After two hours of court duties, the line of pilgrims that came to see him still seemed endless. Jora’h gave a discreet signal to Yazra’h, who strode to the base of the dais with her three Isix cats and rapped her crystal spear on the polished stone floor. “The Mage-Imperator requires a recess—and some privacy. Would you like me to leave as well, Liege?”
Jora’h shook his head as the pilgrims dutifully departed. “All of you can offer valuable advice.” He reached out to clasp the hand of the green priest at his side. Because the Ildirans were already so troubled—or at least mystified—by Nira’s unorthodox presence here, she spoke few words when he held court. But she was there, giving her silent support.
Daro’h sat on the dais next to the chrysalis chair. “What do you wish, Liege?”
“I should ask you the same question, my son. It is plain you are troubled.”
“I fear for Dobro. Have we had word about the people there? Are they safe? They have been through so much—both the humans and the Ildirans—and now are left without a leader. Can they govern themselves?”
“They can if given the chance,” Nira said, perhaps a little too sharply. “This may be what they need.”
“You have greater responsibilities now, Prime Designate,” Jora’h said. “Concern yourself with all Ildiran people, not just those on Dobro.”
“I understand, Liege. And yet . . .” Daro’h was the opposite of callous and self-centered Thor’h. As the second noble-born son, he had followed in Designate Udru’h’s footsteps, believing that his sole responsibility was the splinter colony of Dobro, never imagining he would become Prime Designate. “What can we do about the faeros?”
“I do not know what happened with my brother Rusa’h. I do not even know how he remains alive. When he flew into the sun, he meant to plunge directly into the Lightsource, not to cause us any further damage.”
“The faeros changed him somehow,” Daro’h said. “I saw it.”
Jora’h nodded. “His injured mental state, his flawed thism, must have opened him to them. As bizarre as that may sound, it is not unheard of. I have recently learned that other Ildirans were united with the faeros in the past.”
The research being done by Rememberer Vao’sh and his human counterpart had begun to shed light on the problems the Empire faced. Though Jora’h found it frightening to learn even more unexpected truths, he did find the knowledge invaluable. If only he could put it to use.
Their new information revealed part of what had really happened during the old war against the Shana Rei, creatures that swallowed up all light and drove Ildirans insane. Tales of the Shana Rei were used to describe Ildiran heroes in circumstances that required bravery and sacrifice. With careful reading some rememberers had discovered a layer of nuance that suggested the Shana Rei were entirely fabricated, a mere fiction created to fill in the blanks produced by covering up the original hydrogue war. Yet that itself was only another veneer of lies. Investigating further, Vao’sh had discovered that the Shana Rei were real after all. And the faeros had helped Ildirans defeat them.
For the first time, Jora’h shared the alarming story that Rememberer Vao’sh and Anton Colicos had found in the long-sealed apocrypha. “Long ago, some Ildirans discovered how to link with the faeros, much as green priests can connect with the worldforest. When it looked as if all Ildirans would perish before the Shana Rei, an ancient Mage-Imperator named Xiba’h begged the faeros for assistance. He was sure that only their elemental fire could drive away the creatures of darkness. When he was unable to summon them, when he could not convince them even to speak with him, Mage-Imperator Xiba’h prepared his Prime Designate and made a tremendous sacrifice to call the faeros.”
“What sacrifice?” Daro’h asked.
“He got the attention of the faeros by immolating himself. The Mage-Imperator set himself on fire in the middle of Mijistra. The blaze was potent and incredible. As the flames consumed Xiba’h, the anguish that he emanated through the thism attracted the faeros. The creatures came, after all, and agreed to offer their aid. Faeros fireballs struck the creatures of darkness.”
“That’s a terrible story, Jora’h,” Nira said.
“And yet it is a true one.”
Daro’h asked something the Mage-Imperator had not considered. “Is that why the faeros have turned against us now? When Rusa’h plunged into the sun, did he make a greater sacrifice? Did they go to him instead of to you?”
“I hope you are not right, but I have learned not to underestimate Rusa’h.”
87 HYRILLKA DESIGNATE RIDEK’H
Full circle. Tal O’nh and the escort warliners had finally completed their grand circuit around the Horizon Cluster. They had stopped at rebellion-scarred Shonor, Alturas, Garoa, and all the other worlds Rusa’h had ensnared with his corrupted thism.
Ridek’h now realized that the Mage-Imperator had intended this pilgrimage to be far more than a ceremonial tour or political show. During the journey, the young man had learned much by seeing other shocked Designates who had faced equally difficult challenges. Though he was just a boy, Ridek’h felt a greater confidence now, a willingness to face what had terrified him before, and a strong sense that he could actually do what was required of him. He had the assistance of the veteran tal, as well as the work and dedication of the Ildiran people. His people. The boy was not alone after all, and he was not weak. He would not give up.
Now Tal O’nh brought the ships back to Hyrillka, the world that young Ridek’h would lead, if the scientific team ever deemed it safe for Ildirans to return. With his own eyes, the boy had seen the faeros and hydrogues battling in Hyrillka’s primary sun, and he had watched the planet’s climate shift as the star nearly died. He himself had given the order for all of the brave inhabitants to pack up and evacuate. Now Ridek’h hoped that the scientist kithmen would pronounce Hyrillka fit for renewed habitation.
When the warliners reached the planet, however, they found the scientific camp utterly annihilated. The partially rebuilt main city had been consumed by an inferno. The Solar Navy ships cautiously flew above the seared ground, all systems on alert. Buildings stood as no more than charred frameworks. The scientific encampment had been incinerated by such an intense flash that the new shelters were no more than patterns of ash.
“What happened here?” Ridek’h cried.
With a replacement jewel set firmly in his empty eye socket, the old tal stared at the images. “It is obvious what happened. The faeros. Prime Designate Daro’h warned us of the danger.”
Ridek’h took his place beside the old commander. “Show me the citadel palace. That was Rusa’h’s home. Could he have done such a thing?” The answer appeared in the next set of images. The citadel palace was blackened and glassy, slumped in upon itself, the very stones melted.
Ridek’h could not comprehend why the fiery elementals would have burned away so many buildings, landmarks, and a handful of nonthreatening researchers. What could be the reason? “They cannot all be dead. They cannot!” He turned smartly to the communications station, then looked over at his mentor, who nodded in approval. “Transmit on a broad band.” His voice sounded high and thin even to his own ears, but he reminded himself that he was the Designate. “This is Hyrillka Designate Ridek’h calling anyone who can receive this message. Please respond.”
An oddly familiar—and deafening—voice boomed across the speakers in the command nucleus. Ridek’h clamped his hands over his ears. “So the name of my would-be usurper is Ridek’h. A child.” The observation screen seemed to burst into flames. The images turned to rippling fire, and a face appeared—Rusa’h! “You are not the true Hyrillka Designate. I returned here to pull my subjects back into my thism web, but they had all gone away. The handful of researchers I consumed was barely enough to help the faeros at all.”
“Pinpoint the source of that transmission,” O’nh shouted. “Where is it coming from?”
“Faeros fireballs directly ahead, Tal!”
“Activate a
ll defensive measures.” Five flaming ellipsoids roared toward them. “Immediate escape vector. Full acceleration.”
Ridek’h had gone pale. He turned to the military commander. “Should I respond to him? What do I say?”
“There is nothing you can say, Designate. We must leave here.”
Ridek’h straightened, clutching at straws of bravery. “But this is Hyrillka. This is my planet. He has attacked my people!”
“And he is the mad Designate, in league with the faeros. We can do nothing except get you to safety. That is my priority.”
As the warliners accelerated, the fiery elemental ships came at them like gigantic cannonballs. The boy remembered the conflagration and battle in Hyrillka’s sun. If the faeros could eradicate a diamond-hulled hydrogue warglobe, the Solar Navy battleships did not stand a chance.
When the warliners cleared the atmosphere of Hyrillka, the deck tilted from a severe course-change maneuver, and the boy stumbled against the command station. As they headed out into space, the faeros fireballs continued to pursue them.
“Return to me.” The mad Designate’s words came like a blast from a flamethrower, but the tal did not heed him.
“Prepare to activate stardrive the moment we are clear,” O’nh shouted. No one knew if a faeros ship could follow at the extreme lightspeed available with the Ildiran engines. No one knew much about them at all.
The faeros closed the distance. Flame blasts seared the ornate anodized hulls. Systems overloaded. One after another, damaged engines went offline, but the warliners limped along with what power they had left, reeling off course yet careening onward. Solar Navy weapons officers fired projectiles, energy beams, and explosives, none of which had any effect on the elemental vessels.
Ridek’h did not know how the warliners could ever get away. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to find the Mage-Imperator through his thism connection, but though he was the official Designate, he was a generation removed from the strongest strands. Ridek’h could not communicate what he needed to.
The young Designate saw the hard decision cross Tal O’nh’s face. The old commander spoke to the captain of the last warliner in the group. “Septar Jen’nh, I require you to delay the faeros. Our priority is to see that Designate Ridek’h returns to the Mage-Imperator. He must survive.”
“As you command, Tal. How am I to do this?”
“Faeros are different from hydrogues, but perhaps Adar Kori’nh’s technique will prove effective.”
The septar paused, but for only a moment. “Yes, Tal O’nh.”
Bright reflections gleamed from the facets on O’nh’s jewel eye. “Let me say on behalf of the Mage-Imperator that the Solar Navy honors your service, Septar Jen’nh. The Lightsource will welcome you, and the Saga of Seven Suns will remember you.”
Without a further word, Jen’nh broke the connection. The last and most damaged warliner turned and charged toward the oncoming fireballs. The septar opened fire with every form of Ildiran weapon he had aboard, blasting away in a furious attack, but the explosions were swallowed up like raindrops in an ocean.
Ridek’h watched the drama on the screens as the other warliners raced away, straining their damaged engines and burning out even more systems. He turned awkwardly to Tal O’nh. “What is he doing? What can he accomplish?”
Septar Jen’nh dodged in front of the lead faeros, as if to distract it. Designate Rusa’h roared across the communications screen. “This is useless. Your flight is useless. Your—”
Jen’nh surprised even the mad Designate’s inferno when his warliner plunged directly into the flames. The flash caused the fiery ellipsoid to shudder and reel. Ridek’h felt a stinging pain through the thism as the septar’s warliner was vaporized and flames swallowed every Ildiran aboard. The faeros spread apart like sparks from a stirred-up blaze, delayed, diverted.
It was enough. O’nh’s remaining warliners surged ahead. He activated the stardrives, and their ships outdistanced the pursuing fireballs.
O’nh turned his lone eye toward Ridek’h, who sat panting, his skin flushed. “We are not yet safe, Designate. None of us is.”
88 ADAR ZAN’NH
Guiding his rescue warliners to Cjeldre, the next Klikiss world on his starmap, the Adar was hopeful. They had visited four fledgling human colonies on Klikiss worlds, only to find them all destroyed. Zan’nh tried to maintain his confidence that he would find survivors on at least one of them.
The devastation, the complete extermination of the settlers, had shocked him. No one deserved that. There had been no warning that after ten millennia the insect race might swarm back. Although Ildirans had not made the assumption that those planets were available for the taking, how many years was long enough to wait?
Thanks to its highly elliptical orbit, Cjeldre experienced many months of winter. He wondered if the eager human colonists had known about the extreme cold temperatures before marching through the Klikiss transportals and naïvely erecting their settlement. They would have made the best of it, and worked hard to establish lives and homes for themselves. It was the human way. Zan’nh’s whole attitude was beginning to change.
The Solar Navy warliners arrived like spectators over the snow-swept plains of Cjeldre. On an open channel Adar Zan’nh announced who he was and what he was looking for, hoping to avoid provoking the Klikiss.
When a flurry of small interlocking ships rose from the ground, like the ones he had encountered at Maratha, he knew immediately that the insect creatures had already come here. His heart sank. It was likely that the insect invaders had already killed any human settlers on Cjeldre.
The small component ships coalesced into a cluster, taking shape as a gigantic swarmship that loomed before Zan’nh’s warliners, its copious pieces shifting like black static. Though the aggregate took no overt aggressive action, it was clear the Klikiss intended to block the warliners from proceeding.
His tactical officer said, “Judging from the size of that swarmship, Adar, I doubt we can win a direct confrontation.”
“Then we should not engage in a confrontation. Make no provocative move.” He drew a deep breath, let out a long sigh. “Give me a cutter equipped with ancient translation devices. While you stay here in full defensive posture, I intend to go down and speak to the breedex.”
“Will the Klikiss negotiate, Adar?”
“The Klikiss are incomprehensible to me. Do they even understand negotiation? However, according to our records, hundreds of human colonists settled on that planet. If the Klikiss do not want them there, then it is our job to remove them.”
Seven small cutters crowded with soldier kithmen left the warliners, flew cautiously past the ominous swarmship without incident, and descended through the atmosphere. A cursory scan did indeed show signs of human life, and Zan’nh took heart from that. Perhaps this would not be a futile exercise, after all.
After he landed on the snowy plain near the ever-growing Klikiss settlement, Zan’nh stepped out alone into the biting wind, leaving his soldiers behind. He could see the ancient ruins and the new towers crowding the human prefab structures. Ice crystals and drifted snow gathered around the spires, collecting in cracks. Although the chill of winter must have made the Klikiss sluggish, the insect creatures had distributed thermal lanterns throughout their settlement.
Zan’nh marched into the cold wind, showing no fear. He would rely on the ancient translation protocols, and on his own wits. Even if the Klikiss understood his words, would they comprehend his meaning? If he made a terrible error and sparked a war, he doubted the already reeling Ildiran Empire could survive. He drew a long breath of icy air and kept moving.
Zan’nh couldn’t imagine what the human colonists must have thought when the Klikiss swept through their transportal. He could see tall resin-concrete barriers behind which shivering humans were being held. He lifted his automated translating device as Klikiss scouts scuttled toward him, chittering. He saw two huge domates.
He stopped, holding his han
ds at his sides to show he carried no weapons, and spoke directly to the domates. “I have come for those who inhabited this planet when you returned.” Zan’nh waited for the translation protocol to finish. “I would take them away.”
The breedex spoke through its domates. “This planet is ours.”
“Yes, this planet is yours.” Zan’nh craned his neck to look up at the towering striped creatures. “I do not dispute that. But you have been gone for ten thousand years. These humans did not know you would return.”
“We are back.”
“And we will remove the human trespassers. They will no longer bother you. Do not kill them.”
“They were here. This planet is ours.”
“They were unaware.” He stared directly at the angular face of the monster before him, but he could read nothing. “We do not desire conflict. We wish to remove conflict. We are Ildirans. Klikiss had no quarrel with us before. We were once your allies. Your breedex must remember.”
“Our breedex knows everything,” the domate said. “But these are not Ildirans. These are . . . something else.”
Zan’nh adjusted the translation device. “And I have come to take these humans from your sight. You will have your planet back, exactly as you left it.”
The warriors scritched their armored forelimbs together. Zan’nh kept his gaze focused forward, and the domates stared at him with faceted eyes in the cold. Why would the Klikiss be reluctant to let the humans leave?
Zan’nh persisted. “Will you let me take them away? They are not part of your wars. Neither are Ildirans.” With his warliners overhead and the armed cutters nearby, he hoped the insect creatures did not wish to clash with the Solar Navy.
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