Chapter Twenty-Nine

Deep Space

Pakorus found Midaia in Sister Night’s cockpit, slumped in her chair; her always-pale face was haggard, she had a cut on her cheek from where she’d been struck during the fight and her hair hung lank, but her eyes were still bright and alert. “How are you doing?” he asked her.

“I’m exhausted,” she said, and he could hear the weariness in her voice. “And we just barely escaped certain death, so there is that. But we’re not being pursued. Fighting like that takes a lot of effort, and it left me drained, but I’ll recover.”

“This might help,” Pakorus said, and held out one of the cups of kaf he’d brought; Midaia’s eyes brightened at the sight, and she took the cup and then drank several deep gulps, ignoring how hot the drink was. Finally, she sat back and sighed.

“Much better,” she said. “That was some quick thinking back there, shooting the pipe. And you keep your head under fire better than most. I’m impressed. You may make a fighter yet.”

Pakorus shook his head. “I think I’ve had enough excitement for one lifetime. Right now, I just want to get back to Carann, tell Arta all about what we’ve found, and then stay there, forever.” He sipped from his own cup in silence for several moments, then raised his eyes back to Midaia. “Who was that man, anyway? You almost sounded like you knew each other.”

“By reputation only,” Midaia said, making a face. “And obviously that reputation was accurate – if anything, it undersold him. That was Al’Aymar Alaen, called the Prince of Night – among other, less kind names – one of the most dangerous Adepts alive.”

Pakorus frowned. “That sounds like an Alaelam name,” he said. “But I can’t imagine why an Alaelam Adept would help the Empire. The Alliance and the Empire have been at war on and off for centuries.”

“It’s an Alaelam title, actually,” Midaia said. “All Alealam clerics of a certain rank take titles to replace their birth names. It’s supposed to represent their advancement towards enlightenment. I don’t know the details of Alaen’s history; news from the Alliance is hard to come by in our Kingdom. But I know the gist; he was once a member of the Conclave of Disciples, one of the spiritual and political leaders of the Alaelam – what we would call a priest-king in our language. He had a falling-out with the Conclave though, decades ago. Word is that he came to believe that Adepts were a superior breed of human, inherently closer to the One – that’s what the Alaelam call the Lord – and therefore to enlightenment and deserved to rule over everyone else. The rest of the Conclave disapproved and censured him, so he launched a coup against them. It failed, and he and his surviving students were forced to flee.

“Not much was heard of him for several years after that, until he showed up at the Imperial Court and begged an audience. What passed between Alaen and the Emperor is, of course, deeply classified, but apparently, they worked out a deal, because Al’Aymar Alaen has been Verus Licinius’s quiet partner – and personal Adept hatchet man – ever since.” Midaia shook her head. “How appropriate that you were the one who got the better of him. An Adept who considers our kind superior, defeated by a boy with a gun and a good idea. He must be raging about that.”

“You think he’s still alive?” Pakorus asked.

“Oh, undoubtedly,” Midaia said. “An Adept of Alaen’s talents isn’t killed so easily, I’m afraid. But I’m less worried about what he’ll do in the future than what his presence their meant. Alaen takes his orders only from the Emperor, from all I hear – and even then, he only obeys when he doesn’t consider the task beneath him. If he was there, at that base, at that time – well, all I can assume is that our little investigation had come to the attention of the highest levels of power. And that, I fear, means that the hands holding the Commander’s strings came straight from the top – from Licinius himself.” She regarded Pakorus intently, and her eyes were troubled. “We’re not just dealing with a conspiracy within the Empire, not anymore. The Empire itself is our enemy.”

She paused and drank some more kaf, seemingly lost in thought. “Something troubles me, though,” she said, half to herself. “When I began my search for the Commander’s origins, before you joined me, I tried to probe for knowledge on what we call the psychic plane, and there I was stymied by another Adept – a tremendously powerful one. I thought it might be Alaen. He is, after all, the most powerful and skilled of the Emperor’s Adept cabal. But when I encountered him at the base, I realized that it can’t have been. His touch felt different, and that other Adept was more powerful by far. Stronger than any I have ever encountered.” She frowned. “I’d wondered why Alaen would consent to bow down to a ruler with no Adept gifts, even grudgingly. You saw how he was; once he realized who I was, everyone else in the room might as well have not existed for him. Non-Adepts are less than nothing to him. So why agree to serve Licinius? To become the power behind the throne? Or perhaps something else… oh, Shiran, you and I are going to have words when I see you again.”

“I don’t understand,” Pakorus said. “Are you saying the Emperor is an Adept? And what does Shiran have to do with any of this?”

“At the moment, I only have guesses,” Midaia said. “Though my guesses are seldom wrong. And speaking of, I think it’s time we take a look and see exactly what we got, and if it’s something my sister can use.”

She carefully set her cup on the yacht’s dashboard and then drew her drive out of her robes and inserted it into a dataport. The nav computer’s screen flashed and then began to scroll past too fast for Pakorus to read; after several long minutes, it came to rest on a facsimile of an official looking document.

“Ah,” Midaia said. “Now this is interesting. Project Chimera, classified by order of His Imperial Majesty Verus Licinius, ships and armaments to prepared for covert squad, so on and so on, as approved by His Majesty’s designated representative…” her eyes widened, and her voice trailed off. “Well, now,” she said. “That’s very interesting.”

“What?” Pakorus asked, leaning in to read the name of the Imperial patrician who had approved the project as the Emperor’s agent, and when he saw it, his breath caught. It was a name he knew all too well; he’d been in a room with this man, running messages to him, too many times to count. “His Majesty’s designated representative Publius Vedrans Quarinis,” he read aloud.

“Quarinis himself,” Midaia said. “Of course, it was. The architect of my mother’s murder lived in her own house for years. And here I thought hospitality was valued in the empire.” She took the drive from the dataport and handed it to Pakorus. “You get your wish, Pakorus. We’re going back to Carann. From there, we can find out where Artakane is; if we’re lucky, she’ll be back there herself. Give that to her, personally. Don’t trust it to anyone else, not even your father.” She stared out the viewport into space, eyes hard. “I, meanwhile, am going to be having a long-overdue conversation with an old friend.”

///

In the lower levels of the Citadel, chaos reigned. A vast tide of humanity had risen from the underground mines and the ground-level factories and workshops and was now crashing against the forces of Duke Respen. They outnumbered the troopers many times over, for the military forces who remained on Aurann were spread too thin; the troopers had an advantage of weapons and armor, at least at first, but directed by Digran’s people, the rebels had broken into now-unsecured armories and taken beam rifles and dueling swords for themselves. They also now had an advantage of communication, for Digran had taken control of the primary computer hub, with Shiran’s help. Not only were the collars deactivated, but now Digran could observe the entirety of the Citadel and direct his people to key locations, while the troopers’ own communications had been shut down. The famed military of Aurann Duchy had one of its most important advantages stripped away, and now it was fracturing at the seams.

And that wasn’t the only problem facing Respen’s soldiers, for many of them had families among the rebels, and all had heard the messages from Digran and the Queen that had been broadcast throughout the entire Citadel. Some of them threw down their weapons and surrendered; others turned against their own commanders, so that now Aurann’s military was fighting itself as well as the uprising. Throughout the Citadel, the troopers found themselves besieged or cut off, and fell back.

///

Nobody paid much attention to Latharna, Karani and Arta as they hurried through the corridors of the upper tiers. Most of the soldiers and officers they passed were hurrying down to the lower levels to join the fighting there, while here and there altercations were breaking out between those loyal to the duke and those who’d decided to throw in with the rebellion. Amidst the chaos, three young women in the uniforms of rank-and-file soldiers apparently weren’t worth much attention. Finally, they reached a lift, which they were able to access without difficulty because of Shiran’s disabling of the security protocols and took it up to the Duke’s residential level.

Here, Latharna thought, they found what seemed more like what she would have expected for the residence of a tyrannical duke. Respen’s apartments were still severe in style, with art and decorations favoring military scenes – including a number of paintings and sculptures depicting Respen himself in heroic poses, standing above fallen enemies – but they were nonetheless far more lavish than anything else she’d seen in the Citadel so far. No one was around, save for the statues, in the corridor in which they’d found themselves, but Arta nodded silently and raised her hand. Latharna and Karani both drew their swords and followed slowly behind her, watching warily for enemies as they made their way towards the chambers where Shiran had indicated the Baron was being held.

“Nice,” Karani said at one point as they passed a painting in which a shirtless Respen held his sword high while planting his foot on the throat of a bestial humanoid Latharna recognized as a Csarag, the species of warlike alien who had invaded the Dozen Stars and been repulsed when Queen Aestera had been young. “Very tasteful. What sort of person would put something like that in their home, anyway?”

“Respen, clearly,” Arta said. “It’s not even accurate – Respen was a child when the Csarag War ended, and he never fought them. It’s just another monument to his ego. Now, keep your voice down. We’re not too far now, and there’re probably going to be guards. We can’t count on being lucky enough that they were all called away to fight.”

Karani nodded and fell silent. The three of them continued on and rounded a corner in the hallway, finding themselves in a sunny sitting room with a glass wall that let the light stream in and gave a view overlooking the desolate salt flats below them. But this room too was empty, and they passed through it and down another corridor. There, at the end, was a door that was richly appointed but also appeared to be heavily locked; seated at a small table in a niche in the hall were a half-dozen people in full armor; a set of playing cards and some mugs of kaf sat on the table, apparently hastily abandoned, while the guards themselves looked nervous and wary. They must have been playing, Latharna realized, and then gotten news of the revolt. They hadn’t left their post, though – a captive Baron must have been something they were unwilling to abandon and so risk their Duke’s wrath.

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“Knights of Aurann,” Arta whispered. “This isn’t going to be easy, ladies.” Latharna drew a breath and steeled herself as they approached; the knights’ gazes fell on them, and the one who appeared to be their leader, a hard-faced man, stood.

“What are you three doing up here?” he demanded, looking their uniforms up and down. “You should be below, fighting the insurgents. We need every fighter down there we can spare. Are you deserting? Lord, did you pick a bad place to run to.” His eyes narrowed. “Or are you rebels yourselves? If you are, then your luck just ran out, girl.”

“I am not a rebel, or a deserter,” Arta said, her voice imperious and cold. “My name is Artakane ast Carann, and I am your queen. I am here for the Baron Katanes, and you will release him to me. And if you do not release him, I will take him. Stand aside now, if you wish you wish to survive this.”

The lead knight looked stunned, and beside him one of his subordinates, a woman, looked uncertain. “You know, it does kind of look like her,” she said. “Sir, what should we do?”

The leader shook himself. “Even if you are Artakane, you were a fool to come here,” he said. “I’ll kill you myself, and His Grace will be pleased with that, even if the whole Citadel falls. And then when he comes back, he’ll bomb the whole city from orbit until its nothing but a smoking crater if he has to. You’ve lost.”

Arta smiled coldly. “Have I?” she asked. “Maybe Respen will be pleased with you if you kill me, but you forgot one thing – that first, you’ll have to kill me.” She raised her dueling sword and energy crackled down the blade.

“Take them!” the lead knight ordered, and his fellows jumped up behind him, drawing their own blades. The air crackled with the sound of live dueling swords, and Arta, Latharna and Karani fell in close to each other as the enemy advanced. Latharna found herself breathing heavily, dread mixing in her chest with the rising anticipation that always seemed to presage combat.

Then the lead knight raised his sword to attack Arta, and something in Latharna’s chest broke. She remembered the words of Shiran, about dedication so strong it could cause people to rise above their lower natures, of Kassandra ast Tashir’s book on courtly love and of devotion so strong it would endure even unto death, of the touch of Arta’s warm hand on her own – and then as the stroke fell, Latharna was there to block it.

What happened after that, she could never fully recall. In that moment of crystalized action, to which all her training, all her questioning and all her growing love seemed to have been leading her, Latharna Dhenloc vanished. She became the whirlwind, dueling three knights at once, their swords flashing and sparking but unable to land a single blow on her, for she was too fast for them, dodging their every strike. But they couldn’t evade her, her blade scoring blows upon their armor that left them damaged, sent them reeling back, unable to dodge or parry. Latharna was the whirlwind, and no mere mortal could withstand her.

She heard one of the knights give a strangled cry and fall to the ground, dimly aware that she’d cut his throat; he collapsed at lay still. The second, the woman who’d recognized Arta, stared in horror and then dropped her sword and fled, her battered armor hanging off her. That left the third, the leader, who regarded her with wide eyes but didn’t run. “What in hell are you?” he demanded.

“My name is Lady Latharna Dhenloc, knight of the realm and champion of the Queen,” Latharna heard her voice say as if from a distance. “And you should have surrendered when you had the chance.” The knight scowled and came on then; he was more skilled than the others, and he had an advantage on Latharna in terms of size and strength. She found herself unable to penetrate his guard, though he too was unable to land a blow on her. Behind her she was dimly aware of Arta and Karani also fighting, that Arta was facing two at once, and she scowled. She had to get to Arta’s side, and that meant she had to end this now.

Jumping back from the Aurannian knight, Latharna pushed herself off the wall with her feet and threw herself bodily at him. The knight’s eyes widened as she struck him full on and grabbing hold, she managed to swing herself up onto his shoulders and wrapped her legs around his neck. The knight gave a cry when he realized what was about to happen, but it was too late; she twisted sharply and there was a crack; the knight’s body collapsed to the ground. Latharna grabbed her sword where it had fallen and, paying him no mind, raced to her queen’s aid.

Arta’s eyes were glowing blue now, and she gathered energy into her free hand before slamming it into the face of one of the knights she was fighting; there was a brilliant flash of blue light and the knight was thrown back into the wall and slid down to the bottom; unconscious or dead, Latharna couldn’t hell. At the same moment, Karani drove her sword into the chest of the knight she was fighting, its energy crackling as it penetrated his armor. Arta’s final opponent stood alone now and seeing the defeat or flight of his companions dropped his sword and fell to his knees, hands in the air. Latharna snarled and rushed towards him, but Arta caught her wrist.

“Latharna, enough,” she said. “He’s surrendering.”

And so, he was, Latharna realized now as she looked at him; slowly, breathing deeply, she steadied herself. The whirlwind sank away, and she was Latharna Dhenloc again. Gazing around at the destruction she had wrought, and the defeated enemy she had almost killed, she found herself panting heavily, trying to reconstruct in her mind just what had happened. Finally, she turned to Arta. “Thank you,” she said, “for bringing me back.”

“I’ll always be there to catch you if you fall,” Arta said, smiling. For a single, wild, impulsive moment Latharna considered kissing her, but the she was interrupted by a loud cough.

“Excuse me,” Karani said, “but aren’t we here for something else?”

“Right,” Arta said, and turned to the knight who had surrendered. “If you would be so very kind as to open that door,” she told him. The knight nodded wordlessly and then hurried over to it and quickly entered a code; the door swung open.

Inside was a reasonably comfortable bedroom, thought its windows appeared to be reinforced – a room for holding important or noble prisoners that Duke Respen still wanted alive and unharmed, at least for the moment. The Baron ast Katanes was seated on the bed, looking haggard and somewhat worse for the wear, but otherwise unharmed. He looked up when the door opened, and his eyes widened when he saw his daughters. “What in the Lord’s name?” he asked, but then both Arta and Karani had rushed forward and hugged him.

“We came to rescue you,” Arta said, and there were tears in the corners of her eyes. “We hope you don’t mind.”

“Oh, Arta,” the Baron said, hugging her back, and then pulling Karani into his embrace as well. “I have no idea how you managed this, but I never in my wildest dreams expected it. I was sure Respen would kill me when he was through with me, and I never thought I’d see either of you, or Katanes, again.”

“We kind of overthrew Aurann on the way to see you,” Karani said. “That’s okay, isn’t it?”

The Baron threw back his head and laughed. From the doorway Latharna watched the reunion; she could feel the tears in her eyes and didn’t bother to wipe them away.

///

They returned to the control room unchallenged and found Shiran and Digran still at their seats, watching the events playing out lower in the Citadel. So far as Arta could see, the fighting largely seemed to have died down, though there were a few places where Respen’s troopers were still holding out; what looked like an impromptu celebration had broken out in the main hall, and on a plaza outside the main gates, a towering statue of Respen was being pulled down.

“Looks like you did it,” Arta said as she shook her head, impressed. “Congratulations… Your Grace.”

Digran barked a harsh laugh. “Hardly,” he said. “Frankly I feel like a coward, sitting up here safely while everyone else was fighting down below – but then, I guess none of this would have worked if Shiran and I hadn’t been up here taking down the collars and security and taking over the comm network. There’s still some fighting going on, but the holdouts are scattered, cut off from each other. And Shiava says that a lot of the troopers defected when they realized what was going on, or just threw down their weapons and refused to fight for either side. Guess not a lot of people thought Respen was worth dying for when he didn’t have his foot on their throat. For the most part, the Citadel is ours.” He turned in his chair and saw the Baron. “And I guess that’s your dad, isn’t it? Guess we all came out ahead today. Not something that happens a lot around here.”

“Varas ast Katanes,” the Baron said with a half bow. “And you, I assume, are Digran Tassis. My daughters tell me they’d never have gotten to me without your help. I am in your debt.”

“That so?” Digran asked, grinning. “Never had a Baron in my debt before.”

“So, what happens now?” Arta asked. “The Citadel isn’t the only city on Aurann; does Respen still have forces there?”

“There are other cities,” Digran said, “but not a whole lot. Aurann’s environment doesn’t support a very big population. And there’s definitely nothing on the scale of the Citadel.”

“More to the point,” Shiran broke in, “the collars and security systems there were all tied into this network – Respen wanted it all where he could control it with a press of a button. That means that from here, I was able to shut down the entire network across the whole planet. Respen’s own desire for control worked against him.”

“So everywhere else is about to have the same problems we are here,” Digran said. “If they’re not already. I’ve been able to use the comm network to get in touch with some other rebel leaders I know in other cities, and they’ve agreed to at least work together long enough to throw the last of Respen’s forces out. We haven’t won yet, princess, but we’re on our way.” He regarded Arta with hard eyes. “And don’t you dare forget your promise to me.”

“I won’t,” Arta said. “I swear it on the Lord’s name. But I have another battle to fight – against Respen himself, and Naudar and Sateira, at Tantos III. They all have to be defeated before the Kingdom can know peace.”

“Not sure how much I can help you there,” Digran said. “But whoever kills Respen has won a round of drinks on me; that’s something I can promise.”

“We’ll see about that,” Arta said, and stepped away to stand beside Karani.

“You know,” she whispered in Arta’s ear, “for a scruffy guy, he’s pretty easy on the eyes.”

“Karani!” Arta hissed back. “Not the time!”

“What?” Karani asked, nodding at Latharna. “You and Dhenloc were making moon eyes at each other earlier; can’t I at least appreciate a good-looking guy?”

“We were not making moon eyes,” Arta said; before she could go on, she was interrupted by a curse from Digran.

“We’ve got trouble, everyone,” he said; they hurried over to the screens and saw what he’d been referring to. Arta’s heart sank as she watched a massive Equestrian warship descend from orbit and come to hover directly before the Citadel; it must have been one of the ones they’d seen when they’d arrived on the planet.

“Guess someone must’ve got through and told them what was going on,” Karani said.

“Attention traitors,” a voice announced over the comm network; Arta had a feeling it could be heard throughout the Citadel. “This is Captain ast Myrtus of the Aurannian Navy, commanding Sun’s Fury on behalf of His Grace. You will disperse and return to your homes at once. The rebel leader Digran Tassis will turn himself over at once, as will the pretender Artakane if she is indeed on Aurann.”

“This is Digran Tassis,” Digran said, speaking into his microphone. “Free Aurann doesn’t take your orders, nor do we accept the authority of Mad Duke Respen. What are you going to do if we refuse?”

“Then you will suffer,” Captain ast Myrtus said. “I will burn the Citadel to the ground if need be to keep it from the hands of insurgents, and to take the life of the Pretender Queen; His Grace has authorized this if necessary. But I am not without restraint. Turn yourselves over to me, and your people will live. Fail to do so, and not one of them will be spared.”

“Those knights we fought said that Respen would bomb the Citadel to ashes if he needed to,” Latharna said, her voice shaking. “I guess they’re just starting without him.” In his chair, Digran looked pale and clenched his fists tightly.

“You have five minutes to announce your surrender,” ast Myrtus continued. “Should you resist, or attempt to escape the Citadel in that time, we will begin the bombardment. Your time begins now…”

The captain’s voice cut off; the sounds of a scuffle echoed over the comm; Arta’s breath caught in her throat as she wondered what this meant. Finally, a new voice – younger, female – came over the comm.

“This is Lieutenant Pythea,” the woman said. “Captain ast Myrtus, we regret to inform you, is currently indisposed. The remainder of the officers of Sun’s Fury, having no wish to commit mass murder upon their own people, feel that it is their solemn obligation to cast their lot Digran Tassis and the fighters of Free Aurann.” The voice paused for a moment as everyone in the control room looked at each other in utter surprise, and then continued. “And you may inform Her Majesty, if she is present, that we are loyal subjects of the Dozen Stars and we are therefore, as of this moment, at the disposal of the Crown.”

The shocked silence hung in the control room for a long moment; Arta thought she saw Shiran smiling quietly behind his beard and wondered if he’d managed to get some message through to the warships in orbit while they’d been gone. Digran’s mouth hung open for a long moment, then he closed it and gave a wry grin. “Well,” he said, “how about that?”