The Palace Job (40 page)

"Now, then," one of the normal guards said calmly, "let's be reasonable, shall we?"

"You'll never take me alive!" the brigand, a wiry Urujar with a mad expression, shouted in a crazed voice. "I'll kill you all!"

"You don't even have a sword," said the guard, who'd reached middle age by being the type of guard who talks a man into coming along peacefully instead of valiantly rushing in. He looked at the high-security guards with unease. Their teeth were bared, and their fingers were curled into claws. "Look, just settle down and come along—"

He might have talked him into surrendering had not another guard—not one of the strange ones, amazingly, but some town guard brought in for the Victory Ball—lunged in to bash the brigand with the pommel of his sword. The brigand caught the descending arm, wrenched the sword free, ran the man through, and then hurled the bloody body at the other guards, tangling several of them and clearing himself a path.

Then he ran from the room with guards shouting behind him—including the ones stationed at the sitting room. The old guard who'd tried to talk the brigand down paused for a moment to check the dead guard's pulse, but with a wound like that, there wasn't much guesswork.

When they were all gone and the room was quiet, Tern stepped out from behind a tapestry. "Wow. I really thought Kail got you that time."

"I am pleased that he followed my suggestion to strike realistically," the dead man said, sitting up slowly as his heart began beating again. "How fare Hessler and Desidora?"

Tern shrugged. "I don't think they're dating."

"I was, in fact, referring to our current mission."

"Oh. I don't know. They were arguing about prophecies and stuff."

Ululenia thanked Desidora in the silence of her mind. She flew through the hallways as a snowy white dove, taking her time and avoiding the servants, who shuffled along with minds bent to annoyance or excitement at the Victory Ball.

It took her some time to trace her path anew, but finally she found herself near the guests' changing rooms, where recent arrivals could add the final touches of artificial beauty before presenting themselves at the ball. Nesting in the rafters, she looked around carefully to make sure that the hallway was clear. Then she fluttered to the ground, shimmered, and took her human form.

She silenced the glow of her horn, and then altered the hem and neckline of her pale white gown so that its simple grace was slightly more fashionable. She would be remembered—a pale woman with ash-white hair in a snow-white gown could scarcely go unnoticed—but no more so than any other exotic guest.

She started as the hinge squeaked on a nearby door. When she turned, though, there was nothing. Shrugging, she started toward the ballroom. From there, she would join Desidora and Kail in the chamber where the Voyancy ward was powered.

She felt the wave of anger and hatred behind her, and turned to see the knife sliding from the shadows.

There was no time to dodge.

"Captain Pyvic of the Justicars." He offered his invitation, and the guards looked at it, then nodded.

Protect them.
That was what Melich had said. If that meant nodding politely at a Victory Ball so that funding didn't get cut, Pyvic would do so.

"Any guests, sir?" one of them asked.

Prisoner Loch, Isafesira de Lochenville, was no longer his problem. Silestin had made that clear.

"I figure you've got enough in here already," Pyvic said with a smile.

Protect them all.

"Both invited and uninvited," he added, still smiling.

The guards chuckled. "Figure a justicar would know about that sort of thing," one said.

"Some are clever," another added, "but there was one Urujar who thought she could yell her way inside! Don't know what she was thinking."

Pyvic laughed along with the guards.

"And she'd be taken to a holding cell inside, then?" he asked.

Hunter Mirrkir rose to his feet, using his spear as a crutch, and pulled his golden ringmail straight. When he was fully upright, he twisted his neck sharply, producing a cracking sound, and then raised the spear, showing no sign of pain from a strike that could have shattered solid steel.

"You can stand against the might of Ghylspwr." Desidora raised her hammer.

"Not lightly and not often," Hunter Mirrkir said with no trace of pride, "but as I must, yes. You falsified the trail of the unicorn."

"Death priestess." Desidora smiled slightly.

"Chosen by the gods in their hour of need." Mirrkir cocked his head. "Why ally yourself with an unholy beast?"

"You know the truth?" Desidora's cheeks paled, and her voice turned cold. "If
you
serve the gods faithfully, get out of my way."

"My orders come from the ancients, not the gods." Mirrkir stood straight and proud. "The magical creatures that spawned from the leakage of ancient magic are parasites. They will endanger the world unless removed. My orders are clear."

"Then say hello to Ghylspwr, last king of the ancients, who forged his soul into this hammer to defeat a great evil." Desidora raised Ghylspwr again.

"Can he supersede my directives through direct orders?" Mirrkir asked.

"Besyn larveth'isr
Ghylspwr said enthusiastically.

"Not as
such,"
Desidora allowed.

"Pity." In the metallic rasp of Mirrkir's voice, there hung a trace of regret. "If you stand between me and the unicorn, I must strike you down."

"Let's see how that works out for you," Desidora said, and Ghylspwr threw in a
"Kutesosh gajair'is!"
for emphasis.

Mirrkir moved, and Desidora moved, and hammer met spear in the middle of the ballroom.

It was a fight that would have vexed armsmasters, had any been present to witness it. Ghylspwr moved with speed no normal hammer could match, but Mirrkir's spear was stronger than any normal weapon. The crackling spear swung in wide arcs of blue, and Ghylspwr blazed, a blur of silver.

The priestess blocked Mirrkir's high thrust, which had actually been a feint, then parried the low thrust, which had
also
been a feint, then arced Ghylspwr up to knock aside the
actual attack,
a slash at her face. She spun into a full-body swing that Mirrkir set his spear to block, but this time
she
had feinted, and instead she came in with a short overhand strike past Mirrkir's guard, and Mirrkir rolled away.

"You fight with spirit." Mirrkir leapt over a low sweep and stabbed down at her shoulder. Ghylspwr knocked the stab aside, then darted up the length of the spear to strike at Mirrkir's hands.

"Concerned?" Desidora panted as Mirrkir slid away. She lunged in with a sweeping strike that twisted at the last moment into a blow to Mirrkir's unguarded back.

Mirrkir turned, accepted the blow to the ribs, and trapped Ghylspwr with one arm. "No," he said simply.

And before Desidora could pull Ghylspwr free, Mirrkir drove his spear into her.

It sank into her breast, and she sat down stupidly, staring at it, as crackling blue energy swept through her and around her and
into
her, and then she screamed once, blue light shining from her mouth and eyes.

And then she was gone, and Ghylspwr dropped to the ground with a clatter.

"Kun-kabynalti osu fuir'is,"
the hammer whispered.

Hunter Mirrkir leaned on his spear for a moment. The blow to the ribs had been necessary, but it had been a powerful strike nonetheless. His spear crackled with blue energy as the woman's soul became a part of Mirrkir's power, and then it lay dormant, ready to rid the world of the unclean magic.

"I wish you no evil," Mirrkir said to Ghylspwr, and stalked from the room. He could not sense the unicorn, but strange magic hummed elsewhere in the palace. He headed in that direction.

He would find her soon enough. He had all the time in the world.

Twenty

The thing about escorting a zombie through the palace was that zombies were
slow.

Tern had run off, hurrying to meet Icy Fist, which was fair, because she had to get the primary enchantment relay disabled in order for Desidora and Ululenia to reroute the aural detection grid, and all of that had to happen before Hessler and Silestin's great-grandfather reached the vault.

Judging by the zombie's speed, though, Tern could have walked and still gotten there in time. Some guards came by, and Hessler waved himself and the zombie into invisibility until they were gone.

"So what's with you and the girl?" the zombie asked when the guards were gone. Silestin Senior had not aged well since his death. There was still flesh on the bone, but it had dried and turned waxen, his muscles bare tendrils that pulled the shriveled flesh along. Hessler didn't know how the dead old bastard had the strength to waggle his eyebrows at him.

"We're simply colleagues." Hessler strode forward crisply, making it to the doorway before remembering that striding crisply was just going to leave the zombie behind.

"Fine," said Silestin Senior, "so don't tell me."

Hessler waited in silence, letting the zombie shuffle past. "What's the job, anyway?"

"Job?" Getting interrogated like a slow-witted nephew hadn't been on Hessler's list of concerns about escorting the zombie.