gusted at her, and above them she saw the thrown sp heres of the jugglers light the eerie storm with green and red and purple.
It was hard going. The oxen were tough, but even they staggered with the force of the wind, putting their heads down and plodding on. Beside her, Attia heard a faint, windsnatched hysteria; glancing up she saw that Rix was laughing softly to himself, blue feathers snagged in his hair and clothes.
It was too hard to talk, but Attia managed a look back. There was no sign of the Bandits. After twenty minutes the tunnel became lighter; the wagon came round a long bend and she saw light ahead, a jagged entrance through the feather — storm.
As they plodded towards it the storm died, as suddenly as it had come.
Slowly, Attia took her arms down and drew breath. At the tunnel entrance Rix said, 'Anyone following?'
She tried to see. 'No. Quintus and his brothers are at the back.'
'Excellent. A few stunballs will stop pursuit.'
Her ears stung from the icy wind. Huddling her coat around her she picked feathers from her sleeves, spat out blue fluff. Then she said, appalled, 'The Glove was destroyed!'
He shrugged. 'What a pity.'
The deadpan words, the smug grin made her stare. Then she looked past him at the landscape. It was a frozen world.
Below them the road ran down between great banks of ice, head high, and she could see that this whole Wing was an open tundra, abandoned and windswept, stretching far into the gloom of the Prison. There was a great moat blocking their way, with a bridge fortified with a portcullis of black metal worn thin by the abrasions of sleet. An entrance had been jaggedly cut through it; the ends of steel bars bent back. Oily slush showed where traffic had passed, but to Attia the sudden cold seared like fear.
'I've heard of this place she whispered. 'This is the Ice Wing.'
'How clever of you, sweetkin. So it is:
As the oxen slipped and clattered down the slope she was silent. Then she said, 'So it wasn't the real Glove?'
Rix spat to one side. 'Attia, if he'd opened any box or hidden compartment on this waggon he'd have found a glove. A small black glove. I never said it was Sapphique's. None of them are, in fact. Sapphique's Glove is too close to my heart to be stolen.'
'But . . . it burned him.'
'Well, he was right about the acid. As for not being able to take it off, he was perfectly able to. But I made him believe he could not. That is magic, Attia. To take a man's mind and twist it to believe the impossible.' For a moment he concentrated on guiding the ox round a jutting girder. 'Once he had let us go he would have believed the spell to be ended'
She watched him sideways. 'And the writing?'
Rix's eyes slid to hers. 'I was going to ask you about that.'
'Me?'
'Even I can't make an illiterate man write. The message was for you. Odd things have been happening, Attia, since we met you.'
She realized she was biting her nails. She wrapped her hands hastily in her sleeves. 'It's Finn. It must be Finn. He's trying to speak to me. From Outside.'
Rix's voice was quiet. 'And you think the Glove will help?'
'I don't know! Perhaps . . . if you let me just see it...'
He stopped the waggon so abruptly that she almost fell off. 'NO. It's dangerous, Attia. Illusions are one thing, but this is a real object of power. Even I wouldn't dare wear it.'
'You've never even been tempted?'
'Maybe. But I'm crazy not stupid.'
'But you wear it in the act.'
'Do I?' he grinned.
'You're infuriating she said.
'My life's ambition. Now. This is where you get down.' She stared round. 'Here?'
'The settlement is about two hours ahead. Remember, you don't know us, we don't know you.' He fished in his pocket and put three brass coins into her hand. 'Get yourself something to eat. And tonight, sweetkin, remember to tremble a bit more when I raise the sword. Look scared stiff.'
'I don't need to act.' She climbed down, then stopped, halfway. 'How do I know that you're not just dumping me here
It was hard going. The oxen were tough, but even they staggered with the force of the wind, putting their heads down and plodding on. Beside her, Attia heard a faint, windsnatched hysteria; glancing up she saw that Rix was laughing softly to himself, blue feathers snagged in his hair and clothes.
It was too hard to talk, but Attia managed a look back. There was no sign of the Bandits. After twenty minutes the tunnel became lighter; the wagon came round a long bend and she saw light ahead, a jagged entrance through the feather — storm.
As they plodded towards it the storm died, as suddenly as it had come.
Slowly, Attia took her arms down and drew breath. At the tunnel entrance Rix said, 'Anyone following?'
She tried to see. 'No. Quintus and his brothers are at the back.'
'Excellent. A few stunballs will stop pursuit.'
Her ears stung from the icy wind. Huddling her coat around her she picked feathers from her sleeves, spat out blue fluff. Then she said, appalled, 'The Glove was destroyed!'
He shrugged. 'What a pity.'
The deadpan words, the smug grin made her stare. Then she looked past him at the landscape. It was a frozen world.
Below them the road ran down between great banks of ice, head high, and she could see that this whole Wing was an open tundra, abandoned and windswept, stretching far into the gloom of the Prison. There was a great moat blocking their way, with a bridge fortified with a portcullis of black metal worn thin by the abrasions of sleet. An entrance had been jaggedly cut through it; the ends of steel bars bent back. Oily slush showed where traffic had passed, but to Attia the sudden cold seared like fear.
'I've heard of this place she whispered. 'This is the Ice Wing.'
'How clever of you, sweetkin. So it is:
As the oxen slipped and clattered down the slope she was silent. Then she said, 'So it wasn't the real Glove?'
Rix spat to one side. 'Attia, if he'd opened any box or hidden compartment on this waggon he'd have found a glove. A small black glove. I never said it was Sapphique's. None of them are, in fact. Sapphique's Glove is too close to my heart to be stolen.'
'But . . . it burned him.'
'Well, he was right about the acid. As for not being able to take it off, he was perfectly able to. But I made him believe he could not. That is magic, Attia. To take a man's mind and twist it to believe the impossible.' For a moment he concentrated on guiding the ox round a jutting girder. 'Once he had let us go he would have believed the spell to be ended'
She watched him sideways. 'And the writing?'
Rix's eyes slid to hers. 'I was going to ask you about that.'
'Me?'
'Even I can't make an illiterate man write. The message was for you. Odd things have been happening, Attia, since we met you.'
She realized she was biting her nails. She wrapped her hands hastily in her sleeves. 'It's Finn. It must be Finn. He's trying to speak to me. From Outside.'
Rix's voice was quiet. 'And you think the Glove will help?'
'I don't know! Perhaps . . . if you let me just see it...'
He stopped the waggon so abruptly that she almost fell off. 'NO. It's dangerous, Attia. Illusions are one thing, but this is a real object of power. Even I wouldn't dare wear it.'
'You've never even been tempted?'
'Maybe. But I'm crazy not stupid.'
'But you wear it in the act.'
'Do I?' he grinned.
'You're infuriating she said.
'My life's ambition. Now. This is where you get down.' She stared round. 'Here?'
'The settlement is about two hours ahead. Remember, you don't know us, we don't know you.' He fished in his pocket and put three brass coins into her hand. 'Get yourself something to eat. And tonight, sweetkin, remember to tremble a bit more when I raise the sword. Look scared stiff.'
'I don't need to act.' She climbed down, then stopped, halfway. 'How do I know that you're not just dumping me here
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