Three goblins rushed into the pen with their long barbed sticks. “Calmer Downers” in roc-handler terminology. One handler was crushed beneath a bird’s clumsy step. A second was snatched up and swallowed. Several more handlers replaced them, and after about a minute of furious screaming and terrified yelping, the rocs relaxed. The two goblins that hadn’t been eaten or mashed in the process exited the pen with wide, satisfied smiles.

They’d never get Gabel near one of those damn things.

The pilot sensed his trepidation. “One day, roc flight will be the safest form of travel, sir!”

There wasn’t the slightest trace of doubt in his words. Gabel admired the eternal optimism of goblins, even if he hated being mistaken for one.

“I wouldn’t worry about the commander, sir! Ace is our best pilot, sir!”

Gabel stepped back. The goblin’s shouting was beginning to bother his ears. “How many flights has he had?”

“Seven, sir!”

Gabel was impressed. “He must be good.”

“Yes, sir! He really knows what he’s doing! Plus, rocs don’t really like the taste of him, sir! Swallowed him three times, sir! Spat him out every time, sir!”

“How lucky for him.” Gabel waved the goblin away. “You’re dismissed.”

The pilot saluted again. “Thank you, sir!”

By the time the ringing had gone out of Gabel’s ears, the roc finally appeared in the sky. Its flight was surprisingly smooth, its tremendous wings beating with power and grace. But the landing was the hardest part. Its grace in the air was countered by its clumsiness on the ground.

The pilot whipped the reins, spurring the roc into a sharp dive. Just when it looked certain the bird would crash into the earth, it pulled up and set down without a stumble. Handlers threw a rope up to the pilot, who tied it around the roc’s collar. He slid down the rope with a grin.