Free Retribution Falls by Chris Wooding

hand, hitting switches with the other. The engines groaned and stuttered, but Frey had flown this craft for more than a decade and he knew her inside out. Teeth gritted, he gentled her through the chaos, and in seconds they were level again.
    Frey looked out of the cockpit. He felt sick and faint. An oily black cloud of smoke, blistering with red and white flame, roiled in the air. The Ace of Skulls’ enormous bow was plummeting into the pass far below; her tail assembly crashed against the side of a mountain and broke into pieces. A cloud of lesser debris spun lazily away, thrown out by the colossal force of the explosion.
    And in among the debris, charred, limp things fell towards the earth. Some of them were still almost whole.
    Bodies. Dozens of bodies.

    Harkins stared at the slow cascade of wreckage as it tumbled from the sky. He wasn’t sure he’d exactly grasped the full implications of what had just happened, but he knew this was bad. This was very, very bad. And not just because they’d screwed up yet another attempt at sky piracy.
    Then, suddenly, the Swordwing he’d been chasing broke left and dived. Harkins’ attention switched back to his target.
    He’s running! Harkins thought. A glance told him that the second Swordwing was doing the same, spearing up towards the clouds. Pinn was hot on its tail, spraying tracer fire. Smoke trailed from one of its wings.
    Harkins threw the Firecrow into a dive. Whatever had just happened, Harkins was certain of one thing. They were in trouble.
    But only if someone lived to tell about it.
    The Swordwing was dropping hard, towards the layer of mist that had hidden the Ketty Jay. Harkins rattled off a short burst from his guns, but he was still too far away. He opened the Firecrow’s throttle and screamed after the Swordwing as it was swallowed up by the mist.
    Oh no, he fretted to himself. I don’t want to go in there, I really don’t!
    But it was too late for second thoughts. The mist closed over him, greying his vision. The Swordwing was a dark smudge ahead. It had pulled level, skimming through the upper layers of mist where visibility was just the right side of suicidal. Harkins tried to close the distance, but they were evenly matched on speed.
    Sweat began to trickle down the deep folds of his unshaven cheeks. They were going too fast, they were going way too fast. This pilot was a maniac! Was he trying to get himself killed?
    Harkins pressed down on his guns, hoping for a lucky hit. The tracer fire blazed away into the gloom.
    A mountain loomed out of the mist to starboard, an unending slope of snowy rock fading into view. The Swordwing swung in recklessly close to it, hugging the mountainside. The shockwave of its passage threw up clouds of loose snow, whipping them into Harkins’ path. The pilot was trying to blind him further. But the tactic was ineffective: the powdery snow dispersed too fast, and did nothing to slow him. Harkins angled himself on an intercept trajectory and closed in on his target.
    The mountainside ended without warning, and the Swordwing made a dangerously sharp turn, almost clipping the corner. Harkins followed out of reflex. The only safe place in this murk was where his target had already been.
    An outcrop of black stone came at him like a thrown fist.
    His reactions responded in place of conscious thought. He shoved the flight stick forward and the Firecrow dived, skimming under the jutting stone with barely a foot to spare. It thundered over him for a terrifying instant and was gone.
    He pulled away from the mountainside, gibbering. That was too close, too close, too close! His legs had begun to tremble. This was insane! Insane! Who did that pilot think he was, anyway? Why was he putting Harkins through such torment?
    But there it was: the Swordwing. Still visible through the bubble of windglass on the Firecrow’s snout. It was heading down, further into the dull blankness, a ghostly blur.
    Harkins followed. Afraid as he was, he was