Over the past two weeks, King Tallerion had been busy.
His fleet crossed over the Line of Battle and sailed into Velaydian space once more. When they arrived at the planet of Farpoint, a central location only a few days’ sail from the Shattered Moon, he stopped.
As soon as they’d left the Shattered Moon, they’d sent out messenger fishes to all their major naval ports, requesting ships and reinforcements.
Some already arrived at Farpoint before he arrived. Nearly a hundred warships lined its Stream-facing coast, their sails furled and anchors weighed. Most were simple galleons, but there were a few men of war among them.
Farpoint, a temperate, terrestrial planet with green forests and pleasant prairies, was perfect for mustering a large fleet. Its winds were calm and its waves gentle, and it had a broad but deep Stream-facing coast. The little shoreline villages wouldn’t be enough to support the fleet for long, and there were only enough piers to make the most important repairs.
Most importantly, on the subtle cliffs of the coast, ancient entrances to the planet’s Vale Chambers clung to the wall, beckoning distant adventurers. When the runes lit up, they would know it was time.
Flotillas of rowboats rushed to and fro, paddling between the larger vessels and distributing supplies, weapons, and crew. They parted before Tallerion’s ship, however, and distant cries of “Make way for the king!” rang out across the water.
Tallerion, standing at the front railing of his ship’s afterdeck, scanned side to side, trying to observe his fleet.
“We have twenty ships from Tavelle, my lord,” said a low-aide with a clipboard and a sheet of parchment. He wore a pale green coat and a simple wig beneath his tricorn hat.
Another low-aide approached from the other direction and said, “Your majesty, I count thirty in the fleet from Ballenor and ten from Stormeye.”
“Very good,” said Tallerion. “We will muster all we can.” He heaved a sigh. “If they’ve heard of our results in the tournament, and our successes so far, they may be more willing to donate ships. If not…it is possible that fleets forsake us.” He walked over to the starboard railing on stiff legs. “If they believe our effort is doomed, they will not help.”
“Your majesty,” one of the low-aides said, “Lord Nerren from Taria wants to know why we are making an excursion deep into Elderworld territory, and why we need such a massive fleet.” He held up a messenger fish and unfurled a sheet of parchment from its mouth.
“We need enough numbers to break their lines and evacuate the civilians from the Shattered Moon,” said King Tallerion.
“Shall I tell him it is our duty to…life, then?” the aide asked.
“No, that will not convince Mr. Narren.” Tallerion shook his head. “Tell him that we must prove to the people of the galaxy that we are willing to help where their Gods forsake them. Such a maneuver will lessen Karmion’s sway and weaken his abilities as an Emissary, making it easier for the Mediator to defeat him.”
“Very good, sire.” The aide backed away and began scrawling down a note on the backside of the parchment sheet.
“My lord, is there truly a chance of victory?” asked the other low-aide. “What can mortal men do to a God?”
“If more come, if we can muster a fleet a thousand ships strong, we stand a chance,” said Tallerion. “I will not say it is a high chance, but our odds of survival will be much lower if we wait any longer, or if we retreat behind our borders and let the Gods destroy us. But we will be placing our faith in the Mediator.”
King Tallerion shut his eyes, recalling his first meeting with her. She’d been nervous, but she had just as much reason to fight Karmion as the rest of them, whether she truly aligned with Velaydia or not.
“Very…very good, sir,” said the aide. “I will keep watch for more fleets.”
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Vayra tapped her foot inside her boot, watching and waiting for Glade’s fight to begin. He marched out across the arena, facing a bulky half-ogre with a mace. The half-ogre had long brown hair wound into dreadlocks, perfectly framing his pale face and making his unnaturally saturated blue eyes stand out even more.
Being a descendant of Karmion, he wore a long cloak with rippling sea-foam at its end and a tricorn hat with a watery plume. Blue tattoos made tendrils up his bare chest, writhing as if they were alive.
He had advanced to Admiral as well, though judging by the miniscule amount of free Arcara in his channel system, he had just advanced recently—even more recently than Glade had.
A long trumpet tone signalled the start of the fight, and Glade and the swordwyrm closed the distance as quickly as they could. Glade parried mace blows and dodged tendrils of rushing water. The swordwyrm harried and blocked, flying free around the arena. Once, it drew too close to the edge, and Karmion swatted it back inward with a pulse of water from the moat. It bounced along the arena floor a few feet before floating back up and rejoining Glade.
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He was working hard, but he wasn’t struggling, and Vayra wasn’t concerned.
While she watched, half paying attention, she summoned Adair out of her corespace. He ran along the railing of the viewing platform, then laid down and tucked his head onto his paws.
“So…” Vayra whispered. “For Grand Admiral, we’ll need to bond with a spirit-beast, hm? How…how does that bond work?”
‘You’ll cement a firm relationship with one, to the point that its soul binds to your core.’
“So it’s not like us, where we have a soul pact and a bond that way, right?”
‘Our souls are bound together, intertwined,’ Phasoné said. ‘If you wanted to use Adair as your springboard for your Grand Admiral advancement, you’ll need to take his burgeoning soul and wrap it around your core, using it as a reinforcement to hold the advancement together. You’re making soulmatter, bringing your core into a more real plane of existence to match your channels. As a bonus, his abilities will become firmly ingrained in your being, and you won’t have to think about drawing on them anymore.’
Vayra scratched the back of her head. “Will that destroy him, though? I don’t want to consume his soul for an advancement. That’s…that doesn’t sound like a good thing to do. I wouldn’t want someone to consume my soul.”
‘If you do it before the beast gains sapience, then yes, it will destroy their form,’ Phasoné said.
“What was your spirit, then?”
‘It was a Star-eye,’ Phasoné said. ‘A little starlight spirit from Mircur, a planet that was drifting to the edge of its habitable zone, tidally locked—with half of its surface always facing its sun and the other half facing away. I found the little beast on the dark side. It had no mind, and almost no soul to speak of.’
“I don’t see any…obvious changes to your body?” Vayra said.
‘You think my eyes were naturally yellow, do you?’
“I…I guess not.”
‘That’s how,’ Phasoné said. ‘But it didn’t have much of a soul to speak of, so there was no sapience to destroy, and the beast was completely consumed. With Adair? You’d only be hosting parts of his soul. It’d have its own identity, though you wouldn’t notice a thing.’
“Is it different?”
‘It is, in theory, stronger. It has drawbacks. Like…well, he can’t go too far from you, and he’ll feel much more comfortable in your corespace than outside.’
Vayra raised her eyes. “I think he already is, considering how much time he spends in there.”
‘True enough.’
“But if it won’t kill him, then I’ll use him,” Vayra said. “I suppose Glade will use the swordwyrm?”
‘That’d make the most sense to me.’
She leaned forward on the railing. “Now, I suppose the spirit bonding is the last step? I’ll have to prepare myself before then, won’t I?”
‘Yes. You’ll need to form an external Arcara cycling loop between you and Adair, passing Arcara and mana between the both of you until it is stable. Once its stable, you just need to build up enough of a base to draw out the Essence of his soul and wrap it around your own core.’
“Understood.” Vayra clicked her tongue, beckoning Adair closer, and he pranced along the railing back toward her—and just in time for the crowd to roar to a peak. Adair jumped, then scrambled up her mechanical arm and clung to the back of her robe. “It’s alright. Glade just won the first round…wait, they’re cheering?”
She tilted her head, then glanced side to side across the audience risers far below. “Why are they cheering for Glade and not Karmion’s child?”
‘That wasn’t his son. At best, a great grandson.’ Phasoné mumbled something, then added, ‘They’re little tyrants, those descended from him. They thought they were something special and set up little fiefdoms, and people dislike them more than Glade. Him winning…will improve our standing in their eyes.’
“They’re not afraid?”
‘Karmion can’t kill them all. Won’t kill them all.’
“I suppose—”
King Tallerion’s aide tapped her on the shoulder, then said, “Miss, there is a visitor waiting. He is waiting just below this viewing platform, and he was asking about you. His name is Myrrir, and he appears to have been your opponent from the previous round. Should I allow him inside?”
“I—” Vayra chewed her bottom lip. “I guess. Yes. Let him in.”
“Very well, miss.”
A few moments later, Myrrir’s bootsteps clunked across the floor behind her. His brass armour clanked, and his robes swished. “Vayra,” he said. “Do you have a moment to talk? I won’t be long.”
“Yeah.” She kept looking forward, though instinctively, she trained her spiritual perception, wary of all danger.
He didn’t radiate a threat anymore.
“I understand that you must have your reservations about me,” Myrrir said. “But I’m trying to be better. I’m going to advance to Grand Admiral, but I’ll never be a God. I have to accept that, and I may struggle at times, but…my spirit is crippled. I’m not sure how much longer I can hold everything together.”
“We don’t have to hold on for much longer,” Vayra said. She then told him about the Ko-Ganall, and that they had confirmed his story about the weapons to be true. “Why? Why are you trying to help us?”
“I want to be satisfied. You never met him, but…my first mate was a good man, better than I ever deserved, and I want to do right by him. If I somehow survive this, I will live out my last days on a distant planet, and you won’t see me again. I won’t hurt anyone again.” He hadn’t moved closer at all during their conversation, but now, he started swaying uncomfortably. “Vayra, I am sorry for what I did to you. If it means anything, I have no ill will or personal grudge. It was…just business.”
She snorted, then dropped her head. “Then, for what it’s worth back at you, I accept your apology for now. If…you want to come here to plan, I would not be opposed to it, or be part of our discussions, I would not be opposed to it.”