Dead Magic (7 page)

Winslow adjusted his hold on Mirabella's legs, amused by the way she propped her chin on his right shoulder. He'd been carrying the girl on his back for the better part of the day as a means of expediency. Fayree, Mirabella's mother, managed to keep pace with him, understanding that there were dangers present that she couldn't see. He hadn't gotten a chance to speak with her on the matter of the Pillars, but when they'd passed the front of the train it had been evident.

The crash hadn't been a matter of technical malfunction or even a sudden jumping of tracks. Their train had been yanked off the railway by a twelve-foot vine. The giant, slimy green tentacle originated in the Wild and somehow crossed the Warding Pillars long enough to attack. It was apparent that the thing hadn't been finished, either. The engine and half of the first train car had been dragged through the Pillars and into the Wild before Magic won the battle.

Grimacing, Winslow fought back the images of mangled train, dead conductors and passengers, and continued the trek toward Three Points. His mind, however, kept returning to the distressing scene. The long, glistening vine stretched across their path, severed at the Pillar point. They'd had to step over it to move forward.

The Wild is coming,
he thought grimly.
It's really coming, just like Elsie predicted.
When she'd first sent him on his quest Winslow assumed she just wanted to keep him busy. In the years since Bryva's death, he'd been restless and discontented. Even now, his heart ached at the thought of her. Bryva Gelgova, his vivacious, beautiful, perfectly Untalented lover, felt just as near to him as the day he'd met her. There were moments he swore he could hear her laugh, and dreams where he could still touch and taste her.

Perhaps it was predictable of him, but Winslow welcomed her haunting. He wanted nothing more to do with noble society, so he was more than pleased to take Elsie's assignment.

"Check the boundaries," she'd said. "All of them."

Since she paid all the expenses, Winslow hadn't balked at the enormity of the task. Honestly, he wouldn't have balked if she needed him to pay for it, either. He just wanted to move, to have something to do . . . to matter.

And now I do matter,
he thought. Because a vine breaking through the Pillars to attack a train was exactly what Elsie needed to know. She needed to know that she was right, the Wild was coming, and hopefully they wouldn't be too late to act against it.

"It's too bad you can't fly, Mr. Winslow," Mirabella said. "If I were a witch, I think I'd fly everywhere."

"Oh?" Winslow said. "And where would you go, if you could fly anywhere?"

From beside him, he could see Fayree smile at her daughter, but the woman stayed quiet. She did look a trifle flush, now that he really looked at her, but he thought that had more to do with the exertion of walking than anything else. At first he'd been afraid the woman would need more rest, what with the head injury still so fresh, but then they'd come upon the front of the train and pushed ahead. By silent agreement, they tried to put as much distance between themselves and it as they possibly could.

"They say the Kelemen mountains are so tall they touch the sky," Mirabella said after a moment. "I think I would like to see them first."

Winslow smiled. "You'd best go in the summer, then. It gets terribly cold that high up."

"You've been there?" Mirabella squealed in delight, making him flinch.

He covered the pain of having his ear blasted with a peal of laughter. "My dearest friend was a Kelemen before he wed House Witch Caresse Feverrette. Perhaps you've heard of Bartholomew Feverrette-Kelemen?"

"Do you know all of the witches in Magnellum?" Mirabella wiggled on his back and Winslow had to struggle to keep his footing before they both fell over.

"I know of them," he said with amusement, "but I certainly haven't met them all. Magnellum is a very large place, Miss Mirabella."

"Father says all Witch-Born are lazy and ineffectual. That you all enjoy tea and ignore the rest of us."

"Mirabella!" Fayree scolded her daughter, unable to hide the distinct pitch of dismay in her voice.

"Well, he does."

He stopped them at the base of a hill, his mind torn between the promise of another long climb, Fayree's waning strength-he could sense that from the woman-and Mirabella's accusation. It wasn't the first time he'd heard that sentiment from an Untalented and he doubted it would be the last. The Great Houses were, in fact, too busy squabbling over power and trade to focus on the dangers becoming apparent in Magnellum. A few more "accidents" like the train wreck and the Wild might not have to bother attacking because the people would riot and their whole society would be torn apart.

"I can't say that I like your statement, Miss Mirabella," Winslow lowered the girl from his back and knelt before her. "But I won't deny it, either. There are too many Witch-Born who can't see beyond their own pocketbooks. Your father is right about some, but not all of us."

Mirabella smiled at him. "You're a good man, Mr. Winslow."

From beside them, Fayree let out a sudden and terrified scream. Startled, Winslow looked at her and then at what had caught her attention. Just to his right, the striped, feline creature prowled out of the forests. It looked defiant and imperial and huge, soft fur vibrant in the daylight. He saw it hunch, all of its muscles coiling, and knew it was about to leap.

"Mother, Maiden and Crone," he cursed, shocked.

Fayree grabbed Mirabella and yanked her back at the same moment that the great cat attacked. It let out a horrifying, primal roar and for a dumbfounded moment Winslow couldn't react. The teeth alone were shocking; sharp, pearly and big enough that one bite would go straight through his forearm. It was the claws, however, that snapped him into reality. The creature wasn't aiming for him, it was aiming for Mirabella, and that, he thought with frightened clarity, would not do.

Letting out a yell of his own, Winslow launched himself at the cat. He summoned his Talent to move his body faster, crashing into the feline before it could hit the girl. The impact jarred his body and they both, cat and man, fell to the side in a jumble of limbs.

They rolled together, away from Mirabella and her mother, wrestling awkwardly. Winslow had never fought such a thing before. He tried to think of weaknesses, growling as he felt claws rake over his back. Then its teeth clamped onto his left shoulder, powerful jaws locking closed and Winslow shouted in pain.

With a sudden jerk, the cat yanked Winslow's body leftward, tearing muscle and sinew through his shoulder. Blinding pain shot through him as the cat slammed him to the ground. He felt more claws from its back legs, digging past pants and into skin, successfully pinning him down. The creature shook its head, refusing to release its grip on his shoulder and he heard, more than felt, bones snap.

Dazed, Winslow thought he could hear the damn thing purring. It was a deep, almost guttural sound that seemed to vibrate from the heavy, powerful beast on top of him. Any moment now it was going to yank upward and tear his arm off. And there wasn't much he could do to stop it. The feline was just as strong as he was, possibly stronger, and Winslow was already using his magic. Talent could enhance his natural abilities, making him faster, stealthier, more agile than the average man, but it had limitations.

He had only one weapon left to him. Well, two if he counted his boot knife, but he couldn't reach it at present so his options narrowed to one. Winslow summoned his Talent and bent time. The world around him slowed, taking on a sheen-like, reflective quality. Slow ripples of light ebbed outward, pushing away from him as he held the moment still.

At first, he'd been afraid that the cat wouldn't be affected by the time-bend, but the furious shaking stopped and he knew his gamble had worked. It was a strain on his magic to hold Time so slow and he had to battle past the wretched agony in his shoulder to think clearly.

Boot knife,
he thought, and with a growl of effort, pulled his right leg free of the creature's back paws. He felt its claws rip open the flesh just above his knee, but was too focused on grabbing the knife to care. His hold on Time was slipping, he could feel it.

Shouting in mingled rage and pain, Winslow slammed his dagger into the back of the cat's jaw just as Time snapped away from him.

The grip on his shoulder released and the startled cat reared away from him. The move forced Winslow's dagger to drag through skin and fur until it snagged to a halt on jawbone. It was an oddly silent knifing, or it might have been that Mirabella's screaming covered the sounds of ripping flesh. Either way, the damage was done. The creature roared, this time in pain, and leapt off him.

Winslow's strength failed. The dagger pulled from his numb fingers as the cat retreated, tearing off into the forest again. Colors smeared in his vision as he watched the fleeing creature; visceral red staining majestic fur. The metal pommel of his dagger glinted in the sunlight, its blade still buried into the great cat's jaw.

Mirabella slid to her knees beside him. He saw her dirty, tear-tracked face and tried to smile for her. He didn't want her so scared, didn't want her crying, but his face was as numb as his fingers and he realized belatedly how much blood he had lost. He needed to heal himself before he lost consciousness.

Gathering his Talent, Winslow tried to prepare himself for the feat, but it was too late. His eyes closed and rather than concentrating on the injuries as he'd planned, he just passed out.

***

Valeda stood in the center of a luxurious suite on board the dirigible called the
Crescent Moon
. Plush furnishings surrounded her, all in pleasant shades of honey-gold and maroon, but none of it comforted her. In point of fact, she was afraid to move any further from the commode door lest her stomach make another revolt and she throw up on the thick carpet.

She wasn't sick, not really. She was petrified.

The appeal of the room could not mask the peculiar sway of the dirigible underfoot. It could not hide the fact that she was miles and miles away from the ground, drifting through the sky toward the House lands of Lorant. Valeda wondered if they had already left Delgora behind, but the prospect of a vast, gaping ocean underneath them seemed somehow worse.

Rushing back into the private lavatory, Valeda flung herself over the brass and wood toilette bowl and squeezed her eyes shut. Whatever was left in her stomach was not going to stay there and she refused to ruin the suite. Elsie had paid an exorbitant amount for her to fly back to the mainland of Magnellum and it didn't seem right to repay that kindness by staining the floor.

Elsie has paid for more than just my suite on board the
Crescent Moon
,
Valeda thought miserably. The witch had paid Margaretta for services rendered, such as they were, in delivering Valeda to Delgora House, and loaded the girl down with a ton of fashion advice. For which, Valeda had no doubt, Margaretta would be eternally grateful. In addition, House Witch Elsie Delgora delivered a note of account to Master Rally Bank, transferring a tidy sum into an expense account for Valeda's personal use.

The note was sent via telegram and post since Elsie-Lady Elsie, her mind corrected-did not fully trust the newfangled telegram machine. Valeda had chosen not to mention that the telegram had been in use for over a decade now. The Witch-Born had a history of distrust for technology. They tolerated such gadgets, but Valeda always felt an air of discomfort from them when facing machinery.

Hunched over the brass bowl, Valeda tried to distract herself with questions. As much as she was humbled by the money she'd been given, the Witch hadn't specified what "personal use" it was for. There were four envelopes in her luggage, each of them sealed and labeled, with instructions once she landed in Lorant. Elsie hadn't prohibited her from reading them early, but Valeda couldn't make it to the small writing desk without fear of being sick.

Curiosity was eating at her.

Aside from their hike through the jungle, Valeda hadn't spent much time with the House Witch. Vicaress Leona saw to all of her needs, replenished a small stockpile of luggage prior to her departure and delivered the envelopes just before Valeda boarded the
Crescent Moon
. It was either luck or political maneuvering that Ambassador Taven was on the same voyage. Dependable Monty would undoubtedly try to extract all the information he could from her. She still wasn't certain how he'd learned of her private walk with the House Witch, but she knew he was itching for information.

More than itching,
she thought with a groan. Monty probably thought she owed it to him. He had, after all, helped her get to the ill-fated meeting over tea. To her knowledge, the Ambassador hadn't been given another audience with the Witch or the Consort after that. Not that she blamed Elsie or Lord Dorian for that; Monty had been abominably rude.

In that aspect, Valeda was almost relieved to be sick. Monty couldn't assume she was avoiding him if the maid spotted her like this. If she got to feeling better, she would have to come up with some other excuse. Her only orders thus far were that of discretion. It was best that no one know of her private conversation with the Witch, that she appear ignorant of anything in Delgora, including the construction of an ark.

Whatever she'd seen, or thought she'd seen, on the ridgeline in Delgora, was to remain a mystery. When she completed the tasks in the envelopes, she was promised all of the answers.

Lady Elsie would not only tell her where Magic, the man-god, was, she would show her.
Exclusive rights,
Valeda thought. But in the back of her mind, Valeda couldn't shake a feeling of apprehension. She rubbed her wrist, remembering the icy grip of the ghost-boy at Witch-Eater Lake.

"The Wild is coming, Miss Quinlan. Very soon, I'm afraid."

Elsie's words.

Suppressing a shudder, Valeda thought of the hate that had radiated from the ghost. Or, it wasn't quite a ghost. It was more of a manifestation of the Wild. Which meant that the hatred was really coming from the Wild, from whatever lay beyond the Warding Pillars. There was no doubt in her mind that their quite society would be annihilated if the Pillars fell.