The marshal spoke again. “An attack on Avel threatens its citizens; an attack on our wind garden threatens all of Spires.”
Just then two hierophants emerged onto the jumpdeck. Both wore white cloth packs on their backs and carried folds of bright orange cloth. They trotted over to the pavilion.
The marshal pointed to one of the nearby windcatchers. “The first of you to the third rig.” She pointed to another farther back. “The second to the eighth. And tell Julia to pull herself down ten feet; she’s draining the wind from number twelve.”
Both of the new hierophants threw the orange folds into the air. The bright cloth snapped into wide crescents, catching the wind and hoisting the pilots aloft. Within moments, the wind had blown the hierophants far away from the garden tower. Their kites changed shape, causing each to fly toward the designated windcatchers.
Francesca realized that she had been holding her breath in amazement. Even watching from the deck, she had an almost dizzying sensation of velocity and control.
Marshal Oria looked at the tower warden. “Pull the second watch out of the mess. Arm all pilots and form two wings. Take command of the first and set up a hovering patrol on the pass’s northeast edge. Should you judge the wind garden to be threatened, drop the flag signal for all windcatchers to dock. I will loft all kites. You are to command any needed defense. Am I clear?”
The tower warden bowed.
The marshal continued. “For the second group, name your most trusted author wing commander. Charge them to circle Avel looking for signs of conflict or distress. They’re to relay by flag any report to you. If it appears safe, they’re to tether with the city flock and have one pilot who’s seen combat pull down to investigate. Questions?”
The tower warden’s face had gone blank. “The Queen’s Lance, my lady?”
The marshal looked away to the pass. “I want her aloft until we know what’s happening in Avel. I won’t allow her to dock without your presence.” She looked at the warden and said, “Don’t worry; I’ll respect your office.” There was nothing friendly about her tone.
“Permission to speak to the air warden of Avel?”
“Granted, but I want you aloft immediately after.”
“Yes, Lady.”
“Dismissed,” she said before turning back to her view of the pass. “Magistra DeVega, join me.”
Francesca started. “Yes, Lady.” She glanced at Cyrus. He had become as still as stone and was staring straight ahead.
“Cyrus,” the tower warden commanded, “you’ll accompany me to the mess.”
After turning to Francesca, he brought his hand to his heart and glowered.
She flicked a short spell into his chest. “You’ll be fine for a quarter hour,” she whispered. “It won’t start contracting until then. But don’t you dare leave me here!”
Cyrus only grunted before heading off with the tower warden.
Acutely aware of the three hundred foot drop beyond the jumpdeck, Francesca carefully approached the marshal. “My lady Oria?” When standing next to the other woman, she realized that she was almost a foot taller.
The marshal did not seem impressed by this. “Magistra, forgive my ignorance. For the past thirty years, I’ve done little other than fly oversized kites.” She gestured to the windcatchers. “But do I recall that as a wizard you are not a subject of any crown?”
Francesca nodded. “You do.”
“Therefore you represent only the wizardly order?”
“It’s a shade more complicated in my case, Lady. After mastering both wizardly languages, I trained in the clerical academy in Port Mercy. There I learned how to write medical texts. In effect, I left the wizardly order and joined the clerical one. Clerics have no language or deity or political interests as the wizards do. Our purpose is only to relieve the burden of disease.”
The marshal nodded. “An admirable purpose, cleric. Admirable. And, as one woman of purpose to another, I ask you frankly not to toy with me.”
“My lady, I should never dream of doing so.”
The woman glanced at her with a blank military expression and then flashed a sudden, affected smile. “Splendid. Now, can you tell me why that warship has two black-robes aboard?”
Francesca frowned. “What warship?”
The marshal looked up at the cloud that was blocking the sun. When Francesca followed her gaze, she jumped and swore, “Holy blasted heaven aflame!”
It wasn’t a cloud but a long, sleek airship hovering with perfect steadiness in the powerful wind. Its narrow foresails projected forward like the cutting blade of some curved weapon. The angular side and aft sails made constant, tiny, reflexive adjustments to accommodate for changes in the wind. The result kept the ship perfectly still. It seemed like some giant bird of prey ready to drop into a murderous dive.
The ship was no more than thirty feet above them, giving Francesca a sudden, ludicrous urge to duck.
The ship’s hexagonal hull looked delicate—more like spun-glass than like a warship’s spine. It consisted of six strips of silk that must have been sixty feet long. One served as a wide floorboard. The others were held apart by a hexagonal frame of thin rods—likely also enchanted silk. Because there were spaces between the silk strips, Francesca could see through the hull to the sky beyond.
With a sudden intake of breath, she realized that she could also see three green-robed figures moving rapidly about the ship. Two moved within the hull. The third walked out onto a side wing as if it were as solid as a mountainside. The figure squatted and began moving its hands, no doubt editing the wing’s text.
Just then, Francesca realized that a hierophantic airship was really a gigantic, flying manuscript.
Then Francesca saw the two black-robes. They were standing within the hull. Apparently, a man and a woman. Even though they were thirty feet above her, Francesca could tell that that the two wizards were staring down directly at her.
“My lady,” Francesca blurted, “I have no idea who they are.”
“It is odd,” the marshal said, “two wizards in a Kestrel-class cruiser.”
“Because of the wizards who supported Celeste in the past?”
The marshal raised her eyebrows in mock surprise. She spoke ironically: “Magistra, I hadn’t made that connection, but now that you mention it, yes. That is peculiar. Two wizards in a Kestrel arriving the same day a wizard in Avel falls out of a kite because an unknown curse has spread through the sanctuary.”
“My lady, bring those two down here and they will tell you that I have no political connection to the wizardly order. This red stole around my shoulders”—here she held up her mark as a cleric—“has separated me from the other black-robes.”
The marshal looked her up and down. “Magistra, you strike me as someone who has more skill with words than she lets on. I wouldn’t scold myself if you’ve deceived me. You also strike me as someone unaware of the role she’s playing. So I will tell you now that my loyalty to Celeste is as strong now as it was on the day I joined the monotheistic armada.”
Francesca stammered. “M-my lady, I’m not—”
The other woman raised her hand. “Magistra, I believe you. Don’t protest now. Only … remember what I have said.” With that, she grabbed a strip of cloth hanging near one of the pavilion’s beams. Suddenly, a bright green and yellow flag unfurled from the pavilion’s apex.
An instant later, the wind brought a yell. Francesca looked up at the warship. All of the hierophants climbing about the rig were now looking at the flag. The green-robe who had been editing the wing