The Paladin Caper (12 page)

“Ever since you got shot—”

“Which I recovered from
completely
,” Tern said immediately, ignoring the way the bones in her shoulder ached whenever the weather changed.

“I just . . .” Hessler sighed. “I don’t want to let you down again.”

“Baby, I don’t see how you having rippling abs is going to make the difference between life and death,” Tern said. “If you want to have rippling abs, go for it. I will absolutely support that. But do it for yourself, not for me.”

After a moment, Hessler said, “Thank you.”

“Unless you want rippling abs so that you look better naked and can do that one position we saw in the book.”

Hessler coughed. “I notice a fixation upon abdominal—” He broke off at a tug on the tubing, and shook the line with careful concentration.

“You don’t need to save me,” Tern said.

“Nor can he,” came a voice from behind them, and Tern and Hessler turned to see the trackers Kail had talked about coming out of the trees toward them.

Desidora turned around slowly.

The chimera loomed over her, a few steps away. It was not as big as she had expected. Curled up, it was probably no larger than a pony. But it spread itself wide enough to blot out the nighttime sky, the translucent skin between its wings catching the crimson light from the walls so that the wings themselves seemed to glow.

Heads watched her. Wolf-eagle, jaguar, snake. Every eye burned with glowing embers of anger. Rainbow sparks hissed at joints, dripping bits of magic on the canyon floor.

“I do not wish to fight,” Desidora said, completely honestly.

“Death priestess,” the chimera said, and it
was
a
they
, not an
it
. The beaked wolf spat one word, and the snake hissed the other. “Chosen by the gods to bring death. Do you bring ours?”

“No,” Desidora said, taking a slow step backward.

“Pity. We were many, once. Pixie and satyr and peryton and sylph. There was fighting. Our fault but not ours. We did not want it, except those of us who did.” The voices whined and growled through the words as if biting through each syllable. “And now we are us.” They took a step forward to match Desidora’s step back, a wolf paw spurred with porcupine spines. “We hurt. We never stop hurting. The feeding does not let us become one again . . . but you might. Your gift of death . . . the power might let us become one. Or die. Either would be good.”

The air around Desidora went cold, and the grass darkened to twisting black thorns around her. “I have said twice that I wish no conflict with you, but if death is your wish, attack me, and I will grant it.” Her dress slid to a glossy black trimmed with silver glyphs at the hem, which, honestly, Desidora thought was a really nice touch.

“Stupid woman.” The chimera twitched, and then they were on top of Desidora, pinning her to the ground so quickly that she had not even seen them move. “You hold no power over us! We have no soul for you to touch with your death powers! We are unliving, pollution of the ancients’ magic, and now that they return, we will be hunted and killed.” The beaked wolf head loomed in close to Desidora’s face, close enough for her to feel its breath. “But we will die
last
.”

“Surprise,” Desidora muttered, and stabbed the chimera with the silver knife she had slipped from her pocket.

The silver caught fire as it touched the fairy creature’s skin, and the chimera reared back, every one of their heads shrieking. The chimera flashed, rainbow sparks flaring wildly, and Desidora felt a tremendous impact, rolled and slid, and then slammed into the canyon wall with
another
tremendous impact that left the stone around her cracked.

It would have killed a normal woman, but Desidora was not a normal woman at the moment. She struggled to her feet as the chimera howled and thrashed, one of their legs trailing limp on the ground with prismatic energy sparking from it.

“Too many,” the chimera rasped, “too many to die so easily.”

“Your loss,” Desidora said. One hand slapped the wall, which glowed red with the latent energy of the crystals deep within it.

The red glow suddenly went dark around her hand, fading to normal stone and leaving a dead and dull section of canyon wall twenty feet across, and Desidora raised her other hand and flung her stolen fire at the chimera.

This time, they staggered, eagle and bat wings flailing madly, a dozen malformed claws lashing at the air, but Desidora saw that while the force of the fire had flung the chimera back, the creature was largely unburnt, with just a little smoke curling away at the edges of the body where fur met feathers. Whatever twisted magic held the chimera together protected the creature as well.

As her attacker stumbled, she lunged for the silver dagger where it lay on the ground.

A wolf paw slammed her to the ground just short of the weapon, and she reached frantically as the crushing weight of the creature pressed her again to the ground. “No,” said the chimera from every mouth at once. “You were foolish to fight me. Arrogant. Such an
arrogant apple, babbling brook
—”

The chimera crashed to the ground beside Desidora, a snowy-white eagle atop it.
Quickly!
Ululenia’s voice rang in Desidora’s mind.

Desidora lunged for the silver dagger. Even as she turned, Ululenia had already shifted into a great white bear, roaring her rage as she plowed into the chimera, but the creature was coiling and striking around her, claws and scales and fangs and quills, and . . .

Desidora brandished the knife, saw a head that wasn’t Ululenia’s, and struck, again and again.

The chimera roared in pain from every mouth, and a brilliant burst of rainbow light speared through the creature’s body, shining in the nighttime sky.

It was Ululenia’s horn. She had changed to her natural form, and the chimera was crumbling to dull gray dust around her.

And, as the dust settled, Desidora saw that the rainbow sparks no longer flared from the dying body. They twisted instead into Ululenia.

She was still snowy white, but on her flank, next to the black mask with the antlers, there sat a new mark: a flame whose tongues were each a tiny different animal head.

Desidora sank to her knees as the death magic left her. Her gown, pale green again, was torn from the claws, and her hands were shaking. “Are you all right?”

I thought I should check on you,
Ululenia said, her voice a little strained.
I didn’t come back to kill the chimera. I just wanted to be certain you were safely away.

“If you hadn’t,” Desidora said, “I’d be dead right now.” She got back to her feet, wobbling a little, and put a hand on Ululenia’s flank. “Thank you.”

Yes. I saved you. That is what I did. It wasn’t
. . .
There was no other way. I knew somehow. I must have felt it waking and not realized it. That’s why I
. . .
don’t tell Little One.

“Ululenia.” Desidora patted her flank again, and felt the unicorn shivering faintly. “You’re all right. And if you’re not, we can help.”

No, I’m fine. I’m fine.
Ululenia shook herself.
I should get the key to my Little One. You are certain you are all right?

“It’s a good thing my part in this job is finished,” Desidora said, forcing a laugh, “as I believe I will be taking it easy as I rejoin Tern and the others at the tunnel.”

Good. I’m glad. That is why I came, to make sure you were okay.
Ululenia shifted under Desidora’s hands, and was a great snowy eagle again.
Good luck. I’m sorry.

She flapped off into the night, and Desidora watched her go. Only when the eagle was lost in the night sky did Desidora release the tight hold on her thoughts.

“That’s going to get ugly,” she muttered. But it was not something to deal with right now.

She sank to her knees to shake a bit more.

Deep in the most secure rooms of the Sunrise Canyon processing center, Westteich looked from the message crystal to Arikayurichi, still held by Commander Mirrok. “Loch is
where
?”

“Here,” Arikayurichi said, and, while he had no mouth, Westteich nevertheless got the impression that if the ax had teeth, it would be gritting them. “The miners say that she is leading a group claiming to have an appointment to inspect the processing center.”

The processing center was a magnificent structure, filled with alchemical wonders that surpassed even what Westteich had seen in the Forge of the Ancients. Out in the main room, crystals tended by golem workers rode moving ramps through treatment systems whose fantastic alchemy turned them from raw material into the magic that ran the Republic. Meanwhile, in the back room, a great array of crystals protruded from one wall in a pattern no mortal eye could follow, great shards glowing in all the colors of the rainbow while gem-studded control consoles spat out information about the mine and the magic that flowed through it. The entire magic-rich processing center was walled off safely from the mine by several feet of solid
yvkefer
plating.

It also had impressive security, which Westteich took advantage of now. “Your trackers are incompetent,” he snapped, running a thumb along the control console and snapping rapidly from scrying point to scrying point. “They should have apprehended them before now. If you give me control of the security golems, I can—”

“No.” Arikayurichi pulled Mirrok to attention. “You lack the skill to bring them down. Support Ghylspwr on the technical work necessary to ready the gate. That fits your abilities. I will handle Loch
personally
.”

“Of course, absolutely,” Westteich said, smiling and thinking about snapping Arikayurichi over his knee. He hit another scrying point and stopped. “Entry area, by the way, in case you hadn’t located them yet. There’s Loch, there’s Kail working on the door, and . . . I’m not sure who the elf is.”

“Assist Ghylspwr. Open the gate,” Arikayurichi said, and, held in Mirrok’s iron grasp, stalked from the room.

Westteich glared after him. While he could speak, unlike the warhammer Ghylspwr (who had foolishly sacrificed some of his essence and lost most of his vocabulary in the process), Arikayurichi had proven difficult to impress in Westteich’s experience so far. At first, Westteich had been uncertain, even worried, that it might in some way reflect upon
him
.

Then he had realized who Arikayurichi was. As the living soul of an ancient, Arikayurichi had seemed impressive, and Westteich had nearly fallen into the same trap of blindness that struck weaker minds. But Arikayurichi had been here in this world for centuries, waiting for the proper time, diligent in his duty.

It was impressive, yes, as the gears of a well-made clock were impressive. But that did not make the gears special or deserving of respect beyond that for a tool that had served its function.

Anyone who stayed behind to do the dirty work for centuries was not the
leader
of his people. The
leader
would be in the world of the ancients, planning thoughtfully amid whatever luxury that other world had to offer, as befitting his station.
That
was who Westteich had to impress, not some cynical
ground operative
.

Westteich would let Arikayurichi deal with Loch and take credit for it (despite Westteich’s use of the scrying points to actually locate the woman). While the ax did his duty, Westteich would prove his worth by seeing the ancients into this world in glory.

Since Arikayurichi had forgotten to do so, Westteich
did
reach over and activate the alarms, however.