he’d only been treated with abuse. She’d been the first one, person or beast, to ever show him kindness. The first to show concern for his welfare. The first to make sure his joints were lubricated as they should be.

 
And so as he sank, leaving behind the fury of Kragmaur’s storm, he felt compelled to fight on. To demonstrate his loyalty, not to his creator, but to his “Master.” He analyzed what she would now want him to do. What order she would give him if she could. He began to calculate how much fuel he had left to turn into steam. How much tension remained in his springs. How far he could navigate by conserving his energy, and making use of the underwater currents that might carry him west. He made resolve, right then and there. He would fulfill Bill’s mission. He would recruit the citizens of Valkyrie. Rally them to the aid of Brighton, Pello, and Biffee. He would then return to rescue his beloved Bill.

  But when he tried to move his wings, he could not. He only sank deeper into quiet darkness.

  Brighton, feeling the weight of shackles and chains, gagged from Gretch’s god-awful stench. He stumbled behind the troll as they lumbered down a dank corridor. Gretch hung his head seeming to be in a mysterious daze.

  The gorpe guards followed them. Brighton could hear them quietly casting bets on the different methods “Dredgemont” might use to kill him. And how long he’d be able to endure the beatings and the torture that awaited him. Dredgemont. Dredgemont, Brighton repeated curiously in his mind. Dredgemont! He recalled Mitor’s words back at Drakton. “Owner of the mines and commander of the army laying siege to Valkyrie.”

  Brighton searched for inner strength. He studied the layout of the underworld. He made note of every detail that might come in handy in bringing about the downfall of this place.

  He felt the shackles cutting into his wrists and ankles, especially when he lost stride with the giant troll. He worked to prevent the iron edges from drawing more blood from his raw skin. But he was tiring from the long underground journey. He noticed the earthen tunnels were gradually becoming refined—the dirt walls replaced with brick. Then concrete. And now, marble.