“JarlHonovi!” the man called out. “Airships are to the south of us!”
Honovi drew in a sharp breath, stepping away from the damaged building. The wardens around him had all turned to face the runner, hands drifting to their pistols. “Ours?”
“All hailing E’ridian names and codes. Caoimhe told them to anchor on the shore. She’s informed the wardens’ governor of their impending arrival so no one shoots them down.”
“I’ll go out and meet them.”
He’d called them to port, after all. It was his duty to give them their orders upon arrival. Honovi left his current task behind and made his way to the main gate of the fort, the damage there extensive from the initial attack. Ksenia met him there, giving him a tight-lipped smile in greeting, wand in one hand and pistol in the other. The hilt of a poison short sword protruded over one shoulder, the clarion crystal there a deep blue.
“Caris said they’ll have the communications tower jury-rigged to work within the hour. The governor is with her in order to send out the recall messages as soon as communications are restored. I’m here to judge who has answered your call,” Ksenia said.
“My people won’t harm yours,” Honovi said.
“We’ve already been attacked by one country. You’ll allow us our paranoia.”
Honovi and Ksenia walked out of the fort together. Honovi’s boots crunched over damaged earth, the mist thinning out now that the sun was creeping over the eastern horizon. Six airships bearing clan crests and E’ridian company designs skimmed low over the Celestine Lake, flashing their lights in a code Honovi could easily read.
Friendly-aid-anchor.
Whoever was manning the radio on theCelestial Spritemust have given the all clear because the airships started to descend, coming in side by side to anchor on the shore. Honovi could hear the crews calling out in E’ridian, the language a balm after so long speaking the trade tongue while on the island.
Rope ladders were tossed overboard, the knotted ends landing in ashy dirt. Beyond where the airships anchored, the twisted, melted remnants of submersibles stood out in the shallow waters of the shore like broken field markers.
The first ones off the airships were aeronauts who claimed the rank of captain, the collars of their fur-lined flight jackets with the plaid panels over the shoulders glinting with the ranking pins. Honovi was distinctly aware of the lack of metalwork woven into his braid, but the men and women who jogged to greet him called him by the appropriate rank regardless.
“JarlHonovi, I’m captain of theCatskills. We received your message,” the lead captain said in greeting, expression grave. “How can we help?”
The other captains echoed his offer of assistance. Honovi nodded a silent welcome to all of them before looking at Ksenia. “It’s your call.”
Ksenia’s gaze wasn’t on the captains but the half dozen airships anchored on the shore, ready to take on passengers. “You’re certain your hospitals in Glencoe can handle the influx of patients?”
“Yes.”
“Then let’s get the wounded and the youngest tithes on board. They can’t be tended to here.”
Honovi nodded and set about coordinating the transfer of evacuees to the first wave of E’ridian airships who’d answered the call to help.
Thirteen
BLAINE
Blaine was jolted out of unconsciousness when he hit the ground. The impact sent fiery agony stabbing through his crushed left forearm up to his shoulder, spiderwebbing across his ribs. For a moment, Blaine could only pant into the dirt, the scent of loam thick in his nose, as he tried to get more air into his lungs in order to scream. He swallowed, tasting bile, the familiar churn of nausea creeping up his throat.
This wasn’t the first time he’d swam into awareness, but it was the first time it felt as if it would stick.
He couldn’t decide if that was a blessing or not.
A boot knocked against his chest, making him want to curl around the bruise-like pain it invoked, but moving only made the rest of him hurt worse. So Blaine stayed still, trying his best to orient himself through the haziness of his thoughts when all he wanted to do was sink back into unconsciousness. But the agony in his arm was too sharp to ignore anymore. Whatever drugs they’d pumped into him were finally wearing off, and what replaced it was a level of pain that made it difficult to think.
Blaine slitted his eyes open, taking in the slope of the hill they were on, the underbrush surrounding them, and the dappled sunlight streaming through the tree canopy that haloed the soldiers around him.
“He’s awake,” the soldier who’d kicked him said.
“Where’s the doctor? We need to keep him alive long enough to get him to Foxborough,” someone else said.
“Last I saw, the doctor was checking on Corporal Aubreo’s wounds.”
“He still bleeding?”
