Chapter Five

Aurann

The Citadel of Duke Respen

The blazing sun shone down over the baked salt flats of Aurann, leaving shimmering waves of heat to rise from the cracked ground like the spirits of the dead. Orbiting close to its star, the planet was mostly desert and singularly inhospitable to human life, but it had rich deposits of metals that had long ago made it attractive to colonists from the Empire. After the Dozen Stars declared its independence, control of the planet and its resources had passed from Imperial procurators to the noble house that shared its name, but the shape of society was much the same – harsh, rigidly ordered, mistrustful of outsiders, and strictly militarized. Aurann’s resources were useful in creating weapons; its harsh environment provided a training ground for warriors.

The planet’s capital was known simply as the Citadel, a sprawling fortress that towered above the surrounding landscape like an ever-watchful sentinel. Gleaming silver and roughly pyramidal in shape, it was, in essence, an entire city contained within a single complex. The lower levels were occupied by miners and common soldiers, the middle by officers and foremen, and at the very peak was the palace of the ducal family headed, for the moment, by the ambitious Respen ast Aurann.

Darius ast Sakran stood at the window in a meeting room high in the Citadel, looking out over the lower levels and the desert that stretched out beyond, a largely untouched glass of wine in one hand. It was an impressive sight, he had to admit – both the desolate grandeur of the landscape and the hard lines and shining finish of the Citadel itself. And yet he also found it repellant – there was something sterile about the whole construction, something devoid of human warmth and feeling. It remained him too much, perhaps, of its master, a man whose ambitions, in Darius’s opinion, outstripped his skill and who cared more for victory than for what happened to those who got in his way.

“Credit for your thoughts, brother mine,” a lightly teasing voice said, and Darius turned from the window to see his sister, Tariti, walk up beside him. Like Darius himself, she was dressed in the red-and-gold uniform of a knight of Sakran and wore a dueling sword at her hip; their younger brother Galen, who leaned against the wall on the room’s other side, was similarly attired. Darius and Tariti weren’t twins – a year of age separated them – but they’d often been mistaken for such, and they were as close as twins. There was little that he didn’t feel comfortable sharing with her, but today, in this company, he found himself unwilling to speak his mind.

“Just wondering about them,” he said, nodding towards the room’s other occupants. “And how much longer it will take before they have everything ready.”

“These things do take time, Darius,” Tariti said. “Not everything can be solved by a smile and a flourish of your sword.”

“If only life were that simple,” Darius said, sighing. He turned away from the window completely and turned to look at the center of the room. A low table stood there, above which hovered a holo image of plans for warships. Clustered around it were low chairs, upon which there sat three dukes, apparently deep in thought. Darius’s father was frowning, tapping his fingers on the head of his cane as he was prone to do when contemplating an important manner; Sateira, across from him, was reclining back in her chair and balancing a wineglass in one hand with an air of feigned nonchalance.

On the far side of the table sat their host, the flickering lights of the holodisplay reflecting on his face, giving him a strange and ominous look. Respen’s lips were thin but his eyes were bright and intense, burning with a desire for that which he thought was rightfully his. Darius barely managed to conceal his disdain for the man. He’d heard that Duke Respen was considered a fine swordsman, and a part of him wanted to put his skills to the test, but he also knew that challenging one of his father’s political allies to a duel would be less than prudent, so he was left unable to act on that desire.

Several guards in the livery of Houses ast Aurann and ast Tashir – no doubt relatives of Respen or Sateira – stood around the edges of the room, acting, as Darius and his siblings were, as guards for the three dukes as they plotted rebellion against the crown.

“Well, my friends,” Respen finally asked. “What do you think?”

“Bold, Respen,” Naudar said. “Perhaps too bold. But should it succeed, the benefits would be enormous.”

“None of us wants a protracted war,” Sateira said. “That would only leave the Dozen Stars vulnerable to its enemies. At the same time, a quick coup isn’t feasible – not with Carann still on high alert after the tournament. We don’t have the strength to take the capital.”

“We don’t need to, fortunately,” Respen said. “If we can draw the crown’s forces into our jaws, we can trap them and destroy the girl’s ability to wage war. Then, with the Kingdom decapitated, we can present a united front to the surviving members of the council and force them to acknowledge my claim to the throne. All it will take is one battle, and the Dozen Stars will be mine.”

“Will be ours, Respen,” Naudar said softly. “You may have the closest family ties to the throne, but Sateira and I are your allies, not your servants. You would do well to remember that fact.”

“Of course,” Respen said, his tone sullen. “Sateira,” he continued, changing the subject. “Is your part of the plan proceeding?”

“Of course, my dear duke,” she said, smiling coolly. “My contacts have been reached and the appropriate bribes have changed hands. Madran and his compatriots stand ready to assist us when the time comes. Hopefully, the girl will play her part as scripted.” She suddenly looked directly at Darius. “You fought her at the tournament. What would be your assessment of her character?”

“You’re asking me, your grace?” Darius asked, then flushed as Sateira rolled her eyes dramatically. “Very well. I didn’t speak with her much, but I’d say she is much as she appears – young, earnest, brave. I confess I liked her, and I’m disappointed that circumstances demanded we be enemies.”

“Speak for yourself, brother,” Galen muttered; he still hadn’t forgiven Artakane for defeating him at the tournament. Darius shot his brother a dark look, and he subsided.

Sateira, however, smiled. “So we have an idealistic young woman, no doubt raised on stories of honor and nobility and how knights are supposed to protect the innocent, dreaming of playing the avenging angel and not yet mature enough to balance it out with pragmatism, suddenly finding herself in a position of far greater responsibility than she could imagine? Yes, I think the trap will work nicely – so long as the former regent doesn’t restrain her, of course.”

Naudar snorted. “Mardoban is a wily old lion when he’s at his best, but he’s got a romantic streak a mile wide that will be his undoing. Trust me on this – he’ll be right there with her.”

“It may not be necessary,” Respen said slowly. “I’ve taken steps to… remove the girl as a factor. If they come to fruition, I’ve no doubt Mardoban will be hurrying headlong to avenge her, and he’ll be easy prey for us.”

“Respen,” Sateira said slowly, “what did you do?”

“We want the girl dead, don’t we?” Respen asked. “I intend to see her dead, and a decapitated Kingdom will fall before our combined forces much more easily. I’ve dispatched assassins to Carann; they should reach the planet any day now, and darling Artakane won’t have long to live afterwards.”

Darius had rarely seen his father lose his temper, but Naudar was on the verge of it now. “I don’t give a damn whether Artakane lives or dies,” he growled. “I do care that you went behind our backs. We can’t back out now, but your assassins will serve as a warning to the crown. They’ll be ready for us, you fool. You could cost us the war!”

“Only if I fail, Naudar,” Respen said. “And I don’t intend to. Now, as for the disposition of our forces…”

///

The planet Nyx hung at the edge of its system, so far from its sun that from its surface it barely appeared brighter than any other star. It was unsurprising that the planet itself would be a cold and barren place, but contrary to what might also be assumed, it was far from lifeless. Strange cities dotted its surface, their architecture beautiful and elaborate but betraying a nonhuman aesthetic that could be unsettling and bewildering to the eye. And there were other things that lurked there too, beneath the surface, waiting. It was a place of secrets and of mysteries – and of power.

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Midaia’s black yacht seemed quite at home hear as a flew through Nyx’s gloomy atmosphere, angling for a landing at the largest of the cities. She sat in the cockpit, watching the alien landscape flashing below her with her hands folded under her chin, remembering how it was she had first come here more than ten years ago. It had been after she’d been cast out from the convent by the Holy Sisters; she had chafed at the slow pace of their instruction, determined to push her Adept’s gifts as far as they could go, and when the instruction grew too tedious, she’d stolen texts describing advanced practices from the convent library. An attempt to perform one of those practices in the privacy of her dormitory had left Midaia’s roommate dead and the pigment leeched from her own skin; the death had been judged an accident, but she had still been punished for her recklessness. Queen’s daughter or no, she’d been cast from the convent and excommunicated from the Church, and the Mother Superior had sent out word that no Holy Sister was to have any association with her or to train her in the Adept’s arts, on pain of suffering excommunication themselves.

But the Sisters, despite what the Church might claim, were far from the only ones who could train an Adept; adrift and alone, Midaia had been found by the denizens of Nyx, who had brought her to their world and shown her secrets that few human beings had ever seen before. All they asked in return was that, from time to time, she be willing to perform favors on their behalf. It had seemed a small price to pay at the time.

The yacht slowly came to rest on a flat stone platform before the great pyramid that stood at the heart of the city, and Midaia stirred herself from her reflections. Slowly she stood, wrapping her dark cloak around her like a shield, and then turned and descended the docking ramp, stepping out onto Nyx’s surface. A wind blew past her as she set foot on the hard ground; it left her chilled but didn’t feel nearly as cold as it should have. But then, many things about this planet didn’t obey the rules of the universe as most understood them; that was something Midaia had learned long ago.

She stepped out from underneath her ship and faced the pyramid; as she expected, a figure waited for her there. Like her, it was dressed in a concealing black cloak, though it seemed to float slightly off the ground and nothing could be discerned of its features save for the pair of white, lamp-like eyes that glowed where a face should be. “You are expected,” the creature said, its voice smooth and almost musical, and neither fully male nor female.

“Well, I was summoned here, wasn’t I?” Midaia asked sardonically. “It would be rather unfortunate if your superiors called me here and then never expected me to show up.” If the creature had any reaction to her comment, it didn’t show it, and Midaia finally sighed. “Lead me on, then,” she said.

The cloaked creature turned and began to drift towards the pyramid, the human woman following it close behind beneath the dark, star-flecked sky. At the pyramid’s base there was a great arched doorway, and the two companions passed inside. The corridors within were hewn of black basalt and appeared dull and lifeless, but Midaia knew that it was only her limited vision that made them appear so – in the ultraviolent spectrum, they were decorated with elaborate swirling patterns that glowed with colors the human mind wasn’t designed to comprehend. There was something telling in that, Midaia thought. A reminder that there was so much to the cosmos that her kind didn’t see, either because they couldn’t, or because they could, but didn’t take the time to look. But she prided herself on seeing farther and deeper than most.

At last they emerged into a great domed chamber lined with tiers of seats. Only a handful of them were occupied, all with creatures similar to Midaia’s escort, which now drifted over to one of the walls. In all the time she spent here, she’d never seen enough of the beings around to fill even a tenth of one of Nyx’s cities, and there were times when she wondered if they’d been more populous at one time, or had simply moved in and taken over the words of some other, long vanished race. Now she walked to the center of the room and turned to look up at her hosts, casting back her hood; the creatures did the same, revealing pale, blue-tinged faces that seemed to faintly glow, their features beautiful and androgynous.

The creatures were ancient, one of the oldest intelligent races to still walk the galaxy. What their name for themselves was, Midaia had never been told, though she knew that they had many others that had been given to them by ancient humans when they’d visited Terra during the dawn of her own species – Fair Folk, Jinn, Alfar, and more besides. Midaia thought of them as Neraida, after an old word from an archaic form of the Dozen Stars’ language, and the beings themselves didn’t seem to mind. So far as she knew, they built no nations, ruled no planets other than this, and sought no power – they cared only for broadening their knowledge of the currents of the universe, and serving that which they called Doom, the inexorable flow of events that must be. Human legends recalled them as capricious, even cruel, for they cared nothing for morality in the pursuit of this abstract ideal. But they were Adepts one and all, among the most subtle and skilled that existed, and they possessed great knowledge of past and future – knowledge that was no doubt enhanced by the fact that they resided on a planet that existed, somehow, partially in the psychic plane as much as the material universe. To have access to those secrets, the outcast princess of the Dozen Stars would tolerate all manner of eccentricities.

“As I am summoned, I have come,” Midaia said. “As one who was once a student, I return to the call of my instructors, to learn once more. Tell me – why have you called?”

There was a rustle of sound among the Neraida, and then one spoke – even after all her years with them, Midaia had never learned to tell them apart or what their individual names for themselves were, but what one knew, they all seemed to know. “The tides of fate are moving, child,” the creature said, its voice soft and soothing, but also containing a power that could not be denied. “The galaxy approaches a turning point that will shape the Doom of your race. We call upon you now to take action.”

“Of course,” Midaia murmured. Three times since she’d left here to walk her own path the ancient beings had called her into their service, asking small things of her that – they claimed – would shape the tide of fate in the direction they desired, though it was difficult to see how. Midaia somehow doubted whatever they were asking of her now would be so easy. “How may I serve you, Ancient Ones?”

“There is a hand that moves against you,” another of the Neraida said. “Of one who has foreseen Doom yet strives to prevent it. This must not be.”

“It must not,” the other creatures repeated in unison, their voices like the sigh of a soft wind through the dark chamber; despite herself, Midaia shivered.

“Your sister sits the throne of your ancestors,” another Neraida continued. “But there are those who seek her end. She must live, for there are things that she is Doomed to do, but to preserve her life is not your calling. Another of our disciples has taken this matter into hand, and there is one she has trained her whole life for what is to come.”

“Do not be deceived by the foes you see before you,” said another voice. “They are not your true enemies. There are shadows behind shadows behind shadows at work in this galaxy; you must seek the deepest shade. The old one can help you, though he will not wish to. His actions long ago haunt him still.”

“Shiran,” Midaia muttered. “So, you do know what’s going on here after all. I thought as much. Is this your secret shame, then, the one you’d never give me a straight answer on? Oh, yes, we’re going to have a long talk when this is through.”

“Your enemy is mighty,” the first Neraida continued. “Mightier than even you, young one. You have met him already, though you haven’t seen his face.”

“Yes,” Midaia whispered, remembering the terrible mind she had encountered before receiving the summons to Nyx. As she had suspected, it was all connected, though she still couldn’t see the full shape of it. “Tell me, wise ones – I’ve been seeking the origins of the one called the Commander. Will this lead me to my true enemy?”

“Yes,” a voice whispered. “And no. It will tell you who, but not what or why. You must answer all three questions and then place your knowledge at the feet of the Queen. Only then may Doom take its proper course. Seek the old one. Seek the hidden one. Seek the dead. They hold the answers you seek.”

“But beware, Midaia ast Carann,” another voice put in. “For should you fail or should you die – and we have seen that this might yet come to pass – then shall all that you love pass, and all that your ancestors have built shall pass, and in the end all that your race is or may be shall pass far sooner than the appointed time. The galaxy stands upon the edge of the sword’s blade. Should it fall to one side or the other, all shall be lost.”

The Neraida were not human, and they didn’t have human priorities – Midaia had learned that long ago. They cared nothing for the deaths of countless innocents, not if they’d determined those people’s deaths fit into the framework of the Doom, and by the same token they could treat events that a human would considered trivial as disasters, so long as those were unforeseen. But their tone now – whatever it was they had seen, it seemed as if it was terrible by any standards. Not that she would get any clearer answer from them – the Neraida were nothing if not cryptic and melodramatic. A trait, she thought ruefully, she may well have picked up herself from spending so long in their company.

“Very well,” she said aloud. “I will accept your task. I will seek the old one and the hidden one and the dead, and I will learn what they know of my enemy, and I will bring that information to my sister. Does that satisfy you?”

There was a rustling of cloth in the seats, and the ancient beings nodded their heads in acknowledgment. Midaia bowed her head in reply, and when she lifted it, the Neraida were gone.

“Figures,” she muttered, and turned to leave the chamber herself, thoughts of her task swimming in her mind. The old one, she had no doubt, was Shiran – he was known to the Neraida and that was the name they always called him, but Midaia had no idea where he was now. The dead… there were so many dead involved in this affair already, and she didn’t know which her patrons might be referring to. The hidden one, though – that was a hint she had a fair idea how to answer.

A short time later, a black yacht lifted into Nyx’s dark sky, preparing to leave for Tantos Station.