Lance of Earth and Sky

A piercing whistle, softened by the walls of the ship but still shrill, woke Vidarian from troubled sleep before dawn the next morning.

He dressed quickly, and when he emerged into the pale blue of predawn with Rai following on his heels, Rivenwake was alive with activity, this time with a seriousness of purpose. Gone were the jubilant calls from the market; now the merchants tied down their wares, sealed barrels, and prepared goods of a different kind. Casks of powder and crates of lead rolled down the floating walkways; sailors drilled and smiths fed their forges as the free people of the West Sea Kingdom prepared for war.

On the Luminous, he went first to the relay chamber, the natural gathering point for information across the entire armada. Iridan, Isri, and Khalesh gathered there, Iridan with his gemstones dim and the other two with heavy eyelids that spoke of late nights and heavy burdens. An array of devices lay before them on the table, and a steady stream of messengers flowed through the chamber, removing some and adding others. Rai padded up to the table and sniffed it, then sniffed at Iridan.

?, came his thought, a wordless note of curiosity surrounding Iridan's sharp smell. Metal, Vidarian thought back. Clockwork man. The wolf was getting bigger again; with only a slight lift of his head he could now see over the edge of the table.

“I heard a pipe whistle,” Vidarian began.

“They've sighted imperial scout-ships,” Iridan said. “Not here, thankfully,” he added, when Vidarian's eyes widened. “In the Outwater. Searching.”

“Skyships?” Vidarian asked.

“Afraid so.” A new voice, this time, but equally tired—Malloray, entering the chamber with a tray piled with kava and meatrolls. There was even a plate of raw chicken for Rai; Isri must have told him that Vidarian and the wolf had arrived. In spite of the intervening months he still wasn't quite used to living with telepaths. “They must think you're quite important. One of our scouts says the flagship is flying the banner of Admiral Allingworth.” Malloray set his tray down, then put the plate of chicken on the floor for Rai.

“They've been sounding all morning,” Khalesh added. “Did you just hear that one?”

Just then, the relay sphere at the center of the table brightened. Iridan opened two latched panels on either side of his palm, baring a blue lens embedded within, and placed his hand over the sphere. Light poured through it, and, miraculously, a moving picture began to take shape in the air above it.

“Lovely trick,” Malloray murmured, squinting at the picture. Iridan adjusted his hand until the image sharpened into recognizability.

It was a scout, his hair whipped by a stiff wind over the Outwater. His mouth moved, and Iridan spoke, but not with his own voice. It was higher, and accented—the voice of the scout: “Reporting from the third waypoint, sir! We've spotted the ships! Reports that it was Admiral Allingworth're right true, sir! They 'a'ven't spotted us, but we're circlin' some distance away—hope to keep ourselves from discovery for as long as we can!”

“Well done, Rioque. Stay out of sight, stay safe, and we'll look to your midday report,” Malloray answered.

The sphere's light faded, and Iridan took back his hand.

“I've got to go out there,” Vidarian said. “I've got to speak with Allingworth. He'll listen to reason about all this. They must have sent him for diplomatic purposes.” Khalesh and Malloray looked doubtful, and Vidarian pressed again. “He's the most important man in their war right now. They wouldn't pull him from the line if the object were simple destruction.”

“You'll need a skiff,” Malloray said. “One of ours will do. And Sea Kingdom ships will have to follow beneath you.”

“They haven't much chance against skyships, have they?” Vidarian asked quietly, not wanting to, but unable to avoid it.

To his surprise, Khalesh smiled, a vicious expression. “That's our job.” He waved a hand over the table.

“All these bits? What are you doing?” Vidarian picked up one of the elemental tools. It flared as he touched it and he nearly dropped it again.

“They've been working on converting the Viere into a skyship for some time, apparently,” Malloray said. “Khalesh and Iridan have been conscripted into speeding up the process.”

Khalesh shook his head. “Not a lot of good we are thus far. We need power sources.”

“I saw a merchant among the tradegoods rafts,” Vidarian said. “He had a strange lot of elemental artifacts—including a prism key.”

The eye Khalesh turned on him was a mixture of interest and reproach at the reminder of their last interaction with a prism key, namely the one containing Ruby. But his curiosity won out, and he grunted a question. “Whereabouts?”

“Past the grocers and the growers, the luxury rafts farthest down the main walkway from the Viere,” Vidarian said.

“We'll go presently,” Malloray said, picking up a pair of relay lenses. He stepped back out the door and shouted for a messenger before he put them on. Then he was looking deeply into the relay sphere, his eyes somewhere far away. When the messenger appeared, he blinked, and said, “Summon the emperor, if you would. I have his Qui ambassador here, as requested.”

Iridan and Khalesh were intent on their devices, and so Vidarian withdrew, wanting to seek out his skiff and get under way as fast as possible. Isri followed him, walking quietly out into the hall and shutting the door after Rai trotted out behind them.

The sight of her reminded Vidarian of how far they had come since the opening of the gate. As strange, quiet sadness accompanied those thoughts, for so many reasons.

“I had not thought to bring you into a war,” he murmured.

A soft thrumming sounded from Isri's chest and throat—laughter, he realized, or a kind of it. “You assume that, before we entered the Great Gate, my people were accustomed to peace,” she said, and when the laughter faded her voice turned downward into sadness. “Which we were not. And even if we had been…” Now the laugh was half sigh, and sliding quickly somewhere darker. “You know her. Adrasti. They—you—call her Starhunter. I have seen things, Vidarian, that our world ought never see.”

“The seridi,” Vidarian said, an echo of their living nightmares coming back to him, making him shiver. “They say things—”

“They are still seeing those visions of which I speak,” she said sadly. “They are trapped in them.”

“They're real, then? The visions?” Somehow the question, though distant and seeming inconsequential, felt critically important.

“To them, yes,” Isri answered simply, crest-feathers just lifted in mild surprise. “They exist in those visions. They're quite real to them. But where they come from we don't know. Certainly other worlds, many of the other worlds that Adrasti can see and travel to, worlds beyond our ken. Even times, we think. Ages past and possibly even future.” She started down the hall, then turned back, and Vidarian nearly ran into her. “Have you been sleeping?”

Vidarian didn't know how to answer. He also couldn't remember the last time he'd had a truly solid night's sleep, one not plagued by nightmares that would wake him panting and disoriented, spectres of dreams fading like threads of old spiderweb.

“It's good if you can sleep,” Isri said, her cheek-feathers lifted in a tentative smile.

“I—have nightmares,” Vidarian confessed.

He would have continued, but just then Lirien came striding down the hallway, a small entourage in tow. One of the attendants was the scribe who had annotated the council meeting. Vidarian stepped out of the way, and Lirien smiled as he passed.

“Qui?” Vidarian asked.

Lirien nodded. “I've made contact with our ambassador. He's been trapped in the embassy in Shen Ti, but Iridan was able to make contact with a dormant relay sphere there. It will take some doing, and time, but I intend to reach Emperor Ziao.” A hardness, and a fire, had stolen into Lirien's bearing. For the first time since they'd left the palace, Vidarian began to see the rebirth of the empire, and a new kind of future.


Before he could leave, another authority would need to be convinced. Vidarian strode up the gangplank to board the Viere d'Inar, rehearsing repeatedly the explanation he would provide to Marielle for his journeying alone to treat with the admiral.

What he saw at the edge of the main deck stopped him in his tracks, and drove all thought of persuasion from his mind.

Altair crouched in the center of the deck, legs folded as neatly as a statue's, his wings half-spread with wingtips brushing the deck. His eyes were narrow slits, and eddies of invisible wind lifted the feathers all over his body. Around him sat a circle, evenly spaced, of glowing, fist-sized blue gems, and before him sat an elaborate device, roughly square, made of metal wheels all interlocking and studded with more blue elemental tubes.

Altair's eyes opened wide, and beneath them, the Viere d'Inar stirred, rose.

Vidarian flailed with his arms, catching at the rail. Beside him, Rai hissed, spreading his wings partway and cutting into the gangplank with his claws.

The ship only lifted a scant inch or two out of the water, but its rise was faltering, far from steady. After much shifting and rocking, it stabilized—then sank back into the water with a soft crash as hull met wave once more.

Now Altair was shuddering, coming back to himself. He blinked, and the white haze that had misted across his eyes faded, returning sense to them. His wings drooped with exhaustion. Nonetheless, when he came back to himself, his beak lifted in a smile of greeting.

“We'll have this old sea queen converted in no time,” a cheerful voice said behind them. It was Marielle, ascending from the main ladders with a double-armful of iron and leather equipment. She set it down next to Altair—not getting too close, for the volatile wind energy crackled between the elemental stones at random intervals—and came up to meet Vidarian. When she drew near, she held out her hand for Rai to sniff, which he did, cautiously, his wide striped tail flicking back and forth as he did so. “Altair has been a tremendous help. Without his touch to fill and calibrate these salvaged controls, we wouldn't have a prayer of getting into the sky.”

“Speaking of which,” Vidarian began, by now having totally abandoned his carefully rehearsed argument.

“The sighting whistles,” Marielle said, her voice darkening like clouds over afternoon sun. “You want to go and meet that imperial admiral. By yourself, I'll wager.”

“Well, I—”

“You'd better leave quickly if you want to run advance of the rest of us,” she said only. “And I'll send two ships with you, of course. Not a terrible lot they'll be able to do from the water—but Ulaine and his partner captain the best gunnery ship we've got. They'll suit you.”

Taken aback by Marielle's forthright agreement to his dangerous mission, Vidarian could only nod, and finally salute, to which Marielle raised an acerbic eyebrow, and only smiled. “I take it you'll have notified them already,” he added, once he began to get an inkling of how much further she'd thought the plan through.

“They'll be waiting for you at the northside docks. Don't make them wait too long.”

He bowed then, though it was odd for so many reasons, and turned to go.

“Vidarian.”

Slowly he turned back around.

“Keep them safe for me.”

He smiled, making the pledge to himself as well as her. “I will—your majesty.”


The Luminous's small scouting skiff was not the Destiny, but it was a fine little craft, trim and merry. Or it would be, if not for the weight of their task. Vidarian had insisted on going alone, insofar as he could. Far below on the water were the Kadari Knife and the Sunray, two ships that had, if he recalled, been particularly good at opposing imperial craft in the past. The two young men helmed the Knife while the Sunray belonged to the blonde captain; they'd been perfunctory but perfectly pleasant, and fortunately unsurprised, when Vidarian went to meet them on the north side of Rivenwake.

Other than the water escort, he'd gone alone, taking only Rai, and that because the wolf absolutely insisted on going. Now that he could fly, there was little keeping him in a place he didn't desire. Thalnarra had been a harder sell, but he had at length prevailed upon her with the urgency to protect and assist Altair's recovery.

The handling of the skiff took all of his attention, and became a kind of meditation, a rhythm of rope and beam. As he guided the little craft into the air he was able to lose himself for a few moments in the sounds of wind hitting sail, the scents of sun on canvas and wood varnish.

Vidarian's spirits rose even as the ship did, and the blue arc of the sky, limitless, washed away the heaviness in his heart one worry at a time. Thoughts fell like raindrops into a well: the stiff breeze was cold and getting colder; was a storm coming in? He missed Ariadel; her absence was a simple ache that never seemed to abate.

In the silence of their rising altitude, there was little to pull him from these gentle ruminations, and his eyes began to absently follow cloud patterns. They traced shapes automatically: a topsail, an eagle, a cedar tree.

Then a face, curling up in the cloud, a familiar sharp chin and all-white eyes.

Rai started barking, his tail wagging furiously.

“How are you doing that?” Vidarian called to the formation.

Not so loud! the Starhunter said. You never know who's listening.

It would take longer, and frustrate more, to argue with her than comply, and so Vidarian thought: How are you doing that? Doesn't the air goddess resent you intruding in her territory?

Dowdy old things, she clucked. I haven't even seen Siane since you let me out. She might be ignoring me. Always was a bit of a drama queen.

A what? Vidarian thought, confused and annoyed.

Never mind. Look, you've got to help me out here. The cloud-face bit its lip, then swirled, losing cohesion. Stupid…cloud! She was pulling the surrounding cirrus blanket toward her “face,” and the clouds darkened as they drew inward, condensing.

Vidarian leaned out over the rail, concerned for the ships far below. What kind of storm was she capable of summoning?

The face in the clouds gritted its teeth, and webs of frost crackled out over the mist. I can't work like this! I'll be back.

And then she was gone.

Three sharp notes sounded from below, a bosun's pipe from one of the ships. Rai whined, and the pipe sounded again, high and clear. Vidarian searched the sky, wondering what they were warning him of—

An imperial frigate cut through the mist, practically on top of them.

Rai started barking again, and Vidarian dove for the wheel, spinning it wildly to starboard to swing them away from the swift-approaching hull. Once they were out of the collision course, he leapt forward again and hauled on the spinnaker pole, spilling air from the skiff's little mainsheet and slowing their advance.

When he pulled the skiff around, sailors were shouting from the main deck of the frigate—marked Starscape—and two men in imperial regalia hailed him from the rail. Behind the ship were two smaller ones, also emerging from the mist: slender, battle-ready skyships with the marks of cannonfire and scorching fresh on their hulls.

The port wing-mast brushed the hull of the Starscape, and Vidarian cursed, turning and stabilizing the skiff again. Then he sat back, hauled Rai—still barking—back from the skiff's rail by his neck-ruff, and shouted a greeting up to the frigate.

“Good morrow, Captain,” the older of the two called down, first obscured by sunlight, then revealed. It was Admiral Allingworth. “I had hoped you might meet us here.”

“And I am grateful for your presence, Admiral,” Vidarian said, guiding the skiff up to eye level with the admiral. “Truly. Though disturbed that you were called away from the front.”

“We're sent to escort you back to Val Imris, Lord Tesseract,” the young man at the admiral's left hand said.

“I'm afraid that's not within my plans, sir…?” He offered the ‘sir’ only for peacemaking, but was shocked when the man replied:

“Lieutenant August Kaine. I—”

“Lieutenant?” Vidarian repeated the title incredulously before he could stop himself. The younger man's face clouded.

The admiral had more sense, and a bit more diplomacy. “He's assisting on behalf of the Alorean Import Company,” he cut in. Kaine looked displeased as his origin was revealed, but quickly schooled his expression. “They sent me with these ships to—see if this misunderstanding could be sorted out,” Allingworth said, glancing at “Lieutenant” Kaine. “I told them,” the admiral continued loudly, “that there must be some misunderstanding. There are some preposterous rumors, my boy—rumors that you've kidnapped the emperor!” He tried to laugh, but it was so forced that it died in his throat.

“We understand your strategy, Lord Tesseract,” Kaine called. “The Court is impressed, and—” he smiled, thinly, visible even at this distance, “once recovered from their shock, glad to witness your strength. There will be much need for leadership in the future, leadership to guide our people through dark times.”

“My loyalty is to the Alorean Emperor, and the imperial family!”

Kaine drew back, a slight motion, but his voice changed. “So you will not be returning with us?”

“I will not, Lieutenant.” At his answer, Rai bristled, and began to growl softly.

“Then perhaps what you require is a demonstration of our strength.” He turned. “Admiral Allingworth, open fire upon this vessel.”

“I certainly will not,” Allingworth said, his voice climbing in volume again. “And I advise you to remember your place, sir!”

Kaine's hand moved, drawing something from his waist sash, and light flared. Shock rippled through Vidarian along with the light—it was some kind of weapon!

And then Allingworth was tumbling from the Starscape, hurtling through the clouds, his side torn open and burned, mouth open and eyes already unseeing.

The admiral's body disappeared into the mist below them.

A terrible rage coursed through Vidarian—a thunder beneath his skin, a rattling in his chest, his claws sank into the wood of the skiff's deck—

He was leaping, wings outspread, two strong beats, and then he was tearing out the throat of the screaming human who had killed the admiral. Blood filled his mouth, hot and thick, and he bared his teeth, hissing.

Vidarian came back to himself with a gasp, falling backward in the skiff.

Rai was mantling over the body of Lieutenant Kaine, his back and tail stiff, claws extended. Sailors were shouting behind him, and advancing with drawn swords.

“Rai!” Vidarian roared, trying to catch the cat's attention. He reached out with his thoughts, clumsily—but Rai's mind was a cloud of rage, impenetrable. He only hissed again, crouching over his fallen prey.

The sailors closed in, an arc of blades, angry shouts spurring Rai to more growling and hissing.

Vidarian flung his elemental awareness outward, fire surging upward and spilling out of him, wild and uncontrolled. By sheer will he pulled the lash away from Rai, slicing it across the sailors. The water energy, strong and heavy where the fire was light, incandescent, rippled across the mist of the clouds around them, pulling water from the sky. It came drenching powerfully over the sailors, a torrent that disarmed several of them, clattering their swords to the deck—and soaked Rai, startling him out of his fury.

When he called Rai back this time, he flattened his ears but obeyed, leaping back to the skiff. The sailors might have lost some of their swords, but more of them now swarmed the deck, and command shouts called for cannon and muskets.

Vidarian dove for the wheel again, sweeping his hands across the elemental crystal that powered the craft and turning it until the light flickered out completely.

The skiff plummeted, and Vidarian threw one arm around Rai and the other around the mainmast, pressing himself to the floor. Cannonfire sounded overhead, and then from below, as the Kadari Knife and the Sunray answered the Starscape's volley. When they'd fallen as far as he dared, Vidarian touched the crystal again, restoring power, and threw his weight against the rail downhauls, flying open the wingsails. Another spin of the wheel tilted the craft further, but they evened out into an arc, drifting fast down toward the waiting ships below.

As soon as the skiff stabilized, Vidarian hauled himself to his feet against the mast, waving frantically to the Knife and the Sunray. “Hail the Luminous! Prepare to fight!”