Zamiel.
As the Mourning Dawn began to plummet, the dragon circled about and soared toward them once again.
TWENTY-NINE
If there was a single thing in all the world that irritated Dalan d’Cannith more than anything else, it was panic. Panic ruined the finest plans and laid the most confident individuals low. No matter how hopeless things became, he always struggled to keep a cool head. Whenever his schemes veered from his original track, he always tried to make the best of it, to fight to keep his nerve and turn failure into victory.
But now, seeing the enormous copper dragon soar toward his crippled airship, Dalan felt panic rising inside him. He huddled among the barrels stacked on the airship’s deck and clasped his hands around his head, shivering in terror.
“Tristam!” Pherris cried out. “Damage report!”
“Aye, Captain,” Tristam said, limping toward the ladder. “Dalan, help me!”
Dalan looked up at Tristam weakly. In the distance, he heard the dragon roar.
“Dalan, help me, damn it!” Tristam swore. “I may need your dragonmark!”
Zed hauled Dalan to his feet by one arm. The guildmaster mumbled apologetically as they led him to the ladder.
“Aeven, we need a storm!” Pherris cried. “Slow that beast down any way you can!”
The sky above them crackled with a sudden peal of thunder.
Dalan stumbled into the cargo bay. Tristam opened the bay hatches and leaned out. The expression on the boy’s face told the guildmaster everything he didn’t want to know.
“We’re going down,” he whispered, “aren’t we?”
Tristam glared at Dalan. “Pherris, the keel strut is barely hanging on!” he shouted. “I can’t fix it from here. We need to land!”
“Tristam, the dragon is coming back again!” Gerith shouted.
“Damn.” Tristam slammed the bay hatches closed and climbed back up the ladder.
“What do we do, Zed?” Dalan asked, looking at the inquisitive. “How do we fight something like this? We aren’t even going to make it to the Boneyard.”
“Get it together, d’Cannith,” Zed said through clenched teeth. “I know you’re not as weak as you make out.”
The inquisitive climbed up the ladder. The guildmaster stood alone in the shadowy hold, still clutching his cap in one hand. He should have remained behind. He was no use to them anymore. All his wealth, all his cunning were nothing against an enemy like this. He was only getting in the way.
“Don’t hide down here and wait to die, Dalan,” he chided himself. “That drunkard paladin is right. A Cannith is better than this.” He plucked up a sharpened pick from a stack of supplies, likely part of Ijaac’s extensive weapon collection.
Dalan climbed back on deck just in time to feel the airship bank heavily to one side, followed by another violent crash. He saw the dragon’s massive wing-big enough to eclipse half the deck-as it flew past. The airship’s elemental ring took on a red hue. A dreadful wail rose from deep inside her.
“He missed the strut that time but still got the hull,” Pherris said. The gnome’s face shone with sweat. His eyes were wide as he watched the dragon soar away. “I may still be able to crash us safely at the edge of the Boneyard, but we won’t survive another hit like that.”
“How do you crash safely?” Ijaac demanded. The dwarf clung to the ship’s rail with one hand and his morningstar with the other.
Dalan watched as the dragon soared ahead of them, moving more swiftly than their airship. The skies rumbled and churned overhead, but Aeven’s storm would not arrive quickly enough to matter. Zamiel soared about in a wide, lazy arc. He was heading back to finish them off. Though the Mourning Dawn was diving as quickly as she could without breaking apart, Dalan knew they would never reach the ground in time.
Gerith tore the lid off a barrel next to Dalan and began digging through its contents, stuffing them into a sack at his hip. He looked up at Dalan and offered him a crooked grin.
“Tell Seren good-bye for me, Dalan,” the little halfling whispered, and leapt over the rail.
“Gerith?” the Captain called out. “Where is he going?”
A moment later the little scout soared up over the ship, mounted on his glidewing. Dalan envied Snowshale; he wished he had a way to escape as well. As soon as Dalan had the thought, he dismissed it. Gerith wouldn’t abandon them now. But what was he doing?
Dalan looked down at the barrel at his feet. It was still a third full of Tristam’s alchemist fire flasks.
“What is he doing?” Eraina said, watching Gerith’s departure helplessly.
Gerith’s glidewing soared directly toward the oncoming dragon. At the last moment he turned and veered to the left, hurling his satchel at Zamiel. The sack exploded against Zamiel’s chest in a brilliant burst of flame.
The dragon faltered in its flight but did not fall. Instead it turned, chasing Gerith, falling behind them as the halfling led the dragon away.
“Gods, no, Gerith,” Pherris whispered.
“Master Snowshale has bought us time, Captain!” Dalan shouted. “Take us down, now!”
The gnome nodded and pushed the controls harder. Karia Naille’s ring roared, leaving a sizzling trail of flame as she soared toward the earth.
“Brace for impact!” the captain cried.
Dalan grabbed the nearest rail, still clutching his pick in one hand. He risked a glance back. He saw the dragon turn sharply in mid air. He saw Zamiel snatch something in his front claws and twist, wrenching it apart. Dalan looked away, closing his eyes tightly.
Karia Naille struck the plains with the torturous cry of torn metal and shattered wood. Dalan clutched the rail with all his strength but was still nearly thrown free. Roots grew from the wood at Aeven’s call, holding him and the others fast. For half a minute, the ship skidded and jolted, ripping a flaming gully through the grass.
At last, she came to a halt.
Dalan sat up and looked around, afraid to see what damage had been done. The Mourning Dawn had broken in half at her center. Both the struts that once held her elemental rings in place were entirely shattered. The front half of the ship was quickly catching ablaze. Dalan now sat at the edge of the shattered rear half of the ship, his feet dangling over the edge of the deck.
The roots released Dalan, dropping him to the singed grass. He staggered awkwardly to his feet as he adjusted to the unmoving ground. Turning around, he looked up in awe at the dead airship. He could see half the cargo bay split open before him, as well as the shimmering black cylinder that was the ship’s core. He knelt to take his pick from the ground, only to watch the head slide off the broken haft.
“Captain Gerriman?” Dalan called out, looking for any other survivors. “Tristam?”
Then Dalan saw the tiny, limp form of Pherris Gerriman lying on the earth between the shattered halves of the airship. He still held the ship’s wheel in one hand. Dalan ran to the old gnome’s side and knelt, pressing one hand to Pherris’s throat. The captain was alive, but only barely. His left leg was twisted badly and blood streamed from his nose.
“Marshal!” Dalan called out. “Arthen! Someone help!”
“Dalan!” came the reply. Zed Arthen ran around the far side of the wreckage toward him. The others followed. They appeared mostly unharmed, though Tristam had lost his crutch and leaned on Omax for support.
“We have to get away from the wreck before the dragon comes back,” Ijaac said. “Can we move Pherris, Eraina?”
“Don’t rush me,” the paladin said, kneeling beside the fallen gnome. Tristam limped up beside her, digging through his pockets for any potions that might help.
Wait. Dalan looked at the group again. One was missing.