A knot of fighters dove toward them. Evander squeezed the trigger, and the shotfire sprayed pellets into the oncoming dragons. He aimed deliberately, not bothering with the pilots, but shooting for the dragons’ weak spot: a tiny soft space between their front legs.
He could hear the enemy’s pellets whistling past his ear, like bees, then pain ripped through his arm and he fell hard, grasping the cable with his right hand before he slid over the side. Blood smeared across the dragon’s scales behind him, and Evander grit his teeth as he lurched to a stop. His shoulder popped, and hescreamed. His arm hung dead at his side, blood tickling inside his jacket sleeve, the joint dislocated.
Giles caught Evander’s tether and hauled him up. Painfully, he crawled to the tripod and pulled himself to his feet. They were surrounded, only two wingbeats from the manor.
The fighter dragons opened fire, and light showed through Dread Five’s wing. Evander tried to shoot back, but his shotfire only lurched. The belt was empty. He had no more pellets.
He had no more pellets.
“Ignatius!” he screamed.
But the boy shook his head. They were helpless, exposed, and out of ammunition. As Evander tried to wade through the pain and fog in his head and think up some miraculous salvation, flames tore through the fighters, and they peeled away, their pilots swatting at their burning jackets.
Squinting through the smoke, Evander spotted Valenna tearing out of the clouds. She flew past them, luring the fighter dragons after her. Evander’s heart buckled as he watched her go.
“Ready?” Samara asked.
The building passed beneath them, first its outer wall and the grove of dead dragon willows.
Evander just had time to notice that the willow under which his father died was blooming before they flew over the upper parapet. He waited for the downward beat of the wing.
The bombardiers took small sparksticks from their pockets and held them ready.
Giles fumbled with his, struggling to light it.
The wing started its downward beat, and Evander brought his good arm slicing through the air.
“Alight!”
The bombardiers darted over the side of the wing, their legs braced against the dragon’s side, and lit the fuses, then scrambled up and released the canisters.
Giles yanked on the release, but it stuck.
Elspeth’s canisters hurtled, whistling, into the manor and exploded on impact. Samara pulled their dragon up as stone and debris arced through the air and showered the dunes.
The crew celebrated, whooping and cheering.
“CAPTAIN!” Giles shrieked.
Evander turned. And his heart froze.
Giles hadn’t released his canisters. They had jammed, the metal hooks soldered together from the heat of their own fire.
Evander jumped forward, but it was too late. The canister blew, and the dragon’s wing shattered, splinters of bone and flaming flesh tearing through the crew. Evander was thrown off his feet, into the tripod. He gripped its metal legs.
Samara grunted and bit her lip as she fought the dragon. It tipped to the side, its wing sheared off.
Struggling to his feet, Evander ordered, “BAIL! BAIL!”
Ignatius went first, then Elspeth tottered over the edge. Giles lay stunned, blood streaming into his eyes.
He began to wail.
“GO, SAMARA!” Evander ordered.
“BUT …”
“GO, GO, GO!”
