Salute the Dark

Without giving herself time to think, Taki sped down the slope towards the bay. Nero had better have his end of this action in hand. Even the thought of the man made her uncomfortable, because she knew he was not really here for any love of Solarno or hate of the Empire. A man ten years older than she was, and bald and not well favoured and, most of all, not a pilot. She could have overlooked the rest but she had never glanced twice at a man who wasn’t a flier. It was something in her heart and blood, needing a man who would share in the places that she really belonged.

Old fool that he is. She still hoped he would be all right. She wanted no more guilt on her shoulders than was there already. There will be a great many people by sunset who will not be ‘all right’.

Freedom, though – freedom for Solarno and the Exalsee and perhaps, just perhaps, for the world. We cast our little stone now in the hope of a landslide.

‘To your vessels!’ she shouted as she descended the slope. She saw men and women starting up from their card games and campfires, and mechanics make a final twist or turn, then scrambling out from beneath or within a machine. Niamedh flipped her a salute before vaulting up to the cockpit of her sleek Executrix. On the water, the bulky Mayfly Prolonged already had its propellers moving sluggishly as Scobraan started up the engines.

A big female dragonfly some thirty feet long lifted out of the woods with an armoured rider perched on its back. She marvelled at the sight, viewing it from the ground like this, and for this fragile moment as an ally not an enemy. They were fleet, jewelled anachronisms, those beasts – far nimbler than a flying machine, but what could the rider’s lance or bow do against Taki’s vessel’s metal hide?

There were more insects in the air by now, all circling and hovering. She saw Drevane Sae’s own mount take flight, identifiable by the emerald banner streaming behind his saddle. From the water the ugly, blackened hulk that was Hawkmoth’s Bleakness, most infamous pirate vessel of a piratical age, was planing over the wave-tips, fighting for height.

‘Luck.’ The word was spoken briefly by its owner passing her by. It was the Creev, the slave-mercenary of Chasme. She watched him climb up the spiny hull of his vicious-looking new fixed-wing Nameless Warrior, his previous Mordant Fire having been lost in a duel with the Wasps. Beyond him she saw the flash of the Fly-kinden te Frenna’s red scarf as she dropped into the seat of her slender heliopter, the Gadaway. It came to Taki that this might be the last time she saw many of these people, whether friends, foes or strangers. She had brought them together and now she was sending them into war.

She let her own Art wings bring her out to the Esca Volenti as it bobbed just off the shoreline, and then started the clockwork of its engine determinedly, trying to lose such mournful thoughts in the comfort of her old routines. Her elegant orthopter leapt from the waters in a spray of silver, passing up and up through the strata of carefully circling machines and beasts, and flung itself like an arrow across the waters towards Solarno, with a train of others following immediately in her wake.

The Empire had found a scapegoat in the local branch of the Demarial family, former supporters of the Path of Jade. With most of that family’s Aristoi having fled to Porta Mavralis, the Wasps had simply seized their expansive townhouse with its prime view over the Galand Square and the bay. The new imperial governor himself intended to live there in style, it was clear, and the gesture had even brought a measure of approval from the Solarnese.

Galand Square was full today, the people of Solarno jostling shoulder to shoulder and Fly-kinden roosting on the three outsized martial statues that the square was famous for. One of those trespassing Flies, a bald, lump-faced creature, was doing his best not to keep glancing behind him at the glittering waters of the Exalsee.

Nero felt as tense as he had ever been. The hammer was about to fall – or at least that was the plan. He had to take it on faith that the hammer was poised at all. There were so many pieces to come together and, although he was high up here, sitting like a privileged child on the shoulders of the great stone soldier, he could see none of them. Even the Wasp governor had yet to show himself. The balcony – and perhaps the confiscation of this house had been solely to acquire that great balcony, so suited to public declamation – currently hosted a half-dozen soldiers in heavy sentinel armour and two Fly-kinden slave-scribes, but nothing that resembled an officer, let alone whichever imperial colonel would be governing here.