Wyvern's Warrior

by Deborah Cooke

Fructa continued. “Our first son would have been eighty-two if he had survived the hatching of his natal egg. Ever since the morning that I held my lost son in my arms and feared that the future had been lost, I counted that as the darkest day of my life. Ever since the night that they finally took him from me and I wept from the depths of my soul, believing I had betrayed my husband’s hopes and my own, I have counted that as the darkest night of my life. But on that morning, I had Scintillon by my side, resolute and intent upon securing the future of Incendium. On that night, I had Scintillon holding me close, strong and determined to do all in his power to keep Incendium’s future bright. I had a spark in the darkness, the light that was my husband and his faith in the future, his conviction that justice and honor could only prevail. And so it did, even though my faith faltered when the days passed with no new conception. And so it did, because Scintillon would not surrender when he knew the greater good could be served. And so it did, when Rubeo broke free of his natal egg and gave a roar that was said to have been heard all around the planet of Incendium. We had three more sons, each stronger than the last, and Scintillon’s legacy was assured.”

  The crowd applauded a little in the background.

  “Today, I stand before you on what should be the darkest day of my life, for there will be no spark to light this darkness for me. The spark of my husband’s will still burns in my heart though. Its brightness will never fade, not so long as I draw breath, and this is his gift to me. He granted this gift of hope to me so that I could finish the work of ensuring his legacy. I will do whatever is necessary to see my son crowned King of Incendium in two years time. I will sacrifice whatever must be cast aside, be it a treaty or a truce, if Incendium is threatened in what might appear to others to be our moment of weakness. The fire of the first King of Incendium burns hot in my breast, and his love of justice will be defended as fiercely as if he stood beside me. Make no mistake, once again, Scintillon and I fight back-to-back to secure the future of Incendium.”

  There was a roar of approval on the recording, as an enormous number of people cheered and hooted, clapped and stamped their feet. Acion heard several shout “Praise to Queen Fructa!” then the call was taken up by the crowd.

  Thalina touched a finger to the console and the cheering was silenced.

  Acion stepped past her and played the recording made on his own palm, accelerating through the speech until Fructa reached her dead son’s name. He amplified the output and placed his left hand over the memoria in Thalina’s hand, so it was closer to the speaker.

  As if Fructa whispered to it.

  At the word “Torris,” the device began to spin.

  * * *

  Thalina was shocked to see the small sphere spin of its own power, split in half and open. The beam of light emanating from its interior was also a surprise, but the quality of the hologram it projected was far better than she’d expected.

  A king lounged on his throne before her, both existing only in the hologram. He had silver at his temples and in his beard, but still looked vital. She thought of warriors who aged but didn’t stop fighting and would have guessed that he was still fierce in battle. There were scars on his hands and one on his cheek, but she recognized the dragon in his eyes. She supposed there was a faint resemblance between his features and that of her father.

  “Your forebear,” Acion said. “The bone structure of the face has correlations with yours.” He calculated and she looked at him. “Stronger with your father, perhaps due to gender differences.”

  “Another king,” the king in the hologram mused, his voice a deep rumble that hinted of banked fires and glowing coals. Acion and Thalina watched and listened. “That can be the only reason I’ve been set loose again.” He smiled a little, as if amused by his own joke. “I hope there is another king, a long line of kings, an empire in Incendium, and a future filled with prosperity and good fortune.” He inclined his head. “I wish all of this for you, King of Incendium in future, and wish also that you are the fruit of my Seed. I like continuity because I understand the power of stability.”

  He braced his elbow on the arm of his throne and propped his chin on his hand, surveying Thalina as if she truly did stand before him. She fought the urge to curtsey. Acion did bow. “And now, you, newly crowned king, are following the dictates laid before you, one of which is that you will watch me. That is a good sign for the future, in my view. I tend to prefer kings and emperors who follow the laws of their own domains. The edict that has led you to me is Scintillon’s Law, of course, for it is the cornerstone of my legacy. I don’t doubt that you would like to find a way to dismiss it or ignore it. Even in my time, androids have their appeal and I can only imagine that will increase. They can diminish labor. They can assume tasks that are risky for mortals. They can do our dirty work, and they can work longer and harder. They are economical beyond the initial cost of creation, often operate cheaply, and the cost of their construction can be mitigated with economies of scale.” Thalina saw Acion nod agreement with all of these arguments. “And yet, and yet, I have outlawed them forever in the kingdom I founded. My law is the foundation of the government in Incendium and it decrees that no android shall be tolerated on the planet of Incendium or its governed territories. It states absolutely that every single android that ever sets foot on Incendium must be destroyed, without delay or appeal or exception.”

  Thalina saw Acion’s eyes narrow.

  “Didn’t you know?” she whispered.

  He shook his head. “Not until you told me.”

  “Didn’t you have a brief?”

  “This detail was not included. The brief noted that androids were uncommon on Incendium. There is no mention of Scintillon’s Law.”

  “So, did the Hive not know, or did the Hive decide to put you at risk?” she dared to ask.

  Acion frowned and gestured to the hologram. He folded his arms across his chest, and she would have bet that he was feeling something new and unwelcome.

  “Why?” Scintillon asked. “Why would a king of supposedly clear vision lay down such an edict and structure the law of his kingdom in such a way that it could never be challenged? You might think I did it out of ignorance or superstitious fear.” He laughed a little. “But that can only be because you don’t know me.” He confronted Thalina again and she straightened as if she was being interrogated. “I did it out of knowledge.”

  “Knowledge?” Acion echoed, skepticism in his tone.

  Scintillon rose to his feet regally and gestured to the walls of the Hoard. “I have left a legacy of information, although there is no telling how it is stored by your time. It includes extensive documentation of our own robotics laboratories here on Incendium. Yes! We built androids. They were of the most highly developed of their kind, so we kept their development secret. We wanted to know how much progress we could make in simulating the thought processes of organic creatures. We wanted to know how perfect an android we could create.”

  Scintillon took a few steps, then turned back. “The answer is that we made an excellent one. We made the best androids ever known. They were so remarkable that even I—with my keen dragon senses—could not distinguish between a human warrior and an android one. The lead engineer himself could not distinguish the creatures of his manufacture and the naturally born warriors in our service. And this was all to be celebrated, until they began to think for themselves.”

  Acion was very still.

  “They exceeded their programming and in so doing, became impossible to control.”

  Acion caught his breath. “Which undermined their usefulness,” he murmured.

  Scintillon nodded as if in agreement, although he had to be nodding in agreement with his own argument. “There came a point, just a few years ago, when the androids ignored their assigned mandate and made their own choices. While this was a triumph, it was also a problem, because we had discovered no means of creating the equivalent of a moral code in an android.”

  He held up three fingers, ea
ch adorned with a ring. “There were three incidents behind the development of this law.” Scintillon waved his first finger. “One android stood guard during the interrogation of a Regalian rebel and became convinced of the merit of the rebel’s cause. He slaughtered all of those in service to Incendium in that interrogation chamber, freed the rebel, helped him to escape, and joined the Regalian cause. They made great gains with his assistance, until he was incinerated by my two youngest sons.”

  Scintillon held up his second finger. “We were assured that the mutation had been contained and that the programming responsible for it was removed from all others. You can guess already that this was wrong. The second witnessed the destruction of the first android, resolved that my sons had acted unjustly and attempted to assassinate one of them during the night several weeks later—despite having been reprogrammed. The malfunction could not be recalled and the lack of a moral code meant that the android’s vengeance could not be stopped. Again, the rogue android was incinerated and again, the engineering program came under scrutiny.”

  The king paced. “They said they had resolved it. They said we were safe. It seemed as if all had been resolved, for the androids were gathered and sequestered beneath the laboratories. They were completely reprogrammed and tested repeatedly. The edict was to ensure their absolute reliability before releasing them again. Instead, they revolted, outwitting their developers and attacking Incendium from within. We hunted them down and incinerated them, every last one, in a battle more bloody than those of our early days. My two younger sons, the ones who had felled the first rebel, were among those lost in the carnage. When it was done, and Incendium was a pale shadow of what it had been, I created my law and ensured it would hold for the duration of Incendium.” He leaned closer, his eyes gleaming with intent. “There can be no negotiation. There can be no tolerance, because there can be no trust. Do not be so foolish as to try to undermine my law. It will cost you everything, far more than the crown, far more than the kingdom. My two sons are dead too soon, because I trusted where trust was not deserved.” Scintillon fixed them both with a lethal glare, one that showed the dragon ascendant in his eyes, then disappeared abruptly.

  Thalina didn’t know what to say.

  The memoria closed with a whirr and spun in her palm before stilling once again.

  Chapter Six

  “I don’t think he’s right,” she said quietly.

  Acion gave her a cold look. “We both know that doesn’t matter. How much time is left until your deadline?”

  Thalina checked the computer interface on her arm. “Nine hours.”

  “And what do you consider the probability of your father allowing you all of that time?”

  Thalina wasn’t startled that their reasoning followed the same path. “Almost nonexistent. He’ll want surprise on his side. It’s his favorite tactic.” She frowned. “But he’ll want to make sure I’ve claimed the Seed, so he won’t interfere too soon.”

  Acion watched her, waiting.

  “Aren’t you going to calculate a probability?”

  “Given the lack of information about the nature and habits of King Ouros in my brief, such a calculation would require so many assumptions as to be useless.”

  “You sound bitter.”

  “Chances are very good that I have been used for the benefit of others, with no consideration for my own survival. Although I exist to serve, I find the lack of disclosure in this case to be…irritating.”

  Thalina smiled. “Only irritating? I’d be a lot more than that if someone sent me to die without telling me.”

  Acion’s eyes flashed and Thalina understood his reaction very well. “Angry, then,” he said, his tone of voice so controlled that his claim was hard to believe.

  “Angry? You feel angry?”

  Acion nodded.

  “Are you programmed for such emotional reactions?”

  “I thought not. Perhaps this is the enhancement at work.”

  Acion nodded again. “Undoubtedly.” He smiled, a little bit sadly. “And I can compute the reasoning behind the destruction of an android who has undergone these enhancements. It is logical, since the evolution of feelings in the system must necessarily compromise the android’s ability to fulfill its assignment or mandate.”

  “How?”

  “Already I consider the merit of surrendering the gift intended for King Ouros to you, even though my quest is to place it directly in his hand.” His gaze met hers. “Because I trust you.”

  “Oh!” Thalina felt herself flush with pleasure. “How is that a bad thing?”

  “I might be wrong in so doing. I might be persuaded to do so by your other charms.”

  “I have other charms?” she asked, wanting to hear him say it aloud.

  “You have an abundance of them,” Acion admitting, his eyes glowing as he surveyed her. “You are clever, logical, honorable, beautiful, passionate, surprising, strong, precise, and patient.” He paused. “Though that is not necessarily the order of importance of those attributes.”

  Thalina stepped closer to him, placing her hand on his shoulder and caressing him. He closed his eyes and caught his breath. She felt his heartbeat increase and when his eyes opened, they glittered in a new way. “And I find you clever, logical, honorable, handsome, passionate, surprising, strong, precise, and patient,” she repeated. “You’re stealing my heart, Acion,” she whispered. “I’ve never met a man so perfect.”

  He shook his head, apparently at a loss for words. “I’m not a man, Thalina,” he reminded her.

  “You are to me,” she whispered in reply. “Carrier of the Seed.”

  “But…”

  She placed a fingertip over Acion’s lips to silence him. “We’re good partners, like we were made for each other. We solved this riddle together. We’re in the middle of making a child together. That’s something to celebrate.”

  “Celebrate?” he asked, his lips moving behind her fingertip.

  “The way dragons celebrate,” Thalina murmured, taking a step closer to him. Her breasts were against his chest and she felt him catch his breath. She ran her hands over his shoulders to the back of his neck, aware that he was watching her closely. “In triumphant passion,” she added, then parted her lips.

  Acion shook his head as he surveyed her, as if in wonder. “Partners,” he echoed. “It is improbable,” he began then paused, considering. When Thalina was sure she couldn’t bear the waiting any longer, he caught her head in his hands and kissed her so sweetly that she thought her heart would burst.

  She had no chance to remind him of his neurons or to present her ideas for his review, because her father chose that moment to enter the Hoard.

  * * *

  Acion wasn’t surprised to hear the metal liner over the only door to the Hoard slide out of place. The probabilities of the king’s intervention had increased with every passing minute, and he’d been prepared to face Thalina’s father for several hours.

  He broke their kiss with regret, moving with purpose to prepare in the limited time available. He loosened his chausses to access the hidden panel in his thigh. He had to try to fulfill his mission, although he calculated the probability of success to be low.

  “We don’t have time,” Thalina said urgently, misinterpreting his move, but Acion shook his head.

  He opened the receptacle in his thigh to remove the gift intended for King Ouros. He showed her the clear cylinder with the dark shadow at its bottom “This is the gift I was sent to deliver to your father. It is my mission to present it to him.”

  “What is it?”

  “I do not know.”

  Thalina frowned as she peered at the cylinder’s contents. “Is it alive?”

  “I do not know.” Acion frowned. “It is not in my programming to question my assignment.” But he was questioning his assignment. What had he been dispatched to deliver? Why? What was this item and what would it do when released? A dozen possibilities were generated in the blink of an eye, and Acion doubte
d the Hive’s intent.

  Was it malicious?

  Was he to deliver a substance or organism less welcome than the Seed?

  Acion didn’t like that possibility at all. He wanted to know more before he fulfilled his mission.

  But that information was not available to him at this time.

  And it never would be.

  Rebellion rose within him, as well as that irrational sense of having been used—even though it was his entire purpose to be used.

  “Isn’t it?” Thalina asked quietly, and he realized she was watching him. “Then why are you questioning it?”

  “I exist to serve,” Acion said, but this time, he found no reassurance in the core value of his programming.

  “What if the Hive is wrong? Or means ill to my father?” Thalina stepped back, those flames lighting in her eyes once more. “Should I be trying to stop you, Acion?”

  Acion was appalled that he didn’t know the answer.

  “That information is not available to me at this time,” he said gently.

  The second metal plate slid back, the sound making both of them look toward the portal. Thalina showed more alarm than Acion felt. The probability of him surviving the next fifteen minutes was so low as to be zero.

  He wished that he had experienced the joy of danger.

  He wished he might have seen the child Thalina would bear.

  He wished…

  But it was too late for wishes.

  On impulse, Acion removed the silver ring from his thumb and offered it to Thalina. She looked at it, then met his gaze. “It is my understanding that many sentient species exchange gifts upon parting, in order to have a token of remembrance. I would ask you to remember me, Princess Thalina.”

  It was the most irrational thing he’d ever done, but it felt completely right to Acion.

  Felt.

  “It’s a ring,” Thalina said quietly.

  Acion nodded, knowing the symbolism of rings to many sentient beings. “My ring. Will you wear it?”

  “Gladly,” she said, her smile making his heart thunder.