They passed through the piers and into a narrow alley surrounded on either side by square structures of dull yellow. The walls were woven from a rough cloth and they fluttered in the wind. Only a few people stirred in the alley, most of them clutching thin garments to themselves, unprepared for the sudden cold.
"Drop your cloaks," said Mauritane.
"What?" Silverdun pulled his own cloak tighter. "It's freezing out here."
"This city spends almost all of its time in much warmer climes," said Mauritane. "We'll stick out like boggarts in a henhouse."
"What about our swords? Won't those be conspicuous?"
Mauritane sucked in his cheeks thoughtfully. "I don't suppose you've spent much time with the Unseelie," he said.
As if to explain his point, a cluster of five or six citizens rounded the corner, beer steins in hand. Each of them wore a sword or dagger at his belt. They passed by, ignoring the band of trespassers entirely.
"At least we know we fit in," said Eloquet.
"Let's go," said Mauritane.
Mauritane walked quickly, with a sense of purpose. He made no attempt to appear inconspicuous as they crossed through the jumbled maze that was the city of Mab. That was his way, of course. He went wherever he chose, and he did not seem to worry about the consequences. But, of course, he always did worry. He just never showed it. Raieve sighed and followed him, trying to keep up.
Had the city actually been a ship, the Tower of Sail could have been its mizzenmast, positioned as it was behind the soaring Royal Complex. From the main deck, the Tower of Sail rose up through a number of levels, passing vertically through open galleries and dark curtains. It was surrounded by open air for at least ten paces in every direction, leaving only one access point, a set of low double doors at the tower's base. A quartet of guards stood tired watch over the portal, two on one side and two on the other. It was easy to imagine that no one had ever attempted to lay siege to the building, so well was it protected by the mass of the city itself.
"Is everybody ready?" said Mauritane in a whisper. They stood in a cluster near a piece of abstract statuary, waiting for the tower's courtyard to clear. When the number of passersby had been reduced to two, Mauritane nodded, and they began.
"My honor, sir!" Satterly shouted at Eloquet. "That is what you have insulted."
Eloquet wheeled on him. "You have no honor to insult, peasant!"
Satterly leapt at Eloquet, catching him about the shoulders and pummeling him to the ground, where they hit the wooden floor with a crash. For an instant, the ground swayed unsteadily. Satterly rose to his knees and pounded Eloquet repeatedly with his fists.
Once they'd gotten the attention of everyone in the courtyard, Mauritane and Raieve broke off from the group. Silverdun remained, ostensibly trying to separate the fighting men.
Raieve approached the two onlookers, trying to look frenzied. "Please help!" she cried, taking the hand of the one of them. They were young men, drunken university students perhaps, and both of them seemed to notice her appreciatively at the same time.
"What's going on?" asked one of them.
"Which one is your lover?" asked the other.
"They'll kill each other," Raieve sobbed. "Please help me."
"What's in it for us, darling?" asked the first.
"Oh, please help!" She took them both by the wrist and started dragging them toward the struggle. While she pulled on their wrists, she chanced a look at Mauritane.
In a glance, she saw this: Mauritane approached the four guards, his hands outstretched, as if pleading for help. He motioned to Satterly and Eloquet. She heard him say, "Would you please… " While he was speaking, his right hand went for his sword. The guards, looking over his shoulder, had their eyes on the fight and not Mauritane. It was all the time he needed. He leaned into his first thrust, catching the guard on the right in the chest. With the blade still embedded, Mauritane pivoted gracefully to the left, his body flowing beneath his sword hand. He pulled the blade out, drawing the killing edge backhanded against the neck of the second guard, who'd taken a moment to look down at his fallen comrade. Continuing the motion, Mauritane bounded across the doorway to the second pair of guards. He rammed the first one with the pommel of his sword, pushing him up against the tower's wall, while the other reached for his weapon. The first man fell, gasping for breath. Mauritane, still holding his sword pommel-forward, spun around to the right. His blade entered the second guard's belly; Mauritane twisted the hilt and the man collapsed.
It had all taken less than the space of a breath, and the two young students had seen nothing, compelled as they were by Raieve's plight.
"Now!" shouted Raieve. She grasped the boys' wrists more firmly and jerked them forward. The smaller of the two stumbled and fell to his knees. The other managed to remain on his feet, only to be decked by a blow from Eloquet, who'd managed to run up behind Raieve and tackle him.
In a few more breaths, all four guards and the two boys were safely inside the tower's anteroom. It was a small, undecorated circular space with a staircase leading up to the left and a small door on the right. Silverdun quickly bound the two boys and the single living guard with spellwire before they gained the presence of mind to protest. He wove layer upon layer of the sticky, translucent gel from his fingertips, coating their mouths, arms, and legs.
Meanwhile, Mauritane helped Satterly and Eloquet undress the dead guards. Raieve stripped unselfconsciously in front of them; she could not help, though, but glance at Mauritane while she pulled her leather leggings down over her calves. He was watching her. At least that was something.
Mauritane, Raieve, and Eloquet donned the guards' uniforms, leaving Satterly and Silverdun to guard the door. Silverdun would be able to keep the door magically locked for a while if there was trouble, and Satterly… Raieve supposed he could throw himself against the latch or something, if it came to that.
Mauritane had memorized the plans of the building. Their target was three flights up and they ran toward it, taking the steps two at a time. Sooner or later they would be discovered; every second counted.
They reached the top of the stairs safely. They exited the staircase, stepping into a whirlwind of activity where, dressed as guards, they were completely unnoticed. Scholars hurried past in the wide hallway, dodging each other as they consulted long scrolls, whispering to each other as they consulted enormous books resting on podiums along the length of the corridor. At the far end of the passage, an archway led into darkness; the only illumination beyond was sparse candlelight that flickered in ghoulish shadows on the walls.
"Is that it?" whispered Raieve.
"Yes," said Mauritane, in a normal speaking voice. He motioned upward with his chin, indicating that she should speak normally as well.
"Fine then," said Raieve, at full volume.
Eloquet touched the prayer beads beneath his tunic. "It's time," he said.
"Yes," said Mauritane.
They strode toward the darkened archway. One of the passing scholars, a pitifully thin man, noticed them approaching and moved to block their path. "You can't go in there," he hissed, annoyed. He held up a bony finger. "This is a critical time."
"Shut up." Eloquet shoved the tiny man sideways against the stone wall of the hall, where his skull struck with an ugly crack. Heads turned across the length of the corridor, watching as the scholar slumped against the wall.
"Aba forgive me," said Eloquet.
They drew their swords and ran through the archway. Candlelight danced on the faces of monsters. The sight was so unexpected that all three of them stopped short.
The things were arrayed in a wide circle, easily ten paces across, sitting nearly elbow to elbow. They were not Fae, at least not entirely. They had been mixed somehow with birds, it seemed, although the hybrid was neither beautiful nor graceful. Hideous, deformed wings grew all over their bodies; their tiny eyes gleamed from within enormous bald heads. Instead of mouths they had flopping black beaks that dripped with sal
iva and foam. When they noticed the intruders, their heads tipped back and some of them made quiet gurgling sounds.
"These are the masters of Elements and Motion?" said Eloquet, gasping in fear.
Mauritane caught himself first. He shoved Eloquet and Raieve into action. "Don't think. Move!"
Raieve went for the one closest to her and started slashing. The thing did not move to defend itself. It simply sat there, the bubbling noise coming from its throat. The force of Raieve's shocked thrust nearly cut the creature in two. It fell backward with a single, wet cry, dropping into a puddle of blood and tiny black feathers.
"What are these things?" she wondered aloud, sweeping her braids back with her free hand. "Are they Fae?" She stepped sideways and struck out at another one. Like the first, it did nothing to save itself.
"They're bred magically with eagles," said Mauritane evenly. "It improves their inner sight. That is how they move the city through space." His sword twirled in his hands, felling one after the other of the creatures, all of whom succumbed with nothing more than a plaintive wail.
Raieve looked out toward the archway. The scholars stood at the threshold, horrified. Some of them covered their mouths with their hands. Raieve couldn't help herself. She smiled at them, licking her lips. One of them fell over sideways.
A few moments later, all of the bird-things were dead or dying, their blood beginning to puddle on the floor. As the last one fell, the room seemed to dip and sway, like a seagoing vessel cresting a giant wave.
"Let's go!" shouted Mauritane. He barreled toward the door. The scholars, already petrified, fell back at his approach.
They reached the door to the stairwell just as it burst open. Silverdun backed out of the doorway, followed quickly by Satterly. The stairwell was teeming with guardsmen in chain mail. They carried vicious-looking curved swords and thin daggers.
"How many?" shouted Mauritane, slamming the door shut before any of the guards could reach it.
"I didn't stop to count," said Silverdun, drawing his sword now that he had room. "I'd guess a dozen. More coming. Held them off as long as I could."
"You did well, Silverdun."
"I'm scared all to piss," Silverdun said.
"So am I," said Mauritane.
The door crashed open again.
Raieve lost sight of her companions. She ran towards one of the guards, crashing into him with her sword aimed at his groin. Blood spattered onto her fingers. The man beneath her grunted, his face red. She rolled off of him, tripping another who bent down to grasp at her legs. Her sword flashed out at a pair of exposed ankles, severing the tendons of each.
The floor swayed again, this time more violently, and several of the men around her fell onto their knees. She whipped her blade around, slashing into the face of the man next to her. He screamed like a child.
Something was dripping down her neck. Standing, she reached up, touched her head, felt a deep cut there. She had no idea when it had happened.
Another guard came at her. This one moved in low and fast, grabbing her around the waist. Raieve leaned forward and bit down on the man's ear, tearing it slowly from his head. He jerked backward, and they toppled to the floor together.
It seemed to go on forever in this way; as soon as she pried one of them off of her, another one was upon her. She strained against them, her sword arm aching, but none of them managed to touch her with a blade. She blessed her good fortune and kept swinging.
When Raieve stood up, it was already over. Mauritane stood with his feet planted, casting his body back and forth for new foes. Easily a dozen bodies lay on the floor. Silverdun was on his knees, holding his stomach. Eloquet and Satterly leaned against the wall, breathing hard.
Satisfied that the stairway had been cleared, Mauritane took a deep breath. "Let's go," he said. He turned and saw Silverdun kneeling. "Are you all right?" he said.
"I'll survive," Silverdun said. "Took one in the family heirlooms."
"We're all alive," said Raieve, shocked. "Five against… eighteen, and we all survived. How?"
All eyes turned to Mauritane. It was Eloquet who said, "You possess all twelve Gifts, don't you? No normal man can fight like that."
Mauritane didn't answer. "Time is running short," he muttered.
"It's true, though. Isn't it? The man who possesses all Gifts in equal strength cannot be beaten by any foe. I saw you. You watched over each of us, protected us while you fought." Eloquet pressed.
"Enough," said Mauritane. "Now go or I'll cut you down myself!"
Eloquet knelt before him. "You are He Who Clears the Path," he said. "Only the one who comes after you is more holy."
Mauritane dragged Eloquet up by his collar. "Not again!" He pulled the man close. "I won't have any of that. Move! Now!"
They ran for the stairs, now silent.
Outside, a phalanx of soldiers waited in the courtyard, their shields close. Behind the ranks of shield-bearers stood a row of bowmen. Mauritane ran headlong into the courtyard and stopped short, the others right behind him.
"Hold fire!" cried a voice from behind the shields. Raieve turned to back away but found the great double doors of the tower were now pushing themselves closed.
A tiny woman, ancient in appearance, perfect in poise and elegance, pressed through the soldiers. Her hands were raised toward the doors, and she beckoned them toward her. When they had closed completely, she dropped her hands and regarded Mauritane.
"Titania's messenger," she said. "What have you done?"
"Death to Queen Mab!" shouted Eloquet. A knife sailed from his fingers, aimed at the woman. "This is for Marar Envacoro!"
The dagger caught in her chest and she sank to the ground. "Who?" she managed.
"That… is Queen Mab?" whispered Raieve.
Mauritane nodded.
Mab stood again and pulled the knife from her flesh as though pulling a pin from a pincushion. She looked at Eloquet, her face serene. "You are about to die; very painfully, I might add. If you think your god Aba can save you, I suggest you call on him now." She took a step forward. "Guards, take them."
Mauritane ran directly toward her, his sword raised high. He shouted to the heavens, a war cry from a faraway place.
The archers raised their crossbows and aimed them at his breast. The order came to fire.
Then the world fell away.
Raieve felt herself pitch forward. She reached out to stop her descent and kept falling. The floor seemed to drop away from her as she continued downward.
She hit something hard, a wooden wall perhaps. When she opened her eyes, the world had turned sideways. Wind sang in her ears. Her stomach tried to leave through her mouth. All around her, men were shouting at the tops of their lungs. Somewhere, in the midst of it, she heard Eloquet's voice, speaking the spell words that had brought Envacoro's flyer to the Mountain of Oak and Thorn.
She was praising him for his presence of mind when a wooden spar came about fast and cracked into her forehead. The sunlight dimmed and she pitched forward onto her face.
When she awoke, she was aboard the flyer, sprawled across the laps of Mauritane and Silverdun.
"What happened?" she said.
"You got hit by a flying hunk of wood," said Satterly. "Are you okay?"
"We got out?" she said.
"Look behind you," said Eloquet. She raised her head painfully and looked backward.
The city of Mab was split down the middle in two jagged halves. From within the wrecked hull, geysers of water from torn plumbing lines sprayed into the afternoon sky. A swirling fire spread across the massive main deck of the city, sending up tongues of flame along the cloth sails and the rigging.
"Look," said Satterly. "It's falling out of the sky."
It was true. The entire city had begun to dip toward the earth. Entire sections of its architecture began to split off and hurtle toward the ground. Fliers sprang from every part of the city's walls, some so loaded with Fae that they themselves tipped and spiraled to the gr
ound.
With a peal like thunder, the two halves of the city separated. The forward half, that containing the Royal Complex, remained aloft while the rear half lost all buoyancy and plummeted. Whatever screams might have been heard were lost in the rush of wind and the cry of metal and wood tearing and breaking, a symphony of destruction.
As Raieve watched, the remaining half of the city lurched once, then twice, then it listed to the side and began to fall, tumbling end over end.
The two halves struck the forested ground within seconds of each other. There was a flash of light from the ground, then an enormous billowing of dust. Then the sound of the explosion reached them, screaming like the roar of death that it embodied.
In the confusion, no one bothered to follow them as they sped away.
"We made it," said Eloquet. "We did it! We did it!"
Mauritane looked wearily at him. "There is no cause to celebrate what happened here," he said. "We just murdered thousands of innocent Fae."
"We saved Sylvan," said Eloquet, his eyes searching.
"Yes," said Mauritane. "I suppose that's one way of feeling better about it." He turned his eyes away from Eloquet's.
Raieve chose to remain silent. She ran her brown-stained fingers through sticky hair, remembering her clan's practical adage that blood and conversation do not mix.
"Look!" said Silverdun, pointing at the ground. "We weren't as successful as we might have hoped."
In the light of the burning city, Raieve saw troopships on the ground, ranks of Unseelie soldiers still filing out of them. There were hundreds of them, perhaps even thousands. As she watched, the soldiers began rushing toward the city's wreckage, fighting the heat of the blast to reach it.
"No," said Mauritane. "And we failed to achieve our primary purpose. See the barge there in the center of the ships? With the gold and purple banners?"
Raieve nodded. The barge was surrounded by soldiers; a curtained palanquin was just visible on its decks.
"That," said Mauritane, "is Queen Mab's."
Hours later, when the damaged flyer finally returned to the temple's roof, it was dark. The round disk of moon bathed the world in a rich indigo glow. No one was waiting to greet them.
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