The Prophecy Con (Rogues of the Republic) by Patrick Weekes Page A

Eillenfiniel, and I think he’s right. The Republic and the Empire wouldn’t just go to war over a single book.”
    “Well, technically, it’s a figurehead being used in place of fundamental disputes over resource allocation—”
    “Hessler,” Loch said, and he shut up. “I need you to research it.”
    He blinked. “But what if you need an illusion?”
    “We’ll manage.”
    “I’ve been expanding my skillset, too,” he added. “I do a nice blast of fire now, and I’m about fifty-fifty on transmuting inanimate objects into things of equal mass!”
    “This is more important. Hit the libraries, the scholarly papers, whatever it is people like you hit.”
    “Well,” said Hessler, frowning, “there are a number of historical dissertations written on elven literature, given the elves’ purported connection to the ancients, and the doctoral defenses often reveal—”
    “Right. That,” Loch said, just as Icy and Ululenia came back around the corner, eyes wide.
    “The pack has our scent,” Ululenia said, “and though they do not bay at the moon—”
    “Got it. Kail, Tern!” Loch called over. “How are we coming?”
    The two were already up on the deck of the passenger ship, although several of the workers were still yelling at them from the dock. “All aboard!” Kail called.
    Loch sprinted past the dockworkers and up the gangplank, Icy close behind her. A small white dove landed on the deck and shifted into Ululenia. Back at the entry area, men in black armor came around the corner with maces and crossbows raised.
    Tern looked up from the helm. “Where’s Hessler?”
    “Different assignment. I’ll fill you in later. Let’s go.” Loch ignored the look Tern shot her and kept her eyes on the men. They were headed toward the airship.
    Kail pulled back the gangplank, and Loch took a few steps back and out of sight as he took the helm back from Tern. “Okay, let’s give our daemon a little nudge, and—”
    The airship rocked, sending everyone stumbling. Loch looked up. The great balloon overhead was distended, bulging out as though something were punching it from the inside.
    “What did you do ?” Tern yelled.
    “Me? I didn’t do anything!” Kail hammered at the console. “It’s never done that before!”
    The dark-armored men were halfway across the dock. “Now would be good, Kail.”
    Kail turned another dial, and something inside the balloon growled and hissed. Again, the balloon lurched, sending the airship rocking.
    “Isafesira de Lochenville!” came a shout from down on the dock. “Surrender immediately or we will take you down!” A grappling hook came sailing over the side of the ship and caught on the railing. A moment later, another joined it.
    “Hell. Fix it,” Loch said to Kail. She drew her sword, stepped to the railing, and chopped through one of the ropes. A crossbow bolt whizzed past her face, and she ducked in case more followed.
    “I’m working on it! This is in no way normal!” Kail shouted back as the balloon distended overhead.
    “Is it going to break loose?” Loch yelled. “That looks a lot like the balloon that time the daemon tore free and ate Jyelle!”
    “That daemon did us all a favor,” Kail muttered and pounded on the console. “This one’s just pissing me off.”
    Tern darted to the railing, hunched over, and fiddled with her lavender lapitect’s robes. Underneath them, Loch saw, she wore her usual brown crafter’s dress with its many pockets. She lifted her crossbow and fitted a bolt in place.
    “You continued to carry your crossbow all this time?” Icy asked, moving past her and grabbing hold of another grappling hook.
    “Nobody has ever been sad to have their crossbow with them.” Tern peeked up and fired a shot down at the dock. As she did, Icy reached out and caught an incoming bolt inches from her face. “Aaaaand thank you.”
    “It was nothing,” Icy said modestly, and freed the other grappling hook with his free hand.
    Purple smoke