By Patrick Weekes
The Rogues of the Republic Series
The Palace Job
The Prophecy Con
The Paladin Caper
Dragon Age: The Masked Empire
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2015 Patrick Weekes
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by 47North, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and 47North are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781503948730
ISBN-10: 1503948730
Cover design by Jason Blackburn
To my grandmother, Marion Finn, whose amazing sculptures taught me to love art and its creation, and who gave me her printer so that I could print out my work and submit it to magazines, saying simply, “You can pay me back once you sell a story.”
You never let me pay you back, Grammy, but I hope this helps.
Contents
The Crew
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
The Crew
Loch (Isafesira de Lochenville)
Former Republic scout and crew leader
Framed, acquitted, framed again, now presumed dead
Strained relationship with her sister, who turned out to be an evil assassin
Kail
Former scout in Loch’s unit
Picks locks, pockets, fights
Can insult people’s mothers in several different languages
Desidora
Death priestess, capable of reading and manipulating magical auras
Used to be hung up about it, better now
Used to wield the warhammer Ghylspwr, until Ghylspwr betrayed the team
Tern
Alchemist and safecracking expert
Proficient with crossbow and an improbable number of trick bolts
Grew up in a guild family
Hessler
Wizard training, although did not technically graduate from university
Expert in illusion magic, significantly less expert in anything else
Extensive study of ancients and other bits of random arcane history
Indomitable Courteous (“Icy”) Fist
Imperial acrobat, contortionist, and former monk
Cannot inflict harm upon any living creature due to vow of nonviolence
Dated Loch’s sister, Naria, who turned out to be said assassin trying to kill the crew
Ululenia
Unicorn (usually, see below)
Abilities include shapeshifting, mind reading, and nature magic
Recently killed another fairy creature and is acting differently as a result
Dairy (Rybindaris)
Simple farm boy later revealed as prophetic savior who defeated the Glimmering Folk
Abilities as Champion of Dawn include strength and resistance to magic
Currently living with Mister Dragon
Known Allies
Pyvic: captain of the justicars on Heaven’s Spire, also Loch’s boyfriend
Cevirt: archvoyant of the Republic, also Loch’s godfather
Mister Dragon: protector of the Elflands, Dairy’s boyfriend, actually a dragon
Irrethelathlialann (Ethel): Mister Dragon’s agent, previously an enemy, not a fan of humans
Known Enemies
Arikayurichi: magical weapon of the ancients who tried to destroy the Republic
Ghylspwr: magical weapon of the ancients, former team member until he betrayed them
Naria de Lochenville: Loch’s sister, current baroness of Lochenville, uses crystal lenses to see, formerly a secret assassin
Jyelle: former member of Loch’s scouting unit turned traitor, then killed by a daemon that absorbed both her memories and desire for vengeance upon Lochons
One
TO A COMMONER, the Forge of the Ancients looked like an old tower an hour’s carriage ride from the Westteich family estate, almost a day from any locale of note, and a full week’s travel from one of the port cities over which the floating capital of Heaven’s Spire hovered in its slow circle around the Republic. The tower was squat and sturdy, and a trick of its construction made it look wider in the middle than at the top or bottom, which had given rise to its local nickname, “The Barrel.” And while it was in no danger of falling down, the structure had no practical purpose that any local peasant could remember.
That humble facade, Handel Westteich knew, was entirely by design. The peasants of the world did not need to know what happened in the Forge. Such knowledge would only frighten and confuse them, and recent times had been confusing enough already. The Republic and the Empire had nearly gone to war after some evil fairy creature had raised an undead army to incite hostilities, and in the chaos, Archvoyant Bertram had disappeared. It was the second (presumed) death of an archvoyant in less than a year, and it had left Archvoyant Cevirt of the Skilled Party in charge of the Republic as a result.
Westteich had never met Cevirt, but he knew the man’s politics. In a few short months, Cevirt had pushed through new education and trade initiatives. The Skilled had come from peasants, and Westteich knew it was only a matter of time before the archvoyant’s little bills increased the taxes on the families that had made the Republic, so that all the peasants could feel better about themselves.
Archvoyant Cevirt was an Urujar as well. Judging a man by the color of his skin was the mark of a foolish and uneducated mind, and Westteich would certainly have no problem with an Urujar who worked his way into a position of power and then respected the heritage that had come before. That said, Westteich could not help but feel that Cevirt had turned the color of his skin into a sort of agenda, and upsetting the delicate balance of the Republic because of what had or had not been done to someone’s ancestors was also the mark of a foolish and uneducated mind.
Such were the thoughts that plagued Westteich as he made his way to the Forge of the Ancients that morning. He had hired traveling performers to entertain at his estate last night, which had kept him up quite late, and he would quite happily have rested for most of the morning had it been an option. However, the airship was due to arrive in just a few days, and it was vital that everything be on schedule, so there would sadly be no rest for the weary.
There were times, Westteich mused from his carriage as he idly watched the side of the road pass, when carrying a legacy seemed entirely unfair. With his mind, he could have been up on Heaven’s Spire, making his voice heard or even serving on the Voyancy. He could have lived in one of the port cities, which were the home of most of the Republic’s exciting culture, instead of the relative backwater of his family estate.
It was unfair, when viewed objectively. But it was also necessary. The peasants in their little homes, barely working hard enough to bring Westteich’s estate enough c
oin to pay the ever-increasing taxes, would never know what Westteich did. The lords and ladies in the port cities might think him an aimless layabout who did nothing with his time. They could not understand or appreciate the work he did.
At least, not yet.
Still watching the road, Westteich covered a yawn with his hand and smiled. His family had told him that maintaining the Forge might well be a secret he lived his whole life, passing it only to his oldest son to carry forward. Diligent as they were, they could never have imagined that the end point of this secret work would pay off in Westteich’s lifetime, that the legendary ancients would return to this world.
The reports did not say specifically that Westteich’s work maintaining the Forge was partially responsible for the ancients finally returning, but to deny one’s own accomplishments was the mark of a weak mind, and Westteich’s work was too important for weak minds.
He was imagining what part of the Republic he might choose to rule if the ancients gave him an option when the carriage jerked and slowed.
Westteich glared and rapped on the partition separating him from the driver up front. “Hey . . .” he began, and, when he realized that he did not remember which of the servants was driving him this morning, slid smoothly into, “what’s the matter?”
“You should see, my lord.” It was Hestridge. Westteich liked the old man. He still used “my lord,” even when many of the commoners had found it trendy to stop using the honorific.
Westteich looked out the window and saw immediately why his man had halted the carriage.
An armored figure walked on the side of the road, apparently heading for the Forge just like Westteich himself. Its ringmail was golden, covered with a long dark cloak, and a masked golden helmet obscured the figure’s face.
It was a Hunter golem. Of the few who had even heard of these rare magical constructs, most knew only that they had been built by the ancients and tasked with hunting the fairy creatures who had spawned, like tiny parasites, from the ancients’ magic after the ancients themselves had departed. Almost no living creature knew what the Hunters did with that magical energy once they captured and destroyed the fairy creatures.
This Hunter did not seem to be carrying any of its magical weaponry—the net that ensnared its target and the spear that destroyed the fairy creature and absorbed the energy.
Instead, it carried what looked a great deal like a makeshift silver birdcage, in which a small white dove sat uncomfortably on a wooden perch.
This promised to be interesting, Westteich thought, and said, “Hunter, state your designation and status.”
“Director,” said the Hunter, “I am Hunter Mirrkir.”
“Wait, that can’t be right!” Westteich exclaimed. “We thought that Mirrkir was destroyed up on Heaven’s Spire several months ago.”
“I was rendered inoperative in battle,” Mirrkir confirmed, “but the golems working on using Heaven’s Spire to attack the Empire discovered my remains and were able to restore me to functional status.”
“Excellent!” Westteich beamed. “Always hate to lose one of my people. What about your spear, though?”
“I attempted to kill a death priestess who opposed my efforts, but her magical abilities allowed her to transform my spear,” Mirrkir said. “The golems who reconstructed me told me to come back here for a replacement.”
“Of course, of course.” Westteich hid a smile. “Well, if you’re still recovering, why don’t you climb up and ride along? Hestridge, the door?”
Westteich moved over while his servant descended and opened the door for Hunter Mirrkir, who climbed inside and sat down. It looked around for somewhere to put the silver birdcage.
“Shall I have Hestridge put that in the rear for you?” Westteich asked.
“No, that is not necessary,” said Mirrkir after a brief pause. “I must watch her closely.”
Her, Westteich noted, and hid another smile as Mirrkir put the birdcage in its lap. “A fairy creature, I assume?”
“Yes. While I was unable to absorb the fairy creature’s energy due to the loss of my spear, I captured her nevertheless.”
“Is there any reason you did not simply kill her with the silver and then bring her remains back to the Forge?” Westteich asked as the carriage rocked into motion again.
“I did not believe that would save an acceptable level of magic,” Mirrkir said. “My judgment may be impaired by lingering damage,” it added quickly. Then, as an afterthought, the golem said, “This is not a normal fairy creature. Her name is Ululenia. She was part of the group responsible for stopping the ancients from controlling Heaven’s Spire. The golems who repaired me asked that she be brought to the Forge for interrogation.”
“Right, right.” Westteich nodded. “We’ll do just that, of course. And we’ll get you fully repaired and back out into the field with a new spear!”
“Good,” Mirrkir said. “There is much work to be done. Many of those responsible for disrupting the operation at Heaven’s Spire remain unaccounted for.”
“Yes, my reports said as much. There was an alchemist named Tern, and an Imperial acrobat called Icy, I believe? A wizard called Hessler who specialized in illusions, and, of course, the death priestess.”
“Diz-Desidora, yes. Also a man named Kail.”
“Yes, a scout who served alongside Captain Isafesira de Lochenville, known more colloquially as ‘Loch.’ I doubt he is of any concern,” Westteich added with a smile, “at least, not compared to a death priestess and a wizard.”
“They are all dangerous in their own ways,” Mirrkir said, and Westteich nodded politely and allowed silence to fall inside the carriage.
In a quarter of an hour they had reached the Forge. Hestridge opened the carriage door, and Westteich stepped out, stretching his arms as he always did after the arduous ride. He carried a beautifully carved walking stick, the shaft dark and the hooked head carved in the shape of a dragon with twin rubies for eyes. He did not need a walking stick, of course, but he enjoyed using it to gesture when he gave orders.
The strange bulbous shape of the tower seemed even more exaggerated when seen up close, and Westteich sighed as he often did, wishing that the ancients might have seen fit to do such important work in a building more impressive in scope.
“Back at half past four today, Hestridge,” Westteich said.
“Of course, my lord.” It was a bit earlier than he usually asked to be picked up, but Westteich was still tired, and he suspected that the day was going to be an exciting one.
Westteich walked slowly around the tower as Hestridge drove off. Mirrkir followed, still carrying the silver birdcage with the white dove that was apparently the dangerous shapeshifter Ululenia. When he reached a point on the far side from the road, Westteich drew a small crystal from the pocket of his coat and held it out toward the tower.
A stone at about eye level, seemingly no different from any other, glowed softly in response to the crystal. A moment later, the stone folded in upon itself, twisting away and leaving a gap. The stones around it followed suit, like ripples spreading from a rock dropped into a pond, and as they twisted away as well, they left a large arched doorway leading in.
Westteich stepped into the tower without hesitation, and Mirrkir followed. The room inside was large and circular, taking up much of the space of the tower, and it had no visible doors save the one Westteich had just come through. Unlike the outside of the tower, however, the floor was impressively wrought of glossy black stone inlaid with ribbons of gold, and the walls were ringed with glowing crystals that bathed the room in pale light.
A trio of Hunters stood near the center of the room. All wore golden ringmail and carried spears that crackled with magical energy, but one wore a helmet with a single red plume. Westteich nodded to the plumed Hunter and spun his walking stick jauntily, like one of the performing girls from last night. “Commander Mirrok.”
“Sir.” The Hunter’s attention shifted to Mirrkir. “Orders?”
Mirrok nodded. “Understood.” It waited until Westteich and Mirrkir were safely inside the room, and then it lifted its free hand and gestured. The door to the outside world slid shut, and a moment later, with a tiny hum, the floor itself began to descend.
The glowing crystals were set every few feet in the walls around the room, and Westteich watched them rise as the floor sank. The walls of their descent tunnel were lined with more crystals, so that as the first disappeared, a new light source appeared around the floor. Westteich had always loved the steady humming flow of the lights sliding up and away as he descended into the darkness. It was as though the lights were the humble disguise of a modest noble that he showed the world, cast away as he went down into the depths so that only his true self remained. “How goes production?” he asked Mirrok.
“There has been a slight decrease, as most of the human workers have fallen ill. They have been sent home to avoid infecting others, with silence charms employed as per standard procedure.”
“Of course, can’t have them talking about this place with the peasants. That’s how rumors find their way to the ears of the criminals who might fight against us.” Westteich listened to the hum of the descending floor and to all the little noises of the great Forge where he spent most of his waking days. “It may be worth using detection charms to track the workers when they return, Commander. I’d hate to think of any parasites sneaking into this place by taking advantage of people doing their duty.”
The Paladin Caper Page 1
