Starfinder: A Novel of the Skylords

by John Marco

  “Quiet!”

  The fanged mouth snapped shut. The thing rolled its eyes nervously toward the gun. Skyhigh strained for a better look. A mass of yellow hair sprouted from the creature’s head. Two veiny wings folded against its back, protruding from its dark robes. Around its waist hung a fat silver chain. Rendor squatted down beside it and cocked the hammer of his pistol.

  “I can put you out of your misery, monster,” he said. “Or you can help me. You have three seconds. Decide.”

  ALISAUNDRA

  IT TOOK NEARLY AN HOUR for Skyhigh’s nose to stop bleeding. While the Avatar’s surgeon sewed up his torn lip, Commander Donnar peppered him with questions. The Avatar had lifted off again, and Rendor and his bizarre captive had disappeared soon after coming aboard. Skyhigh’s dragonfly had been badly damaged, but Donnar assured him it would be repaired.

  “Wing damage, mostly,” said the commander. “She won’t look like much but we’ll get her back in the air.”

  At the moment Skyhigh didn’t care about his craft or his broken nose. Just as the surgeon trimmed his last suture, Rendor came onto the bridge.

  “Coralin?”

  Skyhigh rose unsteadily out of his chair. “You used me,” he spat. “You dangled me out there like a piece of meat just so you could catch that . . . thing.”

  Rendor turned without apology and started back the way he’d come. “Follow me.”

  “Hey!” barked Skyhigh. He hurried after Rendor, catching up to him in a narrow corridor and grabbing hold of his shoulder. “I almost died out there!”

  Rendor reached up and forcefully removed Skyhigh’s hand. “Captain Coralin, any one of us could die out here,” he said. “If you want an explanation, keep your mouth shut and come with me.”

  The Governor strode off quickly, his polished shoes clacking against the metallic floor. Skyhigh shadowed Rendor to the aft cargo area, sighting a pair of men with rifles at the end of the corridor. The bays were the most secure area of the airship, where the weaponry was usually stored.

  “Open it,” Rendor ordered.

  One crewmen lifted the door. The other trained his rifle inside.

  “This,” said Rendor, “is a Redeemer.”

  The little chamber was completely empty except for a figure secured in chains, kneeling against a steel wall. The guards moved in, pointing their weapons. A head of long blond hair lifted to stare directly at Skyhigh. A fanged maw smiled grotesquely.

  “Beautiful man . . .”

  The voice was human, and yet it wasn’t. Just like the eyes. A dark robe hid most of the creature’s body, belted around the waist by a gleaming silver chain. Scales instead of skin gave the thing a gray-green pallor. Clawlike hands ended in twisting, crusty fingernails. A gargoyle’s face masked what might have once been a woman. But most amazing of all were the wings. They sprouted from its back, poking out of its robe, twitching in the chains that bound them.

  Rendor took a cigar from his vest. “Ugly as a mud fence, isn’t it?” He lit his cigar with his fancy lighter. “I figured you should see it for yourself.”

  Skyhigh moved in closer. “What is it?”

  “A priest of the Skylords,” said Rendor. “A Redeemer. Go on, take a good look. I think it likes you.”

  “Beautiful flying man,” repeated the creature. Its pink tongue darted out, making Skyhigh jump. “So scared!” it laughed. “Run, run. Fly away home!”

  “She’s going to help us,” said Rendor. He went right up to the creature and blew his cigar smoke in its face. “Aren’t you?”

  “The children have to pay,” said the creature. “They broke the forbidden law!”

  “What law?” squawked Skyhigh.

  “Crossing the Reach,” said Rendor. “For coming into their world.”

  “The Masters’ world!”

  “The Skylords?” puzzled Skyhigh. “Rendor, what is this thing? Not its name. I mean what is it?”

  Rendor pointed at his captive with his cigar. “Look at it, Captain. Can’t you tell?”

  “It looks . . . human.”

  “It was human,” said Rendor. “This is what happens to humans who get caught by the Skylords. Take a good look at Skylord mercy, Coralin.”

  The creature proudly tilted up its face. “I serve the Skylords!”

  Rendor shook his head in disgust. “Still think I’ve been telling fairy tales?”

  Skyhigh didn’t know what to believe. “Why are they called Redeemers?”

  “You heard her—they serve the Skylords.” Rendor’s expression was contemptuous. “Bloody slaves. They come through the Reach hoping to find something better. Poor folks mostly. And criminals. Get used to it, Coralin. You’re going to see a lot of strange things over here.”

  “Let me out now,” purred the creature.

  Rendor flicked his ashes on the floor. “Your friend Moth’s been lucky so far. These things roam in territories. Moth and my granddaughter had to have come this way, but somehow they managed to slip past it.”

  “How do you know?” asked Skyhigh. “How can we be sure they’re all right?”

  “Because this thing wouldn’t be here if she’d found them. She’d have taken them to the Skylords by now.”

  Skyhigh felt sick.

  Rendor puffed on the cigar until the tip glowed ruby red. “That’s right, isn’t it, monster? You just let two humans walk right past you. Kids! What would your masters think of that, I wonder?”

  The creature struggled in its chains. A crewman nudged it with his rifle barrel.

  “I have to take you,” it told Skyhigh.

  “What?”

  “To the Skylords,” said Rendor. “To be turned into one of them. They’ll do it to all of us if they get the chance.”

  “I was human once,” claimed the Redeemer. “Beautiful once. Like a mermaid.” Suddenly it broke into song. “Mermaid, mermaid, hair of grass! Mermaid, mermaid, pretty young lass!”

  Skyhigh turned away. “How’s this thing supposed to help us, Rendor? It’s insane!”

  “Oh, she’ll help us,” said Rendor. He leaned forward, coming face to face with the thing. “Because if she doesn’t, someone else will find Moth and Fiona. And if that happens the Skylords aren’t going to be too happy.”

  For the first time the creature looked afraid. “Help you.” It nodded.

  “But how?” wondered Skyhigh. “You can’t just let it go. How’s it going to find them?”

  “Like a dog on a leash, Coralin,” said Rendor. “Ever seen a bloodhound?”

  He reached beneath his coat, this time pulling out a length of flowered fabric. Skyhigh was sure he’d seen the pattern before, then realized it was from a dress Fiona had worn.

  “Redeemers read thoughts. They can feel the presence of humans better than the Skylords because they were human themselves once.” Rendor hovered over the pathetic creature. “You’ve felt them by now. You must have. Have you been looking for them?”

  The creature smirked and looked away.

  “You won’t be smiling when your masters find those children,” Rendor taunted. “But if you help me find them first I’ll let you go free. The Skylords won’t even know they were here.”

  “I serve the Skylords,” said the Redeemer.

  “Do you know where they are?” pressed Rendor. “Or Merceron?”

  The creature spied the strip of fabric in Rendor’s hand. “Give it to me.”

  “Who’s Merceron?” asked Skyhigh.

  Rendor held the piece of Fiona’s dress under the creature’s nose. Skyhigh watched as it sniffed the fabric, its expression melting with longing. He actually thought the creature might weep.

  “Young girl,” it whispered.

  “She’s been here?” asked Rendor. “You’ve felt her?”

  The Redeemer closed its eyes and nodded. “Mermaids lie. But they will be punished too.”

  “What’s it talking about?” asked Skyhigh.

  Rendor asked the creature, “Can you feel her now? Is she near? I
s she with the dragon?”

  “Dragon?” blurted Skyhigh. “Huh?”

  “Shut up, Captain, please,” snapped Rendor. He leaned toward his captive. “Can you feel her? Do you feel anything with her?”

  “A boy,” said the Redeemer. “And something else.” It opened its yellow eyes. “What are you looking for?”

  Skyhigh wanted to know the same thing. “What is it, Rendor? What was it Moth stole from you?”

  Suddenly the Redeemer gasped. “The Starfinder!”

  Rendor jerked back. “Get out of my mind!”

  Frustrated, Skyhigh demanded, “Rendor, tell me what’s going on. What’s this thing talking about?”

  “The Starfinder!” crowed the Redeemer. “It’s strong! I can feel it!”

  Skyhigh felt like screaming. “What Starfinder? What dragon?”

  “Later,” said Rendor, brushing Skyhigh aside. Without any malice he asked his prisoner, “What’s your name?”

  “I am the Twelfth Priestess.”

  “No,” said Rendor. “That’s your slave name, the name the Skylords gave you. What was it before they did this to you? What was the name your parents gave you?”

  Her expression made Skyhigh shudder. She seemed to be thinking back to a long ago dream.

  “Do you remember your parents?” asked Rendor.

  “Alisaundra,” she whispered. “My name.”

  “Alisaundra.” Rendor dropped his cigar to the floor and crushed it out with the toe of his shoe. “I’m not sure what else the Skylords could do to you, Alisaundra, but I’m sure they’d think of something. What would they do if they knew you let that boy and girl get away? Would they destroy you?”

  The creature cast her yellow eyes to the floor, slumping in her chains. Rendor hovered over her.

  “Help me and I’ll let you go free,” he promised. “Forget the Starfinder. Forget you ever saw us. All you have to do is take me to those children.”

  FIRE AND CLAWS

  FOR A FULL DAY MORE Merceron carried the children north, following the river. After so long in the air, even Moth was tired of flying. He was sick of the river that seemed to lead nowhere. Lying flat against the saddle, pinned with Fiona between the ever-beating wings, Moth turned his face against the wind and saw the sun starting to go down. Fiona’s hands clutching the straps around Merceron’s neck were white-knuckled. Her red hair blew straight back from her head.

  Merceron had promised them Taurnoken, but Moth’s hopes faded with the falling sun. How long could he hold on? How long could Lady Esme fly alongside them? He wanted to talk but couldn’t find the strength. He wanted to reach out and touch Fiona and tell her it would all be okay.

  Four days, he realized.

  That’s how long they’d been here. Less than a week since Leroux had died. Why did it seem so long ago? Why did it take forever for a dragon to fly back home? Moth closed his eyes, willing something—something good—to happen. That’s what they needed now.

  “I see something.” Fiona lifted her face to peer past Merceron’s head. “Merceron, I see something!” she said again. “Is that it?”

  Merceron’s giant wings fanned out into a glide. His body slackened with relief.

  “Taurnoken,” he sighed.

  Lemon-yellow spires reached into the clouds, splashed by the last of the sunlight. Moth saw aeries and balconies, giant stages big enough for airships. There were no streets, nothing at ground level but the river. There were only the towers, all of them dragon-sized, stitched together by gleaming bridges. Jutting platforms clung to their sides, the way thorns climbed up a rose bush. Great, open gaps lay between them for the dragons to soar.

  But the sky was empty.

  Fiona’s face scrunched. Underneath them, they felt Merceron’s body tighten. His wings beat with urgency again, speeding them faster. Lady Esme quickly fell behind.

  “Merceron, wait for Esme!” shouted Moth.

  Merceron paid no attention. The river splayed out beneath them, meandering past the towers, pooling in blue lakes. Merceron threaded past the first tower, then wheeled toward the heart of the city.

  “Gone!”

  His panicked tone made Moth shrivel.

  “Merceron, slow down!” Fiona cried. “Esme can’t keep up!”

  Merceron glided back toward Esme, gathering her close to his wings as he surveyed the city. Shadows grew over the darkening towers. Lifeless, abandoned homes gaped at them.

  “Dreojen,” shuddered Merceron. “Dreojen!”

  “Where is she, Merceron?” asked Moth. “Hiding?”

  Overcome by the sight of his vacant city, Merceron pointed himself toward an enormous tower near the center of Taurnoken, a broad, silvery spire with bridges spreading out from it like branches, connecting it to all the smaller towers around it. A massive platform protruded from its entrance, overhanging the river a thousand feet below. Merceron nearly tackled the platform in his zeal to get down, spilling across its smooth surface. Lady Esme landed next to him, soft as a butterfly.

  By now Fiona had become expert at undoing her buckles and hurried off Merceron’s back. Moth dropped down after her, amazed at the size of the tower. The platform led to a colossal archway, big enough for a dozen dragons to enter side by side. Beyond the archway waited a dim, canyon-sized hallway.

  “Merceron, was this your home?” Fiona asked.

  “In a way.” Merceron’s eyes widened with emotion. “This is my library.”

  The wind whistled as it swam between the towers, but not another voice reached them, not a single blinking eye. The ebbing sunlight touched the arch, spilling into the empty hall.

  Merceron didn’t ask the others to follow. He moved in a trance, awash in memories. Moth felt himself growing smaller as they passed under the arch. The bone-white ceiling soared overhead. Blades of sunlight pierced the crystal windows. Moth’s shuffling boots echoed through the emptiness, a hallway that spread out into endless other halls.

  “This is the library?” asked Fiona. “Where are all the books?”

  Merceron scanned the looming shelves in disbelief. “It’s all gone. Everything I ever learned, all our histories.” He pointed at a vacant bookcase. “Our poetries were there! Our maps, our kin books . . .”

  Lady Esme fluttered up into the bare shelves, looking around with her sharp eyes. She gave a mournful call.

  “Dreojen was here. They were all here when I left!” Merceron swept his tail around. “This whole place was alive!”

  “The war,” said Fiona. “It must have been.”

  “It was over!”

  “Maybe it wasn’t over for the Skylords,” said Moth.

  Merceron’s nostrils flared. “It’s Taurnoken,” he said. “They always hated Taurnoken. Too tall for them, too beautiful. Too much like their own city.”

  “Like Calio,” said Fiona. “That’s what my grandfather says. He told me the Skylords would hate Calio if they ever saw how high it is.”

  “It’s jealousy,” fumed Merceron. “Wicked, vile jealousy.”

  He slumped, heartbroken. Moth remembered the Starfinder in his pocket. He looked up at Lady Esme, wondering what to do next.

  “If they left here we can find them,” he said. “Right, Merceron? We can still find Dreojen and the other dragons.”

  “Yes, maybe,” said Merceron. He nodded but wasn’t really listening. “I don’t know.”

  He walked off, deeper into the hall. Moth headed after him, but Fiona grabbed his coat.

  “No,” she whispered. “Leave him alone.”

  The hall grew silent. Moth and Fiona explored the empty shelves. They watched the sun slip down the horizon. They tossed treats in the air for Esme to catch. They worried.

  After an hour, they went looking for Merceron. The crystal windows beamed moonlight into shafts, lighting their way. Moth listened for Merceron, but all he could hear was the constant wind around and through the towers. The library yawned, gloomy and haunted. Moth peered back and realized they were lost.

&n
bsp; “Where’s the archway?” he asked. “Did we turn?”

  Fiona looked about, puzzled by the darkness and look-alike shelves. Esme sat obliviously on her shoulder, waiting for another treat.

  “We’ll go back,” she said. “Merceron will find us.” They turned to retrace their steps, then saw movement at the end of the hall. A flash of wings made Moth grin.

  “There you are!”

  A ray of moonlight struck the figure as it stepped out from the shelves. Small, man-shaped, its black wings fluttered from its shoulders.

  “Hello, little ones,” it called, its mouth shining with fangs.

  Moth and Fiona backpedaled. Another creature stepped from the shelves.

  “Pretty bird!” it hissed. “Delicious bird!”

  Fiona snatched Esme into her arms. “Moth, what are they?”

  Moth spun her around. “Run!”

  A third beast dropped down in front of them. “Don’t go!” it laughed. “Let us see you!”

  A dark robe, a silver chain—Moth noticed little else. The one before him hunched down, stalking toward Fiona. “I will take her hair!” it cackled. “Red hair for me!”

  “I will have their coats and boots!” said another.

  Fiona tossed Esme into the sky. “Esme, fly!” she shouted. Then, with all her lung-filled might she cried, “Merceron!”

  The creatures chittered and laughed and made a ring around them. Moth balled up his fists.

  “Get away!”

  His bluster delighted the creatures. Moth searched for an opening. Black wings spread out to trap them. Moth drew back, hoping for at least one good shot. The closest creature hovered just out of range.

  “Child,” it taunted, “soon you will be one of us.”

  Moth held his breath, pushed Fiona behind him, then felt a rush of wind. A sudden howl rattled the crystal windows. Teeth bared, mouth aflame, Merceron came like a battering ram down the hall. Fiona cheered, Moth struck the creature hard in the face—and they ran.

  Fire and claws raked the hall. Orange light blinded them. A fireball engulfed the creatures, incinerating two of them. The third leaped into the air. A reptilian arm hooked around it, slamming it to the ground. Merceron pinned it, his smoking snout pressing down upon its chest.