"Uhm," said the guard, and fumbled in his pocket for a cloth. "I've got, um, a rag, um."
"Oh, I'm not picky." Loch smiled. "You can use anything you like to get it off."
"Uhm," said the guard again.
"Man," said Kail, "that look you've got right now? That must be how I looked with your mother last night." He cold-cocked the hapless guard, who would, upon waking up, spend the rest of his life pondering those few seconds, sometimes paying great sums of money to recreate the experience in local pleasure-houses.
"That's lovely, Kail." Loch held out her hands meaningfully. "Today?"
"Working, working. Nice distraction, Captain. Kid, close your mouth." Kail went through Straithe's pockets and came up with a set of keys. In short order, Loch and Dairy were both free. "If we can get the plan back on track, I believe I'm due for some shouting and running. Captain?"
"Go to it, Kail." Loch dragged Straithe and the guard out of sight from the door, then gestured. "I'll be ably defended by my attendant here if anything else goes wrong."
Kail grinned. Then he stepped out into the hallway, shouted, "You'll never take me alive, you bastards!", and started running.
Loch and Dairy waited for a moment while a number of booted feet thundered past.
"I'm sorry," Dairy said again.
"Kid," Loch said, "no plan goes perfectly. If you hadn't dropped that pick, that other guard would've shown up before we were ready. The whole plan would have been blown at that point."
Dairy frowned. "So... what does that mean?"
"It means that the plan is going well. And if you need to punch your way free of any shackles, go ahead."
He blushed. "It was just loose, I think, Captain Loch. Nobody could pull a chain out of the wall."
"Then just keep getting loose chains, kid." Loch smiled. "You're my lucky charm."
The brigand in the inner palace had led the guards on a lively chase, picking corridors and servant's hallways almost as if he had studied the palace layout. Finally, when half the normal guards and a few of those sullen, silent guards who patrolled the high-security areas were after him, the brigand found himself surrounded outside a sitting room in the eastern wing. A pair of the vicious guards, the ones who didn't talk to anyone but each other, had been stationed outside the room, and they drew their weapons as soon as he arrived.
"Now, then," one of the normal guards said calmly, "let's be reasonable, shall we?"
"You'll never take me alive!" the brigand, a wiry Urujar with a mad expression, shouted in a crazed voice. "I'll kill you all!"
"You don't even have a sword," said the guard, who'd reached middle age by being the type of guard who talks a man into coming along peacefully instead of valiantly rushing in. He looked at the high-security guards with unease. Their teeth were bared, and their fingers were curled into claws. "Look, just settle down and come along—"
He might have talked him into surrendering had not another guard—not one of the strange ones, amazingly, but some town guard brought in for the Victory Ball—lunged in to bash the brigand with the pommel of his sword. The brigand caught the descending arm, wrenched the sword free, ran the man through, and then hurled the bloody body at the other guards, tangling several of them and clearing himself a path.
Then he ran from the room with guards shouting behind him—including the ones stationed at the sitting room. The old guard who'd tried to talk the brigand down paused for a moment to check the dead guard's pulse, but with a wound like that, there wasn't much guesswork.
When they were all gone and the room was quiet, Tern stepped out from behind a tapestry. "Wow. I really thought Kail got you that time."
"I am pleased that he followed my suggestion to strike realistically," the dead man said, sitting up slowly as his heart began beating again. "How fare Hessler and Desidora?"
Tern shrugged. "I don't think they're dating."
"I was, in fact, referring to our current mission."
"Oh. I don't know. They were arguing about prophecies and stuff."
Ululenia thanked Desidora in the silence of her mind. She flew through the hallways as a snowy white dove, taking her time and avoiding the servants, who shuffled along with minds bent to annoyance or excitement at the Victory Ball.
It took her some time to trace her path anew, but finally she found herself near the guests' changing rooms, where recent arrivals could add the final touches of artificial beauty before presenting themselves at the ball. Nesting in the rafters, she looked around carefully to make sure that the hallway was clear. Then she fluttered to the ground, shimmered, and took her human form.
She silenced the glow of her horn, and then altered the hem and neckline of her pale white gown so that its simple grace was slightly more fashionable. She would be remembered—a pale woman with ash-white hair in a snow-white gown could scarcely go unnoticed—but no more so than any other exotic guest.
She started as the hinge squeaked on a nearby door. When she turned, though, there was nothing. Shrugging, she started toward the ballroom. From there, she would join Desidora and Kail in the chamber where the Voyancy ward was powered.
She felt the wave of anger and hatred behind her, and turned to see the knife sliding from the shadows.
There was no time to dodge.
"Captain Pyvic of the Justicars." He offered his invitation, and the guards looked at it, then nodded.
Protect them. That was what Melich had said. If that meant nodding politely at a Victory Ball so that funding didn't get cut, Pyvic would do so.
"Any guests, sir?" one of them asked.
Prisoner Loch, Isafesira de Lochenville, was no longer his problem. Silestin had made that clear.
"I figure you've got enough in here already," Pyvic said with a smile.
Protect them all.
"Both invited and uninvited," he added, still smiling.
The guards chuckled. "Figure a justicar would know about that sort of thing," one said.
"Some are clever," another added, "but there was one Urujar who thought she could yell her way inside! Don't know what she was thinking."
Pyvic laughed along with the guards.
"And she'd be taken to a holding cell inside, then?" he asked.
Hunter Mirrkir rose to his feet, using his spear as a crutch, and pulled his golden ringmail straight. When he was fully upright, he twisted his neck sharply, producing a cracking sound, and then raised the spear, showing no sign of pain from a strike that could have shattered solid steel.
"You can stand against the might of Ghylspwr." Desidora raised her hammer.
"Not lightly and not often," Hunter Mirrkir said with no trace of pride, "but as I must, yes. You falsified the trail of the unicorn."
"Death priestess." Desidora smiled slightly.
"Chosen by the gods in their hour of need." Mirrkir cocked his head. "Why ally yourself with an unholy beast?"
"You know the truth?" Desidora's cheeks paled, and her voice turned cold. "If you serve the gods faithfully, get out of my way."
"My orders come from the ancients, not the gods." Mirrkir stood straight and proud. "The magical creatures that spawned from the leakage of ancient magic are parasites. They will endanger the world unless removed. My orders are clear."
"Then say hello to Ghylspwr, last king of the ancients, who forged his soul into this hammer to defeat a great evil." Desidora raised Ghylspwr again.
"Can he supersede my directives through direct orders?" Mirrkir asked.
"Besyn larveth'isr Ghylspwr said enthusiastically.
"Not as such," Desidora allowed.
"Pity." In the metallic rasp of Mirrkir's voice, there hung a trace of regret. "If you stand between me and the unicorn, I must strike you down."
"Let's see how that works out for you," Desidora said, and Ghylspwr threw in a "Kutesosh gajair'is!" for emphasis.
Mirrkir moved, and Desidora moved, and hammer met spear in the middle of the ballroom.
It was a fight that would have v
exed armsmasters, had any been present to witness it. Ghylspwr moved with speed no normal hammer could match, but Mirrkir's spear was stronger than any normal weapon. The crackling spear swung in wide arcs of blue, and Ghylspwr blazed, a blur of silver.
The priestess blocked Mirrkir's high thrust, which had actually been a feint, then parried the low thrust, which had also been a feint, then arced Ghylspwr up to knock aside the actual attack, a slash at her face. She spun into a full-body swing that Mirrkir set his spear to block, but this time she had feinted, and instead she came in with a short overhand strike past Mirrkir's guard, and Mirrkir rolled away.
"You fight with spirit." Mirrkir leapt over a low sweep and stabbed down at her shoulder. Ghylspwr knocked the stab aside, then darted up the length of the spear to strike at Mirrkir's hands.
"Concerned?" Desidora panted as Mirrkir slid away. She lunged in with a sweeping strike that twisted at the last moment into a blow to Mirrkir's unguarded back.
Mirrkir turned, accepted the blow to the ribs, and trapped Ghylspwr with one arm. "No," he said simply.
And before Desidora could pull Ghylspwr free, Mirrkir drove his spear into her.
It sank into her breast, and she sat down stupidly, staring at it, as crackling blue energy swept through her and around her and into her, and then she screamed once, blue light shining from her mouth and eyes.
And then she was gone, and Ghylspwr dropped to the ground with a clatter.
"Kun-kabynalti osu fuir'is," the hammer whispered.
Hunter Mirrkir leaned on his spear for a moment. The blow to the ribs had been necessary, but it had been a powerful strike nonetheless. His spear crackled with blue energy as the woman's soul became a part of Mirrkir's power, and then it lay dormant, ready to rid the world of the unclean magic.
"I wish you no evil," Mirrkir said to Ghylspwr, and stalked from the room. He could not sense the unicorn, but strange magic hummed elsewhere in the palace. He headed in that direction.
He would find her soon enough. He had all the time in the world.
Twenty
The thing about escorting a zombie through the palace was that zombies were slow.
Tern had run off, hurrying to meet Icy Fist, which was fair, because she had to get the primary enchantment relay disabled in order for Desidora and Ululenia to reroute the aural detection grid, and all of that had to happen before Hessler and Silestin's great-grandfather reached the vault.
Judging by the zombie's speed, though, Tern could have walked and still gotten there in time. Some guards came by, and Hessler waved himself and the zombie into invisibility until they were gone.
"So what's with you and the girl?" the zombie asked when the guards were gone. Silestin Senior had not aged well since his death. There was still flesh on the bone, but it had dried and turned waxen, his muscles bare tendrils that pulled the shriveled flesh along. Hessler didn't know how the dead old bastard had the strength to waggle his eyebrows at him.
"We're simply colleagues." Hessler strode forward crisply, making it to the doorway before remembering that striding crisply was just going to leave the zombie behind.
"Fine," said Silestin Senior, "so don't tell me."
Hessler waited in silence, letting the zombie shuffle past. "What's the job, anyway?"
"Job?" Getting interrogated like a slow-witted nephew hadn't been on Hessler's list of concerns about escorting the zombie.
"I'm dead, not dense, wizard." The zombie inhaled carefully in order to let out a snort, which left a little of the zombie's nose on the ground. "You needed the soul of an Archvoyant to get something in the palace."
No sense lying to him. "Actually, we needed your specific aura. Your great-grandson is Archvoyant now, and we're going to convince the security wards—"
"Sure, sure. So, the kid's the Archvoyant?" The zombie snorted again. No nose came off this time. "He was a nasty little bastard at six. Becoming an Archvoyant didn't make him any nicer, I bet."
Hessler blinked. "I thought you'd be proud to see your lineage continue."
"Hah!" Silestin Senior paused to pick up a tooth and stick it back into place. "I became an Archvoyant because I killed enough Old Kingdom Royals to keep the country safe. Don't get me wrong; power's lovely. But I'd hoped my line might do more than cling to what I won."
Hessler shook his head. It wasn't every day that he was surprised by a zombie.
"Are they they gone?" Loch asked.
Dairy nodded. They were making their way toward the grand ballroom where the important people were, except that more guards had run by, and Loch had pulled Dairy into a storage closet.
Back when he'd lived on the farm, an exciting day was one when the cows had a baby calf. Well, that and the time when the blood-gargoyles had come in the night and picked mean old Burstin up by the throat and asked him where the orphan boy with the birthmark was while Dairy lay hidden in the hayloft.
"Good," Loch said. "We're close enough to the party. Keep the door shut."
"W-what are you doing, Miss Loch?" Dairy asked. He was having trouble forgetting about Loch in the chains talking in a much different voice from the one she usually used. She had talked about her neck. It had been a life-changing conversation for a boy Dairy's age.
"Giving you today's lesson," Loch said, and then did nothing to dispel Dairy's daydreams when she started ripping her clothes off. "Today's lesson, Dairy, is about the difference between is and should."
"Um," said Dairy desperately.
A sleeve decorated with fluffy lace fell to the floor. "When I was your age, I was all caught up in should. I should get to dress however I liked." The other sleeve joined it. "I should get to be a general in the army if I had the skill." A bunch of frilly lace along the hem fell away in a spray of ribbon. "I should get to do anything I've got the ability to do."
Dairy slowly realized that it wasn't the whole dress coming apart, just parts of it. Specifically, the frilly poofy parts.
"When I left home to join the army, I found out about what is. A general is someone all the troops can love and respect, and if all the troops can't love and respect an Urujar woman, then the general is a white man." Loch reached up to her neckline and peeled away the frills, as well as a lot of neckline. "A colonel is in charge, even if you worked your way up and he walked in as an earl and got his bars the same afternoon." She pulled on the side of her dress, and a thin slit appeared, working its way up from her ankle-length hem to well past the knee. "And a baroness is a woman in a killer dress, even if she'd rather be wearing riding leathers."
She tossed the big hat away and let her dark hair pool around her shoulders.
"You're... you're a baroness!" Dairy blurted.
The dress she had worn had made Miss Loch look silly. Now it was a form-fitting copper gown that showed off muscled shoulders and well-toned legs. With the red-gold of the dress against her rich dark skin, she looked like a hunting cat.
"As it happens," she said with a slow smile, "I am. But what I really am is more comfortable with good boots than silly ornamental slippers and a dress with a ridiculous neckline. This is a disguise, kid. It's just playing make-believe. Now come on. Escort me to the party."
She held out her hand, and her make-believe attendant took it in trembling fingers.
Icy and Tern found the secret panel quickly enough, and a bookshelf along the back wall slid aside to reveal a passage that led them to the most perplexing room either of them had ever seen.
"This would indeed appear to be the crystal lattice to which we were directed," Icy said slowly.
"I don't know, Icy. There might be another room made of giant crystal pillars somewhere else."
The walls of the enormous chamber were unfurnished, and the floor was bare, which was probably because the floor was made entirely of intricately paned crystal that flared with dazzling light in all the colors of the rainbow. The ceiling appeared to consist of a massive series of chandeliers, until Icy looked closely and realized that they were actually overlap
ping growths of magical crystal sprouting from the ceiling in patterns too complex for the mind to understand.
"And we are to disable this device?" Icy asked.
"This seemed so much more reasonable when it was a small little box drawn on a cocktail napkin." Tern kept looking at the shimmering patterns on the floor. "Desidora said there'd be a control panel. Do you see a control panel?"
Icy pointed absently at a small hub of glowing crystal studs set into a dais. It was on a raised platform at the far side of the room, a good forty feet away.
"I suspect," he said, "that simply walking across the room would raise an alarm."
Tern drew a pinch of powder from a small pouch and tossed it onto the crystal. It sizzled when it touched the floor, exploding into tiny multicolored puffs of smoke. "You know, it looks like something they don't have to alarm."
Icy digested this. Icy looked back up at the ceiling, approximately fifteen feet overhead, but with crystals poking down at various angles. "It is possible," he said slowly, "that I could leap up and catch hold of a crystal spur overhead, then leap from one spur to another and make my way across the ceiling." He frowned thoughtfully. "That particular section halfway across will likely be tricky. I may have to hurl myself at the wall and then leap back onto that other spur, as that particular handhold only appears to be accessible from—"
"I could just fire a grappling line across the room," Tern suggested.
Icy let out a breath. "I believe that would be simpler."
Tern grinned and dug out a grappling bolt. "But you weren't nervous." She loaded her crossbow, braced the base of the grappling line against the doorframe, took careful aim at the wall beyond the control panel, and fired.
The bolt exploded into sizzling flame midway through the room.
"Son of a bitch! Those are reusable!"
"Some sort of alarm system or latent magical energy?" Icy asked.
The Palace Job Page 24