“We’ll check him,” Desidora said. “Let’s get you ungagged first.” She loosened the gag enough for him to speak.
“Watch out!” he shouted, and Desidora turned as Derenky slammed into her. She hit the wall hard, tried to catch her breath and her balance, and felt everything slide to the simple black and white of death as instinct took over. She reached out to pluck at the fabric of the soul attacking her—
And found death already there.
“He has a message,” said the zombie of Derenky as its hands closed on her throat. Its skin was pale, only barely dead, but the aura of death around was unmistakable. “Byn-kodar’isti kuru’ur.” Desidora grabbed at its aura, but it was locked or twisted somehow, and she fumbled with it like a thick-fingered girl worrying at the buttons of a new dress. Its grasp tightened, and everything started to flicker at the edge of her vision. “The same words you heard, he heard first. He was forged in the death you met as a lover.”
“Clover with roots intact,” Dairy said, and pressed a small pouch of crushed green into the zombie’s face. The zombie stumbled back, its grip on Desidora falling away as it batted feebly at Dairy, who backhanded it into the wall. “Sorry, Sister. I had to get the right pouch.”
“Not a problem,” Desidora gasped, and with her breath coming easily again, she focused on the zombie. “Forged,” she muttered, and found what she had been looking for. She struck the air with a closed fist, and the zombie dropped like a puppet whose strings had been cut, instantly gone.
“What happened?” Dairy asked. “I thought you could control zombies.”
“Easily, when they are mine.” Desidora let the aura of death fade away, and the world filled with color and life and feeling again. “And a common necromancer is simple enough. This was different.”
“Another death priest, a paladin,” Pyvic said from where he was shackled. “He calls himself Mister Lively.”
“He said he was forged in death,” Desidora mused as Dairy broke Pyvic’s shackles open. “I believe he was a priest of Pesyr before he was chosen. As my power is”—she almost said a perversion, but she had come to a better understanding of herself more recently—“an extension of my abilities as a love priestess, his power is changed the same way. It’s harder for me to affect it.”
“That might explain why the paladins are protected against your magic,” Pyvic added, rubbing his wrists.
“Yes. A priest of Pesyr could make powerful armor. A death priest with the same power could create wards even I have trouble defeating.” Desidora looked over at Dairy. “Also, clover?”
Dairy nodded. “Part of my training in the Knights of Gedesar. Something about it being alive weakens undead. If I’d just punched him while he had a grip on your neck like that, he might have torn your throat out as he fell backward.”
Desidora pursed her lips. “Excellent point.”
“What now?” Pyvic asked. “Loch’s message said that you had something to do up here, but didn’t specify more.”
“Now,” Desidora said, “we find out where the ancients first allowed the Glimmering Folk into this world.”
The stadium floor smelled of grass that was far greener than the normal stuff growing outside. Athletes walked on immaculately swept dirt paths that glowed faintly with the magic of Sunrise Canyon nearby. Some carried long poles, throwing weights, or handball gloves. Others stretched or ran in place. Events were already running, and the crowd cheered as an athlete landed in the sand after an amazing jump, then came back to her feet smiling and waving. Her arm was bare for now.
In the center of the field, Loch saw the podium ready for the people in charge to give the speeches, backlit dramatically by the fountain of fire blossoming from a golden bowl set in the middle of the stadium.
“Tern said that, from the blueprints, that’s not a brazier,” Kail said. “More like a pipe. Leads all the way down to the room with the gate.”
“Seemed a bit much to be strictly ornamental,” Loch murmured, looking up. Heaven’s Spire was directly overhead. “That fire turns from a fountain into a beam, it blasts up and hits the city square.”
“Tern ever figure out what happens when that happens?” Kail asked.
“She wasn’t in a place to study on the flight up.”
“Fair.” Kail sighed. “Hessler was a good man. We’ll raise a wineskin later.”
“That we will.” For now, Loch headed for the fountain of fire.
A matronly white woman in full robes decorated in the same style as the atrocious uniform stepped into their path. “Excuse me, are you supposed to be here?” she asked.
Loch noted the white athletes walking by, talking and laughing, and pressed her lips into a thin line.
Fortunately, Kail was there. “Oh yes, ma’am, we are. They said we were supposed to be near the podium. Last-minute addition to a speech Archvoyant Cevirt is going to give when he hands out the bands, something about diversity and how in today’s Republic, no matter what race we are, everybody’s true colors are red and blue.” He pointed at the logo on his uniform proudly.
The matronly woman blinked. “Well, that is a wonderful message, and a really important one for everyone to be hearing. You just head over there and have a great day.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Kail smiled and ducked his head as the lady walked off.
Loch started walking again. “I just threw up in my mouth a little.”
“I’m amazed Cevirt didn’t ask me to write his speeches. I’ve got a lot to add.”
“Speaking of Cevirt . . .” Loch made a tiny gesture. As the athletes and coaches and officials began to move to the edges of the stadium, the crowds were clearing, and she could see the archvoyant with a crowd of nobles and important people near the podium. “Come on.”
“Disabling the font is primary, Captain. Lessa-whatsit is the one in charge, and unless he hopped bodies, he isn’t on Cevirt.”
“He’s still the archvoyant. If anybody can get official word out to warn people, it’s him.” Loch gripped her walking stick and tapped a steady beat as she headed toward him.
“You have a way to stop the paladin band?”
“Elf charm. Grabbed one after Pyvic said it worked on Derenky.”
“I heard those were expensive.”
“May have lifted a few things from the Dragon’s manor on my way out,” Loch said, and, as Kail chuckled, added, “Circle around. This works, I free Cevirt and any other nobles in that crowd wearing bands. It doesn’t, get to the font.”
Behind the podium, off to either side of the font, a massive glamour flickered to life. At first it was a pair of black squares, blank to all appearances. Then a gigantic dragon puppet popped into view, the same image repeated on each of the great illusionary screens.
“Welcome back to the Republic Festival of Excellence!” it roared, and the fountain of fire flared brilliantly for a moment as the crowd cheered. “We’ve had some amazing demonstrations by our paladins, and we can’t wait to see what the rest of this great nation’s citizens can do. If you’ll direct your attention to the podium, we’re just a few minutes away from seeing the first lucky competitor get his—or her—new paladin band!”
Loch picked up her pace, her walking stick thumping faster as she hurried toward the podium. Kail headed off in his own direction, leaving her alone. She put a determined and faintly worried look on her face, and the other competitors looked at her in confusion but didn’t stop her as she headed for the podium.
Lochenville. That was what Kail had said to her. Lochenville, and that Pyvic might still be alive. Lochenville, where Tahla had died because Loch had shown up.
And as for Pyvic . . . Loch sighed.
She’d been sixteen when her favorite horse had died. Her parents had asked her and Naria if they wanted to see the body. Naria had wanted to. On some level, Naria had needed to see the horse one last time to really know.
Loch hadn’t. She’d had her share of problems, but false hope had never been one of them, an
d she’d never seen the point in looking at the dead you hadn’t been able to save. That was the other reason she’d never gone back to Lochenville.
Kail had tried, though. That was something.
She was coming in at an angle, and Cevirt was talking with the nobles. He hadn’t seen her yet. She kept her pace steady, nothing that was fast enough to draw attention.
Ten steps away. Nine.
One of the nobles, chatting idly and pressing buttons on his band, saw her from the corner of his eye and frowned, puzzled, trying to place her.
Eight steps. Seven, six.
Loch smiled and nodded, flipping the charm from one pocket.
Five steps, four. She was into the crowd of nobles, murmuring an excuse as she approached Cevirt.
As she brought her hand up as though about to wave, slim fingers closed over her wrist.
“Ah, Isa,” said Naria as she caught Loch, plucked the elf charm from Loch’s fingers, and danced away, “how can I miss you if you do not stay away?”
“Fool,” Princess Veiled Lightning hissed as Icy Fist curled around the blow, his robes smoking. He spun and landed in a crouch, then parried a chop to his throat. “Her memories tell me of your skills.” He dropped into a crouch, his knee checking a kick to his groin, then rolled away as the Nine-Ringed Dragon sliced through the air where his head had been a moment earlier. “Will you fight her now, or restrain your gifts like the foolish slave you are?”
“Princess!” called a woman with armor and a big sword. “What are your arching ardor?” Ululenia, who had flapped off before the first blow had struck, landed on top of the armored woman, except that she was a bear now. The woman grunted somewhere underneath a lot of white fur.
“Icy!” Tern shouted, and threw a flask at Veiled Lightning’s feet. It erupted into billowing smoke. “Icy, time to go!”
She grabbed him from the smoke cloud, and he pushed her down as Veiled Lightning’s blade hissed past. Then she was running, her steel-toed boots tromping as she beat a path through the tents.
“Are they behind us?” Tern said to Icy, who kept pace beside her.
“Not at the moment, but pursuit will likely follow.” Icy leaped nimbly over a tent line. “She was a paladin.”
“I figured that by the way she talked about herself in the third person.” As they came out into an open area, Tern grabbed Icy, made a turn, and headed into a line of people. “And this is a line for these fascinating outdoor toilets we use here in the Republic, Your Excellence!” she said as they walked through the group. “It’s very cultural.” They came past the line out into the open area near the cliff edge itself. “And this is . . . probably far enough from people that I can stop tour guiding. Did Veiled Lightning have a thing for you?”
No, she likes girls, came Ululenia’s voice, and Tern looked up to see the snowy-white bird winging easily overhead, and as the still-budding flower whose silken petals have yet to—
“And now Ululenia has made it weird with her new sex thing.” Tern jerked her head at the wooden fence marking the cliff they approached. “How do we get down?”
I could simply carry you, Ululenia offered.
“Decent backup plan,” Tern said, “but if there are guards, maybe we lead with something sneakier than a giant eagle.”
Icy frowned. “The fence is recently constructed. Under such a tight schedule, it is natural that . . . there.” He pointed at a pile of leftover planks, and to the coils of rope where the planks had been bound. “Do you remember the trick I showed you, where you hook your ankle through the rope and use it to gently guide your descent?”
Tern reached into one of the many pockets of her brown crafter’s dress and pulled out a pair of heavy-duty gloves. “Let’s find out.”
Icy was almost as good with ropes as Kail at this point, and Tern had tied a few knots in her time. There were several long coils, and they knotted them together. The large pile of planks was heavy enough to serve as a tie-off point, and in just a minute or two, Icy was hoisting Tern and two very long lines of rope over the fence.
It was an exercise in thinking, in problem-solving. Tern was grateful for it. It was a bright thing to keep spinning in her mind, so that the wrenching useless grief lurking at the edge of every thought didn’t have any reason to creep out of the shadows.
“Right on target. Mine’s below us. Couple hundred feet, I’d guess?” She looped the rope through a hook on her belt, and kicked her legs over the fence. The rope dangled down below her in the distance. “Ready?”
“Go ahead.”
If you slip, I will catch you, Ululenia added, unless I have become too depraved due to my weird sex thing.
“See, it starts with the chocolate-covered apples, and noooobody listens . . .” Tern dropped down from the fence.
The rope hissed as it slid through her boots and belt hook. She kicked off the glowing red wall, dropped down a bit more, and landed with her legs against the wall, the rope biting into her gloved hands as she pulled herself to a stop. “I’m good!”
The rope a few feet to her left shook, and a moment later, Icy slid down beside her effortlessly, the line twining between his legs. “Did you remember how to slow your descent by hooking it through your ankle?”
“I think maybe my rope is made from different materials that make it not work for me,” Tern said.
Icy nodded. “Of course.”
Letting the rope slide through her feet and knees and gloves, Tern eased her way down one smooth and easy foot at a time. Her arms and legs began to ache after only a minute, and she sighed, and then thought about how Hessler had asked if she had wanted him to have abs, and then pushed that damn thought out of her head for now because crying was a good way to end up falling to her death and embarrassing herself.
They were perhaps a hundred feet down when Ululenia, flying in lazy circles overhead, said, We may have a problem.
“No virgin princesses nearby?” Tern asked.
Then the rope jerked in Tern’s grasp. She looked up.
The scorpion and the troll were coming over the fence high above them.
“We’re sorry,” the troll said.
“Not murderer,” said the scorpion. “No choice.” With one giant pincer, it began sawing at the rope from which Tern was hanging.
Nineteen
LOCH LOOKED AT the paladins surrounding Archvoyant Cevirt. They were all men in the prime of their lives, healthy and hearty and well dressed in formal suits of black or subdued gray. Each also wore a pin or pocket kerchief emblazoned with the logo of the Festival of Excellence, as well as a paladin band over his sleeve.
The lone exception was Naria, who wore a long backless gown the color of chocolate, accented with a silk wrap done in the Republic’s colors. She wore no paladin band, but her crystal lenses glinted as she held up the elf charm she’d just plucked from Loch’s hand.
“If you’d like to make a purchase,” the dragon puppet roared on both illusionary screens, “contact one of our staff! Items can be brought right to your seat!”
Archvoyant Cevirt smiled at the crowd and then turned to Loch. “We expected you.”
“Lesaguris?” Loch guessed. “I see you’ve picked a new thrall.”
One of the nobles chuckled, and Loch looked over to see that it was the man Lesaguris had possessed earlier. “You think I’d ride the Archvoyant?” he asked, shaking his head. “Guards watching me all the time, meetings over mortal matters, public-speaking events where I hug your children? Do you know how much power I’d have to give up if I became the archvoyant?”
“Actually,” Loch said, “I just wanted to make sure I had the right target.” Her walking stick snaked out, hooked Naria’s hand, and yanked the elf charm free. Loch smashed it open as it hit the ground.
Naria flinched and went stiff, one hand going to her face.
“We did offer you the same upgraded wards we used to protect ourselves, Baroness de Lochenville,” Lesaguris said. “If you’d allowed us to augment your lenses
, they’d be working right now.”
Naria turned her head toward Lesaguris. “You understand of course why I chose not to avail myself of your offer.”
Lesaguris nodded in her direction, then turned to Loch. “Mister Lively wasn’t happy when your friend Captain Pyvic used the elf charm against one of us. I’m afraid those are off the table for you now. Congratulations on blinding your sister, though.”
Loch’s grip tightened on her walking stick. “Then we do this the hard way.”
In the stands behind her, the crowd cheered as an athlete did something impressive.
“One against six, Loch? Long odds, even for you.” Lesaguris gave his thoughtful nod. “Besides, it makes for bad visual, half a dozen men beating down one helpless woman. Mister Slant would be so disappointed with me.”
From the corner of her eye, Loch saw movement on the glamour-screens. She looked over to see herself on both of them, looking angry and grim, confronting a group of men who gave her mild and nervous smiles.
“Here’s how this is going to go, Captain Loch,” Lesaguris said in a reasonable voice. “You’re going to get out of the stadium as quickly as you can. If you escape, and that’s unlikely, you can continue your campaign of harassment, and the leaders of the Republic will make sad speeches about crime and bring up tough new legislation that hits Urujar neighborhoods harder than anyone else. If we catch you, everyone in this stadium, and everyone watching the glamour-screens we added to every puppet show in the Republic, will see your reign of terror brought to an end as the dawn of a new, more civilized way of life.”
Loch forced herself to smile and watched as her illusionary self on the screens did the same. “When you put it that way, I’ve got no reason at all to run.”
Lesaguris gave her his thoughtful nod. “I assumed you’d want to minimize the fatalities caused by the horrific attack you and your band of monsters orchestrated.”
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