Nefarius

by Chris Fox

  “Drakkon is the finest swordsman this world has ever known,” Aran pointed out. “Though I hear Virkonna makes him look like…well, like you, maybe.”

  He walked calmly over to the Wyrm, and stood before his massive jaws. Aurelius huffed an enraged breath, but that was the extent of the resistance he was capable of offering. “You might be able to take me in a duel, but I think it’s a lot more likely I’d kill you instantly, and the last dragonflight would be deprived of one of its strongest warriors. And that would be a real shame.”

  Aran lifted his hand, and the Wyrm rose into the air. Aran made a flinging gesture, and Aurelius was flung several kilometers away, still unable to control his body. He crashed down, quite painfully Aran hoped, just outside the lava field. Only then did Aran release him. He didn’t know if that disqualified Aurelius, but he had to imagine that it did.

  Aurelius struggled to his feet, and leapt back into the air with an angry flap of his wings. He did not approach the battlefield.

  That meant it came down to him and Olyssa. He turned to find her standing in a guard position, a slender spellblade clutched in one hand. Her stance said she was a master, but then, so was he.

  When he beat her, and Aran was almost positive he could take her in a straight fight, he would be named guardian. Virkonna would ram a piece of her magic down his gullet, and own another piece of his soul in the process.

  Aran sheathed Narlifex. He gave Olyssa a respectful bow, and then kicked off the blue rock. He let her stand there, and hovered in the air by himself.

  “You win.” He rested a hand on Narlifex, and hoped the blade understood. That was twice he’d denied it a good fight, in one day. “Congratulations.”

  Olyssa’s sword tip never wavered, but she watched him curiously through those slitted eyes. “Why? I do not understand. After seeing what you did to Aurelius you cannot possibly fear me.”

  Aran laughed at that, then shook his head sadly. “You’re right. I don’t fear you. Or any Wyrm on this rock. There is a dragon I’m afraid of though, one that we should be out fighting instead of here playing games. Virkonna needs a guardian, then fine, let that be you. But here’s my ask, Olyssa. You know I could have taken you today. You know that an Outrider had your fate in his hands, and chose to allow you to live, and to claim a position of immense power.”

  “Say no more.” Olyssa gave a tight, inhuman nod. She sheathed her blade, and gave Aran a bow. “If Virkonna picks me I will ensure that your kind are given more of a voice. Of that I can assure you.”

  “I do not choose you,” Virkonna thundered, literally. Her voice drowned out all other sound, and Aran’s ears rang as the echoes faded away. The goddess glided to a landing next to Aran, but her angry glare had settled on Olyssa. “You are weak. And passive. You seek nothing further than to prevent the erosion of your power. The idea that you could claim more power or territory would never occur to you. You are no predator. You are prey. Begone from my sight.”

  Virkonna waved a hand, and Olyssa’s body was carried away by a tremendous wind. She went spinning away from the arena Virkonna had constructed, out of Aran’s sight. He tensed, and waited for Virkonna to turn toward him.

  Her eyes were barely contained storms, the power of it crackling all around them. But being this close to her he sensed something completely unexpected. The greater part of her power was contained elsewhere somehow. This human representation of her was…vulnerable. She was weak right now, not much more than a mortal. Not much more than him.

  Aran stowed that thought, and hoped she couldn’t read his mind. Idly imagining killing a god was a great way to die or start a war.

  “You declined my guardianship,” Virkonna said, her voice painful, but bearable. “Why enter a contest, one you are clearly quite capable of winning, if you never intended to claim the prize?”

  “I intended to win it initially,” Aran explained. May as well give her the truth. “I changed my mind when your top Wyrms started plummeting to their deaths. Our sector is engulfed in war. This is the last dragonflight for a reason, and the very last thing you need to do is further weaken it. Yet you were more than willing to allow your strongest Wyrms to kill each other. If that’s the kind of leader you’re going to be, then I don’t want to work for you.”

  He gave her a level stare, and waited for her response.

  43

  Warrior Gods

  Aran had no idea how Virkonna would respond to a blunt subordinate, but realized he didn’t really care. One of the biggest advantages in being a cat’s paw of the gods was that the gods needed you. Thus, they were reluctant to suddenly obliterate you for being rude. So he hoped anyway.

  Virkonna’s expression tightened in what he guessed was probably anger, though he couldn’t say for sure. Aran forced himself to meet that tumultuous gaze, knowing that looking away would be taken as a sign of weakness. He’d already seen what Virkonna thought of weakness.

  “Your perspective is limited by your mortal nature, as mine was when I made a very similar utterance to my mother,” Virkonna finally said, her voice thundering down to the waiting crowds, dragon and human both. “Striving for mastery, for greatness, is necessary in a guardian. I must select one who is powerful and bold, but also compassionate enough to counsel me to caution when my followers are in danger. I do not have the luxury of caring for each tiny human or hatchling. I must chart a course through history amidst the titanic forces of the gods.”

  “If you’re expecting me to give you a pass,” Aran boomed, using a bit of air to amplify his own voice, “then you are sadly mistaken. The simple act of waking you wiped out cities across this continent. My people suffered, in great numbers. You expect loyalty from humans, and admit you need them and their worship to win the war against Talifax, Nefarius, and Krox, and anyone else who tries to trample this sector under foot. But what happens when you’re the one doing the trampling? I won’t be a party to that. I don’t care what kind of power you’re offering. I’ve got plenty of power.”

  “Not like this.” Her eyes narrowed. “I do not enjoy your tone. It’s been countless millennia since even my brother spoke to me that way.”

  “Seems like you could use more of that, not less.”

  Virkonna closed her eyes for a moment, and sighed. She opened them. “Do not erode the ground you’ve already conquered. I admit I need a strong voice that will teach me to see as a mortal sees. I must understand them if I am to win their hearts, and win them I must if we are to prevent my sister from rising once more. You’ve no idea how terrifying Nefarius can be. If she rises there will be no stopping her. Not enough warrior gods remain. We’re down to sniveling cowards like Neith, and artificers like Inura. I cannot best Nefarius alone, but you? You would be a potent addition to my arsenal. Particularly given the gifts Xal has already imparted.”

  Aran opened his mouth to remind Virkonna that he hadn’t agreed to anything, but it didn’t matter. Lightning shot from her eyes and into his, her power exploding through his body, invading it. Remaking it.

  Something—her consciousness, he realized—entered his mind and began sifting through his experiences like the pages of a book. It wasn’t painful, but the intrusion enraged Aran in a way he couldn’t articulate. There was just something unclean about another being entering your most private thoughts without so much as a ‘by your leave.’

  Aran gritted his teeth, and drew upon the enormous power Xal had given him. What he did next was instinctual, and he wasn’t certain he could duplicate the feat. Aran poured the magic into his own mind, somehow strengthening his defenses. A dense magical shell formed around his mind, and Virkonna’s consciousness was flung violently away.

  Whatever changes she was enacting on his body continued, some sort of infusion of air, a far greater quantity than she’d imparted before. This much was akin to the void Xal had given, a significant, divine quantity.

  “I may come to regret this,” Virkonna thundered. Air continued to play through Aran, but somehow he forced h
is gaze up and met hers. “You are powerful. More so than expected. But that is a good thing. Take the power I offer, and use it to help me strike down Talifax before my sister is resurrected.”

  One final pulse of air magic surged into Aran, bringing with it tremendous euphoria that was in no way congruent to his current circumstances. He felt like giggling, when a moment ago he’d wanted to draw his weapon.

  The result of drinking such power, Narlifex growled. It will pass, but we will need to find a place to rest, to absorb the power fully.

  “I won’t be your puppet,” Aran managed through gritted teeth as the magics finally abated. “I’ll help you fight, but I am not a pet. Not a dog you can order to attack.”

  Virkonna cocked her head, and stared hard at him. “There you are mistaken. If I order you to kill, you will kill. But neither will I expect blind obedience.” Her wings drooped. “I have given much of myself, and I must rest. Return to your vessel, and await my summons. When I awake, I will call the flight and we will make war on our enemies.”

  Virkonna vanished, and left Aran the center of a whole lot of unwanted attention. He ignored everyone, and flew toward the Talon. He badly needed sleep. When he woke up he could figure out what Virkonna had done to him, and what the hidden cost would be.

  She’d given him power, without a doubt. But if she thought she was going to control him she’d soon find out giving him this strength was a mistake.

  44

  Committed Now

  Frit had experienced translocation when Voria had brought the Spellship to Marid, but she’d been in the library when it happened. Beyond a sinking in the pit of her stomach, which quickly faded, she felt nothing.

  This time, though, her entire surroundings changed. Her quarters vanished, and abruptly she hovered in the sky over the world Nebiat had shown her in the vision. It was somehow more beautiful in person, the rocky world glittering below her.

  “If you were a human, like Nara,” Nebiat’s shade said as she winked into existence near her, “then you’d already be dead. The vacuum would have shredded your fragile body.”

  The move lacked Nebiat’s characteristic subtlety, but in this instance Frit supposed it wasn’t needed. The reminder that she wasn’t any more human, or Shayan, than Nebiat hit home. She looked like them, because they had literally shaped her that way. But she wasn’t like them.

  “If I were Krox, like you,” Frit replied, evenly, with no animosity, “then I’d have lured you into a trap, and killed you. The research seemed pretty clear. If you manifest as a shade you are incredibly vulnerable. Certainly vulnerable enough that Nara, myself, and Voria together could have overcome you.”

  “Then it is fortunate for me that you are not Krox.” The shade smiled, and gestured at the sky above and behind Frit. “It is precisely that difference that I hope will allow you to free me from that.”

  Frit pivoted and stared up at the sky. A human observer would have said there were two suns, and in a way they were right. Both celestial bodies contained the properties of a star, but one of them was a god. She could perceive many spectrums humans could not, and the god’s brilliance was pleasant, not blinding.

  Krox looked much as he had on the footage she’d seen of him invading Shaya, four arms extending from a cosmic torso, full of stars and other celestial bodies. Two of those arms cradled the spear he’d wrested from the great tree. Worldender, its black length utterly alien, and hostile in some way.

  The god hovered there, unmoving. Uncaring. Its existence terrified her, and she knew with absolutely certainty that it hated her. It wanted to consume her. The being inspired the very last emotion she’d expected. Sympathy.

  “We will find a way to free you,” Frit promised, staring up at the god. “That thing is terrible, and I can’t imagine being trapped inside. Back on the Spellship you asked me what things would have been like if Krox rose without you to control him.” She faced Nebiat’s shade, and wished she could comfort her, as she’d comforted Frit back on Shaya all those months ago. “I don’t need flame reading to answer that. The world below would not exist. And soon, no world would exist.”

  Nebiat nodded earnestly. “You understand then. I am this generation’s terrible tyrant. Everyone thinks me evil. They do not know what I have sacrificed, or why. I have salvaged what I can from a bad situation, but I am also painfully aware that I am moving inexorably toward oblivion. That thing will consume me, in a decade, or a century. You know what happens then.”

  Frit shivered at that, though not from the chill of the void. “Then let’s make sure it doesn’t happen. Give me this investiture, and I’ll return to the Spellship to find a cure. There must be an answer.” She paused then, but decided that the secret was worth revealing. “One of the things I’ve never told you about is a place Nara knows of. She’s spoken of it often, though obscurely. She returned from the Umbral Depths changed. She’d been touched by a goddess, and in a deliberate way. That makes me wonder if this goddess isn’t some mouldering Catalyst, but rather very much alive.”

  Nebiat’s expression tightened, and her eyes took on a very interested cast. “Go on.”

  “I think there’s a world in the darkness,” Frit explained. “I think this god or goddess runs a library or repository of knowledge of some sort. I’ve tried to puzzle out who or what they might be, but haven’t come up with anything concrete. It’s the place where they found the Talon, and learned about the Spellship.”

  “And you believe that this god might know of a way to free me.” Nebiat gave a slow smile. “I knew you were the right choice. Come, taste of divinity.”

  The shade vanished. Frit spun around slowly, but there was no sign of Nebiat. She was just beginning to wonder what was going on when light pulsed from the star. That light didn’t behave as other quanta might. It shone only on her, the favor of a divine being so old it remembered the birth of the stars in this galaxy.

  The magic that was washed over her was hot and soothing. Pure flame, an ocean of pure flame, swam around her. It found her nose, and her mouth, eyes, and ears. The magic flooded into her body, pouring in through any avenue it could find. Power exploded through every part of her body, more than any mortal could home to contain.

  That power brought more than raw magical strength. Understanding filled her mind, ripping away veils she hadn’t even known existed. All the theoretical texts she’d read about flame reading and godsight, like Voria used, were suddenly practical.

  Possibilities rippled out in all directions, some more probable than others. The further they stretched the more fragile they became, until they disappeared into a mass of indistinct possibilities at the edge of her vision. There was so much, but somehow she was able to comprehend it all.

  “I have increased your cognitive ability,” Nebiat explained, the shade giving Frit a triumphant smile. “I have also unlocked godsight, which will enable you to counter our enemies. If you wish, you may translocate back to the Spellship, or you may linger here and visit the temple your sisters have erected.”

  Frit peered longingly down at the world. She very nearly translocated down to the surface. It would be wonderful to catch up with her sisters, to hear them laugh and to hug them. But it would be short-lived. They’d soon realize she’d been elevated above them, and the jealousy would begin. The politics. She just didn’t have the strength for it yet.

  Soon, she’d return home and try to lead these people. For now, though, she owed Nebiat. She’d find a way to free her, if that way could be found.

  45

  Underestimated

  What have you done? Krox’s voice thundered through Nebiat’s mind, and while she no longer felt pain in the same way, it was still uncomfortable.

  She smiled down at Frit, watching as her creation began to experiment with the enormous amount of fire magic Nebiat had invested in her. Oceans of the stuff. Likely far more than had ever been given to a guardian before.

  Fully a third of our fire now resides in that creature. If her spec
ies were not uniquely suited to interface with that magic, she would have been obliterated by that much power.

  Nebiat’s shade gave a delighted laugh. She stared up at Krox, or rather at what she had made from him. The god would prefer to be an amorphous star, which seemed such an unimaginative waste.

  Every primitive society, in every sentient species, worships the sun, Krox rumbled, his irritation undiminished. Your thoughts are so…chaotic. Why would you do this? I cannot see your rationale. You are hiding much from me, it seems.

  Hope swelled in Nebiat. She’d been learning to hold her own in this eternal game of tug of war, something she very much sensed Krox would prefer she not know.

  Your perspective is the literal opposite of a mortal, Nebiat explained. All mortal species, at least those I have encountered, are tribal in nature. We work together. This is as true for my species as it is for weak species like humanity. Mortals understand intrinsically that we are greater than the sum of our parts.

  Krox’s irritation deepened into true anger, the first time Nebiat had truly witnessed it. The god swelled, immense strength surging. But surging impotently. Krox could do nothing, thanks to Teodros’s binding. You do not possess even a wisp of understanding of what you have done. You have not created a servant, which even I understand the need for. Servants can greatly extend our influence. You have created a rival. This godling is far weaker than us, but make no mistake, she is a god in her own right. She possesses so much strength that she could make her own guardian. Why? What benefit does imbuing her with so much strength provide you?

  The outburst stoked Nebiat’s hope into certainty. Krox was afraid. Not of her, but of what she might do. I will keep my thoughts to myself on this matter, but since I know that you will not leave me in peace otherwise, I suppose you are owed an explanation. Frit is now powerful enough that Voria will be forced to treat her as an equal. Voria believes that I think the same way you do. The idea that I could give so much power to a being who isn’t explicitly loyal to me will be inconceivable. This will create the possibility I need to exist. Surely even gods understand the concept of misdirection.