Adrian Tchaikovsky - Dragonfly Falling

He had been noted, now, so he twisted and spun to dodge a scatter of sting-shot directed at him, and a couple of crossbow bolts as well. A sweeping glance saw Basila’s people moving over to the next airship, and he soared in beside them.

‘Faster!’ he urged.

‘We can’t do this faster.’ She was climbing a rope even as she said it.

‘Can I help?’

‘Can you carry me — flying?’

He shook his head. ‘The bombs. Is it so.?’

‘You are not Apt,’ she told him, dragging herself over the gondola’s side. Two soldiers ran at her immediately, but she had already taken up her crossbow and stopped one with a bolt before he was even halfway towards her. The other’s hand spat a dart of gold fire that she sidestepped, and then Salma caught him by one of his armour-straps while Basila ran him through.

She looked across the deck, picking the best spot for the explosive. Salma went to the rail, looking out over it, and his heart sank. There were more soldiers coming, fast. The Wasps had mobilized much more quickly than they should have done. ‘I don’t think your distraction worked,’ he commented.

There was a flight of at least three score enemy heading for the airships. Clearly the Wasps had second-guessed them.

Basila was now kneeling, setting the bomb by clicking at something. A clockwork fuse, Totho had said, but it meant nothing to Salma.

‘We don’t have much time,’ he hissed. She ignored him still, patiently aligning the mechanism.

The first Wasps were at the rail even then. Salma cried out something wordless and half-ran, half-flew at them, stabbing the leader, driving him to the deck of the gondola. He then slashed up at the next man that he sensed was about to stab him in the back, catching the Wasp across the face. Two more were on him instantly but the sound of fighting behind him heartened him no end. Basila must have finished and they had not caught her unprepared.

They drove him back, and soon two became four, and then he had to take to the air to avoid being surrounded. They followed but he was swifter, skipping past their blades and bolts and leaving a trail of blood whenever he got within sword’s reach. He had wheeling glimpses of Basila still fighting on the deck, unable to flee but giving a good account of herself.

The plan had failed. He knew he should now find Totho and try to get both of them out and away from the camp and away from Tark. He knew that he could not abandon Basila, though. With a tight loop in the air he lost the two men still pursuing him, and dashed back for the airship.

Can you carry me? she had asked, but he could not. Not upwards, not even sideways.

He screamed as he stooped on them, catching one man in the back hard enough for him lose his grip on the sword. Then he had scattered them, just as Basila finished one more off. With no time for explanations he caught the surprised woman about the waist and ran with her to the rail. He kicked off.

Totho had run out of places to go. As the least bold of the band of saboteurs, so he was nearly the last. Only he and one more Ant remained, and there were now Wasps everywhere.

The Ant loosed his crossbow, bringing down another opponent, but then the enemy were on them again, at sword’s length, and Totho stumbled back while the Ant engaged them. Though a skilled swordsman, they mobbed him and, although several of them fell, one of them drove a blade down into his neck, almost to the quillons.

And Totho raised the crossbow his automatic hands had reloaded, and emptied it into them. He saw three men punched back by the power of it as he raked it in an arc across them.

Totho jammed another magazine into the weapon. He was now almost at the camp’s edge, and beyond that scattered perimeter of lights lay escape. Surely they could not follow him very far at night. He took another few steps back, raised the crossbow again and pressed the trigger as the closest soldier was almost within arm’s reach.

It jammed, and he heard a crack as the shaft of the bolt shattered under the stress. A moment later a Wasp sword was arcing down on him. He held the bow up, cringing, and the enemy blade embedded itself in the weapon, severing the string and sticking itself hopelessly amidst the workings. As Totho let go the snarling Wasp soldier hurled sword and bow away from him. Then he and two of his fellows were wrestling Totho to the ground.

Totho was strong, but so were these professional soldiers of the Empire. One of them struck him in the face hard enough to rattle his teeth. A moment later, groggy, he was being hauled upright to see the gleam of a sword being drawn back to strike.

‘Save him!’ a voice snapped, and Totho looked blearily into the face of an angry man with a bloodied scalp — an officer who, for all the wrong reasons, had just saved his life.

A moment later a sword pommel connected expertly with the back of his skull, and he remembered nothing more.

It was the kick, more than his wings, that cleared the rail for Salma, and then he was putting all his strength into flight as the burden in his arms dragged him back towards the hungry earth. If she had struggled they would both have been lost, but she clung to him tight and they dropped awkwardly in jolting stages until they found the earth.

‘We have to go!’ he said, snatching up the first discarded sword he found. When she looked at him all he could see were her eyes, but he thought that she was smiling at him.

‘How?’ she asked, and then they were both on their feet, fighting back to back. There were a dozen of the enemy trying to get at them in their eagerness to finish it. Salma laid one Wasp’s arm open and then cut down one of the stocky slave-kinden who was coming at him with an axe. A Wasp spearman drove the weapon at him, and Salma lunged forwards along the shaft to stab the man in the ribs. When he fell back again, Basila was no longer there.

He felt a single stab of hurt, but he knew that unless he did something quickly he would be just a corpse lying beside hers. His wings exploded from across his shoulders and he launched himself upwards. The enemy were following him and he was growing weary, his Art starting to falter. He landed again and spun round to face them, cutting the first one down even as the man touched ground. They were hanging back now, and he threw himself aside as they began launching their stings, each bolt of golden fire briefly lighting the night.

He turned and ran, looking for Totho but seeing only more of the enemy. He soon found himself deeper amidst the tents, always on the move, running up against little knots of Wasp soldiers and slashing at them frantically, making them scatter.

One pack did not budge, however and he slammed straight into them, losing his second sword. He cracked one in the head with his elbow, rammed his knee into another’s stomach. The third man grabbed him, tugging at his arming jacket, but Salma punched him in the face, snapping his head back. Pain burned across his back like the lash of a whip: a sting-blast had scorched him and he reeled, falling to one knee.

He leapt up instantly, wings searching for the sky, but someone grabbed an ankle and dragged him down. Even as he was yanked backwards a bolt of light split the air where he would have been flying. He lashed out blindly with hands and feet but they were all around him now and he met resistance with every blow.

A sword glinted nearby and he grasped the wrist that held it, bringing the swordsman’s arm down across his knee with an audible snap. Then the blade was in his own hand. They were furious now, mad for blood, but so was he. He killed the two of them closest to him with brief, brutal moves of the sword.

Another sting-shot flared past him as he ran. He wanted to fly but as soon as he took to the air he would have no cover, and there would be too many shots from all sides to dodge.