FWFW 3 - 79

Morgan circled the downed ship, watching the flurry of activity on the deck from hundreds of meters above. He could see the bright, blue, and red flickering Energy aura of Tanna ap’Cilla, overshadowing the much dimmer auras of the rest of the crew and the captives they held before them. He counted thirty visible crew members, each with a human, collared and on their knees before them. Tanna stood at the center of the congregation, bright eyes tracking Morgan’s movement in the sky above.

“Want to play dirty, then?” Morgan growled, sudden memories of hostage situations he’d seen back on Earth during the chaos that unfolded as the great nations started to crumble and devolve into sparring factions. Morgan whipped Bloodfang, still crusty with Finneal’s blood, and dove toward the center of the grouping.

He aimed to put himself directly in front of Tanna, and he did so, landing with a thunderous crack of his wings and a tremendous thud as his armored boots smashed onto the wooden deck. His face was visored, so all he presented to Tanna was a smooth, mirror-polished, silvery countenance. He held Bloodfang high and said, “Threatening these people is the wrong move to make with me.”

“We’re only ensuring we don’t end up slaughtered like Finneal, Morgan. This crew isn’t a match for you. Do you want to slaughter weaklings? Is that the kind of man you are?”

“How many people have you hurt or killed?” Morgan asked, looking at the despairing, bruised faces of the people closest. He saw Arthur Ballard, held at Gella’s feet, and though the captain didn’t have his saber to the older man’s throat, he held it by his side in a white-knuckled grip. Morgan glared at the man, trying to see the eyes beneath his pretentiously high captain’s hat, but the Gella refused to look directly at Morgan’s shiny visor.

“None! The only fool that laid a fatal hand upon a human has already been punished—Finneal.”

“Convenient that he’s not here to speak for himself. So, how do you see this playing out, Tanna? Was it you that bound me in the tower? Should I let bygones be bygones?”

“No, Morgan. I’ve thought this through, and I have a solution in mind. A way for me to make amends and for your people to benefit as a result of our transgression.” Tanna looked at his visor, her green eyes steady and open, and Morgan didn’t feel any Energy being gathered by the woman. He studied her with his Void Vision, and the only emotion he could read from here was fear, which surprised him. She’d always seemed so confident and self-assured. Was he so intimidating?

“I’m listening.” Morgan glared around the deck, studying the auras and emotions coming out of the gathered crew, and he predominantly read fear and a flickering white flare of hope from many.

“Take this ship. Take it as payment for our crime. Turn this crew loose and let them find their way through this mountainous wilderness back to Gelica. I’ll stay with you and your people, Morgan. I’ll help you fly this thing back to your town, and then I’ll go with you to Tharcray—I’ll help you petition the Empire for member status and put an end to the schemes of men like ap’Gravin.”

“Just like that?” Morgan asked. “You’d turn on your master?”

“You use the term as an insult, but you’re right. I’m as a slave to ap’Gravin. He holds leverage over me, and when I betray him by helping you, he’ll put a price on my head and cash in his leverage. I’ll lose everything. I’m being transparent, Morgan. I’m offering my service to you so that you won’t kill me but also because I think your people are worth helping, and I tire of having a yoke on my neck. Do you believe me?”

Morgan scrutinized Tanna while she spoke, studying her aura and emotions, and he only read desperation, a glimmer of hope, and honesty. He didn’t think she was lying. “All right, show me you mean it. Remove those collars and have your crew put their weapons away.”

Tanna looked at his implacable visor for several long moments, her eyes darting to Bloodfang’s soiled blade and Morgan’s broad, dark wings, and then she nodded. “Do it!”

“But, Tanna . . .” Gella began, and she hissed at him.

“Quiet, Captain,” she gestured to Arthur Ballard. “Are you willing to slaughter a helpless man to try to keep ap’Gravin happy?”

“No. No, I suppose I’m not. Do as he says!” Gella led by example, sheathing his saber and touching Arthur’s collar, pulling it away with a series of clicks. The rest of the crew followed suit, and the humans stood, some angrily, some with tears in their eyes. One large man started shoving the crewmember who’d been holding him, and Morgan cracked his wings, holding Bloodfang up.

“I know you’re angry! You should be! Let’s not turn this into a bloodbath, though. Gella, get your people together on the port side of the deck. First Landing citizens! Come stand behind me.”

“They have more of us below decks, Morgan!” Arthur said, hurrying over to his side of the deck.

“Yeah, I figured. Tanna? Get our people free and out here, and then we can discuss your terms.” He saw Tanna was about to speak, but then her eyes went wide, and Morgan felt lancing, ripping pain from his right wing. He cried out and stumbled sideways, blood and feathers bursting into the air as he tried to roll his shoulders toward the source of his pain.

“Thought that I would die so easily, fool?” Finneal boomed, and Morgan was startled by his appearance. He’d grown huge, easily topping seven feet, and though his physical body could be seen through them, he was cloaked in a roiling, cloudy shadowy form. His long, shadow-clad arm with ten-inch claws extending from each finger dripped Morgan’s blood on the deck as he strode forward. Each of his steps thudded and vibrated the wooden planks, and he laughed, yellow-red eyes gazing out of the shadows under his hooded cloak.

“Finneal, stop!” Tanna cried, holding out her hands. “I’ve brokered a deal!”

“Your Ancestors can lick my balls, Tanna. Take your deal and shove it into that icy ass of yours!” Finneal’s voice was guttural, harsh, and clearly mad. Then he surprised Morgan, and Tanna, by leaping at the woman, drawing his two massively clawed hands down the front of her, raking her flesh, shredding her pale blue robe, and spraying the deck with blood. She screamed and fell back, rolling on the deck in agony.

“Have you gone mad?” Captain Gella shouted, and Finneal whirled on him, moving at the speed of thought, and before Morgan could think to intervene, he’d speared the captain through his belly and lifted him from the deck of the ship, blood showering the planks to the tune of the captain’s mortified screams of agony.

Morgan’s mind finally had a chance to catch up to what had happened—Finneal was alive and devastatingly strong, and he’d nearly torn Morgan’s wing off. “Mother fucker,” Morgan hissed between pain-clenched teeth, and then he cast Void Missile, holding out his open left palm toward Finneal’s back. Morgan couldn’t fathom that the man still had his back turned to him, but there it was. He seemed busy with his disembowelment of Captain Gella.

Morgan felt his Core provide the void-attuned Energy to the spell, saw a ball of nothing displace the light and space outside his palm, and then it streaked outward, faster almost than Morgan could track, blasting into the huge shadow-man’s center-left back.

Finneal howled in agony, yanking his claws apart, nearly bisecting the captain as he spun around. Morgan’s missile had done its work, boring through one of Finneal’s shadow-decked wings and halfway through his torso, leaving a gaping hole of writhing shadows and glistening wet tissue. “You!” Finneal said, solidifying, in Morgan’s mind, the idea that he had lost his sanity—had he forgotten Morgan was there?

“You’re killing the wrong people, dummy,” Morgan said, Bloodfang held ready to drop into The Crane Defends the Nest, unsure what more Finneal might throw at him.

“Strike me in the back! Is that all you ever do?” Finneal gathered himself to leap, clearly projecting the move, and Morgan cast Energy Drain, reaching out and tugging at the shadowy Energy coating the other man. It came away easily enough, yanked into Morgan’s pathways and into his Core, and as he pulled from the prodigious pool, Morgan directed it out to his injured wing, where he felt the flesh stitch and new feathers sprout forth.

Finneal ignored Morgan’s drain and pounced, leaping into the air, bringing his claws down in a mad, double-handed rake, just like he’d hit Tanna with. Morgan thought the man must have lost his wits—how could he believe Morgan would stand still for it? He cast Void Step, and as he came out of it, a dozen paces behind Finneal, he fired a Vortex Lance at the huge man and renewed his Energy Drain.

Finneal landed, swiping at empty air, and Morgan’s lance tore into his lower back, blasting a hole the size of a fist entirely through him. Shadows flew out with the impact accompanying Finneal’s ruptured flesh and blood. Morgan continued to siphon Energy, and all the while, Finneal screamed and raged, practically cartwheeling in his hurry to turn toward Morgan again, charging forward, claws swiping.

Morgan saw that most of the First Landing citizens and crew members of the Skybreaker had cleared the center of the ship, but one young man, someone Morgan had seen a time or two at Green’s Tavern, wasn’t fast enough, and Finneal caught him with a stray swipe, slicing his leg off at the thigh. Morgan saw Energy flow out of the fallen man, bolstering the shadows around Finnea. “Feeding off the damage you do?” he asked, realizing it was a similar ability to his Energy Drain, though it seemed to strengthen Finneal, not heal him.

Finneal didn’t answer, just screamed in inarticulate rage, leaping toward him again. Morgan used his parry form to block the massive swipes coming his way, and as Finneal struggled to land a blow, he cast Void Wave. The destructive Energy ripped away the light and sound around Morgan, dissolving the wood under his feet and engulfing Finneal. The two of them fell into a wide hallway that traversed the second-level deck, Finneal screaming and clawing at the Energy that was eating away his shadows and flesh.

Morgan landed lightly, backing away from Finneal and firing another Void Missile at the struggling, screaming madman. The bolt tore into one of his thrashing arms, severing his shadow, clawed hand at the wrist, and Finneal’s screams rose an octave as his struggle against the Void Wave lost ground. When the air cleared, Morgan looked upon the man—smaller, gaunt, barely wreathed in any shadow, and badly damaged. His wings were nothing but blackened nubs sticking up over his shoulders, and his fancy suit was reduced to patches of cloth hanging by threads.

“Bastard,” Finneal said, drawing his thick broadsword with his good hand and charging, fury and hate seething forth from him in Morgan’s Void Vision. Morgan met the blow with Bloodfang and watched as his sword bit into and notched the other man’s weapon. Finneal was back to his old size, and Morgan stepped into his hack, lifting a foot to kick the man in the waist, sending him sprawling.

“Yield,” he said, looming over the smaller man.

“I think not,” he said, and Morgan saw that he’d dropped his sword and held a vial thick with shadows and sparkling with red rage in his enhanced vision. Morgan didn’t wait, stepping forward to hack the man’s other hand off at the elbow as he tried to quaff the draught.

“Ancestors balls! Damn you, freak!” Finneal hissed. He stared at Morgan, and his eyes went black, much like Morgan’s, but swirling with shadows, and then Morgan felt a tremendous gathering of Energy and knew one thing: he needed to get the fool away from the other people on the ship. He’d never tried casting Void Step while holding someone before, afraid it might harm one of his friends, but he figured now was the time to try.

Moving almost on instinct, Morgan stepped forward, lifted Finneal under his armpits, then, hugging him close, he looked up through the hole in the deck and cast Void Step, sending himself and Finneal fifty yards above the ship into the blue sky. As soon as they appeared in the air, he cracked his wings, pulling them both higher still, and then Finneal exploded.

Standing with the other huddled, recently-freed captives, Arthur saw Morgan and the insane Ghelli burst into existence above the ship, their appearance accompanied by that uncomfortable, crackling, ripping sound that Morgan’s magic tended to make. He saw that Morgan had the madman held close, flapping his wings to bring them higher into the air, and Arthur wondered if he meant to drop his enemy to his doom. He’d just pointed to the two when suddenly, with a *whoosh* like a tremendous fire sparking to life, they burst apart in an explosion of cutting shadows.

Of the Ghelli, the mad, shadow-wielding enemy, Arthur couldn't see any sign—he appeared to have burst into microscopic pieces. Morgan, though, Morgan was sent flipping backward, his wings, the only part of him not shielded by his silvery armor, broken and shredded by the blast. Morgan’s body tumbled back and down to crash onto the ship’s top, rear deck, bouncing like a ragdoll until it smashed through the railing and fell out of view.

“Here!” A high, clear voice shouted. Arthur turned to see Tanna, still bloodied and wan, lying on the deck but holding up a glimmering, cream-colored vial. “Help me up; we have to get this to him. Pour it down his throat if we must. Hurry!”