Allan Cole - Wolves of the Gods

"See, it's like this. Methydia always told us the airship was made by two old lovers each tryin' to get the better of the other. She had different versions of the story, dependin' on her moods, but they all pretty much worked out the same. Which was that the airship was built of a rare wood that was extra light, but still real strong, plus it was powered by special spells to help the burners lift the balloons."

"She also said it was one of a kind," Safar pointed out.

"You're as right as you can be, lad," Biner said. "But you weren't with us much more'n a year. So you couldn't of heard all the things she said on the subject. Like the real particulars on how the ship was made.

"The main thing was, she said it was cast from a model. In other words, a small version was made first.

And the airship proper was made from that. We got the idea it was a big damn spell, somethin' that took days to cast. But we always thought she meant the big ship was copied from the model. Measurements taken, or whatever, and copied with saws and hammers and big planks of that rare wood.

"But soon as we found the model and saw that note we started thinkin' differently. She was obviously thinkin' of givin' this to you before she died. Waitin' for the right time, like maybe when you left the circus to go do what you had to do. And believe me, if Methydia thought this was important enough for a farewell gift, it wouldn't be any damned toy. She didn't hold with that kind of silliness and there was no way she'd picture you wanderin' around with a pretty glass case under your arm all the time just so you could remember her."

Safar touched the delicate crystal housing the model. "I see what you mean," he said, running his fingers along the edge. "I wonder how it works."

"She probably intended to tell you in person," Biner said. "Which is why there's no directions along with the note. Hells, we couldn't even get the case open. It appears like all one solid piece with no seams, much less a lid."

Biner sighed, eyes becoming moist. "I guess she wasn't figurin' on dyin' when she did."

Safar only shook his head. What could he say?

Then his fingers bumped against a small gold stud. There was a hot snap! of static and snatched them away. "Ouch!" he said, sucking on his fingers. Then he looked closer and saw a little red needle point sticking up from the stud.

"Hold on!" he said, excitement overriding the sad memories. "I think I see it!"

There were seven other studs arranged in a pattern. Gingerly, Safar pressed them one by one, but with the surprise gone the sensation was nothing more than a barely painful pinprick. As he touched each stud a red needle point popped up, just like the first.

Biner leaned closer to look. He scratched his head, puzzled. Then he brightened. "Maybe we have to link

'em, somehow," he said. "You know, like a wire or a thread, goin' from point to point?"

Safar nodded. "Let's try it."

He found a rough spot on his sleeve, picked a piece of thread free and pulled it out, snipping it off with his teeth when he thought he had enough. Then he wove the thread around each needlepoint until they were all joined together in a web of thread. He stepped back, waiting. Nothing happened.

Biner shook his head. "Maybe it's some kind of special pattern," he said. "Trouble is, unless you got lucky it could take years before you hit on the right one."

Safar smiled. "Fortunately," he said, "I know a quicker way to find out."

He slipped the little silver dagger from his sleeve and laid it across the web, chanting an old, reliable unlocking spell:

"Conjure the key

That fits the lock.

Untangle the traces,

And cut the knot."

Suddenly there was a hiss and the case filled with smoke. The top of the case snapped open and the sides fell away and the room was filled with the smell of a heavy incense.

The airship bloomed into life, tiny burners blazing, bellows pumping, twin balloons swelling, bigger and bigger until the ship lifted off the trunk.

"By the gods," Biner breathed, "it really does work! We weren't crazy, after all!"

Safar caught the model before it could float to the ceiling. Instantly it became lifeless again. He gazed at it, thinking this might just be the edge he needed against Iraj.

He cradled the airship in his arms as if it were the woman who'd loved him enough to make him such a gift.

And he whispered, "Thank you, Methydia. Thank you."

Queen Hantilia smiled down at the scene-Safar cradling the model, Biner grinning at his friend, trunks stacked along the canvas walls of the storage room.

"It's going exactly as we wished," she said to someone behind her.

A red-robed assistant moved closer, peering over Hantilia's shoulder at a hand mirror lying on the Queen's makeup table. It was a magical stage, lit by five red candles, where Safar and Biner played out their drama in miniature.

Safar's voice floated up, "Thank you, Methydia. Thank you."

The assistant giggled. "How sweet," she said. "And right on schedule, too, Your Majesty."

Hantilia waved a claw and the scene disappeared. "I'd rather allow things to boil a bit more," she said.

"So let's give it another day. Make some excuse for the delay that won't arouse suspicion."

"Yes, Majesty," the assistant said.

"It shouldn't be difficult," Hantilia said. "Even though we've forbidden it, I know Lord Timura will be simply bursting with spells he needs to cast." She chuckled. "This will make it easier for him to hide his work."

"Indeed, Majesty," the assistant said.

"And that will give us time," the Queen said, "to be absolutely certain everything is ready for The Great Sacrifice."

"All will be done as you command, Majesty," the assistant said.

Hantilia sighed. "What a pity," she said, wiping an eye. "He's such a handsome young man."

As Hantilia predicted, Safar was vastly relieved when news was delivered that the date with the Oracle had been delayed one more day.

Leiria, on the other hand, was suspicious. "If it were a bargain sword in a smithy's shop," she said, "I'd pass it by, thinking the price was so cheap it'd be certain to shatter at the worst possible moment."

The two of them were strolling along the riverbank, discussing Hantilia's message.

"I don't know," Safar said, "it seemed reasonable enough. Something went wrong during the purification ceremonies. So certain steps had to be repeated. That sort of thing happened all the time to the priests in Walaria."

"It still doesn't smell right to me," Leiria said. Then she eyed Safar. "And what about you?" she asked.

"Why the big change? A couple of days ago you were worrying the bit to get on with it before Iraj showed up."

Safar shook his head. "I'm still worried," he said. "But as things stand now, if he did show up we'd be chin deep in a temple privy on feast day. To start with, all our people are wandering around in a Caluzian pink cloud and it'll be at least two days before Palimak's spell is ready. Then they'll have to be organized.

Soldiers whipped into shape as fast as we damn well can. Some kind of rear guard action devised so we can escape. The wagons packed and ready, animals fed and watered and everyone set to go at an instant's notice.

"As it is now, most of the work is going to be on your shoulders, Leiria. I don't know what's going to happen when Palimak and I finally get to meet with the Oracle. Or how long we'll be away. Or, hells-let's face it-even if we'll make it back. So, it's going to be up to you, Leiria. Up to you-my dearest friend-and by the gods sometimes I think you must be crazy to put up with us all."

Leiria laughed. "I'm here for the flattery," she said. "What else?"

Then, more seriously, "Let's go back a bit on your list of to do's," she said. "I'm stuck fast on the part about escaping. And I have not one, but three questions. First, what escape? Second, how escape?