The mouth of the cave shone brilliant white after the dim warmth of the Oracle’s cavern. Gunfire and shouts echoed down the long hall, punctuated by the skitter of falling stones from the cliffs overhead. Mathilde braced herself for the momentary snow blindness as she raced toward the opening, but just as she was about to make it clear into the open, a heavy body dropped from above, dead. Slack rope slithered down from the cliff and coiled at the feet of the dead Ovogiin warrior. His blood was perfectly crimson against the snow. That gave her pause, and she waited a moment at the cave’s mouth to take stock of the situation.
Plumes of smoke billowed from the Callista’s deck, where crewmen had discharged their rifles directly toward the mountain. Warburton had led the students off the deck and onto the rocks, where he took up a firing position with his tower shield shining, an impenetrable bulwark. Black arrows, tipped with powerful magnets, thudded against his armor and stuck out like pins in a pincushion. As the volley ended,he signalled for return fire, and the students let loose with their gunswords, the shots thundering through the valley.
“These are your people!” Mathilde shouted to Houlun, gesturing to the dead Ovog. “You need to show them you’re safe! Tell them to cease fire!”
“Not my people,” Houlun said. “Sorry, sky sailor. These people after me, too.”
The Oracle’s eyes glowed blue-white as her visions of the future became one with her perception of the present. At once, the ball of metal that clung to the head of her warhammer sailed through the air, exerting a power beyond mere magnetism, snatching arrows and bullets out of their paths and scattering them on the rocks.
“We fight,” Houlun said. “Explain later.”
With that, she charged past, whirling in mid-leap to discharge her weapon up the side of the mountain with a thunderous report. Another body plunged to the foot of the cliff, but half a dozen more warriors leapt down after their fallen comrade, bladed crossbows in hand, dashing through the smoke to attack the Oracle.
It only took Mathilde a moment to steady her breathing, to attune her mind and body to the Discipline, that ancient duelist’s meditation that would allow her to trace the path of a bullet, to catch a sword in her bare hand as long as she could maintain focus and willpower. All her senses were sharpened a hundredfold, her muscles leapt in obedience so instantaneous it bordered on precognition. At no other time was the absence of her right eye so keenly felt.
She drew her flintlocks and fired in the same moment. One shot brought down a warrior who had raised her iron bayonet to strike, the other struck a crossbow bolt from its path. The best way to avoid another volley was to engage the enemy at close range, and Mathilde was soon locked in combat with a pair of the Ovogiin. Although their weapons were cumbersome in close quarters, they were too heavy to block with just the strength of one wrist. Mathilde was forced to dodge and deflect, and in one instance simply catch the force of a blow to her midsection, counting on the Discipline to protect her from injury. The wound would bleed, but she would survive. From the cliff, nearly twenty more warriors rappelled down on ropes, turning to fire bullets and bolts at the deck of the Callista. The reinforced airbag could withstand all but concentrated fire, but too much damage to the rigging would be disastrous in such weather.
“We need to cast off!” Mathilde commanded, catching a foe off guard and driving her saber through his neck. “Houlun, get your people on deck, unless you’d rather stay here!”
Houlun shouted something in her native tongue that sent her attendants and guards scurrying towards the airship. Another volley of crossbow bolts came down among them, wounding one of the elders. With a cry of rage, Houlun flung herself across the outcropping to the old man’s defense, allowing the weight of her hammer to carry her through the air, scattering Ovogiin left and right.
“Be careful!” she called back. “Blackscarves coming down cliff! Duelists!”
Impatiently, Mathilde booted her opponent backward and shot him twice in the chest. Mortal wounds to a normal warrior. A duelist wouldn’t fall so easily. She scanned the cliff and found three Ovogiin descending the ice-crusted rocks without rope or hook. Their necks were wrapped in black wool, their eyes hidden behind visors.
“Mr. Warburton!” she called, reloading her flintlocks. “Get the students back to the Callista. Guard that gangplank!”
The Blackscarves plunged from one handhold to the next, clambering like spiders past the other warriors, who gave them as much of a berth as possible. When they touched down on the outcropping, the other Ovogiin backed away, reloading their crossbows to ready a supporting volley.
Mathilde rushed to Houlun’s side, hoping to support the wounded attendant and hurry him to the airship. Before she could kneel, she was cascaded with snow from her left as Warburton skidded to a halt, his ballistic lance billowing smoke from its thrusters. The great knight hoisted his shield and formed a mobile rampart to escort the old man to safety, leaving his captain and the Iron Oracle to their fight.
“These warriors are handpicked elite,” Houlun said, tossing her long braid back with a flick. “We are outnumbered.”
“What do you see ahead?” Mathilde asked. “Can we win?”
“I see that one of them is about to be hurt very badly.”
With a sickening thump, Houlun’s Graviton Sphere leapt from the snow where it lay camouflaged, striking one of the Blackscarves in the chest and driving him backward. The blow would have killed a normal man, but the resilience of the Discipline saved his life. Still, he was winded, and Mathilde took the opportunity to rush the rightmost Blackscarf, sabers raised in an X of steel. Houlun was not far behind.
What took place next resembled a dance. The five veteran duelists gave no quarter except to draw a foe’s guard, wasted no movement but to feint an attack. Steel rang against steel, and gunshots echoed like crashing cymbals in the freezing air. Each shot was the punctuation of a stanza of attack, each stance the opening note. The Callista’s crewmen and the Ovogiin warriors could only watch, caught in a strange stalemate where supporting fire was impossible.
Blood scattered on the snow. Smoke rose in plumes of white from Mathilde’s flintlocks, ominous black from the hooked gunswords of her foes. The hum of the Graviton Sphere darkened in pitch as the fight went on, looming among the fighters, dragging their blades off course even as Houlun moved through its gravitational current with the ease of a bird. It was she who struck the first fatal blow, with a devastating swing of her sledgehammer, she sent the shattered body of her foe tumbling over the mountainside.
For a moment, the fighters circled in silence, gathering themselves, reconsidering the path of the conflict. Now there were four. Who here was a match for whom?
Then, all at once, a black shape emerged from the icy mist of the mountain pass. Before anyone could recognize it, the shape seemed to roar, and a whizzing volley of bullets peppered the rocky outcropping. The screams of ricochets gave way to the screams of the wounded, and all eyes turned to the battleship Peace in Our Time. The phoenix flag of the Capulan City States flew from every mast.
“Mr. Warburton!” Mathilde shouted. “Cast off, now!”
Unleashing a fusillade at close range, Mathilde made a fighting retreat toward the Callista. It didn’t take long for Houlun to catch up.
“Those your people,” Houlun said. “Right? I saw them come for you.”
“Well, they’re definitely coming for me,” Mathilde laughed grimly. “So, you’re half-right.”
They ran as fast as they could toward the shuddering gangplank, which scraped along the rocks as the Callista began to lift away. Mathilde was barely able to make it across before the platform gave way, and for a stomach-turning second it looked as if Houlun would plunge into the mist. But as she fell, the Graviton Sphere swept over her, carrying her warhammer up to safety with Houlun clinging to the handle.
Another barrage of gunfire erupted from the fore guns of the Peace in Our Time. An artillery shell exploded near the mouth of the Oracle’s cave, scattering Ovogiin warriors on the rocks.
“Full speed ahead!” Mathilde commanded. “If the turbines melt, we’ll fix them when we land!”
“Captain!” Warburton shouted. “That’s a Capulan vessel! Why are they firing so close to us?”
“They aren’t firing close to us, Mr. Warburton, they’re firing at us,” replied Mathilde.
The great knight was stunned, but before he could speak, the Callista lurched into motion. He planted his back foot to steady himself and glared at Mathilde. To her surprise, she noticed his gauntlet tightening on the handle of his lance, but she didn’t break eye contact. The wail of a stray bullet cut through the air beside them, breaking the momentary spell.
“I can explain later,” Mathilde said. “For now, I need you to behave as if we are under fire from an enemy aircraft.”
“Under those circumstances, I would order the gun crews to return fire,” Warburton replied. “You can’t expect me to fire on a vessel flying the Capulan flag.”
“No need,” Mathilde said, looking past him to the flight deck. “Violet! We’re heading into the wind! They’re twice our size, but half as maneuverable!”
“As you command!” Violet replied, already working the wheel in a white-knuckle grip. “I’d advise securing lifelines! Or putting on your parachutes!”
The wind whipped across the deck, growing wilder and wilder as the Callista accelerated. Her turbines screamed as they spun up well in advance of safe tolerances, the metal laboring against the ice-cold air. Windcurrents which had skewed their course treacherously among the mountains at cruising speed became impossible to predict as they fled, just barely out of range of the pursuing battleship. Ahead, a row of jagged peaks loomed like the closing jaws of a colossal creature. The Callista’s steering foils fell neutral and her speed increased, making every scrap of slack rope buzz against the airbag like cello strings.
“Those peaks called ‘Gravestones of the Damned,'” Houlun said, her voice audible only to Mathilde. “We call them that for good reason.”
“We have the altitude,” Mathilde replied.
Behind them, the airbrakes of the Peace in Our Time groaned like wounded beasts. The massive battleship was less endangered by the wind, but there were limits to its altitude in such thin air. If the Callista could clear the peaks, there was no one who could pursue her. As the airship climbed, the mist fell away, and they found themselves above the clouds, casting their shadow on glittering spires of ancient ice.
Violet’s scream of effort was the only sound in that rarefied air. Ahead, a jagged gap, too treacherous to be called a “pass” opened up. The turbines stalled, as if the ship herself were holding her breath.
And then they were through it, and on the other side the clouds lay dark in the shadow of the peaks, and the air was even colder. The Callista dove down the slope, her turbines catching and spinning up, her airfoils clawing at the wind. A cheer rose from the crew, Capulan and Ovogiin alike.
“I’d like to kill whichever one of you mainlander idiots thought it would be a good idea to put a balloon on a boat,” Violet yelled, unable to suppress her own laughter.
Mathilde turned to Houlun, ready to make a smug remark about Capulan engineering, only to find the Oracle staring out at the horizon.
“The crows,” she murmured. “Suuliin’s crows have come.”
Mathilde followed her gaze and spotted a speckled cloud that moved against the wind. It was no cloud, of course, but a mass of birds. Hundreds of them, and drawing nearer.
“I beg you not to shoot,” Houlun said. “It is a sin to harm them. And it will do no good.”
“Can we outrun them?” Mathilde asked, her eye narrowing.
“If you can outrun the wind,” Houlun replied, her laugh bitter.
Mathilde turned to give the order to Violet, only to find more of the birds detaching themselves from the very mountains they had just passed over. These were no ordinary crows. They were massive, the size of geese, with beaks as long as her saber blades. Dozens of them plummeted like bombs through the air, and when they reached the Callista they screamed and spread their wings.
They ignored the pilot. They ignored the crew, the rigging, even the Iron Oracle. By the dozens, they dove for Mathilde, raking at her with their talons, slamming their bodies against her with the weight of a boxer’s punch. There was no time at all to defend herself from such a surprise attack. Within seconds, she was struck from the deck of the ship.
There was nothing between her and the valley floor but a thousand feet of cold clouds. Silent mist swallowed her up, and she had no choice but to surrender herself to the Discipline and hope she could survive. The tiniest distraction would mean certain death. It was fortunate then that there was only pale emptiness to see, and only the wordless wind to hear.