Archer rubbed his chin. The wind off the water blew the tufted spike of hair at the front of his head almost flat to the top of his skull for a moment, then the spike flew back up again. “There's a lot of them.”
“There were a lot of them in manghar territory, as well,” Wick said, catching his balance against one of the rocks as another strong gust came off the ocean.
“A river in a bag won't fix it this time, though.” Archer checked the contents of the unfillable bag. “Honestly, we don't have much left in the bag, anyway. Nothing that can help us here.”
“Agreed.” Wick peered over the rock again, just to make sure none of the manghar were flying their way. “What can we use to get past them and into the palace?”
“I don't think it'll all be over when we get into the palace.” Archer thought for a moment. “There's not much we can use. We'll have to invent something out of what we have and what we see around here. I think the biggest hurdle we have to worry about is how we would get over there if we did have an opening.”
“We could swim,” Wick said hesitantly, “but we would probably be caught before we ever made it to the palace.”
“How do you normally get in there when you're here?” Archer asked.
“They have boats for visitors that they carry back and forth themselves,” Wick said. “But they're all inside the palace to keep people like us from breaking in and do the kind of things we're planning to do.”
“That's unfortunate,” Archer said cheerfully. “Maybe we'll just have to take a hostage and get them to take us over.”
“As if that would work. None of them are swimming alone, and even if I would let you kidnap one of them, they would have to swim all the way back to the palace by themselves to get the boat to bring us over, in which time they could easily sound the alarm or bring back the entire nixie army to capture or kill us.”
“No hostages then,” Archer said, sounding disappointed. “We could build our own boat, then. There's enough wood back in the forest, and if we paddled very fast, maybe we could make it.”
Wick shook his head. “We wouldn't make it, even at our top paddling speed. The nixies are too strong of swimmers. They would catch up with us before we could make it even a quarter of the way.”
“Then it looks like we only have one option left,” Archer said. “Use the stones.”
When Wick started to look uncomfortable, Archer insisted, “We don't have all of them yet, but we do have enough to get us over the water if we wanted to. And no one needs to know we used them. We just use them to get ourselves over there, and then we get their piece and we're gone.”
“But we don't know how to use them!”
Archer narrowed his eyes. “All lies; you've probably read whole books on it. You know how to use them.”
“Only a little. Bare minimum knowledge.” Wick peeked over the rock again. Another patrol of nixies rocketed past, just a stone's throw from the shore. He turned back to Archer. “I know what they're meant to do and what they could do if put in the wrong hands, but if it came down to building something or using them to create a spell, I wouldn't know what to do in the least.”
“Well then. I guess it's up to me.” Archer started digging through the unfillable bag. “You watch how the manghar are moving. Try to find a gap in the cycle somewhere.”
“What are you doing?” Wick crouched next to the rock, facing toward the ocean as instructed, but he kept looking over his shoulder at Archer.
Archer found what he was looking for and pulled out the seraph piece of the Heather Stone and the Satyr's Crown. “I'm improvising.” Bracing one foot against the inside of the Satyr's Crown, he pulled at the translucent jade stone on the front.
“Just be careful with that,” Wick said and returned to watching the manghar soldiers circle. A heartbeat later, he heard a metallic snap from behind him and he spun around. “Archer!”
“Oops.” Archer didn't sound sorry at all. He stuffed the crown back into the unfillable bag and held up the satyrs' piece of the Heather Stone in its broken setting. “All set. What do you see?”
Wick watched the manghar. “There's a tiny gap in the circles. Right. . .” He waited. The manghar wheeled around the towers. One, then the other, one, then the third, one, then. . . “There!” There was a few seconds where no one crossed the front of the palace before the fourth manghar swooped across. “I've seen it happen twice now. But how do you plan to get past the nixie patrols?”
“That isn't going to be a problem,” Archer said, standing and taking a few steps back up the beach. Realizing he was in full view of anyone in the air or above the surface of the water, Wick got up and chased after him.
“Someone's going to see you!” he hissed. “You're out in the open, they'll see you!”
Archer readied the pieces of the Heather Stone in both hands. “That isn't going to be a problem, either.” As Wick caught up to him, he held up the stones and clicked them against one another.
The shock wave from the stones blasted them backward and threw them across the water in an arc of fire.
Chapter fourteen
A Brief Guide to Complete Failure
They hit the water just short of the steps of the nixie palace with a colossal splash. Fortunately, the water was shallow. The impact from hitting the water would leave bruises, but Wick barely gave himself time to recover. Everyone would have seen a splash that big.
Things were not going the way he would have preferred, but they had made it past the patrols. However, if they wanted to make it inside the palace, they had to move faster. Dragging Archer with him, Wick splashed to the steps of the palace and slogged up them at a run. One of the nixie patrols swerved toward the steps.
Skin still stinging from hitting the water, Wick threw his weight against the other door, and together they forced the doors shut. Archer threw the bolt. Now they only had to worry about the rest of the entrances. And all of the forces already inside the palace.
“Really, 'no one will ever know we used them?'” Wick exclaimed, turning on Archer with a vengeance. “In what way was that subtle?”
“I did my best!” Archer stuffed the two pieces of the Heather Stone back in the unfillable bag. “Who knew these could even do that? Come to think of it, why didn't I steal these before?”
Wick shot him a look.
“Kidding. I probably wouldn't have stolen them, maybe because now that I've done it, I've learned that stealing them gets all of Aro on your tail.” Archer dropped the flap of the bag down with a decided slap. “But at least we're still alive. You know where they keep their piece of the stone, right?”
Wick nodded. “If they haven't moved it. Let's go.” He started up one of the arching ramps leading higher in the palace with Archer right behind him. “And I actually did know the stones could do that. That was one of the things they told me never to do because it might damage the stones.”
“Huh. Who knew?”
“I did.”
“Well, yes, I had assumed.”
Halfway up the slope of the ramp, someone leaped out from an alcove: a young nixie man, about their ages, armed with a long, twisted sword. Fangs bared, he swung the blade at Wick's head.
Wick ducked under the sword, leaving the blow swinging toward Archer. Archer yelped and ducked as well, and the sword's blade dug deep into the wall. Popping up behind the nixie's scaled back, Wick grabbed him by the neck and slammed his blond head into the wall. The nixie's eyes rolled back and he slumped to the ground.
Archer stared down at the felled nixie with wide eyes. “I'm impressed. You know, you're getting good at that. If we could just get you a club or a mace or something, you could bash people over the head all the time.”
Wick considered it. “I think I'd be good with a mace. For now, I'll just take this with me.” He grabbed the handle of the stuck sword and gave a great heave. The sword came loose all at once, and he nearly fell off the ramp. “Come on, let's keep going.”<
br />
“Agreed.”
They ran up the ramp. The crashing started on the level below them. Wick risked a glance over his shoulder. The doors hadn't budged, and they were huge, made of solid rock, and he dared to hope that they wouldn't break. But the nixies reacted to holdups much faster than anyone else had yet. Even as some of them were trying to breach the doors of the main entrance, Wick heard cries from above, and suddenly dozens of nixies poured down the ramp from the top of one of the towers. They must have found a window large enough to climb through.
Wick and Archer reached the next level of the nixie palace, and he leaped off the slick white stone ramp. The stone and glass doors to the gallery where the nixies kept their piece of the Heather Stone were just a few feet away. But so were the nixies. Wick took a moment to make sure that Archer was still behind him. But as he stopped and turned around, Archer came barreling up behind him, knocking right into him. Archer managed to keep his balance, but Wick slipped on the damp floor of the nixie palace and fell hard.
One of the nixies leaped down a curve of the ramp and drove her sword through the fabric of Wick's pant leg, pinning him to the stair. She screamed at him and shouted something to the other nixies further up the ramp.
This was Wick's last chance to get away. Wick took a swing with his sword, nearly hitting the nixie girl on the shoulder and making her jump back. He kicked at the handle of the sword that pinned him, loosening it a little, and with a great yank, he pulled himself free.
Archer, who had already made it to the doors of the gallery, screamed, “Come on!”
Wick scrambled up. Swinging just once more to keep the nixies back, he dashed through the doors of the gallery after Archer, and they slammed the doors shut.
Wick slammed the bolt into place. The nixies' greatest architectural downfall were the locks on every door. If he was still allowed to talk to them after this, he would have to recommend something that provided fewer security risks.
Something pricked the back of his neck, and his breath caught in his throat.
A man's voice, thick with underwater use and heavy with the twisting accent of the nixie people, spoke from behind him. “If you want to turn around, do it slowly.”
Wick lowered his stolen sword to the ground, then straightening, he slowly turned to face the gallery. Beside him, Archer had already turned around, probably faster than was good for him, because he was now pressed against the doors with a nixie sword jammed against his throat. As soon as Wick turned around, the knife tip that had been pricking the back of his neck moved to threaten his windpipe. The nixie general who held it smiled a pale smile and held out his hand for Wick's messenger's bag.
A sword at his neck, just like Eland's vision. He hadn't escaped Eland's vision in manghar territory. He had only charged toward it with eyes wide open.
The nixie took the messenger bag that Wick handed to him. “I think you'll find that the nixies do not let our relics be stolen easily.”
“I gathered that,” Archer gurgled.
Now that he was facing the room, Wick could see that even if no one had spotted them entering the palace, they never could have taken the piece of the Heather Stone.
The gallery, decorated with sea glass windows and hung with art both made by the nixies and found in sunken ships in the waters surrounding Aro, was strikingly beautiful and was something of a hidden gem in nixie territory. And almost every inch of it was full of people. Three dozen nixie soldiers, all armed to the teeth, stood surrounding the Heather Stone's setting in the wall. More surrounded Wick and Archer by the door. Standing in the middle, all teeth and leather wings, were eight more manghar guards.
One of the manghar leaned over the nixie general's shoulder to spit at their feet. “You can't steal my Crowned Head's throne in front of my eyes and get away.”
At last, Archer's talent for making enemies had come back to haunt them.
The manghar made a move to grab the sword Wick had put down, but the nixie general blocked him with an arm. When the manghar reluctantly moved back, the general bent to pick up the sword himself. “We were fortunate that the centaurs had a vision about the two of you and sent word ahead to us telling us how you planned to infiltrate the palace.”
The messenger they had heard go by in the woods. He must have been carrying the message telling the nixies about them. And they had let him walk past.
Wick should have bashed him over the head.
One of the nixies ripped the unfillable bag away from Archer and reached inside. While the general waited, he took out the stolen pieces of the Heather Stone one by one.
“Now, who are you?” the general said, leaning forward to inspect Wick's face. “From the letter the Crowned Head sent to me about the theft of the throne, there was only a seraph and a leshy traveling together. Not a human.” He squinted slightly at Wick's eyes. “But then again, you're not quite human, are you?”
Wick looked away, stung but hoping no one would see through his disguise. It didn't work.
The manghar guard that had spit at them lifted his spear to point at Wick. “That is the leshy! He changed himself. When he arrived to steal the seraph from his rightful execution, I heard the seraph address him by name.”
If he just hadn't gone back for Archer. . .
No. Wick crushed that thought before it could go far.
The nixie man turned the bag upside down, dumping the manghar throne, as well as all of Archer's tools and supplies, onto the floor. A half dozen people had to step back to make room for the avalanche. Sasha slipped out onto her rump with a startled expression. When the cascade ceased, the nixie man handed the bag to the general. “Every piece that was stolen is accounted for.”
“Good.” The nixie general turned to the lead manghar guard. “Then we're settled. Our stone is safe, and your throne shall be returned to you. The centaurs requested that we remove your stone from the throne for now and send it back to be inspected with the others, so if you don't mind.”
One of the nixies plucked the fragment of the Heather Stone out from its setting in the throne and set it in the general's open palm. “We'll have them sent out immediately. Do whatever you like with the thieves; they're no concern of mine. However, this bag is fascinating. Is it the same one our ancestors built to contain the Heather Stone?”
“They're going to execute us,” Wick said flatly.
The nixie general barely looked up from his captivated inspection of the bag. “Then I suggest you make peace with your ghosts.”
With that, he lowered the knife from Wick's throat and waved to the other nixies to do the same. Immediately, the manghar guards rushed to seize Wick and Archer. The lead guard instructed one of the others to carry the throne.
“Are you sure you wouldn't rather come back for it with a wagon, or have us deliver it?” the nixie general asked. “It must be inconvenient to carry it all the way back to your territory.”
The head guard shook his head. “We can carry it. Thank you for your assistance.”
Wick bent to retrieve something from the floor beside his feet. The manghar next to him yanked him upright again.
“No, thank you.” The nixie general slid his knife back into the fine silver sheath on his belt. “Between our two people, we were able to stop the thefts before they got too out of hand. Tell the Crowned Head that his letter was enormously helpful. I'll send the same to the centaurs.” The two races shook hands, and the manghar dragged Wick and Archer out of the nixie palace.
The nixies took one of the boats and ferried their group across the water, throne and all. As they climbed out onto the shore, the manghar guards shook hands with the nixies once more. Wick and Archer had knives to their backs as they crossed the beach; it seemed the manghar didn't want to be outsmarted again by two boys with no weapons.
As soon as they had gone far enough into the woods to be shielded from view from the water, Archer made a break for it. He spun around and swung his fist at the manghar
behind him. The blow struck the manghar across the jaw and the guard's knife fell.
Before anyone could make a run for it, the twelve guards pounced on them. Wick was held in place by two muscled manghar on either side. Another guard knocked Archer flat on his back. The head of the manghar guard, the one with a personal vendetta against them, stood over Archer and snarled. Light gleamed across the long, sharp fangs that Wick always tried his hardest to forget. The manghar grabbed the spike of metal at his belt.
“I want to make a deal,” Wick blurted.
The lead manghar guard stopped and looked his way. But without even considering the offer, he chuckled under his breath. “There will be no deal. This is how it will end.”
“You might want to reconsider.” Wick opened his fisted hand. The grips on his arms loosened in surprise. On his palm sat a large, sparkling ruby, something that had fallen out of the unfillable bag when the nixie had dumped it out. It had bounced over to where Wick stood and he had picked it up when no one was paying attention. Wick closed his hand over the jewel again. “It's expensive. If you sold it, you would get the best meals and the finest rooms on your journey back to your territory.”
The twelve manghar tried not to, but they all looked somewhat interested. Without warning, the lead manghar lunged for the jewel.
Wick, anticipating this, took a quick step back and hid his hand behind his back. “Try that again, and I'll change it into something else.”
The head manghar circled back around to join his brethren, watching Wick with suspicious eyes. “I don't think you can do that.”
“I can.” Wick held rock-solid eye contact. “You already saw me change what I look like, I can change this, too. If I think you're going to try to take it from me by force and still take us to be executed, I'll change it into a pinecone. Or a common rock. Something that won't buy you any good food or soft beds.”
The group of manghar seemed to consider this. It was all a bluff; Wick couldn't change the rock even if he wanted to. But if he didn't waver, maybe the manghar would believe that he could.
Robbing Centaurs and Other Bad Ideas Page 16
