ll that," he remarked. "You can st-still see our shadow on the ground." It was true. A dark oval sped across the treetops. Sighter appeared with his spyglass, and he promptly announced their altitude as 6,437.5 feet. "Are you certain?" Kitiara asked. "Please," said Sturm, "take his word for it." "Where are we headed, Sighter?" asked Kitiara. "Due east. That's the Lemish forest below. In a few minutes, we should be over the Newsea." "But that's seventy miles from where we were," Sturm said. He was sitting on the deck. "Are we truly flying that fast?" "Indeed we are, and we shall go faster still," Sighter said. He strolled forward, his spyglass stuck to one eye as he surveyed the world below. "It's wonderful!" Kitiara said. She laughed into the wind. "I never believed you could do it; but you did. I love it! Tell the whistler to go as fast as he can!" Stutts was almost as excited, and he agreed. He turned to re-enter the wheelhouse. Sturm called to him, and he paused. "Why are we heading east?" Sturm asked. "Why not north and east – toward the Plains of Solamnia?" Stutts replied, "Rainspot s-says he feels turbulence in that direction. He f-felt it wouldn't be prudent to fly through it." He disappeared into the wheelhouse. "Sturm, look at that!" Kitiara said. "It's a village! You can see the housetops and chimney smoke – and cattle! I wonder, can the people down there see us? Wouldn't that be funny, to swoop down on their heads and blow a trumpet – ta-ta! Scare them out of ten years' growth!" Sturm was still sitting on the deck. "I'm not ready to stand up yet," he said sheepishly. "I was never afraid of heights, you know. Trees, towers, mountaintops never disturbed me. But this…" "It's wonderful, Sturm. Hold the rail and look down." I must stand up, thought Sturm. The Measure demanded that a knight face danger with honor and courage. The Knights of Solamnia had never considered aerial travel in their code of conduct. I must show Kit that I am not afraid. Sturm grasped the rail. My father, Lord Angriff Brightblade, would not be afraid, he told himself as he faced the low wall and rose to his haunches. Blood pounded in Sturm's ears. The power of the sword, the discipline of battle, were of little help here. This was a stronger test. This was the unknown. Sturm stood. The world spun beneath him like a ribbon unspooling. Already the blue waters of the Newsea glittered on the horizon. Kitiara was raving about the boats she could see. Sturm took a deep breath and let the fear fall from him like a soiled garment. "Wonderful!" she exclaimed again. "I tell you, Sturm, I take back all the things I said about the gnomes. This flying ship is tremendous! We can go anywhere in the world with this. Anywhere! And think of what a general could do with his army in a fleet of these devices. No wall would be high . enough. No arrows could reach you up here. There's no spot in the whole of Krynn that could be defended against a fleet of flying ships." "It would be the end of the world," Sturm said. "Cities looted and burned, farms ravaged, people slaughtered – it would be as bad as the Cataclysm." "Trust you to see the dark side of everything," she said. "It happened before, you know. Twice the dragons of Krynn tried to subjugate the world from the sky, until the great Huma used the Dragonlance and defeated them." Kitiara said, "That was long ago. And men are different from dragons." Sturm was not so sure. Cutwood and Rainspot climbed a ladder to the roof of the wheelhouse. From there they launched a large kite". It fluttered back in the wind from the wings, whipping about on its string like a new-caught trout. "What are you two doing now?" Kitiara called out. "Testing for lightning," Cutwood responded. "He smells it in the clouds." "Isn't that dangerous?" Sturm said. "Eh?" Cutwood put a hand to his ear. "I said, isn't that -" The brilliant white-forked bolt hit the kite before Sturm could finish. Though the sun was shining and the air clear, lightning leaped from a nearby cloud and blasted the kite to ashes. The bolt continued down the string and leaped to the brass ladder. The Cloudmaster staggered; the wings skipped a beat, then settled back into their regular rhythm once more. They carried the scorched Rainspot into the dining room. His face and hands were black with soot. His shoes had been knocked right off his feet, and his stockings had gone with his shoes. All the buttons on his vest were melted as well. Cutwood lowered his ear to Rainspot's chest. "Still beating," he reported. The ship's alarm went AH – OO – GAH! and the speaking tube blared, "All colleagues and passengers come to the engine room at once." Stutts and the other gnomes filed toward the door, with the humans trailing behind. Stutts paused. "What ab-bout him?" He indicated the unconscious Rainspot. "We could carry him," Sighter said. "We can make a stretcher," said Cutwood, checking his pockets for paper and pencil to draw a stretcher design. "I'll do it," Sturm said, just to end the discussion. He scooped the little man up in his arms. Down in the engine room, the ship's entire company collected. Sturm was alarmed to see Wingover there. "Who steering the ship?" he asked. "I tied the wheel." "Colleagues and passengers," Flash said, "I beg to report, fault in the engine." "You needn't beg," said Roperig. "We'll let you report." "Shut up," said Kitiara. "How bad is it?" "I can't shut it off. The lightning strike has fused the switches in the 'on' position." "That's not so bad," Sighter said. Birdcall warbled in agreement. "But we can't fly around forever!" Kitiara said. "No indeed," said Flash. "I estimate we have power to fly for, oh, six and a half weeks." "Six weeks!" cried Sturm and Kitiara in unison. "One thousand, eighty-one hours, twenty-nine minutes. I can work out the exact seconds in a moment." "Hold my arms, Sturm; I'm going to throttle him!" "Hush, Kit." "Could we unfasten the wings? That would bring us down," said Roperig. "Yes, and make a nice big hole when we hit," Bellcrank observed tartly. "Hmm, I wonder how big a hole it would be." Cutwood flipped open a random slip of parchment and started figuring on it. The other gnomes crowded around, offering corrections to his arithmetic. "Stop this at once!" Sturm said. Kitiara's face was scarlet from ill-concealed rage. When the gnomes paid him not the least heed, he snatched the calculations from Cutwood. The gnomes broke off in midbabble. "How can such clever fellows be so impractical? Not one of you has asked the right question. Flash, can you fix the engine?" A gleam of challenge grew in Flash's eyes. "I can! I will!" He pulled a hammer from one pocket and a spanner from another. "C'mon, Birdcall, let's get at it!" The chief mechanic chirped happily and followed on Flash's heels. "Wingover, where will we go if we keep flying as we are now?" Sturm asked. "The wings are set on 'climb', which means we'll keep going higher and higher," Wingover replied. The gnome wrinkled his beaky nose. "It will get cold. The air will thin out; that's why vultures and eagles can only fly so high. Their wings are too small. The Cloudmaster shouldn't have problems with that." "Everyone will have to dress warmly," said Sturm. "We have our furs," Kitiara said, having mastered her anger at the situation. "I don't know what the gnomes can wear." "Oh! Oh!" Roperig waved a hand to be recognized. "I can make Personal Heating Apparatuses out of materials I have in the rope locker." "Fine, you do that." Roperig and his apprentice hurried away with their heads together. Fitter listened so intently that he walked under an engine part and into the door frame. Rainspot moaned. Forgetting his burden in the excitement, Sturm had tucked him under one arm like a loaf of bread. The gnome coughed and groaned. Sturm set him on the deck. The first thing Rainspot did was to ask for his kite. Cutwood explained how it was lost, and tears welled up in Rainspot's eyes. As they trickled down his cheeks, they scored clean tracks in the soot. "One thing more, Wingover," Kitiara said. "You said the air would get thin. Do you mean as it does on very high mountaintops?" "Exactly like that." She planted her hands on her hips and said, "I once led a troop of cavalry over the high Khalkist Mountains. It was cold, all right, and worse, our ears bled. We fainted at the slightest exertion and had the worst headaches. A shaman named Ning made a potion for us to drink; it eased our way." "What a primitive shaman can do with m-magic, a gnome can do with t-technology," said Stutts. Sturm looked out the engine room porthole at the darkening sky. A rime of frost was already forming on the outside of the glass. "I certainly hope so, my friend. Our lives may depend on it."