Daekhota relished the rushing wind on his face as he pulled his drake into a steep dive. The wings tucked, air roared over the membranes. A snort of smoke from the animal’s nostrils, an acidic and charcoal scent washed over him.

  He pulled back on the leather reigns, the drake’s wings opened and they levelled out. His wingman had followed in formation. Daekhota gave Azael a nod. They rode the updraft, speeding across the coast while gaining altitude.

  From a leather bag attached to his saddle, he removed a palm sized artefact. He tried a rune on the kintarthin, the slate surface did not illuminate with the sky blue glow he expected. We’re too far from the tower, he thought. All the better to enjoy the freedom while we can.

  Something caught his eye. A dark dot in the sky. His drake noticed it too, a deep growl vibrating his legs. “Easy, Liana.” It wasn’t a drake, it was too slow and the wrong profile. Daekhota whistled to Azael. When his wingman looked at him, he gestured towards whatever was over the sea.

  Azael looked at the dot and back at him. He tapped at his chest. What is that?

  Daekhota shrugged his shoulders.

  Whatever it was, was losing altitude. As it neared, he could make out more of what it was. An oval shape, like a stone, with what looked like a large house held below it by ropes. It was an impossibility. How could a rock fly, and why was a house attached to it?

  The drake riders orbited around the anomaly as it continued its way towards land. Daekhota suddenly didn’t like the fact they were out of range of the tower. He wanted to call this in, but they were on their own. He pushed the feeling down, focussing on the work at hand.

  The rock-like object confused him, it was shifting like a cloth blowing in the wind. Daekhota blinked and squinted. It’s not a rock, it’s material. What in the world is this? Whatever it was, it was collapsing.

  The wooden house smashed into the beach, at first bouncing like a stone on the water, before slamming into rocks beyond the sand. Wood splintered and broke apart, collapsing the building into a thousand pieces.

  Daekhota kicked his heels, sending his drake into a dive. The ground rushed towards him. At the last moment, Liana opened her wings. His stomach lurched under the deceleration. The landing was rough, tactical. He leapt from the drake’s back, unsheathing his sword.

  The blade shone in the sun. Azael’s drake landed nearby, the rider hopping to the sand. The animals grumbled, agitated by the strange sight. Daekhota rubbed at Liana’s snout. “It’s alright, girl. Steady.”

  The two riders stalked forward.

  “We should call this in,” said Azael.

  “We’re out of range of the tower. It’s on us. Study and report.”

  Azael grumbled an acknowledgement.

  The riders approached the wreckage. Pieces of wood fell. The large, bulging material collapsed until it was draped over the destroyed building like a market stall’s canvas.

  Daekhota placed a hand on the wood. It had been crafted by carpenters. The work was different, but he recognised some of the techniques used were similar to those he had seen used to craft their palanquins and buildings. He looked out to the sea, towards the uncharted waters. Where did this come from?

  The wood had collapsed in such a way that he could see a way to climb up and into the building. Daekhota sheathed his sword.

  “What are you doing?” asked Azael.

  Daekhota smiled. “Studying.”

  He found a handhold and hauled himself upwards, climbing hand over hand up the precarious lattice work of broken wood. The way was precarious, wooden planks had come loose. Splinters of wood threatened to stab him. The wreckage creaked and whined as his weight caused the uncertain structure to shift.

  “Careful, Daekhota,” Azael whispered.

  He reached the top, a half collapsed deck formed of the same planks of wood. The material overhead fluttered in the breeze. It cast an amber glow over the surface of the wood, a gloomy space.

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  Daekhota unsheathed his sword, holding it outstretched at his side, ready to parry any unexpected attack. A body laid on the deck, huddling an empty waterskin. Its design was different to his own, but the object was unmistakable. He crouched down and poked the body with the tip of his sword, there was no movement from the man. Daekhota checked his surroundings for any sign of life. Nothing.

  He shuffled forward, placing two fingers against the man’s neck where his pulse should have throbbed. He felt nothing but the cold flesh of the dead man.

  The clothes were strange, unlike anything he had seen before. The body was dressed in a kind of buttoned tunic with pants, similar to his own but in a far different style. It was like the clothes were of the same basic idea, but made by a whole other kind of mind. The man’s skin was much lighter than his own, lighter even than their own corpses. And the face– the face’s basic structure was unlike any person in all of Algonia.

  Daekhota sighed. A whole other race of man? And these clothes… speaks of a different kind of civilisation. He could not help but think of the distant horizon and what may be beyond it.

  He checked the rest of the deck. There were a dozen more bodies strewn around the deck. He found them in positions like they were napping, with no signs of struggle or death. It’s like they just laid down and died.

  Returning to the rear of the wreckage, he found a set of stairs, partly collapsed by the crash into the beach. Uncertainty filled his gut, but he resolved himself to learn as much as he could before flying in range of the tower to report the findings.

  Daekhota held his sword before him and climbed down the stairs. The wood creaked uncomfortably loud. He bit down and willed his feet to be as quiet as possible.

  Inside the building, it was dark and humid. He squinted into the darkness. Rays of thin light cut into the darkness through cracks that had formed in the walls of the building. As his eyes adjusted, he saw that much of the internals of the building had collapsed.

  He heard a click in the darkness. Words spoken in a strange language, a panicked question. Daekhota turned his head in the direction of the voice. A man sat on the ground, just visible in the darkness. He held something in his hand. A stick? No, something with a barrel, a dark opening at its end. The man held it in a threatening manner, as though it was a weapon. Blood soaked the side of the man’s head. The weapon shook in his hand. The man repeated the same question.

  Daekhota looked at his sword and back to the man. He could tell the man looked near to death, his skin deflated much like the canvas that had once held this building in the air. He looked more scared than dangerous. Daekhota spread his arms, looking as unthreatening as he could. I must look as strange to him as he looks to me.

  The man continued to hold the weapon at him, though his arm was beginning to sag. He repeated the question again, but none of the words were even close to anything he had heard before.

  “I’ll put my weapon away, if you do the same,” said Daekhota, quietly. Slowly, he sheathed the sword, before spreading his arms again. “See.”

  The man dropped his arm and seemed to sink back.

  Daekhota stepped closer, crouching by the man. “What happened here?”

  The man looked confused.

  He doesn’t understand me either. He pointed at his chest. “Daekhota.”

  The man went to raise his weapon again.

  He pointed at his chest. “Daekhota.” He nodded, trying to reassure the wounded man.

  The man lowered his weapon again and swallowed. He held a shaking hand to his own chest. “James.”

  “James,” Daekhota repeated, with a smile and a nod.

  The foreigner’s eyes rolled into the back of his head and he collapsed onto his side. Daekhota leaned forward, trying to catch him but was unsuccessful. The man’s head hit the wooden floor with an audible thud. He made no reaction to the pain. He’s out.

  Daekhota grabbed the man and hauled him onto his shoulder. The stairs creaked, threatening to break under his feet. His strong legs made quick work of the precarious climb, skipping over snapped steps. He appeared on the deck, still seeing no other signs of life.

  “Azael, I found a survivor,” he said, looking over the edge of the building. “Take him. Careful.”

  His wingman grabbed the man’s legs as Daekhota eased the unconscious foreigner down. Azael allowed the man to slide through his grasp in a controlled manner and until he could grip him around the chest. He eased the man to the sand.

  Daekhota climbed his way down the building and onto the ground.

  “We should kill it,” said Azael.

  “He should get to a healer. Maybe there is much we can learn from him. He may have come from lands beyond the sea.” Daekhota gestured at the water.

  “There is nothing out there. He could be a demon.” Azael began to pull his sword from its sheath.

  “Put it away, fool,” said Daekhota. “It’s not for us to decide whether he lives or dies. It is for the chain of command. For now, he is our prisoner. Who knows what trouble all of this could start, especially if we go and kill him before we even know where he came from.”

  Azael sighed with frustration. “Then he’s your charge.”

  Daekhota could only laugh as he watched his wingman return to his drake. The creature’s amber scales almost glowed in the sunlight. They contrasted the emerald of his own drake.

  He bent down and lifted the foreigner over his shoulder, making his way across the sand. The man snored gently. Hopefully he survives the flight.

  Daekhota placed the man at the drake’s feet. “Take care of him,” he said and touched the creature’s cheek. The drake nuzzled his hand. Smoke snorted from the left nostril.

  He hauled himself into the saddle and nudged the sides of the drake with his stirrups. They lifted into the air. The climb was noticeably slower given the extra weight of the foreigner in the drake’s talons.

  They headed back up the coast, flying high and fast. It would not be long until they were back in range of the tower.

  Foreigners, thought Daekhota. What could this mean?