CHAPTER EIGHT
They began climbing from the moment they set out. Every twenty minutes, Evrokk called the altitude, then rang the ship’s bell to mark passing the lower tertio of the Fifth Air. Drekki’s lot were born of Barak-Thrund, high in the Fourth Air, and somewhat used to the cold, but the temperatures they encountered were extreme even for them. The gauges dropped with every sounding, until the crew were stamping their feet and slapping their gloved hands together, grumbling about the lack of efficacy of the heaters in their aetherpacks. There was no real ire to it, they moaned companionably, jesting between complaints, for the scent of adventure grew stronger on the wind.
At the midline of the median Fifth, Drekki ordered Evrokk to level out. Ramarius burst up from below, making Adrimm yelp again.
‘I wish he’d stop doing that to me!’ Adrimm moaned.
The great beast spread one huge wing and pulled the other in close, going into a long loop around them, then took up position alongside the Aelsling.
‘It’ll take six days, full faring speed for you,’ the dragon roared at them. ‘You are slow, but Ramarius promises he will not leave you behind. A deal is a deal!’ He swooped low, flicked out his wings, using his impetus to soar up high and far ahead. ‘Ramarius will scout ahead!’ he hollered, his voice diminishing to a thin shout as he raced on.
‘That dragon’s a show-off,’ said Drekki. All of them were in full gear, except Umherth, who wandered about, his bald, tattooed head naked to the elements. He swore he didn’t feel the cold. ‘You’re a show-off too,’ Drekki said to him.
‘Part ice, me!’ Umherth cackled.
‘Yeah, and all mad,’ muttered Adrimm. ‘Um, no offence, Evrokk,’ he hastily added when the pilot shot him a glare.
Hysh’s warmth and light were blocked by banks of towering clouds of purest white. Where they weren’t stacked up like unsorted wool, the sky behind was a pale, flat plane, sapped of depth. Drekki went from station to station on the ship on his habitual rounds, beginning at Aelsling’s likeness at the prow, then zigzagging across the deck to check the hatches, then taking out his tension spanner to test the bolts on the shrouds which connected hull to aether-globe, frowning at the dials, giving the nuts a twist to tighten them up. He ran gloved fingers under the globes, gauging their power output and efficiency solely by how warm they were.
Uzki followed Drekki about like an extra shadow, attentive at every stop, as if he could learn all there was to know about sky-captaining just by watching. He was trying hard, even though his shivering was visible through the folds of canvas hanging off his limbs.
‘Don’t worry, lad,’ said Drekki, putting a paternal hand on the beardling’s back. ‘I’m cold too. The brass of my ancestor mask is chilled well past zero.’ He rapped it with a knuckle. ‘It’d burn my fingers if I touched it without me gloves on. Look at the lads.’ He pointed to his crew, who carried startling coiffures of frost. ‘Look funny, don’t they?’
Uzki nodded. ‘It’s so cold!’
‘It’s hard when all you’ve known is the heat of the baraks. They’re never cold. You’ll get used to it, mind. Mostly.’ He shivered. His aetherpack laboured to keep him warm. The heat it gave, usually oppressive, was feeble in such conditions. ‘But aye,’ he said, ‘it is fair freezing.’
‘And you say I moan, captain!’ said Adrimm as he walked by.
‘That’s because you do, Fair-weather. That was a passing comment, so shut that hole in your beard.’
‘Yes, captain,’ said Adrimm.
‘Few fare this high, did you know that, beardling?’ Drekki said to the boy.
Uzki nodded miserably.
‘Hey there, no need to be like that. You remember those tales your dad told you?’
Uzki shivered. ‘Y-yes,’ he said.
‘Then you’ll remember my crew, for they are almost as famous as me. They’re not moaning. Follow their example, even though they are as cold as you are.’
‘Aye, captain. I am sorry for complaining. I’ll get myself warmer.’
‘Ha! If complaining were a crime on my ship, lad, I’d have tossed Adrimm over the side years ago. Take heart, lad! Everyone likes a good grumble every now and then. You know something, you remind me of my youngest brother. He was about your age when I went off as an apprentice. He was always worried and moaning a bit, but he always came through in the end. Fierce he is, if you put him in a tight spot. You’re like that, I can tell. Worried outside, heart of iron in here.’ He tapped Uzki on the chest. ‘Yes. Right there.’
The captain went quiet a moment. Uzki wondered if that particular brother had gone missing with Drekki’s father too. It felt impolite to ask.
One of the doors under the poop swung open.
‘Aha!’ said Drekki, coming alive again. ‘As for the cold, help is there…’
Kedren came out in a cloud of steam. No helmet, no flight suit, but a long leather apron over his clothes, and forge gloves of thick leather.
‘Right about now,’ said Drekki. ‘Kedren here will sort us all out, won’t you, Kedren? You know he’s a runesmith of the old sort? He says he can stop our shivering.’
‘Damn right I can,’ said Kedren, stumping up to them. He rolled oddly on deck. He had his air-legs, but they were of a different manufacture to those of the Kharadron, who were born to a life in the sky. ‘If you skybeards would just use good honest runes rather than all these new-fangled machines, then you might not freeze to death quite so often.’
‘Come now, Kedren, we’re successful because we embrace the new. You need to admit it. You’d be happier if you did.’
‘Tell that to the Fyreslayers.’ Kedren gave a rare chuckle. ‘They’re warm, eh? All the time! Any road, I’ve these runes, and they’re inspired by our flaming cousins.’ He hefted a handful of tiny, neat metal shapes in the palm of his hand. The runes were perfectly identical, though they had been fashioned by hand, because that’s the way Kedren did things. Perfectly, the old way.
‘That’s beautiful work,’ said Drekki. ‘As fine as if they were stamped out by machine.’
‘Better!’ snapped the runesmith.
‘I don’t think anything could warm me up,’ said Uzki.
‘That’s because you’ve not been raised a proper duardin,’ said Kedren. ‘Living in the sky on a great boat of metal! I feel sorry for you. You should have spent your ungromenhak[42] in the tunnels, under the ground, mining and making with your own hands, not begging on the street! So I’ll forgive you for not having a clue what you’re on about. Turn around, and let me attach this to your backpack, then you’ll see.’
‘Do as he says, lad,’ said Drekki.
Uzki obeyed.
‘That’s good,’ said Kedren, pulling out a small drill, aether-powered, despite his disdain for machines. ‘Hold still now. Back in the old days, there was no need for all this aether tomfoolery. A canny duardin, a duardin like me’ – he shot Drekki a wicked smile – ‘they could trap the winds of magic in metal itself, and that was enough for us. No balance in your lives, you lot. Engineers have taken over everything. The old kings knew it would come to no good, oh yes.’
Drekki didn’t have the heart to say that the Kharadron had prospered and multiplied, while the Dispossessed were reduced to a shadow of their former glories, begging for a place in Azyr. He’d tried that once before. Never again.
Kedren gave a small grunt of concentration. The drill whined. A few curls of bronze swarf dropped to the deck. Kedren put the drill back in his apron pouch and took out a small hammer from his belt. There was a gentle tapping on Uzki’s back.
‘But you in the sky, you’ve left all that behind. Hardly duardin at all, if you ask me.’ He slapped Uzki on the back. ‘How’s that feel, lad?’
‘I feel…’ A note of wonder crept into Uzki’s voice. ‘I feel warm!’
‘That’s a rune of fire, bound into brass. Not a fierce heat, not like you’d bind to a weapon, but a gentle glow. Small rune, right metal, so a slow release. I’ve spiked it into your heater feed. You should be toasty from now on.’
‘Wow,’ said Uzki.
‘You’re welcome,’ said Kedren. ‘You want one, captain, or are you happy to freeze to death relying on the inefficiencies of your magical machinery?’
‘Kedren, my old friend, you know full well that I have nothing but respect for your craft, that is why you are on board my ship.’
‘Ha! You didn’t employ me. I come as a package with Otherek.’
‘That’s as may be, and I admit to raising my eyebrows when the khemist came along with a runesmith in tow, but I have learned to respect you. I say whatever works, the old and the new together, why not? You’ve taught me that.’
Kedren got out the drill again and fiddled around with Drekki’s aetherpack. ‘Skybeard nonsense,’ he said.
It took all of a moment. There was a click of metal on metal. Kedren tightened something, and struck Drekki’s pack lightly. Straight away, a delicious warmth flooded Drekki’s limbs, driving away the cold. Not just any warmth, but a deep enveloping heat that evoked forges where metal was worked by hammers held in sure hands, and duardin gathered in hearty companionship.
‘The beardling has it right, Kedren, wow is the word.’ Drekki patted him on the shoulder. ‘See to the others.’
Drekki took a step forward. Uzki made to follow. The captain turned on his heel and pushed him gently back.
‘Go find Hrunki, lad,’ he said. ‘Time to continue with your education.’
Drekki swaggered off, shouting orders, exchanging jokes with Umherth. The sun broke through the clouds of frost and fog, glinting off his armour, and Uzki thought it the most entrancing sight he’d ever seen.
A sharp knock on his helm broke the spell.
‘Come on, bald-chin,’ said Hrunki. ‘Now you’re all warm again, it’s time to get to work. Zpud[43] peeling for you today, I think.’