What could she say? A second chance was still a second chance. Maybe Surela would see it that way. Reese drew in a breath. “I guess that’s fair.”
Liolesa snorted and headed on. “Consider it your wedding gift.”
“Great,” Reese muttered. “What I really need is about four or five hundred people to help rebuild a castle in time to get through a planetary winter, and she gives me one.”
Liolesa’s laugh trailed back to her. That was something, Reese thought. If anyone could laugh after all this… that was something.
CHAPTER 24
The day dawned cold and cloudless, a welcome respite from the unrelenting gray skies that had seen him bent in the wreckage of his childhood home, his pulse quick under his tongue with outrage and horror. He’d worked through a mounting headache brought on by that wrath, until at some point the emotion had grown too dense, too large for his body to hold… and then it had exploded, leaving behind a numb clarity.
Would Athanesin have been able to perpetrate this atrocity had Hirianthial remained home at the helm of Jisiensire after his wife’s death? Or would he have fallen too, fighting modern weapons with the relics bequeathed to him by bygone generations? He would have worried at such imponderables in the past, he knew, but he had changed. The outworld had changed him; learning to heal had changed him, the Earthrise had changed him, and becoming heir to Corel’s legacy had changed him… he was no longer the man he’d been. Baniel would have loved to see him fall prey to the guilt of might-have-beens.
Urise was right. It was a form of staggering hubris to believe that he alone could save the world from grief and pain. It was not for him to take on all the evil of the world.
But this one evil… yes. This one evil was his.
He had not expected Araelis, having left her in the Moonsinger’s Medplex with Jasper. But she had come down over the Pad, dressed in a simple but clean dress and wearing her towering anger like a banner, with two febrile spots on her pale cheeks and the blaze in her eyes.
“Cousin.”
“Araelis.”
She faltered, then said, “We searched for the swords. They must be in Ontine somewhere, but we have yet to find them.”
And it would have been good to kill Athanesin with them, fitting. But he was no longer the head of Jisiensire, and it was not as its sword-bearer that he went to this duty… it was as the hand of Liolesa’s justice. “I have a sword that will serve.”
She nodded. Then said, quieter, “What will you do? When it is done?”
He hesitated. “I cannot come back.”
“I know.” She looked down at her arms, folded beneath her breasts and over the heir to Jisiensire, whose father’s body had not been found in the ash. “What will we do, when it is done?”
“Live,” Hirianthial said. “Live to spite those who wanted us dead. And thrive.”
Her head jerked up.
“For your own sake,” he finished, more gently, the words softly silvered. “Thrive.”
She looked away, and he saw the bead growing at the edge of her lashes. As her cousin, then, and as a man who’d found a home in the Alliance when his own home and its memories had proved too painful to embrace, he drew her into his arms. She sniffled once, but didn’t weep. That was Araelis: stern to the point of stubbornness. Perhaps he’d always had a fondness for strong, sharp-tongued women.
Stepping back, Araelis drew in a breath. “Go and make an ending for me, cousin.”
He inclined his head and let her go, and was still standing thus when Sascha found him.
“Soly’s got it all arranged. If you’re ready to go?”
“Yes,” Hirianthial said. One last chore. “Let us.”
A Fleet assault shuttle could carry a good hundred people, and did, depositing their party on the hill Hirianthial selected and then lifting off again to provide the air support he’d requested. Heralds unfurled the banners: Liolesa’s unicorn standard, blue and white and silver, and Jisiensire’s wine and bronze hippogriff. The latter was torn and streaked with soot and blood that sang when Hirianthial touched it, desperate laments that recalled the hands that had tried to hold it upright even as they’d died. He’d resisted the urge to snatch his hand back and rested his palm on the fabric until he’d answered that desperation with promises. It did not silence the pleas, but it made them bearable.
Sascha and Val were eyeing one another on the crest of the hill when he ascended it. It astonished him that he could find some amusement, no matter how muted, in this situation… but the sight of the two men who’d both assigned themselves the duties of his squire trying to decide which of them had more right to attend him….
“Both of you,” he said. “Stay with me.”
No argument or pithy comment from either of them for once; perhaps they felt the gravity of the situation. Standing at the top of the hill, he could see the approaching group, winnowed by their journey but not enough for their safety did Athanesin decide to use his stolen weapons against them.
But he would not. Hirianthial had seen to that.
Liolesa joined him on the hill, furred cloak hanging heavily over her shoulders, its hood thrown back to expose the clean, uncompromising lines of the face she shared with him, through blood and family. Across her brow was a narrow coronet of diamonds and sapphires, with a rim of pearls, set in the cold gleam of platinum; she so rarely bothered with the trappings of her title, save when she rode to battle. He responded to it instinctively, and if the White Sword training found him older, it also found him cannier.
“You must expect treachery, of course.”
“Yes.”
“And you have some plan for it?” She glanced at him, just a sideways flick of her eyes made tawny by the early morning light.
Hirianthial said, “I do.”
She waited, and when he was not forthcoming, blew out a breath in an exasperation he could feel crawling over her aura like static electricity. “If you die, my liegewoman Theresa will spit me with that dagger you gave her, and this planet’s future be damned.”
That made a corner of his mouth turn up, just a little. “I won’t die, Lia.”
“See that you don’t.” Lower, harder, “You have a duty.”
To execute her justice… yes. He answered, quiet, “I am your instrument.”
“Are you?” she asked, eyes distant. “Is that pride, do you think, cousin? To think that I might order the fate of a world?”
“Haven’t you?”
Liolesa was silent, her breath easing from her in pale plumes. “Theresa would have me believe that some measure of this debacle is my doing, for sheltering our people from the truth of how precarious our hold on survival is.”
“Do you agree?”
“I was going to ask the very question of you.” The smile that curved her lips… wry and fond and tired, all at once. “I cannot answer it myself.”
He glanced at her then. “Even with your talent?”
“My talent comes and goes at its own pleasure, not mine,” Liolesa said. “And I still have the responsibility of action when it leaves me bereft of counsel. One cannot be paralyzed by the future’s uncertainty, cousin… because the future is forever uncertain. That is our salvation, for otherwise we would surely be hunted by insanity. We live too long, to also live without surprise.” She sighed out, but her shoulders were straight and her chin high, resignation in a proud woman. “I did what I felt needed to be done. And now… now I will take this data into account, and modify my plans accordingly, and see if a spirit of openness will prove more salubrious. I will need to anyhow, to do what comes next.”
“Am I allowed to ask?”
Liolesa smiled a little. “If I told you I owned an extra planet?”
He looked at her sharply, his heart giving a great double-pulse.
“The Alliance has a colony bureau, of course,” Liolesa continued. “I had the discussion with them not long after I was invested as Queen. Had we had ships of our own to discover new solar systems, i
t would have been easier… since we did not, I had to apply to have one awarded to us, as sovereign allies without a navy. It took some time, but I assured them I had the time.”
“You will send some part of us off,” Hirianthial said, stunned by the magnitude of her plans.
“Jisiensire’s remains, if they’re willing. I still keep some contact, now and then, with Sellelvi’s descendants. I have cause to believe that they would welcome a closer association with Fasianyl’s family. If they are amenable, they could depart for a new world and begin fresh, absent the associations of this… atrocity. And they would have Alliance support.” Liolesa smiled. “Lesandurel has the Tams, of course, and the Tams will come home here. I think a world tended by Eldritch and Harat-Shar has a chance of developing a unique culture of its own.”
“I daresay!” Hirianthial exclaimed. And then, low, “You will build an empire.”
“I will. To remain trammeled on one world… perhaps we will be safe this month, or this year. But the year after? All the years to come? What if the pirates arrive in force? What if they steal more of the Alliance’s warships? What if the Alliance loses to the Empire?” She lifted a gloved finger to forestall his commentary. “Yes, I know, it does not bear thinking on. But it must be considered. And even if the Alliance does win, they may be winnowed to the point of vulnerability to some other enemy. No, Hiran. We can take no more chances. The Alliance will remain a firm friend, but we must foster, as much as possible, a more equitable partnership.”
For a long moment he couldn’t speak for the audacity of it. At last, he said, “God and Lady, cousin.”
She smiled grimly. “Yes… well, no one has ever accused me of a lack of ambition.”
“I did not realize when you asked me to be the Shield to your Sword that you meant for several worlds.”
“And does that change your answer?”
He thought of a vibrant Eldritch empire, spread across several solar systems, integrating slowly with the Pelted, humans, and aliens who had learned to call them kin, creating something entirely new from the amalgamation of outworld cultures and the perspective that Eldritch longevity could afford, were it responsibly cultivated. He imagined their people thriving, not just surviving, and felt his heart crack. The grief over Jisiensire’s loss scalded like a new burn, but only as part of a longing for that future so intense he was swept away by it.
Liolesa nodded. “As I thought.” A smile. “You and I, cousin… we are more alike than you would admit.”
From behind them, Sascha called, “Hirianthial? Soly says it’s time.”
The Queen said, “Go on, then, dear one. Let us put an end to this era in our history and move on to brighter days and better deeds.”
He bowed to her and went to her work.
Athanesin brought his army arrogantly close, reining in his horse and staring up the hill with cold amusement. “What remains of Jisiensire has arrived, I see. Are you so eager to meet the fate of your sons and daughters?”
Sascha growled behind him; he felt Val’s quelling hand as a shift in the colors of their auras, cool blue pacifying the spike of magma-orange.
Hirianthial said, “Your Queen requires your surrender, Athanesin.”
“I recognize no Queen. I am my own master… and this world’s. Or has Liolesa come running home with the aliens at her back?”
“Fine words from someone who has used alien weapons to break with all the laws and customs of our people. You have killed the innocent, Athanesin, and fired the homes of tenants beholden to a Lady in an act forbidden by precedents set in place since Settlement. What makes you believe you can escape justice?”
“The fact that I’ve gotten away with it?” Athanesin said with a sneer. He glanced past Hirianthial at the crest of the hill, where Liolesa awaited alongside her standard, hanging limp in a day gone windless and chill. “I see she’s allowed you to speak for her while she remains at a safe distance. I suppose you haven’t yet tired of being the convenient tool of a woman. But I have. And I am not the only one. It is long past time for us to cease to owe allegiance to the skirts of the realm.”
Hirianthial considered his opponent for long enough that Athanesin’s horse sidled, betraying the man’s unease. Then he said, “As the bearer of Jisiensire’s swords and the holder of the world’s shield, I issue formal challenge to you for the wrongs you have perpetrated against my kin and those who dwelt beneath the banner of my protection.”
Athanesin laughed. “You really think I would come down off this horse and indulge myself in single combat with you? With the men I have at my back?”
“Yes.”
“How brazen you are! And so misguided! You think I would put honor over my own survival?”
“No,” Hirianthial said. “But this is your only chance to survive.”
“And you figure this because….”
Hirianthial lifted his voice. “Sascha. Please tell Commander Anderby we are ready for her demonstration.”
“Yes, sir.”
Athanesin snorted. “If you think to sway me with some display when I hold all the cards, Hirianthial….”
“In five, Boss.”
Hirianthial stood absolutely rigid, steeling himself. One breath in, one breath out.
The earth behind Athanesin’s army exploded.
As carefully as the Fleet personnel had calculated the shot, close enough to frighten but far enough to avoid casualties, it was still shattering: the noise, the clods of earth shooting through the air, some of the pieces as large as a man’s torso… the sheer kinetic energy of it threw many of the men to the ground. Athanesin’s horse reared, and only his frantic efforts to bend its head kept it from bolting with him.
Hirianthial gave the opposing force time to compose themselves, and for the echoes of the shot to fade, before addressing his opponent.
“The first man who fires on us will be responsible for the death of your entire force. You inclusive.”
“Are you mad?” Athanesin hissed.
“You brought modern weapons into our world. Do you not blame me if I brought bigger ones.”
“So if you could slay me so easily,” the man hissed, “why are you insisting on single combat?”
“Because,” Hirianthial said, cold, “I want to kill you myself.”
“And if I win?”
“You won’t. But if you do, you can take your chances with Liolesa’s justice, rather than Jisiensire’s revenge.”
“Not much incentive,” Athanesin said.
“Come down off your horse, Athanesin, before I kill it to force you.”
“You wouldn’t—”
Hirianthial said, soft, “Try me.”
The other man stared down at him, eyes narrowed. Hirianthial saw the twitch in his knees before the movement was fully realized and said, “If you charge me, you will die in ignominy. They will say of you that you broke your neck, tumbled by your own steed.”
“You really think that pride will be sufficient goad to put me on the field with you, Hirianthial?”
“I think you have no choice, if you wish to keep the esteem of the men you purport to lead. If men we can call them after their recent actions.”
Athanesin’s hesitation read in his aura, a slick muddy color over the flame of his arrogance and hatred.
“Make no mistake,” Hirianthial said. “You cannot escape. You can fight me and perhaps earn yourself a clean execution and a pardon for your men… or you can attempt to flee and die to the very weapons you invited onto our soil. Do not think you can take us with you when you die. The fingers on the triggers right now are much faster, and their weapons instantaneous. You may manage to kill me, but I am the only one in range… and that would be the limit of your vengeance.” Hirianthial settled into an open stance. “Make your choice.”
The other man glanced behind himself at his people, now holding painfully still. Then forward at the people blocking the road. With a snarl, he dismounted and drew his sword. “Fine. We shall have your pre
tty duel. But mark you now—I am two centuries your junior, and I am better at this than you.”
“Then you have nothing to fear.”
Hirianthial backed away until they’d cleared the horse’s restive hooves and then woke his Alliance sword, glowing a purple so bright it left streaking lilac after-images.
“And how is that fair?” Athanesin growled.
“It isn’t,” Hirianthial said, and leapt for him.
One parry, Hirianthial gave him, a disengage he allowed to slice the outside of his arm on its way past.
One parry.
Then he lunged into the other man, and his fingers stroked the hilt of his foreign sword, begged it to be true, to have the reach, to make the ending. It grew narrow as a needle and long as a lance, and took Athanesin through the chest. The man paused, shocked, grabbing for the wound and losing his fingers to the blade as Hirianthial pulled it out, rocked forward, and took his head.
The sword steamed its blood mist, dripping plangent drops in the utter silence that followed. Hirianthial darkened the sword, the obedient sword, until it clicked off. Then he put it back at his belt and looked across the field at Athanesin’s men. He saw one or two begin to lift their hands… and stopped them.
No.
They thought about resistance, but he discouraged them. There was no gentleness in it. He did not need to kill to be implacable.
No.
They let their hands drop, and he released them.
The standards came down the hill, and in their wake, the Queen. She halted beside him, bringing the aura of her satisfaction, hot as banked embers. “Recommendations, Lord of War?”
He studied the lot of them. How many had been swept away by passion and the power of the mob into acts they’d regretted? How many of them had enjoyed the violence and cruelty? How to tell? “Put them to work burying the Jisiensire dead and towing away the wreckage,” he said, quiet. “And when that is done, call for them to swear their fealty to you.”
“With you at my side?” she asked without looking at him, and by that he knew what she was asking.
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