Page 72 of Stalk the Sky

Merrik made a noise over the radio, as if he thought about interrupting and arguing but then realized it would be futile.

Lt. Rothilion continued speaking as if he hadn’t heard. “Now that he has committed to saving my life, he will do it or die trying. But I know that if it comes to it, you will choose his life over mine.”

A chill went down Fieran’s spine at what Lt. Rothilion was asking. It would be up to Fieran to make the call if this wasn’t going to work. If it was time to let Lt. Rothilion die, that would be Fieran’s decision.

“I understand.” Fieran let the weight of that sink into his gut.

Merrik’s aeroplane was already glowing green with his magic. Vines extended down from the fuselage, and Fieran could only guess what part of the flyer Merrik was taking the wood from.

“When you are ready, Lt. Rothilion.” Merrik maneuvered his aeroplane so that he was flying above and just behind the lieutenant’s flyer.

Lt. Rothilion’s aeroplane glowed even more green than it had before. “All right, Lt. Loiatir.” Lt. Rothilion sounded like he was breathing heavily, as if using his magic was a strain after all the blood loss.

Merrik swooped forward and lower until only a few feet separated the wheels of his aeroplane from Lt. Rothilion’s upper wing. The vines trailed over Lt. Rothilion’s flyer before they snagged, new vines growing up and gripping Merrik’s vines.

Merrik’s aeroplane lurched as it was tugged back by the weight of Lt. Rothilion’s aeroplane. After a moment, Merrik eased his aeroplane’s speed to better match Lt. Rothilion’s.

It was masterful flying, and Merrik made it look easy.

Fieran took up a station as the rear wingman as Merrik and Lt. Rothilion’s tandem aeroplanes set out northward.

Over the course of the battle, the fight must have drifted even more south than Fieran had realized. The islands were nothing but a smudge on the horizon with Dar Goranth completely out of sight.

A long flight. Too long, perhaps? Would Lt. Rothilion live long enough?

Fieran pressed the talk button. “Ground crew, come in.”

He waited for several long moments, but there was no reply.

Perhaps they were only monitoring channel 1. He switched back and tried again. “Ground crew, come in.”

Still no answer.

What was going on? Surely Pip and the other mechanics had been glued to the radio during the battle. They wouldn’t have left.

Was Fieran out of range? Or had something happened to the radio?

Or, worse, had something happened to Pip and the mechanics? Had Dar Goranth been attacked while he had been busy elsewhere? What if they had been bombed? Pip would have done her best to hold out against an attack, but her magic couldn’t hold out against a large attack.

Fieran kept switching between the channels, calling out to Dar Goranth. His stomach sank with every moment that passed without an answer from Pip or anyone else at Dar Goranth.

As he changed back to channel 2, Lt. Rothilion’s breathy voice broke through before Fieran could call out again. “Laesornysh?”

“I’m here.” Fieran dipped his aeroplane lower and to the side to get a better look at Lt. Rothilion.

Lt. Rothilion was slumped over, his shoulders heaving as he gasped for breath. The skin visible between his scarf and his goggles was even more silvery pale than normal.

“I will not…be able to fly…much longer…” Lt. Rothilion’s whisper barely carried over the radio.

In the cockpit, the elf lieutenant lifted a shaky hand and tugged off his goggles. In the event of a crash landing, one took off the goggles so that the glass lens didn’t crack and gouge out one’s eyes. Lt. Rothilion was preparing now, knowing he wouldn’t be awake for whatever landing would come.

“Stay with us, Rothilion.” Fieran gripped the control stick, helpless to do anything for the lieutenant but watch and talk. Ahead, the lighthouses marking the channel between the islands rose as white glints against the dark smudge of land. “We’re almost there. Just a few more minutes. Hang on a few more minutes, all right?”

“Take care…my pilots…” Lt. Rothilion’s breathy voice faded into nothing.

“Rothilion?” Fieran waited a moment. What was the elf’s first name again? “Saranthyr?”

No answer. In the cockpit, Rothilion’s head lolled, his eyes closed. Based on the way his body flopped loosely as the two aeroplanes were jostled by turbulence, he wasn’t conscious.

---