“She’s conjured doubles of
herself,” Alyss said. “Hundreds of them, if not more. From this
distance,
there’s no way for me to know which one is real. I’ll have to attack them all at once.” She conjured a spikejack tumbler for every Redd she saw. The tumblers would pass harmlessly through the constructs, but the legitimate Redd would have to counterattack to survive. The weapons went hurtling toward their targets—and through all of them. “I don’t understand. Not one of them is real?” “How can that be?” Dodge steamed. “Where could she have gone?” Alyss had no answer and Bibwit’s ears shrugged in apologetic ignorance. Generals Doppel and Gänger were shouting into their crystal communicators: “The demarcation barrier itself is the front of the front line!” “Our border soldiers are the back of the front line!” Bibwit hopped to his feet. “We need to get you to the crystal chamber, Alyss. Your imagination will be strongest there.”
“Great,” said Dodge. “So if Redd happens to remote view her, she’ll know where the Heart Crystal is.” “If Alyss cannot defeat Redd while standing next to the crystal—a necessity Redd’s apparent strength is calling into question—it won’t matter if we try to hide it from her.” Whether this convinced Dodge or he had simply resigned himself to the worst, he turned toward the door. “I’ll be with my men.” He was already halfway to the hall when— “Wait!”
Alyss was standing, a pleading, concerned look in her eyes. But for what was she pleading? She could say nothing to keep him from going—she should say nothing—and she knew it. He returned to her, but only for a moment. “I forgive you, Alyss. For lying to me. That’s something, isn’t it—a guardsman forgiving his queen?” He kissed her. “Please stay safe. I’ll try to do the same.” He spun on his heels and was gone, and Alyss allowed Bibwit to lead her from the room. CHAPTER 42
T HE ARMS dealer was a scurrying creature, a former Glebog who kept his merchandise beneath false drawer bottoms, behind artwork that popped out of frames, and inside clocks and cooking appliances whose mechanical workings had been removed. Hatter waited outside his tent while Weaver purchased as much as she was able with the gems he had given her. She emerged carrying a duffel, inside of which were a couple of AD52s with several additional projectile decks, a quiver of mind riders, and a scorpspitter.
Hatter armed himself in a nearby alley, latching the quiver and scorpspitter to his belt so that his laborer’s coat hid them from view. He pocketed the projectile decks, strapped one of the AD52s to a thigh and reached for the other.
“I’m keeping this one,” Weaver said.
“I don’t think you should.”
there’s no way for me to know which one is real. I’ll have to attack them all at once.” She conjured a spikejack tumbler for every Redd she saw. The tumblers would pass harmlessly through the constructs, but the legitimate Redd would have to counterattack to survive. The weapons went hurtling toward their targets—and through all of them. “I don’t understand. Not one of them is real?” “How can that be?” Dodge steamed. “Where could she have gone?” Alyss had no answer and Bibwit’s ears shrugged in apologetic ignorance. Generals Doppel and Gänger were shouting into their crystal communicators: “The demarcation barrier itself is the front of the front line!” “Our border soldiers are the back of the front line!” Bibwit hopped to his feet. “We need to get you to the crystal chamber, Alyss. Your imagination will be strongest there.”
“Great,” said Dodge. “So if Redd happens to remote view her, she’ll know where the Heart Crystal is.” “If Alyss cannot defeat Redd while standing next to the crystal—a necessity Redd’s apparent strength is calling into question—it won’t matter if we try to hide it from her.” Whether this convinced Dodge or he had simply resigned himself to the worst, he turned toward the door. “I’ll be with my men.” He was already halfway to the hall when— “Wait!”
Alyss was standing, a pleading, concerned look in her eyes. But for what was she pleading? She could say nothing to keep him from going—she should say nothing—and she knew it. He returned to her, but only for a moment. “I forgive you, Alyss. For lying to me. That’s something, isn’t it—a guardsman forgiving his queen?” He kissed her. “Please stay safe. I’ll try to do the same.” He spun on his heels and was gone, and Alyss allowed Bibwit to lead her from the room. CHAPTER 42
T HE ARMS dealer was a scurrying creature, a former Glebog who kept his merchandise beneath false drawer bottoms, behind artwork that popped out of frames, and inside clocks and cooking appliances whose mechanical workings had been removed. Hatter waited outside his tent while Weaver purchased as much as she was able with the gems he had given her. She emerged carrying a duffel, inside of which were a couple of AD52s with several additional projectile decks, a quiver of mind riders, and a scorpspitter.
Hatter armed himself in a nearby alley, latching the quiver and scorpspitter to his belt so that his laborer’s coat hid them from view. He pocketed the projectile decks, strapped one of the AD52s to a thigh and reached for the other.
“I’m keeping this one,” Weaver said.
“I don’t think you should.”