by Joe Ducie
And yet, I thought, the Cascade Fleet is barely a glimmer of the power you wielded with the Roseblade. True power isn’t here, Declan, and you know it. You’ve been… so much more. What are you now? King or killer? Hero or villain? Was that voice mine or Oblivion’s, or some other meddling worry entirely? No sense paying attention to it now. I was committed, and would look quite the fool to back out, though perhaps a wise fool.
No. That was the nerves talking.
Time to step up or sit the fuck down.
“On my mark,” I whispered and chuckled harshly, relaying the words through the neural crown and to the captains and commanders of every ship, the five thousand four hundred and thirty-seven ships in the fleet. “Follow me.”
I engaged the Blade of Spring’s engines with another thought. The vast starship roared to life and arced above the storm clouds of Jupiter, a fine and glittering shard of infernal strength. I steered her to the head of the column, the tip of the spear, and activated the interdimensional drive. The course through the Void would be a new one, not in any knightly database, and I was doing it solely from memory.
Indeed, apart from my mind, it only existed in the heads of the Everlasting.
Shouldn’t have shown me where you lived, I said to Oblivion. Hoo-boy, no you shouldn’t have done that. This is only partial repayment on the debt I owe you, you son of a bitch.
Oblivion stirred, stewed, as the Blade of Spring left reality behind and plunged into the inky, oily blackness of the Void through an interdimensional window four miles wide. He opened his eyes, more at home in that space, and bared his teeth.
’We shall see,’ the Elder God said. ‘…we shall see.’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
ATTACK ON THE CITADEL
‘Lay us down in the fire. Shatter these memories’
The Cascade Fleet emerged from the Void in a region of space at the galactic centre of the Milky Way, still in the same universe as the rallying point around Jupiter, which actually made the journey that much easier, but the view from above the glittering island-citadel was no less impressive than the first time I’d seen it over a week ago.
The crystal bridge extended from the planetoid island, pulsing with light and power, thrust out somewhat phallic-like into the heavens, radiating strength, and spoke volumes to the Everlasting’s opinion of themselves.
Five thousand heavily armed and soldiered ships fell into the vastness of the galactic centre behind the Blade of Spring. Every one of them following the path I blazed with the neural crown and my mind had made it through the Void in one piece. The pathway was certain now, navigated, and would be uploaded to every navigational database in the Story Thread, broadcast to our allied worlds, even to our enemy worlds, in this case. The Everlasting were a fairy tale no longer.
Here was their home.
Doubt me now, you bastards, I thought of my senators and ministers, my deposed brother and his sycophants. Here’s your proof. If proof were needed.
“The Citadel of the Everlasting,” I said, opening communications to every ship in the fleet. “That is our target, ladies and gentlemen. That is the enemy stronghold. The creatures that call this pretty little island home are the most vile, corrupted creatures ever known. They wish to subjugate you under their rule. They destroyed Atlantis-that-was, they claim the Story Thread as their dominion, and would see us all under their heel.”
I paused, let all that sink in. I was always one for gravitas and a flair for the dramatic.
“My Knights Infernal, my friends, I have been called the War King, the Mad King, but here you see. All of you, you see. The enemy is real. We are here to strike a blow, to show the Everlasting that humanity no longer fears the elder gods. We are the rightful guardians of the Story Thread. We have bled and died for that guardianship across thousands of years, while these so-called gods slumbered and bickered amongst themselves.” I slammed my fist into the arm of the captain’s chair. “They think to unseat us? They think to send us back into darkness, ignorance, and fear? No.” I accessed the Blade of Spring’s vast arsenal and primed the equivalent of a thermonuclear missile in the forward cannons. Beneath our feet, sleek, efficient machinery ensured the payload was delivered into the bow armament ports. All things being even (they wouldn’t be, so far this was too easy, and my mind was screaming at me that it was a trap), I could end this with one shot and we could all be home in time for the evening Seinfeld reruns. “Let’s show them what happens when you mess with the Knights Infernal.”
I blinked and fired the missile. A sparkling contrail of blazing white sparks, tinged blue, exploded from the forward cannons of the Blade of Spring. A glowing orb, a missile the size of a bus, tore across the thousands of kilometres between my fleet and the Citadel of the Everlasting.
The blazing stars keeping the citadel in orbit, the harmony of universal forces almost singing in symphony, stood indifferent to the missile. I expected a defence system, I expected lasers and fire and anti-missile missiles to emerge from within the vast and mighty island.
Oblivion watched, waited. He seemed as curious as I was to see what would happen. Which was all kinds of unnerving.
“It’s quite beautiful,” Annie whispered. I was again reminded that only a year or two ago she had been merely a mortal detective in Perth. She’d certainly been given the crash course in everything Story Thread since. Front row seats to the shit show.
“The citadel or the missile?” I asked.
She blinked, considered, then shrugged. “Both.”
“This is too easy,” Tal said.
I nodded and sipped at my scotch. Across the bridge of the ship, several dozen men and women held their collective breath, the occasional eye flickering to me as if fearing I’d gone mad. Perhaps I had and come full circle. Certainly, I wanted to see this done, wanted the citadel and its inhabitants blasted from the sky. The Everlasting had existed since the beginning of creation and their time was past.
The missile struck the vast citadel and exploded in a light as blinding as a hundred suns cascading into one another. The Blade of Spring’s viewing windows were filtered to absorb the light, reduce the brightness to watchable levels, stop us all from burning our retinas clean away against the vastness of space and its many terrors, but even with those filters we all still turned away and shielded our eyes.
The redeeming fire cast the entire region in blinding white light, and I half-imagined I could feel the heat of the blaze across the distance, through the vacuum and the shields. I couldn’t, of course, but damn if it didn’t feel good to strike a blow for the good guys.
The lightshow lasted a good half minute, the anti-matter explosion in the missile feeding itself, looping into further detonations, devouring and destroying. Had that bomb gone off against, say, Perth, the city and the surrounding five hundred kilometres would be a glassed mess—nothing but ash in the wind. A giant pockmark on the face of the world.
That was a grim thought, but then I dealt in grim hands. Jokers riddled the deck.
The light faded.
The Citadel of the Everlasting… remained.
“Oh, heck,” I said with a frown. “Not a blemish, not even a scuff. That’s a worry.”
Oblivion chuckled away in the back of my mind.
“What’s the report?” I asked one of the report-y looking knights from the diagnostic control columns on my left.
A young chap, grizzled in stubble and looking like he had last slept a week ago, nearly jumped out of his seat. “No noticeable damage, Commander. Sorry—your grace. No discernible impact zone. The missile ate the floating matter around the structure but, your grace, it didn’t damage the structure in the least.”
“Call me Declan,” I said. “It’s easier.”
“Yes, your… Declan.” He cleared his throat. “They must be shielded. We didn’t register anything, though, no fluctuations, no visual or spectrum-based energy spikes. The blast simply… didn’t touch the target.”
I grunted. “Well, that’s a relief.”
Annie crossed her arms over her leather jacket. “It is? Declan, what?”
“I wouldn’t have trusted that to work,” I said. “The missile. When has anything to do with the Everlasting been easy. Tal?”
“Never,” she said. “We’re being played here, is what I think.”
“Is this a trap?” Annie asked.
“In some way, sure,” I said, distracted, trying to think through all the angles, all the possible moves I could make (alongside the inevitable mistakes, the bespoke and tailored fuck-ups). It was hard to do that, both the good and the bad (and the ugly, I thought of Oblivion) when I didn’t fully know what I was up against. I mean, I could be considered the Story Thread’s preeminent expert on all things Everlasting, but that wasn’t saying much.
“Are we worried?” Annie said.
“Hmm? No, no. A trap is a given. This not being easy is a given, Annie. We learnt that in the Tome Wars. You would have done well in those battles, I’m sure.”
“Oh. But what about our ships? Are they in danger?”
“We all are,” I said and met her eyes. “This is the game, kid. Traps and betrayal and fiery death, all par for the course. I thought you understood that.”
Annie said nothing but settled into a worried frown. I couldn’t spare the time to argue with her now. You and Tal both were pushing for this, weren’t you? Pushing for me to act? Did I miss your point? I didn’t think so.
“What now?” Tal asked.
I wanted to commence a hellfire storm with the utmost prejudice, but then I always wanted to do that. Something to do with the vast insecurity I was hiding behind indifference, apathy, and happy hour. Ah, I was muddled, getting distracted once again in reminiscence. It was a strength, but also a weakness. The double-edged sword.
I decided to ask someone far smarter than me.
“What would you do, Tal?”
She gave me a certain look, one of… hell, it was respect. She liked my question. “Order the fleet to engage,” Tal said. “If the crown were upon my head, Declan, I would attack. But then I’m not the most impartial observer when it comes to the Everlasting.”
I nodded and did just that with the neural crown. At the rear of the Blade of Spring, five thousand ships geared up and fell into battle groups, waves, attack formation. The computer took my command, took the lay of the land, of the cosmos, the known and unknown into account, and poured all that into automated battle strategy. I gave the plan the tick of approval, as it looked good to me, and cleared my throat.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” I said across the communication network. “That island over there offends me. See it gone, if you please.” I took a long, healthy sip of scotch. Good, peaty and strong, proof through the roof. It hurt as it fell down the back of my throat.
The Cascade Fleet, thousands of ships, surged past the Blade of Spring in waves of light and energy, and fell upon the Citadel of the Everlasting like a swarm of angry wasps.
The fight had truly begun.
*~*~*~*
It was a sight to behold, one I would remember for the rest of my life—however short or long the rest of my life would be. Odds were good on sooner rather than later there. The house always wins. A sight that would be played across the Cascade Fleet’s Hall of Infamy reel for centuries to come.
I had memories from hundreds of battles, thousands of fights, but they all sort of blurred into one. That day, aboard the Blade of Spring, as the entire might of the Cascade Fleet fell upon the citadel and began to attack, was a battle of such orchestrated magnificence, a beautiful piece of music played to perfection (until we hit the chorus), that it was burnt into my mind as bright as the sun.
I did this, I thought, and for a wonder I felt something rare, something so rare to me that I actually took a moment to appreciate it. What I felt was pride, the satisfaction of a job well done and, whether we all burned and fell, or destroyed and rose up, I knew that coming here had been the right decision.
Swaths of the Cascade Fleet attacked in devastating waves, carpet-bombing the citadel from on high. Some of their strikes got through, though the damage was minimal, far less than it should have been given the ordnance and cannon fire being unleashed, but in this as in most things in life, consistency was key.
The archaic and intricate protections around the citadel protected the island well, but not perfectly. The blue and purple foliage to mark Astoria’s and Ash’s passing atop of the tall trees on the island’s western face began to burn—went up like matchheads, actually, sending streams of fire and glittering azure sparks out into the faux-atmosphere before burning away in actual deep space.
Dart-like quick attack craft swooped in low, glanced off the shields where they got too close, and unloaded on the citadel in a hail of weapon’s fire that set more of the forests ablaze. From aboard the Blade of Spring, we watched the attack in real-time through the forward viewing screens, a near-panoramic view of the citadel in orbit a thousand kilometres out and above from the crystal bridge.
I had compared it to an orchestra, but given that the sound didn’t carry—at all—across the vacuum of space, that was inaccurate. It was more like a ballet, performed down to the finest detail, run on my commands and executed by the infinitely clever computers. Five thousand ships, all poised to attack and attacking, but they moved and swayed as one.
“We’re doing some actual damage,” Annie said. She laughed aloud, breathless and excited. “Bloody hell, it’s like watching a movie—but that’s really happening! My fiancé would love this, he’s big into sci-fi.”
“How are things with… Brian?” I asked, and slapped at an annoying bug on the back of my neck, for a moment there clean forgetting the man’s name. I had never actually met him, despite the fact I had killed and brought Annie back to life. She didn’t want me meeting him.
“Not the time, Declan,” she replied quickly, spinning the engagement ring on her finger almost nervously.
“We’re not doing enough damage,” Tal said. She frowned and held up her hand, and although I couldn’t see it I could sense her invocations. She was channelling her Will light, her power, extending her senses. “Declan, do you feel that?”
That bug again, like a mosquito, nipping at my skin. Only it wasn’t a bug, it was my own Will, my sight and senses. I focused on the sensation, my eyes widening and a shocked gasp escaping my throat.
As a squadron of the Cascade Fleet, some two hundred and twelve ships, veered away from a bombing run on the St Paul’s Cathedral-like dome atop of the citadel, a great and abhorrent window opened in space above the island. The doorway I had created with the Blade of Spring’s interdimensional engine had been miles wide and tall. This… this was at least a hundred miles high.
The rend opened in one long rip, like tearing a piece of paper in half, and from within, from the inky depths of the Void, emerged a fleet of ships and vessels that, even as they appeared, eclipsed the might of the Cascade Fleet in mere moments.
The two hundred or so knightly ships in its path were sheared asunder against the shielded hulls of those vessels, spinning and falling in fire against the ragged edge of the tear in space—a handful of the poor bastards falling whole into the Void.
Oh, god, I had time to think. Better they had died quick.
Thousands of ships poured through the tear, outnumbering the stars against the backdrop of space, or so it seemed. Oblivion cast his feelings on the matter quite well—he began to laugh, then shriek, and dance around the brig in the back of my mind like a loon.
“Declan,” Annie whispered. “What the hell is this?”
Without command, the neural crown interpreted the best course of action and began to divert the Cascade Fleet away from the armada of new ships.
Ships that, really, could only be from one thing.
The Everlasting Peace Arsenal, captained by none other than Lord Hallowed Dusk.
Oh dear.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THE PEACE ARSENAL’S RESOLVE
&nb
sp; ‘I know I had a to-do list round here somewhere…’
We’re fucked, I had time to think, at the same time as Oblivion roared in triumph, his mad voice echoing through my mind like the ringing of a million klaxon alarms. ‘YOU’RE FUCKED!’
“Yes, thank you,” I muttered. A large chunk the size of a matchbox broke away from the star iron manacle. Like the tide washing in, I felt Oblivion’s presence surging within the shaky foundations of his prison. His release was all but certain, and in less time than expected.
Double fucked.
Ancient ships continued to fall out of the Void, punching holes in the blazing sky, thousands becoming tens of thousands, outnumbering us as promised. They were mostly the colour of dusty, old sandstone, though sleek in that regard, hints of contemporary design. These ships, the soldiers aboard (whatever they were, human, robot, or otherwise), had been trapped, imprisoned for at least ten thousand years. I knew not where, but it was my doing in the ruins of Atlantis that had freed this arsenal.
Yet free they were, and it would be against my fleet and my armies that Dusk would turn his intent and dark purpose. Never in my lifetime had I expected to see something so awe-inspiring, so fear-inducing, and so needlessly epic as the Peace Arsenal.
‘This is but a sliver,’ Oblivion said, and I was reminded that the Everlasting were bound to honesty. That they could not lie. ‘The true power is slow to awaken, but Lord Dusk has done well to release this vanguard. He planned on you being so foolish, Declan.’
I cursed below my breath, but Oblivion heard it and laughed again. Could his words have any truth to them? Had Dusk planned for me to get the upper hand, someway and somehow, over this last week? Perhaps he had considered it as a possibility, given my track record of pulling impossible victories out of my ass at the last minute, and so had made ready his attack. That felt too much like being outplayed. Hell, I hadn’t even known of the star iron manacle until it closed around my wrist. But Dusk had assumed.
Dusk played the game better than me.
And the Cascade Fleet was about to pay for my arrogance.