Invasion: Book 1 by J. Robert King

Author:J. Robert King [King, J. Robert]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9780786914388
Publisher: Wizards of the Coast Publishing
Published: 2018-03-27T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

—

Orim stood on the poop deck, gazing aft. She had clambered topside in hopes of dragging Hanna from her post. The impossibility of that quest was soon clear. The impossibility of this battle was clear as well.

“Bring us about,” Gerrard’s voice came sullenly through the tubes. “There must be something we’re missing.”

Orim shook her head in empathy. She had repeated those same words countless times as she stared at the rot that was killing Hanna. There must be something I’m missing. It was Orim’s own impossible battle. Without Hanna, how would the ship find her way? How would Orim and Sisay find their way? And Gerrard—he would be utterly lost.

Already, they were lost. The ship roared out above Llanowar, trailing its faithful fleet close behind. They cruised above the field of portals. Not a gun woke fire on those devices. They seemed to form a placid and illimitable sea.

Water. It triggered memories of a far-off place—of Cho-Manno, the Cho-Arrim, and their water magic. When she had left her beloved, she had sworn to take the power of the waters with her. Orim gazed at the shimmering portals. How could she find power in such black waters? If only she could meditate, could draw from the reservoirs within her, perhaps she could find a cure to this plague.

Orim gazed down in desolation on the portals.

Weatherlight stirred a strong, long wake in the portals.

Suddenly, Orim knew. It was a simple thing, the sort of thing Hanna and Sisay would understand implicitly.

Spinning on her heels, Orim rushed to the bridge door. She flung it back and descended.

The cramped room buzzed with activity. Gerrard had arrived on the bridge to consult with Sisay at the helm. Reports poured out the speaking tubes that blossomed here and there: The metallic voice of Karn asked for attack status; the signal officer relayed other ships’ queries. Ensigns scrambled up through the lower hatch and back.

Hanna was busiest of all. She worked feverishly at her navigation console. The compass and stylus that walked across a chart of Llanowar dragged telltale lines of red in their wake. Her fingers were knotted in crimson where she clutched her belly wound.

Orim’s breath caught at the sight. Blood did not bother her. Its implications did—especially these implications. Rushing to Hanna’s station, Orim knelt, grabbing her friend’s arm.

“Hanna, you have to get below—”

“I can’t,” she snapped, her voice more exhausted than annoyed.

“You can, once we get rid of those portals.”

“Get rid of—”

“We couldn’t planeshift to Benalia because of the three portals over it. You said they caused spacio-temporal distortions that shunted us to the side.”

“Yes, but what does all this—”

“Our own shift envelope is much stronger than any of these. Even at normal speeds, we leave a wake in the portals below. If we were to—”

“Yes,” Hanna said. Despite the horrible pallor of her face, a brief and beautiful flush came to her cheeks. “Sisay! Captain! Take us up!”

Without question, Sisay drew back on the helm. Weatherlight responded as though the ship were her own body.

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