Page 81 of Stalk the Sky

“Hold station over the body until one of the airships can retrieve him.” Fieran switched to channel 2 and called in the body and the location to Dar Goranth. The troll stationed by the radio in the hangar would pass the message along to the communications room, which would get the word to the airships.

Such a clunky system. Hopefully Louise and Uncle Lance were hard at work figuring out how to integrate the long-wave and short-wave radios. Things would be a lot simpler once Fieran could coordinate with the airships himself.

Thinking of Louise brought up memories of family. Of family gatherings with the whole extended family. Uncle Julien joking with Dacha. Aunt Vriska debating with Uncle Edmund about strategy. Rokyd and Lucien as part of the whole gang of cousins.

They couldn’t be gone. Surely not. Fieran couldn’t imagine those family gatherings without them there.

Still he flew and searched. His flyboys reported more bodies. He had to make more radio calls.

Then there was nothing. Just endless, empty waves heaving up and down in inky depths.

Fieran flew for an hour, then two, searching. They were far from the wreck site now, the Kostarian shoreline more distinct.

“We should turn back.” Merrik’s voice came over the radio, low and aching with far too much compassion.

“Not yet. Just a little bit longer.” Fieran couldn’t turn back. Turning back would mean giving up.

A glint caught the corner of his eye. Fieran peered in that direction, but he couldn’t spot what he thought he’d seen.

Still, he eased the rudder and the control stick, turning his aeroplane in that direction.

Merrik matched his turn, not questioning him again just yet.

After a minute or so of flight, there was another glint. Something white sparkled on the waves up ahead, farther south and closer to shore than Fieran would have expected.

Was that a chunk of one of the guarding icebergs? What was it doing way out here? Could the storm have pushed it this far out?

As he neared, Fieran dove his aeroplane closer, then slowed as much as he could to get a good look at the object.

It wasn’t an iceberg. It was a raft made of ice, complete with ice oars. A troll halted in rowing, shading his eyes with a hand to peer upward. Another figure was sprawled partially on top of him, as if they had been huddling together to stay warm.

“It’s Rokyd! Merrik, that’s Rokyd!” Fieran all but shouted into the radio. “And that must be Lucien with him. They’re alive.”

“Yes.” Merrik’s voice held a breath of relief that carried even over the radio.

Gripping the control column with one hand, Fieran reached over the side of the cockpit and called up his magic. He unleashed a shower of sparks and sent bolts of magic through the sky.

The troll on the ice raft waved back, then slumped, not bothering to pick up the oars again.

With Rokyd now assured of which pilot circled overhead, Fieran pressed the talk button again. “Ground crew, come in.”

There was no response but static. Not even the chatter of the other members of the squadron.

Shoot. Fieran and Merrik must have flown so far that they were out of range of both the rest of the squadron and the radio at Dar Goranth.

“I will fly back into range.” Merrik peeled off, headed back the way they’d come.

“Thanks.” Fieran continued circling to mark the location for the airships and keep Rokyd and Lucien company while they waited for help to arrive.

Fieran sprinted down the flights of stairs as quickly as he could without falling. Surely landing his aeroplane couldn’t have taken as long as docking an airship and offloading the wounded.

Never had Fieran been so relieved to see an airship than when the KAS Dominion appeared on the horizon as he circled over Rokyd and Lucien’s boat. Lucien hadn’t stirred the entire time Fieran had been circling overhead. How bad off was he?

Fieran skidded out of the stairway into sick bay. On the far side, Uncle Julien and Aunt Vriska paced in the small, cleared space before the double doors that led to the airship dock jutting from the side of the cliff.

Before Fieran could cross the room to them, the large double doors were flung open. Two troll airmen hurried through the doors, carrying a stretcher between them. Lucien lay on the stretcher, still unmoving. An elf trotted alongside, her hand on Lucien’s shoulder as her fingers glowed green with healing magic.

Behind them, Sathrah supported Rokyd. He was lacking a shirt and had bandages wrapped over his torso and arms. His trousers were shredded, showing burns and bloody cuts.

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