In moments it was down, metal feet sinking into the snow, then the ground, finally easing to a stop as thousands of tonnes of weight made the ship's diamond-fiber muscles quiver. The vernier engines, which it held high above itself on long arms, coughed and fell silent. Axel took his fingers out of his ears, and shook his head rapidly. A breeze smelling of hot metal tickled his cheek.

A wide door in the bottom of the craft opened, and a broad ramp extended to touch ground. Men in vacuum armor jumped out and began to take up firing positions. Axel felt warmly happy, despite the fact that two of them had their guns trained on him.

He raised his arms. "I come in peace," he said in High English.

An officer strolled down the ramp. "Are you Chan?"

"The very same. Good to see you, major."

"I'm sure," said the officer drily. "We don't appreciate being used as a taxi service, Mister Chan. Where's your companion?"

He nodded in the direction of the house. "They took her. A little local trouble, I'm afraid. Uh, can I lower my arms now?"

"At ease." The two marines lowered their weapons. "I suppose we'll have to go ask for her back."

"Here," said Axel. He lobbed the pack at the major, who caught it awkwardly. "This should pay our way, once it's been analyzed. And, uh, can we get Marya and get out of this hell-hole now? I'll bet the swans will be here any second."

The major opened the pack, gagged, and dropped it. "What the hell—?"

"It's a long story," said Axel. "And if you want to hear it, we'd better get a move on."

The major looked from the pack to Axel and back again. Then he whirled and said, "Nonfatal settings! Fan out. I'm going to negotiate a hostage situation." He walked towards the house, paused, and said "Coming?" to Axel.

Axel grinned. "Thanks. Appreciate it."

Three hours later, he sat at a viewscreen and watched as Ventus fell away below. Too bad it was night; he would have dearly loved to have traced the course of the journeys he and his companions had made across the land.

Every now and then the display flickered with blue-white light. The Diadem swans were attacking. While they had easily taken out Marya's ship, they were no match for this cruiser, as the captain had pointed out proudly and at length.

Axel was tired, bruised and chilled to the bone. Soon he would go take that bath he had been dreaming of for months; for now, he couldn't take his eyes off the screen.

Somewhere below Calandria was getting ready to confront Armiger. Axel had argued with the captain for a good hour, trying to convince the man to follow Marya's directions to the queen's palace and interrupt the siege. They probably had enough firepower in this ship to eliminate Armiger; but it had been the god Choronzon who had hired Axel and Calandria to kill Armiger. As far as the Archipelagic military were concerned, the war against 3340 was over.

Axel no longer cared about Armiger anyway. He just wanted to get Calandria back.

"Hey."

He turned. Marya stood in the doorway. She had cleaned herself up, and looked beautiful in a snow-white gown, framed by the door's ivy in warm summer-like light from hidden sconces. She stood barefoot on the genetically-tailored grass of the ship's civilian quarters, and appeared relaxed and confident, as though she had not been squawling and biting the arms of medieval soldiers earlier in the evening.

"You're amazing," he said.

"You look like hell," she laughed. "Why don't you get some rest? There's nothing more we can do now."

He turned back to the window. "We have to go back," he said. "We're not done here."

She touched his arm. "I know. First we'll have the remains of Turcaret analyzed. They may give us some valuable insights into why the Winds won't talk to us. And then we'll go back for your friends."

"It's just that..." He didn't want to say it. Marya waited patiently.

"We have to get Calandria," he said. "She's so obsessed with 3340, and Armiger. Sometimes I think... I think she wants to lose. Wants to die, or something worse."

Marya frowned. "We can't save her," she said.

Axel turned back to the viewscreen. Ventus was visibly a globe now, in crescent phase as the ship headed away from the sun. Diadem twinkled brightly above the limb of the horizon.

"If not us," he said, "then who?"

31

"Parliament's forces are on the move," said Matthias. "He's going to try it."

Matthias was in full battle gear—not the gold-worked breastplate and shimmering epaulets Galas had always seen him in before. In plain black leather and iron, he looked like a common soldier now, except for the red flag rising above his back that signalled his rank. Nothing he could have said or done could have projected the gravity of the situation more than this simple change of clothing.

Galas was briefly ashamed. She was dressed as always in velvet and gauze finery. She pictured herself picking up a sword, strapping on a shield and entering the fray like some barbarian queen. She would love that. She would love to do anything rather than what she had to do.

Regally, she nodded to Matthias. "Go then. You have my complete confidence."

"My lady..." For a second his composure cracked. He was an old man suddenly, saddled with an impossible task. They would lose this battle; both knew it.

Galas smiled most carefully; her responsibility now was to act the part for which she had been born. So that these people died believing in... something, anything. Even if it was a failed dream.

"Dear Matthias, I only meant I would wish to have no one else in command of my force, now or ever."

"Thank you, your majesty." He bowed. "But I have given equal authority over to General Armiger. He will be commanding the defense of the gate."

"Good." He bowed again, and turned to leave.

"Matthias?" She couldn't go through with it—perhaps she could hide her true feelings from the rank and file, but it would be unworthy to do so to her closest friends. When he looked back with a puzzled look, Galas said, "No one should have to die for me."

He glared at her. "You are the rightful monarch and heir, blessed by the Winds. We would all be honored to die to defend you." He walked quickly away.

Galas stared after him. She felt a stab of pain in her chest—sorrow made physical—and hugged herself miserably.

Dawn had just broken. Morning light slanted in through the ruined windows of the great hall. The shattered flame pattern worked in stained glass seemed like a centuries-old joke only now reaching its punch-line. To hinder Lavin's men from gaining access to the tower through the thin walls of the hall, Matthias had doused everything in here with oil. This great chamber would be an oven soon.

Men in heavy battle armor ran back and forth, faces blank with concentration or fear. One or two even laughed, but it was forced bravado; they knew she was here, they wanted to prove themselves to her even in this situation.

She should be doing something.

"You!" She pointed at one of the running men. He stopped dead in his tracks.

"Your majesty?"

"I wish to give a... a final address to the commanders. Are they here?"

He shook his head. "They're dispersed about the walls, your highness. To call them back would be..."

She waved her hand. "Go on. I'm sorry. Go on."

They were bringing in ladders to lean up against the tall windows. She was just in the way now. Galas stepped back to let a procession of men past, then flipped the hem of her dress up over the pooling oil, and stalked back into the tower.

It was even worse in here—pandemonium as blacksmiths, carpenters, and anybody with nothing better to do tore up the floorboards of the tower's back entryway. Armiger had some use for them; no one questioned the sanity of the move. Only half the first floor was wood anyway; the front reception area had a floor of marble. She hurried, hopping up the wooden servants' stairway while sweating men tore the steps out behind her.