by J M Sanford
“We must get back to the ship,” said Meg, quietly. “We’ll be safer there, and come back only when the stars align.”
20: SHADOWS IN THE FOG
Bessie had fallen silent, hoping Greyfell would deign to tell her more about his early career. Rumour had it he’d been privately trained as an assassin, made his fortune, and lost the lot before joining the army. He’d all but confirmed the part about his once being an assassin, but she wanted to know more. As they walked, she tried to think up appropriate questions on the subject – how to approach it without overstepping the social boundaries placed like tripwires around it. She couldn’t, and gave it up for another day. “All I meant was that I thought it would take more than high mountain paths and a little fog to deter you.” She’d been so busy pushing her own fear of heights out of sight that it hadn’t occurred to her that such feelings might, in this case, be justified. And even taking the path slowly and carefully, they might easily miss something important, too. She sighed. “But you’re quite right. We should get back to the ship and see if the weather shows any sign of clearing.”
They turned and headed back down the path. If anything, the fog had grown thicker since they’d arrived at the tower, but Bessie said nothing and tried not to feel too discouraged. After all, if the White Queen was still travelling by that ridiculous clanking snail caravan, then there would still be plenty of time for Bessie to find the temple first. Bessie would be far away with the treasure long before the White Queen even knew she’d been beaten. She began to daydream what she’d do after she’d won her prize – what lay in store for the soon-to-be-crowned Black Queen. Some people said that finding her Black King should be her first priority, but when she’d asked Greyfell about it, he’d only cautioned her that perhaps she was getting a little ahead of herself. That had been before their journey even began. She couldn’t be quite sure, but she thought Greyfell had seemed a little uncomfortable with the topic. Thirteen was young to be married, but she didn’t view it with romantic notions and dreams of motherhood almost in sight – rather she saw it as a political act with political gains to be had. Her father, a sensible man, understood. Greyfell, who she didn’t think had any daughters of his own, didn’t much like the thought of sending her into the arms of the future Black King so soon. She’d pushed the issue as much as she dared, but Greyfell’s squeamishness won out when he’d tried to explain his misgivings. Anyway, she wanted to complete her studies first, if she could.
The wind sighed around the tower. Was it only her imagination, or had she heard that odd mechanical sound again? She strained her ears, but once again it disappeared as soon as she tried to focus on it. “Amelia, take note…” It had been no more than the slightest whisper – Bessie could easily have missed it in the rhythm of footsteps, a strong gust of wind, the call of a passing bird. She didn’t stop, proud to say she didn’t even break her stride, but she did exchange a look with Greyfell. He’d heard it too. Who was Amelia? Who else lurked in the fog? Take note of what? Bessie held her tongue and listened carefully. The voices came again, muffled now, too indistinct to make out what they said, but very close. She drew her knife, afraid that if and when it came to a fight, it would be too close quarters to use what magic she knew. A shadow flickered across the corner of her eye, and she flinched in spite of herself. Out in the fog, far beyond where the path extended, shadowy figures flickered in and out of view. The way they moved was like no bird or other creature Bessie had ever seen, and in the white vastness of the fog-bound sky she found it impossible to even guess at their size. Greyfell too seemed to be struggling, besieged by shadowy figures that appeared and vanished in an instant, never fully seen. Something whispered across the back of Bessie’s neck, and she whirled, slashing blindly with the knife. Whatever it was gave no resistance to her blade. No sound. Nothing.
“Illusions,” Greyfell growled. “Nothing but magic tricks. Stand firm, Elizabeth, I don’t believe they can harm us.”
Bessie wished she shared his conviction.
And then Greyfell lunged, grabbing for one of the shadows in the mist, and came up with a live, solid foe. More by luck than judgement, Bessie thought. The young man yelled and swore, managing to wrench himself free when Greyfell ducked from something Bessie didn’t even see. The stranger vanished back into the mist, too fast. Greyfell was right; there was some kind of magic at work for sure. And three people at least in the fog: two women and a man. Bessie’s grip on her knife tightened. In her heart she knew she was worth two ordinary women, easily, but still she couldn’t stop the panic rising. For one thing, she was almost certain one of them was the White Side’s Mage, the witch who had attacked Sharvesh before the snail caravan had disappeared under the waves. For another, Bessie had never been in a real, unmoderated fight before, and certainly not one where her opponent could vanish into thin air. If she could only take out the witch…
Something soft and cool snaked around her shin, and she kicked out, almost losing her balance. Greyfell pulled her back from the edge of the path. She realised he hadn’t drawn his sword – too much risk in striking blindly against enemies who might or might not be real, in low visibility and limited space. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to sheathe her own blade.
Greyfell flinched again from something Bessie hadn’t seen. “Using magic as a direct weapon against magically unarmed opponents is against the rules of the contest!” he protested.
“Hah! Didn’t stop your lot back in Ilamira though, did it?” came a woman’s voice from the fog. “Bloomin’ hypocrite!”
“What do you mean?” Bessie hoped if they could keep the witch talking long enough, they’d be able to locate her.
“Them golems of yours nearly blew poor Harold’s head off! And you can see just to look at him that he’s too bloomin’ thick to use magic!”
“Madam!” Even through the fog, it was plain to see Greyfell turning almost purple with anger. “Your accusations are slanderous and your manner most unladylike!”
“What golems?” Bessie asked, but the witch didn’t seem to hear her. They hadn’t fought the White Side at Ilamira…
“Oh, shove it up your bum!” the witch shouted, her position in the fog still impossible to pin down. “You tried to kill my friends, no point being polite about it now.”
Greyfell swiped another invisible assailant away from his ear. “Your conduct in this ancient and noble contest is most unbecoming!” he shouted. “Good manners cost nothing!”
“Which is more than can be said for those ridiculously overpowered weapons you had at Ilamira!”
Listening closely as she tried to locate the angry witch, Bessie caught something else: a quiet, muffled clanking somewhere down the path. She wished Greyfell would shut up and stop fussing about the White Side’s bad manners. Much better to focus their energy on what strange machinery the enemy might have, besides their snail caravan. She advanced, only to be brought up sharp by a burst of magenta sparks exploding much too close to her ear. Just a warning shot, but Bessie had sense enough to stop.
“Stay back!” came a second woman’s voice through the fog, and Bessie knew almost instinctively that she was within spitting distance of the White Queen.
Meanwhile, Greyfell had found something of interest. He gestured for Bessie to follow him and she did so, hoping that because she could not see the White Queen, that the White Queen could also not see her. A narrow tunnel led into the steep wall of the tower. The shadow beasts seemed not to thrive inside, for all was darkness anyway.
“Let’s not risk a fight on the edge, there,” said Greyfell, very quiet. “If the White Side are already here, our greatest concern should be to continue our own quest and find the temple first.” Bessie had to agree. From hundreds of miles away, they’d come so close to their goal, but the essential prize itself lay buried somewhere in countless tons of rock. She hurried faster down the tunnel, not caring about the noise and echoes of her feet on the rock floor. It had to be somewhere close at hand, if only she could find
some sign or clue…
Down corkscrew spiralled staircases, up steep slopes, Bessie soon became disorientated. At least the White Queen hadn’t pursued – Bessie wanted to learn more about her rival’s newfound powers before a second match. More than that, why waste time disposing of the White Queen when they might still beat her to the prize? But the tunnel only twisted and turned itself around until they came out on the steep path again, with neither Bessie nor Greyfell having much idea of how far along the spiral they’d travelled, or even whether they’d gone up or down the tower, in the balance of things.
Far ahead of them on the path, the thick rolling fog had taken on a sickly greenish tinge that spread out into the abyss, and at the heart of it Bessie could just pick out a bright pinpoint glow. Her chest tightened – what had the witch said about powerful magical weapons? If the White Side thought for some reason that their rivals were over-armed, might they have sought out more powerful magical weapons of their own? She was just about to ask Master Greyfell what he suggested they do, when he stopped her and pointed out a huge shadowy figure moving through the mist-filled ravine, headed for the tower.
Over the precipitous edge of the path, far below their feet, the ghostly figure of a ship drifted soundless through the white emptiness, fog rolling in great billows that streamed back past its prow and along its flanks, its rigging traced in grey. The fine hairs on the back of Bessie’s neck all stood to attention at the sight. She could see nobody on board, no figure at the skyship’s wheel, but she could all too clearly imagine the ship filled to capacity with hired soldiers. An army, and of what kind? The wheel turning fine and controlled of its own accord unnerved her more – it made her think of an army of wraiths or spirits, or worse. At the very least, she was sure the approaching skyship must contain the rest of the White Queen’s party: her essential companions coming to her aid. Bessie clenched her fists until her nails bit into her palm. The White Queen most likely had a whole army, and here she was without even a Mage… Fear whispered in Bessie’s ear that she must retreat, but pride urged her down the path, intent on dispatching the White Queen and winning the prize before reinforcements could arrive and tip the balance.
21: THE CLOCKWORK DRAGONETTE RETURNS TO ROOST
Prince Archalthus stood at the parapet, gazing far across the City, into the clouds. Even Commander Breaker, whose eyes were very keen, couldn’t see what his master saw out there in the wide and far distance. Presently, it came into sight: a tiny speck of gold in the blue. Archalthus raised his arm, and the clockwork dragonette landed on his outstretched wrist with a whir of metallic wings.
“You’ve been gone a terribly long time,” Archalthus reprimanded the dragonette gently. “What news do you have for me?”
The clockwork dragonette cheeped and trilled, beautiful music but entirely incomprehensible to all but a handful of individuals. Archalthus inclined his head, listening carefully.
“I see,” he said, when the little spy finally fell silent. The prince’s face, handsome as ever, had taken on a subtly fiercer look. Commander Breaker took a few steps back, out of easy reach. More than once he’d seen that same expression as a precursor to careless servants losing their lives or limbs. Archalthus turned to his Commander. “The griffins,” said the prince thoughtfully. “You have the most experience with them – what is your opinion of their quality?”
Commander Breaker didn’t dare hesitate too long, but only wished he knew what the chirping little spy had said. “All very fine beasts,” he said. “Very well built. Fast as horses, strong as bulls, fierce as lions.” He didn’t add ‘stubborn as mules’ to the list. Nor ‘proud as eagles and capricious as cats’, although he had thought as much from the beginning.
“Hmm. And as loyal as…?”
“As loyal as myself, Master,” said Breaker, too keen. By the look on his Master’s face, he would probably do better to distance himself from the griffins, whatever they were up to.
“I see. I sent two of the griffins to keep the White Queen out of my way. Two should have been quite adequate, should they not? But I hear that they failed to do very much at all to change the course of the White Queen’s skyship, such that she and her companions will reach the temple very soon.”
“Which two?”
“The black and the red. But you said they were all marvellous beasts.”
Breaker cursed the griffins. “I can take a couple of my men out there and stop the White Queen in her tracks before the sun sets, Master,” he volunteered.
“I think not,” said the prince, haughtier than ever. “Judging by recent reports, your gentleman have had even less success than the griffins. Fortunately, this marvellous creature here has brought me all the information I require.”
Commander Breaker glared at the gleaming clockwork dragonette, preening itself smugly on the prince’s elegant wrist. The wretched little spy might somehow find its way to an unfortunate end, next time Archalthus’ back was turned. The tunnels beneath the City were full of heavy machinery, where the delicate dragonette might easily lose its way in the dark… “What about the White Queen, then?” His men should have been allowed to get rid of her when they’d had the chance. Instead they’d ended up making a scene in Ilamira’s Main Street, embarrassing themselves and him in the process. Lucky that Prince Archalthus considered money no object in pursuit of the quest, at least.
“Now that I know the location of the temple,” said Archalthus, “we should be able to reach it within a matter of days. But the White Queen may have reached it by now,” he mused. “Perhaps we find ourselves at the stage where it would be best to eliminate her from the competition.”
“Give my men a second chance to prove their worth, and she’ll be dead before nightfall,” said Commander Breaker.
“No.” The prince gazed out into the sky, and Breaker wondered just how far his Master’s golden eyes pierced into the distance. “I have something else in mind.”
22: GOLEMS AND GRIFFINS
As the Storm Chaser slipped away from the tower and back into the fog from whence it had come, Amelia stood at the stern, anxiously watching for any sign of the Black Queen. The ship coasted almost silently through the air, steadily dropping deeper into the boundless grey inside the depths of the ravine.
“I’m still worried about Captain Dunnager,” she said, when Meg joined her.
“Well don’t be,” said Meg. “He’s a skysailor, tough as old boots. He got us away safely without any complaints, didn’t he?”
“No thanks to Sir Percival, clanking away like a cupboard full of pots and pans falling out!” A good thing Amelia had brought along her coat in case of rain, so they’d at least had something to try and muffle his armour with. “What’s it all in aid of anyway? What possible reason could he have to be in armour every minute of the day?” Amelia had to admit that with the adventures Meg got them into, there were times she dearly wished for a full-body suit of armour of her own. It didn’t quell her anger at the fact that the knight’s cumbersome, noisy armour had almost been the death of them all.
“He has his reasons,” said Meg. “Foolish as they may be. And besides, perhaps he thinks we’re no better, hiding away from the Black Queen.”
“I think we have very good reason to hide from the Black Queen! Dreadful girl… I saw that knife she had, you know. And that bodyguard of hers, didn’t you see him?” A ferocious looking man; scarred, steel-eyed and dressed all in black.
“Of course I saw him. But he’s only a man, and a pompous starch-shirted fool of a man at that. Her Paladin, I ‘spect, just like young Harold is Paladin to you. And don’t you forget, the Black Queen’s just a girl, younger’n you and probably every inch as scared. She may have found it easy enough to fire down on people from up high, but she’ll find it different to fight anyone face to face on level ground. If she had any real experience wielding that knife, I doubt we’d all have come out of that encounter in one piece.”
Amelia stared into the grey, sulking. It was no time at a
ll for Meg to start sympathising with their enemy’s imagined troubles. “If you care so much for the poor little Black Queen, why didn’t you pull her out of her home and off on this wretched quest?” she muttered.
Meg threw up her hands in disgust. “Oh, suit yourself, if you’re going to be like that.” And she walked off, leaving Amelia to her little black raincloud of self-pity.
For the first time in some long while, Amelia honestly wished herself back in her safe, hidden tower just off the coast of Springhaven. The wider world hid too many secrets of its own; too many mysteries. More to the point, it had revealed too many of them to Amelia just lately, without any attempt at an explanation. She’d barely even begun to balance which creatures belonged in fairy tales and which belonged in encyclopaedias. For Amelia, who’d spent her life with her head in the clouds anyway, everything remained very confused. They hadn’t even had a chance to talk to anyone in Ilamira about where those blasted griffins might have come from. She’d considered the possibility that they might be elaborate constructions, not dissimilar to the clockwork dragonette in a way. The impossible hybrids were an offence to nature, but then she might have said the same about giant snails before, as well. Who would even think to build such awful, vicious creatures as those griffins? What purpose could they possibly have but murder? And who on earth would send them out to hunt down an innocent woman who only wanted to live in peace? Amelia felt the sting of tears as all the fear and anger and worry of the long journey overcame her at once. She hurried to the cabin, where she hid her face in her pillow to quiet her sobs. She couldn’t stand the thought of Meg berating her for emotional weakness in the face of the twelve-year-old enemy, and she cried all the harder in humiliation at the thought that Captain Dunnager probably couldn’t help but hear her.
~
A light tapping woke her some hours later. “Are you awake, dear?” Meg called gently through the door curtain. “I’ve brought a piece of that fruitcake for you, if you like.”
