by Jim C. Hines
He grabbed her arm, and she growled, letting the wolf surge through her. She stabbed her knife into his shoulder and flung him back. Her whip lashed out, catching the leg of another man and pulling him to the ground.
“So you’ve turned against me as well.” The inflection was Snow’s, though the words were low and gruff, coming from a bearded man to her right. “So much for love. Tell me, do you plan to help Danielle lock me away, or will you simply try to kill me?”
“Not you.” Talia punched the man in the nose, but Snow simply continued talking from another body. “The demon who’s taken you.”
“You Aratheans once called my people demons,” the man said. “Whatever my mother enslaved in the mirror, it’s helping me. You don’t understand what they did, Talia. None of you know.”
“So come back to Lorindar and tell us all about it.” Talia’s words came in tight gasps between blows. She dropped low, kicking her heel back and up into someone’s groin. It was getting harder and harder to keep them away.
A hand grabbed her hair. Talia seized the wrist in both hands and spun. She had to dislocate the man’s thumb to get him to release her.
“It’s not too late, Talia. I can help you to see.”
No matter how hard she struck, how many bones she broke, they kept coming. They had spread out, backing her toward the wall. And there were more above deck.
“Aunt Tala!”
She tried one last time to reach him, striking the next man in the throat so hard he dropped to the deck and didn’t move. She could break through this group, but it would take time to free Jakob from his chains. They would never get past the rest of the crew on deck.
Tears blurred her eyes. “I’m sorry, Jakobena.”
Jakob’s voice rose. “Aunt Tala, please!”
Talia snarled, letting the spirit of the wolfskin take her. Her knife was a fang, ripping flesh wherever it touched. Hot blood splashed over her, but it wasn’t enough. She couldn’t fight the entire crew. She kicked a man in front of her hard enough to crack his ribs, and then she was running toward the ladder. “I’m sorry! Be strong. I promise I’ll save you.”
Another man was already climbing down, with more waiting above. With a shout, Talia ripped him from the rungs and slammed him to the deck. She snapped her whip upward, clearing space at the top. An ax descended toward her head as she climbed. She swung to one side, and the blade thudded into the ladder. She grabbed her attacker and pulled him off-balance, using his weight to open a path through the circle.
Something slammed her hip, and a blade slashed her arm, but she made it to the rail. She turned to see Snow watching from the bow, her arms folded. The moonlight exaggerated both the sorrow on her face and the red scars from her mirror.
“I’ll save you both,” Talia whispered, and leaped overboard.
Danielle sang softly as she stood at the rail, waiting for Talia to return. The song was an old one, a lullaby Jakob demanded most every night before bed. The familiar words loosened the knots in her stomach, even as her eyes watered at the thought of her son.
“You’ll get him back,” Gerta said, coming up beside her. “You’ll be singing him to sleep soon.”
Danielle nodded, but continued her song to the end, just as she had the prior night. Some part of her believed Jakob could hear her, that her voice might help him to feel less afraid.
Talia should have reached Snow’s ship by now. If anyone could sneak on board and find Jakob, it was her.
Gerta stared out at the water. She had left the deck only once since Talia’s departure, and that was to try to scry on Snow and the Lynn’s Luck. Her efforts had failed, leaving her with pain she described as icicles stabbing the base of her skull.
A speck of cold landed on the back of Danielle’s hand. A tiny snowflake melted on her skin. Clouds had drifted to block the moon. Scattered flakes of snow shone in the lamplight as they fell.
Hephyra climbed onto the forecastle, Stub curled in the crook of her arm. She scratched absently at the cat’s chin. “The snow could be a problem if it gets worse. Even light snowfall will slick the rigging and the yards.”
The Phillipa was already at half sail to make sure they didn’t overtake Snow White before Talia could complete her mission. If luck were with them, Talia would return with Jakob before Snow even realized he was gone. Danielle had ordered blankets brought to the deck, and the small oven in the galley had been lit. The galley wasn’t as comfortable as a cabin, but it would help to warm them both.
“Princess?” Gerta leaned out over the rail.
Danielle’s heart pounded. “You see something?”
“Not Talia. Something magic.”
Hephyra dropped Stub, who scampered away. “The girl’s right.” She pointed to a swirl of snow blowing toward the Phillipa. “It’s coming against the wind, from the direction of your friend.”
“A storm?” Danielle asked.
Gerta shook her head. “Captain, I think you should order your men down from the yards.”
Hephyra scowled and spun, barking orders to the crew.
Danielle took Gerta’s hand and pulled her to the ladder, sending her down to the main deck. Over the noise of the crew and the waves, Danielle began to hear a low humming. She leaned out, peering at the swirling snow to see a swarm of insectlike creatures flying purposefully toward them.
The first streak of white buzzed over the deck. An older sailor named Pemberton swore and slapped his neck. “Whatever they are, the buggers sting like wasps from hell.”
The insects were no bigger than bumblebees, and they blended into the snowfall. Danielle saw one man swinging wildly, only to curse when another of the creatures darted in to sting his hand. She drew her sword, but that wouldn’t be much use against such tiny foes.
“Get to the cabin,” Hephyra shouted.
The buzzing grew louder, and one of the creatures flew at Danielle’s face. She ducked, then ran to grab one of the blankets. When the thing returned, she flung the blanket into the air to intercept it. The creature thumped against the blanket, and a tiny needle of ice jabbed through the heavy wool. Danielle folded another layer of blanket over it, then smashed the flat of her blade onto the squirming lump. She was rewarded by a crunch like breaking glass. When she opened the blanket, bits of ice clung to the material.
“Don’t touch it,” Gerta warned. She pointed to the center of the ice. “That’s powdered glass from Snow’s mirror.”
“What are they?” Danielle yelled.
“Magical constructs of ice and glass.” Gerta ducked. “Like wasps or bees.”
Hephyra grabbed one of the oars from the boats, holding it like a quarterstaff. The oar’s blade would give her a better chance of hitting such small targets. Most of the crew were doing the same with whatever weapons they could find, but the wasps were too quick. Danielle grabbed Gerta and began pulling her back toward the cabins.
“How many?” Hephyra asked.
“Thirty? Maybe more.” Gerta twisted away and crawled over to study another of the wasps that had fallen to Hephyra’s oar.
“It’s still moving,” Danielle warned. One wing was gone, but the other flapped furiously against the deck. The body was made of ice, dusted with mirrored glass that tapered to a sliver at the end. “Can you stop them?”
Gerta shook her head. “If they’d hold still, I could probably melt them.”
Hephyra stepped closer, using her oar to knock another wasp away. “And maybe if you ask nicely, they’ll stop buzzing about and line up to be smashed.”
“Get me that lantern,” Gerta shouted, pointing to the mast.
Hephyra crossed the deck, ducking another wasp. The lantern hung from a wooden hook that grew from the mast like a thick branch. It turned supple as Hephyra approached, bending to drop the lantern into Hephyra’s hand.
Gerta stretched both hands around the lantern. Her fingers brushed the metal. “I cast a spell to give the lamp’s heat to Talia. I can use that heat against the wasps, but it mea
ns removing the spell from Talia. If she’s in the water-”
“Do it,” said Danielle. The wasps meant Snow knew about them. If Talia had been captured, she had no need of heat. If not… Gerta’s spell would do Talia little good if the Phillipa ’s crew fell under Snow’s control.
Gerta’s brow furrowed as she mumbled her spell. Heat poured from her hands. She stepped back, and the heat went with her. The lantern itself was cold, despite the flame flickering within. She lowered her hands toward the injured wasp on the deck, which soon dissolved into a tiny sparkling puddle.
The next time one of the wasps swooped near, Gerta stretched out her hands as though trying to throw that heat. The wasp veered away, but didn’t melt. “They’re too fast. I can keep them back, but I can’t destroy them.”
Another man tumbled out of the yards, crashing to the deck with a scream.
“Can you protect another living thing from that heat?” Danielle asked.
“I think so,” said Gerta.
Danielle flung her blanket at a pair of wasps, which darted to the side to avoid it. She sent out a silent call as she gripped her sword with both hands, watching the wasps to see whether they would attack or seek another target.
Another swing of Hephyra’s oar sent them away, toward the helmsman. The wasps had adopted a new tactic, joining together to attack in groups. Seven of them swarmed over the poor helmsman, stinging his hands and face. Other crewmen tried to help him, and the wasps flew up out of reach, gathering in a small cloud as they searched for another victim.
A blur of black fur streaked up from belowdecks. Claws scratched the deck as Stub raced toward Danielle. His fur was raised, making him appear twice his usual size. He hissed at one of the wasps that came too close.
“Cast your spell on him,” said Danielle, urging Stub to wait.
Stub’s tail lashed from side to side, but he sat patiently while Gerta worked another spell. He even began to purr.
“I think he likes the heat.” Gerta smiled as Stub rubbed his face against her hands. “It’s done.”
“Go,” said Danielle.
Stub tore away. His missing leg slowed him hardly at all as he crossed the deck and clawed his way onto one of the tarp-covered boats. From there, he jumped onto a crewman’s head. The man stumbled forward, hair smoking from the heat. Stub pounced. His distance was limited, but he managed to catch a wasp in his front paws. By the time he hit the ground, the wasp’s wings were gone, and he was already scrambling after another.
Gerta winced. “Be careful!”
“That cat is mad,” Hephyra said.
Danielle wasn’t sure which definition she meant, but she agreed regardless. Even from here she could hear Stub hissing and growling as he chased the next of these flying creatures who had dared invade his ship. His pounce missed, but the heat was enough to start to melt the wings. The wasp’s flight wobbled, and another sailor smashed it with an iron pan.
Down on the main deck, several of the men had gathered sailcloth to trap and crush the creatures. Stub continued his crazed hunt, bringing down the rest. He also set one of the sails on fire, but the crew managed to extinguish the flames before they spread too far.
Danielle caught Gerta’s arm. “Are you hurt? Did they cut you?”
“I don’t think so.”
Danielle searched the exposed skin of Gerta’s neck and face, then inspected her own. Neither of them appeared to have been cut. She hurried toward Hephyra. “Make sure none of your men touch the remains with their bare hands. A single cut from the broken glass is enough to enchant them.”
Hephyra nodded and called out, “Anyone bloodied by those damn things, fall in on the main deck. You’re relieved of duty until further notice. If you’re cut and try to hide it, I’ll feed you to the sharks myself.”
“You’ll have to confine them.” The warning came from Talia, who was shaking as she pulled herself over the rail to collapse on the deck. Gerta grabbed one of the blankets and wrapped it around her.
Danielle swallowed. “Jakob?”
“I tried.” Talia slammed a fist into the rail, hard enough to crack the wood. “He’s alive and safe for the moment. He was chained below deck. I dealt with the guards, but Snow… she can see through their eyes. She was controlling them, like puppets.”
Danielle sheathed her sword, forcing herself to accept the news. “Are you hurt?”
“Frozen and mad as hell, but nothing worse than some cuts and bruises.”
“Oh, damn.” Hephyra was staring at Stub. The cat favored his front left paw as he crossed the quarterdeck. Each step left a bloody print on the wood. “What will that curse do to him?”
“It depends.” Gerta was sitting cross-legged on the deck, studying the crushed remains of a wasp. “The magic in these creatures is beyond anything I could do. Even beyond what Snow should be able to do.”
“She’s sent her mirrors away before, animating them like insects of glass and wire,” Danielle protested.
“Not like this. Not so many.” Gerta leaned down until her nose nearly touched the deck, and Danielle worried she would cut herself. “I touched the splinter she left in Armand. This latest attack is different.”
Danielle’s stomach knotted. “Different how?”
“She’s getting stronger.”
CHAPTER 9
Three more days at sea brought Snow to the border between Hilad and the nation of Allesandria. From there, it was another half a day’s ride on horseback to reach the city of Melavin, capital of the Allesandrian province of Yador and home of Ollear Curtana, Lord Mage Protector of the city.
One by one, she stripped away the outer protections of the antiquated tower where Ollear made his home. “The man is clever enough,” she said to the white songbird on her shoulder. “But he lacks depth. He layers his magic instead of interweaving the spells to strengthen them.”
The bird gave a frightened chirp, but it was preferable to the whining. She had transformed Prince Jakob before leaving the ship. With his wing feathers trimmed, he had no means to escape. If he did run away, he would be quickly devoured by a wild animal, or simply crushed underfoot.
Snow thought briefly of Talia and Danielle as she climbed the steps, absently sending her wasps ahead to deal with any servants or human guards. She closed her eyes, peering through those men on the Phillipa who had been touched by the demon’s magic. They were confined in darkness, but their presence told Snow the ship was still under sail, far from shore.
So strange to be home once more, to hear the tongues of Allesandria instead of the grating cacophony of sounds that passed for language in Lorindar. Before the mirror’s destruction, Snow never would have dared return. Nor would she have taken Jakob, or attacked Talia and Danielle. She held no illusions about the way the power of the mirror had changed her. There was a presence within her, helping to strip away the lies of the world, as well as the lies she once told herself.
Snow had been selfish, hiding away in Lorindar, squandering her magic on minor errands for the queen. She might as well have donned blinders, hiding from past and future, from those obligations that called to her from Allesandria.
Obligations like Ollear Curtana.
At the top of the stairs stood a construct of red stone, a magical guard carved in the likeness of the Lord Protector. It moved as smoothly as a living creature, drawing a stone sword as it advanced toward Snow.
She smiled. The sliver lodged in her eye had already shown her the key to the statue’s false life. It had been born of mud blended with a rather complex potion, one brewed from the blood of the caster mixed with that of a loyal servant. She wondered idly if the servant had known the potion would require every last drop of his blood.
Snow pulled her own knife. The steel was razor sharp; she barely felt the cut as she slid the edge over her left palm. She clenched her hand in a fist, then flicked the blood at the approaching statue.
Given time, she could have wrested control of the statue, turning it against its creato
r. But there was too much to do. Instead, she simply willed the statue to return to its component elements.
The statue swung its sword at Snow’s head. Snow raised an arm, and the blade splattered red mud over her arm and jacket. Its face contorted in a melted parody of confusion. Depending on how much of the caster’s own blood flowed through the mud, it should have just enough awareness to realize something was wrong.
Fingers slid free of dripping hands. Snow sheathed her knife and smiled as any last resemblance to Ollear Curtana sloughed away. It gathered itself and lunged in one final attempt to smother her. Jakob squeaked and flapped his wings in alarm as Snow jumped back. The statue fell, splattering itself over the stairs.
Even as she trod through the mud, it clung to her boots. Its loyalty was impressive. Ollear must have improved his formula.
The wooden door atop the stairs was locked, but a quick spell swelled the wood until the planks split and fell away to reveal the grotesquely lavish bedroom of Lord Curtana.
The walls within were enchanted to be clear as glass, giving him a full view of the surrounding land. Dark clouds blotted the stars overhead, haloing the moon in silver. The same illusion blanketed the furnishings, turning them translucent. The wardrobe, the desk by the far wall, even the bed, where Ollear Curtana was busy with a woman far too young and attractive to be his wife. His scalp and face were clean-shaven, glistening with sweat. Like most nobles, he doubtless shaved each day, burning the hair to prevent it from being used against him by a practitioner of sympathetic magic.
“Hello, Uncle.”
Both Ollear and his mistress bolted upright. They each wore a light robe of slavesilk. The thin material was naturally gray, but anyone with a hint of magical talent could change it at will, turning it clear. Snow kept a gown of the stuff for special occasions. The trick was to maintain your concentration as things grew more… distracting.
“Who are you?” Ollear looked past her. Searching for his guards, no doubt. His lips pressed together. “You look familiar.”