by Chris Fox
He heard a whine from above, and looked up to see Ree’s fighter descending. It didn’t slow until the very last moment, snapping to a halt no more than a meter from where Aran stood. He held his ground and glared at the opaque canopy. Ree probably had the scry-screen active.
“I take it we’re going somewhere?” he asked dryly.
The canopy slid upward and Ree’s face appeared over the side. “Get in.”
“Should I bring anything with me? My spellblade is inside.”
“I can see that,” Ree snapped. “Never, ever take off your spellblade. Sleep with it. Bathe with it, mongrel.” She added the most force to the last word, making it an insult. “Now run and fetch it.”
“Yes, Mom.” Aran trotted back inside, shaking his head. He scooped up the spellblade and buckled the scabbard around his waist, then headed back outside. He climbed the shimmering blue steps and leapt into the cockpit. The vessel began moving before he’d reached the co-pilot’s couch, and he had to strain to grab the stabilizing ring as the fighter entered a steep climb.
“Today we’re testing your piloting skills,” Ree explained. She seemed amused by his struggles, and gave a disappointed sigh when he finally buckled the harness and locked himself into the matrix. “Being a war mage isn’t just hand-to-hand combat or manifesting spells. Our spellfighters are the first line of defense for Shaya herself. You might be a passable duelist, but that’s far less important than what you can do with a fighter.”
“Well, keep your expectations low. I’ve never piloted one of these things, at least not that I know of.” Aran watched the scry-screen appreciatively as the planet fell away beneath them.
“Is the vessel familiar, at least?” Ree sighed.
“Yeah.” Aran ran a hand lovingly along the silver ring rotating around the command couch. “She’s familiar.”
“I don’t know what backward world you came from, but I’m guessing even they trained their war mages to be pilots. They’d be foolish not to, if they wanted to defend their skies.”
The fighter rumbled briefly; the rumbling stopped as they burst through the protective dome of life energy sustained by Shaya. They entered open space, and Aran smiled at the void. This he knew.
“We both know I’m pretty ignorant. The mind-wipe saw to that. I know you enjoy lording that over me, and I’m fine with that…as long as you give me answers.” Aran pivoted the chair to face Ree as they departed the moon’s gravity. “Pretend I’m a child. What is a war mage? I’ve heard war mage, and tech mage, and true mage—but I don’t really understand the different between them. Can I become a true mage? Can they become war mages?”
“Our children learn this in their first-year classes. I supposed it isn’t really your fault.” Ree blinked, more surprised than combative, for once. “Very well. Before we begin, I will answer your questions. It is, after all, my responsibility to somehow turn you from an ignorant mongrel to a proper Shayan war mage.”
Aran noticed she said Shayan, not Confederate.
“I’ll use small words so you can understand.” Ree guided the fighter toward the dense patch of asteroids ringing the azure gas giant that Shaya orbited. “Anyone who possess even a single aspect of magic is a tech mage. It requires no training to pick up a spellrifle and fire it, just the magical spark to power the weapon. So anyone who goes to a Catalyst is automatically a tech mage, assuming they gain magic and not simply a magical adaptation of some kind.”
The fighter zipped into the asteroid field, winging nimbly around a rock the size of the Hunter as they approached the center of the field. The asteroids were more dense here, and avoiding them required deft handling. Aran was impressed, though he certainly wasn’t telling Ree that.
“War mages learn to channel magic through our bodies. Instead of using sigils to construct a spell externally, like a true mage, we manifest it directly. This means many of our spells can’t be countered, but it also limits the types of spells we can cast.”
Ree’s face, the smugness softening, was lit by the planet below as the fighter whipped around another asteroid. Aran could tell she loved piloting, which was at least a little common ground.
“Okay,” he said, “that makes sense. I’ve used a number of abilities, and I’ve wondered why I didn’t need to cast like Voria does.”
Ree’s face darkened at the mention of the major. “True mages, like the traitor who conscripted you, spend years learning magical theory. This allows them to access powerful spells, provided they have the right aspects to fuel them.” The fighter slowed, and Ree guided it to a graceful landing atop a floating ball of ice that almost qualified as its own moon. “Is that clear enough for you?”
“Can war mages learn to be true mages?” Aran asked.
“Yes, if they invest the time. But right now it’s your abilities as a war mage that I care about. Impress me, mongrel—or wash out. I’m fine with either, really.” Ree tapped several sigils on her command matrix, and the rings began to slow.
“Wait, you want me to fly us out of this?” Aran glanced up at the scry-screen. Thousands of asteroids rotated around them, and a massive hunk of iron slammed into a ball of ice not far off their starboard side. Both exploded spectacularly.
“Are you telling me you can’t do it?” Her smugness overwhelmed any reservations Aran might have had. So much for common ground.
“No.” Aran tapped the same initiation sequence he’d seen her use: fire, fire, air. “I’ve got this.”
He guided the craft into the air, amazed at the difference from piloting the Hunter. Flying the battleship was like moving a mountain. The fighter responded instantly, zipping in whatever direction Aran wanted, quick as thought. He flew low over an icy mountain, then zipped up into the asteroid field.
“Woohoo!” Aran yelled, pouring magic into the drive. The fighter accelerated, and he whipped it between a pair of rotating asteroids. The level of control was heady, and it touched something deep in the back of his mind. He’d done this…many times.
Aran poured void magic into the spellcannon, instinctively. A void bolt shot into the asteroid blocking their path, boring a smooth hole directly through the center. Aran guided the fighter through the hole, shooting out the other side.
He whipped past more asteroids, pouring on even more speed. Fewer and fewer asteroids flitted by, until the fighter finally burst out of the field and into the open void. Aran guided the craft to a halt, then turned to face Ree. “Not bad for a mongrel, eh?”
Ree shrugged, unimpressed. “I’ve seen better. But I’ve also seen worse. Tomorrow, we’ll try something a bit more difficult.”
10
ICE AND ROCK
Aran sat up in bed with a groan. The silk sheet slid from his chest, exposing the mass of bruises.
The twenty-first day had been worse than the previous twenty put together. After his fighter training, Ree had spent the rest of the day kicking his ass in the kamiza. He’d never again gotten the drop on her as he had during their first meeting, and suspected he might never again. She’d adapted quickly to his style, and for some reason he struggled to adapt to hers. The longer they sparred, the faster she ran him through.
A chime came from the entry hall, and Aran fished his rumpled uniform from the floor. He hadn’t quite reached the door when it slid open and Ree stepped inside. She eyed him appraisingly as he slid on his shirt, but didn’t say anything until he’d finished dressing.
“You have a package outside,” she finally said.
“Okay.”
Her uniform was immaculately pressed, her hair perfectly styled. She crinkled her nose at him. “You are a slob, even for a mongrel. We gave you a dozen clean uniforms. Why are you wearing that one?”
“Ree—can I call you Ree?” Aran asked, buckling on his spellblade.
“No.”
“Ree, you’re clearly used to having all the advantages in the world. Me? The Confederate Marines didn’t give us squat. When I fought on Marid I didn’t have a second uniform, or ev
en a change of socks. Not that you people even know what socks are.” Aran moved to the door, and met Ree’s gaze without flinching. “You want to train me to fight? Fine, I’ll learn. You don’t get to tell me how to dress.”
“You want to look like a mongrel? At least the Caretakers will see you for what you are without you needing to open your uneducated mouth.” She stalked past him and climbed the glowing steps to her fighter. Aran moved to join her, and she held up a hand. “I’m taking the fighter. You’re not.”
“Then how do you expect me to follow you?” Aran demanded, expecting another painful lesson.
“I told you, you received a package.” She nodded toward the front door of his apartment, and Aran realized there was a package. A familiar black crate. The same crate that had delivered his spellarmor, back on the Hunter.
The canopy closed and Ree’s fighter moved into the air. Her voice boomed from the external speakers. “Make it quick, mongrel. I have more important things to do than teach the unteachable.”
Aran took his time walking to the crate, slapping the familiar red button. The casing retracted into itself, exposing his Proteus Mark XI spellarmor. He grinned at the midnight armor, “Oh, I definitely missed you.”
To his surprise, the armor quivered in response.
He blinked. “I’d forgotten. Marid must have changed you, too. I wonder what you can do now?”
Aran sketched the void sigil before the chest and slipped inside the armor. It solidified around him, and he grinned at the familiar comfortable interior. It was the first time he’d used the armor since they’d clashed with Nebiat.
He willed a bit of void from his chest into the suit, and she shot into the sky. Her handling was still beautiful, but she was also noticeably faster than before. A new icon had appeared on the screen showing what appeared to be a miniature glacier.
A missive request appeared in the bottom of the screen, and Aran acknowledged it. A view of Ree’s face appeared on the corner of the HUD, basically a tiny scry-screen. That was definitely new. Part of what Marid had done?
“Head into the asteroid field. You have thirty seconds to hide. Once you are hidden, I will hunt you. Your goal is to survive as long as possible.” She delivered the words without her usual rancor, just the ever-present condescension.
“You want me to pilot a suit of spellarmor, and you’re going to hunt me in a fighter? We both know how this ends. It isn’t a fair fight. What’s the point?”
“Were the Krox fair on Marid?” she growled, her eyes flaring with their own inner light on the corner of his HUD. “The point is to teach you to follow orders, and to survive in un-winnable scenarios. Now, can you follow orders, or must I report your training a failure so soon after it has begun?”
“I can follow orders,” Aran growled right back, but he flew up through the atmosphere, toward the asteroid field.
The truth was, he needed to know the things she could teach—or, rather, what Erika could teach. If that meant swallowing his pride, he might have to learn to do that.
Tomorrow, maybe.
He flitted between the asteroids at the edge of the field. The suit was even more mobile than the fighter—the only real advantage he’d have against her. Not that it mattered. He could evade her, but his spellrifle wouldn’t so much as scratch her hull, even if he fired a third-level spell.
That didn’t mean he couldn’t try. He opened a vertical slash in the air and withdrew his spellrifle. The barrel, enhanced by Marid, was longer now. Theoretically, that might enhance the range of his spells, which could prove useful.
He whipped around in midair, staring between the suit’s legs out at the empty space where Ree’s fighter still hovered. “So we’re clear, what’s the victory condition here?”
“Victory? Disable my craft.” The way she said the words showed just how likely she thought that was.
“All right.” Aran zipped between asteroids, trying to anticipate where Ree would enter. She’d be gunning for him quick, he suspected. But how could he turn that against her?
Her fighter streaked into the field, and her spellcannon loosed a beam of pure golden energy. It punched through not one but many asteroids. She vaporized a path into the field, homing in on his location as if she were a diviner.
How is she following me? he wondered, kicking off an asteroid and flying deeper into the field. His smaller size made that easier, but Ree had a massive advantage in speed.
Another cannon shot punched through the asteroid next to him, peppering him with debris. He altered direction, zipping around another asteroid, one large enough to withstand a shot from Ree’s cannon. He wound through a low canyon, circling to the far side of the city-sized hunk of ice and rock.
Moments later Ree’s fighter whipped into view. The nose dipped, bringing the cannon into alignment with his armor.
“Oh, shit.” Aran whipped his rifle up and drew from his void magic. He flipped the selector all the way to three, and sighted down the scope at Ree’s cannon. He had no idea how to counterspell, but she was using life energy. Perhaps that could be countered with void energy.
He waited until her spellcannon filled with golden energy, then fired his void bolt. It shot out, directly into the path of the beam of golden energy. His void bolt disappeared within the blinding golden glow, with no visible effect. The golden energy continued on, slamming Aran into the canyon in a spray of ice and rock. Red spots bloomed all over the paper-doll representation of the armor.
“What in the depths was that?” Ree taunted through the missive pane, frowning at him. “You could have dodged that.”
“I was trying to counter your spell,” he admitted.
Ree laughed musically. “Oh, mongrel. It doesn’t work that way. It is possible for an equal amount of void energy to cancel life, but your bolt wasn’t anywhere close to equal. Why didn’t you use an actual counterspell?”
Aran was silent.
“You don’t know how, do you?” She wore her smugness like armor.
“No, I don’t.” He shot up from the ground, zipping out of the canyon and back into the asteroid field. “So how about you teach me, rather than mock me?”
“Remedial training is not my job, mongrel. I believe Master Erika will be quite amused by the…gaps in your knowledge.” Her mouth slid into a mischievous smile. “Now hide again. We’re not done here.”
“I’ll show you gaps,” he muttered, and flew around another asteroid, trying to guess the route she’d take after him. Around that big one, almost certainly.
Aran sighted down the barrel, aiming for a jagged crack that ran through a battleship-sized hunk of ice. He fired a level-three void bolt, then a second, and finally a third. Using that much magic made him dizzy, but he shook it off and zipped up to see what his spells had done.
The bolts sped into the crack, slamming into three separate sections of ice. The asteroid shuddered after the first, and cracked after the second. The third sent a dozen fighter-sized hunks of ice spraying out into space, directly into the path of Ree’s fighter.
She flew around the big asteroid…and slammed into a hunk of ice. Then another. Her ship tumbled end over end, falling toward the big asteroid. At the very last instant she regained control, and flipped the fighter back in his direction.
“That was clever. This is blunt.” Her cannon warmed up, the golden glow building.
Oh, crap.
The beam shot into his armor, knocking him into an asteroid. The paper doll went entirely red and a soft warning chime sounded within.
“Oww.”
Ree laughed again. “Take heart mongrel, you’ve amused me today. I’ve never met a mage over the age of twelve who couldn’t counterspell.”
11
HONESTY
Aran followed Ree into the kamiza, grateful for the warmth as they left the chill wind. This late at night it was empty, save for Erika, who sat against the far wall, a sweaty towel draped over her shoulders.
She looked up as they entered, and rai
sed a water bottle in greeting. “How did the orbital assessment go?” She stood with a groan.
“Aran isn’t a total waste, but his inability to counterspell is a definite weakness.” Ree eyed him emotionlessly. Whatever her feelings, she’d mastered them. “He showed impressive tactical initiative. I wasn’t able to adequately test his strategic capabilities.”
“Excellent, if my suspicions about him are correct.” Erika rubbed her hands together then placed them against her neck. Waves of magical heat rose from the hands and she sighed contentedly. “And your final assessment? Sum up the last few weeks of training.”
“There were some easily rectifiable deficiencies. He’s out of shape, but a few more weeks will cure that. Aran is skilled, but dangerous to himself and to others. Because he doesn’t understand what he knows, he uses his abilities instinctually. This can lead to some impressive feats, but ultimately makes him both predictable and unusable in battle. I’d recommend sending him back to remedial training. Have him learn again from the ground up.” Ree watched him the entire time. He expected to find her usual smugness, but he read something different there. Regret, maybe? Pity? It was gone too quickly to be sure. “I can have him in a cockpit in a month, and in two years he’ll be the best war mage to come out of this kamiza since Dirk.”
Erika took a swig from her bottle. She eyed it with intense consideration, as if the bottle were far more important than his own fate. Finally she looked up at him. “And you, Aran? How do you feel about this assessment?”
How did he feel about it? It sucked being told he didn’t cut it, but was Ree wrong? It stung, but nothing she’d said was untrue.
“I—well, the first part is accurate. I can’t counterspell for shit, and half the time I don’t even know why I do something. That makes improvisation difficult, because I don’t really know what I can do. I’m always reacting to things, which puts me at a perpetual disadvantage.” Admitting it was difficult, but lying to himself or to Erika wasn’t going to help him improve. And he needed to improve. “I don’t know what’s entailed in starting my training over, but I’m willing to try.”