The Paladin Caper (2 page)

An armored figure walked on the side of the road, apparently heading for the Forge just like Westteich himself. Its ringmail was golden, covered with a long dark cloak, and a masked golden helmet obscured the figure’s face.

It was a Hunter golem. Of the few who had even heard of these rare magical constructs, most knew only that they had been built by the ancients and tasked with hunting the fairy creatures who had spawned, like tiny parasites, from the ancients’ magic after the ancients themselves had departed. Almost no living creature knew what the Hunters
did
with that magical energy once they captured and destroyed the fairy creatures.

This Hunter did not seem to be carrying any of its magical weaponry—the net that ensnared its target and the spear that destroyed the fairy creature and absorbed the energy.

Instead, it carried what looked a great deal like a makeshift silver birdcage, in which a small white dove sat uncomfortably on a wooden perch.

This promised to be interesting, Westteich thought, and said, “Hunter, state your designation and status.”

“Director,” said the Hunter, “I am Hunter Mirrkir.”

“Wait, that can’t be right!” Westteich exclaimed. “We thought that Mirrkir was destroyed up on Heaven’s Spire several months ago.”

“I was rendered inoperative in battle,” Mirrkir confirmed, “but the golems working on using Heaven’s Spire to attack the Empire discovered my remains and were able to restore me to functional status.”

“Excellent!” Westteich beamed. “Always hate to lose one of my people. What about your spear, though?”

“I attempted to kill a death priestess who opposed my efforts, but her magical abilities allowed her to transform my spear,” Mirrkir said. “The golems who reconstructed me told me to come back here for a replacement.”

“Of course, of course.” Westteich hid a smile. “Well, if you’re still recovering, why don’t you climb up and ride along? Hestridge, the door?”

Westteich moved over while his servant descended and opened the door for Hunter Mirrkir, who climbed inside and sat down. It looked around for somewhere to put the silver birdcage.

“Shall I have Hestridge put that in the rear for you?” Westteich asked.

“No, that is not necessary,” said Mirrkir after a brief pause. “I must watch her closely.”

Her
, Westteich noted, and hid another smile as Mirrkir put the birdcage in its lap. “A fairy creature, I assume?”

“Yes. While I was unable to absorb the fairy creature’s energy due to the loss of my spear, I captured her nevertheless.”

“Is there any reason you did not simply kill her with the silver and then bring her
remains
back to the Forge?” Westteich asked as the carriage rocked into motion again.

“I did not believe that would save an acceptable level of magic,” Mirrkir said. “My judgment may be impaired by lingering damage,” it added quickly. Then, as an afterthought, the golem said, “This is not a normal fairy creature. Her name is Ululenia. She was part of the group responsible for stopping the ancients from controlling Heaven’s Spire. The golems who repaired me asked that she be brought to the Forge for interrogation.”

“Right, right.” Westteich nodded. “We’ll do just that, of course. And we’ll get you fully repaired and back out into the field with a new spear!”

“Good,” Mirrkir said. “There is much work to be done. Many of those responsible for disrupting the operation at Heaven’s Spire remain unaccounted for.”

“Yes, my reports said as much. There was an alchemist named Tern, and an Imperial acrobat called Icy, I believe? A wizard called Hessler who specialized in illusions, and, of course, the death priestess.”

“Diz-Desidora, yes. Also a man named Kail.”

“Yes, a scout who served alongside Captain Isafesira de Lochenville, known more colloquially as ‘Loch.’ I doubt he is of any concern,” Westteich added with a smile, “at least, not compared to a death priestess and a wizard.”

“They are all dangerous in their own ways,” Mirrkir said, and Westteich nodded politely and allowed silence to fall inside the carriage.

In a quarter of an hour they had reached the Forge. Hestridge opened the carriage door, and Westteich stepped out, stretching his arms as he always did after the arduous ride. He carried a beautifully carved walking stick, the shaft dark and the hooked head carved in the shape of a dragon with twin rubies for eyes. He did not
need
a walking stick, of course, but he enjoyed using it to gesture when he gave orders.

The strange bulbous shape of the tower seemed even more exaggerated when seen up close, and Westteich sighed as he often did, wishing that the ancients might have seen fit to do such important work in a building more impressive in scope.

“Back at half past four today, Hestridge,” Westteich said.

“Of course, my lord.” It was a bit earlier than he usually asked to be picked up, but Westteich was still tired, and he suspected that the day was going to be an exciting one.

Westteich walked slowly around the tower as Hestridge drove off. Mirrkir followed, still carrying the silver birdcage with the white dove that was apparently the dangerous shapeshifter Ululenia. When he reached a point on the far side from the road, Westteich drew a small crystal from the pocket of his coat and held it out toward the tower.

A stone at about eye level, seemingly no different from any other, glowed softly in response to the crystal. A moment later, the stone folded in upon itself, twisting away and leaving a gap. The stones around it followed suit, like ripples spreading from a rock dropped into a pond, and as they twisted away as well, they left a large arched doorway leading in.

Westteich stepped into the tower without hesitation, and Mirrkir followed. The room inside was large and circular, taking up much of the space of the tower, and it had no visible doors save the one Westteich had just come through. Unlike the outside of the tower, however, the floor was impressively wrought of glossy black stone inlaid with ribbons of gold, and the walls were ringed with glowing crystals that bathed the room in pale light.

A trio of Hunters stood near the center of the room. All wore golden ringmail and carried spears that crackled with magical energy, but one wore a helmet with a single red plume. Westteich nodded to the plumed Hunter and spun his walking stick jauntily, like one of the performing girls from last night. “Commander Mirrok.”

“Sir.” The Hunter’s attention shifted to Mirrkir. “Orders?”

“It’s all right, Mirrok.” Westteich stepped forward quickly before Mirrok could say anything more. “Hunter Mirrkir suffered a great deal of damage and still needs further repairs. I’m allowing him access without his own entry crystal per the Kameset Protocol.” He lifted his walking stick and pantomimed rapping it against the side of his head.

Mirrok nodded. “Understood.” It waited until Westteich and Mirrkir were safely inside the room, and then it lifted its free hand and gestured. The door to the outside world slid shut, and a moment later, with a tiny hum, the floor itself began to descend.

The glowing crystals were set every few feet in the walls around the room, and Westteich watched them rise as the floor sank. The walls of their descent tunnel were lined with more crystals, so that as the first disappeared, a new light source appeared around the floor. Westteich had always loved the steady humming flow of the lights sliding up and away as he descended into the darkness. It was as though the lights were the humble disguise of a modest noble that he showed the world, cast away as he went down into the depths so that only his true self remained. “How goes production?” he asked Mirrok.

“There has been a slight decrease, as most of the human workers have fallen ill. They have been sent home to avoid infecting others, with silence charms employed as per standard procedure.”

“Of course, can’t have them talking about this place with the peasants. That’s how rumors find their way to the ears of the criminals who might fight against us.” Westteich listened to the hum of the descending floor and to all the little noises of the great Forge where he spent most of his waking days. “It may be worth using detection charms to track the workers when they return, Commander. I’d hate to think of any
parasites
sneaking into this place by taking advantage of people doing their duty.”

“Understood, sir.” Mirrok tapped a crystal on the wristband of his golden gauntlet.

A few moments later, the floor came to a halt, revealing a large arched doorway lined in the same glossy black stone as the floor itself, and Westteich stepped through into the enormous underground chamber of the Forge.

The ceiling, high overhead, was a great dome of gold from which hung countless teardrops of beautifully glowing green crystal. Westteich stood on a walkway of glossy black stone, now ribboned with runes of the same green. The walkway formed a grid of high vantage points, and looking down, he could see the Forge at work. To the left, crystals were growing, bathed in the light from the dome-crystals overhead. Up ahead, a moving belt fed crystal into a great ancient tunnel and half-formed Hunters emerged on the other side. Off to the right, vast blue cylinders held the recaptured essence of the ancient magic, recovered from the fairy creatures and returned to where Westteich knew it belonged. The cylinders glowed healthily. This close to the monthly arrival, they were close to full capacity.

Westteich’s new assistant bounced over from his office as he looked out across the Forge. She was a short, apple-cheeked young woman with spectacles and a somewhat annoying tendency to say everything as though she was asking a question, but she was also quite good with crystals. “Looks like it’s just you and me and the golems here today, sir? I was worried you caught the cold that’s going around when you weren’t in earlier? I don’t know if it was something in the food or—”

“I’m fine, Laridae.” Westteich grinned. “Better than fine, in fact. This month has seen many fairy creatures brought back, and I believe we’ll have something more to deliver. Mirrok?”

“Rirrim, to your business,” Commander Mirrok said. “Kimor, subdue him.”

One of the two Hunters spun, knocked the birdcage from Hunter Mirrkir’s arms, and drove a fist into the golem’s stomach.

An
actual
Hunter would still be doubled over by the simple laws of physics but would recover almost immediately, given that the ancients had designed Hunters to survive long periods with much of their internal components damaged or destroyed. The fairy creatures were savage and unpredictable, after all.

This
Hunter sank to its knees with a grunt.

“Oh my wow?”
Laridae cried out. The birdcage rolled and rattled on the polished stone floor, the dove flapping frantically inside as the other Hunter walked off to tend to its duties.

“Mister Kail, I believe,” Westteich said with some satisfaction, and pulled the figure’s helmet off. Underneath, an Urujar man coughed and wheezed. “Welcome to the Forge.”

“There isn’t actually a Kameset Protocol, hunh?” he said, gasping and trying to catch his breath.

“Not as such,” said Westteich. “You see, Kail, no Hunter would ever take a fairy creature alive, nor would it ever refer to one as ‘she’ rather than ‘it.’ Nor would anyone who knows anything about the ancients expect that an injured Hunter would be sent back to get a new spear, since the spear is far more complex and difficult to create than the Hunter body itself. A Hunter who lost its spear would most likely return any individual consciousness that could benefit the organization’s work, and then allow itself to be stripped down for parts . . . because, unlike you, Mister Kail, the Hunters understand their place in this world.”

“Hooray for them,” Kail wheezed.

“I don’t understand, sir?” Laridae said, or possibly asked. “If you knew that this wasn’t really a Hunter, why did you let him inside the Forge? I mean, I haven’t been here very long, but there are security concerns? And maybe—”

“The thing about Mister Kail,” Westteich said, pointing at the man with his walking stick, “is that he and his little team are fundamentally
cheaters
. You know what that means, Laridae?”

“Um?”

“The Hunters know their place in this world. They don’t complain. I know my place, you know yours, but some people? They just don’t. And Mister Kail was part of a team of thieves that caused a great deal of trouble. Instead of working to
earn
the things they wanted, they steal, and play tricks, and
cheat
, because they think that they’re entitled to more, and that they can get away with it. Mirrok, are we ready?”

Mirrok looked over to where the Hunter who had walked off was now coming back, a small gray wand held ready. “Sir.”

“Good. Now, Laridae, the reason we let Mister Kail in is that his tricky little team can be nasty customers if you don’t control the environment. If we’d just taken down Mister Kail out on the road, the rest of his team, wherever they were, might have attacked me, or they might have scattered, and we’d never have seen them again. But in here . . . now, Mirrok?”

Mirrok nodded, and the other Hunter triggered the wand. The air snapped and shimmered around all of them.

When Westteich’s vision cleared, the main room in which he had descended with Kail and the Hunters had two more people in it. One of them was a pretty auburn-haired woman wearing the pale-green traveling robes of a love priestess, while the other was a gangly man, also robed. Both looked very surprised.

“In
here
, Laridae, we can capture all of the late Captain Loch’s infamous band of thieves in one fell swoop,” Westteich said. “Here we have the death priestess, Desidora, whose power is
quite
dangerous to you and me, but”—as Desidora stepped forward and raised a hand, Commander Mirrok raised his spear to her throat—“useless against Hunters.”

“The last time a Hunter tried to kill me, it went very poorly for him,” Desidora said coldly, and her robes and hair suddenly darkened to black even as her face went deathly pale.

Westteich chuckled. “Yes, dear, but when you fought that Hunter—the
actual
Hunter Mirrkir whose armor your friend Kail is currently wearing—you wielded Ghylspwr, a weapon carrying the soul of the ancients, and since the ancients are—how shall I put this?—
my team
. . . your threat carries a lot less weight. You might be able to suck my soul out of my body, but according to Ghylspwr, you’re quite fond of this Kail fellow. Mirrok?”