Hostiles (The Galactic Mage series) (38 page)

She forced her emotions back and leaned in, speaking over Altin’s shoulder. “So what now? We can’t just let this all fall apart. What about Mars? Is that just stupid and desperate, or is there a chance we’ll find something there?”

Altin shook his head. “No,” he said. “It’s not stupid, though it may be desperate. It’s definitely me being a fool for letting myself get sucked into this fight. I chose the course of action, but not the course of intelligence. The panic of the moment got us both. I hate leaving them like this, but I think you are right. It’s the only chance we have, however slim it is.”

“You were ordered into this fight,” she said defensively. “Things got crazy fast, remember?”

“I do. Let’s not waste any more time. I looked for Ocelot, but she’s not there. Or she doesn’t want to be found. So let’s do as you suggested. Let’s go to your red planet, Mars, and see what it has to say.”

They were at Calico Castle in the time it took her to say, “Okay.”

Chapter 32

T
hey stood together looking out through the narrow window of Tytamon’s great tower, Altin shaking his head as they beheld the incredible cloud of Hostiles swarming above the Earth, and Orli covering her mouth in absolute disbelief.

“They are fools to think this is any doing of the Queen,” he said. “But I don’t blame them for blaming Blue Fire.”

Not mine
, came the distant voice in his head.

“Yes, I know.” He spoke it as well as sending the thought, for Orli’s benefit, even though she could not hear what Blue Fire had to say.

“What do you know?” Orli asked, tearing her gaze away from the crumbling wreck of fire that of one of the few remaining Juggernaut-class war ships within their view had become. She’d been transfixed by the tiny flecks of debris spewing out of its broken bays and cracked open corridors, like crystallized blood from exposed capillaries, sparkling in the light of the distant sun like flashing gems. Tens of thousands of men and women had died just then, were dying as they watched. A shudder ran through her as she looked up into Altin’s face.

“Blue Fire didn’t send them. She must have read my thoughts.” He half expected Blue Fire to confirm it, but she did not. “Where is your red world from here?”

“Let me look.” She still held her tablet, but it was the work of several minutes to find a satellite she could access. “They’ve destroyed most of the net feeds,” she said. “There are hardly any satellites left. This one isn’t even in English.”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“My language. I know enough Spanish from Roberto to get by. Give me a second.” She poked at the tablet for a time while Altin looked back out the window. A starship that looked just like the
Aspect
, the place he’d first met Orli, blew up at the eastern edge of Earth’s blue disk. His thoughts, like Orli’s, could not help but tally up the loss of life.

“Got it,” she said. “We’re on the wrong side of the sun.”

Altin didn’t need to ask questions about that, and he immediately cast a seeing spell and sent it plunging toward the sun, Sol, light of the beleaguered Earth. He took an angle just over its northern pole and tempered how much brilliance he would allow as he passed over it. With no seeing stones to use for this, he found himself grateful for the time he’d spent trying to catch up with the fleet ships several months ago, so long ago now it seemed, back when they’d been fleeing from Blue Fire and her orbs, before they’d known there was a Blue Fire at all. That was when Blue Fire was simply a Hostile. Like the new enemy they faced. Just Hostile. He couldn’t help wonder as he pushed his vision along at meteoric speeds if this other Hostile might not be like her, if it might not be making a terrible mistake. However it had found Earth, perhaps it could be reasoned with as well. Assuming they could find it.

It was still a long bit of work for Altin to get past the sun, nearly forty minutes, and he was half tempted to stop and just go make a few seeing stones, but every time he thought about stopping, every time he imagined himself and Orli running around looking for river rocks, he shook the idea off, unwilling to waste the time. At least two hours if not more. He hoped this decision wouldn’t be disastrous, but such was the nature of decision making during crisis.

Finally he was well over the sun, far enough that he thought the star posed no threat to the integrity of the protective shielding he’d cast over the tower, the tower that should still be Tytamon’s … so much lost life recently. He pulled out of the spell, and before even mentioning it to Orli, he teleported the tower to where his magic sight had been.

“Here,” he said, even as Orli’s indrawn breath revealed that she already knew they had moved. “We’re on the other side. I’ve oriented this window facing straight away. Your sun is somewhat near and directly through that wall.” He pointed across the circular chamber to where it was. “So where is Mars?”

Orli turned back and leaned through the window, feeling as she did as if she were about to stuff her face into empty space. Survival instincts willed her body to stop, but she reached out to the sides and grabbed hold, pushing past the natural fear. In doing so, she nearly knocked a decanter off the edge of the windowsill, a beautiful thing crafted to look like a pair of palm trees whose glass-flute trunks had wound around one another as they grew. It teetered there on the narrow stone ledge, began to fall, but she scrambled to catch it, grasping it by the stopper just before it fell. It was heavier than it looked, and the palm fronds of its stopper, like jagged blades of flat green glass, jabbed into her hand, causing her to nearly drop it anyway. But she got her other hand under it and managed neither to drop it nor smash it against the wall.

She straightened herself, holding it steadily, and studied for a moment, fearful that she might have come close to breaking some dangerous or powerful artifact. She handed it to Altin apologetically, expecting some word of warning from him, which did not come. He only shrugged, gesturing with a movement of his head to the stack of artifacts lying in a heap near the table. “I’ve done worse,” he said.

The palm fronds of the stopper spun easily as he took it from her, by design he thought, like a child’s toy for a windy day, but he could tell it was not a thing for children. It was far too stout, despite its apparent delicacy. By workmanship alone, it was obviously a thing of the elves. But whatever had been in it was gone now, and there was no sign of what might have been, nor was there any way to gauge how old it was. But it was pretty, and it had belonged to Tytamon. In times like these, times of such destruction and misery, he couldn’t bring himself to treat it roughly or toss it aside like he had those others not so long ago.

As he set it on the table, it made him think of Tytamon. He wished Tytamon were there. They needed him. And he missed him terribly. He realized as his eyes lingered on the decanter that he’d never really faced his grief. He gazed down at the object, both recognizing it as a thing he’d gazed upon absently a thousand times before and yet really only seeing it for the first time now. How many times had he noticed it over the years and not asked about it? How many times had he noticed any of it, any of the many things in this room? How little time he’d spent learning about Tytamon, the person, the friend. How little effort he’d put in. He wished he could have just one hour with him now. One hour back to ask about the decanter, or any little thing. But now it was too late. He hadn’t taken the time. Not for Tytamon, not for anyone. And now everyone might be gone. Oh, how he wished Tytamon were there. If not for his own regrets, for the sake of all those in peril now. Tytamon would have known what to do. He might have prevented it all from getting so far out of hand.

Altin shook his head ruefully at the decanter sitting there, sending a silent apology to his lost mentor for all that had gone wrong on his brief watch. He gently spun the fronds again, watching them turn for the barest moment, and then, with a sigh, went back to Orli, who had stretched herself through the window again.

She was practically hanging out of it, leaning so far out he was afraid she would fall. It was many floors to the scant stretch of stone below. Just as he was reaching for her, she shouted, “There!” Her proclamation was triumphant, evidence of success. She pointed into the night. “Right there. That one. In that clump of four bright ones. See it? The one that looks like a really big red star.”

Altin bent at the knees and stared down her arm, sighting the length of her finger as if it were a quarrel and her arm a crossbow. He still had to look around a little, but he spotted it quickly enough. “Got it.”

Once more he was in a seeing spell.

Shortly after, they arrived in a low orbit, and Altin immediately remarked how much Mars reminded him of Luria back at home.

They stared out the window for several minutes, shoulders touching, hands touching where they lay side-by-side upon the stone of the windowsill. They watched intently but soon realized there was nothing going on.

“So what are we looking for?” Altin asked. “I don’t see a thing. There are no clouds of coconuts flying around destroying anything. There are none of your ships flying around in a way that suggests some sense of urgency. Which means we probably need to go down to the surface, eh?”

“Let’s check the other side. Victoria is the biggest base here anyway. Then we can check on the water stations at the poles. And just in case you do decide to go down there without asking me first, there’s no air down there, so it is like Luria in that.”

Altin nodded, but his expression was grim. He hated wasting more time pushing his sight around, but he didn’t waste time getting to it. In less than a minute, he had found the other side of Mars.

“Gods be damned,” he swore as he came out of the spell. “I think I know why we are here.”

“Why?”

“Look,” he said, then cast a teleport spell that took them halfway around the red planet. “There.”

She didn’t need him to point out the colossal Hostile orb orbiting there. She couldn’t have missed it if she’d tried. “My God, look at it. It’s huge. And over there, look; there are little ones coming off of it.” She let go a bewildered breath as she stared out at it. “How big do you think that thing is?”

“I don’t know how big this planet is,” Altin answered honestly. He’d learned from his discovery of Naotatica that gauging the size of a planet was not an easy thing to do, a difficulty that explained much of the meticulous measuring habits the Earth people had when it came to traveling in space. “Nor do I know how far away we are. Scale is difficult out here, but it has to be approaching six hundred measures across.”

She nodded. “Probably not a bad guess. I don’t suppose you can just teleport it into the sun, can you?”

His face withered, and he made a squishy dismissive sound with his lips. “No chance. Far too much mass for me in something like that.”

She watched as tiny specks, like motes of dust, moved off of its surface and shot away, at first toward Mars, or so it appeared from the angle she had been looking at it, but she soon realized they were going right by and heading toward the sun. “You seeing that?” she asked. “There’s a little ant trail of those things leaking out that way.”

Sure enough, a faint line of the small Hostile orbs—which only moments before would have counted as normal-sized in their sense of the things—was steadily making its ragged way out over the northern pole of Mars and straight off toward the center of the solar system.

“What do you think the odds are that this is where the orbs attacking Earth are coming from?”

“I have no idea what the odds are,” he said, “but I do know how we can find out. I’ll follow one.”

“They’re moving pretty fast. Do you think you can catch one?”

“Oh, I have a trick for that,” Altin said, thinking of a spell he’d recently learned called Wake Sight, a powerful pursuit spell developed by a lowly-seeming C-ranked caster by the name of Speekes Beeglethorpe. “I knew that spell was genius when I saw it the first time.”

Once again the cast was instant, and soon his sight was streaking toward the unspeakably huge Hostile they’d found lurking behind Mars, sending its smaller orb minions off in the direction of Earth—unless it was doing something nefarious to the sun. There was only one way to find out.

When his magical vision arrived upon the surface of the colossus, he couldn’t stop the gasp that emitted itself from his distant body.

The orb was as they’d thought or, more precisely, as they’d feared: nearly six hundred measures across, large beyond any Hostile they’d seen before. Its surface was exactly as the others were, if perhaps a bit rougher and redder. The only real difference was its size. He did not want to think about how large the projectile shaft this orb could throw would be, but he was certain it would eradicate everything on Earth if it decided to pulverize the planet. His lessons from Orli on meteor impacts and even the missile attacks her people were capable of had taught him enough on that. Which meant, since it was here, that it didn’t want to pulverize
everything
on Earth. A frighteningly familiar story shaped itself from that.

He had to slow his pace considerably as he cruised along the surface of it, which once again reminded him of his first days in space, his first exploration of Luria, pushing his vision along its red surface. Things had certainly gone wrong since that propitious-seeming time. He had been such an innocent. So naive. About literally everything.