In the sky, a ship torn open at the stern wobbled in midflight. It tore through illusions and defensive shields that obscured the makeshift fortress hidden in the middle of the forest.

Radeon let the ship dive nose-first. He needed the spectacle for his plan. He needed the higher-ups to feel their own urgency.

He staggered down the gangplank as the vessel settled. Medical practitioners rushed in, chanting their spells. Seeing no deep cuts and only minor splinters, they laid cool hands on bruised flesh, finished their healing arts, and moved aside as those in charge strode forward.

"Report, scouts. What did you find out there? Tell me this flight bought us more than broken planks."

The six-man crew glanced at Radeon as if he were their true leader. None of them spoke, their mouths held shut as if waiting for him to start. Radeon only looked at the grey-bearded man, trusting that the memory of dangling midair would deliver the fanfare he needed.

The man caught his nod and began to speak. Scouting teams sent out in tens. Arrows raining down at every twist and turn. Their boat nearly capsized under bullets of condensed energy. Each man was questioned one after the other. As if that was his cue, Radeon drew out the map.

"Commander, we've found the way into the cultist's den."

Radeon raised a hand toward the six before they could say more. Naming the exact terrain here would be as good as shouting military secrets across the docks.

"Very well. I'll see what waits inside myself, and you'll have your pay in full."

After they were dismissed, the captain grabbed Radeon by the neck of his robe and pulled him close, his voice dropping low.

"You traced that map well enough in your skull, did you not, sailor? Draw it for me. I'm keen to see what game they're playing up at Ashlime Crag."

"Captain, best we stay in the wake this time and let the great lords ram their prows first."

Without another word, Radeon pressed a folded slip into his palm. It was a list. Numbers pulled from Giovanni's head, names and totals that dwindled enough to intimidate any sane man.

The captain read the paper and clenched it so hard his qi turned to heat. He looked back at Radeon with a grave face.

"A conspiracy, sure as storm-tide. A hundred years we've sailed, and now we find ourselves dead center in some bastard's plotting."

Surprised by the force of his reaction, Radeon covered his mouth with his fist. He fought the urge to curse everyone in the fortress.

"Captain, hush. Walls have ears in a place like this."

The captain knew that all too well. He did not want to be swept away by whatever scheme was being cooked at Ashlime Crag. Knowing Radeon would be sent out again for a second round of scouting, he instead gave him the ticket for his armor. In his mind, the choice to retreat to the backline hardened into a quiet vow.

"Captain, this is more than my share…"

"Take it before I grow sensible. You've never failed me yet. I mean for every soul on this crew to come back breathing."

"Aye, captain."

Radeon went to the armory with a face like a man walking to his own hanging. As he arrived, rows of metal armor stood waiting on their racks. Weapons lined the walls in neat, cold order. The ticket in his hand allowed him to choose any of them.

His fingers did not linger on anything heavy. He reached instead for a long strip of black fabric, a cloth too thin to be any normal armor.

"Ah, good eye. That scrap came up from the far south, from some women's sect that keeps to itself down there."

"And what trick does it hide?"

"They say you need some secret art to wake it. Some swear it can be torn into pieces and still hold together. Me, I just hand it over and stop asking questions."

"If I sign for this, can I take two lengths in place of a blade?"

"No one ever signs for it, so take what you like."

Radeon took two of the black, nearly see-through silks in his hands. The men present started to murmur, saying his choice would please the women of his house.

Wearing the face of an old man, he pulled his wrinkles into a lewd grin and licked his lips, raising two fingers before all the men. He did not let the mask slip for something as small as their banter.

When he returned to the docks for the spirit ships, he found the commander waiting, scanning the crowd as if looking for someone. Their eyes met, and the commander beckoned him closer.

"Commander, where do you need me?"

"You handled that run well. How long have you been flying spirit-ships?"

"Eighty years under sail and array, commander."

The commander said nothing at first. Instead, he gestured toward the longship Radeon had flown.

"This arrow was only a graze, yet it near tore your hull apart, did it not?"

"Aye, commander. Felt like a Gilded Core's work to me."

"Just so. The residue here belongs to someone on the verge of forming a nascent embryo."

Radeon schooled his features into horror. Inside, he reviewed the moment, how he had chosen which arrow to let bite into the hull while he dodged the ones that felt lacking.

"I'm no madman, sky-sailor. Suppose I let you choose any hull in this yard, crewed with Gilded Cores, how far could you run her?"

"Far, commander. As far as you'll let me." Radeon paused, his gaze drifting toward the frigate.

Seeing where his eyes had settled, the commander frowned, unsure whether Radeon meant to claim the main ship, so he pressed.

"Then what do you have in mind?"

"Give me only that frigate's sails, and the largest flight array your yard can spare."

Radeon knew he had not been clear enough. He bent over the parchment and sketched a broad sail fixed to a narrow platform, the array etched where wood and frame met. A sailboard he had known in another life.

When looked at closely, the sketch resembled a wide sail and a single plank ripped from a ship.

"Sky-sailor, you swear this contraption will fly?"

"For speed, commander? We could eat those hundred miles of sky in a quarter of an hour."

The array masters bent over the parchment and then leaned back to study him, their gazes dragging across his lined face. Astonishment came first, sharp and naked, then a flicker of something like regret.

That this old man, already with half a foot in the grave, would be the one to lay such a design before them.

One of them stepped closer, unable to hide his excitement at the prospect of a new ship design.

"If I do not go with you, who will lay the defensive wards on this frame?"

The men around them drew closer too, as if missing a word would rob the array masters of some great secret.

"It will have no wards at all. One sound arrow, and we drop out of the sky."

The murmuring died at once. Soldiers and array masters fell silent at his words. Only someone very confident would demand such a thing of a ship.

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