When they reached the stern-rail, they could see what the alarm was about. Rising from the forest below was a huge winged creature, almost the size of a dragon. At first, Mordan thought it might be a wyvern—there were reports that they laired in the depths of the Nightwood—but soon he realized that there were no membranes on its outstretched, beating wings. It was flying by magic.
The thing gained height quickly—unnaturally fast—until it was about a thousand feet above and behind the ship. Then, partially folding its nonexistent wings, it went into a shallow dive, like a falcon after a dove.
The aft ballista crew loosed a bolt, but it fell short. The creature was not yet in range. As it closed, Mordan could see that it was made of bone, fused into the rough shape of a flying reptile and partially covered with some kind of wrappings. Haldin brought his crossbow up, and Tarrel his wand. All Mordan could do was watch as the thing streaked toward them.
A fireball exploded on the after deck, where the ballista crew was reloading. Bodies were scattered right and left, and flames started to lick around the ballista and its wooden platform. Crewmen rushed to help their comrades and put out the flames, but scant seconds later they were felled by bolts of dark force that shot from the creature’s talons. The heavy crossbows fired, with Haldin and Tarrel adding their own attacks, but the creature didn’t even slow down. It overtook the ship, missing the top retaining strut and the elemental ring by inches, and more magic missiles shot down onto the foredeck as it went by.
Fighting the instinct to duck, Mordan looked at the thing as it went overhead. It could have been the partially wrapped skeleton of a wyvern or a large glidewing, but for its skull, which was more like that of an immense bull than a dragon. But his eye was drawn to the writhing designs that had been stained into the exposed bone.
“It’s spellstitched!” he yelled. This had to be more than coincidence.
There was a dull twang from the forward ballista, and the crew cheered as the bolt—heavy as a knight’s lance—struck the thing dead center, passing right through it from spine to ribcage. Apart from a slight shudder, though, it seemed to ignore the impact. Pulling up into a steep climb, it performed a wing-over and prepared to make a second attack.
Working with feverish intensity, the forward ballista crew cranked back the string of their weapon and prepared to load a second bolt. Haldin and Tarrel had run to the front of the vessel, determined to get off as many shots as they could while the horror was closing.
Tarrel attacked first, sending a fireball streaking toward the thing. It flew through the explosion without wavering. Some of its bandages were on fire, but it seemed to be unharmed. The ballista sent a bolt through one of the creature’s eye-sockets but failed to slow its approach. This time, nobody cheered: they were all waiting for the attack they knew would come.
Green streaks shot from its claws, hitting the foredeck with a savage hiss. Puddles of acid began to eat away at the decking; by some miracle, they had missed the ballista and its crew. Seconds later, though, they did not escape another rain of magic missiles; other crewmen raced to help them and to replace those who were badly wounded.
A volley of crossbow bolts slammed into the creature as it swept over the top of the ship for a second time, lodging in its wrappings. Crossing the line of the elemental ring, it dipped down to skim the afterdeck almost at head height. Mordan thought for a moment that it might try to snatch up a crew member in its claws, but instead a sheet of flame roared down onto the deck. It washed over the unfortunate crew of the rear ballista, who had replaced the string ruined by the creature’s initial fireball and were struggling to wind it back.
Dol Arrah, thought Mordan, how many spells has this thing got? The zombies that captured Brey had had only limited magical abilities, but this creature was much more powerful. His only consolation was that its wrappings continued to burn from Tarrel’s fireball, and some of the nearby bones were smoke-blackened.
More bolts thudded into the creature from the rear crossbows. The crew worked the repeating levers with furious speed, sending bolt after bolt into the thing.
Tarrel had run the entire length of the deck as the creature streaked overhead, and took careful aim with his wand as it pulled up for another turn. Anticipating its motion, he sent a fireball to the exact spot where it would hang in the air, weightless between climbing and diving. The explosion engulfed the creature, blotting it from view as the crossbow crews slapped new magazines into their weapons and waited for the next pass.
It never came. When the fire dissipated, the winged monstrosity was diving steeply away, trailing flame and smoke. Tarrel punched the air in victory, and a cheer went up as the creature flew off, hugging the treetops.
“Quick!” Haldin shouted to the helmsman. “Follow it!” He swung the wheel, and the ship dropped. Mordan and Tarrel hung onto the rail to avoid falling.
The creature dropped into a wooded ravine, and the ship followed. The sides became steeper, turning into rocky cliffs, and the creature suddenly slewed sideways, disappearing beneath a large overhang. As the ship flew past, they could see a low, wide cave entrance, shadowed too deeply to tell how far back it went. The winged creature had just landed, and small figures were running to beat out the flames from its wrappings. By the light of the small fire, they could just make out the dark shape of another airship. Fire arrows started to come up from archers at the lip of the cave, and Haldin ordered the helmsman to stand off and hover out of bowshot.
“This is it!” he yelled, dancing with glee. “Come on!” He led Mordan and Tarrel back to the equipment hold, and they set about preparing for their mission.
Mordan slung a leather bandolier over his shoulder, holding several flasks of holy water. He had seen what it could do to undead, and after being so helpless against the flying creature, he wanted to have at least some means of fighting from a distance.
Tarrel rummaged through a collection of scrolls, pausing occasionally to feed one into his wooden scrollcase. The case wound the scroll inside itself like a capstan coiling rope, and waited for the next one.
Haldin already had his repeating crossbow slung on his back. He picked up a backpack filled with loaded magazines, and another bandolier of holy water. Crosswise with this, he slung a second bandolier with many small pouches.
The deck was a bustle of activity when they emerged. All the fires had been put out, and the flying creature’s acid had been sluiced with water, leaving only minor scarring on the deck. The wounded had been taken below, and the rear ballista restrung. Wooden crates were stacked on deck beside each of the ballistae; they contained ceramic globes packed in straw. Both the heavy weapons had been swung around to fire from the port side of the ship, and the repeating heavy crossbows from the starboard side had been remounted to port.
“Here’s my plan,” explained Haldin. “The airship will attack the cave entrance, providing us with a diversion. Meanwhile, we will make our way to the ground and find another entrance.”
Tarrel looked skeptical.
“Are we going to wait for Brey?” asked Mordan.
“She can join us when she is able.” replied the gnome. “We can use the remaining daylight to scout for way in that is less heavily guarded.”
“Just the four of us?” asked Tarrel. “Couldn’t we take a few reinforcements from your crew?”
“It would be more difficult to avoid raising the alarm,” Haldin replied, “and having seen what the four of us were able to do at Fort Zombie. I am confident we shall be enough. Besides, the ship’s crew are not trained for this kind of mission; I fear that we would only be leading them to their deaths.”