Fire and Gold

by Sarah Ann Watts

conclusion

Milan was braver than I’d thought. He had powder burns on his face from the explosion but he didn’t flinch as we made our way down the king’s stair. I could see the fire had caught hold in the ballroom.

As predicted, the troops had been diverted to siphon water from the fountains and try to quench the blaze before it spread through the flue, so effectively blocked with my own and the Countess’ silk stockings. The bomb contained in the steamship on Taisiya’s wig had been primed to explode as the clock over the stable struck three. Although we were closer to the blast than was prudent, we had escaped with nothing worse than a few cuts from the shards of the chandeliers.

Spyridon’s horses were waiting, Taras in attendance, and Daniil and I shadowed the King and Jacques.

We fled down the king’s road as if all the furies of hell were at our heels. There was no point in concealment now, and this was the fastest route away from the palais. My uncle’s steam car bearing the Countess and her attendant chugged away into the distance, and it did make me wonder just who might be driving it. Spyridon, who thought of everything, had even diverted Daniil’s company of dragoons from the Empress’ legion to escort the Countess to her new home.

The fire had given us a start, and Spyridon’s greys were in peak condition. Nevertheless the frozen ground was hard on their hooves. The sky was lightening in the east but it wasn’t easy to see the way. Then Daniil’s grey plunged through the ice, breaking its leg and going down with a frantic neigh.

Daniil leapt clear. Before we could stop him, Jacques drew his pistol and shot the horse though the head, a deafening report in the still air. If our flight wasn’t discovered already, it would be now. I turned in my saddle and saw the western horizon lit up with flame as the imperial legion fought to preserve the treasures of the king’s palais.

I think Jacques realised at once what he had done, for he dismounted and threw his reins at Daniil, so forcefully they caught him across the face. ‘You go on!’

The King said nothing but leaned down and pulled Jacques into the saddle behind him. No time to hide the horse’s corpse, and already there was a pool of blood and urine spreading. Daniil kicked snow over it with his spurred boot and then took the lead again and we followed.

Behind us the chapel bell started to toll and we knew that pursuit would follow. There was a sound like tearing metal as the kennel doors opened. Daniil and I dug in our spurs and rode for our lives, knowing they had loosed the Husks on our trail.

I drew level with Daniil. He was heading for the forest cover where the hills rose up, a natural barrier between this vassal kingdom and the world beyond. Now there was no time or breath for talk as he picked up the bridle way that led into the forest. Snow fell from the trees as we rode through the pines and the way became ever more impassable.

Far ahead of us I could see a feather of smoke ascending, perhaps from some forest dweller’s hut. Then I saw that Daniil was smiling. He drew rein in a flurry of snow. ‘Tether the horses. They can go no further.’

Milan’s mount was in a sorry state with his double burden, sweating and blowing. There was blood on the bit and on his flanks. The King cursed, seeing the harm to the horses and said, ‘Tethered, for the Husks to feed on?’

Daniil nodded, ‘We need the time.’ He turned on Jacques, drawing his sword. ‘You fire that gun again and I’ll slice the head from your shoulders!’

‘No.’ Milan was definite. ‘Set them free.’

Daniil shrugged and glanced at me. ‘You see what comes of sentiment, Akil?’

Nevertheless he bowed to Milan, ‘As you will, Sire.’

With no further debate he led us deeper into the woods, among the pines and tangles of bramble and dead bracken, following a twisting path. We toiled ever uphill, making for the rising thread of smoke that served as our beacon. I could smell the smoke now and see a glimmer though the trees. Behind me I heard the brazen cry of the Husks. I knew that one at least of the horses had fallen prey to their hunger. It would not hold them for long.

We were struggling in heavy coats, hands frozen on swords that served only to hack a way through the undergrowth, but sweat was running down our faces as if we had run a marathon.

Finally, lungs bursting, we came to the end of the trees where the ground fell away a hundred paces in front of us, at the edge of the ravine. I gaped at the Ikarus Machine, a symphony in brass and polished wood, silk spread across its trellised wings. Spyridon stood beside it, warming chilled hands at a brazier as Celadion fanned the bellows, getting up steam to power the winch.

I ran forward and looked down from the heights. Far below, Imperial guards patrolled the borders to the Ancient Empress’ realm, stopping and searching every cart and carriage that sought to buy passage to the plains beyond.

Spyridon’s voice recalled me, ‘Akil, don’t fall off the edge of the world!’

There was little time left for farewells. Spyridon, the King and Jacques took their seats. Cedalion, the source of heat and motive power, fitted into this greater mechanism like a key into a lock. Spyridon cranked the levers, unfurling the silken wings, while Daniil wound up the propeller. Then he and I toiled at the steam winch, winding the tension, releasing energy to launch my uncle’s latest creation into flight.

Spyridon released the brake and the Ikarus Machine lurched forward, gathering speed, churning up snowballs that flew in our faces. It went over the edge and seemed to hang there for a moment, suspended, before plummeting in a steep dive. Then the air sacs inflated and it levelled out and soared out over the plain. An echo of my uncle’s triumphant yell drifted back to us with the wind of its passing.

It was only then I realised that he hadn’t known for certain it would fly.

Daniil and I fell back exhausted, out of breath, faces smeared with oil and grime. He caught me in his arms and we embraced. ‘So we have the ruby.’

‘And the emerald is mine. There is a pack of Husks drawing close. Must I rescue you again?’

‘The thing about Husks,’ I said, ‘is they have no minds.’

We climbed a tree and watched as the pack spilled out into the clearing, seeking their prey. They tumbled over the edge of the ravine to be dashed to pieces below. Then together we caught the surviving horses and rode after the Countess’ carriage.

As always, it was a race between us.

To Challenge 435...