Chapter Nine: The Inherent Dangers of Underestimating
The patch of mist in the distance stood out against the sea like a gray stain on a blue tablecloth. It didn't even match the white billowy nature of the other fog in the area, the clouds that kept to the horizon and clear of the immediate ocean. It was almost as bad as painting a giant sign that said Obvious Hiding Spot Is Obvious.
Riding upon Dark Star, the Alchemist kept to the vanguard of the fleet, the flying ships maintaining formation as they approached the mist. The sides of the hulls were dotted with octagon-shaped holes, the openings to the siege cannons outfitted to each warship. One on one, the Zenith easily outmatched any single vessel. It could even defeat two of them if pressed, though not without serious damage. But seven of them? Not even the Zenith stood a chance.
With her armband, the Alchemist signaled her captains to adopt flanking positions around the false cloud. The ships flowed through the air as quietly as mute seagulls, encircling the mist from above, presenting their flanks to allow for mutual broadsides. One order from the Alchemist and the armada would rain stony destruction upon the traitorous men hiding in the manufactured fog. Even though their target could not be seen through the thick water vapor, the fog could not stop a single pebble from penetrating inside, much less magic-propelled boulders.
Dark Star hovered above the far edge of the mist, so close that the dragon's feet could've touch the surface, had the mist a surface to touch. In the past, the Alchemist had sent emissaries to coerce ship crews into surrender. But it was safe to assume that anyone who entered the fog while the Zenith remained at full power would not come out again. Today was not a day to avoid unnecessary violence. All violence today would be quite necessary.
Captain Baxter, fire first volley, she ordered telepathically.
Seconds later, a roar erupted from one of the ships as two-dozen rocks blasted from its side, the projectiles entering the fog and soon swallowed up as if nothing had passed inside. A series of watery impacts resounded, though no explosions or harder sounds suggesting a successful hit on the Zenith. Not an unexpected result. It would take a few volleys to find the ship's position. This first volley was more a warning than an attack.
"Hear me, crew of the Zenith," she shouted, her voice carrying downward and at ten times her normal speaking volume. One more device in her arsenal, a speaking device she had attached to Dark Star's underside yesterday. It was designed to project her voice to those below the dragon, a new means of intimidation from above. Today was its trial run.
"You have my ship, and I mean to either reclaim it or destroy it. You know me and my power, so this is not an idle threat. If you stand down now, I promise that I will fairly judge you and your actions, though I promise no clemency. If you don't, if you force me to act, then the sea that you travel upon will swallow you, each and every last one of you."
She waited for a reply, whether a feeble request for mercy from a panicked sailor or a projectile. The siege cannons on the Zenith couldn't angle high enough to attack airborne targets, but there were a few ballistae on board, along with archers armed with myssteel arrows. Fear often made the undisciplined strike out blindly. But for now, everything remained calm. No attacks came forth from out of the mist.
"Cervantes, here me," she shouted. "I know you are in control. You failed in your assassination attempt, for I live and still command forces far greater than you. I misjudged you, but now I hold no illusions. You are cunning, but not cunning enough. If you abandon my ship now, if you fly away or sink into the ocean and forever leave my presence, I will take the high road and not pursue vengeance. You know of my priorities – you are but a distant one. Leave, and you will live to see tomorrow. Otherwise, I will destroy you, no matter what power you wield or what form you take."
She expected a response this time. Cervantes's ego would demand a response, if only to shout out a denial or an insult. But the necromancer did not rise to the bait. He was playing this hiding-in-the-mist strategy to the fullest, despite how pitifully ineffective it was. Perhaps she had overestimated his intelligence all this time.
"I will not give any of you long to decide," she declared to the mist. "You have until the count of ten. If you do not respond with immediate surrender, all my ships will open fire."
She started a slow countdown, hoping to make the people below stew in horrid expectation. She did not expect Cervantes to comply, but maybe her old subordinates would mutiny again, this time in the name of the Alchemist. It would not spare them their punishment – she expected to be forced to rid herself of most of her former shipmates, as their loyalties were too easily swayed – but it would go a long way in staying her wrath.
She got down to four, and still not response. Poor Cervantes. He was going to go down like a cornered sea-rat. To think she had seen such potential within him before.
The word One! echoed into the fog, and as she paused for heavy effect, a frantic voice came up out of the mist. Two voices, in fact, pleading for surrender and mercy. Two voices, out of dozens. They went on and on with their pathetic cries, and yet no other voices joined in. None of their fellow crewmembers were attempting to silence them, either. Surely Cervantes would disapprove of such outbursts.
Did Cervantes leave at some point, his crew purged or reduced to a handful of subservient lackeys? Was the Zenith nothing more than a ghost ship, heading back home with only a few desperate souls on board? If so, then the ship would be easy to retake. Perhaps a battle was unneeded. It would make the whole affair somewhat unsatisfying, what with no Cervantes to wreck injury upon, but she could live with the tradeoff.
"Turn off the mist generator and prepare to be boarded," her voice boomed. She had Dark Star fly off to a safe distance while they awaited the fog dissipation, in case this turned out to be a last-ditch attempt at doing something dastardly.
The swirling mist soon shrank in thickness and size, becoming transparent and nonexistent as the water vapor receded into the atmosphere from whence it came. What remained in its place elicited a chorus of alarmed thoughts from Dark Star's mind, as well as the Alchemist's. Her captains communicated utter dismay, and she couldn't blame them for feeling as they did. She had reached the wrong conclusions about Cervantes, very wrong conclusions indeed.
The Zenith was nowhere to be seen. In its stead was a Hunter platform bobbing up and down in the unsettled ocean, kept afloat by its mystical properties. The crew section had only two men aboard, one of them desperately waving a white flag and both of them doing their best to show that they absolutely did not want a fight.
In the center of the platform was an ovoid contraption composed of numerous steel tubes and flashy stones, where wisps of water vapor could be seen exiting the tubes just before fading into nothing. The contraption took up most of the crew section, the two men barely able to move around the platform without tripping over part of the device. It had not been designed to fit on such a small vessel, but Cervantes had made it work regardless.
The mist generator. Cervantes had extracted it from the Zenith and installed it on another Hunter platform. Two volunteers had gone with it to man the device and move it toward Sanctuary in one of the best diversion plans the Alchemist had ever witnessed in action.
As the reality of the plan hit home, the Alchemist's mind whirled with the implications. Cervantes had learned how to use her technology. There was only one way he could've learned that. Worse of all, he had purposefully lured her armada away from Sanctuary because he knew what the really important target was all along.
His real target was back home.
All ships, return to base! she thought into her armband, All ships, return to base, top speed. Our base is under attack! She practically screamed out her commands to Dark Star as the dragon spun around and zoomed at top speed back toward Sanctuary Island. For the first time in days, she felt full-on panic, fear suddenly gripping her like an angry octopus. She ignored any pretense of armada discipline and formation, Dark Star speeding ahead of the fleet as the ships maneuvered to follow. The ships would not be any help now – they would reach Sanctuary far too late to do any good. Cervantes's ruse had done its job all too well.
But she would get home in time… though perhaps only in time to see everything she had worked for come apart.
Air-surfing high above the ocean, cloaked in his traditional Shroud and reduced to a nigh-invisible spec amidst the grandeur of the heavens, Arc watched the Alchemist and her fleet frantically change course back toward Sanctuary Island, shaking his head at what he would consider a rookie mistake by the Alchemist. It hadn't shocked him that the surprise lying at the bottom of the false mist was a clever feint, though it did mean that Cervantes understood the Alchemist's technology at a better level than Arc had expected. Cervantes had many qualities - quick learner, expert deceiver, and amoral monster – but predictable was not among them.
He shouldn't feel pleasure at seeing the Alchemist hoodwinked, but after having taken three centuries to finally take down the necromancer (and not without much assistance and almost dying twice) seeing one of the smartest humans on the planets fall victim to his tactics did foster a low amount of spiteful gratification.
But all that paled to the implication that Cervantes was undoubtedly attacking Sanctuary Island, a fear bolstered by Dark Star rushing off ahead of the fleet. The others needed his help, if not already from Cervantes, then soon from the Alchemist. The fleet had taken over an hour to get this far out to sea, so it would take an equal length of time to return. But Dark Star would be back in far less time. Arc would never keep up with the half-metal Night Fury, but he wouldn't be too far behind. Qiao and the others would have to take care of themselves until then.
His strong wings batted the air as he veered back toward Sanctuary, putting on as much speed as his draconian frame could sustain. He kept his thoughts on getting to his friends as quickly as possible and avoiding the terrible temptation to contemplate how much power Cervantes now wielded, or how painfully Qiao and the others would suffer if the necromancer got to them before Arc.
Sanctuary Base was occupied with brewing excitement, what with the major throw down occurring at the platform-landing zone. Almost everyone still conscious at the time had their eyes set on the insanity happening at ground level and not on the sky. So no one saw the approaching cloud that resembled a very big warship that had forgotten that ships were suppose to sail on water only.
With the crewmen at their posts, the cannons at the ready, and several squads of troops poised to repel boarders if need be, Cervantes stood on the bow of the ship and hummed an old sailor ditty in his broken, metallic voice. He was the self-appointed sentry for now, as he was the only one on the ship that could see through the illusion-field covering the base. Special Guardian eyes that could see through mystical emanations and all that. Once the Zenith passed through the illusion, the regular watchmen could do their jobs again, freeing him for the actual important work.
Below and straight ahead, the extinct caldera beckoned to Cervantes as if it was speaking with its mouth open, teasing him with the toy-like buildings at its center, thrilling him with the appearance of the alien tower standing amongst the more pedestrians structures. Best of all, there were no signs of awareness from the various souls that moved down below, though there did seem to be a gathering around the Hunter platforms. He'd have to keep an eye on that.
But so far, so good. The tower, his true objective, remained undefended. Perfect.
Well, perfect was a stretch. Nothing about this plan was perfect. He had made a few assumptions and, yes, they had turned out as assumed, but the next part of this operation required that he understood the Alchemist as well as he thought he did. If he was wrong, he and everyone on the ship had very limited life spans.
The crew still believed his lies, which was a good thing. They believed the Alchemist was still dead and that victory was a possibility. They had bought the idea that the messages coming in from the Conduit Capacitor were deceptions. He had promoted the idea at every turn. He'd even come close to falling for the lies as well. Life would be so much easier if she was dead and drowned in the Repository.
While he wanted to believe it, he couldn't assume it. So he prepared for the possibility. He had learned everything he needed to: about the Catalyszier, about the mist generator, about the ship's expertly concealed ability to defy gravity. And after watching the Alchemist's armada fly away to pursue his decoy, the Zenith safely hidden in a cloudbank off the opposite side of the island, he thanked the Void that he had always operated on the principle of hoping for the best and preparing for the worst.
The worst was on its way back here, though. The worst was coming his way.
Even then, he kept the ship flying at half-speed. There was no rush. He needed the Alchemist now. He needed her to see what he was going to do. He needed her to see how serious he was. And it wouldn't be good to alarm the pitiful staff inside the base too early and have them attack him and make things more difficult. This was a plan built on patience, because no other plan would work against She-Who-Brings-The-Thunder.
Not the best nickname for the Alchemist, but he still had time to think of a better one before she arrived.
Cragfist stood near the skeletal body of his captain/master/monstrosity, not yet over the awe that came with his first flight through the sky but quickly getting there. Even this first-time experience in the clouds did little to soothe his tortured spirit, for the end-result of his actions and failures was about to come to pass. He was technically attached to an assault team charged with keeping the bow section of the ship safe from unwanted occupants, but he wasn't sure he would even lift a finger if it came to that.
The Alchemist lived. He knew this. He hadn't believed Cervantes for one second. The necromancer was a liar at heart with no honor, and he knew him too well to fall for the false-message angle. She had somehow survived and was now trying to reclaim the ship. The other men thought it was just the rank-and-file soldiers they had to deal with. The other men murmured and talked of actual victory. If they ever realized the truth, the ensuing panic and mutiny would cripple the ship. That was why Cragfist had kept his mouth shut… other than the fact that he didn't really care.
Cervantes was quite powerful, he had to admit. He was quite sure of himself as well, though that and a cooked fish would only feed you for a day. It was possible that the necromancer could emerge the victor in all this, but even if he did, it changed nothing for the dispirited Viking. He would continue to be a puppet and a disgrace to the Gunnarr name.
Yet there was one thing that kept him going, and it involved the item that he had taken out of Cervantes's quarters and that he had hidden in the recesses of his uniform. Something that both Cervantes and the Alchemist placed importance on, or so Cragfist believed. He wasn't sure if he was fooling himself on this matter, but an opportunity might arise in the future. He didn't think he shared his sister's gift of vision, but he was of the same bloodline, and so it wasn't entirely crazy for him to believe that the ivory cylinder in his possession might contain a secret or two that might take down the Alchemist if given to the right person at the right time.
Insanity to think such things, but it was enough to convince him to keep drawing breath, and that mattered. Besides, maybe he would get lucky and he'd get to watch the Alchemist and Cervantes destroy each other. Wouldn't that just be the best result ever?
Ignorant of the threat looming in the sky, most of the base personnel were taking wagers on how long the girl with the special axe would last against Sheen and her murderous ways. The average bet was three minutes, the average wager a week's liquor ration.
One group of five men were clustered in the shadow of a platform, hiding behind the secure stone legs of the machine to protect from any wayward axe throws or arrows. This wasn't a competitive brawl – this was a death match, and things got ugly in death matches. They jostled one another for the best safe vantage spot, far enough away from the others that they would hopefully avoid attracting any aggression from the two very angry, very determined women with the myssteel axe and myssteel chain.
Such is the insidious nature of irony, considering that they had chosen a place where another very angry, very determined woman was hiding. Crouching on top of the platform they had hidden behind, she went unnoticed until the crowd began roaring in anticipation of battle, masking her movements as she jumped down behind the unwitting men.
Then they became well aware of her, not that it did them any good.
Sheen swung her chain around like she was preparing to cast a net, her malice-filled eyes fixed on Astrid. Astrid no longer felt any real intimidation from those evil orbs. She was far too mad now, too far into her own battle demeanor to let this malcontented warrior hold any sway over her. One good axe throw could probably end Sheen right then and there, a brutal tactic for sure, but Sheen had earned such a fate a long time ago. How many people had this miscreant hurt, even killed, over her lifetime? As casual as Sheen acted about killing Astrid and Heather, it had to be more than a few.
But as Sheen kept up the chain swirling, the crowd cheering her on and begging her to unleash the hurting, Astrid realized the whole swirling routine was a fake-out. Months of training under Saga had taught Astrid that the best way to defeat your adversary was to make them do the work for you. Have them strike out in fear, in anger, or in arrogance, and you'll see them coming long before their attack can connect. That gives you the freedom to counter and control the fight.
This chain-swinging show Sheen was putting on might wow the crowd, but it was really for Astrid. Sheen wanted her to take the shot, to make the first move. Sheen's chain was pure myssteel, which meant it could do things normal weapons couldn't, perhaps even change course in midair. If Astrid attacked while Sheen was prepared for it, she would undoubtedly end up wearing that chain around her neck as it squeezed the life from her.
Play for time, then. Let Sheen strike first. It wouldn't take too long, she imagined. Sheen didn't come off as an especially patient person. But every second mattered right now. If they could figure out a way through the crowd…
"Knock me down, Astrid," murmured Heather, her back pressed against Astrid's as she watched the crowd.
Keeping her eye firmly on the chain-wielding psychopath, Astrid whispered with a simple, "What?"
"Knock me down," Heather repeated. "Make it look accidental."
"Why?"
"I have something up my sleeve, but it's going to take a minute to warm up. If they see me doing it, they'll fill me full of crossbow bolts. Knock me down!"
"Great, you've been keeping secrets again, haven't you?" replied Astrid, a bit too loudly. Astrid focused on Sheen again and was glad to see no real change in demeanor. Sheen had seen them talk, but most likely hadn't understood them.
"You two comparing notes or something?" chided Sheen, still whipping her chain in a provocative fashion as she confirmed Astrid's hope. "C'mon, Astrid, where's that vaunted Viking warrior streak everybody hears about? Or are you too put out by your boyfriend's death to muscle up the nerve?" A few calls from the crowd erupted, as if the consensus was Sheen had just zinged Astrid something good.
Astrid saw the goad for what it was and hadn't planned on reacting. Taking into the matter Heather's request, however, a savvy idea sprang into Astrid's mind.
Astrid put on her fiercest face, Astrid forcefully cocked her throwing arm back, yelling out, "May dragons eat all the offspring you'll ever have," a strong insult if you happened to be a Viking living around Berk. Her elbow collided with Heather's back, a blow that might sting but shouldn't do much else. Heather took the cue and fell forward, acting like she'd been clocked on the head by Astrid's weapon. She tripped, went sprawling onto her stomach, and proceeded to moan like the fall had winded her, her right hand pinned under her chest.
The crowd roared at the display of clumsy teamwork, alternately laughing and mocking Astrid. Sheen was so shocked that she dropped her chain and burst out laughing. Astrid tried to not feel mortified at the mocking attention, but her warrior pride still recoiled at the ridicule. Heather better have a really good idea up her sleeve, otherwise she might just knock Heather down for real next time.
"And here I thought this might be a challenge," said Sheen, bringing her chain up into the air again. Then she abruptly altered the spin and sent the chain sailing at Astrid's legs, aiming to further humiliate her before the end.
Astrid easily saw the attack and jumped it, the chain slicing the air below her. She resisted the urge to counter, watching the chain spin a full circle around its master and come back at her for a higher attack. Astrid rolled out of the way with little trouble. The chain whipped at her several more times, each time from a similar direction, and each time Astrid jumped, dodged, or ducked the attack. Sheen was fast with her weapon of choice, but in maintaining its speed it had become predictable.
"Ah, so the Viking has a few moves," said Sheen. She was still enjoying this too much, and while Astrid felt an overpowering desire to smash in Sheen's teeth, her chain gave her too much range. Astrid couldn't get close in, and her instincts told her that a throw would result in her axe going bye-bye.
They might have kept going like this longer if not for Astrid's correct assessment about Sheen: she lacked patience. Sheen swung her chain around as before, but this time reversed direction and snapped it out so that it came in from above. The sudden move caught Astrid off-guard, and she only had time to put her axe out in front of her as a shield. The chain wrapped around the shaft like a snake constricting its next meal, narrowly missing Astrid's hands. Then Sheen yanked mightily at the chain and Astrid blanched at the strength of the pull, just barely keeping her axe in her custody as the chain struggled to extract it from her grip.
Sheen had only one hand on the chain, sneering as she pulled away at Astrid's weapon. She couldn't be that strong - she wasn't any bigger than Astrid – but she somehow kept Astrid stuck where she was, the two of them in a deadly game of tug-of-war with the prize being one myssteel axe. But as Sheen moved her left hand to the other half of the chain and began swinging it like before, Astrid came to realize that the chain was doing all the pulling. That must be its inherent power – it couldn't cut like a blade, but it could entangle like nothing else could. And she'd soon be sending the rest of the chain Astrid's way. Not good with her axe temporarily out of commission.
A warrior was more than her weapon, though. Astrid could handle being unarmed for a time. Could Sheen say the same?
Time to find out.
Before Sheen could react, Astrid ceased her resistance and instead rushed forward, running straight at Sheen. The white-haired psycho seemed flummoxed by the move, and on instinct let loose the back half of her chain right at Astrid. With some freedom gained by the sudden slack in the chain, the young Viking twisted her axe to meet the attack, the rest of the chain wrapping around the shaft, utterly enveloping the wooden handle in silver-hued metal.
Astrid released the axe as she lunged forward, the chain whipping the weapon to the ground as Astrid charged ahead. Sheen's eyes were understandably distressed as she attempted to bring up her chain, but too much of it was attached to the axe, and she was even more distressed when Astrid's right hook found her lower jaw and smacked it into her upper one.
Two more powerful blows later, Sheen released her chain and fell backward to the dirt, barely conscious. Astrid stood over her, puffing with exertion and battle fever. The crowd's attitude shifted very rapidly to silent disbelief at seeing the Alchemist's most feared lieutenant lying inert, moaning in pain.
Astrid turned her fierce gaze on the crowd, who were currently stunned but also extremely numerous. They'd eventually get over the stunning, but they wouldn't stop being numerous.
"Anyone else?" she said defiantly, feeling stupid for saying it but not knowing what else to do. By the Gods, Heather's idea better be good.
"I'll give it a go," said Heather, rising to her feet and wearing a confident smile. "Stand back and take a breather. You're going to like this."
Her harness was now aglow, the central gem in the center bathed in blue arcing electricity. Heather reached out with one hand toward the crowd, like she was grabbing the air before her. That section of the crowd screamed out in surprise, terror, and for a few unlucky souls a bit of pain, as a volley of floating rocks shoved their way through the crowd. The stones sped to Heather and stopped short, spreading out and encircling her like bees swarming to a new home.
She raised her hands in other directions, each time summoning more animated stones to her, each time making life more difficult for more people in the crowd. Astrid watched quietly, back to feeling like life still had some amazing moments left to show her, as the blue energy surging from Heather's harness lifted her into the air to float in the center of the rock storm.
The rocks began forming a shape around Heather, that of a giant with no head and lots of breaks in its torso, its hands mirroring Heather's hands digit for digit. Astrid had forgotten the name of what this thing was called, so it was nice that one of the now-panicking soldiers cried out "Berserker!" to remind her.
To further increase the panic, Heather went and smashed a giant floating fist against the leg of the nearest Hunter, the platform careening over from the impact and sending the crowd around it scattering. The Berserker's feet pounded the dirt as she plowed a path through the encircling throng, the smart ones running aside while the dumb ones got pushed aside by huge rock hands. Heather kept the blows fairly light, though that translated into huge bruises and a few broken bones for those unlucky enough to get clobbered.
Astrid ran to her axe and extracted it from Sheen's chain. With Sheen out of it, the chain was as inert as a normal chain, and she scooped up her prized weapon with relieved glee. Then she saw Sheen sitting up on the ground, sporting rapidly-darkening bruises and looking about as murderous as a beat-up face could get, which is actually pretty frightening.
"KILL THEM!" Sheen screamed.
Sheen's dire command had partial success. The men and women before Heather's unstoppable juggernaut of stone were in no mood or shape to listen, but the others closer to Astrid were feeling braver. Two goons rushed Astrid at once, but found themselves joining Sheen on the ground from an aptly-aimed leg sweep. After smashing another goon's nose with the flat head of her axe and cutting one more guard's club in two, she decided that following Heather was a good idea.
"You said that was a control harness for one of the platforms," yelled out Astrid as she ran right behind Heather, pounding two more goons into submission as she went.
"I said it was a harness," yelled back Heather, bringing up the Berserker's left arm as a shield when a group of archers opened fire with their crossbows. The bolts clinked off hard stone and nothing else. "I just didn't say for what."
"So where's the actual harness we need?" asked Astrid.
Heather pointed a floating hand toward a simple shack down the row of platforms they were battling through. "They keep them in that building. We were heading there before all this happened."
Astrid balked at the prospect of trying to get the real control harness while fighting through dozens of soldiers. The soldiers were beginning to square themselves and close in around them again, using the dormant platforms for cover while the braver souls rushed Astrid from time to time, only to be rewarded with injury and concussions. None of them had myssteel weapons, and their combat training sucked, but they'd wear Astrid and Heather out eventually just through sheer tenacity and numbers.
A group of men made to ambush Astrid from behind a platform, rushing her with belligerent war cries, and Astrid prepared to get vicious with them as they closed in. Much to her surprise… and overwhelming joy… someone beat her to the punch.
Two spinning flashes of silver lashed out of nowhere and severed one of the platform's three legs, toppling it forward and knocking the men to the ground, trapping and pining several of them under the wreckage.
A figure in black-and-red battle fatigues ran around the wreckage and toward Astrid, stopping briefly to plant her boot into the face of one half-buried goon who had spoken an unkind word to her. Astrid felt like crying again, but this time the tears were of the happy kind, because Saga was here in the flesh.
There was an ever-so-brief lull with the two of them standing before each other, Saga's face at war with itself over whether to maintain her stolid persona or gush with wild abandon. Astrid knew there would have been gushing for sure had another band of assailants not approached, forcing Saga to reassert her control. Her eyes grew intense as she addressed Astrid, fully the warrior that Astrid knew all too well.
"Saga?" Astrid managed to blurt out. She was too amazed to say more than that.
"As Nestor would say, explanations later," said Saga. "Keep on this path and follow your ally closely. I will get you through, but it would be helpful if you can increase the number of obstacles in our enemies' path. "
And like that, Saga was gone again, rushing behind another platform, leaving Astrid with a mountain of unasked questions like, for starters, how in the Seven Seas did Saga even get here. But she was okay with not knowing right now, because when one of your best friends routinely predicted the future, having her arrive right when you needed her the most was something you easily accepted.
The manly squeals of dismay coming from behind the closest platform suggested Saga was already hard at work saving her life. Not wanting to waste Saga's efforts, Astrid raced to catch up with Heather, traveling close behind as her friend plowed the road.
"Please tell me the scary-looking lady you were talking to just then is on our side," said Heather in a worried tone. She had slowed down to wait for Astrid and must have seen Saga show up. The post-battle conversations were going to be very long indeed.
"She is," said Astrid excitedly. "Heather, my friend, I think we might survive this after all."
Linebreaker held the harness on his fingertips like it was a dead rat. Despite the colorful gem in the middle, it was a fashion disaster for anyone who wore it. Not a surprise, considering how gauche the uniforms he'd seen around the base were. Did the Alchemist not believe in good taste?
Qiao was busy securing the prone bodies of two incapacitated guards, victims of Qiao's curiosity. The one-story shack they had dragged the two guards into was an anomaly amongst the neat rows of war machines nearby, and outside of racks of uninspiring harnesses it had little else to speak of. Then again, the racks were plenty, filling up almost every available square foot of space inside the shack. They had to be control harnesses for the platforms, each one attuned to a specific war machine. Typical Alche efficiency, right down to a numbering system on each harness that matched a numbered platform.
"Do I just put it on and hope it doesn't turn me inside out?" asked Linebreaker.
Lingering at the doorway and playing the lookout, Qiao shrugged. "I don't know much about them, Captain. But if it's anything like the other harnesses I've seen Alche work with, you have to touch the center gem and then wave your arms around to get it working."
Linebreaker shook his head in dismay. "My stomach's already in knots just thinking about flying again. You sure you wouldn't be better suited for this task?"
"Take a breath, Linebreaker," reassured Qiao. "These platforms move as smooth as ice… well, flying slabs of ice."
"And I'm supposed to know how to drive a flying slab of ice?"
"Stop freaking on me already. You have time to learn before…"
Qiao abandoned the rest of the sentence as soon as she heard the uproar coming from the landed platforms. Qiao started as people emerged from their hiding spots amidst the platforms. More came running moments later, and Qiao instantly prepared Dragon Fire for battle, its energy strings tensing in her grip. She relaxed somewhat after realizing the gathering crowd was converging inside the platform rows and not heading their way, but she kept her bow at the ready. She couldn't see much of the festivities, but the nature of the yells she heard suggested a sporting event of some sort.
Linebreaker came to the doorway, attaching the harness as he walked. He saw the gathering and groaned. "Now we know where everyone's been hiding, though their choice of locale leaves something to be desired."
Qiao nodded grimly. "We just ran out of time, didn't we?"
She was troubled at how badly she missed all the people in hiding. She was so focused on keeping herself and Linebreaker in the shadows that she didn't think anyone else had any crazy plans in motion. She had taken the long way to the landing zone, which in retrospect was still a good move as they had sidestepped this impromptu party so effectively that neither of them had picked up on anything amiss amongst the rows of platforms. The two guards in front of the nondescript shack on the far side of the zone were hardly an issue, mostly tipping off Qiao to investigate the shack. It is common thief knowledge that something guarded is something worth checking out.
"How do we secure a platform now?" asked Linebreaker.
Qiao had an unhelpful quip on her tongue, but she lost it when a temporarily shift in the crowd showed a trio of combatants deeper in the throng. It was a fight contest, apparently, but the shocking part of the reveal was the blond-haired girl with the wicked axe. Qiao recognized her immediately and had to stifle a delighted squeal with her free hand.
"Astrid!" she said, grabbing onto Linebreaker's shirt and jumping up and down excitedly. "She's alive, she's alive, she's alive! And here I was doubting Saga's sanity!"
"Happy day, indeed," said Linebreaker, laughing while riding out Qiao's giddy jumping spree.
The jumping ceased once Qiao examined the situation more closely. "Oh, she's alive, but maybe not for much longer. I better get out there. Captain, it's up to you to get us a ride. I know you'll pull it off… because otherwise we'll probably all die."
Linebreaker watched Qiao run out of the shack and off to the shadows, where she disappeared amongst the grounded Hunters. "No pressure or anything," commented Linebreaker sourly.
He stood in the doorway as he brainstormed his options, listening to the rising and falling of the crowd's enthusiasm as the battle commenced. He knew the Hunters were controlled by arm gestures, but which ones done which way? Did he need to be on the platform to make it work? More to the point, how was he supposed to identify the right platform that went with the harness he wore? He couldn't go searching for it with the crowd right there. He'd be spotted almost immediately.
Maybe if he turned on the harness first, one of the platforms would give a reaction, light up or start floating. He settled on that idea. It'd better react very strongly if he was going to see it against all the other identical platforms.
He pushed on the gem in his harness and was pleased to see it start to glow red, gaining strength as the seconds ticked by. He then watched the rows of platforms and was overjoyed to see that Lady Luck still liked him, for one platform was beginning to straighten its legs to a standing position, as if preparing to go for a stroll. Best of all, it was several rows away from the crowd. If he was quick, they wouldn't spot it until he'd had a chance to work with it.
"Success!" he said, throwing his fists into the air in triumphant… which then caused the platform to veer off to the side, its legs scraping the ground as it careened into a parked platform in another row. One horrendous crash later, the two platforms were flipping over one another, their legs entwining briefly and then breaking away completely. The remains smashed into a third platform before coming to a rest, leaving a trail of broken parts across three separate rows and a mess of twisted stone that used to be three sophisticated war machines.
Linebreaker froze in place, awaiting a swift reaction from the crowd. But Lady Luck remained in love with him, because some turn of event within the circle of goons kept them from witnessing, or even hearing, the mortifying accident. In fact, the crowd appeared to be dispersing as a floating pile of rocks with legs started busting its way free of the crowd. Hopefully this was a good thing.
With no other options at his disposal, Linebreaker calmly took off his current harness, which had ceased glowing about the time the Hunter had its accident, and reached to pull a new one off the nearest rack. Good thing he had plenty of spares to work with – it was time that he had precious little of.
Astrid stuck to Heather like sap on a shirt, keeping at bay any brave soldiers with her fists, feet, and axe while the Berserker suit forged at trail toward the simple shack in the distance. Arrows and bolts struck out on occasion, almost all of them aimed at Heather, but her protective armor blocked them from penetrating. The Berserker was like a walking mountain, an irresistible force made up of immovable objects. Heather piloted it extremely well, a fact she had never mentioned to Astrid during the planning stage of their escape. Old habits died hard, it seemed.
Astrid caught glimpses of Saga running around in the background, usually followed by sounds of pain and terror and armed men fleeing for their lives. Thanks to Saga, the influx of goons attacking Astrid was manageable.
Heather moved through a vacant spot in the nearest row and put on speed, intent on making the shack before the guards could regroup. Alas, this proved an impossible dream as she was greeted with eight soldiers clustered together, their bows rising for a joint attack, their arrowheads shinning with that special myssteel gleam. Somebody had finally broken out the myssteel arrows, and Astrid feared that Heather's stone suit wouldn't provide enough cover. There was no way she could dodge out of the way, either.
One arrow flew first, but it didn't belong to the gathered archers. Composed mostly of hardened energy of an unknown quality, the arrow stuck into the ground ahead of the archers, distracting them for a brief moment before it melted into the dirt below it, the energy merging with the earth.
The earth then exploded in their faces, showering them in grit, launching the closest ones in the air and knocking the rest down. When the air cleared, the archers were clearly down for the count, and Heather stepped over them without slowing.
Astrid felt a new burst of giddiness when she traced the arrow's path back to its source. There was Qiao on the far end of the row, waving from atop a Hunter she had climbed onto, looking very smug and very relived at the same time. She mouthed something Astrid couldn't hear and waved at the shack. She was probably trying to tell her and Heather where to go, a helpful but unnecessary gesture.
Qiao let loose several more arrows, each one targeting the leg of a platform, each one exploding the leg below the joint into fractured fragments. The targeted platforms teetered and then toppled, some onto other platforms, others onto the ground. She was creating quite the mess, the chaos blocking pursuit from their flanks.
One platform did something unexpected, flying straight into the air, flipping around like it was performing a cartwheel, then slamming hard into the ground again, breaking off all thee legs in the process. When Astrid looked at Qiao for an explanation, Qiao only shrugged, though with a great smile on her face. She loved this way too much.
Qiao's happy disposition abruptly took a hit, along with her left shoulder, as something clipped her. Qiao cried out in pain and fell backward onto the platform, clutching her shoulder.
Astrid whirled around to find the culprit, as the shot came from behind. She found her, along with a dozen others, sprinting Astrid's direction. At the forefront was Sheen, a bitter grimace on her face, her chain wrapped around her torso as her hands were busy with a crossbow. She was yelling something harsh in a language Astrid couldn't decipher, which was for the best. It was doubtful she was saying anything kind.
Astrid flung her axe at the leg of the closest Hunter, her precise throw cleaving the leg at the joint and destabilizing it. The platform leaned over and then fell across the path behind her. Once her axe returned to her hand, Astrid switched targets and did the same to another platform on the opposite side, the Hunter collapsing as expected. Together, the wrecked machines blocked most of the row behind her, obscuring line of sight for opportunistic archers.
Saga rejoined Astrid after putting down two more guards, gesturing at Qiao's location. Already one step ahead, Astrid ran up to the platform and yelled up at Qiao, Heather halting her progression to act as cover. The thief managed to get back on her feet, her left arm sporting a spreading red blotch on her shirt. She tossed her bow to Astrid and then carefully jumped to the ground, wincing as she made impact.
"Stupid lucky shot," Qiao commented as Astrid gave her back the bow. "It's only a graze, thank the stars, but my aim's going to be lousy." Then she smiled mischievously at Astrid. "So, what's new with you?"
First Saga, then Qiao. Astrid was so delighted with her friends' arrival that she would've laughed if not for Saga's super-serious face.
"Save the heartfelt greetings for later," Saga ordered. "Qiao, does Linebreaker have transportation?"
Motion from above prevented Qiao from answering, as something new had now entered the picture. Astrid felt a winter chill pass over her, not from the weather changing or the wind suddenly picking up but from the realization that circumstances had just gotten worse for all of them.
The sun ceased to exist for a time as a large object came between it and the combatants gathered below. All eyes looked upon the Zenith flying into the base proper, gliding smoothly and soundlessly toward the mutated-starfish tower in the center of the island. It took its sweet time about it, as if enjoying the terror it was creating below. Many of the guards decided that enough was enough and fled for the buildings where they knew safe rooms had been constructed in case of a disaster or invasion. Others just stood in place, paralyzed by indecision and fear, hoping to be overlooked should the vessel's siege cannons come into play.
The only consensus for those witnessing the return of the Zenith was that this was not good. The Alchemist was not in control, for the other ships in the armada would have arrived with the flagship or else the Alchemist would have sent word ahead of its arrival. This ship meant harm to those below it, and there was little anyone could do to stop it.
For Astrid, Saga, Qiao, and Heather, stopping the ship wasn't on today's itinerary. Getting away from it was, and that was the tricky part considering they had no dragons or ships at their disposal. The soldiers that had once stood in their way were now picking themselves off the ground and running for cover, forgetting all about the intruders and traitors and escaped prisoners in their midst. With the shock of the Zenith's arrival wearing off, Saga made to repeat her question to Qiao on Linebreaker's progress. The answer she received did not come from Qiao.
A Hunter platform suddenly flew into view, dancing drunkenly in the air just above their heads, dangerously close to the ground and to them. Saga readied her daggers for action and Heather stepped to the forefront, preparing to shield the others with the Berserker if need be. Neither precaution was needed, for just as the platform made to crash down on its side, it lifted up at the last moment and planted its legs on the ground instead, turning the crash landing into merely a bad one. The struts dug sizeable rents in the dirt as the platform came to a stop, almost toppling in the process.
"I think our ride's here," said Astrid, amazed at the constant turning of events around her and just deciding to go with it.
Linebreaker came running around the Hunter as the platform's struts bent at the joint, dipping the central platform down to near ground level. Frazzled as he hadn't been since the time powdered wigs became a passing fad in Riki Poka, his laugh of greeting was less jovial and more sarcastic.
"Personally, I think a flying slab of ice would be easier to control," he said to Qiao.
"He's with us, I take it?" said Heather. "You guys are just coming out of the woodwork." She began moving her arms as if pushing the air around her outward. The rocks forming the Berserker began to lose their humanoid formation and moved away from Heather, creating a circle of motionless stone hovering just about the ground. Then she dropped her hands, the rocks dropping simultaneously and lifelessly to the dirt, the energy that held them aloft fading away until the stones were back to their usual stationary lifestyle.
Saga scrutinized Heather for a moment, then switched her gaze to the Hunter and gave it a far more distrustful stare. "Is this… safe?"
"How would I know?" said Linebreaker. "I'm just glad I didn't crash it. I guess the fifth time's the charm."
"Does it matter at this stage?" said Qiao, nursing her shoulder and watching the Zenith make its way across the sky. "I really want to get out of here, don't you guys?"
Saga might have agreed more readily if she hadn't watched Linebreaker's flying skill in action. She turned to Linebreaker and said, "Are you comfortable with piloting further?"
"Nooo!" declared Linebreaker. "But who else can do it?"
"Heather?" asked Astrid. "Can't you…?"
"Yeah, about that," said Heather sheepishly, stepping out of the newly formed rock circle. "I… really didn't spend any time practicing."
Astrid thought her eyes were going to pop out of her sockets. "WHAT?"
"I thought it was the same as controlling a Berserker, which was what I did learn to control," Heather said, her tone apologetic. "It was easier to get time on a Berserker than a Hunter. But after watching your friend here, I think I might have assumed too much."
Astrid shook her head in disbelief. "You think?"
"So it's me, then?" said Linebreaker woefully.
"It is you, then," said Saga. "Unless you want to ask that for a ride." She thumbed up at the Zenith, the ship coming to a halt directly above the crystal tower, hovering like a gargantuan foot poised for an epic bout of stomping.
Linebreaker gave the ominous ship a quick glance and then groaned in resignation. "Did I mention that I hate flying?"
The platform's safety railing got a lot of use that day as Linebreaker lifted himself and his friends towards the sky. He stood as Heather instructed, in the center of the platform, while everyone else clung tenaciously to the railing with both hands. Linebreaker sweated profusely while keeping his arm and hand movements as gentle and smooth as possible. Truly, if he ever met the Alchemist in person again, he would have words with her on her choice in control schemes.
The platform jerked at times, occasionally threatening to go ninety degrees and flip over or dump its passengers to their deaths, but Linebreaker managed to even the flight out each time. Standing at the platform's center did seem to help orient him, though having to keep his arms out all the time and his movements deliberate was proving a strain. What was he supposed to do if his nose itched? Ask one of the pretty ladies on board to scratch it?
Well, that didn't sound too bad, actually.
With a little help from Heather and her more in-depth knowledge of control harnesses, Linebreaker guided the platform away from the landing zone and over the tops of the buildings, keeping the altitude low to escape the attention of the Zenith. On that regard, they succeeded, for the vessel made no effort to strike them down. On the other hand, they did get attention from some of the guards below, mostly in terms of shouts and pointed fingers. Astrid swore she saw Sheen looking at them with utter hatred, the white-haired woman undoubtedly swearing to hunt them down like people of her vile nature liked to do.
Most of the guards fled to shelter when the massive warship above their home finally opened fire with its cannons. A chorus of explosions and violent crashes rang out behind the team as they cleared the illusion-field, the base abruptly transforming into a deserted mountainside, the ocean wind sweeping back into their lives and replacing the echoes of battle. The sea greeted their return to the open sky with hundreds of frothing waves, the air smelling good and briny again. Best of all, no airborne menaces and no signs of pursuit.
For the time being, it seemed like the world was perfectly normal once more… if you didn't count the flying mystical platform they were riding on. If they could only meet up with Arc now, their escape would be a complete success.
Had Arc believed in gods that controlled the sunshine and rain of the world, he might have cursed them, for they were not being at all helpful.
A fast-moving patch of clouds had moved in while Arc had been following the Alchemist and her Night Fury minion, clouds thick enough to obscure the naked eye but not wet enough to drop moisture. Not a real obstacle for an experienced flyer like Arc, but it did prove troublesome when Dark Star opted to fly into the clouds instead of above, below, or around them. Already on his way to losing sight of them as Dark Star outpaced the old Thunderchild, she disappeared entirely upon contact with the weather pattern.
Arc used an old Hyperion colorful metaphor to describe how little he appreciated the situation. Then he altered his trajectory so that he would skim just above the clouds, keeping his eyes open for any half-formed shapes that resembled anything hostile. He wasn't sure what to expect from either the Alchemist or Cervantes, but he been unpleasantly surprised by both of them in the past.
With the sea blanking out in favor of a field of fluffy-gray blankness, Arc found himself realizing how much he'd come to depend on Nestor and his circle of friends. They supplied extras eyes for spotting trouble, extra mouths for discussing inane but harmless subjects, extra ears for listening (and often ignoring) his inexhaustible wisdom, and extra minds for coming up with new ideas (even if most of them were stupid). He even missed carrying around Nestor – at least he knew where the boy was when he was clinging to his spinal ridges.
He worried about Nestor all the time these days. The boy could handle himself, of this Arc had no doubt, but he was still only human, and a young one at that. Arc had shown him so many wonders and dangers, so many delights and horrors, that there was no chance that Nestor would ever play it safe and keep out of trouble. He'd be compelled to do the right thing - save the day, rescue the damsel, destroy the evil, whatever you wanted to call it.
Thanks to Arc, Nestor could survive being a hero for a time, but heroes had a tendency to get killed. Someday, Nestor would face something his barrier would not protect him from, and that would be the end of the boy named Nestor.
And what will the dragon named Arc do without his boy?
He rolled his eyes reflexively, this time at his own bothersome thoughts. He knew Nestor was okay – he'd know otherwise in an instant. It was pointless to fret when he had more pressing concerns. Perhaps a game of cloud watching would soothe his mind, a game he played on long flights in the past before he had found companionship with Nestor. He could start with the one near him, the cloud that resembled a big rock…
Much to his vexation, Arc realized a split-second too late that the rock-shaped cloud coming at him from below had no cloud parts to it. The boulder-sized projectile flew at him with unnatural precision, and Arc managed to roll partly out of the way to prevent a direct hit. He cried out as the rock clipped his belly, snagging several of his outer scales and knocking him off his flight path.
Another shape emerged from the cloudbank below him, accompanied by a pair of flying boulders that were somehow keeping formation when they had no natural means to do so. Dark Star glared up at Arc, her one natural eye and one red artificial eye conveying pure disdain. The Alchemist stood atop her steed, raising her hands and guiding the two boulders as they flew along. The boulders glistened with moisture, and since Sanctuary Island remained miles ahead, Arc concluded that the Alchemist had plucked these rocks from the seafloor, using the clouds as cover. She didn't have the same hate-filled look as her steed, nor was there any shock or surprise at seeing Arc above her. These two must have detected his pursuit and doubled back to take him out.
Arc raised his hand to fire off a lightning blast, but the Alchemist was already letting fly with her boulders. Arc's blast caught one boulder in mid-flight, the current scorching the stone but not stopping it, though the impact of the blast altered its flight so that it missed. Arc was not so fortunate with the other boulder. He tried to veer off, but he only succeeded in exposing his back to the projectile. It collided into his back, right between his wings, a wave of agony enveloping him, his wings freezing up almost instantly.
He fought to stay alert as he stalled and went into a diving spiral, the pain washing over him like the surf of a lake made of acid. She had hit him on a sensitive spot, a muscle that most dragons had that could seize up when enough pressure was applied, temporarily robbing a dragon of its ability to fly. An Achilles' Heel of sorts, one that almost no human knew about. One more unpleasant surprise, courtesy of the Alchemist.
"I'd stay to ensure your demise, Hyperion," yelled out the Alchemist from above him as Arc began to lose altitude, "but I have other concerns. Consider this payback for Dark Star."
Arc had a brief moment to darkly wish Cervantes and the Alchemist the best of luck in destroying one another before the agony swallowed up Arc's mind, the clouds swallowing up the rest of him, as he fell towards the deep blue sea below.