by Chris Fox
Nara’s eyes widened. “Enchantment requires air and life. In order to construct the Spellship, they’d have needed both. Virkonna, and whoever this Wyrm Father is.”
“Precisely. Find this Wyrm Father, and you may find the answers you seek.”
11
Choices
Frit experienced the most awful surge of guilt watching Eros and Nara talk. The things they were speaking about—this hidden goddess, and this mysterious First Spellship—were secrets they’d clearly not shared with anyone.
Yet they were willing to discuss it in front of her.
Nara did that because they were friends, and Nara trusted her. Eros probably assumed Frit was too much of a thing to ever be self-aware enough to pass information to his enemies. Something she hadn’t yet done, though she knew Nebiat was after precisely this information.
“What do we know of this life Wyrm Father?” Nara asked. She moved to one of the chairs in front of Eros’s massive desk, and sat lightly on the edge.
Frit envied her passion for knowledge. It wasn’t as common as most would assume, not even in the heart of the most scholarly organization on Shaya.
“Nothing, which in and of itself tells us something.” Eros wore one of his expectant looks, the kind he wore when he meant a student to make a logical leap. Frit almost always failed such tests.
Nara’s eyes widened and a pleased smile burst onto her face. “If there is no knowledge, then someone must have gone to great lengths to remove all mention.”
“Precisely, which is why I recommend the Codex Draconis as a starting point. There are myths about the life Wyrm Father, which I believe survived because they never directly referenced him,” Eros said, speaking with the same passion.
Both had forgotten her presence. Frit sat in the other chair, next to Nara. Nara didn’t even glance at her. Frit didn’t blame her, not really. Nara just wanted the same approval every student was after—the difference being that she actually received it, whether she knew it or not.
“What commonalities do the other Wyrms have?” Nara asked, pursing her lips. “How were the flights similar to each other?”
“Astute questions, but ones to which we lack the answers. Were you to come to me as a student, I’d send you to Virkon. The archivists there would most certainly have the answers.” Eros rubbed his hands together slowly, and adopted a distinctly uncomfortable look. “That presents certain challenges, however. The archivists from Virkon consider us to be…upstarts at best. They’re even less flattering in their opinion of Ternus, though that is small consolation.”
“She won’t have any trouble convincing them to help her,” Frit muttered. Louder than she’d meant to evidently, as they both looked at her. “I, uh, only meant that Nara’s resourceful. I’m sure she can find someone there to help her understand about these Wyrms. I mean, she is asking about their culture. Most priests like talking about themselves, but they love talking about their religion.”
“That’s an excellent point.” Nara snapped her fingers, turning back to Eros. “Aran is from Virkon. I can bring him with me. Maybe they’ll talk to one of their own.”
“Certainly worth the effort. Your Outrider friend will be quite the curiosity on their world, I imagine. The citizens of that world rarely leave it for long, and he’s been gone for some time.” Eros returned to the bookshelf at the far side of the study, and began browsing the spines. “Hmm. Yes, there’s one more book I’d send with you. It’s a treatise on the dragonflights. It’s mostly just chants, but those chants appear to be ancient prayers. And I believe they are still in use on Virkon, so if you can memorize a few you might impress the local clergy.”
Frit sighed. They’d already forgotten about her again. She raised a finger to her collar, touching one of the runes. The pain made her grit her teeth, but part of her understood that even those teeth had been fashioned by her captors.
She endured the pain, and thought about all that Nebiat had said.
12
A Plan
Voria blinked rapidly as her eyes adjusted to the Talon’s much brighter lighting. She leaned on Ikadra, taking in the battle bridge once more. She’d spent less time here than she had on the Hunter’s bridge, but being on the Talon afforded her a satisfaction she’d never felt on another ship. She hadn’t built the Talon, but she had reclaimed it.
If the First Spellship were it on a grander scale…well she could only imagine the majesty. What was that lofty vessel capable of? What would it bring to their cause that made it so vital, so worth all the work they’d done, and would do, to find it?
“Sir.” Aran was the first to acknowledge her presence. He rose from the command couch, and stepped from the matrix to offer a crisp salute—a salute she very much appreciated.
Voria softened into a smile.
“Officer on deck, wipes,” Crewes barked. The sergeant snapped a salute as well, and Bord and Kezia joined him a moment later. He turned a wide smile her way. “Welcome back, sir. You’ve been missed.”
“Don’t get used to my presence, Sergeant. Where’s Nara?” Voria asked, not seeing her anywhere on the bridge.
“She’s in the library.” Aran pointed at the ramp leading into the main meeting room at the center of the ship.
Voria raised a hand and sketched a quick missive. The spell flitted down the passageway. She straightened her jacket with her free hand, waiting patiently for Nara. The girl didn’t disappoint. She emerged moments later, hurrying in with a book still clutched in one hand. The Codex Draconis? Interesting. Probably given to her by Eros.
“Ah, excellent, you’re here. We can begin.” Voria was about to do exactly that, when Ikadra’s sapphire began pulsing wildly. Since he was unable to speak, he’d rapidly learned this was a way to annoy her into asking what he wanted. “Yes, Ikadra?”
“I forgot what I was going to say,” Ikadra said in a deflated tone. The sapphire dimmed.
Voria stifled her sigh, and turned back to the others. “I cannot stay long. I’m only here to deliver our orders, and I didn’t want to risk a missive.”
Their faces grew sober, even Bord’s.
“We’ve been ordered to Virkon, as we hoped,” Voria said, allowing a smile. The others shared it, but politely refrained from their usual antics. “But there is still much work to do. We need to find the Spellship, and that’s not something I can tend to directly. For that reason, Nara will be dispatched to locate the ship. She’ll have any resources she needs.”
“What will you be doing?” Aran asked. Voria noticed a bandage peeking out of his jacket. Had he been wounded in the raid? If so, she hadn’t heard of it.
“I will be meeting with the Virkonnian government, and so will you,” Voria explained. “The Confederacy believes your return will be a matter of great importance.”
Nara frowned and gave Aran a worried look. “And also a monumental distraction. A risky one. Have you told her yet?”
“Told me what?” Voria tensed. News like this was rarely good.
“An assassin boarded the Talon without being detected, and ambushed me in my quarters,” Aran explained simply, with no preamble. She liked that directness. “She used Drakkon style, and fought me to a standstill. When Nara appeared she vanished. I didn’t recognize the magic. There was no visible spell effect.”
“And I couldn’t see her with a pierce invisibility,” Nara added, shaking her head slowly. “Whoever she was, she had access to magic we’re unfamiliar with.”
“I’d give much to see this suit she was wearing,” Voria mused. “I’d wager that’s an eldimagus, and the source of her stealth. There are other means of hiding besides invisibility. One of the more insidious methods is a kind of binding. It forces observers to ignore you. Their minds can no longer accept the fact that you are there, in essence rendering you invisible—to that person at least.”
Aran resumed his seat in the command matrix, and the others followed his cue.
Nara cleared her throat. “So how would you fight a
gainst something like that?”
“If someone wanted you dead, I don’t know that you could stop them. You’d need a ward of some kind, something that would trigger when such a spell was used.” Voria looked up at the sapphire. “Ikadra, do you know of any defensive magics that could be used to defeat such a spell?”
“Uhh, probably.” Ikadra pulsed slowly. “A nullification field doesn’t really work, because then you lose all other magic, like my awesome voice. I’d be mute, which is a pretty terrible side effect.” He pulsed more quickly. “Wait, doesn’t the handsome guy have a pet sword? I know it’s still just an imprint, but it’s been to a few Catalysts now. It has to be developing a mind.”
“You’re talking about my weapon?” Aran reached into his void pocket and removed his spellblade. The sword was a meter and a half, but no more than three fingers wide. Fast and slender, with a dark, glittering finish to the metal. Perfect for a man with increased speed and strength.
“Yeah, which you need to name by the way. I don’t want to sound judge-y, but you’re a terrible parent.” Ikadra pulsed a little more slowly. “You might not be able to see this assassin, but your sword can. You just have to tell it what you want it to do.”
“That’s useful, but if her being cloaked were a problem, I’d already be dead,” Aran pointed out. “She stopped using it when she fought me, and she fought fairly, for the most part.” His hand dropped to his crotch.
“The fact remains that an assassin attempted to end your life, and that assassin hails from the world we are about to journey to. I find that very troubling.” The last thing Voria needed was more problems, but at least new ones no longer came as a surprise.
“Sir,” Nara ventured. “You realize this means if we put Aran on public display it will be even easier to assassinate him?”
“I am painfully aware of that.” Voria sighed heavily. “We’ll need to deal with it, but not right now. We’re to leave tonight. Dock the Talon inside the Wyrm Hunter. Aran, I’d like you to report to the battle bridge once you are situated.”
She could tell them now, but she’d rather do it when she was alone with Aran. He had a right to know the command situation, and would be discreet in telling the others.
13
The Council of Wyrms
Kaho leaned on his long, black staff as he slowly entered the chamber. Every time his staff met stone it echoed up the steep slopes, all the way to the eight perches near the top of the cavern. He didn’t need the staff, but bringing it served twin purposes. First, it showed that he valued such objects. These were air Wyrms, and such Wyrms valued enchanted objects more than any other. They coveted them, and were fantastically curious when presented with a new one.
The staff also showed humility. It said I am still a hatchling. I am beneath you, and I understand that. His brother had argued that such a posture would weaken Kaho’s position, but Kaho understood the truth: They had no position here.
“Speak, child,” rumbled a massive male, from an alcove on the left. His eyes smoldered with blue lightning, and sparks leapt from his nostrils with every breath.
Kaho delivered a low bow, which flared his wings to the side and curled his tail around his feet. He held the bow until he finished the introduction. “Greetings, most exalted Wyrms of the last dragonflight. I have been dispatched by my grandfather, Guardian of Krox. We have come to offer praise to Virkonna, our aunt.”
“Does your mother think us fools, child?” A female moved to the edge of another alcove. Her face was ancient, craggy grey lines etched into her scales. “Your grandfather wouldn’t insult us with progeny. How long have you even been out of your conniving mother’s egg?”
Kaho wasn’t certain how to answer that. “Respectfully, Wyrm Mother, I am merely progeny. I have only been out of the egg for eighty-seven years. I will undergo my first molting soon.” He wasn’t sure why he added that, and regretted it immediately. “My mother sent me here, and I did not hear the words from grandfather’s lips. I merely relay her words.”
“I thought as much,” the Wyrm Mother rumbled, settling back into her alcove. She eyed him with those lantern eyes. “Now tell us why you have really come. In your own words.”
This part Kaho had been ready for. He knew why his mother had sent them here. He knew what she hoped to accomplish. And he knew exactly how much to tell Virkon so they’d know he wasn’t lying. They’d suspect he was holding things back, of course, but if they thought they could guess the Krox plans, they’d grow complacent.
“The Confederacy considers Wyrms a ‘galactic threat.’ They’ve killed countless elder Wyrms in their short existence. They inspire all mortals everywhere to take up arms against us, their rightful masters.” He paused for a moment, but he couldn’t see if his words were having any effect. No way out but forward. “Most recently, they killed my uncle Kheftut. Shortly thereafter, they killed Wyrm Father Khalahk.”
A great rustling of wings echoed through the chamber. None of the Wyrms spoke aloud, but Kaho could sense the agitation. He must tread carefully, lest they vent their wrath on the messenger.
“You ask why I have come. I have been sent to see that justice is done,” Kaho explained. He finally rose from the bow, and looked up to meet the eyes of the great Wyrms above. “My mother asks that I present evidence that the Outrider Aranthar, one of your own, murdered Wyrm Father Khalahk. It was his hand that guided the ship. His hand that fired the disintegrate.”
The rustling intensified, and one of the Wyrms, a matronly female, leapt from her perch and soared out the top of the chamber. It took many moments for the commotion to subside, and when it did, all seven Wyrms glared down at him.
“Speak quickly, child, or I will vent my rage upon you,” the first male rumbled. Kaho had never met Aetherius, but he knew the Wyrm Father by reputation. Kaho was certain the horned male was he.
“Please, I beg your indulgence, mighty Wyrms,” Kaho offered humbly. He bowed again, though not so low. “I am happy to relate the entire tale, exactly as my mother told it to me. You can perform your own seeings to verify my words.”
“I can see why your mother sent you,” the elderly Wyrm rumbled. She slithered to the edge of her alcove. “If we find fault with your ‘evidence,’ then all she loses are a couple offspring.”
Kaho sincerely hoped they did not find fault with his evidence.
14
Good News and Many Potions
The Talon zoomed under the eighth branch, slowing as it approached the space dock where they’d parked the Hunter what felt like a lifetime ago. Aran still remembered the battleship coming to rest like an aging wolf lying down for the last time.
Bord had already proved resurrection was possible, and seeing the Hunter now drew a swell of pride up through Aran’s chest. It said that, somehow, they’d survived the worst the sector could throw at them.
“I can’t believe it,” Nara murmured. “They fixed her.”
“Every last rivet.” Bord gave a whoop from the corner of the room where he’d started an impromptu game of Go with Kezia.
“It’s good to see her whole. The old girl ain’t never gonna quit,” Crewes said, wiping at the corner of his eye.
The Hunter’s hull was discolored, but the awful rents caused by Kheftut and the battles that had followed were all repaired. The last armored plate was being lowered into place as they approached, levitated by a pair of void mages. A tech mage in Mark V armor rose on a plume of flame, raising a rivet gun to bolt the piece into place.
Aran guided the Talon low, slowing further as they approached the docking bay—the same docking bay he’d been taken to from the Skull of Xal, toward an uncertain future. So much had changed in so short a time.
“Is that Davidson’s tank?” Nara asked as she thrust a finger at the scry-screen.
“Damn, that thing looks nasty,” Kez said as she started packing up the game pieces. “Glad it’s on our side.”
They still hadn’t seen it in combat, since Davidson had been separ
ated from them almost immediately after they’d Catalyzed. Aran wondered what ability Marid had given the tank. The ice block his armor had received had proven immensely useful.
Which, of course, made him think of his armor. The whole fight with Dirk replayed in his mind often, but the nightmares always ended with the void magic eating his armor. With him tumbling out the back as parts of his suit dissolved. He’d lost the suit in the resulting explosion, and hadn’t been prepared for how hard that had hit him.
It wasn’t like a pair of boots you could just replace. Even if he had the funds a new set of armor…well it wouldn’t be his old armor. That armor had been a living thing, a child, of sorts, that had grown alongside him.
“Looks like they’re rolling out some sort of honor guard,” Crewes rumbled. He sounded unsettled, which fit. The sergeant didn’t love attention of any kind.
Aran set the Talon down in the corner of the bay, where a number of troops in parade dress were assembling. Their uniforms weren’t Confederate blue. They were the olive green of Ternus, though both militaries used gold as a highlight color.
“Well, the good news is that you get to stay here,” Aran said, extricating himself from the command couch. He ducked through the spinning rings, and headed for the ramp down to the mess. “I’ve got orders to meet with the major, but the rest of you are free to do whatever.”
“And here we just packed up the pieces.” Bord reached for the Go set and started unpacking stones again. “Come on, Kez. I’ll let you win.”
“You let everyone win, Bord. Because you’re joost bad at this.” Kez sat down and began setting up her own pieces. She hummed happily to herself.