Free The Crucible of the Dragon God by Mike Wild Page A

now, we're not leaving. By the Lord of All, I'll glide this thing into Gransk if I have to!"
    Gransk, Slowhand thought. There was that name again. Where the hells was it? What was it? As troubling as the question was, though, something troubled him even more, and that was his sister's attitude to him since he had escaped from certain death. There had been no smiles, no hugs, no anything, and he was beginning to think that the only reason Jenna had fought with Fitch was because she knew how dangerous his unauthorised actions were - that the fact that her own brother had been the spanner in the works didn't really matter to her at all. The realisation left him with a heaviness in his heart that was worse than he'd felt at the loss of Kali Hooper, but it was a heaviness that he could not afford to indulge in right now.
    He looked around him, ducking as the explosions from the Old Race mechanisms increased, sending plumes of fire into the paths of the airship crew. Most were on board now, only himself, Jenna and Ransom still uncoupling the ship not on the safety of the deck. And, of course, Fitch. The threadweaver was still struggling against the arrows holding him, and Slowhand was pleased to see an expression of panicked horror had overtaken the usual arrogance that filled that face. His temptation to leave the bastard exactly where he was almost overwhelming but -
    Slowhand sighed, swiftly pulled the arrows from Fitch's robes and then bundled him towards the gantry. The last thing he expected - but should have expected - was that at the last minute Fitch would plant his palm on his chest and send him hurtling backwards into a pile of crates. Dazed, he watched as Jenna and the last crewmembers boarded, and the airship was already pulling away by the time he rose and ran after it. The archer tried to make the jump from dock to airship but stopped himself at the last moment by grabbing onto a rail. The gap between them was just too great.
    "Jenna," he shouted as the airship receded further beyond his reach. "I have to know - is there anything of you left?
    His sister stared back, the wind whipping at her face, and Slowhand wasn't sure whether it was that or something else that made her eyes tear up.
    Then she dug into a pocket, took out a small object and threw it across the widening gap towards him. Slowhand flung out a hand and then stared down at what he'd caught - a bracelet - before looking back up to question what it was. But, in the brief moment he had looked down, the airship had begun to turn away, as had his sister, perhaps not voluntarily, towards Querilous Fitch. Slowhand roared as the threadweaver approached her and then placed his palms on her skull and the hopes that he had harboured until that moment - that even now he might be able to turn Jenna away from the Final Faith - were finally dashed as his sister quivered beneath Fitch's touch.
    Watching the airship descend to the harbour's entrance tunnel, Slowhand could not remember when he had last - if ever - felt so lonely. But there was no time to dwell upon the feeling as another fierce explosion from behind almost blew him off the gantry.
    The archer looked around, searching for something - anything - that could help him get off this rock. But the only viable method of transport had already left and all that remained was the bones of its sisterships. Then it suddenly occurred to him that if Jenna and the Final Filth could build their flying machine piecemeal, then anything the Filth could do, he could do too.
    Slowhand worked quickly but precisely, skewering bolts of cloth from the rotted dirigibles with arrows from Suresight, before pulling them down and framing them around struts of lightweight metal. He tied the pieces of cloth into place with catgut from his quiver, pulling each piece taut until, when he flicked them, they thrummed like drums above the two triangular sections he had created. Finally he linked the two sections together, creating a makeshift