The Prophecy Con (Rogues of the Republic) (40 page)

“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

H
EAVEN
’
S
S
PIRE 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 Republic 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.

“Commander!” his lieutenant shouted, and Seventh Tiger looked over at her frightened face.

It was only then that he looked up at the city.

Though the flamecannons still spat fire up into the starlit sky, the underside of the city had gone jet black. The sudden darkness was blinding after the brilliant red light of moments ago.

“Keep firing!” he called to his men. “Do not relent!”

He blinked, cursing himself as a fool for opening both eyes to the glare and losing what night vision he had, and tried to will the afterimages away from the night sky before him. It seemed to him that the crystals beneath Heaven’s Spire were glowing again, violet, as they had before. Or perhaps they were lighter this time, closer to a pale blue, or even . . .

When the crystals blazed white and his men called out in alarm and shielded their eyes, Garrison Commander Seventh Tiger nodded.

The light of a thousand suns blossomed in the sky overhead.

Someone had taught the children how to swing that sword, Seven Tiger thought, and wished his own children well as the blazing radiance thundered down upon his garrison.

Captain Nystin stood at the railing, his hands gripping the wood hard enough to bruise the flesh of his palms.

He had tried to jump earlier. Shenziencis hadn’t liked that.

His thoughts were still his own, and as he watched the light blossom in the sky off to the north, he realized what it signified almost immediately.

Shenziencis did as well. “Heaven’s Spire is not far from my temple,” she said, lips curling sweetly into a smile. She rested in a perfectly circular coil on the deck, her human head twisted to watch the flare of magic in the distance. Corpses had brought her food and drink from time to time as they had traveled. A glowing gem was set into the golden human flesh at the throat, just above the start of the glossy emerald scales. The gem shone in all the colors of the rainbow. When Nystin found his freedom, he would go for the gem first.

“Wasteful action,” the Imperial whose name Nystin didn’t know said. He didn’t move from the control console where he had stood for the past several hours, making the minute adjustments necessary to keep the airship on course. “The grounding arc requires several hours between uses.”

Shenziencis chuckled. “So you are not infallible after all. Rest easy, ancient. I believe your plan can accommodate a delay of a few hours.”

The man didn’t move. He wasn’t controlled like Nystin was—the naga deferred to him—but his body language was too stiff. Maybe he was a golem under all that armor. Maybe he was something even worse than the naga, some kind of daemon riding that poor corpse or a necromancer speaking through the body while he himself was huddled safe in a crypt somewhere.

“What was your plan?” the man asked, and Shenziencis flinched, a little twitch of her tail that Nystin filed away
for later.

“I thought the political tension would give me a chance to recover the elven manuscript,” she said. “I was able to read it once, long ago, but I have grown more adept in the centuries since. I thought that if I could recover it, I could uncover more clearly the time of your people’s return to this world.”

“And prevent it,” the man said.

Shenziencis flinched again. “I wish only to live. I hoped that I might serve you well, and in learning when you would grace this world with your presence again—”

“Stop.” The man’s voice suggested that he would have raised a hand to calm her, but he remained stock still. The corpses walking the deck had formed around Shenziencis, poised to defend her. “You were a worthy adversary, Queen of the Cold River. Do not demean yourself by lying.”

Shenziencis glared, though the corpses around her shuffled back to their normal positions. Nystin tried to move. The muscles of his back and stomach strained, but his arms and legs remained locked. Still, she was weaker when distracted. Another note to file away.

“Of
course
I wished to prevent it,” the naga said, rising up on her coils to face the man. “I was born from the magic that leaked out of the Temple of Butterflies. Over centuries of careful, patient work, I grew from the legendary guardian of an old ancient ruin into an oracle whose wisdom was sought by the Emperor himself. I had servants who would fight and die at my command, even
without
my magic to use their words upon them! I had a
life
!” The gem at her throat blazed. “And then one of
your
Hunter golems attacked my temple. It called me a waste of magic, an accident that had no business existing.” Her coils twisted and twined, hypnotic in their agitation. “It took hundreds of my servants, the living
and
the dead, to break your golem, and when it was done, even as
it
died,
my
life was over.” Her face twisted into something monstrous inhuman as she snarled. “The Queen of the Cold River faded to a distant memory, so that no golems would come hunting for her. The oracle respected across the empire was replaced by a simple
attendant
, and everything I had worked for, I cast away to
hide
.”

“You used the Hunter golem’s body,” the man said.

“It seemed appropriate. I am a wasteful error of your magic, after all.” Shenziencis smiled venomously. “Why should I not steal a body to hide in as well?” The coils beneath her head twisted in an approximation of a shrug. “I wished to live, and I have had centuries to learn patience, to be less than I seem. I suspect you have learned much the same, Arikayurichi.”

“
Iry kahyur’isti
,” the man said. “That was my original . . .
name
is the wrong word, but my purpose.”

“
‘We will rule
,’” Shenziencis said. “And the Imperials who spoke the language of the ancients heard, and thought only that you spoke of them.”

“The Bringer of Order,” the man said, “to a world lost to chaos, and waste, and other distasteful things . . . like you.” At his words, Shenziencis narrowed her eyes. “You
are
leakage from our magic, an inefficient waste of resources. Your magic twists the words of the living and the bodies of the dead.” The man raised his ax, and turned the head to face her, and Shenziencis flinched, the corpses around her coming to readiness again. “But that does not invalidate your right to exist.”