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.

“He’s reporting in, having made an end…sorry, having completed his assignment. Strong hint of washing his hands of the entire affair. He delivered the documents but cannot be sure the seal worked correctly since you were the one who opened them.”

At this, the two black-clad men reacted visibly, looking startled and unsure. Gutrune permitted herself a small smile. “I was warned of his…what is the word? Eccentricity?” she said in Gaulan. “Even beyond the grave, it is evident. Thank you for coming so quickly. I am greatly relieved.”

Ardhuin hesitated, then lifted the veiling from her hat. As much as she would have liked to remain hidden, matters had progressed to the point where she would have to reveal herself sooner or later. “I doubt your relief will be universal,” she said, stumbling over her words. “I hope my…that is, I hope this will not cause you too much trouble. He—he didn’t always think things through.”

Gutrune barely raised one hand, and Ardhuin understood. They could not talk freely, even here.

“You are to come immediately to the Council chamber. Major von der Kleist, thank you for your assistance.” The major bowed punctiliously, but did not look at all sad to see them go. He refused to even glance at Ardhuin.

As they followed Gutrune from the antechamber through the polished marble and wood of the palace proper, Dominic murmured under his voice, “This is the friend you spoke of?” Ardhuin nodded. They passed another brace of soldiers at a doorway, and he added, “They like to have guards, don’t they? I wonder why she is our only escort, though. What happened to the two—” he glanced over his shoulder and blinked. “Oh. Still there, but illusioned. They illusioned the boat, too, you know.”

Ardhuin just nodded, too nervous to speak. She was profoundly grateful for Dominic’s presence. Besides his talent for seeing magic and knowledge of Preusan, he seemed to regard this as a grand adventure. It made it just slightly less terrifying.

It was going to be bad. She started to feel sick just thinking about it. There would be people. Strangers, and she would have to talk to them. Argue with them. Prove what they would consider two impossible things—that she was a mage, and the heir of Oron.

When they reached the imposing doors of the Council chambers, Ardhuin had to force herself to breathe deeply. Dominic looked at her, concerned, and she tried to smile.

The door opened. It was not a large room, but was furnished with the same richness as the rest of the palace. Seeing the elegant splendor of the people gathered about the table, she was conscious of feeling distinctly shabby.

“The Mage Guardian of Bretagne, Fraülein Andrews, and her assistant, Herr Kermarec,” announced Gutrune von Kitren.

Ardhuin stifled a gasp. How like Gutrune to simply state the whole, complicated truth from the very beginning. She wished she were one-tenth that brave.

The councilors stared, petrified into silence. Then a swell of outraged muttering grew until one apoplectic gentleman sputtered something she didn’t understand. Gutrune had spoken in Gaulan, but the Council refused to take the hint.

Ardhuin could tell what the general topic of conversation was without Dominic’s whispered translation. She was a woman, and therefore could not be a mage.

Gutrune replied to the shouted imprecations calmly, but the angry voices were having their effect. Ardhuin stepped back, desperately wanting to escape. There were more of the black-clad men here, including the one who looked Yunwiyan, some between her and the door.

“They ask if you have any proof of what you claim,” Gutrune said, looking as if she were merely discussing the weather.

What had her great-uncle told her? A tedious formality, the gloire, but it has its uses. It is essentially a sigil that cannot be written, for it is power incarnate. A formality between mages, he had said, that she should know.

Ardhuin swallowed, gathering the magic thickly close to her, reassured by the silky feel of it. Unlike other spells, this one had words. Just like in fairy tales. Dominic sensed the magic and turned his head sharply to look at her, his mouth open in shock.

“Plaestutiis karon ote Oron hai!”

Dominic cried out and flung up his arm. She should have warned him, and she felt a stab of guilt. The gloire burst around her, a slowly fading golden shimmer that surrounded her like a cloud. Suddenly all the black-clad men were standing between her and the Council, looking angry and intent. She found herself gathering magic for defense instinctively, but Gutrune placed a hand on her arm and shook her head emphatically. She looked startled and a little frightened.

“Ein gloire,” someone said, sounding shaken. “Können sie falsch gemacht werden?”

This started another angry argument between an elderly councilor with muttonchop whiskers and a man in resplendent military uniform.

“Rühe.” The word was said quietly, but with an undercurrent of power that silenced the argument completely. All eyes turned to the figure at the head of the table, whose face bore an expression of grim weariness. Ardhuin blinked, recognizing that face. It was on many of the Preusan coins and was featured prominently in newspaper illustrations. The King of Preusa looked up from his clasped hands and regarded her steadily. “We thank you for your prompt and swift response to our request for aid,” he said in Gaulan.

A ripple of reaction went over the faces of the councilors. Emotion was carefully submerged, and none ventured to speak. The King’s words apparently had more meaning than she understood. His acceptance made her even more terrified. Ardhuin realized she had been hoping they would reject her, but the King was not going to let her go.

He looked so tired.

Ardhuin swallowed again, trying to overcome the sudden dryness of her mouth. “They are right, really, they didn’t know—I mean, my great-uncle intended to introduce me himself before it was necessary to…” she mumbled, feeling her face go hot and red. Again. “I have no wish to intrude if I am not needed. The other Mage Guardians will doubtless be able to manage without my assistance.” The silence in the room deepened, and the councilors were still, looking away or down at the table. “You have contacted the others?” Ardhuin felt a stab of fear. There had to be others. Who would help her with her problem?

“Tell her,” said the King, with a hint of a snarl in his voice.

A grey-whiskered councilor said nervously, in accented Gaulan, “Well, the mage from the Low Countries, Schulyer Colfax, he had a debilitating stroke two years ago. Died not long thereafter. Couldn't speak, didn't name an heir.”

Ardhuin thought for a moment. “The Alban Mage Guardian can't be that old; he isn't one of the originals like Colfax. Where is he?”

“MacCrimmon vanished into some godforsaken corner of Asea called the Tian Shan eight months ago and hasn't been heard of since. And we weren't the only ones searching for him, either,” said a lanky man in uniform, considerably younger than the others in the room. “Looking for dragons, supposedly.”

“MacCrimmon of the dragon book? He is a Mage Guardian?” asked Dominic in a whisper. Ardhuin just nodded.

“And the mages of Preusa and Ostri?” she asked.

“The nature of the difficulty makes us very reluctant to ask Ostri for help,” said the King flatly.

“And I am afraid Professor Siebert met with an accident…let me see, it was three weeks ago. In his laboratory. If he had an heir, we are unaware of it,” said the whiskered one.

“Do you….” Ardhuin took a shaky breath, and continued, “Do you mean to say I am the only Mage Guardian you have?”

“Yes,” said the King. ”That is precisely what we mean.”

Dominic picked his way carefully around the scattered trunks and boxes. All of them were open, and many had their contents strewn about. The rooms they cluttered had been provided for Ardhuin’s use, once she had recovered from her shock at the Council’s news and requested them.

He’d never seen her so terrified, and he couldn’t blame her. This was a trifle more adventure than he had been looking for.

“Blast and damn! I can't have forgotten to pack them!” Ardhuin sat back on her heels, looking red and flustered, and gave the trunk she had been searching a scowl.

“You haven't looked in that one,” said Dominic quietly, pointing.

She glanced at the trunk in question and dove into the contents. Ardhuin gave a triumphant cry, pulling out a heavy wooden box with metal clasps. “Now we can get something done,” she said. She sounded much less frantic, and Dominic felt relieved.

She set the box down on a table and opened it. Dominic came up beside her to observe. The box contained pieces of a beautiful silvery material in a variety of shapes and sizes, each in a padded hollow.

Ardhuin picked up one of the silvery objects and looked about the room. It was a good-sized space, somewhat bare of its usual furnishings, but the walls still had the gilt ornamentation he’d seen throughout the palace. It was interior, which meant it had no windows, and instead of a fireplace it had a beautiful cobalt-blue ceramic cylinder stove.

There were guards outside. Everywhere Ardhuin went now there were soldiers, and the men all in black. They were only alone now because she had convinced them, with unusual vehemence, that setting up a workroom that no one but her assistant and herself would be able to enter was, in fact, increasing her safety.

At last Dominic’s curiosity overcame his concern. “What are you doing?”

“Setting up for the warding,” she said absently, fingering another of the silvery pieces. “These are channels—made of specially tempered chryselectrum. Sometimes it is also called silverglass. The channels shape the field to fit the room.”

“When you set wards before you didn't use them.”

“Ah.” She looked at him and gave a shaky smile. ”Those were simple wards of force, cast from within. This will be a ward of intent and defense. It will be permanent, and we will be able to enter and leave without lowering it. The kind of ward I have at home for my workroom.”

“Oh.” He thought for a while. He remembered that workroom, or at least the door of it. Even when he was just beginning to see magic it had made an impression on him. “Do you have to do it now? You look tired.”

“I'm tired because I was up half the night setting minor shielding and detection spells. If they hadn't played games with our luggage I would have set up wards last night,” she snapped. Then, more evenly, she continued, “I'll feel better when I get the wards up.”

“You could have set up a ward of force.”

“You were in a different room, far away.” She shuddered. “If I set a ward of force I would have been unable to detect any attempt on you.”

He helped her place the channels at all the corners of the room, and several on the ceiling for good measure. Ardhuin took a deep breath and nodded.

“Right,” she said softly to herself. She looked over at Dominic. “I'm going to need to concentrate now. Don't distract me.”

She closed her eyes, standing tall and straight. No longer did she seem flustered and hesitant; her chin jutted out stubbornly. At first, nothing seemed to happen, even though he could see power building and roiling about her. Her eyes opened, wild and stormy, and the table beside him rose a few inches in the air. Soon all the luggage, furniture, he, and Ardhuin were no longer in contact with the floor. Lines of strain were visible on Ardhuin's face, and power built to a blinding intensity.

Suddenly Dominic could see a wall of magic that enclosed them completely, like a bubble. The bubble expanded, and where it met the channels it flattened and deformed from its original spherical shape. It seemed slightly thick and elastic, and the sheer density of power it contained made him shiver. He had never seen her perform such powerful magic before.

At last the bubble fully conformed to the interior of the room, and Ardhuin let the floating furniture back down. The floor felt as if it had been covered by a thin layer of rubber when Dominic's feet made contact again. Ardhuin collapsed into a chair, looking completely exhausted but relieved.

Dominic paced as best he could for the scattered luggage. “We still don't know what happened to make them summon you. Unless they think the accidents involving the other Mage Guardians weren't accidents.”

“Why do you think I was so desperate to get the wards up?” asked Ardhuin wearily. “It sounded like there was some other problem, though, and they only found out about the other Mage Guardians when they tried to invoke the compact. It could just be coincidence and bad luck. But if it isn't….”

Dominic felt himself growing colder as she spoke. “And if it isn't?”

Her narrow face was pale. “Few people know of the compact's existence. Even fewer know who the Mage Guardians are. It is the kind of information governments like to keep secret, you understand. Then, who has the ability to remove such powerful magicians without being detected? The person doing so would have to be a powerful mage in their own right. If the Mage Guardians are being deliberately removed, it must be because of something they would otherwise have prevented. And that,” she sighed, “means something very, very nasty.”

“You think the attacks on Peran are connected to this,” Dominic said.

Her forehead wrinkled in thought, and she shifted restlessly. “It’s hard to tell. My great-uncle died naturally, so I don’t think…but he was suspicious of something. If they are connected, whatever it is has been planned some time in advance.”

“Did he tell anyone else you were his heir?” Ardhuin shook her head, looking sad. Dominic felt his stomach knot. She would have been safer if they had just stayed in Bretagne. No one else knew her secret. Now she had come to Baerlen and identified herself to the Council. If the person behind the plot had known the identities of the other Mage Guardians, what were the chances he could find out what the Council now knew?

Ardhuin was in terrible danger, and he could do nothing to protect her. It was all magic. He would only be able to see it happen.

A muffled thumping came from the direction of the door. He and Ardhuin looked at each other for a moment, then he went to open it. He could feel a slight resistance as he passed through the ward.

Gutrune von Kitren and the foreign-looking black-clad man from the previous night were waiting in the hall. “If Fraülein Andrews is free, we would like to speak with her,” said von Kitren.

Dominic relayed the message.

“It was decided you should have some personal protection,” Gutrune said when Ardhuin appeared. She indicated the man who stood beside her. “This is Markus Asgaya, a defensive magician of the King's guard. He or another will be with you at all times.”

Dominic glanced at Ardhuin. Knowing her dislike of close contact with strangers, he was surprised to see her looking pleased. She glanced at the other magician and said carefully, “O'siyo. Tse' salagi?”

A smile flashed across the man's dark face. “I would answer, but my accent would shame me. I have not spoken Yunwiyan for many years. How do you come to know it?”

She had an answering smile when she replied. “I spent several seasons with my parents on Duno Elutani when I was young.”

“At the ruins, then?” Asgaya was clearly interested.

Ardhuin nodded. “Have you been in Preusa long?”

He made a deprecating gesture. “Most of my life, in fact. My mother is Preusan. When my father died, we returned to Aerope.”

“Yes…of course.”

Gutrune cleared her throat, and Ardhuin returned her attention to her former schoolmate. “It was also decided you should be given the full details of the situation as soon as possible. It has been arranged, but I am afraid Herr Kermarec will not be allowed to attend. The matter is extremely sensitive.”

Ardhuin frowned. “He is my assistant. He will be with me when I deal with…with whatever it is, so why can't he know now? Besides, I need his help. I understand barely five words of Preusan.”

Gutrune smiled slightly but shook her head. “It is not completely sensible, I agree—but those are the orders I was given. As for translating, I will be happy to assist you. Given our connection, I will be the liaison with the Preusan government in any case.”

Ardhuin scowled, glancing at Dominic. He shook his head. The two of them would not be able to defy the entire Council, as much as he would like to. She turned back to Gutrune. “How many of these meetings are planned? Will we be staying here?”

“At the Imperial Palace, and also at the Kriegszauberkollegium. It will likely take most of the day, and tomorrow as well.”

Muttering under her breath, Ardhuin motioned Dominic to follow her back into the workroom, with the excuse that she needed to fetch something inside.

“Unbelievable. Something has them so bothered they are desperate even for a female Mage Guardian, and now that I am here they want to talk me to death!” She snorted.

He forced a smile. “They like to be thorough. It appears they have accepted your magical ability, however. Perhaps they are not so biased as you fear. Your friend clearly has a high place here, despite being a woman. Is there anything I can do for you while you're engaged with these meetings?”

She hesitated, then said, “I'd like to know more about what happened to this Professor Siebert. Go to the university and see if there was anything at all suspicious. Try not to let them know that's what you're looking for, though. After all, we have no proof this was anything other than an accident.”

He looked at her skeptically. “You don’t believe it is an accident, do you?”

“No,” she said soberly. ”You should be discreet in case it isn't. Just…be careful.”

“You be careful as well,” he said as they returned to where Gutrune and Markus were waiting. He tried not to feel desolate as he watched them leave. It's only for a little while, and I have work to do.

One of the functionaries of the palace gave him directions to the university. Dominic declined the offer of a carriage, thinking it best to find his own way. It was not far from the Imperial Palace.

He wandered the grounds for some time after his arrival, looking for the ars magica department. The university was of sufficient antiquity that many of its buildings were formed from the accretions of several centuries, producing a bewildering series of corridors, stairways, and halls connecting the older section to the new. Dominic began to think he had achieved something significant when he found the correct building.

Dominic rubbed his chin and looked about the corridor, seeking inspiration. It seemed that the morning lecture had recently ended and students were crowding the halls. A small group descended the stairs, cheerfully arguing.

“Of course I missed some lectures! Nobody can listen to that venerable fossil every day without risking brain fever. He's usually half asleep himself, anyway,” said a short, sandy-haired student.

“He was awake enough to notice your absence,” observed one of his companions.

“Pardon me,” Dominic said as they came near. “I am here to see Professor Siebert. Could you perhaps tell me where I might find him?” Siebert’s death had been recent enough an obvious foreigner like himself might not have heard about it, and it would be better to pretend he did not know. Besides, it would make it easier to come up with a believable excuse for trying to find out more about the accident. Seeing the astonishment in the faces of the students, he ventured, “This is the College of Thaumurgic Science, yes?”

“Ah, you want the Theology department now,” said the short one. He was promptly punched in the arm by another in the group, a fellow with dark hair and a stormy, intense expression.

“Show a little respect, Jens-Peter, it won't hurt you and it would be a welcome novelty. He could be a friend of the professor’s.” Jens-Peter's assailant turned to Dominic. “I regret to say Dr. Siebert is recently deceased.”

A tall, grave student who had previously remained silent added, “There was an accident with some equipment in his laboratory. Are you perhaps Dr. Gavreche? He had mentioned—”

“No, not at all. My name is Dominic Kermarec. I had never met the professor, but he was recommended to me by an acquaintance as an expert on some questions I have in my research.”

The remaining member of the group, who had been looking about in a genial, myopic fashion during the discussion, suddenly perked up and gazed at Dominic with great interest, pushing up his steel-rimmed glasses for a better view. “Do you also work on levitation magic, then? I had not been aware…but of course, there is the group at the Université Rhames….”

“I'm not a magician,” said Dominic hurriedly, “I merely have an interest—I'm a writer.”

All the students, with the exception of the one with spectacles, stared at him in amazement.

Jens-Peter laughed with frank amusement. “Quatsch! A writer, interested in magic? What do you take us for? Here is boring utility and dull theory, not missing heirs, beautiful ladies, ancient castles, and the rest of the lot.”

Dominic could only hope they had not noticed his start of surprise at how close they had come to describing Ardhuin. “No, the fables…” he struggled for the correct Preusan word “…the stories I write are of amazing things, but things that could really happen. So if I wish to write a tale of someone who makes a magical device to rise to the top of a mountain, I look for those who work on similar things so they may tell me how my idea could be made more believable.”

“Are you…did you write 'Secret World' in The Family Museum?” asked the dark-haired student, frowning thoughtfully.

“Is it out already? Yes, I am the author.” Dominic was astounded that a Preusan student had read it. “Are they translating the magazine now?”

The dark-haired student grinned. “No, more’s the pity. I have a subscription. To improve my fluency in Gaulan.” His comrades made rude noises indicative of disbelief. “I thought your name sounded familiar! Look, we're just on our way to meet a friend of ours, Dieter Theusen, and get a meal. He was Professor Siebert's assistant. Why don't you join us?”

Jens-Peter enthusiastically seconded the invitation, with the rider, “If he doesn't mind being seen with university students in public!”

“It wasn't so long since I was one myself,” retorted Dominic. “I would be honored.”

“What university?” asked the tall one as they descended the stairs.

“Université Dinan.”

“Do you still remember how to throw bread rolls?” asked Jens-Peter.

The other students introduced themselves as they walked to the restaurant where they would rendezvous with Dieter. The dark, stormy one was Wolfgang Maurer, the tall one gave his name as Stefan Arendt, and the bespectacled student was Jochim Weiskopf.

“Dieter and Jochim are studying magic, as am I,” said Stefan.

“It is the theory of magic only, for me,” said Jochim, apologetically. “My ability is itself not good.”

“I have none at all, so I'm stuck with mechanical arts,” said Jens-Peter. “And since Maurer has ambitions to learn as much as possible without actually making himself useful, he studies both classics and literature.”

Maurer rolled his eyes at this but said nothing.

Dieter Theusen was an earnest, enthusiastic young man with an unruly shock of blond hair and one arm in a sling. “I was in the next room when it happened,” he said between mouthfuls. “There was this tremendous explosion, and the whole building shook. Some of the equipment cabinets fell over—that's what got me.” He indicated his arm with his fork.

“What was he working on that was so dangerous?” asked Dominic.

“Levitation ships,” Dieter said thickly, and took a deep drink from his stein.

“But levitation doesn't create explosions,” Dominic protested, thinking of the countless times Ardhuin had levitated objects, including himself, without the slightest hazard.

“Not by itself, no. But by itself it doesn't make a self-propelled ship, either. We were using a motor to actually move it. The dangerous part is mixing the magical and mechanical devices in such a close space—too much chance of a large enough piece of iron moving through a magical field and building up a discharge, and then the fuel can ignite.” Dieter shrugged. “One of the fields must have become misaligned or something. Siebert was usually very careful about that, though. He knew how dangerous it was.”

“Are there any others working on levitation ships?”

“Not in Baerlen,” Dieter answered, then thought for a minute. “He'd mentioned something about the Gaulans, and I think the Atlanteans are trying something too. There aren't many that have the right combination of abilities. It's pretty unconventional, mixing magic and engineering like that.”

Dominic frowned. “If it is so dangerous and difficult, why do it? Isn't there a purely magical or purely mechanical way? It doesn't seem very practical.”

“It will be very practical once we get it to work,” said Dieter a trifle defensively, and Dominic suspected he had been asked this question before. “We don't have anything close to a mechanical equivalent of levitation. Some say it just can't be done. Magical methods of propulsion are pretty weak, and in any case require a magician to do them—not like the levitation, which can be set as a static spell. He wanted to make something anyone could use.”

“Why?”

“Wouldn't you like to fly like a bird?” asked Jens-Peter, eyes brightening at the thought. “Think of the things you could see, the places you could go!”

“I know the army is very interested,” added Stefan. “My brother is at the Kriegszauberkollegium, and they have been pursuing their own investigations as well as following Professor Siebert's efforts.”

Dieter turned to him. “Yes, in fact there was a military magician who visited the day before the explosion.” He grinned. “I wasn't there, but the professor told me he was impressed. The fellow seemed to know what he was talking about, and even asked a few intelligent questions!”

“He'll never get far at that rate,” observed Maurer. “They don't like you to think in the army. They also don’t have a high opinion of magicians, even their own. How were you intending to use levitation ships in your writing?” he asked.

Dominic thought furiously, casting about for a suitably fantastic plot. “Oh, I thought perhaps a competition to reach the Northern Pole. It would be easier to reach if you could rise in the air, closer to the sun and therefore warmer.”

Jochim cleared his throat. “In fact the upper air is colder than that at the surface. It is thought it is because the air is thinner, also.”

“Well then, thick coats. It would still be easier than going on the surface, dealing with ice and snow.”

“We would have to improve our design quite a bit to make it work,” confessed Dieter. “The most ours could have carried was one man, and he couldn't have been very heavy, either. Not to mention the range was less than a hundred leagues.”

Dominic sighed. “You see? This is the information that I need. It will take more work to make it believable. I wish I could have seen it.”

“You can see what's left of it, if you like,” shrugged Dieter. “There isn't much, but we do have some drawings and a scale model.”

“That would do admirably.”

They made their way back out into the street and towards the university quarter. “When does your next story appear? Will you be writing about levitation ships then?” Maurer wanted to know.

“That will have to wait until I return to Bretagne, I think,” smiled Dominic.

“Are you making a long visit to Baerlen?”

“I hardly know. I am here on business that has no certain end at present.” Dominic suppressed a shiver.

“Well, if you are still here tomorrow evening, perhaps you would come to a small party at my chambers. A friend is becoming a barbarian—”

“That means graduation,” added Stefan, seeing Dominic's startled look.

“—and he would be honored to have a real author as a guest. He also has aspirations in that direction.”

It was Dominic's first inclination to refuse outright, but then he recalled how Ardhuin's time would very likely be taken up. Anything would be better than staring at the walls in the palace workroom, wondering what she was doing. Maurer seemed pleased by his acceptance, and gave him the directions to his chambers. He, Stefan, and Jochim said their goodbyes and left for their afternoon lecture, while Jens-Peter accompanied Dominic and Dieter to the late professor's workrooms.

“Don't you have classes as well?” asked Dominic.

“I'm on my Praktikum,” said Dieter. “I finished classes last year.”

“I have a class, but it will have to live without me.” Jens-Peter grinned unapologetically. “This is much more interesting than railroad bridges, with or without buttresses.”

“You think anything is more interesting than lectures. It's a wonder they haven't asked you to demonstrate the use of the front gate one last time,” Dieter said, shaking his head.

They had by now reached a series of outbuildings in the more utilitarian quarter of the university, and Dieter led the way to a long shed attached to what seemed to be an old carriage house. With a bit of effort he unlocked the door with the unaccustomed hand and motioned Dominic inside.

“I've started tidying up, but it still is a mess,” he said. Indeed, several of the equipment cabinets had glass-fronted doors that were shattered or were missing entirely, and on tables and counters were dented and damaged objects. “Here are the design drawings, and…oh, there it is. This is the model.”

The model looked so fragile Dominic felt it would crumple in his hand from its own weight, such as it was. Made of splinters of wood, scraps of cloth, and a few lopsided but artistic swirls in ink, it looked like the standing, bleached skeleton of a four-legged spider. “This is a levitation ship?” he asked incredulously.

“It's just a prototype, see? To show that it works. This was Professor Siebert's clever idea, having four separate levitation sources, each on the end of one arm. To control the height, the operator would move this lever here and the arms would move down and in, concentrating the field. Of course, the field had to be precisely aligned and the arms move smoothly, or the whole thing would tip.”

“What is the fan for?” asked Dominic, pointing to the back of the model spider.

Dieter was shocked. “That's not a fan, that's the aerial propeller. That's what makes it move once it is off the ground. The engine is under the seat.”

This puzzled Dominic until he looked at the drawings, which had in one corner an illustration of the levitation ship with a pilot. “Wouldn't it have been better to put the seat somewhere else? In front of the engine, perhaps?”

Dieter shook his head. “It was most crucial to keep the mechanical engine as far from the levitation field as possible, and the field had to be symmetric about the pilot, which was hard enough to accomplish. We had some of the largest levitators ever made.”

“Was that what limited the amount of weight?”

“Yes. The material would simply break apart under the force of the field if we made them any larger.”

Dominic considered further. “Could you use chryselectrum to shield the engine?”

Dieter looked at him strangely. “Too close to the engine, and the heat would shatter it; too close to the levitators, and the field would force any shield away,” he said after a while.

“I see.” Dominic looked at the model again and sighed. “It must have been impressive. Will you attempt to fix it?”

“There is nothing left to fix,” said Dieter sadly. “Come and see.”

The next room was larger, with less furniture, and a total shambles. Twisted, blackened wreckage lay strewn about, and it took Dominic some time to mentally piece together the remains to identify their original shape. “Dear God,” he whispered. There was one lump larger than the rest, looking a little like a loaf that had been split lengthwise and spread apart. “The engine…that must have been where it exploded.” It was strangely hard to look closely at it, as if it were akin to a corpse, but a sense of duty compelled him. What he saw made him glance suddenly at Dieter, startled. “I thought you said there weren't any magical devices near the engine.”

“There aren't. There can't have been.”

“By the end of the shaft.” Dominic pointed. “That's a stasis field—small, but powerful. You could hold twenty kilos with that.”

A silence fell over the room, and Dominic turned to find Jens-Peter and Dieter staring at him. “I thought you said you weren't a magician,” said Jens-Peter.

“I'm not,” said Dominic shortly. “I can see thaumurgic fields, that's all.”

“That's all!” Dieter laughed incredulously. “What I wouldn't give…but how do you know the difference between a stasis and a levitation field? And chryselectrum? It's not precisely common knowledge, even among magic students.”

“I've worked with a mage, a time or two.”

“You have.” Dieter stood looking at him thoughtfully for a minute. “Look, there is simply no possible way for a stasis field to be anywhere in the structure. We didn't use one! And any fragments of the levitators would be up there,” he said, pointing to the high ceiling where a few clumps of what looked like stone were drifting like dust motes.

“I know what I saw,” insisted Dominic.

Dieter left the room, returning after a moment with a long wooden wand. He placed a sealed glass tube filled with a pale blue liquid into a fitting at the end. “We even had the stasis detector head, for a miracle. Now we'll see.” He slowly began to move the tip of the wand around the remains of the engine. “There, you see? Noth—”

The tip, nearing the area Dominic had indicated, began to glow. Carefully and slowly, as if he feared to set off another explosion, Dieter placed the wand on the floor and picked up something caught in the engine casing. He stared at it for a moment, his expression stunned, then held it out to Dominic.

“The light from the wand caught it,” he said.

It was a half-melted shard of chryselectrum.

The wards muffled sound, so all Ardhuin heard at first were indistinct voices outside, and she pushed them to the back of her mind. She’d returned to the workroom after the first meeting, the information she’d been given making her feel numb with dread. She’d hoped to find Dominic there, but he was still out. They’d given her some items they’d found, to examine, but she couldn’t concentrate. Papers in Preusan that she couldn't read, even a scrap with Yunwiyan characters on it. Did Markus know about it? Would it get him in trouble if she told the Council what it was?

The King had been right to invoke the compact. Someone was trying to plunge Aerope into war. Again. And the Council expected her to stop it.

Something—the tone, the rhythm of the words—made her certain one of the voices outside was Dominic’s, and she ran and snatched the door open.

Markus Asgaya, seated in a chair outside the workroom, was arguing with Dominic.

“We can’t simply let her go everywhere to see things for herself, especially if what you say is true,” Markus said patiently.

Dominic was furious. His deep-set eyes snapped in anger, and he had run his hands through his black, springy hair so many times he looked deranged. “It is true, and if you won’t let her go, send someone else!”

“What’s wrong?”

Both men looked up at her.

“Siebert was assassinated,” Dominic snapped, glaring at Markus. “His assistant and I found a sabotage device in the machine that exploded. A strong field encased in a shell of chryselectrum, placed near the mechanical engine. When the engine heated up, the shell cracked and the field was exposed to the moving parts.”

She felt herself sag, as if her legs had lost strength to support her, and she clutched at the door. “We'll need to prove it,” she said finally.

“The field is still quite strong, and we found a piece of the chryselectrum. Any magician should be convinced. And the assistant swears they used neither stasis field nor chryselectrum in the construction. It has to be sabotage.”

“This assistant…what did you tell him? Does anyone else know of this?” asked Markus.

“One other was there when we discovered this, but I think both can be trusted. I left them to watch the evidence, just in case.”

Markus narrowed his eyes, frowning. “I should notify the Council.” He went and spoke to one of the guards, who left immediately. Ardhuin went back inside the workroom. Dominic followed her, and she noticed the expression of pain in his eyes.

“I’m sorry I ever persuaded you to come here,” he said, his voice tight. “They can’t possibly expect you to do this on your own, especially when they won’t even let you leave the Imperial Palace.”

She put her hand on his arm. “It's too late, Dominic. Whoever did it will try to find me wherever I go. Better to face them here, where I have the resources of the Preusan Empire at my disposal. Besides—” she hesitated. They might be angry that had she told him, but what could they do about it? They needed her help too badly. “Things are worse than I thought. Aerope has been on the brink of war more than once in recent years, largely due to the huge military buildup of the Preusans under the previous King. This King has been doing his utmost to reduce the threat, but he has been hampered by the intransigence of the senior military officials who would like nothing better than a war. And it looks like someone has been trying to provoke one. They almost succeeded, too.”

“I hope this isn't your idea of cheering me up,” said Dominic, looking grim. “Is this what they've been telling you in all those meetings?”

“Among other things.”

Markus’ muffled voice made itself heard through the door, saying something about the Council.

They left the workroom and found Markus waiting for them in the hall. “They want to talk to you,” he said, looking at Ardhuin with amusement.

“He needs to come with us,” Ardhuin said, indicating Dominic. “He is the one who saw what happened.” Markus shrugged and led the way.

Predictably, there was argument when they arrived at the Council chamber entrance. One minor official bristled at Markus, who reacted by looking bored and detached.

“How could you permit this…this irregularity!” he said, outraged and glaring at Dominic, the source of the problem. “He is not permitted. The instructions could not have been more clear, and—”

“I am responsible only for the Mage Guardian's personal safety. His Majesty’s instructions were explicit. I do not presume to make policy decisions, or dictate her actions,” Markus interrupted, a slight edge to his voice.

The official was turning a strange shade of red and stuttering incoherently with rage when Markus finally said, “Wait here,” and entered the Council chambers. Ardhuin heard nothing for a while, then a series of raised voices, followed by a short silence. The door opened, and Markus glanced out and motioned them in.

She recognized many of the faces from the first encounter, the night they had arrived in Baerlen. The King, looking even more haggard and tired than before, did not look up as they approached, but stared at a pen he held in his hand. At the Council's request, Dominic recounted everything he had learned that day, concluding with the discovery of the sabotage to the flying machine.

“I beg your pardon, perhaps I was not attending…how was it that you knew to test the device?” asked an old, white-haired gentleman whose gentle demeanor was belied by a keen gaze.

“I am…I have the ability to see thaumurgic fields,” said Dominic. Ardhuin couldn’t help smiling. He sounded almost apologetic.

This created a stir in the Council. “How—”

“Oh, don't be so backward, von Gering. It isn't a common ability, certainly, but not unheard-of.”

“I am aware,” von Gering answered in a glacial tone. “Perhaps my colleague would be so kind as to tell me why he is certain this man has the ability in question. I myself doubt that someone with that talent would be attached to an unrecognized female magician.”

Ardhuin felt a stab of anger at the undisguised contempt in the man's voice and his casual dismissal of Dominic’s talent. Before she could defend him, one of the younger soldiers asked, “Well, why can't we have him give a demonstration? The defensive magician can—”

“Not in the presence of the King; you know that. Not even illusion is permitted.” Ah. That explained the reaction to her gloire. Of course, no one had seen fit to mention this error of protocol afterward. She wondered why. Had the King intervened, or were Mage Guardians exempt?

“But…there is an illusion on the King,” blurted Dominic. Ardhuin stared at him, startled. The room went completely silent, and the tension was almost palpable.

“Ah…what was that again?” asked the white-haired councilor.

The King held up a hand. “What do you see? Where?” He locked gazes with Dominic.

Self-consciously, Dominic traced a line along his own angular cheek down to the jaw. “All I see is…illusion. Very complex, and not a large area…” his voice trailed off.

After a brief period of stunned silence, the Council erupted into argument.

“He should never have been allowed to—”

“We cannot permit this to continue. Security is—”

The King's voice rose over the Council, speaking with finality. “That is proof enough for me. Someone is to go immediately to the university. Ask permission of the Provost as required, but secure that workshop. Find out who is responsible with all possible speed.”

An officer standing against the wall saluted and left. One of the councilors said, soberly, “It would be wise to look into the others as well. The other Mage Guardians who are dead or missing.”

The argument went on for some time before one of the more realistic councilors noticed the Mage Guardian herself would not be needed until they decided the next step. Another chimed in with a suggestion for additional protection for the Mage Guardian. Ardhuin raised her head at this.

“There is also the matter of protection for my assistant,” she interrupted, startling herself with her own bluntness. That seemed to be the only way to get anything done around here, and while it still made her uncomfortable, it was getting easier to do. Practice really was the key. “You have seen how useful he is. Any threat directed at me will also threaten him. I want him guarded as well.”

“I agree,” said the King, cutting off another incipient debate. “They show a remarkable degree of ruthlessness and cunning, whoever they are.” He looked at Dominic and smiled without humor. “This illusion conceals evidence of an assassination attempt.”

Back at the palace wing, Dominic watched Markus unpack a small valise and arrange a cot at the foot of his bed. Although he was surprised and pleased Ardhuin had made such a point of it, he wished the defensive magician assigned to his protection had been someone else. He wasn't sure what the problem was. Markus was pleasant and courteous, and Dominic suspected he also had a low opinion of the Council’s intelligence. That should have made them instant friends.

Perhaps it was the way he always moved with a supple, catlike grace, or the expression of faint amusement that was never far from his eyes. Or, he confessed, Ardhuin’s instant acceptance of Markus. It had taken weeks before she had voluntarily even talked to him, back in Peran.

She was changing. They both were. Ardhuin was changing the most, and he smiled to himself, recalling how fiercely she had argued for his protection. She wasn’t wearing the shadow hat, either. It would look strange indoors, but that wouldn’t have stopped her before. Perhaps there was hope.

Having settled himself and ascertained Dominic was going to retire, Markus set up the defensive wards.

“Why did you do it like that?” asked Dominic, when Markus had finished.

Markus flashed him a glance. “What do you mean?”

Dominic gestured. “You did it in sections, not all at once.”

“Is that how Fraülein Andrews does it? In one action?” Dominic nodded, and Markus raised both eyebrows in astonishment. “She must have formidable control.”

Markus sat on his cot, seeming quite comfortable and relaxed, more so now that the wards were set. He regarded Dominic with frank curiosity. “How long have you been working for her?”

“Less than a year.”

“What made you choose that position rather than one with some…more well-established magician?”

Dominic knew what he was trying to say, and despite himself he found himself admiring the diplomatic phrasing of the question. For some reason it was even more annoying that Markus was likeable and intelligent. “She was the one who discovered my ability, and trained me in how to use it.”

The defensive magician leaned forward, looking at him even more intently. “Now, how did that come about? From something Fraülein von Kitren said, I had the impression the Lady Magus is not fond of company.”

Dominic began to feel uncomfortable, wondering where this line of inquiry was headed and why. He was beginning to suspect Markus had a more than casual interest in Ardhuin. He knew he did not have the conversational adroitness Markus exhibited, and it would be entirely too easy to let fall information of a compromising nature.

“She travels on rare occasions. She visited Dinan when I was a student there.” He decided that going to sleep would be an effective way to cut off further questions, and made his own preparations.

Markus stretched out on the cot, hands behind his head, and regarded the ceiling. “Thaumatic scryer…and a superb one, too. You could practically name your price, work wherever you wished, with the most influential and well-connected magicians in Aerope. Magical talent can overcome any number of obstacles, as I can attest.” He flashed a grin, and Dominic realized Markus knew very well how much he stood out in Preusa, and that was what amused him.

“I have no intention of leaving her,” said Dominic, realizing as he did so it sounded more forceful than he intended.

Markus looked at him thoughtfully and asked no more questions.