Realm of the Stars, Volume I: The Unclaimed Crown (Complete 4/18)

[MasterGhandalf]

So, this year I decided to do something I've never done before and try my hand at NaNoWriMo with a story idea I've been tossing around for a while; think Star Wars meets the Arthurian Mythos, with a little Dune thrown in for good measure. Feedback is appreciated!

 

Spoiler

Prologue

Realm Year 472

The Planet Carann, Capital of the Kingdom of the Dozen Stars, Royal Palace

The Queen was dead.

The Duke of Orlanes leaned heavily against the nearest council chair, breathing heavily as he struggled to make sense of the scene before him. The walls were scorched with laser fire, and the acrid stink the beam rifles left when they were used still hung in the air, along with a few remaining wisps of smoke. A number of the council chairs lay overturned, either by the assassins or by nobles fleeing the violence; a few of the display screens on their arms were still flashing frantically with warning messages.

Then there were the bodies. Most were assassins, black-clad and black masked, still clutching their beam rifles in their final grip; mixed in between them were a Her Majesty's royal guards, their bright blue-and-gold uniforms and plumed helms making them strikingly obvious among their foes. Closer to the throne lay the bodies of three of the Queen's knights, their armor still smoldering, and their swords fallen from their hands where they fell defending their liege.

And on the dais, itself…

The dais stood at the head of the chamber, which curved inward to place it at the apex with the councilor's chairs facing it in a ring and the balconies from which observers could watch rising in several levels above them. All was done in blue and gold, the colors of the royal house, and along the walls hung the great banners depicting the Lion of Carran, the great feline beast that was the sigil of the Queen's household. The dais itself rose several levels above the floor, and the walls behind it were designed to resemble stained glass – an archaic artform from Old Terra of which one of the Queen's ancestors had been fond – depicting scenes from the Sacred Canon and the history of the Kingdom of the Dozen Stars. The Duke knew, however, that at any time the seemingly glass windows could be transformed into screens that projected the Queen's image and voice across the chamber – just as larger screens waited hidden outside the palace for the same purpose. The throne itself was a curving, gold-framed chair on a low pedestal at the center of the dais, its peaked back rising into a pair of slender prongs decorated like the rays of a rising sun, framing the occupant's head as if in a halo of light.

She who should be that occupant now lay at the throne's base, her body already covered by a thin white cloth. The Duke felt his heart wrench at the sight, for a part of him couldn't bear to see her like this, which seemed the final proof that she was dead – and another part was quietly relieved that whatever wounds had killed her were hidden. The Queen had been a great knight, in her time; he doubted that she had gone to her death quietly. A pair of floating servitor mechs hovered over the body, their long-fingered metal hands running along it as they scanned for any further evidence of the origins of the weapons that had killed her – and prepared to take the body away, to prepare it for final rites. Around the edges of the chamber other mechs of similar design were examining other bodies, or preparing to clear damage from the room. Their mechanical faces with glowing blue eyes were, as ever, unreadable.

"My Lord Duke Mardoban," a voice said from behind him; the Duke straightened himself and turned to the man who had spoken, a young officer of the Queen's guard with his beam rifle slung over one shoulder. The look of horror on his face was surely the match of the Duke's own.

"I got here as soon as I heard the news, Lieutenant," the Duke said to him, taking in his rank insignia at a glance. "Were you the one who summoned me? Good. What the hell happened here?"

"We're still trying to figure that out, my lord," the lieutenant said – Lord, he looked young. "The council meeting was just barely in session when the assassins appeared in the balconies. We still don't know how they got in; their suits had some sort of stealth tech that only went down when they opened fire. They aimed for the guards first, then the knights, but not the councilors; they weren't interested in anyone who didn't look like they were going to fight back." He drew a deep breath, the continued. "We tried to get the Queen out, but Her Majesty didn't want to run when her people were in danger. It didn't matter anyway; they were too fast. After dealing with the knights, they turned on Her Majesty; several of them fired their beam rifles together, and the collective force was enough to cut through her personal shields." The lieutenant swallowed, loudly. "I am the highest-ranking officer present who survived, and I will be filing my resignation as soon as I'm able, for failing."

Duke Mardoban waved a hand. "Don't be daft," he said. "You did what you could. Any idea who did this?"

The lieutenant shook his head. "None yet. The mechs scanned the weapons and suits the assassins had, but don't recognize the technology. We caught a few of them alive, but they had some sort of mechanical implants that activated when we tried to question them. They… didn't survive."

"damnation," the Duke muttered, shaking his head. "Of all the times I'm not present at a council meeting, and this happens." He turned back to the lieutenant. "I need a moment to collect myself. I'll return presently; let me know if you find anything new."

"Yes, my lord," the lieutenant said, saluting. The Duke returned it quickly and then strode from the council chamber, out into the large, vaulted entry hall. He passed several more guards, who saluted as he passed, and several nobles and councilors who approached him angrily, demanding an explanation; he forestalled them with a raised hand and finally reached the far end of the entry hall, where there was no one remaining nearby.

"But who…" he muttered under his breath, shaking his head again at the final mystery tying all this together. The Empire? No, they were busy with wars of their own, and he doubted they had the time or the inclination to waste resources attacking a small, remote nation that was – strictly speaking – their ally. He'd question Quarinis later, of course, but doubted he'd get anything from the ambassador but the platitudes and insincere sorrows. Was the threat closer to home, then? There were certainly those, among the Dukes and Barons of the dozen stars, who had made no secret of the fact that they desired the throne for themselves. Naudar, perhaps, or Respen or Sateira – any of them seemed the type, though where they god the technology was another question, the worlds they ruled were not so rich as that…

"My Lord Duke," a quiet voice said from beside him, though Mardoban was certain he hadn't heard any footsteps. "We need to talk."

"You," the Duke said, turning sharply towards the speaker with a hand on the hilt of his sword. "Where were you during all of this? Why weren't you at her side?"

"I was distracted by other matters," the other man said; he was tall and thin, with dark skin and a neatly trimmed white beard; he wore his customary plain, dark coat, but the pleasant smile that usually adorned his face wasn't there. "Whoever planned the assassination was very clever; they kept you distracted with bureaucracy and me with… well, you can imagine, and then went straight for their primary target."

"I don't suppose you know any more than we do?" Mardoban asked, but the other man merely shook his head.

"In this, I don't," he said. He turned and began to walk towards one of the small doors lining the entrance hall and gestured for the Duke to follow; they emerged onto a balcony beneath Carran's violet sky, the gleaming silver spires of the capital city spread out beneath them; the air thrummed with the sound of countless skycars in the airlanes above it, though of course none was allowed to come too close to the palace without authorization. Word hadn't gone out yet about the assassination, but it would soon. Mardoban didn't envy the police who would be on duty tonight.

"As grievous a loss as Her Majesty is to the Stars – and to us all – there is one matter no one seems to have mentioned yet," the Duke's companion said. "I'm referring, of course, to the succession."

"Oh, I think whoever was behind this had that very much in mind," Mardoban muttered angrily. "After all, the Queen had no heir. What better way to throw the Dozen Stars into chaos than to kill her, and leave the rest of us squabbling over the remains." No heir… well, there was the one, but the princess had renounced her claim to the throne when she took her vows and joined the holy sisterhood, but even before that, there'd been… rumors about her, of the less than savory kind. The Duke knew the girl, and privately thought at least some of those rumors were true.

"Yes indeed," his companion said, sighing and stroking his beard. "As I said, whoever arranged this was clever. They hid their trail, but their goal was obvious. As you said… chaos." He turned to look at the Duke. "The Kingdom will need you, old friend. Try to keep everything from falling apart, until…"

"Until what?" Mardoban demanded, though he doubted he'd get a straight answer from the man – one almost never did, after all. His companion merely shrugged.

"I've made preparations," he said. "And I have to go and make more. I wish I could tell you about them, but the fewer who know this, the better. Someone went to very great lengths to kill our Queen; I don't doubt they'll do it again if they feel the need. Just keep the Stars together, and watch, and wait. That's all I promise you."

"Watch and wait… watch and wait for what, damnation you?" The Duke spun on his companion, ready to physically shake answers out of the man if he had to – but it was too late. He was standing alone on an otherwise empty balcony.

The Duke stood there, watching the sky deepen and the stars appear, grieving for the monarch he had served and pondering his companion's words, for a very long time.

 

Edited April 18, 2018 by MasterGhandalf

[Hemalurgic Headshot]

Hoid confirmed.

[MasterGhandalf]

Spoiler

Chapter One

Realm Year 487

The Planet Katanes, Kingdom of the Dozen Stars

15 Years Later

When speaking of the significant worlds of the Kingdom of the Dozen Stars, there were few who would place Katanes among that august number. It wasn't one of the Twelve, the original planets from which the fledgling nation had, long ago, taken its name; it's ruler was subject to the Duke of Tantos III and held no seat on the Council in his own right. Its population was low, existing primarily in a handful of cities on a single continent; the rest of the planet was wilderness. Most historians and political scientists of the Kingdom indeed considered it to be barely worth noticing.

If, however, there was one trait for which Katanes could be said to be known, it was its natural beauty. Its dark orange sky gave the planet an air of perpetual twilight, and when its sun set its two large moons filled the sky, casting everything in a silvery glow. Often they were joined by spectacular auroras whose shimmering lights were visible across most of the inhabited continent. Beyond the cities, the land rose in spectacular mountain ranges at whose feet spread out the vast fields of violet and blue vegetation; Katanes's agricultural products were and remained the planet's primary exports.

Upon the slopes of one of the mountains, not far from the planet's primary spaceport, there stood an elaborate structure from which gleaming silver towers rose towards the sky. This was the palace of the Baron Varas ast Katanes, the titled ruler of the planet whose name he bore. The palace served as residence for the Baron and his family as well as the planet's administrative center and perhaps its most recognizable landmark.

In a large room deep inside the palace a slender figure stood, wearing padded training clothes in the green of the Baron's household and a faceguard that left few features visible. In her – for even with the padded clothes, she was just recognizable as female – hands, she held a dull-edged practice sword in a ready position. Across the room stood her opponent – a training mech with its white armor polished to a glow, its face nothing more than a single, expressionless red eye. It held a sword that was a match for her own.

The girl sighed, adjusted her grip on her sword's hilt ever so slightly, then said clearly, "Begin." At once the mech sprang into motion, charging forward with weapon raised. The girl met its attack with her own weapon, and the resounding clack of the training weapons striking each other echoed through the empty training hall. Backward and forward they darted, human and machine, the one's technique rough but showing promise according to her living instructors, the other's carefully programmed to match her.

Finally the girl disengaged and stumbled back, and she and the training mech began to circle each other carefully. If she could strike the center of the machine's chest, it was programmed to switch off, and she would win; she thought she'd noticed a flaw in its technique that might give her the opening she needed. Carefully she studied her opponent and then darted forward; it managed to parry just in time, catching her blade on its own. For a long moment they struggled against one another, the girl trying to angle her sword down to hit the critical spot – and the suddenly the mech twisted its wrist, and the motion sent her practice sword flying. The girl landed on her back on the padded ground and looked up to see the mech looming over her, weapon raised.

"End program!" she shouted, and at once the mech froze, awaiting further instructions. The girl sighed heavily beneath her mask and stood, facing her now-immobile opponent and giving it a slight, respectful bow – though a part of her was amused at the idea of treating something that was a glorified appliance with no thoughts or will of its own as a worthy opponent. Carefully, she reached up and pulled her mask off, shaking out her hair as it came free. Revealed beneath it were the lightly tan features of a girl of about sixteen – Arta, the Baron's foster-daughter.

The sound of quiet applause drew Arta's attention away from the mech and towards the training hall's door and the person she now saw leaning there. Karani, her foster-sister and the Baron's biological daughter, was a year older than she was and somehow managed to look poised and immaculate even with her hair loose and wearing a rumpled green sleeping robe. It was hard not to resent that fact, sometimes. "I had a feeling I'd find you here," she said.

"How long were you watching?" Arta asked as she picked up her practice sword.

Karani shrugged. "Long enough," she said. "Not bad, little sister, but you still let yourself get too wrapped up in what you're planning to do to focus on what's in front of your face." She held up one long finger in a reproving gesture. "That's what'll get you."

Karani left her position by the door and began to stroll around the training room. "Why do you keep coming down here in the middle of the night, anyway? I mean, you are getting better, and don't you get enough training during the day? Do you have to get beat up by mechs at night, too? Frankly, I don't see the appeal."

"I don't do it for fun," Arta snapped back. "You come of age next year, and I do a year after that. You're Father's heir – your future's all planned out and you don't need to worry about it. I'm not so lucky. I'm a fosterling – even if I was oldest, I couldn't inherit anything. That means either I wind up stuck in some political marriage, or…"

Karani raised an eyebrow. "Or?" she asked lightly, but from the look in her eyes Arta could tell she was genuinely curious.

"Or I manage to get a knighthood," the younger girl finally said. "I know, I know, I'm a nobody, and who'd take my service? Go ahead and laugh. But it's better than being shunted off to some planet I've never been to so I can marry someone I barely know."

"I'm not going to laugh," Karani said; instead, she looked surprisingly thoughtful. "Makes sense to me, anyway. Although," she said with a satisfied smile, "if you want any pointers, I might be able to give them to you – so long as you ask me at a reasonable hour and don't expect me to drag myself out of bed in the middle of the night for it."

Thanks for the reminder that you're so good at everything, Arta thought, but didn't say aloud. She had to admit, however, that it was true – her foster-sister was good at everything, from studies to swordplay to fashion to dancing. But perhaps because of her talent, she rarely applied herself with any real effort. Arta, on the other hand, wasn't so lucky – she had to work for the skills she had.

"Look," Karani said, noting the expression on Arta's face and mistaking its origin. She walked over to her foster-sister and put her hands on her shoulders; Karani was tall for a woman, taller than many men, and Arta had to crane her head back to look up at her face. "If nothing else, you could always take service with me someday. Baroness and knight. It would be fun!"

Arta leaned into Karani's shoulder, but inside she thought that the last thing she needed was more family charity. Fostering was common among the noble families of the Dozen Stars, though not as common as it had once did; nobles raising each other's children was supposed to help build alliances between them, or that was the idea. Arta, however, had come to the House ast Katanes as an infant, and all she knew of her origins was that she was an orphan that Baron Varas had taken into his care. She knew no father but the Baron, and no sister but Karani, but at the same time, she was always keenly aware she was the outsider, and that it was only through the Baron's kindness that she had become part of their family at all.

Looking up at her foster-sister, she forced herself to smile. "Maybe you're right," she said. "But someday, I'll make a name and a life for myself, I promise you that."

"Of course you will – fosterling or not, you're an ast Katanes, aren't you?" Karani smiled and hugged her foster-sister, then stepped back and stifled a loud yawn. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm going back to bed, where normal people are at this time of night. I recommend you do the same, unless you want to be falling asleep flat on your face tomorrow." She turned to walk away.

"I will," Arta said to her retreating back, then added more quietly, "thank you, Karani."

"Any time, little sister," the older girl said without turning, though she gave an idle wave of one hand. When she was gone, Arta turned to the mech and tapped the switch on the back of its neck, reactivating it. She handed it her practice sword and watched as it clomped away, taking both swords and itself back to the equipment storage. Arta herself made her way to the changing room and began to strip off her training clothes, revealing the jumpsuit she wore underneath. Training clothes stowed, she pulled on a robe and started to head back to her bedroom.

Karani meant well, and that had helped, even if her words themselves hadn't. But, Arta vowed to herself, one way or another, she would show that she was more than an orphaned fosterling, more than the irrelevant second daughter of a minor family. No matter what it took.

/

Arta wasn't the only member of the ast Katanes household who wasn't sleeping that night. High in one of the spires of the palace, Baron Varas stood at a balcony, the wind rustling his hair and the robe he wrapped tightly around himself as he gazed out over the planet that had been given to him to rule and protect. It was moonset over the palace; the larger, silver moon was full and the smaller blue one was nearly so, and as they set their light mingled with that of the aurora to become a glow that was far softer and more comforting than daylight. Varas came here often when he couldn't sleep; he'd done so more often in the years since his wife had died.

He heard the sound of footsteps behind him and turned to see his aide, Danash; the Baron smiled to note that the man was, as ever, neatly attired, even at this hour. "I thought you might be interested to know," Danash said, "that I was checking the palace's power readings and it seems someone has been turning on the mechs in the training room again in the middle of the night. I don't think we need to launch an inquiry to know who."

Varas smiled. "At it again, is she?" he asked. "Arta's certainly got persistence; probably got it from her mother. Well, so long as she's not hurting herself – or anyone else – I say leave her be. She'd just find a way around it if we tried to stop her anyway, the way she gets when she's got her mind on something."

"You know why she's taken to doing this, don't you?" Danash asked softly. "She's tired of being the younger sister, the fosterling, always in Karani's shadow." He paused for a along moment, as if weighing his options, and finally he continued. "Have you considered telling her, old friend? It might help her understand things better if you did…"

The Baron sighed. "Lord help me, I'm tempted. She'll have to find out someday, but part of me is afraid of what might happen if I did. I never imagined, when I agreed to take her in, how hard it would be to keep the truth from her." He shook his head sadly.

"On that note," Danash added, "I thought you might be interested to know that a message arrived for you a short time ago; it was to your private channel, but since you weren't present, I took the liberty of opening it. He agrees with you; the time is right. He'll be here by the end of the week, he says."

"Thank the Lord," said the Baron. "At last, we can start to get things moving again – for ourselves, for Katanes, and for the Kingdom itself." He paused and looked back out over the nighttime landscape before turning back to Danash. "Anything else you have for me?"

"Just a reminder that you're scheduled for a meeting in Tannen tomorrow; nothing too serious, but the guildmasters are very determined to get your reassurances on the pirate matter in person. Are you still planning on bringing the girls with you?"

"Yes," said Varas. "It'll do them both good to sit in on the meeting; after all, Karani will be running this place someday and she could use the reminder that sometimes a Baron or Baroness needs to take things seriously. But I doubt it'll be much trouble."

"Of course," said Danash. "Well, that's all I have, and I think it's time I retire, and I recommend you do so as well. Good night, old friend."

"Good night," Varas replied, at watched him turn sharply and depart the balcony. Danash was a good friend, and a loyal aide; Varas still wished sometimes he'd been there when he'd been young, if only so someone practical could warn him how difficult it would be balancing his duties as a baron, a father, and as keeper of too many secrets. The first role was the most officially important; the second, the most rewarding; it was the third that brought him most grief.

Sighing one last time, the Baron left the balcony and headed for his bed, even as, several floors below, his foster-daughter prepared to do the same. Above them all, the moons slowly set, heralding the passing of midnight, the end of one day, and the beginning of the next.

/

The city of Tannen was the largest spaceport on Katanes, though in truth, that said very little in its favor. The city itself was only moderately sized, and though it saw traffic to and from other worlds on a regular basis, that traffic was composed chiefly of shipments of foodstuffs sent to the Duke on Tantos III or exported to other markets, or the occasional tourist who had wanted to see the famous auroras or who had a fondness for mountain climbing. Occasionally the Duke might arrive on a tour of the worlds that made up his outlying holdings, or the Baron and his family would leave to pressing business elsewhere in the Kingdom, but that was rare, and remained the most exciting thing the sleepy city ever saw.

This night, however, a small spacecraft descended from orbit and towards one of Tannen's docking bays. It was so black that it seemed to be a sliver of the night itself, and it gleamed like polished obsidian; it had put the militia forces in orbit on edge when it first appeared on their scopes, and the commander had hailed it and, rather more forcibly than usual, demanded its registry information and intended destination.

The only reply had been a brief transmission containing a code that had caused the commander to sharply inhale when he saw it – a code he knew far better than to question or countermand. He ordered his ships to stand down and let the strange new arrival pass unharmed.

The ship landed at the docking bay, seeming surprisingly light for a construction of metal and hard plastic, and its underside opened revealing a ramp from which descended a person in dark clothing, with a hood pulled low over their head. This person paused to look around themselves warily, then slowly approached the nearby booth where the night attendant waited to collect the fee for the use of the bay.

The night attendant didn't consider himself a cowardly man – he'd been in the militia years ago, though he hadn't actually seen much action except against a few pirates now and again – but he couldn't help but feel uneasy at this dark figure who approached him – at let out a sigh of relief when all it did was swipe a card at the provided scanner, then punch a few keys with a gloved forefinger to complete the transaction.

"Er, that seems to be in order," the attendant said, checking the information on his screen. "Welcome to Kartanes. Ah, how long will you be staying?"

"A few days," the figure said softly – a woman's voice. "I have business here, but it shouldn't take me too long. You, if you're wise, will forget that you ever saw me." She placed her card back in the folds of her clothing and then turned without further word and strode off towards the city, her dark cape fluttering behind her in the cool breeze.

Well, whoever she was, the attendant thought she was right – he didn't know why she was here, and he didn't want to. What he did know was that she was the strangest thing he'd seen for a very long time, and that it would be best for everyone involved if he kept his head down and didn't ask questions.

And when his shift was over, he was going to have a nice long drink and then go to bed and try to forget this had ever happened.

 

Edited November 7, 2017 by MasterGhandalf

[MasterGhandalf]

New chapter!

Spoiler

Chapter Two

Carann, Capital City

Mardoban ast Orlanes, Duke of his home planet and for fifteen bitter years Regent of the Dozen Stars, set aside the tablet he'd been reading from and sighed heavily, rubbing his eyes. The report he'd just finished scrolling through had been, unfortunately, more of the same he'd been hearing lately – this time it was pirates attacking the shipping lanes near the outlying worlds. But if it hadn't been that, it would have been reports of increased civil unrest on Tantos III, or Duke Respen insisting yet again that since he was a third cousin of the royal family, the Council should recognize him as King by right of birth, regardless of the fact that the planet under his rule was little more than an oversized military base he ran with an iron fist and that he'd shown no aptitude for the complexities of an entire nation.

Every day, it felt more and more that the Dozen Stars was falling towards anarchy, and there was precious little Mardoban could do about it. A Regent, after all, was not a King; he could issue decrees but few felt particularly bound to follow them, and the other Dukes on the council were growing to see him more and more as a placeholder who had outlasted his time.

damnation the whole cursed feudal system anyway, Mardoban though. The Dozen Stars had broken away from the Empire nearly five centuries ago, and its founders had reacted against the ruthlessly centralized system they had escaped by creating one that granted power chiefly to the rulers of the individual worlds, rather than to a single ruler – the degree of authority to which a king or queen could exercise their power outside of Carann depended as much on the force of their personality as it did on the strength of their position. Of course, Mardoban thought, that just meant that power was still concentrated, just in the hands of a ruling class rather than an individual ruler – and that class produced proud, ambitious people who disliked it intensely when someone they saw as merely one of their own tried to make them work together.

There was an old phrase from Lost Terra that the Duke had once read that seemed appropriate to him now: herding cats. Mardoban was trying to herd cats, and increasingly, he was failing.

His office door suddenly buzzed, pulling Mardoban from his dark thoughts. "Enter," he said, turning his chair to face the door; it opened a moment later and his son stuck his head inside.

"Father," he said, "I just wanted to remind you that the Council meeting is due to start in fifteen minutes. You probably want to go ahead and be down there."

"Thank you, Pakorus," Mardoban said, rising. He paused a moment to regard his son; at sixteen, two years short of his majority, he'd grown into a fine young man. Slender and neatly dressed, with hair as black as the Duke's had been before it had become streaked with grey, he wasn't particularly imposing but had a keen eye and sharp wit that would make him a formidable leader one day.

Mardoban put rested his hand on his son's shoulder. "Well, then," he said, trying to a casual smile. "Let's not keep my esteemed colleagues waiting, shall we?"

/

"This is getting absurd!" the holographic image of Duke Hiram ast Tantos declared angrily from where it shimmered above his council seat. "This is the third time in the past standard week that a shipment from one of my planets has been seized by these pirates. They must be scoured from our kingdom – I demand that this council take action!"

"It seems to me," Duke Respen's image said lightly, "that this is your problem, my friend. Clearly if you had spent less time throwing garden parties and more time arming your militia, this wouldn't have happened. I've certainly not had that sort of problem in my holdings."

"Because the bloody pirates are probably working for you in the first place!" Duke Hiram snarled, rising to his feet. "Where else would they be getting state of the art ships and weapons, if not one of our own?"

"Are you calling me a criminal, Tantos?" Respen shouted equally angrily, rising as well. "I will remind you that my personal records are spotless, and that my holdings are statistically the safest in the Kingdom. You may look up the records if you wish; it's all laid out very clearly."

"The safest only if you don't mind being ruled by a tyrant, you-" Hiram began, but Mardoban had had enough. Rising to his full height, he raised both his hands and regarded both dukes with a ferocious scowl.

"Enough!" he shouted, and Hiram and Respen both turned to face him. The two men were a study in contrasts – the former was older, past his prime and balding and carrying rather more weight than was fashionable, and was clad in bright, flamboyant clothes. The latter was younger, slim and handsome save for the predatory smile he often wore, and he wore a military uniform with a fine dueling sword at his hip.

"I will not have two members of this august body shouting insults at each other like schoolchildren!" Mardoban continued. "Duke Respen, restrain yourself from casting aspersions on Duke Hiram's military and use of his resources; Duke Hiram, refrain from making unfounded accusations against Duke Respen. If we are to bring up every grievance, real or imagined, we have against each other, then we might as well dispense with this council entirely. Am I clear?"

"Yes, Your Grace," both Dukes said, bowing at the waist, but neither could fully hide the mutinous looks in their eyes. This, Mardoban thought, wasn't something he'd heard the last of.

"Regardless of the behavior of our colleagues," Duke Naudar put in, "I must admit I am concerned. My holdings have also been troubled by increased piracy lately, though my militia forces have been sufficient to see them off without significant damages. I recommend that this council take an active interest in finding out exactly who these people are and why they've been so active lately, for the safety of the entire Kingdom."

Naudar was an older man, of Mardoban's generation; they'd never been friends, but they respected each other's abilities, and Mardoban had to admit that after his own holdings, and the Crown's (which were also now his to administer, thanks to his holding the Regency) his were the largest and most powerful of the twelve duchies that composed the Kingdom. Privately, Mardoban considered Naudar a dangerously ambitious man, one who might not be above hiring pirates to harass his rivals – but he also doubted that Naudar would be the one to request an investigation into the matter if he was the one behind it. He wouldn't want to risk what that might turn up.

"Really, Naudar," said Duchess Sateira, "What do you expect to find? They're pirates; what's the difference between one greedy, uncultured ruffian and another? I can only assume they're only attacking now because the sense weakness." She shot a superbly disdainful glance around the council chamber, and several of the holographic men and women shifted uncomfortably in their seats; Sateira made little secret of her distaste for anyone who didn't meet her personal standards – which was most people.

Naudar, however, merely nodded his head in her direction. "Actually, there is a particular motive behind my request," he said. "Several of the pirate vessels were appearing and disappearing quite suddenly before they attacked – and without leaving the characteristic energy signatures to suggest they were making jumps. When my militia managed to capture one of their ships mostly intact, they found an advanced cloaking system on board." He paused for a long moment before continuing. "Very similar, in fact, to the sort of system in the suits of the assassins who killed our beloved Queen fifteen years ago."

"Are you suggesting that the pirates and the assassins are working for the same people?" Mardoban asked, a sudden chill running up his spine. For years, they'd investigated the assassins, only to find dead end after dead end. For new evidence to turn up now…

"Perhaps," said Naudar carefully. "Or perhaps, the assassins and the pirates merely sourced their weapons from the same arms dealers. Either way, it would point to there being more layers to this than Duchess Sateira would have us believe. I think it bears investigating."

The councilors, worlds away, shifted awkwardly in their seats; Mardoban, for his part, was still, considering carefully. He doubted Naudar's motives in revealing this information were altruistic – the man didn't trust most of his fellow dukes, and had little real loyalty to any part of the Kingdom outside of his own – but at the same time, was this a lead they could afford to pass up, regardless of its source?

No, Mardoban decided, it was not.

"I agree with Duke Naudar," he said. "We have been plagued by pirates long enough, and the question of what person or group is supplying their weaponry bears further investigation. I recommend that a member of this council by assigned to create a task force to hunt the pirates down and track their technology to its source. As regent, I nominate myself for this position, unless someone else would contest that right." When no one else did, Mardoban continued. "Then we'll vote. All in favor?"

Holographic hands raised; unsurprisingly, Hiram and Naudar were the first to have their hands in the air, with Respen following somewhat more hesitantly; Sateira kept hers firmly lowered, as did several other council members. But as Mardoban counted the hands, he saw that the task force had enough to pass – barely.

"Then it's decided," he said. "I will create a task force to destroy the pirate threat and trace the origins of the pirates themselves and their technology. If there are no further matters to discuss, I hereby declare this meeting of the High Council of the Dozen Stars adjourned."

/

Later that afternoon, Mardoban stood in the Hall of Portraits, where hung the images of all the monarchs of the Dozen Stars, from Artax the Founder, who lead the first revolts against the Empire and helped create an independent kingdom down through the centuries. The Duke stood before the last of these portraits now, regarding the image of the most recent of those monarchs, depicted sitting serenely on her throne, robed in blue and staring purposefully into the distance. Aestera ast Carran IV, late queen and, it was seeming all too likely, last queen.

"I know you're beyond all this, now," Mardoban said softly, "but, Lord, sometimes I wish we still had you here now. I've been trying to do what you'd want from me, but… damnation if it isn't hard. I don't know how you put up with them sometimes." He smiled and shook his head sadly. "But I will do everything in my power to keep things from falling apart; I promise you that."

The portrait, of course, had no response.

"Father?" a voice said from behind him, and he turned to face Pakorus as the boy approached. "Down here, again? I had a feeling."

"Talking to her helps clear my head," the Duke said, "even if she can't talk back. In any case, it looks like I'll be having some business to attend to before long; the council is worried about pirate attacks and Naudar wanted someone to look into it, and as it happens, that someone is me."

Pakorus arched an eyebrow. "But, you're the regent," he said. "Don't you have enough responsibility already? Why not someone else?"

Mardoban chuckled. "It's precisely because I'm the regent that I'm the only one the council would accept in the job, son," he said. "The dukes are territorial; they'd be outraged if any of the others sent ships into their holdings for any reason if they did it without their permission, and see giving them the job of pirate hunting as just an excuse to size up their territory for invasion. Since I'm the regent, I'm the only one who can even pretend to be impartial, so I'm the only one they'll accept – and several of them voted against it anyway."

"Sometimes," Pakorus said slowly as he digested this bit of information, "I think I really hate our government."

Now Mardoban did laugh. "Sometimes I feel the same way, believe me. And I'd question the sanity of anyone who didn't. It's a rotten situation we're in, to be sure, and everybody knows it – but the problem is, everybody thinks that they're the only ones who know how to solve it, so they won't listen to anyone else."

"Then why would Naudar be the one to raise the idea of someone else solving the pirate problem?" Pakorus asked. "His children went to the Academy here on Carann with me, Father, remember? I never knew any of them very well, but all three were pushy and arrogant, determined to have their way no matter what. From the way you've talked about their father, he sounded like he was the same. So why give someone else power?"

"You're right, Pakorus," said Mardoban. "Naudar is arrogant, and he is ambitious. But he's also old and canny. He's powerful enough that he's secure in his position, and he knows that none of the other dukes trust him. But he doesn't just want power because he feels entitled to it, like Respen, or because he thinks he's the only one smart enough to rule, like Sateira. He wants to be the founder of a new dynasty, and that means he wants the Kingdom to still be here when he's gone. So he wants elements like the pirates gone that he doesn't control gone, and if that means helping a rival because he thinks that rival is the only one who can get the job done, then he'll do it. Strange as it is to say, he may be the best friend on the council I have – at least for now."

"But you still don't trust him," Pakorus pointed out.

"Of course I don't," said Mardoban said. "I don't trust any of them. But I do trust that Naudar as at least some idea of the larger picture, which is more than I can say for any of the others. Whatever his other faults, he's not a stupid man – and I doubt his sons or daughter are either. Remember that, son."

"I will," Pakorus said, and Mardoban let out a barely audible sigh. The boy was almost a man, and that meant, by the laws of the Dozen Stars, that he would soon be eligible to inherit his father's position. If the Lord was merciful, he wouldn't need to for decades yet, but still – Mardoban sometimes felt like fate was condemning him to treat Pakorus as yet another colleague, and not a son.

The Duke didn't say anything about the potential connection between the pirates and the assassins who'd killed Aestera; there was no need yet for that information to pass into the hands of anyone outside of the council, no matter whose child they might be. Better not to risk the word getting out, and whoever was behind both groups – if anyone – finding out that their tracks had been uncovered.

"By the way," Mardoban said, "would you mind running a message to Ambassador Quarinis for me? Something's recently come up that he and I need to discuss; tell him I'd like to set up a meeting in the next day or so." Quarinis was a stickler for organization and protocol; he wouldn't take kindly if Mardoban simply barged in on him, but he'd be more amenable if everything was arranged ahead of time – and sending his son would be taken as a sign of respect.

Pakorus knew it; he smiled as he gave the formal bow of a noble page to his lord. "I'll do it, Father," he said.

Before either of them could say anything else, they were interrupted by the sound of running feet; Mardoban turned and saw a man in the uniform of an officer of the royal guard hurrying up. It was Gilgam, the man he'd first spoken to on the day of the assassination, so long ago; he came to stop in front of the Duke and snapped to a salute.

"My Lord," he said breathlessly, "your presence is required in the council chamber at once. Something… unusual has happened."

/

The throne at the head of the council chamber had sat empty for years, ever since the Queen who last occupied it had met her end; as regent, Mardoban supposed he could have rightfully sat in it if he wished, but it had never felt right for him to do so. The throne wasn't his; he was merely holding it in trust, though sometimes wondered who or what he might be holding it in trust for. Now, however, the throne was ringed with guards, all of whom appeared nervous.

As Mardoban approached, he thought he saw why. Something rested on the seat of the great chair that hadn't been there before – a crown, delicately worked of some silvery metal and set with blue gemstones that seemed to glow with their own inner light. The Duke approached warily and the guards let him pass; he picked up the crown and regarded it intently. It was warm to the touch.

"Where did this come from?" he asked.

"I was the one who saw it, my lord," a young woman in a guard uniform said, stepping forward. "I was on monitor duty, and I swear it happened in an instant – one moment, the throne was empty, the next, that was sitting in it. I thought the monitor must have glitched, or someone had interfered with it somehow, but we ran diagnostics and couldn't find anything wrong, and the crown – well, obviously, it was actually there. I have no idea how it slipped by me, my lord. Forgive me."

"It's not your fault," Mardoban said. He well knew that there were powers in the universe that might let a man walk unseen, so close to invisible as to make no difference – powers that could cheat cameras and sensors, and even the eyes of men and women. He'd once known a man who had been very adept at such things, after all. Was this his doing? Why?

"Was there anything else you found with the crown?" the Duke asked. "Any clue as to what this is or how it got here?"

"Well," the female guard said, "we did find this with it." She held out a small scroll with a delicate knot tied around it, of the kind that was still used for official messages on some worlds even though technology had rendered it obsolete millennia ago. Mardoban took it and carefully slid the knot off, the unrolled the scroll.

"'Whosoever shall wear this crown,'" he read, "'shall rule. But if ye be not worthy, beware.'" There was no signature, but there didn't need to be; Mardoban recognized the handwriting.

Is this your move at last, old friend? He thought. Why now? What are you planning?

 

[MasterGhandalf]

New Chapter!

Spoiler

Chapter 3

Katanes, Tannen City

"Well," Karani said, tossing her hair, "was a complete waste of everyone's time."

Arta shot her foster-sister a disapproving look as they left the Tannen Guild Hall, walking a few steps behind their father. The Baron had been meeting with the representatives of the Agriculture, Shipping, and Spacing Guilds on the subjects of the recent surge of piracy that had been troubling Katanes and other outlying planets, and he'd wanted his daughters present to watch the proceedings. So far as Arta could tell, it had mostly consisted of the guild representatives reprimanding her father for his failure to protect their investments from the pirates, and he in return promising to set more of the militia forces to the task of ensuring their safety. The remainder of the meeting had involved arguing over the precise logistics and feasibility of arranging increased protection, and from what she'd seen, nobody had come to any satisfactory agreement by the time they were through. Now Varas and his family were leaving the hall and returning to the landing pad where Danash was waiting with their flitter to take them back to the palace.

The guild hall was located in an open park near the center of Tannen, along with several other governmental and religious buildings; the landing platform was at the other end. Around them rose the tall towers of the city proper; though they lacked the delicate grace of the palace, Arta nonetheless thought that there was a certain grandeur to them, and she craned her neck to look upwards at the buildings as they passed them by. Though the baron's family was surrounded by a small group of guards in plain, neat clothing, they made no effort to conceal themselves or to keep themselves entirely apart from the people. Varas had always held to the belief that a leader should be seen by their people and not spend all their time holed up in a palace or private fortress, and he'd drummed that belief into his daughters at an early age.

"So tell me," the Baron suddenly said in a conversational tone, "what did the two of you learn today?"

"That the guildmasters are annoying and spend all of their time complaining," Karani replied promptly. "Seriously, do those people ever shut up? And you're the Baron – who do they think they are, trying to tell you how to do your job, anyway?"

"Really?" Varas asked, a small smile creasing his lips. "And Arta, do you agree with your sister's assessment?"

Arta glanced at Karani, swallowed once, and then spoke. "I don't think so," she said. "You are the Baron, but that doesn't mean you can just rule however you like. The guilds have a lot of power too, because they're in charge of making and selling things – without them, the economy would fall apart, and they know it. That means that a good Baron has to take time to listen to their concerns and deal with their problems, or else they could cause a lot of problems. Even if they are annoying and never shut up." She shot a sideways glance at Karani, who smirked. "But being annoying doesn't mean they're not right. I mean, pirates are everyone's problem, aren't they?"

"Well put," the Baron said. "We nobles like to say we rule by the Lord's grace, but the truth is, any leader depends to a greater or lesser extent on those under them, and if you can't show that you can do what your people need you to, then you have no business leading anything – even if it can get a little tedious sometimes. Do you understand?"

Arta nodded; Karani frowned, chewing her lip as she digested this information, and then joined her.

"Now, then," said the Baron, "there are a few of the finer points of what you saw in that meeting today that I'd like to go over with you on the flitter back home –"

Before he could finish speaking, one of the guards suddenly started, then seized his lord by the shoulder. "Get down, my lord!" he shouted. Arta was about to ask what was going on when one of the other guards seized her and shoved her down as well – as was also happening to Karani, judging from the muffled cursing coming from beside her. Then suddenly on the path in front of them there was a flash of light and sound as a blast from a beam rifle struck the path just where they were about to have stepped, blasting it apart and leaving a scorched scar behind.

Arta could hear the screams of the park's pedestrians as they ran for cover, but almost before she could process what was happening the guards had her back on her feet and one of them shouted "Move!" into her ear. She found herself being hurried behind one of the trees that dotted the park – one tall and thick enough that it could even block a shot from a beam rifle. Arta was pressed up against it, and beside her she saw Karani and their father in the same position. The guards took up their places along the side of the tree, beam pistols drawn and at the ready as the scanned the area for the attackers.

"What's going on?" Karani demanded, eyes wide. "Is someone trying to kill us? Is it the pirates?" The expression on her foster-sister's face matched the one Arta was sure must be on her own. They'd both been trained extensively in hand-to-hand combat – by tradition, all nobles were – but this, hiding from enemies they couldn't even see, enemies armed with weapons that could kill them in an instant if they hit their target, was something entirely new.

"I don't know," said the Baron, expression grim. "But if we get through this, I will find out. No one threatens my family and walks away." His tone of voice was harsher than any Arta had ever heard him use, and coming from her stern but caring foster-father it was alarming – and yet, at the same time, almost comforting; she knew he meant every word. Before she could process that thought, however, all three nobles ducked as another blast shot past the tree, scorching a furrow in the pale blue grass. One of the guards took careful aim along the path of the shot and fired back with her beam pistol; Arta couldn't tell if she hit anything.

"It looks like there are at least two of them in nearby buildings, my lord," the guard commander said, leaning back against the tree with his weapon at the ready. "Maybe more. I sent an alert on my comm to the city administration as soon as we got you to safety, and pretty soon this place will be swarming with police – they won't get away. Stupid of them to try something so close to the city center."

"Yes," the Baron said slowly. "Stupid of them…" his voice trailed off, and Arta felt an itch in the back of her mind. Were their attackers really that foolish, or arrogant, if the commander was right? Or was something else going on here? Arta's mind spun, and she suddenly desperately wished she had a dueling sword in her hands; the weapons were designed to be able to absorb and redirect energy from beam weapons, making them practical even on modern battlefields. It would make Arta feel safer to have one on her, at least. But none of them except for the guards had brought weapons; there was no need to go armed to a simple guild meeting.

Another blast scorched the ground nearby; Arta and Karani both ducked their heads again, and Arta could hear her sister cursing loudly as she did so. Then, something caught the corner of her eye – a glint of light in another tree nearby. Her eyes widened as she realized what she was seeing – another sniper, hidden in the branches – and then the concealed figure raised a beam rifle and fired a shot, directly at Karani.

"No!" Arta shouted, shoving her foster-sister out of the way; Karani hit the ground and rolled, grass and dirt staining the fine cloth of her formal tunic. The energy bolt flashed through the air, and Arta, scarcely able to think, raised a hand as if to ward it off, knowing it was no use – and then the bolt struck, and there was tingle in her palm like an electric shock, and the bolt deflected from where it struck and scorched another furrow into the grass. No sooner had it done so than one of the guards returned fire, and the sniper cried out and fell from the tree in a heap.

Arta held up her hand in bewilderment, staring at her hand; the palm was smoldering where the bolt had struck, but there wasn't any sign of an injury. Slowly she turned the hand over and examined it carefully, but she could see no sign that the bolt had struck, no wound of any kind. Just a faint wisp of smoke, and that strange tingling.

"What just happened?" Karani asked blearily from where she lay on the ground, and Arta could only shake her head mutely, since she was wondering the exact same thing.

Suddenly the sound of sirens filled the air, accompanied by the flashing of lights as police flitters, decorated with the Katanes crest, descended on the park and began disgorging their armored occupants. Arta could see flashes of light in the buildings where the shooters must have been holed up as the police moved in, but no more fire reached the park. Glancing over at her foster-father, she saw him smiling tightly, knowing that the attackers wouldn't escape. Even now, several armored officers were approaching the sniper who'd fallen from the tree; apparently he was still alive, as Arta saw them haul him to his feet and put bindings on his wrists.

And then she looked past them towards the buildings of the city proper, and for a moment her blood froze; for an instant, she thought she saw a figure, shrouded in black robes, watching from a distant window. But surely it was too far away for her to make out anything clearly, and when she shook her head and looked back, the figure was gone.

/

"What the hells happened today?" the Baron demanded, pacing back and forth in his study. "My daughters could have died today; I want to know what is going on."

"We're trying to figure that out," Danash said, scrolling through the information on the tablet that he held in one hand. "There were three assassins, two of whom were taken alive. Law enforcement has investigated their backgrounds and identities, and we've determined that they're mercenaries with ties to various illicit groups, but no known ideological positions or significant ambitions. Most likely, the hit was placed on you by someone else."

"But who?" Varas muttered, stroking his short beard. "Pirates? Surely not; if this attempt was linked to them conclusively, it would only make the nobility crack down harder, doubly so if they'd actually succeeded. Another noble house? I can't think of anyone I've offended badly enough they'd want me dead, and Katanes isn't so desirable a holding that someone would be readily willing to kill for it and risk war if they were found out. The guildmasters? Doesn't seem their style; even if one of them thought they'd somehow profit from me being out of the way, I doubt they'd have the guts to go through with it. The guilds have clout, but not enough that they'd feel comfortable killing barons, at least not this brazenly." He didn't mention the thought that this might have to do with his foster-daughter – could someone have dug into her past and suspected that she might be a prize worth killing for? He doubted it, and the possibilities it raised… well, best not to think of those for now, at least until all other explanations were exhausted.

"The curious thing," Danash said, a baffled look crossing his face, "is that the prisoners were questioned concerning this job and who hired them for it, but apparently they couldn't answer."

"Couldn't? I thought you said these people were mercenaries – are they really that loyal?"

"I didn't say wouldn't," Danash corrected, "I said couldn't. They remembered being contacted remotely several weeks ago, and then meeting their employer in person last night to receive final instructions – but none of them was capable of describing the employer's appearance or anything about them. Per the report from the officer who oversaw the questioning, the assassins appeared as confused by this fact as their interrogators were. Their reactions, words, and the activity of their vital signs were all analyzed, and while such things can be fooled, the police captain thinks they were telling the truth. They really can't remember."

Varas paused for a moment, considering this, but shook his head. It touched on things that he was no expert in – very few people were. "Tell them to continue the investigation, and keep me updated on the results," he said. "Even if our mysterious employer concealed themselves so well, they must have left some sort of trail. Was there anything else suspicious over the last few days you've heard of?"

"Well," Danash said slowly, "I did see a report that a small ship docked last night, after transmitting a code reserved for special agents of the regent. No word on what they're up to; it's probably classified."

"Hmm," Varas said slowly. "Don't antagonize that ship – if it's legitimate, I don't want Duke Mardoban thinking of me as an enemy – but draft a message to let him know what happened here and ask if he can confirm if he had an agent on planet. If he didn't, we might have our lead."

Danash bowed at the waist. "Of course," he said. When he rose, his posture relaxed slightly and his face softened; he was speaking now as a friend, not an aid. "And the girls?" he asked quietly. "How are they holding up?"

"They'll be all right," Varas said.

/

"I said, I'm fine," Karani snapped, swatting away the medical mech with one hand. She and Arta had been sitting in the palace infirmary for what felt like hours; after the flitter ride back home, they and their father had been hurried down here to be looked over, and once everyone was satisfied he hadn't sustained any injuries, the Baron had been hustled off by Danash to go over the investigation of the assassins. His daughters had been left in the infirmary to be tended by the mechs.

"Just let them finish," Arta said, sighing. "They're mechs; they're not smart enough to take a hint. They'll leave you alone when they're satisfied you aren't hurt."

"Easy for you to say; they're all done with you," Karani muttered. No sooner had she finished speaking, however, than the mechs left her and glided back to their alcoves along the walls, having apparently determined that the baron's heir was unharmed. Karani sighed happily and leaned back on the table, hands behind her head.

"I wish I knew what was going on up there," she said. "We're almost adults – we could be helping! Father drags us along to boring meetings, and then when something actually interesting happens, he decides to keep us in the dark. How's that fair?

Arta shrugged. "They're probably just worried we'll get in the way," she said, though in truth, that wasn't what was really on her mind. She held her hands in her lap, turning them over and over again and regarding them as intently as possible without giving away to Karani what she was doing, but it was no use. They looked exactly like they always had, and there was no physical sign of what had happened earlier today. She almost thought she'd imagined it – but the memory of that odd tingling feeling was still strong. Surely she hadn't imagined that?

She looked up to see Karani staring at her. "What happened earlier, anyway?" her foster-sister asked. "I didn't see a whole lot when you knocked me down, there, but I could've sworn I saw you trying to block and energy beam with your hand. Good thing it didn't hit; could've gotten your hand blown off instead of some bruises and grass stains." She glanced down at her tunic and scowled. "Not that that isn't annoying enough."

In spite of herself, Arta smiled. At least Karani was still herself, and it didn't seem like she'd seen enough to be confused by what happened. "The shadier side of being noble – when they say you have to get down in the dirt to survive, they don't say they mean it literally."

Karani laughed, then hopped down from the table and wrapped her foster-sister in a tight hug. "Well, whoever they were, they should have known better than to try and mess with us," she said lightly. "Because it House ast Katanes, we watch out for each other, and we're not afraid to get messy. Which isn't to say we like it. But still, we'll be fine."

"We will," Arta said, pausing to brush a stray lock of dark hair from her face before returning her sister's embrace.

They were interrupted as the infirmary door slid open and Danash stepped in. "Are you too all right?" their father's oldest advisor and confidante asked. "Good," he added when they both nodded. "The assassins have been interrogated, and we're working on tracking down whoever hired them and figuring out what they were after. The palace is secure, and if you're both feeling fine, your father said you should both return to your rooms. It's getting late."

Karani looked as if she was about to protest, but before she could start was undermined by the prodigious yawn that erupted from her throat. "Maybe you're right," she finally said. "I guess we've had enough excitement for today."

Her sister's yawn made Arta realize just how tired she was feeling as well; both girls nodded respectfully to Danash as they passed him and left the infirmary, taking a nearby lift up several levels to the palace's residential floor, where they quickly made their way to their rooms. Close by, Arta saw their father's door was open, but his bedroom was empty – the Baron, it seemed, still had work to do. It sometimes seemed to Arta that their father almost never slept – but then again, maybe that wasn't a criticism someone who got out of bed on a regular basis to practice her swordsmanship in the middle of the night could comfortably make.

Before they went into their rooms, Karani stopped to put her arms around Arta's shoulders. "You sure you're okay, little sister?" she asked; Arta nodded. "Well, if you need anything, I'll be there."

"I know," Arta said softly. "Love you, big sister."

Karani smiled and walked into her room, the door shutting smoothly behind her; Arta turned and did the same. Letting out a heavy sigh, she walked over to her bed and sat down heavily onto it, before casually waving a hand to activate the lamp that stood beside it. The light flared brightly – and Arta started at what it revealed.

Directly across from Arta's bed, facing the door, there stood a shelf with several books on it, a small stand that held her dueling sword, and a comfortable chair – and the chair was occupied. A figure dressed all in black, with a hood pulled low to conceal its face, was seated there, legs crossed casually and slender, pale hands resting on the chair's arms. Arta gave a sudden gasp and pulled herself tight against her bed's headrest, desperately wishing her sword was closer. She drew in a breath to scream.

The cloaked figure waved a hand dismissively. "Don't bother," it said in a smooth, cultured, undeniably feminine voice. "I've set up a field in this room to deaden sound – no one outside is going to hear you. And besides, I'm not going to hurt you. I'm just here to talk."

Arta finally found her voice. "Who are you?" she asked.

"My name isn't important," the woman said. "Let's just I'm more interested in a much more curious topic. That, Miss Arta ast Katanes, is you."

 

[MasterGhandalf]

New chapter!

Spoiler

Chapter Four

Carann, Capital City, Royal Palace

“My Lord?” Gilgam asked hesitantly as Mardoban fell silent. “What does it mean?”

The Duke slowly lowered the scroll, and then let his gaze slide to the crown where it rested on the throne. “I believe I know who left this crown, and why,” he said. “It was created by one of the Queen’s old advisors, a man I spoke to on the day she died – a scholar, and a mystic, among other things. He told me then that he had plans, and this must be one of them. Whoever wears the crown, rules. But what does it mean, to be worthy?” Placing the scroll on the throne, Mardoban carefully lifted the crown. “There is, I suppose, only one way to be sure,” he said, and prepared to place it on his head.

“Wait, my lord!” Gilgam said, and the Duke paused. “You don’t know for certain that you’re right about your friend, or the crown. It might be a trick, trapped to kill you as well. As an officer of the guard, I can’t in good conscience allow you to attempt this.” He held out his hand. “Please, my lord. Allow me to try it first. If it is trapped, then we’ll know.”

“Assuming the trap isn’t keyed to my DNA, you mean,” Mardoban said, scowling and handing the crown to Gilgam. He didn’t think it likely it was a trap – this had the signs of his old friend’s handiwork all over it, down to that damnable habit of never explaining anything – but there was still a chance it would risk the guard’s life. He didn’t want to put Gilgam at risk, but all the same, the man was right – this was his job.

Gilgam lifted the crown slowly, and Mardoban and the other guards took an involuntary step back; then he placed it on his head. For a moment, nothing happened – and then suddenly Gilgam fell to his knees, screaming and clutching his head. Mardoban hurried forward, reaching out a hand, but before he could do anything Gilgam reached up and tore the crown from his head, flinging it against the base of the throne. He remained on his knees, panting heavily.

“What the hells was that?” the woman who’d first noticed the crown’s appearance asked in a hushed voice.

“I’m not sure,” Gilgam said slowly. “I felt like it was prying into me, like it knew my whole life and career, and all my secrets. I didn’t feel like it disapproved of me, exactly, but I also knew I wasn’t who it was looking for. That’s when the pain started.”

“Like it knew… do you mean that thing had some sort of artificial intelligence in it?” Mardoban demanded. Machine intelligences weren’t illegal, exactly, but they might as well be – frowned on, considered dangerous, nobody wanted to be connected with creating one. There was a reason mechs were designed to be limited solely to their functions, after all. Things were simply safer that way.

“I don’t know,” Gilgam said. “I just got feelings, really, not even thoughts. But I think it’s a test. It’s supposed to find someone who fits its criteria…” his voice trailed off.

“And that someone might be able to become our new ruler,” Mardoban muttered. A dangerous game his old friend was playing, if so. But was it any less dangerous than the day-by-day slide of the Kingdom into a dozen fractured duchies? He wasn’t sure, and that scared him more than anything.

“Are you going to try it, my lord?” Gilgam finally asked.

Mardoban shook his head. “No,” he said. “If what you say is true, I doubt I’d fare any better than you. I never wanted to be Regent, and honestly, I haven’t cut a very spectacular figure in the job. The Dozen Stars needs someone else – someone knew. I’m sure of that much.” He carefully picked up the crown and set it back in the throne, then stepped back and regarded it critically.

“What are you going to do about it, then?” Gilgam asked.

“I’m not sure,” Mardoban admitted. “But I’ll figure something out.” He turned to look at the guard. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Yes,” Gilgam said. “The pain is fading; I think it was just a warning, to keep anyone it didn’t find worthy from wearing it. I’ll get myself looked at, but I don’t think there was any lasting injury- I’ve had worse.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Mardoban said, genuine relief in his voice. “But I think getting yourself checked out by the physicians is a good idea, too. As for me… I’ll stay here for now. I have some thinking to do.”

///

A pair of towering armored figures guarded Ambassador Quarinis’s private chambers. Mardoban knew that they were Imperial Praetorians, the Emperor’s most elite and feared fighting force, and he was privately glad he’d never had to face one on the battlefield. More than a head taller than the Duke, each of them was encased in gleaming metal and appeared to the untrained eye to be entirely machine, though Mardoban knew that there was supposed to be, at the very least, a human brain and possibly more somewhere inside that shell. Mechs were not to be trusted with weapons on the battlefield, and human flesh was weak, prone to injury or fatigue – the Empire had found a solution to combine the strengths of both worlds. The Duke, despite himself, couldn’t help but find the creatures unsettling. Man and machine should be kept separate.

He was careful not to allow any of those thoughts to show on his face as he approached Quarinis’s door. “I have an appointment with the Ambassador, and I mean him no harm,” he said in a clear voice. “Allow me to pass.”

One of the Praetorians lowered its head and regarded the Duke with its impassive metal face. “You are expected,” it rumbled. “Enter.” The cyborg creature raised a hand and the door slid open; Mardoban nodded to it in acknowledgment and stepped inside.

The ambassador’s office was kept neat and spartan, though whether this was a trait that was rooted in the man himself or the regime he represented Mardoban was less certain. The far wall was largely taken up by a window that looked out upon Carann’s capital city, in front of which sat a large desk where Quarinis did most of his work. An old bookshelf lined one wall; the only decoration on the other was a steel icon of the great bird of prey that was the Empire’s emblem, below which hung a portrait of the current emperor, resplendent in classical robes of state.

Ambassador Publius Vedrans Quarinis himself was currently seated at his desk, hands folded in front of his as he regarded the Duke with polite interest. Quarinis was an older man, perhaps ten years Mardoban’s senior with hair gone almost entirely to grey, but his posture was still dignified and his gaze keen; this was not a man to cross. He wore as always his plain white uniform with its small cluster of medals on one side, and his hands were gloved. Mardoban took a seat across from him, and regarded him with careful scrutiny; he’d known this man for decades, and because of that fact, he knew far better than to trust him.

But Quarinis was a patriot, above all else; his interests were his Empire’s interests, and that made him in some ways a predictable, even respectable foe; there were days that Mardoban found fencing with the ambassador to be a far more appealing prospect than dealing with his own council.

“My lord regent,” Quarinis said, his slight accent still noticeable even after so long in the Dozen Stars. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

“It seems that the Kingdom has something of a pirate problem,” Mardoban said carefully. “The council his brought it to my attention, and tasked me as regent with leading a task force to deal with the issue.”

“A wise choice,” said the ambassador. “I wish you the best of look. However, I am uncertain as to why you saw fit to meet with me about this. Surely a memo would have sufficed? Unless you’re intending to request that I accompany you on your mission, in which case I must decline. I would poorly serve my emperor by getting myself killed as part of a minor dispute in foreign territory, after all.”

“Believe me, that was the farthest thing from my mind, Ambassador,” said Mardoban. “I just wanted to ask you some questions. You see, the pirates have been using some very interesting technology – stealth technology, of the kind used by the Queen’s assassins years ago. The Empire wouldn’t happen to have any information on how, exactly, a gang of outlaws managed to get their hands on such things, would they?”

Quarinis frowned. “As I told you years ago,” he said, “the cloaking technology you showed me is not used in the Empire, and neither are the cybernetic implants retrieved from the assassins’ corpses. As much as it would please me to answer your questions, I’m afraid I’m as much in the dark as you are. However, I have to note a certain level of accusation in your voice, my lord regent. Are you, by chance, trying to imply that the Empire may be responsible for these pirate attacks?”

“I don’t mean to impugn your character, ambassador,” said Mardoban, “but I can hardly ignore the most powerful nation in this region of the galaxy, particularly when my own people have had a less than amicable history with yours. I think it’s best to air the question up front and get it over with, don’t you agree?”

“Quite.” Quarinis stood and turned to look out the window, regarding the city spread out beneath him. “I assure you, Duke Mardoban, that fighting a proxy war in the Dozen Stars is the farthest thing from my lord the Emperor’s mind. I already told you that we neither make or use the cloaking technology you’ve described, a fact I’m sure your intelligence service can confirm for you. And more than that, the Empire has more than enough troubles of its own. We are already at war with the rising power of the Alaelam Alliance, and though there are certain factions within our Senate who have made their desire to reclaim your Kingdom very clear, the Emperor has neither the time nor the patience for such petty matters at this time. We have no desire to waste resources to fight a proxy war in your territory, trust me on that.”

Quarinis turned back to face Mardoban, and the Duke studied his face for a long moment, trying to find any hint of duplicity, then nodded. “Thank you for your reassurance, ambassador,” he said. “It’s much appreciated.”

“Of course,” Quarinis replied. “We have no desire to jeopardize our relationship with our friends in the Dozen Stars, after all.” He paused for a moment, made as if to turn back to the window, then stopped himself and regarded Mardoban slyly from the corner of his eye. “Which reminds me. I’ve been hearing the strangest rumors concerning something which happened in the council chamber yesterday. I was hoping that while you were here you’d be able to either confirm them or put them to rest for me. I so hate uncertainty.”

As if, Mardoban thought, you don’t already know the story. Quarinis had his sources – the Duke was certain he’d paid off members of the palace staff or even the guards to pass information to him, and he wouldn’t be surprised if he hadn’t managed to program a mech or two to do the same – and it was usually best not to underestimate the ambassador’s knowledge, or to try to lie to him. “The rumors are true,” Mardoban finally said.

“Well then,” Quarinis asked, his tone casual but his eyes betraying the intensity of his interest, “what are you going to do about it? Throw that crown away and pretend it never appeared at all? Or do you trust the one who sent it enough to actually try to find someone worthy to wear it?”

“At this point, all options are on the table,” Mardoban said, keeping his voice carefully neutral.

Quarinis shrugged. “As you wish,” he said. “But, from all I hear, the Professor was a very clever man – and he always had his own agenda. I’d watch out for his gifts if I were in your position.”

Mardoban started slightly; he couldn’t help himself. Apparently Quarinis’s sources were even better than he’d realized, if he’d already connected the crown’s appearance with that name. “I’ll keep it in mind,” he said, and then rose. “Thank you for your time, ambassador,” he said, “but I’m afraid I have other duties to attend to.”

“As do I,” said Quarinis. “A pleasure as always, my lord regent.” Marbodan nodded to him, and the ambassador returned it; he then turned and prepared to leave, but before he could do so, Quarinis’s voice stopped him.

“Your son Pakorus was the one who informed me that you wanted to set up an appointment,” he said. “I was impressed by him; he’s grown into a fine young man. You must be proud.”

Mardoban stopped for a long moment, staring at the door, before he finally responded. “I am,” he said quietly, and left.

///

Later that day, Mardoban sat at his desk in his own office, hands folded in front of him as he contemplated his conversation with Quarinis. He didn’t think that the ambassador had told any direct lies; that wasn’t his way. But he was certain that there were loopholes in his wording that were significant, and he certainly wasn’t willing to rule out any connection between the Empire and the Kingdom’s pirate troubles.

There had never been a war with the Empire during Mardoban’s lifetime, but no one rose to a position of power in the Dozen Stars without being aware – and wary – of the potential threat the neighboring power offered. After all, the Dozen Stars had been an Imperial province before Artax the Founder had led the rebellion that one them their independence, and the Imperial Senatorial class were proud men and women who were not the types to take any defeat, or the reminder of it, kindly. The Empire was much weaker now than it had been in Artax’s time, of course, but there were certainly those high in its ranks who would like nothing more than to avenge their centuries-old shame and take back what they considered rightfully theirs.

Of course, for the past century or so the Empire had been in no position to make war on the Dozen Stars or any other rebellious province, as they were rather more concerned with battle on another front. Mardoban knew little of the Alaelam Alliance save that it was a sort of religious federation that had arisen beyond the Empire’s far borders, in a region of space that the Dozen Stars had little explored; they had contested Imperial control of a number of important border worlds and the struggle left either nation little time for other interests. For that reason, above all, Mardoban believed Quarinis that the Empire wasn’t going to commit resources to undermining his Kingdom; they simply couldn’t afford to fight a war on two fronts.

The Duke sighed, resting his chin on his hands. Between the pirates, the Empire, the other Dukes and their continuous infighting, and the question of what to do about the sudden appearance of the crown and what it portended, he felt that whichever way he turned, events were closing in on him. And while as regent he was the titular head of the Dozen Stars, in practice he knew full well how little power he really had.

All he could do, he decided, was to try and use what power he had to organize and solve his problems as efficiently as possible. The first to tackle would also be the easiest – the pirate threat.

Picking up his tablet, the Duke keyed up an image of a space station near the edges of the Tantos system, a free port where through which all manner of illicit trade and other activities flowed. Mardoban had visited the place on occasion during his youth, before he’d succeeded to the duchy of Orlanes and become a member of the Queen’s court. It had been years since he’d been back, but he had a contact there who kept himself informed much that went on in the seedier side of the Kingdom’s affairs, and last he’d heard, the man was still alive. The pirates had attacked shipments leaving Tantos III, and it seemed more than likely that they or their cargo had passed through Tantos Station; if so, Mardoban’s contact most likely had information on them.

Mardoban quickly typed up a coded message and transmitted it to the address the man had used for his private communications; that should get his attention. For now, at least, all he had to do was wait. If he was correct – and he thought he was – setting up a meeting on the station shouldn’t be hard, and might well be the first step in getting some answers.

The door to his office opened suddenly, and Pakorus stepped in. “Father,” he said, “I don’t mean to bother you, but something just came up – it’s urgent.”

“What happened?” Mardoban asked, sitting up straight, wondering what other fool thing he was going to have to add to his already full agenda.

“An official transmission was broadcast to the royal palace from Aurann,” Pakorus said. That got Mardoban’s attention; Aurann was Duke Respen’s seat. What was he up to now?

“I sent messages to all the Dukes informing them of the crown’s appearance and the note that was left with it,” Mardoban said. “I hadn’t heard much from any of them beyond basic acknowledgments; I assume that they were trying to figure out what it means and how to deal with it as much as we are. Apparently Respen decided to make his move. What does he want?”

“That’s just it, father,” Pakorus said. “Duke Respen is coming here. ‘To claim that which is his by right of blood and attainment’ was what the transmission said.”

“Meaning the crown – and with it, the throne,” Mardoban muttered angrily. “I should have known something like this would happen. As if we didn’t have enough to deal with…”

“What should we do?” Pakorus asked hesitantly, for once looking as young as he actually was.

“We show Respen the courtesy due him as a Duke of the Realm, of course,” said Mardoban. “And we pray to the Lord that whatever system is in that crown does not find that ambitious despot worthy, or we’ll soon be finding ourselves with an entirely new set of problems.”

 

[MasterGhandalf]

New chapter!

Spoiler

Chapter Five

Katanes, Baron’s Palace

“Me?” Arta asked, trying to ignore her heart hammering in her chest. “What do you want with me? I’m a fosterling; a nobody.” A sudden thought occurred to her. “Do you think you can hold me for ransom? I promise you, if you think you’ll be able to get me out of this palace that easily, you’re mistaken.”

“I’m not interested in the Baron’s money,” the mysterious woman said. She stood and walked towards Arta’s bed, hands clasped behind her back; the gesture left her cloak open, and allowed Arta to get a good look for the first time at what she wore under it – a plain black dress that looked almost like a holy sister’s habit, save that it didn’t bear the emblem of any convent Arta had ever heard of, or indeed, any emblem at all.

“Are you a nun?” Arta blurted out the question without thinking, then mentally kicked herself. Whoever this person was, the idea that she was a holy sister of any convent seemed absurd. But the woman only smiled – she actually seemed amused.

“Not anymore,” she said. “I used to be, though. The sisters saw fit to kick me out after I did various things I shouldn’t have. An old story, and not very interesting.” Her eyes glinted under her hood. “But speaking of sisters, I saw you throw yourself in the way of an energy beam to protect yours earlier today. I’m impressed; in my experience, lots of people talk a very grand game about how they would lay down their lives for their loved ones, but fewer are actually willing to go through with it. There is a certain nobility in that which I can respect.”

Arta’s mind suddenly flashed back to the assassination attempt – and to the figure she’d thought she’d seen watching from a distance. “That was you,” she breathed. “You were there.” A sudden feeling of horror seized her. “You were the one, weren’t you? The one who hired the assassins? And now you’ve come to finish the job!” She stood up in her bed and balled her fists; maybe she didn’t have her sword, and maybe no one could hear her call for help, but for the Lord’s sake she was not going down as a passive victim.

Her visitor merely laughed in genuine amusement. “Of course, I’m not,” she said. “I never wanted any of you dead; I was just curious about what you’d do. The fools were under orders not to actually try to kill you, and if they’d done it, I’m afraid I’d have been very cross with them.”

“So you did hire them!” Arta said, and without thinking she lunged forward, trying to grab the strange woman by the arm. Instead, she merely found herself stumbling off the bed into the middle of an empty room, the sound of soft laughter echoing from behind her. She spun to see her visitor now standing by her bedside – how was it possible? When had she moved?

“You’re not going to catch me that way,” the woman said. “So let’s stop bothering with this juvenile foolishness and try to accomplish something constructive. Like I said, I’m here to talk about you. Tell me, Arta ast Katanes – are you satisfied with your life?”

The sudden change of topic caught Arta off guard and set her mind reeling. “What do you mean?” she asked. “Why wouldn’t I be? I’m the foster child of a noble family – the most important family on this planet. I have everything I want. What are you playing at?”

The woman waved a hand dismissively. “A trite answer,” she said. “A child’s answer. And here I was thinking I was speaking to someone who was almost an adult. Clearly, I was mistaken. But you don’t mean it, do you? You love your foster family – your father, your sister- but you’re not content to stay here, are you? You want to leave this backwater place, have adventures, make a name for yourself that no one will ever forget. That’s why you stay up late and night practicing, that’s why you’re determined to keep up with Karani, to be the serious one when she’s flighty. You want to achieve.”

Arta’s mouth went dry. “How do you know that?” she whispered.

The woman shrugged. “I was much the same, at your age,” she said. “The circumstances weren’t quite the same, but… well, let’s just say that we have more in common than you realize. And that’s why I wanted to meet you. I want to help you, Arta.”

“Help me?” Arta asked. “Help me do what?”

“What do you want to do?” the woman asked. “I’m not choosy.” Her eyes glinted beneath her hood. “Of course, there are certain things I might be better suited to helping you with than others. You saw how I moved, just now. Surely you’ve been wondering how I evaded capture by Katanes’s fine officers of the law earlier today, or how I got into this palace while security was all abuzz after your encounter earlier. Tell me, Arta, have you ever done things that you can’t explain? Have you wondered what they mean?”

“No, I – wait,” Arta said. “Today. The assassins. I really did block that beam, didn’t I? I wasn’t imagining it after all…” her voice trailed off as she considered the implications of that.

“You did,” the woman said, nodding. “I was impressed. And you can do more.” She held out her hand. “There are many powers in this universe beyond the merely technological. Our ignorant ancestors called them magic; there are all manner of technical terms bandied about nowadays. The name you call them doesn’t matter. You have potential. Let me help you reach it. You want to leave Katanes, become a great knight, be remembered forever? I can help you with that too. What do you say?”

Arta regarded the outstretched hand for a long moment, desire battling against fear inside her heart, and then her gaze hardened. “I think I’d rather find my way on my own, thank you,” she said. “Sorry, but for some reason I don’t feel like trusting the person who broke into my home and put a hit on my family.”

She expected her visitor to be angry, but instead the woman merely shrugged. “Fair enough; I won’t force you. Of course, I don’t want you telling anyone about this little chat either; it’s surprisingly hard to sneak about when people are looking for you specifically.” She raised a hand in front of Arta’s face. “Sleep, girl. Sleep, and when you wake, you’ll remember our conversation only as a dream. But I promise you that I’ll see you again one day.”

A sudden wave of drowsiness swept over Arta; she struggled to keep her eyes open, but the weight of her lids was too much. She gave a great yawn and then slid to the floor, and darkness closed in over her.

///

The cloaked woman regarded Arta ast Katanes as she lay slumped on the floor of her bedroom, then reached up slowly and pulled back her hood, shaking out her long black hair as she did so. Her skin was an almost shocking white, the color of someone who had taken paths that were far from the light of any star – a sharp contrast to Arta’s own rich tan. In all other respects, however, their features were similar enough to be obvious to any observer.

Sighing, the woman bent down and with a slight effort will drew energy into her limbs to give her strength; she effortlessly lifted Arta from the floor and placed her in her bed, taking a moment to arrange her neatly. Looking down at the girl’s face, she paused for a long moment then, almost tenderly, brushed a strand of dark hair away from her face.

For a brief, intense moment the woman felt a stab of jealousy for the other girl, the one who was preparing for bed in the next room over, entirely oblivious thanks to the sound-dampening field the visitor had set up. She had been the one to be there for Arta’s childhood, to see her grow up, to teach her and confide in her, to fight with her and make up, to be her sister. It had been only a year ago that the visitor had even found Arta and confirmed who she was – and who she might be.

She shook her head. She had studied with the holy sisters, even if she’d left that path behind a long time ago; jealousy was an unworthy emotion, beneath her. She had her eyes on other, more important things. But she was still human, for all of that. “I should have known I wouldn’t be good at this,” she said to the sleeping girl. “I never was exactly what they call a people person. But someday I’ll make you realize I’m not your enemy, I promise.” Almost on impulse, she bent over the bed and kissed Arta’s forehead lightly. “I’ll see you again soon,” she whispered. “Though you may not see me.”

Standing, she pulled her hood back over her head and focused her will as they’d taught her in the convent, bending the perceptions of anyone nearby so that if they weren’t looking for her specifically, they wouldn’t see her. Another effort of will, and she wrapped herself in a field that would prevent recording devices from picking her up. She wasn’t invisible, not really, but for her purposes now it was close enough. No one knew she was here.

“Goodbye, Artakane,” she said softly. “Until next time.”

Tapping a small device on her wrist to deactivate her dampening field, she turned and left the bedroom, passing a handful of servants and guards in the halls who paid her no mind as she left the Baron’s palace behind.

A few hours later, a small starship lifted off from Tannen City and left Katanes behind… for now.

///

The next morning, Arta found herself walking in a haze; though she’d slept soundly last night, for some reason she couldn’t put her finger on she didn’t feel rested at all, and she kept dwelling on snatches of half-remembered dream that she was certain was important for reasons she couldn’t articulate.

She barely made any comments at breakfast, ignoring Karani’s loud and increasingly outlandish speculation about who was behind yesterday’s attack, and was sufficiently distracted that she was beaten soundly by a training mech during practice. Finally, still rubbing her eyes and wincing from her bruises, she went to the stables.

Located in one of the palace towers, the stables didn’t house horses, as similar structures might once have on Lost Terra. Instead, they housed creatures that were much larger, and which required the open sky and plenty of room to take off and land, for which reason the Baron sometimes referred to them half-seriously as the aviary.

Arta stepped into the large, half-open room and raised her hand to shield her eyes from the sun. She was greeted by a cacophony of deafening squawks and shrieks, and though she knew the creatures that lived here well, she still found them to be a majestic sight. Each was close to fifteen feet long from the tip of their slender tails to their break-like mouths; they had a pair of clawed hind legs and immense wings, with clawed hands at the central joint, for forelimbs. These could be used for flight, or folded under them for walking, as most of them did when landed in the stable. Their bodies were covered in scales that were mostly white, but each creature was covered in a particular pattern of brightly-colored stripes along their back as well – the pattern was as unique to each as a fingerprint and gave each member of the flock a distinctive appearance.

The creatures were called izdakan, but Arta generally thought of them by their more common name – Katanain Dragons. Highly intelligent, fiercely loyal, and surprisingly easy to train, they had served as mounts for human riders ever since humanity’s first arrival on Katanes, and riding them was a skill that the knights and lords of the Baron’s house and valued for generations.  

Arta walked into the center of the chamber, dressed in a sturdy green bodysuit and carrying a helmet with a transparent visor under one arm. Tilting her head back, she gave a piercing, whistling call and waited for a moment before a dragon with a particularly dramatic pattern of blue and red stripes along its back rustled over towards her, talons clicking on the floor. The creature bent down and sniffed her hair, then began nuzzling her face with its beak; Arta smiled broadly and scratched it under the chin.

“Hi there, Ezi,” she said. “Did you miss me? Sorry I haven’t been around much lately; a lot’s been going on. Would you like to fly today? I would.”

Ezi squawked happily and Arta waved a couple of the keepers who’d been waiting near the walls over to help her put on the dragon’s saddle. Arta had been taught to fly an izdakan since she was a child, and though she was familiar with many of the creatures her foster-father kept, Ezi was her favorite. Hunkering down, the izdakan allowed the keepers to fit her saddle into place; when they were done, one of them handed Arta a piece of meat that she tossed into Ezi’s mouth. The izdakan swallowed it down greedily, then licked her scaled lips with her long, thin tongue.

Arta climbed into the saddle with practiced ease, then jammed her riding helmet down to protect her face from any debris – or insects – that might be waiting in the sky. Bending down, she patted Ezi’s neck and whispered the familiar command to her. The dragon gave a low thrum as she walked towards the nearest edge of the chamber, then spread her great wings and launched herself into the sky.

Flying was freedom, Arta thought – no family, no expectations, no worries for the future, just herself, her dragon and the wind. When Ezi first leaped into the air she fell towards the ground with wings pulled tight along her body; once, Arta had found the sensation frightening, but now she knew better and thought it was exhilarating. The dragon dropped towards the rocky ground and then, just when it seemed she was about to hit, her wings snapped out to their full span, casting everything below her into shadow. The wind caught them, and then she was rising again, soaring through the skies with as much grace and power as any bird of prey. Arta threw back her head and whooped under her helmet.

They didn’t make for Tannen City; Arta had no desire to deal with people right now, and certainly not to explain her presence to the city’s air traffic controllers. Instead, they flew across the mountains to the west, suspended between the jagged peaks below and the wisps of cloud above. For a long while, it seemed, nothing mattered but this. Arta knew better than to remove her helmet in midair – the last time she’d done such a thing, she’d been nine, and had swallowed and insect for her trouble; Karani had teased her about it for months – but still, the temptation to feel the wind on her bare face was a powerful temptation.

Finally, Arta saw a wide shelf along the sides of one of the mountains beneath them and pointed at it. Ezi began to descend in circles and finally came to land along the flat expanse of rock, gouging long furrows in it with her claws as she came to a stop. Arta slid from her back and walked to the edge of the shelf, where she removed her helmet. The wind caught her hair and blew it back in a long stream as she gazed out over the valley below them and the mountains stretching out as far as her eye could see. There were no people here, no assassins or guildmasters, no well-meaning but overbearing foster-sisters, no… whatever it was in her dream last night that still gnawed on the edge of her thoughts. The only thing in sight was the majesty of Katanes’s nature. The plants in the valley below were a vibrant blue, untouched by human hand or cultivation. The mountains were grey and silver, their immense peaks reaching for the golden sky above. Arta sat on the edge of the shelf and let her legs dangle over the side; closing her eyes, she tilted her head back and simply felt the wind as it rustled through her hair. Something leathery brushed the side of her face, and she reached up with one hand and scratched the underside of Ezi’s long chin. How long girl and izdakan sat there, neither could say.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” a voice suddenly said from behind them. Arta’s eyes snapped open and she jumped to her feat with an ease honed by training, spinning towards the sound. She saw a man standing on the far end of the shelf, where she was certain no man had been earlier. He was tall, and his skin was darker than her own, though his hair and short beard were both solid white; his age was hard to guess, though from his hair alone she thought he seemed to be an older man. He wore a plain black coat, buttoned up the front, and his hands were in his pockets.

“How did you get here?” Arta asked warily, some niggling part of her mind saying that this was not the first such conversation she’d had in the last couple of days, though she had no idea when the other could have been.

If the man was offended, he didn’t show it; instead, he merely smiled. “Now that is an interesting question,” he said, “and much wiser people than I have spent many years trying to answer it. Of course, if you mean how did I, personally, get here, to this place at this time, the answer is simple – I climbed. I do enjoy experiencing the natural world, something I think we have in common. And I must admit, I’ve seen many worlds in my life, but yours is indeed a rather splendid one.”

“You climbed,” Arta said slowly. “Were you camping somewhere around here? You don’t seem like the sort of person who lives alone in the middle of nowhere.”

“My ship is landed not far from here, actually,” he said. “I’m due to take employment on this lovely planet in a few days, and I thought I’d arrive early and see a bit of it; I have to say, it’s not disappointed me.” He walked forward and held out a hand; Ezi bent down and sniffed it carefully, then allowed him to pat her familiarly. That, Arta found surprising; domestic izdakan, so long as they were well fed, were not particularly aggressive creatures, but even so, she hadn’t seen Ezi take to a strange so quickly. She wondered again who this man was.

“Most people call me the Professor,” the man said, as if he’d been reading her thoughts. “You can call me Shiran if you like; I don’t mind. I’m a historian and philosopher, among other things. Presently I’ve been hired to serve as an advanced tutor by a certain wealthy man on Katanes.” He continued scratching Ezi’s snout as he turned his gaze directly at Arta. “And you, if I’m not mistaken, are Mistress Arta ast Katanes, the Baron’s foster daughter.”

“How did you…” Arta asked, certain that shock was written across her face; the Professor only smiled.

“Simple, really,” he said. “You flew here on an izdakan; that’s a skill few people outside of the aristocracy bother with. You’re wearing the colors of the Baron’s household. You’re young enough to be one of his daughters, and you’re not tall enough to be the elder; therefore, I conclude you must be the younger. Are my conclusions in error?”

“No… no, they’re not.” Suddenly remembering her manners, Arta bowed at the waist. “I am Arta ast Katanes; an honor to meet you, Professor Shiran.”

“The honor is mine,” Shiran said, still smiling. “But there’s no need to be so formal; we’re going to be seeing rather a lot of each other, after all. It is your father who hired me.”

Arta’s eyes widened as she struggled to absorb that information. “So,” she finally managed to say, “are you supposed to teach Karani, or me? And what are you going to teach? We’ve both had tutors before.”

Shiran chuckled. “I’m sure you have,” he said. “But your father felt that both of you were ready for a more advanced course of study, something fit for leaders… or knights,” he added, regarding her more intently with that gaze that seemed to know too much. “Matters of history, politics, religion… the Dozen Stars is at a tipping point now, as surely you must have realized by now. A throne empty for fifteen years… piracy… dukes threatening to tear the kingdom apart. You’re both going to come of age at a very difficult time, and he wants you to be prepared for it. We knew each other a while back – I was attached to the Queen’s court for a time, and we met there. I was hoping to write a book on her reign, but, well… things didn’t end as well as they might have. Not long ago, he contacted me again, and I decided to take him up on his offer. It’s been too long since I’ve had students.”

He turned and walked to the edge of the shelf, staring out over the valley as Arta herself had done. Finally, he spoke. “It’s fortuitous that we met today,” he said. “Do you believe in fate, Arta?”

“Fate?” Arta asked. “I guess I hadn’t really thought about it. The priests and holy sisters say the Lord knows everything, even what hasn’t happened yet. I guess that’s like fate. But I don’t think we’re just pieces being moved around on a gameboard, without any say in the matter – I think we make our own choices, even if someone already knows what they’ll be. Does that make sense?”

The Professor chuckled. “I think it’s a more thoughtful answer than many people older and allegedly wiser than you might give. Sometimes I’m not sure what I believe, but I do think that sometimes, the universe acts to bring people and places together in ways that are important, even if people don’t see it at the time. And I don’t think our meeting today was a coincidence.” He looked back at Arta. “It was a pleasure meeting you today, child. Now, I must recommend that you go home; I’m sure your father and sister are worried about you, especially since, if I’m not mistaken, there was an attempt on all your lives yesterday. Going off on your own like this might not have been the smartest decision.

Arta hadn’t considered that, and suddenly blushed deeply. “They must be worried sick,” she murmured under her breath, and quickly scrambled back onto Ezi’s saddle. “You’re right; I’d better get back. But it was good to meet you, Professor!”

“I’ll be arriving to take up my position in a few days,” he called up to her. “Until then, be safe.”

“And you!” Arta called back before jamming her helmet back into place, and then Ezi had leaped into the air, leaving the shelf – and the Professor – behind.

 

[MasterGhandalf]

New chapter!

Spoiler

Chapter Six

Carann, Royal Palace

Mardoban stood on the walkway leading to one of the palace’s landing platforms, his cape whipping in the wind behind him. At his back stood Gilgam and a squad of other guards, arranged in an ordered military formation with weapons at the ready. None of them expected trouble, but, well, one could never be too careful when even one of the Dukes of the council arrived in person, and especially when that duke was Respen. But whatever his faults, he respected military order and discipline, and that was what Mardoban intended to show him. It wouldn’t do to show weakness in front of any guest, and especially not this one.

A loud roar echoed through the air as a small shuttlecraft descended towards the platform, painted the silver of its master’s house colors. It landed carefully and its engines died with a loud whine, and then a ramp extended from the back of the craft and Respen descended, flanked by guards of his own.

In person, Duke Respen ast Aurann was an imposing man, tall and slim but with a military bearing emphasized by his uniform and ever-present dueling sword; he walked down the ramp with one gloved hand resting on the hilt. He wore his dark hair trimmed short and his handsome face was set in its usual coolly superior expression. Like Mardoban, he wore a cape; Respen’s was the same shade of silver as his ship and fluttered in the wind behind him. All three of his guards were knights, two men and a woman; they wore matching suits of sleek body armor with cloaks across their shoulders, and like their lord, their clothing was silver and they had swords belted at their waists.

“Duke Respen,” Mardoban said, giving the proper bow for a respected equal. “An honor to have you with us. I trust your journey was pleasant.”

Respen returned the bow, dipping his head the bare minimum that propriety demanded. “My lord regent,” he said in reply. “Forgive my rudeness, but I have no time for or interest in pleasantries today; I’m here for one reason only. Where is it?”

There was no need to say what “it” might be. Duke Respen ast Aurann was the Queen’s cousin – his father had married her aunt – and he was the closest of all the dukes in blood to the throne. He had made it plain many times over the years that he felt said blood entitled him to be her successor, but in the Dozen Stars, bloodline alone did not make a monarch. The council had to approve a claimant before they could be crowned, and no one had voted for Respen. Some had cited his youth – though already duke after his father’s death, he’d been barely twenty when the Queen was assassinated and was deemed too young; even now, in his thirties, he was still one of the younger members of the council. But more than that, few of the other Dukes had wanted to place themselves under the authority of a man of such naked ambition and ruthlessness, one of the few council votes in his time as regent that Mardoban had fully approved of.

Unfortunately, the council hadn’t united behind anyone else, either.

All of this flashed through Mardoban’s mind as he regarded his visitor, and with a sigh he gestured towards the palace. “The crown awaits in the council chamber,” he said. “If you will please follow me.”

“Of course,” Respen said, flashing one of his characteristically predatory smiles. Mardoban turned and led the way back towards the palace, with Respen following a step behind and his knights and the palace guard taking up their positions in the rear. Respen didn’t speak during the walk through the palace’s sweeping corridors, and Mardoban had no desire to engage him in small talk; instead, he regarded the other duke carefully from the corner of his eyes. Respen was looking straight ahead with an intense expression, as of a man who felt that something he had desperately wanted was in his grasp, but he also betrayed nervousness as well. His hands were twitching, and occasionally he would let his shoulders sag before squaring them again. Whatever his outward presentation, Respen wasn’t completely confident in his chances of success; he was someone who saw the goal he’d been reaching for most of his life was close at hand, and was uncertain if he could claim it.

Finally, they entered the council chamber; Respen held up his hand and his knights took up their positions beside the door while he and Mardoban approached the throne. When they reached the great chair and looked down at the crown that rested upon it, the regent could hear his companion draw in a sharp, sudden breath.

“There it is,” Respen whispered. “Whosoever shall wear the crown, rules. Isn’t that what the message said?”

“Yes,” said Mardoban softly. “The scroll said that whoever wears the crown shall rule… if they be worthy. Are you certain you are?”

Respen closed his eyes, squared his shoulders, and nodded. “I am,” he said. “Who else could it mean? I was cousin to a queen; I have royal blood in my veins. Aurann is mine, by right of birth and attainment. I have the best trained military in this kingdom. If I am not worthy, who could be?” He looked back at Mardoban and smiled. “Today, I lift your burden from your shoulders. Are you sure you’ll be ready to start calling me ‘Your Majesty’?”

“We’ll see, Respen,” Mardoban muttered, bracing himself for what he was increasingly sure was coming.

If Respen heard his words, he didn’t acknowledge them. Lifting the crown from the throne, he held it in his hands reverently, and then, in a single, swift motion, placed it on his head. For a long moment he stood there, tall and regal, with the crown upon his brow, and a sudden fear rose up in Mardoban’s gut. Had he been wrong? Was Respen truly worthy to take the throne of the Dozen Stars?

Clearly, his knights thought so. “Behold, the king!” one of them declared, dropping to one knee, the other too following suit. Respen turned to face them, regarding them with a beatific smile – and then, he started to scream. The Duke of Aurann collapsed to his knees on the dais, clutching his head and howling in apparent agony. Still, despite his pain and the fact that he clawed at his forehead, he didn’t remove the crown; he seemed determined to master it, whatever it inflicted upon him. Finally, however, whatever he suffered grew too great even for him to overcome; with a last howl he tore the crown from his brow and hurled it across the room.

“My lord!” the female Aurannian knight shouted; she and one of the men hurried to their duke’s side and helped him to his feet, while the other man regarded Mardoban murderously, as if this was his fault. Respen stumbled, rubbing his forehead, and managed to regain his balance; having done so, he shoved both of his knights away.

“Worthless garbage,” he snarled, all pretense of discipline gone. “It’s a trick, obviously. A trap, designed to kill us off, one by one. Well here is what I think of that!” Faster than the eye could follow, he pulled his dueling sword from its sheath; he thumbed the small switch on the hilt and the blade activated, arcs of energy coursing along its length. Stalking across the chamber floor, he raised the sword above his head and brought it down with all his might on the crown.

There was a flash of brilliant light, and Mardoban had to shield his eyes. When he could see again, he beheld Respen, his hair and uniform scorched, having been blasted against one of the council seats, which he now leaned against heavily. The duke of Aurann was panting hard, an expression of shock written across his face; the dueling sword still sparked feebly in his hand. Around the room, both the royal guards and Respen’s three knights looked stunned, as if they had no idea how to react; Mardoban was certain there was an identical expression on his own face.

The crown still lay where it had fallen when Respen cast it aside, whole and undamaged with no sign of the duke’s attack.

“What devilry is this?” Respen finally managed to say between heavy breaths.

“I think the answer is not what but whose,” Mardoban said quietly.

Respen laughed. “What, you mean you really think that this is his handiwork? The Professor’s? Don’t look so surprised – who else would try setting something like this up? Well, if it was the old man, I think this was his idea of a practical joke. If I’m not fit to be king, I’d swear to the Lord none of the rest of you are.” He stood with as much dignity as he could muster before flipping his sword off and slamming it back into its sheath.

“And I think you have just shown why the crown judged you and found you wanting,” Mardoban said. “And don’t forget that one of the council’s duties is to appoint a new monarch, should the throne become vacant. We have failed to do that; perhaps it’s unsurprising that someone decided to force our hand.”

“Keep telling yourself that, my lord regent,” said Respen. “But it seems more likely to me that this crown will merely pass to each of us, tormenting us all in turn and then leaving us no better off than we were before. I don’t know far you plan to trust it, or how you plan to find someone who it considers worthy, but you will do both without me.”

“I see,” said Mardoban. “And shall I have guest rooms prepared for you, or do you plan to leave at once?”

“I intend to return to my ship; this journey was pointless.” Respen turned and began to stalk off towards the door, his cape swirling around his shoulders as his knights took up their positions behind him. When he reached the door, however, he turned back to look at Mardoban, and smiled one of his cold smiles. “Good luck,” he said in a voice thick with mockery, and then he was gone.

Mardoban picked up the crown from where it lay and regarded it carefully as a replayed the events in his mind, weighing the meaning in Respen’s words.

///

The palace gardens were situated near the center of the complex, protected under a great dome of multi-faceted glass. Here were brought specimens of plants from across the Kingdom, and a few from worlds beyond; maintaining such a collection with its wildly diverse needs of soil and environment, was a daunting task, but in Mardoban’s opinion, it was worth it. The riotous assortment of shapes and colors presented an almost overwhelming display, such as could be found few other places across the stars.

Mardoban strolled along the paths among the vivid array, seemingly casual; in truth, however, there was someone he had come here to meet. The gardens sat between the main body of the palace and the Lord’s Cathedral, seat of the Church in the Dozen Stars, and the High Prelate often came here to walk and meditate – and like, the Duke thought, to nap; it had been a long time since the kingdom’s senior priest had been a young man.

Mardoban considered himself a religious man, albeit not perhaps as devout as he should have been, but while he respected the Church as a religious institution, he’d always been somewhat wary of it as a political one. It was, after all, headquartered within the Empire, though the Emperor technically had no jurisdiction over the planet where the Grand Cathedral lay; it was said to be in the Empire but not of it, a distinction that always gave the Duke a headache when he tried to make sense of it. Still, the Church in the Dozen Stars had always been rather independent of the central hierarchy, and the current High Prelate was a man who had put politics behind him long ago.

The Duke found the elderly man seated on a bench across from an artificial waterfall whose rocky sides were festooned with vines that bore vivid, multicolored flowers. The bench itself sat in the shade of a large tree; it was one of the High Prelate’s favorite spots, and Mardoban had thought it likely to find him here. Today the priest was awake; he wore his black clerical robes and had his hands folded in front of him, and regarded the waterfall with alert eyes in that aged face.

“Duke Mardoban ast Orlanes,” the High Prelate said. “Will you sit with me?”

“I will, Your Excellency.” The Duke took his seat on the bench behind the High Prelate, and for a long time the two of them watched the waterfall together in silence. Finally, the priest spoke.

“I heard about what happened with Duke Respen earlier today,” he said. “Honestly, some of the younger priests swear they could hear him shouting all the way in the cathedral. I trust we are not at war with Aurann?”

“We aren’t, thank the Lord,” said Mardoban. “Fortunately, only Respen’s pride was wounded, and I think he blamed the crown itself more than me.” The Duke shook his head. “Though I suspect he’s right about one thing; even if the other Dukes try it, I doubt it will find any of them worthy either. Not that any of them are likely to try it now anyway. They’re proud people, and I don’t think they’d voluntarily put themselves through that kind of humiliation.”

He paused, considering the waterfall again for a long time before continuing. “What would you recommend I do, Your Grace? The throne is empty, the Kingdom is falling into chaos. I fear that soon, we will be at war, whether with Respen or one of the others. Do you think that trying to use the crown to find a worthy successor is the right thing to do? Or is it a trap – should I throw it away and find some other way? Call another vote in the council or even just proclaim myself? What does the Church recommend?”

The High Prelate too was silent, and then he began to speak, his words carrying the tone of a formal recitation. “In the beginning,” he said, “our creed teaches us that the cosmos was unformed, unshaped, a chaos of unrealized potential. Then that chaos exploded into being, and from that moment of sudden birth arose a consciousness to guide the creation – thus was the origin of the being we call the Lord. But it is the nature of all things that they cannot exist without opposites by which they are defined, and so, just as we could not know heat without cold or light without darkness, a second power came into being, seeking to restore the universe back to the primal chaos from which it came. We call this being the Evil One. As humans – as all sapient beings – we are called to do the Lord’s work, to foster order and enlightenment so that the balance will not tip and the universe will not fall back into nothingness.”

Mardoban merely nodded – all this was in the Canon, and he’d heard it many times before – but the High Prelate continued. “Over the last fifteen years, I’ve seen this kingdom falling ever closer towards that oblivion. I wish I was a young man again, but as I am now, I’m too old, too tired, to make much of a difference. But I still think that this has gone on long enough, and I think that the Lord does too, and he sent that crown to force us all to act.”

“I recognized the handwriting on the scroll left with the crown,” Mardoban said. “I think it was the Professor who sent it to us, not the Lord.”

The High Prelate chuckled. “Is that old rascal still around?” he asked. “He and I had our differences, philosophically, and he meddled in things only priests and holy sisters should touch, but I would guess he agrees that enough is enough too. And who says the Lord can’t do his work through people? Indeed, some of the theologians I’ve studied would say that’s the only way he’s ever worked.” The High Prelate coughed before continuing. “But I’ll say this; the Dozen Stars needs a leader. If the crown finds a worthy candidate, and the council agrees, I will preside at the coronation, and give the Church’s blessing. I’m afraid it’s all I can do.”

“I understand,” Mardoban said, rising. “Thank you, Your Grace.” He turned to walk away, then paused and looked back. “And if no one can be found, what then?” he asked. “There is one heir to the throne living, if it comes to that.”

Both men shared a dark look; the High Prelate knew to whom Mardoban was referring. The precocious, unsettling girl who’d been accepted into the holy sisters at ten, renouncing her claim to the throne, and been cast out of their ranks at twenty for reasons the Duke wasn’t entirely certain of. No one had heard from Midaia ast Carann in years, but Mardoban had no doubt she was still alive, somewhere among the stars.

The High Prelate only smiled sadly. “I don’t think that one will ever sit on a throne,” he said. “And I’m not certain whether to be grateful or disappointed by that fact.”

“You’re probably right,” the Duke allowed. “Hopefully we can talk again soon, Your Grace.”

“You can usually find me here,” said the High Prelate. “I’ll be waiting.

///

“I don’t like this,” Pakorus said as he accompanied his father out to the small shuttle that waited for them on the landing platform.

“This trip to Tantos Station is one of our more likely leads for finding out about the pirates and their intended next move,” Mardoban replied. “My informant is very well-connected, and if he doesn’t have the information we need, I’d lay good odds he knows who does.”

“But what I don’t understand is why you have to go in person,” Pakorus said, fidgeting nervously. “Why not send someone else, or even communicate over holo? Trying to get you there in person – I’m just worried that it’s a trap. I don’t want something to happen to you.”

Mardoban turned and put a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I know this man from back before I was Duke; he’s paranoid, and to make sure he’s not cheated, he’s agreed to meet only with me, and only face-to-face. That’s how he usually operates. But he’s enough of a coward I can’t imagine he’d try to kill a duke, for any money. It’s too dangerous for his line of work, too much of a risk if he gets caught. He’s not the sort to get his hands dirty – he just keeps an eye out for things, and then sells what he learns to the highest bidder.” The Duke smiled. “Besides, I’ll have Gilgam with me; he’ll keep anything from happening.”

“All right,” Pakorus said, breathing heavily. “Well, then. Good luck. And please come back safe.”

“Don’t worry, son – I will.” Mardoban wrapped his son in a tight embrace, then pulled back and regarded the boy’s face for a long moment. Pakorus swallowed, then nodded; his father returned the gesture. Then the Duke turned away and boarded the shuttle, the exit ramp closing behind him.

He approached the pilot’s seat, where Gilgam sat waiting, and took the seat beside it. The guard was wearing plain working clothes rather than his usual elaborate uniform – that would stand out, where they were going. Mardoban himself had another change of clothing already stowed in the back that was much the same; he’d change when they arrived.

“All right, my lord?” Gilgam asked as Mardoban strapped himself into his chair. “How was Pakorus doing?”

“He’ll be all right,” Mardoban said, and nodded. “Are you ready?”

“Of course, my lord,” said Gilgam. He flipped the last few switches on the shuttle’s dashboard, then took the controls in hand. Beneath them, the engines activated with a resounding roar that shook the small craft, and then they were rising off the platform. From the window, Mardoban thought he could see the single, small figure below them who stood still, watching them leave.

Then the shuttle tilted back and launched itself towards the sky, towards space and ultimatel, to Tantos Station – and, hopefully, for some answers.

 

[MasterGhandalf]

New chapter!

Spoiler

Chapter Seven

Katanes, Baron’s Palace

Arta ducked under the practice sword’s swing and stumbled backwards, holding her own blade in front of her as a guard. Karani smiled wickedly beneath her visor and pressed forward, trying to keep her sister off balance. She was taller, stronger, and had the longer reach, but Arta was faster and had become adept at avoiding being hit, so the match was not as one sided as it might at first have seemed.

Karani’s sword shot forward again, but Arta managed to spin aside, leaving it to cleave nothing but air. Her foster-sister scowled as she managed to duck behind her; the older girl just barely got her position adjusted in time to block Arta’s thrust. They stood deadlocked for a moment, straining against each other, but here Karani’s height was an advantage and she managed to force her sister slowly back. With a twist of her wrist Arta managed to disengage, but before she could strike back Karani came back in hard, knocking the blade from her hands and then sending her sprawling on her back with a well-placed kick.

“You win,” Arta muttered as she pulled her helmet off. “What was that last part for, anyway?”

“It was for terrifying us all when you disappeared for hours the other day,” said Karani. “Call it payback.” She reached down and helped Arta to her feet. “But you did good today, little sister.”

“You still won,” Arta muttered, rubbing her side. “I could have done better.”

Karani grinned. “Yeah, but you made me work harder than I had to before. All that light-night training seems to be paying off, so don’t feel bad. You’ll get me one of these days.” She held up her practice sword in front of her. “Want to go again? Maybe it’ll be today.”

The sound of the practice room’s door opening distracted both sisters; they turned to face it just in time to see their father enter, flanked by Danash and… it was him. The Professor. His keen eyes swept the room, and when he saw Arta, he smiled kindly.

“Girls,” Varas said, “there’s someone here I want to introduce to you both. This is Professor Shiran, an old acquaintance of mine and an expert in several scholarly and scientific fields. He has graciously agreed to take a position with us as your new tutor.”

Karani rolled her eyes. “We’re not ten,” she said. “Do we really need a new tutor at our age, Father?”

Arta touched her foster-sister’s arm. “Don’t be flip,” she whispered. “I met him the other day, when I ‘disappeared for hours’, if you’ll remember. I don’t know what it is about him, exactly, but he seemed… different from anyone I’d ever met. Try to be a little more respectful.”

“You met him?” Karani whispered back, eyes wide. The Baron regarded his biological daughter crossly, but the Professor merely smiled.

“Yes,” he said. “She did. Young Miss Arta and I had quite a pleasant conversation in the mountains, in fact. And I also have excellent hearing, so next time you wish to have a conversation about me without my overhearing, please remember to do it when I’m not standing less than ten feet away.”

Shiran’s pleasant smile never left his face as he spoke, but Karani’s face turned bright red nonetheless. “I’m sorry,” she said, making a visible effort to be more respectful. “What will you be teaching us, Professor?”

His eyes flitted to the sword in Karani’s hand. “Well,” he said, “it seems you have swordsmanship well in hand – which is fitting, as it’s an important skill for young people of rank, and also fortunate, as I have no particular expertise in the area myself. My particular interests lie in history and philosophy, and therefore that is what I intend to cover with you both in the most detail. I can assume that you’ve already had at least basic instruction in most areas, based on what your father has told me; that’s not why I’m here. My job isn’t to quiz you on mathematics, test your knowledge of spacecraft, or to make certain you know the exact date of Artax the Founder’s birth. I’m more interested in teaching you to think and apply the knowledge of the past to the problems of the present and to help you develop into the leaders that this barony – and this kingdom – needs.”

Karani wilted slightly at this description; she’d driven most of their previous tutors to distraction and more than one had quit because of it, complaining that the baronial heir was a very gifted girl who could excel at anything she cared to if only she bothered putting more than a token effort into anything that didn’t involve sword fighting or styling her hair. Arta knew that her foster-sister would rather do things than spend hours reading about other people doing things. She herself, however, gave a polite bow in Shiran’s direction.

“Thank you, Professor,” she said. “We look forward to your teaching.” She elbowed Karani in the side, and her foster-sister started and then duplicated the bow. Their father nodded approvingly at the gesture, though not without raising an eyebrow in Karani’s direction; she shrugged.

The Professor seemed to notice Karani’s look, and he smiled again. “Don’t worry that I’ll just have you poring over dusty old books in your father’s library,” he said. “In my experience, you can only learn to lead by experience, not by locking yourself away from everyone. I think you’ll find a number of opportunities for more hands-on learning will present themselves before we’re done.”

“That sounds more like it,” Karani muttered; Arta only shook her head and smiled affectionately.

“I’ve arranged quarters for the Professor in the main tower,” Danash said, stepping forward. “He’ll be moving in later today, and should be ready to start lessons in a day or two.”

///

The sisters had finished stowing their practice swords and changing back into their regular tunics, and were just leaving the changing room when Karani glanced around quickly to make sure no servants or mechs were nearby grabbed Arta by the arm and pulled her up against the wall.

“You seriously met that guy when you went flying the other day?” she asked. “And you didn’t tell anyone about it? You didn’t tell me about it? Since when did we keep secrets from each other, Arta?”

Arta shrugged. “I guess it didn’t seem that important,” she said. “If he was who he said he was – and it looks like he is – we were going to meet him officially before long, anyway, and…” She frowned. Why hadn’t she said anything to Father or Karani? Had Shiran asked her not to, or… a sudden memory surfaced of a dark figure in a hooded cloak, standing in her bedroom… and then it vanished, like a snatch of a dream. She shook her head. “Why is it so important to you, anyway?”

Karani’s eyes widened and she let out a sharp breath. “Arta!” she said. “The other day, we nearly died. They still haven’t caught whoever was behind it, you know. And then you just go haring off a whim into the middle of nowhere, where you just happen to meet a man who just happens to be getting ready to come work in our home? Lord, and they say I’m the one who makes bad decisions. Do you really think that was all a coincidence?”

“He said he doesn’t believe in coincidences, actually,” Arta said absently.

Karani stepped back and raised her arms toward the ceiling. “Oh, well he doesn’t believe in coincidences, and that makes everything all right? Look, Arta, you know what I’m thinking? I think he’s probably a spy for whoever sent those assassins, and maybe he’s here to finish the job! Did you ever stop to think of that?”

“He’s not the one,” Arta said firmly, then frowned. She was positive Shiran had no connection to the assassins, but why? Again, memory flickered in her mind, and vanished when she tried to pin it down. “Besides, Father trusts him, doesn’t he?”

“Well, maybe he’s wrong,” said Karani. “Or maybe this guy – whoever he is – killed the real Professor Shiran and took his clothes, used some technology to fake his appearance.” She suddenly stopped and held a finger out in front of her. “That’s it! He’s a spy, and we’re going to be the ones to find him out!”

Arta couldn’t resist a short laugh. “You watch too many holos, big sister,” she said.

“They’re more fun than whatever the ‘Professor’ is going to be having us studying,” Karani muttered. “I swear, if he tries to make me memorize all the monarchs of the Dozen Stars, and all the Emperors, and the priest-kings of the Alaelam Alliance like the last one did, I’m going to scream.”

Arta grinned. “Your true motive is revealed,” she said. “Any excuse to get out of studying, right?”

Karani returned the smile. “You know me so well,” she said. “But I’m serious that something about this guy just doesn’t sit right with me. Or maybe I just don’t like the idea of my baby sister just happening to run into creepy old men in the mountains. Just promise me you’ll be careful, okay?”

“If you’ll promise to try and give him a fair chance,” Arta said.

Karani hesitated, then put an arm around her foster-sister’s shoulder. “Deal,” she said.

“Deal,” Arta confirmed.

///

The Professor watched calmly from the corner of his new room as the serving mechs brought in his boxes and left them on the floor; Varas had already provided furniture, so the Professor had mostly travelled lightly, bringing little more than personal effects he’d take out and set up himself later, rather than trusting to machines. Perhaps he was merely old-fashioned – and if anyone had a right to that attitude, he supposed he was the one – but he still found the quiet, emotionless efficiency of mechs to be unsettling. He always preferred to hire organic workmen, when he could; machines might be programmed for perfect efficiency, but they were incapable of taking pride in a job well done.

And then, of course, Shiran was perhaps the only living human who had seen what those creatures could do when unleashed on a battlefield. Perhaps, he reflected, his distaste for them wasn’t entirely irrational after all…

He felt a sudden buzz from his pocket, distracting him from his reflections. The Professor frowned – few people knew his personal comm number, and he hadn’t been expecting a call today – and quietly removed himself into the large walk-in closet where he could talk in privacy. As he did so, he quietly laughed at himself for seeking privacy from unthinking machines – but then, old habits died hard.

Removing the comm from his pocket, he flipped it on and raised it to his lips; as he did so, he quietly frowned at the display screen, which didn’t identify the caller. “Yes?” he asked. “Who am I speaking to?”

A low, feminine chuckle echoed from the other end. “Always so dramatic, old man,” she said. “I heard you were on Katanes and thought I’d check in and see if it was true. What, no kind words for your favorite student? I’m heartbroken, Shiran.”

The Professor frowned – at his age, there were few things left that could shock him, and he merely arched an eyebrow now, though he knew the person on the other end had no way to see it. “Midaia,” he said quietly. “I thought I sensed a faint echo of your presence on this world. It’s been a while since we’ve talked. I trust you’re well?”

“Small talk doesn’t count for much when I had to prompt you into it, Shiran,” Midaia said, faint amusement evident in her voice. “And I did have a bit of business on Katanes not long ago; before you ask, I’m not on-world anymore, so don’t bother looking for me. I don’t want you in my affairs, and I doubt you want me meddling in yours.”

“Your words imply that this isn’t simply a social call,” the Professor said drily, “and yet you want me to believe you aren’t interested in my business? I’m afraid you’re sending mixed signals, Midaia. I thought you’d learned logic better than that.”

“I’m not here to make a deal, or dig into whatever you’re up to, old man,” Midaia said. “I just wanted to give you a warning. I know that you took a job as a tutor, and I know for who.”

Despite himself, Shiran chuckled quietly. “You hacked yourself falsified clearance with the regent’s intelligence service again, didn’t you?” he asked. “You always were clever, child, but I’m afraid you’re growing predictable.”

“And you’re not? That’s rich,” said Midaia. “But what I want to say is this – I met the girl. I know who she is. And while I don’t care what happens to the older one, I won’t stand for anyone to harm the younger. Not even you, old man.”

“I assure you, I have absolutely no intention of harming Arta in any way,” Shiran said. “I thought you knew me better than that, Midaia.”

Cold laughter echoed from the other end of the comm. “Oh, you wouldn’t hurt her directly,” Midaia said. “You never do directly. But you never worry about what happens to the people who get caught up in your little schemes, either. You never bother to pick up the pieces when you’re done. But I have a proprietary interest in that girl – you honestly think I couldn’t tell she was my blood from one look at her face? – and she had best live a long and happy life, Shiran. Or else.”

“Your threats are duly noted,” the Professor said. “But I assure you that you’re mistaken about me. I do care, deeply, about the Dozen Stars and everyone in it, and all that I have ever done is work for the good of its people. If only you understood what was at stake…”

“Care about the Kingdom, then,” Midaia said. “I’ll care about what happens to my half-sister. When are you going to tell Arta about who her biological family are, by the way? I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to hear it… probably angry that you kept it from her so long, though, what a pity…”

“I will tell her when she’s ready to know,” Shiran said rather stiffly. “I don’t think she’s quite ready yet to have that on her shoulders.”

Midaia made no response, and at first Shiran wondered if the connection had gone dead, but then she spoke again. “And tell me this, you old scoundrel,” she said. “Do you realize that this girl you’re getting ready to take under your wing is a potential Adept? I thought I sensed it in her when I watched her from a distance, and confirmed it when she deflected a blast with a beam rifle – untrained, with her bare hand. Are you willing to take that risk again?”

Shiran went still – he’d suspected, of course, but to know was something else entirely. “It’s unsurprising,” he said. “Your mother had the gift, though she was untrained, as, of course, do you. That Arta should inherit it was… not impossible.”

“But it makes things more complicated, doesn’t it?” Midaia whispered. “I made her forget, but she’s going to realize what she can do sooner or later. She’ll want a teacher, and you’ll be in a bind. You don’t want another me, do you? And I’m not the worst that can happen. So what do you do? Refuse, or take the risk?” She chuckled. “I’ll be watching that with interest.”

“Tell me honestly, Midaia,” the Professor said, keeping himself calm with effort. “Why are you troubling me now? Is this still about denying you the throne all those years ago? You know full well the council would never have approved someone who’d been expelled from the holy sisters, with or without my influence.”

“I don’t want the throne,” she said. “I never wanted it. Why would I subject myself to that idiocy, day in and day out? I’d run screaming in a month. No, strange as it may seem, I actually did want to protect Arta. You watch out for her your way, old man – I’ll watch out for her in mine. I’ll see you soon – watch for me, and you might even find me.” The comm clicked and the connection went dead.

The Professor stood in the middle of the empty closet, mulling over the implications of that conversation, for a very long time.

 

[MasterGhandalf]

New chapter!

Spoiler

Chapter 8

Tantos Station

Tantos Station was a riot of color, sound, and life.

The old space station had begun as an Imperial military base, abandoned after the Empire pulled its forces out of the Dozen Stars following the rebellion of Artax and the War of Founding. Picked clean of weapons and information by the Tantos dukes long ago, it had been deemed obsolete and left to drift in space until it had been purchased a century later by a coalition of the various local guilds and been gradually renovated, converted and expanded until very little of the original structure could be seen beneath of hodgepodge of incongruous but highly functional parts. It had become a hub for commerce, most of that of less than legal nature – the guilds had their rules, but those were concerned more with protecting their profits than with the details of the transactions that took place under their watch, and many of the Tantos dukes had been of the same mind, turning a blind eye to the station so long as they got their cut in guild taxes.

It had been a long time since Mardoban had set foot in the station – then he’d been a young man, not yet duke, itching for adventure and the chance to prove himself as a great warrior and knight. He’d first come here not long before he met then-princess Aestera, and found in her service the purpose his life had been lacking. He’d come to Tantos Station with some foolish idea in his head of single-handedly stamping out the criminal element that had so much power there and freeing it from their predations forever; the present Mardoban shook his head at the memory. He’d barely made it out alive.

Now, an older, wearier, and, he hoped, wiser man, he made his way through the crowds in one of the station’s main passageways, clad in a stained brown shirt and pants with a cheap cloak wrapped around him. Gilgam followed shortly behind, similarly clad. Around them on all sides was a mass of people that seemed to represent all the varieties of humanity. Clothing and styles from all twelve duchies of the Dozen Stars could be seen on the people that surrounded them, along with some who looked like they came from some of the other nations that had broken off from the Empire as its power faded. Mostly commoners, Mardoban thought, or people like himself who wanted to be taken for commoners, but occasionally someone who looked like a noble passed by – no doubt here seeking some business advantage or service they felt they couldn’t get more reputable places. Here and there were a few who looked to have come from the Empire itself, their sleek clothing and imperious manner giving them away; while few others here seemed pleased to see them, neither were they turned away. There were even a couple of men Mardoban was certain were missionaries from the Alaelam Alliance; that was uncommon. Even with faster-than-light travel, the Alliance was so remote that the Dozen Stars didn’t even have regular diplomatic relations with them.

There were a few aliens scattered through the crowd as well; a handful of creatures that looked like giant insects clustered together, talking quickly in their buzzing, clicking language, and a tall, ethereal woman with faintly glowing skin and feathers for hair glided past, hands folded in the sleeves of her robes. All of these were given a wide berth; the Dozen Stars weren’t a xenophobic as the Empire, but there were few humans who welcomed aliens among them.

The shops that lined the main way represented an equal variety. Some were little more than tarps propped up on long metal poles to provide some shelter for the tables where wares were laid out; others were larger buildings that made use of the station’s structure, with holos and flashing signs in a variety of colors to attract the attention of customers. The wars themselves varied from weapons to technology to foods to art to, no doubt, a variety of drugs banned on most planets in the Kingdom; almost anything could be found here, and all of it was for sale.

Gilgam sudden reached out and brushed Mardoban’s sleeve. “My lord,” he said. “I think we’re being followed.”

“I’m sure we are,” the Duke replied softly. “If we’re lucky, it’s just pickpockets or Guild authorities. It could be something worse, though. Keep your pistol ready, just in case. And, Gilgam? Remember that while we’re here, I’m just Mardoban.” It wasn’t an uncommon name, and most people wouldn’t immediately associate it with the regent upon hearing it.

“Sorry, my – Mardoban,” Gilgam said. “Old habits.” He looked somewhat relieved at the Duke’s explanation, but not entirely convinced; he let one hand drop to his pistol and kept glancing about nervously. Mardoban himself kept his gaze forward, watching the signage, and finally gestured for Gilgam to follow him as he ducked down a dark side passage.

“Are you sure this is all right?” Gilgam asked as the two of them made their way down the long, featureless hallway. “This place looks abandoned, and it feels like a good place for an ambush. There’s no way out but front or back, and if they hit us from both sides…”

“The person we’re going to see likes his privacy,” Mardoban said. “Fortunately, he also doesn’t like violence, especially if he has to be near it personally. If anyone tried to get assassins or mercenaries this close to his home, he’d know, and he wouldn’t stand for it – and he has the capacity to register his objection decisively. And yes, this is definitely the right spot.”

“If you say so, sir,” Gilgam muttered under his breath, but he walked in a wary silence as the two men made their way down the hallway. Finally, they reached the end – a locked door with a blinking control panel on one side, flanked by two guards in body armor and faceless helmets, beam rifles held in front of them at an angle.

Mardoban walked up to them calmly and lowered his hood. “Gentlemen,” he said. “I have an appointment with your boss. Will you tell him I’ve arrived?”

“Identification, now,” one of the guards said, holding out his hand. Mardoban sighed and pulled out an identification card, something his position as regent rarely required him to actually carry and use; the guard inspected it and nodded, satisfied. Then he turned to Gilgam. “And who is he?”

“My bodyguard,” Mardoban said. “He goes where I go. I trust that your boss doesn’t have a problem with that?”

A faint chuckled echoed behind the helmet. “Our master understands the need for personal security,” he said. “You may enter.” He punched a sequence of keys on the control panel and the door slid open. Mardoban nodded to the guards and stepped inside, Gilgam following behind.

They found themselves in a dimly-lit room whose central feature was the large table at its center; on the side facing them were set two chairs, and across the center was a shimmering screen behind which only vague shapes could be seen – but Mardoban thought that one of those shapes was the silhouette of a very tall, lean man. He nodded in its direction, and the silhouette returned it.

“Mardoban ast Ordanes,” a heavily distorted voice said. “Are you duke today, or are you regent? Or are you back to being a crusading knight, hunting the wicked in the name of justice? I find I can’t quite decide.”

“Hello, Specter,” Mardoban said, taking one of the seats and gesturing for Gilgam to do the same. “Been a while.”

“I suppose the great regent of the Dozen Stars is simply too busy to bother with the likes of a simple trader such as myself,” Specter said. “Until, of course, I have something you want. Information is my business, and I believe that is what you’ve come for. I’m pleased that someone who has grown so powerful was so willing to indulge my… eccentricities by agreeing to a personal meeting.”

“I could hardly do less for the man who saved my life, after all,” Mardoban said.

“He saved your life?” Gilgam whispered. “Sorry for being forward, sir, but you didn’t mention that.”

“Does it surprise you?” Specter asked, chuckling. “I don’t consider myself an altruist, but I sometimes find I have a certain soft spot for foolish young people who find themselves in over their heads. And, occasionally, for older people who should know better but find themselves in the same position anyway.” The silhouette shifted behind the screen, and then Specter spoke again. “You’ve come for information, Mardoban. Ask me your questions.”

“You’ve no doubt heard of the pirate attacks on shipping lanes,” the Duke said. “The council has asked me to look into it. Several of the attacks have been in your neighborhood, old friend. I can’t imagine you don’t know about it.”

There was a sudden hiss from the other side of the screen that might have been a sharp intake of breath. “You play a dangerous game, Mardoban,” Specter said.

“I’m the most powerful person in this Kingdom, Specter,” said Mardoban. “I think I can handle it.”

“Are you really?” Specter asked. “It has seemed to me over the years that you have little real authority – and I do not say this to insult you, it is simply a statement of fact. The dukes will do as they please, and have little interest in being ruled, or in lofty ideas like the greater good of the realm. They all value different things – Duke Naudar values his bloodline, Duke Respen his military, Duke Hiram, his wealth – but their personal interests consume them all nonetheless. My advice to you, Mardoban, is to simply walk away from them. They don’t deserve your efforts to preserve the Kingdom.”

“Maybe you could do that, Specter,” Mardoban said, “but not me. Both because I made a promise to someone I respected very much, and because the Dozen Stars is more than just the council. But here I think the dukes’ interests align with what they say they want. The pirates are a threat to all the things you mentioned, and to the Kingdom I swore to defend. Tell me what you know, Specter. I’ll pay you very well for it.”

“Of that, I have no doubt,” Specter said, a faintly amused tone tinging his voice. “You never did learn to haggle, Mardoban. Yes, the pirates have been seen in this system; some of them have come aboard this station, in fact, to carouse and spend their gains, and I’ve been able to observe them and overhear their conversations. There appear to be two primary levels within the pirate hierarchy – the outer group, who appear to be little more than the standard collection of mercenaries, outcasts and career criminals who make up the bulk of such organizations, and the inner group, who are the ones who use the technology you worry about and who interest me the most. Unfortunately, all those I’ve seen on the Station appear to be from the outer group, but I have still been able to learn much from them.

“These are not simple pirates, Mardoban. Oh, the bulk of them may have been at one time, but the hand that guides their organization is something much more calculating than that. I do not know his name, or his point of origin – I’m not entirely certain he’s even a ‘he’ – but the pirates have spoken in hushed voices of their leader, who they simply call “the Commander”. Apparently he first appeared not long ago in the outer systems of the Kingdom and began gathering followers to launch a sustained campaign against the Crown. His goal, so far as his lackeys understand it, is to break apart the twelve duchies and see an end of the Dozen Stars as a nation. Unfortunately, most of the pirates I’ve eavesdropped on know little of his long-term plans beyond this, nor do they much care save for the fact that he pays well and is apparently a very dangerous man to cross.”

Specter’s silhouette moved behind his screen, and suddenly a holo flickered into life above the table, display a small array of starships. “This,” the informant said, “so far as I’ve been able to ascertain, is the primary pirate fleet. As you can see, it’s the usual collection of commandeered warships and merchant vessels that have been loaded down with every weapon the pirates can afford. They are, however, extremely well-coordinated; they strike quickly and surgically, taking what they want and vanishing, taking relatively few casualties in the process. This is helped greatly by their cloaking technology; it only seems to work for a short time, at least on something as large as a starship, but it nonetheless enables them to quickly ambush their prey. Where they take their spoils, I don’t know.”

Mardoban raised an eyebrow. “Really, Specter?” he asked. “I thought you made it your business to know everything.”

“I know much,” the informant said, “but not all. None of the fools I eavesdropped on were quite foolish enough to give away the location of their base where it could be overheard, and all of my attempts to plant trackers on them failed. I no more know their base’s location than I could tell you that of Lost Terra or the Eye of the Lord. I do, however, have an inkling of their next move. It seems that a large shipment of precious stones and metals from the mines of Tantos III is due to leave this system by the end of this week, en route to the foundries of Aurann where, I am told, they will be useful in the creation of a variety of powerful weapons. It also seems that the Commander has taken an interest in this shipment, and intends to seize it before the transport jumps. I don’t know whether he intends to sell off the contents to finance his operation, to use them to make weapons of his own, or if he has some other purpose for them; nor do I much care. But I recommend that if you want to ambush the pirates and try to take some of them alive – and thereby learn what I have been unable to tell you – this would be your best option.”

Something buzzed on the end of the table and a small card emerged from a port in its side. Mardoban held it up and inspected it; as he thought, a datacard. “This contains the specific information regarding the timing and content of the shipment,” Specter said. “Use it wisely.”

“I will,” said the Duke, slipping it into one of his pockets. “Thank you for your help, Specter. Is there any other information you have for me?”

“I have told you most of what I know for certain,” the informant said. “But I can provide speculation, if you wish. I’ve had my sources trace the pirates spending habits while they’re here, to try and track the origins of their money. Much of it, as you might expect, comes from the same systems where their robberies have taken place. A few, however, have paid with money I’ve traced back to highly-placed sources on Aurann and Tashir.”

“Aurann and Tashir,” Mardoban muttered. “Those are Respen’s and Sateira’s holdings. Do you think they are behind this?”

“Perhaps,” Specter said. “Perhaps they merely seek to profit from the chaos. Or perhaps they are innocent, and someone merely seeks to frame them to hide their own involvement or discredit powerful rivals. I try to avoid digging too deeply into the affairs of Aurann and Tashir’s governments – unlike my own Duke Hiram, their Duke and Duchess are efficient rulers who I would rather not cross. This part of the investigation, I’m afraid, is more your area than mine.

“As for the inner circle of the pirates, I was fortunate enough that one of my agents was able to capture one following battle between the pirate fleet and Naudar’s forces. Unfortunately, the pirate apparently committed suicide before I could… interrogate him, but I was able to dissect the corpse, and what I learned disturbed me. The pirate had extensive cybernetic implants – these, I believe, are what killed him before he could talk – and the technology was entirely unfamiliar to me. No duchy in the Dozen Stars produces such implants, and neither do any of the other minor kingdoms, the Empire, or even the Alaelam Alliance. I believe that the technology either originates from even farther afield than my sources reach – or it is so experimental I have yet to acquire any knowledge of it. Either possibility is an unsettling one. I’ve seen such implants only once before…”

“On the assassins who killed the Queen,” Mardoban finished darkly. “Just what I was afraid of. Do you think they’re back to finish the job?”

Specter shrugged. “Who can say? If you want answers, seek out the Commander; he will have them, I’m sure. But be wary – everything I’ve learned points towards him being an extremely dangerous man, one even a duke should cross lightly. But at the same time, I find myself hoping that you do manage to find him; I’m curious to see how these pieces fit together, and I dislike having the pirates on my station.”

“All I could hope for, I suppose,” Mardoban said, sighing. He withdrew his ID card from where he’d stowed it and swiped it in a reader along the table’s edge; a light flashed green once. “Thank you, Specter. Your payment should have just gone through; I trust it’s satisfactory.”

“As always,” Specter said. “A pleasure doing business with you… regent.”

“And you,” Mardoban said, and rose.

///

The Duke and Gilgam left Specter’s dim office and made their way back out into the bright chaos of the main thoroughfare. After a long silence, Gilgam finally spoke. “Who is he, anyway?”

Mardoban chuckled. “That, Gilgam, is a question a lot of people would pay dearly to know the answer to,” he said. “I know a little, which is more than most. Ask him about himself, and Specter will just say that he’s a merchant of information, which is true enough. He’s old, I know that – he helped me out of a tight spot when I wasn’t much older than Pakorus is now, and he was already well-established then. Most people on Tantos Station have heard of him, but few get to meet him unless they can pay him well, and so far as I’m aware, nobody’s ever seen his face. On the rare occasions he gets out and about, he’s supposed to go around in a cloak and mask, but I think it’s more likely he dresses a decoy like that and just hides himself in the crowds.

“Nobody’s quite sure how he knows the things he does, either. A rumor I’ve heard more than once is that he’s an Adept, that he was a priest who got defrocked but not before learning mystical secrets. I don’t buy it; I think he mostly uses spies and surveillance technology. I bet this whole station is thick with his cameras, microphones, and spy mechs, all of them sending everything they see and hear back to that quiet little office. As to how he got rich enough to pull it all off – some say he used to be a guild official, some say he was a thief, and some say he’s a renegade nobleman. I’ve always thought it best not to ask.”

“And are you sure you trust him?” Gilgam asked; he still looked unconvinced.

“Specter’s always been honest in his dealings with me,” Mardoban said, “and I think that’s how he is with most people – he doesn’t want to damage his reputation by dealing too much in information that’s not true. I wouldn’t want to cross him, though. He’s very dangerous on his own turf.”

“Sorry, sir, but I thought you said he hated violence,” Gilgam said.

“He does; not out of any moral conviction that I can tell, but because he finds it crude and uncivilized, and because he’s a bit of a coward who hates risking himself. But that just means that if he can’t avoid violence, he’ll make sure to end it as quickly and decisively as possible. Those guards aren’t just for show, and he’s got more hidden – and plenty of weapons. I heard that a local crime lord tried to force Specter to pay tribute to him once, and pulled a beam pistol on him – and that afterwards there never was enough of the man left to identify the remains.”

Mardoban lightly patted the pocket where he’d stowed the datacard. “Fortunately,” he said, “he’s not the one we’re hunting. And he’s given us the first real clue we’ve had; I intend to make use of it. Our next stop will be Tantos III itself; I need to talk to Hiram and see what we can manage, and then…”

Gilgam’s eyes suddenly widened and he slammed into Mardoban, shoving him forward and knocking him to the ground. A moment later, the marketplace was rocked by a sudden explosion that struck right where the two men had been standing, leaving a column of thick, black smoke rising into the air.

The screaming started.

 

[MasterGhandalf]

New chapter!

Spoiler

Chapter Nine

Katanes, Baron’s Palace

The Professor sat on a balcony on one of the palace’s towers, sipping a local tea that Danash had recommended to him and which he’d found quite good, and waited for his students to arrive.

As he waited, he glanced upward at the perpetually twilit sky, with the atmosphere filtering sunlight to a shimmering orange rather than the more brilliant colors he’d known on other worlds. There was something soothing to it, and to knowing that he could be soothed, after so long a life, so many sacrifices… and so many mistakes.

Shiran sighed and looked down at his tea, remembering his conversation with Midaia two days ago. That girl had always been frustrating; even as a child she’d seemingly taken a delight and annoying and frustrating him. And yet for all that, she was perhaps the most brilliant and talented student he’d ever taught, and to ignore her words without first carefully weighing them wasn’t something he would do lightly.

And however skewed by their falling-out her perspective might have been, he knew that she was right to accuse him of being ruthless, of using others, of keeping secrets. Lord only knew how well he understood that – and how much he often hated himself for it. Still, he was coming to the final test, the culmination, he hoped, of all his long labors – he couldn’t fail now, and that meant he had to take every step carefully. And yet he found himself wondering just how much he could afford to follow his usual paths now. Perhaps handling this situation differently would be the right course, after all…

At the sound of footsteps, the Professor raised his head and regarded the two young women who stepped out onto the balcony with him, wearing the matching tunics of their station. Karani was taller, more classically beautiful, highly intelligent when she put her mind to it, according to her father, and of course, was the baron’s natural-born daughter. It was perhaps inevitable that she would be the one to attract any visitor’s eye, regardless of their purpose for being there, and leave her foster-sister in her shadow. But there was an impatience to her as well, an energy and desire to do that left little room for reflection.

Arta didn’t resemble her foster-sister and was hardly likely to stand out around her, but in her Shiran also saw the quiet determination and thoughtfulness that Karani lacked. He’d seen it before, though, in another student of his years ago; Midaia’s words floated back to him again. Yes, Arta had the potential to go astray, but Shiran thought that he also saw the potential to be what she had to be, for the sake of the Dozen Stars and, perhaps, for all mankind.

He kept his concerns from his face; instead, he merely smiled. “It’s good to see both of you here,” the Professor said. “Now, we shall begin.”

///

Arta watched Karani craning her neck around to get a better look at the view as they stepped out onto the Professor’s balcony; this was still part of the guest quarters, and the sisters rarely had occasion to come here. “Nice view,” Karani said. “At least we won’t be stuck inside.”

“I prefer to teach in the world, or at least in view of it,” Shiran said. “There are distractions, of course, but learning to cope with distractions is an important skill, one well worth cultivating. Take a seat, both of you,” he gestured towards the chairs on the other side of his table.

The two girls did so; Arta looked over at Karani and saw that her foster-sister was already starting to fidget. She sighed under her breath and turned back to the Professor. “We’re ready,” she said. “What do you want to cover with us?”

“Your father called me here,” the Professor said, “to help turn the two of you into part of the new generation of leaders that the Dozen Stars will need. That you will have power someday is an inevitable fact of your birth – yes, even you, Arta; even if you will not inherit, as the foster child of a planetary baron, you will move through the halls of power whether you want to or not. Your father tells me that you desire to become a knight? Then you will likely take service with in the entourage of an influential lord or lady, and may be called on to make significant decisions. Today’s lesson will deal in what it means to have power and to use it wisely, and this is a topic to which we’ll return to many times over the course of our time together.”

He clasped his hands on the table in front of him. “Now, then,’ the Professor said. “Can either of you tell me what it means to you to be noble?”

Karani shrugged. “Our father’s a baron,” she said. “That means someday I’ll be baroness. That’s just how it works.” She frowned. “I never really thought about it before, honestly.”

“I think it’s about more than that,” Arta said quietly. “I think it’s about responsibility. If we have power, then we have to use it to take care of people who don’t, to try and make the galaxy a better place than it was when we found it.”

“There are many nobles who wouldn’t agree with you on that,” Shiran said. “Even many powerful dukes and duchesses seem to believe that their power exists only to make them rich, or to make their vision for how things should be a reality. They don’t much care for the common people if they think of them at all.”

“Our father isn’t like that!” Karani snapped, bristling as if she’d been insulted.

“I never meant to imply he was,” the Professor replied. “I was merely curious as to Arta’s response about how that influences her opinion, since so few people seem to follow it. Does that make it false?”

“I don’t think so,” Arta said, frowning. “I guess it makes it even more important to try and do the right thing, because if you don’t and nobody else does, who will?”

“An interesting response,” Shiran said, regarding her shrewdly. Then his expression shifted suddenly as he began to speak again. “So, tell me, how familiar are you with our Kingdom’s history?”

“We know the basics,” Karani said. “Father has some books; he made us read them. But how does this have anything to do with what we were just talking about? Weren’t we talking about leading people, not what happened hundreds of years ago?”

The Professor turned his shrewd gaze on her now. “I think you know better than that, Karani,” he said. “The study of the past very often helps us illuminate the study of the present. History, they say, repeats itself; I think that may be overstating the matter. But it does, often, follow similar paths to those it’s already taken.”

He stood and faced away from the palace, looking out over the fields and mountains with his hands clasped behind his back. “Terra is lost,” he said. “Everyone in settled space knows this. The birthplace of humanity was destroyed, or fell out of knowledge, millennia ago, and with it much of our history was lost, and much we don’t know about our own origins. Following the loss of our homeworld, mankind fell into a great dark age, and out of it few histories have come. But a thousand years ago, a number of populated, advanced worlds came together to form a new union that would grow into a nation powerful enough to crush all of the scattered colonies of humanity under its heel.”

“The Empire,” Arta breathed. “Founded by Caelus Magnus and the first senate.”

“Yes,” Shiran confirmed. “The Empire. Originally, it was intended to be a democratic system; the senators were elected by the people, and they in turn elected the emperor, who served for life but had limited powers. But as the Empire grew stronger, more and more power was concentrated at its highest levels – first in the Senate, and then the Emperor. Senate seats became held by a handful of families, what the Empire today calls the Senatorial class; senate seats aren’t hereditary, but are open to so few candidates they might as well be. And the Emperor is still elected by the Senate, but the office’s powers have grown so great that it is, more or less, an absolute dictatorship, with the Senate serving the Emperor’s will rather than the other way around.

“For a time, the Empire ruled all mankind with an iron fist – close to five hundred years of tyranny. Eventually, however, its rulers became decadent and corrupt, and though still tyrannical, their grip on their conquered peoples began to slip. And so…”

“Artax the Founder!” Karani said excitedly. “He led the people of the Dozen Stars in revolt, and started a new Kingdom!”

“He did,” Shiran said. “Though the people of what would become this nation had been growing increasingly weary of Imperial control for some time before the war began, and if he had not arisen, another would have. We have a tendency, as humans, to focus too much on the actions of single great leaders, and to forget the actions on the parts of the masses necessary to bring them there. And Artax was only one of many rebel leaders who arose at that time in the outlying provinces, many of them equally successful. The Empire survived, but its territory was halved. No longer did a single regime control all of humanity’s destiny.”

He paused, and looked back at his students over his shoulder. “Artax intended the nobility to be merit-based,” he said. “Did you know that? In his plan, the fact that your father is baron wouldn’t have given you any power at all; a title would have to be earned, and would be open to anyone. He dreamed, you see, of a Kingdom where anyone could rule, in contrast to the rigid hierarchy of the Empire.”

Karani merely looked confused, but Arta frowned. “Why didn’t it work out that way?” she asked. “How did we get a hereditary system instead of… that.”

“Like I said, people can often put too much stock in their leaders and too little in everyone else,” Shiran said. “When Artax died, the people begged his daughter to take his throne. She did, reluctantly, and that set a precedent of rule by bloodline. The dukes and barons took advantage of that precedent to pass on their titles to their descendants, and eventually, it became officially the only way for titles to pass down. And like I said before, history often echoes itself. As in the Empire before us, the ruling class consolidated their power and disenfranchised everyone else. That has lead, in part, to the Kingdom’s current… troubles.

“However, it is also important to realize the ways in which the Dozen Stars is not the Empire. While the Emperor rules absolutely, the king or queen of our nation has always ruled jointly with the dukes of the council; this serves as a check on the monarch’s unlimited power and helps prevent an absolute dictatorship. Unfortunately, with the Queen’s assassination, many of the dukes have come to believe that there is no need for a single leader at all – which would leave them free to pursue their own ambitions. That, I’m afraid, could lead us very quickly into civil war.”

Karani frowned. “Duke Hiram’s not like that, is he?” she asked, naming the duke to whom Katanes – and their family, by extension – owed allegiance.

The Professor shook his head. “I don’t know your Duke well, but my impression of him has always been that he sees himself as a businessman first and a politician second. He’s good at organization and commerce, and probably wouldn’t be a bad leader in times of peace – but in these times, he seems to think that if he hunkers down and tries to stay out of the political game, it won’t hurt him. I think this is a naïve position to take; others certainly won’t share his caution.”

Arta frowned, thoughtful. “So,” she said, “if the Dozen Stars does start to fight itself, what happens then? I can’t imagine the other nations will just sit back and watch. And what about the Empire? Father always said they still resented that we got away. Wouldn’t they want to do something about that?”

“Traditional wisdom is that the Empire wouldn’t dare make such a move,” Shiran said. “You’ve heard, of course, of the Alaelam Alliance, even though you probably don’t know much about it – few people in this Kingdom do, it’s so far away. The founding Alaelam prophet preached against the Empire, and his successors – and no, they don’t like the term “priest-king”, something to remember if you ever meet an Alaelam – have continued that message. The Alliance is one of the strongest nations in the galaxy, and traditional wisdom holds that their war with the Empire diverts most of the Empire’s strength and that they are therefore not able to send their military anywhere else.”

“But you don’t agree,” Arta said.

“Let’s just say I’m suspicious,” Shiran said. “I think the Empire is stronger than people give it credit for. The last few emperors in particular have been determined to restore what they see as their rightful position in the galaxy as the true government of humanity, and… well, there isn’t much I’d put past them.”

“Don’t worry,” Karani said, patting Arta’s shoulder. “Even if the Empire does invade, we can take them. We did it before.” As she spoke, she tossed her hair and let it flow out behind her in the breeze; between that and her proud expression, Arta thought it made her look like some warrior queen from an old painting. Shiran only sighed.

“You’re not the first young person to speak so lightly of war, Karani,” he said. “But while you haven’t seen war, I have. I can only pray that it never comes to that.” He fell silent, and a shadow seemed to cross his face; Arta found herself wondering again at just who this man truly was, where he had come from, and what he had seen.

“But my concerns are less with external threats and more with crisis from within,” the Professor finally continued. “It is my fear that young people such as yourselves may soon be thrust into positions of leadership in perilous times, and that fact – and the fact of the heritage that makes it important – is what I wanted to impress upon you both today. Now, I would like to discuss each of the Dukes of the Dozen Stars; their personalities, policies, and recent activities, and what role I believe they may play in the events that are to come. This is information you will need to know if you are to lead your people wisely. The most important of the dukes is generally considered to be Mardoban ast Orlanes. He is, of course, the regent of the Dozen Stars in the absence of a king or queen, and therefore it falls to him to try and hold the Kingdom together for as long as possible…”

///

It felt like hours later when Shiran finished providing an exhausting account of all twelve Dukes, as well as the major barons who served under them; much of it was information Arta had already known, but she’d never covered it in such detail before. The Professor seemed to decide this was enough for the day, and gestured for the sisters to depart. Karani bowed and left as quickly as decorum allowed; she looked exhausted. Arta, however, lingered, regarding the Professor as he sat in his chair and looked out over the mountains.

“Is there something you wanted to talk to me about, Arta?” he finally asked.

“Yes, if that’s all right with you,” she said.

Shiran turned to look at her, and she was relieved to see that he smiled. “Of course,” he said. “I would be a very poor teacher if I was unwilling to answer my students’ questions. But I would have thought you would, like your sister, be more interested in taking the time to rest after listening to an old man’s rambling for so long. I may have been somewhat – overly detailed in my analysis.”

“Well,” Arta began, “it’s just that… you talked about my becoming a knight. I wanted to ask you – do you really think I can do it?”

“Of course,” Shiran said. “That has, I believe, traditionally been the profession of choice for young nobles before they inherit – or, like yourself, who are unlikely to inherit. But that’s not what you’re really asking me, is it?”

“No,” she said. “I’m sure I could find a place in someone’s entourage. But, do you think I have what it takes to be the sort of knight who makes a difference? The sort people always talk about in stories and…”

“A glamorous champion of justice, whose name is known across the stars?” the Professor finished, eyebrow arched.

Arta flushed and lowered her head. “I know it sounds stupid,” she said. “Forget I asked.”

“I don’t think that,” the Professor said. “I think you have talent, and drive; you’re clearly not unintelligent, you seem like you believe in the Kingdom, and though I’m no swordsman myself, your father says you have talent in that area and push yourself hard. Maybe too hard.” He regarded her carefully. “Why do you really want to become a great knight, Arta? Do you want to help people, fight for right causes? Or do you want to be famous, respected, not the obscure foster-daughter of a minor baron?”

Arta opened her mouth to say that of course, she wanted to help people… but then she stopped, remembering the conversation Karani had with her the night she found her training. No, Arta couldn’t, in clear conscience, say that she didn’t want fame, or glory. “Both, I guess,” she finally said. “Maybe I just want my life to mean something.”

“You’re not the first to wish that,” Shiran said. “I’d warn you about being careful what you wish for, but I’m afraid it would sound trite. But I will say this; there may come a time when you have to choose between the things you most desire. What you do then will determined who you really are. But I don’t think a life of obscurity is something you have to fear, whatever you decide.”

Arta frowned, and was about to ask him what he meant, when suddenly Shiran picked up his now-empty teacup and threw it directly at her. She gasped and stumbled back, one hand coming up instinctively in a blocking move – and when the teacup struck it, there was a suddenly flash of blue light. The cup dropped and hit the balcony floor, where it shattered.

Arta held up her hand and stared at it, and Shiran smiled, though there was a flash of unease in his eyes as well that Arta barely registered. “So it’s true,” he said. “You do have the gift.”

“Gift?” Arta said, looking from her hands to the shattered pieces of the cup to the Professor in confusion. “What do you mean? What’s going on?”

Shiran stood and began to pace. “Tell me, Arta,” he said. “Do you know what an Adept is?”

“I’ve heard stories,” she said. “People who can read minds, move things by thinking about it, that sort of thing. I never thought they were real. Is that what… this is?”

“Yes,” said Shiran. “And I don’t think this is the first time something like this has happened to you, is it?”

Her mind flashed back to the assassination attempt, to the energy bolt that had deflected off her hand – and she was suddenly certain, more than ever, that she and Karani hadn’t imagined it. “No it’s not,” she said quietly.

“I didn’t think so,” Shiran said. “Someone who I… know… said that you had the gift; I wanted to see it for myself if she was right. Adepts, Arta, are people born with a very rare genetic ability. In ancient times on Old Terra, it was called magic; in other times and places, it’s been known as ESP, or psi ability. The most common theory holds that there are… currents, of energy in the universe, and that some very rare individuals have the power to read those currents, and sometimes to manipulate them into doing what they want. According to the Church, this power comes from the Lord, and they believe that only priests and holy sisters ought to learn to use it – but this is only tradition, not law, and Adepts can come into their powers in different ways and places.  At first, tapping into the power only happens by instinct – I hope you’ll forgive me for startling you, there. With training, you can learn to harness it intentionally.”

“And… and you’re saying I could learn to be an Adept?” Arta asked, trying to get a grip again on the situation. “And you could teach me? How?”

Shiran smiled. “Didn’t I mention?” he said. “I’m an Adept myself.” He raised his hand, and the pieces of the teacup – limed in blue light – rose from the ground and reassembled themselves on his palm. “And yes, Arta. I won’t force you, but if you want me to, I can teach you.”

A part of her wanted it – desperately. And yet at the same time, there was something unsettling about the entire idea – and potentially dangerous. A flash of memory tugged again at Arta’s mind, and her attempt to bring it to the fore failed. “I’ll… need to think about it,” she said.

“Take all the time you need,” said the Professor. “I’ll be here.”

“Thank you,” Arta said; she bowed, and turned back to the door. Before she left, however, she heard his voice say something that stopped her in her tracks.

“Your mother never realized her potential,” he said, “but she had the power too.”

“Wait, Professor – you knew my - ?” Arta demanded, turning sharply – only to find that the balcony was empty behind her. Shiran had vanished, and she left her first lesson with more questions than answers.

 

 

 

[MasterGhandalf]

New chapter!

Spoiler

Chapter 10

Tantos Station

Mardoban rolled to a crouch and looked around himself as the marketplace dissolved into chaos. The ground where he and Gilgam were about to have walked was scorched and blackened – from the size of the scar, the Duke guessed that it had been caused by a shot from a powerful beam weapon, rather than an explosion. Around them, people were screaming; most seemed to be panicking and fleeing for whatever shelter they could find, but a few of the more hardened sort had pulled out weapons of their own and were looking about wildly, as if seeking a target.

Mardoban sighed, reached down to his waist, and pulled a metal hilt from a pouch at his belt. He flipped a switch, and a sleek, slightly curving blade extended from it; it was shorter and lighter than the dueling swords he usually preferred, but also easier to conceal. Flipping a second switch, and the blade was suddenly wreathed in a crackling, violet corona of energy. Around the market, several people turned and at the sight of the weapon their eyes widened and they stepped back; they knew the weapon preferred by a knight or noble when they saw it, and probably guessed from it that Mardoban was someone important. So much for keeping a low profile.

The Duke stood slowly, holding the sword before him in a practiced stance; Gilgam took up a position just behind him, beam pistol at the ready. Carefully, the two men scanned the walls and the tops of nearby stalls, looking for their would-be assassin – for Mardoban was certain that this attack was no coincidence. Somebody, he thought, didn’t want him to return from this little trip alive.

There. A flash of movement from the roof of one of the shops, what looked to be a beam rifle being raised. Just as the assassin fired again, Mardoban raised his sword in the direction of the shot; the energy beam lanced through the air, and then its trajectory seemed to curve towards the blade of his sword, as though the weapon attracted it. Mardoban didn’t understand the science behind how the effect worked, but he knew that it had saved his life many times before, and it did so again now. A good dueling sword, wielded by someone who knew what they were doing, was a shield as well as a blade, and the assassin’s blast struck it and dissipated harmlessly. Gritting his teeth, Mardoban pulled his sword back before the assassin could fire again and lashed it forward in a swift arc; a crescent-shaped wave of energy lanced from the blade and shot towards the roof. It wasn’t a particularly accurate form of attack, but here, it didn’t need to be; it impacted the roof and exploded, shattering it. The Duke thought he could hear the assassin’s surprised shout as he fell.

“Sir,” Gilgam said behind him, “I think we’re about to have company.” Mardoban turned in the direction he was indicating and saw several figures shoving their way through the panicked crowd, heading straight towards them. Most of them just looked like regular touches, in a hodgepodge of street clothes and armor, beam pistols in their hands. In the lead, however, was a figure who’s like the Duke had seen before, and had haunted his nightmares ever since. Sleek grey body armor, tight black garments beneath it that left not an inch of skin showing, and an empty, featureless black mask behind which he could only imagine cold eyes regarding him inscrutably.

“So it’s true, then,” Mardoban muttered. Either the same people who had been behind the Queen’s assassination were also backing the current pirate threat, or someone desperately wanted him to believe it was so.

“You have been meddling in things you shouldn’t, my lord,” the assassin said, his voice cold and almost mechanical. “It’s time you learned your lesson in manners.”

“So Specter sold me out, did he?” Mardoban asked, though he didn’t believe it. He’d never known Specter to betray a client’s confidence. But maybe his enemy’s reaction would give him some clue as to what he did know, and what, exactly, was going on here.

The assassin only gave a mirthless laugh. “The informant is irrelevant,” he said. “We were planning to kill you before you even set foot on this station. It’s time to tie up old loose ends.” He raised a hand, and his men arrayed themselves at his sides, raising their weapons. The few remaining members of the crowd nearby scattered.

“Stay behind me,” Mardoban muttered; Gilgam nodded and fell back into his shadow, beam pistol raised. The Duke held his sword at the ready.

“Fire!” the assassin ordered, and the pirates with him did so their bolts shooting towards their intended victims, as fast and implacable as the wrath of the Evil One. Before they could impact, however, the dueling sword came up, drawing the blasts towards its blade. Mardoban grunted as they impacted, the sword bucking in his hands as it absorbed that much energy at once, and then he slammed it down, point first, into the ground, releasing the energy in a great surge. The ground rocked beneath his feet, but the Duke and his bodyguard were ready for it and held firm. The pirates, however, were not so fortunate. The shockwave rocked them off their feet; several of them fell, though the assassin wasn’t one of them. One of the pirates who remained standing raised his pistol, but before he could fire it Gilgam got off a shot of his own; it struck the pirate in the chest and he collapsed, smoldering.

The remaining pirates scrambled to their feet and fanned out, surrounding their intended victims with pistols raised. Behind them the assassins stood with his arms crossed, not making a move; Mardoban’s face tightened in anger at the sight of him. He raised his sword towards the nearest pirate in a mocking salute, and behind him he could feel Gilgam shift as he did the same with his pistol. Then the pirates attacked.

Once again, energy bolts flashed from the muzzles of their weapons; Mardoban raised his sword high in a sweeping arc, trying to gather as many of the bolts to its blade as he could. Behind him, Gilgam fired again; he heard a pirate cry out, but he didn’t think it sounded fatal.

The pirates facing the Duke now exchanged glances and holstered their pistols; they had seen that beam weapons weren’t effective against his sword and had decided to try another approach. Two of them drew sharp, wickedly barbed knives that crackled with electricity; a third pulled out a long baton that vibrated in his hands. They weren’t the equal of Mardoban’s own sword, but they were no weapons to scoff at either; more than one knight had thought his or her skills and blade equal to any task, only to be brought down by such as these. Mardoban didn’t intend to be one of them.

The pirates charged and Mardoban brought his sword up, while behind him Gilgam fired repeatedly towards his own opponents. The first pirate brought his knife hissing towards Mardoban’s throat; the dueling sword caught the blade and pushed it back, the energy from both weapons spitting and crackling as they strove against each other. The other knife-wielding pirate charged from the Duke’s other side, but Mardoban saw him from the corner of his eye. His free hand came up quickly and caught the man’s wrist before he could strike; a sharp kick to his belly sent his sprawling.

The first pirate chose that moment to press his advantage. He was younger than Mardoban, taller and heavier, and he used that advantage of size and strength to shove him back against Gilgam, pushing forward with an intense expression in his eyes. Mardoban met that gaze and gritted his teeth in concentration; bracing himself, he shoved with all his strength, twisting his arm as he did so. The pirate’s eyes widened as his knife went flying, and then the tip of the Duke’s sword slammed into his chest. There was a flash of bright violet light as the sword skewered him and then he collapsed, his body sliding off it onto the floor.

The third pirate remained, holding his baton before him like a shield. Then he charged, switching the weapon from one hand to the other lightly as he tried to find a way around the Duke’s guard. The baton likely carried a charge, Mardoban knew, and its vibration would amplify the pain from its physical strike. One blow from that weapon could put him out of the fight, so he was determined to make sure it didn’t happen. He regarded the pirate carefully, watched his feinting and guessed his pattern – and then the sword came up to meet the baton just as it shot forward for the strike. The baton fell to the ground in two smoking pieces; the pirate looked from them to the Duke with a growing expression of horror on his face, then turned and fled.

Mardoban stepped forward and turned to face Gilgam, who appeared to have shot both the pirates he faced while sustaining only a minor burn on his shoulder. The two men nodded at each other once, then turned to regard the assassin.

“Did you really think those fools would be enough to kill me?” Mardoban asked, smiling thinly. “I’m disappointed.”

The assassin inclined his head; though his face couldn’t be seen, Maroban thought he was scowling. “I’d hoped they would be sufficient,” he said. “Clearly, I was wrong. I shall have to rectify this situation. Fortunately, I came prepared.” Reaching down to his side, he drew an object that hung from his belt; Mardoban’s eyes widened as he recognized a dueling sword as fine as his own. The assassin flicked a switch on the sword’s hilt, and it hummed to life with flickering energy.

“Leave him to me,” Mardoban muttered to Gilgam. “You know your pistol won’t be much good against that sword.”

“Understood, sir,” Gilgam said, though it was clear he wasn’t happy about it. Mardoban stepped forward, sword raised in a salute to a worthy opponent; the assassin returned the gesture with perfect grace. Then he struck.

The first blow was so fast, Mardoban could barely parry it. The assassin struck with a furious speed, raining blows in a constant barrage designed to put an opponent off-balance and penetrate any opening in their guard. The Duke could keep up, but only barely – he wasn’t a young man any longer, and the assassin’s strength and speed seemed almost inhuman and pointed to the fact that he had indeed been cybernetically enhanced. Slowly, Mardoban was forced back, overwhelmed by the strength of his enemy’s onslaught.

“You fight well,” the assassin hissed behind his mask. “There aren’t many who can keep up with my attack for long. But you know how this is going to end.”

“I do,” Mardoban said, “but that doesn’t mean I won’t fight to my last breath!” He dropped to the ground, ducking under the assassin’s strike and swept out a leg, hoping to trip the man; but when it hit the assassin’s calf, his leg only felt solid metal. The Duke shouted in surprise and only barely managed to roll out from under the assassin’s retaliatory strike. He looked up to see the masked face looming above him, alien and unreadable. The assassin raised his sword for the kill.

Suddenly he stumbled, sparks shooting from the back of his head. Gilgam appeared behind him, pistol raised; he’d taken the opportunity to shoot the assassin while he was distracted, a blow that would have killed a normal man. The assassin only stumbled, but it was opening enough. Mardoban hauled himself to his feet and brought his sword down, hard, on the assassin’s wrist. There was an explosion of sparks and the dueling sword fell from his hand; Mardoban kicked him in the chest and sent him stumbling backwards.

The assassin stumbled to his feet, his head and wrist sparking. His hand wasn’t wholly severed, but it was damaged; Mardoban could see the metal and wires exposed where he’d struck. The assassin regarded his hand carefully, felt the back of his skull, and then looked up at his opponents.

“Well-played,” he said. “Fortunately for you, I am under orders to avoid capture. But the Commander is not done with you, ast Orlanes. Remember this.” He stepped backwards, and then suddenly he shimmered – his personal cloaker must be activating. Mardoban stepped forward, but it was too late. The assassin vanished, leaving the center of the market corridor empty.

“damnation!” Mardoban swore. He stepped forward, sweeping the air in front of him with his sword, but the assassin was gone. The Duke listened carefully, but he could hear no sound of his enemy’s breathing or footsteps. The man must have truly fled, not merely feinted. Mardoban growled and thrust his sword back into his belt. The best potential lead he’d had on both the pirates and Aestera’s killers, and he’d let it slip from his fingers.

“My lord!” Gilgam called; Mardoban turned to see him kneeling beside the prone form of one of the pirates – the Duke thought it was the same one he’d first knocked out of the fight with a kick. “He’s still alive!” True enough, the pirate was groaning and stirring where he lay.

“Thank the Lord!” the Duke shouted, hurrying over. He crouched by the pirate and seized the man by his collar, hoisting his face so that he was looking directly at Mardoban’s own. “Now, I have some questions for you. Who are you? Why did you try to kill us? What do you want?”

The pirate regarded him blearily, then cursed under his breath. “I’m dead,” he muttered. “I’m the last one standing, and now I’m dead. Of all the damned luck…”

“You’re not dead,” Mardoban said, “and if you cooperate, you don’t have to be. You may have noticed, but your boss ran off and left you hanging. You’re in no position to bargain, but if you answer my questions, I might decide to let you live.”

The pirate laughed. “He wasn’t my boss,” he said. “He works for the Commander, same as the rest of us.”

“A bit higher up than the rest of you, I’d imagine,” Gilgam put in. “Considering that he got the advanced tech and weapons and you didn’t.”

“True enough,” the pirate said. “He’s one of the Commander’s cronies, been with him from the beginning; the rest of us just get brought in for muscle when they need to do jobs. I don’t know why the Commander wanted you dead; I just know the orders we were given. Kill you, be seen doing it. Make chaos.”

Mardoban nodded; he’d though it would be something like that. “And do you know anything else about what your boss has planned?”

Before the pirate could answer, they were interrupted by the sound of running feet. Mardoban rose and turned to face a squad of men in plain white armor with black faceplates. Guild security forces, arriving at last.

“Citizen,” the leading officer snapped, “what is going on here? Give an accounting for yourself, now, unless you’d rather spend the night in a holding cell.”

Mardoban smiled coolly and raised his head, letting the officer get a good look at his face; beside him, Gilgam snapped to military precision. “I am Mardoban ast Orlanes, Duke of Orlanes and regent of the Dozen Stars. This man is Royal Guardsman Gilgam, my bodyguard. There was an attempt on my life, but it was unsuccessful; I will compensate the guilds for damage to their station. If your superiors would be so kind as to provide an escort from Tantos Station for the two of us and our prisoner, we would be much obliged. We have business to attend to.”

///

“This is unbelievable!” Duke Hiram declared as he gestured dramatically with his glass of wine. “Someone dared to try to take the life of you, my friend and our beloved regent, in my own system no less! An outrage! Heads will roll for this, Mardoban, I promise you!”

“That won’t be necessary, Hiram,” Mardoban said, staring down into his own wineglass but not drinking from it. He casually strolled over to the window in Tantos Palace’s opulent sitting room and looked out over the city below them. Tantos III was not the most hospitable of planets; the air was heavy and nearly opaque and the heat was somewhat above that which humans could comfortably handle. Still, the planet was rich in metals and gems that were valuable in technology, trade, and simple aesthetics, and so a thriving mining industry had arisen there. The trade in such substances had made the dukes of Tantos wealthy indeed over the course of their history.

The shapes of most of the buildings could only vaguely be made out amid the thick clouds, which concealed all except for rough silhouettes and the countless lights. Those lights, however, could be seen spreading out to the limits of Mardoban’s vision, brighter by far than the dull smudge of Tantos’s sun in the sky above. Tantos City was the hub of the planet’s industry and wealth, and in terms of size and complexity, though not asesthetics, it was a metropolis with few equals in the known galaxy.

“Won’t be necessary?” Hiram demanded, coming up behind Mardoban and pulling him from his thoughts. “You were almost killed, man! The pirates have gone too far this time! I don’t consider myself a harsh or brutal ruler, but I won’t let this go unavenged!”

“There’s no need for theatrics,” Mardoban said as he turned back to him. “The lead assassin escaped; that much is true. But most of his accomplices died, and I acquired information that will help me greatly in terms of planning our next move. When the pirates make their next appearance, we’ll be ready for them.”

“Ah-ha,” Hiram said shrewdly. “Is it true what I hear, then, that you and your bodyguard managed to take one of the assassins captive?”

Mardoban looked over at Gilgam, who stood patiently in a corner, and exchanged a nod. “It’s true,” he said. “But the captive pirate isn’t the source of the information. I arrived on Tantos Station to meet with an… old acquaintance of mine who had gathered the information and shared it with me.”

“Specter, of course,” said one of the guild representatives who was also in the room, a sharply-dressed man who lounged casually on one of Hiram’s sofas. The guildsman had the easy familiarity that suggested someone who came here often and was a welcome guest; unsurprising, considering Hiram’s business connections. “Someone should have done something about that ruffian ages ago. He’s probably the one who sold you out, my lord regent.”

“I doubt it,” Mardoban said mildly. “And considering the guilds make use of his services as readily as anyone else, I doubt you’re as eager to see him gone as you claim to be.” The guildsman stiffened and his fellow representative, an elegant woman who sat on the couch opposite him, sniffed. Mardoban ignored them both. “In any case, I’ve found the source of the information to be reliable in the past, and I believe that with it, we’ll be able to set a trap for the pirates when they next appear.”

“Clever, Mardoban,” said Hiram, sipping his wine. He leaned forward conspiratorially, his fine clothing crinkling. “But since you’ve been investigating this matter, tell me, Duke to Duke; is it true that the Queen’s assassins are involved in this business? Have they resurfaced at last?”

“Either they have, or someone wants us to think so,” Mardoban said. “The assassin I fought was dressed the same as those who took Her Majesty’s life, and from the injuries he sustained, I believe he had similar cybernetic implants.”

“Lord preserve us!” Hiram muttered. “Were the devils not content with Aestera’s death? Are they not going to be satisfied until they’ve picked us all off, one by one?”

“I don’t know what their motivation is,” said Mardoban. “Nor am I entirely certain it’s the same group. However, the assassin mentioned the title of the pirate leader – the Commander – which is the same as the one that Specter gave me. My captive confirmed that the assassins have been with the Commander from the beginning. Therefore, I think it possible – even likely – that the Commander was the one who planned Her Majesty’s assassination, or was at least near the top of the operation. I don’t know if he attends every raid in person – my prisoner had never met him in the flesh, or so he says – but if he does…”

“You hope to draw him out at last!” Hiram said, and shook his head. “Well, you don’t think small, Mardoban. I’ll give you that.”

“This matter has been hanging over us for too long, Hiram,” Mardoban said. “I intend to see an end to it.”

Hiram nodded. “Well, I certainly can’t say I don’t approve,” he said. “But still, I assume that you didn’t come to me simply because I’m the closest, and I’m not vain enough to think you did it because you enjoy my company and my wine that much. You want something from me, Mardoban, but you know that militarily I’m not the strongest of the council. I’m a businessman, not a soldier.”

“But you are certainly the richest man in the Kingdom!” the guildsman said cheerfully; he and his female counterpart raised their glasses in salute. “Maybe the Crown’s running low on funds and decided to borrow some from you?”

“It wouldn’t be so bad to have a regent in your debt, now, would it?” the guildswoman added, laughing.

Mardoban frowned at them both. “I’m not here for money,” he said; he fished the datacard from his pocket and held it up. “I have information here regarding the pirates’ next move. They intend to hit your shipments again, Hiram. I’m here because I’m going to help you prepare.”

“Haven’t these monsters done enough to me?” Hiram muttered angrily. “Why don’t they go bother Sateira and leave me in peace for a while?”

Mardoban didn’t mention the potential ties between the pirates, Sateira, and Respen; he’d deal with that later, and he wasn’t willing quite yet to air that particular information in public. “The perils of success, Hiram,” he said. “When you have money and resources, there will always be enemies ready to take them from you. Fortunately for you, you have me here now; you may not be a soldier, but I am. As regent, and as the duke tasked by the council with dealing with the pirate threat, I’m going to do everything in my power to help you plan for this next raid.” He held up the datacard again. “And I have the enemy’s plans right here.”

“Are you sure that the pirates don’t know what you know?” Hiram asked. “Surely that ‘Commander’ of theirs figured out you met with Specter. Doesn’t he realize you have his plans?”

Mardoban shook his head. “He’s probably guessed I met with Specter, but if he knows what we discussed, then Specter’s security is slipping. And the prisoner confirmed that this was to be the next operation, though he didn’t know many details. I think the Commander will be wary of a trap, but we can outthink him if we’re careful.” He put the datacard back in his pocket and grabbed Hiram’s risk. “We can do this, Tantos. Let’s get to work.”

 

[MasterGhandalf]

New chapter!

Spoiler

Chapter Eleven

Katanes, Baron’s Palace

“Karani, wake up!”

Karani groaned and pulled her covers farther up over her head. Arta had been surprised to find her foster-sister already in bed and asleep – it wasn’t that late, even if she’d spent some time by herself after her conversation with the Professor, trying to process what he’d told her. She still didn’t think it would have been enough time for Karani to change into her sleeping robe, throw herself in bed, and actually manage to fall asleep – but then, considering one of Karani’s eyes was open a crack, perhaps she wasn’t as fully asleep as she was pretending. Arta ought to have known better than to underestimate the lengths her foster-sister was willing to go to in order to avoid work she didn’t want to do.

“Karani!” she said again, louder this time, and gave her sister a hard shove on the shoulders. Now Karani’s eyes were open, and she didn’t look to be very happy about it.

“Go away, Arta,” she said. “I’m tired. Whatever it is, you can talk to me about it in the morning.”

Arta crossed her arms and regarded her sister flatly. “Karani, it’s barely even dark. Don’t tell me that the Professor’s lesson exhausted you that badly; I’ve seen you solve math problems in about a minute when they took me ten. Playing dumb may work on other people, but you’ll never fool me.”

“Math makes sense,” Karani groused. “History, as far as I can tell, is mostly a long parade of stupid people doing stupid things for stupid reasons. You really think that’s not tiring?”

Arta shook her head. “You know, you’re always talking about how you’re going to be baroness someday – what do you think baronesses do, spend all day dueling for sport when they’re not posing glamorously for their adoring public? History and politics and economics are important!”

“Well, then, when I’m baroness I’m going to hire people to handle all the boring parts. The benefits of power, little sister.” Karani sat up and stretched. “Well, congratulates, you actually managed to get me awake. So, is there any particular reason you came charging into my bedroom and pulling me away from my well-deserved rest?”

She scooted over on her bed and gestured for Arta to sit down beside her; she did so. Arta looked down at her hands for a long moment, trying to figure out the best way to explain what she’d just learned. Finally, she sighed and said, “After you left, I had a… conversation… with the Professor.”

“Lord, it wasn’t an in-depth discussion of the Empire’s economy or Artax the Founder’s daily shopping lists, was it?” Karani asked in mock horror. “I think I got enough of that already!”

“No, that’s not what it was about,” Arta said. “Karani, you know what an Adept is, right?”

Her sister shot her a dark look. “Please, Arta. Weren’t you just the one saying you think I’m smarter than I act? I’ve grown up hearing the same stories and watching the same holos as you. I know that Adepts aren’t real, to start with. A bit of advanced tech and some sleight of hand; that’s all it takes.” Karani chuckled, but then she frowned when she saw the serious look on Arta’s face. “Come on, you don’t believe they’re real, do you? What, did the old windbag say he was one or something?”

“Yeah, he did,” Arta said. “And he said I’m one too,”

Karani looked like she was about to laugh, but after taking a long look at her sister’s face, she just shook her head. “And you believed him?” she asked. “I knew there was something off about that guy from the start. I don’t know where Father dug him up, but I’m about half-ready to right now and try to talk him into kicking Shiran out. He’s clearly some sort of conman, and he wants something from us. This has got to be some sort of scam.”

“I don’t think so,” Arta said. “Remember the assassination attempt, when you thought you saw me try to block a beam blast with my hand?”

“How could I forget? You scared me half to death!” Karani said.

“Well, I didn’t try to block it,” Arta said. “I did block it, I don’t know how, and I don’t think I could do it on purpose, but… it happened. And today, it happened again – the Professor threw his teacup at me, I think to get me to react on instinct, and I knocked it out of the air without touching it. I don’t know if I’m an Adept like the sort you see in the holos, controlling people’s minds and walking through walls, but, Karani... I’m something. And it scares me a little.”

Karani regarded her in uncharacteristic silence, clearly trying to take it in. Then she put an arm around Arta’s shoulder. “I know what you are,” she said. “I know exactly what you are. You’re my little sister. Maybe we don’t share blood, but you’re still part of this family, and that won’t change no matter how many weird powers you end up having.”

Arta looked up at her and smiled sadly. “I thought you didn’t believe in ‘weird powers’,” she said.

Karani shrugged. “Maybe I don’t. But you clearly do think something is going on, so for your sake, I’ll try to believe until I’m proven wrong. But I just want you to know that I don’t care if you turn out to be an Adept, or the last survivor of Lost Terra, or the Emperor’s secret love child. No matter what, you’re still Arta, so don’t worry. Whatever’s going on with you, we’ll deal with it.”

Arta smiled and put her own arm behind her sister’s, pulling them more tightly into an embrace. “Thank you, big sister,” she said. “It means a lot. And Shiran did offer to teach me, and he showed me a little bit of what he can do. But there’s more, and maybe you won’t like to hear it but I think you’d better. Shiran… he implied he knew my mother.”

From the tone, it was obvious who she meant – and it wasn’t Baron Varas’s wife, who’d died years ago when both sisters had been small. “You know I don’t care about that, Arta,” Karani said. “No matter where you come from, you’re family. Didn’t I just finish saying that?” It was true – from the time when Arta had been old enough to understand what a fosterling was and that she was one, Karani had always made it plain that she didn’t love her sister any less because they weren’t blood relatives.

For Arta, it had never been that easy. “I know that, Karani,” she said. “But… well, you’ve always known exactly who you are and what your life is going to be. You’re the firstborn of the Baron Varas ast Katanes, and you’re part of a long line of Katanes barons and baronesses going back for as long as there’ve been humans on this planet. You know where you came from. I don’t. Father never talks about it; all I know is that he came back with me one day from… somewhere.”

“What else is there to know?” Karani asked. “Father took you in because he wanted you to be part of our family. You’re ast Katanes, Arta, and it doesn’t matter where you came from to start with.”

“Maybe it doesn’t,” Arta said. “But I’ve always thought that there has to be a reason Father picked me instead of just adopting a daughter from Katanes; he obviously knows it, and Danash probably does to, but neither of them will tell me anything! Maybe it’s not important, but maybe it is, and for my peace of mind if nothing else, I have to know! I’ve trained myself over the years to not worry about it, but if Shiran knows something, I have to find out what it is.” She clenched her hands tightly and felt her nails digging into her skin. “He said my mother was an Adept to, or could have been one, anyway. Karani, this is important, I know it.”

It was the most Arta could remember having ever said on the subject, and at first Karani looked startled, but then she smiled. “All right, then,” she said. “If it’s that important to you, I’ll put up with the old guy and his boring lectures long enough for you to find out what he knows. I said I’d stick with you, and I’m not going to go back on that.” She suddenly grinned rather nastily. “And if it turns out he’s just leading you on because he’s trying to rob us or something, then I swear to the Lord I’ll kick his butt for you. Deal?”

“Deal,” Arta said, laughing with relief. Karani was a straightforward person who wore her heart on her sleeve; in hindsight, Arta realized she probably shouldn’t have worried that she’d pull away from her because she wanted to learn about her birth parents. If Karani said she loved her foster sister and would stand by her, she would; that was that. On impulse, Arta leaned over and grabbed Karani in a tight hug; the older girl was surprised for a moment, then returned it.

Then she shoved Arta off her bed. “Now that we’ve bonded, can you please go away now?” Karani asked. “I wasn’t entirely kidding about being tired, you know. See you in the morning, Arta.”

“Lazy,” Arta muttered fondly as she stood and dusted herself off. “Good night, big sister.”

Karani made no response; she was already wrapped firmly back up under her covers.

///

Arta walked into her own bedroom a few moments later, and the first thing she noticed was that her tablet was flashing from where she’d left it on the table beside her bed. She frowned – she hadn’t been expecting a message from anyone, and Father or the Professor could have just sent a servant or a mech to fetch her. Sitting on the bed, she picked up the tablet and ran a hand across its screen to turn it on – sure enough, she had an unread message.

Arta flicked her fingers on the screen, pulling up the message as a holo that hovered above the device. A sudden chill shot up her spine as she read the words, and they tugged again at memories she couldn’t quite place. Arta it said, now you know the truth – or at least, a very small part of it. If you ever find yourself dissatisfied with the old man’s teaching, or want to learn the secrets he dangles in front of you faster than he’s willing to reveal them, simply contact me. I promise you that I can tell you everything, and won’t hold back. You’re stronger than he thinks.

Her gaze flicked to the address the message had originated from; it was a string of numbers and symbols that meant nothing to her. At the bottom of the screen, however, was a singnature. It was, simply, the letter M.

///

The next day, Arta sat in the center of the training hall with her legs crossed and her hands on her knees, while across from her the Professor sat in the same style. Karani reclined against one of the walls, casually eating a piece of fruit she’d swiped from the kitchens on their way here. She caught her foster-sister’s eye and winked; Arta did her best to ignore her. Shiran said it was a good idea to practice Adept abilities with distractions, which was why he let Karani stay – she might not have any potential in that area herself, but she certainly knew how to be distracting.

“The first and most important lesson you need to learn, Arta,” the Professor said, “is focus. Adeptitude is primarily a mental ability, and it requires strength of mind in order to wield it properly. Previously, you’ve used your abilities only when shocked and afraid, in the heat of the moment – and the first time, you feared that you and your sister were in danger of losing your lives. Being able to call upon your powers in those circumstances is useful, of course, but it’s not going to serve you all the time – the time will come that you’ll want to be able to call upon these powers deliberately, and to control what sort of manifestation you can make.”

“What sorts of powers do you mean?” Arta asked, frowning. “All I’ve done so far is to block things from hitting me… or someone else. I take it there’s more to it than that.”

Shiran smiled. “There’s a lot more to it than that,” he said, “though the power you tapped into isn’t uncommon for young adepts without any real training. Fundamentally, being an adept allows you to shape energy with your thoughts. Energy is all around us, permeating everything we do. The Church says it’s the Lord’s divine emanation illuminating all things; the Alaelam say that their god directly permeates the universe and cannot be separated from it. The old cults in the height of the Empire held that there were many gods, and that Adepts could call on their favor to perform various feats. Secular science holds that matter and energy were both born with the universe and are, on some level, different manifestations of the same phenomenon. I don’t know which, if any, of these is true, and I long ago gave up trying to classify it. The human mind is a wonderful thing, but I’ve found it’s not always a tool that can encompass every truth.

“But what you believe about the source of the energies you can manipulate doesn’t particularly matter. A skilled Adept can summon barriers of energy to block incoming threats, as you did. Finer manipulation can allow the Adept to directly control the motions of objects, as I demonstrated with the pieces of the teacup yesterday. It’s also possible to affect technology, controlling the actions of mechs or reprogramming the contents of computers. The most skilled Adepts can affect the human brain itself.”

“You mean, read minds?” Arta asked, feeling a sudden chill rise up her spine. Across the room, Karani stopped chewing her fruit and regarded Shiran with what looked to be genuine interest. “Or even control them?”

Shiran shook his head. “You can get a general sense of a person’s emotional state if you’re careful, but you can’t ‘read’ their thoughts,” he said. “That would take a finer touch than I’ve ever known an Adept to have. As for control – it’s possible, but incredibly difficult, to take control of another person’s thoughts for an extended period of time. Doing it long enough to accomplish something meaningful is a feat beyond what most Adepts would attempt. It’s easier to make nudges; pushing people not to notice you, for example. However, if you’re interested in controlling people in any more direct ways, that is something I will not teach you.” There was a tone in his voice that brooked no dissent.

“I don’t want that kind of power,” Arta said fervently.

“Good,” Shiran said, his tone approving. “Even a duke or baron’s power over their subjects has limits; direct control of another person’s mind by an Adept’s gifts does not, for as long as you can hold it. I am… familiar with the technique, and have seen it abused in the past; that is why I don’t teach it, to anyone. If I thought you did want that power, I would have never agreed to teach you. However, this is not the end of an Adept’s abilities. There are reports of yet stranger, more mystical abilities, such as dreaming of the future; this isn’t, however, generally accepted by most reputable sources as being accurate. If you want to be a prophet, that is another area where I can’t help you.”

Karani snorted, expressing her opinion of prophetic dreams far more clearly than words ever could. Arta ignored her. “What abilities are you planning to teach me, Professor?” she asked.

“The first task is simply to have you reproduce on command the ability you’ve already demonstrated,” Shiran said. “That is to say, to summon barriers of energy on your hands that can be used to block incoming threats, such as beam blasts.”

“Or teacups!” Karani said, laughing.

Shiran smiled. “Or teacups, yes,” he said. “Done properly, this technique would even allow you to block a dueling sword barehanded – though that’s not a habit I’d recommend getting into. Are you ready to begin?”

Arta looked down at her lap, drew a deep breath, then looked back up at the Professor. “I think so,” she said. “Anything else to say before we get started?”

“Just a warning,” the Professor said. “Stories of wicked Adepts bargaining with demons and enslaving whole planets with dark powers don’t happen outside of the holos; those are meant to entertain audiences and certainly aren’t meant to reflect reality – and generally aren’t made by people who know any better. But there are dangers in the Adepts’ path. The energies we wield aren’t, themselves, sentient – but they respond to our thoughts. Be careful of what you put into the cosmos, Arta, because the cosmos may well return it to you – amplified. That’s why discipline is the key to the Adept’s path.”

“I understand,” Arta said, nodding, even though she wasn’t sure she really did. From his expression, Shiran wasn’t fooled, but he nodded in return anyway.

“The first thing you need to do,” he said, “is close your eyes, and then… breath. This may seem simple to you, but I assure you it’s more complicated than it sounds. You need to block out all distractions, and focus entirely on your breaths. Count them; it often helps. The point is to block out all else and focus your will entirely on this one thing.”

“All right,” Arta said, unable to keep the dubious tone from her voice. She tightened her hands on her knees and began to breath in and out slowly, taking the time to count each breath as she did so. Still, however, she felt her mind wandering – she couldn’t ignore the feeling of the padded floor beneath her, or the sound of Karani’s chewing from across the room, or the itch in the middle of her back that she couldn’t help raising a hand to scratch…

“No!” Shiran said, his voice sudden and sounding uncharacteristically harsh. “You’re not feeling it, Arta. Concentrate only on your breathing; ignore all else, no matter how distracting.”

All right, Arta thought irritably, let’s try this again. With an effort, she forced herself to let her hand rest back on her knee and to drive all other thoughts and feelings from her mind. Ignoring the sounds, the sensations, and everything else, she focused just on the rhythm of exhaling and inhaling. That’s right. In-out, in-out, in-out, in-out, in-out…

She didn’t know how long she sat like that, focusing solely on the sound of her breath, but at last, the Professor spoke again. “Very good, Arta,” he said. “Now, I want you to raise your hands and hold them out, palm up, in front of you. Good. Now, try to shift your focus from your breath to your hands.”

Arta’s rhythm of breathing didn’t change, but she tried to allow her awareness to slide down her arms and find itself in her hands. She was suddenly powerfully aware of her long, slender fingers, her neatly trimmed nails, the callouses on her palms from her practice with her sword, the cool air of the practice room as it flowed across her skin…

“Now, Arta,” Shiran said, “try to reach out beyond yourself. There is energy all around us. Can you feel it?”

Yes… Arta thought she could. Something was moving in the air around her, something that wasn’t a breeze, or someone’s breath, or the wind from a fan. Something that wasn’t, in fact, air at all but something even more elusive and intangible. She could almost see it, even with her eyes closed – as if she sat in an endless sea of blue light, its currents eddying gently around her. In her mind’s eye, the training room – the whole palace – seemed to have vanished. There was only Arta, and the light…

“Now, try to pull it into your hands,” Shiran said. “Wrap it around them, make it a part of you. Draw it in, like your breath.”

Like breath… Arta inhaled deeply, feeling as if she was drawing in more than air and that it was entering her entire body, not just through her nose. But she was focused most strongly on her hands – and suddenly they felt electrified, as if some new energy was coursing through them. Arta’s eyes suddenly snapped open, and she stared at what she saw – her hands, held before her palm up, were now wreathed in haloes of blue energy so bright and seething that they almost seemed to be flames. She let out a startled cry and leapt to her feet, still holding her hands in front of her and staring in disbelief.

Across the room, Karani’s mouth fell open in surprise and her half-eaten piece of fruit tumbled from her hand and landed on the floor with a small thump.

The Professor, however, merely applauded politely as he stood, and smiled. “Well done, Arta,” he said. “I knew you’d be able to do it; I told you that you were an Adept, didn’t’ I? Here’s the proof.”

“Proof, yes,” Arta said in a flat voice; slowly, she lowered her hands, and the light went out.

“We’ll have to continue practicing that, until you can do it as easily as breathing,” Shiran said. “I’ll warn you that other techniques may prove more difficult; this one you’d used before, albeit without realizing it. But still, congratulations. You are now, in a small but very real way, an Adept. Well done.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Arta said, still examining her hands, barely able to believe what had just happened, but knowing it to be true. Shiran had been right after all.

She found herself wondering what else he might have been right about, as well…

 

[SilverTiger]

This story is brilliant. Thanks for posting it.

[MasterGhandalf]

New chapter!

Spoiler

Chapter Twelve

Tantos System

The merchant transport Pride of Artax left Tantos III early in the morning, by local time, and began to make its way towards the edge of the system to make the jump to its ultimate destination, Aurann. Pride was a large starship, but obviously not one designed with sustained combat in mind; vaguely trapezoidal in shape, its immense length was mostly composed of storage space for its cargo. It was armed only with a handful of small cannon on its brow and along its edges, and it was accompanied by a small squadron of fighters that resembled flattened metal wings, for Duke Hiram and the guilds were aware of the pirate problem and were unwilling to send a valuable shipment off without at least some protection. Still, it seemed a tempting target to any would-be attacker.

Its manifest said that it carried a cargo composed primarily of heavy ores that would be used at Aurann for the creation of more war machines of the sort Duke Respen took such pride in. They could also be sold on the black market for an exorbitant price.

The Pride had been underway for several hours and its fastest sublight speeds and had reached a point where it could begin preparations for jump, near no major bodies save for a handful of asteroids whose course took them not far away. The captain was laying in the coordinates for Aurann when the space in front of them seemed to… ripple. And suddenly, it was no longer empty.

A tight cluster of craft appeared in front of the transport as the pirates dropped their cloaking shield. The fleet was small, but still seemed fully capable of handling anything that the Pride or its escort might be capable of dealing out. Six of the ships were small transports, similar in structure to the Pride but on a smaller scale; they were, however, far more heavily armed. The pirates had obviously not been idle since the ships had fallen into their hands, and now every available surface on them bristled with heavy weapons, mostly beam cannons of a far more powerful model than those adorning their intended victim. Around the edges of the small fleet hovered dozens of fighters of the same make as the Pride’s escorts, though most of these newcomers had been painted with skulls, strange symbols, and the occasional crude insult.

At the center of the small fleet, the others keeping close by so that its cloaking shield could protect them all without overextending its reach, was a ship of an entirely different design. Nearly half as long as the Pride, it was far sleeker, coming to a sharp point at its front with four wings curving out behind around the engines. All four gleamed around the edges with ready cannons integrated much more smoothly on its hull than those of the captured transports, and it was mostly painted black, with red highlights around the edges. Someone had wanted the ship to look ominous; they had succeeded.

Pride’s captain stood on the bridge of her ship with hands resting on the control panel. Around her, her officers looked to one another fearfully, but she maintained her composure. One didn’t rise to the position she had in the guild hierarchy if one couldn’t remain calm under fire, and she knew that pirates were unlikely to kill on sight, regardless of their reputation. You didn’t become a pirate because you loved murder – you did it because you wanted to be rich. That meant to wanted something, and people who wanted something were willing to talk. Guildsmen and -women dealt with that sort of people – albeit usually in a less threatening way – every day.

As expected, the Pride’s comm chimed; the captain glanced down at it, waited a moment, then answered. “This is Shipping Guild vessel Pride of Artax out of Tantos III, en route to Aurann,” she said calmly. “You are in violation of sovereign Tantos space and the laws of the Kingdom of the Dozen Stars. We request that you stand down and let us pass, or we will fire upon you. You have been warned.”

The captain knew that the pirates wouldn’t respond to such a threat; they’d recognize it for the toothless bit of bravado that it was. Still, rules were rules, and she had to play out her part in this little drama to the end. She hadn’t written the script.

Still, if things worked out, the pirates hadn’t written it, either…

The comm crackled, and the mechanically distorted voice that spoke on the other end was cold. “You’re in no position to threaten us, captain,” it said. “Really, look around you. You have a few guns and a squadron of fighters; we have more than ten times the amount of firepower you do. We’re going to get what we want, one way or another. You can resist, in which case you and your crew will die, your ship will be destroyed, and we’ll pull our plunder from the wreckage – or you can cooperate, keep your crew alive and your ship intact, and be allowed to leave in one piece once we’ve gotten what we want. Which of those courses of action do you think will profit your guild more?”

As much as it galled her, the captain knew she only had one answer. “Stand down,” she ordered her crew and escort. “They’re right; we can’t win this. Better to live and fight another day.”

“Very wise, captain,” the pirate’s voice said. “Now, here is what you will do. Power down your engines and weapons, and order your escort to do the same. You will allow us to take up positions beside your ship, and then open the cargo bay to vacuum. We will remove your cargo and load it onto our vessels, and when we have what we want, we’ll let you go. Is this agreeable?”

“It is,” the captain said, grimacing as she did so. She turned to the rest of her bridge crew, and flipped a switch to open a channel to the fighter squadron. “Do as they say.” The crewmembers exchanged nervous glances, but training took over and they nodded. The Pride cut her engines and hung dead in space, the fighters around her doing the same. The pirate fleet moved forward quickly, enveloping the guild convoy on all sides with their fighters while the captured transports took up their positions alongside the freighter’s hull. Only the pirate flagship hung back, seeming to watch the proceedings like a wary predatory. All was in readiness.

“Open your cargo hold now,” the pirate’s voice said.

The captain nodded, though she knew the pirate couldn’t see her. “Understood,” she said, and then took a deep breath, muttered a silent prayer to the Lord – her first in years – and then flipped a switch on her control panel. The cargo hold opened.

///

At first, the pirates aboard the stolen transports were confused, as their scanners didn’t pick up any of the ores that their information had indicated this particular freighter was set to be carrying. Then their surprise turned to shock and horror as something else came boiling out of Pride’s cargo hold.

Dozens of fighters, all of them painted in Tantos colors, shot out of the freighter, opening fire as they did so. A dozen of the pirate fighters fell in the first barrage without time to react; the captured transports were scored by the blasts, but the fighters’ cannons were insufficient to penetrate their armor. They fell back to a safe distance and turned their own weapons towards the oncoming fighters, which now formed a protective screen around the Pride. The fighter escort that had come with the freighter now powered their engines back on and took up their positions alongside the newcomers.

It was a trap, had obviously been a trap from the beginning – even the most thick-witted of the pirates could tell that they’d been set up. Still, as they warily regarded this new enemy and wondered what course of action their commanders would take, they knew that this was not, in the end, a threat to them. The Tantos fighters had the advantage of surprise, but that was now spent. The pirates had the advantage of numbers, and their most powerful vessel had yet to even enter the fray. Soon, now, they would show Duke Hiram and the guilds why they shouldn’t try to resist them, with an example that no one would be able to ignore.

That was when the pirates received the first alarms of another group of enemy ships appearing on their scopes, emerging from behind the asteroids…

///

Duke Mardoban ast Orlanes smiled thinly as he stood on the bridge of the Tantan warship that was now powering up from behind the small asteroid cluster with a small battlegroup of similar vessels. They’d been keeping their energy emissions low so that the pirates wouldn’t detect them, but now the time for stealth had passed. The pirate fleet had taken the bait; now it was time to spring the real trap.

“Your orders, my lord?” the woman who stood beside him asked; she was around the Duke’s own age and of regal bearing, clad in sleek green armor and leaning on her dueling sword. Her name was Kallistrae, and she was one of the highest ranking of Duke Hiram’s knights; Hiram himself, of course, was no soldier and hadn’t come on this mission.

“I think it’s time we showed the pirates that the people of the Dozen Stars aren’t interested in being their victims any longer,” Mardoban said mildly. “Let’s take the fight to them, shall we?”

Kallistrae nodded and shot him a fierce grin. “Forward!” she said, gesturing with her free hand. “Form of perimeter around the pirates; we don’t want them to escape us again. Let’s end this today.” The bridge crew saluted her sharply, and then they set the warship moving forward, its companions around them doing the same.

The four warships were of the standard model used by the Dozen Stars; if not as powerful as the immense dreadnoughts the Empire fielded, they were cheaper and easier to mass produce, and were both hardy and adaptable in command. Mardoban had seen such ships in action before, and he’d match them in battle against any two of the pirates’ stolen transports, and even against the flagship itself, though that was of a design he hadn’t seen before and he wasn’t certain what its capabilities really were.

Moving at top sublight speed, the four warships converged on the convoy and took up their positions around the pirate fleet, which held its own position warily. Mardoban nodded to Kallistrae, and she pressed a button on the panel in front of her and activated her comm.

“Attention, pirate fleet,” she said. “This is Lady Kallistrae of Tantos III, here on the orders of Duke Hiram ast Tantos. You are violating His Grace’s territory, threatening his subjects, and impeding the lawful and necessary work of the guilds. His Grace is a patient man, but he can no longer abide your destructive and criminal actions. You will stand down at once, or you will be destroyed. Am I clear?”

The pirates made no response – or at least, not a verbal one. The enemy fighters and three of their captured transports opened fire on the Tantos fighters guarding Pride; the other three transports reoriented towards the battle group. The flagship still hung back, a waiting, cautious predator. Mardoban smiled coldly. It had begun.

“Are they mad?” Kallistrae asked as she regarded her scopes in disbelief. “Those transports of theirs can’t be any sort of match for our warships, no matter what sort of weapons they’ve upgraded them with. What are they thinking.”

“I’m assuming that they’re either overconfident from their previous successes,” Mardoban said, “or else they fear what might happen to them if they flee too much to retreat. Either way, they’ve made a mistake. Let’s inform them of that fact, shall we?”

Kallistrae smiled thinly. “I think, my lord, that we shall,” she said. “All batteries, fire on those pirate ships!”

Even as she spoke, the transports had closed enough to open fire themselves; bolts of energy lanced from their cannons and impacted harmlessly on the warships’ shields. Mardoban could imagine the surprise aboard the pirate vessels; he doubted they’d faced much in the way of serious military hardware before. Then the warships responded, their own cannons illuminating the darkness of space in blinding blue light. Several beams converged on the first pirate ship, tearing cleanly through its shields and slicing the ship itself in two. The pieces drifted for a moment, energy crackling along them, before they exploded in a brilliant burst.

“Well done,” Mardoban said to Kallistrae as the bridge crew cheered.

The knight shook her head. “We’re not out of this yet, my lord,” she said. “We need to protect the Pride and its escort. Launch fighters to assist the squadrons with the transport; target main guns on those pirate transports. I want them down!”

The warship began to move forward into the gap left by the first enemy ship’s destruction, while the remainder of the battle group engaged the remaining enemies. As it moved into position fighters launched from its underside hangars and quickly shot off towards the fast-moving storm of tiny lights that was the dogfight around the Pride. It was too far away to tell anything for sure, so Mardoban leaned over a nearby crewman’s monitory and glanced at the friend-and-foe display; it appeared that with this latest reinforcement, the Tantos fighters now outnumbered the enemy. Good. The pirates excelled at quick, surgical strikes, but now they were forced into an extended battle with a numerically superior foe, and it was clear they weren’t sure how best to handle it.

“Main cannons in position, my lady,” a gunner shouted from across the bridge.

Kallistrae smiled. “Excellent,” she said. “Give them a taste.”

The gunner pressed his trigger, and a thick bolt of blue-white light lanced towards the pirate transport. This enemy ship, however, was better prepared and better piloted than its unfortunate comrade; it managed to jerk just out of range of the blast before it could impact, and the beam shot out unimpeded into the depths of space. Kallistrae scowled and made a sharp chopping gesture with one hand; the gunner prepared to fire again, but before he could press the trigger the warship was rocked with sudden force. Mardoban and the knight both had to cling to a nearby railing to steady themselves, and the crew were visible jostled in their seats.

“What by the Evil One’s bloody eyes just happened?” Kallistrae demanded angrily.

“Missile impact, my lady,” one of the crew said from her seat. “One of the pirates shot it at us from behind; so far as the sensors can tell, some sort of cobbled-together design that packed a lot more wallop than it should have. It didn’t break through our shields, but came close. Looks like they’re gearing up to fire again, but the scanners can’t tell if it’s the same type of missile or not.”

“Let’s not take the time to find out,” Kallistrae said. “Tractor beam, can you lock onto the missile when they launch it?” When the crewman she’d addressed saluted, she smiled coldly. “Then we’ll give them a taste of their own medicine.”

“Pirate vessel launching missile, my lady!”

Kallistrae nodded. “Tractor, lock!”

“Tractor beam locked, my lady!” the crewman called back.

“Good. Now, let’s give them their toy back.” Kallistrae made a sharp gesture with one hand, and the crewman at the tractor station made a series of quick adjustments, then pushed a large lever and smiled.

“Missile rebounded, my lady,” he said. “Impacting… now.”

“Pirate ship sustained heavy damage,” the officer who’d first described the missile strike said, a satisfied look on her face. “Looks like their shields and engines are down, along with a good chunk of their weapons. I don’t think they’ll be able to continue the fight.”

“Well done,” said Kallistrae. “Now, let’s not give the other one the chance to duck and run again. All batteries, target the pirate transport off Pride’s aft, with overlapping angles. I don’t want them getting away this time.”

The gunners saluted and made the necessary adjustments; a flurry of bright beams lanced from the front of the warship. The pirate transport tried to dodge again, but with so many incoming attacks its pilot, however skilled, couldn’t anticipate them all. The transport narrowly avoided a beam that would have struck its bridge, only to have another shear off the bulk of its engines. It listed in space and then exploded.

“Well done,” Mardoban said to Kallistrae, who smiled at the compliment. “I had a feeling that if we had time to prepare, the pirates wouldn’t be able to stand up to us.”

“It was your plan, my lord regent,” Kallistrae said. “I merely have the honor of executing it.” She glanced to the nearest crewman. “Status of the overall battle?”

“Two more of the pirate transports are down, in addition to the three we disabled or destroyed,” he said. “Along with most of the pirate fighters. Our battle group have taken damage, but all four warships remain functional. My lady, I do believe the battle is ours.”

The warship suddenly rocked again, harder than it had before, and Mardoban could tell in his gut that this was different from the missile impact. The lights along the bridge’s ceiling dimmed, and most of the crew’s screens flickered on and off. Kallistrae’s expression of shock was clear as she looked at the Duke, and then she steeled herself and turned back to the crew.

“What in the hells just happened here?” she demanded.

“The pirate flagship has entered the battle,” a shaken officer reported. “They hit us with some sort of energy-disrupting weapon, so far as I can tell – my instruments are still confused. Engines are down, weapons are at half-power, though they seem to be recharging.”

“damnation,” Kallistrae muttered. “Why didn’t they do that before? Why wait until now?”

“If our engines and guns are already recharging,” Mardoban said, “I would guess their weapon doesn’t have a very long effect – any maybe eats so much energy itself they don’t want to use it if they don’t have to. Maybe they’re covering their retreat?”

“Sensors show that the last intact pirate transport is indeed turning away from the battlefield,” said one of the crew, “as are the remaining pirate fighters. All of our ships seem to be temporarily disabled as well; looks like they’re weapon had an area range. Pirate ships are regrouping by the flagship – sensors show flagship is indeed powering up its jump engines.”

“damnation them!” Kallistrae swore. “Do we have weapons back on line yet? Can we stop them before they escape?”

“Weapons can fire, but are unlikely to hit their target before the flagship can jump,” the crew said.

“Cowards,” Kallistrae muttered.

“I wouldn’t say that, Lady Knight,” a deep, thickly distorted voice said suddenly over the comm; the entire bridge seemed to still at the sound. “Think of us rather as pragmatists who would rather avoid a fight we obviously cannot win. But don’t think that because I’ve been defeated today, that you will win should we cross swords again.”

Mardoban cleared his throat. “Am I to assume that we are speaking to the man I’ve heard referred to as “the Commander”, then? You seem to be someone with rather a lot of authority – and bravado.”

The distorted voice chuckled. “And Duke Mardoban – Regent Mardoban, I should say. I knew that Hiram would be too much of a coward to be here, but I wondered if you were nearby. It seems that your meeting on Tantos Station yielded more results than we had realized. I should know better than to underestimate the information a certain acquaintance of yours can acquire – and sell. I won’t make that mistake again. But yes, I am the one they call Commander. A pleasure to speak to you at last, Mardoban.”

“You seem rather confident for a man who just lost most of his fleet,” Mardoban said amiably.

“Most of my fleet? Hardly. I would think you were enough of a strategist to realize that I wouldn’t commit the entirety of my resources to a given engagement. I assure you, you have no idea the forces I can still bring to bear against you.”

“Brave words, from a man who tried to have his lackeys assassinate me in the middle of a market,” said the Duke. “What exactly was that little move supposed to accomplish, anyway? I hear you wanted me dead even before I met with Specter. Are you that afraid of me, coward?”

The Commander laughed, a mechanical hissing sound. “I don’t fear you, Regent. I merely sought to impress upon the people of this Kingdom just how far my reach can be. I wanted them afraid, seeing the weakness of their leaders and their institutions. And they are afraid, Mardoban. As they were afraid fifteen years ago, when your Queen was killed in her own council chamber…”

Mardoban went white, and he gripped the railing so tightly he could feel the metal digging into his palm. “What do you know about that?” he managed to grate out.

“Much,” the Commander said. “But you and I will have to discuss it some other time. Goodbye, Regent – until we meet again.” The line went dead.

“Flagship has jumped, taking the transport and surviving fighters with it,” one of the crew said, looking up from his display. “The pirates have escaped.”

“damnation them,” Kallistrae muttered. “But at least we caught some of them, and killed a lot more - and we know about their disabling weapon now, so some good came from this.”

“More than some, I hope,” Mardoban said, trying to still his breathing even though the Commander’s words still echoed in his mind. He walked over to a comm station and opened a channel to the Pride. “This is Duke Mardoban,” he said. “Are you all right over there?”

“A little banged up, but in one piece,” the freighter’s captain said, sounding weary. “Looks like our trap worked, even if it didn’t catch them all.”

“It didn’t,” Mardoban said, “and I’m glad of that.” He smiled slightly at Kallistrae’s bewildered expression. “What’s the status of the little presents we arranged for our pirates?”

“We released the sensors when the cargo bay opened,” the captain said. “A number of them attached to enemy ships – and some of those fighters survived and made the jump with the flagship and are still transmitting. Sending information to you now, my lord.”

“Well done, Captain,” said the Duke. “Anyone who says the guilds fold under pressure is a fool. It looks like we’ve gotten something valuable today after all.”

“Does this mean what I think it does…” Kallistrae said slowly.

“It does,” Mardoban said. “With the help of the Pride and its crew, we managed to get top-of-the line transmitters attached to some of the pirate fighters. They may find them, but it’ll take a while – they’re designed to be hidden. And that means…”

“That we can find their base,” Kallistrae said, a look of satisfaction growing across her face. Mardoban returned it.

 

[MasterGhandalf]

New chapter!

Spoiler

Chapter Thirteen

Katanes, the Open Skies

Arta soared through the skies above the mountains on Ezi’s back, glorying in the freedom of flight.

It had been several days now since she’d first managed to deliberately channel energy through her hands, and since then, Shiran had had her working as hard as she could to learn to do it will, without needing to use meditation and breathing exercises. So far, she hadn’t managed that, though she had significantly reduced the amount of time necessary to manifest her ability. The Professor also had her working through exercises designed to enhance her strength and the speed of her reactions, though he warned her not to use this technique when sparring with either Karani or the training mechs. “Adepts have never been common enough to be officially banned from duels, tournaments, or sporting events,” he’d told her, “but that doesn’t mean people will react well if you use your abilities in that context – you’ll be seen as a cheater, or worse. I’m teaching you these techniques so you can defend yourself, not so you can use them to show off or win contests, and I don’t want you to become too dependent on them.”

Arta had been a bit hurt that Shiran had thought she would use her abilities so frivolously (though a part of her had to admit that there was a certain appeal to the thought…) and had thrown herself into her training with all the energy she could muster. Added to her regular lessons with her new tutor, her training with her sword, and periodically sitting in with her foster-father while he conducted planetary business, it all left Arta with very little time for herself. What time she had, though, she spent flying.

Ezi gave a great beat of her wings as she shot over the mountains, and Arta laid down low along her neck and placed her palm along the dragon’s side. She’d heard stories about Adepts who could link their minds with those of animals, forging an empathic connection that allowed them to see through their eyes and feel their thoughts. Shiran hadn’t taught her anything of the sort, and it seemed like it might skirt a little too close to the dangerous techniques for manipulating people that he’d mentioned, but perhaps if she just tested it a little, it couldn’t hurt. Closing her eyes, Arta focused on her breathing as she’d practiced, and then let her awareness shift not into her hand or her body, but into Ezi. She could feel the izdakan’s dry, leathery skin, her heavy breathing, even the beating of her mighty heart deep inside… but there was nothing of the feel of her Adept’s abilities at work, and no connection to her mount beyond that which she could feel with her mundane senses. Arta sighed and opened her eyes. Maybe everything people said about what Adepts could do really wasn’t true – or maybe, she thought ruefully, she just wasn’t very good. Either way, this experiment was a failure.

A short time later, Arta brought Ezi circling down and landed her on one of the platforms lining the izdakan stable. She slid down the dragon’s back and gave her an affectionate scratch on the chin before handing her over to be cared for by the stable hands. She pulled off her flight mask as she walked towards the exit and was surprised to find Karani waiting beside it.

“Had a feeling I’d find you somewhere around here,” her foster-sister said, waving towards her. “Come on. Shiran wants to see us.”

Arta took up a position beside Karani and the two of them made their way into a lift and began to drop towards the main body of the palace. After several moments of silence, she turned to look at her sister.

“So,” she said, “do you still think that the Professor is some sort of conman? Or have you decided he really is an Adept after all?”

“Well, he’s obviously something,” Karani said. “And if you say you’re an Adept – well, after the other day, I believe you. Lord this is weird, though.” She held up a hand in front of her face and regarded it critically. “And why couldn’t I be an Adept too, anyway? I think that blue glow would make me look awesome.”

Arta felt a sudden surge of irritation and fought it down. “Well, it’s a very rare ability,” she said. “Honestly, it’s amazing that there was even one person in this palace the Professor found who he could teach.”

“Yeah,” Karani muttered. “Amazing coincidence, isn’t it?” She looked uncharacteristically thoughtful for a long moment, then looked at Arta out of the corner of her eye. “I don’t suppose he’s said anything else about… you know what, has he?”

Arta shook her head. “No,” she said. “He hasn’t mentioned it, and I’m afraid if I bring it up he’ll just dodge the question. I just think that if he wanted to talk about my mother, he would have already. But I can’t figure out why he’s holding back.”

“Maybe he doesn’t know anything, and he just let that bit slip so he could get you to let him teach you,” Karani said, shrugging, but Arta could tell from the look on her face that she didn’t really believe it. “I still think he’s up to something.”

“You’re just not going to let that one go, are you?” Arta asked, smiling.

“Nope!” Karani said with a wink. A moment later, the lift stopped and the two girls stepped out into the palace’s main hall. At the moment it was empty, save for Shiran who stood by one of the walls regarding the row of ast Katanes ancestors whose portraits hung along it.

“Ah, there you are,” he said, turning to face them as they approached. “I believe I told you both that I wanted to have you do things beyond merely sitting and listening to me lecture. Today, I’ve decided, will be the first of these lessons. If you don’t mind, I’d like you to accompany me to the flitter bays. We’re going to be taking a trip to Tannen City.”

“The city?” Karani asked. “It’s near the middle of the afternoon. It’ll be night by the time we get there. What are we going to do, go the opera?” Arta suppressed a smile at the indignant look on her foster-sister’s face – anything that required Karani to sit still and be quiet for an extended period wasn’t something she was liable to do voluntarily if she could at all avoid it.

Shiran chuckled and turned to walk towards the door that led from the main hall to the flitter bay, the sisters hurrying to keep up. “No, we’re not going to the opera,” he said. “We’re going to be seeing a performance that’s far more lively – and lifelike. The city itself. I’ve stowed some cloaks for you to put on in the flitter; this isn’t an official visit, and I want you to be incognito. A leader should know their people.”

“Wait, so you’re saying that we’re going to be seeing Tannen City’s nightlife up close and personal?” Karani asked, a smile making its way across her face. “That sounds more interesting!”

Shiran regarded her flatly. “Karani,” he said, “I’m not your father, but he has placed you and your sister in my care for the evening, and if tomorrow morning was to find you severely hungover, I doubt I’d be employed here for much longer. As you’re still underage, that means no drinking.” Arta had to suppress a giggle at the crestfallen look on her sister’s face.

Her mind then shifted to more practical concerns. “Are you sure it will be safe?” she asked. “I mean, the last time we were in the city, someone tried to kill us. What if they try again?”

Shiran merely regarded her calmly, and Arta suddenly felt that there was very little, in Tannen City or elsewhere in the Dozen Stars, that would be much of a threat to this man or to anyone in his company. She found herself wondering yet again just how far his Adept’s gifts extended.

A short time later, the three of them had boarded a small silver flitter and launched from the palace with Shiran at the controls, their destination Tannen City.

///

“They’re away,” Danash said, looking up from his tablet to where his Baron sat behind his desk. “The Professor estimates they’ll be gone several hours, but return before midnight.” He looked up at the Baron and his gaze softened. “They’ll be all right,” he said.

“I know,” Varas said. “It would probably take a fully-armed warship to hurt that man and anyone under his protection. The girls are probably safer with him than they are anywhere else on this planet, including the palace. Still, what sort of a father would I be if I didn’t worry?” He stood and walked over to the window with his hands clasped behind his back.

Varas stood there for several very long minutes, watching the mountains and sky of Katanes, his beloved, beautiful planet, the Barony that had been in his and his family’s charge for generations. Finally, he sighed. “So, Arta is an Adept,” he finally said.

“Did you know she would be?” Danash asked.

The Baron shook his head. “I knew it was possible,” he said. “I never knew if that possibility would actually realize itself until this week. I wasn’t expecting Shiran to tell her – certainly not so soon. He usually prefers to play things closer to the chest, but he told me something recently had made him think that getting things out in the open earlier would be better for everyone.” Varas smiled thinly. “He wouldn’t tell me what, of course. If he had, I’d have wondered who this new, open and forthcoming person was and what he’d done with the Professor. Some things in this universe are simply constants, and that man’s love of secrets is one of them.” He turned back to Danash. “Speaking of secrets, any updates on the assassination investigation?”

“Not much,” Danash admitted. “The prisoners seem to have told all they know, which doesn’t amount to a lot – none of them still have clear memories of the person who hired them. I asked Shiran shortly after we hired them, and he said that a very skilled Adept could do something like that, but that hardly gives us any more leads than we had – it’s not as if there’s an Adepts Guild we can go to for information.” He chuckled slightly at his own joke before turning serious again. “On the other hand, I heard back from the Regent’s office on Carann, and it seems that none of their intelligence agents were on Katanes when the attempt took place. They assure me they’ve changed their codes and are looking into whoever used a forged one to get past security and land at Tannen that day. Lord only knows if they’ll actually tell us what they find – if they find anything.”

Varas shook his head. “Well, I don’t suppose we could expect much more than that,” he said. “Still, send instructions to the patrol ships and to the spaceport authorities to watch out if anyone tries to use the old codes to sneak through again – and to alert me if they receive any code the purports to be from an intelligence officer on world. Better safe than sorry.”

“It will be done,” Danash said, scrolling down to the next item on his tablet. “Ah, some news that might interest you. It seems that the regent and Duke Hiram’s forces engaged our pirate problem near the edge of the Tantos system; full reports of the outcome are still classified, but it seems that several pirate ships were destroyed, at least.”

“Good,” said Varas, nodding approvingly. “The sooner we’re rid of that menace, the better – though I imagine the Duke stayed safe on Tantos III and let the regent do most of the actual work.” The Baron respected his liege lord in most respects, but, well… he knew Hiram’s limits. And luckily for their duchy, Hiram knew his own limits as well and didn’t try to force his way into situations he knew he wouldn’t be capable of handling well.

Well, however it had all gone down, it was outside of his responsibility and his control. “Anything else requiring my attention at the moment, Danash?” Varas asked.

“Nothing that can’t wait until morning,” the other man replied. He regarded the Baron for a long moment, then spoke again. “You should probably grab some food; I can have it sent up for you if you like. No matter how worried you are about pirates or assassins – or your daughters – you need to eat.”

Varas closed his eyes. “Thank you Danash,” he said. “I’ll join you down in the dining room shortly. I’d like a moment to collect myself, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course,” Danash said, nodding, and withdrew. The Baron was left alone at his desk, his thoughts drifting again to Arta, to the secrets that he and the Professor had yet to reveal to her – things even Danash didn’t know the full truth of.

Sometimes, being a father weighed more heavily on his shoulders than being a baron did; tonight was one of those times.

///

Arta sat in the both of a cheap restaurant in Tannen City, staring down at the half-eaten sandwich on her plate as she tried to make up her mind about what she thought of it. On the one hand, it was perhaps the least refined thing she had ever eaten in her entire life – she didn’t even want to know how much of the meat was artificial – but at the same time, there was something oddly straightforward about both the taste and the presentation that she found almost… charming.

Shrugging, she finally picked up the sandwich and took another bite, her gaze finding its way across the table to where Karani was seated, wearing a gaudy and jaunty hat she’d happily purchased from a shop they’d passed earlier. Arta smiled at the thought of what Danash would say when he saw that particular purchase – she had no doubt that her father’s efficient and proper aide would consider it an absolute crime against good taste but would be far too well-mannered to actually say anything, and would mostly be reduced to disbelieving silence. Karani, for her part, loved the hat, the restaurant, and the city, as she’d made loudly plain several times in the evening so far. Arta had found herself wincing slightly at every such proclamation – she might have traded in her fine clothing for an old, faded cloak and a hat that could only be described as ‘loud’, but her foster-sister was nonetheless making it obvious that she’d never eaten at a diner or done her own shopping in her life.

Arta hadn’t done either of those things either, of course, but she hoped she was being at least a little less blatant about it.

Shiran, of course, seemed as entirely at ease in this setting as he had been at the Baron’s palace, and Arta found herself wondering once again about his origins and what path had lead him to his role as her tutor. He was relaxed in his seat, looking neither as awkward as Arta felt or as exaggeratedly interested in everything as Karani; he simply looked like he belonged. He’d finished his own sandwich already and was casually sipping his drink as he watched his younger student regard him.

“So, Arta,” he said. “Are you enjoying your experience so far this evening?”

“It’s been… interesting,” she said, then took a final bite of her sandwich and swallowed.

“A nicely noncommittal answer,” the Professor said, smiling. “But in any case, we’re not done yet this evening, nor have we seen some of the things I brought you here for tonight.” He stood, taking his drink cup, and gestured for the sisters to follow him. They left the restaurant and stepped out into Tannen City’s streets.

The sun had completely set, and though not full the moons were out, casting the city into an eerie light that was largely overshadowed by streetlights, flashing signs, and the lights of passing automobiles in the streets and flitters in the skylanes. The district of the city that Shiran had brought them to was, he said, neither particularly poor nor particularly rich – it was mostly a commercial district that brought people from all walks of life, and even some from off-world.

The three of them kept to the sidewalk as they made their way through the city, the sisters following close behind Shiran as he led them – though where he was leading them to he hadn’t said. Karani was gawking around them excitedly as they walked, seemingly wanting to stop in every store, even the ones that sold products she didn’t care about. Arta, for her part, felt overwhelmed by the lights and the sounds and the press of the people around them. Maybe, she thought, being an Adept made her more sensitive to that sort of thing, though the Professor didn’t seem to be having any problems. Or maybe, she thought ruefully, she was just sheltered.

Still, as they walked she started to pay more attention to the crowds and saw that there was a hurried mood to much of their activities; maybe it was normal, but every so often she saw clumps of people talking animatedly with each other, looking less than pleased. Straining her ears, she managed to catch snippets of conversation.

“…price of technology is skyrocketing,” one man was saying. “Shipping out of Tantos III has slowed to a crawl…”

“The guilds are the ones getting attacked by the pirates,” his companion replied, “and they’re making us pay for it. Lord, if the aristocracy doesn’t deign to take notice soon and do something about it…”

Arta frowned. “They don’t sound happy,” she said. “What’s going on with the guilds and the pirates?”

“You have good ears, Arta,” Shiran said. “Pirate gangs – or perhaps only one, particularly large and well-organized gang – have been targeting shipments across the Kingdom, and Tantos III, with all its industry, has been a particularly favorite target. The guilds have begun to fear losing their products, and so the trade between planets has been interrupted. People are angry when their goods are overpriced, unavailable, or both. And they’re right to be.”

“Why doesn’t somebody do something about it?” Karani demanded angrily. “We have armies and fleets and knights and… all sorts of things the pirates don’t! We can take them!”

Shiran chuckled sadly. “Unfortunately, not everyone is as decisive as you are, Karani,” he said. “And sometimes the dukes have other things on their mind than helping each other – or their people. There are people who, I have no doubt, are ‘doing something’, but it may take time before that actually impacts peoples’ lives. And Katanes, at least, produces enough foodstuffs that very few here are likely to go hungry no matter how bad things get. Elsewhere in the Dozen Stars, people may not be so lucky.”

“This is part of what you wanted us to see, isn’t it?” Arta asked as they rounded a corner and approached an open park.

“Yes,” Shiran said. “One of the great disadvantages of an aristocratic system is that it makes the ruling class feel that they aren’t beholden to those they lead and can do whatever they want. This isn’t true. Every ruler leads by the consent of those they follow, whether they acknowledge it or not – the best by working to earn that consent, and the worst acquire it by force and fear. For the moment, most people in this city are merely irritated, not truly angry – and that irritation is directed primarily at the guilds rather than their rulers. Your father is a good man who works to do right by his people, and he is generally popular. But if the people overwhelmingly grew angry with him, well…” he gestured around them as if to encompass the vastness of the city. “Never underestimate the power of the people enraged and focused to change the galaxy. Do you think Artax the Founder won independence from the Empire merely by his own devices? No. He did it because the people of the Dozen Stars – enough of them, at least – believed in his cause and chose to follow him. The best leaders do not seek to dominate their people, or see themselves as above them. Instead, they see themselves as the servants of the people, working to better the world for all of them. Do you understand?”

“I think so,” Arta said slowly. “But from the way you talk about the dukes, you don’t think a lot of them actually do that, do you?”

“Far be it from a humble teacher to speak ill of the council of dukes,” Shiran said, “but it does seem increasingly clear that they have… allowed themselves to lose sight of the larger picture of what their duties entail. I don’t mean to romanticize the past – if there’s one constant of human nature across worlds and time, it’s that the powerful all too often lose sight of the fact that power is for something, not merely an end itself – but that problem seems… especially prevalent of late.”

“What do you mean, power is for something?” Karani asked. “Do you just mean that the dukes have a job they’re not doing right? I knew that already.”

“There are some,” Shiran said carefully. “Who believe that merely possessing power gives you moral authority. If you have the strength to make something happen, that also makes it right to happen. While many people act as if this is true, it’s not what I believe. I believe that power should exist to serve justice, not to create a sort of justice that benefits the powerful. Rather than granting privilege, it should bestow responsibility. To pretend otherwise is to abuse your power, and the trust of those who granted it to you – and that is the path to tyranny.”

The Professor’s face seemed troubled at this and he fell into silence, as though reflecting on some long-buried pain. Arta yearned to ask him what he was remembering, but something held her back – she knew that such a question wouldn’t be welcome. Finally Shiran sighed and turned away from the park, back towards the city lights.

“Let’s keep walking,” he said. “We only have a few hours here, and there’s more that I want to show you before we’re through.”

 

 

[MasterGhandalf]

New chapter! Note: this is the end of NaNo, but as this story isn't done, I intend to keep working on it, and to keep posting it here for now!

Spoiler

Chapter Fourteen

Tantos III, Ducal Palace

The holo-image that hovered above the table in Duke Hiram’s war room depicted a large asteroid, slowly rotating in place to allow all those gathered around it to see it from all sides. As it turned what might be thought of as its front to face Mardoban, he saw once again the open tunnel that led in and down towards what he knew to be a hidden hangar deep inside.

Beside him, he heard Hiram swear softly. “So there it is,” the other duke muttered. “The pirate base. Are we sure this information is accurate?”

“As sure as we can be, my lord,” the guildsman who stood across from them said rather primly. “The scanning technology we’ve provided the regent is functioning normally, and has produced a map of the base for us based on the data it retrieved. These devices have also been designed to send us a specific signal if they are tampered with at any point after they are put in place; as we’ve not received any such signal, we think it likely that they’ve not been discovered.”

“Whatever else he may be, the Commander’s not stupid,” Mardoban said, “and we’re not entirely certain what the capabilities of his technology may be; therefore, we consider it entirely possible that he has found a way to remove the scanners without triggering the warning signal. Therefore I am determined that we should act at once, before the pirates have the opportunity to evacuate their base.”

The Duke gestured at the holographic display. “Thanks to the hidden scanners, we were able to track the pirate fleet back to their base – this asteroid in the system designated as B-1356, which is otherwise uninhabited.” He tapped a button on the war table, and the hologram zoomed in to show a hangar inside the asteroid. “Here we see the bay where the pirate fleet landed – and, as we suspected, the fleet we faced is only a part of their full strength. They appear to have at least two dozen more of the modified transports, five of the larger ships such as their flagship from the previous engagement, and an unknown number of fighters. Furthermore, the base may have other hangars of which we are currently unaware.” Mardoban zoomed the image out again and gestured at several outcroppings around the edge of the hangar entrance and on various points on the asteroid’s surface which appeared somewhat too jagged to be natural. “It also appears that they have concealed cannon on the asteroid itself to destroy or damage incoming craft without needing to scramble their fleet. The pirates are locked up tight.”

Kallistrae frowned and looked to her Duke. “As much as we want to see the pirate threat ended, my lord regent,” she said, “I’m not sure if our local Tantos forces are capable of cracking a nut that tough. We mostly keep them for the policing and protection of our shipping lanes, but we’re not a significant military power. We would be glad to provide you an assistance we could, but…”

“The guilds also maintain some security forces in the region,” the guildsman said, “and we agree that the pirate threat has gone on for long enough. But even with our forces combined with yours, we’re uncertain of our chances of victory.”

Mardoban smiled. “I think it’s time to remind ourselves that the Dozen Stars is a Kingdom, not simply a collection of independent systems that sometimes work together,” he said. “As regent, and as the one tasked by the council with dealing with the pirates, I’ve sent a call to Carann and Orlanes; crown forces and part of my own militia will arrive here shortly, and we will assist you in this battle as a show of solidarity with Tantos Duchy. Assuming it’s workable with you, of course.”

Hiram managed to look both surprised and relieved; his expression would have almost been comical if the situation hadn’t been serious. “Your aid is most appreciated, Mardoban!” he said. “I’m not so proud as to refuse to acknowledge when I need help.”

“With the combination of our forces, we may well have the advantage,” Kallistrae said, regarding the holo display thoughtfully. “Of course, we still don’t know everything the bigger ships are capable of…”

“And there is another issue that we need to discuss,” Mardoban said. “The system where the pirate base is located lies on the border between Tantos and Sakran Duchy. In other words…”

“That’s Naudar’s holding,” Hiram said. “And he’s probably not going to be very happy to have us moving such a large force near his territory.”

“So, are we just going to give up because we don’t want to bruise aristocratic egos?” asked the guildsman – either not noticing or, as Mardoban thought more likely, not caring about the possibility of offending the aristocratic egos already in the room with him. “That doesn’t seem like a very profitable course of action to me.”

“Duke Naudar is powerful, and proud,” Kallistrae said. “If he notices our fleet and takes it as an insult, it could throw the Dozen Stars into civil war.”

“Naudar was the one who brought the issue of the pirates before the council in the first place,” Mardoban said. “He is ambitious and proud, but he’s not stupid. I don’t trust him to have anyone’s best interest at heart but his own – but I do trust him to make what he thinks will be the most profitable decisions for his duchy. I’ll talk to him. I think I should be able to work out an accord…”

///

Later that day, Mardoban stood alone in Hiram’s official communications room, regarding Tantos City’s foggy air from one of the large windows that lined the chamber. Finally he sighed, determined that it was time to get this over with, and turned to the large holoprojector in the center of the floor. He’d sent a message to Naudar after leaving the war room, and the other duke indicated he was willing to talk – now was the time to see if that was more than just words. Picking up a small remote, he keyed in the necessary sequence to the projector, then stepped back as an image of Naudar ast Sakran shimmered into existence above it.

Naudar was not a tall man; he was slightly overweight, though not so much as Hiram, and like Mardoban himself he was no longer young. He leaned on a shiny black cane with a golden head, courtesy of a wound he’d taken in battle as a younger man, and was not an obviously imposing figure. Still, there was something in the set of his face and especially in the intensity of his eyes that made it plain – this was someone accustomed to power, to wielding it ruthlessly and intelligently, and who wasn’t someone to cross.

“Mardoban,” Naudar said. “I hear you have an update on the pirate situation. I assume there’s a reason that you’ve called me in person about it instead of summoning the full council?”

“As a matter of fact, there is,” Mardoban said. “Duke Hiram’s militia forces and I managed to drive off the most recent pirate raid, and we succeeded in placing trackers on some of their ships when they retreated. Assuming the information they sent us is accurate, we have the location and at least some of the layout of their base.”

“Excellent,” Naudar said, sounding genuinely satisfied. “With luck, we will soon see the last of that particular threat. Still, I know you well enough to assume that you didn’t call me simply to brag – that’s not your style. What do you want, Mardoban?”

“Primarily, to pass on a warning,” Mardoban replied, silently praying that the tactic he’d chosen for this conversation would work. “The pirate base is in an uninhabited system on the edge of Tantos Duchy and Sakran Duchy. Our fleet will have to pass rather close to your territory to reach it; we wouldn’t want you to panic about our presence and risk causing an incident we’d rather all avoid.”

Naudar’s eyes tightened at that. “My thanks for the warning, Mardoban,” he said, though his tone was chilly. “However, I must admit I’m curious as to what system, exactly, the pirates have been using that’s so close to my duchy. I will have to request you send me that information at once.”

“Of course,” Mardoban said, picking up his tablet from where he’d placed it on a nearby table and making a few quick keystrokes. He saw Naudar glance at something or someone outside of the holo’s display and then nod; apparently someone on the other side had received the intel and was displaying it for the duke.

“The pirates appear well-armed and well-entrenched,” Naudar said thoughtfully. “Assaulting that base is a risk – it would be a pity if your combined forces were unable to achieve their goal.” Now Mardoban could see the struggle playing out behind Naudar’s carefully schooled expression. On the one hand, the Duke of Sakran wanted to build his House into a dynasty that would become the new royal family of the Dozen Stars; if Mardoban’s forces suffered a significant defeat, that would remove one of the primary obstacles to that ambition. On the other, Naudar genuinely feared the pirate threat and wanted them defeated and he was, in his own way, a patriot. A dynasty, after all, was nothing without a stable nation to lead. Mardoban only prayed he’d guessed correctly as to which of the man’s instincts would win out.

Finally, Naudar nodded. “Yes, it would be a pity,” he said. “And I don’t think I like the idea of the combined forces of two duchies – three if you count the Crown – sitting so close to my door. As a Duke of the Realm and a member of the council, I request that I take part in this operation as well. Don’t forget that I was the one who proposed the council task someone to deal with this threat. If you are agreeable, we shall defeat the pirates together. If not, you will stay out of Sakran Duchy.”

Mardoban smiled; he’d guessed right after all. “We would, of course, be honored to have you, Duke Naudar,” he said. “Both for your gracious allowing of passage through your territory, and for your forces in battle.”

“And I trust you won’t forget it,” Naudar said, looking extremely satisfied. “I assume you will want to act quickly, before the pirates have a chance to discover your tracking devices.”

“Yes; I’ve taken the liberty of including our preliminary battle plans with the information on the pirate base I sent,” Mardoban said. “I hope you will find them suitable.”

“We’ll see,” said Naudar. “I’ll look them over and get back to you shortly.” The Duke of Sakran paused for a moment, then leaned in towards Mardoban, resting both hands on his cane. “And how go certain… other matters at court? I hear Respen is still fuming over his most recent failure.”

“If you mean the matter of the crown,” Mardoban said, “I’ve been rather distracted lately with other matters. We can focus on that… object, and its implications for the succession, once the pirates are defeated.”

“Of course,” Naudar said. “But once the pirate threat is gone, I have some… ideas as to how to handle the situation. I would be happy to share them with you then. For now, I should take some time to review your battle plans. We’ll talk again soon.” Naudar tilted his head in the small bow of one equal to another and then his holo vanished, leaving Mardoban to wonder what idea, exactly, he might be referring to.

///

The Commander leaned on the railing on the platform’s edge, staring out over his fleet, and drew his plans.

Once, a long time ago, he’d been an ordinary man. He’d had a name, a life, a history. But all of that was behind him now. He’d been a marine in the Imperial Legions, once, and had earned high honor and the regard of a number of prominent Senators during the wars against the Alaelam Alliance. But even the Empire had limits in the amount of brutality it was willing to tolerate, and his repeated targeting of Alaelam civilians had earned him the ire, and eventually the loathing, of his commanding officers. Killing Alaelam, they had said, was laudable; even the killing of civilians was acceptable. But he had repeatedly gone out of his way to seek targets of no strategic value upon which to sate his bloodlust, and so in the end he’d been dishonorably discharged for disobeying orders and endangering the lives of his fellow marines.

Since then, of course, he’d learned self-control; he could thank those half-forgotten superiors for setting him on that path.

But at the time, he’d slunk back into the Empire, and having few skills beyond an aptitude for violence, he’d sunk into a drunken depression. Those years were a haze now. But in the end he’d been approached by the agents of someone who had use for a man of his particular talents. He’d never seen his new patron – he thought it likely the man wasn’t even Imperial – but the money was good, as were… other benefits. He’d received extensive cybernetic reconstruction, curing the damage the alcohol had done to his body and enhancing his mind and body to levels well beyond what mere training could achieve. He’d always excelled at violence, but now he was something else… something new. His patron had given him command of a squad of people who’d been similarly enhanced, and with that command, a mission.

To kill a queen.

To kill her, and to be seen doing it. To leave no doubt that she had died at the hands of some powerful, unknown enemy. To sow chaos and strife in the kingdom she ruled. It was weak, he’d been told, and all he needed to do was make the final push that would cause it to fall. He didn’t know why, but his patron was very clear on that point – the Kingdom of the Dozen Stars had to die.

The Commander had done as he’d been told, but the Dozen Stars had, unfortunately, proven rather more resilient than his patron had anticipated. It was shaken, weakened, but it had limped on nonetheless. And so, after years of lying low on the fringes of civilized space, his patron had given the Commander and his crew another task. Take the money he gave them, use it to build a pirate armada, and then use that armada to complete the task of sowing chaos until the Dozen Stars fell. Whether he conquered it or it turned on itself was immaterial, so far as his patron was concerned. The Kingdom merely had to perish.

And even with the most recent setback, things were proceeding well. The Dozen Stars was already on the verge of a succession crisis, if the word out of Carann was to be believed; the Commander almost thanked whoever had planted that crown, for giving them all a reason to fight. All he had to do was keep them off balance, and he was certain the Kingdom would fall into civil war within a year.

That was the problem with spreading out the power too much; everyone came to believe they had the right to rule. The Empire had learned to guard against that problem long ago; the Commander no longer truly thought of himself as an Imperial citizen, but he’d taken the lesson to heart himself.

The sound of footsteps echoed behind him, and he straightened slowly, turning to face the newcomer. He knew he was an imposing sight – a tall, powerfully built man who, thanks to his cybernetics, would never run to fat. His armor added to the effect, of course, as did the dueling sword and beam pistol he wore at his side, but it was his face that truly completed the image. Like his trusted subordinates, he wore a blank black mask that covered all of his face, leaving it entirely featureless and unreadable. Though it had no eyes, still he could see, for the entire mask fed visual information directly into his brain. It granted him sight far superior to that of any normal human.

The one who approached was one of his inner circle and was similar in appearance, save that she was shorter and slighter, and had a figure that was just barely recognizable as female under her armor. Like the Commander, she’d had a name once, before she’d been drummed from the Legions for murdering a fellow marine over a card game; the Commander merely thought of her as Two, and considered her to be his most reliable lieutenant.

As she approached, Two saluted with her fist over her hear, Imperial-style. “Commander,” she said, her voice faintly buzzing from under her mask. “Four has returned from Tantos Station and as you requested, he has come to report to you.”

The Commander inclined his head. “Of course,” he said. “Send him in.”

Two stepped aside and Four walked up beside her, still bearing the scars of the battle he’d waged against the regent; his cybernetics showed along his arm and on the back of his head. He too saluted as he approached, though his gesture was far more hesitant. The Commander nodded; good. He understood that he’d failed.

“Commander,” Four said, “I regret being unable to return to you sooner, but the Tantos duke increased his security measures and it took me some time to evade them.”

“Do not waste my time with excuses,” the Commander said. “We both know that your failure to remove the regent on Tantos Station led to his forces ambushing and defeating us on the edge of the system. Do you have any explanation for your actions?”

The Commander dropped a hand to stroke the hilt of his dueling sword, and he imagined that Four’s face – what was left of it – had gone pale under his mask. The assassin went down on one knee. “I have none, Commander,” he said, “save for this – I underestimate the regent and his bodyguard. I had not anticipated how formidable they would prove, and as a result, I wasn’t a careful as I should have been. You may take my life, if you wish, in payment for my failure.”

The Commander walked forward and ran his gloved hand along the back of Four’s neck, then around his throat and rested his fingers along the base of his chin. “I think not,” he said. “You have accepted your failure and admitted your mistake, and I don’t have the resources to easily afford the loss of one of my elite. You will continue to serve, and you will learn from your mistakes.” His hidden eyes narrowed. “But if you should fail to learn, then you will be punished – and I will have no mercy for you. Do you understand?”

“I do!” Four said, relief evident in his voice. The Commander nodded and stepped back, letting him rise. Slowly he turned back to the hangar, looking down at the floor where his fleet rested. The captured and converted freighters proved the bulk of it, of course, but his larger dreadnaughts – those where his pride, gifts from his patron. Their technology was experimental, like that of his cybernetics, and he’d been promised that it was untraceable. Even he didn’t know its origin.

Suddenly he frowned, something tingling on the edge of his awareness, a mechanical almost-sound he couldn’t shake. Spinning on his heel, the Commander strode to the far edge of his platform and stepped onto the lift, Two and Four taking up their positions beside him; slowly, they were lowered to the immense chamber’s floor. The Commander stalked forward, his two lieutenants following close behind, and around the hangar his men – ordinary pirates and mercenaries, a motley collection of men and women who cared more for profit than patriotism he’d gathered over the years – but he ignored them. His enhanced senses could detect some forms of signal, though only if he was near the source, and now he was trying to pinpoint the exact location.

It took him time, winding his way through the hangar, pausing beside every ship and its nervous crew, before finally he reached one of the stolen transports. Ducking his head, he walked underneath the docking cradle where it was perched and ran his hands carefully along the bottom, following the signal as it strengthened until at last he found a small nub that wasn’t part of the ship’s design. A shock of energy from his hand deadened the device, and then with a sharp twist he pulled it free.

Stepping out from under the docking cradle, the Commander turned to the head of a nearby maintenance crew and held up his prize. “What,” he asked slowly, “is this?”

“I… I don’t know, Commander,” the man said, blanching. “I’ve never seen a device quite like it before.”

“It’s a homing beacon,” the Commander hissed, “that appears to be of guild design. It was giving off a frequency on a wavelength that your scanners were unable to detect – but mine are more sensitive. If this beacon was made by the guild, then no doubt Duke Hiram now knows where we are. And if he knows, then so does the regent. They are coming.” A sudden rage seized the Commander, and he slammed the crew leader against the frame of the docking cradle and let him slide, unconscious, to the ground. Slowly, carefully, as he’d learned to do long ago, he mastered his rage. Violence might be satisfying, but it wouldn’t serve him now.

“Your orders, Commander?” Two asked, ever efficient.

“Begin preparations,” the Commander told her. “The time has come to revise our plans.”

 

[MasterGhandalf]

At long last, new chapter!

Spoiler

Chapter 15

Katanes: Tannen City

Arta followed Shiran closely as he left the commercial district of Tannen City behind. It was quieter here, and the buildings weren’t so tall, but there was an oppressive stillness in the air. For all that they were shorter, the buildings here seemed to loom in a way that the ones before hadn’t, and their faces seemed less neat, more… stained. Beside her, Karani pulled her cloak more tightly around herself and wrinkled her nose. Clearly, this part of the city wasn’t nearly as much to her liking.

Shiran rounded a corner and gestured for the girls to follow him; they found themselves in a narrow alley between buildings whose walls were lined with windows and balconies. All of them appeared tattered and worn down, and on some of the balconies and around the doors on ground level, Arta could see ragged human figures that regarded them with suspicion… and anger. They knew, Arta thought, that here were people who didn’t belong.

“Shiran?” Karani asked weakly, “why are we here?”

“Take a look,” he said softly. “There are places like this in every city on every world in the Dozen Stars and beyond. The poor, the destitute, the outcast – these are the people the system has failed. And this is far from the worst slum even in this city.”

“Why doesn’t Father do something?” Arta asked, finding her voice.

“He does,” Shiran said. “Your father puts as much of his resources into projects for public works and the air of the poor as any lord in this Kingdom, and a good deal more than most. But his resources are not infinite, and his power isn’t infinite, and there are many in the government and the guilds who aren’t so altruistic as he is. One person can only do so much, be he commoner, guildsman, baron, duke… or king. Remember that power has limits… and a price. While you live in luxury, people throughout your domain suffer. Never forget that – or that you have a duty to them.”

As soon as the professor finished speaking, he began to walk down the alley; Karani stepped forward and grabbed his sleeve. “What are you doing?” she hissed in his ear.

Shiran turned to look at her with an expression that could melt steel. “What little I can,” he said.

Arta didn’t know how long they spent in the alley, Shiran approaching each person in turn with his students hovering behind him like uncertain bodyguards. The people seemed nervous and suspicious at first, but also seemed afraid to refuse three people who looked like they obviously came from power, no matter how poorly they disguised it. But something in Shiran’s manner won them over, even if they kept shooting Arta and her sister dirty looks. Arta couldn’t hear everything he said, but he spoke kind and understanding words, and she thought she caught him pressing what looked like money into their hands. Finally, sighing, he stood and turned to leave, gesturing for the girls to follow him.

They had just left the mouth of the alley when Arta heard the sound of footsteps approaching. A number of tall men emerged from the shadows, taking up positions around them; Arta sucked in a breath and felt her body tense for a fight as she reflexively scooted close to Karani, who did the same. Shiran, however, didn’t seem either worried or surprised at this turn of events, merely wearied by it. “I thought this might happen,” Arta thought she heard him mutter.

“It’s dangerous to walk the streets at night, old man,” the apparent leader of the strangers said. He nodded towards Arta and Karani. “’Specially for old men and pretty girls. But we’re not monsters, whatever you think. Just some guys trying to earn a little honest living. So, rich man, if you empty your pockets for us, all three of you can walk away from this just fine.”

Arta scowled and clenched her fists at the man’s words, trying to still the nervous beating of her heart; Karani, meanwhile, just smirked and shot the closest gang member a look that Arta knew meant she’d already figured out which of his bones she was going to break first. Shiran, however, remained calm. “I don’t have much on me, I’m afraid,” he said. “And the girls have nothing. You’re not going to profit from this, so I suggest we all just walk away before anyone gets hurt.”

The gang leader smirked. “Funny,” he said. “But I don’t believe you.” He nodded at his men. “Search them. Whatever they’re hiding, I want.”

“I told you, we’re not hiding anything,” Shiran said mildly.

“And I told you, I don’t believe you,” the gang leader said. “Besides, couple of pretty rich girls? Bet their daddy or mommy will pay us big money to get them back. Step aside, old man, and maybe we’ll let you have a bit of the cut, if you really have as little as you say…”

Shiran’s face suddenly froze in a cold expression. “I would appreciate,” he said in that same, mild voice, “that you not threaten my students.” Arta suddenly knew something was about to happen, but before she could react, it was already over.

She didn’t even see Shiran move. One moment, he was standing there in front of the gang leader; the next he was shaking out his hand with an irritated expression on his face while the other man had collapsed in front of him, choking. It took Arta a moment to realize that the Professor had struck him in the throat with his fingers, moving faster than the eye could follow. The other gang members shied back, expressions uncertain as they looked from each other to the prone form of their boss.

Shiran knelt beside the fallen man and leaned close to his ear. “I know you’re not an evil man,” he said quietly. “I know that you feel you have no choice but to follow the path you have, and for that, I’ve shown you mercy. I have no patience for predators, but I believe that everyone can be educated. I hereby charge you with protecting this community and not preying on it. It won’t turn things around at once, but maybe it can be a start. I give you a chance to rethink your life and better yourself. If you don’t take advantage of it, I will know. Do you understand?”

The gang leader looked up and nodded. “Who the hells are you?” he rasped, rubbing his throat.

Shiran smiled. “Just a concerned citizen,” he said, and stood. The gang leader nodded at him and gestured towards his men, who parted and let the Professor through, Arta and Karani following close behind, shocked expressions still written on their faces.

///

Arta drummed her fingers on the arm of her seat, feeling the hum of the flitter’s engine beneath her as it flew them back towards home. Beside her, Karani sat staring out the window at the night sky as it whipped by; Shiran was up front at the controls. None of them spoke.

Her mind kept flashing back to the scene in the alley; the crushing poverty in the slums, Shiran’s kindness, the gang and the sudden violence… Arta clenched her hand into a fist. Inside, she vowed that she wouldn’t forget what she’d seen tonight, that she’d never be the sort of noble who sat back and let their people suffer. We she came of age, she would do all that she could to help those who lacked any recourse to help themselves. Then she shook her head, chuckling darkly at the thought. She wasn’t going to inherit anything, and likely would never hold real power. Any vows she made to herself were hollow and empty.

“How did you do it?” she finally asked Shiran, startling herself by breaking the silence but glad that she’d gotten her thoughts onto a less unsettling track. Karani turned to look at her curiously; up front, Shiran merely shrugged.

“What do you mean?” he asked mildly.

“You know what I mean,” Arta snapped, sounding more irritated than she’d meant to. “When you fought that guy by the alley; you took him down like it was nothing, but I couldn’t even follow what you did.”

“An Adept’s trick,” he said after a pause; Karani frowned at the realization that this wasn’t something she could learn. “It’s not terribly complicated to speed up your own movements, though I don’t want you trying it yet, Arta – you can pull your muscles very easily if you get it wrong. Not very glamorous, I’m afraid.” Something tingled at the back of Arta’s mind – somewhere, she’d seen someone move like that before – but she shook her head, deciding it was only a figment of her imagination.

“You know what I think?” Karani asked. “I think you could have taken them all out. Why didn’t you?”

“Because I don’t like to use violence when I don’t have to,” Shiran said. “Once the gang saw what I could do, they decided we were rather more than they felt like handling. People like that aren’t usually evil by nature; they’re desperate, just like everyone else in that area, and in their desperation turned on their own people to survive.” He paused, and though Arta couldn’t see his face, she thought he was frowning. “I hope I shocked them into rethinking their lives, unfortunately, in places where there is that kind of poverty, crime will likely always flourish.” Arta could hear the anger that underlay his voice.

“Someone should stop it!” Karani said suddenly. “Someone should go in there and… and clean out the gangs and make peoples’ lives better!”

Shiran sighed sadly. “You can’t solve all the worlds’ ills with money and power, Karani,” he said. “And those who think they know what’s best and have the power to try and force it to come true frighten me far more than all the petty criminals in the galaxy.”

Arta digested that in silence the rest of the way home.

///

Their father was waiting for them in the entry hall when they arrived at the palace, standing patiently with his arms folded behind him. When he saw his daughters, he smiled. “Ah, back at last,” he said, before nodding to Shiran. “And so, how was your evening?” The Baron turned and began to walk along the hall, both girls taking up positions just beside him.

“It was amazing!” Karani said excitedly. “We ate at a diner and walked all through the commercial district and saw all sorts of people and Shiran fought some gangsters and I got a new hat!” She gestured to the colorful creation that now adorned her head; the Baron’s eyebrows rose slightly at the sight of it, and then he seemed to process the rest of her sentence.

“Shiran fought what?” he asked and turned to look at the Professor over his shoulder. “I hope you didn’t take them anywhere too dangerous. Brawling in the streets is not what I had in mind for the evening.”

“It was a minor disagreement,” the older man said. “Besides, you know I prefer a more hands-on approach. They won’t be children forever, Varas,” he added, his voice softening. “Your girls need to know the people they are going to lead someday – the good and the bad. You know this as well as I do.”

The Baron sighed. “You’re right, of course,” he said. “But, it’s a father’s right to worry.”

“We were fine, really,” Karani said, seeming to have recovered completely from whatever dark thoughts had occupied her on the flitter.

“I know,” the Baron said, smiling. “I never doubted it.” He turned towards Arta. “You seem awfully quiet. What’s on your mind?”

Arta regarded her foster-father’s face carefully for a long while. “I think,” she finally said, “that the Professor wanted to get us thinking about responsibility. A good leader can’t shut herself up in her palace and let the galaxy go by – she has to take responsibility for the people who’ve been trusted to her care, understand them, and understand that her duty is to them first. But she also has to be careful to not take too much responsibility, because one person can’t save everyone.”

The Baron regarded her thoughtfully, then he smiled and clapped her on the shoulder. “There’s my thoughtful girl,” he said. “Now, then I don’t know about all of you, but I think it’s rather late and past time we retired. Off to bed with you both.”

Karani rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath, but gave her father a quick hug, which Arta did in turn. The two girls waved goodbye to Shiran and then they turned together and headed towards the lift that would take them to their rooms.

Unnoticed by either of them, the Baron and the Professor watched them go and shared a meaningful glance before heading to their own rooms for the night.

///

The Ducal Palace of Sakran was located at the heart of the capital city of the planet that bore its name, surrounded by a well-tended park on all sides. The city’s wealthy and elite came here often to relax and walk among the trees, and to trade secrets with each other for their intrigues; it was rumored that the only reason Duke Naudar permitted it was because he had listening devices hidden among the trees and took the opportunity to listen into plots his subordinates made when they thought his attention was elsewhere.

There were a few of those lesser nobles out at the moment, late in the planet’s evening; none of them noticed the dark figure who glided among the trees, unless they felt a sense of quiet dread but were ignorant of its source. Wrapped in her shadowed cloak, Midaia – once Sister Midaia of the Convent of the Holy Light, and before that Princess Midaia ast Carann – ignored them all, making a straight line for the Ducal Palace.

Emerging from the trees, she found herself on the open plaza that surrounded the lavish residence and was intended to ensure that no intruder could approach the palace without being seen by the guards that regularly patrolled it. But then, most intruders weren’t Adepts, and Midaia had long made a habit of intruding into places where she was neither expected nor welcome. Wrapped in her own thought, she went entirely unnoticed by the guards she passed until she came to the base of the fence that surrounded the palace proper; a more formidable defense than it looked, for it was designed to electrify any living thing that touched it.

To Midaia, it was no barrier at all; she took a moment to focus her mind and draw strength before vaulting over the fence as effortlessly as if it had been knee-high, leaving no trace of her passage save for a rustling in the wind. Landing on the other side, she hurried to the palace doors and waited there quietly for several minutes, until a servant came out on some errand and she was able to slip inside.

The interior of the palace had a rather lavish, baroque style – Naudar ast Sakran considered himself a man of refinement, though Midaia didn’t think much of his taste. She crept along the main hallway until she came to a side passage, and then quickly flattened herself against the wall as two people approached, talking quietly to each other. When they got close enough for her to get a good look at them, she smiled under her hood – exactly the sort she’d been hoping to find.

The man was tall and well-built and wore a uniform of military cut; he looked about twenty. The woman was a year or two younger and wore an elegant gown, but there was a calculating air to her expression that showed she was no fainting court flower. Midaia recognized them both – Darius and Tariti, Naudar’s elder son and only daughter.

“…hope Father will be returning soon,” Darius was saying. “It’s high time we showed these criminals who really runs the Dozen Stars.”

“And to think that the pirate nest would be right on the borders of our own duchy!” Tariti said with an exaggerated shudder. “Awful idea, don’t you agree?”

“It’s an insult, is what it is,” Darius muttered angrily. “But Father will sort them out, don’t you worry. He and the Regent are two of the greatest warriors in the Kingdom, whatever that upstart Respen says. Regardless of Mardoban’s politics, the two of them together should be a match for any enemy up to the Emperor himself.”

Midaia’s ears pricked at that; so, Mardoban and Naudar were finally planning on doing something about those pirates everyone was so worked up about lately. She’d heard wild rumors about the mysterious Commander they answered to; she hoped there was enough left of him when the dukes were done for her to have a chance to see for herself if they were true. Still, that wasn’t why she’d come here – her interest was on a more lofty prize.

“And when Father does get back?” Tariti pressed, and Midaia smiled – that was more to her liking. “Has he told you if he still means to go through with his plans?”

“For the tournament, you mean?” Darius asked, laughing. “He didn’t say anything, but I think he means to propose the idea to the council if the operation against the pirates is a success. I hope he does; I look forward to it!”

A tournament… Midaia frowned. If Naudar needed the council’s approval, that meant a Kingdom-wide competition, such as hadn’t been held since the Queen died. It was no surprise Darius was excited at the prospect; she’d never seen him fight, but she’d heard he was a terror with the dueling sword, and his younger siblings were supposed to be similarly talented. But what did the Duke hope to gain from such a move?

“Good,” Tariti said, drawing the watcher’s attention back to the conversation. “The throne has stood empty for too long, I say. It’s high time we had a King or Queen again – and it’s long overdue for our house to have a chance at it. Do you think you can win us a throne, dear brother?”

Darius grinned roguishly. “It hurts that you’d even have to ask, dear sister,” he said. “But for all we know, I’d meet my match. Let the best man – or woman – win, as I say.”

Midaia drew a sudden, sharp breath. So, she thought. Naudar’s ambitions were clear – the duke would be king, or have his eldest son be king, which would amount to the same thing. How, exactly, he intended to accomplish that by a tournament, Midaia was uncertain – the two young fools, overconfident in the safety of their own home, had been a valuable resource so far, but maybe…

Tariti had paused suddenly, her eyes scanning the shadows, and Midaia realized belatedly that the girl must have heard her breath – damnation her and her sharp ears. The duke’s daughter frowned. “Did you hear something, Darius?” she asked. “I thought I did. I think someone’s there.”

“Dammit,” the elder brother muttered. “Who’s there? Guards! We may have an intruder; I want the entire palace searched!”

Cursing under her breath, Midaia turned and hurried down the hallway – the more someone was alert and looking for someone suspicious, the more likely it would be that they could see through her Adept’s arts and notice her. Still, it wasn’t as bad as it could be – the guards had no idea who they were looking for, so they weren’t as likely as they might be to penetrate her disguise. Ducking down another corridor, she doubled back and found herself once again in the main hall, now milling with guards, none of whom, thankfully, knew they were looking for a pale woman in a dark cloak. It took all of her considerable effort of will, but the disguise held; she was able to slip through the guards unnoticed and out of the palace and into the gardens.

There, breathing heavily in relief against a tree, she took a long moment to collect herself, sort through what she had just overheard – and wonder what the implications of it were for her own plans, for Shiran’s, and, of course, for Arta’s future.

 

 

[MasterGhandalf]

Not a new chapter today, but playing around with the Sci-Fi Warrior character creators on AzaleasDolls, I was able to come up with some rough portraits for some of my characters; not super accurate from the limitations of the program, but close enough for a rough idea. Here's Arta, Mardoban, and Midaia, with potentially more to come later.

Edited February 24, 2018 by MasterGhandalf

[MasterGhandalf]

This time, new chapter!

Spoiler

Chapter 16

System B-1356, Pirate Base

Lights flickered on the edge of barren system as warships dropped from jump and back into normal space. Three, four, six, ten; they formed into a wedge, the first ship in the lead, and began to slowly make their way towards the asteroid where the pirate base lay hidden. Elsewhere in the system, two other battlegroups of comparable strength also appeared, moving on a trajectory that would bring them together with the base in the middle. The pirates would be struck from three sides at once; hopefully, before they knew what had hit them.

On the bridge of the lead ship, Aestera’s Legacy flagship of the Orlanes home fleet, Mardoban stood with his arms crossed, staring out the front viewports in anticipation, though the asteroid was still too far away for the naked eye to make out. Gilgam stood at his side, and around them the bridge crew busied themselves at their stations, preparing for battle. A few moments after they appeared in the system, a holo of Kallistrae flickered into existence by the viewport, joined almost immediately by another, this one of Naudar. The old duke was tapping his fingers on the handle of his cane in anticipation.

“Well,” Naudar said, “here we are. No sign of the pirates yet on this end, Mardoban, but I’ll take your word that they’re there. Advancing now.”

“No sign of the enemy yet here, either,” said Kallistrae, who had command of the Tantos forces since Mardoban had joined up with his own battlegroup from Orlanes. “We are advancing towards the base.”

“Hmmm.” Mardoban stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I don’t like this. Could they know we’re coming, and have a trap waiting? I wouldn’t put it past the Commander. Keep your eyes peeled, all of you. I don’t trust this.”

“Neither do I,” Naudar said. “I don’t doubt that between the three of us we’re a match for anything in their arsenal, but I don’t intend to give the Commander the chance to even the odds either.”

“Just be cautious,” Mardoban repeated. “We want to end this today.”

The three battlegroups approached slowly, cautiously, and Mardoban could feel the tension building as the faint speck that was the pirate asteroid grew larger in his viewport. Still no sign of activity from the enemy, but the regent knew in his bones that the pirates were there, waiting. There was no possibility of this ending in anything less than a battle, not with those assassins and their Commander in play. His hands tightened into fists. Anticipation at having a chance for justice at last warned with his instinct that things weren’t as they seemed.

The asteroid grew larger; now, with magnification, Mardoban could make out its shape and the smaller asteroids that hung in its orbit. Per the scanner’s report, some of those had cannon hidden on them. The duke smiled calmly. He had plans in mind for those.

As if conjured by his thought, light suddenly flashed on the surface of one of the smaller asteroids. “Cannons firing!” one of the bridge officers called. “Prepare for impact!”

The Legacy shuddered as the blast impacted, but the ship’s shields held. Mardoban smiled. “Now, while they’re recharging,” he ordered. “Let’s give them a taste of some of ours, shall we?”

“EMP missiles, fire!” a lieutenant shouted; from the Legacy and the two warships that flanked her, projectiles shot in a silvery wash of light. A moment later, they impacted on the smaller asteroids and exploded, shrouding them in crackling electricity. Most warships were shielded against such attacks, as the Tantan ships had demonstrated during the last encounter with the pirates; fighters were too maneuverable to be reliably targeted, but stationary weapons emplacements couldn’t be moved, and it was difficult – not impossible, but difficult – to fit them with the proper protections. If they were lucky, the pirates’ cannon would be of that type. If not… Mardoban turned to the lieutenant.

“Report,” he said. “Are those cannon out of commission?”

“Sensors indicate cannon are… down, my lord!” the lieutenant responded; across the bridge, the other crewmembers raised their fists and shouted triumphantly.

“What about on your end?” the duke asked, turning to Naudar and Kallistrae. “Did the cannon give you any trouble?”

“No, Regent,” Kallistrae said. “Cannon are disabled.”

“On our front as well,” Naudar said. “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves; we took out only one of their defenses. This is far from over.”

“My lord!” another officer shouted suddenly, “we have multiple drive signatures from the pirate base. Enemy fighters inbound!”

“And here they are,” Mardoban muttered. “I want our own fighters scrambled, now! We don’t want any of them to get through!”

“Scrambling fighters, my lord!” the officer called; a moment later, smaller ships were pouring from the hangars of the Legacy and the other warships, meeting the enemy advance just before it reached them. The space outside of the viewport was filled with flashing lights and shapes moving too fast for the naked eye to follow, a chaotic dance of destruction.

“Enemy fighters here, too,” Kallistrae said. “We’ve met them with our own; we’ve got more, but it looks like theirs have been modified to move faster and do more damage; I’ve never seen anything quite like these readings before!”

“I’m seeing the same,” said Naudar. “That’s got to be an unstable combination; those fighters could easily overheat and destroy themselves, drawing that kind of power. As much a danger to themselves as they are to us!”

“Somehow I doubt the Commander much cares if he risks the lives of his own men so long as he gets to kill us,” Mardoban said. “And I also doubt he told them he was sticking them in flying death traps. He’s using them, though what his goal is I’m still not sure.” He turned to the nearby lieutenant. “Any sign of their other ships yet?”

“No… wait,” the officer said slowly. “I’m seeing several of the modified transports hanging back from the battle and not advancing yet – and none of the big ones. I wonder what they’re waiting for?”

“The fighters are stalling us,” Mardoban muttered. “Trying to keep us away from the base while they prepare something else? But what?”

“Wait a minute, my lord,” Gilgam said suddenly. “The larger ships – they have the cloaking devices, right? Well, doesn’t that mean they could be anywhere right now? What if all the rest… it’s not stalling…”

“It’s misdirection,” Mardoban muttered. “Lord…”

The duke’s voice trailed off suddenly as the Legacy was rocked by a sudden blast. Mardoban fell back, only for Gilgam to catch and stabilize him; he saw the crew knocked back and forth in their seats; the lights flickered overhead and then resumed their usual, steady course. “What in the Evil One’s name was that?” Mardoban demanded. “What hit us?”

“Torpedo, sir!” the lieutenant called. “It came from…” the young woman paled and swallowed. “It came from one of the larger pirate ships, my lord. When they fired, it must have dropped their cloak. They’re… they’re right on top of us.”

“Evasive action, now!” Mardoban shouted, steadying himself against a console as the ship shifted suddenly; not fast enough. The Legacy shuddered as more torpedoes impacted on her shields, and warning sirens sounded through the bridge. The duke fell to his knees and grabbed a hold of the corner of the console for support. “What’s the situation, dammit?” he demanded.

“Three of the pirates’ custom warships have come out of cloak right above our formation, my lord!” an officer called. “Two of them are targeting the rest of the battlegroup, keeping them away from us; they’ve launched more fighters. The third is directly above the Legacy and is pummeling us with everything they have. Data indicates it’s the same one from the Tantos system. Shields are holding, for now.”

“Well, return fire, then!” Mardoban snapped, his demeanor frayed almost to the breaking point. “Get them before they get us, and try to get further out of their range!”

“We’re firing back, sir!” the young lieutenant said. “But their shields are still holding; it’s a custom model the computer doesn’t recognize, so Lord only knows how long it’ll hold.”

“The Commander must have found a way to disable our tracker without alerting the guilds,” Mardoban muttered. “That’s how he was able to move his ship around without giving it away. And now he’s got us exactly where he wants us.”

“You guessed so well, Regent,” a mechanical voice said; Mardoban went cold as he recognized it. “Now all that remains is to wipe your ship, and you, from the stars once and for all – as I did to your Queen fifteen years ago.”

“Commander,” the duke said as calmly as he could, fighting down the urge to rise to the bait. The man wanted Mardoban to lose control and let himself be blinded by anger, and he didn’t intend to give him the satisfaction. “You have to know you can’t win this. Even if you kill me, you’re facing the combined forces of three duchies with a handful of custom ships and some captured freighters. There’s only one way this battle ends.”

“Perhaps,” the Commander said. “But frankly, Regent, your life is a suitable prize so far as I’m concerned. I told you once before that I want to bring chaos and fear to your Kingdom. You’re the closest thing to a ruler it currently has; I think killing you would satisfy that goal. Once you’re dead, I can retreat and rebuild elsewhere. And it’s only a matter of time. You were a fool to come here, Mardoban. This is my territory, and this time, it was my trap. Not yours.”

“How has this Kingdom wronged you?” Mardoban demanded. “Why do you hate us so much?”

The Commander’s tinny voice gave a laugh. “You assume too much. I don’t hate the Dozen Stars; I merely stand to profit from its fall. And those of my men who survive this battle shall profit as well – I’ve promised them that much.”

“Profit?” Mardoban asked. “How?”

“Fishing for information, are we?” the Commander asked. “I think not. I’m afraid I tire of our little chat. It’s time for you to die. Goodbye, Regent.” The commline gave a short burst of static and went dead.

“Nasty brute,” Gilgam muttered.

“Yes,” Mardoban said slowly. “Lieutenant, can you trace his connection? What ship was he calling from?”

“The lead one,” the lieutenant said after a moment. “The one currently shelling us into oblivion.”

“And our shields?”

“Currently at forty percent,” the lieutenant said, and then she swallowed. “And falling.”

Mardoban nodded. “And do we have any EMP bombs left?”

“Just three,” the lieutenant said slowly, understanding dawning on her features.

“They out-power us ship to ship,” Mardoban said. “A warship of that size is probably shielded against EMP bursts, but if we detonate all three of our warheads at them at once, it may be strong enough to knock out their shields and weapons for a short moment.”

Gilgam nodded. “And then we can blast them to hell when the enemy’s still trying to figure out what happened.”

“Lieutenant,” Mardoban said, “fire all three of the EMP bombs straight at the pirate ship. If its shields go down, channel all of our power into our guns and blast them with all we’ve got. It may be our only chance.”

“Yes, sir,” the lieutenant said; her fingers flew across her console, and then she nodded. “EMP bombs armed.”

“Our shields down to thirty percent!” another officer called; Mardoban looked at Gilgam, then back to the lieutenant, and nodded.

“Fire,” he said.

On the nearest display, the duke watched as the missiles shot from the Legacy and arced towards the pirate ship, his breath held tightly. A moment later, they impacted; the display representing the enemy ship seemed to shimmer – and then the corona of light that represented its shields vanished. The plan had worked.

“All batteries, fire, now!” he shouted. “Before she recovers!”

Suddenly, the enemy ship shuddered in space, rocked back by a powerful barrage of energy blasts and torpedoes. The lieutenant looked over at Mardoban, confused. “That wasn’t us, sir,” she said.

“Actually, it was me,” a familiar voice said, and Naudar’s holo shimmered back into existence, the duke himself looking extremely self-satisfied. “Did the Commander really think that a handful of modified freighters and a swarm of fighters would be enough to hold back the Sakran fleet for long? Apparently he wasted his strongest weapons on you, Mardoban. His mistake.”

“Yes, indeed,” the regent said, sighing; never had he been so glad to hear Naudar’s voice. “What’s the condition of the pirate ship?”

“Damaged, but operational,” the lieutenant said.

“Let’s remedy that, shall we?” Mardoban asked. “On my mark – fire!”

“Fire!” Naudar shouted at the same instant. From both the Legacy and the Sakran flagship beams of energy lanced; the pirate vessel, fighting two foes instead of one, stumbled in space, venting atmosphere and fire from scars along its flanks. Barrage after barrage struck it, not giving it the chance to retaliate. Mardoban smiled coolly.

“You are a fool,” the Commander’s voice suddenly said over the comm. “You have no idea what is about to be brought to bear against you. Your Kingdom is doomed, Regent, and I regret only that I’ll not be there to see it-“

“I,” Mardoban said, “am getting very sick of that man. I think one more volley should do it. Fire”

Another barrage of light lanced through the pirate vessel before it burst apart, an explosion of fire and twisted metal that hung in space like a new star, and then faded.

///

With the destruction of the Commander’s flagship, the battle turned against the pirate fleet. The remaining two custom ships were caught between the Legacy and Naudar and the rest of the battlegroup and were swiftly pummeled into oblivion; once they were destroyed, some of the captured transports fought on, but several more surrendered. Before long, the battle on Mardoban’s front was over, and the Duke soon received word from Kallistrae that she, like Naudar, had success with little difficulty.

Something, however, was gnawing at the back of Mardoban’s mind as he disembarked from one of the Legacy’s shuttles where it had docked in the pirate base’s main hangar and marched out into the asteroid; something that rubbed him wrong about this entire operation. Looking around at the efficient, militaristic design of the base and remembering the obvious quality and power of the custom warships, he found himself frowning.

“It was too easy,” he muttered.

“What was that, sir?” Gilgam asked from beside him.

“Look at the scale of this operation,” the regent said. “Whoever put this together had resources and access to advanced technology; they were able to put together a military body a match for any in the Dozen Stars. They should have fought harder.”

Gilgam raised his eyebrow. “Pardon me, sir, but they nearly killed us. Seems like they fought pretty hard to me.”

Mardoban shook his head, still unable to articulate the feeling of wrongness that this whole situation had left him with. Scowling, he turned to where another shuttle had just landed and saw Naudar descending from it, his cane tapping on the metal ramp, with a young man the regent vaguely recognized as one of Pakorus’s schoolmates from the Academy following behind.

“My youngest, Galen,” Naudar said, gesturing at the boy. “I thought it was time he got some actual experience in war, since he’ll likely have to lead fleets in his own right one day.”

Mardoban frowned at the thought of bringing a teenager into battle, but said nothing. “Are your other children well?” he asked.

“They are,” Naudar said. “I left Darius in charge in my absence. And Pakorus?”

“Doing well,” Mardoban said. Naudar nodded and looked around.

“Quite the operation they had here,” he said. “Impressive, for a backwater crew like this. I wonder where they got the finances for it?”

“That’s what we hope to find out,” Mardoban said. “Whatever we find, I’ll share with you and Tantos, as you both helped take the pirate operation down.”

Galen ast Sakran snorted at that, clearly of the opinion that he and his father had done more than merely ‘help’, but Naudar put a restraining hand on his shoulder. “Steady son,” he said. “The regent is merely being polite.” He smiled, but his eyes were still cool and appraising; Mardoban couldn’t help but wonder what schemes were taking form in the mind behind them.

“Your Graces!” a voice called, and both dukes turned to see Kallistrae hurrying towards them. “We’ve completed our sweep of the base, and we’ve found some… irregularities.”

“What do you mean?” Mardoban asked, frowning.

“So far as we can tell, the base is completely deserted,” the knight said. “And the armory is empty. It looks as though the pirates put their entire force into their fleet.”

“Strange,” Mardoban said. “You’d think they’d leave at least someone behind to run the base, and guard it. Was the Commander that confident in his armada? No, he seemed like he knew there was a good chance he wouldn’t win. So what was his game?”

“We’ll question the pirates who surrendered to us,” Naudar said. “Perhaps they know something – or can give us some clues in what they don’t know. I recommend you do the same, Orlanes.”

“Yes,” Mardoban said, nodding. “Kallistrae, were you able to get into their system?”

Kallistrae nodded. “Yes, but it’s encrypted,” she said. “It’ll take time to crack it. Duke Hiram has connections in the Information and Technology Guild who may be able to help.”

“Do it,” Mardoban said, though inwardly he was troubled by Hiram’s reliance on the guilds. A matter for another time. “Did you find anything else?”

“Nothing of interest,” Kallistrae said. “We’ll send you a full rundown when we have it.”

“Well, then,” Mardoban said, “it looks like we’ve done all we can for now. I’ll leave a force here to occupy the base in case any pirates we missed try to return, and make my report to the council.” He turned to Naudar. “A pleasure working with you, Sakran.”

Naudar nodded. “An honor, Orlanes.” He turned to walk back to his shuttle and gestured for Galen to follow, then looked back over his shoulder at Mardoban. “When you call the council to session, I have something I intend to present to them as well. I think you’ll find it interesting.” Before Mardoban could reply the Duke of Sakran and his son were climbing back up the ramp into their shuttle, and it closed behind them.

“What,” Gilgam said quietly, “was that about?”

Mardoban only frowned silently.

///

From where his last warship was cloaked at the edge of the system that had once served as his base, the Commander sat back in his chair and looked over his shoulder at Two. “Well?” he asked. “Did you find my death scene convincing?”

“Personally, I thought it was somewhat overdone,” she said. “Do you think that the regent fell for it, though? That seems the more relevant question.”

“I routed my signal through the lead ship,” the Commander said. “The regent’s instruments would have told him I was speaking to him from there. Our soldiers who surrendered to him will corroborate my story; with the flagship’s destruction, there are none living who don’t believe I was on board. Perhaps he’ll suspect the truth, but all available evidence will point to my death. I don’t intend to give him time to learn otherwise.”

“Bold words for a man who has lost most of his fleet,” Two said; the Commander felt a sharp spike of anger rise in him at her words, but he held it in check. From her, at least, he would endure the truth – telling it when no others dared was, after all, part of her job.

“The fleet was not lost,” the Commander said. “It was sacrificed. The fleet was an accessory, never more than that. The true strength of our operation lies in ourselves, our technology, and our resources – and none of them are exhausted. Our mission isn’t over. The tactic of piracy had merely played itself to its inevitable conclusion – it was not our goal.”

Two’s blank mask inclined in acknowledgment. “What, then, is our next move?” she asked.

“I will contact our backer and explain the situation,” the Commander said. “We’ll receive our next orders then. But for now, let the regent think he won. He’ll learn otherwise soon.”

“Yes, sir!” Two snapped to a salute, then turned and left the bridge, leaving the Commander staring out into the darkness of space, an intensity behind the mask that concealed his expression that would show to any who might observe him that this was far from a beaten man.

  

 

[MasterGhandalf]

New chapter!

Spoiler

Chapter Seventeen

Arta stepped into the dining hall, dim morning light shining through the windows, to find that her foster-father and sister were both already seated at their customary spots. The Baron merely looked calmly pleased, while Karani was idly toying with a pastry on her plate without eating it. When she looked up and saw Arta, she smiled broadly. “Finally!” she said. “Father’s got something he wants to tell us, and he wasn’t going to say it until you got here, sleepyhead. I’m dying of anticipation!”

“Well, I’m glad to relieve you,” Arta said, smiling, as she seated herself across from her sister while a serving mech glided over with her plate. She didn’t mention that she’d barely gotten any sleep last night, her dreams filled with half-remembered snatches of fire, threatening figures in masks, and a black-clad woman who had become a fixture of her nightmares lately, even though she was certain she’d never met anyone like her in the waking world. When she’d finally gotten herself to sleep, she’d been determined to stay that way as long as possible. But while there were things one could share with Karani, admitting to being troubled over nothing worse than bad dreams would be an opening for more teasing than Arta cared to deal with.

“I,” the Baron said after a long moment of regarding his foster-daughter carefully, “have just received word from the Duke ast Tantos. It seems that a combined force of Tantos, Sakran, and Orlanes troops under the command of the regent himself tracked the pirate gang who have been giving us all so much grief to their lair and delivered them a devastating defeat. Duke Hiram believes that the pirate threat may be finished for good, or at least weakened so greatly as to not present a serious problem again.”

“Yes!” Karani said, pumping her fist in the air; Arta smiled at the sight, as her foster-sister had confessed just yesterday that she was sick of hearing about the pirates and was liable to throw something if she heard one more word about them. Arta herself, however, was less excited; she had a feeling this wasn’t the end of Father’s news.

“Duke Hiram shares your excitement, Karani,” the Baron said, chuckling softly. “Which is why he’s invited all of his liege nobles to Tantos to celebrate ‘the downfall of the pirate scourge and a return to normalcy.’ That, obviously, includes me, and, since I think you’re both old enough now, I’ve decided I’m bringing you along. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

“Mind?” Karani echoed in disbelief. “Of course I don’t mind!” She turned to her sister. “Did you hear that, Arta? We’re going to a party! On Tantos!”

“Sounds like fun,” Arta said flatly. In truth, being stuck in a room full of obnoxious people who only cared about impressing each other was about as unpleasant an evening as she could imagine, but seeing the excitement in Karani’s eyes, she couldn’t bring herself to say that out loud.

“Oh, don’t be such a spoilsport,” Karani said, then turned back to their father. “When are we leaving?”

“It takes some time to get to Tantos from Katanes, so we’ll be leaving this afternoon. We’ll be gone for several days, so you might want to start packing.”

“Packing?” a panicked look crossed Karani’s face as she suddenly realized she only had a few hours to get her things together; she bolted up from the table, grabbed Arta’s arm, and hurried her off out the dining hall; Arta barely had time to grab one of her pastries from her plate as she was dragged away.

In the corridor outside, Arta managed to get herself free of Karani’s grip and eat her pastry as her sister paced back and forth beside her, muttering about her dresses and wondering if she needed to take her practice sword, too. “I don’t think anyone’s going to be challenging you to any duels,” Arta said, laughing, as she finished her breakfast. “Even if you take the sword, I wouldn’t recommend wearing it to the party.”

“You don’t know that,” Karani said defensively. “Besides, I saw a holo of Lady Kallistrae on the news awhile ago, and she wears a sword with her dresses.”

“Lady Kallistrae is a knight,” Arta said. “You’re a teenager. I don’t think ‘deadly weapon’ and ‘formal attire’ go together at our age.”

“Details, details,” Karani said airily, waving a hand in the air. “Now, come on. We don’t want to be late, do we?”

///

Several hours later, Arta and Karani rode the lift down to the hangar under the palace, followed by the servant mechs who carried their bags. The doors whirred open in front of them and they stepped out into the long, open chamber whose sides were lined mostly with the family’s various flitters but also a handful of genuine starships – including, near the far end, the Twilight Dagger, a sleek silver craft beside which their father waited. The Baron didn’t notice their approach at first, as he was deep in conversation with another person; when he turned away to greet his daughters, Arta saw that it was Shiran.

“Wait,” Karani said, “is he coming too? I’m seventeen, not seven – I don’t need a chaperone.”

The Baron merely snorted quietly at that – apparently, their father’s opinion of the amount of mischief Karani was capable of even with a chaperone was on roughly the same level as Arta’s own feelings on the matter – but he shook his head. “The Professor has some business he’d like to take care of on Tantos,” he said, “and I offered to give him a ride. He’s not here to watch anyone.”

Karani looked over at Arta and grinned, then turned to Shiran. “What sort of business do you have, anyway?” she asked.

Arta winced, but Shiran smiled calmly. “Personal,” he said, his tone making it clear it was all he intended to say on the subject.

“Well, best get on board, then,” the Baron said. “We don’t want to keep His Grace Duke Hiram waiting. And I’m sure you’re both excited to be off.” Noting Karani’s enthusiastic nod, and Arta’s somewhat less enthusiastic one, he turned and walked up the ramp onto the ship, his daughters and the Professor trailing behind. Inside the craft’s main body, Arta seated herself by a window and strapped in, while her serving mech stowed her luggage; Karani took the seat behind her. The Baron conferred with the pilot up front for a few moments, then joined them.

Moments later, the Dagger was in motion; staring out the window, Arta watched as it shot out of the hangar, and then as the familiar landscape of Katanes shrank away beneath them. After a few minutes, they were out of the atmosphere and into orbit – and then, with a shudder that seemed to fill the entire vessel and rattled Arta to her bones, the ship jumped, leaving the planet far behind.

///

Arta snapped awake suddenly, heart racing as she sat up in her seat aboard the Twilight Dagger and gasped for breath. The cabin’s interior was dark and still, the windows closed during the jump, and she was the only one who was awake. Karani lay sprawled in her seat nearby, while the Baron was snoring quietly up front. Arta looked around the cabin and sighed, breathing deeply and using some of the techniques Shiran had taught her to calm her nerves; slowly, she felt her composure return.

The dreams again, she was certain, only this time she couldn’t remember much at all, save for a feeling of some terrible danger that she was rushing towards with no hope of avoidance or escape. Was she really that nervous about Duke Hiram’s stupid party? She didn’t think that was it, somehow, but still, she couldn’t place her finger on what was troubling her.

In any case, though a quick check of the Dagger’s flight path on the screen built into her seat’s armrest showed that they were still hours out from Tantos, Arta was certain she wasn’t going to be able to get back to sleep any time soon. Sighing, she stood and turned to walk back to the cabin’s rear where the lavatory was located, only to run almost directly into someone blocking her way. Arta gave a startled gasp; it seemed she wasn’t the only one awake after all.

Shiran looked down at her and smiled. “Trouble sleeping?” he asked.

“Yes,” Arta confessed, her heart hammering in shock once again. “Bad dreams,” she admitted, expecting that the Professor would think she was childish for letting something that inconsequential get to her. Instead, he merely frowned thoughtfully.

“Walk with me,” Shiran said, turning back towards the rear of the cabin and gesturing for Arta to follow. She did so, and they passed the lavatory and entered a second, smaller cabin dominated by a small round table with several chairs around it; Shiran seated himself in one, and Arta took another that was across from him.

“How long has this been bothering you?” he asked simply once they were both situated.

Arta shrugged. “A few days,” she said. “I can’t remember much; snatches of images, feelings. Anxiety, dread, and… inevitability, I guess. A feeling that something is coming, something bad, and there’s nothing I – or you, or Father, or anyone – can do to stop it.”

Shiran sighed. “I had a feeling something like this might start happening,” he said; when he didn’t elaborate further, Arta frowned.

“What do you mean?” she asked, and then, suddenly, she remembered something he’d mentioned once and the pieces seemed to fall into place. “This is about my being an Adept, isn’t it? You said that there were stories of Adepts dreaming the future. You also said that those stories weren’t generally considered true,” she added, rather accusatorily.

“Most Adepts can’t see the future clearly,” Shiran said. “There are legends, of course, but generally speaking, Adepts only experience what you described. Brief images, powerful feelings. Any or all of which are as likely to be metaphors as facts, and completely unreliable in any case. The future is shaped by countless interrelated actions, Arta – from human actions to natural forces, and trying to predict where that will lead can be very difficult. More than one Adept has been troubled for years by visions that never end up coming to pass. In short, the ability is unreliable, often unpleasant, and I’ve never put much stock in it. If you want to predict the future, a keen eye and a clever mind will serve you better than an Adept’s gifts.”

“Now you tell me,” Arta muttered as she digested this information. “So, you don’t think that this has anything to do with us going to Tantos? That’s what I was worried about, that we were walking into some kind of catastrophe.”

Shiran was silent for a long moment before he answered. “It’s possible,” he said slowly, “but I doubt it. As I said, these dreams and visions are unreliable, and if they do come true, they usually foretell something further in the future than a few days. And it’s entirely possible the dreams have nothing to do with your future at all. The cosmos, it so happens, is remarkably unconcerned with the small matters that occupy individual human lives. Just because you’ve touched some deeper level of awareness doesn’t mean that you’ve found information that’s actually relevant to you.”

“I’m not sure whether to be relieved or offended by that,” Arta said. “But is it at least possible to block these things out so that I can get some sleep? If I meet Duke Hiram with dark circles under my eyes and yawning every few minutes, Karani isn’t going to let me hear the end of it. Ever.”

Shiran smiled. “There are certain meditative techniques I’ve found useful. I can teach you some basic exercises, if you like. They should help some.”

Arta breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Professor,” she said. Then she paused, regarding his face for a long, silent moment before she asked the question that had been hovering in the back of her mind for the entire conversation. “Have you ever dreamed the future? Or have you just read about it?”

Shiran went still, and Arta could almost see the conflict behind his eyes – then, in a flash, it was gone, and he merely sighed deeply. “Once,” he said, “when I was younger than you are now, I had a vision. I saw two great beasts – creatures from my home world, you wouldn’t have heard of them – doing battle, and in the end, one devoured the other and reigned supreme over all it saw. The experience was so powerful that when I woke I couldn’t drive it from my thoughts, no matter how hard I tried. I told the dream to my good friend, and he believed it spoke to him of his destiny. From that belief came many terrible things that followed; one of my greatest regrets is that I didn’t stay silent. If you want to know why I don’t put much stock in dreams and visions, that’s why. Knowledge of the future is a poor guide for actions; life and experience are better. Remember that, Arta.”

Arta nodded silently and watched Shiran’s face, but he didn’t say more. Still, she had a feeling that there was more in his words than he’d let and, and wondered what, exactly, had happened because of his dream.

She had a feeling that if she asked, she wouldn’t get an answer.

///

The Twilight Dagger dropped out of jump above Tantos III, and Arta pressed her face against the window to get a look at it. She’d been to the planet before, but she’d been a small child then and had few memories of the visit; the Baron rarely left Katanes, and his daughters had been off-planet only a handful of times. Arta had to admit, though, that as the capital of their duchy, Tantos left something to be desired, at least seen from orbit. The entire planet seemed to be shrouded in opaque grey clouds, the monotony broken only by clusters of gleaming lights that Arta could only assume were cities.

Beside her, Karani wrinkled her nose. “That’s Tantos?” she asked. “Sorry, but I don’t remember it being so… foggy.”

“The last time I brought you here, we mostly stayed in the Duke’s palace; the air inside is adjusted,” the Baron said. “But Tantos’s atmosphere is thick, and it makes it look like everything is wrapped in fog. I’m not sure what’s in it, exactly, but it’s breathable by humans – not very pleasant, maybe, but I’ve never heard of anyone getting sick from it.”

“It’s still so dreary,” Karani protested. “Why would anyone want to live here?”

From his seat, Shiran chuckled. “Don’t underestimate what people will do to get rich, Karani. Tantos III has some of the richest deposits of ore and minerals in the Kingdom. And in a feudal system, if you want to control something…”

“You put your fiefdom on it,” Arta finished. “You’d know that, Karani, if you paid attention to history and politics.”

Karani only shot her sister a withering look, as if to say that her opinion on those topics did not need to be restated.

The Dagger dropped low over the planet, angling for one of the clusters of lights; as it dropped into the atmosphere, Arta saw that the fog wasn’t as thick and unreadable up close as it seemed from orbit. She could make out the forms of other ships passing by and even geographical features on the surface, but everything seemed dim and washed out, and fuzzy around the edges. It gave the whole planet an otherworldly feel, and Arta found herself shivering. Karani was right; this place was dreary, and Arta couldn’t imagine living here, riches to mine or not.

At last the ship brought them over the spires of a large city, its towers gleaming with countless lights that served to illuminate the constant fog but couldn’t truly push it back. One tower in particular grew taller in their vision as they swooped in close to it, and a pair of great doors high on one of its faces slid open. The Dagger flew inside and fount itself in a lavishly appointed hangar, where it set down beside ships of similar design that were most likely the property of the other barons of the Tantos Duchy. As the ship settled into place, Arta saw her father nod once then stand, gesturing for his daughters to do the same.

The Dagger’s ramp hissed open and Arta and Karani followed the Baron out into the hangar, only to find a small welcoming committee waiting for them. In the lead was a short, rotund man in flamboyant clothing who Arta knew was the Duke himself, accompanied by several of his knights, including a tall, elegant woman she recognized as Kallistrae, head of Tantos Duchy’s military forces.

When the Baron reached the bottom of the ramp, he gestured to his daughters and bowed at the waist; behind him, Arta and Karani curtsied. The Duke, however, simply strode forward and took their father’s hand. “Varas, old friend!” he said in a jovial voice. “So glad you could come, so glad. These are your daughters, I take it?”

“Yes, your grace,” the Baron said. “The older is Karani; the younger is Arta. I’m very proud of both of them.”

“Of course you are!” Duke Hiram said. “What kind of father would you be if you weren’t?” He marched over to stand in front of Karani, looking her up and down. The top of his head barely came to her chin. “Lord! Last time I saw you, you were what, three, four? Now you’re taller than I am. What are they feeding you on Katanes, anyway? But I expect you’ll be a fine Baroness someday!” Karani beamed as the Duke turned his attention to Arta.

She found herself feeling extremely uncomfortable as Hiram eyed her – there was nothing threatening about the man that she could tell, but still, she didn’t meet her father’s immediate superior very often, and found herself extremely self-conscious and wishing she was better dressed. The Duke looked her up and down as he’d done to her foster-sister, but when his gaze reached her face, he froze suddenly, regarded her intently for a long moment, then shook his head. “Just my imagination,” he muttered. “So, you must be the fosterling, eh? Tell me, if your sister’s going to inherit the barony, what do you plan on doing with yourself?”

Arta froze at Hiram addressing her directly, then gulped and said, “I’d like to be a knight, sir. Your grace.”

“Knight, eh?” Hiram asked. “Always can use more of those.” He gestured at the woman who stood at the head of his guards. “My cousin Kallistrae here is the best in the system; talk to her, if you’re serious about it.” The Duke winked. “Whatever you hear on the holos, don’t believe it. She doesn’t bite. Usually.” Kallistrae didn’t speak, but rolled her eyes at the comment.

“I’ll, ah, keep that in mind,” Arta said. “Sir. Your grace.”

Hiram nodded at her, apparently, satisfied, then turned to face the ship with a frown. “Varas, you’re holding out on me. You haven’t introduced the fourth member of your party yet!”

Arta turned and saw the Professor standing at the base of the ramp, looking around the hangar benignly. “This is Shiran, your grace,” the Baron said. “He’s my advisor, and has some private business to take care of on Tantos III, so I brought him along.”

“Hmmm.” Hiram regarded Shiran for a long moment, frowning. “You look familiar. Have we met?”

“Apparently I have one of those faces people just see everywhere, your grace,” Shiran said. Hiram frowned for a moment longer, but seemed satisfied at that. He walked back over to his guards, then turned to look at the Baron’s party.

 “Well, I’m sure you’ve all heard why we’re here,” the short Duke said. “The pirate scourge has been removed from our Kingdom at last, thanks to the heroic efforts of the regent and our own Kallistrae. Most everyone else is here, but I’m still waiting on two more of the barons. Get your things, and have the mechs escort you to the guest rooms. We have a victory to celebrate, my friends, and I promise you all a night you’ll never forget!”

 

[MasterGhandalf]

New chapter!

Spoiler

Chapter Eighteen

Carann, Royal Palace

Mardoban found his son in the gardens, seated on a bench beneath an immense tree whose ancestors had once grown on Terra before it was lost; oak was the name, the regent thought. Pakorus was deeply engrossed in reading a book – an old-style, paper book, not text displayed on a vidscreen or a holo – that Mardoban recognized as one he’d gotten him on his last birthday. An epic from Lost Terra, one of the few that had survived the countless millennia since it had been composed. Mardoban waited quietly for a moment, then cleared his throat.

Pakorus looked up, and when he saw his father he leapt to his feet and ran to embrace him, only pulling back after a long moment, suddenly mindful of his dignity. The look of happiness and relief on his face, however, remained. “You’re back!” he said excitedly. “The only news I got was from bits and pieces I could get people to tell me, and I kept worrying you wouldn’t come back from fighting the pirates.” He held up his book and gave an embarrassed smile. “I guess this wasn’t the best choice of reading material for waiting for my father to come back from war.”

Mardoban smiled. “’I sing of the storm-tossed man, who wandered far after he sacked the sacred city of Troy,’” he quoted. “Well, so far as I’m aware no angry gods have cursed me, and it’ll take more than a few pirates to kill an old war engine like me.” He looked Pakorus up and down. “It’s good to see you, son. I hope everything’s gone well for you while I’ve been gone?”

Pakorus shrugged. “Aside from waiting and worrying? Not much has been happening here.” He paused. “I had a conversation with Ambassador Quarinis the other day. He seems to have taken a liking to me for some reason – or maybe he was just pumping me for state secrets. Unlucky for him I don’t know any.” He gave a self-deprecating chuckle at that.

“Ah, Quarinis is a snake, but he’s honest about being a snake,” Mardoban said. “I’ll take that over snakes who pretend to be friendly any day. Speaking of which, I saw an old schoolmate of yours after the battle. Galen ast Sakran.”

Pakorus made a face. “Not my favorite person,” he muttered. “I never had much to do with his brother or sister – they were both several years above us. But Galen was in my year and he always seemed to take competing with me so personally, like he had to beat me at everything to prove his family was better than mine. Not exactly a fun person to be around; I tried to avoid him as much as I could, honestly.”

Mardoban snorted. “I’m not surprised. Naudar puts all of his expectations for his house and his personal ambitions on his children – that has to be a lot of pressure for anyone.”

“Where did you see him, anyway?” Pakorus asked. “I didn’t think you’d made it all the way to Sakran.”

“I didn’t,” Mardoban said. “Naudar brought Galen with him to the battle – thought it would be good for him, apparently. I don’t agree, but I hope it doesn’t make you feel left out.”

Pakorus grinned. “Not at all,” he said. “Military life isn’t for me. I can barely swing a dueling sword without throwing it into the wall by mistake – something Galen never lost an opportunity to remind me of at the Academy, by the way. He was good, though. Not as good as his big brother, but good.”

“Well, speaking of the ast Sakran family, I’ve got to make a report to the council before long,” Mardoban said, sighing. “And speaking of snakes. Naudar did mention he had some sort of announcement to make. I guess I’ll be finding out before long.” He saw Pakorus was frowning and looked in the eye. “Sorry I have to run out on you so soon. Sometimes I hate having to be the one to run this country. Or try to, anyway.”

Pakorus shook his head. “That’s not it,” he said. “I just remember Quarinis mentioned something offhand – he said big things were coming to the Kingdom, but he was sure we’d – that’s you and I – make it through all right. I thought he meant the pirates, but now I’m not sure. Do you think he knows what Naudar’s up to?”

Mardoban shrugged. “Maybe. The man has his sources. He also wants to be seen as knowing more than he actually does. I’ll talk to him later, see if I can get anything more out of him. For the time being, duty calls.”

Pakorus grinned again. “Good luck in there,” he said. “You’ll probably need it?”

Mardoban laughed. “Probably?” he said. “Based on past experience, to get through one of these meetings in one piece I’ll need the Lord himself on my side!”

///

“And so, my lords and ladies of the council, the pirate base has been destroyed and most of their fleet is destroyed or in custody. With their operation in shambles and their Commander presumed dead, even if the pirate threat is not permanently destroyed, it will take them years to rebuild.” Mardoban finished speaking and looked around at the gathered holos, gauging their reactions. He still had one final piece of information to spring on them, and he was hoping he could get something useful from their expressions.

“Hear, hear!” Duke Hiram said. “And let us not forget that Tantos forces did their part as well – “

“Tantos and Sakran,” Naudar added mildly.

“Of course, of course,” said Hiram, waving his hand. “In any case, the point is that the pirates are defeated and my – excuse me, our – shipping lanes are secured. If the rest of you don’t mind, I have a party to be at, so can we wrap this up?”

“There is one more order of business I would like to bring before the council,” Mardoban said, glancing from Hiram to Naudar and back again. “When we captured the pirate base, we also captured the pirates’ computer. Most of the data was encrypted, of course, but my intelligence operatives managed to crack it. It looked like the Commander set much of the data to be deleted should the computer be captured, but we salvaged some useful pieces.” He drew a deep breath. “Most obviously, records of where the pirates drew their funding from. The records point to the source being officials in Tashir duchy.”

Mardoban didn’t say that the information only corroborated the speculation that he’d heard from Specter – he’d rather not bring that disreputable source up in a council meeting! The holo-figures, however, reacted with appropriate drama, gasping theatrically and looking towards Sateira ast Tashir, who drew herself up and regarded them all with imperious disdain. Respen was the first to break the silence.

“Well, well,” he said, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. “It seems that someone was a very dirty game. Maybe we should give the benefit of the doubt and assume that the leaks were coming from someone who was taking advantage of Duchess Sateira’s goodwill. Or maybe she turned a blind eye to the fact that her subordinates were using her money to destabilize her rivals. Or maybe, just maybe, Sateira thought that actively creating the pirates and using them as her proxies would be a good way to grab power without anyone realizing it until it was too late? Unfortunately, it seems she’s overplayed her hand. What a pity.”

Sateira surged to her feet, eyes blazing and thin face flushed with anger. “You dare?” she spat. “I’ll see you on the dueling field for that, Respen! I have never made it secret that I seek to advance the interests of my own duchy – which of us doesn’t? – but I have never done so at the expense of the Kingdom. Whoever is behind this is obviously trying to frame me. You go too far!”

“Seems I’ve touched a nerve,” Respen said, looking around and smiling. “I wonder what else Tashir is hiding?”

“Actually,” Mardoban said calmly, “I’m inclined to agree with Sateira. You see, the Tashiran official linked to the pirates was a man named Pallin Tathos – a high ranking bureaucrat, very rich and well-connected, who, interestingly enough, has been dead for more than sixty years. As dead men don’t usually finance piratical operations, my intelligence operatives have concluded that someone was using Tathos’s identity as a cover to move funds and resources, likely in an attempt to pin the blame on Tashir should the data be traced. So far, they haven’t been able to follow the money trail past the false identity, but I will share my findings with you once they do.”

Sateira smiled coldly. “As I suspected,” she said. “Care to apologize, Respen?”

“It was an honest mistake,” Respen snapped, looking defensive. “The regent’s facts were incomplete, and I thought they implied…”

“What you would have done if you’d thought of it?” Sateira asked. “Don’t try to pretend otherwise.”

Now it was Respen’s turn to flush angrily, but before he could speak, Mardoban interrupted. “As diverting as this is,” he said, “a council meeting isn’t the place to trade insults. For the moment, there is no actual evidence incriminating Sateira, and aspersions on the character of its members is beneath this body. If no one else has any matters to raise, I will consider this meeting adjourned…”

“Actually,” Naudar said mildly, “I have a matter I would like to present to the council for a vote.”

Mardoban frowned, but this wasn’t unexpected, considering Naudar’s earlier insinuations. “Very well,” he said, “that is, after all, your right. What do you have for us?”

“My lords and ladies,” Naudar said, “I think that we all know that this Kingdom has been without a monarch for too long. True, Aestera ast Carann – may the Lord’s light shine upon her soul – left no heir, but I think that recent events have proven that we cannot go on as twelve competing duchies with no central authority outside of this council. The recent appearance of a crown – a crown that appears empowered to judge the worthiness of a claimant – casts this matter into even sharper relief. Clearly, my friends, this is a sign from heaven – the Dozen Stars needs a leader, and it cannot be anyone – only the best and brightest of us.”

“The crown is a fraud,” Respen snapped. “My blood ties to the House ast Carann are closer than any of yours, and my duchy has the strongest military, and it tried to kill me all the same. If I’m not worthy, none of us is. The crown is an insult at best, an attempt to assassinate whoever wears it at worst, and if he cared to follow my advice, our regent would have thrown it into Carann’s sun already.”

“Humble as ever, Respen” Naudar said in a faintly amused tone. “But it may be that purity of blood and strength of arms aren’t what this crown judges. Perhaps other qualities make a worthy leader – and perhaps our next ruler won’t be one of us gathered here, but one from the next generation to rise and take the mantle.”

“Oh, Naudar,” Hiram snapped, “we all know that you think your children are the future of a dynasty. Go ahead and nominate yourself – or your boy Darius – for the throne, so we can all vote you down and get on with our lives!”

“My proposal is nothing so crude,” Naudar said. “In times gone by, it was customary in this Kingdom to decide important matters through contests of arms, of skill, and of nerve. Authority derived not from blood, but from achievement. Artax the Founder was no one before the war of separation from the Empire catapulted him to power. Perhaps what we need today is a new Artax. My lords and ladies, I propose to you that we hold a grand tournament on Carann when the new Realm Year begins – to the winner, and perhaps the closest competitors, shall go the right to try the crown. Should they succeed, we shall have a king or queen who has proven their quality. Should they fail – then perhaps the crown should be disregarded as a judge. But in any case, this matter should be settled, once and for all!”

The holos erupted in a torrent of noise as the council members began shouting at each other, at Naudar, and at Mardoban, resulting in a cacophony in which no voice could be clearly distinguished. Finally, the regent stood, raised both his hands, and roared “Enough! We are duke and duchesses of the realm, not squabbling children. Speak one at a time, so that everyone can be heard!”

“Do you really think we’d agree to this, Naudar?” Hiram spluttered. “We haven’t had a Kingdom-wide tournament in almost a hundred years! And besides, we all know how proud you are of your children’s skill with the dueling sword – all three of them! This is nothing more than a blatant attempt to put an ast Sakran on the throne, and you know it!”

“Maybe so,” Naudar said. “I will admit, my sons and daughter have made me very proud with how they’ve developed their skills – a father couldn’t ask for more. But for all I know, there’s someone much better out there who hasn’t been discovered. Respen, maybe this is your chance to finally show us what that vaunted training you give your soldiers and knights is really worth, eh? Or Hiram, that your wealth and connections has really bought your nobles the best teachers in the Kingdom? Or Sateira, you’ve always thought that you lead more efficiently than any of us – this could be your chance to prove what that’s worth! Even smaller duchies that have been overlooked in politics could have the chance to shine – who knows what skilled swordmasters they may have? This is our chance to get together in front of the whole Kingdom and show everyone that all the boasting we’ve done over the years isn’t just toothless. I’d be pleased with the opportunity – aren’t you?”

Mardoban frowned – he saw what Naudar was doing, and it was working. He knew that getting the council members to cooperate wouldn’t work, so instead he was giving them an opportunity to compete, playing to their egos – and to their ambitions, dangling the chance to put one of their own on the throne in front of them. But despite his words, Mardoban was certain that Naudar didn’t truly believe anyone could best his children, champion duelists all. He intended to put an ast Sakran on the throne, and had picked the means he thought most likely to succeed.

“You’re rather quiet, Orlanes,” Hiram said. “Not interested in showing off for the rest of us?”

“I think that I’m too old for tournaments,” Mardoban said, “and that my son is no fighter – your champion won’t be from House ast Orlanes, no matter what happens. I don’t think this is how Aestera would want her successor chosen, but then, she has been dead for more than a decade – maybe I’m just stuck in the past, still worried about what she’d have us do. But if you all agree to this, I will defer to the council’s will. Shall we vote?”

The holos of the council members nodded; Mardoban looked from one ambitious, calculating face to the next and sighed. He wasn’t surprised to watch hands raise, starting with Naudar, until there were ten hands in the air. As regent and Duke Orlanes he had two votes, but still, it was obvious. The council had spoken.

“So be it,” Mardoban whispered.

///

“A tournament for the crown?” Quarinis asked with disbelief, looking askance at Mardoban. “Really? Seems rather barbaric, don’t you think?”

“Strange,” the regent said. “I was under the impression that in the Empire, blood sport was a favorite pastime for the elite. Was I mistaken, or are you just not a fan of it personally?”

“Oh, the Arena is always popular,” said Quarinis, turning to look out over the city from the balcony where he and the regent stood. “I can’t say I’m a particular fan of bloodshed as entertainment, but politics have required me to attend my share of matches and I find it tolerable, at least. Still – slaves fight. Animals fight. Machines fight. Senators and patricians do not. Certainly not for titles.”

Mardoban tried to keep his disgust from showing on his face – slavery was illegal in the Dozen Stars, but it was still practiced in the Empire. Mardoban found the practice distasteful in the extreme even when slaves weren’t being forced to kill each other for the amusement of an audience, but saying that aloud and risking offending Quarinis so much it would cause an interstellar incident wasn’t something he wanted to do either. Besides, as Quarinis represented the strongest nation in this arm of the galaxy and the Kingdom’s closest neighbor, informing him of an event of such potential import was required, and that meant this conversation was necessary. “Tournaments have a grand tradition in the Dozen Stars,” he said carefully. “Not usually for stakes this high, I’ll admit, and it’s been generations since we’ve had one with contestants from every duchy, but smaller ones aren’t uncommon. We’re a competitive people, ambassador, and can’t resist the opportunity to show off.”

Quarinis snorted. “A martial people, you mean to say,” he observed. “It’s been my experience that almost every one of your nobles, man or woman, is trained to fight from a young age. Or to duel, I suppose.”

“If we are a martial people, ambassador, we are what you made us,” Mardoban said. “After all, it was our war of independence from the Empire that required every man and woman to take up arms, and we’ve continued the tradition ever since.”

The ambassador chuckled at that. “Quaint,” he said. “Admirable, but quaint. Still, I’ll be watching things unfold with great interest. Who will be competing, exactly?”

“Tournaments are traditionally open to anyone with noble blood,” Mardoban said, “but it’s usually the younger members of a given house who do most of the competing on their parents’ behalf – a chance to show off the younger generation and avoid embarrassing us old fogies in front of everyone. Commoners can enter if they have sponsorship from a guild or a noble house – guilds do it to raise their own prestige, nobles if they don’t have any blood relatives they think will be any good.” He chuckled. “Technically, clergy are allowed to enter too, but I’ve never heard of one actually doing it. I think the church’s opinion on tournaments is rather closer to yours than mine, ambassador.”

“Is it really your opinion, your grace?” Quarinis asked softly. “Or are you just putting on a brave face about it as a matter of nation pride in front of a representative of a foreign power? I think you have more doubts that you’re letting on.”

“If I did,” Mardoban said stiffly, “it wouldn’t be appropriate for me to share them with, as you say, a representative of a foreign power.”

“Of course not,” Quarinis said. The two men stood silently for a long moment, then nodded at each other and Mardoban turned to leave. Before he reached the door that lead back into the palace, the ambassador’s voice stopped him.

“By the way,” he said, “I think congratulations are in order. I hear you did quite well in battle against those pirates. I trust they won’t be troubling us again?”

“It was as much Naudar’s victory as mine,” Mardoban said. “He saved my life, after all. But yes, the pirates are defeated, thank the Lord.”

“Good,” said Quarinis, cold satisfaction in his voice. “We don’t tolerate such criminals in the Empire, and I’m pleased you dealt with them here as well. I dislike chaotic elements.” He smiled thinly. “Do tell me when the tournament will be held. I look forward to attending; it will be first. No doubt it will be a most enlightening experience.”

“I will,” Mardoban said, nodding. “I look forward to seeing you there, Ambassador.” Then he turned back to the door and entered the palace, leaving Publius Vedrans Quarinis standing alone on the balcony, gazing out over Carann’s capital city with a quietly thoughtful expression on his face.

 

[MasterGhandalf]

Some more character portraits today; this time Karani and Quarinis. Next chapter should be up in a day or two.

Edited March 18, 2018 by MasterGhandalf

[MasterGhandalf]

New chapter for real this time.

Spoiler

Chapter 19

Tantos III, Ducal Palace

Arta picked nervously at her food as she surveyed the grand dining room at Duke Hiram’s palace. The room itself was roughly circular in shape and sat high in the duke’s tower; its walls were lined with windows that looked out over Tantos’s foggy night; nearby towers could be seen as dim shapes, their light casting strange shimmering patterns in the misty air. Within the room itself were a number of tables arranged in a roughly circular pattern around a central platform; the Duke’s table was the largest and stood at the front of the room, with the others clustered around them. Some of them were baron’s tables, like the one at which Arta and her family sat. At others sat the representatives of various guilds, looking sleek and elegant in their silver business suits. Serving mechs glided around the tables, refilling drinks and removing cleared plates, and in the open platform was projected the evening’s entertainment – a holo depicting alien dancers, thin and graceful and with feathers for hair, who bent and swayed their bodies into positions Arta was certain no human being could duplicate. The dance was accompanied by an eerie, wailing music that must have been from the aliens’ home world.

Arta resisted the urge to tug at her dress’s collar; high-necked and sweeping skirts and sleeves, colored a vibrant ast Katanes green, it was the height of fashion, but that didn’t make it feel any less tight through the collar and bodice. Not that Karani seemed to mind, even though she was wearing something of essentially the same design; to the contrary, she seemed to be enjoying herself immensely and was currently regaling several attentive young men from the other baronial houses with the story of the failed assassination attempt. No young men had spoken to Arta, beyond some basic courtesies – younger, shorter, less outgoing, with a more modest figure, she apparently wasn’t nearly so engaging as her foster-sister, the true-blooded heir of their house.

Their father stood nearby, chatting quietly with a group of other nobles and a few guildsmen and -women. For a moment, Arta was tempted to see if she could use her adept’s powers to sharpen her senses and try to listen it, but quickly decided against it; it seemed doubtful she’d be able to pull it off, and even if she did, neither the baron nor Shiran were likely to approve of such a frivolous use of her abilities. The Professor himself was nowhere in evidence, having apparently gone off to conduct whatever personal business he’d accompanied them to Tantos in order to see to. Privately, Arta wondered if he hadn’t been deliberately trying to avoid such a gathering of nobles and guildsmen, based on the way Hiram had almost seemed to recognize him; not for the first time, she wondered who he was and where he’d come from before becoming her tutor. Whatever the reason, it meant that he was just one more person she couldn’t talk to but wished she could.

Well, if Karani was enjoying the party, Arta couldn’t say she shared the sentiment. On the contrary she felt isolated, hemmed in by the bright lights and the murmur of conversation and the colorful clothing. The dancers she might have enjoyed under other circumstances, but now Ara just felt distracted by the fact that everything else seemed to be conspiring to give her a splitting headache. More than that, she kept imagining Shiran’s reaction to the frivolity around them. He had always stressed the responsibility that nobles and rulers had to those they ruled, that power carried duty as well as privilege. Well, there was plenty of privilege in this room, and very little duty or responsibility. Arta tried to imagine how any of this served the Dozen Stars or Tantos Duchy and came up blank. Even though this was supposed to be a celebration of the duke’s victory over the pirates, there seemed to be very little concern for recent events from either the nobles or the guildsmen. Looking at this room, one would never realize how close the Dozen Stars was teetering to the edge of breaking apart completely. And, Arta thought, regarding her plate balefully, Duke Hiram hadn’t even managed to improve the affair to a minimal degree by providing decent food.

Finally, her headache became too much. Pushing her chair back, Arta got to her feet and hurried for the door, cursing her dress’s too-long skirt as she grabbed it in one hand to keep from tripping over it. She feared she might make a scene, but no one seemed to notice as she stumbled out into the hall, breathing deeply as she straightened up – and then she gasped as she saw the person she had nearly run into.

Lady Kallistrae ast Tantos raised an eyebrow as she looked Arta up and down. “Leaving in a hurry?” the knight asked, then nodded over her shoulder. “The lavatory is that way, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

“Yes, exactly,” Arta muttered under her breath, struggling to contain her mortification. “Thank you, my lady.” It was hard not to be intimidated by Kallistrae, who was elegant and regal in a gown in her house’s gold, even without the ceremonial sword belted at her waist that served as a reminder that she was one of the leading knights of the duchy. Arta found herself making a mental note to tell Karani that Kallistrae did, in fact, wear a blade with her dress, and nearly burst out laughing at the absurdity of the situation.

Kallistrae, fortunately, gave an understanding smile. “I’m sure,” she said kindly. “My cousin Hiram has many positive qualities; an ability to throw a party that’s anything less than extravagant isn’t one of them. You aren’t the first guest to need an excuse to get some fresh and, and I’m sure you won’t be the last.” She regarded Arta critically for a moment, seeming to place exactly which guest she was. “You’re the Katanes fosterling, aren’t you? Arta, right?”

“Yes, my lady,” Arta said nervously.

Kallistrae pursed her lips thoughtfully. “You want to be a knight, don’t you? I remember your conversation with Hiram when your family arrived earlier. There’s no need to look embarrassed; you’re hardly the first younger child of nobility to have that dream. I wouldn’t be standing at Hiram’s right hand tonight if I wasn’t one of them. It’s not an easy path – only the best can become knights. But if you can manage it, lots of doors will open to you that might not otherwise. Can you duel?”

Arta found her voice. “I can, my lady,” she said. “Though I have to admit, Karani is better.”

“Your foster-sister is a year older than you are, and has been training longer,” Kallistrae pointed out. “You have time to catch up. Speaking of which, how long until you come of age?”

“A bit more than a year, my lady,” said Arta.

Kallistrae nodded. “When that time comes,” she said, “you will need to find an experienced knight to squire with. Work on that dueling – the more people you impress, the more options you’ll have. And, as it happens, I haven’t had a squire for several years now.” Arta’s breath caught – was Kallistrae implying what it seemed like she was – but the Tantos knight raised her hand. “This isn’t an offer, mind you. You can’t start as a squire until you’re eighteen, and then you have to prove yourself to find someone willing to take you on. But I do think that whatever happens in the next few years, this Kingdom is going to need all the knights it can get. Do you understand?”

“I think so, my lady,” Arta said, nodding. Inside, her heart leapt. It wasn’t a promise, not really… but it was a chance, or at least that’s what it seemed like. And tonight, she’d take the good news she could get.

“Now, if you don’t actually need the lavatory, let’s head back inside,” Kallistrae said, putting a hand on Arta’s shoulder. “Something’s about to happen that I don’t think you’ll want to miss. My cousin has an announcement to make, and if you’re looking for a chance to prove yourself… well, you might want to pay very close attention to what he has to say.”

///

“Where were you?” Karani hissed as Arta took her seat beside her; her foster-sister’s audience had left, and around the dining room other guests seemed to be drifting back towards their own tables.

“I just needed some air,” Arta said defensively. Karani didn’t look satisfied by that answer, but before she could question her further, the alien music suddenly rose to a crescendo and then ceased. The holographic dancers bowed in unison and then flickered and faded away; so sooner had they done so than Duke Hiram stepped out into the center of the now-empty platform and raised his hand for silence.

“My lords and ladies and representatives of the guilds,” he said, “it has been my pleasure to be your host this evening as we gather here to celebrate the downfall of the pirate scourge. I hope you’ve all been enjoying yourselves every bit as much as I have!” He smiled broadly and there was a smattering of polite applause.

“Thank you, thank you,” Hiram said as it died down. “However, revelry isn’t the only topic of discussion tonight. Earlier this afternoon I met in council with my fellow dukes, and we have an announcement for you all – one that may well determine the course of our kingdom’s future.”

Arta felt her breath catch – this must be what Kallistrae had been referring too – and looked over at Karani, who was watching excitedly, and the Baron, who seemed thoughtful. Then her attention was drawn back to the Duke as he continued speaking. “We have decided,” he said, “that the throne of the Dozen Stars has stood empty for far too long. In the absence of an heir of the blood, or one whom the council can agree to approve, we have determined that the throne must go to the noble house that is most worthy of it. Therefore it is my pleasure to announce that at the new year on Carann we shall hold a tournament in which every house and guild in the Dozen Stars is invited to participate, with the rightful rule of this kingdom passing to whosoever proves themselves most worthy of it!”

The room was drowned in noise as the Duke finished, with every guest seeming to talk at once. Arta, however, couldn’t help but find her gaze drawn to her foster-father, who sat in silence with a thoughtful frown on his face.

///

The remainder of the party passed in a blur of sound and activity, and it didn’t feel like very long afterwards that Arta found herself stumbling back into the guest room she shared with Karani, exhaustion and dizziness overwhelming her. As she and her foster-sister changed out of their dresses and into their sleeping robes she tried to process the magnitude of what this announcement might mean and found that she couldn’t. Queen Aestera had been assassinated before Arta was old enough to remember; she’d never known the Dozen Stars to have any leadership but the council and the regent. She wondered just how much of a change a real monarch might bring.

Karani had finished changing and unbraiding her hair when she turned to Arta. “Well?” she asked, excitement in her eyes.

“Well what?” Arta asked, rather more crossly than she’d intended. The entire evening had been exhausting and all she wanted to do now was sleep, but Karani didn’t look tired at all.

“Well, what do you think, silly?” Karani said. “Anyone can enter the tournament, the Duke said. What do you think of our chances?”

“Karani, we’re not of age yet,” Arta said wearily. “Neither of us is going to be competing in any tournament any time soon.”

“You don’t need to be of age to compete in a tournament!” Karani said. “I asked Danash once, just in case. You just need to be from a noble house or have a guild sponsorship. We, obviously, qualify. And besides, Father hasn’t dueled seriously in years and somebody has to represent House ast Katanes – we’ll be a laughingstock if we don’t send anyone for something this important. So, what do you think of our chances?”

Arta sighed. “We’d be up against every noble of our generation in the kingdom, Karani,” she said. “That’s dozens of houses, not to mention anyone the guilds send. I don’t think either of us is likely to win anything.”

“Oh, you’re no fun tonight,” Karani said. “Well, I plan to enter, and I plan to give it everything I’ve got – you never know. I could win – I think I’d look fabulous in a crown.”

“When the prize at a tournament is a political office, it usually goes to the head of the winner’s house,” Arta pointed out, nodding towards the wall that separated their room from the Baron’s. “That would make Father king.”

“Well then, I’d get to be Queen after him,” Karani said. “And you could be my knight. Isn’t something like that what you want?”

Arta sighed and threw herself back on her bed, staring up at the ceiling. “Yes,” she admitted. “But… I don’t know. It doesn’t sit right with me, I guess. Ruling a country should be about more than just being able to beat up everyone else who wanted the job. I don’t think that the Professor would approve of this.” And I don’t think Father does, either, she added mentally, thinking of his frown.

Karani dropped down on her own bed and regarded Arta critically. “You put too much store on that man’s opinions,” she said. “And besides, who cares? Isn’t that how Artax became the first king? By fighting a war and throwing out the Empire? Doesn’t that mean that that’s how it’s always been done?”

Maybe it does, Arta thought fuzzily as sleep seemed to rise up to claim her. But maybe it doesn’t mean that’s how things have to be…

///

Arta woke up some time later to find a dark figure standing over her bed. She gave a sharp gasp and pulled herself back against the headboard in fright, only to realize as awareness returned and her eyes adjusted to the darkness that the figure was familiar. It was the Professor.

“S-shiran?” she asked warily. “Is that you? What are you doing here?”

“It’s me,” the Professor said, his voice calm and soothing. “I just got back from my ‘personal business’ – I took a shuttle up to Tantos Station, where I met with an old… acquaintance of mine. He told me some things that troubled me greatly, and on my way back, I saw more. Some of them, I think you should see too – both of you. Get up and get dressed and come with me.”

“In the middle of the night?” Arta asked, incredulous.

“Yes,” Shiran said, in a tone that brooked no argument.

A few minutes later, both sisters had joined him in the hallway outside their room, dressed in plain clothing and hooded cloaks, Karani still rubbing sleep from her eyes. He nodded approvingly when he saw them and then turned to walk down the hallway, gesturing for them to follow. The corridor was empty, devoid even of serving mechs, and both girls struggled to keep up with the Professor’s long, determined strides.

“You have any idea what this is about?” Karani asked; Arta only shrugged.

Not long afterwards they got into a lift and began to descend towards the bottom of the palace tower. Shiran was still silent as he watched the control display track their descent, but Arta saw that Karani was growing increasingly fidgety and impatient and guessed what was on her mind. That guess was proven correct when her foster-sister finally spoke. “So, Professor,” she asked. “Did you hear about the Duke’s announcement about the tournament?”

“I did,” Shiran said, but his tone was so curt that even Karani took the hint and didn’t press him further. The rest of the ride down the lift passed in silence, and when they reached the bottom they emerged into a cavernous atrium. There was a mech stationed at the front desk, but it didn’t appear to notice them; Arta wasn’t sure if that was because of some Adept’s trick of Shiran’s or if it had just been programmed not to bother any of the Duke’s noble guests; she guessed the latter. They passed through the palace doors and emerged into the foggy Tantos night.

As the Baron had indicated, the air seemed to be perfectly breathable, but Arta found it oppressive; it felt damp in her mouth and lungs, and its near-opacity weight heavily on her mind. There was a strange, wet smell in the air, and Karani wrinkled her nose at it, but if the Professor minded at all, he gave no sign. He didn’t give any indication of where he was going, but kept walking with a purposeful stride that indicated he had some particular destination in mind; the sisters looked at one another and shrugged as they followed behind.

It was an eerie nighttime journey where the shapes were visible only as blurry outlines beyond a few feet and even the lights on buildings were distorted and dimmed by the fog. Though Arta couldn’t see much, she could feel the towers of Tantos’s capital city looming above her; maybe it was just the thick atmosphere, but everything seemed much taller and more ominous than the buildings of Tannen City back home. Though it wasn’t particularly cold, she found herself shivering.

“Wait,” Karani said finally. “Do you hear something up ahead?”

Arta did; a faint sound that seemed to be many voices speaking loudly at once. Though it was hard to tell, there seemed to me more people nearby as well as they got further from the palace tower, all moving through the fog in the same general direction. At last they rounded a corner and Shiran held up a hand to stop. Arta and Karani pulled up short behind him, and Arta’s eyes widened at what she saw.

They stood on the edge of what looked to be a huge park, filled to the brim with people, most of whom were yelling or waving holosigns whose glowing slogans were too blurred by the fog for Arta’s eyes to make out. She wondered what was happening here, but feared to ask one of the people nearby and expose herself as an outsider; something violent was building here, and she felt it could erupt at any moment. She found herself drawing closer to Karani, who also looked to be very poorly at ease.

“Do you understand what you’re seeing here tonight?” Shiran asked softly. “It’s a rally. Duke Hiram relies on the mines of Tantos III for his wealth, but House ast Tantos surrendered most of its control over the actual mining operations to the guilds generations ago. The guilds only care about making money, and the Duke’s main concern is pleasing the guilds, on whose support his rule depends. The result is…”

“That everyone else gets left out,” Arta whispered, a queasy feeling building in her stomach.

“That’s right,” Shiran said. “The nobles and guildsmen here on Tantos lead grand, opulent lives. Everyone else is forced to work in the mines or other industries to get by – and with the fracturing of central authority in the Kingdom, the guilds feel that they can get away with imposing harsher conditions, longer hours, and fewer protections in the name of squeezing as much from the mines as they can. The result is that people are very angry with both the guilds and with Hiram – and they have very good reason to be. This protest was scheduled for the night of the Duke’s party with the explicit goal of making a scene and highlighting the inequality of conditions here.”  His eyes were dark as his gaze slid from Arta to Karani. “This is something that you have been shielded from by your upbringing. But it is important that you recognize the consequences a noble’s actions can have, and don’t forget, like Hiram has.”

The three of them hovered on the edge of the rally for what felt like the better part of an hour; Arta managed to make out snatches of conversation and, as her eyes adjusted to the blurring effect of the fog, to read some of the slogans on the signs, and they made her blood run cold. The guilds had been using these people brutally in the name of profit, and Hiram had turned a blind eye – no, worse, he’d supported it. Wrapped in his own little world on top of his palace tower, the Duke had long since stopped caring about what happened on his planet so long as the trade kept flowing and wasn’t disrupted by forces like the pirates. Arta felt her hands clenching into fists. That, she knew, wasn’t what a leader was supposed to be.

Suddenly Shiran stopped, standing perfectly still as though listening. Arta paused and realized she could hear it too – something buzzing in the air. Like the engine of a flitter, distant still, but growing closer. The Professor grabbed both girls by their arms. “We need to get out of here, now,” he hissed.

It was too late. Three flitters heaved down from the upper air, painted with a bright silver that seemed to glean in the foggy night. The symbol of the mining guild was painted on their snouts. They lowered themselves to hover menacingly above the crowd, shining spotlights down on them “Disperse now,” a heavily garbled voice ordered from one of the flitters. “Workers, you are ordered to disperse now!”

Arta wasn’t entirely sure what happened, but she thought she saw rocks and debris flung from the crowd; one of them, hurled by a particularly bold and athletic person, struck one of the flitters on the nose and bounced off. A sudden feeling of dread suffused Arta’s being, and whether by an Adept’s instincts or pure human intuition, she knew what was about to happen an instant before it did.

The guild flitters adjust their aim and deployed guns from their underside, and then as one they fired into the crowd.

 

[MasterGhandalf]

New chapter!

Spoiler

Chapter Twenty

Deep Space

The surviving pirate warship dropped out of jump at a random set of coordinates far from any star system, a tiny island of life alone in the vast darkness. The pirates didn’t intend to stay here long; this place was technically within the borders of the Dozen Stars, but had no material or strategic value; it had been selected merely for its isolation. After all, the ship couldn’t risk discovery while dropped out of jump in order to receive communication.

The Commander stood alone in his private chambers, facing the holoprojector that stood brooding and patient in one corner. A light flashed on its control panel, signaling an incoming call; the Commander tapped a button lightly to receive and then as a shimmering holofigure flickered into existence he went down on one knee, saluting over his heart in Imperial fashion.

He had never seen his patron’s true appearance, nor heard the man’s true voice – he wasn’t, in fact, entirely certain that his patron was a man. The holoimage itself was an avatar designed to give nothing away, a blurry, shadowy silhouette of a humanoid figure that stood with its hands behind its back, featureless save for a pair of burning white eyes in an otherwise blank face. This was the only image the patron had ever shown, and so long as he – or she – kept providing payment and resources, the Commander was content to allow him – or her – his privacy.

“My lord,” the Commander said. “How may I serve you?”

“Commander,” the patron said in a garbled, mechanical voice. “I am disappointed in you.”

“Disappointed, my lord?” the Commander asked. “I evaded the trap the regent set for me, have convinced him that I am dead. Despite our recent losses, I remain in a position to strike when he least expects it…”

“And you have done so for the price of almost your entire operation, the lives of a significant portion of your forces and millions of denarii worth of equipment!” the patron snapped. “Even my resources, extensive as they are, have limits; this is not a loss I can easily absorb. I had thought you had matured from the brute you were in the Alaelam Wars under my guidance; it seems I was mistaken.”

The Commander bowed his head. “Forgive me, my lord,” he said. “The regent and his allies brought forces greater than I felt I could reasonably defeat; I thought it wise to let him think he’d won while I withdrew, to serve you better by preserving my own life and that of my most elite warriors…”

“Spare me,” the patron said. “You sought to save your own life because you have no desire to die; the benefit to me was a secondary concern. Consider yourself fortunate, however, that your selfishness is not without benefit in this particular instance. I have another task for you, and a chance for you to find some measure of redemption.”

“Command me, my lord,” the Commander said.

“The rulers of the Dozen Stars have determined that they shall fill their vacant throne by means of a tournament at arms, to be held at the turning of the year on Carann,” the patron said, distaste evident even through the garbled quality of the voice. “I do not intend to allow a new monarch to ascend, and this tournament offers a unique opportunity for us.”

“Do you… intend that I or one of my elites enter, my lord?” the Commander asked. “I could see the benefit in such a course, but I think that the odds of succeeding at it are low enough that I would not think to attempt it unless it is at your command…”

“Of course not; don’t be a fool,” the patron snapped. “You aren’t one of their nobles, and I don’t have time to sufficiently ingratiate you with a guild in order to earn their patronage. No, the tournament is only an excuse – it means that, for the first time in decades, all, or almost all, of the titled nobles of the Dozen Stars will be gathered together in one place.” The patron’s eyes glittered. “I think you can understand the opportunity this presents for us.”

The Commander felt his breath catch, and was certain that his heart would have missed a beat had it not been replaced with a sophisticated mechanical pump years ago. “My lord,” he said slowly, “if you’re suggesting what I think you are, it would be the greatest blow we have struck against the Dozen Stars since killing the queen. Greater, perhaps.”

“Yes,” the Patron said. “This is my command to you – go to Carann when the time comes. I can arrange for you to be granted clearance that will get you to the planet’s surface, and I will trust your stealth technology to do the rest. You will enter the palace and, at the final round with the eyes of the entire Kingdom on you, you and your soldiers will kill the contestants and every noble of rank in the audience. The Dozen Stars will watch in horror as its entire ruling class is decapitated, along with their hope for the future. If you succeed, the Kingdom will splinter and soon fall, with minimal further effort. And even if you fail, the damage you do to the duchies’ succession will be catastrophic. At long last, the Kingdom of the Dozen Stars will be finished either way, and your labors of the past two decades will not be in vain.”

“I will not fail you, my lord,” the Commander said, clapping his fist over his heart once again in salute.

“Of course not,” the patron said. “But as a reminder…” he raised his hand and made a gesture in the air; the Commander knew that he was tapping controls on his end which the holo didn’t show. A moment later, the Commander collapsed, screaming, his cybernetics sending out waves of unbearable pain through his body, pain so great that it seemed that a few minutes of it would be enough to destroy him entirely… and then it was over, and he was left panting facedown on his floor.

“Succeed or fail, I have the power of life or death over you,” the Patron said calmly. “I had you remade, Commander – I could just as easily have you unmade. Attempt to betray me again, or to save your own life at the expense of my plans, know that what I have given you just now is but a taste. I dislike invoking the lash, but your recent performance makes the reminder a necessary one. Don’t make it necessary again. Am I clear?”

“Yes, my lord,” the Commander gasped.

“Good. I look forward to watching your performance at the tournament.” The holoimage flickered and vanished.

The Commander lay on the floor for several more minutes, and when he felt he was recovered he stood and pressed a button on his wrist-comm to summon Two immediately. Moments later, she entered the chambers and saluted. “Listen well,” the Commander said. “We have new orders, and much to prepare…”

///

The great doors to the royal palace’s tournament hall creaked open, and Mardoban stepped inside, surveying his surroundings with faint distaste. No tournament had been held here since Aestera had died, and the practice hadn’t been common on Carann for some decades before that. The hall was dim, and dusty from disuse, but its grandeur couldn’t be denied nonetheless. It was a great, semicircular arena, surrounded on three sides by the bleachers where a thousand spectators could sit. Above the stands were the alcoves where the recording mechs perched, waiting patiently for the time when they would be called back into service – it was their job to transmit the tournament across the entirety of the Dozen Stars. Facing the audience was the dais where the judges – which, for a tournament this important, would be Mardoban and his fellow dukes – would sit. In the center of the floor was a raised square platform where the contestants would face one another – the central focus for everything that was to transpire here.

What a way, Mardoban thought, for a throne to change hands – assuming, of course, that the crown would find whoever won the tournament, or more likely, the head of their house, worthy. Of course, even if it didn’t, some of the dukes might still manage to use such a victory as leverage to get their preferred candidate into power. Though just as likely, the odds of a tournament of such high stakes leading to no legitimate monarch would lead to civil war at long last. That was the possibility Mardoban dreaded the most, and a part of him feared it was the most likely.

Well, he would deal with that when the time came. The regent gestured over his shoulder and a small group of cleaning mechs glided into the room behind him. “Get to work at once,” he ordered. “I’ll need this place spotless by the time the tournament begins – they’ll never let me hear the end of it if I leave so much as a speck of dust.” The mechs didn’t have expressions that a human being might read, one reason why people often found them so disconcerting, but their eyelights flashed once in acknowledgment and they began to drift through the hall in a geometric pattern, cleaning limbs extended as they set to work.

The sound of human footsteps echoed behind Mardoban, and he turned to see the High Prelate enter the hall, flanked by a pair of younger priests. The old man inclined his head when he saw the regent, enough to be respectful without placing himself, and by extension the Church, in a subordinate position, and Mardoban returned the gesture before walking to his side.

“When I said that the Dozen Stars needed a leader, Mardoban,” the High Prelate said, “I have to admit that young nobles dueling for the crown was not what I had in mind.”

Mardoban chuckled darkly. “Nor I,” he said. “But the council has spoken, and therefore I must abide by their judgment. Besides, as I’ve explained to the honorable Imperial Ambassador, dueling is an honored tradition of our Kingdom. I supposed you could say we’re just being true to our heritage.”

“That may be,” the High Prelate said, “but I am a man of the Lord, not a man of war. As distasteful as I may find the process, it isn’t the place of the Church to dictate secular policy. Still,” he lowered his voice to a whisper, “I doubt this is what our mutual friend had in mind when he left us that crown. If rule by the strongest warrior was what he wanted, he needn’t have bothered, I think.”

“I agree,” Mardoban replied in the same tone, “but if I told the council I wanted to base the running of the Kingdom on an eccentric old mystic who half of them considered a fraud and the other half a madman, they’d strip me of my title faster than I could say his name. Better to let them think that that crown is a ploy by one of their own – or even a sign from the Lord. It’s easier that way.”

“I suppose,” the High Prelate said, though he was clearly unhappy with the situation. “Still, I once told you that I would bless the coronation of whoever that crown found worthy if it meant restoring some unity to the Dozen Stars, and I stand by that – and I suppose I can extend it to the winner of this tournament.” The elderly priest stepped back and looked around, rubbing his hands together. “Now, to the business at hand. There was a time when the Church was expected to bless all transfers of power; the practice has largely fallen off these days, but I think that if we’re really going through with the tournament, it needs all the legitimacy it can get. Otherwise some of the dukes might get… ideas.”

“That makes a certain amount of sense,” Mardoban said slowly; though he respected the High Prelate personally, he didn’t much care for the Church’s intrusion into the political realm. “What do you intend?”

“At the moment, just to bless the arena,” the High Prelate said. “Later, perhaps, to lead a prayer at the opening ceremonies. I don’t intend to do much – as I said, it isn’t my role to dictate policy. But the census estimates that upwards of eighty percent of the Dozen Stars holds to the Church in some capacity, and invoking the Lord’s blessing on the procedure could help smooth over any… potential uncertainties.”

Mardoban was silent for a long moment, then nodded. “Very well,” he said. “You may place your blessings and say your prayers, but promise me you’ll stay neutral and not imply, even vaguely, that you’re endorsing one duchy’s contestants over another’s. Religious conflict can be a nasty thing, and I ask you not to open the door to that even a small amount. For the good of the Kingdom.”

The High Prelate nodded. “Of course,” he said. “The Church has traditionally been neutral in Kingdom politics, and I intend to keep it that way while it remains under my watch. For the good of the Kingdom, and the honor of the Lord. My purpose is to lessen strife among humankind, not to add to it.”

Mardoban smiled. “Well,” he said, “I’m glad at least one person here thinks that way.”

///

The regent watched the priests begin their ritual blessing. Four more of them had entered, bearing tall staves that ended in braziers that burned with orange flames – the Light of the Lord’s Wisdom, the Canon called it. The staff-bearers moved to the edges of the hall and held their torches aloft, while a pair of holy sisters who had entered behind them opened their large, ornate Canons and began to recite their prayers in the sacred language that had been carried from Lost Terra. The High Prelate stood in the center of the room, supervising; he looked back at Mardoban and the two men exchanged another nod.

With the priests’ ritual well under way, and the cleaning mechs still scrubbing the chamber itself, and neither seeming like they needed much in the way of Mardoban’s oversight, he excused himself politely and made his way to the throne room. It was empty, as was usual these days when the council wasn’t in session; he nodded at the guards as he walked inside and approached the throne slowly. There, on its lap, was the crown, which had been placed their once again after Respen had hurled it aside when it had rejected him.

Mardoban picked up the crown, but didn’t move to place it on his head. Instead he simply turned it in his hands, regarding it carefully. It was a simple thing, as such objects went, a golden circlet set with small sapphires along the rim – blue and gold, the colors of House ast Carann. Royal colors. There was no sign of the sensors or circuits that Mardoban knew must be somewhere inside that band, and of course, if the Professor had used his Adept’s skills on it, there was no way for Mardoban, an ordinary man, to recognize that handiwork. And yet this simple piece of jewelry had struck down an arrogant duke, and on it the whole fate of a nation that spanned star systems might turn. The regent suddenly felt very small holding it, and very, very weary.

“Father?” a voice said behind him, and he turned to see Pakorus standing there. The boy – no, Mardoban reminded himself, he’s almost a man now -was regarding him with concern in his eyes. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, son,” Mardoban said, placing the crown back on the throne and sighing. “But if anyone ever tells you that power brings you happiness, they’re either lying or they’re insane. Power, if you use it right, is a burden, not a privilege. And I’ve carried my burden for too long, now.”

Pakorus looked confused, and Mardoban could tell he didn’t understand, not really. Still, he stepped forward and put his hand on his father’s arm. “I believe in you,” he said quietly. “I believe that you’ll be able to bring the Dozen Stars through all of this and see someone worthy put on the throne, and then you’ll be able to put that burden down. It won’t be too much longer – I hope. But I’ll be there for you.”

Mardoban stood still for a long moment, then grabbed his son and wrapped him in a tight embrace. “I know you will,” he said. “Thank you, Pakorus. I love you, son, and I want to make certain you know that, in case… well, in case.” He pulled back, blinking a few tears from the edges of his eyes. “Now, is there anything you need?”

“Yes, actually,” Pakorus said, doing his best to appear professional now. “Ambassador Ceana is here to see you. Can I tell her you’re available?”

“Well, duty calls,” Mardoban said, sighing. “Send her in.” Pakorus nodded and hurried from the council chamber; a moment later, Ambassador Ceana Preas swept into the room. She was a stately woman of Mardoban’s generation and carried herself with a regal dignity, though he knew from experience that she could had no tolerance for fools and could be decidedly acerbic. She represented the Realtran Kingdom, another nation which had broken away from the Empire as it had weakened; not nearly so powerful as that ancient and still-mighty regime, but still a significant political consideration.

Ceana and Quarinis despised one another, of course – not unsurprising considering the contentious history between their two nations. Mardoban had learned long ago that it was wise not to meet with both of them in the same room if one had any desire to get anything constructive accomplished.

Ceana approached the throne, looked down at the crown and sniffed disdainfully. “So, this is it,” she said. “I heard that you all were finally planning to put someone in charge after fifteen years. A sensible system would have prevented this, you know.”

“True enough,” Mardoban said with a respectful bow. “Unfortunately, we can’t all be as wise as the Realtrans.” Realtra was technically a monarchy, but the king or queen was elected by their parliament and though he or she served for life, the position wasn’t inherited. Even in cases where a monarch had died without heirs, Mardoban had never heard of the Realtran throne standing empty for longer than a month.

“Isn’t that the truth,” Ceana muttered. “Well, I have my reservations about the way you’re going about doing things, but it’s your country and your traditions. I suppose I have to live with them. I am here to say that Realtra intends to stand beside whoever ends up taking your throne. A stable Dozen Stars benefits all of us, and I don’t think I’m revealing any state secrets to say that our parliament hasn’t been happy to watch you fracturing since poor Aestera was killed. Though I have to say, whoever gets your throne, I dearly hope it isn’t Respen.” The Duke of Aurann’s military buildups had long been a cause for concern for neighboring nations, who feared he might seek out war with them in order to demonstrate his power; privately, Mardoban wouldn’t put it past him. “Is it true this thing nearly killed him?”

Ceana gestured at the crown, and Mardoban shook his head. “I think ‘nearly killed’ is overstating the matter,” he said, “but let’s just say that whatever Respen’s idea of his claim’s validity, whoever created this crown didn’t appear to agree with it. The experience of wearing it was… less than pleasant for him.”

“Well, I think there are elements in my government who’d say it was better than he deserved,” Ceana said. “In any case, best of luck on finally getting your succession sorted out. Lord knows it’s time for it. And I think it’s none too soon.” She regarded Mardoban darkly. “There’s a grim feeling on the air, regent. I’ve felt it, and I think you have too. Something is coming; I don’t know what it is, but I’d rather face it with allies than without. Get your country sorted out, old friend, before it’s too late.”

“I’m trying, Ambassador,” Mardoan said with a resigned air. “Unfortunately, my country and I don’t always see eye to eye.”