by Chris Fox
“You’ve been absent from the galactic stage for a dozen millennia or more,” Voria pointed out as calmly as she could manage. “In that time most of your siblings have died. Only Inura and your, ah, elder sibling in the depths remain.”
“Neith.” Virkonna blinked. “I remember. It’s good that she lives. And Inura too you say?”
Voria nodded, but said nothing else. She let Virkonna piece it together.
“I remember Nefarius now. She…how is it possible for her to live again? After we slew her I scattered her body myself. I dropped bits in distant galaxies. There should be no way for her to have returned, not even with that scheming sorcerer’s endless meddling. I do not understand how he could possibly bring her back.” Virkonna shook her head, and flared her wings behind her. “How he did so doesn’t matter. Nefarius must be stopped. It is time for me to wake. You have done well, servant. I will speak to my children, and then I will summon you.”
“Servant?” Shaya snorted out another laugh. “I forgot how, ah, forward thinking Virkonna is about non-draconic servants.”
Voria suppressed a sigh. This did not seem like it was going to be a very enjoyable experience. Virkonna had all of Ducius’s arrogance, but with cosmic power to back it up.
38
Holy One
Voria returned to her own mind, and stared down at the planet Virkon to see the results of her actions. At first there was nothing. Then the clues began. They began at a seismic level, one that very few on the world below were capable of measuring.
The trio of tectonic plates under the area where Virkonna slumbered began to shake and rumble. The shaking intensified, and the resulting quakes tore apart vast swathes of the land. It looked like a Fissure forming, the land falling away beneath certain areas and being thrown up into others.
That was only the beginning.
A tremendous white wing tore loose from the world, and as it rose entire mountain ranges slid off, crushing human settlements that had been built across the valleys at the base of those mountains.
Voria winced knowing that thousands must have died. The tragedy rivaled Krox’s assault on the tree, yet it wasn’t a foreign enemy inflicting the damage. Virkonna’s rise was killing her own people.
Another wing emerged, then an arched, scaly back. Snowy scales glittered as the sector’s largest dragon, Cerberus’s much older mother, clawed herself free of the world where she’d been slumbering. Even amidst the carnage it was breathtaking, a singular experience the survivors would relate to grandchildren. Were any alive to tell such stories.
Virkonna’s departure shifted tides, awoke volcanoes, and sent earthquakes racing around the planet. She flapped away from the carnage, and rose into the sky near Voria. It put their relative sizes in perspective, and Voria realized she was roughly the size, if not the shape, of Virkonna’s foot.
Countless dragons ascended from the planet, swirling like a cloud of bats. They swirled around their mother screeching cries of joy as they congregated around her. Not a one seemed concerned with the carnage left in her wake.
“Even I have to admit how beautiful that is.” Shaya shimmered into view near Voria’s face. “There aren’t nearly as many as the first time I saw it. Back then Inura still had his own Wyrms, too.”
“What comes now?” Voria asked. Virkonna seemed preoccupied with her children, which was fine for now.
“Virkonna is the last of the warriors,” Shaya explained. “Neith, Inura…they were scholars. Marid was a warrior, but she died millennia before my time. Virkonna thinks like a warrior. Strength matters. She’ll start by consolidating her power, which will mean asking all the other gods and demigods to publicly abase themselves. As soon as she realizes Nefarius is coming back she’ll mobilize for war. The very instant she determines the site of the resurrection she’ll lead her flight into battle.”
That eased something in Voria. “I can deal with a bit of humility, I suppose. So long as she’s willing to oppose Nefarius.”
Virkonna’s wings stretched to their full width, and she gave a cry that defied physics and echoed through space. Then her gaze fell on Voria, and she swam through the void in her direction. Voria stood her ground, and made no move to alter her size. She was tiny compared to the elder goddess, but that didn’t mean she had to abandon dignity.
“You have accomplished the task for which my younger brother imbued you.” Virkonna’s head swung around, and one baleful eye stopped before Voria. “I understand that you are merely a messenger, and will not fault you for the slights you offered, so long as you offer obeisance now.”
Obeisance. Did she mean worship? Or merely respect? Voria had no way of knowing, so she made her choice. Humility was one thing. Abject servitude quite another.
“I am pleased to have played a role in returning you to the galactic stage.” Voria executed a perfect curtsy, the kind she had absolutely detested as a teen, and hadn’t used since.
Virkonna eyed her through one of those slitted irises, but Voria could make nothing of the gesture. The Wyrm-goddess’s face was utterly alien. Unknowable to a mortal.
One thing Voria found interesting was that Virkonna seemed to have a physical body. She was no pool of light, but a full dragon, with scales and claws, and fury. That evoked a whole host of questions, none of which were appropriate in that instant.
“You have not been instructed in the art of service.” Virkonna gave the faintest of sighs. “I should have expected little else. That is my brother’s fault, not yours.” Her massive head swung toward the planet, and stared down at the crater her passage had left. A golden city lay near the center, and Voria could feel the power radiating from it. That must be the crucible. “I will return to my domain and set my house in order. You will be my guest until then. I will allow you to keep the Spellship, for the time being. Take care that no harm comes to it. You’ve no idea its power or importance. Every elder god will realize this, and they will covet that ship for the advantage it conveys. There is no other worship amplifier in this sector. Guard it well. It would be a pity for you to experience my wrath so soon after having woken me.”
It had never occurred to Voria that she might have to give the Spellship back. She considered it hers, but then she hadn’t made it. Inura and Virkonna had. She needed to honor that, whatever her personal feelings.
“Thank you, Virkonna.” She probably shouldn’t be using the deity’s name, but given her own godhood she thought it an acceptable lapse. She was mistaken.
Virkonna’s eyes narrowed. “The proper title is either holy one, or master.”
Rage thundered through Voria, and it took everything she had not to lash out at the arrogant Wyrm. There was no way she was calling anyone master. Ever. “Thank you, holy one.”
Virkonna gave a mollified nod, then swung to face the planet. She began to descend, and her body shrank as it fell. She made for the side of the planet that had not been ruined, and the Wyrms followed.
Voria could only watch. She wondered if she’d done the right thing. Virkonna would likely oppose Nefarius, but her winning might not be better for the sector in the long run. It would be nice if, for once, she didn’t have to choose the lesser of two evils.
39
Kheross of the Last Dragonflight
Kheross flared his wings behind him and walked with pride as he navigated the terrace. Conversations ceased in his wake, and each group of Wyrms studied him as he passed. Any new Wyrm, in any society, was immediate cause for curiosity, and sometimes hostility.
A mixture of both met him in their expressions, some wonder at the long white hair fluttering in the wind behind him, and some anger that an outsider might so boldly approach their newly risen mother.
Virkonna became aware of him long before her retinue. Several quiet conversations were taking place around her, but Virkonna’s slitted eyes had locked on him. Kheross stared right back, and strode calmly through her people until he stood near the base of her throne.
He waited patiently for
her to acknowledge him. There were some social niceties even he wouldn’t shirk. After several moments Virkonna leaned forward on her throne, her ivory hair fluttering as a sudden gust caught it.
“Who are you?” she demanded quietly.
All speech around her ceased, and the sudden silence rippled out until every last Wyrm was staring at them. Kheross waited a few more moments to let the tension build, and then rested his hand on the hilt of his spellblade.
“My name is Kheross,” he explained simply. “I am a traveler from another reality. A reality crafted by your brother, my uncle Inura.”
Virkonna leaned back on her throne and studied him, her expression unreadable. She drummed her fingers on the arm of her throne, then ceased and spoke. “You come from the reality where we hid the Spellship?”
Kheross blinked his surprise. She was far more astute than he’d have expected for a goddess known more for her abilities in war. “I do. In that reality, Nefarius arose and tore apart the sector. She won.”
Virkonna rose from her throne, and gracefully approached. She wore a pair of slender spellblades, and her scaled hands rested on the hilts. Not in a threatening manner, but in the manner of a master swordsman prepared to defend herself.
“If she won,” Virkonna wondered aloud, her slitted eyes narrowing, “then why didn’t she claim the Spellship?”
Kheross gave a bitter laugh. “What use was it to her? There is no point in amplifying worship if you devour all your worshippers.”
Virkonna shuddered visibly, but her posture didn’t slacken. She eyed Kheross imperiously. “She devoured worshippers, and yet you survived somehow.”
“Only because I was her creature.” Kheross’s fingers squeezed his hilt as if choking the life from Talifax. “I was corrupted by the blood of Nefarius. Slowly, over several centuries. In several more I would have ceased to exist. I would have become her blood, which covered every sentient world in this sector, and all the galaxy for all I know.”
“Talifax removed the blood?” Her eyes narrowed. “And why might he do that? Why relinquish his hold over a vassal as ancient as you? It makes little sense.”
Kheross hesitated. She was right, and he knew it. “I don’t know. I’ve given it endless thought, and have no doubt I will continue to. It makes little sense, unless the power he stripped from me was more valuable than the prospect of another servant. Perhaps he needs the magic, every scrap of it.”
Virkonna’s expression softened a hair. “You have my sympathy for the horrors you have witnessed, my child. But Talifax is no fool. There is likely a scrap within you, though I confess I can’t see it.”
Kheross resisted the urge to correct her. She wasn’t his mother. His mother was dead.
“What is it you seek from me?” Virkonna asked. She returned to her throne, and sat.
“Vengeance,” Kheross offered. “Or redemption, I suppose. I was a creature of Nefarius. A tool of Talifax. I know that very soon you will ride to war. When you do, I wish to be allowed to go with you. I wish to be your hound, to slay the sorcerer Talifax, or to die trying.”
Virkonna gave an approving nod. “Then you shall. Make your vows, Wyrm.”
Kheross sank to his knees, and rested his chin against his chest. He’d exposed himself, his crimes, and his weaknesses. Not the whole of them, maybe, but the fact that they existed, and their dark nature.
Virkonna was willing to accept him anyway. She would let him ride to war. He offered his allegiance gladly. “Holy one,” Kheross began, “accept my fealty. Command my claws to rend, my teeth to tear, and my magics to slay. I bask in your light, and reflect it back, gladly and strongly, and with the greatest of devotion. Take my strength, and use it to protect us.”
A pulse of pure golden brilliance rose from Kheross, the visible manifestation of his faith. It shot into Virkonna’s breast, and the deity glowed with golden light. Then an answering pulse shot from Virkonna’s breast, back into Kheross.
Golden power washed through him, and he felt a binding settle over his soul, connecting him to his goddess.
“The dedication is complete,” Virkonna said. She rose once more. “Be welcome, Kheross of the Last Dragonflight. Rise.”
Kheross rose to his feet, and gazed around in wonder and disbelief. He had a home once more.
“In a few hours I will begin the contest,” Virkonna rumbled, “to fill the role of my guardian. Your strength would make you an excellent candidate, and I welcome you to compete if you wish.”
Kheross considered that. He’d certainly enjoy competing with his cousins, and hopefully besting them all. He knew he could take Aurelius, who seemed to be the strongest of these Wyrms.
An uneasiness washed through him, though. A nagging thought that would not be silent. What if Talifax still controlled him? What if he was using Kheross to take some of Virkonna’s magic?
“I dare not risk it, mother,” Kheross explained. “It may be my paranoia, but I fear Talifax’s influence. I fear that you investing any amount of power in me could be a ploy. And, to be truthful, I would rather kill Talifax with my own strength.”
Virkonna nodded. “An honorable choice. Very well. In the battle that comes you have my permission to hunt the deceiver as you will.”
40
Voice of the Outriders
Aran and the rest of the company kept largely to themselves in the wake of Virkonna’s awakening. No one wanted to talk about the destruction on the planet below. They’d seen it on Marid. They’d seen it on New Texas. Ternus. The list just kept getting longer. So many people dead, and for what? So a goddess could wake up?
Over the past week he’d thrown himself into tactical study and sparring with Drakkon. They’d met twice a day for the past seven days, and while Aran was beginning to grow as a swordsman he was also cognizant that no one was stopping Talifax or Krox from whatever screwed up plots they were hatching.
Yet here they sat, doing nothing. Voria hadn’t yet been summoned, and so far as Aran could tell, Virkonna was busy solidifying her position just like any other Wyrm would have done. She was more like Nebiat and less like Neith, and his level of bitterness at that fact surprised him. He’d have thought he was over petty gods.
Gods. Mortals. We are all the same, Narlifex thrummed. The blade was becoming quite the philosopher. Life is magic. Magic is life. Gods are old mortals, but they have mortal failings.
“You’re not wrong about that,” Aran agreed.
The scry-screen in the corner of his quarters chimed, and Aran rose with a yawn. He walked to the screen and accepted the incoming missive. His sister was one of the last people he expected to see.
Her almond-shaped eyes and dark hair were familiar, but there was still more awkwardness than affection in her pretty face. His probably looked exactly the same from her perspective.
“Brother, I apologize, but I come to you with a request for aid. One you are uniquely suited to fill.” She paused, and seemed to be waiting for permission before continuing.
“Go on,” he prompted. Aran folded his arms, and gave her his full attention.
“Virkonna is raising a guardian,” Astria explained. “There will be a contest, and she will choose a champion from among the survivors.”
“And?” Aran’s heart beat a little more swiftly as fight or flight overtook him. He wasn’t going to like this ask.
“And this contest is generally for Wyrms.” Astria’s eyes grew wet, though no tears escaped. “There is no official prohibition for an Outrider entering. After…what she did to our world, we need a voice, brother. We need to show the Wyrms that we are not fodder. We are not merely weak servants, to be discarded and spent where convenient. To be trampled underfoot.”
Aran exhaled a long, slow breath. He didn’t want to react too quickly to this, but his initial instinct was to simply say no. “I don’t have any interest in being a lapdog for Virkonna, and it sounds like that’s the job I’d be signing up for. That’s effectively what a guardian is, right? Her right-hand ma
n?”
Astria nodded. “Yes, but also no. A guardian can serve as a check on their master’s power. Some guardians have even rebelled against the god they serve. Elevating you may provide social expectations, but it will not bind you. It will not force you to obey.”
“I don’t see that as any better.” He shook his head. “She’ll expect me to jump when she says jump.”
Astria barked a bitter laugh, and the lines around her eyes tightened. “She already expects that. Every Wyrm expects that. Aran, you represent our one chance to be free. There will always be wars. Do you think that it will somehow end after you kill Nefarius, or Krox? The godswar is eternal, and Virkonna will attempt to aggressively expand the last dragonflight. She will see it as her duty.”
Aran had to fight to keep his posture from going slack. The slight slumping of the shoulders, the bowing of his back. His body wanted to give up. It wanted to give up because it had seen the cost of waking Virkonna, but only now did the real cost become apparent. They’d unleashed another elder god on the sector, and no elder god seemed to have the sector’s best interests in mind.
“You think that if I embarrass the Wyrms competing in this contest, it’s going to somehow make Virkonna treat Outriders better?” Aran didn’t bother hiding his skepticism.
“It has to begin somewhere,” his sister pointed out. “And there is another reason. You wish to slay Talifax, and Nefarius if she truly rises, and Krox. Can you accomplish any of those things without Virkonna?”
She had him, and he knew it.
“Maybe, but I don’t see how,” he admitted. He sighed, and scratched at his beard. “I can’t really see a way out of doing this. What’s involved?”
