by Chris Fox
They were expecting frightened children. The Inurans quite rightly had no fear of the weapons in the armory, most of which barely functioned anymore. Those they would fear would also destroy Highspire, and possibly this entire section of the Word of Xal, and the Inurans knew it.
That meant that an army of students with their frightened headmistress was all that stood between them and victory. She looked forward to instructing them on the folly of rushing an elder Wyrm in an enclosed space.
She would need help, though. A lot of it.
Visala raised her shriveled human hand, still alien after all this time, and began sketching. She wove fire and dream sigils into a tight ring, then erected a second ring, and a third. The Inurans’ wards were powerful, and they would not allow her missive through, unless she made it so powerful it could pierce their wards.
Their fire dreamers could counter it nearly instantly, but she might get a three-minute conversation out of it if they were sloppy. They probably thought their wards impenetrable, and Inurans were known for nothing if not hubris.
The final sigil flared and the spell coalesced into an illusionary mirror. Smoke played across the surface for long seconds, but eventually resolved into minister Ramachan’s surprised face.
“How did you break the Inurans’ wards?” The minster’s exhaustion was clear. A human failing. They were only animals, after all.
“No time. The Inurans have taken the bridge. They’ll be on to us soon.” She glanced down at the hangar, at her Outriders. “We won’t be able to hold them for long. We need you to relieve us with anything you can bring.”
“You have my deepest apologies, Headmistress.” Ramachan shook her head, and loosed genuine tears. “We cannot save you. Our only hope is Confederate intervention. We’re taking the fleet and making a run for Shaya in the hopes that we can present evidence of what happened here.”
“By that time every student on this ship will be dead.” Visala’s mouth firmed into the tight line normally reserved for malcontents like Jerek. “Either you get us some help, right now, or you accept that you signed the death warrants of these kids. We need you, Minister. Do your job.”
“I am.” The minster’s face went stony.
“Where did you get a void mage?” Visala’s eyes narrowed. “You can’t get into the depths without one.”
“Irala survived her bonding with the ship,” the minister explained. “She’ll open the Fissure for us. I’m sorry, Visala. Die well.”
“What will the boy think of you and his mother when he finds out? He is still captain.”
The connection ended.
The minister had been broken. The cowardly human was running, and abandoning her culture. She had to know what would happen. Their offspring would die, and even if they succeeded in winning Confederate support it would still bring about their doom. The Confederacy would prosecute the troops who’d killed the children. Those troops were the last living Kemetians, which was precisely why the Inurans had allowed them to survive the destruction of their planet in the first place.
Once the dust settled, their culture would be gone, and the Inurans would be there to claim salvage on the Great Ships. If only Visala had known the truth sooner, that the ships lived. Now the thing she most needed was time, yet she had none.
Her place was here, defending the spire. She’d do exactly that, at any cost. At least she would die well, protecting her Outriders.
It appeared her opportunity to do exactly that had arrived.
A line of ragged students sprinted into the hold, and explosions echoed from the corridor behind them.
A dozen blue-scaled hatchlings sprinted after them into the hold, each holding a metal shield twice as wide as they were. They planted the barricades, then ducked behind them as a withering volley of spells and rifle rounds came from her students.
Rank after rank of tech mages in spellarmor charged out of the corridor, each returning fire as they used the barricades for cover. More hatchlings emerged, and the barricade expanded until dozens of enemy troops had perfect cover, while being able to return fire with impunity.
Visala considered her options. Saving her appearance for a critical moment would be the most effective strategy. But morale was low, and for good reason. They were being pushed back all over the ship. Everyone knew they’d lost the bridge.
She had to rally them, and that started with their hearts, then their minds. She needed to give them reason to fight.
Visala leapt into the air and began to transform. It took three precise heartbeats to go from shriveled woman to a two-hundred-meter Wyrm. Her snowy scales glistened under the cargo hold’s soft magical lighting as she swooped down on the barricades.
She landed with a tremendous crash, and simply crushed them all under her bulk. Visala stuck her mouth into the corridor and breathed.
A river of white-gold plasma jetted into the ship, cooking everything it touched. There were brief screams, and then nothing but ash left in the corridor. By her estimation she’d just wiped out an entire reinforced platoon. Not bad as a start.
She pivoted, and turned to face the students. It was difficult as her head brushed the ceiling, and her wings threatened to crush unwary students.
“Children,” she growled, her voice low, but probably still recognizable, “I have heard the rumors. Some of you call me the dragon lady. Well, you’re more right than you know. I fought in Planetfall. And I remember when rocks were invented, too. And I tell you now that these bastards will not have you. I will defend you until my dying breath. But I cannot do it alone. Stand fast, my Outriders. Stand fast, and we will prevail!”
She reared up on her hind legs and leapt into the air as deafening applause echoed through the hold like thunder. Visala basked in it, even as she shifted back to human form and landed atop the pyramid.
Her move would buy time. Any sane commander would pull back and formulate a plan that involved dealing with her before advancing. She didn’t doubt they had an answer, and would employ it.
Odds were good it would involve an elite unit, or ten, all adept at Wyrm slaying. They’d likely never seen a dragon as large as her, but that wouldn’t deter them for long.
Visala once again cursed the minister and the boy’s mother. They could have turned the tide, maybe. Not definitely, but it would have been a real roll of the dice. Instead they’d panicked and run, ensuring defeat.
Where was the boy? Trapped aboard the Flame of Knowledge, and jammed by the Inurans most likely. Was it worth expending the magic to contact him? No, probably not. He was too far away to help, and even if he were here, what could he really do? This ship was dying, even if its owners didn’t know it.
There was almost no magic to begin with, and the sudden addition of a massive crew was stressing the core. If they didn’t acquire it soon, none of this would matter anyway, and that lack of magic meant having the ship’s captain counted for almost nothing.
At best, Jerek could alter gravity, but every one of their void, life, and spirit mages could counter that. He could remove the atmosphere, but that too they were ready for. The internal defenses all required magic.
No, there was little point in contacting the boy. It wasn’t as if he could defeat the Inurans, no matter what he’d accomplished recently. She was willing to admit to the occasional mistake, and Jerek was one of them. The boy had more potential than she’d recognized.
But potential was not skill, nor experience. Potential didn’t win battles. In a way, the boy was better off where he was. Hopefully he’d managed to find some wealth and abscond with it.
If he did, she prayed to the Maker that he learned what his mother, and her twice-damned lover, had done. If he lived—if she lived—she would make certain he knew, if it was her last act.
26
I rose to my full height, and tried to look impressive as I faced my people. The armor helped a great deal, or so I hoped anyway. I channeled my dad’s confidence when I finally spoke.
“Let’s g
o over this one more time,” I said as I surveyed my assembled troops. There were thirty-nine in total, from at least four species, all united by one common goal. I pointed at the holographic model we were studying. “This is the target.”
The holo in the corner of the cargo hold displayed the enemy cruiser, which was roughly five times larger than the Remora. That was smaller than I’d expected, and I was glad we didn’t have to hit the trade moon instead.
“We’re going to dock along the upper hull. Seket will be piloting.” I nodded at the paladin, who’d once again donned his full golden armor, though there was no sign of his weapon or shield. Why did everyone but me own a void pocket? “Cinaka will lead the first team through, and her hatchlings will focus on the initial strike. That’s where resistance will be fiercest.”
The ship grew larger on the holo, and a cutaway exposed its various levels, all the way to our destination on the bridge near the center of the ship, which bore a blinking red light.
“Once Cinaka has secured our drop point,” I continued, “then Lawl and her mages will use their ritual of flame to melt the hull, which will expose the second level. Lawl’s mages will rush the defenders and secure the area. We expect lighter resistance.”
The cutaway zoomed in to show the bridge and the level above it, where the next part of the plan would play out.
“I’ll teleport the bomb and the urn onto the level below us, while—”
I trailed off because every face had gone slackjawed. They were all staring at a point behind me. I turned and nearly jumped out of my skin when I found the demon goddess Nara in all her terrible beauty standing directly behind me.
Her helmet was tucked under one arm, and her girlish grin, complete with dimples, was fixed on me. “Hey, there, Captain. Sorry to interrupt your briefing. Can we talk for a minute?”
“Sure.” I turned back to the platoon. “Take five, everyone, then get ready to move out. Now’s a great time for one last bio break.”
Nara raised a hand and a wall of silence cut us off from the rest of the hold, the same I’d seen her use with Frit. “I really am sorry, Jerek. You’re enacting justice in going after Jolene, but…killing her changes nothing. The Inurans will still take the Great Ships. There are a thousand more Jolenes waiting to take her place, and they’ll use the contract she convinced your minister to sign to do it.”
“True, but only this specific Inuran asshole blew up my planet,” I protested. “I’m not even sure I can take her down. What do you suggest I do to stop the rest of them?”
“You can’t do it on your own. You need the Confederacy.” Nara raised a gloved hand, and sketched a dizzying array of sigils, their bright light filling the air around her. Spirit and water mostly, from what I could see. Some sort of ward. “No one can see us now. No scrying. No eavesdropping. I must keep this brief, because my enemies will use this to claim I interfered in local system events. You must contact Voria aboard the First Spellship. If you can’t reach her, then your people are doomed. She can save you. Contacting her is more important than punishing Jolene. You need to take your ship, and make a run for the Umbral Depths. You can be in Shaya in four days, and contact Voria well before that. You can ensure the Inurans can’t take your ships.”
“My people will be dead by then.” I shook my head vehemently. “We need to end this now, or none of the rest of it matters. I can’t just run.”
“If you don’t contact Voria none of it matters anyway.” Nara eyed me with pity. “You need to find a way to reach her. Right now. Yesterday.”
I closed my eyes and sought the strength to do what I knew I’d have to. “What if there was a way to contact her via missive, right now?”
“That would require bypassing the Inuran’s magical jamming.” She raised an eyebrow and offered a skeptical smile. “Even I can’t do that.”
“Not bypass. Counterspell. I can end it entirely,” I said. I opened my eyes. “There’s a cost, of course.”
“There always is.” Nara rested a hand on my shoulder. “Pay it, and pay it gladly. We do what we must because no one else can. You’re a leader, Jerek, and your people badly need that. I shouldn’t be telling you this, but the final assault on Highspire is about to begin. Visala is there. She’ll delay it for awhile, but someone will take her down, and those kids will be overwhelmed. You saved them once. Can you do it again?”
She was right. I had to. No one else could, or would. I was the captain not just of the Remora, but of the Word of Xal, at least until my mother stepped up. I needed to save those kids, and from the sound of it, Voria would be able to do that.
I knew little of the Lady of Light, a brand new goddess that had apparently stood against Krox in the skies over Shaya, and had saved their world. As I understood it the year before she’d been a mortal commander in the confederate fleet, fighting very much as I needed to now.
Hopefully she’d empathize and understand what I needed, and how quickly I needed it.
“I need to go. Good luck, Captain.” And just like that the demon goddess was gone. The ability to teleport with no magical signature terrified me. You could go anywhere, including inside wards from the look of it. But then Nara was a literal goddess.
That left nothing between me and the awful task I knew needed to be done. I reached inside myself, inside the buzzing, where my link to the Web of Divinity lay. I thought about the Web, and about using it.
A vast tapestry of silvery strands stretched out before me, all bounding out from the Web back on the Flame of Knowledge. I could feel them all at once, even if I couldn’t consciously separate them.
I could also feel the shadows, lurking at the edges of my vision. The longer I studied the tapestry, the more shadows accumulated. They were heavy, and cold somehow. I needed to be swift.
I focused on the Web itself, and all the strands between it and the Inuran trade moon. The jamming spell had its own visible signature, and it wove through the entire system. Millions of strands pierced that signature to the point where they couldn’t really be separated.
How did I interact with the Web though? A growing apprehension broke my concentration. Something was watching me. Something vaguely familiar.
“Kek?” I whispered into my helmet. “Can you feel me?”
I am here, friend Jerek. You should not be. My control is tenuous at best, and that is of the ship. I have no providence over the Web. The shadows are thick here. You must flee. The voice echoed in my head, though I couldn’t find a source. Maybe everywhere.
“I can’t yet.” I paused as pain built behind my eyes. “I have to break the trade moon’s jamming, and I know the Web can do it. It’s supposed to be one of the most powerful divination artifacts in creation.”
It can be done, theoretically at least. I will aid you, friend Jerek. Let us be swift. You must vibrate as many strands as possible. They will shatter the sigils, and weaken the enemy spell. Once enough are broken it will cease to function.
I did as he asked and moved around the strange mental landscape strumming strands like chords on a guitar. Cracks began to appear in the enemy spell, small at first, but wider as I worked.
The opposite side of the spell was crumbling as well, I noted. Kek’s handiwork.
Both the pain and the shadows grew as I worked, but I focused on execution. Long minutes passed, and the pain lengthened, and doubled, and grew. The shadowed thickened, gathering in the edges of my vision like scavengers waiting for a dying animal, their greedy fingers already pawing at my mind.
We finally hit some sort of critical mass, and the Inuran spell simply dissolved into fragments of magic. It was rather anticlimactic, given the extreme effort.
I ran like an army of tech demons were after me, mentally speaking, and slammed shut my connection to the buzzing.
“Thank you, Kek,” I whispered, and then immediately opened my eyes. Was it me or was the Remora’s cargo hold darker than it had been a moment ago? My overactive imagination, I prayed, and not a sign that I’d brou
ght something back with me.
I used my suit’s HUD to trigger a missive, and directed it to Voria. I knew her signature from my time in the temporal matrix, enough to reach her, anyway. Finding a goddess of light who took no pains to hide herself was much easier than locating a normal person.
A moment later a video feed opened in my HUD. It showed a statuesque woman, beautiful and regal, but not intimidatingly so. She wore a simple blue jacket with gold trim, and cradled a golden staff in one hand. That staff immediately reminded me of Ardaki, though I couldn’t say why.
The weapons couldn’t have been more different in appearance, beyond both being staves. This one was golden, with a stylized head meant for stabbing, dominated by a gigantic sapphire in the middle. The other, Ardaki, was silver with a head meant to mimic a dragon in flight.
“Are you going to explain,” the woman began dryly, “why you’ve missived me? I don’t know you, and it’s rare for someone to contact me out of the black. Who are you?”
“My name is Jerek,” I explained, my words tripping over themselves. “I’m contacting you from the Kemet system, where the remains of the Vagrant Fleet still rest. Your, ah, mother is here. She blew up our planet, and is now trying to wipe out thousands of children in order to steal the ship the last of the survivors are sheltering on.”
“Oh, mother.” Voria rubbed her temple with her free hand.
Are you going to lay the smack down, Voria? The sapphire in the side of the staff suddenly pulsed. Can we go? We should bring the Spellship and be all like PEW PEW PEW, that’s what you get, Inurans. Galactic justice!
“Ikadra.” There was a warning in Voria’s tone, and the staff fell silent. “Is this assault transpiring currently?”
“Yes, they’re closing in on Highspire, our last fallback position, in one of the cargo holds aboard a Great Ship called the Word of Xal.” I licked my lips, and tried to think of what else she needed to know. “Can you send troops? I’ve, ah, met a goddess who can teleport instantly. Translocation, I believe it’s called. If you can do that…we need it.”
