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We hung half a verlang in the air—three-quarters of a mile—in a flyer with no pilot. The only hope we could cling to was that we were sinking rather than falling. The toir’in-or charged wands that provided lift for the flyer seemed to be draining slowly of their power rather than failing all at once. That gave us a sliver’s hope of living. A very thin sliver, for we were also on fire.

The few mercenary reivers still on our decks didn’t seem to think much of our future. They were busy grabbing the nearest vullwing and abandoning ship. I looked across at the black-clad outlaw whose explosive bolt had killed our pilot and set our ship ablaze. He would not be joining his fellows. I would see to that, and gave him a look that let him know it. He shrugged, then calmly began unhooking the ties that bound him to the dead saddle bird at his side.

My rage at him evaporated as other concerns stabbed at me.

Valyan! The flyer!

The thoughts tortured and I turned under their goad, saw Valyan lying near me painted with his own blood. I dropped to my knees beside him. He was breathing. And I breathed as well, in relief. He seemed more stunned than anything. Though a number of splinters from the shield had been driven into his chest and the lower part of his face, the concave surface of the buckler had directed most of the force of the small explosion around his body. He’d live, and even as I thought it he opened his eyes.

“Lie still,” I told him. “We’ve got a problem.”

His pupils dilated but I didn’t take time to explain. He’d smell the smoke soon enough. Kreeg was nearby with an axe, his broad body scarred, sweat beaded on his hairless head. I told him to watch Valyan and our mercenary guest. There would be questions to ask the latter if we lived. Then I came to my feet to see what might be done about the ship.

The surviving members of Rannon’s elite guard, less than half a dozen men, had turned away from the fleeing reivers and were gathering amidships to douse the flames surrounding the pilot’s chamber. Hope surged inside me as I saw that those fires would soon be out, and I ran to the hold instead, to find Rannon. She and Rhandh were coming up from below as I arrived at the stairs. Their faces were smoke-smudged, their eyes streaming, and I could see by their expressions that my hope of moments before was dust.

“In the cabin,” Rannon shouted. “The curtains caught. By Sevarian I’ll never listen to those court fools again about what a princess should have in her flyer.”

Seldom had I seen Rannon so angry, and I almost laughed despite the shock of our situation. Or maybe because of it. But Rhandh grabbed my shoulder, jarring me back into control.

“The pilot?” the Vlih demanded.

I shook my head at him. “Dead,” I answered.

Just then, Rannon’s guards finally got the flames beat out around the pilot’s chamber and carried the fellow’s body out to lie on the cool wood of the deck. A sliver of glass the size of a man’s forearm had been driven through his throat. His flying days were over. And it wasn’t like anyone could pilot the ship. The power sources for airboats are the toir’in-or charged energy wands controlled by a trained and disciplined mind. Even for those with talent, it takes months of practice just to manage the lift of a flyer. I couldn’t do it. Nor any of the others that I knew of. It seemed our choices were to wait until the wands gave out and we crashed to our deaths, or until we burned alive in the air.

“If we could take the ship down faster,” I said. “If we could get to the river before the cabin fire catches the decks we might have a chance. Is there anyone aboard with pilot training?”

Rannon shook her head. And someone behind us cleared their throat for attention.

“I have a bit of experience,” a voice said.

It was the mercenary in black leathers who had spoken. He had risen to his feet, with Kreeg directly behind him, an axe poised while he debated whether to strike. I put up my hand for the ex-slave to hold his blow.

“I can’t fly it much,” the reiver continued. “But if you keep the flames off me I might be