Stargazer

by Keltoi

"Every end crawls from the same pit, rising from the schism to swallow matter, Light and life. It cannot be stopped, but here, it can be slowed."

46. Chapter 46: Homecoming

Chapter 46: Homecoming

Lifaen and Narí had left for Sílthrim to fetch the steeds. Everyone else remained in the forest, either too tired or too nervous to move. Formora was of the latter. Unlike Arya, Celdin, and the Eliksni, it was not another Ahamkara attack she worried over. It was Ikharos.

He was still at the same tree as the night prior, crouched down to sketch something in the dark forest soil with the tip of his knife. He had grown eerily silent, save for the occasional scratch-scratch of metal on stone. The pebbles never stood a chance. His knife carved out an ever-growing grid of squares. Ikharos began with an eight-by-eight, and evidently found it dissatisfactory. It soon became a ten-by-ten, and then a twelve-by-twelve.

"How far does it go?" Formora inquired softly.

Ikharos paused, now on eighteen-by-eighteen. "This will never end," he muttered, and desisted in his efforts entirely.

"What is it?"

"A game. Like a chessboard." He perked up. "Exactly! A chessboard." He started stabbing alien symbols into the middle of the squares. Not all were marked. The unfamiliar runes crowded two opposite ends. An empty field was left in the centre. "The king was here, surrounded by pawns." Ikharos pointed to one side, where the soil was noticeably darker. Formora imagined that was intentional. "He was opposed by an army of rooks, bishops, and knights."

"I know this game." She sat down beside him. "But both sides have kings."

"No. Not this game. This one's different. The stakes are higher." He moved his knife to the centre. "The king moved here. He sacrificed his pawns to reach this place. It was a risk. And it didn't pay off."

"The king was taken out of the game?"

"Yes. All of this," he gestured to the lighter side, "moved to engage. And the King was killed as a result of his bold ploy."

It was metaphorical. Or so she presumed. "Which piece defeated him?"

"Bishop."

"Ah. And the game has finished?"

"No. The rules of chess are erroneous. The king isn't the leader. He's a farce. The queen is the true danger." He pointed back to the dark side of the grid. "And there's two queens."

"What of this side? It has no king, but what of a queen?"

"There's one. Cloaked in a shrinking crowd of pawns. Her power is falling away. Her influence is dying."

Formora didn't understand. Ikharos was speaking of meaningful things, but his words were born of knowledge gleaned from beyond the stars. Knowledge she did not possess. So she steered the conversation back to a topic she could claim some measure of mastery over: the present. "How are you feeling?"

"Dazed. All the insecurities I thought dealt with have been pulled out onto the forefront of my mind. I'm trying to wrestle them back into their cells, but they've caught a whiff of freedom."

"You never struck me as being insecure. You are..."

"Proud?"

"Tactical. Beyond the compromise of practicality."

He mulled it over. "... I'll accept that. But these concerns are linked to questions to which there is no definitive answer."

"Such as?"

"Am I alive? Or am I alive?"

"That's... the same-"

"Or am I a corpse with a couple more miles to walk?"

That she knew how to answer. She lightly grasped his hand and brushed her palm over his wrist. "Your blood flows." She relocated her hand to his chest. The cloth and metal was cold to the touch, but there was an undeniable warmth just beneath. "Your heart beats. And your lungs draw breath. That is life. Not death."

"Fikrul would disagree," Ikharos quietly complained.

"Who?" She pulled her arm back and sent him a puzzled look. The name sounded vaguely familiar - he must have mentioned it before.

"Nevermind. Let's humour the idea that I'm not a grave-born phantom. That leaves two options: either I'm a thief, or I'm a terrible person."

"... You don't sound very concerned about this."

"That's mere pretense. A lie I'm trying to convince myself of, as useless as that endeavour may be. But if it creates the illusion of cool-headedness, I'll take it."

"As I said, tactical." She paused. "Why would you be a thief?"

"Because I've stolen someone's body. Their identity. That I'm not the original human Ikharos. That my Light grew into this husk like a post-mortem parasitoid."

"That's not you," Formora firmly told him. "Your life is defined by magic, but you are just as alive without it."

"The last option, then. That I've forgotten everything that happened. Everything that made my first life worth living. How could I be anything but terrible? Was there truly nothing worthwhile to hold onto? No one?"

She had no answer to that. Formora countered it with another question. "What does Xiān say?"

"To be as I am, nothing more."

"Then she is giving you sound advice. I don't care about the first Ikharos. It is you, the man here and now, that matters."

"Thanks?" He said with some hesitation. "How, uh, often does Dagshelgr occur?"

"Once a year."

"So it won't happen for the duration of our stay?"

"That depends on how long we stay."

"Not long," Ikharos said quickly. Formora felt oddly disappointed to hear it. Their talk was cut short when Narí and Lifaen returned astride brilliant white stallions, leading six other steeds behind them. None wore harnesses or saddles, leaving their resplendent coats undiminished. The animals were just as she remembered them.

"Elf-horses," she told Ikharos, anticipating the question. "We breed them to be beautiful, noble, and intelligent."

The Risen stood. She mirrored him. "They're impressive. Good stock."

"You are experienced with horses?"

Ikharos smiled. "No. But you and I both know those animals are something special. Just look at them. Your people don't do things by halves."

They approached. Narí, with a smile, dismounted and led a beast over to Ikharos. "This is Ifeldraneir. He will carry you, Shadeslayer."

Ikharos didn't hesitate; he stepped forward and gently placed a hand against the stallion's neck. "Ifeldraneir," he repeated. The animal blew air against his face. "Hello."

His fingers traced down to the animal's shoulders. It did not shy away from his touch.

"And for you, Zeshus," Narí indicated a second. "Erdhir."

"Thank you." She approached the horse slowly. "Kvetha Erdhir. Eka eddyr aí fricai."

Erdhir snorted and accepted her presence without complaint.

"They listen to commands in the ancient language," Narí explained. "They bear you only so long as they consent to; it is a great privilege to ride one. Shall I tell you the words you will need?"

"I think we're alright," Ikharos replied. "I have a basic grasp of the ancient language. This shouldn't be a problem."

"If there is anything you need, Shadeslayer, merely ask it of us."

"I appreciate the offer."

Narí walked away. Ikharos leaned over and whispered, in a conspiratorial tone, "How does one ride a horse?"

Formora froze. She spared him a quizzical look. "Truly?"

"Yeah?" He crossed his arms. The affronted attitude lasted for all of a second - Ifendraneir pressed his head against Ikharos's shoulders. The Risen grinned sheepishly and scratched the horse behind the ears. "I just never had reason to. Horses aren't as fast as Sparrows and-"

"Not as loud."

"Yes, but-"

"Ifendraneir won't let you fall," Formora told him. "Not unless you intentionally throw yourself off. And you possess a keen sense of balance. You'll be fine."

"But... how do I get up?"

"Really?"

"I don't want to hurt him." He stepped back. "I'll use my Sparrow."

"Too loud," she repeated. She vaulted up atop Erdhir's back. "This is how."

"You make it look easy." Ikharos sucked in a breath and followed her example in his own stiff manner. Ifendraneir accepted his weight, but Ikharos's body was tense with unease. Despite that, he posed a striking figure, what with his bright robes, elegant armour, and proud posture. Even the bright scars left by the Aphelion worked in his favour, bestowing him with a fearsome, grizzled visage.

Ikharos looked over. "What?"

She fixed him with a studious look. "... If nothing else, my people will receive you well."

"Why would that be?"

"You bear yourself with an air of competence."

Ikharos didn't reply. He idly patted Ifendraneir's flank and looked up. Formora did the same. What sky was visible through the thick canopy was blue and clear. All the clouds had disappeared, leaving only faint wisps of mist in their wake.

"Where do you think she is?" Formora asked.

"Eating," Ikharos grunted. "They're never full. But... I don't think we have to worry just yet. She's playing nice. This arrangement has only just begun - it would be strange for her to break it off now."

"Will she return?"

"Probably."

"You don't sound concerned."

"Trying to keep track of our pet Ahamkara's just going to stress me out. There's not much we can do, apart from killing her. And that defeats the whole purpose of having her with us. If she comes back, she comes back. If she doesn't... well, then she doesn't."

"If she doesn't?"

"I'll take care of it," Ikharos darkly promised. There was no humour or hint of exaggeration in his voice. Formora fully believed him.

000

Du Weldenvarden was like any forest: it offered safety and danger in equal measure. A perfect place for a fugitive to hide, but there could be others already lurking amongst the colossal trees. It reminded Ikharos of jungle-ridden Venus - if Venus was drier, less heat-intensive, and lacking in all things Vex. By contrast, Du Weldenvarden should have been all the more welcoming. But Venus didn't have dragons. Not since the Great Hunt. He and rest of his people had seen to that.

"I worry," Kiphoris said. Ikharos heard, but he didn't say anything. He wanted Kiphoris to continue and elaborate. The Captain didn't disappoint. "I may be grasping at prizes above mine-worth."

"You're a gambler," Ikharos told him.

"I do not like gambling."

"A reluctant gambler is a gambler all the same. You gambled. Arke is the result. Now, all we can do is wait to see if it's a gain or a loss."

"You... are not the same as you were."

Ikharos shrugged. "She saved my life. Illogical as it is, and I know it is, I feel... some measure of gratitude. Not much, mind you. Just enough to tolerate her."

"I do not mean that. I mean you. The song affected you too, no?"

Ikharos leaned forward and whispered to Ifendraneir, "Vëoth." The horse slowed. Kiphoris walked beside them, completely upright. "Yeah. It affected me. By not affecting me."

"I do not follow."

"Everyone felt it. I didn't. There was a hole in my heart and the song went right through. You felt... what was it again? Energized. Confused. Excited. Anxious. Me? I just mourned."

"For who?"

"Myself." He refused to go on. Ikharos quickly changed the subject. "Arke will return. And we're going to make her swear new oaths. But that's a concern for later. Kiph, we're nearly there. What are we going to do?"

"Bargain with the elves for-"

"Not that. With..." He looked around to ensure no one was listening. The others had already moved ahead. Only Kida was nearby, stoically marching with his sight fixed in front of him. "With Mora. She's getting nervous. I'm getting nervous. I don't like being nervous."

"I have given this some thought."

"Then please, tell me."

"We march within, draw the elves into swearing that no hostilities will take place, and then we allow Formora to reveal herself. But she must be quick to explain all. These elves are primitive, though I do not want them as mine-foes."

"That's... too barebones."

"Have you any alternative?"

"... No."

"We must work with this."

"And if it fails?"

"Then I trust you to take charge." Kiphoris sighed. "Formora shall not come to harm. She is valued by mine-house and mine-Baron. She is part of mine-crew."

"That's all well and good, but we're in the middle of the elven nation. If things get heated, we'll have to pull drastic measures."

Kiphoris scrutinized him. "What do you have in mind?"

Ikharos hesitated. "I can clear us out of the public eye if we're met with a mob, but the elves know this land better than we do. And they're fast. We're going to need an aerial extraction on standby."

"Tarrhis and Sundrass are not far. They are moving along the edge of the forest. The Scars are within reach."

"That's good. But maybe... I don't know. I'd rather have the getaway Skiff closer than that."

"I will see what I can do."

"Thank you. Truly."

Kiphoris gave a wordless grunt of acknowledgement.

"But you still owe me that ether. Fastanr, Ifendraneir."

The stallion snorted and trotted ahead, leaving Kiphoris behind to loudly grumble to himself. Ikharos smiled. "I really shouldn't listen to you."

"Nah. I give the best advice."

"Somehow I doubt that."

"Are you cheery yet?"

"No."

"Well, if you need any help, remember that's what I'm here for."

"I know," Ikharos replied. He caught up with the others. Arya looked over and whispered to her steed. The beast slowed just enough to match Ifandraneir's pace.

"Ikharos," Arya greeted curtly.

"Arya."

"Are you... well?"

That caught him by surprise. He glanced at her, suspiciously, and answered with a hesitant, "Yes?"

"I understand that Dagshelgr was taxing for you."

"I'm... past it. I think. But I would like to know in advance if anything like that will come up during our stay."

"I cannot answer that without knowing how long you intend to remain in Ellesméra."

"A day," Ikharos said. A spike of disapproval rose up from within. He humoured it. "Or maybe a few days. Not long. There's a lot of work ahead of me. I have to ensure the Cabal aren't going to spread any further."

"We need to speak about that."

"About the Cabal? Or-"

"The Cabal," Arya interrupted

Ikharos nodded. "Fair."

"In Tronjheim, you professed to fighting them at Ceunon."

"I did. The Cabal captured the city. We, uh, uncaptured it."

"Uncaptured?"

"We drove them out and convinced the civilians to migrate south. The Cabal camp was nearby. Another attack on the city wasn't out of question."

Arya wore a thoughtful look. "If they warred with the empire, then perhaps-"

"No," Ikharos firmly warned her. "I know where you're going with this, and no. Cabal don't want allies. They want obedient servants to their own empire. As bad as Galbatorix is, surrendering to the Cabal Legions is just about worse."

"So you say," she muttered.

"I do say. They attacked my people without any reason. They murdered hundreds of innocent people. Thousands. The Cabal are not our friends." He paused. "These ones are stranded here, as far as I know. Like I am. Like the Scars are. Whereas an Eliksni may at least hear what you have to say, an Uluru will simply shoot you. Trust me."

Arya remained quiet for a long time. Eventually, she asked, "Where are they now?"

"I think they're camping by the crash site of their carrier." When he saw her confusion, Ikharos elaborated. "A ship. A really, really big ship. It's somewhere by the northernmost point of the Spine."

Arya frowned. "How would they reach Ceunon from there?"

"Threshers and Harvesters. Flying vessels, like Eliksni Skiffs. Not quite as fast, and bereft of stealth technology, but they have good armour. Harvesters, in any case. Threshers are a tad more fragile."

"That is... wow many?"

"Ships or Cabal?"

"Both," Arya pressed.

Ikharos hesitated. "Don't know about ships. It all depends on how badly their carrier crashed. They could have anywhere from a hundred to three hundred flight-ready fighters and troop transports. As for soldiers, I'm thinking along the lines of two thousand, give or take."

"They all arrived on one ship?" Arya asked out of sheer disbelief.

"Carriers are monsters. Behemoths. They're designed to ferry entire armies around the Cabal empire."

"That's... too much."

"Ho yeah."

She shook her head. "What of the Cabal themselves? What are they like?"

"The Uluru - the rulers of the Cabal empire and primary soldiers of their armies - are big, strong, and... well, smart in some aspects. The Psions, though, would give your people a run for their money. They're naturally paracausal - or acausal, if you want to split hairs about it, though I think it's somewhere in between. They're magic, is what I'm getting at."

"They are knowledgeable in the ancient language?"

"No. They have their own magic. It's more direct. They call it Intention. Psions use their minds and willpower to gain control over and utilize the raw elements of Arc and Void."

"Arc... and Void?" Arya frowned.

Ikharos held up an empty hand. "This." His hand crackled with blue electricity. "And this." The Arc was replaced with purple glow.

Arya didn't understand. A simple glance confirmed it. But she carried on, dutiful to the end. "Will they attack the elves?"

"If they knew about you, yes. They'd want your power, and your ancient language, for their own. It's only the presence of Scars that's keeping them in check. Eliksni have fought the Cabal for a long, long time. And here, far from the empire, the Eliksni have the upper hand against them."

"So... the Cabal fear the Scars?"

"They do. In open battle, the Cabal would win. But the Scars are too smart to run headfirst into a brawl."

"There is much I must report to my people," Arya muttered. She raised her voice. "Thank you for telling me this. We will take your advice into consideration." She rode ahead.

Ikharos watched her go and mentally scoffed. "She's not taking this seriously."

"It's a hard pill to swallow," Xiān admitted.

"I gave her the watered down version. Is that not enough?"

"Even the watered down version is little too strong. Just give them time."

"We don't have time. The Cabal could act at any moment. It's nothing short of a miracle that they haven't already."

---

They made ample progress thanks to the horses. Sílthrim quickly fell behind, and with it the pretense of confidence. Nerves were alight with anxiousness in every corner of the party. The trip to Ellesméra went without a hitch, however. Ikharos had no idea how the elves could navigate the maze of trees. It all looked the same to him.

"We were born here," Formora explained. "We know forests as dwarves know caves and humans their meadows." She tilted her head. "What do Risen know?"

"The stars," Ikharos replied. "They keep us on track. Or they did. Kepler's stars are different to those seen from Sol's planets and moons. It's... unsettling."

"The stars unsettle you?"

"They do. They used to be my allies. Now they're strangers to me."

"But now you have new allies."

He flashed her a smile. "That I do. And I'm here trusting that they won't lead me astray."

She laughed and urged Erdhir onwards.

Much of the journey went in a similar fashion. Ikharos wasn't surprised to find that different elements of the group drifted into their own preferred crowds. Eragon and Saphira stayed together every chance they had, and they had a strong friendship with Orik. The elves adored Saphira, and all of them - barring Formora - were always ready to sing her praises. Otherwise the elves mostly talked to themselves. The Eliksni did the same, content to chitter and chirp to one another during the day, but when night fell they were happy to sit with the others and enjoy the alien company. Ikharos found himself turning to them more than the others. He understood Eliksni: their culture, their drive, their language, and their nature. He didn't get the elves as he did them - though again, Formora was the exception. Melkris was cheerful, Obleker was gentle, Javek was curious, and Kiphoris was quiet.

Red cloaks are hard to make out in the dark, Ikharos reflected one night. He took a draught of an ether flask and passed it on to Javek. The Splicer murmured his thanks. The campfire reflected off the steel canteen. The flames warped and stretched as they danced across the silver surface. Makes it easier to forget the Devils ever existed.

Kiphoris, as ever, was checking his equipment and cleaning it out. He'd wiped down his already spotless sword and had turned to the matter of his pistols.

"Why not a shrapnel launcher?" Ikharos asked on a whim. Kiphoris looked up, outer eyes half-lidded. "Most Captains use them."

"I am not most Captains." Kiphoris reloaded a pistol with a fresh battery. "The Awoken were an inspiration to me. One does not have to be large to be dangerous. A Corsair is equal in a fight to any Vandal brimming with ether-growth."

"But you are large."

"Was not in the Network." Kiphoris went quiet for some time. He put the firearm aside and stared into the flames. "Size does not matter to Vex. Only ability. Only speed. Only a cunning mind. I entered a Vandal. I emerged as starved as a Wretch. But I won as a Wretch. I won over the Vex. I escaped them. I escaped their madness because I was quick and I was smart."

"Now smart, quick, and large!" Melkris called down from above. The shockshooter was situated up on a sturdy tree branch, wire rifle in hand. It was his turn to stand watch.

"Eia, exactly." Kiphoris chuckled. It was soft sound, but it felt all the more real because of it. "I must be fast. I must be clever. That is how I have survived. It is how I will continue to survive. Mine-strength is useful, but strength can fade."

"So can speed," Ikharos pointed out. "If you get tired, you'll be forced to buckle."

"How would strength help me? I am fast. I need to be, for I am all that remains of the Silent Fang. If I need to turn to strength, then I shall trust in my comrades. I do not bear a shrapnel launcher for there is no finesse in its power - and I am an eliko dedicated to finesse."

Ikharos pressed his back against the trunk of Melkris's tree and looked up. It was instinctual, even after all the months of traversing Kepler. The stars still called to him.

"Where's Riis?" He asked. "From here?"

"I don't think we can see it," Javek professed. "It is too far. And..."

"And the Hive's tampering quickened our star's death," Kiphoris finished. "There is nothing left to reclaim but a world of rock and ice. No Kells, no kingdoms, no Great Machine. Riis is gone. And we Eliksni are cursed to wander the abyss between worlds forever more."

"... What if you stayed?" Ikharos inquired. He battled with himself internally. The side that demanded he speak up won out. "As in long-term? Permanent, even? This world is large enough, and there's plenty of land left unclaimed. And it's rich in organic compounds for ether production, so..."

"I already thought of that. I think I would like it," Kiphoris murmured, "but we will have to wait until these wars are ended. So many wars. It is just like Sol."

"Just like Sol," Ikharos echoed. He closed his eyes and focused on the feel of the living wood at his back, and the hard dirt beneath him, and the warmth of the fire at his front. "No. It's better."

Kiphoris snorted - an alien sound, and one that should have given rise to killer instinct.

Ikharos couldn't care less.

---

He knew they were close to Ellesméra when the air twinged with the effects of magic. Ikharos kept his guard up and warily reached out with his Light test the threads of causality around them. Whatever it was, it was too faint to get a read on. He relayed his discovery to Formora, who rode beside him.

"It means we are almost upon Ellesméra," she told him. "We have activated wards. Our arrival will be anticipated."

"That's a good use of magic," he admitted. "Teach me that ward later. Javek too. It'd come in handy."

Formora laughed. Even heard through her helmet's vocal scrambler, it was pleasing to the ear. "Trust you to only think of the martial applications!"

"In all seriousness, that's the kind of magic we need. What happened in Ceunon won't repeat itself if we can discern where an attack is coming from. It works with Shades, right?"

"Most likely."

"Good, good."

Formora looked ahead. "For now, be alert."

Ikharos nodded. He could do that.

It was late afternoon when Melkris spotted the elf. The shockshooter raced back and reported it through a series of excited clicks and barks. Upon receiving the translated, edited version, Arya directed her horse forward. "We must meet him, or we will never enter the city."

She and the other elves went on without another word. After some prodding, Formora explained it to him. "It must be a sentinel of House Miolandra. They guard our cities against those who would see us come to harm."

"How did he know where..." Ikharos shook his head. "The ward."

"Indeed."

"That was quick."

The elf waited for them in a sunlit glade. He wore flowing white robes and a silver circlet over his brow. His hair was the exact same shade of silver. He stood still, eyes half-closed and face graced with a knowing smile. Next to him was what Ikharos could only describe as a feathered dragon, itself crouched over the prone form of a bloodied stag.

"Great Machine!" Kiphoris gasped.

The new dragon was not only Saphira's size, but of the same body-shape. It had four limbs ending in talons, two long wings, a powerful tail, and a pointed skull supported on a strong neck. The unfamiliar beast was covered entirely in a thick coat of feathers. Most of the coat was black, with streaks of silver running across the wings, but the feathers became bright blue and rich purple at the base of the creature's throat. Its jaws were slimmer than the Saphira's too, with thinner, sharper teeth designed to rip rather than crush peeking out the sides. Its wings were shaped like those of a bird of prey rather than a bat, as it was with Fanghur and dragons. And instead of grand horns and back spines, it merely had two long quills running from the back of its head to flutter in the air like ribbons.

It had four lidless serpentine eyes, two on each side of its skull. They were all completely golden, broken only by the dark razor-thin slits of all-seeing pupils.

"Arke," Ikharos murmured.

Taking it as a greeting, the Ahamkara dipped her head. "Child of Light."

The elf beside her didn't appear bothered by her presence. Something about him was off. Ikharos knew, from a mere glance, that it wasn't a true person. Nor was it an Ahamkara's illusion. Arke was strong enough to offer up a better trick than that.

"A hologram of some sort," Ikharos decided.

"No," Xiān disagreed. "His breath is misting in front of him. His feet have sunk into the dirt. A two-way simulation engine. Like the kind Pirrha used."

"Equipment of that sort is rare. And expensive."

"And this bloke has it."

His attention returned to Arke. She had her jaws locked around one of the stag's legs and effortlessly tore it off. The Ahamkara ate it, bones and all, in a series of cracking bites. She had not grown in size alone; Ikharos could feel her wish-magic chafing against his Light. It thrummed with potential. He pulled the nullscape over his mind like a fire blanket and waited it out.

"You have... grown," Kiphoris observed. "Like a Dreg fed the stores of a High Servitor. How is it this came to be?"

"Dagshelgr," she replied. "The Day of Desire."

Ikharos wasn't surprised. "Did you kill anyone? Anything?"

Arke looked down at the dead buck. "Yes."

"During Dagshelgr."

"No."

"Who's your friend?"

Her gaze flicked over to the elf. "Gilderien the Wise."

Gilderien continued to smile. Arke's attention turned back to the carcass. Her teeth sliced through flesh and gristle like superheated hadium-steel knives. She dwarfed all but Saphira, and Ikharos was torn on what to do.

"We're in trouble either way," Xiān pointed out. "It's just a question of which option boasts the better rewards."

"If she turns..."

"We just need to hope that the magic holding her is still intact. And then add on more oaths."

"We're building an iron-barred cage, but she's a serpent. All she has to do is find a space large enough to slither through."

In the end, it was Kiphoris who made the decision. He stepped forth and barked, "Arke. You will not leave us again."

She looked up, maw stained red. "As you decree, Dreamer."

Nothing happened. No one moved, no one did anything. Arke returned to her meal. The strange simulated elf stood in the same place with the same knowing expression and waited.

"Arke," Ikharos began. "Move away from him."

She grasped the buck in her jaws and stalked twenty feet to the left, where she dropped the carcass and went back to dismembering it.

"... That thing cannot enter Ellesméra," Arya warned fiercely, voice quiet and strained.

"What do you propose we do?" Ikharos asked. She gave him a look that told him exactly what she wanted. "No. No, I've had enough close calls this trip. I'm here to protect, not to do your dirty work. I'm not putting my neck on the line because you demand it."

"It cannot-"

"I heard you. I'm not going to try it."

Kiphoris twirled around and glared at Arya. "She is not yours to kill. Her fate is in the hands of the Scar House, not elves."

"She is-"

"She has behaved well. She has committed no crime and inflicted no harm. And she opposed the two Wish-Beasts who sought your demise."

Arya grimaced. "That is why she cannot enter Ellesméra. Those things are... are abominations!"

Saphira separated from the group and cautiously made her way over to the Ahamkara. Ikharos watched them closely, Lumina in hand. Arke looked up, saw Saphira coming and made some room. The dragon's tail swished to and fro over the forest floor excitedly. Their heads closed in on one another and their snouts touched. After a moment, they pulled back and studied one another. Satisfied, Arke nudged the bloodied stag over. Saphira made a chuffing sound and eagerly ripped a scrap of bloody meat from the carcass. They set about tearing the body apart, dividing the corpse between them. Not a word was uttered. Unless they were speaking to one another's thoughts, then the entire exchange was one expressed through body language. Arke was an Ahamkara, capable of incredible illusion, but even then fooling another creature of paracausal design was... difficult at best.

"That pretty much confirms my earlier hypothesis," Ikharos drily remarked. "Dragons must indeed be part Ahamkara."

Xiān made the mental equivalent of a frown. "You're smiling. Not in a good way either. What's so funny?"

"Saphira's my opposite. She's a creature originating from paracausal elements forced into a causal form. I'm a causal being uplifted by a paracausal force. The dragons really got the short end of the stick." He paused. "I wonder why they'd do that to themselves?"

"Maybe it wasn't their fault. Something else could have forced it on them."

"Perhaps. But it'd need to be strong to do that. And Nezarec's the only thing to come to mind."

"There was Morgothal and Merenos."

"Merenos wasn't a dragon. They might have struck a bond, but they were both very much a Risen and an Ahamkara after the wish was made corporeal." He turned around and said aloud, "Arke's coming with us. She'll be on her best behaviour."

"How can you be certain?" Arya challenged.

"Because I'll tell her to."

Arke lifted her bloodied snout. "Death will not visit Ellesméra on this day."

Saphira tore off one of the stag's last legs. Arke clamped down on the other end of the limb. It snapped into two in an all too grisly display. Orik muttered a curse. Eragon flinched. Javek and Kiphoris were unreadable, but Melkris appeared nothing short of envious. The elves averted their eyes.

"Gilderien?" Kiphoris addressed the simulated elf. "I understand that you guard the way to Ellesméra."

The elf said nothing.

"Eragon," Arya began. Her voice was cold and reserved, betraying nothing. It didn't matter. Ikharos had a fair idea how she felt. "Show him your palm and ring."

Eragon hesitated and looked at Saphira. After a moment, he trudged forward and held out his hand so that both his bejeweled ring and gedwëy ignasia were visible. Gilderien smiled, opened his arms as if to embrace the Rider, and closed his eyes.

"The way is clear," Celdin quietly announced. "Ellesméra awaits."

Ikharos returned to Ifendraneir and mounted up. The elf-horse nervously flicked its ears, eyeing both the dragon and Ahamkara with uneasy fear. Ikharos whispered assurances and patted the stallion's shoulder. "Gánga fram," he murmured. Ifendraneir trotted forward, eager to leave the massive predators behind.

No such luck. Saphira and Arke devoured what remained of the buck and strode back over to the party. Saphira walked alongside Eragon while Arke kept pace with the Eliksni. A forked tongue flicked out of the Ahamkara's jaws to clean away the blood matting the feathers of her snout.

They carried on in muted uncertainty. Gone was the easy, laid back atmosphere that had reigned during the beginning of their north-bound hike. He looked behind them and chanced upon the sight of Gilderien fading from view. Simulation tech for sure, Ikharos thought. That, or these elves have powerful dragon-magic of their own.

A quarter of a mile down the line, the forest opened up into a pleasant flower-strewn glade that looked too perfect to be natural. Ikharos's eyes roamed around. At first he noticed nothing, but little strange patterns began to reveal themselves. Forest trails branched out like alleys and walkways through the trees, connecting to what he imagined was a central street.

"We've arrived," Formora whispered reverently.

And they had. The trees were not natural growths; they were beautiful buildings carefully reared into strange forms, complete with darkened doorways and windows. Bushes and shrubs dotted the forest floor in place of fences around lovingly cultivated gardens. Everything was both cooperating with the forest and yet held onto unique, otherworldly traits that made them stand out. Ikharos knew it to be an elven city the moment he'd set eyes on it, for no other people could build such a thing. Not even the similarly ethereal Awoken, who favoured architecture formed of marble and amethyst.

The residents of Ellesméra were slow to show themselves, but Ikharos knew they were there. Lifetimes spent on the lookout for Eliksni shockshooters enabled him to pick out the figures that hid themselves amongst the trees and bushes. In short time their shyness faded, and the wary elves stepped into the sunlight filtering through the sparse canopy above. Each and every one of them, men and women both, possessed an elegance and exotic beauty that only the Awoken people could have ever challenged. Ikharos couldn't help but feel as if he'd stepped into Kepler's own version of the Reef. It both excited and unnerved him; it had taken him a long time to grow accustomed to the ways of Reef, and now he had to learn the traditions and expectations of yet another secretive people.

"You managed to slip into Reef society without issue," Xiān pointed out. "You'll do the same here. I know you will."

"I don't want to live with these people."

"Why not?"

The question stumped him. He had to scramble for an answer. "Because there's a war to be fought."

"And when that war is over? When Nezarec is dead and Kepler is safe?"

"Then we go home."

Xiān's disapproval arrived as a single bitter pulse. "No. I don't know about you, but I'm getting tired of war. Scratch that, I do know about you. You're as exhausted as I am. We've earned ourselves a respite."

"We can't-"

"We can. Jaxson has Sol well in hand. Between him and Rasputin, what could go wrong?"

Ikharos disagreed, but he waved the issue away with a "Let's talk about this later."

"Fine. But we will talk about it."

The people of Ellesméra stared: at Saphira, at Arke, at Kida, at the Eliksni, at Arya, at Obleker, and at him. As one, the elves bowed from the waist in perfect synchrony. Then, the tension broken, they smiled and laughed and sang with open glee in both English and the ancient language.

"Release your steeds," Arya announced stiffly. "We have no further need of them and they deserve to rest in our stables."

Ikharos dismounted and affectionately ran his hand along Ifendraneir's neck. He had come to adore the horse and was reluctant to part with it, but the animal deserved its rest. "Gánga vera," he whispered. "Un atra wyrda grónna vel onr."

Ifendraneir snorted and left with the other horses. They disappeared somewhere in the crowd lining the forest-street. Ikharos followed his companions onwards, listening to the glorious melodies and finding them wanting. He watched the elves dance and flit across the trail before and behind them, a thin smile fixed on his face while his eyes searched for the faintest signs of hostility. There were too many people - too many elves - and it only heightened his unease. They were happy, but a happy mob was never to last.

"This is why you and parades don't mix," Xiān snarked.

He didn't deny it. "The sooner we're done, the better."

"Killjoy."

Saphira was the focus of the elves, considering they praised Saphira with names like 'Longclaws' and 'Daughter of Air and Fire' and 'Strong One,' but Arke received her own share of attention. The Ahamkara preened with all the compliments they lavished on her, despite clearly not being a scalebound dragon as Saphira was. It was disconcerting to see all the adoration freely fall upon a Wish-Dragon; the elves had no idea what they doing, what they were feeding.

At the very least, it would distract her and keep her occupied while he and Kiphoris devised further oaths with which to chain her.

The Eliksni were not ignored, but they were fortunately left in some degree of peace. Ikharos imagined they preferred that. The three marched on with their eyes facing forward and heads held high, cloaks trailing after them. Obleker floated behind them, utterly unnatural. Kida took up the rear, armed with his rifle. His broken arm was held together only by a soldered cast, but the function in the hand had been reinstalled. Javek's repairs were exemplary, given his limitations.

Ikaros's attention quickly turned to the last member of his supposed crew. Formora walked stiffly, keeping her head down as if to hide herself.

"Don't look so glum." Ikharos moved to her side. He was rewarded with a sharp look. "You alright?"

"No!" She snapped. Her tone quickly softened. "No. This is... too much."

"I can imagine."

"Can you?"

"... How you're feeling would be along the lines of what I would if I returned to the Last City."

"But that's your home."

"No." He shook his head. "Hasn't been for two, maybe three years. Remember, I lived in the Reef before arriving here."

"Why?"

"Because I was... unwelcome."

"Unwelcome? Why?"

Ikharos paused. "I... did something. Organized a mission. And people died. So yes, I can imagine what you're going through." He added, more softly: "Just remember the plan."

"There's a plan?"

"Sort of. Stick by me. Kiphoris has called the Scars and updated them on what's happening. If anything goes awry and negotiations fall short, Sundrass will be here with Skiffs to collect us."

"That's hardly comforting. In Ceunon, she wanted nothing more than to see you dead."

"Then let's hope time has cooled that temper of hers."

The forest-street ended at a net of roots that formed steps, like bare pools of earth. They climbed to a door embedded within a wall of saplings. They opened seemingly on their own, almost convincing Ikharos that the elves weren't as bereft of tech as he'd previously assumed. Arya, Eragon, and Saphira took the lead. Ikharos followed close behind.

His hand never strayed far from the Lumina. He didn't trust the peace he saw before him. It was too perfect.

The hall was made of tree trunks twisting together to form walls and curving overhead to create a ceiling of interlocking branches. Below lay a long, thin oval table, around which were twenty-four chairs, upon which sat twenty-four elven lords and ladies. They were richly dressed and all bore sheathed swords at their hips. All twenty-four leaned forward and stared at Saphira and the rest of the oddities in their group with wondrous, hopeful smiles. At the end of the table was a throne of knotted roots. Upon it sat an elven woman that Ikharos knew without a doubt was Queen Islanzadí. She was proud and graceful, dressed in red finery and a cloak of pale feathers. Her hair was jet black and her eyes emerald. She held in her hand a sceptre with a wide crosspiece, upon which perched a white raven.

If she was the elven answer to Mara Sov, she was every bit as imposing and elegant as the Awoken Queen - and utterly devoid of the easy strength and imperious presence her Reefborn duplicated carried at all times.

Islanzadí's eyes widened with surprise and emotion. Her gaze was fixed on Arya. "Wyrda!" The raven croaked. Its voice was scratchy and dry with age. It looked him over with one beady eye.

The doors closed shut behind them. Some - Eragon, Arya, Celdin, Narí, Lifaen, Orik, and even Saphira - bowed. The rest remained standing. Kiphoris almost drew his knives to perform the irellis bow, but a quick gesture from Formora stopped him in his tracks. Islanzadí stood and descended from the throne, her cloak trailing behind her. She stopped before Arya, placed trembling hands on her shoulders, and said in a gentle, shaking voice, "Rise."

Arya did so in one fluid movement. Islanzadí stared at her for a very long time. Then she suddenly cried out and embraced Arya, saying, "O my daughter, I have wronged you!"

The rest of his party, barring the elves, stirred with surprise. Ikharos, as he already knew, was only taken aback by the emotion of the outburst. No Sov, that's for sure.

"Islanzadí Dröttning," Arya returned in a neutral, almost detached voice.

The elven queen recoiled as if struck. She repeated, "O my daughter, I have wronged you," and covered her face as if to hide herself. "Ever since you disappeared, I've barely slept or eaten. I was haunted by your fate, and feared that I would never see you again. Banning you from my presence was the greatest mistake I have ever made... Can you forgive me?"

Ikharos was left flabbergasted. Most of the monarchs he'd met were of the cold, calculating sort - or they were genocidal tyrants. And every single one of them was a killer through and through. He'd forgotten what it looked like when mortals took the reigns.

Kepler is not Sol, he reminded himself. It has no Sovs, no Osmium dynasty, no Warlords, no Broodqueens, no Dominus, no wannabe Kell-of-Kells. This world is soft. Krinok and the Cabal are going to roll right over everyone - if Nezarec doesn't do it first.

Arya's response was long in coming, but at last she said, "For seventy years, I have lived and loved, fought and killed without ever speaking to you, my mother. Our lives are long, but even so, that is no small span."

Islanzadí drew herself upright, lifting her chin and pulling away her hands. She trembled. "I cannot undo the past, Arya, no matter how much I might desire to."

"And I cannot forget what I endured."

"Nor should you." Islanzadí clasped her daughter's hands. "Arya, I love you. You are my only family. Go if you must, but unless you wish to renounce me, I would be reconciled with you."

For a second, Ikharos almost thought Arya would refuse; from what little he had picked up, he would have even supported her in doing so. What could drive someone to exile their own child?

But, in the end, she gave in. Arya lowered her eyes and said, "No, mother. I could not leave."

Islanzadí favoured her with a faltering, unsure smile and embraced her once more. Arya stiffly returned it. Cheers rang out amongst the watching elves. The white raven hopped on his stand, cackling, "And on the door was graven evermore, what now became the family lore; let us never do but to adore!"

"Hush, Blagden," said Islanzadí to the raven in a remarkably more cheery voice. "Keep your doggerel to yourself." She turned to address the rest of them.

Formora's mind reached for Ikharos's. He automatically allowed the mental connection to form. "Let the others go first," she said quickly.

"Of course."

Islanzadí said, to Saphira and Arke, "You must excuse me for being discourteous and ignoring you, our most important guests."

Eragon touched his lips and then twisted his right hand over his sternum.

"Islanzadí Dröttning. Atra esterní ono thelduin."

The queen's eyes widened. "Atra du evarínya ono varda."

"Un atra mor'ranr lífa unin hjarta onr," Eragon replied, completing the ritual.

Islanzadí's smile grew more sincere. She asked, "And you, o dragon, what is your name?"

"Saphira."

"Welcome to Ellesméra, Saphira. And yours, young Rider?"

"Eragon."

"You carry a powerful name," Islanzadí said softly, "and one that we rarely bestow upon our children... Welcome to Ellesméra, Eragon. We have waited long for you."

Then, inexplicably, she passed over Kiphoris - though not without a thoughtful look at the Captain - for Ikharos. "And you, noble Rider?"

His mind drew a blank. "I... excuse me?"

"Ikharos is not a Rider," Arya said quickly.

Islanzadí frowned and looked past him. "Then what-"

"And Arke is not a dragon."

The Ahamkara snaked her head forward so that she leaned over him. "Unless he wishes it," she offered in a sweet, flanged voice. It wasn't just the elves who recoiled with fright.

"Quiet," Ikharos muttered darkly. "Now."

Arke laughed and pulled back, but the damage was done. What high spirits had been raised with Arya's return was cast aside as the novelty of a speaking, feathered dragon fell upon those gathered.

In an effort to keep the situation from devolving into a mess - or more than it already had - Ikharos raised two fingers to his lips and said, "Eka eld kvetha onr, ai dauthné vinyalen abr Sol eom aí älfa dröttning abr Kepler. Atra esterní ono thelduin."

It meant: I greet you, as deathless spellcaster of Sol to an elven queen of Kepler. May good fortune rule over you. As there was no term for Warlock in the ancient language, he had reluctantly settled for something simpler. It only furthered the false notion of being a common wizard, much to his chagrin.

Islanzadí didn't immediately reply. She stared at him. They all did. He could have faced bellowing Ogres and screaming Witches, but this... this was almost too much. Ikharos respectfully bowed his head - she wouldn't get anything more than that - and bade them, "Eka eddyr baenelí ëfa iet kvetha eru néiat nógr. Líka thorta medh Kiphoris-Veskirisk pak Drakkir abr du Heim abr Kelekhselen. Älfr hethr kuasta aí lang lund eom maeta du älfya."

It strained his knowledge of the ancient language, but it sounded right to his ears and mind. It translated as: I am sorry if my greetings are not enough. Please speak with Kiphoris-Veskirisk of the House of Scar. He has come a long way to meet the elves.

Some looked over to Kiphoris, who stepped forward and similarly lowered his head. But Islanzadí, and many others, did not. They looked at Arke or Ikharos - often switching between both - with shocked expressions.

"You call yourself deathless?" She asked uncertainly.

Ikharos chanced a look at Arya. The glare he had grown so used to was gone, replaced by a cold, merciless look. She was waiting for an answer, same as the rest of them. No help there.

"Deathless, as I have been made aware, is not the true translation of that word," he said carefully. "But deathless is often a term associated with my kind."

"Your kind?"

"Risen. My kind are called the Risen. Because we..." He shook his head. "It's not important. I am here to assist Kiphoris in his endeavours as an ambassador to his people, with whom I am allied. I implore you to treat his presence here as more important and deserving of attention than mine." He gestured to the Captain.

At last, Islanzadí's unreadable gaze switched targets, but Ikharos was under no illusion that their conversation was over. She looked Kiphoris over and said, "Never, all my life, have I encountered a creature such as you. Who are you?"

He drew his knifes. Islanzadí stepped back, but a quick gesture from Arya calmed the elves before they could respond in kind. Kiphoris performed the irellis bow with the same dignity and fluidity as he had before Hrothgar. He placed one of the knives on the ground pointed towards him and sheathed the other. "In the ways of mine-people, the Eliksni, I have proclaimed that our meeting will be one of honour-bound peace."

Islanzadí slowly nodded and smiled. "Thus I swear to you, né haina weohnata kuasta eom onr undir iet hjall."

Satisfied, Kiphoris brought two fingers against the front of his rebreather. "Velask. Greetings, Islanzadí-kel. I am Kiphoris-Veskirisk pak Drakkir, servant of Tarrhis-Mrelliks and the noble House of Scar. Mine-companions here are Melkris-Va'ha, Javek-Va'se, Zeshus, Ikha Riis pak Kirzen, Kida-Ma'ha, and Obleker-Sava."

"I welcome you all," Islanzadí replied. "As I do you, dwarf," she said to Orik. She retreated to the knotted throne. "I suspect there are a great many tales to be heard on this day. I would hear them. I assume by your presence here, Eragon, so soon after Saphira's egg was captured, and by the ring on your hand and the sword on your hip, that Brom is dead and that your training with him was incomplete. I wish to hear your full story, including how Brom fell and how you came to meet my daughter, or how she met you, as it may be. Then I will hear of your mission here, dwarf, and of your adventures, Arya, since your ambush in Du Weldenvarden. And Kiphoris-Veskirisk pak Drakkir, I wish to hear the reasons for your people's arrival or resurgence in Alagaësia, whichever it may be. And then, I wish to learn of you." Islanzadí's sight settled on Arke. "You who my daughter names as not a dragon, despite your form. You who speaks the human tongue as no dragon ever could."

Ikharos withheld a wince. She spoke with all the wrong words. The only thing keeping her alive were the oaths binding Arke and keeping the Ahamkara from jumping upon the spoken wishes.

Eragon began his story. Ikharos, who had previously heard only a rudimentary rendition from Tellesa, listened closely. The young Rider described his discovery of Saphira's egg, her hatching and their bond, and the months he spent hiding her as she grew up. He went on to tell of the arrival of the Ra'zac - at which Kiphoris muttered "Bone-Pickers" - and his flight from Carvahall. He mentioned the brief encounter he had with Ikharos before that, which drew highly undesired attention onto Ikharos.

"You were in Carvahall?" Arya questioned.

"I was," he admitted. "Tellesa, Edmont, and I passed through. We were tracking the Shade Durza and his Urgals to kill them in retribution for the slaughter at Kuasta."

"What occured in Kuasta?" One of the elven lords inquired.

Ikharos closed his eyes. "Death. Wholesale death. An Urgal army marched in and killed everyone in the region. Durza led them. I imagine it came on Galbatorix's command, because the populous there had managed to extricate themselves from Imperial control."

"They killed... everyone?" Another noble cried out, horrified.

"They did," Ikharos confirmed. "All that they found. Only the monks of the Arcaena and a handful of rebels survived. Tellesa and Edmont were among those lucky few. And they wanted revenge." He gestured for Eragon to carry on.

The young Rider did just that. He detailed the journey from Carvahall to Teirm, where they met Jeod and recruited Tellesa to their cause, and then to the trek to Dras-Leona. He quickly went over the events that transpired in the city and then outside, when they were captured by the Ra'zac.

"We were helpless," Eragon professed. "But then Kiphoris arrived."

The Captain grunted. "I picked up their scent and yours and ordered mine-Eliksni to follow. The Bone-Pickers fled before us."

"The Eliksni accompanied us, and Murtagh, further, but Brom had taken injury." Eragon's voice fell in volume. "He did not survive it."

"He will be dearly missed," Islanzadí stated. "He was a dear friend to the elves. But this name - Murtagh - is familiar to me."

"It was Murtagh, son of Morzan," Arya explained.

The sorrow in the room fled before the sudden universal rage. As one, the elves adopted hard, cold looks. "Morzan!" Islanzadí cried out. "A monster in the form of a man! How is it you came to be in the company of the heir of the first and last of the Forsworn?!"

Ikharos couldn't help but glance in Formora's direction. She was stock still. He couldn't even tell if she was breathing.

"He was fleeing the empire," Eragon quickly replied. "He became a friend-in-arms, and without his help I doubt I would be here today."

The elves remained quiet, so Eragon continued. "Kiphoris left us with two Eliksni guards to see us to safety. We journeyed from there to Gil'ead, where Brom told me an agent of the Varden waited." He told of how Urgals appeared, and how they captured him but handed him over to the Imperials within the city. It was there that he discovered Arya's presence within the prison, and on the night that Paltis, Murtagh, and Saphira arrived to rescue him, they took the unconscious Arya with them. From there it was a straight run to the Beors, and it was by sheer luck that the Varden and dwarves managed to pull them out of the possessed Urgals' grasp. At last, he explained how the Varden had suffered without the aid of the elves and how close the battle of Farthen Dûr had been. He removed a sealed scroll from his bag and offered it up.

Islanzadí took it and broke the seal, rolling it open and reading it. She sighed and briefly closed her eyes. "I see now the true depth of my folly. My grief would have ended so much sooner if I had not withdrawn our warriors and ignored Ajihad's messengers after learning that Arya had been ambushed. I should have never blamed the Varden for her death. For one so old, I am still far too foolish..."

Ikharos frowned. He suddenly saw what Formora did; the flaws in the otherwise pristine charade before him were starting to become glaringly obvious. For all their beauty and skill, the elves were wholly unprepared for anything approaching violence. He scarcely managed to bite his tongue before he could speak his mind. He was angry. Irrationally so, and Ikharos knew it. The Varden weren't his people, weren't his faction, but they weren't his enemies either. And the elves left them to die. It was... callous.

"The problem with monarchies," he thought, "is that you either have a ruler too strong or too ineffective. I think I know which the elves have."

"That didn't take you long," Xiān quipped.

"More's the pity. Here I was hoping for someone with a shred of common sense. These people aren't going to be any help to me. I might just be stuck with the Eliksni."

"That's not such a bad thing, really."

"There's a distinct lack of human interaction."

"I'm sure alien interaction will substitute just fine."

"Since Arya has returned alive," Eragon cautiously began, "will you agree to help the Varden, like before? Nasuada cannot succeed otherwise, and I am pledged to her cause."

"My quarrel with the Varden is as dust in the wind," Islanzadí said. "Fear not; we will assist them as we once did, and more, because of you and their victory over the Urgals." She leaned forward on one arm. "Will you give me Brom's ring, Eragon?" Without hesitation, the Rider pulled it off his finger and offered it to the queen, who plucked it from his palm. "You should not have worn this, Eragon, as it was not meant for you. However, because of the aid you have rendered the Varden and my family, I now name you Elf-Friend and bestow this ring, Aren, upon you, so that all elves, wherever you go, will know that you are to be trusted and helped."

If their alliance with the Varden is any indication, then that won't mean much, Ikharos bitterly reflected. He crossed his arms.

"As newcomers and new allies, I feel it is only right that I hear you next," Islanzadí told Kiphoris. "Who are you, truly, and where do you come from?"

The Captain blinked his outer eyes. "I am Kiphoris of the Kelekhselen, or 'stern sires,' but in the human tongue you may refer to us as the House of Scar. We are the Eliksni, the people of home-Riis."

"What brings you here?"

"Hope and coincidence. We have arrived upon your lands after we met the Cabal in battle."

"The Cabal?"

"They're another intelligent species," Ikharos offered. "Sophisticated brutes with a liking for explosions."

They were hardly satisfied with his explanation, that much was clear, but Kiphoris went on before they could field further inquiries.

"Our Ketch, our home-ship, took damage during the battle," he explained. "And we landed upon Alagaësia. Mine-Skiffs, mine-ships, landed near the human city Dras Leona. The Great Machine must have looked favourably upon us, for it was there that we found Eragon and Saphira Wind-Daughter."

"You... sailed to Dras-Leona?" One of the nobles asked incredulously.

Kiphoris shook his head. "Nama. Flew."

"Eliksni ships can fly," Arya reported in that same blank tone. "And they do so without wings."

"How is this possible?" Islanzadí asked, disbelief written across her features.

Kiphoris, in turn, looked at Ikharos. He sighed and stepped up to offer his own insight. "Skiffs and Ketches fly by exerting enough force to overcome the grip of gravity. Cabal vessels and Risen jumpships do the same."

He said too much. Ikharos knew it when Arya quickly turned around and asked, in the biting tone he knew so well, "You have a ship?"

"I did," he answered honestly. "I, uh, ran into the same problem as the Eliksni and Cabal. It took too much damage and I was forced to land. Or crash, more like. It's beyond repair."

"You are not from Alagaësia," Islanzadí stated. It wasn't a question.

"No."

Silence ensued. Kiphoris once more took advantage of it to recollect what had happened on his end. "After leaving Eragon and Saphira, mine-crews and I regrouped with the rest of those who follow Tarrhis, our Baron. We did battle with the Cabal once more at Ceunon. It was there we encountered Ikha Riis and Zeshus." He didn't cover their duel or the Exo and Shade attack, which Ikharos was grateful for. Those would have been extraordinarily hard to explain. "We aligned our causes and left Ceunon to hunt down the Shade. Our search for it led us to Farthern Dûr, where Ikha Riis slew Durza and mine-crew beat back the Urgal army."

"You killed a Shade?" Yet another elf asked.

Ikharos nodded. "Yeah. For good that time. I crushed his heart."

As one, the elves beamed giddily. Two or three even applauded him. The same speaker from earlier said, "You have done Alagaësia a great service by removing such evil from the land."

Ikharos shrugged. "He deserved to die, so I stepped up. Nothing remarkable about it."

"If I may," the noblewoman closest to them gingerly raised a hand. She scrutinized Ikharos's face. "How did you come by that terrible mark?"

He instinctively reached up. "This was..." He sucked in a deep breath. "This was the work of an Aphelion. They're predators of the highest calibre, though I don't know what it is exactly that they eat. I managed to kill the creature responsible, but only just." And I never want to see another one again.

That tidbit of information didn't elicit quite the same reaction as news of Durza's death. The elves frowned, either with confusion or disapproval. Some even mixed the two together with limited success.

"Our causes have become one," Kiphoris announced, indicating himself and Ikharos. "And it coincides with yours. We, Scars and Risen, seek to oppose the human empire and topple Galbatorix. Tarrhis-Mrelliks has sworn it so."

"This news is welcome indeed," Islanzadí said. "But what drives you to do so? Why would your people partake in this terrible war on our behalf?"

Kiphoris growled, and deeply. "Galbatorix's soldiers attacked mine-crew. His Shade slew one of mine-Eliksni - one of mine-friends. He has drawn our anger. We will retaliate. We must. It is a matter of honour."

"Then we will welcome your assistance," the queen decreed. Then Islanzadí addressed Orik: "It has been long since one of your race entered our halls, dwarf. Eragon-finiarel has explained your presence, but do you have aught to add?"

Orik grunted. He appeared thoroughly unimpressed with all that he saw. "Only royal greetings from my king, Hrothgar, and a plea, now unneeded, for you to resume contact with the Varden. Beyond that, I am here to see that the pact that Brom forged between you and the humans is honoured."

"We keep our promises whether we utter them in this language or in the ancient language. I accept Hrothgar's greetings and return them in kind." Finally, Islanzadí turned to Arya and said to her, "Now, daughter, what befell you?"

Arya began to speak in a slow monotone, first of her capture and then of her long imprisonment and torture in Gil'ead. She found no difficulty in describing the horrors she had endured, but Ikharos knew otherwise. The empty voice, the cold mask, and the shaking hand were all the hallmarks of trauma. He'd seen similar things in Guardians who'd spent too long on Luna.

Ikharos's anger fell away as hard realization set in. That's why she's so confrontational. Traveler above...

He felt awful. The chilling feeling of guilt weighed him down and forcibly dragged him from the comfortable burn of outrage. The elves remained completely silent throughout Arya's tale, although they gripped their swords and their faces hardened into razor lines of terrible anger. A single tear rolled down Islanzadí's cheek.

Afterward, a lithe elf lord paced along the mossy sward between the chairs. "I know that I speak for us all, Arya Dröttningu, when I say that my heart burns with sorrow for your ordeal. It is a crime beyond apology, mitigation, or reparation, and Galbatorix must be punished for it. Also, we are in your debt for keeping the locations of our cities hidden from the Shade. Few of us could have withstood him for so long."

"Thank you, Däthedr-vor," she replied lifelessly.

Islanzadí slowly rose up. "Enough. Our guests wait tired on their feet, and we have spoken of evil things for far too long. I will not have this occasion marred by lingering on past injuries."

Kiphoris spoke up. "There is another matter, Islanzadí-kel."

"Oh crap. Here we go."

"Xiān, be ready." Ikharos's fingers twitched by his side. His sight swept across the room. "If this goes bad, we're out of here. Do we have enough Light?"

"More than enough."

Formora, hesitated, then stepped forward. She stopped by the front of the group, leaving ample room between her and the other elves. "I... Islanzadí Dröttning, eka kuasta medh mor'ranr un ristvak. Eka malabra né haina eom annr unin thornessa dras." She paused and, after a moment of inaction, she removed her helm. "I am Formora, formerly of House Rílvenar."

Ten seconds. Ten seconds of sheer silence and nothing else. Then, with an explosive effort, at least half the elves present drew their weapons and leapt forward. Arke laughed hysterically.

"Shit." Ikharos's arm shot out and he grabbed Formora's shoulder. He grasped at the Void within, forced into cold air of reality and-

They were gone.

000

Neirim came and went. He was a cold-eyed Psion of few words; Neuroc's favoured assassin. He didn't say a thing as he collected the explosives and ferried them away.

Zhonoch's heart was heavy with regret. Too many Uluru had been claimed by the cult. It was a horrible waste of valuable talent. Even once they were all dealt with, there would be repercussions. Umun'arath would doubtless order a decimation as recompense for the loss of a favoured general - and that was just for the Worldbreakers. Zhonoch didn't know what would happen to his beloved Soulrazers. It could even have been the excuse the Praetorate needed to knock them down a rung, if not destroy them altogether.

"This has ruined us," Zhonoch glumly reported later, as he stood in the middle of the Soulrazer armoury.

Tlac scoffed. "Only if we let it. Arms up. Marack! Get his suit."

The Uluru quartermaster rushed to obey. He and two of his assistants dragged out a crate and opened it up, revealing the battleshell within.

Zhonoch had two sets of armour. One was standard Soulrazer gear, similar to what the Vals used. The second set was special - a Mark IX Vigilant-class body armour. It was the sort of equipment that only ranked agents could requisition, and then only for special circumstances. He had earned his suit on the capital, back when the Emperor still held the throne. Before that, when the Praetorate were in control, he was just a gladiator fighting beasts for their entertainment, but when Calus let him out? He hunted a different kind of prey. The Emperor liked that. Liked that a lot. Enough to shower gifts and praises. Ghaul's rise changed nothing in that regard either. The remaining Praetorate rats who survived to see the Golden Emperor exiled couldn't touch him. Not with Soulrazer colours on his back. Only the Midnight Conspirators had that power, and they didn't care.

The suit was forged with two layers of folded military-grade steel, the kind that became a warship's hull. Sandwiched between the sheets of metal was a layer of depleted uranium. Memory foam on the inside molded around him, fitting him perfectly, but it was hard and tough on the exterior. Reinforced plate covered him from head to toe. The armour was smart, too. It was designed not for the Hive war, nor as anti-Vex technology, but as a Cabal killer. It actively jammed Battlenet signals and fed the network false info. It defied both radar and thermal imaging, and the active camouflage function - modeled after the infamous Eliksni stealth generator - hid it from motion sensors and the naked eye. It had been declared illegal after the Midnight Coup, plain and simple, but the Soulrazers had fought tooth and nail to hold onto what suits they already had. Zhonoch was glad they did. He loved his armour more than he did his own brothers.

There was nothing ornamental about it. It was ivory and gold, Soulrazer colours, and that was it. Crests and medals looked nice on the shoulders of Valus and Primus, but for Vigilants they only made unnecessary noise.

"Good?" Shu'av questioned. The Val was standing off to the side, heavy arms crossed over his chestplate.

"Good," Zhonoch replied. He stretched to test the armour's flexibility, but it was just as supple as when he first wore it. "Arm me."

The quartermaster slapped wrist-blades onto his arms. Zhonoch accepted a rifle and holstered it by his leg. Finally came a Severus, which he handled with care and attached to the magnetic locks on his back.

Zhonoch looked down at himself and gritted his teeth together. "This is it. Either we prove Da'aurc's infection, or we die."

"We'll be watching," Tlac vowed. "And we'll mobilize the Soulrazers if need be."

"There goes the last plan," Shu'av grumbled. "What about the infected?"

Zhonoch grunted irritably. "Just kill them. No point waiting around anymore. We've got to act."

Val Shu'av saluted. "I'll see it through, sir."

"If I die, Tlac's in charge."

The Specialist blinked with surprise. "Thanks."

Zhonoch grinned. "Trust me, you'll hate it."

He took a deep breath and activated his Arc-powered stealth generator.

000

Kiphoris hissed. "I understand," he deliberated, "that you are full of rage, and it is for that reason I will not consider this an act of war."

Arya's blade pressed all the closer to his throat. Her sword was not of Eliksni or Hive make, nor was it a Risen or Rider blade, but he didn't want to test whether it was sharp enough to slice through both his biosuit and his skin. "Where are they?"

"I don't know. Far."

"Did you know about her?!"

"I did," he admitted. He was in a sea of angry faces. "As you did, from what I understand."

"No. No!" Arya snapped. "I knew she was an elf, but... not... not of the Forsworn!"

The only ones not to overreact were his loyal Eliksni and Kida. None had not opened fire, much to Kiphoris's relief, but all had raised his weapons all the same time. Kida aimed at Arya's head. The Frame knew who his allies were.

"Extrasolar entity designated Kiphoris, this unit has a query. Shall I terminate hostile Homo Pythonicus subject designated Arya?"

"Nama. No. Cease hostilities. Everyone! Nama hu!"

Melkris and Javek reluctantly sheathed their shock daggers. The elves were nowhere near as compliant,

"Arya," Kiphoris mouthed every word with careful consideration, purging his Wolf accent and desperately trying to sound as human as he could. "Put down your blade. Let us speak without threats."

"You brought the threat here," Arya bit out. Saphira's furious growl only added to Kiphoris's sense of danger. He refused to give in. "We trusted you."

"And I am trusting you now. I trust that you are reasonable. Cease hostilities" He narrowed his eyes.

"You would stand for the Forsworn?" An elf asked. Kiphoris did not see who.

"Formora is mine-friend. She saved many Eliksni from an Ahamkara. She is an ally of mine-house and a member of mine-crew. Eia, I would stand for her."

"And die?"

"If you are to kill me, do it now. I will not cry out." He gingerly lifted a hand and pushed Arya's saber away from his throat. She didn't resist. Her sword arm dropped and she stepped back, but her glare was as strong as it had ever been.

"Explain."

He rubbed his neck and eyed the other elves nervously. There were twenty-nine of them present, and while fewer than half still bore naked steel, not one of them appeared in any way willing to argue for his sake. Neither Orik nor Eragon were any help either: the former was as angry as the elves and the latter looked hurt. Saphira was beyond their fury, however. The dragon kneaded the ground with her claws and fixed him with a dark, murderous look. He knew, in that moment, that what friendship lurked between them was gone.

"I have spoken with Formora pak Zeshus," Kiphoris said carefully.

"That doesn't-" Islanzadí started to argue, but he cut her off with an equally harsh look.

"Let me finish." He glanced behind him. Arke and Obleker were by the door, completely motionless. He feared for them. Obleker didn't deserve to die and the elves didn't deserve to be hunted down by Arke. He needed to ensure they could all walk out of the hall alive without resorting to bloodletting. "I have spoken with her. She told me of her past. Formora is earnest in her desire to see justice delivered. She is not our enemy."

"She betrayed the Riders of old. She turned on those she swore to protect."

"And she has sworn to me that it was forced of her by the human Kell."

"You believe her?" Arya asked incredulously.

"Formora pak Zeshus spoke in the ancient language." Kiphoris paused. "As will I, if you yet need convincing. I vouch for her. She is part of mine-crew."

"Then do so."

Given the unflinching glares aimed at him and him alone, Kiphoris came to the conclusion that perhaps even the ancient language was not enough. There was an ancient fury in the elves, one that simple apologies could not mend.

He needed to mend it. "So be it. You must give me the words. I want to say..."

000

"I told you," Formora said hollowly. "I told you it would end poorly."

Ikharos didn't answer her. He paced around the forest clearing, waiting for the Kiphoris's signal. Xiān floated at his shoulder, shell opened up to catch whichever Eliksni radio transmissions came first.

"We never should have tried in the first place. It's only going to hurt us. And Kiphoris. He's still there!"

"He'll be fine," Ikharos mumbled.

"How? How?! They were looking to kill and you've snatched away their target. They'll turn on him!"

"He's not dead yet."

"There's no way to tell."

"Actually," Xiān spoke up with uncharacteristic shyness, "there is. I'm monitoring his biosignature. He's alive and well."

"Thank goodness." Formora breathed out in relief. "I don't want any of you to suffer for my transgressions. This was always fated to be a end poorly."

"Stop." Ikharos twirled about. "Okay? Just stop. What's done is done. Bemoaning our circumstances won't help anyone. Best we can do is try to salvage this."

"How? Whatever alliance the Eliksni would have had with the elves is over. We won't be able to arm them with magic quick enough. Our enemies will strike long before our Scars are ready."

"We'll find a way," Ikharos said firmly. "We have to."

"We can't. Not with my people."

"Fuck them. We'll still find a way whether they're with us or not."

Formora looked up. She was haggard with worry and regret. Her eyes shone. "You do too much."

"I don't do enough," he retorted.

"I mean for me."

"My answer's the same. Fireteam or crew, you're part of it. I'll fight tooth and nail before anyone is allowed to mess with that."

Formora laughed mirthlessly. "What if I'm the one to change it? I won't allow my presence here destroy our chance at victory."

"And what? What else will you do?"

"I'll fight. Alone. Out of sight."

"You'll get yourself killed."

"I'm already half dead. Ilthorvo is gone. To go on without her is too hard. All that remains is anger. And... I'm tired of being angry."

Ikharos grasped her hand and held it between both of his. "Please. Just stay with us. We need your help."

"There are others-"

"I'm not losing another friend." He shook his head. "I don't care how selfish it is. I can't lose another friend." He took a deep breath. "I used to think anger was all that mattered too. I learned otherwise."

"I'm not like you! I have no hope!"

"Neither do I," Ikharos admitted quietly. "I lost that as well. But if you stay-"

She pressed her other hand against the side of his face. "We shouldn't have allowed this to happen. Either of us. You're right in saying we need to salvage this, but there's only one way we can. Condemn me."

"No."

"You must."

"I won't. I-"

Xiān perked up. "Sorry, uh... Kiphoris is calling."

Ikharos pulled back and let go of Formora's hand. Her arms fell back to her sides. "Put it through."

"-rzen? Zeshus?" The Captain's voice drifted through the Ghost with a static-filled buzz.

"We're here, Kiph," Ikharos reported. "What is it?"

There was a brief silence on the other side. Ikharos could hear distant voices but couldn't make out what was being said. Eventually, Kiphoris returned to the radio. "Islanzadí-kel has offered temporary amnesty for both of you. She, and many others, want to hear Formora's testimony."

It was too good to be true. "What's the catch?"

"If they find her guilty, her fate lies in their hands."

"... Psekisk. We refuse."

"No," Formora quickly followed up. "We don't. Are we to return to Ellesméra?"

"Eia. Please, come quickly. I do not think their patience will last." With a final angry buzz of farewell, the channel was cut.

Ikharos stared at her. "I'm not letting them."

She didn't meet his eyes. "That's not your choice."

"I don't care."

"You do. You just won't admit it."

"I'm... no. We could leave. Here and now. We could go, call Sundrass. Hell, we could just take my Sparrow and make our way back to Tarrhis on our own."

"The war is too important to think only of ourselves. We cannot pass up this chance. You cannot."

Ikharos didn't utter another word. He didn't trust himself. He just waited for her to make her choice. Formora started walking in the direction of Ellesméra. All he could do was helplessly follow. He hated it. He hated the helplessness.

---

They didn't arrive to cheers and laughter. The elves that milled about outside the hall bore expressions of worry and confusion. Seeing Ikharos and Formora return likely didn't help. Especially when neither of them wore a helmet. Most just recognized her for what she was: an elf.

It was when they were on the steps of the elven hall that the shout Ikharos feared rang out.

"Forsworn!"

Formora flinched, but she carried on nonetheless. No one tried to stop them. The doors opened, this time because of the two Eliksni pulling on them. Melkris tried to be brave, but Javek's eyes said it all: it was going to be bad.

Ikharos grabbed Formora's wrist. "Last chance. I'm begging you to take it. Please. Come with me."

It was her turn to remain silent. She offered him a heartfelt smile and gently pulled away. He wasn't strong enough to hold on.

Everyone inside had a place. Kiphoris and Arya stood on either side of Islanzadí. The elven nobles all sat in their own seats along the table. Saphira, Eragon, Lifaen, Narí, Celdin, and Orik were one side of the doorway and Obleker, Arke, and Kida on the other. Melkris and Javek joined the automatons. The huge doors stayed open. The crowd outside could listen in if they so wished. Formora stood just beyond the threshhold of the entrance. Ikharos silently took up position beside her and wordlessly dared the elves to object. No one did.

Islanzadí stood. She wore a stony expression. "Formora Láerdhon, daughter of Káslidn and Linfeyth, Dragon Rider of Vroengard, former scion of Rílvenar, and fourth of the Wyrdfell. You stand in the hall of House Tarmunora to be judged for your transgressions against the realms of men, dwarves, and elves. Your fate will be decided by the noble houses of Du Weldenvarden. Ach néiat eitha orono vae weohnata taune onr lífa."

"I understand." Formora held her head high, proud to the end. She untied her sword belt and removed her firearms, then handed them all to Ikharos. His heart was in his throat. Fear for himself paled in comparison to fear for others. Loss hurt more than death. And he was terrified of losing again.

"Your crimes are great. Such dark deeds deserve only swift retribution," Islanzadí declared. She glared daggers at the both of them. "But... Kiphoris, ambassador of the Eliksni, has vouched for you in the ancient language. We would not be so foolish as to disregard his belief in you. Thus, we grant you the right to testimony. Plead your case... and then we will pass judgement."

Formora closed her eyes and slowly breathed in and out. In and out. In and out. For an entire minute silence reigned supreme. Then, seemingly picking the moment at random, she said, "Eka eddyr Formora. Eka ero aí shur'tugal. Eka ero abr du wyrdfell. Eka vergarío margrr mennsligar, älfya, skulblakar, un dvergar. Mar néiat medh iet eiga hugin. Galbatorix, hverr snuaí älfrs hrygr äthr du shur'tugalar, notaí älfrs hugr eom taune iet hugr un verda elbrithil ofan iet huginar. Älfr setja domia ofan iet vaupneya un bennar. Älfr setja domia ofan iet skulblaka."

What parts Ikharos didn't understand the power of the ancient language made known to him. There was a thrumming energy in her words that resonated with his Light. Ikharos had to divert his focus for a few seconds to hold it back.

Formora did not stop there. She continued to talk for entire minutes, then an hour, then two hours, and longer. Everything she ever wanted said was done so, all in the ancient language. And Ikharos watched, with fragil hope, how the resentment slowly began to fade from every end of the table. But it was not easy. He couldn't help but listen in, and to hear Formora's profession was haunting. He never even considered that she might have experienced half of what she did, and it buried a seed of hateful wrath within him. Before, Galbatorix was only ever a means to an end, for both Nezarec and himself. A mere puppet. But after learning all the tyrant had done from someone who had been there, someone who had suffered under his yoke, Ikharos suddenly discovered he wanted to make the traitorous Rider suffer for every act of cruelty he'd committed in his hundred-year reign.

Formora herself had earned his respect tenfold. She had suffered beyond what he thought a Lightless could survive and rose back up, her spirit unbroken. No pain, physical or emotional, had bested her. And, from the sounds of it, Galbatorix had been very, very creative with his punishments.

Evening had come when at last Formora finished. Her cheeks were marked where tears had fallen and long since dried. She opened her eyes and bravely met Islanzadí's gaze. "I can say no more," she whispered.

Silence resumed for a time. It was deafening. One of the gathered nobles, a woman of incredible grace with a golden circlet upon her brow and green robes with silver embroidery, took to her feet. "Neither should you."

"Lady Violmedr." Formora inclined her head. "I have brought shame to our house. I apologize - for that and everything. I had assumed that my name was struck from the Rílvenar tapestry. It is only right."

"Indeed it was," Violmedr solemnly responded. "But after hearing your account, I think it was done in haste." She looked around. "As all our assumptions were. I cannot speak for my compeers or my queen, but I find no fault in you."

"Nor I," said the lord across from her. Thus began a series of Nor I's, some voluntary and some reluctant, all along the table, until it reached the very end.

"Nor I," Islanzadí echoed in a muted voice. She raise a hand. "Formora Láerdhon, daughter of Káslidn and Linfeyth, your testimony has been… informative." She sighed. "I absolve you of your crimes. Is this found agreeable?"

The answer came as a unanimous Yes along the table. Islanzadí turned to Orik.

"It is acceptable," he gruffly agreed.

"And what do you say, noble dragon?" Islanzadí asked of Saphira.

The dragon's burning eyes never left Formora. "If she is repentant, I agree."

"Then it is settled." The elven queen stood. "Formora Láerdhon, daughter of Káslidn and Linfeyth, you are no longer of the Wyrdfell. Forever more, I proclaim you once more as an elf of Du Weldenvarden. Your status in House Rílvenar may be resumed if Lady Violmedr consents."

"I do," Lady Violmedr nodded.

"Then you are once more Formora Láerdhon of House Rílvenar."

Formora stood still for a long time. Then, in a flash, she twirled around. Ikharos barely had enough time to drop all he held before she caught him in an embrace that came very close to cracking his ribs. "What's this for?" He wheezed

"For believing," she muttered. "Thank you."

She pulled away as Islanzadí clapped. Blagden, the white raven, flew to her outstretched arm. The entire assembly bowed as Islanzadí proceeded to the end of the hall and through the door to the hundreds of elves outside, whereupon she made a brief declaration in the ancient language that Ikharos was too distracted to catch. The elves burst into cheers and began to rush about.

Formora grasped his arm and led him over to where Lady Violmedr and Lifaen waited. They both bore wide, honest smiles.

"It is late and our hall is not far," Violmedr said. "Come with us. I will make additions to the tapestry."

Formora almost said yes - Ikharos could tell. But she stopped herself and glanced at him.

Violmedr saw it. Her smile did not diminish. "Your companions may join us. There is room for all."

Kiphoris walked over, outer eyes closed. He chittered and quietly said to Formora, "See? Was I not right?"

She laughed and hugged him too.

"Apparently, Formora's earned us accommodation," Ikharos told him. "Diplomacy, eh?"

"You are all welcome," Violmedr announced. "Please, join us." And with that, she glided out of the hall. They followed close behind. Obleker, Kida, Arke, and the rest of the Eliksni followed them out. Ikharos was left wondering how any of the elves' hollowed out trees could house them all. None of them appeared large enough.

As it turned out, the Rílvenar abode was not one tree but three that merged together. It was, in essence, a towering citadel reaching up as if to touch the sky. There were stables and gardens at the ground level, all laid out with the sleek perfection and level-headed foresight Ikharos was soon coming to associate with the elves. Lady Violmedr led them inside and clapped her hands. A hearth on the far side of the first floor flared to life.

Their guide turned around and said, "Please, treat this as your home. You are all welcome here. Whatever you need, you need merely ask. For now, I request that Formora accompany me alone. This is a matter for those of Rílvenar."

Ikharos's argument died away the moment Formora granted him a reassuring look. She left with Violmedr and Lifaen. Kiphoris tapped his shoulder and pointed to the hearth. A set of incredibly comfortable looking armchairs stood before it. Without another word they walked over and collapsed into them

"Holy crap," Ikharos said numbly. Kiphoris mumbled something similar. "How did... How did you manage to make them agree to that?"

Kiphoris dispelled a heavy breath. "Oh, Ikha Riis... I have no idea."

"You silver-tongued bastard. Thank you." Ikharos eyed the fire. "That was..."

"Something," the big Eliksni finished.

"Yeah. Something."

Narí leaned in between them, holding a bottle in each hand. "Kiphoris, Shadeslayer, might I offer you-"

"Yes," Ikharos blurted. "And yesyesyes." He gratefully accepted one of the bottles. "Oh, this is... yes."

Kiphoris gingerly took the other and nodded his thanks to the elf. "What is it?"

"Faelnirv," Narí cheerfully explained.

Ikharos undid the stopper on his bottle. He almost took a swig, but stopped himself when Xiān whispered something to him. He swiveled to face his companion. "Kiph, pay up."

"What?"

"Ether. I want to try my hand at that ether-wine mix you talk about."

000

Zhonoch moved as silently as he could through the twisting halls and corridors of the Magnus Vae. The radar on his HUD highlighted where his suit, or the Psions monitoring his progress, had marked Worldbreaker sentries. He made every effort to avoid them.

He was invisible, but he wasn't truly hidden. The Eliksni stealth generator had a unique hum that could easily be missed or disregarded as ambient noise from the carrier around them, but the Legionaries of the Worldbreakers, like all legions, were sure to pick up on the distinctive sound. The hum was often the only sign a colonial cohort had of an impending Marauder attack and they had all learned to listen for it lest a pirate skewer them out of nowhere.

For miles Zhonoch walked, stalking down endless corridors until finally he arrived at the cargo bay's rear entrance. Four Worldbreakers stood guard by the bulkhead doors. Two were simple Uluru Legionaries, but the other two he recognized as the Psions Neirim and Neuroc. The former looked in Zhonoch's direction, even though he'd ensured that he was moving as quietly as possible. With an irritable grunt he deactivated his stealth generator. "You're a sharp one."

Neirim didn't banter back. He just nodded to the Legionaries. They saluted and opened the doors.

"Quick," Neuroc ordered. "Before we're discovered."

Zhonoch didn't argue. He jogged after the two as they slipped into the cargo bay. They didn't have far to go. Bays AH13 and AH14 were close to the rear entrance. The first they reached, AH13, was almost filled to the brim with huge dark crates. Had it been clear the chamber would have been capable of fitting three dozen hovertanks if cleared.

"There's the CASPs," Neuroc whispered. "We need to set the bombs and... Sir?"

Zhonoch ignored her and walked over to the first one he saw. The CASPs were cuboid constructs half as large as a Goliath tank. There was a shaded window in the side. "I want a look at these blighters. I want to see them squirm."

"Sir, I don't think we should... fine." Neuroc followed him over and pressed a button on the crate's side.

Nothing changed. The window was just as dark. She pressed it again: same result.

"Faulty?" Zhonoch asked.

"No, this isn't..." She peered in the window. "Something's obstructing the view."

"I'll unobstruct it." Zhonoch cracked a fist against the crate, jostling the entire thing. The darkness within didn't go away, but three little lights sliced into view.

Zhonoch and Neuroc stumbled back at the same time.

"It's not a Worm farm," the Flayer whispered.

Zhonoch stared at the eyes behind the glass. All three slowly closed up. "... Hive." He grabbed one of the bombs. "We need to-"

"Stop."

Zhonoch froze.

"Turn around."

He did so. Primus Da'aurc stood not twenty Uluru paces away, flanked by his bond-brothers. One of them, Re'eir, tossed something onto the ground. It landed with a squelch. Zhonoch looked it over; it was the head of one of Neuroc's Legionaries.

He quickly glanced around. Neuroc was still beside him, standing still, but Neirim was gone. The little rat.

"Primus," Zhonoch began in a low voice. "Please. These are monsters. We have to-"

"No." Da'aurc shook his head. He had a slug rifle locked and loaded. It looked like a toy in his huge hands. "They're not monsters. How can something so beautiful be a monster?"

Neuroc raised her hands in surrender. "They need to be destroyed. Sir, with all respect, we have to-"

Da'aurc fired. Zhonoch flinched, but it didn't hit him. He glanced over at Neuroc - but she was still intact too. Then where...

A whistle split the air. The vacuum within the CASPS sucked in air through the narrow hole left by the microcket. Something within - something big - groaned its way to wakefulness.

---

AN: Thanks to Nomad Blue for editing!