Spellship: The Magitech Chronicles Book 3

by Chris Fox

  “I’ll keep an eye on her,” Aran said, and meant it. He had feelings for Nara—for the woman she was now. But that woman she’d been before? “I’ve got bigger concerns at the moment. You’ve heard where we’re going?”

  “I’ve been told.” Kazon nodded. He extended a hand. “Be careful, brother.”

  Aran took it. “I will, brother.”

  16

  Into the Depths

  Voria was curiously troubled as she returned to the battle bridge. It was good to see her brother, though she didn’t really know the man he’d become after the wipe. There were similarities, of course, to the man he’d used to be.

  But this Kazon was going out of his way to distance himself from his old identity. It was as if he didn’t want to be linked to the man he’d been. The one brief missive she’d received from her mother had harped endlessly on that point.

  “Private Pickus, inform me when the Inuran vessel has departed the docking bay.” Voria swept onto the bridge, making for the familiar comfort of the command matrix.

  Ikadra’s sapphire pulsed.

  “Yes, Ikadra?” she asked absently, still considering Kazon and this new ship of his.

  “I’ve been scrying the vessel that docked on your ship.” Ikadra’s sapphire flickered rapidly. “I cannot see inside. My magic is completely blocked. That shouldn’t be possible with the sector’s current, primitive armaments.”

  “Intriguing,” Voria allowed. “Can you tell me anything else about the ship?”

  “I don’t trust it,” Ikadra replied immediately. “It reminds me of someone, but I can’t put my finger on who.”

  She didn’t want to ignore Ikadra’s misgivings, but if there was something wrong with the vessel it wasn’t as if she could do anything about it. She made a mental note to inspect Aran’s armor, just in case.

  “Kazon isn’t staying, so you won’t have to see it again.” Voria’s mind was already turning toward Virkon. She had so much planning to do. Would the Council of Wyrms even receive a Shayan? The Confederacy had never sent a delegation, and she had no idea how they’d react to her arrival.

  “Private, how do you feel about taking us out?” Voria asked. She could do it herself, but the fastest way to get new officers wet was to throw them in the water. This was the shallows.

  “Uh, I can do that, sir. Make for the planet’s Umbral Shadow?” Pickus asked. He raised a hand, but didn’t tap any sigils.

  “Please.” Voria exited the command matrix, and gestured for him to assume her place.

  “Oh, that’s right. I need to be in that one to fly the ship. I’m used to the Talon.” Pickus blushed furiously as he entered the command matrix, but Voria studiously ignored his discomfort. “Do we have any other backup? Or is it just us two running the whole battle bridge?”

  “We can call upon Captain Davidson in an emergency, but other than that, yes, it’s just the two of us to run the Hunter.” Voria didn’t like that situation, but she also knew it was the smartest allocation of resources. And it was better off than she’d been when Thalas had been around.

  Having Aran and his company on the Talon was simply too useful to give up. That sort of rapid response team had already proven devastatingly effective, and she needed that kind of tool in her arsenal.

  “Take us to the Umbral Shadow,” she ordered. “When we get there I’ll open a Fissure, and you’ll pilot for the first leg of the trip. Just steer right through.”

  Pickus gave an eager nod. He learned quickly; that was part of why she liked him so much, and also part of why she needed to take a step back. She couldn’t afford to get attached. Numbers didn’t lie.

  If this mission was anything like their last few, most of these people would never make it home. It was her job to make sure everyone who could be saved was. And she was going to do exactly that, whatever it took.

  They were coming back with the First Spellship. She tapped the first void sigil and began casting her Fissure.

  17

  Wrong Side

  Frit clutched her cloak tightly about her. She wasn’t supposed to be down here at the space port. Not that Eros would care, unless he needed her to do something. Even then, he wouldn’t care where she was, only that she wasn’t where she was supposed to be.

  That thought gave her the strength to keep going. Frit ducked past a pair of men in flight suits, one of whom eyed her appreciatively. She smiled back, just for a moment. Then she clutched the cloak even tighter and hurried to the little park Nebiat had told her about.

  As promised, it was absolutely beautiful. Towering redwoods stretched into the sky, swaying gently in the stiff winds. Ravens called, chatting in the higher branches. A few couples walked down the well worn paths, the orange mulch staining their shoes.

  Frit enjoyed the last few dozen meters, now that she was certain she wasn’t being followed. Being here helped crystalize her resolve, because it showed her one more thing she wasn’t allowed to have. One more thing any normal Shayan—or even human—would take for granted.

  Sitting on a park bench. That was denied her.

  She stopped in front of a young redwood with a hollow at the base. Frit clutched the scale in her pocket, considering. If she did this, she crossed a line that could not be uncrossed. She could never go back to being the dutiful slave.

  Worse, she’d no longer be fighting for the same side Nara was. She loved Nara. Nara had been the only student to treat her like a person instead of a thing. But that had only happened because Nara was ignorant of the social rules here.

  Nara was on the wrong side. Nara supported the very people who had enslaved Frit and her people.

  And it wasn’t as if she were giving Nebiat any personal information about Nara. She’d left out everything about the Spellship, because there was too much chance Nebiat might intervene, and Nara could get hurt.

  Telling Nebiat about which Caretakers Eros had met with, and what they’d talked about? Now that she had no problem passing along. If Nebiat could find something of use in their oppressive ramblings, she was welcome to it.

  Frit stuck her hand into the tree, and dropped the scale. She felt a momentary surge of void, and there was a tiny whoosh as the scale was sucked through the Fissure Nebiat had installed here.

  “I’m committed now,” she whispered to herself. She was anxious, of course, but she was also glad. She’s just committed a tiny act of defiance. It proved she wasn’t powerless. Maybe, if Nebiat was right, the day would even come when she was free.

  She, and all her sisters.

  18

  Battle Stations

  There’d been a time when Voria couldn’t think of a punishment worse than two weeks in the Umbral Depths. The endless, smothering darkness wore on the stoutest captain, eroding her will, and fraying her nerves.

  But Voria had journeyed to the heart of the Umbral Depths. She’d fought there. Been changed there. This was, in some disturbing way, a kind of home for her now. And so when Voria tapped the final sigil to her Fissure, she felt none of the usual relief at exiting the depths.

  Voria guided the Hunter through into normal space, turning to their guest. “Thank you for coming, Major Davidson. We’ll take all the help we can get.”

  “I’m not sure how much help I’ll be,” Davidson said. He approached the defensive matrix, eyeing it like it was a strange animal. “What do you want me to do?”

  “If we need you to cast a spell, I’ll walk you through the process. For now, simply enter the matrix and stand ready.” Voria braced herself, focusing all attention on the scry-screen as the Fissure closed behind them.

  Very few ships came to Virkon, and most did not return. There was a real possibility they were about to find out why.

  The world below was ordinary enough, a simple purple orb. There were no asteroids, and no visible defenders. They were over the night side of the world below, yet there were startlingly few lights below. No large cities, at least none she could see.

  “Major, I’m not much of
a scryer, but, uh, I don’t think we’re alone out here.” Pickus pointed at the scry-screen. “Look at that patch on the bottom right. I’ll zoom in.”

  The scry-screen showed a patch of apparently empty stars, backlit by the purple clouds of the distant Erkadi Rift, the home of the infamous Krox. Something slithered through the darkness, the light from the stars glinting off scales.

  Voria hesitated for only an instant, but it proved her undoing. She wavered between sending a missive and launching an attack, and by that time the largest Wyrm she had ever encountered was hearing down on the ship.

  “Brace yourselves!” she roared, stabbing a void sigil three times in rapid succession. The vessel hummed as it prepared to blink away, but the Wyrm’s mouth clamped down around them with a tremendous crash.

  Voria was thrown against the stabilizing ring, barely catching herself as the ship spun crazily. The scry-screen showed nothing but darkness now, broken only by a sea of fangs.

  “Holy crap, did that thing just swallow us?” Pickus whispered. There was a quaver in his voice, but he was holding.

  “No. The beast is holding us in its mouth.” Voria realized aloud. She rose to her feet. The shaking had stopped.

  “If it bites down, we’re done,” Davidson pointed out. “Is there anything we can do? Maybe launch the Talon?”

  “Captain, this Wyrm is larger than Drakkon, and by a significant amount. I seriously doubt any of our spells will harm it.” She considered his suggestion. “I will alert Aran, at the very least.”

  She tapped a fire sigil, then a dream. The missive fired, and Voria waited until the scry-screen shifted to show Lieutenant Aran’s concerned face.

  “Sir, this looks bad. What do you want us to do?”

  “I want you to stand by,” Voria instructed. “Have Nara ready to blink you outside. But don’t do it unless our situation worsens.” She paused, praying internally that she was right. “If I am correct, we’re being brought to whatever authority runs the last dragonflight. This thing, as large as it is, is some sort of watcher. I believe it guards the Umbral Depths.”

  “And what leads you to that conclusion?” Davison asked. “Because I got none of that from the thing attacking us the moment we hit the system.”

  “If it wanted us dead, we’d be dead,” Aran pointed out. “I think the major is right. If this thing bit down, whatever problem we pose would be solved. So it must be taking us somewhere. We’ll stand by, Major. Any other orders?”

  “No, just be ready to move and have your company suit up,” Voria ordered.

  Aran nodded, and the screen went dark.

  She left it that way, rather than show their predicament. “Davidson, you’re relieved. Please see what you can do to organize your men. I hope it doesn’t come to a fight, but if it does, we should be ready.”

  “Beats this spinny-ring crap.” Davidson ducked out of the matrix and hurried from the battle bridge. That left her alone with Pickus.

  “Pickus, get the scry-screen up. Show a view of the planet below us.” Voria folded her arms, her mind in turmoil as the blue world sprang up on the monitor. They were descending into the shadowed part of the world, so it was difficult to see much.

  They were descending to a point in a mountainous region, with massive peaks stabbing many kilometers into the air. Deep crevasses disappeared into shadowy darkness, hiding whatever might lay at the bottom. Hundreds of winged shapes flitted between the peaks, with many smaller winged shapes on the lower slopes.

  Voria’s mouth went dry. She’d seen perhaps fifty dragons in her day, maybe a hundred if she searched her memory. Below them were thousands—literally thousands—of dragons. All united, apparently, into one culture.

  And they were being dropped right into the middle of it.

  The titanic Wyrm carried them gently through the atmosphere, and though the hull groaned, it wasn’t the tortured scream of metal buckling. All things considered, the Wyrm was being remarkably gentle.

  It dropped lower, descending toward the largest mountain at the center of the range. The Wyrm winged toward the peak, which proved to be hollow. A volcano then. The beast landed near the middle, and set the Hunter down on a relatively flat lava field.

  The stone cracked under their weight, but after one stomach-lurching moment they righted and the ship settled.

  “Pickus, get me on with the entire ship,” Voria ordered. She took several deep, slow breaths to compose herself.

  Pickus tapped fire, then dream, then fire again. He glanced at her. “You’re on, sir.”

  “Attention all personnel, this is Major Voria. We have arrived on Virkon, if not in the manner of our choosing.” She paused then, considering what to tell them. What should they do? Sally forth in a show of strength? Or ready for the inevitable assault? “We cannot assume our captors are hostile. Please, stay calm, but be ready to fight. If we are threatened, then we will show them our teeth. Get to your battle stations. Major Voria, out.”

  19

  Hostile Welcome

  Pickus, I want you to stay here near the command matrix,” Voria instructed as she slipped through the stabilizing ring.

  “Yes, sir.” He gave an absent Ternus salute and slipped into her place.

  Voria hurried from the room and made her way to the belly of the ship, down into the cargo hold where Davidson would be mobilizing. She still had no idea what to expect of these Wyrms, but she doubted a show of force would achieve anything.

  She needed to make sure Davidson understood that, particularly given their overlapping authority. He could claim this was a ground op, in which case she’d have to cede authority. That could be catastrophic. If indecision and squabbling paralyzed them, the Wyrms would end them easily.

  The cargo bay was a flurry of activity. Hovertank crews disappeared into hatches. Squads checked the action on their rifles, and some tucked extra magazines into pockets. Davidson stood on top of his tank at one end of the room, barking orders to a lieutenant Voria didn’t recognize.

  “What’s up, Major?” he called as she neared.

  “I wanted to see about a plan,” she said, sketching an air sigil. She rose up to land lightly next to the captain, Ikadra clutched in one hand. The magic use was over the top, but these marines needed to respect her, and that began with them understanding what she was and what she could do.

  “What do you have in mind?” Davidson asked. He wore his skepticism openly.

  “We send out one tank, yours. I stand on top of it.” Voria left it at that. She could explain her reasoning, but it would be better if Davidson arrived at the same conclusion on his own.

  Davidson eyed her curiously. He stroked his beard, studying her for long moments. “I’m just going to come right out and ask. Are you doing this to atone for Marid? Sparing the marines at the expense of the officers? Because, while that’s laudable, it’s also bag-of-rocks stupid.”

  “Don’t worry, Captain. I’m as cold-blooded as ever, I assure you.” Voria raised an eyebrow. “I’m not foolish enough to sacrifice us both just to preserve the rest of your command. That would leave the survivors leaderless, and at the mercy of the Wyrms here. I’m doing it because I believe any show of force will be met with much greater force. We need to be humble, Captain.”

  “That I can agree with. Are you going to alert Lieutenant Aran? I feel like bringing him and his company wouldn’t be a bad idea,” Davidson suggested. “That’s still not much force, so they aren’t likely to get their scales all ruffled. And if we need to get out in a hurry, Aran is the only way that’s going to happen.”

  “True, and given his past here it might be a good conversation starter.” Voria looked at the Talon, considering. If she brought Aran, that meant revealing she’d brought him, whatever the consequences.

  Besides, if he was here and they got into trouble, he might be able to get them out. If not, he could still escort Nara in their quest to find the Spellship—though she strongly suspected they’d need Ikadra. She wondered if she should le
ave the staff behind. Their enemies hadn’t learned of it yet, as far as she knew.

  But leaving it behind carried its own dangers, particularly in light of the fact that someone could so effortlessly sneak aboard the Talon.

  “Sir?” Davidson asked.

  “We’ll bring him.” She sketched a fire sigil, then a dream. The swirling missive shot into the Hunter, disappearing from sight. “I doubt it will take them long to get ready.”

  A translucent blue ramp descended from the vessel, and Aran burst out in his disquieting new armor. The way it reflected the light made it hard to look at, which might be an advantage in combat.

  Voria remembered Ikadra’s warning, but she wasn’t one for feelings and hunches. She’d monitor the armor, and study it carefully. If there was anything they needed to be aware of, she was confident they’d find it. And, to be frank, they needed the firepower. Aran was much more effective, both as a soldier and as a commander, if he had access to spellarmor. She certainly couldn’t have afforded to purchase him a set.

  The rest of his company followed—Nara next, of course, then Crewes, followed by Kez and Bord. They moved as one, each taking their cues from Aran as they prowled toward her.

  “What’s the situation, sir?” Aran’s voice boomed from the armor. He landed on the tank a meter away.

  “Have your squad fly honor guard for Davidson’s tank. We’re going to meet our…hosts,” Voria explained. Davidson had already disappeared into the tank, and she gave a relieved sigh when the engine rumbled to life.