Chapter Twenty-Seven

Imperial Base

Pakorus stood slowly, dropping his beam pistol to the floor and raising his hands. Beside him, Midaia rose to her feet as well, though she made no gesture of surrender, simply regarding the Imperial soldiers with cool disdain before turning to face the robed and masked figure of the man called Alaen.

He, in turn, regarded Midaia, his expression concealed behind his mask but his eyes intense. “Ah,” he said, as if in understanding. “Midaia ast Carann, if I am not mistaken. Now I understand how it is that you so easily pursued the Commander’s trail. The Dozen Stars have sent their most talented Adept to investigate their enemies. I am honored.”

“And you, if I am not mistaken, are Al’Aymar Alaen, the so-called ‘Prince of Night.’” Midaia smirked. “I’d say something about how a man who calls himself that is perhaps one overly fond of the theatrical, but,” she glanced down at her own sleek dark robes, “I don’t think I’m really one to talk, am I? In any case, your reputation proceeds you. One of the mighty Alaelam Disciples, now an Emperor’s lapdog – am I right? But considered powerful in our shared art, in any case. Though you are wrong about one thing – I didn’t come here on behalf of the Dozen Stars. I merely sought to satisfy my own… curiosity.”

Alen’s eyes narrowed behind his mask, but he showed no other visible sign of anger. “Indeed?” he asked. “And can you promise that your… curiosity… will not benefit the throne of the Dozen Stars – a throne your own sister currently occupies? You cannot. And you meddle in things beyond your concern, young one. In so doing you gain for yourself powerful enemies, regardless of whose behalf you do them on.” He turned to regard Pakorus. “And who is this – your accomplice? Your student, perhaps? Ah, but no – he is no Adept. A pet, then? Why shackle yourself to someone so… powerless? What a waste of your talents.”

Pakorus found himself bristling but thought better of saying anything with several weapons currently pointed at him. The tribune, on the other hand, seemed to be losing his patience. “As fascinating as this conversation is, sir,” he said, leaning close to Alaen, “I don’t think the Emperor would appreciate us casually chatting about our histories and methods with captured enemies. Do you wish us to escort them to the holding cells, or simply shoot them on the spot?”

Alaen casually raised a gloved hand and the tribune was shoved backwards, eyes widening in horror as a halo of shadow writhed around him. “Do not question me, little man,” the Adept said without looking at him. “The Emperor has placed this mission under my command, and I do not appreciate disrespect from my inferiors. Nonetheless, you raise a valid point.” He nodded towards Midaia and Pakorus. “Take the boy. I will interrogate him later. As for the woman…” he paused, regarding Midaia inscrutably with his hidden expression. “It is a shame for so gifted an Adept to go to waste. Tell me, Midaia ast Carann – what benefit is it for you to skulk in the shadows, running the errands of lesser beings who do not, and never will, appreciate you? Why put your trust in this youth you bring with you, who can provide you with nothing you would ever value? But the Empire honors its Adepts. Come with me, pledge your allegiance to Verus Licinius, and I will see to it that you are granted a position of honor at the Imperial court. All I ask in return is that you tell me all that you have learned in your search and leave the boy for me to question at my leisure.”

For a moment, all was silent. Midaia and Alaen stood regarding one another, eerily alike in their dark robes, one’s face hidden by a mask, another’s shadowed by her hood. Then Midaia laughed, a cold, mirthless sound that made the hairs on the back of Pakorus’s neck stand on end. “Oh, yes,” she finally said. “What a glorious offer! I am mistress of my own fate, Alaen. I have seen things that most of humanity can only dream of. And am I to give that up to become like you – a kept servant of a petty despot who refuses to acknowledge that his time has passed? No, thank you. You put a pretty face on your offer, but its heart smells rancid.”

Alaen hissed. “You understand nothing, girl!” he said, raising his voice for the first time. “You speak of that which is beyond your feeble dreams! Take them both. I will deliver them to the Emperor myself.”

The Imperial soldiers raised their weapons and advanced; Midaia put a hand on Pakorus’s arm. “Stay behind me,” she whispered. She stepped forward, placing herself between Pakorus and the Imperials, and cast back her hood. Her eyes, he saw, were burning, solid red.

And then the room exploded.

A shockwave of red light burst from Midaia, tearing across the room and ripping the office apart, sending debris flying. The tribune and his soldiers were flung through the far wall; whether they were alive or dead Pakorus couldn’t tell. Standing close to Midaia’s side, he found himself standing in an island of calm amidst a sea of destruction, as if he stood in the eye of one of the immense storms that sometimes rocked the capital of his father’s duchy, watery Orlanes.

Then the red light twisted back inward, wrapping around Midaia’s hands in a tight lance that shot forward with incredible force. Al’Aymar Alaen stood unmoved, untouched by the chaos around him and seemingly unconcerned by the bolt now shooting towards him; he raised a hand and the red lance struck it and then burst apart into countless gleaming red fragments, which collapsed to the floor and vanished.

Shadows twisted around him now, dimming whatever they touched, seeming to be not of light, but darkness made visible, and then they lanced forward, a half-dozen questing tentacles of night. Hissing like serpents, they shot towards Midaia and Pakorus only to come to an abrupt halt as a hemisphere of red light formed about them. The tentacles skittered across its surface as if seeking a flaw and then retreated back towards Alaen and vanished into whatever darkness from which they’d come. “Well,” the Alaelam Adept said, sounding genuinely impressed. “It seems your skills are every bit as great as reputed.”

“As are yours,” Midaia replied. “But then, you must have known your tin soldiers would be no match for me. You wasted them for nothing.”

“You might have surrendered and chosen to fight another day,” Alaen said. “Though I do prefer it this way. No interference, Midaia ast Carann, nothing holding us back. Just you, and me.” Suddenly the darkness around him seethed again, reaching not towards Midaia and Pakorus but up, the dark tentacles seizing the ceiling and tearing tiles from it, then sending them spinning forward. The red hemisphere vanished – perhaps it was no use against purely physical attacks – and red sparks flickered from Midaia’s hands as she blasted one tile after another from the air. One after another – but not enough. A shard from one of them shot forward and struck her along the cheek, knocking her back against the remains of the tribune’s desk. Hissing with anger, she raised her head and made a sharp gesture with her hand. And just as had happened to the mercenaries who had attacked Specter’s lair, Alaen was suddenly haloed in crackling red lightning – but then he raised his arms and shadows erupted from the air around him, tearing the lightning to pieces.

Pakorus knelt down beside Midaia. “Are you all right?” he asked. “Can you beat him?”

“Perhaps,” she said, eyes still intent on her foe who now stood with his arms folded. “He doesn’t overmatch me, I don’t think – but he does match me. This contest could go either way. But he is older, more experienced in this sort of combat…” she shook her head.

“Do you surrender yet, ast Carann?” Alaen asked. From behind him, the sound of marching feet could be heard. “I do believe that my reinforcements are coming. I do not wish to kill you. Every Adept life lost is a waste. But I will if you make me.”

“Burn in the abyss,” Midaia hissed, and with visible strain wrapped the tribune’s entire desk in red light and sent it hurtling across the room. Alaen’s eyes widened in shock behind his mask and he threw up his hands. There was a burst of shadow and the desk was rent in two just before it hit, both halves flying to the corners of the room; when the dust cleared, Alaen was on his knees from the effort he’d expended. But Midaia wasn’t much better off, regarding him with wary eyes while panting heavily.

Pakorus’s knelt by Midaia’s side, steadying her with one hand while his other brushed the ground – and lighted on the handle of his dropped beam pistol. He glanced up at Alaen, who was gathered darkness around himself for another attack, and knew that no bolt would penetrate the Adept’s defense – but then he looked up, towards the ceiling where the tiles had been torn away… and the pipe that was now exposed there.

“Midaia, duck!” Pakorus shouted; raising his pistol, he fired before Alaen could react. The beam blast tore open a hole in the pipe, which burst asunder, releasing a massive blast of steam directly into the Alaelam Adept’s face. Alaen gave an awful howl of pain and rage and stumbled backwards; Midaia lurched back to her feet and thrust a hand at one of the already-battered office walls, which flickered red and then burst apart, revealing the next office beyond. Then she collapsed into Pakorus’s arms; holding tightly on to her, he ran through the opening.

This office was slightly smaller, though of similar design and still sparsely decorated; it had probably belonged to the tribune’s second-in-command. Pakorus didn’t have time to take it in, however, before Midaia pressed a small object into his hand – a silvery remote. “Press the top button,” she said weakly. “Hurry!” Wasting no more time, he did as she instructed; a light at the top of the remote began to flash. Behind them, what was left of the tribune’s office had fallen in. Pakorus thought he could hear soldiers on the other side cursing and trying to clear away the rubble, and a ragged voice that might have been Alaen’s giving orders.

“They’ll be through that in a minute,” Pakorus said, glancing worryingly down at his little pistol. “They’ll be more than a match for me. Do you have anything else up your sleeve?”

“I’m all but spent,” Midaia whispered. “Luckily, that means he is too. So, when the Emperor’s soldiers break through, he won’t be able to stop them from just shooting us both.” She chuckled weakly. “I would hate a drawn-out death, wouldn’t you?” Her eyelids fluttered and began to close.

“Stay with me, Midaia,” Pakorus said.

“Just a minute now,” she whispered; across the room, the rubble was shifting. And then, suddenly, something cut off the light from the office window. Pakorus’s eyes widened as he recognized Sister Night, apparently called by the remote. Midaia smiled thinly and raised a hand; with a final effort of will, she made the window give way. Barely aware of what he was doing, Pakorus dove out of it, landing roughly on the yacht’s ramp, which quickly closed behind him. Then the ship was away, darting between blasts from the base’s cannons under the direction of its autopilot before heading straight for space.

Pakorus set Midaia down and collapsed against the wall. “Well, that was closer to dying than I hope to ever come again,” he said. “I am not cut out for this sort of thing. Did you get what we went in for, at least?”

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Midaia sat up against the opposite wall and held up a hand; the small drive rested in her palm. “I got something,” she said. “But it remains to be seen just what.”

///

Arta’s heart hammered in her chest as she stood still with her hands raised, inescapably aware of the dozens of beam rifles pointed directly at her and her companions. After a long moment of silence, one of the surrounding figures stepped forward; he appeared to be fairly young, though still older than Arta herself, and both his clothing and his face had a ragged, weathered look. He walked forward to face Arta and looked her up and down, then walked around her in a circle before finally nodding to himself. “Well,” he said. “You sure do look like Artakane does in the holos. Maybe you’re for real after all.”

“Digran Tassis?” Arta asked, trying as hard as she could to keep her nervousness from showing on her face.

“That’s me,” he said, giving her a wry grin. “As you can see, we got your message. Lucky for you, you were using Ceana’s channel and her code, or we wouldn’t even be talking to you. That lady’s done a lot of good for us over the years; if it weren’t for Realtran quietly supplying aid, we probably wouldn’t be here. Guess what they say about the enemy of my enemy and all that is true, at least some of the time.” He turned and gestured towards his men. “Stand down for now. I think they’re legit – and if they’re not, we still outnumber them three to one.” He looked back over at Arta. “But don’t pick up your weapons just yet. I still don’t trust you that much.”

Arta let her arms fall with a feeling of relief, though she could hear Karani muttering angrily to herself behind her. Digran now stood with his arms folded and regarded them warily; he’d been joined by two other rebels, an older man and a woman about his own age, both of whom looked just as ragged as he did, whose expressions were past wary and had entered outright hostility. After a long moment of silence, Digran shook his head and spoke. “So, tell me,” he said. “What brings the high-and-mighty Queen of the Dozen Stars down here to Aurann to parley with the likes of us, anyway?”

Arta spread her hands. “You said yourself, the enemy of my enemy,” she said. “I don’t know how much news you get down here, but you’re surely aware that Duke Respen has launched a rebellion against the throne, in alliance with Duke Naudar and Duchess Sateira. And he recently launched a raid on my home planet and kidnapped my foster father, who I now believe is being held somewhere in the Citadel. I’m here to rescue him; I think I could use your help.”

Digran gave a harsh laugh. “Now that’s funny,” he said. “Do you have any idea how many fathers, and mothers, and sisters and brothers and sons and daughters that bastard Respen has killed over the years to keep himself in power? And we didn’t hear a peep about that from the big names out on Carann, did we? But when one of your own gets taken, then the time comes for you to do something. And you just waltz in here and expect us to help you. Well I’m sorry, princess, but so far you’re not impressing me very much.”

“It’s not like that,” Arta said, but her voice sounded weak in her own ears.

“You want to know what it’s like?” Digran asked. “Well, let me educate you a bit. People always hear about how strong Aurann’s military is, and you know how Respen and his family built it? It’s because Aurann isn’t a duchy with an army – it’s an army with a duchy. Unless you’re from one of the old military families and get fast-tracked to officer school, everyone here works in the mines or the foundries, digging raw material and smelting it into weapons. The only way out is to enlist, join up with Respen to kill his enemies for him – even your own family if they step out of line or start complaining about the way things are. Doing your time in the army is the only way to get full citizenship here, if you live long enough, that is. And you know how Respen keeps everyone who isn’t in the army in line?” He pulled down the collar on his shirt, revealing a nasty-looking scar on his neck. “As soon as you’re old enough to work, they come and put a collar on you. Damn hard to get off without the right tools – speak up against Respen, and the collar tortures you until you fall back into line. Actually take up arms against him, and it blows your head off. You want to know why there’s so few of us, even though everyone hates our noble and glorious duke? Because you can’t fight unless you get your collar off – and even if you do, they can still hold the lives of your family, and your friends, and anyone else you care about over your heads. That’s what it’s like here, princess.”

“Lord,” Arta breathed, horror twisting in her gut. “I… I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t know. How has this happened – why hasn’t anyone done anything?”

Digran laughed again. “You think anyone cares?” he asked. “Everyone here knows you can’t fight Respen, at least not without risking your life, and the lives of everyone close to you. And those fancy nobles and guildsmen who visit from off world? They stay up in the top levels of the Citadel, never bother coming down here to see what a miserable pile of slag this planet really is. And even if they did, why would they care? A duke’s right to rule his duchy as he pleases is sacred – isn’t that what you nobles say? And so, who cares if the duke is a monster, when inconveniencing him might make things harder for them too.”

Arta barely managed to master herself – she wanted to scream and cry and throw something, wished she had Respen in front of her right now so she could take his smug head from his shoulders, wanted to do something but was torn in so many directions she ended up not doing anything at all. Looking around the chamber, she saw the dozens of rebel fighters watching her, saw their torn clothes and haggard faces and had a faint, terrible inkling of what they must have suffered to drive them to this point, and then she felt something like a fire kindled in her gut. “This is wrong,” she muttered hotly. “Aurann, Respen, this whole bloody Kingdom for letting this happen – it’s all wrong, and it has to stop. It will stop!”

Digran smirked. “Yeah,” he said. “And how, exactly, are you going to do that? Queen or no, you’re not throwing down Aurann duchy with a half-dozen friends. Sorry if I don’t think your promises are worth much.”

“Respen is weaker than you realize,” Arta said, half to herself. “He’s moved almost all of his forces off-world, to fight the other dukes – we saw it from orbit when we came down. The Citadel is as undefended as it’s ever likely to be. And… and maybe we can get the people on our side. You said everyone hates Respen?”

“Who wouldn’t?” Digran asked, snorting incredulously. “Respen doesn’t see people as people, but as things. Workers to build his weapons, soldiers to use them and die for him, officers to carry out his orders – but just things, tools to be used. He doesn’t really give a damn about anyone, and so the only reason people follow him is because he’s got a boot on their throat. But it’s a damned big boot. With his collars, he’s holding most of the planet hostage for everyone else’s good behavior. What’re you going to do about that, princess?”

“Tell me,” Shiran said suddenly, stepping forward, “do you know if the collars are controlled from a central hub somewhere?”

“Most of Respen’s officers have remotes they can use to set them off,” the young woman with Digran said. “There’s a master control computer high up in the Citadel somewhere. We’ve never been able to get anyone in there, though.”

“As I suspected,” Shiran said, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “Respen would have wanted to have a central killswitch he could use to override the entire system – he wouldn’t trust anyone else with power over his own slaves. That desire for control can be used against him. If I can get into that room, I should be able to deactivate the entire network.”

“Sorry, but… who are you?” Digran asked disbelievingly.

Shiran smiled coolly and held up a hand with pale blue light playing along its fingers. “I am a man of many talents,” he said. “And, for the moment, a man willing to help you.”

“If Shiran says he can take the collars down, he can,” Arta said. “Can you promise the people will fight if that happens?”

Digran shrugged. “Most people probably wouldn’t believe it,” he said. “But if I had time to get some of my people slipped in among the work crews… give some warnings in key places… well, if nothing else, you’d have a huge riot on your hands, maybe something Respen’s troops wouldn’t be able to contain. Hell, most of the rank and file only enlisted ‘cause they saw no other way out. If their families’ lives weren’t on the line any more… honestly, a good chunk of Respen’s own men might turn rebel.”

“And so, Aurann is like a diamond,” Latharna said from behind Arta, half to herself. “Cold and hard – too hard to cut – but if you hit it hard in the right place, it shatters.”

“Of course, there’s one little problem with all this,” Digran said. “Respen himself. He’s not on planet right now, and neither are most of his troops. If they come back, he’ll just carpet bomb everything from orbit and that’s the end of us. What’s to stop that, exactly?”

“Us,” Arta said. “Me and the rest of the council defeating his forces at Tantos III. With Respen himself dead and Aurann in revolt, the rest of his forces will be crippled.”

“You’re making a lot of assumptions that you can take him down,” Digran said. “And how can you promise that some cousin of his won’t take power and put everything right back the way it was? You nobles don’t like change, after all. What can you promise me, princess?”

“Respen’s time is done,” Arta said. “Centuries ago, our ancestors threw off the tyranny of the Empire, but now Respen has recreated his own little empire here on Aurann, with himself a petty little emperor with petty little ambitions. But it ends now. All of it – Respen’s tyranny on Aurann, and all of the complacency in the rest of the Kingdom that let him and his kind flourish. It’s high time the rulers of the Dozen Stars remembered what it is to lead with responsibility, for the good of the people and not for their own ambitions. But first, examples have to be made.” She looked directly at Digran. “How would you like to be the new Duke of Aurann.”

For the first time, Digran was stunned speechless. “Can you just… do that?” he finally asked.

“Technically, deposing a sitting ducal house requires a unanimous vote of the council,” Shiran said. “Minus the one being deposed, of course. But Respen has made himself very few friends and launching armed revolt against the rest of the Kingdom has cost him what support he may have once had, outside of his fellow rebels. So, as a practical matter, yes, Her Majesty can promise his seat to someone who helps to overthrow him.”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Digran said, shaking his head. “But I don’t just want power for myself. Seems to me the real problem a lot of this Kingdom has is nobles who do whatever the hell they want, and don’t care whether that’s what the people want. If I’m to be duke, I want to make sure that’s something I can change.”

“You yourself pointed out that a duke gets to rule as they see fit,” Arta said. “Some duchies have elected assemblies where the peoples’ voices can be heard – and can even overrule their duke on internal matters with a big enough majority. Orlanes has one. Tantos, too, though that most of the seats in that one were bought out by the guilds.”

“Yeah, but that’s the problem,” Digran said. “That’d still be a duke giving people power – and what’s given can be taken away. And it doesn’t do anything to help the Kingdom as a whole, so what’s to stop another Respen from showing up down the line?”

“In Realtran,” Latharna said, stepping forward, “we have a parliament that shares power with the monarchy. They are elected by the people and can pass laws that are even binding on the nobility – and can even hold the powerful accountable for when they break the laws. It’s not a perfect system, but… I do think it helps keep the worst excesses at bay.”

“You’re Realtran, right? One of Ceana’s people?” Latharna nodded. “Well, that counts for something, anyway – Ceana’s always been straight with us. And are you willing to promise to work for something like that?” Digran continued, looking to Arta now. “Or is all your talk about justice and responsibility just wind?”

“I promise,” Arta said. “I swear it on the crown of the Dozen Stars, and on the Lord’s name.”

“And is her word good?” Digran asked, now looking around the chamber at Arta’s companions.

“Artakane was my student,” Shiran said, “and I vouch for her character.”

“And she is my… friend,” Latharna said. “Me, too.” Beside her, Karani nodded vigorously.

“And you?” Digran asked, looking towards Rehan and her guards. “Nobles always stick up for nobles – what do you think?”

Rehan shrugged. “Permission to speak honestly, Your Majesty?” she asked, and Arta nodded. “Well, I’m common born – no ‘ast’ in my name, thank you - came up through the ranks the hard way, and I think the Queen is idealistic, and a bit naïve, and has the survival instincts of a Carannian hare with a death wish – but she’s got guts, and heart, and she means what she says. I think she’ll keep her word to you or die trying.”

“Thanks for that – I think,” Arta muttered, and then turned back to Digran. “Well, then? What will it be? Can we work together to raid the Citadel, to rescue my father and free your people and shove Respen off his throne for good?”

Digran paused for a moment to confer hurriedly with his two lieutenants, and then turned back to Arta. “Well, maybe you’re right, or maybe I’m crazy,” he said, “or maybe I just don’t have anything left to lose. But I don’t think we’ll ever get a better chance, and so I’m willing to give it a try.” His gaze hardened. “But if you betray me or go back on your word, I’ll make sure your dead if it’s the last thing I do. Got it?”

“Perfectly,” Arta said.

“Good,” Digran said, and waved some of his fighters forward. “Now then, we’ve got some maps of parts of the Citadel, except for the high-security zones, and we know the rotations of the guards. Let’s figure out how to get this done.”