Realm of the Stars, Volume II: The Endangered Crown (Complete 10/8)

[MasterGhandalf]

New chapter! 

Spoiler

Chapter Twenty-Three

Decommissioned Science Facility, Within the Borders of the Empire

The nameless planet hung in space before Sister Night, taking up the yacht’s entire front viewport and extending far beyond. Its surface seethed with motion as great orange and red clouds were spun across it by hurricane-force winds, and despite the distance, Pakorus could almost imagine he saw the flicker of lightning deep within them. It was a humbling, awe-inspiring sight, and yet not the reason they were here. Tiny in comparison, an oblong shape hung in orbit around the planet, all that remained of a project the Empire had gone to great lengths to bury – and yet had nonetheless produced assassins who had terrorized the Dozen Stars.

“There it is,” Midaia breathed from where she sat in her chair in the yacht’s cockpit. “It doesn’t look like much – just another old, derelict space station – but inside, if we’re lucky, we’ll find the answers we seek.”

“Do you have a plan for getting in?” Pakorus asked, trying his hardest to keep the apprehension from his voice. “Specter’s people couldn’t, and he seems like the sort to hire the best.”

Midaia turned to look at him; she’d pulled on her hooded cloak once again and her face was shadowed now, giving it an ominous, mysterious cast. “Specter,” she said, in a tone that brooked no argument, “didn’t have me.”

Slowly the station grew in their viewport until it hung directly before them; utterly dwarfed as it was by the titanic planet it orbited, it was still several times the size of their little yacht. It roughly resembled a flattened oval in shape, made from cold, grey metal, featureless save for the emblem that had been painted on its side – the double-headed eagle of the Empire, rendered in a dark red. In the shadow of the gas giant and the dim light of the system’s distant sun, the eagle looked like it had been painted in blood. Pakorus suppressed a shudder, hoping that his observation wasn’t an omen.

Midaia pulled Sister Night up beside the station, then flipped a few switches; Pakorus felt the ship groan as a boarding passage extended from its side, anchoring itself to the station’s airlock. “Now,” the Adept said, standing, “it’s time to see if I really am as good at this as I think I am.” Gesturing for Pakorus to follow, she swept from the cabin and made her way down the yacht’s central corridor until she finally reached the boarding passage. The airlock on the other side was still sealed, with a small keypad beside it the only sign of how it might be opened.

“What now?” Pakorus asked. “I don’t suppose Specter was able to give you the password?”

“As a matter of fact, he wasn’t,” Midaia said, kneeling before the keypad and regarding it critically. “But I have my ways; don’t worry.” She pulled a small device from a pocket in her robes and planted it on the keypad, then placed her hand atop it. The device hummed to life as Midaia closed her eyes, and red light flickered around her hand. The keypad whirred beneath her touch, and then, with a loud ping, the airlock slid open, revealing only darkness beyond.

“How did you do that?” Pakorus asked as Midaia stood, stowing her small machine back in her robe.

“My little tool there is a lockpick, of sorts,” she said, straightening herself. “It can run through every possible combination of codes far faster than a human ever could, and it keeps the door from locking itself down after too many failed attempts, too. A light application of my Adept’s arts sped things along.”

“You can use your powers on machines?” Pakorus asked, surprised.

Midaia shrugged. “Machines are made of matter and energy, just as living beings are,” she said. “The technique for manipulating them is different, of course – it’s a lot easier to make them blow up than it is to do anything constructive – but I’ve had time to learn some tricks. This was an easy one, since I was just making my lockpick work faster than it normally would. Imposing my will on an entire computer system that I don’t have access to is much harder. Luckily,” she patted the side of her cloak, “I have other tools to help with that. Now, are you done asking questions, or are you ready to head in?”

Pakorus drew a deep breath to steady himself, patted the beam pistol holstered at his side, and nodded. “I’m ready,” he said.

“Excellent,” Midaia replied; stepping forward, she held up her right hand, which began to glow with an eerie red light. Slowly, the light drifted into the air above her palm, where it formed into a glowing ball that came to hover beside her head, casting a dim glow around her that was nonetheless bright enough to see by. Her strange light source following just behind, Midaia stepped into the space station, Pakorus following just behind.

They found themselves in a long corridor; even in this light, it looked dusty and dim. Just from the look of things, Pakorus didn’t think anyone had been here for a very long time. Midaia picked her way along slowly, pausing every so often to run a finger along the dusty walls or examine some bit of wiring, but so far, they had found nothing that appeared to be of interest.

Finally, they came to an intersection in the corridors; the way ahead carried on straight, as did the right-hand turn; the left turn, however, went only a short distance before rising in a flight of stairs up to a door; so far as Pakorus could see in Midaia’s light, the door was unmarked, bearing neither sign nor insignia.

“Which way do we go?” he asked.

Midaia turned to look at him, frowning under her hood. “I’m not sure,” she said. “We’re trying to find a terminal from which I can access this facility’s main computer network; unfortunately, I have no idea where that would be. I’m not exactly an expert on Imperial design protocols, and in any case, this facility isn’t typical. That door up there is probably an office of some kind, but whether it has what I’m looking for I’m not sure. If that doesn’t work, let’s try the right-hand turn. Something about the straight way is making me uneasy, though I’m not sure why.”

She shook her head and turned towards the stairs, but before she could start to climb Pakorus saw something flashing in the depths of the straight corridor – a single, floating red eye, now rushing towards them. He barely had time to shout a warning before the thing emerged into the light – the floating, vaguely box-like shape of an Imperial security mech. The mech spun towards Midaia and without warning it opened fire with beam cannon that were built into its chassis. Midaia gave a surprised shout and fell back, throwing her hands up in the air; the bolts were intercepted by a shimmer of red light before they could strike. Then Pakorus drew his beam pistol from his holster, flipped the safety off, and fired, catching the mech clear in its central red eye. The thing gave a disconcertingly lifelike screech, and then clattered to the floor, sparking. Its guns wavered, as if still trying to find a target, then fell still.

Pakorus walked over to the mech and kicked it; no response. “Well, that was unexpected,” he said.

“Quite,” said Midaia, standing. “My compliments on your shooting, by the way. Well, if nothing else, we’ve found out that the Empire’s security mechs are still active – some of them, anyway. Which would seem to support Specter’s theory that there’s something here they don’t want people to find.” She walked over to the mech and looked down at it with disgust. “Shiran never had much use for these things,” she said. “And neither do I. Remove the human from combat and what do you have left – heartless, soulless killing machines that exist solely to follow their programming, no matter what atrocities it breeds. The metaphor made literal.” She shook her head.

“Do you think there are any more of those?” Pakorus asked.

“Security mechs are rarely deployed alone,” Midaia said. “It’s possible this one was the last one functional – but I wouldn’t count on it. And the rest likely know we’re here by now. I recommend we check the office straightaway. Let’s get our work done quickly and get out, before we find ourselves buried in security mechs.”

Pakorus found that he heartily agreed.

///

The door at the top of the stairs was locked; this did not, however, prove to be a significant obstacle as Midaia studied the lock for several seconds and then made a gesture that caused it to fall apart in her hands. The room inside was small and bare; whoever had worked here at one time, it seemed they stripped almost everything from the office when they left, leaving only a desk and chair that were both bolted down behind. If there had been any computer in the room it must have been portable, because there was no sign of it here now.

“damnation,” Midaia muttered under her breath. “I’d been hoping…” with a sigh she got down on her knees and peered underneath the desk, as if expecting to find a hidden terminal there, or even a secret message written on the underside.

As she worked, Pakorus turned around, his gaze taking in the bare walls and ceiling – and then he froze, something he could barely glimpse on the back of the office door catching his eye. Shoving the door gently closed, he could now make out what it was he’d seen only briefly before – a diagram of the facility, etched directly into the metal. Whatever labels might have once been on this map seemed to have peeled away, but tracing with his finger, he followed what had been the right hand passage from where they’d entered the facility down towards what appeared to be a cavernously large chamber – one with what appeared to be operating tables etched inside it.

“Midaia,” Pakorus called.

“What?” the Adept asked, sticking her head up from behind the desk, her dark hair askew.

“I think,” Pakorus said, pointing towards the diagram, “I may have found the main laboratory.”

///

They met nothing as they followed the corridor down to the large room, Midaia’s ball of light drifting slightly ahead; still, Pakorus felt jumpy, half-expecting another of the security mechs to come bursting out of every side-corridor they passed, until they finally stepped through a door into the laboratory itself.

The room was larger by far than anywhere they’d been so far, with Midaia’s glowing ball unable to illuminate all of it. Here again the walls and ceilings were bare of decoration, but the sides were lined by a series of machines that had been too heavy to move. Here were a series of beds, each sized to roughly fit an adult human, and above each bed there hung, immobile, a complex set of robotic arms.

Pakorus felt his skin grow cold as he approached the nearest of the beds, stopping to run a finger along its edge and then holding it up to examine the dust. Turning, he looked up at the robotic arms, which seemed to wait like some quiescent predator that might yet become dangerous one day, and he shivered. “This is where it happened,” he breathed. “This is where the Commander and his cyborgs were… created.” He shook his head. “What sort of a person would volunteer to go through a process like that, anyway? What sort of power would be worth giving up your humanity?”

“You’d be surprised what price people will pay,” Midaia said. “And you speak with the prejudice of a true subject of the Dozen Stars. The Empire, historically, has been rather more relaxed about creating cyborgs, especially when it has military advantage. People actually sign up to become Praetorians, you know. It’s quite the honor. Still, the Commander’s alterations were quite extensive and can’t have been pleasant, especially for a mission he’d never be recognized for. I wonder what they offered him to make him agree to the procedure.”

Turning, she glided over to a console by the door, just in front of one of the surgical beds; it had a chair in front of it, and Midaia took a seat there, blowing dust off the controls. “Perhaps this,” she said, “might hold our answers.”

Reaching forward with her right hand, she raised her fingers up and a thin rod extended from the device on her wrist, which Pakorus had taken to simply be an unusual comm. The rod inserted itself into a data port, and a moment later the computer hummed back to life, flashing text across its screen faster than Pakorus could read it. Midaia sat completely still for a long moment, her expression intense, and then she cursed under her breath.

“The computer’s memory has been wiped,” she growled. “Of course, it has. The only thing still there is a message warning whoever reads it that this program was terminated by order of His Imperial Majesty, Verus Licinius, repeated in various ways. Dammit!”

“Is that it, then?” Pakorus asked. “Is there nothing else you can do?”

“If I was an ordinary person, then yes, there would be nothing I could do,” Midaia said. “Fortunately for us both, I’m not an ordinary person. I’m me. And even erased data may leave traces in the energy of what we sometimes call the psychic plane. I might be able to retrieve it – or at least some of it. This could take a while, and it’s very important that you don’t interrupt me. Understand?”

“Completely,” Pakorus said; Midaia nodded and returned her attention to the console, staring intently at the screen while holding her hands out, palm down, over the keyboard. For a moment, nothing happened, and then her hands started glowing faintly red.

Pakorus sighed, turning away from the Adept and wandering among the surgical beds, staring at them and the waiting arms above with a horrified fascination. Even with Midaia’s explanation, he still couldn’t understand why someone would voluntarily do something like that to themselves. It seemed too much like a classic Evil One’s bargain to him; gaining power for the price of one’s essential humanity. But on the other hand, if the Commander hadn’t chosen this, if such a procedure could be forced on someone against their will – that just made it worse, somehow.

He was distracted from his thoughts by the sound of a distant humming. Spinning towards the door, he saw another of the security mechs enter; it focused its red eye on Midaia, the nearer target, and turned towards her, extending its guns. Pakorus acted without thinking; aiming his beam pistol, he fired, taking this mech as well directly through the eye. It clattered to the ground, hissing and sparking, but then another one came through the door… and another… and more after that…

Pakorus swore and fired, managing to hit this mech in its engines and down it as well; unfortunately, all this seemed to accomplish was to get their attention focused on him. The machines turned to face him, their mechanical red eyes unblinking as they drifted forward, guns bristling. Pakorus managed to duck behind one of the beds as they opened fire, the bed itself taking the assault. After a moment that seemed like an eternity the guns fell silent, leaving no sound but the faint hum of their engines. He knew that the things weren’t truly intelligent and were only acting according to their programming, but he still imagined them conferring silently among themselves, determining how best to rid themselves of this annoying human.

Sticking his head around the edge of the bed, Pakorus let out another shot; this one only grazed the side of one of the mechs, and it turned slowly towards him and began drifting around the bed. Pakorus waited patiently, each breath thundering in his ears as he waited for the thing to get closer, and then suddenly, he was interrupted by Midaia giving a triumphant shout. The mech paused, and Pakorus jumped out, his shot taking it directly through the eye at point-blank range. Sputtering, it spun and collapsed to the ground.

Behind it, several of the other mechs had reoriented towards Midaia, who was standing now and facing them completely unconcerned; they raised their guns to open fire, but she made a broad sweeping motion with her hand and an arc of red light scythed out, slicing the mechs neatly in two. As their pieces fell to the floor, Pakorus shot the last one through the engine, causing it to begin spiraling erratically.

“Did you get what you were looking for?” he asked, panting. “I have no idea how many more of these are coming.”

“I got something,” Midaia said, “and I think we can use it. Now, I think we should…”

Whatever she was going to say, it was interrupted by the final mech, which reoriented its red eye on her and then spoke in a tinny, electronic voice. “Intruder alert,” it said, “intruders detected. Facility has been compromised. All Imperial personnel must evacuate; self-destruct imminent. Intruder alert…”

Pakorus went cold, and shot the mech straight through its chassis, but that wasn’t enough to stop whatever procedure it had initiated. Red lights began flashing along the ceiling, and the high wail of an alarm echoed through the halls. “I guess we pushed them too far after all,” Midaia said, voice surprisingly calm. “Now, let’s not hang around here discussing things. If you want to live, run!”

Reflecting on the events later, Pakorus wasn’t entirely sure how they made it back to their ship, hurrying through the corridors as fast as they could run, Midaia’s dark cape flapping behind her. They met more of the security mechs, though Pakorus couldn’t say for sure how many; luckily Midaia was able to shield them from their beam fire while he blasted those who got too close out of the way with his pistol. Finally, the siren wailing in their ears and the red lights flashing around them, they stumbled back to the airlock and practically dove into the waiting Sister Night, sealing the door tightly shut behind them. No sooner were they inside than Midaia barreled into the cockpit, not even bothering to take a seat as she started the engines, disengaged the yacht from the space station, and set a course away from the gas giant and towards deep space.

They had barely gotten away when the laboratory explored behind them in a brilliant flash of blue-white light, the blast throwing pieces of degree all about them. Then the shockwave hit, and the yacht was knocked off its course, shaking as it spun off into space – and then, finally, it stilled as outside, the light died. It was over; they’d survived. Pakorus collapsed into the copilot’s chair, panting heavily with relief.

Finally, he looked over at Midaia, who was now slumped in her own seat. “So, what did you get, anyway?” he asked. “Was it worth it?”

“I wasn’t able to get much,” she said. “Just flashes, really. It’ll take time to put it all together, and even then, there will be holes. Reconstructing deleted data from a hard drive isn’t as easy as it sounds. One thing did come through clearly, though. After the Commander and his assassins were refitted at the lab, they were sent to an Imperial military base to receive their equipment and their instructions before heading on to the Dozen Stars.”

“So the Empire was behind the assassins after all,” Pakorus breathed, his mind reeling at the implications.

“So it would seem,” Midaia said. “And, at least at the time the data was deleted, that base was still operational – which means its records would be intact. I hope you weren’t planning on heading home to Carann just yet, my young friend. We appear to have one more stop to make after all.”

///

Elsewhere in the Empire, at the heart of a highly secured military facility, a light began to flash on a control console, indicating a message had arrived. When an officer with the clearance to do so read it, the message proved to be short and direct. The project is compromised, it said. The laboratory has been destroyed. Expect company soon.

 

[MasterGhandalf]

New chapter! As always, feedback is appreciated! 

Spoiler

Chapter Twenty-Four

Katanes, Baronial Palace

The warning sirens were still blazing in Arta’s ears as she finished pulling her armor on and buckling her dueling sword around her waist. Glancing around the changing room, she saw Karani and Latharna doing the same, the latter wearing a borrowed suit she’d found in the palace armory that fit her. The three young women nodded grimly at each other and then stepped out into the corridor outside, where the royal guards fell into step around them as they hurried through the halls and eventually arrived at the palace’s situation room.

It wasn’t a room Arta had been in often – as Katanes had never been attacked before during her lifetime, it was generally kept sealed – and to be inside it now felt rather underwhelming. The room was fairly small, dominated by a central table above which now hovered a holographic projection of Tannen City. The Baron stood at one end, dressed in his own armor, something Arta had seldom seen him wear but which suited him surprisingly well; beside him was Danash, who not being a fighter or commander himself was dressed in one of his usual suits. Several officers Arta vaguely recognized from functions the baronial family had attended over the years were gathered around the table, and she wasn’t surprised to see Shiran standing quietly off to one side.

When Arta and her companions entered the room, all eyes turned towards them – and then, to Arta’s surprise and embarrassment, everyone bowed. “Your Majesty,” Danash said, seeming to speak for the entire group; Arta wasn’t sure how to react to receiving such deference from someone who’d known her when she’d been a toddler.

A sudden jostle at her side indicated that Karani had just surreptitiously elbowed her, and Arta straightened. “At ease,” she said. Lord, that sounded right, didn’t it? “Report. What’s going on here?”

“In short, Tannen City is under attack,” Danash said, gesturing to the hologram. “Having failed at direct frontal assault, Duke Respen appears to have decided to take another approach. Leaving his surviving Equestrians in hiding behind the farther moon, he dispatched a small squadron of fighters, gunships and bombers, which managed to circle around our own fleet and enter the atmosphere undetected. About half an hour ago, they began bombing runs on the city.”

Karani gave a sudden, sharp gasp, and it was all Arta could do to keep from doing the same. A queen is calm, she told herself. A queen is in control; a queen always knows what to do. Finally, she trusted herself to speak. “What sort of damage are we looking at?” she said. “What about casualties?”

Danash frowned. “That’s just it,” he said. “The casualties and damage are noticeably less than anticipated, according to our reports from the city militia. Even considering the small size of the bombing squadron and the fact that militia and city constabulary have scrambled flitters to hold them off, the invaders could be doing much worse than they are. According to reports, the bombings have mostly been limited to streets and open spaces – they’re not making much of an attempt to collapse buildings or government structures. And they don’t seem to have started the worst of the attack until after most of the population were in shelters.”

“That seems… odd,” Karani said, breaking in. “I mean, Respen showing restraint? Doesn’t seem his style.”

“It’s not,” the Baron said, frowning. “That’s why I doubt he’s with this squadron; whoever’s in command, they’re not nearly so bloodthirsty. Even so, I’m not sure what they’re trying to accomplish here. At this rate, they’ll never take the city or manage to force the local government to surrender…”

And suddenly, Arta understood. “Because they’re not trying to,” she said. “This is a diversion. They’re not trying to destroy Tannen City; they’re just trying to make us pay attention to what they’re doing there…”

“My Lord, Your Majesty,” one of the officers said suddenly, looking up from his wrist comm. “Local militia reports another squadron of Aurann and Sakran ships has entered the atmosphere near Tannen! They’re not reinforcing the ships at the city, though, they’re on a course that will take them… here.” He looked around the room, expression grim. “They’ll be here in minutes.”

“What sort of ships?” Danash demanded.

The officer had a hurried exchange with whoever was on the other end of his comm and looked up again. “Fighters, bombers,” he said, “and two larger ships that appear to be troop transports.”

“Activate the palace shields!” the Baron said, suddenly tense. “And order our troops to the landing platforms, now. I don’t want any of them to get through!”

“My lord, I don’t think we can raise the shields on time,” the other officer said. “And the palace has always been lightly defended – we’ve never had to hold off a determined invasion in its entire history. I’m sorry, my lord, but I don’t know if we can hold.”

“We will,” Arta said, voice firm. “I will reinforce our defenses with my own guards. If Respen takes the palace, he takes Katanes, and as your Queen – and as a Katannen – I will not let that happen. The troop ships will have to dock at the landing platform at the north tower – it’s the only one big enough for them. I’ll take my guards and reinforce the defenders there.”

“Your guards and me,” Karani said firmly. “You are not leaving me behind; not again.”

“I’m going to,” Latharna said.

“And I,” said Shiran suddenly, his calm voice seeming to dominate the room without effort. “I’m no knight, but I might be of some assistance.”

“Your Majesty,” the first Katannen officer – Rossan, that was his name, Arta finally remembered, Colonel Rossan – said, “is this really wise? The enemy is here for you – are you sure you want to risk yourself?”

“I doubt Lieutenant Rehan will permit me to fight if it can be avoided,” Ara said. “But I’m not going to cower like some Imperial patrician and let others fight my battles for me. You’re right – I’m the one Respen wants. And if I can pull his attention towards me, then it’s taken away from hurting anyone else.” She smiled then, a strangely calm, cold smile that she thought must make her resemble Midaia. “And I’ll make sure he gets more than what he bargained for.”

From across the room, Arta could see Shiran nodding approvingly.

///

“We’re approaching the entry point now, my lord,” the pilot of the drop ship reported; from where he stood behind him, holding tight onto one of the loops that hung from the craft’s ceiling, Darius glanced at his siblings and nodded.

“Excellent,” he said; looking over the pilot’s shoulders, he could see the shimmering towers of the Katanes palace grow larger in front of them. It was a beautiful structure, he thought, and he found himself again regretting the part he and his family had played in bringing war to this planet.

Their target was one a landing platform on the palace’s northern tower – based on their reports, it was big enough to hold both of their drop ships and would therefore make an ideal beachhead from which to send their troops into the palace. It was also an obvious target, and so Darius knew to expect resistance. There would be battle soon.

“You really think Artakane will be there?” Galen asked from beside him, his tone dark and heavy with anticipation.

“I’d wager good money on it,” Darius said. “It’s what I’d do.”

“And we know the girl has courage, no matter what else you can say about her,” Tariti said. “Are we ready for this?”

“I am,” Darius said, giving a wry smile that didn’t entirely have his heart in it. “And remember, everyone – we need to make this look good.”

Even as he finished speaking, the small, stealthy craft that had been clinging to the drop ship’s underbelly detached itself; as the drop ships approached the north tower it hid in their shadow, and then dipped lower and turned vertical, attaching itself with its landing claws to the tower’s side. The lasers on the craft’s underbelly hummed to life as it began to cut an opening, and the handful of elite Aurannian commandos who rode within braced themselves for the mission that was now about to commence.

The tiny craft didn’t hold more than a half-dozen troops, in addition to the pilot. But for what they intended tonight, that would be enough.

///

Arta and her guard squadron reached the landing platform just as the first of the Aurannian troop ships touched down; a ramp opened in its belly and a squad of troopers marched out, fully armored and with beam rifles held at the ready. Under Lieutenant Rehan’s direction, the royal guards took up their positions on either side of the great doors leading from the platform into the main palace, keeping out of the invaders’ line of sight and raising their own weapons in silent expectation. Arta stood behind the lieutenant, having just put her helmet on and hand nervously drumming on the hilt of her dueling sword; across the way, she could see Latharna and Karani doing the same. Shiran stood beside her, holding no visible weapon but with his head bowed as if in deep thought; Arta didn’t know if anyone else could sense it, but she could almost feel the energy gathering around him as the old Adept prepared to unleash it.

The Aurannian troopers approached the doors warily, clearly expecting trouble. Rehan waited, allowing them to get close, and then nodded sharply to the other guards who waited on the other side of the doors. They returned her gesture, and then, as one, they leapt out into the corridor, rifles raised, and opened fire.

The landing platform dissolved into chaos. The Aurannians were startled for a moment but then returned fire, spraying the corridor with blast beams. Several of them had fallen, but Arta could see at least one of them pulling himself back to his feet, his armor having apparently taken the worst of the blast. The guards ducked back under cover, keeping the barrels of their weapons pointed around the edges of the door and squeezing off shots when they could; Arta felt a stabbing pain in her heart as she saw three bodies in guard uniforms lying on the floor, still. They had died so suddenly… had died for her. She would ask Rehan for their names later, she resolved, and she would never forget.

The skirmish had become a stalemate, the Aurannians unable to advance into the palace but the guards unable to drive them back into their ship. Then, suddenly, Arta felt her heart sink as she saw the second troop ship coming in to land beside the first; if the invaders doubled the number of troops at their disposal, they could sweep away the defenders with ease. Suddenly, she felt a warm hand on her shoulder. “Leave this to me,” Shiran said.

He strode out into the center of the corridor and approached the doors, as unconcerned as if walking down a city street on a pleasant summer day; several of the Aurannians opened fire, perhaps feeling that this old man would be an easy target, but their blasts impacted harmlessly on a shield no one could see, leaving only a faint, pale blue shimmer in the air. The troopers glanced at each other; though their expressions couldn’t bee seen behind their opaque faceplates, they seemed uncertain.

Shiran reached the doors and raised his hands; the second troop ship was just about to land when it was suddenly seized and held fast, pale blue tendrils of light wrapping around its landing gear. Shiran stood immobile, the faint sheen of sweat on his face as he exerted every ounce of his formidable will, and then he thrust both hands forward, palms out. The blue light flared brighter, and then the troop ship was hurled backward with incredible force, flying off the platform and slamming hard into the nearest of the mountains, where it exploded in a sudden burst of orange fire.

Arta stared, stunned – she couldn’t imagine the amount of force it must have taken to move something so large with such power. Around her, everyone else seemed to be even more astounded; not being Adepts, they had no understanding of what sorts of power Shiran might command. Karani was staring at her old tutor, open-mouthed expression clearly visible through her transparent visor; beside her, Latharna shook her head as if not believing what she’d just seen. Around them, the weapons of both the royal guards and Aurannians fell silent, as if they were trying to process what had just happened. Beside Arta, Lieutenant Rehan shook her head. “I’ll be damned,” she breathed.

Shiran, however, was not unaffected by his feat; he fell to one knee, breathing heavily. “That,” he murmured, “weighed rather a lot.” Slowly standing, he made his way back over to the shelter behind the door, neither side attempting to stop his passage. Once under cover, he leaned against the wall and sank to the floor.

“Are you all right?” Ara asked.

“Yes,” Shiran said, still breathing deeply. “Just tired. That took a lot out of me, I’m afraid.”

“That was impressive, I’ll admit,” a familiar voice said suddenly, “but I don’t think the old man has another of those in him, and there’s still enough of us that you’re not going to be able to win this without taking more losses. And I don’t think you want to do that, do you, Arta?”

Arta stiffened. “What do you want, Darius?” she called back; sticking her head around the door, she could see all three ast Sakran siblings emerging from the intact troop ship, red-and-gold armor gleaming and Darius in the lead. “Gloating isn’t really your style. You usually leave that to Galen.”

Galen started angrily at the comment, but Darius held up a hand. “I thought you’d be here, Arta,” he said. “I didn’t think you’d let your guards die for you while you stayed safe; honestly, that doesn’t sit too well with me either. So, I’ll propose a deal. We settle this like gentlemen and gentlewomen; you and two companions of your choice versus me and my siblings. I win, you surrender and come with us. You win, we leave and don’t come back.”

“And the attack on the city?” Arta asked. “Will that stop as well?”

“Of course,” Darius said. “Duke Respen has given me command of the ground mission; if I call off the bombers, they’ll retreat as well.”

After a brief pause, Arta nodded. “All right,” she said. “I agree. You have a deal.”

“I’m going with her,” Karani shouted. “It’s my planet too. And I owe Galen for a broken leg.”

“This is madness,” Lieutenant Rehan hissed in Arta’s ear. “Do you really think he’ll honor his word? It’s a trap! Let me go in your place.”

“No,” Arta said. “I don’t think so. Darius is honorable, or at least he wants people to see him that way. I don’t think that kind of trick is in his character. And I can’t back out now, or let someone else fight in my place, not in front of everyone. I’d be shamed in front of the whole Kingdom for the rest of my life if I did that.”

Rehan muttered something under her breath, a disgusted exclamation that sounded like it could have been “nobles!” Then she looked up at Arta and nodded. “At least let me be your third fighter,” she said.

“I’m sorry, but I need the best swordswoman I know,” Arta said, and looked across the hall. “Latharna, are you with me?”

Latharna nodded. “I am.” Together, she, Arta and Karani stepped out from the cover of the doors and marched forward onto the landing platform, where the ast Sakrans waited for them, surrounded by a semicircle of Aurannian troops.

“Three of them, three of us,” Karani said, drawing her sword and activating it. The blade came to life with a thrum. “I like those odds.” Arta and Latharna drew their swords as well; across from them, the ast Sakrans did the same. The flickering sparks of six dueling swords flashed in the Katannen night.

“It’s not too late to back down,” Darius said.

“Not today,” Arta replied, and then battle was joined.

Arta charged for Darius, but found her way blocked by a slighter figure; his sister Tariti, by reputation nearly as good. Arta had seen her fight at the tournament, though she hadn’t faced her in person, and she’d believe that assessment. Their swords met with a hiss and then they separated, dancing back from each other and circling warily, eyeing one another and trying to find each other’s weaknesses.

Nearby, Karani faced Galen, both of their expressions hard. Arta remembered the last time they’d fought – Galen had won, but Karani had insisted he’d cheated, using his sword on a higher power setting than tournament rules allowed. Tonight was no tournament, and there were no rules, and Karani intended to have her revenge. Darius and Latharna, meanwhile, simply stood facing one another, swords at the ready but as of yet making no move to attack – two prodigies taking one another’s measure, each regarding the other as a worthy foe. The cut on Latharna’s cheek from where Darius had struck her in their earlier encounter was just visible near the edge of her helmet.

Then Tariti was on her again, forcing her back with a series of swift strokes that Arta parried just in time. “Darius has a soft spot for you,” the ast Sakran girl hissed. “And Galen nurses a nasty grudge which keeps him from thinking straight. But not me. And that means you’re mine, Artakane.”

Arta locked her blade with Tariti’s and forced her back, both dueling swords hissing and sparking. “Not tonight,” Arta hissed. “Not tonight and not ever.” In terms of strength they were evenly matched, neither able to gain the advantage over the other as they struggled against each other. Arta could see her own determined expression reflected on her enemy’s face.

Then Tariti looked over Arta’s shoulder and her eyes widened. Forcing her around, Arta managed to see what had gotten her attention – Karani had forced Galen back and landed a hard kick directly to his torso, sending him sprawling to the platform. “That was for our match at the tournament, you cheating bastard,” she hissed, holding her sword to his throat.

“Galen!” Tariti cried, distracted, and in that moment, Arta slammed her shoulder into her body, knocking Tariti hard to the ground. She advanced slowly, sword raised, when Darius disengaged from Latharna and sprang in front of her, sword raised. Behind him, Tariti scrambled to her feet and rushed to Galen’s aid, while Latharna took up her position beside Karani.

“So, I guess it’s you and me, one-on-one again, after all,” Darius said. “And I think we both know I’m better than you are.”

“I’ve never denied it,” Arta said raising her blade and beginning to circle him warily. “But maybe I’ll get lucky tonight.”

“You wish,” Darius said and then he struck, the two of them trading a quick series of blows before he stepped back, nodding. “You are good, though. I’ve known that ever since Carann. And I knew I could get you to come out and fight to spare your troops. I can respect that. I’m sorry we have to be enemies.”

“No, we don’t,” Arta said. “Your father is my enemy, and Respen is my enemy, but you’re not either of them. I used to think you were a better man than your father – the gallant Darius ast Sakran, the perfect knight. Maybe I was wrong.”

Darius shook his head. “It doesn’t matter whether I’m better or worse than he is,” he said. “He’s my father; everything he does is for our family, and the ast Sakrans stand as won.”

“Is your family pride really worth all of this?” Arta demanded. “Three duchies in open revolt, a loyalist planet conquered and occupied, an alliance with a maniac like Respen who’d have happily burned Katanes to ash if we hadn’t stopped him, bombing a city and attacking my home – is your father’s ambition really such a worthy cause that you feel like sticking by him when he does things like this?” Then she paused, something Shiran had said earlier coming back to her. “Or is it even Naudar’s ambition at all – does someone else hold his strings? Does the mighty Duke of Sakran dance to the Empire’s tune?”

Darius froze. “What?” he asked, his voice uncertain, and Arta realized she’d struck him a blow worse than the stroke of any sword. He knows, she realized. Or at least suspected, and now I’ve confirmed it.

“You’re all tools,” she said, pressing on. “I don’t know whose, and I don’t know why, but I think we both know this isn’t really your father’s war anymore, if it ever was. Is that really something worth fighting for?”

Darius shook his head. “I don’t know anymore,” he said, “but this ends now.” Raising his blade, he charged, but his stroke was wild – Arta’s words had rattled him, badly. Arta ducked under the blow and planted her palm firmly on his armored chest. There was a flash of deep blue light, and Darius went flying across the platform and collapsed at his siblings’ feet.

“Darius!” Tariti shouted, ducking under Latharna’s blade to grab her brother under the arms and pull him to his feet; beside her, Galen was falling back, his armor scored by repeated blows from Karani’s sword. “Can you keep fighting?” Tairit asked, her face lowered close to her brother’s ear.

Darius looked up at Arta and shook his head. “No,” he said. “We’re done here. Call off the attack.”

“My lord,” one of the Aurann troopers said, “you can’t be serious…”

“Do it!” Darius shouted and then began to walk back towards the troop ship, Tariti supporting him and Galen following behind, shooting a murderous look at Karani over his shoulder. The Aurannian officer muttered something under his breath that might have been a curse, and then gestured for his men to follow them.

“Should we go after them?” Karani asked, watching them go.

“They held up their end; let them go,” Arta said. And I gave Darius something to chew on, at least, she said. He just might end up more valuable to us where he is than in a prison cell here.

The troop ship’s ramp closed and then, almost sullenly, it took off; as it sped off into the sky, Latharna hurried forward and wrapped her arms around Arta’s neck. “We won!” she breathed. “You were incredible!”

“You, too,” Arta replied, feeling her cheeks warm at the compliment; Latharna pulled back as Shiran approached, still looking weary, followed by Lieutenant Rehan, who was shaking her head in bemusement.

“Nice work,” the Professor said.

“Thank you,” Arta replied, then raised her wrist and activated her wrist comm. “Father,” she said, “it’s over! The Aurannians are pulling back. Are they withdrawing their bombers from the city?”

Nothing but static answered, and Arta felt a sudden dread in the pit of her stomach. “Something’s wrong,” she whispered. Turning, she left the platform at a sprint, heading for the situation room, her companions struggling to keep up behind her.

///

The situation room was a shamble, its walls scored with beam fire. Colonel Rassan was dead, slumped on the floor; Danash was still alive, sitting weakly in his chair as the other officer from the meeting earlier was cleaning a wound in his shoulder.

The Baron was nowhere to be seen.

“What happened?” Arta asked weakly.

“They came not long after you left,” Danash said. “Aurannian commandos; they burst through the door, heavily armed. And they got what they came for. The attack on the platform was a diversion. Your Majesty – Arta – they took him. The took Varas.”

Arta felt her heart drop away; she swayed where she stood, and Latharna put a comforting arm around her shoulder. Beside her she could hear Karani whispering “No, no, no, no, no,” repeatedly under her breath. The whole shape of the scheme suddenly appeared in Arta’s mind, and she realized she’d been fooled completely. The bombings at Tannen City had been a diversion, yes, but so had the attack at the platform. Darius hadn’t been trying to break into the palace, or even capture Arta – just keep her busy. He’d had another team ready to accomplish his true objective all along. Arta suddenly found herself desperately wishing she’d shoved her sword right through his smug, perfect face.

Rehan walked over to the table in the center of the room and pulled up the hologram display. “Well, it looks like Darius was as good as his word, in any case,” she said. “The bombers are withdrawing from the city.”

“Of course, they are,” Karani muttered, voice thick. “He got what he wanted, didn’t he? You shouldn’t have let him go, Arta. I wish you’d taken his head off.”

“We never saw their ship approach, or leave,” Danash said. “It must have been a stealth ship; Aurann made, no doubt. If only we’d been able to track it, if only we’d been ready to do something…” his voice trailed off.

The hologram suddenly crackled, and the image of Tannen City vanished, replaced by the lean, hawklike features of Duke Respen. Karani hissed angrily, but Arta simply stared ahead, unblinking. “Pretender Artakane,” Respen said. “By now you have no doubt realized that I have your adoptive father in my custody. Don’t worry; he’s perfectly safe with me, currently en route to my Citadel on Aurann, where he’ll be given the finest protection. He shall continue to be safe so long as you comply with my demands.”

“What do you want, cousin?” Arta hissed, finding her voice at last.

Respen smiled coldly. “You will abdicate your throne, surrendering all your authority to me, your true king. I know this must be hard for you, but I am not devoid of compassion – you have a week to think it over. If, by the end of that time, you still refuse me, your father’s life is forfeit – as are the lives of the people of Tantos III. I am done playing games with you, girl. Fail to act, and after I execute the Baron ast Katanes my forces will rain destruction upon Tantos Duchy until it is nothing but ash. But you can stop it, Pretender – their fate is in your hands. Uncrown yourself, and their lives will be spared. You have one week.” Respen’s image flickered and vanished.

Arta slumped into a nearby chair, staring silently ahead, every aspect of her being suffused with utter defeat and horror.

 

[Ixthos]

@MasterGhandalf another nice chapter :-) if you are reading this feedback, I would be willing to give you a more full critique, but either way I will just note two points:

• "We stand as won" - typo, I think you meant one
• The fight, three against three, all skilled fighters, was a little anticlimactic

 

I look forwards to the next chapter.

[MasterGhandalf]

New chapter! 

Spoiler

Chapter Twenty-Five

Carann, Royal Palace

The flashing of a certain small light on his wrist comm was an alert that summoned Publius Vedrans Quarinis to appear before the secret holoprojector in its chamber within his office. No sooner had the door slid shut behind him, and he had fallen into a bow with his clenched fist held to his heart, than the projector hummed to life and the image of a man formed in the air above it. To Quarinis’s surprise, and no small discomfort, he found himself facing not the Emperor’s regal form, but the cloaked body and masked face of the Alaelam Adept, Al’Aymar Alaen.

“You do not appear to be pleased to see me, Ambassador,” Al’Aymar said as Quarinis hastily rose, a wry note entering his smooth voice.

“I intend no offense, Alaen,” Quarinis said, quickly regaining his composure. “I was simply surprised, seeing as this is, after all, a private channel that is only used by the Emperor and myself and I was, therefore, expecting His Majesty.”

“The Emperor is in the field,” the Adept said. “He and Admiral Decimus press their advantages against my former comrades. A great battle is being fought at Bahrina even as we speak. I, therefore, have been tasked with giving you an important message – and warning.”

“Warning?” Quarinis asked, a sudden stab of uncertainty piercing his chest.

“You have been sloppy, Ambassador,” Al’Aymar said. “The trail connecting you to the Commander was cold, but not cold enough – someone pursues it. The cybernetics lab was entered and compromised a short time ago. Reports received when the laboratory self-destructed indicate that the intruders recovered information regarding which Imperial base supplied the Commander’s ships and weapons. It is likely that they are headed there even now. That base’s records contain a detailed account of the project – including the one who ordered it.”

“I see,” Quarinis said; dread was rising in him now, but he was careful not to allow it to show on his face. He would not show weakness – not to this creature. “And what, exactly, does the Emperor expect me to do about it? I cannot leave my post here without arousing suspicion, nor do I have the authority to order the base’s records purged.”

“For now, you are to do nothing,” Al’Aymar told him sharply. “I, however, have been dispatched to the base in case our intruders should arrive there. It is for your mistake that I have been called away from the front, Quarinis – I am denied personal revenge against the Conclave to cover for you. Do not forget it! But have no fear, Ambassador. I will deal with our spies myself. Your error will have been corrected.”

“You seem quite confident in your abilities,” Quarinis observed.

“Experience has taught me that there are few – very few – in this galaxy who can stand against me,” Al’Aymar said. “However, the Emperor has instructed me to tell you that, in the remote possibility the intruders elude me, you are to know that you will have been compromised. And, if they are in the employ of the Dozen Stars as the Emperor surmises, then your position at their court will be in jeopardy. You are to make preparations to do what you must to ensure that you are not taken captive, and that the Empire’s interests are protected.”

“I understand,” Quarinis said. “You may inform the Emperor that, as always, he can rely on me.”

“Indeed?” Al’Aymar asked, his tone wry once more. “See that he can. And perhaps, if these intruders can be dealt with quickly, I will be able to return to the front before battle is done and claim some measure of vengeance for myself. You have your orders, Quarinis. Carry them out.”

The Adept’s image flickered and vanished. Quarinis remained standing in the dark room for several long moments, deep in thought, then walked back out into his main office and summoned his praetorians to him. “I have received warning that our work here may soon be endangered,” he told them without preamble; their metal faces regarded him impassively. “Should that time come, this is what you must do…”

///

Aboard the bridge of the Right to Rule, Duke Respen clapped his hand to Darius’s shoulder, grinning fiercely. “Well done,” he said. “I shall have to convey my compliments to Duke Naudar for the loan of you! You were right, Darius – Artakane is weak. She will not be able to stand against me when the Baron’s life hangs in the balance. She will capitulate, and then the throne will be mine, and you will be rewarded.”

Respen seemed more animated and pleased now than Darius had ever seen him, but the heir to Sakran duchy could only feel sick inside at the treachery he had been a part of. More than a part of; that he had suggested. At his father’s instruction, but still, the act – and the guilt – was his. “Thank you, your grace,” he managed to say. “And… forgive me, but what about your threat to the people of Tantos III? Would you really follow through on that if she doesn’t fall in line?”

The Duke looked vaguely irritated now and waved the question away with an airy gesture. “Does it really matter?” he asked. “I have the pretender’s father; that’s the leverage I need. It won’t come to a need to destroy Tantos. But yes, Darius – if she still refuses after I have taken her father’s head from his shoulders, then I will have all of Tantos Duchy – not merely the planet – slaughtered until she relents! Aestera was my cousin – the throne of the Dozen Stars is mine by right. It should have been mine when she died, but the council refused me. I will not be refused now, even if the Lord should personally attempt to deny me! I have been promised…” Respen’s voice trailed off, almost as if he realized he had let slip something he shouldn’t have. “You are a fine knight, Darius,” he said finally. “I would be glad to have you – and your siblings – by my side. So long as you do not stand in my way. Will you?”

“No, your grace,” Darius said stiffly.

“Excellent,” Respen said, turning away from him and walking over to a viewport, through which the planet Katanes could be seen receding into the distance. “Now, then, I suppose you – and your father – will want to be appraised of our next move.”

“That would be helpful, your grace,” Darius said.

“Baron ast Katanes is already being prepared for transport to Aurann,” Respen said. “There he will be imprisoned in my citadel, as I promised Artakane. There will be no recovery or escape from there. I have summoned the remainder of my fleet from Aurann to take up positions around Tantos III – if Mardoban does not acknowledge Aestera’s surrender, then we must crush him and his allies so soundly that they never attempt to defy me again. I shall be returning to Tantos as well to take personal command; you, I assume, will be accompanying us to report to Naudar that all went according to his plan – yes, I have no doubt that the plan to capture the Baron was Naudar’s idea. I do not object to his schemes, so long as he schemes for me. And when Artakane has surrendered and the battle is done, I will go to Carann, to take my rightful place upon the throne.” He sighed longingly. “It’s within my grasp, Darius – the throne that should have been mine long ago. Within a week, my destiny shall be fulfilled.” He gestured to Darius. “You are dismissed.”

“Thank you, your grace,” Darius said, giving a half bow and resisting the urge to flee from the bridge. But no; it wouldn’t do to let Respen see just how his words had shaken him. Managing to maintain his stride at a determined but dignified pace, Darius left the bridge and took a lift down to the cabin that he and his siblings had been given to share. Galen and Tariti awaited him there, looking expectant.

“Well?” Tariti asked. “Did it work?”

“Yes,” Darius said heavily. “Respen sent his message. I was there when he did it. I saw Arta’s face – Father was right. This hurt her in a way nothing we’ve done before has.”

“Well, that’s a good thing, isn’t it?” Tariti said. “It sounds like we’ve all but won.”

Darius shook his head. “No, Tariti,” he said. “Whatever Respen thinks, I don’t think Arta is going to give up without a fight, no matter who he threatens. And there’s more.” He quickly filled them both in on Respen’s threat to Tantos III and his determination to carry it out.

Tariti opened her mouth and closed it again, then shook her head in disbelief. “He must be exaggerating,” she said. “He’s just saying that as a threat against anyone who’d stand up to him. He wouldn’t really destroy a whole planet, would he?”

“He would,” Galen said quietly, staring at his hands. “He’d do anything to win, I can tell. I know what that’s like, and at this point, there’s nothing I’d put past him.”

“Well, then, what are we going to do about it?” Tariti asked. “Tell Father? See if he can talk reason into Respen?”

“I don’t think that’ll work,” Darius said. “Father’s counting on Respen and Sateira burning themselves out quickly, so he can step in and be a hero for restoring order. Maybe that would work in the long run, but it wouldn’t do anything to help all the people Respen kills in the meantime, will it?” He shook his head. “Do you remember during the fight on the platform? What Arta said about the Empire pulling Father’s strings?”

“She was just making it up,” Galen said. “Trying to get under your skin.”

“No,” Darius said. “I think she was right.” He told them then about the conversation he’d overheard back on Tantos III between their father and a faceless holographic figure promising him power, at the expense not only of the young queen but also his own allies. “And just now, Respen let something slip about how he was ‘promised’ the throne. Promised by who? Arta’s right, I’m sure of it. Someone is playing a game with us, and we’re the pieces. And if it is the Empire, then there may not be a Dozen Stars left for anyone to rule when they’re done.”

“We always knew Respen was a mad dog,” Tariti said. “But not how mad. And if what you’re saying is true, then maybe Father can’t be trusted either. Darius, this scares me. Everything you say feels true – it feels like this whole thing is spinning out of control. But what can we do?”

“We can’t get to Respen,” Darius said. “He’s always surrounded by Aurannian knights and troopers. And even if we could, he’s not the root of the problem.” He drew a deep breath. “There is something we can do, I think, that might be able to help stop the madness before it tears the Dozen Stars apart. But it will take all three of us.”

“I’m with you, Darius,” Tariti said. “The two of us, back-to-back – always.”

“Galen,” Darius said reprovingly, looking over at where his younger brother stood in the cabin’s corner. “I need your answer on this.”

Galen sighed. “Whatever you’re planning, I don’t think it will work,” he said. “Respen won’t give up while there’s still fight in him. I feel like I understand him a little – better than you, anyway. That same need to win? I’ve felt it too – how could I not, growing up in your shadow? After Arta beat me at the tournament, I had to get back at her, no matter what. I still feel that. But,” he paused and drew a deep breath, as if whatever he was about to say was incredibly hard for him to admit, “the Empire is the enemy of our entire Kingdom. If it really is using us, my revenge isn’t worth that. And the ast Sakrans stand together – always. What do you need?”

“Thank you,” Darius said, placing his hands on both his siblings’ shoulders. “It’s too late to reach Baron ast Katanes – he’s probably already been shipped off to Aurann. But we’re going back to Tantos III with Respen. And once we’re there, we’ll be in position to act.”

///

Arta sat alone at the palace’s dining table, staring at the hands folded in her lap, and felt numb inside. She was alone; Danash was in the infirmary, Shiran was resting, and Karani was in the training hall, apparently taking out her pain on a series of unfortunate mechs. Arta’s guards were waiting outside the dining room, by her orders, and Latharna had vanished to somewhere in the palace. All of that was fine by Arta. For now, she wanted to be alone.

She had failed – as a queen, as a commander, as a daughter. She’d let Darius trick her, foolishly thinking that if she beat him and his siblings in a duel, it would be enough to make Respen’s forces go away! How sure she’d been in the moment, and how foolish she felt looking back on it now. All she’d done was blind herself to the possibility that she was being tricked, and now the man who had raised her – her father not by blood, but in every other way that mattered – was in the hands of the cruelest and most ruthless of her enemies.

Her options were bleak. She could surrender her crown, give the Dozen Stars over to Respen and go hide for the rest of her life in a convent somewhere – but that would mean putting her people at the mercy of a tyrant who would burn whole planets to get his way. How long would the Dozen Stars survive with a monster like that on the throne? And if it survived, what would it become? Or… or she could continue fighting and let the Baron die, and then risk the lives of the people of Tantos III in Respen’s retaliation. Maybe she and Mardoban could defeat him before he managed to inflict civilian casualties on a large scale – maybe. And maybe not. Was risking millions of lives on a “maybe” something she could countenance?

Or, perhaps, she could avoid Respen’s trap entirely – go to Aurann, break into the Citadel, and get her father out. But could she manage that in a week? Aurann was a harsh, desolate world, its Citadel reputed to be a fortress? And if she failed, the Baron’s life would probably be forfeit anyway.

She’d gone over plans and counterplans in her head; she’d cried, and she’d raged. But she was no closer to a solution now than she’d been when she began. And so, she just sat here now, letting the numbness spread through her.

The sound of footsteps drew Arta from her dark thoughts. Looking up, she saw Latharna enter the dining room, a look of concern on her face; she was carrying something cradled in her arms. “Master Danash said you were here,” she said, taking a seat.

“I don’t want to talk to anyone right now,” Arta said, turning away.

“I’m not here to talk,” Latharna said. “Master Danash also helped me find this.” She set the object she’d been carrying on the table, and Arta saw it was a small harp. “He had a mech take me up to the music room. I didn’t know anyone in your family were musicians.”

“None of the three of us are,” Arta said quietly. “My grandmother was, though. The Baron’s mother, that is. She collected instruments of all kinds. We lend them out, sometimes. For concerts and things. Sometimes to the local university.” She looked up at Latharna. “So, you play the harp, too? An ambassador’s aide who can duel and play music. Is there anything you can’t do?”

“I can’t make you feel better, apparently,” Latharna said. “But maybe I can help a little bit.” Taking up the harp in her arms, she began to strum the strings with deft skill; a melody of heartbreaking beauty filled the room, and Arta watched, transfixed. Then Latharna began to sing. It wasn’t an arrangement Arta had ever heard before, but she knew the lyrics well – most people did. It was an adaptation of one of the most famous passages from the Canon – the Prophet’s Lament for Terra. It was a song of grief and terrible sorrow, the song of a people torn from their home world and condemned to wander among the stars – and yet there was an underlying strain of hope as well, that perhaps, on some distant day, Terra might be found again and the harmony of the cosmos restored.

Arta didn’t know how long she sat there, listening to Latharna’s music; when the song ended, tears were streaming down the young queen’s face. Latharna put the harp aside, and no sooner had she done so than Arta leaned over and wrapped her in a tight embrace, burying her head in her shoulder. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you.”

Pulling back, her hand brushed her side, and she paused in sudden realization. Frantically, she reached into a pocket in her tunic and pulled out the small object she’d felt there – a tiny drive that Latharna had given her before they’d left Carann, which had been forgotten amidst all the chaos, until now. Her eyes widened. “Latharna,” she breathed, “do you realize what this is?”

“It’s the drive Ambassador Preas gave me,” Latharna breathed, “the one containing…”

“Contact information for rebels on Aurann,” Arta said. “People who are fighting Respen – people who will know how to get into the Citadel! With this, we can arrange a meeting, and, and…”

“And rescue your father before the Duke has him executed,” Latharna fished.

Grinning fiercely through her tears, Arta wrapped Latharna in an embrace again. “You’ve given me a chance, Latharna,” she said. “You’ve given me hope.” Standing, Arta began to pace back and forth. “We’ll need to leave right away to make sure we get there on time; we can take Artax’s Glory, send a message to the rebels from the ship, arrange a time and place for a meeting. I’ll need to bring my guards; Karani would kill me if she didn’t get to come. And Shiran. He can help us get past Respen’s defenses – I remember Midaia could disable technology, sneak past it. I don’t know how to do that – but Shiran does. And… and…”

“And me,” Latharna said, putting a hand on Arta’s shoulder. “If you’re going into danger, I’m going with you. You can’t keep me away.”

“I can’t ask that of you, Latharna,” Arta said, turning to face her. “You’re not my subject; I can’t give you orders. Having you go with me to Tantos was bad enough; I can’t ask a Realtran diplomatic aide to go marching with me into the very heart of Aurann. If you got killed… no, I can’t let you do that.”

Latharna took Arta’s hands in hers. “You can,” she said. “You need someone to watch your back, and I’m better than anyone else you have. And you’re trying to save someone you love; I can’t turn my back on that. And because I -” Latharna seemed like she was about to say something else, but the words never came, and she finally shook her head.

Arta sighed. “All right,” she said. “You win. But if you’re going to infiltrate an enemy planet with me, you can’t do that just as Latharna Dhenloc of Realtran. You’ve already fought with me three times, for no benefit to yourself. I don’t think I should let that go unrecognized. You deserve more.” Drawing her dueling sword, she held it up before her. “I’ve never done this before, but I think I know the basic idea. Kneel. Please.”

Latharna’s eyes widened as she realized what was about to happen; stepping back, she sank to her knees. “Do you, Latharna Dhenloc,” Arta said, “promise on your honor and in the Lord’s name to dedicate yourself to the ideals to chivalry, to serve justice and do mercy, to pledge yourself to the throne of the Dozen Stars until the throne should release you or death claim you?”

“I swear,” Latharna said, voice breaking. “In the Lord’s name.”

Arta tapped her sword first on Latharna’s right shoulder, then the left. “Then I bid you rise, Lady Latharna Dhenloc, Knight of the Realm, Champion of the Queen.”

Latharna stood slowly, an expression of shock and wonder in her eyes, and then she shook her head in amazement. “A Realtran knight of the Dozen Stars,” she said. “Somehow, I’m not entirely sure Ambassador Preas would approve.”

“If Ceana doesn’t like it,” Arta said, “she can take it up with me. Now, let’s find Karani and Shiran and get moving. We don’t have much time.”

 

 

[MasterGhandalf]

New chapter! 

Spoiler

Chapter Twenty-Six

Imperial Legion Base 8162, Imperial Space

The planet was a cold and desolate rock, orbiting far from its star. Though its atmosphere was breathable by humans, it had little life to call its own – a few small creatures here and there, a scattering of plant growth along its sparse coastlines. It had no name, but only a number. It lay within the Empire, but had largely gone unnoticed by that mighty nation, which held thousands of more desirable worlds in its grasp and hungered for others still.

Its only significant Imperial presence was a small compound near the base of a craggy grey mountain; a walled enclosure surrounding a central steel tower. The base was little more than a listening post, manned by only a few dozen soldiers of the Emperor’s legions, almost entirely irrelevant save that it lay on the border the Empire shared with the Kingdom of the Dozen Stars, adjacent with Tashir Duchy. And so it was that it was here that the Commander and his assassins had received their equipment and assignments, and here, hopefully, lay the records of just who had been responsible for their murderous mission.

Pakorus and Midaia watched the base from behind a rocky outcropping, having hidden Sister Night in a sheltered valley nearby; the young nobleman shook his head at the sight. “Not much there by the Empire’s standards,” he said. “But more than enough to deal with us. Looks like there’s beam cannons on the walls, and probably more I can’t see. I don’t know how many troops there are, but I’m not seeing how we’re getting in. I doubt your little lock pick is as good when there’s actual people on the other side, not just mechs.”

Midaia smiled under her hood and shook her head. “Oh, you of little faith,” she said. “Have you forgotten just who you’re traveling with? I know exactly how we’re getting in – we’re going to walk right through the front door. And I do believe there is our ticket in.” She gestured towards the dusty road that led towards the base’s main gates, and Pakorus saw the shape of a medium sized land vehicle approaching – a tank of some sort, he thought, squat and heavily armored, with tracks underneath and a long cannon mounted on its front.

“Coming back from maneuvers, would be my guess,” Midaia said. “Our lucky day. Now, follow me and stay close, or I won’t be able to protect you.” She stepped out from behind the rocks and began to walk towards the tank as if taking a casual stroll down a sunny avenue on Carann. Pakorus couldn’t imagine how she was so calm, but her tone had brooked no argument; he hurried out from the shelter himself and took up a position close behind her.

What followed was perhaps the most nerve-wracking minutes of Pakorus’s life. He and Midaia took up their position beside the tank and walked towards the gates as if this was perfectly normal; he kept fingering his beam pistol, certain at any moment they would be spotted and would have to make a very fast escape, but that moment never came. The base’s wall loomed large in front of them; the guards positioned by the door nodded in acknowledgment of the tank’s approach and gave a signal, and then the gate slid slowly open. The tank rumbled inside, Midaia and Pakorus walking beside it, and nobody paid them the slightest attention. Pakorus started in wonder, resisting the urge to stop in front of one of the guards and wave his hand in front of the man’s face, just to see what would happen.

When they reached the courtyard, Midaia seized his arm and pulled him aside, moving them both hurriedly towards the direction of the main tower. They didn’t head for the main entrance but for what Pakorus took for a small side door; once again, Midaia pulled out her lock pick and planted it on the door’s keypad, and a moment later, it clicked and swung open. They hurried inside, shutting the door behind them, and found themselves in a plain, deserted hallway.

Pakorus let out a breath he hadn’t been entirely aware he’d been holding. “How did you do that?” he asked. “It was like we were invisible. They didn’t see us at all!”

“We weren’t invisible, exactly,” Midaia said. “If there’s a way for an Adept to turn someone completely invisible, I don’t know how. What I can do is make myself – or someone near me – seem… beneath notice, if you will. People who see me won’t register it as being important and will ignore me, no matter what I happen to be doing. That is, unless they’re looking for me specifically – my powers won’t stand up to a determined search. Luckily for us, even if the lab’s mechs sent the base a signal alerting them to the possibility of intruders, it doesn’t seem they knew who they were expecting.”

Pakorus shook his head. “You amaze me,” he said with complete sincerity.

Midaia flashed him a sharp grin. “My, my. Don’t let Artakane hear you say that,” she said and Pakorus immediately flushed, muttering under his breath that he hadn’t meant it like that. To be honest, no matter how attractive Midaia might be, he found her far too intimidating to even consider in that light, not that he said that part out loud. The Adept herself merely ignored him and continued speaking. “I’ve had a lot of practice. I sneak around a lot of places.” She shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a curious person by nature. Now, just give me a moment to catch my breath, and then we need to find a computer terminal – preferably one in an empty room.”

She took a long moment to steady herself and did indeed breathe in deeply before closing her eyes and nodding. Pakorus took that as a signal that they were concealed again because Midaia then turned and set off down the hallway, with him following close behind. Eventually they entered into a larger room where several armored Imperial legionnaires stood, holding cups of what looked like kaf; there was a map of the base on the wall behind them. Pakorus froze and let his hand slip to his pistol, but once again, the soldiers didn’t seem to see him. He wondered why Midaia wasn’t moving on, and then saw that she was watching the soldiers with a frown on her face. A moment later, he realized why. The soldiers had drinks, but they weren’t drinking; they weren’t talking with each other, either. They didn’t seem to be on duty, but they seemed nervous and kept glancing at each other or at the door at the front of the room out of the corner of their eyes. They’re afraid of something, Pakorus realized. I don’t think it’s us, because they’re not on alert for intruders, but something has them spooked.

Finally, Midaia shook her head and grabbed Pakorus’s wrist, pulling him towards another door that, it turned out, opened onto a flight of stairs. If the legionnaires noticed the door opening and closing, they gave no sign, but the stairs themselves were empty, and Midaia lead Pakorus up. When they reached a landing, though, he stopped and pulled away from her. “Before we go any further,” he said, “did anything about that scene strike you as odd?”

“Do you mean ‘all of it?’” Midaia asked. “They were on edge. Someone or something made them nervous. And there’s… something else,” she added, shaking her head again. “A… feeling I can’t shake. Something’s going on here, and it’s more than just us. Let’s get what we came for and get out. Did you notice the map of the building? Command offices are on the floor above us. That’s where they’ll have what we need. Come on.”

It also sounded like that would be the place that was most dangerous to be caught in, but then, Midaia had quite a bit more experience breaking into buildings than he did, so Pakorus decided to follow her lead. They reached the top of the stairs and came out into another hallway, one that was curved as if it rounded the tower and was lined with doors. Midaia began to walk down it, and Pakorus, following her, saw that though many of the doors were blank, some were labeled with a name and a rank. Finally, they reached a door that bore a more elaborate nameplate and the rank of tribune. Based on Pakorus’s knowledge of the Imperial military hierarchy he assumed that this was the office of the base’s commander; here Midaia stopped and took out her lockpick once again. A moment later, the door swung open and they stepped inside.

The room was moderately sized and sparsely accommodated, its severe style reminding Pakorus of Ambassador Quarinis’s office on Carann. The far wall was dominated by a window looking out over the mountainous terrain, but in the middle of the room was a desk with a small computer in blocky Imperial style. The desk was unoccupied; the tribune, whoever he or she was, wasn’t here.

“Excellent,” Midaia said, slipping around the desk and inserting the drive she’d used at the lab into the computer. “Now, then, keep your weapon sharp; I don’t want to be disturbed.” Pakorus nodded and drew his pistol as Midaia set to work on the computer; for several tense minutes he stood there, the only sounds the computer’s hums and his companion’s occasional murmuring. He glanced around the room, noting the display cases containing military honors and a moderately sized portrait of a handsome middle-aged man in resplendent robes he recognized as Emperor Verus Licinius, but there was little here to give much insight into the tribune’s character – or to quell Pakorus’s growing sense of unease.

When he heard the sound of the door handle turning, at first, he thought it was a symptom of his frightened imagination; then, to his horror, he realized it was real. “Someone’s coming,” he hissed to Midaia; reaching out lightning-fast, she grabbed him and pulled him down behind the desk. This time he thought he saw a flicker of red in her eyes as she wrapped her cloaking around them again. No sooner had she done so than the office door opened, and Pakorus raised his pistol slowly.

The first figures through the door were two armored guards – guards who looked, to Pakorus’s eyes, extremely nervous and uncomfortable. Next came an older man in a crisp uniform who must be the tribune, who was looking over his shoulder and talking to the figure that followed him – a figure straight out of nightmare. A tall man – was it a man? Pakorus couldn’t be sure – wrapped in long dark robes and a hooded cloak, face concealed behind a bizarre, elaborately patterned mask that revealed nothing save for a pair of glittering eyes. Beside him, Midaia looked the man up and down and gave a sudden, sharp intake of breath.

“-I assure you, sir, we have everything under control,” the tribune was saying anxiously. “There is no need to worry the Emperor with our situation, none at all…”

“That is not your decision to make, Tribune,” the masked man said – the voice was unmistakably male, deep and smooth. It also had a faintly Alaelam accent, which piqued Pakorus’s interest – the Empire and the Alaelam had been enemies for as long as the Alaelam Alliance had existed. Who was this man? “It is mine. The Emperor has received warning that your base’s connection to the work done here in your predecessor’s time has been compromised and has dispatched me to ensure that Imperial military secrets do not fall into the wrong hands.”

“Sir – Alaen – I do not mean to contradict His Majesty but I’m afraid you are mistaken,” the Tribune said. “We have had no trouble here of any kind recently. The troops are fond of joking that this is the most boring post in the entire Empire, and that seems highly unlikely to change any time soon.”

“Indeed?” Alaen asked, his tone amused. “In that case, let it be known that I am no happier to be here than you are to have me here, but I do not intend to shirk my duties. I will brook no interference in carrying them out – not from you, not form your men… and not from them.”

As he spoke those last words, Alaen turned towards the desk – and Pakorus realized with a start that the man was staring directly at him. He’s an Adept! He realized. He has to be! But no sooner had the thought formed than the tribune and his guards, their attention drawn by Alaen’s declaration, had drawn their weapons and pointed them directly at him and at Midaia.

///

Perhaps it was simply the result of everything she’d heard about the planet and its master; perhaps it was a side-effect of her natural antipathy for burning sunlight, but seen from orbit, Latharna couldn’t help but think that Aurann looked like a forbidding, desolate place. The planet resembled an off-white ball, baked in the light of its too-close sun without any trace of blue or green to break the monotony. A harsh, desert planet that had produced a man who desired the throne of the Dozen Stars badly enough he was willing to burn worlds to get it.

And the Baron Varas ast Katanes was down there now, somewhere.

“It’s odd,” Lieutenant Rehan said from where she sat in Artax’s Glory’s command chair. “I’m not picking up a whole lot of orbiting defenses – there’s some weapons platforms, and a few Equestrians at shipyards above the Citadel, but from everything I’d heard about this place, I expected… more.”

“Respen must be moving more of his forces to the Tantos system,” Shiran mused. He looked over at Arta. “He is certain of his victory – he expects you to give in, and so he prepares his forces to crush Mardoban, who he sees as a bigger threat.”

“Then let’s show him exactly why he’s mistaken,” Arta said, her voice cold. “Lieutenant, can you get us down to the coordinates Lady Dhenloc and Ambassador Preas provided us?”

Rehan snorted. “Of course, I can, Your Majesty,” she said. “Space is big, even the little bit of space around a planet – it’s hard to watch it all. And Respen’s defenses are thin enough right now – and we’re small enough – that I think we can evade them without much trouble. Not like we’re launching a full-scale assault on the Citadel or anything.”

“One thing at a time,” Arta said; Karani chuckled, but Latharna didn’t think Arta was joking. The queen had sent a message on a frequency the drive had provided, requesting a meeting and offering potential times, but they hadn’t heard anything back yet. Coming here at all seemed to be a gamble, but with her father’s life on the line, Arta had decided she could do no less. Latharna didn’t suppose she could blame her; she didn’t remember her parents, but if someone had kidnapped the Headmistress or Brother Ronall, she doubted she’d have been able to just leave them, either.

Artax’s Glory didn’t encounter opposition as she descended through the atmosphere; they were far enough from the Citadel or Aurann’s few other fortress-cities that there weren’t regular patrols. At last they came to rest in a depression located near the base of a foreboding mountain range, landing not far from a dim tunnel that opened into the ground and sank into darkness out of sight.

“That’s an old, played out mine, according to the information,” Arta said. “Straight down that tunnel is a cave that the resistance uses as a meeting place. Apparently, Ambassador Preas’s agents met them here to bring them supplies and weapons. Realtran doesn’t like Respen any more than we do, it seems.”

“All right,” Rehan said, unstrapping herself from her seat and standing. “Guardsmen Faradan and Augus, stay with the ship. The rest of you, with me. The people we’re meeting may be friendly or they may not be, or this might be a trap, and we are not losing Her Majesty on this fool’s errand. Understand?”

Her orders were met with a chorus of “ayes” and salutes; that division would leave the two guards the lieutenant had indicated with the ship, and four in addition to Rehan herself to come with the rest of them. Latharna slipped back into the prep room behind the ship’s small bridge and found the small bottle of sunblock she’d stashed in a locker there, taking the time to rub some of that on her face and hands. She didn’t plan to be out there any longer than necessary to reach the tunnel, but, well, she didn’t like the look of that baleful white sun and had no intention of being caught out under it without protection.

That done, she rejoined the others as they left the Glory and descended the landing ramp to the basin outside. The head hit Latharna like a sudden blast, but it was a dry, dusty heat. Shielding her eyes against the sun, and mentally thanking her lenses for protecting her sensitive eyes, she followed her companions as they crossed the burning white emptiness and finally arrived at the mouth of the tunnel. It wasn’t much cooler here, but every bit helped – and thankfully, the blinding brilliance was dimmed as they stepped inside.

Rehan motioned for her guards; two of them took point, along with the lieutenant herself, followed by Arta and Karani, then Latharna, and then Shiran and the last two guards in the rear. Once they were out of the sunlight, Arta and Shiran both raised their hands and summoned small balls of glowing light that hovered above them – hers a brilliant blue, his a paler blue – and illuminated their way down the tunnel, which stetched on straight ahead, sloping slowly downward. Then they set off.

“This is where the monsters show up,” Karani muttered as the tunnel entrance disappeared behind them. Looking back over her shoulder, she saw Latharna walking slightly behind and fell back to join her. “You can walk by Arta, if you want,” she said. “Get closer to her little glowball, anyway.”

Latharna smiled. “I don’t need it,” she said, tapping the side of her head. “My eyesight is terrible, especially in bright light. But when I was a girl the Headmistress at the Dansa Academy had special lenses made for me. The technology in them can filter out the light and focus in a way my eyes don’t, normally. So long as I have them in, I can see better than you can. And they work even in very low light. I can see in here as well as I can in broad daylight.”

“Show-off,” Karani muttered, but her tone was good-natured. “Of course, that’s not the only reason you might want to walk near Arta, if you catch my meaning.”

Latharna held up a hand. “I’m fine,” she said. “I actually want to talk to someone else right now. But thank you for the offer.”

Karani shrugged. “Suit yourself,” she muttered. “Just trying to be friendly.” She picked up the pace and caught back up with Arta; Latharna let herself fall back until she was walking beside Shiran.

She frowned, wondering exactly how to broach the subject she wanted to discuss; finally, she decided to ease into it. “Something I’ve been wondering,” she said. “Arta tells me you taught her those Adept tricks, but when she does them, her light is dark blue, and yours is lighter. Why is that?”

Shiran chuckled and looked up at his floating light. “Every Adept makes a slightly different color of light,” he said. “Nobody knows why. My best guess is that it’s like a… psychic fingerprint, if you will, a manifestation that’s unique to the person who summons it. If the colors themselves mean anything, I’ve not discovered it – and I’ve studied these things for a very, very long time.” He looked back at Latharna, gaze penetrating. “But that’s not really what you wanted to talk to me about, is it?”

Well, there goes “easing into it,” Latharna thought. She took a deep breath. “How can you live with yourself?” she finally blurted out.

Shiran raised an eyebrow. “Is that an impugning of my moral character or a roundabout way of asking my age?” he said, though his tone, thankfully, was more amused than offended.

Latharna flushed. “Neither,” she muttered. “It’s just, well, Arta always speaks very highly of you, and says you give good advice, and I have a dilemma that I need help working out.”

“This isn’t about me, is it?” Shiran asked, tone soft but eyes penetrating.

“No,” Latharna said, shaking her head. “It’s about me. And what I can do, and how it makes me feel.” She drew another deep breath before continuing. “I’ve always been good at things. I grew up at the Dansa Academy and… didn’t have a lot of friends, and so I spent most of my time training and studying. But I was always best with the sword. Brother Ronall said I was a natural. But lately, when I’ve been in situations where I’ve actually been fighting, not just training or competing, I feel like something… takes hold of me. Like there’s a part of me that loves the violence, that can’t get enough of it. And I hate that part of me, because what happens if I lose control someday and hurt someone or kill someone? Someone innocent, I mean. But I can’t stop, because it’s what I’m good at, and what I love doing and what Arta needs me to do, and I just feel like I’m… caught. And I don’t see a way out. And I thought, from the way Arta talks about you, it sounds like you’ve been around a long time and done so many things, and you must have figured out a way to… to…”

“To be myself, without letting the darker parts of myself consume me,” Shiran said quietly. “Yes, I know what you mean, Latharna. Better than you realize. Let me tell you a little about my past. My mother was a Holy Sister; my father, a powerful Adept who had seduced her into breaking her vows. When I was younger than you, he found me, trained me in my gifts – but, as it happened, he was also a very wicked man who planned for me to continue his work. He’s dead now – he died a very long time ago – but for a long time, I thought that I was doomed to follow in his footsteps. I thought the fact that I had inherited his powers made us the same. And I hadn’t used those powers well to that point, I have to admit. I’d done things that still haunt me.”

“What happened?” Latharna asked.

“I traveled the galaxy, seeking peace,” Shiran said. “I studied with monks and read the philosophers. And I came to recognize that all people are flawed, troubled, make mistakes – even if my mistakes had been, perhaps, rather greater than most people’s. But, it seemed to me that it was possible to rise above our baser natures, to dedicate ourselves to something greater than ourselves – perhaps not a goal that is attainable, but one that is noble enough that even in the striving, we become better than we were. And part of that is to dedicate oneself to justice, to acknowledge one’s own weakness while dedicating oneself for the protection and service of those weaker than we are, for what fools like Respen and Naudar have never realized is that power isn’t meant to be seized but to be used – to be used to better the world, and those around us.”

He put a hand on Latharna’s shoulder. “You fear your own capacity for violence,” he said. “And that is understandable. To be unleashed, it would be a terrible thing, and could do incalculable harm. But perhaps you can come to direct it. Though there are those who eschew violence altogether, and while I respect those who choose that path, I have found that sometimes violence has its place – not as the aggressor, but as the protector. Someday, the day may come when the sword is not needed, but I fear that day is not today. So long as there are tyrants, there will be a place for those who are called stand between them and their prey.” He gestured towards Arta. “She is beginning to understand this, I think. This rebellion – it is the work of nobles who see power as their privilege and birthright. Even if Arta defeats them, her deeper victory will be to ensure that this kingdom learns to dedicate itself to a greater calling, that leaders should exist to serve the people, not to oppress them.”

Latharna paused as Shiran fell silent, trying to digest what he had said. “How?” she finally asked. “How do you know you’ve found something worth dedicating yourself to? How do you know you’re on the right path?”

Shiran smiled at her. “I think that is something every person must come to understand for themselves. But I also think, Latharna Dhenloc, that you are asking the right sort of questions.” He paused, looking ahead. “Ah. I do believe we’ve arrived.”

Sure enough, the small company suddenly emerged from the tunnel and found themselves in a large open chamber with a ceiling so high even Latharna with her lenses couldn’t make out its ceiling. The walls were lined with ledges and other tunnels like their own, and she remembered that this had been a mine. They paused, staring at the cavern around them for a long moment, and then Arta stepped forward, her guards fanning out around her.

The queen cupped her hands around her mouth. “Digran!” she called; that was the name of the leader of the resistance cell Ambassador Preas had been in contact with. “I am Artakane. I sent you a message earlier; I want to form an alliance against Duke Respen, our common enemy. Are you here? Are you listening?”

For a long moment, there was silence. Then the sounds of movement echoed through the cave, and from the tunnels and from behind the crags on the cave wall figures emerged, beam rifles at the ready. “We see you, Artakane,” a rough male voice called. “Now drop your weapons and put your hands in the air. You’re surrounded.”

A tense silence filled the cave, and then Arta nodded; Latharna unbuckled her sword belt and let it drop, as did Karani and Arta herself; the guards dropped their beam rifles. Then, as one, they raised their hands. “So much for a warm welcome,” Karani muttered.

 

[MasterGhandalf]

New chapter! 

Spoiler

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Imperial Base

Pakorus stood slowly, dropping his beam pistol to the floor and raising his hands. Beside him, Midaia rose to her feet as well, though she made no gesture of surrender, simply regarding the Imperial soldiers with cool disdain before turning to face the robed and masked figure of the man called Alaen.

He, in turn, regarded Midaia, his expression concealed behind his mask but his eyes intense. “Ah,” he said, as if in understanding. “Midaia ast Carann, if I am not mistaken. Now I understand how it is that you so easily pursued the Commander’s trail. The Dozen Stars have sent their most talented Adept to investigate their enemies. I am honored.”

“And you, if I am not mistaken, are Al’Aymar Alaen, the so-called ‘Prince of Night.’” Midaia smirked. “I’d say something about how a man who calls himself that is perhaps one overly fond of the theatrical, but,” she glanced down at her own sleek dark robes, “I don’t think I’m really one to talk, am I? In any case, your reputation proceeds you. One of the mighty Alaelam Disciples, now an Emperor’s lapdog – am I right? But considered powerful in our shared art, in any case. Though you are wrong about one thing – I didn’t come here on behalf of the Dozen Stars. I merely sought to satisfy my own… curiosity.”

Alen’s eyes narrowed behind his mask, but he showed no other visible sign of anger. “Indeed?” he asked. “And can you promise that your… curiosity… will not benefit the throne of the Dozen Stars – a throne your own sister currently occupies? You cannot. And you meddle in things beyond your concern, young one. In so doing you gain for yourself powerful enemies, regardless of whose behalf you do them on.” He turned to regard Pakorus. “And who is this – your accomplice? Your student, perhaps? Ah, but no – he is no Adept. A pet, then? Why shackle yourself to someone so… powerless? What a waste of your talents.”

Pakorus found himself bristling but thought better of saying anything with several weapons currently pointed at him. The tribune, on the other hand, seemed to be losing his patience. “As fascinating as this conversation is, sir,” he said, leaning close to Alaen, “I don’t think the Emperor would appreciate us casually chatting about our histories and methods with captured enemies. Do you wish us to escort them to the holding cells, or simply shoot them on the spot?”

Alaen casually raised a gloved hand and the tribune was shoved backwards, eyes widening in horror as a halo of shadow writhed around him. “Do not question me, little man,” the Adept said without looking at him. “The Emperor has placed this mission under my command, and I do not appreciate disrespect from my inferiors. Nonetheless, you raise a valid point.” He nodded towards Midaia and Pakorus. “Take the boy. I will interrogate him later. As for the woman…” he paused, regarding Midaia inscrutably with his hidden expression. “It is a shame for so gifted an Adept to go to waste. Tell me, Midaia ast Carann – what benefit is it for you to skulk in the shadows, running the errands of lesser beings who do not, and never will, appreciate you? Why put your trust in this youth you bring with you, who can provide you with nothing you would ever value? But the Empire honors its Adepts. Come with me, pledge your allegiance to Verus Licinius, and I will see to it that you are granted a position of honor at the Imperial court. All I ask in return is that you tell me all that you have learned in your search and leave the boy for me to question at my leisure.”

For a moment, all was silent. Midaia and Alaen stood regarding one another, eerily alike in their dark robes, one’s face hidden by a mask, another’s shadowed by her hood. Then Midaia laughed, a cold, mirthless sound that made the hairs on the back of Pakorus’s neck stand on end. “Oh, yes,” she finally said. “What a glorious offer! I am mistress of my own fate, Alaen. I have seen things that most of humanity can only dream of. And am I to give that up to become like you – a kept servant of a petty despot who refuses to acknowledge that his time has passed? No, thank you. You put a pretty face on your offer, but its heart smells rancid.”

Alaen hissed. “You understand nothing, girl!” he said, raising his voice for the first time. “You speak of that which is beyond your feeble dreams! Take them both. I will deliver them to the Emperor myself.”

The Imperial soldiers raised their weapons and advanced; Midaia put a hand on Pakorus’s arm. “Stay behind me,” she whispered. She stepped forward, placing herself between Pakorus and the Imperials, and cast back her hood. Her eyes, he saw, were burning, solid red.

And then the room exploded.

A shockwave of red light burst from Midaia, tearing across the room and ripping the office apart, sending debris flying. The tribune and his soldiers were flung through the far wall; whether they were alive or dead Pakorus couldn’t tell. Standing close to Midaia’s side, he found himself standing in an island of calm amidst a sea of destruction, as if he stood in the eye of one of the immense storms that sometimes rocked the capital of his father’s duchy, watery Orlanes.

Then the red light twisted back inward, wrapping around Midaia’s hands in a tight lance that shot forward with incredible force. Al’Aymar Alaen stood unmoved, untouched by the chaos around him and seemingly unconcerned by the bolt now shooting towards him; he raised a hand and the red lance struck it and then burst apart into countless gleaming red fragments, which collapsed to the floor and vanished.

Shadows twisted around him now, dimming whatever they touched, seeming to be not of light, but darkness made visible, and then they lanced forward, a half-dozen questing tentacles of night. Hissing like serpents, they shot towards Midaia and Pakorus only to come to an abrupt halt as a hemisphere of red light formed about them. The tentacles skittered across its surface as if seeking a flaw and then retreated back towards Alaen and vanished into whatever darkness from which they’d come. “Well,” the Alaelam Adept said, sounding genuinely impressed. “It seems your skills are every bit as great as reputed.”

“As are yours,” Midaia replied. “But then, you must have known your tin soldiers would be no match for me. You wasted them for nothing.”

“You might have surrendered and chosen to fight another day,” Alaen said. “Though I do prefer it this way. No interference, Midaia ast Carann, nothing holding us back. Just you, and me.” Suddenly the darkness around him seethed again, reaching not towards Midaia and Pakorus but up, the dark tentacles seizing the ceiling and tearing tiles from it, then sending them spinning forward. The red hemisphere vanished – perhaps it was no use against purely physical attacks – and red sparks flickered from Midaia’s hands as she blasted one tile after another from the air. One after another – but not enough. A shard from one of them shot forward and struck her along the cheek, knocking her back against the remains of the tribune’s desk. Hissing with anger, she raised her head and made a sharp gesture with her hand. And just as had happened to the mercenaries who had attacked Specter’s lair, Alaen was suddenly haloed in crackling red lightning – but then he raised his arms and shadows erupted from the air around him, tearing the lightning to pieces.

Pakorus knelt down beside Midaia. “Are you all right?” he asked. “Can you beat him?”

“Perhaps,” she said, eyes still intent on her foe who now stood with his arms folded. “He doesn’t overmatch me, I don’t think – but he does match me. This contest could go either way. But he is older, more experienced in this sort of combat…” she shook her head.

“Do you surrender yet, ast Carann?” Alaen asked. From behind him, the sound of marching feet could be heard. “I do believe that my reinforcements are coming. I do not wish to kill you. Every Adept life lost is a waste. But I will if you make me.”

“Burn in the abyss,” Midaia hissed, and with visible strain wrapped the tribune’s entire desk in red light and sent it hurtling across the room. Alaen’s eyes widened in shock behind his mask and he threw up his hands. There was a burst of shadow and the desk was rent in two just before it hit, both halves flying to the corners of the room; when the dust cleared, Alaen was on his knees from the effort he’d expended. But Midaia wasn’t much better off, regarding him with wary eyes while panting heavily.

Pakorus’s knelt by Midaia’s side, steadying her with one hand while his other brushed the ground – and lighted on the handle of his dropped beam pistol. He glanced up at Alaen, who was gathered darkness around himself for another attack, and knew that no bolt would penetrate the Adept’s defense – but then he looked up, towards the ceiling where the tiles had been torn away… and the pipe that was now exposed there.

“Midaia, duck!” Pakorus shouted; raising his pistol, he fired before Alaen could react. The beam blast tore open a hole in the pipe, which burst asunder, releasing a massive blast of steam directly into the Alaelam Adept’s face. Alaen gave an awful howl of pain and rage and stumbled backwards; Midaia lurched back to her feet and thrust a hand at one of the already-battered office walls, which flickered red and then burst apart, revealing the next office beyond. Then she collapsed into Pakorus’s arms; holding tightly on to her, he ran through the opening.

This office was slightly smaller, though of similar design and still sparsely decorated; it had probably belonged to the tribune’s second-in-command. Pakorus didn’t have time to take it in, however, before Midaia pressed a small object into his hand – a silvery remote. “Press the top button,” she said weakly. “Hurry!” Wasting no more time, he did as she instructed; a light at the top of the remote began to flash. Behind them, what was left of the tribune’s office had fallen in. Pakorus thought he could hear soldiers on the other side cursing and trying to clear away the rubble, and a ragged voice that might have been Alaen’s giving orders.

“They’ll be through that in a minute,” Pakorus said, glancing worryingly down at his little pistol. “They’ll be more than a match for me. Do you have anything else up your sleeve?”

“I’m all but spent,” Midaia whispered. “Luckily, that means he is too. So, when the Emperor’s soldiers break through, he won’t be able to stop them from just shooting us both.” She chuckled weakly. “I would hate a drawn-out death, wouldn’t you?” Her eyelids fluttered and began to close.

“Stay with me, Midaia,” Pakorus said.

“Just a minute now,” she whispered; across the room, the rubble was shifting. And then, suddenly, something cut off the light from the office window. Pakorus’s eyes widened as he recognized Sister Night, apparently called by the remote. Midaia smiled thinly and raised a hand; with a final effort of will, she made the window give way. Barely aware of what he was doing, Pakorus dove out of it, landing roughly on the yacht’s ramp, which quickly closed behind him. Then the ship was away, darting between blasts from the base’s cannons under the direction of its autopilot before heading straight for space.

Pakorus set Midaia down and collapsed against the wall. “Well, that was closer to dying than I hope to ever come again,” he said. “I am not cut out for this sort of thing. Did you get what we went in for, at least?”

Midaia sat up against the opposite wall and held up a hand; the small drive rested in her palm. “I got something,” she said. “But it remains to be seen just what.”

///

Arta’s heart hammered in her chest as she stood still with her hands raised, inescapably aware of the dozens of beam rifles pointed directly at her and her companions. After a long moment of silence, one of the surrounding figures stepped forward; he appeared to be fairly young, though still older than Arta herself, and both his clothing and his face had a ragged, weathered look. He walked forward to face Arta and looked her up and down, then walked around her in a circle before finally nodding to himself. “Well,” he said. “You sure do look like Artakane does in the holos. Maybe you’re for real after all.”

“Digran?” Arta asked, trying as hard as she could to keep her nervousness from showing on her face.

“That’s me,” he said, giving her a wry grin. “As you can see, we got your message. Lucky for you, you were using Ceana’s channel and her code, or we wouldn’t even be talking to you. That lady’s done a lot of good for us over the years; if it weren’t for Realtran quietly supplying aid, we probably wouldn’t be here. Guess what they say about the enemy of my enemy and all that is true, at least some of the time.” He turned and gestured towards his men. “Stand down for now. I think they’re legit – and if they’re not, we still outnumber them three to one.” He looked back over at Arta. “But don’t pick up your weapons just yet. I still don’t trust you that much.”

Arta let her arms fall with a feeling of relief, though she could hear Karani muttering angrily to herself behind her. Digran now stood with his arms folded and regarded them warily; he’d been joined by two other rebels, an older man and a woman about his own age, both of whom looked just as ragged as he did, whose expressions were past wary and had entered outright hostility. After a long moment of silence, Digran shook his head and spoke. “So, tell me,” he said. “What brings the high-and-mighty Queen of the Dozen Stars down here to Aurann to parley with the likes of us, anyway?”

Arta spread her hands. “You said yourself, the enemy of my enemy,” she said. “I don’t know how much news you get down here, but you’re surely aware that Duke Respen has launched a rebellion against the throne, in alliance with Duke Naudar and Duchess Sateira. And he recently launched a raid on my home planet and kidnapped my foster father, who I now believe is being held somewhere in the Citadel. I’m here to rescue him; I think I could use your help.”

Digran gave a harsh laugh. “Now that’s funny,” he said. “Do you have any idea how many fathers, and mothers, and sisters and brothers and sons and daughters that bastard Respen has killed over the years to keep himself in power? And we didn’t hear a peep about that from the big names out on Carann, did we? But when one of your own gets taken, then the time comes for you to do something. And you just waltz in here and expect us to help you. Well I’m sorry, princess, but so far you’re not impressing me very much.”

“It’s not like that,” Arta said, but her voice sounded weak in her own ears.

“You want to know what it’s like?” Digran asked. “Well, let me educate you a bit. People always hear about how strong Aurann’s military is, and you know how Respen and his family built it? It’s because Aurann isn’t a duchy with an army – it’s an army with a duchy. Unless you’re from one of the old military families and get fast-tracked to officer school, everyone here works in the mines or the foundries, digging raw material and smelting it into weapons. The only way out is to enlist, join up with Respen to kill his enemies for him – even your own family if they step out of line or start complaining about the way things are. Doing your time in the army is the only way to get full citizenship here, if you live long enough, that is. And you know how Respen keeps everyone who isn’t in the army in line?” He pulled down the collar on his shirt, revealing a nasty-looking scar on his neck. “As soon as you’re old enough to work, they come and put a collar on you. damnation hard to get off without the right tools – speak up against Respen, and the collar tortures you until you fall back into line. Actually take up arms against him, and it blows your head off. You want to know why there’s so few of us, even though everyone hates our noble and glorious duke? Because you can’t fight unless you get your collar off – and even if you do, they can still hold the lives of your family, and your friends, and anyone else you care about over your heads. That’s what it’s like here, princess.”

“Lord,” Arta breathed, horror twisting in her gut. “I… I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t know. How has this happened – why hasn’t anyone done anything?”

Digran laughed again. “You think anyone cares?” he asked. “Everyone here knows you can’t fight Respen, at least not without risking your life, and the lives of everyone close to you. And those fancy nobles and guildsmen who visit from off world? They stay up in the top levels of the Citadel, never bother coming down here to see what a miserable pile of slag this planet really is. And even if they did, why would they care? A duke’s right to rule his duchy as he pleases is sacred – isn’t that what you nobles say? And so, who cares if the duke is a monster, when inconveniencing him might make things harder for them too.”

Arta barely managed to master herself – she wanted to scream and cry and throw something, wished she had Respen in front of her right now so she could take his smug head from his shoulders, wanted to do something but was torn in so many directions she ended up not doing anything at all. Looking around the chamber, she saw the dozens of rebel fighters watching her, saw their torn clothes and haggard faces and had a faint, terrible inkling of what they must have suffered to drive them to this point, and then she felt something like a fire kindled in her gut. “This is wrong,” she muttered hotly. “Aurann, Respen, this whole bloody Kingdom for letting this happen – it’s all wrong, and it has to stop. It will stop!”

Digran smirked. “Yeah,” he said. “And how, exactly, are you going to do that? Queen or no, you’re not throwing down Aurann duchy with a half-dozen friends. Sorry if I don’t think your promises are worth much.”

“Respen is weaker than you realize,” Arta said, half to herself. “He’s moved almost all of his forces off-world, to fight the other dukes – we saw it from orbit when we came down. The Citadel is as undefended as it’s ever likely to be. And… and maybe we can get the people on our side. You said everyone hates Respen?”

“Who wouldn’t?” Digran asked, snorting incredulously. “Respen doesn’t see people as people, but as things. Workers to build his weapons, soldiers to use them and die for him, officers to carry out his orders – but just things, tools to be used. He doesn’t really give a damnation about anyone, and so the only reason people follow him is because he’s got a boot on their throat. But it’s a damned big boot. With his collars, he’s holding most of the planet hostage for everyone else’s good behavior. What’re you going to do about that, princess?”

“Tell me,” Shiran said suddenly, stepping forward, “do you know if the collars are controlled from a central hub somewhere?”

“Most of Respen’s officers have remotes they can use to set them off,” the young woman with Digran said. “There’s a master control computer high up in the Citadel somewhere. We’ve never been able to get anyone in there, though.”

“As I suspected,” Shiran said, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “Respen would have wanted to have a central killswitch he could use to override the entire system – he wouldn’t trust anyone else with power over his own slaves. That desire for control can be used against him. If I can get into that room, I should be able to deactivate the entire network.”

“Sorry, but… who are you?” Digran asked disbelievingly.

Shiran smiled coolly and held up a hand with pale blue light playing along its fingers. “I am a man of many talents,” he said. “And, for the moment, a man willing to help you.”

“If Shiran says he can take the collars down, he can,” Arta said. “Can you promise the people will fight if that happens?”

Digran shrugged. “Most people probably wouldn’t believe it,” he said. “But if I had time to get some of my people slipped in among the work crews… give some warnings in key places… well, if nothing else, you’d have a huge riot on your hands, maybe something Respen’s troops wouldn’t be able to contain. Hell, most of the rank and file only enlisted ‘cause they saw no other way out. If their families’ lives weren’t on the line any more… honestly, a good chunk of Respen’s own men might turn rebel.”

“And so, Aurann is like a diamond,” Latharna said from behind Arta, half to herself. “Cold and hard – too hard to cut – but if you hit it hard in the right place, it shatters.”

“Of course, there’s one little problem with all this,” Digran said. “Respen himself. He’s not on planet right now, and neither are most of his troops. If they come back, he’ll just carpet bomb everything from orbit and that’s the end of us. What’s to stop that, exactly?”

“Us,” Arta said. “Me and the rest of the council defeating his forces at Tantos III. With Respen himself dead and Aurann in revolt, the rest of his forces will be crippled.”

“You’re making a lot of assumptions that you can take him down,” Digran said. “And how can you promise that some cousin of his won’t take power and put everything right back the way it was? You nobles don’t like change, after all. What can you promise me, princess?”

“Respen’s time is done,” Arta said. “Centuries ago, our ancestors threw off the tyranny of the Empire, but now Respen has recreated his own little empire here on Aurann, with himself a petty little emperor with petty little ambitions. But it ends now. All of it – Respen’s tyranny on Aurann, and all of the complacency in the rest of the Kingdom that let him and his kind flourish. It’s high time the rulers of the Dozen Stars remembered what it is to lead with responsibility, for the good of the people and not for their own ambitions. But first, examples have to be made.” She looked directly at Digran. “How would you like to be the new Duke of Aurann.”

For the first time, Digran was stunned speechless. “Can you just… do that?” he finally asked.

“Technically, deposing a sitting ducal house requires a unanimous vote of the council,” Shiran said. “Minus the one being deposed, of course. But Respen has made himself very few friends and launching armed revolt against the rest of the Kingdom has cost him what support he may have once had, outside of his fellow rebels. So, as a practical matter, yes, Her Majesty can promise his seat to someone who helps to overthrow him.”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Digran said, shaking his head. “But I don’t just want power for myself. Seems to me the real problem a lot of this Kingdom has is nobles who do whatever the hell they want, and don’t care whether that’s what the people want. If I’m to be duke, I want to make sure that’s something I can change.”

“You yourself pointed out that a duke gets to rule as they see fit,” Arta said. “Some duchies have elected assemblies where the peoples’ voices can be heard – and can even overrule their duke on internal matters with a big enough majority. Orlanes has one. Tantos, too, though that most of the seats in that one were bought out by the guilds.”

“Yeah, but that’s the problem,” Digran said. “That’d still be a duke giving people power – and what’s given can be taken away. And it doesn’t do anything to help the Kingdom as a whole, so what’s to stop another Respen from showing up down the line?”

“In Realtran,” Latharna said, stepping forward, “we have a parliament that shares power with the monarchy. They are elected by the people and can pass laws that are even binding on the nobility – and can even hold the powerful accountable for when they break the laws. It’s not a perfect system, but… I do think it helps keep the worst excesses at bay.”

“You’re Realtran, right? One of Ceana’s people?” Latharna nodded. “Well, that counts for something, anyway – Ceana’s always been straight with us. And are you willing to promise to work for something like that?” Digran continued, looking to Arta now. “Or is all your talk about justice and responsibility just wind?”

“I promise,” Arta said. “I swear it on the crown of the Dozen Stars, and on the Lord’s name.”

“And is her word good?” Digran asked, now looking around the chamber at Arta’s companions.

“Artakane was my student,” Shiran said, “and I vouch for her character.”

“And she is my… friend,” Latharna said. “Me, too.” Beside her, Karani nodded vigorously.

“And you?” Digran asked, looking towards Rehan and her guards. “Nobles always stick up for nobles – what do you think?”

Rehan shrugged. “Permission to speak honestly, Your Majesty?” she asked, and Arta nodded. “Well, I’m common born – no ‘ast’ in my name, thank you - came up through the ranks the hard way, and I think the Queen is idealistic, and a bit naïve, and has the survival instincts of a Carannian hare with a death wish – but she’s got guts, and heart, and she means what she says. I think she’ll keep her word to you or die trying.”

“Thanks for that – I think,” Arta muttered, and then turned back to Digran. “Well, then? What will it be? Can we work together to raid the Citadel, to rescue my father and free your people and shove Respen off his throne for good?”

Digran paused for a moment to confer hurriedly with his two lieutenants, and then turned back to Arta. “Well, maybe you’re right, or maybe I’m crazy,” he said, “or maybe I just don’t have anything left to lose. But I don’t think we’ll ever get a better chance, and so I’m willing to give it a try.” His gaze hardened. “But if you betray me or go back on your word, I’ll make sure your dead if it’s the last thing I do. Got it?”

“Perfectly,” Arta said.

“Good,” Digran said, and waved some of his fighters forward. “Now then, we’ve got some maps of parts of the Citadel, except for the high-security zones, and we know the rotations of the guards. Let’s figure out how to get this done.”

 

[MasterGhandalf]

New chapter! 

Spoiler

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Aurann, the Citadel

The Citadel of Aurann bore down on Latharna like a physical weight, as if the entire vast construction of stone and steel was resting on her back and slowly crushing her into the ground. Based on what she knew of the man who ruled over it – and whose ancestors had built it – she suspected that this feature of the complex’s character was entirely deliberate.

Latharna stood in a vast chamber in the Citadel’s lower levels, with Arta, Karani and Digran nearby, amidst the lines of people who were even now being checked into the structure’s main body through a gate station manned by heavily armed guards. She was dressed in the grey uniform of a low-ranking Aurannian trooper, as were the others, and a thick black dust from somewhere in the mines had been rubbed into her hair to hide its distinctive color. She wore her sword at her side, but it was now in a tattered, utilitarian sheath designed to make it look like a trooper’s sidearm and no more. Pinned to her uniform shirt was a badge similar to the ones the others wore, which when scanned would confirm their identity as a squad returned from patrol and grant them passage through the lower checkpoints. Digran’s people had managed to hack into one of the less secured parts of the planetary network and use information found there to create the badges; Digran had made sure to make himself the sergeant of their tiny unit, and the others, privates. It seemed to amuse him.

He’d assured them that the rebels regularly managed to hack these basic checkpoints, and it was rare for them to get caught. The security higher in the pyramid, where the Aurannian military was headquartered and Duke Respen himself resided, was much tougher. According to Digran, they’d never managed to get someone up there.

Today, though, his confidence was greater – almost reckless, Latharna thought. But then, today, he had a secret weapon. Shiran walked behind their little group in his customary dark clothing, hands resting casually in his pockets and not even trying to blend in, and yet nobody outside of their little group seemed to realize he was there or acknowledge his presence in any way.

“Next,” the officer at the checkpoint called in a bored voice. Latharna’s heart hammered in her chest as Digran stepped forward, with the rest of them close behind. He held out his badge for inspection and the guard scanned it, and then each of the others in turn. She held her breath as he checked his results against his screen, and then let it out when he nodded. “Everything seems to be in order,” he said. “welcome home, sergeant.”

Digran saluted and walked through the checkpoint, Arta following close behind, and then Karani and Latharna herself in the rear, Shiran walking behind her with an air of complete unconcern. Past the checkpoint, Latharna now had an unobstructed view of the main hall, which soared high above her head and forward for hundreds of yards, the size of a sports arena at least. Windows lining the walls let the bright sunlight in, but the hall itself was oddly sterile, with alabaster walls and the only decoration large statues depicting abstract humanoid figures in martial poses. Between the statues were lifts that went to higher levels or down to the mines and foundries beneath the Citadel, and though the hall was busy with people moving from one place to another, it was also subdued. Many of those in the crowds appeared to be uniformed soldiers heading from one assignment to another, but even the civilians wore drab, nondescript clothing and walked quietly with their heads down as if trying to avoid attention. And as many people as there were, the hall was vast enough it could have held many more.

Digran waved them over beside one of the statues, a tall, broad-shouldered man with a cape and a spear. “Well,” he said, “we’re in. And it looks like you were right. This place is usually a lot more crowded. Respen must have taken a huge number of troops and support staff with him to Tantos III. His mistake.”

“Are the rest of your people in position?” Arta asked.

“I checked in with Shiava just before we got inside,” Digran replied, tapping his wrist comm and naming the woman who’d been with him when they’d met. “She’s in the mines and has people all through there and the workhouses, getting people ready. Your woman Rehan is with her.” Lieutenant Rehan and her people had gone with Shiava on her mission, ostensibly to get the lay of the land, unofficially to keep an eye on the rebels and make sure they were holding up their end of the bargain. Much the same reason, Latharna thought, that Digran had insisted on coming with them. Rehan herself had wanted to come with Arta, but Digran said he only had four fake IDs and couldn’t risk bringing a spare. The lieutenant had grudgingly relented.

“Remind me,” Latharna said, “exactly where we need to go.”

“The control chamber is high in the Citadel, on the Duke’s levels,” Digran said. “Our disguises and IDs will get us most of the way, but not into the top-security sectors. We’ll need your friend here for that,” he nodded at Shiran. “The entire planetary slave network is controlled from the Citadel. Once it goes down, there’ll be anarchy. Luckily, Shiava and her people are standing by to make sure the mob targets the Duke’s soldiers – those who stay loyal, anyway. The princess’s dad is probably being held somewhere near the control chamber, but we’ll be able to know for sure once we get access to the network.” He turned back to Shiran. “You ready for this, old man?”

“Of course,” Shiran said. “Working with computer programs is largely working with energy, which is far less exhausting than working with matter.” He smiled coolly. “I’ve also been working this entire time to keep anyone nearby from overhearing our conversation. You’re welcome.”

Digran shook his head. “I don’t know who you are or where you came from, but I do like your style.” He turned to Arta, Karani and Latharna. “Our main job will be to keep anyone else from shooting the old man before he finishes the job. Got it?”

“Crystal clear,” Karani said. “I want to rescue my father, and I want to make Respen hurt.”

“Music to my ears,” Digran said. “And you, princess?”

“I’m ready,” Arta said quietly, eyes hard. “Let’s move.”

///

They walked over to one of the lifts and waited for it to arrive; Latharna watched the rest of the hall furtively as they did so, certain any moment that they were going to be spotted for imposters. She breathed a quite sigh of relief as the doors opened and they stepped inside; Digran waved his ID badge over a scanner by the control panel and then punched what appeared to be the correct keys, for the lift began to rise. “This’ll take us to the highest level our fake identities are authorized for,” the rebel leader said. “Beyond that is the Upper Tier, where the nobles and high officers live and most of the top-security stuff is. That’s where we’ll need the old man.”

“Understood,” Shiran said. They then waited in silence as the lift rose, taking them high into the pyramid and far above the desert floor; finally, the door pinged and opened. There was a guard waiting in the corridor outside; Digran held up his badge and the guard saluted and let them pass.

This section of the Citadel seemed to be residential and commercial, and as they wound through its corridors and larger plazas Latharna noticed they passed a number of shops and restaurants, and even places where the entire ceiling was glass, letting the sunlight in and creating light-bathed avenues and parks. And yet even here, Respen’s character could be felt. There were more soldiers here than Latharna had seen on Carann or back home on Gearrach, and the businesses had a hard, to her eyes unfriendly look. The people here were well-off and seemed more relaxed than the ones down in the main hall, but still had an air of quiet wariness about them, as if they went about their business with a fear of being watched. Straining her ears, Latharna caught snatches of conversation, and though she never heard anyone go so far as to criticize Duke Respen directly, there seemed to be a general sense of discontent regarding the resources and manpower he was throwing into a war that seemed to have ground to a stalemate at Tantos.

At last, near what felt like the center of the pyramid, they came to a lift that would take them to the Upper Tier. Guards flanked the entrance, elite commandos like those who had taken Baron Varas, and they watched Digran with suspicion as he approached. Steeling himself, he walked forward and held up his badge; by his side, Shiran surreptitiously twitched his fingers, and a spark of pale blue appeared around his hand and around the badge. If the guards noticed it, they gave no sign. Digran pressed his badge to the reader, and for a long moment there was no reaction – and then the device pinged, and the lift door opened.

“You’re authorized,” one of the guards said, as if he didn’t quite believe it. “Go on about your business, then, and don’t make trouble.”

“Thank you, sir,” Digran said. “Of course not, sir.” He walked into the lift, the others close behind him, and when they were all in, the door shut.

Digran took a moment to scan the directory that hung on the lift car’s wall before pressing a button on the control panel. “If I’m right,” he said, “this should take us out on the same level as the control room, and nearby. Of course, it’ll be guarded. Troops, even mechs. Respen doesn’t want just anyone getting into this room, and if we make one wrong move, the entire lot of them will be on us.”

“Don’t worry,” Arta said, trying to sound calm, though Latharna could hear the uncertainty in her voice. “We have the most powerful Adept in the Dozen Stars with us. And,” here she looked at Latharna, “one of its most gifted rising knights.”

“Really?” Digran asked, looking at Latharna appraisingly. “That so?”

Latharna met his gaze without blinking. “If Her Majesty says so,” she said, while internally praying desperately that Arta’s faith in her was not misplaced.

///

The Upper Tier, or at least the portion of it in which they now found themselves, had a cold, spartan style; here the open spaces of the main hall and the greenery of the middle levels gave way to long, narrow hallways with gleaming metal walls and rows of identical doors. The place seemed designed to give a sense of foreboding and menace to anyone who found themselves here without belong, and Latharna had a feeling that was entirely deliberate. It also, she thought, reminded her of pictures she’d seen of captured Imperial facilities in her schoolbooks. It seemed fitting, somehow, that consciously or not Respen was modeling himself on that regime that both the Dozen Stars and Realtran had once fought so hard to be free of.

Digran was leading them now, stopping every so often to consult with a directory on the wall but seeming reasonably confident they were headed in the right direction. Latharna wasn’t so sure; everything here looked much the same, and she could barely tell one steel corridor from another, save by the signs that bore numbers she had no hope of keeping straight. And yet, the deeper they penetrated into the headquarters of Aurann’s military forces, the more desolate it seemed; there were still guards stationed at various corridors and doors who regarded them with hostility as they passed, but they met no one else in the halls, and judging by the dark windows on their doors, few of the offices seemed to be occupied. This, more than anything else, hammered home to her that most of Respen’s forces were in the field, and those who remained were there to preserve the illusion of strength, more than its reality.

Finally, what felt like deep in the heart of the Upper Tier, they came to a long corridor with a single door at the end and a squad of guards blocking the entrance. Digran approached, holding up his badge while Shiran moved in behind him, preparing to perform the working that would, hopefully, grant them authorization.

“What’s your business here?” one of the guards asked.

“We’ve been sent to deliver a message, sir,” Digran said. “Colonel ast Kiros, from the garrison in the mines, has been having some trouble with the surveillance and security tech and can’t find a problem on his end. He wants the maintenance staff up here to look into it. Sir.”

The guard frowned. “The maintenance office is on the ground level, soldier. You got turned around. You shouldn’t even be up here.”

Digran shrugged. “That’s what I said, but Colonel ast Kiros was insistent that the guys at the main control hub check things out; he thinks that’s where the problem is. I don’t agree, but, well, you know how officers are. Especially noble officers. Best not to argue.”

“Why didn’t the colonel send a message first?” the guard said. “We could have cleared you that way without the hassle.”

“I thought he did,” Digran said. “Clearly, it didn’t go through. It sounds like he was right about the technical difficulties, anyway.”

“Sir,” one of the other guards said, “I’m pretty sure I saw that Colonel ast Kiros was deployed to Tantos with His Grace. He hasn’t been on-planet in weeks.”

The first guard’s face hardened. “All right then,” he said, “hold it right there. All four of you are under arrest until we figure out what’s going on here. Hands in the air, now.” The guards levelled their beam rifles.

“Well, so much for plan A,” Digran muttered. Before the guards could react he exploded into motion, ducking under the officer’s rifle and hitting him hard square in the face, sending him sprawling. The other guards levelled their weapons and opened fire, but none of their bolts hit home – a dark blue shield enveloped Digran and the bolts impacted it harmlessly. By Latharna’s side, Arta was standing with right hand outstretched, eyes glowing blue.

“What the-“ one of the guards muttered, but then the entire squad dropped their rifles and drew their blades, which hissed to life. They advanced slowly, swords crackling, but Arta, Latharna, and Karani were there to meet them. Swords flashed in the corridor as they dueled back and forth, but then Latharna found her way through her opponent’s guard and buried her sword in his throat. He collapsed with a rasping sound and died, but this time, Latharna didn’t have time to think about his death; beside her, Arta and Karani had just finished off their own foes, and the final two guards were slammed into the wall by a burst of light from Shiran and lay still.

“Come on,” Digran said, gesturing them forward. “Someone will have heard that.” They hurried down the corridor, but as they passed the officer he sat up slowly, groaning – then his eyes widened when he saw what had become of his squad and he pressed a button on his wrist comm. Digran cursed and turned back to shoot him, but the bolt wasn’t fast enough. Even as the officer crumpled, red lights began to flash, and sirens echoed through the halls. “They’re onto us now!” Digran shouted. “Let’s do this fast. Then they’ll have other things to worry about.”

They reached the end of the corridor and this time didn’t even bother with Digran’s badge; Shiran raised a hand and made a sharp gesture and the door handle, lock and all, burst into pieces and the door flew open. Inside the room was a large computer and a larger bank of screens which showed scenes from the Upper Tier, the main hall, and the mines on loop, but Latharna didn’t have time to watch them. Two more officers sat at the keyboards and jumped to their feet when the door opened; Digran shot one, and Latharna herself ran the other through.

“All right, old man,” Digran said. “This is your show.”

“As you say, it is,” Shiran said, taking one of the seats the two soldiers had vacated. “This may take some time, and I can’t say for sure how long, as I don’t know how complex the security measures Respen’s people will have put in place are.”

“Well try to do it as fast as you can,” Digran said, raising his pistol and turning back to the door. “We’re about to have a lot more company. The rest of us’ll try to hold them off.”

He crouched beside the door, holding his pistol ready; Latharna, Arta and Karani joined him, blades ready and expressions expectant. Latharna’s heart hammered nervously in her chest, and the continued flashing of the warning lights was putting her on edge. She readied herself for what was sure to come.

///

Arta could almost feel the tendrils of Shiran’s power teasing on her mind from behind as she stared down the corridor, waiting. She couldn’t even imagine how difficult his task must be, and had no idea how she’d go about doing it herself, but she knew that Shiran was the most powerful Adept she’d ever met – even, she believed, more than Midaia – and she had full faith in his ability to succeed. She was less certain about their own odds. In the distance, she could hear the sounds of booted feet and voices raised in command, and she knew that a squad of Aurannian troopers was coming, probably more than they could hope to handle. Probably they’d just rain fire down the entire corridor and put an end to everyone. Shiran might escape, but Arta, and her sister, and the girl she was increasingly certain she had feelings for, along with the leader of the Aurannian resistance, would all die, and by following her leadership. A ghastly legacy of failure for the reign of Artakane I to leave behind.

The first troopers began to pour down the corridor, beam rifles raised. Among them floated a number of mechs, squat and roughly ovoid, their sides bristling with weapons. Armed mechs of that sort weren’t common in the Dozen Stars; not technically illegal, so long as they weren’t self-aware, but so heavily frowned upon they might as well have been. But the Empire used them. Arta wondered exactly how long Respen had been doing business with them, and whether his “new” alliance was new after all.

“We have you pinned in,” a voice called from behind the front rank of the troopers. “You have no hope of escape. Surrender now and we will let you live. This is your last chance.”

“They want to know how we got through the security, I wager,” Digran said, then raised his voice. “I’ll never surrender to the Mad Duke’s dogs. Free Aurann!” He fired a shot down the corridor which grazed one of the troopers’ armor but didn’t seem to have done any further damage.

“Very well,” the officer’s voice called. “On your head be it.” His troops raised their rifles, and Arta froze. She could make a shield that would absorb the blasts, she knew, but she didn’t know how long it could stand up to a determined barrage. Did she have a chance to save her companions, or simply delay their deaths by a few seconds? At her side, she saw Digran, his expression defiant; Karani, who looked outraged, and Latharna, resigned to her fate and muttering a prayer under her breath. Arta’s resolve steeled. If she didn’t act, all of them would die, and for nothing. And she needed to save her father, and free Aurann, and for that Shiran needed more time…

Shiran. At the thought, his voice from the great hall came flooding back to Arta’s mind. Energy, he’d said, was easier to work with than matter, and computer programs were a kind of energy. Maybe Arta didn’t have what it took to untangle Duke Respen’s security systems, but she could still do something simpler…

Time seemed to slow as Arta gathered her will. The troopers raised their weapons at a fraction of their normal speed, and Arta reached out not for the living men and women… but for the mechs. Suddenly she found herself inside their minds, if minds they could be said to have. They didn’t think for themselves; the stigma against artificial intelligence was too strong. They just followed orders, protecting friendlies and destroying hostiles – and now, Arta had a hand directly on the core of their beings. She rearranged a few key elements of their programming, and then she snapped back to herself.

Time resumed its normal flow, and the troopers were just now pulling their triggers – but before they could fire, their mechs spun in midair and turned their weapons towards them, filling the corridor with a barrage of blast fire. Dozens of Aurannian troopers fell dead, slain by their own mechs, and then the mechs turned on each other, their blasts ripping each other to pieces. After a brief, violent moment, it was over, and the corridor was left littered with bodies broken remnants of machinery.

“damnation,” Digran said after a long, silent moment. “I mean… damnation. Glad you’re on my side, princess.”

Arta stared silently at the carnage she had wrought, and then sank to the floor, gasping in horror. She could feel Latharna putting her arm around her shoulder, and Karani quietly taking her hand, and she didn’t push them away; she just knelt there quietly, staring. Killing more than twenty people, she thought, shouldn’t be so easy.

“Don’t feel bad, prin – Artakane,” Digran said, his rough voice unusually quiet. “Those were Respen’s personal bully-boys and -girls, based on their uniforms. Plenty of blood on their hands. Don’t mourn for them.”

“They were still people,” Arta muttered. “And I still killed them all. They never even had a chance to fight back.”

“And that you care about that means you’re still human,” Digran said. “You surprise me. In more ways than one.”

Arta stood slowly, nodding first at Karani, then at Latharna. The Realtran girl looked on the verge of saying something, but before she could, Shiran interrupted. “Aha!” he said. “I have it.” The others turned away and hurried over to join him.

“As you can see, I’ve managed to deactivate the collars,” Shiran said, gesturing towards the screens, which now showed miners and laborers removing their collars with expressions of wonderment on their faces, while soldiers backed up apprehensively. On a few of the screens Arta caught glimpses of hard eyed people among the crowds who seemed to be stepping forward, and she wondered if they were Digran’s people. One of them looked like she might have been Shiava, though she wasn’t on-screen long enough to be sure. “I’ve also,” Shiran went on, “deactivated the defenses at the checkpoints, opened all of the Citadel’s weapons vaults, and taken down all military communications channels. The Ducal military forces are in disarray; now is the time for your people to arm themselves and rise up. I’ve also taken control of the Citadel’s communications network. If you would like to share a message with your people, now is the time.”

Digran swallowed and stepped forward. “My brothers and sisters,” he said, speaking into the microphone Shiran had indicated, “some of you may have heard of me, and some of you haven’t. My name is Digran Tassis, and eve since I was old enough to hold a weapon, I have fought for the freedom of Aurann. For too long has Duke Respen put his foot on our throats and called it his right. Too long has he worked our fathers and mothers to death in his mines and factories, or taken our brothers and sisters as conscripts for his armies. That ends today! Your collars have been deactivated and the Citadel’s defenses are down. Today is the day to rise up and take back what is yours! And to those of you who have fought for the Duke, I say to you now that if you can no longer live with yourselves, the time has come to join us! Join your people! Down with Respen! Free Aurann!”

“And I,” Arta said, stepping forward, “am Artakane ast Carann, your queen. Today I stand beside my friend Digran Tassis and I stand beside you, people of Aurann, to fight for your freedom. Too long has the crown turned a blind eye to cruel dukes and corrupt guilds, but we will stand aside no longer. Today, the Crown fights for you! Know that by our decree and the will of the loyal Dukes of the Realm, Respen ast Aurann is deposed and declared outlaw. What claim he had on your lives and your world is void in the eyes of the Crown. The time has come, sons and daughters of Aurann – sons and daughters of the Dozen Stars – to throw off your oppressors and stand. And now the Crown stands by your side! Down with Respen!”

On the screens, Arta could see the workers staring at each other in wonder; some looked disbelieving, while others were determined. On some of the screens the crowds were surging forward, forcing the troopers back; on others, troopers had turned against each other, beam blasts flashing. But even in the scenes where all the troopers seemed to have remained loyal to their duke, the rising tide of humanity outnumbered them.

“It’s finally happening,” Digran said, shaking his head. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

Karani grabbed Arta and twirled her around, laughing. “I can’t wait to see the look on Respen’s smug face!” she said. “Nice speech, little sister!”

“Digran’s was better,” Arta said, flushing, and turned back to Shiran. “Did you find where they were keeping our father?”

“Yes,” Shiran said. “The Baron is being held two floors above us, in a holding cell in Respen’s private apartments. He’s alive, but under heavy guard – though perhaps less heavy now that the Citadel’s populace is in open revolt. I’ve disabled all the checkpoints on the way, so you won’t need me to get there; I feel like I should stay here, to prevent anyone from trying to regain control of the system.”

“I’m staying here too,” Digran said. “This looks like the best place to coordinate the uprising. Use Respen’s own tool against him.”

“Well I’m coming with you,” Karani said. “I’m going to make Respen’s men pay for taking Father.”

“Me, too,” Latharna said. “I’m your knight, aren’t I? I can’t let you go into danger alone.”

“All right, then,” Arta said; she glanced back down the hall and to the destruction she’d wrought and steadied herself. “We’ve already taken lives today. It’s time to go save one.”

 

[MasterGhandalf]

New chapter! 

Spoiler

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Deep Space

Pakorus found Midaia in Sister Night’s cockpit, slumped in her chair; her always-pale face was haggard, and she had a cut on her cheek from where she’d been struck during the fight and her hair hung lank, but her eyes were still bright and alert. “How are you doing?” he asked her.

“I’m exhausted,” she said, and he could hear the weariness in her voice. “And we just barely escaped certain death, so there is that. But we’re not being pursued. Fighting like that takes a lot of effort, and it left me drained, but I’ll recover.”

“This might help,” Pakorus said, and held out one of the cups of kaf he’d brought; Midaia’s eyes brightened at the sight, and she took the cup and then drank several deep gulps, ignoring how hot the drink was. Finally, she sat back and sighed.

“Much better,” she said. “That was some quick thinking back there, shooting the pipe. And you keep your head under fire better than most. I’m impressed. You may make a fighter yet.”

Pakorus shook his head. “I think I’ve had enough excitement for one lifetime. Right now, I just want to get back to Carann, tell Arta all about what we’ve found, and then stay there, forever.” He sipped from his own cup in silence for several moments, then raised his eyes back to Midaia. “Who was that man, anyway? You almost sounded like you knew each other.”

“By reputation only,” Midaia said, making a face. “And obviously that reputation was accurate – if anything, it undersold him. That was Al’Aymar Alaen, called the Prince of Night – among other, less kind names – one of the most dangerous Adepts alive.”

Pakorus frowned. “That sounds like an Alaelam name,” he said. “But I can’t imagine why an Alaelam Adept would help the Empire. The Alliance and the Empire have been at war on and of for centuries.”

“It’s an Alaelam title, actually,” Midaia said. “All Alealam clerics of a certain rank take titles to replace their birth names. It’s supposed to represent their advancement towards enlightenment. I don’t know the details of Alaen’s history; news from the Alliance is hard to come by in our Kingdom. But I know the gist; he was once a member of the Conclave of Disciples, one of the spiritual and political leaders of the Alaelam – what we would call a priest-king in our language. He had a falling-out with the Conclave though, decades ago. Word is that he came to believe that Adepts were a superior breed of human, inherently closer to the One – that’s what the Alaelam call the Lord – and therefore to enlightenment and deserved to rule over everyone else. The rest of the Conclave disapproved and censured him, so he launched a coup against them. It failed, and he and his surviving students were forced to flee.

“Not much was heard of him for several years after that, until he showed up at the Imperial Court and begged an audience. What passed between Alaen and the Emperor is, of course, deeply classified, but apparently, they worked out a deal, because Al’Aymar Alaen has been Verus Licinius’s quiet partner – and personal Adept hatchet man – ever since.” Midaia shook her head. “How appropriate that you were the one who got the better of him. An Adept who considers our kind superior, defeated by a boy with a gun and a good idea. He must be raging about that.”

“You think he’s still alive?” Pakorus asked.

“Oh, undoubtedly,” Midaia said. “An Adept of Alaen’s talents isn’t killed so easily, I’m afraid. But I’m less worried about what he’ll do in the future than what his presence their meant. Alaen takes his orders only from the Emperor, from all I hear – and even then, he only obeys when he doesn’t consider the task beneath him. If he was there, at that base, at that time – well, all I can assume is that our little investigation had come to the attention of the highest levels of power. And that, I fear, means that the hands holding the Commander’s strings came straight from the top – from Licinius himself.” She regarded Pakorus intently, and her eyes were troubled. “We’re not just dealing with a conspiracy within the Empire, not anymore. The Empire itself is our enemy.”

She paused and drank some more kaf, seemingly lost in thought. “Something troubles me, though,” she said, half to herself. “When I began my search for the Commander’s origins, before you joined me, I tried to probe for knowledge on what we call the psychic plane, and there I was stymied by another Adept – a tremendously powerful one. I thought it might be Alaen. He is, after all, the most powerful and skilled of the Emperor’s Adept cabal. But when I encountered him at the base, I realized that it can’t have been. His touch felt different, and that other Adept was more powerful by far. Stronger than any I have ever encountered.” She frowned. “I’d wondered why Alaen would consent to bow down to a ruler with no Adept gifts, even grudgingly. You saw how he was; once he realized who I was, everyone else in the room might as well have not existed for him. Non-Adepts are less than nothing to him. So why agree to serve Licinius? To become the power behind the throne? Or perhaps something else… oh, Shiran, you and I are going to have words when I see you again.”

“I don’t understand,” Pakorus said. “Are you saying the Emperor is an Adept? And what does Shiran have to do with any of this?”

“At the moment, I only have guesses,” Midaia said. “Though my guesses are seldom wrong. And speaking of, I think it’s time we take a look and see exactly what we got, and if it’s something my sister can use.”

She carefully set her cup on the yacht’s dashboard and then drew her drive out of her robes and inserted it into a dataport. The nav computer’s screen flashed and then began to scroll past too fast for Pakorus to read; after several long minutes, it came to rest on a facsimile of an official looking document.

“Ah,” Midaia said. “Now this is interesting. Project Chimera, classified by order of His Imperial Majesty Verus Licinius, ships and armaments to prepared for covert squad, so on and so on, as approved by His Majesty’s designated representative…” her eyes widened, and her voice trailed off. “Well, now,” she said. “That’s very interesting.”

“What?” Pakorus asked, leaning in to read the name of the Imperial patrician who had approved the project as the Emperor’s agent, and when he saw it, his breath caught. It was a name he knew all too well; he’d been in a room with this man, running messages to him, too many times to count. “His Majesty’s designated representative Publius Vedrans Quarinis,” he read aloud.

“Quarinis himself,” Midaia said. “Of course, it was. The architect of my mother’s murder lived in her own house for years. And here I thought hospitality was valued in the empire.” She took the drive from the dataport and handed it to Pakorus. “You get your wish, Pakorus. We’re going back to Carann. From there, we can find out where Artakane is; if we’re lucky, she’ll be back there herself. Give that to her, personally. Don’t trust it to anyone else, not even your father.” She stared out the viewport into space, eyes hard. “I, meanwhile, am going to be having a long-overdue conversation with an old friend.”

///

In the lower levels of the Citadel, chaos reigned. A vast tide of humanity had risen from the underground mines and the ground-level factories and workshops and was now crashing against the forces of Duke Respen. They outnumbered the troopers many times over, for the military forces who remained on Aurann were spread too thin; the troopers had an advantage of weapons and armor, at least at first, but directed by Digran’s people, the rebels had broken into now-unsecured armories and taken beam rifles and dueling swords for themselves. They also now had an advantage of communication, for Digran had taken control of the primary computer hub, with Shiran’s help. Not only were the collars deactivated, but now Digran could observe the entirety of the Citadel and direct his people to key locations, while the troopers’ own communications had been shut down. The famed military of Aurann Duchy had one of its most important advantages stripped away, and now it was fracturing at the seams.

And that wasn’t the only problem facing Respen’s soldiers, for many of them had families among the rebels, and all had heard the messages from Digran and the Queen that had been broadcast throughout the entire Citadel. Some of them threw down their weapons and surrendered; others turned against their own commanders, so that now Aurann’s military was fighting itself as well as the uprising. Throughout the Citadel, the troopers found themselves besieged or cut off, and fell back.

///

Nobody paid much attention to Latharna, Karani and Arta as they hurried through the corridors of the upper tiers. Most of the soldiers and officers they passed were hurrying down to the lower levels to join the fighting there, while here and there altercations were breaking out between those loyal to the duke and those who’d decided to throw in with the rebellion. Amidst the chaos, three young women in the uniforms of rank-and-file soldiers apparently weren’t worth much attention. Finally, they reached a lift, which they were able to access without difficulty because of Shiran’s disabling of the security protocols and took it up to the Duke’s residential level.

Here, Latharna thought, they’d found what seemed more like what she would have expected for the residence of a tyrannical duke. Respen’s apartments were still severe in style, with art and decorations favoring military scenes – including a number of paintings and sculptures depicting Respen himself in heroic poses, standing above fallen enemies – but they were nonetheless far more lavish than anything else she’d seen in the Citadel so far. No one was around, save for the statues, in the corridor in which they’d found themselves, but Arta nodded silently and raised her hand. Latharna and Karani both drew their swords and followed slowly behind her, watching warily for enemies as they made their way towards the chambers where Shiran had indicated the Baron was being held.

“Nice,” Karani said at one point as they passed a painting in which a shirtless Respen held his sword high while planting his foot on the throat of a bestial humanoid Latharna recognized as a Csarag, a species of warlike alien who had invaded the Dozen Stars and been repulsed when Queen Aestera had been young. “Very tasteful. What sort of person would put something like that in their home, anyway?”

“Respen, clearly,” Arta said. “It’s not even accurate – Respen was a child when the Csarag War ended, and he never fought them. It’s just another monument to his ego. Now, keep your voice down. We’re not too far now, and there’re probably going to be guards. We can’t count on being lucky enough that they were all called away to fight.”

Karani nodded and fell silent. The three of them continued on and rounded a corner in the hallway, finding themselves in a sunny sitting room with a glass wall that let the light stream in and gave a view overlooking the desolate salt flats below them. But this room too was empty, and they passed through it and down another corridor. There, at the end, was a door that was richly appointed but also appeared to be heavily locked; seated at a small table in a niche in the hall were a half-dozen people in full armor; a set of playing cards and some mugs of kaf sat on the table, apparently hastily abandoned, while the guards themselves looked nervous and wary. They must have been playing, Latharna realized, and then gotten news of the revolt. They hadn’t left their post, though – a captive Baron must have been something they were unwilling to abandon and so risk their Duke’s wrath.

“Knights of Aurann,” Arta whispered. “This isn’t going to be easy, ladies.” Latharna drew a breath and steeled herself as they approached; the knights’ gazes fell on them, and the one who appeared to be their leader, a hard-faced man, stood.

“What are you three doing up here?” he demanded, looking their uniforms up and down. “You should be below, fighting the insurgents. We need every fighter down there we can spare. Are you deserting? Lord, did you pick a bad place to run to.” His eyes narrowed. “Or are you rebels yourselves? If you are, then your luck just ran out, girl.”

“I am not a rebel, or a deserter,” Arta said, her voice imperious and cold. “My name is Artakane ast Carann, and I am your queen. I am here for the Baron Katanes, and you will release him to me. And if you do not release him, I will take him. Stand aside now, if you wish you wish to survive this.”

The lead knight looked stunned, and beside him one of his subordinates, a woman, looked uncertain. “You know, it does kind of look like her,” she said. “Sir, what should we do?”

The leader shook himself. “Even if you are Artakane, you were a fool to come here,” he said. “I’ll kill you myself, and His Grace will be pleased with that, even if the whole Citadel falls. And then when he comes back, he’ll bomb the whole city from orbit until its nothing but a smoking crater if he has to. You’ve lost.”

Arta smiled coldly. “Have I?” she asked. “Maybe Respen will be pleased with you if you kill me, but you forgot one thing – that first, you’ll have to kill me.” She raised her dueling sword and energy crackled down the blade.

“Take them!” the lead knight ordered, and his fellows jumped up behind him, drawing their own blades. The air crackled with the sound of live dueling swords, and Arta, Latharna and Karani fell in close to each other as the enemy advanced. Latharna found herself breathing heavily, dread mixing in her chest with the rising anticipation that always seemed to presage combat.

Then the lead knight raised his sword to attack Arta, and something in Latharna’s chest broke. She remembered the words of Shiran, about dedication so strong it could cause people to rise above their lower natures, of Kassandra ast Tashir’s book on courtly love and of devotion so strong it would endure even unto death, of the touch of Arta’s warm hand on her own – and then as the stroke fell, Latharna was there to block it.

What happened after that, she could never fully recall. In that moment of crystalized action, to which all her training, all her questioning and all her growing love seemed to have been leading her, Latharna Dhenloc vanished. She became the whirlwind, dueling three knights at once, their swords flashing and sparking but unable to land a single blow on her, for she was too fast for them, dodging their every strike. But they couldn’t evade her, her blade scoring blows upon their armor that left them damaged, sent them reeling back, unable to dodge or parry. Latharna was the whirlwind, and no mere mortal could withstand her.

She heard one of the knights give a strangled cry and fall to the ground, dimly aware that she’d cut his throat; he collapsed at lay still. The second, the woman who’d recognized Arta, stared in horror and then dropped her sword and fled, her battered armor hanging off her. That left the third, the leader, who regarded her with wide eyes but didn’t run. “What in hell are you?” he demanded.

“My name is Lady Latharna Dhenloc, knight of the realm and champion of the Queen,” Latharna heard her voice say as if from a distance. “And you should have surrendered when you had the chance.” The knight scowled and came on then; he was more skilled than the others, and he had an advantage on Latharna in terms of size and strength. She found herself unable to penetrate his guard, though he too was unable to land a blow on her. Behind her she was dimly aware of Arta and Karani also fighting, that Arta was facing two at once, and she scowled. She had to get to Arta’s side, and that meant she had to end this now.

Jumping back from the Aurannian knight, Latharna pushed herself off the wall with her feet and threw herself bodily at him. The knight’s eyes widened as she struck him full on and grabbing hold, she managed to swing herself up onto his shoulders and wrapped her legs around his neck. The knight gave a cry when he realized what was about to happen, but it was too late; she twisted sharply and there was a crack; the knight’s body collapsed to the ground. Latharna grabbed her sword where it had fallen and, paying him no mind, raced to her queen’s aid.

Arta’s eyes were glowing blue now, and she gathered energy into her free hand before slamming it into the face of one of the knights she was fighting; there was a brilliant flash of blue light and the knight was thrown back into the wall and slid down to the bottom; unconscious or dead, Latharna couldn’t hell. At the same moment, Karani drove her sword into the chest of the knight she was fighting, its energy crackling as it penetrated his armor. Arta’s final opponent stood alone now and seeing the defeat or flight of his companions dropped his sword and fell to his knees, hands in the air. Latharna snarled and rushed towards him, but Arta caught her wrist.

“Latharna, enough,” she said. “He’s surrendering.”

And so, he was, Latharna realized now as she looked at him; slowly, breathing deeply, she steadied herself. The whirlwind sank away, and she was Latharna Dhenloc again. Gazing around at the destruction she had wrought, and the defeated enemy she had almost killed, she found herself panting heavily, trying to reconstruct in her mind just what had happened. Finally, she turned to Arta. “Thank you,” she said, “for bringing me back.”

“I’ll always be there to catch you if you fall,” Arta said, smiling. For a single, wild, impulsive moment Latharna considered kissing her, but the she was interrupted by a loud cough.

“Excuse me,” Karani said, “but aren’t we here for something else?”

“Right,” Arta said, and turned to the knight who had surrendered. “If you would be so very kind as to open that door,” she told him. The knight nodded wordlessly and then hurried over to it and quickly entered a code; the door swung open.

Inside was a reasonably comfortable bedroom, thought its windows appeared to be reinforced – a room for holding important or noble prisoners that Duke Respen still wanted alive and unharmed, at least for the moment. The Baron ast Katanes was seated on the bed, looking haggard and somewhat worse for the wear, but otherwise unharmed. He looked up when the doo opened, and his eyes widened when he saw his daughters. “What in the Lord’s name?” he asked, but then both Arta and Karani had rushed forward and hugged him.

“We came to rescue you,” Arta said, and there were tears in the corners of her eyes. “We hope you don’t mind.”

“Oh, Arta,” the Baron said, hugging her back, and then pulling Karani into his embrace as well. “I have no idea how you managed this, but I never in my wildest dreams expected it. I was sure Respen would kill me when he was through with me, and I never thought I’d see either of you, or Katanes, again.”

“We kind of overthrew Aurann on the way to see you,” Karani said. “That’s okay, isn’t it?”

The Baron threw back his head and laughed. From the doorway Latharna watched the reunion; she could feel the tears in her eyes and didn’t bother to wipe them away.

///

They returned to the control room unchallenged and found Shiran and Digran still at their seats, watching the events playing out lower in the Citadel. So far as Arta could see, the fighting largely seemed to have died down, though there were a few places where Respen’s troopers were still holding out; what looked like an impromptu celebration had broken out in the main hall, and on a plaza outside the main gates, a towering statue of Respen was being pulled down.

“Looks like you did it,” Arta said as she shook her head, impressed. “Congratulations… Your Grace.”

Digran barked a harsh laugh. “Hardly,” he said. “Frankly I feel like a coward, sitting up here safely while everyone else was fighting down below – but then, I guess none of this would have worked if Shiran and I hadn’t been up here taking down the collars and security and taking over the comm network. There’s still some fighting going on, but the holdouts are scattered, cut off from each other. And Shiava says that a lot of the troopers defected when they realized what was going on, or just threw down their weapons and refused to fight for either side. Guess not a lot of people thought Respen was worth dying for when he didn’t have his foot on their throat. For the most part, the Citadel is ours.” He turned in his chair and saw the Baron. “And I guess that’s your dad, isn’t it? Guess we all came out ahead today. Not something that happens a lot around here.”

“Varas ast Katanes,” the Baron said with a half bow. “And you, I assume, are Digran Tassis. My daughters tell me they’d never have gotten to me without your help. I am in your debt.”

“That so?” Digran asked, grinning. “Never had a Baron in my debt before.”

“So, what happens now?” Arta asked. “The Citadel isn’t the only city on Aurann; does Respen still have forces there?”

“There are other cities,” Digran said, “but not a whole lot. Aurann’s environment doesn’t support a very big population. And there’s definitely nothing on the scale of the Citadel.”

“More to the point,” Shiran broke in, “the collars and security systems there were all tied into this network – Respen wanted it all where he could control it with a press of a button. That means that from here, I was able to shut down the entire network across the whole planet. Respen’s own desire for control worked against him.”

“So everywhere else is about to have the same problems we are here,” Digran said. “If they’re not already. I’ve been able to use the comm network to get in touch with some other rebel leaders I know in other cities, and they’ve agreed to at least work together long enough to throw the last of Respen’s forces out. We haven’t won yet, princess, but we’re on our way.” He regarded Arta with hard eyes. “And don’t you dare forget your promise to me.”

“I won’t,” Arta said. “I swear it on the Lord’s name. But I have another battle to fight – against Respen himself, and Naudar and Sateira, at Tantos III. They all have to be defeated before the Kingdom can know peace.”

“Not sure how much I can help you there,” Digran said. “But whoever kills Respen has won a round of drinks on me; that’s something I can promise.”

“We’ll see about that,” Arta said, and stepped away to stand beside Karani.

“You know,” she whispered in Arta’s ear, “for a scruffy guy, he’s pretty easy on the eyes.”

“Karani!” Arta hissed back. “Not the time!”

“What?” Karani asked, nodding at Latharna. “You and Dhenloc were making moon eyes at each other earlier; can’t I at least appreciate a good-looking guy?”

“We were not making moon eyes,” Arta said; before she could go on, she was interrupted by a curse from Digran.

“We’ve got trouble, everyone,” he said; they hurried over to the screens and saw what he’d been referring to. Arta’s heart sank as she watched a massive Equestrian warship descend from orbit and come to hover directly before the Citadel; it must have been one of the ones they’d seen when they’d arrived on the planet.

“Guess someone must’ve got through and told them what was going on,” Karani said.

“Attention traitors,” a voice announced over the comm network; Arta had a feeling it could be heard throughout the Citadel. “This is Captain ast Myrtus of the Aurannian Navy, commanding Sun’s Fury on behalf of His Grace. You will disperse and return to your homes at once. The rebel leader Digran Tassis will turn himself over at once, as will the pretender Artakane if she is indeed on Aurann.”

“This is Digran Tassis,” Digran said, speaking into his microphone. “Free Aurann doesn’t take your orders, nor do we accept the authority of Mad Duke Respen. What are you going to do if we refuse?”

“Then you will suffer,” Captain ast Myrtus said. “I will burn the Citadel to the ground if need be to keep it from the hands of insurgents, and to take the life of the Pretender Queen; His Grace has authorized this if necessary. But I am not without restraint. Turn yourselves over to me, and your people will live. Fail to do so, and not one of them will be spared.”

“Those knights we fought said that Respen would bomb the Citadel to ashes if he needed to,” Latharna said, her voice shaking. “I guess they’re just starting without him.” In his chair, Digran looked pale and clenched his fists tightly.

“You have five minutes to announce your surrender,” ast Myrtus continued. “Should you resist, or attempt to escape the Citadel in that time, we will begin the bombardment. Your time begins now…”

The captain’s voice cut off; the sounds of a scuffle echoed over the comm; Arta’s breath caught in her throat as she wondered what this meant. Finally, a new voice – younger, female – came over the comm.

“This is Lieutenant Pythea,” the woman said. “Captain ast Myrtus, we regret to inform you, is currently indisposed. The remainder of the officers of Sun’s Fury, having no wish to commit mass murder upon their own people, feel that it is their solemn obligation to cast their lot Digran Tassis and the fighters of Free Aurann.” The voice paused for a moment as everyone in the control room looked at each other in utter surprise, and then continued. “And you may inform Her Majesty, if she is present, that we are loyal subjects of the Dozen Stars and we are therefore, as of this moment, at the disposal of the Crown.”

The shocked silence hung in the control room for a long moment; Arta thought she saw Shiran smiling quietly behind his beard and wondered if he’d managed to get some message through to the warships in orbit while they’d been gone. Digran’s mouth hung open for a long moment, then he closed it and gave a wry grin. “Well,” he said, “how about that?”

 

[MasterGhandalf]

New chapter! 

Spoiler

Chapter Thirty

Tantos System

On Tantos III, as on Aurann, unrest was stirring. Duchess Kallistrae, as instructed by Naudar and Sateira, had presented a public message to her people, disavowing her previous message calling for action and insisting that Tantans submit to their occupiers and in time all would be well. Her delivery, however, had been so stiff and lifeless that few had found it compelling; many guessed, rightly so, that she had been forced into making this speech and it didn’t reflect her actual wishes. That the duchess, like her people, was a captive only seemed to fan the flames of resistance and give the people a symbol to rally around; rather than being quelled, acts of rebellion increased. Aurannian troopers and guild security officers found themselves attacked if they ventured too far into Tantos City alone, and several guild offices were mysterious burned. Rebellious slogans began appearing on the sides of buildings, of which “Free Kallistrae!” and “Down with Aurann!” were the least inflammatory.

Duke Respen had returned from his strike at Katanes having brought further reinforcements from Aurann; the fleets of the three rebel dukes, supported by allied guild personnel, filled the skies above Tantos III. Out in the farther reaches of the system, however, the loyalist forces had also swelled, with additional forces from Carann, Orlanes, and Laodamia’s duchy of Nadar and Vashata’s duchy of Malakan joined by the new arrival of Duke Menandrus of Kern and his fleet. Between them, they represented a significant proportion of the military strength of the Dozen Stars, though Aurann’s forces were large enough, with Sakran’s not far behind, that this didn’t represent an insurmountable advantage of numbers.

Still, Duke Marbodan thought, he had a few cards left to play, and he had received a number of messages in the past day that bolstered his resolve. One was from Pakorus, insisting that he had returned to Carann and had news that was for Artakane’s ears alone; that his son was alive and unharmed filled the duke with a new fire. The other messages gave him hope that this conflict would soon turn in his favor, and against his enemies. Taking this information into account, he drew his plans and conferred with his fellow dukes, and they determined that the time was now. The loyalist fleet broke from the orbit it had maintained and began to move towards Tantos III.

The rebels rose to meet them, their warships fanning out above the planet in a wave of steel, with Sakran in the middle and Aurann and Tashir on either side. The rebel dukes had left the planet’s surface to take personal command, leaving the occupation under the direction of Guildmaster Madran. On the bridge of Right to Rule Duke Respen eagerly awaited for the coming of the battle and the imminent fulfilment of his destiny, though in the back of his mind doubt gnawed at him that he’d had no communication from Aurann for several days and he wondered what it might portend. On Sun-Sword Duchess Sateira sat back in her chair, pleased at this distraction from the worsening situation on Tantos III, and knowing that if she and her allies could defeat Mardoban here, the insurrection wouldn’t matter, and the Dozen Stars would be theirs. And on the Pride of Sakran Duke Naudar sat forward, tapping the head of his cane with one finger as he anticipated his young allies burning themselves out, leaving an empty throne for his taking, and he summoned his three children.

///

Kallistrae lay back in her bed, but she couldn’t sleep. She and Mardoban had been passing messages back and forth through the mech he’d subverted, and she though none of her jailers had come to see her, she knew that today would be the battle that would decide the fate of her duchy, and perhaps of the entire Kingdom. She knew what her role in this drama was to be but waiting for it to begin galled her; she was a woman of action, and one not given to resting when there was fighting to be done. Still, if there was one thing she’d learned during her imprisonment, it was patience.

The door to her apartment hissed open and Kallistrae sat up expectantly. Serving mechs drifted in, carrying several large covered trays, which they then dropped unceremoniously at her feet. Taking the lids off each in turn, she found that they contained the pieces of her armor – and, underneath a heavy cloth, her dueling sword. "The duchess’s breath caught in her throat in anticipation. It was time.

One of the mechs’ holoprojectors shimmered to life, and Mardoban’s image appeared in front of her. “I can’t talk long,” he said. “We’re preparing to engage the enemy. Most of their forces are in space now; you know what to do. Lord’s grace be with you.”

“And you,” Kallistrae murmured as the holo vanished. Quickly she strapped on her armor with the ease of long practice and belted the sword at her side. Then, with the mechs floating behind her, she marched to her door and turned the handle; the lock clicked open. “Thank you, Mardoban,” she muttered.

The two guild security guards who stood watch outside spun to face her; their shock evident even behind their opaque faceplates. They raised their beam rifles but Kallistrae didn’t give them time to fire; her sword came up, energy crackling along its length; there was a flash of light, and both guards crumpled. Kallistrae walked on without breaking her stride, the mechs following her like an honor guard.

With the mechs tied into the palace tower’s surveillance system, Kallistrae was able to evade the security patrols and reach a lift that took her down to the tower’s prison level. There she found more guards waiting at a desk in front of the main cellblock, and once again, the sight of her took them by surprise and she cut them down effortlessly. With a wave of her hand, she ordered her mechs to plug into the computer system, and within seconds every door in the prison sprang open; the corridors flooded with Kallistrae’s loyal knights, officers and troops.

“Your Grace,” Kallistrae’s cousin Bastias said, stepping towards her with an expression of wonder on his face. “How did this happen?”

“No time to explain,” she said. “Grab your weapons and gear and arm yourselves as fast as you can. We’re taking back Tantos today.”

Bastias saluted. “With pleasure, Your Grace!” he shouted, and hurriedly did as commanded. Less than fifteen minutes later, a squad of loyal soldiers and knights had formed up, ready to fight for their duchy. Kallistrae smiled at the sight. She was a poor politician and a worse merchant, but she knew how to lead and how to fight – and today, she and everyone under her command had a score to settle.

Splitting up, they moved through the palace’s lower levels and each group took a separate lift up to the administrative levels. As Kallistrae had suspected, when they stepped out into the lobby there were more security troops waiting for them there, but they had received no warning of a prison break, nor were they expecting loyalist Tantos forces to suddenly poor from the doors of every lift. Kallistrae snapped her transparent faceplate in place and raised her sword before leading the charge straight into the massed security troops. Beam rifles spat and dueling swords hissed and sparked, and when all was done the guildsmen had broken, those who still stood either fleeing or throwing down their arms.

Kallistrae left Bastias to see to the guildsmen who had surrendered and marched up to a pair of ornate double doors at the end of the lobby, which she kicked in and marched through. There, seated at the large, intricately decorated desk that had been her cousin Hiram’s and, for a brief time, her own, sat Gaspar Madran, Security Guildmaster. The balding man gave a panicked yell and leaped to his feet, pulling a beam pistol from where he’d concealed it beneath the desk. He raised the weapon and fired, but Kallistrae’s sword pulled the bolt towards it and absorbed it harmlessly; before he could fire again, she struck the pistol from his hand. Madran fell back into his chair, eyes wide.

“What… how… where did you come from?” he spluttered.

Kallistrae smirked. “I’ve been here all along,” she said. “It’s my duchy, after all, not yours and certainly not Respen’s or Naudar’s or Sateira’s. She was the one who bought you off, right? Well, I’m afraid your payments aren’t coming for a good long while. But if you’re wondering exactly how I got here in this room, right now,” she gestured towards the serving mechs as they drifted in, “I had help.”

“I don’t understand,” Madran muttered. “Naudar and Sateira were sure you were up to something, but my people searched your rooms! You didn’t have a computer, or a secure dataport, or any means of communication! And you’re no Adept.”

“No, but I have friends,” Kallistrae said. “When Artakane was here – when you betrayed her and she just barely escaped, I’ll add – her aide managed to plant a device on one of these mechs that altered its programming and allowed Duke Mardoban to control it. That mech then began spreading the altered program to every mech in the tower – and from there, into the mainframe itself. We compromised your entire network, Guildmaster – or rather, I took back my network. By the time I left my rooms this morning, the entire palace was on my side. And with what’s probably going on in orbit, I think you’ll not be able to count on any help from your friends any time soon; they’re a bit preoccupied.”

“Fine,” Madran said, holding up his hands. “You win. I was never in this for their rebellion; Sateira made me an offer that was too good to say no to, but I know when I’m beaten. Whatever you want to know about them, I’ll tell you – just spare me, is all I ask.”

“Oh, I’m sure that you and I are going to have plenty to talk about later, Gaspar,” Kallistrae said. “But for now…” Turning on him suddenly, she punched him square in the face. Madran fell to the floor, swearing and holding his nose. “That was for everyone you and your Security Guild killed when putting down that riot last year.”

Leaving the Guildmaster cursing in pain behind her, Kallistrae stood in front of one of the mechs and activated its holo-recorder. “Transmit this message on every channel,” she ordered; the mech flashed a red light in acknowledgment. “People of Tantos,” Kallistrae began. “You know who I am, and I know who you are. I know you have little reason to trust or like my family, but I promise you, I am not my forbears or my cousin. For too long, House ast Tantos has surrendered itself to the Guilds – the Guilds who claim to represent the voice of the people, but who have in truth in their pursuit of profit worked you mercilessly, subverted your Assembly, and then when war came to our world, sold you out to the tyrants Sateira, Naudar, and Respen. Too long has House ast Tantos turned a blind eye, so long as our own comforts were not threatened. Today, that ends. Join with me, sons and daughters of Tantos, for the time has come to rise up! Our enemies have spread themselves too thin, and the time to strike is now! I speak to you from the palace tower, which is now back in my control, and I call on you to take back our world, from the occupiers, from the Guilds – and then to build a new Tantos III, one where neither the guilds nor the aristocracy shall oppress the people again! Rise and fight – rise and fight, for a free Tantos! And I will fight with you!”

Even through the high walls of the tower, and over the outraged mutterings of the Guildmaster, Kallistrae thought she could hear her people cheering – and taking up the call to arms.

///

Duke Naudar ast Sakran sat in his command chair aboard Pride of Sakran, leaning forward intently as he watched the holoimage of the battle unfolding before him. His bad leg was paining him again; the old war wound always seemed to act up when battle was at hand, and Naudar had never been entirely sure whether the effect was real or just in his head. It didn’t matter, in any case; at his age his days of charging into battle with sword held high would have largely been behind him with or without the injury. These days he won battles from the bridge of a warship, not from the front lines; his weapon was his mind, not his sword or gun.

And he intended to win this one. His allies’ forces held position above Tantos III, with Aurann’s ships to one side and Tashir’s to the other and Sakran’s in the middle. The loyalists were approaching now and were spreading out, hoping to catch the rebels in a pincher; Naudar clucked disapprovingly. Mardoban had miscalculated; he didn’t have the numbers to spread his ships so thin and sustain fire across the entire front. The rebels would break his lines and scatter them, and that would be the end of Duke Mardoban ast Orlanes and of organized military support for Artakane’s reign. The road to Carann would be clear.

“I’m terribly sorry about this, old friend,” Naudar murmured to himself as he watched the loyalists come into range and the first cannon blasts exchanged between the two fleets – for the moment, just testing each other’s defenses. “But you chose the wrong side this time.” Respen had assured Naudar and Sateira that Artakane herself had been neutralized; Darius had confirmed to his father that they’d taken the Baron ast Katanes hostage and the price for his return was the queen’s abdication. Mardoban was the last obstacle, then, and his defeat would clear the way to victory. Naudar knew what Respen and Sateira planned; Respen would declare himself king and marry Sateira to cement the alliance between their duchies. Let them play at it, Naudar thought. Respen was cruel and would make the people of Carann hate him, and Sateira was too selfish to bother restraining him. If he was lucky, they’d kill each other off for him, for neither of them was the sort who would easily share power with another; even if not, they would drive the Kingdom into the ground and then when things were at their worst, Naudar would turn against them and overthrow them, becoming a hero in the Kingdom’s eyes, rather than a traitor. His reign – and his dynasty – would be assured. So he and his secretive benefactor had planned.

The sound of footsteps roused Naudar from his reflections; he turned to see Darius crossing the bridge, Tariti and Galen behind him. “Excellent,” Naudar said, waving them over. “You have arrived just in time to see our triumph.” He gestured towards the holoimage of the battle. “See, Mardoban doesn’t have the strength to break our lines, not with how he’s spread his forces. But we can press against him. See, there’s Lion of Carann almost in our reach. All we have to do is break through his escort and we have him.”

“Father,” Darius said, his expression serious. “We need to talk.”

Naudar grunted. “It can wait,” he said. “I’m in the middle of something rather important.”

“Not more important than this,” Darius said; Naudar turned to look at him, and he knew his oldest son well enough to tell that he was troubled; behind him, his siblings shared his concern. Naudar frowned – he did not have time for this now – but something told him that Darius wouldn’t have interrupted him mid-battle if he didn’t think whatever was concerning him was urgent.

“Well, what is it?” he asked.

“Father,” Darius said, “you know that we captured Artakane’s adopted father with the intention of using him as leverage to force her to abdicate. Were you aware that Duke Respen had threatened to slaughter the entirety of Tantos Duchy – a war crime unprecedented in the history of our Kingdom – if she refused to comply?”

Naudar raised an eyebrow. “Not specifically,” he said. “But it doesn’t surprise me. The man’s a maniac. But it won’t come to that. Artakane is softhearted; she’ll give in. It’s only a matter of time.”

“And if she doesn’t?” Tariti asked. “What if you’ve misjudged her, Father?”

“Then Respen can try to kill a whole Duchy if he wants; I doubt he can manage it,” Naudar said. “I knew the risks when I allied myself with such a man. But it will only give me the more ammunition I’ll need to depose him in the end.” Across the bridge, several officers looked uncertain at that, but Naudar paid them no mind; he had a battle to win and a son to instruct. Everyone else could wait.

“Are you really that willing to ally with someone that evil in the short term just because you’ll win in the long term?” Darius asked, voice hard. “Where’s the honor in that, Father?”

Naudar scoffed. “Darius, honor an invention of storytellers and historians trying to clean up the past, make everything seem loftier and less dirty than it really was. It has no place in the real world, save for appearances, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to ensure our dynasty’s future in the long-term, even if it means giving Respen enough rope to let him hang himself. You’ll understand better one day, when you’re king.”

“Whatever it takes?” Darius asked, and Naudar had the feeling he was reaching a point he’d been building to this entire conversation. “Does that include selling out the Kingdom to the Empire?”

Naudar went cold. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.

“I think you do,” Darius said. “You know I overheard you talking with someone over the holo just after we took Tantos. Respen said he’d been promised a crown; Artakane said all three of you were working with the Empire. Is it true, Father? I’m your son, and your heir, and I think you owe me honesty. Is it true?”

Naudar was silent for a long moment, then let out a long, shuddering breath. “Yes,” he said. “I didn’t know for certain that our ally was Imperial, but I suspected it; the resources and intelligence he was funneling to us seemed unlikely to have any other source. But he is my ally, not my master. I sold out nothing; once I am on the throne, he won’t matter any longer.”

“Except that you’ll be in his debt,” Galen said, speaking for the first time. “Do you really think he’ll let you go, Father? Is that how the great Naudar ast Sakran will end, a fly in the Empire’s web? You always taught me to win, no matter the cost, Father – I respected that about you. But it seems to me that you’ve bitten off more than you can chew now and gotten yourself entangled with our worst enemies. I don’t know about you, but that doesn’t sound like winning anything to me.”

“Father,” Tariti said, “you know the Empire has never forgiven the Dozen Stars for rebelling against them; they’ve always seen our Kingdom as theirs, and they want it back. What possibly could have made you think this alliance was a good idea? Isn’t the fact that they also backed people like Respen and Sateira, who would be little more than tyrants, evidence enough? They don’t want a strong ruler in the Dozen Stars; they want to see our Kingdom burn.”

“Can’t you see, this is madness?” Darius asked. “No matter what happens today, we can’t win. Whether to Mardoban or Respen or the Empire, House ast Sakran is going to lose. You’ve gambled, and you’ve lost.”

“Not yet,” Naudar said. “I have plans you haven’t even guessed yet, boy. If you think I’m beaten, then you’re a fool.”

“There was a time I would have trusted in that,” Darius said sadly. “But no more. As heir to Sakran Duchy, I hereby invoke my right to have you declared unfit for office. Step down, Father. It’s over.”

Naudar barked a harsh laugh. “Really?” he asked. “You need the support of House ast Sakran and ranking officers of our duchy to invoke that right. Do you have it?”

“He has the first,” Tariti said. “House ast Sakran stands with Darius.”

“And he has the second, too,” another voice said, and Andros ast Vistus, captain of Pride of Sakran said, stepping forward with a pair of armed marines behind him. “Lord Darius told me what he was going to do; I didn’t believe him, but I said I’d listen. Your Grace, you have damned yourself by your own words. Your son is right; this is madness, and I’ve lost my appetite for war with our own people. Stand down.”

Naudar looked from the captain to his children and back again, feeling as though he’d just been struck. “Darius,” he finally said. “I was doing this all for you; you must understand that! I wanted to make our house a royal dynasty that would endure for centuries – you would have been a king, if you’d have let me make you one!”

Darius’s expression was hard. “Tell me, Father,” he said, “when did I ever give you the slightest indication that I actually wanted that? Your projected your own ambitions onto me, but I’m not you. None of us are.” He nodded towards Captain ast Vistus. “I’m taking command. Please escort Duke Naudar from the bridge.”

“As you command – Your Grace,” the captain said; his marines seized Naudar by the arms and hauled him to his feet, his cane clattering to the floor.

“This is a mistake, son,” Naudar said. “One you’ll rue someday soon.”

“I can live with myself, Father,” Darius said. “I don’t know if you can say the same.” He turned back to the captain. “Open a comm line to Lion of Carann; tell Duke Mardoban that Sakran fights for the Dozen Stars.”

“At once, Your Grace,” ast Vistus said, saluting sharply. Before he could do so, a shout came up from across the bridge.

“Captain, Your Grace!” the officer called. “We have a squadron of ships emerging from jump; at least three Equestrians and several smaller escort ships. They’re transmitting Aurannian ID signals.”

Naudar smirked. “It seems Respen had another card to play, at least,” he said. “Are you still so confident you made the right choice, son?”

Darius surprised him by smiling. “I think you’ll be surprised.”

///

As Sun’s Fury emerged from jump, Arta saw the battle unfolding in front of her and her breath caught in her throat. Even on the warship’s holodisplay, the scope of the battle was immense, more ships than she’d ever seen in one place before; they were exchanging beam cannon fire and several ships seemed to have already been destroyed. They loyalist forces outnumbered the rebels slightly, but the rebels were clustered together more tightly while the loyalists tried to envelop them, which their numbers didn’t seem sufficient to do. Already holes had been cut in the loyalist ranks.

Arta sat in the Fury’s command chair, flanked by Karani, Latharna and Digran like an honor guard. Acting-Captain Pythea, who had seized the ship from Respen’s men and lead the capture of the other two Equestrians, stood in front of her, issuing orders. Per the plan they’d worked out previously, they were still transmitting an Aurannian ID signal and slipped through the holes in the loyalist offensive and joined up with the rest of the Aurannian fleet. Right to Rule now filled their viewports, floating dead ahead.

Digran whistled. “damnation,” he said. “That’s a lot of ships.”

“Are you sure about this,” Karani asked, shaking her head.

“No battle was won without a little risk,” Arta said. Suddenly, a holoprojector shimmered into life and the image of Duke Respen appeared on the bridge; Digran growled angrily under his breath, and Latharna’s hand went to her sword.

“Sun’s Fury, you were charged with guarding Aurann,” Respen’s image said, anger clearly written across his face. “Why have you disobeyed my orders? Where is Captain ast Myrtus? I demand to speak to him at once!”

“Captain ast Myrtus is indisposed,” Arta said, echoing Pythea’s words from Aurann. “This ship currently flies under the colors of Free Aurann, and for the moment has been leant to the Crown as a gesture of goodwill. I trust you’ve recognized by now to whom you are speaking.”

Respen’s expression of shock was almost comical; clearly, his own ships flying under the command of his enemy was something he had never imagined. “How?” he finally asked. “You dare to commandeer my own vessels? Stupid girl; your father will pay for your treachery.”

“Treachery?” Arta asked. “You’re one to talk, Respen – you brought civil war to this Kingdom, tried to kill me under a flag of truce, attacked my home, kidnapped my father, and enslaved your own people. But as for the Baron, he’s safe and has been returned to Katanes. You have no hold over me any longer.” She flipped a switch on the command chair’s arm, broadcasting her words to the entirety of both fleets. “And you have no hold over them, either. Aurann has fallen; its people are free, no longer hostages to ensure the loyalty of your soldiers. And you, Duke Respen, are by the will of the Crown and the unanimous vote of the loyal members of the council, stripped of your title and your duchy, which have been given to a more worthy holder. You called yourself the true heir of the Dozen Stars, but you are now in the eyes of the Crown no more than an outlaw and a traitor. I call on all loyal subjects of the Dozen Stars to renounce all allegiance to the former Duke Respen and take him into custody.”

A second shimmering image appeared on the bridge; Arta recognized the handsome profile of Darius at once. “Sakran Duchy stands with the Crown,” he declared. “Duke Naudar has been removed from power, and as Acting Duke I would like to announce my deepest regret in my own role in this conflict and my desire to bring it to a speedy conclusion. Your Majesty, I am at your disposal.” The holodisplay of the battle flashed, and the dots representing the Sakran forces changed color from rebel red to loyalist blue.

“The Crown accepts your allegiance,” Arta said, fighting the urge to sink back into her chair in relief. In the two days since the fall of the Citadel, she’d been in secret communication with Duke Mardoban, drawing plans and confirming Respen’s deposing via council vote, and she’d also been told that Mardoban had received cryptic messages from someone high-placed in the Sakran forces, which he hoped he’d interpreted correctly. It seemed that he had.

Another holo appeared, this time of Duke Mardoban. “Congratulations on your safe return, Your Majesty,” the duke said. “What is the Crown’s will?”

Respen’s image was looking from Darius to Mardoban to Arta, his fists clenching and unclenching and his eyes hard. Finally, he spoke. “You think you’ve won?” he finally said. “I can defeat you all by myself! I will kill you all and burn your planets to their bedrock, so that future generations will know the cost of defying me! I spit on you all, and I reject your authority – and you, Artakane, will be the first to die!” The holo flickered and vanished.

“Charming man, isn’t he?” Karani asked.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Digran muttered.

“Your Majesty,” Acting-Captain Pythea said, “what are your orders?” Gazing out the viewport, Arta could see Right to Rule reorienting towards them, but Sun’s Fury was still protected by its fellow Equestrian warships, and by the smaller Starflares Arta had picked up from Katanes. And with the defection of the Sakran fleet, the tide of the battle had turned in the loyalists’ favor, the heart cut out of the rebels’ formation.

Arta clenched her fists and opened them again and then looked up, gaze hard. “I want all guns oriented on Right to Rule,” she said. “Send Respen to hell.”

///

The tide of the battle had indeed turned. With the defection of the Sakran fleet, the rebels had lost a third of their strength; the fleets of Aurann and Tashir were now cut off from each other, islands surrounded by enemies on all sides. Furthermore, the Aurann fleet – the more powerful of the two – was now riven by internal strife. All had heard Artakane’s message and word of the overthrow of Respen’s power on their home world, and now some of the warships’ crew and marines rose against their officers. On most of the ships the revolts were quickly put down but left them at a reduced crew; on others, the mutineers were successful, and either turned their guns on those vessels that remained loyal to Respen or else simply turned and fled.

The Tashir fleet was the weakest of the three rebel forces, for Tashir Duchy’s strength was in wealth and connections more than in ships and weapons, and this battle did not play to their strengths. The Duchess Sateira preferred to win her battles with early shows of power mixed with underhanded dealings, as she had done when she had spearheaded the capture of Tantos III; now she found herself hemmed in by enemies, forced to fight a defensive battle with her back to the wall. Sateira watched from Sun-Sword’s bridge as her forces were slowly whittled down by the combined might of the loyalists and the Sakrans, and finally she turned away and summoned Captain Karas to her side. The two shared a whispered exchange and orders were given, and then Sun-Sword and the warships closest to it turned away from the main battle. Concentrating their fire on where the loyalist line was weakest, they broke through and fled the field, preparing to jump for Tashir and safety.

Right to Rule forced its way through the battle and turned its guns upon the Sun’s Fury and the rest of the squadron that Artakane had brought with her from Aurann. The mighty ship unleashed a devastating bombardment, but the Fury’s shields still held, and it returned fire with fire, as did its companions. Now it was Right to Rule that staggered, its shields buckling under the combined firepower of three Equestrians, while the smaller, more agile Starflares slipped around them and began unleashing their surgical strikes, slowly wearing the great ship down. Still, Right to Rule did not retreat, for Duke Respen was full of fury and had resolved not to go down without taking his enemies down with him.

Suddenly another barrage erupted, this time from behind. Lion of Carann had cut through the Aurannian lines and now unleashed its firepower on Right to Rule’s engines; the warship’s shields buckled and collapsed, and then the engines were hit. Aurann’s flagship was crippled, sitting dead in space with no shields and no mobility as its enemies surrounded it on all sides.

At last, Duke Respen realized that he was defeated; he turned and sprinted from the bridge, pausing just long enough to cut down an officer who tried to get in his way, and hurried to the bay where the Rule’s escape pods were housed. He managed to launch just ahead of the other crew who fled the doomed ship and looking behind him watched as Right to Rule broke apart under sustained bombardment, its pieces falling into the thick atmosphere of Tantos III, burning as they went.

Small enough to pass unnoticed by the loyalists’ scanners, Respen’s escape pod cut through the battle and towards the vector by which Sun-Sword had escaped. There he hailed Duchess Sateira, whose warship paused in its retreat long enough to pick up the pod and bring the Duke of Aurann aboard.

///

Sateira folded her arms in contempt as she watched her soldiers escort Duke Respen onto Sun-Sword’s bridge. His hair was disheveled, as was his once-immaculate silver uniform, but he still wore a dueling sword by his side and his gaze was as hateful as ever – perhaps more so, for desperation had stripped away the man’s veneer of culture and discipline, leaving his true self bare for all to see.

“And so, the mighty Duke of Aurann comes to me now as a beggar,” she said. “I had thought you would fight for your throne to the last man, but apparently not – you fled the battle before it was done, leaving your ship and crew to their fates. What an honorable lord you are!”

“Spare me your mockery, Sateira,” Respen snapped. “You’re no better – or what do you call this, fighting to the last?”

“I call it a strategic withdrawal,” Sateira said. “Unlike you, I never claimed to be the greatest warrior in the Kingdom, and I know when I’m beaten – and I’m beaten now. I intend to return to Tashir with what is left of my fleet and sue for peace. It’ll stick in my throat to do it, but it’s the only option your incompetence and the Sakrans’ treachery have left me.”

“You dare speak so to me?” Respen demanded; his eyes were popping from his skull, and Sateira thought he looked quite mad. “I am your king, woman! We will return to Tashir, yes, but only to regroup; I will not give up the fight until Artakane the Pretender is dead and the throne of the Dozen Stars is mine, as it always should have been!”

Sateira scoffed. “You’re not my anything, Respen – certainly not my king. I can’t believe I ever thought marrying you would be a good idea. The council, including my mother, denied you the throne when Aestera died, and if this is how you handle failure, I can see why! And now you come to me with nothing but the clothes on your back, and you think you can give me orders? I called you a beggar, and that’s what you are – the Beggar Duke of Aurann! You’re worth more to me now as a hostage than as an ally. In fact, I think that’s exactly what I’ll do with you. Perhaps Artakane will look more kindly on me if I hand you over to her when I sue for pardon.” She turned and nodded to Captain Karas. “Seize him and put him in the brig. I don’t care what else you do to him, so long as he’s alive and recognizable.”

Karas nodded and gestured for his marines, who stepped forward, but Respen was faster, drawing his dueling sword and activating it. “You betray me, too?” he shouted. “Traitors, all of you! But I will not go quietly to the gallows!” Raising his blade, he charged at Sateira.

The duchess’s eyes widened in surprise and she jumped back, narrowly avoiding the blow before drawing her own blade. Dueling swords flashed and sparked as they fought back and forth across the bridge; most of the crew leapt from their seats and drew their sidearms, but didn’t fire, whether because they didn’t want to interfere with the battling nobles or simply because they didn’t want to risk hitting their duchess by mistake.

Finally, Respen found an opening; his sword passed under Sateira’s guard and, its blade hissing at full power, penetrated her gilded armor and slid between her ribs. Agony flashed through her body and gave a cry of mixed surprise and pain; Respen grinned wolfishly and yanked his sword from her body, leaving her to fall to her knees to the floor, mortally wounded.

“Well, that’s settled,” Respen said, sheathing his sword and turning towards Captain Karas. “Now I believe that as the highest-ranking noble present I am in command; we shall resume our retreat towards Tashir, there to plan my next move…”

But whatever Respen’s next move was to be, Captain Karas never learned it. Sateira, lying on the deck and half-blind from pain, knowing that she was dying, fumbled for the beam pistol holstered at her thigh. Slowly, she drew it and slowly she aimed it. Hate gave her one last gasp of strength; she levelled the pistol at Respen’s back and fired. By luck or providence, the bolt took his squarely through the back of the head. There was silence for a long moment, and then the Duke of Aurann crumpled.

The sight of Respen’s corpse falling forward was the last thing Sateira ever saw. Her sight was darkening, her pain was turning to numbness, but she still managed to croak out a final laugh. “I win,” she gasped, and then the sound of voices around her rose to an incoherent babble, and the darkness took her and carried her away.

///

From the bridge of Lion of Carann, Mardoban watched as the battle became a rout. What unity the Aurannian forces had left had failed them when Right to Rule went down; some surrendered, others turned on each other, others fled. Duchess Sateira’s flagship had quit the field, and most of her subjects who remained had surrendered, though others had followed her example and fled. Based on reports from Kallistrae and her mechs on the surface, the occupying forces and their guild allies had largely been driven from the capital city by the duchess, her freed and re-armed troops, and significant help from local resistance movements, their leaders dead or captured; only a few holdouts remained, barricaded in their towers or guild offices.

Duke Naudar had been taken into custody by his son Darius, who reported that fact with a heavy heart; it had been what Mardoban had hoped for, but it still pained him to imagine what must have been going on in the young man’s mind. And he felt both sorrow and anger for Naudar, who had fallen far enough to let ambition blind him into throwing in his lot with Respen and Sateira, thinking he could ride their war to victory for himself. Of the Duke of Aurann and the Duchess of Tashir, there was, as of yet, no word.

Suddenly, as if summoned by his thought, Gilgam touched his arm. “Sir,” he said, “we’re being hailed. It’s the Sun-Sword.”

“Put Sateira through,” Mardoban ordered, but the holo that appeared before him was not the duchess, but a middle-aged man who looked vaguely familiar to him.

“Your Grace,” the man said, “this is Captain Karas of Sun-Sword. I regret to inform you that Their Graces, the Duchess Sateira and Duke Respen, are both dead. In light of that fact, my crew and I can no longer justify continuing in our military actions against the rest of the Dozen Stars. We surrender ourselves to you, and to the Crown.”

The captain fell silent, and everyone on the Lion’s bridge looked at each other in wonder. “Does,” Gilgam finally said, “does that mean it’s over, sir?”

Mardoban didn’t know how Respen and Sateira had died, but the news struck him as both a shock and a terrible relief. “There’ll still be some mopping up to do,” he said, “but yes, Gilgam. I think by and large, it is.” He turned to a nearby communications officer. “Put through a line to Her Majesty. Tell her… tell her we won.”

 

[MasterGhandalf]

New chapter! 

Spoiler

Chapter Thirty-One

Carann, Royal Palace

Artakane I, Queen of the Dozen Stars, returned in triumph to Carann following the Battle of Tantos and the defeat of the rebel dukes. As she descended from orbit, she saw the cheering crowds that had gathered outside the palace and found herself overwhelmed by the scale of it all in a way the battle itself, in the heat of the moment, had failed to do. Leaving her shuttle on the landing platform, she found herself surrounded by reporters and holocameras; she managed to wave to the crowds and give a short, prepared statement promising that the rebellion was over and peace had been restored; reporters pressed in, shouting questions, but Mardoban put a hand on her shoulder and gently led her away and into the palace. There would be time for public appearances soon; for now, Arta just felt like she needed to rest.

Once they were inside, Mardoban turned to Arta – and to Latharna and Karani, who were following close behind – and smiled. “You did good, Your Majesty,” he said to her. “You faced your first test as queen – one that most monarchs will never have to deal with – and you passed it. You defeated your enemies and restored peace. Your mother would be proud of you.”

“Thank you,” Arta said. “You knew her better than almost anyone, and that means a lot from you. Still, I feel like I didn’t really do all that much. It seems like everyone else did the hard work.” She wasn’t even entirely sure how Respen and Sateira had died; the captain of Sateira’s flagship remained closemouthed about it, though he’d let slip enough that Arta could guess it hadn’t been pleasant.

“A good leader knows they don’t have to do everything,” Mardoban said. “More often, they need to find the right person for the job and let them do what they’re best at. But Arta, you escaped assassination, defended your home, rescued your father, helped overthrow a tyrant and kept your head under fire the whole time. That’s definitely something to take pride in.”

“Yeah, you can second-guess yourself later,” Karani said. “For now, just enjoy the compliments.”

Mardoban turned to look at Latharna. “I hear Miss Dhenloc comported herself well, too,” he said. “I’ll have to pass my complements on to Ambassador Preas.”

“It’s Lady Dhenloc, actually,” Arta put in as Latharna blushed. “Latharna’s a knight now.”

“Really?” Mardoban asked, raising an eyebrow. “Maybe I don’t want to be the one to explain things to Ceana after all.” He shook his head, chuckling.

“I didn’t ask for it, Your Grace,” Latharna said. “But I intend to serve Her Majesty as best as I can, for as long as she needs me to.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Arta told her. “I have no doubts that you’ll be just fine.” Latharna blushed again, while Karani looked to be snickering behind her hand at the sight. Arta shot her sister a disapproving look.

The sound of footsteps interrupted them; Arta turned to look down the hall and saw a familiar looking young man approach. “Father, Arta!” Pakorus shouted. “You’re back!” He ran forward and caught Arta in a hug, then coughed and step back. “Er, that is, I’m glad to see you’re safe, Your Majesty.” He turned to Mardoban. “And you as well, Father.”

“You don’t need to be so formal,” Arta said, turning her head to the side to hide her blush. Hold on, there, she told herself. You’re already sort-of involved with Latharna. You don’t need to complicate things any more. Even so, she noticed that there was something new in the way Pakorus held himself, a sense of purpose, maybe, that wasn’t entirely unattractive.

“I saw what happened on the news when I got back,” Pakorus said. “That was quite a victory, Arta. Congratulations.”

“I’ve been hearing that a lot,” Arta said. “But thank you anyway. And where have you been, anyway? Your father told me you’d just gotten back from some sort of secret mission with Midaia? Where is she? And what have you two been doing, anyway?”

Pakorus’s expression turned serious. “I don’t know where Midaia is,” he said. “She ran off as soon as we landed; I think she was looking for someone. But we were both trying to find out what we could about the Commander, and that’s how we… ran into each other. We ended up going to the Empire, and what we found there… well, it’s best if I showed you.” He held up a small drive in one hand. “Come with me. We need a computer terminal.”

///

Arta’s mind was still reeling from the information Pakorus had showed her on his drive. She’d thought she’d passed through the worst of the conflict, but now it seemed that things had only just begun. But she was beginning to see the shape of things, now. Pakorus had given her the final piece. There was a hand that had been moving pieces against her since before she’d even been born – and that hand belonged to a man who lived in this very building, a man who had the gall to dance with her at the New Years party before the Crown Tournament. Had Publius Vedrans Quarinis even known who she was, then? He very well might have.

Well, now Arta knew him for what he was. And the Queen of the Dozen Stars had one more enemy left to face.

She marched into the small receiving room near the palace’s main hall where a passing guard had informed her that Latharna, Karani, and Mardoban had retired to after Pakorus had taken her aside; he was following close behind. When she saw who else was there, however, she stopped dead in her tracks. Three figures stood in the room who she hadn’t seen since Katanes and who were now being warily regarded by everyone else. Two of them hung back cautiously, but the tallest and most handsome turned towards her. Darius ast Sakran gave a small, embarrassed smile and bowed from the waist.

“Your Majesty,” he said. “I just wanted to say that I deeply regret my father’s actions and am truly sorry that I didn’t do anything to stop him sooner. I know that personally, I have done nothing to earn your trust, but I wanted to extend my sincere apologies and promise that Sakran Duchy will do all in its power to atone for its role in starting the rebellion and to prove its loyalty to the Crown.”

“Darius,” Arta said coolly when she thought she could speak levelly, “I wasn’t aware you had come planetside. I had thought that the Sakran delegation remained in orbit until tomorrow’s ceremony.”

“He said he wanted to talk to you alone first,” Latharna said, regarding Darius with a cool hostility. “We didn’t think that was a good idea.”

“I threw a muffin at him,” Karani admitted; indeed, the plate of pastries that rested on the low table in the room’s center appeared to be one muffin short.

“Which is not an appropriate way to greet an Acting Duke,” Mardoban said, frowning. “Even one whose duchy was recently engaged in open rebellion against the Crown.”

“He helped kidnap my father,” Karani muttered. “You ask me, he deserved to be hit with something a lot worse.”

“I probably do, at that,” Darius said; behind him, his siblings remained quiet. Galen in particular was glaring at Arta and she had a feeling that he, at least, had not abandoned his personal hostility despite allying with the Crown. She remembered suddenly that he had been one who had called for an attack on Katanes after she’d escaped the failed negotiations. “But for now, I wanted you to know that I am willing to do everything in my power to make things right. Whatever it takes.”

“Really?” Pakorus asked, folding his arms. Arta suddenly remembered that he and the ast Sakran siblings had gone to school together; that added another dimension to the hostility in the room, one that she was in no mood to deal with.

“Enough!” Arta said, holding up her hands. “Everyone, calm down. We have other matters to worry about now.” She turned away from Darius and towards the other side of the room. “Latharna, Mardoban, come with me. There are things I need to tell you – and I think I may need your help.”

“So, what, we’re just going to be brushed aside like nobodies?” Galen demanded angrily. “Darius did not have to come here personally and put himself at your mercy like this, and this is how you’re going to treat him?”

“Darius is lucky he’s not been thrown in jail for the rest of his life,” Karani muttered. “As are you.”

“Quiet, Galen,” Darius said, raising a hand; he didn’t acknowledge Karani’s remark at all. “This is Her Majesty’s home, and we wait on her pleasure.”

“Wait,” Arta said, turning to Darius and regarding him critically. “Were you serious about being willing to do anything to prove your loyalty to the Crown?”

“Yes,” Darius said bluntly; Arta searched his face, and found herself believing him. And after all, his defection had turned the tide at Tantos III…

“Then, you come with us, too,” she said. “Some new information has come to my attention, and I think I may need all the help I can get. And your skills might just come in handy.”

///

That evening, Arta marched down a palace corridor at the head of a guard squad, flanked by Latharna at her right hand and Darius on her left. The explanation she’d given Darius seemed only to strengthen his resolve, and upon hearing Quarinis’s name, he’d nodded as if he suddenly now understood many things. Latharna was grimly determined, face set and shoulders squared. Arta had the two best duelists in the Kingdom by her side now, but she still couldn’t feel completely safe – for they were heading to confront perhaps the most dangerous man in the Dozen Stars.

They reached Ambassador Quarinis’s door, and Arta stepped forward and knocked once; beside her, Latharna and Darius put their hands on their swords and the guards – including both Gilgam and Rehan – gripped their rifles tightly. To Arta’s surprise, the door slid open at once; she glanced at her companions and nodded, and then stepped inside.

Quarinis was seated at his desk and looked up when they entered; the lights of the capital city gleamed in the dusk through the window behind him. “Ah, Your Majesty,” he said. “This is an unexpected pleasure. Allow me to congratulate you on your victory at Tantos III, by the way. Most impressive. And may I inquire as to the reason for such a… heavy escort?”

“Publius Vedrans Quarinis,” Arta said, resting her hand on her sword and stepping forward, “by the authority of the Crown of the Dozen Stars, I hereby place you under arrest.”

If Quarinis was at all impressed by this announcement, he gave no sign; he merely raised an eyebrow questioningly. “Indeed?” he asked. “My I inquire as to the charges?”

“You know them as well as I do,” Arta said, voice low. “Murder and regicide, piracy, sedition. I have evidence directly tying you to the creation and activities of the Commander and his assassins, and reason to believe that you were responsible for hiring mercenaries to attack my half-sister and Duke Mardoban’s son when they were investigating you, and stoking the recent rebellion to advance your own gain. And that you have done all of these things not in defiance of, but at the behest of your government and its Emperor. Do you deny it?”

Quarinis spread his hands. “I cannot,” he said. “I am guilty of all you say and more, Your Majesty.”

Arta drew a sharp breath through her teeth; beside her, Darius tensed. “Are you saying,” he said slowly, “that it was you who was manipulating my father into rebelling against the Kingdom? Was Her Majesty right?”

“Indeed,” Quarinis said. “Though honestly, your father and the others required very little encouragement from me. I merely offered… incentive.”

Darius growled and stepped forward, preparing to draw his sword, but Arta put a hand on his arm. “Calm,” she said quietly, then raised her voice. “Then your own words condemn you. Take him into custody.”

The guards fanned out around the room and Gilgam stepped forward with cuffs in his hand, but Quarinis simply shook his head. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked. “Have you honestly thought this through? I am an Ambassador of the Empire, handpicked by Verus Licinius himself. I have committed crimes against your Kingdom, and I do not deny them, but I am not subject to its laws or its Crown. Arresting me here, now, would be an act of war. Are you sure you want to risk that?”

Gilgam stopped and looked at Arta, but her will remained firm. “Your assassins murdered my mother in her own throne room, along with anyone else who got in their way,” she said. “Then you tried to have me killed, and my sister, and my friend, and if you didn’t start the rebellion, you stirred the pot. An act of war? It seems to me that we’re already at war, Quarinis. We just haven’t admitted it yet.”

Quarinis smiled thinly at stood. “Perhaps,” he said. “But so far, it’s been a rather gentlemanly war, don’t you think? Fought in back alleys and with proxies. Your people haven’t really suffered, not yet. But if you do this, they will. The Dozen Stars rules less than fifty systems; Realtran, who you can doubtless count on as allies, about as many. The Empire commands more than a thousand. Do you understand the difference yet? We may be far past the peak of our strength, true enough – but we are still stronger than you, by a magnitude I don’t think you’ve considered yet. When the war comes – and it will, if you arrest me now – and all the Empire’s fleets and legions bear down upon you, you will lose.”

“Your threats are empty,” Arta said. “The Empire has wanted the Dozen Stars back ever since we broke away, but you’ve never been strong enough to reclaim us before and you won’t be now. And you have enemies at your back as well as your front now. The Dozen Stars may not be your equal, but between our Kingdom and Realtran and the Alaelam Alliance the story might be different. You can’t fight a war on two fronts, Quarinis.”

“Maybe not,” he said. “But it may also be that there is news out of the Empire that you haven’t heard yet, and that the Alaelam Alliance may soon cease to be a factor.”

“Arta, what do we do?” Latharna asked quietly, leaning in. From her other side, Darius also shot her a questioning look.

Arta considered for a moment, then looked up at met Quarinis’s eyes. “I think you’re lying,” she said. “Or not telling the whole truth. If the Empire was as strong as you say, we’d be the Emperor’s slaves already. I’ve heard enough. Gilgam, take him, please.”

Quarinis sighed. “Then you leave me no choice,” he said. “But don’t forget – I tried to give you a way out.” He stepped back from his desk, and one of the office’s walls suddenly hissed and slid open, revealing a concealed chamber there. From inside it came the echoing sounds of pounding metal feet, and then two towering mechanical figures strode out into the office.

“Praetorians!” Gilgam shouted, taking cover behind the desk and drawing his rifle. Arta snarled and drew her sword, flicking it on; Darius and Latharna did the same. She’d seen Quarinis’s praetorians before, had known to expect them – that was why she’d wanted the two best knights she had by her side when she came here tonight. But somehow seeing them again, knowing that they had the brains and skills of some of the finest warriors in the Empire built into those monstrous mechanical shells and that they were about to attack, the Praetorians seemed far more terrifying than her imagination had made them.

From behind the desk, Gilgam opened fire; Rehan gave the order, and the other guards did the same. The beam bolts only glanced off their gleaming armor, leaving scorch-marks behind but doing no appreciable damage. The Praetorians ignored the attacks and levelled their arms; the beam-pistols built into their wrists rose to the surface and they unleashed a barrage of their own. The guards shouted and took cover as the blasts tore through the office.

Arta threw herself between her subjects and the Praetorians and slammed her sword into the floor; there was a brilliant surge of blue light and a wall of energy erupted from her, shielding the others from the attacks. The Praetorians paused, seeming to consider what this new development might mean, and then continued forward, their feet pounding the ground. They held their fire, knowing it wouldn’t penetrate the barrier, but Arta knew the cyborg warriors themselves would be able to pass through effortlessly. Then they could simply crush the life from their enemies with their bare hands if need be.

Neither Latharna nor Darius intended to give them the chance. No sooner had the Praetorians resumed their advance than both knights sprang forward, blades at the ready. Darius aimed straight for the center of the left Praetorian’s chest; his sword struck and hissed as it was buried deep, but not deep enough. The Praetorian batted him away, sending him flying into Rehan and knocking them both down, and then kept coming, sword still protruding from its chest.

Latharna, meanwhile, grabbed her Praetorian by the arm and hauled herself up its side. The creature made a grinding noise that might have been irritation and began swinging its arm back and forth, but it couldn’t dislodge her. She pulled herself up to its shoulders and grabbed her sword’s hilt with two hands, holding onto the Praetorian with her legs. Her blade flared brightly as she increased its power to the highest setting and then swung with all her might. The Praetorian’s head went flying, clattering to the floor.

But unlike a normal foe, decapitation was not enough to stop it. Praetorians’ organic brains, the only remnant of their humanity, were buried deep inside their torsos, not in their heads. Latharna’s opponent could no longer see, but it didn’t need to; seizing the Realtran with its free hand, it picked her up and threw her across the room.

Arta gave a loud cry of surprise and dismay. She leaped to her feet, letting her barrier fall, and jumped onto Quarinis’s desk. There was a brilliant flash of blue light as she propelled herself forward, and the force of that leap carried her onto the Praetorian’s shoulders herself. There she could see the hole in its neck where its head had once been; she couldn’t see far inside, but she could see enough to know that its impenetrable armor didn’t cover here; Latharna had exposed a weakness. Raising her sword high, giving a tremendous shout, she coated her blade in blue light, focusing all her Adept’s power upon it, and then slammed it down into the hole. There was a blinding flash and a terrible sound of screaming metal, and then the Praetorian blew apart. Arta was flung backwards and barely managed to land on her feet, panting for breath. The remains of the Praetorian fell to the ground across the room, still smoking.

Now the second Praetorian turned towards her, ignoring the guards who shot at it or Darius’s sword sticking out of its chest. Arta swayed on her feet, uncertain of how long she’d be able to hold her barrier this time as the Praetorian levelled its weapon at her, but then Latharna was there, throwing herself between them like an angel from the Canon, sword held high. “You will not have her,” she hissed. “I am Latharna Dhenloc, knight and Queen’s Champion, and I say you will not have her!”

The Praetorian regarded her; its metallic face unreadable. Then, finally, it spoke in a deep, echoing voice. “That,” it said, “is irrelevant.” Then it advanced, its arm lowering to focus its weapon on Latharna instead of Arta.

The Praetorian fired but Latharna was ready, catching the bolt on her sword, and she leapt forward, launching into a flying kick. Arta almost called out a warning – no human foot could possibly inflict damage on the creature’s metal shell – but then she saw that wasn’t Latharna’s intent. Her foot slammed into the hilt of Darius’s sword, burying it deeper and causing the Praetorian’s internal mechanisms to whine and spark. Falling to the ground, she dropped her own sword and grabbed Darius’s, pulling it out, revealing wires and darkness beyond.

“Now!” Arta called, waving to the guards. “Shoot the opening! Do it!” Gilgam and Rehan needed no further prompting; raising their beam rifles, they took aim at the Praetorians exposed insides and unleashed a barrage. Many of the shots bounced harmlessly off the armored torso; several more found their mark. Arta could hear what sounded like machinery breaking, and then something that might have been glass shattering. The Praetorian’s glowing eyes flickered and dimmed, and then went out. With a metallic whine, it pitched forward and lay still.

Arta ran to Latharna side where she crouched by the fallen Praetorian and wrapped her in a fierce embrace. “Are you all right?” she whispered into her ear.

“I am,” she said, “knowing that you’re safe.” They both stood, looking around the wreckage of the office and their fallen enemies, to where Rehan was helping a battered Darius to his feet, and then turned back to the window, where Quarinis stood with his arms crossed, seemingly unconcerned by what had just happened. Arta stepped away from Latharna, bent to pick up the handcuffs that Gilgam and dropped, and approached him slowly.

“Now,” she said, “I believe we were in the middle of something.” Reaching out, she grabbed Quarinis by the arm – or tried to. Her hand passed through him, meeting no resistance, and Arta stumbled backwards in horror.

“You are, perhaps,” Quarinis said. “I, however, was never here. Remember my warning, young Queen. This was only the beginning.” His image flickered briefly and then vanished; from beneath the desk, Arta saw the gleam of light, and realized what it meant.

“No,” she whispered. “No, no no!”

“What happened?” Darius asked. “Did I hit my head harder than I thought?”

“He knew,” Arta whispered. “He knew we were coming for him; there’s a holoprojector on the underside of the desk. He was gone before we got here. He got away!” She sank to her knees, muttering curses under her breath. Latharna put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“He got away,” Arta said again after a long silence. “And he was right. This isn’t over. Tonight, was only just the beginning.”

///

Quarinis sat back in the cockpit of his personal yacht and deactivated the holotransmiter that had been recording his image for his conversation with Artakane. He’d been anticipating that he’d need to make a clean escape ever since Al’Aymar Alaen had warned him that his trail was being followed; Artakane’s return from battle had been his signal that it was time to go. He’d left earlier in the day, concealing his ship behind a false ID transmitter so that the Carann flight records wouldn’t reveal that he was gone, setting up his holoprojector to begin transmitting when Artakane approached his rooms and leaving the Praetorians behind to delay her. He felt someone sorrowful at that; they were a valuable resource and served the Empire well. But then, dying gloriously in battle was what they were made for, after all.

He regretted ending his time on Carann; he had rather enjoyed it, rustic and barbaric as the Dozen Stars might be. But he’d always suspected this day would come; it was too much to hope that his scheming might go unnoticed forever. A pity Artakane had survived. He rather liked the girl, despite himself – she had fire, and dedication – but Verus Licinius had demanded her death above all else. Quarinis had weakened the Dozen Stars with the rebellion he’d fostered, but would that be enough to appease his Emperor? In any case, it was out of his hands now, and he’d delivered his message, and warning, to the young queen. What came next would be on her head.

Taking the controls, Quarinis turned his ship away from Carann and entered jump, away from the Dozen Stars and into Imperial space, and the judgment that would await him there.

 

[MasterGhandalf]

New chapter! Almost done.

Spoiler

Chapter Thirty-Two

Carann, Royal Palace

Ceana Preas looked up and smiled as Latharna entered her office. “Well, well,” she said. “Miss Dhenloc – or rather, Lady Dhenloc, I should say. You have come up in the galaxy since you left here, haven’t you?”

Latharna drew a deep breath, but the ambassador’s pleasant tone reassured her somewhat. “Ambassador Preas,” she said, “I regret that I must tender my resignation as your aide. As I have accepted the position of Dozen Stars knight and Queen’s Champion, it wouldn’t be appropriate for me to continue working for the Realtran government. I am sorry.”

“I guess that working for a queen is rather more pressing than working for an ambassador,” Ambassador Preas said. “Even if the Ambassador is a representative of your own country and the queen isn’t.” Latharna opened her mouth to protest, but the ambassador waved her away. Don’t worry about it,” she said. “Desperate times call for desperate acts, and I imagine that in the heat of the moment it wasn’t an offer you could have refused, as unprecedented as it might be. Besides, I’d been told that it was likely you wouldn’t be working for me for long.” Latharna frowned – what did that mean? Who had told her? – but the ambassador continued.

“Besides, on the issue of Realtran-Dozen Stars relations, at least, you’ve done right by your nation. Word of your heroics on Tantos, Katanes, and Aurann has leaked to the media, and as I’m sure you’ve noticed, they’ve made you quite a star. ‘The White Knight of Realtran’ is what they’re calling you – for your hair, I would assume.” Latharna blushed and turned her face away at that; she still didn’t know who had talked to reporters about her and remained rather ambivalent about her newfound fame. “I’ve been in contact with King Luagh and we’ve agreed that your taking service with Artakane is to be presented as an act of goodwill between our two nations and a reaffirmation of the bond the Dozen Stars and Realtran have long shared as allies and neighbors. And I hear the queen herself is planning on honoring you at the ceremony later today.”

“That part is true,” Latharna said, feeling uncomfortable at the attention. She glanced down at herself and the clothing she was wearing; a red robe tied at the waist, not quite a dress but more formal and dignified than shirt and trousers, and of course, with her dueling sword at her waist. She was supposed to look the part of a stately warrior, or so Karani, who’d picked out the outfit, assured her. Latharna herself wasn’t quite sure whether she managed it. “In fact, I’ve been sent to escort you to the council chamber. Consider it my last act before leaving your service.”

“I think I shall,” Ambassador Preas said, standing. She walked around her desk and came up beside Latharna, and together they left the office and headed for the council chamber. “And, off the record,” she added in a low voice, “I am proud of you. A stable Dozen Stars is good for Realtran, after all.”

Latharna turned to the older woman and smiled. “The information you gave me to pass on to Arta came in handy as well,” she said. “We’d never have managed to break Respen’s grip on Aurann without it.”

Ceana snorted quietly. “Respen was a monster, and he would have fallen sooner or later, one way or another,” she said. “The only question was how much damage he’d manage to do on his way down – and to whom. Another reason King Luagh is grateful to you; if Respen had become king, it’s doubtful peace between our kingdoms could have lasted. He was not a man who would have been content without conquest.”

They walked in silence for some time before the ambassador spoke again. “Speaking of conquest, I heard about what happened yesterday with old Quarinis – don’t look so startled! I have my ways of getting news, and your makeup can’t hide all your bruises this close. I always knew he was a dangerous man and never trusted him, but I never imagined he was involved in… all of that. It seems all the way back to Aestera’s death, this kingdom has been reacting to his schemes.”

“He got away,” Latharna said. “Arta thinks we haven’t seen the last of him. Mardoban too.”

“Mardoban is wise, when he remembers not to let that romantic streak get the better of him,” Ceana said. “And Her Majesty is an Adept, and it’s never wise to discount an Adept’s intuition. No, Quarinis and his Emperor bear the Dozen Stars a hatred that I don’t understand – the Alaelam Alliance is far more threatening to them. Be on your guard, Latharna. I fear that dangerous times lie ahead, and your young queen is going to need your help to get through it.”

“I will be there for her,” Latharna said. “I promise.”

Ceana chuckled. “I was right about how you felt about her, wasn’t I?” she asked. “Ah, to be young. Yes, she may need you. But don’t forget, Latharna, wherever you go or whatever you become, that you are a daughter of Realtran. That is something that you can never change.”

Latharna frowned. “What makes you say that?” she said. “It sounds like a warning.”

“More of a reminder,” Ceana said. “Just remember that you will likely need us. And someday, we may need you.”

///

Artakane ast Carann, Queen of the Dozen Stars, Duchess of Carann, Protector of the Realm and many other things besides sat on her throne at the head of the council chamber and regarded the crowds spread out before her. She was clad in a rich gown of blue laced with gold; her hair elegantly styled, and face made up; the crown whose light had proclaimed her queen rested on her brow. She bore a dueling sword across her lap, but it was sheathed – though she had come from battle, today’s ceremony would be of peace. Mechs hovered in the air before her, recording her image and her words and transmitting them across the Dozen Stars.

When the hall was filled, Arta raised her hand for silence, and then she spoke, declaring the brief civil war to have ended and praising those who had fought for the Dozen Stars, and pausing to remember those who had died in the defense of their Kingdom. Then she began to call forth those whom she would personally honor. First came Leilin Rehan, lieutenant of the Royal Guard, who knelt before the Queen and received her promotion to captain in honor of her exemplary service during the crisis. Then Darius ast Sakran approached, resplendent in red and gold, and was confirmed as the new Duke of Sakran following the deposing of his father, who had been placed in a holding cell in the palace as he awaited his trial for treason.

More new dukes were confirmed. Digran Tassis – who refused on principle to put an “ast” in his name and seemingly couldn’t resist winking irreverently as he knelt before the throne – officially became Duke of Aurann, to much muttering from the more traditional among the aristocracy. Ariana ast Tashir, Sateira’s niece, threw herself on Arta’s mercy, insisting she’d had nothing to do with her aunt’s plotting. For all that the girl was no older than herself Arta wasn’t sure she credited that, but since under Ariana’s direction Tashir had ceased all hostilities it had been agreed by the Council that she was to be permitted to succeed to her aunt’s title. Kallistrae ast Tantos was confirmed once again in her position as Duchess of Tantos, having taken her planet back decisively from the occupying and guild forces. A number of guild representatives then approached the throne, insistently disavowing Gaspar Madran and the Tantos guilds’ alliance with the rebels. Based on what Arta had heard from Kallistrae and Darius she didn’t entirely trust that but had decided it was better to keep the guilds under her eye for the time being.

Finally, Latharna Dhenloc approached the throne, and formally pledged her service to the queen as a knight of the Dozen Stars. Kneeling, she kissed Arta’s hand; then she looked up, and their eyes met. In that moment, the task of bringing her wounded nation back together and the looming threat of the Empire and the escape of Quarinis mattered little to Arta, for at this moment more than any other, she felt certain that thus far, she had done right.

///

When the ceremony was done, Darius returned to his quarters where he removed and folded his ornamental outer cape, and then, feeling a bit more comfortable, he headed down deep to the palace’s prison level, and to a certain person who awaited him in the holding cells.

Naudar was seated on a small chair behind a shimmering, transparent force-field, clad in a grey prison jumpsuit rather than his former elegant suits. He appeared to be reading a novel – no doubt something he’d gotten a guard to fetch him from the palace library – and he calmly marked his page and looked up when he saw his eldest son approaching. His cell was fairly large and contained a bed, a holoscreen, and several pieces of comfortable furniture, but it was still smaller than what the Duke of Sakran was used to, had no windows to the outside, and of course, there was the ever-present force-field that kept him in while allowing the guards to watch his every move. A pleasant enough prison, but still a prison.

“Well, well,” Naudar said. “If it isn’t my treacherous heir. Or are you the duke now? Forgive me if I don’t stand; I seem to have misplaced my cane, and it’s difficult for me to move quickly without it. Come to gloat, have you?”

“I’m not here to gloat, Father,” Darius said. “I wanted to come and see you, make sure you weren’t being mistreated. Despite everything that’s happened, you’re still my father, and I don’t wish you ill. I just felt that the place you were leading our Duchy would have been disastrous for Sakran, and for the Kingdom.”

Naudar snorted. “You haven’t changed, boy,” he muttered. “Always so noble, so gallant. You must get it from your mother; Lord knows I always tried to raise you to be more pragmatic. As you can see, I am as comfortable as can be expected in my circumstances, but I am still unable to ignore the fact that I am a prisoner. And I expect I’ll be at your queen’s tender mercies soon enough.”

“She’s not ‘my’ queen, she’s the Dozen Stars’ queen,” Darius said. “And she intends to see you stand trial for rebelling against the Crown. But I wouldn’t be too worried. It’s been centuries since a duke – or a former duke – was executed. If you’re lucky and manage to convince the tribunal that you’re genuinely contrite, I may be able to persuade Her Majesty to allow you to be sent to Sakran to serve out your sentence under house arrest.”

“I’m overjoyed at the prospect,” Naudar muttered. He opened his book again and seemed to be reading, but Darius thought it seemed to him that he was only pretending. Finally, Naudar sighed and looked up. “Well, we’ve exchanged pleasantries. Is there a reason you’re still here? Are you proud of yourself, Darius?”

Darius looked at him oddly. “Why wouldn’t I be?” he said. “I helped end a war and keep a tyrant – or three tyrants – from the throne. I’m not proud it took me so long to get there, but I tried to do right in the end.”

“Do right?” Naudar asked. “You’re a duke now, son, not a storybook knight. ‘Right’ is what benefits your duchy the most in the long-term, not what assuages your aching conscience. Are you really prepared for what you’ve unleashed? You condemn me for working for the Empire, but have you stopped to consider what that meant? The Empire’s interest is turning towards us again, Darius – it seemingly has been for years, even if it’s just now becoming evident. If my plan had worked, they would have had an ally on the throne and had no reason for hostility with us. But now they know Artakane is their enemy. And Verus Licinius isn’t a man you want for your enemy. I don’t know what he’s planning, but I doubt it will be pleasant. I could have spared us that.”

“So, rebelling against Artakane was an act of altruism, I take it?” Darius asked, but he knew there was truth in his father’s words. He still ached from the fight with Quarinis’s praetorians, and he remembered the ambassador’s words. War. War was coming.

“Ah, you know it as well as I do,” Naudar said, reading the expression in his son’s eyes. “We’re more alike than you think, no matter how much you deny it.”

“Then help us,” Darius said. “Cooperate with Artakane. Tell her what you know about Quarinis – don’t look surprised at the name. I know you wouldn’t go into business with someone without learning all you can about them. If you really care so much for the Dozen Stars, help us protect it. Or are you really no better than Respen after all?”

Naudar paused. “I’ll consider it,” he said. “We’ll see what happens next, how Artakane handles herself – and how generous I’m feeling. I promise no more than that.” He paused. “Keep Tariti and Galen close. You’ll need someone watching your back, and as you so pointedly reminded me, you and your siblings stick together. Don’t forget that.”

“I’m surprised you still care,” Darius said.

Naudar waved a hand. “Of course, I do. Like you said, I’m still your father, no matter what has passed between us. And I have no intention of seeing House ast Sakran end in my lifetime. I still have plans, even here.”

“Don’t think that I will ever forget that, Father,” Darius said. He regarded Naudar one last time and nodded, then turned and left the prison, his father’s words – and the implications of what was to come – playing over and again in the back of his mind.

///

That evening, Arta and Latharna walked together in the palace gardens. The sky, seen through the glass dome above them, was dark; between the plants, they could occasionally make out the glittering lights of the city spread out below them. They still wore their court dress from earlier, though Arta had removed her crown and most of her jewelry and let her hair down; beside her, Latharna still wore her robe in her customary red. It wasn’t a dress, exactly, but still seemed more feminine that her usual wear; Arta thought that while Latharna always looked right in dueling gear, she wore the more formal attire well, nonetheless. She idly wondered if there were courses on formal court etiquette at the Dansa Academy; she had a feeling there were.

“It’s nice to just be able to walk together without having to worry about people trying to kill us,” Arta finally said. “I’ve missed that.”

Latharna chuckled. “It is,” she said, then paused, her expression serious. “But this isn’t over, is it?”

Arta sighed. “No, it’s not,” she said. “There are still rebel holdouts here and there, and we’ve yet received no response from the Empire regarding Quarinis’s escape. I expect that when that comes, it won’t be pleasant. But there’s more than that. I keep thinking about what we saw on Aurann – Respen turned his people into slaves in all but name, and he got away with it because our laws say that a Duke can run their own Duchy however they see fit. And then you had the guilds on Tantos buying up the planet bit by bit and eventually shooting at everyone who questioned it. I was there when something like that happened, before we met, even before I was queen.”

She shook her head. “It can’t go on, Latharna. I love my country, but there is so much wrong with it. Arrogant nobles who think they can do whatever they want, corrupt guilds happily betraying and exploiting the people to line their own pockets, and a church that stands aside, piously wringing its hands and doing nothing to help. It has to stop, Latharna. There has to be a better way. And I intend to find it.”

Latharna took Arta’s hands in her own. “You will,” she said. “And I’ll be there to help you.”

“Thank you,” Arta said. “And what about you? How are you adjusting to your new appointment? And how did Ambassador Preas take it?”

Latharna frowned thoughtfully. “Surprisingly well, actually,” she said. “It was almost like she’d been expecting it, though I have no idea how. As for me, I’m still trying to find my own path. I keep thinking of something Shiran told me, back on Aurann. He talked about how dedication to an ideal can lift us up, make us better for the striving, even if the ideal can’t be achieved. That’s what I’m looking for Arta – an ideal that’s worth following, that can make me better. Not just a warrior or even a knight, but someone who can protect those who can’t protect themselves and stand against everyone or everything that could do them harm.”

“Shiran is a wise man,” Arta said. “And that’s a noble goal. It makes me think if there might be some way to apply that not just to a person’s life, but to an entire nation. An ideal that will make us better for the striving…” her voice trailed off, lost in thought.

“Whatever you decide – whatever I decide,” Latharna said, “I promise you this, Arta – I will always walk with you, every step.”

She paused then, and Arta watched her curiously – and then, it seemed almost on impulse, Latharna leaned forward and kissed her on the lips. For a moment, Arta was surprised, and then she pulled Latharna into an embrace and kissed her back.

Strife and struggle and war were still to come, but for that moment, the Queen of the Dozen Stars was content.

///

Pakorus stepped around a bend in the garden and stopped as he saw Arta and Latharna on the path in front of him, embraced and kissing passionately. He felt his face flush red and immediately stepped backwards; thankfully, neither of them seemed to have noticed him.

He remembered Midaia’s words about how his investigation of the Commander had been about a desire to impress a girl and knew that there had been some element of truth to them. Now, however, he just shook his head ruefully. “Well, Pakorus,” he muttered to himself. “I guess you win some and lose some, eh?”

Silently wishing Arta and Latharna happiness, he turned away and walked back down the path, leaving the garden behind.

///

Elsewhere in the garden, near the edge of the glass dome, a man stood looking out over the capital city. He was tall and dark-skinned, white-bearded, appearing old but hale – though he was in truth far older than he seemed. He was, in fact, one of the oldest human beings alive, time having carried him far from home and family and friends. Nonetheless, Shiran had long since made peace with that fact, as far as he could. He’d had little choice. Such was the price of immortality.

The sound of footsteps echoed behind him – light enough that another man might have missed them, but not he. Shiran turned and saw the dark-cloaked form of Midaia walking towards him. “Shiran,” she said as she approached. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I’ve been very busy,” he said. “Investigating some of the same things you have – though I hear you had more luck than I did. Congratulations.”

“Is that all?” Midaia asked. “Just busy? It wasn’t a coincidence, then, that when I was told to seek you out, you were conveniently nowhere to be found?”

“Told?” Shiran asked. “By whom were you told, exactly? You know I have no love for your friends, Midaia. I do not trust them.”

Midaia shrugged. “The Neraida are not my friends,” she said, “but they are wise, and I have found it wise to listen when they speak. There is much to learn from them.”

“And in time there will be a price to pay for that knowledge,” Shiran said. “That is what I learned, long ago. They are not human; their ways are not our ways, and what moves them is not what moves us.”

“I will deal with that when the time comes,” Midaia said. “But for now, I am curious. The Neraida told me to seek you to find answers about the Commander. I discovered who he was, or what he was, and where he came from and who sent him – but one question remains, and that is why. Why was the Empire so determined to kill my mother and my sister? And what Adept is there who sits at the heart of the Empire and is greater than al’Aymar Alaen, or I – or even you? What do you know, Shiran?”

Shiran watched Midaia’s pale face intently, saw the resolve in her bright eyes, and finally closed his own eyes and nodded. “I know much,” he said. “Some of my history I have told you; some you have guessed. Long, long ago, I was born in the Empire, during a time of strife. And in that time, I said and did things that set in motion the events which now trouble this Kingdom. You have guessed right – the Emperor, Verus Licinius, is indeed an Adept, perhaps the greatest of our kind currently alive. And he and I have a very long history.” He gestured to Midaia. “Come with me. There are things that are best not discussed in the open. But I will tell you everything – or at least, everything that is relevant to the coming storm. And you, Midaia, will have to decide what it is you will do with that knowledge, and if you will rise above my mistakes – or if you will repeat them.”

 

[MasterGhandalf]

Epilogue! My thanks to everyone who's stuck with me (and Arta, Latharna, Pakorus and company) though this journey, and apologies again for the erratic update schedule. If anyone has comments or feedback, they're much appreciated. Thanks again!

Spoiler

Epilogue

Gearrach, Dansa Academy

Brother Ronall found the Headmistress in the Academy gardens, where she knelt beside a small bush she was carefully trimming. So absorbed was she in her work that Ronall didn’t bother her and simply stood silently, watching the small birds that fluttered around her until finally she stepped back, straightened and stood. One of the birds landed on her shoulder as she turned to face Brother Ronall.

“You do know the Academy maintains a gardening staff for that sort of thing,” Ronall said as he and the Headmistress began to stroll down the path.

Her feathery crest fluttered slightly, the equivalent of a shrug. “I enjoy the work,” she said. “It gives me time to myself, time to think, in a way that sitting behind a desk doing paperwork doesn’t.” She paused, seeming to take a moment to clean the dirt off one of her claws. “You have news for me?”

Ronall chuckled. “You know me well enough you barely have to guess, don’t you?” he asked. “I saw Latharna on the news earlier. Apparently, she’s been accepted as a knight in the service of the new queen of the Dozen Stars. Our girl’s certainly come up quickly in the world, hasn’t she? I’ll have to send her a message congratulating her.”

“Indeed,” the Headmistress said, her expression far off. Ronall frowned.

“You’re not surprised, are you?” he asked. “Did you know this was going to happen? How could you?”

The Headmistress was quiet for a long moment. “Did I ever tell you that I once met a Neraida?” she asked finally. She hadn’t, and Brother Ronall let her continue. “It was years and years ago when I was a girl, much younger than Latharna is now. I had gone to market with my family, and we were separated. While I searched for them, I stumbled into a tall person, wrapped in dark robes but with eyes that glowed within their hood. They looked down at me, and I sensed that they smiled. I told them I was lost, and they said they’d help me find my family. And as we walked together, we talked.

“The Neraida told me that I would become a teacher at a great school, and that one day I would have a child in my care who would grow to be the greatest knight the galaxy would ever know. That I must teach her well, for the day would come when she would stand alone against a faceless darkness, and that when she did, she must not falter, or all would be lost. Years later, when I first saw Latharna Dhenloc when she was brought to me by parents who felt they could no longer care for her, I knew she was the one. And she has not disappointed me.”

Ronall shook his head. “And you believed this… creature?” he asked. The Church had accounts of dealings with the Neraida, under many names, and while they were not considered evil, neither were they good. They knew much but dealing with them was perilous – something to be avoided.

The Headmistress turned to look at him, her crest stiffening. “My people have had dealings with them,” she said. “We know the risks… and the potential wisdom to be gained. When I found my family and the Neraida vanished, I took my story to our local seer, and she told me that the Neraida’s words had the ring of truth, and that I was to remember them.” She fell silent, deep in thought. She was Pervai, and it was hard to read their expressions, but Brother Ronall had known her long enough that he could tell she was troubled.

“There was more, wasn’t there?” he asked, and put a hand on her shoulder. “Tell me, Tlaylli. What else do you know?”

The sound of her true name – which few knew, and fewer used – roused the Headmistress from her thoughts. “That there was to be a doom before this young knight,” she said. “That she would live a life of glory, and then… fall. There is a chance to avoid it, but it is slim. Slim.”

The Headmistress fell silent and turned to look at the sky, in the general direction from which Carann’s star would be visible; Ronall joined her. Finally, after a long silence, he heard her speak again, though not to him, the words a quiet murmur. “Oh, my poor child,” she whispered. “What dire path have I set you on?”

The old monk didn’t have an answer for her.

///

The planet Imperium Primus had once been the beating heart of human civilization; even now, fallen far from its height, it still looked the part. Seen from space the entire planet seemed to glitter, most of it having been paved over by layered constructions and mighty buildings that even Carann of the Dozen Stars couldn’t match. Mighty artificial rings hung in its orbit, housing shipyards and orbital defenses; about them clustered the great fleets of the Imperial Home Legion. The Empire might have lost much of its strength over the centuries, but Imperium Primus remained unassailable. And even now, its rulers planned for a new age of glory.

Quarinis’s yacht passed through the orbital defenses without being halted, for he had given the proper codes and was authorized. The ship descended through the upper atmosphere and came down into the air above the mighty Palatine City from which the planet, and the entire Empire, was administered. He passed the immense shape of the Grand Arena where slaves and prisoners fought and died for the amusement of the masses, the spires of the great Basilica of the Church of the Cosmic Lord and the lower but intricately decorated columns of the Temple of the Imperial Cult and at last came to the great shape of the Imperial Palace atop its hill, towering even over the Basilica, unquestioned master of all it surveyed.

The yacht landed in the palace hangar; its ramp descended from beneath it and Quarinis strode out, setting foot on the ground of his home world for the first time in more than a decade. He was met by a young man in the uniform of a page, who saluted over his heart and informed him that the Emperor had returned victorious from battle, that he was even now holding court, and Quarinis was summoned.

A patrician did not run, not unless his life depended on it. But Quarinis walked rather more quickly than normal as he made his way to the audience hall, knowing that he dared not be late.

///

The audience hall of the Emperor was made to inspire awe. Dwarfing by far the council chamber of Carann, it stretched forward in its immensity towards the far wall where the Imperial Throne was set, and its walls were lined with people. Quarinis had been following the news as closely as he could on his way back to his home, and he knew that word across every channel was victory. Verus Licinius, with Admiral Decimus at his right hand, had faced the Alaelam Alliance and Bahrina and crushed them, forcing them from the Empire’s borders and back to their core territories. The Alliance wasn’t beaten totally, but their ability to wage war and threaten the Empire had been destroyed for a generation at least. The Third Alaelam War, which had raged on and off for most of Quarinis’s adult life, was over. He was still mulling over what exactly that meant for the Empire – or for him.

He did not let his doubts and fears show as he marched down the violet carpet that ran the length of the audience hall. He passed the senators in their togas, knowing that his elder brother was among them but not bothering to look for him. He passed the military officers in their sleek uniforms, who seemed to be almost glowing with pride and triumph. He passed the priests – prelates of the Church in white, pontifexes of the Imperial Cult in purple, regarding one another with their traditional hostility. He ignored them all. At last Quarinis came to the great dais at the end of the hall. A great banner depicting the Imperial Double Eagle in gold on a violet field hung behind it. Admiral Decimus stood on the right side of the dais, one step below the top, his gaunt face alight with a fanatic glow. Al’Aymar Alaen stood across from him on the left, wrapped in his customary cowl and mask, seeming sullen about something even though his face was concealed.

At the top of the dais was the throne, and on it sat His Imperial Majesty Verus Licinius, Emperor of Humanity in title and right if not in truth and master of a thousand worlds. He was a tall man, powerfully built, clad in gilded armor over which he wore his violet robes of state. He appeared to be a man in his fifties, younger than Quarinis, clean-shaven, with lines of grey at his temples standing out in his otherwise black hair. His eyes, however, were much older than his appearance suggested – the weight of centuries was behind them. There were few indeed who could meet their gaze and not be cowed.

“My Lord Emperor,” Quarinis said, going down to one knee and placing his hand over his heard. “As I am summoned, I have come. I submit myself to your judgment.”

“Indeed?” Licinius asked, an undertone of amusement in his resonant voice. “And why would you think I would wish to pass judgment upon you?”

Quarinis’s heartbeat quickened. Was Licinius going to force him to relive his failures before the entire court? “My lord,” he said, “I failed the task you set for me. The Dozen Stars still stands. Its queen yet lives.”

Licinius chuckled. “But you have not failed, my servant,” he said. “For your task is not yet done, and you shall have another chance to carry it out. For the first time in decades, the Alaelam Alliance is defeated; the threat the offer, quieted. The time has come for us to turn our attention towards other territories which have long defied us. The time has come to take back what once was ours.”

“My lord,” Quarinis said, heart racing now. “Can it be…?” Were his words to Artakane – words meant more to unbalance her than as a foretelling of the future – to come true after all.

“Indeed,” Licinius said. “Too long have the Dozen Stars and Realtran stood against us, in defiance of our Imperial will. No longer. We have won a great victory, but more victories are on the horizon. For the time has come for our rebellious subjects of the Dozen Stars to be brought to heel and made to bow before the Imperial throne once more. Their internal strife has weakened them; now is the time to strike. And when the Dozen Stars and Realtran are subdued, and the Alaelam crushed, then, at last, all humanity shall bow once again before a common ruler. Then, my servants, shall our destiny be fulfilled!”

A tremendous cheer erupted at those words. Admiral Decimus was the first to raise his voice in that cry, his eyes bright with malice and dedication. Al’Aymar Alaen was silent, watching the crowd with his inscrutable expression. The Emperor himself sat stoically, letting the sound wash over him, a god accepting the tribute he was due from his devotees.

Quarinis merely found himself relieved, for it seemed he was not to die today after all. And, in some small part of him buried deep within, he found himself pitying Artakane and those poor fools on Carann, who had no idea of the power that had woken from slumber and was even now turning its gaze on them.

HERE ENDS

REALM OF THE STARS VOLUME II:

THE ENDANGERED CROWN

THE STORY WILL CONCLUDE IN VOLUME III:

WAR FOR THE CROWN