“I can still feel them, though,” Morgan said to Maria. “They’re only around fifty miles from here to the east. I’m going.” The militia had shown him to the clinic and into Maria’s room where she lay, bedridden, unable to move her legs—the colony’s best healers had been taken on the airship, and the ones still in town weren’t capable of mending her spine. She had high hopes for a full recovery, though, if Dr. Kerns or Cho survived whatever Captain Gella and his people were doing to them.

“Wait, Morgan,” Maria said, holding out a hand. “Don’t you think you should get help? Olivia or Bronwyn or the militia? We have a squadron already out. They’re on foot, but they can’t be far if the airship stopped so close!”

Morgan glanced at Issa, who’d followed him to the clinic. “No. No, I’m sorry, but no one can keep up with me. Not even Olivia can fly . . . yet. Those bastards locked me in my tower for a reason—they fear me, and I’m about to show them why.” Morgan leaned over to kiss Issa, and she simply nodded, her face resolute.

“We’ll be ready when you return, and if you need to retreat, we’ll have canons on the wall primed and ready. Lead them into us, and we’ll show them what a few millennia of human warfare have taught us,” Maria growled, slapping a fist into her palm.

“Right. Yeah, keep the militia on the wall. I hope I’m back soon.” He paused, reconsidering a few things, and said to Issa, “Please keep the tower secure. Watch for Olivia or any other sort of surprise. I think we’re outside their plan now, having knocked them out of the sky, but I still think we should be wary of any further subterfuge.”

“I will, Morgan. Tiladia and I will keep the tower ready. We can also take refugees if it comes to that,” she said, turning to Maria as she said the last. She stepped closer to Morgan, tilting her head so that she spoke toward his ear in a low voice, “Watch out for Tanna, Morgan. She’s far more clever and deceptive than the others. I wish I could go with you.”

“I’ll be careful, and, honestly, I’m glad you won’t be there to see what I might have to do,” Morgan growled. He kissed Issa one more time, then walked out of the room. He slid his visor down as he strode through the clinic, and as soon as he was outside the front awning, he cracked his wings and launched himself into the sky.

Morgan had been flying a lot since his return to First Landing, but only short flights around the community. He didn’t know how long it would take him to cover fifty miles. He didn’t even know if he could fly that far. His wings had never felt tired during the short flights he’d made, so he had no idea what to expect when it came to their endurance. He figured step one was to gain as much altitude as he felt he could handle and then try to figure out how to glide.

He pumped his wings, holding his feet and legs out straight, following some sort of instinct that must have been awoken with his bloodline and briefly wondering what kind of magic allowed him to fly like a bird when his only feathers were on his wings—he had no tail feathers, and he was undoubtedly denser than a typical bird. Perhaps it was simply that—magic. Perhaps it had to do with his Energy levels and how his body now interacted with the natural environment. Not much of his current existence would be explainable using Earth’s science.

He continued to push against the air, climbing ever higher as he soared toward the east, and soon the forest surrounding First Landing was just a blue-green carpet below him, the trees too small to distinguish easily. As he cleared the first foothills beyond the woods and saw the low, craggy peaks ahead, realizing he was already high enough to soar through a gap in the first range, Morgan stopped pumping his wings and tried to glide, allowing the air to buffet and push against the bottoms of his wings.

Morgan felt the strain in his back, not exactly his wings, but it wasn’t painful, and he knew he had a lot of endurance left. As the wind buffeted him, knocking him side to side, he began to get a knack for tilting the angle of his glide to cut the gusts and keep himself on track. He even managed to catch updrafts and avoid losing much altitude.

Within an hour of leaving First Landing, Morgan had already passed through the first gap in the mountainous territory to the east, and he saw a small line of moving figures on the rough landscape below. Morgan dove toward them, noting that they marched eastward, and when he activated his Void Vision, he grew fairly certain that he was looking at the militia from First Landing.

Morgan worked his way down, slowly spiraling toward the body of soldiers, and as he drew near, he saw that they were in a sorry state. They were struggling to climb a rocky slope, loose, crumbling stones slipping beneath their feet. They all carried the new Energy rifles, and most used them as walking sticks to keep from sliding backward. They looked ragged and tired; many had ripped clothing and bloody bandages on their limbs.

When Morgan touched down, sending up a shower of dust, they leveled their rifles at him, and two soldiers fell, sliding on the loose scree from the sudden movement. “Hold your fire!” Morgan cried.

“Morgan?” A lean man with short black hair and a clean, unscratched rifle asked. His uniform had officer stripes, and he looked less winded than the others and clearly hadn’t fallen or needed to use his weapon as a crutch.

“Hey. Yeah, it’s me. I finally got out of my tower. Are you guys all right?”

“We’re fine, just making shit time and worried we’ll never catch up to that damn airship. We were hoping it had crashed in these hills.”

“You’re doing a pretty fantastic job of heading in the right direction,” Morgan said, nodding up the hill to the east. “You’re on the right track, but more mountains are in your way. I’ll catch those bastards—you all should head back to town. I think it’ll take you another four or five days to get there.”

“Fuck,” one of the soldiers said, spitting through dusty lips.

“Yeah, it’s not fair, I know,” Morgan said, pulling his wings in. “I can cross all this rough terrain easily. Let me deal with this, all right? If I fail, you might as well go to Tarn’s Crossing and take a boat toward Ridonne, cause, no offense, but if they kill me, they’ll kill you twelve, too.”

“Fucking balls on this guy,” one of the other soldiers said.

“I’m not trying to sound full of myself, guy,” Morgan said, scowling at the burly, bearded soldier. “I’m just saying I’m tier-four and wearing some damn good gear. There’s a lot you all haven’t seen, trust me.”

“Lock it down,” the lean officer said. He glared at the militia members, and none of them held his gaze. When the muttering had stopped, he looked at Morgan and held out a hand, “All right. Thanks for the head’s up. We’ll keep moving, though. Do us a favor and let us know if you win, okay? I’ll turn around when I know the townsfolk are free or when I see that ship in the air confirming that we can’t catch it.”

“Fair enough,” Morgan said. He had to admire the man’s dedication. Morgan could see the disgruntled looks most of the soldiers affected when they heard his words, and he knew he hadn’t made things easier for the man. “If you don’t hear from me in a day or so, keep your guard up—I’m probably dead. Good luck!” With that, Morgan snapped his wings and launched himself into the air. As he cleared the ground, he stared straight up and cast Void Step, instantly gaining a hundred meters of altitude.

Guardian’s Senses told him that he’d closed the distance to Arthur Ballard by more than half, so Morgan kept his Void Vision active, appreciating how it had made the Energy signatures of the militia members flare and reasoning that it might give him a chance to avoid an ambush. He saw many weak, small signatures, and he figured they were animals down among the scrub and sporadic trees. Occasionally he saw other birds in the air nearby, but they angled away from him and passed so quickly that he rarely caught more than a glimpse.

As he glided past the second row of peaks, enjoying the thrill of the flight so much that he had to remind himself to stay vigilant, Morgan saw a bright Energy signature launch into the air from behind a nearby boulder. He turned his head that way, trying not to give away the fact that he’d seen it. The aura approaching him was bright, and it trailed glittering motes of Energy. Even without his Void Vision showing him the hateful intention pulsing out from him, Morgan would have recognized Baron Finneal.

Morgan banked, angling downward to pick up speed, acting like he hadn’t noticed the Ghelli flanking him. He felt a surge of Energy, knew an attack was coming, and turned back toward Finneal. Just as a claw of dark, shadowy Energy began manifesting in the air near him, Morgan cast Void Step and placed himself behind Finneal.

Void Step was a curious spell when cast at high rates of momentum. Though he placed himself behind Finneal, effectively reversing his course, Morgan still surged forward at the same rate as before. He had little sympathy or patience for Finneal after what he’d heard from Maria, and Morgan didn’t hesitate to place Bloodfang squarely between Finneal’s shoulders, activating Backstab for the first time in a long while.

His sword carved through Finneal’s red-enameled dress armor, completely punching through his torso and out the front. The blade didn’t even slow down as it hit that armor, and Finneal screamed in agony as the heavy sword split his spine and sheared away part of his heart. Finneal instantly stopped flying, becoming a dead weight on the end of his sword, and Morgan kicked his body away, sliding Bloodfang free and flapping his wings heavily to regain his upward momentum.

Morgan watched as Finneal fell, spiraling in a tumble to the rocks below, crashing and bouncing with an audibly wet crunch down the side of a scree-covered slope. Finneal might have been able to fly more nimbly than Morgan, he supposed he’d never know, but there was no way he stood a chance when it came to mobility—Void Step trumped wings. Morgan scanned the surrounding peaks and rocky valleys but saw no other aggressors moving toward him.

He reached out with Guardian’s Senses once more and felt Arthur Ballard just a few miles further, likely past the next row of low, rocky ridges. Whipping some of the blood off Bloodfang’s edge, Morgan cracked his wings and dove eastward, wondering if the others would force him to fight or if they’d capitulate.

#

“We’re almost ready to lift off again,” Gella said, smiling at Tanna while he puffed on his pipe, trying to get the stubborn, damp yill weed to burn. “Do you mind calling in Finneal and the other sentries?”

“What’s he doing?” Tanna asked, ignoring Gella and pointing to Haku-dak, who seemed to be making his way to the port boarding gangway. Gella saw why Tanna had asked—The lumbering axe warrior was wearing his travel cloak and led a large, barded roladii.

“Why would he leave now? We’ll be soaring over his head in an hour’s time.” Gella cursed, spitting angrily over the rail and stuffing his pipe into his captain’s coat. “Come with me, please!” He thought he heard Tanna grunt in ascent, but he didn’t wait, clambering down to the mid-deck and striding toward the port passage behind Haku. His boots and heavy strides made his approach evident, and Haku paused to consider him over his shoulder.

“What?” The big warrior asked.

“Where are you going?”

“I’ll make my own way,” the warrior said, shrugging his boulder-like shoulders and continuing to lead his mount down the sloping wooden passageway.

“What the old bones do you mean, you’ll make your own way? We’re about to set sail again!” Gella said, speaking with more vehemence than he usually dared when facing one of ap’Gravin’s champions.

“What’s going on, Haku?” Tanna asked, her voice a crystal clarion that cut through Gella’s sputtering.

“Have you spoken to your sentry lately?” Haku asked, not slowing his movement.

“Finneal?” Tanna scoffed. “He rarely checks in.”

“Well, I paid one of the scouts and gave him a page from my far-scribe book. He wrote that he saw a fight in the air, and Finneal fell like a sack of meat.” Haku’s boot crunched onto gravel as he exited the gangway and led his roladii clear, pulling himself into the saddle. “Good luck, Tanna. I’ll report your bravery to ap’Gravin when I describe this doomed venture. If I don't dally, I figure I should reach Gelica in a month.”

“You’re running because some jittery scout sent you a message about Finneal? What was it? Morgan? If he won free of my wards, then we can face him together, Haku.”

“We’ve had this talk. Many times.” Haku shrugged. “Good luck,” he said again, kicking his heels into the roladii’s flanks. The animal reared, and then he was going, rushing along the smooth ground near the downed airship and then charging up a rocky slope.

“He really just left?” Gella said, trying to wrap his mind around what had happened.

“He did, and I’ve half a mind to follow. I just don’t know if Morgan is the kind to let people escape unscathed after what we did. Why did Finneal have to kill some of them?” Tanna closed her eyes, and her lips moved as she seemed to recite something to herself.

“What?” Gella asked, wondering if she’d said something he should have heard.

“Quiet,” she said, then continued muttering under her breath, eyes closed. After a moment, she opened them, staring, green eyes bright, into Gella’s. “Get some of the prisoners and bring them onto the deck.”