A wolf paw slammed her to the ground just short of the weapon, and she reached frantically as the crushing weight of the creature pressed her again to the ground. “No,” said the chimera from every mouth at once. “You were foolish to fight me. Arrogant. Such an arrogant apple, babbling brook—”
The chimera crashed to the ground beside Desidora, a snowy-white eagle atop it. Quickly! Ululenia’s voice rang in Desidora’s mind.
Desidora lunged for the silver dagger. Even as she turned, Ululenia had already shifted into a great white bear, roaring her rage as she plowed into the chimera, but the creature was coiling and striking around her, claws and scales and fangs and quills, and . . .
Desidora brandished the knife, saw a head that wasn’t Ululenia’s, and struck, again and again.
The chimera roared in pain from every mouth, and a brilliant burst of rainbow light speared through the creature’s body, shining in the nighttime sky.
It was Ululenia’s horn. She had changed to her natural form, and the chimera was crumbling to dull gray dust around her.
And, as the dust settled, Desidora saw that the rainbow sparks no longer flared from the dying body. They twisted instead into Ululenia.
She was still snowy white, but on her flank, next to the black mask with the antlers, there sat a new mark: a flame whose tongues were each a tiny different animal head.
Desidora sank to her knees as the death magic left her. Her gown, pale green again, was torn from the claws, and her hands were shaking. “Are you all right?”
I thought I should check on you, Ululenia said, her voice a little strained. I didn’t come back to kill the chimera. I just wanted to be certain you were safely away.
“If you hadn’t,” Desidora said, “I’d be dead right now.” She got back to her feet, wobbling a little, and put a hand on Ululenia’s flank. “Thank you.”
Yes. I saved you. That is what I did. It wasn’t . . . There was no other way. I knew somehow. I must have felt it waking and not realized it. That’s why I . . . don’t tell Little One.
“Ululenia.” Desidora patted her flank again, and felt the unicorn shivering faintly. “You’re all right. And if you’re not, we can help.”
No, I’m fine. I’m fine. Ululenia shook herself. I should get the key to my Little One. You are certain you are all right?
“It’s a good thing my part in this job is finished,” Desidora said, forcing a laugh, “as I believe I will be taking it easy as I rejoin Tern and the others at the tunnel.”
Good. I’m glad. That is why I came, to make sure you were okay. Ululenia shifted under Desidora’s hands, and was a great snowy eagle again. Good luck. I’m sorry.
She flapped off into the night, and Desidora watched her go. Only when the eagle was lost in the night sky did Desidora release the tight hold on her thoughts.
“That’s going to get ugly,” she muttered. But it was not something to deal with right now.
She sank to her knees to shake a bit more.
Deep in the most secure rooms of the Sunrise Canyon processing center, Westteich looked from the message crystal to Arikayurichi, still held by Commander Mirrok. “Loch is where?”
“Here,” Arikayurichi said, and, while he had no mouth, Westteich nevertheless got the impression that if the ax had teeth, it would be gritting them. “The miners say that she is leading a group claiming to have an appointment to inspect the processing center.”
The processing center was a magnificent structure, filled with alchemical wonders that surpassed even what Westteich had seen in the Forge of the Ancients. Out in the main room, crystals tended by golem workers rode moving ramps through treatment systems whose fantastic alchemy turned them from raw material into the magic that ran the Republic. Meanwhile, in the back room, a great array of crystals protruded from one wall in a pattern no mortal eye could follow, great shards glowing in all the colors of the rainbow while gem-studded control consoles spat out information about the mine and the magic that flowed through it. The entire magic-rich processing center was walled off safely from the mine by several feet of solid yvkefer plating.
It also had impressive security, which Westteich took advantage of now. “Your trackers are incompetent,” he snapped, running a thumb along the control console and snapping rapidly from scrying point to scrying point. “They should have apprehended them before now. If you give me control of the security golems, I can—”
“No.” Arikayurichi pulled Mirrok to attention. “You lack the skill to bring them down. Support Ghylspwr on the technical work necessary to ready the gate. That fits your abilities. I will handle Loch personally.”
“Of course, absolutely,” Westteich said, smiling and thinking about snapping Arikayurichi over his knee. He hit another scrying point and stopped. “Entry area, by the way, in case you hadn’t located them yet. There’s Loch, there’s Kail working on the door, and . . . I’m not sure who the elf is.”
“Assist Ghylspwr. Open the gate,” Arikayurichi said, and, held in Mirrok’s iron grasp, stalked from the room.
Westteich glared after him. While he could speak, unlike the warhammer Ghylspwr (who had foolishly sacrificed some of his essence and lost most of his vocabulary in the process), Arikayurichi had proven difficult to impress in Westteich’s experience so far. At first, Westteich had been uncertain, even worried, that it might in some way reflect upon him.
Then he had realized who Arikayurichi was. As the living soul of an ancient, Arikayurichi had seemed impressive, and Westteich had nearly fallen into the same trap of blindness that struck weaker minds. But Arikayurichi had been here in this world for centuries, waiting for the proper time, diligent in his duty.
It was impressive, yes, as the gears of a well-made clock were impressive. But that did not make the gears special or deserving of respect beyond that for a tool that had served its function.
Anyone who stayed behind to do the dirty work for centuries was not the leader of his people. The leader would be in the world of the ancients, planning thoughtfully amid whatever luxury that other world had to offer, as befitting his station. That was who Westteich had to impress, not some cynical ground operative.
Westteich would let Arikayurichi deal with Loch and take credit for it (despite Westteich’s use of the scrying points to actually locate the woman). While the ax did his duty, Westteich would prove his worth by seeing the ancients into this world in glory.
Since Arikayurichi had forgotten to do so, Westteich did reach over and activate the alarms, however.
Loch looked up as the alarms went off, long blaring sirens unmistakable for anything else but a warning about intruders.
“New plan,” she said, looking around.
“We have no means of advancing our goal,” Irrethelathlialann said. “We must leave now.”
“We leave, Dairy dies,” Loch said and stepped outside.
“He dies, the ancients return,” Kail added from right behind her.
The elf stepped out behind them, muttering to himself.
The workers on the dock looked at them in confusion, none ready to approach. At the end of the dock, Kail’s sad excuse for an airship was still safely moored. Inside the main hangar, massive lifting golems slowly maneuvered crates onto pallets for transport, and rails ran to the great double doors that led down to the mine proper.
“Not to agree with Ethel,” Kail said quietly, “but how do we fight Ghylspwr? I mean, our big heavy hitter for going toe to toe with the tough bad guys was Ghylspwr.”
“A weapon holding the soul of an ancient contains certain key alchemical compounds,” Irrethelathlialann said behind them. “The proper acids could damage the metal, even dissolve it.”
“Good to know. For now, the mine,” Loch said, and started forward, walking stick banging on the stone of the hangar floor.
The door to the waiting room crashed open behind them, and a group of men trooped out. While the security guard Loch had taken down earlier wore ringmail and a blocky helmet, these men wore
long dark coats fitted with strips of silver and undershirts reinforced with similar banding. Each carried a staff tipped at each end with a silver metal cap. They seemed a lot wealthier and a lot less friendly than the normal security guard had, and had a look that Loch couldn’t quite place, not quite military but formal nevertheless, all of them with chiseled jaws and short haircuts.
“Think we found the guys who run things in the processing area,” Kail said. “Those may be the whitest men I have ever seen.”
Irrethelathlialann’s hand slid into his robes. “They will be redder in a moment.”
“Wait.” Loch stepped back past them toward the men. Six of them. Not the best odds. “Listen to me,” she said. “You want to arrest us, great, but something is happening down in one of the old mining tunnels. Something strange has been happening here lately, hasn’t it?”
“What has been happening,” sneered one of the guards, “is the return of the ancients, Urujar thug.”
“Ah,” Kail said from behind Loch, “so they’re in on that, then.”
“Makes things easier,” Loch said, and cracked the nearest guard across the face with the head of her walking stick. As he fell, she shoved him into another and swung down at a third, hooking his staff. She pulled, yanked the staff from his grasp, and punched the walking stick into his throat as the others charged in.
The one coming in spun his staff. Loch stepped in, used both hands to catch the staff with her stick, kicked him in the knee, and slammed an elbow into his face as he stumbled.
“Nobles,” she said, and saw that the others were down as well. Kail stood over one, holding a staff and wiggling the fingers of his other hand, while Irrethelathlialann stood over two more, his wood-bladed rapier having appeared from the folds of his robe as if by magic. “These are nobles.”
“Oh yeah, you can tell by the chin,” said Kail. “It’s an old-money chin.”
Irrethelathlialann smiled. “So the nobles of your Republic have sent their sons to assist the ancients in returning. How delightfully human.”
A white shape flapped over the dock and into the hangar. The air around it shimmered, and Ululenia dropped into a crouched landing, a pale woman with ash-blond hair and a white dress with . . . Loch squinted . . . two black shapes on the hip. The few remaining dock workers simply ran away at this point, which was fine with Loch, given that the alarm was still blaring, so subtlety was by and large no longer an option.
“Your key, Little One,” Ululenia said, still breathing heavily, her hands on her knees.
“Change in plans,” Loch said.
Ululenia shot her a look, and then seemed to notice the blaring siren. “As the wolf bays on the trail of the fleeing vixen, so your entrance has encountered difficulty?”
“She said change in plans,” Kail said. “You all right?”
“She has killed again,” Irrethelathlialann said. “Was it easier this time? I hear it gets easier.”
“Perhaps I should slice open your belly and ride you as you slowly bleed to death,” Ululenia said, still crouching, “coaxing you with gentle caresses into the very motions that would send your guts spilling to the earth, and then I can tell you if that felt easier?” She paused, then looked at Loch. “I am fine.”
“Yes, we can tell,” Kail said. “That was the kind of thing a fine person would say.”
“Key,” Loch said, and Ululenia tossed it over, a simple crystal that glowed with a pattern Loch’s eyes could almost trace. “Now, we need Desidora. Dairy is in the death zone, not the processing center. Without Desidora’s magic, we have no way to get to him.”
“My virgin.”
“Neither yours, nor virgin,” Irrethelathlialann pointed out.
“Nevertheless . . .” Ululenia shook her head and rose back to her feet. “I will get Desidora.”
“Tell her that Ghylspwr is here,” Kail said.
Ululenia started, then nodded. Without another word, she shifted back into an eagle and took to the skies.
“It’s so dramatic when the old ones finally taste blood,” Irrethelathlialann said.
“Later.” Loch started for the great double doors. “For now, the mine and the processing center. The death zone isn’t an option until Desidora gets back, but we can sure as hell find whatever Project Paladin is and hit it with wrenches.”
There were dock workers between them and the looming entranceway. Loch held the walking stick up as she approached. “Not your fight,” she said, and they scattered. She pulled the lever to open the great double doors, and they creaked and strained, using gears and not magic as they swung out to either side.
Inside, the mine was lit by well-shielded glowlamps strung along the ceiling. The cart rails led in to a large opening chamber, and then split. To the right, they ran to a lift leading down to the tunnels, while to the left, they ran to a large sealed door forged from reinforced yvkefer.
“Expensive,” Irrethelathlialann said. “The dwarven metal shields that entire area against magic.”
“Processing center, then,” Kail said.
They got to the door. Loch saw a crystal square beside the doorframe and held the key out toward it. The crystal square chimed and glowed, and the door clunked and whirred and made a lot of gear noises as it slid open.
Inside, she could see what had to be the processing center. A great moving belt lifted crystals up from the mine below onto a rattling platform where they were sorted for size. From there, other moving belts carried the crystals off in different directions to vats and assembly chambers, magical and alchemical wonders that turned the raw crystals into the devices used throughout the Republic. The belts snaked back and forth across the massive room so that the entire area was in constant motion. Golems stood watch at key points; they were simple functional models built for durability rather than grace, fitted with impressive lenses that Loch guessed let them spot hidden flaws in the crystals that slid by.
At the far side of the processing center, overhead crystals with harsh azure lights brighter than daylight bathed a long table with their glow. Objects rested on the table, but she couldn’t see what they were from the doorway.
She started into the room.
Then she looked at the golems, still patiently doing their job while the security alarm continued to blare out its earsplitting siren.
She lifted a hand to Kail and signaled Trap in the sign language they had learned in the scouts. Then she dove into the room, going in low and rolling as she hit the ground.
The ax ripped into the doorframe where her head would have been, and as Loch came back to her feet, the Hunter golem holding it yanked it free and turned to her. While they were difficult to tell apart, this one looked charred and scraped in a few places, which made Loch suspect it was the one she had fought at the Forge of the Ancients.
The ax, however, she definitely recognized.
“Isafesira de Lochenville,” Arikayurichi said. “I cannot tell you how much I’ve been looking forward to this.”
Six
YOU’RE AN OGRE,” Tern said to the largest of the three figures. The ogre was dressed like a human, and Tern didn’t have a lot of experience with ogres in general, since Tern generally avoided the wilderness as a large, dirty place lacking in expensive things to steal.
“My people call themselves Besnisti,” the ogre said. She spoke like someone with an education, though the words were muffled by the tusks. The red light of the walls didn’t hit her properly. It was as though she were lit from within somehow.
“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Tern said, smiling. “My boyfriend and I were taking a hike by the light of the wall here. We heard that children conceived by its light grow up to be better wizards!”
“I’m not certain that the magical emanation would have any beneficial effect upon an unborn child,” Hessler said, and then blinked at her stare and added, “but we thought we might try nevertheless.”
“You are thieves,” said the bony woman. “Your lies are an insult.”
“Well, I suppose we had better surrender, then,” Tern said brightly to Hessler, “so the three of them can question us?”
“What?” Hessler asked. “Really?”
“No questions,” said the smallest of the trackers, a cloaked thing that Tern had thought might be a dwarf until it spoke, at which point she heard its piped-through-a-tube voice and realized how much trouble they were in.
“And you’re one of the scorpion-folk,” she said, looking at Hessler and grinning madly. “Hessler, have you heard of the scorpion-folk? They can kill you with three tugs of their poisonous stingers.”
“Three tugs of . . .” Hessler made an “oh” face and then added, “So you’re saying they’re dangerous?” As he asked the question, he pulled on the line leading up into the collapsed mining tunnel three times.
“Oh, they’re crazy dangerous,” Tern said, “and between an ogre and one of them and whatever you are, lady, no offense—”
“Troll,” said the bony woman.
The leather coil jerked in Hessler’s hand, once.
“We have no interest in fighting,” Tern went on, “so we absolutely surrender, and whichever of you three tugs us into custody can be assured that we will answer all questions and cooperate fully!”
Hessler tugged on the line three more times.
“No questions,” said the scorpion again, and moved forward with jerky hopping little motions.
“Wait,” said the bony woman, “if they surrender, their deaths are not demanded.”
The leather coil jerked in Hessler’s hand, twice this time.
“We are not murderers,” said the ogre.
“Not murder but deaths,” said the scorpion, and Tern knew enough of the dwarven war stories to know that him getting close was bad, but not how close, except that ten feet was almost certainly close enough to be bad.
“If you don’t accept our surrender, then, I mean, we have to fight back, right?” Tern raised her crossbow as well as her voice. “And you, scorpion, might know that this thing is dwarven crafted, and I’m carrying about two dozen different loadouts, so who knows what I might do with three tugs of my finger on the trigger?”
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