Hey Navigator, you better read this work-in-progress snippet from Demons & Battleskirts Volume 2 real quick, before Vren finds it! That dragon has a thing for spoilers.
The late afternoon sun cast harsh shadows over the ancient platform. Of the same pale stone as the mountain it sat upon, it looked as if it had been hewn from the rock itself, smooth and perfect as the domos could make it.
Smooth and perfect enough that the pebble under her right heel was an anomaly, a deliberate plant to distract her. And that it had found the perfect place—right at the edge of her foot, where it defied all expectation of hardened sediment to throw her balance just so—and resisted every subtle effort to dislodge…
An ambush, a play for the paparazzi and media drones buzzing around the platform, their lenses focused not on the giant fluted pillars—made from the same pale gold stone as the platform, fifty times as tall as a human—or the glittering portal, within but the people.
On Jaya, her head thrown back, power rippling around the her like the sun itself, no need for the ornate crown upon her head, or the elaborate robes to distinguish the Empress, her aura did it for her. Or Medea, the Imperial Heir, at Jaya’s side, two steps to the left and one below side. She was quieter than her older sister, her aura subdued—the breaking dawn to noon’s ruthless light—but no less powerful, no less dangerous.
Or there was Mur, long dark hair blowing in a wind that touched none but herself; the High Priestess a vibrant, wild explosion of colour. The shifting energies running through her staff a mirror for those playing in the portal, she stood below the Empress and the Heir, ministers and nobles arrayed in a semi-circle at their backs, and commanded the forces of the universe.
The lenses, the ones belonging the news outlets, the commentators and scientists, the documentary makers and researchers, they would focus on those three, or the important people—the decision makers, the movers, the shakers—behind them. The others though, the drones with the special microphones and the visual enhancements, the littler beyond the offical media zone—a kilometre from the platform, held back by two high density forcefields, three battle mages and a full flight of security bots—those were focused on the little pebble under her right heel.
Amidst the white and gold of the officials’ robes, the High Priestess’s blue and silver, Az was a ink spot on the landscape, a crow in black and gold, hair braided tight to her head, her mouth drawn, her brow furrowed. The ceremonial armour—gold filigree that would do as well to stop a Horde lance as air—weighed heavy, the uniform stiff, but it was the look, the one she cultivated in the mirror, that she practiced, that she’d perfected.
Asenath Uthor, the Bastard Daughter, the Usurper. The Empress’s Sword. Unyielding as the mountain she stood upon, ruthless as the drop from the platform’s sheer sides to the valley eleven hundred metres below.
And that’s it, the first two pages of volume 2. What did you think?
If you haven’t read book 1 yet, don’t forget that Vren’s hacked the Archives again (he thinks I don’t know) to give Navigators (that’s you!) a special 30% off discount on Demons & Battleskirts Volume 1. It’s for May 2025 only, so don’t dawdle!
