by Chris Fox
Aran sized up the station they’d entered. This was probably a market, judging by the colorful tents erected in haphazard rows. Most of the tents were empty, but the largest one had a pair of shopkeepers. Voria made for that tent, giving Aran time to study the pair.
The shopkeeper had a well-trimmed beard, and the woman’s ample figure spilled out of her bodice. They were even shorter than Kez, coming no higher than Aran’s waist.
“Ahh, whatdidya goin do?” the male demanded, the words coming out in such a rush that Aran wasn’t sure where one ended and the next began. At least half of it was gibberish, though Aran picked out a few familiar words. “Yadun emptied da marketplace. Allmeh custoomers made for da warrens. Whatcha goona do about that, huh?”
“It’s good to see you too, Beadle,” Voria replied warmly. She moved to the diminutive figure, offering her hand. The shopkeeper made a great show of kissing the back of her palm.
“Don’t ya be getting ideas, or you’re goona be smartin’ every time ya sit,” the woman snapped, moving between Voria and Beadle. “He’s spoken fer, ya tart.”
“And it’s good to see you as well, Magda.” Voria gave the woman a smile and bent to kiss her cheek. “This is one of my tech mages. He’s only here to observe.”
“Ahh, teachin’ the young one ta trade,” Beadle said, nodding sagely. “Ver wise, ver wise. So, what brings ya ta the rock?” He took on a cunning look, one mirrored by his wife.
“A rather delicate problem.” Voria reached into her pouch and withdrew a furry form. The form snored softly in its magical slumber. “A true mage ’morphed this man, and I need to find a way to dispel it. I was hoping you might have a brew that would help.”
“Now dat,” Beadle said, nodding at the hedgehog, “is one fooked little critter. Best to just put it on the menu, ya know?”
“Maybe, but let’s say I absolutely needed to dispel the ’morph. Can you do that?” Voria asked.
Aran finally understood why they’d come, and why she’d brought him. So far as he knew, only he, Nara, and Crewes knew that Kazon had survived.
“Mmm,” the drifter said, leaning closer to inspect the sleeping hedgehog. Its tiny black nose flared with each slow breath. “Couldbe couldbe. Question, though. Watsit worth ta ya? Gonna take big magic ta unfook this fella.”
“I have a number of dragon scales,” Voria began, “and a handful of soil from the base of Shaya herself.”
Aran watched her manner carefully, fairly certain she was holding something back.
“Got lotsa dirt,” Beadle said. “Don’t need no soil. Dragon scales though? Got any dream scales?”
He peered up at Voria hopefully. Behind her, Aran caught the wife watching—studying Voria. The pair might pretend to be at odds, but Aran knew he was seeing masters work. These drifters treated barter as an art form.
“Life or air, I’m afraid,” Voria said, reaching for her pouch. She spilled a few hexagonal scales into her hand. Each scale glowed with its own inner light, and Aran could feel the power in them, waiting to be tapped. “They’re high quality, as you can see. Perfect for enchanting. You could make almost anything.”
“Except beer. Can’t make beer. Keep yer scales. Now that staff, though. That’s a pretty piece o’ work.” Beadle crept closer, looking askance at Voria. The major nodded, and the drifter ran his hand along the haft. “Dis, we’d trade fer. We got some fine beers. Beers that will let you float. Beers that will heal a man. Beer that will make you stronger, or faster.”
“That staff is a fully developed eldimagus. She is eleven centuries old.” Voria’s eyes went cold. “She’s worth more than all your beer put together.”
“Oh, I don’t know ’bout dat. We got lots of beer, not only what ya see here.” Beadle nodded toward a stack of metal kegs in the corner of the room. “There’s tree times dis in da back. You kin have it all, for that little stick.” Beadle leaned his chair back, delivering a practiced half smile. “It’s good beer.”
“The finest, I’ve no doubt,” Voria agreed, with an entirely too serious nod. Aran felt lost in the negotiations. “But there’s no way I can part with a treasure like this, not even with a guarantee that you could restore my friend.”
“Ah, dat’s not true. A lady brings a staff like that, she’s looking to fook a fellow right up his wallet,” Beadle protested. He leered at Voria, drawing a stern frown from his wife. “I tink you’re willin ta part with that stick, fer da right price.”
“Let’s get down to it then,” Voria said, dropping her voice to a near whisper. “You want the stick? I want a guarantee you can unfook the hedgehog. Can you do that? No drifting around the point. Give it straight, Beadle.”
“Aright, aright. I can’t unfook the fella—but I might have something that’d still be worth that stick.” Beadle folded his arms, studying Voria. “I got a right special brew from my ma’s ma. This beer’s so good, men will come back from the dead ta drink it. Been saving it for years, but haven’t seen cause to use it.”
“You give me that special brew, and every other brew you’ve got. All of them, no holding back. You do that, and you label it all properly, and the staff is yours.” Voria patted the haft of the weapon.
“You can’t possibly plan to give him that staff,” Aran protested. “A fully developed eldi-whatever you called it…for beer?”
“That’s precisely what I intend to do. Do we have a deal, Beadle?” Voria spat into the palm of her hand, and offered it to Beadle. The drifter spat in his hand, then shook.
“Done deal. I’ll tell da boys ta get the brews loaded.” He stared longingly at the staff.
Voria handed it to him.
“You’re going to give it to him before he pays? What’s to prevent him from just running with it?” Aran demanded. She had given him permission to speak freely.
“He’s a dumb fooker, innit?” Beadle said, pointing at Aran with the staff. It was comically large for his tiny form. “Listen, tall fook. We’re drifters. We make a deal, we honor da deal.”
“You need to make sure you’re very clear on the terms,” Voria said, coldly. “Thank you, Beadle. We’ll take our leave. She’ll serve you well.”
Aran followed the major, not speaking until they were out of earshot. He grabbed her shoulder, forcing her to stop. “What the depths was that? You gave up a priceless artifact, and we didn’t even get the brew that will turn that hedgehog back into Kazon. What was the point of this? And why bring me?”
She met his gaze evenly. “Release me, Private.”
Aran let her go. “Guess the being treated as an equal is over.”
“That it is, though I will answer your question. The point of this expedition wasn’t to cure Kazon, though that would have been wonderful had it been possible. The battalion needs supplies of every type. The Confederacy cannot supply them, and even if they could, they cannot get them to Marid in time for them to do any good. These brews will save lives. Many lives. Thanks to this deal, you and your squad will go into combat armed with healing potions.” She narrowed her eyes, adopting an instructive tone. “A single magical item, even an eldimagus, will only marginally affect the outcome of a battle. But every tech mage and every Marine squad having access to healing magic? Now that might turn a battle around.”
20
It Begins
“It’s very sweet of you to come see me off, Governor,” Nebiat said, leaning in and kissing the man lightly on the cheek.
Avitus shuddered, but didn’t pull away. “I have to obey your orders, you know that,” he said, glaring. “Given the choice, I’d have already have taken my own life.”
“But you don’t have that choice, do you?” She smiled wickedly, stepping inside the airlock. “Don’t worry though, Governor. I’m not asking you to do anything terrible this time. Simply close the airlock, and jettison me into space.”
He eyed her suspiciously for a moment, then slapped the red button next to the airlock door. It slid down, locking with a hiss. A red warning klaxon bega
n flashing above her, and a few moments later the outer door opened, flinging her into the void.
Nebiat embraced the cold, beginning her transformation the moment she left the airlock. Her dress split down the back, and wings jutted from her back even as her limbs thickened and elongated. Her tail burst out behind her as she grew many times in size. A sea of fangs filled her mouth, and her neck elongated.
She was whole once more.
Now a full-sized Void Wyrm, Nebiat glided toward the planet below. She glanced at the station behind her, beaming a draconic smile at the cluster of ships gathered around it. They were tightly packed, gathering supplies and passengers before fleeing the system entirely.
Nebiat reached deep into her well of magic, sketching an amplification spell. Then she breathed, a cloud of pallid white mist engulfing the station and the ships around it. That mist passed right through the metal, sinking into ship and station alike.
Nebiat imagined the curiosity. If any of the people inspected that breath, they’d notice the horrified faces of the damned trapped within—right before the mist engulfed them and their own souls joined the terrible choir.
All except Avitus, of course. Her magic protected him, and him alone. Everyone around him would die, but the Governor would survive. He could still inflict untold damage on the Confederate defense, if utilized properly.
Satisfied that the station was dealt with, Nebiat turned back to her work. She swam through the void, stopping in the planet’s Umbral Shadow. She sketched the sigils to open a Fissure, smiling as the space before her fractured. Fat, massive troop carriers plunged through immediately, followed by nearly two dozen Void Wyrms—her father’s strongest children.
“You certainly took your time,” Kheftut snapped, swooping past her, his tail insultingly close. “We’ve been waiting in the depths for a full day. Even I do not enjoy that place.”
“This must be handled delicately, Kheftut, which is why father placed me in charge, not you. I needed time to pave the way for your arrival.” Nebiat reared up over him, fixing him with her gaze. “Now, I am going to head to the planet to verify the Catalyst is where we expect. If it is, I will lay the groundwork for the ritual.”
“And what do you want me to do?” Kheftut demanded, petulantly.
“Have your binders harvest the corpses on the station,” Nebiat instructed. “When the Ternus fleet arrives, ambush it. Crush them utterly, and do it before the Confederate forces reach Marid. Hold this station at all costs, and do not let the Confederate forces reach the world below. Have I made it simple enough for you to understand, little brother?”
“I hate you so much, you smug wench,” Kheftut growled, but there was no real heat to it. “I will do as you ask, for now.”
He swooped toward the station, and the rest of the Wyrms followed. By the time the Ternus fleets arrived, the Krox forces would be entrenched. That would make for a very short battle, and would keep the focus in space instead of on the ground.
Nebiat turned from the station, drifting toward the planet below. She enjoyed the warmth of re-entry, her scales heating and turning a pleasant, dull red as she skimmed through the upper atmosphere. Below stretched a sea of clouds, and she plunged quickly through them.
She burst into the sky above an enormous crater with human settlements dotting its inner slopes. The settlements lurked around the edges of a massive swamp, one shrouded in mist every bit as thick as the cloud cover. From deep within that mist, Nebiat sensed a familiar, pulsing power.
Power she would soon claim.
21
The Krox
“Hey, Nara, come have a look at this,” Kez called from across the barracks.
Nara opened her eyes, rising to her feet with a groan. Every part of her ached, and she knew it would all begin again the next morning. She wove between cots until she reached Kez and Bord, who were clustered around a golden disk the size of a dinner plate. It was covered with elaborate sigils, mostly fire-related. She could feel the faint power emanating from the device.
“What’s this?” she asked. The magic wasn’t destructive in nature, despite being fire-based.
“You’re so cute when you’re ignorant,” Bord said, patting the cot next to him and delivering his infectious smile. “This is a missive. It’s one of the most common magic items in the Confederacy.”
“A missive?” The word tickled the back of Nara’s brain, but she couldn’t quite summon the meaning.
“They’re like the recordings Ternus uses, basically,” Kez explained. “Here, watch.” She tapped the largest of the red symbols, and the device began to hum. Tiny flames burst into existence over each sigil, all feeding into a larger flame that danced over the device. The final fire topped a meter in height.
“Soooo…you’ve discovered fire?” Nara asked, blinking. “That can’t be all it does.”
“Joost watch,” Kez insisted.
Nara clamped her jaw shut, resisting the urge to stalk back to her cot. She needed sleep.
The flames grew taller still, the center going blue as the heat rippled outward. An image appeared—faint at first, but then with more definition.
“What system is that?” Nara asked, studying the blue-white planet. A ring of asteroids encircled it, and a glittering silver station was silhouetted by the sun.
“That’s Marid.” Kez stabbed a finger at a cloud of vessels rising from the station. “And that’s the Ternus defense force.”
“There are a lot of them,” Nara observed, crouching next to the flames. The heat was intense, but not quite painful.
“They’re going to need every one.” Bord pointed at the base of the flames, toward the dark side of the planet. Shapes were moving there, perhaps a dozen in total. They varied in size, but even the smallest was larger than the Ternus capital ships. “Those? Those are dragons. Full-grown Void Wyrms, every last one.”
The shapes gained definition as they came over the planet’s horizon and into the light. Each had a pair of broad, leathery wings. Their dark scales drank in the light, contrasting with the fiery glow coming from their eyes and mouth.
“What are those?” Nara whispered, pointing at the cluster of fat shapes following the dragons.
“Those are Krox planetships. They contain their line troops, enforcers, and whatever else their binders have enslaved,” Kez explained. Her casual demeanor was gone, replaced by a deadly earnestness. “We probably won’t see what’s inside, not in this missive anyway. First, the state o’ things in space has to be decided. Ternus will attempt to defend the station. If they fail, the Krox will board her. From there, they can invade the world below.”
The dragons fanned out, slowly moving to encircle the station.
“Why aren’t they staying in formation?” Nara asked. “Aren’t they opening themselves up to be surrounded?”
“Because Wyrms don’t fight fair.” Bord’s demeanor had also changed, all his playfulness gone.
The first and largest dragon reached a cluster of ships. Those ships launched a salvo of projectiles, hurling hunks of metal the size of a shuttle. Dozens of shots traced paths toward the dragon, crossing hundreds of kilometers in the space of a few seconds.
The dragon vanished. It reappeared behind the Ternus ships, drawing its head back as if sucking in an enormous breath. Then the dragon lunged, exhaling a cloud of ghostly white energy. That energy engulfed the two closest Ternus vessels, passing over each vessel seemingly without inflicting any visible damage.
Their cannons stopped firing, and both ships continued unerringly forward, making no move to alter their course as they neared the dragon. The remaining Ternus ships fired another volley, this time with more success. Hunks of metal peppered the dragon’s right flank, and it roared silently as the rounds tore into its flesh. Wherever a round hit, dark scales exploded outward, exposing the orange-white glow inside.
The two Ternus ships that had been hit by the breath weapon abruptly changed course. They swung back around and opened fire…on the other
Ternus ships.
The same thing happened near the other dragons—Ternus vessels suddenly firing on their own.
“What am I seeing?” Nara whispered, hugging herself with both arms.
“The Krox are binders,” Kez explained, tapping the sigil at the base to turn it off. She looked up at Nara, her face emotionless. Her hands told another story, whitening as she gripped the cot. “They turn our own against us. That breath? Its a spirit weapon. It tears the soul from a body, leaving us an empty husk. We can’t see them, but there’s a cloud of Krox spirits following every dragon. They’re joost waiting to possess the empty vessels.”
“Ternus primarily uses conventional weapons. They have no defense against a weapon like that,” Bord said, more subdued than ever. “The Krox took the station, and Ternus only took down one Wyrm.”
“That’s terrible,” Nara said. “Can’t someone help them? Shouldn’t the Confederacy send reinforcements that can deal with those dragons?”
“They have. That’s why we have the missive. They’ve sent us.” Kez picked up the missive and tucked it back in the locker at the foot of her bed. “I don’t know why the major hasn’t taken us there already, but I’d get whatever sleep you can. Tomorrow, maybe the day after…were going to war with the Krox.”
22
Job Half Done
Voria adjusted her coat, smoothing it into place. She waited for the scry-screen to connect, wincing as Jolene’s stern face appeared. Like most Inurans she was tall and classically beautiful, but this woman had gone out of her way to blunt that beauty. She had the eyes of a hawk, her beaked nose jutting out over her frown. Her chestnut hair had been shaved to stubble—the five day remains of a proper military buzz cut.
