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WAR IS A TERRIBLE AND sometimes necessary thing; avoid it when you can, but fight with everything you have when you cannot.
—Barabas DeGuiere, dragon rider
* * *
SPARROWPORT DIED IN spectacular fashion under a heavy barrage. The force was excessive, far beyond what was needed to bring the town to its end, but it appeared the Zjhon had tired of the game.
"They've just been playing with us," Brick said, tears streaming down his face while he reloaded the long gun.
"You've fought well," Barabas said. "Every bit you've weakened them will increase the chance of survival for those farther inland. Your efforts have not been for nothing."
Brick did not respond. Instead he sent another round of stone shot into the Zjhon fleet. Already he'd inflicted great damage. No matter how much they had prepared, the Zjhon had not been expecting this. What had been an orderly armada was now chaos. The ships that weren't sinking or too badly damaged to maneuver attempted to turn and sail to deeper water. Brick and those around him did everything possible to prevent that. Smoke rose from the sandbags on which the long gun rested, stone munitions heating the metal with every shot. Unavoidable friction pushed the barrel to its limits.
"Slow down, lad," Joren said. "You're going to stress the metal too much. If that gun fails, it's likely to kill us all."
"If not the gun, then it will be them," Brick said, pointing to the airplanes now soaring toward them, having dropped their payloads on the mostly empty town.
Riette hadn't seen the children or those who'd been in the small field hospital at the end of town, and she feared for their lives. The planes coming toward them posed less of a threat now, but some had not had their turrets removed. Stone shot marched a line across the grassy soil and up the sandbags surrounding the mighty gun. Brick dived behind defensive structures created for that purpose. A moment later, U-jets screamed past, each one taking aim at where Brick lay. Dust filled the air along with Riette's screams. Her friend was the primary target, and the aircraft pummeled the spot where he hid.
Wave after wave passed, not providing any break in the fire. One diesel prop approached with its heavy munitions still in place. Riette shouted in warning. Those who hid amid the sandbags and berms fled the area, knowing the power of even one of those bombs. Riette glanced over her shoulder while running toward a nearby copse of fir trees. Joren dug frantically amid the ruptured sandbags, looking for Brick. A moment later, his son emerged from a spot farther back. He grabbed his father and, despite his limp, did his best to pull the man to the place where Riette now hid. Blood and stone dust obscured most of his features, but he had never been more handsome or heroic.
The bomb released with an audible click, and an instant later, the world exploded. When the smoke cleared, the long gun remained intact but now rested at the wrong angle.
"Help me!" Brick cried, running back to the gun. No matter how valiant his heart, the flesh could endure only so much. Halfway across the field, his knees buckled. He was not alone in his bravery, though; others soon helped him, half carrying him back to the gun.
Close to half the sandbags had been ruptured or completely blasted away. There was no way to rebuild the side that had been destroyed, no matter how hard they tried, the sand simply fell away.
"Lower the far side," Joren shouted. "Take bags from the far side and use them to brace this side!"
Brick orchestrated the deconstruction of the high side. "Don't take all the bags from one spot," he said. "I want the other side built up before this thing decides to move."
As if to prove his words, the mighty gun barrel creaked and groaned while sliding into place. The sandbags held, but the whole arrangement was unstable. Riette sucked in a sharp breath when Brick lost his footing and slid into a gap between the gun barrel and the sandbags. If the enormous weight shifted while he was under there, he could be trapped or crushed. Grunting, he pulled himself free. As he did, he met Riette's eyes, and his face flushed. How he could be embarrassed by slipping while being the bravest person alive was beyond Riette's understanding. Men were unfathomable creatures. Twice more the gun came close to rolling over those trying to repair it. Only Berigor's quick reflexes kept Brick and several others from being crushed.
Riette tended to the wounded. This at least gave her something to do besides watch her friends risk their lives. Some of the townspeople were beyond help, and she tried her best to concentrate on those her efforts might save. Even those who worked around her bore wounds of their own. It wasn't fair—any of it. They had done their best and given their all, and still evil had prevailed. The world made no sense.
Again, the gun fired. No one dared hope it would be enough. It was a noble but futile effort to inflict damage on an enemy who had already won. When she looked back to where Dashiq rested, Emmet was climbing into the saddle behind Barabas. Tuck ran toward her, looking concerned. "We have to go! Now!"
"I can't," Riette answered over her shoulder, no longer looking at him. She cared for Baker Millman, the man who'd always baked the best bread in Sparrowport. He'd been among the few people who were kind to her and Emmet, and she refused to let him die. "I need bandages," she said to Tuck, and he did his best to tear cloth into strips, all the while looking over his shoulder. Riette risked a peek, only to see Barabas and her brother about to fly away. "Go," she said.
"No," Tuck said. "I'm not leaving you."
He was not as big or strong as Brick, but Riette felt safer with Tuck by her side. No matter his strengths or weaknesses, he cared about her, and that meant something. Brick continued to fire into the fleet, hoping to leave the returning aircraft with no place to land. "I need more shot!" he shouted.
"It's too much," Joren said.
Brick ignored him and loaded the mighty gun, screaming as he burned himself on hot metal. When he released the pent-up air this time, Joren's fears came to pass. Rather than sending a projectile into the enemy fleet, the barrel had begun to droop under its own weight, and its tip shattered from the force. People fell and screams filled the air.
Chaos ruled the field, and Riette realized then they should have been paying more attention to what was taking place behind them. Tuck made a choking sound, and Riette turned to see a Zjhon soldier take him down. An instant later, a hand closed over her mouth, stifling her scream. No matter how she kicked and fought, the stern-faced woman she'd seen on the Sparrowport airfield so long ago dragged her toward silent airships hovering above the trees. Within moments, a rope had been tied around Riette and she was hoisted in the air like nothing more than a sack of potatoes. Tuck was similarly tied and met her eyes while they were hauled upward.
"I'm sorry."
"No," Riette said. "I'm sorry."
It was the last thing she said for some time. The woman climbed a rope ladder beside them, her heavy boot landing squarely on Riette's jaw.
Darkness reigned.
* * *
SEEING HIS SISTER AND Tuck captured by the Al'Zjhon made Emmet want to jump from the saddle and rescue them, but it was beyond his abilities. Already Dashiq moved toward the cliffs, barely able to get herself airborne. Emmet grabbed Barabas by the shoulder and turned him so he could see. Perhaps he would have gone back for them, but the Zjhon pilots returning to the naval fleet knew their fate. Amid the chaos and sinking ships, no place to land awaited. Most now turned back toward Sparrowport. Given the weight of their previous payloads, Emmet guessed they carried just enough fuel to complete the mission. Some pilots ditched and hung in the air, suspended by their parachutes. Others aimed directly for Dashiq and Berigor, who now flanked them.
Only a few planes still carried weaponry. A pair of diesel props and a squadron of U-jets opened fire. Too busy making evasive maneuvers, the dragons had no time to turn back and face the airships departing with their friends. Emmet continued to watch in horror while the first two dirigibles turned east and fled. The third still had ropes dragging on the ground. Brick and Joren ran in pursuit of Zjhon making their way back to the aircraft. Two made it to the ropes, but Brick would not be denied. Through brute force and sheer will, he tossed men aside and gained one of the ropes himself, his father not far behind. Soon the airship soared higher, Brick and Joren swinging in the wind. Fearless, the two climbed and latched on to those above them on the ropes. It was unclear if those on deck even knew they were coming, but their comrades were tossed to the winds. Higher Brick climbed.
Emmet would have continued to watch if not for the fire Dashiq was taking. Shot after shot landed on the dragon, and Barabas was also struck. No one was immune, and pain erupted in Emmet's rib cage. Nothing in his life had ever hurt so badly. Dashiq roared a battle cry and Berigor answered. The dragons took the fight to the Zjhon with unmatched fury. Planes tumbled from the air, unable to evade the enraged dragons.
The skies were afire. Tapping her final reserves, Dashiq tore into the naval fleet and finished what Brick had started. The sinking flagship now stuck up in the air, the weight of it tearing the mighty ship in two; it died with a haunting sound. Few ships remained unscathed, and Dashiq targeted those. Fewer and fewer aircraft filled the skies, but those that remained all targeted the dragons, aware Dashiq was the greatest threat and most likely knowing no safe place existed for them to land at sea or around Sparrowport. Already lost, they wished to do what damage they could to the enemy before they perished. Emmet tried not to think about having had the same feelings toward the Zjhon. How was he any better? He'd seen the desperation in the people of Sparrowport. No one would win this war. All would suffer.
Berigor tore into the planes, doing his best to protect Dashiq, but even he could not prevent her from taking additional fire. Her wing flaps slowed, and Barabas slumped in the saddle. Emmet alone remained alert and relatively uninjured. His ribs hurt but he was conscious. Part of him lamented that. To witness such tragedy was to be scarred for the rest of his days, no matter how few they may be. Watching in horror, he doubted he would ever sleep soundly again. Never had he felt truly safe, but this took his insecurity to new heights.
As the last U-jet struck the bluffs and with the naval fleet in disarray, Dashiq turned back to the east. Emmet's heart soared for a brief moment when he realized she meant to go after Tuck and Riette. He did not know how to save his sister and his friend since knocking the airships from the skies would likely kill all those aboard, but Emmet was ready to give his life in the attempt to save them. Reaching forward, he grabbed Barabas by the shoulder, checking to see if he was still alive. A gnarled hand reached up and patted Emmet's. It was enough.
Berigor flew alongside them. Keldon issued an echoing battle cry. The people who remained on the bluffs responded in earnest. Victory was theirs. None would deny the cost, but Emmet could not blame those who celebrated their very survival. Not so long ago, it had seemed they would all perish at the hands of the Zjhon, and some yet lived. It was a hollow victory for Emmet. Two of the people he cared the most about had been taken from him, and thoughts of what they might endure made him feel small and afraid. Riette had always been there for him. She'd protected him. She'd loved him when no one else had. The thought of her in Zjhon hands threatened to tear his heart to pieces. The pain was physical and as real as his bruised ribs.
Everything changed when a single diesel prop appeared from behind the peaks between them and Sparrowport. The same peaks that had hidden the long gun from the airplanes now worked against them. The gun turret rotated and opened fire. Sluggish, Dashiq was unable to avoid the attack and bore the brunt. Noble and brave, Berigor moved between the plane and Dashiq, taking some of the fire, but the damage was done. Dashiq wobbled in the air, her head drooping low.
With a rage-filled roar, Berigor winged toward the airplane, not looking much better than Dashiq. In good health, he would easily have outmaneuvered the plane, but he was battered and weak. The pilot was not interested in Berigor; the man stared straight at Emmet. Such hatred and intent to kill burned like fire. Reaching out with one claw, Berigor raked the cockpit, collapsing it inward. It was a valiant effort, but he was too late. Even out of control, the plane hurtled toward Dashiq, its inertia too much to overcome. Emmet screamed when the plane careened into them.
Displaying bravery until the end, Dashiq veered, exposing her belly to the attack, sparing Barabas and Emmet the brunt. The impact was jarring, and Emmet tasted blood. Dashiq issued a grunt laced with pain and remorse. Her head was thrown out to one side. Emmet watched, horrified. Going limp, the dragon slumped, her remaining eye rolling up into her head.
The plane dropped from the sky, along with Emmet, Barabas, and Dashiq. Only a moment before they struck the cold waves crashing into the rocky bluffs, Berigor roared, his claws closing around Dashiq. In his weakened state, he was barely able to keep them all airborne. Skimming the waves, they flew south, leaving the Jaga and the Zjhon fleet behind. Emmet's hope of rescuing his sister died in that moment.
* * *
STRAINING TO PULL HIMSELF up, hand over hand, Brick for once wished he weighed a bit less. His brawn had served him well over the years, but gravity held on to him more tightly than it did others. Only the sight of his father making progress in his climb gave him hope. Riette had been taken aboard a different airship, and he was determined not to let that vessel out of his sight. She'd slipped through his fingers once, and he wasn't about to let it happen again. Meeting his father's gaze, he nodded. The need for silence was understood. So far no one appeared to have realized they were there. The airship moved higher in the skies, making them ever more vulnerable. It would be a simple task to knock them from the ropes and send them tumbling to the rocky shoreline below. Moving east, the three airships lacked the speed of other aircraft, but their flight was stable and their capacity great.
After a brief rest, Joren and Brick resumed their climb, wanting to reach the deck at the same moment. They had spent their entire lives working together, and Brick was grateful for their ability to communicate using few if any words. There had been many times over the years he'd lamented working in a confined space with someone who knew his every weakness. Now he understood just how much his father had taught him. Without that knowledge, he'd never have been able to help save the people of Sparrowport. His father had done his part, no doubt, but it had been Brick who'd rallied the people and come up with a plan. Why the people had chosen to follow his lead, he might never know, but it gave him a sense of pride. Never would he take credit for what the people had done to save themselves, but it was clear his voice had given them direction, purpose, and focus.
It had been Joren's skills that had produced the long gun—skills he'd passed along to his son. He deserved as much credit as anyone, but he was content to let Brick take a leadership role. Even now, his father had followed him to the airship and joined in what might turn out to be complete folly. He had no idea what they were going to do next. There had been no time. Bravery was perhaps about doing what needed to be done in the moment without considering the consequences. If he'd waited to determine the best course of action, he would likely have missed his chance. Only time would tell if his impetuous decision would make him a hero or a martyr. Either way, he'd done what was right.
Riette was among the strongest people he'd ever met, even if she'd always thought herself weak. When her mother died, she'd taken over the family business and kept them from losing what they had. Then her father was called to war. Brick had heard the tales of his bravery and his presumed demise, and he wasn't sure he would have been so brave, even while hanging from a rope suspended above his homeland.
Joren struggled with the climb, and Brick found himself waiting for the sake of his father. No one knew what awaited them on deck, and surely they would be more effective together. Brick suspected that was the only reason his father had come at all. Neither were trained fighters, though both had been in their fair share of scuffles. Defending Riette and Emmet alone had provided Brick with more than a few bruises and scars. It had been his muscles that had gotten him through. No matter how much he'd hated having to work the forge in his childhood, the work had made him stronger than steel. While the other children had played, he'd endured the heat and had become as tough as an anvil. Remembering Joren saying those exact words, Brick smiled in spite of his current circumstances. A single glance told Brick his father was ready to make one final effort to reach the deck.
No matter their plans, Brick got there first. Before pulling himself over the rail, he looked about and saw no one. With a final grunting effort, he hoisted himself aboard. A moment later, he grabbed his father's wrist and helped him over the rail. The older man's chest heaved from the exertion, and he placed a finger over his lips. Brick nodded. He held both hands out to his father, palms first, indicating they should rest for a few moments before proceeding.
After what felt like an eternity, Joren regained his breath and nodded to his son, a look of such pride in his eyes, Brick grew misty eyed. His father was a man of strength—both physical and of character—but he'd never been one to issue easy praise. To know he'd gained his father's respect was overwhelming, but this was no time for sentimentality. Riette and Tuck needed him. He'd just met the boy, but already Tuck had a special place in the smith's heart. Anyone who cared for Riette and Emmet was all right in his judgment.
After a nod from his father, Brick looked around, surprised to see no one on the ship. The deck itself was far narrower than a seafaring ship, surrounding a deckhouse that protruded from the bottom of the giant canvas-covered latticework filled with lighter-than-air gasses. Brick understood something of the construction, having salvaged parts from downed airships to create the weapons used to defend Sparrowport. They weren't far from the galley, and that was where he headed first. The airships had moved out over the water and continued heading east. Brick could only assume they would make for the Firstland and deliver the prisoners to Argus Kind. He was determined not to let that happen.
Before reaching the galley, they passed the weapons hold. Holding up a finger, Brick motioned for his father to keep watch. The door opened with a creak. Brick was immediately met with force. Only a fool left powerful weapons unguarded, and the Zjhon were not fools. Two men in light armor waited within. The first swung a heavy cudgel at Brick's head, while the other made for a handle in the wall that Brick presumed would sound the alarm. Ducking beneath the cudgel, Brick lunged at the second man. After passing the first, Brick turned and shoved him hard in the back, sending him toward the deck where Joren waited. Only the man's scream becoming softer and distant told Brick he would cause them no more trouble. The second man closed his hand around the lever. Brick punched him in the face with all his might. Moments later, the second man went over the rail without a sound.
It didn't take Brick long to find what he was looking for. Stored in crates filled with wood shavings, clay spheres rested, evenly spaced. Gently Brick grabbed two, knowing how potent these weapons could be. Plenty had been dropped on Sparrowport. Though lacking the potency of the massive bombs used to demolish the bunkers, these would be more than sufficient for his purposes.
Luck was with him. Laughter and song emanated from the galley. These soldiers had been spared battle and were headed home. Their celebration would meet an abrupt end. Without any hesitation, Brick yanked the portal open and threw the clay spheres in, slamming the rounded, metal door shut. The weapons detonated with concussive force, most of which was contained within the galley. It took all his strength to yank the twisted portal open again, and smoke clogged the air when he did. At least a dozen soldiers were scattered around the galley in various states of disarray.
Joren charged in first, no longer willing to watch his son fight alone. In a short time, they tossed the stunned, semiconscious soldiers overboard. Surprise was no longer on their side, and the two men made their way to the wheelhouse in wary silence. Brick counted down on his fingers before yanking open the portal. The instant he stepped across the threshold, the pilot opened fire. Pain erupted in Brick's chest, but he ignored it. Still able to breathe and move, he thanked the gods the man was armed with only an air pistol, which lacked the punch of larger weapons. Before his father could say a word, Brick grabbed the pilot and threw him out of the wheelhouse like a hay bale. Joren tried to catch the man but failed. Instead, the pilot went overboard with the rest of the crew.
Sitting down hard, Brick pulled his shirt open and looked at the blood running down his chest. The stinging grew worse as he examined the wounds—two small, red holes in his pectoral muscles. Wincing, he squeezed on either side of the first hole, and a metal pellet emerged. After doing the same with the other, he allowed his father to clean and dress the wounds.
"I think I'll live," Brick said.
"You were well named, m'boy. You're thicker than a brick."
After grinning at his father, Brick winced when he stood. That was going to sting for a while.
"As proud as I am of you, my son, sometimes you just don't think."
Looking at the array of controls before him, Brick didn't have to ask what the older man meant. Throwing the pilot overboard might have been a mistake. He had no idea how to fly this ship, and any mistakes could prove fatal. "I wonder what this lever does," he said.
Joren shook his head.