Notes : I've written two specials that will be put up later today (for TFW) and sunday (for MFR), on patreon and a day later on Royal Road.
These specials are a bit...well, special. They're in effect shoutouts, with the characters of the relevant stories in the setting of the story I'm shouting out. I'll explain more fully there, but one reason I wanted to write them is because it has been a while since I've gotten to write space battles, and I know some of you guys would enjoy Sapphiria be back at the helm of a starship, and Alexandra commanding a fleet.
Also as a special bonus for those of you who read both of my stories, one of Sapphiria's subbordinates is CQ.
Anyway, this is the end of book 3 of MFR as well ! These notes are going to be loaded. I hope you enjoyed this book, and don't hesitate to leave a comment about it ! It's been a big road to get this one finished, especially with my eyes going (and still being) haywire and all the other crap life has thrown by way.
Chapter 125, kicking off book 4, will be posted on wednesday, as the MFR special will take the sunday slot, due to the fact that it'll be up on RR monday.
Chapter 124
Starborn Mountains, Starfire Valley
Starfire Pass
The Hand swore underneath their breath as one of their few remaining bodyguards handed them a spare sword.
Throwing their blade like that had been stupid, however effective the move had been. But they'd needed to cover Sapphiria. She'd just blown up a bone tyrant. She was their only hope of winning this fight, and-
The Hand pivoted, gazing at the battlefield as they felt it.
The power, the thoughts, the emotions clawing at the edge of their mind.
Their gaze fell upon the woman, standing atop the wreckage of the rebel vehicle, her hair flowing majestically.
The Hand's shoulders sagged.
Reinforcements at last.
The legate began casting her spell, and the Hand watched as the legionnaires were impaled by the forest of spikes. Well, the legate did always have a flair for the dramatic. She raised her hands to sweep the remaining foes off the walls-
This time it wasn't clawing at the edge of their thoughts. This time, something forced its way inside, and the Hand had to stop themselves from screaming.
All they could see was a figure, shrouded in ribbons of energy and imperial purple, sitting upon a broken throne. Two piercing eyes, radiating energy.
"ENOUGH!" Commanded the Imperatrix.
And the Hand obeyed.
So did every undead in the entire pass.
The vision faded. Though it remained in the back of the Hand's mind, imprinted there forever.
They looked as the legionnaires from both sides let go of their weapons, and a second later the rebel golems lowered theirs.
Silence descended upon the pass.
After a few seconds, someone on the other side asserted command. Risen corralled their remaining soulless, and began carefully navigating the sea of jagged spikes the battlefield had become as they began to limp home.
They gave the legate a berth so wide they practically hugged the edges of the pass. She, on her end, had dismounted, and didn't even react at the shattered forces flowing around her.
The Hand watched them go, Sapphiria by their side.
Then, the automata's gaze snapped to the fallen vehicle.
And the Hand saw a hatch open. A head of white hair popped through, crimson staining a sooth covered face. Ah. A living pilot. That explained Sapphiria's concern for-
The legate looked down at the young woman at her feet. And then bent over, picking her up by her collar like some oversized kitten, and bring her up to eye level.
The Hand heard the yelp from there, as the legate picked up the wounded rebel.
The wounded rebel she had no idea they'd signed an armistice with.
They felt more than saw Sapphiria bring their strange electric projectile rifle to bear.
For once, their composure broke.
Shit shit shit SHIT-
*****
Ramina coughed as she opened her eyes.
Ow. Ow ow ow ow.
That had been...stupid. Very stupid.
But she was still breathing. That was good. And she'd just rammed a bone tyrant. To save a Living Ancestor no less! It was the kind of stuff they put in the story books. Usually posthumously.
She winced as she tried to move from her seat, before gasping as she saw the jagged metal from a buckled armor plate centimeters from her side.
Okay. Perhaps a bit too close. If she hadn't had that wood paneling to distribute the blows like Sapphiria had taught her to, she'd be dead.
She winced again. Sapphiria. The honored high elder was going to flay her ass for this. Metaphorically, then Malry would make it reality.
She grabbed her seat webbing, and activated the quick release. Restraints slid off, and she reached up towards the emergency escape hatch.
Those safety features were the ones Sapphiria had been the most uncompromising about, and right now the artificer couldn't be more glad. She swung the lever, and the hatch popped open. Fresh air pushed in, and she gasped, not even realizing how smoky the interior had been until now.
She gritted her teeth, and pulled herself up. Her side felt like something had broken into tiny little pieces, and she gasped as she heaved herself halfway through the hatch.
Her vision swam, but then it focused, and she saw the wreckage of the battlefield.
Holy crap.
There were hundreds of skeletons, impaled by a forest of stone spikes. Had Sapphiria done that?!?
She searched, and found her. Standing atop the wall, in her white armor, the Hand by her side. She was looking straight at her. Then her gazed moved higher.
Wait, why-
Ramina yelped as something grabbed her by the collar, and she found herself hauled up as easily as if she weighed no more than a feather.
She found herself eye to eye with two shining orbs of energy. She almost wetted herself as she did. An archmage? Here?!?
"Kalys! Stop!" Called out the Hand, whose voice she'd barely heard before through the communication channel Sapphiria had kept open.
Kalys? Wait. The Hand was Sarcher.
Did he mean Dominion Prime Kalys? The Starblade? Her mom had read her old Imperial fairytales of her before bedtime! The pacification of the Selyzian coast, the duel at the top of mount Terminus, and of course the treachery of the feast of Tormag...
She looked down. At the symbol on the woman's breastplate. A skull, wreathed in stars. The sigil of a Dominion.
Her mind gave out. She felt darkness close in as her brain finally decided that enough was enough for today, and turned off the lights.
She sagged in the Dominion's grip as she fainted.
*****
Sapphiria heard the Hand call out, and the creature's -Kalys?- head snapped towards them.
She saw Ramina sag, and was five milliseconds away from pulling the trigger when her scans indicated she hadn't gotten her neck snapped, but simply fainted.
Wait. Kalys. That was the name of the Dominion Sarcher had worked under, wasn't it?
That...would explain a lot. Notably how she'd just obliterated...what, a whole maniple? In aboout three seconds flat.
The Dominion looked up at them.
There was a flash of exotic energy, and her gravity sensors reported multiple anomalies as the creature swiftly rose, crossing the distance in a matter of seconds, even in her heavy looking armor and carrying the artificer.
She landed lithely in front of them, and Sapphiria brought herself into a combat posture, by reflex.
The Dominion gazed at her, inscrutable eyes of energy and conflicting sensor readings boring into her helmet. She gazed back at the Hand, clearly drawing conclusions. Then, wordlessly, she extended Ramina like she was some kind of package.
Sapphiria clamped her gauss rifle to her back, and stepped forward, grabbing the artificer and cradling her protectively, before walking back a few steps.
In the back of her mind, she'd already given the orders, bots repositioning and the artillery retargeting. The snowpiercer was already back at the outpost, the squishie soldiers piling in.
Just in case.
Then the Dominion turned towards the Hand...and started gesturing.
*****
The Hand noticed the golems shifting positions. Clearing lines of fire, separating from the undead they'd fought side by side with a few minutes before.
The legate didn't care. She probably thought she could crush everyone in this entire valley in a matter of minutes if she so desired.
Sarcher...wasn't so certain.
The legate started to gesture.
"I can count the times you have called me Valys willingly, and not because of protocol, on the digit of one hand." Signed the legate.
"You were about to do something profoundly mad."
"Was I? Be not afraid. I was not going to harm the kitten." The legate smiled. And there was something wrong about that smile.
Like her face and throat had been ripped apart, and never regenerated quite right.
The Hand remembered quite well. They'd been there. Cradling the body of their brother, who had taken the brunt of the blow. Saving his wife from certain death...and guaranteeing his own.
They'd witnessed it. And burned an entire city state to the ground for it.
There was a reason Imperial training fields, even centuries later, bore statues of them.
"I am aware of your propensity for keeping the living alive." The Hand shook their head. "You came."
"I did." The legate frowned. "It seemed unlikely this incursion would be alone, and I could not afford my supply lines being cut. I did not expect...this, however." She looked at the fallen Bone Tyrant. Even now, some sparks of anima remained, some scorched bones slowly converging on parts of the armature as the embers of the creature sputtered their last. "What were they hoping to gain here?"
The Hand gazed at the legate, then at the artificer, still cradling her living comrade.
They couldn't voice their suspicions. Not here.
They doubted Sapphiria knew what the Nineteenth was after. And they weren't sure what would happen if they indeed were after her...and she became aware of it.
"Whatever it was, they've failed."
"I'm not so sure." Signed the Dominion. "The Imperatrix only stopped us once we were certain of victory. She may be on their side."
"Perhaps. Or..." The Hand froze, and looked at the other side of the pass. "You didn't come alone, correct?"
"No. My cavalry detachment was fighting through their camp."
"Then I believe we may have our answer." The legate looked at him, an eyebrow raised, and the Hand elaborated. "They have brought necromancers."
The Legate raised her hands, and lowered them, her equivalent of 'oh'.
There were so few necromancers in the Empire...The Imperatrix would preserve them at all cost.
"Indeed."
"I can't follow half of this conversation." Both of them looked to the side at Sapphiria. "Would you mind including me in?"
"Ah. Sarcher, introduce me to your friend." Signed the legate, and the Hand nodded.
"Dominion, this is artificer Sapphiria, a leader of the rebels in the valley and the one who negotiated an armistice and alliance of circumstance with me. Artificer Sapphiria, this is Dominion Prime Kalys, my...leader." They almost had to spit it out. They had a hard time even thinking of her as a Dominion. Let alone as their boss.
"Charmed." Said Sapphiria, with a voice so flat it didn't even pretend to sound like she meant any of it. "Mind telling me what has just happened?"
The Hand and the legate exchanged a look.
"The forces within the Empire I spoke to you about." Said the Hand. "Have, as I had anticipated, not taken lightly to the deployment of a bone tyrant. Or a Dominion. And even less to necromancers being threatened. To the point that they decided to intervene. Directly." The Hand gazed at the field of spikes beyond the shattered wall. "This battle is over."
"What now?"
"I-"
There was a sharp crack, and they all turned to look down the pass.
Where one of the observers, wearing stained and torn robes, was currently holding a white flag, firmly planted in the ground.
"The Nineteenth legion and Opal asks for a truce, and negotiations with the Sixth legion and Amethyst. Under the eyes of the Throne, let us talk." The observer let go of the flagstaff, allowing it to stand on its own. "We can find common ground. There need not be further losses."
The Hand gazed at the observer. Then at the artificer. The artificer the other side had probably come all this way to acquire.
Oh this was going to end well.
*****
The door closed, with the softest of sound. The Tribune stepped forward, before kneeling on the carpet, bowing his head. He dared not look at the seat in front of him, even though its back was turned towards the door, and only the hint of reflection in the metal grate guarding the fireplace showed hints of the one upon it.
The Tribune's unliving, pale face was unmoving, but only through a supreme effort of will.
"My Dominion." He said. "I bear news."
"From Starfire Valley?"
"Yes." The Tribune swallowed. "The expeditionary force has failed. Kalys was able to deceive us. She was not at the siege of Exacor, and instead rode ahead of her own forces to assault the defenses. Our allies in the city of spires were unable to stop the Imperatrix from intervening. We have been forced to end the assault, and demand a truce."
"A temporary setback." The Dominion reached out, and the Tribune stared at the deformed arm, its limb constantly twisting and reforming. Furr became leather, leather became a carapace. Carapace turned to skin. Like the madness of a manastorm, made flesh. Claws, then fingers, then talons gripped a finely wrought metal cup on the table next to the seat.
"There's more. The Hand may have accessed the Vestige below the mountains."
The cup screamed as it was crushed between wriggling tentacles.
"...What?" Calmly asked the Dominion.
The Tribune swallowed once again.
"During the battle. The Hand deployed weapons that may be Vestiges. That, or the work of an elder artificer."
The chitinous claws set the goblets back down onto the table.
"And the likelihood of finding the latter in a valley abandoned for centuries is remote." Completed the Dominion. "Very well. Tribune?"
"Yes, my lord?"
"We have tried subtlety for long enough. We have skulked around, we have bribed, we have cheated. We have used proxies and the newly resurrected to cloak our true intent, and it has given us nothing but failure. Costly failures." The arm retracted to behind the seat, and the Tribune's gaze went back to the ground with a suppressed sigh of relief, no longer mesmerized by the horrific sight. "No longer. Go to the valley, Tribune. Handle this. Personally."
"Yes my lord."
The Tribune stood up, and walked out. The door closed behind them, and they took a deep breath.
There were no guards in the hallway. Just silence and memories, each enshrined in their own pedestal. Artifacts and mementos.
There was no need for guards.
What dwelt within the room was more dangerous than an entire cohort of the First Legion could ever hope to be.
The Tribune shook their head, and begun walking.
They would need to order the expeditionary force to stall for time.
And make their way to Starfire Valley immediately.
The Vestige beneath the mountains must be acquired by Opal. Everything depended on it.
And nothing. Not Amethyst, not the Imperatrix, or the Horror-Beyond-The-Gates would stop them from getting to it.
END OF BOOK 3