by Chris Fox
“I get that it has more mass, but you can’t really expect a creature that just killed a Wyrm to be bothered by a planet’s gravity.” Kazon buckled himself in, paling as he stared up at the scry-screen.
Aran couldn’t blame him. The monstrous creature grew larger every moment, its lower legs glowing orange as they skimmed off the atmosphere. Aran focused on the creature’s wounded side. “I think Rolf got off a disintegrate. I have no idea how that thing survived, but I’m betting even it isn’t happy about a spell like that.”
“And you’re hoping this will damage it further?” Kazon asked.
“That’s the idea.” Aran pushed the fighter closer to the atmosphere and the creature mirrored the action. He zoomed in the scry-screen. The heat appeared to be cauterizing the creature’s wounds, except for the massive hole in its thorax. That was the weak point. “Okay, I’m going to count down from five, and when I say go, you slap the eject button. Got it?”
“Got it.” Kazon unbuckled his harness and quickly crawled back to the button.
“Five. Four. Three. Two. One. GO!”
Kazon slammed the button and the magical shirt fluttered into space. The gas giant’s gravity caught it instantly, but before it could be tugged down very far the dragon spider thing was already in range.
“Hold on.” Aran flipped the fighter suddenly, throwing Kazon across the cockpit. He thudded off the wall, but Aran didn’t have time to focus on him. He aimed the fighter’s nose toward the shirt and channeled the last of his fire and air magic. Every bit of what he had remaining went into that shot, amplified by the ship’s most potent weapon…the spellcannon.
A beam of white flame wrapped in crackling blue lightning shot toward the discarded eldimagus. It rippled into the shirt in waves. The item must have been incredibly powerful, withstanding several seconds of bombardment before finally detonating.
The resulting explosion bloomed upwards, directly underneath the wounded monstrosity. The wave of magical energy blasted over it and ripped away three more legs. Both wings burned like torches and the severely wounded creature began falling toward the gas giant.
“Uh, that thing is surviving re-entry,” Kazon pointed out.
“I don’t care if it lives, as long as it can’t escape the gravity well.” Aran guided the fighter into the dark shadow behind the planet. “Okay, time to earn your keep. Get ready to open that Fissure.”
7
Yorrak
Yorrak waited until the doors to his quarters had hissed shut before beginning to remove his spellarmor. This was the only place he’d ever remove it, the one place he was absolutely certain he was safe. He’d spent years building layer upon layer of wards around this room, and it was impossible for anyone to breach them.
“Are you really so confident in their craftsmanship?” A voice rumbled from behind him, terrible and ancient, and colder than the void.
Yorrak turned slowly, heart thundering in his chest as he gazed upon the speaker. Whoever, or whatever, was inside the dark, hellish armor couldn’t be human. The armor was too tall, and too wide at the shoulder. But there was no other clue to the speaker’s identity.
“My wards are still intact,” Yorrak muttered. He took a step back from the armor. “How did you bypass them? That’s….”
“Impossible?” the voice had grown smug with amusement. “With your limited understanding of magic I understand why you’d believe that. Yet, here I stand.”
“Why are you here?” Yorrak considered the few defensive spells he knew, but it would be pointless against whatever this…being was.
“Not to kill you. Rest easy, mage. I am in need of your services, and I will pay you handsomely.” The armored being raised a hand and a square stash appeared. Inside lay a pile of glittering golden dragon scales, each brimming with incredibly concentrated magic. “With this you could purchase a planet.”
“And why would you pay me so generously? What is it you need done?” Yorrak asked. He bowed suddenly, realizing such a question might offend his potential employer. He very much doubted he’d enjoy this being’s displeasure. “Apologies, but I simply wish to ensure that I can provide adequate service.”
“Your question is appropriate. Two men will arrive on Ezra station tomorrow at 16:34 local time.” The being raised his other hand and a brilliant image sprang to life. It showed two man, the first a tall, bearded Inuran. The second was a slightly shorter man with a darker complexion. From Ternus? No, he wore a spellblade. “That one is a war mage, yes? From Virkon?”
“Indeed. He is the more dangerous of the two, but the other should not be underestimated.”
“And you want them dead?” Yorrak asked as he studied the image.
The armored figure leaned closer and Yorrak had to force himself not to flinch. He was a true mage, after all. He had his pride. “You must be certain of it. Neither can escape. Do this thing, and I will make you wealthier than your most perverse imaginings.” He left the threat unspoken, but Yorrak knew it was implied.
“And you’re willing to give me a down payment?” Yorrak asked, licking his lips. Even a single scale would change his situation dramatically.
“Very well, you may take a single scale. But you can do this thing? You are certain of it?”
“I’m certain. I have an apprentice who will be perfect for this.” Yorrak couldn’t help but smile. “These two men are both formidable, but they are also young. And I have never known a man that couldn’t be swayed by a woman in distress. But may I ask why you don’t tend to such a trivial matter yourself?”
“I do not wish to approach Virkon openly. Not yet. Nor do I wish to alert the Confederacy. They will have questions after the destruction of their station, and I do not wish to provoke them further. For my plans to succeed, they must remain fixed upon the Krox. Let them bleed each other, while I grow strong. Does this answer suffice?”
“Of course, Master—.” Yorrak let the word dangle, hoping for a name.
“Yes, you will refer to me as Master. And you will be my instrument in this. See it done, human. They die, or you do.” The being vanished.
It didn’t teleport. There was no magical signature, or visible casting. One moment it was there. The next it was gone. That single act terrified Yorrak, as his new employer had no doubt intended. Yorrak opened his fist, shocked to find one of the golden scales clutched there.
Yorrak sketched a fire sigil over the scry-screen affixed to his wall. It flared to life, showing his apprentice’s lovely freckled face. “Yes, Master Yorrak?”
“I have a special task for you, Nara. One outside your usual talents.” Yorrak tapped his chin, studying the woman’s hair. Currently it was pulled into a ponytail, matching her brusque manner. “I want you to purchase a dress, something low cut. And wear your hair down.”
“Master?” she asked, raising a delicate eyebrow.
“Are you questioning me, child?” Yorrak asked mildly.
Nara flinched. “No, master. I’ll…go get ready.”
“Excellent. I’m sure you’ll look lovely.”
Yorrak passed a hand over the screen and it went dark. For the cost of a single dress, he was about to become one of the wealthiest men in the sector.
8
Help
Aran awoke to the soft chime of his nav system. He blinked groggily awake. They’d nearly reached the exit coordinates, and they hadn’t run afoul of anything. He glanced reflexively at the scry-screen, but it showed nothing except more darkness, of course. That’s all they’d seen here, especially since they themselves had gone dark. Even the inside of the cockpit had no light, beyond the soft glow of the sigils on the command matrix.
“Kazon,” he called softly. There was no real reason to be quiet, but something about this place made it terrifying to speak above a whisper.
Kazon gave a snort, then snapped erect suddenly. “Wuzzat?” He blinked several times, then rose with a stretch. “Are we…here?”
“Looks that way. If you open the second
Fissure we should be able to exit.” Aran stifled a yawn. “We can trade another one of your items for enough Fissure potions to get us back to Virkon. We get in, get the potions, and get out. There’s no way of knowing if we’re being pursued. They could already be there, waiting for us.”
“I don’t like the sound of that. I’d love to stop for provisions, but if you don’t think we have time—.” Kazon eyed him hopefully.
“I’m not willing to risk it. We’ve got four weeks of MREs, and that’s more than enough to reach Virkon, even without rationing.” Aran eyed Kazon. “It may not be fancy, rich boy, but I like breathing. If you want to keep doing it, we keep moving.” He’d lifted that last part directly from his memory of Cobb. It’s exactly what the old woman would have said.
“I do enjoy breathing. Can I confess something?” Kazon turned to face Aran. His eyes had gone sober.
“I guess if you’re going to this is the last opportunity. What’s bothering you?” Aran was genuinely curious.
“I may be rich, but I’m not powerful. I’ve never been to a Catalyst. I don’t own any companies, and I don’t have any voting shares in the Consortium. My mother controls all those, but she’d lose almost thirty percent of them if I died.” Kazon licked his lips. “She doesn’t know I’m here. She can’t send help. I outfitted an expedition in secret. And you know what? I’ve never been this terrified. So please, give it to me straight. Do you think we have a chance of making it?”
“Does it matter?” Aran asked. He actually found himself smiling. “I didn’t think we’d make it this far. So long as we get word back to Virkon, it doesn’t matter if we die. We’ll have beaten them. They might be able to silence us, but they can’t stop Virkon’s entire dragon flight.”
“I’m not sure I can accept certain death so easily, but I guess I really don’t have a choice.” Kazon exhaled a long, slow breath. “All right then. I’ll activate the potion. Luck guide you, brother.”
Kazon upended the potion and motes of purple swam through his eyes. He stared hard at the scry-screen, and a vast vertical slash broke reality before them. A terrible purple glow lit the edges of the Fissure, the first real light they’d seen in days. Beyond that Fissure lay a starfield, possibly the most beautiful thing Aran had ever seen.
He tapped the initiation sequence and the spellfighter’s drive flared to life. Aran’s magic had fully recharged during their trip, and he poured a healthy does of fire into the drive. They shot forward, zipping through the still opening Fissure.
Aran let out an audible sigh of relief as the Fissure snapped shut behind them. They’d returned safely to normal space, in the Ezra system. A tiny station orbited an enormous sun, in an otherwise unremarkable system.
“So, uh, why is there a station here?” Kazon asked, squinting at the scry-screen. “I don’t see anything to mine, or to settle. There’s…nothing.”
“Ezra is a way station. This place is a major hub in the Umbral Depths, and a lot of ships exit here just to catch their breath. Some people call this sanity station,” Aran explained. He guided the spellfighter toward the station, accelerating to maximum speed. “We’ll be there in just a couple minutes.”
They were silent as they approached, neither wanting to state the obvious. If there were a trap, it would be here. Yet there might not be a trap at all. They might be ahead of their pursuers. There was no way to know, and that made the situation all the more maddening.
“I’m docking on the south side of the station. It’s the seedier area, but also the least likely area for us to dock. Hopefully that will buy us enough time to get in, get the potions, and get out.” The fighter slowed as it angled toward a cargo bay very similar to the one they’d escaped from only a few days ago.
They landed silently and Aran opened the canopy. Kazon moved to the ladder first and shot Aran a grin. “Moment of truth. I’ll give you a moment to talk to your people.”
“Thank you.” Aran nodded gratefully as Kazon hopped out. Then he turned to his scry-screen. Aran tapped a quick series of sigils, triggering a missive to Olyssa. The edge of the screen glowed red as the spell was suddenly reinforced on the other end. Olyssa’s face appeared, dominating the screen.
Like Rolf her human form was completely hairless, but her face was otherwise classically beautiful. She weighed him with heavy blue eyes. “I felt his death. Tell me all, Outrider.”
“I don’t know how long I have. We were attacked by something much more powerful than us. A demigod…or possibly even a god. I don’t know,” Aran explained. He shook his head. “It summoned something. A creature with eight legs, but wings like a dragon. It fought Rolf…I saw his body. In the void.”
“Then there is no recovering him.” She closed her eyes for a moment, her face twisting with grief. Then they snapped open. Her posture went stiffly erect. “Tell me he didn’t die for nothing. Tell me why.”
“We learned of a Catalyst called the Heart of Nefarius. It is clenched within the Fist of Trakalon.” Aran leaned closer to the screen. “Whoever is hunting us has gone to a lot of trouble to wipe out anyone who even learns the name. It’s unlikely we’ll make it back to Virkon, but that doesn’t matter. I don’t know what the Heart is, or who this being was…but he has to be stopped. He killed Rolf like it was a morning errand, Wing Mother. He…toyed with Wing Father.”
“He will be avenged. I’ll gather the Wyrms, Outrider. Do all you can to return safely home. But know this. If you fall, your name will be sung with honor. You have warned us of a grave threat, perhaps the very threat we were created to contain. Die well, Aranthar, son of Marina.” She gave Aran a deep curtsy, and all he could do was blink back in shock. The screen went dark.
He rose to his feet, moving slowly to the ladder. They needed to be quick, but the weight he’d just shed made him grin like an idiot. They’d done it! Virkon had been warned. Now all they needed to do was evade a trap set by a god.
Aran climbed the ladder and looked for Kazon as he trotted down the steps. “Kazon?”
The bearded man walked purposefully toward the far side of the hangar. He moved toward a boomerang shaped vessel with a battered hull. Many of her spell sigils had gone dark, and it wasn’t clear whether she was even space worthy.
A man and woman stood at the base of the ramp, and the man was screaming at the woman. He backhanded her with his gauntlet and she fell heavily to the deck, her black dress fluttering like a wounded bird. Kazon roared and went from a fast walk to a full sprint.
“No!” Aran yelled. He sprinted after the bearded man. “Kazon, its a—.” Too late. The bearded man pulled up short next to the couple. He reached into his void pocket, extracting his massive hammer. The man began to laugh, and Kazon brought his hammer down on the man’s head. The weapon passed through the figure, exposing it as an illusion.
The woman rose smoothly to her feet and aimed a spellpistol at Kazon. The barrel glowed pink and white and the weapon discharged a beam of the same colors. It zipped into Kazon’s back and the bearded man went suddenly rigid. A paralysis spell. That meant the woman could cast at least 2nd level spells. She might even be a true mage, though they didn’t usually bother with spellpistols.
Aran veered suddenly to the right and dove behind another transport. He peered around the side, watching the woman carefully. She moved over to Kazon and began dragging his body into the boomerang shaped ship.
“Where the hell are they taking him? If they’re working with this god, why are we still alive?”
“Because,” came a cultured voice from behind. Aran didn’t recognize the thick accent. “I do not ever waste resources.”
Aran spun, but there was no one there. At least, not that he could see. He drew his spellblade and went completely still. Perhaps the mage would do something to give himself away.
A weight like a thousand stars knocked Aran to the deck, pinning every part of his body. A mage that exactly matched the illusion Kazon had tried to smash crouched down next to him. “You’re going to make me a ve
ry rich man, Outrider.”
“What are you going to do with me?” Aran managed to choke out.
“My employer has asked that I kill you.” The mage gave a ghastly smile. He leaned fully into Aran’s field of view, and he realized the mage’s right eye had been replaced with an enchanted ruby. “He did not specify how. So, rather than simply kill you, I’m going to mind-wipe you and use you as cannon fodder. So much more efficient, don’t you think?”
Aran strained inside himself, reaching for some answer, or shred of resistance. He couldn’t move. Not much at least.
Aran forced a thin smile. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve already won. Virkon knows.”
The story isn’t over, not by a long shot. It continues in the novel Tech Mage. Learn more at magitechchronicles.com. Plus, get access to artwork, free stories, magic system mechanics, history, and lore!
Eradicated
Izzy Shows
GLOSSARY
Click - Second
Beat - Minute
Rotation - Hour
Voto - A domesticated animal resembling a large, six-legged bull
Katoth - A type of artificially engineered metal
Keon - The element from which Katoth is created
Eyrus - The planet
Strios - A country on Eyrus
Stryx - The people of Strios
Numinix - A country on Eyrus
Numar - The people of Numinix
Skeyce - A country on Eyrus
Skeyen - The people of Skeyce
Ela Serin - The capital of Strios
The Aelodhari - The religious order that governs Strios
Vivoth - The god of Light and Life
Nytoc - The god of Darkness and Death
