Eradicator
Page 19
“Shaya’s grace,” Thalas breathed. He’d gone pale, and when Voria saw what he was staring at, she couldn’t blame him. “That’s Teodros, isn’t it?”
Voria angled their course in a wide arc that skirted the edge of the battle. She tapped a fire sigil on the silver ring, and the scry-screen’s perspective leapt to focus on the largest Wyrm, the one Thalas had indicated.
“Well, I guess we know he isn’t a Myth.” Voria’s words were brave, but her heart thundered as Teodros savaged the Confederate fleet. He was as ancient as anything in the sector, an active participant in the trailing days of the Godswar.
The titanic Wyrm dove on a battleship, the Shield of Shaya, one of the centerpieces of the Confederate forces. His lungs expanded, despite the fact that he couldn’t be drawing in air, as they were in a vacuum. He exhaled a cloud of sickly pale fog that billowed out around the Shield like a living thing.
Voria tensed, praying silently. A golden shield burst up around the Shield at the last possible moment, its brilliance disappearing under the pallid fog. When the fog cleared, the Shield still stood, though the ward’s golden energy had faded to a weak glow.
A trio of golden spellfighters roared into battle, each unleashing a brilliant white life bolt as they streaked by. Teodros didn’t even bother with a counterspell, instead letting the bolts slam into him with no apparent ill effect.
“That monster is terrifying,” Thalas whispered. “He shrugged off their magic like it was…an irritation.”
Teodros dove again, and this time he relied on his enormous size. He body checked the Shield, his scaly shoulder slamming into their hull with the force of a many-megaton bomb. The ward shattered, and the hull buckled a moment later.
A wave of air, crew, and material rushed out the suddenly exposed wound. The Shield desperately attempted to retreat, but Teodros followed up with a wicked slash of his tail, slamming it into the already damaged hull. The Shield cracked like an egg, and glittering debris rained down over Starn.
“Seven hundred dead, including some of our finest mages.” Voria’s eyes narrowed, and she guided the Hunter in a careful path toward Teodros. “Send a missive to Confederate command, and inform them that we’re going to relieve their flank in sector three.”
Thalas scowled at her, but his attempt at intimidating landed somewhere closer to petulant. “I am an officer, not your secretary.”
“Captain Thalas,” Voria barked in her best parade voice. “We are at war. If you wish to lodge a formal complaint with your father, then do so after the battle is done. Send the missive. Now.”
“Yes, sir.” Thalas avoided her gaze as he tapped the fire sigil on each ring, then the dream sigil on the silver ring. He began whispering under his breath, creating the message that would be included when he sent the spell to Confederate command.
Voria kept her attention on Teodros, and on the battle in that sector. That was, unsurprisingly, the worst of it. Six Krox carriers were being screened by Teodros and four of his brethren, and Voria realized that if those ships reached the surface it would be over for the people of Starn.
They were no doubt packed with the very worst creatures that the Krox binders were capable of enslaving, from soulshackled corpses to summoned elementals. They would overwhelm the starports where the evacuation was centered, and if that happened, the citizens would be trapped. This would become a world of the dead, just as Vakera had.
She tapped a sigil and the screen shifted to show a wider view of the battle. The Ternus forces were arrayed in low orbit, their tech-reliant ships filling the sky with a lethally impressive array of missiles. Thus far, their lines were holding, though she suspected that was only because the Wyrms were focused on the Shayan portion of the defenders.
First, they’d kill the mages. Then they would turn their full attention on the Ternus defenders, and their ships had no defense against breath weapons, or any of the other spells the Krox could bring to bear.
The scry-screen chimed, and Voria tapped a fire sigil to accept the missive. The screen lit, and she was suddenly looking at the bridge of the Arcanaca. Caretaker Ducius’s imperious gaze fell upon her, his ethereal features, the hallmark of the Shaman people, flushed with anger.
“Why are you only just now arriving, Major?” His eyes narrowed. “We demanded your presence three days past, when it actually might have made a difference.”
Voria’s stare didn’t waver in the slightest. She’d be damned if she’d let this pompous armchair commander lecture her on the realities of battle. “Physics, Caretaker. You see, when you seek to travel between locations, it takes time. I cannot simply magic myself from one side of the sector to the other. I sailed here as quickly as the Depths allowed. Now that I am here, do you really think the best use of our time is rebukes? Or shall we tend to the battle at hand?”
Ducius’s face became ugly, but his gaze snapped suddenly to Thalas. “That should be your ship, boy. Not this malcontent’s. Were you a real man, you’d have long since taken it from her.”
Voria saw an unfamiliar emotion in Thalas. She was used to anger, or righteousness, which she herself had a healthy dollop of, or even disbelief. She had never seen the man wear shame before.
“Father, I—.”
“Caretaker,” Ducius snapped. “Or ‘Admiral,’ if we are to use the ridiculous title bestowed upon me by these provincials.” He turned back to Voria. “You are to report to the rear of the Shayan lines, to act as reinforcements once I’ve decided on the proper course of action.”
“Proper course of action?” She blinked at him, not able to comprehend. “Starn is about to fall. The Ternus forces are in disarray. They need us. If we can’t keep the Teodros at bay, this planet is lost.
“This planet is already lost,” Ducius snarled. “The best we can do is save our remaining forces. Now report to sector sixteen, and if I hear so much as a ‘no, sir,’ I will have you stripped of command. And don’t think Dirk will intervene on your behalf. He’s sitting this war out, remember?”
She clenched both hands into fists, but managed to limit her defiance to that simple gesture. “Yes, sir, Admiral.” She killed the connection before he could reply.
Voria guided the ship away from the Shayan lines, toward the Ternus fleet.
“What are you doing?” Thalas’s tone was scandalized. “He’ll have you courtmartialed.”
“I’m saving as many people as we can.” Voria knew that this maneuver would likely end her career, but if she were going to die, then let it be saving those who could not protect themselves from supernatural predators.
She’d seen too many people die. Never again. Not while she could do something about it.
2
Buying Time
Voria tapped fire, dream, then fire, and sent a missive directly the Ternus forces. Their planet didn’t contain a catalyst, but they paid extremely well. Well enough to attract mercenary mages from all over the sector.
After a moment, the scry-screen resolved onto the bridge of the San Antonio, the Ternus flagship. Each officer wore an olive-green uniform, with a gold-trimmed patch on the shoulder.
“Can she hear me?” A tall man with a greying beard walked into view, but he was looking at someone off camera. “What? She can? ‘Bout gods-damned time.” He turned to face Voria. “Welcome to Starn, Major Voria. I’m told that you reached out to us directly, rather than joining the Confederate forces. There a reason for that?” He raised a snowy eyebrow.
“Yes, Admiral.” She recognized Davies. He was one of their most famous fleet commanders, and had somehow managed to eke out a victory against the Krox in the Danton system, in the early days of the war. “My government has ordered me to wait in reserve, while they determine the proper course of action.”
Davies’s eyes went cold. “I told the Governor that we shouldn’t count on any real help from the Confederacy. You realize we’re mid-evacuation, right? If those Krox troop transports reach our cities, they’ll destroy the spaceports—“
He rubbed at his jaw in silence as he studied her. “I believe you’re on the level, Major. For that you have my thanks.” He sighed heavily, and scrubbed his fingers through his hair. “We’re all tired, but we’re as determined as ever. My people have identified the landing sites for all six troop transports. In a perfect world, none would make planetfall, but this world isn’t perfect.”
“No, it most certainly is not.” She folded her arms and eyed him directly. “If you had to pick one of those vessels to stop, which would it be?”
“I don’t like doing this kind of triage—makes me feel like a sun-sick cow.” He grimaced as if swallowing something distasteful. “But if we had to pick, I’d stop the ship bound for Austinnia. I’ll have the coordinates sent over. We can give you two destroyers to screen your attack, but you’re going to need to be quick.”
Voria nodded. “I will be. Goddess be with you, Admiral. Wyrm Hunter out.” She dismissed the missive, and turned to face Thalas. This would be the real test.
“You’re committing treason.” Thankfully, he hadn’t reached for the spellblade belted at his waist. If it came to that, she might be able to hard cast a spell, but if she failed, he’d gut her and assume command.
“And now you have a difficult decision, Captain Thalas.” She moved back to the command matrix, and ducked inside the rings. “Your father would have you take this ship by force. He’d have you sail it to the backlines, and wait for orders like a good lackey.” She knew appealing to his honor and his need to prove himself was the only way she might convince him to support her. “Tell me, Thalas, did you fly all the way here to sit idly by while our allies are slaughtered, or did you come to prove to the Krox that your family’s legend did not end with the great Arathnius?”
Thalas’s face was split by indecision. The need to follow orders battled her second’s need to prove himself, but under it all she saw the core that defined Thalas: Shayan superiority. He believed they were better than the Krox, and no true Shayan would allow the ‘lesser races’ to fend for themselves when they were in a position to protect them.
Finally, Thalas ducked from the command matrix. “I cannot in good conscience disobey a direct order. However, I can depart the bridge. Perhaps I was en route to lead the tech mage company into battle, and you were alone when you committed your horrendous treason.”
Voria gave Thalas a grateful nod as the captain departed, but he studiously avoided looking in her direction. They rarely got along, but she liked to believe they at least respected each other. His actions here certainly suggested that.
Unfortunately, his departure meant the only occupied matrix was her own. She could, in theory, utilize both offensive and defensive magic, but not while she was also flying the ship. That was why a fully staffed bridge always had all three matrices occupied, to allow each to focus on their respective specialty, while the commander focused on piloting.
“So be it.” She guided the Hunter toward the intense combat raging in the planet’s upper atmosphere. Thus far none of the Wyrms had broken away to engage her, but they would once they identified her ship. If Nebiat were here, she would stop at nothing to kill Voria.
She blocked that out. Somehow, she needed to find a way to stop that Krox troop transport from making planetfall.
3
Crewes
Sergeant Crewes braced himself as the Hunter’s hull shuddered beneath him. A couple of the new recruits stumbled, but most were able to keep their footing. He pounced on the closest one that fell, a pasty-faced kid who had no place anywhere near a real battle.
Crewes loomed over the kid, who was barely able to retain his grip on his spellrifle. “What in the depths is wrong with you, tech mage?”
“I, uh, just stumbled,” the kid managed. He smiled weakly up at Crewes from under a mop of tangled brown curls. “I ain’t been blessed with an overabundance of talent.”
“Ain’t been blessed, SIR.” Crewes leaned in close, his face millimeters away. The kid began to quake, and his skin paled even further. “Private, what is your name?”
“Bord, sir.”
“Bord? As in boring?” Crewes shifted to stand in Bord’s field of vision. He leaned down until he was able to make eye contact. “Well that makes sense, because I am gods-damned bored. See, I thought I was here to teach you stains how to defend yourselves, but if you can’t even hold onto your rifle, then that’s just a waste of my time, isn’t it?”
“Yes…sir? I’m not really sure what the right answer is, sir,” Bord ventured, glancing up, but then immediately back down to the deck.
“Joost stop picking on him already,” a tiny, angry voice came from one of the back rows.
Crewes straightened, then clasped his hands calmly behind his back. He scanned the ranks until he found the tech mage who’d spoken. The diminutive blonde was definitely the shortest, and as he’d already been able to tell from her accent, she was the only drifter among them.
He didn’t single her out. If he had more time he would, but he needed to teach these stains, and he needed to do it quick. He sucked in a deep breath, and boomed his next words, “How many of you pathetic stains want to live to the end of the day?”
“Sir, we do, sir,” they raggedly chorused back. It was better than it had been four days back, when they’d taken on most of these kids.
“Do you think the Krox are going to be as pleasant and gentle as I am?” He began to pace back in forth in front of the company.
“Sir, no, sir,” they chorused. He noticed that the drifter was still glaring at him, and made a note to keep an eye on her. If she had an instinct to protect others she might make an excellent replacement for Corporal Tang.
Crewes turned toward the corridor leading to the bridge when he spotted movement. To his surprise and annoyance, Captain Thalas strode imperiously into the bay. The Shayan noble had apparently taken the time to stop by his quarters, as he carried both his spellrifle and spellblade.
“Sergeant Crewes, assemble the company and prepare for immediate deployment.” Thalas walked up to the unit, but didn’t even glance at the men. He kept his gaze on Crewes, making it very clear that the sergeant was the only one here worthy of his attention, and even Crewes was barely worth that much.
“We’re good to go, sir, but I haven’t picked out the people I want in spellarmor yet.” He’d been putting it off, because there were no good options.
Thalas sighed. “It’s not complicated, Sergeant. There are six suits. Yours and mine are spoken for. Pick four mages, and make sure at least two have life magic, as we’re still out of healing potions. Most of these people will be dead soon, so it hardly matters which you choose.” Thalas turned on his heel and headed for the far side of the hangar, where the spellarmor was stored.
Crewes turned back to the company and squared his shoulders. Thalas had just pissed all over their morale, and he could see it reflected in the mens’ faces. This was the very last thing they needed right before combat started, and there wasn’t a depths-damned thing he could do about it. “Which of you pathetic stains have life magic?”
Two hands went up, a wide-eyed woman with the same dark Yantharan skin Crewes himself had…and Bord. “Just my frigging luck. Both of you, move to that side of the hangar.” Both mages fell out and started running after the captain.
Crewes scanned the rest of the ranks, and tried to determine which of these undertrained conscripts would do the least damage in a set of spellarmor. His eyes fell on the little blonde drifter. “You, what is your name, Private?”
“Kezia, sir.” She snapp
ed proudly to attention.
“You want to defend Private Bord? He’s your responsibility. Follow him. Now.” He pointed after Bord, and the drifter fell out and sprinted after the others. He surveyed the ranks one last time, and settled on a fire mage who’d shown at least a little promise. “Jana, get after them too. The rest of you, fall out and head over to the deployment point. Make sure you change your gods-damned diapers, kids, because we’re going into the shit today.”
They turned as one and ran, and Crewes swelled with pride. For a group of conscripts who knew they were probably going to die, these people were performing surprisingly well. If he’d had three more weeks, he could have turned them into a fighting force capable of holding their own against the Krox, even their enforcers.
Unfortunately, he didn’t have three weeks.
Crewes trotted after Thalas and the mages he’d ordered to follow. They waited in a small cluster near several suits of silvery armor that bobbed up and down a few millimeters off the ground. He stopped near them and surveyed his mages.
A few meters away, Thalas sketched a void sigil before his armor, then sank inside of it, disappearing entirely. The armor began to move, and floated toward the blue membrane separating them from space. He said nothing, and didn’t even acknowledge the rest of the company, who were nervously clustered around the deployment point.
Crewes inhaled slowly through both nostrils. He needed to focus on what he could control. “All right, stains, here’s the deal. These are suits of Inuran Mark V Spellarmor. Have any of you worn spellarmor before?”
No one replied, not that he’d expected them to. Spellarmor was expensive, and these people were poor, or they wouldn’t have ended up as conscripts.
“This armor makes you faster and stronger,” he boomed, moving to stand before his own armor.