Free Lincoln's Wizard by Tracy Hickman, Dan Willis

dense carpet of trees, their greenery forming peaks and valleys like a roiling sea. Riders were forbidden to fly at night unless directly ordered to do so, and then only on clear nights with a good moon. Without sufficient light to follow the landmarks, it was just too easy to get lost. Every now and then a dragon would get confused, and slam into the ground, rider and all. When Marcus had realized how late he was, he’d decided to risk it. Now he was somewhere over Alabama with no idea if he was even flying the right way. He squinted down at the compass mounted into Genevieve’s control collar, but it was simply too dark to see it.
    Genevieve’s breathing grew labored and she stretched her wings out into a glide. Rain slid off her scales in great sheets, driven into torrents by the headwind. She chuffed irritably.
    “All right, girl,” Andrew said, patting the base of her long, serpentine neck. “We’ve done enough for one night. Let’s find a good place to—”
    He was going to say “land,” but the word was ripped from his mouth as something came hurtling at him from out of the darkness. It was huge, like a flying mountain, and as he and Genevieve shot by, he could see frames of iron and glass clinging to its underside and the glint of polished guns jutting out from its canvas hide.
    Genevieve lurched sideways and Marcus had to hang on to the saddle as she passed so close to a churning propeller that he could feel the pressure from its blades. Not for the first time he thanked God for the dragon’s instincts.
    As quickly as the airship had appeared, it vanished into the inky blackness. Andrew gripped the control collar and pulled back, coaxing Genevieve into a steep climb. His hands trembled as the dragon rolled over and leveled off again. This was his chance. Somehow the Yanks had slipped an airship behind their lines. If he could take it down, Colonel Jackson would call him a hero.
    He almost thought better of it. Federal airships bristled with guns that could cut a rider out of the saddle with ease and they never went anywhere alone. Still Marcus Burnside was not a man to sit reading in the parlor while opportunity knocked.
    “Okay, girl,” he said to Genevieve. “Time to go to war.”
    The dragon snorted, blowing out a puff of smoke that smelled of brimstone. She was as eager as he.
    “Let’s see what we’re dealing with,” he said. “Fire!”
    At the command, Genevieve let out a roar and a great gout of flame that lit up the sky. Below them he could see several airships stretching out across the darkness and heading east. Without hesitation, he pushed forward on Genevieve’s collar, and dragon and rider dove down to attack.
    O O O
    Braxton sat nervously on the plain wooden bench in the mess hall, nursing a cup of coffee. He’d checked the clock twice in the last ten minutes but he did it again anyway.
    Thirty-eight minutes past three.
    Sherman had told him it would be at least four a.m. before they would be over the bridge. Braxton fidgeted with his cup before taking another drink. The coffee did nothing to calm him.
    He got up and started pacing.
    “Take it easy, Captain,” a young voice admonished him. It belonged to Corporal Davis, the demolition expert on his team. Braxton could scarcely believe it since Davis didn’t look a day over twenty. He had pale skin and a wispy blond beard that appeared to not have been grown on purpose, but rather the simple after-effects of forgetting to shave.
    “They’ll be plenty of time for walkin’ once we hit the ground,” Davis said. “Best rest up now, try to sleep.”
    Clearly Davis wasn’t sane because only a crazy man would be able to sleep at a time like this. That didn’t bode well for the rest of Braxton’s team, since half of them were blissfully stretched out on the benches and empty tables around him. They were a motley assortment of men, all from different backgrounds. Braxton found it peculiar that none had served together before this