by Chris Fox
Aran and Nara lived, but both are missing their past. Aran desperately wants to reclaim his, while Nara is still hiding from hers.
Crewes, Davidson, Kezia, and Bord survived, but everyone else died. The survivors are tired, and they are out of resources…but they are alive.
Now, Major Voria must atone for her actions.
Nara must learn to be a true mage.
Aran must learn who he really is…
Welcome to Void Wyrm
PROLOGUE
Nebiat swam through space, spreading her leathery wings and enjoying the torrent of heat and light on her scales. Blue stars were rare in this sector, and she enjoyed the particular mix of radiation and quanta this one broadcast. She basked in that glow, and waited.
She did not wait long.
“Why have you entered this system, spawn of Krox?” a mighty voice rumbled in her mind.
She flipped over languidly, presenting her back to the sun. “I have come in peace, with no deception. I will lower my defenses, and submit to your seeing spell.”
Khalahk, the great black Wyrm, studied her impassively. He was larger than her, but only by a little. They were nearly the same age, and had been both rivals and lovers over the centuries. “Very well.”
He extended a claw, and sketched his seeing spell. The magic washed over Nebiat, binding her will so she could speak no word that wasn’t true, nor utilize any illusion or deception. She loathed the need to submit to such a spell, but in this case the truth was her most potent weapon.
“Now then, why have you come? This system belongs to the last dragonflight, and you know it.” Khalahk eyed her curiously, swimming closer to the star until he was a mere kilometer away.
“I have come to persuade you to kill a human. This human, Major Voria of the Shayan Confederacy, has slain over a dozen of my brothers and sisters.” Nebiat paused. Some believed you should hold your trump card in reserve, but she usually led with it. Put your opponent immediately at a disadvantage, then press them. “Kheftut was among the fallen.”
“No!” Khalahk belched a thick bolt of blue lightning at the star. The sun was untroubled by the outburst. “His death was to be mine. Now we will never know which of us was the stronger.”
“He was killed by a pack of lowly humans. I want one of them dead—the woman who leads them. You, I think, will seek the death of another.” She gave him a draconic smile. “One of Voria’s conspirators, the man who delivered the killing blow to Kheftut, is from your world.”
“He is an Outrider? That cannot be.” Khalahk flapped his wings aggressively, as if challenging another male for dominance.
Nebiat couldn’t lie or deceive, so she showed the bored expression that matched her true feelings. “It can be, and it is. Your lost Outrider was mind-wiped and conscripted by Voria, and she used him to great effect against my people.”
“One of our own servants, murdering dragons?” Khalahk spoke softly to himself as if he hadn’t heard her. Finally, he looked up at her. “He must be put down. We cannot have mortals believing themselves our equals. This cannot be tolerated, or it will spread, as it has in the past.”
“I’d hoped you might feel the same way I did.” Nebiat flipped again, presenting her back to Khalahk. The move was submissive, and sometimes the prelude to a mating flight. “You can find Voria on Shaya. I’ve taken the liberty of performing an augury. She will leave the planet in twenty-two days.”
“If I kill her in Shayan space, they may take it as an act of war,” Khalahk pointed out cautiously. He flapped his wings, as a human might have casually flexed a bicep.
Even knowing who she was and what she was capable of, he still desired her.
Nebiat gave a coy smile. “They could. You’ll have to decide if you can live with that.” She kept her tone neutral, but the seeing spell forced her to speak. “I would, of course, prefer that you go—both to kill Voria, and because a war between Virkon and Shaya would help the Krox.”
“What is the name of this traitorous Outrider?” Khalakh asked. He too began sunning himself, a sign of trust.
“He is called Aran, but his full name during his time among you was Aranthar.”
“Aranthar?” Khalahk hurled another bolt of lighting at the untroubled star. He thrashed back and forth, clawing at the space around him. Nebiat found his rage both curious and amusing.
“Who was he?” she asked curiously. That bit she hadn’t been able to puzzle out. Someone very powerful had taken great pains to eradicate his former identity. Even learning his full name had taken every scrap of divination she possessed.
Khalahk ignored her question, refusing to share whatever he knew. “You say he’ll be leaving Shaya in twenty-two days?” His eyes crackled with power.
Nebiat almost pitied this Aran. Almost. She bowed her neck respectfully. “I am certain of it.”
Khalahk flapped again, extending his wings to their full span. “Then, in twenty-two days, the last dragonflight will finally have vengeance upon the man who caused the death of my grandson.”
1
THE END
Voria had never been escorted under guard before, at least not by Confederate troops. She held her chin aloft, kept her posture ramrod straight as she took measured steps up the scarlet carpet. The pair of blue-uniformed guards led her into a large chamber with stadium seating sloping down to a stage. That stage probably served for entertainment most times, but today it held three stern-faced judges.
It spoke volumes that the Confederacy didn’t possess a proper courtroom, even on the world that had given birth to it. These people didn’t take the Marines seriously enough to give them a proper justice system.
But that didn’t mean she didn’t take it seriously. Let them have their games. She was a Marine, and she’d die one.
She marched briskly down the stairs and stopped before a table with a single chair. The guards stopped a few paces back. She wasn’t sure if she should consider the fact that they bore spellrifles an honor or an insult.
“Major Voria,” called the judge sitting in the center chair. Hard eyes peered out at her from a chiseled face framed by an ash-colored beard. His uniform was Confederate, but his drawl put him from Ternus. “Thank you for coming. Please, be seated so we can begin. Some of us have real work to be about.”
She sat.
“My name is Admiral Nimitz. Colonel Nimitz, if you want my Confederate rank.” The admiral spoke slowly and his scowl deepened with every word. “To my right sits—”
“I know who the others are,” Voria snapped. She glared at Nimitz. “You say your time is valuable; let’s skip the preamble, shall we? Soldier to soldier, Admiral. I, too, have work to be about. There is a war on, as much as you’d like to pretend otherwise.”
“Major Voria,” snapped the platinum-haired Shayan to the admiral’s right—Caretaker Ducius, one of the most powerful nobles on Shaya. “We’re here to charge you with murder of Captain Thalas, and to strip you of command. Do you really want to begin these proceedings by further antagonizing us? My son is dead, Voria. Dead at your hands.”
“I served with Thalas,” she shot back, eyes blazing. “The only reason you’re outraged is your family’s precious honor. You didn’t know your own son well enough to know why I was forced to do what I did, and you certainly didn’t feel any pain at his death. Don’t presume to lecture me.”
“Order,” Nimitz roared, slamming a thick book down on the table as a makeshift gavel. “By Ternus, you self-righteous bastards demanded my world send a representative to this farce. I’m here. But if I’m going to preside over this mess, I will damned well follow the laws you magic-loving slits ratified. This isn’t a trial. This is an inquest.”
“Does the Inuran representative have anything to add?” Ducius asked coldly.
His gaze never left Voria, and she couldn’t blame him for his animosity. She’d expected it. She held her head high, but despite her bold words she couldn’t quite force herself to meet the accusation she knew she’
d find there. She had killed his son—though Thalas had left her little choice.
“I do not,” the pale-skinned judge said.
Voria recognized the man, though she’d never met him. Skare was, in a very real sense, the single largest threat to her mother’s empire. He was a rarity among Inurans, his face a bit too long, and his eyes set a little too close together. Even his white hair flared out oddly, like some awkward bird’s. Her mother found his appearance appalling, especially given how easily he could rectify it with magic.
She read nothing on his face, neither irritation nor glee. If he felt anything about being here, he buried it so deeply not even a glimmer showed.
Nimitz eyed Ducius in irritation. “On my world, a judge with a personal stake as large as yours would recuse himself from the case. You’ve got a vendetta, and I’m already tired of hearing about it. So how about you shut your smug face, and let me ask the questions, since, you know, I’m the presiding judge?”
“Admiral, if—”
“Don’t think your parlor tricks will prevent me from punching the smugness out of you,” the admiral interrupted.
Ducius frowned, but finally subsided.
“Excellent. Now then, Major, let’s talk about your botched operation at Marid, shall we?”
Voria clenched her fists, and her nostrils flared as she fought to contain the angry words. So many people had died on Marid, but they’d accomplished the mission. Not only had Marid had been denied to the enemy, but they’d also gained a powerful ally.
She spoke only once she’d tamed the storm. “You’ve read my report, I assume.”
“Yes, and let me begin by saying how much I detested reading it,” the admiral shot back, leaning out from his chair as if daring her to protest. “You are one of the most self-righteous people I have ever encountered—and I’ve had to deal with Ducius, here. That’s the level of asshole you are. Your entire report is filled with words like duty, and honor, yet neither prevented you from breaking your oath.”
“Breaking my oath?” she choked out, her gut clenching reflexively. The blow felt almost physical.
“That’s right,” Ducius snapped. “You were relieved of command before even reaching Marid. That put Captain Thalas in charge, but rather than accept the order, you murdered an officer of the Confederacy in cold blood.”
There it was. They had her neatly, by the letter of the law. Nothing she said could alter that fact, and that fact was what they’d hang her with.
“Please, speak again, Ducius.” The admiral had turned his full ire on Ducius, and the Shayan Noble at least had the good grace to look embarrassed. “All I need is one more excuse. Don’t give it to me.” He turned back to Voria. “This inquest will be short, and to the point. We’ve read the reports. What else can you tell us that might alter our decision?”
“As stated in my report, I executed Thalas because he knowingly endangered my command, and thus all the lives on the planet below.” Voria straightened again, meeting his gaze—not defiantly or petulantly, but proudly. “I did something terrible. I murdered a man I respected, because if I had not done so the planet Marid would belong to our enemies. Within a few years, the Wyrms would boil out from that world and overwhelm Ternus herself. I have witnesses to those facts, including the Guardian of Marid, our new ally.”
“You’ve got an ancient lizard, and your heavily biased mother,” Nimitz countered, shaking his head. “I don’t put much stock in either.”
“Pardon me, Admiral,” Skare said mildly, his voice barely audible. “May I have the floor?”
“This should be interesting,” Nimitz allowed, waving at Skare to speak.
“I understand that you meant no insult to my people, but you’ve offered one. You just casually dismissed the sworn testimony of an Inuran Matriarch, the major’s heavily biased mother.” Skare frowned, but his voice remained neutral. “I know Jolene well. In all likelihood, it will be one of her assassins that ends me. She would never risk endangering herself or her empire over the welfare of her half-breed daughter. I would urge you to lend her testimony great weight, Admiral. If she is worried about the Krox, then we should be, too.”
“Noted.” Nimitz turned his attention back to Voria, and she again stood proudly. “I find we have sufficient evidence to move forward with a trial. The charges include inciting mutiny, and murder of an officer during a time of war. Do either of my colleagues wish to add to these charges?”
Ducius smiled cruelly at her. “No.”
Skare eyed her impassively. “No, Admiral.”
“Major Voria, do you wish to enter an official plea?”
Voria took a deep breath, and ended her career. “Guilty, sir, to both charges.”
2
POLITICS
“Admiral,” Voria called as the judges began to leave the stage.
The admiral turned in her direction, but didn’t approach.
She took that as an invitation, and crossed the gap between them. “May I have a moment of your time, sir?”
“A moment,” he allowed. His face bled suspicion. “What do you want, Major?”
“Sir, may I ask what’s going to happen to my Battalion?” she asked in a small voice—certainly smaller than she was used to.
“That hasn’t been decided,” he said. “Your new mages will be given standard training in their respective fields. The rest will likely be given leave until this trial is over. Most likely, you’ll never see them again. Since we are being candid, Major, I’d like to ask you a question, off the record.”
“Yes, sir?”
“What do you think of the Confederate command structure? Your honest opinion.” He folded his arms, watching her carefully.
Voria gave the simple, unvarnished truth. It wasn’t a real secret. “I think it is completely ineffective, sir. The Marines are mired in politics and given neither the men nor the material to conduct war. Each regiment or battalion is sponsored by a different noble house or colony, like we’re sports teams, not one cohesive fighting force.”
“A disgusting practice, I agree. I don’t like you, but I’m a pragmatist. The Shayan government is a bunch of preening attention-whores with no understanding of how war needs to be conducted. My government has asked me to assess Confederate readiness, and I’m genuinely alarmed, Major. I thought Shayan arrogance was a holodrama stereotype, but it’s alive and well in this courtroom.”
“Sir, with respect: why are you explaining this to me?” Voria clasped her hands behind her back. It wasn’t an ideal habit, but the gesture was less indecisive than putting them in her pockets.
“Because the aftermath of your mission on Marid could spell the end of the Confederacy. You understand that Ternus equipment comes with video recorders, right? The footage playing across Ternus shows dead civilians and dead Marines. Only one officer from Ternus survived the mission, and none of his command.” The admiral’s voice paled to a near-silent shred of itself. “Our people died by the thousands, and your government doesn’t even care. At all. The missives they’ve released here show nothing but victory. They show dead Wyrms. They don’t reveal the carnage—and quite frankly, ma’am, I’m not sure we want to be allied with anyone that whitewashes a mess like this.”
“I can’t blame you for that, sir, but I’m just a line officer. I don’t have the time or energy to follow Confederate politics. It’s the men I care about. I felt every death keenly; I still do. Had I any other choice, I’d not have spent their lives, but you have no idea how close we came to defeat. Every life mattered, and we sacrificed nearly everything to keep Marid free.” Voria rather enjoyed being this candid, even if the admiral was openly hostile. At least he was honest in his dislike. “Withdrawing from the Confederacy would be understandable, but don’t you need allies against the Krox? Make no mistake, they are coming for Ternus. Soon. Marid was a stumbling block, but we have no idea how many minions they’re hiding in the Erkadi Rift. When they’re ready, they’re going to fall on your world. It’s only a matter of
time.”
“We know, and that’s the only reason my world hasn’t yet withdrawn from the Confederacy. We need you, and you know it. The Krox will come for us first, and they will keep coming until Ternus falls. Even then, I don’t think your people will react until the first Krox troop carrier arrives.” The admiral shook his head sadly. “It’s a real shame. Your people could be leaders.”
“They were once, I think. No longer,” she admitted. “I’m sorry, sir. For everything. I only did what I thought was best for the planet, and for the sector as a whole.”
“I understand, Major. As I’ve said, I don’t like you—I can’t, after you killed so many of my Marines. But I understand you, and you’re one of the few Shayan officers I can respect.”
The admiral turned and walked off the stage. He didn’t look back.
3
MONGREL
The Wyrm Hunter gave a low, pained groan as the hull cooled, sounding like an elderly parent sitting down for the last time.
Aran gave the vessel a final affectionate look. Her outer hull was pocked and scored from their recent battles with the Krox, and her keel was cracked in at least two places. He was no engineer, but he doubted she would ever fly again—not without a lengthly and expensive refit.
“Is there any chance they’ll repair her?” he asked Crewes.
The sergeant hadn’t said much since they landed; his normal sarcastic commentary was conspicuously absent. Aran had no idea what coming home meant to Crewes, but he didn’t think the sergeant was looking forward to it.
“Nah.” The dark-skinned man shook his head sadly. He looked so odd outside his spellarmor, wearing the same simple blue uniform Aran and the others wore. “She’s trash now as far as the brass is concerned. They ain’t never gonna give us what we need to win this war. They’re too busy bickering over who gets to sit at the big kids table with the Tender.”
