by Paul Barrett
“Even if she could, she would have no reason to teleport me here after I told her the location of the gnome. Once she had that, she didn’t need me.” I was beginning to feel the sting of being duped. “So why even send me at all?”
Quinitas shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe she figured the trip would get you killed and save her the effort. You’ll have to ask her.”
“A bigger question. Why didn’t she just teleport undead in to do the dirty work.”
“You’ve dealt with them,” Quinitas said. “They make great shock troops, but they aren’t intelligent enough to recognize and steal a weapon. Unless you deal with a vampire or a lich, and Siralanna has no interest in that. She’s demented, not insane.”
I thought the debate was still open on that, but I nodded. “So let’s get to the bullshit parts of her story. Assuming what you’ve told me so far isn’t bullshit.”
Quinitas gave me a cold smile. “I’ll start with the things she told you that are true. The sword is evil and is meant to be used during a ritual. It’s part of a device to summon demons. Not a pack of them as she told you. It only summons two in particular.”
“Let me guess,” I said. I dropped my voice to a whisper. Call me superstitious, but I won’t say the names too loudly. “Aznog and Azrog.”
“I see where you get your sterling reputation for deductive reasoning,” Quinitas said. “That is correct; it summons the Demon Twins. I am not a member of the Cult of Caldare. It shows how little you know of elves to think any elf would ever stoop to being involved with such a despicable following.”
“Sorry,” I said. “Not too many elf playmates in the mountains. You hobnob with orcs, so it’s not a far reach to—”
“Stop before you reveal even more how ignorant you are. The orcs were our enemies and fought for the demons. They only did so because their Clan leaders told them to.”
“They were just following orders?” I snorted. “They were happy to do it. They wanted Mage City and the northern lands and would have destroyed all of us to get it.”
“You’ve seen where they live. Do you blame them?”
I stared at Quinitas. Of all the weirdness this case had brought, an elf defending orcs was one of the weirdest. “I don’t blame them. That doesn’t mean—”
The ogre offered another deck-rattling clearing of his throat. “You are getting off the subject. You can argue interracial politics another day.”
“Assuming there is another day,” Quinitas said with a wry smile. “As I said, I don’t follow the cult. However, contrary to what my sister said, I did complete the training for the Assassin’s Covenant and earned the markings. But I’m not an assassin.”
“What’s the point of learning to kill for money if you don’t do it?”
“I’m a hundred and eighty-two years old. I’ve learned many things I don’t bother to do anymore. In this particular case, I trained so I would have access to their spy network, which is extensive and helped me dig up the information about the gnome. In return, I offer them the services of my herbalists and sometimes act as a spotter.” He held up a hand. He must have seen the question I was about to ask. “I assess the target and determine the best method and time to get the job done.”
“And how many targets have you ‘spotted’?”
“Not relevant to our discussion. What is relevant is you understand that just because I don’t kill doesn’t mean I don’t know how. I do know. And I know how to do it quietly and without anyone realizing I did it.”
“You can stop with the threats.”
“I’m sorry.” He picked up his wine glass. “I didn’t realize I was making a threat.”
Perhaps he wasn’t. Maybe he just liked to brag. “So you’re a member of the AC, you’re a Clanmage, but you’re not in with Caldere. Then why are you involved in this at all?”
“Incoming,” the helmsman yelled. I looked up to see a giant shaft of wood flying toward us. The other Ziploon had gotten closer much sooner than I expected. The shaft, which had a pointed end engulfed in fire, fell short by twenty or thirty feet.
“Ranging shot,” the helmsman said. “All hands, prepare to return fire.”
Elves ran about the deck, readying for the fight. Quinitas didn’t move from the chair. He took another sip of wine then said, “I want to stop my sister, who is going to raise the Demon Twins and bind them to her will.”
“Why?”
“Why do I want to stop it or why is she doing it?”
“Now who’s the idiot?” I asked. “I assume you want to stop it because you have a self-preservation instinct. Why does she want to do it?”
“I love my sister, but she has an overabundance of pride.”
“Imagine that.”
Quinitas frowned. “Our family was in line to rule Northstead,” he said. “We had the influence, we had the backing of the people, and we had the ability. Then the war came. Gosley and his protégés saved Northstead. The people elected him leader and changed Northstead to Mage City.” He sipped his wine. “My sister tends to hold a grudge.”
“She’s doing this to get rid of Gosley? She would risk another war and untold destruction because of some petty grievance?”
“It’s not petty.” Quinitas’ eyes flashed. He might still have a little grudge in him too. “Ruling Northstead would have meant a great deal to our Clan. The prestige gained from such an achievement can last for generations. It was not a trivial loss.” He looked away and appeared uncomfortable. “However, I do agree that my sister is overreacting.”
That was one way to put it. I downed my wine and poured another glass. It emptied the bottle. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
Quinitas offered a bitter laugh. “Sure. I walk in and tell you a noble elfette is a necromancer looking to destroy Mage City and you’re just going to believe me.” He looked at me. “You’re not even sure you believe me now.”
“Not true,” I said. “I do believe you.” I wasn’t sure why, only that he seemed to be telling the truth. Obviously, I wasn’t the most astute at determining that, otherwise I wouldn’t be in this situation. It made the most sense, however. He had no real reason to rescue me otherwise. Actually—
“Why did you rescue me? You said you need my help. For what?”
He stood up and walked over to the railing. I followed him. The other Ziploon had gotten closer. The elves on our blimp stood ready for action. Some waited by the ballistae. Others held buckets of water and sand. A third group strung longbows while the younger members set out buckets filled with oil. Arrow shafts protruded from the buckets like porcupine quills.
Quinitas looked over the edge. “I may need you to kill my sister for me,” he said. “I don’t want it to come to that, but it may have to be done.”
“You have orcs and a Clan cadre. You have the Assassins Covenant. You don’t need me.”
He shook his head. “She has undead. She can summon more of an army than I can ever recruit. My Clan won’t condone an attack on our own. The AC doesn’t take contracts out on relatives.”
“Assassins with morals. What will they think of next?”
“If you can kill her rather than us having to mount an attack it will save any number of lives.” He sighed. “Elf Clans don’t attack each other. And members within the same Clan certainly don’t. But Siralanna has changed the rules. The attack in the sewers showed me that. Even if I would kill her, I can’t, because…” he paused, looked at me, sucked in a breath. “I can’t get close to her. I do have ways to make it easier for you to get within striking distance.”
I frowned. Something in the elf’s reasoning didn’t click. He had been about to say something else and changed it. If he could get me close, he could get anyone close. Like someone he trusted. If he was telling me the truth, it wasn’t the whole truth.
And there was the question of myself. Could I kill a woman, even one as duplicitous as Siralanna? I didn’t know.
A loud keening sound behind our Ziploon made eve
ryone turn. The air shimmered for a second. It tore apart, creating a giant gash of black in the blue sky. Through this rip flew another Ziploon. It looked much like the Valley Flower, right down to the Greenstreet crest and interlocking ring pattern on the narrow balloon. Siralanna had sent this ship. That settled my inner turmoil. Killing her had just become a line I was willing to cross.
The wild-eyed magician that had blown up Stinkhole stood on the bow. Though his robe had splotches of black where it had been singed, he looked surprisingly healthy for someone caught in a town-destroying explosion. His hair looked neater than it had when I first saw him. He spoke. Even though he was a hundred feet away, some magic let us hear him.
“Snazdaggin Kundarik, Siralanna wants to…” he paused and wheezed in a breath “…thank you for your…service. However, the time has come…to terminate…your contract.”
He lifted a hand and fired a lightning bolt at our balloon. I flinched, ready to die engulfed in hot fabric and helium.
The ogre swung his staff. The bolt deflected, flying away from the balloon and leaving only a smell of burnt air.
“Oh good,” the crazy mage said. He let out a wheezing giggle. “This is going…to be fun.”
The fight was on.
11
I pulled out my Firestarter. It was like grabbing a grain of sand to fight a crab, but it was the best I could do. The helmsmen spun the wheel, turning the Ziploon so it could bring the front weapons to bear. I didn’t know how we would get turned around without taking a deadly shot to the broadside.
Quinitas shouted orders. I ran to the stairs leading below decks.
“Liz, get up here,” I yelled down into the hold. “We’ve got a fight.” Her bow wouldn’t be much better than my wand, but I wasn’t going to let us die with our thumbs up our asses.
I heard a phwoom sound as the ogre launch a cannonball-sized wad of fire from his staff. It flew across the sky and struck the other balloon. I readied a cheer. The ball struck, exploded, and left nothing but a scorch mark. Shards of flame fell harmlessly past the deck.
“What the hell?”
“Armored coating,” Liz said. I jumped. She had run up beside me, and I hadn’t even heard her. She wore a loose-fitting green robe that flapped in the wind. “All Ziploons have it. Fire resistant, tough to puncture, light enough that the Zips can still fly. Be glad. I’m sure we have it too.”
We had come around so that our side presented itself to our enemy as a fat, juicy target. They wasted no time.
“Incoming,” an elf shouted as the other vessels’ four ballistae fired their pointed death logs. Their gunner was good. They all headed straight for the balloon. Armor or no, I knew at least one of them was going to get through.
The ogre stood at the side with his staff held aloft. He spoke a word. The hairs on my neck rose. A buzzing went through my ears. The ballista bolts arced toward the balloon. Ten feet before they hit, they encountered something else. Blue light flashed. The sharpened trunks burst into splinters with enormous cracking sounds. Shards of tree rained onto the deck. I leaped to avoid being impaled by a large chunk of pine. It skittered across the deck and slammed into the railing.
“Can we go home now?” Crizlyk asked from the stairway. “This stopped being fun as soon as we left the office.”
I didn’t bother to answer. I felt helpless. I didn’t sail. I couldn’t man any of the massive weapons. If the other vessel boarded us, I might be useful. Until then I was ballast.
I heard another sizzle of lightning. Blue light flashed across the deck and almost blinded me. The bitter tang of burnt air filled my mouth. A loud, deep shout of pain echoed across the deck. I blinked to clear my vision. Amid the white dots dancing in front of my eyes, I watched the ogre fall. The less intelligent looking head had been turned into a blackened, cauterized stump. Pieces of the shattered skull lay on the deck, the skin sizzling. The ogre was still alive. He groaned and writhed. His body twitched. We had just lost our magical protection.
Then Quinitas reminded me he was a Clanmage, something I had forgotten in the turmoil. He ran to the Zip’s side and flung his arms violently outward as if trying to detach his hands by force. Barely visible blurs streaked through the air. They crossed the gulf between the vessels faster than a bow. Five men on the other craft’s deck fell. A moment later I heard the distant thud of the deadly projectiles striking flesh.
Maniacal Mage, standing at the bow with his arms spread as if he were the King of the World, returned the favor. Shards of shimmering darkness, black as glassy coal, launched from his hands. Like Quinitas’ projectiles, they moved almost too fast to see. Six struck elves. Another nicked a rope. The rope severed as the tension snapped the lower half of it inward. It nearly decapitated an elf as it slashed him across the neck. He fell, creating an abstract painting on the deck with his blood.
The Flower had almost come around to face our enemy. The other Zip’s ballistae fired again. Quinitas raised his hands and deflected two of the bolts. The third flew by and missed. The last struck home. It was a solid hit. The armor gave way. The bolt sunk five feet into the balloon. I could hear the hiss of escaping gas around the wood. Two elves pulled themselves up the guide ropes, agile as monkeys. They had covered buckets and brushes hanging off belts clipped to their waists.
“Repair,” Liz said when she saw me looking. “They’ll patch the balloon around the bolt to keep it from leaking.”
That’s what they would have done if they had been allowed. Two more crystal black shards launched from the other deck. They stuck the elves through the chest, killing them instantly. One fell and plummeted toward the ground. The other hung with his arm caught in the rope.
I suddenly had a purpose. The bug-eyed mental case had to be put down. “Let’s go, Liz.” She followed me as I ran toward the bow of the ship. Crizlyk scuttled behind us.
“Don’t leave me here,” he shouted. I had no idea where he thought we were going.
Four thrums bounced through the air as our ballistae released. I didn’t see what our bolts did, but the lack of cheers told me it wasn’t much. I had lost track of Quinitas as I ran. The familiar whoof of a fireball told me the elf was still functional. Unfortunately, he was nowhere near as proficient as the wild-haired sorcerer. Maybe insanity made you stronger. Bug-eyed had more skill and power than Quinitas. He needed to be released from the burden of breathing.
We reached the bow. The Zips were still at least two hundred and fifty feet apart. With the wind and motion, it would be an incredibly difficult shot for the average bowman. But Lizaria Archer, with her magic bow, more than lived up to her last name.
I spotted the mage. His goggle eyes stared at our Zip while his hands waved. Electricity sparked between them. He was building up another lightning bolt. The back of his Zip burned. Several ropes had been severed. Quinitas’ fireball had done some good.
“Can you get him?”
“Yes,” Liz drew her bow. “He needs to be distracted. Otherwise, he’ll block it.”
“Got you covered,” I said. I ran to the other side of the bow. The top of the railing stood inconveniently right at my eye level. I pulled myself onto it and gulped as the ground loomed a deadly distance below me. I tried to ignore it and focused on the wizard.
“Hey,” I shouted as I waved my hands. “Here I am, you bastard. I’m not terminated yet.”
I got his attention. He looked at me and smiled. I prepared myself, ready to jump as soon as —
Lightning shot from his hands. No motion, no indication it was going to happen. It just came. I was dead.
The bolt hit the railing posts beneath me. Wood shattered with a deafening crack. The railing gave out. I plunged toward the ground and reached out in desperation. My hand snagged the edge of the deck at the same time I commanded myself to float. The headache damn near exploded my skull. I accepted it as payment against the agony of a two-hundred-foot drop. My hands gripped the edge and I let my weight return. That offered a slight easing of the drumbeat i
n my head. My stomach clenched in hunger. At that moment I could have almost eaten the no longer shiny mahogany deck.
Crizlyk suddenly stood above me. He reached down and grabbed my arm. With the sauro’s help, I was able to pull myself back onto the deck. I lay there panting amidst the shattered remains of the railing.
After far too short of respite, I stood up. “Thanks.”
He gave me his sharp-toothed grin. “Glad you didn’t fall.”
“That makes two of us.” I ran back over to Liz. She had her bow nocked, and scanned with lizard-like concentration for a target. “Please tell me you already skewered the bastard.”
“I hit him, and he fell,” she said. “I have no idea if he’s dead.”
“Wish I could have seen it.”
“Glad you didn’t fall,” she said.
“That makes three of us now,” Crizlyk said.
The mage was out for the moment. That didn’t make the battle over, a fact I remembered with the cry of “Incoming.”
Once again, ballista bolts flew toward us. I spotted Quinitas. He was as disarrayed as his ship. And like his ship, he was still fighting. He deflected two of the bolts with hand waving and chants. The other two slammed past his magic. One struck the balloon a glancing blow that bounced away without piercing the fabric. The other slashed into the deck at a low angle. I envied the grace of the elves as they dodged the giant skewer. It slammed into the raised back of the craft, leaving shredded wood in its wake.
The now squared off vessels began closing in on each other. We had drifted to a lower altitude than the other Zip. Our balloon was losing the gas that kept it afloat. I couldn’t see the other ship’s deck. What I could see was the tip of a ballista bolt as it was being cranked back. They would be hitting us again soon. With the bolt coming at a downward angle, it would puncture through the top of the balloon as easily as chain shot ripped up a sailing ship’s sail. The missile might even go all the way through and shatter the deck.
Another fireball flew from Quinitas’ hand. It was smaller than his others, and poorly aimed. It caught the Zip’s figurehead and knocked it off, but did no real damage. I studied the elf closer. He was in worse shape than I thought. His face had gone the color of clean bed linens. A ragged glaze dulled his eyes. His mouth hung open as if he couldn’t remember how to shut it. Magicians could sling some serious power if pressed. It took a toll on them. I suspected Quinitas had never been tested this hard.
