A/N: I have returned with a chapter. Not my longest break, I suppose. Though some would disagree. Enjoy.
Chapter XI
Oversight
"We must fight while we still have the strength!"
~Admiral Urun, StarCraft II
The ends of Spyro's arms reshaped themselves into hands as Spyro let them fall, collapsing as much as the complex contraptions about his limbs would allow. The battle had been long but at last it was over. The Zerg were relentless, and the Protoss and Terran forces had only won at all through the timely intervention of a large Protoss force, led by a High Templar named Kharun. At the end, twenty-five Zealots, fourteen Stalkers, eighteen Marines, seven Firebats, one Spectre, and Kharun himself lay dead.
But they had won the day, and the base was secure. It was dusk now, and Spyro felt more tired than he had since the battle with Malefor himself. Zeratul and the surviving Protoss were even now giving their fallen brethren their funerals, as over a ways away Tosh led the remaining Terran in the operation of loading the dead into the Dropship that had recently come down for that purpose.
"So many dead…" Spyro whispered suddenly, almost unconsciously.
"But we won," said Cynder softly.
"This was only a skirmish, Cyn," he murmured, looking down at her tired face on the monitor. "What did we win here, really? We've still got to fight everything on the entire rest of the planet. How many more will die?" He didn't need to add the next question, so he left it unspoken. What if one of us is among them?
She looked away. "Lots of people die in war. That's how it is. Aiur has to be retaken."
"But at what cost?" he persisted. Then he shook himself. "Never mind. You're right. Aiur does have to be taken back. At any-" and then he stopped suddenly, thinking back to his visions on the Hyperion the day before. "At almost any cost," he finished lamely.
"You're sweet," she giggled, smiling at him.
The stood together in companionship on the hill they'd just fought to defend as the sun of Aiur slowly dipped over the horizon.
Hierarch Artanis glared at the holographic battle map. Things were not looking well on his front. Despite all the intelligence they had gathered in advance, they had underestimated the number of Spore Crawlers on the northern front.
And since Artanis' strategy depended on his air force, this was a serious problem.
Admiral, he called through the Khala to Urun. What do you suggest?
Urun was silent for a moment, and then he said, The Shield of Aiur must not be compromised. I might suggest a contingent of Void Rays to take out as many Spore Crawlers as possible, and then, just before they break, we will launch our Carriers to break them.
Artanis shook his head instantly. It is too double-edged, he replied. I will not endorse the deaths of so many of our brethren.
Death is a fact of war, Hierarch, grunted Urun. I sometimes forget how young you are.
Do not presume to suggest that I am unqualified, Admiral, said the Hierarch, his psionic mind blazing with righteous fury. I have led our race in many a campaign and won without flaws that you did not even see you own tactics possessed. One of these is the waste of lives rather than time. If you have nothing better to offer in counsel than death, then please say so that I may know better than to ask you in future!
There was a pause, an instant charged with energy, and then Urun yielded with, My apologies, my Lord Hierarch. I meant no disrespect. Then, seemingly unable to restrain himself from one last jibe, he added, By all means, if you think you can win this war without shedding Protoss blood, please do so. And before Artanis could rebuke him, he forcibly separated his mind from the Hierarch's.
Artanis clenched his fists, loosened them. Xel'Naga, this was irksome! As the youngest Protoss ever to have a high command – and that of Hierarch, no less – it was natural that he should receive some degradation in the eyes of his people; his maturity and skill were in question. Urun normally had no difficulties with him, though. He wondered if something was wrong with the Admiral – had something happened?
Yes, said Executor Selendis' voice over the Khala suddenly. I am afraid our Admiral is grievously wounded, my Lord.
Artanis started. What? Why have I not heard of this? Is he in danger?
No, for his pain is of a kind not of the body, said the High Executor, and Artanis thought he detected a hint of amusement behind the thought. I am afraid, my Hierarch, that the Admiral is suffering from a deadly blow to his pride.
Artanis blinked, amusement and some relief rolling through his mind in ways Selendis was sure to pick up. Do not frighten me so, he told her. The Admiral is a powerful ally and friend.
Yet it has amused you and improved your mood, has it not? asked Selendis with a mental chuckle. And I'm sure you will agree that an unhappy Hierarch means an unhappy army.
Perhaps, agreed Artanis grudgingly. Perhaps. I thank you, Selendis.
I have done naught but my duty to our species and to you, my Lord, she said. But I did not jest when I said Urun has taken a hurt to his pride.
Other than my rebuke, you mean? Artanis asked, his attention immediately focused. What, then?
Might I recall to your mind the report Prelate Zeratul made regarding the two mysterious Terrans in the Jorium armor upon the Hyperion? Selendis said.
You may, Artanis said in surprise, wondering where this was going.
One of them, as you will recall, was somehow able to access the Khala when the Hyperion jumped into our vicinity.
Artanis did indeed remember. It had been a surprise, to say the least. Urun had forced the Terran's mind down almost instantly – a credit to his skill. What of it?
The Terran says that he was only trying to nudge Urun's mind to receive new orders, Selendis said. But he exuded enough force to push Urun away from his position about his mind. And when the Admiral retaliated with anger, he fought him and forced his mind into submission. I was able to convince him to release the Admiral, and he told me he had not meant to use so much force. There was no lie in his mind. I believe him, and Zeratul trusts him, though I have no explanation for his abilities.
Artanis stared into space for a moment, thinking. He could not doubt that she spoke the truth. Now he had to decide what to make of it. To summarize, he said slowly, This mysterious armored Terran has psionic capabilities exceeding that of the Admiral himself?
It would appear so, said Selendis. And I think it would be in our best interests to open the Khala to him. I have him blocked now, by his consent.
Artanis blinked. That was a surprise. This Terran was dangerous.
But on the other hand, it was better to have a Zergling where you could see it.
Very well, Hierarch Artanis said. Open it to him. And see if you can find Zeratul's motivations for trusting him.
Yes, Hierarch, said Selendis, and bade him farewell. May your blades ever shine.
One moment! cried Artanis, a thought striking him. Is this Terran powerful in combat?
I believe so, my Lord, said Selendis. What of it?
Yes… muttered the Hierarch. Yes, open the Khala to him. I must speak with Zeratul personally. May your blades ever shine.
And yours, Selendis replied, and withdrew, recognizing the dismissal.
Artanis thought for a moment, and then stretched out his mind. It was always difficult to contact the Nerazim, especially at such long range, but this was important. His brain ached with the strain as he reached out his consciousness, stretching painfully…
It pulled taut and sent a jarring shock of pain through his body just as it hooked onto the Prelate's mind. Prelate Zeratul, he said as smoothly as he could, considering the pain he was in. Have you a moment?
I do, my Hierarch, said Zeratul. What do you require?
The mysterious Terran who can access the Khala, he began as the agony of reaching faded. Selendis tells me you trust him. Why might this be?
There was a moment of silence, and then Zeratul replied, I am sorry, my Lord, but these secrets are not fully open to me, and even if they were, they are not mine to unfold to any other. Spyro's tale is… interesting. And not a little worrying.
Spyro? Artanis asked. Is that the Terran's name?
Indeed, Zeratul answered. His compatriot's name is Cynder.
Good, said the Hierarch, thinking. Would you trust them beside you in battle?
I have already done so and not regretted it in the slightest, said the Prelate.
Then I may have something I require from you… and from them.
Spyro blinked suddenly as Selendis' cool feminine voice spoke in his mind. I have been given permission by the Hierarch to open the Khala to you. Welcome, Terran. And with that her mind withdrew entirely from his.
At once, he was again assailed by thoughts, words, and emotions from every Khalai in the Protoss armada. He quickly shut himself in for the moment so that he could only hear a trickle of psionic energy coming through the link, vowing to himself that he would more thoroughly peruse it and his newfound capabilities when he wasn't doing something else. Tonight perhaps – no, tonight he'd be asleep like a rock before he could say so much as 'good night' to Cynder. Tomorrow night, then… possibly.
"Spyro," said Cynder concernedly, "Is everything all right?"
"I'm fine, Cyn," he told her. The a slow grin spread over his features as he realized what had just happened. "More than fine, actually! I just got let into the Khala! The Hierarch said I was allowed in!"
"Wait, what?" Cynder blinked. "What are you talking about?"
Oh, Ancestors. He'd totally forgotten to tell her about his adventures in the Khala. He'd even forgotten to tell her how he'd first gotten in on the Hyperion – well, not how; he didn't know that himself – but that he'd gotten in on the Hyperion. "Er… I guess I forgot to mention it, what with everything else going on," he muttered, looking away from her. "Well, it's kind of a long story."
"I don't have much right now except time," Cynder said with a grin.
So he told her everything. She nodded, looked surprised, and asked questions – most of which he didn't know the answers to himself – in all the right places.
"So you connected to the Khala on the Hyperion," she summarized, "And you don't know how. Then you accidentally knocked Urun flat in a mind-battle in the Khala, and you don't know how. Then Selendis stepped in, separated you, and somehow got the Hierarch's permission to let you into the Khala. And you don't know why."
"Pretty much, yeah," he said sheepishly. "There might be a little too much stuff I don't know about this."
"Oh, I don't know," said Cynder. "You've done worse."
"What? When?" asked Spyro, slightly affronted.
"Well, when you traveled with me for about four years without ever even realizing I loved you, for starts," Cynder smiled at him.
"Hey," he said, with a joking look of indignation. "Three years spent in a crystal does not count as travel time spent together."
"Meh," said Cynder, rolling her eyes. "If you really wanted to, I'm sure you could have found a way to confess while frozen. You're determined like that. That would have been better than confessing on a metal floor and getting us stuck in MageWalkers just a few minutes later."
Spyro winced and averted his eyes. In all the excitement, he had totally forgotten who it was who had gotten them stuck in this armor. He'd been stupid enough to think that he could trust Tosh, and look where it had landed them.
"Spyro?" Cynder asked, worriedly. "What is it?"
"I… I'm sorry, Cynder," he whispered. His eyes were filled with tears of shame and he swiped at them with a wing impatiently. "It's my fault. It's all my fault."
"Oh, Spyro," she crooned softly. "I was kidding. I don't blame you for this. It's not your fault. How could you know Tosh had something like that in store?"
"I should have been more on guard," he muttered. "I should have been ready for something!"
"Spyro…" she whispered, and then stopped, as though considering. "Spyro, I don't blame you for anything," she said. "And anyway, I'm glad what happened did."
"What?" he said, startled, looking into her eyes. They held his gaze – they were like emeralds, but to him infinitely more beautiful and valuable.
"I'm glad we're here," she said simply. "Aren't you?"
He stared at her for a moment. And then he slowly gave a slight smile. "I suppose I am," he murmured. "I suppose I am."
A/N: It wasn't that long. Really. Unfortunately, the reasons are far from compelling.
You see, I discovered Red vs. Blue. That is, undeniably, one of the worst time-sucks ever. I got through Season 9, though, so it can't steal my time until Memorial Day when Season 10 comes out. Therefore, I shall write. If I can.
Please review! Thanks!
