by Chris Fox
“What in the hells is this about, Aurelia?” Nimitz roared. His eyes flashed, and he rose slowly to his feet. His hands shook with rage, and they balled into fists as a vein throbbed in his forehead. “I realize you don’t take the Confederacy seriously, but if you were just going to interrupt the proceedings why bother with a trial at all? We’re at war, woman. We do not have time for your holodrama antics.”
“Apologies for my entrance, Admiral.” Aurelia gave a low, respectful bow. The motion was perfect, absolutely oozing grace. “I assure you I am not here to interfere in the trial. Quite the opposite. I have come to offer testimony on behalf of the accused.”
“Relevant testimony?” Ducius asked.
That was interesting. Last Voria had been aware, the two were allies, at the very least. And they’d been lovers once, though that had been decades ago.
Ducius scowled at Aurelia. “We aren’t interested in character witnesses.”
The second figure had been largely ignored, which was understandable when a demigoddess walked into the room. Yet Dirk cut an impressive figure as well. He hadn’t aged a day since Voria had last seen him, and still appeared to be in his early forties. Grey touched his temples, adding a distinguished note to one of the handsomest men in the sector—and one of the most arrogant. He could have removed the grey magically whenever he wished.
“That much is clear, Ducius,” Dirk said, walking to stand before the Shayan judge. “You want my daughter dead, and you’ll stop at nothing to achieve it. I assure you: if by some miracle you get your wish, I will end you, you pathetic cur.”
A collective oooh echoed from the advisory, and the drifter leapt to his feet. “Fight ’em! Do it, Dirk.”
“Admiral Nimitz,” Voria boomed, in her full parade voice. Everyone fell silent, and all eyes moved to her. “As I was saying before I was interrupted, I do have a defense I would like to offer. Before I call my first witness, if you wish to hold my father in contempt of court I doubt anyone would object.” She rounded on Dirk. “You don’t belong here, father. This isn’t an arena down in the dims. This is a trial in a court of law. Show some respect.”
Her father blinked at her, then began to laugh. The advisory joined him. Nimitz put his face in his hands.
Well, if she hadn’t been certain she had come home, now she definitely was. All the fighting, and the death, and these people treated her fate like it was a game.
7
FOR GOOD OR ILL
Voria took a deep breath, waiting for complete silence before she began. “I’d like to call Tender Aurelia as a witness.” Voria waved at the makeshift witness stand, just another chair near the stage.
Aurelia glided across the floor, each movement a perfect, divine motion. She tossed her hair over one shoulder and sat gracefully. The entire court focused on her, and Voria’s stomach roiled when she saw how hungrily her father watched the Tender. Revolting.
“Ask your questions,” Nimitz said. He folded his arms, watching Aurelia with distaste. He was possibly the only man in the room not staring in open lust. Even some of the women stared.
“Tender Aurelia, would you tell the court about our meeting on the night before I departed for Marid?” Voria asked.
The advisory’s nervous rustling ceased, and they focused on Aurelia’s response.
“I summoned you to my palace to discuss the contents of an augury I had spent decades translating,” Aurelia began. She licked her full lips, staring up at the judges. “I called the major there, and showed her the augury in question. I showed her she would need to go to Marid, and sacrifice nearly everything in order to stop the Wyrm, Nebiat, from enslaving the Guardian, Drakkon.”
Voria rose from her chair and clasped her hands behind her back. “And would you explain to the court what the consequences of failing to enact this augury might have been?”
“I believe Ternus would have withdrawn their support. The Confederacy would dissolve, and our member worlds would be conquered by the Krox. In a single human generation, the sector would be overrun. Our mother would be given to their god as a plaything.” Aurelia gestured at the tree the coliseum sat on, indicating Shaya herself.
“Objection, Admiral,” Mercelus snapped. “This is pure conjecture.”
“Overruled.” The admiral sighed. “Make this quick, Major.”
“I told you my defense would be short, Admiral. Here it is.” Voria approached Nimitz, stopping just below the stage. “The Tender convinced me that, if I failed to stop the Krox at Marid, everything I’ve sworn to uphold would be destroyed. Did I retain my command after Confederate high command stripped me of it? Yes. Did I then execute the man chosen to replace me? Yes. I did both, because if I had not, the first obelisk would have fallen. Ternus would have been the second obelisk. Tell me, Admiral, what would you have done if faced with that kind of choice?”
“The admiral isn’t on trial,” Ducius roared, shooting to his feet. From the corner of her eye Voria saw her father mimic the gesture. At least he didn’t charge the stage, or tear off his shirt so he could pound his chest.
“Settle down, Ducius.” The admiral eyed the Shayan with disapproval. He shifted back to Voria. “He’s not wrong. I’m not on trial. You are. What I would have done is irrelevant. But your point is taken. You did what you did because you believed that to do otherwise would destroy the Confederacy. Prosecutor Crewes, did you have anything you wanted to ask?”
“I do, though not of the Tender herself.” He bowed low to the Tender. “I would like to call another witness to the stand. I would like to ask the major herself to explain certain actions.”
“Very well. Major, take the stand.”
Aurelia rose from the chair, giving Voria’s shoulder a sympathetic squeeze as she passed. Magical warmth spread into Voria, driving away a bit of the stress. She frowned, smoothing her uniform as she sat in the chair the Tender had just vacated.
Mercelus moved to stand before her. “Thank you, Major. We appreciate your heroism, if not the manner in which the incident occurred. Your reasoning behind retaining your command is clear, as is the reason you executed—”
“Murdered!” Ducius snapped.
“—murdered Captain Thalas,” Mercelus smoothly corrected himself. “But there is an issue that remains unclear to me. In your report you state you acquired a potion of resurrection. Is this correct?”
Voria’s heart sank. “Yes.”
“You are aware how incredibly rare such potions are?” Mercelus asked. He folded his arms, giving a friendly smile that never reached his eyes.
“I am.”
“And you were aware that you could have used this potion to restore Captain Thalas to life, thereby mitigating your greatest crime?” The question was delivered mildly, but it stilled the entire courtroom. Even the wind seemed to die.
“I knew the potion would restore him to life, yes.” She braced herself, already knowing what the next question would be.
“Then why didn’t you use it? Why spend that potion to resurrect a—”
“A goddess-damned gutter rat pikey!” Ducius roared.
Nimitz slammed his makeshift gavel several times. “Damn it, Ducius. If you do that again, I swear I will thrash you right here, in front of everyone. Calm yourself, man. At least try to pretend you’re an adult.”
Ducius’s hateful glare shifted to Nimitz, and he sat again with a curt nod.
“I chose to resurrect the gutter rat because he was the only tech mage in my unit who possessed life magic,” Voria explained, drawing everyone’s attention once more. “I had already seen the augury, and I knew he was supposed to be alive at the final battle. But I will be honest—that isn’t the only reason I chose to use the potion on Specialist Bord. I did it because I knew Bord could help us win, and Thalas would only try to further weaken us. He was blinded by his own hatred for Lieutenant Aran. You’ve read my report. You know he lost his objectivity.”
“So,” Mercelus said quickly, overriding Ducius’s choked response,
“you allowed a noble—an officer—to die in favor of a lowborn tech mage. You ignored the gravity of your previous decision, so much so that you decided to double down on it. That’s what we’re hearing, isn’t it, Major? You held the captain’s abilities in low esteem, and you found dealing with your first officer’s legal and legitimate insubordination difficult. So you murdered him, then made damned sure he stayed dead.”
Voria’s jaw snapped shut. She didn’t want to answer, but there had been a question in there, and she was honor bound to answer it. “That’s precisely what you are hearing. Thalas would have gotten us all killed, and we’d have lost the battle for Marid. I killed him, and chose not to bring him back. I’d do the same thing again.”
She knew the words had damned her, but at least she could still look herself in the mirror every morning. She’d told the truth, and damned if it didn’t feel good. She’d have preferred to die on the battlefield, but having her career die in a courtroom wasn’t so bad.
“Very well,” Mercelus began, without a touch of smugness or animosity. “I have no further questions your honors.”
“Major?” Nimitz asked.
“No further questions, Admiral.”
“Thank the bloody gods.” Nimitz rose to his feet. “Does the advisory wish to offer counsel?”
Most times the advisory did, as anyone could stand and speak. Perhaps it was the admiral’s grim face, or simply the fact the Tender was there, but not a single advisory member spoke—in defense or accusation.
“All right. The judges will retreat for a short recess. When we return we will render judgement.” He rose, and walked through the curtain at the back of the stage. Ducius and Skare followed a moment later.
Voria moved back to the chair she’d been given at the little table and sat, resting her elbows on the table. For good or ill, the dice had been cast. Her gut told her that everything was about to change, regardless of the outcome here. She hated the uncertainty, the knowledge that all her careful habits and routines were about to be obliterated as her life fell once more into chaos.
“Voria.” Aurelia approached the table and sat lightly on one corner. She brushed a perfect lock from her perfect face. “I have deciphered another augury, and to be truthful…it frightens me. I was hoping—”
“Really? You want to do this right now?” Voria snapped. “My career is about to end from the last augury you delivered. Can you wait until this is done before beginning the next crisis?”
“I—of course, Major. How insensitive of me. Please, deal with your…situation, and come seek me out when you have time.” Aurelia rose and retreated to sit next to Voria’s father. Their hands clasped, and Voria looked away.
She sat proudly at the table, and waited for her fate to be delivered.
8
THE SENTENCING
Voria had composed herself by the time the judges filed back onto the stage. Ducius looked troubled, which surprised her. They had plenty of rope with which to hang her, so why wasn’t he his usual smug self?
The admiral’s expression was unreadable, and to Voria’s surprise, she realized Skare’s angular face bore faint amusement, the most emotion he’d yet demonstrated.
The admiral sat heavily, and waited for the other judges to sit before he spoke. “Getting these two to stop dithering took longer than expected, but this court has settled on a sentence. This sentence required some…stipulations. Major Voria, in your report, you recommended Lieutenant Aran for the Silver Starburst, the Sun Cross, and the Golden Arrow itself.”
“Respectfully, sir. He killed three adult Wyrms, one of those in a one-on-one fight. His team foiled Nebiat’s ritual. Without him, victory wouldn’t have been possible.” Voria knew honesty killed careers, but she’d be damned if she’d let them slander her men, and that was exactly where this was going.
“You will amend your report to reflect the following facts,” the admiral said, clearly uncomfortable with the words. “The hero of Marid was Captain Thalas, and Thalas will be posthumously awarded the Golden Arrow for his extreme valor. Lieutenant Aran did nothing worthy of special note, and will not be awarded a medal. He will, however, be allowed to keep the field rank you bestowed.”
Voria folded her arms, almost forcibly holding in the words she really wished to fling. She settled for tact instead. “What makes you believe I can be convinced to lie on my report in such a way?”
“Because,” Ducius called. The smugness had returned, full force. “If you do otherwise, I will cast the deciding vote to have you executed. You say you believe in this war, Major. Just how committed are you? Victory, at the expense of your honor—a small price, really. My son dies with the honors you denied him, and you get to live.” He glared hatefully at her, all amusement gone.
Voria considered her response carefully. If she agreed to this, Aran might never know—but that wasn’t really the point. He’d earned those medals. He’d distinguished himself. It didn’t feel right to keep that from him.
But if she did not agree, her role in this war ended. She died, and if the new augury the Tender had deciphered was as important as the last…she wouldn’t be there to stop the Krox. Honor didn’t win wars; in this instance, she simply couldn’t afford it.
“I will amend the record to reflect the facts,” she said, “as they have been stated in this proceeding. Lieutenant Aran was worthy of no special merit, and Captain Thalas was the hero of the day.”
Each word came harder than the last, and her eyes shone by the end—shone, but didn’t loose a single tear. She’d be damned if these bastards saw her cry.
“Very well.” Nimitz straightened uncomfortably. “Then this court now renders final judgement. On the charge of inciting mutiny, you are found not guilty. On the charge of murdering an officer during a time of war you are found not guilty. Finally, on the charge of gross negligence leading to the death of enlisted personnel … you are found guilty. You are to be demoted to the rank of captain, and you are officially stripped of command. You are to be placed on a period of administrative leave for no less than eight weeks, after which you will be assigned to a more experienced officer for guidance.”
“Sir,” Voria called weakly. “What about the Hunter, and her crew?”
“Captain Davidson will be given temporary command of the Hunter,” Nimitz allowed. Ducius shot him a venomous look, but Nimitz continued. “He’ll oversee the decommissioning prior to being reassigned. As for the rest of your mages, they’ll be placed in appropriate units as assignments become available.”
That blow was almost too much. Survival was pointless if she possessed neither a ship nor a crew to go haring off on whatever mad quest Aurelia’s augury had in store for them.
“This session is adjourned.” Nimitz pounded the gavel, and the judges filed off the stage.
Voria sat, unable to rise. She had no idea what came now, no idea what to do next. Eight weeks of administrative leave? What did that even mean? What would she do?”
“Ria,” her father called, crouching to give her a hug. She grudgingly admitted it felt good to be wrapped in his arms. “I’m sorry, little one. I know how hard this must be for you.”
“Don’t call me that.” Voria stood up and slipped from his grasp. “I’m not your little one any more. I’m a officer without a ship, and with no way of remedying that. I have no funds, Father.”
Aurelia glided up, delivering a smile. “I cannot aid you directly, but your father can. Come with us, Voria. Watch the augury, then we will begin planning. The days ahead may be difficult, but we will face them together. You are not alone.”
“Yay,” Voria muttered sarcastically. “I get to hang out with my father and his paramour. Won’t this be fun.”
9
SPELLFIGHER
Aran sat up with a groan. One day had blurred into the next, each day harder than the last. Today was the twenty-first, and theoretically final day in his testing. Those days were long, too. Twenty-six hours instead of the sector standard of twenty-fo
ur. Two more hours of training, with the same amount of sleep.
The previous days had been endless drills, sparring, and running. So much running. He’d honestly believed he was in good shape, but the last week especially had taught him how painfully wrong he’d been about that.
At least the bed was comfortable. Aran was pleasantly surprised by the quarters he’d been provided. Instead of the bare-bones barracks he’d grown used to on the Hunter, he was given a spacious apartment complete with a stunning view of the rolling hills and valleys far below the branch of Shaya on which the manor sat.
The room came with a wardrobe of silken uniforms identical to those Ree had worn—minus the patch on the shoulder. He guessed he’d probably have to earn that, but that was fine with him. If the Confederacy wanted to train him to be a more effective killer … well, that would just make it all the easier to escape.
He was more and more sure that was the right path. These people were oblivious to the war, and to the threat the Krox posed. They were utterly incapable of dealing with someone like Nebiat. They played their war-games, but what would they do when a real dreadlord showed up?
Besides, the casual racism Ree and the other nobles showed toward Kez and her people, and to humans, wasn’t exactly endearing. These people were arrogant and out of touch. They made the perfect target for someone like Nebiat, and he didn’t want to be around when that inevitable hammer fell.
He’d committed to fighting the Krox, but he didn’t see anything saying he had to do it for a military that cared nothing for the lives of its soldiers, or even their own citizens.
Aran walked onto the balcony and stared down at the city. Most of the lower buildings were squat and ugly, clustered between the roots. Many areas had colorful tents arranged haphazardly, like flowers in a wild garden.
