Spellship

by Chris Fox

  “And these pistols always come back?” Nara prompted. “So, if you were to throw one into that cavern, what would happen, exactly?” She leaned around the corner again and studied the layout of the room.

  “Well, they always reappear in the holsters,” Wes said. He moved his duster aside and showed her the dark leather holsters. Both were etched with tiny runes, though Nara couldn’t make them out. “I don’t always notice, but it’s generally no more than a few minutes. Never more than an hour.”

  “That’s perfect. It means we don’t have to sacrifice your binoculars.”

  “Wait, why are we sacrificing my stuff?” Wes bent and began scooping objects back into his pack. He left the pistols.

  “Well, here’s my plan. I’m going to fling your pistols into that cavern.” She mentally calculated the trajectory she’d need to plant them at the best possible locations. “I’ll put one next to that pile of snakes, and the other by that one. I’m betting they’ll try to eat your pistols, and I’m hoping that will make a commotion. While they’re fighting, we fly around the edge of the cavern, toward the signature I detected. Hopefully we can find an exit on the other side.”

  “I can’t think of a downside. Here you go.” Wes picked up both pistols and handed them to her. “I don’t mind being without them for a bit. Of course, knowing them, this will be the one time they don’t come back.”

  “Well, time to find out.” Nara stepped from cover and raised her casting hand. She sketched a quick series of void sigils, and a purple nimbus appeared around both weapons. She pointed into the room, and they shot out into the air, soaring hundreds of meters.

  Their path carried them past many of the spires, and drakes emerged by the dozens. They launched from their little cubbies, flowing after the pistols like a swarm of bats chasing an insect. The pistols continued to fall, each landing in the muck at the bottom of the cavern. Right next to two of the largest snakes in the place.

  Pandemonium broke out. Snakes lunged for the pistols, only to be attacked by larger snakes. Drakes darted in, some snatching up smaller snakes, while others battled to reach the pistols.

  “Okay, time to go. Climb on,” Nara instructed. Wes obediently climbed onto her back, and Nara sketched a sphere of invisibility. She lifted off and flew at maximum speed around the outer edge of the cavern. Nara angled her flight to pass by unoccupied areas, which was easier now that so many of the drakes had flown off toward the pistols.

  Her breathing thundered inside the confines of the helmet as they zipped along the ceiling. Nara whipped between stalagmites, tracing the best path she could.

  Several tense minutes passed, and her breathing finally eased. She began to descend toward the far side of the cavern, and glanced over her shoulder to find the chaos had begun to die down. Just in time.

  They’d made it.

  Nara scanned the cavern wall, slowing their descent until she found it.

  “There,” Wes said excitedly. He thrust a hand over her shoulder. “See that shadow there, next to the cluster of rocks? Lots of snakes have slithered along the ground there, and they must be going somewhere.”

  Nara dropped down in that direction and landed just outside the shadowed area. A narrow tunnel stretched into the darkness before them, but unlike the rest of the tunnels, this one had been carved. A perfect rectangular hallway disappeared into the distance.

  Faintly glowing sigils lined the walls, though more than a few had winked out, leaving gaps.

  More importantly, a potent magical signature pulsed in the distance, beckoning Nara forward. They had arrived.

  38

  Alliances

  This time Voria had a better idea of what to expect when the missive summoned her to Olyssa’s eyrie. Dragons, as it turned out, preferred to live a portion of their lives as humans. Olyssa’s manor—it helped to think of the cavern that way—wasn’t so very different from the manor houses of Shayan nobles.

  She had her servants, in this case humans wearing white dresses with blue trim. Several stood in attendance around a plush, cushioned chair where Olyssa lounged. She cradled a goblet absently in one hand, and held an open book in the other.

  “Welcome, Major,” Olyssa called. She made no move to rise, and Voria noted there were no other chairs in the chamber. Apparently she was supposed to stand. “Thank you for coming. The entire Council is still buzzing about the way you bested Aetherius, particularly the way you spared him at the end. That kind of unexpected mercy was…highly embarrassing, given his previous treatment of you and yours.”

  “I can’t say I’m disappointed to hear that Aetherius lost face,” Voria admitted. She folded her arms, and lamented the fact that she’d left Ikadra back on the Hunter. But carrying him made her too much of a target. “And I appreciate the invitation today. I must admit I’m a bit surprised by it. You’ve not been particularly receptive to my previous requests.”

  “Can I be candid, Major?” Olyssa languidly sipped from her goblet.

  “Please.” Voria didn’t know any other way.

  “I underestimated you. I believed you were some simpering mage dispatched by an ailing government.” Olyssa set the goblet down in midair and rose from her chair. She waved a hand and a Kem’Hedj board appeared in the air a few feet away. “By besting a master of Aetherius’s skill, you’ve raised some troubling questions. You’ve shown that, perhaps, you are as worthy of our ear as the Krox. Until that moment, my people would never have considered an alliance. But now? Now, if not an equal, then at least you are not so very far an inferior.”

  Voria found the back-handed compliment flattering. It was still insulting, but that was just the way of Wyrms. They were immortal killing machines with the very real potential of achieving godhood. A certain amount of hubris was to be expected.

  “Does that mean you are willing to consider an alliance with the Confederacy against the Krox?” Voria asked. Bluntly, of course. She was damnably tired of the games these Wyrms seemed to enjoy.

  “I am considering it, yes. Aranthar’s death was…regrettable.” Something like pity flitted across her features, but it was gone too quickly to be sure. “However, it removes the single largest impediment to an alliance. Before, I could not forge such an alliance, because he was a dragonslayer. But now? He is dead and his honor above reproach. I called you here to discuss working together. Would you like to play as we talk?”

  Olyssa waved at a game board in the corner and it floated over. A stack of golden scales appeared in a floating pile near Voria.

  Voria moved to the game board and clasped her hands behind her back. The floating pile of scales followed her. “I’d enjoy that, I think. Tell me, what do you think of the Krox? I only know them from our perspective, which is…not a pleasant one.”

  Olyssa flicked the first scale onto the board then smiled up at Voria. “Now that is a very complicated question. I suspect we know a great deal more about Krox than your people do, as we witnessed both his rise and fall. Krox is not viewed favorably on our world, because Krox isn’t a dragon.”

  “I don’t understand,” Voria said. She levitated a scale onto the board in the opposite corner from Olyssa’s piece. “Nebiat, the woman you might call my nemesis, is a Wyrm. We’ve fought countless hatchlings, what we call enforcers.”

  “I understand your confusion, Major.” Olyssa dropped another scale, this one adjacent to the first, both placed on the opposite side of the board. It was a defensive strategy. A group of two or three pieces was much more difficult to capture than a single lone piece. She’d built a beachhead, of sorts. “What you know as Krox are the children of the earthmother. Each dragon egg is implanted with a spirit before they are born, and that spirit inhabits the body of the creature that is born. The Krox are, in reality, the children of the earthmother herself.”

  “That’s horrifying.” Voria recoiled a half-step at the very thought of the process. The Krox were…stealing bodies?

  “Please, let us return to more pleasant matters.” Olyssa
gestured at the game board.

  Voria nodded. Her vertigo returned as possibilities rolled out of her in waves. She struggled to isolate the game, and not every possibility linked to this moment. That level of control was difficult, and a bead of sweat rolled down her temple.

  She saw a hundred variations of the next ten moves. Focus. Some of those possibilities were more likely than others. She followed those paths, studying each outcome before moving on to another.

  “What are you doing?” Olyssa asked.

  The voice brought Voria back to the moment and she looked up guiltily. “Contemplating my next move.” She schooled her features into as unreadable mask as she could manage. “Why do you ask?”

  “Because I’ve seen that look before.” Olyssa’s tone had grown suspicious. “My mother read futures the way I read books. She never lost a game of Kem’Hedj, not once. Because she could see the outcome before the game even began.”

  Voria rocked back and forth, a habit she’d fought hard to break as a child. Particularly when she’d been caught doing something naughty. “Wasn’t your mother a goddess?” she finally asked.

  “Yes,” Olyssa said, dubiously. She flicked another scale onto the board. “Do not mince words with me, Shayan. I know magic when I see it. What sorcery do you possess and how did you come by it?”

  “All right, yes, I can see possibilities. And yes, that does make this game a bit…unfair.” Voria levitated a scale adjacent to the one Olyssa had just laid. “It’s early, but I’m guessing you’ll last about six hundred turns.”

  It awed her that such a thing could be known. That she could know it. Neith had changed her in a fundamental way. A way that, she suspected, mortals were not ever meant to know.

  Olyssa’s face went…well, feral, for lack of a better term. The pretense of her being human vanished, though she didn’t change physically. Her reptilian eyes widened, and her jaw worked in a way no human mouth could manage.

  The anger, if that was what it was, passed quickly. Olyssa mastered herself and took several deep breaths.

  “It is difficult for me to accept that one such as you”—she eyed Voria with no small amount of contempt—“could be…elevated in such a way. I do not understand how such a thing is possible. Only a god could have given you this ability, and not just any god. A god of immense age and power. How did you come by this?”

  Voria opened her mouth to answer. She’d never told anyone about Neith, never spoken directly about any of it. Not with anyone, other than the people she’d gone with, after they’d returned from the Umbral Depths. And in that instant, she learned she could not. She wanted to speak, but no words came out.

  “I see.” Olyssa nodded knowingly. “I should expect no less. Were I a god imbuing anyone with powers that might lead inquisitive mages to come searching for my identity, I would ensure no one could speak about me.”

  “It is a rather potent defense,” Voria said. She relaxed her shoulders and allowed a deep breath, now that she could speak. “I can’t tell you who gave me the ability, but I can tell you they did it to stop Krox from rising. This god or goddess believes Krox will dominate the sector if not stopped. Your goddess will become nothing more than a plaything. I have seen enough evidence to believe it. Shaya will fall. Virkon will fall. Ternus is little more than a minor distraction. And all that before Krox’s true work begins.”

  Olyssa’s discomfort appeared to grow with every word. She sat on the edge of her chair and fluffed a cushion behind her. She hadn’t added a scale to the board in some time.

  “I find your words no surprise,” Olyssa muttered. Her gaze was far away. “Nebiat and my brother Khalahk were mates, once. He saw in her the child of the earthmother, and he called out to that. It blinded him to the truth. The Krox part of her dangled that hope, and used it to manipulate his emotions. Krox, and his children, are ever the manipulators. Aetherius may not remember that, but I do.”

  “Will you ally formally with us?” Voria asked, not daring to hope.

  “I cannot offer a formal alliance on behalf of my world, but I can make it known on Virkon that I consider you an ally,” she offered. “The other flights respect me, though I do not command the strongest flight any longer.”

  “That belongs to Aetherius, doesn’t it?” Voria asked. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Of course he had the largest flight. Who else would the Krox toady up to?

  “It does.” Olyssa nodded. “He has the strongest flight, and what’s more, the other flights listen to him. They respect our flight, but in the past we always had Khalahk or Rolf to speak for us. Now? We have no Wyrm of their strength. I am old, and I am knowledgable, but I am no battle leader. I am a politician now, and at best a soldier when it comes to war.”

  “You’ve seen what I can do.” Voria stood up straighter, and squared her shoulders. “You may not be a commander, but I am. Ally with me, Olyssa. I will lead the fight against the Krox, and I will drive them from this world.”

  39

  Back to the Future

  The first thing Aran became conscious of was the dripping, echoing every few seconds as if he were in some sort of enclosed space. He opened his eyes and blinked a few times as they adjusted to the near total darkness.

  He was lying in something cold and sticky. It covered his right side, and had already soaked through his shirt. The stench emanating from it made his eyes water. He staggered to his feet, then paused to listen. Had something moved in the darkness?

  Several seconds later, it hadn’t repeated. Aran slowly tapped the bracelet around his wrist, but nothing happened. He raised it to his face for examination. A new line of white-blue sigils ran along it, probably from whatever Virkonna had done to his armor. Unfortunately, whatever magical upgrade she’d initiated didn’t look like it had finished yet. He had no idea how long it would take, and it looked like he was without spellarmor until then. Lovely.

  Aran reached into his void pocket and withdrew his spellblade. It thrummed eagerly in his hand, a sorrowful note, then a happy one. He’d been keeping it in a void pocket, but if it really were a living thing what must that be like? A troubling thought for another time.

  He started up a corridor, holding his bracelet aloft as an improvised light source. It did little to banish the shadows, but it did glint off the oily walls, lending them definition. Whatever the terrible-smelling oil was, it seemed to cover almost anything.

  Where had Virkonna sent him? Inside some sort of underground complex? There was no way to know, at least not without exploring.

  “How about a little light there, bud?” Aran asked his sword. To his surprise, and relief, it responded by flaring to life. A warm orange glow came from the blade. “Thanks. Maybe it’s about time I give you a name.”

  “The blade already has a name,” a soft voice slithered through the darkness.

  Aran whirled as he shifted instinctively into Drakkon stance. “Who are you?” He didn’t bother to demand they show themselves. Did that ever work?

  “Narlifex is legendary,” the voice whispered. It came from a few meters up the corridor, but as Aran slowly advanced he saw nothing. No eyes. No movement in the shadows. Only a wall of darkness that consumed all light that touched it. “Though the version you hold is young, and untested.”

  A harsh rasping came from the darkness, and Aran tensed. After a moment, he realized it was coughing. That was strangely reassuring, because it meant whatever was in that darkness had at least some semblance of humanity.

  “Clearly you know something about me. How about you tell me about you? A name, maybe?” Aran demanded. He advanced another meter up the hall, and now stood within striking distance of the wall of darkness.

  “We must move swiftly. Please, follow me. Quickly. If we do not arrive at the ordained time, everything you care for will be scoured away.” The darkness receded slowly up the corridor.

  Aran hesitated for a moment. Should he follow? It was likely this thing was leading him into a trap. If so, Aran decided to spr
ing it. He started up the corridor, stepping as carefully as possible to avoid the largest pools of rancid goo.

  The darkness never changed pace. It drifted forward ahead of him, turning down corridors as it moved unerringly toward whatever destination it had in mind. Aran had plenty of time to consider the situation, and wonder where he was. It was possible this was an underground complex, but it was also possible he was inside a vessel of some kind.

  If he was, he prayed this wasn’t the Spellship. That seemed unlikely, as Ikadra had been quite clear he was the key. How could Virkonna get him inside a locked ship, and if she could, what was the point of a key? Also, if this was the ship, wow did it suck.

  Unless he’d just happened to appear in the sewage tank, and the rest of the vessel wasn’t covered in alien ass juice.

  “Listen I realize you’ve got the whole insane cryptic wall of darkness thing going on,” Aran called up the corridor. “But do you think we could talk while we go wherever it is you’re leading me?”

  No answer.

  “Great, nice chat.” Aran sighed. Maybe he’d ask his questions anyway. “So where are we exactly? Inside a ship? On a random moon? The inside of a toilet meant for gods?”

  “I was an Outrider once,” the shadow said. “I don’t remember how long ago. Decades? Centuries? I do not know.”

  That got his attention. Aran quickened his step, but stayed quiet. If this thing wanted to talk, then he was going to let it.

  The shadow stopped. The darkness lightened, and a humanoid shape gained definition. It—she—turned to face Aran. He still couldn’t make out her features, but he could see long, greasy hair.

  “My name was Rhea, last Outrider of the last dragonflight,” she whispered. Her voice quavered, and Aran thought he spied a tear on her cheek. “I kept the faith. I waited. And then I gave in to despair. I don’t know how long ago that was. But here you are.”