Emperor Sandus stood next to him. “What’s the problem?”
Teraeth didn’t bother with pleasantries. “Darzin may have used some means of magical transport. I was right behind him, and he’s vanished.”
Sandus looked thoughtful. “Okay, let’s see if that left any traces.”
The Emperor moved his hands in a peculiar, twisting fashion. Thin traceries of energy followed the lines on the floor, the walls, every edge, before settling into one particular stretch of wall as a tangled mass of glowing runes and sigils.
“A gate,” Teraeth said, recognizing the signs. “A hidden gate.”
“A locked hidden gate,” Emperor Sandus corrected, “but it very likely leads to wherever Gadrith has been hiding.”
“Can you unlock it?”
The Emperor smiled grimly. “It would be my pleasure.”
* * *
Tyentso sat at her table at the Culling Fields, watched her glasses, and wished that someone else—anyone else—had invented a method for detecting demonic incursions. She would rather be with Teraeth and Kihrin, finally bringing some justice to that son of a bitch Gadrith.
Of course, the “fuck you” thrill of performing major divination magic in public almost made up for it.
The detection method was simple enough: demons were energy beings who were drawn to and fed on additional sources of energy. They didn’t set fires just because they craved destruction; they also fed on resulting heat. Therefore, any area with freed demons rampaging through it vacillated between hot and cold in highly identifiable ways if you knew what you were looking at.
The glasses on the table in front of her thus formed a sympathetic temperature map of the entire city. Tyentso could tell with a glance which streets had working khilins and which houses were rich enough to afford visits from the Ice Men.
Someone slid a hot cup of green tea onto the vacant seat next to Tyentso, who looked up to see a Khorveshan woman smile at her.
“You said you didn’t want beer,” Tauna said, “so I thought you might like a different option.”
“Thank you,” Tyentso murmured. She started to turn to face the young woman when a flash of blue caught her attention. “Wait, what was that—”
She concentrated. A wave of cold had registered in the Upper Circle, but with none of the heat spikes that would have suggested freed demons on a rampage. She studied the map, then her eyes widened as she realized what other sort of magic would draw heat without giving anything in return.
“Necromancy,” she whispered.
The disturbance was centered around the Blue Palace.
Tyentso focused on the ring on her finger, activating the connection that would allow her to talk to the Emperor.
Nothing happened.
“Oh fuck.”
* * *
There were no guards at the front gate to the D’Mon estate, and no one protested when Tyentso used her magic to unbar and open the door.
Something was wrong.
Tyentso looked around the First Court. The signs of violence were obvious, but none more so than the pile of bodies that lay near the entrance to the royal stables. A massive gray-and-white horse stood over the bodies as if it had appointed itself as a soldier to protect the dead. The horse tossed its head and whinnied at Tyentso as if daring her to approach closer and put herself within the range of its sharp hooves.
“Whoever you are, turn around and leave,” a voice said.
High Lord Therin stood at the main set of doors separating the First Court from the palace beyond. He looked as though he’d been in the middle of a battle, and carried an open blade in one hand.
“Therin?” Tyentso said. “What’s happened here? Where are your guards?”
“Dead, mostly.” He held out the sword in a threatening way. “We’ve been attacked, but the Emperor is here now. I suggest you find shelter until this is all over.” He smiled grimly. “Don’t take it as a suggestion.”
Tyentso stared at him for a moment. “Yes, of course, High Lord. I’m sure you’re right.”
They both stood there.
“I can’t help but notice you’re not moving,” Therin said.
“Funny. I can’t help but notice you’re not Therin,” Tyentso responded.
Talon narrowed her eyes. “What gave me away?”
“Truthfully, it was a lucky guess, but thanks for confirming.” Tyentso grinned and cocked her head to the side, looking past Therin. “Where have you been?”
Teraeth stepped down into the court. Like Therin, he looked like he’d fought his way to the front. “On the other side of the continent, apparently. I’ll take it from here. Look around and see if there are any survivors.”
Talon sighed. “It’s way too late for survivors, duckies. You two should just turn around while you have the chance.”
Tyentso began stepping to the side, circling around Talon (who still looked like a very good impersonation of Therin). “Where’s the Emperor?” she asked Teraeth, not taking her eyes off the mimic.
“The harbor. There’s some sort of problem down there.”
“That would probably be Xaltorath,” Talon said. “Don’t leave. I’ve so much to talk to both of you about.”
Tyentso raised her hand, and a section of the ground rose up, forming a wall between herself and Talon. The mimic snarled and rushed forward, but the wall prevented her from following.
“Forgetting someone?” Teraeth pulled several daggers from his belt.
Talon turned back around. “Oh yes. Kihrin’s pretty little killer. Too bad you didn’t have more time with him. You might have won him over.”
Teraeth’s expression went flat. “Kihrin’s not dead.”
“Oh, he very much is, I’m afraid, but there’s good news: I think Darzin will let me eat the body.” Talon grinned. “Hey, you might still have your chance to get into Kihrin’s pants, after all.”
Teraeth attacked.
As he slashed at her, Talon lashed out with an arm, quicker than eyes could follow. That arm elongated, transformed, until it looked like nothing human. It was now a thin winding tentacle, with wicked sharp blades where an octopus would have suckers.* The deadly lash passed through the spot where the illusion of Teraeth had lingered a moment before.
Talon laughed. “Aha! Oh, this will be a challenge!” As she finished speaking, she felt a sharp blade slice through her back. She formed another tentacle out of muscle and lashed out, rewarded this time with a hiss of pain and a splatter of blood against the cobbles.
Talon turned, eyes forming on the skin of her shoulders, her back, her thighs as she moved to find the assassin. “You should run, little vané.”
“And miss my chance to kill a mimic?” Teraeth said. “I’d never forgive myself for letting that opportunity slip by.”
“But slip by it will,” Talon scoffed. “Not being able to feel your mind is disconcerting, but not so troublesome that I won’t feast on your brain, regardless.”
“Try me.”