The Dark Half of the Sun (The Young Ancients: Timon) by P.S. Power

a decent idea for a service. A little expensive seeming at first, but ten gold for every thousand miles was about what it cost to travel by carriage, which is why he'd picked it. That way he could bargain with people and they'd feel clever when they "got the better of him". If they paid a silver per trip he'd still make a good profit, but he wasn't going to point that out to anyone. He only had five Fast Craft right now and that meant it would be a commodity for a while. People didn't mind paying for things that others couldn't. It made them feel special.
    The clock hardly seemed to be moving, the minute hand crawling slowly around as the hours passed, and he nodded off more than once. That's why he didn't notice the glow from the fire for a while, being asleep. He rubbed his eyes sheepishly and stared at the orange glow, having seen enough things like it to get the idea. It wasn't just a blaze, it was a large one, over the tree line. He had no way to judge the distance, but he couldn't smell it yet. That could mean a lot of things, like the wind blowing in the other direction, or the smoke just not having had time to reach him. It was a good thing either way, since he really didn't want to be sitting in the middle of a burning forest if he could help it. It just felt like a bad plan.
    That part of things got his attention enough to keep his eyes opened after that, even if it was a fight to do it. He looked into the dark, as if it would help him find anything, and realizing that hearing would be his best bet given the blackness outside, he cracked open the door of the craft, in the passenger section, to listen. He did that one since, if the Royal Guards made it in time, that's what they'd be using to get in anyway. It was only just hitting three when he did it and less than twenty-minutes before he heard people coming.
    People on horses. Shouting to each other.
    Definitely not the ones he wanted. He nearly panicked and just took off, but it hadn't been five hours yet. Nearly, having only about ten minutes to go, give or take. He wasn't going to let the people catch him there, since he'd been told not to risk it, but they weren't that close either. Instead he crouched tensely in the open door, hoping that he wasn't about to be caught doing something illegal. That would be a horrible way to spend a special day, wouldn't it?
    Locked up in prison... no cake...
    That thought earned a smile, which is what his expression was when the three people came out of the brush. It was too hard to tell who they were at first, but they were on foot, or at least two of them were. One floated, which meant they had a Not-flyer in use. They were all big, but that didn't mean much. Timon didn't say anything though as they got to the side of the craft.
    A harsh voice came from the darkness.
    "It's George and Kara. We have our prize with us." It wasn't loud and it sounded horrible, raw and burnt, like a person that had been doing a lot of coughing. It was Kara though, he thought.
    "Get in. The door is about twelve feet in front of you... a little to your right." He was decently well hidden he realized, more so than he'd expected. It was still dark out and would be for hours and they probably wouldn't be seen if they left soon, even with the horsemen closing on them.
    There were three points of wheezing as they closed with him, but no one groaned, even as the person using the Not-flyer had to be helped on board. Tim moved in and tried to pull them up grabbing under their arms. There was a soft cry then, but no one said he should stop. Whoever it was didn't have any clothing on and was huge. It took help to get them all in, but a minute later he closed the door as they settled into the dark.
    "One second. I want to get out of here, then we can have some light." He dove toward the front, scrambling a little and missing the seat the first time he tried to sit, nearly falling to the floor, but he had them up and away with only a bit of crashing from