“I’m already doing it,” Akstyr whispered, voice strained. He opened an eye to check outside, to see if the snow appeared to be picking up. The flakes drifting across the window had increased, though some were falling straight down while others slanted at an angle. “Stupid wind,” he muttered. He’d thought it would be easier working with the existing snow than creating an illusory storm from scratch, but perhaps not.
“Are you making it snow?” Books asked.
Akstyr ignored him and closed his eyes to concentrate harder. All the flakes had to be going the same direction, and there had to be more of them, enough to shroud the dirigible and convince the other ship to call off its search until the weather improved, ideally long after the team had finished in the pass.
“You are, aren’t you?”
The touch of awe in Books’s voice was flattering, but Akstyr would have preferred silence. He needed every iota of concentration he could muster. He caught himself breathing heavily, as if he’d been running stairs at one of Sicarius’s workouts. Though cold seeped up from the metal floor, he was anything but cold. Heat flushed his face, and sweat prickled his armpits.
“That craft must be magic,” Books said. “There’s no visible propulsion system. More than that, I don’t see how something like that could achieve lift in the first place. Emperor’s teeth, it looks like a big balrock ball that some student cut in half. Though it does seem to be designed to reduce drag. Maybe it has internal engines, and the body itself acts as a…”
Getting irritated or telling Books to shut up would have disturbed Akstyr’s concentration, so he did his best to ignore the analysis.
“They’re close,” Books whispered a few moments later. “They’re angling for the pass. Maybe they’ll miss us.”
Akstyr could think about nothing but the snow. Behind his eyelids, he pictured it, from the clouds high above all the way to the drifts below. Sheer will turned it into an illusion others could see and not simply an image in his mind.
“It’s getting hard to see them,” Books murmured. “But if I can’t see them, maybe they can’t see us. Uh oh, they’ve stopped. Their beam is… it’s behind the precipice. I think they’re looking at the landslide.”
More snow, Akstyr thought. Blizzard.
“I can’t see anything now,” Books said.
“They’re still there,” Akstyr whispered. He might not sense any Science built into the craft, but he could still feel the physical presence of something that large.
“Are they… coming this way?”
“They’re not moving.”
“It’s hovering?” Books asked. “Amazing. A dirigible can hover, of course, but that’s because the hydrogen is used in the balloon, a gas that’s lighter than air, thus-”
“Nobody cares, Books,” Akstyr said.
“Can you make it snow harder over the pass? Perhaps you could throw a little wind at them too.”
Akstyr opened an eye and glared. “You don’t want much, do you?”
The exchange stole his concentration, and illusion faded, leaving a third as many snowflakes in the sky. Akstyr gritted his teeth and refocused. Only when he’d filled the sky again did he feel safe enough to add, “I don’t know how to do auditory illusions yet. No wind.”
“Oh, it’s all an illusion?” Books asked. “That’s quite good. Maybe it’s worth sending you to school, after all.”
“Glad you approve, professor.”
Something nudged Akstyr’s senses. It came from the direction of the flying craft. Maybe there was Science in the bowels of that black machine after all. But, no, it felt… sentient. Like a person, not an object.
“I think they have a practitioner.” Akstyr’s stomach sank. Maybe the person had been asleep and had woken up when he or she sensed someone manipulating the scenery. That couldn’t be good.
“You’re overdoing it,” Books said.
“Huh?” Akstyr opened his eyes to a whiteout outside the window. The rocky terrain to either side of the dirigible had disappeared behind snowfall so thick one would be lucky to see a foot ahead. The shadow of the balloon protected the windows from fat flakes that might have coated the glass otherwise, but enough snow flew sideways that it still blotted out the view. “That’s not all me.”
Akstyr let his illusion slip away, and it didn’t make a difference. Wind moaned through the mountains, though their position in the canyon protected them.
The new presence he’d sensed faded from his awareness. Akstyr stretched out with his thoughts, but it was as if the snow was somehow muffling his mental reach. No, that wasn’t it. The other vessel was moving away.
“They’re leaving,” Akstyr said.
“That’s a relief,” Books said.
“Maybe. I think they’re following the tracks.”
“North or south?”
“South,” Akstyr said. “Toward the others.”
Maldynado’s voice floated out of the locomotive, and his words filled Amaranthe’s ears as she swung through the door to land inside. Yara was in the engineer’s seat while Basilard leaned against the back wall. Sespian stood before the furnace, the coal shovel still in his hands. Between Yara and Sespian, Maldynado lounged against the control wall, his arms flung wide, draped over valves and pipes, as he spoke.
“…nothing monstrous in size,” he was saying, “but substantial enough to show off my handsome features. And location is important. I’d hate to be like Korgoth the Cranky with that old, dank copper statue by the sewer treatment plant. I was thinking something in the Imperial Gardens would be nice. Or perhaps in the University District where all those pretty young female students would see-”
“Maldynado,” Amaranthe said, “why are you loitering around and talking while the emperor is shoveling coal into a furnace?”
“Er.” Maldynado’s mouth opened and closed a few times before he settled on, “He was doing that when I came in. I thought he was enjoying a chance to live like a peasant and partake in menial labor.”
Though Sespian did not appear offended, Amaranthe propped her hands on her hips and stared at Maldynado.
“Ah, yes, why don’t I handle that, Sire?” Maldynado took the shovel from Sespian and gestured for him to step aside.
Sicarius had come in after Amaranthe, but he merely stood by the door, as quiet as usual. If Amaranthe was going to convince him to chat with Sespian, or, ancestors help him, to make a joke, she would have to get rid of the crowd.
“Basilard, do you want to help me dig out our medical kits?” Amaranthe said. “It looks like we could all use some suture and bandages.”
“Alcohol, too, perhaps,” Yara said.
“For sterilizing wounds?” Amaranthe asked.
“Among other things.” Though the enforcer sergeant retained the usual determined set to her jaw, the haunted cast to her eyes suggested she had found the night’s adventure harrowing.
“We’ll see what we can find.” Amaranthe faced Sespian. “Sire, I… have to tell you that your kidnapping wasn’t entirely without casualties. I’d hoped that if it couldn’t be bloodless it could at least be deathless, but it seems that was too much to ask.”
Sespian’s young face grew grim, and he nodded. “I anticipated that. When I made the decision to contact you… It is something I carefully weighed beforehand. Perhaps it was selfish, but I assure you it wasn’t only my hide that I was thinking of. There are… things afoot that I couldn’t have halted from within the Imperial Barracks. Too many people watch me there. If I can survive long enough out here to investigate Forge’s latest scheme further, and to figure out some appropriate action to take, it will be for the good of the entire empire.”
His defensiveness startled Amaranthe. It hadn’t occurred to her that he might take the blame for the deaths of his soldiers, though, now that she thought about it, she realized it shouldn’t surprise her. He was a conscientious young man, certainly. His hints of evil afoot intrigued her, but the guarded way he was phrasing
