18
The girl’s name was not ‘glassy’ but Tess. Short, as she put it, for Amaratessa. First daughter of a merchant whose luck had run critically short in the pinch. Such was life. You picked yourself up, gathered the pieces, learned and moved on… or you died and left others the wiser.
Tess had ascended from captivity to the rank of first mate in a crew of just two. Her unlikely shipmate was Kaazin Kylarion, who counted any day not imprisoned or threatened with death as a win.
All that to say, having been pressed into service, the Flying Cloud was expected back in port within the fortnight, bringing Arvendahl’s corpse or proof of his grisly death. Hadn’t achieved that, so far. Cloud would have made do with Kaazin for witness and substitute, only the outcast had now joined the crew. His crew. (Could an airship be male? This one felt male.)
Complicated, to be sure, and Cloud was back on the hunt as a consequence. Had already accounted for two of the day-walker’s ships, without nailing Arvendahl, himself. Not Kaazin’s true goal, but important.
On the one hand, Kaazin owed that vile drek-warg as messy a death as could be hastily crafted. On the other… he had more important, more personal quarry to tackle. Also, though rid of the eater, Tess was mortal and still very weak. She’d be no use at all in an actual fight.
-Quartermaster, the first mate is in pain- Cloud informed him. -She requires relief at the helm-
Sure. Why not? The airship’s interior was a bizarre, shifting maze, only opening out to the top decks when Flying Cloud felt like permitting access. Kaazin had spent his time wandering. He did not need much sleep (had his high-elf side to thank for that, he supposed). Could only spend so much time eating and exploring (with a red, narrow magical eye gliding along the bulkhead beside him). Had nothing better to do than play nursemaid.
So, the glowering dark-elf took himself up to the main deck, then further aft to the helm, battling a considerable headwind and tilting surface, but not much else. Light didn’t blind him or burn his flesh. He’d spent enough time practicing exposure in an upper cavern with Bonesetter, back when… when he still believed they’d escape together. That his accursed father had meant all those worthless vug promises.
There was almost a gale, topside, for the ship was in motion, soaring high over water and sparse, scattered islands (some floating, some anchored). Wind… moving air in the face or pushing him hard, like a shove to the back… Its force had come as a shock. He still didn’t like it, and reflexively spell-bound his silvery hair, while stalking over to Tess.
The mortal female stood by the ship’s wheel, looking haggard and pale. Only just didn’t cling for support to the posts and handrails that Cloud had erected around her. Very thin, she appeared, and still lop-sided.
“I am here. Go below,” he ordered that brown-haired scrap of a human.
“Good afternoon to you, too, worthless drow,” she snapped back. “Plus, I’m fine. Go sneak through the passages or lurk in the armory, or something, and leave me alone!”
Kaazin’s habitual scowl deepened as he thought back over his words. Found nothing at all impolite, but (shrugging) said,
“Good over-bright afternoon. I am here. Go below,” he amended, adding a sigil of pain relief, too.
Tess blinked at him, all at once freed of a thundering headache.
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“I don’t need to, and you’re an insubordinate, cave-sliming… stupid… Gaaaah! Shut up, Cloud! Go away!”
Must be an interesting place, her head, thought Kaazin, mildly enjoying the show. Prodded to speech by the Flying Cloud, he offered a bargain.
“You will share strategies for tracking down Arvendahl, and I will stand watch at the helm. Or I can pitch you over the rail and be well shed of a noisy irritant.”
“I hate you,” she spat.
“So does everyone else. Next topic: Arvendahl. Where has he gone to ground, and how do we start the jackal from his burrow?”
Tess wouldn’t have sat, had Cloud not tilted its deck, formed a chair, and then knocked the thin knees out from under her. Very instructive (and funny, too). Only more amusing if she’d been injured, but that was a drow sense of humor, not high-elf.
Cloud’s deck rippled like water, moving that newly formed chair further away from the helm.
-Quartermaster, you will now take control- ordered the airship. Kaazin stepped forward, making an annoying show of patting that big, spoked wheel.
Tess cursed like a goblin and struggled to rise, but a sudden lap belt restrained her. That, and exhaustion. He’d been trained to see and gauge pain and remaining endurance. The girl had none of the first, now, and very little remaining of the other. Needed to be back in her bunk and recovering. Doubted she’d listen if told to bed down, though. Shaking his head, Kaazin kept to the basics, because whatever he said would be wrong.
“Milardin is not the day-crawler’s only stronghold. There is also Snowmont, and a hunting lodge up on the coast, near the Ilirian border.”
“You’ve been researching him,” Tess accused, proudly not touching the back of her unwanted seat. (It expanded and softened to cushion her, anyhow.) Kaazin glanced away from the airship’s controls and its glittering chart-sphere. Replied,
“On the one hand, he needs as much festive killing as anyone I’ve ever crossed paths with. On the other hand… she had five fingers.”
“Wh… what?” blurted the mortal girl, stifling a laugh.
Caught in a moment of actual self, the drow clamped shut again. Turned away from her, resuming his watch at the helm.
“Nothing. A stupid saying. The words of a future corpse.” And then, because shifting the subject was his best non-violent defense, “Why have you turned privateer? Why accept an imperial leash?”
-Not a leash, Quartermaster- cut in the airship, flexing a steering vane to bank slightly eastward. -We operate between the twin forces of sea-realm and empire. So much predation is allowed, in return for occasional ‘jobs’. This is but one of those jobs.–
“None of your beast-wax!” snapped Tess, at the very same time. “Cloud, let me goooo! It’s embarrassing!”
Very few things (that weren’t bleeding) could make Kaazin laugh. Her expression and struggle provoked a snort of amusement, and he enjoyed the sight before asking,
“So, having accepted this job… or been forced to… how much wiggle-room do you have with the terms? Find and slay Arvendahl, or… what?”
“Or face a non-stop gauntlet of dreadnoughts, each with a topflight mage aboard, slinging death-spells. Cloud can manage stealth and defense. I can handle negotiations. You… can go boil yourself in the sewage tank, but we can’t dodge the whole imperial fleet, forever. Bottom line, we give them what they want, they leave us alone. Mostly.”
Kaazin nodded. The arrangement seemed perfectly reasonable to him. Dark-elf diplomacy generally began with an oath and ended in bloodshed. Fewer bribes and long speeches, that way.
“Then we will hunt down the day-fly, kill him and bring back his head,” decided the drow, adding, “My boiling capacity aside, I am a battle-mage. My spells are meant for city guards and road patrols, though, not for fleets. I will need to adapt them. In the meantime, if I was Arvendahl… planning further assault while evading notice…” Kaazin considered a moment, staring hard at the airship’s chart-sphere. “I would go to a hidden place, far from others, where I might order my forces and magic in peace. I would go far. North, let us say.”
“There’s no us! There’s no we!” exploded the mortal. “You’re a barnacle! You’re a drekkin’ blood-tick, and as soon as Stormy comes to his senses, you’re gone, drow!” Then, more raggedly, “Right, fine! Whatever! Thanks for healing me, I hate you!”
Not a surprise nor especially upsetting, and watching her sputter and rage made him smile.
“North it is, then,” he mused, caressing the Flying Cloud’s wheel. “We shall certainly find our quarry there and slay him together. This alliance suits me. Working hand in hand with my trusted crewmate, possibly forever, shines in my thoughts like the Cavernous Sea. In fact, we…”
Her hands were not bound, and Tess could still throw the odd spanner or binnacle-bat. Kaazin snatched them all up in mid-flight; graceful, negligent, smiling. It was going to be a very long journey…
For Tess.