catching up with him. “I need you to pass along a message.”
“Bloody eyes, can’t a man just drink his days away on a couple of boats, without getting himself shipped all over everywhere, carrying letters?”
Denrik Zayne forced a smile. “Well, you’ll be happy to note that this message is for your whoring compatriot.”
“You mean the one with the fun ship, not the one where I lose hands of Crackle because I get alley-clubbed and dragged in here whenever you get a notion?”
“Mr. Tanner, you are aware that we are at war.”
Tanner blew though loose lips, making a rude noise. “You and me ain’t. And me and Stalyart ain’t. It’s the boy’s war; let him fight it out.”
“You may enjoy this particular missive, since you may—inadvertently, I assure you—find some pleasure in it.”
The ship swayed, and Tanner stumbled against Denrik’s desk. He blinked as he stared into the face of the suddenly-too-close pirate. “Whazzat?”
“The message I need you to relay to Mr. Stalyart is that I need him. Anzik needs him. The Megrenn Alliance is short of airship captains, and I want to put him in command of one.”
Tanner whistled. “Nice and tidy, but you know old Stalyart likes to keep his head low and his sails up. Why would he put himself in front of the Kadrin air fleet now of all times?”
“Because at the end of the war I fully expect him to steal the ship.”
Tanner paused and stood straight. Denrik had a point. Stalyart might have been more of a smuggler than a cutthroat, and more of a cutthroat than a navy man, but the promise of owning an airship … well, that might just be enough to tip the boat.
Tanner nodded his agreement. “Fine. I’ll deliver the message tonight, once I get some sleep.”
Denrik reached into a desk drawer and withdrew a bottle. Tanner squinted to read the label. “Bekairon, Black Label,” Zayne said. “Might as well drink yourself stupid in style.” He lobbed the bottle across the cabin to Tanner. Despite the world tipping around him, Tanner still had the reflexes of a swordsman and snatched the bottle from the air. “Now, go deliver my message.”
The sky, blue as a baby’s eyes, spread off to infinity, cloudless and pure. The rush of wind blew through thinning hair—invigorating. Masts creaked as the Northern Squall banked in a turn, trying to outmaneuver the Kadrin vessel that was closing in on them. The airship ducked low, entering a mountain pass and approaching the bridge that connected the two halves of the Kadrin city of Reaver’s Crossing.
“They using the same wind as us?” the first mate griped as the Kadrin vessel matched their turn and continued gaining on them.
A second Megrenn airship, the Bluebottle , crossed over the bridge heading in the opposite direction, diving for the Kadrin vessel and firing its forward ballistae. The Northern Squall sped beneath her, crew cheering their apparent rescuers. The Bluebottle loosed grappling lines, the sharpened hooks meant to catch rigging and sails and shred them. Several of the lines caught, but the Megrenn had not counted on rune-strengthened spars; after the grapples sliced through rope and canvas, they caught hold on wood and could neither cut nor snap their way free. The Bluebottle pitched forward before the lines snapped and freed them from the Kadrins’ embrace. A sorcerer aboard the Kadrin ship let fly a volley of fire bolts, scorching the Bluebottle’s sails and leaving them helpless to turn as their momentum carried them into the mountainside.
The Kadrin vessel fared little better. The damage to their sails had cost the ship its wind, along with any hope of catching up to the Northern Squall .
The vision grew blurry at that point. Anzik removed his hand from Captain Aigrin’s forehead. “You’re blocking me.”
The captain of the Northern Squall looked abashed. It was just the two of them in the royal sitting room. They both knew the factual account of the airship’s escape
“Bloody eyes, can’t a man just drink his days away on a couple of boats, without getting himself shipped all over everywhere, carrying letters?”
Denrik Zayne forced a smile. “Well, you’ll be happy to note that this message is for your whoring compatriot.”
“You mean the one with the fun ship, not the one where I lose hands of Crackle because I get alley-clubbed and dragged in here whenever you get a notion?”
“Mr. Tanner, you are aware that we are at war.”
Tanner blew though loose lips, making a rude noise. “You and me ain’t. And me and Stalyart ain’t. It’s the boy’s war; let him fight it out.”
“You may enjoy this particular missive, since you may—inadvertently, I assure you—find some pleasure in it.”
The ship swayed, and Tanner stumbled against Denrik’s desk. He blinked as he stared into the face of the suddenly-too-close pirate. “Whazzat?”
“The message I need you to relay to Mr. Stalyart is that I need him. Anzik needs him. The Megrenn Alliance is short of airship captains, and I want to put him in command of one.”
Tanner whistled. “Nice and tidy, but you know old Stalyart likes to keep his head low and his sails up. Why would he put himself in front of the Kadrin air fleet now of all times?”
“Because at the end of the war I fully expect him to steal the ship.”
Tanner paused and stood straight. Denrik had a point. Stalyart might have been more of a smuggler than a cutthroat, and more of a cutthroat than a navy man, but the promise of owning an airship … well, that might just be enough to tip the boat.
Tanner nodded his agreement. “Fine. I’ll deliver the message tonight, once I get some sleep.”
Denrik reached into a desk drawer and withdrew a bottle. Tanner squinted to read the label. “Bekairon, Black Label,” Zayne said. “Might as well drink yourself stupid in style.” He lobbed the bottle across the cabin to Tanner. Despite the world tipping around him, Tanner still had the reflexes of a swordsman and snatched the bottle from the air. “Now, go deliver my message.”
The sky, blue as a baby’s eyes, spread off to infinity, cloudless and pure. The rush of wind blew through thinning hair—invigorating. Masts creaked as the Northern Squall banked in a turn, trying to outmaneuver the Kadrin vessel that was closing in on them. The airship ducked low, entering a mountain pass and approaching the bridge that connected the two halves of the Kadrin city of Reaver’s Crossing.
“They using the same wind as us?” the first mate griped as the Kadrin vessel matched their turn and continued gaining on them.
A second Megrenn airship, the Bluebottle , crossed over the bridge heading in the opposite direction, diving for the Kadrin vessel and firing its forward ballistae. The Northern Squall sped beneath her, crew cheering their apparent rescuers. The Bluebottle loosed grappling lines, the sharpened hooks meant to catch rigging and sails and shred them. Several of the lines caught, but the Megrenn had not counted on rune-strengthened spars; after the grapples sliced through rope and canvas, they caught hold on wood and could neither cut nor snap their way free. The Bluebottle pitched forward before the lines snapped and freed them from the Kadrins’ embrace. A sorcerer aboard the Kadrin ship let fly a volley of fire bolts, scorching the Bluebottle’s sails and leaving them helpless to turn as their momentum carried them into the mountainside.
The Kadrin vessel fared little better. The damage to their sails had cost the ship its wind, along with any hope of catching up to the Northern Squall .
The vision grew blurry at that point. Anzik removed his hand from Captain Aigrin’s forehead. “You’re blocking me.”
The captain of the Northern Squall looked abashed. It was just the two of them in the royal sitting room. They both knew the factual account of the airship’s escape
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