

A BASTARD'S OATH

A Tale In The Encircling Belts Of Tirano Saga

by Shawn B. Thompson

Copyright 2013 Shawn B. Thompson

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Notes on Tiranoan Time

Each complete rotation of Tirano (i.e., a day) is called a "spin." Each day is divided into ten equal parts, or ten "deci." Each deci is composed of ten "centi," each centi is broken into ten "milli," each milli into ten "myria," and each myria into ten "lacti." Thus, a day consists of ten deci, 100 centi, 1,000 milli, 10,000 myria, and 100,0000 lacti.

A "cycle" consists of 50 spins. Three rings surround Tirano and one cycle represents the period it takes the rings to complete one revolution around Tirano. A revolution begins when the three rings are in conjunction, separate, and then rejoin.

A "loop" consists of ten cycles, or 500 spins. A loop represents the time it takes Tirano to complete one orbit around its sun. A "deka-loop" or "deka" is ten loops; a "centa-loop" or "centa" is a hundred loops; and a "millennia" is a thousand loops.

Notes on Tiranoan Society

Tirano's society is intricately stratified based upon birth.

The Kings of Tirano are scions of the Arvor family. By tradition, a King fathers one legitimate son with an Archonan wife, which son succeeds his father.

The Archonan are Tirano's aristocrats and must be pureblooded descendants of the leadership class of the mother ship. Subject to the powers of the King and his Royal Council, the Archonan control Tirano's government and serve as the officers of Tirano's Armada, its space fleet, and the Koah, its combat soldiers. The two most prominent Archonan clans are the Nhoths and the Rohfeks.

The KaNoa are the common class who are descendants of all others on the mother ship. Marriage between a member of the Archonan and a member of the KaNoa is rare, and any child of such a marriage is regarded as KaNoa.

The Sisterhood of Sibyls is a female order that maintains a vast computer network named Vision to perform probability projections to predict the future. In addition, Vision monitors and controls the functioning of Tiranoan technology. Sibyls do not marry and produce genetically-designed daughters in vitro.

The Vhirko are elite female warriors who guard the King of Tirano and his family. Each Vhirko is a clone of a female who died valiantly in battle. Vhirko are not allowed to marry or have children.

From the Archives of Vision

The Sisterhood of Sibyls revealed its ability to manipulate hyperportals in an attempt to prevent the Arvor line's extinction. If I could reverse time and face the situation anew, I don't know if I would sanction the same decision.

Prologue

Royal Reception Rotunda

Arvor Castel

Planet Tirano

Mhikhel couldn't take his eyes off the woman with the curly henna-colored hair and creamy skin. He never imagined anyone so alluring would be a delegate at the galactic trade conference. Duty dictated that he spend the welcoming reception mingling with as many delegates as possible. Duty could wait. He had to meet her, find out who she was.

An elbow tapped Mhikhel's ribs. "By the Belts! That is one fine piece," Lieutenant Ohlav Nhoth said loud enough to be heard halfway across the rotunda.

Nhoth leaned closer to Mhikhel. "I volunteer to be the one who meets privately with her," Nhoth said in a not-so-sotto voice. "When I'm finished showing her what a Tiranoan man can do, she'll be the first to sign up for your military alliance."

Mhikhel jerked his head to glare at the young officer. Nhoth was staring at her, his eyes as wide as the Rwohn Gorge. He preened like a steppe-cock in a mating dance, utterly clueless to the harm his indiscretion could cause; or how much effort it took Mhikhel to keep from throttling him on the spot. Mhikhel knew he'd have to muzzle Nhoth. Too much was at stake to let a loose-lipped, young officer spill the real reason Mhikhel had called for a galactic conference.

"If you even think about saying another word tonight, being a Nhoth scion won't save you," Mhikhel said through clenched teeth. "I'll toss you out of the Koah so fast you'll think the Black Cavities swallowed you."

Nhoth's shaved head snapped back as if slapped in the face, exactly the reaction Mhikhel anticipated.

"You idiot," Mhikhel whispered in Nhoth's ear. "Even a raw KaNoa recruit knows better than to mention anything concerning strategic plans at a public reception."

Nhoth's eyes tightened. His face turned almost as red as his dress tunic. Mhikhel enjoyed watching Nhoth struggle to control his hair-trigger temper. If anyone other than Mhikhel had insulted Nhoth with the KaNoa comment, Nhoth would have exploded. Nhoth, like most Archonan, believed all KaNoa to be inherently inferior.

"Do you understand, Lieutenant?" Mhikhel emphasized each word.

"This soldier understands." The muscle along Nhoth's jaw quivered. "Sir."

Nhoth's scowl deepened. Nhoth would spend the rest of the reception seething like a wounded steppe-wolf. Mhikhel decided to let him sulk. If anyone had overheard, Nhoth could have blown all of Mhikhel's plans. It would be difficult enough to convince delegates from seventeen fractious planets to form a military alliance to resist any further Radani incursions. But to have a chamber full of quibbling delegates dissecting the idea before he had the opportunity to explain the details would only lead to disaster.

To stress his displeasure, Mhikhel remained in Nhoth's face a moment longer. Nhoth took a deep breath and slowly unclenched his teeth. "I should have known better," he said softly. "I won't make the same mistake again."

Mhikhel decided to cut Nhoth some slack. He knew Ohlav would never knowingly do anything to harm Tirano's security. The Nhoths were a patriotic family. Just as the legends had Ohlav's father sacrificing to save Mhikhel from the Radani, Ohlav Nhoth would willingly die defending Tirano. Ohlav had merely displayed his a youthful lack of experience. After the reception, Mhikhel would try to find time to explain to him that in a room packed with sophisticated diplomats, even an innocuous comment could prematurely disclose sensitive information. Hopefully, Nhoth would learn the lesson, and in the future, exercise more discretion.

Satisfied that he'd corralled Nhoth, Mhikhel straightened his back and peered over the top of Nhoth's head. Even though most of the delegates huddled in clusters throughout the rotunda, he spotted her standing alone under the glass dome's golden vine chandelier. He smiled. She was watching him as if she waited for him.

He didn't intend to disappoint her. He grabbed two crystal glasses of white wine off a waiter's tray. "Now if you'll excuse me, Lieutenant, I see someone I need to meet."

He jostled his way through the crowd toward her. To prevent anyone from trying to grab his hand and talk before he reached her, he held the glasses close to his royal-ivory gown and merely nodded and smiled at delegates. As he drew near, he saw that she was as tall as he. A golden neckband with a sapphire star-stone set accentuated her long neck. Her black strapless evening gown displayed a firm, almost athletic, figure. Even though her aquiline nose kept her from being classically beautiful, her unique looks captivated him. He wondered what world could create such an exotic looking woman.

When he stood in front of her, he smiled and bowed his head slightly and caught a whiff of Antigan perfume. "I am Prince Mhikhel Arvor of Tirano." He extended one of the glasses to her. "And this is some vehoner wine from one of Tirano's finest vineyards. I think you'll enjoy it."

"I know who you are, and I have heard much about Tiranoan wine," she replied in a husky alto voice. She reached out with long slender fingers that lingered lightly on his for a moment before she took the glass. "I am Mhargrava Nahtalie Lok of Tamok."

Mhikhel dipped his head in acknowledgment and clinked his glass against her glass. He should have studied his briefing papers instead of browsing the summaries. He sipped some of the fruity wine while he tried to recall what he knew of Tamok. All he could remember was that Tamok was a mining world on the other side of the galaxy that supplied some raw material necessary for the manufacture of stellarator sails, and that Mhargrava was the title of a mining noble.

"And where does Tamok stand? Free trade or protective tariffs?" he asked.

Nahtalie wrinkled her nose. "Let's not ruin a pleasant evening by talking trade. I'd rather learn about your family's vineyard. I've been told it produces Tirano's finest wines."

Mhikhel realized she must have studied her briefing papers. Everyone knew Tirano produced the galaxy's only wines; few knew of his family's private vineyard. The Arvors hoarded its wine for their personal use. Tamok's intelligence sources concerning Tirano must be extensive to have learned of the vineyard. He wondered why she was divulging that Tamok had such sources.

"I wasn't aware Tamok had such interest in Tirano's internal affairs," he said in a harsher tone than he intended.

"I'm sorry." She bit her lower lip. "I wasn't trying to pry. My father once attended a banquet here at Arvor Castel with your father. After the meal, they retired to your father's chambers and shared a glass of wine from your family's vineyard. My father says that wine was the nectar of the gods. I've always wanted to taste it."

Mhikhel looked into Nahtalie's hazel eyes and realized they held no deception, only a vibrancy that seemed to reach out to touch him. He vowed to become better acquainted with this Tamok Mhargrava.

"I can do better than that. Tomorrow I'll take you to the vineyard. Give you a personal tour."

"Oh, I didn't mean to force you into something like that." Nahtalie's cheeks reddened. She shook her head. "I, I-"

"It'll be no trouble," Mhikhel interrupted. He didn't want to give her a chance to refuse. "We can use my chopter. It only takes a deci-spin to fly to Rwohn Compound."

"I don't know." She hesitated a moment. "Won't it cause gossip for the two of us to fly off alone?"

Mhikhel chuckled. He nodded toward the female in a skin-tight black uniform standing a step behind him. "We won't be alone. By Tiranoan tradition a Vhirko must accompany me at all times until I am married. I'll assign a Vhirko to accompany you also if you like."

Nahtalie arched her thin eyebrows. "A Vhirko?"

Mhikhel would have laughed but for Nahtalie's sincere puzzlement. Either her intelligence sources were nonexistent or she read her briefing papers even less than he did. "A corps of elite female warriors trained to guard the royal family. I'll have one of my Vhirko pick you up after first meal. Wear some sturdy clothes. We'll be tramping around the vineyard and it'll be hot and dusty."

Her smile melted. "I don't have anything with me but formal attire. Perhaps we can go in a few spins after I've had time to shop for something appropriate."

He frowned. "Can't. The conference starts in two spins." After the conference began, he'd be too busy to travel to Rwohn Compound. She was too intriguing to let this chance slip through his fingers. His eyes traveled the length of her gown. He nodded at the Vhirko behind him.

"I'd say you're about the same size. I'll send you a Vhirko jumpsuit to wear. It's snug, but quite comfortable."

Her smile returned.

*

Mhikhel couldn't have planned a more dramatic moment. A layer of soupy fog had blanketed the valley floor from the Castel to the Rwohn foothills. When the chopter's auto-pilot finally ascended up the Rwohn Mountains and broke through the fog bank, a panoramic view of a terraced hillside vineyard greeted it.

"Oh my, how beautiful," Nahtalie said as she peered through the oval window next to her seat. "I would never have believed anything so green and lush could grow on such a steep and rocky hillside. I think there are more green leaves in your vineyard than on all of Tamok."

Mhikhel realized he'd been chewing on his lip. He'd been afraid she'd be disappointed, and he wanted her approval. "The vineyard often has that effect the first time an off-worlder sees it. Something about it displays a natural beauty that touches something deep in all beings, perhaps even the Radani."

"I can understand why." Nahtalie leaned to stare out the window. The skintight jumpsuit hid none of her. Mhikhel liked what he saw and couldn't keep from ogling.

"Tamok certainly has nothing like it. Tirano is so lucky to have such a wonderful native plant," she said softly.

"It's not native," Mhikhel said. "Our ancestors brought the vine with them when they settled Tirano."

Nahtalie turned her face to Mhikhel and arched her eyebrows. "Tirano's not your people's mother world? Where did your ancestors come from?"

"No one knows. The ancient archives speak of a mother world Tira that was the home of the vine. The ancients fled a cataclysm devouring Tira. Somewhere in space near the Tira, our Goddess Ghaeah opened a portal and transported the ship to this galaxy. After a long search, they discovered Tirano, a planet almost identical to the mother world. The ancients could never map how to find the portal again and return to Tira."

Nahtalie tilted her head slightly. "A little lore to add to the mystique of the vine?"

"No," he said. Either she hadn't studied her briefing papers or the Tamok didn't place any importance on the importance of heritage in Tiranoan culture. "We take this unique heritage seriously. The Sovereign must be able to trace his genes only to the Archonan, the leaders of the original ship. The purity of the Sovereign's Archonan heredity is paramount. It can't contain a drop of non-Archonan blood."

Nahtalie tilted her head even more and wrinkled her forehead. Mhikhel chuckled nervously, uncertain whether her look was one of puzzlement or disapproval. He pulled on the sleeve of his gown. "But you came for a tour, not a history lesson," he said as he leaned closer to her. He could smell the fragrance of her intoxicating Antigan perfume. "And after I show you the vineyard, we'll visit the wine cave to cool off." He smiled mischievously. "And taste a few samples from the barrels."

*

Mhikhel watched Nahtalie's eyes widen as she entered the refreshing coolness of the wine cave. He followed her gaze as she took in the sight of the rows of muhrwood aging barrels stacked from the black marble-tiled floor to the ceiling. Her mouth opened slightly when her eyes reached to top row of barrels and saw the cave's vaulted ceiling carved out of the granite mountainside.

"This is so elegant. To think I've always associated caves with grimy mines and stale air." She took a deep breath. "I've never smelled anything so heady. I don't ever want to leave."

Everything about her fascinated Mhikhel, and he found her joy infectious. He was glad the workers were finished for the day. He and Nahtalie would have the cave to themselves and could spend as much time tasting as they wanted.

"It tastes even better than it smells," he said. "I'll show you how we sample from the barrels."

He turned to the Vhirko standing behind him. "Check the cave and then guard the door. I'll call if I need you."

The Vhirko trotted off.

Mhikhel grabbed Nahtalie's hand and led her toward the barrels. "Is it complicated to make wine?" she asked.

He heard the Vhirko return and knew she would stand at attention next to the door until he called. "Not really. The technique hasn't changed since the first vine was planted on Tirano. Crush the fruit, ferment the juice, and then age it in muhrwood barrels. Simple technique for a complex result."

He stopped in front of the first row of barrels. "Ah, here it is." He picked up a long cylindrical glass tube lying next to several tulip goblets on the top of a barrel. "We call this an abductor because it allows us snatch some of the wine from its sanctuary in the barrel."

He pulled a large syncork plug out of the top of the barrel and dipped the pointed end of the abductor into the opening. He waited a moment before placing his thumb on the flat opening on the other end of the abductor. He lifted the abductor out of the barrel, its bottom half filled with a golden liquid.

"Last loop's vehoner. Let's see if it's ready for bottling."

He held the abductor's pointed end over a goblet and released his thumb on the flat end for an instant. Wine flowed into the goblet. He repeated the procedure over a second goblet and released the remainder of the wine into it. He set the abductor on top of the barrel, picked up a goblet in each hand, and handed one to Nahtalie.

"To your first visit to Rwohn Compound." He clinked his goblet against hers. "May it be the first of many."

"I'll come whenever you want," she said. She raised the goblet to her lips and sipped. "Delicious. Like drinking the petals of hahnyflowers."

Mhikhel smiled. "I was hoping you'd like it." He picked up the abductor. "Bring your glass and come with me. There is much more to taste."

He wound his way through the row after row of barrels, stopping frequently so they could sample numerous varietals and vintages. All of which Nahtalie drank with delight. Mhikhel couldn't remember the last time he'd drunk so much wine. The slight tingle in his ears told him he'd drunk more than he should, and he thought Nahtalie had probably consumed more than she had in her whole life. But she obviously enjoyed every moment, and he enjoyed being with her. Not only did he find her exotic looks captivating, her vibrancy excited him. An excitement he knew he'd never find in the company of the dull Archonan women.

Mhikhel didn't know how long they'd been in the cave or how many barrels they'd sampled when they reached the rear of the cave. "This is the oldest vintage of shirnaz still in the barrels. We hoard this wine and drink it only on special occasions. And with special people."

He handed her the abductor and pulled the syncork out of the top of the barrel. She started to hand the abductor to him. He shook his head. He took her goblet from her hand.

"Your turn. Let's see if the girl from the mines has learned anything in the wine cave."

The smile on her face reminded him of a child turned loose in a sweets shop. She leaned over the barrel and stretched an arm to dip the tip of the abductor into the barrel. Mhikhel's pulse quickened as he admired her long legs and the curve of her hips. She carefully set her thumb on the open top of the abductor and slowly lifted it out of the barrel. She turned to face him, a delighted smile lighting her face.

"I knew I could do it. I've been around mines long enough to know what to do in a cave."

He held the two goblets in front of her and she carefully filled each with some of the purple liquid. She laid the abductor on the barrel. He handed her a goblet.

"Swirl it like this." His hand rotated in a tight circle. "Then lift the glass to your nose and inhale. The bouquet is spectacular."

She slowly rotated the goblet, lifted it to her nose. Her eyes widened. "Oh, my. How could anyone drink anything that smells so wonderful?"

"Like this." Mhikhel lowered the goblet to his mouth and sipped. He wasn't sure if his head felt light from drinking so much wine, from the fragrance of the barrels filled with shirnaz, or from being close to her.

"Now you."

She swallowed a mouthful of the wine. "Father was right. This is the nectar of the gods." She leaned forward and kissed Mhikhel on the cheek. "Thank you for sharing all of this with me. I've never enjoyed anything as much or felt so, so glorious."

Mhikhel couldn't take his eyes off her wine-stained lips. His arms shook as he struggled with the desire to pull her close and sample those lips. Her eyes fluttered as she lifted his goblet out of his hand and set both goblets on top of the barrel. She licked her lips, stepped forward, and wrapped her arms around his neck. She pressed her lips to his. Her warm, soft tongue parted his lips. He tasted the spicy shirnaz lingering on her tongue.

He couldn't restrain his desire. His tongue entered her mouth and he wrapped his arms around her. She pulled her lips from his and tilted her head back, breathing deeply. Her long neck beckoned. He lowered his head and kissed the length of her neck, his lips savoring the touch of her silky skin.

"If only we were alone," she said in husky whisper.

He kissed her neck again. This would be as alone as he could be with a woman. "She can't see us back here, and won't leave her post unless I call her."

"Then I must not let you." Nahtalie squirmed out of the jumpsuit.

She wasn't wearing any undergarments and Mhikhel's eyes devoured what he saw. She was magnificent; work in the mines must have sculpted every part of her body.

She smiled as if she approved of his reaction. She pushed the goblets to the back of the barrel and sat on it. Her fingers found the zipper on the front of his gown. She unzipped the gown and slipped it off his arms. As it fell to the floor, she wrapped her legs around his hips and pulled him to her. His body seemed to melt into her.

Mhikhel had been with other women, but none had aroused such erotic desire. Her ardent lovemaking stimulated every particle of his body until he exploded in an extended climax that he had never experienced and hoped would never end.

He didn't know how long they remained clinging to each other, but it was too soon when she loosened her legs and slid off the barrel. He wanted to say so much, but couldn't find the words. He could only look at her and hope his eyes expressed his thoughts. That he had never believed he could experience such intense intimacy. That once could never be enough to satisfy his soul. That he'd always hunger for more of her. That they must find a way to be together again.

She pulled on her jumpsuit and gave him her intriguing smile. "Now I know why you hoard your shirnaz."

"I promise to share it with you again."

"I intend to collect on that promise."

*

Mhikhel fidgeted around the table in his private dining room in the Castel's turret, attended only by a Vhirko. For the tenth time in two centi, he turned the cold bottle of vehoner in the ice bucket. After two cycles of unending debate and bickering, the conference had unanimously adopted his proposal to establish a unified defense force to oppose the Radani. The conference had also elected him Command Marshall of the allied force. He was to leave the next morning on the battle cruiser Vela to establish a deep-space defensive perimeter.

He knew he should have a sense of accomplishment, if not elation. Instead, all he could think of was her. He didn't want to leave without being with her one more time. Since Rwohn, he had spent all of his time forging the alliance and had been busy late into every night. As a result, he had seen her only at public gatherings. They had smiled politely and greeted each other as formal acquaintances would. He couldn't tell if her stiff formality hid the same longing consuming him or was intended to display regret about what had happened in the cave. Every night when he went to sleep he dreamed of her and that moment of total rapture.

He hoped she'd accept his invitation to join him for dinner. Because of his position as Command Marshall, the Vhirko were under orders to never let him out of sight. He knew he couldn't be alone with her, make love to her as he craved; but he could at least steal a kiss and taste her lips. If she didn't come, he might never see her again. The conference had adjourned and she would return to Tamok. He needed to talk to her, to tell her how much he wanted her, and that he would find a way to be with her after the war.

The door's comviewer buzzed. His pulse quickened. "See who it is," he said to the Vhirko.

The Vhirko peered into the comviewer. "It is the Mhargrava Nahtalie Lok of Tamok."

He swallowed, hoped his voice wouldn't betray his anxiety. "Is she alone?"

"She is accompanied by the Vhirko you sent for her."

He would see her, alone as possible under the circumstances. He couldn't contain his smile. "Admit the Mhargrava. Tell the Vhirko to remain outside and guard the door. Make sure that she understands that under no circumstances am I to be disturbed."

The door opened and Nahtalie entered. She wore a strapless burgundy gown. Her gold necklace with its sapphire star-stone around her long neck reminded him of his arousal when his lips touched her neck. As soon as the door closed, she crossed the room. Her eyes locked on his, her desire no longer hidden. She extended her hands.

"I'm so proud of what you've done. To forge an alliance out of so many disparate worlds," she said. "I only regret that it kept us apart for so long."

He took her hands. Their warmth fired his desire. He didn't care if the Vhirko saw. He pulled her close and kissed her with all of his pent-up passion. She wrapped her arms around him and parted her lips. She tasted as delicious as he remembered.

He heard the Vhirko step forward. He reluctantly removed his lips from Nahtalie's. "It's okay," he said in his sternest command tone. "I have nothing to fear from the Mhargrava. Remain at the door."

The Vhirko resumed her position at the door. Her eyes remained fixed on Mhikhel. Mhikhel led Nahtalie to the table where the Vhirko could not hear them.

"I was so afraid I wouldn't see you again," he said. He buried his face in her hair and breathed in her intoxicating perfume. "I know our laws require you to leave now, but I promise that after the war I'll find a way to come to you. Don't ever forget me, or our moment."

She pulled her face back. Her eyes swallowed him. "Never. I have something that will always remind me of you, and that moment." She cast him the beckoning smile that he'd seen every night in his dreams. "My womb holds our son."

The elation he sought filled his being. If he acknowledged that she bore his child, she would be allowed to remain. "Ghaeah has blessed me. You won't have to leave. I'll formally declare you as First Companion and acknowledge the child as mine. I will care for him as if he were Archonan."

He knew he'd blurted his proposal too fast, but he wanted to get it all out as quickly as possible. He paused and looked at her. He expected his joy to be reflected in her face. Instead, she arched her eyebrows and lines wrinkled her forehead. She opened her mouth, but no words came out. He thought she must be in shock that he would bestow such an honor, the First Companion, on a noble from a minor world. She was probably afraid that he said these things knowing he'd be gone the next morning and had no intent of following through.

"I didn't conceive this child to force you into . . ." She swallowed. "We will both be taken care of on Tamok. After the war, you can decide what you wish to do."

He saw the confusion in her face. "I understand. You're afraid that I don't mean any of this. That I will forget you once I am gone. Don't worry. I'll arrange everything before I leave. I'll find a place for you to live and ensure that the child is treated the same as a Archonan child."

Her hand caressed her belly. "That's not necessary. My family will make sure he has all the advantages Tamok can provide."

Mhikhel could not believe she would not want the child to be raised at the Castel. "No! I won't have a child of mine raised on the backwaters of the galaxy. I will do all in my power to protect him from the disadvantages of being Tamok. I'll see that he always has a suitable position in the Castel."

She raised herself to her full height. "The disadvantages of Tamok? You seemed quite pleased that day with my Tamok training in the arts of pleasure."

He had to make her understand. His child deserved the best Tirano could offer. "On Tamok his future will be limited to becoming a glorified mining functionary. I think we both should want more for him. Here he can have the advantages of being raised at the court, and if he's capable, I'll groom him to be an aide to my heir."

Her face reddened. "For the sake of our child, I would have willingly lived with the shame of being nothing more than your glorified courtesan if it would have given him the opportunity to rise to the level of his abilities. But I will not permit my child to grow up believing he is not good enough to aspire to his father's position solely because of his Tamok blood. I want him to be proud of his Tamok heritage, not to believe it makes him inferior."

He felt as though she'd slapped his face. He took a step back. "How could you think the child could possibly be my heir? I told you the Sovereign's genes must be descended only from Archonan blood."

He laid a hand on her shoulder, felt her trembling. "Surely, you understood that I must marry a Archonan to produce an heir." He gently squeezed her shoulder. "That doesn't mean I won't care for you or the child any less."

A tear fell from her eye. He reached with a finger to wipe it away. She jerked her face back. "Don't ever try to touch me again."

She raised her chin, set her jaw. "I will return to Tamok to raise my son. My family will love him, not merely care for him. The Tamok accept a child for who he is, not who his parents are.

"Never try to contact us. I don't want anyone to ever know who my son's father is." Her voice shook with rage. "He must never know of his prejudice-laden Archonan blood. He will not be the bigot his father is."

She turned and started for the door. An emptiness opened in his soul as he watched her back.

"Wait," he said just below a shout. He didn't want to lose her, not like this. "Please don't go. Try to understand. I have no choice. I must live my life in accord with our ways. In time, you'll learn that they serve Tirano well. Stay with me. I promise, you will be happy and our son will be a valued member of the royal household."

She turned to face him. Her eyes narrowed to slits, her lip curled. "Damn your ways," she hissed. "I lay this curse on you and your heirs. Tiranoan bigotry will haunt the Arvors through the ages. No Arvor will ever sit comfortably on the Golden Vine Throne." She whirled, and with her head held high, strode to the door.

He watched her walk out the door, realized there could never be another like her. That he would never again feel such passion for a woman. He started to bury his face in his hands, stopped. This was not the time for regrets. Duty came first; as it always did and always would. He shouldn't have let it interfere by his dalliance with her. He couldn't, wouldn't, risk the future of Tirano because of one night of drunken lust for a woman. He had a war to fight. If the Radani were not driven out of the galaxy, nothing would matter. Especially a Tamok female and a half-breed child.

-1-

Royal Council Meeting

Royal Council Chamber

Arvor Castel

Planet Tirano

Mhikhel's reaction exceeded Tarnlot's worst fears. The vein in Mhikhel's neck bulged and his faced turned a deeper shade of scarlet than Tarnlot had ever seen. Mhikhel's eyes narrowed to slits that honed in on Tarnlot. Tarnlot averted his eyes and decided he'd better speak quickly, before his father's laser glare melted his resolve.

"I think we should consider their offer to parley," Tarnlot said as fast as he could. He rose from his seat at the oval Royal Council Table and laid the archiver memstick with his briefing report on the arm of the Golden Vine Throne.

Mhikhel glanced at the memstick, his lip curled. "Get that abhorrence out of my sight," he said in a gravelly growl. With the back of his hand, he batted the memstick away. It flew across the dais, hit the ivory floor in front of the Royal Council Table, and shattered.

Tarnlot refused to look at the shattered memstick. Nor would he avert his eyes again. "Please consider their offer," he said. "It may be the last chance."

Mhikhel bolted from the Golden Vine Throne. His ivory gown snapped in the air. With clenched fists, he stood face to face with Tarnlot. Even though Tarnlot was as tall as his father and one-third his age, he was no match for the brawny Mhikhel. Nonetheless, Tarnlot steeled himself to hold his ground. Peace was too vital to permit Mhikhel to intimidate him into silence.

"When I was your age, Tarnlot, I thought only of slaughtering Radani hordes, not meeting face-to-face with the creatures to negotiate peace. How could you suggest such a thing?" Mhikhel's jowls shook. "My blood boils at the thought of treating the stinking beasts as though they were civilized beings. As should your blood." He cocked his head challengingly. "Or is it too diluted?"

Tarnlot clasped his hands in front of his blue gown. Even Mhikhel, his father, belittled his advice because he was half KaNoa. He forced himself to take a deep breath before he spoke. He hoped his voice would sound reasonable and not betray his outrage at Mhikhel's insult.

"KaNoa blood. Archonan blood. It makes no difference. It's all Tiranoan. And it all burns in my veins at the thought of being in the same room as any Radani. But this is the first peace overture they've made. We can't let our hatred blind us. We must do what's best for Tirano."

Mhikhel exhaled, his sour breath almost caused Tarnlot to step back. "They talk peace only because we destroyed a whole horde on Phargon. For the first time, they realize they could lose this war. Why should I meet with them? They're running scared."

"That makes them even more dangerous," Tarnlot replied. "They'll do anything to keep from losing. It wasn't until after Phargon that they started using biologics. Look at the result. Their borer bombs have destroyed our crop colonies on Tirgot III. And they're pressing forward. The Armada detected stealth raiders attempting to penetrate Tirano's outer defensive perimeter. If a single raider slips through, the borers would destroy our vineyards."

Tarnlot ignored the beads of sweat dripping down his forehead. "We can't take such a risk. You must meet with the Radani Quad. The survival of Tirano depends on it."

Even though Mhikhel remained in Tarnlot's face, Mhikhel didn't say a word and the lines around his eyes softened. Tarnlot hoped that meant Mhikhel was at least mulling over how to respond, because the most difficult part remained. Tarnlot screwed up his courage to press on. The fate of Tirano depended upon what happened in the next few moments.

"Most of Tirgot III will have to be re-tiraformed. After more than twenty-five loops of war, our treasury can't bear such an expense." Tarnlot's heart pounded his ribs. "Doesn't it make more sense to concede it to the Radani than to risk having our vineyards destroyed and lose our source of bubo immunity?"

Mhikhel's jaw clenched and his eyes filled with disgust. "No Tiranoan territory will be abandoned to the Radani while an Arvor sits on the Golden Vine Throne."

Mhikhel raised his fist. Tarnlot refused to flinch. Too many lives depended on peace. He braced for the blow.

"Sire, Prince Tarnlot's idea is worthy of discussion," a soft female voice said calmly. "Perhaps you should hear what your councilors have to say."

Mhikhel jerked his head and Tarnlot followed his father's eyes as they landed on the speaker sitting at the end of the Royal Council Table: Caykondra, the High Sibyl of Tirano. To Tarnlot's surprise, she didn't blink under Mhikhel's withering glare. Caykondra was tiny, even for a Sibyl, and so young that she looked almost childish wearing the red Sibyl gown. Somehow, though, her almond-shaped eyes projected strength and her fine-boned face displayed resolve. Tarnlot hadn't expected her to speak. She'd only recently become High Sibyl and this was her first Royal Council meeting.

She rubbed a fire opal pendant that hung on the end of a double-strand silver necklace. For a myria the opal glimmered red. "Vision projects peace. Perhaps, this parley could be the way."

Mhikhel dropped his fist to his side and shook his long gray locks. He sat heavily in the Throne and slumped his shoulders. Tarnlot was uncertain whether Mhikhel's reaction reflected disgust with Caykondra and him or acceptance of the need to meet with the Radani.

"Do either of you know what you ask of me? Not only must I sit at a negotiating table with the Radani Quad, I must relinquish a planet my grandfather tiraformed. He would damn my soul to the deepest pit of the Cavities for eternity." He grimaced. "And I would deserve it."

Tarnlot exhaled a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding; the worst of Mhikhel's outburst had passed. He turned to the table to determine the reactions of the other Royal Council members. As he expected, Prince Zhun'Mar stared at a palm-sized archive viewer. Undoubtedly, Zhun'Mar thought he could find guidance in his beloved historical archives. Tarnlot wanted to scream at his half-brother. No historical precedent exists. Tirano has never faced a foe like the Radani. A foe that doesn't think the way humanoids thinks and until now has shown an unending appetite to slaughter as many humanoids as possible.

In the continuing silence, Tarnlot looked at Admiral Kiptani. Kiptani had been at Phargon. He knew the truth. Even though Tarnlot expected Kiptani's support, he couldn't discern anything from the Admiral's blank expression.

Mhikhel broke the silence. "What do you think, Admiral? Are my son's fears justified?"

The lanky Kiptani rose and stood at attention in his starched white uniform. A frown creased his ebony face. "Sire, the Royal Armada is deployed in deep perimeter patrol to monitor any movement of the Radani fleet in our direction. Even with the increased patrols, a single Radani stealth vessel could slip through undetected. We had less space to patrol at Tirgot III and a raider succeeded."

Kiptani paused and Tarnlot noticed Kiptani's hand tremble. Kiptani's older son had died in the patrols at Tirgot III. No one had reason to hate the Radani more than the Admiral. Nor did anyone understand the Radani prowess any better.

"Our allies are even more battered than we are. They're pressed to the limit just to patrol their own space. They can't provide us any meaningful assistance, deep perimeter or planet."

Kiptani's frown deepened. "We don't have the manpower or the resources to both fight the war and seed the Belts. We need a time of peace if we are to seed the Belts with enough maser charges to make them impenetrable. That's our only protection from Radani suicide raiders."

Mhikhel grimaced, motioned impatiently for Kiptani to sit. Tarnlot thought Mhikhel's eyes rolled slightly when he pointed a finger at Count Hoj Rohfek. "And you, Lord Chancellor, do you recommend I abandon Tirgot III?"

Count Rohfek puckered his lips and pinched the fat under his double chin. "I would never presume to disparage the advice of our beloved younger Prince," Rohfek said in his condescending tone. "But he does not have the deka-loops of experience you and I have in understanding the Radani."

Rohfek paused and glanced at Tarnlot. With his face turned so Mhikhel couldn't see it, the Count sneered at Tarnlot. "Nor does he understand that no Archonan would ever agree to concede the tiniest piece of Tiranoan territory to the Radani."

Even though Tarnlot had expected Rohfek to make such a personal attack, he struggled to keep from reaching across the table and ripping out the fat toad's double chin. The only thing that stopped him was he knew that was exactly what Rohfek hoped he would try. He bit his tongue and waited for Mhikhel to speak.

Mhikhel turned his gaze to Zhun'Mar. Zhun'Mar continued to read his viewer. "Zhun'Mar, you can't study that machine forever" Mhikhel said in a cold tone. "Put it down and tell me your thoughts."

Zhun'Mar slowly raised his head, scratched his black beard. Tarnlot found it difficult to believe that the hot blood of Mhikhel could have sired the reticent Zhun'Mar. Queen Rhamona must have been a timid mouse.

"I haven't had sufficient time to research all the archives, Father. I would be speaking without knowing all available information." Zhun'Mar returned to reading the viewer.

Mhikhel snorted. "Someday you'll succeed me, son. A king doesn't have the luxury of researching every detail before making a decision. At times he must act based upon the feelings in his gut. Turn that crutch of a machine off and tell me what you feel in your gut."

Zhun'Mar blinked and chewed on his lip for a moment. "The Radani have never signed a peace treaty, only terms of unconditional surrender. At best we would be buying time in which to seed the Belts. Perhaps, though, they are aware of our plan and also desire time to develop new weapons. Weapons that could counter the masers we seed in the Belts."

He shook his head. "I would prefer to fight the current known rather than an unknown future."

Mhikhel nodded and with a scowl turned to Kiptani. "From the mouth of the scholar comes the words of a warrior. Perhaps I should make Zhun'Mar the Admiral of the Royal Armada."

Tarnlot's gut told him that his opportunity to prevail could slip away. He leaned toward Zhun'Mar. "Ah, but brother. You failed to include one crucial factor in your analysis." Even when they were children, he'd always been able to think faster on his feet than Zhun'Mar. He locked eyes with Zhun'Mar. It was a was a way to intimidate Zhun'Mar that he'd learned from their father.

"If we continue to fight the known, we will lose. There aren't enough Tiranoans or other humanoids to fight the war of attrition the Radani have managed to suck us into. They have more hordes to sacrifice than we have men, women, and children. I for one prefer to live to fight a future unknown than to suffer a present defeat by the known."

"Agreed," Kiptani said softly, but firmly.

Zhun'Mar hung his head and stared at the muhrwood table. "Which is why a decision should be made only when all facts are known and sufficient time taken to analyze those facts."

Zhun'Mar raised his head to look at Mhikhel. Tarnlot understood how difficult it would be for Zhun'Mar to disagree with Mhikhel. He also knew his brother would do the right thing.

"I wish to have a planet to rule, Father. I must agree with Tarnlot. We must have peace, even if for only a short time."

Mhikhel slumped in his throne. "I am an old man. I tire of battling my sons as well as the Radani. I will go to this meeting. Talk peace with the devil." He took a deep breath; his shoulders heaved. "I pray to Ghaeah that I don't live to regret this day.

Count Rohfek cleared his throat. "Sire," he said, "this will not sit well. Tirano has never lost a war or conceded territory for peace."

Mhikhel's curly hair seemed to bristle as he glared at Rohfek. "I don't want to hear any more of your whining, Hoj. Tell your cronies that I go to talk peace, not surrender."

Mhikhel fixed his glare on Tarnlot. "Now leave. I want all of you out of my sight."

Tarnlot knew it was time to avert his eyes and not gloat. In his mind, though, he smiled.

*

Tarnlot caught up with Caykondra as she walked across the Great Concourse on her way to the High Sibyl's quarters in the Castel's turret. "Thanks for your help," he said.

Caykondra halted and tilted her head to look up at his face. The shadowy light of the Concourse accentuated the short nose on her yellow-skinned face. Tarnlot had expected a smile. Instead, she bore a dour expression.

"I do what my duty requires. I act solely in the best interests of Tirano." She wrapped her fingers around her fire opal pendant. It flashed yellow. "I do not, however, appreciate your methods. I found it distasteful that you humiliated Prince Zhun'Mar in front of the King and the Royal Council. What do you expect to gain from that?"

Tarnlot recoiled as if she slapped him. He hadn't expected a frontal assault by this dainty female. "You, you misunderstand my intentions. I didn't intend to embarrass Zhun'Mar. Someday he will be King, and I will be his Lord Chancellor. We must be able to work together for our lifetimes."

She wrinkled her nose. "You have a strange way of developing a working relationship."

During the meeting, he'd thought she was different. But she reacted the same as an Archonan and misconstrued his actions because she too envied his abilities. He struggled to keep his temper in check, decided he'd give her one last chance to understand his motives.

"I didn't enjoy what I had to do. Zhun'Mar's always treated me as his brother, and his equal. But I couldn't permit the opportunity to save Tirano from defeat slip through my fingers because Father bullied Zhun'Mar into agreeing with him. Zhun'Mar made the correct decision once he understood all the factors. He'll be a fine king, and I'll do all I can to help him. Even if I too must do things I find distasteful."

He gritted his teeth. "Zhun'Mar understands that. Why do you find it so hard to believe that I, too, act only in the best interests of Tirano."

Caykondra arched her thin eyebrows. "Until now, I've known you only by your dossier. The son of one of the King's KaNoa courtesans. An acknowledged scion who rose to become a member of the Royal Council, letting no one or no thing stand in his way. I assumed your ruthlessness was merely for the sake of personal power."

She paused and smiled. A friendly smile, not the condescending smirk Tarnlot expected. "Could I be wrong? Do your veins pulse with best of the Arvor blood?" Her pendant glowed red. Her smile broadened. "Will you join me for dinner tonight in my quarters? There is much I would like to learn."

Tarnlot smiled back. "Of course." Perhaps she was different and he'd at last found an ally: the ally he'd always sought in his efforts to counter the ossified Archonan minds that polluted the Castel.

-2-

Turret

Arvor Castel

Planet Tirano

Tarnlot had not expected to find himself in such a sensuous setting. The circular muhrwood table was littered with the remains of a meal: crumbs from a crusty loaf of bread, the last slice of a wheel of blue-veined cheese, and an empty green wine bottle. The stub of a candle floated in a pool of molten wax in the center of the small table, its tiny flame quivering in an otherwise dark room. In the flickering light, a fascinating young woman gazed at him and listened intently to every word he said.

He hoped this would be the first of many such meals he would share with Caykondra. She looked especially enticing in a single-shouldered vermillion gown with her wavy black hair falling over her bare shoulder, and he could see the eager look in her young eyes. She'd definitely invited him for more than banter during the meal. Perhaps he'd found more than an ally.

"I studied the briefing report you and Admiral Kiptani prepared for the meeting this morning," she said. "I haven't been on the Council long enough to understand the technical military jargon and analysis, but the conclusion remains etched in my mind. 'Even though we may have won battles in the past, if we continue the war, the Radani will defeat us.'"

She stared at the flickering flame. "If we can win battles, how could they possibly defeat us? Won't it be a stalemate at worst?"

Tarnlot leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms. He'd misunderstood. The eagerness in her eyes was for knowledge, not for him. He hoped his frown didn't display the icy water she'd thrown on his desire. He'd been a fool to think a Sibyl, especially the High Sibyl, would be interested in any man. He should have remembered the horror stories his mother told him about the Sibyls being witches who created babies in test tubes.

But his mother had been wrong. There was nothing malevolent about Caykondra. She was a fine addition to the Royal Council. The Council needed a vibrant High Sibyl. The prior High Sibyl had grown old and slovenly, in body and mind. Even though he regretted that Caykondra's eagerness was for knowledge and not romance, he'd be delighted to have her as an ally to counter Rohfek and his ilk. He'd do his best to help her and tell her all she wanted to know.

"We've kept them at bay this long only because the Royal Armada is superior to their fleet. Their ships can't match our technology, mobility, and battle skills. With such a disadvantage, a rational foe would never engage us. But the Radani are willing to sacrifice a hundred ships to destroy just one of ours. And once they reach planet side, their hordes are nearly unstoppable."

Caykondra wrinkled her nose. "I thought the Koah infantry has the most advanced weapons in the universe. Shouldn't the Koah be able to stop the hordes?"

"It does. But just as there are too many Radani ships, there are too many creatures. No matter how many we kill, they send even more. Loss of life means nothing to a horde. They'll sacrifice as many and for as long as necessary to attain their objective, or like at Phargon until every member of the horde is killed."

The memory of a horde in battle exploded in his mind. His heart began to pound his ribs, as it had then, one loop ago. He'd seen with his own eyes. He knew. So many refused to understand what had really happened that day.

"Are you familiar with the battle at Phargon?" he asked.

"Only that Colonel Nhoth outmaneuvered a horde and wiped it out. And that despite heavy casualties, the Koah fought valiantly."

"I was there." Tarnlot placed his elbows on the table and kneaded his forehead with his fingers. He'd been in the command hover as his father's observer. He wished he could wipe away the horror of those memories. The stench of that day filled his mind.

A soft warmth enveloped his fingers. He opened his eyes. Caykondra had wrapped her fingers around his. "If it is easier," she said, "I will link with your memory implant."

He lowered his hands and nodded. If she was to be an ally, she needed to know the visreal horror of men against a Radani horde. "Set your implant to receive at Z-3," he said softly. He hoped she was strong enough to endure the sight.

*

Colonel Ohlav Nhoth and his staff huddle around the command hover's tactical holo-display table. Nhoth juts his square jaw and his eyes land on me. "Prince Tarnlot." He pauses to make sure his Archonan staff noticed the way he sneered when he said Prince. "You're in luck." He points to a V-shaped canyon on the holo-display. "We've got us a horde trapped in a canyon. That's one crack infantry regiment down there, my best. You'll have a bird's eye view of them destroying the horde. You can even tell your father that you participated in combat."

Nhoth whispers something in the ear of the major next to him. Undoubtedly something intended to demean me because I never attended the Academy to train as an officer. He probably hopes I'll make a fool of myself in my first battle situation.

I won't give him the pleasure. I turn away and peer out the hover's window with my scope viewer. Below the hover our khaki-clad ground troops are forming a phalanx near the mouth of a canyon. Sheer ocher-colored rock palisades rise skyward around the V-shaped canyon. The only possible escape for the Radani would be an aerial rescue, and Admiral Kiptani controls the airspace in and around the planet. Nhoth's right. The horde's trapped; surrounded by a regiment that's armed to the teeth. The horde doesn't stand a chance. It'll probably surrender at any moment.

The remains of Radani transports litter the mouth of the canyon so that our armored vehicles can't clear the mouth. For some reason, though, the Radani troops aren't using their transports for cover. Instead, the globular black mass of Radani troops is retreating further into the canyon. They look more like an undisciplined mob than the fierce fighters I've heard so many stories about. They must be demoralized.

"Why haven't they surrendered?" I ask. "Surely they realize they're trapped without any air support."

Nhoth snorts. "Those creatures aren't too bright."

Our phalanx moves forward in unison. The point clears the transports without the Radani firing a single shot. A green flare shoots into the air to signal that the Radani didn't booby-trap the debris. The glob of the Radani troops continues streaming toward the rear of the canyon as if fleeing in panic. A few Radani stragglers remain behind. The laser snipers at the point of the phalanx pick off the stragglers, one-by-one.

"Tell'em to move it out, now," Nhoth orders in a crisp command tone. The same tone he used to bark at me when I was a child and he attended the Academy.

He turns to the aide at the end of the table. "Make sure you get all of my orders on vid back-up. I'm about to change the course of this war. The Academy will want a record of my every command. This'll become the model on how to defeat a horde. It'll be studied throughout history."

Nhoth's playing big man to the camera. Thinks it looks commanding to say so many words without ever moving his upper lip. I can't stand to watch him act so imperial, as if he is the prince, not me. I peer out the window. The body of the phalanx is streaming over the debris. Even though our troops are on foot, they are rapidly closing the gap with the Radani.

"What in Ghaeah's name is going on?" Admiral Kiptani's voice booms behind me.

I turn my head from the window. A holo of the Admiral looms on the deck of the command hover, his back stiff, his ebony face contorted. "Who's the idiot that ordered those troops to close with the Radani?" he shouts.

Nhoth straightens his shoulders. "I did, Sir." he says crisply. "I seized the initiative." The corner of Nhoth's mouth curls, as if caught between a smile and a smirk. "The way you always stressed at the Academy. We can't give the creatures time to link."

Kiptani glares at Nhoth for a moment. "You fool! Do you have any idea of what you've done? The second wave of strafers is on the way. Your troops are too close to the horde. The strafers will have to abort their strike. Pull back now while there's time or you'll have no air support."

Nhoth glares back. "This is an infantry operation, which as you know, is under my command and control - not yours. Tell the strafers to back off so the troops can continue to close and finish their job."

Kiptani leans forward. "The record will duly note your command. But be warned. If anything happens to the Prince, Mhikhel will skin you alive. And I'll help him." Kiptani nods curtly and the holo dissolves.

Nhoth looks at me, his eyes narrow. "Tell your father that fleet-bound old man is too conservative to lead soldiers. That I showed you how the infantry deals with a horde."

"I agree with the Admiral. Let the Armada strafe the horde. That way the infantry only has to mop up stragglers," I say.

Nhoth sticks his face in mine. "You little piece of shit. Only the King can counter my orders, not some coward who parades around as if he were a real prince. Now keep your mouth shut in my operations area. I have a job to finish."

I clench my fists. As much as I want to start a brawl with Nhoth, I won't do something that could endanger the troops in battle. I turn back to the window and watch the troops.

The Radani mass has reached the rear of the canyon. They're boxed in by the sheer walls of the canyon on three sides and on the other side by the rapidly closing phalanx. The Radani mass stops moving. Now that they can't retreat any further, they'll probably surrender, even without another strafer attack.

Something darts forward. It happened so fast, I blink to make sure my eyes aren't fooling me. A group of Radani troops had separated from the glob and formed a row of four-point diamond units. I turn to the hover's overhead vid screen. My breath becomes light. The Radani on the screen looked like the Radani warriors I'd learned to fear. A small diamond-shaped head atop a massive black-scaled square torsos; short spindly legs; and a long razor-sharp claw at the end of each of its two burly arms.

"What are they doing? Forming up for surrender?" I ask.

"Guess you've never seen a Radani battle formation before, eh Prince?" Nhoth didn't hide the disdain in his voice. "The creatures start in individual horde units, four creatures in diamond configuration. Somehow the four link and function as a single sentient battle unit. The fools don't carry any weapons. They kill with their claws or their teeth. These single links'll be easy pickings for my guys."

The Radani row charges toward the oncoming phalanx. Streams of laser beams shoot from the phalanx. Bodies fall by the hundreds in the Radani row. My hands are clammy watching the massacre. No diamond units remain intact, only a few individual Radani troops. The Radani don't stand a chance. All of them will be slaughtered if they don't surrender soon.

"Told you this'd be a ghorlian pig shoot," Nhoth says.

The decimated row of Radani resembled ants scurrying around without a sense of direction. It hurts to admit it, but Nhoth has a right to gloat.

The lasers continue to pick off the stragglers while the mass of the Radani troops remains huddled in the back of the canyon. Perhaps, now they realize the firepower of the regiment and are prepared to surrender.

With blinding speed and precision, a second row of diamond units forms and charges forward. The remaining members of the first row stop moving and appear frozen in place.

"Keep firing," Nhoth screams. "You've got to kill'em before they establish multiple link.

As if the second row of units is a magnet, the stragglers from the first row scurry to attach themselves to diamonds in the second row.

"Damn it," Nhoth yells at an aide. "Tell the DepComs to always kill the stragglers first. I don't want any larger links."

Laser beams stream from the phalanx. The stench of burning Radani reaches the hover. Our troops are fighting with a ferocity I hadn't expected. They must have known what I refused to believe: A horde in battle will never surrender -- or take any prisoners.

As one Radani row is decimated, a new row emerges. Despite Nhoth's continual ranting about killing stragglers to prevent the link from enlarging, there are too many. The diamond units keep getting larger and larger as more members of decimated units attach. Despite the number of Radani that have been killed, inch by devastating inch the Radani somehow continue to close the distance to the phalanx. The Radani mass has grown so large it looks like a single diamond unit, the infamous horde.

The horde reaches the phalanx and engages the point of the phalanx in hand-to-hand combat. My hands shake. The Radani are fighting like rabid dogs, their claws and teeth ripping human flesh. Soldier after soldier is torn apart: torsos slashed from throat to hips and intestines ripped out. Tiranoan blood and guts saturate the ground. Acid sears my stomach and fear roils my mind.

Our phalanx begins to fall back under the onslaught. Laser beams fire indiscriminately, hitting dead and live Radani. The canyon's littered with dead bodies, Tiranoan and Radani.

I swallow back bile surging up my throat. Without the Armada's firepower for cover, the troops could be overrun and the hover shot down. I place my hand on my stomach. My guts would be ripped out. The crack of laser blast-

*

A white-hot flash exploded in the back of Tarnlot's head. He thought the laser had blasted him and he was going to die in battle. The flash cleared and he realized what had happened. The flash was the pain from the snap of the memory link being prematurely broken. He opened his eyes. Tears rolled down Caykondra's flushed face.

"Only the valor of the picket troops to stand their ground saved the day," Tarnlot said softly.

"Our finest and best equipped troops, decimated by unarmed creatures," she whispered. "Colonel Nhoth's an idiot to call that a great victory."

Tarnlot realized he was rocking back and forth from recalling the horror of so many dying. "Unfortunately, a powerful Archonan idiot who is the senior Nhoth of his generation. If something were to happen to Zhun'Mar before he produces an heir, Ohlav's son Rheginahld has as good a claim to the Golden Vine Throne as anyone. If Rheginahld Nhoth sat on the throne, he'd do whatever his father wanted. And the dear Colonel, with the support of small minds like Count Rohfek, would insist on fighting to the end. Tirano would be doomed. And if Tirano falls, the galaxy would follow in short order."

"Surely even the Colonel would eventually see the futility," Caykondra said.

Tarnlot snorted. "The man who severed a Radani claw to display on his desk? He'd prefer to die than to admit his grand strategy of maximum land combat is flawed."

Caykondra took a deep breath. "Then we have no alternative. We must establish peace and seed the Belts so that no Radani can ever set foot on Tirano."

Tarnlot stood and walked to the turret's semi-circular window. He stared out the mullioned window at the night sky. The three translucent rings of the Encircling Belts sparkled in the night sky.

"Such a beautiful sight," he said. "The color of each of the rings never changes. Always the same scarlet, same cerulean, same golden amber no matter what stage of the cycle. To think we would desecrate such beauty by seeding them with masers that kill sentient beings."

He heard the rustle of Caykondra's dress, felt the warmth of her body standing next to him. "We must," she said. "Tirano must never be violated by such vile creatures."

"I hope we have time," he said. "It'll take dekas to recover economically from this war and repay all of the Treasury's debts and then raise enough funds to seed the Belts. Only Father can keep Nhoth, Rohfek, and their cronies in line. Force them to accept a peace treaty with the Radani and pay the taxes necessary for recovery."

"Even if Ghaeah grants Mhikhel a long, long life," Caykondra replied, "it might not be long enough to accomplish that."

-3-

Command Chamber

Royal Cruiser Dhanus

Caerwin System

Mhikhel continued to stare at the ship's domed ceiling while his fingers tapped the conference table like a chrono ticking off each lacti. Tarnlot knew the reason for Mhikhel's display, and each tap frayed the frazzled threads stitching Tarnlot's patience together. Mhikhel wanted to remind Tarnlot that they wouldn't wait at the Coordinates a lacti past the appointed time. Each tap emphasized Mhikhel's refrain: Not for a stinking bunch of Radani I never wanted to lay eyes on in the first place.

Mhikhel lowered his gaze and glared at Tarnlot. He began to tap his hand against the leg of his ivory-colored gown. "Tarn-" tap "-lot." Tap.

Even though Tarnlot stood several meters away at the control panel along the rear wall, he stiffened. Not from physical fear, but from frustration. He knew exactly what his father would ask, for at least the fifth time in a milli. "Are you sure we're at the proper coordinates?"

Tarnlot glanced at Caykondra sitting in a chair next to Mhikhel's. She rolled her eyes and shrugged her shoulders. She at least shared Tarnlot's exasperation with Mhikhel's impatience, unlike Zhun'Mar. Zhun'Mar lounged in the chair on the other side of Mhikhel, engrossed in studying the holobook projected from his archive viewer. As usual, Zhun'Mar was totally oblivious to the emotional sparks emanating around him.

"Check our position one last time," Mhikhel said. "If we haven't drifted, the Radani only have a milli left."

Tarnlot wanted to shout that Mhikhel blasted well knew they couldn't have drifted off the Coordinates in the past milli. If he did, though, it'd only anger Mhikhel. Instead, he punched the location designator button, its sleek surface a soothing contrast to his father's agitation.

He shared some of his father's discomfort. The Vharsa Convention's Parley Protocols required all accompanying frigates to remain at the boundary of the Caerwin System. The unarmed Dhanus waited in open space. The safety of the ship and its four occupants depended upon Radani obeisance to protocols they claimed to observe but refused to formally ratify.

A black holo-sphere of the Caerwin System popped on and floated over the control panel. The oval-shaped green dot representing the Dhanus' location hovered in the center of the circular mark for the Coordinates. The void of the Black Cavities spiraled on one side of the Dhanus and the orange blips of Planet Caerwin and its six moons twirled on the opposite side. Tarnlot's skin crawled from the mere thought of the radioactive waves radiating off Caerwin. A line of Tiranoan frigates lined the system's edge behind the Dhanus while a diamond row of Radani destroyers waited on the other edge. A single diamond-shaped vessel sailed toward the Dhanus.

"Exactly where we should be, Father. The Radani ship has almost reached the Coordinates."

"I still feel naked at the thought of being out here without even a single Vhirko to protect us," Mhikhel replied. "There's a reason Ghaeah forbids travel so close to the Black Cavities. Escape lies in only one direction."

"Don't fret, Father," Zhun'Mar replied without taking his eyes off the holobook. "That's exactly why the Protocols designate the Coordinates. To prevent treachery. We're too close to the Cavities' ergosphere for any ship to lie in ambush and Caerwin would fry anything that tried to pass anywhere near it. With the Radani escorting ships positioned at the perimeter, they're too far away for their weapons to reach us. Under stellarator sails it would take them at least a deci to reach the Coordinates. Plenty of time for us to retreat to safety."

Mhikhel's face reddened. Tarnlot doubted that Mhikhel would fly into a rage. Zhun'Mar was probably the only person who could state the obvious and avoid Mhikhel's wrath.

"I'm aware of all that. Doesn't mean I trust the scaly demons not to try something anyway." Mhikhel pointed a beefy finger at Zhun'Mar. "And don't you ever trust them either. Treaties and protocols mean nothing to them. Merely tools they manipulate to gain an advantage."

The warning beep sounded on the holo-sphere's tracker. The icon of the diamond-vessel entered the perimeter of the Coordinates. Tarnlot relaxed his shoulders; all of Mhikhel's tapping had been for naught.

"Father, the Quad's ship's arrived. On time." He started to smile until he saw Mhikhel turn in his direction and scowl.

"Scan it. I wouldn't put it past them to be armed."

Tarnlot didn't want his father's ingrained distrust to poison the parley before it began. "What if they interpret it as a hostile act and break off?"

Mhikhel's eyes hardened. "Do it! Now! Or I'll take the controls and get us out of here."

Tarnlot knew better than to question Mhikhel, either about taking the controls or his concern that the Radani could be armed. Tarnlot initiated the scan, stared at the screen. No weapon blips appeared on the diamond icon. He let out a long breath, looked up at Mhikhel. "Clear."

Tarnlot sensed a momentary look of disappointment in Mhikhel eyes. "Should I initiate contact?" Tarnlot asked.

Mhikhel's jaw tightened. "Let's get this farce over with. The sooner they show their bad faith, the sooner we can get out of this forsaken place."

Tarnlot initiated the contact sequence. He pointed at the open space in front of the conference table. "The Quad holos will project there. Set your neural translators for cel frequency Z-7. Turn off your aroma receptors unless you want to be assaulted by their stench."

Mhikhel stood and walked in front of the table. "The Quad will begin by standing and so shall we. Zhun'Mar to my left, Caykondra to my right. Tarnlot, behind me. Let the Quad view us as a quad also."

Caykondra and Zhun'Mar moved to Mhikhel's side. Tarnlot stood behind his father, surprised Mhikhel understood the significance of the quad formation to the Radani. Mhikhel had refused to review any of the briefing papers or to discuss negotiating tactics, adamant that he'd fought the Radani long enough and had enough advice from his "private counsel" to understand them. Tarnlot debated whether his father intended the quad as a display of respect or intimidation. Tarnlot suspected the latter.

Zhun'Mar pulled the sleeve of his ivory gown back and glanced at his wristchrono. "They'll make contact exactly at the scheduled time." Tarnlot noticed a bead of sweat trickle down Zhun'Mar's cheek. Perhaps a concerned set of nerves existed under that placid exterior.

Tarnlot peeked at Caykondra. Her shoulders moved up and down slowly. Tarnlot realized she must be using one of the Sisterhood's mind focusing techniques. She wouldn't be intimidated by the presence of the Quad. He hoped he'd face the Quad with equal strength.

The green light of the holo-jector flashed. Mhikhel straightened his back. "We begin," he said. "May Ghaeah guide me so that I return to my predecessors with honor."

Tarnlot stared over his father's shoulder at where the holos of the Quad would be projected. As the holos of the four members of the Quad formed, he too prayed to Ghaeah to guide Mhikhel. Tirano needed peace.

The four creatures stood close together in diamond formation. They resembled the Radani troops Tarnlot had seen at Phargon. A diamond-shaped head with its two diamond-shaped green eyes mounted on a black-scaled square torso with two spindly legs. But the Quad didn't cause Tarnlot's gut to knot with fear. The members of the Quad were tiny compared to the troops, smaller than Caykondra, and their claws had atrophied to small appendages held tightly against their torsos.

Each side warily watched as if measuring their long-time foe. Tarnlot thought the snout of the front creature wrinkled. Intelligence sources reported that the Radani didn't have the technology to turn off aroma receptors, and Tarnlot wondered if the Radani found the smell of humans repulsive. A part of him hoped they did.

Mhikhel broke the silence. "I am Mhikhel Arvor, King of Tirano. You requested parley. I am here. Speak or gone be."

Relief at a good beginning surged through Tarnlot. He hadn't known what his father would say, and to his surprise Mhikhel had spoken the traditional Radani greeting: Speak or gone be.

The Radani remained silent. Something must be wrong. Tarnlot's pulse quickened. The Quad should have responded with "speak we." Finally, the member at the front of the diamond facing Mhikhel opened its snout. A string of guttural grunts emitted that Tarnlot's neural translator chip instantaneously interpreted.

"Be I Gnu of Quad. Insult Quad you, Mhikhel Arvor, Tirano King. Come we faith good. Scan you ship, search weapons for. Possess you audacity, confront Quad, Phargon Butcher include." All four sets of Radani eyes focused in unison on Tarnlot.

Mhikhel glanced over his shoulder at Tarnlot; his eyes filled with amusement. He turned back to the Quad. "My son, Prince Tarnlot, stands at my back to protect me against Radani duplicity. If you come in good faith, you have nothing to fear from the Butcher."

A lightning bolt of realization struck Tarnlot. He locked his knees to keep from staggering. The Radani thought he'd been in command at Phargon. That he, not Colonel Nhoth, was responsible for slaughtering the Radani horde. He bit his tongue in an effort to remain expressionless. The coppery taste of blood filled his mouth. He tried not to imagine the hate the Radani must harbor. Instead, he focused on Mhikhel's maxim that the highest compliment an adversary can bestow is to fear you.

Gnu's eyes closed, he seemed to wobble. The other members of the Quad did the same, teetering like babies learning to stand. Tarnlot realized Gnu was linking with the other members of the Quad to determine how to respond to Mhikhel. He'd never seen such a vivid demonstration of how defenseless Radani were while they established a four-entity link. He wondered why they hadn't linked before facing Mhikhel. He'd have to remember to ask his father.

Tarnlot realized he wasn't focusing on what was important. All of his efforts to maneuver his father to this moment were wasted, doomed to result in the briefest parley in history because the Radani mistook him as the commander at Phargon. He wondered if his father knew all along that the Radani thought of him as the Butcher of Phargon and that was why Mhikhel insisted they stand in quad. He wanted to say something, tell the Quad the truth.

Gnu opened its eyes. "Possess we word your, Mhikhel Arvor? Abide Protocols Butcher?"

Mhikhel snorted. "Tirano abides by the Protocols. Do not continue to waste my time. If you do you not wish to speak, I will return to Tirano and release the Butcher to continue his massacre of your hordes."

Tarnlot thought he discerned a slight narrowing of Gnu's eyes, as though it seemed startled by Mhikhel's belligerence. "Speak we," Gnu replied.

"The Radani requested this parley," Mhikhel said brusquely. "Tirano will listen to your proposal."

"Collapse near, Tirano, allies," Gnu grunted. "Possess defense none soon. Radani slaughter colonists no." His eyes focused on Tarnlot. "Like Phargon Butcher. Offer we survival your kind."

Gnu paused, fixed his eyes on Tarnlot. Tarnlot tried not to express surprise that colonists not troops, had been cornered at Phargon. He held Gnu's gaze despite the horror of the thought of what would have happened at Phargon if those had been Radani troops. He doubted that Nhoth's infantry would have been victorious.

"Do not waste my time with such drivel," Mhikhel said as if to break Tarnlot's train of thought. "You have spent three deka-loops savaging our galaxy. Killing all in your path, civilian or military, armed or unarmed. Now you have the audacity to call your occupying troops colonists.

"Now you have tasted our wrath." Mhikhel paused, and from his place behind Mhikhel, Tarnlot could see the corner of Mhikhel's mouth curl into a savage smile. He imagined the demonic glint of Mhikhel's eyes. "For the first time we acted like Radani. Fought until no Radani remained to plague Phargon. You do not fool me. The survival you seek is for the Radani."

"Believe Mhikhel Arvor that, speak no we."

Mhikhel didn't respond. Each side stared at the other, waiting to see who would break the silence. Tarnlot fought the urge to speak, to try to salvage the parley. The myria dragged on until Mhikhel spoke.

"Enough posturing. I am too old for games. And I see from the wisdom in your eyes that you are too."

Tarnlot hoped the shock didn't show in his face. He'd never expected his father to compliment the Quad, on anything. Each set of the Quad's eyes flickered in unison as if it too did not expect such words from Mhikhel.

"Mhikhel Arvor, yes, correct you. Play game for young, inexperienced. Not Quad."

"Speak you. Listen I. Parley we."

Mhikhel's unexpected use of Quad syntax caused Tarnlot to feign a deep breath to mask his gasp. The heads of the Quad nodded in unison, as if they noted and appreciated Mhikhel's syntax. Perhaps Mhikhel did know how to deal with the Radani.

Gnu pointed at the conference table. "Sit you. Sit we. Parley all."

Time flew as Tarnlot watched a facet of his father that he had never known existed. The intimidating bully became a consummate diplomat. Cajoling as needed; firm, but fair, when necessary. Tarnlot had always assumed Mhikhel's sole method of persuasion consisted of coercion and intimidation, which was probably the only way to hold the Archonan factions in line. He pondered when and where Mhikhel had learned the art of diplomacy. This performance left no doubt that he still had much to learn from, and about, his father.

After several deci, the details of a cease-fire and the boundaries of a neutral zone were ironed out. One impasse to a permanent peace remained: the future of Tirgot III, the only planet occupied by both Radani and Tiranoan forces. The Quad offered peace in exchange for Tiranoan withdrawal from III. Tarnlot would have agreed on the spot. Tirgot III was too near Radani territory and too devastated from the Radani biologics to be worth the cost to continue to defend it. Mhikhel refused.

After a deci of continued haggling over Tirgot III, Mhikhel sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. "Commit withdrawal, power no have I. Future Tirgot III, speak advisors must I."

Tarnlot recognized immediately that Mhikhel was creating an excuse to end the parley. Mhikhel would never feel compelled to consult the Royal Council on such a matter. He'd inform them of his decision and browbeat any dissenters into agreement. Tarnlot wasn't sure, though, whether Mhikhel wanted time to gain support for withdrawal from Tirgot III or to prepare for a fight to the death there.

"Agree Quad," Gnu said. "Fire cease you we. Speak you advisors. Meet here spin twenty. Speak we, withdrawal Tirgot III."

Mhikhel stood. He towered over the Quad with his arms tensed to show every muscle; a display of physical intimidation Tarnlot had experienced more than once. "Do not be so arrogant as to presume whose withdrawal we will discuss. There are some things the Arvors will never agree to. We do not fear to fight the Radani for what we cherish."

Mhikhel's tone sounded like the combative Mhikhel Tarnlot had expected. After such a consummate display of diplomacy, Tarnlot wondered why Mhikhel had chosen to end the parley in such a confrontational manner. But Tarnlot refused to second guess. He no longer doubted that Mhikhel knew how to deal with the Radani.

Gnu and the other members of the Quad wrinkled their snouts. Their holos dissolved. The moment the holos disappeared, Mhikhel's shoulders slumped. "Get us out of here, Tarnlot. I don't want to remain in this place with its Radani stench."

Mhikhel laid his hand on Zhun'Mar's shoulder. "Son, there will be a heavy price exacted for what I've agreed to today. I pray we can keep the hard-liners under control. They're going to scream for my head."

He looked at Tarnlot, his face haggard and the usual blaze of his eyes muted. "I hope you've learned all I've tried to teach you. I'm depending on you to help me keep them in line. To make sure there's a throne for your brother to inherit."

Tarnlot had never seen his father look so tired, or ask for anyone's help. He hoped it reflected the stress of the parley and not doubts about the establishment of the cease-fire.

Mhikhel turned to Caykondra. "Well, High Sibyl. What does your Vision project? Have I doomed Tirano?" he asked sarcastically.

Caykondra grasped her pendant and tilted her head as if she were listening to someone. Red swirls formed in the pendant. "After input of the cease-fire, Vision projects peace with the Radani." She bit her lower lip. "But the projection for you does not intersect. Only the projections for Zhun'Mar and Tarnlot intersect."

Mhikhel had always ridiculed Sibyl projections, refused to take them seriously. In his current mood, he might explode at a projection that implied he'd die before peace was attained. Tarnlot stepped closer to Caykondra, prepared to intervene if his father threatened to strike her.

To Tarnlot's surprise, Mhikhel broke into a deep belly laugh. "Ah, young lady. I don't need a computer projection to know the obvious. That the final blow of the war has not been struck. I never expected to live to see final peace with the Radani, and I don't expect my sons will either. But I like you. You have the spunk to speak the truth, and that's going to be needed more than ever."

Mhikhel looked at Tarnlot, the roguish twinkle had returned to Mhikhel's eyes. "Contact Admiral Kiptani. Tell him to convene a meeting of the Council when we return. And tell him to include Colonel Nhoth. It appears this little Sibyl wants me to face the consequences of today sooner than I'd anticipated."

-4-

Royal Council Chamber

Arvor Castel

Planet Tirano

Colonel Ohlav Nhoth rose slowly out of his chair and stood at attention in his olive-drab fatigues, every muscle in his body taut. He riveted his eyes on Tarnlot. The muscle along his jaw twitched and his nostrils flared. The stocky Nhoth reminded Tarnlot of a Rwohn longhorn bull preparing to charge, and Tarnlot knew the object to be gored. When Nhoth pointed his finger across the Council table at Tarnlot, Nhoth's hand shook from unconcealed rage.

"This slinking away like a bunch of steppe-worms stinks of your doing," Nhoth said in an icy monotone, his lips actually moving to emphasize his disgust. "It's an hansblixian insult to the Koah. Until my troops wiped out the horde at Phargon, the Radani had never breathed a word of peace. Now that we kicked their asses, if the scaly vermin even have any, they're running scared. But instead of pressing our hard won advantage, you let a little spilt blood turn you into a coward."

Tarnlot gripped the edge of the table and squeezed. He wished the hard surface was Nhoth's throat. He endured Nhoth's taunts about his being half-KaNoa because that was true. He wouldn't permit Nhoth to call him a coward in front of the Council.

He rose slowly out of his chair to mock Nhoth's dramatics. He clenched his fists. Before he could speak, Mhikhel grabbed his arm. Mhikhel's grip tightened like a vice.

"Both of you, sit down," Mhikhel said gruffly.

Tarnlot didn't want to sit first. His ears rang with Nhoth's taunting him as a child that his daddy had to protect him from his betters. He continued to glare at Nhoth. Nhoth opened his mouth as if to speak.

Before Nhoth could utter a word, Mhikhel's fist pounded the table with the force of a concus-blaster. "Both of you!" The table reverberated and Tarnlot expected the impact to crack the muhrwood. "Sit now! Or you'll find yourself on a one-way trip to the blackest pit in the Cavities."

Tarnlot knew better than to defy Mhikhel. He might be the next recipient of Mhikhel's fist. He sat. Nhoth descended slowly and returned Tarnlot's glare with a smug smirk . Tarnlot realized Nhoth had intended to bait him. Nhoth knew that any confrontation would never have come to blows. If Mhikhel hadn't acted, the Vhirko on duty would have intervened, and even someone as skilled in hand-to-hand combat as Nhoth wouldn't be stupid enough to fight a Vhirko. Least of all the fierce Olena, Commandant of the Vhirko Brigade, who stood behind Mhikhel.

Tarnlot took a deep breath and prayed he hadn't made too big of a fool of himself in front of the Council members. He stared straight ahead, afraid to make eye contact with Caykondra, Zhun'Mar, or Admiral Kiptani. And he didn't want to suffer the sight of the scornful sneer that Count Rohfek would have on his fat face. He couldn't permit Nhoth to continually get under his skin. Someday, he'd have to figure out how to turn the tables, bait Nhoth into acting like the fool. It'd be sweet revenge for two deka-loops of torment.

Tarnlot sensed Mhikhel's eyes boring a hole through him. A bead of sweat formed on his forehead. He wondered if he was the only one who felt like the temperature in the Chamber had risen several notches. Out of the corner of his eyes, he glanced at his father. The set of Mhikhel's jaw displayed the annoyance of a father with an errant child. Tarnlot knew he best remain quiet.

Mhikhel leaned forward and pointed a finger at Nhoth. "Never again call my son a coward. The cease-fire was my decision, not his. I don't consider the deaths of 3,883 of my best troops by a horde of weaponless Radani to be a little spilt blood." He paused, shook his head. "I consider the loss of those troops an unmitigated disaster. A disaster that shall not be repeated as long as I sit on the Golden Vine Throne."

Despite the vehemence in Mhikhel's voice, Nhoth's expression remained intransigent. Mhikhel lowered his hand and shook his head as if exasperated. Tarnlot hoped Mhikhel would relieve Nhoth of command of the Koah on the spot.

"I share your concerns, Colonel," Mhikhel said in a lower and more conciliatory tone. "I am neither naive nor a fool. I know we'll have to fight the Radani again. I suggest we use this interlude to determine how to defeat the Radani at the cost of fewer Tiranoan lives."

Nhoth's expression did not change. "Sire, permission to speak freely."

Few would make such a request of Mhikhel in private. Tarnlot doubted that anyone had ever dared to make such a request in full Council. A silence filled the Chamber, as if everyone but Nhoth was afraid to breathe. In his seat next to Nhoth, Count Rohfek stared at the table as if that would make him invisible. Tarnlot hoped his father's patience with Nhoth would finally snap. To his surprise, Mhikhel merely sat in his chair and nodded. "Speak."

"How do we know that the Radani won't use this cease-fire to develop some new tactics and weapons? We have the ability to keep the pressure on them while we have the upper hand." Nhoth had resumed his command manner; his upper lip never moved. "The troops have tasted Radani blood. They're willing to do whatever is necessary to rid the galaxy of the Radani menace and are prepared to die if that is necessary. But they're not prepared to stand down and play war games."

Tarnlot recognized Nhoth's ploy. Nhoth thought his command demeanor could convince Mhikhel that he spoke with the authority of one whose troops would do whatever he asked. Nhoth's barely hidden threat hung in the air: Mhikhel should not presume that Nhoth would ask the troops to blindly follow Mhikhel's decision. Tarnlot had never seen anyone so openly challenge Mhikhel's authority and not feel his wrath.

The lines at the corner of Mhikhel's eyes tightened ever so slightly. Tarnlot had seen that reaction many times. Mhikhel's tolerance had snapped. Tarnlot bit back his smile. Nhoth had pushed his status as Commander of the Koah beyond the limit. The slightest additional provocation and Mhikhel would send Nhoth into exile.

"Then, I suggest you prepare them to do so," Mhikhel replied sarcastically.

Nhoth shook his head, opened his mouth to speak. Before he could say anything, Mhikhel spoke. "Do not say another word, Colonel. If you can't prepare the troops to follow my command, then you leave me no choice but to find someone who can. It is your choice."

Nhoth held Mhikhel's gaze. "I will prepare them, Sire."

Tarnlot thought he detected a hint of disgust in Nhoth's voice. He looked to see if Mhikhel noticed the same thing. Mhikhel's head was lowered and he was entering notations in his holopad. If Mhikhel had noticed Nhoth's impertinence, he'd chosen to ignore it.

"Good," Mhikhel said. He raised his face, rubbed the palms of his hands together. "And I'll give you something to do to keep them busy. Immediately prior to my departure for Caerwin, I'll review all home-based regiments arrayed in full battle armament. Inspection on the Castel parade grounds commencing exactly at third deci. Every piece of equipment better be in full operating condition, and the troops in crack shape.

"You have your orders." Mhikhel nodded towards the door. "That will be all, Colonel."

Nhoth saluted. "The Koah will be in Arvor Square and ready as ordered, Sire."

As Nhoth strode out the door of the Council Chamber, his face turned a deeper shade of red with each step. Nhoth would seethe for spins. If they weren't such Archonan toadies, Tarnlot would feel sorry for the aides waiting for Nhoth in the hallway. They'd suffer Nhoth's wrath for the public dressing down Mhikhel had administered.

Count Rohfek coughed, drawing attention in his direction. "Sire," Rohfek said in the unctuous tone he always used in Mhikhel's presence. His fingers jiggled the fat under his double chin. "Colonel Nhoth may come on a little too strong, but he voices the shock that jolted many of us when we heard of the cease-fire and the proposed peace terms. You'd do well to heed his remarks. He has many supporters in and out of the Koah that believe the Radani hordes must not be permitted to occupy the tiniest part of Tirgot III."

Rohfek paused and projected what Tarnlot knew was a phony smile. "I'm sure you appreciate how hard I strive to explain to them the wisdom of peace at the cost of such a devastated world. But despite my efforts many fail to understand."

"Oh, I can imagine how hard you must try, Hoj" Mhikhel said in an equally unctuous tone. He returned Rohfek's phony smile. "I suggest you continue your efforts. It would require nearly all of the Royal Armada's ships to attempt to remove the Radani from Tirgot III." Mhikhel lifted his hands with his palms up. "I would be left with no choice but to recall all of the Colony Fleet ships from Tahnulus. I'm afraid your Tahnulus estates would be left unprotected, and not even Colonel Nhoth would be in a position to prevent Radani raiders from pillaging Tahnulus."

Rohfek's double chins trembled. "You wouldn't dare."

Mhikhel merely smiled, evidently content to watch Rohfek squirm. Tarnlot wasn't. He'd endured enough insolence for one day. He wanted Rohfek to fear the loss of all of his wealth, not just his Tahnulus estates. He laid his arms on the table and leaned toward Rohfek. "Never question the word of an Arvor, especially my father. Men have been stripped of their lands and sent into exile for less."

Rohfek's eyes darted toward Mhikhel.

"I would listen to him," Mhikhel said with his smile turning vicious. "As you so often tell your friends, he is my son."

The corners of Rohfek's lips curled. "We all know exactly who he is, Sire." He rose out of his chair. "I will take my leave now. I have heard your charge and have much to attend to."

Tarnlot stifled a laugh as Rohfek's egg-shaped body scurried out of the Chamber. The Count would probably head directly to the dinner table to eat and drink until he'd gorged himself. Tarnlot hoped Rohfek would invite his friends to that meal. Rohfek's fear of crossing Mhikhel was so palpable that he couldn't help but instill that fear in his cronies.

When the door closed behind Rohfek, Admiral Kiptani spoke. "Sire, do you want me to have Armada SecOps keep an eye on those two? We should know who they see, figure out who their cohorts are."

Mhikhel ran his hand through his hair. "No. The Count is harmless, and I won't give my old friend Ohlav any reason to suspect that I doubt his loyalty. I still have need of him. Only a fanatic would keep a Radani claw on his desk as a trophy and volunteer for land combat with the Radani. We will need more zealots like him before all of this is over."

Zhun'Mar rubbed his beard. "Father, there is precedent for Admiral Kiptani's concern. Remember the reign of Thorl? Thorl agreed to what was widely criticized as a disadvantageous treaty with the Awoi. The general staff of the Koah attempted a coup, barricaded Thorl in Arvor Castel. The coup failed only because the KaNoa troops refused to obey the staff's orders to assault the Castel."

Mhikhel quirked an eyebrow at Zhun'Mar. "What makes you think the troops would act differently today?"

Caykondra cradled her pendant in her palm. "Sire," she said.

Mhikhel shoved his chair back, its screech pierced the chamber and echoed off the domed ceiling. Caykondra stiffened in her chair, her eyes wide. She tightened her fingers around her pendant.

"Do not contact that annoying computer," Mhikhel said emphasizing each word. "Despite the hocus pocus you Sibyls conjure, a computer's projection of probabilities is not a vision of the future. The actions of people make the future. And people don't act according to a pre-ordained script, no matter how much computer research goes into it. I have to rely on what my gut tells me about how someone will act. And my gut says I need not fear Nhoth. Just to be like his father, he'd sacrifice his life to save mine. He cares as much about the future of Tirano as any one at this table. Perhaps more."

Mhikhel waved his hand in the air. "This meeting is adjourned. I want all of you out of my sight."

Tarnlot followed the others toward the chamber door. As he stepped into the hallway's bright lights, it dawned on him that Mhikhel used his temper tantrums to force others to leave him alone so he could think. Undoubtedly, Mhikhel would already be determining how to deal with Rohfek's lament that Archonan nobles would object to exchanging the tiniest part of Tirgot III for peace.

Tarnlot watched Mhikhel. Mhikhel's back was turned to the door. Tarnlot wished his father wouldn't shut him out, didn't always insist that he needed to be alone with the Ring and its private counsel. Tarnlot wanted, needed, Mhikhel to open up and share his thinking and ideas. Tarnlot was tired of constantly being forced to guess what his father intended. He could learn so much from Mhikhel. Knowledge that he would need when the time came for him to counsel Zhun'Mar. The bookworm Zhun'Mar would never possess Mhikhel's innate understanding of people, what Mhikhel called his "gut." Tarnlot needed more than merely watching Mhikhel if he was ever to develop a gut that could manipulate people as skillfully as Mhikhel did. Especially if he and Zhun'Mar ever faced precarious times such as these.

With that thought, Tarnlot doubted that anyone could ever replace Mhikhel's iron fist. Without Mhikhel, the factions would bicker like children and neither he nor Zhun'Mar would be capable of keeping them in line. Luckily for all of Tirano, the indestructible Mhikhel would find a way to handle the Radani and placate the Archonan. Tarnlot just wished he knew how Mhikhel planned to do so.

-5-

Tarnlot's Chamber

Royal Compound

Rwohn Mountains

Planet Tirano

Tarnlot's head snapped back and he realized he'd dozed off in his desk chair. He flicked off his scanviewer. The holo of his briefing book melted. Even though the maid had turned down the sheets on his bed three deci earlier, he'd continued to read in an effort to finish all of the briefing papers. The only tangible result from wasting the past ten deci reading the turgid commentaries: eyes so dry that his eyelids grated like sandpaper. He never suspected that so many words could be written and yet say so little. Unfortunately, someone had to know what the papers contained. Because of his proclivity to research every cross-reference, Zhun'Mar probably was still analyzing the first page of the first paper. And he knew his father wouldn't bother to read one word.

Tarnlot walked across the muhrwood floor and gazed out the dormer window. In the cloudless night sky the translucent luster of the Encircling Belts illuminated the rows of the terraced vineyard cascading down the steep hillside. Tarnlot opened the window to a warm star-filled night and inhaled the fresh air laden with the taste of ripening grapes. The view and the fragrant air didn't, however, invoke their usual calming effect. Mhikhel's actions continued to frustrate Tarnlot.

Mhikhel had insisted on preparing for the parley at Rwohn Compound, accompanied only by Zhun'Mar, Tarnlot, a squad of Vhirko, and his personal household staff. All of which raised Tarnlot's hopes that Mhikhel would spend the time in planning sessions explaining to them what he intended to do, and why. Instead, Mhikhel spent most of the time holed up in his private chambers, "seeking the Ring's counsel."

Tomorrow they'd return to the Castel to inspect the Koah before departing for Caerwin, and Tarnlot had no idea what Mhikhel was going to do. He wondered if Mhikhel knew, or if Mhikhel would "follow his gut" and not decide until the parley began.

Tarnlot tried to blink the grains of sand out of his eyes and failed. He should rest, but knew he wouldn't be able to fall asleep. His mind was wound tight in a ball from worry about the parley and his eyes ached so badly that he could feel his pulse throbbing in them. He needed to relax and think of something that would take his mind off his frustrations. The wine cave. It'd been his sanctuary when he was a child. He'd spent hours helping Cellar Master Moheix clean barrels, pump over the new harvest, and had even sneaked a few sips from the abductor. Given what would happen in the next few spins, he didn't know if he'd be able to spend any time in the cave during this loop's harvest.

Tarnlot was surprised how much better he felt after the brisk walk along the Compound's fieldstone rock walls. The clean night air refreshed his lungs and soothed his eyes. When he opened the arched muhrwood doors to the cave, the sweet aroma of wine aging in the barrels greeted him. He stepped inside, surprised to see that the row of lights at the back of the cave remained lit. He smiled. Even in his declining years, Cellar Master Moheix remained notorious for worrying about some detail and scurrying to the cave in the middle of the night. He hadn't seen the old man in cycles and was glad that he'd have the opportunity before leaving for Caerwin. With the precarious times and Moheix's infirmities, he might never see . . . . Tarnlot stopped his thought; he refused to be morbid. He'd come to the cave to relax.

As he walked along the rows of barrels stacked from floor to ceiling, Tarnlot realized nothing had changed in the deka-loops since he'd been a child. The white wines on one side of the cave, the reds on the other, with the youngest vintages in the front and the vintages increasing in age with each row. As he approached the last row, he could see a man's shadow among the barrels where the oldest reds aged. He turned the aisle to greet Moheix, froze in his tracks at the sight of a man in an ivory robe. Mhikhel stood staring at a barrel.

Mhikhel turned his head toward Tarnlot. In the shadowy light Tarnlot couldn't discern his father's mood, but assumed Mhikhel wouldn't be pleased at being interrupted.

"Sorry, Father. I didn't see any Vhirko and thought you must be Master Moheix."

Mhikhel didn't say a word and returned his gaze to the barrel. Tarnlot wondered what his father was doing and how he'd managed to slip away from the Vhirko. "Do you think it's safe for you to be traipsing around unguarded?"

"Unh," Mhikhel grunted. "I've developed a few ways of getting away from those Vhirko pests when I want to be alone."

Tarnlot couldn't help but notice the emphasis on alone. "I'll leave, then."

Mhikhel shook his head. "Every time I look at this barrel I think about what could have been. Of the happiness I sacrificed to be King."

Tarnlot couldn't remember his father ever looking or sounding so pensive. Perhaps the strain of preparing for the Radani also weighed on Mhikhel. He decided to remain silent and see if his father would continue.

"Before you were born, I brought the only woman I ever loved here."

Tarnlot wondered what Mhikhel was trying to tell him. He was certain Mhikhel wasn't talking about Zhun'Mar's mother. Everyone in the Castel knew the only reason Mhikhel had married Rhamona was to produce an heir, and some old wags said Mhikhel seemed relieved when she died giving birth to Zhun'Mar.

"Mother?" Tarnlot said softly.

Mhikhel laughed, not a scornful laugh, but a friendly laugh. "Oh, I enjoyed your mother's company, but I didn't meet her until I'd lost the ability to love any woman. No, son, it was someone else. Someone I drove away for stupid reasons. Reasons I'm no longer proud of."

Tarnlot looked up at the cave's granite ceiling. Even though he'd always known intellectually that Mhikhel didn't love his mother, it hurt to hear Mhikhel confirm it.

Mhikhel laid his hand on Tarnlot's shoulder. "Do you know why I brought you to the Castel to be raised with Zhun'Mar?"

First the mention of some woman he loved and then this question. The question Tarnlot had groped with his whole life, had always been afraid to ask. He opened his mouth, his vocal chords refused to budge. It took all the effort he could summon to shake his head tightly in response.

"From the first time I held you in my arms, I saw the sparkle of vibrancy in your eyes. The same sparkle she had in her eyes. The sparkle lacking in so many Archonan after millennia of inbreeding. Look at Colonel's Nhoth's boy-loving son. Can you imagine what would happen if Rheginahld, or some idiot like him, sat on the Golden Vine Throne? I realized she was right. I wanted to force people to take a long hard look at what we'd become. To accept that we could change our ways for the better."

Mhikhel chewed his lip. Tarnlot was afraid his father was going to stop. He wanted to keep Mhikhel talking. "Change?" Tarnlot said softly. "How?"

"Not the way the Sisterhood tries to engineer, reshuffling the same Archonan genes over and over. That's why they're stuck doing the same thing over and over. It's the random mixing, the unexpected new strands, that rejuvenates. That's what Tirano must learn to accept if it is to remain strong."

Mhikhel chuckled and winked at Tarnlot. "I've seen the way you look at the High Sibyl. She's a cute little thing, but don't waste your time. Those frigid witches no longer remember how real babies are created."

Tarnlot didn't realize his fascination with Caykondra had been so obvious. Before he could try to explain that their relationship was platonic, Mhikhel resumed a somber countenance.

"I raised Zhun'Mar to think of you not only as his brother, but as his equal. The long-term survival of Tirano depends on his continuing what I've begun."

Mhikhel's thumb rubbed the Golden Vine Ring's opal grape-cluster setting. "At his coronation, each Arvor inserts a new grape on the Ring's cluster. This tradition permits each new Sovereign to understand what his predecessors did and what he should do. When it is time, I will show Zhun'Mar how."

Mhikhel grabbed Tarnlot's shoulder. "But even with the Ring's counsel, he will never be an infighter like you. You do what he can't. Be his iron fist and maintain day-to-day control. Keep the factions in line. Don't ever let any of them seize control. My legacy depends on Zhun'Mar's success in finishing what we've started."

Tarnlot took his father's hand. Energy sparked from the Ring's grape cluster. The hair on Tarnlot's arm rose and his implant tingled. "You have my oath. As an Arvor. As your son."

"Enough of this maudlin rambling," Mhikhel said gruffly. "You look exhausted. Go get some sleep. I need to get back to work. We're so close to coming up with the solution. We just need a little more time."

"I'll help," Tarnlot said quickly.

Mhikhel shook his head. "This is something I have to do alone. I'll fill you in when we've unraveled the last piece of the equation." He chuckled. "The Sibyls will be shocked. Despite all their projections, they don't think we know how."

"I'll walk back to the Compound with you," Tarnlot said, not wanting the conversation to end.

"No. Go on. There's something I want to do before I return to my chamber."

"I'll send a Vhirko to accompany you."

Mhikhel's face hardened. "Don't tell those pests I'm here. I need privacy for what I'm doing. Now leave."

Tarnlot recognized the royal command. As he walked back to his room, Tarnlot replayed every moment of the encounter. At last, Mhikhel had opened up, expressed some of his inner feelings. Tarnlot didn't know, or care, why Mhikhel had chosen to forge a new relationship tonight or why he chose to do so only when they met accidentally in the wine cave. He couldn't possibly have known Tarnlot would be there. None of that mattered. What mattered was that Mhikhel had confided in him, and he swore that he would do whatever it took to fulfill his oath to his father. From now on he'd analyze everything Mhikhel did to learn how to become Zhun'Mar's iron fist.

He stopped in front of the Compound's portico and looked up at the stars. The blackness of the Cavities smudged the distant horizon. A shudder ran through him. In a short time they would again parley with the Radani at Caerwin, and evidently even Mhikhel couldn't decide how to deal with the vile creatures. Tarnlot didn't want to think about what might happen if Mhikhel couldn't come up with a solution, couldn't "unravel the last piece of the equation."

-6-

Tarnlot's Chamber

Royal Compound

Rwohn Mountains

Planet Tirano

A concussion of thunder exploded. The door vibrated on its hinges. Tarnlot opened his eyes to darkness. It took a moment until he remembered he was at the Compound. He groaned. Last night's forecast didn't mention any storms. Heavy rains and wind would be disastrous so close to harvest.

A second thunderclap rattled the door, its hinges groaned to hold it in the frame. A third thunderclap followed, and Tarnlot realized it wasn't thunder. Someone was pounding on his door, almost as if trying to knock it down. He sat up, sighed. He must have overslept for anyone to create a racket that could raise the dead.

"Turn on lights," he mumbled to the controls. The ceiling lights flashed to full brightness and he blinked until his eyes adjusted. The banging continued. He'd have a pounding headache if the banging didn't stop.

"For Ghaeah's sake, open the door," he shouted at the controls.

The door retracted and a Vhirko burst through, her laser knife drawn. Zhun'Mar stood behind her, wearing a night robe. Zhun'Mar scurried to the end of the bed, his face ashen. "Thank Ghaeah you're not harmed."

A wave of impatience washed through Tarnlot. He didn't appreciate being wakened from his first restful sleep in spins. "Of course not. Now get out of here and let me sleep."

Zhun'Mar's eyes widened. "Someone tried to assassinate Father."

An iron clamp constricted around Tarnlot's gut. "Father?" Sharp pain radiated up his chest as though a stunner had blasted him. "Is he okay?"

"I don't know." Zhun'Mar's voice said in a quavering tone. "Lieutenant Mirae awakened me. The guards outside his door heard a crash in his room. When he didn't respond, they key-lasered the door. They found him on the floor, bleeding, and sent for his staff doctors."

Zhun'Mar pulled on his beard, his eyes wide and unfocused. "What are we going to do?"

Tarnlot bounded off the bed. "We're going to Father to make sure he's okay." He grabbed his robe off the bed and slipped into it.

"That's not a good idea," the Vhirko said in a raspy voice. "We're not yet certain what happened. There may be a Radani assassin loose in the Compound. You and Prince Zhun'Mar should remain in this wing until we've secured the Compound."

"I don't care," Tarnlot said. "I'm going."

Tarnlot scrutinized the blond-headed Vhirko who blocked the doorway. He couldn't remember seeing her previously, and he wouldn't have forgotten her vivid cobalt-blue eyes. Even though she stood only slightly taller than Caykondra, her sinewy frame reflected a Vhirko's training. If a Radani assassin roamed the Compound, the Vhirko would prove more of a match for it than a squad of Nhoth's troops. "You stay here with Zhun'Mar. Don't let anything happen to him."

"I'm going with you," Zhun'Mar said. His firm tone surprised Tarnlot. Zhun'Mar looked at the Vhirko. "Lieutenant Mirae can protect us both."

The Vhirko's eyes tightened as if she debated her response. Tarnlot wondered if she'd stop them. She pulled her laser pistol from her belt. The intensity in her eyes frightened Tarnlot. She wouldn't hesitate to stun him if she felt her duty required it. He decided not to resist if she refused to allow them leave the room.

"Do you know how to use one of these?" she asked.

Tarnlot nodded.

"Good. Take it." She handed the pistol to Tarnlot. "I'll lead. You bring up the rear. Protect Prince Zhun'Mar's back."

Tarnlot grabbed the pistol, feeling the weapons superb balance in his hand. The meticulously maintained weapon would fire perfectly if he needed to use it. He nodded to Mirae. She stepped through the doorway and rotated her head to scan the hallway.

"Clear. Stay close," she said in a scratchy whisper.

Tarnlot followed Zhun'Mar out the door. As they progressed through the bright lights of the marble-tiled hallway, he admired Mirae's sleek movements, like a Rwohn steppecat circling to protect its cubs. He was thankful Mhikhel had ordered the Vhirko to keep Zhun'Mar in sight at all times. If only Mhikhel would have agreed to the same vigilance for himself instead of slipping away unguarded. Unguarded!

All of the blood drained from Tarnlot's face. A flash-freezing numbness sped down his legs. He placed his hand against the wall to keep from stumbling. He could have prevented the attack. He should have told the Vhirko that he'd seen Mhikhel alone in the cave. If he had, Mhikhel couldn't have wandered around unguarded. The attackers probably saw Mhikhel slip away from the Vhirko and waylaid him when he tried to sneak back into his chamber.

Tarnlot's mind recoiled in anger at his unwise actions. He should have acted responsibly instead of thinking only about his joy that Mhikhel had confided in him. He vowed never to repeat such a blunder. He wouldn't permit the safety of Mhikhel or Zhun'Mar to ever again be endangered by his personal feelings, or their ingrained stubbornness.

He started to pray to Ghaeah that his error hadn't caused any serious harm to Mhikhel, but decided he was foolish to worry about the indestructible Mhikhel. Mhikhel would have beaten off any attackers, even Radani, before they could hurt him. They'd all have a good laugh listening to Mhikhel retell the story.

Lieutenant Mirae reached a turn in the hallway and raised her hand to halt them. She crouched in the attack position, pivoted around the turn. Tarnlot welcomed the chance to pull himself together. He needed to concentrate like a Vhirko, focus on Zhun'Mar's safety and not on thoughts about what he should have done. He'd face those consequences later, and he'd make sure Mhikhel did, too.

"Clear," Lieutenant Mirae said. She motioned for Zhun'Mar and Tarnlot to continue. She repeated the procedure at each turn. Even though Mhikhel's chambers were located nearby in the next wing, it seemed like several deci elapsed by the time they reached Mhikhel's chamber.

Two Vhirko guards crouched in challenge position in front of the chamber's double doors. Mirae halted in front of the guards. She balled her fist and flashed a hand sign at the guards. "I bring Prince Zhun'Mar and Prince Tarnlot to see their father," she said.

"Our orders are to let no one pass," the guard on the right, a corporal, responded.

Tarnlot understood the reasons for Mirae's cautious passage through the halls, but he'd waited long enough. He stepped forward. "To keep me out, you're going to have to attack a member of the royal family that you've sworn to protect."

"Two members," Zhun'Mar responded from Tarnlot's side.

Tarnlot reached for the palm scanner on the door handle, uncertain what the Vhirko would do. His heart thumped against his ribs. He wanted inside, to see with his own eyes that his father was safe.

"I will assume full responsibility for admitting them," Lieutenant Mirae said in her raspy monotone.

The eyes of the two guards darted at each other momentarily, then back at Mirae. "Yes, Lieutenant," the corporal replied.

Tarnlot took a deep breath, thankful that Lieutenant Mirae had shown the initiative to assume responsibility and avoid a confrontation. With his palm on the scanner he pushed the door handle. The door retracted. The sting of antiseptics assaulted his nostrils and a red stain on the white marble floor drew his eyes like a magnet. His legs wobbled. Not a stain, a pool of blood. He staggered into the room. He prayed that the blood wasn't Mhikhel's, but knew Radani blood was a milky ichor.

Tarnlot forced himself to raise his head and look at his father's four-poster bed. Mhikhel lay face-up on the golden quilt, surrounded by the two doctors on the household staff. Mhikhel didn't move and Tarnlot couldn't tell if Mhikhel was conscious. As much as Tarnlot wanted to rush to the bed, his legs seemed to sink deeper and deeper in flatland swamp. He could only stare at the unnatural pasty whiteness of Mhikhel's face and the slackness of his jaw.

"Father!" Zhun'Mar screamed behind him.

One of the doctors turned his head toward Tarnlot, his lips pressed tight. He motioned for Tarnlot to come to the bed. Tarnlot stumbled to his father. Blood dripped from a deep gash torn through Mhikhel's chest and stomach, soaking the quilt. The gash the like those he'd seen on the dead troops at Phargon. A gash none survived.

Mhikhel's chest rose spasmodically. Tarnlot grabbed Mhikhel's hand; it was frigid and blue. Tears burned Tarnlot's eyes and by his side he heard Zhun'Mar stifle a sob.

"Father, Father," Zhun'Mar said softly.

Mhikhel's eyes fluttered open. He gasped, a shudder racked his body. He opened his mouth. "I was afraid you wouldn't make it in time," he said in a hoarse whisper. He looked at Zhun'Mar. "I'd hoped for more time to complete-" His face shook as he tried to draw a breath. "The Ring. Learn how to control. It . . . help."

Mhikhel's eyes slowly moved onto Tarnlot, as if their slightest movement created wrenching pain. Mhikhel coughed, blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth. He gasped for air. A doctor leaned over Mhikhel, but Mhikhel shook his head slowly. The doctor stepped back. Mhikhel laid his hand on Tarnlot's, his eyes straining to focus on Tarnlot. For an instant Mhikhel's eyes filled with his 'I expect no failure' imperative. "Remember your oath," he whispered.

Mhikhel's eyelids drooped. His hand went limp on Tarnlot's. His chest seemed to collapse and his labored breathing stopped.

"No!" Tarnlot screamed.

Someone's hand gripped his shoulder. He looked up at a doctor. The doctor shook his head. "Don't let him die! Do something!" Tarnlot yelled.

The doctor leaned over Mhikhel and felt for a pulse on Mhikhel's neck. The doctor shook his head. "He'd lost too much blood by the time we arrived. There was nothing we could do but ease his pain. Only his will kept him alive until you arrived."

Tarnlot couldn't keep his lips from quivering. This can't be happening, not to Father.

"No, no," Zhun'Mar sobbed. Tears streamed down his face.

Mhikhel's last words rang in Tarnlot's ears. He bit back the cry that wanted to escape from his throat. He would protect Zhun'Mar, help him fight through this loss of their father.

"We must be strong for him, my brother," he whispered in Zhun'Mar's ear. "He would have expected no less, and we will not fail him."

Zhun'Mar stood, straightened his back. Tears remained in his eyes as he stared at Mhikhel.

Tarnlot lifted Mhikhel's hand off the bed. Mhikhel's fingers had turned rigid and Tarnlot struggled to pull the Golden Vine Ring over the gnarled knuckle of Mhikhel's little finger. He stifled a sob as the Ring slipped off Mhikhel. He cradled the Ring in his hand and remembered the last time he'd touched the Ring. The power he'd felt flowing from it. Now it was cold and inert, like Mhikhel. Tarnlot stared at the grape cluster setting. A tear fell from the corner of his eye as he stared at Mhikhel's grape.

He blinked back a second tear. He'd sworn an oath to his father that he'd assume the burden of fulfilling Mhikhel's legacy. He'd never dreamed the burden would be passed so soon. He didn't know if he was capable of keeping his promise, but no thing and no one would keep him from trying. Mourning would have to wait.

He lowered himself to one knee and grasped Zhun'Mar's hand. He slipped the Golden Vine Ring onto Zhun'Mar's ring finger. "I pledge fealty to the Sovereign of Tirano, King Zhun'Mar Arvor." He kissed the Ring.

Out of the corner of his eye, Tarnlot saw Lieutenant Mirae kneel, followed by the doctors. No one spoke, only Zhun'Mar's heavy breathing broke the silence. Tarnlot rose. Zhun'Mar stood stiffly, a blank look in his teary eyes. Tarnlot knew Zhun'Mar needed time to grieve, and to accept the burdens Mhikhel's death thrust upon him. Such time didn't exist.

"Lieutenant, the King must never be out of the sight of at least two Vhirko." He paused. "Not even for a lacti," he said slowly for emphasis. He wouldn't make the same mistake a second time. An assassin would never find Zhun'Mar alone.

She nodded. "It will be so." Without taking her eyes off Zhun'Mar, she back-pedaled to the door. Tarnlot could not hear what she said, but one of the Vhirko at the door ran to Mirae's side and the other began to speak into her wrist-comm.

Mirae assumed a position two steps behind Zhun'Mar's back and the other Vhirko stood two steps in front of Zhun'Mar. Zhun'Mar stared blankly at Mhikhel, his black pupils widening by the myria. Tarnlot worried that Zhun'Mar might slip into a state of shock. Tarnlot had to get him out of this room, away from the sight of death.

"Lieutenant, we have to get the King to a place of safety."

"A squad's on its way," Mirae said in an emotionless monotone. "A detail is securing the royal hover-chopter. We'll transport the King back to the Castel. He'll be safe in the Vhirko Compound until we've captured the assassin."

Her cobalt-blue eyes bore into Tarnlot. "For your own safety, I request that you accompany us also. I have assigned a separate guard to you."

Tarnlot realized this woman would be the perfect counterpoint to Zhun'Mar's deliberative style of action. She could think on her feet and would be able to protect Zhun'Mar when instinctive action was required. "Lieutenant Mirae, I'm placing you personally in charge of the King's security. I intend to hold you fully responsible for any harm that comes to him."

Mirae flicked her blue eyes in acknowledgment. Footsteps pounded the hallway floor. A squad of black-clad Vhirko bearing laser-swords ran into the room and formed a protective circle around Zhun'Mar, Lieutenant Mirae, and the Vhirko standing in front of Zhun'Mar. A burly Vhirko followed and assumed a position at Tarnlot's back.

"Move out," Mirae ordered.

Before he took a step, Tarnlot glanced at the bed. The doctors were sticking long needles into Mhikhel's body, injecting the body with the burial preservatives. The doctors could preserve Mhikhel's body; could he preserve the throne for Zhun'Mar? He didn't know. One thing was certain, though. There could never be peace with Mhikhel's murderers. The Radani must pay for their mendacity. They would regret this day. He'd find a way to make them suffer. King Mhikhel Arvor of Tirano would be avenged a thousand fold.

-7-

Royal Hover-Chopter

Rwohn Mountain Range

Planet Tirano

Mhitral winds swept across the Rwohn steppes, streamed up the mountains, and funneled through the craggy peaks. The choppy turbulence bounced the chopter like a life pod caught in the Cavities' ergosphere. Tarnlot tightened the webstrap around his chest. Even though chopter rides were seldom smooth, Tarnlot couldn't remember a more jarring flight. Was the Mhitral's ululation a reminder that he'd been jolted out of the safe cocoon Mhikhel had spun?

He hoped the turbulence didn't keep Zhun'Mar from much needed rest. By the time they'd boarded the chopter, the first orange rays of the dawn sky streaked the sky above the Rwohn peaks. Half-moon bags of fatigue and strain had formed under Zhun'Mar's eyes. He'd stumbled and nearly fell as he boarded the chopter's steps. When they landed at the Castel, Zhun'Mar needed to look vigorous. At any sign of weakness Count Rohfek and Colonel Nhoth would demand a regency be established. Headed, of course, by the Count and the Colonel.

Tarnlot and Lieutenant Mirae had secured Zhun'Mar in the chopter's rear bed chamber. Mirae assigned two Vhirko to stand guard inside the chamber and positioned another outside the door. Satisfied that he'd done all he could to make Zhun'Mar comfortable, Tarnlot had taken a seat in the passenger cabin. Lieutenant Mirae had proceeded to the flight deck to contact the Vhirko Command. The stout Vhirko assigned to Tarnlot stood in the aisle next to his seat and refused to sit. Throughout the bumpy ride she somehow remained upright.

The news of Mhikhel's assassination would have reached the Castel. Tarnlot knew he'd need to move quickly to retain the power base Mhikhel had established. His best chance to keep the Archonan in line would be to install a loyal Royal Council while everyone remained stunned by the news. Thank Ghaeah that Admiral Kiptani remained at the Castel while Zhun'Mar and Tarnlot returned. In their absence, the loyal Kiptani would counter anything Nhoth or Rohfek might attempt.

Tarnlot closed his eyes. He couldn't accomplish anything until he reached the Castel. He wished he could fall asleep and wake to find that all of this had been a bad dream. He couldn't. Every time he closed his eyes the sight of Mhikhel's corpse popped into his mind's eye. He lowered his head and rubbed his forehead.

A hand gently squeezed his shoulder. Lieutenant Mirae stood in front of him, her shoulders squared.

"Prince Tarnlot, I apologize for disturbing you. Your presence is required on the flight deck. The High Sibyl wishes to communicate with you."

Tarnlot sighed. He didn't expect the formal burdens to start so soon. He didn't know if he could endure what would be the first of an endless litany of condolences: some sincere, many a thinly-veiled charade. He thought about making up an excuse, immediately decided he couldn't risk alienating the Sisterhood. He'd need every ally he could recruit.

"Prince," Lieutenant Mirae said, drawing Tarnlot out of his thoughts. "The High Sibyl waits."

"Just send a holocom here," he said.

Mirae pulled on her ear lobe. "That is not possible. The High Sibyl insisted on a secure line."

Even though a secure line to express condolences seemed absurd, Tarnlot followed Mirae. The chopter lurched to the side and his knees buckled. A strong pair of hands grabbed his shoulders from behind and kept him from falling. The chopter stabilized and he turned to the Vhirko and nodded his thanks. Her short height and square shoulders made her look like a granite block. Tarnlot realized he didn't even know her name. He'd ask after he finished talking with Caykondra.

Lieutenant Mirae unlatched the hatch to the flight deck. "Wait outside, Corporal Lydmila. I will guard the Prince while he is on the flight deck."

Tarnlot wondered if Mirae had read his thoughts and suppressed a smile. He'd chosen well. Zhun'Mar would be well served by Mirae.

Tarnlot lowered his head and shoulders. He squeezed through the hatch and down the steps to the chopter's nose. In the fresh morning light shining through the nose's windows, Tarnlot recognized the pilot, Admiral Kiptani's youngest son. His looks and physique so resembled his father that everyone called him the Admiral's young twin.

"Captain Kiptani, good to see you again," Tarnlot said.

"I wish it was under different circumstances," Captain Kiptani replied in the same professional tone as his father. He pointed at the co-pilot's seat. "That's going to be a tight squeeze for you, but the High Sibyl insisted on this comm channel."

Tarnlot stuffed himself into the seat. His knees pressed against the control panel and his head and shoulders hunched to keep from hitting the slanted roof. A kink in his neck caused his head to twinge. He hoped Caykondra would be brief, he wasn't sure how long he could sit in such cramped quarters.

Captain Kiptani handed Tarnlot a visreal helmet. Tarnlot glanced over his shoulder and arched his eyebrows at Lieutenant Mirae. Normally, a V-R comm channel would be used only in battle.

"The High Sibyl will explain," Mirae said in her raspy monotone.

Tarnlot was in no mood for dramatics and struggled to control his irritation. He yanked the helmet over his head and snapped the visor over his eyes. Caykondra's image popped into focus. She wore a scarlet Sisterhood robe rather than a formal trumpet gown. Tarnlot didn't recognize the room where she stood; it wasn't her quarters at the Castel. She held her pendant in her hand; lines creased her forehead. He picked up a slight scent of the cinnamon incense. Tarnlot braced himself for the ritual condolences.

"I am sorry about the death of your father," Caykondra said softly in her lilting accent. "I regret the circumstances do not permit an adequate interval to mourn his passing."

Tarnlot grimaced, wondered why she stated the obvious, as though she thought she needed to remind him. Of course, he intended to deal with the Radani before beginning the funeral rituals. He didn't need to be told what to do. Would all the Archonan think they could order him around now that Mhikhel was dead?

He leaned forward, his helmet bumped against the roof. Caykondra's image flickered. "Damn," he muttered.

Caykondra tilted her head, frowned. He realized she thought he was cursing her.

"I'm sorry. It's not you," he said. "I bumped the helmet, your image flickered."

She hesitated as if she was uncertain what to say next. Her hand clenched her pendant. "Colonel Nhoth addressed Arvor City on holoweb and declared martial law. He arrested Admiral Kiptani and the Admiral's command staff. He's charged them with gross dereliction of duty for permitting a Radani assassin to slip through the Armada's perimeter patrols. He also ordered my removal from the Royal Council on the grounds that Vision failed to project the danger." She took a deep breath. "And he ordered the Koah to place you and Zhun'Mar under house detention upon your return to protect you from any assassins."

Tarnlot realized he was grinding his teeth in rage. "I don't know how Nhoth could have acted so fast," his voice had cracked in anger. "It's as if he and his buddy Rohfek had this planned in advance."

Caykondra released her pendant. "There's been no word in any official communiques about the Count. However, Vision projects a 74.6% probability that he's collaborating with Colonel Nhoth."

"I'm not surprised," Tarnlot replied. "Rohfek's always played both sides to his advantage. He may be waiting to ascertain the outcome before casting his lot publicly. He's cagey enough to save a little wiggle room in case Nhoth fails."

Tarnlot scratched the rubble of whiskers on his chin. "Let's convince him it's in his best interest to undercut the Colonel. I'll contact Vhirko command to meet us with two companies of Vhirko when we land. And if you and a contingent of Sibyls are there too, it'll show Rohfek and his ilk that the Arvor boys aren't powerless. No one, especially a fat mer-toad like Rohfek, would try to cross us then."

"You can't. After Lieutenant Mirae informed Vhirko Command that Zhun'Mar was in flight, Nhoth blocked all comm channels to Arvor City except for essential Koah lines."

Tarnlot closed his eyes. If only I hadn't left Father alone; none of this would be happening. He forced his eyes open. Mhikhel wouldn't have wallowed in self pity. He wouldn't either. Nor would Mhikhel have allowed himself or any member of the Royal Council to be taken into "protective custody." Tarnlot wouldn't either. He wouldn't break his oath to his father before even a half-spin had passed. He'd think of some place to take Zhun'Mar, and if possible, Caykondra, until he could regain control of the Castel.

"Are you safe until I can figure out a way to get you out of there?"

A grim smile formed on Caykondra face. "I'm safe. The Sisterhood has sanctuaries that Colonel Nhoth will never discover, including where I am now."

Caykondra paused, her almond-shaped eyes open wide. He felt himself drawn into those eyes. His gut told him that she spoke the truth, and that she waited for him to ask. He couldn't think of an alternative. "Will the Sisterhood shelter Zhun'Mar?"

"I've provided rendezvous coordinates to Lieutenant Mirae and Captain Kiptani. They await your orders."

"I am in your debt," Tarnlot said.

"There is no debt. The Sisterhood will always do its duty and stand by Tirano's rightful Sovereign. I'll meet you at the rendezvous."

Caykondra's image faded, replaced by the opaque blackness of the visor. Tarnlot flipped up the visor and turned his head to look at Captain Kiptani, then Lieutenant Mirae. "We go to meet the High Sibyl."

"Flight coordinates locked in, sir," Captain Kiptani replied crisply. "We'll arrive shortly."

Tarnlot took off the helmet and squirmed out of the co-pilot's seat. "Captain, I'll do everything in my power to free your father."

"I know, sir," Kiptani said. "I'll help you contact the Armada. They'd never believe such ludicrous charges. If Nhoth doesn't back off, we'll blast him and his grunts where they sit."

Tarnlot ran his hands through his hair. The last thing he wanted to deal with would be live fire between the Armada and the Koah. Tiranoan killing Tiranoan in a civil war: a perfect prelude to a Radani invasion.

"No. Your father would never sanction that. Nor will I. Do not contact the Armada until I've regained control of the Castel. I don't want Nhoth tipped off that we're aware of what he's up to."

Tarnlot turned to Lieutenant Mirae. "Lieutenant, accompany me to brief the King." He rubbed the back of his neck to work out a cramp. "And I don't want him out of your personal sight until he's safely in the Sisterhood's sanctuary."

Mirae's eyes narrowed. Tarnlot admired the fierce determination etched on her face. He wouldn't want to be in the shoes of any of Nhoth's troops stupid enough to try to take Zhun'Mar from her custody. If only I'd been as determined in protecting Father.

-8-

Royal Hover-Chopter

Rwohn Mountain Range

Planet Tirano

Tarnlot wondered if he should have delayed informing Zhun'Mar. Throughout the briefing, Zhun'Mar sat on bed and didn't move or say a word. His face remained expressionless and his eyes stared blankly at the chopter's plasmetal floor. Tarnlot didn't know if the news had merely stunned Zhun'Mar or had shoved him into a catatonic state.

Tarnlot laid his hand on Zhun'Mar's shoulder. "Talk to me. Do you think we should do something else?"

Zhun'Mar raised his head. "I can't do this. I need time to research the options. I can't make snap decisions the way Father did." His lips twitched. "We both know you're better suited to be King, especially now, with Father gone so soon." He lowered his head. "I'll abdicate so that you can assume the throne."

Tarnlot couldn't stop his jaw from dropping. Even Zhun'Mar recognized the truth. Tarnlot's temperament was better suited to rule. He wanted to agree, to rectify the unfair fate that had made him the son of a KaNoa courtesan. But he couldn't. He'd sworn an oath to his father that he would protect Zhun'Mar, not prey on Zhun'Mar's vulnerability and usurp the throne. Anger, mixed with frustration, knotted his gut. He couldn't, wouldn't, assume the Golden Vine Throne under these circumstances.

"Look at me," he said coldly to Zhun'Mar. Zhun'Mar lifted his head. Tarnlot wanted to slap Zhun'Mar, knock some sense into the bookworm. It wouldn't work. To get through to Zhun'Mar, he'd have to use history and intimidation.

"Father would never permit you to throw away your birthright and destroy the Arvor line. Neither will I. You've studied the archives. If you abdicate without issue, the Archonan Assembly selects the next Sovereign, not you. They're a bunch of doctrinarians. In their minds, Rheginahld Nhoth's claim to the throne would be a thousand times stronger than mine. I'll not betray Father. As long as I'm alive I'll do everything I can to make sure you aren't the last Arvor to wear the Golden Vine Ring."

Zhun'Mar looked Tarnlot in the eye. "Don't lecture me. I know the succession law. I'll not abdicate. For now. But at an appropriate time, we will finish this discussion."

A cold flash of anger shot through Tarnlot. How can someone so brilliant be so dense? He held up his hand and spoke through clenched teeth. "This discussion is over. Never mention it again."

He stood. "Lieutenant Mirae, you have your orders. Keep the King safe."

Tarnlot opened the door to Zhun'Mar's chamber; the words only if I was Archonan resounded in his mind. Corporal Lydmila awaited; her thick body rigid at attention. As Tarnlot heard the whir of the hover blades engaging. The chopter lurched. He grabbed the door frame to keep his balance.

"Sorry," Corporal Lydmila said. "I should have warned you. Captain Kiptani says we'll arrive at the coordinates in a few centi."

Tarnlot released his grip. The lightness surging up his stomach as he returned to his seat told him that the chopter had begun its descent.

"Better strap in for landing," Lydmila said.

Tarnlot peered out the oval window. The morning sun perched in a cloudless sky lit the Rwohn steppes. Splotches of succulents and cacti dotted the sandy ground. They were descending into the high desert plain, a good place to seek refuge. The rugged Rwohn Mountains stood between them and Arvor City. But he wondered if Captain Kiptani had the correct rendezvous coordinates. Caykondra said she'd meet them. But even if she had the fastest transporter in the fleet, she couldn't have traveled so far so fast.

The whir of the chopter's blades increased; the chopter speed slowed. On the ground below, a single figure clad in a scarlet robe stood like a beacon. Tarnlot leaned closer to the window and squinted. The petite figure with glossy black hair tossed by the whirlwind from the spinning blades could only be Caykondra. Tarnlot's mind raced. Either Caykondra had projected what would occur or she and Nhoth had collaborated. Before he would place Zhun'Mar in her custody, he had to know which.

Tarnlot turned to Corporal Lydmila. "Tell Captain Kiptani to keep the chopter ready to depart. I'm going to meet the High Sibyl. If I don't signal it's safe or if he detects any sign of treachery, tell him to get out of here as fast as he can. Inform Lieutenant Mirae to keep the King in the chopter until I signal all clear."

The chopter touched ground. Lydmila didn't move. "Lieutenant Mirae ordered me to stay with you at all times."

She motioned for two nearby Vhirko. Tarnlot watched Lydmila relay his instructions. One Vhirko trotted to the flight deck and the other headed the opposite direction to Zhun'Mar's chamber.

The Vhirko returned from the flight deck holding a battle-comm earlink. She handed it to Corporal Lydmila. Lydmila turned the circular unit over in her palm. "Captain Kiptani preset this so you can maintain direct contact with him."

Tarnlot screwed the comm link in his ear. The base of his skull tingled as his neural implant activated. He followed Lydmila to the chopter's exit door. "Can you hear me, Captain," he subvocalized.

"Loud and clear, sir."

"Let's get out there," Tarnlot said to Lydmila. She nodded and unlatched the door. Hot air rushed into the chopter. Through the swirl of sand whipped up by the revolving blades, Tarnlot spotted Caykondra. She stood like a porcelain statue twenty strides from the door. Lydmila leaped to the ground. She crouched to survey the surrounding area. Tarnlot jumped to her side. Fine grains of sand pelted his face. He lifted his hands to protect his eyes.

"Stay crouched until you're clear of the blades," Lydmila yelled over the whine of the blades.

With his eyes squinted nearly closed, Tarnlot followed. Swirling grains of sand stung his hands and cheeks and battered his robe. He shuffled forward through the wind and sand maelstrom. His leg brushed the side of a bristly plant. The prick of a thorn dug into his leg. He stumbled, afraid he'd fall on a bed of steppe-cacti.

A strong hand grabbed his arm. "You've got to keep moving," Lydmila screamed. She pulled him forward, her grip tight until they broke through the swirling sand.

Sand no longer pelted Tarnlot, but his hands and cheeks continued to sting. Even though he wanted to stop to scrape all the grains of sand off his face, he straightened his back and trotted toward the immobile Caykondra. As he approached, he saw she was biting her lip, as if nervous. She should be; she had a lot to explain.

"How in Ghaeah's name were you able to get here so fast? Are you part of Nhoth's coup?"

She pressed her lips tight and shook her head. "You're wasting precious time with foolish questions. Colonel Nhoth sent a squadron of fantails to intercept your flight to Arvor Castel. They detected your course change and are in pursuit. There's barely enough time to transport all of you to the sanctuary before they arrive." Her hazel eyes locked into his. "You're going to have to trust me or be taken into custody by Nhoth."

She'd never lied to him before, and he couldn't doubt the depth of sincerity in the tone of her voice or in the look in her eyes. But so much had happened so fast, and for once he felt like Zhun'Mar. Without more analysis, how could he cast the future of the Arvor line to this tiny woman?

He knew, though, what his gut told him. Without taking his eyes of Caykondra, he spoke. "Captain Kiptani, order everyone out here as fast as they can move. A squadron of Nhoth's fantails is in pursuit." He wiped his hands across his gritty face, flicked sand off his hands.

"Aye, aye, sir," Captain Kiptani replied.

Tarnlot heard the Captain shouting orders. Tarnlot turned toward the chopter. The whirling blades slowed, then stopped. Two Vhirko jumped out the door, Zhun'Mar and Lieutenant Mirae followed. With the two Vhirko in front and Mirae behind, Zhun'Mar crouched and ran toward Tarnlot. As soon as he cleared the blades, the blades began to spin faster.

"Prince Tarnlot," Captain Kiptani's voice sounded in Tarnlot's ear, "I'll buy all the time you want. With the firepower this chopter carries, I can knock those fannies out of the sky before they reach their firing range."

A knot re-formed in Tarnlot's stomach. "Listen to me, Captain," he said tersely. "This is the second time I've said it. I don't want to repeat myself a third time. The first shot in what would start a civil war will not be fired pursuant to my orders. Tiranoan will not kill Tiranoan as long as I'm capable of stopping it. Do you understand?"

"Loud and clear, sir."

"Good. You should be able to outrun them. So give them something to chase. Then get yourself to safety."

"Yes, sir."

"And Captain," Tarnlot said in a softer tone. "Don't let anything happen to you. Zhun'Mar is going to need people like you."

"Don't worry," the Captain replied. "I'll be fine. My old man taught me a few tricks that aren't in any training manuals."

Tarnlot watched the chopter lift off. When it reached cruising altitude, the ignition burn of the overdrive thrusters flashed. The chopter streaked in the direction of Arvor City. He prayed that Ghaeah would protect the Captain.

A soft hand touched Tarnlot's arm. Caykondra looked at him as if she was reading his mind. "He's the Admiral's son. You have to trust him to do his job. And you have to trust me, without doubt or hesitation. Zhun'Mar's safety depends on it."

She grabbed her pendant. "Tell the Vhirko to form a tight cluster around Zhun'Mar and you."

A concussion reverberated in the distance. Tarnlot hoped it was the sonic boom of the chopter and not the explosion of a missile striking the chopter. Despite his desire to look skyward, he nodded at Lieutenant Mirae. "Lieutenant, do as the High Sibyl says."

He took his place next to Zhun'Mar. Lydmila followed at his side, Mirae next to Zhun'Mar with the other Vhirko in front and behind Zhun'Mar. Caykondra pointed the tip of her pendant at the group and spoke. "Trust." Her thumb pressed the side of the pendant.

A bright flash of light erupted in Tarnlot's eyes and blinded him. A freezing coldness enveloped him and sucked him forward. The frigid air chafed the raw spots blasted on his face by the sand grains. Cold bit into his fingers and toes and climbed up his arms and legs. He realized he hadn't seen any transporters. He'd been duped. I've led us all to our deaths.

A warm hand clamped his frigid fingers. "Step toward me," a feminine voice said.

Tarnlot didn't know if this was more of Caykondra's trickery, but anything would be better than flash freezing to death. He shivered and stepped toward the voice. Warm air caressed him. He blinked his eyes into focus. A young lady in a hooded red robe stood in front of him, a smile on her face. "The first time in hyper is always the worst," she said.

He glanced around. Zhun'Mar, Mirae, Lydmila, and the other two Vhirko each stood next to a young lady in a hooded red robe. He stood in a vast domed chamber that appeared to be carved out of granite. Before he could say anything, Caykondra stepped out of nothingness, her pendant still in her hand. Despite the multitude of questions that raced around Tarnlot's mind competing to be the first to be asked, he realized he was standing open mouthed.

Caykondra glanced at him, tilted her head as if surprised. "By the Belts. I never thought I'd see Tarnlot Arvor speechless."

She turned toward Zhun'Mar and bowed. Lieutenant Mirae stiffened at his side, dropped her hand to the hilt of her laser knife.

"Sire," Caykondra said, "I regret that I couldn't tell you what to expect. We couldn't take any risk that Colonel Nhoth would learn of the existence of our hyper passageways."

Zhun'Mar glanced at Tarnlot. Tarnlot arched his eyebrows and shook his head. A smug smile creased Zhun'Mar's face. He lowered his gaze to Caykondra. "The ancient archives tell of other dimensional portals. I always assumed they were childhood fables."

"We established a network of hyperportals and passageways traversing the planet," Caykondra replied. "I sent you to the closest one that Nhoth's fantails couldn't reach before we parted."

Tarnlot searched his memory, came up blank. "What are you talking about?"

"Hyperspace," Zhun'Mar said. "Instant transfer through another dimension."

In a lacti Tarnlot understood. Anger and bitterness welled up. "Why hasn't the Sisterhood shared this knowledge? Do you realize the military implications of this? This could provide the advantage we need to defeat the Radani."

Caykondra's eyes narrowed to slits. "We do. That's why we haven't disclosed our knowledge to anyone outside the Sisterhood. Until now. We won't risk that this knowledge could be misused by someone like Colonel Nhoth."

Zhun'Mar nodded. "A wise decision that I support."

Tarnlot gritted his teeth. Control of such a potentially powerful tool could be the thing he needed to keep Zhun'Mar in power. Now was not the time to argue, though. He'd broach the subject later, after he figured out what to do about Nhoth.

Caykondra pointed toward the far end of the chamber. "Please follow me. I'll show you to your quarters."

As he followed Caykondra, Tarnlot examined the chamber. Illuminants shone from its apex to provide indirect light. The lack of a musty odor indicated an outside source of air. Except for Caykondra and the Sibyls who had greeted them, the chamber showed no signs of activity.

"What is this place?" he asked.

"The Gathering Dome," Caykondra replied.

Tarnlot waited for a further explanation; none came. Caykondra reached the chamber wall. Tarnlot couldn't see any door and assumed they would transport by hyperspace again. Caykondra extended her arm and flattened her palm against the smooth wall. A metal lever clicked and cracks lined the granite to form an arched double door. The doors slowly slid apart and retracted into the wall. The opening revealed an arched-ceiling hallway the same height as the door. A row of sconce lights on each side of the hallway stretched as far as Tarnlot could see until they narrowed to a single light.

Caykondra led the royal party through the doorway; the six Sibyls followed behind. Tarnlot brushed his hand against the wall. Its smooth texture indicated some form of silicate. The hallway was not a naturally formed cave, and Tarnlot doubted that the cavern was either. He wondered what other secrets the Sisterhood possessed. They clearly were involved with more than just feeding parameters and variables into computers to calculate probability projections. He'd greatly underestimated them; another mistake he wouldn't make again.

"This is the Great Hallway, one of our oldest retreats," Caykondra said. "During Conclave the rooms along the hallway serve as our personal quarters. We have prepared a room for each of you."

She stopped and pointed to a metal door. "Sire, this room is for you. The room directly across the hall will be occupied by Prince Tarnlot. I hope those arrangements are acceptable."

Zhun'Mar nodded. Lieutenant Mirae stepped to the door, turned the handle, and pushed. The door creaked inwards. Before Tarnlot could peer into the room, Mirae darted inside. One of the Vhirko stepped in front of Zhun'Mar, the other stood at his back.

Corporal Lydmila grabbed Tarnlot's arm. "No one enters until Lieutenant Mirae has secured the room," she said crisply.

Tarnlot heard her footsteps cross a muhrwood floor. He thought Caykondra would be insulted by the Vhirko actions. Instead, Caykondra broke into a smile that bespoke of a mixture of approval and amusement.

Mirae reappeared at the doorway. "It is secure," her raspy monotone declared. "Elena and Oksana remain at the door. Lydmila, you have your orders."

"I respect your caution, Lieutenant," Caykondra said. "Please accept my assurances that security precautions have been taken. This room is normally occupied by the High Sibyl. It is inviolate."

"We will perform our duties in the required manner," Mirae replied in a flat, almost challenging, tone.

"Very well," Caykondra said. Tarnlot noticed a hint of irritation in her stance as she motioned for Zhun'Mar to enter the room. "You may wish to refresh yourself. We have provided a change of clothes for you. I apologize that there are no royal ivory robes. We're not accustomed to accommodating royal visitors. If you would like food or drink, you need only ask Sister Fern. She will see that you get whatever you want."

One of the Sibyls stepped forward and nodded.

Zhun'Mar's shoulders sagged. "I wish only for a few deci alone to come to grips with all that has happened." He started through the door, stopped. "Please make arrangements with Tarnlot to do whatever is necessary. He has full authority to act on my behalf."

Zhun'Mar entered the room. Lieutenant Mirae and one of the Vhirko followed him. The door closed. The other Vhirko placed her back to the door and assumed her protective stance.

Caykondra pointed to the opposite door. "Your room awaits."

Tarnlot craved retiring to the safety of the room, to clean up, to get some sleep. He knew he couldn't. "I won't be shunted aside, Caykondra. Every moment Nhoth remains unchallenged in Arvor City, dislodging him becomes more difficult. You may shelter the King, but I must return to the Castel as soon as possible."

Caykondra craned her head to look at him. "And what could you accomplish? Nhoth would have you in custody the moment you arrived."

"I refuse to remain here doing nothing."

Caykondra wrapped her fingers around her pendant. "There is someone who wishes to meet you. Before you attempt to return, you should hear her counsel. Please follow me."

Caykondra led Tarnlot and Lydmila down the hallway. Tarnlot wondered if the unending string of hallway lights stretched all the way to Arvor City. Perhaps, Caykondra intended to walk there.

After several centi of walking, Caykondra stopped. She pointed her pendant at the wall. "Follow me through."

A flash of bright light burst from her pendant and blurred Tarnlot's vision. The frigid black vacuum of hyperspace sucked. He laid his hand on Lydmila's shoulder. Lydmila's calloused fingers covered Tarnlot's hand and clamped it to her shoulder. She stepped forward, towing Tarnlot with her. As the penetrating cold gnawed at his exposed face and fingers, he wondered if Mhikhel's death had driven him insane. As much as he wished he was hallucinating, he knew otherwise. His promise to Mhikhel had doomed him to a more difficult path, the reality of Tirano without Mhikhel.

-9-

Vision's Chamber

Planet Tirano

The icy suction ebbed and a hint of warm air brushed Tarnlot's face. Lydmila clamped his hand on her shoulder, and as if to signal him, she squeezed twice. Her shoulder moved ahead, tugging his arm. He hesitantly shuffled a step forward. When his foot landed on a solid surface, he thought he could come to enjoy hyperspace transport. He'd love to pop in on Colonel Nhoth like this.

They stepped into a room with gleaming white walls and no doors or windows. Lydmila immediately pulled her laser knife and crouched at ready. Even though Tarnlot sensed no danger, he followed her gaze as she scanned the room. It was no bigger than a low ranking royal aide's cubicle and contained only two pieces of furniture: a red leather chair pushed against a small muhrwood desk. On top of the desk sat an egg-shaped monitor out of which emerged a single thin wire. Tarnlot wondered how someone important enough to counsel him could be assigned such a sparse office.

The air around the desk rippled. Lydmila spun and pointed her knife as if she expected a Radani horde to sally forth. Caykondra emerged from the fluctuation.

"You can sheathe your knife." Caykondra smiled reassuringly at Lydmila. "This is Vision's Chamber. Only the High Sibyl can open its portal."

Lydmila's eyes flicked from Caykondra to Tarnlot and back. Tarnlot nodded. Lydmila holstered her knife, then stood at alert.

Tarnlot assumed the console provided access to Vision, the Sibyl network's central processor. He wondered, though, why Caykondra had transported him to this inaccessible place where only she was admitted. "I thought I was to meet someone."

Caykondra nodded. "I want you to hear Vision's projections."

In his mind Tarnlot heard Mhikhel growl that he didn't need computer projections to tell him the obvious. He agreed. "I don't need a computer to tell me the impossibility of Lydmila and me successfully storming the Castel gates."

Caykondra's lips thinned. "I will not permit you to leave here and charge blindly into the Castel without hearing her counsel."

"Precious time is being wasted. You told me I was to meet someone. Not review projections." He didn't try to disguise his irritation.

Caykondra exhaled loudly. "Vision awaits." She sat in the chair.

Tarnlot clenched his jaw. His eyes moved up and down the walls, hoping to find an exit.

"Don't bother," Caykondra said. "You can't leave until I reopen the portal. So, the sooner you cooperate, the sooner you can leave."

A quiver of anger shot through Tarnlot. He clenched his jaws. "Are you acting like Nhoth? Taking me into custody for my protection?"

Lydmila moved between Tarnlot and Caykondra. Caykondra rolled her eyes. "If so, would I permit an armed Vhirko to accompany you?"

Tarnlot struggled to control his temper. He needed to think logically. From the moment Caykondra had backed him in the Council meeting through revealing the hyperspace portals, her actions had supported his interests. The only thing she asked in return, that he listen to a few computer projections. She's right. _I act like a fool to doubt her motives._

"At ease, Lydmila," he said. "We have nothing to fear from the High Sibyl."

Lydmila's shoulders remained taut. She slowly sheathed the knife, but her gaze remained riveted on Caykondra.

"What do you want me to do?" Tarnlot asked Caykondra.

"Stand beside me, in view of the terminal."

Tarnlot moved next to Caykondra. Lydmila assumed a position behind him. Caykondra lifted the wire, peeled its end to expose a convex nodule, and inserted her pendant. A rainbow of colors swirled inside the oval terminal. The colors coalesced. A female face confronted Tarnlot. If not for the depth of the crow's feet around its eyes and its gray-streaked black hair, the image could have been Caykondra's.

"It is good to feel your touch, little one," the image said.

"As it is to touch you and the others," Caykondra replied.

The eyes of the image focused on Tarnlot as though measuring him. "I am Vision," the image said. "I regret the death of your father. He was a great leader, even though he refused to heed the projections. Tirano faces a crucial juncture. I hope you will not be as obstinate."

"This one tends to act similarly. It must be coded in the Arvor genes," Caykondra said without rancor. "He wishes to return immediately to the Castel."

"Please lay your hand in Caykondra's," Vision said.

Caykondra lifted her hand and held it palm up. Tarnlot lowered his palm to Caykondra's. A spark of energy swept up his arm. The surge reminded him of the spark he'd felt in the wine cave when he touched his father's hand. His mind began to tingle. A pleasant warmth spread throughout his head. He didn't know how, but he immediately knew that Vision was sentient and could be trusted.

"Your brother is fortunate you gave Mhikhel your oath," Vision said. "He will need your strength."

"You may release him, Caykondra," Vision said.

Tarnlot felt the energy flow down his arms and into Caykondra's palm. Caykondra lowered her hand. He had to know. "Did Vision read my mind?"

Caykondra looked up at him and nodded. "Vision is a carbon-based network composed of self-replicating nanotubes. Her synapse charges are compatible with human neurons. She can download memory files from any person with Tiranoan DNA strands. While in touch with a programmed pendant, she can also exchange files with those whose DNA strands contain an additional strand she formulated. Unfortunately, incubation of the specialized strand is extremely difficult. No male fetus can accept the coding, and less than one in a million females. At times the strand cannot be found in the Sisterhood. That was the case when my predecessor acted as High Sibyl. She served only until I received my training."

Vision's jaw went slack. "The audacity," she said in a whisper.

Tarnlot wondered if his question or Caykondra's answer had offended Vision. "I meant no harm," he said. "I was only curious."

"Not you," Vision said softly. "Nhoth." She closed her eyes.

Tarnlot waited for Vision to speak, but her eyes remained closed. He turned to Caykondra. "What is it?" he asked.

The color drained from Caykondra's face. "Nhoth preempted all media nets to address the populace." She pointed her pendant in front of the desk. "It's short. Watch."

A holo of Colonel Nhoth in starched battle fatigues appeared. The stout Rheginahld Nhoth stood behind him, sweat trickled down his forehead. Tarnlot stiffened. Rheginahld wore a Golden Vine Robe.

Nhoth jutted his jaw and spoke. "It my sad duty to report that a deci ago a chopter transporting Prince Zhun'Mar and his brother to Arvor City disappeared from the tracking screens. The emergency satellite receptors recorded an explosion and have pinpointed the chopter's wreckage in the Rwohn Mountains. It appears Mhikhel's Radani assassins planted a limpet in the chopter. They intended to murder any who survived their cowardly deeds at Rwohn Compound.

"We have been unable to locate Prince Zhun'Mar's or any other neurosignal." Nhoth took a deep breath. "We must assume that King Mhikhel's sons are dead and act accordingly. Lord Chancellor Rohfek has informed me that in accordance with Tiranoan law, the Archonan Assembly has elected my son Rheginahld as heir to the Golden Vine Throne. In order to ensure experienced leadership in this time of crisis, the Assembly requested that I serve as First Regent and assume full command and control over all military branches. I accepted."

Nhoth leaned forward. "Without our beloved King Mhikhel, Tirano faces a precarious future. I will not sit by and do nothing while the Radani scheme additional atrocities. You have my promise that my highest priority will be to avenge King Mhikhel's death. He shall not have died in vain.

"As a first step, I have ordered the Koah mobilized and the Colony Fleet and the Home Fleet returned to Armada duty." Nhoth's lips formed a savage smile. "I will lead these combined expeditionary forces to Tirgot III where we will expel the Radani. We will no longer permit the Radani to occupy even the tiniest piece of Tiranoan territory."

Nhoth lowered his head. "May Ghaeah bless the efforts of our brave military forces."

The holo faded. Tarnlot absorbed Nhoth's words. He'd heard an explosion when Capitan Kiptani had flown toward Arvor City. Captain Kiptani was too good a pilot to be shot down by fantails. The concussion could have been a limpet exploding. It didn't make sense. The Radani weren't subtle enough for an operation that involved first assassinating Mhikhel and then waiting to sabotage Zhun'Mar's chopter. If they wanted to kill Mhikhel and Zhun'Mar, they would have sent in a horde and blown away the Compound. And, how could a bunch of stinking Radani have evaded detection while Vhirko guards patrolled both the Compound's perimeter and interior?

But who else could it have been? Given his actions in seizing power, Nhoth would be the logical suspect. Especially since he had a Radani claw on his desk that could easily have inflicted Mhikhel's wound. But Mhikhel died at Rwohn Compound while Nhoth remained stationed at his Arvor City post. It would have been physically impossible for Nhoth to have killed Mhikhel.

Perhaps just as important, Ohlav Nhoth idolized his own father, the famous Count Nhoth. Everyone knew that three dekas earlier the Count had sacrificed his life in the initial Phargon encounter with the Radani so that the then Prince Mhikhel could live. Tarnlot hated Ohlav Nhoth. He knew Nhoth well enough though to know that Nhoth would never have contemplated a regicide that would destroy the Nhoth family reputation as loyal patriots.

With his finger, Tarnlot curled the hair on the back of his head. That left only one conclusion. He had misjudged the deviousness of the Radani Quad. "The Radani are more subtle than we suspected. They pretended to negotiate for peace. All along they planned to assassinate Father and goad us into trying to dislodge them on Tirgot III. I'll wager they're lying in ambush, waiting for us to charge in with all of our forces. And Nhoth's knee-jerk reactions play right into their hands."

He looked at Vision. "What do you project?"

"The probabilities are low that the Radani could be so devious, and they have not previously assassinated foreign leaders." She shook her head. "But it does not matter whether or not they acted as you believe. Tirano's defeat is certain if Nhoth attacks Tirgot III. The priorities are clear. First, stop Nhoth. Then, we flesh out the Radani role in Mhikhel's death."

"Agreed." Tarnlot flattened his palms against the table and leaned toward Vision. "We'd better make Rheginahld's regency the shortest ever. Contact every computer in the comm-net. Send a message that Zhun'Mar is alive and safe in one of your retreats. Relay that he orders the Koah to stand down immediately. Then arrange for Zhun'Mar to speak directly to Nhoth and relieve him of command."

Caykondra shook her head. "Nhoth's placed the comm-net on war setting and declared an emergency comm-black out. All non-essential net traffic is being jammed, including our messages. We can reprogram around the jamming mechanisms, but it will take at least a spin."

Tarnlot couldn't wait a spin to confront Nhoth. An idea formed. Jamming could work both ways. "Can you jam all communication in and out of the Castel?"

"We could do that for as long as you would like," Vision replied. "Why?"

"A plan. I'll sneak in to the City and contact Vhirko Command. Let them know Zhun'Mar lives. When I signal, you jam Castel communications. In the confusion, a company of Vhirko could quickly gain control of the Castel. It'd be over before Nhoth's aware of what's happening. After I've reestablished control of Castel communications, Zhun'Mar relieves Nhoth of command and orders the Koah to stand down."

Vision closed her eyes. Tarnlot could sense her processors whirling, terrabytes of information exchanged, analyzed, and projections downloaded. She reopened her eyes. "It projects."

"Good. Keep Zhun'Mar safe until the Vhirko have secured the Castel." Tarnlot could not contain a grin. "I'll use one of your hyperportals to transport to Arvor City. In less than a deci, Nhoth'll be ousted."

Vision lifted her face toward Tarnlot. "The Sisterhood has never shared its knowledge of hyperspace. Only because the urgency was so great did we decide to reveal its existence at all. We will not permit the location of our portals to be known to the military and studied for purposes of warfare."

The creases around Vision's eyes deepened. "I am sorry. The risk projections are unacceptable. We will open the portal where we picked you up. Then it will be destroyed. You must return to the Castel by chopter."

Tarnlot's mind raced. It would take almost three deci to return from the Rwohn Plains to the Castel, and that assumed Captain Kiptani's chopter hadn't been shot down. Tarnlot didn't try to stop the flush of anger that burned his cheeks. "If Nhoth's mobilization isn't stopped soon, it will be too late. You will have stood by while Nhoth leads Tirano to ruin rather than trusting me to keep a portal's location secret. Project that risk!"

Vision squinted, her eyes seemed to form black pits. Tarnlot assumed his outburst must have insulted her and she intended to terminate communication. His heart beat faster. He'd blown his best, perhaps only, chance to stop Nhoth's lunacy.

"I have examined your mind," Vision said. "I believe you would never break an oath."

Tarnlot understood. "I will never reveal the location of any portal you show me. So I swear as an Arvor."

Vision nodded. "I accept your oath. You and Caykondra may access a portal in the Castel basement. It's the only secure place to manipulate a portal without being noticed."

Lydmila's body stiffened. She raised her chin. "I go, too." She leaned toward Vision; her bulk loomed over the terminal. "I pledged as a Vhirko to protect Prince Tarnlot until relieved. You have my oath as a Vhirko that the secret of the portal will never escape my lips."

Vision glanced at Caykondra. Caykondra's head dipped slightly. Vision sighed. She looked up at Tarnlot. "The portal opens in the basement under the Castel's living quarters. You will be on your own from there. However, if you wish, I can provide a basement schematic."

"No need. As children, Zhun'Mar and I played in the basement." Tarnlot pictured the basement in his mind's eye. "There's a trapdoor in the floor of our old study. The room's been converted into a bed chamber for visiting off-planet dignitaries. Given current circumstances, it'll be unoccupied. Can you get a message to Command headquarters for the Commandant to meet me there?"

"We will try," Vision said softly. "But Vhirko comm channels are linked to the Koah's."

Tarnlot clenched his fists. "I should have realized they'd be jammed, too."

"Because they must stay in contact with their squads searching for the chopter wreckage, they are not jammed. But the link insures that the Koah can monitor all Vhirko comm traffic." Vision grimaced. "It would be difficult to send a message that the Koah does not also receive."

"Prince Tarnlot," Lydmila said. "Even if the Sibyls' message evades detection by the Koah, every message must contain an encryption verification. The encryption code changes constantly. No one without a current operations program would know the encryption. Any message without the correct verification would be referred to the Koah."

Tarnlot's heart skipped a beat. He looked at Vision. "Is Lydmila correct?"

"We have some knowledge of Vhirko procedures. The probability that we can send a message in the proper verification that the Koah doesn't also receive is high. More than fifty-nine percent. But she is correct. If we use an unauthorized verification, the Vhirko would indeed notify the Koah of the message's contents. If so, you could be walking into a trap. Given the current paranoia about Radani assassins, Nhoth's men would shoot first, ask questions later."

Vision took a deep breath. "Perhaps, it would be better if you waited to contact the Command in person."

"No. With the Koah patrolling the City, I have no certainty I could reach them. We go as planned. As Father always said, no course of action is risk free."

Vision's expression turned somber. "We all have a job to do if we are to act as he would have expected. I will do my best to contact the Command."

"Ask Lieutenant Mirae for her help," Tarnlot said. "She was able to communicate with the Command from the chopter. I think she'll somehow figure out the verification code."

"She has been contacted and is providing input," Vision said. "The three of you should leave now."

Caykondra reached for the nodule, cradled it for a moment in her palm. "Until the touch is restored," she said softly.

"Until then, daughter," Vision replied.

Caykondra pulled her pendant from the nodule. Vision's image dissolved. Caykondra stood and tilted her face up at Tarnlot. "I hope you appreciate the faith she has placed in you. If I fail to return, there is no other who can touch her and the others. It would take another two deka-loops to engineer and train my replacement."

"I will do all I can to see that her trust is not misplaced." He looked at the wall through which they had entered. "Where must we go to access the basement portal?"

"We may access any known passageway from this room," she said.

Before Tarnlot could respond, Caykondra aimed her pendant at him. At the flash, Tarnlot stepped forward. The raw freeze of hyperspace scraped his face. Without hesitation, he stepped forward. The familiar dank air and pitch black of the Castel basement greeted his senses. Lydmila's footstep sounded behind him. The rustle of Caykondra's robe followed. Tarnlot forced himself not to move until his neural implant adjusted his eyes for night acuity. The Vhirko were augmented for night vision, but didn't know if Sibyls were.

"Caykondra," he said softly. "Can you see?"

"Not without my pendant."

Tarnlot wondered if the pendant also served as a radar mechanism. A dim beam of light landed on his foot.

"Lead on," Caykondra said.

Tarnlot pointed straight ahead. "The trapdoor's nearby."

He started walking. Scurrying feet clinked across the synbrick floor. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Lydmila reach for her laser knife.

"It's only womrats. Zhun'Mar and I used to bring our terrier dogs down here and let them hunt."

"Your poor dogs. Womrats are disgusting vermin," Caykondra hissed. "Full of disease."

"Exactly how I feel about Nhoth right now," Tarnlot replied. He pointed at the ceiling. "There's the trapdoor. The drop ladder's a little dusty, but looks in good shape. We're in luck. The rope Zhun'Mar and I tied to pull down the ladder has never been removed."

He jumped, grabbing the end of the rope with one hand. Grime soiled his fingers. He landed with a jolt on the floor and almost lost his grasp. He wrapped his other hand around the rope and yanked. The ladder groaned and lowered a fraction. He tugged on the rope until he could grab the ladder's bottom rung. He pulled the ladder to the floor and stepped onto the third rung.

"Lydmila, hand me your knife. I'm going to have to pry the latch open."

"I'd better do that," Lydmila said. "Might be electro charged."

"It is," Tarnlot said with a chuckle. "Zhun'Mar and I discovered how to deactivate it." He held out his hand. "It'd take more time to tell you what to do than to do it myself."

Lydmila glanced at her knife. Her hand remained frozen at her side. Her upper lip twitched.

"I'll be fine," Tarnlot said.

Lydmila pulled the knife from her belt. She held it in front of her chest as if it took all of her will and strength to hand him the knife. "You deactivate it. But I go through first in case there's trouble."

Tarnlot knew he couldn't change her mind even if he wanted to. "Agreed."

Lydmila slapped the knife's handle in his palm. He squeezed the handle and activated a thin silvery laser beam. He hadn't held a combat knife since he and Zhun'Mar attended self-defense training as youngsters. After that, Zhun'Mar refused to ever touch another knife. Tarnlot enjoyed the feel of the handle with the tingle of an activated laser. He remembered the smell of human flesh seared by a laser knife and wrinkled his nose. Mhikhel had never forgiven him for the flesh wound on his arm that Tarnlot had inflicted in mock combat. He realized that Mhikhel's anger masked a father's pride at his son's ability.

"Is there a problem?" Lydmila asked.

Tarnlot realized he needed to keep focused. He could reminisce after he'd stopped Nhoth. "No."

He tilted his head back, and with his free hand, raked his fingertips along the crack of the door's seal. Static tingled his fingers. "Same old sweet spot."
He inserted the tip of the blade into the crack and jerked back and forth quickly. A crackle sounded. He looked down. "See how easy it was."

He jumped off the ladder and handed the knife to Lydmila. "The door's heavy," he said. "But it's on a tensor hinge. It'll pop open with one good shove. I'll give the command."

Vhirko determination etched Lydmila's face. She climbed to the top.

Caykondra pointed her pendant's beam of light in the portal's direction. "I'll open the portal if there's any sign of trouble."

"No," Tarnlot said. "If there's trouble, it means Nhoth's intercepted Vision's message. I gave my oath not to disclose the portal. Better that we be taken prisoners and Zhun'Mar remain in safety."

Caykondra tilted her head, listening. "Vision agrees. The probabilities that Nhoth would risk killing the two of us are minimal. He'd take into custody instead. Try to convince us to support him. Vision would find a way to free us."

"Let's hope that's not necessary," Tarnlot replied. "Stay behind me. If there's any sign of trouble, let Vision know."

Lydmila stood beneath the door, her torso retracted like a tight spring. "Now," Tarnlot ordered.

The palm of Lydmila's free hand shot against the door. It snapped open. Flecks of grit dropped onto Tarnlot's face and into his eyes. In the instant it took him to blink, Lydmila bolted through the opening. He heard nothing: Not her weight landing on the floor, her pivoting to check out the four corners of the room on the floor, nor the buzz of stunner shots. He chewed his lower lip. She should have sounded either all clear or a warning.

A movement swept over the opening. Tarnlot's shoulders tensed until he recognized Lydmila straddled the opening. "No sign that anyone's used this room in cycles," she said.

Tarnlot climbed into the room. He sniffed, uncertain if the stale odor meant the room had been unoccupied for a long time or that the musty odor of Zhun'Mar's ancient manuscript collection had permanently permeated the walls.

He bent over the trapdoor and extended his arm through the opening to assist Caykondra. Her warm fingers grabbed his forearm. She seemed to float through the opening on his arm. As soon as she stood next to him, he motioned for Lydmila to shut the trapdoor.

"The fewer who know of this door, the better," he said. "We may need to use it again."

Lydmila nodded, laid her knife on the floor. With both arms, she pushed the door to the floor. It clicked into position, its seam blended with the granite floor's patterns. Lydmila stood and reached for her knife.

"No need," Tarnlot said. "If the Commandant comes through that door, you won't need it. If Nhoth sends his troops, I don't want a fight. Remember what I told Captain Kiptani."

Lydmila tilted her head as if uncertain what he meant. "Lieutenant Mirae ordered me to protect you at all costs. To do the same as she would do for King Zhun'Mar."

He took a deep breath. Mirae would never allow Zhun'Mar to be taken prisoner. "I understand. But your first duty is to the King. The best way to serve my wishes and to protect the King is to prevent Tiranoan from killing Tiranoan." He paused, hoped she would understand the meaning of what he was going to say. "As you heard me tell Captain Kiptani, the first blood in what could lead to civil war must not be spilled protecting me."

Caykondra pursed her lips. "Let's hope Colonel Nhoth feels the same way."

Lydmila's expression hardened. Tarnlot couldn't decide if it reflected concern for his safety or anger. "Should I turn on the illuminants?" she asked.

Tarnlot shook his head, uncertain if she would obey his order to stand down or Mirae's order to fight. He inventoried the room for some place that could provide protection from Nhoth's trigger-happy troops. Two muhrwood chairs and a table served as a sitting area. The other furniture was a four-poster bed covered by a down comforter. Sufficient for overnight guests, but nothing that could protect against a laser set at the lowest stun.

"Has Vision sent the message?" he asked.

"Yes, with Lieutenant Mirae's assistance," Caykondra replied. "If the code was correct, the Commandant will arrive at any time. If not, Nhoth's men-" A knock on the room's door stopped her in mid-sentence. She squeezed her pendant.

Despite Tarnlot's attempts to remain calm, his heart thudded. "Open it," he said to Lydmila. "I don't think Nhoth would have knocked."

Lydmila strode to the door and placed her body squarely in front of it. If a shot were to be fired when the door opened, she intended to be hit first. She laid her palm on the touch pad and the door retracted. Tarnlot couldn't see around Lydmila's back and into the hall. He regretted he'd acted by instinct and clenched his fists. If he'd taken a moment to think, he would have expected that Nhoth would use the obvious to lull him into thinking the Vhirko had arrived.

Lydmila snapped a salute and the knots in Tarnlot's shoulders melted. Lydmila stood aside and Commandant Olena glided through the door, her tawny hair pulled back in its normal tight bun without a single hair out of place. Two Vhirko captains flanked Olena, their laser knives drawn.

"This wing of the Castel's secured," Olena said in a crisp alto tone. She looked at Caykondra. Tarnlot detected a slight movement in Olena's eyebrow.

"Greetings High Sibyl," Olena dipped her head slightly. "I was not informed that you would be here."

Before Caykondra could reply, Olena returned her attention to Tarnlot. She was almost as tall as Tarnlot and she drew herself to her full height. She cast him a look somewhere between anger and respect. "We assumed you were dead. Then we receive a mysterious coded message. Do you mind telling me what this is all about?"

"I needed to meet with you without Colonel Nhoth finding out," Tarnlot replied. "Zhun'Mar is alive."

Olena cocked her head. "Is this true High Sibyl?"

"Yes. He is being sheltered in one of our retreats."

"Where?" Olena asked. "We must send a contingent to ensure his safety."

"There is no need," Tarnlot replied. "Lieutenant Mirae and two other Vhirko are guarding the King. He will be safe until I gain control of the Castel."

Olena glanced at Lydmila. "Prince, may I talk to the Corporal alone?"

Tarnlot nodded. Lydmila huddled with Olena and the two captains. He couldn't discern any approval or disapproval on Olena's face as Lydmila talked.

Olena turned to face Tarnlot. "How may the Vhirko serve King Zhun'Mar?" She lowered her head in the traditional manner that anticipated a royal command.

Tarnlot didn't allow himself more than an instant to enjoy overcoming another hurdle in dislodging Nhoth, the loyalty of the Vhirko. He quickly explained his plan for a Vhirko company to storm the Castel. When he finished, Olena did not speak for several moments. Tarnlot hoped she was absorbing the scope of his plan and not avoiding telling him it would be impossible.

"An ambitious plan," Olena said brusquely. She stroked her chin. "Difficult to carry out, especially if there is to be no bloodshed. I must return to headquarters to discuss tactical deployment. However, we can't risk the Koah patrols detecting the presence of either you or the High Sibyl. Please remain here until we have secured the Castel."

Tarnlot shook his head. He needed to be at the center of the command net. "Unacceptable, Commandant. If something goes wrong, I need to be present to decide whether to call off the mission. I can't do that isolated in here." He hoped his tone contained Mhikhel's tone that he'd given a command and not a mere request.

The corner of Olena's mouth formed an ironic smile. "Spoken like your father."

She turned to the taller Captain. "Find hooded robes for Prince Tarnlot and High Sibyl Caykondra. We will transport them to headquarters as prisoners. None would dare try to relieve a Vhirko of prisoners."

-10-

Vhirko Compound

Planet Tirano

Even though Vhirko Compound lined one side of the Grand Square surrounding Arvor Castel, Tarnlot had never been inside the austere gray-stone building. As Tarnlot expected, the squat building's interior was not ostentatious; functionality governed its design. The Command headquarters consisted of a vast square room with white walls, a flat drop-ceiling, an unstained fauxcrete floor, and three clusters of black synron desks spaced in the form of a triangle. The room even had an antiseptic odor as if it'd been hand scrubbed.

Tarnlot and Caykondra stood in the middle cluster alongside Commandant Olena. They watched a holo of the Castel that displayed each squad's location and movement. Directly over the Castel's holo were a series of shots from a holcam embedded in each squad leader's hair. Sweat trickled down Tarnlot's forehead as he followed the squads' progress.

He'd arrived at HQ in the afternoon and had wanted to seize the Castel immediately. Commandant Olena, however, had been adamant that they wait until the middle of the night. He reluctantly agreed with her reasoning that there would be less activity in the Castel then, and less likelihood of a bloody confrontation. They'd soon learn if her caution would be rewarded.

So far, the mission had worked flawlessly. The Vhirko squads had seen only an occasional sentry at the main passages. They'd been waived through without incident. Tarnlot couldn't hide his surprise that Nhoth's security procedures could be so lax.

"This seems too easy," he said to Olena. "At Phargon Nhoth never permitted his headquarters to be so lightly guarded. The man was convinced that if anything happened to him, the war would be lost. He was more heavily guarded than I was."

"That was a battle zone," Olena said. "He knows he's safe inside the Castel with the Vhirko providing perimeter security. He assigned his elite troops to patrol the city and enforce martial law."

Olena pointed at the Castel holo. "Last squad in position. Ready to commence on your command."

"Vision reports heavy encrypted comm traffic between the Castel and the Armada's processors," Caykondra said. "She's trying to decode it, but they're using a new encryption scrambler."

"Strange," Olena said. "Same thing happened last night when Colonel Nhoth declared martial law. Must be his way of controlling the Armada. He can't be certain of the loyalty of all of the officers. If he can regulate the ship computers, he probably thinks he can prevent any resistance."

By now all the Armada had heard of Admiral Kiptani's arrest. Tarnlot doubted if a single one believed the dereliction charges. But unlike Nhoth, Tarnlot understood the strict discipline that Admiral Kiptani instilled in every officer and fleetman. For the first time, Tarnlot regretted that the Admiral had trained them to obey without question or hesitation the Sovereign's authority. Especially when the alleged Sovereign was a puppet for a rogue Koah Colonel who'd arrested the Armada's Commander. With luck, though, before daybreak the Admiral would be free and addressing the Armada on the true Sovereign's behalf, and Nhoth would be in custody instead of leading the Koah to disaster at Tirgot III.

"Tell the squads to commence," Tarnlot said. "And make sure Nhoth doesn't leave his chamber. I want the pleasure of relieving him of command myself."

Olena nodded. "Move out now," she said crisply into the terminal.

Tarnlot watched the projections from the squad leaders' cameras. Sweat rolled down his forehead and his fingers tapped his leg. He wondered how Caykondra could stand so calmly. Vision had projected an eighty percent chance of success. Even so, Caykondra had to realize that one wrong move in the next few milli by a single Vhirko and the first blood in a civil war would be drawn.

In unison, the Vhirko squads swarmed into action. Even though Tarnlot knew the maneuvers the squads would use to disarm the sentries, he was surprised at the swiftness with which they surrounded the sentries. The sentries never realized what was happening and were easily disarmed. The whole takeover lasted less than a milli, easier than Tarnlot ever imagined. No shots had been fired; no blood drawn. As easy as if a bunch of raw Koah recruits manned the sentry posts. He'd enjoy Nhoth's shocked look when he confronted the arrogant viper. He'd be sure to inform the dear Colonel how poorly the Koah performed and that they clearly needed a new commander. A commander appointed by the rightful Sovereign, King Zhun'Mar Arvor.

"Any chance Nhoth's aware of what happened?" Tarnlot asked.

Olena shook her head. "We seized his sentries before they could provide any warning signals."

"Let's finish it," Tarnlot said to Olena. He'd never dreamed he'd have an opportunity to repay Nhoth for the deka-loops of abuse Nhoth had heaped on him. He savored the thought that the son of an KaNoa courtesan had outwitted the great Archonan tactician. He'd enjoy publicly exposing Nhoth as the one unworthy to lead Tirano; an usurper of the Sovereign authority that had rightfully descended to Zhun'Mar.

He tried, unsuccessfully, to keep the smile off his face as he turned to Caykondra. "Remain here. Ask Vision to inform Zhun'Mar that he'll be able to return to the Castel shortly."

By the time he reached the Castel, the strain of sprinting to maintain pace with the quick time march of a squad of Vhirko burned the length of Tarnlot's throat. When the squad finally halted at the door to Nhoth's chamber, Tarnlot leaned against the hallway wall, his chest heaving in and out. He was afraid his sucking for air would wake Nhoth. He swore to eat and drink less and exercise more; his gasping sounded like something that bloated mer-toad Rohfek, and soon to be ex-Lord Chancellor, would emit.

While he gulped air, Olena saluted the Vhirko squad that secured the door. She flashed hand signals to both squads. All of the Vhirko drew their laser knives. One squad formed a line in front of the door and the other squad a second line in front of Olena and Tarnlot. Tarnlot took one last deep breath, nodded at Olena. He almost hoped Nhoth was foolish enough to try to resist two armed Vhirko squads. It would save the time and expense of a public trial.

"Now," Olena ordered.

A Vhirko on the right flank entered a command on the door's control panel. The door retracted. Overhead lights snapped on and illuminated the room. The first line of Vhirko surged into the room and spread out, prepared to squash any resistance. Tarnlot scrutinized the room. The bed was empty and unused. There was no sign of Nhoth or anyone else. A pit formed in his stomach. Somehow Nhoth had slipped through his grasp.

"What in Ghaeah's name!" Tarnlot heard himself shout. "I thought you said this was his chamber."

"I did. I met with him here, offered to provide Vhirko guards. He declined. Said it was more important to assign all available personnel to guard his son and to locate Zhun'Mar's remains."

Olena bit her lower lip so hard Tarnlot thought she'd draw blood. "I was so obsessed with my duty to protect the heir that I didn't bother to monitor Colonel Nhoth's movements. At this time of night, I assumed he'd be asleep." She squared her shoulders, stood at attention. "I have failed as Commandant. You have my resignation."

Tarnlot's heart skipped a beat. He stared at Olena, thankful that he appeared out of breath and could take a few deep breaths. He summoned all the resolve he could muster to restrain his exasperation. This wasn't the time or the place for a Vhirko display of stiff-necked insistence at always being perfect and never tolerating mistakes. Her resignation would play into Nhoth's hands. Nhoth'd be happy to have the Vhirko command in disarray.

Tarnlot tried to project the authority and reassurance Mhikhel would have. He needed to make Olena believe she hadn't made a mistake. "Resignation refused. You never deviated from your duty to protect the King or his heir until I butted in. Responsibility for this mission rests with me, not the Vhirko. I shall see that the Castel records so note."

Olena's face remained set in its emotionless professional pose, but Tarnlot noticed her shoulders relax slightly. He hoped that meant she wouldn't continue to insist on resigning.

"Now let's get to work and see if we can find out where Nhoth is," he said. He stepped through the ranks of the second squad, the motioned for Olena to follow. As much as he wanted to turn around to see if she followed, he strode into the room hoping it demonstrated that her resignation was rejected.

Tarnlot's nose recoiled from the stench of the Vhorlean tobakgar Nhoth smoked after every meal. His eyes moved around the room. On the night stand next to the bed he spotted a military-issue hand recorder. He crossed the room and picked it up. As he expected, it bore Nhoth's gaudy insignia, an ancient Grekian warrior poised for unarmed hand combat. He turned, relieved that Olena stood next to Lydmila.

"This may tell us something," he said to Olena. "Nhoth always recorded back-ups of his orders. Thought they'd be models for instruction at the Academy."

Tarnlot thumbed the recorder's touch pad. The screen illuminated, a picture of Nhoth in full battle gear appeared. The smirk on Nhoth's face seemed intended to mock Tarnlot. Tarnlot fought the urge to throw the recorder to the ground and stomp it to pieces. Instead, he tilted his hand so Olena could view the screen. "The man's an egomaniac. Uses a picture of himself as the screen saver."

"Can you access it?" Olena asked.

"If he's using the same menu system as at Phargon, there should be a time chart of entries." Tarnlot entered a command on the touch pad. "Ah, there it is. Most recent entry was three deci ago. Let's start there."

Tarnlot's forefinger tapped the entry. The screen displayed Nhoth standing in front of a holo map. He wore battle fatigues and was surrounded by his tactical staff, the same bunch of Archonan sycophants as at Phargon. Tarnlot noticed a bed in the background, the bed in this room. Good, Tarnlot thought, Nhoth couldn't have gotten too far if he's been in this room a few deci ago.

Nhoth's finger traced a line along the holo map. "As I suspected and Admiral Kiptani failed to understand, in trying to seize Tirgot III the Radani over-extended their supply lines. Our constant pressure on their troops has forced them to convoy supply ships in unescorted single diamonds. Now's the time to strike. While the Armada picks off the ships one-by-one, the Koah will have an easy time mopping up the stinking hordes on T-III. It'll be a training exercise before the final battle."

Nhoth turned so the recorder would catch his profile, the profile that he'd told Tarnlot best displayed his commanding aura that inspired the troops. "From there, we launch the invasion of Radani Prime."

Nhoth's chest visibly swelled. "Gentlemen, history will record our success as Tirano's greatest victory. King Mhikhel would have expected nothing less of the Koah." He paused, a self-satisfied smile creased his face.

"You all have your assignments. Distribute the orders to your Battalion Commanders. Then return here to accompany me to the shuttle. We rendezvous with the Vhymir in two deci. May Ghaeah protect Tirano until we return."

Tarnlot heard the crack of synplast, realized he was squeezing the recorder. Nhoth intended the unthinkable, a frontal assault on Radani Prime. He looked at Olena. The color had drained from her face.

"Why would he undertake a suicide mission? He has to know he'll lose the Armada and the Koah. That Tirano will be left defenseless. Not even Ghaeah will be able to protect Tirano when the Radani hordes arrive," she said softly.

Tarnlot closed his eyes. He'd failed. Nhoth had slipped through his fingers and all he could do was wait for the Radani hordes to arrive. He'd not only failed his father and Zhun'Mar, he'd failed the fleetmen of Armada and the troops of the Koah who would die in a campaign doomed for disaster. Most of all, he'd failed the billions of Tiranoans, Archonan and KaNoa, who would die when the Radani invaded.

Never give up, Mhikhel's voice screamed in his mind. He pictured Mhikhel scowling at him when he was a child and one of Mhikhel's self-defense exercises stumped him. Keep your senses. You have to learn to think under stress.

Tarnlot closed his eyes. Clear your mind of negative thoughts, Mhikhel's voice sounded calmly. Tarnlot analyzed the situation. Even at maximum thrust, the Armada couldn't reach Tirgot III in less than three spins, and it would take another seven spins to reach Radani Prime. And even though they were doomed, the Armada and the Koah would not be easily defeated. They could hold out for at least a deka-spin. It would be more than a cycle before the Radani could arrive at Tirano. A cycle to find a way to defend Tirano. There had to be a way, and he could count on the help of four of the best minds of Tirano: Caykondra, Commandant Olena, Admiral Kiptani, and if he could find a way to snap him out of his stupor and make him focus on the relevant, Zhun'Mar.

He opened his eyes. "Commandant, where is Admiral Kiptani being held?"

"Koah brig."

"Take whatever force is necessary and free him. Accompany him to the Royal Council Chamber. And contact Caykondra, ask her to accompany the King there, too." He clenched his fists. "The Radani won't find a bunch of bleating steppe-sheep waiting for slaughter."

-11-

Royal Council Chamber

Arvor Castel

Planet Tirano

Tarnlot glanced around the circular table. The attendees were probably the shabbiest looking group of people to ever meet in the Royal Council Chamber's splendor. Caykondra sat next to him, her red gown stained by the basement's grime. Her hair appeared as disheveled as Lydmila's. Tarnlot wondered if she'd brushed it since it'd been tossed by the chopter's turbulence.

Next to Caykondra, Admiral Kiptani wore a filthy pair of duty whites. Unshaven stubble covered his face, which only increased the intensity of the rage smoldering in his eyes: Wrath at being arrested, fury at Nhoth's lunacy. Tarnlot worried that the normally unflappable Kiptani might be too emotionally volatile to deal with the Armada's pending destruction. Tarnlot couldn't permit that rage to erupt; he'd have to find a way to channel it.

On Tarnlot's other side, Zhun'Mar at least looked like a king. He wore a clean ivory robe with the imperial Golden Vines embroidered on the shoulders, and the Golden Vine Ring graced his finger. The black lines under Zhun'Mar's eyes revealed, however, that he hadn't slept. Nor had he uttered a word since he'd entered the Council Chamber. Tarnlot suspected Zhun'Mar's silence reflected a deepening despair that could only worsen when he heard Tarnlot's report.

Commandant Olena sat beside Zhun'Mar. She remained in the duty uniform she'd worn since she first met Tarnlot. He could see the sweat stains soaking her uniform and wondered if Zhun'Mar noticed them.

Olena hadn't relieved either Lieutenant Mirae or Corporal Lydmila from their duties. Even though both wore uniforms wrinkled from two spins of continual service, neither showed any sign of fatigue. Mirae stood behind Zhun'Mar, her cobalt-blue eyes filled with determination. Tarnlot could sense Lydmila's solid stance behind him.

Tarnlot didn't want to imagine what he must look like. His robe made Caykondra's gown look clean, and the veins in his eyes burned. He didn't have a Vhirko's physical conditioning or obsessional determination. He'd have to continue to rely on adrenalin that he could feel waning by the myria.

"With your permission," he said to Zhun'Mar, "I'd like to bring you up to date on what's occurred."

Zhun'Mar nodded.

"When I arrived with Commandant Olena at Colonel Nhoth's chamber, he wasn't there. We found this. It speaks for itself."

Tarnlot laid Nhoth's hand recorder on the table facing Zhun'Mar and replayed Nhoth's last entry. Zhun'Mar stared without expression as he watched, but Admiral Kiptani's eyes narrowed to slits and his head twitched. Tarnlot recognized it required all of the Admiral's self-control to keep from crushing the recorder. He almost wished the Admiral would smash it; it might help the Admiral release his pent-up fervor.

Before anyone could speak, Tarnlot continued. "Colonel Nhoth boarded a shuttle over three deci ago. From a flurry of communication activity a deci later, Vision's deciphered that Nhoth boarded the Vhymir and assumed tactical command of the Armada. The Vhymir, escorted by the Home Fleet, departed thereafter. The remainder of the Armada's ships will join the expedition over the next two spins. The massed Armada will arrive at Tirgot III in approximately three spins. Unless someone knows a way to recall the Armada before then, it's up to us to formulate a plan to defend Tirano from invading Radani hordes."

Admiral Kiptani sprung to his feet. He rocked his torso back and forth. "Why are we wasting time? I'll contact the Armada. I either trained or served with every captain in the fleet. I'd risk my life on the loyalty of those officers."

"I wish it were that easy," Tarnlot responded. "Nhoth instituted a comm blackout between the Armada and Tirano. Vision's determined that all of the receivers are blocked. And Vision doesn't think we should try to break through the block. Because we don't know the Armada's exact route, we'd be forced to transmit a ultra-strong wide-band wave that the Radani could easily intercept. If we don't break through or break through too late, I don't want to give the Radani any warning of what Nhoth plans. Our forces deserve the opportunity to do as much damage as they can before they're slaughtered."

Admiral Kiptani's shoulders slumped and he slouched back into his seat. He stared wide-eyed at Tarnlot. His lip quivered and his eyes seemed to lose focus. Tarnlot watched Kiptani's anger dissolve into despair. If the Admiral lost hope, how could anyone maintain resolve in the face of the bane Nhoth had unleashed?

"Admiral," Zhun'Mar said, his tone soft. "Before we left for the Compound, Father had me review the results of the test flights of maser prototype MP-1."

Tarnlot jerked his head to look at Zhun'Mar. Zhun'Mar hadn't said a word since he'd entered the Council Chamber. When he finally spoke, all he could talk about was some irrelevant prototype. Tarnlot's blood pressure ratcheted up another notch.

"I'm not sure that's pertinent," Tarnlot said, unable to suppress his irritation.

Admiral Kiptani straightened his back. His eyebrows drew down in obvious concentration as he turned toward Zhun'Mar. "Very good, Sire. I'm glad one of us is thinking. It's worthy of discussion."

Tarnlot's eyes darted from Zhun'Mar to Kiptani. Both men were nodding. "Do you two mind telling the rest of what you're talking about?"

Zhun'Mar set his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers. Tarnlot hoped Zhun'Mar wouldn't launch into one of his rambling monologues describing every technical specification concerning some arcane vehicle.

"Well," Zhun'Mar began in his professorial tone, "the Armada's developed a prototype of a new propulsion system. It's a rather simple concept. A microwave beam replaces the traditional laser beam. An advancement made possible because of the perdurability of a new stellarator reflector mined on Tamok. In theory, the MP-1 is faster than anything in the galaxy. It should be able to overtake the Armada before it reaches Tirgot III. So, we send it off, it catches the Armada, and we recall the Armada before the Radani have any idea of what's happening." He sat back and crossed his arms across his chest.

Kiptani puckered his lips. "Before we start celebrating, Sire, there are several significant problems to consider. First, there's only one prototype. Its maser's been tested only one time, and only for a short distance. We don't know if it or the stellarators will function for as long as it'd take to reach the Armada. Long-term stress implosion remains a risk. Second, and more importantly, it has no weapons system. Even with its speed, it'd be a sitting duck for any trigger happy gunner. And," he snorted, "I'm sure Nhoth's got plenty of those ready to fire on some ship that'd be approaching faster than anything in the Armada. Without any way to break through the comm blackout, it could be a suicide mission."

"Admiral," Caykondra said. "Vision projected that the Radani could intercept and decipher wide-band inter-galactic transmissions from Tirano. She didn't say she was incapable of breaking the block."

She cradled her pendant, tilted her head. "The probability of Radani interception of tight-band transmissions from a ship within a deci-spin of the Armada is less than point zero zero zero zero one. And that's only if the Radani had their monitors trained on the exact source of transmission."

Tarnlot leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling's apex. He focused on two crucial points. A ship existed that could catch the Armada. Vision could break the comm blackout. The strands of a plan formed in his mind. He twirled his hair while he unified the strands of a plan. In a moment he concluded that it could work. Unfortunately, it required placing three of the people at the table in danger. He had no choice; they were the only three people who could possibly succeed.

He had no qualms about placing himself at risk. There were others who could replace him, and few Archonan would care if he didn't return. Everyone else at the table, though, would be needed to defend Tirano if his plan failed. He didn't know if he could place any of them in harm's way. And he didn't even want Vision to calculate the probability of failure.

"Whenever you twirl your hair like that, you're hatching some complicated scheme," Zhun'Mar said. "Let's hear it."

Tarnlot kept twirling his hair. He'd greatly underestimated his brother's ability to cope with Mhikhel's death. Zhun'Mar had managed to pull himself out of his stupor. Even though Zhun'Mar would never be the man of action that Mhikhel had been, at least he had taken the first steps toward thinking and acting like a King.

"How many can ride in this prototype?" Tarnlot asked Zhun'Mar.

Zhun'Mar raised an eyebrow at Kiptani. Kiptani rubbed his chin. "The pilot," Kiptani said. "Two, perhaps, three others could be squeezed in. With that many, it'd be uncomfortable, especially for a flight that long."

Not as many as Tarnlot had hoped. He'd wanted a company of Vhirko if possible. "Can you train me to fly it?"

Kiptani grimaced. "It's too complicated for all but a handful of qualified test pilots."

"Your record lists you as a qualified test pilot," Zhun'Mar said immediately.

"Unh." Kiptani shook his head slowly. "I haven't flown a test flight in ages. Nor do I have any experience with anything this sophisticated. It's generations advanced from the last craft I tested. Someone with knowledge of the prototype's idiosyncrasies should pilot it."

Tarnlot needed to find a way to convince the Admiral. He pushed his chair back and began to pace the floor behind Zhun'Mar and the Admiral. "Normally, I'd agree," Tarnlot said. "Unfortunately, my plan will work only if you're on that craft."

Kiptani leaned back in his chair to watch Tarnlot. "I could go as a passenger."

Tarnlot knew he'd hooked Kiptani. As Mhikhel would have said, now's the moment to close the deal. Tarnlot stopped pacing and locked eyes with the Admiral. Kiptani wouldn't, couldn't, refuse the chance to regain control of the Armada.

"Won't work," Tarnlot said. "At most, four people can go. None of the others who have to be on the prototype would have any idea of how to pilot it. I need you to pilot the craft and then assume command of the Armada."

Kiptani didn't hesitate. "I'm ready when you are."

Tarnlot made eye contact with Caykondra. She was probably more essential than Kiptani, and he didn't know if Vision would allow the High Sibyl to leave Tirano. Especially one that Vision had struggled to create with long-desired DNA strands. "I need the High Sibyl to break the comm block."

Tarnlot expected Caykondra to cradle her pendant, relay his request to Vision. To his surprise, she spoke immediately. His mind flashed that his request had been so outrageous that she'd reject it out of hand without even consulting Vision.

"Vision will download all necessary codes to my pendant," she said.

As Caykondra spoke, Tarnlot tried to anticipate ways to convince her to reconsider. It took a moment before her words sunk in. She, and Vision, had come through at every point. He should've known they wouldn't hesitate to do whatever was necessary.

"Relay my thanks to Vision," he said.

He turned to Zhun'Mar. "And I need the authority of the Golden Vine Ring."

"No," Olena boomed in a tone that would not permit challenge. Tarnlot didn't need to break eye contact with Zhun'Mar to feel the sting of the savage snarl Olena hurled at him. "The King can't be placed in such a position, especially without adequate Vhirko protection."

Tarnlot continued to look only at Zhun'Mar. The whole scheme depended on Zhun'Mar's agreement. "Oh, I agree wholeheartedly, Commandant. I didn't intend to place the King at risk."

He paused, uncertain how anyone in the room would react to the effrontery of what he would ask. His heart began to beat faster. He resisted the urge to look at the others to gauge their reactions as he spoke to Zhun'Mar. "Will you entrust the Golden Vine Ring to my possession?"

Zhun'Mar's eyes glanced to the Ring, back to Tarnlot. Even though Zhun'Mar's expression remained outwardly placid, Tarnlot knew the slight narrowing of Zhun'Mar's pupils indicated his misgivings.

Tarnlot continued to look only at Zhun'Mar. The silence deepened the longer Zhun'Mar remained silent. For what seemed like a centi, Tarnlot listened to his heart thudding against his chest.

"Surely, you know you ask the impossible. Only the true Sovereign may wear the Golden Vine Ring and receive its blessing," Zhun'Mar said slowly.

Tarnlot hoped no one could hear his heart pounding his ribs. "If my plan is to work, Nhoth must believe that I am the King."

Zhun'Mar shook his head. "Have you forgotten the legends? No one survives as long as it would take you to reach the Armada. Pretender Han murdered his brother, King Klahd. Two spins after placing the Ring on his finger, Han went insane. Usurper Rhamos imprisoned King Jaihm, stole the Ring, and also went insane in two spins. Han and Rhamos both ranted about the Kings in his head who would not accept him as their heir. Each killed himself on the third spin. Rhamos' final words were 'The Arvors will not leave my mind.'"

Zhun'Mar's eyes narrowed. "Father warned us both. The Ring will drive its wearer insane if he is not the rightful heir. If you wear the Ring and it drives you insane before you even reach the Armada, what good will that do?"

Tarnlot knew he could show no hesitation or Zhun'Mar might refuse. "It is a risk I am willing to take. A risk I must take if you are to have a planet to rule."

Zhun'Mar bit his lip. "Then, you do not believe the legends?"

Tarnlot kept his focus on Zhun'Mar. "Oh, I believe, brother, and I do fear the wrath of the Ring. I will wear it only when I must."

Zhun'Mar's eyebrows arched. "And what will that accomplish?

"I'm betting Nhoth will be too shocked to see me sane and wearing the Ring more than three days after he left Tirano to do anything but assume I'm King. I'll holo the order to return to Tirano simultaneously to every ship in the Armada, making sure all see the Ring. Not even Nhoth would dare disobey a direct order from one who wears the Ring. He'd have no choice but to turn the Armada around. He wouldn't act against me until he'd had time to conspire with his planet-side cronies and convince them that I'm not . . ." He stopped, unable to finish. He took a deep breath. "By then the Armada would be recalled, and he'd learn that you were alive and firmly entrenched on the Golden Vine Throne."

Zhun'Mar set his jaw. "If your whole scheme depends on a direct order from the King, why not let me go?"

Tarnlot swallowed, tried to think of what to say to make Zhun'Mar understand. Before he could, Caykondra laid her hand on Tarnlot's arm and spoke. "Vision calculates the probability that those on this mission will not return at three out of ten. Tirano could survive the loss of Prince Tarnlot, Admiral Kiptani, me, and even the Golden Vine Ring because there would still be an undisputed Sovereign to carry on: Zhun'Mar, the only child of King Mhikhel and Queen Rhamona. The people would rally around you. There would still be a chance to prepare for the Radani hordes."

Tarnlot hoped Zhun'Mar grasped Caykondra's meaning: The son of a KaNoa courtesan would not be accepted as King for long. The Archonan would find a way to remove him, preferably in a body bag.

"So?" Zhun'Mar replied with a puzzled expression. "If anything were to happen to me on the mission, Tarnlot would assume the throne. We all know he is as capable; no, he is more capable than I am. If," Zhun'Mar's voice cracked, "if someone must die on this mission, Tirano would be better served if Tarnlot survives."

Tarnlot shook his head slowly. "Do not doubt yourself. Or assume all would accept me as deserving to remain on the throne. I'd be forced to step aside in short order, and there would be no Arvor to succeed me. We can't permit that to happen. Do you want to take a chance that Rheginahld Nhoth would rightfully sit on the Golden Vine Throne? Especially with the Radani bearing down on Tirano?"

Zhun'Mar looked around the table, shook his head. "Surely, no one believes the old prejudices. Tarnlot would be judged on his abilities, not on his KaNoa heritage."

"Father knew," Tarnlot said. "He groomed you to be King, me to serve as Lord Chancellor. I've always accepted that."

"Father was wrong. Times have changed. But I remember his dying words. I will heed your counsel." Zhun'Mar slipped the Golden Vine Ring off his finger. He placed the Ring in Tarnlot's palm.

Tarnlot stared at the Ring. "When I return, you will place the stone of Zhun'Mar Arvor in the setting. Until then, I will sacrifice my life if necessary to ensure the Ring's safe return."

He turned to Caykondra. "All know the indestructibility of a Sibyl trine necklace. It would be the perfect place to hold the Ring until the moment I need place it on my finger."

Caykondra nodded. "I will obtain one."

"Now that all of that is settled," Admiral Kiptani said, "who is to be the fourth on board?"

Tarnlot stopped staring at the Ring and glanced at Olena. "The King would be accompanied by a Vhirko."

"Yes, but not the Commandant herself." Olena replied. She pulled on her earlobe, presumably trying to think of an appropriate guard. "Corporal Lydmila has done a commendable job protecting you. I think she should continue to do so."

Tarnlot nodded agreement. "A fine choice." He would feel safer with her at his back when he confronted Nhoth and his Archonan staff.

"Time is growing shorter and Nhoth is getting further ahead. We must begin the chase." He laid his hand on Zhun'Mar's shoulder. "I will return the Ring. It is not my right to wear it."

"I'm not worried about the Ring. I fear for your safe return. I have no desire to sit on the Golden Vine Throne without you as Lord Chancellor."

Tarnlot squeezed Zhun'Mar's shoulder. "I will be careful."

Zhun'Mar's lips dipped into a frown. "In your rush to chase Nhoth, you have forgotten one important matter: the parley with the Radani. What do I tell them?"

Tarnlot took a deep breath. He'd been so focused on Nhoth that he'd forgotten the parley. It was scheduled to occur before he'd reach the Armada. He couldn't permit Zhun'Mar to go; it would place him at too much risk. If the Radani learned what Nhoth was attempting, they'd kill Zhun'Mar. Even if the Radani didn't suspect a thing, Tarnlot could not permit Zhun'Mar to go without him.

"Have Vision contact the Radani Quad. Tell them we're in mourning for Father and must postpone the parley." He locked eyes with Zhun'Mar. "The next time either of us meets the Quad, it will be to avenge Father."

Zhun'Mar clenched his jaw. He turned his head and in turn made eye contact with each of Kiptani, Olena, and Caykondra. He returned his gaze to Tarnlot. Tarnlot had never seen such a cold fury in his brother's eyes. "With the Council in witness, you have my authority to make it so. Under the penalty of high treason against the Sovereign, no one is ever to question or fail to follow your command to avenge Father's murder."

-12-

Orbital Station ZELTA

Planet Tirano

The elliptical chronometer on the prototype's gray-synplast control panel blinked each milli. To Tarnlot the deci seemed to be dwindling as quickly as the flashing cursor. The shuttle trip to the station that housed the prototype had taken two deci. It took another two deci to maneuver the prototype out of its hangar and into open space. Four deci gone. Four deci of the Armada streaming toward Tirgot III while he hovered in Tiranoan space.

The Armada's lead had grown to ten deci. Even at full maser thrust, Admiral Kiptani's staff calculated it would take the prototype twenty-four deci to catch the Armada. That left only two deci before the Armada would be in range of the Radani tracking station on Tirgot III. Even in a pre-planned training maneuver, to turn the Armada around in such a short time would be difficult. Tarnlot hoped the Armada was as well trained as Admiral Kiptani claimed. Otherwise, he'd witness the Radani annihilate the Armada.

The stiff webstraps of Tarnlot's seat restraint chafed his neck. His co-pilot's seat was squashed into a smaller area than in a chopter. His backside already ached from being crammed in the co-pilot's seat, which was plush compared to the unpadded rear jump seats where Caykondra and Lydmila hunkered. Caykondra and Lydmila would face each other with their toes and knees touching. The bulky full-body flight suits they wore for radiation protection would only heighten their discomfort. Tarnlot wasn't sure any of them would be sane after twenty-four deci's confinement in the prototype.

Admiral Kiptani sat in the pilot's seat entering commands on the control panel in preparation for launch. Somehow, the lanky Kiptani showed no signs of discomfort. "Maser mesh-net spar deployed. Net circuits fully charged," he reported over the comm channel to station control. "Request permission to fire the microwave beam."

No matter how many times the Admiral explained the maser propulsion, Tarnlot found it difficult to believe it could function. Somehow a thin microwave beam projected from a spar mounted on the rear of the bullet-shaped capsule could strike a tiny stellarator sail on the front of the capsule. The beam's force would propel the capsule near the speed of light. He'd soon learn if the theory worked.

"Permission granted, Admiral," a voice responded on the comm channel. "And may Ghaeah be with you."

Kiptani looked at Tarnlot. "At your command."

Doubt exploded in Tarnlot's thoughts. What if Nhoth could inspire the Koah and the Armada to do the impossible? The biting odor of the prototype's new synplast turned his stomach. He began to breath rapidly. "Perhaps Nhoth has the right idea," he said. "Our only chance might be surprise, catch the Radani off-guard. We've never attempted a full-on direct assault. It'd be the last thing they'd expect."

Kiptani's forehead wrinkled and his eyebrows drew down. "Nervousness at the start of a mission is natural," he said gently. "Don't let it destroy your resolve. Nhoth must be stopped. Don't forget what the little grunt did." Kiptani tightened his webstraps. "He moved against the members of the Royal Council. Threw me in jail like a common criminal. Then he tried to place his son on the Golden Vine Throne."

"But Father's murder must be avenged."

"Think! We both know Nhoth's on a path to suicide, not revenge," Kiptani said in his firm command tone. "There will be a proper time and place for revenge. If you're the man I think you are, you'll find that time and place. You'll see that the Radani pay for their treachery. In the meantime, we must save the Armada and the Koah from destruction. Otherwise, we'll never have the opportunity to inflict that revenge."

The determination in Kiptani's eyes assuaged Tarnlot's doubts. He focused his mind on the task at hand. First stop Nhoth, then find the way to punish the Radani. "We're wasting time hovering here," Tarnlot said. "We have a renegade to catch."

Kiptani leaned forward and punched the control panel's flashing ignition icon. Tarnlot tensed his neck and shoulders, waited for the pressure of acceleration. Instead, the capsule moved forward gently and slowly picked up speed. Tarnlot leaned back in his seat, rubbed the Ring hanging on the trine chain around his neck. With such a smooth acceleration, he'd be able to relax more than he'd anticipated. He'd need to be at his peak, mentally and physically, to face down Nhoth.

"Station Control, thruster deployed," Kiptani said. "All functions within parameters. Engaging empyrean booster." Kiptani punched the ignition icon a second time.

A deafening roar pierced Tarnlot's ears. Vibrations rocked the capsule. Tarnlot's head snapped back, smacked the co-pilot's seat neck brace. The odor of melting synplast filled the air. The pressure of a giant vise clamped tighter and tighter around his ribs. He opened his mouth but couldn't suck in any air. Any additional increase in the g-pressure and his ribs would snap. He feared the petite Caykondra's bones must be shattered. Black dots formed in his eyes and consciousness began slipping away. The capsule would disintegrate any moment and three more people were going to die because of his actions. Every crevice of his fading consciousness reverberated one thought, I'm sorry Father.

As quickly as the pressure had started, it abated. Tarnlot's torso lurched forward and his head hurtled toward the control panel. The webstraps bit his neck. He heard a rip and thought the straps would break. He closed his eyes, braced to crash face first into the control panel. To his surprise, the straps held. He bounced back into the seat. He gulped for air until the black spots in his eyes receded. He realized the roar of acceleration had been replaced by raucous laughter.

"What a kick. I didn't know anything could accelerate like that." Kiptani let out a long chortle. "I warned you I wasn't qualified on this baby. Hope it didn't scare all of you as much as it did me."

"Only thought I was going to die," Caykondra said dryly. "What happened?"

Tarnlot turned to look at Caykondra. Her eyes were pinched, as if her head throbbed the same as his. He watched her for a moment. She appeared to be breathing without pain. Her tiny bones must have been engineered to the strength of steel to withstand the g-pressure. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that Lydmila's expression showed no more discomfort than if she'd taken a bumpy chopter ride.

Kiptani stopped his chuckling. "The empyrean booster's designed to maximize acceleration in the minimum amount of time. I may have pushed the throttle a bit hard. We reached full speed in less than ten milli. Damn smooth ride now though."

His fingers moved across the control panel. "I've programmed the auto pilot. You can unstrap and move around if you want."

As if there's room, Tarnlot thought. "I suggest we get some sleep," he said. "The past few spins have been exhausting. We all could use some rest before reach the Armada."

"I'll stand guard," Lydmila said.

Against what? Tarnlot wondered. "I think we're safe," he replied. "I'll need you at your best when we board the Vhymir. You'll be first aboard to face Nhoth's den of serpents."

A brief smile crossed Lydmila's face. The first time Tarnlot could recall her smiling.

*

The deci passed. Even though Tarnlot closed his eyes, sleep eluded him. He twisted the Golden Vine Ring hanging on the trine chain. The purple grape clusters emitted a soothing warmth that served only to remind him of his father. No matter how hard he tried to avoid it, his mind's eye kept forming the same picture. Mhikhel writhing in agony while the gouge in his chest oozed blood and slowly drained his life.

Each time the same question hung unanswered. How? Radani functioned in four unit diamond formations; they weren't known for stealth. Vhirko prowled inside and outside the Compound. How could four stinking Radani have slipped in and out without a single Vhirko seeing or smelling them? And why hadn't Mhikhel mentioned the Radani? Did he assume the Vhirko had caught the Radani and instead passed to his sons his last messages?

The unthinkable burst into Tarnlot's thoughts. The Radani could manipulate hyperspace. His eyes snapped open. He twisted his head and shoulders. He had to tell Caykondra. She was curled up asleep in her jump seat with her head resting against the bulkhead. She needed to know; it could change everything. The Radani might be unstoppable.

He unstrapped his restraint and squeezed through the nook between the pilot's and co-pilot's seats. He knelt so his eyes were level with Caykondra's. Lydmila rustled in her jump seat, her hand reached for her knife. "There's no problem, Lydmila. Go back to sleep. I need to talk to the High Sibyl."

Caykondra's eyelids fluttered open. "I didn't mean to startle you," he whispered. "I've been thinking about Father's death. It doesn't make any sense."

"I know," Caykondra said softly. "But he'd want you to go on without him."

Tarnlot shook his head. "I mean the circumstances. How could four Radani have entered and left Rwohn Compound without being detected by the Vhirko or recorded on Father's memory implant? I can think of only one way. He turned off his implant because he didn't expect to be disturbed. He was taken by surprise and didn't have time to activate it after they appeared out of hyperspace." He let the word hyperspace hang for a milli. "They appeared out of hyperspace."

Caykondra reached for her pendant, stopped. "Force of habit." She frowned. "I've never been out of contact with Vision. I don't like it. I feel like a part of me is missing. I don't know if I could live if I knew I'd never be able to link to her touch again."

With such a forlorn look in her hazel eyes, the tiny Caykondra looked like an abandoned child. Tarnlot wanted to comfort her, but had no idea how. He joined her frown.

"Don't look so worried," she said, a smile returning to her lips. "I know that if I contact her, the Radani might be able to trace the transmission."

"I know you wouldn't do anything that could endanger us. It's the Radani manipulation of hyperspace that scares me. If they can transport through hyperspace, we're doomed even if we stop Nhoth."

Caykondra wrinkled her forehead. "The Sisterhood has researched for over two centa the mathematics of interplanetary hyperspace oscillations. We're no closer now than when we started.

"I refuse to believe the Radani could have solved the interplanetary equations." She paused, shook her head. "They're not creative. They purchase, or take by brute force, new technology. And if anyone else in the galaxy had access to hyperspace, even planetary, our sources would have informed us."

Tarnlot tilted his head. Kiptani peered down from the pilot's seat. How much had he heard?

"We've got some of our best on a similar project," Kiptani said. "Perhaps the Sisterhood would like to share its research."

Caykondra stiffened her back. "We will never permit our hyper knowledge be used for military purposes."

A deep crease formed between Kiptani's eyebrows. "All knowledge does not reside with the Sisterhood. Your secrecy risks that a renegade like Nhoth will beat you to it. Use it for his purposes, not for the good of Tirano. And what if the Radani stumble onto it before you?"

Tarnlot's heart skipped a beat. Until yesterday, he'd never thought much about hyperspace, believed it was no more than a childhood fantasy. How wrong he'd been. It existed, he'd traveled through it. It represented too powerful a tool to fall into the wrong hands, Tiranoan or Radani. Even though he'd trust Kiptani to use it wisely, if someone like Nhoth could manipulate hyperspace, it would be a disaster.

"Can the military manipulate hyperspace?" he asked hesitantly, almost afraid to hear the answer.

Kiptani shook his head. "Not yet."

Tarnlot noticed the slight emphasis on yet. "When we return to Tirano, I want a full report to the Council on the military's," he shifted his gaze to Caykondra, "and the Sisterhood's hyperspace research. Something this crucial should not be kept from the King."

Kiptani eyes narrowed to slits. "We kept King Mhikhel fully informed of our efforts. In fact, he understood the equations better than I did."

Acid surged in Tarnlot's stomach. Would the slow, tortuous unraveling of Mhikhel's secrets ever end? What other life-and-death matters had Mhikhel failed to reveal? He swore to uncover those, after he stopped Nhoth. "If it couldn't have been the Radani and wasn't the Sisterhood or the military, who could've manipulated hyperspace to assassinate Father?"

"No one," Caykondra said firmly. "Even if someone had sufficient knowledge to manipulate hyperspace, both a departure portal and an entry portal are required. That would have been impossible."

"I don't understand," Tarnlot said.

"To travel through hyperspace involves two variables: existence of two portals and the knowledge of the oscillation factor between those portals. The first portal would have been relatively easy. The assassin could have created it wherever he wanted to start his mission and then return there. The other portal had to be inside Mhikhel's chamber. That would have been impossible. The assassin would've needed several cycles, perhaps a whole loop, of uninterrupted time alone in Mhikhel's chamber to create a portal. It couldn't have been done when your father was in the room. Whenever he wasn't there, a Vhirko constantly guarded the room to prevent unauthorized access."

She grabbed her pendant. "Even assuming creation of the portals, I have no idea how long it would have taken to ascertain the oscillation factor. Unless the portal was nearby, it could have required loops. I doubt the Radani could have planned and executed such a long-term feat without being detected."

Tarnlot sucked his lower lip. "Then how did the they get in and out of the chamber unnoticed?"

Caykondra smiled wryly. "Could there be a secret trapdoor?"

Tarnlot felt his face redden. In his paranoia, and fascination, about hyperspace, he'd overlooked the obvious. "I'll find it if I have to remove every inch of that floor with my bare hands."

"Let's deal with Nhoth first," Kiptani said. "We should be within tracking range of the rear guard. They're probably trying to figure out who and what is closing in on them so fast. We need to make contact before they decide to start shooting."

Caykondra peeled the webstraps restraining her in the jump seat. Tarnlot stepped aside so she could squeeze by him and into the co-pilot's seat. From behind the seat he watched her cradle her pendant. Vision's programs to break through the comm blackout had been downloaded to the pendant. The programs were long and complicated. He hoped she had sufficient time to complete the manual download. Otherwise, he agreed with the Admiral that Nhoth would begin firing.

She leaned forward, pointed the pendant at the terminal. "Download commenced," the prototype's computer voice said. "Completion in two milli."

Tarnlot realized that Caykondra wouldn't use manual download. If she could communicate with Vision through the pendant, she'd be similarly able to contact with the ship's computer. Tarnlot shuddered. If her pendant and its carbon-based nanotech fell into the wrong hands, it could reek as much havoc as someone who could manipulate hyperspace.

The Golden Vine Ring tingled his chest. He wondered how Mhikhel could have been so unaware of the powers of the Sisterhood. Could all of this have been avoided if his father hadn't been so stubborn and had sought their help?

"Download complete," the computer voice said. "Program integrated and operational."

Caykondra leaned back in the seat, tilted her head up at Tarnlot. "Do you want me to establish contact now?"

Tarnlot swallowed, his throat suddenly too dry to speak. Even though they'd traveled farther and faster than anyone ever had before, the most difficult part of the mission remained. He had to wrest command of the Armada from Nhoth, then turn the Armada around in less than two deci. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the muscles in the back of Kiptani's neck tense. Behind him, he heard Lydmila take a deep breath. Only Caykondra seemed relaxed.

Kiptani broke the silence. "They're powering up for a long-range laz-cluster burst. Wait much longer, and we'll be history," he said with a slight edge to his voice.

Tarnlot slipped the chain over his head, unbuckled it, and slipped the Ring on his finger. He'd always dreamed of wearing the Ring. It fit perfectly, as if it molded itself to his finger. Despite the comfortable fit, he half-expected a flash of insanity to surge through his arm and fry his brain. Nothing happened. He nodded to Caykondra. "Proceed." He hoped his voice didn't sound brittle.

"Calibrating for Armada wide band," Caykondra said. "Your transmission will be received simultaneously by all ships."

Kiptani grabbed his seat's visreal helmet. Tarnlot reached down for the helmet dangling from the co-pilot's seat. He slipped it over his head. He wanted the first sight on the Armada's comm channels to be of Kiptani and him standing together. The Armada's officers would obey without hesitation if they saw the Admiral. Plus, once Nhoth realized the prototype was Tiranoan, he'd recognize its potential and wouldn't destroy it. Even if Admiral Kiptani and Tarnlot were aboard the prototype. _I hope._

"Holy Ghaeah," Kiptani shouted. "Some idiot's fired a round. Grab hold of whatever you can. I'm going to try to dart through before the cluster bursts."

"That's impossible, we can't-" A burst of acceleration slammed into Tarnlot. His feet flew out from under him. As he sprawled backwards, he realized Kiptani had engaged full thruster power. Instinctively, he tensed his back for the expected impact with the floor. Something broke his fall in mid-air, yanked him to the side. Lydmila's strong arms tightened their grip and held him on her lap like a small child.

A concussion wave jolted the ship port side. A second concussion rocked the ship aft, followed in rapid succession by a series of concussion waves. The ship bounced through the churning space, tossed like a raft in the Rwohn Gorge rapids. Lydmila's grip never faltered; Tarnlot was as secure as if he'd strapped on his web.

"We're through," Kiptani yelled. "Before they can fire a second round, get that damn helmet on and transmit."

Lydmila shoved Tarnlot to his feet. Even though the ship hadn't suffered a direct hit, Tarnlot didn't know if Kiptani had lost navigational control. And he wouldn't waste time asking. He grabbed the helmet, flipped its visor down. The black screen enveloped his eyes. "Begin transmission," he yelled.

"Commenced," Caykondra's voice replied in his comm channel. "May Ghaeah provide her blessing."

Tarnlot had been trained since childhood to address public forums. Nonetheless, he realized his hands were shaking at his sides. He'd die if the Armada fired a second laz-cluster.

"Cease fire immediately," he said in a deep resonating timbre. He hoped the trembling in his voice sounded like anger, not the fear coursing through his veins. He raised his hand so the holo channels displayed the Golden Vine Ring.

"I am Tarnlot Arvor, son of King Mhikhel Arvor." He paused to permit the significance of his statement to sink in. Plus, when the truth came out that Zhun'Mar was alive, all of the memory implant replays would show he didn't claim to be King.

"The Sovereign orders the Armada to return to Tirano, under the command of Admiral Kiptani. Any who disobey commit treason and will be summarily punished by death. Stand by on this channel for the Admiral's orders." He flipped up his visor to cut his transmission.

"Get those blasters powered down now, or I'll personally rip every stripe off your uniform and bust you to recruit," Kiptani screamed into the comm channels.

Tarnlot glanced at Caykondra. She bit her lip. He didn't need to tell her the obvious. They'd soon learn whether his authority would be accepted or if they'd be blasted to oblivion.

"I'm receiving a request for a private communication with you," Caykondra said. "It carries Nhoth's personal code."

Tarnlot let out a long breath. He'd won the initial skirmish. "Good. I doubt he'd communicate with a ship he intends to destroy."

Despite his desire to confront Nhoth as soon as possible, he decided not to reply instantly. He needed to show Nhoth who was in charge. "Don't respond. Let him wait a few milli. I don't want him to think I'll jump whenever he wants."

He rubbed his chin. "Are you picking up any intra-fleet communications?" he asked Caykondra.

"No. They're all tuned to the Admiral."

"Good. And keep an eye on the weapon systems. I don't want to take a chance they don't all power down."

He counted to one hundred before he flipped his visor down. "What frequency should I calibrate to for Nhoth?"

"I've set it," she said. "Should I open the channel?"

"Do it." The man-to-man confrontation he'd come half-way across the galaxy for would begin.

Nhoth's image immediately appeared, an insincere smile on his face. He sat at a rectangular muhrwood table and wore the mottled-ocher battle fatigues he had adopted as the Phargon victory uniform. Tarnlot recognized the smug Archonan faces around the table as Nhoth's tactical staff. They'd probably all had a good snicker with crude jokes about how Tarnlot must have crapped his pants when they fired the clusters.

Nhoth stood and gave an obvious half-hearted salute. "We had no idea that you were on that ship. We assumed it was some new Radani raider that must've been used in Mhikhel's assassination. For self protection, we fired as soon as we thought it was in range. That's some ship to evade the clusters. Thank Ghaeah it's not Radani.

"And what a surprise that you're alive," he continued in an unctuous tone. "We thought you were aboard the chopter that crashed in the Rwohns. The wreckage burnt so badly our surveillance satellites couldn't locate any survival signals. We assumed all were lost."

Tarnlot's knees started to buckle and he leaned against the back of the co-pilot's seat. They'd shot down Captain Kiptani. How was he going to tell the Admiral, explain that he'd ordered the Captain not to fire?

As he watched Tarnlot's reaction, a smile of satisfaction creased Nhoth's face. Tarnlot realized Nhoth wanted to begin the conversation by upsetting him. He couldn't permit Nhoth to gain the upper hand. He had to regain control of his emotions, quickly.

He returned Nhoth's smile. "Surely you didn't think both of Mhikhel's sons would have flown on the same chopter. Mhikhel trained us better than that. He taught us to think. Not react blindly. Something you should heed."

"That may be, but something bothers me. How did you obtain the Ring? It should have been in your brother's possession. Could it be the ring you wear is a fake?"

Tarnlot hoped his expression didn't show his distress. Nhoth had already cornered him. If he told the truth that Zhun'Mar lived, neither Nhoth or his minions would believe him. He tried to project a look of righteous anger while his mind searched for a response.

Caykondra's face appeared on a frame in the visreal helmet. "Colonel Nhoth," she said calmly.

The corner of Nhoth's mouth jerked slightly. Tarnlot smiled inwardly in satisfaction at Nhoth's surprise. Nhoth apparently had no idea of the abilities of the Sisterhood.

"Do you think the High Sibyl would not know the true Golden Vine Ring and who is legally entitled to wear it?" she said self-righteously. "Nor did Rheginahld deny who the true Sovereign is."

"I, I was not aware you accompanied Tarnlot," Nhoth replied.

"Unless you wish to incur the wrath of the Sisterhood, I suggest you immediately inform the Koah to cooperate with the Sovereign's orders."

Nhoth gritted his teeth. He nodded to his staff. "See that all obey."

He returned his gaze to Tarnlot. "You should have contacted me. Assisted in the planning of this mission to avenge your father's death. You can yet make it so. Think about what you choose to do. We still have the element of surprise as our ally. Do not throw it away out of spite. It may never again be at our fingertips."

Tarnlot leaned forward. Even in holo, he would tower over Nhoth. "You heard the command. The Armada is to return to Tirano. Under Admiral Kiptani's command."

The corner of Nhoth's mouth twitched. "I have always trained the Koah to obey the command of the Sovereign." He paused, didn't try to hide the contempt in his eyes. "But it is my duty to inform you that this recall and your insertion of the Admiral will not sit well. The troops were prepared to fight to the death to avenge their beloved King Mhikhel. They will not be happy to return without tasting Radani blood."

"Then you understand, like Father, I have no choice but to place full responsibility on you to maintain the discipline of your troops. Make sure they obey the Sovereign's orders." Tarnlot slowly looked around the table at the staff officers. "Or there will be no option other than to find someone with a staff who can." He hoped they believed his threat.

He returned his glare to Nhoth. "Both as Koah Commander and as a patriotic Nhoth, you can inform the troops that I fully intend to avenge my father's death. His murderers will suffer my wrath." He gritted his teeth, pointed a finger at Nhoth. "But not on a suicide mission that will result in the destruction of Tirano."

"I warn you not to take too long. The sooner you decide to fight the Radani, the better." Nhoth didn't try to hide the disgusted smirk on his face. "It's your only hope."

Tarnlot didn't miss the challenge and struggled to control his temper. "We will discuss this matter when we return to Tirano."

Nhoth's head bobbed. "I'm sure we will. In the meantime, I assume you are tired of being cooped up in that small vessel. I'm most interested in hearing what kind of ship it is. I have made arrangements for you to dock with the Vhymir. Quarters are being prepared for you as we speak. And I assume you must be accompanied by Vhirko. Will they need quarters?"

"My Vhirko will remain with me at all times," Tarnlot replied. He wasn't about to leave himself alone in Nhoth's lair without Lydmila at his back.

Nhoth seemed to digest Tarnlot's response. "Are there any others we should prepare for?"

Tarnlot wondered if he'd revealed something he shouldn't have, decided to keep Nhoth guessing. He straightened his back so his holo would appear at his full height. "I will see you shortly."

He nodded for Caykondra to cut the transmission. The visor turned black and he removed the VR helmet. Admiral Kiptani remained in the pilot's seat issuing orders in clipped sentences. The black pit re-formed in Tarnlot's stomach. His father, Captain Kiptani. How many others would die because of what he did? He wiped the corner of his eye.

Caykondra's fingers encircled his hand. "I heard. The Admiral is a professional. He will take solace in knowing that his son died saving the King."

"But can I?"

-13-

Flag Ship Vhymir

En Route To Tirano

Compared to the prototype's co-pilot seat, Tarnlot's quarters on the Vhymir were palatial. A full-sized bed, a muhrwood desk with a ship comm-port, and best of all, a private lavatory. Even though Lydmila had attached herself to him like a tick on a steppe-rhynard the moment he'd boarded the Vhymir, as soon as they were alone he tore off his clothes and stepped into the shower stall. The warm sonic washed away the grime of the charade of acting cordial to Nhoth.

No matter how much he increased the sonic's pressure, the stain on his soul from Captain Kiptani's needless death. He'd told Admiral Kiptani the circumstances of his son's death and that he'd ordered the Captain not to return fire. The Admiral didn't say a word, but vacant look in Admiral's eyes would never cease to haunt him.

Tarnlot stepped out of the shower stall. Lydmila handed him an ivory robe, the King's color. He jerked his head in surprise.

"I found it on a hanger in the closet," she said. "This is the royal chamber and they assume you're the King."

Tarnlot slipped into the robe, caressed by the smooth royal silk. He stared at the mirror. Even though the robe had been tailored for Mhikhel, it fit impeccably and its ivory tone complemented his tan skin. A desire to wear the royal silk permanently surfaced. He concentrated on getting the Armada back without incident in an effort to repress his desire.

"I want to inform Zhun'Mar of our status as soon as possible. He's probably imagining the worst. How long until I can break the comm blackout?"

Lydmila leaned over the comm-port and punched in a command. "At least fifteen deci," she replied.

"Why so long?"

"The Armada's been turned around, but it's going to take some time to reassemble into expedition array. Until then, they can't engage the thrusters."

Tarnlot hoped he could hold Nhoth at bay for fifteen deci. Nhoth's shock at seeing Tarnlot wearing the Golden Vine Ring had evaporated quickly. From the moment Tarnlot stepped onto the Vhymir, Nhoth hadn't even tried to hide his disdain at the thought of Tarnlot as King. Nor did Nhoth hide his hostility towards Admiral Kiptani. The Admiral refused to acknowledge Nhoth. Instead, he marched directly to the flight deck to assume command. Blood would flow if those two were ever alone.

Tarnlot knew, though, that Nhoth regarded the Admiral as a secondary concern. No doubt, Nhoth had already begun lobbying the Koah officer ranks that Rheginahld's claim to the throne was superior to Tarnlot's and would do the same with the Assembly when he returned to Tirano. Tarnlot couldn't wait to see Nhoth's hopes crumble when Nhoth learned Zhun'Mar was alive. For fifteen deci Tarnlot had no choice but to do whatever it would take to control Nhoth.

Lydmila's voice pulled Tarnlot out of his thoughts. "While you were in the shower, I answered the comm-port. Colonel Nhoth's aide relayed the Colonel's invitation for dinner at the Commander's Dining Pavilion. All of the Koah commanders will attend and Armada rank officers have been invited."

Tarnlot plopped on the bed. "Do the Belts ever stop circling? Last thing I wanted to do tonight was to dine with Nhoth and his minions. I'd hoped not to see any of them until we could holo with Zhun'Mar."

"I can reply that you're exhausted from the trip," Lydmila said.

"No. Until we can contact Zhun'Mar, I can't show any sign of weakness that Nhoth could exploit. Besides, I think it might be good for Nhoth's officers to see me. Not one of the little toadies would've ever dreamed of challenging Father's authority. In this outfit I look a lot like him. Some of their awe for him may rub off and slow down any schemes Nhoth might be hatching."

Lydmila nodded. She wore the same dirty uniform she'd worn since they left Rwohn Compound four spins ago. It seemed like four loops.

"You should change into ceremonial attire," he said. "Contact supply. See what they can provide."

"I can't change until I've been relieved of duty." Her face formed a half smile, half snarl. "The Colonel and his staff should be made aware that the Vhirko never relax their guard, even at a ceremonial event."

Despite wanting to chuckle, Tarnlot tried to look stern. If she believed duty required such a display, he wouldn't argue. "Very well. Can you contact the High Sibyl on the comm-port?"

In a few myria Caykondra's face appeared on the comm-port's screen. The wary squint of her almond-shaped eyes told Tarnlot that this line wasn't secure. He dipped his head to let her know he understood.

"Will you accompany me to dinner tonight?"

She tilted her head, raised an eyebrow. Nhoth hadn't invited her. Perfect, Tarnlot thought, a chance to spring a little surprise on Nhoth. Most of the officers would never have seen a High Sibyl. The aura of her presence at his side would strengthen his facade of authority and crimp Nhoth's schemes.

"Colonel Nhoth was kind enough to invite me to dine at the Commander's Pavilion. All Koah rank officers will be there."

"I'd be honored. I don't have any formal gowns. Will this attire be acceptable?" She stepped back so Tarnlot could see her whole body.

Tarnlot whistled softly. The dress whites of an Armada officer had never looked so bewitching. Even with rolled up pant sleeves and shirt cuffs, Caykondra managed to look stunning. She'd turn more than a few heads.

"You do the Armada whites proud," he said.

*

When Tarnlot entered the Pavilion with Caykondra at his side and Lydmila one step behind, a room full of Koah officers stood at attention and lifted their arms in salute. The part of him that enjoyed the thought of being the King struggled with the part of him that regretted the necessity of the charade. He hoped the officers would understand his motives when they learned Zhun'Mar lived; that he'd only been acting to insure Zhun'Mar's safety.

Nhoth waited at the head table in freshly starched and pressed dress greens. The medals plastered across Nhoth's chest reminded Tarnlot of a male ahndove displaying its tail feathers while in heat. As they approached, Nhoth's smile seemed almost genuine until Tarnlot realized Nhoth's eyes focused on Caykondra. Her grace had entranced Nhoth and silenced a room full of warriors.

"High Sibyl," Nhoth said fawningly as he pulled out a chair. "You honor the Koah with your presence."

Caykondra sat, seemingly unaware that all eyes in the room were riveted on her.

Nhoth pointed to the chair next to Caykondra. "For you, Tarnlot," he said with a smirk as if to emphasize that he hadn't used the term Sire or King.

Lydmila pulled out the chair and Tarnlot sat. He nodded at Nhoth.

"Be seated, men," Nhoth said in the crisp tone a drill sergeant used to command new recruits.

As chairs scraped the floor, Nhoth plopped in the seat next to Tarnlot. "Where is the Admiral?" Nhoth asked. "None of the Armada's staff could attend. Used some excuse about how they're engaged in some close formation maneuvers to reassemble into expedition array. I'd hoped the Admiral would show up and explain why it takes so long." The corner of his lip turned up to form a sneer. "The Koah could've pulled off a retreat maneuver in a moment's notice, and that involves a lot more men than ships."

Tarnlot couldn't believe anyone, even Nhoth, would disparage the Armada for making one of the most difficult maneuvers ever asked of it. Worse, did Nhoth think that the Admiral would attend a social occasion with the man who'd locked him up and who was responsible for shooting down his son? Tarnlot's hand formed a fist under the table. The temptation to wipe the smugness off Nhoth's face almost overwhelmed common sense. A dining pavilion filled with Nhoth's men was not the place. Tarnlot swore there would be a time and place, soon, to cut Nhoth down a few notches.

Tarnlot forced his voice to speak in a normal conversational tone. "The Admiral asked me to send his regrets. He wishes to be alone tonight. I'm sure you understand."

"Of course," Nhoth replied, his tone even more syrupy. "Ever since I heard his son piloted the crashed chopter, I've thought of how devastating the loss of my son would be. Not only for me. Also for Tirano." He paused. "Don't you agree?"

Tarnlot gritted his teeth, refused to be baited. "Yes. Too many of Tirano's finest have died recently."

Nhoth leaned forward to peek at Caykondra. She was examining the arrangement of fine Rwohnware dishes and crystal goblets. "High Sibyl, I hope the menu meets your approval. While on a mission, fighting men don't often have a chance to feast with a lovely woman."

"I'm sure it will. Even the Sisterhood has heard of the reputation of your personal chef." She fluttered her eyelashes. "How lucky you are to have a chef brave enough to accompany you whenever you are in battle."

"I agree," Tarnlot said. "I'll always remember the staff meals at Phargon."

"Then, as you know," Nhoth said in a voice tinged with insolence, "all of my staff would follow me anywhere. They're not afraid to die for the good of Tirano."

"Oh, I'm sure they would," Tarnlot said, hoping his smile looked friendly. "I only worry about who decides what's good for Tirano."

The wrinkles at the corner of Nhoth's eyes deepened. "As do I."

"Which is why we have the Royal Council," Caykondra said. She smiled innocently. "To make sure no one person can lead us astray."

Even though Nhoth nodded in agreement, the furrow between his eyebrows deepened. Tarnlot suspected Nhoth struggled to decide whether Caykondra's comment was innocent pabulum or a provocative challenge. She was clever, though. She didn't confront Nhoth with accusations. Instead, she'd keep him guessing whether or not she knew of his order to remove her from the Royal Council. As long as Nhoth was uncertain, he wouldn't risk antagonizing her. His oversized ego would believe he could convince her to be his ally.

"Which is exactly why I look forward to the opportunity of addressing the Council at the earliest opportunity," Nhoth said. "I would like the whole Council to understand what we must do to keep Tirano strong."

Caykondra held her innocent looking smile. "Let's not worry about boring Council meetings," she said. "I'm more interested in what your chef has to offer."

"Of course," Nhoth said. He turned in his chair. With a circular motion of his hand he signaled an orderly standing at the bulkhead. He returned his gaze to Caykondra. "A little scenery for dinner."

The wall along the bulkhead retracted to expose the blackness of space. The Pavilion was perched on the apex of the Vhymir's dome and the exterior lights of the ship dotted the foreground. In the distance the lights of the accompanying Armada circled the Vhymir like a pearl necklace.

"Oh! It's magnificent!" Caykondra said.

Tarnlot recognized a tone of sincere awe, the same awe he felt at the sight of the Armada streaming through open space. In space the Radani were no match for Tirano. Tirano's ships were the fastest, most maneuverable in the universe. On the confines of a planet, though, the Radani were an implacable foe. No matter how much Nhoth wanted to believe otherwise, the Koah ground troops couldn't drive the Radani hordes massed on Tirgot III. Instead, the troops would suffer devastating losses, and only a deluded fanatic would even contemplate invading Radani Prime. Tarnlot felt sorry for the misguided troops who would have died following Nhoth and nevertheless would hate Tarnlot for stopping their suicide mission.

Nhoth's voice broke the silence. "For an appetizer I've ordered fried thurn fowl gizzards."

Tarnlot's mouth watered at the mention of such a delicacy. "How were you able to obtain them?" he asked. "The Tamok proclaimed them an endangered species and proscribed their export."

"I have my sources," Nhoth said blandly.

A waiter set a heaping platter of gizzards in front of Nhoth. Nhoth nodded for Tarnlot to help himself.

Tarnlot heard Lydmila step forward. She set her hand on Tarnlot's shoulder. "Sire, shouldn't I make sure it's safe to eat these?"

Tarnlot wondered what she meant, then chuckled when he realized what Lydmila meant. "No need, Corporal," he said loud enough for Nhoth to hear. "The dear Commander is not foolish enough to poison the High Sibyl and me in public while my memory implant records everything I eat. Nor would he waste such a rare delicacy as thurn fowl to do so."

"For once you're correct," Nhoth replied blandly.

With his fingers Tarnlot lifted a warm gizzard to his mouth and bit. "Perfect," he said. "Crispy outside, still pink on the inside." Tarnlot almost felt guilty enjoying Nhoth's illicit provisions, but he couldn't deny that the Colonel possessed an epicurean palate.

Nhoth pushed the platter in front of Caykondra. Her fingers reached for a gizzard that she held daintily between her thumb and forefinger. "Don't you think a sweet wine, perhaps a sahtern, would enhance the gizzards?"

Nhoth's eyes widened. "Why, why, of course. I can already imagine how they'd merge on the palate. I'm shocked that neither my chef nor my wine steward suggested such a match."

Nhoth waggled his finger at his wine steward, a plump man wearing a black vest. A white towel was folded over his arm.

Tarnlot suppressed a desire to laugh. Nhoth prided himself on his knowledge of wine and food pairings, and Caykondra had already demonstrated she knew as much or more than he did. He realized this woman would never cease to amaze him. Too bad the High Sibyl was inviolate. He could search the galaxy and never find another like her. Why is she, like everything I most desire, beyond my grasp?

Nhoth's wine steward scurried to Nhoth's side. Nhoth whispered in the steward's ear. The steward's pudgy face turned red, undoubtedly from a berating. "Yes, Colonel," he said as he spun on his heels and padded out the Pavilion.

"I think we've got a bottle you'll like," Nhoth said.

The steward returned in a few moments carrying a dusty bottle and three crystal goblets. He set a goblet in front of each of Tarnlot, Nhoth, and Caykondra. Beads of sweat dripped from his forehead as he uncorked the bottle. His hands shook so much that Tarnlot thought he might drop the bottle. Using both hands, he delicately poured a small amount of a deep golden wine in Caykondra's goblet.

"Colonel Nhoth requested your opinion," the steward said in a shaky voice. "I can find another selection if this isn't what you had in mind."

Caykondra lifted the goblet to her nose, twirled it, and inhaled. She lowered the goblet to her lips and sipped a small amount. "Excellent," she said. "My compliments that you had a bottle of 83 Foothill Vineyard Sahtern available on such short notice."

Nhoth's jaw dropped. "I, I thought I'd cornered the market on the 83 Foothill. When and where did you ever taste it?"

Caykondra cast Nhoth her innocent smile. "Oh, like you, the Sisterhood has its sources."

She turned to Tarnlot as if to emphasize that she had nothing further to say on the matter. "I've always dreamed of being a wine merchant. If I could corner the market on any wine, I'd want the shirnaz from your Rwohn Compound vineyard. It truly is a gift from Ghaeah."

Tarnlot clinked his goblet against Caykondra's. "Thank you for the honor. I'll see you receive a case when we return."

"For the first course we're having a sea skimmer from my family's private estuary on the Ahdrik coast," Nhoth said, a little too loudly Tarnlot thought. "If you were a merchant, I'd give you exclusive rights to them."

Caykondra didn't bother to turn her head to look at Nhoth. "How kind of you," she said.

While Nhoth continued to praise his sea skimmers, Tarnlot sipped the wine and watched a line of lights from personnel carriers shuttling among the surrounding ships and the Vhymir. Something in his gut didn't like so many carriers flying with the Armada maneuvering in close formation. The potential for accidents seemed too great. He wished Admiral Kiptani were present so he could ask about safety precautions. The last thing he wanted to watch during dinner was colliding carriers.

Tarnlot decided he was too jumpy from being so close to Nhoth. It'd be a mistake to appear uncertain in front of Nhoth's men. He'd relax, enjoy Nhoth's feast. Nhoth might be a treacherous viper, but he was also impatient. If Nhoth was up to something, he'd have acted by now. Besides, fine food and wine would help pass the time until he could contact Zhun'Mar.

Tarnlot pulled himself from his thoughts and realized Nhoth had said something to him. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"Would your Vhirko like to join us at the table for dinner?"

"The Vhirko code prohibits it," Tarnlot replied. "You may, however, provide water for her to drink."

Nhoth reached for the water pitcher in front of him and filled a goblet. He handed the goblet to Lydmila. She lifted the goblet to her lips and sipped. "That will be all I require," she said. She handed the goblet back to Nhoth.

Nhoth's eyebrows arched. He placed the goblet on the table "I'll set it here in case you'd like it later."

"Rest assured I won't," Lydmila said flatly.

Lydmila's stiff-necked attitude pleased Tarnlot. With her at his back, he could eat as much food and enjoy as much wine as he wanted.

*

Tarnlot's fork toyed with the custard's flaky crust. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten so much excellent food in one setting or drunk so much wine. He looked forward to falling asleep, contentedly satiated. Nhoth had matched Tarnlot glass for glass, so hopefully, Nhoth would do the same and sleep until Tarnlot could contact Zhun'Mar.

"My compliments to the chef," Tarnlot said patting his stomach. "He'd make a wonderful addition to the Castel staff."

Nhoth licked a crumb from his lips. "For the second time tonight, we agree on something."

Nhoth looked at the table directly in front of the head table. The five Koah members sitting at the table rose in unison and stood at attention. Tarnlot didn't recognize any of the five, but each wore a Battalion Deputy Commander's golden chevron insignia, the highest rank any KaNoa could attain.

The DepCom in the middle, a squat, swarthy man, spoke: "I speak on behalf of the troops of the five Battalions. The troops has always served without question the rightful wearer of the Golden Vine Ring." He paused and stared blankly as if trying to remember a rehearsed speech.

Tarnlot twisted the Ring on his finger as his mind raced to figure out what to do. The charade of his role as King had proceeded too far. The Battalions seemed intent on declaring their loyalty. He enjoyed duping Nhoth and Nhoth's Archonan lackeys, but he didn't want to embarrass the KaNoa DepComs. He couldn't accept their declaration of fealty; he wasn't entitled. How could he explain that Zhun'Mar lived without it appearing that he tried to deceive them into this false fealty declaration? These were honorable men who took their oaths seriously, and expected others to do the same. He might not have the chance to explain before they ejected him out the nearest airlock.

Before the DepCom could speak, Caykondra ceremoniously laid her hand on Tarnlot's arm so that the five DepComs could see. "As your duty, and that every loyal Tiranoan, requires," she said. "The Sisterhood has acknowledged the one who has rightfully succeeded King Mhikhel."

She rotated her gaze to land on each of the five in turn. "Any who would act against King Mhikhel's successor, would incur the wrath of the Sisterhood."

Caykondra stood, yanked Tarnlot up with her. The floor of the dais squeaked when Lydmila pulled back his chair. Caykondra started for the door, her hand squeezing Tarnlot's arm to tow him at her side. The swarthy officer's eyes darted between Caykondra and Nhoth, wrinkles of confusion creased his forehead.

Tarnlot tried to maintain a blank expression as he walked beside Caykondra down the aisle between the tables of Koah officers. Lydmila's breathing at his back was the only sound Tarnlot heard. Caykondra held her head high and looked imperiously straight ahead, as if to say no one should even think about stopping her. Tarnlot nodded politely to the few officers he recognized, thankful that Caykondra had managed to find a way to get him out of the Pavilion.

The room remained silent until a single chair scraped against the floor and an officer that Tarnlot had acknowledged stood at attention. Other chairs scraped the floor and more officers stood. The orderly at the door squared his shoulders and opened the door. Tarnlot resisted the temptation to turn to see if Nhoth stood.

As soon as Tarnlot heard the door close, Caykondra spoke. "That was too close."

"I know," Tarnlot said. "I don't know how I would've handled the Battalions' fealty oath. I was afraid I might have to disclose the charade. Take my chances."

Caykondra exhaled and shook her head. "Did all the wine you drank make you brain dead?" she asked with a sarcastic edge. "Didn't you catch the emphasis on rightful wearer? They weren't going to pay fealty. Just the opposite. Nhoth had them primed to challenge your authority. And he chose KaNoa DepComs to do it."

A cold pit of realization formed in Tarnlot's gut. "Nhoth knows me better than I thought. He knew I'd gorge myself with food and wine until I'd lower my guard."

He wanted to hug Caykondra. "You were something with that speech. No wonder those DepComs looked so confused when you spoke. Since childhood their mothers have told them never to cross a witch or their souls would be banished to the deepest, blackest pit in the Cavities. They were too petrified to challenge anything you said."

Tarnlot realized what he'd blurted. His face reddened. "I'm sorry. I've had too much wine to think straight. I didn't mean to insult the Sisterhood, or you."

Caykondra snickered. "Who do you think started those stories? Fear and awe can be useful tools for a group of tiny women."

"Prince," Lydmila said softly. "We haven't passed a single fleetman, only troops. Does that make any sense to you?"

"Nhoth said they were all involved in maneuvers," Tarnlot replied. "Didn't you notice all of the shuttle activity during dinner?"

"That may be, but I don't like it," Caykondra said. "It makes it too easy for Nhoth and his lackeys to roam the ship and cause trouble. You know our departure will upset them. I hate to think of the drunken conspiracies they'll hatch tonight."

She turned her gaze to Lydmila. "Make sure you keep him safe. Don't let anyone into his quarters until I can contact Vision."

They'd reached the quarters assigned to Caykondra. Tarnlot hoped he could adequately express his gratitude. "The Arvor line will be forever in your debt."

Caykondra tilted her head back. "The Sisterhood has flourished because of the freedom granted to it by the Arvors. We are the ones who owe the debt."

Tarnlot wanted her to know that he personally would never forget all she had done. "And I, Tarnlot Arvor, am personally in your debt. I promise that I will always do whatever I can for you."

Caykondra's lips formed a winsome smile. "And I you," she whispered.

Tarnlot couldn't resist temptation. He lowered his head to kiss those beckoning lips. Before his lips reached Caykondra's, she jerked her head back, whirled around, and palmed open the door. Without saying a word she stomped inside. The door closed.

Tarnlot stared at the door. "At least she didn't slam it," he muttered to Lydmila.

"A most inappropriate gesture," Lydmila replied. "Sibyls aren't noted for their interest in men. I've heard stories about what they do in the privacy of their compounds. How they create babies in giant test tubes."

Tarnlot grimaced. "Get me to my quarters before I do something else stupid tonight. And if I ever drink more than three glasses of wine at a dinner function again, I want you to carry me out of the room as fast as you can."

-14-

Tarnlot's Quarters

Flag Ship Vhymir

The veins on both sides of Mhikhel's neck protruded as if they would explode. "By the blackest Cavity, what is the Ring doing on your finger?" he bellowed.

Tarnlot recoiled as if Mhikhel's fist had struck his face. Behind Mhikhel stood Kings that Tarnlot recognized from archive holos, including Arvor the Great, King Dhanus, and Mhikhel's father, King Pierre. Tarnlot tried to speak but nothing came out of his mouth.

Mhikhel turned to face the Kings. "I have to find out what happened before we decide. He gave me his word. If he broke it, I personally will send him to the blackest pit in the Cavities."

Arvor the Great stepped forward. "Mhikhel, we tried to warn you. We counseled you to tell both; you told neither. Pray to Ghaeah that We will not be lost."

A chastened look creased Mhikhel's face. "I didn't expect to die that night, not like that. I thought it best to wait. Neither was ready."

"Ready for what?" Tarnlot heard his voice say.

Mhikhel returned his gaze to Tarnlot. A tear dropped from the corner of Mhikhel's eye. "You knew the Ring was intended for your brother. He was the one who was to have access; not you. Why did you break your oath and usurp your brother's birthright to the Ring?"

Tarnlot's shook his head. "No. It's only until I return."

"Do you have any idea of what you've done? You erased the link for Zhun'Mar. They want to shut down until the next generation can initiate access!"

A loud pop cracked on the deck behind Tarnlot, followed by a thud as something heavy crashed to the floor. Tarnlot bolted forward. As if a visreal helmet had been opened in mid-transmission, the Kings faded and were replaced by dim light. Tarnlot blinked until his eyes focused. He shook his head in relief. He was in the bed in his quarters on the Vhymir and had been dreaming. His dream must have been the ill effect of too much food and wine. He should have known indulging in Nhoth's feast would cause a nightmare. The damn implant throbbed, probably because he was hung over. His finger reached and pressed it off.

A electric warmth tingled his hand. He looked at his finger. He'd forgotten to take the Ring off when he'd returned to his quarters. He wondered where he'd placed the necklace. Lydmila had probably stashed it somewhere. "Lydmila," he said.

He expected Lydmila to ask what he needed. When she didn't, he looked toward the foot of the bed where she'd been standing guard when he fell asleep. He saw her sprawled on the floor, her legs splayed and her face pressed against the cold syncrete floor.

She had to be uncomfortable in such an awkward position. He debated whether to wake her and help into a chair. He decided he shouldn't; he'd embarrass her if he did. A Vhirko wasn't supposed to sleep while on duty. He wouldn't reprimand her. She'd been on duty for too long without rest, and he wanted her at full strength if he needed her help countering Nhoth.

Tarnlot sniffed. An acrid scent drifted from where she lay. She must have rolled on her side and accidentally activated her laser knife. He decided he'd better get up to check that she hadn't cut herself. Before he could move, something rustled near the door. He jerked his head in that direction. Nhoth stood next to the door. In one hand he held a laser pistol aimed at Tarnlot. Nhoth kept his eyes fixed on Tarnlot while with his other hand he struggled to pull something out of a Koah khaki backpack.

Tarnlot swallowed. _Surely, Nhoth wouldn't shoot me; he must be trying to scare me._ "What in Ghaeah's name are you doing?"

"Exactly what it looks like, KaNoa scum," Nhoth said contemptuously. His eyes glanced at Lydmila. "Luckily, I knew better than to take any chances with your Vhirko, so I set my laser at max charge. Good thing too. I put enough delay-paralysis powder in that water she drank that a sip would freeze a ghorlian pig in its tracks. She still managed to pull her knife before I could stun her. Took two blasts to finish her off.

"She was more of a challenge than you. I couldn't believe you were stupid enough to turn off your implant when you woke. Now it will be even more fun. You'll get to see me kill you."

The backpack fell to the floor and he held a three-foot long black object. "Now that you're awake, you might as well see what's going to kill you. Ever seen one of these this close?"

Tarnlot's eyes widened. Nhoth held a huge Radani claw. The claw's jagged spike was honed to a thin cutting edge designed on entry to pierce and then slash and mutilate when withdrawn. Tarnlot squirmed further back on the bed.

Nhoth snickered. He shoved the pistol in the sleeve of his shirt and with both hands grabbed the claw's shank. He swung the claw back and forth like a sword. The air whistled.

"So finely balanced. Feels like it's attached to me. A much better weapon than a laser sword. Cuts better too. Ah, but you know. As you're so fond of telling everyone, you were at Phargon."

Tarnlot tried to keep from trembling. He wished he wore something more protective than a silk night shirt. He'd never dreamed that Nhoth would try to kill him, especially not on the Vhymir. How could I be so wrong, again?

Nhoth remained next to the door. He continued to swing the claw back and forth a satisfied smirk on his face. He made no effort to move toward Tarnlot. Perhaps, Tarnlot thought, he'll listen to reason.

"Do you really think anyone would believe that a Radani assassin could kill me while I'm on the Vhymir and surrounded by the Armada?"

"Of course not," Nhoth replied in a disdainful drawl. "As an honorable soldier, I came to your quarters to talk man-to-man. To try to convince you to reconsider this retreat while we can still catch the Radani by surprise. I got the shock of my life when I entered your quarters. You were trying to contact the Radani. You didn't even bother to deny it and admitted that you're in cahoots with the stinking creatures. Confessed that you agreed to surrender Tirano in exchange for their keeping you on the Golden Vine Throne."

Nhoth dangled the claw in front of him. It swung like a pendulum. "You told the Vhirko to hold me while you sliced me open, the same way you sliced open your old man. Luckily, I had a blaster hidden in my sleeve. I shot her and then I tried to take the claw from you. We struggled. You lost."

Nhoth snorted. "When I tell everyone what a traitor you were, even that toadie Kiptani will agree to turn the Armada around. We'll be at Tirgot III in a spin."

Tarnlot clenched his jaw. "You conniving bastard."

Nhoth shuffled closer to the bed. He leveled the claw's spike at Tarnlot's stomach. "I'm not the bastard. Remember? You are. And no KaNoa bastard deserves to sit on the Golden Vine Throne. It was intolerable watching you parade around like a real prince while your father was alive. It's an affront to all that is good about Tirano to see the Ring on your wretched KaNoa finger."

Tarnlot knew who Nhoth thought should wear the Ring. "Better a KaNoa bastard than your boy-loving son. We all know he'll never produce an heir. You'll have to do that for him too."

Nhoth's face contorted with rage. He leapt at Tarnlot, the claw's spike streaked toward Tarnlot's chest. Tarnlot's instincts kicked in and he dove off the bed. His right shoulder crashed into the floor, then his right hip. Pain flared in his hip, shot down his leg. He forced himself to keep rolling until he thought he was out of Nhoth's reach. Numbness replaced pain in his right leg. He raised himself into a defensive crouch facing the bed. The claw had pierced through the mattress, as easily as it would have split open his gut. He tried to shake some feeling into his leg. He realized he'd would have been killed if loops of his father's self-defense drills hadn't conditioned his survival instincts.

Nhoth yanked the claw out of the mattress. Feathers flew in the air, floated on top of Nhoth's head. Nhoth slid off the side of the bed. "You're luckier than your old man was." He brushed a feather off his forehead. He hiccupped. "I sliced him good before he could even move."

When had Nhoth ever cut Mhikhel? "What are you talking about?"

Nhoth started to speak, closed his mouth. His eyes narrowed to slits. "Said too much, didn't I? Doesn't matter. You're going to die anyway. Just like him. At the hands of the great patriot Ohlav Nhoth."

A snarl formed on Nhoth's lips. He bared his teeth. Even in the dim light Tarnlot could see they were stained purple from wine. "Yeah, I killed the old coot. I thought he was at Rwohn when out of nowhere he appeared in my office. He turned off his implant, so we could talk man-to-man. Said he'd decided to concede III to the Radani in exchange for the end of hostilities. That if I said one word to oppose him, I'd immediately be relieved of command and assigned to a desk job at Thanlus that reported to that toad Hoj Rohfek."

Nhoth stepped forward. Tarnlot shuffled backward until he bumped against the wall. Nhoth had to be lying, trying to scare him and make him fear the great warrior who could kill the invincible Mhikhel Arvor. It would have been impossible. Mhikhel had died at the Compound while Nhoth was in Arvor City. If he could keep Nhoth talking, though, he'd gain some time to find a way to call for help, and to activate his implant. With luck, he could record enough to show everyone that Nhoth was crazy.

"You killed him because he was going to give up a ruined planet? Why?" Tarnlot lifted his right hand to his shoulder, as close as possible to the implant activator as he dared. He rubbed as if in pain. "We can't afford to re-tiraform it."

Nhoth inched closer. "Lower your hand. Do you think I'm that stupid? That I'd let you reactivate and record our little chat?

"I'm going to enjoy watching you die. I'm going to make it as painful as possible because you corrupted him. Made him forget what it takes to keep Tirano great. Others must fear us. If we give up III, we appear weak. After that, it won't just be the Radani. Others will be emboldened and begin picking away other pieces of our territory. We have no choice. Tirgot III must be defended, to the last man if necessary." He took a deep breath.

"When I told Mhikhel so, he had the gall to tell me I'd be in charge of the evacuation. That I should learn what it felt like to save men instead of sending them to slaughter. After a lifetime of his berating, I'd had enough. I grabbed the claw off my desk and cut him open." He lunged at Tarnlot. "Like this."

Tarnlot jumped to the side, twisted his torso. The tip of the claw sliced through his night shirt and slammed into the wall. A chunk of muhrwood crashed to the floor. The force of the crash recoiled against Nhoth's arms and he staggered back a step to maintain his balance. Tarnlot's eyes flashed at his stomach, certain he'd been sliced so cleanly he couldn't feel it. No slice line, no blood. He drew in a breath, backpedaled to the middle of the room.

Nhoth spun towards Tarnlot. "Damn you," Nhoth shouted. "You're as slippery as he was. Even with his guts hanging out, he managed to disappear. Never have figured out how he got back to Rwohn."

Nhoth exhaled, his breath stunk of sour wine. His chest rocked as if he was about to throw up. Tarnlot realized Nhoth was drunk. Caykondra's quick exit from the Pavilion must have upset Nhoth so much that Nhoth drunk himself into this befuddled fury. So drunk, he fabricated this story about Mhikhel.

Tarnlot watched Nhoth's chest moving rapidly in and out. A spasm jerked in Nhoth's throat. Nhoth lowered his head and gagged. Chunks of half-chewed gizzards splattered Tarnlot. Nhoth's head remained lowered and he gagged a second time. As fast as he could, Tarnlot reached up and pressed the base of his skull. The tingle of the implant activating tickled the back of his neck.

Nhoth raised his head, his eyes pinched in pain. Spittle drooled down his chin. Tarnlot realized he might be able to avoid bloodshed if he could keep Nhoth moving around until Nhoth got too sick to keep up the chase.

"Didn't expect a real fight, huh," Tarnlot said mockingly. "Only good at murdering sleeping men?" He skipped to the side and back.

Nhoth's eyes followed Tarnlot's skipping. "At least that way I could've killed you without listening to you yapping and watching you flit around like a terrified wombat."

The stench of bile reached Tarnlot's nose. Reflexively, his eyes glanced on the floor.

"Bastard," Nhoth screamed.

Tarnlot's eyes darted up. Nhoth was flying through the air, the claw headed for his neck. He ducked his head, covered it with his hands, and dropped to the floor. Before he reached the floor, Nhoth's shoulder crashed into his head. The back of Tarnlot's head bounced against the floor. A white flash burst in his eyes from the snap of the implant deactivating. Nhoth landed on top of him. Pain flashed the length of his spine and he thought he heard a rib crack. The pain became too intense to open his eyes. He couldn't draw a breath. He was at Nhoth's mercy. I'm going to die.

Nhoth gagged. Warm fluid dribbled on Tarnlot's face, followed immediately by the sickening stench. Tarnlot willed open his eyes and fought back the bile rising up his own throat. Nhoth rolled off Tarnlot and raised himself to his hands and knees at Tarnlot's side. Nhoth continued to retch. Bile spewed on the floor.

Tarnlot struggled upright to his knees, the pain receding to throbs. He took a breath. Pain didn't pierce his chest. He hadn't cracked any ribs, only had the wind knocked out. Pinpricks of feeling returned to his arms.

Nhoth remained on his hands and knees, gagging with the dry heaves. Nhoth's hand pressed the claw against the floor. Tarnlot clenched his fists and with all the strength he could summon punched the gagging Nhoth in the stomach. First with one fist, then the other. Nhoth's stomach flinched with each punch and his torso swayed. Tarnlot punched with each fist a second time. Nhoth dropped face first to the floor like a rock. He yelped when his chest struck the floor.

Despite the pain and exhaustion eating at his will, Tarnlot didn't hesitate. His life depended on subduing Nhoth before Nhoth recovered. He pounced on Nhoth's back, pressed Nhoth's chest to the floor with all the strength he could summon. Nhoth squirmed and kicked his legs. Tarnlot pressed harder, his head shook from exertion and he gritted his teeth. Even though he thought his teeth would snap, he continued to bear down with all of his remaining strength. Nhoth's back and shoulders tensed, a spasm rocked Nhoth's chest. Nhoth's frame went limp.

Tarnlot raised himself to a sitting position. The stub of the claw's arm protruded under Nhoth's body, a pool of blood forming around it. Tarnlot rolled Nhoth onto his back. The claw impaled Nhoth's chest. Tarnlot had mixed emotions when he realized the claw had entered cleanly and not torn a gash in Nhoth's gut. The wound didn't look life-threatening if Nhoth received immediate medical help.

Nhoth's eyes fluttered open. He glanced down at his chest, saw the claw sticking in it. Tarnlot enjoyed the look of fear that entered Nhoth's eyes.

"Don't look so terrified, great warrior. You're not going to die. As much as I wish otherwise, the medics'll save you."

Tarnlot paused, smiled. "You're going to be locked away for high treason. I got enough on my implant that even your staff will be forced to agree to throw you in the brig for the rest of your life. You'll never order another soldier to his needless death."

Nhoth eyes filled with insolence. "You fool. Without me leading the Koah, Tirano doesn't stand a chance against the Radani. The Radani only understand brute force exerted by someone like me. You may lock me up, but the Archonan and the Koah will no let it last long."

Tarnlot snorted. "You deluded egoist. Do you know what the Quad called me? The Butcher of Phargon. They've never even heard of you. It is Tarnlot Arvor they fear."

"So what? Not even that makes you worthy to sit on the throne." Nhoth coughed, spit dribbled out his mouth. He tried to inhale, grimaced from the pain. "I promise you this. No matter what happens to me, there are others like me who will never let KaNoa shit stain the Golden Vine Throne."

Tarnlot reached for the stub of claw, gripped it with both hands. He'd endured Nhoth's insults for too long. One push and the claw would pierce through Nhoth's spine. He started to tense his shoulders, stopped. As much as his blood burned for vengeance, his arms only twitched. He couldn't do it. If he killed Nhoth, he would be a butcher. Better that Nhoth be disgraced by a public trial that showed what he was: A traitor to all Tiranoans, Archonan and KaNoa.

Nhoth stared, not moving, watching Tarnlot's arms twitch. "You're not man enough to kill me. Even if you weren't a KaNoa bastard, you don't have the spine to sit on the throne."

Tarnlot wondered if Nhoth spoke the truth, that even if . . . The stench of the room suddenly penetrated his consciousness, turned his stomach. Tarnlot didn't swallow back the bile this time. He let it spew onto the floor next to Nhoth's face. He grabbed Nhoth by the hair and shoved Nhoth's face in the bile.

"See how KaNoa bile smells the same as yours." He released his grip.

Nhoth lifted his face and stared at Tarnlot, bile on his lips. "I'd rather die than endure the sight of the maker of that stench sitting on the throne."

The rage began in Tarnlot's head and streaked down his neck, to his shoulders, and finally through his arms to his hands. Both hands gripped the stub, his back tensed. His implant vibrated. Mhikhel's face appeared over Nhoth's body. "Kill him for me. Now," he commanded in royal imperative fury.

Tarnlot thrust with all of his weight. The tip of the claw met bone. Nhoth's eyes widened as if in disbelief. Tarnlot shoved again. The tip sliced through Nhoth's spine, struck the floor's syncrete. He continued to press with all of weight for a moment, the claw's tip snapped. He withdrew the claw. Nhoth's intestines drooped over his body.

Slowly Tarnlot's rage receded, and realization sunk into his mind. He released his grip. The claw fell to the floor and landed in a pool of blood and intestines. Blood splattered Tarnlot's feet. He'd permitted an emotional hallucination to overcome reason, and had murdered Nhoth. After all he'd preached to others, he'd killed another Tiranoan. A defenseless Tiranoan. He should feel regret. None came.

A pounding on the door hauled Tarnlot out of his stupor. He'd have to face Nhoth's men sooner or later. He hoped they'd be too confused to act until he could contact the Admiral for some help. His legs shook so that they could barely support him as he walked to the door. He leaned against the wall, pushed the door's commpanel. "Speak."

"It's me," Admiral Kiptani's voice replied. "You're needed at CQ. Caykondra picked up an all bands distress call. The Radani fleet massed at Tirgot III. They've wiped out our bases. I've called an emergency meeting of the command staff. Once the Radani consolidate their supply lines and established their troop garrisons at III, they'll be ready to invade Tirano. We've got to deploy the Armada around Tirano as soon as possible."

Tarnlot closed his eyes and leaned against the wall, uncertain which would overwhelm him first. His physical pain and exhaustion or the dull ache in his soul that Nhoth had understood the Radani treachery far better than he did. Tarnlot's precious cease fire amounted to nothing more than a Radani ruse to capture Tirgot III and use it as a launching pad to invade Tirano.

Tarnlot palmed the door open. Kiptani burst through, followed by a squad of fleetmen. Kiptani's nose wrinkled as the room's stench assaulted him. He halted in his tracks, took in Tarnlot's bloodied and fouled night shirt. His eyes widened. He reached for the pistol in his belt. "Weapons," he commanded.

Tarnlot shook his head. "Don't bother. It's over. Nhoth killed Lydmila, tried to murder me. He died in the struggle."

Kiptani's head jerked to Nhoth's body and the blood and intestines splattered on the floor. He arched his eyebrows as he recognized the Radani claw that had impaled Nhoth. "What . . . in?" He pulled his pistol out of his belt as his eyes scanned the room. "What happened to the creature?"

"There's no Radani. It's only Nhoth's trophy. He wanted to make it look like I'd been a traitor all along. That I'd sold out to the Radani and killed Father. He thought if he could convince you I was a traitor, you'd turn the Armada around to attack III."

Tarnlot forced back the blackness gnawing his mind. "Perhaps it would've been better if we hadn't been able to stop him. He might have been able to get to III in time to save the troops."

He lowered his head and covered his face with his hands. "Nhoth was right about me. I don't have the right-"

Before he could finish, Kiptani's hands grasped Tarnlot's shoulders, shook them roughly. "You're an Arvor. Son of Mhikhel. Act like it. Be the man your father wanted you to be. Not the weakling Nhoth wanted."

Tarnlot lowered his hands and raised his head. He straightened his back and stood eye to eye with Kiptani. Kiptani nodded assurance.

"We need to get you cleaned up," Kiptani said gently. "Caykondra and the command staff are waiting. We've got to decide how we're going to deploy to defend Tirano."

Tarnlot walked over to where Lydmila's body lay. He knelt beside her, gently placed his hand on her shoulder. "She deserved better than to be cut down in cold blood."

Kiptani grimaced. "Too many have died needlessly because of Nhoth."

Tarnlot realized that Kiptani meant to absolve Tarnlot's guilt. It didn't. Nothing could ever alleviate Tarnlot's sense of responsibility. He'd been the one who'd pushed Mhikhel into accepting the cease fire. His father, Captain Kiptani, Lydmila, all those on Tirgot III. Their deaths would forever weigh on his soul. As would the billions who would die when the Radani invaded Tirano.

It took a moment before it registered that Lydmila's shoulder had moved slightly. His finger pressed the vein along the side of her neck. A faint pulse. "Admiral, get the medics here, fast. She's still alive. The Vhirko's alive."

He smiled. It was an omen. If she'd found the will to survive, he'd find a way for Tirano to survive.

-15-

Admiral Kiptani's Suite

Flag Ship Vhymir

Tarnlot leaned against the shower's synplast wall. No matter how hard he scrubbed or how much he increased the hydro pressure, he couldn't wash away the vileness crawling on his skin. He could have let Nhoth live, but he'd hallucinated he was effecting Mhikhel's revenge. He'd cracked under the pressure of Mhikhel's death and permitted his hatred of Nhoth to overcome his self-control.

Worse, he struggled to contain a sense of satisfaction. By now all of the Armada and the Koah would have viewed the his implant's holo replay. It recorded enough that not even the sycophants on Nhoth's staff could deny that Nhoth had tried to murder him. And it ended before it could show him killing Nhoth out of rage, not self-defense.

The Radani were right. He was a butcher who felt no regrets about killing.

He slipped the Golden Vine Ring off his finger and held it under the shower head. Perhaps, the Ring's curse did exist. If he wore the Ring again, would the images of Mhikhel and the other Kings drive him insane?

With his forefinger he rubbed the dried blood staining the ring's purple clusters. Even if he'd never feel clean again, the Ring should be clean when he returned it to Zhun'Mar. He examined the crevices for any stains. He hadn't told anyone that Nhoth claimed to have killed Mhikhel - in the Castel. Nhoth must have lied to taunt him. The Radani had killed Mhikhel - at the Compound. There could be no other plausible explanation.

He continued to stare at the Ring and turned so that the scalding sonic stream kneaded his shoulders. He knew the plausible explanation, refused to believe it: hyperspace. Mhikhel had a faculty for turning up at unexpected times and places. Admiral Kiptani had said Mhikhel understood the hyperspace formulas better than the researchers. Then, on his death bed, Mhikhel had said, "Protect the Ring. It controls." At the time Tarnlot thought Mhikhel meant the Ring served as a symbol of the Sovereign and helped coerce people to obey royal commands. That was the reason Tarnlot insisted he needed to wear the Ring.

But was it that, or did the Ring manipulate hyperspace portals the way Caykondra's pendant did? If so, how? And why hadn't Mhikhel shared his knowledge, at least with Zhun'Mar? Was it because Mhikhel didn't believe Zhun'Mar and he were "ready"? There were so many questions, and the answers would be buried with Mhikhel and Nhoth in their graves.

Tarnlot stared at the purple gems in the grape cluster and wondered if there was a way to decipher the Ring's secrets. After several milli, he slipped the Ring on the necklace. To continue this speculation would only drive him as insane as surely as if he wore the Ring. He had to keep focused on what was important. He wouldn't mention Nhoth's taunts. Even though Nhoth had access to a Radani claw and the motive to try to place Rheginahld on the Golden Vine Throne, nothing would be gained by a public spectacle accusing Nhoth of regicide. A regicide that could have occurred only if he could prove Mhikhel had accessed hyperspace to travel from the Rwohn Compound to Arvor City and back. The people had to be united against the Radani, not spending precious time and effort debating the existence of hyperspace and whether Nhoth killed Mhikhel. For the good of Tirano, he'd never tell a soul that Nhoth might have killed Mhikhel.

He turned off the shower. A fleetman handed him a towel. Tarnlot missed the sight of the Lydmila standing guard. The medics said she'd recover, but it could cycles. Tarnlot sighed. He had only a short time to figure out how to prevent the impending political turmoil that could threaten Zhun'Mar's reign. He needed to find a way to appease Nhoth's allies. The loss of Tirgot III would fuel their smoldering hostility. They'd want to sacrifice a scapegoat. Tarnlot needed to make sure it wasn't Zhun'Mar.

He toweled the moisture off his back. Time was running short. He tried to think like Mhikhel. What would Mhikhel do? How would he pacify Nhoth's allies and still avoid fighting a war with the Radani that Tirano was destined to lose? He could already hear Count Rohfek repeating Nhoth's words: "The Radani hordes can not be permitted to occupy the tiniest part of Tirgot III."

An ironic smile crossed Tarnlot's face. Those words held the solution Tarnlot sought. The Butcher of Phargon would teach the Radani a lesson. A lesson that would make Phargon look like a love fest. A lesson that would ensure the Radani never occupied "the tiniest part of Tirgot III."

*

When Tarnlot arrived at the hatch leading to the Vhymir's Command Quarters, he stopped and took a deep breath. Once inside CQ he couldn't display any uncertainty. It would require an iron will equal to Mhikhel's to convince Kiptani that the Radani's massing at Tirgot III represented an opportunity. An opportunity for a decisive attack that would never recur.

Tarnlot nodded and the fleetman palmed the hatch open. Tarnlot strode into CQ, his head held high in the manner he'd seen Mhikhel use whenever Mhikhel would tolerate no dissent. Admiral Kiptani rose from his chair at the far end of the oval conference table and pointed to an empty chair next to Caykondra.

"Prince Tarnlot, glad you could join us so soon," the Admiral said solicitously. "You know the members of my command staff. I also believe you know Battalion Commander Pauhl. He's assumed command of the Koah and assured us of its loyalty to King Zhun'Mar."

Tarnlot eyed the square-jawed Pauhl. Pauhl nodded. Tarnlot wondered how the Admiral had maneuvered Nhoth's staff into accepting Pauhl's promotion. Pauhl was a professional soldier who followed the chain of command unquestioningly, and he wouldn't tolerate any insubordination.

"The High Sibyl and I have briefed everyone on our mission for King Zhun'Mar," Kiptani said. "The High Sibyl has also transmitted a fleet-wide announcement of our mission on behalf of the King and a replay of Colonel Nhoth's assassination attempt. The fleet's also been informed of the massing of a Radani fleet and its devastation of our Tirgot III bases.

"We've already commenced discussion on how to deploy the Armada and the Koah to defend Tirano. I'll briefly summarize where we are if you wish."

Tarnlot halted behind the empty chair. He didn't want to waste time listening to an irrelevant summary. He raised his hand and motioned for the Admiral to sit. The Admiral raised his eyebrows as if startled by Tarnlot's abruptness.

Tarnlot ignored the Admiral's reaction. "That won't be necessary. There'll be no defensive deployment. The Armada's turning around. We're going to attack the Radani where they least expect it: Tirgot III."

From the reactions around the table, Tarnlot couldn't decide who looked the most appalled. Caykondra's eyes widened with disbelief. Admiral Kiptani lowered his head and shook it back and forth slowly as if he couldn't, or didn't want to, believe what he'd heard. Several of the others stared open-mouthed, as though they'd been struck by a laser stunner.

The Admiral continued to shake his head. Tarnlot knew none of the command staff would speak until after the Admiral did. Caykondra, however, didn't defer. "How could you of all people propose such a thing? You risked your life to get the Armada back in one piece to Tirano, and now that you've almost succeeded, you want to throw it all away."

Her eyes narrowed to slits. "Are the tales true? Did the Ring drive you mad?"

Tarnlot held Caykondra's glare. "The Radani want us to sit in a defensive shell waiting for them. That way they draw us into a war of attrition. You were at my side when Vision projected the outcome of that. We can keep them at bay for a time, but in the end, there can be only one outcome. We lose." He shook his head. "I refuse to accept that certainty. As you should too."

Caykondra rubbed her pendant and nodded. "Go on."

She at least would listen to what he proposed. He hoped the others would, too.

"Our only hope is to catch the Radani unaware and force them to fight on our terms. In open space, where our tactics and maneuverability are superior. What better time than when their fleet's preoccupied at Tirgot III without a clue that the Armada is within striking distance?"

Admiral Kiptani slowly raised his head as if it took all of the effort he could summon. "Such sophistry. The words sound good, but let's analyze what you propose. First, you'd throw the Armada into the teeth of the Radani fleet. How in the Ghaeah's name do you think we'd stand a chance? They will likely outnumber us at least twenty to one. All the maneuverability in the galaxy can't overcome those odds. And if by some miracle the Armada succeeds, there's no way the Koah could drive the hordes off the planet. The whole idea of retaking III is even more ridiculous now than when Nhoth proposed to do so. And you led the charge to stop his lunacy."

"Ah, that's the difference. We're not going to retake III. We're going punch a hole in the Radani fleet and blow it to bits. Then we establish our defensive positions."

Caykondra tilted her head, her confusion obvious. "Why risk the Armada just to blow up Tirgot III?"

"Two reasons. First, III's destruction would insure that neither the Radani nor anyone else would ever try to seize Tiranoan territory. Who'd want to seize our territory if the Armada would respond by blowing it to bits?

"Second, and just as important, it's the only way to pacify the traditionalists. The likes of Rohfek could care less about re-tiraforming Tirgot III. They only want to avoid losing it to the Radani. They'll love the idea that its destruction avoids the taxes that'd be imposed to rebuild its infrastructure."

Kiptani snorted. "You may understand Castel politics, but not weapon capability. Thank Ghaeah there's no weapon horrible enough to blow up a whole planet."

"I was speaking figuratively. We don't blow the whole thing up. We bombard it with enough nuclear shower bombs to reduce it to rubble. It'll be so radioactive that it'll be desolate forever." He smiled challengingly at Kiptani. "I'm sure the Armada has contingency plans for such an operation."

"By the Belts! The Ring did drive you mad!" Kiptani frowned. "We call it the doomsday scenario. If we use it, then whomever we use the shower bombs on will feel justified to use them on us. It would lead to mutual destruction. No rational being would consider such a thing."

Caykondra nodded grimly. "I don't need Vision's processors to project a 100 percent probability that the Radani would attempt a retaliatory shower bombing of Tirano. We couldn't take such a risk without contacting the King."

"Don't," Tarnlot replied brusquely. "If we break comm blackout, the Radani will learn of our presence and descend on us like a pack of mountain rhynards on a crippled steppe-sheep. I won't permit us to lose our one opportunity to rid the galaxy of the Radani." He paused, rotated his head around the table. He wanted to make sure all heard his next words. "And avenge King Mhikhel's death."

Kiptani drew himself to full height. "Colonel Nhoth tried to usurp the authority of the Sovereign and we chased him down. We'd be no better than Nhoth if we proceed without consulting the King." He jutted his jaw. "I, for one, won't do it." The heads of the staff nodded agreement.

Tarnlot had hoped the Admiral would listen to reason. He gritted his teeth to keep from exploding with anger. The Admiral left him no option other than to coerce compliance.

"I'm not usurping the King's power, I'm invoking it. Do you remember Zhun'Mar's last words to the Council? He gave me the authority to do whatever was necessary to avenge Father's murder. Anyone who fails to follow my command commits high treason."

Tarnlot paused to let his words sink in - to Kiptani and to himself. By invoking his power to avenge Mhikhel, he ensured he could never reveal Nhoth's claim that he killed Mhikhel.

"I could command that you proceed to Tirgot III. I would prefer to have your input in developing a battle strategy. I will, however, issue my command without it." He paused and locked eyes with Kiptani. "Which will it be, treason or battle?"

Tarnlot expected the Admiral to fly into a rage. Instead, Kiptani crossed his arms over his chest. "When I told you to be the man your father wanted, I didn't realize the monster he'd created." He rocked back and forth on his heals. "Your exercise of raw power is so like him. You manipulate people into untenable choices exactly as he would have. I pray to Ghaeah that you can live with the consequences of what you're about to do."

The Admiral kept his eyes on Tarnlot. Tarnlot couldn't read Kiptani's expression to tell whether Kiptani would challenge him. Tarnlot knew that if Kiptani refused to cooperate, so would the command staff. And there wouldn't be enough time to assemble a new staff before the opportunity to attack would be lost.

"You heard Prince Tarnlot," Kiptani said slowly. "He speaks for King Zhun'Mar. We have a mission to carry out."

Tarnlot lowered his head to gauge Caykondra's reaction. She cradled her pendant in the palm of her hand. The lines on her forehead deepened as she clenched her fingers around the fire opal stone. She raised her face. The pain in her eyes froze Tarnlot. "I pray you haven't doomed us all to accompany you to the blackest pit of the Cavities."

The chill of her voice penetrated to the depths of his soul. Her eyes held him frozen until she turned to Admiral Kiptani and spoke softly. "If any of us are ever to see Tirano again, you're going to need my help in coordinating communications."

-16-

Command Quarters

Flag Ship Vhymir

Vicinity of Tirgot III

Tarnlot tightened the strap on his visreal helmet, then calibrated his neural implant to the battle channel frequency that Caykondra had established. In a milli the Armada's First and Second Wings would hurtle at full velocity into range of the Radani tracking stations. Thanks to Caykondra's skill at manipulating a quantum comm frequency that covered the whole Tirgot III sector, each ship's commodore would be plugged into the battle channel. As a result, no fog of battle would hinder Kiptani's decisions. The Admiral would view a holo display of the entire Armada and would be able to communicate instantaneously with every ship. He'd know at all times each ship's exact status and location. That was the positive aspect. The negative meant he'd also know and feel when and how a ship was lost.

"Their scanners should be picking up the First and Second Wings," the Admiral said over the private channel that linked him with Tarnlot and Caykondra. "There's no turning back from the Path we've chosen. May Ghaeah protect us."

Even though Tarnlot clenched his fists as tight as he could, his hands refused to stop shaking. Kiptani and the command staff had settled on a simple, but risky, battle strategy. The Radani fleet normally positioned itself in a four diamonds formation. Each diamond formation would be composed of hundreds or thousands of individual four diamond ships. Somehow all of the individual diamonds linked to form a single diamond that performed the same as a horde.

One of these massive diamonds would assume the point, one would assume one flank, one the other flank, and the remaining diamond would be positioned in the rear to form the four diamonds formation. A four-faceted diamond formation that permitted two diamonds to be in position to aid immediately any diamond that bore the brunt of attack. Thus, the Radani were always positioned to maintain their vast superiority of numbers regardless of the direction of the attack: head-on, a flank, above, or below.

Because it appeared that most of, if not the entire, Radani Fleet had massed at Tirgot III, each individual diamond would be composed of more ships than the whole Armada. Accordingly, the Armada didn't possess enough ships to try to engage each diamond simultaneously. A feint would be necessary.

The Radani had never faced the massed Armada and couldn't know the number of ships the Armada contained. The First and Second Wings would form a single horizontal v-line wing. They'd attack the Radani diamond positioned on the Caerwin flank. Their appearance would be timed to begin a half-deci before the Third Wing would appear on the Radani scanners. If all went as planned, the unexpected sight of the thousand ships constituting the First and Second Wings, more ships than the Radani had ever faced in a single battle, would cause the point and rear diamonds to immediately reinforce the Caerwin flank. If so, the five hundred ships of the Third Wing in a vertical v-line wing could concentrate its attack on the outer flank of the remaining diamond and attempt to maneuver around the diamond before it could receive reinforcements. As soon as the Third Wing saturated T-III with the nuclear clusters, all three Wings would break off the attack. They'd reform in expedition array to return to Tiranoan territory, and hopefully, before the Radani could regroup and pursue.

If, however, the Radani didn't bite or the single Radani diamond on the Caerwin flank repelled the attack of the First and Second Wings, the Third Wing wouldn't stand a chance. The Armada would be wiped out and the Radani could proceed to Tirano unhindered.

Before Tarnlot could contemplate the peril, the VR helmet activated. Data surged through his neural implant. The unexpected mass of the input overwhelmed his equilibrium. He closed his eyes. He seemed to whirl downward, his stomach rising up his throat. He kept his eyes closed tight until the vertigo passed. He slowly opened his eyes and a panoramic view took his breath away. Even though he knew he viewed a VR simulation, his senses told him he floated weightlessly in deep space behind the Armada. He could see the ships of the First and Second Wings racing toward T-III, and out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed the Third Wing hovering outside Radani scanning range.

Every particle in his body swirled. For the second time in his life, he faced the maelstrom of a pitched battle with the Radani. A battle that would decide Tirano's fate.

"I don't understand," Caykondra's voice said over the direct channel to Tarnlot and the Admiral. "Even though I'm using an ultra high quantum comm frequency, I should be able to detect Radani scanners activating their warning systems. I'm not picking up any Radani comm traffic. It's silent. Not a single beep."

"Keep monitoring," the Admiral replied. "Let me know as soon as you detect anything. I'm going to check with the point ship.

"Commodore Mante," the Admiral said over the battle channel. "Report status."

Above the holo of the Wings surging forward popped a tall woman biting her lip. She stood on the command deck of a battle frigate. "Admiral," she said crisply. "No scans detected. No movement of any Radani diamond. Firing range in five milli."

"Do you have visual?" Kiptani asked.

"Their formation is as expected: four diamond." Commodore Mante grimaced. "I haven't detected any movement or any scout picket lines. I'm not sure what they're up to."

Kiptani returned her grimace. Because Commodore Mante excelled at early detection of enemy maneuvers, she'd been assigned point duty. If she was stumped, Tarnlot realized Kiptani would be also.

"Stand by on this line. I want to know the instant you're scanned," Kiptani said.

"Yes, sir." Her holo dissolved.

"By the Belts," Kiptani said over Caykondra's line. "They should be all over us by now. They've either turned off the scanners or we're entering a well planned trap."

"If they're afraid some ship passing in the vicinity of Tirgot III would discover their presence, they might turn off all scanners to avoid signature detection," Caykondra said. "Especially if they intend to attack Tirano as soon as they've established their base and supply lines. Which I project to be the most likely probability."

Tarnlot watched the First and Second Wings maintain their clip toward Tirgot III, apparently undetected. Milli passed. He pressed his wet palms together. "If they don't detect the First and Second soon, it could destroy the whole strategy," he said in a shaky voice. "They won't have time to send reinforcements from the center diamonds before the Third attacks."

The Admiral let out a long breath. "I realize that."

"If the Radani can't detect the First and Second, I suggest the Wings let them know where they are," Caykondra replied.

"Just what I was going to suggest," Kiptani said in an approving growl.

"All Commodores, First and Second Wings, this is Admiral Kiptani. Commence firing piercers on your pre-assigned targets in the Caerwin diamond. Follow immediately with CIPs."

Tarnlot nodded agreement as he viewed the First and Second launch a flotilla of piercer missiles. If any of the piercers penetrated a target ship, the shock wave from concussion imploders projectiles would rip the ship to pieces. Tarnlot doubted that the first wave would strike anything. The Radani could easily avoid being hit if they reacted quickly with anti-flak to draw off the missiles. Even so, the Radani wouldn't be able to ignore what was approaching their Caerwin flank.

Tarnlot held his breath. At any myria the Radani should detect and commence counter measures, including launching their own clusters. Unlike Tiranoan clusters, Radani clusters served only to create a field behind which Radani ships could stampede toward the enemy. The Radani preferred to ram an opponent's ship and send a horde on board to wipe out the crew. After the battle they'd return to salvage any equipment they wanted. Tarnlot grimaced. Early in the war, the Armada learned of the Radani tactic and countered by arming each ship with a self-destruct imploder. The Radani had lost more hordes to the SDIs than the Koah had met in combat. But not even the loss of so many hordes induced the Radani to change their tactics.

Tarnlot blinked. His eyes must be deceiving him. Despite the fast-closing missiles, the Radani ships remained frozen in place. The front-line units wouldn't be able to respond.

"Contact in three myria," Kiptani said.

Sparks glittered as the piercers hit all of the front units of the diamond. Simultaneously, the CIPS detonated. Chunks of ship debris caromed in all directions. Tarnlot reflexively recoiled. The shrapnel fell short of the First and Second but scored a direct hit on the ships of the diamond's back line units. Explosions erupted and Radani ships spiraled out of control.

"A whole diamond decimated," Tarnlot heard himself saying in disbelief. He watched, waited for the other diamonds to move toward the Second and Third Wings. One of the diamonds seemed to waver, lose definition. Then a second. Radani ships began to whirl in all directions, without any apparent coordination. Ships collided and exploded.

"What in Ghaeah's name?" he said.

"Lots of comm traffic now," Caykondra said. "But it's random gibberish."

"First and Second Wings, fire at will with everything you've got," Kiptani shouted. "Third, get your asses in firing range. If we can destroy them before they can reestablish four-unit links, they'll be finished."

"What's going on?" Tarnlot shouted at Kiptani.

"That blasted Mhikhel. He knew. I should have listened. He said the diamonds had to link the same in space as a horde on ground. He always said they'd be helpless if we could sneak up on them while they were establishing link. That's what the four diamonds were doing. They were going to link in one massive diamond to run straight at Tirano. It would've been unstoppable. If we hit'em now before they link, we can pick'em off one by one."

"Why weren't they already in link?" Tarnlot asked. They just overran III?"

"They couldn't have snuck up on III with such a massive diamond. III could have warned us. They probably came in waves of smaller diamonds. After III was overrun, they brought in the remainder of their fleet and linked into the four diamonds. Then they began to form the single link. They could've been at it for deci, if not spins."

Tarnlot watched with awe as Tiranoan missiles struck Radani ship after Radani ship. The constant sparks of implosion created a massive fireworks display that would be picked up as far away as Tamok. The galaxy would think a titanic battle was being fought. They wouldn't know that thousands of Radani were being massacred and that in less than a deci the entire Radani Fleet would be destroyed.

"I'm receiving a transmission from planet side," Caykondra said. "A request for parley. They wish to surrender." Her fingers rubbed her pendant, she swallowed. "To the Butcher Tarnlot."

Admiral Kiptani's holo appeared above the battle scene, a broad smile on his face as he looked at Tarnlot. "It's over! You've done it! Defeated the Radani!"

Tarnlot started to agree, wanted to agree, when the sight of Mhikhel on his death bed formed in Tarnlot's mind. The Radani lied to Mhikhel at Caerwin; they must pay for their treachery. Even if Nhoth had killed Mhikhel, Mhikhel would still be alive if the Radani hadn't intentionally deceived Mhikhel.

"The Radani never surrender. It's another trick and it won't fool me this time." The depth of the venom in his own voice surprised him. "They must suffer the horror of cold-blooded slaughter for their Caerwin treachery. They lied to Father. Tell the Third to launch their shower bombs on Tirgot III. I don't want one stinking Radani to survive."

Caykondra gasped. "You can't mean that."

Kiptani's eyes narrowed to slits. "She's right. They're stranded. They can't harm anyone."

Tarnlot felt his lip curl. "Don't question my order. They must suffer for their lies. Father must be avenged."

"Do you have any idea what you're doing?" Kiptani asked coldly.

"Yes. Teaching the Radani the cost of trying to deceive an Arvor. Exactly the same thing Father would have done."

"No, it's not. Mhikhel would have recognized victory. He would never have ruined a planet, one his forebears tira-formed, merely for revenge," Kiptani said. "He'd save it for Tirano. He'd require them to leave III as the price of accepting their surrender."

"I don't want to hear another word out of either of you." Tarnlot flicked his microphone to the battle channel. "Third Wing, this is Prince Tarnlot. Launch your shower bombs now."

All noise on the battle channel ceased. Not even a single click of static responded. Tarnlot could hear his own breathing and wondered if the whole Armada would defy him.

"You heard the Prince's order," Kiptani said in his clipped professional tone over the battle channel. "Commence launch."

He lowered his head, cut his battle line and stared with blank eyes at Tarnlot. "May Ghaeah forgive you. And me."

The battle channel remained silent. A holo of Caykondra's face appeared next to Kiptani's. "I've delayed those transmissions. You can still withdraw your order."

She squared her shoulders. "Don't do this. Don't sink to being the Butcher they think you are."

Tarnlot closed his eyes. The Black Cavities stared back. "I have no choice. I must avenge Father so that no one would ever dare to try to deceive Zhun'Mar."

A warm hand touched his arm. He opened his eyes to a blank VR screen. He flipped open his visor and saw Caykondra in her chair next to him. "Must you lay the cost of your revenge on all of Tirano?" she said softly. "You will undo all your father strived for when he chose you. He chose you against the wishes of many powerful Archonan. Don't throw that away. You know the Vharsa Convention about genocide of surrendered troops. Rohfek and his friends will turn you in just to be rid of you, and there'll be nothing Zhun'Mar can do. What do you think will happen to him if you're gone?"

Her words seared his mind. She spoke the truth. He must deny his thirst for revenge, because he was KaNoa. He nodded to her, flipped his visor down. The battle scene reappeared. "High Sibyl, cancel the last two transmissions. Admiral, call off the Armada. It has destroyed enough. I don't want Zhun'Mar destroyed, too, because of me."

-17-

Turret

Arvor Castel

Planet Tirano

Tarnlot stared out the dormer window of his unlit chamber. He tried, unsuccessfully, to ignore the booming firework displays streaking the night sky. For a full cycle the nightly festivities leading to Zhun'Mar's coronation ceremony had continued unabated. All Tiranoans celebrated from dusk to dawn, from the humblest KaNoa to the most powerful Archonan. They celebrated not only the crowning of the new King, but the long-desired return of peace. For the first time in deka-loops, Tirano looked toward a future that did not entail an endless war with a vicious enemy that had slaughtered millions.

While all of Tirano spent day and night in jubilant celebration, Tarnlot brooded alone in his chamber, his mood as bleak as an empty windswept Rwohn Plain in the depths of winter. As he had every night since his return from Caerwin, he sat alone in his darkened chamber. Each night he watched the slow turning of the Belts while he drank too much wine in a futile attempt to drown the bleakness that permeated his soul. Not bleakness because he'd butchered the Radani Fleet. He had no regrets about the Radani; the treacherous beasts deserved their fates.

Nor did his despondency result from remorse that he had told no one of Nhoth's claim to have killed Mhikhel. Unless he discovered irrefutable evidence that either Mhikhel or Nhoth had used hyperspace to transport between Rwohn Compound and Arvor City, he'd be laughed at by the Archonan as delusional and his influence at the court marginalized. Besides, he wasn't even certain he believed Nhoth had killed Mhikhel. Nhoth had lied about too many other things. Nhoth's fantails hadn't killed Captain Kiptani. Young Kiptani had jettisoned his chopter's thobber in an inaccessible valley to make it look like a crash and then flew safely to his base. Nhoth also claimed he could erase Tarnlot's implant, which was impossible. With so many lies, he could never be certain that Nhoth had killed Mhikhel.

Instead, his despondency sprung from staring into his innermost soul and facing what he lusted for: The power he'd possessed wearing Golden Vine Ring. The same power King Mhikhel used to compel men to obey him without question, to see them tremble with fear whenever he spoke. The power he, the son of an KaNoa courtesan, would never taste again.

He poured another glass of wine and guzzled it in one gulp. Tomorrow Zhun'Mar would be formally anointed King. Zhun'Mar's first official act would be the ritual acceptance of Tarnlot's fealty as Lord Chancellor. The role Mhikhel had intended for him; the role that he'd dreamed of for deka-loops. The role he'd always thought would make him a man of power and importance. Now he recognized the truth. For the rest of his life, he'd be a mere figurehead in a boring ceremonial position of carrying out the King's laws. Ghaeah had exacted her doom. She would torture him and make him suffer for dekas in dissatisfaction at his lot in life.

A knock sounded on the door. Only the Vhirko guards refused to use the companel. Another reminder. He wasn't important enough for a Vhirko to be assigned to keep him in sight at all times. A Vhirko posted at the door was deemed sufficient.

"Enter," he said. He wondered who'd disturb him in the middle of the night.

The door opened and a wiry Vhirko entered. He had no idea of her name or rank, nor did he care. One clone was as bad as another. "Count Rohfek wishes to see you," she said.

He started to refuse, then decided he had nothing better to do. After Tarnlot's return from Caerwin, Rohfek's attitude toward him had changed from hostility to fawning. As Tarnlot had suspected, Rohfek praised his plan to destroy Tirgot III rather than permitting the Radani to occupy it. If he couldn't possess power, at least he could bask in Rohfek's adulation.

"Tell the Count to join me."

Rohfek waddled through the door, halted just inside and squinted as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Tarnlot was always amazed that such short legs and tiny feet could support Rohfek's egg-shaped torso. The corpulent Rohfek spent more time each night at the banquet table than he had in a lifetime at the palestra. Perhaps, Colonel Nhoth's hold over the Count had consisted of nothing more than the promise to share his chef's feasts and his wine cellar's bounty.

"Ah, Tarnlot," Rohfek said in his unctuous baritone. "I'd hoped to see you at Count Ghond's banquet. He served the most delicious roast ghorlian pig."

Rhofek's bulbous nose sniffed. He chuckled. "You're wise to prefer your shirnaz to his plonk. I only took a small sip and refused to drink any more. The ghastly stuff was so astringent I spit it out. Its taint on my palate would've spoiled the succulent roast."

Tarnlot lifted his glass toward Rohfek. "Would you like to join me for a glass of something from my cellar, Hoj?" Tarnlot didn't know why he bothered to ask. Offering a glass of fine wine to Rohfek was like offering a glass of water to a man stranded on the high-steppe desert for a cycle.

"Yes, and could you turn on some illuminants," Rohfek said. "I'm not implanted with night vision. I'm a man of culture, not a man of grand action like you."

Tarnlot nodded at the Vhirko who had remained standing at attention in the doorway. "Activate the overheads and then resume your post outside."

The lights sparked on and Tarnlot retrieved a clean goblet. Even though proper etiquette called for a half-filled goblet, Tarnlot poured until he'd filled his and Rohfek's goblets to the brim. Rohfek grabbed the glass with his plump hands and carefully lifted it to his lips and sipped. He puckered his lips and drew in some air before swallowing.

"Vintage 83, correct?"

Tarnlot shook his head. "Close. The 83 and the 47 are difficult to tell apart."

Rohfek's jowls creased to a broad grin. "The legendary 47. You honor me, Tarnlot."

Tarnlot pointed to the table in the turret. "Please, be seated. I've got several more vintages we can sample. All of Tirano is celebrating tonight. I might as well, too."

Rohfek puckered his lips and nodded. "You deserve to celebrate. If not for you, none of this would be possible." He held out his goblet. "A toast to the man who had the insight and the iron will to do what was necessary to defeat the Radani."

Tarnlot gulped his goblet's contents. His head buzzed, and he was uncertain if from all of the wine he'd swilled or the fireworks constant booming. "You know, Hoj, Father would be proud of me. The son who saved Tirano from the vicious Radani, but who knows his place as an illegitimate KaNoa. The son who is content to be nothing more than a figurehead. Who would never pretend that he deserved to be in line for the throne."

The fawning joviality fell from Rohfek's face. Tarnlot realized he should have kept the sarcasm to himself. Rohfek was a Archonan who took his pure bloodlines seriously. "I'm sorry," Tarnlot said with a grimace. "I'm drunk and spoke before I could think."

"You have nothing to apologize for." Rohfek's tongue flicked his lips. For once his eyes locked with Tarnlot's without shifting away. "I had no idea you felt that way. You performed so admirably after your father's death that I assumed you were content with, ah, shall we say, your situation."

Rohfek paused, narrowed his eyes as if he tried to discern Tarnlot's true thoughts. "If you ever want to be more than an advisor, some of my friends and I can help you. Tirano needs a man of your decisiveness in control. Not an out-of-touch scholar who can't decide to use the bathroom without researching every precedent in every archive. We tried to warn Mhikhel time and again, but he wouldn't listen. He kept saying we underestimated what Zhun'Mar would become when he wore the Golden Vine Ring."

Rohfek's words spewed into Tarnlot as if he'd been plunged into the freezing waters of the Rwohn rapids. He sobered instantly. He forced himself to sit unmoving with a blank look onto his face. So, others saw the obvious and recognized that he deserved to be King. That he was Mhikhel's true heir.

Even as he entertained the thought of being King, he recognized it could never come to pass. Ghaeah merely tempted him, offered only the quick doom he'd prayed for. Tirano had attained greatness because its long accepted principles. Principles that Nhoth had violated when he tried to seize control. Principles that those Tarnlot admired most - Caykondra, Vision, the Kiptanis, Mirae, Lydmila - had fought for when they stood by Zhun'Mar. The same principles that would compel them to oppose him if he tried to seize power with Rohfek's aid. In their eyes, and his own, he'd be no better than Nhoth. Just as he'd killed Nhoth, he had no doubt one of them would have to kill him.

His blood boiled with the desire to dispatch Rohfek to the same pit in the Cavities that Nhoth occupied. Rohfek's temptation amounted only to a chance to prove that he truly was not worthy to wear the Golden Vine Ring. If he agreed, history would record that he was nothing more than a duplicitous KaNoa who broke his solemn oath to his father, King Mhikhel. In the eyes of history, he'd be no better than the Radani Quad. He wouldn't permit Rohfek to snare him so easily.

He leaned forward, grabbed Rohfek's arm, and twisted. Twisted with the frustrations of a lifetime. "You also underestimate me. Whose blood do you think flows in my veins? Who forged me into what I am? My father. Mhikhel Arvor."

Rohfek squirmed. He raised his jaw, curled his lip defiantly. "What do you think you're doing? You can't assault me."

Tarnlot increased the pressure. "I can do anything I want to someone who suborns treason. Father would have killed you on the spot. Dispatched you for eternity to the same pit in the Cavities as your buddy Ohlav Nhoth. And as you're so fond of saying, I am my father's son."

Rohfek's eyes widened, fear replaced defiance. "No. You misunderstood. I didn't mean anything. I - I was just testing you to make sure you wouldn't betray the King. Don't kill me. Please. I'm begging."

Tarnlot didn't know whether to feel contempt or sorrow at Rhofek's whimpering. Either way, he couldn't kill Rohfek. He couldn't have another Tiranoan's blood soiling his soul, even if it was another insidious Archonan.

"Unlike Father, I won't kill you. I'll give you a chance to become a loyal subject. But remember this. If I detect the slightest hint of falsity when you swear fealty to Zhun'Mar tomorrow, I'll kill you in front of the Assemblage."

Rohfek's double chin trembled as he nodded agreement. "I promise. I give, give you my word."

"And if I ever hear that you or your cronies even think of anything other than total loyalty to Zhun'Mar, I'll kill you the same bloody way I killed Nhoth."

Rohfek's eyes widened with fear. He glanced at his stomach. Tarnlot had heard that stories circulated that he'd smeared his face with Nhoth's guts. An unexpected surge of fulfillment shot through Tarnlot. He could exert power. He could make men fear him, fear his wrath as they had feared Mhikhel's.

"Pledge that you will always be loyal to Zhun'Mar, or," Tarnlot clenched his teeth, "I'll gut you like that pig you ate tonight."

Rohfek closed his eyes. "I promise," Rohfek said, his voice cracking. "You have my word as a Archonan."

Tarnlot wanted to scream how little the word of a Archonan meant to him. Instead he increased the pressure on Rohfek's arm for a milli. "Then get out of my sight and go tell your Archonan friends that from now on the man the Radani call the Butcher will be watching their every move. I would enjoy nothing more than for them to give me an excuse to send them to their graves." He released his grip and shoved Rohfek towards the door.

Rohfek fled for the door, his stubby legs scuttling faster than Tarnlot thought possible. As soon as the door closed behind Rohfek, Tarnlot walked to the window.

"Father," he said out loud, "I have become exactly what you wanted. Friend and foe alike will fear my wrath. And like you, I will draw strength from their fear."

He looked skyward and stared at the Encircling Belts. After a few myria of focusing on a single spot in the sky, he could discern their slow cycle. As he watched their glacial spin, understanding crept into his consciousness. He could no more break free of Mhikhel's machinations than the Belts could escape the inexorable cycle Ghaeah spun for them.

"You conniving old rhynard," said with a laugh. "Just as the Belts will never stop encircling Tirano, I will always be encircled by the labyrinth you spun. But now, at last, I understand. You created me, an KaNoa island in a den of Archonan vipers, to do your dirty work. To carry on your solitary struggle to keep the labyrinth from spinning out of control."

He shook his head. "That's no legacy. That's a curse."

He returned to the table and poured a goblet of the shirnaz. He raised the goblet in a mock toast. "To you, Father. At least you've left me the pleasure of knowing your soul awaits me in the blackest pit of the Cavities."

-Epilogue-

Rwohn Compound

Planet Tirano

Yellow and red flames leaped in the fireplace, their reflection dancing on the beveled glass panes of a dormer window. Despite the dull aching of every muscle in his body from racking barrels in the wine cave all day, Tarnlot forced himself to rise out of the chair and latch the window. Even though the forecast had been for a clear and calm night, storm clouds scudded over the mountain peaks to blot out the view of the scarlet Encircling Belt. The clouds plunged down the mountainside to eclipse the amber Belt and without pausing swooped over the valley to veil the azure Belt. Tarnlot remembered an old folk saying: When azure veils first, a refreshing rain; if azure veils last, pray to the Goddess Ghaeah for protection from the tempest.

A knock on the door interrupted Tarnlot's thoughts. Undoubtedly, a Vhirko guard bore another request for a holocon from one of the functionaries at Castel Arvor. It couldn't be avoided. His duties as the Lord Chancellor intruded even during harvest at Rwohn Compound. He took another sip of wine to brace for whatever tempest required his attention.

A second knock sounded. He switched off the security lock. "Enter," he said.

His brother Zhun'Mar burst through the door. "Tarnlot, I've waited all evening for you to return from the cave. I have wonderful news." A Vhirko guard, the wiry Lieutenant Mirae, stood behind Zhun'Mar, clad in her black uniform with her hand at ready on the handle of the laser dagger at her belt.

Zhun'Mar's blue eyes gleamed. "I will be a father."

Tarnlot couldn't restrain a skeptical grin. Zhun'Mar's chances of bedding a woman were about as likely as someone returning from the Black Cavities. Despite Zhun'Mar's objections, the Vhirko continued to follow the orders Tarnlot issued after their father's assassination: As long as Zhun'Mar remained unmarried, a Vhirko guard must keep him in sight at all times. Tarnlot couldn't imagine that the thought of being under Vhirko surveillance during lovemaking would be conducive to Zhun'Mar's coaxing any woman to his bed. No woman, no matter how desirous of becoming the King's consort, would subject herself to such surveillance, especially that of Mirae's penetrating cobalt-blue eyes.

"Who's the lucky woman? When's the exchange of vows?" Tarnlot tried, unsuccessfully, to keep the amusement out of his voice.

Zhun'Mar grabbed Mirae's hand. Her lips tightened. Tarnlot couldn't tell if she was smiling or grimacing. "We will be married as soon as possible. Our child will be born before the solstice." Zhun'Mar grinned, his white teeth shining through his black beard.

Zhun'Mar and Mirae, a baby. The implications nearly caused Tarnlot's knees to buckle. The baby, the heir presumptive, would not be a full-blooded Archonan. Tarnlot clenched his fists and hoped this was Zhun'Mar's idea of a sick joke. Unfortunately, Zhun'Mar's grin beamed with happiness, not jest.

"Have you lost your mind?" Tarnlot said through clenched teeth. "You can't marry a Vhirko. Your heir must be of royal blood."

The words sunk into Zhun'Mar. His grin faded. His mouth fell open, but no words came out.

Tarnlot pointed his forefinger at Mirae; he wished it were a laser pistol. She didn't flinch. "And you," Tarnlot shouted, "how can this possibly be true? In all the millennia, no Vhirko has ever committed such an obscene violation of her duties. You vowed to guard the King at the cost of your life, not to bed him. I won't let you marry him nor the child be acknowledged as his."

Tarnlot realized that if didn't stop shouting, the whole Compound would hear. He took a deep breath and tried to compose his thoughts. This child had no more right to be King than he did. He'd have to act fast to have any chance of salvaging this catastrophe.

"Who else knows of this obscenity?" He didn't shout, but his voice rumbled with the unsuppressed anger.

"No one, Lord Chancellor," Mirae said. "We bedded only one time. The night of the budding festival here at the Compound. I drank too much of your shirnaz wine." Her demeanor and tone were her normal raspy monotone as if she were reporting the results of a mission to her superior officers. "For the first hundred I vainly hoped that there was another reason for my missed cycles. I only told Zhun'Mar tonight. I kept it from him as long as I could. But now I begin to show. I told him that he must speak with you before telling anyone else. That you would determine how to handle this in his best interest."

She straightened her back, her eyes locked with Tarnlot's. Tarnlot could see no expression of fear for herself.

"I am prepared to face the consequences of my actions. Do with me as you wish. I ask only that you do what is necessary to protect the King from my folly. And that you give me your word to do everything in your power to keep the child from harm."

"No," Zhun'Mar shouted. He put his arm around Mirae's shoulder and pulled her closer. Her blond head barely reached his shoulder. "No one will harm you or the child. I'll abdicate instead."

Zhun'Mar's eyes widened as if he'd had a stroke of brilliance. He looked at Tarnlot with a hopeful gleam. "You will be King, Tarnlot. We both know you're better suited. The Royal Council listens to you, not me, on all important decisions."

Tarnlot had to bite his lip to keep from agreeing immediately. Zhun'Mar spoke the truth. Even after sitting on the throne since their Father's assassination, Zhun'Mar showed no signs of the ability to rule. He remained a scholar, happiest alone in his library studying ancient manuscripts. Tarnlot started to nod agreement, but his head wouldn't budge. Even with the power he'd amassed after leading the destruction of the Radani armada, he knew that the people wouldn't accept him, the illegitimate son of an KaNoa courtesan, as King.

Nor would they accept this child. Not only that it would be part KaNoa, it would be the child of a clone. Children of clones were often defective mentally and physically. Tarnlot couldn't permit Zhun'Mar to abdicate. He had to think of something to talk Zhun'Mar out of abdicating before Zhun'Mar could produce an heir worthy of wearing the Golden Vine Ring.

Tarnlot rubbed his lips until an idea leaped into his mind. "We both know I can't take your place," he said in a soft conciliatory tone. "Father would never have countenanced such a thought. I'll not soil his memory by doing so. Would you?"

The mention of father had the effect Tarnlot hoped it would. Zhun'Mar lowered his head in contrition, even now afraid of father's wrath.

Zhun'Mar's face looked so miserable that Tarnlot couldn't help feeling sorry for Zhun'Mar. Perhaps he could ease Zhun'Mar's pain. "If you agree to keep this pregnancy secret," he continued in a firm tone, "and do not acknowledge the child, I won't inform the Vhirko Command of Mirae's condition."

Zhun'Mar raised an eyebrow, tilted his head to the side. "How do you propose to keep the Command from knowing?"

"I'll inform the Commandant that you've contracted a new strain of the Hahn Jahw virus. That your physician fears it's unusually contagious, and because the infectious stage lingers, he recommends that you remain secluded here for at least three cycles. I'll also say that since only Mirae has been exposed, she should remain in the Compound. All other Vhirko should remain at the gates.

"You and Mirae will remain inside the Compound with me and a few members of the staff that I trust. They will enforce my orders to permit entry only to those I authorize. The child will be born without anyone from the Castel knowing. Before then I'll find a noble family on a distant planet to foster the child. The child will be taken away immediately after its birth."

Tarnlot couldn't keep from smiling at the ingeniousness of his plan. It was perfect.

"Why would anyone agree to accept the child?" Zhun'Mar asked with a befuddled look.

Tarnlot wondered how could such a brilliant man be so dense? As usual, Zhun'Mar was oblivious to a problem's practical solution. He placed a hand on Zhun'Mar's shoulder.

"You may be surprised, but you're not the first member of a royal family to sire an illegitimate child. It's a common practice to foster such children with another royal family on a distant planet."

"Then why weren't you sent away?"

"If you hadn't been born first, father would have had no choice but to foster me." In fact, Tarnlot often wondered if he had any half-brothers and half-sisters who had been fostered.

Zhun'Mar's face hardened and he moved to stand eye-to-eye with Tarnlot. "Well, I won't do it to my child. I want my child at my side."

Tarnlot fought the urge to strangle Zhun'Mar. Mirae stepped forward as if she knew what Tarnlot was thinking. Tarnlot stepped back. Mirae might be pregnant, but he was no match for her Vhirko honed killing skills. To his surprise, she raised her head to look at Zhun'Mar. She took Zhun'Mar's hand in hers; her cobalt-blue eyes softened.

"Tarnlot's plan is best for all. You can't marry me because of one night of drunken passion," she said softly. "I'm the clone of an orphan with no wealth or lands. There are many, Archonan and KaNoa, who would not accept me as the royal consort or our child as heir to the throne. Your marriage must produce a child that all of Tirano will without any question or doubt acknowledge as your heir."

"We must do as Tarnlot says." She took a deep breath. "As your father would have said."

Zhun'Mar blinked his eyes, his mouth tightened, and his chest heaved. He looked at Mirae. She held his gaze. Time seemed frozen without either speaking. Tarnlot held his breath. Finally, Zhun'Mar nodded at Tarnlot. "I will," Zhun'Mar's voice cracked. His shoulders moved up and down. "I will do what Mirae wants."

Tarnlot's shoulders relaxed, and his anger toward Mirae melted into admiration. If only she were Archonan, she'd be the perfect consort for Zhun'Mar. She'd known exactly how to cause him to acquiesce. After this was over, he'd try to find a way for her to be placed permanently in charge of Zhun'Mar's safety. From the determination in her eyes to protect Zhun'Mar, he knew that she would never permit her Vhirko self-discipline to fail a second time.

Zhun'Mar released Mirae's hand. His eyes locked on Tarnlot's. "Never ever tell me where you foster my child. I couldn't live knowing where he was, doing nothing. I would go to him the instant I knew." His voice broke off. He turned and walked from the chamber. Mirae followed, her military posture resumed.

*

When he woke the next morning, Tarnlot knew where to foster the child: Tamok, the mining world on the other side of the galaxy. Even though Tamok was a humanoid world and a member of the Alliance, Tirano had little direct contact. Because of the great distance between the planets, intermediaries conducted all trade. Such an isolated world would be a perfect refuge. Plus, Tarnlot personally knew a Tamok of noble blood, Ghorn Lok.

After the Blitz of Tirgot III, Tarnlot served as a member of a tribunal that arbitrated a trade dispute between the Amonos Federation, a member of the Alliance, and the Apan Imperium, a non-member. One of the other members of the tribunal was Ghorn Lok. Tarnlot found Ghorn to be an intelligent and hard-working man interested only in justice, not in the political implications of the tribunal's decision or in self-aggrandizement. He and Tarnlot worked together to convince the other members of the tribunal to do the same. The experience was one of the few satisfying things Tarnlot had accomplished since the battle.

One potentially insurmountable obstacle had stood in his plan's fruition. There wouldn't be sufficient time prior to the child's birth for an exchange of ship-carried written communiques to determine if Ghorn would take the child. Tarnlot mentally calculated the expense of a secure quan-line, grimaced. It would cost most of his inheritance. He had no choice, though. The importance of obtaining an immediate answer from a man on the other side of the galaxy justified the extravagant cost.

As soon as he dressed, Tarnlot proceeded to his private study and purchased time on the galactic quan-comm net. Within myria, Ghorn's image appeared on the quan-viewer.

"What a surprise to hear from you," Ghorn said. Even though he wore night robes, Ghorn, as usual, looked distinguished with his long chestnut hair, hazel eyes, and aquiline nose. "Given the cost of this quan-comm, I assume you woke me up to discuss more than Tamok's latest sihlcon production statistics."

Tarnlot nodded. "I have a personal matter to discuss with you. A matter of the utmost delicacy."

"I surmised as much," Ghorn said pointedly.

Ghorn had been a man of few words, but Ghorn's irritated tone surprised Tarnlot until Tarnlot noticed the chronometer behind Ghorn. He should have checked the time on Tamok before calling. He couldn't blame Ghorn. He'd be irritated too at being wakened without warning in the middle of the night by someone he'd met only during a trade arbitration.

"I apologize for calling at such an inconvenient time, but I wanted to contact you at the earliest opportunity." From the exasperated look on Ghorn's face, Tarnlot realized he'd better get to the point. His heart began to beat faster.

"I need your help. A Tiranoan child, one of whose parents is royal, will be born out of wedlock. This is a source of great shame in our society, both for the parent and the child."

Ghorn's expression hardened. "Why do you tell me this? To insult me. To insult the Tamok?"

Tarnlot couldn't remember Ghorn ever so openly expressing antagonism. He realized he must have unintentionally touched a sensitive nerve and wondered what it was. He wished he'd taken the time to learn more about Tamok mores, but it was too late. He'd do his best to keep his foot out of his mouth.

"No, of course not. I apologize if I've offended you. I assure you, I intended no such thing. I meant only to compare our customs with customs of the Tamok."

Tarnlot paused, tried to discern if Ghorn's expression had softened. It hadn't. Ghorn raised a hand as if to terminate the quan-comm.

"Please hear me out," Tarnlot said quickly. "When we served together, you talked often of Tamok's lack of social prejudices. That each person was judged on his own merits, not by who his parents were. I'd like this child to be raised in such a world. I wanted to ask if you would serve as the child's foster father."

Ghorn's shoulders heaved. "What do you know of me, Tarnlot?"

Tarnlot knew enough about Ghorn to recognize exasperation. "That you are a fair and honorable man. That you are the Lord Chancellor of Tamok Mining."

Ghorn shook his head. "Do you know anything about my heritage?"

He had no idea what Ghorn was driving at. He sensed that if he didn't answer honestly, Ghorn would cut the transmission. "Only that you are of royal blood."

Ghorn rubbed his chin. "Have you ever heard of my mother, the Mhargrava Nahtalie Lok?"

Tarnlot searched his memory. He nodded. "She was the Tamok representative who sighed the Protocols establishing the Alliance."

"What else do you know of her?"

Tarnlot thought for a moment, came up empty. "Nothing."

Ghorn looked directly into Tarnlot's eyes. "I am more like you than you can imagine," Ghorn said slowly. "My mother met my father at the conference that established the Alliance. They fell in love, but the cultural differences between them were too great to overcome. She returned to Tamok and bore me out of wedlock. I never knew my father."

Tarnlot started to lower his eyes, but knew it would be a mistake. He stared into the viewer. "I had no idea," he said softly. "I will find another place for the child. I apologize for my insensitivity."

Ghorn snorted. "You are so Tiranoan. Neither my mother, the Tamok, nor I feel any shame regarding the circumstances of my birth."

Ghorn's eyes pierced through Tarnlot. "I feel sorry for a world inhabited by people who would feel such shame, and would make the child bear a shame not of his making. I will accept the child and raise him as my own, free of petty Tiranoan prejudices. I hope you and Tirano get what you want, and deserve."

THE END

**A Bastard's Oath** is the first story in **The Tales of The Encircling Belts of Tirano**.

In **A Dream Is A Pinhole In Time** , Tarnlot, Zhun'Mar, Caykondra, Mirae escape an ambush in deep space by entering a hyperspace fissure that strands them on a planet in an unknown galaxy: present day Earth. The ability to return to Tirano depends upon Hobie Burrows, a San Francisco lawyer.

**Outliers of Tirano** begins the stories of Siniastra, Zhun'Mar's daughter.

Even though the stories occur in chronological order, each is an independent story. Accordingly, you can read the stories in any order.

