Tales from the Void: A Space Fantasy Anthology

by Chris Fox

  “Explain.” The lightning around Rolf’s eyes dimmed, replaced by intense interest.

  “I recovered a fragment of a tome so old that our best flame readers cannot date it. It tells of two gods battling during the godswar. Trakalon hunted down the Void Wyrm Nefarius, said to be the mother of one of the largest flights. She was a dark, terrible goddess, and her struggle with Trakalon shattered solar systems. Trakalon won, but he did not escape unscathed. His fist is clenched around the Heart of Nefarius, what I’d guess must be a Void Catalyst,” Kazon explained. He set his goblet down and leaned toward Rolf again. Aran wished he possessed a fraction of this man’s calm.

  “Stay focused, kid,” Cobb growled, in a low tone. “We’re not here to listen. We’re here to protect.”

  Aran gave the room another scan, noting at least a few patrons staring at them. That could be because they’d never seen a Wyrm, or they could be assassins. The latter was unlikely, but it was still best to treat them as such.

  “If this is heart exists, why involve Virkon?” Rolf demanded. He cocked his head to the side. “Your people would no doubt love to pillage the Catalyst, and could likely drain it of magic, given enough time. You posses the resources to establish an outpost there.”

  “Yes, but we could only do that if the Guardian is somehow disposed of.” Kazon leaned back in his chair and swirled the contents of his goblet. Aran wasn’t certain, but he suspected Kazon was holding something back.

  One of the tech mages shifted, drawing Aran’s attention. The armored helmet faced the other side of the room. Aran followed his gaze, then nudged Cobb.

  “Do you get the sense that those two tables are paying us entirely too much attention?” he whispered in low tones.

  “Kid, I think this might be the first time you’ve ever said something that didn’t make me think you were dropped on your head as a child.” Cobb drew her spellblade, triggering several reactions.

  Kazon’s tech mages snapped their rifles to their shoulders, all four of them aimed at Cobb. But that wasn’t the real concern.

  All eight patrons at the two tables Aran had been watching stood up, and turned in their direction. They began drawing spellpistols, and moving into covered positions.

  Aran slid his spellblade from the scabbard and moved to stand back to back with Cobb, as he’d been trained. He could deflect spells if he were quick enough, but only if he saw them coming.

  Rolf rose slowly to his feet, and turned to face the gathering patrons. He seemed, as always, supremely unimpressed.

  “Really? Two war mages and a handful of tech mages? This is the trap you have set for me, little human?” Rolf gave a slight smile. “I believe I will enjoy this. And now, I have an excuse to end your wretched existence. I do not know what you hoped to accomplish here, but I promise you have found only death.”

  “Uh, I’ve only got the four guards. Those others? They aren’t with me,” Kazon protested, rising slowly to his feet. His tech mages seemed uncertain where to aim their spellrifles. “I didn’t have time to finish my story, and I was getting to the part about why the Catalyst had never been found.”

  “Because I will not allow it.” A discordant voice tore into Aran’s ears, painful, though no louder than any other voice.

  A bipedal figure appeared on the far side of the room, surrounded by a nimbus of blinding light. Aran blinked away after images, trying to get a good look at the mage. He wore a full set of midnight spellarmor, but it wasn’t Inuran. In fact, Aran had no idea who’d designed it. The stylized curves were beautiful, but functional. The wearer was both too wide and too tall to be human, though the voice had already made that clear.

  His entire right gauntlet was covered in gems and sigils, brimming with arcane power of a level Aran had only seen used by the eldest Wyrms.

  3

  Life or Death

  “What kind of mage is it?” Adrenaline flooded Aran’s system, but his training took over. He slid into a defensive stance, waiting for Cobb to direct him. Just like he had as an apprentice.

  “We won’t know until he casts something, but Rolf can take care of him. Let’s deal with the war mages first, then the tech mages,” Cobb instructed. The old woman’s blade burst into sudden flame and the sigils along the hilt flared white. “Take the girl, and I’ll take care of her master. See what you can do to thin out the tech mages.”

  Aran flowed into an offense stance, disengaging from Cobb and circling right. Two of the tech mages broke off to engage him, each moving to flank him. They cradled spellpistols, simple but devastatingly effective weapons.

  Both tech mages raised their weapons, and the sigils along the barrels began to glow. Aran threw himself to the right just as the spells completed. The weapons ejected sticky balls of green energy that hissed over Aran’s head, splattering into the curtain behind him. Acid bolts…which meant earth mages.

  He rolled back to his feet, willing power into his spellblade. Cool, flowing air magic rushed up the blade, manifesting as lightning. He swung low, and the tech mage he’d been aiming for vaulted over the weapon.

  Aran smiled grimly, willing more magic into his free hand. White and blue crackled around his fist as it sailed into the tech mage’s jaw. He probably had magical defenses, but now that the air magic had manifested into a physical form those did nothing to save him.

  The poor fool’s head snapped back with a vicious crack. His body crashed to the ground, twitching and thrashing as Aran danced backwards. He wanted to deliver a killing blow, but the second tech mage had brought his pistol up to fire again.

  Aran extended a hand, summoning a tendril of wind. He wrapped it around the pistol, dragging the barrel down a heartbeat before the weapon discharged the spell. The green ball splattered against the downed tech mage’s chest, drawing a scream as the acid burned away cloth, flesh, and then bone.

  He rammed his blade down in a quick strike, punching it through the dying mage’s heart. The lightning stored in the blade flowed eagerly into the wound, and the tech mage’s back arched. He dropped back to the carpet, and lay still. Tendrils of smoke rose from the wound.

  Now it was time to deal with the real threat. Aran turned to the girl Cobb had told him to kill. She was younger by a year or two, or she appeared younger anyway. Her hair had been shaved on the right side of her head, and a lock curled down under her chin on the left.

  “You’re not bad,” the war mage said, circling with predatory grace. Her blade was slender, but wickedly sharp. “Go ahead and finish off poor Vik there, and then we’ll see what you can do against a real opponent.” She nodded toward the surviving tech mage, who was looking around frantically for a way to escape.

  The woman was merely trying to exhaust his spells before engaging. It was callous, but effective.

  He realized too late that the tech mage was moving. The spellpistol unleashed another acid bolt, which caught Aran in the thigh. His pants burned away instantly, then his skin. He roared in pain, hopping backward with one foot. The acid burned deep into his leg, eating away flesh and muscle.

  Aran breathed past the pain, knowing that hesitation meant death. Why couldn’t they have been allowed to wear their spellarmor, or even environmental armor? Complying with station regs was about to get them all killed.

  He flung his spellblade toward the tech mage, wrapping tendrils of air around the hilt to propel it toward its target. The blade punched through the tech mage’s throat, and the poor fool’s hands shot up to wrap around the hilt. Aran yanked his hand backward, attempting to use the air tendrils to pull the weapon loose.

  It was stuck.

  “Looks like you disarmed yourself.” The war mage glided forward with a sadistic grin, raising her spellblade over her shoulder in a loose grip. Green hissing liquid flowed down the blade, coating the silvery feathersteel.

  Aran recognized Banto style, purely offensive, utilizing a flurry of rapid strikes. Of course the only time he’d seen it had been in a training session. This was real.

&n
bsp; The woman’s free hand came up and a pillar of rock shot through the floor between Aran’s legs. His wound prevented him from moving quickly enough, and he tumbled onto his back.

  The war mage pounced, plunging her sword down directly over his heart. Aran rolled to the right and barely dodged the weapon as it punched into the carpet, discharging the acid into a hissing pool.

  He swept his unwounded leg backward and kicked the mage in the knee. The kick rebounded off body armor under her clothing, and prevented serious injury, but the move knocked her off balance. Aran followed up by wrapping his tendrils around her neck, then yanked her down to the carpet next to him.

  She flicked her wrist and a slender blade extended. It too glistened, though he suspected with poison and not acid. She roared, ramming the spike down at his wounded leg.

  Time slowed. Aran somehow took in the room around him, noting that Cobb was battling desperately against the other war mage. Battling and losing. Three tech mages lay dead at her feet, but that had clearly cost her. She favored her right arm, and blood dripped from the wrist.

  A few meters away Rolf had raised two fingers and begun sketching interlocking sigils in the air. Pink and green and white all flowing together in a way that made Aran’s eyes hurt. They formed a latticework, expanding into dimensions that Aran’s mind couldn’t reconcile. The Wyrm flung the spell at the enemy mage, who’d also raised a hand.

  The true mage raised his spellgauntlet and sketched a quick counterspell. Rolf’s spell splintered into hundreds of mana shards that dissipated harmlessly into the air around them. Aran had never seen anyone counter one of Rolf’s spells, not in seven years of service.

  Then the poisoned blade punched through his leg, pinning it to the carpet. He screamed, not in pain but in rage. He would not die like this.

  Aran’s hands shot out and seized the war mage around the throat. He used the air tendrils to twist her head, even as his hands squeezed. Her neck gave a sharp crack, and her lifeless body slumped to the ground next to him.

  “Have to find a healing potion….” Aran could already feel the poison spreading, burning a path through his legs and toward his heart. He didn’t know what it was, but he doubted he’d very much enjoy what was about to happen.

  “Drink this.” Kazon slid into a crouch next to him, forcing the lip of a bottle into Aran’s mouth. Warm, tangy liquid flowed down his throat, and Aran blinked rapidly as the magic began to work. “It will take a moment to neutralize the poison, but it should have enough potency left over to get you walking. Sit tight.”

  Aran glanced around numbly noting that Kazon’s tech mages had moved into cover and were exchanging a flurry of spells with the enemy. They were systematically focusing their fire on individual targets, and continued to thin the enemy ranks. They might survive this after all.

  “Thanks,” Aran said weakly, forcing himself onto his knees. The motion caused a wave of vertigo, which warred with a spike of pain in his leg. “Good thing those tech mages were the best in the sector.”

  “Yeah, about that.” Kazon hauled him to his feet, and hurried him over to a table. He tipped it on its side, just in time to stop an acid bolt from one of the surviving tech mages. “I may have…stretched the truth a bit. They’re rather low level, though I was able to arm them well. They’ll be out of spells soon.”

  “But…you’re rich. Why are you using scrubs?” The pain had begun to abate, and Aran gingerly tested his leg. He was fairly certain it would hold his weight.

  “This isn’t my first run in with these guys. Most of my men died getting me this far.” Kazon extended his right hand and a vertical slash appeared in the air. Kazon pushed his hand into the void pocket, drawing forth a truly massive hammer. If the weight bothered him he didn’t show it.

  Aran peeked over the table, breathing a sigh of relief as he realized none of the enemy tech mages were still focused on them. But Kazon’s tech mages had mostly stopped firing, and he guessed that meant they were out of spells.

  That left Cobb the most tempting target, and they were pressing the old woman from all sides. The war mage, a big man with a two-handed spellblade, forced Cobb back, until the old woman’s back found the wall.

  “We have to help her.” Aran stumbled from cover, snatching up the sword the dead war mage had been using. The weapon was lighter and shorter than he was used to, but his own blade was still buried in the first tech mage’s throat and he didn’t want to waste time trying to pry it loose.

  He only made it three steps before the ground heaved violently. Aran barely caught himself against a broken table, hopping backward as a mass of thick, rubbery tentacles reared up from the floor. Sickly green ichor dripped from a maw wide enough to devour three men whole.

  “The mage did that. Summoner!” Cobb barked, somehow aware of the creature despite fending off a rain of blows from the surviving war mage. She glanced at Aran. “Deal with that creature. I’ll handle the mages.”

  Aran glanced around for an agonized second, then tightened his grip on his blade. There was no way the old woman could take them all. “Kazon, see if you can keep that thing’s attention.” He glided forward, adopting Drakon stance as he silently approached the last surviving enemy tech mages. Removing them would free Cobb to deal with the war mage.

  He rammed his blade through the first tech mage’s back, just below the throat. Aran considered adding a spell, but he was already lightheaded from using so many so quickly. He twisted his weapon, and the tech mage dropped.

  Kazon rose from cover, and charged into the fray. He brought his hammer down with a roar, smashing one of the writhing tentacles that had burst from the floor. The weapon gave an explosion of light as it impacted, and the tentacle simply ceased to exist. The move drew a deep throaty shriek from under the restaurant, and three more tentacles whipped around Kazon’s legs, yanking him from his feet. Him hammer clattered away, and the tentacles pulled Kazon toward the maw.

  Aran scanned the room, trying to decide what to do. Rolf hurled another spell, and again the enemy mage counterspelled it. Casually, as if dealing with a novice.

  “Cobb, I think we’re in real trouble,” Aran roared, sprinting toward the war mage.

  The big man was quick. Quicker than Aran. He disappeared, reappearing directly behind Cobb. His sword flicked forward and the tip punched through Cobb’s chest in a spray of dark blood. The blade burst into terrible darkness, the void energy eating away at the old woman’s internal organs.

  Cobb grunted, and her eyes filled with blood. The old woman slumped to the ground, her opponent’s blade buried in her chest. She coughed, spitting blood onto the carpet. Then she collapsed.

  “No!” Aran roared, abandoning all finesse as he sprinted at the enemy war mage. Too late.

  The war mage’s free hand settled over Cobb’s face, and a ball of green acid sprayed over her entire head. Cobb shrieked, clawing at her face as she sought to remove the ichor.

  The war mage yanked his blade loose from Cobb’s chest, laughing as the old woman’s struggles grew weaker, then ceased.

  4

  Choices

  Aran gave a bestial growl and leapt over the remains of the table between him and the war mage who’d just killed Cobb. His mentor lay in a pool of acid and blood, her flesh still sizzling and billowing out a heart-wrenchingly awful stench.

  “Wait!” he heard Kazon yell from behind him. The creature under the floor gave another shriek, but Aran didn’t care. He was going to end this bastard, even if he died in the process. Cobb would be avenged.

  “You must be the apprentice,” the man taunted. He spat on Cobb’s corpse, then grinned cruelly at Aran. “I can see you did for Kara. Pity. She had potential. Ah well, at least I can avenge her. Come on, boy, let’s get this over with.”

  “I’m no apprentice.” Aran leapt into the air, drawing on his air magic to flip him over the war mage. He extended a hand, fingers splayed toward the war mage. A burst of white flame washed over the mage, but the big man raised h
is blade and the flames parted harmlessly around him.

  Aran landed behind him and brought his blade down in the tight arc. The war mage’s hand shot up and caught it, lightning crackling around his fist. Smoke rose from the blade as they battled for control, eyes locked.

  “No,” the man growled through gritted teeth. “I guess you aren’t.” He lunged forward, knocking Aran backward a step. Then his opponent vanished, and Aran whirled, trying to track him.

  Above! Aran rolled aside as the war mage fell toward him. The big man’s blade flashed out, sinking deep into Aran’s left shoulder. A torrent of white flame boiled down the blade into Aran’s flesh, but his fire magic protected him from the worst of it.

  Aran ignored the searing pain, jabbing his weapon into the war mage’s gut. His sword reluctantly pierced the form fitting body armor under his clothing, punching through and then out the back. Aran seized the man with tendrils of air, and flung him into a table with a crash.

  He rolled to his feet, dodging one of the writhing tentacles, then hopping another. Were there more of them now? He rolled again, landing in a crouch several meters away.

  The big man had risen to his feet. If his wound bothered him he didn’t show it. “You’ve got fire magic. Interesting. How did you come by that, I wonder?”

  “Why don’t you come over here and I’ll tell you all about it?” Aran’s words were brave, but he was running out of spells. That meant this bastard needed to go down, fast.

  He glanced around the room, and found no available help. Kazon still struggled with several tentacles, and the maw worried on his leg like a wyvern on a bone. Kazon seemed unimpressed. Either he’d been to an Earth Catalyst to toughen him, or that magical shirt was even more powerful than it appeared.