The Prophecy Con (Rogues of the Republic)

by Weekes, Patrick

  Veiled Lightning glared death at Loch and lunged in, her fists blurring with a series of strikes that battered Loch’s guard until a high spinning kick broke through it and cracked across Loch’s jaw.

  Loch’s fist caught Veiled Lightning’s ribs. Loch’s elbow caught her forehead. Loch’s foot caught her knee.

  Nose bloody and face flushed, Veiled Lightning spun and leaped with a high kick that might well have taken Loch’s head off.

  Loch caught her, pivoted, and hurled her into the mirror over the sink.

  Princess Veiled Lightning hit the ground, moved like she was going to get up, and then slumped back down.

  Loch flexed her jaw as she walked into one of the stalls. She was going to need a drink with ice in it later.

  She sat, did her business, and indulged in a few deep breaths.

  Then she heard the sound of heavy booted feet clopping on the bathroom floor.

  The underside of the stall had about a foot of clearance, so Loch could see the booted feet come in, walk past the shattered glass of the mirror, and stride down the length of the bathroom to stop before her stall.

  “Isafesira de Lochenville,” came a deep and not entirely human voice, “we need to talk.”

  Nineteen

  THE BOOTED FEET belonged to the large, red-bearded man Loch had seen talking to Irrethelathlialann earlier.

  He stepped aside politely as Loch came out of the stall. He was a head taller than she was, and up close, his fine elven robes hung over a broad body of corded muscle and sinew. He had a prominent, oft-broken nose, a beard that could have hidden several daggers and a set of lock picks, and laugh lines around his eyes.

  “You’re the Dragon,” Loch said, and went over to wash her hands.

  “Mister Dragon, if you prefer,” he said with a smile that made his mustache twist up.

  “Are you actually a dragon?” Loch asked.

  “That’s a more complex question than our time together allows for,” Mister Dragon said. Faster than Loch had believed possible, he was by her side . . . holding out a hand towel.

  She took it and dried her hands. “True. I should be getting back to the table shortly.”

  Mister Dragon chuckled, and his chest glowed for a moment, bright enough to be visible even through the robes. “You’re impressive, Lochenville. Not impressive enough to get my book, but impressive.”

  “The book has to do with the ancients,” Loch said, tossing the hand towel aside. “I figured out that much. And your elf told me a little about the ancients as well.”

  “About how they bred the elves to service their crystals?” Mister Dragon nodded. “All true. Exposure to it heightens their mental acuity, but it more or less turns off their souls. I’m part of the group that keeps the Elflands free of crystal-based magic. Lotion?”

  Loch blinked, then realized Mister Dragon was holding out a small bottle of scented liquid. “What’s that for?”

  “We’re fairly high up. The air gets dry.” Mister Dragon shrugged and put the bottle aside. “Suit yourself.”

  “So the elves were bred by the ancients—”

  “The dwarves, too. Miners and crafters, for the most part, and then later as soldiers when the ancients needed people to fight the new arrivals.”

  “The Glimmering Folk.”

  Mister Dragon smiled. “The ancients weren’t very happy with the Glimmering Folk. After all, the ancients were ruling this land quite comfortably. They had humans and elves and dwarves to serve them, and their golems to hunt down any fairy creatures who formed when their magic got too carried away . . . and then the Glimmering Folk came and ruined everything.” He stepped away from Loch and knelt down beside Veiled Lightning, who still lay on the floor. “The ancients locked themselves and the Glimmering Folk out of this world, so that nobody could rule it, but the gods—who like to keep things interesting—didn’t see fit to just leave things that way.”

  He laid a hand on Veiled Lightning, and it began to glow with a soft but steady energy. Veiled Lightning shuddered, and then curled up and coughed.

  “You’re talking about the prophecies,” Loch said. “The Champions of Dawn and Dusk.”

  Mister Dragon smiled. “See? Right there in front of you. You’ll recall that the ancients left instructions with their golems to kill the Champion of Dawn if they ever found him. They really didn’t want to risk letting the Glimmering Folk back in. But.” He stood, walked over to the sink, and washed his hands carefully. “You took care of that for them, didn’t you?”

  Loch swallowed. “I helped the Champion of Dawn defeat the Glimmering Folk.”

  “Indeed.” Mister Dragon toweled off his hands. “And now the Glimmering Folk are no longer a threat, which means that there’s no reason for the ancients to stay off in . . . wherever it is they are right now. You and your gullible friends helpfully got rid of the only thing keeping the ancients out of our world. Lotion?” he asked again.

  Loch passed it over. Mister Dragon squeezed out a small ball of creamy liquid and rubbed his hands briskly.

  “So they’re going to come back.” Loch caught Mister Dragon’s smile again, the little approving nod.

  “They are. Back to a world that has humans and dwarves and elves and even fairy creatures taking care of themselves just fine without the ancients there to rule them.” Mister Dragon stared at her directly. “How do you think they’re going to take that?”

  Loch took a very small step back. “I’ve got a hammer with the soul of an ancient in my team. They can’t all be bad.”

  “They never are.” Mister Dragon smiled. “I’ve traveled the Republic, you know. I love your puppeteers, how they share the news in such an excited fashion. The manticore and the griffon, always arguing, getting people to pick a side. Truth is, though, they’re both just lions with a bit of fancy costuming, a simplistic option presented for small minds, while the real matters of your country are dealt with far overhead, away from prying eyes. I think the Glimmering Folk and the ancients are not wholly dissimilar.”

  “Don’t forget the dragon who keeps the manticore and the griffon in line,” Loch said, and Mister Dragon rolled his eyes and snorted. “So can you breathe a little fire and keep the ancients from coming back?”

  He shrugged. “I’m not sure that’s even an option, Lochenville. But that manuscript carries the impressions of the elf who sang the first song, and in the middle of all the bits about flowers and springtime, there’s a reference to when the ancients are supposed to return. And that is why everyone who knows anything is after that book, from me to the Empire to that damned Queen of the Cold River.”

  Loch shut her eyes for a long moment. “It’s a warning.”

  “Several of your servants accidentally walked into my suite, by the way,” Mister Dragon said. “Ah, not even a wince. You have some hope in this tournament yet.”

  “I am certain it was a mistake on their part,” Loch said politely, “and I would appreciate it if they were released into my care.”

  “And then?” Mister Dragon asked.

  She tried a smile and said, “I still need the manuscript.”

  Mister Dragon chuckled again, a deep grumbling laugh that rolled across Loch’s belly. “What you need is a way to stop the Empire and the Republic from killing each other. The city of Heaven’s Spire is on course to raze the Temple of Butterflies, and unbeknownst to most people on both sides, the resulting explosion is going to level both of your countries. My elf would rather just let your people drown in each other’s blood, since that might make it more likely that the ancients take you first. I have to say, I’m on the fence, myself. I have no great interest in your people dying, but . . .” He smiled, showing very white teeth. “They do seem intent on going to war.”

  Loch looked down at Veiled Lightning, who was slowly coming up to a seated position.

  “What do you say
,” Loch asked, “to a wager?”

  Kail sighted Heaven’s Spire just after sunset, a glittering star low on the horizon.

  “Hey, Diz,” he called up to the railing, and Desidora looked back and smiled. The setting sun was behind Kail, and the light cast a golden halo across Desidora’s face, lighting up her auburn hair with lines of fire. “Not bad for a love priestess with no real skills.”

  “Kutesosh gajair’is,” Ghylspwr shot back as Desidora laughed.

  “You too, big guy.” Kail grinned.

  Pyvic had his message crystal out. “I’ve had no luck getting a message through so far. Maybe line of sight will be a bit kinder.” He thumbed the crystal until it glowed. “Captain Pyvic to any available justicar. Requesting an updated status report on what Heaven’s Spire is doing and requesting assistance upon docking.” He let go, frowned, and then raised an eyebrow. “Well, it’s away, at least.”

  “I’ll be in range of the docks in a few minutes,” Kail said. “I can try signaling them as well.”

  They drew slowly closer to the city as twilight edged slowly toward darkness. Heaven’s Spire shone with glittering radiance all across the top of the great disc that formed it, shops and streetlamps and palaces all glowing with their own magical radiance.

  Finally, when Iofegemet was close enough for Kail to make out the lighting pattern on the rim of Heaven’s Spire, he said, “All right, we’re closest to the transportation docks. Let me see if they’re interested in letting us aboard.”

  “Wait.” Pyvic held up his message crystal, then held it to his ear. “I’ve got a reply.”

  “From your people?” Desidora asked.

  “Apparently. Golem voice. They must have transcribed it.” Pyvic squinted, listening. “They’re telling us to come in high and maintain altitude. They’ll open a gap in the barrier.”

  Kail pursed his lips. “That seems a lot more complicated than necessary.”

  “What barrier are they referring to?” Icy asked.

  “A bubble of magic encircling Heaven’s Spire,” Desidora said, “save by the docks. It keeps the air from leaking out and maintains the temperature.”

  “Well, it’ll be faster to land at the archvoyant’s palace and get some answers from Bertram than to come over all the way from the docks,” Pyvic said.

  Kail tapped his console and brought Iofegemet up. “How far out from the Temple of Butterflies are we?”

  “A few hours, at this speed,” Icy said.

  “Well, faster sounds good, then.” Kail saw a crystal flashing amber and flicked it. “Crap.”

  Pyvic looked over. “Problem?”

  “We went to war with the Empire before I actually got my piloting license,” Kail said, “so I’m not entirely certain what that means, but it has something to do with magical energy readings on our projected course.”

  “Can you determine whether the barrier has been lowered?” Icy asked.

  “Oh, probably, if I pressed a bunch of these crystals in the right combination.”

  Pyvic glanced at his message crystal. “That’s odd.” He thumbed it. “I’ve got another message.”

  Desidora was squinting ahead. “The barrier is still up,” she said. “I can sense the magic. And it’s hard to tell at this range, but I think—”

  “Come in silent, the city is in lockdown.” Pyvic looked at Kail. “Dive, please.”

  The first blasts of fire streaked toward them moments later.

  “As heists go,” Loch said, “I’ve seen better.”

  Tern and Hessler sat shamefacedly on the bed. Both looked bedraggled, and several of Tern’s pockets were inside out.

  “They were kinda waiting for us,” Tern said.

  “Given that your main job was to create the distraction and lure everyone away from their rooms,” Hessler added, “I fail to see how us walking into a trap is anyone’s fault but yours.”

  “You walked into a trap,” said Ululenia from the chair. She was drinking brandy now, one pale leg kicked out and resting on the bed. “Some of us turned into a bird and escaped.”

  “And thanks for the solidarity, there,” Tern added. “You could have tried your mind-thing on them, or turned into a bear, or—”

  “Gotten killed by the Dragon,” Ululenia finished, swirling her brandy, “who is, in fact, a dragon.”

  Hessler sighed. “I had really hoped that was a metaphor.”

  “What kind of powers does he have?” Tern asked. “You do minds, that satyr who worked for Silestin did sex, I guess, and Shenziencis controls voices, or the dead, or . . . both?”

  “A dragon is a force of raw, unmitigated power,” said Ululenia. “In his true form, he could tear this ship apart, and then set the kindling ablaze with his flaming breath.”

  “Wow,” said Dairy, sipping his milk. “That sounds . . .”

  “Like we should avoid a frontal assault,” Hessler finished.

  “I have a plan,” Loch said, and everyone turned to glare at her. “Really, this time. And no frontal assaults. Mister Dragon let you go upon my assurance that you wouldn’t bother him. You’ve got a new job.”

  Ululenia raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”

  Loch gave them an optimistic smile. “How much do you know about treeship security?”

  “Wards at fifty percent!” Kail shouted as flame battered the great balloon over his head, and then, as another blast of fire roared at them, this time at the deck, “Crap, everyone down!”

  “Kun-kabynalti osu fuir’is!” Ghylspwr shouted, and Desidora reached out from the railing and swung.

  Light blazed, and Kail shielded his eyes. When it cleared, Desidora stood, slightly scorched but none the worse for wear, atop the smoking railing.

  “Ow,” she said, and toppled over backwards. Icy dove forward and caught her.

  “Diving!” Kail said, in case anyone was curious, and pushed Iofegemet down hard. “Forward full!”

  “The flamecannons won’t be able to shoot straight down,” Pyvic said quickly. “If you get us under the city, we should be safe!”

  “Not counting the giant blast of lightning it can shoot down at us?” Kail winced as another blast of flame roared out and splashed across the balloon overhead. “Wards at twenty percent!”

  “Can you go any faster?” Pyvic asked.

  “Yes, I’m just choosing to go this speed because your mother likes it when I take my time!” Another blast roared out, and the balloon groaned as the wind-daemon inside it stretched and strained the canvas. “Wards are down, by the way!”

  He looked up past the balloon to where Heaven’s Spire was a great coin that blotted out most of the night sky overhead. The lapiscaela that kept the city floating during the day had gone dark, but he could still see glimpses of violet as crystals here and there glinted in the twilight.

  They were going to make it. Kail pulled Iofegemet up to cut off the angle of fire further and bring the ship up under the barrier so they could dock.

  One last blast spat out from above and hissed behind the balloon, past Kail’s field of view.

  “Did it miss?” Icy asked, and then the blast hit the balloon.

  “You had to ask!” Kail shouted.

  It didn’t sound like the splashing spray of fire sloshing against magical barriers. This was the crackling burn of flames hitting the canvas, and while the canvas was treated to be fireproof in the event of just this sort of thing happening, few things in the world were actually fireproof when you got them hot enough.

  “Byn-kodar’s hell,” Kail muttered, “no offense, Diz.”

  “None taken.”

  “Did it breach?” Pyvic asked.

  Kail looked at the console. “Not yet. It’s burning, though. We’ve got a minute or two, tops.” Pyvic opened his mouth, and Kail waved. “And no, I can’t get us up to the Spire in that time, and no,
I can’t land us in that time, and no, the life balloons got wrecked when we lost half of Iofegemet fighting the naga and her ax-swinging boyfriend. I’m sorry. I’ve got nothing.”

  “What if we extinguish the fire?” Icy asked.

  “Sure,” Kail said, “except that they hit the top of the balloon, which is a bit out of reach.”

  Icy rolled out his arms. “Then perhaps someone could prepare me some damp rags,” he said politely, “so that I may stop the war with my little acrobatic tricks.”

  “Oh, you were just itching to throw that one back in my face.” Kail pulled Iofegemet into a level ascent while Pyvic and Desidora scrambled to get the rags. “You know your way around the rigging?”

  Icy sank into a low stretch. “I will, shortly,” he said, shifting his weight from one leg to the other.

  “There’s not a lot to hold onto up on top.”

  “A lesser man,” Icy said, “would find a way to reference your mother in response to that sentence.” Pyvic and Desidora passed him a handful of wet rags, and he tucked them into his robes. “Continue docking, smoothly if possible.”

  He took three steps, vaulted to the railing, leaped from the railing, caught a line in one hand, and pulled himself into another flying leap that, as he somersaulted in midair, let him loop one leg around a line hanging from the underside of the balloon.

  He swung once, pulled himself upright, and proceeded to climb through the rigging, upside-down, along the underside of the balloon. In moments, he was out of sight.

  “Just imagine if he would just man up and hit people,” Kail muttered. “All right, everyone hold tight. We’re coming up under the Spire. Perimeter alarm is telling me we lose containment in about thirty.”

  “But Icy can stop it,” Desidora said.

  “Icy can buy us a bit more time,” Kail said. “Once the wind-daemon on the other side of that canvas gets a taste of freedom, though, there’s not a whole lot that can stop it. Remember when that one got loose on our way up last time?”

  “I remember Tern shooting me with a knockout dart,” Pyvic said.