Void Wyrm: The Magitech Chronicles Book 2

by Chris Fox

  She glared up at him hatefully, and in the back of his head he heard the major’s voice. He’d just won a tactical victory, but lost a strategic one. He should have let her win. That would have been the smart thing, but he just wasn’t wired that way. He clutched at the blood welling from his gut, swaying slightly.

  “Well done,” Erika mused, moving to stand next to Aran. “You’ve been trained in Drakon style?” She pressed a hand to the small of his back and warm, golden light flowed into the wound. The pain eased, and he could feel his skin knitting back together.

  “Uh…sure.” The word triggered a split-second of deja vu, but Aran couldn’t place it. “What does that mean, exactly?”

  “I keep forgetting you’ve been wiped.” Erika extended a hand to Ree and helped her to her feet. “Tell me, little sister, did you understand the lesson?”

  She glared at Aran. “Oh, I understand it. Perfectly.”

  The rest of the students studiously avoided looking in her direction, and Aran couldn’t really blame them. He was going to pay for humiliating her, of that he was certain.

  “You recognized the style I used,” he said. “What is it?”

  Erika turned toward him and raised the same eyebrow. “You are new to our ways, and as such I will overlook such disrespect—for now. Ree, you will take Aran as an apprentice. Assess his skills as a war mage, up to and including piloting. Then bring him back to me for remedial instruction.”

  “You’re just going to ignore my question?” Aran forced himself to remain calm.

  “Until I deem it worthy of answering, yes. I could tell you of the style you practice. What’s more, I can tell you where it originates. I can give you a piece of your past back, apprentice.” Erika moved to stand no more than a meter away, then leaned in close. “If you want that piece, then you will do exactly what Premaster Reekala says. You will apply yourself to your studies. Do that—master what she teaches you during the next few weeks—and I will answer all your questions, Outrider.”

  The word tumbled through Aran’s mind, maddeningly familiar: Outrider. What did it mean?

  5

  THE TEMPLE OF ENLIGHTENMENT

  Nara had never been so terribly alone as when she stepped off the transport onto the soft forest floor. She clutched her satchel, which contained everything she owned in the world. Well, everything but the spellpistol belted to her thigh. Would they let her keep that?

  The wind tugged at her dress uniform, keening. It seemed ever-present at this altitude, and she wondered if it was possible to get used to. The long jacket felt odd, and made her look too much like the major, but at least it kept her warm. She’d never been this high up; it would be a several-kilometer fall if she were somehow blown off Shaya’s branch. The branch was easily six hundred meters wide, with a sprawling complex of magically shaped buildings nestled safely between a burl and the tree trunk.

  The root-shaped door to the largest structure opened, and a cloud of smoke and brimstone zipped out. It paused, somehow closing the door, then zipped in her direction. The cloud compacted, billowing thickly into a bipedal form. After several moments the smoke dissipated and revealed a girl not too many years younger than Nara.

  Well, girl might not have been the right word. Her skin was a rich ebony, the color of fresh stone in a lava field. Her hair mesmerized Nara; a thousand tiny rivers of flame rolled down her shoulders, heat shimmers rising from wherever her fiery hair pooled.

  She was beautiful in an exotic way and wore a uniform identical to Nara’s, though hers had a pair of sigils along the collar. Were those the aspects she’d mastered? Fire and dream, it looked like.

  “Welcome to the House of Enlightenment.” She gave a curtsy, flaring her jacket as she dipped. “I am called Frit, and I will guide you to your quarters, Apprentice Nara.”

  “I, uh … hope this isn’t rude, but what are you?” Nara asked, struggling not to gawk.

  Frit’s features hardened, and whatever friendliness had been in her gaze vanished. “Please, come with me. I’ll be punished if you are tardy. I need to get you situated before His Supreme Arrogance calls for you.”

  “Supreme Arrogance?” Nara ventured.

  Frit frowned as she eyed Nara sidelong. “Master Eros. Come on.”

  Nara followed Frit through the wide double doors, into … paradise. The place was utterly silent except for the whispering of pages turning. High shelves full of books lined every wall, and row after row snaked through the room. A few even floated near the vaulted ceiling, apparently reached by blue translucent stairs. Those contained glowing dragon scales.

  Knowledge scales, Voria had called them during the single brief lesson she’d given Nara on their trip back from Marid.

  The books whetted a hunger Nara hadn’t realized had been building. So much knowledge, and so much power—maybe enough to take control of her own destiny. Finally.

  “Come, come,” Frit grumbled. She hurried between the shelves, leading Nara deeper into the library. Finally, they stopped at a narrow hallway, and Frit released a puff of smoke from her mouth as she spoke. “Your quarters are the last door on the right, but we’re out of time. Drop your satchel on the bed and hurry back. We need to begin your assessment soon, and it will be worse if we make him wait.”

  Nara headed obediently up the hallway, pausing before the last doorway on the right. There was no door, just an opening into a room with two narrow beds. One side of the room was clearly occupied; a mirror and a small grey book sat on the nightstand. Nara set her satchel on the other bed, and hurried back up the hallway. She could learn more about her new roommate later, but being late on her first day seemed like a terrible way to kick off her apprenticeship.

  “This way.” Frit wound toward the center of the library, and Nara followed her among the beautiful shelves. She inhaled deeply, smiling at the wonderful, musty fragrance.

  They hurried down a trio of steps into an open section of the library about thirty meters across. Deep power thrummed through Nara as she stepped over the threshold, and she gazed around her in wonder. A ward of some kind?

  A dozen wide desks fanned out across the room, each with a single mage wearing a version of her outfit. The students had sigils on the collar of their uniform, and many, though not all, had something like a unit patch on their shoulders. Most were the stylized white tree on a green background she’d come to associate with Shaya.

  A few were reading, but most were casting some sort of spell. The boy at the closest desk, maybe seventeen or eighteen years old, extended a hand; a wilted flower straightened in a pot. At another table, a girl sketched the final sigil to an illusion spell. A caricature of the boy appeared, struggling in vain to get the wilted flower to straighten. The class laughed, and Nara found herself joining in.

  “This is a library,” roared a long-haired man near the center of the room. All laughter ceased. His frigid gaze swept the room, somehow more terrible given how supremely handsome he was—divinely so, even for a Shayan. His imperious gaze fell on her, and Nara forced herself to meet it. “You’re Voria’s new discovery, aren’t you? Come here, Apprentice.”

  Nara realized he was talking to her, and quickly hurried to stand before him. She was mindful of all the students watching her, every last one of them younger than her by at least five years. That only made this all more awkward.

  “What’s your name?” he asked, eyeing her like a dragon beginning its dive.

  “Nara, sir.”

  “I’m no officer. I know you’ve been wasting time in this Confederate nonsense the politicians dreamed up.” He shook his head disapprovingly, and floated over to her, his feet a few millimeters above the ground. “That’s over. You’re here now, and you’ll be here until I deem you worthy of leaving. Judging from the slack-jawed expression, that will likely be years. Now then, let’s have a look at you.”

  He waved a hand and a circular mirror about two meters across floated over to hover next to her. Instead of her reflection, the mirror showed a glowi
ng outline of her body. The energy was dotted with sigils, especially the area over her heart. Some she recognized as belonging to different aspects. Others were smaller but more complex.

  Spells, she realized.

  “Hmm, yes, yes. Very interesting. You’ve been to a dream Catalyst, but which one?” He bent closer, his face close to hers as he inspected the mirror. “And so many second-level spells. Who trained you, Apprentice?”

  “I’ve been mind-wiped, sir.” She realized belatedly she wasn’t supposed to add the sir.

  “Ah, yes, now I remember. The pirate girl.” He turned from the mirror and finally looked at her. Nara had been stared at by men many times, but had never seen the casual indifference she found here. He saw her as a thing, a puzzle. Not a person; much less a woman. “You will make an excellent case study. Will your morals be overwritten by a new set? Or will your previous nature reassert itself, returning you to a vicious life of crime? Perhaps I will publish a paper with the results.”

  Nara wilted like the illusionary flower.

  “Frit, come over here,” the man ordered imperiously.

  “Yes, Master Eros?” Frit asked neutrally.

  Nara noticed that Frit never raised her gaze from the floor. She also noticed a tiny ring of golden runes around Frit’s throat that she’d missed before. Some kind of magical collar?

  “Teach pirate girl about the Circle of Eight, and find out which aspects she’s proficient with. Compile a missive, and send me the relevant details.” Eros turned from them, and strode over to berate another student.

  Nara smiled weakly at the flaming girl. Frit did not return it.

  “Let’s get this over with.” Frit frowned at her. “What do you know about magic, and acquisition of spells?”

  “I know about the Circle,” Nara explained. “A little, at least. I know each of the eight aspects. But beyond that? Not much.”

  Frit gave a put upon sigh. “Do you even know what a true mage is?”

  “No,” Nara admitted in a small voice.

  “Simply mastering one of the aspects isn’t enough to make a true mage. All true mages have learned at least one spell from a Greater Path.” Frit raised a hand, quickly sketching a series of glowing sigils. She created a small illusionary Circle, and touched the sigil for fire, then dream. “When used in conjunction, fire and dream allow me to cast divination spells. I’m a flame reader, which isn’t what most people think. I don’t read flames, or I don’t have to anyway. I am flame, and I read futures. There are seven other greater paths, each requiring two aspects.”

  “And the only difference between a true mage and other mages is the amount of study?” Nara asked.

  “Well, study, and the fact that they need two adjacent aspects on the Circle. If you have fire and, say, spirit, you can’t learn a greater path. You’d need to gain another aspect, one next to either fire or spirit.” Frit scrubbed a hand over her Circle, and the illusion disappeared. “War mages spend their time learning to channel their magic through their bodies, which is both powerful and limited. We learn to manipulate the universe. Their magic is easier and more intuitive. Ours requires decades of study to truly master. Of course, a war mage can’t create a solar system. Do you understand now?”

  Nara considered Frit’s lesson. The part about adjacent aspects definitely made sense. “I think so. I don’t remember much, but I know I’m an illusionist.” She tentatively sketched an air sigil, then a dream. She wove the magics together, forming an illusory circle of eight that matched the one Nebiat had drawn back on Marid. “I’ve also got void magic.”

  Frit gave a low whistle, and a puff of flame shot from her mouth. “If you find a way to master fire you’ll have access to most of right half of the circle. You could learn divination, or even destruction. Eros is going to love this.”

  Nara didn’t like the way Frit talked about her like she was a thing, but her time in the Confederacy had taught her that people in power often treated others like property, even if they weren’t slaves. It wasn’t Frit’s fault. The fiery girl seemed as much a prisoner as Nara. Perhaps more.

  She smiled at Frit. “I’ll learn everything you’re willing to teach.”

  And then, after she’d learned everything these people had to teach, she’d use the magic they taught her to find Aran, and escape this wretched world.

  6

  THE HEARING

  Even though Voria’s fate was the subject of the trial, she was still pleased the proceedings were held in a much more formal setting than the inquest had been. Since Shaya lacked the courtrooms Ternus seemed so fond of, they’d made use of a small coliseum used for worship of the goddess.

  A titanic branch swayed above the open-air structure, shading the proceedings and lending an earthy, clean scent Voria had definitely missed. The stadium itself was largely empty, which didn’t surprise her. Shayan nobility weren’t interested in Confederate matters, even something as scandalous as a half-breed being tried for mutiny.

  “Major Voria.” A clear voice rang out from the base of the stairs, and Voria turned to see an unfamiliar dark-skinned man. His height and bearing put him from Yanthara, the very first Shayan colony. “This way, please.”

  She approached with a dignified walk, taking the opportunity to study the rest of the proceedings. The same three judges sat on the stage, in the same order. Ducius wore his hostility openly, while Skare sat in supreme patience. Admiral Nimitz looked annoyed at everything, but not at her in particular.

  The dark-skinned man indicated a simple chair in front of an empty desk. “Please, be seated.”

  Voria sat.

  “My name is Mercelus Crewes. I am serving as the prosecutor for the Confederate military,” Mercelus explained. “My job is to present evidence to provide context for the grievous crimes you’ve already admitted yourself guilty of. The advisory will digest the evidence, then present their findings to the tribunal, which will render sentencing. Do you have any questions before we begin?”

  Voria shot a sidelong look at the advisory. Sixteen men and women sat in a cordoned-off section of the stadium seating. Each member represented a different world—theoretically, at least. All were citizens of Shaya, and had likely been pressed into the trial merely because they happened to have a parent or grandparent from a specific colony. Most looked bored.

  Wait, was the drifter…sleeping?

  “No, I have no questions, Prosecutor Crewes,” she replied mechanically. She already knew they wouldn’t provide her with an advocate, a Ternus tradition. Shayans were expected to defend themselves, under the grace of Shaya.

  Voria would have preferred an advocate to futile prayers.

  “Let the record state that the defendant has already admitted her guilt.” Mercelus turned to face the advisory and raised his arms expansively. “The question we’re here to determine is which crimes the major is guilty of, and whether or not there are mitigating circumstances that should warrant a stay on her execution.”

  A white-robed Shayan elbowed the drifter awake.

  “The accused has been charged with inciting mutiny, and with the murder of an officer during a time of war,” Mercelus explained. He ambled over to Voria and smiled almost fondly. “Yet this woman also saved an entire world. Had she not been at Marid—had she not seized command—the planet would be little more than ashes. What remained would belong to our enemies.” His tone bled sympathy.

  Voria went cold. She recognized a master strategist at work, though she didn’t understand the tactic. He was painting her a hero, building her up. There was only one reason to do such a thing during a trial: The higher the hero, the greater their fall.

  “I believe such heroism does indeed merit consideration from our esteemed judges.” Mercelus finally turned toward the stage and gave the judges a respectful nod. “Yet that does not change the fact that these crimes occurred. The facts are clear. Major Voria knew she’d been stripped of command, yet still chose to execute the lawful commander of her battalion. She knowing r
ecruited heavily from an already decimated population. Men, women, and even children followed her into that swamp. How many emerged? How many out of hundreds? Marines, civilians. Nearly all died. Only a handful of mages—her chosen few—survived. So I ask you, is this a woman we should trust in a leadership position? A woman who will spend the lives of her men like credits?”

  Mercelus walked over to the advisory. Even the drifter watched him with rapt attention, captivated by his incredible oratory skills. “I leave it to you to decide. The prosecution rests.”

  “Well, that’s a damned relief,” Nimitz rumbled. He sat up in his chair, and if he didn’t exactly smile, at least the scowl thawed a few degrees. “Ternus trials can go on for days, with each side arguing trivialities. Major Voria, would you like to offer a defense?”

  “What defense can she offer?” Ducius snapped. He leaned out of his chair and spat at the ground near Voria’s little table.

  She flared her fire magic, sketching a tiny sigil, and the spit evaporated before reaching the ground. Ducius glared hatefully at her, and Voria glared right back. She’d killed his son, but his son had left her no choice.

  “Yes, Admiral. I do wish to present a defense, though I promise it will be short.”

  A whisper passed through the advisory. Every last face tilted upward, most slack-jawed.

  She followed their gaze, raising a single hand to cover her mouth. “Please, Goddess, no. Anything but this.”

  Two figures drifted slowly down from the sky above. It was a simple flight spell, but the radiant nimbus of golden power around the couple made them appear divine beings descending to converse with their mortal flock.

  The first figure landed near the advisory, and the glow around her faded. It revealed possibly the most beautiful woman in the sector: the Tender herself, Aurelia. Her hair caught the sunlight, dancing in shades of red and gold as she walked toward the judges. Her golden armor radiated immense power, a reminder she was, at heart, as much warrior as caretaker.