Pied Sanderling sprinted the length of the Elven encampment, bumping aside anyone who got in his way, knocking over equipment and stores, leaving in his wake a string of angry shouts and curses. His mind was already far ahead of his body, thinking of what he must do and how he must do it, aware of how futile his efforts were likely to be. A terrible certainty gripped him. He was going to be too late. No matter how quick he was, he wasn’t going to be quick enough. The disaster he had feared had come to pass, and all the failed warnings in the world would not be enough to persuade him it was not his fault.

Run faster!

He reached the airfield winded and flushed, and as he tore down the embankment toward the airships, he searched frantically for someone he recognized among the few who hadn’t gone with Kellen Elessedil. He found only a lone commander of a railgun sloop, a grizzled veteran named Markenstall. He barely knew the man, knew more of his reputation than of him. A brave man, dependable in a fight, a solid presence in the pilot box—that would suffice.

“Captain!” he shouted, rushing up to the older man. “Is your sloop fitted and ready?” He glanced at her name, carved into the stern. Asashiel.

Markenstall stared at him with a mix of surprise and doubt. Gray whiskers stuck out from the sides of his jaw, deep lines furrowed his weathered face, and his ears were tattered and scarred. He had the look of a man who had been in more than a few fights.

“Answer me, Captain!” Pied shouted at him.

The older man started sharply. “Ready and fitted as she can be, Captain Sanderling,” he growled.

“Good. We’re taking her up. Cast off.”

Markenstall hesitated. “Captain, I’m not authorized to—”

“Listen carefully to me,” Pied interrupted. “The King flies into a trap. One of my Home Guard nearly lost her life getting that news to me; another lies dead somewhere beyond our lines. I’m not about to let that be for nothing! There isn’t time to seek authorization of any sort. If you want to save the King and those who went with him, we must leave at once!”

He cast a quick glance south, where the sky had turned deep blue in the twilight haze and the airships his gaze had followed earlier had disappeared from view. The dusk was thickening, the last of the sunlight a dim glow below the horizon west, the first stars beginning to brighten in the sky north. East, the moon was a silvery crescent lifting out of the Lower Anar.

His eyes flicked back to Markenstall. “Captain, please!”