Clash of the Sky Galleons (27 page)

The grappling-hooks gave way, one after the other, as a series of sickening jolts convulsed the stormlashed vessel and tore the
Galerider
from its moorings. In an instant, the mighty sky ship was plucked from the tree-tops and tossed into the raging night, as if by a giant hand. The last thing Captain Wind Jackal saw as the helm spun from his grasp were the shocked faces of Quint and Maris staring up at him, open-mouthed, from their perch in the blackwood tree.

What followed had been like a nightmare - a nightmare from which the crew of the
Galerider
could not wake up. A universe of cracking wood, flying splinters, beams, pulleys, ropes and sailcloth stripped from the vessel and hurtling past their heads. There was nothing they could do but tether themselves to the nearest spar,
gunwale or balustrade, and hold on with all their might, their muscles clenched and protesting as the great sky ship was blown across the sky in the clutches of the storm, rainlash and windhowl echoing in their ears.

But it couldn’t go on, Wind Jackal knew that. Out of control, the
Galerider
was being torn apart by the gale-force winds, but the minute they released their icy grip, the flight-rock would send them hurtling up into Open Sky for good. All was lost. Wind Jackal fought the rising desire to release his tether and give himself up to the storm and oblivion.

Was that Turbot Smeal’s mocking laughter he could hear, rising out of the howling winds?

‘No!’ Wind Jackal roared into the teeth of the gale. ‘It shall not end like this!’

But what was that? Wind Jackal forced himself to look up, icy rain stinging his face like frenzied woodwasps. There, through the driving rain and roaring wind, a hooded figure, hunched and bowed, was slowly, painfully, hauling itself across the juddering flight-rock platform.

As Wind Jackal peered across from the helm, the muscles in his arms aching and his fingers numb, the Stone Pilot reached out - a short axe in her gauntleted hand - and flailed at one of the squat barrels of wood-pitch lashed to the mast. The barrel splintered and its black contents shot out of its ruptured side, splattering the hooded figure. Monstrous now in a thick, congealing coat of woodpitch, the Stone Pilot rolled off the flight-rock platform and down onto the rock cage.

What was happening? Wind Jackal had never seen anything like this. Had the Stone Pilot gone mad; abandoned hope as he himself so nearly had?

The next instant, there was a spark as the blackened figure brought a sky-crystal smashing down on the bars of the cage, then an explosion of light … The hooded figure burst into flame before Wind Jackal’s horrified eyes, and remained, clamped to the bars of the rock cage like a giant fire float.

The flight-rock responded instantly to the intense heat of the burning woodpitch, sucking in the warmth and plunging the
Galerider
back down towards the swirling treetops. Seizing the opportunity given to him, Wind Jackal slammed the flight-levers either side of him as far forward as they would go. In answer, the sky ship’s descent grew less steep - but they were still coming down perilously fast, the storm still driving the
Galerider
on.

The jagged tree-line was rising to meet them. It was their only chance, Wind Jackal knew that.

If the blazing torch that was the Stone Pilot could only cling to the rock cage for a few seconds more, the flight-rock would pull them down into the dark forest below and the
Galerider
would have to take her chances in the tangle of branches and tree-trunks.

Better the Deepwoods should have them, thought Wind Jackal, than this accursed storm. The Deepwoods had taken his son, now let it take him!

Suddenly they were down amongst the trees, the howling wind replaced by thrashing branches which
tore at the speeding sky ship from all sides. A mighty lullabee was looming up before him, tall, solid, its great branches reaching, grasping. Wind Jackal ducked … Then all was blackness.

Wind Jackal’s eyes snapped open.

He was half-standing, half-kneeling; his tether rope lashed to the helm’s balustrade stretched taut. The rope was frayed and close to snapping, but it had held, and Wind Jackal felt a wave of relief wash over him. Without this length of plaited woodvine, carefully woven and repaired by Ratbit the mobgnome, he would have been blown away by the terrible storm of the night before.

Wind Jackal squinted up into a clear blue sky, then down at the deck of the
Galerider.
It had been a savage landing, but he’d had no choice - and they’d been lucky, Wind Jackal could see that plainly. The great lullabee tree had stopped the
Galerider
dead, but not before the sky ship’s razor-sharp keel had sliced through deep into the trunk of the unfortunate tree. Now they were wedged tight in the cleft of the shattered wood, high above the forest floor.

Becoming aware of a hissing sound, Wind Jackal glanced over to the flight-rock platform. The noise was coming from the softly glowing flight-rock. He saw that the flight-burners were burning steadily and - slumped below them in a blackened, smoking heap across the rock cage - was the hooded figure of the Stone Pilot.

‘Crew, report!’ Wind Jackal roared, untying his tether and hurrying down from the helm, across the aft-deck, towards the flight-rock platform.

‘Tem, tethered and safe, Captain!’

‘Steg, tethered and safe!’ The voices rang out from the fore-deck.

‘Spillins, tethered and safe!’ called the oakelf from the caternest.

‘Sagbutt, safe!’ The goblin’s growling call sounded from behind Wind Jackal in the shadows of the aft-deck gunwales, followed by, ‘Duggin, tethered and safe!’

‘Queep, tethered and safe, Captain - though Sky alone knows how …’ came the quartermaster’s voice from below deck.

Wind Jackal reached the steps to the rock platform and raced up them. At the top, he fell to his knees in front of the Stone Pilot. The black pitch had burned itself out and was now a thick, brittle crust coating the Stone Pilot’s protective clothing. Black soot covered the conical hood, covering the eye-pieces and making it impossible to tell whether the person beneath was dead or alive.

A low groan told Wind Jackal that the Stone Pilot had managed to survive her terrible ordeal. She must have dragged herself up from the rock cage and, with the last
of her strength, relit the rock burners. Below them, the warm flight-rock continued to wheeze contentedly. By her selfless actions, the Stone Pilot had saved the
Galerider.
Carefully, Wind Jackal lifted her in his arms, the heavy overalls creaking and crackling as he did so, and carried her back to the aft-cabins, despite her weak protests.

‘You’ve done well, Stone Pilot,’ he told her. ‘You’ve saved us all. Now you must let us tend you.’

They met Filbus Queep at the door to the aft-cabins, and Wind Jackal passed the Stone Pilot to him. Duggin hurried over to join them.

‘Take the Stone Pilot to the infirmary cabin and do what you can for her,’ Wind Jackal commanded.

‘Aye-aye, Captain, we’ll take care of her,’ said Duggin, ushering Filbus through the door.

‘Hyleberry salve,’ muttered the quartermaster, disappearing with the gently moving bundle. ‘And plenty of it…’

Wind Jackal turned to find Steg Jambles, Tem and Sagbutt the flat-head goblin standing in front of him on the aft-deck. They looked miserable and downcast, Steg clutching an injured arm, Tem’s face battered and bruised, and Sagbutt’s right eye blackened and almost closed. The
Galerider
had fared little better.

‘Report, Mister Jambles,’ said Wind Jackal.

‘The mast’s badly cracked above the sail-ring, but Spillins reckons it should hold. The aft-hull’s holding up, but the fore-hull’s taken quite a battering. The main-braces to the rock cage need shoring up before we can attempt a launch, Captain …’

‘Take Tem and Ratbit and see to it right away,’ said Wind Jackal. ‘The sooner we get skyborne the better. We’re sitting snowbirds here …’ He paused. ‘What’s wrong?’

Wind Jackal looked from face to face.

‘It’s Ratbit, Captain,’ Steg Jambles began, swallowing hard. ‘I’m afraid we lost him …’

‘Lost him?’ Wind Jackal frowned. ‘You mean … ?’

Steg nodded. ‘He’d tied himself down to the high gunwale on the fore-deck, but his tether must have failed,’ he said. ‘We found this …’

Tem stepped forward and held out a frayed length of woodvine rope. Wind Jackal took it and examined the splayed-out strands at the end of the rope for a moment.

‘Sky blast it!’ he muttered. ‘He was always checking and repairing everyone else’s tether ropes, making sure they were good and strong. Took hours over it, he did, yet when it came to his own …’

Wind Jackal threw the frayed rope to the deck in disgust and slammed his fist down on the port balustrade. He hated losing a crew-member, especially one as resourceful and loyal as the mobgnome.

‘That’s the way he was, Captain, you know that,’ said Steg sadly. ‘Always thinking of others before himself, was old Ratbit.’

‘And friendly’ added Tem. ‘Made me feel welcome when I joined the crew, right from the start…’

‘Very brave,’ Sagbutt grunted. ‘Slight of build, but big of heart.’

Wind Jackal turned back to his remaining crewmembers
and took off his tricorne hat. Bowing his head, he raised a hand to his heart.

‘Sky bless Ratbit, our loyal crewmate, and watch over him until that final voyage when we shall all meet again in Open Sky’

‘Open Sky’ repeated Tem, Steg and Sagbutt, their own heads bowed.

‘Open Sky’ said Filbus Queep, his hat in his hand as he stepped through the aft-deck door and joined them. The quartermaster smelled strongly of aromatic hyleberry. ‘I’ve done my best for the Stone Pilot, Captain. The hood and apron offered some protection, but she has severe burns to her arms and lower legs, and is running a temperature …’

Just then, Spillins’s voice rang out from the caternest above. ‘Figures moving through the forest, Captain! Lots of them…! To the east … And the north … south …
and
west!’

Wind Jackal slammed his hat back on to his head.

‘Steg, you and Tem shore up those braces. Nothing fancy. Just make them strong enough to withstand the launch. Move!’

He spun round and thrust a pair of gauntlets into the quartermaster’s hands.

‘Filbus, you’ll have to take the Stone Pilot’s place. Just keep those burners alight and douse the rock on my command …’

‘I’ll do my best,’ said Filbus uncertainly, climbing the steps to the flight-rock platform. ‘What do you think is out there, Captain?’

As if in answer, there came a whirring sound, followed by three splintering thuds as three black barbed arrows embedded themselves in the mast just above the quartermaster ‘s astonished head. Sagbutt leaped up onto the flight-rock platform, tore an arrow from the mast and held the ragged flight feathers to his nostrils.

‘Pah!’ he spat in disgust, flinging the arrow away. ‘Goblins … Grey goblins, Captain.’

Wind Jackal groaned. Grey goblins were renowned for their single-minded tenacity in battle. Small and wiry, individually they were nowhere near as strong as a hammerhead or a flat-head, but what they lacked in strength and stature, they more than made up for in naked aggression. Agile, fast and spectacularly violent, they specialized in mass attacks, known as ‘swarms’. The effectiveness of a swarm depended on complete fearlessness - which was aided by the lullabee-grub juice they swigged from the flat bottles that hung from their necks before and during an attack.

‘Ten strides and closing, Captain. From all sides!’ came Spillins’s report.

‘Sky damn me, if I give up a hold full of tallow to grey goblins!’ roared Wind Jackal. ‘Swarm or no swarm. Sagbutt, can you defend the decks until I get us out of here?’

Sagbutt gave a snaggle-toothed leer and drew his sword.

‘Sagbutt pleased to oblige!’ he replied, stroking the blade.
‘Skullsplitter
chop woodonions for too long … Now for some
real
work!’

Wind Jackal hurried to the helm and began setting the flight-levers, as the forest floor below filled with hideous shrieks and ear-splitting howls, and the great lullabee tree began to tremble. Almost in the blink of an eye, like frenzied woodants, grey goblins burst from the undergrowth in their hundreds, surrounded the base of the tree and began to clamber up its knobbly trunk. Moments later, their feet pattered up the sides of the
Galerider,
making a sound like hailstones in a skystorm.

‘Prepare to repel boarders, Sagbutt!’ shouted Wind Jackal, drawing his own sword. ‘Report, Steg! Are the braces secure?’

‘Just a moment longer, Cap’n,’ came the harpooneer’s harassed reply.

Suddenly the fore-deck was awash with grey goblins. Small, quivering and long-limbed, each one wore a battered leather jerkin and carried a rudimentary wooden shield and short serrated sword, equally suited to stabbing or hacking. Round their necks, gleaming in the sun, were round flat flasks that clinked against their breast-plates.

With a howl of rage, Sagbutt spread his massive legs wide and swung a great flashing arc with
Skullsplitter.
The fore-deck exploded in a ring of spattered blood as the first wave of goblins lost heads, limbs and bodies.