by Matt Russell
Livia’s mind drifted back to the moment, years ago, when she had encountered Prince Arkas. He had attacked her with the very power she now possessed, but the instant it had come into contact with her, there had been a furious reaction. The magic had recoiled back at him and shattered his hand. It must have been trying to return to its true host. Livia could not help but smile as she considered this, yet the memory led to other far more troubling places.
Arkas had believed Iona to be a 'weapon.' How absurd a coincidence had it been that, of all people in the vast Denigoth Empire, Livia was the one he found standing next to Iona? Had he been tricked? Had the stolen magic inside him somehow manipulated him into coming into contact with Livia to get back to her? Perhaps, and yet Arkas had been confident enough of what Iona was to abscond with her. What did all of it mean? Even as a full starborn, Livia could not see the answer. There were forces at play that she did not yet understand.
"Are we going somewhere?" Soulic yawned. "If you wouldn't mind, I would prefer to travel by wagon for the first leg of our journey. I can sleep in the back."
Livia thought for a brief moment, and then took out a new piece of paper from her desk, flattened it next to the note from her brother, and wrote for several minutes. She decided that if Cassian trusted this man, then she should share the details of Iona's capture and who was holding her—things she had not even shared with Hervin. Her note touched carefully on her encounter with Arkas and then moved to the stories gleaned from the Cassianites over the months. She included the murderous ogre-like creature that was most likely Iona's guard and all she knew about the mountain range where they both allegedly were. There was a strange relief in writing it all out to share with someone else after keeping it to herself for so long.
Livia eventually handed the paper to this Soulic, and he took it in a smooth gesture and held it up in front of his face, muttering: "Cassian said you would be talking like this." She watched his eyes move and was fascinated by the way that, unlike seemingly everyone else in the city, she could still decipher nothing in his thoughts. Yet she did sense something when his eyes narrowed on a certain section of the page –anger. The emotion rippled his mental barrier, and as it did, his power flared. It was so sudden and so fierce that Livia flinched. He had magic, but not like her own—so much more… wild. For a brief second, she saw a fierce orange silhouette of a forest cat in her mind's eye. It enveloped Soulic's body. It was him!
The Sansrit warrior’s dark eyes shifted to hers, and they seemed to hold awareness of what she perceived. As if to give an answer to it, he said: "I have a particular… intolerance for men who mistreat women. I confess I would not at all mind opening this creature's neck for you."
"Creature?" Hervin said, and Livia felt a swell of confusion in her poor father. She had almost forgotten he was there.
"You don't know?" Soulic said, and before she could do anything to stop him, he sighed: "Some ogre-like-thing has your Iona."
Livia's irritation erupted, and without consciously meaning to she sent an invisible tendril of magic outward to the chair upon which Soulic sat. The legs ripped to splinters in an instant, and the seat clattered down to the floor, but Soulic did not. He reacted instantly, his legs shifting to accommodate the loss of his support so smoothly that his upper half scarcely seemed to move.
"Quick temper, eh?" he chuckled, staring at her. "He had a right to know. It’s his daughter."
"Ah," Soulic grunted with a nod, "now you're starting to sound like a starborn." He turned to Hervin and said: "Don't worry about it too much. Your daughter is powerful as hell, and as for me," his hand dropped to the hilt of his sword. The blade snapped out of its scabbard and extended forward in a blur of motion faster than Livia would have believed anything in the world could move. In the same instant, there was a sharp 'THK' sound from behind, and she turned reflexively to see a dagger buried up to the handle in one of the beams to her house. Soulic had thrown it without her even seeing! With a smirk, the Sansrit warrior said: "I'm not entirely useless in a fight myself."
"I... s-see," Hervin muttered.
Soulic turned to Livia. "We could hire mercenaries, or maybe even conscript soldiers from the Imperium, but if we go in loud, it may get your sister killed,” his brow furrowed, “or we could end up with a damn hostage standoff.”
“Hostage standoff?” Hervin whispered, his face going pale.
Soulic went on as if the conversation were entirely casual: “If it's just one or two people holding her—even if one of those people is a monster—I think you and I should go in alone. Actually, maybe just me with you in reserve. Stealth is one of my specialties." He moved to the wall and pulled his dagger from the wood and placed it neatly back into the sheath at his belt.
Livia frowned at the man. She was intensely irritated he was upsetting Hervin, yet it was somewhat relieving to hear him speak competently about Iona's rescue. For all her power, Livia had no combat experience whatsoever. It was good to have someone who did, and she could imagine the skills he had just displayed being quite useful.
"I... I prefer you go in ahead as well," Hervin said.
"There," Soulic said with an exaggerated gesture toward Hervin, "your father has spoken." A wry grin touched his face as he added: "You wrote this in the Vengal region, no? We'll free your sister inside of a week, I'm sure of it!"
Livia's frustration involuntarily softened. There was something vaguely charming about Soulic, vexing as he was. Still, these were her last moments with Hervin before she set out, so she decided to put her temporary new servant to work if only to get him out of the house. She walked back to her desk and retrieved yet another piece of paper, then wrote:
A cart will be fine. Please go and purchase one for the journey. Do not spend more than one hundred desseks.
Livia walked the note over to Soulic, and he took it and began to read. After a few heartbeats, he looked up and shrugged. "Alright. A hundred desseks. Bet I can do it for fifty." He rose from his chair and turned to Hervin. "It was a pleasure... uh... your name is Hervy Sondal, no?"
"Hervin," said Hervin, swallowing.
"Of course," Soulic sighed, and he turned toward the door. When his hand touched the latch though, he glanced back over his shoulder at Livia. "I really have to say, I envy your position. All of a sudden, you find out that you're a starborn of all things, and your brother is the Crown Prince of Denigoth. I mean, I know we have to go to some trouble to help your little sister, but, other than that, your life is going quite well, no?"
Livia’s mouth twitched into an uncontrolled smile. Yes, things were going well. Surely Cassian could talk the emperor out of doing her harm.
After Soulic left, Livia walked over to the wall panel where she kept her secret desseks hidden away. A memory flashed of Lady Gretis holding out the bag of golden coins. That kind woman told her she could rise above her slave status. If only she could see Livia now. Perhaps there would be time to seek out this Gretis. She was a Sansrit master, like Soulic. Maybe they even knew one another.
Livia opened the concealed panel and drew out the clinking sack inside, which she carried over to the breakfast table. Hervin was still sitting there, running all the bewildering information he had just acquired through his mind, she sensed.
"You'll be careful, won't you?" he said, and then he fidgeted in his seat and muttered: "Perhaps I should go with you. Iona is my daughter, after all."
Livia smiled at him and shook her head. Then she set the purse down on the table, untied it, and retrieved a handful of the silver and gold coins and held them out to Hervin.
"What?" he said, looking confused.
Livia nodded and held the coins still closer. Hervin hesitantly held out his hands, and she dropped the money into them. Doing a quick count, Livia estimated the amount to be roughly four hundred and fifty desseks. This was a more than adeq
uate amount. She tightened the pouch back up and then took the paper Soulic had left on the table, snatched her pencil from her pocket once more, and wrote on the back:
Buy yourself a handsome new cloak and suit and boots, as well as the best horse you can find. Do this before you put the shop up for sale.
When she handed him the note, he looked over it, then said: "A-alright... if you insist." He eyed the coin purse and said: "Wherever did you get all that money, if I may ask." There was no accusation in his voice, only bewilderment.
Livia shrugged and winked at him, and then tapped the note she had written, emphasizing what she wished him to do. An expensive set of new clothes and a beautiful horse would subtly convey that Hervin was not desperate to sell the shop but was comfortable and had no need to accept the first offer. Moreover, she simply wanted to give him something.
Livia rose then, tucking away her money and writing implements in the pockets of her dress. She would also need new clothing. The thought of donning a beautiful dress excited her. What was Cassian Asango's favorite color? Livia chuckled to herself at her girlish thoughts. There was an exhilarating excitement to all that lay ahead. Her life would soon be filled with riches and adventure. Only five points of the star were chosen in all the world when the comet came, and she was one of them! That had to mean that her life was worth something—that she was of value to the human race and to history. Such a notion would have seemed impossible only a short time ago, but already those days were beginning to feel like another life. Aside from the hopefully brief predicament of Iona's imprisonment, what in the world could go wrong for her now?
Chapter 45:
The Psychic Plane
Tacitus lay back upon the silk sheets of his supple feather mattress, still fully clothed in his imperial robes. It was late into the night, and most of the palace was asleep. The metal-masked faces of his craith reflected the soft candlelight in the room as they stood like statues around the bed. Tacitus shut his eyes and sank into concentration, letting his hands fall down to his sides. He was still feeling tense. The psychic plane abhorred inner turmoil, but then he was the oldest and strongest human telepath in the world, and the way was well known to him. Within a few moments, his consciousness was gliding through the dark and beautiful ether of the mental universe.
There were hundreds of thousands of minds around him. They shined and flickered in brilliant white like stars. Some were larger and brighter than others. The mental sphere of Cassian Asango, he knew, burned more fiercely than any other mortal's save his own. Because of this, the boy’s was the easiest to find in the psychic plane. He could feel it always—the one with the greatest potential. It was surprisingly close. Asango had not fled Denigoth then… Tacitus had expected to traverse the psychic plane for hours to find his defiant little opponent, but it took less than thirty minutes of whisking through the lesser telepaths of Denigoth before he came to the crackling orb that was Cassian’s mind. It floated in the darkness, a sphere the size of a castle.
the boy's mind answered immediately in a cold whisper. Perhaps he had been anticipating this meeting, not that it mattered. The young prince was no match for him.
Tacitus put his hands against the side of the tremendous orb and felt himself vanish and reappear inside at the speed of thought. He was shocked at what a simple matter it was—no defense at all—but then Cassian had been severely injured in their battle. This would, of course, impair his ability to concentrate.
Inside the sphere were dark, curving, reflective walls and a smooth floor that appeared to be a giant cornerstone board. There was nothing else—no abhorrent memories or stray whispers of thought. The boy's inner psychic world was clean and ordered, except... Tacitus gazed around and suddenly saw Cassian crouched down in the darkness, shirtless and trembling. There were streaks of horribly burned skin on his shoulders, arms, and chest. The boy’s face seemed to have survived the ordeal save that his scalp was now shaven to stubble—likely it had been cut because so much of his sandy blond hair had been burned in the fight.
A vicious smile crossed the boy’s face. He let out a hissing, full-throated laugh.
The Emperor bristled, glaring down, and Cassian stared back, cackling even harder. The little bastard! A rage came over Tacitus. There was no magic on the mental plane, yet he had learned over the years to bend and manipulate many of its aspects to his will. He held out his hand and pooled a portion of the mental ether into a long, smooth staff, which congealed and solidified between his fingers. Then Tacitus swung the weapon with all his might and struck Cassian across his impudent face.
Tacitus bashed the little fool in the face, screaming in rage, and then lifted his weapon and brought it down again, over and over until all life seemed to have gone out of the defiant green eyes, and he stood glaring over a bloody corpse.
The Emperor turned to the disfigured creature he had been beating, but there was nothing there. He noticed as well that the weapon had vanished from his hands. When he turned back to Cassian, the boy was holding the staff in front of him, seeming to inspect it.
Tacitus forced himself not to show irritation. This younger starborn would not take control of this encounter.
The Emperor smirked. He took a step toward the boy.
The boy stared into his eyes for a long moment, seeming to study him, and then said:
Cassian gazed down at the reflective floor beneath him and said softly: He lifted his gaze and said:
Hatred rose in Tacitus’s stomach. This child was daring to judge him—he who had saved the world!
