by Chris Fox
Ree eyed him as if seeing something terrible and inexplicable at the same time. “You’re… agreeing with me?”
“It’s really, really simple. I got my ass kicked on Marid. I don’t want to get my ass kicked next time. The only way I do that is learning from my mistakes. You people can teach me, so…do it. I’ll be a willing student. I’ll toe the line, if you’ll help me improve.” Aran folded his arms. “I’ll even call you Premaster Reekala, if you want.”
Erika laughed. “Thank you for your report, Ree. Why don’t you get some rest? I’d like to speak to Aran alone.”
“Of course, Master.” Ree’s tone made no attempt to hide the hurt. She turned gracefully and walked from the kamiza.
“She doesn’t like me.” Aran shook his head sadly.
“Her issue isn’t with you personally. She doesn’t like what you represent.” Erika took another swig from her water bottle. Her breathing had calmed, the last stage of a workout. “Has anyone taken the time to explain to you what the Confederacy really is?”
“No, I guess they haven’t,” Aran realized aloud. “I mean, I get that it’s a government with a military, but I don’t really understand how the different member worlds play into it. It seems like Shaya does whatever the hell they want, and they don’t seem to much value the Confederacy.”
“That’s what you’re encountering with Ree.” Erika walked deeper into the kamiza, toward the door that led further into the building. Aran followed, and she spoke again once he’d fallen into step beside her. “The Confederacy was the brainchild of Tender Aurelia, though you won’t find her name officially attached to any part of it. Before it was founded sixty years ago, each world in the sector stood alone. Some, like Shaya, had colonies. Most were single worlds, because interstellar travel is prohibitive, in both time and cost. It takes a standard Ternus vessel three years to cross the sector from end to end.”
“But…we crossed a large part of it in less than a week.” Aran shook his head as they entered a small kitchen.
Erika moved to a counter and plucked an apple from a bowl. She drew a knife from the block and expertly sliced the fruit into wedges. “Apple?”
“No, thank you. The Umbral Depths are even more important than I thought. Any world with void mages can move about quickly, striking behind enemy lines, or delivering supplies.” Aran finally understood just how important Nara’s run on the Skull of Xal had been. They’d gained incredible power. The implications were staggering.
Erika popped another wedge into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. As she swallowed, a warm golden glow suffused her eyes. “So you can see your importance. Whoever earns your loyalty will gain a powerful weapon, one that will only grow in strength over the decades. Ree worries you’ll choose to stay with the Confederacy.”
“Do I have a choice?” Aran asked. “I thought I had to serve a four-year term in exchange for my ‘crime.’ ”
“Your term can be bought out. Fifty thousand credits for each year, and you’re a free man. If you have a wealthy patron, you’re free to do as you choose.”
The news sent Aran reeling. He leaned against the counter, heart thundering. He could be free. Free to make his own decisions. Free to pursue his own destiny.
“You’ll receive many offers in the next few seasons.” Erika ate another wedge. “War mages are rare. Very few people have both the magical power and the manual dexterity to learn to fight as we do. It requires years of training to really master—but somehow, somewhere, you’ve already done that.”
“You recognize the style I use. You could tell me about my past.” Aran eyed her sidelong.
“I could. I won’t. Not right now, anyway.” Another wedge disappeared. “Ree believes—correctly, in my mind—that putting a man of your talents in the Confederate Marines is a maddeningly stupid waste of resources. In a decade, you could be one of the most feared men in the sector. You could help alter its fate. Heroes are not just legends, Aran. They are forged, here, in this kamiza.”
“But not if I die in the next battle with the Krox. If I were just a tech mage, then no one would really care. I’d have potential, but that potential is meaningless without years of training a dedication.” Aran cocked his head. “I’m still not one hundred percent clear on the difference between a war mage and a tech mage. Is it just training?”
“All magic requires study of one form or another, though tech mages cheat by outsourcing that study to the person who crafted their weapon and armor.” Erika finished the last of the apple and wiped her hands on her loose pants. “In our case, that training allows us to manifest spells directly through our bodies. They’re nearly impossible to counterspell, unless we’re firing a ranged spell. We’re close-range fighters, though some war mages dedicate themselves to killing from a distance.”
The door to the kamiza opened again, and footsteps pounded closer. Ree sprinted back into the room holding a golden disk with runes around the outer edge. A missive.
“The trial has been decided.” She set the disk down on the counter. “Voria has been stripped of command and demoted to the rank of Captain.”
Aran moved to a stool and sat heavily. What did that mean for his future? For the fight against the Krox?
“Was there more?” Erika asked with minimal interest.
“A little.” Ree paused, and Aran looked up to find her staring at him. “The official record is being altered. Voria put Aran up for several commendations. Those commendations have instead been posthumously awarded to Captain Thalas. They’re calling him the hero of Marid.”
Aran started to laugh.
“You think this is funny?” Ree blinked at him.
“No, I think this is typical,” Aran said. “Thalas treated Marines like pieces on a game board. He wanted to waste their lives, pointlessly. He’s everything I hate about Shayan nobility: Arrogant. Racist toward drifters.” That drew a sniff from Ree. “He put his own honor and petty need for revenge over the welfare of the battalion. If he’d been in charge instead of Voria, not only would we all be dead, but that planet would be, too. And they’re giving this guy a medal?”
“So what are you going to do about it?” Erika asked him, with the same apparent disinterest.
Aran rose to his feet and stalked toward the door. “This is bullshit. I’m going to find Voria, and we’re going to make this right.”
12
WHEELS WITHIN WHEELS
Nebiat inhaled slowly, turning in a slow circle and smiling up at the city around her. The smallest house could easily be called a mansion, and the biggest houses could be considered towns in their own right. The amount of Shayan wealth on this single branch rivaled that of all the others combined.
She walked up the thoroughfare, a wide path lined with bark that had been crushed to mulch by the passage of endless feet. A raven cawed in the distance, and several deer trotted boldly across the path ahead. They’d never known a predator.
The Shayan nobles who dwelled here had no idea how much they resembled those deer.
She followed the path to a ring of redwoods. Six mighty trunks grew close together; only a few narrow gaps remained between the arboreal giants. Nebiat slipped through the largest, into a small clearing. These trees were children of the Shayan’s stupid tree goddess, and their latent magic served as a sort of ward—the kind of ward that would shield casting from prying eyes.
Nebiat’s raised a delicate finger and traced a void sigil. She built the Fissure spell quickly, opening a three-meter gap into the Umbral Depths. Nebiat added an air shield over the gap, to prevent the atmosphere from being sucked into space.
Within moments, the first enforcer had climbed out. The enforcer’s brothers and sisters quickly joined her, filling the little clearing. When the last had arrived, Nebiat closed the Fissure.
“Get into position, little ones,” she instructed with an absent wave.
The enforcers scrambled up the trees, their scales darkening to blend in with them. They disappeared into the canopy above
, each training a spellcannon down into the clearing. At best they’d prove a distraction, but she’d take every advantage she could get given who she’d come to meet.
Mere moments after the last enforcer had vanished a woman stepped between two of the trees. Not just any woman, or even any war mage. This was a true master. She moved with deadly grace, and her hand rested confidently on the hilt of her spellblade. Her chestnut hair had been bound into a simple ponytail, keeping it out of the way in a fight.
“Ahh, you must be Master Erika,” Nebiat crooned. She didn’t offer a hand in friendship, or any other greeting. There was no sense pretending a false civility. If this woman had been properly bound, then she’d do as Nebiat wished. If not, she’d cut Nebiat down, regardless of what she said or did.
“You already know I am.” The woman glanced over her shoulder, then back at Nebiat. “We need to make this quick. We cannot afford to be seen together.”
“No pleasantries then. How efficient.” Nebiat gave a subtle gesture, the wave meant for the Enforcers above. They’d stand down, unless she was attacked. “Given that you haven’t drawn that blade, I take it your rumored allegiance to my father is true?”
“Yes.” She frowned. “What do you want, dreadlord?”
“How long?” Nebiat demanded.
“Eighteen years,” Erika snapped. Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “The wording of my binding is very specific. I can’t kill you. I can kill the six enforcers above, and I can do it before even the fastest is aware they’re dead.”
“Very well, throw your temper tantrum if you must. I’ll wait.” Nebiat inspected her fingernails for several moments. Erika made no move to attack. “I guess you really are in a hurry. You were told to obtain a specific magic item, and to bring it. Do you have the eldimagus?”
Erika reached into a satchel attached to her belt and removed a small golden bracelet lined with impossibly tiny sigils. The power pulsing from the item prompted Nebiat to take a step backward. Erika laughed. “If I wanted to use it on you I already would have.”
“And what would have happened if you’d snapped it around my wrist?” Nebiat whispered. She didn’t know what the thing did, only that it was powerful and that her father was certain she could use it to neutralize Eros himself.
“The bracelet appears benign to magical scans, because its power is harmless enough. It stores the next spell a mage casts.” Erika took a cautious step closer and offered her the bracelet.
Nebiat accepted it gingerly, holding it up to study the enchantment. “It looks like that spell can be tapped into later, to be used by the caster. Even if I tricked Eros into wearing it, couldn’t he merely cast the spell into the bracelet, then use the bracelet to fire the spell at me?”
“That is the genius, really.” Erika folded her arms, her mouth going sour. “This bracelet is broken, or intentionally mis-designed. It can’t actually hold a spell. Every time a caster tries, the spell dissipates.”
“So, this will effectively counter any spell that a mage casts?” Nebiat slipped the bracelet into her own satchel.
“Precisely. And once donned it cannot be removed without a full nullification. Your father commanded me to acquire it several years ago, and I’ve been holding onto it since. Now I know why.”
If the betrayal bothered Erika then she certainly didn’t show it. “Well done. I will relay as much to my father. But I also have a task for you.”
“Are you certain you wish to jeopardize my place here?” Erika asked cautiously. “I am the most highly placed spy your father has access to. If you cost him that, I doubt even you will enjoy the results.”
“I understand, but this warrants the risk.” Nebiat reached into the satchel and withdrew a vial of sickly green fluid. Black motes swam sluggishly through the liquid. “I’ve heard rumors that you and Dirk were once lovers. Is that true?”
“It was.” Erika nodded, her face an unreadable mask.
“Rekindle that relationship, and when the time is right get Dirk to sleep with you. On that night you will throw an extravagant party. Drinking. Sex. Whatever you think Dirk wants.” Nebiat handed Erika the vial, and the master took it. “When he is vulnerable, you will slip him that.”
“What is it?” Erika asked as she held up the vial for inspection.
“A rather nasty poison. It removes the subject’s ability to use magic, and lasts for many hours. This is how we will turn Dirk.” Nebiat smiled. The idea of converting Voria’s father to her cause made her positively giddy.
“And what’s the point of all this? I’ve heard nothing worth risking my cover.” Erika’s frown was nearly undetectable.
“Why I’m going to kill the Tender. I have a vial for her, this one so rare even she isn’t aware it exists.” Nebiat didn’t show the vial. She enjoyed the occasional risk, but that one wasn’t worth even contemplating, much less doing. The poison was irreplaceable. “You aren’t quite ready to know the full scope of the plan, but I will contact you when I am ready.”
13
FRIT
Nara sketched another sigil in the notebook, the ink flowing easily from the magical pen. She already missed her scry-pad, which was far faster and allowed her to search for specific data. While she loved books they seemed needlessly primitive, but over the past three weeks she’d not seen a single piece of technology in the university. Even tech-magic devices were forbidden.
Frit suddenly plunged through the door, throwing herself onto her bed. Nara glanced at her from the corner of her eye, trying to decide if her reluctant roommate needed time to be alone. She could gather her things and head for the library, though she hated how everyone watched her—especially the younger boys. It creeped her out.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Nara finally asked.
Frit sat up, wiping a fiery tear from her cheek. The magical sheets on the bed resisted her flames, but the frame had already warped from constant heat.
“I’m sorry for the drama. His royal assholeness is particularly bad today, and it makes me miss home is all. And my people.” She pulled her knees up to her chest. “My people are taken from the Heart. It’s a blazing ball of light and flame, brighter than any star. We gather around it, bathing in his brilliance. Shayans know this, and capture my people as slaves. Those of us who survive initial training are sent to the Skull of Xal to acquire void magic. Most don’t survive. The tech demons there are terrible.”
A single memory flashed through Nara’s mind, a quick image of a three-meter-tall demon carrying a spellcannon. The memory wasn’t attached to anything, but Nara sensed that it related to the Skull.
“What happens to those who survive?” Nara asked. She set her pen down and moved to sit on the edge of Frit’s bed. From here the heat was pleasant. Any closer, and she suspected it would grow painful.
“We’re trained to be war mages or true mages. We become weapons, expensive pets for Shayan nobles.” Frit blinked away the last fiery tear, and looked sidelong at Nara. “It’s nothing like what will happen to you. You’ll be married off, and given a life of luxury.”
“Excuse me?” Nara blinked, then she laughed. “I promise you no one is going to marry me off. I’m only here long enough to learn. If they try to marry me—or do anything else I’m not comfortable with—I’m gone.”
“Gone?” Frit looked at her directly. “Where would you go?”
That took Nara aback. Where could she go? Aran was involved in his own training. Voria was still on trial, so far as she knew. She wasn’t close enough to Crewes to ask him for help. Kez would take her in, but the drifter had her own troubles.
“I don’t know,” Nara said. “It’s a big galaxy. I’m sure I could find something to do.”
“Well, you’ve already mastered illusion. Some of the richest entertainers in the sector are illusionists. And you’re pretty. I bet nobles all over Shaya would come to see someone like you perform.” Frit extended a smoldering hand as if to touch Nara’s hair, but withdrew it suddenly when she realized what
she was doing. “I’ll never get to entertain. I exist to kill.”
“So do I. Before we came here, my unit fought the Krox. A lot of people died, and a few more fireballs on our side might have kept people alive. We’d have been thrilled to have you fighting with us.” Nara pulled her knees up, too, mimicking Frit. “I don’t know much about Shaya, or about the people who live here. But I know one good Shayan. Major Voria—”
“—is half-breed trash,” came a harsh voice from the doorway. Nara looked up to see Eros enter the room, his too-handsome face locked into a scowl. “If you are wise, you will disassociate yourself from her immediately. You don’t want to go down when she’s stripped of command, which I assure you will happen this afternoon. She’s a pariah, and we’re well rid of her.”
“She’s twice the mage you’ll ever be,” Nara snapped, leaping from the bed. “While you’re hiding here under your big tree, she’s out fighting the Krox. Marid is free because of what we did there—what you were too afraid to do.”
Behind her, Frit gasped.
Eros watched Nara impassively for an eternity and a half, then raised a delicate eyebrow. “I see we have a great deal of misinformation to correct. Leave us, Frit.”
Frit leapt from the bed, skirting Eros as she sprinted out of the room. Nara stood defiantly. She’d be damned if she was going to roll over for this bastard.
“Your exploits on Marid were impressive,” Eros admitted. He picked a piece of lint from his sleeve. “Yet much of that victory was luck and instinct. You were untrained. You didn’t understand how to utilize your magic. You didn’t know the right spells to save your companions, and people died as a result. You could have saved them, had you received the kind of training we teach here. Right now, you’re little more than a jumped-up tech mage. Imagine what you could be if you spent five years mastering your abilities. You could be a terror on the battlefield, cloaking a kill squad as you eliminate enemy mages. Tell me, child: do you understand why I hold Voria in such contempt?”