A Clash of Demons

by Aleks Canard

  Altayr nodded. He’d heard similar. ‘Though unlike other methods of control, there is no pain. I’ve seen pictures of the dryads. They are remarkably similar to dryads from Earthen stories.’

  ‘And they’re just as deadly with bows. Expeditions into the forests with any weapon that fires more than a ballistic shell have been known to turn awry. Computer systems misbehave within the trees.’

  ‘And that is why governments are trying to impose more red-tape shackles on mages. They fear such magic becoming commonplace, disrupting their orbital defence cannons. Bypassing their security measures. Any mage worthy of calling themselves so doesn’t wish to inhibit technology. We want to reach a place where magic and science are one of the same. The Convergence.’

  ‘A time of change is coming,’ Trix said. Her words carried unintentional solemnity.

  ‘Yes. I fear the Consortium’s days are numbered. Allies will fight and kill each other. Kinship will be defiled. Dheizir Crohl’s actions have expedited an inevitable betrayal. He has rocked the foundations to their cores. Before I left for Djiemlur, I saw corrachs and humans in Oakengulch, ones I knew to be friends, spurn each other in the street. Previously amicable greetings were replaced with curt nods and hastened steps.’

  ‘I’ve seen it too. People know corrachs wouldn’t commit terrorist acts, but humans blame their culture for creating the Ice Exiles and their radical beliefs.’

  ‘The same could be said of any culture. People’s inability to see is so debilitating you would think their eyes have been gouged.’

  ‘That would explain why they’re always in a bad mood.’

  ‘Always might be a touch hyperbolic, but I concur.’

  There was a lull in conversation. Each party digesting what the other had said. Mulling over their own thoughts. The Consortium was an intricate machine with countless moving parts that needed to operate just so, lest the entire structure implode. Unfortunately, as any builder was wont to tell you, the more moving parts a machine had, the more likely it’d break. Motion meant change. And change didn’t have to be for the better.

  ‘Now for matters considerably more important,’ Altayr said.

  ‘I wait with bated breath.’

  ‘What do you plan on wearing to your friend’s wedding?’

  ‘I have some jeans in my room. Maybe one shirt not stained with blood.’

  ‘You can’t be serious.’

  ‘Most of my clothes are.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Stained with blood.’

  ‘Undoubtedly. Trix, I won’t stop you from acting like this is a party in a pub by the side of the road, but I implore you to make an effort. Maybe wear a dress. A zirean woman wouldn’t wear trousers to a wedding. She wouldn’t be let through the door.’

  ‘I don’t own a dress. Besides, what are you going to wear?’

  ‘I have some robes that serve for formal occasions.’

  ‘Dealing with other mages.’

  ‘Mostly. I ceased wearing my best for government advisory meetings years ago. If they want my opinion, they can take it from me wearing my travelling attire.’

  ‘And if Andy wants my presence, he should be able to have it in jeans.’

  ‘Of course. You needn’t parade your skin like a cheap Thyrian whore, nor do you have to wear shoes better suited to circus performers than a woman of distinction. Besides, the difference between my meetings with the ECG and your friend’s wedding is just that. He’s your friend. Which means he knows your general affinity for battle-armour and will be thrilled that you’ve made a compromise to suit the day’s decorum.’

  ‘I was only jesting, partially. I’ll find something to wear, but I’m keeping my weapons.’

  ‘I wouldn’t ask you to part with them anymore than I would your own head.’

  ‘Knowing Andy, the party will continue early into the morning. You don’t have to stay the whole time.’

  ‘And you will be?’

  ‘There’ll be free drinks, so yes.’

  ‘As I said before, I’m in no hurry. I’ll gladly give you my company should you wish to have it.’

  ‘I don’t know many of Andy’s friends, so let’s say that I do.’

  ‘Or you could just say “yes” without the backhanded compliment,’ Altayr said with a hint of exasperation. ‘Honestly, Trix.’

  ‘Still softer than receiving my backhand.’

  ‘When you’re wearing those titanium studs I’d wager falling ten storeys would be softer.’

  ‘I bet you say that to all the girls.’

  ‘Only ones I like.’

  ‘So only a few thousand.’

  ‘You insult my standards?’

  ‘Just insinuating they may be low at best, questionable at worst.’

  ‘Sorcerers have nothing but the highest standards.’

  ‘Those who teach magic are rarely poor.’

  ‘Neither were my parents once the zireans paid them. Though I’m glad they did. Being a suete would be frightfully dull.’

  Trix detected a pang of sadness in Altayr’s words.

  ‘They seem to enjoy the lives they have.’

  ‘Possibly because they don’t know what they’re missing.’

  ‘We may not know what we’re missing, living a simple life.’

  ‘I’ve given some thought to the notion.’

  ‘And has that thought resulted in a verdict?’

  ‘Only when my curiosity has been satisfied shall I retreat to the mountains, maybe by a lake, live the remainder of my days reading for pleasure, sleeping late, and bathing in hot springs to rest my old bones.’

  ‘There might be a quantum of solace to be found there, if you picked the right mountains.’

  ‘What of you, Trix? What will you do when there are no more wraiths, chimeras, or wyverns around?’

  Trix sometimes thought about that. The harder she worked, the faster she put herself out of a job. Considering her potential immortality, that would be problematic. And thanks to technology, even those who weren’t hunters were becoming bolder, tackling monsters by themselves.

  ‘Not all monsters have claws.’

  ‘Assassinations,’ Altayr upturned his mouth a fraction.

  ‘The most despicable monsters I’ve ever come across have walked on two legs.’

  ‘You would need to be utmost impartial to be an assassin. I’ve seen how you behave with rude villagers who try bargaining a cheaper price for your services. You say it’s all the same to you, though despite your efforts, you pass judgement like the rest of us. And contrary to all your sentiments, you involve yourself even when you don’t want to.’

  ‘You said the Consortium would soon fall. If it came to that and the worlds burned among the star ocean, there would be no saving us. Better to fan the flames, purge the galaxy of our vileness than attempt to salvage decency from destruction.’

  ‘Unfortunately the only way to guarantee peace is to end the lives of every humanoid race.’

  ‘If that’s the only way, are any of us really worth saving?’

  ‘Why the chagrin?’

  ‘The first nine years of my life flashed by in weeks. But I felt nearly a decade of pain. Probably more. In seventy-one years, I know peace has never existed. There is only intermission between acts of war.’

  Altayr was silenced by Trix’s words. His life had spanned three centuries. He wished he could tell the machina she was wrong. She was cynical, certainly, but sometimes there was no clearer lens with which to view the world. Trix, he knew, was right.

  ‘As with all shows, there must be a final act. None can go on forever.’

  ‘And when that final act does come, Altayr, will there be an audience? Or will those involved find they’re on stage in front of naught but skeletons as stardust tumbles over broken bones?’

  ‘Any guess would be impossible folly. The great tome of the worlds has not yet reached the last page. We cannot skip ahead because it hasn’t been written.’

  ‘There won’t be eno
ugh blood to ink the words,’ Trix leaned back in the pilot’s chair as if she were readying herself for a long nap.

  ‘This macabre delirium washes what little colour you have away.’

  ‘How do you believe the end will come?’

  ‘I don’t care. If I am alive to see it, I expect it will happen with totality so swift that I shan’t feel anything.’

  ‘I returned to Mair Ultima with Kit, before the disaster with Dheizir Crohl. I found a hideout Garth Roche had built for himself, far away from the academies on a distant shore. He believed Ragnarök would end everything. He believed it so fervently that he was trying to recreate the Uldarians. From what we saw, he was making progress. And what we saw was 71 Earth years old.’

  ‘How did you find this hideout? I expect its location wasn’t conveniently advertised.’

  ‘The black dragon who blessed me, Mireleth, showed Kit and I where it was. He had noticed a man there during the academies’ prime.’

  Altayr had questions about Mireleth, though he didn’t voice them yet. ‘And what did Roche think about Ragnarök?’

  ‘That ancient Nordic people had actually predicted the return of whatever destroyed the Uldarians.’

  ‘Then why would Roche be attempting to recreate them?’

  ‘From what we could tell from his notes, Roche thinks all who have Uldarian blood are capable of recalling collective memories with precise clarity. If I had to guess, once he discovers the memories he’s looking for, he’ll create better Uldarians. Ones that will triumph against the inevitable doom coming to destroy us. Uldarians who can win against Ragnarök.’

  ‘That’s a detailed theory you’ve gleaned from old lab notes.’

  ‘Not just lab notes,’ Trix said. She extracted the Uldarian Prism from her battle-armour. ‘This prism reacts to machinas’ touch. Each machina makes a message play. We all see slightly more than the last to hold it.’

  ‘May I?’ Altayr said.

  Trix gestured that he may. She threw it to him. Altayr caught it above his hand using an unspoken levitation spell, then let it fall.

  ‘Unmistakably Uldarian. Not an imitation. Though I don’t need to tell a machina about how to spot Uldarian artefacts. There is magic in this prism. I expect the Uldarians reached the Convergence.’

  The Convergence was what mages and scientists had dubbed the eventual day when their two disciplines would merge. Neither would be able to outdo the other.

  ‘You say that each machina sees more than they who came before?’ Altayr continued, not expecting a response. He was just thinking out loud. ‘I expect the only way to see the message in full would be to plug it into an Uldarian machine. Findings have been inconclusive into the nature of their power sources. There’s a chance that in a magic rich environment, with a big enough cold fusion generator, we could power some defunct Uldarian technology.’

  ‘The ship I found this prism in had enough auxiliary power to give me the prism.’

  ‘How did it do that?’

  ‘I put my hands on a command console. The ship came to life.’

  ‘It’s far from being solid evidence, but that goes to show Roche could be right about memories being hardwired into Uldarian DNA. The ship’s systems confused you with its commander, thanks to your Uldarian blood. Because of the shared memories, Uldarians may not have had distinct identities, rather operating as a hive mind species. The few renderings we have of Uldarians show that they looked highly similar. Like they’d been sculpted from identical moulds in a factory.’

  ‘I hadn’t considered that before. The other possibility is that the ship was programmed to respond to any Uldarian lifeform in the event of emergency.’

  ‘There is another of which I can think.’

  Trix made an expression to say “go on, then.”

  ‘We have accepted, regardless of our own ignorance towards the Uldarians, that they are a type of biological, synthetic hybrid. Can we not assume that the same could be said of their ships?’

  ‘You think the ship was alive, and it relinquished its prism, its mind, to me, because it could sense my DNA.’

  ‘I don’t see why not.’

  Trix turned to the Fox’s HUD. She entered a few commands on her comms gauntlet.

  ‘Searching for any correlations to my theory?’

  ‘No. Dress shopping. I don’t want to spend any time browsing when we reach the Bastion.’

  ‘Then I’ll give you leave.’

  Altayr stood and left the cockpit. He could tell when a conversation had run its course.

  The tether between Altayr and Trix stretched through the cockpit door. Invisible to the naked eye, and only revealed by rare magical diagnosis spells. It floated like a spider web strand in the breeze. Neither the sorcerer nor the Valkyrie felt its pull yet. Though each of them grew restless to see what the other was doing.

  Altayr Van Eldric pondered ways to remove the tether with a lazy mind. It was doing neither of them harm, he was sure of that. Besides, the more he thought, the more he realised he knew no spell to remove such a curse.

  Maybe there was no spell at all.

  But a djinn’s wish… interesting.

  The Fox kept on its course.

  2

  Midnight navy blue shimmered like a deep ocean trench under starlight.

  The dress was a collaboration between Earthen and Zirean fashion houses. It had one strap on the left shoulder that came down on a diagonal. It was floor length, with a thigh split on the right side. Its lining was cotton — for comfort — while the outer layer was silk, accentuated by slight, reflective patterns which made the dress appear like flowing water. According to the description, the designers had been inspired by the way psygotas looked in sunlight.

  Trix was satisfied with the garment, though less than impressed with the price tag. She was prepared to spend orits on guns, helmets, armour, and ship parts, but on a dress it seemed excessive. It was only a piece of cloth. Altayr would undoubtedly buy it for her if she asked. Sorcerers had deep pockets. They used their wealth to reinvest in their studies. Magical and alchemical ingredients didn’t come cheap.

  The Valkyrie decided to place an order for the dress so the store would be expecting her. She also put aside a pair of gold heels. Trix figured she could haggle for a cheaper price. If she could convince chain-smoking, gun toting, arms dealers to knock off a couple hundred orits, then retail clerks should be as easy as turning up.

  Trix headed to the cargo bay when the Fox approached the Bastion. Altayr was already waiting. He’d cast a charm on his eyes so he could see through the Fox’s walls. It made him feel like he was floating through space.

  Charming oneself was easier than charming an inanimate object. For example, if you wished to lure people into a trance, casting a charm to make yourself appear dazzlingly handsome was easier. Altayr had used such a charm on more than one occasion. He was already an abnormally attractive man. He was arresting with the addition of charms.

  ‘Did you find a dress to your liking?’

  ‘How people spend so much money on them I’ll never understand.’

  ‘You don’t have to understand anything about other people except that your beliefs don’t have to apply to them.’

  ‘I’d still like to understand why sorcerers think it’s always a good idea to spout wisdom without being requested.’

  ‘Sorcerers do not. But old friends, that’s another matter.’

  ‘Then being old friends, I can tell you to shut up.’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘What business will you be attending to before the wedding?’

  ‘I expect I’ll check in on the Conclave. It’s always worthwhile to stick your head inside and remind everyone you exist beyond a screen.’

  The Conclave was the Bastion’s Mage Council. None knew where they met. Fewer knew exactly what they did. Trix had an inkling. If the galaxy had a seat of power, it would be the Bastion. The Conclave Mages ensured that it remained within the Consortium’s control.
They took care of serious security threats, and safeguarded the Consortium’s assets against malicious spell casters. Petty thieves and debt collectors didn’t concern them.

  ‘Then I’ll see you when you’re done.’

  ‘Indeed, but before we part ways,’ Altayr reached into his knapsack and produced an amulet on a black velvet choker laced with mithril. The amulet hanging from its centre was small. A mixture of mithril and iridium with a smattering of small diamonds in the centre.

  ‘First making me wear a dress, then offering me jewellery. Are you grooming me for something?’

  ‘I heard through Conclave chatter that you are now licensed to carry weapons onto the Bastion under a special “Strife Squad” prerogative.’

  Trix had to hand it to the Conclave, they were damn good at knowing what they had no right to.

  ‘I began crafting this for you when I heard. It behaves similarly to my staff, and my own amulet, in that it can store magic energy. But this one also has the benefit of bypassing the Bastion’s magic dampeners. Perfectly legal, I assure you. After all, as part of the Conclave, I’m partially responsible for the continual enchantment and secretion of all magic dampening artefacts on board.’

  Now that was jewellery Trix could get behind. She was never a fan of accessories. She deemed them pointless. An object had to have a useful function, or why bother wearing it?

  ‘Thank you, Altayr.’

  ‘My pleasure. If I may,’ he held up the choker. His staff floated beside him. His burgundy irises were ablaze, for his charm on them was still in effect.