by Chris Fox
Skare would only serve one master.
48
No
Voria had retreated to the Spellship in the wake of Virkonna’s grand stunt. She was painfully aware that she needed Virkonna, and Inura, to help fight Krox. If Talifax succeeded, they’d be needed to stop Nefarius too.
She simply could not do this alone.
The problem, of course, was the same Aran faced. Virkonna’s motives clearly did not take into account her followers, and despite elevating a guardian—a guardian she’d agreed to listen to—Voria remained skeptical.
It seemed far more likely that Virkonna would trample a path toward her enemies, and anyone in the way would get crushed. The best she could hope for was minimizing the people in the way.
Voria had spent every free moment in the Chamber of the Mirror trying to determine the best course to that end. The mirror had been helpful, and she was finally learning how to master its abilities.
She was about to summon another weave of possibilities when the air near her began to vibrate, then resolved into a simple one-way missive. Virkonna’s thunderous voice was unmistakable.
“Greetings, vassal. My brother has informed me of the role he intends you to play, and I have acquiesced and will allow you to ride to war with us. Before that can happen you must come to my spire and take your vows. My patience is not infinite. Be swift.”
Voria’s heart ached as she considered how Ikadra would have reacted. She still had no idea how or when Inura would restore the staff, and without a significant increase in her air magic she couldn’t do it herself.
As it stood Voria had to decide how to react. She could try sending a response, but doing so would force Virkonna to come in person, and Voria sensed that the deity considered such things beneath her.
She could go, of course, but doing so signaled that she was willing to follow Virkonna as a master. She wasn’t. Voria would be part of an alliance, and would cede control of any pantheon they created, but she wasn’t going to be anyone’s lap dog. Certainly not a god who murdered swathes of her own population with that kind of casual abandon.
In the end there was only one choice. Voria concentrated, and translocated down to Virkonna’s spire. The more she used the ability the faster she recovered and could use it again.
She appeared in the midst of a decadent party, with Virkonna seated near the center of a half dozen Kem’Hedj boards, all of which she was playing at the same time. And winning. Voria understood how, of course. Godsight made the game pointless, and Voria wondered why Virkonna still indulged. It couldn’t have been simple ego. There were easier ways of proving her superiority to her followers.
“I have come, as you have requested.” Voria offered a low and proper Shayan bow, the kind she’d only ever offered to Aurelia when she’d been Tender.
“It wasn’t a request.” Virkonna rose from the air cushion she’d fashioned, but continued to play all six games while speaking to Voria. Scales drifted from her body, landing on each board with the same precision. “I ordered you here so that we could clarify the nature of our relationship.”
Power wafted off Virkonna in waves, and the display wasn’t lost on Voria. She was flexing her divine muscles to underscore their relative differences in strength.
Voria folded her arms, and kept her tone as neutral as she could manage. “And what do you see that nature as?”
“Master and servant,” Virkonna answered without hesitation. “Your power comes from a sliver of Inura, my younger, weaker brother. Because you’ve done well with that sliver I am willing to grant you a sliver of air as well, enough to make you a proficient enchanter. You will serve as a battlefield medic, and when not in battle you will aid my brother in creating his engines of war.”
“My power,” Voria replied, as mildly as if relating the weather, “comes from Shaya, and from Marid, and from my own followers. It’s true that some of the magic originated from your bother, but Inura was nowhere to be found during my ascension. That was left to one of my very mortal followers.”
“You quibble over the gap between scales,” the deity snapped. Lightning crackled in her eyes, clearly designed to intimidate. Voria decided she was having none of it and stood her ground as the elder goddess continued her tirade. “The bulk of your power comes from my brother, and the rest comes from my elder sister. Marid is dead, and I speak for her. I speak for Inura as well.”
“Only because he’s otherwise occupied,” Voria countered. “And I don’t accept that you speak for Marid. Drakkon does.”
“My nephew,” Virkonna growled, “is not capable of speaking for a god. He is a potent ally, but barely a demigod. He’s only seen a few dozen millennia. He is hardly qualified to make the kind of decisions an elder god must make. Now we are done with this discussion. You will do as you are told, and I will hear no more of it.”
“No,” Voria said mildly, the word carrying across the top of the spire, enough so every Wyrm heard. “I won’t. I do not work for you. If you seek allies, then I would be happy to count myself among them. But I am not a pawn to be expended as you see fit. I will not die as Shaya did. I will find a way to help the mortals of this sector, to shield them from you, and all the other callous gods.”
She realized she’d raised a hand at some point, and had stabbed an accusing finger at Virkonna. Only then did she grasp the magnitude of her words. Even knowing that, Voria wouldn’t have taken them back. Someone had to stand up to these gods, to teach them that mortals were worthy of consideration.
“Out of affection for your forebear I will not slay you out of hand.” Virkonna’s wings flared behind her, and she took a threatening step closer to Voria. “My nephew thinks highly of you, as does my new guardian. I will allow you to live, but only if you vacate my sight. You will not be present at the battle against Talifax. You have lost that right, child god. After we have dealt with that threat we will speak again, and you will learn your place. Now go. Before I change my mind.”
Voria considered several choice responses, but delivered none of them. Instead she teleported back to the Spellship. Virkonna was sending her away like a child, and she doubted there was any way to stop that, short of capitulation or outright war.
Virkonna was still taking Aran, though, and the Talon. Voria needed to make certain Nara was on that ship. That was the next best thing to her being there personally, and whatever Virkonna believed, they were going to need every god and every mage.
She had no illusions about the newly awakened goddess, either. Virkonna could and would attack Voria; of that she had no doubt. Retreat had been her only option, even if it felt like cowardice.
49
Reassigned
Nara sat alone in one of the Spellship’s dining halls, which reminded her of the Talon’s mess, only far larger. She pushed the plate away, and decided not to pick at the last few crumbs of the chocolate cake she’d just devoured.
She knew she was an emotional wreck, but she took great pride that no one else knew it. Throwing herself into her work gave her the occasional moment where she was blessedly free of thinking about Frit, and all the reasons her best friend had left.
Only one fact mattered, in the end. A fact she hadn’t even confided to Voria, which, given the circumstances, couldn’t really be laid at Nara’s feet. Voria was busy dealing with Virkonna, and before that had been dealing with waking her, and before that had been dealing with the attempt to save Ternus.
Frit had become the guardian of their oldest enemy. There would be no amnesty. No reconciliation. If Voria learned of it there was a real possibility her and Frit would fight, and one of them would end up dead.
For that reason Nara had kept Frit’s secret to herself, for now anyway. She prayed that Frit was smart enough to depart swiftly, and after she was gone Nara would speak to Voria.
The hairs on the back of her neck rose, and a moment later a fiery missive flitted up to her. Nara withdrew her scry-pad, and let the message play. It was Voria. Did she know?
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“Is everything all right?” Nara couldn’t see much behind Voria, just the sky, which was consistent with Virkonna’s spire.
Voria’s face fell. “Pretty much what we’d expect. The worst case scenario. I’ve been banished from Virkon, and forbidden to attend the battle with Talifax, once we’ve discovered the location.”
Nara blinked a few times, and tried to decide how to react to that. “I don’t…why? What benefit could leaving a full god behind do? Presumably Talifax has an entire fleet of those ships, and Inura must have told her about them.”
Voria shook her head, the frustration clear on her glowing features. “She will not see reason. But we still have an opportunity to influence the outcome. Virkonna will keep Aran close to her now. I’d like you to move to the Talon, and be my eyes and ears for whatever comes next. If there is a battle I cannot afford to be blind.”
“Of course,” Nara said without thinking. “Pickus should be able to manage the bureaucracy we’ve created, at least until I come back.”
Voria appeared relieved. “I’m glad you see the need. I’m going to the chamber. Since we won’t see each other again until this is over—good luck, Nara.”
“Thank you, Voria. We’ll do you proud.”
The missive dissolved, leaving Nara alone in the dining hall. She needed to fetch her things and get over to the Talon. Seeing Aran would be good, at least. She still wasn’t sure where she stood with the others, but she hoped that some of them might be happy to see her.
She could use a silver lining at this point.
“I apologize,” Kaho’s deep voice rumbled from behind a neighboring shelf, one full of knowledge scales. He stepped out from behind it with a knowledge scale in either hand. “I did not mean to overhear. You are leaving?”
Nara started at the hatchling’s sudden appearance, but relaxed once she realized who it was.
“Before you go I wanted an opportunity to tell you something.” Kaho looked eminently uncomfortable, and his tail swished in agitation behind him. “I am not…practiced with emotions. I wished to tell you that, while I do not expect you to reciprocate the sentiment, I consider you to be my closest friend. Perhaps even closer than Frit, who has my heart, in spite of her rash decisions. From one outcast to another…take care of yourself, Nara. For whatever it’s worth, I am sorry for our former conflict on this world. I regret my actions.”
Nara found herself tearing up unexpectedly. She hadn’t realized it, but she’d grown quite attached to the big lizard. “You’ve become a close friend, Kaho. You taught me that dragons, the Krox specifically, are not inherently evil. Nebiat is evil, but your people are not. Thank you for teaching me that lesson. I’m going to miss you.”
“I hope we see each other again soon, and that Frit somehow escapes the choice she has made.” Kaho offered a tentative smile.
Nara sighed at that. “I don’t see it happening. She’s made her choice. If we see her again I expect it will come to blows.”
She hoped for all their sakes that she was wrong, but in her heart she knew that she wasn’t.
50
Broken
Frit appeared inside a room that, until this morning, she’d never have assumed she’d find herself inside of. The walls were deeply shadowed, and the only light source came from a large mirror bobbing up and down in the center of the room as it rotated in an endless circle.
The Mirror of Shaya, perhaps the most powerful scrying device in the sector. It was a device Nebiat no doubt coveted, and she’d probably have encouraged Frit to steal it had she known of its proximity. Thankfully, Nebiat had no idea. Frit wasn’t here to steal it. She was here to use it.
As she understood it, flame reading, or fire dreaming—they seemed to be the same thing—required both fire and dream. At a simple level it seemed that dream provided the glimpse into the endless possibilities, and fire allowed the user to burn away the unlikely possibilities until they’d found the most likely. She knew it wasn’t that simple, but that was the best overview she’d yet found.
“Let’s hope they don’t have any wards,” Frit muttered. She didn’t detect any, and suspected that if there were any, they were around the outside of the room. It explained how Talifax always moved around without anyone knowing. Translocation was cheating, basically.
She moved to stand in front of the mirror, which showed her reflection on its silvered surface. The mirror stopped as she approached, then turned to face her, like a pet paying attention to its master. She sensed a disturbing amount of intelligence from the device.
“Can you understand me?” she asked, extending a hand to touch the mirror. A shock went up her finger, and she yanked her hand back. “Okay, I guess that was pretty stupid.”
The mirror didn’t answer, but the surface swirled with mist, then resolved into the bridge of an unfamiliar ship. Rusted metal walks lined narrow corridors and low ceilings, the hallmark of dirt-cheap Ternus vessels.
“That certainly matches the description of the Texas,” she muttered to herself. “You can sense what I need, can’t you?”
Frit gasped. The mirror was gone. The room was gone. Suddenly she was on the bridge of the tiny frigate. The crew was gathered around the console, watching the scry-screen, which showed nothing but darkness.
And then she saw it. Right there on the screen in blocky green letters. Frit fixed her attention on the first set of coordinates, and committed them to memory. The vision continued, and the ship passed through some sort of illusion. It now showed the silhouette of a planet. This must be the place. If she could only glimpse those final coordinates.
She poured more strength into the vision, channeling as much fire as she could hurl into the device. A river of star stuff flowed into the mirror, more than any mortal had ever dreamed of touching. It was working! The image stabilized, and she saw the final coordinates.
Agony, immeasurable as it was irresistible, seized her in its icy jaws. She fell to her knees and in the distance heard shattering, as if a large pane of glass had been smashed into the marble floor. Frit desperately sought to master the pain, but the best she could manage was cradling her skull.
She had no idea how much time passed, but when she regained full consciousness she was staring up into Voria’s stern face. The glowing woman was even more frightening now that she was a goddess, and Frit snapped into a sitting position.
“You’ve managed to achieve something I thought impossible,” Voria murmured, eyeing Frit with the kind of curiosity reserved for a magical phenomenon one wished to study. “You’ve destroyed the Mirror of Shaya. Shattered it into a lump of magical materials that I may as well melt down and forge into a club, so I can beat myself to death. It would be both quicker and kinder than the fate you’ve left me. So far as we knew, that mirror was older than any object in the known universe, save Worldender.”
Frit rose shakily to her feet, and wished she’d brought her staff, or anything else to lean on. Her head ached abominably. Did Voria know why she was here? Did she know about Nebiat? “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have been using it, but in my defense I thought it was indestructible.”
“As did I,” Voria admitted. “What’s even more troubling, to my mind, is the vast amount of magical strength you now possess. You didn’t merely visit some Catalyst. You’ve been touched by a goddess.” Voria folded her arms, and gave Frit what Nara had termed the confession stare. “Which one?”
For one terrible moment Frit couldn’t locate words. Should she lie? Flee? No, she owed Voria better than that. She owed her the truth.
“Nebiat,” Frit admitted, then rose to her full height, and found she was taller than Voria. She met Voria’s stare pound for pound. “I’d hoped to avoid this meeting, but it doesn’t look like I can.”
Voria tapped her lip and said nothing, though the hard stare didn’t slip. It was subtle, but Frit could also feel magic building within the goddess. Life and water, probably forming some sort of defensive magic. She hoped so at least.
“I’m sorry about the mirror.” Frit offered her palms apologetically. She took a careful step back, and winced when glass crunched underfoot. “Listen I know we’re technically enemies now. Again. I mean, I can’t keep it straight.”
“Why?” Voria asked. “You had a home here.”
“This ship and your kindness to me isn’t the reason, but we both know this wasn’t a real home for me. It was a large prison cell. Why did I take Nebiat’s offer? Because she needs a handler,” Frit said, a better explanation than she’d given Kaho or Nara. She’d had time to think about the question. “She needs someone to curtail her mad schemes, and she needs someone to suggest reason once in a while. To exert at least some influence, and to curb her ambitions.”
Voria gave a sad sigh. “You realize you’ve left me only one option?”
Frit struck an instant before Voria could. She called fire from the deep, endless well in her chest. But Frit colored that magic with void, tapping into the greater path of Destruction. She fired a bolt of disintegration, even as she hated herself for doing it.
Self-preservation took over.
Frit rolled backwards even as Voria dodged the disintegrate. She came to her feet and flung a pair of fireballs, one from each hand. “Try dodging this.”
The overlapping explosions washed over Voria, and temporarily obscured her from view. When the fire faded, Voria stood behind a life ward, glaring. “You will not slay me so easily.”
“I’m not trying to slay,” Frit cried, all the desperation alive in her voice. “I just want to leave. I’m sorry Voria. I never meant to betray you, or to destroy the mirror. Can’t we just…walk away? The mirror won’t be the only thing broken if we let this escalate.”
Voria hesitated, then gave a nod of resignation. She bent to pick up a shattered shard of the Mirror of Shaya. The life ward winked out, and she offered the shard to Frit. “Take it. Bring it back to Nebiat. Tell her that her little scheme worked. She’s deprived me of a powerful tool, and left me all but blind before the rebirth of Nefarius.” Voria’s face went ugly, and her next words were snarled. “You’ve cost me more than you can ever know, Frit. If we fall to Nefarius, know that it was you who caused our destruction. Now get out. If I ever see you again, then we’ll find out if Nebiat gave you enough strength to withstand my wrath.”
