“You ok Anja?” Sarr asks, one eye on his friend, one on the last few stones from the misthorse. They winks out of existance before reaching the mists, the illusion spent but hopefully too subtle a mistake to notice.

“I have to be.” She's crouching on the grass, clutching her head.

“You up to a climb?” Asks Quil, pulling himself onto the thin ledge. Just below him is the charred deck of the real misthorse, camoflaged and lost among the rock of the tower. “Its not far, but Oleg can't go any closer.”

“Do we have a ride home?” Asks Hawthorne, looking over Bergholt's handiwork. It might still fly.

“If you're quick.” Calls up Slavo “We avoided half the blast, but I'm not happy with the engines, the hull, the basestones… the anything really. We're hidden here, but it only takes one chance pass from those pirates and I'll have the whole confederacy on my back.”

“Chance.” Says Quil. It is a statement.

“Better get climbing then.”, says Segue, pulling out a mound of rocky colored cloaks and handing them out.

“You have an hour” Oleg calls after them, then turns to scan the sky.

“I'll catch you up. In want to have a word with our captain about the trip back.” Valk.