Page 75 of A Dragon of Black Glass (Moonfall #3)

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R HAIF RAN ACROSS the smoky deck of the foundering ship. He dodged a flaming drape of balloon fabric. The crew struggled against the fiery threat as much as against the bronze enemy. Bellows and screams chased him across the chaos. Buckets doused pyres. Cannons blasted. Palls of smoke choked thickly, obscuring much.

Overhead, half of the gasbag fluttered in ruins. Yet the Fyredragon fought to hold the sky—which was a problem, one that no one seemed to note, except for one panicked thief.

Rhaif had been doing his best to be useful during this doomed battle. Filling buckets, cranking ballistas, relighting tapers, proving himself as fleet-footed as any thief in the night. But that was not his best skill—that was observation, an ability to note a pattern to a target’s routine, to know when best to strike.

He continued through the chaos, the pools of blood, the torn bodies. He ducked on instinct as something swept out of the smoke, passing under the balloon and over the deck. Huge wings rushed past, stirring the pall, fanning flames. Claws ripped down, snatched a struggling bronze figure, and plucked it off the deck. Once beyond the far rail, it was tossed overboard. The raash’ke then sped upward. It vanished from view, trailing a scream of fury.

Rhaif had caught a glimpse of Tamryn riding low in the saddle. She and the remaining two mounts continued to harass the swarm. They had already lost one rider to the horde. Rhaif had spotted the raash’ke falling out of the sky, wings flailing, crashing to the burning sea under them. Still, the other bats and riders fought fiercely, especially after discerning a weakness among the ta’wyn.

Already spooked by past experiences with the mankrae, the enemy had shied from those screeches and beating wings. But even better, Tamryn’s team had found a way to clip those wings of the ta’wyn. While the enemy’s bronze was nearly impervious to weapons, the attackers carried shimmering shields across their shoulders, looking welded and molded in place. A rake of a claw across those plates shattered whatever alchymy kept the bastards afloat. Once damaged, they would go tumbling away and crash into the glass sea. Most still got back up, but they could no longer fly. Instead, they began a long slog toward shore, toward Tosgon.

Such a discovery had protected the last of their balloon. The raash’ke continued to mount a defense, to shield the remains of the giant gasbag. The Fyredragon dared not get its own wings clipped. Those guardians also kept the deck clear whenever a ta’wyn tried to board by landing on the deck. Their swift efforts freed those manning the cannons and ballistas to fire at the bronze hornets buzzing the ship. An iron ball to the gut or spear through their back served as well as a sharp claw at knocking a target from the sky.

Unfortunately, reaching the deck was not the only way to board the ship. A glinting flash drew Rhaif’s eyes to the starboard side. A large spear of bronze shot and shattered through the hull. The entire ship rattled from the impact as one of the ta’wyn breached the raash’ke cordon and blasted its way inside.

By now, a battle raged across every level of the ship. The raash’ke had no way of reaching the enemy inside the ship. With the ta’wyn rampaging belowdecks, the Fyredragon would eventually be hollowed out from the inside.

This battle is doomed.

Only someone had to make sure the end happened sooner rather than later.

Rhaif reached the door to the foredeck, slammed through it, fell down the steps, and burst into the wheelhouse.

Ahead, Darant manned the maesterwheel, sweating thickly, shouting to the crew at the subwheels and levers. They all struggled to keep the ship in the air, to work its forges—at least the engines that remained, those that hadn’t already been damaged by the bronze invaders.

Rhaif, breathless with urgency, raced to the wheel. “Darant! Cut the forges!”

The captain scowled from the wheel. “What are you ranting about?”

Rhaif’s panic drew Krysh, who rushed over, leaving the farscopes to Fenn. Rhaif glanced around. Jace was still gone. Rhaif had spotted him earlier diving belowdecks with a giant ax.

But it was not that observation that had fired Rhaif’s flight down to the wheelhouse.

“Up top,” Rhaif gasped, trying to get them to understand. He lifted a hand high, then swept it down. “The Fyredragon. Every time it founders. From a blown section of balloon, from a snuffed forge. When the ship drops down. Toward the sea. The number of ta’wyn drops, too.”

He choked on his words.

“What do you mean?” Krysh pressed him.

Rhaif swallowed and explained, “They skirt off, fly west. Toward Tosgon.” He searched the faces around him, to see if this thief was believed. “It’s like the more we look defeated, the more they send their forces to the coast.”

Krysh stared hard at Rhaif. “Are you sure?”

“It’s what I do. A thief learns to have sharp eyes if he wants to keep his skin.”

Darant frowned. “Then what do you expect us to do?”

“Cut the forges. Like I told you.” Rhaif pointed to the planks. “Crash us to the sea. Or make it appear that way. Make us look dead atop this burning sea.”

Krysh slowly nodded. “If the ta’wyn believe we’re stranded, they may abandon us, considering us no longer a threat, diverting their resources to the other target.”

Darant looked grim. “Tosgon.”

Rhaif understood his consternation. He had been the one to scold the captain for abandoning the village. Now he was proposing sending what was left of the ta’wyn force straight at them.

Rhaif winced at his next words. “We’ve done all we can to buy them time, to knock down as many of the bastards as possible. But we’ll eventually fall, too. And soon. If the Fyredragon is destroyed, and all aboard are dead, then the entire world is doomed. Remember, we still have to get to the turubya, to ignite the infernal engine.”

Krysh nodded. “He’s right. We must survive, even at the cost of the village.”

Darant gripped his wheel and spoke through clenched teeth. “So we play dead and hope Nyx, Graylin, and the others discover a path to that fekkin’ Dragon.”

“Or I could be wrong, and I’m sending us to our deaths.” Rhaif shrugged. “But I’m not the captain who has to make this decision.”

Darant looked to Krysh, who also shrugged, leaving the choice to the man at the wheel. The captain took a deep breath, then hollered to his crew, “Take us down! Strangle each forge on my word. We’re going to waggle our wings, look distressed, and aim for a hard landing.”

Rhaif backed away, his role finished.

I hope this thief hasn’t just gotten us all killed.

Darant continued his instructions, growing quieter, more earnest, as the Fyredragon sank out of the skies. It dropped in spurts and shakes and sudden plummets. Cannons continued to thunder. Smoke grew thicker. The cries of the raash’ke pierced the winds.

Rhaif shifted to the window as the ship rolled leadenly to one side, spinning slightly. Fiery bronze shapes shook loose from the sinking ship, like flies off the skin of a shivering ox. In the air, the ta’wyn spun and hovered, then, as if heeding a clarion, the group flew west, away from them, toward the coast.

Krysh glanced to Rhaif, but neither was ready to admit this was working.

“Hold fast!” Darant shouted, startling Rhaif.

The captain pulled a lever near the wheel. The roar of the forges cut, going dead silent. The Fyredragon hung for another breath, then plummeted straight down. While not a far drop, the crash still threw Rhaif off his feet. Far under him, wood shattered with a splintering blast. The entire ship rolled to port, leaning crookedly, held aloft by the last remains of its balloon.

Down on the planks, Rhaif scowled up. “I said to play dead.”

Shouts rose across the ship, sounding equally dismayed. A single cannon boomed, like a dying man’s last cough. Rhaif groaned back to his feet.

“Look,” Darant said.

Rhaif staggered to the window. Across the sky, more bronze hornets circled, then drifted west, at first slowly, then more swiftly. A ta’wyn leaped from a break in the portside hull, struck the black glass, then trudged off.

Soon others followed.

Fenn called over. “More are leaving,” he reported at his farscope. “From all around the ship.”

Rhaif searched, but the view grew obscured. Heavy smoke drifted down, falling like a shroud over the ship.

The door burst open behind them. Jace staggered in, his face a mask of blood, his shirt torn from a shoulder. He carried a broad-ax with a broken haft in hand. “What happened?” he panted out.

“That’s yet to be determined.” Darant stepped over and clapped Rhaif on the shoulder. “But thanks to a certain thief on board, we’ll have a chance to find out.”

Rhaif shook free of both the captain’s grip and his praise. He continued to stare out the window. Through the shroud of smoke, patches of smoldering bronze faded into the distance, heading away.

Heading toward Tosgon.