Spellship

by Chris Fox

  “I think so.” There was a quaver in Ree’s voice. She cradled the corpse of her companion to her chest. “They killed Marcus. I’ve never seen a spell like that.”

  “Keep it together, or they’ll kill us, too.” Nara dropped to one knee, peering under the nose of the fighter. Part of her pitied Ree, but mostly she was appalled. Ree represented one of the best armed and trained houses on Shaya, but their shining star had seen so little of real war that any death at all rattled her.

  “What was that spell you just cast?” Ree asked, scuttling over to join Nara. She still held her spellrifle, at least.

  “That wasn’t me. I brought an Ifrit, on loan from Eros. We didn’t know you were going to be here to punch a hole in the wall.” Nara didn’t bother to hide her displeasure. She didn’t want to Ree dead, but she was fine with just about anything short of that. “This would have been a lot easier if you hadn’t come blazing in here, ruining our ambush.”

  Ree froze. Nara couldn’t see her face, of course, but she liked to imagine a chagrined expression.

  “You can lecture me later,” Ree replied coldly. “Let’s get back in the fight.”

  4

  Target Neutralized

  Wood splintered as the enforcer landed in front of Aran. The creature had longer reach with its wickedly curved sword, and it used that reach to devastating effect. The blade flicked out toward Aran and he parried, but the move forced him backward a step and away from the enforcer.

  The enforcer launched another blow, and another. By the time the fourth fell, Aran had read his movements well enough to anticipate the next. He launched himself over the slash, scything his foot out toward the enforcer’s face. The enforcer foolishly allowed the blow to connect, and Aran smiled grimly.

  Some things never changed, and one of the constants he most loved was how often the Krox underestimated humans. Aran channeled void and air down his leg, into his foot. The twin energies crackled around the outside of his armor, slamming into the side of the enforcer’s face in a spray of magical lightning.

  That energy took the enforcer’s eye, blinding it on the right side. Aran pivoted smoothly into the blind spot, bringing his blade around in a low slash. The blade heated, vibrating eagerly as it pierced the scales just above the knee. The enforcer gave a draconic screech as Aran’s sword completed the grisly work, severing the leg and sending the enforcer fluttering away with frantic flaps from its leathery wings.

  Aran’s chest heaved, and he took a moment to survey the room. There was no sign of Grahl, but he hadn’t expected there to be. Nara’s spell put the Caretaker in the basement, which gave Grahl time to use any magical items he might have to effect an escape.

  “Human!” A draconic voice roared from further in the room. “Try me.”

  An enforcer in stylized spellarmor stepped from the enemy ranks, heedless of the combat flowing around it. Its fierce eyes fell on Aran, and from the hatred he read there, Aran guessed he’d just killed someone important. An apprentice maybe?

  But the apprentice hadn’t been wearing spellarmor. This guy was.

  Man, why couldn’t it ever be easy?

  Aran backpedaled, but there was nowhere to go. The enforcer’s wings thrust out from either side of the armor, the only unprotected part of the creature. It raised its spellrifle, taking careful aim as it glided closer. In that instant, Aran caught sight of another enforcer, this one wearing strange ceremonial robes. It stood near the back of the room, and had begun sketching a spell.

  Then the rifle fired, and Aran flipped out of the path of the spirit bolt. The spell splintered into mana shards as it exploded on the ground. Spirit bolts didn’t do much damage to physical objects, but if one hit him, it would pass right through his armor, either killing him instantly or at least making him wish he were dead.

  By the time he rose, the enforcer with the sword had interposed himself between Aran and what he guessed must be a true mage.

  “Crewes, Kezia, get on the enforcer with the face paint,” Aran roared into the comm. “Don’t let it open a Fissure.”

  Crewes shifted instantly, his cannon bucking as it lobbed a flaming hunk of magma at the Krox true mage.

  Then Aran lost sight of them as his opponent crashed to the ground a few meters away. A drop of saliva fell from its jaws, sizzling as it hit the wood. “You’re quick, little human. Are you him? The one who so vexes mother?”

  “Yeah, I vexed your mother just last night.” Aran sprinted forward, drawing from fire to increase his speed and strength. He used air to further increase his momentum, then came down at the Krox in a blur.

  Somehow the Krox hopped backward in time to parry Aran’s blow. Aran delivered another, and another. The blade flared to life in his hands, its magic further enhancing his strength. He could feel its eagerness to kill.

  The Krox gave a surprised grunt, reluctantly giving ground as Aran pushed him steadily toward the wall. By the fifth parry, he knew he couldn’t get through the Krox’s defenses, but right now that wasn’t the mission. He needed to neutralize this guy, sure, but only long enough for the rest of the company to kill the true mage and find the Caretaker. All he needed to do was buy the others time.

  “You will not separate me from my brother.” The enforcer suddenly reversed his stroke, forcing Aran to duck under the blade…right into the enforcer’s kick. The heavy, armored foot caught Aran in the midsection and flung him into the air.

  Time seemed to slow as he tumbled end over end, barely retaining a grip on his spellblade as he came down hard atop the nose of Ree’s fighter. His bones rattled, and he groaned in pain as he tried to recover.

  He sat up quickly, but the Krox was already moving. It leapt into the air, its wings flaring out on either side of it as it aimed at Aran. His hand shot up instinctively, and he sprayed blue motes of water magic at the Krox’s right wing. Then he channeled air, grabbing the enforcer’s right wing.

  The water hardened into ice, and the Krox began to list to the right. It tried to recover, but Aran yanked down hard with his air tendrils. The Krox’s graceful flight turned into an ungainly fall, and Aran leapt up to meet him.

  He thrust his blade at the Krox’s chest, channeling a third-level void lightning spell into the weapon, even as the weapon added its own internal fire magic. Somehow the Krox twisted, but not enough to avoid the attack. The blade punched into the creature’s right shoulder, discharging the spell into the wound.

  The Krox roared, then kicked Aran hard in the knee. Pain exploded through him as the knee shattered, and Aran was knocked into a heap at the enforcer’s feet. He gritted his teeth and summoned void.

  This time, he used gravity magic. He brought his blade down in a quick strike, ramming it through the Krox’s armored foot. It pinned that foot to the ground, and the gravity magic made the weapon impossibly heavy. Aran rolled backward, narrowly dodging the Krox’s return strike.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Aran saw Frit casting above him. He rolled further away from the Krox, in time to avoid a torrent of void flame. It washed over the Krox’s armor, obscuring it entirely. When the rush of flame was over, the armor smoked, but no other damage had been done.

  The floor didn’t fare nearly as well, and the ancient timbers burst into hungry flames. The Krox’s enormous weight, aided by Aran’s sword, crashed through the floor.

  Aran extended a hand, removed the enhanced gravity from his weapon, and wrapped a tendril of air around the hilt. He yanked it back into his grip, forcing himself to his feet as he peered down into the hole.

  He used his free hand to fish a glowing healing potion from the nylon bag sewn into his belt, and upended it into his mouth. The taste of grapes filled his mouth as the golden energy flowed through his body, down toward his wounded knee. The relief was immediate, but it was also his only potion.

  The Krox burst up from the hole, shoulder-checking Aran out of the way. The creature’s mighty wings pumped as Aran tumbled back to his feet, but the Krox had glided toward the corne
r where the true mage was erecting a Fissure.

  “Remember me, human,” the Krox roared. “My name is Tobek, and mine will be the hand that chokes the life from you.”

  Kezia and Crewes were pushing hard, but the true mage had erected some sort of translucent spell wall that was keeping them at bay. The space behind the true mage split and veined as the Fissure opened, and both Krox dove through. The Fissure snapped shut in their wake, and Aran’s grip tightened painfully around the hilt of his sword. It pulsed with rage, an echo of the emotion smoldering inside himself.

  Aran looked around hurriedly. Every other enemy combatant was down.

  “Anyone have eyes on Grahl?” Aran asked over the comm.

  “Over there.” Ree extended a gauntleted hand, indicating a table in the relatively untouched corner of the room. Her voice quavered, whether from exhaustion or grief he wasn’t sure. Probably both.

  Aran glanced down at the far side of the room. A distinguished man matching Grahl’s description lay slumped over the table, a dagger clutched limply in his lifeless hand. A curtain of blood coated his chest, shed by the hideous self-inflicted wound in his throat.

  “All right, people, clean this up. Then let’s get back to the Talon.” Aran leaned against the wall, gritting in pain. His armor did almost nothing to stop kinetic force, and he was fairly certain it would take weeks for the bruises to heal unless he sought out magical healing.

  Aran massaged his neck with a free hand. Who had that enforcer been? Aran wasn’t sure he could take him in a fight, certainly not with the enforcer having spellarmor and Aran not.

  He’d gotten lucky here. If not for Frit’s timely spell, Aran would be dead.

  Was Nebiat their mother, and if so why was she leaving her children to take care of her work? That implied she was working on some other plot, and that terrified Aran.

  They’d won here, but it certainly didn’t feel like it.

  5

  Reinstated

  Voria scarcely recognized the Tender’s palace. It wasn’t simply that the damage from the confrontation with Nebiat had been repaired. No, the whole meaning of this place had changed. Before, with Aurelia, it had been a place for their high priestess to commune with their goddess. Solitary and remote.

  Now, it was a war camp. Couriers came and went via spellfighter, or clunky Ternus shuttles, vessels like the one she arrived on.

  She stepped off into the fierce wind, the only part of all this that felt familiar. A dozen guards lined the fortifications that had been added to either side of the door leading deeper into the palace. No doubt the Shayan nobility found such things distasteful, as there was no way to disguise their placement. They were squat, ugly barricades, clearly made for war.

  “Major,” a feminine voice said as she approached. The woman was encased in golden armor, but she inclined her helmeted head. “You are expected.”

  “How is he today?” Voria didn’t even know the woman’s name, but over the past few weeks they’d developed a banter. They were both soldiers, and they respected that about each other even if they didn’t know anything else.

  “He’s in a foul mood. His attempts to harness the mirror…aren’t going well.” The captain moved to open the door for Voria, and Voria nodded gratefully as she stepped through.

  They said nothing further to each other, no awkward goodbyes, or empty platitudes.

  Voria passed several nobles she didn’t recognize, all hurrying out with pale faces. Eros wasn’t known for his patience at the best of times, but if he’d been working with the mirror again, what little he possessed was probably long squandered.

  She glided past more couriers, and several clouds of nobles. Each cloud gravitated around a Caretaker, and the largest gathered around Ducius. The odious man stepped into her path, folding his arms in challenge as he eyed her.

  “Where is Caretaker Grahl?” Ducius demanded. He thrust a finger toward the balcony to their right. “We can see the flashes from the 3rd branch. We know there’s fighting. We demand to know what’s going on.”

  “Oh,” Voria replied, blinking. “I’m so sorry, Caretaker Ducius. I didn’t realize you’d enrolled in the Confederate Military. And to be granted a rank so quickly, that you can order a major about. Why, that’s quite impressive.”

  She swept past him, ignoring his squawk. Let the bastard complain to the other Caretakers about how rude she was. She needed every scrap of patience to deal with Eros, Neith help her. Ducius called after her, but Voria merely quickened her pace.

  No one else met her gaze as she approached the wide double doors leading to the Mirror of Shaya. They’d been black ever since Neith’s magic had obscured all divination. The rest of magic seemed to have returned to normal, but those doors were as unchanged as ever.

  Voria remembered how they’d appeared the first time she’d come to the palace. Aurelia had the dragon scales arrayed in a perfect representation of Shaya, right down to the gently swaying branches. Yet Eros couldn’t even shift a single scale. Somehow that summed up their current situation, summed up everything they’d lost.

  She rested a hand against the door and pushed gently. Eros could lock the doors, but he rarely did so. The door opened silently inward, revealing a dim interior lit by four magical braziers. A mystic circle had been drawn around the slowly rotating Mirror of Shaya, which pulsed with divine strength.

  “I’m busy,” Eros snapped, without looking in her direction. The Tender’s gaze was focused on the mirror, its sheen illuminating his too-handsome features. Eros raised a finger, sketching half a dozen sigils so quickly Voria could barely follow.

  “Doing what, precisely?” Voria demanded.

  That got his attention. Eros shifted to face her and the anger faded from his features. He looked so tired. “What do you want, Voria?”

  “What do I want? You summoned me, Eros.” She folded her arms, watching him expectantly. Everyone else might toady for him, but in her mind Eros was the same pompous ass he’d always been, and an infusion of divine magic didn’t change that, even if it had transformed him into an immortal demigod.

  “You’re being reinstated.” Eros walked from his spell, his shoulders slumping. He waved a hand and a goblet appeared in it. He drank deeply before speaking again. The circles under his normally perfect eyes were quite dark today. “The Confederacy has finally made their ruling, and we’ve agreed to abide by it.”

  “Reinstated? What does that mean, exactly?” Voria asked. She already had her rank back, but for the past three months she’d been left to her own devices, with no word on a ship, or any other command. If not for Davidson, she’d have no clear understanding of how the war was progressing. Poorly, of course.

  “We’re giving you back the Hunter. She’s undergone a lengthly refit, and is spaceworthy. For the most part.” Eros plucked at his sleeve. He glanced quickly at her, then away. He’d been that way ever since he’d been bound. “But that isn’t why I called you here.”

  “Of course it isn’t.” Voria rolled her eyes. She loathed this man, even as she pitied what he’d undergone at Nebiat’s hands. “What do you want, Eros? What is the Hunter going to cost me?”

  “Well, to begin with, your command only extends to the ship.” Eros licked his lips. “Ternus has agreed to give you a battalion of their best marines, but you won’t be leading them.”

  “I don’t understand.” Voria cocked her head, genuinely puzzled. “I’m in charge, but I’m not? Why not give full command to whoever leads the marines?”

  “Because Major Davidson refused the command.” Eros finally turned his full attention on her, sizing her up with those liquid blue eyes. “He asked that you be given the Hunter, to run orbital operations. He further asked that Lieutenant Aran be attached to your command, and given the Talon.”

  “The Talon isn’t yours to give.” Voria’s gaze narrowed. “Or anyone else’s. She’s mine. Given to me by a goddess, Eros. Do you really want to test that?”

  “No, no I don’t. I said th
at he asked, not that we granted.” His tone had gone sour. “You can do what you want with your precious little ship. But you’ve been selected for a mission, and that’s why you’re here.”

  “Why aren’t I hearing this from Nimitz?” Voria asked. It galled her that the Confederates were so disorganized they couldn’t even pass proper orders. The chain of command was more like a gordian knot of command. She didn’t even know who in the depths she reported to.

  “You are to report to Virkon, where you will seek out the Council of Wyrms,” Eros explained, as if relating the weather. “You will explain our situation regarding the Krox, and attempt to broker an alliance against them.”

  “You’re sending me to Virkon? To forge an alliance?” She started to laugh, but then stopped herself. She watched Eros careful, eyes widening when she realized what was happening here. “This is a cover story.”

  “I’m glad to see you’re not totally deficient. I miss speaking with competent people.” Eros shook his head. “We’re sending you to locate the first Spellship, Voria, the one you told us about. Virkon won’t give us so much as a pile of dragon dung, and they certainly won’t allow you to search their world for a ship that was, very likely, created by their sleeping goddess. But they know we are desperate, and so you are going to show up, hat in hand, and you are going to beg.”

  Voria gritted her teeth. No real support. Davidson not under her command. This got better and better, and they hadn’t even left yet.

  6

  Honeybuns

  Frit very nearly bolted from the cafe. It was the first time she’d ever been permitted in a Shayan establishment, and if they discovered her true identity she’d be forcibly returned to her master, and he’d be fined.

  Eros would love that.

  “Can’t we just go to the park?” she whispered to the woman she was following.