Oglethorpe listened for a moment to the cannon fire in the distance. The inhabitants of the Taensa village heard it, too, and the women began packing up what few possessions they valued enough to take with them. A small knot of old men sat around the fire chanting—whether merely singing a song or working at some magic, he had no idea.

The cannon boomed again. “That'll be the German company,” he said. “I had a report an hour ago that they were on hand to engage the enemy as they unloaded their ships. I think we shall have a hot breakfast, my friends—powder and ball.”

“Thank God and Benjamin Franklin we have those Swedenborgian airships,” Nairne said. “At least now we see how the country lies.” He poured each man at the table a glass of Madeira, then raised his own. “To our wizard, Benjamin Franklin!”

They clinked glasses and drank, the five of them— Oglethorpe; Nairne; and their majesties Philippe, Charles, and Peter. The latter two hesitated before touching their glasses, but Charles completed the motion.

“I also had word from Unoka,” Oglethorpe went on. “He and the Choctaw worked their way north to devil them from the rear. Less than fifty of ‘em left, but even a gadfly should be help to us now.”

“To them,” Charles said. They drank again.

“I do not ordinarily drink,” the Swedish king explained, “but these are not ordinary times. Moreover, I am getting old, and find myself often doing things I would never have dreamed of in the past.” He glanced conspicuously at the tsar.

“To —all of us here. Win or lose, this is a fight they shall never forget.”

Peter shook his head. “Not true. If we lose, there shall be no one to remember it.”

“Then we must win. I want them to remember that I finally settled my score with you.”

Peter's face twitched, but to Oglethorpe's surprise, the remark didn't seem to anger the tsar. “It may be that our foe will settle it for us.” His face grew longer. “I come here a pauper. I have few men in arms, and those mostly belong to my daugh-ter's guard. I have no cannon, not even weapons of my own. I wish—I wish one of you would ask me to fight with your company. I will not beg, however.”

That was greeted with silence, for no one could say, really, that they trusted the tsar against troops that were in part Russian. Finally Philippe said, “But of course, sir, it would be my honor if you would ride with the French.”

“No.” They all turned to Charles. His fingers had gone white, gripping his glass. “No. Let him ride with me.”

They all stared at him, as he turned with deliberation to the tsar. “If you fear it, I swear to you this is no ruse to put you in front of my gun. I need not resort to that—I know, as do you, that if we duel with swords I will win. I am far the better swordsman, and God is also on my side. No contest of arms between us can be fair. So this is my challenge to you, sir. We shall face the guns of the enemy side by side and—as you say—we shall let the enemy settle our differences. In the meantime, it will give me great pleasure that you see my soldiers—who have undergone such misery on your account—for the incomparable warriors that they are, and that you should ride with them against the same men who once fought for you. One of us must live, and one of us must die—that seems certain. I am content to let God choose.”

The tsar looked down at his wineglass, and a slow smile spread across his face. “That is a challenge worthy of a tsar,” he said. “And it is to my liking.”

And so they all drank to that, and Oglethorpe knew for a fact that the world would never see such a thing again. They belonged to another age, these men: an age of titans. Whatever happened, their epoch was past, and they knew it.

As Oglethorpe predicted, by morning the lines were more or less drawn. The German company and other Indian-style fighters had done what they could to slow the advancing troops, but sooner or later—as they once said in Holland— the water reaches the dike.

The dike around New Paris was the series of redoubts, protected by devil guns, a zone of unbreathable air created by yet more Franklin devices, some new inventions that were supposed to halt the worst of the diabolic weapons if they ever came to bear—and themselves, the army of the continent.

It was a dike that would not hold for long. It was too long and thin, with too many holes in it. Once it was breached, there would be nothing for it but to fall back to New Paris itself.

Oglethorpe had no intention of letting that happen. He met with the other commanders the next morning.

“’Twill take them a few days, at best, to cut through our line somewhere. When they have us all forced back to New Paris, they'll emplace their long-range guns and pound the city to bits. They may even grow bold enough to put their airships high over the city and drop grenados.”

“I doubt it,” Peter said. “The lesson of Venice is still remembered in Russia.”

“Granted, but they seem in a desperate hurry in this matter, so they may try it. Even foundered, a fully laden airship crashing into New Paris would wreak plenty of havoc.”

“Still I doubt it. Mademoiselle de Montchevreuil and her companions tell me the devil's army lost the bulk of their airships battling her and the Choctaw. They will protect those that remain.”

“You may be right,” Oglethorpe conceded. “Indeed, though I raised the question, I am counting on that being the case. After unloading artillery, the airships withdrew some two leagues from here, where they are grounded, presumably from fear that we might manage—as we have in the past—to slip close with a devil gun. I propose that those ships should be the target of a powerful and decisive attack. Once we have wrecked them, we'll have cut their supply line. We can then clean up any devils who remain in the field.”

“How are we to do that?” Charles asked. “Suppose we mass and strike for their ships. How can we keep them on the ground? As we fight our way to them, they will simply fly away—that is their beauty, as mobile fortresses.”

“I've asked some people to speak on that,” Oglethorpe replied. He raised his voice. “If it would please the lady and gentlemen to step into the tent?”

The flap rustled, and in walked Benjamin Franklin, wearing his raccoon hat and a plain brown suit. With him were the Choctaw Red Shoes, Vasilisa Karevna, and Leonhard Euler.

“Mr. Franklin!” Charles said, briskly rising to shake the young man's hand. “Come to save us all again, I see.”

Franklin smiled wanly. “We must all do our part, Your Majesty. And it is good to see you again.”

“Yes—hang together or hang separately, I heard you said. By heaven, let that be our battle cry. Well, what magic do you have for us, Mr. Franklin?”

“We have, between us, devised some stratagems,” Franklin replied, “which we think will keep the airships on the ground. But I fear it is still the army that must carry the day.”

“Don't worry about that,” Oglethorpe replied. “My lads are ready for anything.”

“And mine!” Charles added.

“The French will never shirk,” Philippe assured them.

“I will not bore you with scientific details, gentlemen,” Franklin said. “May I simply tell it to you in logistical terms?”

“Please.”

“If we can get near enough to the ships, quickly enough and undetected, we can deprive them of the power to fly. Not for long—a day at best.”

“You will use an invisible ship, as you did against me in Venice?” the tsar asked.

“Yes, Majesty. But in that case, our intent was to capture one of your own ships. A desperate measure, and one which in fact failed. In this case, we need only get near.”

“And once you have beached them, so to speak,” Charles said, “you may leave?”

“No. We must remain close, to continue to prevent them from rising. That is why I can promise you only a short time— once they discover and attack us, our defenses will only last so long. If they destroy us before you arrive, they will fly.”

“And you will die,” Charles pointed out.

“True,” Franklin replied, “but that lies at the end of most of our roads, at the moment.”

“Worry not,” Oglethorpe said. “Two leagues? I will be there in three hours, and heaven help anyone between here and there.”

“Bah!” Charles said. “I will be there in two hours, camped in the wreckage when you arrive.”

Philippe slapped his hands together. “I have a bottle of cognac,” he said, “of a particularly fine sort. So far as I know, it is the very last in the world. Whichever company reaches those ships first—Swedish, Commonwealth, or French— shall have the honor of drinking it.” He paused for a moment. “Or failing that, whosoever remains alive at the end of it all shall drink a toast to whoever reached them first.”

“You have a bargain,” Oglethorpe said.

“Well, my friends,” Franklin said to his scientific companions, “our future is assured by a bottle of cognac. Whatever confidence I lacked is now made whole.”

“Indeed,” Philippe said, “for you shall hold the bottle yourself, and award it to the winner.”

“Where are you going, Mademoiselle?”

“Hello, Elizavet. You're up early,” Adrienne said.

She shrugged. “I had something of a— disappointment last night. I stayed up thinking about that, but then my mind went to other things. It would not stop.”

“Did your disappointment have a name?”

“Carl von Linné.”

“Ah.”

“Yes. He refused my favor—me—for that thick-waisted émilie.”

“And that kept you up until morning?”

Elizavet settled on a tabouret. “Where are you going?” she repeated. “You are still injured.”

“That in a moment.”

Elizavet sighed and examined her right palm, tracing the index finger of her left along the delicate lines there. “They say our fate is written here. I never thought I had much of a fate. I never thought I needed one. I'm the daughter of the tsar, after all. Yes, Linné refused me. A very rare thing, especially when the other woman is so far from me in beauty.”

“But he is in love, Elizavet, and that makes a difference.”

“I know,” the tsarevna said. “I did not believe that before, not in my heart. But the more I thought on it, the more I wondered why I ever wanted him. And it was because of her, Mademoiselle.” She knit her fingers in her lap.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, émilie is like you. Oh, not so beautiful, of course. But her mind, her thoughts—I cannot imagine them, as I cannot imagine yours. They are too far beyond me. And I— envy that. Desire it. It makes her better than me, and I tried to take Linné from her to prove that she was not. But I failed.”

“Elizavet, there is nothing wrong with you.”

“I'm just stupid—is that it? Naturally, like a beast?”

“No. No, you are very bright. You've just never been interested in proving it. Why are you now?”

“Why?” Her eyes grew large. “Because of you, of course. You have shown me what a woman might be. I love you, Mademoiselle, as I have never loved another woman, not even my mother. I—I do not wish to disappoint you. But there is nothing to do! Everyone else has something to give to this fight, everyone but me!”

“That isn't true. Elizavet, your men love you. What we have of your old guard is utterly devoted to you. Look to them.”

“What do you mean?”

“Have you noticed them lately? They are in a strange place, they do not speak the language, they hardly understand anything of what goes on around them, and yet soon they must lay down their lives for a cause they scarcely understand.”

“My father—”

“Is not you. They did not leave Moscow for him—they left for you.”

“But what can I do?”

“Not ride into battle, of course. But be their tsarevna. Give them hope and heart.”

“Is that all?”

“It's a great gift, Elizavet. You exerted it in Saint Petersburg without even knowing it. Think how much you can accomplish if you put your mind to it.”

Elizavet smiled, but then her smile shrank away. “Is this merely some ploy to improve my mood and rid you of my complaints?”

“No. Partly. But what I say is true: the few Russians here are in the wilderness, and you can help to guide them. You are a tsarevna, a force to be reckoned with if you only choose to be.”

“As you chose to be.”

“I suppose.”

Elizavet laughed, wiped the tears beaded on her lashes. “Very well, then. And will you now tell me where you are going?”

“I'm going to battle.”

“Not like that!”

“This will be a different sort of battle, the sort that only I can wage.”

“Let me come with you, then!”

“There is no space for anyone else. None of my students is going. They are needed here, as you are.”

Elizavet stood, noticeably trembling, and then she came and knelt and laid her head in Adrienne's lap.

“Do not die,” she whispered. “Come back to us, and I promise to do my lessons, all to the end.”

“You must do that whether I return or not,” Adrienne said.

As they readied the Lightning, Franklin reflected that he would rather a bit more strategy was involved in the coming battle than a race by three generals to reach the ships. Still, they were generals, and presumably knew what they were doing.

“I notice you did not mention our real goal,” Euler said, testing one of the brass valves for tightness.

“What point in that? It would only have added a confusing element—and they might have even forbidden us. If we fail, the dark engines come alive, and most or all of us perish. To succeed, we need the army to capture the ships, or at least distract them from us. If we had time to build a real navy, things might be different, and we might be able to take them on better-than-even terms. After all, from what you and the others say, they were never able to build their own aeges, and that gives us an advantage.”

“But they have made weapons that seek them.”

“I've planned for that,” Franklin said, stepping back to survey his ship.

The Lightning was a barge thirty feet long and ten wide, enclosed by a square cabin. She was framed with adamantium, but most of her was plain steel and iron, set with alchemical glass panes in the deck and bulkheads. She had more hatches than a thief has pockets—two in the bottom, for dropping grenades, two in the bulkheads for getting in and out on the ground, one in the roof. The roof was the oddest thing about the whole structure. A box on a box, it was five feet deep, because the cargo holds were there. As they would be hovering over the enemy, Franklin wanted the cargo as far from upward-flying shells as possible. So there was one more hatch—from the hold into the cabin.

He watched as four burly soldiers loaded the holds, grunting with the weight of heavy casks full of grenades and other weapons.

“We ought to have called her the Turtle,” Robert noted.

“Well, we can sure tuck in our head,” Franklin allowed. “It has an aegis and some other scientific protections. But those below us will know we are a storm, never fear.”

Vasilisa stuck her head out of the top hatch.

“It's prepared, Benjamin, and we are all here. Shouldn't we get started?”

“Not quite. We're waiting for two more. But see, there they are.” He gestured at the sedan chair, born across the muddy plaza in front of the palace by two stout Lorraine guards.

“Adrienne? You've made peace with her, then? I knew nothing of this.”

Red Shoes seemed pleased with their new passenger. “It is good,” Franklin heard him murmur, from where he sat on an empty rum cask, smoking a pipe and watching the philosophers at their tasks.

“But she hasn't been prepared,” Vasilisa protested, “nor studied the equations.”

“It doesn't matter.”

Franklin walked over to see if he could help. The Frenchwoman could not move on her own, of course. Two of her guard carried her to the ship, then brought a special couch for her, which they tied to braces on the floor. There were similar braces everywhere, with leather straps attached, in case the air road became a bit bumpy.

Franklin was confronted by the formidable Crecy, who still regarded him with something between a hard winter and a glacier in her eyes.

“I'm going, of course,” she said simply.

“Of course,” he replied. “I'm happy to have you.”

Crecy didn't answer but went to help settle Adrienne onto the ship. Franklin shrugged, returning his attention to the Lightning, hoping he hadn't missed anything.

“You can carry one more, I hope?”

Don Pedro. Franklin hadn't even heard him come up.

“I would be more than happy for your help,” Franklin said, “but I fear your wounds—”

“Are of no consequence, I assure you. I have given command of my men to Governor Nairne, but if you cannot make room for me here, I will lead them in the defense of the redoubts.” His eyes blazed.

“Aye. Let ‘im come,” Robert said, from behind him. “We might need an extra sword, if things go wrong.”

If things go wrong, it's scant good swords will do us, Franklin thought. But he held it in. With his wounds the Apalachee was better off in the Lightning than charging into battle. And Franklin, after all, bore a large measure of responsibility for the wounds.

“It is my honor, Don Pedro, to have you aboard. And speaking of aboard”—he raised his voice—“all aboard that's coming. ‘Tis time to fly this thing.”

And so they crowded on—Vasilisa, Euler, Red Shoes, Grief, Adrienne, Crecy, Robert, Tug, Don Pedro, and him.

Franklin twisted the valves that engaged the engines, and the Lightning began to rise. He watched New Paris diminish into a patchwork of huts and muddy paths. For the first time, he hoped that he would see it again.

Flame exploded in columns in front of them as the wing ship flew over, tossing Mongols, Indians, and Russians aside like rag dolls. It was a terrible and wonderful sight.

“There, let them drink some of their own beer,” Oglethorpe shouted, “and now, forward!” As he said it he urged his own mount into motion. Now the guns in the redoubt started pounding, too, and belatedly the enemy artillery answered, and they were in the midst of the fireworks. Men and horses screamed, the air was choked with smoke, and the din was so great as to bring tears to the eyes.

The charge had begun. Led by the airships and their grenadiers, three companies, ranged along the defensive line perhaps half a league apart, broke northward at once. In the center were the Swedes, with the French to the east and Oglethorpe and his men to the west. They had drawn lots for the more exposed flank positions, and Charles had lost.

“Hold it together, lads,” he shouted. “There they are!”

The cavalry they faced was like none he had ever seen before. Though some bore muskets, most of them wielded bows with improbably long range. Those would be of little use once the bowmen were in the trees, but crossing the expanse which had been defoliated by artillery fire, Oglethorpe's men were, for a moment, exposed. A rank of attackers came forward, fired, wheeled. Another.

Arrows fell like devilish hail, thudding into horses and men.

His men lowered their short-barreled carbines and fired as they rode, reloading with paper cartouches.

A fresh line of explosions cleared out many of the archers as the airship made another pass, and then it was time for the first shock of the charge.

Softened up by artillery and grenades, the enemy line crumbled. That was to be expected. While the colonies had aerial intelligence, the devil army did not—they had no way of knowing where to concentrate their men and, indeed, appeared to be massing for an invasion several leagues east. Nairne and the Apalachee would handle them there as best they could. For Oglethorpe and his companions, it meant an easy first engagement.

And, indeed, now they were clear, and border troops and artillery would dispose of what they left behind, so they would not have the problem he had faced charging the guns a few days earlier.

But the same air-gathered information that told them where they should break through told them something more worrisome: between them and the Russian airships there were at least two thousand troops. Even if they hadn't lost a single man just now—and Oglethorpe doubted that very much— that put the odds at right around four to one. And if the Russian ships managed to get airborne …

You made your decisions, then you lived by them. No one had gainsaid him. For good or ill, it was begun, and there could be no retreat.