"What happened to him?" said Satterly.

"Mab's legionnaires cut his throat. His name has joined the list of martyrs."

Satterly nodded and didn't say anything.

"Are we ready then?" said Mauritane.

"I think so," said Eloquet. "Vestar?"

"A simple prayer, I think," said the old man, rising to his feet. "Aba, protect these of your children as they embark on a mission whose goal is peace. Let them commit only what is necessary of bloodshed, and spread your protection like a blanket over them, for they act in your name."

"The girl Elice is safe, the baron's daughter?" Mauritane asked Eloquet.

"My men are watching over her. She will come to no harm. I do wish you'd tell me why we're keeping her, though. Perhaps I'd feel more comfortable about it."

"I wish I could tell you," Mauritane said.

Eloquet looked around. "Right, cut the moorings. We're off?"

One of Eloquet's men swung an ax, and the ropes holding the flyer in place snapped, sending the craft lurching forward into the sky.

"How does this thing work?" Satterly shouted over the wind.

"Its power comes from the city itself. It can't operate very long away from the city's power source, but it should be just enough to get us back when we're done."

The city of Mab had appeared on the horizon in the early morning, a wide charcoal shadow against the northern skyline. Its approach was ponderous, seemingly infinite, but whenever Raieve looked up, its bulk seemed closer. Now she was almost glad to be flying directly toward it, if only to end the waiting. It grew in size and definition as they flew; she tried to make out the details of the city, keeping her mind full in order to block out the cold and fear.

They passed over the northern outskirts of Sylvan and sailed across the forest to the north. Somewhere in that direction lay the still-burning wreckage of Selafae. According to witnesses, the city had been incinerated in a matter of seconds by a tiny projectile. The ones who'd seen it and lived swore the missile was no larger than a man's head.

As they approached the city of Mab, Eloquet veered to the east, keeping the flyer low to the ground. They would make a wide circle and approach the city from the northeast to make their cover story more believable.

Already they could see the troop transports beginning to ferry their cargo to the ground. The wide, flat vessels detached from the city's ragged underbelly, each carrying a hundred or more men in tight formation, as well as horses, weapons, and supplies. Soldiers on the ground hurriedly felled trees so the transports could land in greater numbers.

"Why are they landing troops so far away from Sylvan?" asked Silverdun.

"These are only the backup infantry and cavalry," said Eloquet. "The primary column will remain in the city until it lands. These soldiers will secure the surrounding villages and clean up the mess when it's all over."

"They have more backups than we have troops!" shouted Satterly.

"Not quite," said Eloquet, "but enough to make me uncomfortable."

Once they'd reached a sufficient distance to make a plausible approach vector, Eloquet brought the flyer about and they glided toward the city of Mab. Now they were running with the wind, and Raieve realized that the flyer itself made no sound whatsoever.

"Check your costumes," ordered Mauritane. "And keep to yourselves. We don't want to start a fight before we even reach the city."

The city grew to take up half the sky, and it kept growing. Raieve had to admit she was impressed. From the outside, the city of Mab was one of the most beautiful things she'd ever seen. Enormous masts rose into the heavens bearing multicolored sails. Long streamers of purple and red flew from posts all over the rails and from the rigging as well. Though the structure had obviously been amended heavily over the years, its basic shape was that of a pear sliced in half along its length. The top deck was mostly flat, and the hull underneath was smooth and rounded. From the flat expanse rose a number of towers and spires; they mingled with the sails, their solidity complementing the constant rippling of the sheets.

It was not until she could see individual Fae crawling in the rigging and scurrying about on the decks that she was able to assimilate the scale of the sight before her. The city of Mab was more massive than anything she'd yet seen made by Fae hands. It would take half an hour to ride the length of it at a gallop. And it flew.

A pair of guards standing along the wall hailed them with the blast of a horn. Eloquet reached for the flags at his feet and shuffled through them. "I certainly hope this works," he said. He held up the flags in the order Marar Envacoro had specified in his final message. Green, then blue, then yellow, then green again.

The horn blew again, twice.

"That's not good," Eloquet said. "That's a signal to hold position."

"What do we do?" said Satterly, nervous.

"Don't do anything yet," said Mauritane. "We gain nothing by panicking."

One of the guards disappeared from the wall, and within seconds a flyer twice the size of theirs was in the sky, sailing toward them.

"That's a military patrol flyer," said Eloquet.

"Keep still," said Mauritane. Raieve looked down and noticed Mauritane's grip tighten on his sword. She wished she were in a less vulnerable position.

The patrol ship pulled alongside theirs and the single officer glanced over at them.

"Those are last month's flags," he said. "Do you have the new ones?"

Eloquet leaned out over the abyss, a huge grin on his face. "I must apologize, sir. I do not. We've been away at the Palm Festival in Gejel for the past twenty days."

"Do you have your identification with you?"

Eloquet reached into his tunic and withdrew a folded set of papers.

"Envacoro, eh? Tax collectors get twenty-day holidays now?"

"It was a special bonus." Eloquet continued to grin.

Raieve almost let go a sigh of relief. Then the guard looked over Eloquet's shoulder and seemed to notice them for the first time. "The rest of you, let's see your papers."

Sitting on Mauritane's lap, Raieve could feel his legs tensing to leap at the guard.

"I've got them," said Silverdun, rising awkwardly from his seat. He handed the guard a torn piece of cloth from his cloak.

"What's this?" said the guard.

"Why, our papers, of course," said Silverdun. His words were slow and singsong. "All perfectly in order, too."

The guard turned the cloth over in his hand. "Yes, that looks about right," he said. He handed Silverdun back the brown strip as though it were a thick stack of documents. "Carry on. Hope you had a good time, because we're at war now, and you're tethered for the interim."

After the guard had flown, Satterly said, "What just happened?"

Silverdun smiled, the first time Raieve had seen him do so in weeks. "My mestinal training finally pays off," he said. "I showed him the documentation he wished to see, plucked from his own memories."

"Good work," said Mauritane. Only then did Raieve feel his muscles relax beneath her. "Let's go, Eloquet."

Eloquet nodded. "I'm letting the flyer take us to its accustomed mooring," he said. "Marar's home is in a deliberately inconspicuous part of the city."

When they were close enough to see the faces and hear the shouts of the people of Mab, Raieve began to have second thoughts about their endeavor. In her previous life, the grudges and vendettas had all been personal. She knew none of these Unseelie people. How many innocents would die? It was not right, but she did not know what would be better.

Eloquet let the craft steer itself into a bay, between a pair of much larger and more opulent flying machines. They stole from the flyer quickly, trying to remain silent and yet appear as natural as possible to any passersby. Fortunately, there were none.

"We made it," breathed Eloquet.

"Don't start celebrating yet," said Mauritane. "We may not have impressed that guard as much as we thought."

The area in which they'd landed appeared to be a small marina, although that was certainly not the appropriate word here. Raieve wondered what the correct word for such a place was. Worn piers of mottled gray wood jutted out from the edge of the city's grand deck; instead of water, however, beneath them was only empty sky and the black and white of snow on rock beneath them.

They passed through the piers and into a narrow alley surrounded on either side by square structures of dull yellow. The walls were woven from a rough cloth and they fluttered in the wind. Only a few people stirred in the alley, most of them clutching thin garments to themselves, unprepared for the sudden cold.

"Drop your cloaks," said Mauritane.

"What?" Silverdun pulled his own cloak tighter. "It's freezing out here."

"This city spends almost all of its time in much warmer climes," said Mauritane. "We'll stick out like boggarts in a henhouse."

"What about our swords? Won't those be conspicuous?"

Mauritane sucked in his cheeks thoughtfully. "I don't suppose you've spent much time with the Unseelie," he said.

As if to explain his point, a cluster of five or six citizens rounded the corner, beer steins in hand. Each of them wore a sword or dagger at his belt. They passed by, ignoring the band of trespassers entirely.

"At least we know we fit in," said Eloquet.

"Let's go," said Mauritane.

Mauritane walked quickly, with a sense of purpose. He made no attempt to appear inconspicuous as they crossed through the jumbled maze that was the city of Mab. That was his way, of course. He went wherever he chose, and he did not seem to worry about the consequences. But, of course, he always did worry. He just never showed it. Raieve sighed and followed him, trying to keep up.

Had the city actually been a ship, the Tower of Sail could have been its mizzenmast, positioned as it was behind the soaring Royal Complex. From the main deck, the Tower of Sail rose up through a number of levels, passing vertically through open galleries and dark curtains. It was surrounded by open air for at least ten paces in every direction, leaving only one access point, a set of low double doors at the tower's base. A quartet of guards stood tired watch over the portal, two on one side and two on the other. It was easy to imagine that no one had ever attempted to lay siege to the building, so well was it protected by the mass of the city itself.

"Is everybody ready?" said Mauritane in a whisper. They stood in a cluster near a piece of abstract statuary, waiting for the tower's courtyard to clear. When the number of passersby had been reduced to two, Mauritane nodded, and they began.

"My honor, sir!" Satterly shouted at Eloquet. "That is what you have insulted."

Eloquet wheeled on him. "You have no honor to insult, peasant!"

Satterly leapt at Eloquet, catching him about the shoulders and pummeling him to the ground, where they hit the wooden floor with a crash. For an instant, the ground swayed unsteadily. Satterly rose to his knees and pounded Eloquet repeatedly with his fists.

Once they'd gotten the attention of everyone in the courtyard, Mauritane and Raieve broke off from the group. Silverdun remained, ostensibly trying to separate the fighting men.

Raieve approached the two onlookers, trying to look frenzied. "Please help!" she cried, taking the hand of the one of them. They were young men, drunken university students perhaps, and both of them seemed to notice her appreciatively at the same time.

"What's going on?" asked one of them.

"Which one is your lover?" asked the other.

"They'll kill each other," Raieve sobbed. "Please help me."

"What's in it for us, darling?" asked the first.

"Oh, please help!" She took them both by the wrist and started dragging them toward the struggle. While she pulled on their wrists, she chanced a look at Mauritane.

In a glance, she saw this: Mauritane approached the four guards, his hands outstretched, as if pleading for help. He motioned to Satterly and Eloquet. She heard him say, "Would you please ... " While he was speaking, his right hand went for his sword. The guards, looking over his shoulder, had their eyes on the fight and not Mauritane. It was all the time he needed. He leaned into his first thrust, catching the guard on the right in the chest. With the blade still embedded, Mauritane pivoted gracefully to the left, his body flowing beneath his sword hand. He pulled the blade out, drawing the killing edge backhanded against the neck of the second guard, who'd taken a moment to look down at his fallen comrade. Continuing the motion, Mauritane bounded across the doorway to the second pair of guards. He rammed the first one with the pommel of his sword, pushing him up against the tower's wall, while the other reached for his weapon. The first man fell, gasping for breath. Mauritane, still holding his sword pommel-forward, spun around to the right. His blade entered the second guard's belly; Mauritane twisted the hilt and the man collapsed.

It had all taken less than the space of a breath, and the two young students had seen nothing, compelled as they were by Raieve's plight.

"Now!" shouted Raieve. She grasped the boys' wrists more firmly and jerked them forward. The smaller of the two stumbled and fell to his knees. The other managed to remain on his feet, only to be decked by a blow from Eloquet, who'd managed to run up behind Raieve and tackle him.

In a few more breaths, all four guards and the two boys were safely inside the tower's anteroom. It was a small, undecorated circular space with a staircase leading up to the left and a small door on the right. Silverdun quickly bound the two boys and the single living guard with spellwire before they gained the presence of mind to protest. He wove layer upon layer of the sticky, translucent gel from his fingertips, coating their mouths, arms, and legs.

Meanwhile, Mauritane helped Satterly and Eloquet undress the dead guards. Raieve stripped unselfconsciously in front of them; she could not help, though, but glance at Mauritane while she pulled her leather leggings down over her calves. He was watching her. At least that was something.

Mauritane, Raieve, and Eloquet donned the guards' uniforms, leaving Satterly and Silverdun to guard the door. Silverdun would be able to keep the door magically locked for a while if there was trouble, and Satterly ... Raieve supposed he could throw himself against the latch or something, if it came to that.

Mauritane had memorized the plans of the building. Their target was three flights up and they ran toward it, taking the steps two at a time. Sooner or later they would be discovered; every second counted.

They reached the top of the stairs safely. They exited the staircase, stepping into a whirlwind of activity where, dressed as guards, they were completely unnoticed. Scholars hurried past in the wide hallway, dodging each other as they consulted long scrolls, whispering to each other as they consulted enormous books resting on podiums along the length of the corridor. At the far end of the passage, an archway led into darkness; the only illumination beyond was sparse candlelight that flickered in ghoulish shadows on the walls.

"Is that it?" whispered Raieve.

"Yes," said Mauritane, in a normal speaking voice. He motioned upward with his chin, indicating that she should speak normally as well.

"Fine then," said Raieve, at full volume.

Eloquet touched the prayer beads beneath his tunic. "It's time," he said.

"Yes," said Mauritane.

They strode toward the darkened archway. One of the passing scholars, a pitifully thin man, noticed them approaching and moved to block their path. "You can't go in there," he hissed, annoyed. He held up a bony finger. "This is a critical time."

"Shut up." Eloquet shoved the tiny man sideways against the stone wall of the hall, where his skull struck with an ugly crack. Heads turned across the length of the corridor, watching as the scholar slumped against the wall.

"Aba forgive me," said Eloquet.

They drew their swords and ran through the archway. Candlelight danced on the faces of monsters. The sight was so unexpected that all three of them stopped short.

The things were arrayed in a wide circle, easily ten paces across, sitting nearly elbow to elbow. They were not Fae, at least not entirely. They had been mixed somehow with birds, it seemed, although the hybrid was neither beautiful nor graceful. Hideous, deformed wings grew all over their bodies; their tiny eyes gleamed from within enormous bald heads. Instead of mouths they had flopping black beaks that dripped with saliva and foam. When they noticed the intruders, their heads tipped back and some of them made quiet gurgling sounds.

"These are the masters of Elements and Motion?" said Eloquet, gasping in fear.

Mauritane caught himself first. He shoved Eloquet and Raieve into action. "Don't think. Move!"

Raieve went for the one closest to her and started slashing. The thing did not move to defend itself. It simply sat there, the bubbling noise coming from its throat. The force of Raieve's shocked thrust nearly cut the creature in two. It fell backward with a single, wet cry, dropping into a puddle of blood and tiny black feathers.

"What are these things?" she wondered aloud, sweeping her braids back with her free hand. "Are they Fae?" She stepped sideways and struck out at another one. Like the first, it did nothing to save itself.

"They're bred magically with eagles," said Mauritane evenly. "It improves their inner sight. That is how they move the city through space." His sword twirled in his hands, felling one after the other of the creatures, all of whom succumbed with nothing more than a plaintive wail.