“Wait,” said Hessler, squinting over at her. “Oh, dear.”
Loch stared at him.
“Before I was knocked out,” Hessler said, “I cast a transmutation spell. I thought it would help me get the book off the train more easily.”
She blinked.
Hessler gestured at the book, and with a crackle of magic, it shimmered and shifted.
A moment later, a very nice elven dagger lay on the deck instead.
“I don’t suppose,” Hessler said, “that you picked up something that looks like this? Because that’s how I disguised the book, and you can see how . . .”
Loch let him keep talking as she passed out.
Thirteen
THE SUN ROSE at the border between the Republic and the Empire, and the dead rose with it.
Uribin was a tall, broad-shouldered Urujar man who’d been eating way too much of his restaurant’s fine cooking in the years since the last war. He had served as a scout under Captain Loch, who would’ve been a colonel if she hadn’t been Urujar, and when they’d made it back into Republic territory, he had happily washed his hands of the military and retired to a life with a good woman and good food. A few weeks back, his biggest concern had been whether an influx of water sprites would affect the local fishing and force him to raise the price on his prized catfish entrees.
When the Republic soldiers had asked him to join, he’d slapped his gut and laughed.
They hadn’t laughed back.
They had told him three things, and after the third thing, he had signed back on.
Now Uribin hunched in thick bushes with a squad of boys and girls barely old enough to shave and watched water drip off the zombies pulling themselves from the Iceford.
“They have death priests,” a girl in his squad said, her voice cracking on the end.
“It’s not a death priest.” Uribin kept watching. Some of the dead were bare skeletons. Others were mostly whole. They all shambled out of the water with blades in their hands. “Look at the bodies.”
“The old man’s right,” said another of the kids. “Death priests usually raise a few very powerful undead, or enhance themselves. There are wizard’s spells that can animate a zombie, though.”
Slipping and stumbling, the dead clawed up the bank of the river. They were coming toward the border. Since Uribin and the kids were on the Imperial side of that border, that meant that the zombies would be coming right past them. They were well out of hearing range for the time being, but the newly risen were getting closer.
“Damn it, they didn’t pay me enough for this,” another boy muttered. He was technically the commanding officer of the squad.
The first thing the Republic soldiers had told Uribin was how much he’d be paid for his services as an expert consultant in scouting behind Imperial lines. It was an absurd amount, more than his restaurant would make in a year, and when he heard that they were serious, that they wanted him back that badly, he had stopped laughing and told them to leave.
He shook his head now. “Look at the bodies, sir,” Uribin said again. “Some of them whole, some old and worn to nothing. What’s that tell you?”
Uribin’s commanding officer looked at him blankly, but the one whose voice had cracked a moment ago piped up. “Any river has fish,” she said. “If those bodies were down there for a long time, they’d have been picked to the bone.”
“So what?” Uribin’s commanding officer said, glaring at both of them. “If I was a fish, I wouldn’t eat any damn zombie, either.” He was half-Urujar, his nose narrow and planed from the Old Kingdom blood, his skin dark but also freckled, making him look like one of the baked potatoes Uribin wished he were preparing right now. He was shaking with fear as he spoke. “Now, listen, if we fall back, we can be in the woods before they get close. Their path—”
“Their path takes them into the Republic,” Uribin said. “and if some of them are whole, that means they weren’t in that river the whole time. They marched or crawled or swam down that river. Now, the Iceford comes out of the mountains that mark the border and goes clean into the Republic. The zombies are out now, because we’re near white water, which would bang them up, but as soon as it gets calm again, they can wade back in.”
“They’re going to come in by the river and hit the Republic by surprise,” said the girl who’d figured out the bit with the fish. Her voice no longer cracked. She had some Imperial in her, by the tilt of her eyes, and some Urujar as well, and a bit of everything, really. She reminded him a little of Captain Loch, the woman who’d gotten Uribin, Kail, and the rest through a mission that had left them deep inside the Empire with no one but themselves to depend on. A young Captain Loch, anyway.
That was the second thing the Republic soldiers had told him—the average age of a soldier in the Republic these days, and the percentage who’d served in the war, much less seen any time behind enemy lines. They’d told him that instead of leaving, and Uribin had poured them a drink and pretended that it was a long day mashing the potatoes that was making his hands shake.
Now, Uribin said, “Captain, they give you one of those new message crystals?”
The boy looked at Uribin, swallowed, and glared. “We can try the message crystal once we’re safe, Consultant. We won’t be any help to the Republic if we get ourselves killed.”
One of the others gestured frantically, and they lowered their voices. The dead were closer now, their steps uneven and halting, some of them dragging blades behind them instead of holding them up. They formed a single, mindless crowd. There were more of them still coming out of the river, like an eel that kept getting longer as you pulled it from its hole.
“We fall back, we’re falling back into Imperial territory,” Uribin said quietly. “That crystal got enough range to send a message from in there?”
“We can find out later,” the boy said, fixing Uribin with a steady authoritative look he had learned in some school somewhere. “For now, my orders are—”
Uribin’s fist cracked across the boy’s jaw. He lowered the boy gently to the ground, then fished the message crystal from the boy’s pocket. It blinked red.
“Too far,” he muttered, and looked at the others. They stared at him wide-eyed. “We can’t send a message to warn anybody from here.”
In the distance, but not enough of a distance, he heard footsteps crashing now. He held up a hand across his mouth, then switched to the hand-signs the scouts used. Need to get message out. No message, our people die.
Get up onto hill, the girl signed back. Need clear target line to signal.
You confirm? Uribin signed. Scouts hadn’t had message crystals when he’d been in service, and he wished he’d had more time to learn how they worked.
I confirm. Her fingers were trembling, but her stare was sharp. We get up on hill, we send signal.
Uribin looked up at the hillside ahead of them. The dead were following its slope, making their way steadily toward the Republic border. There were bushes and trees, and an expert scout might possibly be able to make it past dead eyes and rotting ears to the hilltop without being seen.
Uribin hadn’t been an expert scout for several years and several pounds, and nobody on this squad of raw recruits had the skill. Byn-Kodar’s hell, they were children.
And that had been the third thing the Republic soldiers had told Uribin. They’d pointed at the two little bracelets Uribin wore and said the names of Uribin’s two little girls. They’d asked if Uribin wanted to stop a war from spilling over the Republic again.
Uribin had cursed them long and loud, and then he had taken the offer.
Now, Uribin handed the message crystal to the girl. You are the package, he signed, and then, to the rest of the squad. She is the package. She gets up hill. We make noise and distract. Then retreat to where we camped last night.
And then, because they were standing
there looking at him wide-eyed, Uribin swallowed, said the names of his wife and his little girls like a prayer, and drew his sword.
Then he burst from the bushes with a shout and plunged into the line of the dead.
Captain Pyvic sat in the kahva-house with Ululenia, Desidora, and Ghylspwr. After rescuing Desidora and losing the fairy book that might have explained what everyone wanted with the damned elven manuscript, none of them had gotten a lot of good sleep the night before.
“All right,” he said, cradling a warm cup between his hands, “what do we know?”
“We know that someone unknown to us has access to the magic of the ancients,” Desidora said, cradling her hammer, “and they don’t want the knowledge contained in Ruminations upon the Unutterable to surface.”
Which also touches upon the ancients in some manner whose light has not yet opened the petals of our minds. Ululenia normally stuck with spring water, but this morning, she had put a teabag in it. Her dress was still lightly scorched in places from their battle with the golems.
Pyvic grimaced. “What I know about the ancients couldn’t fill this cup.” He glanced at Desidora. “Does your hammer know anything that could help us?”
“Kun-kabynalti osu fuir’is,” Ghylspwr rumbled.
“I’m sorry.” Desidora looked down at her hammer, then back at Pyvic with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I don’t think Ghylspwr’s knowledge extends to magical safeguards left behind after the ancients departed.”
Pyvic let the thought bounce around in his mind a little. “Why would the ancients care about what happened to the world once they were gone?”
“Besyn larveth’is,” Ghylspwr said, sounding a little hurt.
“Of course you do,” Desidora murmured, then said to the rest of the group, “They fled the world to stop the Glimmering Folk from gaining a foothold. Perhaps there is still some danger that the Glimmering Folk could return.”
Were that true, Ululenia said, you would be a lynx and not a butterfly.
That made even less sense to Pyvic than what Ululenia normally said, but Desidora ducked her head, and quietly said, “Point taken.”
“So the Glimmering Folk are no longer a threat,” Pyvic said. That meant something, clearly. But what?
The door to the kahva-house banged open, and Justicar Derenky stepped in. His freckled face was flushed, and his blond hair was disheveled, as though he’d been running. He saw Pyvic and smiled, still breathing hard. “Captain.”
“Derenky.” Whatever Pyvic had been thinking about vanished. “Something couldn’t wait until I came in?”
“We weren’t certain when you’d come in, sir, given how much time you’ve been spending outside the office lately.” Derenky smiled at Ululenia and Desidora.
Pyvic smiled, clenching his teeth ever so slightly. “They’re helping with a case, Derenky.”
“Right, sir.” Derenky held up a file. “And to that end, we got back the information request you made on this Irreth . . . ethel . . .”
“The elf.” Pyvic took the file.
“I took the liberty of looking through it,” Derenky said as Pyvic flipped it open. “He is one of the few that regularly leaves the Elflands, which is why we have anything at all. He seems to be an agent of an important figure known only as the Dragon.”
Ululenia spit out her tea.
“Something you want to tell us?” Desidora asked.
“He rules the Elflands,” Ululenia said. “He is very powerful, and very dangerous, and . . .” She massaged her head. “And we are nipping at his heels.”
“He’s not an actual dragon, though, is he?” Pyvic asked.
“Most of the time, the elf purchases old art on behalf of this Dragon,” Derenky added, “though he’s proven deadly when crossed with would-be thieves.” He smiled thinly.
“I’ll read the file,” Pyvic said. “Thank you. Any reason this couldn’t wait until I was in?”
“The elf was last seen on the train involved in last night’s incident.” Derenky coughed, looking at Ululenia and Desidora a bit nervously. “Given the possible concerns with our own problems in that area, it seemed best to get you this information as quickly as possible. The last thing we need is trouble with the dwarves while the Empire is still marching.”
Pyvic fixed Derenky with a steady look that lasted until the man flinched. “What train?” he asked. “And what do you mean ‘marching’?”
The door banged open again, and Jyrre rushed inside. “Captain, sorry, but this couldn’t wait—” She broke off as she saw Derenky. “I told you I had it.”
“We received more information that seemed pertinent,” Derenky said, “and I reached the captain first, despite leaving some time after you did. Perhaps you need some time on the obstacle training course.”
“Sorry, Captain,” Jyrre said again, running a shaking hand through her braided hair. “Thought you’d be at home. Two items.”
“There’s a train, presumably,” Pyvic said, looking from Jyrre to Derenky in irritation. “Will one of you be telling me the rest any time soon?”
“A train crashed on the dwarven railway,” Jyrre said. “It was carrying the elven diplomat you asked for more information on. Witness reports are few as of yet, but at least one places Loch at the scene.”
“All right.” Pyvic drank the rest of his kahva in one big gulp.
“All right?” Derenky coughed. “I’m not sure you understand how bad it is to have a justicar, particularly one who has recently been accused of a crime, be tied to a train wreck, sir.”
“I’ve got an inkling,” Pyvic said.
“Sir, if she is involved, we’ll need to act directly in order to avoid the appearance of a conflict of interest, given your relationship with arrogant apple, babbling brook, creeping cat,” Derenky said, and blinked as he trailed off into merciful silence.
“Thank you,” Pyvic said to a space in the air midway between Derenky and Ululenia. “Jyrre, you said there were two items.”
She nodded, her mouth drawing tight. “The Empire is marching troops toward the border. One of our scouting units got a warning out before they went dark.”
Pyvic shut his eyes. They had been so close. Loch might already have the book, for all they knew.
“How long do we have?” Desidora asked.
“Not long.” Jyrre grimaced. “They hid in the river until they were close to the border, or we’d have gotten more warning.”
“In the river?” Desidora asked.
Jyrre nodded grimly. “The Imperials raised an army of the dead.”
Attendant Shenziencis made her way through the wrecked train cars as the sun rose.
The dwarves were efficient. Already, she could feel their repair train racing down the railway, a little hum of magic vibrating inside those hateful silver tracks. She stepped carefully, avoiding the tracks and any stray bits of silver that had been snapped free when the train jumped the tracks and twisted itself to a stop. In her armor, stolen long ago from one of the ancients’ hunter golems, she was largely safe, but she had not lived as long as she had by trusting such protections casually.
The dwarves would be here in an hour, perhaps less. Shenziencis had fed well, and gained several victims who had gifted her with their words, but she still had a little time.
Up ahead, a dwarf lay pinned under a pile of rubble that had once been part of a wall. His skin was gray, and the armor that marked him as one of their guards was torn, much like her own.
The dagger that Isafesira de Lochenville had thrown had come close enough for her to feel the magic locking the dagger in its form, and the manuscript beneath that form pushing to get out. Shenziencis had seen the surprised joy on the elf’s face as his hand closed around the weapon. She wondered if he had seen her own shock.
She had been so close.
The dwarf had been as
leep or unconscious, but roused as she approached. “I would appreciate assistance,” he said, his voice weak but still steady.
“What do you wish me to do?” Shenziencis asked.
The dwarf looked surprised to see her ask. He struggled a bit under the rocks. “My legs are pinned.”
Shenziencis shook her head. “I did not ask for an explanation. What do you wish me to do?”
“Help me,” the dwarf snapped, and then added, “please.”
“Help you how?”
“You could . . .” The dwarf paused, thought. Shenziencis leaned a little closer, nodding without words. “Dig up the rubble, I think. Then you could pull me out.”
“I’m sorry,” Shenziencis said, shaking her head, “but that isn’t enough. I think you will stay.”
“Stay? What do you want? What do—” He broke off as her spear came to rest against his throat. “Wait. Stop! Don’t kill me!”
That was better. “If I free you, will you go, and never come back?” She prodded his throat as he nodded. “I need to hear it.”
He swallowed, tears forming in his eyes. “I swear, if you free me, I will go, and never come back.”
“Good.” Shenziencis smiled and stepped away. Then she let the magic well up in her, glowing beneath her armor. “Dig free.”
The words took hold in him, and his arms moved with frenzied strength, shoving the rocks aside. Shenziencis heard the bones in his hands pop and crack, heard tendons tear with the effort, but he kept moving.
In but a few moments, enough of the rubble was clear for her to give the next command. “Come out.”
Skin tore from his legs as he wrenched himself free from the rubble. Tears streamed freely down his cheeks. “What are—”
“Stop.” He froze. “Come up.”
He jerked himself upright on broken, bleeding legs.
She slit his throat quickly and mercifully with a single slash of her spear, then used the spearpoint to hold him upright until the life left his eyes.
Then, when it was over, she let the magic flow through her again.
The Prophecy Con (Rogues of the Republic) Page 22