by Chris Fox
“All right.” Nara removed her helmet. “Show me what I need to do.”
42
The Heart of Krox
Frit hadn’t returned to the Temple of Enlightenment since Eros had brought her to the palace several weeks ago. Even when she’d lived here, she hadn’t been allowed out of her quarters after curfew.
A year ago that wouldn’t have been an issue, and no one would have policed it. After Nebiat, however, they were hyper-vigilant. Anything and everything that could be a security threat was scryed, and guards were everywhere, even at libraries and schools.
She hurried to the south door, and rolled her eyes as she passed the poster that had been plastered to the wall outside.
Is someone acting suspicious? Speaking up could save lives.
It wasn’t that she thought vigilance a bad idea. They could and should be watchful, after what had happened. But posters like that would only create the opposite effect. The common people saw binders everywhere, and there were likely thousands of reports a day. It took an already overburdened defense force and turned them into report takers.
They were far too busy to spot a real threat, and she hoped that meant they wouldn’t spot her, either.
Frit ducked through the door and exhaled a relieved puff of flame when none of the wards activated. There wasn’t any reason for them to keep her from the library, but she wasn’t supposed to be here at this hour. That was reserved for real students, not slaves. She pulled her hood up, but left it loose so it didn’t look like she was hiding.
She wove a familiar path through the stacks, which took her along the back wall. It kept her well away from the headmaster’s room, what had once been Eros’s office. Back then she’d been trying to avoid his attention, though truthfully she avoided everyone but Nara—Nara, and now her new sisters.
The initial six had grown to over three dozen. She’d been amazed at how many were willing to risk their lives in pursuit of their own freedom.
Frit slowed her pace, then stopped entirely when she reached the last shelf in the row. From here, there was a chance she’d be seen. If that happened, she’d be hauled in front of Eros for punishment. She had no idea how he might react. Normally, he’d ignore the situation. But if he caught even a whiff that she’d been speaking to Nebiat, her life would come to a swift and violent end.
She took a deep breath and exhaled smoke through her nose. Then Frit walked slowly toward the restricted area, which was blocked off with a simple cordon. She lifted the cordon, and whispered the password. Eros had sent her to fetch many tomes, and didn’t care that she wasn’t authorized to be here…so long as she was coming on one of his errands. That was the lie she planned if she were caught.
No one stopped her, though a few people walked the restricted area. Frit moved unerringly toward the shelves, just like she’d have done if on a real errand. She moved into the back section, which contained the area on dangerous Catalysts.
She scanned the spines of nearly a dozen books before finally locating the one she sought. It had a brown spine with the title The Heart, and no author name. Frit flipped it open and scanned the acknowledgements. The tome was dated 672 sector standard, so over three centuries ago.
Frit flipped to the beginning and began to skim the contents. The answer she sought lay on page four of a relatively unprotected tome. The secret read like poetry, the prose delivered as an artist might, not a scientist, or true mage.
And I caught sight of a vast ball of swirling, golden energy. Not golden like a sun, which will destroy sight if observed through a naked eye. This was a clean, wholesale brilliance that drew the eye. The still-beating heart of the once mighty god Krox.
She slowly closed the book and slid it into her satchel. There were, no doubt, more secrets to be gleaned, and she should be excited to learn them. But…she just couldn’t bear to. Not right now. The Heart of Krox. Nebiat had been telling the truth. They were related, in a way.
And that raised some very troubling questions. It meant that, just maybe, Nebiat was being completely truthful and honest. She might really want to free Frit’s people. That didn’t make her good, but it might mean she was honest. It might mean Frit could trust her to help free her sisters.
It could also mean exchanging one master for another. What if they escaped, only to be imprisoned by the Krox? Being a slave wasn’t the worst fate she could think of.
Frit shook her head. She’d already been here too long. Pausing to inspect a tome to ensure it was the correct one was believable. Reading entire passages was not. Not even Eros would send her to do something like that.
She hurried from the restricted section, and breathed a puff of smoke in relief when she replaced the cordon behind her.
“What are you doing in the restricted section?” Ree asked from behind her.
Frit turned slowly to face the war mage. Ree glared suspiciously at Frit, all imperious in her golden armor.
“Well?” Ree demanded. Her right hand settled on the hilt of her spellblade. “Out with it, Frit. I have to log this. Just give me something. I don’t want to have to punish you, or deal with Eros when he gets pissy about it. Why are you here?”
Frit burst into flaming tears. All the fear, and confusion, and loneliness…it was just too much. She so badly wanted to spill the truth, but knew doing it would end in her execution.
“I’m sorry,” she cried. She couldn’t bring herself to meet Ree’s gaze.
“Hey, it’s okay.” Ree softened slightly. “I’ll ad lib a bit. It’s not your fault Eros makes you break the rules. Just…try to avoid doing it again.”
Ree stepped out of her path, and Frit plunged past. Thank Shaya that Ree had a millimeter of compassion.
Then she caught herself. No, not Shaya. What had Shaya ever done for her? Thank Krox.
43
Ready for War
Kaho carefully placed the golden torque around his neck, laying it flat against the scales on his chest. Then he reached for the headdress, and attached the fan to the back of his head. It made him look like a lowly saurian, but his mother was a stickler for tradition. Looking the part of the dutiful hatchling might make her a hair more willing to cooperate, and he’d take any advantage he could get.
“You look a fool, brother.” Tobek sneered at Kaho as he stalked into the room. He still wore his spellarmor. He never took it off, not since running into the Outrider and his company back on Shaya. Kaho almost felt bad for them. Almost.
“Would you rather speak to her?” Kaho demanded. “Because I can remove all this, and we can let you grovel. And don’t pretend you’d do anything else, because as much as you like to act the Wyrm, you are still a hatchling, too, brother.”
Tobek opened his mouth to return a taunt, but hesitated. He sighed. “You look a fool, but I might do the same in your place. Be quick with your groveling, and let us be about this. I long to kill something. It’s past time we show these aging Wyrms that the Krox know how to fight.”
Kaho merely nodded. He’d already turned his mind to the conversation he was about to have. Unlike Tobek, he didn’t have the luxury of solving his problems with violence. His problems were much more complex, and required creative solutions. Sometimes, they required a little groveling.
He raised his index finger and sketched the first fire sigil. He took his time, slowly drawing the perfect whirls and curves. He added a dream sigil, drawn with the same artistry. They swam toward each other and burst into a greater missive. The shimmering spell showed nothing for long moments, but eventually the silhouette of a human woman appeared.
It quickly gained definition, showing Nebiat’s dark skin and her bone-white hair. She stared dispassionately at Kaho through the strangely round irises she wore as a human. “I am in the middle of important business, child. Why do you bother me?”
Something exploded behind her, leveling the wall of the building she was inside. She turned and sketched several elegant void sigils, which she linked with fire. A bolt of disintegrati
on shot toward the hole in the wall at the precise moment a fifteen-meter robot crashed through. The bolt of disintegration took it in the knee, sheering off the limb and spilling the robot to the ground in front of Nebiat.
She darted forward and slammed the butt of her staff into the electronic eye. The weapon sank into the robot’s stylized chrome skull, and a fan of sparks sprayed from the wound. Nebiat turned back to the missive. “Speak quickly, child.”
“We have learned what Voria retrieved in the Umbral Depths.” Kaho led with that, because he knew nothing else would so quickly secure her attention. She fixed that terrible gaze on him, and he plunged on. “It is a staff. An eldimagus from the final days of the godswar. We believe it is the key to the vessel we’ve been searching for. Your auguries were correct.”
“But?” Nebiat’s eyes narrowed.
Kaho rushed to explain. “But getting it will require us to launch an attack on the Confederate forces. Those forces are currently under the protection of Wyrm Mother Olyssa. For us to secure it, we’d have to risk her wrath.”
Nebiat whirled and quickly ended another robot, then turned back to the missive. “Do it. Take the staff. We will reason with Aetherius, and explain that this is really done in his best interests.”
“And, how should I do that, Mother?” Kaho asked. He gave her a deep bow, and held it until she spoke.
“Stand up, child.” She didn’t speak again until he’d straightened. “You did right to contact me. To persuade Aetherius this is in his best interests, tell him you wanted him to have plausible deniability. Now his chief rival has been embarrassed, but he can truthfully say he had no foreknowledge of the attack. It makes him look good, and costs him nothing. Spin it just like that. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mother, thank you. We will retrieve the staff, and once we have it, I will contact you.” He bowed again, and when he straightened the missive had been terminated. He turned to his brother, who’d been careful to stand out of view. “Go and fetch your enforcers. Tell them to ready for war.”
44
Incoming
Ikadra’s tip clinked along the deck as Voria made her way to the battle bridge. This part of the ship was blessedly empty, and though that was tactically dangerous, at least it gave her room to think. Even the normal echoes from the hangars were absent, since Davidson had pulled his men into defensive positions along the cliffs overlooking their parking spot.
She still hadn’t received a missive from Nara, which troubled her. Aran’s situation was bad enough without having to also worry about the girl. Voria still believed Aran was alive, though she didn’t understand what had happened to him. The gods almost certainly had a plan, and the idea that Virkonna would have casually offed him after he won seemed ludicrous to Voria.
“Morning, Major,” Bord called cheerfully as she strode onto the bridge. He stood inside the defensive matrix, and was chatting with Kezia and Pickus.
Crewes snapped to attention in the offensive matrix and sketched a salute. Voria returned it, then Crewes relaxed. He’d been quiet since returning from his trip with Aran. Voria worried that he blamed himself for his possible death, which wasn’t fair. But she also knew someone couldn’t merely tell you that. You needed to come to the conclusion on your own, or it meant nothing.
“Good morning, Specialist,” Voria called back. She moved to the command matrix and slipped inside the stabilizing ring. “Sergeant, I don’t suppose Nara has sent word?”
“Nope,” Crewes looked up from his matrix. His eyes were, if possible, harder than usual. “I expect she will when she can.”
“How did your game of Kim Jabber or whatever go?” Bord asked. “Did you beat her? Was she pissed?”
“We didn’t finish the game,” Voria replied absently as she tapped a void sigil and linked with the Hunter. The ship responded so much more sluggishly than the Talon, but she was also much more familiar. Voria had fought countless battles on the Hunter. Both she and her vessel had outlived the odds, thus far. “I did lay the groundwork for a formal alliance, but it’s only verbal at this stage. I believe Olyssa will be an ally, albeit one who sees us all as inferior species.”
The scry-screen’s edge flashed red to indicate an incoming missive. Finally. Voria tapped fire to accept it, but was surprised when it wasn’t Nara’s face that filled the screen.
“What is it, Major?” Voria asked as Davidson’s bearded face filled the monitor. Since both he and Aran had adopted one, the fashion had already begun spreading among the men.
“Sir, we’ve got incoming. Five Krox trooper carriers on the horizon. They’re coming in low, but making no attempt to hide. They want us to see them.” He glanced over his shoulder at a squad of men erecting a gauss cannon emplacement. “We’re getting repositioned as quickly as we can, and we’ll be dug in by the time they get here. ETA four minutes.”
“Five troop carriers, even if they were entirely empty, is enough to overwhelm our position,” Voria pointed out. “If they are full, as is likely, we have precisely zero chance of survival.”
“What do you recommend, Major?” Davidson eyed her soberly.
“I’m going to run.” Voria tapped a void sigil, and fed magical energy into the spelldrive. The ship gave a deep shudder as it rumbled to life. “We’ll stick to the mountains to the south, and use the peaks to screen ourselves. Krox carriers aren’t known for their speed.”
“We don’t have time to get everyone loaded, sir”—the cannon behind Davidson fired, drowning out some of what he said—“should stand and fight, sir.”
“And that is exactly what you will do, and why I am planning on running.” The Hunter lifted into the air, and began rising from the ravine where they’d taken shelter. “I seriously doubt the Krox are intending to wipe us out to a man, Major. They want the Hunter. They want me. I strongly suspect that if I flee…they will pursue and leave you in peace. But if I am wrong, die well.”
She killed the connection and tapped a fire sigil to trigger another missive. This one she sent to Olyssa, who she assumed was at another one of the Council’s endless parties. The spell didn’t connect. Voria pursed her lips, considering. Was Olyssa refusing the spell for some reason? Or…was it being blocked somehow?
“Crewes, get your people suited up,” Voria barked. “Now. I think we’re about to have company.” It was merely intuition, but something was off about this entire situation. An assault where the Krox let them see their approach? That made no sense, unless it was to hide another move.
“You heard the lady. Move!” Crewes sprinted from his matrix. “Down to the Talon. Now. Armor up, people.”
Voria adjusted the scry-screen to show a bird’s-eye view of the ship. Her heart sank as a midnight blue cruiser shimmered into view and attached to their hull with a thunk. It came from directly above the battle bridge.
“They know what they’re about,” Pickus said, staring up. “If they can cut through the hull, they’re going to drop right down into this room.”
“Sir, we ain’t got time to get our armor.” Crewes slid to a halt near the door. “If they’re coming through, they’ll gun down whoever stays on the bridge, and chase down the rest of us.”
“Specialist Bord, prepare a ward,” Voria ordered. “Pickus, I want you in the command matrix. You’re flying the Hunter.”
Ikadra’s emerald began flashing wildly.
“What is it, Ikadra?” Voria asked.
“Umm, these guys are here for me. Well, they’re here for the Spellship, and I think they realize they need me to get it.” Ikadra’s voice showed an emotion she hadn’t yet seen the sarcastic staff demonstrate: fear. “We should get out of here.”
“That’s not a bad idea, sir,” Crewes said. “We can fall back to the Talon and escape.”
Voria reached for the ability Neith had given her. She spun out possibilities, letting events unfold in a thousand thousand different ways.
She followed Crewes to the Talon, but they were ambushed inside. She stayed with P
ickus on the bridge, and they killed her, and took Ikadra. She teleported off the Hunter, and watched as the ship slammed into a mountain, killing everyone aboard. Every path ended in some sort of tragedy.
The ceiling gave a tremendous pop as a three-meter section was disintegrated from above. Two Krox enforcers leapt into the room, already firing acid bolts from their spellrifles before they’d even landed. The first bolt sailed toward Pickus, but Voria sketched a quick counterspell and intercepted it.
The second bolt hit the sergeant. He grunted and staggered back a step. Then his face twisted into rage, and his eyes were replaced by pools of burning orange flame. “You want to trade some spells? Yeah, let’s do that.” Crewes inhaled deeply, then exhaled a cloud of white flames. They clung to the Krox, who screeched in agony.
That distracted his opponent for a fraction of a second, and Voria used the time to cast a level three void bolt. It caught the enforcer in the face, killing it instantly.
Four more enforcers rained through the ceiling, and a quick glance up verified that another group was waiting. After that would come the big guns. Probably the war mage Aran had tangled with, and possibly a true mage backing him up.
That made this fight unwinnable, unless she could produce a miracle. Voria activated her ability again. She scanned countless timelines, searching for any solution. She watched as the four enforcers landed. Kezia died in the first volley, her blond curls suddenly slick with blood as her tiny body crashed to the floor. Bord rushed to her side, but died in a hail of acid bolts.
The sergeant enjoyed more success, but then a war mage in black spellarmor rushed through the breach. He seized Crewes’s head in his hands, and twisted. She and Pickus died immediately after.
A thousand different paths. A thousand different deaths. Yet there had to be a solution. There was a possibility, there had to be. But for her to see it, she had to understand it. What could she do that might save them?
