by Aleks Canard
A Clash of Demons
A Machina Novel
Volume III
Starring
Beatrix Westwood
Aleks Canard
GOLD 1.0 Edition published in 2019
Copyright © Aleks Canard, 2019
The moral rights of the author have been asserted.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the author nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
PAPERBACK ISBN 978-0-244-75773-1
Cover font “Graveblade” designed by Ray Larabie
Copyright © Typodermic Fonts Inc.
Purchased for commercial use by the author
Cover Design and Artwork by Danielle Chisholm
Copyright © Danielle Chisholm, 2019
Author photo by Stef Canard
There’s money to be made in a place like this.
Joe, A Fistful of Dollars, written by Adriano Bolzoni, Mark Lowell, Victor Andrés Catena, and Sergio Leone
And I’m left holding my head looking down at every grave,
And all millennia passed, just a flicker and a wave.
And I’ve seen more villages burn than animals born.
I’ve seen more towers come down than children grow old.
Lewis Watson featuring Kimberly Anne, The Peaks
Beyond the bounds of what is sane, demons dwell, gods are slain.
Cuthbert Theroux
Tip my hat to the sun in the west,
feel the beat right in my chest.
At the crossroads a second time,
make the devil change his mind.
Hugo, 99 Problems
Do not meddle in the affairs of wizards, for they are subtle and quick to anger.
J. R. R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring
Only a corpse may speak true prophecy.
Stephen King, The Gunslinger
About the Author
Aleks Canard is a law school dropout, failed actor, and part time waiter. He spends every day writing novels as he reckons it’s the only thing at which he’s half-decent.
All that’s stopping him from being a total cliché is that he can’t stand writing in coffee shops, he prefers beer to whiskey, and he looks like someone who’s more likely to work at a carnival sideshow than in any literary profession.
His perfect Sunday, once writing is done, is having a rum and coke (or several) while listening to country music.
He lives in Brisbane, Queensland, Australia. He is also writing this biography himself.
For more, visit:
amazon.com/author/alekscanard or alekscanard.tumblr.com
Also by Aleks Canard
The Price of Royalty, A Machina Novel (I)
Of Exiles & Pirates, A Machina Novel (II)
Forging of the Opposites, The Tales of Dante Quintrell (I)
Celestial Twins, The Tales of Dante Quintrell (II)
The Faces of Jasper Wilde, A Novella
The Times of Zachary Esmond, A Novella
Author’s Note
Here I am again.
I can’t believe my good fortune that I am allowed to keep returning to Trix’s world with such speed and clarity. To whoever or whatever is sending me these stories, please keep them coming. I promise to keep writing them if you keep sending them.
This novel was particularly interesting for me as it explores magic in the Milky Way, and Trix’s blood-soaked past. Two story elements that have only been mentioned in passing until now.
New friends are introduced in the following pages. And I was thrilled to see an old one visit again, if only for a brief moment.
I cannot wait to see what is in store for Trix next time she heads out among the stars.
Until I am able to share that with you, I hope you enjoy the story.
You can bet that I loved writing it.
Aleks Canard
Acknowledgements
If I listed every single source of inspiration for this novel, I’d need to create another volume. You, dear reader, are here for the story, so I won’t begrudge you if you skip this page and get to the good stuff.
Below are some of the authors who’ve taught me to string words together in what I hope is a coherent, entertaining way.
Stephen King, your Dark Tower series is a tale greater than any other. Your stories have taught me many things, though the most useful is that the road to hell is paved with adverbs. I’ve probably sinned a couple times in this novel. Please forgive me.
Andrzej Sapkowski, for showing me the reality inside fantasy.
Matthew Reilly, every action sequence I’ve ever written and have yet to write are products of your work.
Ernest Hemingway, for teaching me that the truth, told simply, is the most important.
A Clash of Demons also contains two shanties sung by a rather unscrupulous troubadour, and a song sung by a variety of characters. I changed a great deal of the words, but kept the structure and rhyming form as much as I could. In order of appearance, they are:
The Lullaby of Woe, by Marcin Przybyłowicz, 2015
This song features in The Witcher Wild Hunt video game created by CD PROJEKT RED and is based off the sensational fantasy series: The Witcher by Andrzej Sapkowski. I changed the lyrics so they made sense for this universe. My amended version is sung by several people over the course of the novel.
The Coast of High Barbary, author unknown, as early at the 16th century
Originally a ballad, this shanty was popular with British and American sailors.
The Dead Horse, author unknown
A rather morbid shanty that speaks of taking an old man’s dead horse. The troubadour who sings it in this story gives it his own macabre twist.
I must also mention a few websites, without which writing this book would’ve been far more difficult.
Fantasy Name Generators (fantasynamegenerators.com) is the most comprehensive name generating site I’ve ever used. It helped me create the starting blocks for this novel’s “alien” names, and many locations as well. Huge thanks must go to the site’s owner, Emily, who has more or less compiled every generator by herself. I highly recommend Fantasy Name Generators for anyone needing world building inspiration.
Google Translate (translate.google.com), because I’d find creating languages from scratch nearly impossible without it.
Think Baby Names (thinkbabynames.com) is a perfect way to find normal names by searching via origin and meaning when you have a specific idea in mind.
This novel is for Geoff Ford. Thank you for your patience.
Thanks to those who read this story and loved it prior to publication. Here’s looking at you, Dad, and Matthew “Motherfucker” Lawson.
Special thanks to Danielle Chisholm for creating yet another cover that’s far better than what I originally envisioned. I always appreciate you fitting me into your busy schedule. And I can’t wait to see what you design next. Stay most excellent.
And a very special thanks to whoever is showing me these stories. I think of you as my projectionist in a cinema that only I can see. Please know that I am grateful, with all my heart, for the stories you show me. I will continue writing them forever.
Lastly, to you, dear reader, well, JAY Z said it best in Izzo (H.O.V.A). You could be anywhere in the world, but you’re here with me. I appreciate that.
Contents
About the Author
Author’s Note
Acknowledgements
Prologue
A Wedding Damned
By Royal Decree
Favours
Endure the Elements
Reflections
A Gifted Man Brings Gifts Galore
A Demon’s Appeal
Trees & Mirrors
Precarious Alliance
Blood of Prophecy
Riddle Me This
Picking Sides
Compromise
Epilogue
Prologue
EARTH DATE: May 1st, 2799
LOCATION: Dark’s Hide, Dying Star Nexus
Nightshade’s music lured everyone into a trance.
Time became meaningless within its darkened walls, punctuated by neon colours, flavoured with ecstasy and rife with carnal pleasures. It was an unorthodox duchy. Then again, its ruler was far from royalty.
Nadira Vega surveyed her personal wonderland from a raised VIP platform. She wore no crown, sat on no throne, but make no mistake, she was the Duchess. Daquarius Farosi had been killed months ago. He had never so much as showed his face if he could help it. And people thought that made him powerful.
Power was an illusion if maintaining it meant staying hidden. Nadira wanted everyone to know she was here, yet none could touch her. That was power.
Dark’s Hide was a duchy of few rules. One rule, specifically.
Don’t fuck with Nadira.
Dark’s Hide prospered now more than ever since she had rebuilt it following a kalarikian army’s botched attack. Nadira had inherited Daquarius Farosi’s client list. Expanded it considerably. Nadira’s wares supplied gangs across the galaxy. Personally, she didn’t care for weapons. Nadira Vega was interested in artefacts. Rare ones. Magic ones.
More so than precious relics, Nadira valued information. Her increased wealth allowed her spy network to expand to places that were previously covered by shadow.
Rasud Sinnad was a priority target. He was a mysterious medcanol who had secrets like misers had money. Nadira had known of him for some time, though it wasn’t until he played a part in seeing Iglessia Vialle ascend Xardiassant’s throne did she become curious. Nadira suspected he was playing a game of long odds. The longest of cons. She couldn’t even speculate at his end goal. No matter. Nadira had other ventures to pursue. And one was close.
Her comms gauntlet flashed once. It was indistinguishable amid Nightshade’s strobing lights. Nadira looked at her gauntlet. Her perpetual smirk broke into a smile. One that could turn rivers to ice. A fox would look as cunning as a doe next to her.
The Duchess slinked off the VIP platform, through the crowds, to her office. No longer did Dark’s Hide’s guards wear matching uniforms. They blended into the station’s criminal filth like grunge in a back alley.
Besides, Nadira knew how to handle herself. Her dresses revealed plenty of her curvaceous body. This was done intentionally, both to distract and to deceive. Anyone would assume she couldn’t possibly be packing any weapons when so much of her was on display. They would be wrong. Nadira had a dagger strapped to each thigh. They were made of mithril, a rare metal, thought to be fictitious. In truth, mithril was crafted from copper antimony and copper arsenic. Both these compounds were scarcely found, save for areas around active volcanoes.
Nuallar was rich with it, though few dared journey to its wasted lands anymore.
Mithril was favoured by mages due to it lightness and enchantment retainment. Though preferred as armour, only a fool would turn down a mithril blade. While not overly useful for swordplay, their edge retention was unheard of, and the arsenic, if retained, made each cut poisonous.
Unlike other metals such as obsidian, mithril could be crafted thin as paper if the blacksmith was skilled enough. This meant people could die from cuts that were invisible to the eye.
Nadira reached the office that formerly belonged to Daquarius Farosi. Entered. Once there had been an aquarium filled with deadly fish and aquatic oddities. Nadira had it transformed into a garden. Her personal haven from Dark’s Hide’s metal.
Through the garden, past flowerbeds, oak trees, and a babbling brook, Nadira came to a yew nestled behind a hedge. Stroked its bark. The trunk opened, revealing an elevator with plush leather seats and dim lighting made to simulate candles. Nadira entered. She was taken to her emporium on Dark’s Hide’s fourth level.
Her zirean assistant, Dahos Mardulen, had tea waiting on a silver platter when she arrived. The leaves were from the djurel home world of Djiemlur. They were naturally sweet and afforded the drinker a minor high. The crockery was zirean. Antique. From the Age of Arrows.
‘My thanks, Dahos.’
‘The pleasure is mine, Duchess.’
Nadira drank the tea in one go. ‘I hear it has been found.’
‘Por wyrs,
(of course)
I would not have alerted you for a trivial matter.’
‘And,’ Nadira walked to her terminal. Any common thug would see her as another pretty woman with too much money. Anyone who knew the first thing about fighting could tell she knew how to handle herself. It was in the way she flowed, not walked. ‘Where is it?’
‘Your sources only speak in murmurs about where it lies.’
‘Where, Dahos?’
‘The Rose Vale System, on Zilvia. Xifaw, specifically.’
Nadira’s smirk flatlined. Zilvia was a queer place. And Xifaw was so heavily drenched in magic that technology failed. Its wilds were deadly, and that wasn’t just because of the monsters. Strange things lurked on Zilvia. Why, it was almost stranger than Mair Ultima.
‘It’s high time I called in the favour I am owed.’
There was but one person who could retrieve what Nadira wanted.
And her name was Beatrix Westwood.
A Wedding Damned
Location: Djiemlur, The Wandering Realm
1
Pink water lapped at the machina’s boots.
Its texture was oil on canvas. Like an artist had washed their brushes in Djiemlur’s oceans. The entire planet’s water was pastel pink, though not because of any painter. Minerals that lingered in the rocks tainted it that way. The machina had marvelled at them from her ship while she was in orbit. She had been to Djiemlur before, though not often. It was uncommon for nomadic people to have issues with monsters. They moved if they did.
That was another reason Djiemlur was different to other races’ home planets. Close to no ancient cities existed. Djurels lived off the land. Once they did so in caravans. As scientific knowledge grew and technology developed, small settlements sprouted across continents. But each one had no residential buildings. Their only purpose was for furthering the djurel race.
For example, if land was found to be rich in metal deposits, a mine would be erected. Some djurels would run it permanently. Travelling towns would pass by, often helping in exchange for goods. Each time, some would stay and some would go. The djurels were the only race to never have set currency. They used a barter system until the zireans discovered Djiemlur. It was their collaboration that allowed djurels to travel the stars.
More permanent settlements existed on Djiemlur than ever before. But as a people, djurels just weren’t that attached to material possessions. True though it was they were some of the galaxy’s nimblest thieves, they cared only for living. This was why they weren’t part of the Consortium. They weren’t interested in galactic politics. They barely cared about their own politics. Djiemlur didn’t have border lines or named continents. It was all just Djiemlur.
What it came down to was that djurels would look after their own and not bother anyone else.
Well, unless they were robbing you. Continually tramping wasn’t cheap, and you had to make money somehow. Aziasi Ra’ahra was a notable exception to this philosophy. But every family had a black sheep.
Snow flurries stuck in the machina’s white hair. This part of Djiemlur was in winter’s
throes.
The machina had parked her ship in a meadow not far from her current position. She was feeling good about this new contract. She’d had a string of successes recently. Siren nests on Hariyfir, a manticore on Yephus, even a golem on Orix.
This particular contract seemed like it would be more difficult as it potentially involved a curse. A djurel boy had wandered off into temple ruins. He never returned. Another went to search for him. He had disappeared too.
Trix of Zilvia thought it might’ve been a fiend. Maybe some sort of reliquia. Temples meant magic, and magic meant eldritch happenings. Her last guess was that a wraith had taken refuge within the stonework. She would see soon enough.
White trees lined the pink brook that the machina walked across. Black stones contrasted with muted green grass. Sometimes it appeared that the only “normal” aspect of Djiemlur was the sky. No birds sung. The only sound was the wind blowing through the trees.
Trix pulled her scarf over her nose. Her boots ploughed through snow. Though winter on Djiemlur was nothing compared to Raursioc — the Corrachian home-world where Trix had wintered several times — cold still wove its way into her bones.
Through tree leaves, on a yellow plain that stretched to the horizon, Trix saw the convoy of djurel caravans. Some still rolled on wheels. Others hovered above the ground. All of them were full of simple amenities, running on cold fusion cells.
‘You know, sometimes I think you should call ahead before accepting contracts,’ Sif said. She was an AI, housed in Trix’s comms gauntlet. And one of Trix’s oldest friends.
‘I suppose you’re about to tell me why,’ said Trix. Her travelling cloak was fastened around her shoulders. It flowed above the ground, picking up loose snowflakes.
‘Well most times people don’t like that you’re a machina. And they’re always shocked by it. So maybe you should call ahead to let them know with whom they’re dealing. It could save you trouble.’
‘I wouldn’t be a huntress if I was concerned about trouble.’
‘Of course you would say that.’