Chapter 49: Calm
He was Kirrnaka, second eldest of his clutch, and he dreamed of darkness and axes. He forced those dreams onto reality; onto those rivals who thought they could trespass onto his territory, where his siblings whispered and schemed and ached for sustenance. His crypt was to the west side of their vacuum-lost island, for northward was where his parents stood. Always northward, for in north lay power. He didn't know what lay north of his parents. He had heard tales of a great king, tales that his parasite loved to hear and shiver to, but they were just that. Tales. Beyond the spectrum of belief.
He preferred the dreams.
His father, Urgrök son of Margok, stood at the horizon with his age-weathered hands resting on the pommel of his cleaver. Beside him floated his consort/confidant/rival Ir Burchas. They stood at the northernmost point of their jagged abyss-doomed island. They watched both north and south, and to the star they orbited - looking for something. Anything of use - but only that.
Contrarily, everything was a commodity to the small and the hungry. Kirrnaka knew it. His sisters knew it. His brothers knew it. Food, a place to slumber in peace, the rare pocket of sweet-tasting air - they hoarded it where they could. It was a fight of clutch against clutch, and their parents proudly looked on.
He hated them. He hated his weakness, he hated the slithering, spiny creature in his stomach that only ever demanded MORE MORE MORE, that commanded his every living moment, but Kirrnaka hated his scornful father and disinterested mother above all else. All they did was look beyond the floating jetsam of what had once been a grand war moon and lust after alien worlds. They didn't care about the slaughter conducted between their children. As long as they received their tithe, they were content to ignore every shrill scream of horror and pain. They approved only of those strong enough to take from others.
A brother - different clutch, not to be trusted - tried to kill him that rotation, but a hissing snarl sent the craven scurrying back where he came from. Kirrnaka retreated to his crag and found his true brothers and sisters huddled together for warmth. There was precious little of that too. The star their island twisted around was tiny and distant. True warmth was a foreign concept.
Eirim, little Eirim, bright-minded Eirim, shivered most violently of all. "I wish I could go north," she said wistfully as she gnawed on her own arm. "It is warmer."
Argok, oldest of the clutch and broad of crest, shadowed over the others. Her jaws clacked uncontrollably. "Northward is power. Everywhere else is death. We must go north."
But no one moved. Their territory - their crypt - was hard won with blood, dust, and chitin. They couldn't leave it. It was a prize they had suffered to scrape out and fortify. It was their castle. Kirrnaka was the walls who held the border and Argok was the hearth who kept the others together. This was their coalition. And it was neither stronger or weaker than that of any other clutch. To be strong was to be the only one left. To be weak was to be dead.
Cheirrlok battered at something with a closed fist. The sound of it echoed all around the island. It always did. He was making a weapon - as he had done since he first hatched. He loved building. And he built strong. This time it was a knife formed from the talon of a dead sister. Not a clutch-sister, just a blood-sister. She had been a crazed thing, clawing at all around her. Kirrnaka had cracked her skull against the very crag he rested against and tasted of the dust that remained. Her own clutch-siblings had died not long after, outnumbered by all.
Weakness was death.
"Build it sharp," Kirrnaka instructed his brother. Cheirrlok murmured his assent.
Claws gripped Kirrnaka's arm. Instinct and Worm roared at him to shake them off. Reason gave him pause - after all, it was only Maalcoth.
"We need to eat," his other brother hissed. "Catch a clutch in their sleep, rip the meat from their shells...
Kirrnaka hissed back, "It would make noise. Others would see our backs turned and ready their own claws."
Maalcoth fell back upon the pockmarked stone and gasped painfully. "We need to eat!"
"We do," Argok solemnly agreed.
Kirrnaka gritted his fangs and turned his head about. He was sightless, as all Unproven were, but the instinct was too strong to ignore. The scents of other clutches assailed his senses. None were yet weak enough to prey upon.
A new scent hit him. Old death and fresh torment. The warmth from the distant star disappeared, as if something had raised up between him and it.
Father.
Kirrnaka was effortlessly pushed aside. He didn't resist. It would be foolish to do so. All he could do was-
He heard a growl and a cry. Maalcoth. In that moment his starved heart went cold. Maalcoth, his brother, who was supposed to be a Knight like he. Maalcoth, in whom he confided his dreams of darkness and axes. Maalcoth, whom he wanted to test his fantasized blood-forged blade against to appease the logic that caged them. Maalcoth, whom father had chosen. To be chosen was to die - eaten or burnt up, it did not matter. The result was the same; it would leave their coalition weak. It would leave Kirrnaka without a brother to stand at his shoulder.
Father, Urgrök, was already gone. Maalcoth, the hunger-thin Thrall, dangled from his fist and cried out again and again. The other clutches edged closer, hearing it and delighting in the feast to come.
"No," Kirrnaka suddenly hissed. Fear and rage bubbled up from within. He started to run. His siblings, fearing abandonment and slaughter, picked themselves up and scrabbled after him.
There was naught to do but one thing: break order and dare strike north.
Argok was beside him, as quick and determined as he. Cheirrlok was on his other side, and the littlest brother slipped into the oldest one's hand a stone-sharpened knife. Cheirrlok's pace slowed with Worm-pain for his breaking of the logic, but he summoned the effort to keep going. His bravery was an inspiration. Kirrnaka adored him. Adored them all.
Eirim, little Eirim, straggled by their heels. She was grasped tight by fear - and rightly so, for the other clutches were rousing themselves for the hunt. Already two groups were fighting over the crypt that had been so recently abandoned. More yet ran after the fleeing clutch.
They did not need eyes to know where north was. Maalcoth's screams grew ever louder, almost overpowering their mother's incantations. Kirrnaka did not understand the words, but Argok did, and she hissed out, "She means to make of him an Ogre!"
"Hold it still!" Ir Burchas snarled suddenly. Her voice shattered what remained of the star's warmth.
Maalcoth's cries increased in volume.
Kirrnaka closed his skeletal jaws and, when the scent of Urgrök was strongest, he leapt onto his father's back. The Knight jerked up in surprise and tried to reach over his shoulder, but a stinging pain raced up from his ankle. He kicked away the small Thrall, sending it sprawling.
"Eirim!" Cheirrlok cried out. The little builder snarled and threw himself at the same leg, aiming for the tendons, but their father's leg was clad in thick shell. He would have shared the same fate if not for Kirrnaka's timely stab.
The knife slipped between the shoulder plate and helmet, right into Urgrök's neck. Kirrnaka's Worm trilled with victory. He ignored it and dug deeper, ripping the sister-talon through throat and dust-vessels. The great Knight gurgled and rasped and fell to his knees.
Ir Burchas watched with revolted horror. "Heresy!" She cried out.
She dropped her incantation and swooped in to assist her husband - if a bloated form hadn't latched onto her. She shrieked with incandescent rage and attempted to shake the monstrosity off, but the distorted Thrall clawed and bit with curse-gifted strength. Maalcoth's newfound power forced her down - where Argok was waiting. The eldest sister lunged up and clamped down with bone-dry jaws. Ir Burchas tried to scream, but her daughter's fangs were in her windpipe.
Both Knight and Wizard stood for a time, and both struggled fiercely to keep their eyes alight, but death's grip was tight and refused to let them go. Both fell in time. Ir Burchas lasted only so much longer, and attempted to claw away Argok, though it was in vain. Blood loss weakened her - and sustenance hadstrengthened the hungry Argok.
Silence fell over the war moon jetsam, broken only by nervous chattering of the other clutches. One of the broods, braver than most, sent a warrior-to-be forward in hopes of finding an understanding. Eirim jumped up and jammed her claws into his head. "I am a secret born of a thousand sharpened thoughts!" She whooped. She eagerly drank away at the ichor running down her fingers.
Kirrnaka rose up from his fallen sire's body, opened his newly-formed eyes, and looked past his father's corpse. He caught sight of Cheirrlok, who blinked right back. His new eyes then found Argok, her jaws filled with gore, and Maalcoth, who tilted with uneven mass. When he saw Eirim feasting upon a rival, his heart soared. She was thin and shaking, but alive and full of rabid glee.
His clutch-siblings were alive. Their coalition was strong.
And all the other clutches were weak.
He grinned and bared his growing fangs to the vacuum of open space. A smile his prey would never see.
Kirrnaka-Hul shook the memories from his mind. The past was a grasping, selfish thing that only ever tried to steal his attention from its rival - the present. But the present was far more alluring, for in it was the moment his axe could bite away at those who failed to uphold the Logic-of-Logics.
A Colossus, alone and furious, spat bullets at his children. It was cornered and all the more desperate because of that, and it roared as hungry spawn closed in. It caught a Thrall in its meaty fist and crushed its head with a squelching pop. A Knight - lesser than his lovely Blades - rushed the Uluru warrior and laid open its belly. A backhanded strike cracked the Knight's jaw. The follow-up blast from the cannon finished the warrior-morph off.
The Uluru, now a bleeding, bellowing thing of death-doomed madness, lost its footing and dragged its way further into the corner of the salvage wall, as if to hide away. Kirrnaka-Hul didn't let it escape his sight. The scent of blood was tantalizingly strong. He edged forward, hunkered down, and delighted in the dying beast's cries. Its eyes found him and despaired.
His Worm shivered. It could taste the coming kill. Kirrnaka's glee turned to filthy ash in his mouth. He stood up, strode over, and grabbed the Cabal's armoured shoulder. It shot at him, but his shell was thick and his mortality questionable. Kirrnaka-Hul tossed the Uluru out of the corner with little effort. It scarcely managed a groan as it tumbled to a stop.
He stomped over, planted a foot onto its bloodied chest, and wrenched its arm from its socket. The Colossus managed one last agonized roar before it fell silent.
Just for good measure, Kirrnaka-Hul cleaved its head in two.
000
"Mess hall is ahead," Neirim hollowly announced.
Zhonoch shivered. The Psion's voice shattered the silence so suddenly that he was, for a moment, worried that a stray Thrall might pick up on it. Nothing charged down the long, dark corridors to assail them, however. Nothing cried out. His rifle's motion tracker couldn't pick out any other living thing - besides the other survivors trudging after him. They were safe. For the time being.
Neirim opened the door ahead of them and stopped in place. Zhonoch - his heart racing - joined him.
The mess hall bore all the hallmarks of a slaughter. Bodies laid strewn about all across the floor. Some of them were in pieces. Viscera covered the tables and counters. Nothing moved. Nothing lived.
The only consolation was the lack of Hive.
"Acrius's gleam..." His hand curled into a shaking fist. His rage bubbled up. It took all he had to shove it aside and concentrate on keeping a practical mindset. "... We... We need more ammunition." Zhonoch swiveled around. "And weapons. Gather all you can. Move it!"
The tired, loosely arranged regiment of Uluru and Psions rushed past. Many stalled at the sight that greeted them, but their comrades shoved them back into action. Death was no stranger. Not to Cabal.
But defeat?
"This will mean our end," Zhonoch murmured.
Neuroc and Neirim stared at him, one thoughtful and the other accusatory.
"Our forces are not entirely depleted," the former pointed out.
Zhonoch snorted. "Maybe I'm just a defeatist." He shook his head in hopes of banishing the traitorous thoughts. "Where next?"
"Armory's too close to the holding bays." Neirim idly lifted his new headhunter's sight to his eye. "But if we hit that, we could pave our way out with fire."
"Fires die out. We'll have cleavers in our back if we try to run."
"We must run. There's too many Hive, and too few of us."
"True. So we must fly." Zhonoch nodded to himself. "Burn our way to the bridge. Call in Tlac for a thunder-run."
"Suicide!" Neirim hissed.
"If it's to death we march, we'll make it a fighting end. Honour to the Primus-of-All-Legions and the Princess-Imperial." Zhonoch held up his trembling fist. "For the empire."
"For the empire," Neuroc echoed.
Neirim silently glared at him. "For the empire," he spat.
000
"The Hive are here."
Ikharos couldn't believe the words he uttered. So he said it again. "The Hive are here. On Kepler."
"Eia," Kiphoris confirmed. He looked tired and defeated and determined all at once.
"Psekisk." Ikharos turned back to the hologram. "This is bad. This is..." His eyes widened. "We can't leave. We can't call for help. We're stuck here. With them."
Again: "Eia."
Ikharos fell silent. His mind was a whirlwind; as soon as he reached one conclusion, another thought crashed into it. None of his hastily-crafted fledgling plans lasted more than a couple of seconds. "Where did they come from?"
Kiphoris gestured to the hologram. "From the Cabal vessel. Perhaps as castaways? Or as prisoners? I do not know. They are here. That is what is important."
"Traveler above, they're here..." A second realization dawned on him, so startling and terrible that he almost choked on his shock. "If this is the work of the Sisters, then everything's already lost."
His mind filled with images of the curse-ridden Dreaming City, but he knew that would be a best-case scenario. The Hive could turn Kepler into a living nightmare to put Luna to shame.
Kiphoris closed all four of his eyes. "Eia. We cannot fight War-Maker or Scheme-Mother. Not even all the Houses of glorious Riis would withstand their onslaught."
"Dammit!" Ikharos hissed. His fingernails dug into the meat of his palms.
"What do we do?" Fomora cut in. The other elves were muttering amongst themselves and avidly watched the holographic battle unfold.
Ikharos drew himself up and filled his lungs with a huge gulp of crisp air in hopes that it would cool the festering fear in his heart. It didn't. The Cabal were taken by surprise. Some of them - likely the mutineers - didn't even turn to face the oncoming Hive. They just kept firing away at their former comrades with a single minded drive.
"It's a brood," Ikharos observed, "and they've gathered a cult." Something other than terror brewed deep within. Anger, petty at the core. They were encroaching on his world. His protected world. The nerve! "There has to be a Witch at the centre of this."
"There is," Kiphoris confirmed. He whispered something to Obleker. The hologram sped up and froze, just as a crested shadow flitted above the carnage. There was no sound, but Ikharos could almost hear the eldritch scream emanating from the Witch's fanged maw.
"Broodqueen."
"Eia."
"Shit."
"... Eia." Kiphoris breathed in and out. "Have you slain one before?"
"Two. The first I hunted beneath Luna's crust, and the second I found on the Shore. Both were a huge pain in the ass. Particularly strong for Wizard-morphs."
"And they can birth entire armies."
"Yeah, that too."
"She needs to die. Or we will drown in Thrall."
"You read my mind," Ikharos muttered. He scanned the Broodqueen over and tactically broke down what he picked up. "Her chitin's intact. Strong. Clean. Almost entirely unmarked. Unscarred. This isn't a depleted brood of Sol."
"Unscarred? Nama. This cannot be allowed. I will show them Scars."
Ikharos almost smiled. Kiphoris's growled bravado was inspiring. "These Hive have been eating well."
"Must have fed on Cabal worlds."
"Very likely. Cabal are strong, but they don't fare well against Hive magic. As this," he motioned to the still image, "so conveniently proves."
"I still haven't heard of a plan," Formora muttered, so quietly that Ikharos suspected he was the only one to hear. But he wasn't done scouring the hologram.
"And that," he pointed to another Hive figure, "is a Darkblade. He's got a lot of Knights around him. Again, they look too fresh to have come from Sol. And..." He squinted at the glyphs covering their shells. "Their regalia is unfamiliar. I don't recognize the markings. Kiph?"
"Nama," the Captain responded. "I do not know it either."
"Unfortunate. I would have liked to know their function." To Formora, he elaborated: "Each brood has some sort of 'purpose.' Mostly, it's to follow their spawner or sire - mother or father - or a particular Ascendant. However, some groups have more specialized purposes."
"What of these?" She asked. Her presence had a calming effect on him. It kept the panic at bay and the anger simmering below the surface.
"At a guess? They're just followers to the Darkblade and the Broodqueen. Obedient spawn. But those Knights worry me... Look at them. They're big. And well-organized. They're moving in ranks. Covering each other. Actually fighting alongside one another, as opposed to rushing ahead to secure a kill. They've been well-trained. Their leaders must be smart bastards. Which... complicates things."
"Ikharos." Formora leaned closer. "Do you have a plan?"
He met Kiphoris's four-eyed gaze. "... Broodqueen needs to go."
"We don't have enough warriors for open battle," Kiphoris pointed out. He didn't sound adverse to the idea of fighting, though.
"Battle with Hive is suicide. But if we exploit their weaknesses, they'll fall under their own weight. Hive broods value strength. Nothing else matters. Not to them. If we take out their leaders, who's to replace them? They'll tear themselves apart just for the glory of being the strongest around. It's a tactic we used during the Taken War to disable what remained of Oryx's army."
"The queen. How do we remove her?"
"Slip into their new nest, hit her with all we have, then get the hell out."
"Just like that?" Formora asked dubiously.
Kiphoris grunted. "Nama. Hive will have tracking spores and scent trails set around their spawning grounds. Even Marauders will not make it inside."
Ikharos almost countered him. Almost offered an alternative. But a new fear rose up, and it had nothing to do with Hive.
"What's there to lose?" The other half of his soul asked. Her Light thrummed in tandem with his heartbeat. It was a unique comfort, and one he cherished in that moment.
"Kepler," he instantly responded.
Xiān snorted. Derisively so. "Just let them have it. It'll give us an advantage. And they'll be in your debt."
"What if they don't honour that debt?"
"We'll deal with them."
"But we won't be able to find them."
"Eliksni or Hive. That's your choice. There's only one right answer."
He gritted his teeth. "Fine. But I don't like this."
"Better to not like something than to be dead."
"When'd you get so poetic?"
"Learned it from you."
He exhaled. "Fine," he said again, but this time aloud. Kiphoris sent him a questioning look. "I... have something that'll get us inside. But only if it's an us."
"You have a way to deceive the Hive?" Kiphoris asked incredulously.
"Yeah."
"Then... Eia, gift this to us, and I would dedicate myself to seeing their leadership crumble."
"Promise. On your honour."
Kiphoris paused. "So be it. Great Machine willing, I would fight the Hive."
"No. I want you to promise not to use this against humans."
"Ikha Riis?"
"Promise, Kiph. I mean it."
"... Ne ra hus ne hruua," he said in Eliksni, which translated as "I/me without fight you humans", which in turn meant 'I will not harm your humans.'
"Thank you." Ikharos bowed his head gratefully. "I… I have the Promethean Code." When Kiphoris showed no signs of understanding, he continued. "Stealth tech designed by Rasputin himself. I used it to sneak into the Hellmouth to steal what remained of Crota's soul. Even the Hive can't pick up on it. Not unless you get right up in their faces."
"You will provide mine-people with this?"
"I'll need a similar oath from everyone to get it, but yeah."
Kiphoris hummed thoughtfully. "Tarrhis-Baron will not like to fight the Hive. But I think his appreciation of this technology will outgrow his fear. This will be a fine weapon to bear against Krinok..."
"Add that with magic, and you'll be nigh on unstoppable," Ikharos muttered.
Kiphoris laughed softly. "Ally-gifted strength is the worthiest of prizes. This boon you promise is immense, Kirzen. And I appreciate it." His outer eyes closed. "Tonight, you and I shall slay a demon."
"Looking forward to it," Ikharos replied. And he was. He very much was.
Kiphoris left without another word. There was no time to waste. Not with the Hive on their shores. He took Obleker and Javek with him - which left just Melkris and Formora to back Ikharos up. And, when confronted with a host of accusatory elves, the former wasn't much help. Neither was the latter, when she kept her silence.
"How dare you!" Islanzadí cried out. She sounded insulted. Looked it too. "You would wage war from our nation?"
Ikharos had no witty comeback, no convincing lie, so he simply said, "Yeah." Then: "But it won't be a war. After we assassinate their Broodqueen, they'll start fighting themse-"
"Assassination?!" If anything, she sounded even angrier. Many of the other elves were similarly irate. Those who weren't probably just hid their fury better. He clearly wasn't making any friends.
"They're Hive," Ikharos explained fitfully. "Murder-obsessed scum. It's no better than they deserve. Actually, it is better than they deserve."
"And you continue to slight us!" She snapped. "You demand and demand, but explain nothing!"
"I've explained plenty. You need to evacuate the west of Du Weldenvarden. It's not out of the question that the Hive could strike out east. Or south, for that matter. The human cities should be warned."
"Warn the empire?" Someone asked, utterly aghast.
It ticked him off. More than anything else, the sheer selfishness on display was too much for him to handle. "People are going to die if we don't act! Don't you care at all? Or are you going to abandon them as you did the Varden and the dwarves - your supposed allies?!" Ikharos cut off Islanzadí's retort with a glare so vicious that it would have made Oryx proud. "I'm going. Now. To deal with a threat on your behalf. On everyone's behalf. And if people die, it's you-" he pointed at her "-that I'll look to blame.
Queen Islanzadí bristled and made to argue back, but he was already gone.
000
Ikharos had left so quickly that Eragon had to blink to clear the Risen's outline from his eyes. He was left confused, uncertain, but more than anything else he was afraid.
"His feathers have been ruffled," Saphira observed reservedly.
Eragon reached the same conclusion, but one question doggedly persisted: Why?
He idly listened as the elves spoke in low, dangerous voices of the Risen's boldness and presumptions. Formora and Melkris had filed out after Ikharos, leaving one end of the long table empty.
"That man has too much pride," Orik muttered. "And a part of me worries that it's earned."
Arya sharply looked at the dwarf. No one else gave any indication of having heard. "Built upon exaggerated falsehoods."
"Perhaps. Or perhaps we're the ones mistaking him." Orik tugged at his beard. "His frustration was genuine." He exhaled heavily. "Oh, I ache to return to my bed. My mind is not what it should be."
"He killed Durza," Eragon reasoned, "and he slew the ambushers along the river." Arya turned to him with an unreadable expression. His heart jumped and his cheeks burned. But fear compelled him to continue. "Kiphoris is worried too. He is-"
"A liar," Saphira said. Her lip curled. "Not to be trusted."
Arya blinked. "West of Ceunon," she murmured thoughtfully. "There these creatures lie. Or so he said."
Her words sparked in him a new thought. One that turned his blood to ice. He moved before he even thought to do so, and he didn't stop until he'd left the hall behind. Voices called out to him, but he couldn't hear them past the pounding in his ears. Eragon looked about outside the doors. Ellesméra had fallen into a peaceful slumber, and few were about, but it was nonetheless difficult to pick out where the Risen had set off to.
Saphira pawed out of the hall behind him. She sniffed and tasted the air with her forked, barbed tongue. "That way," she said, pointing her head to a meandering forest trail that disappeared into the darkness of the woodland city.
Eragon wasted little time in rushing ahead. Saphira bounded behind him, calling out new directions every so often and saying little else.
Ikharos hadn't made it very far. Eragon found him and his compatriots less than half a league from Tarmunora hall. The Risen was in heated discussion with Formora when Eragon chanced upon them. They all turned to face him. Melkris waved.
"Ergon!" The Eliksni cheerfully greeted.
"Nama," Ikharos said. "Er-a-gon."
"Errrr-aaaa-gon."
"Close enough."
Melkris beamed.
Ikharos swiveled around. "You'll have to forgive him. He's an idiot." He looked past Eragon and said, more coldly, "Saphira."
"Risen," she greeted curtly.
Before anyone else could speak, Eragon exclaimed, "You said that these foes of yours lie to the west of Ceunon?"
Ikharos frowned. "I did. What of it?"
"Where, exactly?"
"Across the fjord. The Cabal camped within the Spine. That's where the Hive are right now."
It was as he feared. "Could they reach Carvahall?"
Understanding dawned on Ikharos - Eragon could tell by the way his eyes widened and he took in a quick breath. "They could," the Risen admitted. "It's too close. Hive could close that distance in no time. But-" He raised a hand. "-they'll be busy mopping up what remains of the Cabal. What we're about to do should keep them busy for a little longer. Still, I doubt they'll stay there forever..."
"Is there anything that can be done?" Eragon asked desperately. "I know the people of Carvahall and I don't want anything ill to befall them."
"... If the opportunity presents itself, I'll see what I can do. But... just don't bet on it. There's too much on my plate as it is. Convincing Islanzadí is probably your best bet."
Eragon didn't think that was a possibility. "How?"
Formora stepped forward. She was dressed for war, with her unusual armour donned and her sword sheathed at her hip. A helmet - the one she'd worn to slip into the identity of Zeshus - was held under one arm. She possessed all the grace of an elf, but it was edged with a ferocity unusual for her kind. Eragon could readily believe that she was a true warrior-elf. And a Rider, even if a former one.
"You lived under the empire's rule, correct?"
"I did," he answered. Saphira, behind him, stepped closer.
Formora nodded, apparently satisfied. "Remind Islanzadí of that. Maybe then she will prove more willing."
"But if-"
"If she doesn't," Ikharos cut off, "then she answers to me."
Formora rewarded the Risen with a displeased look, but she spoke no more on the issue.
Bushes to the right rustled. Out of them stalked a dark creature garbed in a thick coat of soft feathers. Arke's four golden eyes looked over them all with hungry interest. "Cousin Saphira," she sang in her strange, flanged voice. A chill ran down Eragon's spine. She never failed to unsettle him.
But Saphira was ecstatic. "Arke," she trilled.
The not-dragon shivered her jaw. Her eyes settled on Ikharos. "Child of Light."
"You're not coming along," he said, crossing his arms.
Arke laughed. It was a beautiful sound. Dreamlike. Inhuman. "No! No, not this time. But I shall await the call, if ever it comes."
"Stay here."
"If that is your wish..."
"Damn dragons..." The Risen muttered. The scowl he offered Arke was half-hearted. There was no latent hate to back it up. "Spit it out."
Again, Arke laughed. Joyously. It echoed throughout the small glade. "An ever-sharpened blade you are."
"Not a bomb?"
"No. Blade."
"Worrying," Ikharos said. He didn't sound very worried. "That it? All you came here to say?"
"I have a profession." Arke's eyes glittered. "I have my own wish to make, o champion mine."
"And what would that be?" Ikharos asked testingly. His arms unfolded. One of his hands drifted close to the bone-white form of his not-crossbow.
"Good fortune, of course. I wish you well on your fated katabasis and echtra into the Otherworld."
"It's just the Spine. Nothing 'Other' about it."
"Not before. But now?"
"They're only Hive. Servants, not the masters."
"Grave-doomed puppets. And their end looms close. Perhaps death mantles you."
"Perhaps?"
"I wonder, are you Bran mac Febail, who sails to heavenly Aircteach? Or are you Herakles, tasked to wrestle the three-mawed hound at the furnace-fired gates of Hades?"
"What does it matter? I'm going, they're dying."
"No!" Arke exclaimed excitedly. "You are Orpheus. Searching for Eurydice evermore."
"And what's my Eurydice?"
"Do you wish to find out?"
Ikharos grumbled "You're impossible" and walked away.
000
His shoulder ached and burned. Roran gritted his teeth as the pain redoubled, but it paled when placed before his sheer despair.
Katrina.
Katrina was gone. They'd taken her.
A choked sob escaped past the iron lump in his throat. He was faced with a quandary that tore at his very essence: the only way to rescue Katrina would be to leave Palancar Valley, yet he could not abandon Carvahall to the soldiers. Nor could he forget Katrina.
My heart or my home, he thought bitterly. They were worthless without each other, and he couldn't abandon either.
Despair rolled over him as he wrestled with the problem. He imagined himself in one of the great cities of the Empire, searching aimlessly among dirty buildings and hordes of strangers for a hint, a glimpse, a taste of his love.
It was hopeless. She was gone.
A river of tears followed as he doubled over, groaning from the strength of his agony and fear. He rocked back and forth, blind to anything but the desolation of the world.
Katrina was gone.
An endless amount of time reduced Roran's sobs to weak gasps of protest. He wiped his eyes and forced himself to take a long, shuddering breath. He winced. His lungs felt like they were filled with shards of glass.
I have to think, he told himself.
He leaned against the wall and - through the sheer strength of his will - began to gradually subdue each of his unruly emotions, wrestling them into submission to the one thing that could save him from insanity: reason. His neck and shoulders trembled from the vigour of his efforts.
Once he regained control, Roran carefully arranged his thoughts, like a master craftsman organizing his tools into precise rows. There must be a solution hidden amid my knowledge, if only I'm creative enough.
He had no way to track Katrina's captors: the twisted Ra'zac. That much was clear. Someone would have to tell him where to find them, and of all the people he could ask-
A low rumble passed through the floor under his feet. Roran frowned. His confusion gave way to a pit of worry. The soldiers!
He grabbed his hammer with his left hand and rushed down the hall. Baldor and Albriech were already there, armed and ready. They spared him grim, sympathetic looks. "We need to-" Baldor began, but another rumble devoured his words. It was louder the second time. Roran hurried onwards and flew out the front door. His jostled shoulder almost brought him to his knees, but a dark rage kept him going.
They ran through Carvahall and arrived at the barricades, where a crowd had already congregated. Ivor saw them coming and wordlessly pointed towards the distant ridge from whence the soldiers always came. Lights flashed from behind it, as bright and fierce as storied dragonfire. More rumbles accompanied each spark. Soon, the distant echoed shouts of Imperials joined them.
Four men - one of them bleeding profusely from his arm - ripped out of the mists in a desperate, panicky run. Then something galloped after them.
Roran watched, transfixed. The beast moved with all the wild glee of a hunting dog, but it was many times larger than any hound he had ever laid eyes on. In terms of sheer size, he could only liken it to a bear - and yet it wasn't. The rough red scales adorning its hide in place of a thick pelt assured him of that. It possessed no fur, no ears, and only a short, blunt snout with a mouth full of long, pointed teeth. It bore a pointed metal cap over its head and snout, and on the back of its necks and shoulders sprouted six fin-like steel blades.
It caught up with one of the soldiers and pounced on him, bringing him to the ground with its sheer weight. It tore out his throat not a moment later, cutting his terrified cries off. The beast raised its head and howled.
Other identical barks echoed out from the mists behind it. And worse yet - more of those earth-shaking rumbles.
Roran's fist tightened around his hammer. The gathered villagers trembled and ran for weapons. Those who were already armed assumed stony faces and kept watching.
One of the Imperials, seeing the welcome waiting for them, slid to a stop and turned around. He lifted his sword and... his head disappeared.
Roran blinked. Something had flashed right through the man's head and carried on past. The headless body crumpled to the ground. A shadow separated from the mists and bounded forward with huge, impossible leaps. A whistle emanated from it, causing the foremost scaled beast to halt its chase. The animal seemed to glare at Roran in particular as it restlessly paced to and fro.
The remaining soldiers reached the barricades. One tried to vault over. Roran crushed his fingers and then cracked the soldier's skull. The Imperial collapsed on the wooden board, motionless. His last remaining compatriot - utterly grasped by fear - drew his blade and looked between the villagers and the beast.
The leaping figure finally broke free of the fog's grasp and came into view. Roran gawked: it was no man. No Urgal either, and it certainly didn't match up with the stories of dwarves and elves. It had the basic shape of a human figure, but like the horrific Ra'zac, it was just too different. It was unnatural and massive; easily three heads taller than he, and its bulky body was bulging with muscle hidden beneath heavy layers of reinforced cloth and painted metal armour. Its rounded helmet completely obscured its face. The figure hefted a massive object with a pipe on one end, and it turned the open hole towards the soldier.
"ON YOUR KNEES, HUMAN!" It bellowed in loud, garbled Common. "DROP YOUR WEAPON AND RAISE YOUR HANDS!"
The Imperial shook. Then, in an act so bold and ill-advised Roran could scarcely believe he was witnessing it, the soldier charged. He raised his sword and brought it down with all his might.
It shattered on the monster's helmet. The inhuman thing snorted and backhanded the soldier with one massive, four-fingered fist. The Imperial tumbled across the dewy grass and didn't get up. Its featureless visage shifted, and Roran somehow knew it was looking at him.
"DROP! YOUR! WEAPONS!"
000
They left Ellesméra behind, found a small clearing, and sat down to plan their assassination out. Ikharos wanted some measure of privacy and to put some distance between himself and the elves. This time, though, they weren't alone. Kiphoris ordered Obleker to key the other leaders of the Scar loyalists in - and with Tarrhis listening, the final say of what happened and what didn't happen was ultimately out of their control.
Worst comes to worst, I go in alone, Ikharos decided. He had Xiān splay out a hologram of the Ceunon region. Obleker floated off to one side with the perfect viewpoint of it. Tarrhis, Palkra, Sundrass, and Drotos were watching through the machine's eye.
"Four teams," Ikharos began in Low Eliksni. He traced a finger directly to the Cabal encampment. "Teams one and two are to infiltrate the carrier. Team one must kill the Broodqueen. Team two has to deactivate the communication blockers, preferably before team one kills the Witch. This will allow us to coordinate further strikes in an effort to destabilize Hive control. Team three waits outside and - covertly, mind you - keeps the LZ clear of hostiles. Team four are the getaway drivers. Skiffs have to remain cloaked and silent until teams one, two, and three require a pick-up. Questions?"
For a moment, no one said a word. Then someone speaking through Obleker cleared their throat. "Even with your technology," Tarrhis said slowly, "killing a Witch of that standing is no mean feat. Many - mayhaps all - will die. Who qualifies to join the first crew?"
"That would be me and me," Ikharos replied neutrally. "I'm team one."
"Alone?"
"... Well, I have Xiān."
"Alone, then."
"Essential- Ow!" He swatted Xiān aside. She glowered at him in her own Ghosty way. "Essentially!"
"I feel this endeavour is ill-fated, Kirzen."
"I've faced worse odds, Tarrhis-Mrelliks." And he had. Just not alone. But he didn't give voice to that.
A rumbling growl rippled out of Obleker. "Continue, Oryx-Slayer," Tarrhis muttered. "What of this second crew? They will risk much. Who will lead them?"
"I," Kiphoris announced. His claws fidgeted and flexed with nervous apprehension. "I shall lead our skilled Marauders into the heart of the carrier and sabotage the Cabal defenses." He hesitated. "If you see fit to spare me for this, mine-Baron."
Tarrhis's growl came back. "This is presumptuous of you, Kiphoris-Veskirisk," he said warningly.
"I do not intend to cause offense."
"Offense has been caused regardless of your intentions. Mind your station."
Kiphoris twitched. "Mine-Baron, we must act. We must! With the technology Ikha Riis offers, victory is within our grasp. The Long Drift is at an end. We can make a stand!"
"If we don't knock the Hive down now," Ikharos began, "we'll never shake them loose. It's this or wait for extinction to pass us over."
"I would sooner brave the satellites," Tarrhis snarled, "than incur the wrath of the demons."
"You won't get past Scipio. Not even with the Promethean Code. It never fooled Rasputin before. I doubt it'll get us past his brother." He shuffled. "And I won't abandon these people. Not to the Hive."
"You have the power to resist the Dark. We do not."
"Yeah, you do. With every gun and blade you bear. With the Promethean Code and the ancient language. That's power enough."
Someone else mumbled something. Palkra, and it sounded like, "Pikes are nice too..."
Sundrass laughed. Drotos groaned. Kiphoris closed his outer eyes and smiled. Ikharos felt immensely out of place -like he had intruded on a familial conversation.
"Hive magic is stronger," Tarrhis pointed out.
"So is Light."
"You are one. They are many."
"Many Thrall, maybe. Many Acolytes. Nowhere near so much Wizards and Knight. And fewer Ogres. That's manageable."
"The risk is high," Kiphoris added, "but success is worth it. We are stronger now, mine-Baron. And we will continue to empower ourselves with technology and magic if we stay. Ikha Riis gifts us this code to defeat the demons, but it will deliver unto us the end of all our foes."
"... So be it. So be it!" Tarrhis bellowed reluctantly. "We pledge ourselves to this... this extermination. But when we are in need, Ikha Riis, I expect you to heed our call. Mine-Scars have given you much. We expect just as much in return."
Indignation flared up. Ikharos coldly crushed it. "Of course, Tarrhis-Mrelliks."
To speak out against a Baron would have insinuated that he was of equal or greater rank. And traditionalists like Tarrhis were too full of pride to let an insult of any kind fly by without mention. Kiphoris was already pressing way too close - Ikharos couldn't endanger their shared position any further.
"What of the other crews?" Tarrhis eventually asked.
"Team three should consist of snipers and shockshooters along with whatever Marauders remain. They shouldn't draw attention."
"Nyreks will command them," Kiphoris took over. "The fourth group will be led by Sundrass. She will Captain the watching Skiffs."
"Sundrass?" Tarrhis questioned.
The other Captain was quick to respond. "I am willing to shoulder this duty," she answered. "My Skiffs will fly quick and true."
"... Then we are decided," Tarrhis said lowly. "Sundrass, Kiphoris, Ikha Riis... do not fail me. You each know what defeat will bring." He paused. "Kirzen?"
"Yes?"
"Bring me the Witch's head."
The Eliksni filed away to collect their belongings and otherwise prepare. Javek and Obleker were to stay in Ellesméra, while Kiphoris and Melkris were to join Ikharos in attacking the Hive. He'd already decided that Kida was going to remain and provide some measure of security for the Riders and Arke. They couldn't let the dragons fall into the Enemy's hands - Ikharos shuddered to think of the implications if they failed.
But he didn't know what was to happen to the last member of their strange band. Formora leaned against a tree, crossed her arms, and said nothing. He reckoned he knew what she was thinking. Of how he handled himself before Islanzadí and her royal retinue. Poorly.
"I've no patience for inept leadership," he said softly. Her gaze darted to him. Ikharos struggled to translate his thoughts into civil words. "She - they - failed the Varden. They think they're better. Wiser. I'm not going to appease their arrogance. I don't have the time. Or patience."
"They aren't alone in their arrogance," she said softly.
"I know the Hive. Everything I've said has been nothing but the truth."
She shook her head. "That's not what I mean."
"Then what do you mean?" He impatiently questioned.
"Why are you so adamant that you fight alone?"
Ikharos found himself caught off-guard. He had a whole argument prepped up to defend his actions in Tarmunora hall, and all of it went to waste. Just left on the wayside. It was almost disappointing. "Because... it's the Hive." He blindly grasped at the first words to come to his head. "They're too Dark. Tarrhis wasn't wrong. The strongest of Hive are beyond mortal scope. Their Wizards enact demented rituals just for fun. Their Knights slaughter with mindless abandon. Their Thrall - their children - can only ever think to hunger for the deaths of other creatures."
"We've faced monsters before - together."
"Corrupted Exos. Shades. Ahamkara."
"All powerful. All dangerous."
"And none of which come close to Hive. The Exos are causal. Shades are fragile. Ahamkara can be appeased and then constrained. But Hive are paracausal. They are far from fragile. And there is no end to their gluttony."
"All the more reason you shouldn't go alone."
"No, you don't-" Ikharos closed his eyes and breathed through his nose. His temper was short, but he didn't want to get angry. "A Thrall can be killed with a bullet. A Broodqueen - or a Darkblade, or whatever other abominations those monsters have hiding in there - needs something more... deific. Their Dark will suffocate whoever stands against them - only Light, my Light, stands a smidgen of a chance."
"If they are Dark, and you are Light, then they will stop at nothing to extinguish you."
Ikharos said nothing. She wasn't wrong.
"Nezarec remains an issue. If you die to the Hive, all your knowledge goes with you. Their magics will overcome ours."
He shrugged. "There's nothing to be done. This is a risk I have to take. Hive are the worst."
"Worse than Nezarec?" Formora challenged. "Worse than all his twisted servants?"
Ikharos didn't hesitate to nod. "Yes. As terrible as Nezarec is, the Sisters are infinitely more wicked. Compared to them, he's nothing short of a saint."
Formora went quiet. "These sisters are the Hive deities?" She asked after some time.
"Yeah. Queen of Lies and God of War."
She looked away. "Excellent. More gods."
"The Hive also follow the tenets set by the Worms," Ikharos added with a grimace. Catching her questioning look, he elaborated. "Think Ahamkara, but capable of growing as large as continents and utterly devoted to the teachings of Dark. They don't shapeshift, though. No need."
Formora's expression twisted into one of contempt. "The universe must be a cruel place to birth such horrors."
Ikharos didn't offer any argument. But he did say, "Which makes protecting places like this all the more important."
She looked up. Inquisitive danced across her features. "Ellesméra? Or Kepler at large?"
"Both," Ikharos answered. "I'm not letting either fall to the Dark."
"There won't be anything for it if you die."
Ikharos sucked in a deep breath. "No one can come with me or they'll die. And that could spell my end. Hive feed from death. Grow stronger from it. Bringing along a corpse-to-be is only going to put me at a severe disadvantage."
"Is there nothing-"
"You should stay. Here. With your people."
Formora looked scandalized. "Murderers and monsters arrive on my world, at the shores of my nation, and you want me to stay?"
Ikharos shifted uncomfortably. "I guess that's not happening."
"No. I'm going with you."
"Alright." Ikharos sighed. "Suit yourself. But you are going to stick with Melkris."
She narrowed her eyes. "I can fend for myself."
"Exactly. That's why you're going with Melkris. Team three. Pick off any roamers who get too close to the LZ."
"That's..." Formora spared him a searching look. After a few tense seconds, she nodded. "I can do that. That will suffice."
"If you stayed, you could help ease things with Islanzadí..."
Her glare was back. The irked one she reserved just for him.
"... Thought not."
Kepler was underdeveloped. That had become increasingly clear to him. The lack of a global transmat system isolated the movement of people and goods to physical transportation. Just when they needed to move fast, did the failings of Alagaësia's lacking infrastructure truly become an issue.
Xiān reminded him to count their blessings. He had to admit, with some reluctance, that they were doing well all considered. Skiffs were notoriously quick, and only an hour or so after clearing the plan with Tarrhis did five of the Eliksni vessels close in on Ellesméra. There was no time wasted on a quiet entrance. The booming arrival of the dropships abruptly woke every corner of Ellesméra, even as the Skiffs landed on the city's outskirts. Animals cried out with anger and terror, and elves milled in the treeline around the wide clearing with growing confusion.
Ikharos was thankful none saw fit to fire upon the Eliksni vessels. Arrows wouldn't do anything, and he doubted any of them could muster up a spell powerful enough to so much as scratch a Skiff, but the Eliksni wouldn't take it kindly. And irate Eliksni were the most dangerous kind.
Taniks and his death-transcenent murder spree was testament to that.
Out of the first Skiff to land strolled out the richly-dressed form of Drotos. The Archpriest's red robes were criss-crossed with lines of elegant Eliksni runes - prayers to their Great Machine. He closed his outer eyes at the sight of Ikharos and crowed, "Light-Champion! Tide-Breaker! Ikha Riis pak Kirzen!"
"Drotos-Achris pak Helkren," Ikharos offered a flowing miurlis salute. "Thank you for this."
"I need no thanks," the Archpriest rebuffed with good humour. "This is for our gain, not yours. It is my gratitude that should be offered."
"I... see." Ikharos blinked. "There is, uh, a favour I must ask."
"Ask it, Machine-Envoy."
"Walk carefully with these people. Gently. Their politics is a delicate thing, and I've bruised it more than enough. When I return, I'd like them to be… let's say intact."
Drotos inclined his head graciously. "On mine-honour, I shall. Your human-kin will earn no assault from me or mine-crew. We will be gracious and polite for you and our House."
"Thank you. Obleker and Javek are here to help. I've left them with language files."
Drotos held out four upturned palms as if to physically receive the boon. "I have nothing to offer in return but my faith. Go well, Ikha Riis. Slay many demons. For the Great Machine."
"I'll do my best," Ikharos muttered. He caught sight of a trio of approaching elves and hastily excused himself. He didn't want to be around for the diplomatic mess of dealing with the irate natives. Ikharos was happy to leave Drotos to it. "Maybe he'll do better than I did."
"Given how little you tried, probably," Xiān quipped.
"That's harsh."
"Not as harsh as you were with Islanzadí."
"You think I'm in the wrong."
"No, you're right, but you were a tad rude about it."
He grumbled. "I'm not made for politics."
"I'm well aware."
The other four Skiffs touched down behind that belonging to the Archpriest. Kiphoris, Melkris, and Formora were already standing by, all dressed for battle. Even Melkris managed to look formidable, with his pristine white and gold armour and red cloak. Formora had the Hunter cloak he'd given her and the Sentinel shield locked against her bracer to go with the body armour Scipio supplied. Her helmet - the Obsidian Mind - rested by her feet.
Kiphoris looked no different. He always garbed himself like an elegant Eliksni noble, and the way he stood in the centre of the clearing with his upper hands resting on Ka'Den's pommel was nothing short of picturesque.
Ikharos took up position next to them and slipped on his Ahamkara-feather bracers and drake-bone gauntlets. He watched, with detached interest, as the Skiffs deployed docking clamps and settled to a stop. There was something about the organic style of Eliksni architecture and engineering that appealed to him. The Skiffs looked both sleek and hefty all at once, and more than anything they boasted a fearsome presence.
"I thought about claiming one of these for myself," he said aloud, "in the years after Twilight Gap. But I reckoned it'd only get me shot down by City AA cannons and waste a perfectly good ship."
"Where would you have found a ship to take?" Kiphoris asked idly.
"Devils, probably. Traveler knows they've stolen plenty of mine."
"They robbed you?"
"Of course. I robbed them back. It was a mutual robbing."
Kiphoris snorted. "You fell victim to the Shipstealer?"
"Her? She took a jumpship of mine, once, but not much beyond that. Apparently, the bounty on my head wasn't high enough for her."
"It was a large bounty. I remember that."
"Indeed it was. Half a million Glimmer and three pristine Heavy Pikes. Best Riksis could offer, 'sfar as I remember."
"Taniks didn't try to claim it? Surely it was too enticing for him to pass over."
"Couple of times, he did. But I'm an old hand at these games. No one hunts me." Ikharos allowed a small pause to persist before he continued. "Besides, that was after Gap. He had all four hands full with Saint on his tail."
Kiphoris's expression shifted. Amusement morphed into something far less pleasant. "The Kellbreaker?" He quietly asked.
Ikharos hesitated. He was saved when out from behind one of the Skiffs stalked Sundrass and her guards. Her eyes lit up, and she sped up to join them.
"Vel, Kiphoris-Veskirisk!" She greeted happily. She barely offered Ikharos a glance, and he was left wishing she hadn't. Her gaze was cold and empty when it chanced upon him.
But he was perfectly fine with returning it like that.
Ikharos nudged Formora's arm. "Let's go."
She offered no complaint. They slipped past Sundrass's retinue and made for the Skiffs.
AN: Thanks to Nomad Blue for editing!