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In the aftermath of the last chapter, the Expedition must decide how to proceed. Loyalties are challenged, and a new complication arises...

The penultimate chapter of what proves to have been a fairly short novel, all things considered. Things Hit the Fan. Lots of characters are developing in lots of ways, some good, some bad. Haralt breaks in a spectacular and gratuitously smutty fashion because I was in a Mood :P Thanks for the feedback, and thanks to Spudz for being a great source of support and help in writing this.

Released under the Creative Commons BY-NC-SA license. Share, modify, and redistribute -- as long as it's attributed and noncommercial, anything goes.

There Shall Be Wings by Rob Baird

Part 5: "Beyond the Sunset"

---

1400: West at 5 knots. Winds east 9 knots. 119 souls aboard. In pursuit of Tr. ship the "BACHBAT VAZ" at careful distance -- Ship's log, 4 Tænwerth, 913

"You wish me to let them go?"

The wolf shook his head slowly. "I don't see that we have any other option, Captain Medastria. I don't know what a warped alembic even is -- but it has our only experts in magic nearly catatonic, and I doubt Lord Erdurin wants us to start open hostilities with the Dominion."

It was the sort of wise decision to which Marray had become accustomed from him. "Yes, sir."

"But follow them at a safe distance, though, to observe and to render aid if necessary. I doubt very much that ship handles as well as yours."

Marray doubted it, too, though the Dominion was the unquestioned master of the seas off their coast, extending as far as eastern Aernia. Many bleak leagues of desert separated the Iron Kingdom from Tiurishk, and beyond that lay the River Sheyib, an impenetrable boundary when the Dominion's war galleys were considered.

Even the Bachbat Vaz had its place: it was not as fast as the Otiric, but it had made a far longer journey without complaint and in a fight its thick wooden hull would be difficult to best. Marray was perfectly content not to challenge them.

Rassulf's explanation of the magical artifact they were using fell on uncomprehending ears; the stag understood that it was powerful, and frightening to the Expedition's thaumaturgists, but not why this was so. Further questions only frustrated the wolf, who finally left the bridge altogether.

Marray kept the Otiric a league to the galleass's stern, within easy observation distance, and glanced from time to time through his spyglass. The other ship's preparations seemed rather like their own, with a lot of running about and fiddling with strange equipment.

"Any change?"

He'd known Dr. Toth was standing next to him by the scent of burning redleaf, let alone the badger's distinctively gruff voice. "None, sir. Save that I think they're making to furl their sails. They can't proceed directly westward, considering the wind from the storm."

The storm was nearer than the horizon, and its bubbling grey menace now dominated their view. It would, Marray thought, have been even worse aboard the Bachbat Vaz -- closer, and exposed to the wind and the crackling thunder of chaotic lightning.

"Do you think they know something we don't, Dr. Toth?"

"No. I think they're bloody fools, Marray. And if I think that, imagine what you should think. The least understood and most powerful source of chaos paired with the least understood and most powerful charmed object in history? Fools, yes."

"What is this object?"

"It can drain the essence from anything. A fire, a thunderstorm -- you. Me. It's ghastly, really. Kio and I have argued about a lot of things, but this time she's right. It's horrible."

Kio Tengaru, who had started to accompany Toth more frequently, flinched at the sound of her name in a way that Marray found rather chilling. Rassulf's right. Whatever this is, it's got the ones who know best absolutely terrified. "Drains it to do what, though?"

The badger puffed a thoughtful ring of smoke. "Anything," he said again. "Lots of charms store magic -- the alembic only allows more things to be drained, and at larger scales."

Marray turned back to the horizon. "Such as a storm, like you said, Dr. Toth?"

"Such as. They think."

"What happens when it fails?" Seeing the badger's curious expression, he went on. "Like our boilers. Lady Jan believes they can take more pressure, but even Lady Jan's engineering will fail at some point."

"I don't think it works that way. I don't think magic..."

He left the sentence unfinished. "What? You don't think it what, Dr. Toth?"

"Kio. Spotty one." He called the snow leopardess over to join them, by the forward windows of the bridge; Marray noticed that she kept her eyes averted from the storm. "A wailing stone can be destroyed, right? How?"

"I do not know. Disenchanted, to free the souls inside it, I think, as Miss Kaszul said -- I do not know what becomes of the matter."

"Could it be destroyed magically?"

"No. A wailing stone is magic. It concentrates it, and becomes even stronger. I think. My people didn't even tell stories about them, so I might be wrong, but when I charge one of my charms that is how it works."

"You can charge it as much as you like, though."

"No. Well -- yes. But not really. My companion is this," she said, slipping her paw inside her robe and pulling back a marble-sized ruby. "There is a point where it becomes so charged that I cannot concentrate enough to add more, but a better-trained mage can. Perhaps there is an upper limit..." She thought aloud, and her mood slowly changed. "Well, yes... I suppose there is... the chaos storm overwhelmed my enchantments on our probe, at least, for it disintegrated some of them..."

"And if you had something with the infinite potential to distill thaumaturgic energy, in a chaotic environment..."

"It... could... disintegrate itself, yes. Yes, Dr. Toth."

Marray cleared his throat. "I am not familiar with your arts, Miss Tengaru. But I recall when you recovered your probe, that there was a discharge that injured you. Are you talking of something like that?"

"Yes, but far worse. Miss Calchott said that sixteen thousand men died in a battle against the previous owner of the Railroad's wailing stone. Their power is immense -- not just enough to shock a poor, unhoned miner's daughter."

"It's a very bad idea for us to be here, Marray. You should turn back." The badger phrased it as a suggestion, but the order was clear.

"Dr. Röhaner is --"

"I'll find Rassulf," Toth said. "And he can blame me for lost time. But we need to run. Now."

Ordinarily the wolf's authority would've continued to hold sway, but Toth's reputation for recklessness made his caution unsettling. Seeing the flicker of lightning from the clouds ahead decided the issue in his mind. "Helm -- hard starboard, and increase speed to full!"

"Aye, sir!"

Dr. Toth had left in search of Rassulf Röhaner, with Kio at his heels; Marray stood with his helmsman, watching as the ship made its slow leftward turn away from the chaos storm. "Rudder amidships."

"Aye, sir. Engine room reports all boilers are lit and we're coming up to our best speed."

He was more grateful than ever to be on the Otiric, with her superlative steam engines carrying them away from whatever danger Tengaru and Toth had foretold.

Rassulf didn't look entirely surprised, when he reached the bridge. "We've turned away, I see."

"They felt that there was some cause for concern -- a risk to the Bachbat Vaz. It was my judgment that this risk extended to the Otiric, and that until we knew better the wiser course of action was to gain some distance, yes, Dr. Röhaner."

The wolf nodded. "Quite possibly a prudent course of action. Dr. Toth and Miss Tengaru, can you explain further?"

There did not seem to be much that needed explaining: the Tiurishkans were experimenting with a wailing stone, cause enough to terrify Tengaru and the Expedition's other mage, the Kamiri jackal. On the walk back to the Otiric's fantail, where they could at least observe the horizon, Tengaru listed a handful of scenarios each more worrisome than the last.

It might, she said, twist the water into a great maelstrom swallowing the Bachbat Vaz whole. It might summon the strange, slow, floating lightning that had long been rumored among superstitious mariners. It might produce horrible monsters, or some of the strange creations that had previously existed only in myth. "Sochayo's Mirror," the snow leopardess said, and shuddered.

"What's that?"

"Tenori Sochayo said that time travel was impossible, because if it could happen, it would permit a charmed looking glass that could reflect the course of its own destruction, but its destruction could be thereby averted -- a sort of simple paradox. But in a chaotic situation, that wouldn't matter. He theorized a looking glass that reflected all possible futures at once. He was not certain whether one would go mad or go blind, looking into it..."

"Blind? Good heavens."

"Yes, Captain Medastria. This is why I am happy we are headed away from the sort of thing that would allow the creation of such a mirror."

From the fantail, the Otiric's wake stretched back in a churning white froth that proved, indeed, quite reassuring. Even with a spyglass the Bachbat Vaz could no longer be seen. Marray felt, though, that the lightning that flickered in the clouds was beginning to become more frequent.

Ten minutes later, this suspicion had become a certainty. Though they were too far away to see the storm's base, the eerie glow of chaotic fire pulsed and shattered through the cloud tops near-constantly. "I've never seen it so active," Rassulf Röhaner murmured, tearing his eyes away to glance at his notebook and jot something down. "I count seventy flashes per minute?"

"Or more." The rest of the Expedition's leadership team had joined them; this observation came from Aureli Calchott. "Whatever they're doing, it's definitely having an effect. And yet... it may be my imagination, but I think the sky is lightening..."

It was true; despite the steady flashes, their intensity had weakened, and the ominous deep grey of the cloud wall faded minute by minute to pale white. Through his spyglass, Marray almost fancied a glimpse of faint blue sky. "Are they... absorbing the storm?"

"Gods help them if they try," Dr. Röhaner replied.

Marray hoped that they could. Some of the scientists on the Tanandorean Expedition would be disappointed that they had not been the first; honestly, the stag felt a little pang of yielded glory himself. But it was not enough to pray for anything other than success.

It was all too easy for him to picture the captain of the Bachbat Vaz, staring into the heart of a thaum tempest the way then-Lieutenant Commander Medastria had years before, on the bridge of the Raven -- watching the wind and water distort and swirl into shapes that were obscene in their very strangeness.

He could picture the look of concern on the captain's face, for the well-being of his ship and crew. How many souls aboard that galleass? More than the Otiric_, for sure -- doubtless none of them volunteers._ They would have put their very lives in his hands, and the hope that he could bring them safely back to whatever port they called home.

Not an enviable position, that. And what of the captain? Did he share Admiral Betkosh's sneering sense of superiority, or was he more cautious? Was he one of the stern, gruff men born of saltwater and spray and foam -- ruthless in his demands for perfection and performance? Did his crew admire or fear him? Or both?

A chorus of gasps startled him from his wandering thoughts, and he looked to the northwest, where a ray of light pierced the clouds, directed straight upwards. After a few seconds it seemed to falter and wane before winking out altogether.

Rassulf Röhaner scribbled quickly in his journal. "What was that? The ship or the storm?"

"It came from below the horizon," Aureli said. "The ship, I suppose."

Marray stepped back, and beckoned a sailor to him. "Get to the engine room and tell them we need more steam," he said. "He'll say we're at maximum revolutions now, I'm sure. You tell him --" He saw another burst of light reflected in the sailor's eyes. "You tell him about that, do you understand?"

"Aye, captain."

"Steam," the stag insisted. He would never have guessed, in all his years on tall ships, that he would one day be calling for it with such intensity. The sailor understood the urgency, if not the reasons: he started running.

The Expedition members were busy speculating, with Toth making the most dangerous conjecture first. "Some kind of a weapon? A way of scattering the chaos?" Another beam shot forth, in the same fashion as the previous one; when it faded, the clouds in its path had been melted away and a muted blue sky remained. "If so, it's not bad, Railroad girl..."

A fourth beam gave them pause, so much brighter than the previous three that it seared itself into Marray's vision. "I do not think so, Dr. Toth." Kio, who had made the objection, was staring enraptured. "I think they're releasing the energy they're gathering -- somehow."

"Then they are absorbing it?"

"Perhaps a wailing stone is strong enough to bend the chaos into a kind of order, yes," Kio said, without tearing her eyes away. "Northerners have never really respected what they can do..."

The pulses of light came more swiftly, and brighter. The afterimage they left on the stag's eyes gave him pause -- uncertain whether it was reality or an illusion, at first. "Does the light seem to arc to anyone else?"

"I thought so, too," Dr. Röhaner said. He held up his pencil, placing it parallel to the next beam that shot up from beyond the horizon. "Yes. It's... bending."

More than just the beam of light bent; the horizon began to shrink, as though viewed through a droplet of water. Yet even as it drew inwards, the light dimmed -- like the Bachbat Vaz had begun to absorb not just the storm but the very afternoon itself.

Abeam the Otiric, nothing had changed. To stern, though, the steamship's wake pointed towards a darkening bubble, pierced at ever-faster intervals by arcing, twisting pulses of radiant light. Marray brought the spyglass to his muzzle, and realized that he could see all the way beyond the true horizon to a tiny black dot that must've been the galleass, suspended in crystalline, fog-free water that cut against the sky with a razor's precision.

Unsettled, thinking of Sochayo's Mirror, he put the glass away and turned to find the nearest crewman. "Find out if the boilers can take any more, and report to me at once -- I'll be on the bridge." The sailor nodded and, just as nervously, sprinted forward. "Dr. Röhaner, I should return to the helm."

"You think something might..."

The wolf didn't bother to finish his sentence. Something was clearly happening -- above them clouds still dotted a mid-afternoon sky; closer to the storm the world had gone to starless, lightless dusk.

A ray of light from the Bachbat Vaz cut off abruptly, and none followed. Second by ominous second the bubble at the horizon became more distorted, and darker -- it seemed to be pulling the clouds at its edges inward, stretching them out like taffy. The edges of the bubble wavered.

Marray turned for the bridge. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the bubble ripple, and its contents vanish for a moment into pure, all-consuming black. He opened his mouth.

Before he knew that he was going to scream he saw a flash, brighter than every sunrise in his life at once, and in a terrifying fraction of a second his brain sent first the signal that he was blind, and then the signal that he was about to wish he was. As the flash faded he saw tentacles of lightless black reach out from the epicenter, from what had once been the Bachbat Vaz -- and then hot purple lightning raced up their edges to burst against the sky, scarring his vision.

The sparks spread, and dimmed, still many miles away. Marray forced himself to relearn the ability to speak. "Is anyone hurt?"

"I don't think so. Well, at least, not here." Rassulf shook his head at the twitching, pulsing light beyond the horizon. There was no sign of the galleass. "I can't imagine they were quite as fortunate."

"No. Gods help them... can you see nothing, Dr. Röhaner?"

The wolf clenched and relaxed his paw a few times, working the trembling from his fingers. Then he brought his glass up. "No. Nothing. Those strange lights. Or... perhaps... wait. Hold on."

Marray held himself still and alert. "Something?"

"Yes. On... on the horizon. I can't tell what I'm looking at, though. It has the look of a... wave, perhaps, but it's not... it's formed -- oh!"

Now Marray could see it, too. An expanding wall of foam and shredded, tortured air flung out by the chaotic eruption -- and before it a solid front racing along the water and rippling the lower clouds. Someone -- Rassulf? Marray himself? -- shouted for them to take shelter and he dove for the deck.

Seconds later the shockwave roared over them, fierce enough that it nearly sucked the breath from his lungs. He glanced up to see the flag at the Otiric's fantail snap, and strain, and finally detach altogether, and the sound of shattering glass persisted as the wave passed.

But they were not dead. I think not, at least. Am I? Marray tested his limbs and got carefully back to his feet. The Otiric seemed to have survived: some of the portholes at her stern were smashed, and the jagged rims gaped in horror at the destruction the ship had even still been spared, but that seemed at first to have been the worst of it.

He could not be certain, though; before he knew it he was running forward, pulling himself up the stairs to the superstructure's upper level four and five steps at a time. "Action stations!" He shouted it as soon as he had gained the bridge, which had not escaped damage -- two of the windows had been completely shattered and a third was cracked badly. "Order the engines stopped and get me damage reports at once."

"What happened?" First Officer Yeren Cavell had seen action in the south, fighting pirates off Dhamishaya -- yet the shock was plainly apparent on the lioness's face, and her claws were extended.

"I don't know. Are there casualties here?"

"Not severe, sir. Seaman Rudaw was cut by the glass, but he'll live. Were we struck by lighting, captain?"

"No. Worse. Something that Tiurishkan galleass did, damn them -- though I think they're already damned, truth to tell. Engines?"

"Have answered all stop, sir," the quartermaster told him. "Revolutions slowing steadily."

Five minutes later the reports confirmed that the damage was manageable. A number of portholes and windows were gone and some crane rigging had snapped, but the Otiric was sound and not taking on water.

The crew fared slightly poorer; a dozen of them had been injured by flying debris, two seriously. One had lost her hearing, at least temporarily. Seaman Harfern's trousers were sodden, and quite ill-smelling; the lookout apologized guiltily, and Marray shook his head. "Could've been worse, lad."

"Aye, sir, yet..."

"Count your blessings. Someone in the Coral Valley is looking out for you." Harfern was a lookout; the crow's nest had nearly been torn from the mast, and lurched at a heavy angle to one side. Only luck had kept Harfern from being plunged to the deck -- or carried away altogether.

Still, as they were all alive, his general report to Rassulf was positive. The wolf took it in stride. "We should retire to the Meteor Islands for repairs..."

"Agreed, sir."

"Whatever they did, it doesn't seem to have permanently disrupted the tempest." Dr. Röhaner paused, and furrowed his brow, trying to collect his thoughts. "When I could see again, the storm had returned, but the cloud wall was... rippling, back and forth. As though whatever they had done had somehow... transmitted its energy directly to the storm."

"Does that matter?"

"Well, the ripples seem to have stopped. So I can't answer that, as yet."

Sessla-Daarian Toth snorted. "It does. You know it, Rassulf."

"What do you mean, doctor?"

Toth had one of his cigars out, and he lit it before answering -- Marray suspected he was the only one to catch the slight trembling in the badger's paws. A drag of redleaf was enough to let him recover his surly stoicism. "Think on it. You've got something else to think on, too."

That was one of the badger's habits, to suggest that something was obvious without saying what it was. Marray couldn't tell if the wolf's look was one of unease or displeasure with Toth's non-answer. "And that is?"

"Blew out, what, a dozen windows? Glass isn't the strongest, maybe, but I've got four crowns that says the Otiric was built to a higher standard. Can't image you'd settle for less. Would you, Railroad-girl?"

Aureli shook her head. "It was the best we could get at the time. I don't like what you're implying, Dr. Toth -- this ship is sound. Captain Medastria said it himself. Jan Keering confirmed it about the engines. We didn't cut corners. And we can clean up the glass."

"Of course." The badger's growl puffed a gruff cloud of smoke. "Is anyone from the Ostermere? Not you, Marray and Jan; you seem like westerners. Aureli?"

"Shallamer Graw, in the middle of North Seffishire."

"Close enough." The Seffish River was, in any case, fed by the Ostermere, with Tilladen near its source. "I'm from Avethmoor, in Tilladenshire out towards Dargherdon. They're miners out there, by reputation." He held up his left paw, showing off sharp claws. "Are you old enough to remember the Cayley disaster?"

Tilladenshire, and the surrounding counties, had many mines and, therefore, many mining disasters; even Marray recalled hearing of this one. Aureli had, too. "An explosion, yes. Two hundred tons of blasting powder went up."

"They say it shattered windows as far as Tiller's Bluff, a mile away. Now, I'm sure there's differences in geography, and maybe they don't build well in Tiller's Bluff -- but by my accounting, we weren't a mile away from the Tiurishkan ship. More like... what would say, Marray? Twenty-five? Thirty?"

"At least, sir. Closer to forty." They'd sailed for over an hour, and presumably the Bachbat Vaz had continued her course in the opposite direction. He shuddered at the implication. "They never rebuilt Cayley, did they? You're saying that... that 'wailing stone' had forty times -- what is that, eight thousand tons of powder? There's no armory on the continent like that..."

"There's not. And it's not forty times, Marray. It might be forty if the blast traveled in a straight line. But it doesn't. It expands in all directions at once." Holding his cigar in his teeth, the badger drew his paws apart, spreading his fingers to pantomime a swelling explosion.

"Gods, Marray, he's right."

Marray looked to Jan, whose startled realization kept her ears pinned while she dug around in her bag. "Right about what?"

"We calculated this at the Keering Works -- the force exerted by a particular quantity of powder. We were testing the resiliency of armor to shellfire. A bursting shell doesn't lose strength linearly. As a question of volume it should go as the cube root, which means that if at Cayley the powder was enough to..." She drew out her slide rule and started working it smoothly between her fingers. "Er. No. No, that can't be right."

"Lady Jan?"

Distracted, with her fuzzy ears folded back, she reached out her paw to pat him gently on the side. "Wait, dear." Fortunately, none of the others noticed the phrasing. "Dr. Toth, don't you agree? It should hold, only..."

She pulled a scrap of paper out, slid it onto the table, and started scrawling as Sessla-Daarian Toth watched. Then she returned to the slide rule. Their eyes met. "It's rubbish," the badger declared. "But perhaps within an order of magnitude."

"Within an order of magnitude," the canine echoed, "it's still four to five orders of magnitude. Dr. Röhaner, that's --"

"I can do math, Lady Jan." The wolf had whispered it, though, haunted.

And Marray didn't like the sound of anything that could unnerve Rassulf Röhaner. "I can't."

Jan looked at the paper as though she had written a death sentence on it, rather than equations. "Not by a factor of forty, Marray. Whatever those Tiurishkans did, it ended up in the Cayley disaster -- between ten and a hundred thousand times over."

---

I can now say that it is terrifying to have theory confirmed in practice. There is much to be heralded following the apparent destruction of the Dominion's warship -- that we are all alive, that my ship is in good order... At once I wish that I'd been more inquisitive when the topic of magic came up, and am grateful that I was not. It doesn't seem impossible now that the worst of everything was all true... everything the stories said about thaumaturgy, about the Alembic... about the Ravens... about her...

_If she finds out what I've done... _

What would she do? She would find her own way forward. She would shove aside anyone in her way. Not everyone can do that. I am not made of such metal. So what am I made of? -- Diary of Aureli Calchott, 5 Tænwerth, 913

Aureli knew that she should have been reassured. The Otiric was still afloat, and considering what it had come up against that was more than enough to declare some form of victory.

For as long as she could, the stoat focused on this alone. Before her was a stack of handwritten reports, from every Railroad manager on the ship. The engines, the bilge pumps, the cranes, and the forges -- the artillery, for whose silence she was grateful.

To: Calchott, Aureli. VP Special Projects, CO Div. Fr: Ambro, Erin-Aru. Mgr. Sust. Logistics.

It was written in the formal language of any other Railroad memo; she had requested this specifically and received it without question. That was how the bureaucracy worked. Erin-Aru was young, but a quick climber; she knew the drill.

Review of all supplies finds that none were damaged by the incident. One barrel of flour was found slightly ajar, but no spillage has been detected and no contamination was observed. Two tin cups may have been knocked together and were dented but I have straightened them with no apparent loss of structural integrity.

Total anticipated cost: 0 cr.

Not that Aureli had expected there to be any impact to the galley. She told herself that she was simply being thorough, signed the memo, and placed it in a folder with the rest.

Half an hour later, Jan Keering stopped by, also on request. "Ma'am?"

"You said that the engines check out?"

The mutt nodded. She held up a sheet of paper, and handed it over; the paper was smeared with grease, and so were the engineer's paws. "A possible imbalance. The propshafts seem to be aligned, as far as I can tell, but there is a detectable variation when we rotate them. Læn Esher agrees that the shockwave might have slightly warped one of the screws."

Keering was responsible for the design of the engines; Læn, on loan from a northern shipyard, had worked on the actual propellers. The Otiric required many great minds. "We should wait, in that case, for a full inspection."

"I don't think that's necessary, ma'am. The risk is extremely minimal. Also, if it really is a bent propeller blade, we can't do anything until we reach Port Tarmett. We might not be able to do anything then, depending on how bad it is. We'll bring it up to speed and see for certain, but Chief Engineer K'nDalveigh and I think that as long as we stay below maximum revolutions there is no cause for alarm."

"At the same time..."

"Ma'am, we spent six hours dead in the water while I checked every fitting and pipe in the engine room. As long as we're stationary, we're taking water through the stern tubes and it has to be pumped out by hand. I take it you want to row back to port -- but if we need men at the pumps, that's a lot fewer for your damned oars." At the very last second, and not particularly convincingly, she remembered her place. "Due respect. Ma'am."

Aureli forgave it with a shake of her head. "It's fine. But gods, Jan... what happened back there..."

"Did you see it?"

"I did. You were below?"

"I was asleep. Just off shift."

"At least your window didn't break. Your cabin faces aft, doesn't it?"

"Yes. It did shatter, as it happens. Fortunately I wasn't there."

There seemed to be a slight inconsistency in this story, but Aureli had too much on her mind to care where Jan was sleeping. "Fortunately, indeed. Gods," she sighed again. "It could've been worse; I know that."

The dog reached out to pat her, then seemed to think better of the contrast between Aureli's stark white fur and the dog's filthy paws. "Don't worry, ma'am. You built us a fine ship. Let us get back to Port Tarmett, and Læn and I will measure it down to a hundredth of an inch. I'll even ask Miss Tengaru to make us some magic calipers or something; I don't know. For now, I'd like to recommend to Marray that we can get back underway."

Since Læn Esher and Jan Keering were the appointed experts, there was no way to object without violating the Railroad's sense of propriety in trusting said experts. Trapped, Aureli forced herself to sign the paper she'd been given. "Very well. Carry on."

She put off the next inevitable encounter as long as she could -- hoping, though she knew it was futile, that her soft knock at Rassulf's door would not get an answer.

The wolf opened it ten seconds later. He was still fully dressed, and she saw that his inkwell had also been filled; the Expedition logbook was open. "Good evening, Miss Calchott."

"The same, Dr. Röhaner." She closed the door, and took a seat before he could order her to -- like some schoolmaster chiding a disobedient pupil. "I have reports from every engineer on the ship. The damage is... well, it's not cosmetic, but it's fixable."

"Here, or back in Tabisthalia?"

"Mr. Esher and Miss Keering called my attention to what may be a warped screw. If that's true, it might require a proper dock. If not, we can carry on. At full speed."

"Good news," the wolf said. "I've asked the others for their notes and conjectures. I'm afraid there's not much."

"You'll have mine, too. They'll probably be fragmentary."

Rassulf nodded. He stayed quiet and, having waited long enough, she began to stand up. "I need to be able to trust everyone, Miss Calchott. I hope you know that."

She sat back down. "I do."

"Or at least I need to be able to know how I can't trust them. Miss Kaszul is a bit of an enigma to me. I think she probably would trade this ship for her homeland, if it would buy their freedom. Lord Erdurin is blind to any flaws of the royal family. I have to take his description of the nobility with a great deal of skepticism."

"As do I," she offered in quiet agreement.

"And you?"

"I've tried to be open, Dr. Röhaner. When I can. Where I can."

"The treatment of Kaszul's family, for instance. It would have helped to know that she was joining us under duress -- it would've helped to know that the Railroad has been operating Kamir as a private kingdom since the war."

The ermine tried to figure out the easiest, clearest answer that would satisfy him. The thought that she had betrayed his trust bordered on painful. "I didn't actually know that. I'm not involved in politics. Core Operations mostly handles --"

"Miss Calchott." He cut her off; his tone suggested less anger than weariness. "The hierarchy of your corporation doesn't concern me. You had no idea that a Kamiri was being sent to us at gunpoint?"

"No." The truth was slightly, but irrelevantly, more complicated.

"I don't think we could've stopped Admiral Betkosh. Tell me, though: what if Miss Tengaru and Miss Kaszul had said nothing? Or known nothing? Would you have spoken up?"

"About what?"

"That there existed a device, an artifact almost powerful enough to challenge whatever that storm out there is? That there are more of them? That you had one?"

"I don't! I told you, it's... it is complex and most of it is legend. I haven't sorted one from the other. It... well..."

"Don't dissemble."

"I'm not dissembling."

"Then what would you call it?"

But the first answers that sprang to the ermine's mind all required an understanding of the Railroad. How the Railroad worked; how it was organized. How many of the myths were simply that -- but not all. "You know about the Ravens?"

"No."

"They're our special security department. They can be entrusted with things that nobody else can. Even me. Even my superiors. It's said that they have knowledge that's forbidden to the president of the Railroad herself. You're going to tell me that you don't care about stories, Dr. Röhaner, and I sympathize. So I know that the Ravens arranged the death of Dr. Breish, a researcher at Kessea. Because I wanted him for this Expedition, along with you, and I wasn't able to intervene in time."

"Why did they kill him?"

"I don't know. Believe me, I don't. He intuited something that was too close to the truth -- which truth, and how, and why, is lost to me. The Railroad's study of thaumaturgy has always been kept somewhat hidden from those outside a particular inner circle."

He was less than convinced; she couldn't fault him. "You knew about the... this 'wailing stone.' Tavak. You knew where it came from, too."

"Yes."

"Talk."

He would force it from her, eventually; besides, as long as she was on the Otiric, Aureli felt she was probably safe. "When the Expedition was proposed, I looked up as much as I could on what we -- that is, the Railroad -- knew of magic. My supervisor has led our company's research in this area."

"Dr. Rescat Carregan?"

"Yes. Her first major project was our railroad from Marrahurst south to New Jarankyld. It runs through a primeval forest, with trees that are... fifty feet wide, or wider, and charged with thaumaturgic essence. They call it the Dalrath."

"A," the wolf corrected. "A telreth. The word comes from a common root with my language. We have our own, to the east. We do not venture there."

"Nor did we. It was the first time the Railroad used magic. They enchanted their powder, and they reinforced their bridges -- things like that. By happenstance, I saw a note about a special train chartered from our most secret archives -- I swear to all the gods, Rassulf, even I don't know the exact location. It went to the Dalrath, and immediately afterwards they began to make superlative progress."

At the time, Aureli had assumed the archives had some sort of spellbook, or an old map of the forest. When she started asking questions, Rescat stonewalled for the first time ever. The stoat kept asking; she had never been one to give up.

"Finally she told me. She told me, she said, to spare me -- because if anyone found out that I'd been asking, I would meet with an unfortunate accident as well."

"Even as someone in your position?"

Do you begin to understand? "Yes. I learned of a stone called Tavak. That was enough to derive its history from some older eastern myths. Dr. Carregan didn't care about that. She said they used it to take the trees apart. It summoned the attention of the native tribes, who banded together in a coalition to face the Iron Corps down."

"And you won."

"I didn't ask exactly how. Dr. Carregan was directly involved. She worked with a Pala mage from the jungle. She told me that he was the only one to touch Tavak directly."

Rassulf nodded; he was respecting her paranoia enough not to be taking notes. "He was the one who had to be killed."

"Yes. It happened during the Kamir War."

"Surely it did not." The wolf's eyes fell on her in a stare that was almost painful. "Because you told us that after the Dalrath, it was never used again. And the Kamir War was definitely after that."

She gritted her teeth. "I don't know that it was used. Maybe it wasn't. I tried not to ask. The mage was killed. The men who transported the stone from our archives were killed. Dr. Carregan made it seem as though asking was a bad idea. She said that the stone had been locked away. And... she said that if I asked anything further, she wouldn't be able to protect me."

The wolf stayed contemplatively silent, his gaze unwavering. "I don't understand men like Lord Erdurin, and their view on the world. Likewise, I don't understand many of the stories that are told of your Railroad beyond your borders."

"I don't know if all of them are true." It was all that Aureli had to offer him.

"I believe you. I believe what you've told me. If you said now you'd related all that you knew, I would believe this as well. I'll do what I can not to put you in danger with the material in my notes, since this will be read by your employer. But I have to say, Miss Calchott -- speaking of stories, that is. And myths..."

"Yes?"

"If we talk of myths, what comes to my mind is a common theme from my own mythology. Allying with demons is rarely a choice that ends well."

She left him to those parting words; back in her cabin, she started to pour a glass of wine and then decided the glass would not be necessary. Rassulf Röhaner, for all his intellect, did not understand what was at stake.

She wasn't the only one to know about Tavak -- others in the Iron Corps probably did. Rumors that Carregan Transcontinental owned such an artifact existed in the dark alleys of the world; maybe she would not be found out.

But what if I am? 'Demons' -- no, Rassulf didn't grasp how the Railroad worked. They were one of the brightest lights in the Iron Kingdom; the forge that wrought its best potential and tempered its finest minds. And forges could be dangerous: that was all.

Truthfully, Aureli didn't know the extent of the danger. Her responsibilities insulated her from needing to investigate the worst rumors. Rumors that the barbarians captured when the desert was pacified were kept as slaves. Rumors that mining operations in the Shrouded Rocks accounted for those slaves' disappearance. Rumors of secret military campaigns. Of assassinations. Of experiments even grander than her own.

I'm a rational woman, like Rescat, she told herself, as she always had. I don't need to be concerned with stories. Leave that to tavern-goers and fools.

But objections crept in at the edges of her thoughts. Rescat didn't like to talk about the Kamir War. Most of the important records remained sealed. Aureli gathered, from hearsay, that whatever happened had changed Rescat a great deal.

Inside Carregan Transcontinental's offices, it was easy to ignore hearsay. Rescat was a controversial figure; she was given to conflict, and to ensuring that conflict always resolved in her favor. As long as Aureli stayed on her good side, it made the vixen an incredibly potent ally.

And allying with demons rarely ended well.

Had the Iron Corps used Tavak to decide the course of the Kamir War? Would they use it again? What if this is why she let me finance this expedition? It was so expensive... but if capturing that stone cost sixteen thousand men, what's one ship?

The stoat shuddered heavily, and tried to banish the thought. A quarter of the bottle of wine managed to steady her back to reason. As long as she could deliver results for the Railroad, Dr. Carregan would be pleased.

Right now, the results amounted to a battered steamship and an obliterated balloonist. Simrabi Kaszul had promise. Yes, and if she's successful she'll disappear with her work... like Rassulf promised. And without that, if a single word about that gods-damned stone escapes...

But there was the Otiric. And valuable information about the Dominion -- a rail line directly to Tiurishk remained Carregan Transcontinental's biggest unmet goal. The Dominion refused to yield, and they looked unkindly on the Iron Corps' support of rebellious city-states.

If it came to blows, Aernia would feel the Dominion's anger, too. Then the Railroad would be its first line of defense. Then, the money invested in an experimental warship would pay dividends -- since the king obviously opposed the Expedition. Carregan's support for it would be lauded. And Aureli's research into flying machines, successful or not, might even be prescient. Might even save the Kingdom.

Might even, she scrupulously avoided finishing the thought, save her.

---

Expedition has spent the previous three days in counsel summarizing conclusions of the Bachbat Vaz incident and its implications. Members agree that it is important to move forward. The first test of our resolve comes today: the Kamiri Simrabi Kaszul is ready to launch her manned glider. All agree to pray for order from chaos. -- Tannadorean Expedition Record, 7 Tænwerth, 913

Rassulf thought of the way that Lieutenant Telmer Carpathish had looked when she readied herself for a balloon flight. The vixen had worn a full uniform, with a heavy coat over it against the chill of high-altitude flight.

Simrabi Kaszul was naked. She had stripped out of everything, to make herself as light as possible. Now, instead of Kamiri robes, she was wearing the glider.

Like the Otiric, the craft gave the impression of being quite advanced; it was also completely different. It had the shape of a dragonfly, with Kaszul lying flat in the nose. The two pairs of wings were long and tapered, made of the same hollowed wood that Kio Tengaru used for her automatons.

Overall the thing was heavy enough that it needed some assistance to launch. Marray Medastria had turned the Otiric into a headwind and brought the ship up to full speed. Additionally, the workshop had fashioned a large piston, strong as Jan Keering could make it, which was to be filled with steam. Upon its release -- they hoped -- Simrabi Kaszul would be flung upwards and the chaos glider could start to make power on its own.

Aureli Calchott, observing, shook her head. "This thing..."

"If my father knew what my university education had brought me to, he might have forbidden me to go," Rassulf agreed. For the most part, the wolf was joking -- but only for the most part.

A constant, gusty wind filled the hills and valleys of the Confederacy. Ellagdrans built their walls and houses strong as a result -- sturdy enough, as the saying went, to stand against catapult, cannon, and the Kaltethner.

Ellagdrans built kites, too, and some more reckless youth clung to the undersides, skimming down the slopes to end either in soft grass or a tangle of broken bones. Rassulf hadn't tried.

"It's the structure that I'm most worried about," Aureli told him. "There are limits to what the wood can sustain. We have found an uncomfortable middle ground -- I know of large machines, but not of wood, and Miss Tengaru knows of wood but not of large machines. We had to trust her and Simrabi -- but I doubt the wood is sturdy enough."

Simrabi had heard them; with her huge ears, the jackal probably heard everything. "If it fails, Miss Calchott, you will at least be rid of me. My regret is only that a single Kamiri will not be much of a meal for the fish..."

Aureli said nothing. Rassulf knew that she was not particularly fond of the Kamiri's dark sense of humor, particularly considering the injuries visited on Kaszul's clan by the Railroad. It struck a bit close to home.

"Do not worry," Simrabi continued. "You're not, either. Now, Dr. Toth, on the other hand... or Lord Erdurin -- though perhaps his taste is a bit too refined."

"Perhaps," Rassulf answered. "We should not keep the sharks waiting, then; are we ready to begin testing?"

"I am." The glider's wings were also its means of control, linked to two levers that Simrabi held in either paw. Her grip tightened until the bones on the jackal's thin knuckles showed.

Rassulf looked at their checklist. "Your controls work. The link between the steam piston and the glider?"

Aureli bent over and examined it. "Secure. The piston is at full pressure, Dr. Röhaner."

"Your harmonizers, Miss Kaszul?"

"You may start them."

Her smaller gliders had only a single harmonic engine; the larger model had two, because the strength of the silver alloy used for its rings only went so far. Rassulf grasped the jeweled ring and spun it the way he had been shown.

It continued spinning of its own accord, until it was rotating fast enough to draw the other rings into sympathetic motion. The task done, he walked carefully around to the other side and did the same thing to the engine's mate.

"They seem to be working -- from what I can tell." Even Kio Tengaru was at a loss to explain how they truly worked; the Expedition had to trust Simrabi's experience.

The jackal closed her eyes, and a smile spread across her slim muzzle. "I can hear them, yes. I am ready, Dr. Röhaner."

"Stand clear!" he shouted, and stepped away from the glider's path. Its nose pointed forward, just angled enough to miss the superstructure of the Otiric. They needed it pointed into the wind; also, Rassulf hoped that if the launch failed, it might not plunge the pilot into the chilly water of the Caelish with the steamship racing at over twenty knots away from them. "Five seconds."

He counted them down in his head. Everything will be fine. Four seconds. The steam piston will send the glider aloft exactly as planned. Three seconds. Simrabi will complete one circuit of the Otiric_. Two seconds. She will land, and if there are any mechanical flaws they will be corrected for the second flight. One second_.

Jan Keering's steam cylinder fired, slamming the glider forward. It accelerated off the track smoothly, coming up to speed. A combination of brisk wind and the momentum of launch caught the wings.

They bent back, putting the whole force of the glider's lift and drag at the joint where wing met body. The left pair detached first, snapping backwards with a sharp crack, but even as Rassulf's ears perked at the sound and his muzzle turned the whole affair was over.

The drag still on the right wing spun the glider towards the center of the ship, and it hit the deck hard. Its metal keel dug in, carving a deep gouge in the planking that traced a neat line towards the craft's final demise.

"Damage control!" he heard a sailor shout. "Ship's doctor aft!"

Kaszul's glider had stopped moving. The body crumpled; smoke curled from the deck where friction had heated the wood nearly to the point of burning. The bony figure of its pilot was motionless despite the commotion, and stayed that way nearly as long as it took Rassulf and Aureli to race over, picking their way over bits of debris.

Then her limbs twitched, and Kaszul slowly rolled to one side, tumbling from the wreckage. She got to her feet, stretching out her legs and arms and testing them carefully. "A day of disappointment," were the jackal's first words.

"Disappointment?" Rassulf asked breathlessly.

"For myself, but also for the sharks. And," she added, looking down at the deck, "for the carpenters. I am unharmed. The same cannot be said for the glider."

"That can be replaced, though."

"Miss Calchott, I am alive -- you may say what it is you truly mean. 'I told you so,' isn't that the appropriate phrase in your tongue?"

The stoat bit her lip. "It would be. But more than this, I'm happy that you're uninjured."

Simrabi barked. "I'm surprised. My surprise is greater still that I... know that you mean it. Though despite both types of shock, the fact remains that you were correct. I shall need to re-examine my work."

Not all of it was available to examine: the left wings had fallen into the sea and were completely lost. What remained showed a clean break at the main spar attaching them to the glider's frame.

The right wings stayed attached, but the strain on the wood was more than apparent. Had it managed to take flight, the journey would have been short-lived and tragic.

While the ship's crew set about whatever repairs they could manage, Kaszul retrieved her robes and retired to her workshop. She remained in good spirits -- at least, as good as the jackal ever seemed to be. Aureli volunteered to help, and this time Simrabi accepted.

Although Rassulf appreciated the Kamiri's resolve, his own mood had begun to darken. The simple matter was that every step the Expedition took required a greater effort, and so far there had been little reward.

What was I expecting? Did I truly think we could simply sail out here and the answers would be obvious? I told myself it would be difficult, but...

They were no closer to understanding the chaos storm, and no closer to crossing the End of the World. Now the summer was ending. They had perhaps another month before the weather worsened; two until it was impossible to conduct any experiments aloft.

And the Otiric that sailed back into Port Tarmett was far from the glamorous ship that had first visited it. Her shattered windows and scarred paint made it look like she had been through a battle. The workers at the docks would ask questions. Some of the crew would desert.

He didn't even want to think of what Haralt Berdanish would say in his dispatch to King Enthar. All along the bear's gloom and apprehension had seemed like so much cowardly nervousness -- but now? After all they'd seen?

In moments of self-doubt Rassulf tried to think of what was at stake; of the promise he had made to his father, of his homeland and the Hakasi lurking past their borders, and of all the immense questions that begged for answers in the roiling chaos.

Now one question loomed even larger: what made you think you could do this? What hubris possessed you to consider it even possible? What madness?

Someone knocked on the door to the cabin. "Come."

Dr. Toth stepped through, and closed the door behind him. "Hello, Rassulf. Some notes, on the structure of that jackal lady's wing. Aureli and I have been looking over them." He held out a few pieces of paper.

Rassulf took them, and set them on his desk. "Thank you, Dr. Toth."

"We'll see what we can do, at least. What about you, Rassulf? You're holding up?"

"Of course. We face challenges, to be sure -- but, Dr. Toth, few paths worth charting are easy. I'm sure we'll manage."

The badger nodded, and made a half-turn to leave. And then, with a knowing smile, he looked back. "You don't lie very well, for what it's worth."

Rassulf considered trying to keep his ears from splaying, but the effort wasn't truly worth it. "Please pardon me, doctor. It has been a long day, and not the first of its kind."

Sessla-Daarian nodded again. He seemed to have decided not to press the matter, for his paw met the handle of the door and started to turn it. Rassulf bunched his fingers into a tight fist.

"Dr. Toth? A question for you -- not one of mechanics, but of madness."

He turned back, leaning on the closed door to Rassulf's study. Behind immaculate glasses, his eyes glittered with the faintest hint of mirth. "They do say I'm the expert."

"I hadn't agreed; I still don't. But if it were true... is that why you continue? After everything -- is it madness? Is it madness that keeps you going?"

"Yes."

The bluntness of the answer caught him off guard. "It is?"

"It's what they mean, yes, Rassulf. Just daring to ask questions isn't madness -- it's only naïveté. Children ask all sorts of questions, and they're not mad. Charming quirkiness is setting about looking for an answer. Madness, true madness, is not stopping until you've found it."

Rassulf had never thought of the badger as insane. Idiosyncratic, yes; his redleaf habit was quite low-class, and together with his lack of social decorum and disheveled appearance spoke to a man unconcerned with his breeding. He'd assumed that this, for the more stately and hierarchical Aernians, was a large part of his reputation -- that lack of concern.

He'd thought of it as an act from the moment he first met Toth, at a tavern rather than a well-heeled restaurant. Now, he wondered if it was not an act so much as deliberate provocation, an open challenge, the same way he willingly adopted the epithets attached to him.

"But it's not, is it, Dr. Toth?"

"Not to me. But I'm Aernian, you know. Have you ever heard us talk about the pales? The Iron Pale that runs along the desert, and the Silver Pale along the Dalrath, and the Whistling Pale around New Jarankyld? Cargal'th, but we do love our walls."

Rassulf was familiar -- mostly because, as the badger said, Aernians from near the great walls rarely shut up about them. "Well, it helps for protection. Our cities are fortified, too."

"Aye. But it's not that, Rassulf. It's about keeping the abyss out, so they don't have to look at it. That's why they're proud of them. That's why they love order so much. That's why they don't like anyone to upset it. Question: fine. Challenge: madness."

"Because if you break down those walls, who knows what you might let in?"

"Precisely. There's no Aernian version of Gerret ev-Garn, Rassulf."

The wolf had to smile; it was a name he hadn't heard since his childhood. In myth, Gerret was a tunneler who collapsed the castle walls of a tyrant prince; the lesson was intended to be that walls alone were insufficient. "You know that story?"

"Some of the old stories, sure. You didn't think Sessla-Daarian was an Iron name, did you? My family immigrated a few generations ago, and they tried to forget -- but my grandmother was a stubborn one."

"Do you know where you're from, Dr. Toth?"

He shrugged. "They say we trace our lineage to Ers Einach, a minor hold in Vistelzea. I'm sure your clan and mine have fought before. In the Iron Kingdom, we have a saying, you know? Ellagdran princes always come in pairs -- at each other's throats."

Of course, there were similar sayings in the Confederacy itself; they seemed at times less unified by shared culture than shared battlefields. Even attending university in a neighboring principality had not been without some political consequences for the wolf. "At least you haven't forgotten that part, then," he said with a laugh.

And got a laugh in answer. "No. But we are nothing if not stubborn, Rassulf. I suppose we'll see if we can't get that wall down yet."

---

Lessons easier taken than absorbed, as usual. Ah, but Kiojo, it was this way in the mountain, too. It's always something like this, isn't it? Maybe we should ask a different question... what if I keep learning? I am going to need another memory-stone at this rate. But this is my course, I suppose. Be a strong mountain, Kiojo!

-- Memory-stone of Kio Tengaru, 29th day of 5th chase, year 577

Kio had been practicing.

Lady Jan was a strange creature; an aristocrat, like Lord Erdurin, but far less invested in the aristocracy. Kio had the sense that, despite her family's impressive name, she was more interested in finding her own way through the world.

This was something the snow leopardess understood, although the Otonichi themselves did not really believe in aristocracies. Every mountain home had its own ruler, and ruling families were often dynastic -- but only because they had demonstrated an ability to keep the redoubt running and to mediate the disputes of individual families within it.

Strong mountains, it was said, did not move, and it followed that there was no good reason to upset a mountain clan's order without cause. An upset mountain, after all, became a volcano -- violent and destructive, and unpredictably chaotic.

For centuries the Tengaru had been miners, and what affinity for magic they had was used to divine the location of new veins. Kio was the first to see in the subtle arts something more than dowsing. Something more, too, than rock-warping: though the mages who used the earth's molten heart to power the redoubt were highly skilled, they also had not changed since before memory.

Kio left because she craved what the outside world had to offer. At first, she'd even been able to ignore her own talent -- lost in the excitement of visiting the steep cliffs of north Dhamishaya, and the great fortress-city of Körlyda, and the towns of Tiurishk and Aernia where her kind had not set foot in ages.

And later, when Rassulf approached her to say he'd heard rumors of an Otonichi thaumaturgist, she had been able to content herself with honing the skills she already had. It did not take much to impress the iron folk, nor Dr. Röhaner. Sessla-Daarian Toth was not impressed, but by keeping him and his questions at arm's length she'd been able to ignore the matter.

Then the new mage, the Kamiri, appeared. Simrabi Kaszul saw the charmed world in a completely different way. Nothing she said, or knew, sounded familiar to Kio. Nothing about songs, or harmony, or music; immediately afterwards Kio had hidden in her cabin, trying to hear music in the flame she kindled, and felt nothing.

She might have been content, were it not for Lady Jan. Despite the mutt's utter lack of knowledge where thaumaturgy was concerned, her advice was well-intended and it made sense. If a highborn land-dweller could immerse herself in the grease and salt-water of steamships...

And even more than that, Kio finally saw the underlying drive behind the madness that Jan and Daari Toth shared. Like the advice, the drive was well-intended. Kio had chafed at the bonds of her society and left -- so had they. And if they made mistakes occasionally...

She shivered, knowing that she'd made more than a few mistakes of her own. Fine, delicate glowing lines on the curtain drawn across her porthole shimmered and began to disperse.

Focusing, the snow leopardess pulled the lines back together. Four days earlier there had been only a random pattern of pinpricks, where sunlight pierced the cloth: she'd felt through the fabric's threads until the sense of underlying order behind the pattern became clear.

Once she knew that, twisting the threads to draw a sort of tapestry was fairly easy. The tapestry was simple -- a map of the mountain she'd called home -- but filled her with an uncommon sense of pride.

Why?

She stared into the lines of the map, thinking on the question she'd posed herself. Because, she decided: because it is the first time you've felt there was something truly unexpected to be learned.

Unexpected? A strong mountain does not move, Kiojo.

Even in her own mind she referred to herself with a diminutive. And even in her own mind, she smiled back. It does not. But a miner may still find new riches there.

The Kamiri notion that there was no such thing as 'chaos' or 'order,' merely different ways of examining the same material, tantalized her. Saying that 5 and 4 made 9, for instance, was perfectly logical -- unless your numbering system had only eight numbers, like the Bayeh. For them, the sum of 5 and 4 was 11, and '9' was an entirely nonsensical concept.

I wonder if...

A gentle tap on the door interrupted her thoughts. Daari never tapped gently; this was far more likely to be Rassulf Röhaner. Dr. Röhaner had been giving her space following the Bachbat Vaz disaster, out of respect or memory of how she'd taken Telmer's death.

Kio got to her feet, and opened the door, bowing deferentially to her visitor. "Good day, Dr. Röhaner."

"Good day. Are you well, Miss Tengaru? I'd hoped I might be able to call upon your services." She nodded, and followed along when he beckoned. "A new ship arrived this morning, the Gisdil. She's still in the harbor, as you can see..."

He pointed off the starboard side of the Otiric to a smaller sailing ship with two masts and a prominent bank of oars. Even without the waning sun, its yellow paint gave her an impression that the galley was plated in gold. "The Dominion?"

"Yes. They were trailing the Bachbat Vaz by a week or so, with additional supplies."

"You informed them?"

"I did. The news was not taken well. And while I am the Expedition's leader, I feel that I cannot speak sufficiently to the charmed arts. Nor, unfortunately, to a... delicate political situation."

In the Expedition's meeting room she found Lord Erdurin and a Tiurishkan with a scarlet sash indicating what she imagined to be similar authority. Unlike many in the Dominion, he was a canid, with tawny fur and ears slightly larger than Rassulf's.

"Admiral Shaktar Marab," Rassulf introduced him, and then dipped his head gently in Kio's direction. "Miss Kio Tengaru, of Eskarada. She is our expert on all thaumaturgic affairs."

Admiral Marab's sturdy build had kept her from the mistake of assuming him to be a jackal; the dark, lupine curl to his muzzle removed all doubt. "And also your military strategist, or do you still hide that one from me? Hill-dog, I've been more than clear."

"So have I." Haralt Berdanish spoke up. "If you're accusing the Iron Kingdom of destroying your vessel, admiral, do so in plain language."

The admiral glared across the table. "You are not 'the Iron Kingdom,' merely your king's puppet. And neither you nor this dog have explained how the largest ship in the Western Fleet managed to disappear without a trace."

"There were certain traces," Dr. Röhaner said. "As one example, the damage to the Otiric."

"Indeed! Every day, I received a messenger bird from the flagship. They reported encountering a strange Aernian vessel, a warship more advanced than any the Iron Kingdom has ever launched -- a steam ram with an iron hull, capable of immense speed. The last message is that, as they prepared for a mission of peaceful research, they sought counsel with this mysterious vessel one last time. Then nothing -- nothing but your lies and your ship's battle damage." His anger was palpable; it dripped like venom from his bared fangs. "Why?"

Kio hoped that a soft voice might defuse some of his emotion. "We did not cause the loss of your ship, Admiral Marab. Dr. Röhaner and the Expedition tried valiantly to prevent it."

"'Prevent.'"

Like Kio, Rassulf remained calm. He hadn't showed his own teeth. "We warned the commander of the danger he courted. I did so personally, Admiral Marab. I was rebuffed. The danger itself, I do not understand; it is beyond my abilities. That's why I asked Miss Tengaru to join us."

"I know that it's beyond your abilities, dog," Marab sneered. "The Dominion has always been home to the scientists of greatest renown. Every meaningful advance in this continent's culture is owed to us. This experiment was ours to conduct, despite your misplaced jealousy."

"You know what the experiment was?"

Marab shot Kio a razor-tipped glare. "Do you? When we heard that the Iron Kingdom planned to explore the Great Abyss, we knew that you would attempt to usurp the legacy that is rightly ours."

Seeing Kio's curious look, the admiral explained further, in typical grandiose style. None could really doubt that the Dominion was home to the most learned men on the continent, and that they had done the most to advance the frontiers of knowledge since the fall of the World Before.

Marab went further. He said that archaeological records proved, conclusively, that Tiurishkan sailing ships had once visited all corners of the earth. Indeed, that they had sailed all the way to Artem and Jana, the two moons, on argosies powered by dragon's breath.

That part, Kio knew to be simple bragging. Academic thaumaturgy, however, was a Dominion specialty. Gaviç Retiz, the theorist she had heard so much of from Daari Toth, hailed from the Dominion. Had they wished to put his theories into practice?

"... Could not stand to lose to us, and destroyed our ship!"

Marab had finished passionately. Kio listened, carefully, and nodded. "But that's not what happened, sir. Do you truly know what the experiment was? Do you know what they carried, on that ship?"

"Doctors. Scientists. Researchers. The Bachbat Vaz was unarmed, unlike yours."

"Not by your longbowmen," the snow leopard conceded. "But then, you know that it embarked something even more dangerous. That ship carried a wailing stone."

"A what?"

"Aernians call it a 'warped alembic.' They think that the name 'wailing stone' comes from your people. Gorusuç pan gula."

"Myths," the admiral insisted.

Lord Erdurin rose to the point of disagreeing. "Except that we saw what one did, Admiral Marab. I had never heard of such things before. Surely, with the great scientific expertise you just described, your people must have known otherwise."

"Enough to know that they are mythological."

Kio felt a little twinge at her inner ear, enough to give her a slight pause. "Sir?"

"You heard me. Such things are mythological -- and if they were not, we would never bring one here. Certainly we would never employ it."

The twinge came again -- a subtle jarring sensation. Startled, the snow leopardess understood suddenly that she was catching a sense of discord, a slanted unease between what Marab said, and what he thought. "You're lying," she realized aloud.

"Don't insult me, mountain girl."

The desert wolf's eyes were dull orange, like the sand on the banks of the river Sheyib. Like the sand, dark flecks marred the flat color. They were almost imperceptible. But the longer she looked...

The longer she looked, the slight imperfections shifted and wavered. Now, instead of sand, it seemed more like the tapestry of light she had crafted of her curtains. Marab's eyes parted and opened to reveal the pattern within.

"This wasn't the plan. The Bachbat Vaz sailed north of the Meteor Islands to avoid inspection. We might have found your crew -- not just Betkosh, but the ones in chains below..."

"What are you talking about?"

"Gaviç Retiz believed that he could use them to patch the chaos... that the logic and order of their minds could temporarily reverse it -- for which he would need... for which he would need an alembic." Kio swallowed heavily; her voice faltered. "You thought..."

"Nothing," Marab jerked his paw to silence her. "Hill-dog, quiet your mage! I won't stand for this."

"It was a very large ship, admiral," Rassulf replied.

"It needed to be -- for all the supplies. A long voyage."

"No. Your ship was the supply ship. You said that."

"I meant --"

The blackness in the wolf's eyes went darker still, but not enough to keep her from seeing. "You thought that you could reverse a storm of infinite chaos. It would be a looking glass... Admiral Betkosh was to send a signal to the Gisdil. The signal would be... kabäç salika. He did not know what you would do..."

"So the Otonichi have spies, do they? Who? Who aboard my ship?"

He had phrased it as a question, but even without her talents Kio could see the wolf was getting ready to spring for her. She rose to her feet slowly. "You should go, Admiral Marab."

"I will not go. Not before... what are you doing?"

Kio splayed her fingers, and pressed them to the wood of the table. The room was filled with color: the scarlet of Marab's uniform; the gleam of polished brass, the subtle shading on the map and the artwork on the walls. All of it the result of little rays of light, reflecting off whatever they touched.

She perceived that even in light there was randomness. The universe slanted; the rays began to rearrange. The briefing room darkened, for the sunlight now reflected only from her claws.

"I did not mean to threaten you, sir." Kio did not mind the dark as much as the others. There was nothing ominous about it, and she tried to keep any such emotion from her voice, as well. "But you should go. You should leave before anyone else intuits what the Dominion planned."

Light spilled from her sharp claws to the motes of dust that hung in the darkness. It reflected from them, in perfect clarity. Kio saw nothing. Rassulf Röhaner saw nothing. Haralt Berdanish saw nothing.

Shaktar Marab saw the chaos storm as a great lens that showed the Bachbat Vaz -- glowing brighter and brighter until it dissolved in a brilliant flash, an instant long. In that instant he saw not just the galleass but his own ship, twisted to splinters short and sharp as a final moment of fatal regret. He saw the padishah's palace at Esifyr shattering, and the levees along the Sheyib, and the massive bridge at Körlyda.

He shuddered, and pushed his chair away from the table. "What have you done..."

Light surged back to wash the four in color once again. "Your emperor does not know what he so very nearly unleashed. Even I can only see the barest edges of it. You, Admiral Marab, know even less, but far more than you did this morning."

"Illusion," the wolf said. "Trickery..."

She had felt the same jarring disconnect in her ear, this time trembling and faint. There was no need to raise her voice. "You do. You may tell the emperor what became of his ship. I hope you will tell him the rest, as well."

Marab required an escort back to the Gisdil. Rassulf and Haralt stayed behind with her; Rassulf's look was halfway between bemusement and pride. "You continue to surprise me, Miss Tengaru."

"Myself also, Dr. Röhaner. I did not know that I could do that -- I do not know that I could do it again. In the moment, it was a very... intriguing sensation."

"Will you tell us what their plan was?"

"Lord Erdurin, it was precisely as I said. The best academic thaumaturgists in the Dominion and Dr. Toth have reached the same conclusion. They realize that the End of the World is not pure chaos, but also full of energy. Dr. Toth feels that if it was understood, it might be harnessed."

"You disagree?"

She was no longer certain, but needed far longer to meditate on the topic. "The Dominion feels that it cannot be captured as a water wheel might. But it could be used. They felt that only the utter chaos of the Abyss could serve as a mirror for what they desired -- a flawless, perfect mirror, in which they could see anything they wanted."

"Beyond the End of the World?" Rassulf proposed. "It makes some sense, perhaps. Gods, but what a sacrifice... you don't feel there is merit to the idea, do you?"

Haralt had his back to them; he was watching Admiral Marab's boat being rowed back to the Tiurishkan galley. "If there is merit, there is far greater madness, also. But I fear that is not what she meant, Dr. Röhaner."

And by the thinness in his voice, she knew that he had understood. Something in the bear's upbringing tuned his thoughts to the lust for power that empires bred. "It is not."

"Then what is, Lord Erdurin?"

He continued watching the departing boat for several seconds longer. At last, he turned away. "They thought it was a perfect mirror. Up to it they held one of those... stones. They weren't hoping to use it, Dr. Röhaner: they were hoping to discover the secret of its creation."

---

These nights, upon return to the fair city of Tarmett, have given me much cause to reflect. Never before would I have regarded such a city as fair. But I see in its walls and the loyal industry of its people reflections of home, much unlike the strange world my companions seek beyond the sunset.

With the destruction of the Dominion vessel I would have thought a newfound realization of hubris to strike the Expedition. I should have known my folly. Their efforts are but slightly dampened. At least Dr. Röhaner and the Railroad baron seem to understand that the weather is turning. Perhaps this will end of its own accord, without further strife. -- Haralt, Lord Erdurin's journal, 11 Tænwerth

Every society seemed to believe that it was the only one with deep roots. The Tiurishkans talked as though they had been the oldest race on the continent. The Dhamishaya Bhiranate said the same thing. Even Kio's Otonichi talked of stories stretching back to time immemorial.

Haralt didn't know who had truly been the first. Among his possessions, he had a ceremonial knife that had been presented first to his father. Nantor, 23rd Duke of Cirth-Arren, Earl of Temar, Earl of Erdurin, Viscount Arvostia, Viscount Masongate, Royal Knight Companion of the Most Noble Order of Tæn, Knight of the Order of the Old Spear, Second Master of the Grand Council of His Royal Highness the Arkenprince Tullen.

In likelihood this was not to be his legacy, for his elder brother Alfri was first in the line for succession. The title of Lord Erdurin had been granted to Haralt only because it was expected that one serving on a special council to King Enthar would have such a title.

Still, he felt the weight of generations at his back. However old the Dominion thought they were, the squabbling dynasties of the east had never lasted so long as that. Alfri Berdanish would be the 24th Duke of Cirth-Arren, and the duchy was not even the oldest in the King's Reach.

The five old principalities -- Tabis-Kitta, Arren, Ailaragh, Hutwick and Barland -- had different names depending on who one spoke to. In the east it was common to call them the Aultlands, because they were the oldest parts of Aernia. The more seditious liked to emphasize the word ault, as though they were nothing but useless, ivy-covered castles.

Haralt thought of them as the King's Reach, because it was in those stately counties that respect for the Lodestone Sovereign was still strongest, and where his authority still had the greatest weight. The Midlands and the ghastly, barbarian March had been settled later, mostly by immigrants.

The King's Reach ended at Ban Sorroway, in Hutwick, the most northwesterly town on the continent. They were far beyond it, over leagues and leagues of chilly water and wind and fog. Haralt still felt the King's great paw beckoning him, but the bear wondered often if he was the only one.

Perhaps King Enthar was not beckoning in the first place. None of his dispatches to the King had ever been answered. There was no sign that they had even been read at all. Haralt's most recent dispatch was late; he had yet to write it, and it was proving difficult to imagine Enthar caring much.

He'd met the stag a few times, before departing, never alone and never for more than a few minutes at once. Chatherral, his father, had been a weak and ineffective ruler. Enthar had a reputation for strength and wisdom, neither of which had been tested by his reign.

Either might have guided the Tannadorean Expedition, rather than leaving it in the hands of a foreigner. Enthar did not provide them, and Haralt did not expect that the stag was pacing back and forth in his throne room, demanding to know what transpired on the Otiric.

He pulled on his coat and went walking. Men were at work all over the steamship, repairing the damage she had suffered in two failed glider launches and the devastation of the Bachbat Vaz exploding. Is that even the right word -- 'exploding'? Gods, those carpenters have no idea what this ship has seen...

In Port Tarmett, a grey afternoon was waning to a grey evening that did the battered buildings no favors. Its dry land was Aernian soil, and the closest he had been to home in months, but although he tried to laud it the act had grown more difficult.

This is what we've amounted to. All those centuries of 'progress' and 'expansion.' Tarmett was settled as a coaling station, because the Midlands felt the world ran on coal and Chatherral had been in thrall to the Midlands. A few hundred fishermen. I wonder what they think of progress...

"Want something, sir?" Haralt had made his way into the town's inn, which passed for a center of activity. The innkeeper, reeking of smoke and fish like the rest of them, was a dog who'd lost half her teeth decades before.

He wasn't given to drinking, but something told him that would be the wrong answer. "Ale," the bear said. "Whatever ale you have shall suffice."

It took the dog a minute to pour the mug full, and it was another minute before Haralt took a drink. Long enough to decide it was best to ignore how filthy the cup was; he wasn't likely to find better.

Cargal'th, but what hubris they must've had to build this place. Three stories tall -- and rooms! Who thought there would be travelers to Port Tarmett? The main floor, which was wide open and included the bar, had fewer than a dozen occupants.

"Fancy clothes for Tarrie, eh?" The innkeeper was trying to make conversation. "Guess you're one of those on that big white ship."

"Yes. The King desires that we chart these waters, and the ones to the west."

"Careful," she said. "Find the End of the World out that bloody way, eh?"

"Yes."

"My uncle was a fisherman, herring it used to be 'twas, on the Raffa Areban, and he sailed on a shoal they said was out near the End of the World. Nine years back, eh, and not a scrap of driftwood or a measly bone. Not meant to be out there, no; there's plenty good fish here, and a warm fire in the hearth."

"Indeed."

"Me, if you asks me, I think the gods keep watch there. Tannador probably, makin' sure nobody comes to try to find them. If it's the End of the World, must be that's where the Coral Valley is, I thinks you'd say. And now, you ain't heard it from me, no, but I thinks the captain of the Areban lost his mind. Reyol Cordish, now, what's that? That's not a proper name."

It didn't sound Aernian; then again, considering the innkeeper's bizarre accent, nothing she said sounded Aernian to Haralt. "Might not be."

"These outfolk, aye, now, Tarrie's full of 'em. Can't trust the lot, but whatever I thinks, they's here, eh? Not that we ever needed no outfolk. Strange what we can't build a pale 'round the Islands to keep their blood out. Nor send 'em back in a trawler's hold."

"Indeed."

"Talkative, eh?"

The easiest explanation was to tell her that it had been a long day, and that he was more interested in drink than conversation. Companionship? she asked; he shrugged.

Fools and troublemakers alone doubted that the Iron Kingdom was the greatest on the continent; an empire of true majesty. Haralt knew dozens of stories of heroes. This made it all the more unsettling that the heroism had conspired to bring them to...

To this. Port Tarmett. Tarrie. Gods and kings and generals, centuries of them, distilled into the form of an ignorant innkeeper in a filthy town that had no proper reason to exist.

Someone else took a seat next to him, and he troubled himself to look over. "You weren't thirsty?" she asked. Her accent was not substantially more intelligible. "Cor, but that ain't 'ad but two drinks from it, huh?"

"I am... biding my time, I suppose."

The shortness of her fur and the shape of her curving ears led him to decide that she was probably a deer. "Time! Well, now, for what, huh? Not too much 'appens in Tarrie at night, sailor."

"I am not a sailor."

"Ain't tol' me your name, though, huh? My name's Brit."

"Haralt. I am Haralt, Earl of Erdurin. Not a sailor."

"Oh, I see." Brit looked at his mug again. "You ain't drinkin' like one, that's for sure. You get lonely like one?"

The bear raised an eyebrow. "Pardon me?"

Brit got back to her feet, and stepped over so that she could lean against his side. With the bear seated, her blunt, soft muzzle came up to his ear. "You 'eard me. C'mon, Haralt. You do, right? Just a pound. An' that's for the room, too."

"Lord Erdurin," he corrected her, sharply. She didn't seem particularly rebuffed, so he went on. "I am not... particularly given to loneliness, no."

Lacking other prospects, the doe licked his ear; her breathing filled it with distracting heat. "Six crowns? I'm sure you must have six crowns..."

She looked to be of good breeding; it was the dirt and grit of Tarmett that marred the girl's appearance. This did not move Haralt, especially, save that he knew she was somewhat cute. He thought instead of how strange it was that there was such a great difference between Enthar's family and this specimen. They were both deer, after all.

"Five crowns, then." She slipped an arm around him, leaning her head into his. "Any lower and I'd be callin' you cheap, now. What say you to five crowns, my lord?"

What would it take for a great man like Enthar to debase himself so? Chatherral had done so, to the head of the Carregan Railroad. Perhaps they were not so special. "Five crowns," he muttered.

"Upstairs," she told him. "First room on the left."

The room, with only a bed and a low table, was relatively clean if spartan. Probably the only one that ever sees any use, he thought, and did not find the conclusion terribly surprising. He took a seat on the bed, and waited.

Brit entered a minute later, with a key she used to lock the door behind her. The doe's bodice was slightly too small, purchased secondhand from better women on the continent, and the lacing strained against her bust.

The bodice and loose beige shirt, paired with a ruffled skirt of pale green linen, gave her the look of a western farmgirl. He wondered if this was deliberate, if it played to some homesickness from Tarmett's fishermen -- or if they simply didn't care.

"Ah? You like me, huh, Haralt?"

He glared stonily at her.

Brit observed this, with wide eyes and her round ears flicking, until the train of thought completed sufficiently and she bowed her head in a nod. She settled on her knees in front of him, and cast her eyes up subserviently. "I apologize humbly, my lord."

"Better. You are forgiven."

She rose again, enough to pull herself onto the bed. One arm curled around him. The other poked at the whalebone toggles of his coat until they gave way, and she managed to push the heavy jacket off the bear's shoulders.

The doe nuzzled his cheek, grooming him while her fingers opened up his shirt and pushed through his heavy, coarse fur. When the shirt, imported cotton of a quality unknown in Tarmett, had joined the coat in a rumpled pile on the bed, she swiftly unlaced her bodice and stripped away her own top garments.

Then, impetuously, she straddled him. The way she leaned forward pressed her heavy chest to his, and called his attention to the hot, rhythmic pressure at his crotch, and her wide, soft brown eyes. Her smile, joined by a deeper grind of the girl's hips, suggested she thought this was the entirety of his focus.

He saw also, though, the state of her pelt -- smooth and soft, but it had not seen a bath for months. The faint smell of cheap perfume was made even more tawdry by the scent of the port, and the inn, thick in every part of her. What distance separated her from Enthar's clan? "What's your family name, Brit?"

"Aberley, my lord."

Names like that were difficult to place. "Brit Aberley," he echoed thoughtfully. 'Brit' sounded more like a southwestern name, out from the farmlands of Perashire. Aberley was more eastern, as though it could've hailed from the untamed border provinces. Perhaps her breeding was not as impeccable as he'd first thought. But who could tell?

"Yes, my lord. Unless you would prefer otherwise?" He ignored what might've been a telling smirk from the doe, who must not have been unfamiliar with the offer. "You are a nobleman, after all. Y'can 'ave what you wish."

"Sami."

She paused, and tilted her head. "Not... like... Princess Sami, my lord?"

"It is not an uncommon name," he countered. "Perhaps a coincidence."

"Of course," she told him. "Very well. I am Sami, and you are Haralt, Lord Erdurin."

"I am Lord Erdurin."

"Of course," the doe repeated. She relaxed the embrace that had pressed them together, and worked her way back, coming to the floor with a practiced, quiet, fluid movement. No sooner had she landed than her fingers had skillfully pulled open his belt and unthreaded the polished buttons of his trousers, each with the mark of one of the finest tailors in the Tabis Valley.

Her fingers nudged and prodded his sheath, every touch sending a jolt up through his spine that began to spark more genuine arousal in the bear. He was not abstinent by choice; the duties of his assignment had kept him busy, and there were not many suitable prospects anyway.

A warm paw clasped him, and he groaned a sigh with the smooth touch of the harbor girl's finger on his length. "So very handsome, my lord," the doe crooned, so that he felt her words, too, in heavy warm breath. "So very... eager..."

Haralt closed his eyes, feeling her breathing coming closer, rigid with the anticipation. A trail of wet, silky heat worked up the underside of his shaft. It was all too easy to let his imagination wander, even slightly. It felt the same as a noblewoman's tongue...

The hot silk circled and slowly engulfed him, starting with the sensitive end of the bear's member and suckling firmly at the trickle of precum that accompanied his low moan. It's really the opposite, he realized. A noble's mouth feels the same as any commoner.

Slippery, hot pressure descended as the doe swallowed his cock and started to work him in her practiced muzzle. She only gave him a few strokes to adjust to the sensation before her tempo built to dedicated, insistent swiftness.

In his imagination he might well have been back in Arrengate, or in Tabisthalia -- in the Royal Baths, perhaps. He might've been on a velvet pillow, and the girl might've been anyone. One of his highborn friends, or a bath employee powdered and brushed for the nobility's pleasure.

The picture was hard to hold. Harder still as he felt a telling throb pulsing along with Brit's bobbing head. No -- wait. "Sami," he groaned, and she flickered her tongue over him to answer. "Yes, Sami..."

"My lord," she panted breathlessly. "Let me have it." Her tongue slurped and lapped at his cock and she dove down again for another greedy suckle. "Fill your princess's mouth like she was a common whore."

With the last word she pushed her nose down so he slid deep into her maw. His eyes opened. She was staring at him knowingly. Sami, the real Sami, would look just like that. Hopeful eyes coaxing him, her stately accent muffled and begging. The same as any doe.

He shuddered and pushed his hips up to hold himself still as his jerking cock spurted into Sami's muzzle. Rich seed splashed against the roof of the debased princess's maw, thick and musky. Closing her lips on him, she swallowed every drop, sucking on his length until the twitches had nothing left to give.

His vision was fuzzy, and he had to put both paws out to steady himself. Twinges of pleasure, growing slowly more distant, still echoed. The doe lapped him clean, scrupulously, and then rose back up to settle in his lap, with his softening length trapped between them.

"Was that good, my lord?" she asked him, coyly. "Was royalty what you expected?"

He could not explain to either of them why it had taken so little to believe her act. Why it took so little to see the princess stripping from her robes and dropping to her knees. Or King Enthar, for that matter. "Yes," he said, simply.

"Would you like to do more, my lord? You 'ave me for the night. I'm yours. What else can Sami do to please a noble, 'andsome man like you. Tell her highness..." The doe's sultry voice quieted, and she made up the difference in closeness. "Tell her what kind of a whore she is."

"What kind of a whore are you, princess?"

She nibbled his ear, and the tight press of her body filled the bear's nose with her scent. Smoke, and exertion; the common perfume being supplanted by a heavier musk. "The kind of whore who would spread her legs for five crowns. Your princess is just a common harbor slut, my lord. She would moan like one when you took her..."

"On her paws," he grunted.

The girl hugged him again, supporting herself on his chest for her nuzzling whisper. "You could fuck your princess like an animal, my lord, and she would beg for every moment. Merely tell her..."

"Get on the bed, your highness." Haralt's voice had gone strained, and the closeness of the doe's body let him feel how hard he was becoming again. "Get on all fours and show me."

She released him, and as she rolled from his lap her paws pushed down her pants. Naked, bared to him, the doe got on her knees and bent forward. She rested on her shoulders, and flicked up her tail. "Like this, my lord. Take me like this."

His length was throbbing to full attention, and his thighs quivered. "You said you'd beg, your highness."

The doe's head turned so she could see him over her shoulder. Her tail hiked up again, showing off the ruddy curves of her sleek rear and her white inner thighs, deceptively clean. "Fuck me. Use me, my lord. I know you've always wanted to..."

He dropped behind her spread thighs, grasping her rump firmly in one paw to feel the warmth of her flank at his touch. She shuddered. "Is that how royalty talks, Sami? Like a common bitch?"

"I always 'ave been," she answered, sighing when he groped her. "Palace don't change that, m-my lord."

The bear teased her pouting lips for a few seconds, but his need was growing fierce. Steadying himself, he guided his length back to her and thrust firmly, burying his cock halfway on the first stroke. "Just some slut, Sami. Say it."

"Yes, my lord," she moaned. He thrust again, sinking in to the hilt, and watched her ears quiver through a chuffing gasp. "Your princess is a dirty, naughty slut. Give her what she needs. Take me!"

Haralt's hips hitched reflexively, grinding their bodies together. And when he could manage, he started to thrust. The bed jerked and squealed with his heavy, deep bucks, and he growled to cover it.

He was not the only one making noise. She moaned every time he entered her, sliding into the wet, soft grip of the doe's cunt. Her muscles rippled and squeezed the cock filling her, leaving him panting hard and his tempo picking up.

Sami gave herself up to him willingly, pushing her dainty paws into the bed for leverage while the bear... fucked her, there wasn't any other word for it. He fucked her like a dog on a bitch in heat, and with her muzzle open and panting the princess took it eagerly.

There was no such thing as royalty, anyway, bent on all fours and being rutted from behind. The harbor girl keened lewdly as the bear's shaft plunged slickly through her tender folds, but save for her dirty fur she might just as well have been royal born. And he was all too happy to see her pelt sullied, anyway.

Haralt gripped her firmly, the bear's claws finding their strength as he held her rear up to his sharp, pounding thrusts. His pace started to give way to the erratic, feral roughness of unmistakably nearing release. The doe moaned and yelped. "Are -- are you close?"

The bear snarled an affirmation, claws raking her hips, pounding into her with the need to finish. "Yes. You're going to get it, Sami. Sami," he gasped again, bucking in reflexive, shuddering strokes to drive himself into the doe. Not a princess anymore. Just a needy common bitch. A whore. A wanton, filthy --

He groaned out the name again, slamming deep and hugging her hips back as his sack clenched and he felt the first throbbing pulse of his release racing up his length. The doe jerked in his grasp. "Oh! Yes, my lord! Yes -- fill me!"

The princess's begging voice reached his ears as he snarled and thrust again, spurting the second ribbon of ursine cum deeper into her quivering cunt. Sami thrashed and arched in pleasure, spurring him on through his rough finish, begging gutturally for the steamy, sticky load he pumped into her royal womb until she was flooded with his seed.

Haralt leaned heavily against her hips, panting for a full half-minute. His consciousness returned fractionally, like daylight. And like daylight, it illuminated what had been hidden.

He stepped back from the doe, just barely keeping his balance at the pressure on his oversensitive length. At last he pulled it free. Brit took a deep breath. "Good for you, aye, lord... how'd y'call it? Seems it." Her giggle was obscene.

But so was the steady drizzle of thick, off-white seed spilling from her, smearing her thighs and the abused bed. And that was his fault. Gods have mercy, Haralt, what were you thinking?

"Eh? Aw, c'mon, aye?" She sat up, completely ignoring the mess even as it pooled between her thighs. "What's that look, your highness? Need me to clean y'off f'r another go?"

"No."

"Can be someone else." She giggled again, and reached out to touch his crotch. "Whatever you'd like."

This cannot be happening, he first thought, and then corrected himself. This should not be happening. Fix it. "I have you for the night?"

"For the night," she confirmed. "'Cept it is another two crowns, what with your highness not pulling out and all."

Haralt felt for his coinpurse and removed a full pound, holding it up so that she could see. "Two conditions."

"I'm not to tell anyone..."

"Yes."

The whore smiled. "Your highness's secret is safe. What else do y'want?"

"A bath. Run a hot bath, with clean water. In a private room. And then... get out of my sight."

After she left, it took Brit half an hour to return and point his way to the bathroom. She curtseyed, taking his coin, but it was with the smirk of a job well done more than anything else.

At least the bath is hot.

He lowered himself into the water, and stared blankly at the far wall in the candlelit room. He wished that he was drunk -- not to cloud his mind or distract his thoughts, but because it would have provided an excuse.

But there was none. As blasphemy went, it was hard to do worse than what he had done. Even if Brit never said anything, and he had no reason to doubt her...

Even if, it changed nothing. Lord Erdurin, appointed his first post and completely dismissed by all and sundry thereafter, taking his frustrations out in roleplay with some whore who wasn't even worth the seven crowns she'd charged. Enjoying it, worst of all.

That's what the easterners mean, when they talk about how worthless nobility is. What have you done to earn it? What does that even mean_?_ By the time he asked for the bath, he already knew it would only wash away the dirt -- his reflection would always be sullied.

And what did it mean to earn one's place?

Capitalists liked the word because they could provide an answer in gold coin. They could look at a bank account, or a business transaction, and decide precisely how much had been earned. The numbers promised some hint of objectivity.

And because it was objective, they had decided it was the only way to measure worth. There was no such equivalent for him. King Enthar was King not because of his treasury, but because of his divine favor. His divine favor flowed to his lieges, and their lieges, and theirs...

It could not be tallied.

And yet. Yet it was just as objective as any numbers on a ledger. The divine right of kings was as much a part of the universe as winter, or sunset, or gravity. King Enthar had it; so did Arkenprince Tullen. So did Haralt's father. So did Haralt. It did not need to be earned any more than salt needed to earn its taste.

Haralt ran his claws through his wet fur beneath the water's surface, and shuddered in disgust. If divine right could not be earned, it could also not be abrogated. He would have to live with himself.

What he felt, the bear decided, was the distance between his ideal of the nobility and what they had turned out to be. Underneath the surface they were, after all, merely animals. All of them. Whatever divine gift Enthar had was invisible.

So the distance could not be closed by words alone -- he couldn't expect even Rassulf Röhaner to take him at his word. The task fell to deeds, and as for deeds...

He shuddered again, and stayed in the bath long after it had cooled.

---

Good: Some new options to reinforce these gliders that keep breaking. Bad: By the way they're fighting me, I think the two engineering ladies don't think much of it. And if this isn't good enough, we have to start all over again.

Good: I don't mind starting over again. Bad: Everyone says the good weather can't last. I think by now we're just used to the chaos storm, so Marray must mean something worse when he talks about not liking the clouds.

Well, I've never shied away from a challenge. Hopefully the rest of these poor bastards won't, either. Reckon I don't trust them enough to bet on it, though. -- Journal of Sessla-Daarian Toth, 27 Tænwerth, 913

"I'd like something from you, Dr. Toth."

The badger looked up from his notes, favoring Rassulf with an uneven grin. In general the things that were desired from him were infrequently polite, and often unsafe -- but this was to be expected, from his reputation. He didn't really mind. "What's that?"

"Good news. I'd like some good news."

The Otiric was finally back at sea, but this marked nearly the whole of what could be said. Further progress on the chaos gliders had proven elusive.

The Railroad lady, Aureli, hinted perceptively enough at the biggest problem: none of them knew quite enough to bridge the gaps in their respective lack of knowledge. And building a manned, winged craft had simply never been done before.

Toth contemplated going for a cigar, and decided that it could wait; for once, he was nearly relaxed. "There's not much on the glider. I've been working on a few new ideas for how we could reinforce the wing roots, but I'm sure Aureli's told you it ain't simple. Problem of scale, Rassulf."

Rassulf's ears twitched as he looked from the badger to the scattered papers across the workshop's desk. "And no material science solution? Nothing unconventional?"

Daari held up the most recent of his sketches, which Aureli and Simrabi had both rejected as unworkable. "Just because it's unconventional doesn't mean it'll work. Technically, Rassulf, you don't even know that it's possible for a heavier-than-air craft to fly."

And by now, they'd known each other long enough. The wolf saw that he was being baited: he smiled knowingly, and pulled up a chair to sit down across from Toth. "But you do, doctor."

In all the centuries since the Fall -- none truly knew how long it had been -- civilization had not yet returned to much of the continent. Its sprawling deserts and deep forests held plenty of secrets for the curious.

Some fraction of the metal machines that cowered, rusted and decrepit in the desert sands that scoured them, were relatively identifiable. They looked like boats, or mills, or forges, or carriages.

Others were not. Daari kept sketches of one in particular, a contraption the size of a large locomotive uncovered near the city-state of Malash. It was made of metal, and scrappers had gotten to it before the first scientists, but what remained still intrigued him.

The Malash Object had, like Simrabi's gliders, the rough shape of a flying creature. It supported two large wings high on its rounded body, and two smaller ones near the stern. Of course, being metal, it was much too heavy to fly.

"There were others," Rassulf said -- he knew of the same story. "At Indru Lake, they found a row of those things lined up, pointed in the same direction. They must have been ceremonial, in some fashion."

"The Indru temple grounds do point to that hypothesis." Toth wasn't much of an archaeologist, but even he could understand a temple's layout: broad, straight paths etched in the dirt, aligned to a precise direction. The machines had been positioned alongside, like watchful guardians. "Superstitious folk, the World Before. But I do think they probably flew."

"Metal flying machines, Dr. Toth?"

"Not regularly and not often -- you're right, they're far too heavy. But occasionally, for special rituals. I wish there was more of them to study, but the field sketches make it look like their wings were curved -- like a bird's. Ain't reason to do that without thinking they'd put the bloody things to use."

Rassulf sighed. "Then they were charm-lightened, no doubt. Which is not an option for us. Nor do we know the secret of their power. I very much doubt the World Before ran on coal and watermills."

This question remained one of the great mysteries -- one of the most valuable technologies lost at Ragnarok. Some even felt that their ancestors had been able to visit the moons. Toth was not quite that reckless. The sky was a start. "We'll find some way. Is that good enough news?"

Rassulf shook his head. "It's not a breakthrough, Dr. Toth, but I suppose I have to take what I can get. Miss Calchott said the same thing: she's still working. No answers yet."

"They don't always come quickly, Rassulf. On the other hand, Kio has been improving the resonator we used to talk to that damned balloon -- you recall?"

"Yes?"

It was on his mind because they'd been testing it just a few minutes earlier; the snow leopardess had retired for a well-earned nap. Toth plucked two objects from the desk. In his left paw he held a small piece of glass, the size of a match head; in the other he had a mirror.

"What does it do?"

"The mirror changes color based on what this bit of crystal -- a lens, sort of -- is facing towards."

"An aetherscope? Ramigor -- I think that's what they're called in Dhamishaya, isn't it, Dr. Toth?"

"Mm." He turned the glass a few different directions, to demonstrate the effect to Rassulf, and then set them both back down on the desk. "Different, though. Aetherscopes are supposed to be genuine far-looking-glasses. Kiojo says the enchantments don't work here. That's the unfortunate thing about this one. It should work near the End of the World, but you can see it's so blurry that it's not much good."

The wolf nodded. "Answers 'don't always come quickly,' is that it?"

"Ain't it so?"

Whatever could be said of their answers, the team at least worked quickly; the badger had no complaints about that. By the time they reached their station at the End of the World, another prototype of Simrabi's glider was ready. It did not look markedly different than the versions that had already failed.

Haralt Berdanish, perpetually grousing bear that he was, at least had a point when he said this. "You say you've changed the design. I presume it must be something quite subtle, indeed."

"Internal workings, yes, Mr. Berdanish," Aureli Calchott told him. "Revisions to the structure. It's as strong as we can reasonably expect to make it."

"Strong enough?"

Honestly, Daari wasn't willing to swear to that, but there was no point in giving the bear any satisfaction. "Have to try, don't we, Haralt? I know you'd love to wait until the King could bless every spar with his wonderful royal kiss -- but he's not here, is he?"

"That isn't what I asked, Dr. Toth," the bear answered -- more curtly, and a bit more forcefully, than Toth was used to. "His Majesty is no engineer and no scientist -- his blessing will not carry that thing aloft, nor save her captain if the structure collapses. I'm asking."

"It's worth the experiment, Lord Erdurin," Simrabi Kaszul provided her own level reply. "I don't expect your king will care much if I die, anyway." It continued to be a point of contention between them. Simrabi was willing to call Haralt 'Lord Erdurin,' but she always referred to King Enthar as 'your king,' and Haralt always corrected her.

But this time, for some reason, he simply shook his head. "With the gods' favor, it won't come to that. You should finish your preparation."

Toth had nothing to do with the preparation; it was up to the two women who had worked directly on the glider -- and Kio, who was trying to learn the techniques of the jackal's enchantments. Presently Kio pulled herself away from the other two, and drifted over to join him. "Do you actually think it will work this time?"

"Has to," he said. Considering the limitations of Simrabi's design, he agreed with Aureli's assessment that there was no way to strengthen the wing joints further, and Toth had run out of new ideas for lightening or simplifying the control mechanisms. "And if it goes well here, hopefully you'll agree it's ready for a more proper test?"

The snow leopard looked over her shoulder, though the End of the World was hidden by the bulk of the Otiric's superstructure. "You know that I cannot be so... confident."

"That's my job, eh?"

It lightened her mood enough to justify a genuine smile. "For both of us, yes. You're good at it."

"You'll have to learn one day. We're a team, after all."

He opened his notebook, graphite at the ready, and watched Rassulf go through the final checklist with the jackal. He'd gotten good enough at canine body language to see the apprehension in Simrabi's ears and tail, despite what she'd told Haralt.

Not that it could be blamed. By now, everything was a gamble. Rassulf ordered everyone clear of the glider's path. At a crouch, secured to the steam piston Jan had designed, the machine looked like a wrestler readying for a fight.

Which is to say, Daari, that it looks awfully heavy for something that they think is going to take off. Maybe if the wing joints were thicker? Of course, then she wouldn't be able to control it. Birds make it look so easy...

With a banshee's scream, the piston went off. Simrabi's glider shot for the open sky, along the Otiric's deck. For a second it seemed to pull up, gaining altitude -- Toth had just long enough to think that, perhaps, they might have managed it after all.

And then, though he could perceive no obvious mechanical failure, its wing dropped, and it whirled and plunged into the ocean. Despite the glider's graceful lines, there was nothing gentle at all in its ending -- kicking up a great jet of water, and a few smaller ones before it skipped to a halt.

By now the crew had learned what to expect, and the Otiric already had a boat in the water -- it could reach the downed craft far more quickly than the steamship could come to a halt and turn around. At their their speed, even thirty seconds had carried them a few hundred yards past the crash site.

"She's out," he heard Rassulf announce; the wolf was watching through a spyglass. "But I doubt we'll get much of the glider before it sinks."

Kio, standing next to the badger, sighed and shifted her weight to lean on him. She shook her head. "At least she's safe."

"At least."

"Do you know what went wrong, Daarji?"

"Remember you told me that the thing about thaumaturgy was that it was unpredictable? The example you used was putting a pot of water on a fire, and instead of boiling it just floats away. Remember that?"

She nodded. "When we were planning our experiments."

"This isn't like that, spotty one. It's predictable. The limits are predictable. Blessing and a curse, I guess, huh?"

Simrabi had pulled herself aboard the Otiric's launch; she was helping the sailors to secure floats to the wreckage so that it could be recovered. Something to study, he told himself; there wasn't much new they were likely to glean.

"Sometimes we just ask too much, that's all."

"Like in clockwork, when a spring or a gear is not strong enough, or too heavy, or too soft..."

"Exactly."

"Another way of saying that a craftsman is asking too much of his materials, is to say that he has asked too little of his mind. Often a problem has another solution."

"Matter of finding it, though."

"But we will."

"Thought confidence was my job, Kio?"

"I am experimenting with it."

"Is that so?"

"Of course, Daarji." She hugged him fondly. "We are a team, after all."