The Seventh Magic (Book 3)

by Brian Rathbone

  The man she'd encountered earlier blocked her path, a knowing grin painting his face. Without an instant's hesitation, Kira leveled her arm at him and snapped her closed fist upward. The movement activated a hidden release in her sleeve. Super-compressed gas in the copper cylinders escaped through jointed metal tubes that provided a long, straight, cylindrical flight path for the projectiles waiting to be sucked into the barrel by the forceful expulsion. The sound was unlike anything else, making a fump, fump, fump sound. Tiny, thick-walled, glass vials filled with greenish liquid flew toward the overbearing man. The first struck him in the chest, and his eyes flew wide. The second hit him in the neck, the liquid within forcefully injected into his system. He took one step and dropped. Knowing he would have a week-long headache when he awoke did not dampen Kira's humor. The guards flanking the exit did.

  Crossing their staves in a practiced maneuver, the men sufficiently blocked her path. Raising her arms and cocking both fists, she sent glass vials spraying in their direction. One man managed to deflect her attacks with his shield, but the second was struck in a narrow strip of exposed flesh on his leg. Going to one knee, he looked as if he might stand. Kira leveled her arms at both men again, knowing she might already have used all her ammunition. Two more vials flew from her left arm, causing the first guard to flinch. The second collapsed to the floor, leaving her an opening. Running as fast as she could, Kira's hearing suddenly returned. Shouts behind her drove her forward. The remaining guard stood ready to sweep her legs from beneath her. Instead, she applied her skills and training. Leaping into the air, she tucked and made herself very small. Spinning just over the swinging staff, she extended into a pike position before letting bent knees absorb the landing. Without missing a step, she ran across the roadway, ignoring the long series of switchbacks.

  The direct route, though obstructed by statuary, ornamental trees, and other artistic landscaping elements, presented a steep slope. Most would have been sent tumbling by the unsure footing, which was entirely intentional on the designers' parts, but Kira had trained for this exact route. Every turn had been memorized, every side step and jump practiced. Whistles blew long notes, bringing what guards remaining in Lowerton to full alert. She had hoped for a little more time. Bent had better be ready.

  No matter how much conditioning and training she'd endured to prepare for this night, Kira breathed hard and sweat ran into her eyes, making it difficult to see even in the preternatural comet light. Rock and moss had looked solid from the roadway on her many trips up and down, studying the landscape. Now, though, the land twisted and shifted under her feet. The first two bad steps she recovered from, but already off balance, she turned her ankle in the loose soil. Carrying so much speed, the fall could easily have been deadly, but she had trained for this as well, knowing it was a possibility.

  Even as she tumbled, she heard the sound of pop cars thumping to life. Those coming from above did not worry her as much since they would need to snake down the mountainside. The ones below, however, posed a real threat. Surely someone would have stayed at the airing station, and that meant a fully operational defense turret between her and Bent. Not good.

  Rather than fighting the fall, Kira did her best to use it to her advantage. The result left the taste of blood in her mouth but also brought her closer to the bottom with great speed. When at last she did regain her stride, a pair of retrofitted wagons blocked the lower roadway. Most pop cars were little more than horse-drawn wagons redesigned to run on compressed air. Spoke wheels and rigid axels limited their speed, which Bent said was their primary weakness. She could only hope her old friend was right. Given his building and engineering skills, she'd always chosen to believe in him. Now that her freedom and perhaps her life were at stake, she wondered if that had been wise. She'd never even seen this invention of his and prayed it was as good as he claimed.

  So much of what they had done required stealth. Certain risks were unavoidable, but that did little to settle her raging nerves. What the pop cars lacked in speed, they made up for in firepower. Kira's plan was falling apart before her eyes as multiple air cannons pointed in her direction. Oversized air tanks at the vehicles' rears and self-feeding ammunition in vats could provide continuous fire. Accuracy was no longer needed, which sickened Kira as a trained hunter. A single well-placed shot was far better than a dozen poorly aimed. But in this instance, she knew they would do the job nicely.

  Passing the statue of Catrin at a stumbling run, she gained flat ground and subsequently her stride. Pumping her arms and kicking as hard and as fast as she could, there was no escaping the guard. They, too, had trained, and she'd underestimated them. When the repeated thumping sound started and was joined by more, she readied herself for the pain or possibly worse. The corncob rounds they were usually loaded with would sting, but rock or metal load could be lethal. A wooden round exploded on cobblestones just before another struck her in the calf. At least her countrymen showed some kindness and aimed low. The result knocked her from her feet, and she hit the stones hard, lying very still except for breathing rapidly. It was over. She had miscalculated and would pay the price for having gambled and lost. Screeching and a low rumble issued from a side street, the intersection where Kira pushed herself to one knee was dark until gas-fired lights focused on her.

  Like the sound of several pop cars somehow meshed together into a single vehicle, Bent's air car sang a beautiful song. A symphony of science, mechanics, and audacity raced toward her. Twice more she was struck in the legs with wooden rounds, and she went back down before Bent reached her. Putting the air car between her and the guards tested the vehicle's mettle immediately. Bent hadn't said what it was made of, but wood shot bounced off the bodywork, leaving only small dents.

  "Get in!"

  Kira tried but Bent pulled her in before she could coerce her body to move. A moment later, she strapped in and held on. Thrown back in her seat as Bent opened the accelerator full stop, Kira couldn't believe the force with which the car moved forward. Like a leaping deer, it sped along the streets. The pop cars followed, their turrets still functional, though the accuracy became deplorable as the cars bounced over the cobblestones. Looking at the leather bags flanking her seat, Kira realized the wheels were not directly connected to the frame. Instead, reinforced air bags absorbed the vibrations, giving them a much more controllable ride. Bent used that to his advantage.

  Her friend claimed to be the best driver on the Godfist, but she'd always had her doubts. On this night he proved himself as he never could before. "There's an air gun back there," he shouted as they sped along a short stretch of straight road. "Aim for their lights! Use the mirrors. You'll figure it out."

  Even in the rush of wind, her hair stayed slicked back and out of her eyes. Finding the control handle, Kira looked into the mirror before her, now realizing it would allow her to aim and fire the weapon without turning around. Having to do everything in reverse was the only disadvantage. Handling the weapon as she would a crossbow, she fired and missed, taking out a flowerpot in a shop window. That bit Kira truly felt badly about, but the time for personal preference had passed. Squeezing the controls, she let the wood shot fly. Neither she nor Bent wanted to hurt anyone, but they also knew the risks. This had all better be worth it.

  In a single sweep, the flurry of fire blasted out lights on the two closest pop cars. Each one exploded with the sound of shattering glass. It sickened her a bit that spraying felt as good as true marksmanship. Losing their lights didn't present much of an issue on well-lit streets, but they approached the countryside. Once over Martik's bridge, tall trees would obscure even bright comet light. No clouds graced the sky, which worked to their disadvantage, but the guards apparently agreed with her assessment.

  At an intersection, the two lead pop cars split, turning left and right. Three more with working lights continued pursuit, now firing more frequently as buildings became fewer and wider spaced. Ahead, the bridge waited. There was no one posted there this night; at l
east there wasn't supposed to be anyone posted there. A solitary figure blocked the entrance to the massive, rope-suspended bridge. Though the bridge was weight limited, their little pop car was barely enough to make it move. Had the guards in pursuit been closer, it might have made for a much more interesting crossing. The bridge guard got off three shots before leaping to safety. Kira heard a pop and breaking glass, the light ahead no longer as bright as it had been.

  Three times more, shot struck the car, but they quickly moved out of range. Sewn leather tires filled with air absorbed much of the shock and provided traction. The smell of pitch grew stronger as the tires heated. The land beyond the bridge dropped away, and anyone with good sense took the exit nice and slowly. Bent hit the lip wide open. As they soared through the air, Kira realized each tire had its own air tank, whereas most pop cars had a single tank to drive the rear wheels.

  Landing along the slope kept impact from being fatal, but it did knock the wind out of Kira. This part of the escape route would be the most dangerous. Smooth dirt tracks allowed pop cars to move with far greater speed, and Bent showed what his car could do given the chance to pick up momentum. While she'd seen two-speed impeller transmissions before, Kira had never seen one on each wheel. It made sense given the individual air tanks but required far greater technical sophistication and controls. She was still trying to puzzle out the advantages of such a system when Bent yanked hard on a lever beside him, sending the car into a hard left turn, the tires on the left side no longer turning as fast as those on the right.

  Using the accelerator along with differential drive, he sent the car skidding through the turns, the rear end sliding out to the side, making it feel as if they would crash into the thick foliage lining the roadway.

  After a series of sweeping turns, the lights behind them were no longer visible. Bent had been counting on it. Throwing the car completely sideways, he skidded off the main trail toward a cluster of farmsteads. Bent hadn't accounted for the dark marks his turn left behind. It was unlikely the guards would miss them, but time was short.

  Extending from a nearby hayloft was a ramp. Bent aimed for it and drove up into the loft and through a narrow channel between stacks of hay, and he didn't stop until midway through the loft. From beside the door, Chaffy and Galen pulled the ramp in and closed the doors. Bent had mentioned needing to air up before the last leg of their journey, but Kira doubted they could fill the tanks fast enough. Again Bent surprised her, revealing quick-release couplings on each tank. Rather than fill them, he swapped them out for prefilled tanks waiting amid hay bales. Not only did they swap the tanks in less time than it would have taken to fill a single one, but they also swapped out the tires for new ones of similar design but with metal spikes along with tar and gravel for traction.

  Before Kira would have thought possible, Bent opened the accelerator. Clumps of hay flew, assaulting Chaffy and Galen. Traction was limited even with the spikes, and Kira couldn't see what was beyond the barn's back door. Inside, though, was a small ramp. Given the height of the ramp they'd used to come in, it seemed ludicrous and their speed too slow. Bent never flinched. When they struck the ramp, it was all Kira could do to keep from screaming.

  What hadn't been obvious was that the barn had been built into the side of a hill, part of it exposed and part carved into the mountainside. After only a short drop, the ground sloped downward and provided a smooth landing. A cart path led into the woods, getting rougher and muddier as they went. Bent's choice in tires now seemed wise. Only a little farther, and they could escape into the wilderness, back into the places where she was powerful and skilled. Towns had a way of making her feel weak. The aches in her calf and ribs didn't help.

  When lanterns appeared in the forest ahead, Kira cursed.

  "Plan B!" Bent said, turning his head so as not to shout. The guards ahead were on horseback, far faster on a woodland trail than any ordinary pop car. The sound of the car announced their approach, and stealth was no longer possible. "Hang on!"

  Already the trees whisked by, and Kira's hands ached from holding on so tightly, but she did her best to prepare herself for something worse. Horses jammed the trail ahead. Bent pulled a handle that caused an earsplitting whistle to cut the air. Even the well-trained horses were unprepared for it and cleared out of his way, where the sound was most intense. After racing past, he closed the whistle and yanked on another lever. Nothing seemed to happen. After a moment, though, a rumbling roar grew and became a continuous series of booms. With the sound came increased speed.

  Bent worked the controls with frenzied movements, the car gaining momentum. Using the compressed-air drive, he did his best to control the constant thrust provided by what could only be a pitch-fired pulse jet. Soon Kira's seat became almost too hot to sit on, and she knew it was true. They were rocketing through the woods, spitting fire like runaway bits of an airship. Though it was clear Bent had no control over the volume of thrust once the pulse jet was lit, he must have had foresight enough to limit the supply of fuel.

  "I've one more tank of pitch," he said when the jet blew out, "but I don't want to use it."

  "I don't want you to use it either," Kira said.

  Ahead, a stone bridge crossed one of many creeks. It formed a short, steep arc, forcing them the slow. "I should have enough air to get us to Harborton. If I have to light the jet again, we're likely going in the water. Be ready."

  Kira had no chance to reply before he sent them hurtling across the countryside, only one headlamp to show the way. The closer they drew to Harborton, the better maintained the cart trail. Carrying speed, they passed an airing station, its turret unmanned. At least one thing had gone their way. As the car chattered down the main cobbled thoroughfare, Bent looked to his mirrors, checking for pursuit. Seeing none, Kira was ready when Bent locked up the rear wheels and sent them skidding and smoking to a halt, sparks flying from spiked tires. Squarely facing a cellar door, they waited only an instant before Chaffy's little brother Hamm opened it. "Hurry," he said, fear in his eyes.

  Easing on the air, Bent drove down the ramp laid over the steps. Hamm waved and made a run for it, leaving the cellar door open. A bucket of cold water waited, and Kira wasted no time in climbing from the car, no matter how much her body complained. Putting weight on her leg was the worst but she endured. Dunking her head in the water, she worked to remove the water-based dyes. She would have used soap to scrub away the remaining color, but there was no time. Wrapping herself in a plain, brown cloak, she limped toward the open door, looking back to Bent with worry.

  "Go," he said. "I'll slip out the back and make a swim for it. This had better all be worth it. If you've put us through all this for nothing, well . . ." He just shrugged and slipped into the darkness.

  Pain made the climb difficult, and she struggled to close the door. Hearing horses coming, she left it slightly ajar. Immediately crossing the street, she endured the pain, walking with a forced gait, not letting her limp show. Her hair still wet, she pulled it back, just before horses turned the corner. Amber light shone from within her cloak, and she quickly concealed it.

  With her head down, the guard passed her by. Stepping faster, she turned toward the waterline. From a doorway across the street, a man in a fine-quality black suit watched. The fit spoke of tailoring, something most in these parts could scarcely afford. Kira pretended not to see but could not resist a glance as she passed. His eyes met hers, and she quickly looked away but not before noticing the glint of golden cufflinks.

  Walking faster, she hoped this would all be worth it. Still feeling the man's gaze on her back, she hastened toward the next intersection. Had she looked back, she would have seen him smile. Instead she followed that little voice in the back of her mind, the one that told her everything would be fine; all she had to do was believe.

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