Saga of Shadows 1: The Dark Between the Stars (13 page)

He gave a crisp nod. “There are plenty of Klikiss worlds to choose from. I’ll head out immediately.” He turned to go.

She felt a pang and had to restrain herself from reaching out a hand to him. “So soon? After all those decontamination procedures, stay with me for a day or two.”

“Time is of the essence, Zoe.” He wasn’t avoiding her, but she knew that Tom Rom didn’t feel alive unless he was on a mission of some kind. For her.

She stared at him, knowing she would feel connected to him no matter how close or how far he was. “I have never met another person so devoted to me . . . or to anyone. You know you don’t
have
to do everything I ask, Tom.”

He regarded her as if she had spoken an incomprehensible statement. “But I want to. You know it’s always been my heart’s desire to protect you, to help you achieve what you need to achieve. That’s why you trust me so much.”

“And why are you so dedicated?” She had never understood it herself.

“Why do you need a reason?” He turned to depart the dome. “I’ll bring you the royal jelly.” On his way out, he paused to give her a broad smile. “It’s good to see you.”

F
OURTEEN

Y
AZRA
’
H

The halfbreed girl had a wild intensity in her eyes that would strike fear into an opponent—which was a good thing, but Yazra’h had other concerns about her as well. Yazra’h brought up her blunted katana just in time, and Muree’n’s staff cracked down, hard, where her shoulder had been an instant before. Then the girl sprang back, laughing.

From the ringing vibrations through the katana staff, Yazra’h gauged the strength of that blow. Even with her thin and flexible practice armor, the blow would have broken bones had it landed.

Under the bright glare of the suns, the two circled on the high-level combat field. Instead of soft dirt or solid ground, the practice field was covered with large, mirrored spheres packed together, each one a meter in diameter. Both combatants were barefoot, balancing on the smooth, curved surfaces, and they leaped from one sphere to the next, balancing, rolling, and fighting.

Tossing her head to shake the hair away from her face, Yazra’h swung her weapon sideways, trying to smack the girl’s head with the flat of the blade—just enough to stun her and teach her a lesson. But Muree’n bobbed, ducked under the katana, and popped up again with her staff to drive the blade aside. The girl was sturdy, muscular, and her half-human features softened the normally bestial appearance of a true warrior kithman.

Muree’n jabbed with the rounded end of her weapon, trying to punch Yazra’h in the center of the chest, but Yazra’h bent sideways, just enough that the blow only caught her in the ribs.

“This is only practice, girl,” Yazra’h warned.

“If practice isn’t real, then it’s worthless.” Muree’n threw herself forward with a wild yell. Instead of using her katana, though, Yazra’h reached out with the flat of her hand, caught Muree’n in the sternum, and hurled her backward. The girl spun and caught her balance on one of the spheres. The multiple suns reflecting from the mirrored surfaces sent up random flashes and a constant glare.

“I will try hand-to-hand, then.” Muree’n cast her practice stick aside. “I’m good enough. Test me.” She jumped closer, balancing on the adjacent sphere. Yazra’h caught the girl by both wrists and threw her up and sideways. Muree’n yelped, tumbled, but somehow landed on her feet.

Yazra’h gasped for breath. “You are getting better, girl. I won’t argue with that.” Though Yazra’h was a strong fighter, she didn’t belong to the warrior kith; she was a noble, a daughter of the Mage-Imperator; few warrior kithmen could best her in combat, however.

For herself, Muree’n seemed to have something to prove. She had grown her hair long like Yazra’h’s, but hers was darker, and she braided it with jewels and heavy metallic weights as decorations that could be disentangled and used as surprise weapons in a desperate situation.

Muree’n bowed, as if conceding defeat, then she drove forward to ram her head into Yazra’h’s stomach, knocking her off the sphere. Yazra’h fell backward, unable to catch her balance in time, and landed hard against another one of the spheres.

The halfbreed girl was reckless, Yazra’h knew, but sometimes it paid off. Among Nira’s children from the breeding program, Muree’n was the youngest, and the lowest born, from a guard kithman. Her brother Rod’h was the son of a Designate, Gale’nh the son of an Adar, Tamo’l the daughter of a lens kithman, and Osira’h, the oldest and most powerful of the five halfbreed children, was the daughter of Mage-Imperator Jora’h himself. None of them, though, could outfight Muree’n.

Yazra’h had taken the girl under her wing as a special student, and now Muree’n had fought her mentor to a standstill. Over the years, Muree’n had suffered many bruises and broken bones, and her skin showed numerous scars, but the girl considered each one a badge of honor.

Yazra’h picked herself up from the ground, panting. “I know few opponents who fight so wholeheartedly.” She extended a hand.

Muree’n hesitated, suspicious, before she helped Yazra’h up. “Half measures are for the hesitant.”

Yazra’h chuckled. “I’ve never known you to hesitate, but you charge into a fray without planning ahead.”

Muree’n shrugged. “I haven’t once been seriously hurt, so I keep fighting.”

Yazra’h removed a short fighting stick from her belt, adjusted it to the length of her forearm, and motioned for Muree’n to do the same. “Close combat now, so I can look into your eyes and see what you’re thinking.”

Muree’n adjusted her own fighting stick so that it matched Yazra’h’s. “I’m
thinking
that I’ll defeat you this time.”

Yazra’h decided she should pummel some caution into the girl. She was a better fighter in every measureable way, but Muree’n’s energy and enthusiasm often took her aback.

The staffs hammered together with a loud report, then again. Each end was a whirling blur, but somehow Muree’n anticipated Yazra’h’s every move. Yazra’h pushed harder, tried new tricks.

Muree’n flailed and attacked. Finally, needing a momentary pause to catch her breath, Yazra’h clouted the girl on the side of the head and stunned her.

Reeling, Muree’n collapsed to sit heavily on one of the mirrored spheres, shaking her head. Yazra’h stepped aside. “Being impetuous isn’t always the best strategy.”

The halfbreed girl rubbed what would surely be a large bruise on her skull. “No, but it is unpredictable. It throws my enemies off balance.”

“You might also find that you’ve thrown yourself off a cliff.”

Muree’n laughed. “But then I would fly!”

Yazra’h knew that no matter how many times she defeated the girl, Muree’n would come back for another round. She had no humility, no fear, no caution—and Yazra’h could never train that out of the girl. Catching her breath, Yazra’h realized she would just have to make certain that Muree’n got into situations where those qualities were useful, rather than a detriment.

As Muree’n climbed back to her feet and held up her fighting staff, ready to pounce, Yazra’h noticed a figure standing nearby on the otherwise empty observing stand: Mage-Imperator Jora’h in his lush robes, with his long braid of office. Yazra’h turned to her father and bowed with respect. Muree’n was ready to strike when her opponent lost focus, until she spotted the Mage-Imperator as well.

The girl waved, and Jora’h raised his hand, obviously proud—and with good reason, Yazra’h knew . . . unfortunately, the Mage-Imperator’s praise would not make Muree’n any easier to control.

F
IFTEEN

P
RINCE
R
EYN

The trees on Theroc towered taller than most skyscrapers on Earth—or so Prince Reyn had heard. He would see for himself, soon enough. The worldforest conveyed a true feeling of vastness, but Theroc was just one of so many worlds in the Confederation. It was intimidating!

His sister Arita had visited many more worlds than he had, studying alien plants and fungi. Even now, she was off on an empty Klikiss planet studying sentient cacti. Reyn missed her. . . .

As the twenty-year-old son of King Peter and Queen Estarra, he had met many important diplomats, but he had not traveled much himself. Soon, though . . . He needed to see more, learn more, experience more if he was going to be the Confederation’s next King.

The Confederation’s official capital was here on Theroc. From there, the King and Queen guided the various planets and peoples in the human alliance. The main governing structure was a fungus-reef that covered large sections of an enormous worldtree. On six adjacent trees, smaller fungus-reefs formed Confederation office complexes and residential structures for visiting dignitaries. The hard shelf fungi growths had been hollowed out and turned into a city suspended above the ground, studded with balconies and openings at all levels.

After checking his chronometer, Reyn tightened the sash around his indigo tunic and set out. The fungus-reef structure bustled with business conversations, tourists. Jewel-winged insects flitted about, as well as flying contraptions made from discarded condorfly wings grafted onto engines.

Reyn rode the lift to the canopy, where the sky opened up and ships could land. The historian Anton Colicos would arrive soon from Ildira with his newly translated section of the Saga of Seven Suns, which he would present to the green priests.

Reyn’s parents both had full schedules, but since Anton Colicos was an important visitor, King Peter had turned to his son. “Receive him with proper formalities, then take him to see Kennebar. The green priests will want him to start reading aloud to the trees right away. We’ll hold a formal reception later in the evening—there’s supposed to be a firefly storm tonight.” Peter frowned as he saw what appeared to be hesitation on Reyn’s face. “You’ll do fine.”

It was not hesitation, though. Reyn felt a shotgun blast of pain through his nerves, as if a set of white-hot wires had been yanked through his body with a swift, vicious jerk. He had to devote his full concentration to hide the pain, refusing to let his father see. He clenched his left hand, focused his thoughts there, forced the tremors to go away.

“Yes, I’ll do fine,” Reyn echoed, letting his father interpret the reluctance as shyness. “I’m sure I’ll get along with Anton Colicos.” Neither of his parents knew how much the pain increased month by month; he had managed to hide it from them so far. Only Arita knew, and she wasn’t here. . . .

The canopy level was a vast prairie of interlocked worldtree fronds with some sections paved over so that spacecraft could land. Ships circled and hummed as they settled down. Silver observation towers directed traffic. As he watched, a cargo ship fired its engines and accelerated up to the stratosphere, unreeling a long vapor trail behind it.

Reyn watched three green priests board a bright shuttle, each one carrying a potted treeling, ready to set out as ambassadors or missionaries. Many green priests were leaving Theroc to offer their services to the Confederation, to private employers, and also to help spread the interconnected verdani mind.

Some distance from the paved landing zone, another group of green priests sat among the scattered fronds. Four emerald-skinned priests guided the acolytes, singing songs, telling tales, dictating histories and technical reports—any sort of information whatsoever—to the voraciously curious worldforest.

Reyn adjusted his tunic, checked the schedule, and saw that Anton Colicos’s shuttle had already arrived, unexpectedly early—a regular supply transport, rather than a flashy Ildiran ship. Reyn knew he would see plenty of Ildiran architecture and vessels when he visited the alien empire. Soon.

The human scholar stood outside the shuttle holding a satchel, and Reyn recognized him from images. Anton wore loose and comfortable clothes, obviously of Ildiran manufacture. He blinked around him at the tall trees.

The historian was quite a celebrity, though he didn’t seem to know his own importance. Reyn had read some of those books during his private tutoring—most students did.

Nervousness at meeting the man made his tremors increase. Reyn clenched his fist, pushed back the pain, and smiled as he came forward. “Anton Colicos, I am Prince Reynald of Theroc, son of King Peter and Queen Estarra. My parents dispatched me here to meet you.”

With a smile, Anton held up his satchel. “I don’t need any fancy reception, just want to present my work to the green priests. The man I’m supposed to meet is named Kennebar?”

“Kennebar leads a group of green priests, and he’s very interested in your new translation, sir.”

Anton chuckled. “A genuine Prince is calling me
sir
? No need for that. Why don’t you just call me Anton, and I’ll call you Reynald?”

“Better yet, call me Reyn. Everyone does.” He was anxious to hear Anton talk about Ildira, since he would be visiting there soon. “How long will you be staying on Theroc?”

“Oh, just long enough to read a few hundred pages,” Anton said. “I need to get back to Mijistra. We recently uncovered a treasure trove of ancient documents that tell stories nobody has seen in thousands of years, and I’m anxious to read more.”

They made their way across the tree canopy toward the green priests sitting among the fronds. Reyn considered Kennebar a stiff man, so devoted to the trees that he himself seemed to be made of wood. The leader rose from his perch and balanced on a branch with his bare feet. His skin was a rich green, and he wore only a loincloth. His muscular body was dotted with tattoos that showed his areas of expertise. “Anton Colicos, we look forward to more of the Saga. The worldforest would find it most interesting if you read portions aloud yourself.”

Anton lifted his satchel. “I have it ready here. I’ve read aloud to audiences before, though not usually to a group of
trees.
”

Reyn smiled. “Well, these aren’t just normal trees.”

Anton smiled. “I know that very well.”

Several other green priests gathered around Kennebar, silent and respectful. Reyn recognized Collin, a young man who had been very close with Arita, before the worldforest accepted him as a green priest and rejected her. The rest of the acolytes were children with pale or brown skin, but they all hoped to take the green someday when they were ready.