Chapter Sixteen

Tantos System

“Our surrender?” Duchess Sateira asked incredulously. “And, exactly, do you think that we have any interest in doing that?”

Latharna’s gaze shifted from the rebel duchess back to Arta where she sat in her chair; if the young queen was as nervous as she thought she must be, she was doing an excellent job of hiding it. Instead, she kept her cold smile firmly in place and her voice even. “You thought you could capture me away from my guards and allies, force me to agree to whatever you wanted or, if I wouldn’t, kill me and make it look like I was the one at fault,” she said. “But things aren’t going to work out quite that way. You see this clasp? I’m afraid it’s not just decorative. It contains a very small, very specialized transmitter that’s been broadcasting everything we’ve been saying in this room back to the Lion’s bridge – and from there, to the other members of the council who are standing by and waiting to see how things shake out. So, go ahead, threaten me, even try to kill me if the mood takes you. You’re too late – by the end of today, the entire Kingdom will know you for the treacherous, conniving ambitious snakes you are. Maybe you can still take the throne by force, but if you do, it will be as nothing more than blatant usurpers, and everyone will know it. Or we can negotiate your withdrawal from Tantos III and the reinstatement of Lady Kallistrae as duchess, and you can get out of this with at least some of your dignity intact.”

The speech had been mostly scripted, worked out between Arta and Mardoban beforehand; still, Latharna felt like she would have applauded its delivery if the situation hadn’t been so tense. Respen half-rose from his seat, his expression murderous; Sateira yanked him back down and hissed something quietly in his ear, though her gaze was nearly as dark. Naudar, however, simply sat very still, regarding Arta carefully as though calmly reassessing his opinion of her; behind his chair, his distractingly handsome son was shaking his head and strangely, seemed more amused than upset at the situation.

“Mardoban put you up to this, didn’t he?” Naudar asked finally.

“Does it matter?” Arta returned. “I’m here on behalf of the people of the Dozen Stars, in order to stop this war before it truly begins and claims even more lives. Are your subjects more important to you than your ambitions? If yes, then I think we can still work things out.”

“We still have you outnumbered, both down here and in orbit,” Sateira said. “So maybe we’re stuck operating under the eyes of the council; what’s to stop us from taking you hostage and forcing them to acquiesce to our demands? As far as I see it, your situation hasn’t changed.”

“Like I said,” Arta told her, “you can do that if you want. Maybe you’ll even win. But then Respen – or whichever one of you ends up with the throne – only gets it through brute force and without any goodwill from the council or the people. And anyone who takes power by force always has to be afraid of it being taken away the same way. My tutor taught me about the old emperors who murdered for their positions and then for the rest of their lives always had to sleep with one eye open, watching for the person who would come and do the same to them. Is that really what you want?”

“No, it isn’t,” Naudar said. “However, my colleagues are correct in that we do still hold Tantos III with greater force available to us than you have, and therefore we still have a position of strength. Clearly, we underestimated your resolve, but I think we can still come to a mutually beneficial understanding…”

“No!” Respen snarled suddenly, leaping to his feet and swatting Sateira’s hand away when she tried to restrain him again. Latharna tensed and moved closer to Arta’s chair, hand on her sword. “I am a cousin of the royal line, and the throne of the Dozen Stars is mine by right! I won’t bow meekly before this pretender and renounce my claim like a good little duke. I was promised my birthright and I will have it!”

Before anyone could react, he pulled a beam pistol from a holster at his side and levelled it at Arta’s chest. Latharna gasped and drew her sword, lunging forward, but she wasn’t fast enough. Respen pulled the trigger and a bolt of light lanced from his weapon, aiming straight for the queen’s heart.

///

When the connection to Arta’s transmitter suddenly dissolved into static, Karani’s hands flew to her mouth in horror. “What’s wrong, what happened, is she okay?” she demanded, the questions flurrying from her mouth in rapid fire. “Was that blast fire I heard? Was somebody shooting at her?”

“Until we reestablish the connection, we can’t know for sure,” Mardoban said, trying to keep his voice even despite the chaos roiling in his soul. He couldn’t lose another queen, not like this, not now… but no, he shook his head. They’d planned for this and he had to trust in Artakane now. There was nothing he could do for her directly but follow the plan. And they still had some tricks to play that the rebels hadn’t yet seen.

“Move us forward into attack position,” Mardoban ordered. “I want shields up and weapons systems engaged. If the rebel dukes betrayed the Queen at the negotiating table, they’ll have no problems with trying to take us by surprise; let’s not give them the chance. And see if you can raise one of the enemy warships; I think they have some explaining to do.”

The bridge officers hurried to comply with the duke’s request, while Karani stood beside his chair in an uncharacteristic silence, a petrified expression on her face – not caused by fear for herself, Mardoban was certain, but fear for her sister’s life. He could feel the vibrations beneath his feet as Lion shifted its position and shields and weapons engaged, and then the communications officer suddenly called out in surprise.

“Sir!” he said. “Several of the rebels Equestrian-class ships are moving to engage us; I count at least five. And sir, the lead ship is hailing us.”

Mardoban sighed. “Put them through,” he said. “Let’s here this.”

The air shimmered in front of his command chair and the holoimage of a middle-aged man in a Tashir Duchy uniform appeared before him. “Attention Lion of Carann,” the man said. “This is Captain Karas commanding the warship Sun-Sword for her grace, the Duchess Sateira. Stand down at once and power down your weapons and shields, or we will fire on you. This is not a bluff. Stand down or be destroyed.”

“I doubt you’ll find Lion such easy prey as that, Captain,” Mardoban said. “We are, after all, the most advanced and powerful warship in the Kingdom. Don’t pick a fight with a hunter unless you’re willing to risk becoming prey yourself.”

“I’m well aware of your capabilities, Your Grace,” the captain said. “But we have you outnumbered five to one with more reinforcements on the way. We both know you can’t win this. It’s best to accept that.”

“I’m not accepting anything until I find out what happened to my sister,” Karani snapped, pushing forward; part of Mardoban wanted to tell her to stand down, but the incredulous look on Karas’s face was almost worth it – and in any case, keeping the captain talking suited his purposes. “You’d better tell me Arta’s still alive, or in the Lord’s name I swear I’ll take your fancy ship apart with my bare hands if I have to!”

“I have no knowledge of what may or may not be transpiring on the surface of Tantos III,” Captain Karas replied, his expression disdainful. “But I do have my orders, and those are to take you alive if possible – and dead if not. Come, Your Grace. See reason, and things will end much less painfully for all of us.”

Karani muttered a suggestion as to how the captain could follow his orders that Mardoban was reasonably certain was anatomically impossible, but he simply held up his hand. “I’m afraid we can’t do that,” he said. “The royal flagship of the Dozen Stars doesn’t surrender to rebels and usurpers.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Captain Karas said. “But you had your chance. I wish you hadn’t chosen your own destruction.”

“Oh, that’s not what I chose,” Mardoban said. “I wasn’t really refusing you, Captain. I was doing something else – stalling you.”

Sateira’s captain stared in incomprehension for a long moment, and then the space around the Lion suddenly rippled and then, with a flash of brilliant light, six more Equestrian warships appeared around them, fanning out to face the enemy.

“Aww, Mardoban, did you almost start without me?” Duchess Vashata’s voice asked as her holoimage appeared on the bridge, dressed in a navy uniform and looking eager. She’d been a reasonably successful athlete before succeeding to her duchy and still had a somewhat wild, competitive steak about her. “I’m hurt!”

“We’re not here to entertain ourselves, Vashata,” another voice said, and the duchess’s hologram was joined by that of a man a few years Mardoban’s junior, also dressed in military garb. Dion, one of Duchess Laodamia’s numerous sons, here leading his forces on his mother’s behalf. “We’re here to remind three traitors of their place. Seizing Tantos was bad enough, but openly planning to kill the Queen under the guise of negotiations? Utterly disgraceful.”

“Our friends were waiting on the edge of the system in case your mistress and her friends decided to enact some piece of treachery against our Queen,” Mardoban explained to Captain Karas, who looked stunned. “Perhaps you’re familiar with the Commander? We managed to recover some of the cloaking technology he and his band had used and got it working well enough to hide them from your sensors. They were listening in on Artakane’s transmission from the planet, and when it turned out that the negotiations weren’t being carried out in good faith, they were only a short jump away.”

He smiled coolly. “Now then, I think the playing field has been levelled. Do you still like your odds, Captain?”

Captain Karas glanced from Mardoban to the holos of the other Dukes, not even bothering to hide the anxiety on his face; then his holo vanished. Karani grinned and pumped the air with her fist.

“We got him on the run!” she shouted.

“Not quite,” one of the bridge officers said. “Sit, we’ve got incoming fire.”

“So, it begins,” Mardoban muttered, and felt a sudden pang of relief that whatever fool plan Pakorus was up to, at least his son was safe and away from here.

///

Specter hissed angrily from behind his screen. “If they think that they can take me easily, then they will soon learn otherwise,” he said. “I apologize for the interruption, Pakorus. If you will please move to the corner beside my desk, it will be appreciated.”

Pakorus raised an eyebrow. “If you’re trying to hide me, I don’t think that’ll do a very good job of it,” he said.

Specter chuckled. “No,” he said. “I think that in a moment you will not want to be standing in front of me. You’ll see why.” Pakorus shrugged and moved into the corner of the room that Specter had indicated, noting as he did so that the screen wrapped around the informant in such a way that he still couldn’t get a good look at him. The duke’s son took a deep breath and steadied himself, letting his hand slip to his waist where he’d holstered a small beam pistol, just in case his business on Tantos Station went bad. He was a better shot than he was a duelist, thankfully – though admittedly, he’d only ever tested his skills on stationary targets, never on living enemies.

The other guard entered the office and nodded at Specter, and then he and his companion took up their positions on either side of their boss’s desk. A moment later the door burst open and a half-dozen rough looking men in guild security uniforms burst in, fanning out across the front of the room with weapons levelled. “Specter,” said one of the intruders, who wore an officer’s patch on his shoulder. “You’re coming with us. Tell your boys there to drop their weapons and come peacefully, and everyone gets out of this alive.”

“Do I at least get to inquire as to the reason for this intrusion?” Specter asked, his voice calm, but Pakorus could hear the danger lurking just beneath the surface.

“Guildmaster’s tired of you running your little operation on Tantos Station and not giving the guilds their proper cut, or the obedience they’re due,” the officer said. “He just wants to have a little chat is all. Agree to what he wants, and you’ll be back in your little hidey-hole here by this time tomorrow, safe and sound.”

“That’s very interesting,” Specter mused. “You see, I pay a very handsome sum already to the guilds to avoid exactly this sort of interference. And I also know every security officer of command rank in the Tantos system by sight, as I have paid off each of them personally so that they will look the other way regarding my little operation on any occasion I deem it necessary. But I don’t know you. In fact, I’ve never seen any of you before in my life, and none of your faces are in my database of Tantos system security personnel. I think you’re lying to me, friend, which is not something that’s wise to do. And I also doubt that I would ever return from any meeting you might escort me to. So, forgive me if I decline your invitation.”

The officer chuckled. “And what are you going to do about it?” he asked. “Even counting the boy over there, we’ve got you outnumbered, and there’s more of us waiting in the hall outside. And you’re no fighter, Specter. Let me tell you your options one more time, as clear as I can – you come with us, or we shoot this place to pieces and you and your people all die. Got it?”

“Sadly, yes,” Specter said. “I really do hate violence.”

“Too bad,” the officer said.

“Indeed,” Specter replied. “Too bad.” Pakorus saw his silhouette move behind the screen as he flipped some switch on his desk. For a moment nothing happened, and then red lights began flashing along the walls and ceiling around the security troops. They looked around each other in confusion, and then each point of light erupted into a razor-thin bar of energy that shot from floor to ceiling. Pakorus’s eyes couldn’t track what happened next, save that there was a loud hissing sound, sudden screams that were equally suddenly cut off, and an awful burning smell. When the lights cleared, what had once been the false security team lay in pieces on the ground, neatly sliced.

Looking at the remains, it was all Pakorus could do not to throw up.

“I do hate violence,” Specter mused. “Which is why if I must employ it, I prefer to do so as efficiently and decisively as possible, so I don’t have to draw it out unnecessarily.” He turned to his guards. “Are the rest of them still there?”

One of the guards checked a screen on his wrist guard. “They’re hanging back at the mouth of the corridor talking to each other,” he said. “Can’t pick up on what they’re saying, but it looks like they’re trying to figure out what to do next.”

“Hmmm,” Specter murmured. “I’d hoped they’d take a hint. In that case, young Pakorus had best be going. Take him out by the back way and escort him to his ship. Whoever wants me silenced may try to target him as well. It’s bad for business when my clients die under my care, and in this case his father would also likely have words with me.”

“Got it, boss,” the guard said, saluting, and then turned to Pakorus. “Come on, kid. There’s more than one way out of this place. Follow me.”

“Wait a minute,” the other guard said, checking his own wrist screen. “What’re they doing out there? They’ve got some kind of device, and…”

Before he could finish speaking, a blast of electricity surged through the officer; Pakorus yelped as he felt the shock pass through him, but he wasn’t the target. He could hear something hissing behind Specter’s desk, and the sound of electronics overloading.

“They’ve disabled my security systems,” Specter hissed. “Damn them! Whoever they are, they’re better equipped than I thought. I wonder…”

The office door burst open again, and more of the fake security troops poured in, weapons raised. Suddenly, Pakorus realized that this group wasn’t going to waste time trying to convince Specter to surrender. They were just going to shoot everyone here while the security system was down. Dread settled in him, and he slowly reached for his beam pistol, which seemed a rather pathetic weapon in this situation. At the very least, he could go down fighting.

The intruders fired, but their blasts never hit their targets. The air in front of them shimmered with a faint red glow, and the shots dissipated harmlessly. They paused, looking as confused as Pakorus felt, wondering if perhaps Specter had some other security system still operational.

Then a figure appeared, seeming as if it had materialized whole from the darkness – a woman in black robes with starkly pale skin, hands held before her with red light playing along her fingers. Pakorus recognized her – he’d seen her before, on the day of the tournament when the Commander’s assassins had attacked.

“I’m sorry, boys,” she said, “but I was on my way to consult with Specter here, and I’m afraid I simply can’t allow you to poach him. Leave now, and you might survive this.”

“Midaia,” Specter said. “Your timing is impeccable. It seems things just got a bit more interesting.”

///

No sooner had Respen fired than Arta brought her hand up; there was a flash of blue light as the bold impacted on her palm, but when it cleared, she was completely unharmed; Latharna let out a relieved breath she’d barely even been aware she was holding. “Seriously, Respen?” Arta asked, maintaining her cool air even in the face of the sudden attack. “I’m an Adept and blocking blast bolts was the first trick I ever learned.”

“Even Adepts aren’t invincible,” Respen snarled. “Kill her!”

Respen’s bodyguard drew his dueling sword and moved to obey his duke, but Arta was ready; she leapt to her feet and slammed her palm down on the table, releasing a wave of bright blue light. Latharna ducked beneath it, but not everyone was so lucky; Respen’s and Sateira’s bodyguards were rocked back on their feet while Sateira herself, caught in the middle of standing, was slammed backwards and fell in a heap across her chair. As Latharna rose, she saw Naudar hurrying away towards the far door, cane in one hand and dragging Respen with the other. The duke of Sakran was shooting his ally a murderous look that made Latharna certain they were going to have some harsh words once they were clear of danger. Darius was hovering protectively by his father and seemed to be muttering softly into his wrist comm.

Latharna’s primary concern, however, was Arta. “Come on,” she said, grabbing the queen by the arm and pulling her towards the door. “We need to get out of here.”

“Too late,” Arta said, nodding towards Respen and Sateira’s guards, who’d hurried forward with dueling swords drawn and activated. Latharna and Arta drew their own weapons and backed up against one another, facing their enemies. Latharna found herself opposing Respen’s guard, a big, rough-looking man, while Arta faced Sateira’s. For a long moment they stood there quietly, and then Respen’s guard lunged forward.

As it had at the assassination attempt at the memorial, the joy of battle rose up in Latharna’s chest, fierce and sudden. She met the guard’s attack with an almost instinctual skill, blocking each of his strikes with a well-placed parry and slowly forcing him back. He was bigger than her, with a man’s greater strength and reach, but Latharna was fast and she fought with a fierce abandon. This was her skill, her true talent; this was what she was for, and her opponent was no match. His eyes hardened as he tried to match her, but no matter how he tried to break her defense, he couldn’t. Finally, Latharna found her opening; her sword slipped behind his guard and into his chest. The bodyguard’s eyes widened, and he collapsed to the floor, dead and with his life’s blood staining Latharna’s blade.

A part of her knew she should be horrified that she had, for the first time in her life, killed a man, and that later she would be horrified; for now, with the rush of the fight still in her blood, it barely registered.

Turning, she saw that Arta was still dueling Sateira’s knight; from outside the meeting room there also came the sound of fighting, as Guildmaster Madran’s security team faced off against the royal guards. Latharna didn’t know how that fight had started and didn’t particularly care; for the moment, her goal was to keep Arta safe. She moved to help the queen, and then suddenly her path was blocked. Darius ast Sakran, his father safely away, stood there, sword at the ready.

“That’s a good job you did on him there,” Darius said, nodding at the dead guard. “But I think you’ll find me a bit more of a challenge.”

“We’ll see about that,” Latharna said, a cold grin spreading across her face. She lunged forward and Darius met her blade in a skillful parry; as they exchanged blows, she knew at once that he was right. Darius ast Sakran was considered arguably the best swordsman of his generation in the Dozen Stars, and his reputation was well earned. And yet as he and Latharna dueled back and forth across the meeting room, she found that she was equal to him. Two young people, both incredibly skilled and determined, neither willing to surrender, they pushed one another to new heights, and yet neither was able to land a blow on the other.

Latharna parried a blow from Darius’s blade and they stood there, facing each other across their locked swords. “Who are you?” Darius asked, surprise and respect evident on his face. “You’re one the best duelists I’ve ever fought, but you weren’t at the tournament. Where are you from?”

“I’m Latharna Dhenloc, from Realtran,” Latharna replied, grinning. “And I’m the one who’s going to beat you.”

“Oh, don’t be so sure about that,” Darius said, and then he twisted away suddenly, sending Latharna spinning to the side. His sword came up and she ducked her head under the blow, but the edge of the blade still grazed her cheek. Latharna stumbled back and reached up to brush the side of her face – she’d been cut, and the red blood stood out starkly against the pale skin of her hand.

Darius lunged forward to press his advantage, and Latharna ducked beneath his swing and brought her own blade up. He too managed to dodge away in time, but she caught him on the edge of his free hand; he stared at the cut as he straightened up, and Latharna rose to face him. They’d both bloodied each other now, but neither had the advantage.

Suddenly the air crackled with blue light and Darius was slammed back into the table; Arta had finished with Sateira’s knight and was able to come to the aid of her own companion. “Are you all right?” she asked. “You’re bleeding.”

“Just a cut,” Latharna said. “I’ll be fine.” Turning back to face Darius, she levelled her sword at him; he was groaning and pulling himself to his feet, but just before he picked his blade back up the doors burst open. Lieutenant Rehan and three other royal guards rushed in, aiming their beam rifles at the Duke of Sakran’s eldest son.

“Are you all right, Your Majesty?” the lieutenant asked Arta, who nodded.

“I am,” she replied. “Let’s get out of here.”

Rehan nodded and she and her guards began to back up, Arta and Latharna in the middle; the guards kept their rifles trained on Darius in case he tried something. Latharna knew that was smart, but she also found herself disappointed; part of her wanted, needed to see that duel finished, to know which of them was really the more skilled. Darius saw her watching him and nodded his head in respect, one duelist to another; she did the same.

Then something shifted behind the table; Sateira, her golden robes disheveled about her, rising to her feet. The duchess glanced around the wreckage of the meeting room, expression dark. “Fools and cowards,” she muttered; Latharna had no doubt she meant Naudar and Respen. “Must I do everything myself?”

Latharna had a sudden, terrible feeling and raised her voice to shout a warning; before she could, Sateira had drawn a weapon from within her robes that resembled a blast pistol but was of slightly different design; she levelled it at Arta and fired, then immediately ducked back under the table to avoid reprisal.

From where Latharna stood she could hear the sonic weapon’s screech; Arta took the full brunt of it. She gave a terrible cry and clutched her ears, then pitched forward, struck down by a weapon her Adept’s art couldn’t block. All at once Latharna felt her bloodlust drain from her, replaced by a sudden feeling of dread and fear. She caught Arta as she fell, the unconscious queen a surprisingly light and fragile-seeming weight in her arms, and together with the guards they stumbled back out into the waiting room, the doors closing behind them.