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I moved forward, tapping his sword lightly with my own, then lunged. He parried, and I immediately transformed the lunge into a fleché, a running attack that carries the fencer past his foe in a flurry of blades. One stroke of a razor-edge slashed away the leather at his left shoulder, leaving behind a pale furrow that rapidly filled with red. The blow could have as easily taken an eye.

And he knew it.

He glanced down, and back up again. I expected to see rage, but instead got a twisted smile. He lowered his guard, then tossed the rapier onto the forest leaves at my feet. He spread his arms.

“I can’t match you,” he said. “I never imagined you would be so good.”

“You were exhausted from the swim,” I said. “Else you would have made a better defense.”

“But I still would not have won.”

“No, probably not.”

“What is your name, swordsman?”

“Ruenn Maclang. And yours?”

I was watching him as I spoke and saw him start as if he recognized something about my name. Of course, he might very well have heard of me. Any organized force attacking Nyshphal would have had their spies in the country for a time. And those spies would surely have picked up word of the strange fellow keeping company with the daughter of the Emperor. I knew the tale was muchly about.

“Diken,” the mercenary said after a moment. “My name is Diken Graye.”

* * * * * * *

Rannon and the others were sitting on the banks of the Shauval when I came out of the fields behind the river with my prisoner. Sticky gray mud covered everyone’s hair and clothes but they did not seem much put out by it. I suppose they were happy to be alive. Behind them in the water I could see no sign of the flyer. It had sunk.

Already, the locals had begun to arrive. They came in canoes or on small rafts, occasionally on something bigger. This area was mostly farmland but had a fairly substantial population. An airship going down couldn’t have been a very common sight. It had attracted attention.

Even covered with mud, Rannon looked the part of a princess. And the sightseers were soon vying with each other to offer their services. She acknowledged all offers graciously, but finally selected a burly red-headed tradesman with eyes as clear as gin to take us downriver in his firewood barge. He and his men moved quickly to earn their honor, and we were soon loaded and on our way to Timmuzz. Diken Graye went with us, but this time his hands were bound so he wouldn’t think of going overboard again.

There were many questions to be asked of the mercenary, and a few to be asked of Rannon. She admitted to me that there had been other attacks against Nyshphal of late, that airships had come up missing and that villages had been burned across the north. The raids had begun around the time I left for Earth, two months before, and I remembered of a sudden a battle fought over a little settlement called Rakii. I recalled how odd the assault had seemed to me then, as if the raiders wanted more to destroy than to loot. I said as much to Rannon.

“Their first strike,” she agreed. “There have been others. My father stepped up air patrols but that hasn’t stopped them. This is the furthest south they have come, though.”

“What about survivors?”

“A few. In the villages. None from an airship before.” She shook her head. “Someone is moving against us but we do not know who. Or why. All the raiders that have been seen have been mercenaries.”

I tried not to show my concern but the fact that the attacks were still moving south in the face of increased air defenses, worried me. Nyshphal had a very strong air-fleet.

“Have those explosive bolts been used in other attacks?” I asked.

Rannon shrugged, then gestured at our prisoner. “Perhaps this one will know.”

Our guest had found a pile of firewood to sit against. He was trying to be inconspicuous and failing.

“Kreeg!” I called loudly. “Would you come here a moment? And bring your axe.”

Diken Graye met my gaze and showed me a faint smile. He thought Kreeg an empty threat. He knew I would not have him killed.