A/N: This is a long chapter. I have decided that it won't be alone. That's right, readers – after long and hard thinking, I've decided to lengthen my chapters from a minimum of one thousand words to a somewhat more tentative minimum of two thousand. This is the first chapter in that new trend. Twenty-three hundred words of MWA for your reading pleasure, coming right up!


Chapter IV

Machinations and Motivations

"Men never do evil so completely or cheerfully as when they do it from religious conviction."
-Blaise Pascal


Spyro's eyes widened. It was the Khala he'd been delving into, then. He activated his arm array and raised his hand.

"That'd be me, I think," he told the Prelate after activating his armor's speakers.

Zeratul looked at him, and his glowing eyes narrowed. Who are you, then, Terran? And how are you connecting to the Khala?

Spyro shrugged, and the MageWalker followed suit. "I don't know," he answered flatly. As soon as we came out of warp, I felt it. I don't know how I'm in it."

Zeratul looked at him thoughtfully. Strange… he murmured. I cannot feel your mind. What manner of metal is that armor made of?

It was Tosh who replied. "An alloy of jorium and tritanium, as it happens."

Zeratul whipped about to face him, eyes blazing, his severed, braided nerve cords flying about. Then it is designed to keep me from probing the mind of the one contained within! he raged furiously. What secrets are you keeping, Terran?

Tosh merely bared his teeth in an almost crazed grin and did not reply. Raynor stepped between them. "Okay, knock it off, you two," he snapped firmly. "Zeratul, I don't know a thing either. All I know is that these two are people that for some reason Tosh trapped in armor. I know he had a reason – a good one – for doing that. I don't know what it was, but he and I've been through a lot. I'll trust him."

Zeratul's eyes had snapped onto him as he spoke. Have you forgotten what happened the last time someone was trapped in the armor of your species? he asked coldly. Have you forgotten that the man you had once called friend nearly doomed the universe?

Tosh had mentioned this. Aparrently, a man by the name of Tychus Findlay had been released from prison and trapped in armor, as they had, by Arcturus Mengsk, Emperor of the Terran Dominion. He'd been killed by Raynor when he tried to murder Kerrigan after an object left by a precursor race, the Xel'Naga Artifact had removed her infestation. This, quite apart from destroying the woman Raynor had fought armies to save, would have (according to a prophecy Zeratul had seen) caused the end of the universe. Kerrigan was apparently the key to saving the world from a strange threat.

Spyro shook himself of his thoughts, for Jim was replying. "I haven't forgotten, Zeratul," he said dangerously, his eyes glittering. "But I have reasons to trust Tosh. So I will. If you don't like it, we can leave you to take back Aiur on your own. I'd rather help you, but if you insult my allies again, we're through with this mission."

The eyes of the two heroes met and clashed. There was an agonizing pause, during which Spyro was acutely aware of the massive warships just outside the window. Then Zeratul nodded sharply.

Very well, old friend. For you, he said. Then, turning to Tosh, he said flatly, I am watching you, Terran. He turned back to Raynor. The plan is this. We will dispatch a willing group of troops – largely Zealots, with Stalker support – to the site of the battle where I reached the Overmind's cortex some weeks ago. They will draw the Zerg forces. Then our main force, led by Artanis and Urun, will charge from the north. Selendis and Mohandar will lead an aerial assault from the west, and I will bring the Nerazim and any Spectres you will lend to my command from the south once the battle has begun. We wish for your troops to charge in conjunction with those of Artanis and Urun, from the east. Are you willing to assay this?

Raynor thought for a moment, but when he spoke, it wasn't to Zeratul. "Adjutant, give me a tactical map of the layout of the area."

One such map (or so Spyro assumed; he couldn't read it) appeared on the screen. There were simulated Zerg battling a small Protoss force in a valley at the center, with the monsters' artillery batteries all around. "That has to be our priority," he said slowly. "Those Spore Cannon will destroy Selendis and Mohandar's forces. And you can't infiltrate them cloaked; they're detectors."

Zeratul walked over and stood beside him, watching the map as well. Of course, he said, giving the impression that he was berating himself for not seeing such a flaw in their tactics. But a frontal attack cannot succeed without heavy losses. What do you suggest?

"Perhaps three specialists could succeed where an army of them would fail," Tosh said, his eyes glittering with a strange, almost-malicious light.

Zeratul turned to him. Whom do you suggest, Spectre?

"Who else?" Tosh's teeth were bared in a frighteningly feral grin that made Spyro shudder slightly. "Your reputation precedes you as a master of espionage, Prelate. And I am not inexperienced in that area myself."

I see. And who else would you recommend? the Protoss asked.

Tosh answered by turning towards Cynder, who was startled. "Cynder, you have a Nyx-class cloaking module on your armor. It'll allow your stealth the rival mine or Zeratul's. Will you join us on this mission?"

As one both Dragons turned to the private channel. "I don't like this, Cynder. It sounds dangerous."

"Yes…" she murmured, "But the Nyx-Class module is the best, Tosh said. I can manage. I'll be fine."

"But…"

"Spyro," she said, "It's Aiur."

How had she known exactly what button to push? How could Spyro argue with that? It was Aiur. The Protoss Homeworld.

"Fine…" he muttered, and felt a terrible weight of guilt on his mind as he said it. Why did he feel as though he was betraying her?

Cynder's face grinned at him on the console before him as they both switched back to the open channel.

"All right," said Cynder. "I'll come."

Spyro's heart ached in his chest, but the decision was made now. Still he felt terribly conflicted. On the one hand, this was Cynder, gambling her life for this world he'd never seen before. On the other, that world was Aiur.

Why did that seem to make all the difference? What was happening to him? Did Aiur really mean more to him than Cynder?

He cut himself off from the channel and shut down the console that allowed him to see Cynder's face. Silence filled the cockpit of his little machine. He looked about himself, thinking. Offhand, perhaps to distract himself from his other thoughts, he wondered how long he would have to live in this pod of metal.

Then a new thought occurred to him. How was he going to eat? Come to that, why was he not hungry yet?

Then he noticed that the mechanical apparatus connected to his chest were attached to Life Gems in the back of the cockpit. Of course; Tosh would use the Dragon's ultimate substitute for food. A tiny amount provided enough energy and nutrition for a day; assuming you weren't attacked and wounded. He wondered for a moment how Tosh had gotten his hands on one, then dismissed the thought. They're probably as common here as they were back home, he told himself.

Still all his attempts to divert himself came to nothing. His thoughts quickly returned to the reason he'd withdrawn.

Did Aiur mean more than Cynder?

He examined his feelings. Cynder… he loved her, there could be no question of that. He would die for her; indeed, he almost had, in convexity, all those months – or rather years – ago. But would he not die for anyone who needed his protection? He would, so how did that make Cynder special.

He smiled softly in the dimly-lit cockpit. He would die for any life that needed it, but for her, he'd go further.

He lived for her.

But Aiur… What was this strange feeling, this unbendable longing for that place? It was as though he felt more Protoss every minute; more like the race that lived and died for their lost home.

Was he suddenly the same? Did he, too, live only for that world?

Suddenly he imagined himself living on Aiur, in a house of golden metal, in the luxury of the Templar caste. He had fought long and hard in the war for Koprulu and had been instrumental in the Homeworld's liberation. But in the war, while they fought together, Cynder had died. Swallowed and destroyed by the Swarm, never to rise again.

And then he had another vision. Himself and Cynder, no longer in armor, but in their own biological Dragon-bodies, standing side by side on the Hyperion's bridge, watching a planet with oceans like sapphires and forests like emeralds – a world he somehow knew was Aiur – being consumed by fire and explosions until it eventually shattered, sending debris flying in every direction through the void. He felt himself crying in this vision, but there was Cynder, her head nuzzling his own, her tail wrapped around his, and her crimson wing draped over his back.

All of this had come to his mind in a flash, yet in that instant, he knew. The second image was best.

"Cynder…" he whispered, and wished that none of this had happened. He wished he was back home, out of this armor, with her, frolicking through the grasses of Avalar once again as they had once. How long ago had that been? Mere days had passed, yet it felt at once like a lifetime and only minutes ago.

He shook himself from his thoughts. Crying for what he did not have was no use. Cynder was here, alive, and so was he. For now, that was enough. It had to be. He couldn't decide what time fate gave to him. All he could decide was what to do with the time he did have.

He turned back to the open channel and turned on the visual of Cynder. At once, Zeratul's voice filled his mind, not bothering to pass through his ears. …Urun cannot completely suppress his link to the Khala, and my nerve cords are not so destroyed that I cannot feel emotions through it; only thoughts are hidden from me. His emotions are in turmoil, and were just so strong that I believe every Khalai in the fleet must have felt them.

"Well he's back in the open channel. You can ask…" began Raynor, but Cynder interrupted.

"Are you all right, Spyro?" She asked, and her digital face looked at him, worried. "Zeratul started going on about how your emotions were going crazy."

"I'm fine, Cynder," he said, and was about to say that he really didn't want her to go down to Aiur when he stopped himself. It was true that he didn't want Cynder to go, but it was her decision. So all he said was, "I want to talk to you later."

"All right," she said, and her image nodded, still looking worried. "Are you sure…"

"Positive," said Spyro firmly, smiling at her. She smiled back in relief.

Suddenly Zeratul's voice spoke in his mind. I beg to differ. I speak now only to you. There were strong emotions of the fear of loss in your mind mere moments ago, and they are still quite present. What is it? Think your answer directly to me; the jorium will allow that through.

Spyro felt somewhat flattered that this great warrior of the Firstborn seemed so worried about him, so he answered honestly. I'm afraid, yes. Afraid to lose Cynder. I promise I will tell you about our past one day – when I can – if you just keep her safe. Please.

Zeratul seemed momentarily surprised. Your mind is strong, unlike that of most Terrans. I am quite interested to hear your past. This Cynder means so much to you?

More, thought Spyro simply.

Then I swear that she will live if I do, Zeratul promised. More than that, I cannot promise. I will protect her with my life, as I would any worthy comrade.

Spyro was suddenly reminded of his own thoughts of how he would die for anyone who needed and deserved it. He suddenly felt a kinship with Zeratul, beyond the strange link he felt with all the Protoss.

Thank you, he mind-said simply, trying to project as much gratitude as possible through to Zeratul. And he thought he somehow felt Zeratul receive it.

All of this conversation had taken place with other discussion going on. Indeed, Zeratul seemed to have been talking normally with the two Terrans the whole time. Spyro was impressed – the Protoss hero seemed so skilled at his psionics that he could hold two separate conversations at once without showing any sign of strain. Spyro wondered where his limit was.

"All right, then," said Jim. "So here's the plan." Spyro immediately focused on him as he continued. "We'll send in a Special Ops Dropship with a detail of cloaked Wraiths and Banshees. The ship'll contain the three of you – Tosh, Zeratul, and Cynder. It'll drop you off to the south. Your Blinking abilities will allow you to hop along the cliffs and take the enemies out from above, while Cynder and Tosh take out anything not under detection. You'll need a ranged weapon, though –"

Zeratul nodded. I am trained in the use of the Judicator Caste's wrist-pistols. I will borrow one from one of our tacticians.

"Good," said Raynor. "Are they powerful?"

Powerful enough for this, said the Dark Templar.

"All right, then," said Jim. "You know what to do. Tell Artanis, and we'll meet again in the Aiur system, in the magnetic asteroid field so they don't detect us."

Very well, said Zeratul, and seemed suddenly unable to hold the next thing he said back. I thank you. At last, we will reclaim Aiur. At last, we will have revenge! Then, in another prismic flash, he was gone.


A/N: There you go. Longer, right? And there's a battle coming up. It'll probably start in the next couple chapters. Everything's downhill from there. And remember, reviews are imagination food!