7
Not exactly concurrent, but closely enough…
Vernax 3 was a nightmare planet; a barren deathtrap, tidally locked to its giant, blue-violet star. Pinned there, unable to rotate, that awful world presented two faces. Its sunward side broiled, scorched by the glare of that unmoving star. Its nightside was locked in perpetual deep freeze, scoured by magnetic storms and demon-force gales.
Only at the margins, in the hundred-mile strip between Dayshine and Nyteside, was Vernax 3 habitable (and far underground or in deep, sheltered valleys, at that). At 0 degrees, from the north pole to south, that strip of life was called “Twilight”. Over at 180 degrees, from the south pole up north, the line would soon be referred to as “Gloaming”.
A terrible place to strand anyone, but that’s what the fleeing escape ship had done, abandoning half-elves, animal people, dwarves and dissidents to fend for themselves in the very last circle of hell. Left with a glitching shield generator and too few supplies, the cast-offs could only cling to each other and watch as that armed dropship pulled up and away. Too proud to cry out or to beg, they just trembled and followed the ship with their eyes.
That ought to have been the end of their story, but the cast-offs were unwilling to lie down and die. Nor did they have to. Flashing emerald force-lines whipped through the bisected sky. Caught the retreating dropship. Destroyed it, sending a storm of wreckage hurtling out of the air in great, blazing chunks. Some of those parts could be scavenged (and were).
Next, their rushed search turned up a long, cave-pocked valley with water and branching, crystalline plants. Shed manna, did those glimmering “candles”.
…And manna meant life. The cast-offs refused to give up. Existence on Vernax 3 was never going to be easy, but as long as hearts thudded and lungs kept on filling… so long as those left behind worked together, nothing could take away hope.
They had to hide, though; crouching deep in their caves when the enemy’s scout ships passed overhead. They had to make light, expand food and learn to grow crops out of glass. Battling rock wyrms, ground quakes and terrible storms, they measured survival in hours, then days. Lost some of their people, but learned a bit more every time, as that handful of days stretched into months and then years.
Hana of Summerdale lived for her children, at first, mechanically fighting to keep them alive. Erron, her husband, was in mortal danger and hideous pain. She could feel it. Did her best to hide their father’s defeat and his capture from Randon and Kara. As for her baby, the little one did not have nutrition or manna enough to develop. The baby survived… but only just. Again, though, not the end of their story.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
Vernax 3 held many secrets, and those could be used by an elven sorceress desperate enough to try anything at all. Whatever it took to find and rescue her love.
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Some deeds were very much simpler when nothing mattered but winning. Need to leave someplace in a hurry? There was no room for debate or second opinions. Just scoop everyone up and levitate out of that creaking, unstable old building.
He thought about dropping them all (except Marget) halfway back to the Cloud. Glass-cat, Brass Monkey, the marten… splash, crunch, thud… gone. Just like that. Easy. Didn’t do it, though. Swept them all up in a tumbled knot and dragged them along in his wake as he soared across to the hovering airship. Not from sentiment, or because of Lord Erron. Because he could always use them to draw fire, later.
‘Welcome aboard, Captain,’ said the Dark Cloud, when he lit on its deck by the helm. His passengers dropped to a clattering, screeching heap at the bow (even Marget). All their trouble and none of his own.
“How far along are the other two revenants?” he demanded, without preamble. “If it comes to a fight… and it will… I am going to need bodies to throw.”
‘Zak is fifty-nine percent built, Captain. Shade is at thirty-one percent, meanwhile. There is insufficient manna to construct them completely and move at top speed, however.’
Hunh. Not a question to put to his “conscience fairy”. Simply a matter of logic and strategy.
“Very well. Make three-quarters speed toward the Lone Mountain and Rainbow Bridge, Cloud. Lower antennae into whatever storms we encounter on the way. Refill your tanks, and boost production of what’s-its-name… the fifty-nine percenter. The other can wait until later.” Or never, for all that it mattered to him. “Trawl the rest of your spooks for anyone else in the mood for a fight. Get it accomplished and leave me alone.”
‘Aye, Captain. It shall be done, just as you command.’
The Dark Cloud’s scrabbling voice left his aching head, after that. Erron was scarce, as well, giving the former elf an illusion of privacy. He strode across to the airship’s taffrail, staring out at an ocean of wreckage and rapidly gathering night. Dark Cloud’s shadow was very long. It rippled like water as it sped across derelict hulks and the broken fangs of old towers. Gottshan was leaving, as well. The mobile city had lifted clear of its dock; was rolling away with a noise like a landslide, raising a towering plume of red dust.
So, he’d caused all of this, mused the transfigured elf? Then, so be it. Look what he’d done! Behold his handiwork. Run, or be killed.
The wind at his back whipped his dark hair and old cloak about him, making those hated wings rustle. Everything hurt still, inside and out. Everything ached where the friendship had been. Concentrated on breathing. On just finding the next small, right move.
Then a furry dark bolt flowed through the rigging above to settle and watch. Not very near… and not far enough.
“Go away,” whispered Miche-not. “I don’t want you or need you.”
His hands clenched on a polished brass rail that reflected the sunset and hundreds of hovering ghosts; melted and twisted its metal.
“Leave me alone.”
The marten uttered a soft little cry and retreated, but not very far. Didn’t matter. He’d find a way to be rid of the beast at their next waystation. Kill it and skin it, if he had to.
“I need no one at all.”
Not anymore. He just had to find the Lone Mountain and Rainbow Bridge… fight his way in and then slaughter the hostess, or… No, restore her shrine, as doing so would weaken and vex his enemy. It was needful and right.
Because vengeance was all he had left.