Chapter 9
The shadows of the Darrinian skyships pass over the outer walls of Arcania just as the first Labrinthian soldiers sprint inside the city gates. In the city, people are running around like spooked horses. A smattering of Arcanian battle wizards are summoning lightning and fireballs to ward off the invaders, but they are sorely outnumbered and for every charred Labrinthian corpse, twenty more make it through.
Above, aboard the Hardfist, General Reichsteadtler faces a group of lieutenants standing ready to transmit his orders to the rest of the fleet.
“First, we will drop the incendiaries, and after perhaps twenty ticks, our parashooters will drop down, scatter, and knock out any remaining out any upward fire. Then--hey, what the High Hell are you doing, woman?”
He turns in amazement to the woman, who is standing on the railing of the ship, preparing to jump.
“Thanks for the lift, General,” she says as she falls backward with her arms folded across her chest, into the open air, plunging toward the chaos below.
The general notices a small device tied to the railing where she stood. He dives for it in slow motion, but he doesn’t have enough time. The lit end of the fuse disappears just as he wraps his fingers around it.
Varello braces himself, shuddering as he passes through the spot where Zanther was brutally repelled just moments before, but nothing happens as he steps onto the platform and stands in front of the shining silver compass.
He reaches for it, expecting some insidious trap to claim him--but, again, nothing happens.
The silver artifact feels cool and heavy in his hand as he carries it back to the group, handing it to Novanostrum. Zanther and Varello stand a few paces away as he touches the tip of the compass to the point on the globe corresponding with Claustria.
Yet again, nothing happens.
“Well, of course,” Novanostrum says, “It’s just like the watch. It must be activated by someone with magick. Here, Zanther, give it a try and we’ll grab your arms so we’re transported, too.”
Zanther winces as he grabs the metal objects and hurriedly touches the tip of the silver compass to Claustria. The three of them become transparent, they flicker for a short instant, and they disappear.
She drops through the air face-first, her arms straight against her sides with her fists pressed against her thighs. Below her, wizards and soldiers exchange powderblast shots and spells. All of the action stops for a moment as the stunned faces look up toward the exploding skyship.
The flaming debris of the Hardfist shoots out in all directions, hitting some of the other skyships, which explode in turn. As the woman falls, the entire fleet bursts into flames in rapid succession, a sick percussion of flaming death providing a beat for her graceful descent.
Roughly fifty man-lengths above the ground, she does a half-backflip which leaves her upright and facing forward. She holds out her arms, with her open hands seeming to push the surrounding air downward, dramatically slowing her descent. As her feet touch the ground, she finds herself surrounded by stunned spectators, with wizards and soldiers both staring at her, slack-jawed.
But their temporarily-stunned expressions turn into a terrified panic as the burning planks and cannons of the exploded skyfleet come tumbling to the ground in a storm of flaming debris.
She walks calmly through the confusion, making her way to the largest building in Arcania.
Zanther, Novanostrum, and Varello materialize in the Queen’s private courtyard, to the dismay of two guards.
As soon as they solidify, Zanther immediately drops the globe and compass, rubbing his hands together.
“Do you wizards have any magickal artifacts which aren’t made of metal?”
Novanostrum shrugs. “Metal lasts. It has good alchemistic properties.”
A knot of soldiers runs up to them, accompanied by Madra.
“You boys certainly know how to make an entrance. Care to tell me where my expensive skyyacht has gone?”
Zanther scratches the back of his neck. “It’s scattered across the Flatplains. You wouldn’t want to ride in it anyways, that thing’s a deathtrap.”
She shakes her head in disappointment, then fixes her glare on Novanostrum.
“So your girlfriend, the witch, organized a plot to have me killed.”
“That’s not all she’s done,” Varello says, “she drained Novanostrum and I of our powers, made Zanther antimetallic, and may have gotten herself impregnated with an apocalyptic child.”
“Oh?”
“Yes,” Varello continues, “and she’s no witch--we are fairly certain she’s the ‘Goddess Prismarissa’ mentioned in the prophecy I discovered.”
Zanther turns to her, confused. “Wait, did you say she plotted to have you killed? That doesn’t make any sense. With her power, she could probably kill you with her brain or something.”
“I doubt she really wanted you dead,” Varello says, “’tis far more likely she anticipated that you would uncover the plot. I fear she may have merely wanted you to be distracted.”
He looks around at the others.
“And I believe that goes for all of us. She wanted us all to be distracted. Like you said, Zanther, she didn’t kill any of us though she easily could have.”
“Why? Where is she now?” Madra asks.
Novanostrum smacks his palm against his forehead. “Arcania. The packages, the assassinations, all the warring and slaughtering. There’s something there she wants.”
Madra nods. “My spies have told me that someone managed to murder the entire Wizard’s Council. If she’s really a goddess, that would be well within her ken. But why wouldn’t she just grab it when she was there? And if she has such incredible power, what could she possibly need?”
Novanostrum shrugs. “No idea.”
Varello studies Novanostrum’s face carefully. “Master Singularis knows something he isn’t telling us.”
“Fine. You really wanna know? When I was messing around in the vaults deep under the Knot, I overheard some of the cleaning staff talking about an object of terrible power. A stuffed death doll supposedly made from the robes of Thanos’ cloak.”
“She’d go through all this just to get a little doll?” Zanther asks.
“It’s not just a little doll--it has the power to turn a god into a mortal. You see, the body of a god is, well, kind of ‘frozen’ in terms of aging, and the effect would carry over into the, uh, ‘essence’ of myself inside of her once it merges with her egg. In order to bring the child to term, she would have to transfer her godliness to the doll, at least for the duration of her pregnancy.”
Madra gives him a look. “But, again, what’s to stop her from just walking in and grabbing it?”
“There are dozens, if not hundreds of spells protecting the Knot and its various sub-levels. The deeper you go, the more spells and protections. Some of them are impermeable even for a goddess. However, many of these spells are based on the placement of magickal artifacts throughout the Knot and the positioning of the walls and towers et cetera et cetera. Some spells are even drawn from the dormant power of the citizens of Arcania themselves. If she could destroy a good chunk of the building and kill a bunch of the citizens, the spells would become weak enough to allow her to obtain the doll.”
Varello squints at Novanostrum. “So how did you get down there?”
Novanostrum shrugs. “Every system has its loopholes.”
Zanther smiles. “Well, this is a good thing. So we just let her get the doll and then we kill her. Granted, it won’t be as easy without our respective abilities, which I’m sure she took into consideration when she stripped us of them, but we’ll have nine moonths to hunt her down.”
Varello shakes his head. “Actually, we don’t have the luxury of time. We know where she’s going right now, but after that she could go anywhere. The world’s a big place and we wouldn’t even know where to start looking. She’s been alive for thousands of sunspins;
it won’t be difficult for her to think of somewhere to evade us for nine short moonths.”
Novanostrum sighs. “Okay, Zanther, let’s go. We both know what must be done. Let’s get it over with.”
“Yes, let’s do that. But let’s hit up the armory first--just because I can’t use metal weapons doesn’t mean you can’t.”
Livid Steel Page 9