about. Don’t let her sexy little prisoner smock dull your senses, Mek.”
Tolemek snorted. That canvas bag she was wearing was about as sexy as a box. If he had any better clothes to offer her, he would have done so. He hoped to find something on the outpost that at least fit her. There were enough female pirates that there ought to be a little shop somewhere.
Goroth clasped his forearm. “If we get Zirkander, you could take his head back to the emperor. Maybe it would earn you the redemption you always wanted.”
“I have given up on that dream. Camp Eveningson was to Cofahre what Tanglewood was to Iskandia. Those prison guards and their cudgels were extremely excited to see me.” Tolemek rubbed his ribs at the memory. He never had figured out who had leaked his name as the person responsible for all of those deaths, even if someone else had used his aerosol, but there were ears aplenty on a pirate ship, and any man might have wanted to see trouble come to him. Or maybe the governments had simply studied the remains, known of his work, and figured it out on their own.
“Administrations change,” Goroth said softly, “and memories fade. Delivering Zirkander would go a long way toward softening their attitudes toward you. And if, before killing him, we could extract information on the energy supplies, that would be an even greater gift that might be offered up. Your lieutenant might not know anything about where they come from, but I can’t believe the same would be true for Iskandia’s great pilot hero.” His lips twisted as he said this last. One man’s hero was another’s mortal enemy.
“And what will you seek should we successfully kill Zirkander? Your old job back at the proving grounds?”
Goroth released his arm and chuckled. “No, this life suits me. There’s nothing left for me back there. This is home—” he extended a hand toward the deck of the ship, now wreathed by the thick fog. “For me... it’s just personal. You know that.”
Tolemek nodded and repeated, “I’ll work on her tonight.” Maybe he could extract some information about Zirkander from her, enough to satisfy Goroth, without resorting to potions or anything that would lessen her opinion of him.
He sighed, wondering when that had started to matter. He hadn’t even known the girl a full day yet.
“Outpost, ho,” the watchman called from the crow’s nest near the base of the balloon.
After a few more seconds, Tolemek could see it for himself, the long flying airbase, with six massive envelopes keeping it aloft, five thousand feet over the ocean, along with massive steam-powered propellers that buzzed beneath each corner. Nearby, chimneys wafted smoke into the sky, smoke that blended with the fog, disappearing in the miasma. More propellers lay dormant at the back and the sides of the long platform, those needed only for repositioning.
As the airship glided toward a docking station, Tolemek spotted something unusual among the warehouses, shops, taverns, and hostels: a bronze aircraft with wings. It was sitting on a landing pad near the front of the outpost. At his side, Goroth sucked in a breath.
“Who caught a dragon flier?”
“And does it have a power source intact?” Tolemek mused. He had heard of the Cofah salvaging a few and secreting them away for study, but he would love to have one of his own to examine, or at least access to one.
“We’ll have to find out. Looks like an older model.” Goroth lifted the collapsible spyglass he always wore around his neck and extended it. “Yes, there’s rust on those bolts, and seaweed dangling from the wings. Wonder where they found her?”
“How old of a model? I wonder if it might be Lieutenant Ahn’s flier? It sounded like she was a prisoner on a Cofah ship for a couple of weeks before being brought to Dragon Spit. Must have gone down over the sea.”
Goroth was already shaking his head. “Haven’t seen one that old in the sky for twenty years. That’s one
Tolemek snorted. That canvas bag she was wearing was about as sexy as a box. If he had any better clothes to offer her, he would have done so. He hoped to find something on the outpost that at least fit her. There were enough female pirates that there ought to be a little shop somewhere.
Goroth clasped his forearm. “If we get Zirkander, you could take his head back to the emperor. Maybe it would earn you the redemption you always wanted.”
“I have given up on that dream. Camp Eveningson was to Cofahre what Tanglewood was to Iskandia. Those prison guards and their cudgels were extremely excited to see me.” Tolemek rubbed his ribs at the memory. He never had figured out who had leaked his name as the person responsible for all of those deaths, even if someone else had used his aerosol, but there were ears aplenty on a pirate ship, and any man might have wanted to see trouble come to him. Or maybe the governments had simply studied the remains, known of his work, and figured it out on their own.
“Administrations change,” Goroth said softly, “and memories fade. Delivering Zirkander would go a long way toward softening their attitudes toward you. And if, before killing him, we could extract information on the energy supplies, that would be an even greater gift that might be offered up. Your lieutenant might not know anything about where they come from, but I can’t believe the same would be true for Iskandia’s great pilot hero.” His lips twisted as he said this last. One man’s hero was another’s mortal enemy.
“And what will you seek should we successfully kill Zirkander? Your old job back at the proving grounds?”
Goroth released his arm and chuckled. “No, this life suits me. There’s nothing left for me back there. This is home—” he extended a hand toward the deck of the ship, now wreathed by the thick fog. “For me... it’s just personal. You know that.”
Tolemek nodded and repeated, “I’ll work on her tonight.” Maybe he could extract some information about Zirkander from her, enough to satisfy Goroth, without resorting to potions or anything that would lessen her opinion of him.
He sighed, wondering when that had started to matter. He hadn’t even known the girl a full day yet.
“Outpost, ho,” the watchman called from the crow’s nest near the base of the balloon.
After a few more seconds, Tolemek could see it for himself, the long flying airbase, with six massive envelopes keeping it aloft, five thousand feet over the ocean, along with massive steam-powered propellers that buzzed beneath each corner. Nearby, chimneys wafted smoke into the sky, smoke that blended with the fog, disappearing in the miasma. More propellers lay dormant at the back and the sides of the long platform, those needed only for repositioning.
As the airship glided toward a docking station, Tolemek spotted something unusual among the warehouses, shops, taverns, and hostels: a bronze aircraft with wings. It was sitting on a landing pad near the front of the outpost. At his side, Goroth sucked in a breath.
“Who caught a dragon flier?”
“And does it have a power source intact?” Tolemek mused. He had heard of the Cofah salvaging a few and secreting them away for study, but he would love to have one of his own to examine, or at least access to one.
“We’ll have to find out. Looks like an older model.” Goroth lifted the collapsible spyglass he always wore around his neck and extended it. “Yes, there’s rust on those bolts, and seaweed dangling from the wings. Wonder where they found her?”
“How old of a model? I wonder if it might be Lieutenant Ahn’s flier? It sounded like she was a prisoner on a Cofah ship for a couple of weeks before being brought to Dragon Spit. Must have gone down over the sea.”
Goroth was already shaking his head. “Haven’t seen one that old in the sky for twenty years. That’s one
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