“Jorian, where are we going?” Fiona shouted. “Don’t take me away! I’m not afraid!”
Jorian laughed. “You fear nothing, Little Queen, I know! Look at the sky! Do you see?”
Fiona searched the battle above. She saw Skyhigh’s dragonfly arcing through the sky, spurts of gunfire cutting down Skylords. And then another object caught her eye, making a meteoric dive toward the dragonfly. Before Fiona could ask what it was, Jorian pulled an arrow from his quiver. He nocked the bolt and drew back, turning it to lightning.
“Watch, Fiona,” he crowed. “The fall of Artaios!”
Artaios passed Rakuiss’ chariot, plummeting through a flock of fairies and the mist of cloud horses as he headed toward the dragonfly. Closer, closer he came, falling from the sky, homing in on the craft and unsheathing his flaming sword. Today, there was only one thing Artaios wanted, and it wasn’t the Starfinder.
“Coralin!”
Coralin, Moth’s hero. Coralin, who’d refused to take Moth home to safety. Without remorse, Artaios steeled himself for the killing blow. The human had been warned.
Then from the ground rose a sudden burst of light. Artaios veered quickly, glimpsed the thing as it screamed toward him.
Nowhere to hide…
He closed his eyes, hanging in the air, bracing for Jorian’s arrow. It slammed into his breastplate with a shower of hot sparks. Artaios tumbled, nearly dropping his sword. The agonized wail of a Redeemer’s soul tore from his armor.
One gone!
Artaios fanned his wings to right himself. One gone, but he was still alive. Astonished, he ran his hands over his breastplate. Except for the impact, there’d been no pain at all.
“I live!” he crowed. He flew a boastful somersault, then pointed his flaming sword toward the earth. “See me, Jorian! I live!”
Somewhere down below, the centaur Chieftain was staring skyward in disbelief—Artaios could almost feel it. With newfound confidence, he spied the dragonfly again and dove for it.
Rendor unstrapped himself from his command chair and hurried toward the riflemen on the bridge. A crewman tossed him a rifle and Rendor snatched it from the air, kneeling beside the others as they trained their weapons on the swarming tentacles. The Avatar’s nose guns chewed through the squirming, pink flesh, splashing blood across the sky. A pack of sooty-faced fairies charged toward the open bridge, deftly avoiding the ogilorn’s arms as they fought their way inside. Rendor drew a bead on the nearest one as it clawed against the Avatar, pulling its way through the gap. The blast from Rendor’s muzzle blew the tiny creature into oblivion.
But Rendor knew they couldn’t hold off the onslaught for long. Beyond the massive ogilorn flew Skylords and Redeemers, waiting for their own chance to board the Avatar. Rendor’s gunners filled the sky with tracers, cutting down their enemies like weeds. Yet wave after wave they came anew.
“Governor!” cried Bottling. He had his hand on the hidrenium lever, ready to swell the envelope. “Should I?”
Rendor’s eyes danced around the bridge, then back out at the ogilorn. They could still beat the thing. Maybe.
“Hold off!” he called back to Bottling. “This ugly beast can’t live forever!”
Fiona blinked up at the sky, as stunned as Jorian by what she saw. Through the melee of bodies and bullets she saw the gleaming Artaios again, streaking toward the unsuspecting dragonfly. The Skylord had taken Jorian’s arrow, shaking it off like rain.
“Still alive,” said the bewildered Jorian. He glanced down at his bow, almost oblivious to the battle raging around him.
“What happened?” asked Fiona.
Another Redeemer came screaming out of the sky. Jorian twisted and galloped away just as Tyrin leaped for it. Two flashing blades cut the creature down. Young Tyrin swiveled back toward Jorian. Behind him, Kyros was pumping the air full of arrows.
“Too many!” called Tyrin. Blood streaked his gasping chest. “Jorian, the girl…”
“Don’t worry about me!” said Fiona. She wrapped her arms around Jorian’s chest. “I’m okay!”
Jorian bolted toward clearer ground, then nocked another arrow to his bow. Once more he spied Artaios. “Let’s see how many he can take!”
Nausea sloshed over Moth as the dragonfly spiraled toward the ogilorn. The Avatar’s starboard guns halted as the crew spotted them approaching, streaking to their aid. Up ahead, Moth could see the bulbous eyes of the monster tracking them across the sky. He braced himself to crash, then heard the rat-a-tat of guns as Skyhigh squeezed the trigger. Bloody pinholes pocked the ogilorn. Tentacles flailed madly toward them. Skyhigh banked left, then right, then straight up high as a suckered arm whipped beneath them.
“Making another pass,” Skyhigh shouted. “We clear?”
Moth fought to stay concious as blood drained from his brain. His wobbly eyes searched the sky as the dragonfly leveled out. Skylords and Redeemers still beseiged the Avatar. The tenacious ogilorn—half its limbs shredded or limp—continued after the airship.
“I think so,” Moth replied.
“You think? C’mon, Moth, look!”
Skyhigh turned the craft hard, slamming Moth sideways. Moth peered through the filthy canopy for enemies. Something caught his bleary eyes.
“Wait…”
Coming at them from the left was a Skylord. Unlike the others, this one had broken free from the pack, homing in on them, an outstretched sword dripping fire as he flew.
“That’s Artaios!” Moth gasped. He twisted for a better look. Artaios’ sword was unmistakable, but now the Skylord wore a golden helmet and armor too. “He’s coming after us!”
Skyhigh throttled the engines and the dragonfly sprinted forward. “He’ll have to catch us, then,” he said, and slammed the craft into a steep dive, right through the storm of arrows.
“Why?” Moth wondered. He clutched his seat with white-knuckled hands. “Does he know I’m in here?”
“Keep a lookout!” ordered Skyhigh. “Where is he?”
Moth could barely turn his neck to see. Artaios and his burning sword were gaining like a meteor.
“He’s right on top of us!” he shrieked.
Skyhigh cursed and pulled up in a tight loop. For one quick second they glimpsed Artaios through the top—now bottom—of the canopy, changing course in a fluid arc and coming at them once more. Head to head, Skyhigh only had a moment. He lined up his guns and squeezed the trigger, spraying a fusillade of lead. Undeterred, Artaios kept on coming. He weaved through the bullets, raised his sword like a jousting lance, and put it through the dragonfly’s nose.
Metal screamed. Moth cried out. “Hold on!” Skyhigh shouted. “I got it!”
But he didn’t have it. They were going down.
Artois watched, stunned, as the dragonfly plummeted. For the briefest second he had seen something inside the craft, something he hadn’t expected.
Moth…
He hovered helplessly as the dragonfly went down, not even seeing the bolt until it struck him. Jorian’s glowing arrow slammed into his back, sending him tumbling through the sky. Artaios flexed his wings, shook off the shock, and spiraled down after Moth. Below him, another lightning bolt appeared.
Rendor tumbled, sliding across the floor as the ogilorn took hold of the Avatar. Men were firing their guns and shouting. A sliver of daylight shone through the open bridge as the ogilorn’s pink flesh pressed against the ship. Rendor kept hold of his rifle, managing to roll himself onto his belly. He fired off another shot, as ineffectual as all his others. The Avatar shook as the tentacles closed around her, the eerie noise of rubbery suckers pulling at her sheathing. Donnar stumbled across the deck, dropping down near Rendor.