Though the burning man maintained his shape and size, Jora’h saw little of his soft and placid brother there, nothing of the person who had once reveled in his celebrations and pleasure mates on Hyrillka. Now transformed into an avatar of the fiery elementals, this man wanted only to burn. “No . . . I did this for them!”
In the sky above, fireballs came closer, ready to incinerate the Mage-Imperator and absorb his soulfire.
“The faeros have corrupted you, Rusa’h.”
Osira’h reached out to take her father’s hand. He felt her electric touch, armored with an invisible strength that she drew from her unique connection to Ildiran thism.
Nira held on to her treeling, hunched over to protect it from the searing heat that penetrated the faltering mental shield. With her other hand, Osira’h grasped her mother’s arm, connected through her, through the tree-ling. Suddenly the worldforest network was also drawn into this surge, the verdani mind and powers.
To strengthen themselves, the children joined themselves to their mother’s telink, just as the green priest Kolker had found a way to bind the worldforest network. They also found and touched the wentals, focused through the treelings that were enclosed in the living bubbles of water, further increasing their shield. Now Yazra’h and Prime Designate Daro’h united with Osira’h, her four siblings, Nira, and Jora’h in their connected circle. The Mage-Imperator felt a considerable strengthening of the protective barriers.
Designate Ridek’h also joined the group, strong and unafraid. The boy shouted against the crackling roar of fire, facing his nemesis again, “We will stand against the faeros and against you, Rusa’h. I am the Hyrillka Designate.”
“And I am the true Mage-Imperator.” Jora’h loomed larger as he faced off against the faeros incarnate. “The Ildiran people are mine to save — from you.”
“You are wrong, brother.” Responding to the faeros incarnate’s command, hundreds of surviving faeros came down in a sea of suns, as if all the stars in the sky had exploded at once. Under that thermal assault, despite the mental barricades and the safety net of strengthened thism, even with all the exotic allies that had come to fight at Ildira, the Mage-Imperator felt himself burning.
“I will not surrender to you!” When Jora’h’s eyes watered, the tears flashed into steam. The flames seemed infinite, pressing down from hundreds of fireballs overhead.
The Mage-Imperator clung to Osira’h and Nira, feeling their strength. At that instant, he understood: Like an unfathomable well in the depths of his spirit, the profound power of thism resided within him. He guided the Empire left to him by his father and a long succession of Mage-Imperators before him. And as the nexus of the Ildiran race, only he could draw upon the full power of thism.
In order to spark the creation of new faeros, the deluded Rusa’h had allowed the fireballs to incinerate whole populations, stealing soulfires from Hyrillka, Dzelluria, other splinter colonies in the Horizon Cluster, Tal O’nh’s septa of warliners, even Dobro where they had burned former Designate Udru’h. Jora’h could not allow it to continue.
Reaching out with his mind, he envisioned the lost populations, all the souls the faeros incarnate had taken — and demanded that their soulfires be freed. Though the bodies had long ago been turned to ash, the suffering Ildirans had been kept from reaching the Lightsource. Rusa’h had prevented them from escaping, but Jora’h would help them.
His mind reached into the soulfires held within the faeros clustering overhead and found the thism threads of each Ildiran they had taken. The fireballs flared and struggled, refusing to release their captives.
But Mage-Imperator Jora’h would not be denied. He tapped into the reservoir of power — the newly discovered facet of thism that was his alone to use, as the true Mage-Imperator — and simultaneously touched all Ildirans here and in every splinter colony, via every faint strand. Combining this control with the strength of the circle around him — Nira, her children, his own children, the verdani and wentals — he challenged the fireballs directly. And they could not hold on to the resistant, tormented voices within them.
The surviving faeros reeled even as they streaked down to protect Rusa’h in his battle. The Mage-Imperator looked up, his eyes dazzled by the waves of light and heat, and finally he succeeded in wresting the stolen souls from the blazing elementals.
Jora’h held the soul-threads in his mind, and to him it seemed as if the heart of the flames had been removed. With great caring, he guided the recovered souls higher, higher, until they reached the plane of the Lightsource. Jora’h released their soul-threads. And laughed in a burst of joy.
They were gone, free — leaving the newborn faeros weak and disconnected.
Elementally eviscerated, the new fireballs could not retain their integrity, and they sparkled off into bright, transient lights. The thunderheads of knotted fire overhead had broken up, scattering and fading.
The mad Designate let out a wordless roar, not of defeat but of defiance, and an invisible wind seemed to blast at him. Struggling against it, his face drawn into a grimace with the effort, he staggered two steps backward. The flames that comprised his body whipped and crackled. He clenched his glowing fists at his sides and raised them in the air.
And as he came toward Jora’h, the faeros incarnate obviously had nothing to lose.
155
King Peter
The mysterious withdrawal of the Klikiss swarmships seemed nothing short of a miracle. And now the Chairman was on his way here.
Peter had never relished the power for its own sake, but the throne was his again — by right. The people of Earth trusted him, and he had worked hard to become the leader they needed. Now that he was back in the Whisper Palace, Peter felt he finally belonged there.
The people deserved better than Basil Wenceslas.
OX had returned from the communications center with Patrick and Zhett, pleased that Freedom’s Sword was helping to spread the announcements about the changeover of power. The ever-swelling demonstrations had turned into celebrations, overwhelming any resistance. Most of the Hansa guards had quietly melted away from their posts, changing out of their uniforms before they could be targeted by the crowds.
No matter what he believed, Chairman Basil Wenceslas was no longer relevant to the government of humanity.
But there were still some holdouts. Peter tried to contact General Conrad Brindle, as did Admiral Willis and Robb Brindle, but the man refused to respond, refused to turn his loyalty from the EDF. The commander had always been skeptical of the Confederation, but now with most of his fleet destroyed by black robot sabotage, he had very few straws left to clutch.
The Teacher compy stood supportively beside the throne, and Deputy Cain waited with a very downcast Rory, who looked miserable despite Peter’s assurances.
“We’ve got a lot of work to do,” Peter said. “Call Admiral Willis and ask her to escort Queen Estarra to the Whisper Palace. Deputy Cain, I’d like you to work with Ambassador Sarein to effect the transfer of the Hansa government into the Confederation — you two have done well to get us this far. We’ve got to return to a steady course to reassure the people. I want to communicate that the worst is over.”
Cain nodded. “I would be honored. It’s time for a smooth transition.”
“And bring Trade Minister Kett here. She’ll enjoy being able to operate openly for a change. A lot of merchants will love to have open markets again.”
OX baldly stated the largest problem they would face. “I suggest that you order Chairman Wenceslas immediately detained. It would be best to eliminate any potential confusion.“
“The compy’s right,” Fitzpatrick said. “Even if he has no power, Wenceslas can be a pain in the ass.”
Suddenly, the dozen soldiers Willis had left as Peter’s personal guard raised their weapons at the doorway. Rory slumped down, as if trying to hide.
“I call for your arrest, Peter.” Chairman Basil Wenceslas pushed his way past the guards and entered t
he throne room, accompanied by five ruffled-looking members of the cleanup crew, whom he had freed from the temporary holding room where Admiral Willis had kept them. Colonel Andez was among them, once again sporting a sidearm. “Colonel, take him into custody.”
Andez, looking embarrassed at having been knocked out and disarmed, ordered her team forward. However, since she and her four companions were heavily outnumbered by the Confederation guards, Peter didn’t know what she expected to accomplish. His soldiers were ready to shoot to protect him, but he motioned for them to hold their fire. There was no need.
The Chairman strode forward, blind to all the weapons raised against him, and Peter leaned forward on the throne, unperturbed. “Are these all the supporters you have left on Earth, Basil? Five people?”
Basil blithely refused to see. “My forces are preoccupied with the madness you initiated in the streets while I was saving humanity from the Klikiss. I’ve alerted all the security troops in the Whisper Palace. More guards are coming down the halls. We will take care of everything here and now.”
Peter doubted the Chairman would find any support in the whole city, but Basil seemed convinced.
Acting on his own, Deputy Cain touched a security pad on the wall. Thick doors slammed down across the entrance arches with loud crashes of metal. Blast shields covered the small stained-glass windows, and heavy grates blocked access to the ventilation ducts. All weak areas, all vulnerable entry points were locked down. “I took the liberty of activating the security systems. The throne room is now secure.”
Peter nodded. Even if the Chairman did manage to rout out any loyal followers, they were now locked outside. Andez and her few companions looked uneasily at the Chairman, perhaps wondering if he could remedy their weak position.
Basil directed his building, frustrated anger at Rory, but when the young man flinched, he turned away in disgust.
Patrick Fitzpatrick made a rude noise. “I’m sorry Admiral Willis didn’t just blast your ship away. Isn’t that your approved method of problem solving, after all?”
“Maureen Fitzpatrick was executed for intent to commit treason.” Basil sounded dismissive, impatient.
“I can hear my grandmother’s ghost laughing at you,” Patrick snapped.
Finally, Basil skewered Deputy Cain with a glare, looking for someone to blame. “You allowed this to happen.”
“More precisely, sir, I arranged it. You gave me no choice.”
Peter did not budge from the ornate throne, looking coolly at the Chairman. “Basil, you are relieved of your duties as Chairman, and now you will officially resign.”
“I will do no such thing.”
“Once you resign,” Peter ignored the interruption, “the Terran Hanseatic League will be dissolved, and the Earth-based government will be included in the Confederation. Then we can begin the long process of repairing the damage you’ve done over the years.”
Though Basil was furious, his expression remained carefully neutral. He turned to Andez. “Colonel, I instructed you to arrest Peter. Drag him down from the throne by force, if necessary. Throw all of these people into the lower prison levels, where they will await courts-martial. I’m not inclined to be merciful.”
Unable to believe Basil’s blatantly irrational orders, considering the position he was in, Willis’s soldiers looked to Peter for guidance. “Hold!” he said. He could only hope that Andez and her guards weren’t mad enough to open fire.
Andez gestured helplessly at the standoff, and the weapons pointed toward them. She blinked. “Exactly how . . . are we to do that, Mr. Chairman?”
From where he stood beside the throne, OX said, as if giving a lecture to a novice prince candidate, “Basil, the conclusion is inescapable. It is only logical to admit defeat.” He added pointedly, “It would be the most efficient solution to this problem. As Chairman, you should appreciate that.”
Peter rose from the throne. “There’s nothing you can do. The whole population of Earth blames you, Basil, and you can’t use me — or Rory — as a scapegoat anymore. You’re done.”
The Chairman seemed pathologically unable to grasp that he no longer controlled the situation. He ripped the small personal communicator from his waist and activated a direct line to his EDF ships. “General Brindle, this is a direct order! Access the guillotine codes for the ships Admiral Willis took from the EDF and shut down the Confederation’s space navy. Hamstring them.”
After only a brief hesitation, barely a second longer than could be accounted for by the transmission lag, the EDF commander grudgingly acknowledged.
Peter felt more disappointed than angry. “Basil, this is pointless. Even if the General does as you say — ”
Basil stared directly at Peter as he continued speaking into the communicator. Now his smile seemed genuine. “And once those traitorous ships are helpless, General, bombard them with everything you have.”
156
Robb Brindle
Shizz, we’re dead in space!” Robb pounded his fist on the arm of his command chair and barked to his bridge crew, “Report — give me options.”
“It’s our guillotine code, sir,” said the helmsman, hammering at his console in frustration. “The EDF just triggered it. All Confederation ships have been nailed.”
“But how?” Estarra asked.
Robb’s muscles were tight with tension, and his head was beginning to ache. “A shutdown system built into all EDF capital ships, and the commander has the codes.”
“But these are Confederation ships now.”
Robb groaned. “Our codes should have been changed with a complete wipe and refit when the Admiral brought her ships to the Osquivel rings, but there was no time.”
“Bit of a tactical oversight, wasn’t it?” Rlinda Kett asked.
“We got a little distracted by General Lanyan’s attack,” Robb said. “Since then, there hasn’t been time to put our military ships in spacedock.”
“Too late now,” Sarein said. “What do we do?”
“We talk to General Brindle,” Estarra said. “Convince him not to make this worse.”
Robb shook his head, feeling incredibly weary. “You can argue logic all you want, but my father believes it’s his duty to follow the Chairman.”
Estarra pressed her lips together. “Well, I believe I outrank the Chairman.”
“He doesn’t accept the Confederation as a legitimate government,” Robb said.
Estarra glanced at her sister. “Sarein, you’re the Theron ambassador — that’s a title he should recognize.”
“And I’m his son,” Robb added. “But that won’t matter if the Chairman orders him to capture us.”
Sarein let out a cold laugh. “Capture? Trust me, Basil has something harsher in mind for us.”
Robb went to the comm station and tried to work the controls, to no avail. With the exception of life support, even the most basic systems were dead. “Doesn’t matter. We can’t transmit a message. We’re bound and gagged.”
Estarra’s eyes flashed as she stared at the darkened screen, as if willing it to display the threatening ships, the stars and planets. But it remained blank. The silence seemed more ominous than any overt threat.
Captain Kett came up beside the Queen, grinning.
“What is it?” Estarra asked. “If you have an idea — ”
“That guillotine code may have shut down all of your fancy EDF systems, but it couldn’t do a damned thing to the Blind Faith,” she said. She looked at Robb. “I assume your launching bays have manual backup systems for opening the space doors? Good. BeBob and I can take you right in front of the Goliath, up close and personal. We’ll get the message across.”
Estarra smiled. “Then we’d better make it convincing.”
157
Jess Tamblyn
As Jess and Cesca raced down to the surface, the fiery elementals that gathered over the ruins of Mijistra seemed weak, desperate, disorganized. As their wental ship bulldozed through the scattering fireba
lls, they both could see through the flames to the flashing conflict on the ground, where the Mage-Imperator and a group of Ildirans faced a fiery man.
“Rusa’h is like us.” Jess increased their speed. “We’ve got to stop him.”
“No, not like us. The faeros burned away the soul of the person he once was,” Cesca said. “The wentals in us may always set us apart from other humans, but we’re still who we were inside.”
Jess brought the water-globule ship down fast, like the first heavy drop before a drenching downpour. As the liquid bubble touched the ground near the embattled Ildirans, the surface tension dissolved, like a burst water balloon, and its wental contents flooded out. He and Cesca stepped away from the soupy mud at their feet.
The Mage-Imperator and his companions had begun to succumb to the battering heat. “You are cut off from the thism, Rusa’h,” shouted the Mage-Imperator. “I will not allow your faeros to prey upon my people again.”
In the sky, most of the fiery shapes had flown away, leaving Rusa’h alone. But he was not weak.
Jess and Cesca approached the faeros incarnate, their bodies covered with a glistening film of water, and Rusa’h sensed their power. When he turned, his body seemed to swell, and his face showed an incredible struggle taking place within him.
“This is my Empire!” Like a wildfire let loose, Rusa’h hurled gouts of flame from his hands.
Jess intercepted the inferno, deflecting it from the weary Ildirans. Cesca joined her power to his; they had to extinguish this spark that spread destructive fire, consuming ships and cities and planets and people. They had to control the flames and stop the faeros from burning all the worlds in the Spiral Arm.
Showing no restraint, Rusa’h unleashed his furious strength, making Jess and Cesca stagger backward. The hard ground around them began to melt.
The Ashes of Worlds Page 51
