Ululenia heard pounding footsteps and drawn swords in the hall outside, which was, unfortunately, located quite near one of the guard barracks.
Their minds are polluted, Ululenia thought sadly, looking down at them. Their very essence corrupted. Be careful. They are as the crew on the airship. They will kill without hesitation.
Then she transformed into a snowy-white wolf, howled at the group of guards who had just come around the corner, and pelted down the hall in the opposite direction.
When she and the guards were gone, Icy pulled himself out and crept quickly to the guard barracks, leaving a little trail of watery footprints behind him.
"So," said Hessler as Tern stuck pieces of metal together, "why have the gods demanded that you stop the Glimmering Man?"
"That'd be ninety-seven feet..." Tern peeked around a hedge through a pair of telescoping lenses.
"I don't know." Desidora shrugged. "I only know that he must be stopped."
"Ninety-degree right turn, assume we go another foot forward while making the turn..."
"Have you a theory as to how he manipulated your illusion?" Desidora asked a moment later.
"Twenty feet after the turn, taking into account the change in surface..." Something of the spring persuasion clipped on somewhere.
"The Glimmering Folk are said to be from a world that only brushes our own," Hessler said uncomfortably. "The only reasonable hypothesis is that the magical substance of illusion is drawn from the matter of their world. If this Bi'ul is a wizard in his own world, then manipulating the matter of his own world would be easier for him than it would be for me."
"Probably need an upward angle of maybe sixty degrees, force of... Ghyl?"
"Besyn larveth'is!"
"Yeah, see, that doesn't really help me."
"I think," said Desidora, "that the Glimmering Man made a reference to shadows. He said that you toyed with shadows, and then he made the shadows real."
"Well, yes, but—" said Hessler.
"Ghyl, if you were gonna be flung into the air, would it better to fling you straight up or end over end?"
"Kutesosh gajair'is!"
"End over end," Desidora translated, and then to Hessler said, "Shadow-master, spirit-caster, drain the life and leave the husk."
"Oh hell no," said Hessler.
"Light shall mark the spirit stark that brings the Champion of Dusk." She cocked her head. "Would you say that the radiant aura of the Glimmering Man was a light that marked him?"
Tern held out her hand for Ghylspwr. Desidora handed him to her without looking, and Tern put Ghylspwr into what looked like a very tiny toy wagon made of metal spokes and wires. "Okay, here we go! Bessin-whateveritisyousay!" She placed the wagon by the hedge and pulled a tiny switch.
"Why do priests bring up prophecies every time something the least bit strange happens?" Hessler demanded as the little wagon rolled through the grass, ticking softly.
"Well, when the gods strip me of my priestly duties and demand that I go kill some powerful wizard from another world, I start to consider the possibility," Desidora said, raising an eyebrow. "Legends of the Champion of Dawn and the Champion of Dusk existed even in the time of the ancients. There's evidence that those legends are why the ancients left the land in the first place."
The little wagon ticked slowly toward the skeletal warriors, who watched it without evident interest.
"Oh, please," said Hessler. "It's your standard false duality designed to draw gullible believers into a world of monochromatic enemies and strip away any moral ambiguity—usually utilized by the ruling government to bolster whatever policies it wishes to implement." As it drew level with the mausoleum's entry gateway, the little wagon paused, then made a slow right turn and ticked its way between the skeletal warriors and into the mausoleum entryway.
"So, even though there's no way that your arcane studies can possibly account for it—"
"They can account for it, it's a dimensional warping crossover, and Ambassador Bi'ul, as a wizard powerful enough to breach the boundaries of his world to reach ours, is obviously quite talented—"
"—you see no possible way that Bi'ul could be the Champion of Dusk?"
"No, Desidora, as a matter of fact, I don't, because it's a stupid prophecy with no basis in fact!"
The little wagon finally finished its journey, ticking to a stop just past inside the arch. Something on the wagon went snap, and Ghylspwr whirled into the air.
"Kutesosh gajair'is!"
Something inside the archway exploded, and the air around the mausoleum flashed blue for an instant.
"So this Glimmering Man is a wizard who breached the worlds and came here?" Desidora reached around the hedge and made a hooking motion with two fingers. The skeletal warriors crumpled limply to the ground. "Would that be anything like casting his spirit?" Desidora stalked angrily across the grass with Tern and Hessler in tow.
"The prophecy is vague enough that it could mean anything!" Hessler insisted. Ghylspwr flashed back into Desidora's hand.
"Hey, guys, really, it was nothing," Tern muttered.
"But the gods don't create death priests for everything, Magister!"
"Besyn larveth'is," Ghylspwr rumbled to Tern.
"Thanks, big guy."
Ululenia dashed through the hallways with guards behind her, their minds hateful and strange, warped by the same magic as the poor souls from the airship. She could have changed into a bird to escape them easily, but it was important that Indomitable Courteous have time to get to freedom. Her horn shone in the dim torchlight of the back hallway as she fled.
Hunter Mirrkir stepped out into the hallway ahead of her, his golden armor shining and his spear crackling with hateful blue light. "Again we meet, little unicorn. Another filthy creature of magic falls today."
With a panicked yelp, Ululenia staggered to a halt, turned, flashed into a bird, and darted for the nearest corner as though hell itself pursued her.
Behind her, Hunter Mirrkir ran as quickly as she flew.
Tern turned turned the mausoleum door's handle and then dropped to her knees. As the door opened, a spear flashed out from a nearby statue and imbedded itself in the doorframe a few inches over her head. "S'open," she called back.
"Thank you, Tern," Desidora said calmly, and stepped into the chamber, where a great stone sarcophagus had been carved in the likeness of a stern-looking man with a sword. She held out a hand and spoke in some old religious language.
"So, what's the deal with the prophecy thing?" Tern asked Hessler, who was frowning.
"Oh, it's nothing, it's..." He glared at Desidora with a cute little frustrated look. "There's a very old story that says that in the eyes of the gods, the world sits with the sun half-behind the mountains, and has been that way for eons. Er, not that it's actually like that all the time. It's more of—"
"Hessler, if you try to explain what a metaphor is, I'm going to kick you in the shins."
Desidora kept chanting. Her skin was pale, and her hair and robes were dark. The ancient statues of the gods had started to twist into gargoyles and skeletal monsters.
"Right," said Hessler. "Anyway, the gods don't know whether the sun is halfway risen or halfway set, and they said that one day Dawn and Dusk would each send a champion to do battle, and that would determine whether the world were entering into a bright and glorious day, or the cold darkness of eternal night."
"Your basic good and evil thing." Tern nodded.
Hessler cocked his head, looking at Desidora, who was surrounded by a field of coiling black in which countless humanoid shadows writhed. Her voice was cold and imperious, and her eyes were portals to a world of eternal darkness. Her skin was flawless as an ancient statue seen by moonlight. Applecheeked Tern would have killed for skin like that.
"Desidora," Hessler said derisively, "believes Ambassador Bi'ul might be the Champion of Dusk."
"He does seem pretty evil," Tern suggested. "And your spells didn't hurt him. Neither did that chand
elier Desidora dropped on him."
With a faint glow of green-gold light, the lid of the sarcophagus drew back, and an ancient figure pulled itself upright with stiff, jerky movements.
"But if Bi'ul is the Champion of Dusk," Hessler said absently, "we'd need the Champion of Dawn to fight him. I haven't seen anyone untouchable by shadow or marked by the phoenix blade."
"Who dares summon me from the slumber of the dead?" rasped the figure in the sarcophagus.
"In the name of Byn-kodar'isti kuru'ur, I bind you to the will of the gods!" Lightning flashed from Desidora's hand and wreathed the zombie in green-gold fire.
"Right," said the zombie, dusting himself off. "What do you need?"
For a minute, Desidora was silent. The shadows writhed, clutching at her, and the gargoyle statues turned their tusked heads to hear her demands.
Then, slowly, her color returned.
"A drink," Desidora said in her own voice, breathing hard. "Tern, Hessler, I've altered his aura slightly to match that of his great-grandson. I've got to get to the console chamber. Tern, see you there. Hessler, remember what I said."
"Which part?" Hessler demanded irately, but Desidora was already walking out. "You're leaving us here?"
"We're behind schedule!"
"With him?" Hessler glared after her.
"Hey, look on the bright side," Tern said, elbowing him. "You've got me. Until I get you in through the side door, that is. Then you're on your own with Silestin's grandfather, here."
"I suppose it could be worse," Hessler said, grimacing, and then looked at Tern and tried to smile, which honestly didn't work as well as his frown, but it was nice of him to try.
The zombie looked at them both with a stern, if somewhat decayed, visage. "Are you going to give me an order? I assume I was wrenched back to the living realm for something other than the observation of your adolescent sexual tension."
Hessler and Tern stepped apart as though a sword had come down between them. "Get your dead ass out of the sarcophagus and follow along," Tern muttered. "And no yelling for guards, and no continuing forward when we stop and then stomping all over us and crushing our spines and skulls under your undead feet because we didn't explicitly tell you not to do that."
"The thought," said the zombie, "had not even begun to cross my worm-feasted mind."
Nineteen
When the hallways were wide, Ululenia flew. When they were narrow, she ran.
And still Hunter Mirrkir pursued.
She had lost her way, and now she thought as the deer, panting as it pelted through the forest with the wolf close behind. Eventually the trail would end, and there would be only closed doors and guarded gates before her. Eventually there would only be her and the wolf.
He was tireless, his pace a sprinter's dash, though any mortal man should have grown weary by now.
Ahead of her, a small dining hall far removed from the main palace ballrooms. How many doors would lead away? The Hunter had not lost her trail yet.
Her heart quailed. She cried out in her mind to any soul that might help.
And still Hunter Mirrkir drew closer.
They had been taken not through the large party-filled courtyard but through a small side passage, frequented only by guards and servants, to a cell large enough for the chained forms of Loch, Kail, Dairy, and the unchained Guard Captain Straithe.
"Thought you could sneak in during the Victory Ball?" he asked with a hearty smile. "Thought that old Captain Straithe would be a bit lax on the day of the party?"
"Yeah, pretty much," Kail muttered.
"Thought we'd get a little scratch," Loch said bitterly, "but all we got was pinched."
She was laying it on a bit, but you had to lay it on a bit for folks like Straithe.
"Well, you're at the parry now," Straithe said with an avuncular smile, "with all the important folks! You'll have some wonderful stories to tell at the Cleaners."
Kail made unhappy noises without saying anything that would get Straithe angry. The key was not for Straithe to be angry. The key was for Straithe to be gone.
"You can't leave us in here!" Loch tried. "We've got rights!"
"Right now you've got the right to sit nice and pretty, young lady," the captain said, chuckling, "and I promise to be right back, once I've processed the papers."
Loch ducked her head. He was going to leave, any minute now.
"And you, young sir," he added, turning to Dairy, "should pray to Ael-meseth that the judge doesn't throw you into the Cleaners with these two!" He shook his finger in Dairy's face, and Dairy jumped back, flinching.
Something fell from his grasp and tinkled on the floor.
It was the lockpick Kail had passed the kid beforehand.
Hunter Mirrkir knew that the unicorn was his when her path took her back to the dark and unused ballroom.
Several times she had left his view, but each time her unclean aura, the aura that Mirrkir existed to cleanse from the world, led him onward.
His spear would pierce her unclean hide, and her stain would be washed clean. He had slain unicorns before. They were more difficult than satyrs, who foolishly tried to fight, but less difficult than fairies, who could play clever tricks.
She seemed to realize that it was over, for she stumbled in the ballroom, catching her foot on the carpet. She had assumed human form, a flash of bright white cloak ahead of him. It angered Mirrkir when they took human guise. Still, she did not beg. She had the grace to accept her fate.
He halted behind her, raised his spear to plunge it into her white-cloaked back. "Your time is ended, unicorn. What was mislaid shall be recovered."
And the unicorn said a peculiar thing, in a very peculiar voice, as she turned.
"Kutesosh gajair'is!"
Loch shut her eyes and sighed.
"Seems my men missed something while searching you." Guard Captain Straithe snatched up the lockpick. "Maybe you weren't just petty crooks." He stared at them grimly. "Maybe you wanted to get caught," he said slyly, "then break out of this cell and make a little trouble from the inside!"
"Dammit, I knew bringing the kid was a bad idea!" Kail growled.
"Shut up, Kail."
"No, Captain, I will not shut up!" Kail yanked on his chains. "He dropped Iofecyl on thefloor!"
"You named your lockpick?" Straithe asked.
"I'm sorry!" Dairy blurted.
"Kid, you're a lousy thief." Kail glared at Dairy, then at Loch. "I don't know why the captain insisted you come along. This whole mission, you've stuck out like a sore thumb."
"Hear that, boy?" Straithe asked, leaning in toward Dairy. "You got yourselves involved with some nice customers, haven't you? Oh, they talked nice, but now they turn right against you."
"That's not true," Dairy said hotly. "Don't say that about Captain Loch!"
"Son, I hate to speak evil about the Urujar, gods know some of 'em are decent folk, but a certain type, you can just tell that they're no good." He chuckled.
"Don't say that about Captain Loch!" Dairy shouted, heaving at his shackles that chained him to the wall, and Straithe wagged a finger.
"You've got a temper like an Urujar, boy. That's why the Urujar don't make good criminals. Too lazy to work, too hotheaded to steal, 'bout all they're good for is fight—"
"Don't say that about my friends!" shouted Dairy, and swung.
Three very distinct noises occurred in quick succession.
The first noise was the crunching sound that Guard Captain Straithe made when he hit the far wall.
The second noise was the sound of Iofecyl, Kail's lucky lockpick, ringing like a tuning fork as it flew end over end from Straithe's grasp. The noise ended abruptly when it landed in Kail's outstretched hand.
The third noise was a slow metallic squeak, repeating slowly. It was the chain that had secured Dairy's right fist to the wall, now swinging back and forth while hanging from his still-outstretched arm.
"Hunh," said Kail when Dairy's dangling chain stopped
squeaking.
"I'm sorry," Dairy said softly.
"Don't worry about it, Dairy." Loch looked at Guard Captain Straithe. "You're doingfine."
Kail got to work on his shackles. "You didn't think I meant all that, did you? I was trying to create a distraction. Any time I start yelling, assume I'm just making noise, okay?"
Loch gave him a wry look. "In fact, any time Kail opens his mouth, just assume that."
"But it was my fault," Dairy insisted, tugging at the chain that still secured his left arm to the wall. "If I hadn't dropped your pick, the captain would have left."
The cell door opened. Kail palmed Iofecyl. Dairy, showing amazingly quick thinking, raised his right arm so that casual observation would still show him as being chained to the wall. By the grace of the gods, Captain Straithe had landed directly behind where the door opened, so that when the guard stepped inside, he didn't immediately see the man.
"Captain, I'm..." He broke off in confusion. "That's odd. Captain Straithe said he'd be here." Any minute now, Loch thought, he was going to look behind him.
"He had to take care of something," Loch breathed throatily and channeled her sister, who had always daydreamed of seducing young knights while Loch herself was asking the young knights to show her how to swing a sword. "But while you're here, could I just beg for some assistance?" She lifted her arms higher than was absolutely necessary.
The guard licked his lips. He stared deep into her eyes, and then he stared a bit lower than that. Kail began quietly working on his shackles again. "W-what do you need?" the guard asked.
"Well, this cell is so hot," Loch breathed, "and Captain Straithe wouldn't let me take anything off, and I've started to sweat. There's this one drop of sweat that started at the side of my throat..." She arched her neck. "...and it's sl0000wly trickling down to my collarbone..." She rolled her shoulders a little. "...and just making its way down between my... well..." She smiled. "It's just intolerable, and if you could just dab me dry, well..." She gave him a sultry half-lidded gaze. "...you'd be my hero."
The Palace Job Page 23
