CH1070 · Rewrite
☕ Support

Chapter 1070: The Glider (I)

They marched in a column along the pavement, heading south.

The road on this side of the enclosure was lined with red brick buildings — some complete, some mid-construction, scaffolding still climbing their outer walls. According to Finkin, the whole area had been coastal wasteland just a year ago. A few tree stumps, some scrub grass, and the Swirling Sea. The construction teams had turned it into what the trainees had taken to calling a city within a city.

It was walled. The hedge wasn’t tall — nothing imposing — but it was high enough to establish a boundary, and the warning sign left nothing to interpretation: No climbing. Offenders will be shot. The enclosure held dormitories, cafeterias, playgrounds, training rooms, and classrooms. The trainees lived entirely within it, cut off from the rest of Neverwinter — what their instructor called a closed system. Good had been here several weeks and still wasn’t certain where the outer edge of the hedge was. The permitted area was narrow: dormitories to playground, and nowhere else without explicit permission.

The training school itself had gone up in a year. Good had known Neverwinter was fast, but the pace of it still surprised him. He had watched a red bungalow on the south side of the playground go from foundations to occupied in a single week.

They passed through the playground and emerged — and the group broke apart into murmuring.

This was a restricted zone. None of them had been here before.

Open ground stretched ahead: a vast flat clearing under a wide sky, white clouds above and, farther on, the unbroken gray-blue line of the Swirling Sea. A cold wind came off the water and hit Good’s face, and he felt himself wake up in a way that the spinning chair never quite managed — as if the world had been holding its breath inside those brick walls and had only just remembered to breathe.

“Strange,” Hinds said. “I thought there would be something here. It’s just a clearing.”

He wasn’t wrong. Aside from the wide blackstone tracks — broader than Kingdom Main Street, running east to west — there was nothing to see.

“Maybe they kept it restricted so we wouldn’t fall into the sea,” Finkin said. “Though I think I’d pay better attention to lessons if the classroom was out here.”

“You don’t pay attention anyway,” someone said.

“Want to make it a bet? Exam grades, last session—”

“Look over there.” Good raised his chin. “Someone’s already here.”

The other training cohort was assembled on the far side of the clearing.

Everything in Good’s group went quiet.

They had not spoken to the other cohort. But they had heard about them constantly — from Eagle Face, from the other instructors, from casual mentions that were never quite casual. The other cohort completed every daily task and then asked for more. Some of them had kept sitting in the spinning chair even while vomiting. They were the comparison group, the implied standard, the invisible competitors who were apparently better at every subject and made Good’s cohort look like the wrong answer on an exam.

They had become rivals without exchanging a single word.

“Heads up,” someone said quietly. “Don’t let them see us fold.”

“Stare them down.”

They straightened. The other cohort was already watching. Both sides regarded each other with the cold mutual assessment of people who have been competing without knowing it — long-faced, tense, nothing like the model students they were rumored to be.

The tension held until the distance forced them apart.

Eagle Face stopped them at the blackstone track. “You stand here. You do not move from this position, regardless of what you see. His Majesty and Her Highness will both be present. Any movement that could be interpreted as a threat will be treated as one. You know what that means.”

“The king will be here?” someone said.

Is already here, Good corrected silently. The shed on the opposite side of the clearing was already ringed with First Army soldiers and police. That level of coverage wasn’t assembled for a drill.

The king regarded the Aerial Knights with genuine attention. Good found, to his own surprise, that this mattered to him.

He pushed Eagle Face’s anticipatory smirk out of his mind.


Inside the hangar, everything was different.

The first glider — the Seagull — was ready for her initial flight.

She was the first manned glider built after Tilly had mastered the test model, and she was larger in every dimension: wider wings, deeper fuselage, a frame covered in cured skins. She had portholes, proper seating, and an airtight door at the rear that opened from the inside. She was, without qualification, a real aircraft.

Traditional gliders were simple things — wooden frames, patched canvas, passenger supplements for heavier cargo craft. The Seagull was the opposite of that tradition. Her primary structure was aluminum alloy and high-tensile steel, with most major components integrally molded to minimize the joints where stress concentrated. The non-structural panels were honeycombed with small perforations to strip unnecessary weight. A magic coating sealed every surface against pressure differentials. The belly was armored — not heavily, but enough: as long as the aircraft maintained stability on approach, the crew and passengers would survive a forced landing.

She was built to carry witches.

Since she would be Neverwinter’s only aircraft, Roland had built her to be absolutely safe.

“I’m boarding.” Anna pressed her lips to Roland’s cheek, light and brief. “See you tomorrow.”

“Stay safe. Don’t push yourself.” He had already said it several times. “If you encounter demons, protect yourself first.”

“I know.” She held his gaze with a patience that was not quite amusement. “You’ve said the same thing each time.”

“Please don’t worry.” Phyllis, the God’s Punishment Witch, said from nearby. Her voice carried the particular gravity of a person making a formal promise. “I will protect her.”

Roland let Anna go slowly. His hands found her shoulders and stayed there for a moment before he released her. “Off you go. I’ll be right here when you come back.”

The First Army had built an airport at the edge of Misty Forest, where the railways curved. There was no other way to move people and materiel five hundred kilometers in a single day — not without Maggie, and Maggie could not carry twenty passengers. The Seagull could: eighteen passengers plus Tilly as primary pilot and Wendy operating the airflow. Alternatively, the seats could be removed and she could carry a thousand kilograms of cargo. At two hundred miles per hour — which Wendy considered a conservative speed — she could complete two full round trips between Neverwinter and the front line within a day.

She was the fastest thing in the world.

Roland watched Anna walk up the ramp.

He had let half of Neverwinter’s witches onto a single new aircraft headed for a front five hundred kilometers away, and he was staying behind.

He watched until the door closed.

Discussion

Suggest a change