The Draykin moved as a group. Of the three-score that had joined in the ambush, maybe twenty remained. They walked through the city with the pride of successful hunters, though, hissing and growling at each other in their savage tongue. As they moved Fengel spied others, carrying baskets, sharpening weapons, or simply sunning themselves on the steps of the low pyramids. He still couldn't tell their sex apart, but Fengel did see a child, no bigger than a dog. When the procession passed, some of these others ran up to query and chat with the hunters, falling in behind to peer at the captive pirates. Before long they had quite the escort.
I need to consider an escape plan. Unfortunately, nothing came to mind. Ultimately, he simply needed to watch for the proper moment, and be ready to seize it. Weirdly, Fengel realized he wasn't afraid. Being captured was vexing, and the state of his crew was worrisome. But the Draykin had expended much effort to bring them all alive. And if Rastalak had been true, they were bringing him straight to the Governor's Lantern in the temple at the center of the city. He lay back, and decided to try and enjoy the ride.
The procession turned a corner. Fengel could only look up with any ease. Yet up above, just as they passed the curve of a spiraling tower, appeared a lumbering blimp-shape over the far western edge of the valley.
It was the Copper Queen.
Euron's airship looked much the worse for wear. Worse even than the shape he'd left it in last. The gas-bag frame was broken and slumped, most of the light-air gas cells bulging out of the stern-end of the bag, distending it like fish eggs in a cloth sack. Below it the deck of the vessel itself pitched downward, the bowsprit poking down at the ground at almost forty-five degrees. The hull was blackened and scorched. Ratlines and support cables dangled free. No cannons poked their fat noses out from the gunwales.
The angle was such that Fengel couldn't see well onto the deck; his captors and the cityscape got in the way. He didn't see any movement, though. And if the ship were crewed then there should have been the lithe shapes of the lookouts atop the gas-bag, if nothing else.
Some of the Draykin in the streets called out and pointed to the flying wreck. The procession slowed as others noticed, gabbling amongst themselves.
"Mister Smalls?" Fengel called.
"Aye, sir?" replied the steward.
"I can see the Queen. She looks abandoned. What do you think she's doing up here?"
"We left her drifting, sir. It's possible, I suppose, that she's here coincidentally. But I doubt it, were I being honest."
"And you are the soul of honesty indeed.” Too far, too fast. Natasha had to be involved. "Can you see the Dawnhawk anywhere?"
"Aye sir, just a moment ago. The northern edge of the valley."
"Curious and more curious," he muttered to himself. "I sincerely hope that Lucian hasn't—"
He was interrupted by a massive explosion that flared into the life above them. The noise deafened him, echoing and reverberating down the city streets. His captors yowled in surprise and dropped him. Fengel landed with a grunt on the paved stones of the wide street beneath them. He rolled back to look, still tied to the long pole they carried him upon. Up above, the Copper Queen was gone. Where it had floated, a cloud of spreading debris rained down onto the city.
He stared. Only one thing could have happened. It was every sailor's fear, sea-borne and sky.
Fengel glanced back at the procession. His crew had been similarly dropped, the Draykin all cowering and gabbing at each other for the moment. Henry, Sarah, Oscar, and Geoffrey were all awake and looking around. Even Maxim stirred a bit, for which Fengel was thankful. Unfortunately, their bonds were still tight; now was not the time to escape.
He caught his steward's eye. "Powder magazine," he said.
Smalls nodded. "Or the gas-bag. Captain, I saw a rope, I think. Hanging off the bow. You don't think Natasha..." He trailed off, and Fengel understood his fear.
Their captors recovered from their surprise. They hoisted the sky-pirates and again moved on their way, if a little slower and more distracted than before. Up above, the explosion of the Queen had disturbed the nesting birds and sky-creatures that lived in the ruined upper towers. They soared and flew, calling out to each other in raucous, screeching cries.
As they moved along, Fengel came to a realization that knocked him out of his worries. Those are scryn. More took to the skies with every passing moment. Whole flocks of the repulsive creatures roosted in the upper bounds of the city. Fengel shuddered, glad that they didn't seem interested in coming below to harry the Draykin.
The street opened onto a wide plaza, the massive temple-manse they'd seen at its center. The building was huge, like almost everything else here. Unlike the others, it bore the marks of both the old style of architecture and the newer, more primitive ones. It seemed almost remade, or repurposed. The stair-step pyramid shape was evident in its lines, but more elegantly constructed than the others in Yrinium. Replicas, Fengel realized. The smaller pyramids were of Draykin construction; this was what they were copying.