Chapter Twenty-Six

Imperial Legion Base 8162, Imperial Space

The planet was a cold and desolate rock, orbiting far from its star. Though its atmosphere was breathable by humans, it had little life to call its own – a few small creatures here and there, a scattering of plant growth along its sparse coastlines. It had no name, but only a number. It lay within the Empire, but had largely gone unnoticed by that mighty nation, which held thousands of more desirable worlds in its grasp and hungered for others still.

Its only significant Imperial presence was a small compound near the base of a craggy grey mountain; a walled enclosure surrounding a central steel tower. The base was little more than a listening post, manned by only a few dozen soldiers of the Emperor’s legions, almost entirely irrelevant save that it lay on the border the Empire shared with the Kingdom of the Dozen Stars, adjacent with Tashir Duchy. And so, it was that it was here that the Commander and his assassins had received their equipment and assignments, and here, hopefully, lay the records of just who had been responsible for their murderous mission.

Pakorus and Midaia watched the base from behind a rocky outcropping, having hidden Sister Night in a sheltered valley nearby; the young nobleman shook his head at the sight. “Not much there by the Empire’s standards,” he said. “But more than enough to deal with us. Looks like there’s beam cannons on the walls, and probably more I can’t see. I don’t know how many troops there are, but I’m not seeing how we’re getting in. I doubt your little lock pick is as good when there’s actual people on the other side, not just mechs.”

Midaia smiled under her hood and shook her head. “Oh, you of little faith,” she said. “Have you forgotten just who you’re traveling with? I know exactly how we’re getting in – we’re going to walk right through the front door. And I do believe there is our ticket in.” She gestured towards the dusty road that led towards the base’s main gates, and Pakorus saw the shape of a medium sized land vehicle approaching – a tank of some sort, he thought, squat and heavily armored, with tracks underneath and a long cannon mounted on its front.

“Coming back from maneuvers, would be my guess,” Midaia said. “Our lucky day. Now, follow me and stay close, or I won’t be able to protect you.” She stepped out from behind the rocks and began to walk towards the tank as if taking a casual stroll down a sunny avenue on Carann. Pakorus couldn’t imagine how she was so calm, but her tone had brooked no argument; he hurried out from the shelter himself and took up a position close behind her.

What followed was perhaps the most nerve-wracking minutes of Pakorus’s life. He and Midaia took up their position beside the tank and walked towards the gates as if this was perfectly normal; he kept fingering his beam pistol, certain at any moment they would be spotted and would have to make a very fast escape, but that moment never came. The base’s wall loomed large in front of them; the guards positioned by the door nodded in acknowledgment of the tank’s approach and gave a signal, and then the gate slid slowly open. The tank rumbled inside, Midaia and Pakorus walking beside it, and nobody paid them the slightest attention. Pakorus stared in wonder, resisting the urge to stop in front of one of the guards and wave his hand in front of the man’s face, just to see what would happen.

When they reached the courtyard, Midaia seized his arm and pulled him aside, moving them both hurriedly towards the direction of the main tower. They didn’t head for the main entrance but for what Pakorus took for a small side door; once again, Midaia pulled out her lock pick and planted it on the door’s keypad, and a moment later, it clicked and swung open. They hurried inside, shutting the door behind them, and found themselves in a plain, deserted hallway.

Pakorus let out a breath he hadn’t been entirely aware he’d been holding. “How did you do that?” he asked. “It was like we were invisible. They didn’t see us at all!”

“We weren’t invisible, exactly,” Midaia said. “If there’s a way for an Adept to turn someone completely invisible, I don’t know how. What I can do is make myself – or someone near me – seem… beneath notice, if you will. People who see me won’t register it as being important and will ignore me, no matter what I happen to be doing. That is, unless they’re looking for me specifically – my powers won’t stand up to a determined search. Luckily for us, even if the lab’s mechs sent the base a signal alerting them to the possibility of intruders, it doesn’t seem they knew who they were expecting.”

Pakorus shook his head. “You amaze me,” he said with complete sincerity.

Midaia flashed him a sharp grin. “My, my. Don’t let Artakane hear you say that,” she said and Pakorus immediately flushed, muttering under his breath that he hadn’t meant it like that. To be honest, no matter how attractive Midaia might be, he found her far too intimidating to even consider in that light, not that he said that part out loud. The Adept herself merely ignored him and continued speaking. “I’ve had a lot of practice. I sneak around a lot of places.” She shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a curious person by nature. Now, just give me a moment to catch my breath, and then we need to find a computer terminal – preferably one in an empty room.”

She took a long moment to steady herself and did indeed breathe in deeply before closing her eyes and nodding. Pakorus took that as a signal that they were concealed again because Midaia then turned and set off down the hallway, with him following close behind. Eventually they entered into a larger room where several armored Imperial legionnaires stood, holding cups of what looked like kaf; there was a map of the base on the wall behind them. Pakorus froze and let his hand slip to his pistol, but once again, the soldiers didn’t seem to see him. He wondered why Midaia wasn’t moving on, and then saw that she was watching the soldiers with a frown on her face. A moment later, he realized why. The soldiers had drinks, but they weren’t drinking; they weren’t talking with each other, either. They didn’t seem to be on duty, but they seemed nervous and kept glancing at each other or at the door at the front of the room out of the corner of their eyes. They’re afraid of something, Pakorus realized. I don’t think it’s us, because they’re not on alert for intruders, but something has them spooked.

Finally, Midaia shook her head and grabbed Pakorus’s wrist, pulling him towards another door that, it turned out, opened onto a flight of stairs. If the legionnaires noticed the door opening and closing, they gave no sign, but the stairs themselves were empty, and Midaia lead Pakorus up. When they reached a landing, though, he stopped and pulled away from her. “Before we go any further,” he said, “did anything about that scene strike you as odd?”

“Do you mean ‘all of it?’” Midaia asked. “They were on edge. Someone or something made them nervous. And there’s… something else,” she added, shaking her head again. “A… feeling I can’t shake. Something’s going on here, and it’s more than just us. Let’s get what we came for and get out. Did you notice the map of the building? Command offices are on the floor above us. That’s where they’ll have what we need. Come on.”

It also sounded like that would be the place that was most dangerous to be caught in, but then, Midaia had quite a bit more experience breaking into buildings than he did, so Pakorus decided to follow her lead. They reached the top of the stairs and came out into another hallway, one that was curved as if it rounded the tower and was lined with doors. Midaia began to walk down it, and Pakorus, following her, saw that though many of the doors were blank, some were labeled with a name and a rank. Finally, they reached a door that bore a more elaborate nameplate and the rank of tribune. Based on Pakorus’s knowledge of the Imperial military hierarchy he assumed that this was the office of the base’s commander; here Midaia stopped and took out her lockpick once again. A moment later, the door swung open and they stepped inside.

The room was moderately sized and sparsely accommodated, its severe style reminding Pakorus of Ambassador Quarinis’s office on Carann. The far wall was dominated by a window looking out over the mountainous terrain, but in the middle of the room was a desk with a small computer in blocky Imperial style. The desk was unoccupied; the tribune, whoever he or she was, wasn’t here.

“Excellent,” Midaia said, slipping around the desk and inserting the drive she’d used at the lab into the computer. “Now, then, keep your weapon sharp; I don’t want to be disturbed.” Pakorus nodded and drew his pistol as Midaia set to work on the computer; for several tense minutes he stood there, the only sounds the computer’s hums and his companion’s occasional murmuring. He glanced around the room, noting the display cases containing military honors and a moderately sized portrait of a handsome middle-aged man in resplendent robes he recognized as Emperor Verus Licinius, but there was little here to give much insight into the tribune’s character – or to quell Pakorus’s growing sense of unease.

When he heard the sound of the door handle turning, at first, he thought it was a symptom of his frightened imagination; then, to his horror, he realized it was real. “Someone’s coming,” he hissed to Midaia; reaching out lightning-fast, she grabbed him and pulled him down behind the desk. This time he thought he saw a flicker of red in her eyes as she wrapped her cloaking around them again. No sooner had she done so than the office door opened, and Pakorus raised his pistol slowly.

The first figures through the door were two armored guards – guards who looked, to Pakorus’s eyes, extremely nervous and uncomfortable. Next came an older man in a crisp uniform who must be the tribune, who was looking over his shoulder and talking to the figure that followed him – a figure straight out of nightmare. A tall man – was it a man? Pakorus couldn’t be sure – wrapped in long dark robes and a hooded cloak, face concealed behind a bizarre, elaborately patterned mask that revealed nothing save for a pair of glittering eyes. Beside him, Midaia looked the man up and down and gave a sudden, sharp intake of breath.

“-I assure you, sir, we have everything under control,” the tribune was saying anxiously. “There is no need to worry the Emperor with our situation, none at all…”

“That is not your decision to make, Tribune,” the masked man said – the voice was unmistakably male, deep and smooth. It also had a faintly Alaelam accent, which piqued Pakorus’s interest – the Empire and the Alaelam had been enemies for as long as the Alaelam Alliance had existed. Who was this man? “It is mine. The Emperor has received warning that your base’s connection to the work done here in your predecessor’s time has been compromised and has dispatched me to ensure that Imperial military secrets do not fall into the wrong hands.”

“Sir – Alaen – I do not mean to contradict His Majesty but I’m afraid you are mistaken,” the Tribune said. “We have had no trouble here of any kind recently. The troops are fond of joking that this is the most boring post in the entire Empire, and that seems highly unlikely to change any time soon.”

“Indeed?” Alaen asked, his tone amused. “In that case, let it be known that I am no happier to be here than you are to have me here, but I do not intend to shirk my duties. I will brook no interference in carrying them out – not from you, not form your men… and not from them.”

As he spoke those last words, Alaen turned towards the desk – and Pakorus realized with a start that the man was staring directly at him. He’s an Adept! He realized. He has to be! But no sooner had the thought formed than the tribune and his guards, their attention drawn by Alaen’s declaration, had drawn their weapons and pointed them directly at him and at Midaia.

///

Perhaps it was simply the result of everything she’d heard about the planet and its master; perhaps it was a side-effect of her natural antipathy for burning sunlight, but seen from orbit, Latharna couldn’t help but think that Aurann looked like a forbidding, desolate place. The planet resembled an off-white ball, baked in the light of its too-close sun without any trace of blue or green to break the monotony. A harsh, desert planet that had produced a man who desired the throne of the Dozen Stars badly enough he was willing to burn worlds to get it.

And the Baron Varas ast Katanes was down there now, somewhere.

“It’s odd,” Lieutenant Rehan said from where she sat in Artax’s Glory’s command chair. “I’m not picking up a whole lot of orbiting defenses – there’s some weapons platforms, and a few Equestrians at shipyards above the Citadel, but from everything I’d heard about this place, I expected… more.”

“Respen must be moving more of his forces to the Tantos system,” Shiran mused. He looked over at Arta. “He is certain of his victory – he expects you to give in, and so he prepares his forces to crush Mardoban, who he sees as a bigger threat.”

“Then let’s show him exactly why he’s mistaken,” Arta said, her voice cold. “Lieutenant, can you get us down to the coordinates Lady Dhenloc and Ambassador Preas provided us?”

Rehan snorted. “Of course, I can, Your Majesty,” she said. “Space is big, even the little bit of space around a planet – it’s hard to watch it all. And Respen’s defenses are thin enough right now – and we’re small enough – that I think we can evade them without much trouble. Not like we’re launching a full-scale assault on the Citadel or anything.”

“One thing at a time,” Arta said; Karani chuckled, but Latharna didn’t think Arta was joking. The queen had sent a message on a frequency the drive had provided, requesting a meeting and offering potential times, but they hadn’t heard anything back yet. Coming here at all seemed to be a gamble, but with her father’s life on the line, Arta had decided she could do no less. Latharna didn’t suppose she could blame her; she didn’t remember her parents, but if someone had kidnapped the Headmistress or Brother Ronall, she doubted she’d have been able to just leave them, either.

Artax’s Glory didn’t encounter opposition as she descended through the atmosphere; they were far enough from the Citadel or Aurann’s few other fortress-cities that there weren’t regular patrols. At last they came to rest in a depression located near the base of a foreboding mountain range, landing not far from a dim tunnel that opened into the ground and sank into darkness out of sight.

“That’s an old, played out mine, according to the information,” Arta said. “Straight down that tunnel is a cave that the resistance uses as a meeting place. Apparently, Ambassador Preas’s agents met them here to bring them supplies and weapons. Realtran doesn’t like Respen any more than we do, it seems.”

“All right,” Rehan said, unstrapping herself from her seat and standing. “Guardsmen Faradan and Augus, stay with the ship. The rest of you, with me. The people we’re meeting may be friendly or they may not be, or this might be a trap, and we are not losing Her Majesty on this fool’s errand. Understand?”

Her orders were met with a chorus of “ayes” and salutes; that division would leave the two guards the lieutenant had indicated with the ship, and four in addition to Rehan herself to come with the rest of them. Latharna slipped back into the prep room behind the ship’s small bridge and found the small bottle of sunblock she’d stashed in a locker there, taking the time to rub some of that on her face and hands. She didn’t plan to be out there any longer than necessary to reach the tunnel, but, well, she didn’t like the look of that baleful white sun and had no intention of being caught out under it without protection.

That done, she rejoined the others as they left the Glory and descended the landing ramp to the basin outside. The heat hit Latharna like a sudden blast, but it was a dry, dusty heat. Shielding her eyes against the sun, and mentally thanking her lenses for protecting her sensitive eyes, she followed her companions as they crossed the burning white emptiness and finally arrived at the mouth of the tunnel. It wasn’t much cooler here, but every bit helped – and thankfully, the blinding brilliance was dimmed as they stepped inside.

Rehan motioned for her guards; two of them took point, along with the lieutenant herself, followed by Arta and Karani, then Latharna, and then Shiran and the last two guards in the rear. Once they were out of the sunlight, Arta and Shiran both raised their hands and summoned small balls of glowing light that hovered above them – hers a brilliant blue, his a paler blue – and illuminated their way down the tunnel, which stretched on straight ahead, sloping slowly downward. Then they set off.

“This is where the monsters show up,” Karani muttered as the tunnel entrance disappeared behind them. Looking back over her shoulder, she saw Latharna walking slightly behind and fell back to join her. “You can walk by Arta, if you want,” she said. “Get closer to her little glowball, anyway.”

Latharna smiled. “I don’t need it,” she said, tapping the side of her head. “My eyesight is terrible, especially in bright light. But when I was a girl the Headmistress at the Dansa Academy had special lenses made for me. The technology in them can filter out the light and focus in a way my eyes don’t, normally. So long as I have them in, I can see better than you can. And they work even in very low light. I can see in here as well as I can in broad daylight.”

“Show-off,” Karani muttered, but her tone was good-natured. “Of course, that’s not the only reason you might want to walk near Arta, if you catch my meaning.”

Latharna held up a hand. “I’m fine,” she said. “I actually want to talk to someone else right now. But thank you for the offer.”

Karani shrugged. “Suit yourself,” she muttered. “Just trying to be friendly.” She picked up the pace and caught back up with Arta; Latharna let herself fall back until she was walking beside Shiran.

She frowned, wondering exactly how to broach the subject she wanted to discuss; finally, she decided to ease into it. “Something I’ve been wondering,” she said. “Arta tells me you taught her those Adept tricks, but when she does them, her light is dark blue, and yours is lighter. Why is that?”

Shiran chuckled and looked up at his floating light. “Every Adept makes a slightly different color of light,” he said. “Nobody knows why. My best guess is that it’s like a… psychic fingerprint, if you will, a manifestation that’s unique to the person who summons it. If the colors themselves mean anything, I’ve not discovered it – and I’ve studied these things for a very, very long time.” He looked back at Latharna, gaze penetrating. “But that’s not really what you wanted to talk to me about, is it?”

Well, there goes “easing into it,” Latharna thought. She took a deep breath. “How can you live with yourself?” she finally blurted out.

Shiran raised an eyebrow. “Is that an impugning of my moral character or a roundabout way of asking my age?” he said, though his tone, thankfully, was more amused than offended.

Latharna flushed. “Neither,” she muttered. “It’s just, well, Arta always speaks very highly of you, and says you give good advice, and I have a dilemma that I need help working out.”

“This isn’t about me, is it?” Shiran asked, tone soft but eyes penetrating.

“No,” Latharna said, shaking her head. “It’s about me. And what I can do, and how it makes me feel.” She drew another deep breath before continuing. “I’ve always been good at things. I grew up at the Dansa Academy and… didn’t have a lot of friends, and so I spent most of my time training and studying. But I was always best with the sword. Brother Ronall said I was a natural. But lately, when I’ve been in situations where I’ve actually been fighting, not just training or competing, I feel like something… takes hold of me. Like there’s a part of me that loves the violence, that can’t get enough of it. And I hate that part of me, because what happens if I lose control someday and hurt someone or kill someone? Someone innocent, I mean. But I can’t stop, because it’s what I’m good at, and what I love doing and what Arta needs me to do, and I just feel like I’m… caught. And I don’t see a way out. And I thought, from the way Arta talks about you, it sounds like you’ve been around a long time and done so many things, and you must have figured out a way to… to…”

“To be myself, without letting the darker parts of myself consume me,” Shiran said quietly. “Yes, I know what you mean, Latharna. Better than you realize. Let me tell you a little about my past. My mother was a Holy Sister; my father, a powerful Adept who had seduced her into breaking her vows. When I was younger than you, he found me, trained me in my gifts – but, as it happened, he was also a very wicked man who planned for me to continue his work. He’s dead now – he died a very long time ago – but for a long time, I thought that I was doomed to follow in his footsteps. I thought the fact that I had inherited his powers made us the same. And I hadn’t used those powers well to that point, I have to admit. I’d done things that still haunt me.”

“What happened?” Latharna asked.

“I traveled the galaxy, seeking peace,” Shiran said. “I studied with monks and read the philosophers. And I came to recognize that all people are flawed, troubled, make mistakes – even if my mistakes had been, perhaps, rather greater than most people’s. But, it seemed to me that it was possible to rise above our baser natures, to dedicate ourselves to something greater than ourselves – perhaps not a goal that is attainable, but one that is noble enough that even in the striving, we become better than we were. And part of that is to dedicate oneself to justice, to acknowledge one’s own weakness while dedicating oneself for the protection and service of those weaker than we are, for what fools like Respen and Naudar have never realized is that power isn’t meant to be seized but to be used – to be used to better the world, and those around us.”

He put a hand on Latharna’s shoulder. “You fear your own capacity for violence,” he said. “And that is understandable. To be unleashed, it would be a terrible thing, and could do incalculable harm. But perhaps you can come to direct it. Though there are those who eschew violence altogether, and while I respect those who choose that path, I have found that sometimes violence has its place – not as the aggressor, but as the protector. Someday, the day may come when the sword is not needed, but I fear that day is not today. So long as there are tyrants, there will be a place for those who are called stand between them and their prey.” He gestured towards Arta. “She is beginning to understand this, I think. This rebellion – it is the work of nobles who see power as their privilege and birthright. Even if Arta defeats them, her deeper victory will be to ensure that this kingdom learns to dedicate itself to a greater calling, that leaders should exist to serve the people, not to oppress them.”

Latharna paused as Shiran fell silent, trying to digest what he had said. “How?” she finally asked. “How do you know you’ve found something worth dedicating yourself to? How do you know you’re on the right path?”

Shiran smiled at her. “I think that is something every person must come to understand for themselves. But I also think, Latharna Dhenloc, that you are asking the right sort of questions.” He paused, looking ahead. “Ah. I do believe we’ve arrived.”

Sure enough, the small company suddenly emerged from the tunnel and found themselves in a large open chamber with a ceiling so high even Latharna with her lenses couldn’t make out its ceiling. The walls were lined with ledges and other tunnels like their own, and she remembered that this had been a mine. They paused, staring at the cavern around them for a long moment, and then Arta stepped forward, her guards fanning out around her.

The queen cupped her hands around her mouth. “Digran!” she called; that was the name of the leader of the resistance cell Ambassador Preas had been in contact with. “I am Artakane. I sent you a message earlier; I want to form an alliance against Duke Respen, our common enemy. Are you here? Are you listening?”

For a long moment, there was silence. Then the sounds of movement echoed through the cave, and from the tunnels and from behind the crags on the cave wall figures emerged, beam rifles at the ready. “We see you, Artakane,” a rough male voice called. “Now drop your weapons and put your hands in the air. You’re surrounded.”

A tense silence filled the cave, and then Arta nodded; Latharna unbuckled her sword belt and let it drop, as did Karani and Arta herself; the guards dropped their beam rifles. Then, as one, they raised their hands. “So much for a warm welcome,” Karani muttered.