Krox Rises

by Chris Fox

  “Come on.” Aran nodded toward the lift, where Pickus still stood. “I want one more good night’s sleep.”

  Nara gave him a tentative smile as he departed, and Aran felt the tiniest bit better about everything.

  39

  Unlikely Allies

  Voria remembered girding herself for the battle against Nebiat back on Marid. She’d feared her death, but had stalwartly ridden to war, with her battalion behind her. Stepping through the doorway into a dinner party felt a greater trial, and each step came heavier than the last. She forced a smile as she stepped through.

  Most of the servants had disappeared, leaving four people seated around a table big enough for thirty. She instantly recognized her mother’s laugh, even before she saw the severe white hair and the cruel eyes. Jolene sat facing the governor, the man she’d met briefly at Ternus. He was handsome, in an austere sort of way, but had the same cruel cast to his features that her mother demonstrated.

  Skare sat two chairs away from the couple, sipping a goblet of lifewine. He raised it toward Voria, and delivered a smile as she approached. “Ah, Major, please, join us. We have so much to catch up on. I’m so pleased that you not only survived, but managed to acquire the Spellship. A true marvel, one that I hope our meager fleet can assist in the coming battle.”

  Voria pushed the euphoria away, and struggled to concentrate as she moved to sit in the chair next to Skare. She crossed her legs, and poured herself a goblet of lifewine, which she didn’t drink. “Your aid is greatly appreciated, Skare. May I call you, Skare, or is that too familiar?”

  Skare attempted to smooth an errant lock of hair, then gave up with a self-deprecating eye roll. “I’d like to think of us as friends, Voria. We’ve known each other a long time, and we share the same interests. Currently, at least.” He sipped at his goblet, and gave her a mischievous wink.

  “I suppose we do,” she admitted. She took a small sip of the wine, then shifted to face the fourth person sitting at the table, Pickus. The fiery-haired engineer was wolfing down food as quickly as he could, and seemed to be desperately avoiding making eye contact with anyone. She freed Aran. Why not him as well? “Administrator Pickus, could I impose upon you to help Captain Aran transfer his prisoners to the brig?”

  She watched Skare out of the corner of the eye, and was unsurprised to see his emotionless eyes fixed on her, as empty as the void. Perhaps he already knew who those prisoners were. But privately she hoped that he didn’t, and now wondered. Petty, maybe, but one took what comforts one could.

  “’Course, ma’am.” Pickus set down his fork and rose swiftly, wiping his face with the back of his sleeve. “I’ll get down there straight away.” He shot her a grateful look as he all but sprinted from the room.

  “Voria,” Jolene’s voice cut through the clink of plates and scraping of chairs. “I didn’t see you come in.” Her mother made no move to rise, but did raise her goblet in Voria’s direction. “Your hospitality has certainly improved since you were stationed on that gods-awful ship, what was it called?”

  “The Wyrm Hunter,” Voria replied dryly. It brought her a small measure of comfort that Davidson had been given command. At least the ship was in capable hands.

  “Major,” Austin said, a touch stiffly. He swirled the contents of his goblet, then raised it to drink. The taste seemed to annoy him, and he frowned at the goblet, then set it down.

  “Welcome, Governor.” Voria kept her tone amicable as she rose and took the chair closest to Austin. Whatever else was happening here, he was the leader of her closest ally, and had come to assist her against a god. That took a certain measure of bravery or foolishness. Either amounted to a debt she owed. “You have my deepest sympathies for the state of your capital. Shaya thanks you for your aid. I know what we are asking of you. Opposing a god is no easy feat. You have my assurance that should we survive we will offer every magical remedy to help your people.”

  Austin’s frown lessened, and he gave her a grateful nod. “Thank you, Major. Krox has made our colony unlivable. He’s doomed hundreds of millions of my citizens to a slow death, and there isn’t a damned thing we can do about it. What we can do, though, is get some payback.” Austin nodded toward Voria’s mother. “Thanks to the Inurans, we’ve got the tools to fight. The raid on the Skull didn’t go as well as we’d have liked, but we came away with enough mages to staff the ships, at least. Skare claims they can go toe to toe with a god.”

  “And I stand by that claim,” Skare confirmed. He set down his own goblet, then straightened the collar of his jacket, the blue fabric shining under the soft lights. “Gods are particularly vulnerable to the vessels’ primary ability. The ships drain magic, you see. Gods are comprised of pure magic. I believe Krox will be quite surprised by the level of…resistance Ternus is able to offer during the battle. The time of gods has passed, Governor. And now we have provided you the tools with which to teach Krox that very lesson.”

  Jolene gave a smooth laugh as if it were the funniest joke anyone had ever told. Austin’s frown relaxed a hair and he picked up his goblet, though he didn’t drink. “It will have to be enough. We may not be able to save our world, but we can ensure that Krox never does it to another.”

  “We will endeavor to do exactly that, Governor,” Voria promised. As she watched, she realized that whatever magic Drakkon had given her was having another side effect.

  A riot of colors exploded around her. Everywhere there was magic it leapt into sharp focus, and that magic glowed with the color of the corresponding aspect. The lifewine glowed a white-gold. The illusionary lights above glowed pinkish-purple.

  But the people around her glowed far more brightly. Her mother’s aura was multilayered, mostly the sky blue of air magic, but streaked with the white of life. Here and there, though, a new color had appeared. A purple so dark it bordered midnight itself. She knew it for void instantly, and while she couldn’t identify the god it came from, she strongly suspected she knew.

  Voria turned her attention to Skare, whose aura was remarkably similar to Jolene’s, but with the addition of the fierce scarlet of fire and the soft brown of earth. None of that was surprising. Looking at Governor Austin was.

  The young man wasn’t magically active, or shouldn’t have been. But his aura was overlaid with the same streaks of void that both Jolene and Skare bore. The scholar in her protested that it was possible he’d acquired it at the Skull of Xal, and that both Jolene and Skare had gotten it from a legitimate source as well. But she knew better. They’d all been touched the same dark god, presumably this Nefarius. At least she knew who her enemies were.

  “Voria, do you have a battle plan?” Skare asked as he swirled the contents of his goblet. Why did people enjoy doing that so much?

  “A rough one,” Voria admitted, coming to with a start. Her newfound vision faded a hair, and in its wake came a tide of exhaustion. She stifled a yawn before continuing. “The Shayan fleet, what remains, is gathered over the tree itself, backed by Major Davidson and the conventional fleet you’ve so graciously sent. That is where we will make our stand. In my visions Krox has come with a thousand motes of flaming light, which I take to be Ifrit. That’s where your fleet will come in. I’d like Captain Aran to lead your ships into combat, and to take down as many of those Ifrit as possible before they reach Shaya. If he fails the consequences will be…catastrophic.” She recalled her vision, and shuddered.

  “We’re all exhausted I’m sure,” Jolene interjected. “Why don’t we let Voria get some rest? We’ll return to our fleet and get prepared for tomorrow’s…battle.”

  Voria realized that her mother was staring at her, and that her eyes shone with…well, some sort of emotion, certainly. Was Jolene genuinely worried for her safety? She hadn’t even realized the woman was capable of experiencing that kind of concern.

  “I could use the rest as well.” Austin rose to his feet, and gave Voria a casual nod. “I’m sure we’ll all need it for what we’re about to face.”


  Something in his attitude was…off. Voria couldn’t place it. He knew something, and that something was about her. Between the exhaustion and the lingering euphoria it kept slipping just out of reach.

  “Good night, Governor. Mother. Skare.” She rose to her feet and retrieved Ikadra from near the door. Inexplicable fear gripped her as she left the room. What was she not seeing? What did they know?

  She was simply too exhausted to worry about it, tonight at least.

  40

  Inescapable

  Nara leaned back against the cell wall with a stretch, then began another set of exercises. The routine had been one of the first memories that returned, something they’d apparently taught her during her basic Zephyr training.

  At first, practicing it had been hard, and Nara had been forced to admit that her physical conditioning had badly lapsed. It was understandable, of course, since she’d been studying to be a true mage. But now that she could remember what her body was capable of, she was more interested than ever in making sure she was in excellent shape. Lives could depend on it.

  “Nara?” Kaho called from across the brig. The hatchling stood upright near the bars, his wings no longer nearly brushing the ceiling in their new cells. “Are you able to converse while doing your…mating display?”

  Nara chuckled as she completed her next stance, tree pose. Mating display indeed. She bent nearly double into downward dog, a name that made no sense. The names were apparently so ancient many of the meanings had been lost in translation. “What did you want to talk about?”

  “My mother’s binding ritual for Drakkon at Marid was complex, I am told. You puzzled it out, did you not? That suggests you have some skill as a mage.” Kaho began to pace back and forth in the cell.

  Nara flowed into a standing position, suddenly interested. “Enough that I was able to modify it, though I don’t pretend that I understood the entire thing.” Though, now that she looked back with the benefits of Neith’s gift, she realized that she could understand the entire thing.

  “I’ve been considering the ritual of investiture that Voria is about to undergo.” Kaho continued his pacing, his tone passionate. “A god does not possess a body, in the traditional sense. They transcend the physical.”

  “So what happens to their body?” Frit asked. She’d been watching silently from the bench in the cell she shared with Kaho, but now seemed interested.

  “It must be obliterated by the magical energy.” Kaho waved the comment away with a clawed hand. “That isn’t what interests me.” He paused and faced them both. “If gods no longer possess a physical form then they are effectively pure magic, as we understand it. But at its core the god must still possess the original spirit. Does that seem to make sense, Nara?”

  She nodded along, following his logic. “If what we know is correct, then yes. A person’s spirit must merge directly with the magic when the investiture is performed. There’d have to be something to serve as an anchor for the magic, and I guess the soul must be that anchor.”

  Kaho’s tail flicked behind him, almost of its own accord. Whether in excitement or agitation Nara couldn’t say. “Do you think it’s possible you could somehow remove the spirit? Sever the anchor’s chain, to follow the analogy. Perhaps it could be stripped from the magic, denying the god the bulk of its power.”

  “It’s an interesting theory,” Nara mused, though she was distracted by something else Kaho had said.

  A spirit was needed to merge with a god, not a body. She wasn’t yet sure how, but that tidbit seemed vital. The idea kept rolling around in her mind, though she tried to pay attention to the hatchling.

  “Nara,” Frit growled, her tone low and feral.

  Nara followed her gaze and realized she was staring at an armored man standing outside the Spellship’s brig. Her breath caught when she recognized him.

  Kheross’s scarlet armor thudded on the metallic floor as he approached her cell, and stared at with those void-tainted eyes. She knew instantly why he was there, before he so much as opened his mouth.

  “No,” she whispered. “Kheross, please. Don’t.”

  “Frit?” Kaho asked, his tone expressing his confusion. “Who is this?”

  Nara tuned him out. She tuned out everything except for Kheross himself. The Wyrm held a control rod clutched in his right hand, which would allow him to remove her collar. She had no idea how he planned to get the cell door open, but it seemed likely he had a plan.

  “You do not wish to be freed?” Kheross blinked at her. When she didn’t answer he shook his head and moved to the bars. “It doesn’t matter. Stand back as far as you can.”

  Nara backed away from the bars, and it was a good thing. Inky tendrils of void swam from each of Kheross’s fingers, and wherever they touched the bars, the crackling, blue energy simply ceased to exist. He swirled his hands in a counterclockwise motion, and a two-meter, circular gap appeared in the bars.

  She was free.

  “Goddess, no,” she murmured, hanging her head, but no longer able to deny the truth.

  Kheross raised the control rod, and the collar snapped open of its own accord, and clattered to the floor. “Shall I free your companions as well? What do you say, Krox? Do you want out of your cage?”

  “Please.” Kaho folded his arms, and eyed Kheross skeptically, as if not believing he’d follow through.

  Frit didn’t reply, though she did move to the back of the cell.

  Kheross walked to the second cell, and repeated his void ability until a similar opening was created. He smiled then, a wistful expression that seemed at home on his harsh features. “I’ve fulfilled my part of the deal. You’re free to work whatever mischief Talifax has put you up to. My part in all this is done.”

  The Wyrm turned and strode from the brig, disappearing up the ramp.

  Nara could only stare in horror at the gap in her cell, her mind going back to Talifax’s words. What would she do when the weight of her fate was inescapable? Every barrier had been removed, and now she could, if she wanted to, sneak to Voria’s quarters and kill her.

  Thanks to the dream Talifax had sent, she knew the route. She knew how to reach Voria without being detected, and knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she could kill her. But why? There seemed to be no reason, and she’d yet to feel any sort of compulsion forcing her in that direction.

  The pieces were all there, and she felt so close to putting them together.

  “Are you coming?” Frit asked as she leapt through the hole in the cell.

  Kaho gingerly crawled through the same hole, wincing when his tail was singed by one of the bars. “Oww. What do we do now, Nara? Is there a way for us to escape this ship?”

  That was the real question. What now?

  She stepped out of her cell, and furiously tried to think of a way to avoid the fate Talifax had planned for her. There had to be a way to foil his plans, and yet if there were, wouldn’t he have predicted it? He expected her to kill Voria, and seemed so damned certain it was going to happen.

  Why? Why was he so certain? For that to be the case, then killing her must make sense to Nara. There must be a reason why killing Voria was the only logical course.

  And then she finally understood. There was a reason. Theoretically the ritual could be performed on a soul. There was no need for a body. She remembered what Malila had told her. She could comply, without capitulation.

  “Frit, Kaho, I want the two of you to sneak into the coliseum where they’re gathering to perform the investiture. Here’s what we’re going to do…”

  41

  The End

  Voria reached her quarters an eternity later, and only in that moment wondered why she’d not thought to simply teleport there. She wasn’t thinking clearly, which Drakkon had warned her would be the cost of absorbing so much magic so quickly. Hopefully sleep would remedy that.

  “Thank the goddess.” The golden door to her quarters dissolved, and she entered her spacious chambers. They bordered on opulent, and
she didn’t mind admitting she enjoyed it much more than the Hunter’s spartan quarters.

  She deposited Ikadra in the air next to her nightstand, then sat and removed the ivory hair pick binding her hair. She combed her fingers through to remove the worst of the knots, then reached for her brush. Voria had many, many pressures each day. But this ritual was something she treated with the same sanctity she’d once reserved for Shaya.

  Brushing her hair calmed her, and prepared her for sleep. It was a guilty pleasure. Shayan nobility, particularly women, were known for excessive grooming, and so she’d always avoided it with a severe ponytail, or bun, and an austere military uniform.

  But in her quarters she could relax. She could, quite literally, let her hair down and be a simple woman for a few moments before bed. Voria hummed quietly to herself as she ran the onyx-handled brush through her hair, counting down the strokes from a hundred.

  Thoughts flitted across her consciousness, but she didn’t hold onto them. This too was part of the ritual, a sort of simple mindful meditation. Her breathing deepened, and by the time she’d reached her fiftieth stroke she was already ready for bed. She paused for a moment, and considered whether or not she wanted to finish the ritual.

  “Voria!” Ikadra’s sapphire pulsed, and she twisted in her chair.

  Time elongated as her gaze slowly rose. It took in the hoverbed, the scattered maps on the table, the heavy Shayan tapestries on the walls, and then finally reached the ceiling. A figure crouched there like a spider, and wore some sort of enhanced body suit that was too small to be spellarmor.

  The assassin already had a spellrifle trained on Voria. The barrel filled with void magic, a level three, more than sufficient for the kill. Voria had all the time in the world to watch the spell build, but none of the magic Shaya had given her, and nothing she’d gained from Drakkon made her the slightest bit faster. They couldn’t prevent her death.