Again the horn let loose a long scream, followed by the rapid hard thuds of a single cannon firing into some great distance.

The big armored body kept moving its arms and legs, but there was little progress. King was half-choked and nearly limp. White smoke came into the eyes, and armored plates relaxed as they would in death, affording little gaps where a blade could enter and cut at tissues no stronger than Diamond’s. The boy looked at the sword and that keen ready edge of the blade, and it occurred to him that he could chop off that monstrous head and toss it into oblivion.

He could do what his enemy wanted to do to him.

And that’s when he recoiled—an image of violence and justice; a turn that would leave no retreat—and all the miseries of the day were nothing compared to the horrible thought that he would do that and do it happily.

Diamond eased his hand out of the breathing mouth.

King gasped, and the teeth and tongue in the other mouth started to chew until that sorry mess of a hand was yanked free.

King managed another deep breath and started lifting his arms.

Diamond picked up one long knife, and before the battle could start again, he pushed the tip into the gap that had already been stabbed once, pushing to the healed artery and twisting the blade until a heart was shredded, leaving his brother temporarily dead.

The cannon fired quickly and then quit firing. Some of the engines slowed while others held their terrific pace. The ship was attempting one hard turn, but the Ruler was enormous and stubborn and nothing changed quickly. Somebody shouted in the hallway, the words tangled together, making no sense. Then a big male voice came through a tube in the ceiling, calling everyone to battle stations, and that’s when hands began pounding at the locked door.

Diamond stood and let go of the knife, taking the sword with his better hand, lifting the hilt but not the heavy blade.

Keys rattled.

The Archon called out, “King. Have you seen him?”

King reacted to his name. Legs kicked, and he grabbed blindly at the knife in his chest, pulling and pulling again, finally yanking it free. Purple blood rose from the gash, forming a bright persistent bubble. Then he managed a pair of deep soggy breaths, finding the strength to whisper, “Here.”

Locks yielded, and the man on guard outside kicked the door open. His partner was limp on the floor and the human boy had a sword in hand, but the guard couldn’t see King behind the furniture. He cursed and came close and then thought better of it. What kinds of powers did this little creature possess? Stopping a few steps back, he pulled a heavy pistol from under his shirt, and with a hard voice, he said, “Come in.”

The Archon eased his way into the room. Nothing about him seemed formidable or special. Staring at Diamond, he yelled angrily for his son, but the voice was shrill and almost too soft over the droning engines.

“Here,” King repeated.

Keeping his distance, the Archon walked around the long chair. “What is this?” he asked neither boy. Talking to the bloody floor, he said, “This is not what we wanted.”

He asked, “What is this? What’s happening here?”

The airship had just started making its turn and now the engines changed again, struggling to push them in another direction. It was as if the steering hands didn’t know which line to follow. Another big gun began firing, this time beneath them, the furniture and the windows rattling hard. Diamond looked at the heavy glass and then at the sword, and once again, he tried and failed to lift the massive blade.

Out in the hallway, one of the ship’s crew shouted for the Archon.

“In here!”

The crewman entered. He was wearing a fine blue uniform and a tilted hat, and his jacket was soaked with perspiration, and the hat fell to the floor when he tried to salute.

“What’s the count?” the Archon asked.

“Three coronas, but dozens are rising, sir.” The crewman scooped up his hat and twisted it in his hands. “The captains says we’ve got maybe five recitations before those first few reach us.”

The news was an irritation. More important was his bloodied, helpless son. Eyes fixed on King, he said, “As I told you and everybody else. Shoot the slayer’s damned ship.”

“It’s very maneuverable, sir. And we’re short of gunners.”

“It’s no warship,” the Archon said. “Kill it, and the coronas forget about us.”

The crewman nodded, saluted, and ran out the door with his hat.

Diamond’s chewed hand was half-healed. He grabbed the hilt of the sword with both hands, lifting the tip off the floor.

The cannon under them fired again, seven fast rounds followed by nothing. None of the Ruler’s guns were firing, and the captain had given up trying to maneuver, the engines running hard and straight now.

The Archon decided this was good news. He smiled and let himself breathe deeply, some of the original smugness shaping his face. Looking at Diamond, he said, “I suppose Merit was trying to lure the coronas out of their house.”

“He is,” Diamond said. “Father told me his plan.”

“What exactly did he tell you?”

Diamond looked at the strong blade and the bright sharp edge. “While you were chasing me, my father’s men chopped the special lights out of the dead corona and tied them to a slayer ship. I don’t know how, but those dead lights can be made to shine again.”

The Archon nodded, and then he began to speak again.

And Diamond swung the sword. He didn’t think that he could, but he got the blade into the air and turned his entire body around once before the tip dropped again.

The Archon and bodyguard reflexively jumped back.

Diamond swung a second time, driving the hard steel into the middle of the tall darkened pane.

But the glass was thick and far too strong to break.

“Except Merit’s scheme is finished,” the Archon told him, finding a good sharp smile. “Drop your weapon, son.”

“I’m not,” Diamond said.

“What’s that?”

“Your son,” he said.

Then the cannon beneath them fired twice, and after a pause, it threw one more shell into the air.

Several voices shouted from the ceiling tube at once, no word making sense.

Suddenly the Archon felt less certain about everything.

The bodyguard was standing beside the injured man. Relieved, he said, “Just a blow to the head, by the looks. I think he’s coming around.”

“This boy is what matters,” said the Archon.

The guard came around the chair. He finally saw King lying on his back, fighting to breathe, and the man opened his mouth and said nothing and closed his mouth again.

Boots ran in the hallway. A uniformed crewman appeared in the open door, his scared face visible in profile.

“Status?” said the Archon.

But the crewman was racing for the stern.

“Status!” the Archon shouted.

The third bodyguard appeared. He was sweating too, pain more than any terror responsible. He came into the doorway and tipped himself against the jamb, blood seeping through his bandages and his face pale as milk.

“That little fletch is too close,” he said.

“What does that mean?” asked the Archon.

“It means that the asshole is near enough to kiss,” said the crippled man. “Fire again, and we’ll cut our own guide wires and likely puncture our bladders too.”

“This is madness,” the Archon said.

Nobody else spoke.

“Why would the man put the boy at risk?” He looked at Diamond and tried a smile. “What else is planned?”

Again, Diamond swung at the window.

The glass shook but held, and the Archon watched him. Recognition came into that narrow plain face, bringing doubt and amazement and a sturdy capacity to do nothing, not quite believing what he knew to be true.

Several cannons started firing from the ship’s stern.

The healthy guard thought that was good news. “Merit’s getting punched now,” he said.