by Chris Fox
He’d landed on the rusted bridge that connected to the Spellship’s docking port. She expected him to head immediately for the doors, but instead he stopped and began sketching a spell. Nara considered countering it, but that meant giving away her position. She waited to see what he was casting.
“Nar-a!” Wes screeched as he came shooting out from the crates. His long legs pumped as he sprinted away from the war mage, who zoomed above him in spellarmor. Apparently he was more mobile than he’d thought. “Help meee!”
Damn it. If she didn’t do something, Wes was dead, but if she dealt with this, it would give the true mage time to use Ikadra. A cold, distant part of her mind whispered that she should let Wes die. What was he to her? His death was easy enough to justify.
“No,” she whispered to herself. “That’s the woman I used to be, and I am not you anymore. Wes is a friend. I got him into this. I’m going to save him.”
Nara thought furiously. She couldn’t hit the war mage with a direct spell, or rather, if she did she had to assume it would fail. There was still a chance it might work, but that chance was slim. She needed a better option.
What if she hit Wes with a spell? Nara grinned as her hand came up and began sketching. Half a dozen copies of Wes burst out from the original, all running in different directions. She’d even tended to the little flourishes, like a trail of blood for each illusion.
Tobek skidded to an angry halt, the barrel of his spellrifle twitching between targets. He gave a frustrated roar, then slammed a gauntleted fist into a crate. The crate crumpled, and sent up a spray of oily goo that splattered Tobek’s armor.
The hatchling leapt into the air and used his wings to guide him toward the true mage. He landed just as a shimmering blue ward rippled outward to protect both of them. It enclosed them fully, and blocked all access to the Spellship’s docking doors.
“No,” she breathed. Now they were protected by that ward. Any spell she cast would be deflected. The Krox had won.
54
Why Don't You Let Me Hold That?
Aran reached the end of the corridor, which simply dead-ended into a blood-drenched wall. He assumed that wall probably contained some sort of door like the others he’d seen, but he had no idea how to locate it.
“Huh.” He lowered his spellblade. It quivered disappointedly. “I guess we just hang out and wait. I have no idea how precise the gods are with—”
A crack appeared in the wall and the door slid up. Apparently, the gods were pretty damned precise. The door disappeared entirely into the ceiling, and left Aran nose-to-snout with a very surprised Krox.
It was the true mage he’d battled on Shaya. The towering reptile wore an elaborate headdress, and his face had been painted with gold, black, and white makeup. He held a staff in his right hand—a familiar staff.
Aran’s hand shot up and he seized Ikadra. “Why don’t you let me hang on to that?” He brought Narlifex down with so much force the blade hummed. The metal heated of its own accord, and the sword’s eagerness burst through their link. It sliced cleanly through the Krox’s wrist, severing the hand even as it cauterized the wound.
The Krox stumbled backward with a draconic screech. It seized the charred stump with its free hand, flapping its wings as it leapt toward a shimmering ward. From its position Aran guessed that ward had been shielding the doorway from the room outside. The ward winked out of existence, and the Krox glided away with impressive speed.
Aran scanned the area outside the door, and realized a few things at once.
First, he’d been trapped inside an absolutely massive starship. And second, the other Krox he’d faced back on Shaya, Tobek the war mage, was trying desperately to kill a screaming human with glasses and…was that the hat from Relic Hunter?
Six versions of the space archeologist, if that was what this guy was, ran screaming in six different directions. Aran had seen that spell enough times to guess who the caster might be.
“Nara?” he yelled. His voice echoed through the hangar, and the Krox chasing the archeologist halted instantly. Tobek turned slowly until his gaze settled on Aran, then those cruel eyes widened.
“You!” he roared. Tobek broke off pursuit for the archeologist, instead gliding in Aran’s direction. He banked in the air and his wings flared above him as he closed the gap.
Aran shot a glance at the now-handless true mage, who was hightailing it toward a shattered control room on the far side of the hangar. He couldn’t deal with the mage without first handling Tobek, so he pivoted to face him.
“Yes, me,” Aran yelled back. He smiled up at the rapidly approaching Krox. “And this time I’m ready. You’re not the only one with spellarmor.” The gods had already proven how precise they were. Aran confidently tapped his bracelet, and waited for the armor to flow over him. Hopefully Virkonna had added something to give him an edge here.
Nothing happened.
A two-handed spellblade materialized in the Krox’s grasp, and he brought it down on Aran with the force of a falling star. Time seemed to slow, and Aran took in the magnitude of the creature falling toward him. Now that Tobek was close enough he could see the agonized faces emblazoned on the midnight armor. Each was locked in a silent scream, perhaps the very moment they’d died.
He wasn’t going to end up another face.
Aran flipped backward, and used air to enhance the leap. He landed on the far side of the rusted bridge, which gave him more room to maneuver. Unfortunately, the ground was coated with the same dark blood as the interior of the ship. He slid wildly, and slammed into the railing, barely catching himself.
He stared over the edge into an abyss, the deep bay where the ship was stored. A lake of black, shimmering liquid filled the bay to within a few meters of the top. The stench was a living thing, so foul his eyes teared up instantly.
Aran struggled to maintain his balance, and tapped desperately at the bracelet. Nothing. “Come on, come on. This isn’t funny, Neith. Or Virkonna. Or whichever one of you is responsible for this.”
“I do not know which god you are praying to, human,” Tobek roared. His wingbeats sounded behind Aran. “It will not save you.”
Aran dove to the right, and slid hand-first through the blood. He gathered a handful, then rolled to his feet in the relatively clean spot his impact had made. The war mage dove from above, his sword held before him like a lance.
Aran summoned air and formed a bubble around the fistful of blood. “You know I get you don’t need to breathe in space, but if you’re going to wear spellarmor you really ought to consider going with a full helmet.” He flung the blood into Tobek’s face, and it splattered all over the Krox’s eyes.
The move only bought him a moment, and Aran was determined to use it. He leapt into the air, and used void to enhance his mass. He summoned a massive ball of ice around his left foot, and swung it in a wide roundhouse designed to capitalize on his momentum.
The ice slammed into Tobek’s face, knocking him from the air. He slid through the blood, rolling a good twenty meters before slamming into a rusted console on the other side of the bridge. Aran doubted it had done any real damage, but it gave him a few seconds to breathe.
“Nara?” Aran roared, now that he had a split second to think.
“Here.” She winked into existence a few meters away.
Her armor was also covered in blood, but he couldn’t see any obvious damage. Relief washed through him, a knot of tension he’d been carrying ever since the two of them had been separated. He kept one eye on Tobek, who was already climbing to his feet.
“Oh, thank Virkonna. It is so good to see you.” And it was. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed her. Aran tapped his bracelet again. Nothing. “We need to keep Ikadra out of the Krox’s hands. And, ideally, we need to figure out how to use him to control the ship. Think you can handle it?” Aran tossed Ikadra to her. The staff, he realized, had been utterly silent during his battle with Tobek.
The sapphire flashed as Nara ca
ught the weapon, but the staff’s ever-present wit was curiously absent.
She pointed down at Tobek. “Aran, I’ve been watching the fight. You’re not doing very well against this guy. Let’s get inside the ship, and get the depths out of here.”
Tobek leapt to his feet, and flared his wings for balance. “I will kill you, human! You cannot run forever.”
“Get in the ship and go,” Aran snapped. “We can’t leave this to chance. There’s too much riding on it.”
Nara was silent, but only for a moment. “What should I expect inside?” Nara asked quickly. She was looking at the Krox, who was struggling to maintain his balance on the slick floor. “And are you sure you don’t want help? This guy kicked the crap out of Ree. We could take him together.”
“We can’t risk losing and them getting Ikadra. Take the ship back to the present. I’ll make sure they stay here, or die trying.” Aran tensed as Tobek leapt into the air and flapped in their direction. “The ship’s interior is coated with blood, and there’s at least one possible hostile. Right inside the door you’ll see an unconscious woman. She’s an Outrider, and not a threat, at least not that I can see.”
“Aran—” Her voice softened, and he wished he could comfort her.
“Go!” he roared. His attention was already focused on Tobek again.
“Be careful.” Nara winked out of view.
Aran turned back to the Krox just as the hatchling came down on him from above. A cloud of pallid white fog billowed from Tobek’s mouth, and Aran desperately dove to the side. He used air to leap twenty meters, and rolled behind a stack of blood-covered crates.
His heart leapt into his throat when he realized he was face-to-barrel. A golden pistol was pressed against his nose. The man holding it wore the Relic Hunter hat and a pair of grease-covered spectacles. He peered over them at Aran, as if trying to identify him.
“I’m hoping you’re not with the Krox. It would be a terrible shame to melt your face. Not that I have much choice in the matter. That’s all on the pistol,” the archeologist said. He gave a little wave with his other hand, and a sheepish smile. After an eternal moment the pistol lowered from Aran’s face. “Well, it seems they’ve decided you’re not a threat. I’m Wes.”
“I don’t suppose you know how to use those?” Aran asked. Any help would be welcome, and the pistols looked decidedly lethal.
“Of course I know how to use them. Why would you think otherwise?” Wes gave an indignant sniff, one Ree would have highly approved of.
“Because you’re hiding behind a stack of crates?” Aran offered.
“Ah, well, you make an excellent point. There’s no arguing with that.” The archeologist’s eyes widened at something over Aran’s shoulder.
A clawed foot crashed into Aran’s shoulder and flung him into the crates with a hollow boom. Blood exploded everywhere, and it probably saved Aran’s life. Tobek’s gauntleted hands tried to seize him, but he slipped right through his clawed fingers.
“I think I just wet myself,” the archeologist shrieked. His pistols snapped up and aimed at the hatchling. The weapons began to buck, each firing a steady stream of golden pulses. The energy detonated against Tobek’s spellarmor, and redirected its momentum. The Krox was knocked to the side, and Aran took the opportunity to roll to his feet.
The archeologist continued to fire, and the Krox turned in his direction. Aran reached deep into his chest, and blended three aspects of magic. He fed it all into his blade, as he’d done before. This time Narlifex answered that call, and added magic of its own.
Fire burst from the weapon, and a moment later lightning began to crackle around the flame. Both shifted to purple as void flowed up the blade.
We. Kill. Now. The words reverberated through his mind. They’d come from Narlifex.
Aran feinted toward Tobek, and the Krox lunged with his claymore. Aran hopped back in a fadeaway, and flung his spellblade at the Krox. He used air to guide the weapon’s flight, slipping around Tobek’s parry and punching into the thick armor between the neck and shoulder.
The blade sank deep, and discharged the spell. Lightning and fire flowed down the weapon, disappearing inside Tobek’s spellarmor. He seemed unimpressed, though his eyes narrowed dangerously.
Tobek’s neck elongated and his chest swelled, then he breathed another cloud of spirit.
Aran rolled out of the way, but Tobek followed up immediately. The Krox hurled his blade at Aran, in a parody of the move Aran had just used. The tip punched through Aran’s side, and pinned him to the wall behind him.
Aran gritted his teeth, both eyes tearing up. The blade had punched through his midsection, above the kidney, he hoped. “It sure would be nice to have spellarmor, too.”
He seized the hilt with air, and wrenched Tobek’s much larger sword free with a roar. The pain was immense, especially as the tip left his body, but he compartmentalized it. The adrenaline helped, though there’d be depths to pay when the dust settled.
The Krox wrapped his hands around the hilt of Aran’s spellblade, which was still lodged in his shoulder. He tugged it free of his armor, and began a cautious advance. “What will you do, little Outrider? You have no blade. You have no armor. You. Have. Nothing!” Spittle flew from the creature’s maw.
“Aren’t you taking this a little personally?” Aran knew it was a weak retort, but he didn’t have much else to offer. He was badly wounded, and Tobek was right. He had nothing.
Then Tobek roared in surprise, and dropped Narlifex. His gauntlet smoked, and Aran realized the palm had burned all the way down to the bone, right through the armor.
“Good sword. No more void pockets after this fight, I promise.” Assuming he survived, that was. Aran desperately tapped his bracelet, though this time he wasn’t expecting much. Apparently the gods had misjudged a variable. “Why give it to me, if I can’t use it?”
Remember my words, mortal. Virkonna’s voice reverberated through his mind. Your technology will not save you. I have not enhanced it. I have disabled the wretched thing. It has been corrupted by Nefarius.
“So not only are you not helping,” Aran thrust his hand out, and seized Narlifex with a tendril of air, “but you’re actively sabotaging my chances of success?”
Remember my words.
He yanked Narlifex back into his grip at nearly the same instant Tobek seized his own weapon. He rose and began to advance cautiously toward Aran. “This is the end, little human. You have done surprisingly well, enough that I would consider binding you, if you hadn’t maimed my brother.”
The creature’s face was twisted by hatred, his cold eyes narrow and focused. He stalked closer, and Aran stepped into a guard position.
What had Virkonna meant? Remember my words. She’d told him something when she’d flooded him with magic. Become air.
Tobek’s blade flicked out with blinding speed, and Aran barely brought Narlifex up in time to parry. The blades rang off each other, and Tobek’s gave a dark, angry scream.
Narlifex pulsed in eager rage, straining to reach the other blade. Aran restrained it and backpedaled to gain room to think. Tobek refused to allow him that space, and glided forward into another strike.
Blow after blow rained down, and Aran had no choice but to parry desperately. Tobek’s spell armor, and his own natural strength and size, made this a very one-sided fight.
Become air.
Tobek’s blade finally clipped Aran’s forearm, adding another source of pain, and slowing him further. He growled low in his throat, and pounced on the larger war mage.
Narlifex thrust into Tobek’s gut, the tip melting a red circle as it disappeared inside the Krox. Tobek roared, and dropped his blade. He seized Aran’s wrists, wrenching them into the air until Aran hung, pinned in place.
His shoulders strained, and he could feel the tendons stretching painfully. Aran’s hand went numb, and Narlifex tumbled from his grasp to clatter onto the bridge.
“As I said, human,” Tobek rumbled in a smug v
oice. His snout moved closer until he was eye to eye with Aran, “this is the end.” Tobek sucked in a breath.
Aran closed his eyes. Become air. He touched the well of energy in his chest, and focused on the most familiar of all elements, the very first he’d ever been granted. It lay there, pulsing with more power than it ever had.
Become air.
Aran had channeled magic many times, and each time that energy had passed through his body. But what if he kept it? What if he let it flow into his limbs, but didn’t discharge it? What would happen?
“Nothing to lose,” he muttered through gritted teeth.
Tobek breathed.
Aran poured air through his limbs, the potent magic infusing every part of his body until even his eyes crackled with white-blue power. The breath washed over him, but Aran felt nothing. No pain, or numbness, as he had before.
“What spell is this?” Tobek asked suspiciously, his grip on Aran’s wrists never slackening.
“This is a present from Virkonna.” Aran poured more air into his body, until it became painful. He burst into pure electricity, freeing himself from Tobek’s grasp.
Aran considered his next move for a fraction of a moment as Tobek’s eyes widened in surprise. Then he decided. He couldn’t hurt Tobek because of the spellarmor.
But what if he attacked from the inside?
Aran flowed inside of Tobek’s mouth, pouring into the Krox in a torrent of crackling white energy. He pooled in the creature’s stomach, and willed pain and death on his foe. The energy crackled through the Krox’s body, and Tobek shrieked desperately.
His body smoked and twitched as Aran cooked every part of the creature’s body. He let it seize up one more time, and then he stopped Tobek’s heart.
In that moment Aran became aware of two beings, a tiny, malnourished soul made of earth, and a much stronger being made of pure spirit. The earth soul pulsed gratitude, and then dissipated. The spirit soul shrieked, and then did the same.
