by Chris Fox
Aran reached out with air tendrils, but the woman extended a hand and met him tendril for tendril. He rushed her then, leaping over her and bringing his blade down in a brutal slash. This time it caught her across the thigh, though she dodged the worst of the blow. A line of slick, shiny blood marred her suit there.
She favored her right side, where he’d landed the kick. Maybe he wasn’t so bad off as he thought.
“Aran?” Nara’s voice came from the entryway, no more than thirty meters away.
Aran’s eyes never left his assailant, he was positive of that. One moment she was there, and the next she was gone. There was no visible use of an invisibility spell, no teleport that he could see.
He backed up slowly, putting his back to the wall as he scanned his quarters for any sign of her. There was nothing, no breathing, no footsteps. He had no idea if she was there, or she’d fled. Unfortunately, the scry-screen was still playing—not loud, but loud enough to cover an invisible person trying to sneak off the ship.
His weapon vibrated eagerly in his hand. It tugged at him, urging him to swing. Aran resisted the impulse.
“I’m in here,” he yelled. “Be careful. There’s an assassin.” He strode boldly from the room, blade at the ready as he entered the main chamber.
Nara stood there, staff in hand. Her finger came up and she sketched a fire sigil, then a dream. Her eyes began to glow as she slowly scanned the room. “I don’t see anyone.”
Aran leaned against the wall and propped his sword against it, within easy reach. He put a hand over the wound in his arm, which was still bleeding freely. “Where’s Bord when I need him?”
“They really got you.” Nara hurried over and bent to inspect his wound.
Aran kept his attention on the room around them, in case his assailant came back. “She was from Virkon. She fought like me, but better.”
“Well, she can’t have been that much better. You’re still alive.” Nara moved to the medical supply cabinet Pickus had installed along the wall and removed a role of gauze. The ship’s internal magic accelerated healing, but something this bad would still take a day or two to fully heal. She began wrapping his arm in gauze. “You sure do have a knack for making friends. Do you have any idea why this person wanted to kill you?”
“I have no idea. She called me dragonslayer, so maybe this is about Khalahk.” Aran tested the arm. It wasn’t too bad off. He looked Nara in the eye. “I think I’m out of time. My past has caught up with me, like it or not. I need to find a way to Virkon, before this assassin—or another like her—catches me in an off moment.”
Nara bit her lip. “I’m supposed to go meet Eros, but I can blow that off so you aren’t alone. Or you could go with me.”
“I appreciate that, but you’ve got work to do. I know Eros is hard enough to deal with. I hurt the assassin, so that’s probably given me a little time. I’ll head to Ree’s Kamiza until I can figure something out.” He pulled her into a hug with his unwounded arm, and she returned it.
In spite of everything, he couldn’t ignore her scent. Or the attraction he felt. Of course if he gave in to that, it would provide just the kind of opportunity the assassin was no doubt after.
Nara disengaged, and smiled up at him. “I’ll stick around until then. I can be a little late.”
9
Welcome Home
Voria felt a swell of pride as she entered the makeshift space dock. A veritable army of techs swarmed around the Wyrm Hunter, adding armor panels, or welding patches in place. A steady flow of hover transports moved in and out of the cargo bay, loading munitions and other supplies.
She had no idea who’d paid for all this, or who’d authorized it. The work had clearly been going on for weeks, judging from the differences since the last time she’d seen the Hunter. The cracked keel had somehow been repaired, and she was beginning to resemble a space-worthy vessel once more.
A line of Inuran hovertanks rolled into the bay, the lead vehicle one she recognized. She hadn’t seen Davidson’s tank since Marid, but it was unmistakable. Larger and sleeker than the others, and with a powerful magical signature she could sense even at this distance. The cannon was long, almost comically so, and extended beyond the body of the tank. The range must be incredible, and would make Davidson’s hovertank a threat, even to capital ships.
Voria hurried up the ramp, making for the aft entrance. That was the fastest way to the battle bridge, and she was fairly certain that was where Davidson would head as soon as he’d parked. She had no idea what he thought of the situation, though the fact that he’d recommended her was very promising.
“Sir,” Pickus said as the lanky private detached himself from the wall. He fell into her wake, following her inside the ship. “I was hoping we could talk, sir. About the, uh, tree magic?”
“Tree magic?” That brought Voria up short. She stopped and gave Pickus her full attention. “What are you on about, Private?”
“Well, uh, you said I was supposed to go talk to the tree and it would give me life magic, right?” He blinked at her from under a mop of red hair, as much sheepdog as man.
“Precisely. Is there some problem with that? This isn’t like most Catalysts. Your chances of dying are very low,” Voria offered. She wasn’t used to having to convince people to accept enormous power.
Pickus’s already pale skin went even more white, and he blinked owlishly. “Wait, there’s a chance I could die?”
“It’s remote,” Voria offered. She took a deep breath, trying to extricate herself from the situation she’d created. “When you peer into the mind of a god, there is a temptation to drink too deeply, to claim too much magical strength. Our minds can handle far more than our bodies, and the amount of magic you bring back can incinerate you if you are not careful.”
“So how do I know if I should turn back?” Pickus asked. He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I really don’t want to die. I mean, I’d like to be able to heal people. And I want to peer into the mind of a god. That sounds fascinating. But, you know, I’m kind of a coward.”
Voria smiled as a wave of affection for the Ternus tech bubbled up. “You will do fine, Pickus. You are intelligent, and you have good instincts. You saved the dims. You’ve faced the Umbral Depths and lived to speak of it. I’d hardly call you a coward.”
“Thank you, sir.” Pickus clenched his fist in front of his heart. “Well, then, I’m going to go meet the tree. I’ll let you know how it goes, sir.”
“Shaya’s grace to you, Private.” Voria returned the salute, and watched proudly as Pickus trotted back the way they’d come. These last several months had taught her how much of her identity was wrapped up in command, and, like it or not, she needed these people as much as as they needed her.
She needed to be needed. Helping people like Pickus didn’t just make her feel good and useful, it defined her. And she didn’t think that was a bad thing.
Voria continued through the ship, expertly tracing a path through the chaos of recommissioning, stepping over wires, and around chatting technicians. She was acutely aware that every last one wore a Ternus uniform, not a Confederate one.
Finally, she arrived at the battle bridge. This room appeared to be the eye of the storm, empty and wholly intact amidst the storm of activity covering the rest of the vessel. And, as she’d guessed, Davidson was already there.
His blond hair was still military short, but he’d added a thin beard along the jawline. It aged him, though not as much as the weight in his eyes. Marid had changed them both, but him more than anyone else who’d survived.
“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Major.” Voria walked around the primary spell matrix, joining Davidson near the scry-screen. He was much taller than her, though she wasn’t a tall woman. “I’m told we’ll be working together. I am also told you are the reason I was given command.”
His stoic expression softened into something approaching a smile. “I’d forgotten how blunt you are, Major. It’s good to see you as w
ell. You’re wondering why I didn’t accept command?”
“Indeed.” Voria gave a tight nod. It was refreshing how frank Ternus officers were, after having dealt with so many Shayans recently.
“Listen, six months ago magic was just a concept to me.” Davison raised a hand, and a soft glaze of ice appeared around his fist. “Now I’m a tech mage, whatever that means. I’m learning all about these fancy new powers, but the problem is that my world doesn’t have a large body of knowledge on the subject. In short, we don’t know squat about magic.”
“So you want me here as some sort of teacher?” Voria asked. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Training mages, especially new mages, took a great deal of time and attention.
“Partly. But you also know how to run combat using a battleship like the Hunter. Can you imagine someone as green as I am trying to pilot her through combat?” Davidson gave a self-deprecating chuckle. “Ternus command doesn’t even understand magic well enough to know that I’d need void magic to really make the most of this vessel. They’re fed up with Shaya, and they want to run this vessel themselves. Nimitz really pushed for that.”
“But you realize engaging the Krox with a single tech mage running this vessel would be suicide?” Voria shook her head with a smile. “Both our governments are bad at this whole military thing, I think. We need the best part of both, not the dregs of each.”
“There’s good news on that front, at least,” Davidson offered. “My Marines all have experience battling Krox. They know what they’re dealing with. Some come all the way from Starn. They’ve drilled with those tanks, and they’ve fought with them. They’ll give as good as they get when we need them to.”
“You’re aware of our current mission?” Voria asked. She wasn’t sure how far Eros trusted Ternus. She doubted Davidson knew more than the cover story, and perhaps not even that much.
“Sort of. I know we’re going to Virkon, and Virkon is run by dragons. They’re on the other side of the sector, so we haven’t had a lot of dealings with them. They haven’t told me why we’re going, other than to establish some sort of diplomatic relations.” Davidson stroked his beard. “Honestly? Sounded like nebulous bullshit to me, and I know you don’t do bullshit. There’s something important going down on Virkon, and though I don’t know what it is, I do know you’ll be at the heart of it. For whatever it’s worth, you’ve got my full support.”
Something eased in Voria, a weight she hadn’t realized she’d been carrying. First Pickus, and now Davidson. It was as if she were returning to herself, cleansed of all her preconceived notions and ready for the war she’d been shaped to fight.
“It’s damned good to have you back, Davidson. Welcome home.” Indeed. Welcome home to them both.
10
Wyrm Father
Nara rapped sharply on the thick shayawood door, waited a precise three seconds, then opened it without waiting for an answer.
Eros paced along the back wall of the study, oblivious to their entry. His dark robes were rumpled, no doubt slept in again. That had happened often, of late. He muttered to himself, quietly enough that she couldn’t make out the words. Part of her was glad.
“This should be fun,” Frit whispered from behind her.
“At least you won’t be the focus of his attention,” Nara whispered back. “So where did you go after you left the ship? I heard he was looking for you.”
“Nowhere.” Frit’s face instantly lost all emotion, and she eyed Nara sidelong as they approached Eros. “We’ll talk about it later.”
Nara sighed. She had no idea what Frit was hiding, but did she have any right to pry? Frit was a friend, and it stung that she was keeping secrets.
Not that Nara had any room to talk. She kept her fair share, and besides, she knew for a fact she’d been a terrible person before the mind-wipe. She didn’t have any right to judge anyone else, and was just grateful not to be “pirate girl” anymore.
“Master Eros?” she called hesitantly, when the new Tender continued to pace without acknowledging them.
“Hmm?” he turned abruptly in their direction. “Oh, it’s you. I’m not pleased with either of you. Frit, I’m told you couldn’t be located. I will not have you haring off on goddess knows whatever fancy takes you. Now, how did today’s raid go? I’m told Grahl is dead. How did it happen?”
Nara licked her lips, composing her words carefully. That came much more quickly with Neith’s gifts, and she’d found herself adept at conversation since then. “Ree’s fighter squadron alerted the enemy to our presence before we were ready. We engaged, as ordered, and successfully neutralized most of the defenders.”
“Most?” Eros demanded, eyes snapping into focus, on her. “We do not deal in most. Who survived? And why?”
“Two enforcers, both on the cusp of Wyrmhood,” Nara admitted. She squared her shouldered and forged on. “They were able to open a Fissure and escape. Both enforcers possessed strong magic, and one was a true mage. I don’t know if he was the one who bound Grahl.”
Eros’s nostrils flared, and his eyes reflected his disappointment. “How did the Caretaker die? I’m told our mages are unable to communicate with the spirit.”
“Ritual suicide.” Nara shook her head. “He was already dead by the time we forced ourself into the room.”
“So his last act was ensuring we couldn’t learn what he was up to. It could be anything,” Eros growled. He began to pace again.
“Or it could be nothing,” Nara countered. “We know the Krox are here. We know they’re binding politicians. We don’t know why, or how. And we’re expending resources hunting them. That could be exactly the kind of distraction they’re after. What are we not seeing while we focus on their activities here? We’ve focused everything here, and that means we are blind everywhere else.”
Eros froze, and shifted a critical eye in her direction. “A keen observation, pirate girl. Very keen indeed. I am disappointed you failed to eliminate these Krox. Unfortunately, you will not be given another chance to catch them.”
“Why is that?” she asked. He was about to deliver big news, she could tell by his self-important expression.
“You’re officially assigned to the Talon, under the command of Lieutenant Aran. You will be representing the House of Enlightenment, and Shaya in general. I trust you will not embarrass us.”
“I don’t know if I’d trust that,” Nara muttered. Frit giggled beside her and Nara gave her a covert smile. “Master, what’s our mission?”
“I suppose you have a right to know, but I must insist you discuss this with no one.” Eros frowned. “We know there are spies everywhere, and I am positive there is at least one close enough to learn secrets no one should have access to.”
That sent Nara reeling. They’d taken great care to make sure the entire palace was warded. Anyone with even a minor binding would set off alarms long before they made it inside. Any magic of any kind was tracked, and dealt with ruthlessly where necessary. There was no way for a binder spy to make it this far inside, not anymore. And that meant if there was a spy, they were serving the Krox of their own free will.
“You are heading to Virkon, ostensibly to forge an alliance,” Eros explained he rolled his eyes. “A flimsy cover, since all know the Wyrms are too proud to consider us equals.”
“And the real mission?” Nara asked. She hated how Eros drew everything out, prolonging his importance as long as he could.
“You will be recovering this First Spellship of Voria’s. Since she will have to pretend at this alliance, we expect you to do the bulk of the searching.” Eros folded his arms, studying her for a response.
“If you expect me to find this ship, I need to understand a great deal more about who created it, and what the galaxy was like when they did,” Nara said, thinking aloud. “I’ll need to understand the spell hiding it, and whatever else we can determine about its origins and capabilities.”
She noted that Frit had become very interested, a welcome surprise.
Frit was usually much more interested in blowing things up, or talking about their latest respective crushes. She didn’t care much for history or magical theory, beyond how it would help her torch her enemies.
“I can give you a starting point, at least. I understand that your historical knowledge is badly lacking, and you may not know about the dragonflights.” Eros oozed the casual arrogance he probably didn’t even realize had become his hallmark. “How much do you know of them?”
“I know that Virkon is called the last dragonflight, but I’ve never heard of the others,” Nara admitted. “What are they?”
“The dragonflights ruled this galaxy for countless millennia. Our sector was ruled by eight in particular, all children of the same goddess,” Eros explained. “You’ve already met the ghost of Marid, Wyrm Mother of the water Wyrms. Now you’ve met this Keeper of Secrets, the Wyrm Mother of Fire. Virkon is called the last dragonflight, because it is the last to follow their ways. Humans are treated as chattel, and only those who distinguish themselves in battle are elevated into serving them directly. We, of course, are also considered beneath them. At one time the whole of the galaxy was enslaved by dragons, though they would call it honorable servitude.”
“I’m sure their culture is fascinating, but it’s also likely to be quite vast, especially if I’m searching through millennia of myths.” Nara felt overwhelmed, and she’d scarcely begun. “Where should I start?”
“I will send you with several knowledge scales about the flights. Most of it is unusable myth, since much of our knowledge was lost at the end of the godswar.” Eros shook his head sadly. Only a tragedy as great as losing knowledge could inspire him to emotion. “Pay particular attention to the fact that there is never any mention of the life Wyrm Father.”