The Prophecy Con (Rogues of the Republic)

by Weekes, Patrick

“Kutesosh gajair’is!” the ax cried.

  Desidora blasted through the corpse and caught the blow from the ax just behind Ghylspwr’s head.

  “I believe that’s our line,” she said, caving in another corpse’s skull with a backhanded strike and then coming in low against the Imperial warrior. His ax knocked the blow aside, and he spun with the motion, coming around with a backhanded strike of his own.

  Desidora slid under it with skill Ghylspwr had lent her, parrying high so that the ax only sliced through a single strand of auburn hair, and as she came back to her feet, Ghylspwr was already circling down, then up and around to come down with a great overhand strike.

  The Imperial warrior blocked it.

  That was just what Ghylspwr had hoped.

  The Imperial warrior smashed down through the deck, the planks giving way to the force of Ghylspwr’s mighty blow, and sank down to his armpits, legs dangling down in the hold below.

  “Hey!” Kail yelled, even as he caved in an undead dwarf’s skull. “Could you not?”

  Desidora smashed through one zombie, then blasted aside another. Ahead of her, Icy leaped, kicked a zombie to the ground, twisted in midair, and somehow kicked a zombie’s head off before landing. “Hessler assured me that they have no souls,” he said as Desidora approached.

  “Their spirits are being held in cruel bondage, prevented from reaching the afterlife—”

  “Diz!” Kail shouted, kicking a zombie in the knee. “Don’t complicate it for the man!”

  “Yes, no souls!” Desidora passed Ghylspwr to Tern, who took it with her one good arm. “Here!”

  “Why am I holding Ghylspwr?” Tern asked. “And did you see Arikayurichi, the Bringer of Order? He’s like Ghylspwr, only Imperial, and I thought maybe they’d be friends, but—”

  “Go!”

  “What?”

  “Ululenia can’t do it without you!”

  Tern looked at Ghylspwr. “Can you get me across even with me only having one useful arm, big guy?”

  “Besyn larveth’is,” said Ghylspwr, which sounded less than entirely confident about the matter.

  “He won’t have to,” Hessler said, and took Ghylspwr from Tern. “Come on.”

  The rangy wizard wrapped one arm around Tern’s waist, swung Ghylspwr up over his head, and started running.

  “I shall clear you a path!” Icy called.

  “But you’re terrified of heights!” Tern shouted to Hessler as Icy threw one zombie into another zombie, giving them a brief open lane.

  “Yes! Desperately!” he shouted back . . . and flung himself from the airship with Ghylspwr held high.

  They crossed the gap together, the wizard and the alchemist, and arced smoothly through the hole in the hull that Ululenia had left open.

  Desidora savored a brief smile. However she might feel about losing her old powers, she was a very good love priestess, and it was always good to see a match work out.

  Then, from behind her, she heard a woman’s voice say, “You were the death priestess, were you not? I can see it in your aura.”

  She turned to see Hunter Shenziencis coming forward, unhampered by the zombies around her. Pyvic and Kail were fighting for their lives across the deck, zombies flanking them both. She had lifted her visor, and her green make-up accentuated her smirk.

  “A pity you have lost your powers,” she said.

  “If she is a Hunter, then she is a golem as well,” Icy said, stepping between Desidora and Shenziencis, “which means that she has no soul, correct?” He had assumed a fighting stance.

  Shenziencis smiled. “Clear a path,” she said, and Desidora felt the magic in the words even as Icy staggered to the side, a thousand tiny snarls of magic twining around him to bend him to the creature’s will.

  It was his words. The words he had spoken in her hearing contained tiny bits of his own aura, and somehow, with her own magic, Shenziencis flung the words back at him to command him.

  Desidora wondered what she had said in the last minute or so, even as Ghylspwr appeared in her hand with a flare of magic.

  She lunged forward.

  “You are held in cruel bondage,” Shenziencis said, and Desidora staggered and stopped, her joints wracked with agony that locked her in place. “And I imagine you will taste delicious.”

  “Okay, I need to get to whatever powers the ticket pedestals,” Tern said, getting back to her feet. She was pale and staggering, and Ululenia touched her injured shoulder and sent a bit of healing her way. Ghylspwr, and to some extent Hessler, had sheltered her as best they could, but it was still more activity than was healthy for the girl.

  “Oh, we made it.” Hessler was still on the ground. “Thank you, Ghylspwr. I could clearly feel when our trajectory began to head downward, and I greatly appreciate your efforts to bring us the rest of the way.”

  “Kun-kabynalti osu fuir’is,” Ghylspwr said, and then flashed away, presumably back to where Desidora was fighting the undead.

  “You’re the best boyfriend ever,” Tern said, swaying in place, “which is why I’m giving you a five-count to rest and recover. Then we go find the place that powers the pedestals. Ululenia, you get to the security center. When the power goes out, switch the . . . crap, what are these things, mushrooms? Switch the things we said to switch.”

  Ululenia sensed Tern’s fear and pain and smiled, letting her horn shine brightly in the pale-green light of the room. “As the seasons pass, each blade of grass knows its place. Let us help my Little One aboard.”

  “Right. Four, five, up and at ‘em, big guy.”

  “I didn’t hear three,” Hessler said, getting back to his feet shakily, followed by, “What are you doing in my pockets?”

  “Crystals,” Tern said. “Anything with crystals sets off the alarms, so . . .” She held up Hessler’s message crystal, smiled, and tossed it out through the hole in the hull.

  “I feel I should have been informed about that before I heroically volunteered to leap across the void with you in my arms,” Hessler said.

  “Remember: best boyfriend ever,” Tern repeated, and tossed Hessler’s attunable thaumaturgic capacitor out as well.

  “The center that nourishes the pedestals is down the hallway.” Ululenia pointed. “Hunt well.”

  Then, with a shimmer, she was a tiny white dove, flapping down the hallway in the other direction and up the stairs.

  The treeship was completely unlike an airship. Ululenia had been on them before, and always came away in awe. Humans sought to master magic, with crystals and daemons bending to their will. The elves worked with magic instead, and the harmony touched her heart.

  She felt the treeship’s living trunk, the energy of life that dwelt in the walls, even the luminescent organs that lit up the hallway, all of it the magic of life.

  It was like being back in the forest. Ululenia had not realized how much she had missed that feeling.

  Or perhaps, she admitted, she was only feeling sentimental because she had lain with a virgin earlier in the morning and broadened the young woman’s world a little.

  She shimmered back into her human shape as she reached the security center. The elven guards lay unconscious in the corner where Desidora had left them, and the pool flickered in countless colors as it sent information from all over the ship.

  She knew that Desidora could understand the energies here at an intellectual level. Ululenia, though, could feel them as a part of herself. She reached out, touched the console, and smiled. While she might not have been able to alter the system herself, any more than she could force a deer to grow an extra lung, she could certainly make the changes Tern asked.

  She turned to close the door, and felt the other mind lunging at her even as she saw black wings framing shining stag’s antlers in the hallway.

  The elven man frowned and looked down at the ticket.


  “Is there a problem?” Loch asked, smiling and not looking up at the sound of battle above.

  “The pedestal seems to be having some difficulty reading your ticket,” the elf said, frowning.

  “That’s odd,” Loch said, and then gasped. “Oh, I may have spilled kahva on it this morning, but I thought I got it all off. Would that do it?”

  The elf smiled, though it was a bit more guarded than it had been before. “Perhaps that is it. I will try it again.”

  “Whatever you feel best,” Loch said, and started reading the rules for the suf-gesuf tournament.

  “You are wiser than most,” Shenziencis said as Desidora sank to her knees, teeth clenched to hold back a scream. “Few have even heard of the Hunters, and fewer still would recognize their armor.”

  “You . . . are no . . . Hunter,” Desidora gasped. She could feel the words sliding into Shenziencis as she said them, knew it was dangerous to give the creature more power to use against her, but as it was, she was already helpless.

  Her own aura was locked down, shackled with her own words flung back at her. Had she been a death priestess . . .

  Shenziencis laughed. “Look at you. So desperate to return to the darkness that you once hated?” She stepped forward. “No, priestess, I am no Hunter. When a Hunter dared come to my domain, those I shared words with tore him apart, and I took what was left for myself.” Her smile was cold and superior and not human in the slightest. “Its weapons have served me well against any of my cousins who dared get in my way.”

  “You are a fairy creature,” Icy said, struggling to move forward.

  “The Temple of Butterflies was not always home to the Empire’s monks, priestess.” She leaned over Desidora, and her jaw unhinged a great deal further than seemed possible as she said, “Every soul lost to the frigid waters of the Iceford was mine.”

  Through the pain, Desidora had a flash of realization. “You.” She pushed the words out through gritted teeth. “Queen of the Cold River.”

  Shenziencis paused, and her gold-shaded eyes narrowed even as her great gaping mouth hung open. Deep in the throat, Desidora saw a light shining in the same color as Ululenia’s horn. “You have learned a great deal,” she said, the words distorted by her impossible jaw.

  Then she frowned. “And where did your hammer go?”

  Ghylspwr blasted into her from behind, the ancient magic cracking her Hunter’s armor and sending her crashing to the ground.

  Justicar Pyvic held the hammer in a two-handed grip and looked down at her.

  “Say nothing,” Desidora gasped, even as the pain that locked her in place suddenly vanished. “She eats words!”

  He raised an eyebrow, shut his mouth, and stepped forward to smash Ghylspwr into Shenziencis again.

  The Hunter’s armor was cracked, straps hanging loose, and she hissed at Pyvic from the deck. “Will you strike me down as I lay helpless?”

  For a moment, Desidora feared he would answer.

  But Loch had chosen well. As much as she loved her witty rejoinders and clever banter, Isafesira de Lochenville had chosen for herself a man who knew when to let his actions speak.

  The armor shattered under the next blow. Ringmail scattered across the deck, greaves and plates and buckles spraying in every direction.

  From the wreckage, a serpent the size of a man—with a woman’s face—darted away, leaving only a husk of empty armor.

  Pyvic raised Ghylspwr, and then twisted against his will, his strike turning into a block as he caught the Imperial warrior’s ax before it cut him down from behind. The effort sent him stumbling back nevertheless, and the Imperial warrior, splinters of wood still dropping from his shoulders, spun his ax as he stepped in to follow up.

  “Ghylspwr!” Desidora cried, and in a flash, he was in her hands, and however fast the Imperial warrior was, it wasn’t fast enough to turn that quickly.

  “Kutesosh gajair’is!” Ghylspwr’s blow smashed into his breastplate from behind—knocking him not down but up—and he sailed from the airship. He should have fallen to his death, but the ax wrenched the warrior’s arm to the side, and he crashed instead into his own airship.

  “Kail,” Desidora called over, and threw Ghylspwr. “I believe it is time for us to leave.”

  “Fine with me!” Kail yelled. Ghylspwr blasted one of the zombies that was on top of him, then flared back into Desidora’s hand. With the rest of the team relatively safe, he looked for the serpent-beast only to see zombies leaping back into their own airship with the thing that was Shenziencis in their arms.

  She smashed in the skulls of the few remaining zombies on Iofegemet, covering her shuddering and shaking with grunts as she struck, and tried to forget the feeling of the dark coils wrapped around her aura.

  And how once again, it had fallen to another to save her.

  “That should do it,” Tern said, stepping back from what she swore was some kind of fern covered in slime. The lights in the room flickered, then came back to normal. “Now, if Ululenia swapped the mushrooms or whatever the hell they are, Loch should be good to go.”

  “You’re welcome, by the way,” Hessler said, wiping his hands on his robes.

  “Only had one arm,” Tern said.

  “A fact that is both compelling and convenient,” Hessler said. “I suppose we should join up with Ululenia.”

  They headed back down the hallway. An elven guard headed their way, and Hessler covered them with a cloaking field until he was gone.

  “You are very good at that,” Tern said.

  “Cloaking fields are more difficult than the layman really expects,” Hessler said as they started walking again, “given that the caster has to decide whether to make the body of the target perfectly transparent—which gives more reliable cloaking, but also risks severe damage to the target if the spell goes awry—or create a bubble that projects an image of what a viewer would see if the object inside the bubble were not present, which is far more difficult, but . . .” He broke off. “I mean, thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” She leaned against him, letting him take the lead for a little bit. “You don’t need to do more than illusions to impress me.”

  “What about to save you?” Hessler asked. “My illusions nearly got you killed.”

  “Overloading the railway bindings and freeing the fire-daemon didn’t help either,” Tern said.

  “So what?” Hessler asked, and she heard the pain in his voice. “I should just stick to the figments instead of trying anything beyond me?”

  “I like the figments,” Tern said, “and you were plenty useful. You could maybe worry less about impressing me and just keep doing what you were doing . . . which was impressing me.”

  He looked away, flushing. “I didn’t say it was to impress you.”

  “You didn’t have to. I am a sensitive and caring girlfriend.”

  They reached the stairs up to the passenger deck and started up.

  Then the door opened quickly, and Ululenia stepped through and closed the door behind her. She was out of breath, her pale hair askew and her horn not shining. She held up a hand to stop them, and it was red and blistered.

  “What’s wrong?” Hessler asked.

  Ululenia listened for a moment, looking at the closed door as though she could see something behind.

  Then she turned and gave them a thin smile. “Nothing. Everything is going as planned.”

  Another elven guard was moving very casually into a position on Loch’s left.

  “Ma’am?” Dairy asked beside her.

  “All within the parameters of the plan,” she murmured.

  “Perhaps one more time, then,” the first elf said, “and then I am afraid that the situation will be outside my ability to help you. However, you may be assured that one of our other experts will ensure that your needs are met.”

&nbs
p; One of the other experts had just taken up a polite stance that ensured Loch would be blocked if she made a run for it.

  “As you say,” she said, and gestured for him to try again.

  He placed the ticket on the pedestal.

  The pedestal blinked, went silent for a moment, and then finally chimed happily.

  “Ah, good,” Loch said, and swept past the elf with a smile.

  “It is our hope that you enjoy your trip,” he said, still seeming a little doubtful, as Loch crossed the gangplank with Dairy in tow and stepped onto the deck of the great treeship.

  “Gawk for me,” she murmured. “How are Kail and the others doing?”

  “They’re flying off,” Dairy said. “The alarms are still going, though, and there’s another airship. And part of the railing is on fire.”

  “As long as they’re leaving, we’re good.”

  “Is that part of the plan?” Dairy asked with a little edge in his voice that wouldn’t have been there a few months ago.

  “Right. I was going to show you the plan once we were aboard.” She fished into her pocket and came out with a slip of paper. “Here you go.” She passed it over.

  Dairy unfolded the paper as Loch started walking. “Wait.”

  She took in the treeship. The deck was spacious and crowded even still. The wood was light underfoot and dark at the railings, shining as though it had been smoothed, though it gripped her feet like living bark with every step. Elves leaned at the railing, chatting happily, the crystals in their cheeks sparkling. Humans, some white, some Urujar, and a few even Imperial, looked at the treeship curiously while their servants carried the luggage aboard.

  Fairy creatures walked the deck as well. A pixie fluttered past, her wings shining in all the colors of the rainbow, while a centaur, elven from the waist up and deer from the waist down, trotted after her, laughing, a crown of leaves glowing around his head.

  “Ma’am. Loch.” Dairy came up beside her. “All this says is ‘Get in. Get book. Get out.’”

  “I was unconscious this time yesterday,” Loch said. “What did you expect?”