The Paladin Caper (53 page)

“They’re real?” Princess Veiled Lightning shouted.

Cevirt stepped back, touching studs on his paladin band rapidly and looking up at the thing overhead. “That’s impossible!”

“It’s a trick!” Arikayurichi yelled. “It’s just another trick, an illusion killing an illusion! I heard her plan! I heard her entire plan!”

Lesaguris had said nothing. His gaze was focused entirely on Loch.

She looked up at him with a grim smile. “Hey, Naria,” she said without looking over, “didn’t I leave my walking stick outside when I went in to talk with you? I wonder if I ever left it in another room, just for a minute, when I talked to the others? I wonder if I might’ve learned from how Ghylspwr played me last time. I wonder if maybe I fed the magical weapon with the aura my death priestess could
see
a slightly
different
version of the plan?”

Lesaguris had gone pale, and he shook his head slowly as the Glimmering Folk growled overhead with a sound that made the earth tremble. “I will destroy you.”

“NOW?” Jyelle asked.

And Loch said, “Now.”

With a roar, Jyelle leaped into the crowd of nobles, tearing and ripping with monstrous fury.

Then

“For the bad news,” Ululenia snarled through great fangs as she slashed and tore at the daemon in Westteich’s manor, “is that I know exactly how you feel.”

The daemon with Jyelle’s memories howled in rage as she fell back from Ululenia’s assault. “YOU KNOW NOTHING.”

Ululenia growled, and her horn flared as the vines that had grown through the room all sprouted great black thorns. “I know the anger that rides you like a beast in your brain,” she said. “I know how it twists you into something you were not, making a mockery of your old life. You were simple as a daemon, innocent as wildfire in your destruction. You were smart as Jyelle, cunning enough to be a worthy adversary. Now you are just the monster Loch rolls her eyes at. What part of you is happy at that?”

“I WILL KILL HER,” the daemon said, though it did not attack.

“And will you be happy, then?” Ululenia asked through her fangs. “Will that calm the foaming waters of your rage? Or will you just be the wolf deprived of the only prey it cared to hunt?”

The daemon paused.

“WHAT ELSE CAN I DO?” it asked. “WHAT ELSE CAN I BE?”

“If you wish to let your spirit join the earth and become part of it, I can help that seed flourish and grow,” Ululenia said quietly. “If you wish to die, then the weapons best suited to end you are those of the ancients themselves. In either case, here is what I offer . . .”

Now

“Keep the scrying pods showing everything that you can,” Icy said as they saw Skinner headed for them. “I will deal with him.”

Kail leaned against the console and nodded as Icy headed up the stairs. He’d come out of the rush of battle, and that whole broken-arm thing was getting harder to ignore.

“It appears that the creatures are aware of our attempts to broadcast this across the Republic,” one of the puppeteers said. “Everyone who can hear this, I’m sorry, I’m not sure how much longer we’ll be able to keep going.”

“No matter what happens,” another puppeteer said, “don’t trust anyone wearing a paladin band. Break them if you can.”

“Please,” said the third, “they aren’t your friends anymore. They’re slaves of these ancients. Look at what’s happening here. This is what they wanted.”

“Relax,” Kail said, more to himself than anyone else. “Icy’s kicking ass now. He can take one guy.”

Then, up overhead and outside, Kail heard a flash of energy and a thump.

“Unless the guy is better at throwing energy blasts than Icy is at dodging them,” Kail muttered, and with a sigh, sat up and headed for the damned ladder.

In the Temple of Pesyr on Heaven’s Spire, Smith Lively fell to his knees as the entire room bucked and heaved.

The anvil altar seemed to strain, glimmering light dancing around it, and then with a groan, it settled in place, and a great rainbow radiance flared out from it in all directions.

“No!” Smith Lively shouted. “You cannot—This—They said it was just an illusion! They promised me it would never be opened again!”

Cold laughter sounded behind him.

He turned slowly to see Desidora on her feet, beautiful and terrible in her pale fury.

“We can close this,” he said quickly, “before they . . . no.” He looked at the ground, squinting as though he could see through the streets of the city itself. “No, they are already out. They—”

“Come now, Smith Lively,” she chided. “What craftsman does not take pleasure in seeing his
greatest creation
in use?”

As he gaped at her, she struck, and her magic flung him across the temple and slammed him against the wall.

“But I disagree with you,” she said as she walked to the altar. “Your gate is impressive, but it is not your greatest creation. The bands you likely had a hand in as well, but it is not them either.”

With a silent prayer no god could hear, Desidora put her hands on the altar and felt the magic she had placed there, the magic that had drawn the beam shot from the ground through the crystal underside of Heaven’s Spire and here, to the gate, where it opened what had once been closed.

She heard Lively struggling to his feet, and she looked inside that magic, looked to the gate itself. The underside of the city was the exit point for the Glimmering Folk, but Lively had used the anvil, which meant that it was possible, not likely, not easy, but possible . . .

She reached in with the cold power of death, plunging a hand into the dark waters of another world. It took power beyond measure to reach such a distance, through such a barrier, and she felt her skin warm, saw the fallen strands of her hair lighten to auburn as every mote of her power stretched out, grasping, reaching.

Lively was charging behind her, roaring in rage.

Please,
she prayed.
Please.

A hand grasped hers.

She pulled. Her pale-green dress swirled as she turned.

And a great blast of glimmering rainbow power staggered Smith Lively, stopping the blow that would have killed Desidora. It flickered out of the room and was gone in and instant.

And where it was, there stood Dairy.

“This is your greatest creation,” Desidora said to Lively. “A good-hearted young man who has surpassed you in every conceivable way.”

Lively’s pale face went still with rage, and he lunged at Desidora.

Dairy caught the blow with one hand, catching it before it struck. “No, sir,” he said.

“I created you,” Lively snarled. “You think to use your magical strength against me?”

Lively’s aura twisted around him.

And then, with a little pop, his paladin band fell off.

“Oh, thank the gods. I was hoping he would do that,” Desidora said as it hit the floor.

“Sister?” Dairy asked.

“They banded me?” Pyvic asked, blinking and looking around. “Damn it.”

“When I saw him hurt you, Dairy, I got a glimpse of the magic he used to nullify your powers,” Desidora said. “I thought that if he tried it again, I could twist it against his band.”

Then she leaped forward and pulled Dairy into a hug. “Thank you for coming back.”

He flushed. “Thank you for reaching out for us.”

“Us?” Pyvic asked.

Desidora wasn’t listening. Lively was down. Her death aura was safely around her, just in case he had any more traps readied. The gate had been opened. What mattered now was finding another way to hurt the ancients. They could hurry back to the transport rune at the palace. She could find Ghylspwr. She could look at him in the moment the Glimmering Folk laid waste to his world, could let
him
see how it felt to be played for a fool. She could . . .

“Sister Desidora?” Dairy asked. “You’re still very pale.”

And that was how it got you, she realized, and let the death aura go, and became a love priestess again.

“Thank you, Dairy,” she said, smiling at him.

Then she blinked. Dairy’s aura was next to impossible to track, but she saw something in it. She’d never have seen it with the death aura. It wasn’t energy, or power, or corruption, or anything like that.

It was something that mattered so much more, something only a love priestess could see.

“We need to get you down to the ground,” she said, and turned to Pyvic. “And while we go, you need to . . .” She squinted. “You need to send Loch a message.”

Pyvic blinked. “I suspect she’s pretty busy, Sister, and I doubt she needs to—”

Desidora leaned in and rapped her knuckle on his forehead.

“The two of you,” she said, and sighed. “Need, need, need. You’re allowed to
want
. Come on.”

She took both of them by the hand and started running, and as she did, she said a tiny silent prayer to the goddess who pointed the way for lovers.

The two Hunter golems kicked the door open. “For your crimes against the ancients,” one of them said, “you must die.”

A bolt thunked into his helmet, and a moment later, a pouch of glittering powder followed it, and the Hunter stumbled back, twitching, and then collapsed.

The other Hunter lunged forward, its spear slashing Tern’s crossbow from her hands. It stepped past Westteich, who had pressed himself back against the wall, and raised the spear to Tern’s throat.

“Yes, kill her,” Westteich said. “Then we’ll need to summon someone who can undo the damage she has done.”

The Hunter looked over at Westteich, though its spear was still pressed just below Tern’s chin. “Your loyalty is uncertain.”

Westteich raised his now-bare arm. “Listen, my paladin band was damaged in battle—”

“You
asshole
,” Tern said with incredible sincerity, without turning her head, as the spearpoint drew a drop of blood just below her chin. To the Hunter, she added, “You may want to get back to the gate room. It’s about to be crawling with Glimmering Folk trying to get into the ancients’ world.”

The Hunter paused. “Explain.”

“She’s bluffing,” Westteich said. “It’s another bluff. That’s what they do. They lie and do tricks and con people, but it’s always a bluff.”

“We opened the gate to the Shadowlands,” Tern said, pointing at the crystal lattice. “They’re pouring down from Heaven’s Spire right now. What’s the top speed on a giant flying rainbow octopus monster from hell, anyway?”