

# The Prophet

### Book One

## False Gods

Now Includes

# The Trial of Sa'riya

Copyright 2019 - Don Newton

Act One

The bonds that held her were tight: luminescent silver, purple, and white bands of energy wrapping around her holding her still. She couldn't move her arms or legs, but she could turn her head. There was no pain, but the stricture of the energy-bands compressed her chest, making it hard to breathe.

She tried to free herself, but they'd sealed her inside her human form and struggle as she might, she couldn't break free—but then, she wasn't trying. Sa'riya knew if she _thought_ herself away, they couldn't stop her, but it was time to deal with this...

The dais she stood upon was white stone and circular. Two steps descended to a flat floor of black granite. Her accusers sat behind a low metal wall, in high-backed leather thrones, two on the left, and two on the right.

Nu'reen sat in the center behind a huge wooden bench; she was a young woman right now, dark hair and luminous green eyes. Her white robes glowed in the dim light. The gavel in her hand smacked the top of the bench, echoing throughout the chamber with a hollow _thwack_! "I understand you want to _face_ these charges..." she said, her eyes blazing with silver fire.

"I do." Sa'riya nodded.

"And you won't attempt to flee?" Nu'reen asked.

"I won't."

"Can we remove the bonds, please?" Nu'reen scanned the faces of the Council. They exchanged glances and nods. Three of them waved one hand in the air; the multicolored bands surrounding Sa'riya dissolved. "Besides, we all know she could leave anytime she wants..."

"I'll stay; you have my word."

"That's good enough for me." Nu'reen smiled.

Jurak leaned forward in his chair, the golden tassels woven into his hair, brushing his cheeks, and pointed one slender finger at her. "You say you want to face the charges. Are you aware of the penalty if we find you guilty?"

Nu'reen pounded the gavel against the wood of her bench. "The honorable _D'jinn_ Councilor will refrain from asking direct questions of the accused... that's what we have _Inquisitors_ for."

Jurak sat back and glared at her, the purple shine in his eyes amplified.

Nu'reen turned back to Sa'riya. "But you do understand, don't you?"

"Yes." Sa'riya nodded.

"Ok, then," Nu'reen turned to her left and pointed at a Draggon guard who stood beside the door, "bring in the Inquisitor and Defender."

## ***

Twelve years earlier...

Karl pulled an arrow from the quiver and nocked it against his bowstring. He drew the string back, aiming down the shaft at the deer drinking from the stream below. He took a long slow breath and exhaled. He felt the bite of the string—the pressure of the arrow between his fingertips. Before he released it, someone tapped him on the shoulder.

"Why would you want to kill that beautiful creature?"

The sudden interruption made him jerk the bow: the arrow went wide, bouncing off a tree trunk and startling the deer; it ran into the woods and disappeared. He spun around, hot, and ready to fight.

"What on _Erador_ are you trying to—" His mouth fell open in awe—she was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen: her hair was black as midnight and silky-smooth, piercing blue eyes held him in place. She wore a pure white robe with silver thread sewn into the seams. He shook his head—she seemed to shine in the dim forest light. She smiled at him, and it warmed his heart.

"—do?" She finished his question. "I'm trying to keep you from killing a defenseless animal."

"Who are you," he slung the bow over one shoulder, "And where did you come from?"

She picked up the folds of her robe and leaned against a large boulder. "I'm no one to trifle with, young man."

Karl laughed. "Young man? You're the same age as me or close..."

"Why do you have this desire to kill animals?" She crossed her arms and wrinkled her forehead. "I've never understood that."

"I don't desire to kill animals; I desire to eat."

"There are other things to _eat,_ you know..." She raised her eyebrows.

"What do you eat?" he asked.

"My dietary choices are not at question here," she said, "besides, my needs differ from yours. I'm trying to understand your murderous intentions, that's all."

"You didn't answer my second question." Karl sat on the ground and crossed his legs. He pulled a blade of grass and chewed on it. "Actually, you didn't answer the first one."

She sat across from him on a smooth patch of soft green grass. He watched her move: from standing to sitting, a symphony of motion, and he longed for more.

She brushed the hair away from her face. "My name is Sa'riya."

"That's beautiful; I'm Karl."

"I know who you are." She laced her fingers and laid them in her lap.

"Then you have me at a disadvantage." Karl sat and watched her for a moment, not saying anything. "Why are you out here? We're in the middle of the woods."

"I wanted to meet you." She smiled.

"Then, I'm pleased to meet you, Sa'riya." He stood and took her hand, pulling her from the ground. "Would you come with me to my village and meet my kin, as well?"

"I'm sorry, I can't..." She stared at the ground and shook her head.

He released her hand and turned away. "Oh, I thought..."

"No, it's not that I don't _want_ to," she touched his arm with her fingertips; it felt like electricity to him, but in a good way, "I can't right _now_."

Karl nodded and smiled. "I understand. Are you going to be anywhere close to here, say, tomorrow?"

She walked away into the trees, looking over her shoulder, a thin smile taunting him.

"Maybe..."

## ***

"And that was the first time you met him?" Darkonus pulled the chair away from the wall, spun it around, and straddled it. The silver buckles securing his black leather armor flashed, and the fire in his Draggon-eyes intensified, staring at Sa'riya.

"Yes," she said.

"You never met him, never talked to him, even _one time_ before, in the twelve years you watched him?"

"No, I never did."

"So, why that one time?" He leaned across the chair-back toward her. "What was so important about _that_ moment that you had to reveal yourself?"

Nu'reen banged the gavel on wood. "Does the Inquisitor have a direction for this line of questioning," she glared at Darkonus, "or are you trying to catch _fish_?"

Darkonus pushed the chair away and stood facing the Council. He looked at Markus: the Draggon Councilor, who shook his head. He glanced at Jurak—they'd always hated each other, the Draggons and the D'jinn; he couldn't count on him. The Fae'rie didn't hate the Draggons, but they had no love for them either, he looked at Caree and smiled, but turned to the K'pa elder, the supposedly neutral one.

"Ka'rin, must you tie my hands with this whelp?" He pointed at Nu'reen.

Ka'rin waved her hand at Nu'reen, who had the gavel held high and stood to face Darkonus.

"Listen, Draggon." She leaned on the metal wall and stared at him. "You serve here at our pleasure. Just do your job..."

He watched the silver flame in her eyes and nodded, turning back to Sa'riya. "I'll rephrase the question and make it more direct." He sat in his chair, and his eyes narrowed. "Were you in _love_ with him at that moment?"

"I can't say _when_ it started," she said.

"So it might have been earlier?"

"It's possible. Once you love someone, it gets harder to remember when you first felt it: it's like it always _was_."

"What's the next memory you have before that?" he asked.

"I'm not sure, let me think..."

Karl was unconscious, his face submerged in water at the edge of the creek. He'd fallen from the cliff above: it wasn't high, but stones had intercepted his head on the descent. Now he lay there, drowning, a bubbly-white froth rising up his cheek, mixing with the blood pouring down his head.

Sa'riya grabbed his hair and pulled him out. She rolled him onto one side and smacked him on the back, trying to get him to breathe. He coughed up water and struggled to inhale. She made sure he would live and disappeared into the woods.

Jemma watched Darkonus saunter back-and-forth between Sa'riya and the Council members; he brushed the black shoulder-length hair from his face.

"And that's the extent of your contact before the first meeting," he asked, "you saved his life?"

"Yes."

"What does this have to do with the charges against her?" Jemma left her chair and walked to the dais; she took Sa'riya's hand and glared at the Council members. "Are we going to ask her about every single day in her life? She's already said she broke your law; can't we accept that and move on?"

"Aren't you supposed to be _defending_ her?" Darkonus laughed.

"You have your strategy; I have mine." Jemma glared at him.

Nu'reen banged the gavel. "Sa'riya has stipulated her guilt, Darkonus, assume she hasn't changed her mind. Ok?"

Darkonus nodded and rubbed his beard with one hand. He turned to Nu'reen with a questioning look. "So, if she's admitted her guilt, why are we even here?"

"Because she has the right to plead for an exception to the law she's broken, or leniency if that's denied." Nu'reen rolled her eyes at him. "How did you get picked as Inquisitor if you don't know the procedures?"

"Nobody _asked_ me if I knew the procedures..." He shrugged and smiled.

"Well, now, you do. We're here to determine if Sa'riya had cause to do what she's done. If we determine her actions could've been avoided, then we'll find her guilty. On the other hand, if there's a valid reason for what she's done, we can make an exception."

"So, establishing she had no cause to fall in love with this human... how am I supposed to prove _that_?" He leaned on the low metal wall with both hands and stared at them, his pupils alive with dancing flame. "You're asking me to prove she didn't care for him?"

"I won't tell you how to present your case; that's _your_ job;" she spun the gavel in her hand and pointed the handle at him, "but taking a human mate is not the only charge."

"Oh? There's another?" He glanced at Sa'riya. "I wasn't aware."

"It was a last-minute addition." Sa'riya glared at Markus—he looked away.

"And I _have_ to protest..." Jemma said, "there was more _good_ than harm done, after all."

"The violation is in the act, not the result." Caree slid to the edge of her chair; she'd been silent, so it drew everyone's attention. "Because the dagger you throw misses, it doesn't absolve your intent to kill."

Ka'rin looked at her and nodded agreement. "True. Zocor said it best: the mind holds the truth, and the truth is in the intent."

Darkonus shook his head and sighed. "Ok, so you all have this mystical saying you like because it sounds profound... what is the second charge?"

Nu'reen looked at Sa'riya. "Would you like to tell him?"

Sa'riya folded her hands together and nodded.

Darkonus raised his eyebrows. "Well?"

"They say I interfered with the basic laws of matter: I changed reality, and interrupted a natural process. I did save about three million people... but my sister was killed..."

## ***

The southern face of Krasus Cauldron was aglow with the reddish-tinged light of the morning suns: the red sun now peeking above the horizon, following the yellow on its daily trek across the sky.

Darryl stood at the edge of the rock ledge flanked by two Griffins, pointing the tip of _Sinreaver_ at the two Draggons in front of him. The Draggons looked at the sword, and Griffin claws and froze.

"That's wise." Darryl grinned. "Carion, Shera, if they move, kill them."

The Griffins made a _trilling_ sound and took one step toward the Draggons, their heads down, and the tips of their wings trembling in anticipation. Razor claws scratching the rocky ledge. The Draggons backed up.

Darryl turned to check on his brother's progress with the Council guard.

Karl raised _Bloodrender_ above his left shoulder and swung down hard; the blade carved a sharp flashing arc through the air—stray drops of Draggonfire flying from the edge. The Draggon tried to dodge, but the sword cut a flaming gash across its right thigh. Roaring in pain, the fire in its eyes intensified, focusing on the _Na'Geena_ Chieftain.

The Draggon made the mistake of breathing fire upon the sword: it was legendary, and all the Draggons knew what it could do. _Bloodrender_ was dangerous even when it wasn't on fire; _all three_ of the Na'Geena swords were: they might absorb and redirect Draggonfire, but they were also one of only three things which could cut Draggonskin.

The beast circled Karl, limping to his left, trying to find an opening in the Chieftain's defense—there was none.

"You'll let me inside this Council chamber," Karl growled at the Draggon, "or I'll go through you."

The Draggon shifted into its human form: the scales and teeth and the twenty-foot lizard body morphing into a young man grimacing in pain. He clutched the bleeding-smoldering gash on his leg and shook his head at Karl. "Markus would kill me, or Darkonus..."

"I could kill you right _now_ ," Karl said, "and save them the trouble if you like, but I'm still going inside."

The Draggon limped to the cliff wall and leaned against it, waving Karl past with one hand. "Be my guest..."

Karl glanced at Darryl.

"Don't worry." Darryl pointed toward the archway carved into the side of the mountain. "I have this covered, go. These Draggons are right where I want them."

Karl sheathed _Bloodrender_ and stepped through the arch.

The pain made him scream. It felt as though his body was being pulled apart one molecule at a time: fire ran through his limbs, burning all the connections. The reverse was true on the other side, where his atoms smashed together again, reforming the burned and ripped apart body into a whole once more. He wound up on his knees on hard black granite, his hands clutching his chest; smoke belched from his lungs when he finally caught a breath.

"Humans _really_ shouldn't use that..."

He looked at Nu'reen as his vision cleared; she had a look of mild concern on her face.

Sa'riya ran to him and picked him up from the floor, her hands on his cheeks pulling his face to hers. "Are you okay?"

Karl shook the cobwebs from his head and threw his arms around her. "I'm fine, or I will be."

"You shouldn't _be_ here." Darkonus stepped toward him.

Karl drew _Bloodrender_ and aimed it at him—the blade still burned with Draggonfire: drops of it fell from the edge, igniting the stone where they landed—sizzling plumes of molten granite rising into the air between them.

"Ok, maybe we can _overlook_ this..." The Draggon stepped back and took his seat.

"What gives you the right to abduct my wife?" He faced the Council, examining their faces. "Why shouldn't I kill you all right now?"

"Because it would be ridiculous to believe you could, for one." Jurak smiled. "But, by all means, give it your best."

"Order!" Nu'reen slammed the gavel against the wood and pointed at the D'jinn. "You sit down."

Jurak spun and glared at her. "Don't speak to me with that tone."

"You've all agreed; my decisions are final. Now sit down and shut up!" Nu'reen shifted into a much older version of herself: gray hair and wrinkled skin, but the silver fire in her eyes grew brighter, and a luminous halo circled her head. The light from the halo ran down and lit her robe, making it fluoresce in the dim light of the Council chamber. "Is this better, Jurak? Do you accept my rulings in _this_ form?"

Jurak took his seat and stared at the floor, his arms across his chest.

Nu'reen looked at Karl, the softness returning to her face. "Sa'riya, take him out... and explain," she pointed at the archway, "and then return."

"You can't let her go!" Markus jumped to his feet and turned on Nu'reen.

"She's given her word, and that's all I need." The silver flame intensified again as she stared at the Draggon, the halo pulsed in time with her breathing. "Are _you_ going to challenge me as well?"

Markus looked at Darkonus, who tilted his head to one side and raised his eyebrows.

"Not yet..." Markus said.

"Well, you let me know when you change your mind." She banged the gavel. "In the meantime, let's take a twenty-minute recess until Sa'riya gets back."

## ***

Sa'riya held him inside a protective shield when they passed through the arch, which negated _some_ pain, but not all of it. Darryl and the Griffins still held the Draggons at bay: they had them backed up to the edge of the rock shelf, a thousand-foot drop behind them.

"Let them go, Darryl." Sa'riya pointed at them. "You three, leave us."

The Draggons shifted form and took flight, headed toward the top of the volcano. The Griffins looked disappointed, shaking their eagle heads, and scratching the stone with talons and lion claws in protest.

"It's okay, boys," Darryl rubbed their beaks, "maybe we can kill a Draggon later today..."

The Griffins trilled an understanding and sat their lion backsides on the hard stone of the ledge, watching the two Na'Geena warriors and Sa'riya.

Sa'riya grabbed Karl's face in her hands. "You shouldn't have come; I know what I'm doing."

"They'll kill you, Sa'riya!" Karl grabbed her wrists. "How am I supposed to stand by and let that happen?"

"There are things you don't know," she said, "and I can't explain right now. Do you trust me?"

"You have to ask?" He let her go and turned away, looking out across the expanse of Purgatory Steppes below: time-locked volcanic rock. The badlands stretched as far as he could see—folded waves of cooled lava frozen in time—a violent sea of unmoving stone.

She placed a hand on his shoulder. "Of course not. But I need to rely on your trust right now."

"What is it you're not telling me?" he asked.

"I _still_ can't tell you for your safety and mine." She reached into the pocket of her robe and withdrew a large crystal: it was the size of her palm, and it held a bright silver fire inside it. She placed it in his hands and wrapped her own around them. "Keep this safe. Break it two days from now where we first met."

He searched her face for the clues she wasn't giving him. He slid the crystal into one pocket and pulled her close, squeezing her hard. "I hope you know what you're doing..."

"I do." She turned to Darryl. "Take care of him..."

Darryl put one hand on her shoulder and squeezed. "Well, we both know he can't take care of himself, so..."

They turned away and walked to the Griffins, throwing one leg over their backs and grasping the riding cord strapped around their chests. The beasts stretched their wings and launched themselves into the air, their screeches echoing from the mountainside.

Sa'riya watched them fly away until they were out of sight, then she turned and headed back toward the arch, wiping a single tear from her cheek.

## ***

Damian Callus couldn't remember a time when humans hadn't been at war with the Draggons. He was thirty-five years old, and every year was filled with memories of blood and violence. His father had fought them, his grandfather too. His younger brother, Vernon, was leading the defense of Thalos Plains right now: he hadn't seen him in months. War has a way of separating families.

They'd tried reasoning with the Draggons, but it's challenging to have a reasonable discussion with someone trying to kill you, and so they fought on, with no end in sight.

The Na'Geena were their saving grace; without them and their weapons made from fallen Griffin claws, humans might have died out long ago. But just because they had allies in those Draggon-slaying warriors, that didn't mean they were _safe_ —far from it. The Draggons took the alliance with the Na'Geena as a personal insult: them being their chief enemy.

"I'm sorry, Captain, am I boring you?"

It took Damian a few seconds to realize he was the target of the question, lost in daydreams. He sat up in his chair and leaned on the edge of the conference table, focusing his attention on General Haley. "No, sir, sorry, I remembered something..."

"Anything to do with this operation?" Haley asked.

"No, sir, it was nothing, I apologize."

"Well, get your head in the game! Your team may have the highest success ratio of all the covert-ops units, but something this bold has never been tried—it won't be easy."

"I'm with you, sir." Damian smiled.

Garrick poked him in the ribs and grinned. Damian slapped his hand away.

The General continued. "As I was saying, our intelligence is based partly on observation, and partly on magic."

"Magic?" Kain focused his good eye on the General, absent-mindedly rubbing the scar that ran from his forehead to his jaw and sewed the other eye closed.

"Yes." Haley pushed his chair back and stood. "Seems we have an ally in one of the Gods."

"Which one?" Damian asked.

"That would be me." Kavan walked into the General's office from the adjacent sitting-room, wearing gold robes and carrying a polished metal staff with a dull black gem embedded in one end—he waved his hand at them when they tried to stand. "Don't get up."

"Kavan," Haley caught the blistering look Kavan aimed at him, " _Lord_ Kavan, has agreed to assist us in this operation: it's the only way you can get inside undetected."

"How do we even know that Darkonus will be there?" Garrick turned to Kavan, who'd walked to the window. The reddish-yellow light from the suns gleamed off the side of his shaven head. He spun around and aimed a black-eyed glare at Garrick. "Because I've _seen_ the moment he returns to Krasus Cauldron: the exact time."

"And when might that be?" Damian cocked his head.

"Three days from now, at sunset."

"Yellow or red?" Kain asked.

"Right in the middle, actually," Kavan leaned the staff against the wall and took a seat, "but you won't _know_ it, because you'll be deep inside that mountain if everything goes according to plan."

Kain pushed his chair back and stood; he made a _harrumph_ -sounding noise and strolled to the shelves behind Haley's desk; he grabbed a bottle of something amber-colored and a glass. "Yeah, this _plan_..." he poured the liquid into the glass and downed it in one gulp, "is this the best we can come up with?"

"This is _my_ plan, Sargent," Haley glared at him, "are you questioning my tactics while you steal my whiskey?"

"No, sir," he poured one more and returned to his seat, plopping his considerable bulk into the chair and spinning around to face the General, "I'm questioning the wisdom of relying on _magic_."

Garrick nodded and turned toward Kavan. "I have to agree. I don't understand why a _God_ would be interested in assassinating the Draggon-King. What are _you_ getting from this? No disrespect intended, your lordship..."

Kavan smiled and nodded. "I can see how you might question my motives, but it's simple, really. I have nothing against Darkonus. My problem is with the _war_ : every Draggon attack kills followers of mine, and that must stop—this is the most expedient means to accomplish that goal."

Kain and Garrick turned to Damian with raised eyebrows.

"I guess I can understand that." Damian grabbed Kain's glass and emptied it. "Why don't you end it yourself though, why use us?"

"Draggons are resistant to magic, there's only so much I can do," Kavan explained. "The best use of my powers is to put _you_ in a position to kill him; the effect will be the same."

There was a long moment of silence as they measured each face.

Damian turned to General Haley and stood. "I guess we need to go see Karl and set that part of the plan in motion..."

"One last thing." Kavan reached into his pocket and extracted three silver chains; suspended from each was a shining black stone—he passed them to the warriors. "Wear these; they'll allow me to find you wherever you might be. You may need them later."

"What are they for?" Damian turned the stone over in his hands, he felt a strange pull from it, like electricity running from his fingers into the black pendant; it wasn't unpleasant, just odd.

"Tap them twice, and I can transport you back here from anywhere."

"Well, that's handy..." Kain smirked and rubbed his scar.

## ***

Markus pulled Darkonus to a quiet corner of the Council chamber, looking over his shoulder at the others to ensure they couldn't be overheard. "You _need_ to win this."

Darkonus watched his face and the way he fidgeted: his hands folding and unfolding the creases in his dark-gray robe. "What's so important about this? We've never cared about the other races. Why did you nominate me for Inquisitor?"

"Because I know you'll do what's necessary."

"And you still haven't told me what that _is_..." The fire in his eyes lit Markus' face.

"She's different," Markus said.

"In what way?"

"In a dangerous-to-Draggons way."

"What do you mean? She's just another K'Pa. The only difference I see is she fell in love with a human. We don't _fear_ them... they can't _hurt_ us." Darkonus glanced at Nu'reen. "Most of them, anyway..."

"You don't understand, Darkonus. Maybe you will after you hear all the testimony."

"I think you may be losing your mind, Markus. You are quite old..."

Markus' face twisted, and his pupils flared; his fingers circled Darkonus' throat and raised him from the ground with one arm. "You may be the Draggon- _King_ ," his grip tightened, "but it's only because I _allow_ it; don't forget that."

Darkonus fell back to the floor. He clutched his throat with both hands, coughing and drawing breath in ragged gasps. He fell against the chamber wall as Markus walked away.

"Do your job, Darkonus," Markus glanced over his shoulder, the light flashing off his teeth as he smiled, "or I will find someone who will."

## ***

The Griffin circled the village. Karl didn't need to guide him: he knew his way home. He landed in the center of the square and waited for Karl to remove the riding-strap. He flew once around the square and headed for the stables the Na'Geena kept for them; Karl whistled at him as he passed. Carion dipped one wing and _trilled_ back, skimming the treetops as he sailed away.

Karl walked past the vendors in the central square, waving at the ones he knew and nodding at the few he didn't. They knew who he was—he wished he knew them all better—but there were too many.

The road led up to the Chieftain's cottage: it sat on a low hill overlooking the village. It wasn't any _larger_ than the other dwellings, but it did have a continuous guard surrounding it: two Na'Geena warriors flanked the arch that led to his door. He approached the fatter one.

"Harlas, how's that wife of yours, I see she's feeding you well." Karl slapped him on the belly.

Harlas laughed and grabbed his wrist. "She told me to insist that you come to dinner at weeks-end. You can't refuse; she'll kill me, Karl..."

"She's killed you before, I think, yet you seem to survive..." Karl chuckled.

"That's because I'm smarter than her." Harlas leaned closer and whispered. " _Please_ don't tell her I said that..."

"How are my children?" Karl laughed.

"Jerain has them in the garden;" Harlas pointed toward the rear of the cottage, "they're learning about flowers, I think."

"Good, Erador could use more beauty."

"Indeed, it could. Weeks-end, Karl, don't forget... for _my_ sake."

Karl nodded and continued down the path toward the garden. The ground leveled out behind the cottage forming a natural plateau: Jerain had turned it into a living landscape, complete with trellises and arbors, flowers and vines, the whole garden interspersed with fruit trees of all kinds. There was a fish pond in there somewhere, though Karl had never seen it—Sa'riya said it was lovely. He found them sitting on a bench, Jerain kneeling before them, holding the petals of a flower in her hand.

"So, what do you think?" she asked.

"It's not as advanced as the other variety..." Jakob said, "the variegation is less pronounced."

"That's true, but do you see these striations along the leaf?" She ran her finger along the bottom of the petal, pointing at the veins. "What does that tell you?"

"That the growing season is longer?" Harrod asked.

She smiled at him and shook her head. "No, the distance between the striations indicates their desire for water. The closer you get to the equator, the more of these plants you'll find, and the striations will be farther apart—"

Harrod turned and saw his father; he ran to him: a three-foot-tall image of himself grabbing his legs. Karl picked him up and tousled his hair.

"Did you do what you needed?" Jerain asked, lifting Delia from her crib.

"I'm not sure," Karl said. "Sa'riya _says_ I have."

"Then you should listen to her," she smiled.

"Is mother okay?" Jakob tugged on Karl's sleeve.

"She's fine right now..." Karl said.

"But maybe not later?" he asked.

Karl put Harrod down and pointed toward the kitchen. "Go in there, and let me talk to Jerain for a moment." He looked at Jakob. "You too."

Harrod and Jakob disappeared around the corner, and Karl pulled the crystal from his pocket. "Have you ever seen anything like this?"

The crystal pulsed with energy: silver magic rising and falling inside.

"Sa'riya gave you this." Jerain nodded.

"How did you know?" he asked.

"Because I feel her inside it."

"I left her on the side of a mountain. She _can't_ be here..." He stared at the crystal, watching the throbbing silver light grow within.

Jerain squeezed his arm. "All I can tell you is, keep that crystal safe."

"That's exactly what _she_ said..."

## ***

Ka'rin examined the desolation of Purgatory Steppes and sighed. "This is _such_ a terrible place to be."

Jurak nodded and sneezed. "Yes, and there's a lot of dust..." He sneezed again.

"You understand why we need to convict her, don't you?" she asked.

"I don't care. She's of no interest to the D'jinn."

"That's where you're wrong," she said.

"What do you mean?" He sneezed. "She's powerful, but we live in different dimensions, why would _we_ be afraid of her?"

"Because she's managed to ascend, Jurak—even if she didn't mean to."

"And you K'Pa are going to hold that against her, aren't you?" he asked.

"It's our second law: we cannot blend with lower races, and _especially_ not humans..."

Jurak crossed his arms and stared at her. "It's rather short-sighted if you ask me."

"We don't know what will happen to her power," she said. "Look what she's already done."

"So, kill her now and sort it out later?" he asked.

"I'm sorry it has to be that way."

"I'm not certain it does," he said.

"You mean you may vote against us?" Her eyes darkened.

"I mean," he sneezed, "I will vote the way I see fit. You can stop your pathetic attempts to influence me now."

Ka'rin walked toward the arch, leaving him standing alone at the edge, sneezing. "Don't forget, Jurak, a danger to one is a danger to all..."
Act Two

"I don't see how I can convict this woman for following her heart," Darkonus stood and paced in front of the dais, "so let's dispense with the first charge, shall we?"

"K'pa law is clear:" Ka'rin pointed at Sa'riya, "she mixed her blood with another race—and a human at that... It's forbidden."

"But we're here to determine if there's an _exception_ ," Jemma leaned forward in her chair, "and the Inquisitor seems to believe there is. If _he_ can see she had no choice, then who are you to deny it?"

The Councilors mumbled amongst themselves with nodding and shaking heads, mixed with raised eyebrows and curled lips.

Caree stood, her robes filled with light, and everyone turned toward her. "I think our best course is to focus on the more _important_ of the charges and leave the question of love to those who feel it. We can't impose a sanction on someone for, as Darkonus said, 'following their heart', so I move to grant the exception to the law in this case."

"Noted." Nu'reen banged the gavel one time. "Does everyone agree?"

"I don't." Markus stood and glared at them. "The other charges stem from this one: if she hadn't broken _this_ law and ascended, she wouldn't have been _able_ to violate the others."

"But she didn't _intend_ to increase her powers..." Jemma stared him down. "Some of you have already agreed that intent is a necessary element. She fell in _love_ : the result was inevitable."

Caree nodded, and Ka'rin made a noise that sounded like grudging agreement. Jurak remained silent.

"Markus, if you have the only objection, I will grant the motion to dismiss the first charge." Nu'reen glanced at him to see if he would disagree, but he sat back down. "Good, that's taken care of." Nu'reen laid the gavel on the bench and stood up. She walked to the metal wall and looked at Sa'riya. "Before we move to questions, I want to clarify this next charge, so we all understand what's at stake.

"Under K'Pa law, and D'jinn and Fae'rie law, using our powers in a manner that disrupts human reality to a point where they become _aware_ of us—with the obvious exception of those groups we monitor, for whatever reason—is forbidden.

"As an example: I monitor the progress of the Na'Geena; I've identified them as a pivotal group, destined to shape the lives and future of the planet Erador. They're the prime enemy of the Draggons in this reality, and since the Draggons can't hide like the rest of us can, they must be monitored.

"There are other groups in different dimensions: The _Freemen_ , in the Fae'rie's dimension, and the _Zurai_ , who the D'jinn are responsible for—"

"And what is it that makes you _responsible_ for these people?" Darkonus leaned on the wall next to her. "I've never understood that."

"That's because you don't have a connection to _Yin_ anymore," she said.

"Yin?"

"The feminine aspect of the Cosmic Mind. Draggons were shut off from it ages ago; before you were born. Markus might remember..." She looked at the Draggon elder; he shrugged and shook his head. "Draggons were never attuned to the Orphic energy, and that's where Yin flows. Draggons are only subject to Yang."

"Wait, you're saying there _are_ Gods?" Darkonus chuckled. "I wish you magic-types would get your story straight."

"Yin and Yang are not Gods; they're the underlying principles that move the multiverse: the good and evil, the right and wrong. We _magic-types_ are connected to Yin directly, and that brings me to the point I was trying to make before you interrupted me..."

Darkonus waved his hands in defeat and walked back to his chair.

"Sa'riya is something new. Our laws have forbidden mixing the races for as long as I can remember, which is longer than anyone _here_." She looked at each of them—they all nodded. "But that doesn't mean we should jump to the conclusion that it's a bad thing."

"Are you trying to influence the Inquisitor?" Markus asked.

"Not at all." Nu'reen shook her head. "I'm putting things in perspective: a perspective that he doesn't have without knowledge of Yin."

"Ahh." Darkonus smiled at her. "You mean this might be the will of Yin?"

She shook her head and closed her eyes. "Yin has no will. Yin is fluid and ever-changing and impossible to define. I suggest you keep an open mind as we decide how bad this woman's actions were, because we can't know what Yin is becoming, and she could well be a part of it..."

"Becoming?" Darkonus raised his eyebrows.

"Things change, but not always in a negative way..."

## ***

"So, you can get us where we need to be?"

"Absolutely." Karl slapped Damian on the back and grinned.

They leaned against the upper railing of the Griffin Corral, watching them prance and play with each other. They were magnificent beasts, and more intelligent than you might give them credit for.

"Carion!" Karl whistled.

The largest one broke off from whatever Griffin-game they were playing and bounded over to them; he came to a dust-filled halt beside the fence and put his beak over the top rail, nuzzling Karl's arm, a soft _trill_ coming from his throat: a mixture of Cattus-purr and Eagle-shriek.

"They can easily carry two riders." Karl stroked the Griffin's head. "We will be exposed, though, and the Draggons will see us coming. Krasus Cauldron is well-guarded."

"I think we have that covered," Damian said.

Karl stared at him, watching his eyes. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

Damian couldn't lie to him: they'd spilled too much blood together, he would know. "Kavan is involved."

"You should have said that, to begin with." The creases in his forehead deepened.

Damian stared at the ground. "I know, I'm sorry, I'm not comfortable with it either."

"And yet, you agreed to it?" Karl asked.

"Kavan seems sincere, he made a valid argument, and it's an opportunity to kill Darkonus... I don't think we can pass that up."

"But to what end?" Karl asked. "Another will take his place."

Damian nodded and scratched Carion's backside, the lion-half of him edged closer to the fence, rubbing up against the poles. "Maybe one that we can _talk_ to. At the least, it will throw them into disarray for a while."

Karl held his right palm up; a deep scar ran across it. "This means I will do whatever you need. You don't _have_ to ask."

Damian looked at the matching scar on his palm and grasped Karl's hand. "Thank you, brother..."

## ***

"So, let's get straight to the second charge." Darkonus turned to the Council. "I'm confused: would that be the interfering thing or the killing-her-sister part?"

"We can only accuse her of her sister's death if we find her guilty of interfering with the laws of matter," Ka'rin explained.

"I see. So, this is a terrible thing, interfering with matter?" he asked.

Jemma walked to the metal wall and stared at them before turning to Darkonus. "It shouldn't be possible: they made this law up for this occasion."

"I don't understand..."

"Magic is magic:" Jemma explained, "it can't, or rather it _shouldn't_ affect matter."

"But, I've seen you people stop _time_..." Darkonus said.

"Time is different: even when we stop it, we must eventually let it continue; we can't hold it forever, and the physical world doesn't change."

"I think I get it," he said. "What she did _should_ be impossible, and that's why you're all afraid of her: because none of _you_ can do it."

"That's an excellent way of putting it." Nu'reen smiled.

"It's probably easier if I testify now," Jemma said, "since I'm partially responsible for all of this."

Darkonus made a sweeping gesture with one hand toward the dais. "Be my guest."

Jemma joined Sa'riya and took her hand. " _This_ is what happened..."

## ~~~

Captain Andreia Soder set the autopilot, rechecked the scopes to verify their course to Caralon, and strolled back to the galley where the others were playing cards and telling lies. They'd become increasingly louder, and her curiosity-meter was red-lining.

She glanced out the portholes on her left as she passed; the Minden Asteroid Belt was approaching, but she'd set a course around it.

The ship was loaded with Terillium, headed for the forges at Sunai-Base. They'd spent five weeks in flight to pick it up from the mining colonies on Darabon, and this was the end of the five-week trip back home.

Everyone was a little loopy—cabin-fever wrestling with their minds.

She stepped into the galley. "Alright, you losers, what in Harlan's name are you doing back here?"

Three heads turned her way. When they saw she was smiling, they let out a collective sigh and laughed.

"Captain, sit down!" Rory pointed at the empty chair and pushed the bottle of Sunerian whiskey toward her.

"Nah," she waved it away, "I'm on watch, and we'll be docking soon, need to keep my head clear. _You three_ need to slow down too." She lifted one eyebrow.

"One little Alcagone tablet, and we'll be good ash new..." Harmon slurred: his eyes unfocused.

"I hate the headache you get from those things." She shook her head.

Kelli nodded agreement and took her hand. "You remember what happened on New-Cycle Day last year?"

Andreia rubbed her eyes and smiled. "I will never forget, dear..."

"Why, what happened?" Rory took a sip of the whiskey and passed the bottle to his left.

"Well, it wasn't a headache..." Kelli grinned at Andreia.

"Please don't tell them, I'll never live it down," Andreia pleaded.

"She spent most of the day on her knees in front of the crapper, but I don't think it was the Alcagone—most likely it was the twelve Sandsnakes she swallowed on a bet before she took the pill."

The two men looked at each other and shuddered.

"I _hate_ those things..." Harmon stuck his tongue out in disgust.

"They're a delicacy in certain parts of the galaxy..." Andreia mumbled.

"Speaking of getting paid..." Rory said, focusing on the Captain.

"I don't think we were." She winked and punched him in the chest.

"This is our biggest haul ever," he said, "how much you think we'll clear after expenses?"

"Plenty. We should be able to make all the repairs we need and still have ten-thousand credits left."

"Ten-thousand?" His forehead wrinkled, and his mouth fell open. "That's all?"

" _Each_ dummy." She laughed.

They all laughed and congratulated each other on their fabulous luck.

Harmon drained the remains of the bottle and gave them a glimpse of his broadest smile. "Man, I love being a shmuggler..."

## ~~~

The asteroid the astronomers labeled P3X-24B was large enough to have its own gravity, and it frequently collided with the smaller rocks surrounding it: it wasn't a strong pull, but it was enough to smash the minor asteroids into dust. The force of gravity usually kept a hold on any of the smaller pieces, the largest ones becoming moons and small satellites.

The rogue asteroid hit P3X-24B: a rock flung from an orbit around another larger body. It smashed into the planet-side face with enough force to shatter it into five separate pieces—four of them were smaller, and P3X-24B happily pulled them into its orbital system. The remaining chunk was ejected from the collision at something close to forty-thousand miles per hour; it bounced off a few local asteroids, silent puffs of rocky dust plumes marking its course, then shot out into the void of space, leaving P3X-24B no choice but to be satisfied with its new satellites and watch it go.

## ***

"What does this have to do with the sun exploding?" Darkonus pupils flared yellow, and his face turned dim. "Someone told me the sun exploded..."

"Don't worry; you'll get your explosion, Darkonus. The purpose of explaining what happened to cause that is to show Sa'riya had no choice but to act," Jemma said. "Violation of the law requires intent, and she had none, which I'll show if you'll _stop_ interrupting me..."

Darkonus stood and bowed slightly toward her with a flourish of one hand.

The _thwack_ of the gavel startled everyone. "It's getting late, so I'm calling a recess until tomorrow morning at sunrise." Nu'reen laid the gavel down and stood.

"We need to bind her here." Jurak pointed at Sa'riya.

"No, we don't, she's coming with me," Nu'reen said. "I'll be responsible for her. Do you have a problem with that, Jurak?"

He watched the silver fire build in her eyes and the way her forehead creased.

He shook his head.

## ***

Jurak stepped out of the swirling black portal and stalked up the hallway toward the living areas. He could hear Karon playing in the side-yard, the music of childish laughter floating through the crack in the semi-closed glass door. He stopped and watched the boy for a moment while the fear grew in his mind, imagining the possible result of a guilty verdict for Sa'riya. He shook his head to clear it and turned away, heading for the kitchen.

He found Hagan and Dorelle sitting at the table drinking Kaffa. They were surprised by his entrance: they didn't see much of him, so every time he dropped in was a shock.

"Father..." Hagan almost spit out the sip of Kaffa he'd taken. Dorelle sat there frozen, her cup halfway to her lips.

Jurak sat at the head of the table with one of them on either side, his eyes bouncing back and forth between them. "You let him play out there by himself?"

"Oh, don't start..." Hagan rolled his eyes. "The yard is surrounded by an eight-foot fence, and I'm watching him in my mind as we speak—I'm _always_ watching him."

Jurak nodded, the purple fire in his eyes flared. "Good, but it may not be enough..."

"What do you mean?" Hagan asked.

"You _know_ what I mean," Jurak said. "If Sa'riya is found guilty, then _you're_ guilty too. We haven't even discussed the fate of her children."

"But no one knows about us." Hagan looked at Dorelle; she shook her head.

"It's a universal truth, Hagan:" she said, "secrets always get revealed, it's a matter of time."

"Time, an interesting point of reference," Hagan smiled, "since it doesn't _apply_ to us..."

"But it does apply to _her_." Jurak nodded at Dorelle. "She's human, even though you granted her immortality. She's more like the Draggons than like us: she's subject to linear time, and time has a way of catching up and exposing your secrets."

They were quiet for a moment, considering his words. Hagan finally took a sip of Kaffa and placed the cup back on the table. "Was the exception granted?"

"Yes. I did my best to appear against it," Jurak said.

"So, we're good," Hagan said. "If they aren't making an issue of her mating with a human, what else could go wrong?"

Jurak shook his head. "We're at the point of determining the danger of the blending."

"But I haven't _experienced_ any difference." Hagan's brow furrowed.

"That doesn't mean you won't," Dorelle said.

"I swear, you both worry too much." Hagan laughed and took a sip of Kaffa. "If I go through _the change,_ I'll be sure to let you know."

Dorelle stood and retrieved a third cup from the counter, but Jurak stopped her with a wave of his hand. She shrugged and refilled the other two cups from a crystal carafe.

"This danger," she asked him, "what did this woman do?"

"She killed her sister," Hagan answered for him, "and you know how the K'Pa feel about that since they're all born as twins."

She nodded and took her seat. "It's their First Law, right?"

"Who knows...?" Jurak shook his head. "The K'Pa have far too many laws; it's hard to keep them straight."

"Did she _kill_ her sister, or was it an accident? Hagan asked.

"I'm not sure they make a distinction between the two," Jurak said.

"Well, that's unfair," Dorelle mumbled.

Hagan grasped her hand and looked at Jurak. "Can you keep the two of us a secret?"

Jurak laughed and crossed his arms. "As long as you don't stop any suns from exploding... maybe."

## ***

"Are you hungry?" Nu'reen grasped Sa'riya's hand across the bar. "They've locked you in your human form for a while, have you eaten?"

"I've maintained human form ever since I met Karl," Sa'riya said. "I have no appetite with all this going on."

They were sitting in Karl and Sa'riya's cottage, Jerain had taken the children outside to play.

"I'm still not sure why all this is happening, Nu'reen." Sa'riya stared out the window.

Nu'reen was a middle-aged woman right now, her brown hair streaked with gray, the wrinkles around her eyes squinting sympathy for the younger woman. "Let me tell you a story."

"This isn't one I've already heard, is it?" Sa'riya laughed. "Karl does that to me all the time..."

"No, I doubt it." Nu'reen smiled and grabbed her chin. "What are you and your sister, five-hundred, six-hundred years old?"

"Something like that, I forget."

"Yeah, after a while, you stop counting..." Nu'reen stared into space, lost in thought.

"You promised me a story." Sa'riya broke her from her reverie with a touch on the arm.

"Right!" Nu'reen leaned back in her chair, her eyes still distant. "There's _always_ been this law against mixing with other races, but we didn't even know about humans until two-thousand years ago. Humans are not from this galaxy, not from this universe really: they came here through a rift in space. I doubt they even knew what they were doing—they were fleeing from some kind of catastrophe on their homeworld—I never knew the name of the planet they _came_ from. The Interstellar-Drives in their ships created a fissure in space-time, and they ended up here in our reality."

"You're joking, right?"

"No, Sa'riya, I'm not, and all the elders know this, Darkonus does too. Darkonus is only a few-hundred-thousand years younger than Markus. While Markus can't wage war on the humans because of his position on the Council, Darkonus is free to do so: he's been trying to wipe out the humans ever since they arrived—he sees them as unwanted immigrants. Your husband is his nemesis—and every Na'Geena Chieftain before him. Without the Na'Geena, the Draggons would have wiped out humanity long ago."

"I asked Karl about the Na'Geena and where they came from, he said he didn't know."

"That's because of _The_ _Forgetting_... and I'm afraid that's my sister's responsibility."

"Ji'yael?"

"Yes." Nu'reen pursed her lips like she'd tasted something sour. "My sister's been trying to ascend like you for the better part of history, but two things are stopping her."

"What are they?" Sa'riya asked.

"She would need to take a mate of another species, and I don't see that happening since no one can stand to be around her for long," Nu'reen grinned.

Sa'riya laughed and looked out the window; she could see the children and Jerain playing around the fish-pond Karl claimed he couldn't find. "What's the second thing?"

"She would need to kill me and absorb my half of our power."

"What is this, _Forgetting_?" Sa'riya turned back toward her.

"You're familiar with the four Gods the humans worship?" Nu'reen asked.

"Yes, Karl is suspicious of them."

"He's right to be because Ji'yael created them; taught them everything they know, and she used a spell to make the humans forget," Nu'reen said.

"Forget what?"

"Everything..."

"But you remember everything because it didn't affect the Immortal races?" Sa'riya asked.

"Yes, that's right." Nu'reen smiled.

"So who are the Na'Geena then?"

Nu'reen leaned toward her. "They're the descendants of the original humans. I taught them who they were again, most of it, after _The Forgetting_ , and I forged the three swords to help them defend against the Draggons."

"Isn't that interfering with their reality?" Sa'riya asked. "Aren't you breaking K'Pa law?"

"No, for two reasons. Ji'yael gave the Draggons their daggers, which gave them an advantage, which had to be balanced. Creating the swords accomplished that."

"And the other reason?"

"The other reason is you, Sa'riya."

"I don't understand."

"You know the immortal races, except for the Draggons, exist outside of time, and because we are everywhere-always, when you married Karl and infused your blood with his, it made the Na'Geena part of our family; all of them, always... which makes them immune to the Third Law. We're free to interact with them, as you and I are now, although I would caution you about the dangers of too much information." Nu'reen leaned back in her chair.

"How does this affect me?" Sa'riya asked.

"You're their Mother: not just your children—all of them. You've brought the Na'Geena into the realm of immortals, and they're going to hate you for it—especially the Draggons. Darkonus may see _you_ as family, but he will never give the same deference to humans."

Sa'riya looked out the window again, watching the children play. "What does that mean for them?"

"We'll figure something out..." Nu'reen stood and placed one hand on Sa'riya's shoulder. "I have to go see someone, wait here for me."

## ***

Ka'rin materialized inside the tree. It wasn't a solid tree: it was hollow and ancient—she'd kept it alive far longer than it would've lived on its own. They had a symbiotic relationship now: the tree stayed alive, and she kept her sanity by having a single space in the multiverse no one knew of—it allowed her to get away, to have solitude.

But things change.

"What is your game?" Nu'reen stared at her from her seat on the bed. "You know this was an accident. Why are you pushing so hard?"

Ka'rin removed her cloak and hung it on a wooden peg embedded in the trunk. "Why do you say I'm pushing this?"

"Because you made a huge issue of her mating with a human. But you know she's been quiet ever since. She hasn't bothered anyone." Nu'reen stood and placed her hands on her hips.

"Our second law is no interracial blending; you know that," Ka'rin said.

"Yes, I know," Nu'reen nodded, "and I would have never agreed to it."

"You had your chance Nu'reen, and you gave it up. This Council position was yours, you're the oldest of us, you and Ji'yael, but you didn't want the responsibility."

"No, I didn't want the headache," Nu'reen said.

"Same difference..." Ka'rin's lips were a thin line across her face.

"The whole interracial-blending thing is a farce. The Council isn't concerned about how someone's powers will change; they're afraid they'll lose control over them."

"That's not true," Ka'rin snapped back, "look what's happened here. She got her sister killed, and that violates our First Law."

"As I said, it was an accident, and you know it. I don't know what you're up to Ka'rin: you're powerful enough to shield your thoughts from me, but I'll figure it out somehow." Nu'reen stood and pointed a slender finger at her. "When I do, you better hope you're on the right side..."

## ***

They met on the rocky ledge as the suns started crawling across the sky; the red and yellow rays blending to warm the stone and burn the dew away.

"I think we'll hold session out here today: that chamber is so stuffy and dark," Nu'reen looked at Jurak, "don't you think it's dark?"

"Maybe a little..." He raised one shoulder.

She waved her right hand in a tight circle—the dais, chairs, and benches shimmered into form. Everyone took their seats.

Jemma stood with Sa'riya on the platform. "As I was explaining yesterday," she glanced at Darkonus, "before I was interrupted..."

## ~~~

"I think I'm gonna puke..." Harmon pushed out of his chair and ran for the corridor. As he reached the door, the stray asteroid ripped thirty yards of metal plating from the upper third of the ship—directly over the galley—metal sheared and tore away from the hull, the grinding sound boring into their skulls. They had one moment to appreciate the noise, then the silence of space flooded in.

Andreia watched her life flash before her eyes: she felt the warmth of her father's hug as he picked her up the first time; felt the disappointment of losing her first love and the joy of finding another, and fear for its loss. She turned her head toward Kelli, but she was gone. It all happened in a fraction of a second.

All four of them were ejected through the hole, the venting cabin pressure forcing their bodies into space. The effect of the vacuum was immediate: it sucked the air from them, and they began to suffocate, the fluid in their lungs crystalizing from the deep cold of space. Their blood retained enough oxygen—from the last breath they'd taken—to keep them conscious for about fourteen seconds.

Fourteen seconds struggling to breathe is like living a miniature lifetime—hands at their throats, fear on their faces—gasping for life, and having it pulled away...

Andreia watched the empty whiskey bottle spin past her, turning and tumbling, the light from the sun refracting through the cut-glass—she thought the colors were beautiful. The edges of her vision turned black, forcing her field-of-view down to a single point of light.

It winked out as her eyes froze over.

Twelve thousand miles away, the ship, knocked off-course, bounced off the outer atmosphere of Caralon. The thermal plating on the belly glowed a bright crimson, skimming the thicker air, and that force was enough to aim it directly at the sun.

The damage from the asteroid affected all the ship's systems. The most severe was the impact on the warp drive: the control interface wiring ran through the section of hull that was gouged out—a tiny electric spark between two bare wires activated the drive.

The ship collided with the sun, and the Terillium blended with the corona. There was a huge orange explosion, and then the sun turned solid-black. It burned like that for twenty-two days before it exploded, the blast wave expanding at sixty-eight-million miles per hour, almost four light-years in all directions.

Several Galaxies ceased to exist.

It was pretty bad.

## ***

"Wow, that's pretty bad." Darkonus shook his head. "What do you think the odds of all that happening were?"

"What difference does it make?" Markus' eyes burned into him. "Get on with it."

Darkonus spun around and snapped at him. "I'm doing my job. The probability of that sequence of events occurring as it did is something we need to understand."

"So you think it wasn't chance?" Ka'rin asked.

"That's not what I'm saying at all," he shook his head, "it almost sounds like a setup."

"A setup, really? Jurak smiled.

"Let's just say, the more I hear, the more my opinion changes." Darkonus sat down.

"It's your job to prosecute her, not come to her aid." Markus snarled.

"Fine, I have two questions then." He pointed at Jemma and looked at Sa'riya. "Is everything she said accurate up to this point?"

"Yes." She nodded.

"Did you have anything to do with what happened to that ship?" he asked.

"No."

Darkonus scanned the Councilor's faces, pausing several moments on Markus, their eyes locked, and both sets of pupils flared, then he turned back to Jemma. "Carry on then."

## ~~~

Jemma pulled on the strings. She was trying to find the one that might reset the sequence, but she couldn't: it was a physical reaction, and they couldn't control that, they'd never been able to.

But time, maybe I can manipulate time...

She watched the sun explode: the wave of energy expanded, wiping matter from the universe. She watched it several times, the tears in her eyes increasing with each round, imagining the loss. Finally, she stopped it and held it still: the expanding explosion froze in mid-decimation—a galaxy half-destroyed.

She set an anchor in time, pricked her finger with her dagger, and sealed it with her blood, in case another Fae'rie might come along and release it: once they saw the seal, they'd move along.

"Can you hear me?" She focused her mind on the neutral dimension.

"I hear you, who is this?"

"A friend and I need assistance..."

"How can I help?"

"My galaxy is in danger."

"In what way?"

"The sun is exploding."

"That's a natural process; we can't change it."

"You might think so," Jemma said, "but I've seen it, and we can, with you..."

Sa'riya sat down on a small red rug and went into her mind. She saw the sun exploding, the loss of life. "Ok, if I can help, I will."

"You must bring your sister," Jemma said.

"Why?"

"Because we can only stop the explosion if there are three of us, forming an equilateral triangle around it. I've done the math a thousand times."

"Ok, I'll talk to her," Sa'riya said.

"I'm talking to her now... She says she'll come."

Act Three

They floated in the void of space, immune to the cold—three luminous balls of energy, one white, two silver—thirty-million miles from the exploding sun. The motion of the explosion was frozen, but they could still feel the heat.

"And we're supposed to do what?" Zi'anna asked.

"We have to space ourselves at one-hundred-twenty degrees around it." Jemma moved twenty-million miles away, to one side of the sun, examining the angles. "I've done the math a thousand times."

"And how is that going to help?" Sa'riya asked.

"The explosion; we can create a shield that will contain it—it will save the rest of the Galaxy."

"Why are you doing this? Why not find another Galaxy?" Zi'anna asked.

"I'm quite fond of this one," Jemma said. "I have friends here. Will you help me or not?"

"We'll help you." Sa'riya moved away at the speed of thought, positioning herself at one-hundred and twenty degrees from Jemma's position on the far side of the sun. Zi'anna followed, ending up at two-hundred and forty. Jemma remained where she was.

"Let it go." Sa'riya thought at her.

Jemma released the time-anchor.

The fire from the explosion spread through space in all directions, small planets exploded, and gaseous clouds erupted.

They pulled the Orphic energies together between them, creating a triangle of energy surrounding the sun. For a few moments, it appeared to work, but then Zi'anna, who was two one-thousandths of a degree out of position, burst into flames.

"NO!" Sa'riya screamed.

Zi'anna burned like a dying star for thirteen seconds and winked out of existence, the sound of her scream echoed through the universe and rang in Sa'riya's mind. The negative energy released snapped back into Sa'riya: a massive ball of silver light—it hit her in the chest, and she shined like ten-thousand suns.

Sa'riya slowed time to a fraction with her mind. Everything froze again: the explosion stopped half-way through. She saw Jemma, suspended in space, and looked at where Zi'anna should be. Her eyes filled with tears.

"What is your greatest weakness?"

The voice was in her head; she ignored it.

"Stop ignoring me. What is your greatest weakness?"

"I don't understand what you mean," Sa'riya said.

"You lost your sister, but what is your greatest weakness?"

"That I'm alone..."

"No. You're never truly alone."

"I don't understand what you want."

"Do I have to spell it out?"

"I guess you'll have to."

"Fine, your greatest weakness is that you don't understand your power..."

"Who are you?"

"Some call me Yin, but I have other names."

"Yin? That's impossible... there are no gods."

"Did I say I was a god?"

"No, but Yin is supposed to be a _principle_ , not a being..."

"Okay, have you ever been wrong before?"

"Of _course_ I have."

"Well, consider this one of those times."

"You still haven't explained what you want from me..."

"I thought it was obvious—I'm trying to teach you something."

"That I don't understand my power?"

"Precisely!"

"And how does that help me?"

"Once you know the right question to ask, the answer will be obvious..."

## ***

"You mean to tell me that you talked to God...?" Darkonus jumped out of his chair and climbed the dais.

"No, I talked to something that called itself Yin." Sa'riya stared at him, unblinking.

"And you're alright with that... taking advice from beings, you can't see?"

"It told me what I needed. It hasn't been wrong so far," she said.

"And what did it tell you?" he asked.

"I'm not sure you need to know..."

"Well, I insist." Darkonus put his face one inch from hers.

"Fine, let me show you..." She grasped his forehead with one hand and pulled him into a _void-space_.

Darkonus fell on the floor of the void-space. The walls were gray, and the ceiling was gray: it was a gray bubble with mist swirling around it.

Sa'riya stood over him. "Is this better? Does it satisfy your questions?"

Darkonus stood and walked around the gray bubble, poking the edges and measuring the sides. "It satisfies the question of 'did your powers get enhanced' at least." He smiled.

"Yeah, about that..." She snapped her fingers, and they reappeared on the white dais.

"No more of that, please..." Nu'reen banged the gavel on the bench.

"I'm sorry, he irritated me." Sa'riya stared at Darkonus.

Nu'reen laid the gavel down. "That's reasonable."

"So, what happened then, after Zi'anna died?" Darkonus pushed her.

"It's hard to explain in words..." she said.

"How else are you going to explain it to us?" Darkonus asked.

Sa'riya created a space in her mind and pulled them into it. It wasn't large, but it was bigger than small, and it fit them perfectly. They all sat on pillows surrounding a round wooden table with Sa'riya hovering cross-legged over the center, her palms on her knees.

"I'm going to let you experience what I felt," she said.

"Is this going to hurt?" Jurak asked, looking around nervously.

"Only if you have a heart." She glanced sideways at him. "You should be okay..."

## ~~~

Sa'riya pushed her will out, reaching for the edge of Zi'anna and Jemma's power. She found Jemma at the limit of her force, and she latched onto her, but Zi'anna was out of reach. She tried harder, but she couldn't make a connection—she watched from a distance as her sister died, consumed by the wave of solar fire. She saw it but was powerless to act, and she was consumed by grief. The backlash of power she absorbed opened her mind and made her aware: she instantly understood how the multiverse worked: all of it—she understood things on a sub-atomic scale. She could no longer simply _use_ magic—she _was_ magic and much more.

She looked toward Jemma. The flame-wall would consume her in three seconds.

For two-point-ninety-three seconds, she did nothing... and then...

Sa'riya stopped everything: the explosion, the rotation of the planets, time itself.

She sat suspended in the silence of space, alone with her thoughts. She wouldn't allow anything to move forward. The multiverse hung in limbo: every single universe, every branch of possibility, every facet of existence. She looked at the heavens all around her, thinking how beautiful it was, and how deadly it could be.

"You can't maintain this..."

"I can do whatever I want, Yin. I see the truth now—I know how it works."

"Well, that's true, and I can't stop you, but I want you to think about something."

"What could I possibly care about? My sister is dead."

"Yes, but this is not _your_ end, this is a beginning, and you have others that care for you."

"How are they going to see me know, after what I've become?"

"You mean, how will your children see their mother or your husband see his wife?"

"Ok, I get it."

"Do you?"

"Yes."

"So, you're done with self-pity?"

"I'm getting there."

"Good enough..."

## ***

Damian held tight to _Bloodrender_ 's sheath, his legs wrapped around Carion's body. The Griffin soared through the air, the tips of his wings tracing the chill morning air, slicing the edges of the clouds like a silver knife through butter. He was trying to lean into the turns as Karl had shown him.

Karl turned his head and yelled over the violent wind. "Don't let go!"

"Trust me, I'm good." His grip tightened on the sword. He watched over Karl's shoulder as they approached the mountain. Off to their right, Kain held on to Darryl's sword, Shera matching speed and movement with Carion, and to the left, Garrick had a death-grip on Karo's shoulders aboard Hestas. The three Griffins held a tight pattern, aiming at the vacant ledge on the western slope of Krasus Cauldron.

"You're sure this spell makes us invisible?" Karl asked.

A Draggon patrol appeared on their flank: three lizards in a triangle formation. The Griffins adjusted their flight to slide left of the Draggons' path. They passed within yards of each other.

"A god promised me it would," Damian said, watching the Draggons fly away.

"I guess that's good enough." Karl chuckled.

The Griffins' claws and paws skidded to a stop on the bare rock of the shelf, loose gravel flying. They jumped off and headed toward the black maw of a tunnel that led into the heart of the mountain.

"Why are there no guards here?" Garrick peered into the darkness.

"Why would they need them?" Karl laughed. "Who would be crazy enough to attack their stronghold?"

"Good point." Kain adjusted his armor and pulled one Na'Geena axe from his back: the shaft was hardened wood, a Griffin-claw fastened to the end with silver-metal bands. "Thanks for these weapons."

"You'd have no chance without them." Karl slapped him on the shoulder.

"You should go now." Damian grabbed his hand.

"Are you sure you don't want us to come?" Karl asked.

"We'll be fine." Damian pushed him away.

"You've thought this through?"

"I have." Damian checked his axes.

"Ok, then." Karl turned to walk away.

"Do me one favor, though..."

"What's that?" He spun around, squinting at Damian.

"If we don't come back, tell my brother to let it go, don't avenge me..."

Karl grabbed his shoulders and stared into his eyes. "How can I do that when I won't?"

## ***

"So, how did you stop the sun from exploding?" Darkonus asked. "We haven't determined that yet."

"I thought it back to normal," Sa'riya said.

"You _what_?" Darkonus grinned.

"I thought it back to normal..."

"No, I heard you _say_ that..." Darkonus laughed. "You _thought_ the exploding sun, back to normal?" he asked.

"Yes." Sa'riya nodded.

Darkonus threw his hands up. "How does that even work?"

## ~~~

She stared at the flaming ball of a sun that had killed Zi'anna, wanting to hate it, but realizing the futility. It was a consequence of situations she had no control over—things she couldn't change.

Sa'riya pulled the sun back together with her mind. She reached into the explosion with tendrils of thought and wrapped them around the various particles. She felt each one: the positive, the negative, the neutral, and she understood the power that drove them. She changed the direction of physical force, turning explosion into implosion. The waves of sun-fire and matter reversed, squeezing itself back together. She stopped it at the point of the initial burst, then ejected the stray Terillium from the corona: it flew into space in multiple directions, and she vaporized it so it wouldn't repeat this devastation elsewhere.

The sun returned to its natural warm-yellow glow.

## ~~~

"And you can do that by _thinking_ about it?" Darkonus' mouth hung open.

Sa'riya stared into the fire in his eyes. "Yes."

## ***

Three days before the trial...

"Concentrate." Nu'reen held her hand and pointed at the void.

"Concentrate on what?" Sa'riya shook her head. "I don't know what you want me to do."

"I want you to create your future," she said.

"They want me dead, what future do I have?" she asked.

"She still doesn't get it..." Nu'reen looked into the void and found Yin.

" _No, she doesn't... but she will. Keep trying. This is all new to her_."

"Yin?" Sa'riya recognized the voice in her head.

" _Yes, listen to Nu'reen_."

They stood at a nexus where the multiverse collided: a point in space where things could be or could be not, depending on your view.

"Fashion your future right here." Nu'reen pointed at the conjunction of realities. "This is the point where you can create whatever you want, and they can't find you."

"You think I'm going to lose..." Sa'riya said.

"I'm going to vote _against_ you." Nu'reen glanced at her.

"Why would you?"

"Because it's necessary to keep you safe."

"I don't understand," Sa'riya said.

"Yes, you do, you're simply not aware of it yet. Everything will become clear in time." Nu'reen pointed at the nexus. "Now, do it."

Sa'riya focused her thoughts at a point within the void. She imagined a beautiful landscape with mountains in the distance, snow capping their peaks, rolling hills between, covered with smooth green grass. Dense forest on the right bordered a swift-flowing river, and a small white cottage surrounded with verdant land that looked good for farming.

"Is that what you want?" Nu'reen asked. She watched the scene unfold before them.

"That's exactly what I want..." Sa'riya smiled.

"I thought so."

"But this doesn't _save_ me Nu'reen. They still want me dead, because they're afraid."

"And they _will_ kill you, one way or another..."

"So, how does this help?"

Nu'reen pulled a crystal from her pocket. It was clear and about the size of her closed fist.

"What's that?" Sa'riya asked.

Nu'reen held the crystal up to the light. "The answer..."

## ***

The tunnels led deeper into the mountain, branching and twisting with no clear path ahead. Kavan had warned them the longer they remained inside, the more likely the illusion would fade, and fade it did, at the worst possible time.

They'd made it halfway across a medium-sized cavern when Damian saw the shimmer dissolve. It started at their heads and ran down their bodies toward the floor, a sizzling exposure.

"Wait!" He pulled them all to a corner. "We're visible."

"This was supposed to last hours..." Kain spat on the ground. "I guess we'll have to do it the old-fashioned way... I knew we couldn't trust magic..."

"I don't think it's Kavan's fault." Garrick held both hands out. "There's a dampening field of some kind here."

"You freakin magic-people..." Kain glanced at him sideways.

"Shut-up, Kain, let me concentrate..." Garrick closed his eyes and stretched his feelings out into the room. There was a web of warning-spells: they'd tripped most of them. "This is bad..."

"What's happening?" Damian asked him, shaking his shoulder.

'We have to get out of here." Garrick's face turned white.

"Which way?" Damian asked.

Garrick pulled the Na'Geena axes from his back, shaking his head. "There _is_ no way. They're coming."

"From which way?" Damian shook him, trying to get a straight answer.

"From every way..."

## ***

Ji'yael stepped through the portal. She wore black slippers, and her robe was the color of space without stars: absolute black—the effect, when combined with the black granite she stood upon, made her head and hands appear to be floating in midair. Her skin was stark-white, which made her dark hazel eyes stand out—they almost looked black. The color of her lips was blood-red: some glamour she'd applied. She flipped her waist-length straight-black hair over her shoulders with both hands and strode onto the dais.

"Why are you here?" Nu'reen's stare was icy, but Ji'yael ignored it.

"I asked her to come," Ka'rin said.

"For what purpose?" Nu'reen turned to her. "She wasn't involved in this, in _any_ way."

"She's your sister: the second oldest of the K'pa. I think if you're allowed to judge this, then we should find out what _she_ thinks—the two of you are half of a whole person, after all. Why, are you afraid of what she might say?"

"I know what she'll say." Nu'reen laughed. "It's not going to sway me one way or the other. By all means, let's hear what my dear sister has to say."

Darkonus looked back and forth between them. "I don't know what's going on between you two..."

"It doesn't matter." Nu'reen shook her head. "Ask her what she thinks."

He turned toward Ji'yael. She looked down her nose at him, waiting for him to speak.

"I want to go on record as protesting this..." Gemma waved one hand in the air.

"Noted," Nu'reen said, pointing a finger at Darkonus. "Go on, let's get this over with."

"So, what do you think?" He took his chair and crossed his legs, waiting for her to speak.

"Sa'riya is anathema to what the K'Pa hold dear; she can't be allowed to exist," Ji'yael said, smoothing the front of her robe.

"And why is that?" he asked.

She leveled a glare at him. 'Because her power is unstable, and she can't control it."

"Seems like she did a pretty good job to me." Gemma stood and faced her. "She saved millions and an entire solar system."

"And what's next?" Ji'yael asked. "She can manipulate matter, which I find fascinating, personally, but it's far too dangerous in the hands of someone so young."

"What she means is," Nu'reen winked at Darkonus, "anyone's hands but _hers_..."

Darkonus raised his eyebrows. "I see..."

"So, now your opinion is on the record Ji'yael, will there be anything else?" Nu'reen asked, a thin smile crossing her face.

"No, that's it." Ji'yael examined her fingernails.

Nu'reen turned to Ka'rin. "And you? Can we finish this now?"

The hatred was evident in Ka'rin's eyes, but she nodded and sat back in her chair.

Nu'reen waved Ji'yael down from the dais and turned to Darkonus. "Good, let's continue..."

## ***

The Draggons came at them from all sides. They stood back-to-back in the center of the room, Na'Geena axes in both hands. Kain killed the first one, the Griffin-claw axe ripping the throat from the beast as it attacked.

Damian took one more; a long bleeding wound down the side of its neck: it curled up in a far corner of the room to die. The remaining Draggons were not as stupid; they backed off, but only to change their strategy.

The largest one _huffed_ : a sound like drawing a huge breath. Garrick rolled to his right as the flame seared past him—he jumped to his feet after the fire was gone and buried the Griffin-claw axe into the skull of the Draggon. The Draggon screamed in agony and died, its body trembling in death, the tail thrashing about.

Damian swung his axe in a circle, the point of the Griffin-claw sunk into the head of the last Draggon, he yanked it free as the beast fell to the floor.

"Is that all?" Kain spun the axe in his right hand. "I thought they'd send more."

"Don't ask for trouble." Damian punched him on the shoulder. "You might get it."

## ***

Darkonus shook his head and glared at the Council.

"It seems to me that you want this woman dead because you're afraid of her. What I don't understand is why? You all seem much more powerful. What am I missing?"

Nu'reen watched him, waiting for someone to break.

"She's dangerous." Markus shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

"You still haven't explained how..." Darkonus said, glaring at the elder Draggon.

"Ask her about the _Draggons_ she killed when she reset the exploding sun..." Markus said.

"What?" Darkonus turned to Sa'riya. "What does he mean?"

Sa'riya nodded, her eyes on Darkonus' face. "There were about five-thousand Draggons on the smaller worlds that were killed when I reset the sun. I'm sorry, I couldn't save them..."

"Five... hundred?" Darkonus face was blank, his eyes vacant. "But how? Draggons could withstand the exploding sun; it's fire, we can withstand fire..."

"It wasn't the fire..." Markus pointed at Sa'riya, "It was her _power_ that killed them..."

"Can you prove that?" Nu'reen smacked the gavel on the bench.

"No, it's true," Sa'riya looked at Darkonus with pain in her eyes, "and I'm sorry, I didn't know it would affect them differently; every other species came back like it never happened, but the Draggons, they're different somehow, and I felt _every one of them_ as they died..."

Darkonus rubbed his forehead and glared at Sa'riya. "You know, Draggons, we're only born about once every two-hundred-thousand years—that means you wiped out half my people in one moment."

Tears filled Sa'riya's eyes, and she fell to her knees.

Darkonus picked her back up and wiped her face. "I can't hold you responsible for this, sister: it's a twist of fate."

She grabbed his face and looked into his eyes, the fire lit her features, and at that moment, they understood each other, she pulled his forehead to touch hers then released him.

"It's not her fault; it was an accident." Darkonus turned to the council.

"This is _not_ your decision to make!" Markus jumped up, pointing one finger at him.

"Oh, but it is Markus, and you gave me the power to make it."

Nu'reen stared at Markus until he took his seat; he was seething. "Proceed, Darkonus," she said.

"I don't see how I can... you want her dead, and I can't find a reason to kill her: not even the accidental death of half my species," he said.

"I don't think we _all_ want her dead..." Nu'reen smiled.

"I do." Markus sprang from his seat and vaulted the metal wall. The dagger he drew from his waistband was a blur of steel—an evil looking gleam wandered the edge of the blade—a blackness that shined. The point slid into Sa'riya's chest and out her back, the force of the blow lifting her from the floor and dumping her in a crumpled heap on the black granite beside the dais.

Darkonus was one-second slower than Markus—he drew the daggers from his neck scabbards. _Pain_ and _Suffering_ found their way into the elder Draggon's spine at the same moment he killed Sa'riya. Darkonus yanked the blades free, and Markus fell to the floor.

He knelt next to Sa'riya, brushing the hair from her face. "I didn't want this... she was pure." If Draggons could cry, he would have.

## ***

"He's right: ask for trouble, and you might get it..." The voice came from the far end of the chamber; it echoed from the stone walls, a hollow ring that made it sound more ominous.

Damian spun around.

A Draggon in human form stepped from the doorway and walked toward them: he dressed differently from the others. Most Draggons wore black-leather armor, but this one wore red, and his hair was short instead of long, with streaks of gray frosting his temples and beard. A sash of brilliant silver chain-mail draped over one shoulder and across his chest; fixed to the center was the Draggon coat-of-arms. The flames in his eyes built as he approached them, pulling two thin swords from the sheaths across his back.

"This should be easy: three against one..." Garrick grinned, moving toward the Draggon's right side.

"You would _think_ so..." The Draggon stopped ten feet from them and ran one sword-blade down the other—sparks flew from the edge, and a squeal of steel assaulted their ears.

"We're here for Darkonus, not you." Kain sized him up with his good eye: he was stocky, but his movements were fluid, like a cattus. Kain slid toward his left flank, both axes up.

The Draggon gave them a wicked grin. "Then, you'll need to go through me."

Damian sprang toward him, one axe whistling past the Draggon's left ear—he stepped aside in time to avoid it, the sword in his right hand carving an arc through the air that lopped the head off the axe. The Griffin claw bounced across the stone floor, and the red-leather Draggon leaped to his right, rolling and coming back to one knee.

Garrick swung down hard with both weapons, the Draggon crossed his swords and caught the axe handles above his head in the vee of his blades—the shafts were severed right behind the heads, the claws falling harmlessly to the floor. The Draggon slid the edge of his left sword across the side of Garrick's leg above the knee and stuck the point of the right blade into his side. Garrick collapsed on the stone floor, holding his stomach.

The Draggon stood and faced Kain and Damian, flicking the sword blades to remove the blood. "You should have brought more men..."

"That's enough, Faydon..." Darkonus and Nu'reen stepped through the portal behind him. Darkonus pointed at the red-leather Draggon and looked at Damian. "Faydon is our master-at-arms... you couldn't have run into a worse opponent. You're lucky we got here when we did."

Damian stepped toward Darkonus, followed by Kain. Nu'reen inserted herself between them and pointed one finger in Damian's face. "You need to stop now: your mission is over."

"Why is that, Oracle?" He knew her from his time with Karl and the Na'Geena. "We're at war."

"Actually, we're not, as of this moment." Darkonus held his hands out toward them. "I've taken a position, by accident, I might add, that forbids me from harming you, at least until we can find someone to take my place." He glanced at Nu'reen, who shook her head. "But I don't see that happening soon."

"You're offering us peace?" Damian searched his face, not willing to believe.

"Seems I have no choice..." Darkonus winked at him. "Take what you can get. We're all pawns in life, in one way or another..."

Nu'reen knelt beside Garrick and held her hands over his wounds. A soft green glow shined from her palms. After several minutes he stood and thanked her; she nodded and smiled.

"You can all go now." Darkonus waved one hand at them. "I assume you had a way to get out of here?"

"Yeah, we do." Damian nodded, feeling for the amulet under his shirt.

"Do me a favor, though," Darkonus pointed at the severed Griffin claws and the three axes they still held, "get those _things_ out of my mountain..."

## ***

Karl put his arm around Darryl's shoulder as they walked toward the Griffin stables. "I think we have to go away for a while, the kids and me..."

"I don't understand," Darryl said, "where's Sa'riya?"

"I don't understand either, but the Oracle assures me this is the best thing we can do right now."

"What about Jerain, does she know?" Darryl asked.

"She's coming with us," Karl said.

"You know the Na'Geena have to have a Chieftain."

"That's going to be you." Karl slipped _Bloodrender_ from his back and handed the sword to him. "One day in the future, or so I've been told, Harrod and Jakob and Delia will come back; Jerain will be with them, but you can't tell them anything about us, or it might cause them harm. Make sure Harrod gets this sword when he's due."

Darryl shook his head, "You're my brother, Karl, so whatever you need..."

"We're at peace with the Draggons now, according to Damian," Karl said.

"You _believe_ that?" Darryl asked.

"He wouldn't lie. I believe he believes it, so I believe it. Don't attack the Draggons, unless they attack first."

"You got it."

## ***

Karl climbed off Carion's back and pushed up the hill, his boots slipping on the rocky slope. He passed the blaze on the tree where the stray arrow hit. He could never forget where he met her; she was the love of his life.

He found the stone, the one she'd leaned on the day they met.

He pulled the crystal from his pocket and held it up to the light.

The silver glow twisted and turned, begging him to break it.

He smashed the crystal against the boulder, holding his breath.

The explosion knocked him off his feet, the wave of energy expanding through the forest, trees moving with the force.

Sa'riya grabbed his hand and pulled him from the ground, a massive smile on her face. "You found me."

"How could I not?" he asked. "I can't live without you; the universe won't allow it."

She touched his cheek with one hand. "You're more right than you know."

## ***

"You made this, didn't you?" Nu'reen held the blade Markus had used to kill Sa'riya; the evil black shine still played along the edge.

"I don't know what you're talking about; I've never seen it before..." Ka'rin shook her head.

Nu'reen stepped closer to her, backing her up. "Only an enchanted blade could kill her, and you knew that. Markus didn't have the power to create it. Only you or Caree could have done it—and Caree is too pure for something _this_ wicked."

"What about Jurak? He could have made it." Fear crept into Ka'rin's eyes.

"For reasons I won't get into, I know for a fact that Jurak didn't make it..." Nu'reen stepped closer, forcing her against the trunk of the tree, the tip of the blade inches from her chest. Ka'rin tried to teleport away, but Nu'reen waved her hand and locked her into her human form, removing her powers and circling her with silver bands of energy that held her immobile.

"So, you're going to kill me with it?" Ka'rin stared at the tip of the blade.

Nu'reen shook her head. "No, I'm going to do something much worse, and more appropriate."

"What?" Ka'rin asked.

"I'm going to strip you of your powers and make you human. You crave power, and losing it all would be the best punishment." Nu'reen's pupils shined.

Ka'rin laughed. "You don't have that ability Nu'reen. As powerful as you are, you can't do that."

"No, I can't," she waved one hand, and Sa'riya appeared next to the bed, "but _she_ can."

Sa'riya held one hand up and closed her eyes. The silver flow of energy passed between them: it came out of Ka'rin's forehead and into her palm. Ka'rin slowly aged as the light left her until she was an old woman, her skin dry and wrinkled. She fell to the floor, clutching her chest.

Sa'riya looked at Nu'reen with a tear in her eye. "I don't feel good about this..."

"That's exactly why I needed to make you do it," Nu'reen said.

"You want me to lose my sense of right and wrong?" she asked.

"No, I want you to understand the difference between vengeance and justice..."

"Which one is this?"

"If you have to ask, then the lesson isn't over..." Nu'reen said.

"How do I know when it is?" Sa'riya asked.

"Once you know the right question to ask, the answer will be obvious..."

## ***

Sa'riya glanced out the window of the cottage. Karl was putting the team up in the barn; the field was freshly plowed. She stared at the snow-covered mountains in the distance for quite a while, a warm feeling spreading through her chest. The children were playing some game she didn't recognize, using the fence posts that surrounded the house: apparently, one post was safe, and the others were a goal of some kind—they were laughing and having a marvelous time—it made her smile.

"I hope you're not _too_ comfortable here," Nu'reen said from behind her.

"We're not going anywhere..." She turned and glared at Nu'reen. "Haven't I done enough for you?"

"You think you did all this for me?" Nu'reen's eyes shined silver fire, and her face got hard. "My whole point has been to protect you, girl..." She stepped closer to Sa'riya and grabbed a handful of her robe. "What have you given me in exchange, but doubt?"

"Don't make me hurt you..."

Nu'reen laughed and released her. "Arrogance is _truly_ the domain of the young. Let me show you something..."

Nu'reen grew larger as Sa'riya watched: the halo formed around her head and lit her robe as it had in the Council chamber. Her eyes shone silver with the radiance of a star. She placed the tip of her index finger on Sa'riya's forehead.

Sa'riya felt herself being pulled apart and scattered across the universe—she tried to stop it, but she couldn't. Her essence mixed with the cosmos and got lost, each molecule forming new compounds with a stray nucleus in some distant galaxy until nothing remained of Sa'riya but the thought she held in her mind, which somehow stayed intact.

"Am I making my point?" Nu'reen asked.

"Yes." Somehow Sa'riya could still hear her.

" _Let her go_."

"I'm not interested in your opinion right now, Yin," Nu'reen said.

" _You're being cruel. Let her go..."_

"Fine." Nu'reen waved one hand.

Sa'riya snapped back into herself as if nothing had happened. Still, she retained the memory of being scattered to oblivion. It was painful but comfortable at the same time—spending time away from herself gave her clarity and defined who she was, more than five-hundred years inside her mind ever could.

"Did you do that to teach me something?" she asked.

"Yin doesn't _always_ know best." Nu'reen ran her fingertips down Sa'riya's cheek.

"I know the right question now..." Sa'riya said. "You really _do_ care for me, don't you...?"

"I wouldn't be a very good mother if I didn't..."

### Eighty years later...

### False Gods

### Chapter One

Ten years ago...

Jace chased the dog up, then down three different dunes, each one taller than the last. The effort was taking its toll. Huffing and puffing, his shirt soaked with sweat, he scrambled through the desert sands. Passing over the top of the fourth dune, Jace drew a sharp breath. A polished gleam of metal captured his eye. There was the dog, sure enough, a fat rabbit between his jaws.

Three yards past where the dog lay enjoying his prize, the sand fell away from the side of the next dune, revealing the hard metal of something underneath. The metal caught the sun's rays and drove daggers of light into Jace's eyes. It was glistening silver; it looked like a hatch. There were hinges on the right—the left side was covered with sand.

Jace knelt beside the covered half of the metal hatch and swept the sand away with both hands. He discovered something, a depression in the metal, and he concentrated his efforts there. A handle emerged. He turned it to the right, but when he pulled on it, nothing happened. Too much sand remained upon the door.

The dog (having tired of the rabbit and being a master digger) joined in the fun. With the dog working on the lower half of the plate and Jace on the upper, they cleared the sand away in no time.

"That's enough, Bandit; quit it!" Jace shooed the dog away. The dog smiled and laid down on the sand, sniffing the rabbit, panting from the exertion of the chase and the digging. He eyed the boy, keen to see what would happen next.

Jace planted his feet in the liquid sand beside the hatch, wrapping both hands around the handle. With a mighty groan and a grimace of effort the dog enjoyed, he yanked on it. To his surprise (and the dog's), it flew wide open. He landed several feet away. Sand and dust erupted from the impact, depositing a fine layer of debris upon him. Coughing and spitting, he stood up and brushed away the dirt—all the sweaty parts turned to mud. Bandit watched in fascination, a wry grin on his face.

The gaping black hole in the dune was dark and foreboding, and it smelled like old dirty laundry. Lack of light inside the hole made it hard to see past where the sun shone in. When he yelled "HELLO!" into the opening, it yelled back at least three times, so he knew it was huge.

Jace looked at the dog. Bandit cocked his head—his eyes said, "not me".

"Well, I guess we need to go get father..."

The dog agreed.

## ***

Hot floodlights cast a surreal blaze, the dunes amplified the harsh glare, making everything appear ochre-yellow. The sky was starless, moonless, overcast gray—it did nothing to brighten the mood.

Silence captured all three men who stood on the ridge...

Corian Dinatos let out a long slow sigh, turning to the others, searching their faces, trying to judge their mood.

"You know what this means; they're lying to us, this is proof." Corian motioned toward the open hatch below, observing the men scurrying about. Four rows of tables stood outside the entrance to the buried ship. Hazard-suited workers brought items from the interior, placing them in empty spots on the tables. As they laid the new things out, scientists in laboratory coats examined, cataloged, and crated each piece, and motioned for a team of soldiers. The men carried the crates to a transport vessel waiting on a flat stretch of sand next to the dig site.

Thaddeus Thalos shot a glance in Corian's direction, nodded agreement, and said what they were all thinking. "We've suspected this for many years. Having proof seems almost wrong somehow, but the truth is unavoidable. The question is, what to do about it?" He turned away and hung his head. "Every time I see the news of some temple being bombed, or a riot over denominational rights, it makes me cringe."

Eustas Callas reached into the right breast pocket of his tunic and retrieved his smoke and pipe. He drew a plasma lighter from his right pants pocket and fired the bowl. Embers flew into the night wind as the leaf caught fire. Thin tendrils of smoke rose into the air, curled around his head, then drifted off on the breeze.

"Corian, you are the Tribal Governor, so this decision is yours," Eustas said, focusing on the gray of the cloudy darkness overhead—it matched the color of his thoughts. "We'll take this issue before the High Council, but if you want my advice, I'll give it to you."

"You are my military advisor," Corian said, "and this is a military decision. After being lied to for generations, I don't care what the Council thinks."

Eustas considered the response for a moment, took another pull on his pipe and wished he was a hundred miles away. "Good. Then my suggestion is this. These False Gods are powerful. To fight power of that kind, you need that kind of power." "I know only one person that powerful, but I hesitate to suggest her, for my own reasons..."

Eustas nodded, spun around, and walked away down the face of the dune toward the transport ship, leaving them standing on the hill.

Corian stood there, with his mouth wide open. He watched as Eustas walked away. "I don't understand!" he yelled, turning to Thaddeus, "Who is this person?"

Thaddeus motioned for him to be quiet, placing his left palm in the center of Corian's chest to stop him. "It's his step-daughter..."
Chapter Two

— _From the Journal of General Eustas Callus —_

Day 121, 1219, Cycle 3:

The discovery of this ship buried in the desert has me at odds. I've known for some time, we all have, the gods are lying about our origins. Only common folk still believe the lie because they don't know what the High Council does.

They claim they created us, gave us life, but their overt jealousy of each other, and their inability to control things like natural disasters: floods and storms killing hundreds or even thousands at a time, gives the lie to their tale. When questioned about their inability, they claim a hidden agenda mere mortals couldn't understand. Rubbish. Is a true God not all-powerful? It's not as if we were asking them to resurrect the dead.

Now, this ship. The official story is, the vessel is of alien origin, which is true—as it did not originate from this planet. Discoveries we've made upon examination of the technology it contained are astounding. The ship is intact; we can find no damage upon the vessel, leading the scientists to believe whoever landed it did so in a very controlled manner, which begs the question—where did they go?

Our senior researcher, Carolus, believes the ship has been buried there for over two thousand years—some aging test he performed upon the material they found in the seating—this timeframe predates our oldest known records by twelve-hundred years, but then, during the 'Dark Years', there's an absolute dearth of history because of records being destroyed and the nomadic nature of people.

It's complicated, I imagine, to keep detailed records while fighting for your life. Erador is filled with many wild and terrible beasts, and a single Draggon attack might wipe out an entire village. I suppose I can forgive our ancestors for not putting pen to paper more often.

So, I ponder this situation, and I wonder, did our ancestors come to Erador from another place, long ago? Was it on that ship? Is it conceivable we lost the memory of this in only eighty generations? If this is true, then how did these False-Gods come to be here? It boggles the mind.

And now, the crux of the matter. These Gods are not Gods at all; they're pretenders—fraudulent purveyors of false hope—they need to be stopped. Alisha is the most powerful Adept I've ever known, but she's young and not fully trained. The High Council agrees, we've waited for millennia already—a few more years can't hurt. I hope they don't press the issue.

## ***

Present-day Erador Prime...

Little noise escaped the door's hinges as he eased through the gap. In the distance, over the sound of running water, the lilting tones of a song floated toward him. The assassin's training had honed his senses and tightened his control. He could be silent when he needed to.

He moved toward the sound of her voice.

He recognized the song now; his mother used to sing it to him. In his mind, he saw her sitting beside the stream flowing past their home, the blossoms from the Redfruit trees dancing in the breeze, blanketing the ground with a carpet of white and pink petals.

The cool wind on his face... his mother's smile...

He found his target in the arboretum. He watched her for several moments, tending to the greenery growing around the edge of the pool. She was a beautiful woman. Flowing black hair cascaded around her shoulders, like the water falling on the stones behind. Dark silkiness, surrounding soft beauty.

By inches, he snuck up on her as she trimmed the plants—every muscle taut. The song she sang returned to the chorus, and her voice lifted his spirits as he glided toward her.

This will be sweet...

Behind her now, lightning-fast, he reached out and encircled her with both arms, pulling her to his chest, holding her fast so she couldn't move.

"I've known you were there since you came in, Garrian." Alisha Callus laughed, grasping his wrists where they crossed her chest. The plant shears falling to the stone floor made a clattering metallic sound, echoing from the walls.

"Impossible!" Garrian Callus shot back, faking indignance. "I'm a trained soldier, woman!"

"And if I hadn't enchanted the doors to warn me, you might've been successful." She spun in his arms and kissed him. Her infectious grin made him smile.

"Ahh... undone by your magic, Sorceress," Garrian said, as he released her and took a step back, bowing at the waist and making a grand flourish with both hands. He gave her his most ravishing smile and a flirtatious wink. "When will I ever learn?"

"Never, I would wager." She exaggerated a long sigh. "You are too hard-headed."

"Which do you love more, my boyish good looks, or my exceptional charm?"

"I will ignore the question," she grinned. "I can't possibly choose between the two."

She followed Garrian into the kitchen. The hem of her robe caressed the stones as she moved, making a soft noise like leaves brushing the ground. Garrian watched her walk. She had a gentle grace about her—it reminded him of a bird floating on the wind.

He opened the cooler door, rummaging around for a snack. He grabbed the milk. Alisha watched him drink from the bottle with a disapproving look.

"I know we're low on food, but the grocer's boy comes this morning to refill our regular order." She frowned. "Can't you use a cup?"

"Good." He ignored the disparaging cup question. "I'm starving..."

"That's probably him now..." Alisha grinned.

The knock at the side door interrupted their playful banter. Garrian moved toward the hallway to answer. He swung the door wide, expecting the grocer's boy. He was surprised to find the imposing figure of Eustas Callus standing on the steps, dressed in full battle gear, crossed sabers on his back, and plasma pistol at his side.

The Zyrsteel reinforcements on his leather armor shone brightly in the early morning sun. Eustas was tall, six feet or more—and solid, like the trunk of an old tree. His face told the story of fifty-six years of a hard life. His expression was grim, and Garrian sensed the solemn manner of the man.

"Father, what brings you by so early on a fine morning such as this?" Garrian asked.

"I need to speak to the two of you," Eustas said.

Garrian's grin faded. Rather than question the man (which he knew would be pointless), he stepped back, motioning him inside.

Eustas sidestepped his son and stalked past him down the long corridor, headed for the center of the villa, looking for Alisha.

Garrian shut the door behind them and made his way back to the kitchen. He found his father and Alisha in a warm embrace. They rarely saw him. His wife had a fondness for Eustas, which astonished him because he didn't share it.

Garrian's memories of early childhood revolved around his mother because his father had always been away. When he was home, he was still away—emotionally. Eustas treated Alisha like his favorite child, from the first day he'd met her. His natural icy exterior seemed to melt when he was around her. Garrian never complained; she'd become a natural buffer between them. They never fought when she was present.

"Eustas Callus!" Alisha scolded him. "How dare you stay away from us; don't you know Garrian misses you when you're off solving the problems of the Tribe?" The corner of her mouth turned up. She was no fool. She knew about the tension between them, and making light of it was how she made them laugh—and laughter diluted the animosity.

Eustas chuckled, a deep rumbling sound from somewhere below the surface of his hardened exterior, his whole body shook with the effort. Garrian watched the two, amazed at how they interacted.

"I'm sure he does..." Eustace glanced at his son from the corner of his eye. Garrian thought he glimpsed a hint of sadness there—knowing better; he discounted it.

Alisha picked up on the mood and changed the subject, moving toward the dining table as she spoke, leaving them no choice but to follow. Garrian had watched her do this before. She could mold and shape situations without seeming to do so. He didn't know if it was magic or her natural ability—but he'd never seen it fail. He recognized when she was doing it, but he was susceptible like everyone else, unable to resist her charm.

"How is Jolie?" Alisha asked, gesturing for them to take seats.

Eustas removed the sabers from his back, laying them across the far end of the long table. Garrian sat at the head of the table, watching Alisha pour kaffa from the kettle into three large cups. The steam from the liquid curled into the air between them, carrying the rich aroma to their senses. The shaded light from the overhead fixture cast a warm glow around them.

"My lovely wife is doing fine, dear," Eustas adjusted his large frame to the chair as he spoke, "and she's as feisty as ever. How's my grandson?"

"Garrian got back this morning from dropping Minus off at the Lancer Academy on Minos. He decided he wanted to skip his last year of schooling and get started on his Martial training early." Alisha sipped the kaffa, glaring at Garrian over the rim of her cup. Eustas saw the look and grinned.

"I take it, you disapprove?" He asked.

"He's only eleven-years-old..." Alisha sat her cup down and leaned back in her chair, eyes still locked on Garrian. "My husband and I discussed it—I guess I lost."

Garrian blew out a breath and looked down, studying the grain of wood on the table. He traced the pattern with his fingertips. Alisha wanted their son to attend the Cirrian School of Orphic Mysteries—she'd seen great promise in Minus from an early age. The Orphic energy ran deep within him, but Minus had no use for it: he wanted to be like his father: a soldier, and what father could deny a son's wish?

"Well," Eustas said after a moment, "I know the boy wasn't happy with his studies, so I must agree with Garrian on this one. The Lancers will better serve Minus' education."

Alisha's gaze shifted from her husband to her father-in-law, but the intensity remained the same.

Garrian stared at Eustas, his mouth open in shock. He hadn't expected agreement from him, figuring he would choose Alisha's side, as he'd done many times before.

"Either way, I've accepted it." Her voice was a chilly monotone. "I heard Garrian ask you at the door, Eustas, what brings you by this morning?"

Eustas' brown eyes met her blue ones but couldn't hold them. He sipped his kaffa and watched the dark surface of the liquid in his cup. After several sips and prolonged silence, he set the cup down and drew a long deep breath.

"You both remember... when we found the ship buried outside Thalos Plains?" he asked.

Garrian glanced at Alisha. She nodded, her eyes still fixed on his father, not with malice, but with curiosity. He turned his attention toward Eustas.

"What about it?" Garrian asked. "That was years ago. It was all over the holo-vids. A crashed military ship: they said it went down in a dust storm in the Caral desert. No injuries."

Eustas shifted in his seat, out of character. Although it was cool inside the house, Garrian saw beads of sweat forming on his father's brow. Something wasn't right; this wasn't the man he'd known his entire life—he seemed nervous.

"We lied to the news services..." Eustas said. "I need to tell you the truth."

## ***

Jarod ran down the narrow lane connecting the main bazaar to the side roads of Jos Hollow. Behind him, he heard vendors hawking their wares—the bustle of the city streets—and the pursuers who were chasing him. His breath came in ragged gasps. He'd been running for several minutes, and he was exhausted. Rivers of sweat ran down his face, soaking his shirt and stinging his eyes. His muscles screamed in agony from the exertion, but he dared not stop.

"Hold up, you coward!" The taller one was closer, the shorter one falling behind. Feet slapping pavement, breathing hard—closer now. He could feel the violence reaching for him like a heavy hand. He was terrified.

At a fork in the road, Jarod chose left, hoping he could lose them by cutting through the park, mingling with the crowd surrounding the fountain. Arms and legs pumping, chest heaving, the last hundred yards seemed a thousand or more.

Jumping and dodging, weaving and ducking, he made it to the fountain as the other men caught him. The taller one grabbed him, taking him down, they rolled for several yards, dust and gravel flying. The shorter man caught up and straddled his chest, raining blows on his face and shoulders with clenched fists, screaming obscenities.

Jarod curled into a tight ball and tried to protect himself with his arms—his tears mixing with the blood streaming down his battered face, his nose shattered and twisted at an odd angle.

A giant of a man with long black hair and piercing blue eyes grabbed the two attackers by the collar of their shirts, throwing them to either side of the helpless man. He stood over Jarod, glaring at the other two, demanding answers. "What in the name of all that's good is goin' on here?"

The fountain was typically crowded with people, and today was no different. Men surrounded the brawl, shouting encouragement or derision, eager for tales for their next trip to the saloon. Women hid their faces and whispered to each other. Children were pulled behind mothers, hands held over small ears and eyes, protecting them from the carnage.

"So, let's have it!" The big man wasn't satisfied with the attacker's silence. "What on Erador is all this?"

The taller man was the first to regain his composure. The shorter man lay in the dirt where he'd fallen, glaring at Jarod, bleeding and broken on the ground ten feet away.

"He said our Lord Kavan was a False God!" The taller man said, pointing at Jarod.

The big man chuckled. Several people in the crowd hissed, and several others laughed—a few made no sound at all, but hate poured from their eyes: some for the broken-bleeding man—some for the other two. Hushed whispers passed through the throng. Mothers grabbed their children, herding them away.

"So... this is about whose God is the real God?" The voice came from the edge of the crowd. Everyone turned. A tall thin man with a long flowing gray beard, dressed in red robes, pushed his way through the masses. Approaching the big man, he made a sign in the air with one slender finger, thin trails of red fire carving a shining rune in space before him.

The stone in the circlet on his forehead glowed with a crimson light. He raised the staff in his left hand and brought the end down against the earth with a resounding thud, shaking the ground beneath the gathered crowd. Sparks of red and amber erupted from the base of the staff. The big man staggered back several feet, leaving the injured Jarod undefended on the ground.

"I am a Herald of the God Zaril, and this man has been wronged!" His voice had changed: it sounded like the earth grating against itself—like a volcano erupting. The light surrounding the fountain dimmed as dense clouds passed overhead, streaks of blue lightning crawling across their gray faces. Thunder echoed in the distance.

The crowd fled—thirty people running in as many directions. Screams of women mixed with the cursing of men—some were too afraid to move and became witness to the slaughter.

The Herald raised the staff above his head, turning toward the two assailants—they tried to run. Both ends of the staff glowed a hot red, and flame burst forth: two beams of searing fire, consuming the pair before they could move. Engulfed in flames, screaming in agony, they died where they stood, charred beyond recognition. Two blackened stumps remained, the bittersweet smell of charred flesh mixing with those of sweat and fear.

The big man grabbed the Herald by the neck, one massive arm lifting him from the ground—his fingers tightened around the Sorcerer's throat, choking the life from him. The Herald spun the staff around, striking him on the side of the head. He lost his grip long enough for his victim to fall to the ground, choking, trying to catch his breath.

The big man pulled his broadsword free—fire from the staff reflecting in his eyes. The blade made an evil-sounding hiss as it cleared the leather scabbard. The Sorcerer regained his feet, raising the staff, muttering something in the Cirrian speech, when the broadsword blade entered his neck from the left side. Blood erupted, showering the ground around them as the severed head flew into the air, propelled by the force of the blow. The lifeless body fell like a sack on the ground, twitching and writhing in the throes of death.

The big man reached down, wiping the crimson stain from his blade on the red robe of the dead Adept—the cloth turned a deep black. He looked at the head, the lips still moved, mouthing whatever spell had almost been cast. He sheathed the sword and picked up the staff, snapping it across his left knee—he tossed the two halves into the dirt.

The remaining crowd milled about, like sheep in a thunderstorm. One man, a short blond fellow who'd seen the whole thing walked over, curiosity conquering fear.

"Tell me, friend... w-what is your name?" he stammered.

The big man looked at him, gave a curt nod, and walked away. Ten yards passed when he pivoted and stared at the blond stranger. He walked back and placed his right hand on the man's shoulder.

"Do you believe in these... Gods?" His voice was deep but melodious.

The blond man looked into the big man's eyes—all he saw was pain. "Not after what I saw you do."

## ***

"This Senate meeting will come to order!" The scribe took her seat.

Corian Dinatos eased himself up and strolled onto the floor of the Senate chamber. He had his hands in his pockets, Alisha noticed, she wondered why it would register with her.

"My good Senators and citizens, tonight is a historic night for Erador..."

Corian would ramble on for several minutes. She glanced to her right where Garrian and Eustas sat—they looked as anxious as she felt. She'd never been this close to the Senate floor, had never wanted to be.

I can't believe this is happening, am I losing my mind? I'm not ready for this... What was it Eustas said at the kitchen table?

" _I don't understand." Her brow wrinkled as she stared at him. "What's the real reason behind having this council? Why is it necessary?"_

The fire from the kitchen hearth crackled and spit, a single glowing ember escaped the inferno, finding a spot to cool and die on the brick below—it hissed with relief, the torture over.

Eustas smiled and leaned back. "You realize, if we're successful, your actions will probably not ingratiate you with their followers..."

" _You mean they might want revenge?" Alisha sipped her kaffa, a distant look on her face._

" _People have died for less... Let's make sure our cause is legitimate. We have the people's best interest at heart, don't we?" His wink made her smile, at first... "And if they agree now, they can hardly back out later..."_

" _Isn't this sanctioned murder?" she asked._

" _Murder is such a nasty word." He drained his cup and stood. "Let's stop saying it."_

"... and so, I ask you to welcome, Councilor-General Eustas Callus!" Corian sat down; his eyes were furtive.

Eustas stood and took his place. She admired his stoic demeanor. He circled the floor, casting glances toward the seated Senators, judging their acquiescence before he spoke. Eustas was a consummate politician—he was a better warrior. They were starting a war, so that was good.

The white plasma lamps circling the Senate chambers flashed on the rows of medals adorning Eustas' chest. His knee-high leather boots gleamed. Epaulets with gold braided rope hung from each shoulder, accenting the dark blue of the dress uniform. Gray streaks along his temples and down the center of his close-cropped beard gave him an air of authority. His presence was commanding.

Besides Corian and Eustas, there were three other High Council members. Thaddeus Thalos sat across from them, flanked by his oldest son, Rodrik, and his daughter, Cerene—all three watched Eustas as he circled the Senate floor. Riven Marlock and his wife, Justia, were whispering to each other; occasionally, they would laugh. Jos Riner was absent, but his wife, Merdith, sat staring into the crowd with apparent disdain.

Eustas' booming voice broke the silence. "We have a problem," he said. "There's no spiritual leadership on Erador, since the departure of the Adeptus Order to Cirrus."

A soft murmur of agreement rose and then fell away. Senators exchanged whispers, and many heads nodded. When the mild furor subsided, Eustas continued, clasping his hands behind his back in a military posture.

"We've become three worlds, fighting against a fourth, and although we're all Eradorians at our core, we've lost much of our diversity. Our mystics moved to Cirrus, and most of our soldiers now live on Minos, while our scientists remain here on Erador. Although we're free to choose our paths, and our homeworld, this division has segregated our resources."

Eustas paused, judging the Senators' acceptance; Alisha followed his gaze, she saw no outright opposition in the assembled faces, although several appeared to be daydreaming.

"The High Council has determined we must address this issue, and we've decided on the means to do so." Eustas glanced at Alisha; she saw a hint of indecision; her smile made him press on. "We bring this before you Senators tonight for your support. We hope you see things as we do."

One Senator from Erador Prime stood—he was an old man, with a wise face. His eyes were kind but cautious, and he was experienced at politics. Alisha smiled. Eustas said this would happen.

"So, are we to assume this is a formality, and the Council has already made the decision it requires?" He held his arms across his chest, nodding to himself, confident his answer was correct.

"Not at all." Eustas turned to face him, his smile disarming. "This is open for debate—but allow me to propose the idea first, please, before you take issue with it."

The old man sat, but he kept his arms crossed. The seated Senators congratulated him, their hands slapped his shoulders, proclaiming their solidarity. Eustas turned away from him. Alisha saw the move for what it was—a dismissal. She watched her father-in-law breathe, walking in a tight circle, aiming his attention at a different section of the assembly.

"As I said, we need spiritual leadership. There's one person amongst us who is qualified to provide it, but we shouldn't expect one person to shoulder the burden. The Council believes we should institute a separate body, charged with shaping Erador's faith and beliefs. There are four Gods whose doctrines seem at odds. This causes untold hardship. I'm sure everyone here would agree."

The old Senator nodded, uncrossed his arms, and leaned forward. Alisha noticed most of the others mirror his actions. Eustas pressed his advantage.

"We ask for the formation of a Luminary Council, without the supervision of the High Council, or the Senate. This Council will act on its own accord and will not be a government body—it will answer only to its leader, and its sole purpose will be Erador's spiritual future."

Silence—almost deafening.

Alisha looked around. The Senators were all still leaning forward; most of their mouths hung open, unsure what to say.

The old man's eyes turned to slits as he stood. His bony knuckles white as he grasped the seat-back in front of him.

"So, this is strictly a religious body?" he asked, suspicion in his voice. "They'll have no say in governmental matters, no power to enforce policy?"

Eustas turned again, locking eyes with the older man.

Alisha knew if he could pacify this leader, then the others would follow. She held her breath, fingers crossed.

"Absolutely not. The directive of the Luminary Council is the furtherance of Erador's spiritual beliefs and incorporating all the Gods' doctrines into a functional system that leaves no one behind." Eustas smiled. He looked satisfied.

The old Senator judged the faces of his peers. They all looked to him, waiting for his decision.

"Well, I see no problem, and I think everyone else will agree with me, but who is this person you think is qualified to lead our people into the spiritual future?" the senator asked. "The Adeptus Order, as you say, moved off-world to Cirrus."

Alisha knew this was her cue. She'd sat with Eustas at their dining table, discussing how the meeting would play out. Garrian came around eventually—even joined in the strategy. She knew her husband was opposed, but only because of the danger to her, not for lack of certainty about the need for action.

Alisha stood and smoothed the folds of the blue robe she wore. All eyes focused on her as she strode to the center of the floor. She tried to imagine standing on a broad hilltop, clouds circling overhead, calm wind on her face—it didn't help. She took Eustas' hand and raised her head to address the gathering. "My name is Alisha Callus, and I am an Adeptus Supreme." Her voice never faltered. "What Eustas says is true: we haven't all left for Cirrus. I am here to serve you as a guide if you'll have me."

Whispers of Adeptus Supreme and Sorceress flowed among the Senators; glances were shared, eyes locked in disbelief. Several seconds passed, interrupted by a soft voice from the back row.

"Why should we place our faith in a woman who wouldn't honor her vow?" A small woman with black hair and pale green eyes, dressed in the silver-gray robe of an adept, carrying a wooden staff with a solid gold headpiece, descended the stairs toward the gallery floor. She moved like water flowing over stone—graceful, but purposeful, her eyes fixed on Alisha. "What faith can we place behind a woman who abandoned her order?" She stopped at the edge of the floor, driving the end of her staff into the wood planks. "Cenae enforus!"

The force of the blow echoed from the walls of the chamber. Blue-lightning crawled across the floorboards, crackling and hissing, reaching out. Alisha waived her right hand in the air, silver fire burned at her fingertips, her eyes intent on the younger girl. She snapped her fingers, almost like an afterthought.

The lightning disappeared with a loud pop! An acrid smell of spent magic floated on the still air. The small Sorceress gasped, bowing toward Alisha. She knelt, laying her staff upon the floor, her head down. The Senators were beside themselves in awe.

"Who are you?" Alisha demanded. She moved toward the woman, making small protective sigils in the air with her fingers, her eyes on fire with silver light. The folds of her cerulean robe filled with the glow of Orphic energy drawn from the ether. She resonated power. "What do you want?"

The Sorceress raised her head, grabbed her staff with both hands, and offered it to Alisha in defeat. Her eyes were fearful, looking into the face of the Adeptus—her body shook, hands trembling.

"I was told you were a fake," the young woman murmured, looking past her at Eustas. "I can see my error; please forgive me, Adeptus..."

Alisha spun around to look at Eustas. The cold gleam in his eye and the corner of his mouth told her what she needed to know.

He turned from her and addressed the assemblage. "Who can doubt this Adeptus Supreme is our rightful spiritual leader?"

Murmurs became shouts, and shouts became cheers. The old Senator from Erador Prime shook Alisha's hand. They milled around her, crowding the center of the floor, threatening to overwhelm her. A steady hand grabbed her left wrist, and she followed—out the door of the Senate chamber into the street, oblivious to her destination. She looked up at her escort, he was a huge man, with long jet-black hair and a kind face—a large broadsword strapped across his back in the warrior fashion.

"Who are you?" She recoiled, pulling against his grip. "Where are you taking me, and where is my husband?"

"My name is Dalo Karran, Sorceress." The big man bowed toward her. "I am your protector, at Eustas' request. No harm will come to you as long as my heart beats—I swear it."

His eyes were full of pain, but she could see a gentle calm there. He seemed familiar, and she couldn't say why, but she trusted him without question. She let him lead, unafraid, down the dimly lit streets into the darkness beyond.

## ***

Kavan was vexed.

He sat by the spirit-pool. The deep pool cast no reflections, absorbing the surrounding light; the glow from the plasma lamps mounted on the walls bent toward the inky surface. The hard floor and walls of the cave were slick, the moisture pervasive. Kavan stared into the pool long after the images had faded. Punching a button on the console by the pool produced a short capsule-shaped object—he slid it into the pocket of his robe.

He rose and walked toward the vast cavern he called home. The images played through his memory: a blue-robed woman with silver eyes, the older soldier, and the big warrior with the Draggon-crested sword. They shared a secret—it concerned him, he knew, but he couldn't discern the reason—couldn't see their thoughts. Something was blocking his vision.

Perhaps the woman?

Kavan sensed the Orphic energy discharge; it was far greater than some minor adept wielding a staff or casting a healing spell. The level of energy he and the others could control—it required a deep knowledge, a natural affinity. At first, he believed it was one of them, but the sensation was different, he knew how their power felt. The pool showed him the truth. Something was wrong, and it bothered him.

The furnishings in his cavern were the finest available on Erador, all supplied by his followers. His black eyes took in the room. Gold and silver. Beautiful woods and cloth. He kept trying to give it back—trying to help those in need, but they only brought more.

The time was close for his adoration ceremony—followers would gather at the temple, forming the mouth of the grotto. Changing his robe for a more formal vestment, he headed up the central passage.

The cave looked out upon a lush valley with a river winding through it—mountains lined both sides, some high enough to keep the snow from melting. He'd chosen this spot for its beauty, its solitude—it had lost part of that when his followers built the temple, but it was convenient, they came to him now. Columns and stonework cut from the sides of the mountain formed a circle with a large stone altar in the center. A stone path—smooth river rocks carved by water—led from the altar to the cave. Vines grew around the columns and covered the arches. Trees took root within the circle—his followers wanted to cut them down, but he'd stopped them—it was beautiful.

His congregation was assembled as they did each day. Several hundred gathered close, awaiting their God, hungry for wisdom and healing. He climbed the short steps and stood upon the altar, raising his arms, searching the faces before him.

"I feel your need, your hunger," his voice resonated: a booming echo from the mountainside. "I will satisfy your desires. Focus your thoughts on me. Whatever sickness plagues you, whatever you wish for your life, ask it of me, and I will deliver it."

Everyone dropped to their knees, heads down, hands stretched out before them. The murmur of three-hundred prayers—like waves breaking on a rocky shore. The sound built to a crescendo, amplified by the stone.

Kavan felt the power course through him. All the attention, the focus of all those souls, forcing stray Orphic energy into his body, more than he could ever summon alone. He glowed, starting at the top of his head—the golden light enveloped him, moving down his body, becoming brighter. He chanted in the speech they'd taught to the adepts, waves of light pulsing from his body, passing through the masses.

" _Eriod falen dae, cassius mystiae, enactus!"_ He spoke it several times, each louder than the last—the final utterance accompanied by a bolt of luminous golden lightning from a clear sky, striking the center of the altar before him—a deep crack of thunder from overhead. The reverberation threw everyone to the ground—they writhed in joy, filled with the power of their God, the remnants of the golden glow fading from their bodies.

Kavan stepped down from the altar and motioned a black-robed Herald to his side. The Herald followed his God down the smooth stone path, careful to stay one pace behind—the silver staff he carried made a metallic noise as it struck the stones, in time with his steps. At the entrance to the cave, Kavan turned, his dull black eyes capturing those of the Herald. "I need you to relay a message."

The Herald nodded, saying nothing. His grip on the silver staff tightened, his knuckles white.

"Go to Mordus," Kavan said. "You know where to find him?"

The Herald nodded, fear creeping across his face. "But my Lord, they will kill me on sight..."

Kavan grasped the black knob on the Herald's staff. Releasing the energy he'd gained from the ceremony, he infused the staff with power. Golden light flowed from his hand, down the staff, surrounding the Herald.

" _Delius visio null."_

The Herald's body and staff shimmered like the surface of a waterfall, becoming thinner until he was invisible to all but Kavan.

"There, only Mordus will see you—his Heralds will not perceive your presence. When he discovers you, show him this," Kavan removed the small black capsule-shaped object from the pocket of his robe, it was covered with glowing pale-green runes. He placed it in the Herald's outstretched hand, "before he turns you to dust."

"Y-yes, my Lord," the Herald stuttered. "What is the message?"

"Tell him; the past may have caught up with him."
Chapter Three

Alisha followed Dalo through the streets of Erador Prime. She watched him as they walked. He wore hardened leather armor with metal reinforcements, ornate silver bracers encircled his forearms, too expensive for a common man. His Zyrsteel spaulders were inlaid with golden Draggons; she had never seen their quality, not even on the armor Garrian and Eustas owned. He was tall, half-a-head more than Garrian, and broad. He reminded her of a bull—subtle power—deceptive agility.

His jet-black hair was tied back with a thin leather band, the tail brushing the hilt of his broadsword. The sword pommel was gold, engraved with the image of a Draggon's head, the dark leather-wrapped grip showing darker stains of blood. The scabbard was hand-tooled leather with silver bindings. A plasma pistol hung from his belt.

"Where are we going, Dalo?" Alisha asked him, almost out of breath.

Dalo glanced over his shoulder. Seeing she was having trouble keeping up, he slowed his pace. Walking together now, he smiled and answered. "We need to see a woman—I think you know her. We're going to Cirrus."

"Cirrus?" Alisha gasped, stopping in the middle of the road. Hands on her hips, she glared at him. "What do you know that I don't? And why should I follow you to Cirrus? I mean, I just met you..."

Dalo smiled, the tenderness in his eyes disarmed her. He placed one large hand on her shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze. She felt as though she'd known him her entire life.

"I am playing a role, Sorceress, much as you are." Dalo removed his hand and adjusted the strap across his chest, holding the sword in place. "As for not knowing me, you have the pledge I made to you earlier. No harm shall come to you in my presence. That's the best I can do for now, as explanations go."

"But there is something you're not telling me..." She said, watching his face.

Dalo averted his gaze, looking at the street before them, and behind. "There is always something we are not told, Sorceress; I've come to understand over the years. The question is, will you do what is necessary, regardless? Most people will not."

She placed her hands on his cheeks, staring into his eyes. The soft light from the streetlamps illuminated his face. The pain was still there; sincerity too. Maybe he wasn't telling her the whole truth, but she could find no deception.

Alisha turned in the direction they were walking and strode off. "Fine, let's go."

## ***

Eustas felt his shoulders impact the hallway wall; he winced in pain. Garrian's hands twisted into the lapels of his uniform jacket, pushing him back, holding him tight. He saw the rage in his son's face, felt his hot breath and the spit flying from the corners of his mouth. He understood the anger, had expected it, but it was unavoidable.

"What do you mean, you sent my wife to Cirrus?" Garrian's face contorted; his eyes were thin slits. "And with a stranger... How could you not tell me?"

"Because I knew you would insist on going with her," Eustas said, "and that's not where I need you to be."

Garrian released his hold and stepped back, glaring at his father.

"You need..." Garrian laughed: a cold, bitter sound. "It's still the same, isn't it? Always about what you need..."

Eustas straightened the front of his jacket. He watched Garrian pace back and forth in front of him. The remaining Senators cast glances at the pair as they passed, headed for the exit. Eustas smiled as they walked by, slapping a few on the shoulder. At last, they were alone.

"Dalo is no stranger, Garrian. I've known him the better part of his life. He's my best friend's son and the most dangerous man on Erador. She is safe, I assure you."

"Your assurances don't sway me. There is always a hidden agenda with you." Garrian's anger had diminished. "She deserved to know."

Eustas watched the waves of emotion cross Garrian's face. He didn't want to keep secrets from them, but The Oracle had warned him to do otherwise might jeopardize everything they fought for. He thought about the last time he spoke to her. In his mind, he pictured the scene: the silver mirror between them on the floor of the darkened cavern, the smoke-filled air, heavy with the scent of...

" _... Jasmine helps me focus my mind," she explained, staring at the dark surface of the mirror. "It could be any scent, but I prefer this."_

Eustas watched her. This time, she was a young woman. She was beautiful, captivating, sitting across from him on the stone floor, dressed in a short white gown, but barefoot. Her toenails were painted bright pink; each had a single red dot in the center. Stuck in her hair was a pink feather, with the same dot.

The incense smoke wafted through the cave, mixing with the smell of jasmine. Intent on the mirror's surface, a low musical hum came from deep in her throat, song-like. Several minutes passed, and he became impatient.

" _Can you see anything?" he asked, touching her forearm with the tips of his fingers._

" _Nothing has changed..." she said. Her eyes remained fixed on the mirror._

" _Nothing?" he asked, not sure what she meant. "So, it will still happen, like before?"_

" _I still see many possible paths, as I explained last time. In certain paths, you're successful, in others, not so much. Whatever might change the outcome in your favor, you haven't done it yet." She brushed a stray hair out of her face. "On the bright side, nothing's gotten worse..."_

" _I still don't understand. How do I decide what needs to change?" he asked._

" _That's something you need to determine for yourself," she said, "I only see the potential result of things. The choices you make along the way, I can't see, because they're not fixed. You have free will, so you can influence your own destiny. I'm sorry I can't be more helpful..."_

Eustas sat brooding, unsure of himself. The feeling was foreign to him. "Can you give me any guidance at all?"

The Oracle looked up from the mirror, her trance broken. Dark green eyes captured him. Her look peeled his natural defenses away. She had this effect at times, depending on her apparent age, which seemed to change with her mood. Sometimes, she would age in the middle of a conversation or become younger. It was all very surreal, and it never failed to shake him.

" _I can tell you this... Give them only the information they need. More knowledge means more choices to account for. The smaller your circle of influence, the less chance you'll make a wrong decision... Trust the children, they can succeed where the mother might fail alone, but they must be together, and the Draggon is the key..."_

Garrian was shaking his shoulder, a look of mild concern on his face.

"Father, are you ok?" Garrian asked.

Eustas snapped out of his reverie. He shook his head, clearing the remains of the memory from his mind. He could still smell the jasmine. Garrian placed both hands on his shoulders, staring deep into his eyes. Eustas saw the anguish in his son's face. He wished he could tell the man more.

"This is critical, Garrian. I need you to go to Minos and assemble a small team of soldiers, three or four should do, but only those you trust. They should be able to keep a secret at the expense of their lives. I've no right to ask—but do this for me anyway. Do this for Alisha. I'm trusting you with this mission."

Garrian stepped back, eyes still locked on his father's face. Eustas saw his hesitance. The two of them had never been close, and he despised himself for it, but he didn't have the luxury of self-pity, not now. The fate of their world was at stake.

"This is important to you?" Garrian asked.

"It's important to all of us, Garrian."

## ***

The Trans-pod station on Cirrus was well-lit and empty. The incoming pod solidified into a hard purple shell, resting on a Zyrsteel base ring—the two halves of the egg-shaped pod split. Bright white light and luminous mist poured from the void as Dalo stepped out. He took two paces forward and turned, waiting for the other one to form. His pod disintegrated, turning to dust, sucked into the vacuum ports in the wall. The constituent parts would be recycled to create a new pod. Only the hard ring it had sat upon remained.

A spinning vortex of brilliant white light formed over the second ring. He watched it coalesce. The white light twisted, purple trails of color blended and mixed with it. The ball of light grew until it was the size of a woman, the color fusing with it until it resembled an egg with a hard violet shell. A sharp popping noise signaled the end of the transformation. Dalo watched the egg split in half, extending his hand to help Alisha emerge.

"I will never get used to that," she said, holding her other hand against her head.

"The nausea will subside after a while." Dalo grinned, inspecting her, rubbing her wrists and checking her eyes. She was fine. He took her hand, leading her toward the exit. "Surely, you've used a trans-pod before."

"Yes, but I prefer to fly..." She held her fingers to her mouth.

It was dark, and a silky mist clung to the ground. The streets of Safehaven were vacant. The Cirrians had gone to bed. They passed a few taverns, raucous noise projected into the street; loud yells and the clink of glasses filled their ears. No one saw them as they made their way through the night.

Their path took them past numerous buildings still under construction—skeletons of what would become the heart of the city. Only eight years had passed since the first settlers arrived, but in that time the Cirrians had constructed a significant portion of their new home.

Alisha had never been to Cirrus, Eustas had told him as much. She finished her training two years before the Adeptus Order left Erador, spurred by the failure of the Senate to negotiate a treaty between the Gods to end the violence.

The Cirrian School of Orphic Mysteries loomed before them. It had been the first structure built, and it was huge. It blocked the dim light from the rising moon, casting shadows across the thoroughfare. Large ornately carved wooden doors stood as a testament to the power contained within. He thought it resembled a well-fortified castle more than a school. A small plate embedded into the wall on the right glowed a soft green. He touched the pad. A nasal male voice broke the silence.

"The School of Mysteries is closed; please come back during our normal hours of operation." The pad clicked, signaling the end of the call.

Dalo touched the pad again, unperturbed, grinning at Alisha.

"Did you not hear me," the voice asked, "or are you dense?"

"We need to speak to Arianna Brillow." Dalo was stern and commanding.

"I'm sorry, we cannot accept visitors at this hour. Rules... you understand." The pad clicked off.

Dalo drew a sharp breath and exhaled, his grin fading. He touched the pad a third time.

"Look," nasal-man was terse, "I have nothing to do but sit here all night. I would rather not spend my time telling you how you can't come in..."

Click... the pad went silent.

Dalo scratched his jaw with one finger. He saw Alisha look away, her hand over her mouth. He pressed the pad once more. The voice returned.

"I will release the dogs soon... I hope you're not still there... bothering me..."

"Tell me, are you familiar with the name Delia Karran?" Dalo asked the obnoxious dog-releaser.

The connection was silent for several moments, it clicked twice, and a softer female voice replaced the annoying male one.

"We haven't heard that name in a while... how is it you come to speak it here now?"

"She is my mother..."

The pad clicked one last time. Moments later, the massive doors cracked open, the left one swinging wide. A short blond woman in a pure white robe with a golden sash around her neck stepped through the opening and bowed toward him. Dalo watched Alisha from the corner of his eye; she was speechless.

"Welcome, son of Delia, I'm sorry for the inconvenience." Her eyes never met his; she focused on the steps at his feet. "Please, come inside, anything we can do would be our honor."

He grabbed Alisha's hand and led her in. They followed the adept down massive halls, past rooms with ornate arches. Fine tapestries hung upon the walls, depicting scenes from Erador's past. The ring of their footsteps was the only sound. After what seemed like an eternity, they stopped before two large wooden doors with filigreed brass handles. The adept indicated he should knock. He brought one fist up and rapped on the door with his knuckles. A muffled echo came from within.

Light from inside the room split the doors, becoming brighter as they parted. Hinges squealed—a minor irritation. The woman who stepped through the gap made him gasp. Her face was luminous; her dark auburn hair framing it, falling across her shoulders, down the front of her silver-gray robe, brushing the top of her breasts. Emerald eyes held him captive, and her smile stole his words. Of course, she was old enough to be his mother. He shook his head to clear it.

"Can I help you with something?" Arriana asked, looking first at Dalo, her gaze ending on Alisha, recognition crossing her face. She smiled and nodded. "Adeptus..." her soft voice was soothing.

"Preceptor Brillow..." Alisha nodded, returning the greeting.

They all stood for a moment, wondering what to say. The Adept who led them in broke the silence.

"This is Delia's son..." She pointed at Dalo. Gathering the folds of her robe, she backed away, disappearing down the darkened corridor the way they had come.

Arriana turned and walked back inside her chamber, motioning for them to follow. When they'd all passed the door, she made a gesture with her left hand and mumbled something they couldn't hear. The hinges squealed; the massive doors swung shut—they fell together with a loud clank as the lock engaged.

There were couches and chairs along one side of the room; she sat in the largest chair. It looked very comfortable. She smiled, making a sweeping motion with her hand, inviting them to join her.

"So, are you really Delia's son, or did you drop her name to get past my guards?" She cocked her head to one side, studying him as he walked.

Dalo sat across from her on a low wooden bench, to avoid removing the broadsword. He held the Sorceress' gaze, his look a mixture of curiosity and wonder. Alisha sat beside him on a small couch, her eyes bouncing between them.

Arriana watched him, her fingers turning the silver bracelet on her left wrist; otherwise, she was still—like a cat waiting for a mouse to make the first move.

"I am Delia's son." His jaw set hard, eyes narrowing.

"And I should take your word for it?" Arianna smiled. "It's true, you resemble her, but then so does she." She aimed one slender finger at Alisha. "Must every black-haired blue-eyed child who passes through here be labeled the offspring of the Prime Adeptus?"

"Eustas said you would be a hard nut to crack," Dalo said. He could tell by the tightening of her face he'd struck a nerve. Her smile vanished.

Arianna sprang to her feet, hate flashing in her eyes—she looked taller than before. Yellow fire danced across her robe, down the sleeves toward her hands. Her hair flew out behind her, blown by an invisible gust, flames licking the tips, her face filled with wrath. She took a step toward Dalo.

"If you serve Eustas Callus, then you may share his fate," she hissed.

Dalo never moved from his seat. He brought his hands together before his mouth as if he were praying. In one smooth motion, he blew into the cup of his palms, pushing them away from his face toward the Sorceress. Silver bands of light burst from his hands, they wrapped around her, binding her. Arianna froze in place, unable to move, the yellow flames dying.

Alisha was stunned by the quickness of it. She let out a sharp cry, her knuckles white, grasping the arm of the couch. Dalo placed his left hand on her shoulder, reassuring her, but he kept his eyes on Arianna.

Dalo stood, he walked around the captive woman, examining her from all sides. Her eyes followed his movements, though she remained frozen in place. She couldn't talk, but gurgling sounds came from her throat, and drool flowed from the left corner of her mouth. He reached for the necklace she wore: a long silver chain, with a locket the size of an acorn. He pulled it over her head, gathered it into one palm, and slipped it into his pocket. Standing before her, his face inches from hers, he placed his hand around her throat.

"Dalo!" Alisha gasped, springing from her seat, her eyes wide. "What are you doing?"

He turned his head, motioning for her to sit down with his free hand. She took her seat but sat on the edge of it, watching him, her face anxious.

Dalo turned back to Arriana, his hand still clutching her throat—he never applied pressure, just held it there, the threat implied. He met her eyes, cocking his head to one side.

"Yes... I am Delia's son. I hope this is enough proof for you—and yes, Eustas sent me to talk to you. I realize you two have history, but you will let it go for now." He released her and took a step back, watching her face.

"I have your talisman," he said. "You may not be powerless without it, but I can separate your head from your neck before you can utter three words. Do we understand each other?"

Arianna blinked twice. A single tear fell from her right eye and slid down her cheek. Dalo wiped the tear away with his finger and touched her forehead.

" _Extricus."_

The silver bands of light dissipated, floating into the air as she regained control of her body. Arianna crumpled to the floor at his feet. He offered her his hand—she knocked it aside and pulled herself up, returning to the big chair. She smoothed her hair, straightened her robe and turned to Dalo.

"What exactly do you want?" She was not happy—the smile absent.

Dalo moved back to his bench. He looked at Alisha; she was shaking. He gave her a warm smile but didn't think it helped. Her image of him had changed, he'd deal with it later. Turning back to the Sorceress, he posed the question Eustas had given him: the one he desired the answer to as well.

"Where's my mother?" he asked. "Is she alive?"

"If Eustas told you what we did with your mother, and sent her here with you," Arianna gestured toward Alisha with a slight nod, "I suspect I know who she is." Her eyes stayed locked on his. "Do you?"

Dalo's face tightened, the fingers of his right hand brushing the butt of his plasma pistol; it was subtle, but Arianna saw it.

"I do," he grinned. "This is Alisha Callus, Adeptus Supreme and leader of the Luminary Council. I'm sorry I didn't introduce her before."

"Obviously, I've met Alisha. You know that's not what I meant." Arriana continued staring at him.

Confusion clouded Alisha's face, she looked back and forth between them, unsure what to say. Several seconds passed in silence. Arianna stood and walked to a side table with an assortment of bottles and different sized glasses. She poured wine into three long-stemmed glasses and brought them back, passing them around. No one refused.

"Just because I serve you wine, doesn't mean all is forgiven."

They drank in silence. At length, she spoke, her smile returning.

"Ok, I'll tell you what you want, on one condition."

"You're in no position to demand anything from me, Sorceress." Dalo glared at her, but seeing the look of anguish in Alisha's eyes, he softened. "But, I will indulge you—name it."

"I want you to tell me everything Eustas Callus told you," she took a sip of her wine, her eyes as cold as her smile, "and then I want my talisman back."

"That's two conditions..." he said.

"Good, you know magic, and you can count."

## ***

Stone steps wound up the mountainside, the rock worn from years of Mordus' follower's daily pilgrimages to the peak. The path was maintained: the edges manicured, trees trimmed back—and wide, allowing the Herald to keep to the side, confronting none of the followers climbing with him, nor descending past.

He might be invisible to them but doubted he could pass right through. He decided not to test it—careful not to let his staff contact the stone, lest the sound give him away. Several of Mordus' Heralds passed—his God's magic protected him from discovery.

Mordus' temple sat atop the peak, a wide stone courtyard lined by tall columns, fronting a dome-shaped structure carved from the mountain top. He could see only one entrance—the opening was massive—thirty feet across and twice as high, flanked by identical twenty-foot statues of the God, his hands outstretched welcoming his followers. They were gathering, milling about before the two blue-robed Heralds guarding the entrance. The time for ceremonies was close; he'd have to hurry.

Passing the Heralds, he entered Mordus' sanctum. The interior was lit with white plasma lamps turned down to a dim glow: barely enough for human eyes to see. He came to a large room with three other doors leading away from it; he chose the larger one in the middle. All around him, in every room and against both walls of every passageway, were stacked treasures: gold and silver, gems, and art. In the distance, he could hear a soft hum. It sounded like a power source—he headed toward it, threading his way through the maze.

Mordus sat at the head of a long wooden table, a glass of red liquid before him, staring into the distance, unmoving. The lamps were brighter in this room, the light shimmering off the three rows of spines running along the center of his head from brow to neck. He had no hair, but other than the spines, he appeared human—his eyes were yellow, and larger, perhaps.

"Either you came to die on your own, or your God has sent you," his voice was deep, echoing off the stone walls, "which is it?"

His eyes turned toward the Herald. He stood, grasped the glass, and walked toward him, his head tilted to one side in curiosity.

"Interesting spell. Is it yours, or did Kavan cast it upon you?" he asked.

"K-Kavan, Lord Mordus..." the Herald stammered, his eyes wide.

Mordus touched his finger to the Herald's forehead and spoke. "Nullio dae."

The spell hiding the Herald fell away—he shimmered like water, becoming visible, his trembling apparent. Sweat ran down his face—fear in his eyes.

The Herald remembered Kavan's warning and pulled the capsule from his pocket. The runes glowed, catching Mordus' eye.

"What's this?" he asked, snatching it from the Herald's hand. "A message, perhaps?"

"My Lord Kavan said, your past may have caught up with you..." The Herald's head stayed down as he spoke, his eyes on the floor.

"Is that so?" Mordus crossed the room to a large panel set into the wall, trimmed in silver like a mirror, but with a solid-black face. Dials and knobs adorned the circumference of the frame. He adjusted several of them and pushed the capsule into a hole. The black surface stirred, images forming, the Herald had seen nothing like it—he watched. There was a beautiful woman in a blue robe standing with a soldier, surrounded by people. A circular floor, a young Sorceress, blue lightning, silver fire... a huge warrior, a Draggon's head engraved in gold...

Mordus' shoulders rose and fell with his breath as he watched. The vision ended—he turned to the Herald—his yellow eyes gleaming. Moving closer, he studied the man's face.

"You recognize those people... don't you?" Mordus asked.

The Herald swallowed hard, not daring to lie. "Y-yes, Lord Mordus, I... do."

"Then I am sorry I did not send you on your way before..." he said.

Mordus placed his left hand on the man's chest, grasping a handful of the Herald's robe. He touched his forehead with one finger, the place where it landed burst forth with a golden light, bathing the Herald in a spectral glow.

" _Dae antea relis,"_ Mordus spoke, the words rumbling from deep in his throat.

The Herald's body turned to dust. Every cell took on the golden glow; he turned to pure light and disintegrated into the air. He had no time to scream. The silver staff fell away: clanging against the wall, clattering on the floor, rolling to a stop against the leg of a chair. The black robe hung empty in Mordus' hand; he tossed it into a corner of the room. Turning, he sat again at the head of the long table, pouring another glass of wine.

The silver magic. It must be the daughter. And that sword; I know it...

"The past caught up, indeed..."

## ***

Dalo turned up his glass and set it aside on the bench. Alisha watched him. She saw the tension in his face and around his eyes. He adjusted the strap holding his sword and twisted the bracers on his wrists. She could tell he was stalling.

"Just tell her, let's get it over with," Arriana gasped in frustration.

Dalo looked at Alisha, his eyes searching her face. He held a secret, she'd known all along; she didn't think he wanted to part with it. He looked at the floor for a long moment and took a deep breath.

"My mother was the original Adeptus Supreme," Dalo said, "the Prime Adeptus. She was a Herald-in-training to Mordus, from the time she was a child, her parents were killed in a Draggon attack. She trained with Mordus himself because he saw the potential in her. Few had ever captured the attention of a God. Most of the Heralds were trained by other Heralds, but Mordus took a special interest in Delia because her magic expressed itself in a way he hadn't seen before."

Arianna stopped him. "And what was this way he hadn't seen?" Her eyes locked on Dalo's.

"Let me finish..." he said. "I promised you the whole story, didn't I?"

"You did." She smiled, sipping her wine.

He turned back to Alisha. "She surpassed every other student Mordus had. By the time she was twenty, she'd mastered all the teachings the other Heralds had learned and requested special instruction from Mordus. She'd married a soldier, a lancer named Arion Karran, and had a child by then.

"Mordus refused her because women who've given birth are supposed to suffer a decline in their powers; instead, her power magnified. She performed spells and acts only the Gods could do. She healed the sick, blessed crops, and brought rain."

"Brought rain?" Alisha gasped. "That's impossible!"

Dalo and Arianna both stared at her, nodding.

Dalo continued. "She'd become so powerful, Mordus felt threatened. His followers sought her out, instead of him—he couldn't have that—so he decided to kill her."

Alisha took it all in. Both faces told her it was true, but she doubted the tale because it was too fanciful. No one could conjure rain. She crossed her arms and sat back on the couch.

"He could've done it himself," Dalo took a sip of wine, "but he made a mistake. Thinking killing her would turn his followers from him, he enlisted the Vir'Con Brotherhood to do the deed. The assassins were mostly fine with the plan, but there was one among them who dissented: Eustas Callus."

Alisha laughed. "Eustas is not a member of the Vir'Con Brotherhood. I think I know my father-in-law better than that."

Dalo grinned. "Not only is he a member, but he's also the founding member. Your husband is a Vir' Con assassin Alisha... most of the higher-ranked Guardian Forces officers are."

Alisha's mouth hung open. She couldn't speak, her mind reeling.

"Anyway..." Dalo continued, "Eustas said no, but the others agreed. There are five Vir'Con elders, and a majority is the rule, so the contract to kill my mother passed and an assassin was dispatched. Eustas knew he had little time, so he devised a plan to save her—he asked for the help of some old friends, Arianna, here is one of them.

"They made a pact, amongst the three of them. They would hide my mother and never tell another soul her location. Eustas agreed to take me—I was only three years old—and hide me where I couldn't be found. Mordus intended to kill Delia's offspring to end the bloodline because he suspected the inherent traits she possessed could be passed on to her children..."

Dalo's story trailed off. Arianna stared at him. Alisha looked at them both.

"That's not what you promised me," Arianna hissed at Dalo.

"It's enough," he said.

"I said everything Eustas told you, and you agreed. Either you tell her, or I will."

Dalo remained silent, staring at Alisha.

Alisha couldn't take any more. "What are you not telling me?"

Arianna slid forward in her chair and held Alisha's hand, stroking it gently. She grabbed her face with the other hand, forcing their eyes to meet. "Delia didn't have one child. She had two..."
Chapter Four

Sunlight flashed across the windows of _Vengeance_ as it broke the atmosphere of Minos. Ice formed on the craft, and the thunderous roar of turbulence vibrated through the hull. The edges of the thermal shielding turned a crimson color as it heated, descending into the thick air surrounding the moon. Melting ice turned to water vapor—long white trails followed the ship, marking its path in the sky for anyone watching on the ground. The ship's trajectory carried it across the Tellurian desert: vast stretches of wasteland—jagged rocky monoliths swimming in the sand—punctuated by sporadic patches of green oasis. No one lived there—no one sane—most of it was still unexplored.

Garrian set the landing cycle to automatic, allowing the shuttle's computer to complete the flight, guided by the beacons below. The ship began its braking maneuvers as it cleared the Arden mountain range. The land below changed from barren desert to lush forest, scattered with lakes, connected by streams, fed by runoff from the melting mountain snows.

He watched it pass by as the shuttle zipped through the air, skimming the treetops. Farms carved from the forest floor sprang up as the ship approached the landing strip—wide swaths of cultivated fields, with roads connecting everything. Life on Minos was coming along.

The comm crackled with static, followed by the voice of the ground-controller at Swordhollow field.

" _Zone twenty-three is cleared for landing, Captain Callus, coordinates sent to your nav-comp, welcome back to Minos."_

The navigation computer made a series of clicks as it accepted the coordinates. The ship slowed, adjusting its flight path. Garrian flicked the transmit switch.

"Is Sergeant Zevo on-planet?" he questioned the controller. "Check the personnel logs, please."

Several minutes passed while he waited for an answer. The shuttle made a low, sweeping, left hand turn into the landing zone. He heard the rumble of the landing gear doors opening, the whining sound of the motors as the skids extended. The ship hovered above a large circular marker on the ground, descending by inches—one final thud as the skids hit the pavement.

" _Sergeant Zevo is on platform three; his unit is awaiting deployment to Haylon."_

"Make a note. I countermand that order. Have him meet me outside operations in twenty minutes, authorization code alpha, one-seven-three, Callus."

The comm was silent for several seconds. A gruff voice replaced the controller.

" _What do you think you're doing, boy?"_

He recognized the voice, dreaded hearing it. Garrian took a deep breath, trying to summon a smile which would translate through the comm-link.

"General Ayman, what a lovely day you have going here on Minos, sir..." He crossed his fingers, biting his lower lip.

" _Cut the crap Callus; you know the Minosian Peacekeeping Command doesn't follow Guardian Forces' orders anymore... hasn't for six years. Don't fly into my base, slinging your authorization code around, trying to change my orders like it_ means something."

"My father thought you might feel this way," a grin crossed his face, "he told me to ask you about the night in Marlock's Citadel when he had to drag you out of..."

The comm interrupted him, the transmit button pressed on the other end, cutting him off. A blast of static, followed by General Ayman clearing his throat.

" _So... it was just Zevo you needed to see?"_ Ayman asked, his voice trailing off.

"Yes, sir." Garrian's grin grew into a wide smile.

" _He'll be there, twenty minutes..."_

## ***

The Minosian Peacekeeping Command operations building stood at the heart of the complex: a massive affair constructed of stone, quarried from the mountainside to the north. Two stories high, with a row of windows for each floor wrapping around the entire structure. Soldiers came and went, the courtyard a hive of activity. Several groups surrounded the flagpole in the stone-paved plaza, laughing and slapping arms, exchanging stories, and tales of battles shared.

Garrian smiled, catching snippets of conversation—most were boasts of bravado or outright lies. He saw one man standing alone: a lean muscular soldier with Sergeant stripes tattooed into the skin of his left shoulder. His hair was dark brown and close-cropped, the stubble on his face at least a day old. He wore full battle armor, swords across his back, the hilts reflecting the morning sun. Two bags lay at his feet. He appeared irritated; his arms crossed. When he saw Garrian approaching, his entire demeanor changed.

"You old dog!" Zevo's face cracked open with a toothy smile; his arms stretched wide. "If I'd known it was you, I would've told Ayman to stick it!"

Garrian threw his arms around his old friend, both laughing at the thought.

"Sure you would..." Garrian held him at arm's length. "He sounded about as friendly as an Outlander firing-squad..."

Zevo smiled and squeezed Garrian's face with one hand. Garrian shook it off and picked up one of the two bags, motioning for Zevo to grab the other.

"He's not that friendly!" Zevo grabbed the second bag, swinging the strap over his right shoulder. "How on Erador did you convince him to change my orders?"

"Come with me, and I'll tell you." Garrian laughed, heading across the plaza.

They ducked into a side street off the main road—it was narrow, the walls of the buildings only a few yards apart. Carts lined the sidewalks: food, drink, and clothing of all types. They dodged repeated attempts by the vendors to slow them down, shaking their heads and refusing offers of steep discounts. Garrian found what he was looking for: a green sign next to an otherwise nondescript door painted black. He pulled on the handle, standing aside so Zevo could pass.

The air inside the saloon was thick with the smell of smoke and stale wine. Garrian was happy to see it was empty—too early in the day for the soldiers to be drinking. The Keeper stood behind the bar, polishing his glassware with a white cloth—a fat man with a pleasant face, he smiled at the pair.

"Sit anywhere you like, gents." One meaty hand swept the empty room. "What's your poison?"

"Wine will do." Garrian moved toward the rear of the saloon. Zevo followed him, his head turning to both sides, making a mental note of the entrances and exits. Garrian saw it from the corner of his eye and smiled to himself.

Garrian carried a single cutlass: a gift from Eustas for graduating from officer candidate school. Zevo preferred two short, thin rapiers. Both men removed their blades from the scabbards and placed them in the sword holders at the end of the booth seats. The Keeper came, placing two large glasses of dark red wine before them, expressed his wish they enjoy and went back to polishing his stemware. Garrian noticed he showed no curiosity: a fine quality in a saloon-keeper. They tested their wine; it was bitter but drinkable.

"So, what's this all about, Captain?" Zevo asked, tipping his glass. His sharp eyes searching Garrian's face. "You're not here for lunch with Ayman."

Garrian chuckled. Zevo was his lead sergeant for years in the Guardian Forces. His rare form of humor always made him laugh. He was a natural leader, and a better friend than Garrian could hope for. When Eustas asked him for men he could trust with his life, Zevo's face was the first he saw.

"Darran, I wish I had an answer for you." Garrian took a long drink of his wine, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "My father wants me to put a small team of soldiers together. You know my father, he keeps his plans tight."

"I do know your father." Zevo grinned. "I've never had a reason to doubt him, as I've never doubted you. Well, maybe that one time before you married Alisha, when you picked the ugly twin at that dance...."

"Stop, you fool!" Garrian smiled despite himself. "I'm serious! And there's no such thing as an ugly twin... they were identical."

"Well, mine was the prettier of the two..."

"Fine, your taste in women is superior to mine, I admit it if only to shut you up."

"Speaking of superior women, where is your wife?" Zevo winked, taking another sip of wine.

"That's another piece of the mystery of my father's secret plan, I'm afraid." Garrian stared hard at the table, his brow furrowed in anger, jaw clenched tight.

"I see... Well, whatever the task, you have my swords..." Zevo finished his wine, waving and whistling at the Keeper for more.

The door of the saloon swung open, sunlight forcing them to squint. Two men stepped inside, shadows against the brightness following them. The door swung shut behind them with a loud thump.

When his eyes adjusted to the light, Garrian looked them over. They sat at a table close to the door, on the edge of their chairs, to avoid removing the swords they carried. Both had a plasma pistol on their belt, but neither wore a uniform. They did wear high-quality leather armor, higher quality than this saloon deserved. The keeper served them ale—Garrian noticed the look of concern on his face. The fat man was sweating, and it was cool inside the saloon. Garrian glanced at Zevo, who nodded back, unconcerned, still trying to get the keeper's attention.

The keeper returned with a pitcher of wine, filling the two empty glasses.

Garrian touched the man's forearm, locking eyes with him. "Who are those two?" he asked.

The fat man looked first at Garrian, then at Zevo, the beads of sweat running down his face made him blink—he wiped them away with one hand. He dried the hand on his apron, glancing over his shoulder at the strangers by the door.

"They're mercenaries," he whispered. "They sell their swords to the highest bidder. No honor there. It's bad when they come in... always something bad..." The fat man fled, hiding behind his bar.

Garrian watched the pair. They drank their ale in silence, eyes glued to their mugs.

"We need two more men..." He stared at Zevo, watching him drink the bitter wine—it was not bitter enough for the look that crossed his face.

Zevo set the glass down. "Seriously... mercenaries? Can't we find two men we trust instead?"

"I trust you... and I can trust mercenaries because I understand where their loyalties lie." Garrian sighed and rolled his eyes. "Besides, I think I've pushed my luck with Ayman as far as I can."

"Right, you never told me how you did that..." Zevo chuckled.

"Wait here," Garrian whispered. "Keep your hand on your pistol."

Zevo nodded, twirling the stem of his glass between forefinger and thumb.

Garrian stopped in front of the men, thumbs hooked into his belt. The men never looked up from their mugs. One had darker hair, and he was larger. The other was blond—he looked the more intelligent of the two—his armor was solid-white leather: extremely expensive. Both of their faces were hard, experience showing through. He saw their muscles tense; it was barely perceptible. Garrian sat in the empty chair between them, measuring their faces.

"I understand you two might provide a service," Garrian pulled his coin purse out, laying it on the table, "if the price were right?"

The darker-haired man took a slow swallow of ale, set the mug on the table, and wiped the froth from his lips. His eyes were cold, his voice colder.

"I think you got us confused with someone else, Captain. We don't work for the Guardian Forces." He pointed at Zevo, across the room. "The MPC neither."

Garrian smiled, lifting the purse and dropping it on the table, the gold coins clinking together.

"I'm not here as a Captain. I don't represent the GFE, and he's not a member of the MPC at the moment. This is a private mission, not sanctioned by either of our governments—that should appeal to you."

The two mercenaries exchanged glances. He could tell the blond man was the leader; his head turned toward Garrian; there was a look of curiosity crossing his face.

"Tell me about this mission, but understand what you have in that small purse will not be adequate to pay for our services." His eyes were steady; he spoke like an educated man, almost regal. He turned his mug up, swallowing the last of the ale.

"Payment is not an issue; you can demand what you like." Garrian motioned for Zevo to come over. "Your expenses will be paid. We are under a time constraint and must leave for Haylon at once. I can't tell you what we'll do, but I assure you it will be dangerous, possibly life-threatening. Do you accept?"

The blond man laughed, the other man too.

"You want us to go with you on a mission you can't explain, for as much money as we desire; it might kill us, and we have to leave right now?" His mouth hung open, but his eyes shone with interest. "How can we refuse?"

Zevo handed Garrian his sword, returning his own to their scabbard across his back. The wiry sergeant looked at both men, slapping them on one shoulder.

"That's how epic adventures start. You've seen the holo-vids! Now mount up, and let's get rolling!" His teeth shone white in the dim saloon light. The mercenaries stared at him like he was crazy, but they stood and followed.

Zevo stopped, spinning on his heels. "What are we supposed to call you rascals then?" He pointed one finger at each of them. "I can't ride in a ship with strangers; it's against my mother's religion."

The fair-haired man smiled, the darker not as quick.

"My name is Cord." He crooked a thumb at his partner. "The big one's name is Keenan; he's my brother. Well, half-brother..."

Garrian tossed the keeper a solid gold coin as they left. The keeper caught it, stuffed it into his belt, and continued polishing his glasses, mumbling. "Bad when they come in... always something bad..."

## ***

The Herald sat drinking tea at the cafe on the corner, across from the entrance to the spaceport. His green robe out of place among the various soldier's garments the other patrons wore; his staff leaned against the low iron railing surrounding the patio—he was waiting.

"Can I get you anything else?" the waiter asked.

"No, thank you..." He finished the tea and set the cup on the table. He looked across the street where his hired men were standing; they weren't much, but all he could round up on short notice. The leader nodded toward him: a short man with shifty eyes, signaling they were ready.

The street was busy, traffic moving up both sides. People strolled the walkways, choosing wares from the vendor carts or admiring the expanse of the spaceport: it was a marvelous view.

The Herald saw them as they entered the street—four men, heavily armed—the man in the front was his target: the one with the Captain's insignia on his left shoulder; he needed him alive. He'd told them to aim for the others. The shifty leader looked at him, asking for permission to fire. He nodded, reaching for his staff.

The first plasma bolt was poorly aimed, it sailed between Zevo and Cord, striking a vendor cart. Bottles and jugs flew into the air, liquid spattering the wall behind. Cord rolled to the left, Zevo to the right; both came to one knee with pistols in their hands—people surrounding them ran screaming. Keenan saw the direction the bolt had come from, he tried to move, but a second shot caught him on the left shoulder, a glancing blow spinning him around—he fell to the ground, writhing in pain.

Garrian dropped to one knee, drawing his pistol. He aimed at the center of the group, triggering three quick shots. Two went wide, blasting chunks of stone from the wall behind them. His third shot struck the man on the right, the force throwing him back against the wall, a gaping hole in his chest—he fell to the sidewalk motionless.

Zevo and Cord fired at the same time. They hit the same man. His body crumpled, dual plasma burns, turning his chest to ash. The leader raised his weapon in the air, begging for mercy. Keenan shot him from where he lay, his head exploded in a ball of blue fire, his pistol clattering on the hard stone of the street.

Garrian looked around, trying to find something out of place. He saw the pedestrians, the vendors—and then he saw green.

He pulled the sword from his scabbard, fire in his eyes. The Herald stood at the corner, silver staff in his hand, paralyzed by fear. Garrian grabbed him by the throat and threw him to the ground, one knee on the man's chest, foot planted on his right wrist, the point of his sword pressed against the Heralds' eye. The other customers scattered like water on glass; screams echoed down the street.

"I know you serve Faran!" Garrian eased the point of the blade into the Heralds' eye, the thin membrane ruptured, fluid flowing around the tip. "Who do you fear more, him or me?"

The Herald screamed in pain, grasping at the sword with his free hand, slicing it to ribbons on the sharpened edge. Garrian held the blade in place, the muscles in his shoulders taut, his face twisted with rage.

"What is your mission here?" he screamed at the Herald.

The Herald brought his left hand up to his face, making a circular motion. "Disentegra..." His body turned to ash, swirling away with the wind. The emerald circlet he wore clattered on the stone. Garrian knelt over an empty green robe. Shock registered a moment later.

"No!" He stood, sheathing his sword. He paced the ground, up and down the road.

Zevo grabbed him, holding him in place. He stared into Garrian's eyes. "What are you not telling me?"

"Honestly, I know less each day, Darran." Garrian shook his head. "As soon as I have the whole picture, I promise you will too. You all will..."

Cord picked Keenan up, inspecting him; his wounds would heal. They headed for the shuttle. He winked at Zevo as they walked by. "Well, it's been fun so far. I think someone owes me some gold..."

When they were gone, a second Herald emerged from the interior of the cafe. He walked to where the other had fallen, picking up the discarded staff and circlet. He watched them, headed toward the Spaceport in the distance. Touching the emerald stone on his head, he closed his eyes.

"I'm sorry, my lord, we've failed..."

## ***

Alisha jerked her hand from Arianna's grasp. She sprang to her feet and spun toward Dalo.

"You knew this!" Her eyes cut Dalo to ribbons. "You knew this, and you never told me?"

Dalo held his hands up, warding her anger. He grasped her shoulders. "I didn't know myself until a few days ago..."

"And yet you kept it from me?" Her face was pale, her eyes burning with silver fire. "What gives you the right to keep secrets from me?"

Alisha's skin glowed: fire flowed along her arms; her hair enveloped with a silvery gleam. Her hands grasped Dalo's forearms, fingers sinking into his flesh. He cried out in pain and pushed her away.

Alisha fell against the couch, her eyes returning to a deep blue. The fire dissipated; her skin resumed its normal tone. She cried, her elbows on her knees, holding her hands against her face. "I'm sorry, I'm not sure what came over me..."

Arianna grabbed her hand. "It's ok; you're suffering the blood-fury." She pulled the Adeptus to her, arms around her shoulders.

"The what?" Alisha and Dalo asked together.

She stroked Alisha's hair, holding the younger woman's head against her chest, calming her.

"Your mother is the only other adept I've seen it affect. She would turn all silvery and her rage... it was terrible. It only happens when you lose control of your emotions."

"My mother's magic manifests silver?" Alisha sat up, her eyes wide. "I thought I was the only one."

"Yes. Hers, yours... and your brother's, apparently." Arriana glanced at Dalo. He'd returned to his seat. "Adept magic embodies a color: red, blue, yellow like mine. Healing magic is always green. Delia's magic was silver; she was the only one. I guess she passed it on to her children—it's a sign of forceful pure Orphic energy. The god's powers have always been golden; that's one reason Mordus was leery of her—she was different, and he didn't know why."

Dalo stared at Arriana. "You didn't know Alisha's magic was silver? But she went to your school—you trained her."

"I never trained Alisha personally, and her mentor died many years ago. I guess it never came up that she was different. We have an average of twelve-hundred students here—more before we left Erador."

Alisha pulled away from Arianna, smoothing her hair and rubbing her face. She stood and walked away from them, her hands clenching and relaxing. She spun around, standing still in the center of the room, her eyes fixed on the brown-haired Sorceress. "What is your part in this lie?" she demanded, tilting her head to one side. "It's plain you know more than you're saying." She pointed at Dalo. "He kept his secret from me, and he had a reason. Not the best of reasons, but I understand. I want the rest of the story."

Arianna sighed. She walked to the table and poured another glass. She leaned against the table, sipping her wine, deep in thought, her eyes on the floor. "Ok, let me pick up where he left off. Yes, we made a pact, Eustas and I, and your mother... We knew she was in danger and wouldn't last the night—there was no alternative. We had to hide her where no one could ever find her, plus we had to find places for the two of you. Delia needed to go somewhere unknown to any of the Vir' Con because any hint of her whereabouts might get back to the Brotherhood—Eustas gave me that task. I also took you."

Arianna smiled at Alisha, her eyes brimming with tears.

"You were a baby, less than a year old. You were so precious, so innocent. Delia insisted we put you with families that not even she could know because it might mean your death if she was found. It broke her heart when we took you away. I can still see her, on her knees, weeping, when we carried you off."

Arriana took a sip of her wine and rubbed the tears from her eyes. She moved back to her chair, and Alisha returned to the couch.

"Eustas wasn't supposed to know where I took you, and he never told me where he was taking Dalo. I gave you to the Jos Hollow orphanage anonymously, because I reasoned you would grow up that way: no family history, no birth name, no way to track you. Eustas was meant to do the same with Dalo, but Eustas Callus always has plans we don't know about—so he broke his promise to Delia and placed you somewhere he could keep an eye on you."

"Oh, he did what she wanted, so far as taking me where I couldn't be found," Dalo said.

The women looked at him; he'd been silent for a while.

"Where did he take you?" Arriana asked; Alisha nodded agreement.

"You won't believe me."

"Try us." Alisha's interest peaked.

"He gave me to the Chieftain of the Na'Geena."

Both women burst into laughter. They looked at each other, which only made them laugh harder. Arriana tried to sip her wine, but her spasms prevented it. Alisha held her stomach, rolling from side to side on the couch. After a while, their merriment subsided, with an occasional giggle remaining—one or two stray snickers.

Alisha looked at him; his face was solemn.

"You're serious..." She sobered up, catching her breath.

"Deadly..." Dalo grinned. "I said you wouldn't believe me."

"The Na'Geena are an old-mother's-tale used to scare children, to keep them from wandering into the woods alone." Alisha could see by the look in his eyes; he was sincere.

"I promise you; they're not." Dalo pulled the broadsword from his scabbard. Arriana pushed back in her chair, her eyes wary. He chuckled, spinning the sword around to expose the Draggon engraving on the pommel—Alisha had seen it, but not this close.

"Look at the engraving. Do you see those words carved around the edge, the notches in the Draggon's horn?"

The engraving was masterful: a full Draggon's head, fire spewing from its mouth. Around the edge of the pommel, she could make out words. There were multiple notches carved into the right horn of the Draggon.

"It's written in old-Eradorian. I can't read it." Alisha sat back.

Arriana examined the carved words. "I can." She fell back in her chair, a stunned expression on her face.

Dalo looked at her. "And what does it say?" There was a gleam in his eye.

She leaned forward. "It says, Draggons beware, the Na'Geena and Bloodrender seek your souls."
Chapter Five

Garrian slapped the pad to raise the loading ramp as he and Zevo cleared the threshold. The motors _whirred_ , raising the ramp and locking it into place. The comm blasted static, interrupted by repeated commands from the ground-controller to maintain their position and prepare to be boarded.

" _Shuttle Vengeance, you are directed to power-down and comply with Swordhollow security. Open your loading ramp and surrender your Captain and crew."_

Garrian jumped into the pilot's seat, while Zevo took the opposite chair, both frantically smashing buttons, preparing the ship for lift-off.

Cord was in the back, strapping Keenan into a sick-bay berth. "Are we gonna make this?" he yelled toward the cockpit. "I'd hate to get shut down before the real fun starts!"

Garrian looked out the side window. Five security officers burst from the doors of the command tower, running toward the ship. They were still too far away to use plasma weapons.

The ship's countdown clock read thirty-three seconds. He would have to fly out manually. Swordhollow control would've locked him out of the nav-grid by now.

The warp core would be ready by the time they cleared Minos' gravity. Warp jumps inside a planet's atmosphere were a fifty-fifty prospect anyway. Half the time, you made it. The scientists hadn't determined the problem with the other half yet, although they were leaning toward high humidity levels interfering with the static buildup in the warp drive.

He eyed the aerial-defense cannons mounted on the towers at the end of the landing field: they were active, flashing red lights on their platforms.

"Surely they wouldn't shoot us down..." Garrian said, "it was self-defense!" He turned to Zevo, who was pounding a single button with one finger, cursing it for not lighting up fast enough.

"Come on, damn you!" Zevo yelled at the button. His voice sounded angry, but the corners of his mouth were turned up. "Hey, Garrian, thanks for dropping by to see me. We should do this more often..."

Zevo's contrary button turned red. A deep rumble vibrated through the ship as the Planetary drive engaged. Garrian checked on the progress of the soldiers: they only had pistols, two of them had stopped to take aim. He grabbed the control sticks with both hands, easing up on the collective, the ship shuddered as the landing skids left the pavement, in a moment they were airborne. Zevo hit the switch to raise the skids.

Two thuds pounded against the hull. Several more plasma trails flew past the windshield. Garrian wasn't concerned about pistol fire: the ship could withstand it. The aerial cannons were a different matter. He pushed forward on the stick until the shuttle slid through the air, headed toward the cannon on the south side of the field. He saw Zevo glance at him from the corner of his eye and heard him draw a sharp breath.

"Ok... your twin was the prettier one, is that what you want me to say?" Zevo's knuckles were white, grasping the arms of his seat, pushing his back into the chair. His smile had faded. "What are you doing, Garrian?"

"Watch."

The barrel of the cannon pivoted, the servo-motors swinging the dangerous end of it toward the shuttle. Garrian leaned forward hard on the stick, increasing speed; the nose of the ship tilted down, the ground below them a rushing blur. He glanced at the countdown clock— twelve seconds until the core would be hot enough for warp.

The tower loomed ahead, growing larger as they accelerated toward it. They were less than a hundred yards away when the cannon stopped moving. The capacitor on the barrel glowed hot-white as it charged. Garrian checked the clock—seven seconds. He pulled up hard on the collective and back on the stick. The ship shot into the air, climbing away from the planet as a huge bolt of blazing fire passed below them. The force of the maneuver drove them back against their seats. They heard Cord let out a howl from the rear of the ship, followed by a loud thump and a muffled groan.

"Punch it!" Garrian shouted over the roar of the engines, as the ship pushed through the planet's stratosphere—space filling the windshield.

Zevo grasped a yellow D-shaped handle on his control panel and twisted it to the right. The warp drive made a high-pitched whine, setting their teeth on edge, the hair on their arms and necks raised. Outside the windshield, the field of stars blurred, shimmering against the blackness of space; they turned into long white trails, rushing past the ship. There was no sense of acceleration; it felt more like being pulled forward. Zevo punched the contrary button, disengaging the planetary drive—it winked at him, turning green.

"That was mighty nice flying." His smile was back, and the blood had returned to his hands. He slapped Garrian on the shoulder and rose from his chair. "I'll go check on the boys."

The comm clicked on, pouring static into the cockpit, interrupting their moment of victory. Ayman's voice came through, distorted by the warp field, his tone icy.

" _I'll see you next time you're in town, Captain..."_

## ***

Zaril had always maintained the benefit in allowing the others to live outweighed the bother of trying to kill them, but lately, he wasn't so sure. Yes, they took followers from him who could add to his power, had he needed more power. He was the oldest of them, the strongest, and they all knew it. The benefit had been the lack of focus upon any one of them. There was strength in numbers—power, in not being singled out. Things were changing, and he didn't like the direction they were taking.

He'd felt the shift in the ether. The Orphic currents had changed. There hadn't been a stir this great, no power this concentrated, since Mordus' blunder with the silver adept. Twice, in the last few days, Zaril had sensed a discharge of Orphic power—both times, it had the taste of pure sweet energy. Each time was different, but the same somehow. He didn't understand it, but he knew it was dangerous—to him—to all of them.

He stood on the balcony outside his library, staring out across the plains of Nadeen. The rolling grassland stretched for miles in all directions: golden windblown waves. He loved the solitude of the castle; the vast expanse of prairie separated him from the dreary existence of lesser beings. Zaril stopped holding devotion ceremonies years ago, no longer needing the fulfillment of his follower's adoration, unlike the others. The change had occurred within him. The Orphic currents were now his to command. He needed no supplemental energy, and he no longer required the words to cast his spells—he still used them, sometimes, but only by habit.

Zaril held his hand in the air, palm outstretched. His almond-shaped eyes narrowed to thin slits as he focused on a single spot on the balcony floor. His pupils burned with an amber glow, intensifying into a golden light, bathing the stone floor like the summer sun.

"Faran," he whispered the name, holding the end of it on his tongue as if it tasted bad.

A brilliant point of light formed, three feet above the floor—it grew into a ball the size of an apple, then exploded, shimmering beams bursting forth, expanding into a man-sized orb. A figure emerged from the glimmer: black-robed, pale skin, fangs protruded from the corners of his mouth—black eyes with pinpoint white pupils; he didn't blink.

"I wish you would warn me before you do that," he hissed.

"I apologize." The response was flat and obviously insincere. Zaril turned and walked back into the library, motioning for Faran to follow with one finger.

"I hope this is important, I have devotion ceremonies I must attend to," Faran said.

Zaril crossed the room to the bar and poured two glasses of Eradorian brandy from a silver decanter. He offered one to Faran and took a seat on one of three large stuffed pillows surrounding a crystal table mounted on brass legs. The crystal was transparent, with thick veins of silver running through it.

Zaril sipped his brandy, waiting for Faran to sit.

"So, why am I here?" Faran sat, crossing his legs with apparent discomfort. A sour look crossed his face—it disappeared when Zaril looked at him. Faran sipped his drink, eyes averted.

Zaril watched Faran drink. He despised him, but he was the most powerful of the three, so he was useful, for now. Faran also kept an active network of spies on all the worlds—he was the only one of them who did—a natural tendency of his species, Zaril mused.

"The currents are shifting—you've felt this?" Zaril sipped his brandy, watching Faran over the rim of his glass.

"Yes... I've sensed the power. It's familiar, yet I can't place it. Almost like a memory..."

"Why do we not have the Captain?" Zaril asked.

Faran's pupils enlarged, the white dots growing to the size of a pebble. His lips parted, fangs protruding. "My agents on Minos tell me an interesting story: armed soldiers, mercenaries, three men dead—one of my Heralds too. Apparently, it was quite bloody."

"So, there were others with him, besides the sergeant?" Zaril asked. "She said it should be just the two of them..."

"I guess he made friends while he was there." Faran shrugged and rubbed his face, his thumb testing the sharpness of his left fang. "She did say things could be random sometimes..."

"And you've no idea who they are?"

"None, I'm afraid." Faran looked at him. "Kavan might know more. I 've felt him watching the currents—he's always been more attuned to seeing than the rest of us. Why is this human so important to you, anyway?"

"Don't concern yourself with why, Faran. Just keep doing what I tell you." Zaril raised one hand in the air and snapped his fingers: the crisp sound echoed off the walls. A red-robed Herald shuffled in from the corridor, the silver trim of his robe caught the light as he walked, an oak staff in his hand, brass fittings on either end. His head was shaved. A silver circlet with a single red stone gleamed on his forehead.

"Yes, Lord Zaril?" he asked.

"Have Karal join us."

The Herald nodded and backed from the room. Several minutes passed while they waited. Zaril spent the time imagining the various ways he could kill Faran. He'd settled upon liquefaction when the sound of boot-heels on tile announced the approach of a man dressed in solid black leather. The silver buckles holding the various straps in place gleamed in the artificial light. His eyes held a different sort of gleam—as if a fire burned deep inside them, his pupils two miniature suns. He appeared to be unarmed, with no swords or plasma weapons. Faran decided he looked just as dangerous without them.

Zaril stood, kicking the pillow away. He paced the length of the room; his hands clasped behind his back. "Karal, I want you to go see Kavan. Ask him what he knows about what happened on Minos—who the men are with the Captain."

Karal nodded, his face like stone. "And if he refuses to tell me?"

Zaril picked a small carved figurine from a shelf above the bar. He waved his hand over it.

" _Inclusio verus finitus."_ The idol glowed a pale red and faded.

"You can't!" Faran yelled, jumping to his feet. He upset the crystal table: it teetered for a moment, finally falling on its side, a long crack splitting it lengthwise. His brandy glass fell to the floor, a wet brittle explosion of flying shards.

Zaril spun around, his face contorted, glaring at Faran. "I grow tired of the three of you." His eyes narrowed, teeth clenched in anger. "You disagree with my decision?"

Faran shook his head and lowered his eyes, contemplating the shattered remains of his glass.

Zaril handed the small figurine to Karal. "If he refuses to answer you, throw this at his feet..."

## ***

"My daughter, Velarie, will take care of my duties in my absence." Arriana explained as they boarded the transport ship, "She's capable. Now, hand it over."

Dalo pulled the talisman from his pocket, placing it into the Sorceress' outstretched palm. She slid the chain over her head and slipped the locket inside the front of her robe. Alisha thought she noticed a change in her skin, the luminescence returning. She looked younger.

Perhaps it's the light...

"You know I meant nothing personal, Sorceress." Dalo smiled.

"I know you are an enemy I don't need, so let's forget about it, shall we?" Arianna led them down a short corridor to the passenger lounge.

Large windows in the hull granted an ample view outside the ship. They were alone, the only passengers. The small spaceport was quiet at night. Safehaven station saw little shuttle traffic. Most people arrived and departed via the Trans-pod terminals. There was no military presence on Cirrus.

"Besides, you thought I was attacking you. You were defending yourself."

"Oh, you were about to attack me..." Dalo grinned, pointing his finger at her, "...and I thought you said we were going to forget about it?"

"I was simply reacting to the name of Eustas Callus." The name slid across her lips with a hiss. She flicked her hair back with one hand and sat on a wide couch against the wall, the window behind her.

"Why do you hate him so much?" Alisha sat across from her. Dalo sat next to Alisha, removing the broadsword from his back, he laid it on the seat and answered the question.

"She thinks Eustas got her husband killed," he said.

"He did!" Arriana glared at him.

"That's not how I heard it." Dalo shook his head. "Sounded to me like an accident. He didn't follow orders. Eustas told me about it."

Alisha put her hand on Dalo's forearm and squeezed hard; her other palm pointed at Arianna. "Both of you stop it!"

They sat in silence, watching out the window as the crew loaded crates of supplies and goods bound for Haylon into the ship's cargo hold.

Alisha poured over the events of the last few days in her mind, putting the pieces in place. She suspected Eustas had arranged the confrontation with the young Adept at the Senate meeting. Whatever his reason for keeping it from her, it had worked: the Senators endorsed the Luminary Council without further question, after her impromptu display of power.

She had a brother, and they were headed to Haylon to meet their mother! Tears welled in her eyes, and she found it hard to swallow. She choked back a sob and leaned back in her seat, hoping they wouldn't notice her crying. Her entire world had changed in two days.

Alisha grew up an orphan. Until she was five, the only family she knew were the other children and social-workers at Jos Hollow orphanage. She was adopted by her parents, Cyris and Glory Dalancy when she was fifteen years old; they had two daughters already, her sisters, Becca and Carril.

She had often wondered about her birth-parents—what had happened to them, why they'd left her alone. Now she knew, and the hole inside her didn't feel so deep. She looked at Dalo, wondering what his childhood had been like, compared to hers.

"Tell me about the Na'Geena." She touched his shoulder.

"Why are you crying? Are you all right?" he asked.

"I'm fine." Alisha wiped her face with her sleeve. "Were you old enough to remember our parents?"

"No," Dalo turned to face her, "I didn't even know my real last name until Eustas told me a few days ago. My father, Harrod, raised me as his own. I grew up believing I was Na'Geena."

"I would like to meet your father," she said.

"He died seven years ago." Dalo looked away. Alisha thought she saw a tear in the corner of his eye. "He was killed by a Draggon, defending our village."

The crew finished loading the cargo. The frame of the ship vibrated, pulsing in time with the planetary drive engines. They watched out the window, the ground receding as the ship gained altitude. Safehaven became multiple pinpoints of light below. They had a clear view of Erador, and Minos right behind it. The red sun turned the wall behind them an ochre color. The Captain announced the jump to warp over the intercom.

" _Passengers and crew, we will initiate the warp drive in thirty seconds. The trip to Haylon should take three hours. Enjoy the flight."_

Arriana turned from the window and looked at them. Seeing the tears on both their faces, her eyes softened. "We should rest. We still have a long journey ahead once we arrive."

Alisha felt the hair on her arms and neck rise. The stars outside the window shimmered, replaced by long white lines. She lay down on the couch, eyelids heavy, drifting to sleep.

She dreamed of Draggons.

## ***

Eustas unbuttoned the tie-down-snap of his pistol. His eyes searched the shadows, the doorways, all the hiding places. Back-alleys of Erador Prime were notorious—most people avoided them. The occasional lost pedestrian soon discovered the reason for their infamy: muggers and cutthroats, thieves and scoundrels; men who would slit your throat for your gold—the denizens of darkened places.

His footsteps echoed from the walls, hollow and solitary. It was quiet tonight. He made his way through the maze of back streets. A few windows shone a light on the cobblestones as he passed. Rat claws scratched, and stray cats yowled. The wind tossed torn paper around; a stray piece caught on his boot, then blew away.

He paused before an opening in the wall between two buildings. A short flight of stairs led up to a wooden landing. There was a dim blue light above the door; it hung from two wires—swaying in the breeze; it winked at him each time it faced his direction. He climbed the stairs and inspected the door. There was a hand-sized hole, face-high: the cover swung inward on hinges; a metal grille mounted in the opening.

Eustas knocked. Three—two—four times. The small window swung inward.

"Password?" He sounded burly.

"Forty-six," Eustas said.

The sound of multiple locks releasing...

The door swung in on rusty squealing hinges. The light was no better inside. Eustas climbed another flight of stairs and passed down a long hallway. The last door was closed; voices came from inside—the discussion sounded heated.

Eustas unsheathed his swords and pushed the door open. He stepped inside, swinging it shut behind him. All heads turned toward him, and the conversation ceased.

"Don't let me interrupt your lying," Eustas said with a grin.

The four men surrounding the table burst into laughter. The black-haired man stood and walked to a side-table, grabbing a mug and a pitcher of ale. He set the empty mug at the head of the table and filled it—refreshing the others.

"It's about time you showed up." The blond man feigned irritation.

"I was held up. Council business." Eustas placed his swords in the holder on the wall next to the others and took his seat.

The bearded man grabbed Eustas' hand. "We were discussing our wives, Eustas!" His eyes were blurry from the drink.

"As I said—lies." Eustas grinned at him, taking a long sip of his ale.

The red-haired man extracted a small triangular holo-pad from his tunic and put it on the table. "You were right. He is passing information to them. This is proof."

The laughter stopped—their faces somber. Eustas pulled the holo-pad to the center of the table and pressed the button on its face. It split into three pieces, snapping into the shape of a larger triangle, each piece forming one point. Three projector beams met at the center, producing the image Eustas dreaded. They watched a hooded man approach a green-robed Herald standing in a remote area of Jos Hollow City Park. The fountain was visible in the distance. The two conversed for several minutes, exchanged small bundles, then went separate ways.

Eustas pressed the play button once more. He spun the projection around; each man glimpsed the face beneath the hood. They nodded in turn, catching his eyes, pursing their lips. The holo-pad snapped back to its original shape. He stuck it in his pocket.

Eustas shook his head, staring at his mug.

The black-haired man squeezed his shoulder. "You've known him since you were children—he's your friend. One of us can do it, or we could pass it on to the Brotherhood—someone with no knowledge or ties."

Eustas considered it for a moment. "No, this is my problem. I view it as a personal insult, so it must be me who brings the contract and carries it out. I only need your blessings."

"So, this is personal, not motivated by your political agenda?" the blond man asked him.

"I included him in my plans, and he betrayed me." Eustas jaw was firm, his brow furrowed.

The bearded man raised his hand. "Then, I suggest we vote."

Three hands joined his in the air above the table. Eustas didn't need to vote.

Eustas stood, retrieving his swords from the wall, returning them to his scabbard. He picked up his mug and drank the last of his ale. He studied their faces; there was no indecision.

"Then, the vote passes." Eustas turned to leave. "Jos Reiner must die..."

## ***

Haylon station buzzed with activity: soldiers moved cargo, ships came and went. The landing field, cluttered with motion, reminded Garrian of watching ants. He eased the ship down, setting the skids on the landing mark. Zevo punched the buttons, and the shuttle's engines shut down. Cord stuck his head through the cockpit door.

"Can we get something to eat?" The bandage on his forehead slipped down over his right eye; he pushed it back into place. "Keenan is fine, but he's a little hungry, and so am I."

Garrian touched the control for the loading ramp. A rush of outside air flooded the ship as the atmospheric seal broke—it smelled like hot dirt. The sounds of the airfield drifted in.

Garrian looked over his shoulder. "We'll eat before we head out."

Zevo looked at him, squinting. "What are we doing here, anyway?"

"We need a medic." Garrian looked away.

"Oh, and you want to go get her?" Zevo cocked his head, staring at him.

Garrian ignored him, retrieving his sword from the weapons rack.

Zevo walked over to him and spun him around, hands on his shoulders, pushing him against the wall.

"This can't be like before." Zevo's face was hard. "This is what tore us apart, Garrian."

"I know," Garrian said, "but she's the best, and you know it. We need her. We already have two injured men, and we've barely begun."

Zevo stepped back. "I hope Alisha feels the same way..."

"I love my wife, Darran. We put this behind us years ago. She forgave me—can't you?"

"I introduced you to Alisha, which makes me responsible for you." Zevo grabbed his swords and headed for the loading ramp. He looked back as he walked away. "Don't make me regret my decision..."
Chapter Six

Forty-one years ago...

Eustas ran between the trees, headed toward the river; he should've found it by now. He tripped and fell beneath the spreading branches of a huge oak. He pushed himself to his knees—listening: birds, the wind through the trees, the shuffling of fallen leaves, but no running water.

I'm lost...

He sat down, his back against the old tree trunk, wondering what to do. A sinking feeling hit him, like a giant fist squeezing his chest. He felt a tear run down his cheek. He believed he knew this forest, now he doubted himself. He was unsure which way to go. The trees were so thick he couldn't find the sun, couldn't find north like his father had shown him years before.

"Are you hurt?"

The voice startled him. Eustas thought he was alone. He'd heard no footsteps, had seen no sign of anyone—but here was a young boy, standing ten feet from him. Eustas examined his newfound companion. Dressed in leather pants and tunic, with boots laced up to the knee, he carried a hand-crafted bow, a quiver of arrows slung across his shoulder. His hair was light brown, tied at the back by a thin leather cord; a gold circlet ringed his head, the centerpiece embossed with a Draggon.

"Where did you come from?" Eustas asked him, rising from the ground and brushing the dirt from his knees.

The boy looked Eustas over with an appraising eye. "I've been following you for a while; you're lost."

"What makes you think I'm lost?" he asked.

The boy grinned. "Because you've been running in circles for at least an hour."

Eustas offered his hand to the stranger. "My name's Eustas."

The boy looked confused, staring back and forth between Eustas' face and his hand.

"What, you don't shake hands?" Eustas laughed, reaching for the boy's hand, shaking it heartily. "Where do you live that they don't shake hands?"

Understanding flashed in the boy's eyes. "Ahh... it's a greeting! Our custom is similar."

He stood with his feet together and raised his right arm; he thumped his chest with a fist, then showed Eustas his open palm, no doubt to demonstrate he was unarmed.

"Seriously, where do you live?" Eustas mimicked the gesture. The boy smiled and nodded approval. "We must be deep in the woods. I never get lost."

"I'm really not supposed to say." He winked; his voice hushed. "I'm not even supposed to be talking to outsiders. I thought you hurt yourself when you fell. You were crying."

Eustas looked down. "I hit my knee on a root," he lied. "It's nothing."

The boy looked around, making sure they were alone. He lowered his voice to a whisper. "My name is Harrod. I am Na'Geena."

The blood drained from Eustas' face, his eyes widened, and he drew a sharp breath. He stepped back several paces, stopped by the solid trunk of the oak. He had no weapons to defend himself.

Harrod laughed so hard he grabbed his side, unable to catch his breath. Eustas watched him cautiously, but his fear melted with the laughter, until he too doubled over, the humor of the moment catching. Harrod stood back up, tears in his eyes.

"We understood your people feared us, but the look on your face was too much!" Harrod slapped his knee. "Were you afraid I would kill you?"

"I had my concerns..." Eustas wiped his eyes on his sleeve.

Harrod waved at Eustas to follow and started walking away. "Come on; I will introduce you to my people. They will love this story."

"You said you weren't supposed to talk to outsiders..." Eustas wasn't sure.

"Oh," Harrod grinned, "I was having fun with you."

## ***

Present-day Jos Hollow...

The cool evening air painted a thin coat of dew upon the stone, making it slick and hard to climb. The thousands of micro-cups in the palms of Eustas' Nano-suit gloves and on the soles of his boots had no issue with it. He scaled the dark stone wall like a fly on a windowpane, the muscle-enhancing bands embedded in the Nymex mesh responding to the sensors. He had the strength of five men: another of the technologies they'd gleaned from the abandoned ship—he'd kept this one for the Vir' Con—it was far too powerful to allow the military access to it.

Eustas hoisted himself over the balcony railing and landed on the floor; a feather falling on a pillow would've made more noise. The large glass doors leading out from the room were open, but the curtains were drawn: he couldn't see inside.

The room was silent except for the crackling fire. He eased through the opening, blending into the shadows within the chamber. The goggles' heads-up display identified one life-sign, four yards away. Eustas removed the mask from his face. He stood still for a moment, his eyes adjusting to the light, taking slow deep breaths to calm his heart rate.

Jos lay sleeping on the bed, alone. The rumors were true: Jos and Merdith had taken separate sleeping quarters. Eustas swallowed hard. There was a lump in his throat; it wouldn't go away.

It only took a second, and he was beside the bed. Eustas stood over his slumbering friend—the dagger in his hand felt heavy. He watched the gentle rise and fall of Jos' chest, saw the peace of sleep on his face.

Eustas put his hand over Jos' mouth, pressing down hard, pushing the man's head deep into the pillow. Jos woke, confusion on his face replaced by fear in his eyes. He grasped the arm holding his mouth, but the Nano suit prevailed. His legs flailed under the sheets. Eustas climbed atop him, straddling his chest, staring into his eyes—the dagger at his throat, the point drawing blood.

"Why should I not kill you?" Eustas asked. "Please give me a reason."

Jos took a deep breath as the hand left his mouth and swallowed hard as it found his throat.

"Eustas!" His eyes roamed his friend's face. "What are you doing? What have I done to you?"

"You know why I'm here, Jos, don't fake innocence," Eustas hissed.

"I don't know what you mean!" Jos tried to pull Eustas' hands from his throat.

Eustas tightened his grip, careful not to crush the man's throat. He lifted the point of the dagger to Jos' right eye. "I think you do."

"I don't, Eustas, I swear!"

The fear in his eyes was real, but Eustas couldn't accept it as truth—he might lie to save his life. He set the dagger on the bed, retaining his grip on the man's throat. He pulled the holo-pad from his pocket and placed it on the bed beside them, activating it with one gloved finger. The image formed, playing out the scenario in the park. Eustas adjusted it so Jos could see his own face.

"That's not me! It's—" Jos never finished, he let out a long sigh and swallowed hard.

"You're a liar!" Eustas picked up the dagger. "You've been feeding them information all along! They tried to kill my son on Minos, and I hold you responsible!"

"You've known me your whole life, Eustas," Jos tried to reason with him, tears rolling down his face, "do you really think I could betray you?"

Eustas stared into his old friend's eyes. Memories of the time they'd shared as children ran through his head. Thoughts of what might happen if his plans failed erased the fond memories. Tears streamed down his cheeks. He placed his hand over Jos' mouth and thrust the dagger into his throat. The blood looked black in the firelight. Eustas held him tight until the convulsions of death had passed—until the eyes had glazed over.

"I'm sorry, Jos... I can't take the chance I'm wrong..."

## ***

Dalo led them through the Haylon spaceport toward the roller rentals. No sub-orbital civilian craft were allowed outside the safe-zone of Haylon station—the Outlanders tended to shoot them down, and they excelled at it. Dalo haggled with the roller merchant, negotiating a fair price while the women stood watching, occasionally laughing to themselves. He saw it from the corner of his eye—he couldn't help but grin.

"Fifty gold isn't enough!" The roller merchant spat on the ground; his arms crossed in obvious disgust at the offer. "What would I do if you destroyed it? And what about the Outlanders? They're good at that too! You're planning on taking my roller through the mountains—what kind of fool does that?"

"What do you consider fair for a fool like me?" Dalo grinned at the merchant, ignoring the giggles coming from his flank. He watched Arriana whisper something into Alisha's ear; she must've thought it hilarious. She held her hand over her mouth, suppressing a laugh. Tears of mirth filled her eyes; she wiped them on her sleeve.

"A hundred-fifty, and a two-hundred gold deposit, in case you don't come back. It won't even cover my loss, but I'm a generous man..."

Both women burst into laughter, holding hands and commiserating over Dalo's lack of bargaining skills.

He turned to them, with a stern look on his face. "Do you mind?"

Alisha put her hand over Arianna's mouth and turned to him with a look of sincerity. "We're sorry." The gleam in her eye told a different story. "We'll be quiet now."

The hand over Arianna's mouth was inadequate; her laughter broke the seal. Alisha grabbed her by the shoulders and led her away a short distance, leaving Dalo to bargain with the merchant in peace.

"What is wrong with us?" Alisha grinned at Arianna, who was giggling uncontrollably. "Why can't we stop laughing?"

Dalo joined them, a pair of roller keys in his left hand. "It's the oxygen levels. Haylon has a very different atmosphere than Erador or Cirrus. It's easy to overcome if you are in good physical condition. You two have been bent over your magic books and not getting enough exercise. On the bright side, when you get used to this atmosphere, Erador will feel amazing."

Both women found this hilarious—they embraced each other, laughing, while Dalo shook his head. "It will pass soon, as your bodies become accustomed to the change. Until then, let's see if we can locate our roller."

They made their way down a long wide set of stairs to a paved area. Vehicles of all types aligned in perfect rows stretched across the lot. Armed soldiers were in abundance: driving in, driving out, walking to, and fro. Four guard towers marked the corners of the station, well-manned with cannon and troops.

Dalo located the roller—the number thirty-six painted in sloppy red on the left front panel—it was a boxy sort of ugly. There was a long crack stretching across the grime-coated windshield, and the body had seen better days. Plasma burns in the paint proved Haylon was a dangerous place.

Dalo placed Bloodrender into the sword holder on the back of the driver's seat and motioned for the women to climb in. He noticed the dubious expressions on their faces, assuring them the vehicle was more than roadworthy.

The desert breeze, combined with the movement of the roller, whipped dust from the road into a choking cloud. Dalo slapped the control panel, activating the force-field surrounding the cab; the difference was immediate. "Sorry, I haven't driven one of these in a while..."

The oxygen deprivation was wearing off, but they were still giddy enough to find humor in the coating of dust which settled upon them.

Dalo followed the road leading away from the spaceport, aiming the vehicle toward a gap between two purple mountain ranges to the east.

The mountains owed their lavender color to the dense Terillium deposits peppering the slopes—outcroppings of a rich ore, a potent power source for the new technologies gained from the abandoned ship. They saw numerous side roads branching into the hills toward various mining operations and passed armored convoys protecting huge transports laden with the valuable ore, bound for Haylon station.

Trees on Haylon were scarce on the open plains, except surrounding the few water-holes. It didn't rain often. The water-holes were fed by a subterranean stream.

The desert transformed into a lush oasis as the road wound around a large lake. Animals of all kinds surrounded the water, flocks of birds circled overhead. The tree cover was a small relief from the heat of the desert (they'd discovered the cooling-unit in the roller was broken), but it didn't last.

"I meant to ask," Alisha turned around to look at Arriana, "we've only had off-world space flight for about eight years—how did you get our mother to Haylon twenty-six years ago?"

"I used a teleportation spell, but I can only cast it once a day. It takes an enormous amount of energy, and I can only take one person with me. It's faster to fly, now that we can."

The temperature in the roller climbed back up as they left the cover of the trees and made their way into the notch between the two mountain ranges. The road turned from plain-dirt to gravel. The roller didn't kick up near as much dust, so Dalo slapped the button to disengage the force field. The cooler mountain air passing through the cockpit was a welcome relief.

"What happens if we get shot at with the force field down?" Alisha eyed the high ground on either side of the road.

"It will be easier to spot an attack without sweat dripping into our eyes..." Dalo grinned. "This pass is a critical route through these mountains, and it's patrolled and monitored by satellite. It would be rare for us to run into an Outlander Patrol up here."

"But not impossible..." she raised her eyebrows.

"No, not impossible. But it's the only pass through the mountains. There are no strategic targets up here. There's no reason for them to come—so, relax and enjoy the breeze." He squeezed her left hand.

Dalo cocked his head to the right and glanced at Arriana from the corner of his eye; she looked confused, watching the roads veering off the main path.

"Please tell me you know which road we need to take..." he said.

Arriana drew a sharp breath and forced it back out into a long sigh. "Well, it has been a long time. There were no roads. We didn't exactly drive in; we were walking. There's a gigantic oak tree right before the path; an X cut into the bark—I haven't seen it yet."

"How did you find this place?" Alisha turned, draping her left arm over the seat-back. "It's so remote—and you're not from Haylon, how would you know where it was?"

Arriana grinned, but she made a dismissive gesture with her left hand and went back to searching the roadside for the marked oak tree.

"I had help from an old friend."

"That's it?" Alisha's eyes narrowed. "That's all you're gonna say?"

Arriana's eyes locked on Alisha. She hesitated, not sure how much to tell her. Her forehead wrinkled for a few seconds, then she regained her composure, and her face softened. She raised her left hand and stroked Alisha's cheek.

"Don't worry, dear; you will meet her soon..."

## ***

Forward observation post six-alpha was little more than a loose assortment of tents and stand-alone prefab buildings: the kind which came apart in pieces for transport.

The computer on the ship placed the troop complement at seventy-five, but Zevo doubted it. At most, he'd seen thirty-five people. Everything seemed calm now, but the scars of war surrounding the camp told the truth. There was a distinct odor of burned plasma in the air.

Garrian sent a satellite message-bounce to the post before they left Haylon station—she was definitely stationed there.

Zevo shook his head. He wasn't sure if this was a good idea, but maybe he was making too much of it.

Darran Zevo met Alisha Callus when he was five years old: a new resident of the Jos Hollow orphanage, following his parent's death in a shuttle accident. They were the same age. Her name was not Callus back then—she had no last name—he only knew her as "Lisha". They'd become fast friends, spending most of their time together, when life didn't interfere. He was never in love with her—he considered her family, like a sister.

Garrian became his closest friend, so it was natural they would all meet. Garrian's lapse in judgment with Sammi drove a wedge between them. He'd left the Eradorian Guard for the Minosian Peacekeeping Forces because of it, wanting to distance himself from the pain of betrayal. The sting faded with time—now Garrian was drawing her back in...

"Darran, did you hear me?"

"Yes, I heard you, Garrian." Zevo decided to keep his opinions to himself—for now. He turned to Cord, who was still trying to adjust the bandage around his head: it kept slipping down over his right eye.

"Can you see to refueling the ship while we try to find our medic?"

"Oh, that's very funny." Cord grinned, pushing the bandage up. "I've got it. Go, do your thing."

## ***

The X was obvious, but the tree trunk it was upon measured twenty feet in diameter, so it was hard to miss: the branches fell over the road. The next right turn appeared, and Dalo spun the wheel, aiming the craft up a narrow trail. The foliage grew denser as the roller covered ground, and after a point, it was so thick they had to stop. They climbed from the roller and fought their way to the front.

"It's quite overgrown, but we still have several hundred yards to go," Arriana said.

Dalo stared at her. "Several hundred?"

"It was supposed to be secure," she shrugged. "Obviously, it was, this trail hasn't been used in years."

"Well, I can think of nothing more secure than having to hack through several hundred yards of dense forest to get to it," he laughed.

"I suggest you retrieve that large blade of yours and begin." She leaned against the roller and nodded toward the forest.

"This is your revenge, isn't it?" he asked.

She smiled...

## ***

Inside the medical station, it was at least five degrees cooler. Their eyes adjusted to the light after a time, and they were able to see. Two long rows of cots filled the tent; each held a body: obviously the missing forty members of the camp. Medics tended to the wounded—green-robed adepts plying their healing magic.

A short blond adept leaned over the man on the closest cot; her hands glowed with a green light—a luminous capsule surrounding his upper thigh. They watched as the plasma burn began to heal—the skin of the wound stitching itself together across the exposed gap. After several minutes the wound was completely closed, only a dark pink scar remained. The blond adept turned abruptly.

Garrian was speechless—so was she.

Zevo watched them both, alternating between the two. He saw he needed to intervene to get the conversation moving. "Hey, Sammi," he said, "how you been?"

Sammi was a beautiful woman, and Zevo would never claim otherwise. He'd entertained ideas about her himself, but he distrusted her. She'd known Garrian was married, yet she proceeded.

"Garrian!" The shock in her eyes was genuine. "What are you doing here?"

"I need a medic, and I need the best," he said.

Sammi motioned for them to follow, leading them out of the medical station and across the compound to a smaller tent. Once inside, Sammi spun around and slapped Garrian so hard he lost his footing and almost fell. Zevo grabbed him by the arm, steadying him.

"Garrian..." She turned her back and walked toward the rear of the tent, shaking her head. "I'm not unhappy to see you, but I want you to go away..." Her shoulders convulsed once and were still.

"This is not a request, Lieutenant Wick." Garrian rubbed the side of his face. "We need a medic, and you are the best we have. These orders come straight from my father if you refuse them from me."

Sammi turned to stare at Garrian; then, she settled on Zevo. She crossed the short space and took his hands, watching his face. "Why do you follow him, Darran?"

Zevo smiled. "I may not agree with everything he does, but I trust him with my life—I always have—and I've never been wrong."

Sammi let go of Zevo's hands, but not before giving them a firm squeeze, and turned toward Garrian.

"Ok, I'll go..." She hooked a thumb at Zevo. "So you won't get this fool killed..."

## ***

"You really want me to hack through several hundred yards of forest with a sword?" Dalo looked at her and laughed.

"I don't have a problem with it." Arriana grinned.

"Stop, both of you..." Alisha moved to an open area in front of the roller. She held her arms out to her sides and slowly brought them together in front of her, silver fire sliding along the folds of her robe, down the sleeves toward her hands. When her palms met, a huge silver fireball formed at the tips of her fingers, larger around than Dalo was tall. She forced it forward with her mind, at great speed. The fireball incinerated everything; an eight-foot-wide tunnel burned through the overgrowth, ending at the distant mountainside.

"Have you ever done this before?" Arriana asked.

Alisha's brow furrowed. "Done what?"

"Create magic with your mind and no incantation. Dalo did it back on Cirrus; now I see you can too."

"I do it all the time, can't you?" Alisha asked.

Arriana smiled. The words were required to initiate the connection with the Orphic currents: to attune yourself to the magic—to focus. She'd seen three people do it without trying, and two of them stood before her. These were indeed Delia Karran's children. Any doubt she may have harbored was cast aside.

"No... I can't." Arriana turned to walk away, a wistful smile crossing her lips. She motioned for them to follow her as she headed up the fireball-tunnel.

## ***

Cord pulled the charging conduit loose from the shuttle, small drops of refined Terillium fell from the hose, creating miniature explosions in the dirt. He placed the nozzle-end back in the rack and strolled up the ramp into the ship.

His bandage was determined not to cooperate. He pushed it higher on his forehead and headed to sick-bay.

Keenan lay on the bed closest to the door—he was poking at the dressing on his shoulder, his upper lip curled in disgust. "When do I get this thing off me?"

"Hopefully soon," Cord said, "we're here to retrieve our medic. This Captain Callus impresses me—more than I anticipated."

"What do you mean?" Keenan asked.

"I mean, he has a tactical mind," Cord pushed the bandage higher on his forehead.

"He's smart, but I think you got him beat," Keenan said.

Cord pulled the bandage off. He examined the wound in the mirror. "It's not about raw intelligence Keenan, I've told you before. It's about the ability to blend intelligence with instinct, tempered with common-sense. Very few people have that gift: they'll have one or the other, but rarely both. Our Captain seems to be one of the oddities, the Sergeant, as well, although I think he leans more toward instinct. I would hate to be on his bad side..."

"So, we're gonna keep following them?" Keenan asked.

Cord nodded. "Yes. I'm curious to see where this story goes..."

"What about your father? What will he say? We didn't know we were coming to Haylon. He warned us not to operate on Haylon, Cord..."

"Let's hope he doesn't find out. If he does, I'll deal with it."

Keenan rolled his eyes and laughed. "Well, what a relief. I feel much better now."

" _Guardian shuttle Vengeance, Guardian shuttle Vengeance, this is Haylon Station, please respond..."_

Cord pushed the glowing red button on the wall plate by the door. "This is Vengeance, go ahead, Haylon..."

" _Satellite reconnaissance images show a small group of Outlanders attempting some infiltration in the mountains, approximately fifteen miles north of your location."_

"And what exactly do you expect us to do about it?" Cord asked.

The comm was silent for several moments. "Is this Captain Callus? Please identify yourself."

"Negative, Haylon. That information is need-to-know, and you don't. I am currently in command of this ship, and Captain Callus is close by. What do you want us to do? Let's get to the point, please..."

" _Yours is the only military craft within a thousand miles. It shouldn't take you longer than a few minutes to get there. Proceed to these coordinates and assess the situation. Acknowledge orders Vengeance..."_

"Acknowledged, I'll pass it on to the Captain. If he has any questions, I'm sure he'll let you know..."

## ***

Arriana stood before a grey granite wall—the side of a mountain. There were no breaks, no passages. The peak rose above, at least two-thousand feet.

Dalo circled her, watching her, examining her eyes; they were unfocused. A low hum came from the back of her throat. He glanced at Alisha. "How long is this supposed to take?"

"Are you really so impatient?" she asked.

"You're not anxious to see our mother?" Dalo asked.

"I'm not convinced our mother is behind this mountain, Dalo."

"Why not?"

"Because it seems too easy, and I've never known things to be easy..." she said.

"You've had a hard life, Alisha," he took her hand, "I wish I could have spared you some of the pain."

"Oh? Which pain do you mean? The pain of never knowing who I was? The pain of being abandoned to live a life without my real family? The pain of discovering my power with no one to guide me in its use? There are so many pains, Dalo." She buried her face in her hands and turned away.

"I don't want to minimize your suffering," he said, "but I have a list of those too: those dissatisfactions. But I found out only days ago, my entire history—the family I thought was mine, all of it, was a lie. I understand what you went through your entire life, how you felt growing up. I'm experiencing the same thing, condensed."

Alisha wrapped her arms around Dalo and pulled him close. He stroked her hair with his hand, unsure of what to say.

She pushed away from him, rubbing her eyes and face. "Ok... I'm ok, let's go."

He turned toward the mountain. "Well, we're still waiting for Arriana to finish her spell."

Now it was Alisha's turn to circle the Sorceress. She studied her from all sides, watched her lips murmuring the spell, which would take them through the mountain. The beads of sweat on Arriana's temples and brow showed the effort she was expending. Alisha noticed a hint of pain in her eyes.

"This shouldn't be so difficult," Alisha said.

"What do you mean?" Dalo asked.

"It's stone; it's like any other substance. You know what I mean, they all feel the same."

"Mmm, ok, but it's several miles of solid granite."

"How's that different from several miles of water?" She raised her eyebrows.

"I'm not sure what you mean," he said.

"Do you think stone is harder than water?" she asked.

"Of course, it is."

Alisha shook her head. "No! It's only your impression of the substance, based on your knowledge of the definition of hard."

"Ok, what's your point?" he asked.

"I'm trying to tell you; everything is fluid."

"Fluid?" Dalo's forehead wrinkled with confusion.

"Maybe mutable is a better word, but you get the same effect." She grabbed his hand and pulled him in front of Arriana; they turned to face the older woman together.

"I'm going to use your magic." Alisha squeezed his hand. "This will be excruciating, so tell me now if you don't trust me."

"Do what you need to." He smiled.

Alisha placed two fingers on Arriana's forehead and muttered something Dalo couldn't make out—the older woman's eyelids fluttered and closed; Alisha caught her as she fell, laying her gently upon the ground.

"You've got to teach me that one..." Dalo knelt next to her. "Will she be alright?"

"Use the catalyst 'Somnolia' as you imagine them fast asleep. Placing your fingers on the forehead is the trigger for your will to release—it's instantaneous—they'll sleep for about ten minutes and wake completely refreshed, with no memory of what happened. She'll be fine."

"Got it."

"Before I do this, I need to know something, so I don't hurt you," Alisha said.

"Like what?"

"How do you use magic?" she asked.

"I don't understand what you mean."

Alisha thought about how best to describe it. Dalo had never been formally trained in magic, she could tell, but his powers were significant, from what she'd seen.

"There are two ways Adepts channel Orphic energy: some, like Arriana, require a talisman to focus their thoughts—it provides a point of concentration for them. I have one, but I've never needed it. I know you understand what a talisman is because you took Arriana's from her. Do you require a separate focus, or does the image of what you want simply form in your mind?"

"Yes! Exactly!" he said. "I picture what I want to happen, and then it feels like I'm pushing my thought to do what it should—it's effortless, if not always accurate..."

"Excellent, you are an Innate. Now I know I can cast this spell without harming you. Arriana and I could never do this together; she's an External—it would rip her mind apart. This is the reason you were able to subdue her so quickly on Cirrus: innate magic is several times faster than external." Alisha stroked Arriana's hair as she said it. "Remember this, for the future—the two types cannot perform shared magic—it works differently. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I do." Dalo watched her as she turned to face the mountain. "How does this affect what you're going to do? Is there anything I need to focus on?"

"No, just focus your will on me."

"That's it?" he asked.

"No, you should probably get down on your knees," Alisha said.

"On my knees?" He grinned at her, thinking she was joking.

Her eyes changed his mind. "It will hurt less when you fall..."
Chapter Seven

Kavan sat on the large altar stone in the center of his courtyard. He'd instructed the Heralds to block his followers for the day. He was expecting company. He wasn't sure who, but he felt them coming—a cold wind pushing danger down the collar of his robe. He shivered, despite the temperature.

The day was beautiful, the mountain air crisp. The animals and birds were abundant—they gathered around him like children awaiting their father's love. Kavan had an affinity with nature—he loved the growing things. In the beginning, he'd craved power, like the others, but over time, his needs became more mundane. Kavan wanted contentment and solitude. He was successful until now.

Zaril will never allow me peace...

He shouldn't have sent the data-capsule to Mordus. Mordus disrupted her life, not him... Mordus was the one who attempted to exterminate her family.

"Kavan..." The voice came from behind—it was cold, tendrils of ice hanging from the syllables.

"Don't you mean, Lord Kavan?" he asked.

"I might if you scared me."

"Ahh...Karal." Kavan eased the dagger from his waistband, securing it along the inside of his wrist, the tip toward his elbow, he stood and spun to face him. "What do you want? What have I not given Zaril that requires you to come collect?"

"Just information." The fire in Karal's eyes blazed, his pupils turning a bright yellow for a moment, then subsiding to their original dim glow.

Kavan circled the altar stone, moving toward Karal—he felt the cold steel against the inside of his wrist, the point pricking his inner forearm. "Your kind are powerful, Karal, but I think I can kill you."

Karal's mouth transformed into a smirk, and he raised one eyebrow. "Are you certain?" He reached for the back of his neck and withdrew the daggers he kept concealed there; he brought them forth with a flourish and spin, the razor edges glinting in the midday sun. "I've learned many things from Zaril; he's an astute teacher."

"And what are you giving him in return," Kavan asked, "your soul?"

"My service, for now." Karal spun both blades, so the tips pointed down. The yellow fire returned to his eyes. "Now, you will tell me what I want to know. You can't beat me with magic, and you stand no chance against me in a fight, and you know it. Your desire to get closer with that dagger has placed you in a precarious position."

Kavan stopped, realizing his mistake.

"Fine, what do you want to know?" He flicked his wrist. The dagger spun end-over-end, sinking point-first in the dirt between them with a solid thud. The red jewel on the pommel refracted the sunlight, casting a kaleidoscopic band upon the ground.

Karal tilted his head to admire it. "The disturbance on Minos where Faran's adept died—does he lie about it?

"I've no idea what he told you, so how can I answer?" Kavan asked.

"He claimed his adepts were monitoring normal spaceport traffic—is it true?" Karal asked.

"I doubt it. Faran is a spymaster, his entire race is paranoid, and they trust no one. If he had people there—if they started the fight, I guarantee there was a purpose behind it—what it may be, I can't contemplate."

"Do you think he might try to overthrow Zaril?" Karal asked.

"I don't believe he's that ambitious," Kavan said, "but if he suggested I might know what happened, I assure you it was a ruse to take suspicion from him."

Karal returned his daggers to their sheaths and sat on the edge of the altar stone—he motioned for Kavan to join him. "You know I don't hate you, Kavan, I have no reason. I've always liked you."

"You have a fine way of showing it."

"I came to you first; you refused me..." Karal smiled. "You hurt my feelings."

"Because your reason was selfish and against my nature." Kavan shook his head.

"I see that now. You have a peaceful spirit; the others are different. Zaril, he has no heart."

"Yet, you serve him..."

"I serve no man or god," Karal said. "You forget, I know who all of you are. I was there in the beginning when you came to Erador. This planet didn't even have a name back then; the humans named it. Erador—I think I like it. It rolls off the tongue, don't you agree?"

"Yes, I like it, and I care for these people," Kavan said. "I don't want them hurt; they're innocent."

Karal studied his face; he squeezed Kavan's left shoulder. "You're the only one I respect Kavan, your motives have always been pure, even when mine were not. I wish you'd said yes all those years ago when I asked you to tutor me."

Karal pulled the small figurine from his pocket and placed it in Kavan's hand. "This is what Zaril thinks of you—it's designed to entrap your soul and turn you into his slave. I'm sure you recognize the magic."

Kavan ran his hand over the idol. "Why are you telling me this? Why not use it?"

"Because I'm done with Zaril. I can learn nothing more from him. What I need is a new teacher, someone more... balanced..." Karal smiled. "Someone who's not a God and knows it. Those three have become victims of their own lies—they believe their own story. You're different. You're humble."

"And do you still mean to overthrow your brother?" Kavan asked.

"Yes, it's always been my goal. He's as bad as Zaril but less refined." Karal said.

"Then, I still can't help you." Kavan shook his head.

"I think you may change your mind when I tell you what's about to happen..."

## ***

Dark gray clouds obscured the sun, tempering the light falling upon the funeral procession—the somber tones of their dress more subdued by the gloom. A light mist fell, further dampening their spirits. The Jos Hollow cemetery sat upon a wide mesa overlooking the city. The river of people flowing up the winding single-lane road from town painted the white cobblestone street a motley blend of darker colors: blacks and grays—the occasional brown: the colors of mourning.

Eustas Callus raised his saber, pointing the tip at the sky—the twenty soldiers to his left did the same. Six men passed, carrying one. The casket proceeded in front of the line, swords dropping in honor behind it as they progressed toward the stone vault.

The pallbearers slid the casket into the hole and stepped away. Four Tribal guards placed the stone cover over the opening, sealing his friend away for eternity. Eustas' eyes burned—he turned to walk away but felt a soft hand on his shoulder.

"Eustas, I know you must be in pain right now..."

He turned to face her. "Merdith, I'm sorry for your loss..."

"And I, yours." Merdith Reiner threw her arms around him, pulling him close. "The two of you have always been so close—you grew up together."

Eustas choked down a lump of guilt. He tried to change the subject.

"How are you? Are you ok?" He saw the web of red veins against the white of her eyes.

"I'll survive," she said, "but I miss him so much. The last time I saw him, we argued over something trivial. I wish I could take it back."

"The last time I saw him was in the park." The holovid played in his memory.

"The park?" Merdith looked confused. "He never went to the park; he hated it, wouldn't even meet there for business."

"What do you mean?" Eustas asked.

"I mean he couldn't stand it, swore never to go there. Jos liked peace and solitude, and he always felt there were too many people in the park. He liked the mountains to be alone, like the two of you used to." A tear ran down her cheek; he wiped it away with one finger. A sinking feeling hit Eustas in the chest—like a hammer. He had to know. "Merdith, I need to show you something."

He led her away from the throng surrounding the funeral to a quiet spot among the graves. Finding a flat headstone, he reached into his pocket and removed the holo-projector and set it down.

"I want you to tell me if what you see is Jos." He punched the button; the images appeared; she watched it play out.

"What is this?" Merdith's face grew hard, she stared at him, demanding an answer.

"I thought it was evidence of your husband being a traitor. We all did..."

Merdith staggered back several paces. She sat down next to a tree and covered her face with her hands, understanding washing over her. "Are you telling me you killed my husband because you thought he'd betrayed you?"

"Are you denying it was him?" Eustas asked, pointing at the projector.

"Yes! I deny it was him! That's not Jos." She wiped the tears from her eyes, anger replacing the anguish.

"How can you be sure?" Eustas felt terrible pushing her. He suddenly recalled Jos' hesitation when he saw the holo-vid—like he was protecting someone.

"Because it's my son, Coralas. He's wearing the robe I gave him for his birthday—it has a distinctive silver thread around the hood. They resemble each other, Eustas: they're father and son!"

Merdith rose from her seat by the tree, smoothing the pleats of her robe. She took a long breath and exhaled, gathering her composure. She stared at Eustas—death and pain obvious in the gaze—and drew a dagger from her belt. Eustas closed the distance between them in two steps. His arm circled her waist, pulling her close, the point of his blade piercing the soft flesh of her neck, just short of puncturing the artery. She let out a startled gasp; her dagger fell to the dirt.

"It's not that easy, Merdith; there are things you don't know. He was protecting his son, and I should've seen. I wish he'd explained. I'll take this regret to my grave, along with the many mistakes I've made in my life—but I will not sacrifice our world to save a spoiled child. Call him over here now!"

"What do you want from him?" she asked.

"I need answers."

"And you won't kill him? Promise me!"

"His father has already paid for his sins—quite the opposite of how it should be. I won't double the burden. You have my word, but know this: if you alert your guards, I will kill every one of them, preceded by you, and your son will meet me anyway. He won't get an ounce of forgiveness from me if it comes to that."

She smiled, looking around at her men. "All of them? There must be twenty here."

"Twenty-two—and I know where they're all standing right now. Are you in a gambling mood?" Eustas never blinked. "If you make me do this, all these lives are on your head—and you and your son will still be dead—after I get my information."

"Coralas!" Merdith shouted, trying to get the young man's attention.

Eustas watched as Coralas broke away from the group he was chatting with and headed toward them. He saw the resemblance to Jos now; it was uncanny. From the distance the holovid was recorded at, he could understand how five Vir' Con elders could mistake him for his father. He was confident, Eustas could see it in his demeanor—possibly approaching arrogance. He hadn't seen him since he was a child, so he reserved judgment.

Coralas met them with a smile; his arms held wide. "Mother! General Callus..." He stepped toward Eustas, offering his hand.

Eustas took the hand and bent it backward at the wrist, his left palm pushing the younger man's elbow forward. Coralas dropped to his knees. The muscles and tendons in his shoulder, arm, and wrist, flooded his body with pain. Eustace twisted the wrist clockwise; Coralas howled in pain and stopped himself from pitching forward with his left hand.

"Eustas!" Merdith grabbed his shoulder.

He shook her off. "I promised you I wouldn't kill him. I never said he would be pain-free."

"But I thought you didn't want the attention of the guards?" she asked.

"I'm not concerned with your guards; I needed you to get me closer to your son."

"You're a bastard..." Hate poured from her eyes.

"I've been called worse," he said.

Eustas heard them coming before he saw them. He counted four sets of footfalls, getting louder, moving toward them—he calculated the directions by the sound. Two came from behind; they would arrive first. He heard one of them stop—then the sound of a plasma pistol clearing its holster; the distinctive hum of a capacitor charging—three more followed. Eustas' head swiveled left, then right, his eyes finding what he wanted: the leader.

"Stop what you're doing, General." The tone of command in his voice told Eustas he was right; the double piping of his uniform jacket and the silver bar on his left shoulder marked him an officer. "Release the Mayor's son, or we will fire on you!"

"You'll do no such thing. Holster your weapons, all of you, now!" Eustas saw the confusion in the Lieutenant's eyes over the sights of the pistol—they bounced back and forth between him and the two Reiners, unsure of what to do.

"We must protect the Jos Hollow Mayor and her family," the lieutenant said, "you're breaking one of my charge's arms."

Four more Tribal guards arrived in response to the alarm. Eustas and the Reiners were now ringed by eight drawn weapons. Eustas scanned their eyes. He twisted the wrist another three degrees clockwise; Coralas moaned. All eight pistols wavered in the air, the younger guards glancing nervously at the Lieutenant, awaiting orders.

"Your duty is to the Tribe—to the Governor—or have you forgotten where your authority comes from?" Eustas stood straighter and released Coralas' arm; the younger man fell to the ground grasping his right shoulder. "You may not be Guardian Forces under my direct command, but you answer to the same man I have breakfast with every morning. Think about that before you decide to shoot me."

Eustas watched a single bead of sweat form at the Lieutenant's hairline; it ran down his forehead, across the bridge of his nose, and into the corner of his left eye.

He blinked away the sting as he lowered his pistol, motioning with his free hand for the others to follow. The look he gave Eustas was cautious. "I can't have any bodies here, General. Your word, please?"

"You have it," Eustas said. "I need a witness to this confession. Have your men hold the onlookers back and join me here. You can holster your weapon."

"I would prefer to remain armed, sir." He nodded several times at pairs of men who seemed to understand—they turned around and began to shoo the spectators away.

"Suit yourself." Eustas shrugged and turned to face the lieutenant. "Do you have a command recorder?"

"Yes, sir." He slid his left sleeve back, revealing the wrist-mounted unit.

Eustas turned back to Coralas. "Start it now..."

## ***

Dalo's skin was on fire. He felt the pull of the magic Alisha was drawing from him. It felt like a rope wound around his chest, radiating up his arm (up, because he had fallen to his knees) and through his hand into hers. Her grip was like iron and cold as ice. There was pain, but he couldn't decide where it hurt: it was more a wave of anguish washing over him. He'd never felt so helpless in his life.

He looked up at his sister. Alisha's eyes burned a bright silver. Brilliant flames ran the length of her robes, extending down her left arm, where they fused into a solid silver ball of light. Dalo watched as the ball enlarged to encompass all three of them. He felt motion dragging them toward the rocky face, and then into the mountain. The granite liquified around the silver ball: it dissolved before them and returned to a solid state behind. He didn't know how fast they were moving, it seemed to take hours, but the pain-wave probably warped his perception of time: it hurt so bad...

Dalo felt Alisha's grip on his soul lessen as the sunlight reappeared around them. The silver orb shimmered and winked out. The cool breeze on his face flushed the remaining heat from his skin and brought him back to his mind. He couldn't quite say he'd been away—out of his body—but the sensation of returning sounded right. Everything was still sort of jumbled.

"Are you alright?" Alisha held his face in her hands.

He had a moment of trouble focusing on her.

Arriana woke up and asked, "what did you do to me?"

Arriana's question saved Dalo from having to lie to Alisha: he was not alright.

"You'll be fine, Arriana." Alisha held her hand out and helped the Sorceress stand.

"No, I mean, I feel like I slept for a week. I feel amazing!" Arriana held her arms out, stretching.

"I put you into a magical coma," Alisha said. "Your feeling of sleeping for a week may not be wrong, relatively speaking."

"You've got to teach me that," Arriana said.

Alisha grinned at Dalo, picking him up by the arm. "Maybe later. Let's go; we need to keep moving."

## ***

"The only contacts I've got are these three to the east," Zevo said.

Sammi leaned over Zevo's shoulder in the co-pilot's chair, watching the scopes. "Yeah, he's right."

Zevo glanced sideways at her. She grinned and punched him on the left shoulder.

"Stick to your green magic, witch." He scowled, mostly for show.

"Can you two knock it off, please?" Garrian glanced at them.

"You got it, Captain," Sammi said. She tousled Zevo's hair and sat at the Nav station. She felt the tension. Healers were trained to be empathetic and then trained to diffuse the issue. Zevo almost smiled at her as she sat down; she'd take almost until something stronger came along.

Cord and Keenan sat at the back of the cockpit on the jump-seats. Sammi healed their injuries on the flight there.

"Can we get a destination update?" Cord asked. "Any idea where we're going?"

Garrian swiveled the pilot's chair to face everyone. "We have to meet my father in three days on Erador. After we figure out what Haylon Command saw with these supposed infiltrators, we'll take a day off in Erador prime to gather supplies, before we go on to meet him."

"Like I was saying..." Zevo rolled his eyes at Sammi, "these three contacts to the east are all I see."

"Let's go check those out," Garrian turned back to the console, "then we can get out of here."

## ***

"Do you hear something?" Alisha stood still, listening. It could've been the wind. She waved her hand at them and put one finger against her lips, head cocked to the left, trying to recapture the sound.

Dalo grabbed her wrist and pulled her toward him, his other hand pushing Arianna toward a huge tree.

"Watch it now..." Arriana's lip curled. "We're on good terms, but that could change..."

"She's right." Dalo held one finger against his lips. "There's a ship coming—and we should probably determine who it is before they see us."

They huddled against the trunk. The sound of the ship's engines grew louder as it closed the distance. Dalo eased his plasma pistol from its holster. He touched the charge button with his thumb—the capacitor at the end of the barrel glowed a hot blueish-white. "If it's not a military ship, they won't be able to see us hiding behind this tree."

## ***

"Yeah, they're hiding behind that tree." Zevo turned to Garrian. "Get on the external comm, and tell them to come out, or I can remove their hiding place." He flicked a red switch, activating the forward plasma cannon.

"Woah!" Garrian reached across the panel and shut it off. "Let's not kill them yet."

Zevo smiled and shrugged.

Garrian pressed the external comm button. The loudspeakers mounted into the ship's hull crackled to life. "This is Captain Callus of the Guardian Forces; our scopes show you behind the tree. Please come out before my co-pilot loses his mind and kills you all."

Several tense moments passed, the ship hovering over the small clearing, nose toward the huge tree. Three figures stepped out and made their way into the clearing.

Garrian and Zevo's mouths fell open.

Zevo grinned. He took the controls from Garrian and landed the ship on the soft grass. Jumping from his seat, he headed for the loading ramp, slapping the control pad as he passed it. He turned his head, looking over his shoulder at Garrian. "Now, we'll see how she feels about it..." His grin faded.

## ***

"This is day ninety-three of the year twelve-twenty-nine, cycle two. I am General Eustas Callus and Lieutenant..." He glanced at the Tribal Guard Officer, raising his eyebrows.

"Hilliard," the lieutenant gave his name and moved to stand next to Eustas.

"...Lieutenant Hilliard, of the Tribal Guard, is my second. Having one flag officer and at least one subordinate, as required by law, I hereby commence this summary tribunal against Coralas Reiner, for the crime of treason against the tribe."

"Treason?" Merdith looked anxious; her hands began to tremble. "You promised me!"

Eustas' face was hard, his voice stern. "I promised you I wouldn't kill your son. I can't speak for the Governor, but I will do everything I can, should we determine his guilt, to ensure he's sent to prison and not executed. That's the best I can do."

Coralas sat upon the ground, massaging his injured shoulder. Eustas grabbed him by the good arm and hoisted him up, depositing him on a stone mourning-bench nearby. He sat next to him, pulling his pipe and pouch from an inside pocket, along with the Holo-projector. He placed it on the bench between them and activated it while he filled the pipe.

The scene played. Eustas watched the lieutenant's eyes alternate between the holo-vid and Coralas, with an occasional glance at Merdith.

"So, what are we looking at, sir?" Lieutenant Hilliard asked.

"This," Eustas hooked a thumb at the holo-vid, "is Coralas Reiner, by his mother's admission, passing classified information to an agent of Faran."

"What kind of information?" the lieutenant asked.

"An excellent question." Eustas turned to Coralas. "What did you give them?"

"It was a list of things from the buried ship." Coralas was starting to sweat. "I didn't think it was important: it was ten years ago, after all."

"And where did you get it?" Eustas asked.

"From my father's computer." Coralas stared at the ground, refusing to look up.

"So, you accessed the Mayor of Jos Hollow's computer, removed information you had no right to, and gave that information to one of Faran's Heralds. Is what I said accurate?" Eustas asked.

Coralas hung his head, understanding the dilemma he was in.

"I'm going to need an answer, for the record." Lieutenant Hilliard said.

"Yes, it's accurate." Coralas' hands covered his face, trying to hide from the truth.

"Did they ask about anything specific?" Eustas grabbed the Holo-projector and shoved it back into his pocket. He already knew the answer.

"They were curious about a small sphere," Coralas said, "it would've been in a case. I couldn't find any mention of it, so I gave them the whole list."

"And what did you get in return for this?" Lieutenant Hilliard asked, contempt obvious.

"Forty bars of silver..." Tears flowed down his cheeks, and he wiped them away with his palms.

Eustas shook his head and spat on the ground. "Coralas, you're already a member of one of the five wealthiest houses on Erador. How much is enough?"

Coralas was silent, his tear-stained hands in his lap, head down, resigned to his fate.

Lieutenant Hilliard holstered his weapon and tapped the device on his wrist, pausing the recording. He moved several yards away and motioned for Eustas to follow. "I concur, General, he's guilty of treason. Forgive me for being bold, but I sense something deeper going on here. Care to elaborate?"

Eustas studied his face. The lieutenant seemed solid and perceptive. He offered his right hand to the man, his first two fingers extending along his wrist in a modified handshake. Hilliard returned the grip without pause.

"This is not a Vir' Con matter, Lieutenant," Eustas said.

"Are you sure, sir?" Hilliard withdrew his hand. "I can assist you if necessary, it would be my pleasure."

Eustas pondered how best to use the Lieutenant's position. He was involved now, like it or not: this could realign the Oracle's patterns. Maybe this decision would be the key to make his plans come about. At the very least, Hilliard was Vir' Con and could be trusted.

"How close are you to Major Talek?" Eustas asked.

"He controls the Tribal Guard and the city-defense shields. I see him every morning. I would say we are friendly. Our wives are much closer."

"So, if you asked him to do something which made no sense, would he dismiss you, or give it consideration?" Eustas asked.

"I honestly can't say." The lieutenant's forehead wrinkled. "I guess it would depend on how crazy it sounded."

"Do you think you could foster a closer relationship in the next week, where he would be more likely to heed your suggestions?" Eustas asked.

"Sure, I could do that. What's going on, General?"

"There's a conflict coming, and I can't say more, right now. If you can position yourself at Talek's shoulder, it could mean many lives saved."

"You can count on me."

"What is your first name?"

"Rance."

"Let's finish this, Rance." Eustas pointed at Coralas. "I want this man locked up, tight. Well, I want him dead, but I made a promise."

Rance touched the command recorder. "My name is Lieutenant Rance Hilliard. I concur with General Callus. Coralas Reiner is guilty of treason, based on the evidence I've heard." He touched a second button on the device; it spit out a capsule-shaped object about one inch long. Rance handed it to Eustas. "Here's your proof."

Eustas pocketed the capsule and turned to walk away. "Find the darkest, coldest cell you have, and toss him in there."

"With pleasure..."

## ***

Forty-one years ago...

The Na'Geena had indeed enjoyed the story. To Eustas' surprise, they'd accepted him instantly. They hadn't attempted to kill or maim him in any way; instead, they'd fed him and welcomed him into their village, like a brother coming home from a distant land. Of course, they poked fun at him for the scene in the woods—but every quip was delivered with a smile and a pat on the back.

Harrod was a fine host.

Eustas met his brother, Jakob, his sister, Delia, and his uncle, Darryl. Eustas' fear melted incrementally until what remained were deep-seated twinges of distrust, born of false beliefs.

They'd finished dinner and were walking away from the bonfire when Harrod turned to him and held his hand out, palm up. "Let me see your hand."

Without thinking, Eustas gave him his hand.

Harrod slipped the knife from his waist. In one smooth motion, he cut both of their palms and held Eustas' hand in a vise-like grip. Eustas winced in pain at first, but the pressure made it go away. He felt the warmth spreading as their blood mixed within the handshake and trickled between their fingers, falling to the ground between them.

Harrod slid the knife back into the sheath and looked at him. "By the strength of my heart, and through the blood of my ancestors, I make you my brother..." His face was solemn, watching Eustas. "Do you accept this honor?"

Eustas was stunned. It happened so fast; he couldn't react. But it felt right for some reason he couldn't define: almost like they'd done this before.

"Yes! Of course, I do!" He wiped the blood on his pants. The pain came back with the pressure gone.

"I have to show you something." Harrod winked at him. "I think you'll like it."

Eustas followed him. They left the village, heading deeper into the woods. They hadn't gone far when they came across a corral made of logs. Eustas froze when he saw what was inside.

"Come on; they won't hurt you." Harrod stopped at the fence and placed his fingers in his mouth, making a shrill whistle. One of the larger ones turned his head and came toward them: a huge beast, with the body of a lion, and the head and wings of an eagle. Its front legs were eagle talons, claws digging into the dirt as it moved.

"Are you kidding me?" Eustas eyes were wide, and his mouth hung open.

"What do you mean?" Harrod asked, confused.

"I just found out the Na'Geena are real, and now you're showing me Griffins! Am I dreaming?"

"No, you're wide awake!" Harrod slapped him. "Did that hurt?"

Eustas staggered back. "Yes, it hurt! Why did you slap me?"

"You seemed to need proof." Harrod shrugged. "So tell me, are you awake or dreaming?"

"Ok, I get it." Eustas rubbed his left cheek.

"Come here, talk to him, his name is Carion, he's my uncle's mount. He'll be mine someday."

Eustas approached the railing. The Griffin eyed him curiously, its head twisting like a typical bird. The razor beak reached out toward him, a gentle trill coming from its throat, like a cattus' purr mixed with bird-song. The lion paws scratched the ground behind him, raising puffs of dirt and sand.

Eustas raised his hand, and the Griffin nuzzled his palm with the smooth rounded portion of his beak. The trill grew louder. Carion's eyes thinned to slits as Eustas rubbed the space between them, his wings extended, trembling with delight.

"See? I told you he would like you!" Harrod grinned.

"Hi, Carion!" Eustas finally managed. "You're quite large, aren't you?"

"You want to ride him?"

"You ride them?" Eustas eyes grew wider.

"Yeah, it's a part of how we kill Draggons," Harrod explained. "Griffins and Draggons are mortal enemies."

"A part?" Eustas asked.

"Can't give away all the secrets on the first day, can I?" Harrod raised one eyebrow.

"I guess not."

Harrod patted Carion on the head and motioned for Eustas to follow. "I have one more thing to show you."

Eustas waved goodbye to Carion as he followed Harrod. The Griffin let out a shrill cry and bounded away. Harrod led them away from the corral, down a long path to the base of a waterfall. It was a pristine setting, almost dreamlike. They stopped on a large smooth stone next to the pool. Harrod appeared to be waiting for something.

"So, what's going on?" Eustas asked.

Harrod smiled but was silent, sitting down on the stone, cross-legged.

"What are we doing here?" Eustas rephrased the question.

"Waiting..."

"For what?" he asked, taking a seat beside Harrod.

"Maybe nothing, we'll see, I feel good about it, though. You show the signs we've been waiting for," Harrod said.

"Signs?"

Harrod sighed. "You do ask a lot of questions. Shut up for a while and listen, Eustas. Calm your mind."

They waited for a long while, but nothing happened. Eustas had almost decided it was fruitless when he heard a soft shuffling sound behind them. He stood and spun around. A young girl, maybe thirteen or fourteen years old, stood there watching him; he hadn't heard her approach. She wore a pure white robe. Dark blond, shoulder-length hair framed her face—golden ribbon was laced through it in an intricate pattern. Piercing green eyes captured him; a soft smile rested on her lips. He couldn't swear to it, but he thought she glowed. He felt as if he knew her somehow.

"Hi!" Eustas jumped to his feet. "Where did you come from?"

She smiled. "The better question is, why do you feel like you know me?" She walked to the edge of the pool and stopped, watching her reflection ride the shallow waves from the waterfall.

Harrod stood and faced them. He smiled at Eustas and walked away in the direction they'd come from, saying nothing.

"Harrod! Wait!" Eustas yelled after him.

"You can return to him after we are finished, Eustas. Follow me." She walked along the edge of the pool until she came to the cliff face adjacent to the waterfall. From this angle, Eustas could see the waterfall didn't flow down the rock face, it cascaded outward in a sheet from above, blocking the view of a dark cave opening behind it. He followed the girl inside.

As the light diminished, she held her hand out. A shining white orb appeared, floating in the air at her fingertips. She led him inside the cave forty or fifty yards. The tunnel made a final sharp left and opened into a large cavern. She held the light-orb up and blew on it softly—it rose into the air and hung suspended. The cave was empty, except for a three-foot round mirror in the center of the floor; she sat down beside it and pointed at a spot across from her. "Sit down," she said.

"You live here?" he asked.

"Not exactly..." Her eyes never left his face. There was an awkward silence. "Ok, please sit down..."

"Oh, I'm sorry..." Eustas apologized and sat cross-legged, watching the girl. "How do you know my name?"

"I know many things; that's why Harrod brought you to me. He holds you in the highest regard; otherwise, you wouldn't be here. The Na'Geena have a prophecy—well, they have many—but this one I gave them."

"I don't understand," he said. "What's the prophecy?"

"An outsider will provide the next chieftain following Harrod, who will be injured in a battle and become unable to father a child."

"Does he know this?" Eustas was horrified.

"He does," she nodded. "Apparently, he believes you are this outsider."

"Am I?"

"Yes, you are."

"So who are you, what do I call you?" he asked.

"The Na'Geena call me The Oracle; let's stick with that. I've been here on this planet for eons in your time, although time passes quite differently for me—creation was a mere moment ago in my memory. I'm part of a race called the K'Pa. We try not to interfere with events in the physical realm—we learned that lesson long ago. Occasionally, we offer guidance, but you are a special case; we needed to meet."

"You can see the future?" he asked.

"We exist outside of time and space as you know it, so in a sense, I can see your future—because I can see all the possible variations—but I can't tell you which variation you might choose. The future is mutable; it's not set—unlike the past. Do this instead of that, and everything changes—all the possible outcomes shift and realign. The most I can do is guide you toward the conclusion you want. Any changes are your responsibility."

"Ok, I get it, I think..." he scratched his head, absorbing it all, "why is it important you and I meet?"

"There is someone upon this planet capable of disturbing the multiverse to a catastrophic degree. It will not be for many of your years to come," she said.

"Catastrophic?" Eustas' brow furrowed. "... doesn't sound good."

"It's not a very nice word, I'll admit, but it is appropriate."

"And there's something I can do to prevent this?" he asked.

"Yes, you can." She smiled and nodded.

"What do I need to do?"

"Your instincts will lead you. Return to me here, once a year, at least, to ensure nothing has changed. If I sense a variance, you can take measures to correct it. Don't concern yourself with it too soon—we have plenty of time."

"Why me?" he asked.

"Because you're the most capable, for now."

"For now?"

"You do ask a lot of questions..."
Chapter Eight

Zevo met Alisha halfway down the ramp.

"Lisha!" He picked her up, spinning her around.

"I might've guessed Garrian would end up with a scoundrel like you!" She laughed.

The spin ended with a warm embrace. They hadn't seen each other in four years.

"Scoundrel, I kinda like that..." He grinned, setting her back on her feet.

"You would." She pushed him away, feigning disgust. "What are you doing on Haylon?"

Zevo rolled his eyes. The question was inevitable. He had no good answer: none she would like, anyway. He turned back toward the ship, looking for backup, or a place to hide. Garrian strolled past him and grabbed Alisha, mimicking the greeting they'd shared moments before, enhanced with a kiss.

"Before you find out on your own, Samantha is with us. We needed a medic, and she's the absolute best. Right, Darran?" Garrian glanced at him.

Zevo was peering into the woods to the north. He thought he could make out the outline of a house or cottage through the trees; a faint wisp of smoke above the tree line confirmed it. "There's a building over there, about five hundred yards. And, yes, whatever you said."

"Sammi..." Alisha's eyes narrowed, still locked on Garrian.

"We are past this, right?" Garrian tried to disarm her with a smile. "Please don't make me a liar."

"You know we are." She threw her arms around him, but her eyes locked on Zevo's over Garrian's shoulder. He saw the pain—swallowed hard and looked away, feeling it too. Every time he saw her, she reminded him of the girl he'd grown up with, so many years ago. Memories of their time at the orphanage flooded his mind...

Zevo turned to look at her. There was fear but trust too. The lightning reflected in her eyes: jagged white streaks against an ice-blue background. A sharp crack of thunder split the darkening sky, torrents pouring from the resulting void. He grabbed her hand tighter, pulling her up the hill, the rain pelting them. He wiped his eyes with his free hand, looking for dry ground, trying to find traction in the slick mud. Her grip tightened each time she slipped, using him as a tether, his hand her lifeline. But if he slowed, she drove him onward.

They scrambled their way to the top of the knoll—him pulling her, her pushing him. Upon reaching the summit, they collapsed beside each other on a patch of wet grass, the tension of the climb released in waves of childish laughter.

They lay there for a long time with the rain pouring on their faces; their clothing soaked, the exertion of the climb fading as they regained their breath. He took her hand again and squeezed.

" _I think he's in love with you." The raindrops fell into his mouth as he spoke._

" _Who, Varran?" She chuckled at the thought. "I think he's infatuated; he's only ten years old..."_

" _Well, you're only thirteen. What difference should age make? He's in love with you. I'm sure of it."_

" _You said you thought he was. So which is it, do you think, or are you sure?" She poked him in the ribs with one finger. He acted like it hurt, and she laughed at the pitiful face he made._

Zevo pushed himself from the ground, pulling her up with him. They sat on the edge of a large rock overlooking the orphanage below. They'd named the rock The Throne, and everything they could see from it was their kingdom.

The rain stopped—the storm moving on in search of drier victims—they could see shadows across the windows below, people moving about inside. It would be dinner time soon; they'd have to return, or someone would miss them and come looking. They couldn't risk someone finding their secret spot. Secret spots got placed off-limits.

" _He's kind of strange, though, don't you think?" Zevo asked._

" _Why, because he's in love with me?" She grinned and poked him again._

" _He's just intense, you know?" He squeezed her hand._

" _You mean, how he never smiles, and he's always_ staring at you?" she asked. "No, I hadn't noticed..."

He felt her shiver and put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. He wasn't sure if she was cold, or imagining Varran Razzius staring at her—but he understood either way...

" _Well, you have me. You're my best friend, Lisha."_

" _I'm your_ only friend, Darran."

" _Who needs more?"_

"So, who are your friends?" Garrian gestured toward Arriana and Dalo. They'd fallen behind Alisha in her dash for the ship; now, they ambled up the ramp.

"Oh," Alisha pointed at them, "this is Arriana Brillow, head preceptor for the Cirrian School of Orphic Mysteries, and this is my brother, Dalo."

Garrian and Zevo looked first at each other, then at Alisha. The blank stares on their faces made the two women giggle.

Dalo shrugged and smiled at them.

Zevo was first to recover. "Wait. What?" He stared at Alisha. "You don't have a brother..."

"I guess, I do," she said. "It's a long story..."

Garrian shook his head. "I know this has something to do with my father."

Arriana grinned at him and nodded. She grabbed his right shoulder and shook it. The remaining shock drained from his face. He watched her stroll up the ramp into the ship.

"Most things do!" She turned toward them before disappearing into the shuttle. "This is a good ship, right? We're not going to crash and die?" She didn't wait for an answer; she walked off humming.

"Well, Dalo," Garrian turned, extending his hand, "welcome to the family. I can promise you it will be interesting, at least. You'll both have to fill us in later; we're on a mission we need to wrap up first. Let's get you both aboard. Zevo, the boys and I, will go check out this house."

Alisha grabbed her bag and turned up the ramp, beckoning Dalo to follow. "Aye, Captain, lead the way," she said, "but we're coming with you..."

Dalo grinned at Garrian and made a gesture when she turned away: the motion of cracking an invisible whip in the air.

They both nodded and fell in behind her. Zevo laughed at them and followed.

## ***

Zevo retrieved his swords from the rack, returning them to the scabbards across his back. Alisha and Garrian disappeared into the rear of the ship, leaving the six of them in the cockpit.

"Gear up, lads!" He faced the two mercenaries. "We've got reconnaissance to do," he noticed too late the brothers had anticipated the order—their weapons and gear at the ready.

Arriana gathered her robes around her and drifted toward the Navigation station, taking the seat now abandoned by Sammi, who'd moved to the pilot's chair and was trying to decipher the instrument panels. Arriana sat, preening her garments, smoothing everything to her satisfaction.

Cord started to say something but was interrupted by Garrian, who walked onto the bridge with Alisha.

"After some discussion, it seems we are all headed in the same direction. We may as well go together. Someone has convinced me..." he glanced at Alisha, who smiled at his choice of words, "it would be foolish to suggest otherwise." He reached for his sword, slipping it into the sheath and adjusting the belt holding his plasma pistol. Opening a locker in the wall, he withdrew a plasma rifle and checked the charge indicator; satisfied, he tossed it to Zevo and got one for himself. He turned to Cord and Keenan. "Rifles?"

Cord pulled the knives from his belt sheath, examining their edges. "I think we'll be Ok; the woods are thick here. Should be close combat if we run into anyone."

"Zevo claims it's five-hundred yards," Garrian said. "We should walk and maintain the element of surprise. We don't know what's there, and there's an Outlander patrol around. We haven't seen them—but that doesn't mean they're not real. Let's act like they are until we know otherwise."

"Agreed." Zevo turned toward the ramp, barking orders. "Cord, take point. Keenan, watch our six. I've got right flank, Garrian, left. You four try to stay in the middle and keep your heads down. Dalo, you're in charge of the women: if they get shot, it's on you. Everyone understand?"

Garrian chuckled, watching them nod. "Okay, like Sergeant Zevo laid it out. And one more thing—absolute silence from here on..." He scanned their faces. "Everybody good?"

No one spoke.

Garrian turned after Zevo and headed for the ramp. He motioned for them to follow.

## ***

The cottage sat nestled beneath massive trees, the trunks several yards around. Branches hung low, scraping the wood-shingled roof as they moved with the breeze; the hiss of the wind through the leaves rising and falling, lending a tranquil sound to the scene. An unmistakable aroma of simmering stew floated in the air surrounding the little cottage—it mixed with the smoky wood smell from the fire cooking it, and then it left on the wind, taking the mouth-watering flavor away.

The small clearing behind the house was dirt: the center was hard-packed, turning grassy as it approached the woods. Flowers grew at the periphery of the circle: white and yellow, spattered with blue and red in places. The birds stopped singing—it was strange that she noticed. She raised her sword, the keen edge shimmering, catching the light filtering through the trees.

Delia saw the Draggon's tail from the corner of her eye; it arced around toward her left flank in a slow, lazy way, disguising the power contained in the coming blow. She pushed down on the ball of her right foot, coiling the muscles in her legs. She rolled to her left, and the incoming tail missed her by a foot.

Her momentum carried her through the roll. She regained her feet and turned to face the beast. She spun the blade with a flourish, the point acquiring its Draggon target. A single bead of sweat found its way down her left cheek. The acrobatics had her heart pounding. She took a slow breath; time seemed to contract along with it. Everything in the clearing was in sharp focus.

They circled each other, both looking for an opening to strike. The Draggon feigned a rush toward her but raised its wings instead, beating them rapidly. The force of the wind knocked her off her feet. She fell back, the sword ripped from her hand, clattering across the hard-packed dirt. She lay defenseless on her back, digging her heels into the ground, trying to put distance between them. The Draggon moved in, its claws circling her throat, hot breath washing over her as their faces came together.

The Draggon's yellow eyes burned—twin points of fire penetrating her soul. "You lose, Delia." The voice was more hiss and guttural rumbling than clear speech.

"Draggon!" Dalo stepped into the clearing, Bloodrender in hand. "Face me!"

The others followed, spacing themselves around him. Alisha ignited her power, conjuring a silver ball of fire. The rest aimed at the Draggon's head. They all looked at Garrian, but Dalo was blocking his line of fire.

Garrian made a motion with his left hand, like pushing down on something that wanted to pop back up. Fingers eased up on triggers but remained ready.

The Draggon released its hold on Delia's throat, and she sprang from the ground, turning to face the group. She stood in front of the Draggon, shielding it with her body. A silvery sheen flowed over her, not bright but noticeable. Her hands glowed; they matched her eyes. The Draggon hissed, the yellow light in its pupils intensified.

"Stop!" Delia held both hands toward them.

Dalo approached them, watching the Draggon and Delia. The others followed, albeit more slowly.

"Why do you shield this beast?" He changed the angle of his blade, directing sunlight into the Draggon's eyes; it raised one arm to block it. "Step aside, and let me end this," he said.

Arriana had fallen behind. The hem of her robe kept getting caught in the underbrush, and she was slowing them down. Zevo warned her they would leave her, and she'd told him what to do with his threat. Now she'd caught up, and Delia recognized a friendly face.

"Arriana, who are these people?" Delia asked.

"Everyone, please stop threatening the Draggon!" Arriana stepped between them, raising her arms above her head. "She's your mother's protector!"

There was a moment of tense silence as Arriana's words sank in. Everyone lowered their weapons and their guard—everyone except Dalo.

"Draggons hate humans. You'll have to be more convincing." He took several steps forward, his eyes locked on the yellow pupils, Bloodrender point-up. The Draggon saw the blade.

"Ahhh," the Draggon hissed, "Na'Geena..."

The Draggon shimmered, its form blurring, shrinking, changing. It turned from a twenty-foot scale-covered beast into a tiny woman dressed in black leather. Silver buckles adorned the straps connecting the various pieces. The yellow fire in her eyes remained, framed by short blond hair.

She walked up to Dalo—fearless—poking him in the chest to punctuate her words. "There, is this less threatening? You don't look like a fool, so I assume your answer is no. I heard the word mother." She looked him over. "Who might your mother be?"

Dalo slipped Bloodrender back into its scabbard, glancing at Alisha.

"Our mother is Delia Karran," he turned back to Delia, "I believe that's you..."

Delia crossed the short distance between them. Her hands grasped his face, pulling it down to meet hers. She recognized his father there, in the angle of his jaw, the curve of his lips when he smiled. Looking past him, toward Alisha, she saw herself, much younger. Delia motioned for Alisha to join them and threw her arms around them both. They stood there for some time, silent. No words were necessary.

"Well," Delia pulled away from them, wiping her face on her sleeve, "let's... let's all go inside. I have stew cooking, and it should be ready."

Zevo nodded. "We should set a perimeter. There's still the Outlander patrol we're looking for."

"There's no need." Delia turned, headed for the cottage. "The entire forest is enchanted with alarm spells. No one has ever sneaked up on us yet."

"How was it we walked right up here then?" Garrian asked.

"We knew you were there, dear," Delia beamed a smile at him, "but we didn't consider you a threat."

The Draggon grinned at him and winked, turning to follow Delia.

## ***

Kavan snapped his fingers in the air. The light got brighter, the cavern walls glistening in the artificial glow. He pointed toward the thick oak table, piled high with books—one end of it was clear, flanked by two chairs. Karal chose the left one: the one with its back to the wall.

Kavan poured two goblets of wine. He placed them on the table and took the opposite seat. "So, what is this vile news you bring me?" he asked.

Karal sipped the wine, appreciation crossing his face. He set the glass down and licked his lips, then focused on Kavan's question. "Do you remember when the humans arrived on the ship?"

"You know that I do." Kavan nodded.

"But you weren't there when they opened the portal?" he asked.

"No."

"They had a device they brought with them; did you know?" Karal asked.

Kavan sipped the wine, watching Karal over the rim of his glass. "What kind of device?"

"I never saw it up close," Karal said.

"But, you must have some idea about it, if you're bringing it up now?" Kavan asked.

"It looked like a wand or short staff. It was a shiny metallic object." Karal shrugged. "I do know Darkonus has it."

"And how do you know?" Kavan asked.

"Because he's trying to bargain with Zaril for it," Karal said. "What I don't know is why..."

"I don't understand," Kavan said. "Are you concerned about Zaril's motives, or Darkonus's?"

"I'm concerned about them both Kavan, and you should be too. When's the last time you remember those two agreed on anything? We've both known them for ages. I can't believe either of us would cast a benevolent light on their motives."

Kavan finished his glass. He sensed the truth in Karal's concerns. Zaril and Darkonus had been enemies for as long as he could remember. The two of them cooperating now couldn't be good. And then it hit him. "This device, the staff, it's what they used to open the portal, you're sure?"

"Yeah, pretty sure." Karal nodded. "I never saw them use it, but I did watch them set it up."

"I can only think of one reason Zaril would need access to that portal. He wants something which doesn't exist in this reality, something he can only get from another dimension. What he might need it for, I can only guess." Kavan stood up and walked to the center of the room.

"What is it?" Karal asked.

"A void orb. They only exist in positively-aligned dimensions. We used them to power our ships, but they have other uses..."

"Sounds dangerous..." Karal finished his wine. "I won't even ask you what you're talking about. Never been very scientifiky...if you know what I mean..."

"You've no idea how dangerous this could be... If Darkonus is helping Zaril do what I think, your plan to kill him may have more merit than I first thought." Kavan picked up a bag and began stuffing things into it: clothing, food, a wand. He found a handful of crystalite chunks in a drawer: they made excellent light sources in dark places, no power cells required. He looked around the cave, making sure he hadn't missed anything.

Karal sat watching him. "What are you doing?" His pupils flared bright yellow with interest.

"I need to speak to someone," Kavan said.

"Who?" he asked.

"Come with me, and I'll explain as we go," Kavan said.

"Does this mean you'll tutor me?" Karal's face lit up.

"Let's say I'll consider it." Kavan laughed.

## ***

The raven descended, gliding through the sultry evening air in ever-tightening spirals, aiming at the uppermost branches of an enormous Elm tree. The bird's talons grasped the exposed branch at the top—it swayed with the impact for a moment, balancing itself as it eyed the path down through the tree toward its goal. It bounced from limb to limb, assisted by the occasional flap of wings or twist of its tail, until it landed upon a hardwood railing surrounding the treehouse.

The raven hopped along the rail moving left, watching the windows it passed. Nothing moved inside. The treehouse was large, and the bird circled two-thirds of it before it found its target.

The raven flew across the gap between the railing and the window, its claws sinking into the frame around the glass. The incessant pecking on the window got Faran's attention. He stopped what he was doing, placed the beakers and vials in their holders, and stepped out onto the balcony surrounding his home—the door slammed and startled the raven—it flew back to its perch on the railing, watching him cautiously.

Faran approached the bird. He saw the small round lump attached to its leg. He held his hands open, placating the animal. A soft trill came from his throat, soothing it.

" _Calmera Dae_ ," he whispered. Soft green tendrils formed at his fingertips; they stretched through the air between them, wrapping around the raven. It remained pacified, allowing him to remove the object.

Transfer complete, the raven squawked in irritation at being used and flew off. Faran unwrapped the capsule, turning it over in his hands, his curiosity peaked.

The capsule was one inch long, and half as thick. There was a small rounded metal knob on one end. The button on its face had two words printed on it.

Press Here

Visions of explosions and carnage raced through Faran's mind. He'd been working on his paranoia, so he realized this was probably not something that would kill him. He didn't feel any better about pressing it—but he did it anyway. The portal generator clicked. A dark beam shot forward from the metal knob, forming a swirling vortex suspended over the balcony floor.

"Ahhh, you got my message." Mordus walked through the black-smoke swirl of the portal, pulling his robe tightly around him. He leaned against the railing, watching Faran.

Faran shook his head and lowered himself into a chair. "What do you want, Mordus? And how do you even have a set of working portal generators?" Faran stared at the device in his hand. "The power cells in mine were depleted long ago."

"A stasis spell, I'll teach it to you later." Mordus extracted an identical capsule from his pocket and clicked the button. The portal evaporated. "I just want a few moments of your time, old friend."

"We've never been friends, Mordus."

"And who's fault is that?" Mordus pushed away from the railing and paced the floor. "I've been nothing but kind to you, Faran."

"You remember, several hundred years ago, when you had my Regent assassinated?" Faran examined his fingernails.

"A misunderstanding!" A smile spread across Mordus' face—Faran could tell it was fake.

"Tell me what you want," Faran said. "Stop trying to convince me you have charitable goals. I don't believe you're capable. You would kill me in a moment if you thought you could."

Mordus crossed his arms.

Faran watched him hang his head; the dire look on his face was genuine. He'd never seen him this distraught.

"What is it, Mordus?" Faran was curious now. "What's bothering you?"

Mordus breathed deep through his nose, exhaling hard. He turned to face Faran, looking grim. "Do you remember Delia Karran, my Herald, with the silver magic?"

"The one you tried to have killed?" Faran asked.

"How does everybody know about that?" Mordus looked shocked.

"Word travels when people love the sound of their voices," Faran smiled, "and I assure you, they do."

"I see." Mordus' brow furrowed. "I assumed Vir'Con secrets were sacrosanct. What a fool I am."

"The Vir'Con are people first," Faran said, "and people are terrible at keeping secrets. Secrets burn holes in the mind which are filled by sharing the secret with another. It's a psychological burden, keeping a secret—it's what makes spies so valuable; they're adept at relieving the burden—diminishing the pain of knowledge."

Mordus sat in the chair beside Faran and laid his portal generator on the table. They were silent for a while, watching the Heralds and followers below them. The courtyard around the tree bustled with activity, everyone awaiting their God. Vendors set up a row of carts along the western side of the clearing: food, drink, blankets for those who hadn't brought their own. The late fall wind drove a chill up the side of the mountain, signaling the turn toward winter. He pulled his cloak tighter at the neck. "Anyway... you remember her. And did you know the extent of her power?"

"I heard rumors..." Faran said. "I assumed it was under control. Was I wrong?"

"She conjured rain..." Mordus' eyes thinned to slits.

"Seriously?"

"I watched her do it on seven separate occasions," Mordus said. "It was no fluke."

"Ok, she has power—but so do you. Why does she scare you so much? And make no mistake, I see the fear in your eyes." Faran pointed one finger at him.

"Can you conjure actual rain, Faran?" Mordus stared at him. "Can you change the physical world? I'm not talking about manipulating magic currents or creating some illusory rain shower. I'm talking about interfering with the laws of nature! That's not just magic—it's creation. None of us can do it. I'm not even sure if the Prophet could do it, and she had the power to join our souls."

Faran rubbed his hand across his forehead. It was the same old argument; they'd discussed it many times. Magic was a force, but it couldn't change reality. A spell didn't change the laws of nature, because it didn't interact at the same level. Magic created its own reality—it occupied a separate space, parallel with nature, but the two never crossed. When a magic fireball hit you, it was magic doing the damage, not fire. Fire was the expression of the energy in the physical plane, and the energy manifested as a color.

"Creation..." Faran locked eyes with him. "Are you trying to convince me she's an actual God?"

Mordus laughed. "No, of course not. Neither of us believes that lie, we know how the multiverse works. I am saying she's dangerous, and it's been almost thirty years, so she's become more dangerous through practice, as we all have. But the issue is her children. They're older now, and I know for a fact, thanks to Kavan, one of them has inherited her power. I'm not sure what the two of them together might mean, much less three."

Mordus fished in his robe for the data capsule. He placed it in Faran's hand, uncurling his fingers from it. "You should see this."

Faran stood, motioning for Mordus to follow. They moved inside the treehouse, the door slamming behind them. Faran led them to a center table in his lab. The top was smooth metal. A flat plate of glass extended straight up. It was four feet tall and semi-transparent, a smoky haze swirled across the face.

Faran slipped the data capsule into a slot at the edge of the table. He watched the scene from the Senate meeting play out. His face remained blank. When it was over, he turned to Mordus.

"She uses her power without words—as Zaril does sometimes," his voice filled with awe.

"Yes." Mordus nodded. "Do you understand my concern now?"

"I do."

"What should we do?" Mordus asked.

"We need to go see her," Kavan said.

"The Prophet?"

"Yes."
Chapter Nine

Over Three-thousand years ago... (Exact date not recorded)

The temple was carved stone surrounded by sand: a massive granite roof slab, supported by sixteen tall columns connected by arches. Ancient hieroglyphs adorned the columns, arches, and every flat surface. The altar in the middle was round and elevated, smooth and flat, stained with ancient blood—the roof above it open to the star-filled sky.

Flames from the oil lamps cast dancing shadows and reflected off the eyes that watched from the murky darkness outside—shiny jewels floating in the air. An occasional howl broke the silence, causing all the eyes to rearrange. A tense moment, filled with shuffling padded-paw sounds and rustling grass, but they never went far. Curiosity kept them close, watching—predators recognizing their kind.

The Prophet stood at the center of the altar, the four of them surrounding her, standing at the cardinal points. Each held a golden staff, the orbs atop them shimmering a vibrant orange, shifting back and forth to the extremes of bright-yellow and blood-red.

A hot wind blew in off the Tellurian desert, making them sweat. The stinging salty flow forced them to blink, except for Faran, who didn't need to. The Prophet was not affected. Her pale complexion amplified by the solid black robe made her glow. Golden fire lit her eyes.

She held her palms together, fingers up. A low melodic hum started in her throat. Her eyes closed. A beam of pure light fell from the sky, enveloping her in a golden glow. She spun her right hand in a circle and slammed the palm of her left hand against her forehead, forcing her head back. Energy burst forth in four directions, consuming the orbs and running down the staves to fill them, their bodies wracked with convulsive spasms.

She reversed the direction of her right hand, creating the opposite circle. Her left hand slammed against her chest this time.

A deep thunderous boom shook the temple, knocking them off their feet. The energy snapped back to her. She burned like a sun for a moment—electric golden crackles ran the length of her robe, slowly petering out. The Prophet's arms fell to her sides. She didn't look weak—but she did look tired.

"It's done," she said. She climbed down from the altar, straightening her robe. Kavan reached to help her. She smiled at him, running her hand across his cheek as she passed. "Thank you, Kavan." She sat on the altar's edge, looking at them, anticipating questions.

"So, we can all resume our training now?" Zaril asked. "This is what makes us all equals, right?"

"You've never been equals. Some of you are stronger than the others, and I can't change that," she said.

"I don't understand..." Mordus sat next to her, watching her face.

"I've been training you all, but you've been trying to kill each other."

They all exchanged glances: some hostile, some ambivalent. They knew she was right.

"The spell I cast on you wasn't to make you more receptive to my teachings." She stood and walked away a short distance. "What I did was link all four of your souls together..."

They spent several moments looking at each other, ending on her.

"What do you mean, exactly?" Faran asked.

"It means you all share one fate... If one of you dies, you will all die. It's the only solution I can think of to keep you safe from each other. Especially the more powerful among you." She glanced at Zaril.

He smirked and turned away, then spun and snapped at her. "And why would you care? We're no danger to you..."

"I care because I'm responsible for who you are, the power you control, and I need you all intact for what's coming," she said. "I can't allow you to dismember each other."

"So, we can't kill each other without committing suicide..." Kavan smiled, appreciating the irony.

"Yes, your lives are inextricably linked, so get on with them and stop this petty animosity. All four of your races have abandoned you here. This is your home now." She grasped Kavan's hand and squeezed it. "On the other hand, you are immortal now... enjoy it, before someone comes along to take it from you..."

## ***

The Jump-ships were designed for deployment from a Carrier. They took their name from the way they left the mother-ship. The launch doors were arranged along the sides of the vessel, in a long row. Jump-ships were pre-programmed to execute a short distance warp jump. The distances of each ship's jump were staggered, so they would never reappear as a solid group: much harder to target.

Of course, you can't jump to warp in the atmosphere, so they could deploy with Planetary drives when necessary. They were small and fast, carrying up to three people plus the pilot. Armaments were not on par with a fighter or even a light transport like Garrian's ship Vengeance—but Eustas liked the maneuverability, and they were currently the only ship the Guardian Forces had with cloaking ability.

The scientists were working on versions of a cloak for larger craft, but they were having difficulty extending the bubble to a sufficient size. Cloaks required a huge amount of power, which rose exponentially with the size of the vessel. The Jump-ships happened to fit perfectly inside the field of the prototype, which made them ideal for infiltration and operating behind enemy lines.

Thirty Jump-ships launched from a Carrier could place thirty fire-teams at the rear, or either flank, of an enemy position: that's a lot of plasma rifles, especially when they can't see you coming. The Outlanders had not discovered the technology yet, and they were suffering for it.

The river zipped by beneath him, the belly of the ship only yards above the water. The turbulence dragged the water behind, lifting it from the surface of the river into a swirling twin vortex chasing the craft—only to be vaporized by the heat of the engine, leaving a steam trail dissipating long after he'd vanished into the darkness ahead.

Eustas adjusted the sensitivity of the scopes, zooming in on the aerial overlay. He didn't need it; he knew where he was going. In fact, he wasn't flying at all. The computer was following a nav program he'd recorded many years earlier. A red light winked at him. The sharp chirp-chirp of the warning signal refocused his attention. He flicked the autopilot off and regained control, easing off the throttle.

He pulled the ship into a tight banking maneuver and circled the edge of the lake. The lights from the village reflected off the calm surface; he watched it pass by on the left. It was too far away to make out any people; only the Na'Geena guards would be awake. The stealth field had sound dampening qualities, so they might hear a thin whisper as he passed, but nothing more, especially at this distance.

He found the clearing with ease. It was far enough from the Griffins not to startle them: they were very sensitive to sound. It was a short hike to the cave from here—he had it down to four minutes. He knew these woods as well as any Na'Geena; they'd taught him where all the traps were, and shown him the quickest paths.

He had to disengage the cloak to land. Extending the landing gear while the engine was running tended to short-out the field—another problem they had yet to solve. With the ship on the ground, he shut down the engine. He adjusted the Nano-suit by the glow from the cockpit lights. The green luminescence made the black fabric look wet. Pulling the hood over his head and snapping it into place activated the stealth mode. It wasn't stealth in the same sense as the ship's cloak: he wasn't invisible.

The suit somehow bent the light around him (Carolus tried to explain it to him. Eustas told him he didn't care how it worked, only that it did), when you looked at the suit you saw what was behind it. Movement could give you away—the edges of your profile created a vague silhouette, but if you were very careful and moved slowly, the effect was almost perfect. If you were running, well, it's hard to hit a target that's a fuzzy outline.

He slipped the mask on and snapped it to the hood. The goggles amplified the light, giving everything a soft greenish tint. He touched a button on the right eyepiece; the heads-up-display popped into view: digital readouts showing various tactical information. He held his gloveless hand up, testing the thermal sensors—the goggles imparted a soft red glow, outlining his fingers and thumb. It disappeared when he tugged the glove into place.

Eustas stepped from the Jump-ship and touched the plate that controlled the hatch. The door closed with a soft whirring sound, the upper and lower halves coming together at the center with a clank. He punched in the security code and pressed the button to re-engage the cloak. The ship shimmered and disappeared; a single red beam lit the ground in front of the door: a red laser dot. It was invisible without the goggles or the handheld filter suitless pilots used.

He moved up the trail, headed toward the waterfall. The night was clear, and the light from Cirrus and Minos was especially bright. He turned the sensitivity on the goggles down, reducing the glare. The visible halo around everything diminished.

He'd almost reached the cave when the suit sensors went crazy. The red outlines of two bodies were clear through the trees, but they were surrounded by a circle of black, like nothing he'd ever seen. The sensors flashed unknown energy type across the screen. The black circle shimmered and faded away, leaving the two figures standing on the large flat rock by the pool below the waterfall.

He pushed ahead, using the trees and brush for cover. He stopped behind the tree closest to the flat rock and knelt. The two figures moved toward the cave entrance. He watched them skirt the edge of the waterfall heading toward the tunnel.

He wasn't concerned for the Oracle; he knew she could take care of herself. But this was unprecedented. He'd never seen anyone visit her, in forty years, apart from a few Na'Geena—and they never showed up in the middle of the night surrounded by a mysterious black vortex.

Eustas moved forward, trailing the two figures into the tunnel. He watched one of them create a light-orb in his hand. The other one, the taller one, laughed and told him it was unnecessary. Eustas noticed his eyes: twin points of yellow fire. They grew brighter, lighting the path ahead of them.

A Draggon...

He'd never actually seen one, but Harrod had described them perfectly: from the twenty-foot scaly version to the humanoid form, with seething yellow fire in their eyes. This was a Draggon—a bold one, coming this close to the Na'Geena village. Eustas had no doubt all the Draggons knew where the village was. This Draggon was either stupid or powerful enough not to worry about its worst enemy. The thought made him pause.

Should I wake them? Round up the Na'Geena, and kill this beast? Maybe this was the Draggon that killed Harrod... But who's the other one?

Eustas decided to wait on rounding up a Draggon-killing party, at least until he had all the answers he needed. He inched forward, staying in the shadows to mask his silhouette. The two figures made their way inside the tunnel, following the fiery glow from the Draggon's eyes.

They rounded the last left and disappeared. He moved to a point where he could see inside the cave: standing in the tunnel, in a patch of shadow cast by the Oracle's orb. He could see all three of them, surrounding the mirror. She sat on the floor cross-legged, her eyes on the second figure who stood across from her. The Draggon stood to the side, his arms folded across his chest, leaning against the cave wall.

"Kavan... this is a surprise." She motioned for him to sit. She was a young girl tonight, no more than fourteen, her long black hair tied with a piece of bright-red ribbon, it matched the hem of her white robe. There was jasmine scattered everywhere.

She's been seeing... Eustas moved closer for a better view. ...Kavan?

Kavan held both hands forward, palms up, his head down. The Oracle placed her hands upon his, then slid them away and returned them to her lap. She cocked her head to one side. "She must've taught you that. How else would you know a K'Pa sign of respect?"

"She did." Kavan raised his head, having allowed her to speak first. "I need your help if it pleases you, master."

"I'm not your master. Neither is she, regardless of what she may have convinced you of."

"I understand what she did was wrong according to your laws. But surely you don't hold me responsible for her actions?" he asked.

"No, I don't," the Oracle said. "And I am curious about what you want. None of you have sought me out before. I'm not sure if I would help any of you, anyway. Why don't you go see her? She seems to have no compunction about whom she associates with."

"I'm not so sure I want her involved." Kavan shook his head. "I believe she's helping Zaril with something, and if I'm right, I wouldn't want it getting back to him that I know."

"I see..." She stared at him, unblinking. "What is it you need from me?"

"Zaril has erected a psychic shield. I can't read his thoughts—but I know you can, even with the shield in place. I'm afraid he's trying to obtain a void orb."

The Oracle's eyes widened, and Eustas saw a distinct wave of fear flow across her face. She managed to conceal it from everyone but him.

"Maybe he got tired of you being in his head," she said.

"He hasn't minded for thousands of years, why now?" Kavan asked.

"So, you want me to join my sister and interfere in the natural order. You want me to break K'Pa law..."

"How is that breaking your laws?" he asked.

"Let me see if I can explain this, so you'll understand." She stood, slowly pacing back and forth. "You are a powerful being, Kavan: you're dangerous. Granted, you are the least of my four worries... Let's say I read someone's mind and found they had intentions of killing you."

"Do you know this for a fact?" He sat upright, head swiveling toward her.

"Kavan, it's an example, calm down, but do you see what I mean? You can be a little tense," she said, "as all fake Gods can sometimes be... It's not your fault. It goes with the job." Kavan grinned at the face she made. "Sorry, please continue. It's been a long day." He glanced at Karal, who winked at him.

"So, I have this piece of information which concerns you; I could do two things with it. I could tell you, in which case you would probably confront this person, or possibly kill them preemptively."

"More than likely, to be safe..." Kavan raised one thin eyebrow and nodded.

"But people change their minds all the time! What if the thought I picked up was a fleeting moment of anger? If I give you the information, then I'm responsible for tipping the balance of chance in your favor—and possibly for the death of someone who might've recanted their position on your demise, given time. In other words, I've interfered with the outcome. Any deviation, any change in the multiverse, requires something else change to compensate—and there's no telling what the multiverse will do to make it right."

He nodded, considering her words.

She nodded back. "There's a long mathematical equation which backs all of this up if you don't want to take my word for it..."

"No, no, sorry. I'm just absorbing," he said. "Please, go on."

"Now, I could tell you something like this: 'Kavan, you need to be extra cautious right now, your life could be in danger.' I'm not telling you how your life is in danger, so it benefits you by making you more cautious about everything. You could still be killed, but I've given you enough to better protect yourself—without giving you an upper hand."

"I see," he nodded. "The thing you really can't do is provide an advantage. Generalized warnings are fine."

"I know it sounds petty," she said, "but these rules exist for a reason, and every situation is different, so I have to use my best judgment. I know that's not what you want to hear."

"No, I understand perfectly, and I respect it." He thought for a moment, his brow furrowing. "Let me ask you this, then. Can you tell me if there's a serious threat to the humans on this planet soon? And please, read my mind and confirm if what I think might be true."

She stopped pacing and turned toward him, smiling. "The answer to your question is yes, but confirming your thoughts would be sidestepping the rules. However, because you phrased it that way, I cannot confirm you might be correct," she leaned toward him slightly, locking her eyes on him, "even if I wanted to."

Kavan laughed and looked around the cave, "Is someone watching you?"

Eustas froze and held his breath as her head turned.

She stared right at him and smiled. "There's always someone watching you..."

## ***

Katreena didn't know if she was happier for Delia, being reunited with her children, or jealous for the same reason. They'd been together so long; they were the best years of her life, and considering her age, that was quite a statement. Now, she feared it might be coming to an end.

She watched the three of them sitting at the kitchen table, holding hands and laughing, building a bond, threatening to push her out. She swallowed hard.

"Kat!" Delia waved, inviting her to join them. The smile on Delia's face filled her with warmth and made her happy, displacing the momentary sadness. Delia took her hand as she sat down, turning her attention back to her children. "You three haven't met. I need to correct that, right now."

Kat felt the pressure of Delia's grip increase. It wasn't painful: it was firm but tender. At that moment, she realized how selfish she'd been. Delia was ripped away from her children at a young age and forced to live apart from them, for their protection. Kat was the beneficiary of love stolen from someone else. The last twenty-six years shouldn't have been hers. She felt the pangs of jealousy fade, turning instead into pity for these children who'd never known their mother.

"Dalo," Delia took his hand, "this is going to be hard for you to understand, considering who you are, and how you were raised. Harrod did a fine job, by the way."

"You knew Harrod?" Shock crossed his face. "But how?"

"I know everything I need by looking at your sword." She smiled. "Only the Chieftain of the Na'Geena carries Bloodrender. If you have it now, it means Harrod is dead. Harrod was my brother; he was your uncle, but also your adoptive father..."

"Yes, he was..." Dalo lowered his eyes, staring at the table.

"Why do I feel like I'm missing something?" Alisha looked confused.

Kat saw the resemblance to her mother: they had the same questioning squint. She'd always thought it was adorable on Delia. Seeing it mirrored in her daughter's face made her laugh out loud. They all looked at her. "Sorry, I can't help noticing the similarities between the three of you."

"And it's funny?" Dalo's face tightened, his eyes boring into hers.

She returned the glare. There was distrust in his eyes and a little anger, but she'd never been afraid of anyone, not even her father. She wasn't about to start a new trend. "I know what that sword means. I know what it can do." She reached for the base of her neck, pulling a white-jeweled dagger from the scabbard hidden there; she stabbed it into the tabletop in one swift motion, the point burying itself an inch deep. "Let's test your knowledge."

"Hey!" Delia leaned forward, her hands separating them. "This is my house, and we play nice here..."

Dalo examined the dagger. It was twelve inches long, at least. The blade was slightly curved, with writing carved into it in an archaic script. The white jewel embedded in the pommel contained a chaotic purple cloud—it twisted and turned, never taking shape—an amorphous globule. His eyes returned to hers. "The Twin Fangs?" he spoke the name with something close to reverence.

She pulled the second dagger, embedding it next to the first with a sharp thud. The dark smears inside the crystals reached for each other, trying to unite.

"But that makes you..." he started, but trailed off, looking at her with a new appreciation.

"Makes her what?" Alisha leaned into the conversation, watching both their faces.

"It makes her first-in-line for the Draggon's throne," Dalo said, "the eldest child of Darkonus. I carried Soultaker before I inherited Bloodrender. Soultaker now waits for my child. My father's brother, Jakob, is the keeper of the third Na'Geena sword, Sinreaver."

Delia snapped her fingers. All three heads swiveled toward her.

"That's not the point I was trying to make," she said. "It's true, but there's something more important you both need to know about Kat."

Kat was suddenly unsure. They'd discussed this years ago and agreed: if this meeting ever took place, they'd tell them everything. Now, she felt an uneasy stirring in her stomach, and her heart was racing. She felt her lower lip tremble. She squeezed Delia's hand, and their eyes met.

Alisha stared at her mother, then at Kat. Understanding smoothed the wrinkles on her brow.

"You're in love." A smile crossed her face, and she grabbed their free hands.

Dalo pushed back in his chair, a dumb expression on his face. "I don't understand..."

Alisha released Kat's hand and slapped him on the shoulder. It jarred him, and he turned to look at her.

"Really?" she asked, "you don't understand? Twenty-six years of isolation, and you don't think feelings would develop between them? You're such a man."

All three women laughed.

Dalo crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. "Great, my mother is in love with the Draggon Princess." He ran his hand across his face. "What will I tell my friends?"

## ***

"You should join us, Eustas. Your goals are consistent with Kavan's, although neither of you realizes it." The Oracle turned to Karal, pinning him in place with her eyes. "You will remain where you are until I determine your true purpose here. Draggons are so hard to read, please nod if you understand me..."

Karal smiled and nodded once, crossing his arms.

Eustas stepped into the light of the cavern. He peeled the hood and mask from his head, unsnapping the tie-down for his pistol with the other hand. "I think it's funny that you find this Draggon more dangerous than a God."

"Well, I think we all know these Gods are not what they claim," she said. "Draggons are a different subject."

Eustas watched Kavan nod in agreement with her. He stopped halfway between the entrance and where Kavan sat, his eyes on Karal. "In what way?"

"Draggons were born from magic—they're resistant to it. They can learn spell work, like everyone else, but they have a natural affinity for magic. They tend to surpass their masters, and they learned how to fight at the birth of the multiverse—they're only getting better, as time passes."

"We've had peace with the Draggons for almost eighty years," he said.

"Peace is a fleeting moment, General." Karal's eyes ignited, looking at Eustas. "Enemies will always find a new reason to fight. It's not hard when you're looking for one."

"Well?" Eustas glared at him. "Are you looking for one?"

Karal pushed himself off the wall. The broadsword Eustas withdrew from the scabbard on his back made him stop. The edge reflected a brilliant white gleam, even in the dimly lit cave. The silver jewel set into the gold pommel glowed with a wicked-cold light. Silver tendrils of burning flame stretched from the tip of the blade, reaching for the Draggon. Karal drew a sharp breath and stepped back, reclaiming his place on the wall. The energy bands dissipated, but the sword continued to burn, looking for a victim, white flame along the silver metal.

"I've seen all three Na'Geena swords, some closer than I cared to." Karal pointed at the blade. "That is not one of them."

"You're smarter than you look." Eustas moved to his right, toward the Oracle, holding Karal at the tip of his blade.

The Oracle watched it all, shaking her head in disgust. "All of you sit down now!" She pulled the ribbon from her hair and brushed it out with her hands.

They all sat quickly. Kavan made a point of having already been sitting. She told him to shut up. "Yes, Karal, I created a fourth sword. We decided to call it Foulwarder. It's a little more powerful than the others, you should probably give it plenty of space regardless of who holds it, but especially if it's in his hands..."

"But he can't use it. He's not even Na'Geena!" Karal's eyes flared.

She laughed: an icy, biting sound Eustas had never heard before. He watched a silvery glow take over her eyes as she stared at Karal.

"You Draggons think you know all the answers—you always have. But I don't trust Draggons, and my mistrust has always managed to justify itself. I assure you my sister feels the same way, even if she did create those daggers. She was using you to keep her four pawns in check... in case they got out of line," she grabbed Eustas' hand and squeezed it, "and you're wrong about Eustas. He is bound by blood to Harrod, so my blood flows through his veins as well. He is Na'Geena... and K'Pa, and because he is, I can tell him much more than I can reveal to an outsider."

Eustas turned to look at her, questioning. "Ok, you've got to explain this..."

She resumed her pacing, her hands folded across her chest like she held a precious jewel and was afraid of dropping it. "Many years ago, the ship you found in the desert landed. Back then, it was my sister and me, the Draggons, and these so-called Gods. The ship was full of humans. They came from a distant solar system; their planet was about to be decimated by impact with a comet. They were highly technical. Their weapons would've placed them at the top of the proverbial food-chain—but they were pacifists, having endured hundreds of years of recurring wars amongst themselves."

"So, what happened to them?" Eustas interrupted her. "You've mentioned your sister more than once now—I didn't know you had a sister... What does she have to do with this? You seem to be keeping more secrets from me than I thought."

She turned into a young girl and started crying. She stared up at him through tear-filled eyes, reaching for him to pick her up. Kavan laughed. Karal just stood there, as Draggons do.

Eustas picked her up and brushed the hair from her face, wiping the tears from her cheeks. A blinding flash of light hit him, and then blackness, but only for a second. When he opened his eyes, she was an older woman dressed in a flowing white robe—gray hair cascading to her waist.

She stepped toward him and grabbed his forehead with one spindly hand. "Let me show you..."

## ***

Commander Ruban stabbed the power cell into the staff; the point was anchored in the stone circle they'd built. All three-hundred of them stood by, waiting. Everyone was silent.

The wind whipping across the face of the mountain was vicious, but it didn't touch Eustas, because he wasn't there. It took him a few seconds before he realized it was a vision: she'd done this to him before. He thought he knew where they were. The mountain range looked familiar, but the red sun was too far south, so he couldn't be certain, somewhere in the middle of the Banshee mountain range on Erador.

The staff began to vibrate; it turned dark orange. The frequency of the vibration made the color change. Dark orange shifted toward purple, then deep blue, then back to the hotter colors. The sound mimicked the variation in color: dark colors having a deeper tone—throbbing base notes—while yellow and white were a shrill whistle making your teeth vibrate. It wandered up and down the scale, the echoes from the stone surrounding them, creating a crude harmony.

A swirling black vortex formed at the center of the stone circle and Ruban motioned toward the crowds around the perimeter. "Ok, we've planned the order of passage, and we need to stick to it. The portal will only last until this power cell runs down, so start moving, supply containers first!"

What followed could only be described as ordered chaos. Eustas watched as the men pushed containers from the edge of the circle through the portal at the center. The containers' front edge entered the portal, and the middle seemed to stretch to keep up with it, and then the rear sort of popped through behind. Two or three people would follow each container, but most went back for more.

He noticed they were all wearing the same uniform, even the children: it was a full-body white form-fitting coverall, similar to Nymex. A red and blue stripe ran down both sides, legs, and arms. Each had a nametag on their right breast pocket (that's how he'd determined Ruban's name and rank) and a separate patch on the left with four letters.

NASA.

Ruban walked to the edge of the circle, and Eustas followed him. Commander Harlan stood there, watching the turmoil. Ruban slapped him on the shoulder and squeezed.

"You sure you don't want to come with us, John? This other dimension has no Draggons, we've verified it. There are Trolls, but they live in a small area, and maybe Fairies, but you know how they are—they keep to themselves..."

"No, we can live here, Peter, and besides, I'm tired of running." Harlan shook his head. "Three years in flight, and I'm ready to settle down. I know it will be hard, but there's enough of us, we can survive. We worked out our problems back home, and we can do it here too."

"These Dragons don't want us here," Ruban said.

"We've only been here eleven months, have we really tried to talk to them?" Harlan asked him.

"It's hard to negotiate when someone is set on killing you..."

"True..., but I hope to change that." John smiled and pointed at the portal. All the containers had been pushed through, and what remained was a stream of people, getting shorter. "You better go, don't wanna miss your ride."

"Tell the others we'll miss them, John..." Peter grabbed his hand and threw his other arm around his friend's shoulder. "We left you two power cells; in case you change your mind."

"Good luck, Peter. To all of you."

Ruban nodded and turned toward the vortex; he'd taken six steps when he burst into flame.

Eustas pulled Foulwarder from its sheath by reflex, then remembered where he was. All he could do was watch the carnage; he couldn't help them.

The Draggon made one pass over the stone circle, spewing fire as it went. Two men fell, tripping each other up. They scrambled around on the floor, grabbing their belongings. A mother with a child in each hand, one boy and one girl, ran for the portal. Eustas watched as they caught fire. She tried to shield her children, tried to put out the flames with her hands. He held his breath as their bodies burnt to smoldering lumps on the stone.

Eustas watched John draw his pistol. It was unlike anything he'd seen before: it had the same shape as a plasma pistol but was made of a shinier metal, and the capacitor was clear crystal and twice as large. John took careful aim at the Draggon as it circled for another pass. The end of the gun glowed a brilliant white, then exploded with the force of thunder. The bolt from the pistol struck the Draggon in the chest: a huge streak of blue lightning, it burst on contact, a shower of electric sparks cascading to the ground. The Draggon roared in pain, ripping at its burning flesh. Smoke trailed behind as it fell.

The Draggon tumbled from the sky, wings whipping, claws grappling at thin air. It impacted the edge of the circle and skidded across the stone, coming to rest at John's feet. He put one more bolt into the beast's head, the charred smell of flesh mixing with the sulfurous whiff of the Draggonfire. Eustas wondered how he could smell it. The Draggon's body convulsed, the legs flailed, the tail whipped around, then it was still.

"Impressive. What do you call this weapon, what is its power source?" This second Draggon was in human form. Eustas watched him walk around the corpse of the first. He wore black leather with silver buckles connecting the pieces. A crescent-moon medallion hung from a thick silver chain around his neck. The light from the suns turned it yellow, then red. He had long black hair and a neat beard, the pupils of his eyes burned.

John kept the pistol pointed at his head. "We don't want to fight you. I've been trying to deliver a message for months now."

"And here lies the proof of your sincerity?" He ran his hand along the neck of the dead Draggon, his head held low, shaking back and forth.

"That Dragon attacked us. There are six charred lumps of proof behind you who used to be my friends. We have to defend ourselves, but we'd rather not fight you. Who are you, do you represent the Dragons?"

It happened so fast Eustas had no time to gasp. The dagger was a blur of spinning steel: it flew from the Draggon's hand and hit John in the right shoulder, the point burying itself in the joint. John dropped the pistol and fell to one knee, his initial howl of pain turning to a clenched groan as he grabbed the handle and yanked it out, tossing it away. But it was enough time for the beast to cross the space between them. The Draggon held an identical dagger to his throat, a handful of hair in his other hand, pulling his head back and exposing the neck.

"What makes you think we want peace?" His eyes flared a brilliant yellow. He pulled back hard on John's hair. John gritted his teeth, but he made no sound. "You come here... to our planet, uninvited, and proceed to take over as if it belongs to you! We've lived here longer than your race has existed, human. We were born with the dirt and rock of this world, and your arrogance can't be tolerated. Where did the others go? I saw the portal—where did it lead?"

"I'll never tell you, so just kill me now..." John spit in the Draggon's face, his eyes full of defiance.

Eustas watched the Draggon's eyes. The pupils flared when the spit hit him. His features hardened for a moment and then softened. The last look that crossed his face was one Eustas knew well: respect.

The dagger cut through John's throat in one smooth motion, the power from the Draggon's arm driving the blade deep. Blood sprayed them both. He held John in place as he died.

The Draggon laid the man's body down gently and stepped away, almost with reverence. He picked up the second dagger and placed them back in the scabbard at his neck. Eustas watched him nod at the man he'd killed.

The portal dissipated minutes before, taking the vibration and light show with it. Now the only thing remaining was the staff. It was about three feet tall, shiny metal, with a cup on one end. Stuck into the cup were the remains of the power cell. The Draggon yanked the staff free from the socket in the stone floor and turned it over in his hands. He placed it in a shiny case that lay to one side and snapped the lid closed.

His body blurred and expanded as Eustas watched, elongating into a twenty-foot scaly lizard with wings. The Draggon retrieved the staff and flew into the night sky, but not before cleansing the circle and the bodies upon it with Draggon fire. The corpses turned to ash as he flew away.
Chapter Ten

The Tellurian Desert glowed like an amber jewel in the red sun. The backwash of light reflected by Cirrus from the yellow sun balanced out the red waves, making it less harsh. Minos Orbital Defense Satellite D-33 stared down from orbit—occasionally, it would snap a picture. The model K-6 multi-resolution camera created a photograph: it could be finely dissected down to ten-yard squares, and the quality was outstanding. One of these pictures would be interesting to whoever ultimately reviewed them.

Faran and Mordus stepped from the portal and walked into the temple, not expecting to find her. She was only there about half the time: the times when she wanted to be there. They'd stopped coming here years ago, when she'd made it obvious she was done with them, that she had nothing else—or nothing else she wanted—to teach them.

They'd all felt the loss, felt the longing for her presence. Every being lamented the loss of its mother, and she was the closest thing to a mother they could remember. They'd forgotten their birth mothers a thousand-years ago, now only she remained. She'd taught them everything they knew. Some of them picked it up quicker; that was the nature of things. She saw the conflict between them. She'd tried to fix it, in her way, but all it did was drive them further apart—and farther from her.

She'd taught them how to harness the human will to increase their power. It was the last lesson, the one before she'd sent them away and told them they were on their own. It was a pain they both dragged through their memories as they walked inside.

"You must have a good reason for disturbing me," she said.

Steam permeated the air—on it rode the faint scent of flowers. The splashes of water didn't register until they saw the tub, with The Prophet inside it. Her bare wet foot, propped on the edge of the silver rim, reflected the light from the hole in the roof. The peace on her face as she reclined in the water made them smile. They still loved her.

"We need your help." Faran sat on a bench near the tub. He turned his eyes away.

"Oh, so we don't say master anymore?" she asked. "Am I just your friend now?"

"No, master, of course not." Mordus took a seat beside Faran, elbowing him in the side. "We've been gone so long; we don't know how to act."

Faran slid over on the bench, glowering at Mordus, his fangs protruding. "I'm sorry, master, we need your wisdom, your sight."

The Prophet pushed herself up from the tub. She stood there, waiting for the water to drain from her body, enjoying the way they studiously looked away from her. She wrapped herself in a black towel, wrung the excess water from her hair, and sat across from them on the opposite bench.

"Why are you even taking a bath?" Faran asked. "You're an incorporeal being."

"I have substance. I'm also subject to time, in a way. I may not have an actual body, but the form I take gives me access to all the sensations. Are you suggesting I shouldn't enjoy myself, Faran?"

"No!" he said. "I was wondering what you get out of it?"

She grabbed a second towel and began to dry her hair.

"Imagine you're a spot on a pane of glass. Now, imagine I want to clean the glass. Do you think you have any chance of surviving, existing past the cleaning I'm about to do to you?"

"Are you threatening to kill me, master?" Faran swallowed hard and risked a glance toward her.

"No, Faran! I'm trying to make a point!" She grinned, but her eyes tightened at the corners. "If we're all spots on glass, we can be wiped away at any moment..."

"So how does this relate to you enjoying yourself?" he asked.

"Faran, every experience—every moment, is precious because you can be wiped away in the next one," she said.

"And that's why you take baths?"

"I take baths because it makes me feel good."

"I'm confused..." He shook his head.

She set the second towel aside on the bench and leaned toward him. "Ok, one last example, and then I'm going to assume you're too stupid to understand this. You have devotional ceremonies, and all your followers are there. After you've absorbed the power, someone comes to you with a specific request. Do you grant it?"

"Yes, I do it all the time."

"But, why?" she asked. "You don't have to. Aren't you their God?"

"Because it makes me feel good." He smiled, understanding her.

"Yes, you do it because it makes you feel something. So, that's why I bathe. It takes me a lot of energy to exist in this plane long enough to do it. Now, why are you both here?"

"Is Zaril trying to break the spell binding us?" he asked.

"And why would you think that?" She stopped drying her hair and turned to stare at them.

"Let's call it a hunch." Faran looked to Mordus for support and was surprised to find him nodding. "We've seen strange things happening, and we wondered if you knew anything about it."

"What strange things?" she asked.

"Well... people gathering together to kill us, for one," Faran said, "people with power..."

"I don't know what you're talking about Faran. Maybe this is your natural paranoia."

"No, it's not just him," Mordus snapped. "Zaril has something going on too. The instincts you taught us say it's true, and we know how strong your visions are, so if you claim to be clueless, then you must be involved, somehow..."

The Prophet ran her hands down her body; towels disappeared, wet became dry, and her face became a mask of anger. The black robe folded around her. She looked larger when she was mad. "The two of you need to go..."

"Why, because we're right?" Mordus looked at Faran. Faran nodded.

"No, because if you don't leave, I'm going to kill you..."

Faran jumped to his feet. Indignance (and anger, and hatred...etc.) among the Zinani is expressed by the fangs, and he couldn't have pushed them further out. He walked to the edge of the platform, his shoulders hunched, taking a long deep breath. "We both know you could kill us with a thought... But if Zaril is a cog in whatever machine you're building, I seriously doubt you will. Your actions have betrayed you, master. You can't kill us, or you lose your puppet." His voice held a bitter edge. "All we want is to know how it affects us, and since we've been kept in the dark, I have to assume it's not good."

Faran watched as her eyes turned black. The hot desert wind now chilled him to the bone. The light shining through the roof turned a dusty-gray color—ice crystals infused with the air. In the distance, somewhere indefinable, a shrill metallic grinding noise began to eat at his nerves, becoming louder, until it was embedded at the base of his skull and vibrating through his head. He glanced at Mordus—his hands were clutching his scalp, trying to rip the noise away.

They fell to their knees.

The Prophet circled the tub, moving toward them. She twisted her fingers into their collars and pulled their faces close to hers. They could see their reflections in the black pools of her eyes, and the gray light came from her mouth as she spoke.

"Don't forget," she said, "pain is not the same as death, and you don't share pain..."

## ***

"Someone is coming." Delia pushed away from the table and ran to the side window.

Kat nodded agreement; she'd felt the alarm spell trigger too. She yanked the daggers free and slid them into their sheaths on her way to the front window.

Dalo glanced at Garrian and pointed at the front door.

Garrian nodded. "I've got it; you take the rear. Cord, Keenan, watch the east and south windows."

Cord and Keenan disappeared into the far rooms of the cottage.

Sammi sat on the couch developing her energy, creating a healing field. She held her hands an inch apart; a soft green light began to glow between her palms. It lit her features from below and the ceiling above her with a bright emerald tone. "I can't make a field large enough for this whole place, Garrian!"

"Yes, you can!" he said, "I've seen you do it; concentrate. Hopefully, we won't need it, but you can do it Sammi, I know you can..."

Alisha listened to them, trying hard not to focus on the subtle inflections, the fleeting wisps of shared sentiment which was impossible to disguise. She found herself hating Sammi again. She hadn't gotten over it from the last time, but she hadn't realized it before. Now it struck her directly in the face: her husband had been in love with this woman. She wrapped the pain up tight; for now. They would deal with it later. She sat on the floor in front of Sammi and took her hands. "Say the words I say and keep repeating them."

Sammi looked at her and nodded.

" _Enum, eolum, wistum, arium."_ They chanted in unison.

The cottage filled with the rhythm of the incantation. The green capsule surrounding Sammi expanded until the entire cabin filled with light, the emerald shimmer even ran along the outside walls, which is how the Haylonian Guard Leader noticed it.

He yelled at the house from his position in the woods. "I see you have a healer with you! We don't, I'll admit it. They're cutting back on non-essentials. But we don't want to fight you. Come out and identify yourself, state your allegiance, and we'll be on our way!"

Garrian stepped away from the door, looking at everyone, indecision on his face. "He sounds like a great guy. There's a lot of them. I see at least twenty to the north."

"I see another twenty to the west." Kat pulled one of her daggers and examined the edge, her pupils burning hot.

Alisha stood from where she knelt in front of Sammi and waved her hands. "Wait, he said they didn't want to fight."

Cord came in from the back room, shaking his head. "I promise you; they want to fight; they live for it." Keenan followed him, nodding agreement. "They'll kill every one of us and never think twice about it. This is the Haylonian Elite Guard. I know because I trained them."

"What do you mean you trained them?" Alisha stepped toward him.

"Let me explain by doing this..." Cord pushed past Garrian and pulled the front door open. The bright sunlight bounced off his white leather armor, making them all squint. He stalked out of the cottage twenty feet from the door and stopped, looking around at the tree line.

"You all know me!" Cord challenged the invisible assailants. "I command you to come forward and cease this action now."

The trees rustled; bushes shimmied. Haylonian guards emerged from their hiding places, all weapons on Cord. The Leader moved to the front of the line, face to face with Cord. The black leather patch over his left eye had a single silver "G" embedded in it. "Well... Prince Cord, it's good to see you back, sir."

"I'm not back," Cord said, "and I need you to get moving on your mission, and forget you ever saw me. Are we going to have a problem, Geras?"

"My Prince," Geras executed a short bow, "if it was up to me, absolutely not. You know I'm loyal to you. But your father has a standing arrest warrant for you," he looked toward the cottage, "and anyone you're in league with—and now I have thirty-nine witnesses who might swear they saw you..."

"Give me five minutes, Geras. Ok?" Cord pleaded with him.

Geras bowed and stepped back, motioning for his men to lower their weapons. Cord walked back inside the cottage. Garrian grabbed him by the collar and pushed him against the wall. Keenan started to intervene, but Cord waved him off.

"Prince Cord?" Garrian let him go and walked away. "How are we supposed to deal with this?"

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," he said, "but in all fairness, I never dreamed we would be coming to Haylon. I never thought we would get caught, and I sure didn't imagine forty of them... And Geras is not to be trifled with."

"As good as we are, we can't beat them all," Dalo slid Bloodrender back into its sheath, "so what do you propose?"

"Oh, I think we could kill them all..." Kat pulled the curtain aside; there was a murderous look in her eyes. "Two or three of us might die, but we would win..."

"No! We're not killing anyone!" Alisha slammed her hands on the table to get their attention; she turned to Cord. "This is your father. Surely, he doesn't want you dead?"

Cord nodded, considering the question. "No, I doubt it. He wants me alive to take over the Kingdom. But I do have a younger brother, so I can't honestly say. If I were dead, it would solve the problem. But why arrest me, only to kill me later? I think we can safely assume I'm wanted 'alive'. Geras would've told me otherwise, or killed me."

Sammi broke her enchantment; the green magic sizzled and faded, leaving a smell reminiscent of burning patchweed: it was sweet, with a tang of bitter. She brushed her hair back and stood. "Cord, your father is the King, and you don't think he wants to hurt you, correct?"

"No, he wants me to take over the throne..."

"So, being in your company is the safest place we could be?" she asked.

"I suppose," he said, "but you may not like where this leads."

Alisha looked at Garrian and then Sammi. She walked to Cord and ran her hand down the side of his face, brushing the hair away from his eyes. She turned him around and pushed him toward the cottage door. "Go set this right. We'll follow you for now. Don't get us all executed."

## ***

It was a tight fit, getting the extra forty troopers into the Vengeance. Garrian flew the ship, following the verbal instructions of Geras. They were flying by dead-reckoning, using a single starting point for guidance: the peak of the nearest mountain. Each time Geras gave him a direction to fly, several voices from amongst his men would counter.

"Turn left thirty degrees." "forty-two degrees..."

"Come up to twelve-hundred feet to clear this mountain." "fifteen-hundred!"

Garrian decided to go for the higher estimate in every case, especially the mountain. Maybe they knew something he didn't: maybe Geras was a terrible navigator.

Haylon was entering its first dark phase. It was a shadow-phase: a dim twilight. The light from Cirrus and Minos combined lit the landscape better than the red sun could on its own. The shadows from the mountain range on their left flank couldn't dampen the brightly-lit city below them.

Haylon City was built into the side of a mountain, but what was visible from above was the icing on the cake. The heart of the city was underground, constructed within the vast labyrinth of ice-caves honeycombing the mountain. Most of the topside structures were defensive: multiple cannon batteries that locked onto incoming ships without clearance.

The sensors in Vengeance detected multiple lock-ons, each squawking a separate alarm. Garrian turned to Geras. "You don't have a transponder to shut all this down?"

"No," he said, "we're infantry, we don't normally fly. We'll have to input the codes directly. You do have a transmitter?"

"Yeah, but how much time do we have before they fire?"

"Oh, two or three minutes, plenty of time..." Geras smiled.

"Well, get to it, please..." Garrian sat Geras at the Comm and showed him how to dial the frequencies and transmit. Geras pulled a hand-written set of codes from his breast pocket and began entering them into the Comm-link. Garrian watched him type, his other eye on the ship's clock. "Gods, how long is this?" He looked over Geras' shoulder, examining the password code: it was five lines of text, and Geras was not a typist. "You've got to let me do this..."

"I've got it." Geras found the "K" after several seconds of searching.

"Seriously, move over before you get us killed." Garrian pushed Geras aside and finished entering the code. They watched the barrels of the cannons tilt down, the power draining from their capacitors. The circular steel iris, which led into the mountain began to rotate counterclockwise. The pieces of the door spun outward by centrifugal force, leaving a hole in the center a half-mile across.

"You feel better now?" Geras grinned, adjusting his eyepatch.

They all released the breath they were holding.

Garrian and Zevo concentrated on maneuvering the ship through the narrow passage. Half a mile might seem like a lot of room, but the distance diminished the deeper they flew into the caverns, and there was traffic to avoid. The Haylonians didn't seem to prefer one side of the passage more than the other, so it was bedlam trying to pick a clear line through the jumble of ships and transports flooding the tightening space.

Calling them ice caves was appropriate since the walls, floors, and ceilings of the tunnels were all made of ice. At one time, millions of years ago, these tunnels were filled with lava: magma from the depths below Haylon's mantle—the fumaroles of the extinct volcano towering above them. It burned itself out, and several ice-ages reclaimed the mountain, freezing the interior solid. The lack of direct sunlight and the insulating qualities of the pumice kept the interior at a constant temperature, maintaining the frozen state for thousands of years.

Every source of light in the caverns was mirrored across the walls, reflected in the slick surface of the ice. Garrian watched it sparkle as they flew by. Blobs of multicolor light, blending and fusing, shifting and sliding as the angle changed.

The Haylonians carved dwellings, shops, and offices out of the frozen walls. Manufacturing and other heavy industries were mainly done topside due to the higher heat generation. The excess heat produced within the caves was carried away by a system of pipes, ultimately feeding into a water supply reservoir several hundred yards above the highest level of caverns, turning the water into steam, which drove twelve electric turbines, providing power to the city. It was not a perfect system, but it was very self-contained and efficient.

"Are we the first Eradorians to see this?" Garrian turned to Geras, raising his eyebrows.

"I think you must be," he said. "We normally keep prisoners-of-war in one of the topside compounds."

Geras was an agreeable captor. He'd refused to chain them, against the wishes of his second-in-command, Lieutenant Lasure. Garrian wasn't sure what Geras' rank was, but it was apparent he was in charge. His uniform was solid black, and he had no rank insignia. The only thing on his uniform was a small pin: three silver balls in a triangle on his left collar. He'd confiscated their weapons, but you couldn't fault him for it. Garrian decided he liked the man, and Cord kept slapping his shoulder, reinforcing his respect for him.

Garrian liked Cord from the moment they'd met. Watching the two of them, he recognized the soldiers within, and it made them all brothers, of a sort, regardless of which side they were on.

"There, on the left..." Geras pointed to a side tunnel flanked by two large signs promising dire consequences for entry should you not have proper authorization. This tunnel had a distinctly different quality. There were no multicolored lights, no signs in storefronts advertising soft drinks and wine, just cold white light bringing out the blue of the ice. There was also more foot traffic than ships, and when they approached the barrier at the end of the tunnel, they were met by a squad of armed guards—the officer in front motioned for them to land. Garrian landed left of the main path and lowered the ramp.

"Fall out by twos and form a double column!" Geras barked at the troopers. They sprang into action, running down the ramp, their plasma rifles held across their chests. The rhythm of their feet hitting the deck made the ship hum. The "hut...hut...hut" they echoed emphasized the impact of boots on steel, the syncopation was mesmerizing. Garrian watched them file out, impressed.

Lieutenant Lasure stopped next to Geras. He gave Garrian a look, which left no doubt how he felt about him.

"You want to use an honor-guard for prisoners?" He looked like he'd swallowed something sour. "Should I find a band?" The last part was sarcastic.

Geras' face never changed. He kept the same impartial expression he'd had when talking to Garrian and the others. The impact of the back of Geras' hand twisted Lasure's head around and made him stumble; he grabbed the rail behind the pilot's chairs to keep himself from falling. The pain and shock on his face were obvious, his eyes opened wide, but they narrowed as he glared at Geras, straightening his uniform.

Geras gave him an ice-melting look. "Regardless of what you think, Lasure, that man right there, is your Prince..." he pointed at Cord, "...and a good friend of mine. You will show him some respect—and his friends along with him, no matter where they hail from."

Lasure bit his lip and nodded, but Garrian saw the hate in his eyes: it didn't fade. He turned to follow the men down the ramp, the cacophony of foot-beats fading as they went. Outside, Lasure took over. Garrian and Geras walked down the ramp behind him, followed by the others.

"Company, halt!"

The two columns of soldiers came to a stop. They stretched from the base of the ramp to a double steel door set into the ice wall, twenty men per side.

"Left column, right, and right column, left face!" The two lines turned in opposite directions to face each other, three-yards clear between them.

Geras led them down the open lane formed by the soldiers toward the steel doors.

Cord tapped him on the shoulder. "This is one of the things I hated, all the formality..."

"Wait until we get inside..." Geras smiled.

## ***

Eustas' knees were killing him. He'd been on them for twenty minutes. She released his head, and he collapsed, catching himself on one hand, the other hand holding his face. He fell on his side, moaning.

Kavan stood up, clearly distraught. "I thought you couldn't give anyone information, what was that?"

She turned to him as an old woman and spoke to him as a sixteen-year-old, morphing into a younger version of herself. She played with the red ribbons in her hair as she answered him, staring into space. "The K'Pa laws are for outsiders, and as I said before, Eustas has my blood in his veins—he is family. I would be his really-great-grandmother if you added a lot of greats."

"You're not so great if you turn him into a vegetable. Eustas, are you alright?" Kavan placed his hand on Eustas' head. "Solium carium vertas." Green healing magic spread across Eustas' face.

Eustas' eyes snapped open. Kavan's face was so close to his it was a shock, and he pushed away from him with his heels, trying to get away. When he realized where he was, he stopped and dragged himself into a sitting position, refocusing on the Oracle.

She stood there, bathed in the soft white light of her overhead orb, smiling at him. "So, you know what happened now, but this is a process I've been keeping from you until you were ready, and you're not done."

"What else do I need to know?" he asked.

"You need to know why you don't know," she said.

"Know what?" He watched her morph into a five-year-old girl with shining blonde pigtails.

She grabbed his head with her right hand, her voice a whisper, "Everything..."

## ***

The mountain peak was circled with a shroud of clouds blocking the sunlight. A gentle mist hung in the air, soaking everything and giving the rocky surfaces a glistening sheen. There was no way to tell where he was, no landmarks, no signs in the distance. He couldn't see either of the suns. There were five figures at the stone circle: one in the center, a black-robed woman, and four men spaced evenly around her. He recognized Kavan.

Kavan spoke to them, expressing his concerns. "Why wipe out their history? Is this necessary?"

She turned to him. Her eyes were kind, almost motherly. "If they remember, then they won't accept you, Kavan. We want them to accept you, to believe you are who you say. These humans are a significant boost to your power, but they have to follow you willingly; it can't be forced—human will is like that."

"And why are we gathering all this power?" Kavan wasn't convinced. "What's the goal? Are we becoming Gods for the sake of power itself, or is there a larger plan?"

The Prophet smiled and approached him. She placed her hands on either side of his head. "You're here alone, Kavan; your people have abandoned you. The war between your races is over, and this is your reality now. They destroyed themselves; everything you knew is gone, and your culture decimated. It's time to create a future for yourself here."

"But, how can you be certain?" he asked.

"Because I've seen it." Her eyes narrowed. Eustas could tell she didn't like to be questioned. "After all I've taught you, you don't trust me?"

"No, master," he held his hands out, "but I can't see what wiping their memories will accomplish."

"Nor can I." The Draggon stepped out of the heavy mist, interrupting the conversation.

Eustas recognized him from before; the half-moon pendant hung from his neck, the yellow fire in his eyes burning hot.

The Prophet spun to face him. "Your presence is not required here, Darkonus."

"Oh, I think it is. You're discussing changes to my world, and I don't believe you have the right."

"Nothing I'm doing affects the Draggons," she said.

"So you say..." Darkonus slid one dagger from his sheath and examined the edge. The crystal embedded in the pommel glowed a dark red; the black blob inside swirled around aimlessly seeking its twin, or a life-force to drain.

"Are you seriously trying to intimidate me with a dagger I created?" She laughed.

"I don't know; you made them pretty powerful. Have you told these fools why you made the daggers?" He pointed at Kavan and the others.

"You should leave now before you upset me," she said, her eyes narrowing.

Eustas saw a hint of uncertainty on her face.

"You know I'm resistant to your magic," Darkonus said. "All I want to know is why... Why erase their memories? I have the same concerns as Kavan. You sound like you're developing a power-base, and that does involve me."

"You want these humans gone, correct?" she asked him, cocking her head to the side.

"More than anything I know." He put the dagger away, his interest peaked.

"And if I promise you that's the ultimate end of my plans, would you trust me?"

"Trust is one of those funny things," he said. "I don't think I can promise trust; I don't think anyone can. How about this... you don't affect my Draggons or me, and I promise not to kill you. I know it would be hard, but I don't think it's impossible."

"How dare you threaten her?" Zaril pointed his palm toward Darkonus, muttering a spell under his breath. The energy bolt Zaril thought would throw him across the clearing passed right through the Draggon as if he wasn't there.

Darkonus rushed toward him, the edge of Pain (the twin of Suffering) pressed against his throat, a thin trail of blood flowing down his neck, soaking his collar. The amorphous blob inside the crystal tried to get inside him, yearning for more violence. "Stop me!" Darkonus glared at the Prophet, the challenge was obvious. "If you can..."

"Ok, let him go..." she said.

Darkonus shifted into his Draggon form: twenty-feet long, with dense scales and razor claws. His head was almost as large as her body. He put his nose several inches from the Prophet, foul Draggon-breath washing over her face. His voice changed to the guttural Draggon-rumble. "Do what you want. But don't forget, I have the last word on what happens here."

"Fine, please go away now." She was starting to look bored.

Darkonus grinned, his eyes erupting in fiery yellow, three rows of teeth dripping saliva from his mouth. He raised his wings and flew away.

"See, there are reasons why we shouldn't do this." Kavan crossed his arms.

"No, this is exactly why we should." Mordus finally chimed in. "We can't subject ourselves to these Draggons' power. They resist our magic, but we can change that if we concentrate our efforts. We need these humans' power."

She smiled at him and waved them back into their places. "In any case, we came here to perform a ceremony. Retake your places around the circle and focus your energies on me." Her eyes glowed with golden light as she stepped back into the center of the stone circle.

They moved back to their cardinal positions and picked up their staves, each of them hummed when a hand touched it. The sound started as a low-frequency drone but increased in pitch, until it burned a hole inside their skulls. They didn't dare let go; she'd been very specific—something about ripping the fabric of space and time.

Each of them channeled the Orphic energy into the staves, and it passed through the metal rods into her. Four golden streams of pure energy charging her, increasing her power until she shined so bright they could barely look at her. She shaped the energy into a sphere surrounding her; light rippled across the surface—like golden waves across a transparent ocean. An acrid smell hung in the air: it burned their throats and brought tears to their eyes.

When she was satisfied with the sphere, she brought her hands together before her face, then shoved them to her sides, pushing on the inside of the ball of light. The ball expanded: it scorched the clouds surrounding them, turning them to steam and making the sky visible. It consumed the planet, then the moons. They watched it go for a long while, the faint golden glow masking the stars as it grew larger. It shimmered and winked out finally, running out of power.

"How far do you think that went?" Kavan asked The Prophet in awe.

"At least a light-year," she said. "Any human touched by that spell now remembers nothing beyond two minutes ago."

"And they'll accept us as Gods now?" Zaril asked.

"Their minds are blank slates," she said. "They've forgotten every deep-seated belief they once held, including belief or disbelief in Deities. It's up to you to convince them. I've done all I can."

Zaril grinned. "Well, let's get busy..."
Chapter Eleven

"Please, master, stop!" Mordus clawed at his bare head.

She released her hold on them, and they fell to the floor, moaning in pain. She stepped away, smoothing the fabric of her robe, brushing imaginary motes of dust from the sleeves as if they'd tarnished her somehow, a look of mild disgust curling her lip. The light lost its tinge of gray; the yellow-red beams of sunlight fell again on the stones around the altar. The temperature hadn't changed, but Mordus decided it felt warmer.

"I had higher hopes for the two of you." She snapped the fingers of her right hand. Dark smoke and darker plasma exploded at her side and behind her. When the cloud cleared, they saw Zaril standing there; his hands splayed in front, trying to regain his balance, his eyes wide with shock. He looked around, recognizing where he was. The shock turned to irritation.

"I was right in the middle of something..." He glared at the Prophet. "What is the problem?"

"These two." She waved a hand at them.

"You'll need to be more specific," he rolled his eyes. "I've several problems with both of them, which problem are you referring to?"

"Oh, this is new. They've deduced the fact we're up to something, but they have no clue what it might be—like children wondering what's inside the box they can't open."

Zaril sat down on the bench closest to her and stared at them. He watched their faces, probed their thoughts. He laughed. "This changes nothing. Even if we told them the truth, there's nothing they can do about it. Who would they tell? There's no one."

"Do you think we should?" She turned toward him. "Tell them, I mean. It will affect them, and we promised not to kill them."

"Why not?" He stood and took her hand. "As I said, it's too late to stop it, and Faran has failed me already by not capturing the Captain so we could use him as leverage."

"You never told me why you needed him..." Faran murmured.

"Because you didn't need to know," Zaril snapped. "Now, it's a moot point, and I can't see the harm in telling you why, if it will satisfy your curiosity."

The Prophet glanced at him and nodded.

Zaril walked around the platform, summoning the words to explain himself. "We are going to break the bond binding the four of us."

Mordus sprang to his feet. "Why, so you can kill us?"

Zaril waved his hands, shaking his head. "No, no, we don't care about the three of you. Give me a chance to explain..."

Mordus sat back down. He looked at Faran, who nodded and pointed at the Prophet. "We, means you and him, right?" His fangs protruded, and there was pain in his eyes. "Not the we that used to be all five of us?"

She reached to run her hand down the side of his face, but he recoiled from her, his pupils the size of a pin, fangs jutting out.

"Faran, the two of you and Kavan are like children to me," she said. "I would never hurt you, not permanently..."

"I feel so much better now..." Faran looked away. "So, why the need to break the bond between us, if not to kill us?"

Zaril crossed his arms and focused on Faran. He cocked his head to the right, and his eyes became narrow slits. "You'd like it to be something nefarious, wouldn't you? That way, you could justify feeling like you're being used. But I hate to disappoint you, Faran, it's not about you at all. It's not about Kavan, and it's not about Mordus, it's about the Prophet and me and the fact I've ascended to her level. Would you like me to continue?"

Faran and Mordus exchanged glances; they both turned and nodded in unison.

"Good!" Zaril took the Prophet's hand and led her to the bench. He sat beside her, straightening his clothing, ensuring everything was in its proper place. "So, let's bring you two up to speed, shall we?"

The grin on his face reminded Mordus of a Mirecat stalking its prey.

"First, I know you've both seen me casting spells without words," Zaril said. "We haven't talked about it, so let's do that now. I've experienced the change. My mind, my understanding, is no longer limited by words. I'm able to see the strings holding the fabric of the multiverse together, and I can pull on those strings: I can reshape the cloth, mold it into a new form. I finally understand what the master has been teaching us these past millennia."

The two of them sat in stunned silence.

"Now, it's time we both moved on to the next level, and that requires a few things. Our bond must be broken, so the Prophet and I can become one. She also needs to strip the bright-side of her powers away from her sister. So, we are both being held back because of our circumstances. I'm tethered to you three idiots, and she's one-half of a supreme being: the dark half. Any questions so far?"

They looked at each other, then turned back, shaking their heads.

"Excellent. Moving right along... I know what you're thinking: she cast the spell, she can remove it, but there you would be mistaken. It seems this magic was so powerful it twisted the strings I mentioned into a knot. To untie it, we need a power source that will let us get deep inside the knot to see what's holding it together."

Zaril stood and began walking around the tub: complete circles; his hands clenched behind his back, like a General laying out the battle plans.

"Now, here's the problem:" he stopped and looked at them, then resumed his circuitous journey, "the power source we need, doesn't exist in this dimension."

"You're after a void orb, aren't you?" Mordus nodded to himself, the answer unnecessary.

Zaril clapped his hands together and pointed one finger at Mordus. "I knew you were smarter than the other two. That's exactly what we need! But like I said, they don't exist in this dimension."

"And if they did, I would say you were insane. The Void Stones powering our ships required complex containment fields. The radiation alone would burn you alive in seconds, and then you must adjust for the temporal shift..." Mordus shook his head. "How would you even get to another dimension to obtain one, and how would you know which dimension to choose? Some dimensions have void orbs, and some don't."

"We've solved the problem of containment." Zaril resumed his round-about the tub. "The Draggons have the original staff the humans used, it's still set to the same spatial coordinates, and they went there twice—first, on a scouting mission. They left detailed records about the dimension they went to, including everything they saw."

"And they saw a void orb?" Faran asked.

"They did," Zaril nodded, "judging by their description of it. It seems human protocol when exploring unknown worlds requires the use of radiation suits and other protective gear—lucky for them. They found one of the ancient temples, stone-intact. They measured the radiation and decided to leave it alone. There was no other threat they could determine, so it's just sitting there, right where they found it."

"So what's the problem? Go get it," Faran said.

"The Draggons want something in exchange for the staff, and there's the issue of a power cell to make it usable."

"Something in exchange... like what?" Mordus grew suspicious and was rewarded by Zaril's answer.

"They want all the humans destroyed..."

## ***

King Carl Bennett Aristan sat on the edge of the dock, his bare feet swirling the surface of the water. He wore white leather armor like Cord's, the pant-legs rolled up, and his boots piled beside him on the wooden planks. He was deep in thought and didn't notice his son sitting next to him for several minutes. Cord had seen him this way before. He didn't disturb him; he sat there quietly, waiting to be noticed.

"How've you been, son?" Carl never looked at him; his eyes stayed focused on the eddies swirling around his feet. He watched the sunlight reflecting from the waves. Occasionally he raised one foot from the water, watching the liquid drain from his skin.

"Oh, you know..." Cord squeezed his shoulder. "Trying to avoid being arrested by my father."

"I don't think I ever used the word arrest," he chuckled and grinned at him, "I'm pretty sure it was detain. You know Geras, he hears what he wants—but he is effective."

"Well, arrest and detain mean the same thing."

"True, but one sounds so much worse than the other."

Cord nodded agreement. He drew a small silver flask of brandy from his pocket, took a sip, and passed it to his father. Carl tasted the sweet liquor then marveled at the flask, turning it over in his hands, a smile spreading across his face. "I gave you this... the year after your mother died."

"Yes, you did." Cord stared at the water, returning the flask to his pocket.

"I've been missing her, too, Cord." Carl's eyes welled with tears. "These last ten years have been hard, and I'm tired. You need to step up and take your place."

"Father, I don't want to be King, I never have. We've discussed this so many times I've got it memorized. Pass the throne to Jerrold; it's been his dream since we were boys."

Carl pushed up from his seat and paced the length of the dock, wet footprints following him.

"That's exactly why he can't be King! Jerrold has changed: he's not the sweet baby-brother you remember—he's cruel and vicious. I can't give him the kingdom; it has to be you."

Cord rose from the dock. "Come on, how bad could he possibly be?"

Jerrold was always impetuous, but his actions were never tinged with malice, much less evil.

"Son, he executed thirty-two prisoners because they wouldn't give him the code to the Haylon Station security grid. It would've been more if Geras hadn't warned me it was happening. He killed every one of them with a knife: he slit their throats. You should've seen the room; it was horrifying—the floor coated with blood, bodies piled against the walls—there were flies everywhere, and the smell..." A visible shudder ran through Carl's body. "The look on his face when I got there and finally stopped him—he's insane Cord, he's been sick for years..."

Cord stared at him in shock, his mouth hanging open. The shock turned to anger, and his eyes narrowed. "Where is he?" There was venom in his voice.

"Locked up, where he's going to stay. Don't worry, I took care of his immediate punishment—he'll be thinking about it for a while—at least until the swelling goes away."

Cord noticed his father's hands then: he saw the cuts and scrapes on his knuckles, the bulging of the joints. His left wrist was wrapped tightly with a bandage.

"This was recent?" Cord asked.

"Last week," Carl said. "Does it matter when it happened?"

"No, I suppose it doesn't." Cord shook his head.

"So, you see my predicament?" Carl bent to retrieve his boots. He sat on a short pylon, pulling them on. "It has to be you; he's unfit to rule."

"I'm in the middle of something right now, father: something which may be as important—maybe more so. This can wait."

"There's something else you don't know. You've been gone for a while," Carl pulled the second boot on and stood to face Cord. "I'm dying..."

"What?" The shock returned to his face. He closed the distance between them, grabbing his father by both shoulders. "I don't understand. You're still young, and you're healthy."

Carl shook his head. "I've learned to hide it well, but I'm not."

"What is it?" Cord asked.

"Something I hoped you would be spared from, and you were. Our family suffers from a congenital heart problem, Cord. It skips generations sometimes, as it did for you and your brothers. Once it shows up, death usually occurs within a year. I started feeling it six cycles ago."

"Surely there's something they can do?" Cord turned away from him—he didn't want his father to see the tears rolling down his cheeks. He swallowed against the lump forming in his throat.

"There's not—it can't be repaired. I'm going to die, and probably soon. You need to accept your responsibilities now before it's too late. If you're not King before I'm gone, Jerrold could make a case before the Council of Elders about your constant absence. Geras can't keep him locked away forever if I'm dead, and you're not here. He does have the support of the more hardline members of our government."

"Make it a royal edict," Cord said. "He never gets out..."

"In the absence of a sitting King, power reverts to the Council, you know that. The Council is evenly split right now. I don't know if they might release him. If they do and you're gone, then he ascends to the throne. Once he's there, it will be impossible to remove him. And maybe worse, the Council keeps the power for themselves... you know how they are."

Cord fell silent, considering everything he'd heard. He still didn't want the job, but his father's reasoning was sinking in. He had a contract with Garrian he wanted to honor, and he'd promised two men to the fight. He was still unsure what the fight was, but it was shaping up to be dire. Sorceresses, Draggons, the Na'Geena, and the Vir'Con as well.

"If I agree to this, you'll step down completely? I mean no interference—whatever I say you'll back me?"

"It's not me you need to worry about, Cord, but yes, whatever you decide."

"Exit simulation..." Cord turned toward the entrance, motioning for his father to follow. The trees, the lake, the dock, and the sky above them turned into digital soup and faded to a uniform gray. The sliding doors in the wall of the sim-chamber opened to reveal a dark passageway, the blue of the ice faintly lit by plasma lamps.

Carl caught up to him and placed one hand on his shoulder as they walked. "I take it you have a plan?"

"I do," Cord said, "but you won't like it—so I made you agree in advance..."

## ***

Eustas fell on his left side this time; it didn't hurt any less than the right. Kavan was ready. The green glow covered Eustas' face and head. He didn't recoil this time when he opened his eyes.

"Thank you, Kavan." He sat up, turning his head to both sides, refreshing his memory.

"What, you're not going to try the it's Lord Kavan thing on him?" Karal grinned, still guarding his place against the wall. The Oracle glanced at him, and he looked away.

Kavan stood and held both arms out to his sides. "You know what? I'm tired of this pretense. I know I'm not a god—I hate playing one. It's something I got dragged into a long time ago, and I wish it never happened. Does everyone feel better?" He checked all their faces; they stared at him blankly. "I know I feel better."

"Yeah, anyway, you got the answer to your question." The Oracle pointed at Eustas.

"I don't remember asking a question... did I ask a question?" Eustas shook his head.

"See? It's dangerous what you're doing with his mind." Kavan resumed his seat before the mirror.

"It will come back to you," she said. "Your head was just filled with two-thousand-year-old history you've lost. It's a shock to the senses, but you'll recover."

Eustas looked at Karal, who was ignoring him. "Who is the Draggon with the half-moon pendant?"

Karal's head swiveled toward him, sudden interest dawning. "That would be Darkonus."

"How can you be certain?" he asked.

"Because he's my brother." Karal fished a half-moon pendant from inside his shirt.

Eustas recognized it immediately. "Is it a family thing? You all wear the same jewelry?"

"There are three of these pendants, the ruling family holds them. The pendant empowers the daggers we carry. It's complex, and I doubt you would understand. Without the pendant, the daggers are just sharp pieces of metal."

Eustas held his right hand up, the silver shine of the ring on his third finger caught the light.

"I think I know how it works."

"Why are you asking me then?"

"Because I didn't know you were connected to him, until now," Eustas said.

"There's a lot of things you're not aware of Eustas. Should I fill you in?"

The Oracle waved her hand; it was a slight gesture. Everyone except her and Eustas froze in place. She placed her left hand on his cheek.

He felt the touch of her skin—the electric zing of her fingers crossing his flesh. Her eyes bored into his. There was a sharp pain in the center of his head, like a hard night of cheap wine. He grabbed her wrist and forced it away. "What do you want from me?"

"I want you to fulfill your destiny," she said.

Eustas laughed and shook his head. "And which one of the million possible versions is the correct one?"

She smiled. "The one where we win."

## ***

Cord pushed open the big double doors leading into the Council chambers. The iron hinges cried in agony. This room was warmer than the rest of the castle, thanks to the extra heating pipes his father installed. The Councilors finally stopped complaining about the chill. Cord liked it fine. He'd grown up in this castle—he was accustomed to it. The temperature inside the chamber was stuffy by comparison.

Six seats surrounded the central table: a thick wooden disk sitting on four legs, it was polished to a mirror shine. Three of the seats were occupied—the councilors from wards two four and five. They all stood and bowed. Cord sat in the largest of the six chairs: the one reserved for the King.

Councilors two and five stared at him, but councilor four turned to King Aristan with a questioning look. "Sire, something we should know?"

Cord spoke first, dismissing the question with a wave of his hand. "My father has convinced me to ascend to the throne."

Councilor four turned toward him. "Then, we must call a council meeting your majesty so that we might validate your ascension."

"I'm sure the law only requires a majority," Cord said, "and there are three of you here."

"Why now?" Councilor two glanced back and forth between Cord and his father, his eyes narrowing. He sat back in his chair. "You've always been adamant about not desiring the throne. Why the urgency?"

"Things change. You needn't concern yourself with why." Cord's look was cold and steady.

"As you say... Sire."

"Good. So you all three acknowledge me as King?"

There was a tense moment. Cord imagined one or more of them saying no. He ran scenarios through his mind, thinking of a response, but he was disappointed by three nodding heads

"We do, Sire, you are next in line," Councilor two said. "If King Carl wishes to step down, then you are our new King, necessary ceremonies aside."

"Good, ceremonies can wait, but I have two proclamations you need to hear." Cord rose and placed both hands flat on the table, leaning toward them. "First, I'm calling a ceasefire against the Eradorians: they're no longer our enemies. All units are to be withdrawn, and no further hostilities against Erador are authorized."

"But Sire!" Councilor two sprang to his feet, the chair sliding back from the force: it fell on its side with a wooden rattle against the tile floor. He placed his palms on the table in defiance. "We are at war! You can't just stop it with a word! What about our Terillium deposits? Should we give them all they want?"

All three councilors turned to King Carl. He raised his shoulders and pointed at Cord.

"You may not like this, but we will find a way to achieve peace with the Eradorians." Cord pushed away from the table and walked toward the fireplace. "Our mountains are covered with Terillium. There's a billion tons of it lying on the surface. There's more than enough for everyone. What we don't have is an abundance of people who need to die defending it. It's ridiculous, and it stops now!"

"Can I make a suggestion?" Carl walked over to him and placed one hand on his shoulder.

"Of course, father, what is it?"

"If the Eradorians made a show of good faith, the councilors might be more inclined to not bicker with you over the outcome."

Cord turned to the guard standing by the door. "Bring me Captain Callus. He should be with the others in the holding cells on level five."

"Right away, Sire." The guard turned to go, but Cord stopped him.

"Bring them all to me. And find Geras, I need him too."

## ***

Calling the room they were in a cell was a bit of a stretch. Alisha looked around. The walls were not made of bars; on the contrary, they were covered with soft blue material—it felt spongy. There were no windows and only one door: a solid metal door with a numeric keypad. A large conference table with ten chairs took up the center. Keenan fell asleep in his chair; feet propped on the table. Garrian and Dalo were strategizing an escape while Zevo and the women were playing a game of cards. Zevo managed to smuggle in the deck. Maybe the guards didn't think a deck of cards was very dangerous. Garrian said Zevo always had a deck with him, he was notorious for it, and nobody would play with him anymore.

"You cheater!" Sammi pointed at Zevo. "That's the fifth three-of-triangles I've seen, and there hasn't been a shuffle..."

"Surely, you're mistaken. There are only four in the deck..." He blinked innocently.

"Yeah, you pulled it from your discard pile!" she said.

"Now, why would I do that?" he asked.

"Because you have a Knight," Sammi said, "but you don't want to lay it down yet. You're waiting for me to play my Archer so you can take it because it's your last trump-card."

Zevo turned to Kat and Delia. "Do you ladies feel I'm being underhanded as well?"

"Honestly, I'm barely paying attention. I couldn't tell you the last card I played." Delia rubbed her eyes and yawned.

Kat's pupils flared. "She's right. The three-of-triangles has been played five times."

"How can you be certain?" Zevo raised his eyebrows, and one corner of his mouth twisted into a smirk.

Delia laughed. "Draggons have perfect memory. If you ask her, she'll tell you who played which card since we started—it's quite annoying sometimes."

"Garrian warned you all about playing cards with Zevo." Alisha smiled at them.

"I heard my name, what's going on?" Garrian swiveled in his chair to face them.

"Darran is cheating again," Alisha said.

"Again?" Garrian laughed. "You mean he stopped at some point? I don't believe it."

"Ok, I admit, I may have accidentally picked up the three," Zevo said, "but I assure you it was unintentional..."

The conversation was cut short by the bip-boop-beep of code being entered into the keypad on the door. The bolt slid back with a loud clank. A chilly wind rushed in as the door swung toward them, and a black-suited Geras stepped through the opening carrying a tray of sandwiches.

"I thought you might be hungry." He grinned, setting the tray upon the table.

The smell of food woke Keenan. He rubbed his face and took his feet down. "About time. I'm starving."

"I think we all are." Dalo grinned, grabbing a sandwich from the tray.

Geras watched them eat in silence. Alisha watched his face between bites. He had a kind face, but she couldn't read him, and it puzzled her. She was an excellent judge of character, but Geras was a mystery. She couldn't say for certain how she felt about him; he was Cord's friend, and Garrian seemed taken with him—but she wasn't sure. There was a darkness about him she couldn't define. Maybe she was paranoid.

"Prince Cord seems to hold you all in high regard." Geras folded his hands behind his back. "I'm curious, why is that? None of you are Haylonians, with the possible exception of you two." He pointed at Delia and Kat. "Since you've been living here for so long, we might say you qualify for immigrant status."

"It could be because I'm his employer." Garrian managed between mouthfuls of the sandwich.

"Yes, I forgot," Geras said, "he has been playing the man-for-hire lately. And you, Keenan, you're his sidekick, I suppose?"

"Don't be nasty, Geras, there's no need." Keenan picked his teeth with a thumbnail. "You and I have never seen eye-to-eye, but we both have his interests at heart."

"That's true." Geras nodded. "I'm just trying to understand the dynamic here. What are you all after? What are you searching for or trying to kill, or whatever...? What's the end goal?" His eyes turned to Garrian.

"I'm afraid we can't answer," Garrian said, "because we aren't sure ourselves."

"Ah, a clandestine mission with no target... seems kind of pointless, don't you think?"

"There's a target. We don't know what it is yet," Alisha said.

"So you're just sneaking around, gathering people?"

Garrian started to answer, but Alisha cut him off. "This is Luminary Council business Geras. I'm sorry, but we can't discuss it."

"Luminary Council?" He pulled out the chair across from her and sat, lacing his fingers together on the table between them. "And what is that?"

She had a perfect view of his face now; it wasn't as unreadable as she'd first thought—but it was well-guarded. She saw what he was doing. "So, this is an interrogation, after all?"

Geras smiled and unlaced his fingers, placing both palms flat on the table. He surveyed their faces, considering his options. He pulled a folded piece of paper from his left breast pocket and laid it down, one hand holding it in place.

"You're in the company of my Prince," he said, "which means I will treat you with a deference common spies do not enjoy."

"Spies! You think we're spies?" Alisha leaned forward, her face tightening.

"I assure you what I think makes no difference. What this paper says, tells me all I need to know." He watched their expressions as he said it, his finger tapping the sheet beneath his hand.

Seven pairs of eyes stared at the document as if it were a snake coiled to strike.

"What is it?" Alisha's gaze rose to meet his.

"We'll get to it in a moment. You can try denying what's on this paper, but I don't think you can." Geras grinned. "First, tell me what two Sorceresses, a Draggon, four soldiers, and the next King of Haylon have in common."

"I told you, I hired Cord and Keenan to help us." Garrian leaned forward. "We'd never met before, and I didn't know he was the Prince. Ask Keenan, he can tell you."

Geras glanced at Keenan, who nodded agreement, stuffing the last bit of sandwich between his lips.

"But that's the real question, isn't it? What do you need help with?" Geras asked.

Alisha's suspicion was clawing at her. Geras knew more than he was saying. "Wait, how do you know what a Draggon is? I understood there were none on Haylon. "What is it you do for your King?"

Geras leaned back in his chair but maintained his grip on the folded paper. "My formal title is Administrator of the Special Sciences Division, but I'm also chief of security for the realm—which means I control everything, in one way or another."

"And your knowledge of Draggons?" Alisha stared him down.

"Special Sciences Division is a misnomer. The SSD is an umbrella organization which deals with everything: science, magic, intelligence. We may not have ships capable of breaking our gravity, but there are other ways to get off Haylon if you're aware of them, and they know about Draggons on Erador."

"So, you're running an organization of spies," Alisha said. "And you accuse us of it..."

"I say spies; you say spies; I guess we're even... I don't really consider you spies, but I know there's more here than you're saying. It's my job to consider the security of Haylon. I'm not trying to offend you."

"I suppose I can understand," Alisha said, her face relaxing

"So, what is the Luminary Council, if I might ask?"

"The directive of the Luminary Council is the furtherance of Erador's spiritual beliefs and incorporating all the Gods' doctrines into a functional system which leaves no one behind." Alisha realized how canned it sounded, but it's all she could think of.

Geras smiled. "Obviously a statement written by a politician, and the one you've memorized. It's very clever, I admit—says absolutely nothing, but sounds official. Now, what do you really do?"

Everyone was silent. The boop-beep-bip of the keypad brought them around. A palace guard stepped into the room and motioned at Geras. "The King wants to see you—and them."

"I thought King Carl was sequestered for the day?" Geras questioned him.

"Not King Carl—King Cord." The guard looked them over. "There've been changes."

"I see. Well, we shouldn't keep him waiting." Geras stood and started for the door.

Alisha grabbed his arm as he passed her. "What was on the paper?"

"Oh... It's next week's guard assignments." He grinned and pushed past her. They followed him out the door and down the chilly ice-halls of the palace.
Chapter Twelve

Faran hung his head and shook it in silence. "Five minutes ago, you accused me of being paranoid. Now you tell us this..."

"Why on Erador would you agree to something like this?" Mordus stood and turned away from Zaril. "You know what it will do to us..."

"So, let me get this straight." The Prophet's eyes shined. "Both of you are more concerned with maintaining your power than with the lives of all these humans?"

Mordus and Faran looked at each other in shock, and their mouths hung open.

"Well, of course!" Faran recovered. "The way it was before they came: the five of us staring at each other—it was boring. The humans have at least made this fun. But we don't want to give up our power."

"And Kavan? You think he feels the same way?" she asked.

Mordus snorted. "Kavan is a fool. He fell in love with them ages ago. He returns more power to them than he keeps for himself, which is why we are stronger, but he has more followers. No, he wouldn't approve."

"I suspected as much," she said. "Kavan was always more delicate than you three."

"But, we don't approve either!" Faran jumped up. "You're talking about eliminating our power. What will become of us while you're pulling the strings of fate, or whatever it is you plan to do? Do you realize how selfish this sounds? How do you plan on becoming an enlightened being if the act creating you strips someone else of their essence? Sounds very unenlightened."

Zaril waited for them to calm down. He watched them retake their seats, a grin teasing the corner of his mouth. "There's an obvious solution here: one you're both failing to see."

"Which is?" Mordus asked.

"If the two of you could somehow reunite the staff and the power cell," Zaril said, "we wouldn't need to make any deals with the Draggons..."

"Why don't the two of you do it?" Mordus rolled his eyes. "You're far more powerful than we are."

"We can't go against Darkonus ourselves. If we did and failed—and with Draggons you never know, it could go either way—it would kill our chances to deal with him. But you two can't be linked to us, except in a general sense. Think about this before you say no. If we can get the staff from Darkonus, the humans don't have to die—and you'll keep your power intact. But time is important here. We are on a deadline."

"Why a deadline?" Faran asked.

"Every ninety days, the planet and all three moons align with the twin suns. It creates a super-gravitational pull, amplifying the Orphic energy flows: it's the only time the veil between dimensions is thin enough to penetrate."

"And when is this going to occur?" Mordus asked.

"In five days," Zaril said, "at second dawn, when the red sun is three degrees above the horizon of Erador."

"So, you want us to steal this staff from the Draggons?" Faran's pupils were solid white. "Are you insane?"

"I'm sorry, it's the only option," Zaril said.

"What about the power cell?" Mordus asked. "Where might that be?"

Zaril stood and took the Prophet's hand to lead her away. He brushed the hair from her face as they walked.

"I have someone working on it..." Zaril said, "someone inside."

## ***

Keenan stepped ahead of the guard and shoved the council chamber doors open with two meaty hands. They squealed to a sudden bang against the wall, startling all the guards. He stalked into the chamber, stopping short at the edge of the table next to the King's chair. He glanced down at Cord and winked. "You miss me?"

Councilor number four drew a sharp breath. "You're addressing our King!"

"I know. He's also my brother, and he owes me a considerable sum of money." Keenan scanned their faces. "Should I let him off the hook when he's finally in a position to pay me? Doesn't seem very prudent..."

Cord laughed and turned to a guard, motioning for more chairs. Several attendants pushed extra chairs from along the wall to the table's edge. Cord waved a hand, inviting them to sit. Zevo decided to stand, positioning himself behind councilor number four's chair with his arms crossed. The councilor seemed nervous having someone behind him—he turned his head several times, glancing at Zevo from the corner of his eye. It made Zevo smile seeing how uncomfortable he was.

"In case you haven't heard, I've ascended to the throne of Haylon." Cord turned to Garrian. Number four stood and turned his head toward Cord. "Your Majesty, I think it wise to wait for the others to be present before a decision of such magnitude."

"I know you have a contract with the Crown to manufacture weapons, Drucol," Cord said, "and you're hoping Harrin from ward five, and Larus from ward one will back you and cause a locked vote because you're paying them under the table. A majority of the wards plus the King is considered a quorum, as I'm sure you know. We will vote now."

The Councilors from wards two and three grinned at each other. They represented the common people—some might call them poor—they rarely had the votes to push the agenda, which would help their constituents because of the collusion between the other three. Political gridlock was a prime source of King Carl's angst, and a major motivation in his decision to abdicate.

Cord turned to Garrian. "Who can negotiate a truce with your enemies, under Eradorian law?"

"The Tribal Governor, any senior Senator, and any field-officer Captain or above."

"And are you such an officer?" Cord asked.

"I am, your Majesty." Garrian smiled.

"Then, as King of Haylon, I offer Erador a cease-fire, leading to peace between our planets. Politicians can work out the details later. Drucol here, for instance, he's good at making deals. The important thing is, we are no longer at war. This is about Terillium, and we've more than enough to satisfy all our needs and yours too. I honestly don't know what the fuss was about." Cord turned to his father, who shrugged.

"I accept." Garrian raised his right hand, palm toward Cord.

Cord returned the gesture and pointed toward Keenan. "There's one other thing I need to do while I have you all here. I'm placing Keenan Corandon on the throne as my Regent until my contract with Captain Callus is complete."

"What?" Keenan leaned forward with a sour look. "I want to go with you, not stay here babysitting these fools..." He made a sweeping gesture toward the Councilors.

"I'm sorry, K, but I need someone I trust to do this, and I trust no one more. Geras will go with us in your place." Keenan wrinkled his nose at Geras while Cord turned back to Garrian. "If that's fine with you. I promised you two men, and Geras is more than capable."

"Suits me," Garrian said. "I like Geras, even if he doesn't have a sense of humor."

Geras cocked his head and considered it, staring at the ceiling. He didn't respond to Garrian's quip, but he smiled. "It would be my honor, Sire."

"That, as they say, is that." Cord rose from his chair and adjusted his armor. "Captain, you said we would take a day off before we meet your father. I can think of no better place than right here in this Castle. We have everything you could want, and I own the place." He winked at Garrian.

"Sounds good, but my father will be the one who responds to this peace accord after we transmit it to my people. We will see him much sooner than we thought," Garrian said.

Cord nodded and beckoned a pair of stewards. "Show my friends to their rooms while Captain Callus and I send a message. Give them anything they ask for." He smiled at Alisha and the others. "And don't hesitate to ask... Captain, let's get back to your ship." He started toward the door.

"Right behind you." Garrian followed.

## ***

There's no denying Draggons are tough; they were born from the fires of creation when the multiverse was new. They're resistant to most magic because of it, and they're immortal, which is not the same as saying they can't be killed—but it's difficult. A Draggon's skin in their reptilian form is harder than Zyrsteel. They can see in the darkness of the subterranean realms they inhabit, and they rarely sleep.

As formidable as their lizard form is, their humanoid form might be more dangerous: they keep the speed and reflexes granted to them, and their strength is only marginally less. If they lose the protection of their scaly hide in favor of skin, they gain the use of hands, and they're deadly with a blade. They've honed their fighting abilities over billions of years, and in close combat, with a pair of daggers, they can slice you to ribbons in seconds. They move with a blur of speed, and by the time you see them coming, it's often too late.

Besides their enhanced sense of sight, their hearing is so acute they can hear a pin drop from fifty yards, or the beating of a human heart somewhat closer—the rush of blood through the veins. They can smell the fear in your sweat.

With all these things in mind, Mordus and Faran stepped through the black portal onto a wide rock ledge on the southern side of Vyr's Maw: a long-extinct volcano in the Sawtooth mountain range, one hundred and six miles due south of Erador Prime. This was the ancient home of the Draggons—their birthplace of fire. The mountain was honeycombed with caverns and tunnels: the remnants of long-cooled magma chambers and vents. Unlike Haylon City it remained warm here, almost stifling, as if the mother of the mountain slumbered below, awaiting the day she would be awakened.

Faran looked over the edge and drew a sharp breath, shuffling backward until his shoulders met the cliff face, his hands flat against the rock at his sides. He closed his eyes.

"You're afraid of heights?" Mordus laughed. "You live in a tree-house."

"My tree-house isn't in a thousand-foot tall tree." He swallowed hard, the wind across the exposed cliff face whipping his robes, making a popping noise.

"Follow me, and remember absolute silence." Mordus waved his hand in a circle between them. "Delius visio null" They both shimmered like water and vanished as the cloaking spell he'd learned from Kavan's Herald took effect. "They can still hear and smell us. Let's try to stay away from them..."

"We don't have a clue where to look. How are we ever going to find this thing?" Faran thumbed one fang. "This mountain is huge."

Mordus fished a small crystal from his pocket: it was clear, but there was a bluish glow deep inside. "The Prophet gave me this. The closer we get, the brighter it will become."

"And if we run into one of them?" Faran asked.

"Let's hope we don't."

They moved to their left along the ledge toward a gaping hole in the rock. They stood there for some time, listening to the silence pouring from the opening leading into the heart of the mountain, feeling the warm wind pushing against them from the void. It was pitch-black.

"How are we going to see?" Faran peered into the blackness.

Mordus placed his hand on Faran's forehead. "Luminarea Ocularis."

Faran looked into the tunnel again, only this time he could see for about thirty feet.

"Another gift from the Prophet..." Mordus walked ahead into the tunnel mouth, holding the crystal in his hand.

"This is a terrible plan. You know that." Faran followed reluctantly.

"Yes, I do."

## ***

"How did you freeze him?" Eustas pointed at Karal. "I thought Draggons were resistant to magic."

"Magic, yes. But no one can resist time." The Oracle walked to a large stone and sat.

"You stopped time?" Eustas' eyes widened.

"Only here. Outside my cave, it continues. I needed to have a private word with you. I believe Kavan has the same goals we do, and you should keep him close."

"You think he's opposed to Zaril and your sister?" Eustas asked.

"I do. I've read his heart, and it's pure. I believe him when he says they dragged him into this. He only wants to help. Deep down, he has a good soul."

"And this Draggon," he pointed at Karal, "is he the one you mentioned before, the one that's key?"

"I can't say for certain." The Oracle shook her head slowly. "They're hard to read—harder to predict. Kavan seems to trust him, so I want to trust him too. You'll have to use your best judgment, and you have Foulwarder."

"I meant to ask you," Eustas said, "why do the swords work when the Draggons are resistant to magic?"

"Resistant, not immune. The Na'Geena swords and the daggers the Draggons carry are formed from void magic. Void magic exists between the dimensions: it's what holds the multiverse together. No magic from this realm can permanently harm a Draggon because they were made from it. Void magic is not from this realm. It's difficult to describe, Eustas—be satisfied it works."

"Oh, I am."

"You are about to receive a message from Haylon. I've amplified the transmission, so it will get to you. Your son has been busy. You should go—and take them with you." She pointed at the frozen duo.

"You're certain of this?" He looked at them.

"As certain as I can be." She snapped her fingers. The bugs rotated around the light-orb once again.

The comm in Eustas' suit squealed three short bursts, indicating a priority-one call. He touched the controller on his left breast opening the channel. He placed it on audible so they could all listen.

" _General, this is Commander Galen at Haylon Station. I'm not sure what to make of this, but the codes check out as genuine."_

"What is it?" he asked.

" _We received a transmission from Captain Callus. He says he's negotiated a truce with the Haylonian King."_

"I see. Follow the protocol. Initiate a ceasefire but leave all the troops where they are for now. I'm on my way. Get the coordinates for the meeting from the Haylonians."

" _Yes, sir. Should I notify Governor Dinatos?"_

"No, not yet, I don't want to get his hopes up, in case this turns out to be nothing."

" _As you say, sir, Haylon out."_

Eustas looked at Kavan. "Would you like to accompany me to Haylon and check this out? I believe I have the answers you're seeking, even if she can't tell you." He pointed at the Oracle. "If you want to know what's going on..."

Kavan stood and faced him. "I know the humans on this planet are in danger; many people I care about—people who trust and believe in me, even if it's misplaced. Yes, I'll go with you."

"I don't believe the trust is misplaced, Kavan," Eustas said. "What about your pet Draggon?"

Karal chuckled, and his eyes blazed. "I'll go. Kavan's path and mine are linked, for the moment."

"Fine, we should make our way back to my ship, and we should hurry. Time is precious—more than I realized before." He glanced at the Oracle. She was in mid-shift between her older self and the five-year-old version. She walked over to him and held his hand, her bright-blue eyes bored into his. "You have everything you need... You always have..."

## ***

Three-hundred yards into the mountain, they came across the first choice in their journey. The tunnel split in three directions. Mordus tested the crystal at each opening. There was no difference in the intensity of the glow. They'd seen no sign of Draggons.

"Which way do we go?" Faran stood there watching Mordus.

"We'll need to go down each of these tunnels to see if it gets brighter."

"I don't like this," Faran said.

"So, what?" Mordus turned on him. "You want to give up your power and live like we were before? Abandoned and powerless, on an alien world?"

"No! Of course not." Faran's pupils grew larger. "I just don't like Draggons: they scare me."

"Which is why we need to get this done and get out of here." Mordus headed down the center fork of the tunnel. "Look, it's getting brighter, come on."

They'd walked about a hundred yards when they heard something: it was grating, and it reminded Mordus of a blade drawn across a rough surface—claws on stone. Along with it, came the sound of breathing—deep, hollow breaths echoing from the walls of the tunnel. Solid footsteps completed the image in their minds—rhythmic footfalls of a Draggon shuffling toward them. They turned and went back the way they'd come from. When they got to the intersection, they stopped, listening, holding their breath.

Faran couldn't hold it any longer. A squeak of breath slipped past his lips as he took a gulp of air. In the emptiness of the caverns, the sound bounced off the walls and headed down the surrounding tunnels, forming multiple echoes. Mordus slapped his palm across Faran's mouth. They sat in silence, waiting for the doom they imagined would come; it never did. Faran wrenched Mordus' hand away from his mouth and spat on the rocky floor.

"Get your hands off me!" He hissed.

"Then, stop making noise!" Mordus whispered. "You'll get us both killed!"

"You're the one yelling..." Faran said.

"I'm whispering, just like you are," Mordus said.

"Well, it's very loud..." Faran brushed imaginary lint from his robe and looked away.

Mordus pushed away from the wall and headed for the tunnel, the sounds of approaching Draggon fading down an alternate passageway. "Come on. We need to keep moving."

They retraced their steps, alert for the sound of Draggons. They heard many down several tunnels, but they somehow avoided them all.

The crystal grew brighter the deeper they traveled into the mountain maze, so bright Mordus began shielding the glow with his hands, only checking it at intersections when they needed to choose a path. More than once, they returned to a junction they'd passed because the glow diminished.

The Draggons had lived here forever, and they'd made improvements. Some tunnels were raw: natural rock as rough as the day it was formed. These would sometimes empty into massive stone halls decorated with columns and arches, carved with ancient themes Draggonish in nature. Mordus recognized none of it.

Rounding a turn in one tunnel, they were surprised by a group of five Draggons, all in humanoid form—they were far quieter, but their senses were diminished. The pair beat a hasty retreat down a passage they'd found, but dismissed because of its narrow size. More surprising, when Mordus once again checked the crystal, it was shining like a miniature sun. He covered it and jammed it into his pocket. The glow showing through the material was still bright.

"We're close..." Mordus started walking down the narrow tunnel, "I think we've been going in a circle around it. This is the way."

"I don't know," Faran looked askance at him, "are you sure you know how to work that thing?"

"It's pretty simple, Faran: it glows, and I hold it." Mordus turned toward him. "Would you like to hold it? Would it make you feel better?"

"I'm not touching it," Faran said, backing away. "She gave it to you. Who knows what might happen if I touch it?"

"You are very paranoid..." Mordus looked at him in awe. It surprised him that he was just now recognizing it. "I can't imagine what it must be like, distrusting everyone..."

"I'm alive, and I like it that way," Faran said. "My paranoia is a test, and most fail it."

"What about those who help you?" Mordus checked the crystal once more, and it blinded him. He shoved it back into his pocket. "Do you automatically think they can't be trusted?"

"You're very interested in trust. Let me ask you this: who do you trust?" Faran asked him.

Mordus stared at him for a moment, turning the question over in his mind. "Ok, point made. We still have to find this staff, and I think it's right in front of us."

"I think Zaril picked you as the leader." Faran pushed him. "You should go first. I'm right behind you..."

Mordus sighed and rolled his eyes.

They moved down the tightening path, the tunnel walls closing in on them. At one point, the walls were inches from their shoulders. They came to a solid wood panel. Mordus noticed the light shining in at the junction of walls and wood. He pushed on the wood. The grumble of cabinet sliding across stone echoed back down the tunnel behind them. Faran grabbed his shoulder, making him halt, but purpose forced him to proceed. The cabinet slid out into the room, the light spilling into the space behind them. They stepped through the now-empty hole into the room beyond.

It was a treasure room. There were crates of silver coins, statuettes, and figurines, paintings, and sculpture: the spoils of thousands of years of Draggon aggression. There was so much it boggled their minds. In the two-thousand-odd years they'd been playing Gods, none of them had amassed a hoard this size—not all four of them combined. There were other things as well, besides money. Technological devices—some Mordus knew, but most he'd never seen. Weapons and armor, mostly empty black-leather Draggon armor, but some of Zyrsteel, and some of the more base metals. The pale light of three golden plasma lamps lit the metal sea, glinting and gleaming from the waves of spilled coin. They stood silently in awe for several moments.

Mordus pulled the crystal from his pocket and held it out. He rotated in place, first left, then right. The glow was brightest to the left. The pile of devices in one corner of the room seemed to be the target. Most were haphazardly thrown about, but a bunch of cased items were stacked to one side. He ran the crystal over the surface of the cases; one, in particular, made it shine like a star. He grabbed the handle and extracted it from the pile. Faran watched as he laid it upon a crate and flipped the two catches open. The snapping sound bounced off the walls, reminding them where they were.

"Shh, listen..." Faran was pale, and his pupils were dots of white against a black circle. "Something's coming!"

They froze in place, straining to hear over the roaring silence. It reminded Mordus of holding a shell to his ear. Silence truly could be deafening. After several minutes they relaxed, making gestures at each other to stay quiet, both nodding agreement.

Mordus carefully opened the case. The letters spelling NASA were engraved into the lid. Mordus had no idea what it meant. Probably an acronym that meant something to the original humans. The staff lay inside, cradled in a foam substance. It was three feet long and constructed of shiny metal, and there was a keypad of some kind in the center. It didn't look like Zyrsteel or Paladrium—the closest he'd seen to it would be Aluminate, but the color was more yellow, not silver. He picked it up and turned toward Faran, whose pupils had returned to a more normal state.

"This is it?" Faran reached to touch the keypad.

Mordus pulled it away. "Don't touch it. We don't know what this thing might do."

"I wasn't going to push anything..." Faran looked hurt, his fangs jutting out.

"See that you don't." Mordus replaced the staff in its case and quietly snapped the catches closed. "Let's get out of here. Cast a portal back to the temple."

Faran uttered three words of the spell when Darkonus strode into the room. He was in human form, which is why they hadn't heard him approach. The look on his face said he was as surprised by their presence as they were by his.

Faran stopped casting and moved behind Mordus.

"So, rats in my pantry after my cheese." Darkonus grinned. He reached to his neck to draw his daggers, moving closer to them in a spider-stalking-a-fly manner—slowly and full of menace. His eyes glowed a hot yellow, so bright the room was lit by it. "I knew Zaril couldn't abide by our terms."

"Zaril didn't send us." Mordus attempted to bluff the Draggon.

Darkonus chuckled and shook his head, spinning the daggers until the points were facing down. "Don't lie; there's no need. Even if I believed you, it wouldn't change what's about to happen." Darkonus continued stalking them across the treasure room, all three of them kicking coins aside as they moved: a tinkling overture to a symphony of violence.

They backed away until they met the far wall. Mordus held the case in front of himself for protection.

"Ah, yes. That belongs to me," Darkonus said. "Lay it on the floor; I don't want to get blood on it."

"Stop! Wait a minute!" Mordus handed the case to Faran, who held it at arm's length like it was a snake. "Surely, we can give you something you want in exchange?"

"I already have a deal with Zaril, but I assume you know that, and you're both trying to salvage your power by stealing from me. He told me what would happen to you when the humans are gone—he's not your friend. Too bad for you; it doesn't concern me. But I can't have people thinking they can take my things, so I'm going to make an example of you two."

As Darkonus crept closer, Mordus turned to look at Faran. He hated him, but in the tension of the moment, he couldn't recall the reasons. All the petty issues between them—between them all—melted like the distance between them and the Draggon. He began to feel the heat from Darkonus' eyes.

"Faran, the generator..." Mordus pushed him hard; he stumbled several feet to the right and fell, still grasping the case. "I left mine on the table..."

Darkonus lunged. Mordus held his hands up to protect his face, but the daggers were aimed at his ribs. He felt the thin blades puncture his sides, the sharp tips penetrating his organs. The breath he was holding exploded from his lungs: a fine red spray coating the Draggon's face.

Darkonus grinned at him, teeth crimson-stained, blood dripping from his chin. "No cheese for you..."

The last thing Mordus saw as his blood-stained vision faded to black was Faran stepping through a dark portal, the case in his hand...

## ***

Faran turned as he stepped through the portal, in time to watch Mordus die. He backed through it, the case falling to the floor on the balcony of his treehouse—next to the table where Mordus left the second transceiver. Faran picked it up and pressed the button, shutting down the swirling vortex—then he dropped it. Both hands clutching his sides—he let out a blood-curdling scream and fell to his knees. His followers on the ground below knelt in fear, scanning the sky for the source of the wail.

It wasn't normal pain; it was deeper. He felt as though his insides were being sucked out—as if the part of him which made him who he was, was being eaten. He took several deep breaths, trying to alleviate the torture trapped in his chest.

## ***

Kavan pitched forward. He fell out of his seat and landed hard on the steel floor of the jump-ship; the metal grating rubbed the skin from the side of his face. He pushed himself up to his knees, blood streaming down his head. He held his sides tight, but the agony prevailed.

"What's wrong?" Eustas turned around in the pilot's seat, surprised by the outburst. "Are you ok?"

"Something's happened..." Karal tilted his head, watching Kavan squirm on the floor.

"Oh, you think?" Eustas triggered the auto-pilot and jumped from his chair, kneeling next to Kavan. "What is it? What can we do?"

"I think I'll be alright." Kavan's eyes turned white, the black swirling away. "It feels like something is sucking my soul out of my body..."

"That's gotta hurt." Karal shifted in his seat for a better view. His pupils blazed.

"Help me get him back in his seat!" Eustas glared at the Draggon.

Together they managed to drag him back into his chair.

He took a deep breath and passed out...

## ***

Zaril collapsed at the Prophet's feet with a wail of pain that sent the eyes outside the temple running wild. She caught him as he fell and laid him gently upon the stone next to the altar.

"Does it hurt badly?" She brushed his face with her palm, green tendrils caressing his skin.

"Like nothing I've ever felt..." He tried to sit up but couldn't get past the pain.

"Lie there a moment, it will pass," she said.

"So, one of them did die..." He grinned at her: a pain-clenched expression. "But which one?"

"Does it matter?" she asked.

"No, I suppose not." He clenched his teeth and forced himself into a sitting position. "As long as it didn't kill the rest of us. You were right. The daggers won't trigger the soul-bond; I should learn to trust you more. But we still need the staff."

"Don't worry. It's on its way..."
Chapter Thirteen

Zaril found Varran Razzius hunched over a large leather-bound book in an alcove of the castle's library. The title was _Blood Magic—Revenge Made Easy_. The author's name was rubbed away from centuries of heralds pulling it off the shelf and shoving it back. Zaril smiled, contemplating the mindset of his students. They could've chosen any other subject, but _that_ book and several hundred surrounding it always seemed the most worn. Zaril always chose his heralds for several specific proclivities—the potential for violence was high on the list.

The twin sunlight filtered through the stained-glass window, casting multi-colored shards across the table. Varran didn't look up, and Zaril didn't mind. His regent was blessed with a keen sense and a sharper affinity for magic; Zaril even learned a few things from him. He had free run of the castle because he conducted Zaril's affairs with an iron hand.

"How go your plans, Lord Zaril?" Varran asked.

Zaril took the seat across from Varran and watched him for a moment, his fingers tracing the lines of text across the page, brow furrowed in concentration. "Flawlessly, as usual."

"Excellent. If I can help in any way..." His eyes remained glued to the page.

"I need to talk to you, Varran, close the book."

Varran shifted his focus to Zaril and shut the book. He leaned back in his chair and searched his mentor's face, but Zaril's expression was flat. "What is it, father?"

"Do you remember when my heralds brought you from the orphanage?" Zaril asked.

"Like it was yesterday..."

Zaril watched his son's eyes glaze over as he stared at the cover of the book, the wrinkles in his forehead deepening.

She might've been older than him, but he didn't care. He knew how he felt, but he'd never told her, and now he might not have another chance. The administrator told him to be ready to go in an hour—he didn't have much time.

They always sneaked away together, he thought he knew where, but he wasn't sure. They'd always lost him in the woods.

He found the start of the trail after ten minutes of stumbling around amongst the trees. He'd never cared much for nature, and he did his best to avoid it when he could. But she would understand, she had to—he would make her understand.

He found the clearing before he saw them, sitting on a large flat rock overlooking the valley. Breathing hard from the climb—the sweat stung his eyes. He licked his lips and tasted the salty liquid, wiping it off with both sleeves. He was hoping she'd be alone for once.

They did everything together, never leaving a chance to talk to her without him there. Varran waited for a break in their conversation; he didn't want to startle her. He stood there thirty feet from them, listening.

"... _but he is a little weird, and what's with the dead-eye stare?" Zevo laughed and tossed a rock off the edge. They watched it roll down the hillside, coming to rest against the trunk of a large tree with a satisfying thump._

" _Darran, don't be mean," Alisha said. "I feel sorry for him. He has no friends, and everyone treats him like an outcast."_

Sorry for me? Varran thought. They hadn't mentioned his name, but he knew they were talking about him.

" _I told you before, I think he's in love with you," Zevo said._

" _You said you were_ sure..." She punched his shoulder and laughed.

" _Whatever, Alisha, you know what I mean."_

" _Uh-huh." She stuck her tongue out at him._

" _And you might be sorry for him, but how far does that go?" Zevo grinned. "Would you kiss him?" He put his lips against the back of his hand and made a loud wet smooching sound._

Varran watched her reaction: it was a mixture of mild surprise with what he realized was disgust. The pit in his stomach widened and grew deeper. His eyes brimmed with tears, mixing with sweat; his shirtsleeves were soaked.

"Gods, no!" She pushed Zevo off the edge of the rock. He fell in the grass, holding his stomach and rolling from side to side in glee, his laughter filling the clearing.

Every sound was a punch in Varran's chest, mocking him. He backed away, but Alisha stood and spun toward him as if she could sense his presence.

" _Varran!" Her eyes were wide, and the guilt was obvious. "How long have you been there?"_

" _Long enough." He glared at Zevo, who hadn't yet realized he was there, the spasms of merriment at Varran's expense fading into chuckles and snorts._

" _Varran, what we were talking about..." Alisha made a placating gesture with her hands._

" _I never thought you_ hated me..." he said.

Zevo stopped laughing, and without that noise in his ears, he heard the conversation. He took his seat on the big stone, eyes bouncing between them.

" _I don't hate you, Varran, neither of us do," she said._

" _It's ok, Alisha. I don't blame_ you." Varran aimed one finger at Zevo. "I blame him for poisoning you against me."

Zevo broke into laughter again—not so uproarious this time.

Alisha slapped him on the arm.

Varran turned to go. When he reached the edge of the clearing, he spun around, hate in his eyes. "I'm not done with you." He glared at Zevo. "One day, you'll pay for taking her from me."

"When I adopted you, I made you a promise," Zaril leaned toward him, his elbows on the table. "Do you recall what it was?"

"That I would never be alone again..." Varran's eyes narrowed. "What's going on? Are you leaving?"

"Yes, and no." Zaril thought about how best to phrase it. "Do you remember what I told you about what the K'Pa call the change?"

"Yes. It's a shift in understanding, enlightenment. You've experienced it?" Varran slid forward in his chair.

"Yes."

"When?" Varran looked excited. "I mean how... how does it feel?"

"It's difficult to put into words." Zaril cocked his head to one side and traced the light fragments on the table with his finger. "Which is why it's so difficult to achieve, I guess."

"So, how are you leaving, but not leaving?" Varran asked.

"It's more a change of dimensional state," Zaril said.

"In what way?"

"I'll still be here—but I'll be everywhere else at the same time."

"Sounds like you're becoming K'Pa. Varran nodded. "They exist in multiple dimensions..."

Zaril leaned back and studied Varran's face—he saw determination and self-assuredness: qualities he'd infused into the boy. The strength in his son's face masked the timidity and uncertainty of youth. Zaril knew he would be fine without him. "The Prophet and I are becoming something different. Even the K'Pa fear it, which is why they separate the twins at birth and fuel animosity between them. They never want them to merge."

"What about the Oracle? She won't take this lightly."

"Once we have the orb, she'll be powerless to resist," Zaril said.

"And the Draggons?" Varran asked. "Have they given you the staff?"

"I made other arrangements. We'll have it soon, along with the power cell."

"Then why are we talking? I've known all of this since the first time you explained your plans. What's changed?"

"There are people who will try to stop us—more than we first expected—and more powerful than we thought," Zaril said.

"More powerful than you and the Prophet?" Varran chuckled at the idea. "I don't see how that's possible."

"She seems... uncertain about how dangerous they are, and they've enlisted some powerful allies. This concerns me, so I want to stack the deck in our favor with you. I have a gift for you if you'll help us."

"Father, you only need to ask. I don't require bribery like your heralds..."

"Excellent. I knew I could count on you." Zaril stood and turned to leave.

Varran reopened the book and found his place, but he paused and stopped his father's retreat. "Out of curiosity, what gift did you have in mind?" A thin smile turned the corners of his mouth up.

Zaril's answer brought them back down. "The Sergeant is with them."

"I see."

## ***

" _Sending coordinates to your nav-comp, General."_

"Thanks, Galen." Eustas watched the thin line of lights on the nav-comm change from red to yellow and then to green as the computer calculated the location on the surface of Haylon. When the clicking noises subsided, the green button labeled Activate winked on. Eustas punched it with one finger as he spun the pilot's chair around.

Kavan wiped the blood from his face with a towel Eustas found in the med-kit. He'd been unconscious for most of the flight, only awakening from the jolt, which occurs when you exit warp. He was still a pale-crimson color, and his eyes were not as black as they should've been—at least Eustas didn't think they were. "The Oracle said our goals were the same. What do you think she meant?" Eustas asked.

Kavan folded the towel and placed it upon the arm of his seat. "I assume she meant neither of us wants people to die."

"I guess that's what I took from it, too," Eustas said. "How did you know Zaril wants a void orb if he's masked his thoughts?"

Karal cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. The fire in his eyes flared.

"You?" Eustas pointed at him.

Karal and Kavan nodded in unison.

"And how did you come about this knowledge?" he asked.

"I've been Zaril's apprentice for the last three hundred years," Karal said. "I know quite a bit about him—more than he ever intended me to, I'm sure. But to be fair, I didn't know it was this... void orb he wanted. I know he's made a deal with the Draggons—and the humans are the target. Kavan filled in the blanks."

"What is this void orb, anyway?" Eustas turned back to Kavan. His eyes seemed darker now, and his skin tone was less red. "The Oracle seemed pretty concerned about it."

"A void orb is a nexus," Kavan said. "they generate enormous amounts of power because they allow Orphic currents to pass freely from multiple dimensions."

"How much power are we talking about?" Eustas asked.

"Do you see the yellow sun?" Kavan pointed out the side window.

"That much?" Eustas eyes widened, but Kavan wasn't finished.

"Take the power produced by that sun over its entire lifetime, from the point where it's a swirling cloud of charged gas particles, until it goes supernova and destroys everything within fifty light-years surrounding it, and then multiply by a factor of ten. That's the power we're talking about General. The change alone gets him halfway there."

"That's a lot..." Eustas stared in wonder at the sun.

## ***

Eustas landed the jump-ship next to Vengeance, following the lead of the ground controller.

Garrian's ship... This is a story I have to hear...

A trio of armed security escorted them from the ship to the palace entrance; Geras met them at the door. Eustas thought it odd when no one attempted to disarm them, and no comments were made concerning Karal or Kavan's presence, though they received their share of stares.

"General, welcome to Haylon." Geras executed a curt bow and ushered them into the blue-gray halls of the palace. He turned on his heel and strode away. "Please, follow me."

The architecture reminded Eustas of the MPC headquarters on Minos: utilitarian and stark. The smooth bi-color hallways lit by evenly spaced plasma lamps mounted in ceiling fixtures screamed military facility. As they progressed deeper into the building, the lines softened and shifted to a more residential feel. Artwork began to pepper the walls, and white plasma lamps were replaced by the more expensive wall-mounted daylight versions. The width and height of the passageways expanded too until they were walking beneath ornate arches separating massive rooms adorned like the palace it was. The change was subtle and smooth. Eustas decided he would like to meet the man who designed it.

"How old is this place?" he asked.

Geras slowed his pace, eventually coming to a complete stop before a large mural of a sunrise over a beautiful lake.

"The palace was the first structure built." Geras rubbed his chin with one hand. "I want to say... eighteen-hundred years ago? The surrounding stores, homes, and businesses have been added on ever since, and it changes all the time. We do live in ice, and ice tends to shift. You can adjust to it, but you can't defeat it, only manage it—like so many things in life."

Geras turned and walked away, forcing them to follow.

Eustas noticed the increasing presence of guards the farther they went until a pair were stationed at every intersection. He sensed they were nearing their destination.

Geras stopped in front of two large wooden doors. He nodded at the guard on the left, who grabbed one handle and pushed it, the hinges crying in protest.

A rush of warmer air hit them in the face as the door swung in, the light from inside the room washing over them. Eustas could hear the crackle of a fire, mixed with the sound of laughter and the clink of glasses. Geras made a sweeping gesture with one hand, inviting them to enter.

The table in the center of the room was surrounded. Servants were clearing empty plates and serving trays from the polished wood surface. Wine glasses with various amounts of remaining liquid were scattered amongst the occupants. Clinks and clanks—the normal hustle of dinner couldn't drown out the raucous laughter. A muscular man with shoulder-length dirty-blond hair, dressed in white leather battle armor, was regaling the others with some tale of a botched bounty attempt. He was charismatic, and he stood out from the rest, Eustas instantly liked him.

"..., and they wouldn't pay us because we only had his head." Cord laughed; the others broke down, slapping the table and rolling in their seats. Garrian saw Eustas and pushed his chair out, standing to face him.

"Father... and, who?" Garrian's right hand slipped instinctively to his pistol, but Eustas waved him down.

"Friends, all friends..." Eustas said.

The blond man turned toward them with a wide grin. "General Callus! I'm so glad you could make it."

Geras stepped in between them. "General, may I introduce..."

Cord brushed Geras aside and offered his hand. "My name is Cord Aristan. I am currently the King of Haylon, and as I've offered your son peace, so do I offer it to you." Cord raised his right hand.

Eustas mimicked the gesture. "On behalf of Erador, her people, and her Governor, I accept, may we live in peace from now on."

"Excellent!" Cord looked past Eustas. "And who is this?"

"I can tell you." Kat stood, Delia grabbed her hand, but she pulled away. She walked around the table, one hand sliding along the back of each chair until she was face-to-face with Karal. "I can tell you about this one."

"Hello, Katreena, I haven't seen you in a while..." Karal's pupils flared. "I always told you we would meet again under better circumstances."

"You call this better?" She leaned toward him until their faces were inches apart. "And what's on your agenda now? You plan to betray us once you get what you want like you always do?"

"I never betrayed you, Kat, your father put that seed in your head—it's clear you've watered it over the years."

"You let him kill them, so many..." Kat shook her head.

"I did what I could—saved as many as I could," Karal said. "It would've done neither of us any good for me to sacrifice myself. Why do you think I'm ostracized from Vyr's Maw?"

"Probably because you're a jerk." She poked him in the chest.

Karal smiled. "Ok, I'll give you that one—but I never agreed with what Darkonus did, Kat. I was the only one, aside from you. He kicked me out because of it, right after you left, and I've never been back."

"I'm sorry, are we interrupting something?" Geras asked.

Kat found her way back to Delia's side and sat down. "No, it's an old argument, and we both have different versions of it. Everyone, this is my uncle, Karal."

Karal bowed.

Kavan scanned the assembled faces.

"This is Kavan. He's a God..." Eustas pointed.

"No, I'm not." Kavan shook his head.

"Whatever is going on," Cord's head swiveled, watching them all, "can we at least agree we're all on the same side?"

Everyone agreed with a nod.

"So, can we finally get an accurate picture of what we face?" Cord's gaze landed on Eustas.

Eustas nodded and cleared his throat. "I'm sorry I couldn't tell you this before," he looked at Garrian, "because there were things I was unsure of. The last few days have clarified those uncertainties."

The servants finished their tasks and brought more chairs, four new wine glasses, and refills all around. Once everyone was seated, Geras emptied the room with a snap of his fingers and a gesture toward the door, the final pair of guards pulling it closed as they left. Everyone was quiet, their eyes on Eustas, the occasional pop and hiss from the fire punctuating the silence.

Eustas nodded at Dalo and beamed a smile toward Alisha. Arriana sat with her arms crossed, staring at him, pure hate pouring from her eyes.

He took a long drink of wine, sat back in his chair, and turned to Cord. "You Outlanders... sorry, Haylonians... that's a habit we'll need to break since we're friends. You're probably unaware of the situation on Erador where the Gods are concerned."

"You might be surprised by what we know, General," Geras interrupted.

"We've had an ongoing information-gathering operation for some time now," Cord explained.

"You've been spying on us." Eustas grinned. "I can't say I blame you. How you've managed it without deep-space ships baffles me, though, but we can discuss it later."

Eustas finished the wine and pushed his chair back. He paced behind the circle of chairs as he spoke, occasionally stopping to rest his hands on the backs, continuing around the table as he told the story.

"If you know about the Gods," he said, "then I can skip over the explanation about riots and hostility and the general unrest which plagues our planet because of them. It's sufficient to say, having four different religions is a recipe for disaster, and the Gods have no interest in quelling the animosity."

"I've taken measures to prevent those issues," Kavan cut in. Heads all swiveled toward him, and Eustas chuckled.

"I forgot." Eustas stopped behind Kavan's chair. "I have it on very good authority we can trust Kavan; he's different from the others, and he sincerely wants to help. I've decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. I'd appreciate you all doing the same."

Mixtures of suspicion and uncertainty crossed their faces, but all heads nodded in unison. Eustas moved on.

"Without going into every detail, this is the situation: Zaril has achieved what's called the change: it's an elevation to a higher level of existence—his powers are increased because of it. How much, I can't say," he glanced at Kavan, "but I've been told it's significant.

"Some of you know who the K'Pa are, and if you don't, it doesn't matter, just understand they're enormously powerful on their own. We think Zaril and one of them plan to merge. They'll be beings of unspeakable power if they do.

"This joining requires a power source Zaril doesn't currently possess: Kavan seems to think it's something called a void orb, but they don't exist in every dimension, and ours isn't one of them. To get this orb, Zaril needs to travel to another dimension, and to do it he needs a staff left here by the original occupants from the abandoned spacecraft thousands of years ago—the NASA. We're still not sure who they were, but we know they left through a portal this staff creates."

Karal stood and cleared his throat. "The NASA, as you call them, are your ancestors... I can't believe the Oracle hasn't told you, because she surely knows."

Eustas saw the fire in Karal's eyes flare as he spoke. He waited for him to take his seat before he responded. "She showed me a vision of them when they left through the portal— when Darkonus took the staff..."

"Yes. She just left out the subsequent slaughter." Karal said.

"Slaughter... what are you saying?" Eustas asked.

Kat pushed her chair out and stood, draining the last of her wine she slammed the glass against the table—it shattered, shards of glass scattered in a fan before her. "He's talking about what the Draggons call the purge, and he claims no part in it."

"I didn't," Karal said, "I told you. I left right after you did, and I spent three weeks trying to convince the humans who stayed behind that they needed to leave, or at least hide."

Eustas recalled the vision, the conversation between the two Commanders—and Ruban's final words.

"Tell all the others we'll miss them, John, we left you two power cells, in case you change your mind..."

"But they didn't change their mind, did they?" Eustas understood now.

Karal turned to Eustas, curiosity on his face. "No, I couldn't convince them of the danger. They thought their weapons would protect them: some special gun. I managed to talk a few hundred into hiding, and I led them to the caves—the ones which open from what you call King's Harbor; the tunnels running underneath Erador Prime."

"You can't trust him." Kat sat back down. Delia took her hand to calm her.

"How else do you explain the continued presence of humans?" Karal asked her. "The purge killed all the rest. The Draggons attacked at night; they slaughtered them in their sleep. They didn't have a chance, Katreena, but I had nothing to do with it."

It was silent then, everyone absorbing the story.

Eustas finally spoke. "Everything he says makes sense."

"I can't find any deception in his tale," Kavan said, "but as the Oracle said, Draggons are difficult to read..."

Eustas glanced at Delia and Alisha. They both nodded, agreeing with Kavan.

"We're getting sidetracked." Cord leaned forward. "Please continue, General. This issue is not likely to be resolved here tonight. Is there any connection between this and what's happening now?"

"Quite a bit, actually." Karal cut Eustas off before he could speak. "This is the point where I need to take up the narrative. Kavan will back me up on this if anyone disagrees."

Kavan nodded and searched the faces surrounding the table, a buzz of questions and chatter flew between them.

Zevo stood. "I've been quiet until now, but I wanna hear what the Draggon has to say, so everyone sit there and shut up." No one said a word. Zevo pointed at Karal. "Go."

"Good." Karal stood up but remained in his place. The glow from the fire flashed off the silver buckles on his armor. "As I told General Callus, and Kavan can confirm this, I've been Zaril's apprentice for about three-hundred years. I know his plans, in a general sense... I know how he thinks. I wasn't there when he made a deal with Darkonus for the staff, but I overheard him talking about it afterward with his son, Varran."

"Varran..." Alisha and Zevo both leaned forward, speaking the name together. They glanced at each other, and Alisha continued. "Varran Razzius?"

"Yes, how did you know?" Karal asked.

"It's not important, go on." She shot one more look at Zevo, he raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

"Anyway," Karal continued, "Darkonus wasn't happy about the purge being less than one hundred percent effective, and he's had two thousand years to brood. I'm sure he blames me. Once they get this void orb, Zaril will have the power to finish what Darkonus started."

"What does that mean?" Sammi finally broke her silence.

"They made a deal," Karal said. "The staff, in exchange for Zaril eliminating all the humans. I can't swear to it, but I believe it's true."

One extra-loud pop from the fireplace interrupted the silence.

Karal continued. "They do have one problem, though: they don't have a power source to operate the staff." He pointed at Garrian. "Which is why they were trying to kidnap you on Minos, to hold you as ransom. They believe your father has it; I heard them talking about it."

Every eye turned to Eustas.

Garrian shook his head. "What would give them that idea?"

"Some information they bought. Darkonus heard the NASA people talking about spare power cells, but the manifest from the abandoned ship didn't list any. Your father oversaw the operation. I suppose they did the math."

Garrian rose from his seat and approached his father. "This does sound like you..." He stopped beside him. "Do you have this power cell, father?"

Eustas was quiet, watching them. This was the last piece, the final secret—the one he'd kept for ten years. He stood and held his hand out to Garrian. "Give me your sword..."

"My sword?" Garrian's brow furrowed. "Why?"

"Just hand it to me," Eustas insisted.

Garrian withdrew his cutlass, he flipped it into the air and caught it mid-blade, offering the hilt to Eustas. The edge gleamed in the light, but Eustas disregarded the blade and began twisting the spherical pommel. To Garrian's surprise, it detached from the hilt and came off in his hand. It was perfectly round, except for the threaded portion he'd unscrewed. The end of the protrusion had two metal posts projecting from it: one silver, one gold.

Everyone leaned closer for a better view as Eustas laid the power cell upon the table.

Geras and Cord locked eyes momentarily and nodded; Zevo was the only one who saw it— everyone else's attention was focused on the silver object.

"What was that?" Zevo aimed one finger at each of them.

Cord smiled and sat back down. "We've seen something like this before."

"Where?" Dalo picked the orb up and examined it, turning it over in his hands.

"We'll have to show you," Cord said.

Eustas took the orb back and screwed it onto the sword, handing it to Garrian. He turned toward them, his face like stone. "Whatever we do, it needs to happen before the solar alignment."

"And when is it?" Alisha asked him.

"Day after tomorrow, at second-dawn."

## ***

The palace was quiet at night. The guards followed a staggered route through the halls to provide maximum coverage—sometimes, one patrol was out of sight from the others, creating gaps. The hooded figure slid down the quiet passageways taking full advantage, making use of the recessed doorways to disappear long enough for a patrol to pass. Timing his movements with breaks in the pattern, allowed him to reach the door marked K-12 unseen.

He punched a series of numbers into the glowing keypad next to the door, holding a gloved thumb over the small speaker opening at the top to mute the sound. The door to K-12 slid open with an audible whoosh, and the black-robed figure stepped inside.

It was pitch-black, but the infrared lens changed the darkened space into a bright red image, outlining the bed and its occupants. The sleeping potion he'd slipped into their last glass of wine was effective. He watched them for several moments. Their breathing was deep; they were out cold.

He stepped to the weapon rack on the far wall and grabbed the sword, twisting the pommel. The power cell popped off in his hand—he slipped it into one pocket as he touched the comm-link embedded in his ear canal. "I have it," he whispered.

He placed his hand on the palm plate next to the door; it slid aside as quietly as when he'd entered. A glance in both directions ensured the way was clear as he slipped down the hall and disappeared.
Chapter Fourteen

Faran didn't care about Mordus: he had no love for any of them—they were enemies long before they became tenuous allies—the war between their races assured that. The Prophet binding their souls together stopped them from destroying each other prematurely; it did nothing to lessen the natural hatred between them.

Saying he was sorry for Mordus' death would've been a lie, but claiming he wasn't disgusted with Zaril and the Prophet's methods would've been far worse. They'd used them: he could see it now. The Prophet's vision would've shown her the result; he had no doubt. They'd been sent on a death mission. The fact he'd survived was pure luck. It could as easily have been him with Darkonus' daggers in his chest, and Mordus would be standing here now, wondering what to do.

She had to know the daggers wouldn't kill the rest of us...

Faran wondered what else she might be keeping from them, maybe even from Zaril. His natural paranoia always assumed a devious plot was in play. The inner voice which kept him alive was seldom wrong, and even if it was, Faran never waited around to find out. Sometimes logic tempered his wild imagination—this time, he suppressed it in favor of survival.

She needs Zaril to complete this transformation... but what then?

Maybe her plan all along was to mold them, train them, see which one of them turned out the strongest. The timing couldn't be a coincidence. Zaril achieves the change, and suddenly she needs this void orb.

What's the rush? We're all immortal...

Faran grabbed the metal case and swung the door to the treehouse open. The image of Mordus reaching for him as the daggers pierced his sides was stuck in his head—the blood soaking into his robe. Darkonus' mad grin.

Faran tossed the case onto the table and rifled through the drawers of the workstation.

Where is it?

His fingers wrapped around the butt of a strange silvery pistol. It looked like a plasma pistol, but the metal was brighter, and the capacitor was clear crystal and twice as large.

Come get me Darkonus. I remember this weapon, and so do you...

Darkonus flew into the night sky, but not before cleansing the circle and the bodies upon it with fire. The corpses turned to ash as he flew away.

Faran watched the Draggon leave with the staff, or whatever it was—he hadn't gotten a good look at it. His attention was on the gun the human had dropped. From his vantage point behind a large rock outcropping, he'd seen it all. He'd also seen the astral-projection of the human soldier no one else appeared to notice; Faran waited, hoping he would leave. The strange gun was consumed by Draggon-fire, along with the corpse of the man who'd fired it. He watched in amazement as the flames died, yet it remained, winking silver in the moonlight. Darkonus must've assumed it would be destroyed. Why else leave it?

The soldier's form shimmered and winked out, back to wherever he'd come from. Faran left the security of his hiding place and made his way forward, eyes on the blackened sky, his paranoia anticipating a surprise attack. He picked up the gun, turning it over he saw the charge indicator—a row of green lights: there were two of ten still lit.

Faran tucked the pistol under his belt and walked back into the night.

This might be useful...

Faran's Heralds lived in the building surrounding the base of the tree in four large rooms encircling the trunk: the heart of Faran's intelligence network. It had an industrial quality, all shiny metal, and glass. Various screens like the one on his workbench lined the walls. Some showed a misty-gray swirl, and others held images of different offices, some occupied, some not. A few showed moving images transmitted via the circlets worn by his Heralds, or by special cloak-clasps, pinned to the chest of his spies.

Twenty Heralds monitored the feeds from the screens, making notations in official-looking folders and passing them to another Herald wearing an ornate circlet with an extra-large green gem around his shaven head.

Faran got his attention, waving him over from across the room. "Doras, organize a quick adoration ceremony. Enough people are milling around outside, aren't there?"

"Always, my lord." Doras set the stack of folders he carried on the edge of a desk. "Is something wrong, anything I can do?"

"Maybe." Faran grabbed him by the shoulder. "Have you been to the caverns recently?"

"Yes, my lord. The ship's power levels are approaching eighty percent. The solar charger you designed is working perfectly."

"Good. And the supplies, are they loaded?" Faran asked.

"We finished last week, my lord. Everything is how you requested it." Doras nodded, his eyes narrowing. He leaned closer to Faran and whispered. "May I ask, are you still planning on leaving?"

"Only if I have to Doras, only if I have to..."

## ***

Garrian was the first one through the door, Dalo and Zevo, on his heels. Cord and the others pushed their way through the narrow opening as fast as they could.

Kavan waited in the doorway, still sure the whole thing was a mistake, but not sure enough to say so. He hoped he was right, but his experience with Draggons wouldn't allow him to commit to it without proof.

They found Karal sitting on the couch drinking kaffa, watching the Haylon holo-vids on the tabletop projector—it looked like the weather channel. There was a front moving in from the Bregal Mountains, threatening an inch of rain. He was sharpening his daggers.

"Let me guess," he turned to face them, twisting in his seat, "something has happened..."

"What did you do with it?" Garrian confronted him, his hand on the butt of his plasma pistol.

"Well, knowing me, it was probably not something good..." Karal picked up the daggers and stood to face them. They all stepped back one pace, except for Kat. His pupils flared momentarily, then dimmed as he slid the blades into their scabbards. "But seriously, I've no idea what you're talking about."

Garrian pulled his sword and showed the butt end to Karal; the missing pommel was obvious.

"I see." Karal smiled. "And the Draggon must've done it..."

"You're Zaril's apprentice, you said so yourself." Garrian slid the sword back in its sheath...

"Was his apprentice—past tense, Captain. Ask Kavan what I told him before we all came together." Karal sat back down.

Kavan didn't wait for the question. "He did say he was done with Zaril long before he could use it as an alibi. I believe him."

Kat moved to stand next to Garrian, watching her uncle's face as he flicked through the holo-vid channels, oblivious to his accusers. "Last night, I might've disagreed with Kavan because I've known Karal longer. But I can't imagine what he might gain from stealing the power cell." She sat next to Karal on the couch, placing her hand on his forearm. "He would never give it to my father, out of spite—and giving it to Zaril makes no sense, after what he went through to save the humans the first time."

Alisha touched Zevo on the shoulder; Kavan heard her whisper to him.

"Where is Geras?" she asked.

Zevo looked around at the assembled faces; Kavan followed his gaze. It was true; everyone was present except for the strange stocky man with the eyepatch.

"Where is Geras?" Zevo tapped Garrian on the back and spun to look at Cord. "Do you know?"

Cord looked confused. "Did he not wake the rest of you up this morning?"

"No, Garrian and Alisha did." Arriana was tying her uncombed hair into a ponytail with a leather band. She looked like she was still asleep. "Yelling about thieves and missing doodads and whatever else. It was annoying, to say the least."

Cord walked to the palm-plate beside the door. "Control—find Geras and have him report to me."

" _The logs indicate Geras left the city twenty minutes ago in one of the Eradorian ships, your majesty. He had the proper clearance codes..."_

"Of course he did. He's the one who issues them..." Cord shook his head.

"I can't believe this," Keenan glanced at Cord, "but I'm not surprised. I've always hated him."

"I had a bad feeling about him, too, but I couldn't say why," Alisha agreed.

Cord sat on the arm of the couch and put his face in his hands. "Geras was always like an older brother to me." He dropped his hands and looked around at them. "I'm sorry, really, I am."

"It's not your fault. His actions are his own." Alisha put her hand on his shoulder. "Where is Eustas? Has he betrayed us too?"

"Geras woke me several hours ago," Cord explained, "I woke Eustas, and he flew to Haylon Station to oversee the ceasefire—he should be back any time now."

As if on cue, Eustas tapped Kavan on the shoulder and asked him to clear the doorway. Kavan stepped into the room and gave him space to pass.

"Where's your ship, son?" He surveyed the room, noting the dismay on the collected faces. "It's not where you parked it. I was afraid I'd missed something..."

Cord saved Garrian the explanation. "Apparently we've been betrayed. Geras took the ship, and the power cell; unless you have it?"

Eustas shook his head and let out a long sigh. "I was afraid something like this was going to happen."

Garrian jumped to his feet and turned on his father. "Why, because I can't possibly do anything as well as you?"

Eustas' brow furrowed, and his eyes took on a look of pain. Kavan felt the emotion of shame emanating from him—he wondered how deep that story went. Both Callus men loved each other, he could sense it when they were close, but there was an undercurrent of tension that flowed between them he couldn't define.

"No, son," Eustas said, "because the Oracle told me it might happen, but she didn't know who it might be."

"Look," Alisha stepped between them, "we need to bounce back from this—we need to do something, not sit here feeling sorry for ourselves. We had it, and we lost it, the question is not how it happened—it's how do we get it back?"

Kavan watched them all nod. This Adeptus was powerful. He felt the orphic currents moving—emanating from her. She had a visible aura: a silver glow surrounded her, which she shared with the other two: the warrior and the older woman. She was gently pushing her will on them; it hit him too. Everyone perked up, the gloom of the previous minutes lifting like the fog on a lake when the sun clears the trees.

"Right." Eustas moved toward the door. "Let's have some breakfast, and we'll discuss our next move." He looked at Arriana as he passed, "Some of us can use a good cup of kaffa."

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. Kavan felt the raw hate she directed at him.

"How did Geras get the Vengeance started, anyway? Wasn't the voice recognition activated?" Eustas asked.

"I gave him access when he was trying to get us past the Haylon City defenses, and I never revoked it." Garrian started to regain the depressed look.

Eustas stopped and grabbed him by the shoulder. "At least I'm not the only one who forgets to lock my ship..."

They all laughed and headed down the hall, Kavan bringing up the rear, a huge smile on his face.

## ***

The golden glow faded from Faran's body as he finished the spell. The impromptu devotion ceremony his followers organized provided him with enough power. The Prophet herself taught him the magic, and she'd said it was unbreakable.

But then again, she lies...

Faran touched the keypad at the edge of the table. The surface of the screen projecting from the top glowed a soft white and swirled like mist; it darkened to solid black, and Zaril's face came into focus. The Prophet was not in sight.

She might still be there... Listening...

"You have something for me?" Zaril asked.

"Maybe." Faran crossed his arms. "You lied to us. You knew one of us was going to die."

"There was a possibility, a small one. Very small..." Zaril held his fingertips an inch apart. "So small we didn't think it deserved consideration. Besides, you know how self-fulfilling prophecies can be. We didn't want you to worry, needlessly."

"You got Mordus killed," Faran said.

"Oh, don't pretend you care; we both know it's not true." Zaril put his hands on the table and leaned into the screen. "Be satisfied; it wasn't you. Mordus' soul was consumed by the void-wraith trapped in the daggers, so technically he's not dead—hence, neither are we. I would've never let you go if I thought it could kill me."

"Well, mighty big of you."

"Stop complaining, Faran. You're alive. I'm sorry I didn't tell you everything. Is that what you want to hear?" Zaril asked.

"It's a start." Faran nodded.

"Ok, then, bring the staff to me. Please..." Zaril smiled, but his eyes narrowed.

"Where are you?" Faran examined Zaril's surroundings more closely. "...doesn't look like the temple."

"I said you were the smart one." Zaril grinned.

"No, you didn't, you said Mordus was the smart one," Faran said.

Zaril laughed. "Well, he couldn't have been too smart—he got himself killed..."

Faran was quiet. He tilted his head to one side and stared at Zaril.

Zaril rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on! I thought we settled this."

"I'm still mad," Faran said.

"Well, be mad if you want to, I don't care. Just bring it to me."

"You still haven't told me where you are," Faran said.

"We're at the old ruins in the Sawtooth mountains. You know the ones I mean?"

"The original Na'Geena fortress?" Faran asked.

"Yes, but we're up the canyon a bit, at the temple," Zaril said.

"There's a temple there?" Faran asked, already knowing the answer.

"Darkonus showed it to me," Zaril said. "It's the same location where the humans opened their portal. The veil between worlds is thinnest here."

"So, you're going?" Faran asked.

"I am."

Faran uncrossed his arms and straightened his neck. "I'll have to get the runabout from my ship. There are no roads up there."

"It still has power?" Zaril asked, his eyes widening.

"It's still partially charged," Faran said. "I haven't used it much."

"Why don't you cast a portal here?" Zaril asked.

"I'm a little drained," Faran lied.

"Hold a devotion ceremony," Zaril said.

"I've been away so much lately, and my followers have mostly all gone back to town until I return," Faran lied again.

"Ok, whatever." Zaril's eyes narrowed further. "Get it here before sunrise tomorrow."

"I will." Faran reached for the button to shut down the screen.

Zaril stopped him, his eyes cold and dark, with an edge of venom in his voice. "And Faran... Don't be late..."

## ***

"Now, we have a transportation problem. My ship only carries three, and the Haylonians have no warp-capable craft. We need to be on Erador tomorrow morning." Eustas ran his palm down his chin, stroking his beard. He looked around at them, waiting for a possible solution.

The palace staff cleared the remains of breakfast from the table, replacing the plates and bowls with hot cups of kaffa. The collective steam from the eleven cups curled into the air above the table.

Cord set his cup down and leaned forward, turning to face Eustas. "You remember, I promised to explain how we've seen this power cell before."

Zevo stopped blowing on his cup. "Yeah, what was the look you and Geras exchanged last night?"

Cord stood and walked behind his chair, resting his hands on the back. "We have one."

They all stared at him, their mouths hanging open.

Dalo recovered first. "How do you have one?"

Everyone else nodded, questioning looks aimed at Cord.

"We also have an abandoned ship, like the one you found in your desert," his brow furrowed, thinking, "I can't remember the name right now."

"The Caral desert?" Sammi offered.

"Yes!" Cord spun to face her, pointing one finger.

"Wait," Alisha stood, "how do you know they're alike?"

"We've seen ours, and we've seen yours," Cord said, "they're identical—except ours was slightly damaged in the landing, we think."

"Geras said there were ways to get off Haylon, is that what he meant?" Alisha asked. "You have a portal of some kind? Powered by this... power cell?"

"It connects to a similar site on Erador, up in the mountains—some old temple. But it's a one-way trip because there's no staff on the other end to send you back."

"You have a staff too?" Arriana spit kaffa across the table. Keenan swept the droplets from his cheek with one hand, wiping the moisture on a towel.

"It's not a staff, more like a piece of technology. I could've told you all of this if we'd known the whole story. But we were at war, and 'state-secrets' and all." Cord waved his hands in the air and grinned. "Since we're friends now, it's not a problem."

"We've got to see this..." Eustas stood up.

"Let's go now..." Cord nodded and headed for the door.

## ***

Darkonus watched the black swirl of a portal begin to form. He stood from the couch he'd been relaxing on and walked around it, examining it from all sides. Of course, he'd seen them before—Zaril always arrived this way, usually at the worst possible time and unexpected. This time was different: he'd been waiting for him...

The smoky swirl started as a wisp, then grew to the size of a melon; a thin translucent shell formed around it, containing the smoke, as it enlarged to the size of a man. Once formed, the outer shell dissolved, leaving a vortex of smoldering black vapor. There was a sound reminiscent of static electricity—a dangerous crackling hiss—and the smell of burning patchweed.

Zaril stepped out of the ebony whirl, holding his robes close to his legs. Darkonus wondered if he was afraid all of his clothes might not make it, leaving him half-naked. He smiled at the thought and laughed to himself.

"What's so funny?" Zaril asked. He walked to the bar and helped himself, pouring a glass half-full of Eradorian brandy. "Where do you get liquor from, by the way? Everyone hates you."

"I take what I want," Darkonus said.

"That must be effective; you have a fine selection." Zaril admired the bottles behind the bar while he sipped the brandy. "I'll trade you a flask of 1154 Erador Prime Whiskey for this bottle of 1072 Marlock's Gin. I've heard good things about this..."

Darkonus watched him lift the bottle to the light, searching the liquid for impurities. "If there's anything I admire about you, Zaril, it's the fact you can ignore the evil you do, in favor of the finer things in life."

"Evil?" Zaril looked shocked. "What's so evil about what I'm doing?"

"Even I know extinguishing an entire species is evil." Darkonus walked to the bar and snatched the bottle from his hand, pouring himself a glass. "I don't concern myself with the morality of an action, which makes me bad, I suppose, but you don't even seem to recognize it. What does that say about you?"

"It says I pay attention to what's important," Zaril took a long sip of brandy. "You should learn the lesson."

"What's important to me is you completing your end of our bargain," Darkonus said.

Zaril finished the brandy and placed the glass on the bar, wiping his lips with the back of his right sleeve. "And finish it, we shall, dear Draggon. I need you to do one more thing for me, though, something already promised..."

"More?" Darkonus' eyes flared yellow. "Killing your counterpart wasn't enough?"

"It was a good start, but you missed one..." Zaril said.

"He had some portal-thing; he got away..." Darkonus finished his drink and slammed the glass on the bar. "I did promise you I'd kill them both; you're right. I'll finish the job. Where might I find the other one, the one with the shifty eyes?"

"Come to the temple first thing in the morning," Zaril said, "he'll be there."

"Count on it... but what about Kavan," Darkonus asked, "he's not your enemy this week?"

"We need one left, to break the bond between us," Zaril explained. "Then, I'll deal with him."

Darkonus smiled. "Lucky him..."

## ***

"Don't let the Councilors push you into making any rash decisions, and you'll be fine." Cord shook his brother's hand and turned to leave. "Father can advise you until I return."

"Don't worry, your kingdom is safe with me," Keenan said, as they walked toward the King's shuttle. "I might declare a few new holidays and such, while you're gone. Keenan-day sounds nice. Maybe some salary raises for the palace staff, or me. How much am I getting paid for this, anyway?"

"Too much!" Cord laughed and turned away, heading toward the ship.

Delia followed the others, Kat keeping pace with her. The cavern housing the King's shuttle was huge. The ship sat at the center of a flat stone floor extending two-hundred yards in all directions. An opening was carved on one side: a fifty-yard-wide access hole in the side of the mountain, outlined by bright-blue lights. The shimmer of a force-field across the opening kept the cruel wind at bay. Powerful plasma lights illuminated the various ground-crews as they moved fuel-pods and equipment around, preparing the ship for launch.

"I'm worried about you." Kat grabbed her wrist and slowed them down; the others kept moving.

Delia turned and cupped her face in both hands. "You're always worried about me... that's why I love you."

"This is different," Kat said. "I have a bad feeling. Call it seeing if you want."

"Draggons are terrible at seeing; it's something you ate..." Delia grinned and brushed the hair from her forehead.

"Don't do that, Delia." Kat pushed her away, her pupils flaring.

"Do what, love?"

"Minimize my fears to make me feel better. You've been teaching me seeing for twenty years, and I've become good at it. I know you feel this too, but you won't admit it."

It was true. She'd been sensing an ominous dread for several weeks now: it felt like a hand holding her down, stifling her mind and spirit. She'd said nothing about it, but she knew Kat felt it too. It was a thin layer of tension coating everything. When Dalo and Alisha arrived at the cottage, the coating thickened. She'd never felt anything like it, couldn't explain it, and she'd buried it, hoping it would go away—it hadn't.

"I don't know what you mean," Delia lied. "This is you being paranoid."

"I know you don't believe that's true... We've been together too long. You can't hide your feelings from me."

Delia turned away. She didn't want to deceive her, but she couldn't see any benefit in worrying her further. Honesty was a given with a bond as strong as theirs—the truth has a way of showing through, regardless of how you tried to gloss over it; they'd agreed years ago to forego the pain of apologies and be up-front with each other.

"Ok, I feel it," Delia said. "But there's nothing we can do about it. This has to be done." She turned to leave, but Kat caught her hand, holding her in place.

"That's not good enough..." If she could cry, she would've. "I don't know what I would do without you, Delia."

"But you've always known this couldn't last..." She threw her arms around her and pulled her close. "You're immortal, and I'm not. You've watched me grow old while you remain unchanged. Losing each other has always been inevitable, Kat."

"I won't accept it."

"I wish it were so easy, Katreena," she kissed her cheek and hugged her once more, "but we have to accept things we can't change. You and I don't have the power to ignore fate..."

"Mother! Are you two coming?" Dalo yelled over the noise of the landing pad. The rest of the group were gone; up the ramp and inside the ship—only Dalo and Alisha remained, waiting for them on the cold stone floor.

"We need to go, Kat.," Delia said.

"Please don't die..." Kat pleaded.

"I'll do my best." Delia pulled her by the hand toward the waiting ship.

## ***

Zevo stood behind the pilots, watching them manipulate the controls. The setup was similar to Eradorian ships: some buttons and indicators were in different places, but overall the consistency was obvious. What was different was the design of the ship.

Haylonian ships had no warp capability, so the bridge construction didn't need to be hardened. There was less metal required to maintain structural integrity—this allowed the proliferate use of windows; they surrounded the entire bridge—making it a suitable observation platform. It reminded him of the science vessels back home.

"If you have a similar ship, why don't your ships have similar capabilities to ours?" Zevo asked.

Cord turned away from the front window and joined him at the control console. Eustas walked over too. "Our scientists think the two ships were of different functions and carried different data in their computers. The ship on Erador appears to be a warship while the other is a science vessel. Much of the data seems duplicated, but some isn't. The weapon and propulsion systems, for instance. Yours contained the schematics for a warp drive. Ours had other things..."

"What kind of other things?" Eustas asked.

Cord was quiet.

Zevo turned toward him. "Are we friends, or not?"

Cord blew out a long breath and leaned against the railing behind the pilots. He snapped his fingers next to their heads—they never flinched. Satisfied the headsets they wore made them functionally deaf, he spoke. "The database in our ship held a significant amount of information relating to... genetic manipulation."

Zevo and Eustas spoke in unison. "What kind of genetic manipulation?"

"Oh, the usual: enhanced vision, hearing, strength, that sort of thing..." Cord said.

Zevo sensed there was more. He grabbed Cord's shoulder and squeezed. "And?"

Cord looked at them both. "It seems the NASA developed a gene therapy to stop the aging process..."

"You're joking." Eustas chuckled.

Cord shook his head, no smile visible. "I'm not." He lowered his voice further and leaned closer to them. "And I'll ask you two to keep this between us for now."

"Why?" Zevo countered. "This is revolutionary: the end of aging and death. How can you not tell people about it?"

"The scientist's notes accompanying the research data were specific," Cord said. "They made the error of releasing this therapy to their population, and it exploded, doubled within twenty years. They rapidly ran out of resources, couldn't support the enhanced load. There was social-turmoil: riots, food wars, water became scarce. But that wasn't the worst part..."

"Well, what could be worse?" Eustas pulled his pipe and pouch from one pocket.

"They experienced a severe increase in depression and other mental abnormalities. Immortality is not all it's cracked up to be. When humans have no end to look forward to, they've nothing to strive for, so life becomes boring and meaningless," Cord said.

They all fell silent.

Zevo thought about what it meant not to die. Having no urgency to accomplish anything—knowing there was always tomorrow... "Yeah, let's not tell anyone..." They all nodded and grunted agreement, moving off to join different groups by the windows.

The pilot told Zevo the maximum speed of the ship; judging from the rate the landscape was scrolling along below them, they weren't approaching a fraction of it.

He stopped beside Alisha and Arriana, embroiled in a heated discussion on the relative merits of religion. He watched the frozen ground passing below. The scenery blended: hard rock interspersed with patches of a fertile jungle, as they approached the bright line that served as the moon's terminator.

Haylon was tidal-locked with Erador, always showing its mother planet the same face, but the effect of the red sun meant the dark side of Haylon was not always devoid of light. While Cirrus and Minos both had a rotational-spin and benefited from dual sunrises and sunsets, Haylon's face was in a perpetual state of daytime, and the dark side experienced thirty-six hours of red sunlight every three days—not enough to sustain vegetation, but sufficient to keep it from freezing solid. The regions around the edges at the terminator were the lushest, while the center of the moon's face, two-hundred miles past Haylon Station, was a barren desert.

The yellow sun raised its head above the horizon as they approached the divide. All the window-glass in the ship polarized, darkening to deep amber.

Dalo stood by himself, watching the ground roll by beneath the ship. He was deep in thought judging by his face, and Zevo started to pass him by, but he was more curious about this long-lost brother than he'd like to admit. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

Dalo turned toward him, the intensity of his gaze upon the landscape broken; his sullen glare morphed into a wide grin. "Indeed, it is!" He thumped his right fist against his chest and presented his open palm. Zevo caught on quick, returning the greeting without pause. "I understand you are my sister's oldest friend..."

"We've spent a lot of time together..." Zevo said.

"Is she always so... straight-forward?" Dalo asked.

Zevo laughed and nodded, slapping Dalo on the shoulder. "Yeah, but you get used to it after a while. If you disagree with her, try to make it seem like it's her idea. That's the best advice I can offer..."

"And it works?"

"Not really." Zevo laughed.

"So, you're saying it's a lost cause?" Dalo asked.

"I'm saying I trust her instincts," Zevo said. "She's seldom wrong. It's almost like she can see the future..."

Dalo nodded and turned back to the window, the grim look returning. Zevo gave him one last squeeze on the arm, turning toward the last group who were clustered in front of the command console.

Eustas was in mid-sentence when he joined them, everyone hanging on whatever he was saying. "... and I've been waiting for the Oracle to explain, ever since..."

Sammi shook her head and touched his forearm. "And all this time, you never knew exactly what the threat was?"

He shook his head. "Not until several weeks ago. Honestly, I'm not sure she knew. Her vision has always been a broad stroke with many possibilities rather than a sharp blade ending in a point. I think that's how it works—it takes time to narrow down the outcomes, to see what's most probable."

Delia pointed out the front window. "I think we've arrived..."

Chapter Fifteen

Geras felt the skids impact the hard dirt of the clearing as the ship touched down. He'd still have a short hike from here to reach the temple, but this was the only open space that would accommodate a ship this size. Still, he'd knocked down several large tree limbs during the landing, and the loose fall leaves rained down upon the upper surface of _Vengeance_ , creating a natural camouflage, making the craft all but invisible from the air. He wasn't concerned he was being followed because no one knew where he'd gone. But you could never be too careful, and it might be night now, but the suns would make their appearance soon.

He'd undergone a crash course in operations during the flight. The Guardian Forces were detailed in their documentation. The autopilot system was the first thing he'd studied, which gave him time for the rest, not having to fly.

The differences between the Haylonian and Eradorian ships were minimal. The structural similarities and basic systems were identical. But the weapons—he couldn't begin to count the advantage—on the Eradorian side. He'd spent several hours blasting random asteroids, giggling at the result.

He strolled down the ramp, away from the circle of light beneath the ship, and was swallowed by the forest beyond. It was dark but not bad; the light from Minos sifted through the leaves above, and when he flipped the eyepatch up, the bionic eye activated, bathing the scene in a red-orange glow only perceptible to him. The pain built quickly and faded gradually, leaving a dull ache in the center of his head. The pain was the reason he wore the patch—he'd never gotten completely used to it.

The path to the temple was overgrown. No Na'Geena had walked these trails in five-hundred years. The bushes clawed at his legs, tearing at the cloth and unraveling the fine fibers: a warning from nature—none of them were welcome here.

The plasma lights Zaril's Heralds hung from the walls of the temple winked at him through the trees, growing brighter as he approached. A group of four Heralds sat on the edge of a large flat rock playing a card game he didn't recognize. They glanced at him, but they didn't seem very interested.

He made his way inside the temple's main altar-room where Zaril and the Prophet had established a makeshift command center, which was nothing more than two overly large chairs. Zaril sat on the right. Next to him was a noticeably smaller chair. It was occupied by the strange little man Geras saw at Zaril's castle.

"Geras, I don't think you've met my son, Varran..."

Geras forgot to flip the eyepatch down, so he was still receiving biometrics from the bionic eye. The readout flashed across his vision, floating orange text in space before him: five-foot six-inches, one-hundred-forty-eight pounds. No detectable weapons... But the thing he noticed, the one which struck him as odd, was the halo circling the man: a darkly luminescent cloud of writhing energy. The spectral enhancers in the eye made it visible. He'd only seen something like this around one other person: back on Haylon when he'd stolen the power cell, the woman... Alisha Callus. But hers was different—silvery and bright, like sunshine on the crest of waves—uplifting. This reminded him more of a pile of snakes. He aimed a curt nod in Varran's direction.

"You have something for me?" Zaril leaned forward.

Geras turned back to him after a quick double-take of the snake-aura: it made his skin crawl. "I do, on the condition that the terms of our arrangement are satisfactory."

"Our arrangement was immortality for you, in exchange for the power cell." Zaril pushed back in his chair, his knuckles whitening as he squeezed the arms. "We had a deal, and we both agreed to it. Are you changing it now? I assure you it will not make me happy..."

"Here's the thing," Geras said. "Since we last spoke, we've discovered the genetic means for immortality—so our previous arrangement is moot. I already have what you promised me, so now I need something different to make it beneficial for me."

"I see." Zaril nodded. "Well, I can't say I blame you. What do you want instead?"

"I want you to spare Haylon from whatever you're planning to do with this orb you're after," Geras said.

"Why do you think it will affect Haylon?" Zaril asked.

"I'm not stupid, Zaril. I may not know what you're planning, but I can make an educated guess, and I'm guessing whatever it is will not benefit humanity; nefarious plans of quasi-omnipotent beings rarely do. I've seen all the holo-vids, isn't it usually death to mankind?"

"Part of our deal was you were personally exempted..." Zaril said.

"I'm changing the deal; it now includes my entire world. I've seen you and the Draggons together, making plans. Draggons are notorious for hating humans. But there are no Draggons on Haylon, so why would they care about us? Leave us out of it. That's my deal," Geras said.

"Or I could crush you with a thought..." The Prophet stopped examining her nails and leaned on one arm of her chair, eyes boring into Geras.

Geras pulled his right hand from the pocket of his pants and held it out. The plasma lights shone off the metal of the power cell between his fingers. He smiled at her. "Funny thing about the human nervous system: if it suffers a catastrophic injury, it begins firing random motor impulses to the muscles: we call them seizures. I've been enhanced—my scientists tell me I have the strength of twenty men. I wonder what would happen if the muscles in my arm contracted violently, triggering the muscles in my hand to do the same?"

Zaril sprang from his chair and began pacing the room. "Fine! Consider Haylon safe!"

"The Draggons won't like it..." She leaned back in her chair and resumed her nail examination.

Zaril spun toward her. "What they don't know won't hurt them... He's right, there are no Draggons on Haylon, and they've no reason or way to go there. Ok, Geras, you have a deal."

Geras stuck his right hand back in his pocket. "You'll forgive me for not taking your word since you just threatened to kill me. I think I'll hold on to this for now... Consider it yours, with me as the custodian. I'll have it in my hand until it's needed."

The Prophet splayed the fingers of her right hand, the light gleaming off her black-painted nails. "Clever... I like him..."

"Very well." Zaril took Geras by the arm and pulled him to the doorway, lowering his voice. "Don't worry. You're safe. When she says she likes you, it means don't kill him. But I've another matter to discuss with you."

"Oh?" Geras' eyebrows rose.

"My son, Varran," Zaril said. "I need you to watch over him for me."

"I'm not a babysitter..." Geras glanced at Varran, watching the black snakes crawl over him.

Zaril's eyes narrowed. "You're lucky she likes you... He's inexperienced, that's all, and I'm attaching this condition to our agreement. If anything happens to my son, Haylon will burn... Do we understand each other?"

Geras nodded and continued watching the snakes. The thought of being responsible for the man made his head hurt, but if that was the cost of saving Haylon, he would suffer it.

## ***

One year ago...

— _From the voice log of Crown Prince Cord Aristan—_

_Day 93, 1214, Cycle 2:_

—12:06, Meridian West Time—

I came to placate Geras, not because I care much about the wrecked ship or the discoveries they've made, but to shut him up so he will leave me alone. He's been insistent for weeks that I examine it with him. Father is also adamant, so here I am. I asked him why Jerrold couldn't supervise this operation, and he acted strangely: like he wanted to tell me something but was afraid to. Nevertheless, I'll deal with this, and then Keenan and I can move on with our plans. These discoveries can't be more exciting than the portal device.

The scientists have determined the destination coordinates are someplace in the mountains on Erador. Our best telescopes only have a magnification factor of 50x, so we can see the spot they've identified—the place they tracked the transmitter we sent through—but it's still a view from two-hundred-miles away, so there's no detail available. At least it's green: maybe we won't be teleporting into the center of a volcano—or a desert. I hate deserts: half our planet is a desert. Well, technically, we are a moon of Erador, but I've always thought of Haylon as a planet.

— _14:28, MWT —_

Geras is starting to scare me. I had no idea he was performing these genetic manipulations upon himself. I knew about the eye of course, but that was bionic, to replace the one he'd lost as a child. I haven't asked him why he still wears the patch; I think he believes it makes him look sinister—it does. The strength and dexterity enhancements are new, but he claims no side-effects aside from elevated hunger.

I watched him run the distance of three Markaba fields in less than twenty seconds—and he lifted the equivalent weight of two rollers over his head. Knowing my father, he's interested in this for military reasons. Geras agrees with me: they shouldn't have it. But I see a different light in Geras' eyes, and I wonder if he's not under the spell of this newfound power and wants it for himself. He was talking about some new research they'd discovered earlier—something about longevity. He used the word immortality, but that's impossible. I think he misspoke.

— _16:22, MWT—_

Geras can do what he wants, strange as it is. I'm more interested in this portal technology. This round piece attached to the top appears to be a power source of some kind—the indicator lights show it's a little over half-charged. The one test they performed used a large fraction of the available power. We've inventoried the ship's contents, and there don't appear to be any more of these, so we need to use it judiciously or find a way to recharge it. Father has forbidden us to use the portal, but I don't see how I can follow his order.

Since we discovered the designs for the telescopes among the ship's records, we've known about the Eradorians. We can see their cities. We watch their ships leave their atmosphere—that's something we can't do—so we know they're more advanced. We've no idea what they look like, or even what species they are, and that's the problem. They could be Insectoid or have enormous heads or maybe four arms. What if we don't resemble them? We could get stuck there, unable to return, among aliens. We don't know if they can see us... We'll assume they can't until proven otherwise.

Father knows he can't stop us from leaving, but he said if we do leave not to come back. I think I believe him this time...

## ***

"We've used it four times," Cord explained, "including the initial test. Each activation reduces the available power by ten percent. Our power cell has only twenty percent remaining, and we've yet to find a method for recharging them. We're sure it's there, somewhere in the data."

Eustas nodded. "If it's anything like our ship, I understand. It took us almost a year to find a way to read the information on the disks. We had to reinvent our computer systems. And you haven't found any weapon schematics? Maybe a pistol of some kind?"

"The only weapon plans we discovered were a part of the design for our ships, but as I said, some data was corrupted in the crash. What kind of pistol are you looking for?" Cord asked.

"It's not important, I guess." Eustas shook his head and walked up the ramp into the research facility.

The Haylonians built around the wrecked craft, constructing a permanent building incorporating the ship. The damage to the craft appeared superficial until you got inside, and the extent became visible. One entire side of the fuselage was ripped open. The exterior building shell covered the wound from the outside, but Eustas knew from experience the main computer banks were stored inside that portion of the hull.

"And you say it was underwater?" Eustas turned to Cord.

"Completely submerged, in the water-hole outside. Our hydrologists discovered it by accident, trying to understand the subterranean caverns which circulate the water on our moon."

The others joined them, catching the end of the conversation. Alisha scanned the interior of the ship. "Where is the portal device?"

"It's on a hill not far from here," Cord said, "that was a separate discovery. We'll head over there in the morning before first light. In the meantime, I thought you might like to see some research we've been doing with the data we've recovered. I think we could all use some rest in a warm bed tonight—I know I could. I believe General Callus has an errand to run if I'm not mistaken."

Eustas turned to face them, nodding agreement with Cord. "I asked Cord, sorry, King Aristan," Eustas smiled, and Cord waved one hand in the air and made a sour face, "to load my ship in the cargo bay. Dalo and I need to go somewhere..."

Arriana crossed her arms and glared at him. "You think this is the best time to take a vacation?"

"Not exactly..." Eustas laughed at her. Her eyes turned to thin slits, and she mumbled something no one could hear. "We will meet you on Erador tomorrow morning," he said, "as you step through the portal—but we must do something before then. I can't tell you more."

Everyone looked at Dalo, who shrugged. "I didn't know anything about this..."

Garrian shook his head and sighed. "It's no use asking; my father always has plans he won't divulge."

"But he always has a good reason!" Zevo slapped Eustas on the shoulder and motioned to Cord. "So, let's go see the thing you said, and let these two get on their way."

## ***

Erador - early the next morning.

Faran pulled the ship into a tight left-hand turn, aiming for a secluded copse of trees on the side of the ridge opposite the temple. The reddish-yellow blend of light glinted from the smooth edges of the runabout, the gold metal gleaming. He switched the planetary drive off to minimize the noise and floated into the clearing, the anti-grav system compensating for the lack of thrust. The ship slid to a stop, the bottom caressing the tops of knee-high alpine grass.

You'll never see me coming from here...

He didn't know if it was a trap, but he felt sure whatever waited across the ridge was likely bad for him in one way or another. He adjusted the pistol in his belt, shoving it deeper, making sure it couldn't fall out. Grabbing the case containing the staff, he walked down the ramp. The dew on the grass rubbed off, soaking his robe from the knee down as he headed toward the crest of the ridge.

## ***

"He's late." Zaril paced along the edge of the stone circle, dawn's light shining off his bare head. "I told him to be here before sunrise..."

"Twelve minutes until the red sun reaches three-degrees above the horizon. How long is the window open?" Darkonus leaned against one of the stone columns surrounding the circle, his thumb testing the tip of Pain. The shadow inside the crystal was unusually restless, sensing violence and yearning to take part.

"Twenty minutes give or take, but activating the staff will take five. The power has to build up," Zaril said.

"You should've let me kill Faran last night." Darkonus shook his head. "This waiting is pointless—it serves no purpose, other than hindering our plans."

"He is coming..." The Prophet emerged from the stone building, the tail of her black robe dragging the ground behind her. She grabbed the folds and held them wide in both hands, like a vulture's wings as it descends. "I feel it. Calm yourselves."

Twenty red-robed Heralds stood around the edge of the circle, stiff-legged and silent, their staves ready against one shoulder. All eyes were focused on Zaril.

"I've brought my reinforcements, where are yours?" Zaril spun toward Darkonus. "I thought this was a joint effort, yet you show up alone?"

Darkonus laughed and slid Pain back into its sheath. He strolled to the center of the circle and stopped, scanning the horizon. He pointed toward a small black dot outlined against the azure sky. "This one is all I need," he said, crossing his arms.

The dot grew wings as it approached. What looked like a bird from a distance, transformed into the shape of a Draggon. The beast circled the temple, spewing fire, the force of the air beneath its wings ruffled the adept's robes; several dropped their staves and scrambled to retrieve them. Zaril rolled his eyes and watched them while Darkonus laughed. The Prophet was silent, her arms folded across her chest; she looked bored.

The Draggon landed, shifting into his humanoid form as he approached Darkonus. His armor was red, not the usual black. Across his chest and over one shoulder hung a sash of brilliant chain-mail, attached to the center was the coat-of-arms of the Draggon Clan: an ornate twisted Draggon on a background of fire. It was gold, but the light of the red sun turned it bloody. He came to a halt beside Darkonus, examining the others with obvious contempt. Unlike Darkonus and the majority of Draggons, his hair and beard were close-cropped, a blaze of gray frosting both temples.

"This is my master-at-arms, Faydon;" Darkonus introduced him, "he's trained every Draggon in the ways of combat for the last three thousand years since he killed the previous weapons-master. I believe he will suffice."

Faydon executed a curt bow toward the Prophet and raised his chin, acknowledging Zaril's presence. He turned to Darkonus with a tired look on his face. "So, I assume, as usual, nothing is ready..."

"You thought this would be different?" Darkonus asked.

"No, not really..." Faydon paced in front of the line of Heralds, appraising eyes deconstructing their facade of bravery. Some wouldn't meet his gaze. One did. He stopped and turned to face the man. "You believe you're ready for this fight?"

The Herald snapped to a tighter frame of attention, the staff in his right hand angled forward in salute. "I do!" His spine was straight, his neck stiff. The silver circlet on his forehead glowed a crimson hue.

Faydon was a blur, his movements so fast, none could say what happened for certain until the shock wore off. He never drew a weapon—it was unnecessary. He struck the Herald twice in the chest and once in the throat, somehow managing to end up behind him with the man on his knees, Faydon's knee in his back and an arm around his throat. The staff rolled away, and the circlet fell tinkling to the stone.

"How about now?" Faydon released him and pushed him away. The Herald fell upon his hands and knees, coughing and sputtering.

"OK! That's enough!" Zaril stepped forward, turning to Darkonus. "Do you think you can control him long enough to aim him at the proper enemy?"

Darkonus made an almost imperceptible nod in Faydon's direction.

The combat-master shook his head and laughed, joining him at the circle's center. He stood slightly behind him on his left, arms across his chest. His pupils flared as he looked at Zaril, and he winked as he spoke. "Don't worry; your lackeys are safe for now..."

## ***

Faran watched it all from the safety of his hiding place: a slot between two jagged boulders overlooking the temple below. It was the same spot he'd used the night he found the pistol. He was more exposed now because of the sunlight, but everyone below him seemed involved in their own drama—too busy to look. He had no doubt he could've stayed there for hours undetected, but he knew it wasn't an option. He touched the butt of the pistol to reassure himself it was still there. He hadn't anticipated Darkonus bringing help. This could alter his plan, but not enough to worry about.

Faran took a deep breath and picked up the case. He stepped through the crack in the boulders and made his way toward the stone circle below. They didn't see him coming until he was halfway down. One Herald amongst the twenty must've been daydreaming, and happened to be looking in his direction.

"Lord Zaril..." The Herald waved his hand at Faran, wagging one finger. "He's here."

Every head turned, watching Faran make his way down from the boulders. He kept his balance using the case, and a free hand on the waist-high rocks flanking the path. Loose gravel made the descent treacherous, but he managed to survive it. He stopped where the dirt path transitioned to smooth level stone at the bottom. Faran smoothed his robe and straightened his back, aiming a look of defiance at the Draggons as he turned toward Zaril and the Prophet. Geras and Varran Razzius stood behind them, their arms across their chests.

"What are you waiting for, Faran?" Zaril's impatience was obvious. He looked toward the sun, judging its position in the morning sky. "We are running out of time, bring it to me."

Faran didn't move. He scanned the surrounding faces. He didn't think the Heralds would do anything without a word from Zaril, but the Draggons were an uncertainty. His hand squeezed the bulk of the pistol through his robe. He wasn't sure if Darkonus saw it, but the Draggon King's pupils flared for a moment.

"I'm going to give this thing to you, Zaril, but only so you have no reason to follow me," Faran said.

"Why, are you going somewhere?" Zaril asked.

"Let's say I'm beginning to feel a little unwanted these days." Faran pointed at the Draggons with his free hand. "And finding them here confirms my suspicions. The two of you were behind this all along. Don't deny it."

"I won't even try." Zaril laughed and pulled the hood of his robe up, covering his head. He took the Prophet's hand and led her onto the stone circle, moving to stand next to the Draggons. "It's true, we needed one of you to die, and it didn't matter which of you it was. It was a test, you see... She told me it would work—the daggers—but I didn't believe her. I should have."

"I don't understand. How is Mordus dead, but we're still alive?" Faran asked.

"Each of the Draggon's daggers contains one-half of the essence of a void-wraith," Zaril said. "Normally, they exist in the space between realities, feeding off excess energy spilling from different dimensions. They're necessary to balance the flow of orphic currents—otherwise, the multiverse would become so supercharged it would destroy itself."

"That doesn't answer my question..." Faran said.

Zaril turned to Darkonus and held one hand out. The Draggon King's pupils flared, but he slid Pain from its sheath and handed the dagger to him. Zaril held the blade in front of him and admired the swirling darkness within the crystal pommel.

"Void-wraiths normally process the energy they consume and return the balance to the multiverse from whence it came as negative and positive orphic energy, but these wraiths have been split. One half is constantly trying to reunite with its other half. Because they're split, this dagger only absorbs the negative energy, and the other dagger absorbs the positive—it never gets returned to the pool. These daggers get more powerful, and the absorbed energy remains inside." Zaril held the knife in front of Faran's face. "This is where Mordus is Faran. His soul is trapped inside this dagger—well, half of it."

"You mean he's not dead?" Faran's pupils widened.

"That's one way of looking at it." He handed Darkonus the dagger. "Do you understand now?"

Faran set the case on the stones and snapped the catches, lifting the lid free. The Heralds drew a collective gasp of breath as he held the staff in the air. A smile spread across Zaril's face. He walked toward Faran; his hand open.

"Stop!" Faran held the palm of his other hand toward Zaril. "I want your word. You'll let me go..."

"Of course!" Zaril never hesitated; his phony smile beamed. "Give me the staff..."

Faran placed the staff in Zaril's outstretched hand and stepped back.

Darkonus tilted his head to one side and cast a questioning glance at Zaril. "So, what... you don't want me to kill him? This is getting rather confusing..."

Zaril ran his hands over the staff, fingers caressing the smooth metal. His face changed, the shadows bringing out the creases and lines, making him look more sinister. "No, he still has to die..."

## ***

Cord pointed at the control panel on the staff, running his finger along the smooth surface.

"This is where you input the coordinates you want to travel to. Right now, it's programmed for the same place we originally went—the place in the mountains—the abandoned temple."

"And you think that's where they'll be?" Garrian adjusted his weapons, making sure they were ready.

"Our scientists say it's the most likely inter-dimensional location. Not every portal site can access different dimensions; we're not sure why. The ones that can are exceptionally strong. That's how we found it to begin with: it was like a beacon. The staff tuned into it automatically. Maybe that's what the designers intended..."

"Let's leave this discussion for another time." Alisha squeezed Cord's shoulder. "Can you make this thing work, or not?"

"Oh, it works, but it takes a few minutes to charge." Cord pressed a series of buttons, the lights on the staff engaged, two lines of green lights with a third in the center. The middle line began to grow larger, stretching toward the top of the scale. A sharp hum began, getting louder. Cord felt the characteristic tingling sensation on his skin, the hair on his body standing out. It wasn't a pleasant sensation—more like a sense of nausea. The portal began to form as he remembered it: the smoky black swirl starting at the edge and filling in toward the center of an invisible circle. "This will take several minutes. Everyone check your gear..."

## ***

"I knew it!" Faran stabbed one finger at Zaril.

Zaril nodded at Darkonus, who drew Pain and Suffering from their sheaths and stepped toward Faran.

Faydon grabbed him by the shoulder and stopped him. "Let me deal with this, sire."

Darkonus stepped aside and made a sweeping gesture toward Faran with one dagger. "Be my guest."

Faydon's jaw set and his lips formed a tight thin line across his face. He drew the twin swords from his back in one smooth motion, wicked curved scimitars with diamond-honed edges, the steel hissing against the scabbards.

Faran fumbled with the folds of his robe; they hung on the butt of the pistol. He managed to free it seconds before the Draggon moved toward him. Darkonus' eyes went wide when he saw it. He yelled at the arms-master to stop. "Faydon, wait!"

Faydon stopped three feet from Faran. He eyed the pistol. "What's wrong? You know plasma weapons can't hurt us, not permanently. He might get one shot off before I sever his head..."

"That's not an ordinary pistol; I've seen it before, long ago. I'm curious about how you have it." Darkonus moved to stand beside Faydon, eyes questioning Faran.

"You should make sure things burn, next time..." Faran held the pistol at arm's length, bobbing back and forth between the Draggons, unsure who the target should be.

"You can't shoot us both." Faydon grinned.

"Then which of you wants to get shot? Because I'm shooting one of you if you come one step closer."

The enormous golden fireball Zaril aimed at him broke and shattered on the shield Faran cast upon himself earlier. Sparks and shards of light cascaded across the stone—some fell into the cracks where they hissed and sizzled, acrid smoke rising, stinging the eyes and burning the nose. The impact didn't break the shield, but it did jar Faran enough that he lost his balance. He stumbled to his right several steps, almost losing his grip on the pistol.

Several things happened then, almost simultaneously: Geras handed the power cell to Zaril, who plugged it into the staff and activated it, placing the end in a hole in one stone that seemed to fit it perfectly, the invisible circle formed and began to fill with swirling black. There was an identical hole in another stone directly opposite in the circular floor—another spinning black portal began to form over it.

Faydon, judging Faran to be critically off-balance, decided to rush him—but Faran was saved by a loud screech drawing the Draggon's attention over his shoulder.

The Heralds standing on the southern edge of the ring scattered, to avoid being in the path of the Griffin hurtling toward them with a sword-waving Dalo astride, one hand twisted around the leather strap circling the beast's chest.

Faydon turned too late. The Griffin hit him square in the chest. The arms-master flew across half the floor, impacting one column at the edge of the circle, knocking both swords from his hands and the wind from his lungs. He sat, shaking his head and trying to breathe.

Dalo jumped from Carion's back and landed lightly on the stone, his attention on Darkonus, the tip of Bloodrender aimed between his smoldering yellow eyes.

Garrian and Zevo were first through the portal, and they were met by eight of the Heralds on that side of the circle. Heralds were dangerous for more reasons than magical ability. Spells took time to cast and could be interrupted. The staves they carried were deadly weapons, and they trained with them at least as often as they trained in spell-work.

"Six for me, and two for you..." Zevo winked at Garrian and grinned. "Can you handle two of these guys?"

Garrian's hand was a blur—the plasma-bolt left his pistol and struck the Herald on the left in the face, his head exploded in a bright ball of blue flame, and the body crumpled to the stone.

"Now, I have one." Garrian smiled. "I can handle one." He slid the pistol back into its holster and gave Zevo a thumbs up as he drew his sword and turned to the second Herald. He saw fear in the man's eyes. "Your turn..."

## ***

Faydon recovered from the initial blow and stood to face the charging Griffin. He knew he was lucky the beast's claws were closed on impact—Griffin claws being one of the things sharp enough to pierce Draggonhide, and much easier in human form. He shifted into his Draggon form and lowered his head. The Griffin anticipated the move and with cattus-like quickness, jumped to one side as the stream of Draggonfire scorched the stone.

Two of the Heralds on the opposite side of the circle were engulfed in flames. They ran in different directions: one ran off the stone circle and plunged to his death on the rocks below, his dying scream following him over the edge. The other ran blindly into another group of Heralds who attempted to pat the flames out with their cloaks, consequently lighting two more of them on fire: Draggonfire is impossible to quench—and it spreads.

The two beasts circled each other looking for weakness and an opening to attack. The Draggon got too close and was rewarded with a bite on his nose from the Griffin's razor beak. But it was a ploy: Faydon swung his tail around, catching the Griffin unprepared and off-balance from the stretch to inflict the bite. Carion didn't recover fast enough; the blow from the tail sent him reeling, a cloud of feathers, and a tuft of yellow fur exploded from his mane. He let out a pain-filled shriek and landed in a heap on the floor. He lay still, one wing twitching.

## ***

Dalo inched toward Darkonus, Bloodrender spanning the space between them. Darkonus inched backward to match, his focus on the fight between Faydon and the Griffin, but mindful of the proximity of the sword. He glanced at Dalo from the corner of his eye. "If you think you're going to trick me into breathing fire on that sword, you're mistaken."

"It works fine this way." He spun the blade in a tight circle, returning the point toward Darkonus. "So, you're familiar with Bloodrender..."

Darkonus brushed the hair back from his left temple, revealing a scar running from his hairline, down his neck, and stopping above the collar-bone. The edges of the scar looked burned.

"Your great-great-grandfather gave me this" His fingertip traced the length of the scar. "It was my first experience with that sword. I'll never forget it, and I don't want to repeat it. It took almost a hundred years for this to heal."

Off to his right, Dalo heard Faydon's breath: the deep inhalation preceding a Draggon's belch of fire. He'd moved out of the path in the slow pursuit of Darkonus, but only by a few feet. He felt the heat of the Draggonfire as it coursed behind him across the circle, setting the Heralds ablaze.

When he leaned back to place the blade of Bloodrender into the fiery flow, it turned cherry-red in less than a second. Draggonfire crawled along the edge of the blade, a bloody-golden gleam. He spun it forward toward Darkonus a second time; drops of molten flame flew from the edge, splattering black leather.

The Draggon's eyes grew wide.

"I'm sorry, what were you saying?" Dalo pushed toward him.

## ***

Alisha and Delia stepped through the swirling nether, followed by the others. They formed a semicircle in front of the portal, their eyes and ears taking in the chaos surrounding them. Zevo was busy to the right and behind them, fending off the attacks of four Heralds. Two more lay dead at his feet, blood gushing from jagged sword-wounds in their throats. He bounced around like an Eradorian hummer-bird, blocking staff strikes with his swords, making quick stabbing attacks at his enemies' legs and arms.

The Heralds were losing their motivation; it was evident on their faces. They couldn't land a blow on the stocky sergeant, and there was no strain upon his face—he was obviously enjoying himself. One more fell, Zevo's left blade stabbing through the center of him when he lowered his guard from fatigue. The other three stopped attacking and stepped back, dropping their staves. It looked for a moment as if they planned to cast a spell, but Kavan got their attention.

"Hey! I wouldn't..." He raised his hand, and with a word, it burst into golden flame, fire licking his fingertips. "Incendius!"

They recognized him, and they backed away, eventually turning to run down the path into the woods below the temple. Zevo laughed and nodded a thank you at Kavan. Kavan smiled and winked.

## ***

Garrian was having problems. His single foe was now five, with the addition of Heralds who were not currently occupied fighting Zevo or putting out fires. Four of the Heralds disappeared into the woods when no one was looking.

But someone was looking.

Eustas linked the sensor array on the jump-ship to the heads-up display in the Nano-suit. He watched the four dots headed in different directions, momentarily considering tracking them down and killing them, but deciding against it.

They're out of the fight, and my son is in trouble...

Garrian was on his back, fending off multiple blows with a single sword—he couldn't last much longer. Garrian could hold his own with a sword, but he was no Zevo, and five was too many for him to handle, Eustas knew.

Eustas moved the jump-ship into a hovering position directly over the fight and slapped the button to open the rear hatch. Since he didn't need to land, the ship remained in stealth mode, and his surprise leap from the rear made it seem as if he'd come from nowhere, appearing in the middle of the group of Heralds by magic.

The edge of his blades and the cutting force of the Nano-suit severed three of their heads in rapid succession. The heads hit the stone, three solid thunks, followed by the bodies, and the rattle of wooden staves leaving lifeless hands. The remaining two turned and ran, following the other six deserters into the woods. He pulled the hood from his head and reached for Garrian's hand, dragging him up from the stone.

"Thanks, father..." Garrian managed, out of breath.

"You would've done the same for me." He smiled.
Chapter Sixteen

Cord's trip through the portal was strange. From the moment he stepped into the swirling black hole on Haylon, he knew something had changed. He and Keenan used the device four times, and each experience was the same. There was a momentary blackness surrounding you, and all your senses seemed cut-off, then a light in the center of your vision growing from a pinhole, filling your eyes, as you stepped through the portal to your destination. It almost felt like you were walking underwater, and the water was _pouring_ you out into the world.

This was completely different.

There was no forward momentum. He'd never experienced the sensation of being suspended in space before, and his senses returned much too quickly, leaving him with a view of the interior of the portal, or a lack of view. It was formless—there were no indicators of the size of the space—no way to distinguish up from down. He wasn't completely immobile, although it required a huge effort to move forward even slightly, like swimming against an invisible current.

After several minutes of fighting his way through the grasping darkness, two points of light appeared at a distance: they were separated from each other by the same distance he needed to traverse to reach either one—an equilateral triangle—he thought about the significance for a moment, but couldn't come up with anything profound. He examined the quality of each light. The one on the right had a slightly more bluish tint; the left one more green. He decided to go with his favorite color and resumed fighting his way through the blackness of the incomprehensible void.

It was at this point his hearing returned, and he thought for a moment he'd lost his mind.

" _That's the wrong one..."_

" _No! It's right, don't listen to them... they lie..."_

Scrabbling-scratching-gravelly voices surrounded him: the incessant chatter of disembodied souls. Cord looked around once more as the void became clearer, the formless space now different from before. It reminded him of a cave—the walls were visible and coated with a web-like substance, in which were trapped hundreds or thousands of tiny balls of light, each stuck on a single strand. The lights gleamed and dimmed, rising and sinking with the volume of the voices in his head.

"Stop it!" He slapped his palms against his ears, trying to block them out.

" _You should go, don't listen to the liars, they're all trying to kill you..."_

" _And which of us are liars? Don't listen to them..."_

" _Choose blue..."_

" _No, the green!"_

Cord had already chosen the bluish light, and the voices were not supplying any valid reason for switching. He continued his progress, swim-walking through the sticky space. Some voices screamed in panic on his left. He didn't stop, but he did glance in their direction. The voices stopped taunting him and seemed preoccupied now with another presence: a menace of some kind, for liars and truth-tellers alike.

A dark, shapeless form crept along the web—every strand it passed down was clean when it left: no lights remained, and one more voice was silenced. Cord couldn't tell if the thing had eyes, but the primal part of his brain imagined it was looking straight at him and headed in his direction. He doubled his efforts to reach the bluish light, and in doing so, caused the scabbards on his back to rattle against each other. He froze, afraid to move. From the corner of his eye, he watched the web-crawler pause—what might've been the head turned. It changed course, coming straight toward him.

Luckily, it didn't seem to be much faster than he was, but it was gaining on him. The effort to reach the light was strenuous, and sweat soaked through his clothing—it poured down his face, and he could feel the beat of his heart, the pulse pounding in his throat. He pulled his plasma pistol and fired two quick shots at the mysterious blob; both hit their target, but the beast absorbed them and seemed to grow faster, so he stopped doing it.

Three feet from the light, he felt it touch the back of his left calf: barely a hint of contact. Cord had never felt a more soul-sucking pain in his life. His vision blurred, and the voices in the web were replaced by a steady ringing. He found it difficult to breathe. His legs gave out, causing him to pitch forward, which is what saved him. He fell headfirst into the bluish light, leaving the formless shape grasping at air. Once he was gone, the creature moved on its way, gobbling light and muffling voices.

## ***

Zaril stepped between the portal device and the new arrivals, his hands waist-high, palms facing up. Two golden balls of light formed above them, the reflection in his eyes combined with the shadows on his face made him look like a madman. He recognized Delia, Mordus' adept with the silver magic.

"You can't stop this..." He raised the glowing orbs higher, aiming them. "I won't allow it, and neither will she!"

He nodded toward the Prophet, but she didn't acknowledge it. Her eyes were locked on Alisha and Delia. Occasionally she would glance at Dalo, still in pursuit of Darkonus across the stone circle, Bloodrender blazing. She stepped forward, a thin smile crossing her face.

"You look just like her." She nodded toward Delia.

"Like who?" Delia asked, confused.

"Your mother..." The Prophet said. "And these must be your children. You all three have the same look, the same hair, same eyes—and the same K'Pa aura, although his appears to be slightly tarnished." She pointed at Dalo. "You never knew your mother, did you?"

"No, my parents were killed when I was a child—a Draggon attack." Delia looked to her left, toward Darkonus and Faydon.

"Is that what they told you?" A peel of laughter escaped her lips. She tried to stifle it. "I'm sorry, dear. The truth is far more tragic—if we had time, I would tell you."

Dalo was in the middle of a backspin, Bloodrender at arm's length, the tip of the flaming sword carving a deep gash across Darkonus' right shoulder when the Prophet waved her left hand toward the women.

All the humans and Kavan were frozen in place; a thin, shimmering film of ice crystals coated their skin and clothing. The Draggons were unaffected, and the shield around Faran protected him.

Darkonus reeled from the blow and staggered back, clutching at his chest with both hands. He drew his daggers and stepped toward Dalo, only to find Kat blocking his way. "Move."

She shook her head and drew the Twin Fangs from her back, dropping into a defensive stance in front of the frozen warrior.

"You're no match for me, daughter," Darkonus growled.

"Maybe not, let's find out..." Kat said, her pupils burning.

"I don't want to fight you, Katreena... step aside. He needs to pay for this." Darkonus pointed to the jagged wound on his shoulder.

"That's your second scar from a Chieftain of the Na'Geena...," a grin spread across her face, "and from the same sword. You seem to be having trouble with them. Let's wait until he's not defenseless and see what else he can do."

Karal walked up behind her, his face grim. He locked eyes with Darkonus and smiled. "I'm curious to see that as well."

## ***

Faydon looked at the Griffin; it lay still. He spun to his left and aimed another blast of fire at Faran, but the flames only scorched the stone column where he was standing. When the breath passed, Faran stepped from behind it, pistol in hand and firmly balanced. He raised the gun to eye level and pointed the barrel at the Draggon.

"I told you, not another step." The gun shook in his hand, but he stood his ground. "You won't get another warning."

Faydon made the mistake of shifting his weight, and Faran misinterpreted it. He triggered the action on the pistol, and his face went white, his pupils as round as coins. The pistol made a loud humming sound increasing in volume... but nothing else. Faydon laughed and rushed toward him. At the end of the charging cycle, the gun clicked. The Draggon was almost on top of him.

The weapon discharged. A bolt of jagged blue lightning struck the Draggon in the chest, accompanied by a sharp crack and a roll of thunder that shook the mountainside. Faydon flew back across the stone floor, propelled by the force of the impact, a shrill screech from his throat as he landed on his back. The Draggon twitched for several seconds and stopped moving, a huge scorch mark smoldering in his chest.

"No!" Darkonus turned to see Faran aiming the pistol at him. He rolled to his left just in time—a second lightning bolt passing inches from his head.

Faran looked at the charge indicator on the gun; it was blinking red. He dropped it and reached into his pocket for the portal generator. He stepped into the swirling black mist and disappeared.

## ***

The Prophet turned to Zaril and motioned for Varran and Geras to join them. "This won't last long; you need to go."

"No," Zaril re-aimed the orbs at the humans, "let's end this now."

The Prophet grabbed him by the arm and slapped him hard across the face. The rage in his eyes was replaced by confusion. The orbs disappeared, and he turned to focus on her. "What was that for?"

"You listen to me; these people are not what they seem," she said. "They're far more dangerous than you think."

Zaril stepped back and examined her face. "If I didn't know better, I would swear you were afraid."

"We need the orb. Go get me that orb!" She pointed toward the spinning vortex.

"OK, ok..."

"You should all go, Geras too, you may need him over there," she said.

"I'd be curious to see another dimension." Geras adjusted his eyepatch.

Zaril pointed at a small metal case sitting on the stone. "Fine grab that, and come with me. You too, Varran."

Varran hesitated, looking over his shoulder at the immobile Sergeant. "Can't we kill one of them?"

"Later, there's always time to kill people later..." The Prophet said, ushering them toward the portal.

The three of them stepped through and were gone.

## ***

Delia was the first to break free from the freeze spell. Silver fire circled her head, moving down her body toward her feet, a hiss of steam escaping in the wake of the blaze. Her eyes filled with a bright silver glow as she watched Zaril and the others step through the portal and disappear. The Prophet turned back toward her. Delia raised one hand and slowly closed her fingers, forming a claw.

The Prophet fell to her knees, hands grasping at the invisible bonds preventing her from breathing. She was able to draw enough breath to yell one word. "Darkonus!"

Darkonus' death-defying roll to save himself from the pistol bolt put him directly behind Delia but facing the opposite direction. He spun around, Pain and Suffering in each hand, a blur of Draggon-speed. Before the others could react, he buried the blades hilt-deep in the Sorceress' back.

Delia's neck arched backward, and her arms flew wide. She made no sound, aside from a single choking gasp echoing from the stone columns. Darkonus yanked the blades free and stepped back. The silver fire faded as she fell, first to her knees, then slowly onto her right side. The last traces of light faded from her eyes as the lids closed for the last time.

"No!" Kat screamed. She knelt next to her and stroked the side of her face with one hand.

"You're going to pay for that, brother..." Karal drew his blades and lunged at Darkonus.

The Oracle materialized between them: a shimmering silver cloud, four feet tall and half as wide. The cloud took the shape of a young girl dressed in a brilliant white robe, a silver circlet around her head holding back raven hair. She raised her left hand and snapped her fingers.

Everyone froze in place, captured in time, except for the Prophet, who was picking herself up from the hard stones, massaging her throat. She saw the Oracle. "Nu'reen... decide to leave your cave for a change?"

"This is unacceptable, Ji'yael..." Nu'reen walked toward her, stopping three feet away, shaking her head. "You can't interfere directly—you certainly can't kill them. You know the law."

"Technically, the Draggon killed her, not me." The Prophet crossed her arms and stared down the bridge of her nose.

"You've always been good at splitting hairs," The Oracle said, "but your actions border on the disallowed. I would hate to involve the Council in our business. I know you don't want that..."

"As I said, Nu'reen," The Prophet held one hand up, examining her nails, "the Draggon killed her..."

"I don't know what you hope to accomplish," Nu'reen said, "even if you did manage to take my power, you know what happened to her mother." She hooked one thumb over her shoulder at Delia's body. "You think they'll look the other way this time?"

"You let me worry about the Council." The Prophet glared at her.

"By all means. Now, if you're finished here, take your pet Draggon and leave. But I'm warning you, Ji'yael, no more interference."

"Fine. I see you still haven't decided what age you prefer to be," she said.

"I like to keep my options open." The Oracle smiled and turned toward Darkonus, waving her hand in front of him. He snapped out of the time-lock to find the Oracle's finger in his face. "You should go before I release them." She nodded at Kat and Karal. "I think they're mad at you."

"That's it?" He wiped the blood from his daggers and put them away. "You're going to let us go?"

"I play by the rules," she glanced at the Prophet, "unlike some... It would give me great pleasure to end your life—but it's not an option. I can release them now if you prefer, they're under no obligation to obey K'Pa law."

Darkonus chuckled and walked around Karal, frozen in the middle of attacking him. "No, I'll go." He shifted into Draggon form and started to fly away, then stopped and turned to the Prophet. "You owe me..." The rumbling Draggon-speech echoed from the stone. He launched himself into the air with a great beating of leathery wings and was gone.

The Oracle turned back to the Prophet and crossed her arms. "Goodbye, Ji'yael."

"Goodbye, Nu'reen."

## ***

Karal stumbled, his target gone, the daggers slicing through space. The shock of the sudden change caught him off-guard. He stood for a moment looking around, trying to make sense of it—when he saw the Oracle.

"So glad you could make it..." He returned his daggers to their sheaths and pointed at Delia's body. "A little late, don't you think?"

The Oracle knelt beside the weeping Kat and took Delia's left hand. "She can be saved."

"Saved?" Karal laughed. "She's dead!"

"Her body has expired, that's true. But she was killed with Darkonus' daggers, so her essence is stored there. It can be returned." The Oracle looked at Garrian. "Captain, is there a stasis pod on your ship?"

Garrian shook his head and rubbed his eyes, trying to focus on her face. "Yes, there are two. But I don't know where it is. Geras stole it on Haylon."

Eustas nodded at the Oracle. "I've been running sensor-sweeps through my suit; it's down the hill, we can walk to it."

Garrian grabbed Zevo, who was lightly slapping Arriana's face to wake her up. "Darran, help my father get Delia into a stasis pod on the ship, fast."

Dalo, Alisha, and Kat stood up from where they'd been kneeling beside Delia, tears and hate in their eyes. Eustas and Zevo picked up her body and headed down the hill.

Dalo stepped toward the still-swirling portal. "I'm going after them."

"Not without me." Alisha grabbed his arm.

"It's too dangerous. You should stay here," he said.

"I'm going. They had a hand in her death, and I'm going to kill them." Her grip on his arm tightened.

Dalo looked into her eyes: they were cold and hard. He nodded and turned to Garrian. "Let me see your hand."

Garrian held his hand out without question. Dalo grabbed his wrist, his other hand drawing the knife from his belt, he ran the blade across Garrian's palm and then his own—it was fast. Dalo pressed his bloody palm into Garrian's and pulled him close until their faces were almost touching. "By the strength of my heart, and through the blood of my ancestors, I make you my brother... Do you accept this honor?"

Garrian searched the big man's face. He found what he needed. "Yes, I do. Now, why was that necessary?"

"Because you need Na'Geena blood, to use this." Dalo unstrapped Bloodrender from his back and handed it to Garrian. He held his hand out. Garrian placed his sword in Dalo's hand.

"But why are we exchanging swords?" Garrian strapped the massive broadsword to his back. "I don't understand..."

"Because my people need a leader, and the man who wields Bloodrender is the Chieftain of the Na'Geena. There must always be a Chieftain on Erador—if it can't be me, then it must be my brother. Plus, I have a feeling you intend to pursue Darkonus, and you will need that sword—and this." He took the large silver ring from his finger and placed it into Garrian's palm. Garrian slid it on; it twisted and molded, curling around his finger to a perfect fit.

Dalo turned to Alisha. "Are you ready?"

Alisha threw her arms around Garrian and whispered in his ear. He nodded and released her. A single tear ran down his face, and he looked away.

"Don't forget," Arriana cautioned them, "Cord's scientists said the portal window is only viable for two days."

Dalo and Alisha stepped into the swirling darkness.

## ***

The light was artificial and bright. Gleaming metal handrails extended twenty feet forward from where they materialized, ending at what resembled a desk. A short bald man was sitting behind it, intent on some paperwork scattered before him. He glanced toward them and motioned for them to come. "This way, please."

The room looked like the interior of a dome, the sloping ceiling ending at a circular metal floor. There were two doors on either side, and natural light from outside the building poured through the frosted glass. Alisha looked down. They were standing on a polished white disc, ten feet in circumference. She didn't recognize the material.

"Well, come on then, don't block the landing-disc, we have other travelers inbound." The bald man tottered out to greet them; he took their arms and placed them in two chairs facing his desk and returned to his seat. He selected a single form from the stack on his left and held a stylus over it. He looked at Dalo. "Origin?"

Dalo glanced at Alisha. She was still marveling at the surroundings. "Do you mean, where did we come from?"

"That's the definition of origin, yes." The bald man smiled and nodded.

"We came from Erador," Dalo said.

'Hmm, two parties in one day, from a dead planet..." he mused.

"Dead planet?"

The bald man smiled and waved his hands. "It's a clerical term we use. Any planet we've had no contact with or received travelers from, in more than a century, is considered dead. We haven't received anyone from Erador in quite a while. And now two parties in one day—and I must say, you are far more agreeable than those other people. They were quite rude. I had to call security drones."

"Tell us about the others." Alisha refocused. "Where did they go?"

"Well, they went out that door." The bald man pointed.

Alisha jumped from her chair and headed toward the door.

The bald man turned his head and yelled, "Security!"

Two panels slid away on either side of the door with a subdued swoosh. Mechanical drones flew out of the holes, each with a built-in plasma weapon, both were aimed at her, hot capacitors charging, revolving red lights on what might've been their heads. They hovered above the cold metal floor.

"Wait!" Dalo jumped to his feet. "What have we done?"

The little bald man pushed the form on his desk closer. "You need to complete the intake form and receive the appropriate inoculations. Otherwise, you can't leave here."

"Ok, call them off, my sister is just anxious to catch up with the others," Dalo said. "We'll fill out the form."

Alisha came back to her seat.

The bald man waved his hand, and the drones returned to their holes in the wall, panels whishing back into place.

Behind them, a loud crackling sound started, like thunder in slow motion. Alisha looked at the white disc, a spark grew there, blue at first, turning to brilliant white. Smaller sparks sprang from it, hitting the walls and crawling along the metal railing toward them.

The bald man scrambled under his desk, his chair rolling to one side. "Get down! It's an anomalous transport!"

She drew her hands down around them, shielding them both. The lightning bolts struck the shield, miniature pings sizzled and popped, trails of blue smoke wafted toward the ceiling.

Amid the electric discharge, a black portal formed over the white disc. Something shot from the portal: a figure dressed in white leather armor rolled to a stop halfway between the portal and the bald man's desk.

Lightning gone; the bald man pulled up his chair.

Dalo pointed at Cord. "He's with us..."

## ***

Sammi knelt next to the unconscious Griffin, green healing magic pouring from her hands, encasing the beast in a luminous emerald shell. The Griffin raised its head, rolled onto its belly, and began to trill, nuzzling the Sorceress with a smooth round beak.

"You'll be alright. Just the wind knocked out of you." She stood, and the Griffin followed.

The others were gathered in the center of the stone circle watching the now quiet staff—the portal had shut off several minutes ago.

"I thought it was supposed to last for two days..." Kavan bent to examine the staff, pointing at one dial. "I think this may be a timer of some kind."

"The window to open the portal is two days." Garrian shifted the weight of Bloodrender on his back—it was much heavier than he was used to. "I doubt the staff would have the power to keep it open that long. I'm not sure if it even has the power to reopen it. Cord said an interdimensional portal required far more energy."

"Where is Cord?" Sammi joined them, the Griffin nudging her from behind.

"You're right." Arriana joined the others in looking for the missing King. "He never came through the portal from Haylon."

"He's alive," Kavan held one finger to his forehead, "but he's far away, that's all I can see. The distance must be huge; I can't even sense his surroundings."

"Your friend is fine." The Oracle removed the circlet from her head and ran her hands through her hair—the fine strands turning from jet-black to golden-blonde as they flowed through her fingers. She threw the circlet into the air, and it vanished. "We need to focus on here-and-now."

"What do you mean?" Garrian asked. "I'm assuming you're the Oracle my father told us about?"

"That's what they call me." The Oracle put her arm around Kat's shoulders and motioned for Arriana. "Take her back to Haylon for now, until her pain fades. She's useless to us like this..."

"Hey!" Sammi snapped at the Oracle. "Can you be a little less insensitive?" The Griffin lowered its head and made a hissing noise at her, its wingtips jittering.

The Oracle turned to Sammi; her hands clasped behind her back. "We don't have time for sensitivity, I'm afraid. This is far from over."

Eustas and Zevo returned from the ship "Delia is safe in stasis. The analyzer didn't detect any tissue degradation." Eustas saw the Griffin up and about; a wide grin spread across his face. "Carion! I'm glad you're alright." He stroked the center of the beast's forehead, and Carion began trilling, his eyes narrowing with pleasure, one rear paw scratching the bare stone.

"That's his name?" Garrian joined in the head-rubbing.

"Yes, he's Dalo's mount, but of course, you know that." Eustas caught sight of Bloodrender on Garrian's back and looked around at the others. "Where is Dalo... and Alisha, and how did you get Bloodrender?"

"Apparently, I'm the new Chieftain of the Na'Geena." Garrian held his bloody palm up.

"I see. And where did they go?" Eustas asked.

"We don't have time for long explanations." The Oracle placed one finger on each of their foreheads.

The stone surrounding them dissolved, leaving them in an empty space, which was mostly white mist. Garrian and Eustas glanced at each other, then turned to the Oracle—she'd transformed into an older woman.

"Where are we?" Eustas asked.

She grinned and ran the bony fingers of her right hand down the side of his face. "This is not a where; it's more of an idea."

"So, we haven't gone anywhere?" Garrian asked.

"No, and the others won't even know this happened, as far as they know I'm touching you on the forehead, but I need to talk to the two of you alone. K'Pa law, you know..."

"I don't understand." Garrian looked confused.

"Dalo made you family," she said. "You have Na'Geena blood, and therefore K'Pa blood, flowing in your veins. You can now hear everything I tell your father."

"Oh, ok..."

She walked away from them a short distance and stopped, the mist followed her footsteps, swirling smoky tendrils wafting around her robe. "Darkonus is far more dangerous at the moment than Zaril. You should focus on him."

"What makes you say that?" Eustas asked.

"Because Zaril's not here, but Darkonus is, and he is not likely to stand still waiting for him to return," she said.

"Have you seen something?" Eustas took one step toward her.

"It's what I didn't see which concerns me, and it's because of that Draggon. They're so hard to read, and visions sometimes leave them out. Darkonus' presence here never registered, so I couldn't foresee him killing Alisha's mother."

"How does this change our plans?" he asked.

"I'm not sure. Some things, even I can't see." She spun around, causing the mist to billow away in waves. "But I do know the Draggon should be your priority. Forget about Zaril for the moment. He has his own problems. Someone is looking for you, Eustas..."

"What?" Eustas frowned. "Who?"

"A young lieutenant you met recently," she said. "I feel he may have some information for you."

"What kind of information?" Garrian asked.

"That's all you need to know for now..." She reached for them, surprisingly fast for her age, and placed one finger on their foreheads. The mist disappeared, and they were back at the stone circle. She pulled her hands back and turned away, headed toward Kavan.

Eustas watched her walk away—he started to follow but changed his mind and turned to Garrian instead. "So, Alisha and Dalo, did they follow Zaril through the portal?"

"They did." Garrian nodded.

"And you let her go?"

"I know my wife; there was no talking her out of it," he said.

"Well, did she say anything?" Eustas asked.

"Just one thing." Garrian eyes welled with tears. "She whispered it to me before they left."

"What was it?"

"I promise you I'll be back..."

"Then, I'm sure she will, son." Eustas put his hand on Garrian's shoulder and squeezed.

Garrian shook his head. "The staff is out of power." He pointed at the offending object. "Cord said his scientists determined you need a fully charged power cell to open an interdimensional portal, and this one is almost dead."

"I think I know where we might find another one..." Eustas caught a gleam from the pistol Faran dropped; he walked over and picked it up. "This may save us all." He nodded, admiring the shiny weapon.

"Switch ships with me, father. You take Sammi and Vengeance back to the city. Darran and I have someplace we need to go."

Eustas looked grim and squeezed his shoulder. "Ok, be careful... We'll all meet back here in two days..."

## ***

"E-r-a-d-o-r... Erador." The bald man wrote on the form and smiled.

"Will this take long?" Alisha leaned toward him, squirming in her chair.

"What my sister means is," Dalo grabbed her wrist and squeezed softly, "if there's any way to speed this process along, we would certainly appreciate it."

Cord pulled up a chair from along the wall and sat next to Alisha.

"And you, sir, you're from Erador as well?" The bald man looked ready to reach for another form, so Cord nodded.

"Fantastic, we'll call you a party then..." He winked at them and leaned closer to whisper, looking around as if someone might overhear. "Saves on paperwork."

Cord laughed, and Dalo grinned, Alisha let out a long sigh and turned her head towards the door.

"Anyway, there are a few questions, and inoculations, if you need them, then you can go." They all leaned forward in anticipation.

The bald man withdrew a pair of lenses from one desk drawer and put them on. He peered down his nose at the form. "Have any of you been to Libonia in the last three weeks?"

They glanced at each other, shaking their heads.

"Good, good." The bald man put a tick in the first empty box. "And have you had any face-to-face dealings with Sunerian traders?"

They continued shaking their heads.

"Oh, good! That would ban you from entry permanently... Consorting with criminals is strictly forbidden. If you encounter any Sunerians, you must report them to a peace-officer immediately." He checked several more boxes. "That answer takes care of that one, and... that one, so there's just one more issue."

They waited while he drew another form from his piles.

"Our records indicate Erador is susceptible to Orphic currents, and that means you have magic there. Are any of you practicing magic-users?"

Dalo and Alisha nodded.

The bald man looked at Cord. "But not you?"

"I can't even conjure an idea sometimes," Cord said, grinning.

"Excellent! So just you two." He looked at Dalo and Alisha. "Place your palms on these metal plates."

He pointed to two shiny plates built into the front edge of the desk; they did as he asked. He punched a series of buttons on a small control pad, then hit the larger red button in the center.

Alisha and Dalo both yanked their hands away and let out a sharp cry.

"Hey!" Alisha yelled, examining the blood running from the small pinprick in her palm. "What was that?"

"The magic inhibitor." He pushed the lenses higher on his nose.

"Magic inhibitor?" Dalo asked.

"Yeah...," He nodded. "It's a stupid name, I know—because it doesn't inhibit anything—but I hear it is excruciating. You don't want to use magic with the magic inhibitor in your blood. I seriously doubt you could withstand the pain. Theoretically, it could kill you. Don't worry, though, travel back through the portal removes it."

Dalo glanced at Cord, who raised his eyebrows. He turned back to the bald man. "Did the people in the other group get this same injection?"

The bald man took a serious tone. "We don't allow magic; it's forbidden."

Dalo stood and held his hands out with a questioning look. "Are we good to go, then?"

The bald man slid the forms into a thin slot at the edge of his desk, and they disappeared slowly as they watched. Machinery inside made a satisfied humming sound, and the green light above both doors winked on. They made their way to the left door.

The bald man followed them out, holding the door and waving. "Enjoy your stay on Caralon! The last return window for Erador is midnight, two days from now. Don't be late!"
Chapter Seventeen

The building housing the portal sat on a low hill. Manicured grass and hedges surrounded it. A neatly laid stone path led from the door to a road that disappeared into the distance in both directions. They were in the woods. Ancient trees choked the light as it filtered through the branches, leaving their surroundings in a state of dim twilight. Dalo noticed a lack of birdsong.

"Over there." Alisha pointed across the road at a small red building. There were three rollers lined up in front of the door. "Maybe they saw them leave."

The Saloon was mostly empty; it was still early morning, after all. The keeper was moving boxes around behind the bar and didn't see them walk in. There were only two other patrons: one was slumped over a table in the corner—most likely a remnant of the previous night's festivities. The other was alert and drinking what looked like kaffa, steam curling into the air before him. He watched them sit at a table by the wall, tipping the brim of his cup in greeting.

"Morning!" He beamed a wide smile at them, a glint of gold from one front tooth.

"Morning." They all echoed, nodding.

The Keeper poked his head above the bar and waved. "Be right with you, folks, just one minute..."

The stranger stood and walked toward them. His swagger reminded Alisha of Darran Zevo, which made her smile. He wore hardened leather armor, a plasma pistol on each hip. She didn't see a sword, but a brace of six daggers was strapped across his chest, the jeweled pommels refracting the dim light. He set his cup on the table and spun the empty chair around, straddling it. He scanned their faces and settled on Alisha. "You folks aren't from around here, are you?"

"What makes you say that?" She returned his smile but decided to remain cautious, no matter how friendly he appeared.

"I travel a lot. I can tell." He blew the steam from his cup and took a sip. "That's okay. I'm not from around here either—I'm here on business."

"Where are you from? If you don't mind me asking," she asked.

"Suneria."

Alisha looked at Dalo, who looked at Cord, who laughed and slapped the table with one hand. He extended his hand to the stranger. "Let me guess. You're a trader?"

"I am! How did you know?" His grin widened as he shook hands with the King.

Cord sat back, still chuckling to himself. "It's the way our luck is going lately, that's all." He pointed to the others. "This is Dalo, and Alisha—my name is Cord."

The stranger shook their hands in turn. "Jedediah Larkin, at your service. My friends call me Jed."

The Keeper finally wandered over, wiping his hands on his pant legs. "What can I get you?"

Alisha waved him away. "I don't think we have time for anything, thank you."

"Suit yourselves." He walked away, mumbling something about free seating.

Jed leaned forward and lowered his voice. "I bet you're after those other fellas..." He nodded as he said it, which caused them all to nod with him.

Dalo put his forearm on the table. "What other fellas?"

"About half-an-hour ago." Jed pointed toward the door. "Three sinister-lookin' types: one of them wore an eye-patch, one was bald with weird eyes, and the third was a squirrely little guy. They were all quite rude."

"Did they say anything to you?" Alisha asked.

"No, they looked kinda' creepy to me, not my type, if you know what I mean. The bald one and the little guy were complaining about the magic inhibitor, and eye-patch asked the bartender about the Nazmari ruins."

"What is that?" Alisha asked. "The ruins, I mean."

Jed took a sip, watching their eyes over the rim of his cup. He set it down, licking his lips. "It's an old archeological site in The Scar—a long canyon that starts at the south edge of the city and runs about twenty-five miles."

Alisha looked at the others and raised her eyebrows. They both nodded.

"We need to find them," she said. "Could you give us directions?"

"Well, I could, but it's five miles into town from here, and another seventeen or so to the ruins. They got a ride from some farmer, so they've got a little head start on you." Jed watched the dejected looks spreading across their faces.

They all stared at the tabletop.

"I tell you what." He stood and adjusted his gear. "I was about to head into town myself. I'll give you a ride. Maybe we can get you closer. I know how these farmers drive, and we can shave some time off your chase, at least."

They all nodded and thanked him profusely. Dalo and Cord slapped him on the shoulder, and they followed him outside.

Jed's roller was parked at the far end of the line: a bright red model. They jumped in, Cord taking the front seat. Jed pulled into the road and aimed the nose toward town. He goosed the accelerator, the force pushing them back into their seats.

"Wow!" Dalo watched the trees whipping by. "This thing has got some juice!"

"In my line of work, it pays to have a faster roller." Jed laughed and flashed his teeth.

The forest was dense, and the view was mainly trees for the first few miles, but it slowly changed into farmland on the left and low rolling hills on the right. They began a downhill descent, which turned into a series of switchbacks dropping them into a low wide valley. The edges of a city started to appear: houses and businesses lined both sides of the road. Pedestrians became more plentiful: women with shopping-bags and men carrying packages, children playing in the side-streets.

"Welcome to Harlan City: the capital city of Caralon." Jed kept one hand on the wheel. The other he used to point out different things. He gave a detailed commentary for each one, describing the wonders of the food in a restaurant, or the selection of fine plasma pistols at a weapon shop. They passed a small park. Jed pointed toward a huge statue in the center.

"That's where I first got... detained on this planet." He turned to Cord and grinned.

"What happened?" Cord asked.

"Oh, it was a misunderstanding." He laughed. "I thought it was okay to smuggle and sell some cheap Doran wine—and they said I misunderstood the law."

Jed yanked the wheel to the left. The roller's rear end swung wide, and they shot down a narrow street; everyone leaned to compensate for the g-forces. Dalo was late and got pushed into the door. Alisha laughed at the look on his face. When the roller straightened up, he tapped Jed on the shoulder. "Could we slow down a little?"

Jed hit the brake, and Dalo thanked him, but he turned toward them with a tense look. "This may not be good..."

They pulled to a stop behind a large roller that looked like a military transport, and more vehicles blocked them in from the rear.

"What's wrong?" Alisha leaned forward.

"It's a checkpoint," Jed said.

They were silent for a moment, and then Cord asked the obvious question. "What are they checking for?"

"Contraband..." Jed raised his eyebrows.

"Then we're good. I mean, there's nothing in here but us," Cord said.

"Well," Jed gave them a sheepish grin, "there's the twelve cases of Theramite in the trunk."

"You're transporting explosives?" Cord's mouth dropped open.

"It's safe!" Jed threw his hands up. "As long as you don't shake it up too much..."

The line of rollers moved forward, bringing them closer to the barricade. Two peace-officers were waiting, one on each side of the street. The sunlight reflected from the black visors they wore. They stopped the rollers one at a time and questioned the occupants—once satisfied, they allowed them to proceed on their way, moving them along with a wave of one hand.

Jed pulled to a stop next to them and disengaged the force-field. He smiled at the officer and tried to act nonchalant. The other one walked down the opposite side, peering into the vehicle. Dalo and Alisha grinned at him and waved. Cord sat still, his eyes on the road ahead, too afraid to move.

"What's goin' on, buddy?" Jed handed him several documents to inspect.

The officer took them with a gloved hand and started leafing through them. "Where are you coming from?" All that was visible beneath the black visor was his mouth and chin—the black strap of the helmet bit into his neck.

"Just picking up my family here from the portal station. You fellas after someone in particular?" Jed asked.

"These are your family members?" He asked, taking a better look at them.

"Sure thing. Visiting from Cassius Prime. Family reunion, you know, once a year whether we like each other or not. Grandma insists on it." Jed's smile got even wider.

Satisfied with the story, the two officers nodded at each other and waved them through.

Jed hit the accelerator and made a sharp right turn.

"Hey!" Cord slapped him on the arm. "The explosives. Slow down!"

Jed laughed and sped up. "There's no explosives. I'm yankin' your chain, buddy!"

Cord stared at him, mouth open. Dalo and Alisha let out a thin nervous laugh, their knuckles white, hands clamped to the seat.

Jed punched a red button on the dash.

A crackle of static burst from the speaker and a gruff voice came over the comm. "Yeah, boss?"

"Jacko, I'm bringing some visitors in, so shut off the cannons."

"Right now?"

"No, tomorrow morning..." He rolled his eyes. "Yes, right now, you idiot!"

"You got it, boss." The comm clicked once and was quiet.

Jed slowed the roller and stopped in front of a huge metal gate set into a high stone wall, circling a three-story building. Cameras mounted on the fence tracked their movement. Alisha watched the red lights blinking while they moved. The gate parted in the center, the two halves receding into slots in the fence.

Jed peered through the windshield. "I sure hope he shut those cannons off."

Cord turned to look at them; they both shrugged.

Jed eased the roller through the gate and pointed it toward a large roll-up door in one wall of the building. The door cracked at the bottom with a whir of mechanical gears and rose high enough to allow the roller passage, then descended behind them. They watched out the windows as Jed drove the roller between stacks of crates with various labels and markings. Alisha saw the words: rifle, kaffa, brandy, and several others in languages she didn't recognize. Workers with clipboards shouted orders at the workers without clipboards. They carried an assortment of crates and loaded them onto one of two big cargo-rollers. The air was full of sound and the smell of sweat.

They stopped, and Jed jumped out, motioning for them to follow.

"So, Sunerian trader is a polite term for smuggler?" Alisha asked.

The warehouse filled with silence and all the workers turned toward them. You could cut the tension in the air with a knife. Jed turned around; his smile larger than ever. He motioned for the men to carry on as he faced Alisha. "We don't like to use the 's' word. We prefer the term procurement specialists."

"I bet you do," she said.

Jed laughed and turned toward a red metal door. They followed him into a small room filled with electronic equipment. A bank of monitors spanned one entire wall: most of these images were feeds from the cameras mounted outside, but Alisha spied a few which seemed different. One image looked like the interior of a vault, and two others had pictures of what appeared to be a cave or tunnel. A huge man, at least as big as Dalo, sat in a chair far too small for him, his eye on the screens.

"Jacko!" Jed slapped him on the shoulder. "Nice work shutting down the cannons. Have you turned them back on yet?"

"No, boss, should I do that now?" Jacko asked, the sarcasm clear in his voice.

Jed looked at them and winked. "He's not slow, but he pretends to be. This here is my baby brother Jackson, but we like to call him Jacko because Jackson has two more letters in it."

"And it makes me sound devious..." Jacko turned to them and grinned.

"Did you really not turn the cannons back on?" Jed reached for a red button on the control panel.

Jacko knocked his hand away. "Of course I did, moron. This is my office; you keep your hands off my things."

Jed opened a second door on the opposite wall and ushered them into a larger room. There was a desk at one end, and a set of bookcases at the other.

The waist-high table in the center had an electronic map built into it. Jed placed his index finger on the screen and scrolled the image to his left. They watched the map slide across the glass. He stopped it with his hand and enlarged a section with two fingers, zooming into an aerial view of a deep canyon. He pointed at a small white building. "That's the Nazmari ruins, where your missing fellas said they were going."

"How do we get there?" Dalo leaned closer, examining the map.

"Getting there isn't the hard part," Jed said. "I can show you the way, but the whole canyon is Ogron territory—you don't want anything to do with them, I promise."

"Ogron?" Alisha asked.

"Ogres! You know, twelve-foot-tall cannibal monsters?" Jed held his hand as high as he could reach. "You don't have Ogron on your world?"

"No, we don't. We have Draggons." Cord pointed at Alisha and Dalo. "Well, they do. I wonder which is worse..."

"Do these Draggons eat you?" Jed asked.

"I don't think so, but they're very bad-tempered—most of them, anyway."

"Bad-tempered," Jed held his palms up like he was weighing two items, "or eats you... You decide. Either way, Ogres are bad news; you wanna avoid Ogres—."

"Can you help us get there, or not?" Alisha interrupted.

Jed grinned and pointed at her, looking at the men. "This one's pulling on the harness, huh?"

They both nodded, careful not to let her see.

"I'm sorry, you've been more than helpful, Jed." Alisha looked sideways at Cord and Dalo. "But we really must catch up to them, can you help?"

Jed went to the desk and extracted a small tablet from one drawer—he plugged it into the map table and pressed a few buttons. "This will show you where to go. Unfortunately, I can't come with you or I would. I have a previous engagement."

Jed handed the tablet to Cord and opened another door leading into a parking garage. Several rollers were lined up along one wall. He pointed at the second one from the right: a small silver four-seater—it looked very fast, even sitting still. "Take this roller. It belonged to one of my men, but he doesn't need it anymore."

"I'm sorry, how did he die?" Dalo walked around the vehicle, inspecting it.

"Oh, he's not dead." Jed laughed. "He got married and had kids, and his wife made him buy a bigger one."

## ***

After a lesson from Jed on how to operate all the hardware, they left. But not before making sure Jacko deactivated the cannons.

The dash-screen showed the feed from the tablet: an overlay map of the area five-hundred yards around them in all directions. If they came to an intersection, a big red arrow flashed on the screen, indicating which way to go.

"This is so easy; an orangus could do it..." Alisha punched Dalo on the arm and giggled.

"Are you calling me an orangus?"

"No, you're slightly more intelligent than an orangus..." She grabbed her sides and roared with laughter. Cord couldn't help it and joined in.

"Don't make me pull this roller over..." Dalo gave them a stern look.

"Look, look!" Alisha pointed at the screen. "The arrow, you're going to miss the turn!"

Dalo hauled on the wheel, and they skidded around the corner, almost sideswiping a pole.

"See, I knew you were smarter than an orangus..." She stifled a laugh, and it came out a snort.

Dalo glanced sideways at her. "Stop distracting me."

Jed told them the total distance was only about seventeen miles from the southern edge of Harlan City. He'd only been there one time and was nearly killed by ogres.

They drove through a dense forest. Trees overhung the road, blocking the sun. Dalo turned the lights on.

They watched the map scroll by on the dash screen until they saw the rim of the canyon ahead. The road tipped over the edge and got steep; the shoulder was a thin strip of jagged rock; it followed the canyon wall, carved from the face of the cliff. The turns were sharp and treacherous; one slip was death.

The road smoothed out at the bottom, easing down into the canyon. The trees behind them were replaced by massive boulders, ripped from the cliff walls, and scattered by the forces of gravity and momentum across the narrow basin below.

The canyon widened, the walls spreading out on both sides until they couldn't be seen. Trees began to crop up, increasing in number as they drove. These were different trees: thin spindly saplings—not very tall. Little sunshine penetrated the depths of the ravine.

They passed a small lake. Flocks of birds spun overhead looking for a meal, intercepting the swarm of Marshflys hovering above the water.

Dalo stopped the roller and looked out his window. "There's no road."

"What do you mean?" Alisha followed his gaze.

He pointed at the dash screen. The red arrow was pointing left. "You think the ruins are over there?"

"Jed said to follow the arrow..."

## ***

"Look, they sitting still!" Gub elbowed Nug. "They easy target. Push rock."

"You push rock. Rock heavy." Nug shook his head.

"I leader." Gub pointed at the boulder. "You push rock."

"You no good leader." Nug said. "Why I not leader? I say I leader now. You push rock."

Gub hung his head and let out a deep sigh. "Ok, you leader. Both push rock?"

Nug eyed him suspiciously. Gub had tried to outsmart him before. "No, I leader, both push rock..." He waited to see if Gub would agree.

Gub nodded. "Ok, you smartest. Next time, I leader."

"And both push rock?" Nug asked, pointing at the boulder.

"Ok."

## ***

The rock crushed the side of the roller, throwing Dalo against Alisha: they hit the passenger door together, and it popped open; they spilled out onto the ground, both unconscious. Cord experienced the reverse effect: the force of the collision threw the tail of the roller around. He flew from the passenger side to the driver's; his head smashed into the window. Glass exploded. Blood streamed down his face and got into his eyes—burning. He was awake, but he couldn't see.

He fumbled for the door latch and yanked on it, but nothing happened. He threw his shoulder into the door until it sprang, falling out of the roller under his momentum.

Cord heard footsteps running toward them, but these were louder, or deeper, he couldn't decide which. He knew they were different. He was wiping the blood from his eyes when a huge hand grabbed him by the arm and threw him across the road. He landed on the hard dirt and rolled—his head struck a rock, and everything went black.

## ***

"I say boil, make soup." Nug pointed at them, tied back-to-back. Cord was still unconscious, but Dalo and Alisha were awake. The Ogres squatted next to the roller, watching them squirm against their bindings.

"You no get loose. Nug make good knot." Gub laughed.

Alisha twisted her head and whispered to Dalo. "I think I can burn these ropes off."

"What about the magic inhibitor?" he asked.

"I don't know, I guess we'll see..." she said.

"Cord doesn't look good."

Alisha looked at Cord: his head was bleeding, and dark circles were forming around his eyes. "We can't help him until we get free."

"I say roast. We build fire." Gub stood up. "You find wood."

"You find wood. Wood heavy." Nug shook his head.

"You agree, I leader," Gub said.

"You say next time you leader," Nug countered.

"This next time." Gub said.

Nug shook his head again. "No, this same time. We push rock, hit human, same time. I still leader. You find wood."

Gub hung his head and sighed, heading toward the trees.

Alisha slipped into her mind, past the normal levels of awareness to a place of solitude. She felt the magic inhibitor in her blood: the more she tried to summon the Orphic energy, the stronger the burn became. It started in her chest and radiated through her body. She erected a mental shell: to her, it appeared as a bright blue bubble shielding her from the fire of the inhibitor; the effect was minimal. The pain was unbearable, and she wanted to scream, but she pulled enough energy together to set the ropes on fire before she collapsed.

The ropes dissolved in a silver blaze, and Dalo jumped to his feet, reaching for his plasma pistol.

"They loose!" Nug screamed.

Gub ran from the tree line, dropping his bundle of wood. He was half-way back when everything froze.

"Relax, Dalo. I mean you no harm."

Dalo spun around—plasma pistol in hand. The most beautiful woman he'd ever seen stood at the edge of the road, what little sunlight there was setting her golden hair on fire. He felt a hint of recognition, like a memory of a dream when you wake—images fading into nothing until you can't remember. "Who are you?"

"My name is Jemma." She walked to him and ran her fingers down his cheek, grabbing his chin and pulling his face to meet hers.

"And how do you know me?" He asked.

"You and I were destined to meet," she said.

"Can you be any less specific?" Dalo put his pistol away.

"You should be nicer to me." She pointed at the frozen Ogres.

"Oh, believe me, I appreciate your help, but I don't know what you want, and uncertainty bothers me."

"Let me remove your uncertainty..." Jemma knelt next to Alisha and Cord, one hand on each of them. A flash of pure white light erupted from her palms, surrounding their heads. Their skulls were visible for a moment, flashing black and white, and then they sat up, coughing and spitting.

"Were they dead?" Dalo knelt next to Alisha.

"No, dead is much harder to fix, though not impossible," Jemma said.

"Well, thank you, but what do you want?" he asked.

"I need you to finish what you started..."

## ***

Krasus Cauldron is one hundred thirteen miles from the dock at King's Bay, one hundred six miles from the center of Erador Prime, and two miles from the base of the mountains at Purgatory Steppes. The Draggons call it Vyr's Maw. The ancient caldera rises over ten-thousand feet above the surrounding peaks. It is the highest point in the Sawtooth mountains—you can see it for hundreds of miles. The Sawtooth range stretches along the equator, so they're never snow-capped, not even in the depths of winter.

The volcano is dormant—it hasn't erupted in the recorded history of Erador, and the Draggons call it home, so there's no way to study it.

The ship hovered in the center, above the main caldera, invisible to the Draggons below. Zevo leaned over Garrian's shoulder and pointed out the window of the jump-ship. "You think they do this all the time?"

Garrian shook his head. "No, I think they're preparing for something."

"What?" Zevo asked.

Garrian looked down at the Draggons on the center floor, paired in twos, sparring. He saw others scattered around the sides, awaiting their turn—sharpening daggers. Draggons in beast-form circled the top of the mountain in formations of three, practicing strafing runs, Draggonfire searing the hard rock of the slopes.

"War..." Garrian said.

## ***

Alisha cleaned the blood from Cord's face with a water-soaked cloth; the wound on his scalp was healed thanks to Jemma's magic. "I'm afraid your clean white armor is ruined." She pointed at the dark-red stains soaked into the leather. She handed him the cloth to wipe his hands.

"I wish that were my worst problem," he groaned and sat up.

"How long can you keep time frozen like this?" She turned to Jemma.

"Stop thinking of time as linear, and you wouldn't need to ask that question."

"What?" Alisha looked confused.

"As long as I need to." Jemma slid off the hood of the roller and took Alisha's hands. "You look exactly like your Grandmother, it's amazing."

"You knew our Grandmother?" Alisha searched her eyes. "I don't understand, are you K'Pa?"

"No, dear. I'm Fae'rie: we inhabit the positive dimensions, as the K'Pa inhabit the neutral, and the D'jinn, the negative."

"What do you mean by positive dimensions?" she asked.

"It's not important right now. We don't have time for a basic physics lesson. You have a god to kill, remember?" Jemma asked.

Alisha pulled away from her and leaned against the roller. "I don't see how. I was barely able to get us free from those ropes. The pain is unbearable."

"You can overcome the inhibitor, Alisha, you both can." She nodded at Dalo.

"How?"

"You have to let go of your misconceptions and accept who you are." Jemma smiled.

"What does that even mean?" Alisha threw her hands up in frustration.

"Your Grandmother was the first ascended K'Pa. She broke their laws and took a human mate: a Na'Geena Chieftain named Karl. Something happened to her powers, and it scared the immortal elders, so they conspired to have her killed. You have her blood in you—that's why your family's magic manifests as silver—it's the color of K'Pa magic."

"The Oracle never said anything about this..." Dalo leaned against the roller next to Alisha.

Jemma shook her head and laughed. "Nu'reen has always been secretive; don't think for a second she's telling you everything."

"How does knowing this help us beat the inhibitor?" Alisha asked.

"You'll understand when the time is right," Jemma said. She started toward the road, motioning for them to follow. "We need to go. You have no vehicle, and it's still a half day's walk to the ruins. Your prey is ahead of you. I could create a portal for you, but until you can resist the inhibitor, going through it would kill you."

"What about them?" Cord indicated the frozen ogres.

"I'll release them once we're safely away."

## ***

Eustas' footsteps echoed from the distant walls and the high arched ceiling. He passed the statue of Damian Callus and took a right. The new hallway matched the first one, but there were people here, coming and going. The Senate building was old—built long before the Eradorians were technologically advanced.

Offices lined the sides of the hallway, each with a separate door: huge wooden portals swinging on oiled hinges, making minimal noise. Yellow sunshine poured through the stained-glass windows on the south side of the building. He hauled on the massive metal handle; the door to his office swung open, and he stepped inside, pushing it closed behind him. The hollow thump of the door shutting reverberated through the room and rattled the row of medals hanging from a display plaque to one side.

He'd left Sammi at Garrian and Alisha's villa. She was watching a holo-vid and ordering take-out Marlockian when he left. Marlockian is extremely spicy—he wished her well and walked out laughing.

Two muffled thumps on his door focused his attention.

"Come in!" He knew from experience he needed to yell for them to hear. The thickness of the door was an incredible insulator, for sound as well as heat.

The door swung open, and Rance Hilliard stepped through the gap. He was obviously on duty, his uniform sparkling. He crossed the room and paused before Eustas. "General, permission to speak freely..."

"Go ahead, Lieutenant. Good to see you, by the way..." Eustas smiled and pointed toward the sofa. "Sit down, and I'll pour us a drink."

Rance removed his sword and placed it in the holder on the back of the couch. He pushed back into the supple leather and smiled. "I could get used to this."

Eustas handed him a glass of Eradorian brandy and sat across from him. "So, what've you discovered?"

"Well, I know you only asked me to jail the young man, but something kept telling me we missed something. Maybe a question unasked..." Rance said.

Eustas nodded. "And did you find out you were right?"

"I did." Rance nodded.

"You didn't torture him, did you?" Eustas asked, his eyebrows raised. "Not that I care..."

"Let's say he was not entirely comfortable. But no, it took very little convincing," Rance laughed. "He's as weak as a newborn Bearus; he couldn't hold out if he wanted to..."

They both took a sip of brandy and set their glasses on the low table between them.

Rance leaned forward, his smile fading. "During his dealings with Faran's Heralds, he also met with some others who sound suspicious to me."

"In what way?" Eustas asked.

"He described all the Heralds the same, but there were three others he met who looked like, and I quote, 'Long-haired-black-leather-wearing-villains'. He said their eyes were all blue, but they had an unusual gleam, like a fire burned behind them... Does that mean anything to you, sir?"

Eustas stood and walked to the window. The light from the tinted panes gave him an ominous reddish glow: it enhanced the silver in his hair and beard, turning it bloody. "It means we have spies in the house, Rance, and I underestimated someone..." Eustas took a slip of paper from his desk and wrote a name on it. He handed it to Rance. "I need you to find this man fast."

Rance glanced at the note and stuffed it into his pocket. "I'll see what I can do."

## ***

They walked all night, avoiding the road. Several times they passed groups of ogres, some walking down the road, some camped beside it. Jemma led them through dense thickets and across three streams—the water soaked their clothing and left them shivering. Each time, she encased them in a white bubble that dried them off and warmed them up.

The light increased gradually, bringing the stress of the night's journey to an end.

The woods become thick, but they thinned suddenly, revealing a clearing ahead—at the center sat a squat stone building.

Jemma stopped and turned toward them. "I can go no further."

"Why not?" Alisha stared at her.

"The desire to possess the orb would consume me," she said. "Even now, I feel it calling..."

"I don't feel anything," Alisha's brow furrowed.

"Your human blood protects you—it keeps you grounded in reality." Jemma sat on a fallen tree trunk and crossed her arms.

"What is this void orb, anyway?" Cord asked.

"Void orbs are a focus," Jemma said. "All the orphic energy in the multiverse runs through the void—passing freely between the three types of dimensions. Possession of an orb is control of that power."

"Can we destroy it?" Cord checked the charge on his plasma pistol.

"It's uncertain; no one has ever tried." Jemma shook her head. "It wouldn't be my first suggestion."

"What would your suggestion be?" Dalo raised one eyebrow.

"Leave it where it is," she said, her eyes burning white-hot.

Alisha turned toward the stone building and started walking. "We'll do our best..."
Chapter Eighteen

The orb was purplish-blue, the colors swirling across its face, with a black halo. Geras could see it, but he still wasn't sure the others could, and he didn't want to mention it if not, so he remained silent. It looked exactly like the blackness surrounding Varran. It made his stomach turn.

Zaril stood before the orb, a maniacal look in his eyes, made eerier by the glow from it lighting his face. He motioned to Geras and snapped his fingers. Geras handed him the containment unit and stepped backward until he met the wall. He had a bad feeling about this.

Varran stepped up beside Zaril and took the box, holding it open for his father. Zaril picked the orb from its place on the dais and set it carefully inside the box.

"Close it quickly. This radiation can't be good for us..." Geras flipped his eyepatch back in place, the spectral analysis from the bionic eye faded from his vision.

"She said we could survive short exposure to it. I'm sure we're fine." Zaril nodded toward Varran. "But, shut it—just in case."

"We should make our way back to the portal station. We've already used more than half our time, and getting around the ogres won't be easy." Geras led them out the door.

"Stop, right there." Alisha held one palm forward. "All of you—no one move."

Dalo and Cord drew their plasma pistols and leveled them at the trio, barrels bobbing back and forth amongst the targets, unsure of the greater danger.

"Persistent lot, aren't you?" Zaril stepped in front, whispering to Geras as he passed. "Take the orb and get my son out of here. I will catch up..."

Geras nodded and started pulling Varran away.

Alisha pointed toward them. "I said, don't move." She held her palm up. A silver ball of fire formed above her hand, and she held it forward. "Which one of you wants this?"

Zaril stepped forward, further shielding the other two.

Geras continued to drag Varran and the case back into the shadows.

Zaril grinned at Alisha. "That's got to be excruciating..."

## ***

Fire coursed through Alisha's chest, threatening to overwhelm her. Maintaining the fireball became too much, and one moment before she collapsed, she released it at Zaril. As it flew across the space between them, Zaril had only a second to react, and he did so instinctively. He raised a shield around himself: a shining golden barrier—and doing it nearly killed him. The fireball shattered on the shield, bursting into a million smaller silver sparks. She watched him fall, ending up on his left side, clawing at his chest and throat. A thin scream escaped his lips, turning into a whimper.

You can overcome the inhibitor, you both can...

Jemma said that, but what did she mean? Alisha pushed herself up from the ground and turned to Dalo. She searched his face, his eyes, and she found the answer. She held her hand out, and he took it. They turned back toward Zaril together—he was picking himself off the ground.

Zaril fought the pain. He held both palms toward them and summoned all the energy he could; golden tendrils of power wove around him.

Alisha recalled the feeling of the blood-fury. She summoned the anger, the resentment, all the negative emotion she could muster. She reached into her past and found every memory, every pain, and she focused them all on this moment. The silver fire crawled across her skin, and her eyes burned with the same bright gleam as before. Dalo fell to his knees beside her—she let the protection of the flame wash over him, and she squeezed his hand. "Focus all your hatred on me."

She reached into Zaril's mind: fingers of thought digging into his brain. She couldn't believe how easy it was. The inhibitor-pain was gone; she felt nothing. Peripheral feelings of anger tinged her vision: thin edges of red fading into the background until she felt numb, detached.

She found the spot where he was focusing his power. To her, it looked like a redfruit sitting on a small wooden table, lush forest turning into desert around it. Living things died, and the fruit grew larger. She took it in her hand and squeezed, almost an afterthought. She held it up, watching the juice burst from it and flow down her arm. The flesh of the fruit disintegrated in her hand: chunks flying, spraying her face and robe.

Zaril exploded in a spike of silver radiance, bursting into space and scorching the surrounding ground. His molecules flew apart at the speed of light, leaving an empty space behind; the force knocked them all to the ground, which is why they never noticed the black portal opening behind Geras and Varran—or the arms reaching out and pulling them through it.

## ***

Kat stayed in bed for two days, curled into a ball. She refused to eat or drink anything. Arriana worried over her the entire time.

Katreena felt as if someone reached into her chest and ripped her heart out. The image of Delia lying there on the stone, her blood pouring out, kept tormenting her thoughts. The state of her mind alternated between sheer pain and sorrow, and burning hatred for the cause of her misery. She'd never been in love before, and she was sure she would never be again.

Although she was in bed, she didn't sleep. She was too numb to sleep. Kat ran scenarios through her mind, imagining ways she could've saved her. She could have thrown herself between Delia and Darkonus and taken the blow herself.

The Oracle said the daggers could bring her back...

Kat rolled out of bed. She still had the same armor on, and it was getting rank. She stripped the soiled garments off and stepped into the shower, the hot water bringing her back to herself by degrees. By the time she'd finished, the lethargy of the past few days faded.

She dressed and went into the kitchen and sat at the table—that's where Arriana found her, sharpening her daggers with a flat white stone.

"Kat, are you feeling better?" She sat across from her, watching the intensity on her face.

Kat blew the dust off the blade and nodded, holding it to the light.

"What are you doing?" Arriana asked.

"I'm sharpening these daggers." Kat ran the blade along the white stone.

"Obviously..."

"Are you trying to get to a point, Arriana?"

Arriana leaned back in her chair and cocked her head to one side. "We've known each other for a long time Katreena, well, long in human terms. You helped me through the pain of losing my husband, so I owe you, but I don't have to watch you self-destruct, and that's what I think I'm seeing."

"Self-destruct?" Kat slammed the tip of the dagger into the table. It vibrated to a stop, the blob in the crystal in an agitated state. "No, that's not what I'm doing at all."

"Then, what are you doing? Because it looks like you're planning some revenge against your father," Arriana said.

"Oh..." Kat yanked the blade from the wood and continued to sharpen it. "Maybe you're more perceptive than I thought."

"You can't Kat, he's stronger than you, and you know it..."

Kat stood up and walked to the rear window. She smiled at the view of their practice ground: she and Delia wore the grass to hard dirt over the years. "My father has been sitting on his hands since the last war with the humans ended. He may have been stronger at one time, but I'm willing to bet that's no longer the case." She turned back toward Arriana. "Besides, my uncle swore he'd help me: he has no love for Darkonus, not anymore. We need those daggers to bring her back."

Arriana nodded and was silent. Kat returned to her seat and extracted the second Fang. She picked up the white stone and spat on it.

"Are you sure we can trust the Oracle?" Arriana shifted in her seat. "Don't you think it was an odd coincidence she showed up when she did?"

"We've dealt with the K'Pa before—we've shared this planet with them for a long time. They play games with each other, always vying for power amongst themselves. They might skip some truths or leave out some important details, but I've never known them to lie. I think it's one of their laws. I believe her."

"It's not because you want to believe it?" Arriana asked.

Kat's pupils flared. She ran the edge of the dagger along the sharpener, the grating sound of metal against stone echoing from the cabin walls. "I don't want to believe it. I have to..."

## ***

"Where did they go?" Cord jumped to his feet. "This isn't over..."

"You are correct. Few things are, even when it seems so." Jemma paced in front of them, her hands clasped behind her back. "I can send you anywhere you like since you've overcome the magic inhibitor."

Alisha brushed Dalo's hair back with her hand. He came around slowly, finally sitting up by himself.

Alisha left him, shaking his head, and stood up. She grabbed Jemma by her arms and brought her face-to-face. "Do you know where they went?" She saw the slightest hint of fear in the Fae'rie's eyes.

"The D'jinn have them," Jemma said, "but there's nothing you can do about it right now. You should go back home and tend to matters there."

Alisha released her and turned to the others. "Should we say goodbye to Jed before we leave? We need to let him know what happened to his roller, at least."

They both nodded.

"Good, send us back to Jed's," Alisha said.

Jemma snapped her fingers, and a black portal appeared. They stepped through it.

## ***

Jacko was frantically mashing buttons on his control panel when they appeared behind him. They could hear the sound of plasma bolts hitting metal through the red door. The bolts striking flesh sounded different: like punching a bag of sand with a closed fist. Some were accompanied by grunts of pain or choked-off screams; some were silent. The smell of burning flesh wafted through the cracks around the door.

"Jacko!" Alisha yelled to get his attention.

He spun around, startled.

"What are you doing here?" He pointed at the other door. "Get out; we're under attack!"

The sound of plasma-cannons penetrated the wall: solid thumps followed by louder explosions.

"Where's Jed?" Dalo asked.

"He's on a delivery. We have to warn him not to come back here." Jacko jumped from his seat and hit the opposite door at a run. They followed him. He pulled the third book on the top-left shelf out. The bookcase slid sideways, revealing stairs leading down. Jacko stood to one side as they streamed past him. The stairway was lit by white plasma lamps. It was cold and damp, the light refracting from droplets of moisture on the stone. At the bottom, it turned into a long hallway. The echo of their footfalls assaulted their ears. They ran for what seemed like ten minutes but was probably less, the stone corridor transitioning into natural rock and dirt. Jacko finally caught up and took the lead. He carried a plasma torch: it lit the way before them. A point of light appeared ahead of them, growing larger. The tunnel ended at a cave opening facing a river. Two rollers were parked to one side.

Jacko threw Dalo a set of keys. "You drive; I'll tell you where to go."

They piled into the roller, and Dalo spun the wheel around, pointing the vehicle up a dirt road away from the cave entrance.

Several miles passed before Jacko spoke. "Take this left."

Dalo threaded his way through tight streets lined with rollers; he bounced off a few, the sparks of metal-contact leaving a trail behind them in the growing dark. An occasional questioning yell followed them down the side roads.

"Stop here." Jacko pointed at an empty parking space.

Dalo stood on the brake; the roller came to a screeching halt.

Jacko jumped from the passenger seat and yelled for them to follow, frantically waving his hands at them and pointing at another roller parked across the road. "Get out! Get out!"

They'd finished loading into the new roller when the first one exploded. A bright yellow bolt of flame from the sky turned the roller into a pile of slag. Shards of flaming metal and glass struck the sides of their new vehicle. The windows on the driver's side shattered and exploded inward, coating them with a fine dust that sparkled with reflected firelight from the burning roller.

"Go, go!" Jacko slammed his fist on the dash. "But slow down now; this roller is clean." He looked out the rear window. "No way they got this ID code. Missiles can't track it."

Dalo pulled out and headed up the street.

"What happened back there?" Cord leaned forward, his arms on the seat-back.

"The Freemen found us, somehow..." Jacko said.

"Freemen?" Alisha asked.

"It's another... alternative supply company..." Jacko stared out the front window, pointing at different streets for Dalo to take.

"You mean they're competitive smugglers..." Alisha rubbed her hands together.

"Yeah, they are." Jacko pointed at an ally entrance, and Dalo turned the wheel. They stopped next to a rusty-green metal roll-up door. Jacko jumped from his seat, throwing the passenger door wide. He pounded a four-digit code into the panel on the wall—the door began a slow ascent as he climbed back into the roller. "Drive in, slow, keep it under three miles per hour. The cannons lock-on to anything traveling faster..."

## ***

"What is this place?" Alisha was last through the door. Subtle lighting came on automatically, illuminating what looked like the interior of a saloon; there was a bar along one side of the room. The remainder of the space was occupied by plush gray-leather couches surrounding low glass tables.

"It's a safe-house." Jacko walked behind the bar and grabbed a bottle of Sunerian whiskey and four glasses. He opened a cabinet on the bar-back, revealing a comm setup. He set a row of switches and hit the transmit button. "Boss, you read me?"

The static was shrill for a moment but subsided when Jed's voice came on. "You idiot! We're supposed to be comm-silent... or did you forget?"

"If you say so." Jacko flashed a wide grin at them and winked. "I thought I'd let you know. The Freemen hit the warehouse."

Jacko held up one hand and began counting seconds with his fingers—when he reached five, the comm blasted.

"How in three-suns are they finding us?" Jed yelled. "We got a rat, I told you so, and I was right!"

"You were right, boss." Jacko nodded at the comm.

"This is coming out of your pay for being wrong... mister so-called chief of security..."

Jacko hung his head. "Ok."

"Where are you now?" Jed asked.

"Safe-house three. Our friends from Erador are with me."

"Really?" The smile returned to Jed's voice. "How did the whole chase-thing go? You know what, never mind, I'll be there in about thirty minutes—I want the live version."

The comm clicked off, and Jacko poured them each a whiskey. "What time is your return portal opening?"

Dalo sipped the harsh liquor, it burned his mouth and made his eyes water. He was gasping for breath, so Cord answered. "The little bald man said midnight was the last available time we could leave."

"Oh, well, you could go anytime then," Jacko said, "as long as the staff in your dimension is powered on."

"It has to be turned on?" Cord asked.

"For interdimensional portals, yeah, it requires almost an entire power cell." Jacko nodded.

"That could be a problem..." Cord rubbed his jaw.

"Why?" Jacko asked.

"Because I think we might've run it down, getting here."

Jacko sipped his drink and thought for a moment. "You have no way to recharge your power cells?"

"This is not our technology; we're sort of borrowing it from our ancestors," Cord said.

Jacko leaned forward with a solemn look. "I hate to be the one to tell you this..., but you may be stuck here."

## ***

Rance turned off the roller and looked at Eustas. "You sure you don't need me to come in?

"This isn't what you think," Eustas said, "he's not dangerous. You're sure he lives here?"

"Twelve B, according to the tax records," Rance grinned, "and you know they never lose track of anyone."

Eustas chuckled and pushed the passenger door open. A small dirt path led away from the road: it was well worn, but the grass and bushes flanking it were neatly trimmed. Thick trees opened into a small clearing, with an even smaller cottage in the center. He walked up to the door and rapped his knuckles against the wood, a hollow echo rang from inside, but nobody came.

The sound of someone crying floated around the corner of the house. Eustas found him: a young man in his early twenties. He was on his knees, pulling dirt together with his hands to fill in a hole, a shovel lay discarded on the ground. Eustas stopped and watched him. The man picked up two boards nailed together in the shape of a cross—the end of one board was sharpened into a stake. He shoved the cross-shaped sticks into the dirt at one end of the hole. Eustas saw the name written on the cross, and tears filled his eyes.

Bandit

"Oh, Jace, I'm so sorry..." Eustas said.

Jace jumped to his feet, startled, wiping the tears from his face. "General! What are you doing here?"

"You remember me?" Eustas smiled. "It's been ten years."

"You're the only General I've ever met," Jace said, "and the only one Bandit ever liked besides my father and me. Of course I remember you."

"What happened?" Eustas looked down at the fresh grave.

"His heart gave out..." Jace choked back a sob. "He was already five years old the first time you met him. He turned fifteen last cycle, but he was too weak."

Eustas threw his arms around the younger man's shoulders and pulled him close. Jace broke down, releasing his grief. Eustas held him until he stopped shaking.

Jace backed up, wiping his face on one sleeve. "I'm sorry, sir."

"It's ok, Jace. I know what he meant to you, but I need to ask you something."

"I know what you want." Jace hung his head. "I knew someday you would come for it..."

"Then, you have it?" Eustas asked.

Jace nodded and started toward the cottage. "I don't know why I took it. It was shiny, I guess, and I was thirteen and stupid, but I felt like I should get something for discovering the ship. Father said not to touch anything, but the case was open, and there were two of them—I didn't think anyone would miss one."

Eustas followed Jace inside. The interior was one big room: kitchen along one wall, couch facing a holo-vid table, and a single bed at the back. Jace knelt next to a small table and eased the drawer open. He withdrew a cloth wrapped object and held it out. Eustas unwrapped it, revealing the missing power cell from the ship.

"I'm ready to go, General, whenever you are." Jace hung his head.

"Go... go where?" Eustas looked at him, confused.

"You mean, you're not arresting me?" Jace looked just as confused.

"Arrest you?" Eustas chuckled and squeezed his shoulder. "Son, you may have saved the world..."

## ***

"Let's go. He's here." Jacko pointed at a flashing red light beside a smooth metal door. There was no scan plate, and it opened automatically when they approached it. The ramp behind the door led up and around at a gradual angle, taking them above the first floor. They came to an identical door leading to the roof. The jet-wash from the ship hit them in the face as the door slid open, hot wind drying their eyes.

"Go on, get in!" Jacko pointed at the open ramp. They ran toward it, but he grabbed Alisha by the arm and placed a small data-disk in her hand.

"What's this?" she asked.

"It's the schematic for a machine to recharge your power cells and plans to make more. We'd like to see you all again—this will make that possible. Assuming you can make it home." He smiled and pushed her away. "Go, he won't wait..."

"Thank you!" She stumbled backward, then turned and ran, waving at him. She jumped onto the rising ramp and ran inside.

Jed's ship was a cargo-hauler: every non-essential piece of equipment and even some interior walls were removed to make room. The rear section of the ship was a wide cargo bay. Alisha noted there was only a single large crate strapped to the metal floor. It was covered with symbols and writing in a language she didn't recognize. She walked past it and down the short passageway to the bridge, arriving in time to hear Jed's description of the city lights filling the viewscreen.

"There's the statue we passed before. In addition to it being the location of my first recorded malfeasance, it's also a figure of the city's namesake, Commander John Harlan: he's some hero to the Carolonians. I never heard the whole story, so I can't say why—he saved a bunch of people or something..."

"Hey, smuggler..." Alisha squeezed his shoulder and sat behind him.

"Resource replenishment specialist..." Jed laughed. "I hear your mission was a success!"

"Partly." She nodded. "Two of them got away."

"Do you know where they went?" Jed asked.

"Gemma said the D'jinn took them," Alisha said.

"Hmm, a negative dimension, that could be tricky. Who's is Gemma?"

"A Fae'rie who saved us from some Ogres." Alisha watched the lights of the city pass below.

Jed's mouth hung open, and he stared at her long enough for it to become uncomfortable.

"What?" She grinned and poked him with one finger.

"You met a Fairy?" Jed asked.

"Yeah, is that strange?"

"No one's seen a Fairy in over a thousand years. They only show up when something cataclysmic is happening. I think the last time, the sun was going to explode or something..." Jed raised his eyebrows and turned back to the controls. He punched the button to disengage the auto-pilot, and they watched the image of the portal station grow larger in the viewscreen. He landed on the neatly manicured lawn and mashed a set of buttons to shut the planetary drive down.

"It's nearly midnight; you folks need to step it up." He jumped from his seat and walked toward the cargo bay, and they followed him single-file.

"Jacko said you were making a delivery." Alisha eyed the large crate, her curiosity peaked.

"A pickup." He pointed at the crate. "It's an I-Drive. The Serillians have been working on it for six cycles now. This is the prototype. I managed to procure it from some people I know in the Hessian asteroid belt."

"You mean they stole it, and you bought it from them?" she asked.

Jed gave Dalo and Cord a questioning look. "Does she do that all the time?"

They nodded.

"What's an eye-drive?" Dalo put his hand on the crate, looking it over.

"Not eye, I, as in the letter I," Jed explained. "It stands for Interdimensional."

"You mean, this will allow you to jump to different dimensions?" Cord asked.

"That's the theory. I'm a businessman, and I need to expand, especially since I'm getting killed here by the Freemen. We'll see how it works when I get it installed. Jacko can do it: he's a genius, but don't tell him I said so. Let's get you home to your world, shall we?"

Jed started down the ramp but stopped halfway and turned around. "Oops, I nearly forgot..." He ran back inside the ship and came out with a case of Sunerian whiskey. "This is Milo's favorite."

"Who's Milo?" They all three asked.

Jed turned and walked toward the building. "Come on; I'll introduce you properly."

## ***

They all stopped in front of the little bald man's desk. He was absorbed with his paperwork and didn't notice them until Jed cleared his throat. He glanced at Jed, a sour look crawling across his face, then he saw them. "Ah, the Eradorians! I see you managed to run into a Sunerian Trader, and the worst one too. I take it you're here to turn him in. Security!"

The panels slid aside, and the drones hovered out toward them, weapons charging.

Jed set the crate of bottles on the desk and sighed. "Milo, do you have to do that every time I come in? It was funny the first few times. Now you're making me look bad in front of my friends."

"Friends, is it?" He looked down his nose at them.

"They're with me, and they're now a part of our deal," Jed grabbed the whiskey like he might take it back, "unless you don't want this..."

Milo grabbed the box with one hand, waving the drones away with the other. "You know, forgiveness is a good thing..." He pulled one bottle from the case and inspected the label. "I forgive you folks for not having the good sense to stay far away from him."

"And they're protected. Say it..." Jed raised his eyebrows, waiting.

"They're protected." He replaced the bottle and pushed the crate underneath his desk. He stood back up, looking at the clock on the wall. "But if we don't get them back to Erador in the next three minutes, they're going to be your guests for another ninety days."

Milo came around the desk and ushered them down the aisle to the edge of the white disk. He turned to a control console on one side and typed a series of commands into a keyboard, finally punching a big orange button.

Jed tapped Dalo on the shoulder and pointed at the middle of the white disk. "Now, we'll see if your friends got the staff recharged..."

## ***

Eustas stabbed the staff into the stone-hole and inserted the power cell. "I'm not exactly sure how to turn this thing on..."

Arianna touched his shoulder and shooed him away, rolling her eyes. "I watched Cord do it on Haylon, step aside."

Eustas raised both hands and backed away, giving her space.

Arriana repeated the activation sequence she'd seen Cord use. The two power bars lit up. She pushed the final button, and the charge indicator began climbing. The staff began to hum—softly at first, a low drone, the colors climbing the spectrum, then receding. The frequency increased, and the pitch intensified until it was a sharp spike drilling into their brains.

Eustas bit down hard, grinding his teeth to eliminate the noise shooting through his skull. He watched the black portal form. It solidified, turning into a solid black disc.

Dalo, Cord, and Alisha stepped through.

Kavan took Alisha's hand and shook his head. "I'm sorry you didn't get them..."

"Zaril is dead." Alisha pulled her hand away. "We lost Varran Razzius and Geras."

"But he can't be dead." Kavan stared at her. "I'm still alive..."

"Maybe it was the difference in dimensions. I don't know." Alisha shook her head and ran her fingers through her hair. "Maybe the Oracle knows, ask her. Oh, that's right, she's never around when you need her."

Garrian grabbed her and kissed her, then held her twice as long. "You sure know how to keep a promise." He grinned.

"Have I ever lied to you?" She asked.

"Never."

"So, come on, you gotta tell us what happened." Zevo stood to one side, tapping his foot.

"We'll explain everything back in Erador Prime." Alisha started walking down the hill toward Vengeance. "It's been two days since we've slept or eaten. I can use a night's sleep and a hot meal."

Cord nodded agreement and went after her.

After they were gone, Eustas looked at Dalo, concern on his face. "Is she ok? What happened over there?"

"I'm still trying to piece that together." Dalo's eyes were hollow...

The silver fire washed over him, and the pain stopped. She had a vise-like grip on his hand, but he didn't want to let go. Everything felt... right. The warmth of the flames soothed him, and the touch of her hand removed any doubt.

He felt her probing Zaril's mind, and he followed.

He found them on a frozen lake, wind whipping snow into their faces and forcing itself down the neck of their cloaks. She was standing over him, one hand wrapped around his throat, the other held high. Her eyes shined with silver light, and her lower lip was bleeding where she'd bitten herself: the anticipation of catching him driving her mad. She plunged her free hand into his chest and yanked his heart out, holding it in front of her face. She squeezed it until it burst, blood splattering everywhere.

Then he blacked out...

"It's still a little blurry..." Dalo tried to smile. "Maybe we do need sleep."

"Well, I'm sure she'll be all right," Eustas said.

Dalo mumbled something sounding like agreement, and Eustas walked away, leaving him alone with his thoughts. "I'm not so sure..."

## ***

"Follow us."

Geras watched the two who'd grabbed them head down a long hallway away from the portal: it shut down when they came through. The corridor stretched in both directions, seemingly forever, no end in sight. It wasn't clear if they were captives or guests.

More slithering black auras...

The men dressed in black robes with gold bracers around each forearm and a golden circlet around their heads. They each had the same writhing black aura Varran did; it was making him sick—he flicked the eye-patch down.

"Where are you taking us?" Varran was struggling to keep up with them, his shorter legs holding him back. "We have to go back. They killed my father!"

The one on the right looked over his shoulder at him and grinned. "It's time you met your real father..."

## ***

The view from the balcony outside Eustas' office was spectacular: the entire sawtooth mountain range marched off into the distance to the south. The castle was high on a hill, in the center of Erador Prime, and the elevation made it possible to see King's Harbor to the west. Marlock's Citadel hugged the side of Karras Peak to the east. The wind was mild, and the yellow sun was rising.

Eustas passed a pot of Kaffa around. They refilled their cups and continued the minor conversations they were involved in.

Zevo couldn't stand it anymore. "So, Zaril is dead, right?" He focused on Alisha.

Everyone turned toward her.

She set her cup down and rubbed her eyes. "Yes, Darran, Zaril is dead."

"So, we're done, mission accomplished!" He threw both hands in the air.

"I wouldn't go that far..." Garrian warned him. "Faran is still on the loose."

"I don't think Faran is a danger." Kavan leaned forward and set his cup on the table. "Faran is a coward at heart. I don't believe he has it in him to make trouble."

"And you, Kavan," Alisha stared at him, "what are your plans? I mean, you're the only God left. Are you planning a takeover too?"

Karal cleared his throat and pushed himself away from the low wall surrounding the balcony. The buckles on his armor shot stray flashes of morning sun into their eyes. He stopped beside Kavan and put one hand on his shoulder. "I swear by Kavan. You have my word; he will do no harm."

"But we don't know you very well, either..." Alisha sipped her Kaffa, her eyes on the table.

"Well, you don't know me either," Kat stood up and leaned toward Alisha, "but your mother did, and she trusted me. Is that good enough for you?"

Alisha saw the conviction in her eyes and nodded.

"Then I stand by my uncle," Kat said. "If he believes in Kavan, I do too."

Everyone was quiet for a moment, sipping Kaffa and watching the bluebirds land upon the balcony wall.

Sammi broke the silence. "What about Varran Razzius and Geras? We have no idea where to find them. And I guess they still have that orb-thing?"

Cord nodded. "The Fae'rie said they were taken by the D'jinn."

"And who are the D'jinn?" She asked.

"Some other kind of immortal being, like the K'Pa, but different..." Cord said.

Eustas shook his head and stood up. "This is getting harder to follow by the minute. But there's something else I need to tell you."

Garrian saw the look in his father's eyes, spelling doom. "What is it, father?"

"There are Draggons inside the cities," Eustas said. "They look like humans."

Garrian stood up and walked to the balcony wall, intent on the sunrise to the south. He pointed toward the Sawtooth mountains. "We have bigger problems right now..."

They all turned.

Against the bright dawn of a new morning, a black haze grew. It grew from a single dot on the horizon, mushrooming into a dark cloud of terror.

The Draggons were coming.

Kat walked over and leaned on the wall, watching the Draggon-cloud bloom. The fire in her eyes mirrored the rising sun. A diabolical smile crept across her face, and she laughed. "Let them come..."

## <^>

Thanks for reading: _The Prophet: Book One \- False_ Gods

Continue the adventure in _Book Two - Draggons_

www.donnewton.net/books

