Blood of the Cosmos (32 page)

Impressed, King Peter stepped down from his throne to look at the wyvern eye. “Reynald, come receive this with me.”

Reyn lifted himself off the chair and took a step forward, but suddenly a dark dizziness flooded through him, and static blurred his vision. It was more than pain—it was confusion and oblivion. He collapsed into it, lost.

His mother shouted, “Bring the physicians! Now!”

With his last flickers of sight, Reyn saw Tristan Cove scramble backward and lose his grip on the case, which fell to the floor just as Reyn sprawled forward. The wyvern eye tumbled out, staring at him with its countless segmented facets, before he vanished into unconsciousness.

 

CHAPTER

49

MAGE-IMPERATOR JORA'H

Deep in the lower levels of the Prism Palace, the chamber was secure, shielded, and well lit. Claustrophobic, but safe.

After rushing back to Mijistra, the Mage-Imperator had come to the ossuarium to concentrate on how the Shana Rei continued to attack them, both externally and internally. He hoped this emergency meeting was more than just an exchange of fear and confusion; these were his best advisers.

Jora'h had to know. He had to lead.

Crystalline reflective threads created constellations of bright pinpoints embedded in the walls of the chamber. Multiple sunlight was funneled through the fibers to illuminate the chamber as if it were the brightest Ildiran day.

This meeting vault was part of a sacred set of catacombs where the luminous bones of ancient Mage-Imperators were stored. The ossuarium was a place where the current Mage-Imperator went to contemplate the Empire, where he could feel the racial resonances and the challenges that lay ahead. Behind the translucent crystal blocks, Jora'h could see the embedded skulls of his ancestors, all of them watching him.…

Jora'h had come here many times during the Elemental War. He knew his father had done the same, as well as their predecessors for millennia. But how many Mage-Imperators had faced a crisis as tremendous as the Shana Rei?

Or had every Mage-Imperator asked a similar question?

Racing back from Theroc, after feeling horrific tremors through the
thism
from the Hiltos attack as well as the mob massacre right here in Mijistra, he had arrived to find his people reeling, confused, and terrified. Such bloodshed had shocked the people, shocked the Prime Designate. Daro'h had barricaded himself in his private chambers, and an overprotective Rod'h refused to let anyone near him. The Mage-Imperator was surprised and impressed that Rod'h had been such a staunch supporter during the crisis.

After the attack on Hiltos, Adar Zan'nh had rushed back with his flagship and summoned many more Solar Navy warliners as protection. He had given orders for all warliners to be equipped with the new weapons from Askelor, posthaste, but not even the brave Adar could provide the comfort the Ildirans desired. They needed their Mage-Imperator—and Jora'h returned, to their palpable relief.

When he had emerged from the landed cutter on the Prism Palace hill, he made sure the people saw him. Trying to quell the jangling discord in the
thism
web, he calmed the crowds with his mere presence … but it wasn't enough. He had to protect them. And for that, he needed to know his options.

In the center of the ossuarium chamber, as a memorial to the horrific devastation during the Elemental War, sat an amorphous blob of melted quartz, part of the original Prism Palace destroyed by the faeros. It was a reminder of the heat and fury that had collapsed the Ildiran Empire's capitol. During reconstruction, this block had been brought down here, where the bones of the Prism Palace could rest beside the bones of past Mage-Imperators.

Nira was at his side in the deep chamber along with her children Osira'h, Rod'h, and Gale'nh, as well as Prime Designate Daro'h and Adar Zan'nh. Much to Jora'h's unease, they also brought the disgraced Designate Rusa'h, who had escaped from his exile at the Lightsource shrine.

Deep in the bright chamber, with the crystal doors sealed and burly guard kithmen in place outside, the Mage-Imperator stared at the others, knowing they would not offer miraculous solutions.

“They attacked us,” blurted Prime Designate Daro'h. “Our own people! They slaughtered Arune'l and all the other lens kith. Rod'h and I barely got away. If it hadn't been for him—”

Jora'h already knew what had occurred. Beside him, Nira shuddered, remembering when the same thing had happened to her.

Rod'h did not bask in the praise, however; he merely sat straighter, more determined. “The Ildiran people have shadows within them. They do not even know they are pawns of the Shana Rei.”

Adar Zan'nh wore a finely scaled tunic studded with medals of his service to the Empire. “The shadows are also a military threat, as they demonstrated at the Hiltos shrine. They killed all but the few we managed to save.” He glared at the wan-looking Rusa'h as if he blamed the mad Designate for surviving when so many others had been killed.

“The black robots goad them,” Gale'nh said in a quiet voice. “The Shana Rei wish to destroy everything, but the robots show them how.”

Restless, Jora'h paced in slow circles, looking around at them, wanting an answer. “How do we fight the Shana Rei? What can destroy a shadow?”

Adar Zan'nh said, “We have sun bombs, laser cannons. We will be prepared with every possible weapon.”

Prime Designate Daro'h said, “And how does that stop our own people from rising up and slaying their brothers in the streets? Do we drop a sun bomb on Mijistra?”

“We can't fight what we don't understand,” Nira pointed out. “Even the worldforest knows almost nothing about the Shana Rei. According to the Onthos, they fought the shadows before, but they don't
remember
. Too much of their mind was destroyed.”

“Then we must learn more about them,” Rod'h said. “In any way possible. From any source.”

Frowning, Adar Zan'nh turned to Nira's ambitious son. “And how do we do that? Ask questions the next time a shadow cloud appears?”

“The rememberers have pored over the old records,” Daro'h pointed out. “They have extracted every available hint.”

Jora'h said, “And I proposed an expedition out to the Onthos star, which the Shana Rei obliterated. The Confederation will join us in the effort.”

“An expedition … like the
Kolpraxa
,” Gale'nh said. His voice was thin, hinting at fear.

“We will be more prepared this time,” Adar Zan'nh said.

Rod'h raised his chin. “I will go along. If you and Tal Gale'nh take ships out there, I intend to join you.”

Daro'h reacted with alarm. “No! You won't be safe!”

Rod'h gave him a compassionate frown. “None of us is safe. And this will be an important responsibility.”

Osira'h said, “I helped locate the
Kolpraxa
after it was lost. Maybe I should—”

“No! It is my turn.” Rod'h drew a breath. “It cannot always be you, sister. We were both born to a higher purpose. We need to do something meaningful.” The determination on his face barely covered the anguish in his voice.

Until now, mad Designate Rusa'h had remained silent, but now his words cut through the tension in the air. “Light can defeat the shadows—and the origin of light is fire. We already know what will destroy the Shana Rei. We need to reestablish an alliance with the faeros. Someone has to contact them again.”

“Too dangerous!” Adar Zan'nh cried.

The Mage-Imperator drew a deep breath. Rusa'h, his half-brother, had caused so much harm, both to him personally and to the entire Empire. He was reluctant to trust the man now, no matter how repentant he seemed. Rusa'h appeared to understand that as well; he wasn't pushy, didn't grow angry, simply tried to allow the logic of his terrifying position to sink in. “Our weapons are impotent, but the Shana Rei are not. And the faeros are not.”

Jora'h touched the smooth curves of the melted palace block that stood as a memorial in the center of the room. The block had irregular lumps, streams like petrified tears of crystal from when the fire elementals had made the towering structure weep into puddles of destruction. He looked up at Rusa'h. “Haven't the faeros caused enough damage? I will not destroy our soul in hopes of saving part of it.”

The fallen Designate folded his hands together and didn't respond.

Surprisingly, Osira'h was the one who spoke up. “The faeros did just come to help rescue Theroc. Maybe they hate the Shana Rei as much as we do.”

“Rusa'h must not be the one to contact them,” Rod'h said, and Adar Zan'nh vehemently agreed.

Osira'h nodded as well. “No, it will not be him—
I
can connect with the faeros. They have grown distant, and they may or may not listen now, but I can try. Let me take a ship and try to contact them, Father.”

Beside her, Rod'h stiffened, and Jora'h could sense the tension between the two siblings, as if they felt a kind of competition. “Osira'h and I should go together—we may have the same affinity for the faeros. We can call to them.” He glanced at his sister. “We always showed we could be stronger together.”

Nira was uneasy, glancing from Rod'h to Osira'h. “I don't like it, but my halfbreed children have powers. They were born to do this. Rod'h, I know you are strong, and Osira'h has already shown her capabilities. We need them now. If it's what they have to do, Jora'h, then I cannot argue with the suggestion.” She gave her older son a long look, but even that support could not penetrate the many years of resentment and distance between them.

Rod'h cut off a retort, answering instead, “Thank you, Mother.”

The disgraced Designate looked oddly satisfied, which made Jora'h uneasy. Rusa'h turned away and sat back down.

“I cannot argue either,” Jora'h said. “You have my permission, Osira'h and Rod'h. Try to communicate with the faeros, see what sort of contact or concession you can make. I am uneasy about such an alliance … but I need to know.”

 

CHAPTER

50

EXXOS

The shadow cloud moved through the back passageways of the universe, a bubble of dark entropy with no destination and only a chaotic goal.

After the victory at Hiltos, Exxos could not power down his mind into rest mode while his thoughts churned in search of a solution. The robots would find a way to destroy the hideous shadow entities, but if necessary they would first destroy everything else. Once the Shana Rei granted the surviving black robots their own isolated corner of the universe, Exxos would ponder the next phase of his plan. Since the black robots had been in existence for millennia, he was in no hurry. But although their losses had been minimal, his robot numbers were dwindling. That would have to stop.

Pulsating inkblots appeared in the void, and their baleful incongruous eyes shone like acid lightning. They regarded the black robots as if they were specimens in a bizarre cosmic zoo. Exxos did not plead with them, did not offer suggestions unless the shadows asked, because any comment could trigger an unexpected violent reaction. But they had to continue their destruction. With so many targets, he thought, which one should he choose next?

The empty void wall around the robots thinned, and stars appeared. The shadow cloud reemerged into normal space. The fleet of angular black warships remanifested out of nothingness, constructed according to the detailed blueprints the black robots had provided. Those designs had worked well at Hiltos.

One of the inkblots appeared in front of him, and a pulsating, droning voice made his embedded circuits sparkle with unprotected chaos. “We have found something. You may do as you wish.”

The robots found themselves aboard their battleships, and Exxos reaccessed all the systems, studied the projected images, the sensor maps. His crimson optical sensors glowed as he spotted a lone vessel, a minuscule speck in the infinity of emptiness.

A single ship. A human ship.

The Shana Rei withdrew, taking no part in this incident, even though they had facilitated it. The robots were more than sufficient to take care of this small vessel. Moving with a single mind, Exxos's mind, the black robot warships surrounded the vessel in empty space.

In his grand scheme, Exxos envisioned destroying whole human colonies, gigantic Ildiran stations, widely settled planets—particularly the ancient worlds abandoned by the Klikiss race. But on a canvas as vast as the universe, even a star system was an insignificant speck. It was all a matter of scale.

So, Exxos and his robots would destroy this spacecraft and consider it one small step toward progress.

“Who the hell are you?” screeched a gruff female voice over the comm. The image of a Roamer captain with gray-black dreadlocks and puffy cheeks appeared on the sensor screen.

Exxos didn't care what the victim looked like, but the sight added an extra layer of satisfaction. He responded to her because he chose to. “We are the ones who will destroy you.”

“By the Guiding Star, I've got nothing! Take my damn cargo if you insist. It's boron-laced conduits headed for Newstation.”

“We have no interest in your cargo.” Exxos strung this moment out. The Shana Rei had allowed this, so he would enjoy it.

The pilot sounded angry and baffled. “Then what the hell do you want?”

Exxos believed that much was obvious. “We want to annihilate you.”

Over the years, he had become an expert in human expressions. Fear was one of the obvious designators here. The trader captain spluttered. “But, why? What the hell did I do?”

Exxos thought that was obvious as well. “You
exist
.”

The captain continued to transmit, pleading, but further conversation was pointless. Because all of the black robots were linked through him, he could coordinate their maneuvers, so he chose to use this event as practice.