He rubbed his neck, working out the kinks that came from sleeping on the ground. "The ancient Ruby Empire established this colony. That’s why I know your language."
It didn’t surprise her that their language had remained constant enough for him to understand. Her people never changed anything. Change brought upheaval, upheaval threatened revolution, and revolution was anathema.
But still, it had been a long time. "The sky sailors vanished five thousand years ago."
"That’s when the Ruby Empire collapsed. Five thousand standard years ago."
"Standard years?" That sounded like the scroll in Jax’s library.
"About the length of the year on Earth, or on the world Raylicon. Just a bit more than one of your short-years." He stretched his arms. "Originally we all came from Earth."
Earth. The word had an odd familiarity, in the same way as did the pupils of Vyrl’s eyes. "What is Earth?"
Softly he said, "Home, Kamoj. For all of us. Green hills, blue sky, sweet fresh air."
His words evoked a sense of ancient mysteries, of mythical quetzals without scales flying in an eggshell blue sky. "If home is a place called Earth, why are we on Balumil?"
Dryly he said, "Many people would like the answer to that." He pushed a lock of his hair behind his ear. "About six thousand years ago, around 4000 BC, an unknown race moved a population of people from Earth to the world we call Raylicon." Anticipating her next question, he said, "We don’t know why. They disappeared without so much as a ‘Sorry about this.’" He shrugged. "My ancestors eventually developed interstellar travel and went searching for their lost home. Although they never found Earth, they built the Ruby Empire." A grin flashed on his face. "But Earth found us. Just a few centuries ago."
"Is that how your people were able to return to the stars?"
He scowled, obviously offended. "Of course not. We relearned interstellar propulsion ourselves, well before anyone from Earth showed up." Then he laughed. "Ai, Kamoj, what a great surprise it must have been. When Earth’s emissaries reached the stars, they went looking for alien cultures and found us instead, their own siblings, busily rebuilding empires. Gave ‘em one hell of a shock."
Smiling, she said, "You look quite smug about that." When he chuckled, she asked, "And Balumil was a colony of your Ruby Empire?"
"That’s right. We’ve been reclaiming the old colonies and settling new worlds. We call ourselves Skolia now, though, or the Skolian Imperialate."
She tried to fit it together. "How are you a prince?"
Vyrl shifted his weight. "My mother descends from the Ruby Dynasty."
"Ruby Dynasty? From the Ruby Empire?"
"That’s right. The House of Skolia."
"Skolia is your family name?" When he nodded, she spoke quietly. "You are a great man, to rule nine hundred worlds."
He looked uncomfortable. "It’s a meaningless title. My family hasn’t ruled anything for thousands of years. I’m just a farmer."
She sensed unspoken subtleties in his words. "Dazza’s people hold you prisoner because you have value to them."
He stiffened. "I’m not their prisoner." When she just looked at him, he said, "They have their reasons."
"Good reasons or bad?"
The question seemed to surprise him. "Valid reasons."
"Why?"
After a pause he said, "The Ruby Empire had a thriving slave trade. My ancestors in the Ruby Dynasty outlawed it. That was one reason the old empire fell. The Traders went to war against my family." Tiredly he said, "Now it’s all started up again, even worse than before."
She tensed. "Is that why you are a prisoner? Is Dazza a slave trader?"
He appeared taken aback by the question. "Good gods, of course not. Dazza Pacal is a colonel in the pharaoh’s army, the oldest branch of Imperial Space Command, the Skolian military. The army dates back to the Ruby Empire. One of my ancestors, the first Ruby Pharaoh, founded it."
Relief washed over Kamoj. "So it is your people who are holding you captive."
"If you mean, did ISC bring me here, the answer is yes." He shifted his weight. "I wouldn’t use the word ‘captive.’"
"Then why won’t they let you go?"
"Members of my family have neural structures that make our brains more sensitive to certain atomic and molecular interactions. What I told you last night. Our ancestors were designed that way." At her puzzled look, he said, "It means we can power Ruby machines that have survived the millennia. We haven't relearned the tech yet, but we can use what we have."
"This is a thing of value?"
"Very much. It allows us to access universes with different laws and characteristics than the spacetime we inhabit. Relativity as we know it has no meaning there."
She gave him a dubious look. "These odd-sounding things have value?"
Vyrl smiled at her expression. "Indeed. They make possible almost-instant communication. Signals are otherwise limited by the speed of light."
"You mean by the Current?"
"That’s right." His grin flashed again. "We can beat the Current, Kamoj. It gives ISC a speed and precision the Traders can’t match." His smile faded. "It’s the only reason we’ve survived against them."
That he could beat the Current impressed her. No wonder his family had such great value to his people. "But where is the rest of your family?"
This time his silence stretched out so long she wondered if she had given offense. Finally he said, "My father came from another of the rediscovered colonies." He spoke with difficulty. "He was a simple man. A farmer. But he was also that one in a trillion, a Ruby psion." Anger leaked into his voice. "We’re thoroughbreds, exotic and rare. For reasons our geneticists don’t yet understand, attempts to make us in the lab fail." He shrugged, a gesture all the more eloquent for its attempt to indicate a nonchalance he obviously didn’t feel. "But my parents could have children. So the assembly made them do it."
"Hai, Vyrl." She watched his face, trying to understand the shadow on his mood. "And your ISC needs you to protect your people?" When he nodded, she asked, "What about Earth? Do they fight too?"
"They stayed neutral during the last war. But they provided protective custody for my family." He pushed his hand through his curls. "The problem was, after the war ground to a stalemate, Earth refused to release us. I’m the only one they don’t have. ISC keeps me guarded because they fear I will be kidnapped or assassinated otherwise."
"I see. I think." Kamoj tilted her head. "Your own people hold you prisoner to keep you from being held prisoner by the allies who were supposed to protect you from being taken prisoner or murdered by your enemies."
He gave a rueful laugh. "That about sums it up."
She took his hand. "Why did you come here?"
His fingers curled around hers. "I asked ISC to let me live in an agrarian culture similar to that of my homeworld, Lyshriol. A place where life revolved around the land and the harvest."
"So you really are a farmer."
His face gentled. "Yes. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do."
That she understood. Lifting his hand, she kissed his knuckles. He pulled her into his arms and they sat in silence, listening to the rustle of the forest.
A twig cracked.
Vyrl swore under his breath. They stood up, and he went to the entrance, where he paused to one side, poised and tense.
A man stepped through the shimmer. He wasn’t one of Vyrl’s guards, however. Rather, he wore the garb of an Ironbridge stagman. An archer. He had his bow up and aimed at the place where Kamoj and Vyrl had been sitting just seconds ago.
Vyrl didn’t wait to see if the man meant to attack or only threaten. Lunging forward, he yanked the bow out of archer’s hands. When the startled stagman clenched his fists together and brought them up under Vyrl’s chin, Kamoj tensed, afraid the archer would snap back Vyrl’s head and injure his neck. But Vyrl twisted with an easy grace, making even the agile stagman look clumsy. The blow just glanced off his cheek.
Th
en Vyrl hauled off and socked the archer. Staggering back, the archer hit the wall and knocked his head on the rock. As he slumped to the ground, Vyrl lunged forward and pulled the man’s sword out of its sheath with a hiss of metal. While Vyrl stepped back, holding the sword, the dazed archer looked up at him.
"Does Ironbridge know you’re here?" Vyrl asked.
The stagman rubbed his face, recovering himself. Moving stiffly, he stood up and brushed off his clothes. Then he turned to Kamoj and said, "Slut."
As Kamoj’s mouth fell open, Vyrl said, "Call her that again and you won’t have a tongue any more. What’s the matter with you?"
The man snorted. "Be quiet, boy."
"Oh." Kamoj finally understood. "Vyrl, he thinks you’re a farmhand."
Vyrl regarded him. "Is that true?"
The stagman had the sense to start looking worried. "Yes."
"I’m Havyrl Lionstar," he said. "And if you ever call my wife a slut again, then after I cut out your tongue I’ll hang you upside down from a tower of the Quartz Palace and let the bi-hawks peck out your eyes."
Kamoj wondered if he were serious. The stagman stared at him for a full count of five before he remembered himself. Then he dropped to one knee and lowered his head so his hair fell forward, leaving his neck bare. "I have no excuse, Governor Lionstar. Use my sword."
Vyrl made an exasperated noise. "I’m not going to cut off your head. Get up and tell me why you were skulking around my woods."
Moving with obvious, albeit belated, humility, the stagman stood up. "Please accept my most abject–"
"Just answer the question," Vyrl said.
"I was riding to the Quartz Palace, bringing salutations from Ironbridge on your wedding." The man paused. "When I came by here, I saw the bridle and thought a rider was in trouble. I investigated and heard voices. I recognized the woman." He glanced at Kamoj, then quickly shifted his gaze to Vyrl. "I heard her call you a farmer and your agreement. It seemed that given the, uh, appearance of this matter, I ought to apprehend–I mean–what I thought–"
"I get the idea," Vyrl said. "Why are you up here? The road to Ironbridge is on the other side of the palace."
"I was coming from another errand for Governor Ironbridge."
Vyrl motioned toward the entrance. "Outside."
The man obeyed, his back stiff, either with fear or shame. Kamoj didn’t believe for one second Jax had sent "salutations." He was having her watched.
As Vyrl followed the stagman, he nodded to Kamoj. At first she wasn’t sure what he wanted. Then she remembered. The mask. He couldn’t do something as simple as walk into the forest without endangering his life.
She retrieved the mask and also Vyrl’s cloak. With her arms full of Argalian wool, she stepped out into a breezy afternoon. Vyrl and the stagman were standing about twenty paces away, Vyrl still holding the sword. He looked as if he was threatening the stagman with the man’s own weapon, but as Kamoj came closer she realized he was only giving the archer directions to the road.
It didn’t surprise her that Vyrl intended to let him go. The archer looked tense, though. Disbelieving. That didn’t surprise her either. Had one of Vyrl’s stagmen attacked Jax, Ironbridge would have sent the attacker to prison, possibly even executed him.
Then, in her side vision, she saw the trees move. "Vyrl!" she shouted. "Look out!"
Vyrl spun around just as a bowball hurtled toward him, the kind with an arrow embedded in the marble. It slammed against his side, the arrow stabbing deep into his body. Then the weight of the falling ball yanked out the arrow, pulling shreds of muscle with it.
As blood spurted from the wound, Vyrl staggered, and the stagman lunged to regain his sword. He almost recovered it; Vyrl was already injured, and the stagman was well trained. But Vyrl handled the weapon like an extension of his body. Metal flashed in the dappled forest–and Vyrl thrust the blade into the stagman’s chest.
"No!" Dropping Vyrl’s cloak, Kamoj ran toward them. A second bowball whistled through the air and hit Vyrl. He was moving, so it missed his heart and slammed into his chest below his shoulder. This time he managed to grab the shaft of the arrow before the falling ball ripped it out of his body. The weight of the ball broke the arrow, leaving its upper end embedded in his muscles.
A great roaring noise filled the forest, and the cry of a siren. With shock, Kamoj realized the siren was coming out of Vyrl’s body. Wind thrashed the trees overhead.
As Kamoj came up to Vyrl, another ball hurtled between them. Vyrl tried to shove her away, to safety. "Stay back!" He had to shout to be heard above the noise.
He sank to his knees, his face contorted with pain. Blood soaked his shirt and pants, and the stagman lay dead at his feet. No, not dead; blood still pumped out of his wound. But Kamoj recognized mortal injuries: neither Vyrl nor the stagman would live much longer.
Dropping next to Vyrl, she pressed the mask over his face, trying to make it stay as he gasped for air. Before she had it in place, someone grabbed her arm and yanked her back. Twisting around, she found herself looking up a second Ironbridge stagman, another archer, almost certainly the one who had shot Vyrl. She struggled as he dragged her back, but she couldn’t pull free. Frantic, she threw the mask at Vyrl–and saw it hit the ground beyond his reach.
"Let me go!" she shouted at the stagman.
His mouth moved, but she couldn’t hear him. The whole forest was in motion now, come alive, trees parting overhead while the wind roared.
Incredibly, Vyrl made it to his feet and stumbled toward them, his hand clutched on his side, blood running over his fingers. Then he fell, barely managing to put his hand out in time to cushion the impact. His face had gone pale, a mask of death to replace the silver mask that lay beyond his reach.
"Let go of me!" Kamoj shouted. Wrestling in the archer’s grip, she looked up–
And froze. A giant black and gold bird was cutting a swath through the trees, blasting away scales and dirt. The roar of its descent drowned out even the siren from Vyrl’s body.
As soon as the bird landed, its mouth gaped open. People ran out of its throat, Dazza and others in gray uniforms, all sheathed in shimmers that molded to their bodies. Two Lionstar stagmen came also, Azander and another man. The unfamiliar Lionstar man raised his arm and pointed a tube at the Ironbridge archer that held Kamoj.
"Ah–" With a stunned expression, the archer collapsed. The Lionstar man looked disconcerted, as if he hadn’t been sure what would happen when he did whatever he had done with the tube.
Kamoj tried to run to Vyrl, but one of the shimmer-sheathed strangers caught her and held her back. The other healers were kneeling around Vyrl. As one of them placed a translucent mask over his face, Dazza worked dials on a cylinder connected by a cord to the mask. Two other healers lifted him onto a stretcher.
Impossibly, the stretcher rose off the ground on its own. Grabbing its ends, the healers ran for the metal bird. Dazza went with them, running by the stretcher. Two more of Vyrl’s people laid the dying Ironbridge man on a second stretcher and followed the first group. The siren from Vyrl’s body still rang throughout the trees.
Kamoj struggled in the grip of the healer that held her. "Let me go with him!" she shouted. When he only tightened his grip, she screamed, "Let me go!"
Still running, Dazza glanced back. "Let her come," she called. Then she disappeared into the bird’s throat.
The instant the healer released her, Kamoj took off. She had no time to consider the consequences of running into the mouth of a giant metal bird. Its jaw was already closing. She barely had time to race inside before it snapped shut behind her. Two more steps took her through the throat–and into a nightmare.
The bird’s stomach was a demon’s nest of tubes and metal curves, surfaces that gleamed, light panels, other things she had no names for, looping coils and projections like clawed hands.
Suddenly the bird lurched. Kamoj lost her balance and slid to one knee, her shoulder hitting the metal "wall" that lined the
beast’s gut. A roaring filled the air and the bird vibrated around her. As it grumbled and boomed, a great invisible hand shoved her against the wall of its stomach.
The Lionstar stagman who had knocked out the Ironbridge archer knelt on one knee at her side, his presence both reassurance and an offer of protection. She managed to incline her head in gratitude. He nodded back, his face as pale as a white-skeeted snowlizard. She suspected he had no more love of riding in the innards of giant metal birds than did she.
A few paces away from them, Vyrl lay on a pallet enmeshed in coils and jointed metal arms. The siren coming from his body abruptly cut off, leaving a calm broken only by the muted clinks and hissing of the bird’s guts. The Ironbridge man lay on another pallet, surrounded by healers. Kamoj couldn’t tell what was happening with him, or even if he still lived.
Vyrl, however, was very much alive. He had ripped the mask off his face and was grabbing at a tube Dazza kept trying to press against his arm.
"I won’t be put to sleep like some wild animal!" he told her.
"Stop fighting," Dazza said. "It will drive the arrows deeper into your body."
Either he didn’t hear or didn’t care. He kept struggling, until finally the healers fastened down his limbs with straps. Still he fought, his face flushed as he strained against his bonds. It terrified Kamoj to see him that way, like a man possessed.
"Prince Havyrl, you have to hold still," a man said. "We can’t get the arrows out." In almost the same instant, Dazza said, "The sedative isn’t working," and another man said, "I’ll try Perital." As the man pressed a tube against Vyrl’s arm, Vyrl swore, the tendons in his necks as taut as cords. His eyes rolled back into his head and his body went rigid–no, not rigid, it was jerking–
Someone yelled, "What the–?" and a new siren went off. In the same instant, Dazza shouted, "Give me an air-syringe!" while a woman said, "Saints almighty, what kind of neural map is that?"
Vyrl’s entire body spasmed against the restraints, convulsing back and forth. As Dazza slapped another tube against his arm, someone else said, "I’m reading discharges all over his brain," and another healer shouted, "We have to clear–damn! The arrow punctured his lung."