by Chris Fox
Aran suppressed the hot flash of anger, and tried to be rational. It wasn’t easy. He leaned across the table, and spoke quietly. “If we can’t wake Virkonna, and if Virkonna won’t fight, then we’ve lost, Kazon. You were the one who told me about Skare, and about the black ships. Since then I’ve seen them fight. And I’ve seen them drain the magic from a god. Even Krox wasn’t immune. We don’t have time for empty promises, and I don’t see how a single suit of armor, no matter how large or powerful, is going to help us stave off annihilation.”
“I realize that, but—”
“No buts.” Aran rose from his chair and headed back toward the room Inura was working in. He made it to the doorway, but found Shinura there blocking his path.
“I’m sorry, but I cannot allow you to disturb the master. His work is of paramount importance.” The shade had slid into a combat stance, which told Aran everything he needed to know. This guy wasn’t going to budge, unless Aran moved him. Moving him would involve violence, and that did not seem like a good answer.
“Let me speak plainly,” Aran offered, leaning in a bit closer. “I have a mission. I’m not leaving here until I speak with Inura. He can keep working, but he does need to at least address my questions. If you try to stop me from doing that, then things are going to get ugly and we’re going to have to mess up this entire room. Do you really want to inflict that kind of damage on the facility? If you’re a replica of a god, you know who I am and what I can do.”
Shinura’s wings drooped behind his back, and he wrung his hands. “You are putting me in a very uncomfortable position. But I agree with your logic. You may speak with him, but I’m going to wait here and pretend like you overpowered me.”
Nara gave a soft chuckle at that, and even Aran managed a grim smile. He girded himself in his anger and headed back to Inura’s workshop. The god hadn’t moved, and was still adding more magic to the right knee joint.
“I can see that you’re not going to leave me be.” The god’s tone carried his irritation, and he finally glanced up at Aran. The instant those slitted irises met his gaze he saw the very last thing he’d have expected. Fear. “Your kind have always been bullies, and I see that hasn’t changed, dog. Ask your questions quickly, so that I can return to the work that will save us all.”
“I know you’re busy,” Aran offered apologetically. He raised his hands, palms out. “We need to wake Virkonna. You know why, I’ll wager. Just tell me how to do that, and I’ll get out of your hair.”
“Voria,” Inura snapped. His attention had already gone back to his work. “She’ll need to wake my sister. I don’t have the time. She has both the power and the knowledge, if she applies herself. Instances like this are one of the primary reasons I elevated her, after all.”
“That’s it?” Aran asked. “You’re just going to pass the responsibility, and assume Voria will figure it out?”
There was no answer.
Aran turned to Nara, who was leaning against the doorway, watching. He raised an eyebrow, but she shook her head. Aran considered whether there were any more important questions, and decided it would be pointless anyway.
They had the only answer they were likely to get.
31
Party Crasher
Voria was damnably tired of parties, and she hadn’t even attended her first one since becoming a goddess. But she had little choice save to play their blasted political games. This planet was the fulcrum on which the entire sector’s fate turned. The idea of discussing that fate in snippets of conversation around bits of finger food was so damned inefficient.
In the end it was Drakkon who convinced her to see reason. If she truly wanted to build a religion she needed to earn their respect at the very least. Their allegiance was too much to hope for, but if they were willing to oppose Nefarius, Krox, or both, then they’d make strong allies.
“Are you ready?” Drakkon called from the doorway to Voria’s quarters.
She rose from the desk she’d been sitting in when Nara had killed her. Voria had made her body solid, but it didn’t feel like a body. She wasn’t the woman who’d lived in these quarters. She didn’t even need sleep, much less have a heartbeat.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Voria mustered a smile. “I’m focusing on the positive. At least we’ll get to awe them a little bit.”
Drakkon smiled, though the wisps of white in his liquid hair and the lines around his eyes prevented it from warming her too much. He raised a hand, and Voria didn’t resist as he translocated them. The ability had a cool-down period before it could be used again, which she’d timed at about three hours, for her anyway. Was that different for every god? She made a mental note to find out as it could be important.
They appeared near the center spire, where Olyssa was already holding court. Perhaps two dozen Wyrms stood in clusters, all within easy earshot. Many were oriented toward Aurelius, perhaps even more than Olyssa, despite it being her party. The power balance had certainly shifted since the last time Voria had been here.
“Ah, welcome.” Olyssa swept forward, a too-wide smile looking even more out of place with her bald head. The utterly hairless Wyrms were disquieting at least in part because they were so similar, yet entirely different from humanity. “This is the first time in many, many centuries that I have had a goddess grace one of my parties.” She inclined her head to Drakkon next. “Cousin. It has been even longer since we’ve last spoken.”
Drakkon gave a friendly grin. “Little ‘yssa. I still remember when you were just a hatchling and you couldn’t pronounce your full name.”
She gave a throaty, inhuman laugh. “And you were the stalwart warrior, always off to war with mother against some grave threat.” Something flitted across her features. Sadness maybe. “There were tragedies in the past, but there were also victories and celebrations. I hope those will come again now that you have returned.”
“Why have you returned, cousin?” Aurelius boomed as he strode over. The taller Wyrm moved to stand near Drakkon, but there was nothing aggressive in his stance and he kept his hand far from the hilt of his spellblade.
Drakkon’s expression hardened. A goblet floated over to his hand and he crunched it into uselessness, then flung it at the ground. “The humans are rising up. They came for me on Marid. They killed my offspring, and nearly killed me. They would have if not for Voria. In the end we salvaged but a scrap of Marid’s power. The rest belongs to puppets of Nefarius.”
“Nefarius?” Olyssa clutched her hands to her breast, and for a moment Voria feared she might flee. “Surely you must be mistaken. Nefarius is dead, and has been for countless centuries.”
“Nefarius may be dead,” Voria said grimly, “but Talifax is not. I’ve seen first hand how powerful Talifax is. He’s expertly guided Ternus into a war against us, all to power up magical artifacts they’ll no doubt use in the ritual to raise their goddess. They gained spirit when fighting against Krox. They’ve claimed water from Marid. If they decide that air would be a useful addition, then you may find yourself in a war you are unable to win.”
Aurelius began to laugh, and many other Wyrms took it up.
An unquiet rage roiled in her gut, or where her gut would have been if she’d still had a body. “Is there something particularly comical about the news I’ve just delivered?”
“You believe humans can overcome the last dragonflight?” Olyssa sounded as if the idea were the most preposterous she’d ever heard. “Respectfully, if they come for us we will crush their vessels, devour their leadership, and then savage their worlds.”
“Will you, cousin?” Drakkon roared. He stalked over to her, and his eyes promised swift death. So much so that Voria nearly intervened. Drakkon stopped her with a hand. “Look at me, Olyssa. Really look. I know you all see it. You can feel it. My power has diminished. I am weaker than I was, even after taking a portion of my mother’s magic. Had you met me an hour ago that would not have been the case. My power was ripped away by the humans I was forced to
run from. Do you think yourself my equal, Olyssa? Do any of you?” He turned in a circle, glaring at anyone willing to meet his gaze.
It didn’t appear any of them were, not even Aurelius.
“The humans will come,” Drakkon continued. “When they do, if we do not have the full strength of your mother, and the full aid of Inura, then we are doomed. We are likely doomed even with that aid. It is past time we—”
The air popped and spun next to Voria, and she readied a counterspell as a being materialized.
A short, slender Wyrm who only came up to Aurelius’s shoulder appeared, but unlike every Wyrm there, long, white hair cascaded down his shoulders, and the divinity pulsed off him in waves.
Inura flexed his wings, and looked around until he spotted Voria. “Ah, there you are. Your vassal has badgered me into offering you remedial instruction on waking my sister. I will offer you a few minutes, but it must occur while I am working. Come with me.”
Wyrms genuflected all around her. Some prostrated themselves, pressing their faces against the stone. Even Drakkon sank to one knee, though Voria noted the bitterness in his eyes. Inura had lost whatever friendship might have once been there.
“I’m not going anywhere with you.” Voria folded her arms. “You teleported into my chambers, told me to become a goddess, and then vanished to leave me to deal with Krox. Millions of my citizens died in the aftermath, but you were nowhere to be found. I am not your servant. I am your ally. If you wish cooperation, then you must at least explain your plans.”
Some of Inura’s franticness left him, and he turned his full attention on Voria. He towered over her, though of course she could change that in an instant if she chose to. She did not. She merely waited for Inura’s answer.
“You are every bit as stubborn as she was.” He shook his head sadly. “I suspect it’s merely a defect in your species, one I have neither the time nor inclination to repair. We do not have time for your petulance. My sister must be woken, and you need to do the waking. Now come with me to the crucible, and I will teach you what you need to do.”
“Recently,” Voria continued as if the Wyrm-god hadn’t spoken, “I attempted to save our allies, the very humans who assaulted Marid. While there, Talifax acted openly, and doomed an entire world. I could do nothing to stop him. I am out of my depth and you offer no guidance. No aid. All you ever do is demand. I’m here to tell you, Inura, that we are not your playthings. I am a goddess, and you will treat me as an equal. You will explain your plans, or I will no longer participate in them.”
Inura gave an exasperated sigh. “Very well. If you accompany me, I promise I will answer any questions you may have. Is that acceptable?”
“Barely.” Voria folded her arms and wished for a universe with no gods.
32
The Crucible
Once Voria had agreed to go with Inura she assumed the matter was settled. She could not have been more mistaken.
Much to her shock, Olyssa stalked over, looming menacingly over Voria. “How dare you speak to the Wyrm Father as if you were in some way equal? You were made from a shred of his power that he chose to give up. There are gods, and there are gods. And you are an up-jumped mortal, clinging to the lowest rung of divinity. You are only a short step removed from a human.”
The way she delivered the term made Voria grateful Aran hadn’t been there. He would not have reacted well, and at this point he might have been able to kill Olyssa before anyone stopped him. Voria didn’t want the Wyrm dead, but she couldn’t condone the casual racism. It was the same sort Thalas had delivered to the drifters, and just as damaging.
Inura gave Olyssa an irritated wave of his hand. “Be quiet, child. It is not your place to speak for me.”
The shock and horror on Olyssa’s face was the last thing Voria saw before Inura teleported her elsewhere.
She’d seen enough translocation and teleportation to know the difference. The former had no side effects, but the latter had made her stomach queasy for hours…when she’d had a stomach.
“That wasn’t terribly polite,” Voria pointed out. “She’s going to hold that against me. And Drakkon may be annoyed that you left him behind.”
“I don’t care.” Inura didn’t even look at her, and instead hurried through a nearby doorway. “Follow me.”
Only in that moment did Voria comprehend their surroundings. The walls were a golden metal, but magic played across them like slivers of azure lightning. She couldn’t begin to fathom the magic, or its purpose. This must be the crucible Nara had told her about.
She followed Inura from the chamber, and he led her through a row of darkened workshops before stopping outside the only one with a light inside. He turned to face her, and clasped his hands before him. “I promised you answers. I want to ensure that you get them, so that I can get back to my work uninterrupted. You’ve no idea how important this final piece is.”
“Sister?” Kazon’s voice boomed from inside the workshop. A moment later his bearded face appeared, split by an equally massive grin. “He found you! Aran will be so pleased. Come in, come in.”
“Still your enthusiasm, disciple.” Inura waved absently at Kazon, and she noticed that Inura treated him with a good deal more respect than he’d offered Olyssa. “Your questions, Voria. And I’m aware that Shaya is probably standing there suggesting all manner of juvenile options.”
“I totally am,” Shaya said, as she shimmered into view, into Voria’s view at least. “Well, I would be if I thought you’d say them out loud. I’m just as curious as the lizard to see what you’re going to ask.”
She stilled her mind and prioritized her questions. There were many, but she considered which one she’d ask if it were the only question the Wyrm would answer. Her choice surprised her. “Ikadra was severely damaged during the ritual of elevation. How can I repair him?”
“An astute question.” Inura cocked his head. “Ikadra still has a large role to play. Repairing him will require greater enchanting. You need someone with tremendous air and tremendous life. After you’ve performed the task I have in mind for you, you can ask my sister to imbue you with such magic. If you are respectful, the literal opposite of your treatment of me, then she may grant it.”
“Don’t you possess both air and life?” Voria demanded.
“Of course I do, and since I know you’ll ask…no, I won’t fix him. My strength is allocated to another task, one I assure you is far more vital than you believe.” Inura’s snowy eyebrows knit together, and his ever-present scowl deepened. “You will be quite equal to the task if you can swallow your pride and accept my sister’s leadership. You want Nefarius to stay dead, do you not?”
Voria nodded, and waited to see where he was going with this.
“Then work with her. Do as she asks. Kneel before the throne. After Nefarius is dead you might even persuade her to assault Krox. Or, you can go your own way.” Inura heaved a put-upon sigh. “I will not be able to change her mind. Virkonna always does as she will. But I can control my own actions. Two more tasks remain. First, I must imbue a guardian. Then, I must complete this eldimagus.”
Voria glanced over his shoulder into the workshop where Kazon had been working. A suit of golden mecha, perhaps thirty meters tall, stood in a stall designed for its construction. All manner of tools hovered around different parts of the armor, some feeding the suit magic while others performed some sort of divination.
Why Inura thought such a weapon worthy of his time didn’t concern her in the slightest. She wrote it off, as she wrote him off. But the bit about a guardian? That very much interested her. “I’ve done some reading on guardians.”
Inura snorted a laugh. “I’ll bet you have. I wonder what claptrap passes as ‘lore’ these days.” He shook his head. “You could make a guardian, theoretically. But in practice I wouldn’t recommend it. I mean no disrespect, but you are effectively my guardian. The amount of magic I passed you is significant, but if you were to make a guardian they would gain little
beyond simple immortality. Save your strength for the battle to come.”
Voria gritted her teeth. Not because his words made her angry, but rather the opposite. Because they rang true. She wanted to imbue Nara with the kind of power that would make her a near equal, but it sounded like she lacked the strength to do that.
“All right.” Voria considered her next question. “How do I wake Virkonna?”
“At last.” Inura finally perked up, and his tail swished happily behind him. “The ritual is not terribly difficult, and requires a small quantity of spirit, a moderate amount of life, and an equal amount of water.” Inura ducked past her into the corridor they’d taken to reach the workshop. “Shinura! Come here.”
An identical copy of Inura came sprinting up the corridor, and slid to a halt near the real Inura. “Yes, master?”
“Take Voria to the library. Get her the Ninth Treatise of Divine Restoration. She’s going to wake my sister.”
33
Legacy
Aran spent the next few days indulging in something he’d not had the time to do in months. Train. Some might argue that the best training was experience, but Aran disagreed, particularly after gaining a new type of magic.
Experience was wonderful, but training, especially sparring against other mages, forced you to think creatively about how you used your powers. It forced you to adapt as other mages did the same, and all of you improved in the process.
When the Talon had expanded it had created several new rooms, and he’d commandeered the one next to the hangar as a makeshift gym. A squat rack stood against one wall, and a ring of mats lay in the center of the room.
