“What are you thinking?” Vitarex asked. “Emotions flow across your face. Fear? Yes. But more, I think.” He tilted his head. “What must it be like for you, eh? An empath on a world of mundane minds.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Eldrinson said.
“You must sense your differences.”
“How would you know more about me than I do myself?” Over the years, Eldrinson had learned a great deal about his abilities, but if Vitarex believed him ignorant, he wasn’t likely to suspect he had captured Roca Skolia’s royal consort.
“I can feel the presence of an empath,” Vitarex said. “Just being near you, I transcend at a low level.”
Eldrinson clenched his fists behind his back. “What do you want with me?”
Vitarex settled himself on his stool, his boots braced against the hardpacked dirt. “I have bestowed a great honor on you.”
“And what might that be?”
“I have decided to allow you to be my provider.”
“That means nothing to me,” he lied.
“My personal slave.”
“You can’t.” It surprised Eldrinson how calm he sounded. “It is against the law.”
“No matter.”
“What makes you think my friends won’t find you?” Eldrinson asked, curious in a morbid sort of way. “They are well armed and numerous.”
Vitarex waved his hand. “I have means to hide. When I finish here, we shall leave.” He smiled benevolently at Eldrinson. “You may come with me.”
Like hell. “Finish what?”
“You come from the Dalvador Plains, yes?”
“That’s right. I’m a farmer in Starlo Vale.”
“Have you ever been to Dalvador? The capital?”
If Eldrinson hadn’t already known Vitarex wasn’t Rillian, that last sentence would have given it away. No one called the village of Dalvador a “capital.” His people didn’t even have the concept. The only reason he knew its meaning was because Roca had asked him a similar question several decades ago.
“I rarely travel,” Eldrinson said.
Vitarex leaned closer. “Have you heard of Roca Skolia?”
Hearing his wife’s name from this man filled him with anger. It took a great effort of will to appear unaffected. He had to respond like a farmer from Starlo, not the husband of the woman Vitarex dishonored merely by mentioning her name. “The wife of our Bard has a similar name.”
Vitarex wet his lips. “Have you seen her?”
“The likes of me don’t mingle with them.” He hoped Vitarex knew too little about Lyshriol to recognize that lie. Social stratification didn’t exist here. Everyone mingled. Eldrinson’s children played with the other children in Dalvador. People came to him when they wanted a bard or judge, but they otherwise treated him like any other farmer. He was the closest the Dalvador Plains had to a leader, just as Lord Rillia was the closest they had to a king in all the settled lands, but they didn’t think in terms of class. Any distance that developed between his family and his people came about because he had married a woman that the Lyshrioli believed descended from the sun gods. He knew about social classes from Roca’s people, and he had heard Trader hierarchies were even more stratified. Vitarex wouldn’t expect low-level a farmer to associate with the Ruby Dynasty.
“They say she is a great beauty,” Vitarex mused.
Eldrinson bit the inside of his mouth to keep from responding.
Vitarex was watching him closely. “You have seen her, haven’t you? You find her lovely, eh?” An oily smile spread across his face. “Tell me, farmer, do you covet her?”
“Go to hell,” Eldrinson ground out.
Vitarex laughed. “Ah, well, I imagine many men want her.” He stretched his arms. “I shall have her. Perhaps some of her daughters, too.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I suppose I could also take the men. They would fetch a high price.”
Eldrinson had never hidden his emotions well, but he managed now, knowing the lives of his family could depend on his control. He had to hide his rage, lest he reveal himself to Vitarex. He didn’t know which would be worse, if Vitarex captured another of his family or if the Aristo realized he already had a Rhon psion and escaped Lyshriol with him. It didn’t seem possible Vitarex could take them away, but he shouldn’t have managed to trespass here, either. The irony didn’t escape Eldrinson, that he had demanded Soz stay at home so she would be safe, yet he was the one the Traders captured.
When he didn’t respond, Vitarex yawned. “Intellect isn’t one of your strong points, is it?”
Eldrinson spoke dryly. “Bravery isn’t one of yours, is it?”
“I could execute someone for speaking to me with such insolence.” Vitarex’s voice was languid, probably deceptively so.
“The coward’s solution.” Eldrinson hoped he was gauging Vitarex as well as he thought; otherwise he might have just invited his own death.
“Is it now?” The Aristo smiled coldly. “Tell me, what are you trying to provoke me into doing?”
What indeed? Eldrinson needed a way to signal Roca and Brad. He couldn’t achieve much tied up; but if he could get out into the open he might have a better chance.
“I’ve a proposition for you,” Eldrinson said.
“Do you now?”
“Entertainment.” He thought fast, making it up as he went along. “A sword competition. You’ve surely heard of them. Two men fight until one is disarmed or admits defeat. Winner takes on the next challenger. The rounds go on until only one is left.” He lifted his chin. “Take a chance. Set me against your men.”
“What a strange idea.” Vitarex laughed. “You do intrigue me. Where I come from, providers have none of your spark.”
“I can best any single fighter you have.” The claim was bravado, given his injured arm, but he could probably manage a few bouts.
“Is that so?” Vitarex tilted his head. “Where would a farmer learn such skills?”
Eldrinson pretended astonishment. “You don’t know?” Let this Aristo think he had just made a cultural mistake.
Vitarex flushed. “I asked a question. Answer it.”
“I qualified to train for the army.” Any boy with talent and discipline could learn swordplay in Dalvador. It did tend to be children of betterconnected families, the closest they had to a highborn class. but it wasn’t restricted. Boys came from all over the plains to train. Similarly, girls came to become Memories. The Lyshrioli were illiterate; they had no concept of written language. Memories were their depositories of knowledge.
“You won’t defeat my men,” Vitarex said. “I handpicked them for their expertise.”
“Afraid I will win?”
The Aristo considered him. “What do you think you will get out of this?”
“The chance to move.” He didn’t have to act when he grimaced. “It hurts.”
“I know,” Vitarex murmured. “I can feel it from all over the camp.” He stood up. “I will think on your suggestion.” With that, he strode away, out of the tent, and set its entrance flap swinging.
Eldrinson exhaled. Vitarex was too confident, too sure of himself. He truly believed he could capture Roca, even more of the family, and take them from Lyshriol. Eldrinson had to stop him.
How, he had no idea.
10
HeadQuarters City
Diesha mesmerized Soz. Its tiny white sun glinted like a bright stud hammered into a pale blue sky. Near the horizon, the sky turned red from dust stirred into the air. The colors left her breathless. Despite the vast red deserts around the port, everything seemed bluer here than Lyshriol, even the sunlight itself, as if someone had put a blue filter over the red world.
ISC maintained the planet for military purposes. Althor had landed at the Red Mountain Starport on the edge of HeadQuarters City, or HQC, a major ISC command center. They had none of the holdups civilians endured in the commercial port outside HQC; indeed, the personnel here expedited their arrival with efficiency and cou
rtesy. A port official personally escorted them through customs and registration. It didn’t hurt that their party included a Fleet colonel and J-Force pilot, even if Althor was still a cadet. Neither she nor Althor identified themselves as Ruby Dynasty. Even if they had been inclined to do so, which they weren’t, Tahota advised against it. Ruby heirs revealed as little about themselves as possible.
Now they stood at a curved desk staffed by a person rather than an EI, a polite fellow in a blue uniform. The white Luminex desk glowed, and silvery mesh components glimmered in its surface. It all unsettled Soz; rather than the upholstered furniture and stained-glass hues of her home, everything here was streamlined and polished. The spacious room had two walls of polarized dichromesh glass that looked out over the teeming, geometric tarmacs of the starport and the towers of HQC beyond, sharp against the red sky. The blue carpet under Soz’s feet rearranged its fibers every time they took a step. Probably it cleaned itself when no one was looking.
She was too light.
Her body had developed on Lyshriol, which had stronger gravity than there. Diesha made her light-headed, dizzy. She stumbled when she walked, mistiming her steps. Even just standing felt odd. The world didn’t pull enough. When she handed the officer a mesh-card with her documents, her arm came up too fast and too high. Embarrassed, she lowered it to give him the card. He nodded with courtesy and clicked the plex square into a slot on his desk.
The air smelled strange. Here in the port, everything had a sterile scent. Dry. Parched. Lyshriol smelled so much more alive. Both worlds had been terraformed, with atmospheres agreeable to human life, but a wide variation existed within those parameters. Diesha had a lower oxygen content than Lyshriol. Although she didn’t feel short of breath, she could tell the difference. Lyshrioli air tasted richer.
This place sounded odd, too. She had spent her life in a culture with no urbanization. Most people lived in rural areas or villages. The largest city, Rillia, had a population of only ten thousand. No machines. Her mother had introduced technology, yes, but it was discreet, blending with the natural ambience of Dalvador. They almost never heard engines or the hum of compressed air, only chirps and trills of the scant wildlife. Humming-Hits rustled in the air; tin-beetles tapped on walls; swords clanked in the courtyard as boys trained. Those were the noises of life. Here in the climatecontrolled port, HQC rumbled outside, and its surging power vibrated through her.
This wasn’t her first trip offworld. She had traveled with her mother years ago on trips to Parthonia. Roca hadn’t wanted to leave her small children while she attended Assembly. Before marrying Eldrinson, she had won election as a delegate and risen in its ranks until she became the Councilor for Foreign Affairs, a member of the powerful Inner Circle. Soz had grown up watching her mother as a political powerhouse in the gigantic, tiered amphitheater of the Assembly.
Some of Soz’s siblings never traveled. As a toddler, Shannon had cried even when Roca took him into orbit. So she reluctantly left him home. Now they were grown and no longer went with their mother, except eight-year-old Kelric, who loved to travel. Soz had wanted to continue, but her father had discouraged it. She had never doubted he loved her, but that only made it hurt more when he rejected her dreams.
As Althor gave his mesh-card to the officer, Soz straightened her back. She had to stop brooding. She had made her choice and she would accept the consequences. She gazed out the polarized windows at Diesha, with its chrome glitters and parched sky.
The time had come to face her future.
The days blended into a haze for Shannon. If he thought about it, he remembered he had run away from home three days ago, but mostly he rode in a trance of hunger and thirst, dimly aware of the thinner air as he went higher into the mountains. His head throbbed. Trees up here were stunted, their colors dulled.
When Moonglaze whistled, Shannon surfaced from his daze. “Are you tired, Moon?”
The lyrine answered with a low sound, more an exhalation than a true whistle.
Shannon sighed. “Me, too.” His stomach ached and his throat had gone dry, but he didn’t want to give up. He reined in the lyrine among a cluster of trees and checked his bags to verify the jammer continued to work. He could turn it off, but he wasn’t that desperate yet.
He slid off the lyrine and sagged against its side. Moonglaze bent his head around to nuzzle his shoulder. Shannon scratched the lyrine’s neck where the hair grew in thick curls, and Moonglaze snuffled in appreciation.
“I wish we had more to eat than glitter.” He was so sick of the stuff, just the thought made him nauseous. He had enjoyed the puffles yesterday morning, but they were long gone.
Shannon sank to the ground. He had no idea if he had reached the Blue Dale Mountains. He saw no dales and nothing looked blue except the snow crusted on the trees. This part of the country had even less wildlife than down in the plains. Although Dalvador had relatively few animals compared to what Shannon had read about other worlds, small creatures flitted through the air or scampered in the reeds. Whatever lived up here hid itself well. Too well.
“Moon,” he said. His parched mouth didn’t work well.
The lyrine snuffled.
“We might die of thirst and hunger.”
Moonglaze looked down at him with one large eye.
“I could turn off the jammer.” They might not be looking for him, given the trouble he had caused. They ought to just let him leave. He knew his parents, though; they would probably search even when they shouldn’t.
Shannon lay on his back and gazed upward. Tree tubules crisscrossed above him, blue, green, deep red. In the plains, where trees grew tall and hale, their jeweled colors glowed. Here, they looked as tired as he felt. He had eaten almost nothing for two days. The sparse snow, saturated with glitter, did little to slake his thirst. He couldn’t continue this way. If he turned back now, it would take three days to reach the Rillian Vales, maybe longer in his weakened state. The pool with the puffle-wogs was closer, but he wasn’t sure he could find it again. Even if he turned off the jammer, he had no guarantee anyone would find him. With a surreal calm, he comprehended that he really could die.
“Moonglaze,” he whispered. “We have to go back.”
The lyrine edged closer. He surveyed Shannon with one silver eye, then turned his head and looked at him with the other eye. He whistled, high and urgent.
“I’m all right,” Shannon said. “I’m not dying.” At least, he didn’t think so. He had a curious floating sense, as if his mind had detached from his body. He should get back on Moonglaze and search for that pool. The lyrine might find it; he had an amazing sense of direction, better even than Shannon, who took to the wilds with ease.
Shadows under the trees darkened. The suns would be sinking behind the mountains, always doing their orbital dance around each other. He contemplated their celestial mechanics until he no longer felt hungry. He was part of the fading sunlight.
His mind sailed over the mountains, leaving his body behind.
Vitarex reclined in a lounger in the tent, watching Eldrinson. His servants waited on him, a young man and woman, a married couple from a distant village. He didn’t treat them like staff, though; he acted as if he owned them. They averted their eyes from Eldrinson when they passed him. He was sitting now with his aching arms still bound to the pole behind him, but he had managed to shift into a sitting position.
The woman set up a black lacquered stand next to Vitarex’s lounger. The man poured wine into a goblet of green glasswood and set it on the stand. They bowed to Vitarex, an odd gesture Rillian people normally never used. The Aristo waved his hand, dismissing them, all the time watching his prisoner. They withdrew silently from the tent.
Eldrinson had a hard time concentrating; the ache in his arms and legs had worsened until he could hardly focus. He had spent over a day tied here. He could move a little, enough to stretch his legs, but that put more strain on his wrists.
Vitarex sipped his wine. He had that blissful look
Eldrinson had come to hate this past day. One Lyshrioli day, three octets plus four hours; he counted the moments, knowing he was probably off in his estimate, but needing something, anything, to distract him from the pain.
“A sword,” Vitarex said. “You may have a sword.”
Eldrinson stared blankly at his tormentor. “What?”
“For the competition.” Vitarex took another swallow of wine. “You may have a sword. And the clothes you are wearing.”
“You want me to fight?”
“Yes, I think so.” Vitarex smiled. “I will tell my men to go easy with you.”
Hope sparked in Eldrinson. If he could get outside, he might have a chance to warn Brad and Roca or the ISC shuttle. “I’m stiff,” he said. “I can hardly move. It won’t be entertaining for you if I fall over.”
“Perhaps.” Vitarex tasted his wine. “Very well. I will have you freed now. The competition will take place this evening. You can have until then to recover your mobility.”
Thank Rillia’s Arrow, Eldrinson barely kept the gratitude from flooding his voice. “All right.”
Vitarex’s gaze hardened. “Understand me, empath. If you speak one word to anyone during the competition or give any indication that you are other than my honored guest, I will have you quartered alive and send your remains to whatever family you have. And when I am done with you, I will start on them.”
Eldrinson didn’t doubt he meant it. He wondered what rot-worm had spawned Vitarex. Apparently no one here except the young couple and Vitarex’s bodyguards knew what the Aristo was doing to him. If the men in camp learned the truth, they might help him; to treat a Dalvador visitor in this manner would appall most any Rillian.