Dragon Airways

by Brian Rathbone

  * * *

  Avoiding Agger's jet wash, Casta Mett manipulated the controls gingerly. Every movement, every deviation from course consumed more fuel. No one could say if they would reach the fleet or have to ditch in deep water, far from any chance of rescue. If Admiral Meekam had disobeyed her orders, they were already lost. Given his openly professed opinion of her, this was her riskiest mission yet. All she could do was fly. The decisions were already made, the bones cast; fate would determine the rest.

  "If you drop me in that cold water," Grunt said from behind her. "I'll drown you myself."

  Casta did not bother to respond. It was not his first threat and wouldn't likely be the last. The fact that he could not swim provided some consolation. She smiled at the thought, but then Agger cut back across her path, and the turbulent air threatened to snuff the engine.

  Boil him in oil, Casta thought, turning away from Agger's wash. The man had every advantage and continued to use them against her. He did not have a passenger, so weight was on his side. In these small aircraft, a tiny amount of weight resulted in a significant difference in performance. Casta would have vastly preferred flying alone, but Agger and Grunt were more weight than a single U-jet could bear and still maintain the speed and fuel efficiency required. Casta was not much lighter than Agger, but it was enough to force her hand. She knew they were just afraid she would shoot them down and be finished with them both, once and for all. It might have been tempting.

  No matter how much she disliked the other Al'Zjhon, they did fight on the same side of the war, and Argus Kind would be most displeased if two of his hand-picked soldiers . . . disappeared. At that moment, she thought he might lose three at once. No sign of the fleet or land emerged. Not for the first time, Casta tapped the compass to ensure it floated freely and was not stuck.

  "You've killed us all," Grunt said before punching the back of her seat.

  Casta barely felt it. She had gone into the zone. It was something she'd learned during the cutting camps. When Argus Kind had put out the call for those willing to serve in an elite fighting force, many had answered; few survived. Most were turned away immediately, and others left early on, but Casta had stayed until the end, defeating her competition by being sharper and more focused than they. There had been better fighters, better strategists, and even those more capable of detecting magic than she—those she'd had to eliminate before anyone else became aware of their abilities. Even her own ability she kept a secret. It was not until Argus Kind himself had threatened to cut her that she revealed her true value. Not only had she completed training beyond the abilities of most men, but she could bring him that which he desired—magic.

  Why he wanted it did not matter. He was in power, and that was what he wanted found, even though he'd proven wholly incapable of accessing it. Only items that could be operated by anyone were within his grasp; it was a closely guarded secret but not one that could be hidden from Casta Mett. Knowing this, she did not mind gathering magic for him as much. It coincided with her own desires and allowed her to do so with the full strength and support of the Zjhon nation. And there was no reason she had to give Argus Kind everything she found, so long as she was the only one capable of locating magic.

  Argus Kind was not her king, but he was the king. Whether he liked to call himself one or not, he became king the moment he killed King Gareth. There were limits to the power of even kings, and asking your executioner to behead his own brother exceeded those limits. Argus Kind had not complained or given any indication he would refuse. It was still unclear whether King Gareth had even known Dogor Kind was related to his executioner. He'd been a good king but perhaps not as aware of the details of his kingdom as he should have been. It cost him his life.

  Casta Mett had been there that day. It was the same day that taught her nothing was permanent or sacred, nothing was certain or indestructible. In an instant, the entire world could change, just as it had when Argus Kind turned his axe on the rightful king. No matter how much she and others hated him for that very act, no one could argue that Argus Kind had survived every attempt to remove him from power. The wise accept things they could not change; the ambitious find a way to turn those things to their advantage.

  When again Agger seemingly intentionally cut across the air in front of her, Casta's finger drifted to the trigger. It wouldn't take much to bring him down. The U-jet's downfall, besides the weight limits, was its fragility. Future models would surely improve, but these experimental planes were just that. There were reasons Argus Kind had so many trained to fly. Many pilots were lost in battle, but others had been lost in the quest for technological advancement. It had been a costly effort for which Casta was grateful. Without those who had given their lives in the name of progress, she would not have been able to get back to the fleet so quickly—if she made it. Her finger itched on the trigger. It would feel so good to exact vengeance on someone who did his best to complicate her life.

  "Do it," Grunt said from behind her. "Do us both a favor."

  Grunt was not her friend, nor was he an ally. If she shot Agger down, he would have all the information he needed to have her killed. He was wrong. She'd be doing him a favor. Agger continued to move back and forth in front of her, making the urge to shoot almost irresistible. Then, beyond him, the fleet materialized. He was lining himself up to land on the carrier Terhilian. That left one other carrier with a clear deck—the carrier Arghast—Admiral Meekam's flagship. This ship was farther out, and she cursed Agger for not allowing her and Grunt to land on the closer carrier. He knew she would have burned more fuel because of the extra weight, and he also knew how much Admiral Meekam detested her. Knowing he did it on purpose, she considered shooting him down. It would be a difficult thing to explain away. She could almost feel Grunt gripping the seat behind her. He would probably have been grinning, knowing what Agger had done, but it also put his own life at risk. Agger might not realize just how close he was to losing the only ally he had. Argus frequently paired the two men up due to complementary skill sets. Grunt was not a man she wanted as an enemy.

  Looking to her left, Casta pondered the yellow lever, which would blow the hatch. All pilots were required to hand assemble an entire plane before gaining flight clearance, and she knew every inch of this jet. The red handle would eject both seats. She'd hoped never to use either lever, but she also knew she could disconnect the charge beneath her own seat first. If she pulled the red lever without first pulling the yellow, Grunt wouldn't live to tell anyone anything. Slowly she reached down.

  "Don't even think about it," Grunt said.

  Cold steel on her neck made Casta freeze. "Just getting ready to land this thing," she said. "Agger put us at a disadvantage. We could run out of fuel at any moment. I can feel how light we are."

  Grunt said nothing. His gun barrel remained where it was. At such close range, air rifles could be deadly. No matter how large the carriers were, they now seemed small. Twice before on this trip, Casta had landed her U-jet at sea to refuel; both times had been terrifying. Now she was lower on fuel than either time before. She could not afford a single wave off and would get only one chance at this. Towering waves tossed the ships, and a chill wind blew. The landing strip did not simply bob up and down on the waves; it pitched and rolled.

  The jet engine's tone changed; fuel was about to run out. Grunt screamed as they dipped lower.

  "We might have to ditch," she said through gritted teeth.

  Grunt stopped screaming long enough to say, "Don't you dare."

  Casta was torn. The pitching deck drew closer, but the U-jet continued to lose altitude. The deck crew waved her off. Too fast. Too low. The crew fled the deck, seeing Casta maintain course. Just before the U-jet struck the deck at an odd angle, Casta pulled back hard on the stick. The nose climbed until she could no longer see the ship at all. She and Grunt stared into the late-afternoon skies until the plane's tail struck the deck, slamming them down with concussive force.

  Bouncing and
skidding, Casta watched the catch rope approach and slip past without slowing them as it should have. Perhaps the only thing to save them was hitting the deck at an angle and getting turned toward the ship's support structures. Still moving at high speed and her engine fluttering, the U-jet slammed into the aft deckhouse. Fire erupted and Casta struggled to get her belts loosened. Grunt made not a sound behind her. Unbearable heat assaulted Casta. Yanking the yellow lever with one hand to blow the hatch, she unbuckled with the other. She barely heard the charge blow.

  Grunt surprised her by making it out of the cockpit first. Grabbing Casta by the shoulder, he pulled her from the wreckage. Perhaps she would have made it out on her own, but she couldn't deny that he'd helped her. She was ashamed to realize she wouldn't have done the same for him.

  "That's for keeping us out of the water," Grunt said. "Agger is going to have to eat soft foods for a while when I'm done with him." It was the nicest thing he'd ever said to her.

  Firefighters arrived too late. Some fuel did, indeed, remain within the aircraft. When the fire reached the ejection seat charges, they blew, rupturing the fuel tank and creating a second, more powerful explosion that knocked everyone on deck from their feet.

  Not long after Casta pulled herself from the deck, Admiral Meekam approached, flanked by two commanders. "What have you got to say for yourself?" he asked, his face mottled red and white.

  "That was some landing," Casta said. "It's a shame your men were unable to properly operate a catch rope. Now look what your ship has done to my plane."

  Admiral Meekam appeared ready to gut her there and then.

  "You're going to get us both killed," Grunt growled in her ear. "I just saved your life. Don't make me regret it."

  "The only reason we're here is because of you," Admiral Meekam continued. "And for what? Some flight of fancy?"

  Casta remained silent but held the admiral's gaze.

  He did not appear impressed. "If you brought us out here for nothing," he said, a dangerous glint in his eye, "I have permission to throw you overboard."

  "And if I am right, perhaps I'll throw you overboard, Meekam," she said. It was an ill-advised response, but she tired of his mouth and attitude. "Take advantage of the time to prepare for battle, Admiral. Once I've claimed our prize, we sail for the Midlands."

  "We'd already be there by now if not for the likes of you," Admiral Meekam said.

  "It's my job to get our king what he desires, Meekam. It's your job to assist me. Be a good boy, and do your job."

  Unable to contain his rage, the admiral stormed away, waving his arms and ranting. Sailors scrambled to get out of his way. Both commanders gave her looks of extreme disapproval before following.

  "You're not very good at making friends," Grunt said.

  Casta Mett ignored him. Grabbing a pair of flags from a stunned sailor, she signaled the closest airship to pick her up. The sooner she was off the carrier Arghast, the better.