Pirin stood up tall at the edge of the hole in the palace wall, waving his non-broken arm and shouting, “Alyus! Over here!”

But the ostal wouldn’t see them, not amidst all the other chaos, and not when the airship was so far away. Pirin lowered his arm and said, “Gray and I can fly over, but can you and Kythen get up?”

Myraden craned her neck back, staring up at the peak of the palace. The highest roof was still intact, its thatched slopes towering over the rest of the estate. “We can climb to the top of the palace,” she said. “You must guide them to me.”

“We will.” Pirin turned to Gray, who stood just behind him. “Ready to fly?”

Always, she said.

Pirin climbed up into her saddle and tightened his legs. She jumped off the edge of the platform, launching out into the open air.

Pirin had been expecting her to dive, swooping down in an arc to build up speed before flapping, but such a thing wasn’t necessary anymore. Even with a rider, she could take flight from a standstill now with her enhanced body.

They fluttered out through the air. A wave of debris washed over the horizon, flung out by a Wildflame technique, but he navigated Gray through it, ducking and spinning and dodging. They raced toward the Featherflight. If they didn’t go fast, the debris would tear the fragile airship to shreds.

A boulder hurtled toward the Featherflight. It’d rip a hole right in the side, straight through the outer envelope and gasbags. But before it struck the ship, an invisible net caught it midair and crushed it, then dropped the momentum-less debris down to the earth below.

Nomad was protecting the airship, wherever he was.

Pirin and Gray landed on the ship’s upper platform. Gray’s talons hooked on immediately and she held herself in place without needing a runout to slow down with. A lurch shot through Pirin, and he used the momentum to launch himself out of the saddle.

I like it up here! Gray said. It’s a nice view!

“Are you good up here? I’ll get the cargo hold open once we’re safe. I just need you to stay safe, alright?”

Just go tell them where to find Myraden.

“On it!”

Pirin pulled open the platform’s hatch and descended down through the hull, navigating toward the gondola. He passed the axial catwalk (where Brealtod was busy tightening ropes and hauling buckets of ballast water) and slid down through the crew quarters, then dropped to the gondola floor in a crouch.

“Elfy!” Alyus exclaimed. The ostal captain was holding the ship’s rudder and elevator wheels. “You’re alive and well?”

“I’m—” Pirin cut himself off, not expecting Alyus to ask that. “I’m fine.”

“Is Antlers with you?”

“She’s still down there.”

“We’re…leaving without her? Don’t get me wrong, I will, but I thought you two, y’know…”

Pirin shook his head. “No, no, just…she’s on the top of the palace. She can’t fly. I need you to get down there and swoop by the palace roof. The very top of it!”

Alyus nodded. “Can’t go leaving the girlfriend out in the rain, now, can we?”

“She’s not—” Pirin threw his arms down. “Oh, whatever…”

Nomad stood on the back platform of the gondola, outside the enclosed area. He manipulated the wind to halt any boulder or stone or debris potentially harming the airship, but the distant battle between the Wildflames was dying down. He didn’t have as much to focus on. He glanced over his shoulder, staring back at Pirin. “Do you have what you need, Pirin? You gathered everything on the list?”

“If we pick up Myraden, we’ll have everything,” Pirin said. “She still has half the supplies in her void pendant.”

Alyus spun the elevator wheel, and the airship tilted downward. He wedged his knee into it to hold it in the place he wanted, then leaned over to the ladder up to the axial catwalk. “Brealtod! Tighten the ballonets and hold your ballast! We need to go gown!”

A loud string of hisses rolled back through the hull.

“Yeah, yeah, not too far! We need…” Alyus looked forward, out the gondola’s front windows. “...go down about a hundred feet!”

Brealtod hissed in what sounded like confirmation.

The Featherflight dipped toward the peak of the Aremir palace. Pirin ran to the front of the gondola and pressed his face up against the glass. Myraden and Kythen perched on the peak of the roof, a white and red speck in the night.

“There!” Pirin called, pointing at them.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Alyus spun the rudder wheel to the left hard and fast, and the ship turned. “Any further, and we’ll lose the wind!”

Pirin glanced at Nomad. They shared a shrug. Pirin said, “We have two wind-wizards aboard. That shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Can you keep us safe and keep us moving?” Alyus asked Nomad.

Nomad nodded. “I’ll keep the sails full on one side, and Pirin will keep them full on the other. It should be enough to let me split my attention.”

It probably wouldn’t matter either way. No more boulders flew up into the air. One of the Unbound Lords was losing. An enormous serpent sculpture of green blood rose up over the hills. Thin lines of the Essence-blood mixture wound together, making the technique appear sketched onto the world in glowing ink.

It had a bat’s head, but the body had the shape of a serpent. It was only an echo of a greater beast, but it still rose up in the sky with immense power, preparing to crash down on its foe and annihilate them.

That wasn’t a horse-Path technique. Whoever was fighting Lord One was winning.

Pirin ripped his gaze away from the fight and ran back to the ladder. He climbed up to the very top of the airship and slid down the side of the envelope until he reached one of the sails’ spars. He slid his mask onto his face and activated the runes, locking onto Gray—who watched from the upper platform.

Nomad slid down to the other side of the airship, and though Pirin couldn’t see him anymore, the man’s voice boomed loud enough that Pirin could hear it.

“This is a technique like your Winged Fist!” Nomad called. “You must broaden it. Send strands of Essence out into the air and guide it. Your Essence is the wind blowing over the prairie. Know it, and use it!”

But we’re not on his Prairie Gap Path! Gray exclaimed. She turned back and forth between the two wizards, hopping across the airship’s upper platform.

“We’ll modify the technique!” Pirin replied. He knelt down on the spar of the sail he intended on filling and cycled the same way he would for the Winged Fist. As Nomad had instructed, he let tendrils of invisible Essence snake out into the air. They didn’t manifest yet, but their existence was enough to manipulate the wind.

“On a count of three!” Nomad yelled. “I’ll match you, however hard you push!”

The airship turned, and the sails on Pirin’s side began to luff. They slowed down. At the same time, the distant serpent-bat blood technique reached the peak of its arc and began to crash race down through the sky. When it hit the ground, there’d be a shockwave, and Pirin braced himself for impact.

“Two…” Nomad called. He was already counting.

“One…push!”

Pirin guided the wind with his Essence. Push was the wrong word. He simply guided it, ordering the course of the air to change and commanding it into the sails. He imagined a bird flapping and creating a downdraft that pushed air out into the sail, and his Essence responded. He was drawing on his reserves of gnatsnapper Essence to fuel the technique. It was naturally attuned to wind, and better yet, it was a bird Essence.

The white sheets luffed out, air filling them once more. The Featherflight picked up speed and swooped down toward the peak of the palace roof.

The building had no spires or towers to worry about—just a long hall at the very top. They brushed just past the spine of the roof, and though Pirin couldn’t sense or see Myraden, he knew she and Kythen would hop on.

“Where to now?” Pirin yelled, hoping Alyus would hear.

“We can come up with a plan later!” the man yelled back.

Pirin kept fuelling the sail, guiding the air toward it. But he couldn’t stop himself from glancing to the side.

The dragon-bat technique descended on the hills, smashing into the earth and drilling a crater into the ground. Pirin partially expected a fiery explosion, but there was only an enormous plume of mud and dirt. It shot up in a column, shrouding the landscape.

A shockwave blasted out from the impact, flattening what grass remained and sending up a ring of dust. Motes of Essence glowed in it, swirling and tumbling. It blasted into Pirin with the force of a charging horse, and it took all his strength just to cling to the spar. But he stayed upright.

When the dust cleared, neither Wildflame wizard threw out another technique.

“Stay calm!” Nomad yelled. “We’re faster than them! We just need to get out of here!”

image [https://static.wixstatic.com/media/f3a882_5e221995337243e6a7d4250b55d3aeea~mv2.png/v1/fill/w_280,h_232,al_c,lg_1,q_85,enc_auto/embercore%20sigil.png]

Lady Neria clapped slowly as Three struck the final blow to Lord One.

It was an impressive technique, but she was more impressed that Three had shielded her from the fallout so well. She felt nothing but a faint breeze.

She had strained herself to follow Three, keeping in range of the wizard so he could protect her from the chaos—and he knew better than to let her die. She was breathing heavily and sweating, and she had to admit that she wasn’t as nimble as she once was.

But she composed herself in a matter of seconds, brushing off her coat and wiping her brow. She reached into the lapels of her white coat and withdrew a dagger.

Even though Three had delivered a crushing blow, Lord One was only broken—not dead.

She crept over to him, slipping around the back of Three.

“Careful, my lady,” Three said.

“He is defeated, yes?” she said, turning the dagger over in her hand and catching it in a reverse grip. “You have exhausted his Essence and any hidden treasures in his storage?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Then there is no danger.” She slid down the edge of the crater. The ground was mostly dry, but a thin stream of fenland water poured down the edge, pooling around the battered bodies of Lord One and his Familiar. He was missing an arm, and his legs were both bent awkwardly. He gasped in raspy breaths.

Lady Neria knelt beside him.

“How…?” he gasped.

Lady Neria scoffed. That was what he wanted his final word to be? Typical of a wizard. But she would indulge a dying man. “Lord Three wants it more. A steady supply of elixirs can’t hurt, no, but…you were comfortable in the Unbound Pact. He wasn’t. Discomfort breeds strength.”

She placed her dagger at his throat, then continued: “Your family grew comfortable, and look where it got you. Your only heir, a Blaze, doesn’t have the insight to advance to Wildflame. Even if he was, he couldn’t rule. He doesn’t have what it takes. You have no one to take your place. With your death, the Aremir family is no more.”

“Ethelvaed…please…”

Before Lord One could start begging, Neria slid her dagger across his throat. He was out of Essence; with nothing to fuel his enhanced body, he was as good as a mortal.

She flicked the dagger off and turned away as Lord One writhed and gurgled. When he finally fell silent, she commanded Three, “To my airship. Next on the menu: Lord Two.”