by Chris Fox
The turret of the tank met the main body in a seamless join, the kind that could only be accomplished with magic. The weapon might fire conventional ordnance, but its construction involved some of the finest sorcery the Inurans were capable of.
Voria turned to face the crowd, which was far larger than she’d have expected given the previous day’s attack. Every last face—most of them dirty, and all of them weary—peered up at her.
Not with hope, which she’d seen on some worlds. Not with despair, which often crowded out hope. These faces wore anger. They’d been used, and they were eager for payback.
Eager enough to risk their own lives? She was about to find out.
“Behind me, you see an entire armor-reinforced battalion, complete with a company of tech mages,” Voria yelled, her voice echoing over the square without any need for magical amplification. “In exactly one hour, we will be heading into that swamp.” She pointed down the slope of the mountain, into the pool of mist covering much of the swamp. “We will be marching to the Catalyst at the center, where we will confront a Krox dreadlord—the same Krox dreadlord who killed your sons, and daughters, and fathers, and brothers. We will stop her from completing a ritual that would make your world a target for every primal in the sector—a ritual that would give her control over an army of Wyrms, to be used to conquer and destroy other worlds like this one. We go to stop her, because no one else can. I want each and every one of you to reach down deep, and decide what your homes are worth. Will you fight for them? Because we need your help. But before you decide, think carefully. It is highly unlikely anyone who goes into that swamp will return.”
Voria paused. She watched them, proudly. Every citizen waged their own internal war, wondering if maybe they could spit in the eye of the enemy that had taken so much from them. She let them stew in in before speaking again.
“You will be given the finest Inuran armor and weaponry. You will be added to veteran units, fighting with men and women will look out for you. You will be fed and cared for, protected to the best of our collective ability. But make no mistake: anyone who joins us, fights. You take up arms, and you defend your world to the death. If you are with us, simply cross that line.”
She pointed to Aran and Nara, who stood on either end of a chalk line they’d drawn. Voria wasn’t sure what to expect. Most worlds had a few zealots, a few people looking to take up a cause—any cause—just to have a purpose.
A woman of perhaps sixty crossed the line, moving to stand next to Sergeant Crewes in his massive armor.
A pair of lost-looking teens joined her next.
Then the flood began. Dozens of citizens crossed the line and stood proudly on the other side. When it was over, nearly a hundred militia had gathered. The rest lurked on the other side of the line, still trying to find their courage.
“Captain Davidson, please see the militia armed, equipped, and prepared to march,” Voria ordered. Then she hopped down from the tank, letting Davidson take over. He immediately started barking orders, breaking the militia into more manageable chunks.
He handed off groups to his officers, who in turn integrated the militia into their own units. It was smooth, efficient. She approved.
“Sir, are we certain it wouldn’t be smarter to create a separate unit for the militia?” Aran asked, guiding his spellarmor into a hover near the tank. The question was neither timid nor impertinent; it was merely a request for information, the kind she preferred officers use.
“I considered that option, but a separate militia unit would be nothing more than cannon fodder. Worse, that unit would know it. They’d break during the first engagement, and that would make the survivors useless. By mixing them with the Marines, we stiffen their morale while also making the unit look larger. I’m not naive enough to think the militia will do much in their first battle, but some of them may surprise us.”
“I see. I hadn’t considered the effect on morale. Thank you for explaining, sir.” Aran’s tone was respectful, such a welcome change from Thalas.
“You always have the right to ask questions, so long as you do not presume that I owe you explanations.” She turned a baleful eye on him, and while she couldn’t see his reaction behind his helmet, she had a feeling it caused the desired effect. “Have the ground-based members of your squad protect the main troop body. Your more mobile units—”
“—should aerially scout our perimeter?” Aran interrupted, a note of amusement in his voice.
“Precisely, Lieutenant. Nothing reaches the main body without us knowing about it.” Voria climbed back atop the tank. “I will be riding inside with Captain Davidson if you need me.”
She turned toward the swamp. A grey mist blended the sky into the ground, making it impossible to tell where fog ended and sky began. Somewhere in that soup lay the confrontation predicted in the augury she’d received.
Perhaps she’d finally learn who sent it. If she survived.
51
Olive Branch
Aran glided out over the swamp, circling wide ahead of the convoy. The armor moved in a single column, flanked by platoons of Marines, that stretched almost a kilometer and disappeared into the mist behind them.
“We sure do make a tempting target for a foe with superior mobility,” Aran muttered into the comm. “Like, say, a dragon.”
“I was literally just thinking the same thing. Well, not literally, but I enjoy misusing the word.” Nara gave a soft laugh. “Point is, we’re exposed. Especially with the mist. How do we plan to deal with that?”
“We can’t,” Aran said, zooming higher into the mist. It thinned, but not much. He had perhaps a hundred meters of partial visibility up here. Clumps of trees burst out of the water here and there, and occasionally an entire island. “It will take a concerted effort, and that requires Davidson. I’ll sit him down when we get to camp and see how he wants to handle deployment.”
“I think you’re breaking a lot of taboos doing that,” Nara replied, her breathing a little harder now. “I had to encourage a forty meter snake to move away from the convoy. Ick.”
“You’re right about the taboos. Thalas treated the Marines like garbage, and I gather that’s a pretty common attitude among officers. That’s going to take time to undo, but I think it starts with deferring to Davidson. I mean, he does outrank me. ” Aran came to a halt, scanning the path ahead of them. It leveled out a bit on a long stretch of relatively dry land. They weren’t likely to find a better campsite, and it would be getting dark in an hour or two. He switched to an open channel. “Major, this is Lieutenant Aran, do you copy?”
Her brisk voice came back almost instantly. “What’s the situation, Lieutenant?”
“I see a potential campsite. It’s a little island, maybe two feet above sea level.” Aran flew closer. “It’s uninhabited, besides a few local fauna. Looks large enough to accommodate all the militia, but the armor will probably have to park in the water.”
“Good find, Lieutenant. We’ll make for your position.”
Aran guided his spellarmor to the island, giving it a more thorough aerial pass. There really wasn’t anything remarkable about it. The few trees were too scraggly to use as cover, though at least the troops would have solid footing. If he had to defend the little spit, he wasn’t sure how he’d do it. Hopefully the major or Davidson would have some ideas.
He glided to a halt on the far side of the island, watching as the column approached. The battalion’s single troop transport arrived first, stuffed with supplies instead of men. Davidson’s Marines began quickly assembling pavilions and setting up a chow line.
Aran waited for a break in the crowd around the captain, then flew over. He landed next to Davidson, withdrawing his helmet.
“What can I do for you, Lieutenant?” Davidson asked, accepting a bowl of something resembling stew from a militiaman. He made no move to eat, instead watching Aran with undisguised suspicion.
“I was about to ask you the same thing.” Aran smiled, and Davidson s
lowly returned it. “As I understand it, Thalas refused to accept your orders, keeping my company a separate military force. That’s stupid in a battle like the one we’re about to wage. We need a clear chain of command, and after counting the bars on my collar I’m pretty sure you outrank me. Sir.”
“So, are you suggesting I start giving your company orders?” Davidson asked, though cautiously, as if suspecting a trap.
“Where needed, sure. I’m not saying we’ll come to you for every little thing, but when the Krox attack I want you to be able to deploy your armor, knowing you can order my company in to support,” Aran said. He held up a hand to forestall the captain’s reply. “Ultimately the major has final say, and if she orders me elsewhere I’ll take care of whatever task she assigns us. Failing that, we’re at your disposal, sir.”
“Wow.” Davidson sat down on the bumper of a parked hover tank—his tank, Aran was pretty sure. Davidson enjoyed a spoonful of stew, then waved the empty spoon in Aran’s direction. “So what you’re telling me is that, for the first time, we get to run this like a real military operation? That I’m not going to be hamstrung with a noble who won’t even speak to a grunt from Ternus?”
“Yeah, that’s about the size of it.” Aran said.
“Corporal Young, get this man a bowl of stew. ASAP.” Davidson barked. The stern exterior melted, and he grinned at Aran. “I cannot even believe this. The next thing you’re going to tell me, we might actually survive this excursion. I got 500 to 1 odds back on the Ternus transfer station. If we don’t buy it, I’ll have enough to buy…well, dinner maybe. There’s a lot of men to feed.”
“My memory only goes back six days,” Aran said. “But from what I’ve seen so far I’m not sure I’d bet against the major, even going up against the Krox. She’ll find a way to get us out alive.” He accepted a bowl of stew from a tall smiling woman with almond-shaped eyes. “Thank you.”
“I can already see it,” Davidson said. “You care more about the unit than you do personal glory. That’s necessary in the Marines, but damned near nonexistent among tech mages.” He paused, seeming to realize he’d insulted tech mages. “Not that I mean…I’m just saying, you’re different than Thalas—different than any other mage I’ve met.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Aran offered Davidson his hand.
The captain shook it, then patted the bench his men had erected while they were speaking. “Grab a seat. I’ve got a few deployment ideas I want to run by you…”
52
Splash
“Contact!” Crewes’ voice snapped Aran to wakefulness, and he groggily checked his HUD. Sleeping in the Mark XI was far more comfortable than in a bunk, and it took a moment to rouse himself.
The last bits of sleep fell away as he saw the animated corpse of a two-hundred-meter snake rear over the southern part of the island. It lunged, and a Marine vanished with a surprised yell. The snake rolled, crushing the rest of that Marine’s squad, including a handful of militia.
Davidson’s people were already moving, the tanks swiveling their turrets toward the threat. Aran rose into the air, turning on a hunch to face the opposite direction.
A massive shadow passed overhead, then dove toward a tank in the back line. Aran snapped his rifle to his shoulder, hastily tracking the target as it fell through the mist. Aran stroked the trigger, grunting as the rifle tore a level three void bolt from his chest.
The dragon was about the same size as the one on the station. In fact, it was exactly the same size. Aran was fairly sure he recognized her, and even more positive when the void bolt slammed into her and she shrieked. Aran remembered that cry, and remembered it well.
The Wyrm banked suddenly, disappearing back into the mists the way she’d come. Apparently she wasn’t interested in a rematch just yet.
“Bord, move to the south perimeter. Get a ward up between the Krox and those tanks.” Aran zipped to the left weaving erratically through the fog as he sought his quarry. “Kez, provide Bord support, and keep the Krox from punching through the outer perimeter.”
“Yes, sir.” Bord said, and Aran glanced at the wiry medic as he sprinted to a cluster of soldiers near the back of the one of the tanks. Bord raised both gauntlets, and a dome of pure white energy sprang up between two of the tanks, effectively blocking that route to the center of the island.
Kez trotted up to stand next to Bord, her brilliant white spellshield held high in case a caster lobbed a spell in their direction. All around them, Marines took up firing positions behind rocks, trees, or the tanks themselves—just in time.
The stench of rot preceded a shambling mass of bodies. Many were human, but there were several many-legged cat creatures, dozens of snakes of all sizes, and something that appeared to be a cross between an alligator and a scorpion.
Chattering automatic weapon fire echoed from the Marines, focusing on the larger targets. Most went down quickly, encouraged by support fire from the tanks. The militia followed suit, emulating the Marines as best they could. Aran could see now how integrating them worked, and why it had been such a good idea. In time, the more competent militia would learn to emulate the Marines.
Several more giant snakes rushed from the mist toward the south perimeter. Kez trotted out to meet the first one, which lunged at her. The snake was large enough to swallow her armor, yet moved with blinding speed. Kez was faster. She hopped backward as the snake’s head slammed into the ground where she’d been standing.
Before it could recover, she darted forward and brought her hammer down in a brutal strike. The snake’s skull shattered, and its bulk crashed to the ground. Supporting fire from the tanks quickly cut down the rest of the snakes.
“That’s the last of that wave, but there’s more in the mist,” Aran said into the comm. “We’ve got the southern perimeter secure, for now. Nara, Crewes, reinforce the northern perimeter. Try not to use much in the way of spell magic. They’re trying to soften us up for the enforcers.”
“On it, sir,” Crewes Barked. In the background, Aran heard the deep whump of Crewes’s spellcannon.
Nara’s armor zipped through the fog above him, her level one void bolts picking off any target the Marine’s automatic fire didn’t bring down.
Davidson’s voice crackled over the comm. “Lieutenant, you get the sense we’re being played? This all feels a little too easy.”
“You are correct, Captain,” the major’s smooth voice cut in. “Nebiat probably sent one of her weaker binders to corral everything she could possibly bind, then throw it all at us. It means we’re under very little actual risk, but it serves her purpose. It keeps us penned here while she finishes whatever dark sorcery she is about. All this binder needs to do is avoid direct confrontation, knowing that if we leave this island we’ll begin to lose people.”
“What do you suggest we do, sir?” Davidson asked, a bit tentatively.
“We kill the binder. Aran, you’ve already tangled with her once. Take Nara and Crewes, and hunt her down. She has to remain close to command her army, and we can use that against her.”
“You heard the lady. Nara, Crewes, you’re with me. Bord, Kez, you’re attached to Davidson’s unit for the time being.” Aran waited for everyone to acknowledge the order, then glided into the fog. He kept a steady pace, watching the whirling mists carefully. “Nara, fan out a hundred meters north. I’ll do the same to the south. Crewes, you’re walking up the middle. Let’s fly a ring around the camp. If you spot movement, engage. We’ll all hear the shots.”
Aran lost sight of Nara, and could barely see Crewes. They flew a quick patrol, always watching for the telltale flapping of wings. Behind them, they could hear continued weapons fire, but Aran tuned it out. That wasn’t their job right now.
They moved deliberately, systematically checking all areas around the camp. They’d nearly finished their sweep when Nara spoke. “Aran, I’ve got movement. Just a quick flash of dark scales, and maybe a tail.”
“Copy that. Stay on her Nara.
Crewes and I are on our way.” Aran shot through the mist in Nara’s direction, the clouds of white parting only long enough for him to pass, then filling in his wake just as quickly. “Major, I’ve still got that potion of Shaya’s Grace your brother gave me. Do you think now is an appropriate time to use it?”
“Negative, Lieutenant. If no one has stressed the power contained within that potion, allow me to do so: save it for the moment you are certain you are about to die, or when you see an opportunity to end the ritual.”
“Standard spells it is then,” Aran muttered, coming up short in the mist when he caught a flash of black scales ahead of him. “Contact.”
“I see the bitch,” Crewes roared. Bright orange light flared in the mist, then the mist boiled away, revealing the Wyrm fully.
Aran didn’t hesitate. He snapped his rifle to his shoulder, sighting at her chest. He braced himself and pulled the trigger. The rifle tore power from him, loosing another level three bolt that hit the Wyrm in the chest, right under the ribs. Scales, bone, and muscle boiled away, disintegrated by the attack.
Dark scarlet blood flowed freely from the wound, and the Wyrm wrapped a clawed hand over it. She dove into the mists, gliding swiftly along the floor of the swamp.
“Don’t let her get away.” Aran shot after her, dodging around clumps of trees as he tried to keep pace. The dragon accelerated, and he struggled to match. He glanced behind him to find he was outpacing both Nara and Crewes.
He needed to make a choice, and he needed to do it right now. Aran decided to pursue. He willed the Mark XI to greater speed, slowly narrowing the gap between him and the Wyrm. He flipped the selector to level one, then squeezed off a quick void bolt.
The Wyrm was quick, rolling away from the spell. It blasted apart a tree trunk, sending up a spray of splinters as Aran shot by. He fired again, forcing the Wyrm to evade. Each time the gap between them narrowed.