“Where is she?” Max asked.
“The Workshop! Prusias keeps children hostage to ensure their parents’ cooperation. Take me there! Our roads lie together!”
Max frowned. If he and Scathach made for the Workshop, they would leave the battle at a pivotal moment. Madam Petra was untrustworthy and had her own agenda. The entire scenario could be a trap, a wild-goose chase, or simply a mother’s frantic scheme to enlist powerful allies. Even if Petra was speaking the truth, there was no guarantee Prusias would be at the Workshop. After all, the smuggler had only seen the king slip onto an elevator. The rest was speculation. He had to speak with David.
Two days earlier, David Menlo had given the Rowan and Raszna commanders small mirrors that could be used to communicate with his pavilion. They were to be used only in true emergencies, a point David had stressed repeatedly. While he would not be participating directly in the fighting, Rowan’s Director would be consumed—his word—with his own initiatives. Unless the issue was of major strategic importance, David Menlo was not to be disturbed. Max thought this qualified.
Ducking into an empty doorway, Max produced the mirror, clicked open its clasp, and spoke the password. The mirror clouded, its surface swimming with a pearly vapors until Max found himself staring at Cynthia Gilley’s round, blinking face.
“Max!” she exclaimed. “What do you need?” Cynthia’s voice was anxious but hushed, as though she didn’t want to disturb nearby proceedings.
“To speak with David.”
“He’s very busy. Is it urgent?”
“Yes.”
Setting down the mirror, Cynthia disappeared from view. She’d left the mirror propped up, however, allowing a glimpse inside the pavilion. Max caught his breath.
The tent was filled with demons.
Squinting, Max held the mirror close. He couldn’t make out any summoning circles, but the demons appeared to be imprisoned, trapped within shimmering columns of energy. Among them, Max recognized some from Prusias’s inner court, including several influential braymas. This must have been what David meant by minimizing resistance in the upper tiers—he was summoning away its most powerful residents! Toward the back, he spied someone walking among them—a woman, very tall and trailing a red gown. She turned so that Max beheld her profile.
Lilith!
He had not seen the demoness during any of the siege planning. She must have held talks with David in secret. Now it appeared the Queen of Zenuvia was helping the Director to summon these enemies and keep them captive throughout the siege. Someone picked up the other mirror. The Director’s pale, preoccupied face came into view. “Yes?”
Max relayed Madam Petra’s information. He did not go into his fears or misgivings—David would already know the risks. The Director listened intently, his expression distant and thoughtful. Once Max was finished, David excused himself for several moments. When he returned, he was with Peter Varga, a member of the Red Branch whose spectral eye granted a hazy, sporadic prescience.
“Max,” said David. “Your report echoes impressions that Agent Varga’s been getting. It’s worth pursuing. Where are you in the city?”
“Felljinn’s Square, by the gates to Tier Four.”
David nodded. “Go down to the third tier. In the northeast corner, you’ll find stairs that lead down to the station. Cooper’s already near that location. Look for him and Hazel on the platforms. Peter will meet you there. Your objective is to find and capture Prusias.”
Max’s disappointment must have been readily transparent. “Capture,” David repeated. “We need him alive, Max. I can’t explain right now, but trust me.”
“Understood.”
“Sol Invictus.”
Max replied in kind before returning to Scathach and Petra. Pocketing the mirror, he glanced down at the anxious smuggler.
“It’s your lucky day, Petra. Don’t fall behind.”
They made for the third tier, winding down the broad avenues and switchbacks. Max dimmed his aura entirely as they hurried past burning buildings where Raszna and Rowan soldiers were busy rounding up or subduing those who had tried to hide or resist. These appeared to be in the minority; most of Blys’s residents were either kneeling in surrender or busy fleeing by whatever exit or means they could. No one attacked or challenged the running trio, not even the ogres and ettins that were busily looting shops. From the worker districts below, there was a deafening roar. Peering down into the haze, Max saw a dreadnought toppling, its tentacles wrapped tightly about the Fomorian’s neck. Max wanted to go to the giant, to help him battle the dreadnoughts, but that wouldn’t get them any closer to Prusias.
“There it is!” Scathach cried. She pointed to a vast, columned portico built into the dark mountainside. Despite the smoke pouring from its entrance, dozens of people were rushing in. Most wore the gray uniforms of Workshop personnel.
To the station they ran, dashing up its broad steps and then into a hazy chaos of warm steam, acrid smoke, and a press of human and goblin bodies pushing and jostling in a mad race down to the trains. Some squeezed onto pod tubes while others raced down escalators and stairwells, stepping over or trampling those who had fallen.
Things were even more frenzied on the platforms. There were twelve tracks but only three trains, and these were already brimming with passengers desperate to be under way. Fistfights were breaking out as more and more people tried to squeeze and crowd aboard the trains, which connected the capital to the Workshop and to other major cities throughout the kingdom. Max heard gunshots, saw one of the trains lurch in an abortive attempt to depart.
Amid all the chaos, Cooper was strangely conspicuous. The Agent slipped effortlessly through the crowd of engineers, expending little energy and no emotion. Catching sight of Max, he gestured toward the farthest platform, a platform whose tracks were empty. Max bulled a path down the steps. In characteristic fashion, Cooper didn’t waste time on pleasantries.
“Any sign of Peter?” he asked, nodding to Scathach and sparing Petra only a passing glance as he continued to scan the stairways.
“No,” said Max. “David just said he’s on his way.”
With a frown, Cooper glanced down at a Workshop device he held in a bandaged hand. There was another bandage about his neck, dark with clotted blood.
“You’re hurt,” said Max.
The man waved off his concern. “I’m fine, mate. Lucky shot. Missed the artery. Peter better hurry, though. Our train’s ready.”
“What train?”
Cooper hooked a thumb at the empty track behind them. “The one this mob can’t see. We commandeered it before it could leave. Hazel and Toby are already aboard. She’s got the conductor bewitched, and he’s keeping the train hidden. Who’s the spare?”
“This is Petra Kosa,” said Max. “She’s—”
“I know that name,” Cooper muttered. He fixed the smuggler with an icy stare. “You’re Prusias’s concubine.” There was no accusation in the Agent’s tone. William Cooper had done enough terrible things in his life that he wasn’t much interested in judgment. He was interested in facts. Madam Petra reddened.
“I’m no such thing!”
Cooper shook his head. “You’re lying. Don’t ever lie to me. I’ll know it before you do. You’re His Majesty’s concubine. You leading us into a trap?”
Tears pooled in the smuggler’s eyes. “No traps,” she said, looking away. “No schemes. I just want my daughter.”
Cooper appeared unmoved. His attention flicked away from the smuggler as one of the trains departed. Steam shot from its exhaust valves and its horn blared as it accelerated smoothly down the tracks. Goblins and even some engineers clambered down the platform and ran after it, frantically trying to catch hold of something, anything before the train disappeared into a tunnel.
“There he is,” said Cooper, nodding as Peter Varga’s unmistakable face appeared at the top of the staircase. The Agent hobbled swiftly down the steps. People moved abruptly out of his path, as though
thrust aside by invisible hands.
“I take it that’s ours,” Varga panted, nodding at the invisible train behind them. Max wondered if the Agent’s ghostly, prescient eye could see through illusions.
Cooper nodded. “Hazel’s already aboard. Come on.”
As they hurried down the platform, the sleek, glossy white train seemed to materialize. Its illuminated blue windows revealed cars packed tight with Workshop personnel staring anxiously at the crowds mobbing the other trains. Many were agitated, shouting ahead at the driver, anxious to be away before their own train was swarmed.
Frightened eyes fell on Max and his companions as they boarded the last car. Cooper led the way, moving people aside as they pushed their way forward. No one checked him or protested. They were met with little more than sullen stares as they moved to the driver’s compartment. Cooper smacked its metal door.
“It’s me.”
There was a sound of mechanized bolts unlocking. The door opened outward to reveal Hazel Cooper, standing aside so they could slip within the driver’s cab. Max entered last. As he squeezed into the compartment, he noticed one unconscious engineer slumped against the wall while the driver was awake but clearly under a spell. The man sat upright, his hands resting on a throttle and a blinking instrument panel of chrome and glass as though awaiting instructions. While his posture was alert and attentive, the face Max saw reflected in the windshield was slack and vacant. The cab was cool and humming quietly, its interior bathed in blue light from the instrument panel. Reaching past Max, Cooper pulled the door shut.
“Let’s go.”
Leaning over the driver, Hazel spoke to him in a soothing voice. With an unblinking nod, the man pushed the throttle. The train began to move, gliding smoothly over magnetic rails. Looking through a side window, Max saw hordes of people racing after them. The illusion must have been dispelled when they started moving.
But the mob would not catch this train. It was accelerating safely and smoothly into a bright tunnel that would bring it to the Workshop. Beside Max, Madam Petra exhaled and shivered, wiping soot and sweat from her brow. Her auburn hair hung dank and limp about a beautiful face now lined with worry.
“What is she doing here?” demanded Toby from where he stood upon the co-driver’s dashboard in a finch’s guise. The bird eyed Madam Petra with sharp disapproval.
“Looking for Katarina,” Max replied, sheathing the gae bolga’s blade and leaning the spear against a bulwark. “She’s just along for the ride. She’s got nothing to do with our mission.”
“And, er, what is our mission?” inquired the smee. “I hope it involves a proper meal. I’m fairly famished. What’s on the menu?”
“A Great Red Dragon,” said Scathach, taking a drink from the canteen of water Cooper was passing around.
“Prusias?” The smee shivered. “Heavens!”
Cooper nodded. “Here’s the plan. We’ve got six hundred miles or about two hours until we reach the Workshop. Rest up while you can. Once we’re there, we’ve got one objective: to take Prusias alive.”
“Why alive?” asked Scathach.
“I don’t know,” Cooper replied. “But the Director says it’s crucial. Perhaps Peter can enlighten us. I’m guessing that’s why he’s here.”
Agent Varga eased gingerly into the empty seat beside the driver. He’d only recently regained the ability to walk, much less scramble through a chaotic train terminal. Swearing softly in Hungarian, he massaged his knee.
“I don’t know why David wants him alive. My task is to recover my soul. Mine and many others.”
When Astaroth had given Prusias his kingdom, the latter offered lands and titles to mehrùn in exchange for their souls. A surprising number took the demon up on his offer—sacrificing the next life for land and luxury in this one. When a young Connor Lynch sought to take the demon up on his offer, Peter Varga substituted his own soul for Connor’s.
“Does Prusias have many?” asked Scathach.
The prescient nodded. “My soul is but one of thousands in the demon’s keeping. Each is locked within a jewel, imprisoned until its human dies and it can be devoured. Wherever Prusias has fled, these jewels will be close, for his kind values souls above all else—they fuel koukerros. The Director has tasked me with recovering them. He hopes my own stake in the matter will trigger visions of the demon’s location.”
“Anything so far?” asked Hazel.
Peter gave a wan smile. “I’m having visions, but not the one I desire.”
“You can see the future?” asked Toby excitedly.
“At times.”
The finch cocked his small head. “What are you seeing now?”
Varga shrugged. “If you must know, I’ve just seen my death.”
Hopping closer, the smee spoke in a hushed, fascinated tone. “Do you die at the Workshop?”
“Toby!” exclaimed Hazel, shooing at him.
Varga only chuckled. The smee’s frank curiosity seemed to amuse him. “Indeed, I do.”
The smee was floored. “You know exactly when and where you’ll die?” he asked, simultaneously appalled and delighted.
Varga shook his head and gazed ahead at the hypnotic blur of tunnel lights. “My visions suggest possibilities, no more. I’ve seen myself die countless times and in countless ways. One gets used to it. Tomorrow is promised to no one.”
“So, how might you die?” pressed Toby eagerly.
Varga sighed. “In this vision, I’m crushed. In others I’ve drowned, burned in fires … even died from a horse’s kick on my grandfather’s farm.”
Toby hopped even closer. “You know, a man with your talents could make a fortune in horse racing, roulette, cards … the possibilities are endless! But you’d need a partner. An amiable chap whose expertise spans turf and baize—”
Hazel pinched his beak shut. “What’s our plan when we reach the Workshop?”
Cooper scratched his patchy blond stubble. “If Varga can’t locate Prusias, we’ll have to find him ourselves.”
Max turned to Madam Petra. “What did you hear about his bunker?”
“Nothing much,” the smuggler confessed. “Mr. Bonn only mentioned it this morning. He talked about a ‘plan B’ involving a bunker and a body double. He didn’t say anything more specific.”
Cooper glanced sharply at her. “You’re sure the double stayed in Blys?”
“Positive,” she replied. “I saw him barking orders at the Imperial Guard right after Prusias disappeared into an elevator.”
The Agent nodded as though convinced she was telling the truth. “All right. Back to tracking down Prusias once we get to the Workshop.”
“How big is it?” asked Scathach.
“Huge,” replied Cooper wearily. “It’s a pyramid, miles wide at the lowest sublevels. It’d take weeks to search it.”
“We don’t have weeks,” said Hazel matter-of-factly. “If we don’t know where he is, let’s eliminate where he isn’t. I think it’s reasonable to assume a secret bunker won’t be in a busy area. I imagine it would be rather small and tucked away.”
Cooper nodded. “If we can access a control center, we could scan the Workshop using surveillance cameras.”
“They won’t have cameras near the bunker,” said Varga.
“Agreed,” said Cooper. “Areas blacked out to surveillance become a priority.”
Toby gave an anxious shiver. “Let’s say we actually find him. How are we supposed to take him, eh? I’ve seen Prusias when he changes form. He’s enormous!”
“If the bunker’s small, he won’t be able to transform,” said Scathach.
“I don’t think Prusias would accept that,” said Varga. “If he’s cornered, he’ll want to fight. And he’s far more dangerous in his serpent form.”
“It doesn’t matter what form he takes,” Petra whispered. “He’s still the Great Red Dragon.” She was studying her hands, the rings and bracelets that adorned them. “He can’t be appeased. He’ll take and corrupt and devour
everything. It’s what he does.” Her eyes darted to Max and the gae bolga. “You must kill him! Slay him with the only weapon he fears.”
Cooper shook his head. “The Director wants him alive.”
Petra looked down. “Then you will be devoured.”
“She has a point,” reflected Hazel. “Prusias is ancient. Very few weapons or spells will work against a spirit that powerful. How are we to subdue him?”
“Well, what did Mina do?” wondered Toby. “She handled him readily enough. Shook her little fist and sent him squealing over the sea.”
“Mina cast him out,” Hazel replied. “But remember that Prusias was invading sacred soil. Settings can play a powerful part in mystics and it’s possible Mina tapped Rowan’s magic to strengthen her own. I can’t say for certain—sorcerers play by their own rules. But Mina’s not here. And our task is not to banish a powerful demon from Rowan but to capture him in his own lair. The circumstances are rather different.”
“It has to be the Hound,” said Varga, gazing at Max. “He’s the only one strong enough.”
“Peter,” said Hazel impatiently. “If we’re to take Prusias alive, Max can’t use the gae bolga. How then is he supposed to subdue Prusias? By sheer brute force? Forgive me, but that’s beyond even Max’s capabilities.”
Scathach almost laughed. “Do you pretend to know what those are?”
Hazel’s eyes flashed, but she said nothing. Folding her arms, she glanced at Cooper. “Are you in charge of this mission?”
“I am.”
“What’s your position, then? Do you agree with Peter?”
“Perhaps we should ask Max,” said Cooper. “He’s fought Prusias before. He knows the demon’s power better than we do.” The Agent turned to Max. “What do you think, Max? Are you up to this task?”
Max gazed at the floor. The truth was that he had always been afraid of Prusias, and not just a little. On various occasions, the demon had charmed, bullied, and dominated him. When Max had been a captive in Blys, Prusias had ordered him to assassinate a rival. When a terrified Max refused, the demon had exploded in rage—seizing him by the throat and dashing him unconscious. The moment’s pain and helplessness were seared into Max’s memory. And Prusias had not needed to take his true shape …
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