Spear of Destiny

by James Osiris Baldwin

  “That’d be why. I was already out.”

  “Yeah. Well, I have a hunch that Baldr fucked her mind up somehow. Their dragons are corrupted, all twisted up and shit, and I’m wondering if something similar happened to Violetta. Some kind of brainwashing or magical corruption.”

  “Tell me about it.” Nethres shook her head, her gaze wandering to the fireplace. “I’m glad you made it. And I’m sorry I was a bitch to you back then. Felt a lot of urgency to succeed.”

  I snorted. “Don’t sweat it. There’s nothing you can say to me that my drill instructors haven’t already screamed in my face.”

  “I bet. Same with my foreman.” She smiled faintly. “If you’re going to see the king of Taltos, do you think he’d be interested to hear my information?”

  “Definitely,” I said. “I was actually going to ask if you wanted to tag along. It means flying on a dragon, though. We have to be there by this afternoon, and she can teleport.”

  “I’ll leave Vedrfonir here, then. Sign of trust. My quazi’s the only friend I have now.” She finally picked up her coffee and threw it back like a shot. I opened my mouth to warn her, but it was too late—she hacked and coughed as she got a mouthful of the mud-like grounds.

  “Yeah, you’re supposed to leave those in,” I laughed.

  Nethres spat into her cup, then wiped her mouth on her sleeve. “Urrgh, I didn’t know they drink dirt in Vlachia.”

  I laughed. “You leave the coffee mud in the cup. And, uh, you might not want to spit in the Volod’s coffee cups while we’re at the castle.”

  “Ugh.” She gagged, taking a mouthful of water. “Think that’s the first thing I’ve tasted in Archemi that wasn’t good.”

  “It’s more like a ‘stick your pinky out and sip’ kind of coffee.” I shrugged. “Anyway, if you’re ready to go, I’ll call the gang and we can get moving.”

  “Thanks. I hope I can help.” Nethres got to her feet. “Also, congrats on your success yesterday. Seems a lot of people here like you. Don’t suppose you happened to beat Baldr’s ass when you fought him? That’d be nice.”

  “Not exactly,” I said. “Though I didn’t let him defeat me, either. I noped out of the battle by chugging a whole lot of mana.”

  “Probably for the best.” Nethres grimaced, her brow furrowing. “There’s some really screwed up people here. Maybe the blackout drove them crazy, I don’t know. You’re right about the vault thing. We might really be the only humans alive.”

  “Yeah. We might just be.” I drew a deep breath, enjoying the feeling of air filling my lungs. “And if the rest of us work together, we’ll hopefully be able to stay that way.”

  Chapter 30

  The seat of power in Vlachia was Vulkan Keep: a cave castle built into Mt. Racosul, the towering black volcano that loomed over the black city of Taltos. Sheltered by the mountain on all sides except for one, it was the closest thing to an impregnable fortress I’d ever seen in Archemi. Even Solonovka, with its tiered twenty-foot walls, couldn’t hold a candle to it.

  Normally, Karalti angled for the Parade Ground, the great red square which faced the Volod’s garrison barracks. But when we came out on the other end of the teleport, I was surprised to see us hanging over the Northern Gate of Taltos. My dragon let out a confused squawk as she glided forward, realized she was headed in the wrong direction, and dipped a wing to glide back around in the direction of the mountain.

  “What the hell?” She broadcast to us. “I didn’t teleport us here! I was aiming for the castle!”

  Beside me, Suri craned her head around the dragon’s neck to look forward at Mt. Racosul. “I’m pretty sure your answer’s over there, mate.”

  Hundreds of dark-hulled airships stretched back and forward in a great convoy across the northern sky above Vulkan Keep, blotting out the noonday sun. Sleek, quick Bathory-class skirmishers patrolled the chasm that separated the castle’s gatehouse from the road leading up from the city. Hussar-class Destroyers hovered in front of the mountain, each one the size of a small passenger jet and bristling with weapons. One especially gigantic ship hung almost directly over the Parade Ground: a ship almost as large as a modern troop carrier, with a strange curved shield in front that made it look like a giant flying crossbow. Hundreds of smaller craft were in queue behind it, all of them flying the Corvinus banner: a black dragon on a red field, which hung from every mast like drops of blood suspended in the crowded, but orderly sky.

  “Damn. Ignas is not fucking around.” I held onto the saddle with one hand, leaning out to gawk.

  “Nope.” Karalti remarked. “He sure isn’t.”

  “My god.” Rin put a hand to her face, clutching the straps of her saddle harness with the other hand. “We really are going to war, aren’t we?”

  “That’s the entire Second Fleet, if my eyes don’t deceive me,” Masha called, raising her voice over the wind. She and Rin were seated on one side; Suri and Nethres on the other. “Quite a sight, eh?”

  “What the hell is that thing?” Suri asked, pointing at the big crossbow-shaped ship. “And how the fuck does it even fly?”

  “That’s a Sarkany-Class Dreadnought. The first and only ship of its kind.” Rin couldn’t tear her gaze from it, but there was a note of resignation in her voice as she spoke. “They’re designed to protect a fleet from magical assault, artillery, and even dragon fire. They lead into a battle, projecting an anti-magic pulse weapon from the front, and a huge kinetic shield around the sides. Smaller ships shelter in the shield. That’s why the bottom of it is flat, and the front has that weird curved shape… it’s kind of like a radar dish, but for magic.”

  “Wow.” I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the armada as Karalti strove toward the castle. “And this is only one fleet?”

  “Yes.” Masha replied. “His Majesty can field four fleets in times of international crisis. The fleets and the Black Army… those were some of Ignas’ father’s greatest accomplishments.”

  Nethres whistled. “Lucien’s screwed.”

  “I wouldn’t count on that. He doesn’t play fair.” I grimaced, shifting back into the landing position on the saddle. “We’ve underestimated him before.”

  As we got closer, we could hear military brass music playing from the decks of some of the ships—entertainment for troops psyching themselves up for the traumafest to come. Karalti had to dodge, weave, and then fly over half a dozen skirmishers on the way to the castle. The only place available for us to land was in the castle proper—the courtyard of the Inner Ward, just outside the Volod’s Great Hall. My dragon touched down carefully, vibrating with nervous energy as we detached Cutthroat’s harness and let the irate hookwing drop to the ground. The castle grounds smelled like cordite and burned plastic.

  “Ahh, smell that fragrant exhaust!” Masha remarked, covering her nose with a cloth. “A healthy dose of pollution for everyone, with the fleet hanging right over the damn castle!”

  “Yeah, it stinks.” Suri slid down, then caught Cutthroat by her reins. “C’mon, you.”

  “HSSSSSS!” The hookwing stopped preening her chest and snapped at her, jaws clopping barely inches from Suri’s nose.

  “Oi!” Suri flinched back. She jerked Cutthroat’s head down with the reins and bopped her on the snout. “What was that for?”

  “Ssss.” Cutthroat hissed, petulantly this time, and resumed trying to put her ruffled feathers back in place.

  “What’s up her ass?” I asked once I was on the ground.

  “Dunno. Whatever it is, she’ll get over it as soon as they take her to the stables and get some food into her. She’s been eatin’ like a starving wolverine.” Suri jerked her chin toward the door. “Head’s up: we’ve got company.”

  Ignas’ Court Mage, Simeon, strode purposefully toward us at a fast clip, dodging the people rushing back and forth through the corridors that intersected the Royal Court. He jogged down the stairs from the great hall to the garden and pulled up in front of Karalti, slightly winded.

&nbs
p; “Welcome back to Taltos, Voivode Dragozin, Voivodzina Ba’hadir.” He bowed from the neck to each of us. “And welcome also, Journeyman Lu, Masterhealer, and…?”

  “Nethres of Gilheim,” Nethres awkwardly bowed back. “A Valkyrie. I was confirmed by Ragnhildr Olafson of the Gothi. Now a Captain serving the Ilian Kingsmen.”

  “One of Prince Illandi’s royal partisans?” Simeon arched his thin eyebrows.

  She nodded. “He gave me leave to come here. Contact Hector, maybe advise Vlachia on what we know of Hyland’s troop movements.”

  While they talked, I discreetly stepped out in front of Karalti, covering her as she polymorphed down to her human shape and equipped her gear.

  “That would be useful information indeed, and truth be told, we need any advantage we can find. His Majesty, nor I or anyone else here at court ever dreamed we’d go to war with a Starborn-led Ilia. Your kind were a myth only a generation ago, and now there are hundreds of you.” The slender man fixed his piercing eyes skyward, looking up. The Dreadnaught had left the Parade Ground and was passing overhead, darkening the entire courtyard with its T-shaped shadow. “Come. Time is short.”

  “I will not be attending. There is no role for me in military matters such as these. My work comes after the dying starts.” Masha gave us all a small, grim smile. “If his Majesty has need of my services, you know where to find me, Simeon.”

  “Of course, Masterhealer. I trust you will find the hospital is in good order.” He gave her a small, ironic bow. “Someone will be along to take care of your hookwing, Voivodzina. Leave her here, and follow me.”

  “You sure about that?” Suri glanced at Cutthroat, who was alternating preening under her winglet, and hissing and biting at her own arm in irritation at… well… herself.

  Simeon regarded the huge hookwing for a moment. “We can sedate her, if necessary. It wouldn’t be the first time. Come.”

  Before Suri could frame any hookwing roofie-related questions, Simeon swept back up the stairs. I had more than a little great hall size envy as we crossed the black-and-white marble lobby, turned through a side door, and down the corridor toward the donjon. A mana-powered cage elevator was waiting for us.

  “This castle has freaking elevators. I still can’t believe Vlachia doesn’t have parachutes,” I muttered, as the metal lattice doors clanged shut.

  Nethres gave me an odd look. “They don’t?”

  “They do now, because we invented them.” Rin said with a touch of pride. “I’m going to sell the patent to Ignas. That’ll net me a lot of EXP, skill points, and some recurring income, so that I can buy more materials and we can invent more stuff!”

  “Huh.” Suri gripped my arm as the elevator—and our stomachs—lifted sharply. “Always wondered how crafters levelled without much or any combat. Selling new inventions… makes sense.”

  “That’s the mana economy for you.” Rin wagged her head happily. “Invent, patent, license, then reap the royalties. Rinse and repeat until you’re rich!”

  At the top floor of the tower, the sound of arguing drifted to our ears from behind the fine double doors leading into the War Room. Simeon knocked, waited until the voices stopped, and then ushered us inside.

  Ignas stood at the end of a great mahogany table, his hands planted down on a pile of notes and maps. There were four others gathered around, but I recognized only two: Ebisa, his bodyguard and unofficial assassin, was seated to Ignas’ left. My fellow Voivode, Janos Lanz of Czongrad, was standing to his right. Ebisa wiggled her long fingers at us, the other arm folded over her thin, flat chest. Count Lanz flashed us a look of borderline disgust, like someone had just farted under the table and he’d caught a whiff.

  “Voivode, Voivodzina. Karalti.” Ignas came around the table, shook my hand, and drew me into a brief hug. Suri got a firm soldier’s handshake. Karalti smiled and extended her fingers to him. He took them gently, and briefly pressed his forehead to the back of her knuckles before turning to Rin. “And Journeyman Rin Lu: A pleasure to see you again, as always.”

  “Th-thank you.” Rin stammered as he politely kissed the back of her hand and guided her to a seat.

  When Rin was situated, Ignas turned back. He regarded Nethres with cool interest. “And who is this?”

  “Nethres. She’s a partisan with the Kingsmen,” I said. “Ilian resistance. She claims she has useful information for the war effort.”

  “I see. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Nethres, but I must ask you to wait downstairs while we discuss matters of national security. I will, however, grant you a private audience after we are done.” Ignas was polite, but crisp: Nethres clearly didn’t have any Renown in Vlachia to lean on. “Simeon, please take her to the reading room and make sure she is comfortable. We may be here for some time.”

  “Of course, your Majesty.” Simeon bowed, then looked to Nethres. “Please, my lady: follow me.”

  “Sure.” Nethres shrugged, and obediently followed him back out into the hall.

  “Did you check her background before bringing her here?” Ignas asked me.

  “No. I figured you’d want to do that yourself, Your Majesty,” I said. “She’s someone I’ve known for a while. I met Nethres back in the first round of Trials for entry to the Order of St. Grigori. She didn’t pass, but she fought honorably and did not deceive us to gain any advantage. I don’t have any reason to think she’s lying about being a part of the Resistance. We know for a fact that she has every excuse to hate Hyland and Hart.”

  “Very well. I will have Ebisa and Rutha look into her,” Ignas said. “Until then, she shall remain a closely supervised guest at the castle.”

  Suri chuffed. “You mean a prisoner.”

  “The gentlest form of house arrest, more like it. If she is a member of the Kingsmen, Rutha will vouch for her.” Ignas regarded her with calm, hard eyes. “We cannot be too cautious. Any leak of intelligence could jeopardize our counter-invasion.”

  “Understood, sir.” I momentarily had the urge to salute, but squashed the feeling down.

  “Anyway, thank you all for promptly replying to my summons.” He moved back to his place at the head of the table. “This is Count Kopecs, one of the commanders in the Black Army, and Admiral Hartz, the commander of the 2nd Fleet. Voivode Lanz of Czongrad is also a Black Army officer and currently serves as my principal military advisor.”

  Suri and I inclined our heads to all three of them. Lanz’s return bow was barely a fraction of a nod.

  “The 2nd Company returned yesterday, just in time to integrate back into the reserve.” Ignas gestured to the empty chairs. “Please, take your seats. There is much to discuss.”

  I studied the centerpiece of the table as I plopped down. One look told me exactly why he was so concerned. Last time we’d been briefed about a mass combat situation in this room, the great table had displayed a diorama of Myszno. Now, it displayed one of Central and Eastern Revala. They’d marked cities and major towns with game pieces, while army positions and controlled settlements were pinned with paper flags of the appropriate color. There were a lot of dark blue and gold flags in the west. They stretched from the Ilian border and formed a salient about two-thirds of the way to Revala’s capital city, Lovi. Blue and gold were the colors of the Ilian Empire.

  “Baldr’s already made it that far?” Suri exclaimed in disbelief, moving to her seat. She didn’t sit, leaning on the table to survey the battlefield. “In a month?”

  “Yes. Between Revala’s excellent system of roads and the dragons and airships at his command, Hyland’s forces are already preparing for a push toward Queen Aslan’s capital,” Ignas said heavily, shaking his head. “We cannot let him advance a single step closer to Lovi, and not only because Revala is close to our own borders. In addition to being one of the breadbaskets of Artana, the region around the capital is also a key site for bluecrystal mining.”

  Karalti began to fidget with a pair of spare toothpick flags. “Ooh. That’s not good.”

  “I
t really isn’t.” My mind began to tick over as I stared at the crowd of Ilian flags on the map. “My question is, how did all these positions get taken? What is Ororgael’s goal? What are his tactics?”

  “Those are three separate questions,” Count Lanz said coolly. He was a small, pale man, with calculating eyes the color of fresh dollar bills. Like Ignas, he was also dressed in a fine uniform, though his was black. “Hyland’s goal is clear enough: conquer the rest of Artana and bring it under his rule. However, his methods are amateurish. A wise strategist would have conquered the rest of the Hercynian nations to form an army capable of facing the combined might of Vlachia and Jeun. Even if he does take Revala, Gilheim is mobilizing behind the mountains. We will pincer him on both sides. He is an untried fool, Tuun. That is the long and short of it.”

  “My title is ‘Voivode’. If you can’t pronounce ‘Dragozin’, Voivode Tuun is fine, assuming you really need to keep waving your dick at me across the table,” I replied tersely.

  Suri sucked on a tooth and looked away, biting back a laugh. Ebisa snorted into her hand.

  “And as I was saying to my people before, don’t underestimate Ororgael,” I continued, gesturing at the diorama. “The guy’s nearly achieved his objective. This isn’t the work of an ‘untried fool’.”

  “We have already discussed this somewhat before your arrival,” Ignas said, pretending not to see Lanz’s scowl. “Our conclusion is that he plans to conquer Revala, fortify the Eastern border, then use the nation’s resources to turn back west and take the offensive to Gilheim.”

  “Yes. Hyland’s move to the east seems audacious, even reckless, but intelligence reports suggest he intends to seal off the Hercyninan Peninsula.” General Kovacs spoke up. “As you can see, Revala shares only a small land border with Jeun in the north-east, while it is separated from us by the Bay of Swords. He could ostensibly fortify those positions, claim Revala’s resources, then hold us off while he moves west. Cut off from the Alliance, those nations will be sitting ducks.”