The Prophecy Con (Rogues of the Republic) (38 page)

“Noticed, did you?”

“Hard not to.” Lechien glared. “I’ve sat across the table from Benevolent Dawn a hundred times. He has never chased a hand that badly, and if he had some stratagem, he would have seen it through rather than folding.”

“He’s been feeding the princess,” Loch said. “Staying in on hands to put chips in her lap.”

“I told you before that politics and I generally agree to leave each other alone,” Lechien said, and shook his head, “but word around the ship is that you are here for more than a game, as is she.”

“The Republic and the Empire are hurtling toward war.” Loch lowered her voice. “If I stay in long enough, I can stop that from happening.”

“Benevolent Dawn has apparently chosen his side.” Lechien grimaced. “And it gets a lot more expensive after this break.”

Loch nodded. “You have a suggestion?”

Lechien swallowed, looked around, and then downed the rest of his drink. “All right. I can eat a tournament loss, if need be. Next time I draw a possible four of a kind, I’ll tap twice. It’ll
actually
just be three. You’ll be able to beat it with a straight or a concordance. If you can get either of those, tap twice back, and I’ll go all in.”

“You’re doing a service to the Republic,” Loch said gravely, and Lechien grinned and shook his head.

“All I wanted was a good game of cards with a pretty girl.” He turned away from her and signaled to the bartender for another.

Loch sidestepped the crowd and went into the hallway leading to the head. The treeship had better plumbing than most Republic cities, and everything apparently got recycled and used to help power the ship. Loch tried not to think about it.

She turned a corner, and that was when something slammed into her head.

Loch hit the grass-carpeted floor hard, arms shielding her instinctively, and curled up to catch the kick that followed on the elbows.

“Do you believe she will remain unconscious for a full half-hour?” an elven voice asked.

“She has proven durable even by human standards,” Irrethelathlialann replied. “I would appreciate it if she were placed somewhere where she was unlikely to escape until the allotted time had passed.”

A hand came down, curling into a fist in Loch’s hair, while another hooked under her armpit. “As you wish.”

Loch slammed the heel of her palm up and shattered the nose of the elf holding her. As he stumbled back, she kicked and caught someone else in the leg.

“The worst part about being injured,” she said, coming back to her feet, “is the first fight after. You’re always thinking, ‘Am I really back? Did it heal right?’ ”

There were three of them, plus Irrethelathlialann, though he stood back by the corner. One was already lunging in, and she kicked, caught him in the gut, then put him down with a right hook. “It’s not until the first time you get hit again that you really know for sure,” she added, stomping on the back of his knee and dropping an elbow onto the base of his skull.

The last elf crashed into her, and she hit the wall hard, got a knee up, and took a shot across the cheek as she shoved him back. The one whose nose she’d broken caught her with a kick to the gut, not far from where she’d been stabbed, and it felt tight, but not too tight, and she grinned, caught the leg, leaned in, and popped her palm down hard just under the kneecap. He squealed and went down, holding his leg.

“So what I really want to say . . .” She got her arms up in a guard as the other elf came in high, caught him with a low body shot, slammed him back into the far wall, and then reached up and tore one of the crystals from his cheeks. “Is
thank you
for getting me past that first fight.”

She tossed the crystal to the ground as the elf slid to a seated position, keening and clutching his face, and looked at Irrethelathlialann. “You must think I’m
really
good at
suf-gesuf
to be this worried.”

His hand went to the ruby-red blade at his waist. “You’re a savage, Lochenville, the worst of the breed of a race of savages. The ancients bred us for magic, and we carry the scars of that even today. But you?” He sneered. “You were bred for brute labor.”

“Shame you didn’t think of that before you tried to use brute force to stop me.” She looked at the elves on the ground. “You could’ve brought better fighters.”

Irrethelathlialann opened his mouth to reply, then glanced back out into the main hall and blinked. He slid back, his hand leaving the blade at his waist.

Captain Thelenea came around the corner with a pair of her guards with her. She looked at Irrethelathlialann, then at the three elves on the ground, most of them still rocking back and forth and making little noises to themselves, and then finally at Loch.

“Does anyone have anything they wish to report?” she asked.

Irrethelathlialann didn’t say anything.

Loch smiled.

“I suspect that if I did wish to report anything, I’d be taken to your cabin to fill out that report, wouldn’t I?” she asked, and caught Irrethelathlialann’s glare. “And that would take more than a half-hour, which would mean I’d forfeit my place in the tournament, which would in turn mean that you’d
have to
kick my ass off the ship.”

Thelenea pursed her lips. “That is indeed how matters would likely proceed.”

“Then no, thank you.” Loch coughed and rolled out one shoulder. “I have nothing I wish to report.”

“Then perhaps I will make a report,” Irrethelathlialann said, stepping forward with his gaze steady on Loch, “stating that this Urujar woman assaulted my three friends, a vicious and all-too-human attack—”

“If that would work, you’d have spoken first,” Loch said, waving at him absently. “Thelenea, if he files a report, do I have to come answer charges immediately, or are they deferred until after the tournament?”

“Our social laws dictate—”

“After the tournament,” the captain said, giving Loch a small smile.

“Well, then.” Loch nodded to each of them. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to hit the head.”

She turned her back on both of them and walked into the head, a large room with a number of individual stalls, and mirrors and sinks by the door.

Princess Veiled Lightning stood by the sink, staring at her wordlessly.

Her braids hung looser in the front than Loch had seen before. She’d removed the crystals at the tips, Loch realized, when she boarded the ship. Her little necklace hung over her brow, making it look like she was glaring, but the expression on her face was in fact carefully neutral.

“You want to take a shot?” Loch asked. “I’ve still got about twenty minutes to get back to the table.”

Energy crackled at Veiled Lightning’s fingertips. “I could take you in two.”

“Like you’ve taken me all the past times.” Loch shook her head. “No bodyguard, no . . . whatever Shenziencis is, and no chance that my surrender would actually stop the Republic and the Empire from getting a lot of people killed, now that your side is sending undead to attack my towns.”

“My side?” Veiled Lightning glared. “Your own Republic has sent the undead into
my
Empire. You
dare
spout your lies!”

Loch stepped to the sink and turned it on. As she washed her hands, she looked up into the mirror at Veiled Lightning, who stood behind her, electricity snaking around both hands now. “Do your parents even know you’re out here trying to take me in?”

The question seemed to catch Veiled Lightning by surprise. Loch heard her catch her breath, trying to form an answer.

“I’m guessing they don’t,” Loch went on. “I’m guessing you went off because you saw trouble brewing and people hemming and hawing and politicking, and you decided that
someone
had to go do what was right. You snuck off on your own to show them how to get things
done
.” She scrubbed her hands. “Only it wasn’t really on your own, was it? Not with an attendant and a bodyguard and a magical ax. You come all the way to the Republic, all the way to the Elflands, and you still wonder whether you’re just coasting on things your family did.”

“Your family’s title bought your rank in the Republic’s army,
Captain
,” Veiled Lightning said behind her.

“Yes, it did. I went a long way before finding out that you can’t outrun the privilege you grow up with. All you can do is try to use it well, to honor the people who work in the fields so you don’t have to.”

“That’s what I’m doing,” Veiled Lightning said slowly, “and I swear to you, I will do everything in my power to end this war . . . once you are in custody.”

Her hand stabbed forward, lightning snapping from her fingers.

Loch spun and flung a spray of water from the sink. Veiled Lightning sidestepped it, face twisting into a smirk that vanished as Loch’s knuckles sank into her kidneys. She stumbled, the magic fading from her hands, and Loch feinted low, then drilled a straight punch clean into her chest. “Takes a peaceful, harmonious mind to get that magic going, doesn’t it? I try not to rely on any fighting style that doesn’t work when I’m pissed off.”

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

T
HE 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—”