by Chris Fox
“Well, I ain’t okay with it,” Crewes groused. “Sir, I get wanting intel, but we kicked Nebiat’s ass and she went hightailing back to her planet. Why don’t we get a bunch of allies, fly into the rift, and kick her no-longer-scaly ass across the sector? We cannot give that bitch time to recover.”
He was about to respond when something stirred around Aran, a potent, dark magic that was answered by the void in his chest. A thick purple crack spread across the blackness outside the ship, and quickly veined outward as the Fissure opened.
“Is someone entering the system?” Rhea asked. She raised a finger, but didn’t quite brush the fire sigil on the silver ring. “Should we be ready for combat?”
“That was the Talon,” Aran realized aloud. “I didn’t ask it to do it, either. The ship opened the Fissure.”
“Well, ain’t that the shit. Nice work, ship.” Crewes gave a wide grin, and patted the arm of his matrix’s command couch. “Guess we don’t need a true mage as much as I thought.”
“Taking us in,” Rhea said, her tone clipped and professional.
Aran couldn’t avoid the tension, though he managed to stop pacing. Entering the depths would never be anything but terrifying, because they couldn’t predict what might be waiting on the other side. He’d only seen a fraction of the horrors living within that endless darkness, and he prayed he’d never meet another.
The Talon glided slowly forward, and the Fissure grew larger on the scry-screen. They quickly passed through, and the Fissure snapped efficiently shut in their wake, trapping them in darkness.
“Prepare the ship for silent running,” Davidson ordered. He stifled a third yawn, then climbed from his matrix. “Permission to get some rest, sir?”
“You are relieved, Lieutenant.” Aran squeezed his friend’s shoulder, then slipped into the matrix Davidson had been sitting in. He tapped void on all three rings, then repeated it with fire, fully linking with the ship.
“Sir, is there a course you’d like me to set?” Rhea’s discomfort was clear, though Aran had no idea what the cause was, or how to correct it. It seemed linked to him.
“I’m leaving that up to the Talon,” he explained, understanding instinctively that it was the right answer. “He’s been to the world where we’re going, and can get us back.”
“He?” Crewes asked, raising a thick eyebrow.
“We weren’t the only ones changed by draining Krox,” Aran explained. “The Talon…awoke, for lack of a better term. It happened when we consumed the void. The ship benefited from the fire, too, but it was the void that—”
A shape swam in their direction through the darkness, perceptible only because Aran could see it through the Talon’s magical senses. He spotted another, and another. There were twenty in all, each vessel fanning out to create a net around the Talon. All were shielded with illusion magic, the same invisibility spell Nara so often employed.
“Battle stations,” Aran barked. “We’re about to be under assault. Crewes, get Bord and Kezia up here. Put Davidson on standby. Rhea, get ready to cast a full suite of wards, but don’t start until I give the word. They don’t know we’ve seen them yet.”
Aran drummed his fingers on the command chair’s arm. Should he fight? Or flee?
“What are we dealing with, sir?” Crewes asked as he climbed from the matrix and headed for the doorway.
“My guess?” Aran surveyed the approaching ships, his stomach roiling as his suspicions were confirmed. “Black ships. The Inurans probably left them here to ambush us when we departed the system.”
2
Disquieting
Aran’s breathing slowed as he synced fully with the Talon. The ship was more responsive now, to the point of almost anticipating his commands. They’d received a huge dose of divine power from Krox, and were now staffed by some of the strongest mages in the sector. They might not have Nara, but theoretically Rhea could make up for it.
The old Aran would have blindly attacked, and assumed he could win by overcoming all enemies. The Aran who’d emerged from Virkon would probably have chosen discretion, and simply run. It wasn’t as if these ships could catch them in the depths. Any magic they used to try to locate the Talon exposed them to whatever lurked there.
But Aran was neither of those men any longer.
The Aran who’d assaulted a god was starting to understand that he was capable of a great deal more than any ordinary war mage. And he was damnably tired of running. If he assaulted the black ships and things went south he’d simply flee. A risk, but a calculated one.
He guided the Talon along the same course, making no move that might show that they were aware of the approaching net. Aran waited until the ships were within firing range, and then waited another few moments. Tension radiated from Rhea, but she maintained her calm exterior.
“Now, Rhea.” Aran tapped the void sigil on the gold ring, then the silver, and finally the bronze. He funneled a large amount of void into the ship, and felt the Talon supply an equal quantity to match the spell. He repeated the sequence with fire, and poured an equal amount into it, fueling the disintegrate spell. It was the first time he’d attempted a spell this complex all on his own, and he was shocked by how easy it was.
In his peripheral vision he spotted Rhea tapping life, water, and spirit sigils on all three rings. Her fingers flew across them with incredible precision, more than Aran himself was capable of, if he was being honest.
A latticework of wards sprang up over the skin of the ship, and Rhea grunted with effort as the spell completed. He eyed her sidelong, and she glared back a challenge. “What? The ship is sixty percent larger than it was. Wards take a lot more strength now. I’m used to having co-pilots to help.”
“I’m not complaining, just admiring.” Aran focused on the closest vessel, which had drifted just a hair ahead of the rest of the fleet. He poured the last bits of fire and void into the ship, and smiled in satisfaction as a bolt of disintegration lanced out of the spellcannon. The crackling beam of negative energy appeared to impact with empty space, but an explosion of particles revealed the black ship for a fraction of a second before it ceased to exist. “Guess their magic resistance has limits.”
“True, but even you cannot disintegrate them all. There are nineteen more.” Rhea grabbed the arms of her chair, and swiveled to face the doorway. Footsteps pounded up the hallway from the mess, but there was no sign of Bord or Kez yet. “Where are those laggards? I do not wish to second guess your choices, Captain, but—”
“Then don’t,” he interrupted as he guided the Talon into a steep dive. Black ships shimmered into existence all around them, and Aran’s stomach lurched. His skin beaded with sweat, exactly as it had when he’d stepped inside one of the black ships.
Several of the closest vessels discharged tendrils of writhing energy, tinged with the faint purplish light of void. Aran had seen the attack back at the Skull of Xal, and had spent a long time thinking about the best response. Thankfully, the Talon hadn’t lost much maneuverability despite the increased size, and he twisted adeptly around the grasping tendrils.
The fleet accelerated in his direction, the ships beginning to clump as they pursued. Aran accelerated enough to outpace them, but not enough for the black ships to lose them entirely.
Crewes pounded back onto the bridge, his chest heaving as he climbed back into his Matrix. “Bord and Kez are right behind me.”
The couple tumbled into the room after him, and moved to flank the matrices on the opposite sides of the room. He felt immediate relief knowing everyone had back up.
“What’s the play, sir?” Crewes prompted.
“I’m going to need every bit of fire that you can supply.” Aran accelerated slightly, and the enemy ships fell into a tighter cluster as each flew in a perfectly straight line to reach them. “Rhea, same goes for you. Every bit of it.”
“Yes, sir,” Rhea’s voice was quiet, but resolved.
Both tapped their respective sigils, and Aran did the same wi
th his own. His command of fire was impressive, as was Rhea’s, but they both knew that Crewes would really be the one powering this spell. The sergeant might be the only person in the sector to have been to three fire Catalysts, and outside of a guardian or a god he was probably the strongest user living. Or so Aran hoped anyway.
Fire rolled out of Aran into the deck, wave after wave joining the magic from his co-pilots. The amount of magic they collected was staggering, but it grew even more so when the Talon matched the spell’s power.
Aran tapped a final series of fire sigils, then abruptly flipped the ship and began accelerating toward the enemy. “Sergeant Crewes, make me some dead Inurans, please.”
“With pleasure, sir.” The sergeant gripped the arms of his command chair, and gave a roar of effort as a river of flame pulsed from him into the ship.
The spellcannon began to glow, and a moment later a beam of pure heat, as hot as any star, surged out of the Talon’s spellcannon. The flame was easily a kilometer wide, and caught six ships, which had been clustered together at the center of the pack.
All six vessels burst into brilliance, and the front two ranks detonated spectacularly. The rear rank, though, contained a pair of vessels that were larger that the rest. Those vessels smoldered an angry orange, and then their hulls resumed their flat black exterior.
“Uh, sir, I think I just pissed them off.” Crewes eyed Aran helplessly. “Think we should run?”
“If we do,” Aran thought aloud, “they’ll be here to hit the next ships that depart Shaya. If it were me I’d blockade the system, and destroy any ships trying to enter or exit. Since they can drain magic they’ll only get stronger over time.”
There was no more time for words as they closed with the enemy.
“I hope your wards are as good as you say,” Bord ventured from behind Rhea’s matrix, “’cause there sure are a lot of those things left.”
As if on cue, a dozen black ships unleashed their tendrils, and the two larger ships that had survived Crewes’s spell were the first to reach them. The oily magic latched onto the wards, which began to discolor around the affected areas.
Rhea gave a grunt, and renewed waves of water and spirit poured into the hull. “I’m not sure…how long…I can hold this.”
Four more tendrils slammed into the wards, catching like hooks in a net. The Talon’s forward momentum slowed as they were jerked to a near halt by the combined force of the enemy ships.
“Bord, relieve Crewes and give the wards everything you have,” Aran roared. He was only vaguely aware of the curly-haired specialist replacing the dark-skinned man. He knew that would only buy them a little time, and needed an answer quickly.
They treat us as prey, Narlifex pulsed in his mind. We are NOT prey. Slay them. Slay them all. Use the dark magics given to us by our father. It is the only way.
Aran seized the arms of his chair and concentrated. He reached out with the senses Xal had given him, and felt the power of the tendrils, and of the vessels employing them. It was layered and complex, and he couldn’t pretend to understand all of it. He didn’t need to understand their magic though.
He just needed to devour it.
Aran reached for the thing or quality that made him a Hound of Xal, and the magic answered eagerly. It reached through him, through the Talon, out to the tendrils gripping the wards.
Time seemed to slow, and Aran became aware of a million, million tiny little factors. He could hear Crewes’s labored breathing, and Kez quietly praying under her breath, and Rhea’s thundering heartbeat. Through the Talon he could feel the cold of the void, and the deeper chill of the tendrils draining the power from their wards.
Aran focused on the first tendril that had gripped them, the one belonging to the larger of the two ships. He sent a surge of magic up the tendril, his own strength eagerly devouring the magic he found there. The tendril began to collapse in on itself, but Aran wouldn’t allow it. He flooded the tendril with more magic, and it began to expand, and then flow back to the enemy ship.
The dark energy latched onto the Inuran hull in much the same way the tendril had done to theirs. Aran reached into their vessel, and began to drink. Power, immense glorious power, flowed through the tendril, through the Talon, and into Aran. He sipped spirit, and void, and fire. A little taste of each.
In the distance he could hear Rhea and Bord struggling to keep the wards going. He needed to be quick. Aran gritted his teeth, and pulled harder. He blanked out the world, narrowing it down to a pinprick of focus. The enemy ship became his entire reality, and Aran was acutely aware of the veins of dark energy running through the walls of the vessel.
He drew that magic forth, coaxing it from every part of the titanic craft. That magic flowed back up the tendril, into the Talon, and into him. The process continued, pulse after glorious pulse, until the enemy ship peeled off and began to flee.
Aran continued to drain, sucking a final pulse from the enemy vessel. Another ship slammed into the tendril, and it snapped, separating them from their wounded prey.
He instantly reversed course, and began to accelerate away from the Inuran fleet. A few vessels tried to respond to the sudden shift, but most of their fleet was still in retreat.
“Get ready for silent running.” Aran relaxed back into the command couch, conscious now of the sweat soaking his uniform.
“We’re not gonna finish ‘em off?” Crewes asked, his gaze locked intently on the scry-screen. “They ain’t done much damage to us, and they seem scared.”
“Look at Bord.” Aran nodded in the specialist’s direction, and the sergeant seemed to notice Bord’s ashen complexion. “He doesn’t have much left, and Rhea probably doesn’t either.”
Rhea avoided eye contact, but didn’t contradict his words.
“We’ve got a mission to take care of.” Aran tapped a fire sigil. “I’ll get a missive off to Ducius so they can prepare a defense in case the ships attack, but I expect they’ll stay in the depths for the time being.”
“Damned straight.” Crewes gave another grin. “We gave ‘em something to think about. Outriders four, bad guys zip.”
“You fought well, Sergeant.” Rhea gave the dark-skinned man an approving nod, then shifted her attention to Bord. “As did you. I cannot condone your cavalier attitude or utter lack of discipline, but you’ve the talent and skill to make an excellent soldier.”
Kez rose from one of the couches along the wall, and moved to stand protectively next to Bord’s matrix as she bristled at Rhea. “I like him joost the way he is, thank you very much. His ‘undisciplined’ self has saved us more times than you, that’s for sure.”
“Rhea, you’ve got command.” Aran rose from the command chair and ducked through the spinning rings.
“Where are you going, sir?” Crewes called as Aran reached the door.
He stopped and turned to face the sergeant. “I get the feeling Skare is playing a deeper game, one we’re not seeing. I want to know what it is, and I’m going to see if I can puzzle it out.”
“Yes, sir.” Crewes snapped a salute. “Might get a nap while you’re at it. You could use it.”
“If I can find time.” Aran never seemed to have enough of it.
3
The Children of Nebiat
Nebiat looked down upon her world, and was pleased. The citizens of her empire did not know the word Krox. They did not call themselves the Krox. They called their world Nebiat, and knew themselves as the Children of Nebiat.
She could see all of them, every drake, and Wyrm, and hatchling. She’d watched over them from orbit, still cradling Worldender like a talisman.
You place too much value on that weapon. Krox rumbled in her mind. Its sole use is combat, and combat has never been my chief strength. We are best served to gift it to a potential ally, one who might help us achieve dominance. One we can manipulate, ideally.
And you have such a candidate in mind? Nebiat snapped. She was growing more and more weary of sharing a head with Krox
, and the fact that he knew it only made it worse.
I do not. Krox admitted. But one will present itself. There are many gods in this sector, and in other sectors if we must venture further. Translocation knows no distance, and there are many corners of the galaxy where we could find aid. We might even recover additional pieces of myself.
And thus weaken me. Is that it? No, I think we have quite enough power for the time being. It shocked her that she could so casually turn from more strength, but she’d learned that some prices were simply too high. Her whole life had been spent in pursuit of something she hadn’t fully understood. No, I’ll keep this weapon for the time being. Thank you very much. The time will come when I either wield it or bestow it to an ally.
Krox pulsed thoughtfully, and Nebiat could see the shape of some of those thoughts. He thought her weak and shortsighted. She tried to focus on her world, but even her children brought her no pleasure right now. She longed to be able to manifest, to escape this horrendous god and be mortal, just for a day. An hour.
How am I to enact my will in the galaxy? Nebiat demanded, shifting the subject. She tightened her grip around Worldender, and focused on the sensation of holding the spear with one of her celestial limbs. It wasn’t the same, not exactly. Do I need to somehow train worshippers? That seems impractical.
Krox’s amusement rippled through his thoughts. You have seen the pieces, but you do not grasp the whole. Why do you think that Shaya had a guardian that your father must first overcome? Why do all Catalysts have one, even those gods who’ve been dead for eons?
Nebiat considered that. Every Catalyst did have a guardian. If a guardian was slain, and that Catalyst left in peace, then eventually primals would come. One would become stronger than the rest, eventually assuming the role of guardian. It was a nearly immutable law, so far as she knew.
