by Chris Fox
“Not smart, scaly,” Kez taunted, bringing her hammer down on its skull with a sickening crunch.
A gob of acid caught her in the back, and she stumbled forward.
“Oh, no you didn’t,” Crewes roared. He fired a hunk of magma, catching the enforcer who’d shot Kez. “How’s it feel? You don’t much like being shot in the back, do you? Don’t worry. I’m gonna shoot you in the face, too.” The sergeant fired off a second shot, ending the Krox.
A titanic screech came from the fog above them, outside the counterspell, and a full-sized Void Wyrm descended into view. It swooped in a tight arc, its course taking it over the temple. The Wyrm breathed a cloud of pallid fog; the cone moved to envelop the temple.
A sea of glowing white sigils sprang up, forming a perfect dome around the temple just before the breath hit. The Wyrm’s breath washed harmlessly over the ward, shunted away from the refugees.
“Nice work, Bord.” Aran zipped upward, circling wide as he studied the dragon. How would it react? And what was the best way to take it down? Could they even?
The dragon roared its fury, then dove. It crashed into the ground right outside the temple, cracks radiating out around its feet like miniature fissures opening.
“I do not enjoy being thwarted, little human.”
The beast’s tail shot forward in a blur, impossibly fast. The spiked tip punched through Bord’s armor, erupting out the back and continuing for a full meter. The end was slick with Bord’s blood, and his hands wrapped around the spike buried in his chest.
“Is that a healing potion? Let’s get rid of that.” The dragon’s clawed hand shot out and crushed the potion loaders, splattering the potions uselessly on the outside of Bord’s armor. Its tail came up, then smashed Bord into the ground, face first.
The faceplate shattered on impact, showing Bord’s ruined face. He coughed violently, spurting a mouthful of blood.
Then the dragon slammed him into the ground again, snapping his neck.
43
Payback
“Noo!” Aran roared, already diving toward the Wyrm. He aimed his rifle at its face, firing a second level three void bolt. It ripped at his reserves, and a new sigil appeared on his HUD: a half-full ball of blue.
The Wyrm dodged, but the bolt still caught it in the right wing. A wide swath of leathery scales simply ceased to exist, and the suddenly flightless Wyrm crashed to the ground outside the temple, crushing several refugees. It flipped over faster than any cat, its long tail circling above it, seeking prey.
“You are the one who drove my little sister from the station in orbit,” the Wyrm roared, glaring up at Aran as Aran circled around it. “You will not find me so easily bested.”
The Wyrm’s claw came up, and it began sketching sigils—but not like Aran would have, or even Voria. The sigils flowed from the tip of the dragon’s claw in a wave, forming a spell more complex than Aran had ever witnessed. Infinitely more complex than even a level three spell.
Aran had no idea what the spell would do, but if it was stronger than a level three he was positive he didn’t want to find out.
“Let’s hope this works,” Aran muttered, willing the suit to use the last blue potion. As before, his suit began to radiate sapphire light. He dove toward the dragon, twisting to narrowly avoid the tail as the tip plunged past him.
Aran focused the counterspell into one gauntlet; the glow pooled there, blazing. He rolled over the Wyrm’s slash at him, discharging the counterspell at point-blank range. It slammed into the delicate sea of sigils, shattering them into mana shards.
Kez sprinted up the stone street behind the dragon, leaping into the air and coming down high on its back. She raised her hammer, screaming wordlessly as she brought it crashing down on the dragon’s shoulder, right where the wing met the body. Bone shattered, and the second wing slumped.
“I will devour your souls and pour my young into your vessels,” the Wyrm screeched, rearing up on its hind legs. It sucked in a deep breath, preparing to breathe.
“Nah.” Aran’s rifle snapped to his shoulder, and a level three void bolt zipped into the Wyrm’s mouth. Gums and teeth disintegrated, and the Wyrm shrieked. The dragon thrashed about wildly, crushing more refugees as it writhed toward the mist.
“What’s your hurry?” Aran taunted. He poured on the speed, and the Mark XI responded in a way the Mark V never could. It crossed the distance in seconds, putting Aran directly over the Wyrm. He reached into his void pocket, removing his spellblade. The weapon greeted him eagerly, ready for use.
Aran forced the armor into a steep dive, bracing the sword against the leg of the suit. He drove the blade through the Wyrm’s skull, pinning it to the stone, then reached deep into his reserves and poured a torrent of void lightning directly into the dragon’s brain. The dragon writhed beneath him, a massive claw slamming into the stone behind Aran.
The stench of cooked meat filled the air around him, and the dragon stopped thrashing.
“Sergeant,” Aran called tiredly. “Do you have word from the Marines? Is their line holding?”
“They’re taking a beating,” Crewes replied. “There’s another binder on that flank, and she’s throwin’ some sort of giant snakes at them. But their line is holding, for now.”
“Okay, that gives us a little time. Mount up, people,” Aran called with as much confidence as he could muster. “We’re moving out.”
“Aran, Bord is dead,” Nara cried. “Aren’t you going to do anything?”
“We can’t joost leave his body here.” Kez wept softly, emotion thickening her voice.
“You think I don’t know that?” Aran said, fighting to get the words out around a growing lump in his throat. “There’s no time for guilt, or shock, or even anger. The war isn’t going to wait for us to recover. We honor Bord by protecting this city. Let’s move, people.”
Crewes was the first to recover. “You heard the man. Get back in formation, and get ready to head back into that fog.” He started confidently up the street toward the mist.
“What about us?” a matronly woman called. She leaned heavily on a cane. “Are you just going to leave us?”
Aran turned to face the woman. “The best way we can help you is by eliminating binders.” He drifted closer, hovering in the air near her. “We don’t have the manpower to guard you here, but now that the binder is dead you’re probably safe. Stay inside the temple until we come back.”
He didn’t wait for an answer, but flew up over the squad, catching up as they plunged back into the mist. He immediately missed the extended visibility, especially knowing their enemies could probably see through this muck.
“You got a plan, sir?” Crewes asked, the way he emphasized sir suggesting that he didn’t think so.
“Yep, nice and simple. We can hear the Krox assaulting the major’s position. We’re going to come in behind them. We’re looking for true mages. Consider us a kill squad until further notice.”
“You want to hit their backline.” Kez laughed sharply into the comm. There was a deadly edge to that laughter. “I think I’m going to enjoy this particular bit of payback.”
They pushed through the fog, moving up narrow alleyways to hide their silhouettes from the enemy. It didn’t take long to reach the edge of the battlefield. The mist broke around the major, evidence of a counterspell identical to the one Aran had used.
Six tanks were arrayed across the courtyard in a reverse horseshoe, each with a firing arc designed to protect the center. The major stood atop the shattered remains of a building, surveying the battlefield with the focused gaze of a raptor.
A wave of corpses burst from the mist, charging the tanks. Squads of Marines rolled from under the tanks, bringing their brand new Inuran rifles to bear. They lit into the charging corpses, cutting them down as quickly as they emerged. The bodies piled up, quickly reaching a height that made it difficult for the ones behind them to move forward.
“Perfect,” Aran said, smiling. He floated back into
the mist. “Let’s head a hundred and fifty meters south, then move west. That should put us somewhere around where the binder is.”
The squad moved with unified intensity. No one spoke. No one said the name. But they were all thinking it. Bord would be avenged. Killing the Wyrm wasn’t enough. This binder was going to pay the price, too—and so were the rest of the Krox on this world.
“Freeze,” Nara snapped.
Aran froze. So did the rest of the company.
“There,” Nara whispered, “in the building across the street. On the fourth floor, at the balcony.”
Aran scanned the area she’d indicated, finding the outline of the building in the mist. He drifted a few meters closer, picking out a shape on the balcony.
“Nara, take the shot,” he whispered back, slowly raising his rifle to his shoulder.
“Copy that,” Nara’s armor zipped over the balcony, and she fired a level two void bolt.
The binder, this one in human form, raised her staff over her head. The void bolt rebounded off an invisible shield, and a ripple of iridescent sigils flowed out from the point of impact. Fortunately, the shield was directional, angled upward to block Nara’s shot.
Aran fired another level three bolt directly at the binder’s exposed side. It caught her in the midriff, vaporizing flesh and bone alike. Her hands flew to the ghastly wound, just in time for a wave of magical napalm to blanket the balcony. Her agonized scream drowned out the distant screams of the refugees.
“This is for Bord, you bitch,” Kez roared, leaping onto the balcony from the street below. She brought her hammer down, ending the binder’s cries.
They all stood around her body, panting. It didn’t help at all with the pain.
“Let’s link up with the major’s position,” Aran ordered, struggling to keep the weariness from his voice. Dimly, part of him wished he’d taken Kazon’s offer. He shoved that part down. Being here was important, and things would be even worse if he’d backed out like a coward. He forced himself to look at the aftermath.
Bodies carpeted the streets around them, some killed during the initial attack, others bound and sent to fight before being put down again. The screams in the distance made it clear that more bodies were joining them, every moment. Just like Bord had.
Aran balled his fingers into a fist. The Krox had to be stopped, the personal cost be damned.
44
A Hunch
Voria smile grimly when the transport-sized serpent simply collapsed, like a puppet whose strings had suddenly been cut. All over the battlefield, corpses fell bonelessly.
“Captain Davidson, what’s your status?” she asked, scanning the wall of mist outside her counterspell. There was nothing visible, of course, but she could feel them out there: powerful binders, most of whom were also Wyrms and therefore ancient and nearly impossible to kill.
“We’ve taken devastating casualties,” Davidson yelled back, his voice almost drowned out by the gauss cannon on his tank. “I’ve rallied the remaining Marines around the armor, and we’re falling slowly back to your position. If you’ve got a way to relieve us, we’ll take it.”
“I think that can be arranged. This is Voria to armored company. Move to Captain Davidson’s position, and offer relief.”
All six tanks rose into the air, then zoomed toward Davidson.
“Lieutenant Aran,” Voria asked, “what’s your status?”
“We’re returning now, sir,” Aran replied, his unmistakable Mark XI armor bursting from the mist into the area cleared by her counterspell. “We’ve downed two of the enemy binders, one of whom was an adult Void Wyrm. There were…casualties.”
The rest of the company limped into the mist, shoulders slumped.
“Bord?” Voria asked, naming the only person she didn’t see. She frowned, remembering his place in the augury.
“He took a tail spike through the chest,” Aran explained rigidly. He was bottling it up. That kind of compartmentalization was important during combat, but she’d need to speak to him after the battle. To make sure he didn’t lock up, as so many new officers did when losing someone in their command for the first time.
“We’ll honor his sacrifice later, Lieutenant. For now, we need to finish securing this city. Captain Davidson’s position is tenuous, though I’ve sent the rest of the armor to relieve him.” Voria turned to face that direction, absently tapping her chin. “I don’t understand this tactic. Nebiat has more binders, and she could have assembled a much larger army of corpses. I expected her to either ignore us or hit us with overwhelming force.”
“Sir, it can’t be a coincidence that she hit during our landing,” Aran said. “Maybe she wasn’t ready, and sent only what she could field quickly.”
“Or maybe this was designed to keep us bottled up here, on the defensive. Maybe it’s a feint, concealing whatever she’s after out there.” Voria frowned as the mist suddenly began to recede. “Captain, status report.”
“The reinforcements have arrived and pushed back the corpses,” Davidson said, his voice thick with the inevitable exhaustion that followed adrenaline. “It looks like they’re in full retreat now, and the mist is going with them.”
“They’re falling back?” Aran asked. He zoomed up above the city, facing the swamp.
“Sir, I don’t get it,” Crewes said, shaking his armored head.
“I think I do, and I don’t much like it,” Voria said, staring down at the swamp. The mist had already flowed back to the base of the slop, and was beginning to lose its supernatural thickness. “Captain Davidson, fall back to the landing site. Establish a defensible perimeter, and set up triage stations. Anyone with medical skills is relieved and expected to volunteer.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll make it happen.” Davidson’s voice was confident, which pleased her. He hadn’t been shaken by the carnage. Of course, he was a veteran.
Aran might be another matter, and Voria wished she could see his face. Had Bord’s death shaken his confidence? This was, after all, his first battle as an officer. Of course, the man had also killed two enemy binders in quick succession, more than anyone else in the battle.
Hopefully he saw that too, and didn’t focus solely on Bord.
“Aran, take your squad and direct as many survivors to shelter as possible. Look for any lingering threats. Report to me once you’ve secured the area.” That would give her time to investigate, then she could speak to him about Bord’s death.
“What are you going to be doing, sir?” Aran asked.
“I’m going to investigate a hunch, Lieutenant. I suspect I know what Nebiat is after on this world, and I need to confirm it. Now get to work.”
“Yes, sir,” Aran replied. He and his unit moved off in the direction they’d come, into the smoking remains of the city proper.
Voria turned and peered up the street toward the governor’s palace. Right below that palace stood the university, and at the university she’d find the local archives. She picked her path up the ruined street, forcing herself to look at the faces of the fallen. Their bodies would be burned soon, and she honored them a final time. They were gone, but some tiny part of them was remembered in her. It wasn’t much, but it was something.
She climbed slowly, finally reaching a wide marble building. A picture of an open book stood over the doors, confirming that this was the archive. Voria pushed open the door, and stepped into a near-silent room.
Stacks of books sat on dark wooden tables, and row upon row of shelves disappeared into the distance. This place was bigger than it appeared; it was probably built deep into the mountain. Very pragmatic.
“Can I help you?” A broad-shouldered man stepped in front of her. His salt-and-pepper hair had been cut short, and matched the stubble on his face. He wore an outfit almost identical to her own, right down to the mage’s satchel.
“I take it you are the local archivist?” she ventured. Voria could use her rank, but the best way to attain what she wanted was cooperation. If this man felt threa
tened or marginalized, he could simply neglect to share his decades of knowledge about this world.
“You take it correctly. And I take it you are Major Voria of the Confederate Marines. What do you seek in my archive, Major?”
She noted he hadn’t offered a name.
“I need to know about this world’s oldest myths. Specifically, how this crater was formed and what lies at the center of the swamp.” Voria folded her arms, deciding to trust him with the entire truth. “Krox dreadlords do not leave jobs half-finished. They do not launch raids. They annihilate worlds. The attack today was a distraction, and I believe it was to cover up whatever the Krox are seeking. I’m hoping you can help me determine what that is.”
“I have an obligation to help,” the man said, sitting down at a nearby table. He motioned for her to join him. “Please, sit. Why don’t we begin with introductions? I am called Horuk.”
“Pleased to meet you, Archivist,” Voria said, perhaps a touch impatiently.
“Let’s get to the meat of it, then. This world is old. Very old. It’s been settled by half a dozen different species over a period of twenty millennia. Before any of that, it was the site of a battle between two ancient gods. They fought in the space above the world, and the loser was hurled to this world, creating the crater you now see. That god, we believe, is still here. Its heart lies near the center of the swamp.”
“Nebiat is too crafty to be here for a simple Catalyst, even one as powerful as this,” Voria mused, steepling her fingers under her chin. “She can gain a little strength from it, but won’t be able to do much else. So why sacrifice so much to claim it?”
“There, I have no answer.” Horuk shrugged apologetically. “I can do more research, and might be able to find something. But off the top of my head? I have no idea what the dreadlord is seeking at the Catalyst.”
