Treachery of Kings by Neal Barrett Jr

looked pained. “What I sayin’ is so. There be danger up there, you don't know what you doing. That's what I tellin’ you.
    “They's even more danger you gets to Heldessia Land, I be sayin’ that. Them human persons be crazier'n the ones you got here. Meaner, too. Make that prince an’ his mushin’ and skinnin’ look like a bunch of chil'ren pullin’ legs offa ants. You want to be a-climbin’ inna basket now, you wanna be whinin’ down here? Whichever you doin’, be doin’ it pretty damn quick. …”

 

ELEVEN
     
    A S THE SUN, WITH A FIERCE AND DOGGED sense of will, heaved itself over the rim once more, as indigo faded to a blushing pansy blue, Finn, Master Lizard-Maker, late of County Ploone, now, truly, shorn of any grip on the precious earth at all, peered down upon the most fearsome, breathtaking sight he'd ever seen.
    As if the day star had sounded a call, sent its brilliant heralds far and wide, the winds above the earth began to stir and come alive.
    At first, a gentle breeze, playful puffs of air, then, of a sudden, hearty gusts that swept the balloon up high, high and higher still.
    The wicker basket wobbled and the lines began to sing. Finn closed his eyes, thought of Letitia, thought of happy days that would never come again. Then, when he dared to face the world once more, he found he was mostly intact, though his stomach remained several hundred feet below.
    Bucerius, along with many other merchants, had loosed the tethers of their craft only moments before the Easterlies arrived. Now, Finn saw the wisdom of this move. As if some trumpet had surely blown, all the plump and hefty monsters, all the great balloons of war, began to rise at once
    “Great Socks and Rocks!” Finn said. “What a muddle, what a mess!”
    Why the military should choose disorder as a plan, as a ploy, Finn couldn't say. The Bullie, though, working his pulleys and his lines, noted Finn's words with a rumble of disgust, deep within his chest.
    The horde began to rise, swiftly now, upon the lofty winds. Ten, a dozen, twenty, fifty, more than Finn could count. Some like clumsy sausages, puffers, floaters, blind worms bobbing about. Some like swollen melons, ready to burst in the heat of the sun.
    Each, and all, seemed distended this way and that. None could claim a color more enticing than mud. Each was a hodgepodge, a muddle of canvas, linen, and sacks, patches of calico, patches of pants.
    And, ‘neath each of these behemoths, some a good hundred feet long, hung a tangle of webbing, a jumble of cords, a covey of baskets chock-full of pikemen, dragoons and fusiliers. Lancers, sappers, archers and doomed grenadiers.
    Some of these craft carried loads so heavy they were lashed together in sixes and fours. Still, many seemed scarcely able to rise above the ground.
    Even as Finn watched, two great bulbous creatures— seven gasbags in one, four in the other—collided some fifty feet above the ground. Lines tangled, baskets tipped, and spilled their hapless troopers about.
    Finn closed his eyes against the sight, but he could still hear the screams, hear the rips and the tears as the great crafts tore themselves apart.
    And this is the beginning, this is just the start. We've yet to even taste the war…
    And, as confusion reigned supreme, as disorder held sway, Finn had visions of these bloaters, these lunks bobbing against the sooty pall below. As much as he wished the picture would go away, it was hard to dispell the image of a great, airborne sewer, with a multitude of turds all about. …
    • • •
     
    B UCERIUS’ CRAFT, WHICH CARRIED NO CARCO AT all, except for Finn's clock and a goodly stack of food, sailed well ahead of many of the merchants, and all of the cumbersome military craft.
    Below, the River Gleen quickly gave way to the awesome Swamp of Bleak Demise, which stretched all the way to the Prince's foes, Heldessia Land. The swamp, as every schoolchild in each of the warring nations knew, was the reason both