The Sinners of Erspia

Laedo lowered his gaze and was silent, recognising the truth of the other's words.

Wafting Leaf spoke again. Laedo had been nervous that the fairies would ask him to enable an attack on Gnomeland, in an effort to rescue every slave there—an enterprise for which he felt more sympathy than the project proposed by the gnomes, but for which he had zero willingness, particularly in view of its impracticability. The elderly fairy's pronouncement, therefore, came as a relief.

“It seems best that you should leave our land as soon as possible. We will defer the death sentence upon your companion for ten days, in recognition of your need to effect repairs. Meanwhile, you are forbidden to have any further contact with our people."

With grave dignity the five fairies rose and launched themselves aloft to go winging into the distance.

Laedo sighed. Ten days. He reminded himself that he still had little or no idea of how he was to gain control of the station's command system.

The only warning was a steely glinting of metal in the early morning sky. It was as if the flat upside down landscape had begun to sparkle and glitter.

Then the glints blossomed into tiny white flowers which grew as they descended. Soon gnome-crammed cabins were landing all over Fairyland.

And not just cabins. Batches, packets and tied-together bundles of materials floated down under the big parachutes, even components of the big catapult machines ready to assemble for communication back with Gnomeland.

It was the biggest gnome invasion Fairyland had yet seen.

One which Laedo, as he watched the wicked snowfall, was forced to recognize had probably been precipitated by himself. The gnomes, concerned that he would warn the fairies of their plans, had struck ahead of schedule.

One question was answered for him. The gnomes did have telescopes. They knew where he was. A cluster of cabins was targeting the clearing. As they came nearer he saw guide cords tugging at the edges of the parachutes, giving a measure of guidance.

It was only one day after the commission's judgment. So far all Laedo had done was to affix his cargo ship atop the projector station as before, and remove some panels under the main board in the control room, hoping he could figure out some way to bypass the automatic control. He had just woken up after a night's sleep and come outside for some fresh air.

A long shadow fell across him. A billowing parachute was sailing over the giant treetops and heading towards him.

A crossbow bolt hissed aslant and bit the turf near his foot.

Laedo yelped and ran for the projector station's stair. He made it inside and sealed the hull as the first cabin was tumbling to the ground.

In the control room, he switched on the screens and yelled at the control board.

“Klystar is not here! We are under attack! Take us to Klystar!"

This time no parchment chattered out of the slot. The station shuddered slightly and lifted itself.

Crossbow bolts clanged on the outside hull. The station topped the forest canopy and soared majestically into the air.

Already the fairy militia had risen to meet the attack. He saw fairies winging about the descending cabins, exchanging shots with the cramped passengers. Some were armed with long pikes with which they tried to sever the parachute lines—a manoeuvre which usually was usually rewarded with a crossbow bolt through the chest.

Laedo saw one brave fairy charge in to jab between the bars of a cabin with a spear, only to become tangled in the parachute cords. The parachute collapsed and candled. Fairy and gnomes fell together to their deaths.

Still ascending, the station passed through a second wave of cabins, parachutes not yet released. Then it was heading for the gap between the two opposed horizons.

Where to now?

FIVE

A Map of Moods

The railway line wound through the broken landscape, curling round hills, clinging to escarpments and diving into valleys. The train of little box-shaped carriages climbed a steep incline by means of cogwheel and ratchet, then went rattling down the other side, swaying alarmingly on the narrow-gauge track.

To the relief of the passengers it adopted a more moderate speed on coming to a levelled embankment, its burnished engine puffing and chuffing. Munching a meagre meal of crispbread spread with fish-flavoured soft cheese, Adeptus Magus Harmasch and his apprentice Peadul stared glumly out of the window.

“Eh, Peadul, what a place,” Harmasch sighed. There was nothing to be seen but an oppressive grey sky, rocky crags and boggy ground pelted with cold, penetrating rain.

Thus was it ever in the country of Brodonia. The rain never stopped. The sun never shone. And the people were forever miserable.

Magic did not work here, either.

“I feel so unhappy I could kill myself,” apprentice Peadul complained. “Why do the Brodonians continue living? Or at least why don't they move elsewhere?"