by Chris Fox
You are so young. You still think in centuries. Most species do not exist longer than a few hundred millennia. This world you so treasure will fall someday, and you will see the folly of favoring any single species.
“Perhaps, but until then I will protect my people.” Nebiat held out her hand, and the Wyrms flew obediently into her palm. They settled there, all of them, so small compared to her.
She held her other hand aloft and Ifrit by the thousand felt her need. They flew toward the second palm, and pooled there. Nebiat willed fire into her hand, then used it to fuse several thousand Ifrit into a titanic star elemental. She repeated this process several more times, until she had a cluster of elementals.
It was certainly possible to create more, but Nebiat decided that this would suffice. She would use these Wyrms, and these elementals. If she lost today—a slim possibility, but one that still existed—then only these few followers would be taken, and she could return here to foster the rest. To encourage their worship, and thus grow in power.
“My children!” She thundered, her voice echoing across the cosmos in defiance of simple physics. “We ride for Shaya. In a moment we will arrive. Slay your enemies, and turn their world to cinders so that they may never challenge our rule again.”
Nebiat concentrated, and then she and her children crossed the sector in the space of a heartbeat. They appeared in the sky over Shaya, on the opposite side of the umbral shadow, where their defenses would be concentrated.
As expected, Voria had anticipated that action, and re-deployed about half her forces to this side of the planet. A small fleet of traditional Shayan warships was supported by the Ternus fleet, the hated Wyrm Hunter among them.
Behind them lurked a new type of ship, one she’d not encountered before. The wedge-shaped vessels were forged from a disquieting metal, one that resisted her senses.
I sense the taint of our enemy, Krox rumbled.
“Voria?” Nebiat asked, not understanding what he meant.
A far greater threat, in the long term. Nefarius, Krox corrected. These vessels bear his touch. Take care in fighting them.
“That’s why I’ve brought minions.” Nebiat opened her hands, and a cloud of dragons leapt from one, while a school of star elementals flowed from the other. They moved unerringly toward the enemy fleet, but their enemies fell back, avoiding engagement as they fled toward the other half of their forces near the planet’s nadir.
At the head of that fleet flew the Spellship, gleaming brightly, an elder sibling watching over the smaller ships. It was the first time she’d seen the vessel, though Kaho had brought back footage of it from Virkon. It was smaller than she’d expected, colossal for a starship, but nothing when compared to a goddess. That didn’t mean she shouldn’t be wary, though. She didn’t need Krox’s ‘prudence’ to understand that, outside of Voria, that ship was the most powerful opponent in the system.
She considered engaging the defenders, but time was of the essence. Voria had not arisen, and that meant that there was no one to stop Nebiat from scouring life from the world below.
She extended all four of her cosmic arms and plunged them down at the shield surrounding the blasted tree. Each blow sent ripples along the shield, and she could feel it weakening. The shield might last for several seconds, but the moment it was gone she could rip that tree from the earth and claim Worldender.
Shaya was also down there, and after Nebiat devoured her body she would retreat to her world, and learn to master all her new power. For now, though, there was glorious killing to be done.
She was going to enjoy dismembering this world, and ending Voria forever.
45
Into the Fray
Aran awoke in his quarters with a sense that something was desperately wrong. He rose from the hoverbed and picked up his uniform from the foot of the bed where he’d left it the night before. The Talon’s magic seemed to think of everything, and the gravy stain from dinner had vanished.
The unease persisted, and he knew he couldn’t write it off as a simple dream. Something was wrong. He moved to his nightstand and picked up Narlifex, then buckled the scabbard around his waist.
The blade seemed to sense his agitation. Krox comes.
“Yeah, I can feel him, but it’s more than that. Something’s wrong with Voria,” Aran murmured. Whatever the feeling was it seemed magical in nature, and as he examined his feelings he realized it had something to do with the ability Malila had given him back at the Skull.
Aran moved to the scry-screen in the corner, and fed it a mote of fire. He knew Voria was probably busy since this was the morning of the investiture, but hopefully she’d have a minute or two to put his mind at ease before he flew into battle. Seeing her face would go a long way to banishing his concerns.
The screen flashed, and then went dark. Odd. He blinked down at it and, for a moment at least, wondered if he’d miscast the spell somehow.
No. Narlifex countered. You were right. Something is wrong.
Aran cast another missive, but this time he targeted Pickus. It took several moments to resolve, and showed Pickus standing in the Spellship’s coliseum. Scattered screams came from behind him. Panicked screams. They hadn’t broken yet, but the audience were all staring up at the dome above.
“Pickus, what the depths is going on? Where’s Voria?”
“I—there isn’t time to explain. Krox is here. I was just about to contact you. Aran, you need to slow him down.” Pickus glanced over his shoulder, and when he looked back the blood had drained from his freckled face. “We’re having problems with the ritual, and I don’t know how long it’s going to take. Or if it will even work.”
“You want me to stall an elder god? Well this should be fun.” Aran grabbed his jacket, and began pulling it on. “I’ll get the Talon in the air, and the fleet into motion. Keep me posted.”
“Got it. Good luck, Captain.” The screen went dark and Aran headed for the door.
“Crewes, Rhea,” Aran bellowed as he started up the ramp toward the bridge. “Bord, Kez…we’ve got company. Let’s get moving.”
The squad piled out of their quarters, with Rhea being the first to reach the bridge, closely followed by Crewes. Bord and Kezia were the last to arrive, but both were dressed and ready for battle.
Aran moved to the central matrix, and slipped past the rings, into the floating command chair. He tapped fire on all three rings to deepen his link to the ship. “Crewes, Bord, you’re up. Kez, you’re standing second for the sergeant. Rhea, you’re second for Bord.”
“Respectfully,” Rhea began in a tone that was anything but respectful, “if we are going into combat with a god, I’d suggest leading with your strongest Outriders.”
Aran’s senses doubled. He was seeing outside the Talon, which was still docked inside the Spellship, but it was overlaid across his vision of the bridge. Fortunately, he’d done it enough times that it was second nature now. “You’re an unknown quantity, Rhea. I know Bord can keep us alive, and I know Crewes can make things dead, as well as run comms.”
“I possess both water and spirit magic.” Rhea moved to stand outside Bord’s matrix. “That means that in addition to standard life wards I can also erect more nuanced defenses. Let me do my job.”
“Your job?” Bord snapped. He rounded on Aran. “Is she seriously trying to replace me on her first frigging day? Tell the new girl to go sit down, Captain. This is bullshit. You know I can do my job good as anyone.”
“Do I need to come over there, kids?” Crewes growled. His attention was mostly fixed on Bord.
“Uh, no, sir. Just trying to work is all.” Bord hopped into his matrix and buckled into the chair.
That left Rhea for him to deal with. He chose the direct route. “Follow orders, Outrider.”
Rhea gave a curt nod, then sunk into a lotus position a precise two meters from Bord’s matrix. The move had a ritual look to it, and he’d bet this was some sort of tradition.
Aran guided the ship into
the air, and considered the matter dropped. The Talon rippled through the Spellship’s protective field, and out into the Shayan system. Aran took several moments to study the situation tactically, and quickly realized that no matter how bad he’d thought things might be, his estimates hadn’t been catastrophic enough.
Krox no longer resembled the blazing star he’d been when attacking Ternus. His form was now a towering multi-limbed giant comprised of cosmic dust and motes of magic that reminded Aran uncomfortably of Shivan, one of the gods he’d seen in multiple visions. Krox dwarfed the surrounding fleets, and was roughly twice the size of the planet he’d apparently come to destroy.
The god was surrounded by a cloud of white-hot stars in various sizes. Primal Ifrit, thousands upon thousands in a variety of sizes. The largest could engulf a starship, while even the smallest were large enough to threaten, if enough swarmed a vessel.
Sprinkled through the host were what he’d expected to see. Wyrms. What he hadn’t expected was the quantity. There were at least a hundred, and quite probably double that number. Every last one wore the heavy scales of a centuries-old dragon, making them the equal of any starship in his ranks.
Aran was mystified by the size of the enemy host. It didn’t seem possible. They’d been warring with the Krox for decades off and on, especially in the last few years; they’d killed dozens of Wyrms. Their corpses had been used by Teodros when he’d assaulted Shaya, which suggested he was scraping the minion barrel.
If they’d had an army this size, why not use it previously? Why not overwhelm Shaya during the first attack rather than make it a simple raid on the Chamber of the First?
“Crewes, get a missive off to Kerr, please.” Aran guided the Talon toward the haphazard Shayan fleet. The dozen or so warships sat a little ways away from the twenty Ternus vessels, which were arrayed in neat, clean ranks.
Aran surveyed the system and began formulating a battle plan. Krox had moved directly for Shaya, and it wasn’t difficult to puzzle out the dark god’s goal. He was heading for the shield, presumably to destroy it, and then the tree it protected.
His Wyrms and star elementals broke off in a massive cloud, and began making for the Shayan fleet. They had perhaps three minutes before the enemy closed to breath range.
“Got Kerr’s attention. Putting him on now, Captain,” Crewes said. He tapped a final fire sigil on the gold ring.
Fleet Admiral Kerr’s grizzled face filled the screen, and he wore his concern openly. “All right, son, moment of truth. We’re gonna put the engagement plan squarely on your shoulders, since we don’t know squat about killing gods. What’s the play?”
Aran took a moment to utilize the Talon’s senses. He studied the incoming enemy fleet. “It looks like the Wyrms are moving more cautiously than the elementals, which suggests that they’re using the elementals as shock troops. Deploy your forces as a screen. Fire a few salvos at their forward ranks, then fall back. When the Wyrms respond we’ll have the Shayans advance and counter their Wyrms. If you get into trouble dip down under the shield, then re-engage once they shift attention to another target.”
Kerr nodded grimly, removing his cap, and smoothing the brim. “Austin ain’t gonna like you putting us in the vanguard, and I can’t say I like it either. But you’ve got the command, son. I hope you’re right.”
“You and me both, Admiral. Good luck.” Aran nodded at Crewes and the sergeant terminated the missive. “Guess we’re about to find out what a god can do.”
46
Unintended Consequences
Nara had been through a lot of ‘oh crap’ moments in recent months, but the fury in Ducius’s expression made the bottom drop out in her stomach in the way nothing ever had. She thought furiously, desperately struggling to compose herself as the Tender stalked in her direction.
He paused before her and his eyebrows knit together in disapproval as he stared down at her. “I thought so. Who are you, imposter? And what have you done with Voria?”
“Uh.” Nara reached for a response, and the only thing she could find was the truth. “You’re right, I’m not Voria, and I realize you have no reason to trust me, but we’re out of time so I’m just going to lay this out and let you decide. Voria’s dead. I think that’s why the ritual failed. But her spirit is stored in Ikadra, which is a necessary step in the ritual. If you add me to the circle, I think I can modify the spell to make this work without her body.”
Ducius’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, and he glanced back at the Caretakers, then at her. “Who are you?”
“Does it matter?” Nara shot back. She raised Ikadra. “Look at the gem, Ducius. See for yourself.”
Ducius did as she asked, and after a moment his eyes widened. Whatever wonder he experienced vanished almost immediately. “I can see a spirit in the gem, but I have no way of proving that’s Voria. You’d have me trust someone I don’t know, to elevate a goddess?” His face was split by indecision. “We have no other candidate. The people will not follow me, or anyone but her. Blast it, how did it come to this?”
“Douchie-ous,” Ikadra snapped, his sapphire pulsing. “Get it together, man. There’s a god up there, kicking the crap out of our fleet. I know you don’t trust Nara. I don’t trust her either, and I trust everyone, but we’re out of options.”
“Nara?” Ducius gave a snort, eyeing her like a piece of refuse on the deck. “There is no way I’ll trust the word of a traitor. Your vile name is well known here. You killed her, didn’t you? And this is a twisted scheme to take her place.”
Nara considered a counterargument. She considered attacking him. Neither would work.
“Here.” Nara offered Ducius the staff. “You deal with it.”
He hesitated as if seeking the trap, then accepted Ikadra.
Nara squared her shoulders. She was done being kicked around. Done being used, and manipulated. But most of all she was done being judged. She folded her arms, and glared at Ducius. “Okay, you’ve got the staff, and you’ve got Voria’s soul. Go ahead and do whatever you want. You’re a true mage, right? So you should have no problem verifying who’s in that staff, or modifying the spell to raise her? And you can do all that quickly, right? Because Krox doesn’t look too patient.”
She pointed skyward, at the dome over the coliseum. The battle had spread, and now engulfed the entire visible sky. Bright red mini-stars flitted between the dark wedge-shaped starships, while Wyrms breathed acid, melting hulls on Shayan vessels. The Talon screamed by and loosed a flurry of void bolts that bisected a massive star elemental, the creature’s body flaring briefly, and then going cold. Nara winced, knowing that Frit would be watching.
Ducius seized Nara by the shoulder, and started dragging her toward the ritual circle. “Come with me, child.” He shoved her forward, and Nara allowed it.
She noted the crowd’s reaction though. Ugly murmurs rippled through the ranks. They still believed her to be Voria, and no one assaulted their lady.
“What’s happening, Ducius?” one of the Caretakers called, an ageless woman with waist-length blonde hair and exquisite blue eyes.
“Voria,” Ducius began, then glanced pointedly at Nara, “is going to participate in the ritual. The energies apparently need to be focused on the staff, not on her. This will require some modifications to the spell, which Voria will perform.” He glared expectantly at her.
Nara stepped forward with a confident nod, and tried to walk like she imagined Voria would. Nothing scared Voria. Nothing made her back down. Ever. Not even ancient Wyrms, or the gods themselves. She channeled just a bit of that resolve, even as guilt tainted the moment.
“We begin again,” Ducius demanded. He stepped forward and began sketching life and water sigils. The other Caretakers followed suit.
Nara watched their work carefully. She’d already seen the spell cast once, and had a pretty good idea of what they were doing. Life and water combined to form the greater path of nature, known by some cultures as creation. Almost all transformational mag
ic required it, and as Nara understood it, the process really was as simple as funneling the desired magic into the target.
Two of the Caretakers began adding spirit sigils, which caught her attention. She studied the intricate latticework, and quickly realized why they were being added. At the moment of transference they would usher the target’s spirit from their body into the staff.
“That part,” Nara pointed. “Remove the link to that entire section, but keep the rest of the sections around it the same.”
Both mages looked about to protest, but Nara delivered her best imitation of Voria’s ‘don’t presume to speak to me’ face, the one that had always terrified her. Both mages fell silent, and removed the links to the areas she’d indicated.
She glanced up and tensed. The battle was not going well. Most of the Shayan fleet had been eradicated, and there were fewer of the wedge-shaped ships. At least the Talon was still flying, the golden ship twisting around a Wyrm, then flipping midair and reversing course so suddenly the Wyrm was caught off guard, and unable to dodge the disintegrate.
Nara returned her focus to the ritual, tuning out the battle. Aran could take care of himself.
Most of her work was done. The spell’s energies would be directed by Ducius, and channeled by Ikadra, which the Tender still held in one hand.
If this was to work, though, she did still have one magical part left to play. There couldn’t be an illusionary Voria standing next to the goddess they’d just raised, or people would always have questions. She needed to disappear from sight when the spell reached a crescendo.
