Chapter Ten
The Magic Academy, Kingdom of Tristain, 2nd Day of Ansuz
"Tiffa! Tiffa! I'm trapped in this cell and I can't see Tiffa!"
Saito rolled his eyes as Malicorne continued to bemoan his fate. Bad enough that he was stuck in a cell when he should have been on his way to Gallia to rescue Tabitha, without even Derflinger to commiserate him. But to be stuck in a cell with Malicorne and Guiche, two of his least favourite people in all of Halkeginia?
"Be strong, Malicorne!" proclaimed Guiche, striking one of his usual poses. "By hook or by crook, we will escape this place!"
"Have you got a plan then?" asked Louise tersely. She leant against the far wall, arms folded, a sour look on her face.
"Ah ha ha ha…no."
Guiche's face fell. All sighed in mingled disappointment and irritation. If this was an anime, Saito thought, he would have fallen over with one leg in the air.
"Tiffaaaaaaaa!" Malicorne wailed, biting on a handkerchief in a vain attempt to console himself.
"Oh be quiet!" snapped Louise, rubbing her temples. "I can't hear myself think! We need a plan to get out of here!"
"Well how are we going to do that?" retorted Saito, irritation bubbling to the surface. "They took Derflinger and your wands! And even if we could break the door down, there's a half-dozen musketeers out there!"
Saito knew, for he had passed a few tense hours carefully counting them as they patrolled the corridor outside. He had counted six different faces, with two patrolling the corridor at any one time. Even if he could break out of the cell, there was almost no way he could knock out both of them before a shot could be fired, or a cry for help given. And even if he could somehow do that, all it took was one of the other four to be looking down the corridor to ruin everything.
He was good, that much he knew. But without a usable weapon, let alone Derflinger, he would have trouble with even one of those women, let alone four. If Agnes had trained them half as well as she had trained him, he stood little chance.
His reverie was disturbed when something poked him on the back of the neck. He jumped back with a yell, turning to see what had touched him.
It was the cell door, against which he had been leaning, and the something was a brown finger, reaching through the small, barred eye-slit.
There was a pair of eyes behind that finger; golden eyes twinkling with amusement.
Golden eyes he knew very well.
"Kirche?" Saito was incredulous. Kirche, for it was she, winked at him and slipped a wand through the eye-slit. Saito took it, and Kirche shot him a wink and vanished down the corridor.
"A wand?" Guiche asked, staring at it as if he'd never seen such a thing before.
"It's mine!" Louise took it, turning it over in her hands. "But, how did she…?"
She looked from one to the other of her companions, all of whom were as bewildered as she was.
"No time. Away from the door!" She levelled the wand at the door, as Guiche and Malicorne scampered away.
"Louise, wait!" protested Saito, grabbing her thin arm. "They'll hear you!"
"What choice do we have?" retorted Louise. She shook him off, and levelled her wand once again. Saito gulped, and pressed himself into the corner, fingers stuck in his ears.
"Explosion."
The resulting explosion was not as bad as Saito had feared, and mild compared to many he had endured at Louise's hands. But it was still enough to thrust him hard into the corner, the blast washing over him like a gust of desert wind. The roar hammered at his ears, making his head ache.
Then it was over. Saito straightened up, and blinked as he saw the splinters that had been the cell door.
"So you did get the idea," declared Kirche, leaning around the door to grin at them.
"Kirche! What kind of a crazy plan is this?" complained Saito. "Someone could hear us!"
Kirche stepped back, and opened her mouth to speak. She stood there, speaking rapidly, but no sounds came out.
"…and Louise is a flat-chested…oh, it's worn off."
"Oh, a silencing spell," mused a vacant-looking Guiche. "But how did you manage that without being spotted?"
"That would be my doing." Professor Jean Colbert stepped around her, an awkward look on his thin face. "I…I feel quite terrible doing this, but I couldn't just leave you to rot in here."
"Professor…" Saito stared at Colbert, overcome.
"Now now!" interjected Kirche, a little defensively. "Time for man-love later!" She pulled two more wands from her belt and handed them to Guiche and Malicorne. Colbert pulled a heavy leather baldric over his shoulder, which turned out to be carrying Derflinger.
"Together again partner!" declared the sword cheerfully. "Tiffa and Suleiman got me from the missie's room."
"Wait a minute!" snapped Louise. "You got those two involved?"
"Don't blame me," retorted Kirche. "They wanted to help. Besides, unlike the rest of us, they could move around the dorms without arousing suspicion."
"Okay, so what's the plan?" asked Saito, sliding Derflinger's baldric over his shoulder.
"The Ostland is ready to leave," replied Colbert. "Miss Tiffania and Mister Suleiman are both on board, as are the Ondine Knights. All that remained was to rescue you four."
"We can hole up with my father in Anhalt-Zerbst!" Kirche cut in cheerfully. "There we can get some intelligence on Tabitha, plus anything else we need!"
"Anhalt-Zerbst!" Louise was incandescent. "You…you can't expect us to go there!"
"Germania…" whimpered Malicorne.
"It's that or stay here," retorted Kirche, tersely. "If you want out of this kingdom, the Ostland is your only chance."
"She's right, Miss Valliere," pleaded Colbert. "Nothing in Tristain will be able to catch us."
Louise let out a long sigh.
"Oh, very well!"
"Excellent!" Kirche beamed. "Hurry along now! No time for…!"
"You're going nowhere!"
Kirche and Colbert froze. Saito stepped around the door, reaching to draw Derflinger.
And stopped as he saw Alice la Durant at the end of the corridor, stepping over the slumbering form of a musketeer, her face set in a hard, venomous mask. In her left hand was a very expensive-looking flintlock pistol, aimed straight at Colbert. Her right hand was clutched around the hilt of a dagger in her belt.
"I'm not just good with swords, Miss Zerbst," Alice said coldly. "Don't think I'll miss from this distance."
"Mademoiselle la Chevalresse," pleaded Colbert, his grip tightening on his staff.
"Not a word from you, Jean Colbert." Alice's eyes were gimlet-hard. "And don't think your father's name will protect you, Miss Zerbst."
"That's a very nice pistol, Mademoiselle la Chevalresse," commented Kirche airily. "Not very aristocratic, but very nice. Varangian, by any chance?"
"Alice!" pleaded Saito. He didn't know what Kirche was getting at, and didn't much care. "Please! We just want to save Tabitha!"
"That's no concern of mine," replied Alice. "I have my orders." She eyed Colbert. "And I wonder what Agnes will have to say when she sees you, Professor. I kept my peace because the Headmaster and the Queen both asked, but you're not getting out of this one, not now."
Colbert hung his head, and Kirche began to look scared.
"But…you're a Gallian too, aren't you?" Saito knew he was grasping at straws, but he had no choice. "Tabitha's from your country, isn't she? Don't you want to save her too?"
"And betray King Joseph?" Alice cocked an eyebrow. "I may be in the Queen's service, but Joseph knighted me with his own sword. Give me one good reason why I should go against his will?"
"Because it's wrong!" barked Saito, anger overcoming his fear and despair. "Because she's our friend! Doesn't that mean anything?"
"I have my duty, and my orders." Alice glared at them. "I gave the Queen my…"
"Ah, excuse me!"
Saito gaped as Siesta appeared in the doorway at the end of the corridor. The maid then let out an eep of fright as Alice spun round, aiming the pistol at her.
Saito ran, sprinting down the corridor towards her. Alice turned, eyes ablaze, but too late as Saito reached her, grabbing the pistol from her hands. Alice snarled, thrusting one foot in front of his own and striking him hard with her free hand, sending him tumbling to the floor. She spun round, right hand grasping her sword hilt.
Then slumped to the floor, magic crackling around her.
"You've still got it, darling!" proclaimed Kirche, lowering her wand.
"Mister Saito!" Siesta was instantly at his side. "Mister Saito, are you all right?"
"I'm fine, Siesta." Saito let her help him to his feet, then carefully uncocked the pistol before thrusting it into his belt.
"I never thought I'd be happy to see you, Siesta," said Louise sourly, stepping out of the cell.
"I'll take that as a compliment, Miss Valliere!" replied a delighted Siesta.
"Well," Kirche stared down at the unconscious Alice. "We're going to have to take her with us. Be a dear and pick her up, darling."
"What? Why?" protested Saito. "She was ready to kill us!"
"Miss Zerbst is right," said Colbert gravely. "We don't know how much of our plan she overheard. And even if I used a memory spell on her, the Headmaster could undo it without much difficulty."
"I guess you're right." Saito grabbed the sleeping Alice by the waist, and lugged her over his shoulder. She was heavy, but not too heavy for her size.
"And now, finally," Kirche cut in, "we can get going!"
Somewhere in Tristain...
He was being followed.
Majid was certain of it. He had not encountered a living soul in two days, as he made his way along the winding forest path. It was that strange sense of danger, that unanswerable knowing, that had driven him off the main road.
It was inconvenient, but he had not survived as long as he had without trusting his instincts. They had kept him alive on the streets of Cyrasalem, in the barracks of the Silatars, and everywhere else his strange journey had taken him. A journey that seemed determined to take him further and further from home and everything he had known and loved.
It tormented him at night, when he was alone in the darkness, with only a campfire for company; when he dared to light one. It was a strange darkness, like nothing he had ever known. A cold, heavy darkness that seemed to hang around his very soul, sucking all life and strength and joy from it. It made him dream of death, of taking his dagger and slashing his wrist, letting his blood drain onto the foreign soil below him, and his life slip peacefully away.
At least then he could no longer fail his young master. At least then he could not be tormented and tortured, as these Halkeginians seemed to delight in doing to their enemies. At least then he would no longer be alone.
But now he was not tormented. Something deeper had awakened, something that had always been with him, whispering silently in the back of his mind.
Danger.
He paused a moment, trying to stand like a man halting to rest a moment. He listened, concentrating as hard as his soul-sick mind would allow, trying to filter through the birdsong, and the whisper of the wind in the trees. Listening for...
The bolt of magically-summoned lightning tore into a nearby tree, exploding it in a shower of splinters.
The blast threw Majid to the ground. Instinct took over, and he rolled to his feet, pulling a chakram from his belt. There were three of them, men clad in rough cloaks, their faces covered from the eyes down with cloth masks. But their swords, long and gleaming, were not those of footpads.
One of them shifted his sword towards him, the blade glowing, his mouth moving behind the mask as he enunciated more deadly magic.
But Majid was too fast. He drew back his arm and swung, releasing the gleaming chakram. The chakram hissed as it spun, cutting through the air as it flew towards the enemy. The man tried to evade, but too late. The blade sliced his throat open, sending out a fountain of blood, then embedded itself in a tree.
The man dropped to one knee, his free hand clamped over the gushing wound, still forcing out the spell. Majid charged, drawing his scimitar with one hand and another chakram with the other. He knocked the glowing sword aside and slashed with the scimitar, cutting the man open.
The man crumpled, but Majid did not stop. Instinct made him throw himself back, just in time to avoid a flurry of icicles, each the size of his finger, hissing through the air where he had stood a moment earlier. He caught sight of his attackers; two more men swathed in cloaks and masks, carrying broad-bladed swords of the same type as their doomed comrade.
"You cannot escape us, Arysian," one of them growled. His eyes were bright with a terrible zeal Majid had seen before, and knew to be wary of. "Give yourself up, or it'll be the worse for you."
Majid gritted his teeth. He had no intention whatsoever of giving himself up, not to three men who had jumped him on the road, men who pretended to be bandits yet obviously had no interest whatsoever in his purse or his possessions. Men possessed of such magical ability had no need to make a living by theft.
"If you want me," he growled, hefting his scimitar. "Come and claim me."
The swords snapped up. Majid let fly his chakram and flung himself to the right, barely avoiding a bolt of compressed air. The man on the left brought up his blade with a deft flick, knocking the chakram away, while the other levelled his sword and muttered a spell. Majid sprinted to the right, then halted and turned left, zig-zagging to throw off his aim.
To no avail. He saw the fireball leap from his enemy's sword, blazing forward to strike his cloak. Pain flashed though his body, the heat worse even than the deep desert. With his free hand he yanked the burning cloak free, throwing it at his assailants. The pair scattered to avoid it, and Majid saw his opening. Ignoring the pain in his side and arm, he charged straight at the one on the right.
The man raised his sword, barely catching Majid's first blow. He struck again, from the right, from the left, forcing the masked man back. His enemy's eyes blazed, not with the frustration or fear a normal man might feel, but with the terrible, implacable fury of one who cared not whether he lost this fight, or even if he lived or died.
He had seen it, back home in Arysia. He had hoped never to see it again.
The man parried, catching the scimitar and deflecting it away. He spun on his heels, his sword swinging in a scything blow that would have cut Majid in half had he not leapt back to avoid it. The man attacked again, swinging down from his right. Majid parried and spun, snatching with his free hand for the dagger in his belt. Just in time it came free, and he thrust it hard into his enemy's stomach. The man doubled over, coughing blood.
Majid halted his spin, looking straight at his sole surviving adversary. If his enemy was angry, or grief-stricken, he made no sign of it. There was just that look, still that look.
The sword came up, the blade glowing with gathering magic. Majid charged, desperate to reach him before the spell could be unleashed.
And then he was flying, his entire body burning as if it had been set on fire. He felt himself slam into a tree and tumble to the ground, the pain of the impacts dulled by the white-hot agony. He could smell burning, and as he forced his eyes open, he could see wisps of smoke rising from his scorched jacket.
The man filled his vision, staring down at him with cold eyes. Another joined him, then two more, clad in similar disguises.
"Better late than never, my brothers." The man sounded peeved. "He very nearly had me."
"He was far from weak, this Arysian," replied one of the newcomers. "To defeat Brother Michel and Brother Carinus like that."
"He will answer for that," growled another.
"Our duty comes first," commanded a third. "We must bring him in alive. The Grand Master..."
He trailed off as he looked up, eyes widening in what might have been surprised. The others did likewise, and Majid felt a gust of wind wash over him. The four scattered, shouting and drawing their weapons, as a terrible dark shape flashed overhead, curving up into the sky and coming around in a tight arc.
As the darkness rose to claim him, Majid felt one last shiver of fear and wonder, as he saw the creature descend. A lion's face and body, fangs bared in a terrible roar, held aloft by enormous, draconian wings.
Manticore...
Tiffania was amazed.
The fields and forests of Tristain spread out below her; a breathtaking sight even with only the moons to illuminate it. Ahead, and drawing ever closer, was a range of mountains, dark and majestic in the low light.
Only the constant thrum of the Ostland's three engines put a damper on the scene. Had they travelled on a sailing ship, like the one that had carried her and her friends from Albion to Tristain, it would have been perfect.
At her side stood Suleiman, his arms on the carved wooden gunwhale, staring down at the land just as she was doing. There was a slight smile on his face.
But his eyes told of something more; of a deep sorrow, and wistful loneliness.
"Are you all right Suleiman?"
"Oh!" Suleiman jumped, then smiled up at her. "Forgive me, Miss Tiffania. I was just...admiring the view."
"I was admiring it too," replied Tiffania, glad of his smile. "I've only ever been on an airship once before, and never one like this."
"I never imagined such a thing could exist," admitted Suleiman. "When I saw it that night, I thought it was the Shahbaz; until I saw it, anyway." He chuckled awkwardly.
"The Shahbaz?" Tiffania asked, curious.
"The divine bird of Arysia," Suleiman replied, wonder in his tone. "It protects the Royal family, and it can see the truth in any heart. It first flew down for Cyras, and only one whose heart is pure can summon it."
"Wonderful..." Tiffania breathed. "Suleiman...do you miss your homeland?"
She faltered, regretting the question. Suleiman's smile faded, but only a little; the wistfulness returning to his eyes.
"I do miss it, Miss Tiffania," he admitted, sadly. "I miss it, as I miss Majid; though I doubt he would have cared for this ship."
"I see." Tiffania paused, but could not contain herself. "Suleiman, if you return to your homeland...can I come too?"
Suleiman's head snapped round to face her, so forcefully that Tiffania jumped. Suleiman's eyes were wide with surprise...and something more.
"I would love to show you my homeland, Miss Tiffania," he said, with a sadness that touched her heart. "But I cannot. I don't know if I'll ever be able to go back."
"What happened?"
Suleiman paused, then let out a sigh.
"The Sultan died," he said, forcing out the words. "The great ones, the Merchant Princes of the cities and the Subahdars of the provinces, looked to their own ambitions. They armed themselves for war, and sent assassins against their enemies. The Qizilbashi ran riot, and no one was safe. My...my father died, and his dearest friend, the Mansahdar Silat, ordered Majid to take me out of Arysia."
"Awful..." Tiffania's heart ached. She could hardly imagine would Suleiman had endured, but she knew a little of how he felt.
More than a little.
"I never knew my father," she said. "I only ever lived with my mother, before she was killed."
"Your mother?" Suleiman looked shocked. "But why?"
"Because she was an elf," Tiffania replied wistfully. "At least, that's what they said. I thought everyone else in the world was like that; until I met Mr Saito, and Miss Louise. And I never thought I would meet another half-elf, until I met you."
Was that the only reason? Did she want to see Arysia because it was full of half-elves? Or was it something else?
"So, Suleiman...for what it's worth...I'm glad you came."
She felt her cheeks heat up. She felt foolish, presumptuous. Would he be offended by her words?
"I'm glad too, Miss Tiffania. And besides, we're not the only exiles here."
Suleiman glanced mournfully to his right. Tiffania followed his line of sight, and saw Louise standing some way along the gunwhale, with Saito next to her. She was staring down at the moonlit land, sorrow written on her face.
Tiffania understood. The mountains just ahead of the Ostland marked the border with Anhalt-Zerbst, and the Germanian Empire. In a few minutes, maybe, she would leave her homeland.
And she might never return.
Tiffania was about to go over to her, to offer her some comfort, when her eye fell on a dark shape in the far distance. She blinked, thinking that she was seeing things, or if it was just a cinder thrown from one of the Ostland's smokestacks.
But it wasn't. It was getting closer, ever so slowly. Tiffania stared, and as the thing drew closer she could make out a long, serpentine body, with wide, webbed wings sweeping out behind. She saw them flap, boosting the shape along, ever closer.
"Suleiman!" She pointed at the thing. "Look! A dragon!"
Suleiman followed her outstretched arm, and his eyes widened as he saw the dragon. She heard a cry from Louise, and saw that she and Saito had seen it too.
The dragon flapped its wings again, somehow accelerating to draw alongside the Ostland. Tiffania felt a pang of fear. Professor Colbert had insisted that no flying monster, not even a wind dragon, could catch his Ostland. What could this creature be?
The dragon came around in a tight arc, flapping its wings to slow down. In the glow of Ostland's lamps Tiffania could see a shimmer of blue scales, and a familiar short snout.
"It's Sylphid!" cried Suleiman as the dragon alighted on the deck with a thump. Sylphid, for it was she, then bent her neck forward, allowing a small figure to slide off onto the deck in a flurry of bags and knapsacks.
"Maxwell?"
All four hurried down the steps to the deck. It was indeed Maxwell Grey, standing on the deck in front of Sylphid. His body was festooned with two knapsacks and two pairs of saddlebags, and a large, vaguely oblong object wrapped in a canvas bag and strapped over his back. He looked awkward.
"Maxwell!" It was Saito. "What're you doing here?"
"Sylphid brought me," explained the boy. He sounded hurt. "She said my mistress was here."
An awkward silence descended, broken only by the thrum of the engines. Tiffania looked Maxwell in the eyes, and saw accusation there. Accusation, fear, and pain.
"We had no choice, Maxwell," Suleiman said sadly. Tiffania was momentarily surprised by his words, for neither he nor she had had any part in the subduing and kidnapping of Alice la Durant. But for all that, they could hardly deny involvement, for they were on the same ship and in the same cause. Was he trying to spare Saito?
"No choice, Mr Suleiman?" Maxwell turned those pained, hurting eyes on Suleiman. Tiffania's heart ached at the thought of how her familiar must have felt. He had always seemed to get on well with Maxwell, who although younger was in a somewhat similar position to Suleiman; similar enough for them to understand each-other, anyway.
"If you want to blame someone, blame me," Saito cut in grimly. "If we had left her behind, she would tell them our plans. We had no choice but to bring her with us."
"Maxwell." It was Louise's turn. She was trying to be high-handed, as nobles tended to be, but couldn't quite manage it. "We had no choice. Our friend Tabitha is in trouble, and we could not leave her to her fate."
Maxwell's eyes widened; his hurt and defiance gone.
"But...you hurt my mistress," he protested, his voice hoarse and quavering. "You took her. She's my mistress. I...I..."
Tiffania stepped forward and put a hand to his cheek, holding it gently. It pained her to see him like this. He was mature beyond his years, and deeply loyal to his mistress, but he was still a child; torn between feelings that would have tormented any grown man.
"You haven't done anything wrong, Maxwell," she said, hoping desperately that her words would soothe him. "Alice is here, and she's all right."
She trailed off, as she realized what she had been about to say. Alice la Durant was imprisoned and under guard, her only chance of release being to agree to join their quest. Was that something Maxwell needed to hear? Did she have any right not to tell him?
"Then, please let me see her," Maxwell said, drawing himself up as best he could. Tiffania glanced at her companions, and saw their nervousness.
"Come this way, Maxwell."
"Do you truly believe I'll cooperate with you?"
Kirche sighed. She wasn't sure what she had been hoping for, but she was getting even less.
Seated opposite to her, securely manacled to the wooded chair in the centre of the small room, was Alice la Durant. The older woman sat hunched in her chair, glaring it her with a venom Kirche might have found amusing if it was no so counterproductive. By the door stood two airmen in red tunics, the red eagle and white shield of Anhalt-Zerbst emblazoned proudly on their left breasts. Between pistol, cutlass, and sheer brawn, the two of them would be enough to stop Durant escaping; or at least delay her long enough for the alarm to be sounded.
"I really don't see what your problem is," retorted Kirche, in that louche manner that drove people like Alice up the wall. "We're going to rescue our friend, Tabitha, whether you like it or not. You're not currently in Gallian service, so it's nothing to you."
"I am in the service of the Queen of Tristain, and under her orders!" snapped Alice. "And even if I wasn't, I am a knight of Gallia!"
"Why yes, I had forgotten." Kirche opened the dossier lying on the table before her. She was particularly glad her father had thought to send it. "Alice la Durant, of the noble House of Durant. Of six children, the only daughter. A knight of the Eastern Roses, initiated by the King himself." She flicked through the pages, letting Alice stew for a few moments.
"Quite a few missions here, that we know of," she went on. "Three campaigns...punitive expedition into Yspano...raid on Falkenburg...hmmm..."
"And what would you know of my career?" Alice's face was hard to read. On the face of it she was angry, defiant, but Kirche could detect a hint of question, of wondering.
"My father's spy network has found its way into some surprising places," she replied, smirking. "And the Count Palatine was not at all happy about that Falkenburg business. So unhappy, in fact, that he was willing to sell the details to my father, whose lands he covets."
She had to admit, this was rather fun. To be allowed to mess with someone like Alice was a rare treat. Normally her only outlet for such skills was in seducing young men, enjoyable though that was.
"I could be unpleasant, Alice," she said. "I could threaten to sell you to the Count Palatine...did I mention how unhappy he is about what you did to his most vital fortress?"
A twitch of the brows. Excellent. Alice was good, but she must have known what awaited her at the hands of Frederick von Lothringen, Count Palatine, whose fortress at Drachenschloss guarded the mouth of the main southern pass through the mountains separating Gallic and Germania; the southernmost pass wide enough to let an army pass. Kirche did not know how much the repairs would have cost, but it had to be considerable.
"Instead, Alice, I'm going to ask you a question."
A pause for effect.
"After so many missions, so much good service, so many rewards...why, Alice, should you take your leave of the Eastern Roses and enter Tristain's service? Why? Why put such a glittering career on hold in favour of the little queen of Tristain?"
Alice's mouth opened as if to protest, but no sound came out. Kirche felt the familiar thrill of the chase. She was close, very close.
"I wouldn't expect you to understand," replied Alice coldly. "Not the girl who got herself thrown out of the Vindabona academy over a matter of a young man, then didn't even have the decency to take her punishment."
Kirche did not allow Alice to see the flash of anger her words had elicited. It was an old hurt, one she no longer allowed to seriously bother her. But it still smarted at times.
"I have always lived the Germanian way," she replied airily. "Honest desires, honestly pursued."
"And betraying your own parents into the bargain," Alice cut in, hard and fast. "You were ready to let your family tear itself apart rather than take your punishment and do as your parents wanted." She let out a harsh humph.
"I never encouraged any of it," retorted Kirche mildly, uncertain whether to laugh or scream. "My uncle did what he thought was right."
"Exactly!" Alice spat. "You have no conception of loyalty! You have no idea of what it means to devote yourself to another person, to someone greater than yourself! You've never cared for anyone!"
Kirche thought about retorting. She felt like screaming in Alice's glaring face. It was her, this bitter, proud, stubborn woman, who had never cared for anyone. She didn't know what had passed between her and Tabitha. She didn't know how Tabitha had become her friend, when all others had scorned and feared her. She didn't know how she had found Tabitha whimpering in her sleep, crying out for her lost mother.
She looked again at Alice, and saw the triumph in her eyes. The blow had struck deep, and she was losing the initiative. Time for the coup-de-grace.
"Alice, darling." She regarded the other woman with a very particular look, the look she normally reserved for those whose company she desired. "It's a fine thing to love someone, to love them so much you would simply die for them. But Alice, my dear, why Henrietta? Why her, the little Queen, and not your dear King Joseph?"
Something in Alice's countenance shifted, and Kirche knew she had touched a nerve.
"You couldn't bear it any more, could you?" she said, driving the blade in. "All those missions, all those hard choices, all those moral compromises. You couldn't bear working for that madman any more, could you?"
Alice's face flushed with anger. It was all the confirmation Kirche needed. But now was time to let her down gently.
"I'm offering you a simple choice, Alice. Agree to help us, and we'll let you go and give you your weapons back. Refuse, and you can spend a comfortable imprisonment with my father while we do what we must. The usual rules will apply, of course."
"Then why waste my time?" retorted Alice. "If it's my parole you want, I'll happily sign it. But don't expect me to follow you on your mad quest!"
"That's perfectly fine by me," said Kirche. "But, the thing is, I would much prefer it if you came along with us."
"And I told you, I can't do that."
Kirche sighed. It had been an amusing exchange, for the most part. But she supposed she couldn't have expected anything else.
"Very well then, if you'll..."
The door crashed open, and a small figure lurched into the room, halted only by the brawny arm of one of the airmen.
"Let my mistress go!" shrieked an enraged Maxwell Grey. "Let her go this instant!"
"Maxwell!" cried Alice. Then she rounded on Kirche, eyes bright with rage.
"What's the meaning of this?" she demanded.
"Don't get any funny ideas!" retorted Kirche, surprised by her own vehemence. "I only sent Sylphid to bring him!"
She nodded at the airman. The airman released the boy, who ran to his imprisoned mistress.
"Mistress!" Maxwell wailed, tears in his eyes. "I...I'm sorry mistress!"
"Maxwell, calm yourself!" The command was terse, but Kirche could see the affection in her eyes. This boy, clearly, was her weakness.
"Might I suggest a compromise," she said. "Give me your parole until we reach my father's castle, and I'll remove your shackles."
She gave Alice a smile.
Anhalt-Zerbst, 3rd Day of Ansuz
The castle was an impressive sight.
As the Ostland gently banked for its final approach, Suleiman could not take his eyes off the massive edifice. It was as large as any fortress or palace that might be found in Arysia, at least in such a place as this. Rising from an outcropping at the centre of a wide mountain pass, wreathed about the base with thick green forest, the castle stood proud and alone; its tall round towers reaching up into the sky like the fingers of a giant's grasping hand. The towers were of some white stone, gleaming bright in the morning sun, the conical roofs topped with tall flagpoles from which long pennons of red and white fluttered in the breeze.
But this was no palace, no mere folly, as Suleiman saw as they drew closer. He could make out the thickness of the walls, the sturdiness of the foundations set into the very mountain rock. The black shapes of cannon barrels reached out from the battlements; themselves cunningly arranged to ensure that no area of ground below the walls was clear of fire.
This was fortress and palace both, strong place and home.
One of the towers leaned out on an angle, a feature Suleiman found curious until he noted the course of the Ostland. Professor Colbert evidently intended to dock his airship to the tower, at least for long enough to let his passengers disembark. His conclusion was confirmed by the sight of a great wooden door, and an outer battlement around which the tiny shapes of men hurried.
The sound of conversation drew his attention along the gunwhale. There was Louise, making a great show of wrinkling her nose at the mighty fortress, complaining in a loud voice.
"...and the arrangement of the towers is all wrong! These Germanians have no sense of taste!"
Saito, standing next to her, let out a long-suffering sigh. Kirche, who stood a little further away yet easily within earshot, did not seem much offended to hear her childhood home insulted. If anything it seemed to amuse her.
Little wonder. If what he had heard was true, the houses of Valliere and Anhalt-Zerbst were old enemies. How amusing that must be, how superior, to hear her rival console herself with mockery of the place that was to be her refuge.
Suleiman looked around at his fellow travelers. The Ondine Knights were present on deck, some of them distinctly nervous despite Guiche's efforts. Their captain strolled up and down before them, brandishing his peculiar rose wand, and regaling them with what he must have thought was an inspiring speech about honour, loyalty, and the nobility of chivalrous brotherhood.
In the face of this mighty fortress, with foreign flags flapping in the wind, it all rang hollow, somehow.
The Ostland's propellers finally fell still, as the ship drew alongside the tower. The red-clad airmen set to work, hurling heavy ropes out towards the tower's outer battlement, where men in the same livery caught them. More running, more pulling of ropes, until as one the ropes drew taught, pulling the Ostland in towards the tower. Commands were shouted, in a tongue Suleiman could not quite make out, and little by little the great airship settled into place, the gunwhale doors set alongside the great wooden door in the tower wall before them.
With a clunk, and a clatter of chains, the door suddenly tipped downward, revealing itself to be a drawbridge. The airmen hurriedly pulled the gunwhale doors open to admit it, letting the drawbridge settle onto the deck.
A man emerged from the darkness of the tower. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a thick red beard and red hair hanging down his back. His skin was dark, though not quite as dark as that of Kirche, who stood before the drawbridge with a confident smile on her face. He was clad in doublet and hose of dark red, a great fur-lined cloak hanging from his shoulders. His eyes were narrow and hard, fixing Kirche with a harsh glare as he stepped down onto the deck.
"My lord father." Kirche dropped gracefully to one knee, her right hand over her heart.
"Daughter." The margrave's voice was deep and resonant, with just a hint of threat. "I did not expect you back so soon. Did the academy finally expel you?"
"Not yet, my lord father." Kirche seemed amused by her father's sharp tongue. "This time it's a matter of honour. These friends of mine..." She stood up, and gestured at all present. "They and I have a mission, to rescue a dear friend."
"I see." The margrave regarded his daughter with those cold eyes for what seemed like an eternity. Then, ever so slowly, his broad mouth split into a rather unsettling smile.
"Well, itll be amusing watching you explain it to your mother." His eyes fell on Louise, and his smile widened.
"This would not be who I think it is, would it?"
A shudder of fear ran through the assembled Tristainians. Louise, her face a mask of aristocratic hauteur, plucked at the hem of her skirt and genuflected.
"My lord father," Kirche gestured to Louise. "I have the honour to present Louise Francoise la Blanc de la Valliere, third daughter of their graces the Duke and Duchess de la Valliere."
"Your grace." Louise's tone was icy cold.
"Ah yes, the troublesome Zero." The Margrave turned to face her, looming over her like the mountains surrounding them. "I have heard much of your exploits. You and your company are welcome, mademoiselle."