by Tammy Salyer
With perfect pronunciation, the man responded in Himm, Jaemus’s own language. “If you aren’t a Knight, how do you speak Elder Veros?”
Caught off guard, he said, “So you do speak Himm.”
The man’s face went slack, and Jaemus had a moment to take in an extraordinary marvel he’d missed at first: aside from his odd clothing and dark-brown skin similar in color to Jaemus’s morning mug of chuffee—though completely unlike the subtle pale-green bodies of Himmingazians—his eyes were as blue as his hovering stones. They gleamed, pupil-less and prismatic, like light through sapphire. In a monotone, the stranger responded, “He does speak Himm.”
Jaemus’s eyes darted around for a moment, finding no one else in the temple. “Who?”
“I do.”
Well then, he thought. I am having a conversation with a crazy person. Perhaps he’d get along with Gram. He suddenly felt as if he was in over his head. Maybe searching for a dead cult to find its forbidden treasures hadn’t been his best idea ever. On the heels of that, he realized maybe stealing Verity stones, or anything for that matter, from a man this confused, and wearing metal, was an even worse idea. Giving it one more try, he asked in his own language, “And you are . . . ?”
With a shake of his head as if to clear it, the stranger said nothing for several moments. Then: “Ulfric Aldinhuus, Stallari of the Knights Corporealis serving Vaka Aster of Vinnr.”
“Stallari of the Knights Corporealis. I think I see now, Knights not nights. So then, Stallari, that must be, what, like a rank? And Vinnr of Vaka Aster? Never heard of it. Where is that?”
“I lead the Knights Corporealis of Vaka Aster, one of the five Verities, the makers of all. Vinnr is the name of my realm, Vaka Aster’s realm. Like your Lífs, whom you call Creatress, of Himmingaze, your realm.”
Unable to stop himself, Jaemus quirked a skeptical, okay, an outright disbelieving, eyebrow. “You’re saying you’re from another world?”
What this man was implying . . . well, he was obviously a few stalks short of a kelp forest. Gramsirene Vrejya had often made up stories about Verities, other worlds, and what-not. But they’d just been stories.
Yet Jaemus felt a prickle of excitement, and it was growing . . .
The man, Ulfric, said, “World, or realm. However you prefer to think of it.”
“Five Verities, you say?” he went on. “Friend, you’re giving a whole new meaning to the word ‘inventive.’ The Creatress myth is just that: a myth. Are you . . . are you trying to start a new cult? Because if you are, take it from me—and I mean this sincerely—that’s the kind of thing that will get your status changed from important, which I’m guessing you are based on that fancy title and that peculiar costume, to imprisoned faster than a fleech strikes.”
The stranger stared wordlessly at him, having grown still as if deep in thought, his attention so acute Jaemus had to suppress the urge to squirm. The floating crystalline projectiles contributed their part to this urge, as well. Jaemus, he told himself, you’ve never been one to overanalyze a situation before taking action, but today . . . today I think you’d better give every thought and every action a few more tumbles inside that meat in your head, or they could be your last.
It only took one look at those unnervingly blue eyes to see the wisdom in that advice.
Chapter 17
“Stop shouting, for the love of sanity! We’re right here.” Stave’s unexpected voice boomed from overhead like a frustrated bear, making Mylla squawk.
“Ah!” Her eyes shot toward the breach in the ceiling. The sight of Stave’s craggy face leaning over the edge surprised Mylla as much as hearing him had. Safran moved up beside him a second later. There had been no noise from the Vigilance’s emberflare cannon firing on the sickle-shaped attack ships, no sound of the ships crashing, just silence and the other Knights appearing with the stealth of specters. “Stave! Safran! How did you . . . ?”
Eisa and Roi managed more decorum and avoided Mylla’s unbecoming sound effects. Immediately, Eisa pressed: “The skies were filled with enemy ships. How did you avoid them? Were you seen?”
If you mean those ships that look like burnt moons and shoot exploding spikes, yes, we saw plenty of those, Safran answered. But not in these skies. The mountainside is littered with their carcasses. Once her eyes adjusted to the interior gloom, she drew in a short breath. By Vaka Aster, what happened here? Is everyone all right?
Eisa responded, “We’re alive, which is as good as can be hoped for. Wait on the ship for us. We have a great deal to fill you in on. Mylla,” Eisa continued, wielding her authority like a whip, “gather the Scrylle and the Fenestrii. We need to leave the mountain immediately.”
But Mylla hesitated a moment. “You said the mountain was littered with enemy ships?” she asked Stave and Safran.
“Aye, a couple dozen, there were,” Stave said.
“But we didn’t bring them down. Which means . . .” She trailed off, looking at the others to fill her in on what she must have been missing.
Yet the rest were quiet, no one seeming to have an answer. Finally, Eisa said, “We have allies, then. They must have defeated the enemy here and have already gone back to Asteryss.”
No one had a better idea and chose to accept her statement without further scrutiny. There were more important issues to attend.
As Mylla was about to turn and begin searching for the Verity artifacts, Stave lifted an eyebrow and said, “We thought Symvalline and Ulfric were here, we did. Where’ve they gone, then?”
“That’s part of what we have to fill you in on,” Eisa stated. “For now, I’m Stallari Regent.”
Silence struck a jagged note, as if time and action were out of sync, then Safran’s voice came to Mylla: Mylla, what’s going on?
We’ve lost the Stallari and Symvalline, Isemay too. There’s much to tell, but it’s too dangerous here now. Eisa is right, we have to get away from Omina, the sooner the better.
Stave and Safran disappeared from the gap, needing no further prompting. Mylla wanted to hurry for more reasons than to escape the immediate threat. She wanted to know what was happening in Asteryss. How bad was it?
Following Eisa’s directive, she turned back to the vessel’s podium to collect the celestial artifacts. Vaka Aster’s Scrylle, which had been stored in a depression in the dais, lay beneath a chunk of rock, and she tucked it inside a bandolier pouch. The Fenestrii that should have been with it were not as readily visible. She walked around the pedestal, kicking the larger chunks of debris out of the way as the others Knights cleared rocks from the vessel itself.
Eisa wasted no time in doling out more directions. “Knights, we’ll link our klinkís to secure the vessel and lift it aboard the Vigilance. Commoner . . .” She paused, considering what they were to do with him, then decided: “Come aboard with us. Once the vessel is safe, we need to take stock of the Vigilance’s stores. Find out what we have available and see what we need to resupply.”
“Eisa—” Mylla began, and Eisa looked to her. “The Fenestrii aren’t here.”
Both Eisa and Roi shuffled around the podium as well, finally fanning out to search the full chamber. Mylla shifted her hunt toward the far wall where the interrealm well had been. Passing the body of the Flesh Caster, she carefully avoided the congealed, dirt spattered puddle of his blood. Poor bastirt. The Stallari showed you no mercy at all. Good. The dead man’s satchel lay nearby under a mound of rubble. She pulled it free by its strap and searched the contents. The only thing remaining inside was the parchment decreeing the kingdom of Yor to be under His Holiness’s dominion, signed by Yor’s Arch Keepers. Folding this, she deposited it in the same pouch as the Scrylle. Swallowing her disgust, she also rifled through the Caster’s clothing, finding nothing useful.
In a few moments, Eisa stated, “Every one of the damn things is gone. Along with Ulfric.”
“This man must have come by way of the well with the Stallari,” Mylla said, waving a hand at the corpse. “I saw him
at the keep. He was part of the usurper’s Flesh Caster Order.”
“When you’re ready to tell us what’s going on, we’re listening. All ears, I say,” prompted Stave, still waiting above.
“We’re coming up,” said Eisa, nodding at the others to join her.
Gathering in a circle around the dais, the three Knights turned their backs to the vessel and pulled free their klinkí stones. Mylla ushered Havelock to stand behind her so he was within the circle, then each channeled their stones into a ring encircling them. As a group, the Knights channeled a command using their Mentalios lenses. The hearts of the klinkí stones began to glow the deep cerulean of Vaka Aster’s spark, which blossomed and began to spread, covering the Knights like a cloud until they stood within its bubble. They began to ascend through the gap in the cave roof and into the hold of the Vigilance hovering above. The vessel and Lock, in the midst of this bubble of light, rose with them. Mylla heard his breathing change to shortened bursts, no doubt rattled by what he must think was wystic conjury, but he said nothing.
Once inside the ship, they hurriedly placed the celestial vessel safely in its alcove in the main hold, unmoored the Vigilance, and began a hasty search of the area. From the observation deck on the Vigilance, Mylla looked out over the blasted carapace of Mount Omina, looking for any sign of Ulfric. Just as Safran had described, dozens of the black ships she and Lock had barely escaped lay in scattered, smoking ruins amid the carnage they, the fires, and the avalanche had caused. But what had destroyed them? She couldn’t guess. If Ulfric had escaped the sanctuary, he couldn’t have gone far, but they saw nothing to indicate he had. He had simply vanished.
As they scouted, the Knights briefly speculated about this, but no easy answers came. Did Vaka Aster return? thought Mylla. That otherworldly light . . . but where is she now? Have she and Ulfric gone somewhere?
The mystery made them all uneasy, but at the moment the immediate threat seemed to by stanched. With Stave at the helm, they made a pass at the hidden meadow where the Dragør Wing fighters had landed, explaining to Stave and Safran all that had occurred at the same time. As with the sickle-shaped ships, the two Wing fighters were now blackened, useless husks. Mylla scanned the mountainside fervently where she and Lock had last seen Symvalline and Isemay. There was no sign of them, either. Nothing could have survived the wasteland that Omina had become.
The Vigilance served the Knights as a means of travel and transportation, primarily for the purpose of moving the Verity’s vessel when necessary. Ulfric had shared key elements of the ship’s design with the commoners some turns ago, which had given rise to the Dragør Wing ships. Yet, he’d not shared all his secrets, and the Vigilance was unique in Vinnr—though, as it was cloaked from commoners’ sight, none knew how unique. The inner hold was the size of a modest ballroom, serving as both a strategy room and safe quarters for the Knights. Spacious and silent, the airship’s shape resembled a spade, and it flew fast enough to cover the distance between Asteryss and the Morn Range in the time between Halla’s rising and setting. With the daystar already lowering, Mylla’s mind pondered morbidly: This day’s deeds deserve the requiem of a dark night.
For its many attributes, however, the Vigilance could not outfly a Dragør Wing fighter, nor, it was obvious, one of the usurper’s attack ships. And it didn’t need to. Rare Vinnric flint glass, ground down to fine powder and painted on in a film so thin it was nearly weightless, coated the ship’s metal hull and wings. After architecting the craft itself, the Stallari used wystic alchemy to infuse the protective layer with the ability to cloak the ship from all eyes, night and day. By design, no one in the world besides the Knights, and now one Dragør Marine, even knew the Vigilance existed. As stealthy as an eel in dark water, the Knights could traverse the globe unceasingly using the endless power of Halla, except for one thing—
“Three days, we have food for only three days. Why are we so unprepared for catastrophe?” Eisa wondered aloud, not hiding her frustration. The Knights could, of course, linger on indefinitely without food, but their strength would wane until they became withered husks. Food sustained them still, despite the Verity spark, though in a slightly different way from commoners.
That’s if we were at our full complement, Safran pointed out. With the Stallari missing, and Symvalline . . . She didn’t finish the statement, and each one aboard except Havelock pressed the fingertip of their primary weapon hand against the nine-pointed star marking their chin, then to their heart, and lowered their eyes in grief and tribute to their fallen sister and missing Stallari.
Mylla was sitting next to Havelock at the hold’s rectangular meeting table. He must have sensed the somberness, and he softly placed a hand on the small of her back, giving what comfort he could. Inexplicably, she felt tears threatening. She would not give them a chance to fall.
This isn’t his sadness, and I shouldn’t have made it so. How can a common man—a good man, but a commoner—be expected to join us, or even understand what we must do? It would cost him too much. Without me and my debt to duty, his life could be so much richer. And he deserves it, a full life. All I have is this duty, with nothing more to offer. It’s selfish of me to wish him to shoulder it too. Even Stave and Safran found their promise with each other, not with commoners. Even Ulfric and Symvalline . . . I should have known better than to fall in love with a commoner.
With a resolve that impaled her like a cold sword, she decided that whatever the Knights did next, those plans would not include the Wing fighter. He had to be sent back to his home and his squadron as soon as Mylla could find a way. He deserved the freedom to fight for his family and his people. I must make him forget about me. It’s the only right thing to do. For him.
Breaking into these thoughts, Eisa spoke up and pointed to Havelock. “We have him to feed, now, too. So we need to resupply. But first, you two, tell us of Asteryss. What was happening there when you departed? What are we dealing with?”
Mylla considered arguing there was no need to resupply for Lock’s sake, that he should be returned to the nearest Marine unit they could find. But she held her tongue. There would be a better time to push for his release. Or maybe she wasn’t ready to face it herself.
In turns, Stave and Safran described the fall of Asteryss. When Symvalline warned us of Balavad, Safran began. We scrambled the Vigilance at once and launched. And then came the most . . . extraordinary sight I’ve ever seen. A flying vessel, at least as large as Aster Keep, descended from high in the sky like a comet. It was all black, shaped like a fang, but the size of—
Stave interrupted, “It was the size of my worst nightmare. The thing gave off fumes that tasted like poison, it did.”
Yes, exactly as he says. Safran nodded. But not fumes you could see. It was more like a . . . feeling. As if a dawning awareness of a storm cloud just outside your range of vision, and getting closer . . . She trailed off as her fingers rose to her Mentalios and idly traced its circular frame. As a prominent political peace broker and border dispute judge between Ivoryss and Yor before joining the Knights Corporealis, she’d faced down war chiefs and faction leaders alike without ever flinching. A vengeful attack by the loser of a land dispute had left Safran with a wounded throat and inability to speak, but her spirit was too strong to let that thwart her. She’d turned from serving Ivoryss to serving Vaka Aster instead. With such a background, it took more than a little squall to ruffle her.
Thus her hesitance now made Mylla breathe shallowly until Safran went on. The bruhawks were still on sentry, and I sight-linked with them once we were airborne. The chaos throughout the city as the people saw that massive vessel—their raw fear—was beyond measure. We saw no weapons on the monolith, but it looked dense and strong, like granite. Perhaps the emberflare cannon could penetrate it, but one hit would hardly have made a difference in something that size, and our two dragørfly scouts would be like pebbles flung at a mountain against it. She paused to look around at each of them somberly, her dark eyes marking h
er point. Then hundreds of those crescent-shaped ships began to flow from ports along its flanks, like black tears. They filled the sky and surrounded Asteryss.
“Did any see you? Follow you?” asked Eisa.
Stave shook his head. “The Vigilance’s cloak is effective, it is, even against the lackeys of another Verity. A few flew near as we cleared out, but we weren’t detected, that we could tell. Just before we got out of range, we saw squadrons of Dragør Wings engage them, we did.” He looked toward Havelock and said in a tone that conveyed his condolences, “But their counterattack was outnumbered.”
Saying nothing, Havelock rose and paced toward the edge of the hold, his shoulders rigid and tight, his head erect. It was Mylla’s turn to suffer on his behalf. Each of the Knights had experienced the same ache over a fallen comrade, the same questions: Why hadn’t they been there? Why hadn’t they done more to aid their friends? For Mylla, the pain was doubled. She’d been the one to cause him to leave his post and be no help in the defense of his city and fellow Marines.
She rose and stepped over to him, taking his hand. “Lock, I’m sorry.”
“You probably saved my life by leading me here,” he said shortly. His response surprised her, both in sentiment and the bitterness with which he said it. “And I don’t know whether to be sorry that I wasn’t there, or grateful I wasn’t.”
“You’ve been spared. Maybe it means you’ll be better placed to help later.” She wished he would look at her instead of staring at the floor.
“Or deemed a coward for running. For not being there to defend Asteryss with my squadron.”
More like with your corpse. She would never say something like that aloud. The best she could answer was: “Many days may lie ahead for you to seek the redemption you crave.”
