Krox Rises

by Chris Fox

  But she couldn’t. Like it or not, this had to be faced.

  Rhea rose and gave the other version of her father, the memory version she realized, a final, longing look. She knew in her heart he wasn’t real, and wallowing in an illusion was irresponsible. Outriders never quit.

  She prayed that some fragment of the man he’d been had survived the corruption, even as she knew in her heart that he hadn’t. He’d been the one to teach her that loved ones, once infected, must be put down, or driven off.

  “All right, Crewes.” Rhea took a deep breath, and nodded at the dark-skinned man. “Lead the way. I will feign ignorance, if you think it best.”

  21

  Conduit

  The Temple of Shi made Aran uncomfortable. There were too many entrances and exits, and a whole load of unfamiliar cries from the trees surrounding the structure. He blamed that for throwing him off his game.

  Only after the doors closed behind the sergeant did Aran realize he’d neglected to ask how long this trial would take, and what they should do in the meantime. He surveyed the company. Bord stood well away from Nara, his arms crossed while he leaned nonchalantly against the marble wall. Nara stood a few feet away, and was obviously pretending not to be hurt by it.

  She brushed a lock of dark hair behind her ear, exposing her freckled cheek. Damn if she didn’t look innocent, which only put his back up more.

  “If these priests,” Kheross rumbled suddenly, “do not deliver my daughter soon, then I promise you I will level this entire wretched temple.”

  “I’m sure you will,” Aran replied absently. He didn’t have the mental energy to deal with Kheross’s posturing. He needed to focus on what came next. Very soon he’d get a call from the governor asking him to join their new fleet. Was helping that fleet pillage a Catalyst worth gaining their support against Krox? How did he make a choice like that? “Nara, do you know off the top of your head how long it will take to get from here to the Skull?”

  Nara drummed her fingers along the ebony haft of her staff, the fire rubies slowly rotating above her. She looked up suddenly, the soft light from above making her eyes shine. “A little over three days from Yanthara, in the Talon at least.”

  “And from there to Shaya? About seven more?” Aran had a vague understanding of relative distances in the depths, but Nara’s gift from Neith meant she could probably tell him to the minute when they’d arrive.

  “Six and a half,” Nara corrected. “If you allow for a day to take care of whatever you need at the Skull, we’re looking at twelve to thirteen days to arrive at Shaya.” She cleared her throat, and tried to hold his gaze, but then broke eye contact instead. “You’re trying to figure out if we’ll arrive before Krox, aren’t you? I know he’s coming. And I know we have to be there, whether we like it or not. Frit might be able to tell you how long until he arrives.”

  “I thought she wasn’t in contact with anyone among the Krox.” Aran rested his hand on Narlifex’s hilt, and the blade thrummed.

  “She isn’t.” Nara rolled her eyes, the gesture clearly meant for herself. “I’m an idiot sometimes. She’s a flame reader. She can use divination.”

  “Maybe.” Aran shook his head and gave a half laugh. “You understand why I can’t trust any intel I get from her. Besides, I’ll take Voria’s estimate over Frit’s any day. Voria’s got the Spellship, and the gifts our…friend in the depths gave us.” He couldn’t say Neith’s name of course.

  The ivory doors swung open with a loud creak, smothering the conversation. Bord snapped to attention, and Kheross uncrossed his arms. The Wyrm began flexing his hands, and Aran half feared he’d summon his axes.

  An armored figure appeared in the doorway, and at first Aran wasn’t certain it was Crewes. The sergeant’s armor was similar, but the differences were notable. It had grown slightly, and many of the harder edges had softened into metallic curves. But the largest change was the color. The armor had taken on an obviously magical glow that make it appear ethereal and ghostly…ghostly pink.

  Bord’s raucous laughter echoed through the temple, and he stabbed a finger at the sergeant. “You musta pissed someone off good. Your armor…is the prettiest thing—” The wheezing laughter depended. “—the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. Wait ‘til Kez sees this.”

  Crewes stalked over to Bord, and his faceplate snapped open. He leaned down over Bord, whose self-preservation finally began to kick in. The laughter wilted to a nervous chuckle, and Crewes didn’t say a word. All he did was scowl.

  “It’s not that bad,” Aran offered. But it was that bad, and as soon as the sergeant found a mirror, he’d know it. “What happened in there?”

  “One moment, sir.” Crewes leaned in even closer to Bord. “My armor is a nice, manly magenta.”

  “But, it’s—” Bord unwisely began.

  “What color is my armor, specialist?” Crewes growled.

  “Uh, magenta, sir.” Bord amended.

  “That’s what I thought.” Crewes gave Bord one last glare, then turned to Aran. “Mission accomplished, sir. Took some doing. Sorry you had to wait so long.”

  “So long?” Aran raised an eyebrow, and nodded at the ivory doors. “It’s been ten minutes, tops.”

  Sarala emerged a moment later in her multicolored robes. The fabric swished as she moved to stand next to Crewes, then placed a gloved hand on his armor. “We ask that you keep the nature of your vision of Shi to yourself, though there is no official prohibition about speaking of the journey.”

  A third figure emerged from the doorway. Aran had only really seen Rhea once before, when she’d been asleep in his quarters on the Talon. Like Nara she had dark hair, but the similarities ended there. This woman was taller, and physically stronger. Her arms bore the corded muscle earned over long hours of swordplay, and he bet if he inspected her palms he’d find callouses.

  She walked like a warrior, despite the fact that she bore no armor or weaponry. Her expression betrayed no emotion, not even curiosity. She scanned the room like a professional, assessing them all in a few heartbeats.

  “You.” She nodded to me. “The others seem to defer to you, if their stance is any indication. I take it you’re in charge?”

  “Rhea…” Kheross said, his tone agonized. He took a single step closer, but made no move to embrace her. “You’re alive, and…unburdened.”

  Rhea spared a single disgusted glance for her father, and the disdain there stopped him in his tracks. Aran wouldn’t have thought it possible to pity Kheross, but in that moment he did.

  Rhea’s eyes flashed with air magic, mini-storms playing across the irises. “I can smell Nefarius’s stink on you, father. No, not father. Kheross. You are no longer any kin of mine.” She turned back to Aran, and squared her shoulders as if fortifying herself for a last stand. “I realize you’ve just met me, but if you have any sense you will kill him. You can no longer trust Kheross. He’s a conduit to Nefarius. He should be put down. Now.”

  Kheross made a choking sound and gawked at his daughter. That seemed like a fair response to your own daughter calling for your immediate execution. His tainted eyes closed, and he exhaled a long, slow sigh. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, and then turned away from his daughter, for what Aran imagined would be the last time. “Thank you, Captain. You have lived up to your end of our bargain. Our accord is at an end. Where we go from here is up to you. I would just as soon take my leave, and never cross paths again.”

  He didn’t have the leverage to afford pity, not in the face of everything.

  “What do you mean by conduit?” Aran demanded, meeting Rhea’s gaze, and finding a challenge there. He settled his hand instinctively around Narlifex’s grip.

  “A conduit is an extension of Nefarius, infected with his taint.” She moved to stand next to Crewes, and he realized she was almost as tall as the sergeant. “The blood has seeped into the thing that used to be my father. Everything he sees, everything he observes, everything he thinks…all of it belongs
to Nefarius. The goddess, or god, or whatever the depths it is…it’s listening to us right now. And the longer you keep him around, the more it knows. We saw this corruption often, and there were only two responses. The weak exiled their corrupted, and most quickly came to regret it. The strong did the merciful thing, and killed them. This taint will consume him, eventually. But long after that happens Kheross will continue to act like my father, and like your friend, if that’s what he is to you. Nefarius used our emotions against us, so we learned to live without them.”

  That knocked him back a step. No damaging secrets leapt out at him that Kheross could have relayed, but the idea that everything was available to an enemy like that was horrifying.

  “So he’s only dangerous if he’s around us,” Aran pointed out. “If we let him go, and he leaves, then he can’t watch us any more and we don’t need to worry about him being a conduit. I don’t like turning on an ally. What do you think, Sergeant?”

  Crewes blinked a couple times. “Me?” He studied Kheross silently for a long moment, then scuffed the temple floor with his boot. The armor left a divot in the stone, and while Aran couldn’t see Sarala’s face, the eyes told him everything he needed to know. She was pissed. Crewes cleared his throat. “I know I’m always starting shit with that smug bastard, but a deal’s a deal, sir. Scaly here lived up to his end. He saved our asses on New Texas, and he ain’t stabbed us in the back yet. We ain’t got no beef with him.”

  Aran folded his arms and eyed Kheross. Crewes wasn’t wrong, but leaving an enemy at their backs was risky. If Rhea was right, and he had no reason to suspect she wasn’t, then Kheross was a ticking bomb. Which was more important, honor or pragmatism? Could he afford a mix of both?

  “Kheross is a threat,” Aran began, deciding right then that his principles were still worth something, “and if we let him live we might come to regret it. Or, we might not. He’s done right by us. He’s helped us. If not for him none of us would be standing here. I’m not willing to compromise my principles for a maybe. Kheross, you already said it. Our deal is at an end. You’re a Wyrm, so you can find your own way off world. Don’t make trouble, and don’t bring yourself to our attention, and we don’t have to be enemies. In fact, do everyone here a favor and leave the sector. Find a home somewhere else, far away from all of this. You’ve been cleansed by the best life mages on Shaya. I have to imagine that’s bought you some time. Enjoy what freedom you can.”

  “Thank you, Captain.” Kheross nodded gratefully, his dark hair ruffled by the wind passing through the temple’s spacious windows. “I don’t wish to provoke your ire, but…I have a final request before I take my leave.”

  “Oh?” Aran raised an eyebrow.

  Crewes folded his arms, and scowled hard at Kheross.

  Kheross glared right back, but directed his words to Aran. “Take care of Rhea. Accept her as your first Outrider. She can aid you, and you can give her what she needs most…a family.”

  “Done,” Aran agreed. They were recruiting, after all, and from the looks of it she had a lot of experience. Experience they needed. She might even be able to teach him some things, and he’d take all the help he could get.

  Kheross gave his daughter one last agonized look, then raised a long, delicate finger. He sketched a series of interlocking void sigils, and a Fissure tore the space next to him. He gave Rhea a final smile. “I’m proud of you.”

  “You’re dead to me.” Rhea started for the temple door, and didn’t look back as Kheross stepped through and the Fissure snapped shut behind him.

  22

  Neeko-Kan

  Aran didn’t release Narlifex’s hilt until the Fissure had snapped shut behind Kheross. The blade pulsed disappointment. Worthy foe.

  He hoped he never found out, not because he wasn’t confident he could take the Wyrm, but rather because he didn’t want to have to put down a one-time ally. He’d already had a belly full of betrayal.

  “You’ll come to regret that decision.” Rhea shook her head, sadly. “My father is strong, one of the strongest Outriders in our time.”

  Bord maneuvered his scout armor a step closer, and eyes her curiously. “Outrider? You ain’t got the slightest idea what you even are, do ya, love? Sir, are you gonna tell her?”

  That innocent question left him no choice, really. Aran took a breath, and told the unvarnished truth. She seemed the sort that could handle it, and the last thing they needed was another lingering secret. “Your father was a Wyrm, Rhea. Not an Outrider. When the final battle for your world began he used a binding to alter your memory. You and your siblings were made to believe you were simple Outriders. It was a last-ditch effort to prevent Nefarius from taking you, from how Kheross told it.”

  Rhea took three calming breaths, and then looked down at herself. She closed her eyes, and her hands began to tremble. It must be an immense amount to process, and having been on the other end of a mindwipe he knew how it knocked your world into an unstable orbit.

  By the time she opened her eyes the trembling had stopped. Her gaze now contained a resolve that had been lacking before. “Maybe what you’re saying is true. Maybe it isn’t. For now, I’ll focus on my immediate problems. I have no unit, no armor, and no weaponry. If you give me a spellrifle, and tell me you’re willing to oppose Nefarius, then I’m more than happy to follow you into battle.”

  “We’ve got several spare sets of armor on the ship. The rifle will be a little unfamiliar, but I’m sure you’ll adjust quickly.” Aran nodded at Crewes, and the sergeant took point. He moved his now-pink armor toward the exit, and Sarala followed him, talking in low tones. Aran glanced at Rhea as she fell into step next to him. “I don’t have another spellblade to offer you, but I’m sure we can find you one when we make port at Shaya. And as far as hunting Nefarius, yeah, that’s on the list. He’s…compromised a friend of mine. First we’ve got to survive Krox, though. You help us do this, and Nefarius is next.”

  Aran didn’t look at Nara, though he felt her tense at the mention of Nefarius. She hadn’t really spoken, or made eye contact, since leaving the ship. Nara seemed content to fade into the background, and he didn’t mind letting her. The more he thought about things, the less angry he felt. Not because what she’d done wasn’t wrong, but because she seemed more worried that she might hurt Voria than about her own fate. It was possible it was an act, but his gut said otherwise.

  The company paused at the temple doors, and Sarala took Crewes’s gauntleted hand. Aran tried to avoid looking at them, and noticed that even Bord was trying to give them a bit of privacy. None of them could escape hearing what probably should have been a private moment.

  “Linus, you have been given a great blessing.” Sarala took the sergeant’s gauntleted hand in her tiny one, but it was enough to get Crewes to pause and face her. He somehow managed dignified calm, despite the pink armor. Aran was proud of him, for more than one reason. The priestess gazed up at Crewes, and her tone was pleading. “Stay. Learn. You could be the strongest fire dreamer in a generation, and we’re going to need a leader for what’s to come. I have watched the flames, and I have dreamed of the future. Terrible darkness approaches. A Great War that will swallow the galaxy in flame and death.”

  Crewes smiled grimly at her, and rested his spellcannon on the shoulder of his armor. “And I’m the terrible thing that’s waiting to deal with the baddies when they show up. I’d love to stay, Sarala. But I got a god to embarrass. I’m sure you could teach me to dream, or whatever, but unless you can help me fight better…”

  “Dream is stronger than you give it credit for.” Sarala gave a musical laugh, and raised a hand. Aran felt…something. An elusive magic that he himself did not posses. Dream, no doubt. A tendril reached out to Crewes, and touched his armor.

  A swirl of purple-pink energy enveloped Crewes, and when it faded his armor was just…gone. He stood there naked, his dark skin crisscrossed with cuts and abrasions. The swirl of magic pooled on the floor, and gradually resolved into a large fe
line. The leopard’s dark fur was spotted, and it provided perfect camouflage for the local jungles.

  The great cat promptly sat down and started cleaning itself, as utterly apathetic as any house cat.

  Crewes stood there, naked as the day he was born, cradling his spellcannon. He stared at the cat in horror. “Nah, nah, nah. That is some serious bullshit. You can make my armor turn into a frigging cat? I thought that was just part of the dream, or whatever. It can’t do that on its own, can it?”

  The cat stopped licking itself and fixed Crewes with a baleful stare.

  Sarala adopted a nearly identical one. “Of course she can, though she will not do so unless you ask her to. I…cheated. I have a bond with Shi, you see. Most mages cannot do what I have done here. As I said…if you wish to prevent it.” She approached him and ran a single gloved finger down his massive forearm. “All you need do is stay and learn.”

  Crewes glanced down at his crotch, and his cheeks heated. “Yes, ma’am, but like I said, I got a war to fight first. But uh, I’ll come back. Now, uh, how do I get the cat to be armor again?”

  “The cat,” Sarala said, rolling her eyes, “needs a name. And once you give her one then she will do as you ask, whenever you ask. Though I would not abuse the privilege. Ghost leopards are…fickle, much like Yantharan women.”

  “Oh man,” Crewes muttered. He lowered his spellcannon to cover his midsection. “Not a great time to be put on the spot. Captain, you got any suggestions for a name?”

  “No, but Nara might.” He turned to her. She seemed surprised by the sudden attention, and crossed her arms uncomfortably. “Nara, what’s ancient Virkonan for cat?”

  “Neeko,” she provided. “Neeko-kan if it’s a kitten.”

  “That look like a kitten to you?” Crewes jerked a thumb at the leopard. It was the first time, Aran realized, that he’d spoken to Nara since she’d defected. “Anyway, it’s good enough. All right, Neeko. Turn into armor again, and cover my junk.”