Heat radiated across the hull of the Flounder. Grath pulled multiple release levers in rapid succession. Galena sacks fell away from the ship, and it lifted up, bucking and wobbling madly like a duck on a wave. The worst was yet to come. Kind Forefather, the fifth largest tree in Prattia, had burned three years ago in a terrorist attack by the Kholglian raiders. One hundred-odd ships were caught in the gale-force winds the flames generated. Kind Forefather was a popular merchant and tourist dock. It had been a holiday as well. Harsh Forefather was taller; it carried far fewer needles, though. Its prime had long been stripped from it. But it could burn nonetheless.

"Should I cut weight?"

The farmer looked at Grath expectantly. Grath shook his head.

"I barely got anything to cut loose. Run fire watch. I got suppressant dust in the middeck cabin." The young man nodded and shuffled away to climb down the balloon. His small bulk alone weighed more than Grath's nonessential supplies. Grath had dropped as many weight sacks as he dared. He was down to one. It was time to ride it out. He could cut balloons and glide away, but from what he remembered, the updraft when the fire grew would suck the surrounding low-lying air towards the inferno, dragging the Flounder along with it. It probably would not drag them into the fire directly, but the Flounder would get hot enough to turn his flesh to steam and ignite the balloon's cloud wool long before the flames touched it. That left reverse gliding. That was slow... Grath gritted his teeth and stared towards the flames. They spread across one entire massive branch now. The heat was already rising on the breeze. His breath felt dry in his throat. His heart pounded, and his hands shook. The farmer stood by with a sack of suppressant dust. The material could put out most fires. Scholars were constantly improving their liquid and powder suppressants. Expensive ships even came with fire-resistant fabrics. Those were heavier, though. Grath couldn't afford that kind of weight and... actually, he couldn't afford that fabric to begin with. He kept drifting. It was a slow reverse glide away. Getting up above the branches had been easy because of their sparseness, but now he just hoped he could get free of the flames' heat. The fervent moments ticked by. Sweat dripped down his brow, and his heart threatened to leap out of his chest, but finally, the air began to cool. Grath let out a sigh of relief. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he collapsed on the ship's canvas top deck. Way in the distance, he could see the pirate ship gliding low to the ground, away from the flaming tree. It was perilously close to the flames. Smoke still whispered off its one wing from where the fire jar had struck it. Grath stared down, rubbing his still gashed ankle half-hazardly, his eyes focused on the ship's top deck. He could see a speck of white skin as the pale captain scurried about, like a pale beetle on a leaf. The captain fought the heat desperately. He refused to go inside the pirate ship's middeck but pushed his glide as best he could. He cut more and more lift balloons. Soon his ship would be plunging like a heavy stone in water... But the updraft was already too strong for that; unless he cut the main balloon open, there was no way to increase weight. The pirate ship would keep floating up, Grath realized, as he watched the situation unfold with voracious interest. Every captain knew cutting the main balloon open meant certain death for most airship crews. If you lost too much cloud wool and ran out of lift, the cursed fog would claim you. The pirate ship stopped plunging and slowly began to drift backward... and up. The rising air sucked it in towards the tree's inferno. Small dust devils swirled to life in the woods below the great tree, some catching fire and becoming small tornadoes of flame before they swirled out into nothing at the base of Harsh Forefather. More took their place. The air was so turbulent, such a mass of atmosphere moving all at once. The pirate ship spun into the roiling updraft.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

"There he goes."

The farmer sat down next to Grath, muttering grimly. He slung his giant crossbow across his lap and hunched over it. They watched in silence as the pirate fought madly. Suddenly, he split the hull balloon, sending wool like a cloud into the blistering air. The pirate ship dove abruptly, heading straight for the fog below. As his ship plunged again, it was nearly a true glider instead of a dirigible. The captain twisted the ship's wings and tail, urging it down, down, down. He reached the ring of cursed fog spread out like a carpet of snow at the great tree's base. The ever-present fog had for once been melted back by the heat of Harsh Forefather's inferno. The pirate ship skimmed over it, arching up just enough to not submerge in the fog.

"He's going to pull it off?" Grath leaned down, peering over the edge of the Flounder's top deck, forgetting momentarily that he was not tied to his ship tether. He knew the pirate was stuck in glide mode now, but maybe he would ride the air currents away?

"Watch out," the farmer asserted and raised his crossbow just to the side of Grath's right shoulder. Grath yelped and flinched to the side.

"What are you doing? Don't waste your glass!" he exclaimed.

TWANG-SHHHHT!!!

The bolt left the crossbow. It wasn't a splitter; Grath was unsure what tip it had. At this elevation above the pirate ship, it was possible for the bolt to reach its target, but with the roiling winds... Grath watched the bolt sail out and then dip as gravity took over. It became too small to see among the rippling heat haze and bits of floating ash. Still, he watched where he had last seen it vanish. The pirate ship was floating too fast to the north; the arrow should pass just south of it... but.... the wind changed! Abruptly, the pirate ship rocked from a slight buffet of wind and drifted a few digits south on its westerly course. The captain's pale figure, ghost-like and hunched over the helm, suddenly rocked. He fell sideways, rolling down the hull. Blood splattered like a tiny brushstroke of red on the deck's dark, ash-dusted surface. Grath looked at the farmer in awe, and the farmer nodded awkwardly in response as the pirate ship spiraled over and face-planted into the fog below.