Chapter Twenty-Six

Carann, Royal Palace, Dueling Hall

The moment the first energy blasts began to tear into the dueling floor, Arta sprang into action. She didn't know what was happening, or why, but her every instinct was screaming that this was no accident, that she – and everyone here – was in terrible, indescribable danger. Without thinking, she was in motion – not towards the attackers she couldn't see, but toward Darius ast Sakran, who still stood stunned in the center of the floor as if unable to process how things had gone so terribly wrong.

Arta slammed into him just before the bolts struck, knocking him to the floor. They fell to the ground together, Darius on his back and Arta lying flat across his chest. Scrunching her eyes shut as tightly as they would go, she reached deep into herself, trying to find the state of intense focus the Professor had taught her, trying to draw out as much power as she could. The hail of bolts reached them, lancing down with the Evil One's own fury…

And stopped, impacting harmlessly in midair. Arta opened her eyes and sat up slowly, a shocked expression growing on their face as she realized that she and Darius were surrounded by a half-sphere of pulsing blue light; the bolts struck it ineffectively, doing no more damage than a few ripples, and then subsided as the shooters must have realized that they weren't penetrating and that another tactic was in order.

The strange shield was supported by a series of long, glowing tendrils of blue light; Arta held up her hands in shock in front of her eyes, examining them carefully as if she'd never seen them before, as she realized that those tendrils were rising from her own flesh.

Darius stared up at her. "How…" he breathed, and then realization hit him. "You're an Adept, aren't you?"

"Yeah," Arta said wearily. "I am."

Darius shook his head. "I've never actually met an Adept before," he said. "How long do you think you can hold this? Can you move it, or are we stuck here?"

Arta shook her head. "I don't know," she said. "I've never done this before."

/

Mardoban stood slowly, holding Shiran's limp form across his shoulders, as the shooting stopped. The dueling floor was blasted and pitted, but instead of the corpses of Darius and Artakane, the regent saw that the two young people seemed to be enveloped in an odd cocoon of blue light. He had no idea what it was, and he had no time to worry right now.

The shooters now stood openly in the stands and had turned their weapons away from the competitors and toward the crowds, keeping them in their seats. Most of them were dressed in the simple, ragged, but practical clothing that the regent associated with pirates and mercenaries but dotted here and there among them were a handful of sleek figures in featureless black masks. Mardoban felt his blood run cold. The assassins weren't destroyed after all, and they had returned.

"We need to get moving," he growled to his fellow council members and turned towards the back of the box, hoisting Shiran along with him. Before he could take more than a step, however, the air near the door flickered as a cloaking shield came down, revealing a squad of the mercenaries and one of the assassins – a woman, Mardoban thought, from her height and the shape of her body he could vaguely guess under her armor. She holstered what looked like a small pistol – no doubt the weapon that had fired the dart that drugged Shiran – and strolled over to where Pakorus now stood, seemingly immobilized from shock. She rested a hand lightly on the boy's shoulder and met Mardoban's eyes with her faceless gaze.

"Put your weapons down, please," she said in a voice that buzzed electronically but was recognizably feminine, nonetheless. "If you don't comply, first the boy dies, and then my men start shooting all of you. I pray you'll be reasonable."

"If you hurt my son," Mardoban grated, "I will kill you, I promise."

"No doubt you'll try," the assassin said. "But you'll be dead either way. And so will they. Do you like your odds?"

Mardoban met Pakorus's terrified gaze for a long moment, then sighed, drawing his dueling sword with his free hand and dropping it to the ground. Behind him he could hear the other dukes and Gilgam's guards doing the same; Respen threw his weapon down particularly violently, while Naudar simply leaned on his cane, expression unreadable.

"Why not just kill us now?" Mardoban asked.

"Because my superior wants an audience," the assassin said. "Face forward, if you please. Especially you, regent, and you, Duke Naudar. I think you'll find this particularly… illuminating."

Mardoban did as he was bid, turning towards the dueling field and feeling the looming threat of the enemies behind him. Something was moving down amid the smoke – another squad of mercenaries was marching onto the field, one of the assassins at their head. When he reached the center of the field, the assassin turned his gaze up to the stands and tapped something along his lower jaw. When he spoke, his voice echoed through the entire hall, powerfully amplified – and though it too was heavily distorted by electronics, Mardoban thought he recognized it.

"Good evening, lords and ladies, guildsmen and priests and commoners of the Dozen Stars," he said. "I am called the Commander; you might have heard of me. You may also have heard that I was killed in battle not so long ago, courtesy of the good dukes Orlanes and Sakran; but as you can see, reports of my demise were highly premature.

"You may wonder why I'm here, or what I want. The question you should asking, my friends, is how. How is it that a wanted criminal you were assured was dead has now come walking, quite alive, into the very heart of the most guarded place in your entire Kingdom? How is it that you have proven so very vulnerable? And I say to you, look around you. You have stumbled without leadership for fifteen years, and then, when your council finally decides to resolve the issue, what means do they choose? A tournament. A chance to let noble brats beat each other with swords for their house's honor and their parents' entertainment, and they call that government. It is characteristic of your system. Your nobles cannot lead, your priests say nothing but platitudes, your guilds care for nothing but enriching themselves at your expense.

"They will say that I came here today to kill the Kingdom of the Dozen Stars, but I tell you this – it was dead long before I came! All I have come to do is put down a whimpering creature that should have died long ago – an act of mercy. Perhaps now you hate me. In time you will thank me, for whatever rises from the ashes cannot help but be better than what you have endured now.”

The Commander turned and prowled across the floor towards the strange cocoon of blue light. "And what is this?" he asked mockingly. "Could it be that one of your champions at this farce of a tournament was an Adept, no doubt cheating their way to victory through powers that no mere mortal can match? Emblematic of the corruption and hypocrisy that dodges this nation, would you not agree? Still, there is more than one path to power. Where flesh fails, technology may serve. Allow me to demonstrate."

/

Arta stared out through the blue dome, her body shuddering with the effort of maintaining it, as the Commander approached. Seen through the energy field's distortion he seemed barely human, a towering figure with only a sleek emptiness for a face, but his unseen eyes seemed to regard her coldly.

"It is true," he observed casually, "that Adepts have many powers ordinary people do not. But they are not invincible. Their powers rely on clarity of mind, and the mind can be attacked. Observe."

The Commander held up his hand, and Arta watched in shock as his fingers peeled back, revealing the machine underneath – and a wrist that ended in the barrel of a weapon. She frowned – that didn't look like any energy blaster she'd ever seen – and wondered what it was he intended to do. Then the Commander pointed his arm directly at her, and his weapon fired.

There was no flash of light, no projectile or other visual sign, but at once her ears were assaulted by a sudden blast of sound. Arta screamed as the agony tore through her skull and fell prostrate across Darius, clutching her ears and trying desperately to block out the sonic attack, to no avail. She saw Darius's eyes glaze over from the effects of the blast and then he went limp; Arta held on a moment longer, but at last she crumpled, falling into unconsciousness as the pain seemed to drill straight into her soul. Her last sight was of the energy barrier collapsing around her, falling into shards that flickered and went out.

/

Mardoban's heart clenched as he saw Artakane fall, and then he felt the nearest mercenary poke him in the back with his gun in an insistent way. He turned slowly to face the woman who lead their captors, who nodded at him in what seemed an approving way.

"You show courage in the face of the enemy," she said, "though now you know just how badly you have failed. It is the last feeling you will know."

"I thought you were going to spare us if we cooperated!" Duke Hiram spluttered.

"Did I say that?" the assassin asked. "I don't believe I did. Now, let's see if a group of pampered, unarmed men and women can face death with dignity. We had wagers, you see, on which of you would break first – "

Her voice cut off suddenly as a smoking hole appeared in her forehead. Through the injury, Mardoban could see no blood or organs, merely the sparking ruin of machinery; the assassin stood still for a moment, then crumpled onto the closest seat and slid to the floor in a tangled heap.

Beside Mardoban, Naudar lowered his cane, its tip still smoking from where the beam rifle concealed inside it had fired the small, precise energy bolt. "I may be pampered," he muttered, "but I'm never unarmed."

No sooner had the assassin fallen than Pakorus dived under the seats; once he saw his son was out of immediate danger, Mardoban grabbed his sword from where he'd dropped it. "Take them!" he shouted.

Gilgam and his guards were faster than the dukes or the pirates, the latter of whom still seemed to be in shock at having watched their leader fall. Grabbing their blast pistols from where they'd dropped them, they opened fire and at once several of the pirates fell. The remaining few, apparently considering themselves too far outmatched, turned at once and fled back through the door.

"We need to get you out of here, my lords," Gilgam said, gesturing for two of his men to pick up Shiran from where he lay. "Follow us."

"Finally, someone here is talking sense," Sateira muttered, holding herself up with dignity as she made her way to the aisle. The guards hurried the council members along towards the door, Gilgam muttering quickly into his comm, doubtless calling every available guard to the dueling hall. Last of the council to leave was Duchess Laodamia, who sniffed disdainfully as she stepped over the assassin's body.

"Are you all right, son?" Mardoban asked Pakorus as he hauled himself up from out under the seats.

"Just shook," he said. "Are we getting out of here?" He looked out over the dueling field, an anxious expression on his face. "And what about Arta?"

"I don't know," the regent said quietly, the knowledge of exactly who and what the girl was and what she might mean churning in his gut. "I just don't know."

/

The Commander felt his connection to Two cut off suddenly as she died, and then above him the stands erupted into chaos. Some of the crowd had taken the eruption of bolt fire in the judges’ box as a sign to flee, others as a sign to charge the pirates; while the spectators weren't armed, they had the weight of numbers on their side. In the VIP box, several of the nobles had drawn their swords, and when the pirates had opened fire in response, they were mowed down by far greater firepower from the pair of Praetorians who'd been protecting the Imperial Ambassador; now the mechanical monsters were shepherding that part of the crowd to safety. The Commander cursed under his breath; he'd seen Praetorians in action before, and doubted he'd see any of the pirates he'd sent to the VIP Box again, at least not in one piece.

He glanced down at the comatose forms of ast Sakran and ast Katanes and shook his head; they were irrelevant for the moment. Shifting his focus, he activated his comm line to Four. "Whatever you're doing, drop it," he ordered. "I want all the men you have to head to the halls behind the judges' box. Stop the council from escaping; if you can't, kill Mardoban at least. The regent is your top priority. Understood?"

"Understood, sir," Four said, his voice heavy with anticipation.

/

Gilgam and his guards led the council into the maze of corridors behind the judges' box, following no pattern that Mardoban recognized as he tried to throw off pursuit. The regent hadn't spent much time back here, and he couldn't be sure where they might end up, though the guards seemed to know the way. Behind him, he could hear the other dukes muttering angrily and tried to ignore them, though that was becoming increasingly difficult. Finally, however, the group rounded a corner and found themselves faced with a large group of pirates, weapons ready; another of the assassins, this one a man, stood in front.

"Leaving so soon, Duke Mardoban?" the assassin asked. "I'm hurt, really. I thought you would have at least waited to see me – and finish what we started."

The regent frowned, and then realization hit him. "I've met you before, haven't I?" he asked. "I fought you on Tantos Station."

"You humiliated me in front of the Commander, you mean," the assassin said. "I've been looking forward to evening that score, and I shall do so today."

"Now, see here," Duke Hiram said, stepping forward, "I don't know who you people are or what you want, but this can't be the most advantageous way to go about getting it! I am very wealthy, and am willing to make concessions if only…"

The assassin drew his pistol and fired in a single smooth motion; there was a flash of light and then Hiram slid to the floor, a patch on his chest still smoking and his expression that of benign bewilderment, as if he simply had no idea how this could have happened. Pakorus stared in the body in horror, and Mardoban himself drew a shocked breath at just how sudden Hiram's death had been.

"As I was saying," the assassin said, "your lives are forfeit, as his was. Unless…" here he paused and fixed his unseen gaze on Mardoban, "your regent agrees to face me in single combat. If he defeats me, then I'll let, say… half of you go free. If I win, you all die. What say you, regent? Are you willing to risk your life for your peers?"

"You're not going to let any of them go, are you, no matter who wins?" Mardoban asked softly.

The assassin shrugged. "Maybe not. But if you don't fight, I will kill you all. It's your choice, old man."

Mardoban sighed and drew his sword. Before he could take a step forward, Pakorus caught his arm. "Don't do it," he whispered in his father's ear. "You know he's lying, and this time he won't underestimate you. He will kill you."

"If there's even a chance of getting some of us out of here alive, I have to take it," Mardoban said. "I love you, son. Don't forget that when I'm gone." He pulled away from Pakorus, fearing he would be overcome with tears if he waited another moment longer, and activated his sword, feeling the familiar hum as energy coursed down the blade.

The assassin drew his own sword and brought it to sparking, crackling life as well. "Oh, I've waited for this," he said, raising his weapon in a mocking salute.

"I've no doubt you have," a woman's voice suddenly said, "but I'm afraid I have other plans." The assassin suddenly froze, and then his body began to twitch. Shimmers of red light rose from his head, his shoulders, and his hands and began to reach out in twisting tendrils, slowly wrapping themselves around his body like the limbs of some terrible beast. Sparks began to erupt from his joints, and then the tendrils inserted themselves all across the assassin's body and as one gave a sharp twist. The assassin fell, his limbs bent at unnatural angles as sparks burst from all across his form; then both sparks and tendrils faded and the assassin was left crumpled, a broken, lifeless toy.

The air shimmered and a woman in a dark cloak appeared, standing over the corpse. She raked the pirates with a gleaming gaze, and they backed up apprehensively – only to find themselves cornered as another detachment of guards came up behind them. Caught between the enemy and the woman who had killed their leader, they dropped their weapons and raised their hands in surrender.

"I found those gentlemen not far from here, and thought I knew where they might be useful," the woman said, gesturing at the guards, then she turned and lowered her hood. Mardoban heard the sharp intake of breath behind him as several of the council members realized who she was.

"Princess Midaia!" Respen finally said, unable to keep the shock from his tone. "This is an unexpected… pleasure."

"And you remain as obnoxious and insincere as ever, Cousin Respen," Midaia said lightly, before turning to Mardoban. "My lord regent. I'm pleased that you're well. And Pakorus too, of course."

"Midaia," Mardoban finally said, "you saved us all. The council is in your debt…"

She cut the air with her hand. "I didn't do it for them," she said. "I did it because, when I was a child, I called you 'Uncle' and you balanced me on your knee and made faces to make me laugh. Whatever else I've become, I don't forget kindness." She glided forward and leaned in close. "Nor do I forget family," she whispered in Mardoban's ear. "So, tell me, 'Uncle' – where is Artakane?"

/

Get up.

The voice echoed in the darkness of Arta's mind; it was familiar to her, but she couldn't place it. The echoes of pain still pounded through her head, and she could distantly feel her body curling into a fetal position as she tried to escape it.

Get up, now! The voice hissed, far more insistent. Do you want to live? Then get up, you fool, and fight!

I'm dead already, Arta found herself thinking. The pain is too much, and I can't move. I just have to lie here and wait, and it will carry me away…

No! the voice said, and now it seemed to be accompanied by a face, a pale woman in a dark hood with bright, penetrating eyes that had always seen too much. You are a queen, Artakane! Queens do not cower, and they do not wait passively for death! Live, Artakane! Live and be avenged!

Arta's eyes snapped open, and she found herself lying on the middle of the dueling floor, the unconscious form of Darius by her side. The pain wasn't gone, but she could manage it now, an iron will having replaced it in the forefront of her thoughts with raw determination. Slowly, shakily, she stood, grabbing her sword from where it lay, and turned slowly to face the Commander.

The masked man stood in the center of the dueling floor, hands folded behind him; only a handful of his mercenaries were with him now, and the stands above him seemed to be empty. High above them the recording mechs still circled, mindlessly carrying out their programming, but Arta ignored them; they weren't relevant now. Slowly she took a step forward, holding her sword in front of her. She didn't know what Midaia's voice had meant, calling her a queen, and maybe she'd imagined the entire exchange – but even if she wasn't a queen, she could still be a knight, and she would die on her feet.

The Commander seemed to have heard her approach, for he turned slowly to face her and nodded in an almost respectful fashion. "Ah," he said. "You're stronger than I thought. Well done, for recovering so quickly. But it won't save you; I have orders, you see, and one of those orders is that the finalists in this farce of a tournament must die. It's nothing personal."

"Orders?" Arta asked. "From who?" Who could possibly give orders to this terrifying man?

"It doesn't matter," the Commander said. He raised his arm that contained the sonic cannon and regarded it critically. "Unfortunately, this weapon requires much of my power; to use it again might render me too weak to escape. Fortunately, I have other ways to kill." Lowering the cannon, he reached to his side with his free hand and drew a dueling sword that blazed to life. "You're a duelist, girl. Shall we duel, then, you and I?"

"Challenge accepted, monster," Arta muttered, and then she charged with all the strength she could muster.

The Commander met her blow easily, wielding his sword one-handed, almost contemptuously. His style was unfamiliar, and Arta wondered where he was from and where he had trained – and the strength even in that one-handed grip was terrible, inhuman. His whole body must be riddled with cybernetics, Arta realized, not just the arm with the sonic cannon. And he had the skill to make full use of his enhancements.

Slowly, effortlessly, he forced her back across the dueling floor, his blank face inscrutable as the void between the stars. Arta knew that she couldn't win, that she was outmatched far more than she had been even against Darius; it was all she could do to simply keep her sword in her hand while avoiding the craters that the energy blasts had left scored across the dueling floor.

Finally, the Commander gave his wrist a sharp twist and Arta's sword went spinning from her hand; stumbling backwards, she fell over a twisted tile and found herself looking up at her attacker, his sword point at her throat. This was no duel to first blood or surrender, she realized in her bones – this was a fight to the death, and she had lost. She was going to die, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

The Commander, however, seemed almost to frown, though his mask's expression couldn't change. "You look like her, a bit," he said. "The old Queen, Aestera. I was there when she died, did you know that? I led that mission as well, and it was I who put a bolt through her head myself, when she tried to flee. It seems fitting, I think. My first assignment here and my last, both in this palace. What symmetry…"

He raised his sword for the killing blow, and inspired perhaps by his cold, emotionless tone or perhaps by her own desire to survive, Arta lunged forward with all her remaining strength. This time she had no weapon, fought with no skill; she simply hurled herself bodily at the Commander and grabbed the sides of his head with both of her hands.

And suddenly, she was aware of him, down to the smallest detail. The biological systems that had originally been his, and that now pulsed in time with the cybernetic enhancements that had come to make up so much of his being, countless connections between man and machine. And she saw a faint glimmer of the man himself, the inside of his soul – his viciousness, his arrogance and capacity for violence that he'd tempered but never fully quashed with discipline, the same traits that he driven him to fight her one-on-one instead of shooting her where she lay, his determination to succeed in his mission – and, in a flash, a faceless figure in holo-form, commanding him to bring the Dozen Stars to its knees.

All of this passed through her mind in an instant, and then Arta reached down into his body with all of her will, an Adept's will trained by Shiran; she found the countless connections between his cybernetic and organic parts, and as one, she severed them.

The Commander gave a sudden howl of agony and threw Arta off of himself, but the damage had been done. Waves of blue light erupted along his torso, head, and limbs, and where they passed, his body bent and twisted amidst showers of sparks. The Commander fell to his back and writhed as the energy engulfed him, immobilized by the uncontrollable convulsions, his hands clawing at his face. Finally, they tore his mask away and he lay still, smoldering.

Arta walked over to stand over him, and looked down with pity upon her enemy's face, a face that could barely even be called human anymore; it was pale and withered, laced with wires and strips of metal, and it no longer had eyes, merely connector ports for more sensors built into the mask. He coughed wetly as he lay there, and as Arta approached, he seemed to become aware of her.

"You're a fool," the Commander wheezed. "You think you've won? I am merely the first finger of the hand that now stretches out against this pathetic Kingdom. You have won nothing; you've merely delayed your destruction. In the end, you will all die." He twitched one final time, and then his whole body spasmed and lay still; all along his limbs a new shower of white sparks erupted, as some final failsafe activated to destroy his cybernetics before they could fall into enemy hands. Arta stumbled back, shielding her eyes with her hands.

When she looked up, she saw the Commander's mercenaries regarding what little remained of their leader with horror, and then as one they turned and fled the dueling hall. Arta was alone, and all was still.

A bone-deep weariness rose within her, and she swayed on her feet as all of the effort of the day seemed to fall upon her at once. Her body twisting, she fell – and then she was suddenly aware that someone's arms and caught her and were lowering her gently to the floor.

"It's all right," Darius ast Sakran's voice said from a great distance as darkness swirled down on her. "I've got you."