Sweep in Peace (Innkeeper Chronicles Book 2) (13 page)

The terrifying footage kept coming. A citadel of the Crimson Cathedral, unbelievable in its size; endless rows of vampires poised before boarding a space craft; a vampire woman in the robes of a hierophant dashing up the spine of an enormous creature, leaping straight up and slicing into its neck. An image of a small group of vampires in blood-stained armor appeared on the wall, calmly, methodically cutting their way through ranks of the maddened otrokars. The Horde crashed against them again and again like an enraged sea against rocks, and fell back, bloodied and helpless. The message couldn’t be clearer. The otrokar were wild undisciplined savages and hundreds of them were no match for the six vampires.

Nice. How to ruin the peace talks in two minutes or less. That had to be some sort of record.

George sighed quietly.

The images stopped and blossomed into one enormous picture that took up all three walls: the seven planets of the Holy Anocracy. As the image came into focus, the rest of the vampire knights marched out in three distinct groups, one for each house. They reached the standard bearer and froze.

Three faces appeared against the starry expanse of space, one per each wall: the severe face of the Warlord, a middle aged vampire with jet black hair on the right, the serene face of the female Hierophant on the left, and an old vampire in the middle. His hair was pure white, his skin wrinkled, and his eyes probing. He looked ancient like the space behind him. It had to be Justice, the chief judge of the Holy Anocracy’s highest court.

The vampires roared in unison. The tiny hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.

The vampire delegation turned as one and formed a line on the left side of the grand ballroom, the three marshals and the standard bearer closest to us.

“We’re ready for the otrokars,” George murmured to me.

“Release the Horde,” I whispered.

The heavy door clung open on the right and the otrokars emerged, with the Khanum in the lead and her son close behind. Three giant otrokars followed, each bigger than anything vampires could throw at them, with the rest of the delegation at their heels. They didn’t move, they stalked like the great predatory cats, emerald, sapphire, and ruby highlights playing on their chitin armor, their ceremonial kilts falling in long plaits on one side. An ear-piercing whistle rang through the grand ballroom and broke into a wild melody, full of pipes and quick drumbeat. The walls ignited again, now bright with the endless plains of the Otroka, the Horde’s home planet. A group of otrokars rode through yellow grass on odd mounts with reddish fur, hoofed feet, and canid heads. The image fractured and exploded into a mountain landscape filled with crags and fissures. The hard ground bristled with metal spikes, each supporting a severed vampire head.

The faces of the knights to my left were completely blank.

The puddles of vampire blood at the bases of the metal spikes trembled. The ground shuddered. A dull roar, like the sound of a distant waterfall, filled the air. The camera panned upward, showing the glimpse of a valley beyond the heads. An ocean of otrokars filled it, too many to count, a horde running at full speed, howling like wolves, the impact of their steps shaking the ground. They swept past the camera, bodies flashing by it. A muscular otrokar appeared on the screen, his face savage with fury. He swung a long sword, the muscles on his forearm flexing as he slashed, and the image turned black.

Okay. They weren’t called the Hope-crushing Horde for nothing.

The music kept going. The image on the wall transformed into the shield of the Horde backlit by flames. The Khanum stepped aside, the otrokars parted, and one of them stepped forward. He was of average height and slight build, small enough to pass for a human. His black hair was cut short. The otrokar shrugged off his armor, letting it fall to the floor. Every muscle on his torso stood out. He wasn’t beefy like a bodybuilder, but he was cut with superhuman precision. His stomach looked hard enough to shatter a staff if someone hit him with one. The otrokar pulled two long dark blades from the sheaths on his hips.

The Khanum clapped in rhythm with the music, and the otrokars followed her lead. The swordsman in the center spun in place, warming up. We were about to be treated to show and tell.

A smaller otrokar brought a basket filled with small green apple-like fruit to the Khanum. She picked one and hurled it at the swordsman. He moved at the last second, catching the fruit on the flat of his left blade, tossed it to his right then back again with superhuman dexterity. The otrokars kept clapping. The swordsman tossed the fruit up. His sword flashed and the fruit fell to the floor, cut in a half.

“Nothing we can’t handle,” Jack said quietly.

The Khanum took a handful of fruit and passed the basket to her left. Dagorkun grabbed several and handed the basket to the next person. The Khanum gave a short whistle and the otrokars pelted the swordsman with apples. He spun like a dervish, dancing across the floor and slicing. The apples dropped to the ground, cut. Not a single fruit hit him.

“He might be a challenge,” George said. His lips barely moved. If I wasn’t standing next to him, I wouldn’t know he had spoken. “One on one, I can take care of it.”

The swordsman spun, faster and faster, lithe, flexible, strong. A faint orange luminescence coated his blades. They begun to glow.

George’s eyes narrowed.

The swordsman stopped, swords raised at his sides like wings of a bird about to take flight.

The otrokars parted, revealing a female otrokar holding what looked like a machine gun. Oh no you don’t.

She put the gun to her shoulder and fired.

I jerked my magic. Transparent walls shot out of the floor, shielding the vampires and us.

The stream of bullets hit the swordsman. He swung his blades, too fast to see, so fast they turned into arches of orange light. Breath caught in my throat.

The gun clicked empty. A staccato of light knocks echoed through the grand ballroom – the last of the bullets clattering to the floor. The swordsman stopped moving. Sweat sheathed his torso. No wounds marked his body. The bullets, each sliced in half, lay in a horseshoe around him.

The otrokars bellowed in approval. The Khanum smiled broadly, winked at the vampires, and led her people to the right side of the grand ballroom, forming an identical line.

I exhaled and let the floor swallow the bullets and the mutilated fruit.

“We’re going to need help,” Jack said, his face grim.

George didn’t answer. “The merchants, please.”

I opened the front doors. The Nuan Cee clan had to come from the front, because their quarters opened in the back wall, so I had made a hallway just for that purpose. The doors swung open, revealing Cookie. He was wearing a bright turquoise apron and carrying a basket. A fast intricate melody filled the room. Cookie skipped forward in tune with the music, like a human child on the last day of school, dipped his hand into the basket and tossed a handful of gold and jewels into the air. Behind him four foxes in blue diaphanous veils embroidered with gold danced forward, gold bracelets and loops tinkling on their wrists and ears. Behind them came the older members of the clan, swaying in step to the music: three steps forward, one step back, turn. One carried a glittering cage with a beautiful blue bird in it. The second brandished a jeweled sword as big as himself. The third spun around, revealing spiderweb thin layers of glowing fabric.

Cookie threw gold, hopping back and forth between the lines of otrokar and vampires. One of the otrokars reached for a bright red jewel the size of a walnut by his foot. The older warrior next to him growled and the younger man stopped.

“To take their gold is to become their slave,” Arland said softly.

The foxes kept coming, each display of wealth more ostentatious than the last. The palanquin with Nuan’s Cee grandmother followed, floating in midair all by itself, and finally Nuan Cee himself, sitting cross-legged on a palanquin of the shimmering silk dotted with piles of gems and plush pillows, showing sharp, even teeth in a bright smile.

The procession ended and the merchants formed the third line, closing the square. The music died.

George’s voice rang in the sudden quiet. “Welcome! The summit is now in session.”

He stepped aside, inviting the gathering to the table with an elegant sweep of his hand.”

The leaders of the three factions moved to the long table. George and Jack followed. Everyone took their seats. I raised a transparent soundproof wall, sealing the table and its occupants from the rest of the guests. They were still plainly visible, but not a single sound escaped.

The otrokars, vampires, and the merchants looked at me expectantly.

I raised my hand. The floor opened and Orro and three large tables, already set, rose into the room from below. Each table offered beautifully cut fruit on large white plates, baskets of bread, rice, sliced meat, bowls of soup, and as a centerpiece, a delicate translucent flower the size of a watermelon, made of tiny individual slices of some meat.

The soup smelled heavenly.

“Evening’s refreshments!” Orro called out. “Morean water drake sashimi with fruit and grains!”

The first session of the peace summit took three hours. The leaders of the three factions sat stone-faced behind the transparent wall the inn and I had made, while their subordinates formed three distinct groups in the ballroom. The merchants chattered with each other, while the otrokari and the vampires proceeded to flex their muscles, lounge about, and give each other the stink eye. There was no point in having them in the ballroom, but as long as their leaders were in each other’s company, nobody would leave on the chance a fight might break out. I would have to figure out some entertainment for them if the summit went on for more than a few days.

I had to split my attention between the ballroom and the stables. The repair of the police cruiser was proceeding well, but keeping an eye on both areas at once tired me out. I would have to practice more. My father could track five or six areas of the inn at once. It was a learned skill that got better with practice and I had been slacking off these past few months.

Finally the Khanum slammed her fist on the table – which looked surprisingly comical without any sound coming through – and George waved the wall down.

I unsealed the side doors that led to the sleeping quarters. The otrokari exited first and the door melted into the wall behind them as if it had never been there. The merchants were next. Nuan Cee paused by me.

I nodded at him. “How did the negotiations go, great Nuan Cee?”

“It is too early to tell.” He pointed to Cookie, who began picking up the gold off the floor, carefully depositing it into a large satchel and smiled. “My thrice removed cousin’s seventh son is working so hard. Such diligence. The blood always shows true in our family.”

“I can have the inn gather the gold and jewels for him,” I offered.

Nuan Cee waved his paw-hands. “Menial labor is good for the soul. I have done it for my family when I was his age, his father has done it, and his mother has done it for her family… It is a fine lesson to learn. When one starts at the bottom, there is no place to go but up. He is responsible for the riches; let him gather them.”

“It will take him awhile,” I said. “I may have to lock him in the ballroom until he is done for his own safety.” Having a tiny fox running around the inn carrying millions in jewels and gold in a canvas sack wasn’t a good idea.

“I take no insult.” Nuan Cee waved his hand again. “Keep him under lock as long as you wish.”

The merchants filed out. The vampires followed, all except Arland and Robart, who both made a beeline for me. Almost instantly both of them realized they were going to the same place. Arland glowered at Robart and sped up. The Marshall of House Vorga glowered back, matched Arland’s pace and went faster. Arland accelerated to keep up. The sight of them rapidly marching in full armor was like standing on train tracks and watching a locomotive barrel at me at full speed.

I wondered if they would sprint if the distance was great enough.

I brushed the floor with the bristles of my broom. I had turned it into a staff at the beginning of the ceremonies, but an hour into the session, I let it flow back into the broom shape. The last couple of days and the lack of sleep took their toll, and the broom felt comfortable and familiar. The floor stretched slightly, then more and more, rising at a slight incline and flowing toward the vampires like one of those moving sidewalks that transports people at airports. Except my sidewalk was moving in the opposite direction.

Neither vampire noticed that they were now going uphill and sliding backward with each step. They were still neck and neck and not getting any closer.

I bit my lip to keep from laughing.

At the wall Jack chuckled into his fist.

I put a little more speed into the floor. They had to notice now.

The marshalls redoubled their efforts. They were almost running now. If I didn’t stop this now, they might crash into each other and I would have blood on my hands.