Chapter XXIV – Martyr of Yarkan

Roughly ten metres of flat sandy ground separated Kal from Zhen Yan. Either or both would close the gap in an instant. The trick was going to be getting in under the range of that sword of hers. He figured his best bet was to block a strike from the sword with his cybernetic left arm. Unusually he was wearing long sleeves, so with any luck the use of the arm would catch her off guard. And once he had her at that range it would be over quickly.

But Kal had never been one to underestimate an opponent and everything about this one – from her ecstatic joy at the prospect of violence, to her poise and precise movements – suggested she knew how to fight.

Then there was the matter of what other powers she might have. Her appearance had changed in an instant, but was she a true shapeshifter or was it an illusion? Kal had fought many strange opponents in his life. The Host of Xerxes fielded all manner of horrors, and Kal had faced them innumerable times. With his bare hands he had slain a Void Chimaera. With his spear he had brought down Manticores. He had fought against the Writhe, seething masses of shadowy tendrils that sustained themselves by devouring the sanity of men. Whatever this vixen was capable of, Kal would be ready.

Not moving his eyes off the woman, he called out to Harry. “Contact security. If she’s still alive by the time they get here, we’ll find out who sent her.”

Harry nodded. Kal saw Zhen Yan’s eyes dart to him.

“Your fight’s with me, fox. Follow him and you won’t last long.”

She turned back to him with a grin. “You talk a big game. Let’s see what you can do.”

When she moved, she moved fast.

But Kal could move fast, too.

He dodged. He’d catch her off-guard with his cybernetic arm when the moment was right, but from here he wasn’t going to be able to close in and mount a counter attack.

Her blade danced about in a frenzied flurry of strikes. Each time Kal managed to avoid one of the slashes or thrusts, there was no delay as the blade changed direction, homing in on in him. It was as if it had a mind of its own, and it was thirsty – thirsty for his blood. Unable to block her strikes, Kal had to keep moving – ducking and weaving – but ultimately propelled back, always remaining just out of the thirsting blade’s reach, seldom more than centimetres from a fatal strike.

If only I had a proper weapon. With her speed, and her reach advantage, I’m never going to get close enough to land a blow.

As Zhen Yan’s blade darted forward, passing by his ear, he ducked. An infinitesimal fraction of a second later it was already making a slashing movement, right through where his head had just been. Her attacks changed direction so fast, it seemed to almost violate physical laws. Where was the conservation of momentum? Even among all those monstrosities of the Host, there was never anything that moved quite like this.

Zhen Yan laughed, but she did not relent in her assault to do so. “You’re quick for an old man. Been a while since I had a proper opponent.”

Kal didn’t respond.

Distractions. Only distractions.

He knew he had to change the momentum of this fight. Without some significant turning point, sooner or later his luck would run out. Kal was strong. Far stronger than any ordinary man. He carried the blood of the Pyrphoroi. He was born for war. Yet even if he survived the first blow that caught him, it would undoubtedly slow him. And if she could land a blow on him when he was fresh and unwounded, a second would inevitably follow the first. If there was a third, there would not be a fourth.

Provided of course, the Flame did not ignite.

It didn’t matter. If he had his way, there would not be a first.

He flung one of the broken bottles towards her. Instinctively, she moved out of the way of the projectile. That was his opening. He surged forward like a charging bull, combining immense speed and power. The blade moved quickly, but not quickly enough.

And then he had her.

His huge natural hand closed around her upper sword arm like a crushing vice. His mechanical arm drove the remaining bottle’s jagged points towards her neck, but she managed to squirm about so that the glass drove deep into her other arm, flecking the sand with blood.

Kal had broken many rules in his life, but he wasn’t about to break the laws of physics.

Momentum was conserved.

The two of them went tumbling back, as her lithe form, built for speed and agility, crumpled before his uncanny physical might. They landed in the sand, he on top, gazing down at her. With one hand he drove the glass deeper into her arm, severing flesh and tendons alike. She gave a cry of pain as he twisted about the makeshift weapon, all the time his other hand squeezing tighter and tighter till he felt like the bones might begin to crack and break.

“Nothing to say now?” said Kal.

He released her sword arm from his grip and it fell limply at her side. Without taking his eyes away from her face, he yanked the sword from her lame hand and cast it away. She struggled futilely, both her arms now unusable wrecks, all her strength not even rating as a nuisance to Kal.

“You did this,” he snarled. “No one touches this crew. Not on my watch. I hope the money was worth it.”

Yet even as he looked down into her face, awaiting her response, he was surprised when at last it came. He relented the twisting of the glass, now buried deep in the horrific bloody mess of her shoulder. The sand she lay in was turning to dark mud. Cloth and skin and flesh and glass were inextricably meshed, all gleaming bright and crimson in the harsh light of the desert.

As he watched, though, her screams turned to laughter; her eyes, scrunched closed in agony, now burst open and sparkled with mischievous light.

“Oh, you are good!” she said, her voice erupting with effusive, unhinged relish, her manic laughter high and piercing to his ears.

Momentum was conserved.

But matter was not.

For in an instant she was gone, Kal lurching forward onto his hands and knees, glass crumbling beneath his iron hand.

It took a moment for him to work out what had happened.

But it took the smallest sound to awaken his martial instinct. Her footsteps were soft, but fast, precisely what his brain was ever alert to.

The company worker from before now charged him, the very sword he had cast aside in her hands.

This time he didn’t try to hold off employing his surprise move until later. As the charging blow swept towards him, his iron arm sprung forward and caught the blade.

At least that is what he expected to happen.

Instead, the blade slid straight through his hand, severing the thumb. It was all he could do to leap out of the way, but it still left a shallow gouge across his abdomen.

Not good.

Though she had caught him by surprise, and not the other way around, he could see in an instant that she was slower now. Her blade did not move with the same impossible agility it had exhibited before.

And even against an opponent armed with a blade that could slice through the reinforced and armoured metal of the star-forges; even while utterly unarmed himself: Kal knew he could defeat this opponent. Speed and tricks were all she had. She had not yet seen all he had.

But she was about to.

“You’re hurting.”

This time there was no response from her.

But Kal didn’t care. He could already feel the frenzy rising in him, the moment her blade had pierced his flesh. It was the frenzy that all thoughts of self-preservation gave way to; the frenzy that had seen him tear through the Voidborn Legions of the Host across countless worlds.

The Flame of the Pyrphoroi had lit within him.

Only blood could quench it.

Each day in Yengishahr seemed colder and shorter than that which had preceded it. Though the vast landscapes of the steppe had an undeniable stark beauty to them, Ostara found herself longing for the warmth and light of her garden.

But that would have to wait.

She stepped out of the cold, following Ulduz. A large sign bearing the insignia of the Planetary Government of Yarkan proclaimed this to be Yengishahr Central Detention Facility.

A bored guard greeted them, showing none of the usual warmth of the Yarkanese people, to which Ostara had become accustomed. Elsewhere in the Empire, of course, such interactions were rather more common.

“Identification?” said the guard, holding out her hand.

Ulduz provided it.

Ostara provided hers also.

The Guard looked from one of them to the other. “Ulduz Yarghunqizi? Ostara Li?”

They both nodded.

She returned their identification. “Purpose of visit?”

“We are visiting Toghrul Yarghunoghul,” said Ulduz.

The Guard inspected her terminal.

“Please proceed to the waiting area. Someone will escort you to the meeting whenever the prisoner is ready.”

Ostara smiled widely and thanked the guard as they went through. The guard remained stony faced.

The waiting room was mostly empty. They took seats.

“Li?” asked Ulduz, “I don’t think you’ve mentioned your surname in any of our interactions.”

“My culture does not use surnames,” said Ostara, “I picked a common name to use in the Empire.”

“Ah,” said Ulduz. She paused a moment. “Now, as I said, please don’t expect too much. Toghrul has barely uttered a word in his own defence, even with the prospect of death hanging over his head. I suspect my other brother only consented to this meeting even happening because he expects nothing will come of it.”

Ostara smiled reassuringly. “I appreciate this may not yield much, but you’ll forgive me for insisting on being thorough. The rest of the crew is hard at work at Karbaliq. Any piece of information Tohgrul provides, however small, may aid the others.”

Ulduz nodded. “I am paying you to be thorough.”

“Well, I’m hoping you’re happy so far,” said Ostara.

“I am confident you are leaving no stone unturned,” said Ulduz.

Further conversation was cut short. A guard walked in. “You here to see Toghrul?” he asked.

“So soon!” said Ostara, cheerfully. “The lovely lady at the entrance had led me to believe there would be a longer wait.”

“This way, please,” said the guard, ignoring her remarks.

Ostara and Ulduz followed the guard down a series of winding hallways, then into a small room with nothing but three chairs in it, two of which faced the other. There were no windows in the room, though the overhead lights were unpleasantly bright.

The solitary chair was occupied by a man. He had an unkempt mop of black hair atop his head. He had short stubble on his face, but lacked the thick moustache that most men on Yarkan seemed to cultivate. He wore a simple grey jumpsuit and Ostara noted he wore thick socks, but no shoes.

His head was hung down, but he looked up as they entered. There were those same piercing blue eyes. Undoubtedly Ulduz and Taghay were this man’s siblings.

“Sister,” he said.

“Toghrul,” replied Ulduz, as she and Ostara sat in the chairs facing him.

The guard stood by the door.

“Who is this?”

“I am Ostara. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Toghrul.”

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“You are working for my sister?” he asked.

Ostara observed his face. He was undeniably handsome, but it was a face to which joy seemed a foreign concept. Everything about this man suggested an almost unsettling intensity, a deep seriousness.

Ostara nodded. “Ulduz has employed me to investigate the events surrounding the murder of Su Bolin.”

Toghrul looked over at his sister a moment, then fixed his gaze once more on Ostara. “Taghay’s decision has been made.”

Ulduz leant forward. “His heart is not stone. He is our brother. Your brother. He can be persuaded.”

Ostara could hear the anguish in her voice, anguish she was barely containing. There was frustration there too.

Toghrul’s expression never changed. “You’re becoming emotional sister.”

“I don’t want you to die. I want my family back,” said Ulduz. She turned Ostara’s way. “I’m sorry, you’re not here to be drawn into our family drama.”

Ostara smiled, “I don’t mean to be crass, but I’ll happily be drawn in for what you are paying us.”

Toghrul won’t be swayed my emotive appeals. He needs to see me as detached and rational.

Ulduz gave her a strange look. Ostara ignored it. She crossed one leg over the other, and cocked her head to one side, fixing Toghrul with a soft smile and a firm gaze.

“Have you any indication of the intended penalty?” she asked him.

“That is for the court to decide,” said Toghrul. “I have not yet been found guilty.”

“But I think we both know that the decisions are not going to be made in that courtroom.”

Something flickered across Toghrul’s face, but his expression remained in place. “My brother’s lawyers have indicated they believe the prosecution has been persuaded to pursue exile over death.”

“That must be a relief,” said Ostara.

“Yarkan is my home. Without it I am nothing.”

Ulduz spoke up, her tone dark. “Among the Jaril exile once meant simply that: one could not return to one’s tribe, but was otherwise free. Under the Empire it means never returning home, but it also means penal transportation and forced labour. As often as not, the penal colonies amount to a death sentence.”

Ostara did not allow her smile to fade. “Well, neither of those possibilities sound good.”

“Taghay wishes to see me out of the way. Whether I live or die is immaterial to him. The distinction is largely immaterial to me also,” said Toghrul.

“Then should we not pursue the third option? That is, your release,” said Ostara.

“Taghay will not have it. I have accepted my fate. My supporters have accepted my fate. Only my sister does not.”

“Interesting,” said Ostara. “I was led to believe you were a great fighter. Yet, I’m seeing nothing of that here.”

“My cause is larger than me,” said Toghrul.

“Hrm…” said Ostara, “Is it though? You’re willing to die to stop a resort being built?”

Now, for the first time, she saw a flash of emotion on Toghrul’s face. “It is about more than that.”

Ostara leant forward. Her tone was soft, but she enunciated her words carefully and clearly. “Mr Yarghunoghul, my crew and I have spoken to many people on Yarkan about this matter. And if your cause is greater than opposing this development, none know it.”

She paused and leant back once again, adopting a more casual manner. “Which to my mind means no one will remember you for anything else. You think your brother wants you out of the way? You say your fate is immaterial to him? Well, maybe it is, but that is because it’s not you he wants out of the way, but your ideas.”

“You don’t know anything about this,” said Toghrul, and his mask of calm was dissolving.

Ostara pushed on, ignoring him. “Taghay will make sure that all the public remembers, is that you were the fanatic who murdered someone to get in the way of progress.”

Ulduz seemed unsettled by Ostara’s course. “Madame Ostara, I—”

Ostara held up a finger to silence her.

“I say all this to make one thing clear to you, Toghrul: whether you are exiled or executed, your cause will die. The only way to keep fighting is to free yourself.”

Toghrul glared at her. “The fate of this world is no longer in my hands. I have done what I had to do. The rest is up to others now.”

“Sayan?” asked Ostara.

“How do you know of her?” asked Toghrul.

Ostara saw something else in his expression. Not just the anger she had stirred in him, but something new. There was worry.

The mention of Sayan worries him… interesting.

She pressed on. Each emotion was like a new shoot rising from the soil. Watered with the right words, each would bloom.

“Like I said, my crew and I have spoken to many people. Two of my crew are with Sayan right now,” said Ostara.

The worry became more pronounced.

“Are you concerned what she might tell them?” asked Ostara.

“There is no one in this world or any other that I trust more than Sayan,” said Toghrul.

“Well, she is the mother of your daughter, is she not? Erkegul, is it?”

“Don’t bring my daughter into this,” said Toghrul, his tone icy.

Ostara smiled demurely and nodded. “I’m sorry. That was inappropriate. And you can rest assured: as I’m sure you expected, Sayan has told my crew very little.”

A hint of relief spread over Toghrul. His tense posture slackened.

“It seems she is very loyal to your cause. She certainly believes in your plan for Yarkan,” said Ostara.

“Of course,” said Toghrul, “She believes in the great future we can build for Yarkan.”

“Future? Interesting,” said Ostara. “Taghay was very concerned with the future too. He believed you to be trapped in the past.”

Toghrul was calmer now, but his voice was steely when he spoke. “The only future Taghay believes in is dissolving our world into the tens of millions of others that make up this Empire. The very same Empire that visited such ruin upon us.”

“So, what future do you believe in?”

“One in which we are the agents of our own fate once more. One in which our people are not mere historical victims, but are proud and free as we once were.”

“And Karbaliq is central to that? As an important symbol?”

“Karbaliq is no mere symbol. Taghay courts catastrophe by disrespecting the Učarmaz and driving them from Karbaliq. But more than that, Karbaliq is the source of our people’s strength,” said Toghrul, and Ostara could see the light of passion now burning in his eyes. That was good. Passionate people tended to be more talkative.

“Is it the Učarmaz? Do you seek to—”

Toghrul cut her off. “The Učarmaz are not some resource to be drawn from, nor are they a hireling host to be bought. They yearn to be set free, to take flight into the Cosmos, as is the due of the dead. Yet they endure their agony, for they respect the solemnity of their duty as guardians of Karbaliq and the power it holds.”

“If not the symbolism of Karbaliq, and if not the Učarmaz… what is this power you speak of?”

“That is not a matter for an offworlder.”

It had been a gamble asking directly, one that had not yielded an answer, but Ostara was sure now that Toghrul believed that something contained within the Black City was the key to whatever plan he had. A plan to free Yarkan.

And whatever is there, it is jeopardised by Taghay’s project.

She decided to probe elsewhere.

“You have lofty ideals,” she said. “I guess that’s why so many view you as a leader for Yarkan. I can see that you must bring them hope. But if you die – well, I stand by what I said. I do not believe your brother will be kind to your legacy.”

“No,” said Toghrul, shaking his head. “I think you are a clever person, Ostara, but you understand too little to make sense of all this. I am no leader. I am simply an instrument of our cause.”

“Very humble of you,” said Ostara, “But people listen to you. Your family – you have the blood of the Khagans, do you not? Who else is as well placed to lead this cause that you hold so dear?”

“Taghay is right about one thing,” said Toghrul. “We cannot fixate on the past; we must look to the future. The Last Khagan died when the First Emperor unleashed his ruin upon Karbaliq. Yes, we have the Khagans’ blood, but blood is not what ultimately matters.”

“But symbols are important, and if nothing else, your heritage is of symbolic significance, is it not?” asked Ostara.

“I do not deny the importance of symbols. Nor do I think we should be blind to the past, only that we should not be bound to it, trapped in it. Tell me, Madame Ostara, do you know the story of the Jaril Confederacy’s foundation?”

“You may need to refresh me,” said Ostara.

“After the Great Clanship Kulkana first came to Yarkan and the Jaril settled it, they spread out over many worlds. In time the different clans would fight each other. Much blood was shed in these wars. But there were other threats too. Threats against all the Jaril peoples. So, a great chieftain called a Kurultai – a meeting of chieftains from across Yarkan and the other Jaril worlds – and he said that regardless of their world or their totem, they were all descendants of Kulkana, and that they should unite and claim that ancestral strength. Many doubted him. Some claimed he was power-hungry, greedy… but this chieftain… he insisted his heart was pure, he thought only of the Jaril people. He said it need not be him who led the people, so long as a wise and virtuous leader could be found. Yet the Kurultai ended in failure, neither he, nor any other was proclaimed Khagan. Disheartened he led a band of great warriors of his wolf totem – the Böri – against the enemies of the Jaril. He and they were slaughtered in the battle that followed, but this sacrifice gave the Jaril the gift of time. A new Kurultai was called and this time the Chieftain of Karbaliq was elevated as Khagan. The new Jaril Confederacy brought its warriors together and drove back our enemies.”

“A noble tale,” said Ostara. “The chieftain’s sacrifice was the symbol that brought unity.”

“Precisely. And the Khagans that followed learned this lesson well, ever ready to sacrifice themselves for the sake of the people. Their blood today flows in my veins, and if I am called upon to make a great sacrifice, so be it. This is our history, and I will honour it, even to the utmost degree of sacrifice.”

“Please,” said Ulduz, beside Ostara. “Please, Toghrul. What does you dying achieve? It won’t stop Taghay.”

“And who will lead those who believe as you do, when you are gone?” said Ostara. “After Taghay has besmirched your legacy.”

Toghrul gazed back with equanimity.

“Sayan. When I am gone, Sayan will lead our people.”

“Tavian, you there?” came Mu’s voice from outside the yurt.

“Come in,” said Tavian, putting down his tablet and swinging down his legs, so that he was sitting on the side of the bed.

Mu entered.

“Have you heard from Ostara?” she asked.

“Yes,” said Tavian. “You just missed her.”

“Has she spoken to Toghrul?”

He nodded.

“What news?”

“Well, we were right about Toghrul having big plans, but he’s not spilling on what those might be exactly. Still, Ostara said a few things caught her interest. He was worried when she first mentioned Sayan… but once he got going, he basically said he saw Sayan as the future leader… after he was gone.”

“He’s still so ready to die…” said Mu, obviously deep in thought.

To Tavian’s surprise she walked over and sat down next to him on the bed, her eyes cast down.

“But Sayan as leader… that’s interesting. It’s almost like he thinks his sacrifice will—wait! It’s like the Great Kurultai!”

“Funny you should say that…” said Tavian.

“He said something?” asked Mu.

“Apparently he told Ostara a story about how an ancient chief called a… Kurultai, like you say… but he had to sacrifice himself to convince them to unite under a Khagan and face their enemies together.”

“Exactly!” said Mu, excitement creeping into her voice. “It’s not that he’s accepted his fate. He wants it. He sees himself like Uchuk Khan – that’s the chieftain who sacrificed himself in the story. And he wants to elevate Sayan through his sacrifice… she must know his plan.”

“Okay, but from the way Ostara tells it, the Jaril were spread across many worlds. This Kurultai… it wasn’t like a few tribes meeting, it was people across many worlds coming together to found an interstellar empire. There’s what – one hundred, two hundred people here? Putting aside how Toghrul dying actually helps Sayan become leader of anything, they won’t even be able to push Taghay’s company out of Karbaliq, let alone free Yarkan from the Empire, or recreate the Confederacy. She’s not exactly going to become a new Khagan.”

“Khatun,” said Mu.

“Huh?”

“Khatun. It’s Khatun, not Khagan. Since she’s a woman.”

“Right,” said Tavian. “Well, at any rate… We’re still missing a lot of this puzzle. I guess the question is… is there any point in us pushing on. Even if we find evidence Toghrul is not the killer, it sounds like whatever his plan is, he’s already decided to be a martyr. In fact, at this point, it seems like the two brothers are pretty much in agreement: Toghrul has to die. It’s only sister Ulduz that still isn’t down with this.”

“That tells us that whatever Toghrul’s plan is, Taghay hasn’t worked it out. If Toghrul dying is going to somehow advance his cause, Taghay wouldn’t be pushing ahead with framing Toghrul,” said Mu.

Tavian shrugged and gave a laugh. “Unless he’s really in on the plan.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, maybe this is how they keep the authorities’ eyes off them. Fake a conflict, make a martyr out of Toghrul. Who knows? The whole resort project could be some sort of plot to channel resources to the tribes in the desert ahead of some sort of uprising. Would kinda explain why Su Bolin, a company guy working for Taghay, was out here talking to Toghrul and Sayan.”

Mu considered. “I guess it’s possible. But why exclude their sister from this scheme?”

“Maybe she’s in on it too.”

“Then why hire us to prove Toghrul innocent?”

Tavian shrugged. “Further misdirection.”

“If it was all for show, she didn’t have to approach offworlders to take care of it. And she didn’t need to actually give us instructions to go and investigate. That’s unnecessarily risky. What if we expose the whole thing? It doesn’t make sense. Ulduz can’t be in on it, but if there’s a conspiracy between the brothers, why exclude her and have her meddling in their plans?”

“It was just a theory,” said Tavian.

“The most crucial detail we’re missing, whether or not Taghay’s in on it all, is what Toghrul and Sayan are hoping to achieve. Like you say, they’re not really in a position to create a force that could oppose the Empire and free Yarkan.”

“Ostara did say something else that might be important: apparently Toghrul called Karbaliq the strength of the people.”

“I mean, it’s a key symbol of their history and—”

“No, she was very explicit about this. Or he was. He apparently said this after explicitly dismissing the idea that he was talking symbolically.”

Mu went quiet a moment, considering this new information.

“What if…” she muttered. “…strength of the people…”

Tavian was about to speak, but could see wheels were turning and decided to let whatever was going on in Mu’s head play out.

“Hear me out… I’m still… but… what if… the sacrifice was for the Učarmaz?” said Mu.

“Actually, Ostara apparently suggested kinda the same thing and he…”

“No, no, I’m not thinking he is trying to use the Učarmaz themselves… but what if they’re protecting something. Something powerful. This strength of the people.”

“Any idea what that could be?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to work out. I’ve been reading Yarkanese and Jaril history since we got here… but there aren’t that many sources of literal power that it could be. There was never a Theophany in Jaril history, and there isn’t even an Awakened Star they could be seeking one from – and besides, how would that tie into Karbaliq itself?”

“I feel like you’re trying to lead me somewhere with this,” said Tavian.

“There’s only one thing I can think of. Something with the kind of power that could be transformative for an entire civilisation.”

“Enough suspense, spit it out.”

“Their Clanship. The Kulkana.”

“The Clanship?” asked Tavian.

Mu nodded. “All of the Yultengri – the Star Nomads, or Scattered Peoples… whatever you want to call us – we are all descended from different Clanships that set out across the Cosmos in ancient times. The Clanship that carried the Jaril ended its journey here on Yarkan. What if it’s buried beneath Karbaliq?”

“So…”

“So… and I don’t know… this is all just coming to me… but what if Toghrul sees his death as some sort of… ritualistic sacrifice. One that will prove his sincerity to the Učarmaz.”

“Allowing Sayan to be embraced as leader… and reawaken the Clanship?”

Mu nodded. “Look, I don’t know… maybe it’s even crazier than your conspiracy theory… but it’s the only thing I can think of that explains why Toghrul is so ready to die… what might be powerful enough to justify a sacrifice and achieve his big… world-saving goals.”

“You might be onto something,” said Tavian, then he laughed.

“What is it?” asked Mu.

“We gonna do this?” asked Tavian.

“Do what?” asked Mu, suspiciously.

“Wake up an ancient Clanship. Save a civilisation. Fight the Empire. I dunno, I’ve told you I’m coming along for the ride. You just gotta pick one.”

Mu paused. But not for long.

“Let’s talk to Sayan. We’ll be completely open about what we think. If I’m right… we’ll offer to help out however we can.”

“Now, doesn’t that feel better?” asked Tavian.

“What?”

“Making that decision. Bet you’re not feeling so guilty anymore.”

Mu looked at him. There was an uncertain expression upon her face. Then she smiled.

“I guess it does.”

From the wound in Kal’s abdomen, the light of the Flame began to shine. He could feel the heat building within him, could feel reason slipping away.

He had hoped to contain this.

Yet, it was his curse as a Pyrphoros to carry the Flame of Phaiston. Now this foolish fox had ignited it.

The adrenaline surged through him. He felt his muscles harden, his blood boil. The roar rose in him with a frightening inevitability. He could not restrain it.

He let it loose.

Zhen Yan leapt back, sword moving into a guard position.

The last of Kal’s control ebbed away.

He charged.

Zhen Yan struck him. That same blade that had moments earlier sliced clean through star-forged metal, now glanced away from his flesh in a shower of sparks.

He moved forward, raining blows upon her. She responded in kind, that wicked blade stinging him again and again so that more rivers of fire appeared upon his flesh, yet he did not slow, he did not relent, rather he surged forward, always forward.

And he could sense fear.

As smoke promised fire, so for the Pyrphoroi fear promised blood.

Kal couldn’t follow what happened next. The frenzy had taken him completely. His entire world became one of battle. His fists were a kinetic storm, seeking unceasingly for that moment of the satisfying crunch of caving ribs.

Yet this dancing vixen eluded him, continuously denying him the joy of her death.

That enraged him still further.

When so many had crumpled before him, how dare this insolent one deny him?

The desert itself was melting away as the Flame burned hotter, hotter, hotter.

Yarkan?

The moon of Limen Asterion.

Fox?

Voidborn.

` Shatter the Host. Defend the Polis.

Don’t fail them this time.

Don’t let Xerxes take them.

Not this time.

The Flame consumed him.