by Chris Fox
Nimitz didn’t reply. He gripped the arms of his chair, and wished he were down there with them. This smelled like a trap. The snakes didn’t even have wings. They must be young. There were no fully developed dragons in the mix.
The fog exploded outward in a titanic pulse that covered the whole of the swamp. Thick floes of dense blue ice bubbled up around every Marine, in every part of the swamp. Then it dragged them below the muck, armor and all, an entire brigade vanishing as if it had never existed, all within seconds
Brommel’s head cam was quickly covered in dense black muck, and Nimitz switched the view back to orbital with a muttered curse. “Colonel, can you hear me?”
“Yes, sir.” She sounded calm, at least. “I’m trying to extricate myself from the ice. I believe that—”. The high pitched squeal of metal tearing drowned out her voice, and when it passed there was nothing but static.
“Caelendra, zoom in on the Colonel’s position. Find me survivors.” Nimitz rose from his chair and began to pace.
The camera obligingly adjusted to show the colonel’s position, which was nothing but muck-covered ice. Hell, if he didn’t know ice had been involved, he’d have called it ordinary swamp.
Austin would chalk it up to standard losses. They’d assumed the ground forces would face heavy casualties, after all. But Nimitz couldn’t help but feel like a butcher. How often had he cursed Voria for doing exactly what he’d just done? That kind of conduct wasn’t befitting an officer, no matter the stakes. If he could have it back, he would. But he couldn’t.
“Fleet Admiral Nimitz,” Caelendra said, “I have detected movement from deeper in the swamp. Shall I adjust the screen accordingly?”
“Do it.”
The screen shifted to show an orbital view of the center of the swamp. Sapphire light sprayed up from the ground in a roughly three-kilometer area, like the geysers back on New Texas.
“I’ll add a magical overlay,” Caelendra offered. The screen changed, and an enormous blue outline appeared under the valley floor.
“Is that…a dragon?” Nimitz whispered. “It’s the size of a bloody continent.”
“Indeed, Fleet Admiral.”
Nimitz tapped the fleet-wide button again. “All ships begin full magical extraction. Focus on that sapphire light, and kill anything that tries to stop us.”
20
Outclassed
Drakkon hovered in the clouds, seeing through the dense mists as if it were clear. Water was, after all, his element, and that of his children. The disquieting ships the humans had brought reminded Drakkon of something, though he couldn’t place his talon on the source.
The loss of the youngest drakes was tragic, and the land below had been made toxic and unlivable. He possessed the magic to cleanse it, though it would tax him greatly, and take several seasons. These humans and their incursion had succeeded in arousing something not even Nebiat’s attempt to enslave him had wrought.
Drakkon was furious. These humans would pay for their temerity.
“My children,” he rumbled, his voice as thunder among the clouds, his gnashing claws striking sparks that became bolts of lightning. “Let us show these humans the fury of the storm. Teach them that their technology is meaningless.”
Drakkon dove, still wearing the clouds like armor. The vapor clung to him, and masked his approach until he slammed into the side of the largest human vessel. His claws bit into the armor, but weakly. They shredded the outer layer, but found more layers beneath.
He sucked in an immense breath, and expended a cloud of dense frost, which added to the weight of the vessel. Then Drakkon relied on physics. He kicked off the vessel with all his considerable bulk, and the ship plummeted from the sky, slamming into the mountains far below.
Drakkon gave a toothy grin of satisfaction…until the ship rose under its own power. Sparks played across one side of the hull, where the gashes caused by the impact had scored far deeper wounds than his own claws.
A tendril whipped up from the ship, snaking through the atmosphere in Drakkon’s direction. He conjured his spellblade, Maladrieve, and knocked the thing away. He could feel the void pulsing from it, the eagerness and raw hunger of the beam. It wanted to drink his essence. It wanted to drink his mother’s essence.
Only one being had ever been so consumed with power. These things were truly tainted by Nefarius, something Drakkon was now forced to admit he was trying to turn a blind eye to. He’d wanted to stay here, to build something. In doing so he’d ignored a growing threat until it had arrived on his doorstep.
Drakkon reached deep for his magic. He drew air, and water, and earth and spirit to bind it all together. He flung his magic at a section of the outer ring of the crater, a range of mountains containing many mighty peaks.
The largest mountain began to quake and rumble, and then millions of tons of rock abruptly tore loose from the world and flung itself at the terrible black ship. His makeshift missile slammed into the wound the fall had created, and sent a spray of metallic debris arcing out over the swamp.
Another mountain rose, and another. Drakkon hurled them into the same black ship, always digging into the existing wound. It took two more mountains before the ship stuttered and died. The vessel tumbled from the sky, its awful tendril dissipating into the wind. This time when it struck the ground, there was a tremendous detonation, and the vessel did not rise again.
Drakkon turned his attention to the rest of the combat, and knew despair. His children were young, and while strong, their ferocity was not yet tempered by experience. Most had already fallen. As he watched, Daradra, one of the fiercest youngsters, succumbed to a black tendril. Her essence was stripped away pulse by pulse, until the vessel finally discarded her pale corpse.
His rage grew, but in that moment wisdom prevailed. These ships were powerful. Fifty-nine remained, of sixty. Most of his children were dead. Their defenses had been stripped away, and so quickly. Drakkon could summon catastrophic magics, but the ships had proven resilient to direct magical attacks. What if he squandered his mother’s power and the ships survived?
Uncertainty made him hesitate as another Wyrm fell from the sky. Drakkon needed aid, and needed it now. He began sketching a missive to the one being in the sector who might be able to save his mother.
21
Taking a Stand
Voria stood before one of the oldest objects in creation, and dearly wished she could smash it. The blasted mirror felt as if it were taunting her, bobbing up and down endlessly while refusing to show her the things she wished to see.
Each time she tugged the possibility toward Krox or Nefarius, the mirror dragged it back to the planet Marid. However, the view refused to descend close enough to be of any use. The planet’s blue-white surface glittered below her, with no indication as to why the mirror thought it important.
“We’re in trouble, kid,” Shaya said as she shimmered into view next to the mirror. “A god is manipulating possibilities. The mirror knows it, but it can’t bypass whatever defenses the god has put in place. Something is happening on Marid, and someone doesn’t want us knowing about it.”
Voria tapped her chin as she studied the image. “This doesn’t feel like Nebiat, though she’s crafty enough to vary her tactics. So far as we know, Nefarius hasn’t risen. I keep hearing about how powerful Talifax is, and after Ternus I’m inclined to believe the tales. Could he do this?”
Shaya nodded. She crossed her arms, and gave a shiver that couldn’t have anything to do with the cold. “That and more. He’s incredibly adept at crafting a cover possibility, one that appears a near certainty. Then he does something you can’t possibly predict, which causes the near certainty to unravel. All of a sudden you have no idea what’s going on, and while you’re scrambling, he’s winning the war.”
Voria inhaled slowly, or mimed the motion anyway. Even calming breaths were denied a deity. She shook her head, and tried to find a way out of this trap. “If we go to Marid, then Ternus will see it as an act of
war. They’ll attack us, without a doubt. If we do nothing, then we risk Talifax somehow gaining control of the Catalyst, and maybe even killing Drakkon.” Voria eyed Shaya. “I don’t know what to do and am definitely open to advice.”
Before Shaya could answer, the air around Voria vibrated and an incoming missive, audio only, began to play.
“Voria,” Drakkon rumbled, “the humans have come, and they are winning. My children are dead, and I do not believe I can stop them from taking my mother. I have tried Inura as well, to no avail. You are my last hope, lady of light. Please, help me protect this place, or Nefarius will use her magic to slay us all.”
Voria whirled toward Shaya. “I’ll bet my best jacket it’s those blasted ships. Ternus must be trying to secure water magic. I should have predicted this, visions or no.”
“In your defense,” Shaya pointed out with a shrug, “Talifax has worked hard to ensure that you cannot. The question is—what now?”
“We go to war,” Voria answered without hesitation. She raised a finger to sketch a fire sigil, then suppressed the instinct and willed the spell to complete. A moment later, Nara’s face filled the Mirror of Shaya.
“What’s up?” Nara had a mug raised, and had apparently been about to sip her coffee.
“Mobilize the crew. I’ll be translocating us to Marid.” She frowned to convey the urgency. “Ternus has declared war on Drakkon, and he is losing.”
“What are you going to do?” Nara had already set the mug down, but the spell followed her as she departed her quarters.
“I don’t know,” Voria admitted. “If we can diffuse the situation, we will, but I tend to think matters have progressed too far for that.”
Nara nodded and killed the missive. Voria closed her eyes and envisioned the entirety of the Spellship being elsewhere. She pictured a familiar world, the world where Aran and Nara had first distinguished themselves. The world where she’d murdered Thalas and made an enemy of Ducius forever.
The Spellship winked into existence in high orbit above the northern continent, where the crater lay. That put her closer to the Ternus orbital platform than she’d like, but she was gambling that it would take them time to respond.
Voria took several moments to extend her divine senses to the planet below, and immediately saw the extent of the crisis. Radiation blanketed Malgoro Crater, and while the steep mountains ringing it might have prevented that radiation from leaking across the planet, someone or something had wrenched several mountains from the earth, and apparently hurled them at one of the black ships, if the wreckage was any indication. That gap would allow the radiation to seep out to the rest of the region.
A few Wyrms desperately sought to defend the font of magical power at the heart of the swamp, with Drakkon’s massive form leading the charge. A few of the black ships were down, but something like fifty still remained.
Voria felt a missive buzzing at her, and answered it. To her immense shock, Admiral Nimitz’s grizzled face filled the screen. He eyed her with clear distaste. “I shouldn’t be surprised that you showed up to help your demonic friends.”
“Drakkon is hardly a demon,” she snapped, struggling and failing to suppress her anger. “What you’re doing here is murder, Nimitz. Murder of an ally, one who could have wiped out all human life on this planet long since.”
“Could have, maybe, but not anymore.” The admiral gave her a satisfied smile. “Now we’ve got the power to fight back. We don’t need to rely on your ‘generosity’ any more. I’m going to give you one chance to leave this system, and then I’m going to turn my guns on you. We recognize you’ve done us some favors, but those credits are all spent. You murdered our capital.”
“Are you threatening a goddess, Admiral?” Voria’s voice had gone deadly calm. She saw no reason to correct him, as he wouldn’t believe her about Talifax being the true culprit.
“That’s exactly what I’m doing.” He stabbed a finger at the screen. “You want to get between us and a resource on one of our few remaining colonies? Then I will order this fleet to destroy you. I saw what we did to Krox. We ain’t helpless anymore, you arrogant slit.”
“Very well, Admiral.” Her eyes narrowed. “If you wish war, then you shall have war. Whatever happens today and the days that follow, remember that you had a choice.”
She killed the missive, and extended a hand. The Spellship drifted into her palm, and she could feel the powers of the worshippers within. It was time to see what she could do against the awful tools the Inurans had forged.
22
The Power of Prayer
Nara sprinted onto the coliseum’s stage, the same one where she’d help raise Voria to godhood. To her surprise and relief people were already filing into their seats. Thousands had already arrived, with more coming behind them.
Every one would likely be needed, if Nara grasped the situation. Voria was going to fight the black ships, and she would need all the strength her worshippers could deliver.
Getting the people to provide that energy meant uniting them in purpose. It meant bringing them together and making it clear what they were trying to accomplish here. Nara wasn’t much of a speech writer, but she’d given a few recently and hoped she could pull this one off as well.
“Citizens of the Spellship,” Nara roared as she strode out onto the stage. “Hear me!” Newly installed microphones picked up her words, and she could hear them echoing in the corridors throughout the ship.
The ones already seated turned in her direction, while those still trickling in found their seats. Nara licked her lips and continued. “Today, much as we hate the need, we are going to war again. Voria is about to engage a fleet of Ternus ships that are attempting to kill Drakkon, one of our greatest allies against the Krox. She will need every bit of our strength. Every bit of our devotion. We will need to give of ourselves to ensure victory today.”
Nara bowed her head, and people all over the room did the same. She took a deep breath and intoned the prayer she’d recently written. It mimicked a prayer used by the dragonflight on Virkon, but it seemed fitting.
“Oh, great lady of light,” she began, her voice ringing out over the audience. “Hear our prayers. Feel our strength. We bask in your light, and we reflect it back, gladly and strongly, and with the greatest of devotion. Take our strength, and use it to protect us.”
All over the room people whispered the words, just a moment after she said them. A hum built somewhere beyond hearing, and then brilliant gold-white light exploded from the audience. It shot up into the walls and the ceiling, filling the ship with their collective magic.
Nara felt something rising from her, an energy that didn’t reflect any of the eight aspects, but was no less powerful. She gave to it gladly, and fervently prayed that Voria would be able to use it to accomplish whatever she needed to do.
The energy built and built, huge pulses of it, and flowed directly into the ship. The analytic part of Nara’s mind wished she could quantify and measure the amount. That should be theoretically possible, and would allow her to conduct studies.
How much faith could a single worshipper provide? Were all worshippers different? How different? Questions tumbled through her mind even as the final pulse of pure faith seeped into the ship.
She’d done what she could. The rest was up to Voria.
23
Triage
Voria glided through Marid’s atmosphere, dropping lower as quickly as she could manage without teleporting. Doing so would have gotten her there more quickly, but it would have made it impossible for the Ternus forces to predictably react to her presence.
As she’d hoped, a full two dozen black ships broke away from assaulting Drakkon, and moved skyward to engage her. The break in the assault allowed Drakkon to respond, and the colossal Wyrm seized a ship in his jaws, then flung it to the earth in a huge explosion.
Four other ships glided closer, and their dark tendrils seized parts of Drakkon’s body. Pulses of blue magic flowed back to the
ships, and Drakkon roared in pain and anger.
Voria waited until the two dozen black ships had nearly reached her, then teleported. She appeared right next to Drakkon, and extended the Spellship. Blazing blades of light extended from either end, and she twirled it like a staff.
The blades passed through the tendrils holding Drakkon, and wherever light met dark Voria heard a high-pitched screech as if a living creature were being wounded.
“You’ve come!” Drakkon roared, regaining altitude with a mighty flap of his wings. “Where is the Talon? And Aran? We need every mage, or this world is lost.”
“Aran is on a mission in the depths, so far as I know.” Voria pivoted in midair, and used the Spellship to block a tendril that tried to seize her. She danced backwards and avoided two more. “I don’t think we can win this, but I might be able to buy some time.”
“What do you have in mind?” Drakkon breathed a cloud of dense frost, which caught two of the ships and sent them spiraling toward the ground. Both recovered before impact though, and quickly rose to re-engage.
“I will create a life ward around us and the Catalyst. Keep them off me for a moment.” Voria dropped down to the Catalyst itself, and stood near the font of power jetting from the wound in Marid’s chest.
She raised the Spellship and drew deeply from the power it offered. That power was stronger than it had been the last time she’d drawn on it, which suggested Nara’s efforts were going well. The people had begun to believe, which made Voria believe.
A glowing golden latticework sprang up in a ring around the Catalyst, then began assembling itself into a dome. It took several moments, but Drakkon twisted and wove through the enemy ships, ensuring that they were unable to capitalize on Voria’s momentary distraction.
