He smiled sadly. “Whatever I can. Good-bye, Seersha.”
Then he slipped past her and was gone.
Seersha dressed at once, did what she could to tamp down her fever, shook off her lethargy, and slipped from her cottage into the new day. She went quickly from there to where Crace Coram was staying in a block of old barracks at the edge of the airfield. By his own request, he had kept himself out of the city proper, preferring woodland surroundings to clustered buildings. He was more mountain man than city dweller in spite of his designation as Chieftain of his village, and he could not come to terms with being settled in the midst of so many people—even Elves, whom he held in high regard.
But she did not find him in the quarters assigned to him. Nor were any of his belongings there. Everything seemed to have been cleared out, as if he had already moved on. She was immediately worried that something had happened to him, and that she was already too late to save him from Phaedon. Even though Sian Aresh hadn’t said anything about him being in danger, she couldn’t assume he wasn’t.
She hurried from there to the practice field, aware that by now they might be looking for her and that she was risking her freedom by showing herself so boldly. But when she got to the field, she found Crace Coram sparring with one of the Home Guards while the rest stood watching and waiting for their turns. She took a quick look around to see if there any indication of a trap, but found nothing.
Taking a deep breath, she walked right up to the Dwarf Chieftain, calling his name. “Crace! Leave off. We have to go.”
He backed away from his opponent, his bluff features nonplussed. “Go where?”
“I’ll tell you on the way, but you have to come right now.”
He didn’t seem inclined to do that, so she made a hand gesture familiar to Dwarves everywhere, one that warned him he was being stupid or worse. He gave her a surprised look, read the expression on her face, and finally realized something was wrong. He put down his weapons, stripped off his protective gear, and came over.
“I’ll be back soon, so be ready!” he shouted over his shoulder at the Home Guards, who returned his challenge with hoots and jeers.
When they were far enough away, Seersha, leading him toward the airfield, said quietly, “Where are your clothes? They weren’t in your room.”
“I threw them out. They were in tatters. I’m wearing what’s left. Now what’s going on?”
Quickly, she summarized what Sian Aresh had told her, ending by saying they had to assume both of them were already being hunted, so they needed to get clear of Arborlon.
“On an airship?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow at her. “I don’t know anything about flying airships. Can’t we just ride horses?”
She shook her head. “Too slow. We have to get away quickly. I think you need to return to the Dwarves and warn them about what’s coming. They might already know, but we should make certain. The tribes need to form an army that can stand with the Elves if the demons come north from Arishaig.”
“Stand with the Elves? What chance is there of that happening with that madman as King?” Corum Crace snorted in disgust. “The Dwarves will go their own way.”
She gave him a hard look. “Let’s see how things play out. Whatever the choices given us, we’d better be ready to pick one.” She paused. “You know what we’ll be up against.”
“All too well.” He pointed ahead. “Which vessel do you intend to steal?”
She peered across the field, which had just come into view, searching for a likely candidate. At first, she didn’t see anything that looked manageable. The big warships were out of the question, and even skiffs the size of the Wend-A-Way were easier to handle when there was more than one person to fly them.
Then she caught sight of something that made her smile. A worn but serviceable two-man flit set off to one side was marked with signs that said it was available for private hire. She gave a quick glance around, but saw no signs of Elven Hunters prowling the field or its perimeters. Work crews scurried about the larger warships, but mostly the airfield was empty.
“Come on,” she said to her companion and moved quickly toward the two-man.
“That scow?” Coram demanded. “It doesn’t look like it can get off the ground!”
She grinned at his dismay. “It’s clearly done so many times before. I think it can manage a few more.” She slapped him on his arm. “Let me do the bargaining.”
A whip-thin Elf was seated nearby, studying an array of maps as the Dwarves came up to him. He looked up, clearly interested. “You want to rent her, maybe?” He gestured at the two-man. “How long?”
Seersha pretended to study the craft. “Is she capable? Does she handle well?”
The man made a face. “Well enough for you. Do you even know how to fly her?”
“I know a little.”
“Good enough. A little is all she requires. A sound craft in spite of how she looks. Reliable. She’s in her retirement years, but she knows the way.”
“A week,” Seersha said. “How much?”
“A hundred. Silver.”
“Too much. Maybe fifty.”
“Too little. How about a hundred?”
She gave him an annoyed look. “We’ve passed that point in the discussion. I can do seventy.”
Abruptly, shouts broke out from across the field as a swarm of Home Guards appeared out of the trees. Seersha hesitated, and then hit the Elf so hard he was already unconscious when he struck the ground. Crace Coram scrambled aboard the two-man, and Seersha released the anchor ropes and followed him up. She unhooded the parse tubes, engaged the thrusters, and when the familiar sound of the diapson crystals heating up reached her ears, she grabbed the lifter levers and took the ship into the air with a series of lurches and jumps that sent her companion tumbling all the way to the back of the craft.
Picking himself up gingerly, Crace Coram made his way forward to sit behind her once more. “Very nice job of bargaining back there. That cost us much less than I thought it would.”
They flew west through the Valley of Rhenn and out onto the upper Streleheim, casting anxious glances over their shoulders all the way. But no other craft appeared behind them. Possibly giving chase wasn’t an immediate concern. Perhaps no one had orders about what to do if they fled the city. Any delay would help with their escape, so she accepted the lack of a pursuit as a gift and concentrated on what lay head.
“What are we doing?” her companion asked, leaning forward to be heard.
Good question. She thought about it for a moment. “We have a choice,” she said to him, turning to catch his eye. “If we go to Paranor and I can get inside the Keep, I can read the scrye waters and might be able to determine where Aphenglow is. If we continue on, we can do what I said earlier and warn the Dwarves about the danger from the demons. Or we can do something else.”
She waited. He said nothing for a moment. Then, “Seems as if we ought to find the sisters and warn them. We can’t afford for anything to happen to them.”
She gave him a quick nod of agreement. “Paranor it is, then.”
They flew on through the remainder of the day, winging toward the sun, then beneath it as it passed overhead and finally beyond, as the light diminished and the night approached. By then they had reached the Dragon’s Teeth and were close to their destination. Seersha still felt the grips of her fever, so she had taken time to show Crace Coram how to work the two-man’s controls—not only to give him a chance to try his hand at flying the craft, but also to give herself an opportunity to rest and recover as she could. He had taken control reluctantly, cautious and a bit unsteady at first, but gradually gaining a sense of confidence. They switched places several times more during their flight, often enough so that she felt he could manage well enough at the helm if the need arose. It gave her a chance to rest her eyes and body; her fever had finally faded during their flight, chased by time and the defenses of her body, and she was feeling much better.