by Skyler Grant
48
Banok watched from orbit as the attack began. There was no point being closer, his presence would only draw fire. This was a case where it was better off that he stay out of it until the decisive blow needed to be dealt.
It was a strange feeling though, being out of the action, listening to the reports of people who were loyal to him out of coin or faith dying.
It was something that Banok was quickly coming to hate. The Druid Order had come out of hiding because he’d said it was safe, and they’d died a second time because of their faith in him. Every death on the surface of this world felt like another moment of that. The mercenaries at least were being paid, but the Orcs? The Orcs were dying because they felt that their species owed him, they were acting on honor. It was a stupid reason to die, for all that he’d use it.
Losses were high, they were putting up quite a fight down on the surface, but his troopers were good at their job. When the magical shielding around the palace fractured Banok boarded an insertion pod. The pods were of Orc design, single-person capsules designed to bring a soldier quickly into even the harshest warzone. Heavily armored, with plasma jets meant to melt their way into even hardened bunkers.
What they lacked was windows. Banok was largely blind coming down, even his magical senses smothered by the sheer level of power below.
There was no doubt when he finally hit the palace though. However well-insulated the pod might have been so the occupant survived insertion, that didn’t mean he didn’t feel it.
Banok freed himself of his restraints and triggered the explosive hatch which blew away. He had no more started to leave the pod than a dark grey tentacle grabbed him about the waist and dragged him forward.
The summoned monster had a maw of what looked like thousands of very sharp teeth in countless layers, and it was hauling Banok towards this.
Banok threw a fireball into the open maw and the resulting explosion a moment later forced the tentacle to release him, for all that it also flung him against a nearby wall with bone-shattering force.
A rush of healing magic helped Banok to regain his senses just in time for a spear to pierce his shoulder, and the wound hurt. The wound hurt a lot. It was no simple spearhead but one imbued by magic. A second tried to impale him in the chest but skidded off the armor Olina had provided.
Good stuff.
There were two Elven guards facing off against him, one male and one female. Both wearing armor that seemed to be made of interlocking leaves. Vanwyn wore the same sort, so Banok knew from experience how protective it was.
A boost of strength and he kicked out at the woman, the force causing her to bounce off the opposite wall.
The male guard took the opportunity to stab at his kidneys. Another agonizing blow, was every weapon they had enchanted?
Banok head-butted the guard and when he stumbled back wrenched the spear from his shoulder. The guard’s face wasn’t shielded, so Banok slammed the butt of the spear into his nose and the guard fell backward with blood spraying.
Right, immediate threats neutralized. With a few seconds to compose himself Banok wove the magical flows around himself. Now that he’d fought them he had some idea what he’d be dealing with. The magic in those spear hafts was mostly air magic, although tremendously refined. A weaving of armor out of the air surrounding him would do much to neutralize their effect. It wouldn’t help the wounds already inflicted, because even though Banok poured lifeforce into them they only healed so much.
Healing magic worked by restoring your body to its right pattern, filling in what was missing with what should be there. With magical wounds that information got corrupted in a way, changed with the magic that attacked you. The effects would fade with time, or with a careful application of Void magic Banok might handle it sooner.
This wasn’t the time for Void magic. This place was too dangerous and if he got hit at the wrong moment using Void magic to heal he stood a good chance of permanently erasing parts of himself. It would be like trying to cauterize a wound with a stick of dynamite and an open flame.
Defenses woven, Banok moved forward. Servants scurried out of the way—no not servants, slaves. Each bore a collar, Elves themselves, but while the elder Elves had almost exclusively white or platinum hair the young-blooded ones came in hues of black, red, and green. These all were disfigured too, some sort of magical rash on all of them in hues of purple and black. Void magic.
A glowing arrow came from the end of one hall, hitting the air-barrier surrounding him and spinning off to impale a column.
The palace was a lovely place. Stylized clouds on the ceiling and most rooms opened on courtyards with large fountains. Banok added a shield of water around himself. It was his weakest element, but it seemed a good choice given what he was seeing.
Finding the King wasn’t difficult, he just had to head towards the area with the most magical concentration. It was also the most dense with guards.
Banok didn’t bother pulling his punches. He wasn’t that interested in keeping the guards alive given the crimes they were complicit in. They were also too dangerous to be ignored and allowed to hit him without response. The wounds he already had were bleeding slowly but steadily, and a constant drain on his life energy.
There was a Grove on this world, not druid but familiar. Nothing in this palace used it, but he might if only he could forge a decent connection—if he had time.
Which he didn’t. Six fireballs cleared away a dozen defenders who had been guarding a large pair of double doors engraved with Elvish runes. Banok had reached the throne room.
49
The runes on the doors were beautiful work on both an artistic and a magical level. Banok didn’t really understand Elvish magic, but the fundamentals were something he could unravel. They seemed designed to absorb magical energy used against them and to redirect it towards conjuration.
If Banok tried to use Astra to melt his way through he’d wind up with a magical opponent just as strong chomping at his face. From what he could tell nothing specified physical force in the same way, Elves often didn’t think of the brute force approach. Amplifying his muscles and avoiding any elemental charging to his fists, Banok pounded on the doors.
They were mostly made out of gold, a soft metal, for all that it was thick. The first few punches distorted the runes before the doors finally were flung open.
Banok walked into the throne room. Seated on the throne was an Elf with long white hair. Although his features looked barely out of the teens Banok was sure he was as old as the Elves himself. Flanking the throne were a dozen guards.
The sides of the room were lined with perhaps a hundred slaves, all on their knees.
“I should applaud you getting this far, but I don’t have it in me to give any praise to someone foolish enough to breach my throne room,” said King Aeriloni.
“You’ve done a terrible thing. I’d know. I’ve done a few myself,” Banok said, stepping forward. Two guards advanced. They were far better equipped than any he’d encountered in the halls. They were well-shielded against all of the elements, but shielding only mattered so much. Banok wove daggers of flame and put all the force of Astra beneath them. They flung themselves towards the guards and buried in their chests, screams filling the throne room as their bodies burst alight. Banok stepped over the burning corpses.
King Aeriloni gestured with an almost negligent motion of one hand and elementals of water appeared on either side of Banok. Their shapes were vaguely feminine, naiads perhaps? Each reached out and grabbed one of Banok’s arms and tugged him sharply towards the floor.
Even with the muscles in his legs being boosted Banok was no match for their strength. His water shield was unwoven in seconds and he felt the magic coalescing and pooling around him, a flow designed to carry away any spell he cast before it could fully form.
“For a human, you are strong and skilled. Perhaps in several millenia you might prove some faint threat to me,” King Aeriloni said as he rose from h
is throne and moved to look down at Banok.
The naiads, if that is what they were, held him to his knees and try though he might, Banok just wasn’t getting any magic to form.
“I did underestimate you,” Banok said.
Elves, they always had such a high opinion of themselves. Banok didn’t think that the king would use this opportunity to murder him while being praised, this should buy him some time. Why was the king so strong?
This close Banok could see the details of the magic that surrounded King Aeriloni in far more detail, and he really was a blur. Magically it was like a million strings were tied to him, each tiny flows of power, although some were stronger than others.
The slaves, Banok checked to confirm his thought and found he was correct. The strongest magical threats were linked to the slaves who lined this room. They weren’t just here for show, they were being used to amplify Aeriloni’s magical power.
“It is good that you realize that,” King Aeriloni said, pacing back and forth. “It is a shame that there is no real use for one such as you. You are not even a lesser Elf, but a lesser species entirely.”
That distraction was already running out fast. Banok knew the sight of a man not used to doing his own killing and working up the courage for it.
Banok’s offensive and defensive workings were being undone by the magic surrounding him, but was all magic affected? A burst of life energy to one of the slaves wasn’t stopped. The weave was selective. That made sense for combat magic long ago memorized. This weave was probably designed to be flung around king himself if needed to fend off hostile magic. You wouldn’t want that from stopping your own positive magic. At some point the king had perhaps modified the spell to take prisoners and never adjusted that portion.
Banok reached out to the Grove on the planet’s surface and focused on his thoughts of what was happening. The Void magic draining all the life of a people, and the slavery resulting from it.
Banok’s Grove might have grown up a little twisted, but this one hadn’t, and he didn’t think it would like what he was showing it. It didn’t. A rushing current of life energy from it filled him. Banok hadn’t felt this much of it since he’d acquired new magical skill.
That skill made a difference—and oh, what a difference it made. Possibilities seemed to unfold before his eyes in the thousands of the things he might do. He could heal his wounds, or he could try to turn the king into a monster.
Banok had something else in mind.
The weave was impossibly complex, one of mixed Void and life magic. It wasn’t offensive, but rather the opposite, and he pushed it with all the magical might the Grove and Astra offered him into King Aeriloni.
Banok had only ever been able to cure the Orcs one at a time. He didn’t think that was true of the slaves. They were all fused to the king.
Strings went both ways, but until now the slaves didn’t have the ability to control it. Banok was giving it to them.
Around the room the slaves howled. The magical rash they bore spreading, growing in a way that almost seemed out of control. The pale skin of the mortal Elves became purple, their pupils now a brilliant red. Every slave upon this world suddenly bore a shard of Void magic inside them, one they instinctively could use. A string they could pull.
King Aeriloni realized what was happening, but it was too late to stop it. A million threads were violently jerked and the king didn’t so much explode as dissolve, the magic and life torn from him.
50
“They’re an abomination,” Vanwyn said, her hands resting on the conference table and her voice as close to a shout as Banok had ever heard her.
“Would you rather they be dead? Would you rather I be dead” Banok asked.
After the battle he’d returned to the Catspaw along with the others, and they were now scattered around the lounge to discuss their next moves. Or, to get yelled at.
“Elves have always had a deep and instinctive connection to life magic. It is who we are, it is what defines us. The immortals and the younger both. These … Void Elves you created?” Vanwyn asked.
Void Elves, it wasn’t a bad name for the new species. That was what they were really, the Void a part of each one of them.
“It isn’t wrong for someone to be different than the rest of their kind,” Nyx said, fluttering over to land on Banok’s head and glaring at Vanwyn.
“I’m siding with Nyx on this one,” Cleo said, with her tail lashing from side to side.
Vanwyn said with a sigh, reaching for a glass of wine, “There will be consequences. My people by their nature are static. The loss of immortality was a blow to us. This will be even more profound.”
“They’ve already slaughtered a lot of the elder Elves on the planet,” Cleo said.
Vanwyn winced at that.
“Can’t say they don’t have it coming, but the more they kill at this point the more it hurts us and them in the long term. Ogdek, use your people if you have to for security. Let them leave,” Banok said.
“You view yourself as tied to these creations of yours then?” Vanwyn asked.
“I created them. I know that you are right, the rest of the Elves aren’t going to accept them. Give it time they’ll be hunted, killed. I’m not going to force anyone to leave their home, but those that want to come with us will be welcome,” Banok said.
“I can get us transports. We’ve got the funds for that even without the Socialite,” Cleo said.
“Where do you want to take them?” Vanwyn asked.
“Most can go back to the Grove. It will welcome them,” Banok said. Even though he hadn’t returned since the bombing he thought that was true—that the Grove was done fighting him. Fire and life were already a part of it, but now Void was also a part of Banok through his connection to Urania. The Void Elves could help to make it part of the Grove.
“Who isn’t headed there?” Cleo asked.
“The most magically aware who want to learn more. We’ll send them into the Fade, Urania will find them and train them,” Banok said.
“Bold move, you’ll get yourself a group of powerful casters,” Delilah said.
That was part of Banok’s thinking. He planned to do the same with the druids once there actually were druids again. Urania had trained him, she could train others.
“They’ll do it. From what I’m hearing there isn’t a one down there that doesn’t want to know more about their liberator,” Cleo said.
“What about this second world Olina wanted us to check out?” Banok asked.
“We’ve got a communication from her about that. She wants to speak with you,” Cleo said.
That was unexpected, and a bit worrying.
“We have a place for a meet?” Banok asked.
“Over a comm, private channel. Just you,” Cleo said.
That didn’t seem like her usual procedure, even more worrying.
Banok excused himself from the gathering and headed for his quarters.
It took some time for the call to connect. When it did, it was an unfamiliar face on the viewscreen. Being a young woman was about all she had in common with Olina. This one had hair dyed a brilliant purple and done up in spikes with half her face tattooed with what looked like Dwarven runes.
“About time,” the girl said breathlessly. “We’ve got an opportunity but it won’t last.”
“You’re looking different,” Banok said carefully.
With a wicked smile she quickly recounted several of the more lurid details of their night together. “Convinced yet?”
“Not completely, but enough to give the benefit of the doubt. That look actually in fashion somewhere?” Banok asked.
“All the rage on Coyala, Seraya here is quite the fashionista. By the way, I tend to go by whatever is the name of the host I’m wearing at that moment, so don’t use the other,” Seraya said.
Well, that wasn’t in the least bewildering.
“You can just use Socialite, if it’s confusing,” Seraya said.
&nb
sp; “That goes from confusing to feeling ridiculous. You said it was urgent?” Banok asked.
“An opportunity that shouldn’t be missed. Queen is smarter than I gave her credit for. I didn’t think she cared what was happening in Elvish or Dwarven space at all, and that by following up on my leads you’d outflank her.”
“But what I just did kicked over an anthill,” Banok said.
“Exactly. The other situation involved a world of Dwarves renewing the cult of dragons. With the magic they’ve started throwing around, probably real ones,” Seraya said.
That would have been interesting to get into, and useful to acquire. That had probably been the whole point.
“How have things changed?”
“Soldier is dealing with that issue. Queen is taking the piece out of play and in doing so has left herself vulnerable,” Seraya said.
“Provided that she doesn’t know about you and your involvement.”
Seraya hesitated for just a moment. “I’d be a fool not to consider it. I don’t think so. I have my own pieces watching her and she hasn’t moved against them or me. If I’ve been in turn outflanked it is completely.”
Queen was the best at control and Seraya at influencing. When those two came into direct conflict, which one won? That was assuming this wasn’t all Banok being played to step into a trap by fully committing himself.
“We aren’t at full strength. We just fought a devastating battle,” Banok said.
“You’ll never get a better opportunity. Your target is Nyssa Queen. No actual royal title—you’ll find she doesn’t have one. Don’t screw up,” Seraya said, and killed the connection.
51
Another day, another meeting. This time there were images up on every viewscreen and a holo playing above a table and showing the same woman. Looking to be somewhere in her late twenties, that was a bit of a lie—the clothing fashions of the images spanned centuries. There were pictures of her in the cockpit of a shuttle, giving a speech, climbing what looked to be a mountain.
