by Chris Fox
Aran came striding down the Talon’s ramp like the vengeance of the gods incarnate, but curiously there was no sign of the rest of the crew. The captain approached and moved to stand near Voria. He eyed Nara and something unspoken passed between them.
“I haven’t told her yet,” Nara whispered.
“Told me what?” Voria asked, rising to her feet now that Virkonna was safely on her throne.
“Kez—” Tears filled Aran’s eyes, and he struggled for several moments before he could continue. “She didn’t make it.”
Voria closed her eyes, and wished for simpler days. “Somehow that is worse than everything else that has come this day. She was a kind soul.”
When Voria opened her eyes she realized that everyone was staring at something behind her. She turned, and a mixture of shock and rage washed through her when she saw that Frit was standing there.
The flaming demigod clutched her hands before her, and somehow managed to look the frightened slave she’d been when they first met.
“I’m sorry,” Frit said, in a small voice. “I know I’m not welcome here, and I promise I will leave after I deliver my message.”
“Which god do you represent, daughter of Ifurita?” Virkonna demanded. Her hand settled on her spellblade, though Voria wasn’t positive the goddess was strong enough to use it.
“Nebiat.” Frit curtsied to Virkonna. “I guess you might know her as Krox.”
“She is a treacherous serpent,” Voria snapped, then immediately regretted her choice of words.
“Mind your tongue, little god.” Virkonna’s eyes narrowed, but she shifted her attention back to Frit. “And what is it your master wishes?”
“An alliance,” Frit said, looking up to meet Virkonna’s gaze, but only for an instant, then she dropped her gaze. “You can’t defeat Nefarius by yourselves, and we don’t want her around any more than you do.”
“Not three weeks ago your mistress assaulted my world.” Voria stalked forward, and resisted the urge to attack. “She killed tens of thousands of my citizens. She has bedeviled my people for decades. Why would we possibly trust her?”
“Because you have no choice?” Frit shrugged. She held up her hands in a placating gesture. “If you’re not interested, say the word and I’ll be on my way.”
“No,” Virkonna growled. She rose shakily from her throne. “I might be willing to work with your mistress, but to do so I require a gesture of good faith.”
Frit curtsied again. “I’d be happy to relay your requests.”
“Bring me the spear Worldender, and then we will talk. With that weapon I can truly slay Nefarius.” She rose to her full height. “This provision is not negotiable. Can you relay that to your mistress, daughter of Ifurita?”
“Of course.” Frit bobbed a final curtsey.
Voria took the opportunity to use her godsight. She examined the timelines, and instead of focusing on Nefarius she looked for Krox. The deity was out there, and the possibility existed that he might come here, to this world. If so, there didn’t seem to be any combat immediately after, but Voria couldn’t see any more than that.
It was possible that meant a turbulent future, but it was also possible that Nebiat was somehow hiding her true intentions. Voria was not inclined to trust her, whatever Virkonna decided.
Gasps sounded all around her, and Voria glanced up at the sky to see a second star appear. Krox had arrived.
Voria tensed, but did not immediately pursue combat. That would ruin any chance they had of an alliance, and doing that might drive a rift between her and Virkonna. Voria felt trapped.
“I—” Frit looked skyward, and turned a troubled glance back to Virkonna. “I don’t understand why Krox is here. I wasn’t told that he’d be—”
Krox’s hand opened, and hundreds of Wyrms flew out like a flock of bats. Another opened, and a cloud of Ifrit flowed out, as the Wyrms had. At first Voria feared they were attacking Virkon, but noted that they were fanning out in orbit. An honor guard? Her gut said otherwise.
“Virkonna, this is an attack. Do not be lured in,” Voria counseled.
The Wyrm-goddess turned a baleful eye in her direction. “I sense no attack. I—”
The Wyrms fanned out and assaulted the ragged remains of the Virkonan spellfighters, all those still in orbit. They savagely destroyed vessel after vessel, while a good three dozen Wyrms began to assault the Spellship itself, which now stood alone.
“We have to stop this,” Voria demanded, pointing at her vessel. She rounded on Frit, whose horrified expression told her everything she needed to know. The Ifrit was just as shocked as everyone else.
Voria tried to translocate, but realized she’d just used the ability. Blast it. Nebiat had almost certainly chosen this moment for that exact reason.
69
Bitch, I Invented Betrayal
Nebiat stretched out a hand and seized the Spellship. She wrapped it in layers of spirit, water, and earth, sheathing it in protective wards and bindings, like a spider spinning webs around trapped prey.
Once the ship was completely obscured under potent magics, she turned from Virkon and began flying away as fast as she could, toward the outer edge of the system.
That wasn’t very fast when one considered the speed of translocation. She was barely moving as fast as ordinary light, which was glacially slow in cosmic terms.
I do not yet grasp the full extent of your plan, Krox mused. I had assumed this an invasion, yet you clearly do not seek combat. Was this ship your goal?
Nebiat was all too happy to explain. She examined the possibilities back on Virkon, and was reasonably confident pursuit would be too slow to catch her. They’d already wasted precious seconds dithering. Voria couldn’t translocate, and Virkonna had no reason to.
As expected, Voria was the only one to act. Her blasted nemesis teleported into orbit where Nebiat had been mere moments ago, and stared after her as if considering pursuit. In some possibilities Voria did, and in others she realized the futility and did not.
Ahhh, I understand. Krox gave an amused rumble. You knew that your rival would be unable to use use translocation so soon after escaping Nefarius.
I did, Nebiat agreed. But it’s more than that. I also knew she’d fear Nefarius. She has no idea how long it will take him to devour Drakkon. What if he comes for Virkonna while she is chasing me? She cannot afford the risk, and she will soon realize it.
And you feel stealing the Spellship was that large of a victory? It is an interesting toy, but hardly worthy of the same effort you utilized to retrieve Worldender. The Spellship is only a few dozen millennia old, and a pale shadow of the weapons created at the height of the godswar.
Nebiat laughed. It pleased her that Krox was ignorant both of her plans, and of the true uses a ship like this could be put to. She held the vessel before her cosmic face, and inspected it through her wards and bindings. Somewhere inside, her wayward son had given way to despair, now that he realized what she had done. They were going to have a long talk, Kaho and her.
This ship allows us to amplify worship. I have just created a planet full of worshippers. More importantly, I have deprived Voria of her greatest tool. She cannot oppose Nefarius in direct combat, and neither can Virkonna. They are doomed when the god moves on their planet.
And what will you do when Nefarius comes for you? Krox demanded
I will kill her and devour her, Nebiat gave back. I have Worldender, and I have the Spellship. I also have the largest army in the sector. The only army in the sector. What do my rivals have? Nefarius is no doubt powerful, but she sacrificed her fleets for her rebirth. Her strength cannot be infinite.
Krox pulsed thoughtfully in silence for long moments. I believe you may have done something brilliant. I do not understand how this has come to pass, but I now see the possibility of our dominion over this entire sector, something I have failed to achieve for longer than your species’ existence.
Nebiat smiled. Everyone had underestimated her once again. Now it was ti
me to finish this. She would wait for either Nefarius or Voria to act, and the moment either displayed weakness she would crush them.
If either moved directly against her she’d ruthlessly slaughter whatever force they brought. In a few short weeks she would be the only god of any significant strength still living.
Epilogue
Kazon set the spanner down, then crossed the workshop and sat at the table he’d converted into a makeshift mess. He’d even taken to sleeping there. Every free moment had been spent tinkering with Inura’s golden creation.
What he did came through instinct, and there was no conscious decision. He worked on what felt right, as he had every day since Inura had left.
Kazon wasn’t a war mage like Aran, or a true mage like Voria. He was just a tech mage with a basic understanding of engineering principles. And that meant that there was a force at play here he didn’t understand. That didn’t mean he was ignorant to its existence, though.
Inura had modified him somehow; of that Kazon was certain, even if it wasn’t clear how or what the god had done, precisely.
He pushed a stack of plates aside, and fished out a hunk of this morning’s pancakes. It was soggy with syrup, but at this point he’d take the sugar high. Afterwards he might even be able to sleep.
“You are still toiling, I see,” came a cultured voice from the workshop’s doorway.
Kazon looked up guiltily, about to pop another bite of pancake into his mouth. Inura stood in the doorway. Kazon dropped the pancake, but before it hit the plate he realized the truth. “Shinura. For a moment I thought…”
He hadn’t seen the shade in several days, and had wondered what had become of the magical servant. Thanks to whatever compulsion Inura had laid on him, he hadn’t wondered very much, though. That would have interfered with the work.
“You thought correctly, in a way.” The simulacrum entered the workshop, and moved to stand before the golden knight, which was now complete.
“What do you mean?” Kazon retrieved the pancake and popped it into his mouth. He was hungrier than he’d thought, and might actually need to go prepare something. Or ask the facility to anyway.
“I mean,” Shinura began as he turned to face Kazon, his scales gleaming in the golden light, “that I am more than I was. Inura…updated me, to put it in terms you’ll understand. Our consciousness diverged many millennia ago, when Inura left and Virkonna entered torpor.” Shinura’s tail flicked in agitation. “Inura layered all his experiences during those millennia right over my memories. He showed me all the things he’d seen, and brought our consciousnesses much closer together. I am him, in a way, but I retain my…perspective?”
“That is wonderful.” Kazon’s face split into a wide grin. “You can tell me what this mecha is for. And maybe even help me deploy it in time for whatever Inura had planned. You’ve no idea how timely this is. Our side desperately needs some sort of hope.”
“They cannot know,” Shinura snarled as his eyes flared with immense life magic. Far more than the servant had possessed when last Kazon had seen him. The gesture was more in keeping with Inura, which was deeply troubling. “I sacrificed half my magic so that Nefarius and Virkonna would believe me dead. If Talifax learns of my survival, then Nefarius will arrive within hours. We cannot risk alerting anyone.”
Suddenly Kazon understood. Inura had bequeathed a massive chunk of his power to Shinura, and he’d entrusted his memories to the simulacrum as well. He’d effectively cloned himself, all in an effort to escape the notice of his enemies. It was very much like a lizard cutting off its own tail so that it could escape a predator.
Kazon sat back and tried to comprehend the kind of desperation required to do something like this. “You sacrificed half your power and your very life, from my perspective at least. All so you could hide? Why? Aran needs you. Voria needs you. They cannot count on Virkonna, and you know it.” He rose and stabbed a finger at the mecha. “And what is that even for? If it is so important, why aren’t we using it? Why not bring it to our allies? We could use it and your survival as a rallying cry.”
Shinura gave a bitter laugh and shook his head. “Our future is balanced on the edge of a blade, an inferno on one side and oblivion on the other. Only one chance for our survival remains, and it requires absolute secrecy. You will take my creation, and you will do what must be done. You will ensure that no one learns of my survival.”
Kazon had nearly endless questions, but Shinura, who’d always been patient, now bore Inura’s characteristic impatience. It was probably safest to treat him like the fallen god. He stared up at the golden knight, and prayed that Inura’s contingency offered some chance of survival.
He didn’t know what came next, but for good or ill everything would be settled soon. Of that he was absolutely certain.
Note to the Reader
Hey guys, thanks for sticking with me this far in the series! We’re six books in and primed for Godswar, the epic conclusion. That should launch on or around June 30th, 2019, with many spinoff series after that.
If you’re interested enough to want to know when the next book comes out, pop over to magitechchronicles.com and sign up to the mailing list on the right-hand side of the page.
I’ll give you a chance to beta read the next book, work on the roleplaying game, and you’ll hear about a small Magitech Chronicles Facebook Group with like-minded readers where we talk about everything from the roleplaying game to what’s coming in the next book.
We’d love to have you!
-Chris
