CHAPTER THREE
SHOT DOWN IN FLAMES
We hung half a verlang in the air—three-quarters of a mile—in a flyer with no pilot. The only hope we could cling to was that we were sinking rather than falling. The toir’in-or charged wands that provided lift for the flyer seemed to be draining slowly of their power rather than failing all at once. That gave us a sliver’s hope of living. A very thin sliver, for we were also on fire.
The few mercenary reivers still on our decks didn’t seem to think much of our future. They were busy grabbing the nearest vullwing and abandoning ship. I looked across at the black-clad outlaw whose explosive bolt had killed our pilot and set our ship ablaze. He would not be joining his fellows. I would see to that, and gave him a look that let him know it. He shrugged, th
