A Wizard and a Warlord

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The transparent wall curved up to form a ceiling filled with the glory of a million stars; below glowed the bank of screens that showed the views around the ship. A smaller screen, set into the surface of the console in the center of the room, lit the craggy features of the giant who sat poring over a database. He was Magnus d’Armand, itinerant revolutionary, and the starlit room was the bridge of his spaceship Herkimer.

“So there you are!”

Magnus braced himself even as he looked up; Alea was out for blood again. “Of course.”

She stood in the hatchway, fairly glowing with anger—tall, almost as tall as he, with a face that some would have called angular but that he thought lovely. Even in the loose light blue shipboard fatigues, her slender figure made his breath catch.

She strode into the room, fairly sizzling with outrage. “What are you doing in here? You’re always in the lounge!”

“The press of work, I’m afraid.” Magnus gestured at the screenful of data before him. “It’s time to start thinking about the planet we’ve picked for a landing.”

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