Jessub Tillerman walked alongside Kenward in silence. It was good to see the boy getting his strength back. Three plates a day wasn't hurting matters. His mother had planned ahead, and they were perhaps too well stocked. Kenward had stolen a peek at the latest inventories, and there was far more than needed. Perishable items troubled him most. His mother was not one to waste food. Such things gnawed at his curiosity.
"How are you feeling?" he asked Jessub.
"Better. I appreciate everyone who has cared for me and fed me. But I don't want to be a burden. I can go back to work whenever you have need."
"Funny you should say that," Kenward said. Jessub showed surprise, as if he'd expected Kenward to say no, to tell him it was still too soon. "I know you've still got healing ahead, but maybe a brief thrust test on the stinger would help loosen you up."
Jessub grinned back. "It couldn't hurt."
"Well, not as long as my mother and sister don't find out."
It was a long walk back to where the new aircraft prototype was still being sanded to remove rough edges. What Kenward had learned from the howler and the bumblebee, he had applied to the stinger. It was not a perfect aircraft, but it was a step closer to realizing his vision. Walking past the massive construction that was the Kraken's Ghost, Kenward felt familiar chills. This experience was without a doubt the best thing his mother had ever done for him. Though he drove her to distraction at times, he knew she did what she thought was best for them all. Knowing she thought chasing his crazy visions and dreams was best for the entire family brought a heavy mist to his eyes.
"Do you really think she'll fly, sir?" Jessub asked before realizing just what he'd said. "I mean . . . it's just . . . she's so big. It's difficult to imagine."
With a knot in his gut, Kenward knew this worry well. It was one thing to fly the Serpent, completely another to fly a ship many times larger. Lessons recently learned should make a ship like the Kraken's Ghost possible. No matter what doubts remained, it also felt good to pay tribute to his very first ship--one he'd sunk long ago. Finally he was ready to redeem himself.
Not far away rested the foundation of a similar yet very different ship. Sleek and smooth, the Vengeful Shark resembled its namesake in many ways, all the pointy bits hidden away until needed. The Kraken's Ghost, a sprawling, multilimbed ship promising death from every angle, also resembled its namesake. The lines of the Kraken's Ghost were shorter but no less graceful. Craftsmen, drafters, and architects struggled to enact his vision of incorporating the kraken form into the ship's functionality rather than as mere decoration. He'd built ships hastily in the past, but this one he intended to hand down someday. This was a generational ship, like the Trader's Wind, and Kenward understood the significance. This was his family's future, a thought that never drifted far from his mind or his sister's.
Having airships to guard and supplement the traditional fleet made perfect sense, which was most likely why his mother was so driven to see it happen. Still, these ships might never actually fly. It was an epic gamble. They could have built one ship at a time and tested before launching into full-scale construction of two massive ships, but his mother had some other agenda. Though she would not say why, she levied more gold toward this project than Kenward knew the family possessed. It was a sickening amount and it tested his courage.
When the stinger came into view, Jessub whistled. He hadn't been near an aircraft since his crash, and Kenward wasn't certain how the young man would react. He turned to Jessub and said, "Well, it's like my mother always told me, 'If you fall off the horse, what the heck were you doing on land?'"
With a laugh that ended in a cough, Jessub closed the remaining distance between him and the stinger. While similar to the howler, the proportions were different. No air tanks or firing tubes were visible. These elements had been cleverly incorporated into the main body along with munitions storage. The stinger was ready to earn its name. This craft had more in common with the Vengeful Shark than the Kraken's Ghost. Long, sleek lines contoured smooth surfaces.
The men working on the stinger stopped when Kenward and Jessub approached. "We're almost done, sir. We just need to fine-tune the thrust tubes."
"And that's why we're here," Kenward said.
"Let us get her strapped down tight, sir, and then we can safely test."
These men had been talking to his mother and his sister. "No need," Kenward said. "Jessub has excellent control, not to mention he's still a little weak. No need to waste time."
The craftsmen looked as if they might protest, but Kenward just gave Jessub a boost into the pilot's seat. Then he climbed up behind the younger man. The seat fit him well and had far fewer straps to worry over. With a couple of buckles cinched tight, he was ready to fly.
"How's it feel?" he asked Jessub, who just kept running his hands over the wood.
"Fine, sir. Just fine."
"Do you think you can give the thrust tubes a little test? Not too much now, mind you."
The workmen backed away from the aircraft when Jessub nodded, even if without much enthusiasm. Nothing happened at first, and Kenward feared the boy might have lost his nerve or perhaps even his access to Istra's powers. He was just wondering if that were even possible when a low-pitched growl emerged from the thrust tubes. Tuned to specific harmonics, these thrust tubes represented the height of engineering and design. Ancient knowledge combined with tenacity and ingenuity made the impossible possible once again.
"How's it feel?" Kenward asked again, a wide grin on his face.
Jessub turned back with a twinkle in his eye. "It feels real good, sir. Do you want me to give it a little more?"
"No," the lead engineer shouted. Jessub pretended not to hear. Kenward shrugged. Eventually this series of events would have to be explained, and he didn't want it said it was his decision. He liked Jessub but didn't feel the slightest bit bad putting this one on the young man. Those women find enough reasons to irritate me, he thought. Besides, it was good training for the boy.
Sawdust and wood chips filled the air behind them along with shouts from those caught in the wash. Jessub gave people time to move out from in front and behind before he truly applied himself. With trembling knees, Kenward hoped this didn't end like Jessub's last flight. Part of his reason for coming along was to show the boy he believed in him, but he had other reasons as well. Seeing the Kraken's Ghost and the Vengeful Shark from above would give him additional perspective he needed; it would also help settle some things he'd been trying to reason out.
Once every had given them a wide berth, Jessub fully applied his will. The stinger's report, deeper than the howler's, bore a resonant note like the striking of a harmonious chord. The engineers' shouts were drowned out. Vibrations in the wood structure ceased as Jessub found a sweet spot. Gliding forward along the dry dock's rails, the stinger moved faster. Jessub pulled back on the flaps and shouted for joy when they gained the air.
"You've got no skids!" someone shouted. He'd overlooked the missing landing gear. Normally he would have searched for a soft place to land, but that hadn't worked out well last time. Jessub looked back. Based on his grin, it was unlikely he'd heard the warning. No sense telling him now. Better to have a look around first. Kenward pointed up.
The higher they flew, the clearer the picture became. Workers below were like insects crawling over giant turtles, and the true scale became apparent. Looking at these enormous ships knotted his guts. Who could think such machines would fly? It would take all the canvas in the Greatland and a mountain of coal to generate enough lift. Even with the best and lightest woods, these ships would weigh more than the Trader's Wind and would be just as easy to get into the sky.
A wiser man might have called it a day and signaled for Jessub to land, but Kenward might not get another opportunity any time soon, especially once his mother and sister found out about this test flight. Pointing up, he urged Jessub to take them even higher. The aircraft flew with such fluid grace, Kenward could hardly believe it. Rela
xed at the controls, Jessub could presumably fly like this for hours--at least once he'd gotten his strength back.
Altitude didn't do much to change Kenward's thinking on the two airships, but it did give him a better bearing on their location. In the distance, he could see waves, and that alone gave him comfort. Beyond a tall ridge waited something that made him question his mother's sanity. Construction dwarfing Kenward's and Fasha's airships combined lay below. It was audacious and ludicrous. It was also now clear on which side of the family the insanity ran. "I need to talk with my mother! Take us down."
Nodding, Jessub began looking for a suitable landing site. Kenward could feel the young man's anxiety growing. This was the part that would make them or quite physically break them. When the young man appeared torn, Kenward sighted a spot back across the second ridgeline between them and his mother's cabin. There, by coincidence or design, waited a long strip of cleared ground that appeared smooth from above. Kenward tapped on Jessub's shoulder and pointed.
Having no better options, or perhaps because he wanted to be able to blame Kenward, Jessub circled back and tried to line the stinger up with the narrow strip of land. Had he stopped to think about it, it would have bothered the good captain that the young man might have used his own techniques against him. At that moment, though, he was more concerned with the landing. "Easy! Easy!"
Carrying too much speed, Jessub struggled against buffeting crosswinds. This operation would have been tricky enough in still air, but the skies above so many mountain peaks and ridgelines were as turbulent as the varied landscape below. When they reached the treetops, Kenward braced himself, feeling as if they would be dashed amid the branches at any moment. It was everything Jessub could do to avoid this fate.
The young man showed his worth, though, and guided them toward the center of the clearing. Still whizzing through the air at incredible speed, Jessub slowed them abruptly. The stinger dropped from the skies, and Jessub tried to abort the landing. His reaction just a little too late, the aircraft's tail struck grassy soil. Trying to pull them back into the air, Jessub did manage to right the aircraft . . . just in time to crash into Nora's cabin.
Once certain no one had been killed, Kenward grinned. This could only go well.
Chapter 10
Pride is best placed in one's work.
--Martik Tillerman, architect
* * *
Jordic of Kern returned to the Heights to find the situation worse than when he'd left. Ferals maintained a perimeter around the hollow mountains. Facing them alone was futile. Tanaketh cried out to his brethren before the ferals saw them coming. The mighty bellow sent a ripple through the darkness, and moments later, great behemoths burst through the ferals in every direction. The move was not without consequences, and Jordic trembled under the weight of those who died to save his life. They may not yet know it, but the cargo Jehregard carried was far more valuable, not to mention lethal. Grain dust in confined spaces could become explosive, but it was the rest of his cargo that concerned him. Though securely stored and kept isolated, the materials of war could just as easily incinerate them as the enemy.
Three verdants crowded in close, seeing how heavily loaded Tanaketh was, and escorting him in. Others dropped lower, raining stone and boiling water on the armies below. The ferals' numbers thinned, as many swooped lower in defense. Jehregard came in dangerously low. Within the upper range of enemy weapons, they were vulnerable. As if they knew the nature of his cargo, the forces of darkness launched fiery projectiles that splattered when they struck, spreading the flames.
Only with the help of verdant dragons flying alongside did they reach a safe altitude. Those within the Heights watched and prepared for a crash landing. All three dragons entered the hollow mountain together, just barely squeezing close enough to fit. Left with nowhere to hide, many dropped to stone for safety.
"Brace yourselves!" Jordic yelled to his passengers just before Tanaketh struck stone. The impact knocked the wind from him, and their inertia carried them forward, skidding and smoking across the wind channel. "Put out the fires quickly!"
As soon as they were stopped, people rushed in and did as he commanded. Soon only smoke and steam remained. After helping his passengers disembark, Jordic climbed down. Taking back to the skies one at a time, their escort rejoined the fray. Provided the room they needed, dragon grooms attended Tanaketh and unloaded his potentially deadly cargo. Jordic spoke with the load supervisor before seeking the council. Most of the verdants had now returned to their wind channels, and the guard congregated. Jordic walked to join them.
"Well met, brothers," he said. "We wouldn't have made it without you."
"Onin?" one asked.
"Alive," Jordic said. This brought a mixture of reactions, as he had expected. Onin had sponsored the mission; in their minds he should either be here or be dead. Sweating and still smelling of battle, the guard converged on the council chamber. None were happy.
Sensi and the others were present. Only the lord chancellor remained absent, and Jordic suspected it was on purpose, as it usually was. Those among the guard bristled at the all-too-common insult. Many tolerated it in times of peace, but when they were at war, the guard expected alacrity. Intentional delays for the sake of nothing more than pompous arrogance was an outrage.
When the lord chancellor did finally enter the council chamber, he was met by steely, smoldering gazes, which he completely ignored. "Onin of the Old Guard sponsored this mission and is charged with reporting."
Jordic stood tall, his head high. Others rolled their eyes.
"Onin?" the lord chancellor asked as if not already fully aware of the man's absence.
"He's not here," Jordic finally said.
"Is he dead, then?"
"No, sir." Saying the words made Jordic feel sick.
"Wounded?"
"No."
"Incapacitated?"
"No."
"Then he is a traitor," the lord chancellor said, almost gleeful.
The delegation from the Midlands had watched in silence, but one of the older men bristled. "Onin of Sparrowport is a good man. You're lucky to have him."
It was a dangerous statement. Had the lord chancellor chosen to challenge the man, things might have gotten worse, but he ignored the Midlander instead. "We will deal with the matter of treason momentarily. Must I remind you that we are at war?"
Jordic clenched his teeth in hopes of restraining his tongue.
"Since Onin of the Old Guard has failed to perform his sworn duty, it falls to you, Jordic of Kern, to report."
Not looking at the lord chancellor, Jordic spoke to the council as a whole. "The danger we face is greater than any we've ever known."
The lord chancellor rolled his eyes. "Why do those with no one to corroborate their stories tell the tallest tales?"
An angry murmur ran through the guard, but no one spoke up. Those who'd come from the Midlands continued to look uneasy, but not as much as Jordic of Kern. Sweat ran into his eye, but he let it burn rather than show weakness. "The reality of my words will be inescapable soon enough. Already the one the Greatlanders call the Herald of Istra has fallen to the Noonspire." These statements created a great commotion in what was a normally solemn chamber.
"And the tales grow taller," the lord chancellor said. "If this ancient myth truly exists, then why has no one ever seen it?"
"I have."
The lord chancellor laughed. "Why has no one else?"
"Because we've acted like cowards," Jordic of Kern said, knowing his life was at stake. The lord chancellor almost smiled but maintained his act of being furious. "Because we've become overly cautious and weaker because of it. When was the last time any of you flew low over the very heart of the Jaga?"
No one made a sound.
"Of course they haven't. That would be foolish," the lord chancellor said.
"And now we know why it would be foolish," Jordic said. "Though it may have been buried beneath the black swamp for who
knows how long, the Noonspire does exist, and Istra's return appears to have brought it back to life. Onin and I saw it, surrounded by the biggest hole in the ground you've ever seen and crawling with ferals." Perhaps the mention of Onin was ill advised, but Jordic bore no guilt. He'd done what was right and was not sorry for his actions.
"So you're saying there is a giant noonstone crystal in a hole at the center of the swamp--a hole that's not full of water, you say?" The lord chancellor smiled. "Truly, Jordic, you stretch your credibility thin. You've spent too much time with Onin."
"The Noonspire was in a giant hole in the ground, yes. Now it is not. Now it towers above the swamp, by what magic I do not know. I suspect whoever is in control there has been quietly building their strength. Once discovered, there was no more reason to hide, and they fully exposed themselves. With the Noonspire soaking in comet light, they'll be even more powerful. There's no time left. We must attack with all our strength."
Again the chamber erupted in arguments and exclamations.
Emel, captain of the guard cleared his throat and stood. "You say the Noonspire was beneath the ground on your way to the Mids and above when you returned?"
The lord chancellor cast him an annoyed glance but did not chastise him for speaking out of turn.
"Yes, sir."
"Was the Noonspire already under attack when you first saw it?"
"No, sir," Jordic said. He would not lie. "We passed the Noonspire, and it was mostly dormant, though it pulsed with life and was surrounded by ferals."
Emel frowned. The lord chancellor's smile widened.
"We encountered an airship that was heading straight for the Noonspire," Jordic continued, knowing only in the truth might he exonerate himself and Onin but, more important, convey the danger to his countrymen. "We warned them and then I urged Onin to continue on to the Midlands. He knew the Greatlanders, and he was worried about them."
The Seventh Magic (Book 3) Page 10
