‘Recruits!’ The brisk tone of her voice made the group of young people stand to attention. ‘Good work. Training is over for today. Dismissed!’ The young men and women bowed sharply and made their way to the washrooms. Eva brushed her damp hair from her forehead. ‘You know you don’t have to be the drill instructor, right?’ Corwin had approached her and mockingly examined her flushed face. Eva acknowledged his comment with a sneer. ‘Is that a voluntary offer?’ ‘By Zephyros, it would certainly do me good,’ Corwin replied, rubbing his ample belly, ‘but no thanks, you look much more graceful on the high bar than I do. But why don’t you ask Sixten? He can’t get enough exercise.’
Eva waved him away and her deputy disappeared, chuckling, in the direction of the canteen, from which enthusiastic clattering of plates could now be heard. As Grand Master, her training with the order’s candidates suited her just as well as it did the Master of Defence. Corwin Dahlberg’s place, on the other hand, was undoubtedly behind the lectern. The third son of the lighthouse keeper of Nimbusheim had spent countless hours at the top of the tower as a child, where – actually assigned to watch over the beacon – he relieved his boredom by studying meteorological maps, tracing their lines curiously with his finger in the glow of the fire. At barely seven years of age, he published an updated cartography of the air currents around the Triplets under a pseudonym, which attracted considerable attention in the Journal of Spherology. Shortly afterwards, he received a scholarship to the cathedral college at Eldbridge on the island Thur. After completing his doctorate and several years of scientific work, Corwin sought a new challenge – pure research in the proverbial ivory tower of his Alma Mater seemed too unworldly to him. When he heard about the revival of the Conclave Aeris Fidelium, he joined without hesitation. Before she met Corwin, Eva wanted to recruit Finn as the Order’s master navigator, but her friend decided he’d rather sail through storm zones than deal with rowdy recruits. However, he visited her as often as his schedule allowed – only to spend most of his time drinking copious amounts of coffee with Corwin and philosophising about air currents.
Alongside Corwin Dahlberg, there were three other masters, each leading a branch of the order. Defence was in the hands of Sixten Runvar, a red-haired, broad-shouldered man from the Storm Islands, who was rumoured to be an outcast Tempestarius – in a personal conversation, he had told Eva that he came from a family of stonemasons, but had no objection to his reputation as a storm tamer. Baroness Ottilie Brandt was in charge of the journeymen of technology. The heiress to a noble family from Skycrag had successfully emerged from a selection process in the early days of the new order. Eva had entrusted the position of Master of Reconnaissance to Airis of Windhold, and her old acquaintance fulfilled the task to her utmost satisfaction. Under this council, the Order was divided into several dozen navigators, mechanics, defenders and reconnaissance officers – and all those who, through arduous training, learned not only to traverse the skies one day, but also to protect them.
Eva closed the door to her office behind her and let out an annoyed groan at the sight of the mountain of paper covering her desk. If there was one thing she detested about her new role, it was correspondence. Every fool on the Cloud Islands and their grandmother felt it necessary to pay their respects to the new Grand Master of the C.A.F. Only a small fraction of the letters were actually exciting assignments. Reluctantly, she set to work, sorting the documents into several small piles and then beginning to review them. A telegram fell into her hands, dated today. It came from Pip, a small, sparsely populated island off the coast of Goldendale. „Severe tremors registered in the port area of Goldendale. Column of smoke visible. No contact with island guard so far. Request clarification. Yours sincerely, Alderman Lehnhoff.” Probably just an old warehouse that had collapsed under the weight of too many sacks of flour, Eva thought, and was about to put the letter aside when something occurred to her. She folded the telegram and made her way to Ottilie.