Gisella stared toward the floor for a moment, then slowly nodded. “Which brings you back to the grimoire hidden in the Good Book. The people most likely to be able to read are going to be clergy. While I want your idea to be correct, I fear the consequences if it is.”
“Here is the positive side of it, and why I think it is true. Mugwump is using magick to fly, but no one ever taught him a spell that would let him fly. There isn’t any, as nearly as I know. And as he has flown more, he has bled less than before. Using magick has to be natural for him, even instinctual. It could be that just as magick that is born of him will not hurt him very much, so magick we each create will take less out of us than spells we learn from another. Think of it: the brimstone spell is at least three and a half centuries old. Who, today, thinks as someone might have then? They believed the world was flat and that you could sail off the edge. That we could craft a more natural spell to trigger brimstone shouldn’t be a surprise.”
“No, but it should be a secret.”
“I agree.” If the Church had any idea what I have discovered, they would go after me as they likely have after Ezekiel Fire.
He reached over and gathered up his gloves. “I will fly Mugwump briefly today without reins. We will see how that works, then I will work on the next iteration of these gloves.”
She took the gloves from him and held them out so he could put them on. “You will be careful.”
“Completely. I’ll be back well before dusk.” He pulled her to him and kissed her. “You know that I love you for more than being the mother of my children, yes?”
She smiled and hugged him strongly. “Likewise, beloved husband. Never forget that.”
The Prince entered the wurmrest and walked along the catwalk to the riverside wall. He worked a crank, drawing up the barred gate. Mugwump slowly stretched, then opened his mouth in what Vlad had decided was a dragonly grin. The creature swung his head around so the Prince could fit the disk harness onto his head and secure it in place. He then waited for the bridle and reins.
Vlad shook his head. “Not today. Meet you outside.”
Vlad shouldered the saddle, gathering loops of cinch straps in his other arm, and waited on the lawn for the dragon. When Mugwump emerged, Vlad fitted the saddle between his shoulders and tightened the harness in place. The dragon shifted and stretched, requiring Vlad to give another tug or two on various straps, but soon enough man and beast were satisfied.
Vlad held a hand up and then began pacing his way along the lawn. The day before he’d gone twenty paces or roughly thirty yards. He considered that a significant distance because he was fairly certain that the clicking of the wheels on his gloves couldn’t be heard at that range. If Mugwump responded to the wheels, it was because of the magick. Because the dragon had responded, Vlad moved to twenty-five paces.
Holding his hands behind his back, Vlad invoked the spell and worked the wheel on his right glove.
Mugwump dutifully turned to the right until the clicking stopped. Vlad spun the wheels left and right in no particular order and the dragon moved as commanded. When Vlad spun them both together, the dragon advanced; when he backed them in three staccato clicks, Mugwump retreated.
Vlad brought the dragon around to face him, then spun the wheels forward. He turned to walk toward the path to the training field and Mugwump caught up in no time.
Vlad glanced sidelong into a big golden eye. “We know this spell works at forty yards. That’s a killing shot for a musket. Seems to work quickly enough, but if this magick will make my thaumagraph work, I need to know how fast magick flows.”
Mugwump blinked slowly.
“I do get the feeling you understand what I’m saying.” Vlad shook his head. “And sometimes you seem to wonder why I’m taking so long to understand things you take for granted.”
The dragon swung his head to the right, gently knocking Vlad off course. Vlad stumbled to the side, then looked back. Had the dragon not nudged him, he’d have stepped into a chuck hole.
The Prince laughed. “Is that your way of telling me I overlook the obvious?”
The dragon unfurled his wings and raised his muzzle to the sky.
“Yes-why are we walking when we could be flying?” Vlad laughed and settled his goggles on his eyes. He clambered up into the saddle, strapped himself in, and rolled both glove wheels forward.
Mugwump began a lumbering run that quickly transformed into a graceful lope. With his head held low like that of a hunting feline, the dragon sped forward. Just as he began to gallop, he spread his wings again, then launched himself skyward with a powerful leap and beat of wings. Though Vlad had experienced take-off before, he always grabbed onto his saddle horn. It felt as if he’d left his stomach on the ground.
That little spark of fear died as Mugwump rose through the air. The Benjamin River became a ribbon of silver. Patchy green fields separated by darker green forest swaths covered the ground in a crazy-quilt pattern, which, though lacking regularity, did not lack for beauty. Even the road to Temperance held appeal as it lazily wended its way through vales and around hills.
Vlad spun wheels left and right and Mugwump responded, his wings wide. When the Prince backed the wheels the dragon climbed, and a slow roll forward started a descent. The dragon had learned the commands easily enough, and if the calls he hooted toward the west were any indication, he enjoyed the flight as much as the Prince.
Vlad reached down and patted him on the neck. “You’ve done well, Mugwump, but shadows are getting long. We need to go home.” He slid the wheels forward, then rolled the left one more to turn them back toward Prince Haven.
Mugwump instead turned right, toward the setting sun.
Vlad reinvoked the spell and worked the left wheel. He looked ahead and was pretty sure he could see the left disk rattling away, but he couldn’t quite be certain. Then he tried the right wheel, but again no response. Instead the dragon began to climb, his wings beating urgently.
Vlad began to shiver.
It wasn’t just from the cold.
Chapter Twenty-six
16 May 1767 Happy Valley Postsylvania, Mystria
Nathaniel lowered his canteen and wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve. “Ain’t more than couple hours now. We’ll be there well afore dusk.”
“Right, very good, Woods.” Rathfield stood in the center of the trail, leaning on his musket. “This will give us several hours of daylight for the people of Happy Valley to pack up as much as they can. Won’t be much-wagons won’t make it through the mountains.”
The Steward looked up from the rock upon which he perched. “My people are not leaving, Colonel.”
“Do you not understand the gravity of the situation, Steward Fire?” Rathfield pointed off in the direction where he thought Piety lay. Nathaniel didn’t correct him. “Do you want the people of Happy Valley to end up like that?”
“It has nothing to do with what I desire, Colonel. It is what God demands of me and my people.” The older man stared down at empty and calloused hands. “God brought the flood to destroy wickedness. He brought the plagues to free His people. He destroyed sinful cities with cleansing fire. He sacrificed His Son to save all of us. If He was willing to do all that, how can I, as His servant, shy from willingness to do the same?”
Nathaniel drank again, wishing the canteen contained whiskey. There was no mistaking the sincerity in the Steward’s voice, but his surrendering to what he saw as God’s plan didn’t make any sense to Nathaniel. He’d always believed in the saying, “God helps those who help themselves.” Makepeace had once told him that the saying wasn’t in the Good Book, and Nathaniel reckoned it should have been added.
Rathfield smiled. “I understand your thinking, Steward. I respect it. But what if God is testing you? What if He is asking you to sacrifice your people the way He asked Abram to sacrifice his son?”