By morning, his ship had escaped the storm and gotten down into the stretch of Westland forest known as Drey Wood. Here, still north of the Matted Brakes and the Pykon, they had found another hiding place for their ship, this time edging far enough back into the trees that there was almost no chance they could be seen. Once in place, Stoon had dispatched a pair of flits with orders to place themselves at strategic points where they would have a clear view of the plains and any airships passing south. With the storm dissipated and the mist breaking up, they should have no trouble finding the one they were searching for. Once they did, they were to slip away and arrive back at the warship quickly enough for her crew to mobilize and intercept their quarry.
This was twice now he had tried this approach, and at the start of things he’d had reason to think that this time he might be more successful. But now it was well past midafternoon and there was still no sign of the Elven vessel. More than once he had thought to abandon his hiding place and go out in search of it himself. But he had managed to tamp down the urge, knowing that a mistake at this point would likely put an end to any chance he had of managing to intercept it.
Still, he had to admit to himself that he was no longer particularly interested in tracking the Elves. It was conceivable he still might be able to follow the Elven girl, as Edinja wanted. But realistically he thought this was now impossible. The warship had been seen, so the Elven girl and her companions not only knew they were being pursued but that it was a Federation vessel pursuing them. Better, he thought, just to bring the Elven ship down and put a quick end to her passengers and crew, as he had decided to do earlier. This chase needed to be over and done with.
He scuffed his boot on the decking, conflicted. Increasingly, Edinja was using him in ways that were troublesome. He was an assassin, and he preferred to work alone when he hunted. Instead, he was saddled with those animals down in the hold and with a captain and crew who were reluctant and in need of watching. For the first time since he had terminated his partnership with Drust Chazhul, he found himself missing the man. Even though he had overreached his grasp at the end, Drust had always known how Stoon could best serve him. Edinja seemed to think there were no limits, possibly because she saw no limits in herself. Drust had lacked Edinja’s power and prestige in the Federation hierarchy and he had never possessed her cunning, but he had been predictable. Stoon had always known what to expect from him.
He exhaled sharply, frustrated. Shouldn’t the Elven vessel have reached them by now if it was coming this way? He wondered again at its purpose. All these Druid expeditions—what were they attempting to accomplish? Edinja was convinced that it was important for her to know, but what did she care why the Druids had mounted their expedition into the Westland? How reliable was the intelligence they had been given by the spy she had placed in the Elven camp? The information had been sketchy at best. That was true of this latest expedition, as well. No reason had been given for why the Elven girl was leading it or why she had taken her sister with her. No suggestion had been offered as to what it had to do with the still unresolved expedition taken by the remainder of the Druid order.
Too many unknowns.
Gaining possession of the Elfstones was the only thing that mattered, and Edinja didn’t need the Elessedil sisters alive to accomplish that. Taking them prisoner felt like a waste of time. Edinja was a magic user; surely she could find a way to unlock the Stones’ fabled power.
His brow furrowed and a dark look settled over his face. He didn’t like how things were going. He didn’t like it that he was being dragged this way and that by the reports the spy was giving and as a consequence was much less the master of his own destiny.
Maybe it was time to change all that.
As if in response to that thought, a flit appeared, winging toward the warship.
“The mist is breaking up,” Arling murmured, still standing next to Aphen in the pilot box.
“No more cover while we’re in the air,” Aphen agreed.
As planned, they had eased their way south along the border of the Westland, hiding in the brume as they found their way to the beginning of Drey Wood. Now they were midway down its eastern edge, heading for the Matted Brakes, and there had been no sign of the Federation warship.
Cymrian was already making his way back to them in his easy, loping stride, his hair whipped by a fresh breeze that had started up out of the south.
“You should give him a chance,” Arling said.
Aphen did not reply, letting the comment hang unanswered. She kept trying to picture him as someone in love with her, but couldn’t quite manage it. All she could see was the wry, taciturn protector who had first come to her in Arborlon to apply for the job all those weeks ago.
“Let me take the wheel for a while,” he said, climbing into the box. “Fresh eyes are needed. Mine are worn out.”
Without a word, she stepped away and went down onto the main deck, heading for the bow. Around her, the three Elven crewmembers worked the rigging, attaching and detaching radian draws, bringing up fresh sails, reconfiguring light sheaths to catch more of the sun’s rays as the mist dissipated in the growing brightness.
I don’t want him to be in love with me, Aphen thought.
She caught a flash of something dark off the starboard bow as a shadow emerged from Drey Wood in ominous silence, sliding out of the trees like a predator. A warship, her light sheaths unfurled and billowing out, hers railguns and fire launchers pulled forward and ready for use, and her ramming bow extended and locked, was coming directly toward them.
“Cymrian!” she screamed in warning.
She was an instant too late. A single burst from the forward starboard railgun tore away a portion of the mainmast rigging, splintering spars and shredding portions of the light sheaths. One of the crewmen was caught directly in the blast and disappeared over the side.
Cymrian reacted swiftly, drawing back on the thrusters and taking Wend-A-Way skyward at such a steep angle that Aphen lost her footing and slid all the way to the stern railing before she caught herself. The remaining Elven crewmen hung on as the masts and rigging swayed and shook with the force and suddenness of the lift. Aphen heard other railguns release and felt the impact as dozens of metal projectiles slammed into Wend-A-Way’s hull in staccato bursts, splintering timbers and planks, embedding themselves in the wood.
But Cymrian had made the right choice by lifting away rather than diving and so prevented further damage to the sails and rigging. The warship angled upward in response to his maneuver, sweeping hard to port to bring the rest of her railguns and the bulk of her fire launchers into play. Cymrian had anticipated this, however, and executed a controlled fall that took Wend-A-Way down and out of range in a quick sweep to the south, increasing speed as she went, leaving the warship with weapons trained on empty blue sky.
Even so, Wend-A-Way had suffered sufficient damage to her primary light sheaths that gathering fresh power would require changing them out, and that was time the Elves could not afford to take. So they flattened out parallel to the grasslands and drew as much power as the diapson crystals could expend in an effort to outdistance their pursuer. Aphen regained her feet and stumbled back to the pilot box to rejoin Cymrian and Arling, and the crewmen positioned themselves where they could manipulate the rigging and sails.
Aphen glanced over her shoulder and saw that the warship was already coming after them, huge against the backdrop of the northern horizon.
“We don’t have weapons enough to stop her,” Cymrian shouted when he saw where she was looking. “Can you use the Elfstones or your magic to help?”