//------------------------------// // Wherein Our Heroine Traverses The World // Story: Legends // by Carabas //------------------------------// About a half-hour or so after Dad had left to make his way back to the Society headquarters that afternoon, and a few minutes after Daring had finished packing what she imagined a trip to Corva would entail, she started to think she shouldn’t get her hopes up too much. Maybe Gamfer would say no. Or he’d casually mention how his clan’s island was attacked by krakens every other day, and Dad would unjustly reconsider taking her there. Or maybe Old Chestnut would have swooped in back from Gazellen, taken the assignment, and was at this very moment flying to Corva and laughing at Dad out of an airship porthole. More time passed, and just as she was starting to work herself up with worry, Daring heard the front door trill its usual symphony of creaks. She poked her head around the corner to see Dad. A cheerful light filled his eyes, what looked like aerotickets jutted up from his front pocket, his saddlebags were heavy with books and protruding scrolls, and from a greasy paper bag held in his teeth, there came the mouth-watering smell of hayburgers. Dad’s voice was both muffled and undeniably gleeful. “Nether min’ the cathe—the caththe—” He gave up trying to enunciate past the bag and briefly set it down. “Never mind the casserole. Today’s a good day.” “He said yes?” Daring all but hovered off the floor with sheer excitement. Dad grinned and nodded, and afterwards, she’d swear she hadn’t squeaked with pure delight that loudly. “I knew it! Didn’t doubt for a second! I’ve packed and everything!” “And I thought I was being efficient.” Dad ambled through to the kitchen table, on which he tossed the bag of hayburgers and the saddlebags full of books and scrolls. “Some light reading from the Society’s archives, anything we’ve got relating to corvids, cairns, and, where we’re very lucky, the intersection of the two. That should keep me out of mischief for the flights ahead.” He grimaced. “Hope they keep me distracted as well. Air travel doesn’t like me and the feeling’s mutual.” Daring flapped up onto a chair and leaned her forehooves on the table, ogling the books and scrolls. One of the latter had fallen and unrolled across the table to display a large map of Corva. Its vastness took up the easternmost side of the continent, spanning from the ocean to the spine of the Greycairn Mountains, a great patchwork of mountains and forests and rivers and valleys and lakes — or should that be glens and lochs? Maybe one of the books would be a Corvic phrasebook. “Gamfer’s clan and island, Glimrovoe, is here.” Dad tapped somewhere off the south-west mainland, where an expanse of islands ran from the ragged coastline out into the sea, whether singly or in companionable archipelagos. Daring leaned closer and saw him tapping one of the most westerly islands, hardly more than a pinprick on the paper. “How are we getting there?” she asked. “Tomorrow, we’ll get an airship from the aeroport here in Canterlot — which, since this map inconsiderately ends at the Bovish frontier, is somewhere around that mug on the counter there. Then we’ll change airships in Asincittà — just over the gap and right on that knothole at the edge. Then it’s all the way over to the far east of Ovarn, right over that expanse of table, and then we’ll apparently hop aboard a clan ship there and take off for Glimrovoe. Not a long ship journey either, mercifully. How’s that for an itinerary?” “Wow.” Daring grinned wildly. “We’re going far.” “Aren’t we just? All the way from the counter to the table here. I’m tired at the mere thought.” Dad looked innocent as Daring groaned. “Gamfer’s fine with you coming if you behave yourself. He’ll host us both in his own home. And he’s mentioned there’s chicks and fledglings aplenty, so you needn’t be lonely while I’m delving. You can make some friends.” “Friends, yeah,” said Daring, half-listening as she gave more thought to the journey ahead and the island to explore and the delve she’d be around for.  The exciting things. After the hayburgers were devoured, packing happened, in which Dad made a few tactful changes to Daring’s efforts. When luggage space was limited, most of a bookshelf could be set aside in favour of warm clothes, she probably wouldn’t need six compasses, and a toothbrush might be useful, just throwing it out there. After a moment’s thought, he smiled faintly and sadly, and said it’d be only appropriate to bring the helmet, though. So long as she was careful with it. Daring agonised over which of her compasses she should bring and eventually opted for the little brass battered one that had once been Dad’s, and which he’d given her for her tenth birthday. It was a lucky compass. No matter how much Dad might have gotten mauled or set on fire or immersed in quicksand or whatnot in the course of his earlier adventures, so he’d told her, the compass had always emerged fine and in working condition. She slipped it into the helmet — the helmet, her mother’s, still a little too big to fit Daring but only a little, she was sure — to keep it safe, filled it up with a set of cosy socks, and nestled the whole thing into one corner of her case.  From Dad’s room, there came a muffled and heartfelt litany as he wrestled with his own case and his barding and spurs. Her own work finished, Daring cheerfully wandered through to get in his way. After the packing eventually came to an end, a largely-sleepless night passed by. Daring tossed and turned, riveted by thoughts of Corva and what she’d find there and all the ancient corvid treasures that lay under the earth in the age-old cairn. She was dimly aware of Dad still up and about in his own room, reading by firefly-light. There came the sound of pages turning and a pencil occasionally scratching at notepaper. He took this sort of thing seriously. He liked to prepare. Morning took Daring by surprise. She belatedly realised she must have drifted off to sleep when she found herself in bed instead of sailing a ship across a lunar sea in search of the fabled Moonstone Crown, outracing the furious Mare in the Moon herself. When she groggily recalled what the day held, she lost no time in springing out and nudging Dad conscious. He’d fallen asleep on an open book and spent some time blinking blearily at the world before the nature of the day stole on him as well. Once they’d washed, they had honey and oats for breakfast before throwing together a travelling picnic in the form of a bag of apples, a stack of cheese sandwiches, and candied carrots. That done, and all else packed, it was time for the most important part of all.  Dad donned his hat and coat with slow deliberation, as if it was an old ritual. Daring herself mulled over what she should put on for the journey. Clothes were important. Besides keeping you warm and all that, the aesthetic made the adventurer. She instinctively went to dig out Mom’s helmet, but reluctantly decided it might still slip off her head. If high winds snuck up on her while she was on an airship deck ... it hardly bore thinking about. In the end, she opted for her bush jacket and topped it off with her favourite red scarf. “Very dashing. I approve.” Dad smiled down at her resting one hoof atop his own case. “Ready?” Daring smirked and flipped her scarf dramatically with a forehoof. “Born ready!” “Really? Are you sure? I remember you being born squalling and — ow! Assault! Savage assault! Constables, help!” “You’re not meant to undermine dashingness!” Daring waggled her forehoof, threatening another faux-kick. “You’re not wrong. Cardinal rule of adventuring.” Dad hitched himself into his case, opened the front door and gestured. “Shall we?” Daring took a moment to savour the moment when the adventure began, when she took the first step out her door. She glanced around at their street, which seemed so still and quiet, and glanced up towards the lofty and distant hubbub of the higher city. Past it, small tufts of cloud marbed the brilliant blue expanse of the sky and fussing weather teams shoved them hither and thither.  They wove their way back up into Canterlot at as brisk a pace as their cases allowed, up through the curving, bustling streets. Daring itched to be able to fly ahead, to get there faster, but she tried to put the thought aside. Before long, the headquarters of the RAS rose before them. Daring sighted a familiar black-and-white form perched on its roof, still and settled as a statue, with what looked like a pipe in his beak. As they approached, he glanced down, and casually took flight and flapped down to join them. Gamfer’s talons clacked on the cobblestones as he landed. “Thank ye both for coming. Dinnae doubt we’ll be grateful, Gallivant.” He spun and waggled the little metal pipe in his beak, emptying it out, and slipped it down into a waistcoat pocket. He inclined his head down to Daring. “And thank ye, Daring, for whatever ye did tae convince him. Ye’re owed as well.” “I nagged him like you asked!” “I kent ye were reliable.” Gamfer grinned conspiratorially at her. “Thank you for agreeing to take both of us,” said Dad. “I’m sorry for the imposition it must —” “Imposition? Havers.” Gamfer shook his head. “I’ve mair living space than I ken what tae do with, and it’s nae burden tae host a pair besides myself. Being a clan’s bard has its benefits. Corbies tend tae prefer bards happy and cosy and well-provided-for, rather than lean and angry and inclined tae satirise them. Shall we get oor ship?” “Let’s.” They got a ship. Daring followed Dad and Gamfer as they alternately wove and shoved their way through the clamour of Canterlot’s aeroport. Over the ponies on all sides and past an array of barriers and checkpoints, she could see dozens of wooden gantries and towers, flocks of tethered airships bobbing around them, pouring out and hoovering in passengers and cargo.  Gamfer’s presence helped clear the way. Plenty of ponies seemed to instinctively draw back when he stepped on by them or flapped up to see ahead and Daring was aware of guards keeping a level and distant eye on their group. But nopony gave them any trouble, not outright, and soon enough… “Aye, there we are. That peedie passenger-ship, thereabouts!” Daring looked up and there it was. The Peregrine was tethered to the top of one of the wooden towers, a sleek and comparatively small passenger-airship. The lacquered fabric covering its envelope had been painted white and trimmed in gold and the underslung gondola was the red-brown of mahogany. She’d never flown in one before. Daring studied it and an anticipatory grin lit up her face. “Got your ticket, Daring?” Dad butted into her trance-like gawking. To their side, the ship’s crew bludgeoned their cases into a dumbwaiter that ran up the tower and to the ship’s hold. Gamfer had already moved on ahead, strutting awkwardly up stairs made for hooves. “Yep,” she said, shaking herself back to reality. Dad seemed to be regarding the airship as well, though without nearly as much cheer. He nodded at Daring and nudged her towards the rising stairs. As she trotted ahead, she heard him sigh and mutter, “At least this leg of the journey’ll be short. And it won’t go too high.” “It might be fine!” she called back. “You might not be airsick!” “I might also be a long-lost princess,” Dad said sadly. “But I shan’t lie, poppet, it’s as equally likely.” They trotted upstairs, where they were greeted by a walkway leading to the Peregrine’s entrance. It was wide enough and the breeze was gentle, but Daring felt obliged to spread her wings for balance as she trotted up it. For the look of the thing, at least. She could imagine it was swaying, amidst gale-force winds and incoming sky-pirates and such. A uniformed mare by the door ushered her in and Daring entered the gondola’s passenger deck. Rows of cushioned benches criss-crossed its long, open expanse, and brass portholes ran along its walls. A bar took up one end and a dining area the other, each flanked by doors marked for crew use only. Dozens of their fellow passengers, mostly ponies with a few donkeys and what looked like a family of griffons, had already commandeered bench space and were reading or chatting or staring out the portholes. From below, there came the sound of luggage being heaved and stacked, and from above, she heard the hoofsteps of the crew doing mysterious airship-related things on the upper deck. “Here,” Gamfer called and Daring turned to find him nestled near the bar, where benches along the wall met at a corner. He patted the space next to him, and Daring cantered over, Dad ambling at her back. “Shame this one’s no got an open deck, but there’ll be time enough tae stretch oor wings on the next one.” The magpie squinted up at Dad and frowned. “I’ve seen mair joyous faces. Ye alright?” “For certain lax definitions.” Dad shook his head. “I’ll probably survive this stage at least. It’s only a few hours. Distract me with conversation. Don’t let me look out the windows. That helps.” “Aye? Any topic in particular?” “Professional assessment.” Dad reached into his jacket pocket and drew out one of the books he’d borrowed from the Society, bookmarked at several intervals with scribbled-on notepaper. “Found this in the Society archives. Thorn Thicket’s own journal while she was charting out the eastern Greycairns two hundred years back, along with details on some of the cairns she saw amongst the clans there. You reckon they’ll be of any use to us?” “Eastern Greycairns?” Gamfer shook his head. “Poor mare. Imagine having to negotiate wi’ Cairnlanders. Nearly worse than spyugs from Clan Scarrach. Still, let’s have a peek.” They bent over the book, and as they started talking in low tones, Daring sneaked an apple from the bag in Dad’s jacket and flapped over to the window. She peered out over the teeming, open space of the aeroport, excited by every detail. Past it, the white towers of Canterlot jabbed up at the sky and she scrutinised them for any sign of a princess on a balcony. Seeing none, she glanced round at the other ships in the aeroport. Where were they going? Where were they coming from? What were the beings on them doing? That pretty one to her left, with a turquoise envelope and a gilded gondola — she tried to make out the name and failed when she realised it was in some flowing, curly foreign script. From its walkway, a party of antelopes in their finery descended, deep in conversation amongst themselves, two of them propping up an elder in their midst.  Ahead of her, the Aquilo bobbed by itself, a crimson airship with a stylised black-and-gold crown emblazoned on the envelope, with no-one currently leaving or embarking. A single goat stood by it at its tower-top, twiddling through papers and impatiently tapping his hoof, as if he was waiting for someone.  To the right, another airship, the Fancy-Free, was taking off at that moment in what seemed like a Manehattanly direction. Its jaunty yellow envelope was festooned with streamers, and ponies crowding its portholes waved and hollered farewells at a similarly-behaving group of ponies on the ground. How many other adventures were beginning or happening or being planned? Right this second? In just this aeroport? Were any of them as cool as the one she was about to have? Obviously not. Calls from the crew came and Daring turned to see them slamming the entryway closed and moving off around the airship. The distant throb of the engines shifted a pitch, and she was thrilled to realise the airship was beginning to shudder underhoof, that it was beginning to move. “We’re flying!” she exclaimed, as the Peregrine climbed its first inch, interrupting Dad and Gamfer’s conversation as she wheeled on them. Dad offered up a smile that was trying not to be wan, but wasn’t quite making it. “Nothing like a first flight,” Gamfer said. He slumped in his makeshift nest and sighed a sigh of happy remembrance. “Nothing except for all those after. Savour the moment.” Daring’s hooves drummed on the bench seat as she jigged with sheer delight and whirled back on the porthole to watch their ascent. The aeroport below them grew smaller and smaller, as did the ponies crowding it, some of whom were waving their airship off. More of Canterlot slipped into view under them as they rose to the heights of the high towers. And though it could have been her imagination, before the airship began pottering forwards with more determination, Daring could have sworn she did see a flash of white at a high balcony before another tower occluded it from view. They rose above the clouds, leaving Canterlot behind, and the sun saw them on their way. It was hard to tear herself away from the porthole. Equestria kept on rolling on; far, far below. Fields and hills and towns and forests rambled by underneath, all toy-sized from Daring’s lofty position.  She glimpsed a thin line of railway weaving through the hills and vanishing into a forest and steam came puffing up through the canopy. Then, whenever the current view threatened to grow boring, a new sight slid into view — a ridge of mountains, a pegasus cloud-village, a flock of peeved geese. Several hours slipped by and she only moved away to go to the bathroom, grab a sandwich from Dad and once, when a solid carpet of cloud-cover obscured Equestria from view, to get a book from a nearby stack. But the clouds had dispersed by the time she returned and she found the ship had moved out over the ocean, a bay in the distance and kelp-boats plying the waters below. She ate her sandwich as she watched them. Dad and Gamfer had talked all the while. Dad’s voice was strained and his face was pale, but Gamfer was determinedly chatting to keep his spirits up, and so far, he was still standing. Or sitting, whatever. As the ship passed over another thick bank of cloud, hiding the sea from view, Daring listened in. “...Problem is, ye see, it’s a rare thing tae raise a cairn. Not every part of Corva keeps the custom. Some of those clans that do keep it have let it lapse. And nae wonder. Whole ages can come and go wi’oot corvids proving themselves worthy of the honour.” “You only wheel it out for your greatest, then? Your chiefs? Your … Cormaers?” “For Cormaers, aye, as and when one’s inflicted on us, and when they leave enough of themselves to bury. Not all chiefs.”  “Not all?” “Not all leave enough tae be buried. Besides that, not all earn a cairn. And if ye’ve earned one, we ken about ye. We bards’ll sing it and teach yer story, and yer name’ll be on corbie tongues wherever corbies fly. So the theory goes.” Gamfer clicked his tongue irritably. “Hmm. And the actual practise?” “Falls short here. I’ve nary a scooby who the joker in this cairn might be. The script in the entryway’s in some variant of Auld Corvic. Few enough corbies in the west as can read that these days. And it’s faded tae the point of nigh-illegibility. The only word I’m sure I can make out is ‘Gruamach’. That ring any bells for you?” Dad shook his head. “Thought so. It’s tae be expected. Two thousand years is lang enough tae make mince o’ myths. They can warp wi’ every teller. I dinnae know who or whit a Gruamach is. Some great chief or hero? The lost name o’ the First or Second Cormaer? A weapon? A place? Just some unknown word in Auld Corvic?” Gamfer shook his head. “I hope there’s inscriptions further in that’ll clarify things. Finding a Gruamach itself, whatever it is, would clarify things even mair.” He paused and glanced in Daring’s direction, apparently realising her interest. “Any guesses yersel, Daring?” “Oh. Um.” Daring thought. Gruamach had to be important if they’d bothered carving it. It had to be something to do with the cairn. But who or what would someone want to keep safe in a sealed old cairn? “Maybe an old chief’s treasure? Or maybe something they wanted to keep really safe. Like ...” She sought about for something suitably cool and precious, some treasure an ancient corvid warlord might have cherished, and her train of thought stole back three years. To an Antlertean ruin in the Everfree and what its old mage-lord occupant had cherished above all. Daring’s train of thought got mired when she guiltily realised that she hadn’t been back to see Cervile since, for all Princess Celestia and her royal agents must have met them and provided company.  But she was spared further thought when the whole airship juddered around her. She looked back to the window, where the clouds seemed to have tilted ever-so-slightly. Dad groaned, while Gamfer said, “Och, we must be descending. Peek oot the window, chookie. See where we are.” Daring pressed her muzzle up against the window and peered down. The airship seemed to be on a gentle incline and the cloud-cover below them was peeling away as they descended. And below the cloud-cover… Daring stared, transfixed. “There’s a city!” she exclaimed. “Is that Asincittà?” Dad seemed reluctant to so much as acknowledge the existence of the window, but he made the effort and shifted over, casting a brief glance outside before looking away. “That’s the culprit. Capital of Equestria’s best and maddest ally, the Asinial Republic.” He forced a grin. “Busy, isn’t it?” Busy didn’t do it justice.  Big, broad Equestria spread its cities and ponies out, but little Asinia seemed to have put them all into one basket and then grafted superfluous clockwork bits onto said basket. The great donkey capital sprawled across an expanse of coast, framed within the great, wide mouth of a river valley and running for what seemed like miles inland. Its buildings rose high, like those in Manehattan, but were webbed with gantrys, walkways, and superfluous-looking cranes.  Between them, the winding streets were alive with countless beings. Dense forests of chimneys and smokestacks filled whole districts, pouring white clouds up into the sky, and through them, smaller airships and ornithopters and teams of fliers flitted. The waterfront was the busiest of all, with countless wharves and jetties and arsenals servicing an ocean’s worth of ships. Daring saw donkey steamboats and ironclads rubbing shoulders with towering Equestrian clippers and windjammers, driven on by teams of weather-pegasi. Amidst the mix, a few exotic craft stood out, pictures from all her books come to life at last.  There, she saw what looked like a convoy of sleek zebra-crewed dhows, their alchemically-petrified timbers dark and their sails aglow with a strange lustre. There, a chunky, outsized galleon from Pachydermia, built on the same scale as its elephant crew. Over there, she saw a paddle-junk from distant Ceratos, its rhino crew furling its batten-sails as golems trudged in its paddle-wheels to bring it smoothly into port. It was like Canterlot’s aeroport, times a million. And though it wasn’t possible to take it all in, Daring gave it a good try. She turned to the fore of the craft. They were aimed at an aeroport, around which excited flocks of airships fluttered and bustled. Their design seemed different from the sort that ruled the roost back in Equestria — their envelopes were longer, metal-clad, and sported fins at the back, and their gondolas were attached directly underneath rather than being secured with a structure or a lattice of ropes. Daring squinted to make out their names. She frowned and then squinted harder in the hope she’d just misread. “One of them,” Gamfer said, hopping off the bench and looking the same way as Daring, “will bear us on tae Ovarn. And from there, Corva. Glimrovoe. Hame at last. All we need is to find the right one.” “Hmm. I’m sure airships shouldnae be this hard to find.” “Check the notice-board again.” From where Daring perched on his back, she could hear a strain of tetchiness finally leaking into Dad’s tone. “Maybe they’ll have fixed their glass by now. And — ow! Watch where you’re going!” “Watch where you’re standing,” replied the obscured quadruped, hurrying on under a voluminous cloak and cowl and trailing a clattering cart in their wake. Dad looked for a moment as if he was about to keep the conversation going, but turned away with gritted teeth. Around them, Stackwynd Aeroport roiled. The same semi-controlled chaos that seemed to revel throughout the city did so here, except it now fizzed off enclosing walls. A dizzying number and variety of beings bustled about — mostly donkeys, but with a substantial minority of ponies, as well as griffons, zebras, goats, bovines, sheep, gazelles, and nigh-on every other sort of sapient species the known world had to offer. Daring saw a couple of elephants over by the stalls, casually dipping their trunks into barrel-sized glasses of beer and reading table-sized newspapers from home. That same bustle had obliged her to hop up onto Dad’s back to not get lost underhoof, and he’d hunted about the aeroport in search of their transfer.  Thank heavens they’d not had to lug their cases around as well. They’d been spirited away by strange mechanisms and whirring belts into the spaces between the aeroport’s walls, and would, they’d been assured, be loaded onto their airship and sent to the right cabin therein. Probably. The odds weren’t terrible, at least. Daring looked up at the aeroport’s notice-board. It hung from the high ceiling, a long rectangle of brass-framed glass glowing a steady white by some alchemy, and with the names and times and destinations of airships written all over its surface.  A thin walkway ran around it, upon which a donkey jenny slouched and read a book, a speaking-tube by her right ear. Every so often, the tube would burble, and she’d rise, scoop up a marker pen and cloth, and make a circuit of the board to rub out and amend whatever needed amending with remarkable speed. For the last few minutes, she’d been kept idle while a griffon and a pegasus carefully wiggled out the old pane of alchemical glass, which had picked up a mysterious pink tint, and replaced it with another. Below, the crowd of aspiring passengers grew restless. But now the repairbeings seemed to have finished, and as they flew off, the speaking tube squealed.  The jenny got up with a groan, stretched, and then took off at a canter around the board, blurring pen in mouth. Airship names curled into existence in her wake. “The What’s A Piloting License?, calling at … Cromlech Taur.” Dad clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Not ours.” “Top Of The World, Ma, bound for Marephis via Tabuck.” Gamfer stood with a generous amount of space on all sides, and the old magpie watched the jenny work. “Even less oors.” “Why do donkeys name their ships like that?” Daring asked. “Some things in the world, poppet, are beyond mortal wit. That’s the Flies Like An Eagle, Falls Like A Brick bound for Eweboea. Ovarn, but not the city in Ovarn we need.” “Seriously, why?” As the crowd around them shifted and sections of it began trickling towards their departure towers, Daring shifted atop Dad and grumbled to herself. The donkeys didn’t seem to take this sort of thing as seriously as they ought to. If she’d had an airship of her own, she’d have called it something cool and adventure-y. Like Sparrowhawk, or Lightning Strike.  Granted, there was already a Wonderbolt called Lightning Strike, but Daring doubted he’d mind. But the point stood. She wouldn’t call it something like — “Beep Beep, I’m A Cloud, headed for … och, Canterlot. Nae use, unless you’re bored of my company already and wanting tae head hame.” Like that. Daring squinted up the board, willing the jenny to write something proper. And which would take them a step closer to Corva, at least. The jenny defiantly wrote No, Your Name Lacks Gravitas : Al-Antelus : Tower 4 at 15:00. Daring grumbled into Dad’s tricorn, convinced the donkeys were doing this on purpose. As she grumbled and icily regarded the noticeboard, the jenny wrote Please Stay Airborne : Rhovies : Tower 2 at 14:45. Though she still wasn’t getting into the spirit of the naming scheme, Daring could forgive them in that moment. “Look!” she said, pointing up, drawing the attention of Dad and Gamfer. “There’s our ship!” “Ah-ha! There’s the culprit!” Dad looked up at Daring’s delighted exclamation, and his posture straightened and rose. “The Please Stay Airborne, quarter to three. That’ll give us time to get there and get settled in.” “Tower Two. At least that’s nearby. No a complete guddle to get to like finding here was.” Gamfer shook his head. “I’m sure it wasnae laid out like this last time I passed through” “I blame the donkeys’ innate magic. Prods them to tinker and optimise.” Dad contemplated the all-encompassing kerfuffle. “Bit of a blessing that Asinia and Equestria are as friendly as we are. Without us, I suspect they’d go a bit mad and try to optimise the world.” With minimal faffing, they found Tower 2, and alternately wove and shoved their way towards it, joining part of a stream of beings that had begun moving as soon as the sign had gone up. Mostly donkeys and sheep travellers, with a few ponies as well as a bovine family, a cow with two young calves at her hooves.  They made their way up a broad and winding flight of stairs, and Daring saw them rise up past a tower floor that seemed to be entirely filled with crates which teams of portworkers were heaving into the gondola’s cargo bay. Finally, they alighted on the tower’s topmost platform, and Daring took the chance to flap off Dad’s back.  The tower was open to the skies and wide on all sides, enough to allow four of the great airships to dock at once, and two were at that moment, taking on fuel and supplies and cargo and passengers. One of these was their own, the Please Stay Airborne. Its long, metal-clad envelope had been tinted silver, a contrast with the dark red of the gondola underneath. A jack and jenny in smart scarlet uniforms stood at its gangway, and checked and waved through ticket-holders. “I booked a cabin for this leg. Had some spending metal sloshing about, and thought I’d as well put it to fun use. Once we’re inside, ye’re welcome tae bunk down in it,” Gamfer said, perhaps noticing Dad’s wince at the way the airship bobbed in its berth. “It’ll be a peaceful berth. There’s blinds for the windaes. Buckets tae boak in, besides.” “...You might have to translate that last one.” “If ye’re unlucky, it’ll become all-tae clear.” They were waved through by the crew, assured that their luggage had made it to the right vessel (“Trust us, sirs and ma’am, we’re as surprised as you are.”) and made their way up the gangplank, Daring cantering ahead to see the inside first.  Instead of the one open space that had filled up nearly all the Peregrine, the huge Please Stay Airborne boasted a large reception area with doorways and corridors running off to different areas of the ship. Gleaming bronze and dark, polished wood predominated for the walls and furnishings, a match for the plush red of the carpets underhoof. “Your starboard cabin’s this way, sirs and ma’am,” a uniformed jack said, as Gamfer presented his ticket. “Your luggage is waiting for you there. Should be making landfall in Rhovies tomorrow midday, wind-currents and the absence of calamity allowing.”  “Since there’s two fliers in your company,” said the jenny by his side, “we’re obliged to remind you that taking off from the airship from an exterior deck isn’t recommended in the slightest, as being left behind to the mercy of the high winds and storm-ghasts often offends. Meals’ll be available in the dining area half an hour after takeoff. We trust your journey’ll be pleasant.” They were roughly two hours into the journey, and Dad looked like a pony praying for death.  “Rocks,” he groaned to himself as he curled up in the cabin’s bed. “Large, immovable rocks. Hills. Civic infrastructure. Big grassy fields. Milestones.” “Do you want me to get you some more water?” Daring looked at Dad with concern. The grey hide of his face had turned green and stayed that way, and his head drooped over the side of the bed and rested over a bucket. It was hard to make out in the dimness with the cabin’s window’s curtains pulled shut as tightly as any curtains had ever been pulled. “A sandwich?” “Oh, stars, no. No, poppet. Nothing solid. It wouldn’t stick around.” He blinked groggily in her direction. “Could you get me one thing?” “What’s that?” “Could you get me something very solid and very earthy and very much connected to the rest of the earth — an oak tree, say — which I can hug a lot and promise to never part myself from as long as I draw breath.” “There’s candied carrots. Maybe they’ll help a little?” “Then, after that, I’d like you to get me whoever invented the first device that could carry non-fliers through the air as well, so that I can kick them at length. Or at least gurgle plaintively at them. Oh, urk, stars above. There’s nothing all around.” “Seen this before,” Gamfer said sympathetically. Some cured leaves from his satchel lay on a sidetable before him, which he delicately shredded with the talons of one foot.  “Seen what?” Dad groaned. “Earth cuddy rapport with the earth. Once we’re up at this sort of altitude, there’s nae earth to latch onto for love nor money. Ye’ve got it worse than most I’ve seen. And I suspect ye compound that by naturally being no great with motion at heights. Hence, yer puir body doesnae ken whit else tae do but … well, boak.” Gamfer had been right, they didn’t need a translation for that last one. “Every time I’ve been in an aeroport,” Dad croaked, “I see them selling pot plants for uneasy travellers to carry to take the edge off. Every time I think to myself, ‘This time’ll be different, it’ll be fine, I’m toughening up.’ And every time, I’m an idiot.” “Maybe fresh air would help?” Daring suggested. She wasn’t altogether sure what to do with Dad. She felt as fine as ever. Finer, if possible. Being a pegasus must have its advantages in times like this. Dad just groaned. “Some foul air? Pipefuls help brace me.” Gamfer nodded at the pile of shredded leaves and his pipe lying alongside it, the former of which he was carefully scooping into the bowl of the latter. Dad groaned harder. “Just … let me endure it. I’ll try and read something. Or get some rest. Or just hone my self-pity to a fine edge. Something.” “If ye’re sure. I’ll gie ye peace. I’m off to have a bracer.” Gamfer stooped to peck up the pipe and secured its stem in the side of his beak. “I’ll be on an outside deck. If ye need me, come running. Or send Daring running. Either-or.” He turned and left the room, the door sliding shut behind him. Dad groaned faintly and Daring flapped up onto the bed and pulled the cover over him. He murmured thanks, and she thought for a moment she should go ask for another bucket from one of the crew. Or see if any of the other passengers had a miraculous cure with them, or a pot plant she could borrow. She dwelled on that line of thought, but just as she’d gotten to the part which required staging an elaborate distraction so she could swoop in past some hypothetical evil Duke’s guards and make a daring escape with his prized flytraps, Dad said in a voice on the edge of hearing, “Your mom … always teased me mercilessly about this. In between saying the names of solid, earthy things to try and help me. Gallant adventurer-archaeologist, undone by air-sickness. Very teasable.” Daring listened and Dad continued. “Still not altogether sure why she put up with me. But she loved me enough to memorise the names of every mountain in the Greycairns and murmur them in my ear. So I must have had something going for me.” He was quiet for a long moment. “Maybe my dashing good looks. It’s usually those.” “Did you and her ever go to Corva?” Daring asked. Dad didn’t talk about Mom much. He’d been trying to do so more often since the delve into Fallow’s Freehold and he’d answer any questions Daring had about her, but she could tell the subject could never be fun for him.  Times when he came out with it like this were rare. And she wouldn’t want to disturb a chance to hear more about the mare whose hat she would one day fill.  “Never got round to Corva. Few ponies that do, nowadays.” Dad sighed. “Not that she didn’t sometimes raise the notion. If she hadn’t seen what was past a horizon, she wanted to. World spoiled her and me with horizons to chase. She’d be proud you’re here.” Pride warmed Daring. “You really think so?” “Trust me, if she could see you and where you’re going, she’d be hugely proud, and then insufferably smug about it for weeks on end. Every other soul in the Hereafter right now has probably had it up to here with her bragging.” The thought of a bragging Mom-ghost tickled Daring, and as she suppressed a laugh, Dad chuckled his own pained chuckle. “Try not to follow too much in her hoofsteps now, though. You don’t want to end up with your own airsick colt who’s only redeemed by his dashing good looks. Aim higher, poppet.” “Oh, colts.” Daring snorted with supreme disdain. “I won’t bother. Colts are dumb.” “I feel I ought to try and refute that,” groaned Dad. “But look at me, I can’t.” “Ha. Are you sure you don’t want some water?” “Pour me a glassful and leave it there.” Dad wiggled a hoof vaguely in the direction of the cabin’s one and only table. “Maybe I’ll be brave enough for liquids later.” Daring scooped up a nearby glass — the bottom thick and the sides leaning inwards, so it wouldn’t go flying or slosh everywhere in turbulent weather — topped it up from a tap in the closet-like bathroom attached to their cabin, and slid it onto the table. Dad murmured thanks, spent a moment studying nothing, and then sighed and said, “You don’t have to hang out with the invalid if you want to go check out the rest of the ship. I’ll be fine here.” Daring couldn’t deny she’d been itching to go exploring for over two hours. But the sight of a stricken Dad had kept her here. “Are you sure?” “For loose definitions of ‘fine’, yes. I’ll just lie here and make plaintive noises for the next while and not get up to mischief. Go find where the party is. Don’t go anywhere you’re not meant to or bother anyone you shouldn’t, alright?” Daring needed no more prompting and turned away to roam. “Don’t die!” she chirruped over her wither as she passed through the cabin door. From Dad, there came a gurgle of acknowledgement, and then he started muttering to himself, “Starling Peak, Mount Certain Horrible Doom, Mount Restless —” And then she nudged the door shut, and Daring turned on the narrow corridor, a fierce grin lighting up her features. So far, everything had been in the hooves/talons of Dad and Gamfer. Now she had a little freedom to nose around fun new things and she didn’t intend to waste it. Left or right? Left led the way they’d come in, to the ship’s stern, and right led to the bow and parts unglimpsed. She turned right, and at the end of a corridor lined with closed cabin doors, she saw a door sporting a sign. Bow Exterior Deck To Be Locked in Adverse Weather Kindly refrain from: Flying off the side, if capable of flight; Falling off the side, if not; Dropping anything or anyone overboard; Taunting passing geese; Imitating dirigible whale mating calls; And any unspecified idiocy. We thank you for not giving us cause to specify new things. Daring pushed it open with some effort, and stumbled out into shockingly fresh, brisk wind. And she saw such a sky. The blue vastness filled the world above her, glimmering from horizon to horizon, darkening and deepening to velvety richness the higher up she looked. Daring huddled into her jacket and scarf against the cold and buffeting wind as she trotted forwards onto the ledge of the deck, and gawked out past the railing.  On all sides and below the airship, great cloudscapes drifted like mountains on the move, their forms capable of swallowing up whole fleets of airships, their golden folds hiding crevices of grey and black, murmuring to themselves with a low, thunderous thrum. In the distance, she glimpsed a pod of dirigible whales slowly gliding between two towering clouds, their low song carrying on the wind. She hunted about for the proper words. “On the bow of the airship, our heroine beheld a wonderful sight,” she muttered aloud. “Clouds lay all around her, bright and ...” Daring paused. ‘Bright’ didn’t seem to have the right oomph to it, and if she was to practise her narration, she’d need to use the right words. ‘Scintillating’, maybe? She liked scintillating. The word itself seemed bright and sparkly and it seemed to fit the way the tops of the clouds shimmered in the sunlight. “Clouds lay all around her, scintillating and stuff.” She wondered if she ought to elaborate on that a bit more and leaned closer to the railing to try and glean something more out of the sky. The wind whipped about her as the airship bore on over it all, tousling her mane and brushing through her wing-feathers, inviting them to spread forth. Daring rested a forehoof on the railing, spellbound. Never mind the sign on the door, the expanse just begged to be flown in... “I ken bad ideas when they’re being thought. Bardic knack.” Daring spun at the voice of Gamfer. The magpie sat nestled down against the wall further along from the door, like someone had set down a round-ish cushion made of black-and-white feathers with a head poking out.  He continued past the pipe in his beak. “I mean, I was once daft enough to take off intae open and unkent sky when I was a fledgling. But then, I didnae have sensible and sage-like authority figures nearby tae set a guid example. Ye’re luckier. Dinnae mind me, by the way. Just polluting the fresh air a bit.” Daring forgot about the sky and asked the important question. “Did you hear me narrating?” “Aye. Didnae want tae interrupt ye. Every life’s a song. Why no sing it?” Gamfer groaned and stretched his wings briefly before folding them back in. His pipe bowl gleamed red, and as it tilted, Daring saw little runes etched into the inside that blazed whenever he drew on it. “Might persuade Skyare to make a habit of that as well, once we’re back,” he said contemplatively. “He willnae, but hope springs eternal.” “Who’s Skyare?” Daring had recovered from her surprise. If the only witness didn’t seem to find it something worth teasing her about, then it was fine. And she’d also realised that now that Dad was resting, it was her chance to bombard the magpie with all her burning questions. “Chief Tirla’s son. One of the fledglings I teach. Your age, or thereabouts. Might introduce the pair of ye, if ye’re in need of a playmate when ye’re there. Bit of a dour peedie thing, truth be told, but boot him in the tailfeathers often enough and he’ll warm up.” Gamfer turned his head aside to slowly blow out a long stream of smoke, and when he turned back to Daring, his gaze was sharp and curious. “Mind if I ask ye something?” “Can you ask … oh, sure.” A flash of boldness made her grin and ask, “Can I ask you things in return?” “Fair trade, eh?” Gamfer smirked past the pipe. “Alright. I’ll go first. How did ye convince yer daddy to go? He seemed unsure yesterday. I’m indebted tae ye for swaying him, and I’d like tae ken yer trade secret.” “Well.” Daring breathed out, marshaling the narrative in her head. If her audience was a professional story-teller among his clan, or whatever it was exactly a bard did, she should tell it well. “Okay, so. He wanted to take you up on it. It’s his job to explore cool old places and write journal papers about them, and nopony else has been to Corva in ages. He could have been the first.” She paused for a suitably dramatic moment before introducing the twist. “But he felt he couldn’t. I was going to flight camp for the summer, and he didn’t want to be unreachable in case anything went wrong.” “Flight camp?” “Yeah, flight camp.” Gamfer continued to look mystified. “You know, where pegasi and griffons can go to learn good flying technique.” A thought stole on her once the words left her mouth. “Do you have those in Corva?” “Och, no. Nae need. Nae shortage of adults oor fledglings can learn flight from. First thing any corvid learns, soon as they’re chatting instead of cheeping and they’re shedding their down.” Daring suppressed sudden envy for corvids and tried to find the thread of her story again. “Well. Well, anyway, I had an idea. What if he took me with him? He wanted to go to Corva and I wanted to go too. We could both get what we wanted and we wouldn’t be out of reach from each other. And he was still a bit unsure, but once I promised I’d be sensible and stay safe, that made his mind up.” Gamfer’s features past his beak tightened in a smile. “Hah. Had my suspicions when he came back to me. We had a guid chat then, and he got a few promises from me. Why did ye want tae come tae Corva as well, out of interest?” “Well … because I’ve not been before and I want to see it.” Daring grinned up at Gamfer. “It looks cool. You’ve got mountains, right? And valleys. And cool old tombs.” “Glimrovoe’s guilty on the last charge, no so much for the two prior. We’re too peedie.” Gamfer eyes shone. “But we do have sea-cliffs. Great and red and rugged, hunnerts of feet high, and when the roch winds blow and the sea hurls itself aff them, ye hear the thunder of it for miles.”  His gaze rose, as if staring up at something only he could see. “Seastacks standing tall above the water, lit wi arcane light at night to guide oor ships tae harbour, and crackling wi’ skyfire when the thunderstorms blow through. Inland, circles of standing stones. Great dark ridges jutting up along the head and spine o’ the isle, and in the head’s shadow … there, ye’ll find oor cool auld tomb.” Daring felt she could see it already. “It sounds amazing.” “It’s no wi’oot its charms.” Gamfer sighed happily. “Auroras as well. When the night stands still and the black begins tae blaze. Shimmering spectres in their finery o’ red and green and blue, dancing across the sky. Ye’ve never really telt a story till ye’ve told it under the light o’ skyfire. Keeps the whole clan hooked.” Daring could picture that too, but she hoped she could see that for real, the sky alive with the northern lights. “Is that what a bard does most of the time, then?” she asked. “Tell stories?” “Sort of, aye.” Gamfer looked thoughtful. “A bard has tae ken all sorts of stories. We have tae ken oor clan’s legends, and oor history, and oor law. And those three can blur thegither. Ye tally the tales and legacies of every corvid that’s come before, see what they teach us, and bend the ear of any corvid that’ll hear ye. That’s a bard’s duty. It’s a puir clan that lacks a bard. Puir, and daft. Though I may be biased.” “So you’re like ...” Daring scrunched her face in the effort to parse the role into something Equestrian. “...teachers and historians and lawyers all at once?” Gamfer shrugged. “Aye, ye can make sense of it that way, I suppose. Most of us learn the trade from an older clan bard while we’re still chicks and fledglings, and get apprenticed if we’ve the aptitude. Some others roam away and make pests o’ themselves, and it happens other bards vouch for them. Took the low road there, myself.”  “What did you do?” Gamfer puffed out smoke with every sign of satisfaction. “Misspent youths are great things. Dossed about the whole continent, sailed wi’ Clan Brineborne doon in the Asinial Main for a time, saw three continents before I wis twenty, and picked up all the bad habits. And soaked up enough stories and hard knocks to be taken in by the clan’s bard when I washed up back hame, and to be named her successor once I’d had that bit more sense pecked into me.” Daring was envious. She only had nine years left to match some of that, she’d have to hurry up. “You should write a book!” “Och, maybe. Tried once. But writing’s an exercise in misery and lunacy, so I felt. I pass those stories on the auld-fashioned way. I speak them. Or sing them, depending on how much whisky I’ve had. But I only tell my ain stories when I’ve especially vain or someone asks. The better stories came from history or legend. A Cormaer story, usually. Or any chief or hero whose story merited remembering and who merits telling. There’s some legacies ye have tae keep alive.” He was silent for a time, and before Daring could ask the next obvious question (“Writing’s not that much of an exercise in misery and lunacy, is it?”) Gamfer spoke again, his tone low and gentle. “See, that’s why I’ve recruited yer daddy. It’s all aboot legacy. About having a story that lasts, which corbies now and corbies yet tae come need tae hear, about living and teaching long past yer death. But we’ve nary a scooby who or whit’s in the Auld Howe, or whit they did. We’ve lost that lore. There’s a story untold in that cairn, a song unsung. Whoever’s in that cairn deserves better. We today deserve better. Ye see why I’m so interested?” “Yeah. I do.” “Chance came to uncover it at last, and I jumped. Most of the rest of the clan wanted to get right in there and explore, find auld treasure, poke around wi’ an ancestor’s bones, that sort of thing.” Gamfer shrugged. “And that’s fine. Beings ought tae get tae explore and find treasure and meddle wi’ ancestral bones.” This sounded eminently reasonable to Daring. “But I’d have been damned if I didnae get a full story out the place before anything might get mucked up,” Gamfer continued. “And when I bumbled through Equestria in my youth, I’d learned of a society of ponies who specialised in kicking the past till stories fell oot. Why no poach one tae assist?” It was as fair a description of the Royal Archaeological Society as any, Daring decided. “So your chief let you go recruit us?” “With persuasion. Chief Tirla wasnae keen on dragging in cuddies — Dream Valley casts a muckle shadow — but she’s got a guid heid on her shoulders. She respects bards in general, and tolerates me in particular. She’s oor chief, and her word is law, but she’s a guid chief, and she’ll hear a corby oot. And in this case in particular, she afforded me some clout. Besides, I assured her all I’d really be doing is involving a fellow professional.” Daring frowned. “Fellow professional?” “Aye. He delves intae auld places and uncovers their story, aye? And then tells other cuddies about them?” “Sure.” Daring was privately unsure if you could describe Dad’s most recent paper, Threefold Inspiration: The Merging of Tribal Architectural Styles in the Immediate Post-Founding, with Reference to the Canter Vale, Duncirrus, and Roanoak Sites as a story. She’d skimmed it and there’d been a dismaying lack of snappy dialogue or swordfights or dramatic and mushy confessions of love.  Old Chestnut hadn’t even tried to ambush Dad during any of his visits to the sites last summer, that was how boring they were. But Gamfer didn’t need to know that. “Way I see it, he’s just a different sort of bard. And the way ye are, ye’ll likely become one as well.” “You think so?” “Beings in the habit of practising their dramatic narration tend tae fall intae barding in later life,” Gamfer remarked. He rose with a groan and plucked his pipe from his beak with his talons, hopped forward, and tapped it out against the railing. “Hard for them no to. And with three bards on the scene, I dinnae see how we cannae get a tale from the Auld Howe.” The thought of being a bard as well thrilled Daring. The distant pod of dirigible whales vanished behind a meandering cumulus cloud and shortly emerged on the other side, their song thrumming through the air. Daring itched to join them, but did her best to suppress the urge. There’d be time to fly later. And she’d fly her heart out then. “I’m heading back in,” said Gamfer at last, emptying his pipe and slipping it back into his pocket. “Want tae chum me? Check yer daddy’s still in the land o’ the living. Then I’m of a mind to inspect the stock for this thing’s dining room and bar.” When enquiries were made, Dad concluded that oh no, he seemed to still be alive. But he’d managed to keep down a glass of water and half a sandwich, so the future had some hope in it. Feel free to keep marauding around the ship. Just keep the cabin curtains closed, poppet. Mount Cloudpoke, Hurricane’s Seat, the Sleeping Giant, Frosty Peak, et cetera. The dining room proved fun to investigate with wooden tables ringing a clattering conveyer belt driven by donkey clockwork, around which dishes migrated. Daring snagged a bowl of vegetable stew — the time-honoured dish of any pony adventurer setting out on their journey — while Gamfer opted for a bowl of oatmeal, which he salted thoroughly before eating. Seeing him peck into the shallow bowl and tip his head back to swallow distracted Daring from her own stew. The other diners seemed to be distracted as well, even more than they’d already been distracted by the magpie. “Tsk,” Gamfer remarked to Daring as he adjusted his pecking angle. “Ye’d think they’d never seen someone eat porridge before.” After that, as the sky out past the airship’s porthole purpled to evening, Daring left Gamfer to his own devices. There was still a whole ship she hadn’t checked out yet.  She found the door that led to the ship’s helm, and though she kept her distance, she sneaked a peek inside every time a donkey crewmember entered or left, wondering at the array of wheels and brass dials and levers she glimpsed within. The crewmembers themselves worked as if in a trance, their hooves moving without the slightest hesitation. A deck below, on the same deck as the cabins, she found the airship’s parlour, where many of the donkey and sheep passengers sat, sprawled, chatted in low tones, and in one group’s case, were halfway through a game of billiards. A gaggle of lambs gave her curious looks as she flapped in, but shyly averted their gazes when she grinned at them.  Down yet more decks, she pursued the source of the engine room’s steady roar and found it past a heavy door, red lights flickered and things crashed and steam hissed and the odd word that she theoretically wasn’t meant to know yet was uttered. It half-sounded like the engine room was fighting back and the battle wasn’t always going the engineers’ way. In the bottom-most deck, past doors she couldn’t look through, the airship’s hold had all the cargo and luggage slung within. She fancied she could hear the items of luggage grumbling amongst themselves, and the odd pair of cases vying for dominance. This was a donkey vessel, after all. And at long last, as the evening drew in and the crew began sealing the doors to the exterior decks and stacking chairs in the bar, Daring found herself yawning, and ambled in the direction of the cabin. She slipped into the dark room, and as her eyes adjusted, she saw Dad sleeping where they’d left him. Gamfer had made himself a makeshift nest by piling spare blankets on the floor and dozed where he sat. Making as little noise as possible, Daring flapped up onto the bed by Dad, pulled a corner of the blanket over herself, and lay and wondered what she’d see tomorrow that’d beat today. At some point in her wondering, she must have fallen asleep. The hazy image of a cake-eating contest with Princess Celestia which had probably been set up for entirely sensible reasons at the time vanished, and she blearily blinked awake.  The cabin was dark and the shapes of Dad under blankets and Gamfer in his makeshift nest and the wardrobe were all silhouettes. But a sharp grey light poked in past the edges of the curtains and, as quietly as she could, she flapped off the bed, slipped under the curtain, and stood precariously on her hind legs to peer out the window. A high, grey bank of cloud hung low overhead. But the skies beyond were clear and the sea underneath still had a defiant twinkle to it. And past the sea, past a peppering of small islands, she saw land. Bands of white beaches huddled under soaring cliffs, and past them, patchwork hills rolled past the horizon.  Villages slept here and there, clusters of little buildings sporting tiled roofs and connected by winding white roads. Out on these roads, and in the fields surrounding the villages, a few distant specks that might be sheep were already up and working. Ovarn. The last stop before Corva. As the long morning dragged on, Daring remained glued to any passing porthole or exterior deck. The grey clouds overhead peeled away, and under a midday sun, Rhovies took shape. It loomed from the sea off the Ovish coast; a huge and roughly diamond-shaped island straddling the horizon, one point tapering upwards into a craggy mountain.  Fields and hamlets sprawled around the island’s lowlands and open fields, coalescing into a dense city hugging the mountain’s lower slopes. Street upon whorling street of low-lying houses and forums and theatres and halls rested under the sun, their tiled roofs gleaming in all the colours of the rainbow, reds and greens and oranges and dark blues. As the mountain climbed, the buildings fell away in favour of great terraces hewn into its side, host to brimming orchards of cypresses and olive trees with grape vines spilling down over the edges. At the mountain’s top perched the real spectacle. A huge statue of a sitting ram had been carved out of the peak, an expression of serene benevolence on his features and a scroll resting in his forehooves, the pale stone of the mountain painted to make the statue surprisingly garish. Pale green fire crackled in the glass globes of his eyes like captured skyfire, lights to see by for sailors at night. “That’ll be the Giant,” groaned Dad when Daring excitedly described it to him. Gamfer, sifting through his own satchel in the cabin, nodded. “Carved in his own image by an archon of the city centuries ago. Keen on civic infrastructure, that archon, but not the most modest sheep there ever was. Urgh. Are we getting closer to the ground? I’m feeling less awful now. I think that means there’s imminent ground.” “Yep! We’re descending!” Daring all but spun in a little circle as Dad contrived to slump upwards in the bed and reach for his water. She slipped under the curtain again and peered out the porthole. As they drew closer, she saw them turning to angle towards the city’s port-building, one great complex ringing an artificial, protected inner harbour with neat lines of wharfs and warehouses. Sleek xebecs and little steamboats flocked in its waters. Two aeroport towers poked up from the port’s top, a couple of other Asinial airships tethered there already.  It was a lot smaller than Asincittà’s own waterfront, Daring thought. Maybe that helped it be a lot less chaotic. Where buildings and streets in the donkey capital had seemed to sprout and rise wherever at their own private whims, this city seemed a lot more organised, as if architects and city planners on high had laid down the law from the outset, and had patiently kept on laying it. This close, she could make out other things as well. Out past the harbour’s fortifications, the walls ran around the city, short and thick and divided by towers at evenly-spaced intervals. Armoured sheep toting large, serious-looking crossbows patrolled its length, and cast level looks up at the Please Stay Airborne as it bore upon the city. Back within the orderly sprawl of the city and dotted around the island’s long coastline, more towers rose here and there topped with manned ballistas, and a few seemed to casually swivel around to track the airship. Daring frowned. “It looks like they’re on guard for something.” “Aye. They’ve lang memories o’ Dunderheid.” Gamfer sighed. “The Seventh’s war left an impression. Best if ye stay on the ground and keep yer wings tucked in while we’re passing through. They get a peedie bit antsy around fliers. It’s a wonder they’re open tae trading wi’ Glimrovoe at all.” “Dunderheid? The Seventh...” Daring furrowed her brow. “You mean the Seventh Cormaer? And the whole war?” “Aye. The same yin yer queen threw doon in flames at Dream Valley.” “Princess. She’s our princess.” Daring thought of Celestia then and of the time she’d met her, which was still a top contender for one of the coolest things that had happened to Daring.  She knew some of the more martial legends around the princess — those were her favourite, even — and she’d seen the painting showing Celestia flying forth to kick haunch at the valley, but it was hard to imagine the tall, gentle, twinkly-eyed alicorn she’d met getting a warlike face on.  It was hard to imagine her throwing down someone in flames. “Princess, beg pardon,” Gamfer said. “Point is, Ovarn and ither parts were first in the Seventh’s path. They bore the brunt before he tore on westwards.” “Oh.” Daring eyed the towers and bow-toting guards, a little discomfited. This place seemed intact enough, it didn’t look like it had the scars of an invasion … but then, it had been decades and decades ago, and the sort of city that would build something like the Giant probably wouldn’t think much of fixing up whatever else might get destroyed. Walls, say. Towers. Harbours. Homes. “Well, nae matter,” said Gamfer softly. “Some certain clans still try it on, but Glimrovoe trades wi’ them in peace. Some of my clan should be here tapping their claws for us to show up.” Daring kept quiet and watched as the Please Stay Airborne bobbed on towards the aeroport. At one of the towers, teams of sheep were already patiently waiting at machines that would launch grappling irons to tow the airship in. As they drew closer, the teams acted on some unspoken signal from the leading ewe amongst them and sent the irons flying, where they snagged loops on the airship’s sides with a series of thrumps that trembled through the gondola. “That’s our cue.” Dad pushed himself up, already looking quite a bit happier now that solid things were just a not-necessarily-lethal fall away. “Come on. Let’s lug our luggage down and find Gamfer’s friends.” With some amount of faffing and heartfelt grumbling, they were able to negotiate their luggage through the narrow ship corridors and towards the main entryway, just at the tail-end of a large and extended sheep family leaving at a leisurely pace. The lambs seemed to have a game going which involved weaving between the adults and headbutting each other. The adults held their own conversations in quiet tones and occasionally leaned out in a patient, practised sort of way to clip the ear of any lamb who shot off-target with a headbutt.  Eventually, the flock moved out onto the sunlit stone of the tower and Daring relished the freshness of the air even as she shivered in it — the wild sea air blew in and made the city brisk even in the sunshine. Ahead of them, the crews and launchers had been replaced with a cordon of checkpoints and guards. At one open spot, a guard ewe waved them over, and the three headed to her. As they moved closer, Daring noticed her strange armour — layers and layers of folded linen, reinforced with metal sheets and flaps.  At her back, waiting behind, she could make out two other sheep keeping an eye on proceedings. Their wool was black, they wore steel barding instead of linen, and their heads were covered by grim-looking steel masks. Almost imperceptibly, those masks turned in Gamfer’s direction. The guard before them held out a hoof for their tickets, and as Dad passed them over, Daring saw she kept a level eye on Gamfer too. After checking the tickets, she looked up and nodded. “Welcome to Rhovies, newcomers,” she said. “Respect the laws of the Tyranny and the Archonate, and conduct your business here in the peace we keep. What is that business?” “Passing through here en-route tae home,” Gamfer replied. “Meeting corvids fae Clan Glimrovoe. Are any of oor ships in port, dae ye ken?” The guard’s expression grew a shade less friendly as Gamfer spoke. She didn’t immediately answer, but instead stood still for a moment and closed her eyes, as if listening for something. Daring tried to listen as well, and looked from side to side, but nothing odd struck her before the guard opened her eyes. “Down and out the tower, left along the waterfront. A few minute’s walk.” She hoofed the tickets back to Dad. “Best you met them and leave as quickly as you came, newcomer. Leave our city in the peace you found it.” “Glad tae.” Gamfer ushered them on as the guard stood aside and Dad and Daring rattled through with their cases. Daring cast a glance back at the guard and saw her give Gamfer a cold look before composing herself and turning to the next passenger. Once the cases were heaved down the tower, Daring asked, “What was she doing there? When it looked like she was listening, sort of ...” “Empathy, I think. The sort that’s a special sheep talent, like an earth pony’s rapport with the earth, or donkey cunning for mechanisms, or pegasi and corvids flying. Sheep can pick up on what beings feel, know when and where emotions are running high, even at a distance.” Dad glanced back up the stairs. “Not sure what she was listening out for, though.” “Unease, I’ll bet.” Gamfer adjusted the strap of his satchel. “Come on. Let’s find my clan. Imagine the dismayed looks on their faces when they see I’m no deid.” They set off the direction the guard had pointed, peeling away from the aeroport tower and out along the long, curving waterfront of the city’s inner harbour, their hooves and case wheels clicking over the white cobblestones. Dad brought his own hooves down on the stone with no small relish, looking entirely his old self again. To their right, the harbour’s turquoise waters shimmered with activity as sheep labourers loaded and unloaded crates, farmers heaved dripping bundles of kelp ashore, and gaggles of lambs played on empty slipways. From the latter, there came the odd splash and chorus of whoops as one fell in by accident or design. “Would have asked one o’ the others to come with me,” Gamfer remarked, as they side-stepped a drenched lamb who clambered out the water onto the stone beside them, intent on avenging herself. “Gies me company and broadens their horizons, ye ken. Decided otherwise. Others can be wary enough of one corbie, ye saw. Two would have them reaching for their crossbows first and asking questions after.” Daring wondered if she ought to argue that point — beings were surely nicer than that — but she remembered the guard, and wondered whether she hadn’t been holding back because Daring and Dad had been there. Plenty of the sheep on the street seemed to be giving them a wide berth as well, just like beings had in Asincittà’s aeroport as well. “They like oor clan’s stone just fine, but I imagine they’d sooner do without the corbies that escort it here.” Gamfer craned his head and his eyes lit up. “And speaking o’ the deils, that’s a clan ship. This way!” He quickened his pace, and Daring took off after him, enthusiasm filling her. She was dimly aware of Dad at her heels, but had eyes only for the parting shapes of docked ships lined along the curving wharf, craning her head to make out the clan’s ship, wherever it may be. And then, past the shape of a weatherbeaten xebec, she saw the corvid ship. It wasn’t hard to pick it out from the line-up; the corvids flapping around it were something of a clue. The long, low shape of it stood out as well, amidst the comparatively stouter and higher xebecs and steamboats. Its overlapping planks were black with some alchemical paint which glimmered gently under the sunshine, as if stars had been caught within. The prow and stern curved up high and proudly, perfect matches, with knots and curling patterns carved into the wood. At its centre, a tall mast rose to a furled expanse of dark blue sail. A pair of dock cranes tottered over it like anxious storks, one slowly descending with its long, wrapped load of timber. Said descent was overseen by a pair of flapping magpies, with a third overhead providing cheerful moral support. On the deck below, four more corvids flapped and hopped hither and thither, seeing that the crane’s load descended smoothly, or belaying and rigging whatever on the ship needed belayed and rigged. They sported either tough tweed waistcoats like Gamfer’s, set over with useful hooks and pockets, or short oilcloth jackets that left their wings free. Three of the four on the deck were magpies too, sporting Gamfer’s plumage pattern, but one stood out, a jay. Their own plumage was rust-red, and chased with blue and black streaks along his face and wings. As the three of them neared the ship, the jay turned, frowned at them for a second, and then flapped off the ship’s side towards them. “Gamfer. Ye’re back.” There wasn’t joy in his voice, or unfriendliness, or much of any inflection for that matter. His eyes were dark and impassive. “Tsk, Airt. Tirla’s not let ye wander off unsupervised again, has she?” Gamfer nodded at Airt, and the other magpies in the sky or on the boat turned to caw their own greetings. “Still not deid, nae matter how ye might have prayed otherwise. And look, I even brought the cuddy.” “So ye have.” Airt alighted on the ground before Dad and looked him over, still betraying nothing. Daring noticed that under his oilcoth jacket, he wore a coat of thin steel plates, like barding. “Pleased to meet you,” Dad said, extending a forehoof. “Field Researcher Gallivant, of the Royal Archaeological Society in Canterlot.” “Airt, lieutenant tae Chief Tirla. She wanted me tae get a look at ye when I met ye here.” As Airt shook Dad’s hoof, his gaze briefly flicked downwards, and he blinked as he properly noticed Daring for the first time. “... Ye’re a second cuddy.” “Yep!” It was a fair observation; Daring didn’t contest it. “I’m Daring Do.” “My daughter,” Dad said. Daring was aware of him drawing that little bit nearer her, though his tone remained mild and friendly. Airt turned on Gamfer, his look cold. “Gie a bard an inch, he’ll take a mile. I understood ye were just getting one.” “Did ye get a back-up cuddy, then, Gamfer?” one of the magpies on the deck called cheerfully. “Just in case the first breaks?” “Wheesht, Glett, ye daft spyug,” replied Gamfer casually, not bothering to turn to face Glett. He kept his gaze on Airt. “Negotiations arose. I can house them both, nae trouble.” Airt was quiet for a moment then, not saying a word, and Daring was aware of Gamfer tensing ever-so-slightly. Was Airt wondering whether to allow this or not? Would the chief’s lieutenant have that much clout, even over a bard? She looked past him to the ship and the other magpies there. Their attention lingered on her and Dad, and their looks were cool and level. How welcome were they? Daring felt she ought to speak up, to make a good impression of herself. “I like your ship! Does she have a name?” Airt glanced down at Daring, his expression stonily neutral again. “The birlinn? Storm-Birlt’s her name.” “A guid ship. A tough auld stone-hauler. And she can glide us back to Glimrovoe as well,” Gamfer said, interrupting. “Ye look aboot done here, Airt.” “We’re aboot done. Just this last load left tae load.” As he spoke, the last load of long, wrapped timbers finished their careful descent, and were plonked down to lie along the deck alongside a dozen or so other similar loads. The ship bobbed at the extra weight, but soon settled, and the magpies promptly set about securing them with ropes and belaying pins.  “Hop in, ye pair,” Gamfer said quickly. “Help weich their cases intae the ship, Airt. Cadge a gangplank for them.” Gamfer flapped up and over the birlinn’s side. “I’ll help get the canvas up. How’s that for reciprocity? Ye two can lend a hoof there as well.” It didn’t take long before the Storm-Birlt was ready to cast off. All the timber was secured across the deck, hemmed in by other crates. At the stern, an expanse of sailcloth awning had been stretched over the bulwarks and an upraised pole set in the deck, forming a makeshift tent for whatever and whoever needed shelter. The sky had had enough time to grow overcast. An expanse of white, marbled with grey, had blown in from the west. Airt circled round the birlinn, checking and double-checking everything, a ledger in one claw, and had a brief muttered conversation with a ram who seemed like the harbourmaster before flying back aboard. He settled himself by a tiller just behind the tent awning. “Bulder, cast us aff!” he called. “Glett, Skreevar, unfurl the sail and take us oot. We’ve a good wind. Take all advantage.” One of the magpie crew cast off the ropes securing the birlinn to the wharf. Another pair took off into the air on either side just aft of the ship’s furled sail and quickly unfurled it to send the whole dark blue expanse of it rippling down. Daring stood on the open deck, watching them with naked curiosity. Storm-Birlt groaned as the last of the ropes was cast off. As Airt pulled on the tiller, the two hovering magpies tilted in the air and flapped into the sail with easy, controlled motions. Daring felt the unmistakable thrum of weathercrafting in the air and her wings tingled. A wind picked up, sending her scarf flapping and making the sail bulge out. She felt the birlinn begin to move, curving round to the right as wind filled the sails and Airt plied the tiller, aiming for the mouth of the harbour. Aiming for the open sea. “Two magpies at a time, driving her on,” Gamfer remarked, hopping up to her on the deck. “They’ll tak it in shifts. Airt will keep us on the right course. And as we’re travelling relatively light, we should all get tae Glimrovoe tomorrow eve. Ye alright back there, Gallivant?” “More or less,” came the voice of Dad. Daring turned to see him leaning out of the awning, one of his hooves resting on the end of a piece of timber. “Travelling on water’s not quite as bad as through air. And if things go wrong, I’ve got this nice, solid piece of timber to be best friends with.” “Should’ve kept one of the stones for ye.” As they spoke, they cleared the towers that framed the harbour mouth, sweeping past into a wild expanse of choppy grey. Daring shivered. Partly from the seachill and wind, and partly from anticipation. They were aimed right at an unseen horizon, lost amidst a veil of sea-mist. Civilisation was rapidly diminishing behind them. And ahead … who knew?