He had more confidence in his navigation now that he had successfully found Elkbone, and drawing on the careful bearings and notes taken on his way out of Evrenfels, he confidently turned the prow of the airship toward New Cabora. With the sun lowering behind him, and the propeller beating its steady rhythm in the cold air, he watched the snow-covered landscape beneath him fade from white to blue, pass into darkness, and then begin to gleam silver as the rising moon took over from the sun and spread its own ghostly light across the plains.
Here and there lights shone, the yellow glow of burning oil or tallow in Commoners’ farms and villages, far less often the distinctive blue glow of magelights in homes belonging to Mageborn. His path did not take him over Falk’s manor, but he passed another MageLord’s estate at one point, the great house ablaze with light to rival the new electric-lit Crystal Castle in Hexton Down. There were several carriages drawn up in front of the house, some with horses, some without, and he thought he saw a footman glance up as he passed high overhead, no doubt puzzled by the throb of the propeller. But he himself was showing no lights, and he doubted the man saw anything.
Nor would he believe it if he did, Anton thought. For everyone on this side of the Anomaly, this airship is as unbelievable as the existence of magic was to me.
I suppose once you advance technology enough it’s pretty hard to tell it apart from magic, really, he thought. They both involve manipulating matter and energy. The methods differ, but not the results.
He wondered what would really happen in a clash between the armies of Evrenfels, armed with primitive weapons but also with magic, and the forces of the Union Republic, with their cannons and steam-guns and armored crawlers. It had been a long age since the MageLords had last faced Commoners in combat. He suspected they might get a surprise.
But then he remembered uneasily that Falk had destroyed New Cabora City Hall single-handedly, and knew the surprise could cut both ways.
There is no place for magic in the modern world, Anton thought. It will only bring chaos and bloodshed…
Unlike technology? an opposing thought intruded.
Anton had no answer.
These things were beyond him, anyway. He had done what he could to prepare his world for the possible emergence of Falk’s army. Mother Northwind would have to look after the destruction of magic. His focus now had narrowed to one purpose-to save Brenna, pull her out of the web of intrigue that had trapped her, and take her far away from whatever happened here over the next days, weeks, or months.
If she will come with you, spoke that inner voice of doubt once more. And once more, he had no answer for it.
The sun had been down for four hours or more when at last he saw, dead ahead, a greater glow than any he had passed thus far. First he saw the blue magelights of the Palace, then the dimmer yellow glow of New Cabora’s lanterns and gaslights; then he began to make out individual buildings, the Palace a marble jewel surrounded by dark foliage and the glitter of water, the city an untidy sprawl of smaller buildings at the edges leading to a few grander structures, several stories tall, at the center.
The wind was from the west, as it almost always was in these latitudes. Anton reached over and pulled back on the throttle levers, silencing the propeller. As its steady thrum subsided to a whisper and then to nothing, he lit the burner one more time, the roar filling his ears as hot gas filled the envelope and lifted him higher. Then, in silence, slowly descending, he drifted on the breeze toward New Cabora, using the rudder to turn the nose toward the open space at its center, the Square. He reached for the binoculars hung inside the gondola, not far from the rifle and handgun.
This time, he would not land without knowing exactly what he was getting himself into.
Vinthor listened to Karl and Brenna in silence. When they had, between them, told him everything they knew about the Patron-Mother Northwind-and her Plan, he got up suddenly and went into the back room without saying anything.
Karl glanced at Brenna. She still looked exhausted, but at least she had stopped shivering. She didn’t meet his eyes, staring instead into the fire.
For himself, he felt… exhilarated, if he were honest. When he had so impetuously followed the two strangers out through the Barrier on the night of Verdsmitt’s arrest, he had simply exchanged one captivity for another. But this time he was not a captive. This time, he was, at last, not only acting on his own, but acting with full knowledge of what he was doing, who he was, and who the players were in the intrigues that had swirled around him his whole life, oblivious though he had often been.
If Mother Northwind was dead, then many elements of her plan must be collapsing… but one thing remained: he was the Magebane, and he was with the Heir. Together they could, on the death of the King, bring down the whole corrupt edifice of MageLord rule.
The death of the King. Karl had shied away from thinking about that element of the plan, but it could not be denied. Just as Falk’s plan had hung upon the failed attempt to assassinate the King, so Mother Northwind’s must also rely upon the King’s death at a moment of her choosing. Which must mean yet another assassin was waiting to strike. But who? And would that assassination proceed without Mother Northwind to give the order?
Mother Northwind had never explained exactly how his powers as the Magebane would work to destroy the Keys. But he remembered how they had passed through the Lesser Barrier together, moving from the warmth of a Palace night to the shocking cold of the Commons winter in an instant. The Barrier had made no impression upon either of them. While he held Brenna to him, she had been as impervious to magic as he.
If she should feel the call, he thought, I will embrace her again, and we will see what happens.
He rather wished he could embrace her anyway. She’s pretty, he thought, glancing sideways at her profile, given a rosier glow by the firelight than her exhaustion and fear would have otherwise allowed. But then he laughed at himself. You only just met, he thought. And the first thing you did was drag her across the lake, armed guards in pursuit, and throw her sock-footed into the snow. Not much to build a romance on!
Vinthor came back. “I activated the magelink with the Patron,” he said. “Mother Northwind is alive, but in hiding in the Palace. She hopes to escape from the grounds this very night. We are to meet her.”
“Here?” Karl said.
“No. Falk’s men are forming up to begin a building-bybuilding search of the city, starting in this area, close to where you emerged through the Barrier. They will certainly find this place. We need to get out of the city before they do.”
“Horses?” Karl asked. “The old inn?”
“Burned after Jopps betrayed us,” Vinthor said grimly, “though for whatever reason he doesn’t seem to have told Falk about this little hidey-hole. No, we’ll take a different way. Early each morning, wagons travel around the city to collect nightsoil. The man who runs the business is… or, at least, was… a member of the Common Cause. And some of his wagons have been modified to take passengers beneath a false floor.
“We’ll get inside a couple of those wagons. They will make their rounds as usual, and leave the city before dawn to dump their loads. Once we are outside of the city, there are still safe houses I can get you to. Mother Northwind, if she escapes, will meet us at the wagons and ride out of the city with us.”
Karl groaned. “You want us to escape the city by burying ourselves in shit?”