by Dan Koboldt
“Is that out in the open?” he asked.
“Just inside the seawall. The word around the palace is that the sea threat has . . . abated.”
What’s that supposed to mean? “I hope that’s good news.”
“We’re also the first to arrive, which means we probably have a few hours.” Alethea smiled wickedly. “The Prime has arranged rooms for you.”
Quinn marked the use of the plural, and quietly cursed his luck. If there was going to be any downtime, he’d have preferred to spend it with a bathtub and Jillaine. In that order. Hell, at the same time wouldn’t be so bad either, if she’d let him. After that kiss during the mission, he thought the possibility might be there. If only they were in Pirea, where men and women sometimes shared bathhouses. This was Valteron, though, and Holt seemed a little more old-fashioned.
Alethea and Bita passed him off to two of their Tukalu sisters. Which was fine, of course—Quinn didn’t mind having someone to show him around the mazelike palace—but after spending nearly every minute with Alethea for the past few days, he already kind of missed her. She added a spark to things, that was for damn sure. And, she and Jillaine even seemed to have worked through the alpha-female-rivalry or whatever it was.
As much as he’d have liked for it to be about him, it wasn’t.
Well, it probably wasn’t.
Even so, when the Tukalu guards showed them to two rooms in the same hallway, that felt like an opportunity. He lingered outside his doorway a moment to make sure that he knew which room was hers. She glanced back and saw him looking. Held his eye a minute, but didn’t exactly beckon. It was more of a neutral look that could have gone either way.
Quinn preferred to see the world as a glass half-full.
He hustled into his temporary room, which resembled the high roller suite in a five-star hotel. A low fire burned cheerily in the hearth, the flames dancing in hypnotic concert with those on four oil lamps set about the room. In the middle of it, two plush divans with hand-embroidered pillows flanked a low marble table. A heavy pitcher waited there with two porcelain cups. Steam drifted out of its rim, filling the chamber with the rich aroma of Landorian brew. Now there’s a nice touch. Knowing Holt, every detail here had been carefully chosen to echo a certain theme, to convey specific information, to shape his thinking a certain way.
Quinn had no time for that. He found the bath, stripped, and settled into it for a deep scrubbing. A light linen towel waited by the tub, and next to that, a fresh set of men’s clothing. He recognized the weave and the fabric, too. The flame-resistant materials had a faint sheen to them, though an untrained eye would probably mistake them for in-world garb. How Holt had managed to have company-issued garments in his size was a mystery. Maybe he’d raided one of the hidden bolt-holes before he blew them up. In any case, Quinn had a short window and didn’t want curiosity to ruin it. He dressed and made himself presentable. Considered shaving, but decided it was best to forgo that luxury for a bit longer. A lot of these missions required him to blend in with the crowd, and a great many Alissian men seemed to be allergic to razors.
He left the flexsteel armor off as well. It felt good to be clean and dressed and out of danger for a brief moment. Even better, he’d only burned about forty minutes. He yanked open the door to the hall, only to find his Tukalu guard leaning against the wall opposite. They had this thing about leaning, the Tukalu. They did it constantly, as if standing unassisted was against the law. He’d even wondered if it was a form of laziness, that they always found something to bend against. Turns out, it was none of those things. That casual foot against the wall behind them served as a launchpad if they needed to move quickly. Quinn had watched Alethea leap from the lean-back position into a full-on forward roll. They trained on different moves that started in those relaxed positions. It looked casual because they wanted it to. Because it made adversaries take them less seriously.
And that, right there, was what made Tukalu warriors so dangerous: they worked very hard to conceal how good they really were.
So when Quinn saw the guard leaning right opposite his door, he knew she was on full alert. Which raised the question of why Holt thought invited guests needed protection inside the walls of his own palace. He swallowed, took a right, and strolled down the corridor toward Jillaine’s room. He didn’t have to look to know the guard would trail after him.
Jillaine’s Tukalu guard eased off the wall as he approached her door.
This ought to be interesting. He raised his hand to knock, but the woman pointedly cleared her throat. He gave her a questioning look. “Yes?”
“She asked not to be disturbed until the others arrive.”
Quinn tried his best smile on her. “I don’t think she meant me, so . . .”
“She specifically mentioned you.”
“Say what now?” There was no way Jillaine would have done that. Maybe Alethea’s still playing games.
The guard jerked a thumb toward Quinn’s room and made her voice about two octaves higher. “ ‘That includes Quinn,’ were her exact words.”
Burned. “I see.” He was half-tempted to knock anyway, to hear this from Jillaine herself, but this woman would probably break his arm if he tried. Besides, that would only hang a lantern on the private shame. He didn’t need that.
So he spun on his heel and returned to his own chambers. The Landorian brew helped a little, but he still couldn’t get why Jillaine delighted in toying with him. The way she kissed him, right before the split up to take out the CASE Global comm relays . . . well, maybe there wasn’t as much promise there as he’d thought. Or maybe she really was tired and needed some alone time.
He couldn’t know for sure and hadn’t had the guts to ask, so he gave up and sprawled out on one of the divans. His body ached with fatigue, but sleep eluded him. Probably because of the Landorian brew. Well, as long as I can’t sleep, I might as well sweep the room. That’s what Logan would want him to do, no matter the level of trust or the guard stationed outside. He found no hidden assassins, no traps, no surveillance equipment. The only thing his search turned up was a little square of folded parchment tucked beneath one leg of the marble table. He unfolded it, and recognized the handwriting right away.
Bravo, Quinn! Logan taught you well.-R.
“He sure did,” Quinn said. Truth be told, he kind of missed the big man’s ball-busting approach to training. I’m even missing Logan. That’s how screwed up things are right now.
Someone banged on the door to Quinn’s chambers, rousing him from a half-doze. He stumbled over and jerked it open, half-expecting to see Logan waiting to escort him down to the armory for more training. Instead, he found Alethea tapping her foot with impatience. She’d changed into fresh clothes and rebraided her hair. There was even a faint perfume about her, a scent of lilies.
“About time,” she said. “I thought maybe you’d dropped dead in there.” She didn’t put the usual energy into her snark, though. If anything, her eyes were hooded.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Is everyone here yet?”
“Everyone who will be. They’re gathering on the terrace.”
He buckled on his sword-belt. “Let’s go.”
They took two sets of staircases and emerged on a wide outdoor patio the size of an Olympic swimming pool. Beyond its beveled edge lay a spectacular vista of Valteron City’s plaza, the merchant districts, and then the harbor. Moric and Anton were in deep conversation to one side. Holt and Veena chatted with Jillaine beside a massive wooden table laden with maps and scrolls and, strangely, a single empty tankard. All three of them fell silent and looked at Quinn as he emerged from the double door. Five Tukalu guardswomen lounged in a loose half-circle around them, far enough away to offer some privacy but unmistakably a security detail. They all made the same gesture, kissing two fingers and touching them to the forehead.
Quinn glanced back at Alethea, who walked a half-step behind him. “Hey, I’m getting salutes from your guardswomen now.”
She pressed her lips together, but didn’t quite smile. “I believe that was directed at me.”
“You sure?”
“Comfortably.”
He paused and took stock of the other coalition members. Moric and Anton, too, had spotted him and clamped their mouths shut. “Who gets the awkward silence?”
“That’s all yours.” Alethea jogged off to join her sisters.
Holt put on a smile and spread his hands out in greeting. “Well, it’s my favorite troublemaker. Welcome back.”
“Thank you. Glad to have made it in once piece.” Quinn met his eyes, and Veena’s, but pretended not to notice Jillaine. Wouldn’t want to disturb her.
Jillaine saw right through this and jabbed him in the side with a finger. He gasped, but couldn’t keep from smiling. Especially when she smiled back. All right, I forgive you.
“I did hear there were complications,” Holt said.
Quinn remembered the look on the mercenary’s face when he couldn’t get out, as the inn was about to blow. I’ll probably never forget that, either. “A few. Please tell me it worked.”
Holt nodded. “Everyone should hear this.” He raised his voice. “Everyone? If you’d be so kind.” He gestured at the table. They all settled in. Quinn gave Moric and Anton a nod from across the table.
“Thanks to the speed and courage of the Valteroni fleet, we caught the invading strike force as they rounded the tip of New Kestani and engaged them at sea,” Holt began. “I don’t think they knew we were coming, which suggests that the communications disruption was a success.”
Quinn nodded as if this were all normal and expected, while allowing a small fist-pump of celebration under the table. Yes!
“It was a victory, but a costly one,” Holt said. “Nineteen of our vessels were sunk or destroyed. Six were disabled. Another three were captured by enemy forces and managed to escape. Whether that was a desperate stab at survival, or a coordinated plan, remains to be seen.”
“Knowing Kiara, it’s probably the latter,” Quinn said.
“Lieutenant Kiara is dead.”
Those four words brought a chill to Quinn’s core. “What?”
“Her flagship rammed the Victoria. Both vessels sank, and she was not among the survivors.”
Lieutenant Kiara is dead. The words kept echoing in Quinn’s head, and while he knew their meaning, it still didn’t seem possible. “Captain Relling?”
“Pursuing the remnants of the CASE Global force as we speak,” Holt said.
“What about our mutual . . . friends?”
“If you mean Logan and Mendez, your guess is as good as mine,” Holt said.
Quinn looked at Veena. Her eyes were red-rimmed, like she’d been crying. Well, I know what she thinks. “At least we won. We did win, didn’t we?”
Holt raised his eyebrows. “This battle? Absolutely. But this engagement also demonstrated just how far CASE Global is willing to go. Navigators on at least two of our ships were killed by high-speed projectiles, from well out of bow range.”
“A sniper rifle,” Quinn said.
“That was my thinking, too. As formidable of an adversary Kiara was, she was also the biggest proponent of the gateway technology ban. Without her, and given our decisive victory, we must assume the company will resort to a draconian response. A full-scale invasion with modern weaponry and equipment.”
Machine guns mowing down villages. Mortar shells lobbed at the Enclave from offshore boats. Quinn forced himself to unclench his jaw. “Do we even have a chance?”
“Perhaps. Moric?”
Moric cleared his throat and made a big deal of straightening out his robe. “After seeing it up close, and some digging in our oldest archives, I believe the gateway may have been created by Enclave magicians.”
“How is that possible?” Quinn asked. “You didn’t even know of its existence until I told you.”
“That’s not entirely true. We knew there was a third great enchantment cast by the Enclave’s founders.”
The third miracle. It made sense the more Quinn thought about it, but all he knew of the folklore were the bits and pieces he’d picked up from Moric and Sella. “I wish we knew for certain.”
“You’re a doubting Thomas, which I myself can appreciate,” Holt said. “I felt the same, until I saw these.” He dug into one of the piles of parchment and extracted a wide sheet covered with charcoal sketches. “Do you recognize these?”
The symbols did look familiar. The last time Quinn’d seen them, they were etched in stone, and the frigid air had discouraged him from taking a closer look. “They look like the stuff on the walls of the gateway cave.”
Veena nodded. “That’s what I thought, too.” She nudged Holt. “See? They bear a distinct resemblance.”
“They look like runes,” Quinn said. “You know, magical symbols.”
“That’s an apt way to describe them,” Moric said. “These are afterimages left by supremely powerful enchantments. Except they are not from your cave, but were left on another of the founders’ legacy.”
It took Quinn a moment to connect the dots. “The Enclave towers? You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Mags herself copied these from the foundations.”
That’s one hell of a coincidence, if it’s true. “All right, let’s say for the sake of argument that the gateway is the third great magic miracle. How does that help us?”
“It tells us that we’re not dealing with a natural phenomenon, but a magical construct. Having had some time to study it, I believe that construct has three parts: the gateway in our world, the gateway in their world, and the link between them.”
“Sounds familiar,” Anton said.
“That’s what I thought, too,” Moric said.
Holt cleared his throat. “Perhaps you could explain, for the non-magicians among us?”
“It’s reminiscent of how magicians transport themselves from one place to another. In essence, we create a temporary link between two places.”
“Now that I think about it, walking through the gateway and being transported feel the same,” Quinn said.
“We wondered as much, when you spoke of it at your trial,” Moric said.
“Trial?” Holt asked.
“It was really more of a hearing,” Quinn said.
“Not his first one, it must be said,” Anton added.
Holt knitted his eyebrows at this, but pressed on. “It sounds like you have some inkling of the nature of the gateway. Can it be controlled, to dictate who comes and goes?”
“Probably not,” Moric said.
“But what magic can create, magic can destroy,” Anton said.
Moric pointed at him. “Exactly.”
Quinn held up a hand. “Wait a minute. If we destroy it, how can those of us who aren’t from here get back to where we came from?”
A ring of sad, silent faces answered him.
“Oh.” That’s why we’re all here. But it wasn’t just him, either. He looked to Veena. “You don’t want to go back?”
She shrugged. “I spent most of my career studying Alissia. For most of that time, I was afraid to set foot here.”
“You simply needed a little push,” Holt said.
She gave him a warm smile. “Yes, I did.” She looked back to Quinn. “My place is here.”
But destroy the gateway? It seemed so extreme, so gods-damned final. “Is there no other way?”
“Every moment we delay, CASE Global brings more troops and weaponry through the gateway,” Richard said. “At some point, their resources will outstrip ours.”
And then they’d lose everything. Alissian independence, the pristine landscape, the Enclave. All of that would come to an end when CASE Global subjugated the populace. Quinn had seen their security practices too often, and from too close, to believe otherwise.
He could feel everyone’s eyes on him. Holt wouldn’t care about returning, so he was really the only one who had a shot at talking his way back through the gateway
. And hell, he had things waiting for him on the other side. My own ticket in Vegas. Fame and money and influence, in the town where those things mattered most.
Of course, that was also a one-way ticket. Kiara had lobbied for him to join the second mission, and gotten approval from all the higher-ups. Logan indicated more than once that this wasn’t an entirely popular decision. Her successor on the Gateway Project might not see a Vegas stage magician as useful. Especially one who’d gone off the grid for a few weeks at a vital time.
But who am I kidding? If that’s what he really wanted, he’d have bolted for the gateway a long time ago. “If that’s what we need to do to win, let’s do it.”
“Are you sure?” Moric asked.
“The Enclave is my home now.” He looked from Moric to Anton. “If they’ll have me.”
Moric and Anton shared a glance, but this had clearly already been decided. “Due in no small part to your actions for the coalition, not to mention the testimony of some of your biggest supporters, the council has voted to restore your membership.”
“Then I’m all in,” Quinn said. No better way to say it than that.
Holt pulled out another, larger sheet of parchment that showed a blown-up version of the CASE Global parchmap in bright, beautiful detail. A gasp escaped Jillaine’s lips upon seeing it. “In that case, let us formulate our plan to strike at the gateway cave itself. Or as I like to call it, Operation Closed Door.”
“You know what, if I’m staying, I’d really like to be consulted on all op names,” Quinn said. “You guys are killing me with this stuff.”
“Duly noted,” Holt said. “No matter the name we choose, this is a two-stage operation. The first stage begins tomorrow, so I’ll need all of you to be well rested. We depart at first light.”
Chapter 30
In-laws
“Sometimes we are blind to the most obvious things.”
—R. Holt, “Reevaluating Alissian Assumptions”
