The Paladin Caper

by Patrick Weekes

  “You are the Glimmering Folk,” he said.

  “You are the Champion of Dawn,” came the voice, as the violet clouds curled into angled shapes and the green stars turned in the sky with hungry interest. “You hurt us. I wonder if you will hurt us here.”

  “Let’s find out,” Dairy said, and raised his fist.

  Then something took hold of his shoulder, and the world exploded in blazing light.

  Twenty-Two

  KAIL WAS SITTING with his back against the wall of the safely disabled-per-Tern’s-instructions font, trying to find a position that did not make his broken arm hurt and looking at the podium off in the distance where Archvoyant Cevirt and a bunch of nobles wearing paladin bands stood watching as Loch was brought before them. Daemon Jyelle had her hand clamped down on Loch’s shoulder, and the paladins had Mister Dragon lashed to the ground by whips made from the crackling red energy they shot from their bands.

  It was a farce, since they had been controlling Mister Dragon the entire time, probably because of the chains around his throat, but as a connoisseur of cons, Kail had to admit that it was a pretty good one.

  He had just concluded that he should probably get up and help Loch, inasmuch as someone with no magical abilities and a broken arm could help, when the font made a strange clanking sound behind him.

  Kail turned and slid himself to his feet, wondering if Tern’s plan was underway, but realized instead that something was clanking its way up from the gate below, through the fire.

  It fountained up into the air a moment later, a great block of some kind of crystal a little larger than Kail himself, and crashed down to the ground not far away, steaming in the grassy turf.

  Not crystal, Kail realized. Ice.

  The great ball of ice groaned, cracked, and then split apart. As the two halves fell to either side, a shirtless man walked toward Kail.

  “Icy mother-loving Fist,” Kail said. “You said it was short for Indomitable Courteous.”

  Icy rolled out his shoulders and shook a bit of frost from his hands. “It is also short for Indomitable Courteous.”

  “And you said, you specifically said, that you possessed no elemental magical ability.”

  “I said that I did not engage in physical combat,” Icy said, “and while that was true, I did not in fact . . .” He trailed off as Kail shook his head slowly and disappointedly, then rallied. “Tern says that disabling the font mechanism entirely was a mistake. The prismatic setting must be tuned to one-third diffusion.”

  “Oh, for . . .” Kail looked back at the font and let out a long groan. “There are three puppeteers down there wearing bands, I’ve got one functional arm, and I sort of blew up a crystal that was necessary to make the diffusion matrix work.”

  “If I disabled the puppeteers, could you fix the diffusion matrix?”

  Kail blinked. “Sure.”

  “Excellent.” Icy angled his head to one side and cracked his neck. “Let us proceed.”

  They brought Loch before the podium where the important people stood. The remaining people in the stands, shaken by Mister Dragon’s attack, had gone quiet, except for the screams of the dying or those who loved them. The exit was still packed with people trying to leave, and the seats that had burned had guards lined up around them, throwing buckets of water onto the smoldering ruins.

  The ridiculous shobes the competitors had worn had been lashed to poles and throwing javelins as makeshift litters to carry the injured to healers down on the field. Up on the glamour-screen, the manticore and the griffon were urging everyone to be calm.

  Archvoyant Cevirt was there, and Princess Veiled Lightning, and a host of nobles, and all of them wore paladin bands and stared down at Loch with smug contempt. Naria was there as well, cool and impassive in her pretty dress and her expensive crystal lenses. Mister Skinner, the paladin controlling Mister Dragon, had followed Loch and Jyelle, and he stood a little off to the side, looking around with evident interest.

  Lesaguris was there as well, and although Cevirt was the one standing at the highest point of the podium, it was Lesaguris around whom everyone else orbited.

  “Isafesira de Lochenville,” said Archvoyant Cevirt, shaking his head sadly. Looking past him, Loch saw his face, magnified to a huge size, on the glamour-screens, and while his voice didn’t seem any louder right there at the podium, it was clear that the people still milling around in the stands heard what he said. “You were my goddaughter, born into privilege as a child of nobles and given a chance to make something worthwhile of your life with opportunities few have available to them. Instead, in bitterness and hatred, you have attacked the very people who treated you with such kindness. You have dishonored everything that the Republic believes in, and you have made life harder for the Urujar, who will unfairly be discriminated against for the crimes you committed.” He sighed. “Your mother and father would be heartbroken.”

  “You are not Archvoyant Cevirt!” Loch shouted. “You are a parasitic creature living in the band on his arm! All of them are! The paladin bands are controlling—”

  A rocky hand clamped down on her throat, and the other hand, still on her shoulder, drove her to her knees.

  “NOW?” Jyelle asked.

  “That won’t be necessary, dear,” Lesaguris said, and Archvoyant Cevirt stepped back a tiny bit. “Mister Slant had the puppeteers under orders to cut away as soon as she started shouting.” He smiled. “This is a private conversation, and I’d appreciate it if Captain Loch had the chance to speak.”

  Jyelle’s hand came off Loch’s throat.

  Loch coughed, spat again, and glared at Lesaguris. “This isn’t over.”

  Lesaguris gave his thoughtful polite nod. “You’re right, Loch. It isn’t. And, honestly, it really won’t be that bad.” He smiled sadly. “The problem is that you had to deal with the Glimmering Folk. They’re monsters. They would have destroyed this world had young Rybindaris not finished what we started. It’s no wonder that you see us as no different.”

  “My mistake,” Loch said, still on her knees. “You’re so much kinder.”

  “This is a good world, Loch,” Lesaguris said. “These are good, simple people. Arikayurichi wanted to destroy it, and he was wrong. It was lucky for him, and for you as well, that you had an ancient in your midst who could see a gentler course.”

  He looked over and nodded, and a golem stepped up onto the podium. In its hands, it held Ghylspwr.

  “Kun-kabynalti osu fuir’is,” Ghylspwr said.

  Loch shook her head. “Screw you, Ghyl.”

  “He saved you,” Lesaguris went on, still polite, “and thanks to him, we have this Republic. We have no intention of destroying it, Loch. There will be no rivers of blood, no cities on fire.” He smiled. “We’re just going to change who’s in charge.”

  Up on Heaven’s Spire, in the temple of Pesyr the Smith, Mister Lively smashed Desidora into a wall hard enough that the iron plating buckled, sending rivets spitting out in all directions.

  The death priest and the death priestess were studies in black and white, and the temple around them had given in fully to the aura of death that surrounded them. Grim gargoyles and skull-faced helmets leered at the battle from the walls, and every weapon dripped with spikes and barbs.

  “This is pointless,” Lively said as Desidora pushed herself back to her feet. “We are evenly matched in magic, and I far outstrip you in physical power. You cannot win.”

  “So it seems.” Desidora’s body ached, but her power shielded her from the worst of it.

  “Then why are you smiling?” Lively demanded, even as he came in swinging.

  Desidora ducked under a blow, but the backhand he followed with flung her to the floor. “Three reasons,” she said, and pushed herself back up as Lively grabbed hold of her hair. She lashed out blindly, caught him across the jaw, and sent him staggering back. Shaking her hair free from his grip, Desidora gave him an icy look. “You said the gods gave you this power . . . but with that power, you b
uilt the gate to the Shadowlands, and how did that work out for you?” She laughed. “Because of your gift, the Glimmering Folk drove you from this world. If the gods favor one of us today, it is not you.”

  Lively roared and lunged at her, and she dove to one side and tore a scythe from the wall. As he turned, she swung.

  She was not fast enough. His hand caught the curved haft of the now silver-and-barbed-everywhere weapon, leaving its long blade inches from his face. “If I were not chosen by the gods, I would not still have my power,” he said.

  “Haven’t thought that through, have you?” Desidora said. “I gained my power to defeat the Glimmering Folk. They are gone, so why am I still here?”

  “A master smith never discards valuable materials,” Lively said, and twisted the scythe from her hands. It fell to the floor, and Lively struck Desidora with a blow that smashed her into the wall again. “When you are weak and dying, I will draw your power into my own. I will hold the power of two death priests, and with that power, I will wreak wonders this world has never seen. What is your second reason?”

  Desidora’s head spun from the impact of the blow. Even her aura could only do so much to protect her. She pushed herself to her knees. “My friends on the ground have disabled whatever your people were going to do. It does not matter if you kill me. You have already lost.”

  Lively laughed. “Your friends may not have won the victories they think, love priestess. But by all means, keep smiling.” He came forward, hands tightening into fists. “It will make your death even sweeter.”

  Desidora sucked in a lungful of breath and waited, and prayed, for the third reason.

  Who are you? What are you?

  You are like us, but not.

  You are not them. They come and walk in the empty place, and we watch from here. They are different. We make ourselves into shapes like theirs. We do what they do. We become what nears us.

  You walk the empty places. How do you not flicker and fade outside? How do you stay you?

  Do you stay you?

  Are you not you?

  We can help.

  Loch, kneeling and bloody but still defiant, stared at Lesaguris. “You can tell yourselves that you’re just kindhearted people, but the only reason we’re having this conversation is because you enslaved some poor idiot, and now you’re working his body like a puppet.”

  Lesaguris rolled his eyes. “Like your Republic is so much better, Loch? Your voyants were happy enough looking down on the world from the city we left for them. Your nobles and your guilds get every bit of sweat and blood they can from the peasants, for as little as they can in return. You Urujar might have shaken off your chains, but most of you are still little more than slaves by any standard that matters.” He smiled. “You can’t disagree with me that strongly. How much time have you spent breaking the laws of the society that you’re trying to save?”

  “If this is your argument that you’re not terrible people,” Loch said, “I’m not entirely convinced.”

  “We’re not terrible people!” Lesaguris snapped, stepping forward to the edge of the podium. “We’re people. That’s all. Smart and foolish, brilliant and flawed people. And you’re not people, not really. Your entire race would probably still be scrabbling in the mud, chasing herd animals with sticks, if we hadn’t come to show this world a better way.”

  “What’s the better way?” Loch asked. “What’s supposed to happen when that beam of energy hits Heaven’s Spire?”

  Lesaguris gave her his thoughtful nod. “You’re a credit to your people, Loch. You did your research, not that it helped you.”

  “NOW?” Jyelle asked, and her grip on Loch tightened.

  “Not yet,” Lesaguris said. “Loch seems very interested in the future of the Republic. I’d like her to see it.”

  “Kutesosh gajair’is,” Ghylspwr said with a note of warning in his voice.

  “Why not?” Lesaguris said, smiling at the other paladins. “I see no reason for her not to know. In a few minutes,” he went on, “that beam of energy you’re talking about will hit Heaven’s Spire, and scatter energy across most of the Republic.”

  “Destroying it?” Loch guessed.

  “Besyn larveth’is,” Ghylspwr called out, sounding insulted.

  “Seeding it,” Lesaguris said. “In a few years, more crystal deposits will be found, a bounty of mining opportunities that will usher in a bold new age of prosperity for the Republic.”

  “And the Empire,” added Princess Veiled Lightning, or the ancient wearing her.

  “More crystalline wonders,” Archvoyant Cevirt said, “more trade with the dwarves who come in to work the mines and the elves who help manufacture fine crystal goods. More paladins.”

  “All for the small price of a little more illness among the livestock,” Mister Skinner said with satisfaction, “mostly the ones who were sickly already, the ones who can’t afford herbs or healers.” He grinned. “Better for the herd in the long run to cull the weak, anyway.”

  “So ordinary people will die,” Loch said slowly, her gaze never leaving Lesaguris. “That’s what you’re saying.”

  “Ordinary people always die, Loch.” Lesaguris shrugged. “That’s their job. If the tables were turned, you’d do the same to us.”

  Mister Skinner was frowning. “Sir,” he said.

  “But you’re not us,” Loch cut in. “You’re creatures living in the paladin bands, enslaving whoever wears them.”

  “Sir!” Skinner said, and gestured at Jyelle, who put a hand over Loch’s mouth.

  “What is it, Skinner?” Lesaguris asked in annoyance, and then paused as he heard the crowd murmuring. As Skinner gestured with Loch’s walking stick, Lesaguris looked over to where he pointed.

  Lesaguris’s face shown huge on the glamour-screens still, and everyone in the crowd was staring at it.

  In the hidden central chamber, Icy Fist looked at Lesaguris and Mister Skinner.

  “I believe they have seen us. Kail?”

  Kail glanced up from the console where he was frantically attuning crystals. “Quick cut to Skinner. He’s got that good gut-punched look. Then back to Lesaguris. No way he shuts up now.”

  Icy nodded to the puppeteers, who looked sickly but grim as they worked the consoles. The puppets of the dragon, the manticore, and the griffon lay discarded on the floor, next to the crushed fragments of three paladin bands.

  Down in the back room of the processing center, Tern stepped back from a crystal array that put anything on Heaven’s Spire to shame, took a deep breath, put her attunement charger down, and flexed her aching hand.

  “Not bad,” she said. “Not bad at all.”

  If Desidora had done her part up on Heaven’s Spire and Kail had gotten Icy’s message and set the font to one-third diffusion, there was a pretty good chance that this wouldn’t just result in a cataclysmic explosion.

  “Um,” came a voice from behind her, and Tern looked to see Westteich backing through the doorway. “There’s a problem outside, and I don’t believe I’m equipped to deal with it.”

  “You have magical armor, asshole.” Tern stomped over. “What problem is beyond your ability to . . . oh.”

  Two Hunter golems came through the processing center toward them.

  “Their spears might be able to penetrate my armor,” Westteich said, “so you can see how it would be wasteful to—”

  “Oh my gods.” Tern closed the door and then shoved a chair in front of it, like that was really going to help.

  “What is your plan?” Westteich asked. “You’ve spent time with some of the greatest criminals in the Republic, you must have some—”

  “I am one of the greatest criminals in the Republic.” Tern picked up her crossbow, cocked it, and drew a pouch full of the sparkling powder that could slow down or even take down a golem. “And my plan is to die fighting and kiss my boyfriend up in heaven.”

  Lesaguris looked down at Skinner with preternatural calm. “Get over there and fix that, pleas
e.”

  “Sir.” Skinner tossed Loch’s walking stick to the ground and hurried off in the direction of the font.

  “Smile,” Loch said. Jyelle’s grip on her mouth had come loose. “You’ve been talking to the entire Republic.”

  In the stands, the crowd was starting to get loud. People on the field were coming their way. They didn’t look entirely certain, but they were asking questions.

  “Do you really think that matters?” Lesaguris gave Loch a tired smile, then looked up over Loch’s head and raised an arm. A flare of crimson light lashed out, and a moment later, a dazzling white light exploded overhead with a force that made everyone on the podium stumble. “As we are no longer talking to the entire Republic . . . Archvoyant Cevirt?”

  “An illusion conjured by Loch’s rogue wizard, Hessler,” said Cevirt promptly.

  “Coupled with mental domination of the crowd here,” Princess Veiled Lightning added, “using Skinner’s captured fairy creatures. Everyone here will attest that that conversation never happened.”

  “Very good.” Lesaguris nodded, then turned to Loch. “Solved.”

  “They won’t all believe,” Loch said.

  Lesaguris laughed. “I don’t care what they believe. They won’t be sure, not enough of them, and they won’t know how much is true, and they won’t know how many other people out there believe what they do. I don’t need them to love us. I just need them to get up every day and do their jobs.” He raised an eyebrow at Loch. “I hope this wasn’t your master plan.”

  “We’re coming up on time,” Cevirt said.

  “Besyn larveth’is,” Ghylspwr added.

  “I’m giving you one last chance,” Loch said. “Leave now. Go through your gate and close it on your side. Do that, and, I swear, we will leave you in peace.”

  Lesaguris pursed his lips. “I appreciate the offer,” he said to the lone unarmed woman being held down by a daemon. “What in the name of all the gods would make me accept it?”