"The first part," said the Green Witch from behind him. "Mordakai would never attack from one direction when he could choose two, or two when he could choose four."

The woman had looked frail before. Now she seemed to be holding death at bay with her fingertips. There was more grey in her hair than brown and her eyes struggled to focus from beyond dull, glassy lenses.

"Kildare is coming. I don’t think he counted on this, but he’s coming. Is the kid dead?"

The Witch laughed softly. "Ever the optimist, Jason. No. Maxwell has a chance to live. It is possible that his soul is strong enough to hold the creature inside him in check, perhaps even to defeat it utterly. In the mean time, his strength may be useful. The threads of destiny weave almost tightly around him as they do around you and your kin."

Jason felt anger rising in himself, but forced himself to let it go. "Destiny. I’m not sure there’s any such thing. Maybe it’s all just irony and hindsight." Again, he forced his attention away. "What are your defenses? They’ll be here in less than an hour."

"Approximately half an hour, according to one of the children. Will Lord Kildare arrive by then?"

"I don’t know. Probably not. He had to call forces from all over the city, and he wouldn’t move until he had to. I’d still like to know where he found the power for those blimps. Covenshire has the metal, but how did he get them across?"

"Without the Knights, I cannot hold. I expended too much power restoring Maxwell’s spirit. It is too close to winter, when I will die again. Mordakai no doubt intended as much." She paused, both to catch her breath and to get a look at the skyscape. "The children will fight for their homes, unless I can convince them otherwise."

By the term, she meant the Skyrunners with their kite-gliders and parachutes and sky-wires. The Rooftop forest was as much their world as it was the Green Witch’s.

"Can you hold your Foundry, or move it?" There was little hope of that. The Foundry in Castle Valentine was not as big as some, and it was the size of a small house.

"Not without killing it, Jason." The Witch reached out to stroke the bark of the tree they were standing on. "The roots go too deep to transplant."

"The whole tree is your Foundry?"

"Silly boy, they’re not all machines spewing smoke and heat. A Foundry must simply transform raw material into something new. Mine turns smog-laden air into forest. I find it an equitable arrangement. The children bring me things to bury in amidst the roots to keep my trees strong."

The poetry washed past the shield of Jason’s cynicism as a mere irritation. He turned his attention to practical matters. "I still don’t know what the Coventrys want with it, but I don’t want them to have it. We have to hold here until the Knights get up the trees."

Pacing, he tried to think. The Witch didn’t have any Magick left. Gwenivere, who could have blasted the blimps from the sky with enough time to prepare, was nowhere to be had. There might be a way he could get some of his other relatives to come and help, but not in time. Besides, that was an option he didn’t want to use.

Unfortunately, that left only an even worse option.

He stopped his pacing and turned to the Green Witch. "Can you get me onto one of those blimps?"

"The children could probably do so. I will ask them? What will you do when you get there?"

"What I was born to do, pretty much. I’ll kill people. If I can take the bridge of one of the ships, I might be able to use it to stop one of the others."

"Jason, that’s insane. If there are even ten people on board, you’d have no hope, and I am certain that there are more than ten."

"I could handle ten. Even twenty wouldn’t be impossible. There’s not much room to fight on a ship."

"How are you going to fly it once you take it?" The Witch protested. "I can’t believe I’m even having this conversation. There’s no way you can take one of those ships."

Jason eyed the approaching armada. The ships had not quite reached his level. "If you won’t help me, I’ll do it without you."
There was no more time for talk. Jason sprinted up a walkway and out along a thick limb.

From the corner of his eye, he could see the Witch reach out to try to stop him. "Jason, you’ll be killed."

"Not today," he answered.

The shaft of live wood swayed dangerously under his feet, but forward momentum carried him across. At the midpoint of the branch, he found another he could reach lower down, then another, then yet another. When one of the aircraft was below him, he jumped, spreading his arms and legs to control his descent. He held the dead Circle Knight’s sword in a strange, reversed grip, not sure if he would need it. Not even touching the ground, he was effectively without his Gift. He would have only moments when he hit the balloon.

He might have said, "I can’t believe I’m doing this," but he wasn’t really sure he spoke the words.

Impact came with a dull shock through his entire system. The Touch stretched out, revealing fabric coated with resin to make it air-tight, slender ribs of metal, and an alien, bitter sense that told him the matter was not of this world. A moment later the mystical Gift also revealed where his flailing fingers could find purchase, and where to catch the katana on some of the gasbag’s rigging so he wouldn’t fall to his death.

He hung by the sword hilt and his free hand for a few breaths, looking for his next handhold. There followed a few minutes of climbing, swinging, and not a little sliding as he made his way to a ladder. Only with reasonably solid footing did he spare a moment to see what was going on around him.

Most of his view was obscured by a great mass of black canvas. Above the dirigible, he could see a few of the Skyrunners on their half-magical wings. Flashes from below told him that the Coventry riflemen had seen them as well. Jason told himself that was a good thing. With their attention focused on the distance, the Coventry sentries might fail to notice a closer threat.

He started down the chain and pipe ladder, using only one hand and his feet. The other hand held his sword, which he was going to need very shortly.

The gasbag didn’t have much to tell him, besides fragments of impressions of the Covenshire slaves, many of them children, who died building it. He could feel the Prime Realm pulling at the foreign matter, trying to unravel it, as well. It was not until he was closer to the lightly armored gondola that he began to receive impressions of what was inside it. The air ship was well armed by Netherlands standards. The massive weapons of the Prime Realm were almost unknown on the other side of the Threshold, but two Gattling guns powered by a steam engine would be more than sufficient for most purposes. Even the Dutchman’s realm, which was fairly advanced technologically, had probably only held a handful of functioning firearms.

Jason’s Gift gave him few impressions of the crew. Life was usually too chaotic for the Touch to be very useful. He did sense enough to avoid a pair of soldiers who were walking below him.

They passed, and he found the hatch. Since no one could have possibly been insane enough to try what he had just done, the lock was not secured. A few moments later, he was dropping almost silently to the deck.

The two soldiers never stood a chance. Jason took one through the chest just below the shoulder blade, angling his katana upwards and sideways so the plane of the blade was parallel to the deck. Before either could react, he threw a kick that robbed the breath from the second and withdrew his sword.

"Shh," he cautioned before he brought the blade around to take the frightened soldier’s throat.

There would be moments of peace, long enough for Jason to take a few precautions. He wiped the blood from his face with the back of his hand and bent down to inspect his kills. Neither soldier’s uniform was salvageable. Blood was soaked through, splattered on, and dripping down every nearby surface. That mattered little, neither of them were Jason’s size either. Both, though, wore pepperbox revolvers that were still the standard in Covenshire and belts of ammunition. The smell of death filled his nose, calling up something dark and primal within him. His eyes washed the world into shades of grey, revealing cracks and faults he hadn’t seen before. In his vision, the entire ship was already on the verge of destruction, and everyone in it was about to die. Jason was not a harbinger, merely a messenger. He blinked the sensation away and forced himself to see the world as it really was, as he prayed it really was.

The guns would be useful. He took them, looping one belt around his waist under his coat and the other over his shoulder. The lower belt barely closed around him. The dead soldiers also had knives. He kept the ones on their belts, but didn’t bother to secure the ones tucked into their boots. That done, he moved a bit away from the corpses and caressed the deck. Most of the crew was below. He couldn’t really get much impression of them, but he had enough to go on. The easiest thing would be to stop the ship by taking out the engines, but he wanted to take it if he could. There would be no way to fire the guns, but he might be able to put it on a ramming course into one of the other airships. He headed for the bridge, cleaning his sword and taking a pistol into his free hand. The gun was loaded, and one barrel pulled a bit to the left. He would be able to compensate.

The upper deck was really for nothing more than maintenance. The two soldiers Jason had killed were likely only armed for contingency. He dropped to the command deck and worked his way forward, moving quietly with the sword showing the way. The longer he could go without firing the pistol, the better. He passed a downward hatchway leading to one of the gun-stations, pressing his body against the inner bulkhead to avoid notice. There was an identical station on the opposite side. The bridge was a short distance ahead, with no reasonable cover. Jason paused to figure out what to do in the last bit of concealment he could find.

He hadn’t heard any of Alistair’s Hounds, so he was probably only facing human threats. His Gift wasn’t providing much information. Incalculable blood had been shed in the crafting of the vehicle, and those impressions were drowning out more practical ones like whether or not the hatch into the bridge was guarded.

Finally, Jason just took a deep breath and shot into the narrow corridor as swiftly as he could. He held the gun before him and moved in a pattern of diagonals, presenting as slim a profile as possible. As he rounded a corner, he saw one soldier, an officer this time.

The young man fumbled for his side arm, wasting seconds in which he could have yelled for help. The gunship probably had a crew of at least fifteen. Some of them might have been within shouting distance.

Jason didn’t give the boy a second chance. He closed the distance between them rapidly; ramming the pistol into the boy’s gut and forcing him back against a bulkhead. The officer coughed out a breath, but couldn’t make a coherent sound. His body slammed against the thin wood bulkhead with a dull crack. Jason hoped the sound was covered by the noise of the engines and the guns.

The young officer sagged forward, so Jason smashed the side of his head with the butt of the katana. There was no way to spare the boy’s life, since Jason intended to blow the ship, but unconsciousness was kinder than lingering agony. He lowered the boy quietly to the deck, no sense making more noise, and got ready to continue.

"Nicely done, Jason old boy."

Jason turned to see Dominick Coventry standing in the corridor, armed with a small sub-machinegun.

"I must say I expected you to bring more help. Of course, since I have your first little sister, and Kildare has your other one, there aren’t many people who like you left. Maybe your big sister will come to save you."

Dominick talked too much. Jason shot him, emptying the first pistol in his general direction while diving around a corner. He remembered to adjust his aim for the third barrel. Even so, bullets cracked into the thin bulkheads and bounced off fittings. Only two or three really hit home.

Dominick grunted and fell back, saved by body armor but still stunned. He kept his wits enough to fire a burst over Jason’s head.

Jason rolled to the opposite side, putting a full turn between himself and his better-armed opponent. His brain worked furiously to find a solution to this unexpected problem.

Dominick had been on the Prime Realm for more than any of the other Coventrys. His Sorcerous power was the ability to cross the Threshold, and to bring others across. He knew little about Magick beyond that. Gwenivere, or one of Jason’s older relatives, might have been able to take advantage of that fact. Jason’s own Gift wasn’t going to be of much help.

Or was it? He grabbed a door handle and turned it roughly. The vague sense he had of the ship’s layout told him the direction he wanted. He heard Dominick moving, and he knew there were others ahead.

Another crewman in common soldier dress was crossing just ahead. Jason didn’t waste a bullet. He had only six left. Before the Covenshire man could react, he was dead. He’d left open the door Jason needed. Jason got what he needed, tucked it under his arm, and moved.

Whatever lead he’d started with was gone now. With the way to the bridge blocked, Dominick would expect him to go for the engines. Honestly enough, he intended to do so, but not in the way Dominick would think. He tucked his prizes into the deep pockets of his coat and started looking for a way to the upper deck, and from there to the gondola roof. The Touch, coupled with his natural skills of stealth, let him elude pursuit long enough to set his plan in motion. There were some close calls, though. Once he’d hung motionless, with his weapons all sheathed, in a narrow cubby in the ceiling while Dominick stood only a little out of sight right below him.

"We’ve searched the armory, milord," one soldier reported. "He’s not there." This was another ordinary crewman. The officers were probably on the bridge.

Jason hadn’t gone near the armory. He’d been in the galley.

Dominick’s response sounded a bit pained. "He has to be somewhere. Cut off all access to the engines. Search from bow to stern. I want him dead."

Jason didn’t move until the sounds of their footsteps were lost in the other sounds around him. Then he wormed his way up to the top deck, where icy wind licked at him as he crossed slowly to the area above the bridge. From there, he worked quickly, breaking out the first of his prizes, a bottle of truly fine Irish Whiskey. Dominick might have been a conniving little pile of dung, but he was a pile of dung with good taste in liquor. Jason had even stolen a second bottle for later. Even so, it was a shame to waste the first one on a coil of rope.

He had a better view of the action this time. The Skyrunners were being methodically slaughtered. Their gliders were more maneuverable than the Coventry airships, but they simply couldn’t keep the altitude, or compete with the firepower. Besides gattling guns, the Coventry ships had riflemen. Jason was lucky he hadn’t tried to board a troop carrier.

There were a few signs of hope, though. A few Skyrunners trailed fire on their wings, torches or primitive grenades. If they could get close enough, they might more of an effect than the spears and javelins. Above the treetops, the sky darkened ominously. The stars winked out as though they were being eaten by a vast, black beast. A clear, sharp tang wafted through the smell of blood and burnt powder. A storm was rolling in.

The Coventrys on Jason’s gunship had finished their search of the lower levels. Jason could hear them reaching the top decks. He got his secret weapon ready.

In a rare show of courage, or a less rare show of bad judgement, Dominick was in the lead, brandishing his Micro-Uzi. He ducked reflexively as Jason threw his package into the mass of troops.

The second pistol was a bit less cantankerous than the first had been, and Jason had now had longer to get used to it. His single bullet blasted the jar of pepper into dozens of fragments. While the Coventry soldiers coughed and sputtered, Jason charged into them, no longer fighting against the urge to kill. He had the presence of mind to slide his pistol back into its holster. This battle was for the sword. One last gulp of air carried him into the midst of the soldiers. He felt his blade slide off of Dominick’s chest armor, hardened against the blade as well as bullets. Next time, he would go for the head. For now, he compromised by kicking Dominick in the back of the knee as he went by.

One of the officers had the presence of mind to pull his gun, even though the man’s eyes were watering too much for him to know which way to go. Jason’s sword nicked into his throat with surgical precision. Jason was already spinning to the other side when the man’s last, wild shot tore through the space in front of him. The bullet struck flesh, though.

A second soldier staggered backwards, shocked and confused. If the bullet didn’t kill him, the fall off the windswept deck did.

Death followed Jason’s every footstep, as it had for ten years. Dominick staggered back, limping, and worked the action on the Uzi. Jason watched, detached. Didn’t Dominick realize Jason was circling behind the other men?

Evidently not. A wave of bullets savaged the helpless soldiers.

Jason didn’t even have to kill any more. He grabbed one to use as a shield as he closed on Dominick. "I don’t need my sisters to save me, Dominick. Can you say the same?" he snarled, though the wind probably stole the sound. The second bottle of whiskey was a smug weight in his left pocket.

Dominick’s gun clicked on empty. The Threshold Sorcerer fumbled desperately at the clip release, but Jason could see in his eyes that he knew he’d be too late. "Wait, Jason. Can’t we discuss this?"

Jason closed, moving more swiftly than a human could. As long as he was dealing death, he had all the help he needed. "I’m going to kill you, Dominick."

"No, please." Dominick’s trembling hands finally released the clip. It clattered to the deck.

Jason circled toward the right, toward his foe’s maimed leg.

"I can tell you things." Dominick should have known better than to bargain with death. "I can tell you what Father wants. I can tell you where your sister is."

Jason struck. This time he went for the head. He cleaned his sword on Dominick’s suit and turned back toward the bridge. There was still a lot to do.

* * *

From where he perched with his mother, Vincent watched his uncle’s head fall past the tree trunks. Absently he flicked his whip out to catch it. Sometimes mama liked things like that.

Down below, the Knights of the Circle were about to be set upon by slavering hellhounds. With uncle Dominick dead, the troops and Hounds he’d hidden in the Fog would soon be drawn back to the Netherlands. Vincent wished he could be there to see it, but he had other things to do.

"Are you ready, baby?" His mother stroked her hair languorously.

"Yes, Mother." Vincent hated when she did that while he was supposed to be working.

* * *

Up above, where the children already were, the sky was painted with fire. They were supposed to be safe with the Green Witch. No one had anticipated the way Alistair would attack. There was nothing to be done for them now. It would be all right, Colwynn knew. Roderick’s call had been answered by more troops than he’d expected. Instead of a bare forty, they had nearly one hundred and twenty.

Colwynn turned her attention to matters at hand. "We’re as ready as we’re going to be."

"Kail has not reported yet." Roderick was nervous, Colwynn knew. He stood rock steady, and nothing showed in his voice. "We have to move."

Before he could give the signal, a piercing howl cut through the night. Several others answered it. The sound tied itself like cold knots around Colwynn’s bones. One of her earliest memories was of those howls closing like a vice around her home.

"Alistair’s Hounds. He’s here." Colwynn tried to control her fear.

The hellhounds couldn’t have been there before. The Circle Knight scouts would have spotted them.

Roderick did not respond to her. He was already directing the troops. "Form ranks. Spears and firearms. Prepare to retreat, we will not hold on the ground." He suited deed to word, drawing a long, hefty pistol from under his coat.

Colwynn drew her bow and notched an arrow. The pulleys groaned quietly as she drew it back.

"Don’t fire yet," Roderick said. "Wait until you have a target you can see. Use your Gift. Find your brother. Perhaps he could be of some help."

Colwynn relaxed her arm slowly, then closed her eyes. "He’s up above us." She looked up.

Far above, one of the Coventry aircraft veered off course, slowly edging toward the others. The guns had stopped firing, allowing the Skyrunners a brief respite. Darts of flame lanced across the air, but none found sufficient purchase on any of the Zeppelins. As Colwynn watched, the listing one ignited. Tongues of fire licked up from the nose and spread to the rest of the balloon. Soon, they would eat through whatever skin covered it.

"Jason’s on that one." Colwynn’s realization was like a blow to the chest.

"Then he’s probably already helping," one of the Knights said.

The Hounds chose that moment to attack. Four of them rushed forward to be met by the pistols of the Circle Knights. Others charged to the flanks.

Colwynn took aim and fired. Her arrow sped true and buried itself into one of the Hounds’ chest. That was the last coherent thing she noticed for what seemed like a very long time.

The Knights’ volley of fire was answered from the shadows. Two knights went down in sprays of hot blood. Colwynn couldn’t see which ones, since Roderick pushed her to the ground.

"Cover," yelled one of the knights, a Magickal adept. He threw a spell, a quick cantrip with little power behind it. A blossom of light filled the area where the shots seemed to come from at his command, but it revealed nothing. The flash would have blinded his companions without the warning.

"Where are you, Alistair?" Roderick’s voice was calm, but Colwynn thought she detected a trace of concern. He pulled one of the Spirit Tokens he carried from his pockets. He focused his Sorcery through the small objects, which represented the contracts with which he bound various spirits.

The Knights executed a controlled retreat. The earlier flash seemed to have caught the Coventry snipers unaware. The Knights had a few seconds of peace, long enough to reach the protection of the lowest roots. A stairway had been carved into the wood of the tree, echoing the fire stairs of a Prime Realm building, perhaps. The way up offered little cover, though. Shots pierced the air just over the Knights’ heads. Colwynn could find nothing to aim at.

The Hounds did not let up, either. The spear carrying Knights tried to hold them off. Two Hounds fell to their weapons, but one more Knight was borne down under their clawed, fanged weight.

Roderick broke the seal on his Token, calling up the air elemental it bound. Colwynn overheard his whispered command at almost the same moment that a chill wind blew through, carrying mist almost as thick as the Fog. The spirit did not leave after bringing the obscuring wind, either. Roderick had bound it for more than one service.

Colwynn and Roderick were on the first landing when the sky exploded. For a moment, the dark night was as bright as day. The flaming zeppelin had exploded. Fragments rained down, striking the other dirigibles. A second was struck solidly enough to be engulfed in flames, and the sky was burned again. Staring into the blast, Colwynn saw something falling, a form closer to the ground than the other debris, and falling fast.

"Jason?" She didn’t know how she recognized the falling figure, but her Gift confirmed it. Her brother was plummeting toward her, trailing smoke.

* * *

Sabrina wasn’t sure how much time had gone by. The meals were irregular, and the light never changed. Days, she was certain of, possibly a week. She regretted, now, her habit of not wearing a watch. The guards might have let her keep it. No one had tried to take her wolf medallion, despite its reputed magical properties. She was deeply disappointed in the charm. It hadn’t done much to protect her so far.

Gwenivere murmured something too low for Sabrina to hear. Most of the time she slept now, or hovered between sleep and waking. Sometimes Sabrina could awaken her enough to make her eat and drink.

Gabriel was coming down the stairs. The thought flickered through Sabrina’s mind totally unbidden. That had been happening a lot lately. At first, she had attributed it to imagination and fear, but the impressions were too accurate. She knew things she had no way of knowing, not like prophetic visions, just sudden certainty.

Gabriel was coming down the stairs, and Derdrie Coventry was with him. Sabrina didn’t know whether to hold on to hope, or to give in to despair.

"Are you sure?" Gabriel asked.

Derdrie’s voice was honey masking venom. "I told you, Angel Eyes, it’s the only way to undo what Gwenivere did, the only way to make her see clearly."

"What if you just killed Gwenivere?"

Sabrina’s heart froze in her chest. How could Gabriel even think of such a thing? What had Derdrie Coventry done to him?

"I wish it was that easy, but it’s not." There might have been a note of pleasure in Derdrie’s voice. "First of all, I can’t just kill her, not without a proper trial. Even if I could, the spell might not be broken. It might just harden her against us completely."

The pair entered the dungeon. Derdrie was wearing a tight, red corset and skirts. There was probably supposed to be a blouse, but she had elected to omit it from her wardrobe selection. Modesty was inadequately served by a dark, velvet cloak. Gabriel was wearing close cut, grey pants with black boots, and a tunic with a deep V-neck held together by laces. He looked like something from the cover of a trashy, paperback Romance. The Sword of Glass hung at his side, glowing with faint, red light.

Behind Gabriel, two of Derdrie’s guards entered the room. They looked at the helpless women in the cell with unconcealed lust and contempt. Sabrina had realized that only the tenuous nature of Derdrie’s control over Gabriel prevented the Coventry woman from allowing the guards to have their way with the prisoners.

Sabrina stood and moved away from Gwenivere. "What do you want, Gabriel?"

"Please don’t resist us, we’re trying to help you."

The look of pleading on Gabriel’s face, contrasted with the look of cold joy on Derdrie’s, made Sabrina want to cry.

"Yes, Sabrina, we only want to open your eyes," Derdrie added in a voice dripping with feigned love.

The guards opened the cell and hauled Sabrina out of it roughly. She knew better than to resist.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked.

"You’re sick," Derdrie answered. "We’re taking you to the doctor."

In a detached way, since the only choice besides detached was raving with fear, Sabrina let herself be led up the stairs and through the passages of Derdrie’s house. The lower levels looked to be much older than the construction above, which was typically Victorian. The household staff was made up of more of the twisted little creatures Derdrie used for servants, though there were also some normal humans, like the guards. One of the human servants dressed in footman’s livery met them all at the door and lead the way to a coach.

The guards shoved Sabrina inside.

"Should I bring the boys, or can I trust your good behavior?" Derdrie asked.

"If I tried to escape, where would I go?"

That seemed to convince her. Derdrie nodded to her servants and they returned to the house.

The trip through town was the most Sabrina had seen of Covenshire. A blanket of clouds blocked out any starlight, so all that was to be seen was illuminated in the sickly flames of streetlamps. Derdrie lived on the edge of a large town, in an estate surrounded by a high stone wall. There were other estates on the same hill, but only Derdrie’s had lights on in the windows. Other people in Covenshire evidently went to bed with the sun. As the carriage entered the town, the trend continued. Streetlamps were lit, and a few upstairs windows showed light around the shutter edges, but every door was closed, and every window covered. In the gloom, she saw that most of the private dwellings were of simple brick or half-timber, but the public buildings, those that were lit, were gothic monstrosities covered with relief carving and fearsome gargoyles. She could see nothing that would be identified as a church, though. Over all that, there was a smell, like burnt oil and spoiled eggs, faint, but always noticeable.

"Why is it like this?" Sabrina asked.

"Like what?" Derdrie wondered.

"Dark." The word was totally inadequate, but it was the only one Sabrina could think of.

"Ah, that. Your world is a much brighter place. Mine should have been, had not the Valentines stolen what was rightfully ours." Derdrie leaned over and kissed Gabriel on the lips, lingering for a while. When she stopped, he sat back, staring ahead with a slightly dazed look on his face. "Good, now we can talk freely. He’s occupied elsewhere for the moment, dreaming that he and his love are enjoying one another. He’s sort of forgotten that you would be watching. If you like, I can have him dream that you’re participating."

Sabrina felt her face color, and hated the look of smug comprehension on Derdrie’s face.

"No? Maybe later. Maybe for real."

"I’d sooner sleep with a corpse."

"Whatever your pleasure. After all, you’re my guest."

"Your guest accommodations leave something to be desired."

Derdrie laughed indulgently. "I hardly ever hear any complaints. When I put my mind to it, I can be a very entertaining hostess. You and your friends sort of dropped by unannounced. It took me a bit to figure out what to do for you. You know how it is."

Sabrina kept silent. There was no reason to play this woman’s game.

"Gwenivere is the real challenge. Some of my best people are absolutely livid that they won’t get the chance to play with her, but I really don’t want her broken before I give her to Alistair. He’d be terribly disappointed. He’s been hoping for the chance to break her for over twenty years. You’re another story. Normally, I’d seduce you, make you love me, then turn you into one of my little pets when you started to bore me, but you have a Gift."

"What?"

"You’re a Magician, a natural at something that takes most people a lifetime to learn. You haven’t really mastered it yet, of course, but from the time you entered the Netherlands, your power has been growing. If I play with your mind too much, I might lose access to your Gift. That would be a real pity."

"So you’re going to play with my mind just enough?"

"Actually, I’m not going to play with your mind at all. My brother Elliot has something he’s been working on, and you’re going to help him test it. If all goes well, I’ll have full access to your formidable Sight, and he’ll owe me a favor." Sabrina heard the emphasis on the word ‘sight,’ and guessed its meaning. "We’ll be at his laboratory soon."

Despite the dreary scenery, she wished for the trip to be longer.

* * *

"It’s time." Elysia had to say nothing more to get her son’s attention.

Down below, the Knights of the Circle would have discovered Alistair’s cunning ambush. The fight could go either way, and was really inconsequential. The Green Witch’s doom was already sealed. Even with the loss of the airships, the Coventrys would triumph here. Elysia watched for a moment more as a group of Knights fell upon a cell of Alistair’s soldiers. The Covenshire troops had rifles, but those were of little use if they were caught in melee range. The Knights had adapted quickly, using stealth tactics to close on their opponents. Elysia’s magical scrying could not pick out Lord Kildare. Otherwise, she might have sent Vincent to kill him on general principles.

"Let’s go." Vincent looked eager, holding his barbed whip in both hands. His earlier wounds were all healed, though he had since carved a primitive scrimshaw on one of his arms. Boys of his age needed constant stimulation, and waiting was difficult for them.

"Cautiously, darling. Most of the defenders will have been drawn away, but not all. We don’t know what we’ll be getting into."

"I won’t let anyone hurt you, mama."

Elysia kissed her son, holding him tight, delighting in the taut, corded muscles she felt under her arms. "Of course not, darling."

They began their ascent. Though she was not as adept at crossing the Threshold as Dominick had been, Elysia could do it when she had to. Vincent had secured them entry into an office building that served as an anchor for one of the major trunks, and they had used the elevator to reach the roof.

Now on the proper side of the Threshold, they used the network of vines and platforms the tree-dwellers had erected to ascend into the upper levels. For several minutes, they moved in silence, unopposed. That couldn’t last, of course. Elysia rounded a bend and came face to face with a scruffy boy holding an improvised spear.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

Vincent had been scouting ahead, and was nowhere to be seen.

Elysia sighed, resigned. "I’m Elysia Coventry. I’m here to take the Foundry in the middle of the forest. Why don’t you take me to your mistress so I don’t have to keep wandering around in the dark?"

"Why don’t you go to hell!" That wasn’t really a very serious question. Nor was the boy’s clumsy spear charge a really serious threat.

Elysia stepped to one side and reached out with her right hand to caress him. "Little rabbits shouldn’t snap at wolves," she said, full of matronly concern. The young were so easily led astray.

Unlike most of her siblings, Elysia had not been content with the Sorcerous Gifts her demonic pact had brought her. Like Mordakai, she had studied Sorcery and developed her abilities to a greater extent. Now she used that training to accomplish something that would have taken a pedantic Wizard hours of planning on a simple whim. She almost wished she could remember the words from that old Disney movie just to make it perfect.

Reality shimmered for a moment as Elysia’s demonic essence flooded into the boy’s. Her will contended with his for a heartbeat, but the boy never stood a chance. Between one breath and the next, the boy with the spear was replaced by a spear, a pile of clothes, and a fluffy black and white rabbit "Little rabbits shouldn’t snap at wolves," she said, full of matronly concern. The young were so easily led astray.

Reality shimmered for a moment as Elysia’s demonic essence flooded into the boy’s. Her will contended with his for a heartbeat, but the boy never stood a chance. Between one breath and the next, the boy with the spear was replaced by a spear, a pile of clothes, and a fluffy black and white rabbit. "Little rabbits shouldn’t snap at wolves," she said, full of matronly concern. The young were so easily led astray.

"Little rabbits shouldn’t snap at wolves," she admonished.

Vincent appeared just as Elysia was bending down to retrieve her frightened prize. "Mother, were you hurt? Did he hurt you? I’m sorry I wasn’t there."

"It’s alright dear. Nothing happened. An encounter like this every once in a while serves to keep life interesting," Elysia reassured. "Here. You can keep the rabbit."

"Really?" Vincent’s eyes lit up as she passed the beast to him. "I’m going to love him and pet him and squeeze him..."

"Later, darling. We still have things to do."

"Oh. Right."

Elysia transformed the rabbit again, this time into an acorn, for ease of transportation. Then the two were on their way.

The going was easy. As Elysia had suspected, most of the able-bodied defenders of the Rooftop Forest were engaged with Alistair’s forces. Everyone else was huddled behind whatever defenses they could muster. Elysia let her Sorcery lead the way, using a simple spell to follow the Magickal emanations of the Foundry. The Witch would be there, she was certain.

"Greetings, Elysia Coventry." Elysia was not disappointed. The Witch appeared from behind as if the wood shifted to reveal her. "Neither you nor your son were invited into my home."

The Green Witch was looking unseasonably ancient, leaning on a gnarled stick for support. She was flanked by two figures, a girl in leathers that Derdrie would have found acceptable and a boy in somewhat foxed Prime Realm clothing.

Elysia was only concerned with the Witch. She wondered what the old woman had spent so much Magick on. The Forest could hold some nasty surprises. Elysia had no wish to confront a summoned Jersey Devil. She decided she’d better come to the point.

"I’m here to take your Foundry. If you just give it to me, I’ll tell my brother to call off his attacks. If not, I’ll do my best to kill most of your subjects, and make the rest envy the ones I kill."

"I think you overstep yourself, Elysia. You are an invader. This is my home."

"I’ll take care of her," snarled the girl behind the Witch.

Elysia was startled at the speed with which the child moved. The leather-clad girl was little more than a blur, crossing the distance between them with enough speed to catch Vincent flat-footed.

Protective Magick rose up around Elysia, a transmuting field that would turn any threat into something harmless. The girl was unfazed, though. Elysia felt her Magick flicker, but have no effect. A moment later, she felt burning knives tear into her tender skin, and a hammer smash into her ribs.

"You’re not...alive" she coughed, spitting out a mouthful of her own blood.

Vincent wasted no time. His whip coiled out and flashed like a viper.

The dead girl dodged it. Elysia could see her form shifting now. Of course, the girl was one of the Night Children. Somehow, the Valentines had struck an arrangement with one of them. The girl snarled and leapt at Vincent, fanged maw flashing in the torchlight. She bit down on his shoulder with force to crack bone. That was her one mistake.

Vincent, brave boy, started laughing. With his free hand, he grabbed the whip and coiled it around the Night Child’s neck. When he pulled it tight, she stiffened, feeling the barbs, no doubt. That let him get his arm free so he could draw a dagger.

She struggled, of course, biting and scratching with claws that grew longer and more wicked with each second. She would have had better luck putting out a fire with petrol.

Elysia rose, healed her face absently, and closed on the Witch again.

"You’re still going to have to go through me." The mundane boy was in her way now, and he had inch long fangs. The girl must have turned him. This might get complicated.

"Get out of my way, boy."

"Not gonna happen." The boy had claws extended. He was more creative than the girl was. In addition to his talons, he had bone spurs extending from his elbows. Without Vincent to help her, if she couldn’t transform him, he would certainly kill her.

Before he could, though, a curious thing happened. Elysia had an impression of a powerful Sorcery being enacted, though from a great distance. The first night her father had worked on the Box she’d felt something vaguely similar. She knew the spell was being cast back in Covenshire, for it had the feel of her family’s Magick, but she was feeling it here, and it was affecting the boy Night Child. The effect was truly startling. The boy’s body wavered and was almost fully taken by his Night Child form, a lupine beast with burning eyes and huge, black wings. He howled so loud and mournfully that even Vincent was distracted. Then he leapt off the nearest ledge and glided after one of Alistair’s retreating gunships.

"Well, that was certainly interesting. Does he do that often?" Elysia asked.

The Green Witch was as surprised as anyone else. "Maxwell?" she asked the empty air quietly.

"Oh well, he’ll be back when he gets hungry, right, dearie? Let’s get down to business." Elysia advanced purposefully. She felt the Witch’s counterspells build up, but the old woman was nearly powerless. Despite the fact that the Forest still had a good month of life in it, she seemed to have tapped all of her reserves.

"I’ll never let you have my trees," the Witch blustered feebly. "I’ll die first."

"That would be truly inconvenient. Since you’ve engineered a symbiotic link between yourself and your Foundry, if you died it would be thrown into shock at the very least, and Papa really, really wants it. Now. I have another idea. I was thinking that you might want to get a little closer to your work here."

Elysia reached out to touch the Green Witch, whose withered limbs were no defense. Reality buckled again, and the Sorceress was stroking the bark of a new oak tree growing from the side of the old. The whole Forest was like that. There wasn’t really any ground, just dirt suspended in the air strategically. Elysia fancied that the tree looked happy with its lot. That wouldn’t last long.

"Vincent, darling, are you finished yet?"

"No...Mama. This one’s frisky."

The Night Child was holding up remarkably well. She was almost unrecognizable now, warped by her shapeshifting and wounded by Vincent. Of course Vincent was little better. His outfit was positively ruined, but Elysia didn’t mind indulging him. Evidently, the girl’s tactics had changed in the middle of the fight, because she used Vincent’s momentary distraction to squirm away and disappear into the foliage.

"Leave her, dear," Elysia ordered before Vincent could go chase her. "I’ll need you in a moment."

She embraced the tree that used to be the Green Witch like a lover and started a very powerful spell.

* * *

Jason plummeted to earth. He was going to die now, having done something that really mattered. Actually, he supposed, it hadn’t mattered all that much in the grand scheme of things. As best he could tell, he took out one of the gunships and one of the troop carriers, hardly enough to tip the balance of power. All in all, it had been pretty stupid, and this was going to be a truly ugly way to die. Despite his lifestyle, Jason had always hoped he’d die in bed. Now the only chance of that was if he landed in a furniture store.

While he was resigning himself to his fate, he felt a cold blast of wind hit him from below. Through half numbed skin he felt his descent slow. Instead of falling like a human projectile, he was lowered to the ground like a feather.

"Jason." Colwynn’s voice was overjoyed, although she kept quiet. "I thought you were going to die."

"Kildare?" he asked, surprised.

"We are a bit occupied at present," the Lord Knight replied.

Jason had to duck for cover as a bullet embedded itself in the tree bark above his head. He snapped back up and returned fire, hearing a satisfying scream of agony as his reward. "Another Dervish?" he asked.

"A simple wind spirit. I had hopped it would be of use when the Green Witch finished her weather manipulation. However, it informs me that lowering you to the earth safely constitutes the fulfillment of its contract."

The conversation was cut short by a sudden rainstorm, though as the first hot, salty drops struck Jason he realized it was no normal rain.

"Blood," Kildare confirmed. "Look at the trees."

Jason looked up, following Kildare’s pointing hand. A macabre transformation was taking place. Starting at the top and working down, the Forest was changing. The tree bark was reshaping itself, becoming pale and taking on the form of emaciated, tortured bodies. The first harpy wail followed a moment later.

"The forest of the suicides..." Jason tried to figure out what the change meant, overwhelmed by the strangeness.

Kildare looked grave, more so than usual. "We have lost the battle for the Rooftop Forest." he said.

To be continued...

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Changeling Seed

A Novel of the Side World

The First of the Valentine Chronicles

Copyright 2000 David Goodner

Continued from Chapter 8

Changeling Seed Archive

To be continued...