Tech Mage: The Magitech Chronicles Book 1

by Chris Fox

  But she didn’t have time to study it, or the ritual. As expected, the Krox were waiting.

  Several dozen human corpses in Ternus armor raised their rifles and opened fire. The rounds pinged harmlessly off the tanks, but Voria slammed the viewport shut anyway. She moved behind Davidson, observing the battle over his shoulder.

  “Roll right on over ’em, kids,” Davidson barked, pushing the tank’s accelerator. The tank shot forward, bullets ringing off the hull like hail, and bowled over the corpses, crushing them under the pulsors as the tank rumbled over their lines.

  A line of Krox enforcers stepped forward from behind the corpses, raising their spellcannons. They unleashed a barrage of acid bolts, peppering the tanks as they approached. Each time a bolt hit, Voria heard sizzling as armor boiled away into nothing.

  “Oh, man,” Davidson whispered in a low tone. “I thought we were dead for sure.”

  “Inuran tech uses dense iron in all armor,” Voria explained, watching as the tank’s turret took a bead on one of the enforcers. “Dense iron is both incredibly resistant to kinetic force, and highly resistant to magic—like that enforcer’s hide.”

  “Good thing their hide isn’t gauss resistant.” Davidson laughed, tapping the fire button on his console. A high-pitched whine built, then the entire tank kicked back two meters as it fired. A knot of white streaked into the enforcer, and it simply ceased to exist.

  Another enforcer stepped into its place, and another behind that. A shadow passed over their ranks. A large shadow.

  “They’ve committed their dragons. Now, Lieutenant.”

  56

  Creative Solutions

  “Bord, Kez, support the armor. The Wyrms are going to come at them fast and hard,” Aran roared. He exploded out of the mist into the clear sky, already taking aim at the closest dragon. There were four, all hovering above the tanks.

  Below, Bord sprinted out of the mist. A dragon moved into a dive, its head rearing back to suck in a breath. It expelled a cloud of pallid, white, death. This was the first time Aran had seen it in the full light of day, and he noticed writhing faces within that fog.

  Bord leapt into the air, landing in a crouch atop the lead tank—the major’s tank. He raised both hands, and a latticework of white sigils burst out of both gauntlets. They spread like spiderwebs, quickly weaving a dome over the major’s tank and the area immediately around it. The dragon’s breath washed over the ward, flowing around it.

  “Sir, if we could avoid a repeat of last time, when the Krox played gank the healer, I’d appreciate it,” Bord panted into the comm.

  “Sit tight, Bord. We’ll take care of the Wyrms. Kez, watch those enforcers coming around the south side. They’ve switched to melee weapons. Spellblades, it looks like.” Aran unleashed a level two void bolt, tagging a wyrm in the right side of his face. Scales exploded outward, and when the Wyrm turned its hateful expression on Aran only one eye remained.

  The Wyrm banked, swooping up over Aran…right into Nara’s sights. Her spellpistol kicked twice in rapid succession, both shots hitting the exact same spot Aran had already wounded. The Wyrm jerked with each shot, and after the second its body went limp, and it fell from the sky. The body slammed into several Krox enforcers, crushing them into the ankle deep water. One didn’t rise, though the rest wriggled out from under the dead Wyrm.

  One of the remaining Wyrms sketched a sigil, and a bolt of lightning crackled toward Aran faster than he could react. The energy arced over his spellarmor, crackling through his entire body. He went rigid, gritting his teeth as his body resisted being electrocuted.

  “Aran,” Nara yelled. He was dimly aware of falling, then his flight being arrested as Nara’s arms wrapped around him. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

  “Sssokay,” he slurred. The suit was already pumping his system full of healing potion. “Just need a sec.”

  “You want a piece, you scaly piece of space bacon?” Crewes roared from below. His spellcannon boomed, and a fat hunk of magma shot from the barrel. It arced into the Wyrm from below, catching it squarely between the legs.

  The Wyrm screeched, flapping frantically to gain altitude as flaming rock splashed across its legs and groin.

  Aran raised a shaking arm, centering the barrel over the dragon. He squeezed the trigger. A level two bolt caught the bone connecting the wing to the back. The bone shattered, and the wing fluttered loose.

  “Nice shot,” Nara said.

  “I was aiming for its face,” Aran admitted.

  The dragon clawed futilely at the air with both arms, launching a desperate cone of breath at Aran and Nara. Nara dodged smoothly to the right, carrying them both to safety as the Wyrm fell. It slammed into one of the rear tanks, driving the hovertank deep into the earth.

  The tank recovered a moment later, delivering a gauss cannon round from the turret into the dragon’s broken body. It flung the beast away, allowing the tank to crawl out from underneath.

  “Same side, Lieutenant,” Davidson called over the comm.

  “Yeah, uh, my bad.” Aran pushed away from Nara, switching to external speaker. “Thanks for the save. I owe you.”

  “Good, I like having you owe me.” Nara laughed. “Uh, sir.”

  Aran scanned the combat, and liked what he saw. The enforcers and the corpses they commanded had been put down. Three out of the four dragons were down, and Bord was easily keeping the remaining one at bay with his wards.

  “Well done, Lieutenant.” The major’s voice crackled over the comm. “We can move on to the next phase of the plan. The spirit urn is the closest, and the most important. If we break only a single urn, that’s your target. Captain Davidson and the surviving tanks will assault the water urn, the secondary target. If we can disrupt both, I don’t think Nebiat will be able to complete the ritual.”

  “You heard the lady, tech mages.” Aran glided lower, Nara trailing in his wake. Crewes had caught up to Bord and Kez, and the trio stood near one of the dead Wyrms. “All right guys, this isn’t going to be like what we’ve dealt with so far. We’re rushing an entrenched position, and every Krox between here and that urn is going to light us up.”

  “You’re right about that,” Kez said, popping up her faceplate. She was panting, her platinum hair plastered to her face from sweat. “There’s a whole lot of enforcers between us and that thing. They’re going to come at us with a vengeance.”

  “This isn’t doable, sir,” Crewes admitted. He trotted over to Aran, resting his spellcannon on his shoulder. “Those enforcers are going to gun us down before we reach them. Do you remember fighting that pair on the station? These things don’t go down easy, and we don’t have enough spells to take them all down.”

  “So let’s cheat. Bord, how long can you sustain a ward?” Aran asked.

  “Hmm. Three minutes, maybe? But they’re immobile. I need to focus to keep the ward up,” Bord said.

  “Kez, I want you to carry Bord on your shoulders, so he can focus on the ward,” Aran explained. He pointed toward the spirit urn. “Run full-tilt for that thing. Bord will hold up his ward around you. The rest of the company will stay inside, theoretically safe from dragons. We’ll concentrate fire on anything that gets inside the ward. That will be critical. Make sure you focus the same targets. Sergeant, we’ll assist off you. Knock ’em down, and Nara and I will make sure they stay down.”

  “That’s the craziest gods-damned plan I have ever heard,” Crewes rumbled. He sounded impressed. “All right, wipes—let’s move out. You heard the Lieutenant.”

  “I don’t like this plan,” Bord said, forlornly.

  “You joost don’t like being carried around like a sack of potatoes, because you know I’m recording this to send to your mum,” Kez teased. She scooped up Bord’s much smaller armor, and deposited him behind her neck. “Now hold on. If you have to go the bathroom do it now, because once this trip starts, it ain’t stopping.”

  “If we’re going to do this, I guess we may as well do it.” Bord si
ghed, hanging his head in embarrassment. “Someday I’m going to get a dignified role in one of these fights.”

  “One more thing,” Aran said, eyeing the golden sigil on his HUD. “I’m going to use the spell amplification thing the armor came with. I’ll do what I can to—.”

  “You’ve had spell amplification this entire time?” Kez interrupted. “Seriously? My gods you have no idea what it does, do you?”

  “I have a pretty good idea,” Aran said, maybe a touch defensively. “I used it to kill that binder back in the swamp.”

  “Sir, what Kezia means,” Crewes growled. “Is that spell amplification is designed to help an entire unit. If you use it, we’ll all get the benefits. Basically, it will up all our spells by one level. It usually don’t last long, but it should be long enough for us to run and gun some enforcers.”

  “Well all right then.” Aran laughed. “Let’s do this. Kez, start your run.”

  Kez broke into a run, and Aran glided after her. Bord raised both hands, and the protective latticework sprung up around them. They started across the distance to the urn, where the Krox had gathered their forces.

  Aran triggered the spell amplification, and the golden light once again burst from his armor. It washed over the rest of the company, covering the area around him for about thirty meters.

  “Nara, you’ve got the best eyes. How many enforcers are we looking at?” Aran asked.

  “I count eleven, but other than the binder I don’t see any other Wyrms,” she said, zooming at little past Aran but making sure to say within the protection of the ward.

  “Sounds like good news to me,” Crewes said, laughing.

  They charged across the field, and a Wyrm shimmered into existence above them long enough to launch a cone of breath. It washed harmlessly off the ward, and the dragon began circling them, evidently confused.

  “This one’s a bit slow, innit?” Kez said, chuckling. She ate up the distance to the urn, crossing the gap in huge leaps.

  The enforcers moved up to engage them, several drawing long, wickedly curved spellblades. They charged Kez, and a knot of them reached the ward and plunged right through. The Krox fanned out, attempting to encircle Kez.

  She didn’t slow, punching the closest enforcer with a massive metal gauntlet. The blow knocked the creature from her path in a spray of dark blood and scales, and she vaulted her opponent.

  Aran took aim at the next closest enforcer, coring it through the back with a level two bolt right between the wings. With the spell amplification, the bolt left a two meter hole in its wake. Crewes lobbed another magma mortar. The usually destructive explosion had been greatly amplified, and blasted a pair of enforcers into a pair of smoking piles.

  “Didn’t the major say to conserve spells?” Nara chastened him.

  “Are you kidding? We downed three enforcers with two spells. They don’t do us any good if we’re dead,” Aran countered, zipping closer to Kez. “We’ve almost reached the binder. Get ready for the real fight.”

  Kez crashed into an Enforcer, grabbing its head in both hands.

  Above her, Bord yelled in a high-pitched voice. “Seriously? Trying to maintain a spell here.”

  Kez squeezed, and the Enforcer’s skull cracked. It still didn’t go down. She brought down her armored head, slamming it into the enforcers face. The creature went limp. “Sorry about the bumpy ride. Sit tight.”

  They picked off more Enforcers, pushing a wedge through the Krox forces. Their ferocity combined with the spell amplification forced the enemy back, and finally they burst through, into the outer edge of the ritual circle. Before them stood a wide golden urn, its surface covered in tiny sigils. A sickly white glow came from the top, and Aran could feel the immense power gathered within.

  Next to the urn stood an unassuming man, not much taller than Kez.

  “He’s a drifta, I think,” Kez said. “Don’t matter none, though. Gonna have to do for him.”

  “That’s a real interesting ward ya got there, mate,” the Binder said, taking a few steps closer. “Seems to have gotten ya this far. Mighty inventive, that. But you ain’t getting any closer. I can promise you that.”

  “End him,” Aran ordered.

  The squad lit up the binder, a flurry of spells converging on his rough location. Every last one halted in midair, four meters before reaching him. Iridescent ripples flowed through the air where the spells impacted, then dissipated.

  “See?” he said. “Mine’s better’n yours. Unless you’ve got a true mage you’re hiding, there’s no way you’re getting trew that ward.” He laughed, giving them a playful grin. “Time is very much on my side. My mates will be here shortly. Joost sit tight.”

  57

  Fear

  “Eddings, move to support the right flank,” Davidson ordered. “Concentrate your fire on that Wyrm with the torn wing. It’s slower than the others.”

  The tank bounced over another rock, sending Voria tumbling into the wall. She caught herself, seizing the back of Davidson’s seat.

  “You’d be safer if you buckled in, sir,” Davidson said without turning in her direction. He guided them behind two of the other tanks, adding a shot from his gauss cannon that finished the wounded Wyrm the tanks had been focusing on.

  “I need to be unrestricted, in case I need to counter a spell.” Voria watched his screen intently. It showed such a narrow view of the battle, and she wished she’d thought to ask her mother for a scry-falcon that could have transmitted an aerial view. She was all but blind in here, but couldn’t risk leaving the vehicle.

  A shadow passed over them, and one of the largest remaining Wyrms breathed on Eddings. There was no final cry or death scream. The tank simply slowed…then stopped moving entirely.

  Voria clenched a fist. In a few moments, if the Wyrm were willing to expend the energy for the spell, Eddings would be bound and his tank turned back on the Confederate line.

  “We’ve almost reached the binder, sir,” Davidson called, unnecessarily.

  “I can see the screen as well as you, Captain.” Voria studied it, reaching out with her senses. “Pull the tanks up short. There is a barrier around the urn.”

  Davidson quickly turned the tank, and the other tanks did the same. They zoomed around the urn, swinging their turrets into position.

  “Don’t bother with the barrier. Focus your fire on the approaching Wyrms,” Voria ordered. She moved back to the viewport she’d closed earlier, slamming it back open. She needed line of sight to cast.

  Voria quickly sketched a counterspell, then flung it at the invisible barrier around the urn. The barrier exploded silently, flinging a cloud of iridescent mana shards in all directions. The shards quickly dissipated as the last of the spell dissolved.

  “It’s exposed, Captain. Fire.”

  The tanks let loose with a staccato of gauss rifle rounds, each streaking toward the urn. To Voria’s immense surprise, the rounds impacted against a shimmering blue barrier, centimeters from the urn. This ward had been hastily erected, but reinforced with considerable strength—an alarming level of strength.

  Voria tried to peer upward, but the narrow slit prevented her from seeing. “Davidson, open the turret.”

  Davidson didn’t ask why, fortunately. He opened the turret, and Voria quickly scaled the ladder. She popped her head and shoulders out, and her mouth went dry when she saw the titanic Wyrm looming in the shadows of the mountain, hovering right above the urn they’d come to destroy.

  Nebiat’s midnight scales glistened in the light of the ritual, saliva trickling from jaws that could easily swallow their tank whole. But it wasn’t the physical body that filled Voria with terror. It was the volume of magical power. If Voria’s magic was a bonfire, then she was seeing a sun, in all its terrible brilliance.

  Nebiat’s tail swished languidly beneath her, casually knocking a transport-sized boulder down the mountain slope. She flapped her wings, and the wind forced Voria to cling to the tank’s ladder.

  “Ahh
, Major Voria. I’ve heard so very much about you. Some of my colleagues believe you to be a skilled mage—a few have even said archmage. Is there any truth to that?” Nebiat began lazily sketching sigils, a flood of them, with a long black claw. The latticework of the spell was too complex for Voria to follow.

  Nebiat assembled the spell faster than Voria would have believed, then flung it outward. It expanded into a ball of swirling grey energy, then burst in a wave that washed over everyone for hundreds of meters. The tanks afforded no protection, and the magic washed over Voria as it did everyone else. Immense, towering panic filled her mind—overwhelming, teeth-chattering terror, born of the certainty that she was about to die.

  Davidson clawed frantically at his safety harness as he tried to unbuckle himself. “We’re going to die. We need to run. Now.” The magic had him, and no doubt had the rest of her forces as well. It would not have her, too.

  “Noooo!” Voria screamed, slamming her fist into the wall of the tank hard enough to bloody her knuckles. She fought off the magically induced terror, using her anger to tear apart the sigils trying to wrap around her spirit.

  Voria seized her bracelet, pulling it off her wrist, and climbed back up the ladder to glare out at Nebiat. Then Voria slammed her bracelet into the tank, cracking the gem.

  Intense sapphire light burst out, and Voria used the bracelet’s latent magic to guide the counterspell toward the spell Nebiat had cast. A bubble of blue swirling energy rose, mimicking the original spell. Then, as the terror spell had, it burst outward. Everywhere it touched the fear spell dissolved, and her people stopped running.

  “I’m no archmage, but if you think you can dismiss me as some apprentice, you’re about to find out otherwise. You want a fight, you come and get me!” Voria ducked down the ladder, leaning down to peer at Davidson. “There’s no way we’re taking out that urn. She’s going to come for us fast and hard. Make for the fog, and don’t be shy about the evasive action.”