I hadn't been flying for the last battle above Red Rock Rise where our first-generation jets clashed with night haunts bewitched by elves. Rather than simple flying beasts with a lone rider, we now faced armored dragons, each with a mage-knight just as dangerous as the winged, fanged, fire-breathing mount they commanded.

I hit the merge with the first dragon knight. In a jet battle, once two fighters pass their first run they each bank and it turns into a circular fight of energy management—airspeed, altitude, turning power. Whoever has more has the advantage, and you'd spend them like currency to gain position in the circle and get your enemy into your HUD for a kill shot. Or sacrifice them to avoid the enemy bringing you into his.

Dragons, apparently, are not jets. As we passed, the first dragon tucked its wings and twisted around in its own length before unfurling the powerful limbs and giving chase from near on my six o'clock. It was only Chuck cutting in and forcing the dragon off-kilter that kept it from frying me with its breath. The creatures may not have been faster than us, but they were definitely more maneuverable with those flexible wings. The rider, likewise, summoned a bolt of red lightning from the clouds above that split the sky ahead of me, forking out and kicking up a cloud of dust and debris from the ground.

"I don't think they're used to fighting other fast-flying targets," I said. "Let's not give them the chance to learn."

One of the other riders in pursuit of a hobgoblin fighter passed in front of me, and I turned to intercept, careful to stay clear of the tail gun fire. I squeezed the triggers and added my self-cycling rockette launchers to the mix. Ahead of me, the dragon rider raised his weapon, which looked like some sort of long-hafted axe. The blade of it started to glow and a half-shell of blue light appeared around the rider and mount. My rockettes skipped off it, most of them completely deflected. Armstrong followed up with recoilless rifle shots. One of them penetrated the shield and struck the dragon in its flank, sprouting its small drogue chute. But the mage swept his weapon down and severed the bindings before they could slow his dragon.

The dragon continued to give chase to the fighter ahead of us, but the mage turned around in his saddle and spun his axe again. 4 white starbursts appeared in the sky, and I yanked the stick as the magical lances shot toward us. Even though I'd dodged, the beams arced towards us. 3 of them narrowly missed and continued on, but the 4th hit us on the left quarter and the jet jerked as metal shrieked. I smelled the acrid tang of burning metal and fought to level us out.

"Apollo, Sourtooth's countermeasures seem to be working, but I would not test their extents." said Taquoho.

"No kidding," I said, fighting to level us out. I activated my radio. "Sourtooth, you on the wave?"

"Aye, little brother. How fare you?"

"Your anti-magic armor seems to be working. I hoped we wouldn't need it, but the mages have seeking spells."

"Then answer in kind. The hide of the null devil was not all we collected. Twas their very hunting instincts we stole."

I had to bank again to avoid a lightning strike from the mage chasing us. Chuck was giving him plenty to worry about, but he still found a moment to strike. All around us, rockette trails and lightning split the sky, along with the occasional white-hot bar of flame. Natural lightning began to strike from the gathered storm, as well as heavy rain that pattered against my canopy.

"What do you mean?"

"From the nymphs we harvested an organ, of its own accord it moved toward sources of magic."

"You found their magic sensors?" I asked, putting us into a barrel roll to avoid a spell that scythed through the sky like a spinning crescent blade. "I don't know see how that helps, the dragons aren't exactly hard to see with the mark 1 eyeball."

"Aye, but those rockets beneath yon wing have not eyes, do they?"

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I stiffened in my seat. "Sourtooth. Are you telling me that you equipped my jet with magic-seeking missiles?"

"Tis a way of putting it, yes," he said.

I grinned and flipped the toggle to arm my rocket racks. "You sour old orc, I could kiss you right now."

"Keep thine chompers from mine flesh. Know well, I, that goblins kiss with teeth."

I glanced over my shoulder at the dragon on my flank. I had to get him off me if I wanted a clean shot at any of the riders, and there was only one sure-fire way to do it. I hauled back on the stick and kicked on the afterburners. The cloud deck above rushed to greet me, and moments later, I was enveloped by the grey-white haze of the thunderstorm. I checked my gauges, making sure I maintained a climb and banked until my compass showed I'd turned all the way around.

Typically, it's considered near suicidal to fly into clouds when you're flying using visual reference. Our monkey senses didn't evolve for orientation without a horizon, and our kinematic system that relies on pressure against our bones and skin gets completely twisted in 6-axis flight. Goblins didn't seem to be any different in that regard. You could be flying completely inverted and your body might tell you you were straight and level. An inexperienced pilot who flies under visual rules into instrument conditions has a life expectency of about 180 seconds.

I cut the throttle to idle and turned us over on our back, relying on my instruments alone to get my orientation, despite what my body was telling me.

"We seem to have lost visual reference, King Apollo," said Taquoho.

"We've also lost the dragon rider," I said. If he'd followed us into the clouds, he'd be flying on sound alone—unless he had some sort of spell to see through water vapor. But I imagined such a thing would take time to cast, and so I'd bought us a few seconds. I pitched the nose down toward the deck and counted those seconds, tracking the amount of time I'd spent in the climb. I had to react as soon as the haze started to clear.

"Boss, I'm floatin!" said Armstrong over the intercom. I grew light against my own restraints as well as the jet entered a state of free-fall in the cloud. Our altitude dropped, and I kept our bank and pitch as close as I could to perpendicular with the ground just by relying on our attitude gyroscope. Thankfully, the Ifrit had traded us more accurate instrumentation than we could produce on our own.

The haze outside the canopy began to lift, and I jammed the throttle forward.

"Boss, I think that sky might be ground!"

Below us, I was treated to a top-down view of the battle, where the dragons and goblin fighters pursued each other in equal measure. I picked out one of the dragons closing in on the tail of an interceptor and twisted my stick to bring my crude, etched reticle ahead of its flight path.

"Fox 2!" I called out and jammed my thumb on the rocket button. A pair of magic-seeking missiles separated from my wing pylons and ignited, streaking forward. The rockets had stabilizers, but no active control surfaces. I could barely believe my eyes as it course-corrected on its own and angled toward the dragon and rider combo. The knight was so intent on his quarry that he didn't look up at all. One missile struck the dragon on its wing and exploded. The other struck the knight directly, and though it failed to detonate, it still knocked the armored rider completely out of his saddle. He plummeted through the air, even as the wounded dragon sank, flapping furiously with ineffective wings. I thought the knight would have been killed or at least knocked out from that impact, but a cushion of light surrounded him and his fall slowed. Of course dragon riding mages would have a way to save themselves.

I hauled back on the stick, trying to get us level again. The aircraft groaned underneath me, and the g-forces crushed me against the seat. I gasped for air, using the breathing techniques I'd learned at NuEarth to stay concious. As soon as I had enough breath, I switched my radio on again. "I want teams on the ground ready to capture those two as soon as they land," I ordered. "We're not having a repeat of that elf giving us grief for weeks."

"The others are breaking off!" said one of the other pilots. "We got 'em on the run, boss!"

"It ain't us," said Chuck. "Incoming from Canaveral, king,"

I looked southeast, where dozens of dark dots in the sky were coming in formation. "Can't be," I said. "We don't have that many jets,"

"It's Midnighters," said Chuck. "Queen's guard on those riding beetles."

Sure enough, the new arrivals soon resolved into the elite air cavalry of the queen's guard. And they hadn't come alone. Several of the priest-caste palanquins being carried by chains strung between four beetles each.

Taquoho spoke up. "Sourtooth did say the queen's guard would meet the dragon riders in battle, did he not?" he said.

That was true. I watched as a jagged, dark lance of energy flashed from one of the palanquins, narrowly missing a retreating dragon. An orb appeared at the terminus of its path, and the light twisted around it like a black hole. The dragon changed course, flapping desperately to get away as the spell tried to suck it in. The rider cast some sort of counterspell, and the orb disappeared.

"Do we chase?" asked Chuck.

"Negative," I said, watching the Midnighters pursue. "I think the Midnighters can handle themselves. Let's get to that one on the ground and see what they have to say. Maybe we can talk sense into them, and figure out a way to get them off our backs."

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