“I’ll mix that in if we have time.” Kail checked their course. “Getting a few more alerts, just so you know. Probably not a bad idea to start holding onto things.”
Overhead, the canvas groaned, and something deep inside it rumbled.
A line back near the stern snapped from the balloon and fluttered down, still smoldering.
“Kun-kabynalti osu fuir’is,” Ghylspwr said quietly.
“Perimeter alarm’s saying the fire is out.” Kail kept the ascent going. The ship lifted slowly past the lapiscaela, the great violet crystals nestled snugly in the grids that held them in place during the night.
The canvas groaned again, and the balloon bulged as something inside it swam, pressing against the barrier.
“Kail?” Desidora looked at the balloon in alarm. “I can feel the daemon.”
“Yeah, it’s . . .” Kail looked at his console as the lapiscaela slid down below them. “It’s poking for holes.”
The canvas tore, the sound of fabric ripping unmistakable as they all waited silently.
“Well, no sense going in gentle now.” Kail pulled Iofegemet into a full ascent, and the ship shrieked. “Everybody hang on!”
The ship lurched up, alarms going off all over the place, and Kail looked at the mirror-walled edge of Heaven’s Spire floating a few yards off the bow while his ship slowly came apart overhead.
“We’re going to make it,” Desidora said.
“No.” Kail swallowed, balling his fists on the console. “Daemon’s got a seam. It’s about to start working its way out. Ships can’t ascend when the daemon stops obeying commands and starts breaking free.”
They’d been so damn close.
“Come on.” Pyvic yanked on Kail’s arm. “We can still jump.”
The canvas overhead tore again, and Kail heard the sound of something breaking out.
And then an inhuman roar that still somehow carried the very understandable sound of pain.
Iofegemet kept ascending.
“All right.” Kail stepped away from his console, which was going black and dead on him anyway. “Happy to be wrong.”
“You weren’t,” Desidora said, looking up with a strange little smile.
The flat and sterile open yard of Heaven’s Spire’s transport docks gleamed overhead, and still Iofegemet rose, as the daemon roared overhead.
And then they were level, and Kail took a running jump, covered the yards, and landed in a clumsy roll, banging his shin and ankle as he slid to a stop, with Pyvic beside him and Desidora coming to a gentle landing from a hammer-assisted leap.
Kail’s ship was already falling again, and now Kail could see why it had kept ascending for the few extra seconds that had brought them high enough.
A great clawed tentacle protruded from a scorched tear in the balloon, back near the rear.
Icy Fist had the tentacle in a joint lock.
He’d wrapped one of the lines around it, and was standing atop it, like a trick rider on the back of a prancing show horse, if the show horse had been growing claws and shrieking with inhuman fury while Icy hauled it back and forth.
“Icy!” Desidora yelled, and the daemon tore free, the rest of its shapeless mass splitting the canvas open and sliding out like the yolk of a rotten egg.
Icy leaped, landed on the remains of the balloon, took two steps on the fluttering canvas, and somehow leaped again.
He fell short by a good dozen meters, still reaching.
“Besyn larveth’is!”
A shining warhammer spun through the air, arced over the side of the docks, and sailed down out of sight.
Desidora extended her hand, shut her eyes, and winced.
With a flash of light, Ghylspwr appeared in her grasp, Icy Fist clinging to the handle.
In a flash of gold and pale-green robes, two humans and a warhammer crashed to the ground.
“Nice catch,” Kail said, moving forward with Pyvic to help them up.
“I was motivated,” Icy said. He waved Pyvic’s hand away. “I am afraid that because Ghylspwr’s teleportation carries momentum across, and I had fallen some distance before I caught him . . .”
Kail looked down and saw that Icy’s leg was twisted at an entirely unnatural angle. “Oh.”
“Can you take care of yourself?” Pyvic asked, pulling Desidora back to her feet.
“I can at least begin treatment of my injuries,” Icy replied. He reached out, took hold of his leg, and twisted it sharply. The leg made a cracking crunching popping noise as it snapped back to something more like a normal angle.
“Holy . . .” Kail shook his head. “I wish I knew some monk trick to snap broken bones back into place without it hurting.”
Icy smiled faintly. “So do I.”
Kail swallowed. “Hey. Nice job with the daemon.”
“A restraining hold is not quite harm,” Icy said, and then winced. “I would appreciate it if you left now so that I am free to allow myself undignified expressions of pain.”
Kail looked over at his ship as it fell back down toward the ground below, the wind-daemon a blob of tentacles floating off behind it.
“Justicar Pyvic, Sister Desidora?” he said. “Let’s go stop a war.”
Loch returned to her seat with two minutes to spare, sent Dairy to freshen her drink, smiled at the other players, and played suf-gesuf like her life depended on it.
The elf in the feathered mask went all in on three of a kind and lost to Benevolent Dawn, the Imperial man with the spectacles, about an hour later. He himself lost the last of his chips an hour after that, just before their next break, and tipped the dealer politely after praising everyone else for their excellent play. Loch, sitting behind a shrinking pile of chips, looked at the large stack in front of Veiled Lightning, who was smiling despite the bruises on her face.
“Any word?” Loch asked Dairy as he led her to the bar at the next break.
“None yet, ma’am. Tern said that they were going to double-check this time before doing anything.”
“I’d assumed they did that last time. Silly me.”
“Ma’am,” Dairy said, and then broke off awkwardly, still little more than a boy for all the hardening that a few months of military training had given him.
“What is it, Dairy?”
“I’m sorry.” He flushed. “It’s not important right now.”
“I’m in danger of falling below the ante in the next round,” Loch said. “Distract me with something frivolous.”
“I’m worried about Ululenia,” Dairy said.
“Ah.”
“She seems . . .”
“Yes, she does.” Loch signaled to the bartender, and he passed her a glass. She downed it in one gulp, then signaled for another. “And there’s not a damned thing for you to do about it.”
“Ma’am? You know we—”
“Didn’t do anything, did you? That was how she put it.” Loch looked over, and Dairy nodded, now beet-red and looking at his shoes. “You weren’t interested. That’s the end of the story.”
“But she—”
“Dairy.” She reached over and took his arm, and he looked up, eyes wide and sad as only the eyes of someone trying to figure out how to be older than they are can be. “You don’t have to have sex with anyone just because they want to. She’s allowed to be grumpy that you weren’t into it, but that’s not your problem, unless you’re an ass about it, and I don’t think you’ve been an ass about it.”
Dairy let out a long breath. “Thank you, Miss Loch.”
“Do you mind me asking why not, though?” Loch asked. “She’s kind, she’s pretty, she can purify bodies of water with her horn . . .”
“I don’t know,” Dairy said. “I thought I was interested, I did. I wasn’t trying to lie to her, but I . . . I think that I was more, um . . . excited?�
�
“Sure, close enough.” Loch grinned, which made Dairy smile back and relax a little.
“More excited about the idea of doing it, I think, than I was about actually doing it. Ululenia is very pretty, but . . .” Dairy shook his head. “I need something else.”
“Nicely done,” Loch said, and raised her empty glass in a toast.
“For what?”
“Figuring that out a lot earlier than most people.” Loch left her glass on the bar and took the next one the bartender offered. She carried it back to the table rather than bolting it. “Pass me word when they’re good.”
Baron Lechien was stretching beside his seat. “Most of the other tables have gone out. It’s down to the three of us, plus a few at another table.”
“You’ve had a good run so far,” Loch said, looking at his stack of chips, which was bit larger than hers.
“Decent.” He glanced at the dealer, who was shuffling and ignoring them. “No possible four yet.”
“We’re good?”
“Better than.” He looked over at the stack of chips by Veiled Lightning’s seat. “Don’t forget. A straight or a concordance.”
Loch raised her glass in a toast to him as well.
Veiled Lightning returned a few minutes later, face a little puffy and newly made up, and caught the dealer’s eye. “Is there any point in waiting, if we are all prepared to continue?”
“I suppose not,” the dealer said, eyeing her stonily. “I welcome you to continue playing at your leisure.”
The minimum ante grew faster. Loch sat out a couple of hands where she caught nothing worthwhile.
The next hand came out. “Pair of fives for the table,” the dealer said, moving to deal out the open and hidden cards for each player. “Nothing showing for the Urujar. A third five for the Baron, plus whatever he’s got facing the moss, and a distant summer’s dream of a straight for the princess. Princess, the betting starts with you.”
“I will raise one thousand,” Veiled Lightning said, taking a sip of iced wine.
Loch flicked a glance at Lechien, who tapped his cards. She checked her hidden cards, then tapped back. “I’ll see that,” she said, and flicked her two open cards back to the dealer before sliding chips across the table.
“As will I.” Lechien traded in a hidden card, nodded.
The dealer grunted and tossed out another shared card. “Seven of crystals, lending a little credence to the princess’s claim of a straight, and gives the Urujar two pair with her shiny new seven of wands, or decent odds at a concordance. Princess?”
Veiled Lightning looked at Loch, then the chips. “Check.”
Loch caught a tiny nod from Lechien. “I’ll raise another thousand.”
“See that and raise two,” Lechien said.
The dealer raised an eyebrow. “Princess?”
Veiled Lightning grimaced. “No, thank you.”
“I’ll see that,” Loch said, sliding in a sizable portion of her remaining chips.
The dealer dealt the last shared card. “Nothing helpful for anyone except the Urujar, who might in fact have what she requires for a concordance. Urujar?”
Loch looked at Baron Lechien. “Check.”
“Raise,” he said, sliding the rest of his chips in.
“All in.” Loch slid the rest of her chips in as well.
“I suppose you have the concordance, then,” the dealer said, “and you must be quite certain this young man has only three of a kind.”
“Sadly,” Lechien said, shaking his head, “I actually do have four fives.”
“Really?” Loch gave him a hard smile. “I was absolutely certain you only had three.”
“That’s a common mistake for those who care more about politics than about a good game of suf-gesuf,” he said, reaching for the chips.
“Fortunately,” Loch added, turning over her cards, “four sevens still beats it.”
Baron Lechien froze, swallowed, started to speak, laughed, and then swallowed again. “Well played,” he said, and pushed his chair back, shaking his head. “I believe I’ll go get a drink.”
Loch looked over at Veiled Lightning. “Down to you and me, then, Princess?”
“The other table’s down to two as well,” the dealer said. “They were just waiting until it was down to four, so we could play the final hands.”
An elven woman whose skin was a dark forest green came over and sat down across from Loch, the pink crystals in her cheeks shining as she smiled at Loch. “It has been a pleasure to watch you play,” she said, smiling behind golden spectacles as a servant brought her chips over.
“Yes,” said Irrethelathlialann, sitting down next to her and giving Loch a glittering smile. “And I imagine it will be an even greater pleasure to play with you.”
Twenty
HEAVEN’S SPIRE CROSSED the border into Imperial territory a few hours after sundown.
Still an hour north of the Iceford and the Temple of Butterflies, the great floating city’s passage took it over an Imperial garrison that was posted atop a hill along the border.
Garrison Commander Seventh Tiger had been sent word of what to expect. Heaven’s Spire traveled quickly, but not as quickly as the magic in message crystals. Spies in Ros-Oanki had seen the city depart and sent a warning along with a probable flight path. Tiger had spent most of the day checking and rechecking the flamecannons mounted on the walls and committing to memory the procedure needed to activate the head-sized sphere of crystal that had been delivered to his garrison some weeks earlier.
Seventh Tiger had a wife back on his family estate, and more children than he had ever expected to have. He had fought the Republic during the war with honor and distinction, and had put down his sword gladly when the order game. His personal opinion—shared only with his wife when they lay together in a bed that smelled of orange blossoms and sweat—was that the flamecannons and tools of the ancients were unnatural.
“We are as children playing with our fathers’ swords,” he had said, and she had sighed and kissed him along his collarbone until he forgot.
As the Republic capital city came into view, a dark silhouette against a starlit sky, Garrison Commander Seventh Tiger placed the crystal sphere atop the battlement, giving it a clear line of sight, and placed his hand upon it. He brought a small ruby wand over it, circled the sphere three times, and then rapped the crystal sharply.
The sphere lit up with a brilliant glow, and a pulsing light flared out in all directions. Blinking hard, Seventh Tiger watched as the shimmering light blossomed like an exploding firework.
The wave of energy passed over Heaven’s Spire, and Seventh Tiger caught his breath.
A moment later, the violet crystals along the underside of the city flickered to life.
Seventh Tiger let out an explosive breath. Part of his heart was pleased, because there was always pleasure in watching a plan succeed, even if it was a plan passed down by political toadies Seventh Tiger disliked intensely. Part of his heart was saddened, because what would come next would kill every Republic citizen in the floating city, and while he had no choice in the matter, he still took no pleasure in it. And still another part of his heart was angry, because the plan’s success meant that he had been correct. They were as children playing with their fathers’ swords.
The Imperial experts had gambled. They had not explained this to Seventh Tiger, of course, as they considered him nothing more than a simple soldier, but Seventh Tiger had learned to read more than was written in the letters he received from his superiors, and from his wife as well.
The Republic nobles knew that their city could kill, and they had enough skill to break it from its long-automated course and send it toward the Empire.
But if the signal came to Heaven’s Spire that it was approaching a port city, the Imperial experts had reasoned, then the Repu
blic city would return to its automated orders. It would halt in its path and assume a docking procedure, lowering its defenses to ensure that no harm came to the friendly city beneath it.
In the sky overhead, Heaven’s Spire shuddered to a halt, the great crystals along its underside flaring with sudden light as the city lowered its defenses in response to the crystal sphere’s docking invitation.
Which was all the invitation Seventh Tiger needed himself.
“All flamecannons, fire at will!” Seventh Tiger called out to his men.
The wall erupted with blazing light, orange and red searing the night sky as jets of flame spat up to sear the underside of the enemy city. The great violet crystals caught the fire, and even at a great distance, Seventh Tiger saw blossoms of red among the glowing violet as the magical energies mixed.
“Sir,” his lieutenant called over, “sun or dragon?”
The sun’s burning rays could shine all day, while a dragon’s fire burned even hotter, but for a shorter time. “Dragon!” he called back. “Keep them firing until the cannons fail.” It was wasteful, and he would lose cannons and possibly men for it, but his orders had been clear. His lieutenant, a woman who had served under him faithfully for more than a decade, read it all in his expression and simply nodded.
The underside of Heaven’s Spire glowed cherry-red as the flamecannons spat fire at the magical crystals that held the city aloft, and the battlements of Seventh Tiger’s garrison shone in the blood-red light as though they were being treated to a second sunset.
The reports Seventh Tiger had read had been clear and concise. In the aftermath of Heaven’s Spire discharging its weapon months ago, the crystals on the underside of the city had taken on a magical charge due to some accident or infighting among the Republic nobles. A simple magical charge had destabilized the crystals to such a degree that had visiting elven dignitaries not solved the problem, the entire city would have shaken itself from the sky.
There were no elven dignitaries here to save the Republic city tonight.
Garrison Commander Seventh Tiger looked away as the city of Heaven’s Spire glowed even more brightly. There were those among his soldiers who would cheer when the crystals finally shattered and the city fell, and he did not wish to know who they were. He would mourn the dead civilians in the silence of his heart, since it would show disobedience to do so in aloud, and he would pray that historians never chose to write down the name of the man who had brought down Heaven’s Spire.
The Prophecy Con (Rogues of the Republic) Page 34