The Lord Paladin stood beside Felix on the one grassy mound in Black River that had not yet been consumed by the industrial sprawl. The latest prototype, produced by the Elder Books Aviation Club, was resting on the grass just ahead. It now sported a new engine, designed as a hybrid, combining the fan-shaft with the propeller of a steam engine, connected by an independent shaft that spun in the opposite direction. There were new struts extending down from the belly of the craft, ending in small wooden wheels carefully wrapped in layers of cloth.

All of the Draconic Paladins, the Green Dragon, and even the Purple Dragon and her bodyguard were all in attendance. Shane had not been invited, for fear of inciting violence from the Heritage Militia. There was a narrow gap on the grassy field where nobody dared to stand. Beyond this gap, another large group of people loitered about a massive boat-shaped craft with an oversized rudder. It had been constructed by the All-Island Flying Machine Society. A steam engine had been placed on the ground near the massive craft, with a shaft connected to the nose of the craft, which sported an oversized propeller.

Albrecht the Oathbreaker rode on the back of a mighty horse around the massive craft, regarding it. "I would trust my life to such a craft," he said. "Let us be done with this foolishness. I propose that those other upstarts be sent away."

The highest-ranking General Officers of the six armies were arrayed nearby. A few of them nodded at Albrecht's words, but the rest remained impassive. Dozens of soldiers stood at attention. Mechanics and engineers were busy fiddling with bolts and cables. A single soldier wore a leather cap with goggles. He saluted the generals, then climbed, with great ceremony, into the seat of the craft.

With a mighty hiss and a pop, followed by repeated chugging sounds, the steam engine burst to life. The shaft connected to the craft began to spin rapidly, and with it, the propeller. Slowly at first, but then very rapidly the massive propeller began to spin. The wind blowing back from the thing was so great that several soldiers were knocked down. Felix glanced around uneasily, searching for Alice. She was standing near the back of the Paladins.

A trio of cables connected the Society craft to a stake in the ground. Soldiers with axes braved the great wind created by the spinning propeller and hacked away at the cable. When the last cable snapped, the craft simultaneously disconnected from the steam engine, perhaps because of some lever pulled by the pilot. The craft lurched forward, and began to pick up speed. Then one of the wheels hit an imperfection on the grassy field, and the craft began to roll to one side. One of the huge cambered wings caught on the grass and the nose rolled forward, smashing the propeller into the ground. There was a massive snapping sound, a scream, and then silence.

Soldiers ran forward and began to pick through the wrecked craft. Felix walked forward as well to get a better look. Finally he could see the pilot as he was pulled from the twisted wreck. A piece of jagged wood had pierced his eyeball, and his throat was gushing, pulsing streams of blood. Alice screamed.

"I think it's over for that fellow," the Lord Paladin said.

"Our turn," Felix said. "I will be the first to test the craft." He tightened the strap on his leather helmet, then lowered the brass-rimmed glass goggles over his eyes.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" the Lord Paladin asked.

"If I am wrong, I die. That is the way of this world." Felix approached the wooden craft that his own club had crafted. It sat a bit higher on the struts than the society craft. He needed to use a small ladder to climb inside. The other Paladins helped secure him in the seat using thick leather straps built into the seat itself. As Felix prepared, the Generals made their way across the narrow gap toward the Elder Books Aviation Club. Albrecht trotted around near the wrecked craft, stealing weary glances at the Purple Dragon.

The ranking General of the Third Army whistled. "Felix my boy. I heard a rumor that you murdered a couple of your father's men. Is that true?"

"They should have known better than to bully a Paladin," Felix snapped. "Keep your distance from the craft, especially once the propeller starts moving. Where the hell is Alice?"

"I'm here!" Alice cried. She approached the craft uneasily. Her long pinkish hair caught in the wind under her padded leather cap.

Felix turned to the other Paladins. "Get her away from here."

"Wait!" Alice said. "Let me say a prayer." She dropped to one knee by the craft and joined both her hands together in front of her face. "Lady Ghost, so it was spoken, the warrior fountains shall be our light! The warrior fountains shall be our light! May the Lady Ghost bless you, Felix." A tear rolled down her face. "Please be careful."

The other Paladins took her away from the craft. A shadow blotted out the sunlight. The Purple Dragon loomed overhead, looking down at him with her eyeless face, from behind that strange steel mask that she wore. The light of the sun glittered through her translucent, silvery-white dress. She leaned down and whispered to Felix: "That is a mistranslation. It was spoken thus, 'the fighter jets will be our light.'" She rested her hand on his cap and patted him like an animal, then she glided off to stand beside King Cyneric.

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Felix grabbed the stick between his legs with his right hand, and then rested his left hand on the engine throttle. "Clear the propeller!" he bellowed, in his best battlefield voice. Everyone formed into a half-moon behind the craft. Felix reached out and connected to the Realm of Fire, the Ream of Lightning, and the Realm of Wind. He drew upon those powers and blended them, until he felt that familiar sensation, that moment just before releasing a lance of flame from his mouth. A feeling lost, and then regained. He focused it, nourished it deep within that metal chamber.

The lightning crackled and then the engine began to spin. Gusts of wind from outside the craft slipped through the air intake and buffeted the fan blades within the engine. It began to spin. It began to hiss. Then, it began to howl. Meanwhile the propeller ripped through the air. Felix reached into his pocket and pulled out his ear plugs. He slipped them in. Then he opened the throttle, and pulled back on the stick.

The craft slowly began to move forward, first at a crawl, then a walk, a jog, a sprint. Felix relaxed his grip on the stick, and the wheel on the tail of the craft left the ground. The tail wing was flying, holding it aloft. The wheels struck imperfections in the grassy hill, tossing the craft side to side, but Felix used the stick to manipulate the little ailerons on the wings to keep the craft from rolling. A touch of rudder kept the craft on a straight line. The engine howled, flames burst from the two exhaust pipes on either side of the engine, spewing crimson flames that trailed over the heat-shielded tops of the wings. It took a dozen tiny inputs to the stick and rudder to keep the craft going straight, but then, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, the bumping from the rolling wheels stopped, the wings bent slightly up, and the ground gently began to drop away.

He was above the trees. Then, he was above the wealthy estates, with their immaculate gardens and opulent fountains. The chasm and the river passed below, then the city walls, and then he was out over the forest. The sky was clear, cloudless except for some wispy white trails at an unimaginable height. The Teeth of the Red Dragon, thirty-thousand feet tall, dominated the horizon to the south. The engine was strong. Very strong. Felix was flying up, higher and higher into the sky, at a speed that he would have only ever achieved in a nosedive, had he been shapeshifted into a drake. He slammed the stick to one side, entering into a roll. The nose began to drop, and then ever so slightly drift to the opposite direction of the turn. Still some adverse yaw. He corrected the situation with a slight tug on the stick and a slight kick to the rudder.

He finished the second leg of his turn, and was parallel to the path he used to depart the grassy field. It was far ahead and below, offset to one side. Felix closed the throttle completely to idle the propeller, though there was no setting that was low enough so that he could hear the wind over the wings. With a tinge of horror, Felix realized that he had absolutely no way of knowing his airspeed. As a drake, the feeling of the wind hitting the wings was a sufficient indication. If he ended up going to slow, he could end up in a stall or a spin. And he did not have wings he could just flap to hover in place to escape those conditions.

He pointed the nose of the craft down at the field, trading altitude for airspeed. He looked over one shoulder at the ground and attempted to judge his speed from the rate at which his shadow passed over buildings, streets, factories, parks... It was not perfect but it was better than nothing. He fiddled with the throttle to maintain a constant speed as he descended. When he was close to the grassy hill he punched the throttle to full open and leveled off the nose.

With the nose pointed straight at the horizon, Felix pulled the stick hard to one side, and held it there. The craft flipped over, completely inverted. He could see the dumbstruck faces of the Paladins and the Generals. He kept going, completing a full loop, leaving a twisting helix of crimson flame behind him as he flew.

His approach to land was less impressive. As he approached the field he realized he was going too fast, so he elected to go around and try again. The second attempt produced the same result. It was on the third attempt that he was slow enough to descend at a decent pace, passing over the trees at a speed that was, to his memory, the same speed he had in the moment that he left the ground. A few feet off the grass he closed the throttle completely and just drifted, jostling about, using the stick and rudder to stay straight, until the ground came up and hit the wheels.

Paladins sprinted to either side. They threw a cable under the craft, just behind the forward wheel struts. It caught on the single wheel on the tail, and then the two Paladins fell, using their bodies to slow down the craft. They were dragged through the grass and the mud for about a hundred feet. Then the craft stopped.

Felix pulled himself loose from his harness and climbed out of the craft. He walked around it briefly, checking the condition of the body and the wheels. Everything seemed to be in good condition. He turned to find all the spectators arrayed in a circle around him. They were completely silent. Mouths were hanging open. Eyes were wide with shock. Felix glanced around. He did not see his father anywhere. His horse was gone too.

"That turned out well," Felix said.

"Um, Felix," Alice said. She had tears in her eyes. "Felix, why are you glowing?"

Felix looked down at his feet. There was a sunburst below him, radiating away from his body, made from a crystalline light with a slight rainbow overlay. His entire body seemed to be emitting a small amount of light. It was illuminating the body of the craft, the grass, the people standing in a circle around him.

He heard a few slow claps. The Purple Dragon was the first to enter the circle. The military brass moved out of her way uneasily. She bent over and began to whisper in his ear once more: "So it was spoken, 'the fighter jets shall be our light.'"