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IF LIFE HANDS YOU LEMONS, you're less likely to have scurvy.
—Keldon Tallowborn, Al'Drakon
* * *
HANGING FROM A TOWERING maple, Brick reminded himself never to board a balloon again. Though he remained safely in the basket, he was high off the ground and the basket wasn't going anywhere. His impetuous nature had gotten him into deep trouble again. The thought made his head hurt even worse. The people who did this to him were after Riette and Emmet, which kept him motivated, though he tried not to think of what would happen if they were captured by the Zjhon.
He'd seen them himself; one had elbowed him in the face. No one could deny now the claims that the enemy had been snooping around Sparrowport, looking for people to kidnap—people like Emmet. Those thoughts and the knowledge that he would otherwise starve were all that convinced Brick to climb out of the basket and down a rope that danced in the breeze.
There had been others in the basket with him, but each of them had paid to get on or were part of the crew. All of those people had been wearing parachutes. Having forced his way onto the balloon, Brick was left to go down with her.
Rope climbing was not among his favorite things to do, but strong hands and a muscular upper body made it less difficult. If the rope had been long enough to reach the forest floor, it might have been an easy climb. Instead, Brick found himself swinging with all his might, trying to reach the nearest tree trunk, which was arrow straight and had but one or two branches between him and the ground.
Using all his strength, Brick swung toward the tree trunk. Though he did not get close enough to grab on to it, he did get close enough to push off of it with his legs. This sent him hurtling through the air, and just before he reached the towering maple, the balloon shifted. Leaning sharply to one side, the basket looked as if it might break free from the branches above and tumble to the forest floor below.
When he did hit the tree, he was moving as quickly downward as he was laterally, which made it even more difficult to grip the tree. He needed to slow his downward slide quickly and squeezed the bark to his chest, no matter the pain. This was a life-or-death moment, and he refused to die, refused to let his family down, and refused to let Riette and Emmet down. An image of them flashed across his consciousness along with the pain. The world had fallen into chaos, but he somehow held on.
Using his legs to hug the tree, he let go with one arm. Pain returned when he slid down farther. Crying out, he quickly grabbed the length of rope from his belt and slung it around the tree. He'd cut and knotted the rope for this very purpose. After changing his grip, the rope allowed him to hold his weight with his arms, which let him shuffle his feet downward. At the bottom of his reach, he shifted his weight to his legs and slid the rope farther down the trunk. Getting past the branches proved tricky, but otherwise gravity assisted him and made the descent go quickly.
When he finally reached the forest floor, he collapsed into the leaves, breathing heavily. The next time he saw Riette, they were going to have a long talk about the meaning of the words "wait right here."
The balloon had been over the ocean for much of their trip, and only Brick's experimentation with the weights had allowed him to coax the wounded balloon back over land. At least he hadn't been forced to swim.
It was going to be a long hike back to Sparrowport. Hiking wasn't something he enjoyed doing, and he moved at what might have been considered a reckless pace. Only when a fist of birds flew overhead did Brick stop and look up. Such formations were generally used only for messages of the utmost importance. A moment later, a series of pops sounded just ahead of where he stood. All five birds dropped from the sky; whatever messages they carried would not be delivered.
When someone pushed him aside, Brick almost shouted from fright. A man pulling a log behind him never looked up.
"Grab that other log, will ya?" he said. "We'll have pigeon tonight, so hurry up about it or they'll eat it all while we're out gathering wood."
Over the man's shoulder, Brick spotted a long metal barrel and copper tanks. All the signs were around him, and he'd been blind to them. He'd assumed these woods were unoccupied but had walked right into an enemy encampment. There weren't supposed to be any enemies in this area, but this was war and he'd been careless.
Saying nothing, Brick turned back the way he'd come, dashing through the woods as quickly and silently as possible. He didn't know if the man ever looked back or if anyone gave pursuit. All he could do was run as fast as his body and the terrain would allow and hope he had enough of a head start to keep them behind him.
Foliage flashed by in a blur, some of which demanded a price for passage. Brick did not slow. Even when his sides cramped and his feet throbbed, he ran.
Trees suddenly parted, revealing a large open area. Brick stumbled into the clearing, breathing like a mad bull. It took everything he had to stop before impaling himself on the pitchfork leveled at him. He felt no less careless than when he'd encountered the Zjhon.
"Don't move," the man pointing the pitchfork at him said, constantly shifting his weight and causing the sharp implement to dance in front of him. Brick noticed then that the man was missing a leg from the knee down. Others worked the long grass into piles throughout the field, but Brick could still get away. The more he looked around, though, the less he wanted to run. This was Forest's Edge. He'd found the rear line.
A lanky man arrived moments later. "Who are you?"
Brick was grateful for having had the time to catch his breath. "My name is Brick. I'm from Sparrowport."
"And what has you running through the woods like a night spirit?" the tall man asked, looking down on Brick from what seemed an impossible height.
"The Zjhon attacked Sparrowport."
No one said anything in response.
"They were trying to kidnap my friend, who flew away on a dragon, and I ended up on a balloon that crashed in the woods."
"And why aren't you at the front?" the tall man asked. "You're certainly of fighting age."
"I'm apprenticed to my father, the smith," Brick said, feeling guilty and not for the first time. "I was considered essential for the war effort."
"So those parts that used to come in from Sparrowport were in part your handiwork?"
Brick nodded.
Another man approached. "Let me see your hands," he said.
Brick held out his calloused, gnarled fingers that never quite came clean no matter how he scrubbed.
"He's a smith all right, and he's from Sparrowport. I can see it in his hands and hear it in his accent. I think he's telling the truth, and that means the Zjhon are trying to keep us isolated, which certainly explains why none of our messages have been answered."
"You said your friend escaped on a dragon," the tall, thin man said, a haunted look in his eyes. "Tell me about that."
"The Zjhon were looking for my friend and her little brother, who has always been singled out for being different." This statement brought nods of understanding. This was something they had heard before, given the response. "I tried to stop them . . . but I failed. Before the Zjhon caught up to them, Riette and Emmet climbed into a carriage strapped to the back of a dragon and flew off."
"So it's a girl," the man who'd inspected his hands said. "That explains it. You look a sight, my boy. When I was your age, I felt a lot like you look."
"What else happened?" the tall man asked, his scowl never fading.
"The Zjhon commandeered a passenger plane, and then one of their planes arrived. I boarded the balloon, hoping to run interference for the dragon, which didn't look very healthy to start with. I hit one plane with a . . . projectile, but things went downhill from there. I think I saw one of our planes as well, but it's all kind of a blur from that point on."
Finally the tall man seemed satisfied and extended his hand. The other man retracted the pitchfork.
"I'm sorry for the unfriendly welcome," the tall man said. "These are dangerous times. My name is Tellymore. People call me Telly."
Though the man was no longer unfriendly, a pall of sadness and regret seemed to hang over his every breath.
"Have you seen any dragons?" Brick asked. "Have you heard anything about Riette or Emmet Pickette?" The first question seemed to pain Telly, but he had to press on.
"No," Telly said. "There have been no dragons here in some time. If there had been, I would most certainly know."
"Did you lose your dragon in the war?" Brick asked. Reading people was not normally among his strengths, but this man's every inflection reeked of grief. He nodded in response. "I'm sorry. I have always wanted to do my part to fight the war. I feel guilty that I get to stay behind in the relative safety of Sparrowport while others risk their lives, as surely you have done. I am humbled."
"Don't be sorry or feel guilty," Telly said. "Without the tools and parts you and your father have provided, we would not have lasted this long. Those within the Heights are good at providing big hunks of cast metal, but nobody forges gears of higher quality than Sparrowport.
Brick wiped away a tear.
"Is there another smithy in Sparrowport of which I am unaware?"
"No, sir," Brick said. "Those gears are made by my father and me. Mostly my father, though."
"Then you and your father are to be commended," Telly said. "We've few advantages over the Zjhon; the reliability of our drive trains is among them. Thank you."
Brick nodded, not knowing what else to say.
"If they have aircraft in Sparrowport, then they must have increased fuel capacity, efficiency, or both," Telly said.
"Either that or they found a place to refuel," the man who'd been holding the pitchfork on Brick said.
"They're sure not landing in the jungle," Telly said. "And we'd know if they captured an airport."
"Would we?"
Silence hung for a while. If Forest's Edge were completely cut off from communication, it was possible Dragonport had already fallen to the Zjhon. It would explain their sudden ability to hit Sparrowport from the air.
"Come," Telly said. "You look hungry."
"And thirsty," Brick added.
Telly laughed. "I bet you are."
Among the wounded, Brick was a novelty, a diversion from their mundane existence. He laughed and told tales in between devouring the stew placed in front of him. It felt good to lighten the hearts of those who had sacrificed so much, though Brick couldn't help but feel guilty for any pleasure he took while Riette and Emmet were not safe. And knowing what he knew now, he questioned the safety of everyone he loved. Sparrowport was no longer separate from the war. It was a terrifying thought.
"Most of the troops normally stationed here are out on maneuvers," Telly said. "I'm glad you didn't encounter them on your way here. I don't know if they will seek out these infiltrated areas since these soldiers are supposed to ship out to the front immediately upon completion of their training. We'll likely have to get word to the front in order to see troops deployed. I don't know. It's not my call. I'm just an old man with no dragon."
"And Dragonport?" Brick asked.
"Might have some aircraft left if they're still not under Zjhon control. I'm starting to have my doubts. I think they were counting on this installation providing them with defensive support, and now look at us."
"How difficult is the journey to Dragonport?" Brick asked.
Telly scoffed. "On foot? It's terrible. By plane it's not much better. We used to use pack mules twenty years ago, but the mules have all gone to the front, and the trails haven't been maintained for years. No telling what condition the bridges are in."
Brick weighed his options, all of which were terrifying. To the east lay the swamp, to the west Zjhon outposts of unknown number stood between him and Sparrowport, to the north was a treacherous road to Dragonport, and to the south was nothing but forest and swamp.
"Do you have any reason to believe Dragonport has fallen besides a lack of communication?"
"No," Telly said. "And I pray that I'm wrong."
For most of his life, Brick had rebelled against his father's controlling influence. Now he wished for even the briefest consultation with the man whose opinion he valued more than anyone else's. How could he trust his own judgment in such life-and-death decisions?
Weariness overcame him when the excitement wore off and his belly was full. A bath and a clean bed were provided to him, and he hoped he wouldn't snore. His father always complained about his snoring. With larger issues consuming his thoughts, he drifted off, knowing he would have a difficult choice to make in the morning.
In the distance, he might have heard someone snore.
* * *
"HE'S GOING TO KILL us all," Grunt said.
"Not if we're smart about this," Agger said, already knowing the odds of Grunt's being smart about anything were slim.
"Are you any good at landing these things?" Grunt asked.
"Better than you are. Strap in tight."
No matter how stupid he might seem at times, Grunt cinched his straps tight.
Orange and white cliffs jutted from the ocean, capped with trees and a narrow strip of grassland. Farther north were the main Sparrowport airstrips, but landing a stolen plane there was asking for trouble. Instead, he aimed for a place atop the bluffs, hidden from town by a towering peak.
"Maybe we should just head back to the western fleet and blame Casta for blowing our cover," Grunt suggested.
Agger laughed. "She's his favorite."
"He hates her."
"Exactly," Agger said. "Now shut up and do what I tell you for a change. It'll make it easier on both of us."
"You don't have to be mean about it," Grunt said.
The man was a walking pile driver, and Agger hurt his feelings.
The cliffs drew closer, and all conversation ceased. Neither of them wanted to die. Winds tossed the plane, causing it to pitch and roll. As soon as Agger countered one blasting gust, the wind shifted, growing cold and causing them to drop like a stone.
Grunt started talking again, his words unfit for a pirate's ears. With his feet on the dash and holding the handle above his head, he screamed louder the closer the bluffs drew. Agger was tempted to knock him out just to shut him up, but he'd seen others attempt to do so and fail miserably. Sometimes it was best to learn from the mistakes of others and save yourself the scars. Besides, Grunt really couldn't land this plane in Agger's estimation.
Gripping the controls tightly, Agger flew the stolen passenger plane sideways into the secluded valley, countering heavy crosswinds. When tires touched grass, the aircraft was yanked hard to the right and bounced along a rock-strewn field.
"This was a bad idea," Grunt said as objects streaked past on either side.
Agger did everything he could to slow the plane without flipping it over or onto a wingtip. After a third bounce, the landing gear caught in the turf and brought them to an abrupt halt.
"I can't believe we're alive," Grunt said.
"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Agger replied.
"You're welcome. Now to see if this bird will still fly. That woman is just crazy enough to leave us here."
Agger climbed down and inspected the airplane. Grass and soil clogged the front wheels, but the gear appeared otherwise undamaged. Grunt tried to pull a clump of grass away from the brakes and sucked in a breath when he burned his finger on the shining disks.
There was no hiding the plane. They just had to hope no one would come looking or that Casta Mett kept her word and picked them up an hour after nightfall. Both seemed slim hopes at the moment.
The town of Sparrowport was only a short walk away, which was part of what worried Agger. He'd rather have been forced to climb sheer rock faces than be so easily discovered out in the open. The people on this day, though, had plenty of other things to keep them occupied. Fighting in the street and stolen planes must have caused quite a stir.
Agger led Grunt to a place on the side of the nearby peak where they could watch. Sparrowport swarmed with activity, as he'd expected, and he reconsidered his plan. How were they supposed to kidnap someone from a town on high alert? And in particular, how was he supposed to move anywhere with any stealth having the heavy-footed Grunt right behind him? Agger was fairly certain his shadow's boots were made of concrete.
As darkness fell, the true scale of their challenge became evident. In addition to the streetlights, lanterns could be seen moving up and down the avenues. Even children patrolled the streets, ready to shout at the sight of anything out of place. Agger wondered if Destin Brightwood was among them. All he could do was operate under the assumption that the unpopular boy would remain home. His family's wealth had not been enough to overcome his unusual looks and mannerisms. Finding out such things was what Agger did best. If only he could identify magic or those able to sense it. Like the Pickette boy. He could not be certain, but he assumed that was who had taken the golden knife from right under their noses.
"You really shouldn't have shot that chap, you know," he said to Grunt. "That's probably what got the kid up. He was more than likely standing there when our friend expired." How else could he explain it?
Grunt remained silent. It was probably the wiser strategy, and Agger shut his mouth. Neither had wanted to enter town from the airfields, as most did. Better to scale the walls near the wealthy end of the residential district. Even if the main avenues were heavily patrolled, plenty of side streets and alleys remained in the shadows.
Despite their bickering, Agger and Grunt worked as a team and helped each other down a rock face and over a low wall. When they dropped into a narrow alley, it was like entering a different world. Here every window and gutter could hold eyes, ready to raise the alarm. No matter how skilled, they were immensely outnumbered, even if mostly by children and those too old to fight. Far better to slip in and out unseen.
Moving through darkened alleys, Agger stayed to the center to avoid unseen obstacles. He'd memorized a map of this place and knew where they needed to go. Grunt followed, looking lost and confused. When he tripped over a metal can, it came as little surprise. Agger sighed and drew his blade. No one came.
Grunt giggled.
"Idiot," Agger said. "How did you ever survive the cutting camps?"
"I have skills," Grunt said.
"I would have tossed you out," Agger continued. "It's only by luck that you haven't gotten us killed yet."
"Oh, they tried to cut me three different times."
"And how'd you get past that?"
From the darkness came a dock rat, a dirty blade in hand. Grunt never flinched. Reaching out with viselike fingers, he pinched the man's wrist in a way that made bones pop. Agger was certain the man would be screaming in pain if not for the elbow Grunt drove into his nose.
"I showed them my skills," he said with a grin. "Do you think this kid has magic?" he asked a moment later.
Agger shrugged. "Casta doesn't think so, but we can't trust anything she says. Making us look bad is a hobby of hers."
"Maybe if we find this Emmet Pickette kid, Lord Kind will have less need of Casta Mett."
"And if she finds him first?" Agger asked.
"We're going to need a new kid."
"This kid is weird, and we're not going back empty-handed. Unless you have any better ideas. I suppose we could beat up everyone we see along the way."
Grunt laughed a little too loudly. Agger glared at him. They were nearing the wealthiest district, which was the last place they wanted to draw attention to themselves. These people didn't have to be on guard since they could afford to pay someone else to be on guard for them. As a result, these streets were patrolled more heavily than anywhere else.
"You wait here," Agger whispered to Grunt after a watchman walked past.
Grunt nodded.
Through the night, Agger raced. He'd already identified the door he wanted to target. A metal fence and gate stood in his way. At a full run, he used the metal post holding the gate, since that would be the strongest one, to vault himself over the fence. Landing on soft soles with bent knees, he made only a soft patter.
The lock awaiting him looked far more secure than it actually was. After only a moment of fishing for the center pin, he released the catch. The door slid open, and Agger was halfway inside when the screeching started. With a lump in his throat, he turned to see Grunt open the gate, enter the courtyard, and close the noisy gate behind himself.
"Sorry," he said in a whisper.
Agger was tempted to kill him then and there. Grunt followed him into the house in spite of his insistence otherwise. Why Lord Kind had chosen to handicap Agger in such a way was unfathomable and a waste of his talents. Even in his anger, he knew he would never say those words to his king. He liked his head where it was.
"Stay here," Agger mouthed.
Grunt nodded.
Agger barely resisted the urge to knock the stupid grin from the man's face, but there was entirely too much at risk.
After moving through the pantry and kitchen, Agger climbed the stairs, keeping his weight out close to the edges, where it would be better supported and less likely to cause the stairs to give him away. When he reached the top and turned the corner, the stairs behind him creaked loudly. It was everything he could do not to vent his anger and frustration on Grunt. The man was an incompetent oaf.
In his rage, Agger missed the telltale signs of a loose board in the hallway. When his boots landed on the slight impression in the carpet, it groaned.
"What are you doing out of bed, boy?"
The man's voice sent a sharp chill through Agger. Footsteps behind him indicated Grunt had abandoned stealth. Charging into the room, he said nothing. After a thud and a few grunts, he returned.
Agger just looked at him in pure astonishment.
"It's a good thing I was here," Grunt said. "I probably just saved your life."
No words left Agger's lips. He stood in incredulous silence.
"Come on," Grunt said. "We don't want to just wait around here and gape. Let's get the boy and go."
Someday Agger would find a way to repay Grunt for his help. At that moment, though, he followed the thickheaded man to a closed door two doors down from where the man Agger assumed was the boy's father had been sleeping.
Grunt opened the door with exaggerated slowness but managed to do so quietly. Within, Destin Brightwood slept. Grunt grabbed him and slung him over his shoulder.
"What? Hey?" Destin said.
"Keep your mouth shut, and I won't kill you," Grunt said. "I got the kid. Let's go."
Agger just shook his head. The boy looked at him with terror-filled eyes. Agger just gave him a sad smile back. "I'll try not to kill you either. Just be a good boy, and everything will be fine."
Getting the kid back over the wall and up the rock face proved difficult, but eventually they hauled him up like a sack of potatoes. To his credit, the kid remained silent the entire time. Grunt proved to be excellent motivation.
Moving in the darkness was dangerous and time consuming. Now Agger was grateful for the short distance they needed to cover. He cursed it again when they peeked back into the small valley. At least a dozen lanterns moved in close proximity of the plane they had stolen and left there. So much for their backup plan. She had better not leave them there.
"I'll kill her if she doesn't show," Grunt said as if reading his mind. That alone was a scary thought.
When ropes suddenly appeared in the meadow before them, Agger could hardly believe it. Hovering above them in near silence was an airship, Casta Mett staring down at him.
Grunt shoved the kid up onto a rope. "Climb or die, kid."
Destin climbed. Agger grabbed the rope closest to him and left the ground with familiar reticence. Power and control were no longer his. Now he was simply a passenger. In that moment, the people below spotted the airship and ran toward the ropes. The crew moved with alacrity, and the humming above grew louder. Within moments, they moved out over the cliffs. Agger Dan tried not to look down.