Khara had been expecting the Steppehawk to lead them directly to the construction facility of Lady Neria’s army, wherever it may have been. But instead, it brought them to a lonely company ship out in the middle of the southern stormseas.

The ship was a Dominion Unity-Class destroyer, though it only flew the sigils of the Neria Shipbuilding Company—who also happened to make that sort of ship, working under contract from the Dominion. If one ended up in the hands of Lady Neria, Khara wouldn’t be surprised.

But she doubted it was on patrol. A hidden facility had no need of such long distance patrols—not when she couldn’t even see the Stormwall.

She couldn’t see much from the porthole of the Aremir family sloop, but it still had a perfect view of the two-ballista destroyer and its backdrop of clear skies.

“This isn’t where we need to be,” Khara muttered. “Probably just another supply ship or a messenger.” If the Steppehawk had gotten something wrong, they’d be in trouble.

“Wait,” said Ethelvaed, who knelt on a stack of barrels in the cargo hold behind her. He pushed her aside without asking, though she tolerated it—she’d seen what she needed. He peered through the porthole. “What’s that in the distance? In the sky?”

“Cloud, probably,” Khara said.

“Too dark.”

“Then it’s a floating rock,” Khara muttered sarcastically.

“Enough of this disrespect,” Ethelvaed hissed. “I am set to be Lord One of Plainspar, and you will not defy me. I will be respected, and I will have your silent loyalty if nothing else.”

Khara snorted, but said nothing else. She was here for one reason, and one reason only. It wasn’t to restore Ethelvaed’s honour or to help bring the thieves who raided the Aremir estate to justice.

“It’s…a bird,” Ethelvaed said. “A gnatsnapper.”

“It’s him,” Khara snapped, rising up to share the view out the porthole. “I don’t care what the black-haired elf needs this destroyer for. If he’s coming here, then we’ll be waiting for him. We’ll get him and his friends.”

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Pirin and Gray soared high above the rippling ocean, flying in a zigzag pattern in the general direction Nomad had sensed the spiritual presence from.

Pirin felt it too, now. It was possible that there was just a powerful wizard sailing to the south, but Pirin highly doubted it. Lord Three had been travelling north with Lady Neria.

He locked onto the presence, how it pushed and moved his core, and how it made the back of his neck tingle. Every second, a tension grew in his gut. It was about as strong as Nomad’s presence, but it was sharper. It wanted to cut things, and it wanted to dominate and control. He tracked it with every turn he and Gray made. They made smaller and sharper turns as they narrowed down the precise heading they needed.

After a few minutes, they were flying in a straight line. The wind fluttered around them, but the umberstone mask kept it out of his eyes.

Pirin, Gray said inside his mind, are we really going to use Neria’s army?

“We could just destroy it,” Pirin said. “But yes. I…was planning on using it. Without a fresh army, we can’t hope to reunite the Elven Continent.”

Destroy it?

“I don’t like the idea. They might be…well, cloth wraiths, but we’ve seen what Göttrur is capable of.” He reached up to his shoulder and scratched the little fox between the antlers. “It would be mass-murder for no good reason.”

If the dagger is necessary, it means they aren’t perfectly obedient.

“It means they have some semblance of free will,” Pirin breathed.

Are you planning on using a slave army, just like Lady Neria would have?

Pirin shut his eyes and sighed. “I can’t tell you for certain, because I don’t know the extent of their capabilities. If they’re like men, then…” He shook his head, recalling the vision he’d seen at the hands of the Nightmare. “We won’t enslave them. I can’t.”

What would you do, in that case?

He paused for a few seconds, then said, “I don’t have an answer yet.”

The presence and pressure of the dagger grew even stronger, and when Pirin squinted, a speck appeared on the horizon. It was late afternoon, but there wasn’t a cloud in the sky to block his view.

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“That’s it,” he said.

They approached, but stayed high up in the air and circled around. The ship was an inelegant wedge of wood with a blocky superstructure. It wasn’t exactly a battleship; it was only a few hundred feet long. But a pair of ballistae waited on pedestals, stepped in front of the superstructure and mainmast like terraformed earth.

It had a single mast at the center of the ship, peering up just above the superstructure, and a single long yard stretched off it. Two triangular sails caught the wind, propelling the ship fast enough to leave a frothy wake.

Pirin shut his eyes for a second in annoyance. If they had been a little further west, they’d have found it immediately, and they wouldn’t have had to waste a few days sailing the Featherflight in an arc around the facility.

But he hadn’t known exactly where it was going to be.

No point beating yourself up over that, Gray said. It’d have been impossible to know. Besides, we aren’t too far behind.

As soon as Pirin had a good idea of its capabilities—two main ballista turrets, a couple repeating crossbows, and a flak catapult to protect every angle—he and Gray turned around and flew back to the Featherflight. He landed in the cargo hold and ran back to the gondola to report his findings.

“If you take the airship anywhere close to it, they’ll blast you out of the sky,” Pirin said. “One of the wizards has to stay behind to protect the airship.”

Alyus shrugged, then looked at Brealtod. The dragonfolk hissed a few times. When he was done, Alyus said, “We’d prefer it if Nomad guarded the ship.”

“Really?” Nomad exclaimed. “I’m honoured, truly!”

“Yeah, don’t let it go to your head.” Alyus spun the rudder wheel to the left slightly. “You’re the best at keeping ballista bolts away from the ship.”

“Then I will live up to your expectations! But that means Pirin and Myraden are going down alone.”

“Will Neria have any wizards on the ship?” Pirin asked.

“I cannot say for sure,” Nomad answered. “But if what you said is true, she has been using the majority of her wizards to build an army of Weavelings, and she hasn’t been training them for combat.”

“It better be a good army, if it’s worth taking so many wizards out of commission,” Pirin muttered. He leaned forward. Again, the warship appeared on the horizon. They were catching up with it, and it’d be in-range soon. “I’ll fly ahead and distract their air defenses. Once I’ve taken out the ballistae, you should be able to get close enough for Myraden to jump down.”

They all shared a nod, and Pirin ran back to the cargo hold. He climbed aboard Gray, and she took flight again.

This time, they flew only a few hundred feet above the surface of the water as they approached. Gray’s enhanced wingbeats stirred up waves on the surface of the water and made a slight wake behind them, even from so high up.

With Pirin’s help, pushing with wind from behind, they shot toward the vessel with the speed of an arrow. Sailors pointed and shouted, but they were too slow. By the time ostal sailors in white coats had rushed to the railing-mounted repeating crossbows, Pirin had already passed overhead.

“What do you say, Gray?” he asked. “Think we can take out a ballista from up here?”

I think we should try! she exclaimed.

They circled back around as the sailors prepared the flak catapults, and they dodged a burst of stones and pebbles. The flak catapults were perfect against bird riders, but only if they could land a hit.

Pirin and Gray pulled up, shooting straight into the sky. As soon as Gray started to lose speed—about a mile in the air—they turned about and dove straight down. The catapults fired up at him and Gray, but they swerved around it with their enhanced speed, and with Pirin assisting Gray’s agility. Sailors with longbows fired arrows up at him, but he knocked the arrows aside with a Winged Fist. One of the ballistae fired a bolt up, and the alchemical bomb at its tip exploded just to their left.

But they couldn’t stop Pirin’s arcane dive-bombing.

When he and Gray were a hundred feet above the deck, Pirin pulled off the mask and prepared a Shattered Palm. He thrust his arm out, and a surge of pale blue energy flashed off his hand. It seared through the air, making a palm-print the same size as his own body, and smashed into one ballista turret. The wood crumpled and the bowstrings snapped. His unstable Essence fuelled the alchemical warhead of a mounted bolt, and the entire pedestal exploded.

Gray pulled up and flapped her wings, and Pirin slipped his mask back on—just in time to drag air back up toward them like he was filling sails. It slowed their descent. They landed on the crumpled, charred pedestal of the first ballista turret, then looked up at the second.

The gunners tried to swing the ballista around to face Pirin, but he blasted the men away from it with a Winged Fist. It wasn’t nearly as powerful as the Shattered Palm, but it carried them further away.

He jumped off Gray’s saddle, then leapt up to the platform above with the help of the wind. As he landed, he pulled his mask off and launched a smaller Shattered Palm into the ballista. At such a close range, it had the same destructive effect. He knelt and Gray duck her talons into the deck to weather the shockwave of the exploding bolt.

There would still be archers, and they probably had flaming arrows, or some other method of damaging the Featherflight, but Nomad would handle that.

By now, the Featherflight was only a few miles away. The sailors couldn’t decide whether to attack Pirin and Gray or the approaching ariship, so they scrambled about like ants. Archers at the prow turned toward Pirin and Gray, and he ducked down behind a titanwood bulwark to avoid the arrows. A mortal ostal emerged from belowdeck with a sword, but Pirin kicked him back down the charred and crumbling stairs.

The ship’s bell was ringing in alarm, and officers called out orders. Pirin looked up to the command bridge—a candlelit room at the top of the superstructure with lattice widows. Officers pointed and shouted, and someone spun the ship’s wheel to the side.

They turned their flank toward the approaching airship, so they could aim a full broadside of repeating crossbows and flak catapults at the Featherflight. They fired a volley, but the projectiles halted or flew off-course before they hit the airship.

A glowing red streak flashed through the air, pushing off the upper platform. Myraden leapt over the first volley of arrows, then plummeted down to the deck of the ship. She landed in a crouch beside Pirin, the boards splintering under the force of the impact.

“I’ll search belowdeck,” Pirin said.

“I will search the superstructure,” Myraden replied.

They shared a nod, then split apart. Pirin slipped down a hole in the ship’s broken deck, then dropped into a cramped interior hallway and set off.