Rich Wulf - Rise of the Seventh Moon

“He missed the strut that time but still got the hull,” Pherris said. The gnome’s face shone with sweat. His eyes were wide as he watched the dragon soar away. “I may still be able to crash us safely at the edge of the Boneyard, but we won’t survive another hit like that.”

“How do you crash safely?” Ijaac demanded. The dwarf clung to the ship’s rail with one hand and his morningstar with the other.

Dalan watched as the dragon soared ahead of them, moving more swiftly than their airship. The skies rumbled and churned overhead, but Aeven’s storm would not arrive quickly enough to matter. Zamiel soared about in a wide, lazy arc. He was heading back to finish them off. Though the Mourning Dawn was diving as quickly as she could without breaking apart, Dalan knew they would never reach the ground in time.

Gerith tore the lid off a barrel next to Dalan and began digging through its contents, stuffing them into a sack at his hip. He looked up at Dalan and offered him a crooked grin.

“Tell Seren good-bye for me, Dalan,” the little halfling whispered, and leapt over the rail.

“Gerith?” the Captain called out. “Where is he going?”

A moment later the little scout soared up over the ship, mounted on his glidewing. Dalan envied Snowshale; he wished he had a way to escape as well. As soon as Dalan had the thought, he dismissed it. Gerith wouldn’t abandon them now. But what was he doing?

Dalan looked down at the barrel at his feet. It was still a third full of Tristam’s alchemist fire flasks.

“What is he doing?” Eraina said, watching Gerith’s departure helplessly.

Gerith’s glidewing soared directly toward the oncoming dragon. At the last moment he turned and veered to the left, hurling his satchel at Zamiel. The sack exploded against Zamiel’s chest in a brilliant burst of flame.

The dragon faltered in its flight but did not fall. Instead it turned, chasing Gerith, falling behind them as the halfling led the dragon away.

“Gods, no, Gerith,” Pherris whispered.

“Master Snowshale has bought us time, Captain!” Dalan shouted. “Take us down, now!”

The gnome nodded and pushed the controls harder. Karia Naille ’s ring roared, leaving a sizzling trail of flame as she soared toward the earth.

“Brace for impact!” the captain cried.

Dalan grabbed the nearest rail, still clutching his pick in one hand. He risked a glance back. He saw the dragon turn sharply in mid air. He saw Zamiel snatch something in his front claws and twist, wrenching it apart. Dalan looked away, closing his eyes tightly.

Karia Naille struck the plains with the torturous cry of torn metal and shattered wood. Dalan clutched the rail with all his strength but was still nearly thrown free. Roots grew from the wood at Aeven’s call, holding him and the others fast. For half a minute, the ship skidded and jolted, ripping a flaming gully through the grass.

At last, she came to a halt.

Dalan sat up and looked around, afraid to see what damage had been done. The Mourning Dawn had broken in half at her center. Both the struts that once held her elemental rings in place were entirely shattered. The front half of the ship was quickly catching ablaze. Dalan now sat at the edge of the shattered rear half of the ship, his feet dangling over the edge of the deck.

The roots released Dalan, dropping him to the singed grass. He staggered awkwardly to his feet as he adjusted to the unmoving ground. Turning around, he looked up in awe at the dead airship. He could see half the cargo bay split open before him, as well as the shimmering black cylinder that was the ship’s core. He knelt to take his pick from the ground, only to watch the head slide off the broken haft.

“Captain Gerriman?” Dalan called out, looking for any other survivors. “Tristam?”

Then Dalan saw the tiny, limp form of Pherris Gerriman lying on the earth between the shattered halves of the airship. He still held the ship’s wheel in one hand. Dalan ran to the old gnome’s side and knelt, pressing one hand to Pherris’s throat. The captain was alive, but only barely. His left leg was twisted badly and blood streamed from his nose.

“Marshal!” Dalan called out. “Arthen! Someone help!”

“Dalan!” came the reply. Zed Arthen ran around the far side of the wreckage toward him. The others followed. They appeared mostly unharmed, though Tristam had lost his crutch and leaned on Omax for support.

“We have to get away from the wreck before the dragon comes back,” Ijaac said. “Can we move Pherris, Eraina?”

“Don’t rush me,” the paladin said, kneeling beside the fallen gnome. Tristam limped up beside her, digging through his pockets for any potions that might help.

Wait. Dalan looked at the group again. One was missing.

“Aeven,” Dalan said, looking around desperately. “Where is Aeven?”

“The figurehead,” Zed said, running toward the burning half of the ship. “She can’t leave her tree behind!”

Ijaac and Omax followed. Dalan looked around desperately for any sign of the dragon. That he saw nothing worried him even more. They needed to leave more quickly than this.

And then the prophet was among them.

The dragon appeared with startling speed, blocking Zed’s path. The inquisitive lifted his sword, but Zamiel knocked him aside with a swipe of his claw. Omax charged fearlessly, but the dragon slammed his claw down upon him heavily, driving him into the ground.

Dalan felt the dragon’s aura of fear wash over him, and he huddled among the wreckage, clutching his shattered pick.

Ijaac swung at the prophet with his morningstar. The weapon made a noisy crack as it struck Zamiel’s claw. The dragon winced, snatched the dwarf up, and threw him away to one side.

There was nothing left to do, Dalan realized as he leaned back amid the scattered wreckage. They had lost.

Eraina ran at Zamiel, hurling her spear and trying to lead him away from Pherris. The dragon batted the weapon from the air with its forearm and strode lazily toward her.

Dalan noticed his back was uncomfortably warm. He looked over his shoulder and his eyes widened. He was leaning against a thick column of black crystal- Karia Naille ’s elemental core. The guildmaster grinned.

Dalan leaned close to the ship’s core, pressing one hand against the crystal. The surface was cracked and pitted, but still solid. It felt uncomfortably warm. With his other hand, he took up the broken halves of his pick. He focused the power of his dragonmark. The weapon became whole once again.

The dragon snatched Eraina from the ground in one claw, grinning eagerly as he listened to her scream in pain.

Listen to me , Dalan focused the thoughts in his head as he pressed one hand against the glass. Aeven is in danger. We are all in danger. Now is your chance to fight .

Tristam fired a bolt of lightning from his wand, striking the dragon in the back. The dragon turned, glaring hatefully down at the artificer. Its chest puffed out as it took in a deep breath.

Dalan brought the pick down hard on the cracked core. He wasn’t a strong man. He didn’t expect such a thing to break in a single blow-but he didn’t know the strength of the elemental fighting to get out. As soon as the pick struck the glass he leaped aside, narrowly avoiding the blast of searing heat that issued forth. He rolled across the thick grass, dousing the flames that singed his robes.

A plume of roaring blue flame billowed out from Karia Naille ’s broken hull, washing over the dragon. Zamiel roared in pain and irritation, dropping Eraina. The elemental screamed as it burned the dragon’s flesh. The prophet hissed angrily and fled into the sky.