The Paladin Caper (41 page)

In the stories Tern had read growing up, the princesses were motivated by an urge to find a boyfriend or a general heroism or, in some of the more progressive books Tern’s mother had gotten when her young daughter started asking inconvenient questions about why all the guild leaders were boys, an urge to prove that she was just as strong or brave as any man.

Tern had
sort of
gotten the last one. She didn’t recall any stories where the princess was motivated by absolute bloody-minded vengeance. Perhaps when this was over, she would write one.

“And over
here
,” she added, pointing to a vendor, “we have a dish that is traditional to the northern Republic, known colloquially as meat on a stick!”

Icy nodded politely again. His hands were clasped together inside his golden robes.

Tern had played “assistant to the Imperial ambassador” a few times before to get them into places. It might not be absolutely necessary right now, but it was at least comfortable. It meant she wasn’t crying or screaming or thinking about killing people.

“Tern,” Icy said quietly, and nodded off ahead to a small but well-appointed pavilion tent of pale lavender. A pair of Imperial flags hung on either side of the door, along with Republic guards.

“Princess Veiled Lightning?” Tern’s heart lurched with a sudden bit of almost childlike happiness, followed by an immediate crushing guilt. “You think we should talk to her? She might recognize me, since we talked a couple of times—”

“She may recognize me,” Icy said, “given that I trained her for several years.”

“You trained her? How did I not know that you trained her? Wouldn’t she have recognized you when we . . .” Tern blinked, thinking it through. “You and she were never actually in the same room the whole time she was chasing us, were you?”

“That is correct.” Icy walked to the tent quickly enough that Ululenia flapped her wings on his shoulder, and then said something to the guards outside with a polite bow. By the time Tern had arrived, one of them was going inside.

“Which name did you use?” Tern asked.

Icy sighed. “Which do you think, Tern?”

“So were you ever going to tell me?”

“I like this life, Tern. On good days, I never even think of the deaths for which I am responsible.”

“You know I’ve killed people,” Tern said. “The Knights of Gedesar, when they were coming at us? I put bolts right through—”

“It is not,” Icy said, quietly but clearly, “a competition. I am not angry at you for defending yourself. I have simply sworn that I myself have killed enough for one lifetime.”

“I thought you were older than me,” Tern said, frowning.

“I am.” Icy looked over in momentary confusion.

“Because you sound like I did as a teenager saying, ‘Fine, then
never
!’ and slamming the door to my room.” Tern shrugged at Icy’s stoic look. “I’m just saying, you make a big vow like that, someday it comes back to bite you—”

Energy crackled as Princess Veiled Lightning leaped from the tent fist-first and speared her hand into Icy’s chest.

The black-coated paladin paced the hallway outside the cell where Pyvic and Derenky were being held. It was not a formal measurement of distance but a mark of boredom, idly stretching the legs and passing time.

As such, he’d gotten a ways down when he turned and saw Desidora at the far end of the hallway.

Her skin went to alabaster and her hair went jet-black as she raised a hand and hissed, “Die.”

The paladin grinned as her death magic washed over him harmlessly, then raised his arm. “You first.” Red energy snapped out.

It splashed across Desidora with no more effect than her death magic had on him, and the priestess sneered. “Pitiful.” She raised both hands now, curled them into claws. “I will find the weakness in your wards and wrench the soul from its little crystal case.” The floor around her slid to black lined with flecks of silver, and the lamp on the wall fluttered and hissed to blue-green, the casing on it suddenly shaped like an angry gargoyle.

The paladin charged her. Desidora’s fingers clenched, then flared wide, and then curled as though she were trying to untangle the threads of an invisible knot. The air around her crackled, and she bared her teeth in hatred as the paladin closed.

But his wards held against her magic.

Grinning, the paladin took a few more steps, leaped, and caught the forearm Dairy extended from around the corner right across the throat.

Desidora, and the area around her, slid from death priestess back to normal as the paladin slid to the ground, gurgling and holding his neck. Dairy stepped out from behind the corner and put the paladin down for good with a solid punch.

“They aren’t very smart, are they, Sister Desidora?”

“Powerful people don’t really need to be smart.” Desidora smiled at Dairy sweetly. “It is nice when you try, however.”

They walked to the door, which had both a crystal plate and a key lock. Desidora frowned at it. “I cannot pick locks. Dairy?”

“I will see what I can do,” Dairy said politely, and tore the door off its hinges.

Pyvic was inside, shackled and gagged, but otherwise unharmed as far as Desidora could see. Derenky lay unconscious on a small cot against the wall. Pyvic looked up as they came inside, his eyes frantic, and began shaking his head. He pointed at Derenky as Desidora came forward.

“We’ll check him,” Desidora said. “Let’s get you ungagged first.” She loosened the gag enough for him to speak.

“Watch out!” he shouted, and Desidora turned as Derenky slammed into her. She hit the wall hard, tried to catch her breath and her balance, and felt everything slide to the simple black and white of death as instinct took over. She reached out to pluck at the fabric of the soul attacking her—

And found death already there.

“He has a message,” said the zombie of Derenky as its hands closed on her throat. Its skin was pale, only barely dead, but the aura of death around was unmistakable.
“Byn-kodar’isti kuru’ur.”
Desidora grabbed at its aura, but it was locked or twisted somehow, and she fumbled with it like a thick-fingered girl worrying at the buttons of a new dress. Its grasp tightened, and everything started to flicker at the edge of her vision. “The same words you heard, he heard first. He was forged in the death you met as a lover.”

“Clover with roots intact,” Dairy said, and pressed a small pouch of crushed green into the zombie’s face. The zombie stumbled back, its grip on Desidora falling away as it batted feebly at Dairy, who backhanded it into the wall. “Sorry, Sister. I had to get the right pouch.”

“Not a problem,” Desidora gasped, and with her breath coming easily again, she focused on the zombie. “Forged,” she muttered, and found what she had been looking for. She struck the air with a closed fist, and the zombie dropped like a puppet whose strings had been cut, instantly gone.

“What happened?” Dairy asked. “I thought you could control zombies.”

“Easily, when they are mine.” Desidora let the aura of death fade away, and the world filled with color and life and feeling again. “And a common necromancer is simple enough. This was different.”

“Another death priest, a paladin,” Pyvic said from where he was shackled. “He calls himself Mister Lively.”

“He said he was forged in death,” Desidora mused as Dairy broke Pyvic’s shackles open. “I believe he was a priest of Pesyr before he was chosen. As my power is”—she almost said
a perversion
, but she had come to a better understanding of herself more recently—“an extension of my abilities as a love priestess, his power is changed the same way. It’s harder for me to affect it.”

“That might explain why the paladins are protected against your magic,” Pyvic added, rubbing his wrists.

“Yes. A priest of Pesyr could make powerful armor. A death priest with the same power could create wards even I have trouble defeating.” Desidora looked over at Dairy. “Also, clover?”

Dairy nodded. “Part of my training in the Knights of Gedesar. Something about it being alive weakens undead. If I’d just punched him while he had a grip on your neck like that, he might have torn your throat out as he fell backward.”

Desidora pursed her lips. “Excellent point.”

“What now?” Pyvic asked. “Loch’s message said that you had something to do up here, but didn’t specify more.”

“Now,” Desidora said, “we find out where the ancients first allowed the Glimmering Folk into this world.”

The stadium floor smelled of grass that was far greener than the normal stuff growing outside. Athletes walked on immaculately swept dirt paths that glowed faintly with the magic of Sunrise Canyon nearby. Some carried long poles, throwing weights, or handball gloves. Others stretched or ran in place. Events were already running, and the crowd cheered as an athlete landed in the sand after an amazing jump, then came back to her feet smiling and waving. Her arm was bare for now.

In the center of the field, Loch saw the podium ready for the people in charge to give the speeches, backlit dramatically by the fountain of fire blossoming from a golden bowl set in the middle of the stadium.

“Tern said that, from the blueprints, that’s not a brazier,” Kail said. “More like a pipe. Leads all the way down to the room with the gate.”

“Seemed a bit much to be strictly ornamental,” Loch murmured, looking up. Heaven’s Spire was directly overhead. “That fire turns from a fountain into a beam, it blasts up and hits the city square.”

“Tern ever figure out what happens when that happens?” Kail asked.

“She wasn’t in a place to study on the flight up.”

“Fair.” Kail sighed. “Hessler was a good man. We’ll raise a wineskin later.”

“That we will.” For now, Loch headed for the fountain of fire.

A matronly white woman in full robes decorated in the same style as the atrocious uniform stepped into their path. “Excuse me, are you supposed to be here?” she asked.

Loch noted the white athletes walking by, talking and laughing, and pressed her lips into a thin line.

Fortunately, Kail was there. “Oh yes, ma’am, we are. They said we were supposed to be near the podium. Last-minute addition to a speech Archvoyant Cevirt is going to give when he hands out the bands, something about diversity and how in today’s Republic, no matter what race we are, everybody’s
true
colors are red and blue.” He pointed at the logo on his uniform proudly.

The matronly woman blinked. “Well, that is a wonderful message, and a really important one for everyone to be hearing. You just head over there and have a great day.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Kail smiled and ducked his head as the lady walked off.

Loch started walking again. “I just threw up in my mouth a little.”

“I’m amazed Cevirt didn’t ask me to write his speeches. I’ve got a lot to add.”

“Speaking of Cevirt . . .” Loch made a tiny gesture. As the athletes and coaches and officials began to move to the edges of the stadium, the crowds were clearing, and she could see the archvoyant with a crowd of nobles and important people near the podium. “Come on.”

“Disabling the font is primary, Captain. Lessa-whatsit is the one in charge, and unless he hopped bodies, he isn’t on Cevirt.”

“He’s still the archvoyant. If anybody can get official word out to warn people, it’s him.” Loch gripped her walking stick and tapped a steady beat as she headed toward him.

“You have a way to stop the paladin band?”

“Elf charm. Grabbed one after Pyvic said it worked on Derenky.”

“I heard those were expensive.”

“May have lifted a few things from the Dragon’s manor on my way out,” Loch said, and, as Kail chuckled, added, “Circle around. This works, I free Cevirt and any other nobles in that crowd wearing bands. It doesn’t, get to the font.”

Behind the podium, off to either side of the font, a massive glamour flickered to life. At first it was a pair of black squares, blank to all appearances. Then a gigantic dragon puppet popped into view, the same image repeated on each of the great illusionary screens.

“Welcome back to the Republic Festival of Excellence!” it roared, and the fountain of fire flared brilliantly for a moment as the crowd cheered. “We’ve had some amazing demonstrations by our paladins, and we can’t wait to see what the rest of this great nation’s citizens can do. If you’ll direct your attention to the podium, we’re just a few minutes away from seeing the first lucky competitor get his—or her—new paladin band!”