The Dogs of War (SkyLine 3)

Donellanus sat in the conference room, to be as alone as he felt. He imagined his father had done the same, the night he resolved to dissolve the monarchy officially. A beast of action, he decided to take a royal line of cushy figureheads, and form them into something with the power for real change. He sacrificed a life of endless but pointless luxury for his son, for the greater good of his kind. Sure, the council of the Higher Order had been around for a few centuries before that, but they never had the kind of ultimate, decisive power they had when a King still sat on the throne.

It took a courage beyond words. It took belief that he could bring change generations after his death, by raw will and grit alone. That was the kind of courage Donellanus needed now. To stand apart from his people, for their own good. He pushed himself up from the long council table, and trudged out to the hallway.

“Chairman,” several guards grumbled to him on the way. Donellanus marched straight past. He had mind only for his destination.

He passed by the shrine, where several Faders were actually praying to him. If only they knew how their pleas truly reached him, in a blur, on his way down the hall. He passed by the room where the outlaw Drogan was strung up by his wrists in custom Chrysum bindings. Donellanus marched right out the rear door of their base, to a gigantic stony overlook of the swirling yellow-orange cloud ocean. There, he found one of the only beings left in the galaxy he trusted absolutely. Dormis.

“Greekah, moterena, fuumar harest,” Donellanus hissed to the hulking Fader in its native tongue. He had said what he understood to mean take me to the monster. Dormis only nodded, and turned for a spiral of stony stairs that led down, beneath the main platform of their base. Donellanus followed close behind him, to the concealed caverns of the basement.

Dormis guided his lord and leader only as far as a door of solid gray stone. It alone was set apart from the clay and rock of the rest of the base. There, the Fader stepped aside, and flattened against the wall for Donellanus to go on alone. The Chairman hardly believed when he noticed Dormis tremble. Every one of the hairs on his chitin armor vibrated with horror for whatever waited beyond the gray door. Donellanus put his hand to the stone, breathed deep and tried to emulate his father. He pushed his way inside.

A single shard of light shot into the room ahead of Donellanus, from the hallway he came through. There were no windows in the chamber of Machaeus. There was nothing in the room, actually, besides the massive pillar in its center that connected its floor to the ceiling. Right in the center of the solid clay trunk, a screen of glass peeked through. The clear, cylindrical prison trapped inside the stone was just big enough for a full-size Dragon. There was, however, no Dragon imprisoned there. There was no body imprisoned there at all. Only a formless, entropic form of pure darkness.

“They fear you so,” Donellanus rumbled with his first step into the room, “The Faders. The Higher Order. Everyone. And yet…you are no thing. How can one fear what does not exist, in one form or another?” He toyed with the idea as he crept closer to the pillar. There was no answer from the dark swirl inside the glass.

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a bit afraid, myself, but…it’s like they’ve all forgotten. You’re the reason we’re still here. You watched over us for eons. You must have had reasons for doing what you did, but could we even understand them? Can we ever understand something like…” Donellanus continued, his claw rising without a thought. The tip of his talon slid down the glass. A quiet screech emitted from the friction between them.

“What’s he doing?” a whisper floated through the air. Donellanus about-faced. A thought transmitted through Chrysum. But it was no Dragon’s voice he knew.

“Machaeus?” Donellanus tried transmitting his own thoughts through the glass. He waited for futile seconds for an answer, before another whisper danced across his mind.

“He’s in the chamber with Machaeus,” answered another, different voice. “Quiet, before he realizes.”

“Realizes what?” Donellanus demanded. “To whom do I speak?”

“You might want to check a certain outlaw’s bindings,” said the first voice. By the time Donellanus realized it was Drogan, it was too late.

“You also might want to check the cracks in the floor, for shape-shifting Squires you lost track of,” advised DA-Vos.

Donellanus strafed for the door, but Drogan and DA-Vos had spoken with such confidence for good reason. Since he’d flicked a dent in his bindings, Drogan had long since discovered his old friend never left him. The day of his arrival at the base, DA-Vos had bled through a crack in the wall, and had been listening in on important conversations ever since. The Squire fed Drogan every fact he’d absorbed while he continued to work at his Chrysum bindings. A few days more, and Drogan was even able to send particles of himself down through cracks in the stony floor of his room. From there, it was no trouble for the two to infiltrate Machaeus’ chamber. It was so deep a relief for Drogan to have something to do, like cracking the glass on the backside of Machaeus’ glass prison.

“You were right to come here. So too were you right to fear,” boomed yet a third, deeper and darker voice. It came from the glass cylinder at the center of the room. Donellanus froze in the doorway. He turned back in horror, only to be swallowed in the dark swarm of Machaeus.

Chapter Eleven: The Other Side of the Wall

Kalus sprung up from his bed. He reached for his Chrysum sword, to dice the infernal Faders limb from limb. Instead, he found the grasp of a hand.

“Easy, Kal,” Lilia hummed. She had to wrap her other hand around his to stop him from wrenching it away. His wild eyes shot around the room, in search of foes. What he found, however, were four cramped walls, and a hard cot beneath him. It took a few seconds for his brain to readjust, but once he could breathe again, Kalus realized he recognized the place.

“Camilla’s... We’re home?” he murmured. There was no mistaking the place, once the adrenaline subsided. Rows of tiny hard cots behind a ramshackle counter. A squat ceiling of gray rock, veined with neon branches of light. More overgrown plants than had any business being packed in a space so small. It was them that gave the place its sweet, nostalgic aroma.

“We’re home,” smiled Lilia. Saturn - Ring 5 to be specific. Once she saw the murder flee her brother’s eyes, she let go of his hand to rub his shoulder. “Sophia’s pod took some damage in the battle, so the SkyLine Launcher is offline. We needed parts, and not just for the ship… You were pretty banged up. Worse than we cou

ld fix on the Cerberus.” Just then, fear seemed to tighten its frozen grip around Kalus’ heart all over.

“Demi. Where is he? Is he-”

“Waiting for you to roll out of bed, so you can give us the tour,” the proud voice of his Captain brought Kalus’ eyes to the door of the shoddy little clinic. They filled to the brim with tears of relief. Kalus hid his face in his arm to keep them from spilling over.

“Yeah, well…if you knew your way around a blade…” he pretended to criticize as best he could, while euphoria filled every inch of his chest.

“I know.” Demi’s words sent a shock through Kalus’ sore bones, “It’s your job as my Arms Specialist to develop weapons and combat expertise… You delivered. It’s my job as the Captain to be prepared for any contingency. I wasn’t, and that put you at risk. I’m sorry.” Kalus’ eyes opened wider with each unexpected word. It was enough to pull his face out of his arm, once the few tears he couldn’t tame had soaked into his sleeve. There was a certain, painful familiarity engraved deep in the stress lines across Demi’s forehead.

“Forgiven. Don’t mention it again,” Kalus said. With Lilia’s help, he pulled himself up off the cot. “Now… That tour.” He hobbled a few steps with his arm locked under Lilia’s before confidence returned, with blood, to his legs. Kalus turned to shoulder his way through a veritable safari of small trees and bushes on his way to the door. He made it as far as the front counter before the dark-skinned, wide-birthed bundle of joy herself came in with her arms crossed. “Camilla!” Kalus laughed.

“Just when I thought you were finally out of my hair,” the owner and namesake of the place feigned annoyance, “Your poor sister has to drag you all the way back here from where - the depths of space? Earth? You’re still putting this girl through hell?”

“Don’t forget putting credits in your pocket,” Kalus winked at her. Camilla bunched her lips up in the usual frown she reserved just for him.