by Chris Fox
“No, thankfully.” Frit’s embarrassment deepened. “Just the room where the mirror was held.”
“I’m sorry you were placed in that situation.” Nebiat experienced a tiny bit of satisfaction. “Voria will be pleased to know that I am happy. We have deprived an opponent of a potent tool, and it cost us nothing. It was always my plan for Voria to fall fighting Nefarius. This changes nothing, and ensures she will be blind to my schemes. You have done well.”
“The next part you’ll like less.” Frit gave a heavy sigh. “I made it to…my destination, and I’m now under a geas that will prevent me from speaking of the place, or the being who dwells there. I can relate our conversation, though.”
“Does this mysterious goddess know of a way to free me?”
“I believe so,” Frit explained, “but she was unwilling to share it. The being explained to me what would happen if you were removed. Krox would be free, and the sector would pay the price. She would not provide the knowledge we needed. What’s more, I was promised that if I continued to search that I would be actively opposed by a very powerful, and very much living, deity.”
Nebiat closed her spectral eyes, but it did not stop her from seeing. Her options were narrowing. She hadn’t really believed Frit would find a solution, but confirmation that she hadn’t still stung. She reined in her anger, and tried to be magnanimous.
“Thank you, Frit. You’ve done what you can.” She gestured at the world below with a titanic leg. “If you wish, you may retire to your temple. Your sisters have prepared quarters for you, and are eagerly awaiting your arrival. If I learn anything I will call for you.”
“Nebiat?” Frit asked, rather more tentatively than Nebiat had come to expect.
“Yes, child?”
“This being believes Krox will be instrumental in stopping Nefarious.” Frit eyed her searchingly. “Surely we should work together with Voria. If we combined forces we could better prepare, and maybe win this fight. I saw what Nefarius was like before and…we don’t stand a chance. Not on our own. Nefarious is far stronger than anything you’ve seen, even Krox.”
“Are you mad?” Nebiat demanded, her eyes flying open. “We attacked Shaya a handful of weeks ago. We killed tens of thousands of their citizens, and tore apart their blasted tree. Voria will never forgive me, and she will do anything to best me. If we put ourselves in a vulnerable position they will pounce, I assure you. No, they live or die without our intervention. Now go. Please. Before I grow angry.”
“Of course.” Frit executed a standing bow, and then translocated to the planet below.
I told you, Krox taunted. There is no escaping me.
Nebiat fought to suppress the growing panic. There appeared to be no way out, and she couldn’t ever recall having been this terrified.
Do you know the goddess my guardian spoke of?
Of course, Krox rumbled. The description is unmistakable. She is the watcher in the depths. Neith, the first Wyrm elevated by the Wyrm Mother. She has been an ally, at times, but more often an enemy. That is especially true now that we know where she is located. I suspect that even now she is moving her world.
That gave Nebiat much to think on. Neith sounded like the one most likely to pierce the possibility that she was oh so carefully crafting. But that didn’t matter, so long as Neith was on the run and unable to warn her allies.
She only needed to keep it secret a little longer.
53
Yes, Pharaoh
Frit felt awful as she translocated down to the planet. She was terrified of the temple beneath her, its fluted spires curling up into the sky like wisps of flame. There was no way the structure could exist without magic, which Frit could feel even three hundred meters away.
As she watched, a hatchling glided in for a landing on a balcony, and an ash-scaled elder Wyrm leapt off another. Quite a bit of traffic flowed to and from the temple, though she didn’t spy any of her sisters.
She hated the idea of simply knocking, but if she was Nebiat’s guardian she was going to have to learn to conduct herself with authority and grace, like Voria, or Nebiat herself. Frit drifted lower, toward the base of the structure. The most traffic flowed here, with dozens of hatchlings seeking admittance through a wide doorway seemingly cut into the middle of the dancing flames.
Before she could step inside, something flared above her and she glanced up to see a cloud of native Ifrit, living flame, descend toward the temple. The flames disappeared into the tip of the central spire. Curious. What had brought them here and why?
Frit joined the hatchlings at the back of the line, which moved very slowly through the doorway. She couldn’t see much of what awaited them inside, and instead listened to the hatchlings chat as she waited her turn.
“Is this your first time?” the smaller hatchling asked, his voice a deeper rumble than Kaho’s. He sounded nervous.
“Third,” the other hatchling replied with more confidence. “The sisters can do as they claim. Hedjet read my futures, and foresees my rise in a Great War. I will lead, she says. I’ve come to speak to Deshret, though he is much harder to obtain an audience with.”
Frit cocked her head at that. The titles were in ancient draconic, and roughly translated as ‘white crown’ and ‘red crown’. Two leaders perhaps? Maybe a chieftain and a spiritual leader? Frit was hardly conversant in cultural anthropology, so she hoped she was understanding correctly.
The line inched forward and she finally stepped inside the temple. The walls were the same living flame, dancing and undulating with a will of its own. A trio of Ifrit stood in white robes, which were untouched by their considerable heat. Two were recognizable as her sisters, but the third gave Frit pause. It was a man.
“Hedjet!” One of the Ifrit suddenly called. She was pointing frantically at something, trying to get the attention of the woman in the middle. “Hedjet, look!”
Frit glanced around to see what she was pointing at, but everyone around her was just as mystified as she was. She turned back, and found all three Ifrit, including the male, staring at her with their mouths hanging open.
“Uh, hi there.” Frit took a cautious step forward. She was not off to a great start as a supreme god-like leader. “Is one of you Hedjet, and if so, are you in charge?”
The Ifrit in the center had short hair, just barely touching her smoldering shoulders. She was perhaps six inches shorter too, which was more variance than the Ifrit back on Shaya had ever displayed. Of course neither of those was as odd as the male Ifrit off to the right. He was handsome, in a classic Shayan sort of way.
“I am Hedjet, Pharaoh.” The sister dropped to her knees and prostrated herself. The other Ifrit copied the gesture, and all over the room hatchlings mimicked it. Within a few moments she was the only one standing.
“You can all stand up.” She reached down and helped Hedjet back to her feet. “Don’t ever get on your knees, not for anyone. Certainly not for me. Is this what Nebiat is making you do?”
“Making us?” Hedjet gave Frit a scandalized glance, then dropped it to the obsidian floor. “Pharaoh, mighty Nebiat does not speak to us. We are left to discover our own forms of worship. But the wisest among us realized she would appoint a prophet, one to lead us. And you have come. We recognize your strength, the touch of our goddess.”
Frit couldn’t really argue with any of that. It sounded pompous, but she supposed she was the divine instrument of a goddess. And these people did need leadership, if this was the best society they could come up with.
“It looks like I have my work cut out for me.” She shook her head, and looked around. “We are equals. All of us. Wyrm, Ifrit, human…we are all sentient beings worthy of respect.”
Hedjet blinked a few times but eventually nodded. “Of course, Pharaoh. If I seem hesitant it is only that this is new and will take time to adjust. Many Wyrms do not feel that—”
“That Ifrit are the equal of a true Wyrm,” interrupted a deep, cultured voice. A hatchling strode down the wide stai
rs, his feet hissing each time they touched a flaming step. He walked boldly down to them, and as he approached, Hedjet started to drop to her knees.
Frit’s hand shot out and caught her sister’s wrist. She guided Hedjet back to her feet, and moved to intercept the smug hatchling. “I take it you must be Deshret?”
“I see word of my wisdom precedes me.” The hatchling puffed up, and many other hatchlings in the room aped the gesture.
Ah, so that was how it was.
“Tell me, Deshret, do you believe that a mere Ifrit can be the equal of a…mighty Wyrm such as yourself?” She sauntered forward in the way that often drew Kaho’s attention.
“I do not care what title you have been given,” the hatchling growled. “I will—”
Frit extended a hand and summoned the fire Nebiat had given her. A river of blinding white flame burst from her palm, and slid across the floor toward Deshret. The flames pooled around his feet, binding him to the stone. He seemed concerned, but not frightened. That would change in a few moments.
“I have a difficult choice to make.” Frit walked calmly to stand beside Deshret, who towered over her. “My natural inclination now that I am in a leadership position is tolerance. My best friend would tell me to be patient, and my former mentor would urge me to discuss our differences until we reach an accord.”
The flames had risen past Deshret’s thighs now. He began to thrash, but was unable to lift either foot from the stone. That bit came from void, but the rest was pure fire, and it was the flame that would be the end of him. They continued to creep up his body, now covering his waist.
“Then I realized,” Frit continued, “that I was bred for war. I was baptized by Shaya, in battle. I don’t have the stomach for politics, and I certainly don’t have the patience for anyone who asserts that their species is better than mine.” Frit extended a hand, and the flames shot up the rest of Deshret’s body.
He opened his mouth to scream, but the fire flowed inside, burning away the oxygen he’d have needed to cry out. The hatchling collapsed to the stone as the nuclear flame ate through his skin, flesh, and bone. Frit made it quick, and several seconds later nothing but a smudge of grey soot lay on the obsidian.
She turned to Hedjet, whose face had gone carefully neutral. “I do not know how you select the next Deshret, but however you do it, I’d ensure it is someone who sees our kind as equals.”
“Yes, Pharaoh.” Hedjet bowed, and backed slowly away. In fact, they’d all backed away.
Well, it looked like Frit had chosen to rule through fear. She wondered what Nebiat would make of it, and if it had been the right decision. If she’d been asked yesterday what she’d have done, incinerating the opposition would not have been on the list of answers.
But today Frit became a war leader. She didn’t know if they could survive Nefarius, but she was going to do everything in her power to ensure they won.
54
We Ride to War
Aran returned to the Talon after Virkonna’s latest ‘war council’, which was a party where no actual strategy had been discussed. It seemed more like an excuse for Wyrms to tell war stories and boast of past battle prowess.
He was unsurprised to find Drakkon waiting in the sparring room, but was shocked to see who he was sparring with.
Nara, a good half meter shorter than the burly Wyrm, circled low and fast near the outside of the ring. Drakkon darted forward, and Nara parried the blow with her staff, then tried to land a jab. Drakkon blocked it easily.
“Good, good.” He gave her a smile as he circled, though he did spare a moment to nod to Aran. “You are getting better at reading my moves and then reacting, rather than the blind offense you’ve been using.”
“Better you than me,” Kezia said. Aran hadn’t realized she’d been crouched against the far wall, but the diminutive blonde was coated in sweat. “I could use a few pints after that. Come join me when you’re done, Nara.”
“I—” Nara began to reply, but Drakkon instantly pounced, and threw her to the mat. “Oof. I will.”
Rhea ducked into the training room, and Aran offered her a welcoming smile. She inclined her head in a neutral nod, but then froze. Aran traced her gaze, and noted that she was staring at Nara. Rhea’s eyes narrowed, then she turned without a word and departed.
That wasn’t good. He’d expected some resistance toward Nara, but hadn’t realized Rhea might share in it since she hadn’t been present for Nara’s betrayal. Rhea had been on edge since she learned of her father’s presence here, though so far as Aran knew she hadn’t talked to anyone about it.
Theoretically that was his responsibility, but Rhea was tough, and time was of the utmost importance. Virkonna had said she was going to move soon, and he wanted to be ready when she did.
HEAR ME, MY CHILDREN, Virkonna’s voice thrummed through his mind. For a moment Aran thought only he could hear it, but everyone else suddenly clutched their heads, groaning in pain as the voice continued. THE TIME FOR WAR HAS COME. OUR ANCIENT ENEMY HAS MADE A GRAVE ERROR, AND WE HAVE LEARNED THE LOCATION OF THEIR SECRET CABAL. THE TIME HAS COME TO VISIT OUR WRATH UPON THEM.
Aran could feel her stirring, several dozen kilometers away. Somehow Virkonna could store the bulk of her power while in human form, then recall it as she wished. She’d just recalled it, and her strength surged like an ocean.
“All right, people,” Aran said, drawing everyone’s attention. “You heard the lady. Looks like we’re riding to war. Drakkon, will you be joining us this time?”
Drakkon nodded gravely as he offered a hand to Nara and helped her to her feet. “My mother is dead and gone. There is no reason for me to live any longer. My life is mine to do with as I will, and I choose to spend it thwarting the humans who devoured my mother’s corpse.”
“Glad to hear it. The rest of you enjoy what R&R you can, because this will be the last of it. I’ll take us into orbit, and we’ll see precisely what Virkonna has in mind.”
Aran tapped into the Talon’s senses, and willed the ship to lift off. It drew a tiny tendril of void from him, almost imperceptible, then they were airborne. He walked to the bridge as the Talon flew, and kept one eye on the growing dragonflight.
It was quite impressive, thousands of Wyrms all rising up from the planet together, all clustered around Virkonna’s gravity-effecting bulk. Even Cerberus swam up to her, though his form was dwarfed by hers.
My children, the hour is at hand. Talifax seeks to resurrect my dark sister, and I have seen the precise moment of her ascension. We must stop it, no matter the cost. Every Wyrm, every Outrider, must work together to overcome the forces arrayed against us.
A brilliant light shot from the planet and streaked up into the sky near Virkonna. At first Aran hoped it was Voria, but quickly realized the figure was too large for that. A snow-white Wyrm about half the size of Virkonna swam up into the stars near her. Inura, in his dragon form at last.
Welcome, Brother. Virkonna spread her wings, and settled them protectively around the dragonflight, which included the Talon. Gather your strength. In moments the battle begins. Let us terrify our foes.
55
Contingencies
Skare’s finger hovered over the scry-pad built into the desk he’d ordered installed on the Dragon Skull’s bridge. It lent the same feel he’d grown used to in his office, and gave him the illusion of control. He knew it to be an illusion, but that made it no less necessary, and no less potent.
All around the bridge techs sat at their terminals, none daring to look up, much less speak. They were terrified of the pair of cyborgs Skare had posted at either end of the bridge. The cyborgs had been born human, but none of that humanity remained in their cold, black exteriors. They were smooth, with no visible mouth, eyes, or anything else a human might recognize.
“I can feel their strength,” Talifax’s calm voice rumbled from the corner of the bridge. Skare glanced up, but didn’t rise.
“You’re referring to my guards, yes?” Skare turned
from the cyborgs, once again wondering if Talifax knew about his armor. He fingered the bracelet under his uniform, then stopped when he realized what he was doing.
“Indeed. Why so many?” Talifax glanced over his shoulder, up the corridor leading deeper into the ship. “You have enough firepower on this ship to give a god pause. Did you not feel that the tanks and mechs were enough? These new tools feel like you are…compensating for something.”
“If a god takes issue with the ritual I am about to initiate,” Skare explained, tapping the first sigil on his screen, “then I want the best magical defenses in the sector. My creations only grow stronger when attacked with magic. I suspect even you might find them a challenge.”
Talifax casually walked to the cyborgs and inspected them. “Perhaps. And their presence reassures you?”
“Indeed,” Skare said, aping the obsolete demigod. He tapped the second sigil, and waited for it to turn purple before tapping the third and final. His desk flared, and the screen flashed an icon indicating that the ritual was complete.
Outside the ship the spellcannon filled with immense void magic, which pulsed out in a fat tendril, the very same used to drain magic. This one did the opposite, though. It emptied its reserves, delivering pulse after pulse of black power into the pool that would drive the ritual, just as countless ships had delivered their own payloads over the last few months.
“There is enough.” Talifax sounded pleased as he strode to the desk, and stared down at the images playing across the surface. “Your metrics are accurate. In a few moments the wards will devour the last of the earth magic, and we can begin in earnest.”
Even as the near-god spoke, the screen showed the process. The latticework of runes across the interior of the fist flared once, and then fused. Droplets of brown rained from the rock, drifting lazily toward the pool of void still undulating in the center of the cavern.
