by CJ Brightley
Ardhuin took his arm and continued walking as if nothing had occurred to interrupt them. When they reached the park gate, she said, “He can still hear and see in that state, and the less he knows about me the better. For all he knows, there was a second magician behind him that he didn’t notice.”
Dominic decided he did not like the sound of this. “So why are we just leaving, instead of going to the police? What did you do to him, anyway? It isn't permanent, is it?”
“A kind of vital stasis. It will last long enough for someone to find him standing there with a pistol, and that will be sufficient for the police to be summoned without involving us. Besides the inevitable delay, it would create precisely the type of attention we need to avoid.”
“What if he gets away before the police come?”
“We should be well on our way by then, and I doubt he will be looking for us. The after-effects of vital stasis can last for days if no special precautions are taken.”
“There's bound to be some interest in a magical incident like that. Especially here.”
“I know.” She sighed. “We'll just have to hope it won't attract the wrong kind of notice—and that he was working alone.”
Dominic didn’t believe that any more than Ardhuin seemed to. Her instinct of avoiding crowds now appeared to make excellent sense to him.
“We need to talk,” Dominic said as quietly as he could. The Parys Champs de Nord station was not very crowded at this early hour, but the swirling mist and pools of shadow cast by the bright philogiston lights were perfect for hiding in. For once, he had no objection to Ardhuin wearing the magical hat.
She nodded, a sharp, quick motion of her head that did not interrupt her careful watch as they waited. “On the train,” she said. “Take the first empty compartment.”
She took her seat on the end nearest the corridor, and glancing quickly up and down, cast her spell. Dominic watched, fascinated, as the illusion took form. He had not seen her cast his own illusion earlier, just felt it. Now their compartment appeared almost completely full, including the master stroke of a woman with two small children. Every passenger who looked in quickly went further down the corridor of the carriage.
“You are quite good at this,” Dominic said, impressed.
She ducked her head, waving her hand to dismiss his praise.
“I would do it sometimes when I had to travel. It’s an old trick.”
“What are you going to do when the conductor comes for the tickets?” he asked.
She laughed. “They won’t be there anymore. All the real passengers will have taken their seats, so we won’t need the illusion. It’s harder to keep it going when the train picks up speed, anyway.”
He was intrigued. “Why is that?”
Ardhuin tilted her head to one side. “I’m not sure. I think it has something to do with the iron in the wheels rotating. The closer you get to the engine, the stronger the effect, which makes me suspect the mechanical motion creates an interfering force.”
Dominic examined his illusionary companions more carefully when the train began to move. They were not as sharply delineated as they had been at first; he could see very small vibrations, like little shivers, in the illusion’s magic. The fat man sitting next to him was immersed in a newspaper, but he could not read anything other than the title.
Ardhuin dissolved the illusion as soon as she glimpsed the conductor in the passage, and when he had gone, she shifted her place to be opposite Dominic, next to the window.
She sat stiffly in her seat, her gloved hands clasping each other tightly, twisting. While the shadow-hat hid her face, the veiling was drawn tight enough to show her distinctive jawline and to let one bright red tendril escape. He took a deep breath. “I need more information about what’s going on. What you know, what you can tell me,” he added hastily, seeing her hands start to twist even more with agitation. “There is something about seeing a weapon pointed in one’s direction that makes one nervous. I expected any attack to be magical. But this is in some ways worse. Despite all our efforts, your enemies have been able to make another attempt on you. Either we were followed, or they have people watching places such as the stations and the consulate. Both possibilities suggest whatever is going on is not some personal vendetta between mages, but…politics.” He had not forgotten her casual mention of Preusa itself as a concerned party, and he could see his words had an effect. Her hands had stilled.
Ardhuin sighed, as if resigned. “I’m not certain, but I think it has to do with the Mage War,” she said quietly.
Yes, that would qualify as politics. “That was thirty years ago—before you were born! Why on earth would anyone want to kill you now? Was your great-uncle involved?”
“Extensively.” Her voice was dry. “We were very close, but there were some things about that time he would not tell me. We forget, I think, what a horrific shock it was when war magic was used so heavily. And what the Gaulan mages did at Guedoc’s direction—no one wants to think about that, even now.”
“No.” Dominic shuddered. So many dead, and some worse than that. Enslaved by magic.
She sighed again, and her whole body seemed to slump. “From what he did tell me, it was much, much worse than is commonly known. You must promise never to speak of what I am about to tell you, or even hint about it in your stories.”
Dominic nodded slowly. “I promise.”
She looked out the window at the passing scenery for a while, then continued. “The Allies came very close to losing,” she said bluntly. “Very close. The only reason for their success was the concerted efforts of a group of mages, the best of their respective countries. Mages tend to be reluctant to work together; such close cooperation was unprecedented. It was the only thing that saved them, and the governments involved, who knew what could have happened if they had failed, were determined a danger like Guedoc would never happen again. The temporary arrangement was made permanent, and a compact made between all of what were then called the 'Mage Guardians.' If any similar threat appeared, they or their heirs would come together and stop it.” She looked at him. “My great-uncle was one of those mages—under the name Oron.”
He closed his eyes, thinking furiously. “And you inherited more than the house at Peran from him, is that it?”
“Precisely. Everyone in the family knew he was a magician, but only a few knew to what extent. None of them know I am his heir-magical.”
“Well, it's usually more ceremonial, isn't it? Who gets to use what device on banners, and so on. Or finishing obligations of a magical nature.”
She nodded. “Yes. The obligation of the compact is in aeturnam, binding on yourself and your heir. The letter that Gutrune sent me said she had urgent need to contact the heir of the mage Oron, and she thought I might know who that might be. How she figured that out—” she shook her head, puzzled. “Of course, she didn't say what the problem was, but given the nature of the compact, it isn't likely to be pleasant.”
He felt himself growing cold. “Preusa has plenty of their own magicians, even mage level. The best ars magica university is in Baerlen. Why do they want you?”
“They may send me back as soon as I get there,” she said in a resigned voice, shrugging. “There will be at least four other high-level mages showing up. When they realize the heir of Oron is female, they may refuse to let me do anything.”
It was plausible, and he felt himself relax. Ardhuin would not be placed in any more danger and would be surrounded by people who could deal with the threat to her life. Once it was taken care of, they could return to Bretagne. The frozen landscape flashed by the window. “The person who wrote you, Gutrune? How well do you know her?” he asked, finally.
Ardhuin seemed relieved at the change of topic. “We went to the same school. She is Preusan, and went into the government after she left. The others didn’t like her much either, so we were natural allies. Not only did they take exception to my appearance, but many Aeropans think Atlanteans are barely civi
lized. Gutrune is very intelligent and observant—but she didn't advertise this at school.” Ardhuin frowned. “I suppose I should send a telegram when we stop in Koeln. A real visitor would do that, letting her know when to expect me.”
“Do you think she will be surprised that you are coming? That is, does she know you are the heir?”
Ardhuin shook her head. “I never could tell how much she knew. She never gave anything away.”
They arrived in Koeln without incident and proceeded on their journey early the next day. After several hours they crossed a dark, ice-rimmed river, and the train pulled into a busy station.
“Haagen,” said Dominic, reading from the schedule. “A number of the rail lines intersect here.”
Ardhuin was unimpressed. “More people wanting to get on and off, and more delay. We should have left fifteen minutes ago.” She glanced casually at the platform, then gasped. “They've unloaded our luggage!”
“What?”
“Look—that green trunk. And your portmanteau beside it.”
He reached for the compartment door’s handle. “There must have been a mistake with all the changes. I'll go and tell them.” No sooner had he opened the door than a conductor accompanied by three soldiers appeared in the corridor, blocking his way.
“Herr Kermarec, Fraülein Andrews? Come with me.”
“What is going on?” protested Dominic. “Why is our luggage being taken off?”
“If you will come, all will be explained. You must leave the train.”
Dominic’s first fear was that the man in the park had been found and traced to them. Ardhuin gave him a worried look, but he dared not say anything in front of the soldiers. He and Ardhuin gathered their belongings and left the compartment.
They were barely a moment on the platform, which was partly obscured by clouds of steam, when the train pulled away. They waited in silence, the soldiers alert beside them, and then another train took its place. Unlike the one they had arrived on, it had no lettering denoting the line or placard indicating the destination. There were only two carriages behind the locomotive.
One of the soldiers swung himself up to the cabin of the locomotive; the others remained behind Dominic and Ardhuin as the conductor indicated they should board. Exchanging speculative glances, they did so, followed by the remaining soldier, who closed the carriage door and stood outside on guard.
The interior was furnished as a sitting room, and in luxurious style. Thick carpets, carefully selected to harmonize with the wall hangings, covered the floor, and crystal lustres hung from the central light. They swayed gently as the train moved away from the station and steadily increased its speed.
A door at the rear of the parlor opened to admit a tall, stern-visaged Preusan officer. “Grüssen, Herr Magus Kermarec. I am Major von der Kleist,” he said, in accented Gaulan. He glanced at Ardhuin. “If the lady would retire to her compartment, there is sensitive information that must be discussed.”
Dominic and Ardhuin exchanged glances.
“Er, I am not…that is, I believe Mademoiselle Andrews is the proper person for you to speak with,” Dominic said, hesitating at von der Kleist’s stony expression.
“This is to be amusing, yes? I am told your predecessor also did not have always proper behavior.”
A choked snort came from Ardhuin, who was carefully pulling back the veil of her hat.
She bit her lip, then said in a halting voice, “I should explain—my great-uncle made me—”
The major interrupted her. “Please to leave at once! These are matters of the most importance. I do not understand why you bring her here, she is an inconvenience.” He turned an increasingly deep shade of red and glared at Dominic.
Seeing her distress, Dominic gave Ardhuin a reassuring smile. “It was going to happen sooner or later,” he said to her. “Once he’s convinced, there will be much less trouble.” She gave a tremulous nod, looking very unhappy. Dominic sized up the irate Preusan officer and wondered if this could have been any worse.
“Major von der Kleist, I assure you we are not having a joke at your expense. The situation is a serious one, is it not? Despite the apparent irregularity, I must insist you conduct your business with Mademoiselle Andrews.”
The major’s jaw became even more pronounced, but he said nothing. He extended a folder to Dominic that had a large, multicolored seal on it, bright with magic.
“Please believe me, Major. I can’t open that,” Dominic said, grasping for patience.
“Do you mean to say you gave misleading information, saying you were—” the major, with an effort, changed what he was going to say, “a mage of great power?”
“I have never given anyone to understand I was a magician of any sort or degree,” Dominic snapped. “She, however, is.”
The major’s eyes bulged, and he strode angrily towards the carriage door. Dominic was in his path, and when he refused to move, the major raised his fist.
Dominic tensed, but a flash of magic froze the major in place before the blow fell. Dominic raised his eyebrows at Ardhuin, who went red with embarrassment.
“He wasn’t listening,” she said helplessly. “You did try.”
“Yes, I tried.” Dominic sighed.
Ardhuin went up to the enraged, frozen major and gingerly took the folder from his hand. She studied the seal, then lightly ran her fingers over it. “Hmm. They did an impressive job on this. Take a look—you won't see this very often.”
The magic was intricately crafted, different types woven through one another in a way that told Dominic that undoing the protections without activating the overlaying spell of destruction would be quite difficult.
He watched as she laid the folder on the table, then carefully began to deactivate the seal. It was precise, delicate work, and several minutes passed before she let out a breath and sat down on one of the upholstered seats to examine the contents.
“I presume your telegram was responsible for all this,” Dominic said.
She looked up. “I certainly hope so. It had better not be the incident in the park! I doubt we would get the royal treatment for unlicensed magical discharge within city limits, however.” She thumbed through the papers. “Current political situation? Initial schedule? What is this, and why did he make such a fuss about it? It looks just like what you read in the newspaper.”
“Is there some way you can let him talk, at least? He may know more.”
Ardhuin looked at the major, face immobile in eye-bulging fury, and frowned thoughtfully. “I suppose I’ll have to.”
She did not remove the immobility from anywhere but his head, which Dominic considered a very wise decision. Released from stasis, the Major gave vent to a stream of extremely impolite Preusan, which a quick, worried glance at Ardhuin's face told Dominic she fortunately did not understand. When at last the major had calmed himself to the point where he could rant in Gaulan, he seemed to have accepted the reality of the situation. At least to the point of refraining from profanity.
“She really is the proper person to read those documents,” Dominic assured him, seeing him still looking furious.
“Then how is it you are here?” asked the major, determined to get to the bottom of everything.
“I am her assistant,” Dominic improvised. The major appeared to mull this over.
“What is so important in all this that justified such a powerful seal?” asked Ardhuin, puzzled, holding up the papers. “The increase in tension between Preusa and Ostri is common knowledge, and the rest of it….” She shrugged dismissively.
“I was told nothing, but ordered to deliver the packet to the mage traveling from Bretagne, and to give any assistance necessary,” he said stolidly.
Ardhuin rolled her eyes. “How very helpful,” she said dryly.
7
Ardhuin shivered and hoped this trip by water would not be a long one. Ice in the black river bobbed and swirled about the muffled oars. Their boat hugged the edge of the high embankment, hiding in
the deep shadow cast by the philogiston lamps of the street above. There were few potential onlookers, due to the bitter cold and the lateness of the hour, but the Preusans were not taking any chances.
Their transfer from the train on arrival at Baerlen had been equally secretive. Major von der Kleist disembarked like an ordinary traveler, but she and Dominic had left from the back of the train and were whisked through the station on carts with luggage piled artfully around them.
Sitting so close to him on the hard seat, Ardhuin could feel the tension in Dominic’s body. She didn’t dare ask him anything; the silence was absolute and the smallest sound would have been noticeable. Far from reassuring her, these stringent precautions were making her extremely nervous. Something was very wrong.
The boat came to a halt at a series of stone steps that descended into the river from an imposing building, which she assumed must be the Imperial Palace. Ardhuin, Dominic, and Major von der Kleist disembarked in silence, and the boat moved away and vanished into the dark. A door opened, but no light was visible within. A hand gestured them on.
Once inside, light flared about them. Gutrune von Kitren was waiting for them, looking exactly the same as Ardhuin had last seen her—severe yet beautiful, like a statue of Justice. Outwardly, her expression revealed nothing, but from the gleam in her pale blue eyes Ardhuin suspected she was glad to see them. Gutrune wore a formal, close-fitted dress of watered dark blue silk with a small jeweled royal eagle insignia pinned to one shoulder. It echoed the uniform worn by von der Kleist, but remained graceful and elegant. Her honey-blonde hair, which Ardhuin had always envied, was in a braided chignon at the nape of her neck.
Beside her were several guards, and two men clad entirely in black who were watching them closely. One of these black-clad individuals looked distinctly non-Aeropan, with his heavy jet-black hair and bronze skin. Ardhuin felt her heart skip a beat. Was it possible? A Yunwiyan, here?
Von der Kleist launched into a staccato burst of Preusan she could not follow. No doubt he was complaining about what had happened on the train. She glanced at Dominic, and the twitch at the corner of his mouth confirmed it.