There was light ahead of them now, a fuzzy ball against the black, dim but growing brighter, and he found himself staring at it, watching it grow. He was a deadweight atop the flit, and Troon was a deadweight atop him. The flit was no longer flying straight, but beginning to slide downward, to dip and sway like a leaf tumbling from a tree.
« Troon?»
No answer. Pied stared at the light ahead. It didn’t seem to have a source, didn’t seem to be coming from anywhere. It occurred to him that there wasn’t any light at all, that the light was inside his head. It occurred to him that he was watching the approach of his own death.
Fascinated, he kept his gaze fixed as it became a huge glowing ball and then swallowed him.
Nineteen
Sen Dunsidan was awake long before his guards came to rouse him, dressed and waiting by the time they did. A light sleeper in the best of circumstances, he heard the sounds of the battle being fought on the airfield from inside his tented compound at the center rear of the Federation encampment almost a mile away. At first, he thought the entire camp was under attack, and his sole thought was to reach his private airship and flee. But as he dressed, frightened and angry and confused, standing in the dark to keep from becoming a ready target, he realized that the tumult was much farther away than the site of his compound and that any danger to him was still remote.
Nevertheless, he was edgy and impatient by the time his aide called to him from outside the tent flap. «My lord?»
« What is it?» he snapped, unable to keep his voice from betraying him. «What’s happening?»
« The airfield is under attack!»
He knew the truth at once then. He didn’t even have to leave his tent. The Free–born had watched him test–fly theDechtera the day before, had taken note of how she performed, and had decided to act on the results. Having already witnessed the devastation wrought to the Elven airfleet, they would not have held anything back in their efforts to destroy her this time. He cursed himself for a fool, waiting one day too long, confident that he had them hemmed in and helpless, waiting for the end. He should have paid better attention to what had happened to the command he had sent to finish off those Elves. He had thought them helpless, too.
Still, why was it that his army, the biggest and most powerful army in the Four Lands, couldn’t manage to keep the Free–born from breaking through the siege lines and reaching the airfield, which was miles away? Why was it that his soldiers couldn’t manage to protect a single airship?
He pushed through the tent flap into the night and saw the huge blaze east, the flames rising up against the darkened horizon, an inferno. He felt a sinking feeling in his stomach, the last of his hopes fading, his worst fears confirmed. TheDechtem was destroyed. His weapon was gone. His plans for a strike against the Free–born on the morrow were ruined. He knew it as surely as he knew his own name. He stood looking at the flickering glow of the fire in stunned silence, his aide hanging back, his guards keeping well away from him until they knew what his reaction was going to be.
He turned to his aide. «Find Etan Orek. Bring him to the airfield.»
His aide hurried away, and he signaled to his guards to bring up the carriage. Someone was going to pay for this.
It took them only minutes to reach the airfield, which was filled with soldiers running in every direction, some of them carting off the bodies of the dead and wounded, some of them trying to put out the flames of the fires that burned all across the field. The biggest of the fires was fed by what remained of the charred hulk of theDechtera, a smoking, blackened ruin, as he had known she would be. Several other airships were burning, as well, but it didn’t appear that they would be a total loss. Weapons lay scattered everywhere, and he could just barely identify twisted pieces of flits.
Composing himself, putting in place his politician’s look, the one that masked his true feelings and left his features devoid of expression, he climbed from the carriage.
One of his field commanders came over, saluted, and started to give his report, but Sen Dunsidan cut him short.
« How many of them were there?»
His commander blinked. «We think about a dozen.»
« A dozen.» He was filled with sudden rage. A mere dozen had done this. «They used flits?»
His commander nodded. «They flew in from the backside of the camp. A suicide mission. We got all of them but two, and we’ll have those two, as well, before dawn. Elves, from what we can tell.»
« Elves?» Another remnant of those he had presumed helpless and in flight. He shook his head. «Any movement on the Free–born lines?»
The other man shook his head. «Not as yet.»
« There will be. Strengthen the siege lines and be ready for an attack. Without theDechtera to keep them at bay, the Free–born will try to break out. I don’t want that to happen. Do you understand me, Commander?»
« Yes, Prime Minister.»
« In case you don’t, pay close attention to this. I want the watch Captain who was on duty tonight relieved of his command. I want him sent to the very front of our lines. When the Free–born attack, I want to be certain that he is the first soldier they see.» He paused, his hard gaze fixed on the other. «Make sure everyone knows the reason.»
His commander swallowed hard. «Yes, Prime Minister.»
« Get out of my sight.»
When he was alone, save for his guards, he walked down through the airfield to examine the damage firsthand. White–haired, magisterial, a commanding presence, he drew attention from all quarters. He let himself be seen, because it was necessary for the army to know he had matters under control. But he did not attempt to interact with the soldiers, he could never be reached by such as them. His guards formed a protective phalanx about him, keeping everyone at bay, and those who looked at him did not try to do more.
He stopped to study the wreck of theDechtera, catching sight of what remained of his precious weapon, a twisted hunk of blackened metal. It was all he could do to keep from screaming his rage aloud, but he was practiced at dispassion.
He was contemplating what he would do to those responsible for what had happened here tonight when Etan Orek appeared at his elbow. «My lord?» he ventured.
Sen Dunsidan glanced at him. «You see for yourself what has happened, Engineer Orek. You see how determined our enemies are.» He shook his head. «Their job is made easier by the fact that I am surrounded by incompetents. You and I, we must carry so much of the load ourselves.»
The little man nodded eagerly, happy to be included as one of the chosen. «My lord, you can always depend on me.»
Sen Dunsidan glanced at theDechtem. «There is no salvaging the weapon now. We must start again. How long will it take?»
Etan Orek grinned conspiratorially. «You told me to build other weapons, my lord. I have been doing so. Another is almost complete.» He leaned close. «I have actually tested it. The crystals align as they should to generate the fire rope. It needs only to have the casing made.»
Sen Dunsidan felt a flush of satisfaction. He put a hand on the other’s shoulder. «You have done well, Engineer Orek. Once again, you have not disappointed me. If I had a dozen of you, this war would be over in a week.»
The little man flushed with pride. «Thank you, my lord.»
« How many days, then?»
« Oh, end of the week, my lord. The weapon awaits my attention in Arishaig. It needs only a few final touches and a new airship to bear it aloft.»
« Then we must spirit you back to Arishaig without further delay. I will have you returned at once. Pack up your things and make ready. I will follow in a day or two with the airship that will bear the weapon.» He gave the other a smile. «There will be a reward in this for you, Engineer. Your service to the Federation will not be forgotten.»