Page 47 of Stalk the Sky

His mattress shot into the parade ground space on Level 1. He had only a heartbeat to notice those who had gone before, all standing at attention with their backs to him, their mattresses scattered and abandoned, before he and his mattress slid right into the back of Pretty Face’s legs.

Pretty Face fell backwards, landing on Fieran with a weight that drove the breath from Fieran’s lungs. Pretty Face’s elbow dug into Fieran’s back, his boots clunked against Fieran’s helmet, and Pretty Face’s helmet knocked painfully against Fieran’s ankle.

Fieran’s mattress slammed into Pretty Face’s mattress, which shot into the next mattress over. That mattress collided with Stickyfingers, and he went down, landing on the mattress instead of the stone floor. More mattresses pinballed across the parade ground, knocking still more men over.

Fieran’s mattress skidded to a stop with the sound of canvas grinding on gravel.

Pretty Face rolled off, scrambling to his feet and facing forward again.

Following his lead, Fieran hopped to his feet. As he did so, his gaze landed on where Commander Druindar was standing at the front of the room, his arms crossed, a scowl twisting his face. Behind him, Captain Gradrah leaned against the wall, her arms folded as if she were taking in the entertainment. What appeared to be a gathering of the ship captains, their white uniforms sporting lots of gold braid, stood in one of the rooms to the one side, peering out and openly smirking.

Fieran’s stomach plummeted into his toes. They were in so much trouble.

The thumping sound of another mattress whooshing down rang from the stairway. Standing at attention, Fieran couldn’t turn around to look or jump out of the way. All he could do was semi-brace himself as much as he could.

Canvas scraped against stone. Something slammed into the back of Fieran’s legs, taking his feet out from under him. He toppled backwards, landing on Merrik with an oof.

Fieran’s mattress knocked into the next one over, setting off the chain reaction of sliding mattresses and falling men yet again.

As soon as the mattress stopped sliding, Fieran rolled off, trying to subtly scramble a few feet away from the sliding zone before he stood and came to attention once again.

Beside him, Merrik leapt to his feet and straightened to attention.

Was that the twitch of a smile to Captain Gradrah’s mouth? Probably wishful thinking. Perhaps it was a barely suppressed scowl. Commander Druindar, certainly, was making no effort to hide his increasingly wrathful glower.

The whooshing sound came again from the stairs. Fieran mentally braced himself.

Merrik went down, landing on Tiny.

Something—a mattress, presumably—slammed into the back of Fieran’s ankles hard enough to knock him over. He fell backwards, landing on an empty mattress this time instead of on Merrik.

Pretty Face, Stickyfingers, and several others toppled like bowling pins as mattresses skittered and ricocheted across the floor. The parade ground was quickly becoming clogged with mattresses.

Fieran had barely gotten back to his feet, facing the cluster of captains and the commander, when scraping came from behind him. He caught a glimpse of Lije’s straw-blond hair and lanky form before he slammed into the back of Tiny’s legs. Tiny tumbled and landed on Lije with a grunt that was echoed by Lije’s muffled groan.

Fieran only had time to spare an internal wince on Lije’s behalf before he was once again taken out by a mattress.

How many more men were still coming down? He tried to mentally count those standing around him as he scrambled back to his feet and came to attention yet again. There were at least fifteen men standing around him. Perhaps seventeen or eighteen. That meant they still had nearly half of Flight B to go.

Another flyboy and mattress skidded into the room. More pinballing mattresses and toppling men. The captains gathered in the room behind Captain Gradrah seemed to be taking bets on which flyboy would hurtle the farthest with each new mattress that came zooming down from above.

Fieran would have gritted his teeth, but he’d probably crack a tooth the next time he was bowled over by a mattress.

By the time the last flyboy and mattress skidded to a halt, the mattresses clogged the parade ground so much that Fieran struggled to find a place to stand to come to attention yet again. Beside him, Merrik stood precariously balanced on a mattress that was half-shoved onto another mattress.

Commander Druindar had been forced to retreat to the wall beside Captain Gradrah to avoid being knocked over in the chaos. Now the two of them were talking quietly. Perhaps discussing just how to punish Fieran and his flyboys for this.

At least it would be highly unlikely for them to formally reprimand Fieran and his men. While they had been placed under Commander Druindar while stationed here at Dar Goranth, they were still, technically, part of Escarland’s chain of command. Commander Druindar and Captain Gradrah would have to send a formal reprimand up Escarland’s chain of command, something they wouldn’t do unless they were absolutely certain they could both prove and defend their actions if any of the Escarlish commanders disagreed with them on the severity of the punishment.

Grady, the final flyboy to descend the stairs and not the brightest bulb among Fieran’s flyboys, picked up his mattress and began hauling it back toward the stairs rather than standing at attention as he ought in the presence of his commanding officers.

Fieran opened his mouth to call Grady back before he got all of them into even more trouble, but Commander Druindar beat him to it.

“Where do you think you’re going, Lieutenant?” Commander Druindar glared at Grady.

Grady, still grinning, kept hauling his mattress toward the stairs. “I’m going to go again, sir. That was fun.”

“Fun.” Commander Druindar’s dark tone would have quailed the most hardened troll warrior. “You think you’re here to have fun.”

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