Chapter 132 – Siege
The sky is still twilit with the last dregs of night, and a tired pit sits in my chest that I associate with early morning drives to the airport. I’m anything but tired, however. The Fortress is boiling with activity like an anthill struck by rain.
Dizzi’s communicators become crucial in the chaos that follows. As we race from the palace, Mirzayael barks orders into a telestone, sending all scouts and soldiers to the outer wall to cover as much area as possible. I expel god names as they appear in the Surveillance spell’s list, a boom accompanying each as they’re blasted through the sky. One of them—Rinviu—strikes a tower as they’re expelled from the dome. Stone cracks, and people scream. I mentally lunge at the falling rock, and the Core eats them from the sky.
Dizzi is at the throne. She’s scouring the lists for god and champion names as well, helping me to add them to the Keep Out list as they appear. We can’t just rely on names, however; new gods and champions alike can slip under our radar.
“West side, by Shield Tower,” Salvia’s voice comes through the telestone. I snap the Map Interface open and look where they’ve indicated. I find a new name, one with an incredible well of mana. I add them to the list.
“Neutralized,” Salvia reports.
More calls come in. Sometimes they aren’t as easy to identify. I falter as I bury myself in the Map interface, frantically searching for intruders.
An arm wraps around me and swings me off my feet. I let out an undignified chirp as Mirzayael deposits me on her back.
“Hold on,” she says, already galloping toward the front of the city at twice her previous speed. “You focus on the gods, I’ll focus on running.”
I squeeze my arms around her torso, pulling my wings in tight to keep them from catching the wind as she races through the city. Shutting my eyes, I lean into the warmth of her back and turn my attention to the spell network.
An entirely inappropriate image of myself playing Whack-A-Mole pops into my mind; no matter how many gods I expel, more continue to be spotted. There are fewer than fifty gods, and maybe a hundred champions. How many have I already caught? How many more might be hiding themselves in our streets? Or worse yet—
My attention snaps to the watchtowers, scouring the floors to make sure no one is inside. Do they know how crucial those towers are to our safety? Do they realize that if they manage to take out the right one, everything will fall apart?
I find one levitating dracid near Eye Tower and expel her from the city. None of our dracid can levitate, so that’s an easy one to spot. But there are a couple other people inside the towers, and I have no idea if they’re one of ours or one of theirs.
“Mir, order all noncombatants underground,” I think. “We need to get civilians out of danger and filter out who belongs here.”
“Understood.”
Mirzayael gives the order, and I keep an eye on the individuals in the watchtowers. As the order goes out, all but one begin to climb down. I focus on the individual who lingers at the top floor of Dome Tower. I start to skim through their attributes, but before I’ve determined if they’re a Fyrethian or champion, they are thrust from the window and blasted out the dome.
Dizzi’s voice laughs through the telestone. “Got another one!”
Thank god I’m not doing this on my own.
Though, I suppose, gods are the last thing I should be thanking at this moment.
At some point I realize Ollie is awake, though he hasn’t mentally reached out to me. I can feel his concern when I reach for his mental link, but it’s a focused, determined type of concern. His Role has almost certainly activated, but he doesn’t mention it to me. Wind gusts overhead as he circles the palace.
“THAT ONE,” he abruptly says. “I CHECKED HIM AND ECHO SAYS HE’S A GOD!”
[Psionic Sense activated.]
Looking through Ollie’s eyes, I find the individual he singled out; a nereid attempting to sneak through the lower streets of the city. It takes me a moment to orient myself, but as soon as I figure out where Ollie is looking, I find the god on my Map and expel them from the city as well.
A handful of other Travelers join in to help identify infiltrators. I ask them to spread out, cover as much ground as possible, so they can find anyone who might be trying to hide among the masses.
I’m pressed into Mirzayael’s back as she skids to a stop. The booms of expelled gods have become less frequent. I open my eyes, still mentally clinging to the Map interface, but allowing myself some separation knowing I have so many others already dedicated to the task.
I slide from Mirzayael’s back, and she rests a hand on my shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. We’re on the dock portion of the wall, which sports several boardwalks that extend all the way to the edge of the dome.
Outside the orange shimmer of the dome, I can make out dozens of vague figures. Some have wings, and some shine with their own internal light. Some carry giant weapons, while others appear unarmed.
A wave of adrenaline washes through me in a warm rush, hissing faintly in my ears and tingling in my fingers. I take a steadying breath, grounding myself with the pressure of Mirzayael’s hand. We’ve been expecting this. Preparing for this. We’re ready.
I desperately hope we are.
“Calm,” Mirzayael assures me. “Look how many are out there already. They weren’t expecting such resistance.”
I hope so, and that it’s not actually a ploy. Perhaps they are waiting for us to let our guard down and rush into the dome when we’re within range. I Check each figure in turn just in case; there are three I don’t have on the list yet, which means they haven’t attempted to enter the city. I decide to keep a careful eye on those in particular.
I look up at Mirzayael, and she looks down at me. “Ready?” I ask.
She grins, holding out a hand, and I take it. The black and white of our bracers stand in stark contrast against each other as we walk forward, together, to meet the gods.
Even before I can make out the features of each god, I’m able to pick out Lorata from the white glow around her. She stands at the front, chin lifted, shoulders back. When Mirzayael and I come to a stop still on the inside of the dome, I can finally see the cold fury in her expression. My stomach tightens at the sight, like I’m looking down the barrel of a gun. But she’s out there and we’re in here. I’m not about to become complacent as a result, but that knowledge helps ground me.
“Hello again,” Mirzayael says. Lorata’s gaze slowly peels itself away from me to land on Mirzayael. “I see you brought company this time.”
Mirzayael is loving every moment of this. Just a year ago they were living underground, barely scraping by, and now, she’s able to challenge the very gods who put her people there. She doesn’t try to hide her pride and satisfaction from me; in fact, she’s relishing it.
“A Forsaken and a fraud,” Lorata finally says, voice cold and level. “What a pair you two make.”
The words summon a spark of irritation within me, thawing some of my anxiety. Even now she chooses to resort to such pettiness?
Mirzayael sneers. “And yet, a Forsaken and a fraud have managed to lock you out of this city. I believe that says more about you than it does about us.”
Behind Lorata, I pick out a handful of familiar faces. Yua Tin is here—an elf with milky white eyes and a placid expression—along with their champion, the cambion Zetaru. Her head tips almost imperceptibly as our eyes meet.
Shirasil is also present, though he’s busy speaking quietly with a different god. Even as I watch, he stifles his laughter, as if the situation unfolding before him is of no concern. I genuinely can’t tell if his amusement is feigned or not.
There are less friendly faces among the crowd as well; the harpy god Rinviu, and a massive orc, Widengra, who looks like he’s itching for a fight.
Lorata’s eyes narrow. “We’d hoped to end the siege quickly, with minimal loss of life.”
Mirzayael barks out a laugh; Lorata ignores this.
“Choosing to drag this out will only end worse for you and your people.”
“Bold words,” I remark, and the cold weight of her gaze shifts back to me. “If you could get through, you already would have.”
Even as I talk, I continue to scan the Map interface. In her shoes, I would use this opportunity to distract the heads of state so I could ambush them from a different angle. Dizzi and the Travelers are still working with the scouts around the city, finding a handful of remaining champions to expel. I don’t see signs of a mounting sneak attack, but I continue to scan the Map interface just in case.
“We can get through,” Lorata assures me. “The magic of the Drifting Isles may be an unending source of power for your city, but its rate of output is not infinite. Enough magic over enough time can overwhelm your barrier, no matter how strong you might believe it to be.”
Damn. This is a potential vulnerability I’ve always known could be an issue; I had just hoped Lorata wouldn’t think of it right away.
But we did expect her to think of it eventually, and that’s why we have contingencies.
“Six months of continued siege to get through,” I say. “Or that’s what I’ve estimated, based on the gods’ mana levels. Does that sound about right?”
Lorata glowers at me, and abruptly her stats vanish from my interface, replaced with a notice from Echo: [Elevated permissions needed.]
My lips twitch as I try to hold back a smile. She isn’t used to mortals being able to see her stats. She’s already underestimating us.
“Then you understand that resisting us is useless,” Lorata says. “Why drag this out any longer than it needs to?”
“Because I believe we can reach a compromise without having to resort to such violence,” I say.
Lorata laughs coldly. “Compromise? I don’t think you understand the position you’re in.”
I abruptly notice Ollie hovering nervously at the back of my mind, like a kid who doesn’t want to interrupt a parent’s phone call.
“Ollie?” I prompt him. “Is it something important?”
“I don’t know,” the boy says. “There are people watching. Is that okay?”
[Psionic Sense activated.]
Looking through Ollie’s eyes, I see what he means. Not everyone obeyed Mirzayael’s orders to seek refuge underground. In fact, people are trickling into the streets behind us, nervously edging closer to watch their leaders stand up to the Heavens themselves. I should have expected that, in hindsight.
“Oh, we’re plenty aware of the position we’re in,” Mirzayael says. “The question is, are you? Or did you think the range of this city’s weapons systems stopped at the edge of the dome?”
She abruptly raises her fist, as if in signal, and several of the gods with scorched robes flinch back. When the moment stretches, and no hellfire rains down upon them, Mirzayael throws her head back with a laugh.
“Now you’re just antagonizing them,” I privately think to her. Yet, her entire attitude about the situation is infectious. Defiant, confident—even eager. It’s hard not to want to smile along with her antics.
Lorata, however, does not appear amused. “Threatening us is not a wise move.”
“No,” Shirasil agrees, moving to the front of the crowd. “But it was quite funny!”
Lorata shoots him a withering look. “Your flippant commentary is not needed in this moment.”
He holds up his hands in mock surrender, taking a step back. “Then allow me to express myself with an appropriate degree of reverence; this conversation is going nowhere. Let’s either hear what they have to say, or begin our assault. I have more interesting situations brewing that I would like to return to.”
“I, for one, am interested in hearing them out,” Yua Tin says, gliding forward. Their voice is light and airy, and their clothes likewise almost seem to float around them.
Widengra, on the other hand, hoists a blood-red axe up to his shoulder. In fact, as I look more closely, the axe appears to be made of blood. “Who cares what they say? We know why we’re here.”
“Indeed,” Lorata says. “There is nothing to discuss.”
“Oh yes,” Shirasil says with a chuckle. “Good call. The meathead always has the most tactical decisions."
“Shirasil,” Lorata growls in a tone of warning. Even so, she regards us thoughtfully for a moment.
I decide to not let it pass. “You came here for two reasons,” I surmise. “Because of the Travelers, and because of remnants. But the Travelers are actually no threat to you.”
Lorata scoffs through her nose. “Of course you would think that. You have no idea—”
“What the relationship is between Travelers and the remnants?” I interrupt. “And how the remnants are linked to the System? And how you use both to fake immortality?”
A stir goes through the gods’ ranks, and Shirasil’s grin widens.
I smile tightly. “I wouldn’t say I have no idea.”
The light around Lorata flickers like a distant thundercloud. “You are treading a dangerous line.”
“Possibly,” I agree. “But it’s also leverage. I imagine you don’t want your secret to get out.” Still keeping the gods in my line of sight, I glance back at the crowd forming behind us. “That would be quite the scandal, wouldn’t it?”
Lorata’s eyes narrow to slits, her jaw clenched, hands scrunching into fists. “You’ve made a dire mistake, Lord Fyre,” she hisses. “You can’t leave this city, and you threaten us with the dissemination of information? I was not planning to target civilians before, but now you’ve left me no choice; there can be no chance of word getting out.”
My stomach flutters with fear, but I try not to let it show on my face. “You’re assuming we haven’t already disseminated the information. You’re assuming we don’t have failsafes. There doesn’t seem to be a distance limit on the Contact interface, is there? I can send information instantaneously to several Travelers who have already left this city.” Technically true, if I’m counting Kanin and Sandro. “If you harm a single one of my people, I will tell the Travelers your true origins and ages, and have them spread the truth to everyone they meet.”
Lorata’s light continues to flicker and grow brighter. Before she can respond, however, Yua Tin once more speaks up.
“You mentioned a compromise,” they say, setting a gentle hand on Lorata’s shoulder. Surprisingly, her light dims, and some of her anger seems to leach away. “This appears like more of a threat.”
“The compromise I ask for is that you leave us in peace,” I say. “And in exchange, we’ll keep your secret. The Travelers don’t have any remnants; they are no threat to you.”
“Save Fyreneth’s Crown,” Yua Tin remarks.
I nod. “It’s true that our city harbors one remnant—I’m sure you all can sense it. But it’s only one: it’s my understanding that your priority is to keep them from combining and growing in power. I promise you this will not happen with our remnant; it is fully under control. So long as it’s integrated into our city, focused on powering all our spell circuits, it is not a threat to the Heavens—or anyone else.”
“So you claim,” Lorata says, shrugging off Yua Tin’s hand. “But you can’t guarantee another remnant won’t find yours.”
“I can’t,” I admit. “But I can promise you I’d do everything in my power to prevent that from happening. It’s in our city’s best interest to maintain things as they currently are.”
“And it’s in our best interest to also maintain things as they currently are,” Lorata says. “The only safe remnant is a contained remnant.”
I can sense Lorata’s tone shifting. She’s made up her mind, and it’s not in the way I’d hoped. “It won’t be in the best interest of the gods for your secret to get out.”
She regards me for a moment. “I think you’re bluffing about these outside Travelers. You would have had to have met them before your city came under our surveillance—and they were already exceptionally rare.”
“That’s a risky assumption to gamble on,” I say. Mirzayael is subtly tensing beside me.
Lorata smiles thinly. “That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”
The gods shift, as if in anticipation of some order. Widengra grins, taking a step toward the dome.
“Wait,” a voice calls. A weak voice, yet it still carries clearly over the breeze. Behind us, the crowd parts as Blair limps through, half supported by Aquenno. The pair slowly make their way toward us. A murmur passes through the gods’ ranks, but they do wait.
When Blair stops at my side, she greets me with a brief, weary smile before turning to Lorata.
“My Lord,” she says as Lorata looks down on her with contempt. “Before making a decision, please hear me out.”
Shirasil cackles. “This should be good.”