Songs of the Dying Earth

Captain Shiolko sounded the alarm — he’d had to retrieve several of the klaxons and sirens from Meriwolt’s cobbled-together musical instrument — and the passengers went to their stations belowdeck as rehearsed. The captain’s sons took their places in the rigging or at firefighting stations and Shrue saw all three ancient crossbows in use. Shiolko himself, at the wheel, had buckled on the cutlass that one of his female sons had brought him. Derwe Coreme and her six Myrmazons deployed themselves with their shorter crossbows and edged weapons — two of the women on the port side rail, two on the starboard, one in the bow, one in the stern at the quarterdeck behind the captain, and Drew Coreme herself roaming. Shrue remained where he’d been at the port railing.

Three of the air cars swept in closer. Shiolko was having one of his sons run up the white and blue universal flag of parley when the three air cars fired narrow, intense beams of light at the Steresa’s Dream. Two sails and narrow circles of decking burst into flame, but Shiolko’s sons put out the fires with buckets of water in half a minute.

Four more air cars joined the first three, and they swept in closer on the port side, choosing to unleash their heat beams from only a hundred yards out.

“Fire,” said Derwe Corme. All seven of the Myrmazons triggered their blunt but powerful crossbows. They reloaded so quickly from their belt-quivers that Shrue could not see the actual motions. Together, the seven got off eleven volleys in less than a minute.

Bolts pierced the yellowed, brittle canopies of the ancient air cars and six of the seven, their pilots dead, plummeted down through the clouds to crash on the snowy peaks below. The seventh air car wobbled away, no longer under its pilot’s control.

The remaining five began to circle the Steresa’s Dream from half a league out, attempting to ignite the galleon’s wide, white sails with their attenuated beams.

Shrue glanced at the compressed-air harpoon gun, but Shiolko’s sons were too busy cooling the white-circled hot spots on the sails to man the clumsy weapon. Closing his eyes, Shrue raised both arms, turned his fingers into quickly moving summoning claws, and chanted a spell taught him a century earlier by a misogynist fellow-magus named Tchamast.

Out of the clouds to the northeast emerged a half-mile-long crimson dragon, its wings longer than the galleon, its eyes blazing yellow, its long teeth glinting in the sunlight, its maw wide enough to swallow all five air cars at once. Everyone on the Steresa’s Dream ceased their cries and motion until the only audible sounds were the flapping of the sails in their stays and the much louder flap-flap-flap of the giant dragon’s leathery wings.

The air cars turned clumsily and fled back toward the distant tower-city.

The dragon ceased its pursuit of the metal and plastic vehicles and turned its interest toward the Steresa’s Dream, its long, sinuous body undulating like a sea serpent’s as it flew between the clouds. Its yellow eyes looked hungry.

“The harpoon gun!” cried Captain Shiolko to his sons. “Man the harpoon gun.”

Shrue shook his head and held up one hand to stop the young men. Checking to make sure that the last of the air cars was out of sight, Shrue raised both arms again — the gray spidersilk of his robe sleeves sliding back — and made motions as if directing an invisible orchestra, and the dragon disappeared with a thunderclap implosion. The passengers applauded.

Later that evening, Shrue came up on deck to another round of applause. The passengers were watching a smaller, greener, but angrier version of his dragon trying to keep up with the sky galleon but falling behind as the wind came strong straight from the southwest, propelling Steresa’s Dream over and away from the last of the mountain peaks and their attendant clouds. Belching fire in the direction of the galleon, the smaller dragon turned back toward the clouds and high peaks.

“I think your first dragon was more convincing,” said Captain Shiolko as the passengers on deck again applauded the magician.

“So do I,” said Derwe Coreme. “This one seemed a tad…less solid. Almost transparent in spots.”

Shrue shrugged modestly. He saw no reason to tell them that the second dragon had been real.