Shadow Raiders

Chapter Twenty-Four

The first time I sat on Lady Cam’s strong back and felt the play of her muscles as she took to the air, I knew I would never truly be happy on the ground again. I had ridden dragons before but this was the first time as a member of the Dragon Brigade. She and I were battle companions and I was a Dragon Knight and that made everything different.

– Sir Stephano De Guichen, in a letter to his friend, Rodrigo.

DURING THE BRIEF RESPITE BETWEEN THE FIRST WAVE of demons and the second wave he knew would be coming, Sir Ander made certain the swivel gun was in working order, the chambers ready for loading. Then he went back down into the cabin, reloaded the pistols, took two short barreled muskets from a hidden compartment near the hatch to the driver’s station and readied himself for the assault. As he worked, he kept a worried eye on Father Jacob. He had carried the priest to his bed and wrapped him warmly in a blanket. He had not regained consciousness. His lips moved and he made sounds, as though he were speaking, but the words made no sense.

The sun shone through the broken windows. His pistols loaded, Sir Ander went to the front of the yacht where there had once been a door and looked out the gaping hole into the Breath to see if the naval cutter was still afloat. He was surprised to see a smaller boat had joined the cutter. He recognized the boat as one of those Trundler floating houses. Bats swarmed around both vessels. Green fireballs burst in the air. The fireballs looked smaller and paler than they had appeared in the dark of night, but he assumed they were still just as deadly.

Hroal’s brother, Droalfrig, was out there, as well, flying around the houseboat. Sir Ander looked up to see if he could find what had become of Hroal, saw the dragon battling in the skies over the cathedral, fighting off the attacks of three bats and their riders.

The dragon was fighting for his own life and would not be able to help Sir Ander.

Smoke was still rising from the area of the stable. Sir Ander pictured Brother Barnaby, trapped by the flames, fighting off demons, lying there hurt… dying.

Sir Ander asked God to help them all, then climbed up on top of the yacht where he had mounted the swivel gun. More bats were flying his way. He was ready for them, as ready as he could be. While he was on the roof, he gave the yacht a cursory glance, surveying the damage.

Most of the demon’s fire had been concentrated on the center of the yacht. The hull on the port side of the main cabin was badly burned. The fireballs had blasted through the outer and inner bulkheads in three places. The hatch was so much kindling. The roof was charred and burned to such an extent that a good rain would cause at least two places to give way. Sir Ander made a mental note not to step on those.

He caught sight of movement out of the corner of his eye and turned around, pistol drawn. He could see, through the haze of smoke, someone running toward him. He raised the pistol, then saw to his relief that the figure was human, not demonic. He recognized Albert. The guildmaster had come armed; he held a musket in one hand and a pistol in the other.

Sir Ander dropped back down inside the yacht, took a look at Father Jacob and, seeing no change, hastened out to meet his friend.

“You come in answer to a prayer!” Sir Ander cried.

“Thank God, sir, you are alive!” Master Albert gasped. He stood staring in dismay at the destruction, the greasy piles of ashes, the wrecked yacht. “Is Father Jacob all right?”

“He is not,” said Sir Ander grimly. “He’s hurt and I don’t know what’s wrong, so there’s nothing I can do.”

Master Albert looked stricken. “How can I help, sir?”

Sir Ander had been thinking this through and he had made up his mind. “The one person who might be able to save Father Jacob is Brother Barnaby. He is in the stables-”

“But they’re on fire, sir,” Master Albert said, alarmed. “They’re crawling with demons!”

Sir Ander was tucking the pistols into his belt. “I’m going to leave Father Jacob in your care. I’ve mounted the swivel gun on the roof. Preloaded chambers for the gun are up there, as well. The roof’s been damaged, so be careful where you walk.”

Master Albert nodded. “I understand, sir. I will not fail you or Father Jacob.

Sir Ander gripped his friend by the hand, then, picking up one of the muskets, he ran to the wicket that pierced the abbey’s wall and entered. The smoke was thicker behind the wall, stinging his eyes and stealing the breath. He cursed it and peered through it, trying to get his bearings, trying to see the stables or what was left of them.

Only one building was on fire, but the stable yard was filled with demons. Their heinous bats darted about or perched on the roof. He saw no sign of the wyverns or Brother Barnaby. Recalling the gruesome and horrifying deaths of the nuns, Sir Ander was sick with dread. He longed to rush in and kill every demon in sight. Sir Ander was an experienced soldier and he knew better than to let hatred and vengeance guide him. He told himself not to give up hope. Brother Barnaby was quick-thinking and intelligent. Sir Ander pictured his friend hiding somewhere, waiting for help.

In that case, help needed to arrive in one piece.

Sir Ander was thinking he would circle around the cathedral, using the smoke for cover, and come up on the demons from behind. A roar caught his attention. He looked up to see a dragon soaring over the abbey walls. Droalfrig coming to his brother’s aid. The dragon was about twenty feet above the walls and the direction of his flight would bring him near Sir Ander.

He had only seconds to make a decision. A gunshot would alert the demons to his presence. He decided to risk it and fired the musket into the air-taking care not to hit the dragon-and used his best battlefield bellow to call Droalfrig’s name.

The dragon heard the gun blast and saw the flash of fire. He snaked his head around and Sir Ander saw a dragon rider seated on the dragon’s back, near the neck. Sir Ander waved his arms, threw down the musket, and broke into a run.

The dragon rider coolly looked in the direction Sir Ander was indicating and saw the demonic force surrounding the stables. The dragon rider waved his arm in return and bent forward to speak to the dragon. Sir Ander cast a glance at Hroal, who was fighting his own battle. Hroal had slain one of his foes. He had only two to contend with now and, though he had a bloody gash on his chest, he was holding his own. Droalfrig shifted the direction of his flight toward the stables, roaring a challenge as he went.

The demons could both see and hear the dragon bearing down on them. Those on the ground summoned their mounts, while the demons in the air flew to the attack, raising their handheld cannons to their shoulders. Green fire burst around Droalfrig. Sir Ander had lost sight of the rider, but assumed he was flattened against the dragon’s neck, keeping his head down.

Sir Ander wondered about this reckless rider; a man rash enough to jump on the back of a dragon. Perhaps he was a sailor from the cutter. Whoever he was, Sir Ander was grateful to him and to Droalfrig. Most of the demons and their riders had taken to the air to fight the dragon, leaving only a couple on the ground, standing near the smallest of the three stables. The thought came to Sir Ander that these demons had been left behind, perhaps to guard something. Or someone.

The smoke that he had cursed was now Sir Ander’s ally. Concealed by the smoke and the deep shadow of the stable building cast by the morning sun, he counted three demon guards near the entrance to the stable, all of them gazing into the sky, intent on the battle between the dragon and their comrades.

Sir Ander was certain these demons had been left behind to stand guard duty and he looked around. What he saw made his heart leap with hope and then constrict with fear. Two monks-Brother Barnaby and, astonishingly, Brother Paul-were on their knees on the ground. Their hands were bound behind them. They had ropes looped around their necks.

Overhead, Droalfrig was roaring and breathing out his flaming breath. A burning bat tumbled out of the sky, almost crashing down on Sir Ander, who ducked beneath an awning. The dead bat landed on its rider, who was also on fire. Sir Ander was amazed to see the rider suddenly flare with green light and then vanish. He wrenched his gaze away from this astonishing sight and looked back at the two monks in time to see a fourth demon emerge from the stables.

The demon raised a scourge, its tips crackling with fire, and brought the whip down across the back and shoulders of Brother Barnaby. The young monk sank to the ground. The demon stood over him and raised the whip again.

Sir Ander’s experience and training went up in flames of rage. Never mind that he was outnumbered four to one, not counting the bats. Holding one of the nonmagical pistols in his left hand and his dragon gun in the right, he broke cover and ran to save Brother Barnaby.

Stephano, riding on Droalfrig’s back, flew directly over the black yacht adorned with the symbol of the Arcanum. He saw the damage done to the yacht, as well as the smoldering remains of bat carcasses. A person on the roof manning a swivel gun looked amazed to see a dragon rider. Stephano waved at him and the man waved somewhat hesitantly back.

Stephano was not surprised to find the Arcanum had come to investigate the attack on the abbey, nor was he surprised the Arcanum’s representatives had come under attack. The Arcanum was a force to be reckoned with. Even the Fallen One must hold them in respect. Stephano knew his mother certainly did. He was curious to know what the priest had discovered about these demons.

As Droalfrig flew over the abbey walls, Stephano saw a large group of demons and bats gathered in what appeared to be a stable yard. He wandered what they were doing. Droalfrig was not interested. He was flying straight to his brother, when he and Stephano both heard the report of a musket and saw the flash of fire. They looked down to see a man on the ground obviously trying to attract their attention.

The man wearing armor was pointing at the demons. As Stephano watched, the man broke into a run, heading for the demons. Stephano understood. He shouted at Droalfrig.

“Demons! By the stables! They’ve taken prisoners!”

Droalfrig turned his head. Sighting the demons, he glanced at his brother, saw that Hroal was holding his own in his battle and could manage. Droalfrig gave a rumbling growl and switched the direction of his flight.

Demons flew to meet them. Stephano raised his dragon pistol, but he did not fire. Droalfrig could do far more damage with his breath. The demons fired their hellish cannons, but they were disorganized and unprepared, and their aim was off. Green fireballs soared far above the dragon’s head.

Droalfrig’s breath was right on target. He spewed out a great gust of flame that engulfed the lead bats and their riders. Seeing their comrades go down in flames, the other demons hastily flew out of the dragon’s range.

If the demons are smart, Stephano reflected, they’ll attempt to flank us, come at us from the rear.

Droalfrig soared over the stable roof and made a banking turn. Stephano had been keeping an eye on the man on the ground, saw him take cover beneath an awning. Stephano noted the demons standing guard, and he guessed immediately that the man, who had the bearing of a soldier, was attempting to rescue the captives.

“Set me down!” Stephano yelled to Droalfrig.

The dragon would be far more effective battling demons in the air without having to worry about dumping his rider. Stephano would be of more use on the ground.

Beyond the stables was pastureland where the horses and other occupants would have been turned out to graze. Droalfrig swooped down low, slowing his flight as much as possible. Stephano slid off the dragon’s back and landed with a bone-jarring thud on all fours in the grass. Droalfrig soared into the sky. Two more demons had joined in the battle against Hroal, who was clearly starting to tire.

“Go help your brother!” Stephano yelled, jumping to his feet.

Droalfrig dipped his head in acknowledgment and flew off. Stephano drew his dragon gun. He had reloaded after killing the demon on the Cloud Hopper. He had one shot and then it would be saber work.

The demons and their captives were at the north end of the stables. He entered the stables from the south, gun drawn, searching the stalls as he ran for more demons who might be lurking there. Through the gate at the end, Stephano saw two monks on the ground and a demon standing over them with a whip in his hands.

A pistol report and the demon with the whip went down. The man with the soldierly bearing came into view. The three demons standing guard had been watching the dragon. They now turned at the sound of the gunshot. Before they could react, the man raised a second pistol and fired at point-blank range, hitting one demon in the face. As this demon fell, the man reached into his belt to grab another pistol.

He did not have time for a shot. The demons had been caught by surprise, but they swiftly recovered. Two of them leaped on the man and pummeled him with their fists. The man fell to the ground. Stephano leveled his pistol, but did not have a clean shot. A demon seized an ax and was about to swing. Stephano aimed his dragon gun and fired. The bullet struck the demon in the back. Stephano thrust the dragon pistol in his belt and drew his saber.

The demon who had been holding the whip was only wounded, apparently, for it was trying to regain its feet. Stephano thrust his sword through the demon’s throat and it went down with a gurgling scream, choking on its own blood.

He turned to see the demon with the ax aiming a blow at him. Stephano ducked. The ax blade whistled over his head and he drove his saber into the demon’s gut, drove it hard, to penetrate the strange-looking leather armor that covered the demon’s body. The demon jerked horribly. Stephano dragged his sword free and the demon fell to the ground.

The two remaining demons were coming for him. He shifted his saber to his left hand, picked up the demon’s ax, and threw it. The ax hit a demon in the head and, although the blade did not pierce the helm, the blow knocked the demon off its feet. Stephano jumped forward and drove the saber’s point into the stunned demon’s throat. He twisted the blade as he pulled it free, taking no chances on the thing getting back up.

Stephano shifted his saber back to his right hand and turned toward the last demon, but he was too late. He could see the ax blade flash in the sunlight above his head. A pistol went off. The demon shrieked. The ax flew out of its hands and the demon toppled over. Stephano drove his saber into the twitching body, just to make sure it stayed down. He looked around to see that the man who had run to the rescue of the monks had managed to sit up long enough to fire. He was staring at Stephano in dazed puzzlement.

Stephano stood breathing hard, saber in hand, looking swiftly around for more foes. All was quiet. No sign of any more demons. Even the bats had flown off. He lowered his saber and went to the two monks. One of them, a younger man, had his arm around the older monk and was speaking words of comfort. Their robes were bloody and torn. Both of them had been beaten and whipped.

“Are you all right, Brothers?” Stephano asked.

“We are, sir, thanks be to God,” said the younger monk. His face creased in anxiety. “I will stay with Brother Paul. Please go to my friend.”

Stephano nodded and hurried over to tend to the man whose shot had saved his life. He was bleeding from a jagged, ugly wound that had split open his forehead. Stephano regarded the wound in concern.

“I fear your skull is cracked, sir. You should lie down.”

The man gazed at Stephano, blinking. Then he smiled.

“Julian?…”

Stephano started back, amazed.

The man sat on the ground, staring at him. “Julian…” he said again.

“Is your name Julian, sir?” the young monk asked.

“No,” said Stephano, lost in wonderment. “Julian was my father.”

A pistol lay on the ground where the man had dropped it. Stephano reached out and picked it up. He drew his dragon pistol and held the two sideby-side. One was the exact match of the other.

He had never met this man before, but he was as his father had often described him-brave and selfless and loyal.

“What is this man’s name?” Stephano asked.

“Sir Ander Martel. Do you know him, sir?”

“He is my godfather,” said Stephano.

On board the Cloud Hopper, Rodrigo sat on the bed at Gythe’s side, bathing her forehead and calling her name gently, hoping to rouse her. Doctor Ellington had jumped back on his shelf. Dag stood by the door, ready to repel another invasion. When he heard footsteps, he drew his pistol. Rodrigo, his eyes squinched shut, shielded Gythe.

But it was Miri who appeared. She stood in the ruined doorway, staring at the burn marks on the floor and then at Dag and Rodrigo.

Dag grunted in relief and lowered the pistol. “What’s happening topside?”

“The demons are gone,” Miri said wearily. “What happened here?”

Rodrigo sat up and Miri saw her sister. Dropping the pistol she had been holding, Miri ran to her. “Oh, Gythe! Oh, my God!” She knelt beside her and kissed her. “What happened? What is wrong with her?”

Rodrigo shook his head. “She’s been hurt by this strange magic.”

“What can I do?” Miri asked frantically. “I have to do something!”

“We could take her to the abbey,” Dag suggested after a moment’s thought. “Perhaps the nuns can heal her.”

Miri grasped the idea thankfully. “Yes, we’ll take her to the abbey!”

“Can the Hopper still sail?” Rodrigo asked.

“I hope so!” said Miri fervently. “I wasn’t on deck during the last attack. I ran down and shut the hatch.” She looked out the porthole. “At least we’re not sinking…”

“Always a good sign,” said Rodrigo gravely.

Miri rose to her feet. “I’ll go-”

“You stay with Gythe,” said Dag gently, resting his hand on her shoulder. “I’ll take a look.”

He started to remove Doctor Ellington from his shelf.

“You should leave the cat,” said Rodrigo. “He seems to soothe her.”

Dag nodded and placed the cat gently on the bed, then went up to investigate the damage. Doctor Ellington rubbed his head against Gythe’s limp hand, trying to make her pet him. Rodrigo watched anxiously, but she did not respond. He sighed and shook his head.

Miri sat down beside her sister and took over placing wet cloths on her forehead and tucking the blankets around her. Rodrigo dragged a rug over to hide the scorch marks, then climbed the stairs to join Dag at the forecastle. He was standing at the helm, his hands running over the sigils on the brass control panel.

Rodrigo looked up at the sails. They were intact, as was the balloon. He smiled sadly. Gythe’s final protection spell had held, kept the Cloud Hopper safe.

“The boat seems airworthy,” Rodrigo said. He ran his hand over the brass panel.

“We have suffered minor damage. The magic is still keeping us afloat. Some of the rigging lines burned and one of the yardarms snapped. We can run some plain ropes and control the sails by hand and splice the yard until we can replace it. Thanks to our girl, we fared better than they did, poor bastards,” said Dag, indicating the cutter.

The Suspicion was listing badly. Several sailors were working frantically to make repairs to the mast. Another group had laid out the bodies of the dead and carried the wounded below. The captain stood on deck, shouting orders. Hearing the Cloud Hopper’s propellers start to whir, the captain of the cutter looked up and saluted. Dag returned the salute and went to the helm.

“Looks like the abbey came under attack, as well,” Rodrigo said. “I’ve cobbled some magic together. We’ll see if this works. Any sign of Stephano or his dragon friend?”

Dag shook his head. Rodrigo bent to examine the deck. There were no bodies, only scorch marks like those below.

“Some sort of magic in their armor deliberately destroyed the corpses,” he reported. “Not a trace left behind. You started to say something about the boots.”

“They had claws sticking out of them,” said Dag. “Strangest damn thing I ever saw. One in back like a spur-”

“Now what have we here?”

Rodrigo squatted down. He found in the midst of the scorch marks what looked like a small round object, about the size and shape of a dessert plate, only made of brass. The brass plate was badly charred, but here and there Rodrigo could make out what appeared to be sigils, though they were like no sigils he had ever seen. In the center of the brass plate was a chunk of faceted crystal.

He reached out his hand and gave the brass plate a gingerly poke with the tip of his finger. Nothing happened. It didn’t burn him or jolt him. He poked it again and again it just lay there. He picked up the plate and turned it over and found more sigils on the underside. He examined these and could make nothing of them. He turned his attention to the crystal, studying it with the eye of one who had noted that Lady Katrina De Burg’s famous diamond necklace, reputedly worth a king’s ransom, was actually paste, starting a scandal that had rocked the royal court. Rodrigo raised his eyebrows.

“A diamond! Not a very good diamond,” he remarked to himself. “Poor clarity and color. But a diamond nonetheless.”

“What’s that you’ve got?” Dag asked curiously.

“I believe I have found some sort of fiendish frippery,” said Rodrigo. “A Hellish bijou. A demonic diamond.”

He held the brass plate out to Dag, who examined it with interest.

“This appears to be some sort of grenade,” said Dag.

Rodrigo backed nervously away. “How could you possibly know that?”

“I got a good, close look at those cannonlike weapons the fiends were using.” Dag ran his hand over his singed head. “A little too close. Singed off half my hair. I saw one of the fiends load something that gleamed like brass and was about this shape and size into the back of the cannon. My guess is that the crystal-”

“It’s a diamond,” Rodrigo pointed out.

“The diamond holds some sort of magical charge that sets off the green fire like the spark that ignites the gunpowder that fires a bullet. The sigils on the brass medallion surrounding the diamond might be there to focus the fire or protect the diamond or to keep the green fire from melting the cannon or all of that together.”

Rodrigo came to take another look at the strange plate.

Dag shrugged. “You would know more about that than I do. Magic is in your line not mine.”

“True,” said Rodrigo, “except that I’ve never seen sigils like these.”

“Aren’t sigils sigils?” Dag asked.

“My dear linguistically deprived friend, is the Guundaran language the same as Rosian? Is Freyan the same as Estaran? Sigils form the language of magic and as far as I knew, there was only one language. Even Gythe’s Trundler magic uses the same sigils, just arranges them in different patterns. Apparently I and thousands of magical scholars down through the ages have been wrong. The language of these sigils is completely unknown to me.”

Rodrigo drew cautiously nearer to stare intently at what he was mentally terming the “green grenade.” He made no move to touch it, however.

Dag noted this reluctance and was disturbed. “Do you think it’s likely to go off? If so, we should get rid of the damn thing.”

“Are you mad?” Rodrigo snatched the brass plate out of the big man’s reach. “This demonic grenade of ours could be highly valuable. It might tell us more about the crafter who made it, for example.”

“More about the Fallen One?” Dag scowled and shook his head. “Who wants to know more about that? I say we throw it overboard, send it back to Hell where it came from.”

“Do you really think we were attacked by the spawn of Aertheum,” Rodrigo asked. “Fiends from Hell? I find that hard to believe.”

“That’s because you don’t believe,” said Dag sternly.

Rodrigo opened his mouth and then shut it again. Before the duel with the young Estaran, Rodrigo would have made a glib and lighthearted answer. He had been doing some soul-searching since then and, while not yet ready to embrace the idea of an omnipotent, omniscient Master of the Universe, Rodrigo had acquired new respect for those who did. He thought about his father, perhaps dead by an assassin’s bullet…

You don’t know if that is true yet, Rodrigo told himself for the hundredth time. The news could be rumor, speculation. Don’t go borrowing trouble.

“I must admit,” Rodrigo said with a shiver, “the sight of that fiend walking around with half his body blown off is difficult to explain rationally.”

Dag gave a grave nod. “I saw these demons suffer deadly wounds and get back up and keep fighting. I saw them hurt Gythe without touching her. I saw their corpses vanish in a flash of green flame. I saw their orange glowing eyes. I’m not a scholar like you and Stephano. I can’t explain what I saw. But I know I saw it.”

Rodrigo had been standing all this time holding the grenade in his hand. A startled expression suddenly crossed his face.

“What?” asked Dag, who had been eyeing the grenade uneasily.

“I can feel the magic, like a buzzing bee in my palm,” said Rodrigo. “It must be residual magic. I need to study this.” He started to go below, then stopped and turned. “Unless you need me on deck?”

“Go below and take that infernal thing with you!” said Dag, scowling. “I’ll need you when we dock, but that won’t be for awhile. I’ll call you.”

Rodrigo opened the hatch and was going down the stairs as Miri was coming up.

“How’s Gythe?” he asked.

“No change,” said Miri. “Could you stay with her? I feel so helpless. I need… I need to be doing something.”

Rodrigo entered the cabin and startled Doctor Ellington. The cat leaped up, hackles raised.

“It’s only me,” said Rodrigo.

The Doctor glared at Rodrigo in annoyance, and curled up again by Gythe’s head. She was still unconscious, but Rodrigo saw there had been a change, albeit a subtle one. She had more color in her face. Her breathing was easier. She was clearly better now that the attacks had stopped. But she remained unconscious. He called her name softly and patted her hand. All attempts to rouse her failed.

Rodrigo drew up a chair near to the bed and sat down. He was reminded of the last time he had kept watch at his friend’s bedside, eighteen years ago, when he and Benoit had rescued the badly wounded Stephano from the battlefield of the failed rebellion. Rodrigo had stayed with his friend throughout the night, listening to Stephano’s feverish ravings, fearing he was going to die.

Rodrigo looked at the object in his hand-a brass dessert plate with a diamond in the center. Dag had said this was what created the green fire. Rodrigo looked at Gythe and pondered.

Miri climbed up onto the deck and came over to stand beside Dag.

“I’ll take over,” she said.

“Are you sure?” he asked, regarding her with concern. “If you want to stay with Gythe-”

“No. I can’t do anything for her,” said Miri brokenly. “This way at least I feel like I’m doing something to help.”

She put her hands to the helm felt the Cloud Hopper respond to her touch. The walls of the abbey were in view. She and Dag both stared in dismay at the wreckage done to the cathedral, the broken windows, the rising smoke.

“The demons attacked the abbey!” Miri said. “The last I saw of Stephano, he and that dragon were flying in that direction.”

“The demons are gone,” said Dag reassuringly. “Likely Stephano and that dragon of his drove them off. We’ll find him there, safe and sound, and we’ll find help for Gythe there, too. You’ll see.”

Miri nodded, unable to speak for the choking sensation in her throat. She could not take her hands from the helm, so she rested her head against Dag’s broad shoulder. She felt his warmth, his body, solid, firm, and stalwart.

“You are a comfort to me, Dag,” she said softly.

Dag wanted to put his arms around her and hold her to him tightly forever, but he kept his arms stiffly at his sides. He loved Miri with a love that was vast as the vault of Heaven above and as deep as the fathomless depths of the Breath below. He meant to keep his love to himself, never, never to tell her.

He had her friendship, her sisterly affection, and that was enough. More than he deserved. He stood rigid, trying to keep from trembling at her touch.

He didn’t succeed. Miri felt his body quiver. She saw his jaw clench, his hands balled to fists.

Dag, you’re in charge… Stephano had told him.

No, sir, Dag had answered.

Miri did not know what had happened to him. All she knew was that she loved him. She was almost certain he loved her. She could tell him she loved him and she knew quite well what would happen. She would never see him again. She had to wait for him to heal.

The two stood at helm of the Cloud Hopper, close together and so far apart.