Ilse Witch

“Then,” Walker replied, “we will talk.”


They rowed out to the ship afterwards, and Spanner Frew walked them from bow to stern, explaining how she was constructed and what she could do. Walker studied closely the ship’s configuration, from fighting ports to pilothouse, noting everything, asking questions when it was necessary, growing steadily more confident of the ship’s ability to do what was needed. But already he was reassessing the amount of space he had determined would be available for use, realizing that more would be needed for weapons and supplies than he had anticipated. Consequently, he would have to scale down the number of expedition members. The crew was already pared down to a bare minimum, even with the addition of Spanner Frew. That meant he would have to reduce his complement of fighting men. The Elves would not like that, but there was no help for it. Forty men were too many. At best, they could take thirty-five, and even that would be crowding the living space.

He discussed this at length with the Rovers, trying to find a way to make better use of the available space. Redden Alt Mer said the crew could sleep above decks in hammocks strung between masts and railings, and Spanner Frew suggested they could reduce their supplies and equipment if they were willing to chance that foraging in the course of their travels would produce what was needed in the way of replacements. It was a balancing act, an educated guessing game at determining what would suffice, but Walker was somewhat reassured by the fact that they would have the aid of Wing Riders for foraging purposes and so could afford to take chances they might otherwise never have considered.

By the close of the day, they had settled on what was needed in the way of onboard adjustments and compiled a list of supplies and equipment to be secured. A crew of Redden Alt Mer’s choosing would be found in the surrounding seaports and could be readily assembled. Ship, Captain, and crew, Spanner Frew included, could be in Arborlon within a week.

Walker was satisfied. Everything was proceeding as he had hoped. After a good night’s sleep, he would depart for March Brume.

But he was to get little rest that night.

The attack on the settlement came just before sunset. A sentry perched high on a cliff overlooking the cove blew a ram’s horn in warning, three sharp blasts that shattered the twilight calm and sent everyone scurrying. By the time the dark hulls of the airships hove into view through the gap in the cove entry, sailing out of the glare of the setting sun, the Rover women and children and old people were already fleeing into the forests and mountains and the Rover men were preparing to defend them.

But the attacking ships outnumbered those of the Rovers by more than two to one, and they were already airborne and readied for their strike. They streamed through the harbor entrance in a dark line, flying less than a hundred feet above the water, railings and fighting ports bristling wi1th men and weapons. Fire from casks of pitch and catapults rained down on the exposed vessels and their crews. Spears and arrows filled the air. Half of the Rover ships burned and sank before their sails could even be hoisted. Dozens of men died in the ensuing conflagrations and many more died in the small boats attempting to reach them.

Solely by chance, Walker and his three Rover companions were spared the fate of so many. Just before the attack arrived, they had been testing the responsiveness of their ship. As a result, they were still aboard when the warning was given, light sheaths yet unfurled, radian draws in place, and the anchor barely down. The Rovers acted instantly, leaping to tighten the stays and reset the draws, cutting the anchor with a sword stroke, and casting off. In seconds, they were airborne, lifting toward their attackers like a swift, black bird. Even with only three hands to sail her, she responded with a quickness and agility that left the enemy ships looking as if they were standing still.

A safety line secured about his waist, Walker crouched just in front of the pilothouse and behind the forward mast and watched the land and water spin away in a dizzying rush. With Spanner Frew and Rue Meridian manning the starboard and port draws respectively, Redden Alt Mer wheeled their sleek craft recklessly through the dark line of attackers, nearly colliding with those nearest. The hulls of ships loomed on either side, sliding past like night phantoms, great massive ghosts at hunt. Some passed so close that Walker could identify the Federation uniforms worn by the soldiers who knelt in the fighting ports firing their arrows and launching their spears.