Wyvern's Warrior

by Deborah Cooke

  “Banned?” Acion’s eyes narrowed.

  “And if found, terminated, neutralized, or destroyed immediately, with no appeal. That’s Scintillon’s Law.”

  Acion ran a hand over his head, a sign of concern that Thalina had noticed earlier. “Excandesco,” he said quietly, his gaze locking upon her.

  Thalina didn’t immediately understand. “My cousins rule there. Why?”

  He lifted a finger. “You decreed one day and one night of seclusion for us, in order to claim the Seed. What will you do to me now that you possess it?”

  “I’d like to stay with you.” She took a step closer to him. “I’d like you to stay with me.”

  “That is not my mission.”

  “Well, maybe your mission should change. Maybe you should choose to stay.”

  “That would be a violation of my programming and my mandate. I am to complete my mission and return to Cumae immediately. I have rented a Starpod to ensure my swift return to the starport where I will find passage to Cumae.” Acion considered the door. “But the probability of my success is vastly diminished, given this new information about Incendium’s law.” He fixed her with a look. “If androids are banned, then why aren’t reference volumes about them also banned? You have several and are familiar with their contents.”

  Thalina blushed. “My sister, Anguissa, got them for me.”

  “How?”

  Thalina sighed. “Well, she was always a good negotiator, so when she came of age, she joined a trading mission. I don’t think she’s been home for more than a few days in a row since.”

  “And how old is this sister?”

  “Don’t you know?”

  He grimaced. “My brief is incomplete.”

  “Anguissa is younger than me but not by much. She’s been roving the galaxy for over three hundred years. We tend to think she can find and acquire anything.”

  “A most useful individual to know.” Acion seemed thoughtful, and Thalina was pretty sure she knew why.

  “Do you think the Hive knew about Scintillon’s Law?” she asked gently.

  “The Hive knows all,” Acion said without hesitation. “My fate is clear.”

  “I’m going to talk to my father…”

  Acion shook his head. “Perhaps you will not be directly responsible for my demise. But when those doors open, I will be destroyed.” His tone was flat but she felt a desolation in him.

  “Not necessarily,” she protested.

  “Do not pursue irrational conclusions now. Your clear thinking is much of what I admire about you. Probabilities are very high that plans are being laid now.” He cast a glance at her, a small smile curving his lips. “And yet, there is a benefit to be gained in this conclusion.”

  “How so?”

  “I understand your impulse as I did not before. I am surprised to acknowledge that I would rather try to fly and fail, to have that experience of vitality, than to simply face my destruction.” He licked his lips. “I would have liked to have known what it felt like to take a chance.”

  Thalina’s heart clenched and she found it hard to take a breath.

  He tilted his head to regard her again. “Are you certain about the Seed?” he asked quietly. When she nodded, he continued. “And that it will bear fruit?”

  “That’s the point of the Seed. That’s why its scent calls to us.”

  “How curious it would be to father a child,” Acion mused. “I should have liked to have had that experience, as well.”

  Somehow she had to wring a legacy from her time with Acion, a greater legacy even than having his child. The fact that Acion could feel and that he had concern for her desires mitigated her own fear that he would be obliged to report anything he learned to the Hive. He might not even have the opportunity to make that report.

  It was highly improbable that there would be another android on Incendium anytime soon. Thalina had to take advantage of the opportunity, even though it wasn’t perfect.

  “Help me,” she invited, wanting to take the desolation from his expression.

  “Help you? In what way?”

  “There’s a riddle I can’t solve. Maybe you can.” She took a breath. “Maybe you can help me to understand something.” She smiled. “I’d like to have a story about you to tell our child.”

  He blinked. “There it is again,” he murmured, as if she wasn’t supposed to hear.

  Thalina did though. “What?”

  Acion raised a hand to his chest. “A new experience I have found in your presence. I yearn, even though I know my desire will never be.”

  Oh! His words and his acceptance of this brought tears to Thalina’s eyes and fed her resolve to somehow change her father’s mind. She got up with purpose, dressed and went to the vast wall of storage cabinets. She felt Acion watching her but he couldn’t memorize this code.

  The lock was keyed to her DNA and her voice, and so finely tuned that it could detect any stress beneath an involuntary utterance.

  She placed her hand on the panel and felt the prick on her palm.

  “Scintillon,” she murmured, her voice low and soft.

  There was a delay, a moment long enough for Thalina to doubt the result, a pause long enough for Acion to come to stand behind her. She noticed that he had his hand on his belt and she was aware the quickening of his defenses.

  Then the panel slid open and she smiled at his gasp of surprise.

  There was something very satisfying about challenging Acion’s conclusions and projections, as carefully tabulated as they were.

  * * *

  Who or what was Scintillon? Acion had no reference for that word, which only increased his irritation with the inadequacy of his brief. How could the Hive have omitted to inform him of the risk to his own survival on Incendium?

  How could the Hive have been so irresponsible?

  The Hive was not irresponsible and Acion knew it. This law must be part of a greater plan. Was it the Hive’s intent to test these enhancements then eliminate the android in question? Would Acion’s success in adapting to whatever changes were made in his system determine the chance of his survival? Acion found it inconvenient that his strength was diminished and he feared that these newfound feelings would undermine his decision-making processes. He thought of Arista’s murder and how he had doubted when he heard of it that she could be so surprised by an attacker.

  Had the Hive planned her demise? Or allowed it? Had Arista been instructed to allow it? Acion remembered passing her that last time he had entered the Hive. He had been allowed to see her there because the Hive had wanted him to know that she was an android, too. It was also probable that there was a connection between her report and his assignment. Perhaps she had tested the enhancements first.

  And when he’d been released from the process of gaining his enhancements, Arista had been known to be dead.

  Or eliminated.

  Acion calculated the probability of his own future following a similar path to be in excess of eighty-six per cent, given the new data offered by Thalina. Once he would have repeated that he existed to serve, but on this day, he felt a dull glow of rage. He had been used and even though that was his purpose, he resented it.

  He wanted to rebel against the scheme of the Hive, which was so treasonous and unexpected that he refused to consider it. On one hand, he had to admit that these feelings compromised the fulfillment of his assignment. On the other, he already couldn’t conceive of being without them—or sacrificing them.

  Oh, he yearned for far more than was his due.

  He wanted a future.

  With Thalina.

  Acion forced himself to dismiss these impulses. Instead he watched Thalina, intrigued by what else she might show or tell him. He wanted to savor every second in her presence.

  He saw the drop of her blood on the panel when she lifted her hand away and watched the panel absorb it, as if it were made of some substance other than the metal it appeared to be.

  The notion was fleeting, becau
se the panel folded back. It kept folding, rolling away behind itself until an entire chamber was revealed. Thalina stepped into it with a confidence Acion did not share. It could be a trap. Well aware that his moments were limited, he was determined to defend every last one of them for as long as possible.

  He followed her warily, surveying the numbered panels which were clearly doors to repositories. His survey revealed that there were eighty-one of them, ranging in size from that of the dice for gambling on Xanto to several large enough to contain men taller than himself. Acion felt the skin tingle on the back of his neck and turned in place to gather more detail.

  It was clear that Thalina was familiar with this place. She counted the row of the smallest panels, then tapped the seventh one. It opened to reveal a small silver ball, about the size of his thumbnail.

  Acion stared. The probabilities were extremely high—in excess of ninety-nine per cent—that it was a Cumaen memoria.

  But what was it doing here?

  “You know what it is,” Thalina said without surprise. Clearly, she’d learned to read his expressions. “I thought you might.”

  “It is a memoria, a recording device made on Cumae, or at least, it very strongly resembles one.”

  “I knew it!” Thalina said with satisfaction. She waved it at him. “This holds the key to everything. It has to.”

  “But how could you formulate such a conclusion?”

  She smiled, that confident smile making his chest tighten in a new and not entirely unpleasant way. There was much to admire about this dragon princess. “What do you think the Hoard is?”

  “A safe room. A place of refuge and final defense. A treasury.”

  Her eyes sparkled. “But what is the treasure?”

  Acion surveyed the numerous panels. “Gems? Precious metals? Rare materials?”

  Thalina laughed. “Yes, but that’s not the heart of the Hoard.” She watched him, eyes sparkling in a way that distracted him from their conversation, then leaned closer. “Knowledge is the real prize,” she whispered. “The greatest valuable in the universe.”

  She left the chamber then, and Acion followed her. “It is not typical of biological organisms to value knowledge above all else,” he was compelled to note. “And dragons are said to be particularly fond of physical wealth.”

  “Which just proves that you can’t believe everything you hear.” She cast a teasing glance his way. “Or give credit to rumor in your calculations.” Before he could agree, she held out her hand, the memoria on her palm. “Do you know how to make it work?”

  Acion saw no reason to disguise the truth. “Memoria are typically used by the Warrior Maidens of Cumae, to leave information for those who follow, in case their mission fails and must be completed by another.”

  “They don’t just report to the Hive?”

  “The vast majority of Warrior Maidens are not androids.”

  “But some are. Interesting.” He was startled that she made the inference so quickly and realized he shouldn’t have revealed as much information. She brandished the memoria. “How is it activated?”

  “Warrior Maidens train together and choose a companion from the ranks of their fellows called a Sword Sister. A Sword Sister is obliged to finish any incomplete missions of her partner, and so in the vast majority of cases, the memoria’s action is triggered by the voice of the Sword Sister uttering a word known as the code by only those two persons.”

  Thalina considered the small silver ball. “I think this belonged to my forebear, the dragon shifter who founded the line of kings of Incendium.”

  “Scintillon,” Acion guessed.

  Thalina nodded. “My father is the seventh son to reign as king, a direct lineage from Scintillon. Father to son to son, etc.”

  “Which would make Scintillon your great-great-great-great-great grandfather.”

  She smiled. “Exactly.” She took the memoria between finger and thumb. “He was reputed to be brilliant and mechanically inclined. He built clocks and automatons. I could like him, but he was the one who made androids illegal on Incendium.”

  “Scintillon’s Law,” he guessed and she nodded. Acion was puzzled. “But why? Such a man would be most likely to discern our usefulness.”

  “Exactly,” Thalina said, waving the memoria at him. “I could never solve that riddle. What if the answer is in here?”

  “It is possible, maybe even probable, but as a king, he would have no Sword Sister.”

  “Maybe not technically. You say a Sword Sister finishes what her partner can’t. What else does she do?”

  “Sword Sisters defend each others’ blind spots. Indeed, they often fight back-to-back.”

  “Fructa,” Thalina said and strode to another panel in the wall of the chamber. Again, she laid her hand upon it, but this time, the panel opened to reveal a single smaller repository. A small chip reposed within that space.

  “Fructa?” Acion asked. He must complain to the Hive that his brief was sorely deficient for this mission. Even if that had been intended to be part of his test, he believed that he was compelled to respond at a much lower performance level than gave him pride.

  “His wife. Mother of his sons.”

  “She defended his back?”

  “Time and again. Incendium was often attacked in its early days as a kingdom. The forebears of the Regalians battled my forebears for control of the planet and, thanks to their deceptive and violent inclinations, were ultimately exiled to a planet of their own.”

  “But still within your system.”

  “Where do you think the expression comes from to keep your friends close and your enemies closer? My ancestors wanted to keep an eye on the Regalians.”

  That was a logical choice, in Acion’s view.

  Thalina picked up the chip. “Scintillon died, after reigning for two hundred and six years. His third wife, who wasn’t a dragon shifter but was his HeartKeeper, ruled after him for another five Incendium years, finishing what he’d started and acting as regent.”

  “I will speculate that their oldest son was not yet eighty-one Incendium years of age.”

  Thalina smiled. “Good guess. She ensured Rubeo claimed the throne and that his brothers supported him, and then she died.”

  “Because the task was completed.” Acion nodded. “There are strong similarities between these events and the traditions of Sword Sisters.”

  “My thinking exactly. Let’s listen to Fructa, and see if the memoria likes her voice.”

  Acion followed Thalina across the chamber to a portion of the wall that he had believed to be patterned. On closer inspection, the patterns revealed themselves to be portals and receptors. Thalina fitted the chip into the receptacle shaped to receive it and a woman’s voice emanated from the walls. Though she spoke the common tongue, her accent was heavier than that of the current inhabitants of Incendium and Acion had to adjust his filters to ensure he didn’t miss any detail.

  “We are gathered for the saddest of occasions, to celebrate the life and mark the death of our exalted king and my beloved husband, Scintillon the Bold. There are many here today who will speak of his life and his accomplishments, his connections and influence both on Incendium and in the galaxy beyond. My story of Scintillon is rooted here, in Incendium’s main city and, even closer, in my own heart. Most of you know the more public part of our story, how I came to this palace first when my father, a knight in the service of the king, brought me to the palace to see my swordsmanship improved. I was disguised as a young man. Most of you know that I drew the king’s eye first in tournament, when I triumphed in battle and boldly declared the truth of my gender. Most of you know that these events immediately occurred before the last attack of the Regalians, which followed that tournament. I can’t explain to you the shock of that moment, the sensation of celebration shattered by an unprovoked attack. We were besieged when it was least expected and sorely beset. My father was cut down in defense of the king. I saw him fall and knew he wouldn’t move again. I was
his only child, I held a blade, and so I stepped into the void to defend the king. My king. Scintillon and I fought back-to-back on that day, and the Regalians were narrowly defeated. That was the day they were exiled, catapulted to their own planet with no means of leaving it, close enough to watch yet sufficiently distant to pose no threat to Incendium. It was eighty-two years ago this year.” There was a pause. “It was the day that King Scintillon doffed his gloves, took my hand in his and invited me to celebrate our victory by becoming his wife. I was astonished but not so foolish as to decline. I knew nothing about the Seed in those days. I knew nothing about HeartKeepers. I knew I loved the king because he was my king, because I had been taught to love the king, because this king was good and fair and honorable. I had no notion of the happiness that would be mine, because I had bound my life to that of my HeartKeeper. Scintillon, so much older and wiser than me, knew exactly what he was doing and precisely the path he placed us upon. I thanked him for that gift every day that we were together.”

  She cleared her throat, silencing the bit of applause. “But few of you know the challenges we faced privately, and I will tell you of one because it colors the future that we share together in the absence of Scintillon. I wish I had met Scintillon sooner. I wish he had died later. My desire is selfish because it makes me ache to be parted from him, his kindness, his passion, his absolute sense of justice, his ability to make me smile no matter the situation. But his passing has import for a matter of state as well. Our son and Scintillon’s legal heir, Rubeo, is seventy-nine years of age. He has not yet come of age according to the counting of his kind, which was his father’s kind, which means that I will act as regent for the next two years as he completes his preparation for his role as king and is readied for his coronation. I am proud of Rubeo and I know he will do his father’s memory credit, but the death of the father makes me recall the death of our first son, Torris.”

  As she said the name of her lost son, the seam became more visible on the memoria. It didn’t open, but Acion reasoned chances were very good that this was the word that would release its secrets. He was glad he was recording the audio.