Pirin and Gray circled the Fealty, attacking swarms of enemy birds and knocking them out of the sky with Shattered Palms, or attacking close-range with his sword.

The fleet carrier below readied its squadron. Twelve gnatsnappers climbed up onto the flight deck, equipped with saddles and a heavy alchemical bomb each. Riders sprinted across the deck, sheltering from falling debris, and leapt into their birds’ saddles.

But with such a heavy payload, even a run along the seven-hundred-foot flight deck wouldn’t be enough. A rope hooked onto the first bird’s saddle, and trebuchet payloads dropped from the front of the ship with a leathery groan. The rope tightened, launching the pilot and rider forward with enough speed to give the bird lift.

Puny mortals! That’s what they need to do to match our ability? Gray squealed inside Pirin’s mind. I probably could’ve carried three of those bombs!

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Pirin whispered.

He shut his eyes. He’d have to find a way to deal with that dragon spirit. He didn’t want to lose the old Gray, the kind and compassionate one.

I’m just pointing it out… Gray pouted.

“Sure you were. Wanna go help them?”

By now, four of the twelve riders had launched. Pirin pressed the windstone headset up to his ear and allowed air to flow through it again. “Bomb group. This is Pirin speaking. Do you hear me?”

“We hear you, your majesty,” replied a voice through the headset. Most of the heavy bomber pilots were women; they needed to be as light as possible for their gnatsnappers to hoist the gate-busting bombs.

“Form your squadron up behind me. Once we break away from the battle and aim for the delta gate, we’ll have enemies on our tail the whole way. I’m giving it two more circles before I break off.”

He’d been briefed on his journey south along the Sirdian coast, then more on the journey aboard the Featherflight to get here. He’d talked over the plan many times with the marshals.

Bust open the delta-gates, make way for half of the weaveling army to advance inland along the broad rivers. They’d take a branch of the Eldflow river, which eventually met with the Senflow and encircled the old elven capital—Vel Aerdeil.

They’d never have a better chance to take the city and cause havoc. They’d never have a better chance to put Pirin in the presence of the elven throne and make it bloom.

As Pirin flew his last two circles around the Fealty, the rest of the squadron formed in the air behind him. Gnatsnappers fluttered in a wedge formation behind him, the two-foot-long bombs now dangling beneath their saddles. They were regular birds, not Familiars, and with such a heavy load—rider and bomb—they wouldn’t fly for long. As they joined up, their riders called out through the windstone. Their callsigns were always a variation of “Avalanche.”

But he couldn’t spend any more time circling. The others would catch up if they could.

“Veer off,” Pirin said. “We’re beginning the attack run. I’ll keep them off you as best I can.”

He and Gray dipped to the east, aiming for the distant coast. They took a wide circle, making a maneuver that even the heavily-burdened bombers could match.

They passed through a column of black smoke, and Pirin switched back to his wind-wielding form to cleave a route through it—and to expose two enemy birds in the smoke. He and Gray veered off to attack one, and one of the Avalanche squadron pilots drew a recurve bow off her shoulder. She stuck the other bird with an arrow. It spiralled down to the ocean below.

“Get low!” Pirin instructed. “We can pull up when we approach the gate, but we need to avoid the worst of the flak.”

They swooped down and passed between a pair of duelling battleships. Pirin charted a swerving course across the battlefield, slipping between ships’ hulls and over wreckage. The squadron straightened into a line. Two riders fell to a volley of arrows, and another was incinerated when a frigate’s magazine exploded too close. One more crashed into the burning flotsam of a carrier. At that speed, the pilot couldn’t have lived.

And then they were out of the wooden maze.

Pirin tugged Gray higher up into the sky, at a better height to make a bombing run, and the rest of the squadron fanned out behind him.

“Not too fast, Gray,” he whispered. “We can’t outpace them.”

Hah! Slow!

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“Gray…”

Sorry.

Pirin rolled his eyes, then leaned forward and charged a Winged Fist. Outside the skirmish of ships, they had a brief reprieve, but it wouldn’t last forever. When someone noticed them, they’d seem easy targets.

The hilly Aerdian coast expanded ahead. It was still a few miles away, but it expanded and grew quickly. Away from the shroud of smoke, the magenta moonslight seared down, making rays in the haze and outlining the peaks of the hills. They rose a few hundred feet above the coast abruptly, almost forming a wall beyond the beach, though not as impenetrable as mountains.

But the Eldflow’s mouth was just ahead. In a deep valley, a delta of rivers ran out to the sea, making a hazy emulsion where freshwater met salt. The valley walls had to be nearly a mile across, but a wall blocked it all off.

In the moonslight, the modern, utilitarian plane shone almost magenta, but in the daylight, it would’ve been a pale gray cobblestone-flagstone mixture. No statues, no ornamented merlons. Just a slab of stone. Culverts allowed the smaller streams of the delta to spill out into the ocean, and a rampart ran across the top.

But of course, there was a main gate.

A portcullis stood at the very center of the wall, blocking the largest stream and preventing anyone from sailing barges or warships up the river.

“There it is,” Pirin said to the whole squadron—or what was left of it. “That’s our target.” He glanced over his shoulder. There were only seven riders behind him, and one had already lost her bomb.

Worse, a cluster of Aerdian riders had broken off from the main battle and began to pursue. “I’ll deal with—”

Pirin. Ahead, said Gray.

He whipped around in his saddle and faced the delta-gate again.

The gate has its own defenses.

Aerdian soldiers sprinted along the rampart, drawing their bows and jumping onto repeating crossbow platforms. They lit oil-soaked arrowheads in flaming cauldrons. “No flak catapults,” he remarked. “They were expecting to hold off an attack from the sea, not dive-bombers.”

But higher up on the hills was a set of notched openings in the rock. Rectangular gates facing the open air. Torchlight glimmered from inside, and streams of birds slipped out, ready to pinch the squadron.

“We’re not gonna let them trap us,” Pirin said. He stopped cycling, cancelling his Winged Fist technique, then pulled off his mask and switched to the more destructive Shattered Palm. “Keep on course,” he instructed the squadron. “I’ll clean up the birds behind us, then clear a path to the gate.”

The squadron all called out confirmations through their windstones.

Does that mean we get to go fast? Gray asked. I get to show them all my superiority?

“Yes, Gray,” said Pirin. “We’re going fast.”

Excellent. She chirped with glee, then thrust with her wings. They switched direction rapidly, then turned to face the following, harrying fighter-birds. Without a bomb, the Aerdian gnatsnappers were faster, and the ten of them had gained significantly on the squadron.

They adjusted course to converge on Pirin, clumping up, but he rose up in his saddle and unleashed a Shattered Palm. It struck them like they’d crashed into a wall. The impact turned the first rider into red mist and feathers, and knocked three more out of the sky behind.

While they recovered from the flash and burst of energy, Gray had already maneuvered behind them. Pirin steered her behind a pair of riders, and he slashed through their tail feathers, sending them falling out of control. He mustered his Reign of a sword, enhancing the cutting edge, and held it out to the side.

The other riders stood no chance. He and Gray zipped between them, him slashing and Gray flying, until there were no more pursuers.

But the bombing squadron was almost at the gate. Almost in range of the second cluster of birds.

Pirin pushed his mask back onto his face and pushed with wind from behind, propelling them back in the opposite direction like a leaf in the wind—but with control.

They shot back over the bombing squadron and approached the new horde. Pirin couldn’t take them all down, but he had to try. There were twenty, maybe thirty of them. With his enhanced body and senses, the chances of them doing significant harm to him or Gray were low, but if the bomb squadron failed, they’d be in just as much trouble as if he died.

Besides, they trusted him. He couldn’t let them die.

He shot into the horde and pushed to the sides with wind, scattering the enemy gnatsnappers and sending them tumbling through the air. They regained their balance and resumed their course, but it bought the bomb squadron time, and the pilots launched a volley of arrows directly at their targets. A few hit.

Pirin swerved and ducked, knocking riders off their mounts with puffs of wind, or launching him and Gray between them in angular lines. Greenish-brown Essence sparks trailed in the air from Pirin’s technique usage. He drew a constellation between the enemy riders, and with each swipe of his sword, one fell out of the sky.

But with each second, they drew closer and closer to the gate.

“Pull up!” Pirin called through the windstone. “Then begin your bombing run!”

Already, three more bombers had died, and another was close. Two gnatsnappers chased behind her, launching arrows. They gained ground.

Pirin approached from behind, trying to take out the pilots, but he wouldn’t be fast enough. “Pilot!” he called through the windstone. He regretted not knowing her name, but he hoped it’d be enough to get her attention. “Drop your bomb and run! Get out of here!”

Her voice crackled through the other side of the windstone. “But—”

“Go! I’ll take your bomb! Just drop it!”

Pirin shot underneath her as she released the bomb from her saddle. He reached up and snagged the alchemical tube out of the air. He ripped his mask off and activated the Fracturenet fortification technique, but the impact still made them drop a few feet.

Bombs’ runes were purposely messy. They’d only explode with extremely fast movement through the world’s energy fields—when they reached terminal velocity above the ground—before the detonation process could begin. The etchings only glowed like embers, having absorbed a few raw slices of Eane.

But the other pilots were diving, now, and Pirin had to join them. He clutched his newfound bomb tight and joined the other three diving pilots.

The gate was just ahead.