“We have to gain speed and altitude both, get above the heavier air and into the wind and closer to that ship.” The other man paused. “We have to let them see us. If we don’t, they’re going to find us anyway. We don’t have time to be clever or cautious about this.”

Pied hesitated. He knew Markenstall was right, but he hated the thought of exposing the sloop when they had so few weapons with which to defend themselves. Once they were spotted, the other ships would be after them like cats after a mouse. That would give them only a single pass, barring a miracle, at their target.

“All right,” he said. “Do your best. But find a way to get us close to that ship.”

“Hold on,” Markenstall said, and he pushed the thruster levers all the way forward.

The Asashiel bucked and shot ahead; the mouse was in flight. They rose swiftly into the sky, abandoning the comparative safety of the darkness for the revealing light of stars and moon—for the latter was emerging from behind the clouds. Fresh illumination bathed the Prekkendorran in brilliant white light, revealing the hordes of attackers surging toward the Elven defensive lines. Already they were flooding the gap between the twin bluffs occupied by the Elves and their allies, breaking down the Elven fortifications and scrambling onto the airfield, where the last of the Elven airships were frantically lifting off. All across the battlefield, the remains of the destroyed ships burned fiercely, signal fires for the advancing army, encouragement for its soldiers. Pied saw the Ellenroh’s hull, a charred, smoking wreck at the center of everything.

You should have listened to me, Kellen, Pied thought. He closed his eyes. I should have found a way to make you listen.

They were approaching their target now. The Dechtera was right ahead of them, her bulk blocking out an entire section of the sky. She was huge, a flying platform supported by four sets of pontoons with cross-bracing running all along her underside. Three masts flew yards of light sheaths, radian draws feeding banks of parse tubes housing the diapson crystals that powered her, metal shields opening and closing in sudden bursts of converted energy as the ship maneuvered first this way and then that, bringing the deadly weapon mounted on the foredeck to bear. No one aboard seemed to realize yet that the Asashiel was tracking her, all eyes were directed forward to where another Elven ship was under attack, a rope of fire burning through her, sizzling and exploding wood and metal in a booming cough that rocked the sloop with concussive force. Burning bodies flew over the railings of the stricken airship, tumbling to the earth like stricken fireflies.

Pied made a quick, agonizing survey. Only three Elven airships remained aloft of the twelve or so that had started out. The fleet was decimated.