by Chris Fox
“Ah, you prideful fool,” the Wyrm roared, wheeling suddenly. She raised both titanic wings, flapping away mist as she hovered in place. “You are alone now. Your companions cannot help you.”
Aran thumbed the selector back to three. He had maybe two more shots, but hopefully they would be all he needed. He eyed the spell amplification icon on his HUD. This was as good a time as any to test it. He willed the golden icon to depress.
“What makes you think I need any help?”
Warm golden energy suffused the suit, bursting brilliant out around him. Aran stroked the trigger, and the spellrifle tore loose a level three bolt. Only, the bolt was both larger, and more dense than any level three.
The ebony bolt streaked toward the Wyrm.
As expected, her hand shot up and she sketched a counterspell. The amplified spell punched through the counterspell, through the dragon, and through the trees behind her.
“Whoah.” Aran willed the spell amplification to disengage. The icon had already changed, showing an 87% under it. “Looks like it doesn’t last long, but man does it power up spells.”
He felt a swell of pride, and knowing his victory was due more to the armor than to anything he’d done. “Major, this is Lieutenant Aran. Target has been eliminated. We should be clear to proceed.”
53
Trust
Voria surveyed the battlefield, stepping over the rotting corpse of a snake as she walked the perimeter. She reached out into the fog with the awareness that she’d gained when she touched the mind of the god Kaji. She’d journeyed to the Catalyst hoping for fire magic, but magically sensitive vision was an excellent consolation prize.
There was nothing—or rather, nothing magical. After Aran had radioed his success Voria had searched for other binders, but if they were out there they weren’t casting any spells. The battle was over, far more quickly and efficiently than she could have hoped.
“Captain Davidson,” Voria called as she approached his tank. She waited until she’d closed the distance before speaking. “Casualty report.”
“We had nineteen fatalities, seventeen of them militia. Seventy-one wounded, only a few badly enough that travel will be an issue. I’ve spread out the wounded among the tank crews. There’s room inside for two people in each. The troop carrier is already a tempting enough target, so I was reluctant to use that.”
“Excellent thinking, Captain. You’ve been showing a lot of initiative of late.” Voria gave the man a crisp salute, and he returned it.
“I have to be honest, sir. That’s a whole lot easier to do without…certain other officers around,” Davidson said, a little sheepishly. “I’m sorry you had to do it, but it was the right call, sir.”
“I know,” she said, though privately she’d questioned the decision many times since making it. Executing Thalas would have dire consequences—assuming any of them survived their confrontation with Nebiat. Had she been a prudent politician, she’d have used the brew on Thalas, not Bord. Augury or no. “The incident was regrettable, but he gave me little choice. The proof that the decision was correct is clear. You and Aran work well together, and that bodes well for our survival.”
“I’ve never seen a battle run like this. Well, not outside Ternus anyway,” Davidson said, smiling now. He rested a large chrome wrench on his shoulder. “The battalion took almost no damage, and downed a full Krox binder. Even when we were ambushed back at the starport, we pulled it out. By all rights the Krox should have wiped us out, but we turned it around.”
“I’m pleased by your confidence, Captain, but I have to temper it.” Voria folded her arms, staring up at the captain. He was so young. They all were. “What we’ve faced thus far has been nothing but a preamble. Nebiat sent her weakest remaining binder to slow us, a contemptuous move. The fact that we brushed it aside is impressive, but only the first test. We must find Nebiat, and we must do it quickly. We do not sleep until we locate her. Get your men ready to move out.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you for taking the time to speak to me like an equal, sir. It means a great deal.” Davidson offered her a hand.
“I understand why you hated Thalas, Captain. He left you little choice. I do not hate you, nor do I consider you zeros. We are all soldiers, fighting the same war.” Voria took his hand and shook it firmly.
A symphony of light and power burst into existence deep in the fog. Multicolored lights played in the distance, painting the fog into a purplish haze. Power pulsed in a steady rhythm, just beyond hearing. Whum, whum. Whum, Whum.
“Sir?” Davidson asked, staring out into the fog.
“Get your people moving right now, Captain. We are out of time.” Voria turned from him, striding quickly toward where Aran had gathered his squad.
All four stood around a small fire Crewes had set with a cantrip. The flames pushed the mist into a corona of light around the fire.
Nara spotted Voria first, and rose quickly to her feet. She picked up her helmet from a log beside her. “Are we moving out, sir?”
“In a moment, Private,” Voria said, moving to stand next to the fire. The warmth thinned the chill, but didn’t banish it. “Davidson is moving the column. We’re pushing ahead toward the ritual, as we cannot afford to wait for the infantry.” Voria nodded at the purplish fog. “All of you felt that?”
“I think people on the other side of the sector felt that,” Aran said, his attention on the mist. “What kind of spell is she casting?”
“Most spells are quick. You pour in some power, scribe the correct sigils, and you get a specific effect. Nebiat is performing a ritual, which is magic on a whole other level.” Voria blew into her hands, then splayed her fingers before the fire. “A ritual usually involves many mages working together, pouring power to achieve a specific effect. The difference is the scope of that effect. Ripping the patch off a god’s wound requires immense magical strength. The ritual will serve as a sort of cup, holding all the energy Nebiat and her mages unleash. Filling that cup can take days.”
“So if we can reach her before the cup is full we can disrupt the spell then?” Aran asked.
“That’s more difficult than you might think,” Bord said, speaking up for the first time since Voria’s arrival. “A ritual can survive the removal of any specific mage, so long as there are other mages to take up the slack. Mages will be let out to sleep, then relieve other mages when they wake up. With enough mages doing that, you can accomplish almost anything. Some rituals last months.”
“So how do we disrupt the ritual?” Kez asked. “Especially if we’re assuming she’s got an army of binders around her.”
“We break the metaphorical cup,” Nara said, rising from the log. She brushed a lock of damp hair from her cheek. “Rituals are delicate, and can be damaged. If we can remove the receptacles they’re using to store the magic, we can deny the spell the energy it needs to complete.”
“Precisely, and that is exactly what we will attempt.” Voria turned reluctantly from the fire, touching each of them in turn with her gaze. “Davidson can provide a little support, and can keep their minions off us. But we’re going to have to deal with the binders ourselves, and we have no way of knowing how many they have.”
“Nara can fly a lot faster than the caravan. Why not have her scout the ritual?” Aran suggested. “Depending on what she finds, it might even make sense to break away from the infantry. At the very least, we’ll know more than we do now.”
“Do it,” Voria said, nodding to Nara. “But take no chances. If you are detected, flee instantly.”
Nara nodded soberly, putting her helmet back on. Voria watched the woman fly off into the mist, considering her retreating form. She turned to Aran, lowering her voice. “Do you trust her?”
“If you’d asked me a week ago, I would have sworn that woman couldn’t be trusted,” Aran said, watching Nara’s retreating form. “Now? Yeah, I trust her. She’s committed in a way I don’t think the old Nara could ever have managed.”
Behind them
, the tanks whirred to life. The column started into the swamp, moving toward the light.
54
Scout
Nara zipped over the tops of another cluster of trees—the only way she’d found to navigate the thick soup she’d been forced to fly through. Scouting was damned difficult when you couldn’t see anything. She flipped her armor in midair, swinging her pistol around…at nothing. Only more mist. But the sense that something watched her didn’t diminish; it only increased.
Panicking, Nara closed her eyes and triggered a pulse of power into her armor. It shimmered, then faded from sight. She hovered there, weightless, waiting. Moments passed, with the only change the pulsing whum, whum coming from the purple mists ahead.
An overpowering urge to flee rammed a cold dagger into her resolve. There was so much power in those mists, the kind of power that reshaped worlds. The kind of power smart mages avoided. She could feel the old Nara thrashing about like a caged cat.
“No. I’m not you any more.” Nara willed her armor to accelerate, pushing toward the purple light. She gained another fifty meters of altitude, which put her higher than even the tallest trees. It might make her visible to anything that could see in the mist, but theoretically her invisibility spell would still prevent them from seeing her. For a few minutes at least.
Ideally she’d have waited to cast it until she was closer, but it wasn’t like she could un-cast it. She simply had to make the best use of the time. Nara accelerated again, and again gained fifty meters in altitude. The mist whipped around her, and she thought if she found the one mountain in this swamp it would probably end badly.
She burst suddenly from the mist, into an overcast twilight, and quickly surveyed her surroundings. “Major, I’ve found the edge of the mist.”
Before her stretched a large moss covered mountain, with a bright purple glow coming from the peak. There were camps set up at even intervals around the base of the mountain, each camp centered around a bright multi-colored bonfire inside of a golden urn. She could feel the power coming from those fires.
“Those must be the receptacles for the power they’re gathering,” she muttered to herself. She studied the camps, counting six enforcers and one full-sized Wyrm at each bonfire.
There was something familiar about the pattern they’d established. Her invisibility would last for several more minutes. Perhaps it was worth risking a closer look.
Nara flew straight up several hundred meters, then glided over one of the camps. There were eight in total, and each fire burned a different color. The side she’d discovered contained blue, green, and purple.
“It’s the Circle of Eight.” She couldn’t remember precisely how, but Nara knew that symbology. Knew it to her core. She remembered—only a flash—participating in a ritual, but there was nothing she could hold onto.
Nara shook herself out of the reverie, gliding over the peak of the mountain. Most of the slopes were covered in moss, over what she assumed must be granite—perhaps the same granite as the walls of the crater.
Six enforcers guarded a ring of sigils, forming an enormous ritual circle. This too was familiar, and Nara had a flash of drawing a circle around herself with a flourish. This magic, this thing they were doing…it was so familiar.
A pale-haired woman danced inside the circle, leaving sigils wherever she passed. The sigils formed chains, each chain stretching back to the circle. The complexity of the magic exceeded anything Nara had ever seen, and the spell had yet to reach its crescendo.
The woman looked up suddenly, eyes narrowing as they landed on Nara. “You fools, there is a mage among us. She fooled you with a simple invisibility spell. Find her, and kill her. Now!”
Nara fled, pouring everything into the suit. She shot back toward the mist, panting desperately into the comm, “I’ve mapped their encampment, but they saw me. I’m coming in hot. I’ve got three medium-sized Wyrms on my tail.”
Aran’s confident voice spilled onto the comm. “Copy that. Crewes and I are inbound. See if you can shake them.”
“Can do,” she replied, cutting into a steep dive. “Let’s see how smart you guys are.”
All three wyrms dove after her, narrowing the gap. They were almost in breath range…but not quite. Nara laughed, then suddenly reversed course. The Wyrms shot past her, continuing on toward the ground. Only one was fast enough to breathe, but Nara dodged the cone of white.
Nara accelerated upward at an angle, away from the Wyrms. They righted their course, but paused as she neared the mists and then hovered there, watching, as she plunged out of sight.
“They stopped pursuit when I reached the mists. I think I’m clear, but I definitely blew it. They know we’re coming, and I’m sure they’re going to be ready.”
“It can’t be all bad. Did you get a look at their camp?” Aran asked.
“Yeah, I can describe it in detail. I’ll see what I can sketch up to show the major,” Nara said. “I don’t know how much time we have, but I suspect not much.”
55
Now
Voria peered through the hovertank’s narrow viewport, out into the fog. Nara’s report was sparse, and she wished she’d seen the ritual with her own eyes. But she had to work with what she’d been given.
“Captain Davidson, please order the Marines and militia to make best speed toward the coordinates Nara provided. Have the tanks accelerate to full speed in the same direction.” Adrenaline made her hands shake.
“Sir, we’ll outpace the infantry. By the time they arrive this will all be decided, one way or the other. Besides, leaving the Marines unsupported is an open invitation to pick them off.” Davidson didn’t look up from the tank’s central monitor. It was Inuran make, with a black-bordered screen displaying the area outside the tank.
“I realize that, Captain. It’s unfortunate, and I understand how callous this makes me sound. But, given Nara’s description, the ritual will reach its crescendo soon. If that happens before we arrive, then our arrival will no longer matter. Nebiat will have removed the seal, and will be free to turn her whole attention on the battalion.” Voria planted her hands firmly on her knees, forcing herself to stop fidgeting. “It’s better to hit her with what we can, even if that means abandoning the infantry. I sincerely hope the Marines survive this encounter, but if the Krox are forced to react to them, then they are helping us win this in their own way.”
“By dying as a distraction?” Davidson snapped. But he tapped away at his keyboard, sending out orders to his men.
Voria hated making decisions like this, hated weighing a planet full of lives versus the men and women conscripted to serve. It wasn’t fair, but someone had to make these choices. She tapped the comm again. “Lieutenant Aran, do you copy?”
“Yes, sir.”
“We’re moving at best speed toward the coordinates Nara provided. I’ll need your company to take up position behind the tanks. Let us come out of the mist first, and let the enemy engage. Once they’ve done so, I want you to counterattack.” The tank rumbled over another tiny island, then splashed back into the water. “Limit your spell usage until we’ve assessed the situation.”
“Yes, sir. We’re moving into position now. We’ll wait right behind the tanks.” Aran paused. “Sir…if I may, they know we’re coming.”
“Which means they’ll be waiting for us, yes. Our only option is to hit hard and hit fast.”
“But sir, if we use the same coordinates Nara gave us it will mean coming out of the mist right where she went in,” Aran ventured. “Won’t that be where their ambush is concentrated?”
“He’s got a point,” Davidson called over his shoulder.
“That’s exactly where the bulk of Nebiat’s defenses will be concentrated, but she’ll keep the rest mobile,” Voria explained, watching the mist impatiently. “She’ll expect us to launch a sortie from another direction, perhaps as a feint. Then, she’ll expect us to launch whatever our real assault is. She will expect both assaults to be aimed at opposite
sides of the ritual, and she’ll expect that neither target will be the place Nara went into the mists. By assaulting her with everything we have all at once, we’ll face only the portion of her forces allocated to that spot. The mobile group will take time to reach us, and if we are quick we can dispatch the defenders before reinforcements arrive.”
“Copy that, sir.” Aran’s voice crackled back.
“Once the battle begins, I will not have time to answer questions. If I give orders—to you, or Davidson, or directly to a subordinate—they will need to be obeyed instantly.” Voria had given Aran far more latitude than she had Thalas, and that choice was already paying dividends. Yet establishing boundaries was also necessary.
“Yes, sir,” Aran replied. “Of course. What’s your ETA?”
“Davidson?” Voria asked.
“We’re about two kilometers out, so maybe three minutes?” Davidson guessed. The tank rumbled over a large tree trunk, the right side lurching a meter into the air. Davidson seemed unfazed, quickly righting it.
“Excellent. Get into position, Lieutenant. We’ll be coming out of the mist in a few minutes.”
Voria fingered her bracelet. She rubbed the sapphire, and the spell within swirling in response. The power was immense, far beyond what Voria could safely cast. It was the kind of power Nebiat would wield casually. Voria could match it once, and only once. Once the bracelet was empty, she’d be helpless. It wasn’t a comforting thought.
The splashing receded, and the tank moved onto a stretch of muddy land. It picked up speed, and the engine howled as the mist parted. It didn’t thin, like normal fog; it simply ended, and the tank burst into the clearing Nara had described.
A squat mountain stood before them, magical power flowing around it in quantities Voria had never seen before—not even on Shaya itself.
