Chapter Two

Carann, Royal Palace

Mardoban ast Orlanes, Duke of his home planet and for fifteen bitter years Regent of the Dozen Stars, set aside the tablet he'd been reading from and sighed heavily, rubbing his eyes. The report he'd just finished scrolling through had been, unfortunately, more of the same he'd been hearing lately – this time it was pirates attacking the shipping lanes near the outlying worlds. But if it hadn't been that, it would have been reports of increased civil unrest on Tantos III, or Duke Respen of Aurann insisting yet again that since he was a cousin of the royal family, the Council should recognize him as King by right of birth, regardless of the fact that the planet under his rule was little more than an oversized military base he ran with an iron fist and that he'd shown no aptitude for the complexities of an entire nation.

Every day, it felt more and more that the Dozen Stars was falling towards anarchy, and there was precious little Mardoban could do about it. A Regent, after all, was not a King; he could issue decrees but few nobles outside of Carann itself or his own duchy of Orlanes felt particularly bound to follow them, and the other Dukes on the council were growing to see him more and more as a placeholder who had outlasted his time.

Damn the whole cursed feudal system anyway, Mardoban though. The Dozen Stars had broken away from the Empire nearly five centuries ago, and its founders had reacted against the ruthlessly centralized system they had escaped by creating one that granted power chiefly to the rulers of the individual worlds, rather than to a single ruler – the degree of authority to which a king or queen could exercise their power outside of Carann depended as much on the force of their personality as it did on the strength of their position. Of course, Mardoban thought, that just meant that power was still concentrated, just in the hands of a ruling class rather than an individual ruler – and that class produced proud, ambitious people who disliked it intensely when someone they saw as merely one of their own tried to make them work together.

There was an old phrase from Lost Terra that the Duke had once read that seemed appropriate to him now: herding cats. Mardoban was trying to herd cats, and increasingly, he was failing.

His office door suddenly buzzed, pulling Mardoban from his dark thoughts. "Enter," he said, turning his chair to face the door; it opened a moment later and his son stuck his head inside.

"Father," he said, "I just wanted to remind you that the Council meeting is due to start in fifteen minutes. You probably want to go ahead and be down there."

"Thank you, Pakorus," Mardoban said, rising. He paused a moment to regard his son; at sixteen, two years short of his majority, he'd grown into a fine young man. Slender, handsome and neatly dressed, with hair as black as the Duke's had been before it had become streaked with grey, he wasn't particularly imposing but had a keen eye and sharp wit that would make him a formidable leader one day.

Mardoban put rested his hand on his son's shoulder. "Well, then," he said, trying to a casual smile. "Let's not keep my esteemed colleagues waiting, shall we?"

/

"This is getting absurd!" the holographic image of Duke Hiram ast Tantos declared angrily from where it shimmered above his council seat. "This is the third time in the past standard week that a shipment from one of my planets has been seized by these pirates. They must be scoured from our kingdom – I demand that this council take action!"

"It seems to me," Duke Respen's image said lightly, "that this is your problem, my friend. Clearly if you had spent less time throwing garden parties and more time arming your militia, this wouldn't have happened. I've certainly not had that sort of problem in my holdings."

"Because the bloody pirates are probably working for you in the first place!" Duke Hiram snarled, rising to his feet. "Where else would they be getting state of the art ships and weapons, if not one of our own?"

"Are you calling me a criminal, Tantos?" Respen shouted equally angrily, rising as well. "I will remind you that my personal records are spotless, and that my holdings are statistically the safest in the Kingdom. You may look up the records if you wish; it's all laid out very clearly."

"The safest only if you don't mind being ruled by a tyrant, you-" Hiram began, but Mardoban had had enough. Rising to his full height, he raised both his hands and regarded both dukes with a ferocious scowl.

"Enough!" he shouted, and Hiram and Respen both turned to face him. The two men were a study in contrasts – the former was older, past his prime and balding and carrying rather more weight than was fashionable, and was clad in bright, flamboyant clothes. The latter was younger, slim and handsome save for the predatory smile he often wore, and he wore a military uniform modeled on the classic Imperial style with a fine dueling sword at his hip.

"I will not have two members of this august body shouting insults at each other like schoolchildren!" Mardoban continued. "Duke Respen, restrain yourself from casting aspersions on Duke Hiram's military and use of his resources; Duke Hiram, refrain from making unfounded accusations against Duke Respen. If we are to bring up every grievance, real or imagined, we have against each other, then we might as well dispense with this council entirely. Am I clear?"

"Yes, Your Grace," both Dukes said, bowing at the waist, but neither could fully hide the mutinous looks in their eyes. This, Mardoban thought, wasn't something he'd heard the last of.

"Regardless of the behavior of our colleagues," Duke Naudar ast Sakran put in, "I must admit I am concerned. My holdings have also been troubled by increased piracy lately, though my militia forces have been sufficient to see them off without significant damages. I recommend that this council take an active interest in finding out exactly who these people are and why they've been so active lately, for the safety of the entire Kingdom."

Naudar was an older man, of Mardoban's generation; they'd never been friends, exactly, but they respected each other's abilities, and Mardoban had to admit that after his own holdings, and the Crown's (which were also now his to administer, thanks to his holding the Regency) Sakran was the largest and most powerful of the twelve duchies that composed the Kingdom. Privately, Mardoban considered Naudar a dangerously ambitious man, one who might not be above hiring pirates to harass his rivals – but he also doubted that Naudar would be the one to request an investigation into the matter if he was the one behind it. He wouldn't want to risk what that might turn up.

"Really, Naudar," said Duchess Sateira, "What do you expect to find? They're pirates; what's the difference between one greedy, uncultured ruffian and another? I can only assume they're only attacking now because the sense weakness." She shot a superbly disdainful glance around the council chamber, and several of the holographic men and women shifted uncomfortably in their seats; Sateira was duchess of Tahir, a world known for its high culture and fine society, and she made little secret of her distaste for anyone who didn't meet her personal standards – which was most people.

Naudar, however, merely nodded his head in her direction. "Actually, there is a particular motive behind my request," he said. "Several of the pirate vessels were appearing and disappearing quite suddenly before they attacked – and without leaving the characteristic energy signatures to suggest they were making jumps. When my militia managed to capture one of their ships mostly intact, they found an advanced cloaking system on board." He paused for a long moment before continuing. "Very similar, in fact, to the sort of system in the suits of the assassins who killed our beloved Queen fifteen years ago."

"Are you suggesting that the pirates and the assassins are working for the same people?" Mardoban asked, a sudden chill running up his spine. For years, they'd investigated the assassins, only to find dead end after dead end. For new evidence to turn up now…

"Perhaps," said Naudar carefully. "Or perhaps, the assassins and the pirates merely sourced their weapons from the same arms dealers. Either way, it would point to there being more layers to this than Duchess Sateira would have us believe. I think it bears investigating."

The councilors, worlds away, shifted awkwardly in their seats; Mardoban, for his part, was still, considering carefully. He doubted Naudar's motives in revealing this information were altruistic – the man didn't trust most of his fellow dukes, and had little real loyalty to any part of the Kingdom outside of his own – but at the same time, was this a lead they could afford to pass up, regardless of its source?

No, Mardoban decided, it was not.

"I agree with Duke Naudar," he said. "We have been plagued by pirates long enough, and the question of what person or group is supplying their weaponry bears further investigation. I recommend that a member of this council by assigned to create a task force to hunt the pirates down and track their technology to its source. As regent, I nominate myself for this position, unless someone else would contest that right." When no one else did, Mardoban continued. "Then we'll vote. All in favor?"

Holographic hands raised; unsurprisingly, Hiram and Naudar were the first to have their hands in the air, with Respen following somewhat more hesitantly; Sateira kept hers firmly lowered, as did several other council members. But as Mardoban counted the hands, he saw that the task force had enough to pass – barely.

"Then it's decided," he said. "I will create a task force to destroy the pirate threat and trace the origins of the pirates themselves and their technology. If there are no further matters to discuss, I hereby declare this meeting of the High Council of the Dozen Stars adjourned."

/

Later that afternoon, Mardoban stood in the Hall of Portraits, where hung the images of all the monarchs of the Dozen Stars, from Artax the Founder, who lead the first revolts against the Empire and helped create an independent kingdom down through the centuries. The Duke stood before the last of these portraits now, regarding the image of the most recent of those monarchs, depicted sitting serenely on her throne, robed in blue and staring purposefully into the distance. Aestera ast Carann IV, late queen and, it was seeming all too likely, last queen.

"I know you're beyond all this, now," Mardoban said softly, "but, Lord, sometimes I wish we still had you here now. I've been trying to do what you'd want from me, but… damn if it isn't hard. I don't know how you put up with them sometimes." He smiled and shook his head sadly. "But I will do everything in my power to keep things from falling apart; I promise you that."

The portrait, of course, had no response.

"Father?" a voice said from behind him, and he turned to face Pakorus as the boy approached. "Down here, again? I had a feeling."

"Talking to her helps clear my head," the Duke said, "even if she can't talk back. In any case, it looks like I'll be having some business to attend to before long; the council is worried about pirate attacks and Naudar wanted someone to look into it, and as it happens, that someone is me."

Pakorus arched an eyebrow. "But, you're the regent," he said. "Don't you have enough responsibility already? Why not someone else?"

Mardoban chuckled. "It's precisely because I'm the regent that I'm the only one the council would accept in the job, son," he said. "The dukes are territorial; they'd be outraged if any of the others sent ships into their holdings for any reason if they did it without their permission, and see giving them the job of pirate hunting as just an excuse to size up their territory for invasion. Since I'm the regent, I'm the only one who can even pretend to be impartial, so I'm the only one they'll accept – and several of them voted against it anyway."

"Sometimes," Pakorus said slowly as he digested this bit of information, "I think I really hate our government."

Now Mardoban did laugh. "Sometimes I feel the same way, believe me. And I'd question the sanity of anyone who didn't. It's a rotten situation we're in, to be sure, and everybody knows it – but the problem is, everybody thinks that they're the only ones who know how to solve it, so they won't listen to anyone else."

"Then why would Naudar be the one to raise the idea of someone else solving the pirate problem?" Pakorus asked. "His children went to the Academy here on Carann with me, Father, remember? I never knew any of them very well, but I knew them well enough. Darius was always the best at everything he tried, Tariti always seemed to be looking down her nose at the rest of us, and Galen was ambitious enough for all three of them just by himself. And they all acted like they were the Lord’s gift to the Kingdom. From the way you've talked about their father, he sounded like he was the same. So why give someone else power?"

"You're right, Pakorus," said Mardoban. "Naudar is arrogant, and he is ambitious. But he's also old and canny. He's powerful enough that he's secure in his position, and he knows that none of the other dukes trust him. But he doesn't just want power because he feels entitled to it, like Respen, or because he thinks he's the only one smart enough to rule, like Sateira. He wants to be the founder of a new dynasty, and that means he wants the Kingdom to still be here when he's gone. So he wants elements like the pirates gone that he doesn't control gone, and if that means helping a rival because he thinks that rival is the only one who can get the job done, then he'll do it. Strange as it is to say, he may be the best friend on the council I have – at least for now."

"But you still don't trust him," Pakorus pointed out.

"Of course, I don't," said Mardoban said. "I don't trust any of them. But I do trust that Naudar will be pragmatic and has at least some idea of the larger picture, which is more than I can say for any of the others. Whatever his other faults, he's not a stupid man – and I doubt his sons or daughter are either. Remember that, son."

"I will," Pakorus said, and Mardoban let out a barely audible sigh. The boy was almost a man, and that meant, by the laws of the Dozen Stars, that he would soon be eligible to inherit his father's position. If the Lord was merciful, he wouldn't need to for decades yet, but still – Mardoban sometimes felt like fate was condemning him to treat Pakorus as yet another colleague, and not a son.

The Duke didn't say anything about the potential connection between the pirates and the assassins who'd killed Aestera; there was no need yet for that information to pass into the hands of anyone outside of the council, no matter whose child they might be. Better not to risk the word getting out, and whoever was behind both groups – if anyone – finding out that their tracks had been uncovered.

"By the way," Mardoban said, "would you mind running a message to Ambassador Quarinis for me? Something's recently come up that he and I need to discuss; tell him I'd like to set up a meeting in the next day or so." Quarinis was a stickler for organization and protocol; he wouldn't take kindly if Mardoban simply barged in on him, but he'd be more amenable if everything was arranged ahead of time – and sending his son rather than a servant or a remote message would be taken as a sign of respect.

Pakorus knew it; he smiled as he gave the formal bow of a noble page to his lord. "I'll do it, Father," he said.

Before either of them could say anything else, they were interrupted by the sound of running feet; Mardoban turned and saw a man in the uniform of an officer of the royal guard hurrying up. It was Gilgam, the man he'd first spoken to on the day of the assassination, so long ago; he came to stop in front of the Duke and snapped to a salute.

"My Lord," he said breathlessly, "your presence is required in the council chamber at once. Something… unusual has happened."

/

The throne at the head of the council chamber had sat empty for years, ever since the Queen who last occupied it had met her end; as regent, Mardoban supposed he could have rightfully sat in it if he wished, but it had never felt proper for him to do so. The throne wasn't his; he was merely holding it in trust, though sometimes wondered who or what he might be holding it in trust for. Now, however, the throne was ringed with guards, all of whom appeared nervous.

As Mardoban approached, he thought he saw why. Something rested on the seat of the great chair that hadn't been there before – a crown, delicately worked of some silvery metal and set with blue gemstones that seemed to glow with their own inner light. The Duke approached warily, and the guards let him pass; he picked up the crown and regarded it intently. It was warm to the touch.

"Where did this come from?" he asked.

"I was the one who saw it, my lord," a young woman in a guard uniform said, stepping forward. "I was on monitor duty, and I swear it happened in an instant – one moment, the throne was empty, the next, that was sitting in it. I thought the monitor must have glitched, or someone had interfered with it somehow, but we ran diagnostics and couldn't find anything wrong, and the crown – well, obviously, it was actually there. I have no idea how it slipped by me, my lord. Forgive me."

"It's not your fault," Mardoban said. He well knew that there were powers in the universe that might let a man walk unseen, so close to invisible as to make no difference – powers that could cheat cameras and sensors, and even the eyes of men and women. He'd once known a man who had been very skilled at such things, after all. Was this his doing, after all this time? Why?

"Was there anything else you found with the crown?" the Duke asked. "Any clue as to what this is or how it got here?"

"Well," the female guard said, "we did find this with it." She held out a small scroll with a delicate knot tied around it, of the kind that was still used for official messages on some worlds even though technology had rendered it obsolete millennia ago. Mardoban took it and carefully slid the knot off, the unrolled the scroll.

"'Whosoever shall wear this crown,'" he read, "'shall rule. But if ye be not worthy, beware.'" There was no signature, but there didn't need to be; Mardoban recognized the handwriting.

Is this your move at last, old friend? He thought. Why now? What are you planning?