<u>5</u>


    The Flying Cloud was exceptionally fast, built on the timbers and keel of a captured Dreadnought (he thought). The airship was sleek and stealthy as well, preferring to strike from below, from dense clouds or out of the sunrise.


    At attack speed, remaining on deck was impossible, so Kaazin and Tess retreated to a well shielded auxiliary helm near the bow. Small, but complete, that broad-windowed wood cabin was packed with controls and instruments. Most of them saw to themselves, moved by invisible hands. A very good thing, as Kaazin wasn''t much of an aerrior.


    Tess had reverted to Glassy again, abandoning her frail mortal body, pouring herself back into that magical simulacrum. But she was no better in crystalline form than in flesh.


    “<u>I’m</u> the one in charge here, drow. When we get to Arvendahl’s hideout, you’ll do as I say. The bounty just doubled, and I’m not missing out on twelve million platinum bars!”


    Kaazin shrugged, not taking his eyes from the northern horizon and fast-rising mountains.


    “Coin only matters if you live long enough to spend it, runt. The empire gives with one hand and takes twice as much with the other… and they can avoid paying that bounty at all, by having us killed when we show up to claim it.”


    “They’d have to catch us, first, and Stormy and I are a team. Just him and me, watching out for each other, forever. Right, Cloud?” she prodded.


    -There is also the quartermaster- said the airship, in both of their minds at once. -He is a capable healer and battlemage, and I have accepted his presence. –


    Kaazin didn’t smile (no one had fallen or dropped a big stone on their foot). But the glass pirate’s horrified expression was beyond price, and he cherished it. Patting the nearest control panel, Kaazin remarked,


    “I like it here.” (He did not.) “Banditry suits me.” (He’d never had much other choice.) “I’ll doubtless remain for a very long time.” (Jumping ship the first chance he got, on at last finding Bonesetter’s den.)


    But,


    -You shall remain as long as we need you, Quartermaster- said the Cloud, speaking only to him, this time. -Those who serve aboard ship are bound to this vessel, forever. –


    True enough, for he’d seen all their ghosts reflected in shiny surfaces, and many were present there, now, hovering close to their stations in life. Once more, Kaazin shrugged.


    “I have been captured before,” he replied. “Taking is one thing. Holding, another… <u>and</u>, that is Baitfish, below.”


    The lowest and least of all the floating islands, Baitfish was linked by a web of rope bridges to its nearby, smaller companions. At hightide, as now, that three-square-mile dot was partly submerged, its lower caves flooded with seawater. He’d been there once. For sale to the highest bidder.


    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    Kaazin smiled just a bit as its part-selkie folk rang their war-bells and scurried for shelter. The fishing fleet scattered like a flock of terrified birds, too scrawny and poor to be worth hunting down. (A thought that was much more Cloud than Kaazin.)


    “I’ve never been this far north,” Tess admitted, coming over to look past him at Baitfish. “Is everything here this wretched and grubby?”


    Kaazin snorted.


    “It is worse up close,” he told her. “Stinks of sea mud, kelp, dried fish and wet wool.” And blood, that one night. <u>Theirs</u>, not his.


    Baitfish passed by and was gone in a heartbeat. Soon after that came the lower cascades of the Alys River (pocked through its banks with deep caves, some of which led to the Under Realm.) Kaazin pointed one out as they soared overhead.


    “There,” he said aloud. “Mark that spot, in memory. There is a small opening, hidden by roots and a slanting outcrop of stone. Inside, you will find a dry cave and supplies. Should matters go ill…”


    “They <u>won’t</u>,” snapped Tess, glaring with translucent crystalline eyes.


    “A wise outcast has a backdoor and a place to retreat, always. Mark that spot, and plan to meet me there, if we are parted or captured. It is safe and well warded.” He’d sealed it to last, and he <u>knew</u>.


    “<u>Fine</u>. Blah, blah, cave. Got it… but we won’t be retreating or losing this fight, drow. Well, not me and Cloud. <u>You</u>, I’ll drop in their laps with a sign that says: Free to bad home!”


    A thing that appealed to the drow sense of humor, although unwanted spawnlings were usually tossed with the garbage or left for the cave-gnomes to raise. Changing the subject again, Kaazin said,


    “If my scrying proves accurate, Arvendahl’s hunting park and his lodge lie between mountains and sea, south of Ilirian. <u>If</u> he is there, we can expect trouble from the monsters he’s stocked for the hunt. Reputedly, hill giants, trolls, manticores, wyverns and a leviathan, all of them bound to the region for sport.”


    “How is that bunghole not already dead?” wondered Tess, shifting her stance with a musical tinkle.


    “Because until now, he hasn’t been foolish enough to make a mistake or draw official attention,” said Kaazin. “But that future corpse of a dayfly has earned Arvendahl’s fury, somehow… not with his laughable fighting skills… and the elf-lord is too blinded with rage to be cautious.”


    “Wait… who’s the ‘dayfly’?” probed Tess, interested despite herself.


    “Someone I owe a very serious beating,” said Kaazin. Then, as the Flying Cloud slowed, slewing around to approach from out of the sunrise, “We have arrived.”


    Bang in the midst of a desperate fight.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    Lerendar hauled his daughter, his baby niece and the wood-elf close in, crouching low over them. Next raised a hasty, untutored shield, powered by sheer, frantic need. The fey-lights pitched in as well, sacrificing their own tiny bodies to strengthen his amateur wards. Then the roaring circle of flame was upon them as hands reached in from all sides and…


    …and somehow, the stone underfoot gave way, forming a steep-walled pit. Lerendar tumbled into that sudden hole with Zara, Bean and Tormun’s shrieking wife. He struck bottom, hard, driving the breath from his lungs and taking most of that crunching-loud force on his back. Less than half a gasp later, the pit closed up overhead, blocking light, heat and clamor entirely.


    Zara had buried her face in his armored chest. Tormun’s wife was writhing like mad to free herself, and the baby was making small ‘feed me’ sounds. Then, coming straight through that living rock, a rumbling feminine voice queried,


    “What is happening? Who tickles my hide to awaken me?”


    Stone giant, he thought, twisting around as he fought to stand up. Lerendar surged to his feet and yanked out a sword, wincing at the recollection of all those half-hearted prayers and tossed-in small offerings. Wondering if any god, anywhere, cared to help out.