The Prophecy Con (Rogues of the Republic) (42 page)

“I recommend that you decelerate,” the golem said to Archvoyant Bertram. “Since you insisted on unnecessarily destroying the garrison, you will be unable to activate the grounding arc for several hours. The Knights of Gedesar have encountered criminals who wish to disrupt the plan. Steps will need to be taken.”

Archvoyant Bertram stood in a hub of crystals in the center of a cavern deep in the heart of the Archvoyant’s palace. It was massive, the ceiling lost in the darkness that shrouded most of the room. In half the chamber, the floor was marked regularly with inlaid runes shaped from faintly glowing crystals. In the other half, the floor was missing entirely, leaving a great chasm that presumably led to the underside of the city below.

“It was hardly unnecessary,” Bertram said, glaring at the golem. “When my predecessor’s schemes fell through, he ended up fighting among the
lapiscaela.
One stray blast of lightning from his ring destabilized the entire city. I would prefer we not lose the capital city of the Republic to a dozen Imperial soldiers with flamecannons.”

The golem looked at Bertram. It was unnerving. The thing’s eyes were like stained glass diamonds, bright blue where the whites would be on a person, with glossy black chips of obsidian in place of pupils. Bertram couldn’t tell whether the thing actually
saw
out of them or used magical senses and just moved the eyes around to try to make Bertram feel more comfortable. Neither option made Bertram happy.

“The
lapiscaela
were destabilized because you lack the knowledge to adjust their energy-modulation parameters,” it finally said. “I altered the parameters to render the attacks from the flamecannons ineffective.”

“Then those people at the garrison didn’t die because of me,” Bertram shot back, glaring. “They died because you didn’t bother to share information.”

“I’m sure that’s a great comfort to them,” Cevirt said from where he sat in a folding chair about midway between the control crystals and the chasm.

“Is there a problem, Voyant Cevirt?” Bertram asked. His last meal was roiling around in his stomach like a glowing coal, and he would have happily killed for a cup of kahva.

“How many people are at the Temple of Butterflies?” Cevirt asked.

“Do you mean living people, or corpses sent to attack the Republic?”

Cevirt glared at him. “I
mean
that we’ve just demonstrated to the Empire that we can wipe any city off the face of the earth. Do you really think we need to use the weapon again?”

“Damn it, Cevirt!” Bertram pointed angrily at him. “You sat in my office and chewed me out for not being willing to wage war! Don’t get gutless on me now that we have the means to win!”

“It’s a precedent, Archvoyant.” Cevirt stood and came forward, leaning over the console. “At the border, it was
self-defense
after that garrison fired first. At the Temple of Butterflies, it will be an offensive strike to secure an objective.”

Bertram looked up at the man he’d played politics with for more than twenty years. Cevirt didn’t look much better than Bertram felt. His eyes were sunken and bloodshot, and his hands were shaking. “What do you want me to do, Cevirt? Let them fire first?”

“I want you to think, Bertram.” Cevirt gave him a rictus grin and shook his head. “I know we’re doing the right thing. I know we’re saving lives. But who gets voted in after you? And after them? Do you trust some nobleman’s son to do the same soul-searching and deliberation you’ve done, after he grew up hearing the stories about Heaven’s Spire blasting all its enemies? I mean . . .” He waved at the chasm off to one side. “What is
he
going to use it against? Ogres causing trouble in the deep forests? Elves refusing to work with our lapitects? Some idiot peasants in a village protesting the latest taxes?”

Bertram swallowed. “Give me something else, Cevirt. What do you propose?”

“I . . . the airships sometimes dropped leaflets in a town before doing a raid.” Cevirt looked down and shrugged. “Maybe if we—”

A liquid thump made Bertram look up in time to see Cevirt hit the ground, limp but not dead, at least as far as Bertram could see.

“The existing solution is the only reasonable way to save your people,” the golem said, turning its shining diamond eyes to Bertram. “The grounding arc is already being prepared. It cannot be stopped now.”

Bertram met its unnatural gaze directly. He’d faced down enough enemies in his time to know that looking at Cevirt would be a sign of weakness. “You just told me that we needed time to prepare for another blast. We should use that time to ensure that this is the proper solution.”

“It is,” the golem said, its stare not moving.

Bertram smiled. “I agree, of course. You believe Cevirt’s plan to drop leaflets would warn the enemy of our intentions unwisely?”

“Yes.”

“Fair enough. If you will remind me how to alter the course of the city, I will decelerate us and plot a course for the Imperial capital.” Bertram smiled reassuringly. As he spoke, his right thumb squeezed a hidden stud on a ring on his middle finger, priming it to fire. The ring had a short range and only a few charges, but the golem still clicked and clacked when it walked. It couldn’t be held together
that
tightly. “A strike against the heart of the Empire will demonstrate our superiority more than the destruction of a minor temple.”

“No,” the golem said.

As pain like Bertram had never believed possible shot through his body, the golem leaned forward until its diamond eyes were just inches from his face.

“We will continue on this course.”

Twenty-One

L
OCH TOOK A
few early hands, got cocky, got burned, and then quickly realized that Irrethelathlialann had been studying her style. He raised hard, baited her into throwing money at a bad hand, and had her down back below where they’d started inside the first hour.

“I expected humans to be better,” he said, raking a pile of chips toward him as the dealer shuffled. “But since your fighting style is mostly muscle, I suppose it stands to reason that you would suffer in any of the more complex forms of communication.”

The dealer flipped cards at all of them, the motions so practiced that every card landed perfectly placed. “Flop shows dueling queens, which is entirely appropriate at this table. Mistress Helianthia, the first bet is yours.”

The elven woman with the dark green skin smiled behind her golden spectacles. “I will take one hidden and stand.”

“Helianthia,” said Irrethelathlialann, “your scent-songs are a beauty and a marvel, and I would one day give my greatest understanding of beauty to play against you with the grace you deserve.” He tossed an open card to the dealer. “Sadly, I am bound to defeat this human, who shares none of your countless virtues. Raise four hundred.”

“Fold.” Veiled Lightning lowered her cards in disgust.

“I see four,” Loch said, “and raise two more.”

“I appreciate you making this faster for all of us,” Irrethelathlialann said.

“I will remain in long enough to at least see my new card,” Helianthia said, still smiling, and slid her chips in.

“You do know that I have those queens as well,” Irrethelathlialann asked Loch, seeming concerned, as he saw her raise.

“Oh, you have
those
ones, yes.”

“It’s just that you have a two and a seven showing, and neither of them are even the same
suit
, not that that would help you, since the flush isn’t recognized in the Elflands.”

“Whereas the king and the nine you’ve got over there really help you out a ton.” Loch smiled.

The dealer flicked out the third open card. “Seven. At least two pair for the Urujar.”

“At least.” Irrethelathlialann fidgeted with his ring, studying his cards. “Raised two, discarded one, no discards from the Imperial, Helianthia discard one and had an ace and knave showing . . .” He slid another two hundred into the pot. Loch matched it.

“I believe my curiosity has been satisfied,” Helianthia said, and folded.

The dealer flicked out the last open card. “Three. No good unless one of you was aiming to draw for a concordance.”

“Check.” Irrethelathlialann lowered his cards. “Unless the Urujar is more confident?”

Loch slid another hundred into the pot. “A little more.”

Irrethelathlialann matched it. “You have the third queen.”

“And you have the fourth,” Loch said, turning over her hidden cards.

“Ah, no, I’m afraid Helianthia had the fourth,” Irrethelathlialann said, “which was why she stayed in long enough to see that I was serious.” He turned over his hidden cards. “Knave and ten. In the Elflands, we refer to this as a straight.”

He smiled and raked in the chips.

“Please, try not to run out of chips until my luck improves,” Veiled Lightning said beside Loch. “I would greatly love to kick you out myself.”

Loch ignored her and looked at Dairy, who came over with another drink. “Any chance I could get something special from the bartender?”

“I’ll ask,” Dairy said, “but it might not be ready yet.”

Loch sighed, smiled, and threw in her chips for the next hand.

Tern peeked around the corner, saw an elven guard coming, popped back, and then decided to hell with it and stepped out.

“I beg your pardon,” the guard said as he saw them, “but this level is intended for crew members onlurrrrrk.” He fell over with a sleep dart in his shoulder.

“I take it we’re eschewing subtlety at this point, then?” Hessler asked.

“Ululenia said Loch’s flailing. You mind finding a place to stow him?” Tern asked, not pausing. The stupid elf carpet on the stupid elf treeship pulled at her feet.

“Well, I had assumed that someone should, since I doubt we’ll avoid detection with him lying in the middle of . . . I’ll just catch up, then.”

Tern’s shoulder was hurting, which was part of the healing process, and she’d gotten tied up by elves and a very big man who was quite possibly a dragon, which wasn’t part of the healing process. The original plan of “steal the book while Loch stalled” had been replaced by “hope Loch wins the tournament against seasoned professionals,” and large tournaments had a nasty habit of making it significantly difficult to cheat.

Not impossible, though.

She reached the door, glanced up and down the hallway, tried briefly to pick the lock, and then just broke the door in with a few well-placed kicks from her steel-toed boots.

The room inside was an ancillary security pod, which in practical terms meant that it was a cramped, dark little room with strange pod-like growths on the walls and a security guard sitting in front of a pool with the glowing mushrooms in it.

He was already on his feet as Tern stepped in, since she’d had to kick the door a few times, but he hadn’t drawn his blade, likely because nobody in their right mind would just burst into the room.

Tern shot
him
with a sleep dart as well, and he looked at her in hurt confusion before slumping to the ground.

“Oh, yeah,” she said, nudging him aside. “No more elf crap. No more poems, no more names with too many vowels, no more inability to use imperatives.” She pulled a vial from one pocket, unstoppered it, and upended a dose of thick green liquid into the pool. “We’re finishing this bad-boy human-style.”

As the pool began to bubble and froth, Tern looked up at Hessler, who stood in the doorway staring at her wordlessly.

“Problem?” she asked.

Hessler scratched at the back of his neck. “I’m a little embarrassed about how attractive you were right then.”

“Good boyfriend.” Tern grinned and held up her hand drill. “Get to work on the wall.”

They worked for a moment in silence. Tern added a few more reagents to the pool.

Then she began swearing.

“Problem?” Hessler asked. He’d made a decent hole in the wall and was working with some green vines that had been threaded inside it.

“You could say that.” Tern gestured at the pool. “It’s locked.”

“
How
locked?”

“Locked enough that I can maybe do the wards, but the navigation is totally off limits.” Tern banged the pool. “Either Diz or Ululenia missed something, or they upped the security. I can’t do it.”

Hessler’s hands came down gently on her shoulders. “It’s all right.”

“It’s
not
all right!” Tern spun around and glared up at him. “How the hell is this
all right
? The whole plan hinged on getting hold of navigation, and now we’re screwed, and the Republic and the Empire go to war because I can’t access anything more secure than their damn scrying pods!”

Hessler blinked. “They have scrying pods?”

“Of course they do. We’re probably on one of them right now.” Tern looked up at a little glowing blossom in the corner of the room. “Hey, security guys, here we are. Sorry, just trying to stop a war . . . but we can’t.” Her shoulder ached, and she was still too tired to be up and running around like this. “If Diz were here, or Ululenia wasn’t tapped . . .”

“No.” Hessler’s hands came back down on her shoulders again, and he pulled her in. “They aren’t here, but we are. A brilliant, well-trained, beautiful—”

“One-armed,” Tern added.

“—one-armed alchemist . . .” Hessler lifted her chin up. “And an illusionist.”

He smiled in a way that made Tern’s stomach flip over and added, “Now, if you could show me to those scrying pods?”

The Temple of Butterflies was a frenzy of activity, glowlamps blazing atop the pools in the great courtyard and all along the walls. The tiny squares of jade set into the courtyard’s marble flagstones blazed with their own light, sending a hum of energy through the air and making the golden sand quiver in the training squares. Runes on the vases along the walls pulsed steadily, and the vivid green bushes shone with the same magical heartbeat, their warm radiance spreading with each pulse along the walls.

Imperial soldiers manned the walls, ready at the flamecannons. They diligently checked all directions, in the event that the approach of Heaven’s Spire was a ruse to cover an attack from some other approach. A fortune in charms were spent every hour, shattered bits of crystal crunching underfoot as the men on the walls magically enhanced their night vision and ability to sense the presence of invisible foes.

In the inner sanctum at the top of the stairs, monks in golden robes moved through the building with perfect deliberation. Here, a pair of young students adjusted the position of the great bronze gong under the supervision of an old man who stood with his head cocked and his eyes closed, listening. There, a woman of middle years paced the hall, pausing every so often to whisk a bit of dust from the runes on the walls with a velvet-tipped wand.

In the innermost sanctum, two distinguished figures waited.

General Jade Blossom was a square-jawed woman of perhaps fifty. Her armor was enameled black and inlaid with jade, ruby, and opal into the shape of a twining dragon. Her hair was cut short, with no attempt made to hide the streaks of white at her temples. She stood with her arms clasped behind her, looking at the glossy black table in the center of the room, and the gong decorated with a great butterfly that stood behind it.

First Listener Sparrow was an ancient man whose golden robes were decorated with crimson butterflies at the wrists and collar. He wore a crimson skullcap as well. The wings on his wasp-bodied face were a pair of smoked-glass spectacles whose magic compensated for the blindness that had fallen upon him decades ago. He knelt before the glossy black table, his fingers tracing the contours of the golden bowls and crystal glasses set upon it.

“Less than an hour,” Sparrow said, and Blossom let out something between a grunt and a sigh and shifted in place. “Its energies are still not sufficient to attack again, but the city maintains its present speed.”

“Perhaps they think we cannot hurt them.” Blossom turned as if to pace, then checked herself. The old monk had asked that she remain still.

“If the interplay of energies at the garrison is accurate, they are correct in that assumption,” Sparrow said, running a finger along the lip of a vase and raising a thin, spectral tone. “Our flamecannons will do nothing.”

“This temple is supposed to be indestructible,” Blossom growled. Her knuckles popped as she clenched one fist.

“Against anything less than the wrath of the ancients personified, it is,” Sparrow said, and then paused to look at the water in the golden bowl. The surface rippled as though a single pebble had broken its stillness. “An airship approaches from Republic space.”

“So it
is
a distraction.” Blossom stepped toward the door. “Threaten us with the city, then land troops to seize the temple rather than destroying it.”