“Come on,” squawked Fiona. She put her palms up to the fire. “There’s a lot of crazy things here, I know, but who could make something like that?”
“The seafolk of Lorn. They’re all dead now, but once they traveled all over the world, probably when the Skylords were young.”
“Does the Gothrol still exist?” asked Moth.
“Of course,” said Merceron. “I told you—every constellation is something or someone that exists in the Realm. The Starfinder can find all of them. Go on, pick another.” Merceron nudged Fiona with his tail. “You try this time.”
Fiona looked up without much interest. Her eyes moved over the stars, stopping suddenly on a group right above their heads. “There,” she pointed. “With that bright star.”
“The red one?”
Fiona nodded.
“I know that one. What does it look like to you?”
“Like a horse,” said Fiona instantly.
Merceron looked astonished. “That’s Jorion, the centaur. Do you know what a centaur is?”
“Yeah, like half a man and half a horse stuck together.”
Moth laughed. Merceron just smirked.
“Ugly beasts, centaurs. Jorion is their chieftain.” Merceron took the pipe from his mouth and used it to point toward the constellation. “That red star represents his eye. Centaurs are great hunters. They can see almost as well as Esme.”
“Are there many centaurs?” asked Moth.
“Oh, yes. They live in a valley not far from Taurnoken. No one sees much of them, though.”
Fiona studied her constellation. “What are they like?”
“Arrogant,” snorted Merceron. “Hard to abide. Even the Skylords leave them alone. They don’t think much of dragons, either.”
“Why not?” asked Moth.
“Jealous, probably. Centaurs don’t live the way dragons do. They think with their fists instead of their heads. When the war with the Skylords ended, they called us cowards. They thought we should have kept on fighting. Maybe that’s true, but how would they know? They didn’t lose anything. They can’t fly.”
It was strange seeing Merceron angry. He bit down hard on his pipe. Moth could tell he was thinking about more than just centaurs.
“Will we see any centaurs when we get to Taurnoken?” asked Fiona.
Merceron shook his head. “Taurnoken’s a dragon city, Fiona. Centaurs aren’t welcome. They’re not welcome anywhere.”
“Why? Because they’re ugly?”
“I told you why,” said Merceron.
“You told me you don’t like them.”
“No one likes them, Fiona. That’s why they stay in their valley.” Merceron tilted his head back to exhale a stream of smoke. “But they’re brave, at least. Not much brains but a whole lot of heart.”
“Merceron, can we see Jorion with the Starfinder?” asked Moth.
Fiona sat up. “Yeah!”
“No,” said Merceron.
“Why not?” Moth reached for the Starfinder. “All I have to do is call his name, right?”
Merceron glared at him. “If you want to be like a Skylord, go ahead. Speak Jorion’s name. Invade his privacy. Spy on him.”
Moth set down the Starfinder. “Oh.”
The dragon’s tail came around his shoulders. “Don’t forget why the Skylords made the Starfinder,” he said gently. “Think what it would be like to be a slave.”
Moth felt his face getting hot. “Sorry.”
Merceron extended his tail toward Fiona, tugging her closer. “Listen to me now, both of you,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “There’s something I want to tell you.”
Moth and Fiona pressed together in his embrace. Merceron struggled with his words.
“I left a mate in Taurnoken,” he said. “Her name is Dreojen.”
“A mate,” said Moth. “You mean a wife?”
“A brood mate is more than a wife,” said Merceron. “Humans take wives. They live together for a blink of an eye and call that love. They watch the sunrise together. Dragons watch rivers being born. We watch volcanoes live and die. Do you see?”
“I think so,” said Moth. It was hard for him to imagine such stretches of time. “You spend all your lives together.”
“But you left her,” Fiona blurted. “You just left her?”
“Where I was going, she couldn’t follow,” said Merceron. “There was no life for her living in a hole in the ground, hiding from the Skylords. I was too dangerous for her to be around.”
“So you left her,” snorted Fiona. “Typical.”
“C’mon, Fiona. He had to!”
“Don’t argue about it,” said Merceron. “You were wondering about me, so I told you.” His eyes glazed over with memories. “But it’s been a long time…”
“You must be dying to see her again,” said Moth excitedly. “What will you say?”
“Yeah, that should be good,” quipped Fiona.
Merceron let Lady Esme climb onto his shoulder. The stars and firelight shined in his reptilian eyes.
“I will tell her that I’ve missed her,” he said. “That I missed our togetherness. That I miss everything that we once had. And I’ll be afraid when I see her, and I’ll shake like a child.” Then, Merceron looked right at Fiona and said, “And I’ll hope that she forgives me for leaving her.”
THE DECOY
SKYHIGH EASED BACK ON the sticks of his dragonfly, bringing the craft level with the horizon. Now that the sun was down, there was only moonlight to guide him. He watched the distant mountains, guiding the dragonfly into another long, lazy turn. The whine of the engine and the beating of glass wings shattered the peace of the forest below. Somewhere behind him floated the Avatar. The moon and stars shone down through the dragonfly’s canopy, projecting a wavy reflection of Skyhigh’s smiling face.
It felt good to be in the air again, away from the crowded Avatar. Since breaking through the Reach they’d been running low and slow, leaning over observation platforms to locate Moth and Fiona. So far, they’d found nothing.
Except for the mermaids.
Skyhigh nearly fell overboard when he saw them.
At first the mermaids had stared back up at them, amazed and horrified by the airship’s arrival. Skyhigh and his crewmates had crowded the rails, waving and hooting at the beautiful creatures until the mermaids dived away, disappearing into their shining green lagoon.
After that, the day fell into tedium. Commander Donnar paced the deck while the Avatar crawled through the sky. Rendor kept to his quarters, not appearing until the sun went down. As the Avatar floated stationary above the ground, Skyhigh took his dragonfly for his first patrol.
No one had ordered him to be quiet or subtle. Both those things were impossible for a dragonfly anyway. He fired up the engine, looked out into the dark void, then rocketed from the Avatar’s hangar. He felt the moonlight on his face, the thick air of the forest rising against his wings, and the glorious sense of freedom he only got when flying.
For almost an hour the sky remained perfect. Each time Skyhigh wheeled the craft around for another orbit he saw the Avatar’s yellow beacon flashing in the distance. He wasn’t sure why he was on patrol or what Rendor expected him to find, but the dragonfly’s guns were loaded. Skyhigh’s mind drifted as he flew over the moonlit forest. The engine sang to him like a lullaby.
Completing his turn, he spotted the Avatar’s beacon. He leveled the wings, pointed the craft for another orbit, then noticed its position in the sky. The darkness made it hard to be certain, but the airship seemed lower to him now.
His first thought was that the Avatar was in trouble. He throttled up the power just as something struck the canopy. Instantly the glass spider-webbed.