Starfinder

FALLEN ANGEL

“MOTH?”

In the dark, bleary world of his mind, Moth barely heard his name.

“Moth?”

He recognized the voice. Moth forced open his eyes. In front of him sat Skyhigh, still strapped inside the dragonfly. But they weren’t moving. Slowly, Moth remembered what had happened.

“Moth, answer me…”

Skyhigh’s voice was breathless, shaky from the crash. Moth glanced through the shattered cockpit. Covered in earth, the dragonfly had ditched in the grass. The engine had stopped. Moth could hear his heartbeat pounding in his skull and the distant sounds of battle. He checked himself, flexing his fingers, counting them.

“I’m okay,” he answered.

For a long time Skyhigh didn’t move. He breathed out hard, then ran a hand over his forehead.

“Skyhigh?”

“I’m bleeding,” said Skyhigh, checking his palm. “We have to get outta here.”

Moth fumbled with his straps. Skyhigh fought to open the jammed canopy. Moth reached up to help him, and together they managed to pry away the mangled metal. As the canopy opened overhead, Moth peered toward the battlefield. The centaurs were charging into one enormous mass. Above them, the Skylords and their army swirled in disarray. As he climbed out of the dragonfly, Moth saw the distant Avatar turning back toward the valley. This time, though, the airship wasn’t alone.

“Dragons…”

Skyhigh turned to see. “What?”

“Look,” pointed Moth. “Dragons!”

They had crashed far from the battlefield, but the sight of the dragons was unmistakable. Jets of fire spat from their throats as they spiraled after their enemies, burning them from the sky. Jorian’s centaurs pressed toward the mountains as the Avatar’s guns opened a broadside. Moth and Skyhigh stared, dazed by the sight. Then, from the corner of his eye, Moth noticed a ruffle of white feathers.

There stood Artaios, mere yards from their dragonfly. He sheathed his flaming sword and took the golden helmet off his head, casting it aside. A shocking crimson scar ran down his beautiful face. His right shoulder and right wing drooped as though broken. He looked mournfully at Moth, then at Skyhigh.

“You see, Moth?” he said. “Only I can teach you to fly.”

“Artaios…” Moth stepped forward. “What happened?”

“Your beloved Alisaundra did this to me,” he said. His tone was calm but contemptuous. “I gave her wings. I gave her life meaning. She has ruined me.”

Skyhigh went to Moth’s side. “Where is she?” he demanded.

“She couldn’t kill me,” spat Artaios. “I am the Sword of Korace. Even Jorian’s lightning cannot kill me now, human.”

“Artaios, where is she?” Moth asked fearfully. “Did you…?”

“I gave her a chance to serve me! Just as I gave you a chance to fly.” Artaios glared at Skyhigh. “You—did I not tell you to flee? Did I not warn you to take the boy from here, to spare him this?”

Skyhigh reached into his belt and pulled out Rendor’s pistol. Artaios scowled at the threat.

“I wear the armor of Ivokor,” he said. “If you had any learning at all, you would know what that means. There is no way you can harm me.”

Skyhigh aimed the gun right at his chest. “Let’s see about that,” he said, and cocked the hammer.

“I can’t let you leave now,” said Artaios. He moved closer. “I tried to spare you.”

“Not another step!” warned Skyhigh.

“Artaios, go!” cried Moth.

Artaios didn’t flinch. “Do it!” he ordered.

So Skyhigh squeezed the trigger.

Moth jumped back at the noise, then saw Artaios stagger. A look of utter shock came over him as he glanced down at his chest. A small hole in his golden armor started oozing scarlet blood. Artaios blinked as if he’d never seen such a thing before, as if the impossible had happened. He wavered a moment, then buckled to his knees.

“I am shot…”

Skyhigh lowered the pistol as Moth hurried toward Artaios. The Skylord looked up helplessly as Moth put his arms around his shoulders, seeking a way to remove the breastplate.

“Moth, leave him,” said Skyhigh. “We have to get out of here.”

“Get me something to make a bandage,” cried Moth. “Please!”

Artaios fell back against the grass. “Ivokor…”

“It wasn’t magic, Artaios,” Moth explained. He found the latches on the side of the breastplate. “Just a bullet.”

Artaios grimaced, understanding. Skyhigh came to stand over him. He hesitated, then helped Moth remove the armor. They rolled Artaios over to pull it off, then opened the white garment covering his chest, now soaked with blood. Beneath the garment was a perfectly plain bullet hole, just inches beneath the Skylord’s heart.

“Skyhigh, what do we do?”

Skyhigh studied the wound. “Stop the bleeding. Somehow.”

Moth pulled off his shirt, packing the wound with it and pressing down to stem the blood. A shadow settled over them as they knelt beside Artaios. Looking up, they saw a chariot pulled by cloud horses hovering a hundred feet above them. A Skylord leaped from it, sailing quickly toward them. Behind him, others darted down from the sky.

“Uh-oh,” said Skyhigh. “Company.”

Artaios was quickly losing consciousness. Skyhigh stood as the Skylord from the chariot fell like a falcon before them. Moth glanced up, recognizing his eye patch and battle-scarred face.

“Rakuiss. You need to get Artaios out of here,” said Moth. He didn’t bother greeting the Skylord or explaining what had happened. “You have to hurry or he’ll die.”

General Rakuiss looked down in shock at his wounded prince. Skyhigh once more pulled out his pistol.

“I got five more shots just like the one I put in Artaios,” he warned. “Get him out of here and let us go. Otherwise you’ll both be a couple of dead flying chickens.”

The other Skylords dropped from the air. The general held them back. He knelt down over Artaios, stroking his golden hair.

“My prince, can you hear me?”

Artaios opened his glazed eyes, nodding.

“You’re hurt,” said Rakuiss. “The humans. But I’m going to save you. I’m going to get you out of here. You must hold on.”

Artaios lifted his head and saw Moth over him, pressing down on his chest, hands coated in blood. He grabbed Rakuiss’ wrist, and with the little strength he could muster said, “Humans… saved me.”

Rakuiss reared back. “No, my lord. The humans did this to you.”

“No!” railed Artaios. “They go!”

Rakuiss relented, pushing Moth aside. “All right, my lord,” he said. “Yes.”

He scooped Artaios gently into his arms, then winged skyward toward his waiting chariot. Without a word, his fellow Skylords followed.