Riverleech was the largest town on Kallo VI, which wasn’t saying much. It was the planet’s port city, and the closest city to the Stream, so naturally, it was the largest. Its buildings were made of beige sandstone with rusting copper roofs. Vines climbed up their walls, and the cobblestone streets were filled with weeds.
Vayra, Glade, and Nathariel rode into the town on horses, trailing close behind the Order of Balance Adept. She led them through alleys until they reached the main thoroughfare. It was a broad street filled with civilians and wagons, and nearly everyone was doing something. Only a few of them even looked up.
It reminded Vayra of Tavelle. Just…much smaller.
A platoon of Redmarines marched down the street in the opposite direction, and some turned to face Vayra. They bowed their heads and nodded.
Even out here, word of her arrival had spread. People had managed to deduce who she was by now, but she didn’t exactly blend in. Even a plain cloak didn’t do much good to hide her hair and prosthetics. There hadn’t even been time to change out of her training attire.
That meant they would have to move on from this planet, soon. But not today. Supposedly, something important was happening, even though the Adept hadn’t been keen on elaboration.
At the end of the main thoroughfare was the Kallo Royal Palace: a simple box built of the same materials as the rest of the city. But, it was taller and wider than everything else, and even if the planet’s ancient royalty had evolved into representatives in the Velaydian Parliament, it still made a perfect administration center.
They rode their horses up to the palace’s front terrace and dismounted, then handed the reins off to a few Redmarine palace guards.
The Adept led them inside the building. The old gates had been propper open, exposing an entrance vestibule with hundreds of marble statues lining it to the open air. They walked down the center aisle to a staircase, then took it up a few flights.
After a minute or two of winding and turning, they arrived at the meeting room. It was a chamber with a tall roof, but not much to fill it—except for a table, a few seats, and a troop of meeting attendees. Light filtered in through tall windows, and a Redmarine was positioned in every corner, each armed with a musket.
Only Elder Gheita and a few yellow-coated Royal Navy admirals had attended in person. The rest were formed out of watery statues—colourless imitations of what they might otherwise look like.
It was Arcara-soaked water; it glimmered with shimmering blue specks. The constructs were ancient, probably built by a God-heir of Karmion himself. But they worked to host large meetings across vast swaths of space.
The Adept guided Vayra, Nathariel, and Glade up to a simple wooden platform, then poured a bucket of Stream water on it. Runes lit up along the wood, along with a few starsteel wires.
“You are connected,” the Adept said. “The meeting can now begin.”
Elder Gheita nodded, then told the rest of the gathered water statues the same thing. Around the table, Vayra noticed most of the Elders of the Gray Council, as well as King Tallerion and a few Redmarine generals.
King Tallerion was the next to speak. “The situation, Mediator, is this: Karmion is opening up a tournament to claim the Godhood of Talock.”
For the next few minutes, King Tallerion explained in detail what the God of the Sea was planning—how he had opened up Talock’s Harvest Sanctuary homeworld, allowing all sorts of people from across the galaxy to loot it—all in preparation for the tournament.
“You want Vayra to enter the Skyclash tournament?” Nathariel asked. “I mean no offense to her, but it is incredibly unlikely that she will hit Second Lieutenant by the time the tournament, let alone Captain.”
“And that is why she must reap the loot of Harvest Sanctuary,” said one of the Order of Balance Elders.
That, Vayra decided, was an abrupt shift. Only weeks ago, they had reprimanded her for travelling to Muspellar without permission.
‘Harvest Sanctuary is firmly in Elderworld territory,’ Phasoné confirmed.
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Vayra said aloud, “but this sounds incredibly dangerous.”
“You would be correct,” Elder Miin, sitting at the far end of the table, said. He glanced nervously at King Tallerion. “But considering the circumstances, your proven track record…and that you will have an Admiral with you, the risks should be mitigated.”
Vayra glanced at Tallerion as well. “So…what’s the political advantage of this, then, your majesty?”
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He snorted, then said, “Nothing internal, if that’s what you’re insinuating. I see an opportunity to help our star-nation. I have been raised and trained to take it.”
“Opportunity?” Nathariel demanded.
“To rid the Elderworlds of yet another of their Gods, and bring such power to the fight on our side. We would not squander such power: we would deploy a God on the Line of Battle immediately.”
Vayra shifted her weight side to side. She looked at Nathariel and Glade, trying to gauge their reactions. They said nothing.
“There are hundreds of star systems on the Line of Battle, honoured Mediator,” Tallerion said. “Many of them are choosing where to place their allegiance, and many are looking to the Skyclash tournament for decision-making guidance. This is our chance to prove our strength. If we…managed to enroll the Mediator, and say, some of our top Order disciples and Adepts into the tournament, we may be able to sway the outcome of this war. Provided that you do very well.”
“What does the Order think about this?” she asked.
“Candidly, we are not the most pleased,” Elder Gheita said. “But we have also come to an understanding with the King, Parliament, and military. So long as you travel with Nathariel and a squadron of our greatest Adepts, we will allow it.”
“Now, now, wait a minute.” Nathariel raised a finger and leaned forwards. “You never gave me any say in this, and who says I want to work with any of your Adepts? I know you all would sooner stab me in the back than entrust me with a mission like this. And even if the Gray Council has condoned it, how can I say your Adepts haven’t?”
“Is there any way they could kill you?” asked an elder who Vayra didn’t recognize.
“I doubt it, but I don’t want to wake up in my sleep with a horde of Adepts leaning over me, their swords drawn, ready to slit my throat.”
‘Vayra,’ Phasoné interjected, only audible inside Vayra’s head. ‘Your only chance at advancing to Captain in time for the tournament is to use the resources of my brother’s homeworld. And even then, it’s a long shot. Knowing what we now know, you need to get there as soon as possible. This bickering needs to end.’
Vayra held up her hands and stepped to the edge of the little wooden platform. “Let’s just hold on a minute. Nathariel, the Order claims they trust you. I know I trust you. If they betray you, they’ll also be betraying me and violating their oaths. That should be enough to keep them in line, right?”
“Mayhaps,” Nathariel said.
‘Tell them that I know my way around the planet, too,’ Phasoné instructed.
Vayra did. Then, she added, “If it makes you feel any more comfortable, that is. I mean, she’s Talock’s sister. If she can’t guide me, then I don’t really think anyone can. Though…before we left, I’d appreciate it if anyone could lend us some maps of the planet’s surface.”
“It will be done, Mediator,” an Admiral said.
“Alrighty, now, uh, one last question,” Vayra said. Nathariel glanced at her curiously, and most of the other heads of the gathered people turned as well. “I’m…I’m the Mediator. I don’t need the strength of a God. Or, technically, I already have the strength of a God, right? Considering Phasoné is stuck inside me.”
‘Slow down when you’re speaking,’ Phasoné reminded her. ‘It makes you sound childish…’
Sorry, Vayra thought.
The Elders of the Gray Council all shared a glance with each other, then, one, who Vayra could not name (nor make out any really distinct features of through the water projection), explained, “We do not know what would happen. No Mediator has ever absorbed a Godhood before, and it may not be possible.”
‘All Mediators before you weren’t ever God-heirs,’ Phasoné said. ‘They were usually just beings like Glade, with Fair Spirit Potential—before they began to share a soul with a God, that is.’
“So we’re mainly keeping it out of Karmion’s hands, then?” Vayra asked. “That’s the purpose?”
“Indeed,” said King Tallerion. “Since all the competitors will be Captain—though advancement during the tournament is allowed—it’s natural that the Godhood could not immediately be assigned. It would have to wait until the victor reaches…Grand Admiral, is it?”
“Correct, your majesty,” Elder Gheita said. “We will have time to figure out what to do with it if she wins.”
‘Vayra…’ Phasoné warned, ‘No one has ever held two Godhoods before for a reason. Even Karmion hasn’t, though he could have taken Talock’s Godhood if he had wanted. It would shatter your soul. It just isn’t possible. Besides, you’re already learning one Path. Trying to learn another? Both of your Paths would just end up weaker than you need them to be.’
Vayra wondered about the Godscourge book. It didn’t rely at all on absorbing a Godhood to work—the purpose of her path was to kill Gods, not to become one.
“To keep it out of Karmion’s hands, I’ll do it,” Vayra said. “But I have one condition: I won’t win the tournament. I’ll fight for Velaydia, and I’ll show everyone your strength. But one of your Order of Balance fighters must win.”
‘None of them are even at Master, let alone Captain!’ Phasoné exclaimed.
The entire meeting began to mumble and mutter to each other, and combined, it still got loud enough that Vayra had to shout. “With a wealth of resources, it’s possible to take a being with a Fair Spirit higher than they’d have otherwise made it. Right?”
The meeting quieted down, and she received a few nods.
“Then your Adepts and fighters need to get ready to accept a Godhood,” she said. She turned her head towards Glade. “And I formally request that Glade be allowed to participate in the tournament. He must be put forward as one of your top contenders.”
“Vayra!” Glade exclaimed. “Wait—”
“That is agreeable,” King Tallerion said, and most of the members of the Gray Council provided some nods of agreement. “Mediator, there is no time to waste. Go to your ship and set a course to Harvest Sanctuary. Now.”