Storm Kings (Song of the Aura, Book Six)

by Downs, Gregory J.

  Through it all, a soft rain began to fall.

  Gramling opened his eyes, staring up unblinking at the sky.

  “Give me a sign,” he whispered. “I’ve born visions in my head all my life. I’ve been through the Blaze and back… into the heart of darkness… and I survived. I can’t… do this… alone…” He found himself weeping bitterly in the rain; and the battle had not even begun.

  Fwup, fwup, fwup… It came from behind him. The sound was so unexpected. Gramling looked immediately, and saw the strangest sight he had ever seen. Traveller’s staff. Wings, sprouting from its gnarled tip. Flying. Towards him.

  Give me a sign.

  Gramling stood slowly, legs shaking from exertion, and put out a hand. The staff fluttered to it, and he held it for a moment, just looking. Was he crazy… or did it really look like it belonged there? The piece of wood couldn’t speak… it wasn’t a person, after all… but he could have sworn it looked content.

  Blasted nonsense. Gribly was the Prophet, for crying out loud!

  But so are you, a voice whispered in his head. He could have sworn it sounded like his father. Gram. At the eye of the storm, there can only be one victor. And it will be you.

  That was Gram’s voice, no doubt about it… but how?

  Gramling looked at the staff again. It just looked like wood again. He looked up…

  …and found King Gram, Lord of Rogues, standing in front of him.

  His father wore the same flowing black coat as he had the few times Gramling had encountered him. But beneath it he wore a mail shirt and dark leather pants… and his clothes literally glowed, illuminated by an inner light that pulsed from his body. He seemed almost… translucent. And he was thinner, leaner… stronger. The perfect image of who he must have been at the height of his power.

  “Father…” Gramling was unsure if it was an illusion, or reality, or something in between.

  “We barely knew each other in life, Son,” Gram said, “and I am sorry for that. But you are the stronger son. We would have clashed.”

  “Don’t… don’t say that.”

  “It is the truth.” Gram pointed towards the black tower- it was almost half-built, by now. “But now, beyond life… I have a mission to accomplish. Something I was meant for, just as you are… and Gribly is.”

  “Beyond life?” Gramling felt the blood drain from his face. This wasn’t the sign I wanted…

  “We take them together,” Gram said, looking deep into Gramling’s eyes. “Aura or no… I won’t fail you again.”

  Gramling looked back at his father, something turning steely hard inside him.

  “I don’t know how this is happening… or what you mean. But you don’t have a debt to me. You have a debt to the rest of the world.”

  Gram looked taken aback, even for a ghost. “But…”

  “You’re still right,” Gramling said. “We take the Legion together.”

  Gram declined his head respectfully. “You have grown, my Son.”

  “We’ll see,” Gramling muttered. They started forward through the wind, the dark ruins towering above them… growing higher with every minute.

  The Day of Norne was reaching its height.

  Chapter Sixteen: Virtus Deo

  With the clouds gone, both warring parties in the White Marshes had a clear view of the sky… and all eyes were riveted on the cosmic duel taking place above.

  Lauro flew ever higher, desperately trying to isolate Automo from any contact with Sea or Stone, and thereby eliminating his foe’s advantage in controlling all the elements. In his flight, he made a vital discovery: the Midnight Sword could aid him in his Striding. With it he could go faster and last longer; moving it just a little could change the flow of the wind and enable him to make virtually impossible maneuvers.

  But it wasn’t enough. Hundreds of yards into the sky, Automo caught him anyway.

  “Stop fleeing, Coward!” The scarred Aura roared, and a blast of fire caught Lauro full in the back.

  It was one of the most painful things Lauro had ever encountered… but he had grown tougher than the last time he had faced the Traitor. Whirling around mid-flight, he let Ker’junas catch the wind and twist him in an acute angle to the side, tossing off his battered plate-jacket as he went. Sky Striders like him only wore the lightest armor, for obvious reasons… and it wouldn’t have done much to protect him anyway.

  The jacket tumbled away in pieces, burning up with white fire in mere moments. Lauro felt some on his gauntlets and trousers and hair… Blast! He twisted in ever-tightening circles, spiraling downwards until the wind fairly ripped his flesh free with its force. At last the embers went out, but the burning sensation stayed… and now Automo was above him.

  The Red Aura twisted in a U-shape trying to follow Lauro but with only limited success. He was too large, too bulky… too fast! In moments he would catch up again. Lauro turned Ker’junas, Striding wind along its blade, and suddenly he was whipped around and upward, out of the way of Automo’s slashing blade-arms. Reaching out, Lauro called on the Power of Sky.

  Crash! A bolt of lightning arced from his palm, striking Automo in the side as he passed. The explosion hurled them both apart in an inferno of light and fire. Lauro cart-wheeled through the air, trying to keep the Midnight Sword’s blade away from his body as his shirt burned away in the wind. Great… just bloody great!

  But then he Sky Strode, righting himself… and saw Automo. The Red Aura was hovering in the air, swaying as if he hung there not by choice, but by necessity. He was blackened from head to toe, one of his blade-arms twisted completely out of shape, and more of that fiery fluid-blood seeping from his mechanical body.

  With a jolt, Lauro realized the Aura had suffered more than he. I can beat him!

  The king swung his sword, twisting around so that he hovered right-side-up, several dozen yards from where Automo hung, slowly recovering. He took the Midnight Sword in both hands, summoning lightning along its blade, and kicked out his legs.

  Wind whooshed from beneath him, propelling him forward. It felt icy across his exposed torso, but it cooled the burning. Fight fire with air, he thought. And lightning. He can’t defend against it.

  As he hurtled towards his enemy, the first vestiges of a Wind Tunnel began to form around him. At this speed, he would fly by the Aura in the blink of an eye, blasting him again and again until the bloody traitor fell out of the sky!

  The world warped around him, becoming a blur of color and sound that whisked by at colossal speed. The Wind Tunnel formed around him, and in less than a second he zipped by Automo, causing a high-pitched whine to reverberate through that air after his passing. From ten meters past the Aura, Lauro blasted him with another bolt. This time, he outran the explosion… and the cry of rage from his shaken, half-crazed foe.

  You are at my mercy, Fiend, he thought with grim satisfaction, twisting around in a wide arc and sending himself zooming along the Wind Tunnel back at Automo. The Aura was bent and blackened, little semblance of his former glory left, but he seemed to be shouting something into the air…

  Twenty yards away, Lauro’s danger sense went wild. He tried to turn away, see what it was, but it was too late. He slammed into a wall of solid air, head first, and bounced back, Wind Tunnel destroyed.

  What the in for… his thoughts were too jumbled, and the shock of the collision nearly made him black out. Fiery electric pain stabbed upward through his skull and neck, arching his back and paralyzing him as he fell through the sky. No… no…

  Wham! He hit the ground. Hard. Or… was it…

  Lauro couldn’t move. He could barely breathe. Blood poured from his nose and mouth. But he knew he hadn’t fallen that far. The only explanation was that Automo had Sky Strode a wall out of the air, and a floor… like an invisible room in the sky, to trap him in. But that wasn’t the worst of his problems.

  Can’t move. Can barely think. My back’s probably broken. Or my neck. This could be the end… unless… Aura Above… give me stren
gth… Lauro reached deep within himself, beyond himself, beyond everything… and seized the Power of Sky, drawing on it like he never had before. As I healed Avarine… As I have tried to heal this world…

  Thud. Automo’s feet landed at the edge of his vision, confirming the suspicion that he was trapped in mid-air.

  Lightning blasted from every pore in Lauro’s body. It crackled along every bone, outlining his skeleton as it purged him of all weakness. Light shone from his eyes and mouth as he arched his back, screaming.

  And screaming…

  “Fool,” Automo rasped, standing over him. “You cannot hold so much power as you think. You cannot stop yourself from dying.”

  Lauro felt the Power of Sky slip from him, leaving him limp and empty, like a hollow shell. Hollow… so hollow… But alive. Alive. He had healed himself.

  “Now die…” Automo spat, raising his jagged blade-arms over the fallen king. Lauro closed his fingers over the handle of the Midnight Sword.

  “Not today!” he shouted, swinging the weapon up. Automo’s blades shattered as Lauro parried the blow, then leaped up and stabbed the Red Aura in the chest in one fluid motion. “Not today,” he whispered.

  Automo’s red eyes widened in shock. His shattered mechanical arms fell limp, and sparks shot from the severed stumps like fiery blood. His face contorted in a snarl, but no sound came out. Lauro pushed the Midnight Sword in deeper, and the Red Aura convulsed, fiery ichor-blood dripping from his open mouth. His form began to break apart, bits of clockwork and machinery falling and melting into ash. A light shone from within him, sickly and weak, and his image flickered as the energies of the sword began to tug at his life force.

  Suddenly Automo’s head snapped forward, and fire blazed in his eyes. A voice like black thunder broke from his dying lips… but it was not the voice of the Red Aura. It was deeper… more evil.

  “You are cursed, Lauro Vale. Your line is cursed. The Legion will haunt your days, and evil will walk in your footsteps. You have doomed your world to destruction! I… will… have… my… vengeance…”

  Then the fire in his eyes died, and Automo’s form shimmered. Lauro stepped back, wary, but kept a firm grip on the Midnight Sword.

  “I… was wrong…” the Red Aura moaned, his voice a gasping whisper. Lauro sucked in his breath- the voice was entirely different!

  “Wrong about what, Traitor? Wrong about what? You just cursed me! Wrong about WHAT?”

  Automo shivered, and without warning his body slid off the Midnight Sword, melting into molten ash that swirled in the air, twisting and contorting before finally being sucked into the glowing orange veins that ran up the base of the blade.

  I captured his essence… Lauro thought, stunned. I slew him… and his spirit is in my sword. I… killed… an Aura!

  He looked up and around, noticing his surroundings as if for the first time. As he’d thought, he was standing on what appeared to be thin air… but the slight shimmer beneath his feet told him that Automo had indeed Strode Sky here… and that the Stride was failing in the wake of his death. If I don’t move fast, I’ll fall out of the air!

  Lauro wiped grime-spewed hands on his heavy leather trousers. Passing Ker’junas to his clean hand, and wiping the other, he made ready to call on the Power of Sky…

  …and felt nothing. Nothing! A separation greater than any he had ever felt… even in the prisons of the M’tant… lay between him and the Power he had always known.

  With a searing jolt, Lauro realized what had happened. He had healed himself with Sky Striding… and had burnt out his ability in the process.

  “No, no, no…” he whispered hoarsely, dropping to his knees and feeling the ever-weakening barrier of air beneath him. The reality of his loss hit him like a boulder to the gut. I’m going to fall to my death. I have seconds left. I’m going to die. I’m going to die…

  Automo’s Sky Stride flickered, shuddered, and melted into an aimless storm of wind.

  “Aura help me,” Lauro breathed…

  …and fell out of the sky.

  The fall was almost soundless, and Lauro refused to scream. If death was inevitable, he would face it. Years of Sky Striding had taught him how to fall, and even now he stretched his legs out, clutching the Midnight Sword tightly to his chest as he hurtled through the air, face forward, rushing faster every moment.

  I will die, but I will face my death with honor.

  It was strangely peaceful, this fall… he hadn’t realized how far up his battle with Automo had taken him. Both armies stretched out below, locked in deadly combat… but… were those nymphs? Burnt out or not, his ears were still far more sensitive than normal. He could hear cries of “Vastion! Vastion!” as well as “The Sea Queen! The Sea Queen!” and “Mortenhine, to me! To me!”

  But the call that seemed louder than all…

  “The Halanyad! The Chosen One comes! Forward the Halanyad!”

  Creator of all Worlds, he realized, They came! Elia… and Avarine… we have a chance! We can WIN!

  Lauro Vale knew then he would not die. He gritted his teeth for pain and destruction, but he knew in his heart he could not leave until the Last War was won. He closed his eyes as he hurtled downward, reaching deeper than ever in his mind, sending mental stabs in all directions in the desperate hope of recovering his Striding.

  Nothing came, and the ground grew closer with every moment.

  “NO!” he roared, as the speed of the wind finally ripped his eyes open…

  …and far below, something flashed. A heartbeat later, thunder rumbled across the White Marshes.

  Faster than sound, a gray-clad shape soared skyward, plucking him out of the air as if he were a straw-limbed child’s doll. The breath was knocked from his lungs, but a cushion of air ballooned on every side, protecting him from the impact that should have shattered his bones.

  Lauro had just enough sense to hold onto Ker’junas with all his strength. Infinitely strong arms gripped him, too tight to let him fall, as he was whirled amidst a storm of light and wind that moved too fast for his vision. All he knew was that one second he was falling, the next he was plucked in a million different directions, soaring up and down, sideways and upside down…

  …and then, quite suddenly, he was deposited on the ground on the far edge of the White Marshes. Gravity once more exerted its pull, and his vision spun as he felt his feet touch the earth… impossibly, inconceivably… safe.

  Lauro dropped the Midnight Sword and fell to his knees, head spinning. Then he just knelt there, on hands and knees, his eyes squeezed shut as the world continued to spin around him.

  “What… was… that…?” he hissed, finally venturing to open his eyes and look about.

  The sun was high above him- Did we really push the clouds away? My memory is going blank… The diamond spikes and twisting, unnatural terrain that had pushed up through the marsh were somewhat receded, and over it he could see the pouring waves of troops, as the battle ebbed this way and that.

  He made out Coalskins and nymphs, men and machines, golems and bloodhawks and even the shadowy forms of Clockwork Demons. The Last War was far from won. Lauro tried to get up, and found he was still too weak to do so. He didn’t even want to think about Striding.

  Then the same strong grip as before closed on his arm, pulling him up so that he could stand to face his savior.

  “You have lost much, and gained much, Lauro Vale,” Traveller said, looking him over and steadying him when he felt weak. “But never in all my dreams did I ever foresee the victory you have won today.”

  It was the same gray cap, the same worn coat and ragged scarf… but something seemed different about the Gray Aura, now. As Lauro’s vision grew less and less blurred, he realized that Traveller was taller… stronger… and he glowed, just as Automo had, but with a healthy white light that was just noticeable if he looked hard enough.

  “Thank you,” he said… and that was all. He had felt anger at the Aura, before this battle… but no longer. Traveller
acknowledged the thanks, but continued on.

  “The Golden Legion has played his hand,” the Aura said, looking grim. “You have given your people the fighting chance they need, Lauro… with your army, and that of the Halanyad, you will finally stand a chance.”

  Lauro nodded numbly. “But I lost my Striding… I’m burnt out.”

  “I know. But you must find the strength to continue on, despite your loss. The Creator’s strength knows no bounds… you must draw on that, when your own mortal strength is not sufficient.” Lauro just nodded again. None of it felt real. “Listen,” Traveller continued, and he did. “You must drive them out of Vast, Lauro.”