Weatherlight dived above the ragged hills. Her pursuers closed in at her flanks. Red shots ripped her hull. Heedless, the ship clove into a narrow trench in the hillside.

The fighters swarmed down after. The lowest ship miscalculated. A gnarl of stone rose fistlike to smash against its belly. The craft bounced. It spun, spitting sparks, and cut through a neighboring fighter. The other ricocheted off rock, impacted the far side of the ravine, and rattled back and forth for a mile more. The remaining ships, thirty-some, crowded into the turbid slipstream of Weatherlight. Bolts of cannon fire charged the air. They tore struts and wing panels and glass from Weatherlight.

"Dat no good. Squee show you turds!" Squee shouted.

He fired. The beam sank directly into a fighter's forward intake and was sucked into the engine. It produced a sudden burst of speed, ramming the craft into the fighter before it. Both fighters blew up from the inside out.

At the helm, Sisay smiled. She lofted Weatherlight over the sudden terminus of the rift. Phyrexian fighters impacted the rock wall-one, two, three, four. Admiring her handiwork, Sisay steered the ship across the plateau beyond.

Weatherlight soared beneath the Phyrexian fleet. There was little room between the cruisers and the rumpled ground. Had Weatherlight's airfoils been extended, they would have scraped ships and soil both.

Some score of Phyrexian fighters pursued her into the gap. The tight confines forced them to fan out in Weatherlight's trail, bringing them into range of the amidships guns. Bolts jabbed back. Twice, plasma stole Phyrexian ray fire from the air. A third time, the energy smashed into a fighter, limning every console of the ship and igniting the bones of its pilot. They glowed through muscle and shell until the cooked monster slumped in its seat. The ship plunged. The fighter's wing man, distracted by the fireball blossoming below, steered too near a cruiser's landing spine. The massive metal rammed through the cockpit and scooped its pilot out in mush. The fighter spun around that pivot thrice before falling and exploding.

Most of the small ships clung tight to Weatherlight's stern. Their fire stabbed viciously outward. It punched holes in the stern castle, vaporized sections of hull, and tore away lengths of rail. A particularly well-placed shot destroyed the starboard gun amidships.

Sisay hauled hard on the helm. The prow angled toward the ceiling of Phyrexian cruisers. They were stacked to the skies. It was precisely the sort of obstacle course Sisay needed. She stood the ship on end. Weatherlight spiraled in her ascent. She roared past the starboard hull of the first cruiser. Weatherlight's port gun amidships flared, cutting a line up the superstructure.

Engines shrieking, the fighters followed the rocketing craft. Half of them did not survive that first swerve, impacting the black belly of the cruiser. Eight explosions in a line gutted the hull there. Even as the cruiser dipped, spewing soot, the other fighters vaulted past, higher into the stack of war vessels.

Among massive hulls, Sisay steered. The ship climbed with furious speed. Fire and black mana awoke from Phyrexian cruisers. The shots were late, missing Weatherlight but blanketing the fighters in her wake.

Screaming, Weatherlight shot to the top of the column. En route, she scraped away another five fighters. As Sisay rolled the ship into a level orientation, she smiled.

"Not bad flying, if I do say so myself." She sent Weatherlight in a stooping dive, falcon-swift, pulling clean away from her pursuers.

"Dem big ones comin' behind us!" shouted Squee through the tubes.

Cruisers drew away from their aerial stack, edging into Weatherlight's trail.

"How's that planeshift coming, Karn?" Sisay called.

The silver man's voice rumbled like distant thunder. "Planeshift whenever you are ready."

"Wait!" Orim shouted suddenly where she tended Hanna. "First take us low. Strafe those Phyrexian troops!"

Gerrard stared incredulously at her. "What?"

"I've got an idea for a cure. I've got an idea to save Hanna."

"Take us low!" Gerrard commanded.

Her healing magic could not combat this damned plague. Spell-work had only fizzled hopelessly from her fingers, unable to sink into the wound and purge its blackness. Still, she had tried, clinging to stanchions and seats as the ship rolled through her courses. How like the Phyrexians to devise a contagion that destroyed all flesh but their own.

"All flesh but their own," Orim had whispered in realization as she hunched above Hanna and Gerrard. "All flesh but their own!"

If she could only harvest some of that Phyrexian flesh, immune to the effects of the plague, she could extract from the monsters' blood the immunity factor. She could distill it, make of it a serum that would grant immunity to anyone.

"Planeshift whenever you are ready."

"Wait!" Orim shouted suddenly where she tended Hanna. "First take us low. Strafe those Phyrexian troops!"

It had taken little convincing to win Gerrard over, only two words-"cure" and "Hanna."

"Stay with her here," Orim said, giving Gerrard's hand a squeeze. Her fingers left a bloody print on his knuckles. "She needs you. I can't help her here, but up there," she nodded toward the prow, "I can."

Weatherlight dipped into a steeper dive, bringing Orim easily to her feet. It felt as though some divine hand lifted her, urging her to the fore. Clutching the bridge rail, Orim found her way out onto the deck. Beyond the glassy confines of the bridge, Weatherlight's plunge was a dizzy thing. The crimson sky sucked its muscular belly up away from the roaring craft. The scarlet ground swelled up to engulf it. All across the heaving world, Phyrexian troops waited, rank on rank, prepared to march.

Behind Weatherlight, massive war cruisers broke into pursuit.

Leaning into the terrific motion of the craft, Orim strode from amidships to the forecastle. With each step, Weatherlight dropped away beneath her. She felt she was lunging forward across a cloud. She reached the starboard bow gun and the irate minotaur strapped to it.

"I need you, Tahngarth. Hanna needs you."

He tossed his hands up in submission. "Yes. I can't draw a bead on ships behind us." Yanking at the buckles and straps, he disentangled himself from the harness. "We ought to be shifting any moment now."

Orim shook her head, wind jingling the coins braided in her hair. "Not until we perform one task." She motioned him to follow. They came to the capstan. "We've got to release the anchor."

"Release the anchor?"

"Just a big fish hook, and we're trolling for big fish," Orim said. "I need to get some Phyrexians. They've got a cure for this plague in their blood."

Without another word, Tahngarth shoved the locking lever.

The capstan whirled. Chain paid out. Weatherlight's weighty anchor plunged from her prow.

Orim watched as it dropped. Fifty feet, a hundred feet, a hundred fifty. "Good!"

Tahngarth threw the lever. Cams squeezed the capstan wheel. Ratchets clicked, slowing and stopping the chain. The anchor jolted to a halt, swinging above the ranks of Phyrexian troops.

"Excellent," Orim amended as Tahngarth came up beside her. She turned, signaling Sisay to ease the ship lower. Weatherlight dipped gently, bringing the anchor down into the enemy army. Orim signaled to hold altitude.

The anchor skimmed just above the heads of armored scuta. Beyond them stood Phyrexian troopers. The anchor struck one of their heads and spattered it. Bell tones followed as the rest of the contingent were struck. The arms of the anchor dragged parallel lines of destruction through the ranks, but no beasts caught on its flukes. The impacts drove it back on its chain.