The last time Alexander Tolby could recall any manuevers like this was navigating the peaks of the Black Alps on Gaia to avoid Imperial pursuit. The May Queen was flying very low, and yet one looking straight up at the night sky would have to be looking very hard to see the subtle distortion of the stars overhead as she passed. She was concealed, along with everything close to the ship (the entire crew), visible only from within the ocnfines of the spell. Their Maggie, Tarna, was doing a fine job, but their captain worried she would tire out if they went any slower.
Don't let them ask me for help. Those words also chilled him; he shivered, told himself it was the night air, propped his foot on the railing at the prow of their Peregrine-class steel monster, and motioned carefully to Edgar, their navigator, who stood at the wheel. Boris and Drake were poised along the starboard side, sandbags held aloft. Both were grinning wide. They would enjoy this.
At last Alex held up a hand, and Edgar stopped the ship, leaving her hovering in midair ten meters over the rooftops. They were positioned directly over the rooftops, and Drake and Boris were adjusting their positions along the railing. Alex trusted their aim; he held up an arm, and then lowered it quickly.
Two unmarked sandbags dropped from the sky. What little noise they made was too short-lived to alert their targets; they landed on the two guards in front of the warehouse door, and they grunted as they collapsed unconscious with the heavy blow to the head.
Drake and Boris high-fived each other. Alex gave them an over-the-top eyeroll, shake of his head, and signature grin. All right... with the coast clear... it was time for the attack.
Three shapes, dressed and masked in black, became visible only as they neared the ground and the lingering effects of the concealment spell wore off. Three ropes dangled, and one of the people on the ground hurried over to put out the nearest streetlight, and then jogged back to prepare the ropes.
The lock on the door? Crowbar and wire cutters. It took only two minutes, with the two working together, to lead ten men and women out of the warehouse and into loops in the ropes secured around their middle. For some, it took a little convincing, but an inquisitive point between back in the warehouse and up in the sky had even the most afraid of heights stepping into the makeshift harness.
With help from the aether engine powering a makeshift winch, it did not take long to haul the ten up from the ground and into the May Queen. The last man out secured the sandbags, leaving only two unconscious guards, nearby piles of sand, and broken locks and chains as clues.
The May Queen banked away from the warehouses of RhyDin, climbing up and up, and at last the concealment spell was lowered when they had reached the edge of the city and considerable altitude. It was time to send the young slaves, in captivity for mere days or weeks before their liberation, to sanctuary...
Don't let them ask me for help. Those words also chilled him; he shivered, told himself it was the night air, propped his foot on the railing at the prow of their Peregrine-class steel monster, and motioned carefully to Edgar, their navigator, who stood at the wheel. Boris and Drake were poised along the starboard side, sandbags held aloft. Both were grinning wide. They would enjoy this.
At last Alex held up a hand, and Edgar stopped the ship, leaving her hovering in midair ten meters over the rooftops. They were positioned directly over the rooftops, and Drake and Boris were adjusting their positions along the railing. Alex trusted their aim; he held up an arm, and then lowered it quickly.
Two unmarked sandbags dropped from the sky. What little noise they made was too short-lived to alert their targets; they landed on the two guards in front of the warehouse door, and they grunted as they collapsed unconscious with the heavy blow to the head.
Drake and Boris high-fived each other. Alex gave them an over-the-top eyeroll, shake of his head, and signature grin. All right... with the coast clear... it was time for the attack.
Three shapes, dressed and masked in black, became visible only as they neared the ground and the lingering effects of the concealment spell wore off. Three ropes dangled, and one of the people on the ground hurried over to put out the nearest streetlight, and then jogged back to prepare the ropes.
The lock on the door? Crowbar and wire cutters. It took only two minutes, with the two working together, to lead ten men and women out of the warehouse and into loops in the ropes secured around their middle. For some, it took a little convincing, but an inquisitive point between back in the warehouse and up in the sky had even the most afraid of heights stepping into the makeshift harness.
With help from the aether engine powering a makeshift winch, it did not take long to haul the ten up from the ground and into the May Queen. The last man out secured the sandbags, leaving only two unconscious guards, nearby piles of sand, and broken locks and chains as clues.
The May Queen banked away from the warehouses of RhyDin, climbing up and up, and at last the concealment spell was lowered when they had reached the edge of the city and considerable altitude. It was time to send the young slaves, in captivity for mere days or weeks before their liberation, to sanctuary...