The Prophecy Con (Rogues of the Republic)

by Weekes, Patrick

  “I expect you to surrender,” Princess Veiled Lightning said as she stepped out from around the corner and came at Loch, hands crackling with blue energy, “but I hope you fight.”

  Seventeen

  DAIRY,” LOCH SAID, “if you would?”

  Dairy stepped into Veiled Lightning’s path, and the Imperial princess reached out, the first two fingers of her hand straightened to a point that shone with radiant azure light.

  She hit Dairy, and energy played around him, sputtered, and died out.

  “I was pretty sure that qualified as magic,” Loch said. “Where’s your muscle?”

  “Only pretty sure?” Dairy asked.

  “My bodyguard and Attendant Shenziencis were covering your airship, on the chance that you would attempt to flee that way.” Veiled Lightning tried to sidestep Dairy, then glared when he moved to block her again. “But I knew you would come here.”

  “Here’s where the book is.” Loch smiled. “Remember how I tried to surrender last time, and your idiot bodyguard came at me anyway and crashed the train and killed innocent people?”

  Veiled Lightning glared. “You crashed the train yourself to escape him. At least have the honor to own your murders.”

  “Oh, right, you’d already gone down by that point. Is that what Gentle Thunder told you? I guess he guards you from unpleasant truths. Did he hide the fact that he and Shenziencis killed a justicar to find out I was at Ajeveth, or were you there for that one?” Loch took a quick glance at the crowd of humans and elves and fairy creatures starting to form around them. “Dairy, I’ll need a moment.”

  With that, she stepped back, cut politely through the crowd, and walked briskly toward the treeship’s main hall.

  “Ma’am?”

  “All part of the plan, Dairy,” she called without looking back.

  “I saw the plan!”

  And then she heard the sound of punches flying and lightning crackling.

  The crowd watched her walk through the great arched doorway but did nothing to stop her, though murmurs were moving around the deck. She guessed she had five minutes at most.

  The main hall had windows running along its sides and a raised stage at the far end. The overhead chandeliers were formed from what looked like petrified sap, shining with the pale light of a fall afternoon. At night, guests who did not wish to dine in their cabins could come to the main hall for meals suited to human, elven, and fairy-creature appetites, after which the chairs and tables were removed to make room for drinks and dancing. Loch guessed that the suf-gesuf tournament would be held in here as well.

  The bar was open at the moment, and those with strong livers or a fear of flying were already taking advantage of the unlimited service, which gave Loch enough of a crowd to lose the eyes.

  Then, by the windows on the right, Loch saw Irrethelathlialann holding a wineglass and speaking to a massive, red-bearded man whose fine robes could not completely hide the muscles underneath. He looked human, but the ship carried both humans and very dangerous things that looked human, and Loch knew which group she’d put the red-bearded man in.

  She stepped into a crowd of laughing human nobles, laughed along with them, and spotted Baron Lechien, the noble who’d been ahead of her in the line. “Hello again,” she said, smiling and leaning in a little. “Signed up for the tournament already?”

  “Just did, yes.” He blinked, having already forgotten her, but Loch was smiling, so he went along with it. “And you?”

  She put herself opposite the noble. The crowd outside was getting louder, and elven guards with wooden blades and leaf-armor were making their way to the door with the purposeful, no-eye-contact body language that all discreet guards who worked for wealthy people learned to cultivate. “I was considering signing up. Sounds more interesting than looking at a bunch of trees, and it’s either that or listen to everyone complain about things going to hell with the Imperials.” She looked at the wealthy Imperial man who’d been talking to the noble, shrugged with a bit more shoulder than usual, and smiled helplessly. “No offense.”

  “None taken.” The Imperial man wore rose-colored spectacles that matched his flowing silk robe, and he smiled genially while staring at Loch’s chest. “Who knows what foolishness our two countries will put themselves through before returning to the beneficial friendship we all want?”

  “Exactly.” Loch leaned against Lechien a little. “Where do I sign up? Might as well spend the family inheritance somehow on this trip.”

  Lechien put his hand on the small of her back while the Imperial man pointed down the hall toward the stage. “Right down there.”

  “Great!” She smiled, looked past him, and saw Irrethelathlialann staring directly at her. He stepped away from the large red-bearded man he was talking to and gestured to one of the guards who was passing by. “Oh, crap. Really, he can’t just let it go?” As the Imperial man and Lechien looked at her in confusion, she sighed. “The elf over there, the rich one with the green cheeks? He’s been bothering me ever since my family did business with him last year. You know how it is—don’t want to cause offense, but he refuses to take the hint that I’m more interested in . . .” She looked over at Lechien and lowered her lashes a little. “. . . men.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t worry about that,” Baron Lechien said, puffing out his chest a bit. The Imperial man chuckled.

  “I think I’ll go sign up,” Loch said, easing herself from Lechien’s arm with a smile. “Hope to run into you both later.”

  Somewhere, her sister was laughing. Loch wanted a long hot bath.

  She strutted through the main hall, shoulders and hips tossing off the scent of money and power with every step.

  Behind her, Irrethelathlialann called, “Well, fancy meeting—” and then broke off.

  “I think the lady would rather be left alone,” Baron Lechien said, and Loch heard the sound of robes swishing and boots stomping manfully.

  She kept going.

  Behind her and to the left, a window shattered, and people shouted in surprise as someone hit the ground. “Sorry!” Dairy cried, and Loch nodded to herself without looking up.

  “Isafesira!” came the yell from by the window, and Loch spared a single glance to look around like everyone else was doing to see who this Isafesira person was and what trouble she might have gotten herself into. In the corner of her vision, elven guards were coming in from side doors on both sides.

  She reached the main stage, ignored the stairs, and vaulted up with an effort that made her wounded side pull a little. The pretty elven woman behind the signup table looked at her with polite surprise.

  “I’d like to sign up for the tournament,” she said, and as the elven woman opened her mouth, Loch unbuckled her belt and dropped her sword on the table. “This is the Nine-Ringed Dragon, legendary sword of the Empire. I believe it should cover the buy-in. Agreed?”

  “Ah—”

  The elven guards were coming up the stairs, although some of them had moved to stop Veiled Lightning, judging by the sound of electricity crackling in the main hall and people yelling in surprise. “The sword is genuine. I swear it. If you later believe its worth to be less than the buy-in, you may ask me to cover the difference, but I will be greatly offended if you refuse this, and it will adversely affect my enjoyment of my trip, now do we have an agreement and where do I sign?”

  The elven woman stammered, and finally, as the guards reached the stage, produced a page and a pen. “Well, then, I suppose—”

  “That’s a yes.” Loch grabbed the pen and wrote her name just as half a dozen swords pressed gently into her back.

  “We are not technically in the Elflands yet,” Irrethelathlialann said coldly from behind her, “so it would probably break some kind of law to kill you.”

  Loch turned around extremely slowly. “Probably,” she said, smiling. “So what do you intend
to do, then?”

  Irrethelathlialann stepped past the elven guards until his face was just inches from Loch’s. “I can think of nothing worse for you,” he murmured, “than to see you ejected from this treeship and tossed back into that little town, watching helplessly as I leave and your pathetic country goes off to war.”

  Loch blinked. “That does sound bad.”

  She very slowly lifted a hand and showed Irrethelathlialann the card in it.

  “It also violates rule seven, that no member of the tournament be denied admission once payment has been accepted until such time as he-slash-she has dropped out, or the tournament is complete.”

  The elven woman at the table behind Loch squeaked.

  Irrethelathlialann closed his eyes and pressed his lips together, and Loch smiled.

  “See you at the table.”

  Captain Thelenea of the treeship whose name Loch had never quite figured out was a tall elven woman whose crystals glittered like angry diamonds in her age-lined cheeks. Her skin was darker than many of the elves Loch had seen, closer to olive green than the mint or emerald she saw on most of them. She wore a long black coat and trousers rather than the robes most elves favored, and the sword that hung at her waist was most definitely metal and not wood.

  “Am I to understand,” she said, standing with her arms behind her back while Loch sat flanked by a pair of guards, “that you wish to participate in the suf-gesuf tournament despite having boarded my ship illegally?”

  “The rules say that the tournament is open to anyone on the ship,” Loch said. “It specifies nothing about having to purchase a ticket.”

  Irrethelathlialann stalked across the room, his robes flaring. “You think you can game the system, Isafesira? You’re in my homeland now.”

  “Oh, we crossed the border? Glad to hear it.” Loch grinned. “Too late to dump me back in port.” As Irrethelathlialann shook his head, Loch’s grin faded. “Stings a bit when it’s your country’s rules being sidestepped, doesn’t it?”

  Captain Thelenea raised a gloved hand in Loch’s direction. “I’ll refund the buy-in, pay for your passage back to Republic territory, drop the trespassing and fraud charges, and give you a discount on your next legally purchased ticket.”

  “You can keep the buy-in,” Loch said, “and forget about the discount—if you have Ethel here return the elven manuscript he stole. It’s the only reason I’m here.”

  Irrethelathlialann laughed. “You have committed an act of war against the Elflands—”

  “And you are the reason that act of war against the Elflands is on my ship,” Captain Thelenea cut him off, “a fact you neglected to warn me about when you took advantage of my hospitality.”

  Irrethelathlialann smiled thinly. “I was on the Dragon’s business, Captain. Is it your wish to get in the way of that business?”

  The silence hung between the two elves for a long moment.

  “She plays,” Captain Thelenea finally said, and Irrethelathlialann shook his head and turned away with a snarl. “The sword is good for two hundred plus twenty, so she starts with eleven thousand.” She turned and gave Loch a hard smile. “Anyone confident enough to bluff her way onto a ship to enter a tournament must be a professional, and I’m permitted to place bounties on professionals. Five thousand to whoever knocks her out,” she said, and smiled at Irrethelathlialann. “At which point, Ambassador, she’s all yours to dump off in the Republic.”

  “You’re making a mistake, Captain,” he said, the stones in his cheeks glittering balefully.

  Captain Thelenea kept smiling, one hand on her sword. “And hopefully you will remember the kind of mistakes I tend to make next time you consider bringing trouble onto my ship.”

  Irrethelathlialann stalked out the door and slammed it behind him without replying. The captain waved to the guards flanking Loch, and they bowed and left as well, shutting the door much more quietly.

  “I regret causing you difficulty,” Loch said, giving a small seated bow.

  “No, you don’t.” Captain Thelenea gave Loch a flat-eyed look.

  Loch tried not to smile. “I am pained at the necessity, then?”

  Captain Thelenea sighed. “For your sake, Urujar, I hope you either play well enough to win or poorly enough to lose before Irrethelathlialann tires of my rules.” She fixed Loch with a look. “I recommend caution.”

  “It is appreciated.”

  “You are welcome to enjoy a complimentary cabin on the passenger deck. It should be large enough for you, your servant, and any other servants my crew might have mistakenly missed during check-in . . . since they came in through the hole in the side of my ship.” Captain Thelenea picked up the card with the tournament rules on it, twirled it through her fingers, and then flicked it away so quickly that the card stuck in the wall, quivering. “Now, it is my solemn hope that you feel free to get the hell out of my quarters.”

  Loch got the hell out of her quarters.

  “So the good news,” said Kail to nobody in particular, “is that we know who made all the zombies.”

  He was piloting the now significantly damaged Iofegemet toward Heaven’s Spire. With luck, a good headwind, and no further disintegration of the main deck, they could reach the floating capital city soon.

  Icy and Pyvic were doing what they could to repair the shattered deck and burned railing, while Desidora leaned against a non-burned section of railing looking moody and contemplative.

  “I don’t suppose we know what she is, exactly?” Kail added.

  “Naga,” Desidora said without looking back from the railing. “Very powerful. Most of their magic is tied to the voice.”

  “Didn’t figure it was tied to her arms, what with her being a snake and all.” Kail took a reading and adjusted course slightly. “So we kill her, we stop the zombies, right? No more war with the Empire, everybody calms down.”

  “Just like they calmed down after Heaven’s Spire scorched several acres of farmland with a blast of fire from the sky?” Pyvic asked, pulling a plank into place and then rolling his eyes as Icy drove a nail into the plank with the palm of his hand to secure it.

  “We were unable to locate a hammer,” Icy said by way of explanation, driving another nail in, “except Ghylspwr, who was somewhat insulted by the suggestion that he be used to drive in nails, and yes, I concur with your assessment. The Republic will continue its offensive, and the Empire, if indeed it had no hand in these attacks, will defend itself from perceived aggression.”

  “Why do you say if ?” Pyvic grabbed another plank.

  Icy was silent for a moment as he drove another nail into place. Finally, he looked over at Desidora. “Are my concerns groundless?”

  “No.” She still didn’t look back.

  Kail looked from Icy to Desidora, and then at Pyvic, who shrugged. “Care to share?”

  “The body is composed of energy centers,” Desidora said, “called chakras. There are . . . well, the exact number depends upon how you classify them—”

  “Seven,” said Icy.

  “Of course, that is the commonly agreed-upon number, plus some ancillary energy centers that may or may not—”

  “Or simply seven,” said Icy, “since I have been meditating since the age of five and am well-versed in chakras.” He turned to Kail. “Fairy creatures are tied to one of the chakras in ways that may or may not be evident. Ululenia manifests her abilities through the brow, or third-eye, chakra.” He touched his forehead. “Shenziencis manifests hers through the throat chakra.”

  “That fits with her using people’s words against them,” Pyvic said. “What’s the problem?”

  “The chakras at the top or base of the spine tend to radiate outward,” Desidora said, “while those closer to the middle of the body stay closer. It makes sense for Ululenia to be able to affect minds at a distance, since her magic manifests through th
e brow.”

  Kail nodded slowly as he got it. “But those undead attacks have been happening over at the border while naga-lady has been out here attacking us.”

  “We know she’s involved somehow.” Pyvic stood up, dusting sawdust from his knees as he did. “I’m inclined to take her down first and try to determine how she increased her effective control range later.”

  “Assuming that whatever extends her power does not also make it impossible for us to take her down.” Desidora’s voice held a hint of bitterness. “If I were—”

  “Does Tasheveth ever get tired of your ‘If I were still a death priestess’ thing?” Kail asked. “I’m just asking for her. The rest of us are great with it.”

  “Kail.” Pyvic gave him a look. “Uncalled for.”

  “I’m sorry,” Desidora said after a long, quiet moment. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I let Silestin hurt you. I should have seen that he was using the lapiscaela to bind the souls of prisoners in the Cleaners. I should have read it in your aura and broken the binding upon you before Silestin ever used it.” She turned to him, then, and her voice caught. “But I didn’t. I missed it.”

  “Lo and behold,” Kail said, “being a death priestess doesn’t magically solve everything.”

  She blinked, forced a smile, and looked away. “Then I guess it’s a good thing I have the hammer.”

  Icy coughed. “The one piece of information we do have regarding Shenziencis is that she has served as attendant at the Temple of Butterflies for as long as anyone can remember. If she was the Queen of the Cold River, then her presence at the temple may predate the Empire.”

  “The temple is older than the Empire itself?” Pyvic asked, and Icy nodded.

  “Like Heaven’s Spire, it was left behind by the ancients.”

  “Speaking of Heaven’s Spire,” Kail said, checking his control console for the third time, “we may have a situation.”

  Pyvic looked over. “What’s wrong with Heaven’s Spire?”

  “I’ll let you know,” said Kail, gesturing out at the empty sky ahead of them, “as soon as we find it.”