Starfinder: A Novel of the Skylords (38 page)

“Keep firing!” Rendor cried into the tube. He swiveled his chair toward Bottling. “All ahead! Keep after it!”

Bottling pushed the throttles and the
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lurched forward, hunting the wounded ogilorn. Skylords and Redeemers wheeled, arcing away from the deadly bullets.

 

Beneath the
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, the centaurs tilted a thousand arrows skyward. Sitting astride Jorian’s back, Fiona drew hard on her own bowstring, aiming toward the center of the swirling mass of Skylords. She had watched the
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open fire on the ogilorn, sending the creature retreating in a hail of gunfire. The Skylords and Redeemers spread out across the sky, massing to decend upon the valley. Fiery chariots wheeled high above the fray, drawn by cloud horses and carrying the Skylord generals.

Jorian searched the sky for Artaios, a magic arrow sparkling in his fist. Next to him, Kyros took control of their horde, ordering the centaurs to hold their fire.

“Wait!” cried the old centaur. “Not until you can put one in their hearts!”

Fiona didn’t know how long she could hold back her bowstring. The fingers of her hand ached as she pulled back, determined to send the arrow as high as it could go. Somewhere in the sky a trumpet sounded. The Skylords broke formation, screaming down from heaven like a flock of deadly angels. Fiona closed one eye, focused on a single mass of streaking feathers, and waited for Kyros’ order. Jorian held still beneath her, choosing his own, unlucky target.

“I’m ready,” said Fiona desperately. “I can’t hold it . . .”

“Now!” cried Kyros.

Arrows rocketed up from the valley. Fiona loosed her bowstring.

 

Moth kept watch through the dragonfly’s canopy, holding tight as the craft nosedived after the Skylords. An eruption of arrows rose up, whistling past their delicate glass wings. Over Skyhigh’s shoulder, Moth could see the Skylords and Redeemers starting to fall, tumbling earthward. The ground was quickly rising to meet them, filled with shouting centaurs. Moth swiveled about, looking out for anything that had broken away to attack them.

“You’re clear!” he shouted.

Skyhigh had his finger on the trigger. About to fire, he hesitated.

“What are you doing?” Moth pressed. “Shoot!”

“Moth, listen. You’re gonna see some stuff you’re not going to like. It’s not like Leroux told you. There’s gonna be blood . . .”

“Skyhigh, you’re telling me this
now
? C’mon, shoot ’em!”

Almost in a full dive, Skyhigh caught a flock of Skylords in his gunsights. “Guess you’ll just have to see for yourself.” He pulled the trigger, and the Skylords exploded. Blood and feathers struck the canopy as the dragonfly corkscrewed away. Above Moth’s head, a crimson smear stained the canopy. He stared at it, stricken.

“Do I have your attention now?”

“Oh, god, I’m gonna be sick!”

“You’re a kid, Moth,” said Skyhigh. “I wish you didn’t have to see any of this. Now keep a lookout, will ya? Or we’ll be the ones in pieces.”

 

Artaios circled high above the battlefield, safe from the arrows and bullets, searching the ground for Jorian. Even with his spectacular vision, it was hard for him to make out the Chieftain from so far away. The centaurs had spread across the field like berserkers, pumping the sky with arrows and leaping up to snatch low-flying Redeemers. The airship drove madly toward Mount Oronor, ripping holes in the soft flesh of the ogilorn. In all his years and all his battles, Artaios had never seen such carnage. He’d expected the airship to be no more difficult to stop than a dragon.

He knew now he was wrong.

Too stupid to understand its impending death, the ogilorn stopped retreating, absorbing the airship’s onslaught. To the south and east, the remaining ogilorns decended toward the centaurs. Without the airship and its weapons, Artaios knew the centaurs had no chance at all. As he wheeled above the fray, his eyes searched frantically for Jorian. Below, the thing Moth called a dragonfly chased his fellow Skylords, slaughtering them with its guns.

Artaios’ cracked ribs throbbed inside his bewitched armor. His eyes tracked the dragonfly over the battlefield, careful not to drop too low and be sighted by Jorian. Wind pulled the golden hair under his helmet. The rush of air against his wings reminded him he was a god.

“I am the Sword of Korace,” he told himself. “I am not afraid of anything.”

Like a hunting raptor, he tucked his wings and dove for the dragonfly.

 

Fiona held tight to Jorian’s mane as the centaur galloped out to clearer ground. Overhead the sky buzzed with dirty-faced fairies, swooping down upon the centaurs with their icicle-like swords. Tyrin ran furiously alongside his Chieftain. The young warrior had cast aside his bow and shield, slicing up the air with a pair of curved swords, cutting fairies in half as they tried to reach Fiona. Old Kyros followed close behind, covering their run with arrows. Fiona watched as a brown-cloaked Redeemer plunged toward them. From the corner of her eye she saw another centaur gallop forward, spring like a jack rabbit into the air, and smash the Redeemer unconcious with his shield.

“Jorian, where are we going?” Fiona shouted. “Don’t take me away! I’m not afraid!”

Jorian laughed. “You fear nothing, Little Queen, I know! Look at the sky! Do you see?”

Fiona searched the battle above. She saw Skyhigh’s dragonfly arcing through the sky, spurts of gunfire cutting down Skylords. And then another object caught her eye, making a meteoric dive toward the dragonfly. Before Fiona could ask what it was, Jorian pulled an arrow from his quiver. He nocked the bolt and drew back, turning it to lightning.

“Watch, Fiona,” he crowed. “The fall of Artaios!”

 

Artaios passed Rakuiss’ chariot, plummeting through a flock of fairies and the mist of cloud horses as he headed toward the dragonfly. Closer, closer he came, falling from the sky, homing in on the craft and unsheathing his flaming sword. Today, there was only one thing Artaios wanted, and it wasn’t the Starfinder.

“Coralin!”

Coralin, Moth’s hero. Coralin, who’d refused to take Moth home to safety. Without remorse, Artaios steeled himself for the killing blow. The human had been warned.

Then from the ground rose a sudden burst of light. Artaios veered quickly, glimpsed the thing as it screamed toward him.

He closed his eyes, hanging in the air, bracing for Jorian’s arrow. It slammed into his breastplate with a shower of hot sparks. Artaios tumbled, nearly dropping his sword. The agonized wail of a Redeemer’s soul tore from his armor.

Artaios fanned his wings to right himself. One gone, but he was still alive. Astonished, he ran his hands over his breastplate. Except for the impact, there’d been no pain at all.

“I live!” he crowed. He flew a boastful somersault, then pointed his flaming sword toward the earth. “See me, Jorian! I live!”

Somewhere down below, the centaur Chieftain was staring skyward in disbelief—Artaios could almost feel it. With newfound confidence, he spied the dragonfly again and dove for it.

 

Rendor unstrapped himself from his command chair and hurried toward the riflemen on the bridge. A crewman tossed him a rifle and Rendor snatched it from the air, kneeling beside the others as they trained their weapons on the swarming tentacles. The
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’s nose guns chewed through the squirming, pink flesh, splashing blood across the sky. A pack of sooty-faced fairies charged toward the open bridge, deftly avoiding the ogilorn’s arms as they fought their way inside. Rendor drew a bead on the nearest one as it clawed against the
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, pulling its way through the gap. The blast from Rendor’s muzzle blew the tiny creature into oblivion.

But Rendor knew they couldn’t hold off the onslaught for long. Beyond the massive ogilorn flew Skylords and Redeemers, waiting for their own chance to board the
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. Rendor’s gunners filled the sky with tracers, cutting down their enemies like weeds. Yet wave after wave they came anew.

“Governor!” cried Bottling. He had his hand on the hidrenium lever, ready to swell the envelope. “Should I?”

Rendor’s eyes danced around the bridge, then back out at the ogilorn. They could still beat the thing. Maybe.

“Hold off!” he called back to Bottling. “This ugly beast can’t live forever!”

 

Fiona blinked up at the sky, as stunned as Jorian by what she saw. Through the melee of bodies and bullets she saw the gleaming Artaios again, streaking toward the unsuspecting dragonfly. The Skylord had taken Jorian’s arrow, shaking it off like rain.

“Still alive,” said the bewildered Jorian. He glanced down at his bow, almost oblivious to the battle raging around him.

“What happened?” asked Fiona.

Another Redeemer came screaming out of the sky. Jorian twisted and galloped away just as Tyrin leaped for it. Two flashing blades cut the creature down. Young Tyrin swiveled back toward Jorian. Behind him, Kyros was pumping the air full of arrows.

“Too many!” called Tyrin. Blood streaked his gasping chest. “Jorian, the girl . . .”

“Don’t worry about me!” said Fiona. She wrapped her arms around Jorian’s chest. “I’m okay!”

Jorian bolted toward clearer ground, then nocked another arrow to his bow. Once more he spied Artaios. “Let’s see how many he can take!”

 

Nausea sloshed over Moth as the dragonfly spiraled toward the ogilorn. The
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’s starboard guns halted as the crew spotted them approaching, streaking to their aid. Up ahead, Moth could see the bulbous eyes of the monster tracking them across the sky. He braced himself to crash, then heard the rat-a-tat of guns as Skyhigh squeezed the trigger. Bloody pinholes pocked the ogilorn. Tentacles flailed madly toward them. Skyhigh banked left, then right, then straight up high as a suckered arm whipped beneath them.

“Making another pass,” Skyhigh shouted. “We clear?”

Moth fought to stay concious as blood drained from his brain. His wobbly eyes searched the sky as the dragonfly leveled out. Skylords and Redeemers still beseiged the
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. The tenacious ogilorn—half its limbs shredded or limp—continued after the airship.

“I think so,” Moth replied.

“You think? C’mon, Moth, look!”

Skyhigh turned the craft hard, slamming Moth sideways. Moth peered through the filthy canopy for enemies. Something caught his bleary eyes.

“Wait . . .”

Coming at them from the left was a Skylord. Unlike the others, this one had broken free from the pack, homing in on them, an outstretched sword dripping fire as he flew.

“That’s Artaios!” Moth gasped. He twisted for a better look. Artaios’ sword was unmistakable, but now the Skylord wore a golden helmet and armor too. “He’s coming after us!”

Skyhigh throttled the engines and the dragonfly sprinted forward. “He’ll have to catch us, then,” he said, and slammed the craft into a steep dive, right through the storm of arrows.

“Why?” Moth wondered. He clutched his seat with white-knuckled hands. “Does he know I’m in here?”

“Keep a lookout!” ordered Skyhigh. “Where is he?”

Moth could barely turn his neck to see. Artaios and his burning sword were gaining like a meteor.

“He’s right on top of us!” he shrieked.

Skyhigh cursed and pulled up in a tight loop. For one quick second they glimpsed Artaios through the top—now bottom—of the canopy, changing course in a fluid arc and coming at them once more. Head to head, Skyhigh only had a moment. He lined up his guns and squeezed the trigger, spraying a fusillade of lead. Undeterred, Artaios kept on coming. He weaved through the bullets, raised his sword like a jousting lance, and put it through the dragonfly’s nose.

Metal screamed. Moth cried out. “Hold on!” Skyhigh shouted. “I got it!”

But he didn’t have it. They were going down.

 

Artois watched, stunned, as the dragonfly plummeted. For the briefest second he had seen something inside the craft, something he hadn’t expected.

He hovered helplessly as the dragonfly went down, not even seeing the bolt until it struck him. Jorian’s glowing arrow slammed into his back, sending him tumbling through the sky. Artaios flexed his wings, shook off the shock, and spiraled down after Moth. Below him, another lightning bolt appeared.

 

Rendor tumbled, sliding across the floor as the ogilorn took hold of the
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. Men were firing their guns and shouting. A sliver of daylight shone through the open bridge as the ogilorn’s pink flesh pressed against the ship. Rendor kept hold of his rifle, managing to roll himself onto his belly. He fired off another shot, as ineffectual as all his others. The
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shook as the tentacles closed around her, the eerie noise of rubbery suckers pulling at her sheathing. Donnar stumbled across the deck, dropping down near Rendor.

“Order the swell!” he barked. “Now!”

Rendor looked at his friend, unable to speak. They stared at each other. Rendor nodded.

“Bottling, do it!” Donnar ordered.

Still at his station, Bottling steadily pushed the lever forward. A faint hissing noise filled the bridge as the
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’s envelope swelled with volatile hidrenium.

 

Jorian and Fiona had nowhere to run.

Overhead, the sky turned black with Redeemers. Fairies and cloud horses blotted out the sun, and the Skylords circled like buzzards over the battlefield. Jorian and Kyros bounded over bodies. Protected by Tyrin’s double blades, they fired endlessly into the sky. Around them, their fellow centaurs fought on, snatching Redeemers out of the air and crushing them beneath their hooves. But Fiona knew their cause was lost. The Skylords were just too many.