The Aether of Night
Author: Brandon Sanderson
Date: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Prologue

The prison was absolute.  It didn’t just bind his body.  It fettered his mind, making it difficult to think.  It enclosed his senses, locking him off from creation.  Most importantly, it shackled his vast power, holding back the torrent of his wrath.  It left him impotent.  Agaris was bound by Order itself, the very substance of the universe.  It was truly a prison for a God.

Agaris screamed within his bonds, struggling with rage.  Once, that scream would have shaken the universe, shattering planets with its intensity.  Now it was swallowed by the void, leaving only silence and anger.  No matter how he pushed, no matter how his divine power surged, he could not link himself back to the tangible realm.  It was infuriating, and it nearly drove him mad.  One thing kept him sane however--a simple emotion, valuable only because of its variety.  In the end, it was the curiosity that saved Agaris’s mind.  He had to know the answer to a single question.

Had he won?

“Agaris,” a voice whispered.

Agaris struggled, twisting in the void, seeking out the source of the sound.  His thrashings prompted a chuckle that rang in the darkness.

“Decay,” Agaris hissed, speaking the title of the one who had imprisoned him.  “What have you done to me?”  His voice had no sound, even to himself, but Decay responded to it anyway.

“I have given you that which you desired, son of the Former,” the voice replied.  “Vaeria, the world you desired, is now yours.”

Agaris bellowed silently in anger.  “What good is that if I am shuttered away in your void!” he demanded.  “A God is no God if he cannot rule!”

The chuckling continued.  “Oh, Agaris,” it said.  “Do not fret so.  Your prison is not absolute.”

Agaris paused.  “I can free myself?” he demanded.

“No, I doubt it,” Decay replied through the void.  “But, if you are clever, you will find a way to contact your world, to influence its people.  A god does not need to affect a world directly to rule--in fact, sometimes it is better if he does not.  I suspect you shall do just fine, all things considered.”

Agaris continued to thrash, but his rage was tempered slightly.  If there were a way out. . . .

Suddenly a thought struck him.  “What of my brother?” he asked with fear.

“Imprisoned, like yourself,” Decay replied.

Terror stabbed Agaris’s immortal heart.  “Then he can escape as well!” he said.

“Oh, not likely,” Decay informed.  “His imprisonment is different than your own.  You see, I took his mind and memory from him when I locked him away.  He has no knowledge or sense--he doesn’t even know who he is.”

Agaris’s fear quieted at the announcement.  Then, however, his rage returned--more powerfully, even, than before.  “His mind is gone?” Agaris bellowed.  “But, how then can he know of his defeat?  What is victory if my brother cannot suffer in his loss?”

Decay laughed in the darkness.  “Oh, Agaris,” he said.  “Would you have it the other way?  He nearly defeated you.  If you hadn’t come to me. . . .  Well, would you really rather have him awake--able to suffer, true, but able to struggle?  Able, perhaps, to escape?  To defeat you?”

Agaris paused.  He had fought for so long with Makkal over the world of Vaeria.  True, this way his brother would not suffer, but he would also no longer be a threat.

“I can touch the world?” Agaris asked slowly.

“Well, not the world itself.  But you can touch the minds of those who dwell therein,” Decay replied.

“Do they remember me?” Agaris asked.  The void had no time--how long had he been imprisoned?

“After a fashion,” Decay explained.  “They remember what you and your brother did.  They’ve actually invented names for you--Slaughter and Despair, the Fell Twins.  Endearing, wouldn’t you say?”

For the first time since his imprisonment, Agaris fell still.  His brother was no more, and the world was his.  He didn’t trust Decay, of course--once he learned to contact Vaeria, he would have to make certain that his brother never awakened.  Still, it was enough.  He would not be able to visit Vaeria as he once had, but the prize belonged to him.  He had defeated Makkal; had defied the will of the Former himself.  He had won.

And so, despite everything else, Agaris was satisfied.

Chapter One

It was not a very good poem.  In fact, it was horrible.  The verse was unwieldy, the rhymes were trite, and the rhythm was random at best.  Raeth wasn’t certain what was more depressing--the knowledge that the poem was so bad, or the realization that it was probably the best work he had ever created.  Of course, the poem’s inadequacy was compounded by the fact that Raeth had to read it exactly four thousand times in a row.

But, there’s only two more to go, he reminded himself.  Two cups--one glass, the other stone--sat on the dark mudstone beside him.  The stone cup was nearly empty, while the glass cup was filled nearly half-way with blue grains of sand.  One grain for each reading of the Ynaa Poem in supplication to the Ancestors.  In all, the process of composing a Ynaa Poem, reading it the requisite number of times, then burning it in effigy took about five months.  And he was nearly done.

Of course, once he finished he wouldn’t have much of a reprise before he had to compose another Ynaa Poem, paint another effigy, and begin reading again--he was Dari, a priest.  The next poem, however, was another day’s task.  For now, there were only two grains left in the stone cup.  Two grains which separated Raeth from momentary freedom.

Raeth selected one of the grains with his long-nosed tweezers, taking it from the stone cup and dropping it into the glass one.  Then he began to speak again, the words to the Ynaa Poem slipping easily from his mouth.  There was one nice thing about reading the same poem over and over again for four months--it quickly became rote, leaving the mind free to think.  If it weren’t for this one consolation, Raeth probably would have gone mad.  As long as he had time to think and ponder, he was all right.

The sounds of other Dari chanting in their cubicles rose through the Irae’s cool mudstone hallways.  Most of their poems were far better than his own.  Raeth could recognize beauty, he just couldn’t produce it himself.  The other Dari’s effigy paintings were also far better than his own.  Raeth’s painting, which sat on the pedestal before which he knelt, was a crude thing.  It was supposed to represent Darro, his brother, standing amongst the Ancestors of Raeth’s Line.  In actuality, it resembled something more akin to several lumps connected by lines.  Raeth’s ability to draw made even his poetry look inspired.

But, of course, that wasn’t the point.  It didn’t matter that Raeth wasn’t artistically talented--Dari was his Place.  Someone in the family had to be Dari; someone had to say the Ynaa to the Ancestors, especially in a family as important as Raeth’s.  If anyone needed blessings from the Ancestors, it was Vaetayn--Raeth’s father, Emperor of the Aedinor Imperium.

Raeth finished the Ynaa reading a few minutes later.  With a sigh of relief, he took the last grain of sand and dropped it from one cup to the other, then began the final recitation.  He tried not to pay too much attention as he spoke--even after saying the poem over and over for four months, its words bothered him.  He knew they shouldn’t.  It was a simple Ynaa Poem, one that requested an obvious blessing.  This day marked the beginning of Saedin, the Festival of the Unremembered.  It was a special time for High Aedin families--the day that fathers chose brides for their sons.  Darro just wanted to petition the Ancestors for a wise choice--a woman of beauty and virtue.

Though, of course, Raeth thought with a smile, knowing Darro, virtue isn’t half as important to him as the other.

However, even as Raeth tried to ignore his Ynaa, he found himself focusing on its words.  Perhaps it was because this was the last recitation, or maybe it was the proximity to Saedin and the Bride Choosing, but for some reason his mind seemed drawn to the lines of poetry he had written so many months ago.

“Ancestors of our Line, blessed High Aedin who watch and protect, remember Darro on this day of need,” he heard himself intone.

Day of need.  If things had gone a little bit differently, Raeth would be the one standing before the Senators and nobility this day to receive a bride.  That was not to be, however.  Only two of Emperor Vaetayn’s sons would receive brides.  Darro, Raeth’s younger brother, was one.  Hern was the other.  Hern, Raeth’s twin brother, Heir to the Imperium throne.

“Guide Vaetayn’s choice toward a bride beauteous and well-bred, a woman fit of Darro’s Line and Aether.”

Line and Aether.

Raeth’s eyes flickered down toward his palms, which were held forward in supplication.  A bright rose-colored gem sat implanted into the center of his right palm.  His Aether, the Aether of Amberite, Aether of the royal imperial Line.  If things had gone a little differently, if his Aether Bond had been just a little more powerful. . . .

The last few words of the Ynaa dribbled off his tongue, and Raeth sat for a moment, stunned.  He was done.  He had finished Ynaa before, of course, but he had been anticipating this event for some time now.  Because of his place in the Imperial Line, Raeth was required to abandon his Dari robes on festival days and instead stand with his brothers and father, not as a priest, but as a member of the Imperial Family.  Freedom--for a day, at least.

Raeth barely contained his joy as he stood, snatching his cups and the effigy painting.  He stepped into the outer hallway, a dark mudstone tunnel that resonated with the chantings of dozens of Dari, and began to walk, his head bowed.  He moved as quickly as was respectful through the lantern-lit tunnel, leaving the cubicles behind and walking out into the main chamber, an enormous domed room.

Various Dari, clad in thick brown robes, moved through the large mudstone room, mixing with Irae patrons.  Some of the patrons were High Aedin--distinguished by the large cloaks that marked their nobility--but most were regular Aedin or citizens of non-Aedin blood.

Raeth scanned the room, ignoring the normal people--most of whom were regarding one of the many paintings or sculptures that lined the room’s walls.  Raeth quickly located the Dari he wanted--a short, robed man who sat on a stool beside a painting easel by the far wall.

Raeth hurried forward, approaching the figure.  A small group of people stood around the Dari, watching him paint.  Raeth pushed gently through them, but then paused as his eyes fell on the painting.

“Jaenor!” Raeth breathed, “It’s beautiful.”

The shorter Dari turned, smiling as he saw Raeth.  The painting before him was nearly finished, and it depicted an amazingly lifelike glowing man, his arms outstretched, smaller figures rising in creation from the light before him.  Vae, the ultimate Ancestor, the first High Aedin.  Raeth had rarely seen a painting so fine, even amongst those created by the great Dari of the past.  He’d known Jaenor was gifted, but he hadn’t realized just how far the younger man’s genius went.

“It’s nothing,” Jaenor said with a blush.

Raeth took a step forward, approaching the canvas.  Talented Dari didn’t waste their time saying Ynaa poems and painting effigies that would just be burned.  The real geniuses, like Jaenor, created timeless pieces of art, ones that would either be sold for fabulous sums or hung in grand chambers for all to see.

Raeth just shook his head.  “You’re amazing,” he said simply.  “If I had a tenth of your talent, I’d count myself lucky.”

Jaenor blushed again, his youthful, freckled face uncomfortable.  He was a quiet boy, one not prone to restlessness or thinking beyond his Place.  Jaenor was the perfect Dari.  Talented, obedient, and reverent.  The opposite of Raeth.

It’s not just his talent that I’m lacking, Raeth thought with a shake of his head, still looking at the painting.  The form of Vae with its glowing hair, robes composed of the light itself, and its incredibly life-like face stared back at him.

“How did you get it so realistic?” Raeth asked.

Jaenor paused, then he leaned in close, his eyes flashing with eagerness.  “I saw him, Raeth,” he whispered.  “In a dream, several months ago.  I haven’t been able to get the image out of my mind.”

Raeth paused.  “A. . .vision?” he asked with surprise.

“I don’t know,” Jaenor said with another blush.  “Maybe.  I’m not that important--it was probably nothing.”

He’ll be made a Vo-Dari by the end of the year, Raeth realized.  He’s been chosen.  It was the highest honor for any Dari.  Being chosen as a Vo-Dari put one within the inner circle of the religious elite.  It was a position reserved for the most talented, and most spiritual, Dari.

“You deserve it, Jaenor,” Raeth said, laying his hand on the younger man’s shoulder.  Jaenor was only sixteen, three years Raeth’s younger.  He was young to be given such an honor.  A stab of jealousy tickled Raeth’s heart, and though he tried to push it back, he couldn’t quite ignore it.  Jaenor was so talented, while Raeth would never be more than sub-average.

If only father had chosen me to be Shaeth or Sworded instead of Dari. . . . Raeth thought.  However, he immediately cast the thought aside.  It wasn’t fitting.  He had been given a Place, and should be thankful for it.  If he was a mediocre Dari, it wasn’t because he’d been chosen poorly, it was because he had too much jealousy and because he questioned too much.

Jaenor looked up at him, frowning slightly.  He hadn’t understood Raeth’s comment--of course he wouldn’t realize that his vision, and his paintings, would make him Vo-Dari.  Jaenor was too humble to even consider such a thing--most Vo-Dari weren’t chosen until their thirties.  But, if Raeth had a talent to offset his poor artistic skill, it was the ability to read people.  Raeth understood the way things worked, he could guess how people would act and react.  Jaenor would be chosen as Vo-Dari.  He was certain of it.

“Do me a favor,” Raeth said, handing Jaenor the painting of Darro and a copy of Raeth’s Ynaa poem.  “Would you burn these for me at the ceremony tonight.  I’d like to do it myself, but. . . .”

Jaenor nodded, accepting the papers.  “You have duties to attend to.  I feel sorry for you, Raeth,” he said.  “How do you do it every year?  How do you leave the art and the beauty behind to go back. . .out.  Don’t you feel naked without your robes?”

“I get by,” Raeth said, patting Jaenor on the shoulder.  “I’ll see you after the festival.”

Jaenor nodded, and Raeth turned back toward the crowd.  Where was Darro?  He said he was going to meet Raeth in the grand chamber of the Irae.  Raeth shook his head--his brother wasn’t known for his sense of punctuality.  Raeth moved to the side of the room, where a table stood covered by small glass containers.  He selected one--a diamond-shaped box about a third the size of a man’s palm--and poured the blue sand from his glass cup into it.  Then, he handed the box across the table to the glassworker.  The worker turned to his flame, sealing the box and forever imprisoning the sand inside of it.

Raeth took the box back, once again scanning the crowd, looking for his brother’s massive form.  As he did so, his eyes fell on something odd.  A figure had joined the crowd watching Jaenor paint.  Not a person, but something else--something tall, with massive, muscled arms, and short brown fur.  A Gol.

When did he get here? Raeth thought with a shiver.  The Gol’s long arms stretched all the way to the floor, and its seven-foot tall body stood several heads above the room’s other occupants.  As Raeth stared at it, the creature turned, deep blue eyes meeting Raeth’s own--eyes Raeth couldn’t read, could barely understand.  He’d met Gol before--the creatures tended to spend a lot of time in the Irae monasteries.  They had a penchant for human art; despite their massive, imposing bodies, they were very gentle creatures.  Or, at least, that was what everyone said.  They always made Raeth uncomfortable for some reason.

“Raeth!” a happy voice bellowed through the quiet room.

Raeth rolled his eyes, barely turning in time to see a large, rectangular figure approach and grab him in a massive hug.

“Hello, Darro,” Raeth mumbled as Darro released him from the hug, grinning broadly and stepping back.

Darro was as big as men came.  More squat than tall, he still had a few inches on Raeth, and he had a far more well-muscled form.  Darro had always been strong, but his years fighting on the northern border had obviously magnified that trait.  Like most High Aedin men, Darro wore a pair of formal trousers and a stiff, militaristic shirt, pulled tight on the sides by several golden clasps.  He also wore a broad-shouldered High Aedin cloak--red, to proclaim him a member of the Amberite Line.

“By the Twins, Raeth!” Darro announced.  “It’s good to see you!”

“And you, my brother,” Raeth said, smiling himself.  “And, you probably shouldn’t swear.  This is a holy place, after all.”

Darro flushed, suddenly realizing how loudly he had been speaking.  “Well, I don’t care,” he said, though he did lower his voice.  “I haven’t seen you in months!  These priests keep you cooped up like a Khur woman.”

Raeth shrugged.  “I’m Dari.  It’s our Place.”

Darro snorted.  “You’re also the son of the Emperor.  You can do what you want.”

Raeth rolled his eyes.  “Not everyone can get away with whatever they want like you can, Darro.  Some of us are more. . . .”

“Conforming?” Darro asked.

“Responsible,” Raeth corrected.  “And, all things considered, it’s good that some of us are.  Here.”  He reached into a pocket of his robe and produced the sand-filled glass diamond.

Darro’s eyes brightened.  “You finished it?” he asked.

“All four thousand recitations,” Raeth said with a nod, handing Darro the glass container.

“Four thousand. . . .” Darro said.  “I don’t know how you do it.  I’d run myself through with my sword if I had to do something like that.”

“It’s not so bad,” Raeth said with a shrug.

“You shouldn’t be here, Raeth,” Darro said, his voice growing low as he regarded the sand-filled box.

“Darro. . . .” Raeth warned.

“It shouldn’t be you.  You should be the Heir.  Hern should--”

“Darro!” Raeth snapped.  “This is a holy place.

Darro sighed, then placed the box in his pocket.  “Thank you,” he said with sincerity.

Raeth snorted.  “With four thousand recitations, she’d better be downright gorgeous,” he said.  “Come on.  I only get out of these robes one day a year, and I don’t want to waste that day in here.  I assume you have a Corpate waiting outside--”

“Darro!” A feminine voice said through the crowd of Irae-goers.  “You’re here!”

Raeth shot a look at Darro, who blushed slightly.  A blonde form emerged from the crowd, approaching Darro with a determined step.  Her dress was sleek and well-made, but she didn’t wear much jewelry.  Her blonde hair and full figure meant she was probably of Aedin blood, but the lack of jewelry meant she was likely just a regular Aedin, rather than a High Aedin--a citizen, but not one of noble blood.  Not exactly of the breeding suitable for a son of the emperor.

Of course, Darro rarely paid attention to such things.  The fact that she was buxom and had an innocently beautiful face was about all he ever noticed.

The girl latched onto Darro’s arm, her eyes wide as she regarded Raeth.  “Is this your brother?” she asked.

Darro coughed slightly.  “Um, yes.  Saela, this is Raeth.”

She smiled, regarding Raeth with wide eyes.  “You’re a Dari,” she said--as if it was some important revelation.

Raeth sighed.  Typical Darro fare.

“Run along now, dear,” Darro said.  “We’ve got to get ready for the ceremony.”

The girl nodded, smiled once more to Raeth, then moved back into the crowd toward a small group of Aedin women, who were probably coming to petition Ynaa poems.

Raeth turned, raising an eyebrow at Darro.

“Saela,” Darro said, an almost wistful look on his face.  “We met last night at the officer’s tavern.”

“Last night?” Raeth asked incredulously.  “Darro, you’re getting married today!”

Darro nodded, his eyes almost forlorn.  Then he smiled broadly.  “All the more reason to have a good time last night, eh?  Marriage.  I guess it catches up with all of us sooner or later.”  He fished in his pocket, producing the sand-filled glass box.  “The Ancestors had better have listened to you, brother.  If my bride turns out to be a disaster, I’m holding you personally responsible.”

Raeth rolled his eyes.  “You’re hopeless,” he informed, walking toward the Irae’s exit.  Darro followed behind, chuckling lightly to himself.

You’re hopeless, and you don’t have any idea how lucky you are.  Dari can’t marry.  You get to spend your life with someone, Darro.  I get to spend my life with my own bad poetry.  Somehow, I can’t make myself feel sorry for you.

The two brothers passed through several carved archways and stepped into the Irae’s main hallway, a wide mudstone tunnel whose walls were so covered with reliefs that there wasn’t an inch of smooth space left.  Several of the more talented Dari worked on various sections of the wall, carefully etching reliefs that had become worn or broken away.  In a way, the Irae itself was a monumentous work of art.  Vae gloried in art, and it was the means by which man raised his mind beyond the mundane.  Unless, of course, his art was as bad as Raeth’s--then his mind wasn’t raised so much as it was nudged, if that.

“How is our brother?” Raeth asked as they walked through the tunnel toward the daylight at its end.  It had been nearly a year since he had seen his twin.

“Hern?” Darro asked.  “Arrogant, annoying, and insufferable.”

“Pretty much his normal self then?” Raeth asked.

“Pretty much,” Darro agreed with a smile.  “The fighting up north has been laughable since he took charge of the defenses.  The men have no respect for him.  The generals try to make a show of listening to him while making proper orders, but Hern’s so belligerent he’s single-handedly destroying the morale.  And, of course, he’s a horrible tactician.”

“He always was,” Raeth mumbled as they stepped into the daylight.

“You are much better,” Darro noted.

“Darro. . . .” Raeth said warningly.

“Just making an observation,” Darro said innocently, turning to wave to the side.

Raeth sighed, shaking his head.  Darro was of the imperial Line.  On one hand, that meant he could get away with more than a regular person could--such as questioning Hern’s authority.  However, being of the Imperial Line also brought with it obligations.  Loyalty, filial strength, and responsibility.  The cores of High Aedin belief.  Darro had never been very good at any of them except, maybe, loyalty.

Sure enough, Darro had brought a Corpate with him--one of the perks of being the Emperor’s son.  “Come on,” Darro said, waving Raeth toward the vehicle.  “Let’s get moving.”

#

“Blessed creator,” D’Naa breathed, looking down at the city.  “It’s enormous.”

Hlin chuckled from atop his mule.  “I warned you,” the old man replied.

D’Naa blushed slightly.  Her grandfather had, indeed, warned her.  She hadn’t believed him, however.  She had been raised in the capitol city of Kavir--she’d assumed she knew what a large city looked like.  Now, staring at Vae Annitor, she realized that her home city was little more than a shepherding village.

The Aedinor capitol spread out through the entire valley.  If it had boundaries in the distance, she couldn’t see them.  Even from her vantage atop a small hill at the very lip of the valley, the buildings and streets seemed almost infinite.  Structures a dozen stories high stretched into the air, defying her understanding of architecture, and masses of people flowed through the streets.  At various places, large mound-like structures rose from the ground, the largest one dominating the center of the city.  The Irae, temples to the High Aedin ancestors, were dark and brown, representative of barrows.

“By D’Lum,” D’Naa breathed.  “We really are rustics, aren’t we?”

Her grandfather laughed.  “I tried to prepare you.  But, I suppose sight is the ultimate proof, eh?”

“Stop gloating, you old sheep,” D’Naa’s grandmother snapped.  “I seem to recall you were just as wide-eyed when we first visited Aedinor.”

D’Naa turned, ripping her eyes away from the fabulous city to look back at Shaad and Hlin.  Besides her grandparents, her company bore only three soldiers--men who were really nothing more than glorified packmen.  In all, they had four mules, three Kavir workhorses, and D’Naa’s white Mahallen gelding.  It had all looked so much more. . .impressive back in Elekar.

She turned back to the city.  “We’re going to get lost down there,” she said.

“Nonsense!” Hlin informed, kicking his mule into motion.  “I’ve been here dozens of times.”  His mule began to trot down the road toward the city.

D’Naa’s grandmother rolled her eyes, guiding her own mule forward as well.  She was a stately woman, calm and thoughtful--the complete opposite of her excitable husband.  “Come, child,” she said.  “We are late--the delay at the southern passes cost valuable time.  If we don’t hurry, they’ll start the ceremony without us.”

D’Naa kicked her horse into motion, snorting quietly to herself.  “I’d almost rather it did,” she informed.

“I know this is difficult for you child,” Shaad said, her aged eyes understanding.  “The king knows it as well, but he also trusts you.”

D’Naa nodded, though inside she still had difficulty reconciling herself.  She realized there was little chance the Emperor would choose her--no woman from Kavir had ever been picked to wed an imperial son.  Even still, the idea of presenting herself before the Imperium, before the High Aedin. . . .

“I’ve been through worse,” D’Naa said firmly, more to herself than her grandmother.

“Don’t worry, child,” Shaad said comfortingly.  “It will all be over by the end of the day.”

D’Naa nodded again, studying her grandmother.  The aged woman wore her typical unconcerned look, but D’Naa could see a hint of nervousness in her eyes.  Despite her words, Shaad was concerned too.

However, other than that single hint, Shaad was utterly composed.  She wore her gray hair up in a simple bun, after the utilitarian Kavir fashion.  Despite Shaad’s age, D’Naa could see a lot of herself in her grandmother.  They both had short Kavir frames with thin faces and dark hair.  D’Naa kept her own hair cut short, just above shoulder-length.  Buns had never suited her.

Of course, the resemblance was mostly physical.  Though she didn’t like to admit it, D’Naa had much more in common with her impetuous grandfather than the composed Shaad.  Hlin rode up ahead, bouncing happily along on his mule, excited to return to Vae Annitor, capitol of the Imperium of which Kavir had long been a province.

D’Naa force herself to smile.  She may not look forward to being presented as a potential bride for the Emperor’s sons, but there were perks to the visit.  It was worth the aggravation of dealing with the High Aedin to finally visit Vae Annitor.  Her people’s docile lives of shepherding and farming didn’t leave much time, or desire, for travelling, and few had visited the western lowlands.  However, stories--mostly brought in by teachers such as her grandfather--were as plentiful as they were fanciful.  Tales of Aethers and magic abounded.

Some of them, at least, have to be true, D’Naa thought to herself.  Though some Kavir laughed at stories of Aether Bonds, D’Naa had good reason to be less skeptical.

Her eyes flickered down, to her wrist.  Though her long-sleeved woolen Kavir dress covered it, she could feel her Aether--the Aether of Verdant.  It resembled a small green vine, about the width of her smallest finger.  It clung to her skin, wrapping around her wrist.  A smaller shoot of the Aether ran up the side of her arm, across her back, where it split, sending ivy-like runners down the backs of her legs and down her left arm.

She could feel it.  The Aether wasn’t intelligent--not quite--but it did have emotions and feelings.  It was more than a plant; it was something else.  Something that connected to her soul, that lived and grew with her. It was a piece of her, like a limb.

And it shouldn’t have been there.

Only Aedin were supposed to be able to Bond Aethers--or, so they said.  What would the High Aedin do if they knew that she, a Kavir rustic, had Bonded one?  How would they react when they found out that their secret was out, that the truth was known.  D’Naa wasn’t the only Kavir who had Bonded Verdant.

I wonder what the King expects me to do if I do get chosen? D’Naa thought, not for the first time.  The wedding night could lead to some embarrassing situations.  She could hide her Aether if necessary.  Only the ring around her wrist was really necessary; she could retract the vines that ran down her back and legs.  Still, wasn’t marrying a High Aedin just a little bit foolhardy?

Of course, that is only a problem if he picks you, D’Naa reminded herself.  And you already know how unlikely that is.

As they approached the city gates, D’Naa’s concerns were slowly replaced with wonder.  A massive, stone archway spanned the distance between the walls, and D’Naa could see that it was covered with tiny carvings.  Even their walls are pieces of art! She thought with amazement.  Of course, how much of that wealth and art did Kavir see?  They farmed, they herded, and they paid taxes to the Imperium, yet they rarely received any sort of aid from the Aedin, even though their villages were constantly in danger of Harrmen raids.

However, even her sour opinion of the Aedin government couldn’t completely squelch her awe.  The city looked even more impressive up close, with its tall buildings and bustling crowds.  A squadron of twelve soldiers in tight, Aedin uniforms stood at attention on either side of the massive gateway--a sharp contrast to Kaad, the single, lazy guard who watched the gates of her home city.  Most of the men wore no swords and carried no pikes, and only about half of them wore armor.

Aedin, she thought.  Their Aethers are their weapons.  While the regular Aedin people weren’t supposed to be as powerful as High Aedin, their Aethers were sill a great advantage.

Her grandfather climbed off his mule to speak verbosely with the captain of the soldiers, and D’Naa sat quietly, trying very hard not to gawk.  She failed in her attempt when she saw her first Corpate.

It appeared from a side-street, entering the crowded street with a careful step.  It stood as tall as a small building, its silvery skin gleaming in the morning light.  It had four long, pointed legs, like enormous swords, and a platform at its top that carried a small group of people.  Its spindly legs moved as if on gears, walking through the crowd, bearing its occupants toward their destination.  But D’Naa knew it was no machine, like the hand-pumps used in some of the Kavir mines.  There was a human soul entombed inside the Corpate’s body.  The Aether of Ferrous, it was called.  She had heard tales of it, though she could still hardly believe what she saw.

Several soldiers saluted in response to a barked command and moved off into the crowd.  Hlin strolled back toward his mule, noting the Corpate with a raise of a bushy eyebrow.  “I haven’t seen one of those in a while,” he noted.  “Of course, we’ll be seeing one up close very soon.”

“What?” D’Naa asked with surprise.

“The captain sent for one to carry us,” Hlin informed with a self-satisfied smirk.  “You’re cousin to the king of Kavir and a potential bride to the future Emperor.  I’ve never been this important before in my life--and I’m going to make certain to take advantage of it while I can.”

Shaad frowned slightly.  “Is that really necessary?” she asked her husband.  “We have horses.”

“The brides are already gathering for the Sending, my dear,” Hlin said, pulling off his floppy, Shorriken hat and scratching his bald head.  “If we don’t hurry, we’ll miss them.  We have to keep up appearances, don’t we?”

Shaad sighed, but said no more, instead sitting quietly as they waited for their Corpate to arrive.

#

“Wait a moment,” Raeth said with a frown.  “I’ve been locked away in the Irae for a while, Darro, but I think I still remember the way to the palace.  I did live there for fourteen years, after all.”

Darro smiled, leaning his bulk against the railing.  The Corpate stepped in the steady, rhythmic way of its kind.  A woman in a white robe stood at the center of the platform, her hand resting on a silver pillar that melded with the rest of the Corpate at its base.  Raeth had never been completely comfortable with the idea that there was a person encased within the silvery Ferrous pillar.  He had trouble believing that anyone would voluntarily allow themselves to be shaped into a living machine--even when the prize was immortality.

“We’re not going to the palace yet,” Darro informed, watching the people below, his red cloak flapping in the wind.  “I want to make a slight detour first.”

Raeth raised a speculative eyebrow.

“It won’t take long,” Darro defended. “I just want to take a peek at the brides.  They’re supposed to be assembling for Sending right now.”

Raeth rolled his eyes.  “You’re going to see them in a few hours anyway,” he said with exasperation.

“But the suspense is eating me alive, Raeth!” Darro complained.  “I’m going to end up married to one of these women--I have to get a glance at them first.  Maybe if I take a liking to a particular one, I’ll be able to influence father. . . .”

“Influence father?” Raeth asked dryly, the Corpate rocking beneath him.  “Darro, you know better than that.  Father will do his duty to the Imperium--he doesn’t care what you want.  He’s probably already got your bride chosen.”

Darro sighed.  “You’re probably right.”

Raeth paused.  He didn’t like the bitterness he’d heard in his own voice.  Their father wasn’t an unkind man, just one who understood his responsibilities.  Emperor Vaetayn always did what was best for the Imperium.  If that included taking the birthright from one son to give it to another, then so be it.  Raeth had been raised knowing that he would probably be made Dari.  He had lived for four years as a Dari.  Why was he suddenly letting his jealousy burn away his good sense?

He sighed, leaning against the railing beside his brother.  “This had better be a quick ‘detour,’ Darro,” he informed.  “We don’t have much time left.”

Darro smiled broadly, clapping Raeth on the back.  “Don’t worry.  We’ll just take a glance and be gone.  Nothing more.”

Raeth nodded distractedly, watching the buildings pass around them.  Vae Annitor was a wonderful city, the gem of the Imperium.  The buildings were straight and tall, most of them with wide grounds around them.  They were all beautiful constructions, even the residences of the poor had been designed by master architects--a requirement funded by the Imperial budget.  The finest artists and engineers in the world lived in Vae Annitor, and they created technological marvels--often enhancing their structures with Corpate pillars for strength, light, or heat.  Not all members of the Ferrous Line became walking machines.  Many more served less dramatically; their metallic bodies were incredibly strong, and they allowed the construction of massive structures.

Raeth gazed upon some of the buildings as they passed.  There was a lot of variation--the architects liked diversity.  Some were stone, others wood.  Some had flat tops, others domes, though peaked roofs were most popular.  Brick buildings were also a favorite.  All of them were moderately tall--space was an increasingly valuable commodity in the city, for relatively few could afford Corpates to carry them.  The resulting structures were marvelous simply to look at.  He missed the simple pleasure of walking through the city.

As a Dari, he didn’t have much opportunity to leave the Irae.  When he wasn’t petitioning the ancestors through Ynaa poems, he was either painting, writing poetry, or doing his part to keep the Irae clean.  He was never given any serious artistic projects, of course--he wasn’t talented enough.  Fortunately, his position as the Emperor’s son afforded him some measure of prestige.  Otherwise, he’d spend all of his time cleaning floors.

All families should have three sons, the Protocols read.  The first is the heir, whose Place should be Shaeth, and should be trained in the ways of duty, leadership, and responsibility.  The second should either be made Shaeth or Sworded, and should be prepared to take leadership of the Line should the first son perish.  The third son must be made Dari, lest the Line lose its connection to the Ancestors.

The third son must be Dari.  All of the important Lines had their own Dari, a son whose main purpose was to petition the Ancestors on the family’s behalf.  Other than himself, Raeth had never heard of a first son being made Dari.

The decision had been made when Raeth and Hern were just days out of their mother’s womb, right after the Aether bonding.  Raeth had been the elder son, but his twin had been more powerful.  Far more powerful.  Emperor Vaetayn’s decision that day had shaped Raeth’s life.

He sighed to himself, wondering again at his sudden whistfulness.  It must be the festival.  He thought to himself.  Saedin, the Festival of the Unremembered, was the time when Aedin honored those Ancestors whose names had somehow been forgotten through the passing of time.  More importantly, it was the time when fathers chose brides for their sons.  As soon as their youngest son turned eighteen, age of marriage, a father chose brides for all of his sons at once.  All of his sons, except those who were Dari.

“There,” Darro said, shaking Raeth’s shoulder and pointing.

Raeth stood as a breeze flapped across the Corpate platform.  The winter days were cold, and for once he was glad for the thick Dari’s robes.  Some of the larger buildings broke the wind, but it was still chilly atop the Corpate’s back.

A short distance away, he could see a square Sending platform.  It was covered with people, many of them soldiers.  Darro was pressed up against the side of the Corpate’s rail, looking down eagerly.  Raeth smiled to himself.  He’d missed his brother.  At a younger age, the two of them had been inseparable--of course, the alliance had been a necessary one.  Only together had they been able to stand up to Hern.

“Let’s go,” Darro said, climbing over the side of the Corpate and down the flapping rope ladder.

Raeth sighed.  “We probably shouldn’t be doing this.  You’re not supposed to see the brides--you aren’t even supposed to know who you’re marrying.  That’s why father picks.”

“I’m ignoring you,” Darro informed from down below.

Raeth sighed, turning to the Corpate’s Nurturer beside the pillar.  “Please wait for us,” he requested.

The woman nodded.  Like many of her kind, she was pale-faced and expressionless.  It was said that the Nurturers--those members of Ferrous Lines who didn’t decide to become Corpates--preferred the company of their entombed brethren to other humankind.  Perhaps that was why their Line was the smallest.

“Yes, your highness,” she whispered.

Raeth nodded, then turned and swung off the side of the Corpate, climbing down the swinging rope ladder.  Though he hesitated to admit it, the deviation excited him.  During the last five years, he’d rarely had an opportunity to do something unconventional.  Of course, he hadn’t had Darro to get him into trouble.

When he reached the bottom, he found Darro unclasping his wide High Aedin cloak and rolling it up.  Raeth didn’t bother mentioning the taboo move--Darro often removed his cloak.  Not only did it proclaim him a High Aedin, his clasp bore the markings of the imperial Line--both things that made lesser citizens uncomfortable.  Darro left the cloak beside the Corpate’s foot, then strolled forward as if he were nothing more than an average Aedin citizen out to gawk at the potential imperial brides.

There was quite a crowd on the ground--Vae Annitor, with its food augmented by Verdant Aether Bonds, had a large population.  For many of them, this would be their only opportunity to see the assembled brides--only the richest and most powerful would be able to travel to Saeris Va, the City of the Ancestors, later in the day.  The rest would have to celebrate Saedin in Vae Annitor.

Darro happily began to elbow his way toward the front of the crowd, Raeth in his wake, earning not a few dark looks.  Tan-skinned, brightly-clothed Mahallens cursed at them, short Shorriken in bureaucratic robes simply rolled their eyes, regular Aedin elbowed back, and angry-faced Khurs just regarded them with harshness.  In no other city would one find such a diversity.  There were even a few dark-skinned Seaborn in the crowd.

Eventually, Darro’s proddings landed them with a view of the platform.  The members of the separate bridal parties were speaking quietly with one another, waiting for the Vo-Dari to begin the Sending.

“Ahh,” Darro said speculatively.  “Let’s see what we have.”

Raeth raised an eyebrow, looking past several stiff-backed soldiers as he regarded the women.  Darro had done his job well--his maneuverings had placed them within full view of most of the parties.

“There’s Alean,” Raeth noted, pointing toward a large group of High Aedin, their green cloaks--sign of those who had Bonded Verdant--flapping.  It was common knowledge that Alean, daughter of the High Senator, would be chosen as the Verdant Line’s bride offering.

“Alean,” Darro said, his voice almost a growl as he stared at the well-endowed blonde woman.  She wore a gorgeous green gown, along with several rings and a necklace that sparkled even at a distance.

Raeth snorted.  “Good luck, Darro.  Chances are good she’s the one who will end up marrying Hern.”

“I can dream,” Darro said, his eyes wide and wistful.

Next to Alean was the Shorriken party.  Their offering was a pudgy, mouse-like woman with dark brown hair and an almost frightened look on her face.  She wasn’t an impossible choice--the Shorriken were highly regarded by the High Aedin.  Without the Shorriken people to run the Imperial bureaucracy, and to fill places in the lesser courts and town senates, the Imperium could never function.

The offering of the Bestarin Line was a shorter blonde woman with a stern face.  She was also a likely choice--not only was she High Aedin, but the Bestarin and Amberite Lines were hereditary allies.  The other High Aedin, the Ferrous Line’s offering, was a stoic-looking woman who bore the typical expressionless face of her kind.  Raeth couldn’t see her ending up with Darro, but any High Aedin bride offering was a strong contender.  It all depended on Emperor Vaetayn’s political decision.

There wasn’t a Khur offering in attendance, of course.  The Khur spurned Aethers and the Sending, and their bride offering would have been transported by carriage to Saeris Va, a trip that took months to complete.

“Now, that one looks like trouble,” Darro said, pointing.  Raeth followed the gesture, his eyes falling on a tall, tan-skinned woman in bright clothing with an extremely low neckline.  She was laden with jewelry, her wrists bearing no fewer than ten bracelets each, her ears pierced at least four times, and her neck bearing a couple of necklaces.  Raeth couldn’t see them from the distance, but she certainly also wore golden breast-hoops as a mark of her virgin status.

“Mahallen, eh?” Raeth said speculatively.  The woman had keen eyes and a determined expression.  Mahallen women tended to be somewhat more. . .feisty than Aedin ones.  “Trouble indeed,” he agreed.

“Father would never do that to me,” Darro said, a little nervous.

“Probably not,” Raeth agreed.  Mahallen women had been chosen as brides for Imperial sons before, but mostly to placate the Mahallen people, who, like their Khur relatives, tended vocally critical of the government.  The Mahallens had been quiet lately--or, at least, relatively quiet--and so it was unlikely that Vaetayn would choose one to wed either of his sons.

“My guess is that you’ll end up with one of the two other High Aedin women,” Raeth speculated.  “Father’s very traditional.”

Darro nodded.  “Assuming, of course, that he chooses Alean for Hern.”

Raeth frowned.  “Why wouldn’t he?” Raeth asked.  “I’ve been a little out of things, but last I heard the alliance with Verdant was almost certain.”

Darro shook his head.  “That was before last month.  Father wanted there to be no executions this Saedin, because of the Imperial Bride Choosing.  Then High Senator led that motion in the Senate to overrule him.  Father’s still fuming.”

Raeth raised an eyebrow.  He hadn’t heard about that--which, of course, wasn’t surprising.  He didn’t hear about much, especially during months when he was saying a poem.  He considered Darro’s words, then shook his head.  “Father won’t let something like that influence him.  If choosing the Verdant bride is best for the Imperium, then that’s what he’ll do.”

Darro shrugged.  “Probably.”  Then he fell quiet as he studied his other potential brides.

As he did so, Raeth’s eyes fell on a small group of new-arrivals.  Unlike the other groups, which were surrounded by soldiers and attendants, this one was made up of only six people.  Their clothing--simple robes, for the most part--marked them as rural.  Could this be a bride?

Kavir, Raeth realized.  The smallest Imperial subkingdom was notorious for its rustic simplicity.  Raeth was about to dismiss them--no Kavir bride had ever been chosen for an Imperial son--when he noticed the girl, and paused.

She resembled a Shorriken woman--short, with dark hair--but she didn’t have the typical Shorriken plumpness, and was a few inches taller than the average Shorriken.  There was very little that was distinctive about her.  She didn’t have the Mahallen woman’s tall, graceful poise, nor did she have the curves that made men salivate over Alean.  She didn’t have the luxurious blonde hair that so many High Aedin women flouted, nor did she have the statuesque, carefully-painted face of the Ferrous Line’s bride.

Yet, there was something about her.  A simple, unintrusive beauty.  Her hair wasn’t long and flowing, but it fit her small frame and almond face.  A face whose eyes were wide with wonder as she looked around her--yet at the same time, those eyes were keen.  Intelligent.

“What about her?” Raeth heard himself ask.

Darro paused from his study of the Ferrous Line’s bride.  “Who?” he asked, turning.

Raeth nodded, pointing.  “That one.  She’s probably from Kavir.”

Darro raised an eyebrow, then slapped Raeth on the back.  “You’ve been in the Irae far too long, Raeth.  Come on, let’s go.”

Chapter Two

“Why in the blessed name of D’Lum did I agree do this?” D’Naa whispered as she eyed the crowd.  Men and women of a half-dozen different ethnic groups gawked at her, nudging their companions and whispering.  D’Naa felt like she knew what they were saying.  Who’s that scrawny thing?  From Kavir?  Do they really think the Emperor would choose her for a daughter?

“It’s not so bad,” her grandfather said, beaming as he regarded the crowd.  He’d been waving affably a few moments earlier, but D’Naa had prevailed upon him to stop.  They already looked like buffoons--there was no reason to provide reinforcement.

She still wore her bland woolen travel dress--the Sending was to begin in a few moments, and she had been informed that she had to go immediately.  There hadn’t been time for her to change, let alone brush her hair or wash her face.

D’Naa shot a self-conscious look to the side, regarding the other women.  They were, of course, perfect--especially the Aedin ones.  The three High Aedin bride offerings had curves and glowing blond hair--models of feminine perfection.  The Mahallen woman was sultry and exotic with her tan skin and scandalously low-cut dress.  Even the short Shorriken woman made D’Naa look wan by comparison.

Of course, the situation only deepened her dislike of the Aedin people.  They were the ones who had put D’Naa in such a position--they were the ones who insisted the Kavir people provide a bride offering, even when the Emperor almost nearly chose High Aedin women for their sons.

“Don’t worry yourself, child,” Shaad soothed, placing her hand on D’Naa’s shoulder.  “These women have been bred and trained to be brides.  They’ve never had to prepare meals for famished workers, or search out a wandering lamb in the highlands, or even help deliver a fearful woman’s twin babies.  Everything has been given to them.  They may look nice, but it’s all fluff.  There’s no strength underneath.”

D’Naa frowned.  “Well, that’s what the Emperor will look for, isn’t it, grandmother?  He wants fluff.”

Shaad turned thoughtful eyes to the side, regarding the women and their entourages.  Few of them paid any attention to D’Naa or her group, and those who did glance her direction were dismissive.  To them, D’Naa wasn’t even really competition.  Most of them appeared to be growing impatient, though they had only been standing on the platform for a few minutes.  D’Naa heard more than a few muttered curses directed toward the Vo-Dari, who had yet to arrive.

“If that is what he wants, child,” Shaad said, her aged eyes dissatisfied, “then Emperor Vaetayn is hardly the wise man he’s rumored to be.”

D’Naa sighed.  This day wasn’t likely to get any easier.  In a few hours she would have to stand before the Emperor, like a calf on sale at the fair, while he judged her potential worth as a daughter.  Hopefully, she’d have time to change and clean up a little bit before the actual choosing.  If she had to bow before Aedin whims, she at least wanted to look her best while doing so.  Even if he wasn’t going to choose her.

But, what if he does choose you?

D’Naa paused.  She’d been trying to suppress such thoughts, telling herself that she wasn’t going to let the Aedin play with her emotions.  Yet, seeing the glories of Vae Annitor made her wonder.  She couldn’t completely deny her feelings, or her desires.  She was excited.  What if he did choose her?  What if she did get to move to this wondrous city, with its culture and its magics?  What if?

The snappish voice of a High Aedin woman brought D’Naa back to reality.  The woman was waving impatiently for one of her servants to fetch something for her.  The woman--the Verdant bride offering--noticed D’Naa regarding her, but turned away with a roll of her eyes.

That’s how they see you, D’Naa, she told herself.  As a lesser citizen, a non-Aedin.  The Emperor won’t choose you.  Even if he did, do you really want to be associated with them?

It wasn’t that the Aedin were oppressive--they were just rulers, all things considered.  They were just arrogant.  Their nonchalance about Kavir’s problems had cost hundreds of lives.  The Harrmen barbarians were clever despite their savage nature--they didn’t raid Kavir enough to draw Aedin attention away from the northern border.  The barbarians attacked just enough to harrow her people, but at the same time let the Aedin conveniently ignore them.  It was a situation that worked for everyone except the Kavir.

D’Naa shook her head slowly.  She suspected that was why she was here.  If she did become the empress, she could make certain that Kavir got the troops it needed.  The potential gain was worth risk of her Aether being discovered.  Still, it was odd that her cousin would choose her.  There were perhaps a half-dozen other marriageable women of the proper bloodline to be a bride offering.  Why D’Naa?

She turned resolute eyes back toward the crowd of onlookers.  She didn’t really blame them for coming to gawk--one of these women would be their empress some day.  A flash of light caught her eye, and she turned slightly to the side, her eyes narrowing as she noticed what had drawn her attention.  A pair of men stood by the base of the platform, speaking quietly.  One of them--a large, well-muscled man with short blonde hair and rich clothing--stood with hand to the side, so she could see the palm.  Set in its center, catching the sunlight as he gestured, was a rose-colored gemstone.  The Aether of Amberite.

The man’s companion nodded, moving his own hand, which also flashed a bit of rose-colored Amberite.  D’Naa shook her head.  She was in the heart of the Imperium; she was going to have to get used to seeing Aethers.  Things that were nearly myths back in Kavir were commonplace here.  Nearly every Aedin or High Aedin had an Aether bond.

Of course, it was a little odd that the large man’s companion was wearing dark brown robes, the hood up against the day’s chill.  A Dari--the Aedin equivalent of a priest.  From what D’Naa had read--lessons given underneath the careful tutelage of her grandfather--Dari were rarely seen outside of their temples.

The two men turned to shove their way through the crowd.  Apparently, they’d seen enough.  D’Naa wished she could escape so easily.

She heard several exclamations of relief to the side, and turned as a pair of white-robed men climbed onto the platform.  Vo-Dari.  It was finally time to go.

#

The trip to the palace was a short one.  Raeth smiled wistfully as the building approached, remembering times before.  Times when he and Darro had been the terrors of the palace, always getting themselves into trouble--or, more likely, trying to escape one of Hern’s temper tantrums.  That had been before he and Hern turned fourteen, their Placeday.

The palace was a beautiful construction--as was only fitting.  Four golden domes made up its wings, and a wide, keep-like tower lay at the very center, rising nine stories into the air.  There was nothing else like it in Vae Annitor, let alone the rest of the Imperium.  For a moment, as they walked up the steps through the main gate, Darro’s red cloak flapping behind him, Raeth could almost imagine that the last five years had been a dream.

They walked through the magnificent archway, Darro nodding affably to the guards at the door and calling them by name.  Inside, they passed through sculpted hallways, rich with paintings, carved woods, and chandeliers.  The larger rooms were lit by glowing Corpate pillars, their metallic bodies radiating a soft, steady light.  Soldiers stood at every major intersection, standing with straight backs and keen eyes.  Shorriken bureaucrats scurried in every direction, their robes rustling, their floppy, brimless ceremonial hats bringing a smile of remembrance to Raeth’s lips.

After a seven-story ride up a Corpate shaft, the two brothers crossed through a tile-covered hallway and entered Darro’s personal chambers.  Raeth shook his head with wonder.  His brother’s rooms were large and majestic--far different from the chambers of a Dari.  Rugs from the Seaborn islands coated the floor, and the room was decorated with the finest Mahallen wood furniture.

Darro idly whipped his cloak free and tossed it over the back of a plush, embroidered chair, then strolled over to a side room.  “Here,” he said a moment later, returning with a bundle of clothing.

Raeth smiled in anticipation, throwing off his heavy robe.  He accepted the clothing from Darro eagerly, moving to pull on the thick white trousers.

“You know,” Darro said, leaning back against a bookcase--one filled with books that, of course, Darro had never touched.  “I don’t see why you can’t have your own rooms here in the palace.  I know you spend most of your time in the Irae, but Hern practically lives on the northern border, and he still has rooms here.”

Raeth shrugged, pulling on the stiff black overshirt and doing the golden clasps up its sides.  “I don’t know,” he said.  “That’s just the way it is.  I barely even get to leave for Saedin--I’ll bet the Patriarch would keep me from coming if he could come up with a good excuse.”

“You’re the Emperor’s son,” Darro said with a snort.

“Not anymore,” Raeth said.  “Or, at least, not except for the Festival of the Unremembered.  For the rest of the year, I’m just a simple Dari.”  He paused, holding up a bright red cloak that matched Darro’s.  “Today, however, I’m Raeth Vaetayn, imperial son.”  He smiled, feeling the cloak’s cloth between his fingers.  It attached to the back of the overshirt, which had clasps that extended it a short distance over each shoulder, making it hang wide and straight.  Raeth had only been able to wear one a couple of times--they were awarded on the Placeday, when a boy became a man, and Dari didn’t wear cloaks.

“Hey, Raeth,” Darro said as Raeth began to attach the cloak clasps, the most important one, over the right shoulder, proclaiming his Line.

Raeth looked up questioningly.

Darro smiled widely, holding up his right hand, the Amberite in his palm sparkling in the light.  “Feel like a bout--for old time’s sake?”

Raeth matched his smile, then held up his own hand and made a fist.  Immediately, he felt a surge of power from his Aether--and a surge of excitement.  Bright rose crystals grew from his Aether, encasing his fist in a gem-like sphere of Amberite.  The crystals grew quickly, lengthening from his fist, crawling and growing outwards in a thin spike.  He held his hand forward as the crystals grew upon one another, forming outward into a blade several feet long.  The weapon looked like rosy glass or a multi-faceted piece of quartz, but it was far stronger than either.

Darro’s smiled broadened, and he held his own hands forward, a massive, two-handed blade sprouting from his palm, the crystals creeping upward, growing like a living thing--and, in reality, no one was certain that they weren’t.  The Aethers seemed to have emotions.

Darro obviously held himself back.  He grew the large sword, but nothing more.  He could have continued on to armor; he was far stronger than Raeth.  Of course, even regular Aedin were stronger than Raeth.  That was the big problem, the reason for his lost birthright.  High Aedin were supposed to be powerful, heirs even more so.  Even as Raeth’s Amberite sword finished growing, he felt his Aether growing weak, unable to produce any more Amberite, or push it any further from itself.  Raeth wasn’t an embarrassment--not really.  He just wasn’t worthy of leading the Line.

Raeth fell into a dueling stance.  Not worthy to lead the Line.  Barely even worthy to be a son.  For the first time in years, Raeth let his frustration boil free, and he channeled it all into an attack.

Raeth leapt forward, swinging for Darro’s head.  The weapon was light in his hand--though Amberite weighed as much as stone, there was a power to the Aethers, such as the power that let Corpates give off light.  Though the Amberite would seem heavy to others, to Raeth it was light, almost weightless.

Raeth had intentionally grown his sword dull, and Darro would have done likewise, to prevent serious injury.  Even still, Darro flinched slightly as he brought up his larger weapon to parry the blow.  Chips flew free from both weapons, but the Amberite quickly regrew, the notches covering over before the next swing.  It came from Raeth, who pushed himself off Darro’s parry into a wild offence.  Darro was strong, but Raeth was quick, and his attack was fueled by years of being forced into a Place he could barely tolerate.

Darro fell back, obviously realizing that his larger weapon had been a mistake--there wasn’t room to swing it with so much furniture.  He turned aside another of Raeth’s attacks, fell back slightly, then delivered a massive overhand blow.  Raeth ducked to the side, and Darro’s Amberite weapon smashed through a chair, slicing it completely in two.

Raeth spun, kicking at Darro’s hand--the one that wasn’t encased in Amberite--causing his brother to yelp in pain.  Raeth spun around Darro’s awkwardly large weapon, and a second later, Raeth’s weapon was at Darro’s throat.

“Twins!” Darro cursed, dropping his sword.  The Amberite cracked, falling free from Darro’s hand and shattering as it hit the floor.  A second later, Darro had a smaller sword--like Raeth’s--in his hand, and he dove forward into an offense.

Raeth backed up, eyeing his brother.  Darro had increased in skill greatly over the last few years--fighting in a war tended to have that effect.  He was also stronger than Raeth was.  The odds favored Darro, especially now that he had abandoned the oversized weapon.

Raeth backed up, carefully bunching up the rug beneath him as he moved.  Darro’s eyes remained focused on Raeth--and so he was surprised when Raeth stepped off the carpet, then snapped it tight with his foot.  The move didn’t do much to jostle Darro, but it did cause a muffled crack from below--a sound that distracted the larger man.

Raeth jumped forward, throwing his weight against the surprised Darro.  Even though Darro was far heavier than Raeth, he was distracted and off-balance.  Raeth’s tackle easily toppled him backward.  Raeth dropped his weapon as he fell forward, freeing the Amberite.  As the two brothers hit the ground--Darro’s breath whuffing free with a grunt of pain--Raeth brought his hand up, a second, smaller weapon already sprouting from the fist.  A drip of sweat fell free from his brow, snapping against Darro’s forehead as Raeth pressed an Amberite knife against his brother’s neck.

“Blistering Slaughter and Despair!” Darro swore with a growl.  “Five years rotting in an alcove, and you can still beat me two out of three!”

Raeth took a breath, smiling slightly as he climbed to his feet, then offered a hand to Darro.  He didn’t mention his daily exercises, performed when he was supposed to be contemplating one work of art or another.  Nor did he mention the fighting stances, practiced with an Amberite weapon, performed each night before going to bed--stances he had learned long ago, when trying to impress his father into not making him Dari.  He didn’t feel guilty for continuing his training--after all, Dari were supposed to spend their time in meditation, and Raeth knew nothing more meditative than the dueling stances.

“I got lucky, Darro,” he said, helping the larger man to his feet.  “You’re better than you used to be--a lot better.  In an even duel--one that didn’t involve tripping--you’d beat me easily.”

Darro shook his head.  “No, Raeth.  You’re good.  Four years on the border has taught me that much.  You’re Twins-cursed good.  You’re wasted in that Irae.”

“Darro. . . .” Raeth said warningly.

“No,” Darro said, shaking his head.  “Not this time, Raeth.  I will not hush myself--it needs to be said.  You should be Heir, not Hern.  You deserve more than this.”

“You want to know why he’s not Heir?” a quiet voice asked.

Raeth spun, feeling a stab of surprise in his chest.  He saw himself standing in the doorway of Darro’s rooms.  A straight, firm face with blonde Aedin hair, an average build, a blood-red cloak.  The eyes were different, however.  Harsher.  Angrier.

“I’ll show you why,” Hern whispered, holding his hands out.  Amberite exploded from his fist, a sword sprouting with a crackle of growing crystals.  The Amberite didn’t stop at his wrist, however, but continued growing, creeping up his arms like ice freezing over a pond.  The Amberite sparkled with its rose color, crawling over Hern’s face and down his chest, encasing his entire body in an armor-like suit of crystal, the joints interlocking perfectly, a small gap open for the mouth and nose, but otherwise one sheer piece of crystal.

“Defend yourself,” Hern whispered, jumping forward.

Raeth cursed, summoning a sword for himself.  His Aether groaned in exhaustion, and the weapon grew slowly.  It wasn’t ready in time to block Hern’s first attack, and Raeth was forced to duck to the side, his cloak flapping as he rolled across the rug.  Hern followed quickly behind, snapping his weapon at Raeth’s face.  With alarm, Raeth realized the weapon wasn’t dulled.

Raeth cried out, rolling to the side as Hern’s weapon cracked against the floor, easily cutting the rug and biting into the wood.  Raeth came up just in time to parry a third strike, then delivered a blow of his own.  Hern just chuckled, ignoring the strike as it snapped against the side of his head.  The blow did nothing more than throw off a few chips of Amberite.

Hern kicked Raeth in the stomach, throwing him back against the stone wall.  Raeth cried out in pain, groaning slightly.

Hern stepped forward, his eyes visible behind a translucent Amberite faceplate.  His steps thunked against the floor.

He’s so powerful, Raeth thought with despair as Hern strolled forward, a crackling film of Amberite forming on the floor around his feet with each step.  There was joy in those eyes.  Hern had always flaunted his power before those around him--nothing pleased him more than proving his strength.

Raeth dropped his weapon.  Released from his grasp, it immediately became brittle, and shattered when it hit the floor.  Raeth formed a fist, coaxing his tired Aether into producing just a little bit more Amberite.  A thin, stiletto-like blade.  One that would slide easily through an Amberite suit’s mouth-hole.

You want to fight for real, Hern? Raeth thought with anger.  Fine.

Hern stepped forward, smiling.  Raeth knew what he wanted--he wanted a plea of mercy.  An admittance that Hern was the stronger, something Raeth had been forced into dozens of times during his childhood.

Not this time, Hern, Raeth thought with anger.

Hern raised his blade to attack.  Raeth tightened his grip on his small weapon, keeping it hidden behind the back of his leg.

Suddenly, a massive Amberite axe, its blade fully four-feet long, slammed into the ground in front of Hern.  The force of the blow caused the entire room to shake, toppling lanterns and cups from tables.  Hern and Raeth turned with surprise.

Darro raised massive Amberite fists, more like blocks of stone than armor.  The youngest brother stood completely encased in an enormous suit of Amberite, his body barely a shadow in the very center of the suit.  He stood fully ten feet tall, the block-like head of his suit brushing the ceiling, his suit’s arms and legs extending several feet beyond where his own ended.  Darro’s suit made Hern’s armor look tiny by comparison.

Darro pulled a gargantuan fist backward--the Amberite hand so large it looked like it had been hewn from a boulder--and then slammed it into Hern’s chest.  The weight of the Amberite hurled Hern across the room, and he smashed against the stone wall, chips of both Amberite and stone spraying through the air.  The Heir dropped dazedly to the ground, his armor covered with cracks.  Another blow like that could kill him.

Hern looked up, danger in his eyes.  His armor grew back in a flash, throwing chunks of cracked Amberite from his body as it grew.  He growled slightly, his Aether flaring, Amberite sprouting from his feet and growing along the floor like a tide of red crystals, covering chairs, and tables.  Raeth backed away--if it hit him, it would encase him within a shell he would be too weak to shatter.

Hern yelled, dashing forward, a pair of Amberite swords extending from his fists.  Darro set himself, the hands of his armor coming together as a massive hammer began to grow from their palms.

“Stop!” Raeth snapped in the quiet room.

Both heads turned toward him, and Hern skidded to a stop.

“You’re stronger than I am, Hern,” Raeth said quietly.  “It doesn’t matter whether I might have made a good Heir or not.  I am Dari, you are Shaeth.  You will rule the Line when father dies.  Isn’t that enough?”

Hern paused, then a smile crept to his lips as he looked into Raeth’s eyes, the eyes of his twin.  He relaxed, his armor cracking and falling from his body as he released it.  His cloak flapped free, released from its crystalline prison, and Hern dusted himself off.

“You should send for the palace maids, Darro,” Hern noted, looking over the room.  “Though I doubt they’ll be happy to see this mess.”  Furniture lay broken, cups and books lay scattered on the floor, and everything was covered by a film of red dust--the final state of Amberite that was released from an Aedin’s control.

Hern smiled to himself and strode from the room.  Darro turned to watch him go, a single step from his massive suit of Armor causing the floor to shake ominously.

“I hate him,” Darro whispered quietly, his voice hollow as it resounded from his armor’s mouth-hole--placed in the chest of the suit.

Raeth shook his head.  “Don’t say that, brother.  He’s just Hern.  We’ve lived with him all our lives.  He’s arrogant and infuriating, but he’s still our brother.”

“I used to be able to go to the north to escape him,” Darro continued.  “But now he comes there too, strutting around and trying to run the army like he does everything else.”

Raeth sighed, shaking his head.  At times he tried to think of benefits he’d gained by being made Dari.  Getting away from Hern was definitely at the top of the list.  “Come on, Darro.  We should probably be going.  It’s almost noon, and they’ll be starting the Sending soon.”

Darro sighed audibly.  Then his armor began to crack.  It shattered with a sharp sound, the floor shaking as large chunks fell free.  Darro stepped from the wreckage, which was already cracking and dissolving into dust around his feet.  He kicked at the head of his armor, sending up a spray of red crystalline powder.  Then he looked up with a slight smile.

“He’s right about the maids, though,” Darro noted.  “They’ll throw a fit when they see this.  It’ll be worse than when I brought a half-tavern’s worth of people home last year to sample the Imperial wine.”

Raeth smiled, though the expression was a bit forced.  Hern could ruin even a perfect day.

#

The palace had its own Sending platform, of course.  Raeth and Darro stepped off the Corpate climber and into the circular room.  Several Vo-Dari were already there, Sending various palace officials and bureaucrats, who waited in a line for their turn.

“It’s odd,” Raeth noted quietly as the Corpate climber began to clink behind them, crawling back down its shaft to do the bidding of those important enough to not use stairs.

“What?” Darro asked as the two walked past the line and stepped up onto the platform.

“I live in the Irae,” Raeth explained, “with the Vo-Dari, but the only time I use a Sending is when I’m acting as a regular High Aedin.”

Darro raised an eyebrow, standing beside Raeth as they waited for a white robed Vo-Dari finished Sending an elderly Shorriken scribe.  After a brief moment of mumbling a prayer to the Ancestors, the Vo-Dari reached out and tapped the bureaucrat on the forehead.

The Shorriken man lurched backward, his body ripping apart as it dissolved in a burst of light.  He was gone an eyeblink later.  A thin, ghostly line of light hovered in the air, indicating the direction the man had been Sent.  The amorphous trail wavered slowly, disappearing.

“After you,” Darro said, nodding toward the Vo-Dari, who had taken a step to the side, repositioning himself for the next Sending.

Raeth nodded, stepping up to the still-mumbling man.  Raeth recognized him only vaguely.  The Vo-Dari spent little time in the Irae--their services were too valuable, and left them little time for painting or other normal Dari activities.

“See you in Saeris Va,” Raeth said as the Vo-Dari reached out to tap him on the forehead.

Immediately, Raeth felt an incredible force pulling on his chest.  He stumbled forward as if falling--not down, but to the side, toward the stone wall.  Then he began to accelerate suddenly, his speed increasing at an alarming pace.  Raeth felt like screaming out in fear, but he was accustomed to the feeling.

He passed through the wall and kept going, his body no longer physical.  He shot northward, continually accelerating.  Raeth saw flashes of the city pass below, then it was gone.  Soon the speed was too great for him to see anything but a blur.  He gritted teeth that were no longer there, his soul shaking as everything around him became a disorienting tunnel of light.

Raeth lurched to a stop.  He stumbled, his stomach churning.  Though he wasn’t in motion, his mind felt that he should be, and he careened as he tried to adjust to the sudden lack of motion.  He barely managed to stay on his feet as several aids rushed up to him, steadying his body and offering him something to sooth his stomach.

It had been a while--he’d almost forgotten how difficult the Sending could be.  It was supposed to be worst for Amberite Bonds, like himself.  Raeth took a deep breath, grappling control of his rebellious stomach, then waved the Sending attendants away.  A second later, a faint line of light appeared beside him and Darro stumbled forward.

“Twins!” Darro cursed, shaking his head and steadying himself.  “You’d think I’d get used to that.”

“I never have,” Raeth said as his body continued to adjust.  The world eventually stopped spinning.  The two were standing atop a stone Sending platform set amongst the much older ruins of a fallen city.  Saeris Va.  The City of the Ancestors.

“So, when are they going to teach you how to do that?” Darro asked, accepting a cup from a Sending attendant and downing it in one gulp as he stepped from the platform.

Raeth shook his head, pulling his cloak tight as he followed Darro.  They had traveled hundreds of miles to the north, to the place where the Aedin people had once lived, many years before.  Snow was on the ground, Though it had been cleared from the walkways, and a line of white mountains lay a short distance to the south.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to do that, Darro,” he said.  “The Sending isn’t learned, it’s granted--a gift to the Vo-Dari from the Ancestors.”

“So when are you going to get chosen?” Darro asked.  They were on the outskirts of the fallen city, but it was busy with people.  Though many were soldiers, a greater number were not.  Many of the wealthier Imperial citizens chose to spend Saedin in Saeris Va--joining the High Aedin in their ancestral home was a very fashionable thing to do, assuming one could afford to pay for a Sending.

Raeth just shook his head to Darro’s question.  “Probably never,” he said.  “Amberite Vo-Dari are rare.  Most of them are Verdant or Ferrous.”

Darro frowned.  “The Patriarch is Amberite,” he said.

Raeth sighed.  How could he explain?  “It’s a long story, Darro.  Let’s just say I’m not talented enough.”

Darro frowned, but let the matter drop.  Raeth turned away, looking over the crowd.  Opportunistic merchants had set up stands to peddle their wares, and hundreds of colorful tents had been constructed around the city to house those who couldn’t afford to travel back and forth from the capitol.  For most, Saedin wasn’t a single-day event, but a week-long festival.  Raeth remembered well the days of celebration, wonder, and enjoyment of his childhood.  Now, however, one day was almost too much to ask.  Raeth could visit for the official ceremonies--the capitol executions, the bride choosing, and the prayers to the Unremembered--and nothing more.

It wasn’t much, but it was more than he would see for the rest of the year.  “We don’t have much time,” he said, striking out into the city.  “I’m going to enjoy myself while I can.”

#

D’Naa shivered as she took a sip of her steaming tea.  “Grandfather,” she announced, “I believe that was the most thoroughly unpleasant experience of my life.”

Hlin chuckled.  “That’s because you haven’t lived a very long life yet, my girl.”

D’Naa shook her head, pulling her blanket closer and taking another sip of her tea.  “It was like. . .I was tied to a rope and yanked by some horrible force across the entire Imperium.”

“We know, dear,” Shaad said, sipping her own tea.  “We’ve experienced the Sending several times.”

Hlin nodded in agreement.  “It’s quite a ride.  We need to hire one of those Vo-Dari for our return trip--it certainly beats a four-month ride through the highlands.”

D’Naa felt her stomach churn.  She still hadn’t recovered from making sick all over the Sending platform upon her arrival, an experience that had severely wounded her pride.  It didn’t matter to her that the Sending attendants claimed that sickness was common on the first time; none of the other brides had disgraced themselves so.

“The Sending,” she mumbled.  “They can do that to anything?”

Hlin shook his head.  “Just living creatures.  And, fortunately, whatever they happen to be carrying at the time.”

D’Naa nodded, taking another sip of tea, listening to the tent flaps rustle.  The tent was small, but that was preferable, considering the temperature.  A coal brazier warmed the single cloth room, and four stools made up the only furniture.  The price for rent had been outrageous, but her grandfather had been given Imperium gold by D’Naa’s cousin to fund the trip.  Even that was beginning to look insufficient.  Fortunately, she wouldn’t have to leave the city directly after the Choosing.  Unchosen brides were given board in the palace for a week after the festival.  D’Naa wasn’t certain if such was supposed to be consolation for not being picked, or if it was simply to let the successful bride gloat over her defeated competitors.

“So, now what?” she asked.

“Now we go out and experience the wonders of the festival,” Hlin informed.  “The party back in Vae Annitor is fabulous--but even it can’t compare to what goes on up here, amongst the elite.”

D’Naa groaned, still feeling sick.

“Or,” he added, “we could just wait here and let you recuperate.  Rest for a few hours, child, and let your grandmother paint you up a bit.  You’ll have to present yourself to the Emperor just before sunset.  After that, you’ll wait through the executions and--”

“Executions?” D’Naa asked, frowning in surprise.

“Capitol offenses, dear,” Shaad informed.  “Executions ordered by the Senate.”

“I thought the Senate could order an execution whenever it deemed necessary,” D’Naa argued.  “They don’t have to wait for the Festival.”

Her grandparents shared a look.  “Regular executions can happen any time, dear,” Shaad informed.  “It’s only special ones that happen at Saedin.  It’s an Aedin thing--they like to make use of the Pool of the Forgotten.”

D’Naa paused.  “The pool of what?”

#

The black surface of the pool was a dark black, like oil, only it didn’t seem to reflect the light, but absorb it instead.  The pool was perfectly still, undisturbed despite the breeze.  It pulled on Raeth, as if to absorb him as well, to suck him into its caliginous depths, to tear away his soul, leave him forgotten by all.

Raeth shivered, and not from the wind.  The Pool of the Forgotten was a twenty-foot wide circle of darkness in the very center of Saeris Va.  The ruins of stone archways and pillars lay strewn around the pool, frost coating their shadows.  For an unspoken reason, none of the vendors or performers had erected tents in the center square.  The only structure near the pool was the platform from which the Emperor officiated during the ceremonies.

The Pool of the Forgotten is the repository for the souls of those who betray their Line, Raeth thought, remembering words from the Protocols.  When all men die their souls join the Ancestors to watch over their posterity.  However, if they are judged unworthy--if they are oath-breakers, those who ignore their duty, or grievous murderers--they are cast from the Ancestors’ presence.  These are the Forgotten.  No Ynaa are written to praise their name, and none of their posterity remember their existence.  Their souls melt, and become the Living Night, the darkness that makes up the Pool of the Forgotten.

Only the worst of offenders--Traitors, murderers of children, or other heinous criminals--were ordered thrown into the Pool of the Forgotten.

“Are you done yet?” a voice asked.

Raeth turned from the quiet pool, noticing Darro stroll up behind.

“I’d almost forgotten about this part,” Raeth mentioned, turning back to the pool.  “Doesn’t it feel odd to you, that your bride will be chosen barely a few minutes after several men are thrown into that pool?”

Darro shrugged.  “It does kind of dampen the celebration, but I suppose that’s why father fought it so much.  Come on--I found a wonderful ale tent.  It’s time to get you good and drunk.”

Raeth sighed, shaking his head.  “It’s forbidden of Dari.”

“You’re not a Dari today,” Darro reminded, tugging on his arm.

“I’m always a Dari,” Raeth replied.  “Today, I just get to cover it over.”

“But I thought you hated being Dari,” Darro said with a roll of his eyes.

“I do,” Raeth said, still staring at the dark pool.  It was said that to touch its waters was instant death.  “That doesn’t mean, however, that I intend to disobey my duties.  Dari is my Place.  It doesn’t matter that I disagree with the decision; I have to live with its implications nonetheless.”

Darro sighed.  “You’ve been staring at the pool too long, brother,” he said.

“Probably,” Raeth agreed.  What was wrong with him?  This was supposed to be his one day of relaxation, his one day of freedom, yet he’d spent the entire day either worrying, complaining, or brooding.  Perhaps Darro was right--he did need to let himself get distracted.

“I can’t drink,” Raeth said, “but I have no objection to watching you get yourself drunk.”

Darro shrugged.  “That’ll have to do.  Come on--we’ve still got three hours until sunset.”

Raeth let Darro lead him away toward a more populated street filled with tents and patrons.  As he did, however, his eyes drifted toward the quiet pool one last time.  It awaited its sacrifices, like the pagan gods of the Harrmen.  There was something wrong--something that wouldn’t let him enjoy himself like he had in previous years.

A moment later, Darro pulled him around a corner, and Raeth let his foreboding thoughts drift away, for the moment.

Chapter Three

Emperor Vaetayn was a tall, proud man with blonde Aedin hair, a strong face, and a predominant chin--a feature he had passed on to each of his three sons.  He stood unflinching before the chill northern breeze, as if he expected the elements to bow before him, rather than the other way around.  He waited atop the wooden platform speaking with several senators and generals.  Although few of the festival-goers realized it, security during Saedin was very tight.  Technically, the City of the Ancestors lay beyond the Imperium’s northern defense perimeter, though its western location put it outside of most Harrmen tribes’ range.  Still, so many Aedin outside of their native land could make a tempting target.

Raeth approached the platform slowly.  The central square was beginning to fill with people, though they all gave wide berth to the Pool of the Forgotten.  The final ceremonies would begin soon, and with them would come the choosing of a future empress.

It passed so quickly. . . . Raeth thought with sadness.  His hours of freedom had dribbled away from him, and he really hadn’t accomplished anything.  But, what was there to accomplish?  Watching the performers no longer held the appeal that it had during his childhood.  Several of the duels had been interesting, but those had been so crowded that it was hard to get a good view.  There were other Bride Choosings, of course, but Raeth didn’t have the stomach to watch strangers get married.  Mostly, Raeth had just spent time with his brother.  For some reason, he prized that time most of all.

Darro strolled along beside him.  The massive Aedin was slightly drunk, but that was regular for Darro.  He had a look of simple contentment on his face.  Raeth doubted the large man even comprehended how good his life was.

Or, Raeth corrected as he studied Darro’s face, perhaps he did.  Darro’s festiveness during the last few hours had seemed forced.  Darro had acted like himself--drinking, gawking at women, and generally laughing at everything--but his activities had been twinged by a slightly frantic edge.  His days of total freedom would end in a few hours.

Raeth just shook his head.  Oh, Darro.  Do you have any idea how much I’d like to switch places with you?  Raeth paused, a smile creeping to his lips at the image.  Darro would make an absolutely horrible Dari.  He’d barely fit into the alcoves.

Darro and Raeth climbed up the wooden steps to the platform.  Down below, hundreds of the Imperium’s elite politely shoved and pushed one another in an attempt to secure a view of the platform.  Senators had chairs behind the podium, but all others--merchants, High Aedin, and visiting dignitaries--had to stand below.  A line of soldiers kept anyone from getting too close to the pool and its deadly waters.

From the platform’s vantage, Raeth could see much of the ruined city.  Though the Aedin came to Saeris Va once a year, they left it to its ruin and decomposition.  The city had been grand once--it rivaled Vae Annitor in size, and many of its buildings had once been enormous.  Chunks of carved stone lay strewn across streets and courtyards, and the occasional lump of rusted metal gave hint to what once might have been Corpates.  No one was certain--none of the histories recorded a time when the Aedin lived in Saeris Va, and the legends were vague at best.  The creation of the current Imperium capitol, Vae Annitor, had in large part been an attempt to recreate the beauties Saeris Va must have contained.  They would probably never know if they had been successful or not.

“Darro.  Raeth,” a strong voice said.

Raeth looked up.  Vaetayn turned from his group of counselors, who were taking their places at the back of the platform, to regard his two sons.  Raeth and Darro stepped forward, bowing before their father.  Hern stood a short distance away, at the front of the platform, looking over the crowd of people.

“I trust your day has been spent productively?” the emperor asked.

Darro smiled.  “The ale is good this year, father,” he replied.

Vaetayn’s eyes wrinkled only slightly at the comment.  Then he smiled--something Raeth had rarely seen him do.  “I suppose that is productive as anything, all things considered.  Go stand with your brother, Darro.”

Darro bowed, his High Aedin cloak flapping as he turned to join Hern at the front of the platform, where the crowd could see them.  In many ways, the day’s events were a presentation of Vaetayn’s full-grown sons.  Or, at least, a presentation of those sons worth presenting.

Vaetayn looked forward with pleasure, his wise eyes studying Darro and Hern.  He was in a very good mood--even Darro’s impropriety hadn’t bothered him.  Raeth stared at his father’s face.  Proud, honest, strong. . .Vaetayn was everything a High Aedin was supposed to represent.  He was strict in fulfilling his duty and in caring for the Imperium.  He was the strongest leader the Imperium had known in centuries.

“I am a very lucky man, Raeth,” Vaetayn said quietly.

Raeth looked up with surprise.  “Father?” he asked uncertainly.

“The Ancestors have blessed me,” Vaetayn continued.  “I have what every High Aedin father wishes for.  Three sons.  One Shaeth, to continue his Line.  One Sworded, to defend his Line.  And one Dari, to watch over his Line.”

Vaetayn paused, then reached out to place a hand on Raeth’s shoulder.  “Of the three, Raeth, I am most proud of you.”

Raeth blinked in surprise.  “Father?” he asked.  “I don’t understand.”

Vaetayn turned to look back at Hern and Darro.  “At times, I wished things could be differently, that I hadn’t made the decision to take your birthright when you were both children.  Most of the time, however, I thank to the Ancestors for the foresight they gave me.  Neither of the other two could have been Dari.  They would have shamed the Line.  They are good sons, but they don’t understand duty.  Not as you do.”

Vaetayn turned, meeting Raeth’s eyes.  “Hardships are what give us strength, Raeth.  Remember that.  I did not make you Dari because I am ashamed of you.  I made you Dari because I realized you could succeed, for that is the type of person you are.  I worry for the other two, but I’ve never had to worry about you.”

Raeth paused.  Succeed as a Dari?  “I’m not so certain, father,” he admitted.  “I don’t seem to do much but write bad poetry and read it over and over.”

Vaetayn snorted.  “It’s not the quality of the words that matters, Raeth, it’s the quality of the heart that says them.  The Dari hold a position of true power in our society.  It may be difficult for you now, but someday your struggles will bring you strength.  Someday, when I have joined the Ancestors, I will look down and see that you have done as much, if not more, for the Imperium than your siblings.”

Despite himself, Raeth smiled, pride welling within him.  He didn’t know how to respond.  He still had his doubts about his ability to do as his father implied.  However, he could tell from Vaetayn’s voice that the emperor had no such doubts.

“Thank you, father,” Raeth said quietly.

Vaetayn smiled, his hand still resting on Raeth’s shoulder, then turned back toward the other two.  “They stand to receive brides,” he said.  “But you will stand with me.”

Raeth smiled.  “Yes, father.”

“Let the choosing begin,” Vaetayn declared in a booming voice.

#

D’Naa fidgeted inside the bride’s tent, peeking past the other brides and out at the immense crowd of richly-dressed people.  The sun sat just over the horizon, and several pillar-like pieces of metal--probably some form of Corpate--had begun to glow softly across the courtyard.  The dark pool in the center of the courtyard was perhaps the most unsettling thing she had ever seen--though the thought of standing in front of the entire crowd, being judged solely on how neatly she fit into a dress, was a close second.

D’Naa had been given time and tools to wash and prepare herself, and she had just begun to feel a little better.   Then a herald had arrived to announce the ceremony.  Once that had happened, she hadn’t been able to deny her nervousness any longer.  Even disliking the Aedin as she did, the event that was about to occur was an immensely important turning-point in her life.

The brides waited in a tent just outside of the courtyard.  Their numbers had increased by one since D’Naa had last seen them--the Khur people refused to be Sent because of religious principles, and had transported their bride over land to the ruined city.  Frana looked similar to the Mahallen woman, with the same tan skin and sharp features, but was much shorter and dressed in an enveloping robe.

D’Naa looked down at her own clothing.  Her gown might be simple compared the gorgeous silk, velvet, and satin gowns of the other brides, but it suited her.  It was a deep green, a color she preferred, but it lacked lacings, embroidery, or fancy designs.  She had thought it low-cut, but the other gowns proved just how conservative her people were--beside the Khur woman, only the stiff-faced High Aedin girl from the Ferrous Line had a higher neck line than D’Naa.  The Mahallen woman’s dress was so thin up top that D’Naa blushed every time she saw it.  In addition, the woman was wearing a curious pair of gem-laden, golden hoops around the back of her breasts, just where they met her chest.

“What are those for, anyway?” D’Naa hissed.

“What?” her grandfather asked, following D’Naa’s gaze.  “The wedding-hoops?  The first man who beds her gets to keep them.”

“What?” D’Naa asked with shock.

Hlin nodded, a devilish smile on his lips.  “It’s true,” he said.  “The first man gets them.  Of course, he also gets to keep her.  It’s how Mahallen women find a husband.”

“He’s not serious,” D’Naa said, turning to her grandmother.

“The people of the south are. . .different than what you’re accustomed to, dear,” Shaad said.

“I’ve always found them quite interesting, myself,” Hlin added quietly, earning a dry look from his wife.

At that moment, the emperor began to speak.  D’Naa couldn’t see him from her place in the tent--there were too many people in her way--but she could hear him.  He had a strong voice--the kind of voice she would expect from a man of his stature.

“He’s calling for us,” D’Naa said, growing more nervous as the other women tensed around her.  “What now?”

“The herald will announce you one by one,” Shaad informed.  “Just walk past the platform, pause in front of the Heir, and curtsey.  Stay there until the emperor tells you to continue on.  After that you’ll be taken to a tent a moderate distance from the courtyard, so you won’t be distracted by the rest of the ceremonies. You’re supposed to meditate or pray until the Emperor makes his choice.”

D’Naa tried to hide her nervousness as Alean, the gorgeous blonde High Aedin everyone thought would be chosen as Hern’s bride, was told to step forward.

“Just walk out, keep your head high, and don’t worry,” Shaad said soothingly.  “You shouldn’t have to wait too long in the contemplation tent.  The High Senator will conduct Senate business while the Emperor ponders his choices.  Once the High Senator is done, Vaetayn will call you all back to stand before him.  He’ll choose, then it will all be over.”

D’Naa nodded curtly, angered at her nervousness. You’re being foolish, she told herself.  You’ve rebuilt cites after Harrmen raids, you’ve Bonded an Aether, and you’ve lived through harsh winters in the highlands.  You can face a few arrogant Aedin.

The thoughts reassured her, though her nervousness didn’t leave completely.  What woman wouldn’t be self-conscious in her position?  She was able to keep her emotions in check, however--at least, she was able to do so right up until the moment when the herald called her name.

#

Raeth watched the women with only passing interest.  He had already gotten a very good look at them, and he was too distracted by his father’s words to focus on anything else.  Had Vaetayn meant what he said?  Was he actually proud of Raeth?  Raeth had spent his entire life assuming the opposite.

“That’s the one for you, Darro,” Hern hissed from up ahead, quietly enough that the crowd wouldn’t be able to hear.  Standing at the side of the podium with his father, Raeth could barely make out the words.

Raeth frowned, studying the woman bowing before Hern.  The herald had announced her as Tae, first daughter of Senator Arasisae, head of the Ferrous Line.  Raeth remembered her from earlier--she still wore the stiff, emotionless face of her kind, and was dressed in an enveloping dress whose neckline came all the way up to her chin.

“Yes, she’d be perfect,” Hern’s whispering continued.  “Most women of the Ferrous line disapprove of alcohol.  With her in the home, there’d be no parties with friends.  Just her, you, and a bunch of Corpates to keep you company.”

Darro growled a muffled reply, but Raeth could tell that Hern’s comment had bothered him.  Aedin men were heads of their Line, but the women were the heads of the home.  Darro’s worst fear was that he’d end up with a wife that would insist he abandon his low-born friends and ways.

The High Aedin woman rose and moved on as the herald prepared to present the next woman.

“D’Naa,” the herald announced, “cousin to King Ala’D of Kavir.”

Raeth looked up with interest as the small, dark-haired woman stepped from the bride tent.  She looked nervous, but no more so than the others had been.  Appearing before the Emperor was an imposing event, even when one was accustomed to royalty.

The girl bore herself well, stepping with a hasty but determined step.  Raeth smiled slightly as he watched her. She didn’t flow like the others did, but she didn’t need to.  There was a strength to her stride instead--not a hard, masculine strength, but a firmness, a determination.  They were emotions High Aedin women wouldn’t dare show, for they were too politically inappropriate for potential brides.

D’Naa didn’t look down as she walked, but stared straight ahead until she spun and dropped into a curtsey.  Hern snickered quietly--an emotion shared by a disappointing number of the crowd’s people.

“What’s this?” Hern asked in a quiet voice.  “The Kavir must be confused.  They sent me a servant boy instead of a bride.”

Down below, Raeth could see the girl flush red with embarrassment.  She could hear him.  Raeth groaned quietly--after five years of living in the Irae, he’d almost forgotten what an idiot his brother could be.

“What a drab thing, she is,” Hern continued.  “Of course, I hear the men of the highlands prefer sheep to women.  If this is the best the nation has to offer, it’s no wonder.”

Raeth opened his mouth to say something, but a voice cut him off.  “Hern!” Vaetayn snapped just quietly enough so that only those near to him would hear.  “The time for childishness is over.  Today you wed.  You will either learn to hold your tongue or I swear by the Ancestors I will see the Heirship stripped from you.”

Hern snapped upright, his body growing stiff.  Raeth could barely contain a smile.  It appeared that Darro wasn’t the only one whose life would experience a drastic change after this day.  Hern fell silent until Vaetayn dismissed the Kavir girl.

The next two women--Kallana, the Shorriken offering, and Nahan, the tall Mahallen beauty--passed without another word from Hern.  The heir refused to meet their father’s eyes as he and Darro turned to take their seats with the Senators.  Raeth joined them as the High Senator--Lord Laene, head of the Verdant Line--stepped forward to conduct yearly Senate business.  Once he had finished, Several Vo-Dari would chant a special Ynaa to the Unremembered Ancestors, and then Darro would finally find out who his bride was.

Laene stepped up to the front of the platform, accompanied by several Shorriken scribes.  Laene could almost be mistaken for a Shorriken; his hair had fallen out years ago and his height was below Aedin normal--though he made up for it in girth.  His bearing, however, was completely Aedin.  He began to read the first proclamation in a loud voice, reciting several of the more important Senate decisions that had occurred during the last year.

The sun had begun to set, but the Corpate lights were bright enough to illuminate the platform.  Several Corpate heat-columns burned quietly around the perimeter of the courtyard as well, but Raeth doubted they would provide much warmth in such an open space.

“So, what do you think?” Darro asked quietly.

“About what?” Raeth asked.

“The brides,” Darro repeated.  “Twins, I’m nervous!  I should have gotten way more drunk for this.”

Raeth rolled his eyes.  “I thought we had this discussion already.”

“Not really,” Darro corrected.  “We just looked.  Come on, who do you think I’ll end up with?”

Raeth shrugged, shooting a look at their father, who sat in his oversized throne-like chair at the right edge of the platform.  “I really have no idea.  He’ll probably choose Alean to marry Hern.  We could use a strong link to the Verdant Line--especially if Laene has been making trouble in the Senate again.”

Darro frowned slightly, nodding.  “He has--he never liked father.  Twins!  You’re probably right about Alean.  It figures that Hern would end up with the best one.”

Raeth snorted, shooting a look at Hern a short distance away.  His twin sat stiffly, and refused to turn and look at them.  Not speaking to us? Raeth thought with amusement.  I wish father would embarrass him more often.

“How do you know she’s the best one?” Raeth challenged.  “Because she has a large chest?”

“That’s a factor, yes,” Darro said with a shrug.  “Why?  Which one do you like?”

Raeth shrugged.  “How should I know?  I’ve never met any of them.”

Darro rolled his eyes.

“Darro, I’m a Dari,” Raeth defended.  “I’m supposed to ignore women.”

“You’re also a man.  Come on, which one did you like?”

Raeth paused.  “Well, if you have to know, I kind of thought the girl from Kavir was attractive.”

Darro sat quietly for a moment.  “You’re serious?” he finally said.

Raeth sighed, leaning back.  “Why do I even talk to you?”

“Because I’m cursed nervous, and anything that keeps my mind off of what’s happening is a blessing.  You’re a Dari--you’re supposed to help people.”

Raeth smiled slightly.  “You need more help than I can give, brother.”

Darro smiled as well, though his nervousness didn’t leave, and he began to fidget as he watched Laene begin to hand out commendations to soldiers who had distinguished themselves in border clashes with the Harrmen.  Raeth was more interested in his father, whose face seemed disturbed in the oncoming gloom.  The shadows seemed to lengthen the wrinkles on his face, accenting the slight frown on his lips.

“He doesn’t like what’s coming next, does he?” Raeth asked, shivering slightly in the breeze.  The sun was completely down, and the only light came from torches and Corpate light pillars.

“He spent months in the Senate fighting it,” Darro agreed quietly.  “He almost won.”

“Who’s so important that the Emperor couldn’t even get him a pardon?” Raeth wondered.

Darro paused.  “You don’t know?” he asked with surprise.

“I’ve spent the last four months locked in an alcove praying you a good wife, Darro,” Raeth informed.  “I barely even know that the seasons changed.”

“It’s Shateen,” Darro said.

“Who?” Raeth asked, frowning slightly.

“You don’t know him,” Darro explained.  “He was the new Shentis ambassador to the Imperium.”

Raeth froze in surprise.  “We’re executing the Shentis ambassador?” he asked incredulously.

Darro nodded solemnly.  “It’s the strangest thing, Raeth.  He was caught buying children from orphanages.”

Raeth frowned.  “What?” he asked with surprise.  Even as he spoke, the crowd parted a short distance away, and several soldiers led a small group of men toward the dark pool in the center of the courtyard.  “What did he want with the children?”

Darro didn’t reply immediately.  Finally he just shrugged.  “We don’t know.  They just. . .disappeared.  We think he sold them to Harrmen slavers.  I can’t believe you didn’t hear about it--Shentis have been banned from Imperial lands.  People are saying the old stories are true.”

Raeth shook his head.  “I thought we were past the days of looking for demons under our beds.  We have great relations with the Gol and the Viglix--I assumed the Shentis were next.”

“Raeth,” Darro said seriously, “he was buying children--and he’d been doing it for years, according to the owners of the orphanages.  Can you really say you haven’t wondered about them?  What if the Mahallen are right?  What if they are demons?”

“The Mahallen think we’re demons too, because of the Aethers,” Raeth reminded.  As he spoke, however, his eyes sought out the captive.  He found a creature that looked like a man, but with blue-black skin.  Not dark brown, like Seaborn from the islands to the south.  Shentis skin looked more. . .bruised than it did tan, like the veins just beneath their skin had all burst.  Legends and rumors about the Shentis abounded--most claiming that they were some kind of undead creature that fed off the souls of men.  Raeth had always thought such myths nonsense.

He was buying children? Raeth thought with wonder.

“The Senate ordered his death,” Darro explained.  “The Mahallen senators demanded it, and most of the other sub-kingdoms agreed with them.  They weren’t happy when father let a Shentis ambassador back into Vae Annitor twenty years ago, and now they finally have proof for their claims.

Shateen was younger than Raeth had expected--the previous Shentis ambassador had been an old man.  Suddenly, Raeth understood his father’s bad mood.  The execution wasn’t just a distraction from the Bride Choosing, it was also a political defeat.

“Who’s the other man?” Raeth asked, nodding to a second prisoner--this one human--in the guards’ possession.

“A traitor,” Darro explained.  “Once father conceded to allow the Shateen’s execution, they slipped a second one in.  The man was caught selling strategic information to the Harrmen.”

Raeth nodded.  There were usually only a couple of executions at Saedin every year, and the vast majority of them were traitors.  A tribe of Harrmen had discovered several gold mines to the north, and their recent tactics--that of bribing Imperium soldiers--betrayed a dangerous change in their strategy.

The soldiers grabbed the human prisoner and led him struggling up a short stone walkway that extended a few feet over the pool.

“Kenet,” Laene announced to the crowd, “traitor to the Imperium.  Sentenced to capitol execution after trial by an eighty-percent vote by the Senate.”

Eighty-percent, the minimum required for an execution.  Laene nodded, and the soldiers shoved Kenet into the pool.  The former soldier fell with a yelp, flailing in his bonds.  His yell ended in a croak as soon as his flesh touched the dark surface.  There was no splash, though the dark water did ripple.  It seemed to wrap around the soldier, enveloping him and sucking him down.  Then it fell still once again.

Raeth felt a chill.  He’d never liked watching capitol executions--his sentiment was shared by the rest of the crowd, many of whom had averted their eyes.  Theirs was not a blood-thirsty people--centuries of Imperium stability had fostered a safe, peaceful society.  Men could walk the city at night and not fear for their lives, assuming they kept to the well-patrolled streets.  Senators and Emperors no longer had to fear assassination by political opponents.

The people didn’t clap or yell at the execution, as was common on some Seaborn isles.  They just watched in silence, feeling the dread of the pool, knowing that the unfortunate traitor suffered even beyond the grave.  He had been rejected by his ancestors and his posterity.  His children would be assigned to a brother or uncle, his name stricken from Line records.  He was Forgotten.

The soldiers led the Shentis, Shateen, up onto the stone platform.  He didn’t struggle; he walked calmly.

What will happen to his soul? Raeth wondered.  Even if he wasn’t a demon, he certainly wasn’t human.  The Shentis looked more human than Gol or Viglix, but they were obviously another race.  What happened to their souls?  Did they even have souls?

“Shateen,” Laene said quietly.  “Murderer.  Sentenced to capitol execution after a trial by ninety-seven percent of the Senate.”

Something was wrong.

Raeth’s eyes darted to the side, suddenly nervous.  The soldiers moved to shove Shateen off the platform, but then they noticed it too.  The pool had begun to ripple beneath them, its darkness undulating ominously.  Shateen himself looked down with a confused frown, his dark blue head cocked slightly to the side.

A small black hand rose from the center of the pool.  It was followed by a head and a shoulder, all composed of the same pure, light-sucking darkness of the pool.

Raeth rose from his chair, standing and stepping forward.  Mumbling began to rumble through the crowd, though most faces were still paralyzed with shock.  The dark body looked just like that of the man who had been tossed into the pool a few seconds before.

Suddenly, a dozen other hands broke the surface, and black figures began to rise beneath them.  They were joined by dozens more, all rising slowly from the pool until its surface was clogged with figures that seemed composed from the darkness itself.  The crowd watched with frozen horror, their reactions numbed by the strange event.

Only then did Raeth notice something.  Each of the black figures was caring a sword in its left hand.

“Get back!” Raeth screamed.  “Move!”

Chaos erupted.  The black figures snapped into motion, stepping off the pool’s surface and onto the ground, whereupon they began to attack the crowd.  People began to scream and fall as dark blades descended on them, slicing off limbs, piercing bodies, and throwing blood into the air.  Other dark figures began to boil from the pool behind their companions, dozens upon dozens of hands rising into the air.

Slaughter and Despair! Raeth thought with shock as he dashed forward, summoning an Amberite sword.  What is going on?

The sound of Amberite growing crackled around the pool, soldiers belatedly summoning weapons.  Soldiers from Lines other than Amberite whipped free steel swords and began to lay into the dark soldiers, fighting with paranoid fury, while Verdant bonds raised their hands, launching forth sprays of twisting vines.

“Protect the Emperor!” Raeth yelled as a large group of black forms broke through the soldiers and began to clamor onto the platform.  Raeth kicked one in the face--the darkness gave just like flesh, and the dark warrior fell backward.  However, three more replaced him, and several had already climbed onto the platform a short distance away.

Behind him, Raeth could hear Senators crying out in alarm, yells accompanied by the sound of chairs toppling or being tossed aside.  Raeth didn’t pause to look, instead swiping at a dark warrior who was climbing to its feet.  Raeth’s sword cut through its body like flesh, creating a gash directly across the creature’s face.  Immediately, darkness began to hiss from the wound, sputtering into the air and evaporating like thick smoke.

The creature didn’t pause when it took the wound, instead swinging its own weapon at Raeth.  Raeth blocked the blow, then struck with a neat thrust right through the creature’s chest.  He whipped the blade free quickly, releasing another hissing wound in the monster’s body.  The creature stumbled slightly, trying to maintain balance, and Raeth was forced to back away as three more advanced on him.  He raised his sword threateningly, then noticed something.  The blade was thinner, its surface etched and dissolved as if by a powerful acid.

He regrew the blade as he backed away, a half-dozen dark forms stalking toward him.  People were scattering from the courtyard, and he could barely see that the pool was still putting out more dark warriors.  Ancestors protect us! Raeth thought with fear as he stumbled back against a fallen chair.

“Raeth!”

Raeth froze.  There was fear in his father’s voice.  He looked with horror to see the Emperor being pulled away by a group of black warriors.  A dozen soldiers lay dying on the platform.

“Father!” Raeth screamed in terror.  He ducked to the side, underneath the swing of a dark warrior.  The blow barely missed him, cutting into his cloak and ripping it free.  Raeth continued to dash in the direction of his father.  The dark warriors were retreating, dragging the emperor off the platform with them--back toward the pool.

“No!” Raeth yelled as more warriors filled the gap, cutting off Raeth’s view of his father.  Raeth sliced at the first warrior, beheading it completely.  The creature continued to stumble, a torrent of black smoke hissing from its neck, its body slowly deflating.  There were plenty more creatures to take its place, however.

Suddenly, the platform shook beneath him with a powerful impact.  Then another.  And another, and Raeth heard a bellow of anger from behind him.

Darro swung a massive Amberite warhammer, wide as a man’s chest, at the wall of black creatures.  The weapon took one of the dark warriors square in the stomach and hurled it off the platform into the air.  Building a suit like Darro’s took time, but when he was finished, there was little that could stop him.

“Darro!” Raeth yelled.  “They’ve got father!”

“I saw,” Darro said, his voice muffled by the armor.  He swung his enormous weapon again, smashing through three dark warriors at once, ignoring the others who attacked his armor with their puny swords.  “Move!” Darro said.

Raeth nodded, ducking forward and jumping off the platform.  Darro followed him, making a far less dexterous jump, something more akin to a controlled fall.  The ground shook when he hit, his Amberite feet shattering the ancient cobblestones beneath.

Darro continued to swing in wide sweeps, clearing a path.  The dark warriors shied back from him, and through the mess of bodies Raeth caught a glimpse of red.  Amberite.  Somehow Vaetayn had freed himself from his captors, and fought a desperate, lonely battle.  His armor wasn’t massive like Darro’s, it was more like a set of translucent plate mail.  It was scarred in numerous places, however, and he was bleeding.

Amberite? Raeth thought with surprise.  Cut?  It’s stronger than steel!  There was no time to ponder the irregularity.  Raeth dashed forward, trying to reach his father’s side.  Even as Raeth moved, however, a dark warrior’s blade sliced forward, piercing Vaetayn’s Amberite breastplate in a place where it was already scarred.  The weapon sank through the Amberite into Vaetayn’s chest, and the emperor grunted, stumbling.

“Father!” Raeth yelled.

Vaetayn looked up once, his eyes visible through the Amberite faceplate.  He met Raeth’s gaze.  Then six dark figures grabbed the wounded emperor and toppled him backward.  Toward the pool.

Raeth screamed, dashing forward, across the broken cobbles and shattered pillars.  Vaetayn struggled even as he fell, his arms flailing, his jaw set, but it was no use.  He hit the surface of the pool with a yell of defiance, his body spasming, one arm sweeping to the side and throwing up a wave of dark droplets.

Raeth stood, stunned, as his father disappeared beneath the black surface.  Only then did he notice the droplets of darkness soaring in the air.  Right toward him.

Raeth yelped, ducking to the side.  However, he moved too slowly, and one of the drops slapped against his cheek.

A sudden burning seared through his face, and he screamed in agony.  He dropped his blade, which shattered against the ground below, and fell to his knees.  The darkness seemed to crawl through his face, bringing pain in its wake.  He felt himself fall backward, collapsing against the hard stone as his head continued to flare.  A few seconds later, the heat traveled down his neck and began to disperse through his body, growing more dilute as it did so.  Even still, the agony was horrendous, and Raeth’s vision grew black.

The pain stopped.  Raeth blinked, frowning and trying to reorient himself.  Only then did he realize that he was staring up at a warrior made of pure blackness.  Its weapon was raised to strike him.

Suddenly, the dark warrior grew stiff, a hissing sound exploding from its back.  A hand shoved it out of the way, and Raeth was confronted by a second black face.  Raeth started, summoning another sword, before he realized that this one wasn’t composed of the pool’s blackness.  It was a man with dark, bruise-like skin.

The Shentis man, Shateen, reached a hand toward Raeth.  “You Aedin throw quite the party,” he noted.  “Next time, kindly lose my invitation.”

Raeth paused, then accepted the hand and let Shateen pull him to his feet.  The courtyard had grown surprisingly empty.  The people had fled, and many of the dark warriors had apparently gone after them, leaving behind only corpses.  Raeth reached up toward his cheek, remembering the pain he had felt.  His face wasn’t scarred or even burned, however, despite the heat he had felt.

Raeth shook his head, recovering from his shock.  Another batch of the dark men was rising from the pool, and a large group was still battling with Darro a short distance away.

Father! Raeth thought with alarm, turning eyes toward the pool.  There was no sign of him.  Vaetayn, twenty-fifth Emperor of the Aedinor Imperium, was dead.

Chapter Four

D’Naa was no longer nervous.  Nor, surprisingly, was she embarrassed.  Now she was just furious.

We’re supposed to want to marry that man? She thought to herself, not for the first time, as she sat on his cushion in the waiting tent.  As if it were a privilege?

His words continued to ring through her mind.  He thought her boyish, did he?  Unattractive?  Just because her chest didn’t threaten to burst the seams of her bodice, or just because she didn’t reveal herself like the Mahallen woman?

You don’t know what an enemy you’ve made this day, Prince Hern.  Kavir seems gentle, but you’ve left us without defense too long.  We’ve had to fight of the Harrmen on our own, while you Aedin send only bureaucrats and promises.  You tell everyone that only the Aedin can Bond Aethers.  What will you do when we attack you with your own weapons?

D’Naa smiled quietly to herself, imagining the day when Kavir soldiers overthrew the Aedin government.  She was going too far, of course.  Her people didn’t want to rebel--not really.  They just wanted the protection the Aedin kept promising.  Over the last fifty years, Harrmen raids had been getting steadily worse, but the Aedin had barely increased Kavir’s garrison.  Her people were frustrated and defensive.  That was why they’d begun experimenting with the Aethers.

Her own Aether sensed her restlessness, and began to wiggle slightly on her wrist.  Verdant.  Even after living Bonded to it for most of her life, D’Naa still didn’t understand what it was.  She doubted even the Aedin knew.

D’Naa looked up, studying the other women.  Unlike the other tent, where attendants had been allowed, only the potential brides were allowed in the Contemplation tent.  It was far from the courtyard, set off in a silent part of the city.  Each bride had a cushion, and they sat quietly, supposedly in meditation to prepare for the Choosing.

The High Aedin women were all sitting piously, holding the sand-filled glass trinkets that were symbolic of their Ancestral patrons.  Each of them had probably paid piles of money to their temples in exchange for prayers to their forebearers, hoping for an added advantage in the Choosing.  Though the three blonde women were High Aedin, none of them had Aethers.  As D’Naa understood it, women rarely Bonded Aethers, especially in the High Aedin Lines.  Some regular Aedin women were allowed to Bond Verdant or Ferrous, but they were never given Amberite or Bestarin.

The other three women, of course, weren’t of Aedin blood, and therefore didn’t have the opportunity to Bond Aethers.  The Mahallen and the Khur wouldn’t have done so even if they were allowed--both followed Kamman, and that religion forbids all kinds of mysticism, including Aethers.

All six women sat quietly, placidly awaiting the Emperor’s whims.  Kallana, the Shorriken, had a glass trinket like the Aedin.  The Khur woman sat with her eyes closed, and Nahan the Mahallen was reading quietly from a small book--the reading made an odd juxtaposition, D’Naa thought, with the woman’s sultry clothing.  Mahallens, like Khur, didn’t believe in prayer.  While the Aedin worshiped their ancestors, the Mahallen and Khur believed that everything happened in perfect accordance to God’s will, and so therefore praying was redundant.  Both Aedin and Mahallens were wrong, of course, but at least they were religious in their own way.

As she studied the others, D’Naa felt her fury dribble away.  Being angry wouldn’t do her any good, and she had no reason to vent at the other brides.  After all, they had been put on exhibition just like she had.  They might have been groomed for it, but they were probably just as nervous as D’Naa.

Her anger abated.  Unfortunately, she was left with another emotion--one she’d been able to ignore in face of her fury.  Worry.  It didn’t matter what Hern thought of her; he wasn’t the one making the decision.  What if the Emperor actually chose her?  She’d been apprehensive before, but now that she’d been face-to-face with Aedin scorn, she was beginning to realize just how helpless she was.  If the Emperor picked her, she would have no choice but to do as she was told.  To become Hern’s bride.

The thought left her feeling ill.  However, she felt guilty for her displeasure--she should want to be chosen.  That was why she’d been sent to Aedinor.  Her people needed the influence only she could bring them.

Either I’m chosen and live with that man’s mockery all my life, D’Naa realized, or I fail my people and leave more to die from Harrmen raids.  She lost either way.

D’Naa shook her head, stretching with a sigh.  She wished she had something to lean back against.  She wasn’t accustomed to sitting on the floor, even with a cushion.  Her grandmother would probably scold her for her worry--the Kavir were supposed to be a practical people, not wrought with concern about things they couldn’t change.

She let her eyes drift across the room, and the other women’s piousness left her feeling a little guilty.  She should probably be praying to D’Lum--if not for herself, then for the unfortunate woman who would end up spending her life beneath Hern’s belittling eyes.  Still, she found it hard to get up the motivation to pray at the moment--her embarrassment was too recent in her mind.  Perhaps if she--

“You three!” a voice snapped.  It was muffled, as if it were a short distance away, outside the tent.  D’Naa sat up with a frown.

“Sir?” another voice replied, this one much closer--one of the soldiers guarding just outside the tent flaps.

“Come, quickly!”

D’Naa looked around the room.  The other women’s eyes showed flashes of concern, but none of them moved.

A distinctive crackling sounded outside.  It was faint, and D’Naa had only heard it a few times, but she recognized it nonetheless.  Amberite.  It was followed by the sound of retreating footsteps.

D’Naa sat uncomfortably, uncertain what she should do.  The other women lowered their heads and went back to their prayers or contemplations.  They waited for a few tense moments, the tent still save for the occasional wind-rustled flap.

What is going on? D’Naa thought.  Had one of the executions goon awry?  Perhaps a murderer or traitor had escaped.  That would explain the soldiers’ departure.  If three men left, that only left the bride’s tent with one guard--were they safe?

She shook her head.  You’re being foolish, D’Naa, she told herself.  What could happen to you here, surrounded by High Aedin?

At that moment, she heard the screams.  Yells of fear and pain, coming from the direction of the courtyard.  Her head snapped up--an action mimicked by several of the other women.  None of them stood.

The screams continued, and D’Naa’s mind flashed back to Kavir and the Harrmen raids.  She had heard similar yells of fright before.

“We should find out what’s going on,” D’Naa said nervously, her whispered words seeming to boom through the tent.

“It’s forbidden,” Alean, the Verdant offering, said.  “We can’t leave until the Emperor calls for us.  Whatever it is, they’ll deal with it.”

Several of the other women didn’t look so certain.  The small Shorriken woman’s eyes were wide with apprehension, and the Nahan bore a look that said she didn’t think much of Alean’s opinion.  Still, they all remained motionless--none would risk the chance that leaving the tent would disqualify them from the choosing.

The screams continued--they were growing louder.  D’Naa’s anxiety grew.  How could they just sit there, waiting?  How could they assume the problem, whatever itself, would just fix itself?

You’re doing the same thing, she reminded herself.  D’Naa paused.  Then, gritting her teeth, she stood.  Ignoring the surprised looks on the other women’s faces, she marched up to the front of the tent and peeked outside.

“What is happening?” she asked quietly, a cool winter breeze blowing across her exposed face.

The single guard jumped at D’Naa’s question, his eyes nervous in the torchlight.

“Um, I don’t know,” the young man confessed.  He was Verdant, D’Naa noticed.  She could see the vines trickling out of his sleeve and waving nervously in the shadows just below his fingers.

Suddenly, a group of people appeared at the end of the street.  They ran at a reckless pace, heedless of their fine clothing.  There was horror on their faces--and, as they approached, D’Naa could see blood on their clothing.

“My grandparents!” D’Naa said with alarm.  They were still back in the preparation tent in the courtyard.

The young soldier took a wide-eyed step backward as the people scrambled past, yelling.  The screams from the courtyard were growing more frantic.

All thoughts of propriety left D’Naa’s mind as she heard their terror.  She had to get to her grandparents.

“Wait!” the guard said as D’Naa left the tent and began to dash toward the courtyard.  “Stay here!  It might be dangerous!”

#

Raeth stood for a long moment, transfixed by the pit of darkness that had claimed his father.  He took a step forward.

“Father. . . .” he whispered.

Then, in a moment, sense returned.  The Shentis man was speaking apprehensively, trying to get Raeth’s attention.  Darro’s bellows of anger sounded behind him.  Two dozen dark forms were appearing from the pool.  It was not the time for mourning.

Amberite crackled as he regrew his sword and spun.  Darro was still on his feet, but he was surrounded by a dozen dark warriors.  They seemed to be bidding their time, staying just beyond Darro’s strikes, waiting for him to weaken.  Another group of warriors had noticed Raeth, and were turning toward him.

“Darro!” Raeth yelled, dashing forward.  “Time to run!”

Darro’s massive form turned toward him slightly in acknowledgement.  The massive suit swung once more with its hammer, pushing back a few dark warriors, then its chest exploded in a shower of Amberite shards, and Darro rolled free.  He ducked beneath a night-black blade and jumped to his feet running.  Behind him, the massive suit toppled backward, shattering as it hit the ground.

Darro fell in beside Raeth in a dead run, and the two brothers took the first street that wasn’t blocked by enemies.  The Shentis man puffed along behind them, his death-row status forgotten before a more violent threat.

The streets were dark, and it was hard to see.  Some lanterns hung melancholy from tent-shops, and several torches lay discarded by the side of the road.  Raeth could hear voices yelling in fright, though the broken ruins reflected the sound and made it difficult to judge direction.  He could see shadowed figures running down most side-streets, but couldn’t tell the people from the monsters.  Some figures lay slumped on the ground, immobile.

He paused, puffing slightly as he regarded the horrific scene.  It was like he was walking through a child’s nightmare, complete with twisted shadows, ghostly yells, and mangled bodies.

“Raeth,” Darro said, pausing beside him, looking back in the direction of the courtyard.  “Father. . . .”

Raeth could smell smoke--tents were burning close by.  “I know,” he whispered.  “There’s nothing we can do.”

Darro nodded solemnly in the poor light.  “What now?” he asked.

Raeth turned eyes back toward the courtyard.  The Corpate lights were going out one by one--the only way that could happen is if the dark warriors were throwing them in the pool.  As the lights disappeared, the area of the courtyard was quickly becoming a caliginous pool of shifting silhouettes and shadows.

“Saeris Va is lost,” Raeth said.  “We have to get as many people of here as possible.”

“Um, your highnesses,” the Shentis man said from behind them, his dark face almost lost in the dimness.  “I think we’d better keep moving. . . .”

Shadows were creeping toward them from the direction of the courtyard, some of them bearing weapons.

“Slaughter and Despair. . . .” Darro swore quietly.  “What is going on?”

Raeth gripped his Amberite sword tightly and nodded toward a side street, one that led to a larger thoroughfare.  “I saw a flash of metal from that direction.  Let’s go.”

Darro nodded, Amberite crackling as he created a massive hammer in his hands.  It wasn’t as big as the one he could wield when in full armor, but it was intimidating nonetheless.  The three men moved forward, dashing down the side alley.  Raeth watched every shadow as they moved, worrying that they would somehow form into dark warriors.  After just a few moments he was able to make out the sounds of men grunting, and soon they emerged onto the larger street to find a struggling force of soldiers fighting a group of dark warriors.  There were looks of terror--even hopelessness--in their eyes as they fought.

Darro bellowed a war yell and dashed forward.  Amberite crackled up his arms, strengthening them, and he began to lay into the back of the dark warriors’ line.  Raeth joined him, staying close to Darro to make use of his brother’s greater reach.

“The prince!” one of the men exclaimed, hope flaring in his eyes as he saw Raeth.

The dark warriors paused, turning to assess the attack from behind, and the Aedin soldiers struck with renewed strength.  The air hissed with the sound of blackness escaping through the dark warrior’s wounds.  Eventually, the creatures began to fall--either because of lost legs, or from sheer force of blows.  The men let out a whoop as the dark warriors’ line broke, the creatures scattering to the sides.

“Fall back!” Raeth ordered, turning worried eyes toward the courtyard.  He could no longer see it, but somehow he knew that the dark pool was still spitting forth its demonic occupants.

The black pool, whose darkness had touched Raeth.

It’s supposed to be lethal to touch the Living Night, he thought with worry, touching his cheek.  Why am I still alive?

The men were looking at him, their eyes brightening with hope despite the situation.  Raeth did a quick count.  There were thirty of them, and none were High Aedin.  About half were regular Aedin, mostly Amberite or Bestarin--the latter distinctified by the animal limbs that had been grafted onto their arms or legs.  The rest were common soldiers--Shorriken, Kavir, or Mahallen.  All of them looked to him with expectation.

“We need to get to the Sending platform,” Raeth said.  “People will gather there.  Hopefully, some Vo-Dari survived this mess.”

The men nodded eagerly.

“Who’s in charge?” Raeth asked.

The men regarded each other.  Eventually, a Bestarin man with a large bear’s claw for a left arm stepped forward.  “I suppose I am now, your highness.”

“Form two squads of six unwounded men who can move quickly.  Send them down side streets as we retreat, looking for survivors or other pockets of resistance.  Fall back immediately if you see even a single dark warrior.  Do not engage unless someone’s life is at stake.”

“Yes, sir!” the man said with a salute of his human hand.  He moved off, calling names, and soon the group was retreating backward, toward the outskirts of the city.

#

D’Naa passed groups of frightened people, searching frantically for signs of Hlin or Shaad.  Many of the stragglers warned her to turn back, speaking of dark monsters, and several tried to pull her with them.  She wiggled free from their grasp each time, instead pushing forward, despite her increasing fear.  The dark, crumbling city was difficult to navigate--she wasn’t even certain how to get back to the courtyard.  At first, she followed the people and the yells, but both soon trickled off.

Blessed D’Lum, creator of all, D’Naa thought with horror as a chill wind blew through a cracked building.  What is going on here?

She had to fight hard to keep herself going.  The screams of fear, the chaos--it was all so reminiscent of shadowed memories from her past.  A city burning, people dying, barbarian raiders bellowing in the night. . . .

She turned a corner, and her eyes fell upon several familiar archways.  The courtyard.  She took a cautious step forward, but then paused.  It was dark--the Corpate lights had all been extinguished.  And, it seemed as if the darkness were moving.  Undulating, various depths of the void pulsing with blackness.

Several pieces of the blackness broke from the mass and began to move toward her.  D’Naa took a step backward, her eyes widening, her already nervous heart beating even more tensely.  Her only light was the overturned remnants of a burning cart, but its illumination was poor.  For some reason the shadows seemed to be pushing back the light, rather than the other way around.  Several of them resolved into pools of walking blackness, man-shaped and carrying swords.

The lead creature approached slowly.  Its dark body didn’t reflect light--it was almost more like a patch of darkness than a physical thing.  She could hear its footsteps, however, and she doubted the sword was just for show.  The creature raised its weapon, stepping forward ominously.

D’Naa yelped and raised her hand in a quick motion. Her Aether surged with power, forming a small ball of vines in her palm.  With a flip of her wrist, she hurled the ball at the dark creature.  As soon as the ball of Verdant connected, it exploded with life, vines whipping outward and curling around the creature’s body.  The thing froze mid-step, rocked slightly, then fell to the side without a sound, the vines completely constricting its body.

D’Naa fell back, fear numbing her body, her Aether pulsing in anticipation.  Its vines began to expand, tips of green peaking out of both of her sleeves and tickling the sides of her feet.

Blessed D’Lum, she thought with horror.  There are hundreds of them!  She could make out the courtyard a little better now--what she had assumed was pulsing was just the shifting of hundreds upon hundreds of dark creatures.

Suddenly, the warriors before her began to run, barreling down on her.  D’Naa cried out in surprise, raising both hands before herself and releasing her Aether.  There was no subtlety in this attack, no precisely placed ball of Verdant.  Vines exploded from her arms, ripping both of her sleeves in their fury and they struck forward.  Her Verdant split into dozens of green lines, slamming forward in waves of foliage to enwrap everything before her.

Six dark forms dropped to the ground, completely wrapped in vines.  The ends of the vines snipped free from her arms, dropping to the ground but leaving her forearms covered with small spiderwebs of ivy.  D’Naa could feel her Aether puffing--it was tired, but excited.  She rarely let it loose with such fury.

More dark forms broke off form the mass, coming at her.  She shot one final look at the courtyard--her grandparents couldn’t be in there.  They had to have escaped.  She turned around and began to dash back the way she had come.

#

By the time Raeth reached the edge of the city, his group had swelled from thirty to several hundred, including soldiers, merchants, and citizens.  He moved the group in a direct line out of the city--he had to find out what was going on outside before he gave any thought to rescue attempts.  As they moved, they passed an alarming number of bodies--most of them civilians, their corpses ripped and torn by sword blades.  Raeth ordered each one checked for life, and they carried what living they found, but it appeared that the dark warriors had been disturbingly thorough in their slaughter.

They avoided the soldiers, Raeth realized with a sinking feeling.  They barely paid me any heed, even though I was standing next to their pool.  They wanted the civilians.  This wasn’t just an attack--it was a massacre.

The people let out a cry of joy when they reached the edge of the buildings.  It was a small victory, but at least the city was behind them.  Raeth scanned the dark landscape hopefully.

“There,” Darro said with relief, pointing to mass of lights in the distance.  “The Sending platform.”

Raeth nodded thankfully.  “Let’s move,” he told the people.  “Keep close to our light and stay alert--there could be things hiding in that darkness.”

They didn’t need to be told.  The people huddled together around their makeshift torches, soldiers standing warily at the perimeter.  They struck out into the darkness, leaving the city and its nightmarish shadows behind.  Their progress was agonizingly slow, but Raeth kept the people moving, and the Sending platform approached steadily.

Unfortunately, when they arrived they found nearly as much chaos as they had left behind.  Wounded moaned and moved limply, senators argued loudly about what to do, and, worst of all, there were no Vo-Dari.  Raeth searched fruitlessly through the mass for signs of a white robe, anger and frustration gnawing at him.  Without Vo-Dari, there was no Sending.  Without the Sending, they were doomed.

The people of his group quickly melded with those standing or laying around the platform, looking for loved ones and friends.  There were about a thousand people gathered beside the platform--a third of the number that regularly attended Saedin.  Many of them were wounded.  None sat on the platform itself--a tradition maintained to prevent accidents with the Sending--but instead huddled around the eight Corpate lighting and heating pillars that surrounded the platform.

Raeth’s soldiers stayed where they were, standing alertly around him, waiting for guidance.  He heard the word ‘prince’ muttered through the crowd, and soon most faces were looking at him, their eyes hopeful.

“My lord prince,” Laene said, approaching.  “Blessed be the Ancestors that you survived.”

Raeth nodded curtly to the overweight senator, counting faces.  It appeared that all of the Senators had made it, which was fortunate.  The creatures had ignored them, going for the Emperor instead.

“Has anyone seen my brother?” he asked hopefully, scanning the group of High Aedin.

The men looked at one another, most shaking their heads.  Raeth sighed.  Where was Hern?  Flawed as he was, the people needed his leadership.

“My lord, what about your father?” Laene asked.

The people nearby grew quiet, their faces turning toward Raeth.

“Emperor Vaetayn is dead,” Raeth announced.

The words left a wake of stunned eyes as they moved through the crowd.  Vaetayn had been emperor for over twenty years.  Raeth gritted his teeth.  They were just going to learn how to live without his father’s guidance.  “How many soldiers do we have?” he asked, turning eyes toward a small group of generals that stood beside the Senators.

A soldier in the brown cloak of the Bestarin Line stepped forward.  His left hand ended in a large owl’s claw, and his left eye was oversized and inhuman.  “We have about three hundred trained men, your highness,” the general said.  “A third of which are wounded.”

“High Aedin?” Raeth asked.

“About a hundred, my lord,” the general explained, “not including Senators or the elderly.  Only half of those have any battle experience, though.”

Raeth nodded.  Most High Aedin, powerful or not, did not spend any time fighting on the northern border.  Only Sworded were required to fight--most Shaeth learned to use their Aethers only for show.  Of course, when one could encase oneself in Amberite or throw dozens of vines from one’s arms, military training wasn’t always necessary.

Raeth took a deep breath, trying to push back his fear.  The people looked up at him in the unwavering Corpate light, their eyes frightened.  They expected him to save them somehow.

“We only have one hope,” Raeth said, speaking softly enough that only the Senators and generals could hear him.  “Maybe there’s a Vo-Dari alive in that city somewhere.”

The Senators looked at each other with apprehension.  There had been several Vo-Dari at the festival, but their part in the ceremonies had granted them a privileged place in the crowd.  Raeth could remember where they had been standing during the executions--in a small group at the front of the crowd.  Right beside the pool.  It wasn’t much of a surprise that none of them had made it back to the platform.

“And, how do we go about finding a Vo-Dari, my lord. . . ?” Laene asked slowly, his eyes doubtful.

Raeth turned back toward the city.  Only patches of it were lit, and that light wavered fitfully.  There had to be people still trapped in side, either hiding or wounded.  If one was a Vo-Dari. . . .

Raeth caught a reflection of light to the side--a gleam in the darkness.  Something large and metallic.

“What is that?” he asked slowly.

The lead general looked up.  “A Corpate walker, my Lord,” he replied.  “The Senators escaped on it.”

And left my father to die, Raeth thought with a frown.  His eyes flickered to the side, noting the Corpate lighting pillars, an idea forming in his mind.

“General. . . .” he said, groping for the man’s name.

The general frowned, his oversized owl’s eye slightly confused.  “My Lord?”

“Your name, general,” Raeth requested.

“Taenen, my lord.  You know that.”

Raeth paused.  I do? he thought with confusion.  When have I met this man?

“Lord Hern!” a voice called from the side.  Raeth looked up eagerly.  His brother had arrived?

Then he paused.  The man who had spoken was a soldier, pointing to a small group of refugees leaving the city.  He wasn’t talking about Hern, he was talking to Hern.  Or, at least, he thought he was.

Raeth looked down with alarm.  His cloak, and the clasp that proclaimed his line and birth, had been ripped free.  They thought he was Hern.

Raeth opened his mouth to speak, but a hand fell on his shoulder.  “Hern,” Darro said, “can I speak with you for a moment?”

Raeth turned with confusion.  There was no way that Darro. . . .  Raeth frowned slightly.  There was a look of poorly-veiled urgency in Darro’s eyes.  He had never been very good at lying.

Raeth let Darro pull him aside.  “What is this?” Raeth hissed.

“I saw Hern fall, Raeth,” Darro whispered back.  “I thought you saw it too.  A group of the dark men took him down.”

Raeth froze, a pit forming in his stomach.  He had never gotten along with Hern, but still. . .to lose one’s father and one’s twin in the same day. . . .

“Raeth,” Darro said quietly, “these men don’t need a Dari right now.  They need a Shaeth, a leader.  They think their Imperial Heir is going to save them--what will happen if you tell them that Hern’s dead?”

Raeth paused, turning eyes back on the masses huddled around the platform.  The people, the mighty and powerful of Aedinor, were now little more than a scraggly bunch of refugees.  Their faces were dull and shocked, their bodies weak.  Yet, there was a faint sheen of hope in their eyes.  They were looking to Raeth and the Senators like children to their parents.

Raeth cursed quietly.  “You’re going to get me into trouble again, Darro,” he warned.

Darro smiled, clasping Raeth on the back.  “Not this time, my brother.”

“There will be outrage when they find I’m not Hern,” Raeth warned.  “I cannot do the things he can.”

“Given the choice,” Darro said, “I’d rather have you.”

Raeth doubted the Senators would see it that way.  I could be executed for falsifying Line and Place, he thought.  The masses of worried people remained prominent in his sight, however.

I can tell them after we get back to the city, Raeth thought.  With the chaos and confusion of this battle, I can claim that I didn’t realize they thought I was Hern.

He gritted his teeth against the deception and turned back to his ragged group of advisors. “General Taenen,” he said.  “I want fifty unwounded men and that Corpate walker ready to move out within five minutes.”

“Yes, sir,” the owl-eyed man said with a firm nod.

#

D’Naa scrambled through the ruined city.  Everywhere she went she found bodies--most of them looked like they had been cut down in the middle of fleeing.  She did see some living, but they scrambled away from her in fear as soon as they heard her coming.

Before long she was thoroughly lost.  She ground her teeth in anxiety and frustration, climbing over rubble and wandering down broken streets.  She was forced to run from the creatures twice more, but both times her Aether was enough to stop the pursuit.  It was growing tired, however--she’d rarely taxed it so much.  Even back in Kavir, it had been necessary to keep her Bond hidden, lest dangerous rumors get back to the High Aedin.

Light.  D’Naa paused, crouching beside a dark wall.  The darkness, the fear, the hiding. . . .  Harrmen slaughtering. . . .  She had been through this before.

Focus, D’Naa, she told herself, forcing herself to creep forward, toward the source of light.  She peeked around a corner, and was surprised by the familiar sight.  It was the bride’s tent, still sitting placidly, glowing from inner lanternlight, the nervous guard out front.

D’Naa shook her head with amazement, her body untensing slightly in relief.  It was good to see life again, even if it was the other brides.  The luck of those women was amazing--she had found a group of noblemen slaughtered just two streets over.

D’Naa pulled back, glancing down at her hands, which were covered with small growing vines.  She couldn’t let them see her Aether--even her life wasn’t worth risking her people’s security.  She ordered the vines back, and they obeyed, growing brittle and breaking off.  The larger vines--except for the immobile ring of Verdant around her wrist--pulled back along her arm, hiding beneath her shredded sleeves.  Then, gritting her teeth, D’Naa grabbed a rock from the ground and scraped it against her skin.  She had to justify the torn sleeves somehow.  One final touch--that of wrapping a bandage-like piece of cloth around her wrist to hide the Aether--and she was satisfied.

She dropped the rock with a thud, and the soldier perked up apprehensively.  He held his hand forward, his Verdant vines wiggling.  He was only a regular Aedin--his vines would probably be weak compared to hers--but he would still be able to trip or disarm with them.

D’Naa stumbled out into the light, and the guard immediately relaxed.  “You!” he said with relief.  “What’s going on?”  Only then did he notice her torn sleeves and scraped arms.  “My lady. . .” he said with alarm.

“We’re under attack,” she said, hurrying forward.  “We need to get out of this city.”

The guard fidgeted uncomfortably, turning eyes toward the tent.  “Lady Alean says we need to stay.”

D’Naa frowned.  However, it was time to be practical, not political, and so she simply stepped forward and pushed open the tent flaps.  Several of the women jumped at the motion, turning frightened eyes toward her.  Yet, despite their fear, they still all sat in their places.

Blessed D’Lum, these women are complacent! D’Naa thought with a frown.  “We need to go,” she said simply.  “Something’s happened.”

Alean did not turn to meet D’Naa’s eyes.  “We are required to wait,” she said with her aristocratic Aedin accent.  “The Emperor will send men to protect us if he thinks we are in danger.”

“The Emperor is probably dead,” D’Naa snapped in frustration.  Several of the other women’s eyes grew wide with horror, and the Shorriken bride began to whisper a quiet prayer to the Ancestors.

Probably not the most diplomatic thing to say, D’Naa thought with chagrin.  The women looked scared enough without her random speculation.  Still, anything that got them moving. . . .  Her people had never been known for their diplomacy anyway--one of the reasons they didn’t get along with Aedin.

“The entire courtyard is covered in darkness,” D’Naa explained.  “I don’t know what happened to those Corpate lights, but they aren’t working anymore.  There are some sort of dark creatures stalking the city.”

Kallana’s eyes opened wide with terror.  “Monsters?” she asked quietly.

The word made the other women even more nervous.  Eventually, Alean frowned and turned critical eyes toward D’Naa.  Alean studied her in the lanternlight, noting her torn sleeves, then finally she frowned.  “Perhaps we should see what is taking so long,” she admitted.

Nahan snorted, her Mahallen eyes dissatisfied as she stood.  “Whatever it is, I’m not waiting here for it.”

As soon as Nahan stood, the other women began to rise as well, whispering quietly to one another.  D’Naa waited nervously as they prepared to go, pulling shawls around themselves and replacing their shoes.  She kept expecting some of the dark creatures to come slinking out of a side alley, but for some reason the city seemed to have become quiet.  There were no more yells or sounds of fighting--only occasional gusts of hollow wind.

Eventually, the women gathered in a small huddle outside the tent.  The solitary guard watched them, his face growing increasingly pale, his hands twitching nervously.  He was beginning to realize he was the sole remaining protector of Aedinor’s most precious daughters.

D’Naa pulled the young man aside.  “Where do you think we should go?” she asked quietly.

The man shook his head, an overwhelmed look in his eyes.  “I don’t know,” he said.

“Where will we find others?” she pressed.  “Where would people retreat?”

He thought for a moment.  “The Sending platform,” he decided.

“Which way is it?”

He paused, then pointed an uncertain finger down a street.  “That way.  I think.”

D’Naa frowned at the soldier’s lack of conviction.  Still, she couldn’t blame him--she felt overwhelmed herself.  “Let’s go then,” she said, patting his arm reassuringly.  “You lead.  I don’t think they’ll listen to me.”

He nodded sickly, then turned.  “We need to get to the Sending platform,” he said to the women.

“What about the Courtyard?” Alean demanded.  “We should go where the Emperor is.”

The soldier paused, then he drew himself up a little straighter.  “My job is to protect you.  If you are in danger, my lady, then I must see you transported back to Vae Annitor.  If I am wrong, then you may punish me later.”

Alean frowned, but eventually she just sighed.  “Very well, then.”

The soldier turned down the street, leading the way, one hand holding the tent’s lantern, the other held out in front of him, his Verdant vines wiggling in anticipation.  The women followed quietly.  Or, at least, they did until the group ran across its first body.

“By the Twins!” the Shorriken girl said with a slight gasp, pointing at a slumped form beside the road.

The soldier stopped, then walked over to check for signs of life.  “Dead,” he announced.

The women froze, as if finally realizing that they might actually be in danger.  The pulled closely together, staying near to their only other lantern, which was being carried by Nahan.

“We should keep moving,” D’Naa prodded.  If you think that body’s disturbing, what would you think of a Kavir village after a Harrmen raid?  There, the dead ones are fortunate.

For once, the others didn’t object to D’Naa’s prompting.  A chill wind helped them on their way, carrying with it the smell of smoke.  D’Naa shivered, wishing she had a shawl like the others.  Walking in the dark streets was eerie--she almost missed the yelling from before.

The soldier paused suddenly.  “Merciful Ancestors,” he breathed in relief.  “I think someone’s found us.”

D’Naa frowned, edging toward the front of the group.  Figures were moving out of a side street.  Dark, man-shaped figures.  “Oh, no,” she whispered.

The soldier raised his lantern higher, but the light didn’t illuminate the dark creatures.  They crept froward, long swords held before them.

“Twins!” Nahan cursed.  “What are they?”

“Run!” D’Naa said, shoving several of the women toward a side street.  Her sudden motion prompted a reaction from both women and creatures.  The girls began to dash in the direction she’d indicated, but their gowns slowed them considerably.

The soldier retreated slowly, keeping his eye on the enemy, sweat trickling down his brow despite the chill wind.  D’Naa held back, watching as the first creature attacked.  The young man raised his hand, and a single Verdant vine whipped from his palm, entangling the creature’s legs and dropping it to the ground.  The creature began to hack at the vines with its sword as five of its companions jumped at the young soldier.  The man cried out, managing to whip his vine around to attack a second creature as the others fell on him.  He fell back, ducking as the swords fell.

D’Naa took a deep breath, raised her hand, and sent forth a torrent of vines.  They exploded forward, twisting through the air and slamming into the creatures, wrapping them completely, from foot to forehead, in Verdant.

The six creatures toppled to the ground, and D’Naa whipped what was left of her vine into the shadows and released it.

The young soldier stopped cringing and opened his eyes with a surprised look.  He regarded the creatures for a moment, then looked around for other soldiers.  Finally, he glanced down at his palm, then shot D’Naa a confused look.

“Come on!” D’Naa said, noticing as another group of dark creatures slunk out of an alley.

The soldier turned and began to run after the women--moving so fast, in fact, that D’Naa had to struggle to keep up with him.  She kicked off her shoes, wishing for a good pair of highland boots, and ran barefoot over the rough ground.  They found the women ahead, standing at an intersection, looking with confusion at their choices.

All the streets looked the same to D’Naa.  She picked one at random and pointed, but then paused.  A glimmer of light caught her eye.  She looked up with surprise, joining several of the other girls who had already noticed it.  A bright beacon of light hung in the air above the rooftops a short distance away.  It floated in the air, like a glorious star that dropped down to hang just above the city.

“What is it?” Frana, the Khur woman, asked.

“I don’t know,” D’Naa said.  “But whatever it is, that’s where we need to go.”

#

Raeth stood atop the lumbering Corpate walker, Darro and the Bestarin general Taenen at his side.  Behind them, a Corpate lighting pillar glowed so brightly that Raeth couldn’t turn around without shielding his eyes.  Below, fifty soldiers walked nervously, and teams ran down side alleys searching for survivors.  A few wounded already lay atop some blankets on the walker’s platform.  None of them were Vo-Dari.

“See anything?” Raeth asked.

The general regarded the dark city, his human eye closed as he peered beyond the Corpate’s light.  “Nothing, my lord.  No, wait. . . .” he leaned forward, staring at something Raeth couldn’t see.  “Slaughter and Despair!” the general cursed quietly.  “There are thousands of them!”

“What?” Raeth asked with concern, following the general’s line of sight.  The man was looking at the center of the city, toward the courtyard.

“The shadow monsters, my lord,” Taenen said.  “There are thousands of them standing in area around the courtyard.  I didn’t notice them at first--they seem like just another piece of darkness.  The only difference is, my eye can’t see through them.”

“What are they doing?” Raeth asked anxiously.  To him, it all looked like darkness.  The Corpate’s light was bright, but far too unconcentrated to illuminate more than the surrounding buildings.

“They’re just standing there, sir,” Taenen said.  “I see a few patches of them moving through the city, but most of them are just sitting in the courtyard.  Like they’re waiting for something.”

Raeth frowned in frustration.

“This isn’t good,” Darro noted.

“Thank you, brother, for pointing out the obvious,” Raeth said, raising his arm before his eyes and turning slightly.  “Turn left at the next intersection,” he told the Ferrous Nurturer who stood beside the walker’s pillar.  “I don’t want to get too close to the center of the city.

The man nodded.  His eyes were covered against the light of the lighting pillar, which sat a short distance away.  Raeth turned away, his eyes watering.  Hopefully a Vo-Dari still lived, and hopefully he would see their beacon and move toward them.  Otherwise. . . .

“There!” Darro suddenly exclaimed.

“What?” Raeth asked, turning.

Darro pointed at a fallen building with a mostly intact roof.  “In there!” he called to the men below.  “Send a team in there!”

“What did you see?” Raeth asked, watching anxiously as a squad of soldiers entered the fallen building, their lanterns shining through the cracked walls and ceiling.  A moment later they returned, and they brought with them a white-robed form.

“The Ancestors be blessed!” Raeth said with a whoop, leaping over the side of the Corpate and sliding down the swinging cloth ladder.  The Vo-Dari shaded his eyes against the sudden light, his face harried but relieved.  He was a younger Shorriken man, probably a newer Vo-Dari, and he lowered his arm as Raeth approached.

“My lord,” he said joyfully, his eyes shaken.  He looked happy to see them, but he flinched at every movement, as if he wanted to dash away and hide again.

“Where are the others?” Raeth asked as he approached.  “The other Vo-Dari.  What happened to them?”

“Gone, my lord,” the man said with a sad voice.  “The monsters. . .they came after us first, as if they knew about us.  The Vo-Dari scattered.  I just ran and hid, sir, since we can’t Send ourselves. . . .”

Raeth frowned at the loss.  One was enough, however.  He turned, intending to climb back up on his perch to wait a few minutes for any other stragglers.  His step was interrupted by a call from above.

“Lord Hern!” Taenen said urgently.  “They’re moving!”

“What?” Raeth demanded.

“The shadow creatures!” Taenen said.  “Their ranks are moving this direction.”

“Fall back, men!” Raeth said, running over to grab the ladder, Darro at his heals.  “Retreat to the Sending platform!”

Raeth began to climb, but then he paused as he noticed Taenen’s surprised face, looking out over the city.

“What is it?” Raeth called from halfway up the ladder.

“I see people, my Lord,” Taenen said urgently.  “A group of them, close to the city’s center.  They’re coming this way, but they’re moving slowly.”

Raeth paused, hanging on the rope ladder as the Corpate began to move, walking back the direction they had come.  Away from the survivors, whoever they were.

We can’t abandon them, Raeth thought.  He let go of the ladder, dropping to the uneven stones below.

“Hern?” Darro asked with a frown, jogging up beside him.

“You!” Raeth said, pointing at the Vo-Dari as the troops retreated around them.  “Come here.”

Several squads of soldiers paused around Raeth, the rest slowing their retreat.

“Darro,” Raeth said turning to his brother in the dark night, “when you arrive I want you to send as many Vo-Dari back here as you can find.  Tell them to begin Sending people home immediately.”

“What?” Darro asked with a frown.  “I’m not leaving you--”

“Send him to Vae Annitor,” Raeth said to the Vo-Dari.

Darro opened his mouth to object, but the Vo-Dari did as commanded, touching Darro and mumbling a whispered prayer to the Ancestors.  Darro shot Raeth an angry look as he lurched, then dissolved into light and shot into the air, leaving a bright streak in the night sky.  Several of the soldiers shouted in joy at the sight.

Raeth turned to the men.  “Half of you are with me.  General Taenen, take the rest with you back to the platform and hold it until everyone has been Sent home.  Don’t wait for me.”

“Yes, sir,” the tall Bestarin man said from above.

“You,” Raeth said, grabbing the Vo-Dari by the arm.  “Come with me.”

#

D’Naa could see figures moving in front of the ball of light in the air, and she quickly realized what it must be.  A Corpate with some sort of light on top of it.

The monsters wouldn’t use a Corpate, she thought to herself as she jogged.  Would they?

The other women weren’t in as good a shape as herself and the soldier, and they were moving pitifully slow.  Kallana had stopped running altogether, and was limp-walking instead.  D’Naa hung back, watching worriedly for signs of pursuit.

“It’s moving away from us!” the normally stoic Tae exclaimed, prompting D’Naa to turn around with worry.  The Ferrous woman was right--the light had begun to retreat away from them.

“Keep going,” D’Naa said.  “Maybe we can still catch it!”

“Merciful Ancestors. . . .” the soldier whispered behind her, the fear in his voice sending a shiver through D’Naa’s body.

She turned apprehensively.  The shadows at the end of the street seemed to be lengthening, the darkness creeping along the street like spilled water.  The blackness began to resolve into distinct forms--hundreds of them, all running toward D’Naa and the others, their weapons raised into the air.

D’Naa froze, her eyes widening at the sight.  There were too many, far too many.  Even if her Aether hadn’t been tired, she couldn’t have stopped them.  As it was, both her body and her Aether fatigued. . . .

She groaned, breathing deeply, and raised her arm anyway.

One of the women yelled behind her, and D’Naa turned with horror.  Only then did she realize the yell wasn’t one of fear or of pain--but of joy.  Two dozen soldiers in bright red Imperium uniforms burst out of a side street, bright torches raised high.  The lead figure pointed at the oncoming hoard of darkness, yelling for his men to attack.  With surprise, D’Naa realized she recognized the leader.  Prince Hern.

The women began to sigh in relief, but D’Naa turned worried eyes toward the dark warriors.  There were far more of them than there were soldiers.  The women wouldn’t be able to move quickly enough to escape.  They were still in trouble--Prince Hern’s sacrifice was a noble one, but it was hardly what one would term a rescue.

And then she heard mumbling.  Her heart leapt as she turned and saw Alean dissolve into a burst of light and shoot into the air, toward the south.  A white robed Vo-Dari stood at the back of the group, and was beginning to Send the women with his mystical touch.

Prince Hern’s soldiers crashed into the dark warriors, blades swinging furiously.  “Hold this line, men!” Hern yelled, attacking with his Amberite sword.  D’Naa watched, transfixed, as Hern decapitated a dark warrior--the blow creating an odd hissing sound from the creature’s body--then expertly swung to completely sheer off the arm of another one.  Hern fought well--far better than the rumors had lead her to believe.  And, he didn’t use much Amberite, just the sword.  Why was that?  Where were the fabulous suits of Amberite armor she had heard so much about?

Hern felled another warrior, but the hoard continued to advance, pushing his men back.  They didn’t have much time.  D’Naa turned, watching the Vo-Dari anxiously.  He was trying to Send Frana, but the Khur woman avoided his touch, her eyes wide with horror.  Eventually, the Vo-Dari rolled his eyes and reached over to touch D’Naa instead.  She turned, catching one final glimpse of Hern before she felt herself begin to accelerate away from Saeris Va and its dark streets.

#

Wounds made by Raeth’s sword hissed angrily, but the dark warriors stayed on their feet after taking incredible amounts of punishment.  They obviously didn’t feel pain; they just kept fighting until they grew too weak to stand.

Raeth’s men fought desperately, trying to hold the creatures back long enough for the Vo-Dari to do his work.  They were quickly being overrun, however.  The street was narrow enough to give them a slight advantage, but they wouldn’t be able to hold for long.

Once the women are gone, then we can move.

Raeth dared a look behind him, checking on the Vo-Dari’s work.  Only one bride remained--the tan-skinned Khur woman--but she was backing away from the Vo-Dari in fear.

Slaughter and Despair! Raeth thought with anger, falling out of the line.  He rushed forward and snatched the Khur woman’s arm in his hand.  “Send her!” he snapped.

“No!” the woman screamed, squirming in his hands.  “It is forbidden!  Your superstitious magics are--” her voice cut off mid-sentence as she dissolved into light.

“Hold a moment longer!” Raeth shouted at the men.  Then he turned to the Vo-Dari. “You, Send the wounded,” Raeth said, pointing at several fallen soldiers.  Then he leapt back into the conflict.

This is going to be rough, he realized.  The creatures were quickly moving to surround them.

“Fall back!” he ordered as soon as the wounded had been Sent.  The men responded, disengaging and dashing backwards.  The Vo-Dari’s chanting began to grow anxious as soldiers ran toward him.  Raeth grabbed the priest by the arm.  “Come on!” he shouted, dashing around a corner.

Right into a wall of the dark creatures.  His men attacked immediately, fighting desperately.  Raeth turned in anxiety, looking for options.  The creatures had already blocked off their retreat.

“Twins!” Raeth cursed quietly.  Up?  He looked at the ruins around them, but the walls around them were still mostly standing.  No, it wasn’t possible.  Gritting his teeth, Raeth threw himself into the conflict, fighting beside his men.   Perhaps they could break through to the other side. . . .

Streaks of light began to launch up into the air.  Raeth turned with surprise.  The young Vo-Dari was touching soldiers from behind, Sending them even as they fought.

A way out, Raeth realized, for all of us but one.  Vo-Dari could not send themselves.

Suddenly, a dark warrior dropped its weapon and tried a new tactic--it grabbed for Raeth’s sword arm.  Raeth turned from the Vo-Dari, cursing and trying to shake the creature free.  A second creature jumped for him, and Raeth barely managed to dodge the blow.  The dark warrior’s backhand, however, delivered the pommel of its weapon into the side of Raeth’s head.

Raeth stumbled back, lurching free of his captor’s grip but stumbling to the ground.  The dark sky swum in front of him.

And then, he felt a light touch on his forehead.  He lurched to the side, his body falling against the pull of the planet, a strange sudden pain wracking his body.  He turned as his body began to accelerate and dissolve into light.

As he shot away, Raeth’s vision cleared slightly despite the pain.  He caught sight of the Vo-Dari, standing morosely among the bodies of several dead soldiers, the dark warriors surrounding him.  Alone.

The strange pain mounted--it wasn’t from his wound, but it laced through Raeth’s entire body.  He lost consciousness from the pain somewhere between Saeris Va and Vae Annitor.

Chapter Five

Raeth awoke to a general feeling of wrongness.  First, he noticed that he wasn’t on his cot, or even in his cubicle.  He was someplace far softer, far more comfortable, and far more rich.  In all, it was a feeling of wrongness that he could get used to.  Unfortunately, a muted pain from the side of his head spoiled the comfort.  He reached up, his eyes still closed, feeling the wound.  Where had he gotten that?

Twins! Raeth realized with shock, the events of Saedin flooding back to him.  His eyes snapped open and he sat up.  He was in the palace, laying on a plushly-matressed bed in an extremely richly furnished room--so richly furnished, in fact, that it was gaudy.  Only one man had so much money and so little taste.

“My Lord Hern,” a voice said, confirming his suspicions, “you’ve awakened.”

Raeth turned as a short man walked into the room.  “Tarrinon?” Raeth asked, recognizing his father’s steward.

“Indeed, my lord,” the Shorriken man said.  “How are you feeling?”

“Happy to be alive,” Raeth said, “all things considered.”

“Very well, then, my lord,” Tarrinon said.  He was, in all ways, the perfect Shorriken.  Short, dark-haired, and punctual, Tarrinon wore the traditional long beard of his people, a length of hair pulled to the side and threaded with beads to represent his bureaucratic position.  Amongst his people, he was a very, very important man--few Imperium posts could compare with being the Emperor’s steward.

“You have some important duties to see to today, my lord,” Tarrinon mumbled, ruffling through his appointment book--a mid-sized tome filled with loose papers and other notations.  His robes rustled as he found the right page and, not looking up, began to read off appointments.

“Tarrinon,” Raeth said, holding up a hand.  “What are you doing?”

The middle-aged Tarrinon looked up with a raised eyebrow.  “My lord?” he asked.

“Why are you here?” Raeth pressed.

“You are Emperor now, my lord--though, I suppose, that won’t be official until the Senate ratifies you this afternoon.  Which brings me to your next appointment.  At mid-day the Senate expects you to. . . .”

Emperor.  Raeth blinked in surprise.  It made sense, of course.  Vaetayn was dead; the officially ratified heir assumed control the moment the old emperor joined the Ancestors.  But. . .Raeth?

By Vae! Raeth realized with widening eyes.  Then, however, another thought struck him.

“Tarrinon!” he interrupted.  “What happened at Saeris Va?”

The diminutive steward paused, lowering his tome.  “No one’s certain, my lord,” he admitted.  “Though, the Vo-Dari are speaking of Yenniv Lan.”

Raeth grew cold.  Tarrinon’s words, spoken with his normal, matter-of-fact tone, were foreboding nonetheless.  Yenniv Lan.  The End of Time.  The day when the spirits of the Forgotten, those who had been rejected by the Ancestors for their crimes, were to be released upon the world one last time before the final cleansing.

“Of course,” Tarrinon continued, “the Mahallen are rejecting this idea.  They claim the creatures are demons, come to pay retribution on the Aedin for their continued trafficking in superstition and Aethers.”

Raeth only barely heard the words.  Yenniv Lan.  Images flashed through his mind, images of dark warriors bubbling from the pool, of running through crumbling streets shrouded in night, of people screaming in pain and terror.  He sat numbly for a moment, trying to digest what he had seen the day before.

Tarrinon’s voice brought him back.  “And, of course, you have one important duty above all others,” the short man said, adjusting the floppy Ammeldan hat on his head.

Leading the people, Raeth realized with chagrin, Darro’s words from before returning to him.  Vaetayn was dead, Hern missing.  The people needed him.

“I need to lead them,” Raeth whispered.

“You need to choose a bride,” Tarrinon corrected with a firm voice.

Raeth blinked, looking up with surprise.  “What?”

“You need to choose a bride, my lord,” Tarrinon explained.  “Your blessed father joined the Ancestors before he made his choice known.  Since you have no living grandfathers, the choice falls upon you.  This is your most important duty, my lord.”

Raeth snorted.  “And what of these creatures?” he asked, climbing out of bed.  He paused, frowning as he realized that he had no idea which bureau stored Hern’s clothing.

“You needn’t worry about them,” Tarrinon said.  “Whatever they are, they will be dealt with.  The War Counsel is seeing to the northern conflict.  My lord, do not underestimate the importance of choosing a bride.  An unmarried Emperor leads to an unstable government--often, an Emperor already has an heir when he takes the throne.  The Senate has declared that you will choose a bride by the end of the day.”

Raeth paused, an open closet door swinging idly from his search.  “Today?” he asked with surprise.  “I have to choose a bride?”

“Yes, my lord.”

This is wrong, Raeth thought, turning back to his searchings.  I’m not Hern.  I’m a Dari--I’m forbidden to wed.

“Where is my brother?” he asked, finally locating a pair of trousers.

“Lord Darro?” Tarrinon asked.  “I’m not certain, my lord.”

“Find him and send him to me,” Raeth said.  “My brother and I have some. . .things to discuss.”

#

“I can’t do this, Darro,” Raeth said.  “I have to tell them.”

Darro closed the door behind himself.  They stood in Hern’s study, another over-decorated room filled with fine Mahallen woods and expensive Dari paintings.  Raeth recognized most of the work--he had met several of the artists.  He had lived in the Irae with them.  That was where he should be at the moment, not pacing awkwardly through his dead brother’s room.

“They need you--”

“Don’t try that,” Raeth said, shaking his head.  “They don’t need me.  The Imperium has survived the passing of Emperors dozens of times before.  It doesn’t need me to lead it now.”

“It does need you, Raeth,” Darro corrected, sighing and settling back into a plush chair.  “Because if it doesn’t have you, then it’s left with me.”

Raeth paused, turning slowly, looking into his brother’s round face.  Darro was usually so jovial.  It was odd to see anxiety in his eyes.  “So that’s what this is about,” Raeth said quietly.

Darro nodded, his face worried in the quiet light.  The room, in the center of Hern’s quarters, had no windows, and was lit only by several lanterns.

“I realized it when we got to the Sending platform, Raeth,” he said.  “I. . .knew that without father and Hern, the responsibility to lead was mine.”

“That’s how it should be,” Raeth challenged.

“No it’s not,” Darro said with a shake of his head.  “You should have been Heir, Raeth.  If not heir, you should have at least been second-heir.  Not me.”

Raeth took a step forward, frowning as he regarded his brother.  “You’re trying to avoid responsibility, Darro,” he accused.  “You were so worried about the Bride Choosing because you feared your wife would tie you down.  The throne would be far worse--the High Aedin barely tolerate an imperial son who acts as you do, let alone an Emperor.  You were so afraid that the mantle would fall on you that you persuaded me to pretend I was Hern.”

Darro looked down, his eyes ashamed.  “That’s part of it,” he admitted.  “Honestly, Raeth, can you imagine me as Emperor?  I’d be horrible.  I hate giving people orders.  I don’t know what to do--I can’t read people’s motives, or play the political games.  I would make a mockery of the throne.”  He paused, looking up.  “But you. . . .”

Raeth held up a hand.  “It isn’t right, Darro,” he said.  “Father chose you as Second Heir for a reason.  I will not do your duty for you.  Besides, you know what the punishment for breaking Place is.  Do you have any idea what the Senate could do to me if they found I’d been impersonating the emperor?”

Darro continued to look down at the rug.  Raeth nodded to himself, ignoring the tiny feeling of loss within him.  You could have had it, a piece of his mind chastised.  You could have been what you always wanted to be, what you always thought you should be.  He turned to go--the sooner the charade ended, the sooner the Imperium could move on.

“There’s more, Raeth,” Darro said from behind him.

Raeth paused, then turned skeptical eyes at his brother.

“Even if you do tell them, I doubt I’ll end up as Emperor.”

Raeth frowned.  “Of course you will.  You’re Second Heir.”

Darro shook his head.  “You’ve been gone too long, Raeth.  You don’t know court politics any more.  The Senate never thought very. . .highly of Hern.”

Raeth snorted.  “I can’t think of anyone who did.”

“It went further than that,” Darro explained.  “There was a strong feeling among the Senators and High Aedin that the Imperium should never see a day when Hern was Emperor.”

“I don’t see how that would be possible,” Raeth said, shaking his head.  “Hern was Heir.  They ratified him.”

“They ratified him as a child,” Darro said.  “There is a way to change that ratification, to choose a new Heir.”

“Yes,” Raeth agreed skeptically.  “But it would take a unanimous vote from the Senate.”

“Last time father checked,” Darro said, “the unofficial count placed twenty-four Senators in favor of choosing a new Heir.”

Raeth froze.  Twenty-four out of thirty, eighty percent.  That was a dangerous number.  “Impossible,” he snapped.

Darro shrugged.  “They like me even less than they liked Hern,” he said.  “I don’t know that they’d even let me get near the throne, recent events considered.”

The words gave Raeth pause.  He was well aware that Hern was not popular amongst the High Aedin, but a vote to dispose him?  Such an event had only happened once in the entire history of the Imperium, and the action had only been taken once the Heir had been exposed as a murderer.

Twenty-four Senators.  It was too many to be unconnected.  “Who?” Raeth asked.  “Who thought he could take Hern’s place?”

“Laene,” Darro replied.

“Laene?” Raeth asked.  “The High Senator?  But he’s no better than Hern!”

“On the inside, maybe,” Darro said.  “But they say he’s very good at persuading people.”

Raeth frowned, folding his arms and leaning against the room’s door--a door he probably should have used to leave.  Now that he’d heard Darro out, he was beginning to second-guess himself.

Laene, he thought with dissatisfaction.  According to the law, any High Aedin was eligible to be Heir, but no one had ever been chosen outside the Imperial Amberite Line.  Can you do it Raeth?  Can you be the one who gives them the chance to oust us?  Darro was right about one thing--the Senate didn’t approve of him.  Darro spent far too much time in bars, fraternizing with lowborn citizens.

“Raeth,” Darro said, standing.  He walked forward until he was standing just before Raeth, his muscular bulk towering over his smaller brother.  “There is more at stake here than the throne.  You saw what happened yesterday.  Do you know what they’re saying?”

Raeth nodded slowly.  “Yenniv Lan,” he whispered.  “The End of Time.”

“Something very bad is happening,” Darro said.  “Something that still frightens me every time I close my eyes.  The Imperium just lost one of the greatest rulers it ever had.  What will happen to us if we begin squabbling over who should replace him?”

This is what you were born to do, a voice whispered in the back of Raeth’s mind.  This is what was taken from you.

“You complained earlier that I was trying to pass my responsibility on to you,” Darro said.  “Well, I’m guilty.  But, if you walk out, you’ll be doing the same thing I did.”

“It’s not my Place,” Raeth complained.

“What if it is?” Darro asked.  “What if the Ancestors put you in this position because they knew that you were the one the Imperium needed?  The one who could lead us.  I can’t do it, and I’m Twins-cursed certain that Laene can’t.  But you. . .did you see how the men followed you last night.  They trusted you, and you saved them.”

Not all of them, Raeth thought.  I rescued that Vo-Dari just so I could sacrifice his life for someone else’s.  What right did I have?

“Raeth,” Darro said quietly.  “You are of the Imperial Line.  It’s your duty to protect its people.”

Raeth stood, frowning in contemplation.  Why did he have to mention duty? He thought to himself angrily.  As he thought, however, his mind returned to the night before, to the horrifying creatures of shadow and their dark pool.

He’s right, Raeth thought.  Something bad is happening.  Can I really turn away now, return to my cubical and sit in meditation while men die?

The answer--whether it came from his own selfishness or from a true desire to protect the Imperium--was no.

“All right,” Raeth said quietly.  “I’ll do it.  For now, at least.”

#

Confronted with the beauty of Vae Annitor, it was hard to remember the terrors and nightmares that had happened just one day before.  Yet, all D’Naa had to do was close her eyes, and the visions returned.  Dark parodies of men creeping through the shadows, sucking the light and life away from that they touched.  Death, bodies, screaming, and fire.  It was all so similar to the haunting images of her childhood, when the Harrmen had destroyed her home village, slaughtering her parents.

“D’Naa, dear,” Shaad said, resting her hand on D’Naa’s shoulder.  “Here, drink this.”

D’Naa accepted the hot cup of tea thankfully and turned away from the window and its view of the wondrous city.  Now, in the face of destruction, it seemed more a testament to High Aedin arrogance than a work of beauty.

“I thought you were dead,” D’Naa whispered.

Hlin snorted from his place in one of the room’s oversized, plush chairs.  He didn’t look up from the Mahallen ring-puzzle in his hands.  “Nonsense, girl,” he informed.  “It takes more than dark beasts from the nethers to frighten your grandparents.  We’re world travelers!  Why, all your grandmother had to do was give them one of her looks, and they ran away squealing.”  He smiled, pulling the links apart with a twist of his fingers.

Shaad rolled her eyes, but moved to get her husband a cup of tea.

D’Naa leaned back against the window sill, sipping her own Kavir tea, its herbal scent reminding her of her homeland.  The room before her was so lavish it was ridiculous.  Instead of normal Kavir wicker furniture, everything was constructed from expensive Mahallen woods.  Yet, as if to hide the beauty of the wood, most of the chairs and couches were also covered with various cushions and cloths.  It seemed odd to her--why use such expensive woods if one was just going to wrap them in cloth anyway?

She shook her head at the excess.  There was even a mural on the wall, representing the four Aethers.  Even as the King’s cousin, her quarters in Kavir had never been so lavish.

Hlin set about reassembling the ring-puzzle as Shaad moved around the room, tidying things that didn’t really need to be tidied.  D’Naa knew how her grandmother felt--she didn’t quite know what to do with herself, without something to clean, mend, weave, or wash.  Yet, the palace servants were supposed to do all of that for them.

This would definitely take some getting used to, D’Naa thought to herself.

Her grandfather held the re-assembled ring-puzzle up with a triumphant smile.  Shaad just shook her head and snorted.  “You put it together wrong, you old sheep,” she informed.

“No I didn’t,” Hlin defended.  “I put it together differently on purpose.  It was too easy the other way.  I think I’ll take it back to the blacksmith and see if he can disassemble it.  He needs to learn to make better puzzles--finest in the Imperium indeed!”

D’Naa smiled to herself.  She remembered her fear the night before as she searched thought the huddles of people looking desperately for her grandparents.  She hadn’t been the only one--the arrival of the refugees had sent a panic through the city as people feared for their loved ones.  It hadn’t been until two hours later, when D’Naa had nearly given up hope, that she had discovered that her grandparents had been Sent to a different platform from herself.

But, they survived, D’Naa thought to herself, quieting her anxiety.  We all did.  But, what about the Imperium?  Are the stories true?  Could this be it, what the Aedin are calling the end of the world?

A knock came at the door, and Shaad answered it quickly, eager for something to do.  It opened to reveal a young Shorriken page.

He bowed neatly.  “The Senate will be convening in two hours time.  Your presence is requested, as the new Emperor will be choosing his bride at that time.  Thank you."

The man bowed again, then turned to march down the passage on another errand.  D’Naa’s grandmother stuck her head out after him.  “You certain you don’t want some tea, young man?” she asked hopefully.

There was no response, and Shaad eventually closed the door, frowning slightly.  “I’d forgotten how uptight they all are,” she said.

“They have important business to be about,” Hlin informed, sipping his tea as he reclined in his chair.  “At least that answers one question.  It appears that the choosing will still go forward.”

D’Naa felt her stomach churn.  “Yes,” she said.  “And Hern himself will select.”

“His father and grandfather are both dead,” Shaad said, pouring herself some tea.  “It falls to him to make the choice on his own--that is the Aedin tradition.”

D’Naa covered her bitter frown by taking a sip from her tea.  “Well, I guess that means my chances of getting chosen just went from bad to horrible.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, girl,” Hlin said optimistically.  “Why, you’re a pretty young girl, and exotic too.  I think there’s a good chance you’ll catch the young prince’s fancy.”

D’Naa blushed.  “You didn’t hear what he said about me yesterday, grandfather,” she said.  “When I presented myself, Prince Hern was. . .less than flattering.”

“I’m sorry, dear,” Shaad said comfortingly.

D’Naa just shook her head, rolling her eyes.  “You know what I think of them, grandmother,” she said frankly.  “I can’t honestly say that I’m disappointed.”

Hlin just snorted.  “The boy must be blind,” he informed.  “Of course, from what I’ve heard, he’s not too sharp up top.  They absolutely hate him on the northern border, and the Kavir ambassador says no one in the palace can stand him either.”

“Hlin!” Shaad snapped. “This is our Emperor you are speaking of.”

“I’ll speak of who I want to,” Hlin grumbled quietly, though he didn’t meet his wife’s angry glare.

Shaad turned back to D’Naa, concern in her aged eyes.  Finally, she spoke.  “Child, perhaps it’s time you knew something.  The King didn’t send you here to get married.”

D’Naa looked up with surprise.  “What?” she asked.

Hlin and Shaad shared a look, then the matronly woman turned back to D’Naa.  “Your cousin never expected you to be chosen, dear,” she explained.

“No one did,” D’Naa said.  “Not really.”

“It’s more than that,” Shaad explained.  “The King sent you with a specific purpose in mind.  He knew that no High Aedin would choose a Kavir bride for his son, so he used the opportunity to fulfill a different goal.”

D’Naa frowned to herself, looking from Shaad to Hlin with concern.  “What are you talking about?  What other goal?”

There was a brief pause, and finally Hlin spoke.  “Amberite,” he said.  “We need to steal an Amberite Bud.”

D’Naa blinked in shock, taken aback.  “What?” she asked.

“We need Amberite, dear,” Shaad explained.  “Kavir obtained a Verdant Bud through much difficulty and expenditure, but we haven’t been able to get a powerful enough Amberite Bud.”

“Amberite is the strongest of the Aethers,” Hlin said.  “If we’re going to defend ourselves against the Harrmen or--D’Lum bless that this never happens--the High Aedin themselves, we’ll need Amberite Bonds of our own.”

Suddenly, things started to make sense.  Though his options had been slim, D’Naa knew she wasn’t the most beautiful woman King Ala’D could have chosen, nor was she the most skilled politically.  She only had one thing special about her.  Her Aether.

“Blessed D’Lum!” D’Naa exclaimed with amazement.  “He wants me to steal it for him?”

“Yes, dear,” Shaad agreed.  “You’re the most powerful Verdant Bond Kavir has, and you also happened to be of the perfect age for the Bride Choosing.  King Ala’D knew that the Choosing would get you into the palace, and hopes that your Aether will let you get the Bud.”

He didn’t expect me to be Chosen, D’Naa realized.  In fact, he probably hoped I wouldn’t be.  My Verdant, hideable as it is, would be too much of risk if I did end up marrying Hern.

“Even the King didn’t believe in me,” she whispered, a little bit shocked.  Then, despite herself, she smiled.  “I went through all that for nothing!”

“It’s not that, dear,” Shaad comforted.  “We had to send someone--it’s required.  So, why not make use of the opportunity?”

D’Naa just shook her head in amusement.  However, as she did so the reality of the situation fell upon her.  Times were growing increasingly dangerous.  If Kavir ever needed the added help of Amberite, it was now.

“How do I do it?” she asked, setting her empty cup aside.

Shaad immediately picked up the cup, though D’Naa wasn’t certain what the woman intended to do with it--their rooms didn’t have a washing tub.

“We need a strong Bud, child,” Hlin explained.  “It can’t come from just anywhere.  We need a Bud that will not only survive the trip back to Kavir without a host, but also one that will Bond powerfully enough that it can, in turn, be chipped to create other Buds.  Creating a single Amberite warrior won’t do us any good--we need an army.”

“There’s only one way to get a Bud that strong,” Shaad explained, stowing the dirty cup away in a basket she had obviously decided to appropriate for dirty dishes.

“We need to chip it from the hand of a very powerful Amberite Bond,” Hlin said.  “A High Aedin Bond from an Heir’s line.  The stronger the Bond of the person we take it from, the better our chances of succeeding.”

“And,” Shaad finished, “the strongest known Aether Bond in the Imperium is here, in the palace.”

“Prince Hern,” D’Naa realized with widening eyes.

#

For the first time in his adult life, Raeth felt like a true High Aedin.  He swept out of Hern’s rooms, dressed in his brother’s gray trousers and shirt, broad red cloak flapping behind him.  Darro walked at his side, their boots clicking against the mural-inlayed tile floor.

Tarrinon hustled from his clerical alcove, a smaller room just outside Hern’s quarters.  “If your conference with your brother is finished, my lord,” the diminutive Shorriken man said, “you’ll want to make your way to the Senate hall.  The pre-speeches have already begun, and your Bride Choosing is set to take place in about an hour.  After that--”

Raeth held up a hand, pausing in the hallway.  “What is being done about the disturbance to the north?” he asked.

Tarrinon paused, looking up from his appointment book.  “My Lord?” he asked.

“The attack,” Raeth said.  “You’re the one who told me they’re calling it Yenniv Lan.  Don’t tell me that the Senate has decided to ignore the end of the world just so they can watch me pick a wife.”

Tarrinon frowned.  “Of course not, my lord.  But, as I’ve already explained to you, the War Counsel is seeing to the problem.”

“Hern, over here,” Darro said, waving him toward one of the hallway’s vaulted windows.

Raeth joined his brother, looking out over the city.  Just to the right of the palace, in the military district, hundreds of white lines were shooting into the air.  The trails of light arced in the air, fading slowly as they pointed to the north.

“Let’s go,” Raeth said.

#

Tarrinon did not like the idea of Raeth ignoring his ‘appointments.’  However, Raeth was not about to go stand in the Senate Hall and fiddle with politics while the Imperium was under attack.  Tarrinon’s complaints fell silent after Raeth and Darro left the palace and requisitioned a Corpate. Now the scribe just looked resigned as he rode beside them.

The Sendings continued, dozens upon dozens of them shooting into the air.  At least someone is doing something, Raeth thought as they entered Vae Annitor’s military district.  It was still beautiful, of course, but the architecture here was also more utilitarian.  Single homes were joined into long, almost barrack-like rectangular buildings, and there were no fewer than four Sending Platforms.

Raeth and Darro simply followed the Sending trails.  The southern platform seemed to be getting the most use, so he ordered the Nurturer to take them through the maze of squat buildings, until they located a large crowd of armed men, divided by Aether and race, standing in ranks.

“There,” Darro said, pointing toward a group of men in High Aedin cloaks.  Most of them were Bestarin or Amberite, but a couple were Verdant as well.  “The War Counsel.”

Raeth nodded, climbing down from the Corpate.  Once Darro joined him, they strode forward toward the War Counsel.  Raeth recognized some of them, but not others.  I’ve been in the Irae too long--I’ve lost track of what has been happening in the Senate.  The War Counsel members weren’t Senators, but they were nearly as important--second sons of powerful Lines, or first sons of non-representative sub-Lines.

I don’t know them, Raeth thought as he approached, but they know me--or they think they do.  For the first time, he realized that if he were going to pretend to be Hern, he would have to try and act somewhat like his brother.

Raeth firmed his step, trying to adopt a Hern-like air of arrogance.  He was going to have to walk a fine line--he had to convince them he was Hern, or at least give them no reason to doubt him, but at the same time he had to avoid making mistakes Hern would.

The War Counsel looked up as Raeth approached.  They grew stiff and formal when they saw him, obviously bracing themselves for something unpleasant.  The lead general in the Counsel adopted a thin-lipped expression as Raeth paused before him.

“Your majesty,” the man said.  He was tall and thin, and he obviously wore shoulder-pads under his cloak in an attempt to look more imposing.  Raeth recognized him; Gaedin of the Amberite Line, a cousin to he and Darro.

Raeth nodded.  “General Gaedin,” he said, looking over the Sending platform.  Two dozen Vo-Dari stood, sending wave after wave of soldiers to the north.  “Where are they going?”

“To the north, your majesty,” Gaedin said smoothly.  The other Counsel members resisted smiling, but a few eyes twinkled slightly at the sarcastic comment.

“I can see that much, general,” Raeth said with a frown.  “Are you Sending them to the border, or directly to Saeris Va?  What is the status of the creatures?  Are they holding in the City of the Ancestors, are they marching southward, or are they going somewhere else entirely?”

Gaedin blinked, slightly surprised.  Raeth gritted his teeth in frustration--he was already making the man suspicious.

“Well, speak you fool,” Raeth forced himself to say with an arrogant air.  “I have to know what is going on so I can direct this conflict.  I am, after all, the Emperor.”

Gaedin’s surprise vanished, replaced by hard eyes.  “Of course, your majesty,” he said with a nod.  “We’ve selected a fortified pass just south of Saeris Va, and are gathering our men there.  If the shadow creatures do decide to march south, they will not get far.  I promise you, we have the matter well under control.  Why don’t you let us handle this part of the conflict?  Simple troop movements are hardly worth your Imperial time, your majesty.”

Raeth frowned as another group of soldiers shot away.  How could he work with men who were convinced he was a fool?  “Where is General Taenen?” Raeth asked, remembering the owl-eyed man who had helped him the day before.  He looked through the collected generals.  Had Taenen survived the attacks the day before?  “Why isn’t he here?”

“Your majesty, you of all people should know why Taenen isn’t here,” Gaedin replied.  “He’s in his place, with the men up north.  The War Counsel is made up of strategic generals, not deployment generals.”

Raeth flushed slightly at the mistake.  Gaedin wasn’t condescending in his tone--but he did speak simply, almost as if he were instructing a child.  Hern was an idiot, but even he wasn’t this dense.  These men are mocking me.  They certainly have high opinions of themselves if they think they can treat their Emperor so.

“Your majesty,” Gaedin said, “I hear the Senate is waiting to ratify you.  Shouldn’t you go?  You don’t expect the men to follow you if you haven’t officially been named Emperor, do you?”

Raeth flushed, turning on Gaedin with angry eyes.  Then, however, he saw the collection of a dozen generals looking at him, their eyes tolerant.  They were used to Hern--they expected him to yell and whine.  It was part of what made them disrespect him.

“You are right, of course, general,” Raeth said.  “I should see to my political duties first.  Continue the Sendings, but do not engage the enemy until I have a chance to study your strategies.”

He saw a couple flashes of surprise in the generals’ eyes at his tone.  Gaedin frowned only briefly, then bowed.  “Of course, my lord,” he said.

#

“These are difficult times,” Laene, High Senator, said, his voice resounding through the open-walled, domed building that was the Senate Hall.  All three tiers of the Hall were crowded with people, especially the lowest one, which was for regular citizens.  The Senators themselves sat on the raised middle tier, their large chairs plush, each one surrounded by aids and pages.  The upper Tier, which was reserved for High Aedin or other nobility, was shadowed from the domed roof, and its occupants watched with careful eyes.

“We have lost a beloved Emperor,” Laene continued, “and our blessed nation appears to be under attack from a force not yet understood.  It is certain we need leadership.  Fortunately, we have that leadership--in the form of an Heir, already ratified by this Senate.  It is with that understanding that I call for the vote to ratify Hern, son of Vaetayn, Head of the Amberite Line, as Emperor.”

Raeth frowned to himself, suspicious.  He sat on the dais behind Laene, in a simple chair.  He sat alone save for one attendant, Tarrinon.

Was Darro wrong? Raeth wondered.  He told me Laene was trying to subvert Hern’s authority.

There seemed to be none of that at the moment.  If anything, Laene appeared to be a strong supporter of Raeth’s ascension.

“Vaenan of the Bestarin Line,” Laene said, “your vote is first.”

“I vote to Ratify,” the Bestarin man replied from his seat on the middle tier.

That’s it, Raeth realized.  It takes a unanimous vote to change an Heir.  One vote in my favor, and I’m ratified.  Or, rather, Hern is ratified.

That had to be it.  Laene knew he couldn’t win--he knew he couldn’t get every single vote.  What good would it do him to fight a doomed battle?  It was much better to simply join the winning side.  Relieved, Raeth listened to the ratification vote.  Apparently, the other Senators agreed with his theory, for they all voted for him.  Once one vote was cast in his favor, then it didn’t make any sense to object.  Why--

“I vote against ratification!” a voice snapped.

Raeth looked up with surprise.  A man in a simple robe stood on the middle tier, his face a dark tan.  One of the two Khur Senators.

“This man is a blasphemer!” the Khur man continued, pointing accusingly at Raeth.  “He holds no reverence for the law.”

“Your objection is noted, En-Harra,” Laene said.

“I am not finished, Aedin!” the Khur man snapped.  “Do you know what your Emperor did?  Do you know how he tarnished a fair flower of the Khur people?  Do your own Aedin laws not speak against him?”

“What’s he talking about?” Raeth whispered to Tarrinon, troubled.

“Last night, my lord,” Tarrinon said back.  “The Khur Bride claims you tainted her by forcing her to accept a Sending.”

“She was going to die!” Raeth objected.

“She is Khur, my lord,” Tarrinon explained.  “She would rather have died.”

“This is an outrage to the Khur people!” the Senator, En-Harra, continued.  “It proves that your own laws are void and forfeit.  The holy precepts of Kamman prove your unworthiness.  The Five Self-Deductive Truths condemn you.  Death seeping from the north, that is your repayment.  God’s perfection will no longer stand your blasphemy!”

The words echoed through the silent room, and Raeth felt himself cringe slightly at each one.

“Don’t worry to much, my lord,” Tarrinon said.

“But, what if I’ve created a political disaster?” Raeth whispered.  The Khur were the most dissatisfied group in the Imperium.  If his actions caused them to rebel now, with the troubles to the north. . . .

“No Khur Senator has ever voted to ratify an Aedin Emperor,” Tarrinon said in his simple, matter-of-fact tone.  “If you hadn’t tainted their Bride Offering, he would have found another reason to object to you.”

The words weren’t very comforting.  Fortunately, En-Harra seemed finished, and Laene continued the vote.  The second Khur Senator voted as his companion had, but every one else voted in favor of ratification.

“The vote is ninety-three percent in favor of ratification,” Laene said.  “We have a new Emperor.”

Raeth felt a slight sense of relief.  For some reason, he had been expecting trouble with the vote.  Apparently, the problems to the north were enough to convince the Senate toward unity.

“I now give the podium to Lady Arasisae, Senator from the Ferrous Line, who has requested an opportunity to speak,” Laene said, stepping down.  A middle-aged woman stood from her place on the middle tier.  Arasisae was the current wife of Kaen, the eternal Corpate head of the Ferrous Line.  Since Kaen himself was frozen inside his metallic statue of a body, his chosen wife took his place on the Senate.

“It is fortunate we have a strong Emperor to lead us,” Arasisae said as soon as she took the podium.  Like many of her Line, she was stern and statuesque, and she wore her blonde hair down, after Aedin fashion.  “However, we must look to the future, Senators.  What if we lose this Emperor as well?  Who will lead us then?

“I do not wish to speak ill of our departed leader, but these are difficult times.  I shall try to couch my words in moderation.  Senators, you all know the reputation born by Vaetayn’s third son.  He is a known drunkard and carouser, and is often seen in the company of ill-reputed individuals.  Tell me, Senators, what would happen if he were given the throne?  Would be able to respect ourselves, or our beloved country?”

Raeth frowned at the comments.  He could see Darro sitting above, on the third tier, but he couldn’t make out his brother’s face.  Darro’s head seemed bowed, however.  Ah, Darro, Raeth thought.  You don’t deserve this, my friend, even if you did bring it upon yourself.

“That is why I suggest that, as Emperor Hern has yet to have offspring, we take a departure from our usual Heir ratification.  Until such time as Hern does bear a son, let us prepare for dire eventualities.  Let us choose an Heir who would lead our Imperium with pride.  I suggest our dear High Senator himself, Laene, be considered for this position.”

Raeth looked up, guessing the conclusion of her speech before she said it.  “A clever stroke,” he mumbled.

“My Lord?” Tarrinon asked.

“Nothing,” Raeth said with a shake of his head.  So that’s your game, Laene, Raeth thought.  You knew you couldn’t take the throne from me, but you suspected you could take it from Darro.  And so you appear patriotic, then you slip in the back.

The other Senators, of course, saw through Laene’s maneuverings as easily as Raeth did.  When Laene, face coated with mock surprise and humility, retook the podium and began the voting, however, it was obvious that they didn’t care if he was manipulating them.  There were several votes for Darro, but Laene easily obtained the eighty-percent he needed to be made Heir.

And now, only a son from me or a unanimous vote from the Senate can keep you from the throne, Laene, Raeth thought, slightly disturbed.  What have I gotten myself into?

There was general clapping as Laene and Raeth stood so the people could look upon their new Emperor and Heir.  Raeth studied the shorter, balding man beside him.

The only thing between him and the throne is me, Raeth thought.  Twins! This isn’t the time for politics.  The world is supposed to be in the middle of ending!

Should he worry about assassination?  No sitting senator or emperor had been assassinated in over three centuries.  Surely Laene wouldn’t stoop so low--or be so obvious.  If Raeth died mysteriously, the Senate would likely strip Laene’s Heirship immediately.

The clapping died down, and Raeth moved to sit again, still troubled, but Laene grabbed him on the arm.  “And now, Senators and Citizens, we will continue business left uncompleted because of certain. . .interruptions.  Though it is unconventional, we are left without alternatives.  As Senator Arasisae said, we need to prepare for the future.  The sooner our Emperor produces a true-blooded Heir, the better.  And so, the Bride Choosing will continue.”

Laene turned, climbing down from the dais to regain his seat on the second tier.  Raeth was left standing awkwardly before the podium as a procession entered from the side of the room.  The brides.

Chapter Six

D’Naa still wasn’t certain what to think of her grandparent’s secret.  Deep inside, she was a bit embarrassed to realize that no one had thought she had a chance to become empress.  However, for the most part she was relieved.  Her failure to win Hern’s favor didn’t seem quite so acute when placed in the context of a larger, more clandestine purpose.

It was odd to be being presented again.  She still hadn’t gotten over the shock of the previous day’s events.  Compared to the deaths and mayhem, even the choosing of a new empress seemed trite.  But, she supposed she could see their urgency.

As the Vo-Dari led her and the others into the Senate Hall D’Naa realized she wasn’t nervous anymore.  She had a purpose now--it didn’t matter what Hern, or any of the others, thought of her.  The brides stopped in a line far enough away from the prince that he wouldn’t be able to speak to them without the rest of the crowd hearing, and so she doubted Hern would have an opportunity to mock her again.

“There he is,” one of the women--the short Kallana--said from behind her.

D’Naa frowned slightly.  The Shorriken woman’s voice was different than it had been before.  D’Naa glanced to the side, looking down the line of women.  Not a few of them were regarding Hern--who stood on a dais at the front of the large room--with dreamy eyes.  None of them had seemed so infatuated with him before.  What had changed?

He saved us, D’Naa realized.  That was what it was.  Even despite her dislike of the man, it was hard to ignore the image of him appearing from the darkness, a crystalline sword glowing in his hand.  He had saved them when death seemed certain.  D’Naa herself found it difficult not to romanticize him after such a rescue, even considering the way he had treated her.

D’Naa turned back toward Hern.  The prince regarded the quiet brides with a look she couldn’t quite read.  He almost looked embarrassed, though that seemed unlikely considering the stories she’d heard about him.  Perhaps it was annoyance, frustration at having to deal with the bride choosing at a time when his nation was under attack.

He met her eyes, and D’Naa gave him a frown, staring back as she remembered his condescension.  A mighty warrior he might be, simple martial prowess could not make up for the way he had treated her.

He continued to stare at her, as he opened his mouth to make his decision.

“I cannot choose,” Hern announced, his voice resounding through the domed room.

“My Lord?” One of the Senators, a balding man in a Verdant cloak, asked.

“It is not my place,” Hern said.  “This should be my father’s decision.”

“Your father is dead, my lord,” the senator reminded.

“Which means he has joined the Ancestors,” Hern continued.  “I cannot make this choice without first consulting him and asking his blessing of wisdom.  I will choose a bride after I have petitioned a Ynaa poem, asking my father and the Ancestors to tell me who I should choose.”

The announcement caused a rustling through the crowd, primarily amongst the people on the lowest level.  D’Naa turned, looking back at the Senators, who sat behind her on the middle tier.  She couldn’t see many of their faces from her angle, but most seemed to be sitting quietly, considering their Emperor’s words.  Slowly, she saw a couple of them nod to themselves.

“A. . .wise choice, your majesty,” the High Senator said, a touch of surprise in his voice.  “But, for the good of the Imperium, I believe it would be best if you restricted your Ynaa to a thousand reads.  Times are too unstable to risk being without a true Heir for too long.

The Emperor paused, then turned to confer quietly with a robed Shorriken man beside him.  Eventually he nodded, then turned back to the Senators.  “A thousand, then,” he said.  “I will commission the Ynaa prayer today.”

With that, the session seemed to come to an end.  People began to file out of the lower level, and the Senators began to speak quietly with one another.  D’Naa turned as the brides split apart, some leaving, others walking toward people they knew.

A thousand read Ynaa? She thought with a frown.  How long will that take?

#

“A month?” Darro asked, frowning.  “I have to wait another month before you choose my wife for me?”

Raeth shrugged.  “I would have made it longer, if I’d thought I could get away with it,” he explained as the two left the Senate Hall, the ever-present Tarrinon scurrying along behind them.  “Tarrinon warned me not to challenge the Senate so early in my reign.”

“A defeat now would certainly hurt you in the long run, your majesty,” the aid said with a nod of his aging head.

Darro rolled his eyes, opening his mouth to reply.  Then, however, he shot an uncomfortable look at the Shorriken man.

“Tarrinon,” Raeth said, “would you please excuse us for a moment.”

The chancellor nodded, backing away and beginning to make notations in his schedule book.  Raeth took a look at the crowd, then pulled Darro to the side of the street, onto the green Hall lawn and away from the exiting Senators.  The Senate Hall rose behind them, a massive stone dome with inlays and proverbs etched into its sides.

“Raeth,” Darro hissed, “what are you doing?  Why the delay?”

“I’m not Emperor,” Raeth replied.

“They just ratified you,” Darro said.  “Last I heard, that was pretty final.”

“They ratified Hern,” Raeth said.

“You are Hern now!” Darro snapped, rolling his eyes.  “What is the difference?”

Raeth paused, not certain how to put his feelings into words.  Behind Darro, a half-dozen Corpate walkers began to stride away as groups of Senators made their way home.

“I’m not going to stay Emperor,” Raeth finally said.

“What?” Darro exclaimed.  “Raeth, we’ve already been through this.”

“I mean,” Raeth corrected, “I intend to step down as soon as the trouble to the north is taken care of.  I don’t belong here--it isn’t my Place.  If I marry one of those women, it’s just going to lead to embarrassment later on.”

“But, Raeth,” Darro said, wringing his large hands before himself nervously, “if you step down, Laene will be Emperor.”

Raeth paused.  “I’m. . .sorry about the decision, Darro,” he said.  “There wasn’t anything I could do.”

Darro shrugged.  “I don’t want to be Emperor anyway, remember?  I’m just worried about Laene.  I don’t trust him.”

“He’s Verdant,” Raeth said, watching the last Corpate disappear in the distance.  “We’ve never gotten along with his Line.”

“This is more than that, Raeth,” Darro said.  “He’s trying to take the Throne!”

“I know,” Raeth said.

“Raeth. . . .” Darro said, suddenly looking very uncomfortable.

“What?” Raeth asked.

“You. . .know that they could execute you if you tell them who you are?  I mean, I thought you were going to stay emperor.  I didn’t realize you would actually consider. . . .”

Raeth paused.  He’d been thinking the same thing.  “I can step down without telling them who I really am,” he said.  “Emperors have abdicated before.  I’d still live the rest of my life as Hern, but at least I wouldn’t be holding a position I shouldn’t.”

“I suppose,” Darro said, frowning.

“Look, we’ll worry about that when it arises.  Right now, we have a more pressing problem.”

Darro looked up, following Raeth’s eyes.  Streaks of light still curved into the air from the military district, each of them representing a soldier sent to face a danger they still didn’t understand.  Though there had been a semblance of normality in the Senate session, it had been forced.  Raeth had been able to sense tension and shock from most who were attending.  Many of them probably still hadn’t been able to reconcile the danger they were facing.

“Agreed,” Darro said.

“My Lord Emperor?” a hesitant voice asked from behind them.  Raeth looked back at the almost forgotten Tarrinon waiting impatiently beside the road.  “You have appointments. . . .”

“That’s going to get annoying,” Raeth noted.

Darro snorted.  “Who was it who lectured me about duty this morning?”

“I think we lectured each other,” Raeth said.  “Come on.”  He moved forward, walking off the grass and back onto the neatly-cobbled road.

Tarrinon snapped his tome closed, raising his eyebrows and adjusting his floppy Shorriken hat as Raeth approached.  “Finished, my lord?”

“I suppose.”

“Good,” the diminutive man said.  “Then perhaps we can see to some of your duties.  The Senators and aristocrats are eager to meat their new monarch.”

“Perhaps later,” Raeth said.  “First I want to check on the War Counsel’s progress.”

“I sent a page to the Counsel chambers, my lord,” Tarrinon said.  “He has been instructed to inform us if there are any developments beyond simple troop movements.”

Raeth paused.  “I see,” he finally replied.

Darro chuckled.  “You’re a crafty little Shenk, aren’t you?”

“I have had much experience arranging Imperial schedules, my lord,” the man said with a slight smile of his bearded face.  “Perhaps someday I will discover why High Aedin seem to enjoy avoiding their appointments whenever possible."

Raeth smiled.  “All right, Tarrinon, I’ll give you a couple of hours.  After that, however, I get to visit the Counsel room.  Agreed.”

“You are the Emperor, my lord,” Tarrinon said.  “I simply advise.”

Raeth raised an eyebrow at that, but didn’t say anything.  He knew that his father could never have functioned without the Shorriken bureaucrat at his side.  Of course, that hadn’t stopped Vaetayn from complaining about the little man either.

“Who is first, then?” Raeth asked.

Tarrinon stepped to the side and nodded back toward the Senate Hall, where the shadowed figure stood in the first tier entrance.  Realizing he had been acknowledged, the figure stepped forward into the light, revealing a seven-foot tall form, long, muscular arms, and a brown-furred body clothed in a simple gray smock.

“I believe those closest have precedence, my lord,” Tarrinon said.

The Gol stepped forward, bowing its massive head.  “Your majesty,” it said in a lightly-accented, rough voice.  “I congratulate you.”

Raeth paused.  “For what, ambassador?”

“For what you have accomplished,” the Gol replied.

“My ratification?  It was nothing that wasn’t expected,” Raeth said slowly, uncertain quite how to respond.  He’d never been completely comfortable around the strange creatures, though the Imperium had always maintained peaceful relations with them.

“Expected of some, perhaps,” the Gol said.  “But only those who watch.”

Raeth frowned slightly.  Were they talking about his ascension to the Throne or not?  He couldn’t read the creature’s expressions; its face was too odd.  Gol features looked like they had been smashed against a wall.  Their noses barely protruded from their faces, and their faces were wide and flat.

“I don’t understand you, ambassador,” Raeth said.

“There are those amongst you who do, your majesty,” the Gol replied, bowing its head.  “For there are those amongst you who have.  But, you needn’t worry.  Or, rather, you will worry, but half of you need not.  The other half are in serious danger--your half.”

Raeth shot a confused look at his brother, who only shrugged.  “What?” he finally asked.

“I should not take more of your time, your majesty,” the Gol said, bowing and backing away.  Raeth watched it go, walking until it joined the crowds of the government sector.

“Do you find those things as weird as I do?” Darro asked.

Raeth just shook his head in frustration.  The Gol were good allies--the gems and metals they traded to the Imperium in exchange for Dari paintings was a wonderful source of income.  However, Raeth had never met a person who wasn’t at least a little confused by the Gol mannerisms.

“All right, Tarrinon,” Raeth said, shaking his head.  “That’s one.  What else do you have?”

#

“Congratulations, Senator,” Harridel said, bowing as Laene passed.  Laene tipped his head slightly toward the Shorriken aid, favoring the man with a rare smile.  It was a special day, a day of success, and Laene was feeling generous.

Other servants and aids bowed as he passed, though none were important enough to offer congratulations.  All had heard, however, that their master had done well this day.  For the first time since the founding of the Imperium, an Heir had been chosen from a line other than Amberite.  Even if it went no further than that, Laene’s name would be recorded in history as one of the most influential High Senators to ever live.  And, if something did happen to that fool Hern. . . .

Briefly, Laene considered assassins.  It would be tricky, but he could probably arrange it--especially if he could find a way to get Hern out onto the battlefield.  However, he dismissed the idea as too risky.  He hadn’t gotten so far by being impatient.  Besides, if certain contacts of his were to be believed, the throne would soon be his anyway.

Laene’s Aether wiggled happily on his arm, and he could barely keep himself from humming as he strode through his mansion’s hallways.  It was almost time to move again--the pillared stone walkways and dome-shaped rooms were far too familiar.  He’d only lived in the mansion for five years, but already the critics were declaring that the pillar and stone look was unfashionable.  Perhaps he would move to celebrate his recent success.

But, no, Laene thought to himself, I should wait.  After all, there’s no telling if I might have to move somewhere else soon. . .somewhere with four wings and a nine-story keep.

A virtual fleet of pages and aids crowded around his audience room’s doors--most of them would either be envoys from other prominent Senators or members of the Shorriken or Mahallen aristocracies.  Laene’s allies and would-be allies.  A new Emperor might have taken the throne this day, but to the political world, Laene’s success was far more striking.

The crowed bowed obsequiously as Laene passed, a pair of Verdant guards opening his doors, then shutting them behind him as he passed.  A few moments later, Harridel waddled in through a side door.  Laene kept the fat Shorriken partially because of his efficiency, and partially because he was the only man Laene had ever found that was both shorter and fatter than himself.

“How long should I make them wait, my lord?” Harridel asked.

“I’m feeling generous, Harridel,” Lane replied, settling into his well-cushioned, throne-like chair.  “Begin showing them in after a half hour.”

“Yes, my lord,” Harridel said, bowing to leave.

Laene relaxed back in his chair, enjoying his success.  He had spent years undermining Vaetayn’s sons, an action many of his critics had called foolish.  Laene and Vaetayn were nearly the same age, they had argued, and the Emperor would likely rule until old age took him.  What good did it do to challenge the Emperor’s son’s?

But, Laene had known that Vaetayn was far too strong a leader to challenge directly.  At first, Laene’s attempts had simply been a way of undermining Vaetayn by showing the fault in his offspring.  After time, Laene had realized his opportunity.  It had been a slim one, of course--Vaetayn had been strong and powerful, and people had expected another good twenty years of leadership from him.

Laene’s foresight had repaid him well.  Hern might be Emperor, but he was impotent.  Even if Laene never took the throne himself, he would be the true power of the Imperium.  Whatever it was that had come from the Pool of the Forgotten, Laene blessed its arrival, for in killing Vaetayn it had given Laene an immeasurable gift.

He shivered in his chair, partially from joy and partially from the drafty room.  That was another reason to move--he had chosen this castle-like, stone block of a mansion because of trends, but he had soon learned that there was a reason people had abandoned such dwellings centuries ago.  They were annoyingly cold in winter.  Laene would certainly have to--

The door swung open, causing Laene to sit up with annoyance.  Harridel should know better than to let someone in so soon.

The door slammed closed behind an irate Alean.  She stalked into the room, eyeing Laene, as if daring her father to say a word about her entrance.  Laene wisely remained quiet.

“What does he think he’s doing?” she finally demanded, stopping before Laene’s chair and folding her arms, fuming.

Laene shrugged, smiling with fondness for his daughter.  Few men could boast offspring as talented in politics as she.  “I haven’t any idea,” he said.

“An entire month!” Alean spat.  “He expects me to wait a month?  This is my reward?”

Laene shrugged.  “There isn’t much I can do, dear,” he said.  Hern’s decision to commission a Ynaa before choosing a bride had indeed been a surprise, but a pleasant one.  The longer Hern waited before choosing a bride, the more likely Laene was to take the throne.

“Perhaps he really does want his Ancestors’ blessing,” Laene speculated.

Alean shot him an icy stare.  “He’d better not try and escape our agreement,” she whispered.

“I’m certain he wouldn’t dare, Alean,” Laene assured.  In a way, the emperor’s death had served her as well as it had Laene.  Her relationship with Hern had been a gamble--there was no guarantee that Vaetayn would have chosen her, though the covert romance between Alean and Hern had placed some pressure on him.  Now Hern himself could make the choice--Alean’s success was virtually assured.

Alean stood, arms folded in dissatisfaction.  “He didn’t seem quite like himself,” she mumbled.

“He’s just trying to put the senate off-balance,” Laene hypothesized.

“That had better be it,” Alean finally said.  “Play with your attendants, father.  I am going to go arrange a way to spend some time with our new Emperor and make certain he knows his place.  A ball, perhaps.  Now that I’m officially a bride offering, they won’t let me get close to him unless the other women are allowed the same opportunity.”

“Yes, Alean,” Laene said, as she stalked from the room, slamming the door behind her.  As soon as she was gone, Laene shook his head, leaning back in his chair.  She would have made a wonderful Heir, he thought with a measure of disappointment.

Just as he was beginning to relax, however, another voice whispered into the room.  “You should warn her, High Senator,” the quiet voice hissed.  “Becoming bride to the Tribe of Amberite is not a healthy choice in these times.”

Laene jumped, his head turning toward the room’s back wall.  The chamber was a small one, with only four stone pillars and a single fireplace.  Something moved in the darkness to his right, beside one of the pillars.

“You,” Laene whispered, shivering to himself.  “How did you enter this place?”

The figure did not respond.  It remained in the shadows, barely visible.

“What do you want?” Laene asked, forcing his voice to remain even despite his worry.  The events at Saedin had surprised even him--he hadn’t expected such destruction.  Though he himself had been promised safety, it was still unnerving.

“Our promise is fulfilled,” the voice whispered.  “The End of Time has arrived, and with it the end of an empire.  A new Time must begin.”

“I have done my part,” Laene said, wiping his brow with a scented handkerchief.  “I’ve taken the Heirship.”

“Heirs and rulers matter not,” the voice said.  “Your people will be safe not because of what you do, but because of what you are.  Your tribe is pure.”

“I have your word,” Laene said, forcing his voice to sound firm.  He didn’t understand why the dark figures always referred to the Lines as ‘Tribes.  “The Verdant Line will survive?”

“Verdant and Ferrous will survive,” the voice promised.  “Amberite and Bestarin must be destroyed, lest the world be thrown into destruction and chaos, Slaughter and Despair rising again.  It is difficult to bear, but it is what must be.”

The room fell silent.  Laene didn’t hear a door open, but he knew somehow that his visitor had left.

Laene relaxed in his chair.  He felt tired, as if he had undergone some rigorous strain.  A few minutes later, Harridel announced his first formal visitor.  But, for some reason, Laene found it impossible to rekindle his earlier glee.

Amberite and Bestarin must be destroyed. . . .  Over half of the Aedin population, a full seventy percent of the Imperium’s military, were made up of those two lines.  And they were to be destroyed.  It was enough to give even Laene qualms.

It can’t be helped.  You’ve seen the proof.  They must die, for the good of the Imperium, for the good of Vaeria itself.

And, of course, it didn’t hurt that once they were gone, Laene would be the only one suited to fill the void in leadership.

#

The Imperial Throne was a thing of lore and legend.  It was the seat of the most powerful man in the known world, the symbol of Aedin strength, duty, and law.  In addition, Raeth discovered, it was incredibly uncomfortable.

Who had the clever idea to construct a throne completely from gold, anyway? He wondered with a frown, trying to look as regal as possible with an aching posterior.  He shuffled in his seat as he greeted courier after courier, most of them Shorriken aides sent by Senators to convey their support of Raeth’s rule.

Darro was gone--he had abandoned Raeth a couple of hours before, complaining of thirst.  He was probably off in one of the haunts that had made him so infamous amongst the High Aedin elite.

As Raeth sat, greeting endless lines of dignitaries--or, in many cases, messengers from dignitaries--he couldn’t help worrying that he should be doing something more important.  Unfortunately, he couldn’t quite think what that would be.  Every time he asked, Tarrinon sent an aid to the War Counsel to check on progress, but each time it came back with news of simple troop movements.  For the moment, there was nothing to do but sit, so he might as well see to Imperium business while he did so.

Of course, it would have been nice to find a more comfortable place to sit.  “How many more are there?” Raeth asked, rubbing his temples as the latest courier left.  The throne room was a massive, column-free chamber on the third floor of the palace.  It had enormous windows at the far end, overlooking the city.  Raeth could see the sun setting in the distance--he’d been seeing appointments for six hours.

“Only one, my lord,” Tarrinon said as he scribbled a notation in his book.

Raeth sighed.  “Can it wait for tomorrow?” he asked.  “I still have to commission the Ynaa for my Bride Choosing.”

“Actually, your majesty,” Tarrinon noted, looking up from his book, “this is one appointment that I don’t think can wait until tomorrow.  By then he will likely be dead.”

Raeth sat up a little straighter in the uncomfortable throne, his Aether scraping the gold armrest as he moved his hand.  “What?” he asked with a frown.

Tarrinon nodded to the very end of the room, where a small group of soldiers was approaching.  At their center walked a man with blotchy, dark blue skin.  Shateen, the Shentis ambassador.  The guards split, allowing Shateen to approach, though they kept a wary eye on him, the Verdant soldier’s hand extended threateningly to wrap Shateen in vines should he prove dangerous.

Shateen bowed, then raised his hands to show Raeth the Verdant vines that held his hands bound.  “The events of last evening seem to have gained me an uncomfortably short reprieve, your majesty,” he said.  “Though I won’t have the opportunity to bathe in your Aedin pool of defective souls, the headsman’s axe will likely prove an effective substitute.”

Raeth frowned, raising his hand to rub his stubbled chin.  “The Senate has reordered your execution?” he asked.

“Slated, conveniently, for tomorrow morning,” Shateen said with a nod.

“And what do you wish of me?” Raeth asked.

“Um, one would think that would obvious, your majesty,” Shateen noted with a wan smile.  “I did, after all, save your royal neck.”

Raeth sat thoughtfully.  He wasn’t certain what to make of Shateen--the creature certainly wasn’t what he would have considered a regular Shentis.  Elethis, Shateen’s elderly predecessor, had been skeletal and clandestine, a man of few words.  Raeth had come to expect such from the demon Shentis.  Shateen’s lively, even personable, attitude seemed incongruous beside his nature as a purported undead devourer of human souls.

“My father tried to stay your execution,” Raeth said.  “The Senate rejected his suggestions.  Why do you think I would be more successful?”

“Your father only sought to postpone my demise, my lord,” Shateen said.  “He didn’t want my execution to upstage the Bride Choosing.  He submitted a proposal to the Senate, but he did not pardon me.”

Raeth raised an eyebrow at Tarrinon.  To his credit, the Shorriken advisor immediately knew what the look meant.  “An imperial order of pardon cannot be undone by the Senate, my lord,” Tarrinon said quietly.  “The Shentis is correct--your father simply tried to downgrade the execution from Capitol to criminal, that latter being punishable by beheading rather than the Pool of Forgotten.”

“Why didn’t he use a pardon instead?” Raeth asked quietly.

“Ambassador Shateen’s crimes were grave, my lord,” Tarrinon explained.  “He is responsible for the disappearance of thirteen children.  Public, and Senatorial, opinion of his people is quite violent right now--and your father agreed with that opinion.  He wanted Shateen dead as much as everyone else, he just didn’t want it to happen right before the Bride Choosing.”

Raeth frowned again as he studied the Shentis.  What are you? He thought, looking over the man’s bruise-like skin.  He’d always disbelieved the stories of Shentis being demons, but if the truth was known, they really did look like walking corpses.

“Do you deny the charges against you, ambassador?” Raeth asked, leaning forward.

“No, your majesty,” Shateen replied.

“You kidnapped thirteen children?” Raeth asked with a frown.

“No,” Shateen corrected.  “I purchased them.”

“You cannot purchase children, ambassador,” Raeth said with a hard voice.  “Even orphans.”

“Then, perhaps some one should tell the orphanages that, your majesty,” Shateen returned.  “And, once you do so, you might want to warn the Mahallen brothels.  No one seems to mind when they perform the very same act I have.”

“What they do is illegal, ambassador,” Raeth replied.  “Their sin does not make yours any more forgivable.  Return the children, and I will see about lessening your sentence.”

“I cannot, your majesty,” Shateen said.

“And why not?” Raeth demanded.

“Because they are dead,” Shateen said, his voice losing its affable edge and becoming flat.

“And how did they die?” Raeth asked.

“I cannot tell you that, your majesty.”

Raeth ground his teeth in frustration.  He was new to being an Emperor, but he was fairly certain people weren’t supposed to treat him in such a way.  He looked into the creature’s eyes--eyes that were unnervingly human.  What are you not telling me? He wondered.  There was more to the story than Shateen wanted him to know.  Whatever the secrets were, it appeared that the ambassador was willing to die for them.

Or, was he?  He had somehow survived the Forgotten attack.  Coincidence?

“Your majesty,” Shateen said, his voice frank. “You accuse me of sins.  I admit that I preformed the acts, but I will accept no guilt for them.  To me, they were no sin.  Is it a sin to seek your own survival?”

Raeth paused.  I should order him killed, he thought.  However, something held him back from making the command.  Perhaps it was the look in the Shentis’ eyes--a determined look, but not a dangerous one.  Perhaps it was the curiosity.  Whatever this man knows, I cannot let him take it to the grave, Raeth decided.

“Tarrinon,” he asked quietly, “if I pardon him, can I change my mind later?”

Tarrinon looked at him with surprise.  “Technically, no, sire,” he said with a shake of his head.  “However, you can order his execution again.  The Senate will have to ratify the execution, of course, but all things considered, that shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Good,” Raeth said, turning back to the waiting Shentis.

“My Lord. . . .” Tarrinon said warningly.

“I know,” Raeth said.  “You’re just going to have to trust me.”

From the roll of the Shorriken’s eyes, Raeth guessed this wasn’t the first time Tarrinon had heard such words from an Emperor.

“Shateen,” Raeth said, “consider yourself pardoned.”

Shateen perked up, a slight look of surprise on his face.  “Why, thank you, my lord.”

“And, at the same time, I order you arrested for defying my will.  The punishment is execution.”

Shateen paused.  “That. . .seems a bit redundant, your majesty,” he noted.

“Defying the Emperor, however, is not punishable by Capitol Execution, so I can put the sentence off as long as I want.  Therefore, I order the execution to take place in one month,” Raeth said.  “You have that much time to tell me what you did with those children and why,” Raeth said.  “Until then, enjoy the dungeon.”

Shateen frowned.

“It’s better than losing your head,” Raeth noted dryly.

“Agreed, your majesty,” Shateen said, smile returning as he bowed.

“That will be all, ambassador.  You have one month to reconsider your silence.”

Shateen bowed, and Tarrinon hastily scribbled out a list of orders for them.

“That was clever, your majesty,” Tarrinon noted as the group left.  “Your father spent months trying to find a way to do exactly what you just did.”

Raeth shrugged.  “So, is that all of the appointments?” he asked.

“For today, my lord,” Tarrinon agreed.

“Fine,” Raeth said, standing and stretching.  “Send a page to the Patriarch for me, if you would.  I still need to commission that Ynaa.”

“Yes, my lord.  Shall I write out the specifications for you?”

“No,” Raeth said, walking toward the Corpate tunnel.  “Just ask the Patriarch to send a particular Dari to my chambers--a man named Jaenor.  I want him to perform the Ynaa.”

“Yes, my lord,” Tarrinon said with a bow, waving a page over.

“Oh,” Raeth said as a Corpate climber appeared in the tunnel to bear him upwards, “see about finding a cushion or something to put on that throne, would you?”

#

Raeth didn’t have to wait long for Jaenor to arrive--even for talented Dari, an Imperial invitation was a rare privilege.

“Your Majesty. . . ?” a nervous Jaenor asked as a page led him into Hern’s--Raeth’s--study.

Raeth looked up with a smile, closing his book on courtly protocol.  With everything that had been happening, it was good to see a face from his old life.  Raeth stood, walking over to the uncomfortable Dari, gesturing for him to take a seat in one of the room’s plush chairs.  “Jaenor, good to see you.  Please, sit down.”

“Um, yes, your majesty,” the young man said, sitting stiffly.

“How are the Dari reacting to recent events?” Raeth asked, sitting in his own chair.

“Um, they’re nervous, my lord,” Jaenor explained.  “No one’s certain what is going on.  There’s talk of the End of Time, and of Forgotten, but most of us are just confused.”

“You have a right to be,” Raeth said with a smile.

Jaenor just nodded uncomfortably.  Then, the two simply sat in tense silence, Jaenor staring at the floor.  “Um, your majesty?” the Dari finally asked.  “Is there a specific reason you summoned me?”

Raeth paused, frowning slightly.  You can’t tell him, Raeth, he realized.  What were you thinking, summoning him?  To Jaenor you are Hern, his Emperor.  Not his friend.

It was a difficult realization--he and Jaenor had been friends for years.  And now, despite the fact that they had spoken amiably just the day before, Raeth knew that it was over.

Raeth stood stiffly.  “Yes, Jaenor, there is a reason I summoned you,” he said, turning back toward his desk.  “My brother spoke often of you, and of your talents as an artist.”

Jaenor’s face fell slightly at the words.  “Yes, my lord.  Raeth was a good friend.  Will there be a funeral for him?”

Raeth nodded.  “With my father’s.  Tomorrow.  Right now, I need a favor from you.”

“Anything, my Emperor.”

“I need a Ynaa, Jaenor,” Raeth said.  “And it needs to be a very special one.  You may have heard about my Bride Choosing?”

“Yes, your majesty,” Jaenor said with a nod.  “You. . .you really want me to perform your Ynaa prayer?”

“Yes,” Raeth said with a nod.  “I know of no one more suited to the task.”

“I. . .yes, my lord.  Thank you, my lord,” Jaenor said with a blush, lowering his head.

“Petition my father for me, Jaenor,” Raeth said, his voice growing soft.  “Beg him to inspire me with wisdom.  If I ever needed his hand of guidance, I need it now.”

“Yes, my lord.  I will compose the most powerful Ynaa of my life, and will read it to the finest painting I have ever produced.”

Raeth smiled, then nodded.  “Thank you, Jaenor.  You are dismissed.”

“Yes, my lord,” Jaenor said, bowing and backing from the room.

“Oh, Jaenor, wait a moment,” Raeth said.

The Dari paused in the doorway.

“I need something from the Irae,” Raeth said.  “I would know more about Yenniv Lan.  If the End of Time really is here, then it is imperative that I understand what that entails.  Please send me a copy of the Kaennis Sha.”

Jaenor’s eyes opened wide with shock.  “You. . .you know of the Kaennis Sha, my lord?” he asked.  “But, only Dari. . . .”

“Dari, and Emperors, Jaenor,” Raeth lied.  The holy books had been such a part of his life over the last few years that he’d forgotten that they were forbidden of most people.  “Send the book to me.”

“Yes, my lord,” Jaenor said, bowing.

Raeth watched the young boy go.  There was something final about the exit, as if somehow Jaenor had taken Raeth’s old life with him.

I told Darro that I would bequeath the Throne once this was all over, but that won’t give me my old life back.  If he continued to pretend he was Hern, they wouldn’t let him back in because they wouldn’t know he was a Dari.  If he revealed who he really was, they would reject him for the falsehood he lived--assuming the Senate didn’t execute him immediately.  The Irae, the life of a Dari, was lost to him forever.  Until that moment, he’d never realized just how completely he had excised himself from his old life.

Fool, Raeth thought to himself.  Only yesterday you were thinking about how horrible your life was in the Irae.  Now you want to go back?

But, the life of a Dari hadn’t been horrible.  The Irae had treated him well, as had the Patriarch--the kindly leader of the Vo-Dari.  Raeth would never have made a spectacular Dari, but at least he had been comfortable there.  He had known his Place.  What was he now?  An imposter living his brother’s life?  An arrogant fool who assumed he could perform in a Place that he had not been given?

Raeth settled back in his chair, finally realizing the weight of what he’d taken upon himself.  The Imperium, all who lived in its boundaries, now looked to him.  He had always wished he were Shaeth, but could he really justify that longing?  Would the people have been better off if he’d just let Laene take control?

The insecurities snapped at Raeth like an unseen serpent.  He’d always been a very confident man, certain in his abilities.  Now, however, he was left wondering.  What had he gotten himself into?

#

D’Naa pulled the black sash tight around her waist.  The sun had set outside her window, throwing Vae Annitor into darkness.

“Be careful, dear,” Shaad whispered, handing D’Naa a black cloak.

D’Naa threw the cloak around her shoulders, letting its darkness envelop her.  “Don’t worry about me, grandmother,” she said.  “Just tell me what I’m supposed to do.”

“Amberite is incredibly strong,” Hlin explained, “but it is crystalline, so it can be fractured.  You just need to hit it in the right place.”

“Apparently, the High Aedin use a diamond-tipped chisel and mallet to break the Aethers,” Shaad said, handing D’Naa a pair of tools.  “You need to take half of the gem out of his hand.”

D’Naa accepted the tools, nodding and letting her Aether surge slightly.  Vines slithered free, twisting down her arms, the tips curling around her palm.  She left her arms exposed to give the Aether freedom, but the rest of her body was swathed completely in black.  She accepted a head-cloth from her grandfather, then wrapped it around her face, leaving only her eyes exposed.  She had often been forced to wear such clothing when practicing with her Aether back in Kavir.  The less people saw or knew, the better.

“Be careful, dear,” Shaad warned.  “He’s powerful--that’s why we chose him.  Surprise him with your vines, and wrap him tightly.  You are powerful too--you should be able to hold him long enough to get the Bud.”

D’Naa nodded.  “I’ll be back within the hour,” she promised, approaching the window.  “And I’ll bring a chip of our Emperor’s Aether with me.”

Chapter Seven

While hanging out her window on the fourth floor of the palace keep, D’Naa realized her training hadn’t been quite as extensive as she’d thought.  She pressed her face against the cold stone blocks, forcing herself not to look down as the wind ruffled her black cloak.  Her Verdant clung to the stone, hundreds of tiny vines growing from her bare palms and feet and holding her in position.  Even still, the idea of being up so far left her feeling woozy.

“Are you all right, dear?” Shaad asked, wisps of hair escaping her bun and blowing free as leaned out over the balcony rail.

“Just fine,” D’Naa said through clinched teeth.  Blessed D’Lum! She thought.  Even the rocks we climbed weren’t this high.  The city extended around her, hundreds of lights shining from street lanterns, glowing Corpates, or house windows.  That was another big difference--back in Kavir, everything had grown still after sunset.  Here, it seemed that no one felt the need to sleep.  What if one of them looked up and saw her clinging to the palace wall like a tired rocklizard?

Don’t be silly, D’Naa! She told herself.  Even if they do have lights on, they won’t be able to see you.  The palace isn’t illuminated.  That’s why you wear black, silly!

“D’Naa?” Shaad asked again.

“I’ll be fine,” D’Naa said, taking a deep breath and setting her eyes upward.

“The prince’s chambers are on the seventh floor, dear,” Shaad explained.  “They have a balcony on the south side of the palace.  Just look for the largest one.”

“Right,” D’Naa said, gritting her teeth and pulling her right hand free.  Her Aether immediately let go of the rock.  She suffered just a momentary stab of fear, but she didn’t fall, of course.  Her Aether Bond was the strongest amongst all the Kavir students--she could hold herself from a ceiling with just one hand, her vines sticking to surfaces like ivy.

As she began to move, her training asserted itself, and she began to crawl up the side of the massive building.  Her Aether wiggled eagerly, its tiny, finger-like tendrils latching onto the rock wall’s cracks and pores.  She stayed well-clear of lit balconies or windows, forced herself not to look down, and slowly edged her way up and too the right.

Fortunately, there were plenty of things to distract her from the ground down below.  The night was cold, and the wind whipped her cloak out behind her.  Her fingers and toes soon grew painfully cold, and she grew vines around them, turning her hands and feet into large balls of foliage.  It wasn’t visually appealing, but it did break the wind.

In addition to the cold, there was the view.  As she approached the edge of the keep, preparing to move from the west face to the southern one, she caught an unobstructed glimpse of Vae Annitor spreading out before her.

D’Naa clung to the corner for a moment, wind curling around her and making her eyes water as she stared out over the city, with its impossibly high buildings and its sea of lights.  Even at night, it was beautiful.

A sudden noise caused her to jump in fright and duck back around the corner of the building.  She clung to the wall, her heart beating frantically.  She peeked around the corner with nervous eyes.  A short distance, a man and woman stood on a sixth floor balcony.  D’Naa didn’t recognized them--more of the endless dignitaries or ambassadors that lived on the palace’s middle floors.  The woman’s giggle floated lightly on the wind, and D’Naa blushed, turning her eyes away.  She climbed up the side of the wall another story before crossing from one face to the other and continuing her search.

It wasn’t difficult to decide which rooms belonged to the Emperor.  One balcony stood out from the others--it was broad and covered with potted trees and other plants, most of which were looking wan in the approaching winter weather.

All right, D’Naa told herself.  This should be easy.  I climb onto the balcony, sneak into the room, and vine him.

She approached the balcony quickly.  Most of the Emperor’s rooms looked dark, though a solitary light shone softly from a window a short distance away.  D’Naa approached the open balcony, then paused.

Open? She thought with a frown, on a night this cold?  She reached out tentatively, and her hand tapped against something cold and hard.

D’Naa froze, cringing at the sound.  Glass? She thought with amazement.  An entire door made of glass?  She felt along its surface, her eyes open wide, and eventually she found a handle in the darkness.  It was, of course, locked.

She stood, frowning.  Now what? She wondered.  Break the glass?  No, that would be too noisy.  She turned eyes to the side, noting a small window into a darkened room beside the balcony.  She could see the sheen of its glass--it was cracked slightly open.

It was small, but so was D’Naa.  Taking a breath, she climbed up the wall and carefully pushed the window open.  It screeched slightly anyway, making D’Naa bite her lip in anxiety.  D’Naa, girl, she thought, you’d make a horrible assassin.

Exhaling what breath she could, she stuck her head through the window and began to wiggle.  It was a tight fit, and she managed to rip her cloak in the process, but eventually she got through the opening.  She used her Aether to steady herself, its vines wrapping around the window sill and lowering her quietly to the ground.

She couldn’t see anything in the room’s darkness.  It had only the one small window, which was an oddity.  Most of the rooms she’d visited in the palace had large, expansive windows, another of the architectural wonders D’Naa didn’t understand.  If the walls were that filled with holes, what kept the ceilings from falling down?

D’Naa felt her way through the room, her Aether’s tendrils waving in the darkness before her hands.  There was a sliver of light ahead of her--an open door.  D’Naa crept forward, and slid the door open with nervous fingers.  She poked her head into the room--the main room, with the large balcony at the side.  In the gloom she could make out the shadows of chairs and bookshelves.  The light was coming from behind a mostly-closed door on the other side of the chamber.

D’Naa stepped into the room with a careful step.  She didn’t notice the man-shaped dark figure standing beside her door until she was mostly into the room.

D’Naa yelped in surprise as she jumped to the side, her hand coming up defensively and letting lose a torrent of Verdant.  The vines whipped forward, enwrapping the figure in a powerful grip.

D’Naa dropped to the ground, landing on her knees, her eyes on her victim. The figure rocked slightly in its bonds, then fell forward stiffly, its body cracking mutely against the rug.  The head broke free and rolled over toward D’Naa, stone eyes staring into the air.

A statue, D’Naa thought with chagrin.  I’m hopeless.

“What is this?” a surprised voice said.

D’Naa looked up with shock, realizing the door to the lit room was opening and a confused man was stepping out of it.  Emperor Hern.  He looked down, his face surprised, and their eyes met for a brief moment.

Then Verdant exploded from D’Naa’s hands, slamming into his chest.  An explosion of green wrapped his body.  The Emperor mumbled a muffled cry of surprise, the vines covering his mouth.  He teetered for a moment, off-balance, then fell over with a muffled thud.

D’Naa crouched in the dim room apprehensively, waiting for guards to rush in to investigate the noise.  She maintained her grip on the vines, ordering them to constrict and bracing herself for the Emperor’s struggle.  Amberite and Verdant were supposed to be opposites--when they touched, they destroyed one another.

The offensive never came.  Emperor Hern struggled in his bonds, his muffled voice indignant.  What’s he waiting for? D’Naa wondered.

Whatever the reason, she probably didn’t have much time.  She hurried forward, holding her vines firm.  As she got close, moving to pull free the chisel and mallet, she noticed that Hern’s eyes were wide with fury and apprehension.  Despite herself, D’Naa smiled.  She knew she shouldn’t be so petty as to seek revenge, D’Lum expressly forbid it, but. . .well, some situations were just too perfect to ignore.

#

Raeth struggled uselessly in his bonds.  So strong! He thought with amazement, unsuccessfully trying to move his arm.  He’d only been wrapped in Verdant once in his life, back when he was training with Darro before their Places had been chosen.  He hadn’t been able to free himself without his brother’s help, and those vines had been far weaker.

His captor held him so tightly he had trouble breathing.  Even more amazing, the assassin was a woman.  He knew that Verdant women were sometimes allowed to Bond, but never High Aedin.  It didn’t make sense--a regular Aedin Bond should never have been so powerful.  He could feel the vines constricting around him like hundreds of snakes.

Think, Raeth! He ordered himself as the assassin reached behind her back, probably for a knife.  One day as Emperor, and he’d already managed to get himself into trouble.  Shouldn’t have fallen asleep reading in the other room.  Shouldn’t have stumbled out half-asleep when I heard that sound.  Should have called for the guards when I first noticed something odd. . . .

Struggling uselessly, Raeth commanded his Aether to grow.  Immediately, Amberite began to crackle from his hand, but it stopped as soon as it touched the Verdant, and pain lanced through his arm.  Her Aether was much stronger.  He tried to force the blade to grow, but whenever the Amberite touched Verdant, it immediately fell to dust and sent a ripple of agony through Raeth’s arm.

The assassin pulled something out of her sash, and then reached forward.  The Verdant responded to her silent commands, and the vines began to flow and constrict, pulling Raeth’s arm to the side and separating it from his body, freeing his Amberite bud.  It was a strange move--perhaps she meant to keep him from somehow freeing himself with his Amberite.  Regardless of the reason, Raeth immediately commanded a sword to grow, and the Amberite responded.  Unfortunately, that was as far as he could go.

Great, Raeth thought in a half-panic.  Now what?  I have a weapon, but I still can’t move my arm.  What is she doing, anyway?  The woman knelt beside his arm, fiddling with something Raeth couldn’t see.

Raeth struggled, straining with all the strength he had, but he could barely even wiggle.  This is it, he thought with horror.  Assassinated my first day as Emperor.  Laene is an idiot.  They’ll never let him take the throne after I’m found knifed in the night.

Apparently, the High Senator was more daring than Raeth assumed.  He hadn’t expected the man to move so quickly.

You want free.  The words appeared in his mind, like a whispered voice.  Not his voice.

Raeth froze.  Was he going mad?

You want free, the voice repeated.

Raeth paused only slightly.  Yes, I want free, Raeth thought desperately.

Why?

Raeth lay still, dumbfounded.

Suddenly, pain sliced into his arm.  The assassin was touching her Verdant to his Amberite sword, shattering it.  What was she doing?

Tell me why.  The voice said.

Not now, Raeth said.  Later, once I’m free.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the woman raise an ominous-looking weapon in her hand.

I will free you, the voice said.

Raeth saw it happen.  A patch of darkness split from the ceiling above.  It moved like a flowing liquid, seeping downward.  It was black upon black in the dark room, but it was noticeable nonetheless.

The assassin paused, noticing his eyes.  She cocked her head to the side just as the patch of darkness split, forming into a hand-like grouping of tendrils that shot down and slammed into the Verdant.

Raeth felt a surge of power from within him, and the woman suddenly let out a cry of pain.  The darkness moved in a blur, slamming into her and throwing her backward.  She grunted, rolling across the floor and out of Raeth’s vision. The Verdant hissed and squirmed around him as the darkness assaulted it.

The Verdant exploded.  Scraps of vine were hurled through the room, smacking against walls and bookcases.  Raeth lay stunned, surrounded by writhing fragments of Verdant.

You are free, the voice whispered in his head.

“Guards!” Raeth screamed, rolling to his feet.

The assassin lay puffing on the floor, a look of fatigue on her face.  Her head snapped up at his yell, however, and Raeth heard a muffled curse.  She stood, whipping her arm at him.

Raeth leapt behind a chair just as a ball of Verdant smashed into it, vines shooting forth and imprisoning the unfortunate piece of furniture.  Raeth scrambled across the floor, running in a squat as Verdant exploded against the wall, vine runners creeping across the stone toward him.

The door to his room burst open, flooding the chamber with light.  Raeth barely looked up in time to see his balcony door shatter outward, a burst of Verdant plowing through it.  The assassin ducked through the broken glass and threw herself off the balcony.

Raeth lay confused on the ground beside a pulsing mass of Verdant.  As its mistress went out of range, the Verdant stopped moving, hardening and turning dull brown.

“Your majesty!” a guard said with concern, rushing over to help Raeth to his feet.

“I’m all right,” Raeth said, wiping his brow as several more guards burst into the room.

“What happened, my lord?” the guard asked with concern.

“An assassin,” Raeth said, still a bit stunned.  “Order a search of the palace--others may be in danger.”

#

D’Naa swung back onto her own balcony, breathing deeply, her heart pounding, her mask damp with sweat.  Her climbing had grown frantic as lights began flaring on around her, balconies and windows lighting like sudden alarms.  She’d gone so fast, in fact, that she’d stopped caring about the height, moving in broad, almost jump-like leaps, her Verdant springing out in front of her and pulling her forward.

A part of her mind had realized the danger of her flight, and been terrified.  But the terror of being captured had been even more powerful, and so she’d kept going, moving at a reckless speed.  She crouched on the balcony for a moment, her heart thumping.

He’s so powerful! She thought with amazement.  She hadn’t even seen his Amberite begin to grow; it had destroyed her vines with blurring speed.

“D’Naa, dear!” Shaad said, rushing forward.  Hlin sat up in his chair, his face startled, his pipe drooping in his lips.

D’Naa stood, wiggling vines drooping from her arms all the way down to the floor.  She was stunned by what she’d just done--all of it, not just the escape.  It had been so dangerous, so. . .thrilling.

She smiled, pulling off her headcloth and letting her hair fall freely around her face.  She breathed deeply.  Her Aether was exhausted from the extended use, and her nerves were still taut from the experience.  She’d failed to get the Amberite Bud, but for some reason she didn’t care.  All that meant was that she’d be able to try again.

“Oh dear,” Shaad mumbled as she took D’Naa’s facemask and cloak.  “I’ve seen that look before.”

D’Naa raised her eyebrows in question.  “Where?”

“On your grandfather’s face,” Shaad explained, “the first time we left Kavir.”

Hlin smiled, settling back in his chair.  “The girl’s had a taste of true excitement.  Looks like it agrees with her.”

Shaad frowned.  “Did you get the Bud, dear?” she asked.

D’Naa shook her head, still smiling.  “It was so wonderful!” she said.  “I snuck all the way up to the Emperor’s room, and then I was surprised, but it was just a statue, but then the Emperor found me, and I vined him, but then he got free and called the guards and. . . .”

She paused, breathing deeply.  Something still bothered her.  She thought she’d seen something the moment before he escaped, something very odd. . .but, no, that was foolish.  Hern had a powerful Amberite Bond--she shouldn’t be surprised that he’d overpowered her.  Since he hadn’t struggled at first, she’d let herself get distracted, loosening her grip.  Next time, she would have to move more quickly.  Next time she would be ready for him.

“Oh, dear,” Shaad repeated disapprovingly.  Hlin only chuckled.

“This was a foolish plan,” Shaad snapped.  “Ala’D shouldn’t have sent D’Naa to do this.  Why, what if she’d been captured?  We already have Verdant; why do we need Amberite too?”

D’Naa barely paid attention to her grandmother’s words.  She simply stood, reveling in the excitement of the moment.  In a way, she couldn’t believe herself--she’d always been taught to follow the Kavir way, to be practical and prudent.  What she felt was neither of those things.  Yet, it was magnificent nonetheless.

Finally, she sighed, forcing herself back to reality.  She was standing with her Verdant exposed, dressed in a tight black outfit.  If guards started searching the palace. . . .

“The King’s plan is not foolish, grandmother,” she said, moving into her bed chamber to change.  “He’s right--we need Amberite, especially after what we saw yesterday in the north.  I didn’t get the Bud tonight, but I’ll get it next time.”

“Next time?” Shaad asked from the next room.  “You’re going to try this foolishness again?”

D’Naa poked her head into the doorway, regarding her grandparents.  “Of course.”

#

It was very hard to fall asleep with people watching him.  The guards stood beside his door, standing with well-trained Aedin formality, staring straight ahead.  Technically, they weren’t looking at him, they were staring at some undefined place just over his head, but it was disturbing nonetheless.

Nothing had been discovered about the assassin, of course.  Powerful Verdant Bonds could climb walls and use their vines like ropes to swing from place to place.  If Raeth had been thinking, he would have placed guards on the balcony as well.  He just hadn’t expected Laene to be so garrulous as to attack him the very day he was made emperor.

The Verdant Line was already denouncing the attack, of course, claiming that they had no female Bonds of such power.  Their only explanation was a poor one, that there had to be some rogue members of the Line who were unsatisfied with the government.  Everyone suspected the truth, however.

So, Laene has been training powerful High Aedin Verdant assassins, Raeth thought, closing his eyes, sleep finally beginning to come.  As if I didn’t have enough problems with the end of the world and all.

No end of the world, the voice said in his head.  Just the end of half of it.

Raeth’s eyes snapped open.  The room looked exactly the same, illuminated by the glow coming through the open doorway, where another half-dozen soldiers stood guard.  Yet, the darkness in the corners of the room seemed a bit deeper, the shadows a little longer.  Raeth couldn’t suppress a shudder.

What are you? he demanded.

Why?

Raeth paused.  Why what?  Why do I want to know what you are?

Why? The voice repeated.  You promised to tell me why.

Raeth lay quietly for a moment.  He really was going insane.  But, the darkness had freed him.  It had ripped the assassin’s bonds free like they were nothing.

You are the Living Night, Raeth accused.  The souls of the Forgotten.

I do not know, the voice said.  I want to know why.

Why what? Raeth asked.  Why I wanted to be freed?  I was going to die.

What is free? The voice asked.

Free is. . . . Raeth paused, thinking.  Free is not being in bondage.

That is what free is not, the voice said.  What is it?

It is doing what you wish.  It is moving when you wish.  It is being what you wish.

There was silence for a moment.  I wish to be free, the voice finally said.  And then there was silence.  Raeth continued to speak in his head, making demands, making requests, and generally driving himself mad, but no reply came.  Eventually, he fell asleep.

Chapter Eight

The Counsel Room was more like a warehouse than a ‘room.’  Inside sat one of the finest tools of the Aedin military, an enormous scale model of the northern border.  Even after a week of visiting the room, Raeth was amazed by the map’s detail.  It depicted the entire area from fifty miles south of the border, to the border itself--complete with a detailed replication of the northern pass and it’s powerful wall--to Saeris Va in the north.

In Raeth’s opinion, the War Counsel itself was far less impressive.  The group of twelve Strategic Generals were a stuffy lot who had trivialized warfare to the point that they saw it more like a game than a serious endeavor.  Their strategies seemed simplistic and antiquated--they had spent centuries fighting the unorganized Harrmen tribes.  Now that they were faced with a different threat, their hesitance showed that they didn’t quite know how to react--no matter what they claimed.

The problem was, Raeth knew even less than they did.  Though he’d spent years as a child trying to convince his father he’d make a good Sworded, though he’d read dozens of books on military strategy, the hard truth was he’d never led men into battle.  He doubted he’d be able to do any better than the generals.

So, Raeth watched.  In the week following the assassination attempt, he spent most of his time in the Counsel room, observing.  What he saw was not encouraging.  Imperium spies, each accompanied by two Vo-Dari for quick transport, affirmed that the dark army had continued to grow.  The creatures continued to spawn, presumably from the Pool of the Forgotten, until there were nearly two-hundred thousand of them in and around the city.

Two days into the week, the Imperium’s fears came true.  The army of Forgotten began marching south.  The Aedin could no longer hope that the attack on Saeris Va had come indiscriminately.  The creatures were focused on the Imperium.

Raeth watched them now.  Or, at least, he watched the pieces that represented them.  The people had begun referring to them as the Forgotten, though it was still uncertain if they really were the souls of banished Ancestors.

The creatures always moved in a block formation, marching in neat ranks.  All two hundred thousand of them moved at once--the spies said that Saeris Va was completely empty now.  Not that it mattered--two hundred thousand was more than enough to pose a threat.

The twelve generals stood at various places beside the map, regarding troop placements.  Gaedin stood at their head, like usual, his pale, hairless face and lanky features making him look more like a shop-keeper than a leader of armies.  To the side, several Vo-Dari waited to bring orders directly to the battlefield.

Suddenly, a Shorriken messenger materialized on one of the room’s small sending platforms.  The man quickly recovered from the Sending, then stood straight and saluted.  “They’re moving again, sir!” he said.

Raeth shot a look out the window.  To the east, he could barely make out the first few rays of sunlight.  They start moving at the same time every morning, he noticed with a slight frown.  Right at sunrise.  Why not move at night?  Wouldn’t it make more sense?

The messenger explained the Forgotten movements to the mapkeepers, and the Shorriken men scuttled forward, moving the Forgotten blocks across the map as indicated.  The messenger was barely necessary, however.  Once moving, the Forgotten troops always walked at exactly the same speed in exactly the same direction--directly toward Vae Annitor.

The Counsel room was tense as they waited for the Forgotten to approach.  The War Counsel had positioned its troops a good hour’s march from the Forgotten--they wanted the battlefield to be well-lit when the conflict took place.  However, despite the tension, Raeth saw excitement on the faces of most of the generals.  The last week had been spent in skirmishes and diversions to test the strength of the Forgotten forces.  This would be the first real confrontation.

Raeth’s eyes flickered down the length of the map, to where the Imperium troops waited.  The trap was a good one--because they knew exactly where the Forgotten army would march, the generals had been able to choose the perfect spot for the battle: a deep valley with smooth terrain to monopolize on the Mahallen cavalry.  The Imperium armies were divided into five separate forces, each one placed to attack the Forgotten army on a different side.  With such a perfect opportunity--and with the power of the Aethers--it shouldn’t matter that the Imperium forces were outnumbered.

Yet, something about the set-up made Raeth uncomfortable.  He couldn’t decide just what it was.  The Imperium troops were well-positioned; Aedin and High Aedin formed the core of the attack force, with troops of cavalry, archers, and a good number of Kavir and Shorriken infantry to support them.  This time, the generals’ smugness was well-deserved.  It should be a simple battle.  The High Aedin--especially the Amberite and Bestarin--were the Imperium’s base fighting force.  The other groups, even the cavalry, were usually unnecessary.

Still, Raeth was nervous, and he passed the hour in discomfort.  A week’s time had allowed the War Counsel to grow accustomed to his presence.  On occasion, Raeth made some comment just to remind them he was there, but he was careful not to make any suggestions relating to actual troop placement or orders.  He’d been foolish enough to try that on the first day, and it had nearly gotten him expelled from the Counsel room--the generals had done it nicely, of course, but there had been the threat of a Senate vote behind it.  Since then, Raeth had made certain not to threaten the Counsel’s authority.

It was a difficult position to stomach.  Technically, he was the most powerful man in the Imperium--probably in the world.  And yet, every time he tried to do something, he found a dozen people running to try and tie his hands.

It’s probably best that way, Raeth though with a sigh, sitting back in his throne-like chair.  What if Hern really had become Emperor?  The Imperium has lasted for centuries--it could never have done so if one idiot on the Throne could bring it down.

The Senate, War Counsel, and rights of citizens were all Shorriken ideas, integrated into the Imperium during the years of its founding, just after the Aedin had invaded from the north.  Unfortunately, in idiot-proofing the Throne, the laws had left Raeth practically impotent.

No, that’s not true, Raeth told himself as he watched the generals discuss strategy.  My father wasn’t impotent, neither was Eadal the Just, or dozens of other Emperors.  The problem was, everyone assumed Raeth was Hern.  The more time he spent on the throne, the more he realized that the Imperium had been bracing itself for a long time to deal with Hern’s reign.  All of the idiot-protections were already firmly positioned, and they had just been waiting for Vaetayn’s death.

That cage had fallen around Raeth instead of his twin.  It was frustrating--Raeth had spent his entire life wishing he could be something other than Dari, and now that he was, no one would give him an opportunity to prove himself.  All he could do was sit on his pretend throne, making stupid comments.  The worst part of it all was that he was forcing himself to play the part, intentionally acting like Hern so that they wouldn’t find him out.  Every time he spoke, he pulled the cage a little tighter around himself.

Maybe I really am useless, Raeth though.  Maybe they’re better off treating me like Hern.  After all, what experience do I have leading men?

“My Lord?” Tarrinon asked beside him.

Raeth looked up from his ponderings.  “Yes, Tarrinon?”

“Are you certain your presence is necessary here, my lord?” the aging Shorriken asked.  “The War Counsel is very experienced in these matters, and there are several cases that need your attention.”

“Cases?” Raeth asked.  “All you want me to do is sign documents.  I’m a new Emperor--even if I weren’t regarded as an idiot, people wouldn’t bring their grievances to me.  They’ll go to the Senate first.”

Tarrinon blinked, a slight look of shock on his bearded face.  “You know, my lord,” he finally said, “you are much more observant than I had been led to believe.”

Raeth snorted quietly, smiling to himself.

“Which is why,” Tarrinon continued, “I would think that you could see the importance in fulfilling your duties as Emperor.  The documents may not require you to stretch yourself, but they do need to be signed before they’re legal.”

“I get half the day for myself, Tarrinon,” Raeth said.  “that was our agreement.”

“Of course, my lord,” Tarrinon said.  “I was just thinking that with the ball tonight, you would want to get a head start on your work. . . .”

“I’ll pass.”

The man sighed, but he said no more on the subject.  Even though Tarrinon kept pushing, Raeth could tell he was satisfied with the half-day agreement.  Tarrinon was a bureaucrat--he would much rather have half the day firmly for himself than have to fight for an unknown percentage.  For some reason, Raeth had the feeling that Tarrinon saw all Emperors--brilliant or idiot--as children who would do anything to avoid that which was good for them.

I wonder how he’d react if he knew that secretly I felt he was right, Raeth wondered with amusement.  He knew he needed to do all the things Tarrinon wanted--he needed to sign documents, to meet emissaries, and play the part.  As inane as it all felt, Raeth knew the surest way to convince people--especially those who were Aedin--that he was incompetent was to not do his duty.  If he took care of his lesser responsibilities, maybe someday they’d trust him with greater ones.

Greater ones? Raeth thought, pausing.  I thought you told Darro you were going to give up the Throne once the war with the Forgotten was over.

Regardless, Raeth would do his duty--even if that duty only half-belonged to him.  He had been taught that much.  However, he could sign papers and meet emissaries just fine during the later half of the day.  In the mornings, he wanted to keep an eye on the army that threatened to destroy his empire before he got a chance to rule it.

The hour passed uneventfully.  The messengers continued to bring updates every few minutes, the mapkeepers continued to move the Forgotten army forward, and the generals continued to gloat over their plans.  The room began to grow more tense, however, as the Forgotten army approached the valley.  The messenger updates came more quickly, one arriving almost as soon as another left.

Raeth noticed it first.  He leaned forward on his ‘throne’--which he had ordered raised on blocks not just because he thought it was what Hern would do, but because it gave him a clear view of the table.  Something was wrong--the most recent update had placed the Forgotten army in a slightly re-arranged order.

That’s wrong, he thought.  They always march in a straight rank.

Raeth waited anxiously while the next update came.  When it did, the mapkeepers moved the block of Forgotten slightly apart.

“They know about the ambush!” Raeth said, standing slightly.

A couple of the generals looked at him, then rolled their eyes.  “There is no way they could, your majesty,” Gaedin said soothingly.

“They’re breaking formation,” Raeth said, pointing at the block of black-painted troops.

“They always do that before a battle,” Gaedin replied.  “They’ve seen our decoy army and they’re going to attack it.  Don’t worry, your majesty.  The Harrmen do this all the time too.”

Raeth slowly sat back down, keeping an eye on the Forgotten as the mapkeepers continued to update.  It did indeed look like the creatures were simply reorganizing.  Their massive numbers made the small contingent of Imperium decoys look pathetic by comparison, but, Raeth supposed, that was the point.

The Counsel room continued to bustle, Shorriken aids shuffling through the room, running errands for the Counsel members, lesser generals watching quietly, but Raeth barely noticed them.  He watched the large map carefully.  Their first true battle with the Forgotten.  How would it turn out?

“My lords!” an alarmed voice yelled.

Raeth’s head snapped up, a lesser general stumbling from a Sending platform.  Behind him two messengers dashed toward the mapkeepers and began to speak in frantic whispers.

“What is it man!” Gaedin snapped, wrinkles crossing his aging forehead.

“The creatures, sir!” the Bestarin general said, gesturing with a wolf-clawed hand.  “They’re splitting.”

Raeth turned with worry, an expression mimicked by most in the room.  Shuffling and whispering quieted as the mapkeepers obediently began to move their pieces.  They cut the main Forgotten army into six smaller pieces, then moved them forward in huge bounds, each one heading for a sequestered portion of Imperium soldiers.

So quickly! Raeth thought with amazement.  One moment the Forgotten had all been together, the next their separate parts had crossed half the distance to the hidden ambushers.

“We’ve been discovered,” Raeth snapped.  “Tell the men to fall back!”

Several faces looked up as his voice rang through the small room.  None of those faces, however, were Counsel members.  Gaedin and his fellows continued to stare at the map for a moment.  Then, in tandem, they broke, each one barking orders toward separate messengers.  Orders to deploy.

Messengers dashed to Sending platforms and disappeared in bursts of light.  Raeth stood for a moment, uncertain whether to be embarrassed or angered.

They completely ignored me, he thought, sitting down with a lethargic movement.  However, the battle soon took precedence over pride.  Raeth watched with worry as the next update arrived, and the mapkeepers moved.

They had reacted too slowly.  The Forgotten forces climbed the hills, spilling down on the surprised and disorganized Imperium forces.  What had been planned as a perfect trap had been sprung--but on the wrong side.  Now the Forgotten forces not only outnumbered the Imperium forces, but they also held the high ground.  Even worse, the Imperium army was divided and fractured.

“This battle cannot be won,” Raeth whispered with concern.  “We have to retreat.”

Gaedin looked up at the comment, but immediately turned back to his advisors.

Raeth ground his teeth in frustration.  They will follow my commands! He thought, preparing to rise.  I will not watch this!

He tensed, preparing to speak, but a hand fell on his arm.

“I would advise against it, my lord,” Tarrinon said quietly.  “Do not force them to override you formally.”

Raeth paused, looking down with annoyance.  “What?” he asked.

“The War Counsel has been granted full martial autonomy by the Senate, your majesty,” Tarrinon explained.  “Their vote can override any of your commands.  For your sake, they pretended not to hear the first time.  If you force their hand, however, they can make your impotence formal.”

Raeth froze, his eyes flickering back toward the map.  “When. . . ?”

“The Senate voted two days ago.  I warned you of the vote, but you told me that you had better things to do.”

Raeth frowned, then settled back in his throne, feeling sick.  “I. . .did?” he asked slowly.

“Yes, sire,” Tarrinon replied.

Raeth closed his eyes, realizing his own foolishness.  He had begun treating Tarrinon and his endless string of appointments as annoyances.  He hadn’t realized. . . .

By the Twins! Raeth thought.  I’m no better than Hern.  For all my thoughts of superiority, in the end I prove myself a fool.

“You give too little heed to the power of the Senate, my lord,” Tarrinon explained.  “It is a common mistake in a new Emperor.  Most new Emperors, however, have opportunity to learn their lesson in less. . .dramatic circumstances.”

Raeth opened his eyes.  There will be time for self-recrimination later, he told himself.  The battle was still proceeding.  He tried to look past the pieces and the map, to see what was happening miles and miles to the north, in the cold lands beyond the border.  Despite the inherent vagueness of the pieces, the mapkeepers did a fair job of representing the battlefield.  Updates came constantly, and they were given by messengers who had spent lifetimes training to explain what they saw.

The human army was split into five parts: the decoy, the two cavalry units, and the two larger strike forces.  Raeth frowned as he studied the pieces, watching the mapkeepers shift them in accordance with their messages.  Something was very wrong about the battle’s progress.  Three of the groups seemed to be holding their own--the two cavalry units and, surprisingly, the decoy force, which was the smallest of the three.  However, the two main forces--the strong, powerful forces--were fracturing and being pushed back.

Raeth’s eyes opened slightly with surprise as he realized the connection.  The decoy force and the Mahallen cavalry forces all lacked one thing.  High Aedin.  The main forces both made heavy use of High Aedin Amberite juggernauts and Verdant ranged attackers.  Those were the forces that were breaking.

By the Twins! Raeth thought with concern, remembering back to Saedin, when he had fought the Forgotten personally.  Their black flesh had dissolved his Amberite.  They had been able to pierce his father’s Amberite armor, something no metal--no matter how well forged--could do.  It had seemed like a small advantage--Amberite could be regrown, and their attacks still hadn’t been able to defeat Darro.  However, on a large scale, if the Forgotten could gain even a slight advantage against High Aedin Amberite Bonds, the core of military power that had provided stability to the Imperium for centuries. . . .

We have to fall back! Raeth realized.  While the smaller units were holding their own, they were doing so with difficulty.  Once the High Aedin lines broke. . . .

“Retreat,” Raeth said, his voice more of a petition than a command.

Gaedin continued to speak to his aids, looking at the map.  Raeth stared at the balding general for a moment, and eventually the man glanced toward him.  Raeth held Gaedin’s eyes, staring at the man with all the intensity he could muster.

“Retreat,” Raeth repeated.

Gaedin’s eyes flickered toward the map.  When he looked back at Raeth, Raeth could see understanding in the man’s eyes.  He knew.  He knew that they couldn’t win, not with their forces isolated from one another, not with the High Aedin lines folding.  They had to break away before the Forgotten overran them completely.

“Fall back,” Gaedin said, his voice almost grudging.

The other generals looked up at him with alarm.  Then, one by one, they issued similar orders to their men.  Within a few minutes, the Imperium forces had disengaged, falling back along pre-proscribed routes, the Mahallen infantry riding through the Forgotten forces to provide cover for the retreat.  Raeth watched tensely.  If the Forgotten forces followed behind as quickly as they had struck at the beginning of the battle. . . .

They did not.  As the Mahallen riders fell back, the Forgotten forces slowly regrouped, forming into the neat ranks they always used when marching.  By the time they began moving again--walking in a straight, blockish pattern--the Imperium forces had withdrawn a considerable distance.

The generals began to stand and confer, their faces troubled, and immediately the room was a bustle of movement again.  Aids rushed from the room to inform their masters of the battle’s result, and the Vo-Dari moved outside to begin Sending healers to the battlefield to search for living to be Sent home for care.  The War Counsel moved toward a side room to discuss the day’s events.

Raeth stood, intending to follow the generals, but a look from Gaedin made him pause.  The general stepped toward him, his face harsher than usual.  “My lord,” he said with a barely tolerant voice.  “We have suffered your presence here because of your station and the respect we hold for it.  During battle, however, you are not to interfere.  We do have the power to force you to withdraw during times of conflict.  Do you understand?”

Raeth forced himself to hold back a retort.  “Yes, general,” he said.

Gaedin nodded sharply, then turned to join the other generals.  They shut the door behind them.  Raeth stood for a moment, regarding the closed door, Tarrinon at his side.

“That man really doesn’t like me, does he?” he asked.

“That would be a fair assessment, my lord,” Tarrinon said, poking through his tome.  “Of course, he probably has good reason.  When you insulted him, perhaps you should have considered the fact that some day you’d have to work with him.”

“Insulted him?” Raeth asked with surprise.

“Yes,” Tarrinon said.  “Last year, my lord?  Surely you remember--you did it in front of the entire army, after all, during the victory celebration when we pushed back the Graffla Harrmen.  As I recall, you called him a ‘pathetic eunuch of a man’ who ‘couldn’t lead children in a pissing contest, let alone an army in battle.’  I do believe he took offense.”

Raeth closed his eyes, exhaling softly.  Hern, you idiot.  Is there a person in this city you haven’t mortally offended?

“Anyway, my lord,” Tarrinon continued.  “I don’t want to infringe upon ‘your time,’ but you might want to return you your rooms and get ready.  Unless you intend to go to the ball tonight in casual clothing, that is.”

Raeth continued to stare at the closed door.  Finally, he turned to his short companion.  The elderly Shorriken’s beard-braid shook slightly as he made notations in his tome.

“Tarrinon, it’s time for us to stop being childish,” Raeth said.

Tarrinon looked up, a question on his face.  “My lord?” he asked.

“I have to fight the senate, the generals, and my own reputation,” Raeth said.  “I can’t afford to fight you too.  From now on, when you say I need to be somewhere, I’ll go.”

Tarrinon smiled slightly, resting his pen down on the side of the page.

“But,” Raeth said firmly, holding up a finger.  “I need you to do something for me.  You’ve been Emperor’s chancellor for Vae only knows how long.  If you tell me to be somewhere, I expect it to be important.  You’re a bureaucrat--you know how to shuffle appointments, block unimportant visitors, and keep people moving in circles.  The generals aren’t taking this invasion seriously enough.  When there isn’t an important function for me to attend--and I mean a vitally important function--I want to be here.”

Tarrinon nodded slightly.  “I think I understand, my lord.”

“Good,” Raeth said.  “Is this ball tonight really that important?”

“The Senate sees your main duty right now that of marriage, my lord,” Tarrinon explained.  “They are the ones who insisted on the ball--they fear your Ynaa prayer is more a means of delay than an act of piousness.  If you don’t at least pretend to be interested in their offered brides, you will find the Senate hostile.  If, however, the Senators think that you’re really trying to find a bride, you will probably find them more docile--and more willing to favor you in Senate votes.”

Raeth nodded slowly.  “All right,” he said.  “Let’s go get me ready, then.”

#

D’Naa was beginning to wonder how much grandeur a single city could hold.  Every time she thought she was growing accustomed to the wonders and beauties of Vae Annitor, she saw something else that stunned her.

The palace ballroom was composed of several different levels.  The main floor was the largest, but the open-chambered room extended three stories into the air, and several platform-like balconies extended from the walls.  D’Naa stood on the very top-most platform, leaning against the railing and looking down at the main floor some fifty feet below.  There were no pillars to support her platform, she noticed, something only possible in Aedinor.

“Please don’t do that, D’Naa,” Hlin said, a sick look on his face.

D’Naa turned back toward her grandparents.  They stood a safe distance from the railing, her grandfather trying his best to pretend that they were standing on a regular floor and not a platform two stories up from the ground.  His sick face was quite a contrast to his rich clothing--Mahallen in design, with loose-fitting, thin trousers and several overlapping vests and jackets.  He almost looked respectable.

Ball-goers were beginning to collect on the balcony.  Only the most wealthy and important were allowed on the upper platform, and so the clothing she saw was all extremely lavish.  Of course, D’Naa saw the festivities as more arrogant Aedin frivolousness.  Wasn’t the Imperium at war?  Hadn’t they lost a major battle just hours before?  Didn’t any of the people remember the dark, evil things that had attacked them during Saedin?  Their apathy angered her--it was almost like they thought the war was interesting only as long as it didn’t interfere with their enjoyment.

D’Naa leaned back over the balcony, smiling slightly at the thrill and disorientation.  Heights didn’t bother her anymore--not since her attempt at stealing Hern’s Aether a week before.  Instead, they excited her.  “There aren’t any columns,” she said, leaning out even further and prompting a whimper from her grandfather.  “They do it with Corpates, I assume?”

“Two long ones, at the sides of the balcony,” Shaad explained.  “You can see the Nurturers at the corners where the balcony meets the wall.”

D’Naa looked up, peering through the gathering crowd of richly-dressed ball-goers.  Sure enough, a gray-robed nurturer knelt at each corner of the half-circle balcony.  Their hands rested against the floor--touching the hidden Corpate bar that ran horizontally through the balcony, providing stability.  Nurturers supposedly spent their entire lives conferring with the Corpates, providing companionship for the souls of those trapped within the metallic bodies.

“D’Naa, dear,” Shaad said with a disapproving voice, “stop trying to make your grandfather sick and come over here.”

D’Naa smiled, but did as asked, stepping back from the balcony and walking across the tiled floor to join her grandparents.  Shaad had chosen to wear a more traditional Kavir dress, dark blue in color.  Like most of her people’s clothing, it was more functional than it was lavish, with bulky cloth to protect against highland cold.  Shaad had, however, admitted that D’Naa needed something a little more extravagant.  So, they had spent a bit of her cousin’s gold purchasing D’Naa a dress after the High Aedin fashion.

It was undoubtedly the most beautiful piece of clothing she had ever owned--as much as she disliked their frivolity, the Aedin really were masterful artisans.  The green dress was made of thinner material than those from Kavir, and its clever tailoring accentuated her figure while at the same time masking her less than full figure.  The gown went all the way down to her ankles, but the material was thin enough that a quick spin or movement made it flutter lightly in the air.  Wearing it made D’Naa feel, for the first time since arriving in Vae Annitor, that she might actually be fitting material to marry an Emperor.

The other brides, of course, did their best to defy that idea.  They began to arrive soon after D’Naa, sweeping into the room in gorgeous, embroidered gowns that were sleek after Aedin custom, yet at the same time far more curvaceous than D’Naa could ever hope to be.  They all sparkled with jewelry, something D’Naa had never owned.

Nahan’s dress was even more diaphanous than normal, practically translucent, held together with only a sash at the waist and a bow over one shoulder.  With her Mahallen breast-hoops, her dozens of bracelets, and her long dark hair braided with golden chains, the tan-skinned girl was by far the most extravagant.  The three Aedin women, however, weren’t far behind--each one sported an elaborate necklace.  The room was well-lit with Corpate pillars in alcoves running up and down the walls, and the necklaces sparkled with so many gems they were almost blinding to look at.

“Blessed D’Lum,” D’Naa whispered.  “How dare they claim they don’t have the resources to send us more troops?”

“High Aedin men never wear any form of jewelry beyond their cloak-clasps,” Hlin said, standing at her side.  “Even the Emperor wears no crown.  So, instead, they give it all to their women.  It’s said the best way to judge an Aedin’s wealth is to see what kind of jewelry his wife wears.  And, of course, the Mahallens are infatuated with any form of gaudiness.”

“You should take your place, child,” Shaad said, nodding toward a line of throne-like chairs at the front of the room.  “You’ll wait there until the Emperor motions for you--he should dance with each of you in turn.”

D’Naa frowned.  “I just have to sit there?  I don’t get to dance with anyone else?”

Shaad nodded.  “This isn’t Kavir, child.  Balls and dances are more political than they are enjoyable.”

D’Naa sighed, but did as instructed.  Hopefully, he won’t dance with me very long, D’Naa thought as she sat.  I don’t know how much of his mockery I’ll be able to take.

#

The imperial balcony was, of course, already filled by the time Raeth arrived.  The herald announced him, and the various Senators and dignitaries bowed obediently.

How deferent they are, Raeth thought with slight amusement, yet, when it comes time to grant me any sort of power, somehow the votes all go the other way.

His eyes flickered to the side, where the brides sat in a row, each one beautified and sparkling, like lures on a hook.  They all looked far more glamorous than they had on the night of the Choosing.

It makes sense, Raeth realized.  My father’s not the one making the decision this time--I am.  For him, politics was all that mattered.  They expect me to be different.  They assume I’ll choose the prettiest trophy.

And, had he been Hern, the strategy probably would have worked.  Raeth, however, felt more annoyed than he did tempted.  This was marriage, perhaps the most important decision he would ever make--assuming, of course, he even decided to make it.  Did they really think he’d choose his bride based on who had the richest necklace?

Still, the ball would serve its purpose.  He still intended to give up the Throne before he actually had to choose a bride, but the month was passing quickly.  If he did get into a position where he was forced to pick, he wanted to at least meet the women first.

Raeth looked down the line of girls, smiling and nodding at each one in turn.  The smiles he got back were practiced.  Some were more sultry--as in the case of Nahan--others more stiff--as in the case of Tae--but all seemed contrived.  There were two exceptions.  Frana, the Khur, simply scowled and D’Naa, the Kavir, regarded him with thin-lipped displeasure.

Raeth shook his head--those two would be trouble.  The rest of the brides at least had the decency to hide their dislike of him.  Raeth sighed at the thought before walking to the edge of the platform and waving to the ball-goers on the other three levels.  Then he motioned toward the minstrels, and the ball began.

All right, Raeth thought, eyeing the brides again, let’s get this over with.

“My lord?” a voice asked.

Raeth looked up as the ever present Tarrinon made his way to Raeth’s side.  The Shorriken man wore the same robes as he always did--Raeth wasn’t certain if that meant he didn’t consider the ball a special occasion, or if it meant he considered all of his duties worthy of finery.

“Yes?” Raeth asked.

“Might I make a suggestion, my lord?” the Shorriken asked.

“Go ahead,” Raeth said, looking over the crowd as groups and pairs began to form.

“Take your time with the brides,” Tarrinon explained.  “The ball formally ends once you’ve danced with each one.  So, I would recommend spacing them out.”

Raeth frowned.  “Then what do I do between dances?  I can’t dance with any of the other women.”

Tarrinon nodded to the edges of the dance floor, where High Aedin and non-Aedin nobility were beginning to converse in small groups.  “Do what they do, my lord,” Tarrinon explained.  “So far, you’ve only been able to meet their emissaries.  This is an opportunity to speak with the Senators directly, and in a non-formal situation.  If you have any goals you wish to seek through senatorial votes, this is the place to begin working on them.”

Raeth paused.  Did he have any legislative goals?  “Tarrinon,” he asked speculatively, “what would it take to have the Senate give me influence over the War Counsel?”

“It would take a vote to change martial autonomy, my lord,” Tarrinon said, smiling slightly.  “First you’d have to present the case to the Senate--something you can do yourself, because of your position.  After that, eighty-percent would have to vote to give you control of the armies.”

Raeth nodded.  A difficult task, but at least it was something to work toward.  He took a breath, noting where the stocky High Senator Laene was speaking with a small group of High Aedin.

“Any other suggestions?” he asked.

“Only one, my lord,” Tarrinon said.  “You have one powerful bargaining tool.  Don’t ruin it by playing favorites.”

Raeth frowned, trying to divine what the short man was talking about.  Then, with a sudden realization, he understood.  He glanced up at the brides again.

“Despite his dislike of Laene, your father was probably going to choose Alean for you,” Tarrinon explained quietly.  “However, the situation has changed drastically.  The other representatives will all be wondering if, perhaps, they might have a chance.  If you imply that they might. . . .”

“They’ll be afraid to vote against me, lest they lose their chance,” Raeth realized.  Then he smiled ruefully.  “And I was expecting this to be a simple evening.”

Tarrinon smiled.  “You’ll do fine, my lord.”

Raeth nodded, took a deep breath, and stepped forward to begin mingling.

Chapter Nine

“So, your father is Senator Allenshor?” Raeth asked conversationally.

Kallana looked up at him, opened her mouth slightly as if to reply, then blushed and turned away again.

Raeth sighed quietly, rolling his eyes.  Dances with the other brides had been awkward, but of them all the Shorriken woman was by far the worst.  At least the other women had responded to his questions--though, for the most part, their answers had been stiff and formal.

Kallana, however, had yet to look him in the eye without blushing, and she spoke in such quiet, unaffecting tones that Raeth could barely hear her.  Like many Shorriken women, she was short and of hefty girth--more plump than the average Aedin woman, but that was what her people considered attractive.  Raeth didn’t have much of a problem with her looks, but her shyness was driving him crazy.

The song is almost over, he told himself, forcing his feet to continue in the formal dance’s circular pattern.  Kallana moved smoothly, but she still refused to look at him.  If she blushes one more time. . . . Raeth thought.

Fortunately, the song finished at that moment.  Raeth stepped back stiffly and Kallana moved nearly as eagerly, curtseying before scurrying back to her chair.

Raeth exhaled in relief.  Only two more left, he thought.  Two more dances and the night would be over.  He moved off the dance floor, people parting quickly to let him through, and made his way to the wine table, where he found a familiar form.

“Darro?” Raeth asked, selecting a cup of Mahallen blue.

The large man looked up, smiling.  “Ho, brother,” he said, raising his cup.

“You’re a bit late,” Raeth noted.

Darro shrugged.  “I hate these things,” he said.  “Everyone looks at me funny if I drink too much--as if that weren’t why the wine is here--and now that my choosing has come, none of the women will dance with me.  Besides, I had something that needed looking at.”  He glanced down at his arm, and Raeth could make out signs of a bandage underneath the folds of clothing.

“They told me you weren’t wounded!” Raeth said with concern.

Darro took a slurp of his wine, and waved dismissively.  “It was nothing,” he said.  “I didn’t even have it looked at until I got back here.”

“They hit you through your armor, didn’t they?” Raeth asked.  “They cut through it.”

Darro nodded, frowning slightly.  “The High Aedin are all trying to pretend it’s nothing, but. . . .

Raeth nodded.  The day’s failure was a dangerous precedent.  “Don’t get too drunk,” Raeth said, turning away.  “When the ball’s over, I want to talk to you about the battle.”

Darro nodded, and Raeth stepped away, moving through the crowd toward Tarrinon, who was waving at him with a subdued motion.

“What is it?” Raeth said as he approached.

The Shorriken aid gestured toward the edge of the platform, where a middle-aged Mahallen man stood, watching the dance quietly.  He had a short beard with a long, thin mustache.  His Kall-em-kan was extremely elaborate, ringing his head with gem-studded gold cloth and tassels that hung down past his shoulders.  Whoever he was, he was important.

“Mahallen Senator?” Raeth asked.

“Yes, and more,” Tarrinon said.  “That is Rall Hannin.  The Mahallen King.”

Raeth regarded the man with interest.  He’d heard of Rall Hannin--he was known to be a shrewd businessman.  Rall Hannin was the only King who actually accepted a Senate seat; the others simply sent representatives.

“All four of the other Mahallen Senators are cousins of his.  He’s as important an ally as you could hope to make, my lord.”

Raeth patted Tarrinon on the shoulder.  “Thank you,” he said, stepping forward.

Rall Hannin bowed his head in deference as Raeth approached, then turned his eyes back toward the party, a cup of wine raised loosely before him.  “Good evening, your majesty,” he said with a smooth, almost practiced-sounding, Mahallen accent.

“And to you,” Raeth said, accepting a cup for himself from a passing server.  What was the best way to approach such a man?  Supposedly, even the Mahallen king was Raeth’s subordinate.  However, he had difficulty feeling superior before Rall Hannin’s careful aristocraticness.

“I hear troubling news from the war front in the north, your majesty,” Rall Hannin said with a speculative tone.  “Perhaps you can confirm events for me.  I hear you were observing when the conflict occurred.”

“The War Counsel is certain they can stop the Forgotten advance once it reaches the northern border,” Raeth said, frowning slightly.  Rall Hannin leaned carelessly with his back against the balcony’s railing, something Raeth felt uncomfortable even approaching.

“The War Counsel is wise,” Rall Hannin said, still watching the figures dancing a short distance away.  His precise words almost seemed in rhythm with the music’s beat.  “But, they are a group, not an individual, so there can be disharmony in their actions.  Perhaps what the Imperium needs is a single, capable leader for its martial efforts.”

Raeth raised an eyebrow at this.  Rall Hannin was known for his shrewdness, but the last comment had been strikingly obvious.  “You’ve been speaking with Laene and the other senators, I see,” Raeth surmised.

Rall Hannin smiled.  “You haven’t been subtle with your intentions, your majesty,” he said, his eyes flickering toward Raeth as he took a sip of wine.

“I apologize,” Raeth said.  “I’m new at this.”

Rall Hannin shrugged lightly.  “Sometimes a forthright attitude prevails over the most clever of schemes, your majesty.  If everyone’s certain of your intentions, at least they won’t misunderstand you.”

“I suppose,” Raeth said.  “So, what do you want for your votes, your highness?”

“Five votes is a lot, your majesty,” Rall Hannin replied.  “Assuming they were for sale--which, of course, they are not, for the Senate is above such pettiness--they would come at quite a price.”

Raeth paused.  How was he to proceed?  Laene and the other Line Heads had been far more simple to read--all Raeth had to do was imply their brides weren’t ruled out, and the men had been delighted to hear his opinions.  Rall Hannin seemed more. . .comfortable than the others, less easy to influence.

“The Mahallen bride is quite fair, your highness,” Raeth said carefully, his eyes flickering to where the brides sat.  His words were an understatement--the sultry Mahallen girl’s lithe beauty was very distinct from the more fleshy and pale-skinned Aedin women.  Of course, the stories said that such beauty came with a price--the fairness of Mahallen women was matched only by their tempers.

“She is, isn’t she,” Rall Hannin said fondly.  “Nahan is my daughter, you know.”

Raeth blinked in surprise.  “I. . .wasn’t aware, your highness,” he admitted.

“En Mahall would offer nothing but the best for its Emperor, your majesty,” Rall Hannin replied.

“She would certainly make a tempting bride,” Raeth said.  “I certainly wouldn’t eliminate her as a choice.”

“So you told Laene about his daughter, Hatha about his cousin, and Arasisae about her Line’s offering,” Rall Hannin said speculatively.  “For a man who claims to lack inspiration from his Ancestors, you certainly do have a propensity for making implications, your majesty.”

Raeth flushed, an action that prompted a laugh from Rall Hannin.  There was a moment of silence before the Mahallen spoke again.

“You’re nothing at all like what I’ve been lead to believe, my Emperor,” he said, changing the subject.  “Imagine my surprise when I discovered the supposed buffoon of an Emperor playing the Senators against themselves.  Don’t blush so, your majesty.  Watching you tonight has given me no end of mirth.  That in itself is nearly worth any Senate vote.”

“I’m not certain whether to be honored or embarrassed further, your highness,” Raeth replied frankly.

“Be neither,” Rall Hannin replied.  “Let us deal instead.  I’m not certain I want you in control of our armies, but on the other hand I’m not certain our charade of a War Counsel is doing any good.  I have four cousins in the Senate.  I’m certain I could persuade them to back you, if it was in our kingdom’s best interest.”

“You want your daughter as empress?” Raeth asked uncertainly.  He didn’t want to make any promises yet.

“Yes,” Rall Hannin replied.  “But that is none of my concern.”

Raeth paused.  “It isn’t?”

“Of course not,” Rall Hannin said, sipping his wine.  “Catching a husband is Nahan’s duty.  I cannot do it for her.  Let me warn you, however, that she’s been watching you.  If she’s as impressed with your budding political talent as I am, then you might find yourself hunted quite vigilantly.”

Raeth took a sip of his wine, a bit uncomfortable with the concept of being ‘hunted.’  “I’m certain it will be. . .invigorating.”

“Indeed,” Rall Hannin said with a laugh.

“So, if you don’t want to influence my choice of brides, what do you want?”

“I’m not certain,” Rall Hannin admitted.  “Honestly, I came to this ball tonight expecting you to make an utter fool of yourself--ordering people around, insulting your allies, and generally wreaking havoc on the court.  Since you’ve decided to play the game instead, I’m left somewhat unprepared.”

“I planned to call a vote within the week,” Raeth said.

“Then make it, your majesty,” Rall Hannin said, clapping him on the shoulder.  “And perhaps En Mahall shall support you.”

Raeth paused, frowning.  “Why would it?”

“Because,” Rall Hannin said.  “You will feel indebted to us.  That was far more than I expected from your reign, your majesty.  Enjoy the ball.”

Raeth stood, somewhat dumbfounded, as Rall Hannin bowed and strolled over toward a group of rich Aedin merchants, a smile on his lips.

“That was very well done,” Tarrinon approved stepping up beside him.  “Rall Hannin is the most experienced member of the court.  He usually chews up his opponents and spits them up half-eaten.”

“I’ll admit to feeling slightly nibbled,” Raeth said, still frowning.  Then he sighed.  “What next?”

“Next, you should probably dance,” Tarrinon said, checking his watch chain.  “In fact, I would suggest taking the last two brides in a row.  It is growing late, and people are beginning to look like they’d rather leave.  However, it would be politically uncouth for them to do so until you’ve finished your dances.”

“All right,” Raeth said, eyeing the last two women.  He’d gone directly down the line in an attempt to appear impartial.  Only Alean and the dark-haired Kavir girl were left.  The first was the least appealing choice in his mind, if only because he knew how much Hern had desired her, and the second the most appealing, though he barely dared admit it to himself.

Stay focused, Raeth, he warned himself.  You’re going to avoid marriage if you can.  If you can’t. . .well, a bride from Kavir wouldn’t do anyone any good.  Besides, you don’t even know her.  She’s probably as quiet and annoying as Kallana.

“All right,” he said, gesturing for an aid to approach Alean.  “You know, Tarrinon,” he admitted.  “This has actually been kind of fun.”

“You’re High Aedin, my lord,” Tarrinon said, lowering his appointment book and backing away as Alean stood and approached.  “Politics is in your blood.”

Raeth stepped forward and accepted the girl’s hand.  She was quite beautiful, he was forced to admit, but in an almost packaged, redundant way.  She looked like any number of High Aedin beauties, bred carefully to bring the Line a favorable match.  True, Alean was probably the most perfectly-manufactured bride in the Imperium, but she still felt artificial to him.

That feeling left the moment she stomped her foot down on his toe.  Raeth’s eye opened wide with surprise and shock, but he managed to squelch a cry of agony.

“What is this all about, Hern?” Alean hissed as the crowd parted and allowed the two of them--Raeth covering a limp--to walk onto the dance floor.

“Excuse me?” he asked uncomfortably as the minstrels stopped their song and began a new tune for his benefit.

“This charade,” Alean said, her eyes angry, her perfect face marred by a slight frown.  “Why wait so long to make a decision?  Why forbid me to visit you?”

Raeth raised an eyebrow.  “I refused all appointments from brides, Alean,” he informed.  “I didn’t want to look biased.”

“You’re supposed to be biased!” she snapped.  “You aren’t going back on our agreement, are you?”

Raeth paused.  Agreement?  “I. . . .”

“I did not warm your bed for years simply so that you could discard me when convenient, Hern,” Alean informed, her eyes intense.  “You promised me your father would make the right decision.  Well, we don’t have to worry about that anymore, do we?  Don’t tell me you’re equally untrustworthy.”

Alean and Hern. . . ? Raeth thought with surprise.  How much trouble did that man get me into?

“I’m. . .not trying to go back on our agreement, Alean,” Raeth informed, thinking quickly.  “But, an Emperor’s first month is often his most difficult.  Senators often try to pass bills and make decisions while the new monarch is still uncertain of himself, and doesn’t know that he has power to overrule.”  He had to force himself not to flush when he made the comment, realizing he’d fallen into the exact trap he was now claiming to have foreseen.

“Anyway,” he continued, “I thought it best to put off my decision for a while.  That way, I could use the choosing to manipulate the different Lines to my side.  We may know who I’m going to choose, but they don’t have to.”

The words placated Alean a bit, and her hostility began to melt away--it was replaced, however, with confusion.  “You never thought about such things before,” she noted.  “You kept saying the Twins could take the Senate for all you cared about it.”

“Um. . .I wasn’t Emperor then,” Raeth said.  “I didn’t realize the responsibility.  I may be arrogant at times, Alean, but I’m still High Aedin.  Duty is the foundation of my soul.”

Alean’s eyes thinned with suspicion.

“Besides,” Raeth added with a harsh voice, “how dare you question me, woman!  I am the Emperor now.  I shall do as I wish.”

Alean snorted.  “Not if you want my father’s help, Hern,” she snapped.  “He is the High Senator.  If you spurn me, then he’ll make your life so miserable you’ll wish you were Forgotten.”

The song ended, and the two stepped back.  “By the way,” Alean hissed, “your dancing is growing awkward, Hern.  You must be too dull to remember the steps.”  With that, she preformed a snappish curtsey and stalked back to her seat.  As she moved, however, Raeth saw a hint of something in her eye.  She was still suspicious.  Most of the people at the ball knew Hern only tangentially--he had spent a lot of time during the last few years on the border.  If he and Alean had been involved in a relationship, however. . . .

Raeth stood, sighing.  Oh, Twins. . . . he thought to himself, shaking his head lightly.  Then he nodded to a page and sent him after the last girl.

#

“He’s ready for you, my lady,” the young Shorriken aid said, bowing slightly before D’Naa.

Oh, he is, is he? D’Naa thought, rising from her seat, glad for the opportunity to stretch.  Finally ready for me?  After putting me off until last?

She covered her annoyance as she walked out onto the dance platform.  She knew all of the standard dances, of course--she was of aristocratic blood, even if that blood was Kavir.  She stopped before him, curtseyed stiffly, then proffered her hand.  No matter what Hern did, she was determined not to let him make a fool of her.

The music began when he took her hand in his own.  His grip was light, and his hand surprisingly soft.  Hern was said to be a great warrior--indeed, the image of him appearing from the darkness, Amberite sword in hand, still rested powerfully in her mind.  She would have expected his palm to be callused and rough.

A great warrior does not make a great man, D’Naa, she reminded herself.  They were her cousin’s words, the King of Kavir, spoken in reference to Emperor Vaetayn.

Hern regarded her with a contemplative face.  He looked almost nervous, for some reason.  But, that didn’t seem possible.  Perhaps he was just anxious to be rid of her.

“You. . .come from Kavir?” Hern suddenly asked.

D’Naa frowned.  She had expected an insult, not a question.  Was he trying to set her up?  “I do, your majesty,” she replied slowly.

“It, um, must be cold there,” Hern replied with an almost floundering tone.

“Sometimes, my lord,” she said as they flowed to the sounds of the minstrels’ strings.

Hern flushed slightly.  What in the name of D’Lum is wrong with him? D’Naa wondered with confusion.

“The ball,” Hern said.  “What do you think of it?”

D’Naa paused.  Should she be honest.  Why not? She thought.  He’s not acting much like a self-absorbed High Aedin lord; why should I pretend to be a subservient, perfect bride?

“Frankly, my lord,” she replied, “I think it’s inane.  You’re not going to choose a bride based on our personalities, so why bother to dance with us?  Besides, isn’t the Imperium at war right now?”

Hern cocked his head to the side, a bit taken back.  Then he smiled slightly.  “I suppose we are,” he admitted.  “The ball wasn’t exactly my idea.”

D’Naa raised an eyebrow as Hern spun her.

“The Senate,” he explained, catching her other hand as the dance’s second cycle began.  “They think I’m trying to avoid choosing a bride.”

“Are you?” D’Naa asked with interest.

Hern shrugged.  “As someone pointed out, there’s a war going on.  I think my interests should be focused elsewhere.”

“So you make your potential brides wait?” D’Naa asked, accusingly.  “You lead us along, make us sit in a line for your amusement, just so you can put off the decision another week?"

Hern flushed again.  “You seem determined to make this difficult for me,” he noted.

D’Naa shrugged.  “Why not?” she said.  “You’re not going to choose me as your bride anyway.”

“How can you be so certain?” Hern asked.

D’Naa snorted.  “Come now, your majesty.  I’m from Kavir--marrying me will give you no political advantage.  Besides, didn’t you refer to me as a ‘servant boy, instead of a bride?’  I also seem to recall a comment about men from Kavir preferring sheep to alternatives such as myself.”

Hern’s head snapped back as if it had been slapped.

Serves him right, D’Naa thought with satisfaction.

Hern, however, didn’t rise to the insult.  Instead, he regarded her with eyes that seemed oddly soft.  “I’m. . .sorry,” he said quietly.  “I was under a lot of stress that day.  I said things I shouldn’t have--things I most certainly didn’t mean.”

The music stopped with a shocked D’Naa staring into the eyes of an apologetic Emperor Hern.  They stood there for a brief moment before he released her hands and nodded slightly.  Still confused, D’Naa backed away toward her chair, where her grandparents were waiting.

#

“Darro, I think I’m in trouble,” Raeth said, watching the Kavir girl return to her place.

Darro raised an eyebrow, turning from the serving girl he had been chatting with and raising his cup to his lips.  “Humm?” he asked as he followed Raeth’s gaze with his eyes.  “Still stuck on the Kavir girl, are you?”

“She’s amazing,” Raeth whispered.  “The others were all so quiet, so perfect.  But D’Naa. . .she spoke her mind.  She thinks the ball is a waste of time.”

Darro smiled.  “That’s certainly a point in her favor,” he noted.

Raeth nodded, still watching the slender girl through the crowd.  She was speaking with an elderly couple and preparing to leave.

“I couldn’t talk to her, Darro,” Raeth said.  “I felt like an idiot.  Of course, it didn’t help that she thought I was Hern.  Still, everything I said seemed to come out wrong.”

Darro clapped him on the shoulder.  “Don’t worry.  You’re just in love--it happens to me two or three times a week.”

Raeth snorted.  “What do you do?”

“If she’s available, I buy her something nice,” Darro said.  “If she isn’t, I go get drunk.  Actually, I recommend the ‘getting drunk’ part either way.  It’s just plain fun.”

Raeth rolled his eyes, shaking his head.  “Why am I asking you for advice?”

“I don’t know,” Darro said with a smile, slurping down the rest of his wine.  “I’ve been wondering that myself.  However, I do know one thing--now that you’re the one choosing, I am going to get Alean, aren’t I?”

Raeth paused, thinking back to the conversation with Alean.  “I don’t intend to have to choose, Darro,” he finally said.  “Don’t worry--if I do get forced into it, I’ll take care of you.  Let’s go.  I want to ask you about the battle this morning.”

Darro nodded, setting aside his cup and winking at the serving girl.  The two prepared to join the crowd of people drifting away from the ball now that Raeth had danced his last dance.

“My lord?” a hesitant voice said.

Raeth turned.  “Ah, Tarrinon,” he said, pausing.  “Thank you for your help today.”

“It was nothing more than my duty, my lord,” Tarrinon said with a bow of his head.

“You may go--I think we’re done for the day,” Raeth said.  “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, my lord,” Tarrinon replied.  “Just one thing, my lord,” he said.

“Yes?” Raeth asked.

Tarrinon nodded toward the other side of the room.  Raeth followed the gesture, frowning.  Tarrinon appeared to be motioning toward D’Naa.

“Just remember, my lord,” Tarrinon said.  “You can’t afford to play favorites.  If anyone suspects that you’ve already made your choice, they’ll be hesitant to give you concessions without firm promises.”

Raeth blinked in surprise.  “How. . . ?” he asked.

“I have a lot of practice noticing such things,” Tarrinon said.  “It is my duty to see that monarchs don’t. . .embarrass themselves.  In some ways, your place is less worrisome than most--you have no wife to betray.  But, at the same time, you are in a very dangerous position.  You can’t afford to alienate any section of the Senate.  You don’t have the allies to justify making enemies.”

Raeth’s eyes flickered toward D’Naa, watching as she left the room.  “I see,” he said, frowning.  “Thank you for the advice.”

Tarrinon bowed and backed away.  “Remember, my lord,” Tarrinon noted.  “You must wait until the Senators and nobility have left before you can depart.  You are the last to arrive, so should you be the last to leave.”

“Annoying little Shenk,” Darro noted as the small man backed away.

“But very useful,” Raeth replied.  “I can see why historians say the Imperium would have collapsed without the Shorriken.”

Darro shrugged.  “As long as he’s bothering you and not me.”

Raeth stood impatiently, waiting as the other ball-goers left, the brides first.  He wanted to speak with Darro about the war, but he held himself back, instead deciding he should bid farewell to each of the Senators and dignitaries in turn.  It was monotonous, but he saw Tarrinon nod approvingly at the move.  The process took about a half hour, but Raeth suspected it was worth the tedium.

Eventually, only minstrels, servers, and bureaucrats were left in the room.  Raeth nodded one final farewell to Tarrinon, then he and Darro stepped from the ballroom balcony into one of the palace hallways and made their way across mosaic floors and past painted alcoves on their way to the imperial Corpate shaft.

“Tell me about this morning,” Raeth requested as they walked.

Darro shrugged.  “From what I hear, it looked the same on your side as it did on mine.  I was with the main Aedin force--we didn’t know what was happening until the Forgotten were practically on top of us.”

“You can’t think of anything that might have tipped them off?” Raeth asked as they turned a corner.

Darro shrugged.  “I can think of a dozen things.  Maybe they can smell really well, maybe they have supernatural hearing, or maybe they can just see through dirt.  No one knows what these things are, Hern.”

Raeth raised an eyebrow at the use of his brother’s name, but he supposed it made sense, even if the hallway was practically empty.  They stepped up to the shaft, where a Corpate climber was already waiting for them, and climbed onto its platform.  The Nurturer gave a silent command, and the spider-like Corpate began to climb, placing its feet in niches carved for the purpose.  Soon the only light was a pair of lanterns hanging on either side of the Corpate’s platform.

“The men are worried, Hern,” Darro noted in the dark tunnel.  “We don’t know what these things are.  They don’t fight very well, but there are a lot of them and they refuse to die like they should.  A lot of the men, especially the Shorriken and the Aedin, don’t like the idea of fighting the spirits of their ancestors--even if they are Forgotten.”

“At least someone’s concerned,” Raeth said with dissatisfaction.  “The War Counsel doesn’t seem worried at all.”

Darro shrugged.  “They see pieces on a board; they don’t understand what these things look like, how it feels to fight them.”

“You think the northern border will hold, like the Counsel promises?” Raeth asked as the opening to the fifth floor passed, the Corpate still climbing.

“It had better,” Darro said.  “It’s where our best defenses are, and it’s also where the Counsel is most accustomed to fighting.”  He paused for a moment.  “Yes, I think we’ll hold.  There are a lot of the creatures, but not that many.  Our men are good--assuming the High Aedin don’t buckle again.”

Raeth frowned, leaning against the Corpate’s railing.  “The High Aedin.  How did it happen, Darro?  Even if they can cut through Amberite, we shouldn’t have folded that easily.”

Darro shrugged, shaking his head.  “I don’t know, Hern,” he said, his voice growing soft.  “Maybe they came on us too quickly--we weren’t ready.  But, most of us had our weapons grown already.  We should have been able to stand.  It’s just that, well, the High Aedin saw a couple of their kind fall, and I think everyone started to panic.”

Raeth stood thoughtfully.

The Amberite wants loose.  To be free.  Freedom.  The voice popped into his head, as it had before.  Raeth’s head snapped up in surprise.

What do you mean? He asked.  What are you saying?

Freedom.  It is the Night.  The Chaos.  It wants to be free.

I don’t understand, Raeth thought with frustration.

“Hern?” Darro asked, looking at him with concern.

“Just a moment, Darro,” Raeth said, holding up his hand.  Speak to me! Raeth thought.  Explain what you mean!

What.

Raeth paused.  What?

What, the voice affirmed.  What are you?  What is this?

What am I? Raeth asked.  I. . .I’m a person.

That is what I would be.

And then it was gone.  The Corpate platform shook slightly as the climber stopped beside the doorway to the seventh floor, and Raeth stood for a moment, frowning to himself.  Was he going mad?  No.  He didn’t believe that--the voice in his mind wasn’t his own.  It felt like. . . .

He looked down at his hand, staring into the Amberite bud set therein.  He could barely feel its emotions--his Bond was so weak it was laughable.  Yet, the feeling was similar to the voice.

“Um, Hern,” Darro said uncertainly.

“I’m fine,” Raeth said, looking up and stepping off the platform.  “I just need to spend some time thinking.”

“All right,” Darro said.  The two paused at the intersection in the middle hallway.

“Really,” Raeth said.  “Don’t worry about me.”

Darro nodded, then turned right to head down the broad hallway toward his rooms.  Raeth continued on straight, walking toward Hern’s rooms.

Something isn’t right, Raeth thought to himself.  Something about this entire mess--the Forgotten, the voice, the battle. . . .

He shook his head as he continued on.  Four guards stood at his doorway, and one stepped forward, saluting as Raeth approached.  “This came for you, my lord,” he said, holding forward a package.  Raeth accepted it and peeked inside.  A book--the Kaennis Sha, the title proclaimed.  The book of the Ancestors.  Raeth frowned as he regarded it, stepping forward to push open the doors to his chambers.  It was thinner than it should be, thinner by a great deal.

“My lord, there is one other thing.  A visitor. . . .” the guard said as Raeth passed him and walked into the room, regarding the book contemplatively.

“Hallalen Ken, my Emperor,” a smooth, feminine voice said.

Raeth looked up with surprise, the door swinging shut behind him.  Nahan, the Mahallen bride, stood in the center of his room, her figure illuminated by a single, dim lantern.  With graceful fingers, Nahan reached up and untied the shoulder of her silken gown, then let the whole thing drop loosely to the floor.

Chapter Ten

“I think I’m ready,” D’Naa said, pulling her facecloth tight.

Shaad shot her husband a worried look, then turned back to D’Naa.  “You’re certain child?” she asked.  “You don’t want to spend a few more days to wait for security to die down?”

“A week is long enough,” D’Naa said.  “That ball tonight reminded me that the Aedin aren’t the only ones wasting time.  The sooner I get that Bud, the sooner we can abandon all of this foolish bride business and return to Kavir.”

She said the words firmly, partially to convince herself.  The ball had worried her for more than one reason.  Hern seemed to enjoy playing with her mind--he’d acted so apologetic, so humble.  What was the point?  They both knew what he really was.  Was he trying to seduce her or gain her favor?  Now, more than ever, she was worried that he might actually choose her.

D’Naa swung up onto the window ledge, her Verdant itching for excitement, and her heart following suit.

“I’m beginning to wonder at the wisdom of this,” Shaad admitted, holding her husband’s hand with a worried look.  “You’re just a child, D’Naa.  Ala’D should have sent someone else to do this.”

A gust of wind blew at D’Naa’s cloak from behind--it was going to be a chilly night.  However, a week of practicing her climbing--not to mention a lifetime in the Kavir highlands--had accustomed her to the cold.  “I’ll be fine,” she insisted.

#

Raeth felt as if his eyes were going to melt.  He stood, staring at Nahan, completely dumbfounded.  Spending the years of his adolescence in the Irae definitely hadn’t prepared him for the experience of seeing a completely nude Mahallen girl.  Well, nude except for her jewelry, he noticed with embarrassment--not that any of it, extensive though it was, covered her.

Finally, as if in a delayed reaction, the blushing began.  Raeth felt his face flush, and he took an apprehensive step backward.  “Wha--”

His voice choked off as Nahan took a step forward, placing herself directly in front of him.  She leaned forward, pressing her body against his, looking up at him with a sultry smile.  She lay one hand on his shoulder and reached up with the other one, rubbing the gold hoop that circled the back of her right breast.

“You like them, my lord?” she asked in a soft voice.  “They can be yours.  Just take them.”

“Gaaa,” Raeth said, the only word that would come out.  Get control of yourself! He told himself.  It was an admittedly difficult task with her so close, her perfume tickling his nose, her body pushed against his.

“I. . .cannot choose,” he said weakly.  “I have to wait until the Ynaa. . . .”

“You can choose tonight, my Emperor,” she said, running her fingers across his chin and raising her leg to rub it against his thigh.  “We wouldn’t have to tell the rest of the Imperium until later.  Just take what belongs to you tonight, and then it will be yours for the rest of our lives.”

Oh, Twins. . . . Raeth thought.  He’d heard how Mahallen women found husbands, but he hadn’t thought he’d ever be on the receiving end.  Gritting his teeth, he placed his hands on her shoulders and pushed her gently away.  Then he turned to the side, tearing his eyes away from her naked body and trying to force his brain to begin working again.

“I will wait for guidance from my father,” he said firmly.  “Please, respect that decision, Nahan.”

He felt her hand on his back, then her body pressed against him again.  “But, surely I make a good case for choosing me, my lord.  Surely your esteemed father sees that.”

Raeth closed his eyes, gritting his teeth.  Why had the guards let her pass into his rooms?  Of course, he probably needn’t have wondered--as he was realizing, Nahan could be very persuasive.

#

D’Naa had spent her week well, working nearly every night, travelling up and down the sides of the palace, honing her Verdant skills, learning to avoid patrols.  She had performed such exercises back home, but she had never enjoyed them as much--nor had she realized just how necessary they were.  Her ability to protect her people depended on her mastery of her Aether.  She couldn’t afford to be as clumsy as she had been a week before--she couldn’t miss Hern when she threw at him, and she couldn’t move as slowly as she had when escaping.

Verdant was not a rope, and couldn’t extend very far.  However, it could hold her weight at lengths up to about ten feet, and she made use of that ability.  Now, if she had to escape, she could drop down in ten-foot bursts, latching on at each increment then lowering herself with blasts of Verdant.  She also used the vines to swing from the bottom of balconies, speeding her progression from side to side.

All in all, she was very proud of herself.  The view no longer disoriented her, though she still found it beautiful.  The wind almost seemed to speed her along, rather than just chilling her, and she made the trip to Hern’s seventh-floor rooms in a fraction of the time it had taken a week before.

She paused by the balcony, however.  Where were the guards?  Ever since her attack a week before, there had been four men stationed on the balcony--powerful Amberite Bonds.  She’d been worried about being able to defeat them quietly and still get to Hern.  Where were they.

Suspicious, she lowered herself slowly to the balcony.  And there, standing on the other side of the main chamber, beyond the balcony doors, stood her target, Emperor Hern. . .being embraced by a completely naked Nahan.

D’Naa stood, stunned for a moment, before realizing what she was seeing.  She’d been told that easterners were more liberal than her own people, but. . . .

She blushed as she saw Hern turn in Nahan’s shameful embrace.  Then, however, her shame turned to anger.  So he was just pretending at the ball!  It’s not enough that he can line us all up like sheep at the market, he wants to seduce us as well!

The knowledge was satisfying, but still infuriating.  He had tried to play with her emotions, tried to make her wonder if he was really just an innocent man trapped by his station.  He was smarter than people gave him credit--he had read her well enough to know just what type of man she’d be attracted to, then he had smoothly attempted to become that man.

Her eyes narrowed, and her Verdant began to whip and curl around her arms.  Of course, Hern’s slyness didn’t excuse Nahan.  D’Naa couldn’t hear what the two were saying, but she could see the look on Nahan’s face.  She hadn’t come to this unwillingly--in fact, knowing what little she did of Mahallen women, D’Naa suspected the opposite.

Hern pushed Nahan away, and the Mahallen woman’s face grew even more determined.  He’s doing it to her too, D’Naa realized.  He’s playing with her.  He knows exactly how her type reacts to rejection.  It will just make her try harder.

D’Naa ground her teeth.  She knew it was irrational, but more of her anger was directed toward the Mahallen harlot than Hern.  She knew he was behind it, she knew he was just playing with them all, but. . . .

How dare she try and tip his hand! D’Naa thought.  She stood and commanded her Verdant forward.  Only a week had passed, but the Emperor’s glass doors had already been replaced.  Well, Hern had better hope there are a couple more of them in storage.

#

“Look, Nahan,” Raeth said firmly, pushing the Mahallen girl away once again.  “If you don’t put your dress back on, I’m going to call my guards.  That would be embarrassing for both of us.”

Nahan thrust her chest forward, spreading out her arms and closing her eyes.  “Do it, then!” she said.  “If you send me away, the shame will just kill me anyway.”

Twins, she’s persistent! Raeth thought, averting his eyes.  Persistent, and distracting.  Clenching his jaw, he prepared to do what he’d just said.  Hopefully, he could rely on his guards to keep the incident quiet.  He shuddered to think what the political implications of his rejection might be. . . .

Raeth opened his mouth.

Suddenly, the glass at the far end of his room exploded inward.  Raeth jumped, turning with alarm to see a small, dark form standing on his balcony.  Even as he reacted, a fist-sized ball of Verdant shot through the air.  Raeth cringed in anticipation as he dodged to the side, but it didn’t hit him.

The Verdant slammed into Nahan, its vines springing outward to wrap her unclothed body in green.  Raeth caught one glimpse of her shocked face before vines covered it, then Nahan tipped to the side and collapsed to the ground in her cocoon of vines.

Raeth blinked in shock, then opened his mouth.  “Guards!” he screamed and dodged to the side.  He was too late, he noticed, another ball of green streaking through the air.

This one wasn’t aimed at him either.  Raeth hit the ground in a roll, confused.  The Verdant blast had missed completely, slamming into the wall a short distance from him.  Only then did he realize where on the wall it had hit--right beside the door.  The vines crept across the wall and the doorway, spreading onto the door itself, sealing it closed.  Raeth could see it begin to shake as the guards tried to get in, but Verdant vines were incredibly strong.

Clever, Raeth thought, scurrying across the floor to duck behind a large couch.  Where were the balcony guards?  Subdued?  No, they had probably left when Nahan entered, assuming that he would want privacy. . . .

The black-clothed woman stepped into the room.  Raeth frowned slightly.  There was something familiar about her--the way she walked. . . .

A Verdant ball exploded against his couch.  Raeth dodged backward as the vines reached for him, careful to stay far enough away from the assassin that she had to continue using the balls.  If he got within reach of the vines on her arms, he’d be captured for certain.

Raeth leapt over a chair, dodging another ball.  The leap left him near the balcony, but what good did that do him?  His was the only balcony on the seventh floor.  Did he dare jump and try and hit one of the ones below?  Even if he did survive, the assassin was Verdant.  Jumps and heights meant nothing to them.

Raeth swore quietly, ducking around a corner and crouching by the wall.  Behind him was the small room Hern had used to store various works of art and knickknacks--a dead end.

I just have to survive until the guards break through the door, Raeth thought.  He could already hear axes pounding against it. He just had to survive a little long--

Verdant exploded against the corner, and Raeth moved too slowly.  As he ducked to the side, a vine whipped out and grabbed his shoulder.  His dodge ended in a sudden snap as several more vines whipped out, wrapping his arm and shoulder completely in Verdant.

Raeth struggled in desperation.  The assassin would round the corner in just a moment, and then he would certainly find himself completely wrapped in vines.  He had to escape.

Amberite crackled from his palm, forming a sword.  However, his upper arm and shoulder were what was trapped--he could feel vines tickling at his cheek.  His lower arm was free, but he couldn’t move it at an angle to touch the Verdant.

Twins curse my Bond! Raeth thought with anger, yanking his arm again.  He was too weak.  Another Bond, even those of most regular Aedin, would be able to grow their Amberite all the way up their arm to touch it against the Verdant.  The reaction between the two would be painful, but eventually he would be able to free himself.

Raeth looked down at his hand and its simple Amberite sword.  Taking a deep breath, he concentrated, focusing on his Aether as he had been taught as a child.  He exerted himself, straining the invisible muscles that formed the Bond, trying to force his Aether to grow.  The Aether crackled a few times, and a bit of Amberite grew down from his hand, creeping along his lower arm.

Raeth began to sweat, his teeth clenched against the difficulty.  Each inch of movement was more difficult than the one before--it felt like the early days, when he’d been training himself to grow a sword for the first time, something that Hern had been able to do without so much as a passing thought.  His Amberite moved lethargically, coating most of his lower arm.  But, like always, it stopped just before his elbow.  That was as far as he could go.  In almost a decade and a half of practicing, he’d never been able to push it further.  He just wasn’t strong enough.

Sweat dripped down his brow.  Raeth strained, but nothing happened.  His Aether responded with feelings of confusion and exhaustion.

The assassin stepped carefully around the corner, standing in a nervous crouch.  When she saw him, however, her masked face cocked to the side in an expression of surprise.  She obviously hadn’t expected to find him captured.

Where are you? Raeth thought, searching for the voice in his mind.  You saved me before.  Do it again.

There was no response.

Please! Raeth thought.  I’ll tell you why, what, and anything else you want to know!

I wish to be you, the voice said, almost amused.  But you wish to be me.  But you are me.

What do you want? Raeth asked as the assassin raised her hand.

I don’t know, the voice said with frustration.  I have forgotten.  I need not save you.  You save you.

Vines poured from the assassins proffered arm.  They wrapped him, constricting around his legs and other arm.

You save you.  The words didn’t do him any good.  Yet, something they carried with them did--a sense.  A sense he vaguely recognized.  He probably wouldn’t have noticed it if his Amberite strainings a moment before hadn’t reminded him of his youth, of his first experimentations with his Bond.

There was something inside of him.  Something familiar, yet new.  He reached within himself, barely noticing as the assassin knelt beside him and pulled out her knife.

It was there.  A second Aether.  Not certain what it would do, Raeth poured his will into it, commanding it to grow like he had his Amberite a moment before.

Amberite crackled.  He looked down with surprise to see motion from his sword, still hanging uselessly from his hand.  A dark, smoke-like wave bled through it, like ink being poured into water.  The resulting Amberite was still rosy, but it was a darker shade, almost more of a translucent maroon.  The darkness bled up his forearm, coloring his Amberite.  And then, the Amberite began to grow.

It shot up his arm, growing at an incredible speed, crackling as it went.  Verdant hissed and exploded backward where it touched the dark Amberite, and pain shot up Raeth’s arm.  Gritting his teeth, he continued on, forcing the Amberite to grow despite the pain.

The assassin yelped girlishly in surprise, jumping back.  Raeth’s Amberite flooded across his chest, pushing back Verdant.  It continued to grow, coating his torso and then his other arm.  With a yank, he ripped himself free from the vines and stumbled forward.  The Amberite continued to grow at his command, coating his waist and legs.  It hit the ground and kept growing, spreading out across the floor like a crystalline wave, coating everything it touched.

The assassin backed away with care, watching him with cautious eyes.  Raeth just stared down in amazement.  Could it really be?  Finally, after all the years of pain and insecurity. . . .  But, how?

Raeth smiled, looking up.  For the moment, at least, it didn’t matter.  He moved to take a confident step forward.

His leg didn’t budge.  He frowned, looking down with surprise.  His leg was frozen to the ground, coated in Amberite.  He struggled, grunting slightly.

Joints.  I didn’t build joints into the armor.  Having the power and knowing how to use it were two different things.

The assassin cocked her head to the side, looking at him with obviously confused eyes.

I probably look like an idiot, Raeth realized.  Well, that’s nothing new.  With a sigh, he released the Amberite.  He’d have to practice making armor at another time.

The Amberite shattered when he next moved, falling to pieces around his body.  Yet, instead of crumbling to dust, the pieces began to evaporate into dark smoke trails.  Raeth watched the process with apprehension.  It wasn’t Amberite, not completely.  It was something else.  Suddenly, he remembered the bit of blackness from the pool that had touched his cheek.  That had become part of him.

What is this power I’ve been given?  He wondered with a measure of fear.  What is it I’ve become?

Verdant whipped forward--the assassin wasn’t going to give him time for soul-searching.  Raeth reached out, commanding his new Amberite to grow around his forearm.  This time he made a joint at the elbow, and had the Amberite grow all the way up his shoulder.  It moved quickly, like Hern’s Amberite once had, coating his entire arm before the vines reached him.

Raeth caught the lead vine as the others wrapped him.  The pain began immediately, stabbing his arm.  The assassin cried out in shock--it must have hurt her too, their opposite Aethers seething as they touched.

Before his Aether could destroy the vine, Raeth yanked, tugging the off-balance assassin forward.  She stumbled, and he pulled her toward him, against his body.  He’d hoped the vines might capture her too, but apparently Verdant didn’t work that way.  It continued to wrap around him as the girl stumbled against it.  Using his free arm, Raeth reached up, and ripped free the cloth that covered her face.

The Kavir girl, D’Naa, looked up at him, her eyes widening with shock.  Her surprise was so great she lost control of her Verdant, dropping the vines to the ground, leaving the two of them standing closely together.

“You. . . .” Raeth whispered, equally surprised.  “You’re Laene’s assassin?”

“Assassin?” D’Naa asked with confusion.

“But,” Raeth said, “you’re not Aedin.  How. . . ?”

The door on the other side of the room shook, splinters flying into the room.  It was almost open.  D’Naa looked toward the door with fear, then spun from his grip and dashed toward the balcony.

Raeth reached out and caught her arm and yanked her back toward him.  Then, impulsively, he leaned down and met her lips with his own.  She froze in his arms, then relaxed slightly.  The kiss lasted for an extended moment, a moment in which the pounding door, the broken room, and even their Aethers had no meaning.  Then, Raeth pulled back slightly, looking into her eyes.

The door burst inward, and he turned with a quick movement.  D’Naa was out the balcony and over the side before the first guard entered the room.

Raeth let his arms fall limply to his sides.  What in the name of the Twins was that! He thought, shocked at his own actions.  She just tried to kill you, and so you kiss her?  Yet, his heart raced with excitement, and he could feel the fleeting touch of her lips against his own.

“My Lord!” Faen, the guard captain, said with alarm as he regarded the broken room.

Raeth raised a hand.  “Don’t worry, Faen, I am unharmed.”

“The palace is already on alert, sir,” Faen said.  “We’ll catch them this time.”

Raeth turned, stepping around a fallen chair, the Verdant covering it growing brown and hard as D’Naa left.  D’Naa, supposedly from Kavir.  Something was very wrong.

A muffled groan brought him out of his thoughts.  “Nahan!” he remembered, turning.  The unfortunate woman was still wrapped in Verdant, laying face-down on the rug.  Raeth rushed to her side, commanding his Amberite from his hand and using it to destroy her bonds.  When he revealed her face, the Mahallen woman’s eyes were wide with fear and shock.

“What. . . ?” she asked.

“An assassin,” Raeth said.  “Don’t worry, no one was harmed.”  He raised his arm.  “Soldier,” he said, “please fetch lady Nahan’s dress.  It. . .got ripped free in the struggle.”

The soldier flushed.  “Um, yes sir,” he said, grabbing the garment off the floor and bringing it to Raeth.

“You should probably go,” Raeth said to Nahan as he burned away the rest of her Verdant bonds.  “This place is about to become very busy.”

Nahan nodded, slipping the dress over her head, her tan skin flushing.  Then, without another word, she stood and practically dashed from the room.

“Captain Faen,” Raeth said, standing with a sigh.  “Lady Nahan was never here tonight.  Do you understand that?”

“Certainly, sir,” the captain said with a nod.  “I’m. . .sorry she got in, sir.  The guards at your door were young men.  I told them not to let anyone one in, but. . . .”

Raeth raised a hand.  “It’s all right.  Just make certain your men know to keep their mouths shut.”

Faen nodded sharply.  “Understood, sir.  No one will say a word.  Besides, we all saw that she still had her hoops on when she left.”

“Thank you, captain,” Raeth said.  He walked over as guards began to inspect the room--poking around as if to find other assassins hiding in the shadows--and picked up the fallen Kaennis Sha from the ground.  He barely remembered letting it slip through his fingers, stunned, when he’d seen Nahan disrobe.  It’s secrets would have to wait for a time, however.  This night had already given him too much to think about.

#

Shaad frowned to herself as she worked, folding Hlin’s clothing.  She’d consented to allow someone else to wash them, but she insisted that they let her do the folding.  If she didn’t have something to do, she knew she’d likely go mad--especially on a night like this one.

“Ala’D is a fool,” Shaad snapped, sitting in her chair.  She was so worried that she didn’t even notice its plush comfort.

Hlin sat, rocking slightly as he smoked in his own chair.  “Be nice, dear,” he said.  “The boy’s done a fine job as King.”

“The ‘boy’ is a man now, you old sheep,” Shaad informed.  “He should have known better than to put our D’Naa in such danger.”

“‘Our D’Naa’ is an adult herself, Shaad,” Hlin said.  “Ala’D knows she can take care of herself.”

Shaad fidgeted as she folded Hlin’s shirts.  Hlin spoke calmly, but that in itself was an indication of trouble.  After over forty years of marriage, Shaad knew Hlin’s mannerisms better than he knew himself.  When nothing was wrong, he was hyper and excitable.  When he was worried, however, he grew calm.  And when he was very worried, he smoked his pipe.

“What is taking her so long?” Shaad asked, trying to force herself to be calm.  A few moments earlier, they had received a knock at their door asking if everything was all right.  She’d been forced to tell the guard D’Naa was feeling ill to keep him from checking in her room for assassins.  What if he’d insisted on going in?  What would they have done then?  Ala’D’s overeager plan could cost Kavir immeasurably.

A sudden noise made both her and Hlin jump, and a second later D’Naa dropped to the balcony.  The girl’s face was flushed with excitement and from the cold, and Shaad immediately noticed what was wrong.  She could see D’Naa’s face.

“What happened to your face cloth?” Shaad asked, standing.

D’Naa ignored her, slipping into the room.  She had an odd look on her face.  Her eyes were wide and unfocused.  She walked into the room and sat down in a plush chair.

“D’Naa?” Hlin asked, his voice twinged with concern.

D’Naa just remained quiet, her face utterly baffled.

“What’s wrong with her?” Hlin asked worriedly.  “Did she get knocked on the head?”

“No,” D’Naa answered for herself.  “I’m fine, grandfather.  It’s just that. . . .”

“What?” Shaad asked with concern.

“Emperor Hern is a very confusing man,” D’Naa said quietly.

Chapter Eleven

As cold as it was growing in the south, the northern border was far worse.  Raeth stepped off of the open-aired Sending platform with a shiver, glad he had chosen to wear his thicker cloak.  He frowned as he did so.

The Sending had hurt this time.  It didn’t just make him woozy, it had caused him physical pain.  That had ended the moment the Sending stopped, but it had been there--just like the last time, when he had been Sent away from Saeris Va.

Darro grunted behind him, reorienting himself after the Sending, then hopped off the platform to land beside Raeth.  “Remember,” Darro whispered.  “You spent a great deal of time up here over the last four years.  You’re supposed to know your way around.  If there’s a problem, I’ll try and find a way to show you what to do.”

Raeth nodded, turning his mind away from the strange Sending pain.  “Thank you.”

Darro shrugged.  “It’s not like I’m good for anything else.”

Raeth rolled his eyes.  “You’re not still worried about that?”

Darro flushed as the two began to walk through the border camp.  “My brother the Emperor gets attacked by assassins and where was I?  In a tavern, drinking myself witless.”

“Darro,” Raeth said, “there was nothing you could have done.  Besides, I survived, didn’t I?”

Darro just shook his head.  “I should have been there,” he mumbled.”

“It isn’t your duty to protect me, Darro.”

Darro shook his head.  “Yes it is,” he answered quietly, looking up into Raeth’s eyes.  “I got you into this.  You’re doing what should be my duty.  I at least intend to help where I can.”

Raeth sighed, laying his hand on his brother’s shoulder.  After the ball, Darro had apparently snuck out of the palace for his nightly revelry.  He’d been drunken into such a stupor that he hadn’t even found out about the assassin until the next day.

In a way, Raeth was glad his brother had been absent.  Darro’s powerful Aether would have quickly burst through the door to his room, and if that had happened they might have been able to catch D’Naa.  Raeth wasn’t certain what to make of the girl or her possession of an Aether, but he did know that he didn’t want others to know about her secret until he decided what to do about it.

A problem for another time, Raeth told himself as soldiers began to notice his presence.  Focus on the task at hand.

The border wall rose in behind them, an enormous stone structure that abutted steep cliffs on either side.  The wall was high and thick, and there was no gate or opening in it.  No enemy had ever penetrated its defenses.

The camp on their side of the wall was situated much like a small city, patterned after the military district of Vae Annitor--though its structures were far more functional than ornate.  Low, squat bunkhouses ran in neat rows away from the central watch tower, and there were plenty of stone Sending platforms for mass troop movements.

The camp was busy--most of the troops from the north had been relocated to the border to wait for the Forgotten arrival.  He easily spotted soldiers from all four Aedin lines, and an equally large number of men from non-Aedin descent.  All moved with an air of urgency--while the generals and Senators back in the capitol might look at the conflict as a game, to these men it was deadly real.

Men paused when they saw Raeth, their eyes opening wide before they remembered to salute.  He ignored them, hoping that none would see through his ruse.  This was the ultimate test of his ability to impersonate Hern.  The capitol had seen little of Raeth’s brother over the last four years; those who knew him best lived on the northern border.  Raeth had made certain to cut his hair precisely like Hern’s, and had practiced walking as a soldier according to Darro’s instructions.  Hopefully, his subterfuge would hold.

As soon as he passed them, he heard soldiers dashing off in various directions.  His arrival was unannounced--he had expected it would create quite a stir.  Better that, however, than have the troops spend hours preparing formations for his arrival when they should be worrying about the enemy.

Eventually, an Aedin man whose cloak-clasp proclaimed him to be a captain, rushed up and saluted.  “My Lord!” he said breathlessly.  “We weren’t informed you intended to visit.”

“That is because I didn’t tell anyone I intended to visit,” Raeth said with a Hern-like wave of his arm.  “Go and fetch general Taenen for me.”

“Yes, sir!” the man snapped, then turned and rushed over to an aid and sent the man running.

Raeth continued to walk toward the large bureaucratic building at the back of the camp--where he assumed the general would be.  The captain followed closely behind in case Raeth had any other orders, as did a growing crowd of interested soldiers.

Raeth’s guess proved correct, and he soon saw the distinctive, tall form of the Bestarin general approaching down the steps to the large building.  The general stood stiffly and saluted with his human hand as Raeth climbed the steps to meet him.

“General,” Raeth said with a nod of his head.

“My lord,” Taenen said formally, his human eye laced with confusion.  “We did not expect to see you.  This area is dangerous.”

“Nonsense,” Raeth said.  “I lived four years of my life on the border.  It’s more comfortable to me than that palace.”

“Um, yes, my lord,” Taenen said.

“I need your help, general,” Raeth said, nodding back toward the building.  “Let us find a place where we can speak without distraction.”

“Of course, my lord,” the general said, falling into step beside Raeth as they climbed the steps.  The tall general was far more uncomfortable around Raeth than he had been during the conflict at Saedin, but that made sense.  There was no direct foe facing them, and the general had an opportunity to remember just what kind of man he was dealing with.  Raeth had to change that opinion.

Raeth caught Darro’s eye as they passed the building’s columned entrance, and his brother nodded toward a side hallway.  Raeth followed the instructions, stepping firmly, trying to express familiarity.  A few turns later, Darro had led him to a small conference room that bore a wall-map of the northern border.  Several Shorriken aides joined them in the room, moving almost unseen as they took up positions to wait for orders.

“General,” Raeth said, strolling up to regard the wall-map, “we are losing this war.”

He heard a grunt of surprise from behind, and Raeth turned to look at the owl-eyed general.  “Do you disagree?” Raeth asked.

Taenen paused.

“Speak openly, General,” Raeth requested.  “We don’t have time for anything else.”

“I do not disagree, sir,” Taenen replied.  “We are losing this war.  I’m just surprised to hear someone from the south admit it--especially you, sir.”

Raeth nodded slowly.  “What is your impression of the battles so far?”

“Frankly, sir?” Taenen asked.

“Always, general,” Raeth said.

“The men are afraid, sir,” Taenen replied.  “No matter what the War Counsel thinks, we can’t fight these things.  Wall or no wall, they’re going to get past us.  Especially if we keep fighting as we have.”

Raeth turned eyes back on the war map.  “Where are they now, general?” he asked.

“About a day’s march to the north,” he replied.  “They’ll be here tomorrow, sir.  They always march the exact same distance, every day, like they were hands on a clock.  They don’t stop, or even look to the side, unless they see someone to attack.  And then, well. . .they just overwhelm us.  If we approach them at night, when they’ve stopped, they immediately awaken and advance on us.”

“You have scouts watching them?” Raeth asked.

“Of course, sir,” Taenen replied.

“Take me to them.”

Taenen’s eyes widened with surprise.  “Sir?” he asked.

“Get some Vo-Dari and take me to them, soldier,” Raeth repeated.  “I want to see our enemy.”

“Yes, sir.”

#

Taenen was right, the Forgotten army did look somewhat. . .stiff.  They walked formally, in perfect ranks, staring straight ahead--as if their bodies were made of Ferrous.  An army of Corpates.

Raeth crouched on the hill, trying to keep his clothing from getting too much snow on it as he watched the massive sea of black flow forward.  Each speck was a Forgotten warrior, a fallen ancestor.  The spirit of an unworthy man come to exact vengeance.  The sight alone was daunting.

“There’s so many of them. . . .” Raeth whispered.  “It’s different when you see them with your own eyes, rather than just the pieces that represent them.”

“Now you see why the men are so frightened, sir,” Taenen replied, kneeling heedless of the cold.  A tuft of feathers poked out of his right sleeve, the arm that bore the owl’s claw instead of a hand.  Like most Bestarin, he wouldn’t have replaced it willingly--the human hand would have been lost in battle with the Harrmen.  The claw was simply a replacement, a strange way of healing provided by the odd Bestarin Bond.

The Vo-Dari standing behind them didn’t endure the cold as well as Taenen--the two men stood shivering, their white robes pulled tight around their bodies.

“You don’t think we can beat them, general?” Raeth asked quietly, his breath puffing out in front of him.  They said that the Forgotten rarely took any notice of the scouts, but it was best to be safe.

Taenen didn’t answer immediately.  “No, sir,” he finally admitted.  “I don’t.  You haven’t seen what I’ve seen, my lord.  Normal foes cringe before the High Aedin, especially Amberite Bonds.  These things. . .they don’t even pause.  They overrun our lines without thought. . . .”

“The Aethers are failing,” Raeth said.  “They can cut through Verdant and Amberite far too easily.

“Yes, sir,” Taenen said.  “But it’s more than that.  Something else is wrong--the High Aedin are falling too easily.  It’s still difficult for the creatures to penetrate thick Amberite.  We should be able to stand far better than we have.”

Raeth shivered.  “I see,” he whispered.  Taenen was right.  The ability to cut through Amberite would be a huge advantage, but the High Aedin soldiers would still have access to their massive weapons, still be able to fight. . . .

Raeth paused, realization finally clicking as he thought back to his fights from before, times when he had sparred with Hern or Darro.

“By the Twins!” Raeth realized, pulling back from the hill.  “Darro, Taenen.  I want you two to spar for me.”

Darro frowned.  “Right now?” he asked.

“Yes, right now,” Raeth said, waving toward a patch of even ground at the base of the hill.  Darro shot the general a look, then shrugged and began to walk toward the place indicated.  As they did, a scout immediately climbed up to the top of the hill to watch the enemy army.

Darro’s armor crackled, forming around him so massively that he grew several feet, looking himself something like a Corpate.  He grew a massive hammer, then stepped back, falling into an offensive stance.  Even the tall, muscular General Taenen looked tiny by comparison.  The general pulled out a sword in his left hand and held his claw forward threateningly.

Then, the spar began.  Taenen dodged forward and landed a score on Darro’s chest.  The sword bounced right off, of course, and Darro easily brought his hammer around with a swing that would have clobbered the general had Darro not held back.  They began again.  This time Taenen struck twice before Darro managed to sweep the general’s feet out from underneath him, sending the man sprawling back into the snow.

By the Ancestors. . . . Raeth thought, eyes widening as he watched the battle.  Suddenly, it made sense.  Despite all their superiority, despite their power, the High Aedin were left with one obvious flaw.  They didn’t know how to fight.  When he’d sparred with Darro that infamous day two weeks before, Raeth had won every hit.  When he’d fought Hern that same day, he’d landed several blows easily.

I assumed I was just a good fighter, Raeth thought, flushing.  But, that’s not the case at all.  It wasn’t that I’m good--it’s that my brothers are horrible.  It made clear, unnerving sense.  The Amberite High Aedin didn’t know how to fight because they didn’t have to know how.  Their Aethers protected them.  They didn’t have to dodge, or parry, or even worry about getting hit.  All they had to do was wait and land an occasional bow.  But, remove the armor. . . .

Verdant was probably the same way.  They relied on their vines to stop opponents before they reached them.  In addition, more powerful Verdant Bonds wrapped their vines around their own bodies to form a kind of armor.  If the Forgotten could cut through the vines as quickly as they cut through Amberite, neither ability would be all that useful.

That was why the armies were losing.  They depended on the High Aedin too much--High Aedin who, if their Aether was neutralized, probably couldn’t win a fight against a child with a wooden sword.

#

“Even if you’re right, Hern,” Darro said, frowning.  “What good will it do?”

Raeth eyed his brother as they walked off of the palace Sending platform.  Darro obviously didn’t like Raeth’s hypothesis--for all his carousing, despite all the time he spent with lesser citizens, Darro was still High Aedin.  He liked to feel secure in his superiority, and Raeth’s assertions were a direct challenge to that intrinsic sense of nobility.

But Raeth knew he was right.  As humbling as it was to admit, it made sense.  The High Aedin weren’t the fabulous warriors they were reputed to be--they could simply survive getting hit.  On a regular battlefield the distinction didn’t make much of a difference--being able to survive blows was the same as being a good fighter.  But now, with the Forgotten, the truth was becoming clearer and clearer.

“Um, my Lord?” Taenen said, still standing on the Sending platform.  “I should probably go back to the border.  There is still much to do in planning our defenses.”

“I brought you with me for a reason, general,” Raeth said.  “I want you to help me speak with the Counsel.  Perhaps they’ll listen to you.”

Taenen frowned, his face uncertain.  His owl-eye made the expression look menacing--of course, the eye made every one of his expressions a bit menacing.  He took a few steps forward, approaching so that the Vo-Dari couldn’t hear. “May I speak frankly, my lord?” he asked softly.

“You don’t have to keep asking that, Taenen,” Raeth said.  “Go ahead.”

Taenen took a deep breath, his face firm.  “Sir, I have no desire to be humiliated again.  Just order me demoted; don’t play these games.  They make us both look foolish.”

Raeth blinked in surprise, regarding the Bestarin general with confusion.  Then, it finally hit.  “Just a moment, general,” he said, pulling Darro aside.  “All right,” he hissed at his brother.  “What did I--what did Hern--do to him?”

“Taenen is High Aedin,” Darro replied, “but only barely.  He’s of one of the most lowly houses, and he’s married to a regular Aedin woman.  A few years ago there was a vacancy on the War Counsel, and Taenen was up for the position.  Hern never liked the man--he was threatened by anyone who had any real military talent.  So, Hern objected to the appointment, ostensibly because of Taenen’s bloodline.  The Counsel position was given to someone else.”

Raeth sighed, closing his eyes.  Then he took a firm breath.  “All right. . . .” he said, turning and walking back to Taenen.  He reached up and put his hand on the taller man’s shoulder.  Taenen regarded the move with confusion and a bit of suspicion.

“General,” Raeth said.  “I’ve never been a likable man.  I realize this.  For that reason, I rarely bother to explain my actions.  I’ve recently begun to understand that such is not a good way to rule.”

Taenen frowned.  “I don’t understand, my lord,” he admitted.

“I didn’t hold you back from the Counsel because of your bloodline, Taenen, no matter what I said.”

“But. . . ?”

“I did it,” Raeth said, “because you are too fine a soldier to waste in the Counsel.  The War Counsel is more a political entity than a military force.  I have always worried that we would take all of our best leaders away from the battlefield and stick them in the Counsel room to grow fat and lazy.  You’re far too valuable for that.  I saw the way the men looked at you during Saedin, when the rest of the generals were standing around, frightened as merchants.  It is because of you that I was able to get so many people out of there safely.”

Taenen straightened slightly as Raeth spoke.

“You are a fine warrior, Taenen,” Raeth said.  “Don’t let me, or any one else, tell you otherwise.  I left you on the battle front because I didn’t want to lose you, not because I wanted to hurt you.  I’m sorry I didn’t have the strength to explain that to you at the time.”

Taenen stared down at Raeth, his eyes almost seeming to tear up.  He reached down with his human hand, placing it on Raeth’s shoulder.  “For the first time since I met you, my lord, I see sincerity in your eyes.  For the Imperium’s sake, I feared the day when you took the throne.  Two weeks ago, on Saedin, I let myself begin to hope I’d been wrong about you.  Sometimes, it appears, hopes do find truth.”

Raeth smiled, nodding toward the Sending platform.  “Go back to your men, general.  I won’t make you face the Counsel if you don’t want to.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Taenen said with a bowed head.

“And general,” Raeth added.  “Tell them to be of good cheer.  We’re going to win this war.  The Ancestors be willing, I certainly don’t intend my reign to be the Imperium’s last.”

“Yes, sir!” Taenen said, saluting.  A moment later, he was nothing more than a streak of light.

Raeth turned to find Darro shaking his head ruefully.  “Twins, Raeth,” he said quietly.  “You’re good at this.”

Raeth snorted, leading the way as the two walked toward the Corpate tunnel.  “You’re exaggerating,” he said.  “All I’m doing is trying to control a bit of the damage Hern did.”

“Raeth,” Darro said frankly, “that man was one of Hern’s most bitter rivals on the border.  The two hated one another.  Now he looks like he’d die for you.”

Raeth paused only briefly.  Then he shrugged.  “Come on.  We have information the War Counsel needs to hear.”

#

Raeth watched the pieces move across the map, trying to imagine them as enormous blocks of Forgotten.  The mapkeepers moved the pieces with their long poles, carefully directing each group along the proscribed path.  The mapkeepers kept specific notes of every battle, carefully indexing every move on both sides.  One could order a replay of any battle that had taken place on the northern border during the last three hundred years.

So, having nothing else to do while he waited on the War Counsel’s whims, Raeth had asked for them to show him the battle with the Forgotten again.  And, watching it now, knowing what he did, everything made so much sense.  In fact, the Forgotten strategy was so obvious he was amazed he hadn’t seen it before.

The Forgotten army hadn’t intended to defeat the Mahallen or non-Aedin troops--their side-forces hadn’t been intended to win, only to hold.  Raeth watched the Forgotten wings attack, holding back the cavalry and the regular troops, stopping them from aiding the Aedin blocks.  Then the Forgotten had sent the bulk of their armies against the High Aedin.  The place of weakness.

It made basic strategic sense.  You committed most of your troops to the conflict where they could inflict the greatest casualties.  The entire attack had been designed to leave the High Aedin and Aedin troops open, and it had worked perfectly.  The worst part was, the Imperium forces hadn’t understood that the High Aedin were their weakest point.  That was why the battle had been such a disaster.

By the Twins. . . . Raeth thought, realizing something chilling.  The Forgotten had known just how to attack, had known just how the Aedin armies would position themselves.  Not only that, the creatures had moved with skill and direction.  They weren’t just monsters, they were clever.  Intelligent.  And they understood the Imperium.

They really are our ancestors, Raeth thought.  They know us too well for it to be otherwise.

He hadn’t ever acknowledged that fact to himself.  Inside, he had hoped that they were fighting some sort of monster, some sort of dark magic.  Not the spirits of the Forgotten.

If only I knew more! he thought with frustration, his mind drifting from the war map.  The Kaennis Sha Jaenor had sent him was incomplete--fully two thirds of the book had been removed.  He wasn’t certain why the pieces had been taken out, but the expurgation annoyed him.  He was fighting a war against spirits--if anything was going to help him, it would be the Vari Yden holy book.

His musings were interrupted by the opening of the Counsel room’s door.  Finally, Raeth thought, turning away from the map.

“Your majesty,” Gaedin said with a flat voice, stepping from the room and shutting the door behind him.  “This is not a good time.  We have to prepare strategies for the upcoming battle.  It is very important that we keep the Forgotten from breaching our border.”

Raeth contained his frustration at the general’s condescending tone.  It’s nothing Hern wouldn’t have deserved, he told himself.

“General,” Raeth said, “I have information that you might find--”

“Honestly, your majesty,” Gaedin interrupted.  “Our time is very limited.  Tell your idea to one of our aids, and we’ll consider it.”  He turned to put his hand on the door.

Raeth took a deep breath, calming himself.  “I’ve reviewed the battle, general.  The Forgotten are more clever than they thought.  They know our weakness.”

The general paused.  “And what weakness would that be, your majesty?”

“The High Aedin,” Raeth explained.

“They can cut Amberite,” Gaedin said flatly.  “Yes, we know.  We’re taking that into account.”

“General,” Raeth said with more urgency.  “If you would just listen to my plan--”

“Your plan, Lord Hern?” Gaedin said, turning, his voice growing hard.  “Like the plan you had last year, the plan to capture Harrmen and force them to work for us?  We told you at least a half-dozen times that the barbarians would rather die than be captured, but you went forward anyway.  Do you know how many men we lost in that foolish endeavor?”

Raeth paused, mouth open slightly.

“Or, how about your ‘plan’ to rearrange military ranks depending on your whims?  Or how about your leadership at the battle of Korenson last summer, when you insisted on taking sole command of the armies and wouldn’t let the War Counsel direct a single squadron.  We nearly lost the border for the first time in centuries because of that fiasco, your majesty.”

Raeth closed his mouth.  That wasn’t you, Raeth, he had to remind himself.  That was Hern.  Your plan is a good one.

“No, your majesty,” Gaedin said with a shake of his head.  “Whatever your idea is, we don’t want to listen to it.  We knew from the start we had to make certain that this war didn’t fall into your hands.  Good day.”

Gaedin pushed open the door, turning his back on Raeth.

“I can force you to listen to me, general,” Raeth said, finding his voice.

“You will regret trying, your majesty,” Gaedin said, then closed the door.

Raeth stepped back, a little stunned, to where Darro and Tarrinon were watching quietly.

He’s right, Raeth realized.  It would be foolish to put the armies in my hands.  I don’t have the experience.  Could he really force the issue when there were so many lives at stake?  Yet, at the same time he worried at the price of inaction.  The Counsel might know about the Forgotten ability to cut Amberite, but they didn’t see the true weakness behind the Aedin mindset.

“Tarrinon,” Raeth said quietly.  “Send a message to the High Senator.  Tell him I’d like to present a motion before the Senate, one to restore martial authority to myself.  I’d like to take a vote as soon as possible.”

“Yes, my lord,” Tarrinon said with a nod.  “The soonest the vote could happen would be tomorrow afternoon.”

That wouldn’t leave much time before the Forgotten’s projected arrival at the border.  Hopefully, the Senate would move quickly.  “Thank you,” he said.

“Until then, my lord. . . .” Tarrinon said.

Raeth smiled.  “An appointment?” he asked, looking down at the short man.

“One that you yourself made, my lord,” Tarrinon said.

Raeth paused.  An appointment he had made?

“Lunch, my lord,” Tarrinon reminded.

“Ah, yes,” Raeth realized.

“Lunch?” Darro asked.

“With one of my potential brides,” Raeth explained, walking toward the door.  “I made the suggestion when I heard the Senate was planning another of those balls.  As interesting as the ball was, it took up far too much time.  So, I suggested I have lunch with each of the brides, one at a time.  After all, I have to eat.  Might as well make that time useful.”

Darro raised an eyebrow.  “True,” he agreed.  “I assume there’ll be other people there.  We wouldn’t want any of the brides spontaneously stripping in the middle of the meal.”

Raeth blushed.  Darro got no end of amusement from Raeth’s encounter with Nahan the previous week.

“Of course,” Darro mused.  “That could make for a very interesting meal, now that I think about it. . . .”

#

‘Interesting’ hardly described the experience.  It seemed to Raeth that even the word ‘monotonous’ implied too much excitement.  However, he’d expected as much as soon as Tarrinon told him which bride he would be spending the afternoon with.

Tae was in every way the ideal member of her Line.  Ferrous Bonds believed in being strict and formal--there were many a joke that claimed High Aedin from the Ferrous line were indistinguishable from the metallic Corpates they created.  The jokes really weren’t that far from the truth.

Tae sat with a stiff back, eating properly, her face flat and expressionless.  Her collar came all the way up to her neck, her blonde hair was neat and clamped in place, and her dress was a simple white, its ornamentation straightforward.  Raeth found the thought of spending the rest of his life married to her extremely disturbing.

He’d hoped that she might open up a little bit as the meal progressed, but apparently such was beyond her capabilities.

“So, Tae,” Raeth said, hoping the chefs would speed their delivery.  “Have you any thoughts on the conflict to the north?”

“The military will deal with it,” she said simply, her voice terse.

“Of course,” Raeth said.  “But, don’t you worry about such things?”

“It isn’t my place to worry,” Tae responded.  “My place is to be a perfect bride.  It is for this purpose that I was bred.”

Raeth sighed.  I’ll bet D’Naa would have some things to say about it, he thought.  The Kavir girl obviously had strong opinions, and wasn’t afraid to share them.

“Is something wrong, my lord?” Tae asked, noting his expression.  “If there is anything you need, I shall fetch it for you.  I can perform any duty pertinent to the responsibilities of a High Aedin wife.”

Why don’t you fetch yourself a personality? Raeth thought to himself, though he immediately felt guilty.  Tae couldn’t help what she was--quite the opposite.  She was exactly what she claimed to be; the perfect bride.  Many High Aedin houses raised their daughters to be just what she was.  One of the best ways to secure prestige and power in the court and the Senate was through marriage.  Ferrous brides especially were known for their perfection and refinement, which gave the Line a political edge that made up for their diminutive numbers.  To be chosen for Raeth, Tae must be the most perfect amongst the perfect.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t looking for perfection.  At least, not the type that the Ferrous line offered.  He’d tried to keep his mind off of D’Naa as much as possible during the last few days.  The Imperium was at war, and this was no time for its Emperor to be mooning foolishly over a girl--especially a girl who had tried to kill him.

Though, he wasn’t really certain she’d been an assassin.  So many things about the girl were a mystery.  She obviously had Aedin blood in her, otherwise she wouldn’t be able to Bond an Aether.  However, her slight frame and dark hair implied that she didn’t have very much of an Aedin side.  How, then, had she formed such a powerful Aether bond?

That was part of the reason he’d suggested the lunches.  He looked forward to the opportunity to get the Kavir woman alone for a time.  Perhaps she could answer some of his questions.  Where had she found an Aether Bud to Bond?  Why had she attacked him?  Why did she captivate his mind like she did?

Suffering through the other brides’ lunches was a small price to pay for answers to those questions.  He kept telling that to himself as the lunch continued beneath Tae’s unwavering, statuesque glare.

“My Lord?” Tae asked.

Raeth looked up, somewhat surprised.  It was the first time the woman had tried to engage him in conversation during the entire meal.

“Yes?” Raeth asked.

“Have you. . .received impressions from the Ancestors yet?” Tae asked as the chefs prepared their desert.

“No, not yet,” Raeth said.  “I still haven’t made my choice.  I’m not even close yet.”

Tae nodded firmly.  “Good,” she said.  “Then the Mahallen harlot is lying.”

Raeth froze.  “What?” he asked.

“Oh, it’s nothing less than one would expect of those types,” Tae said with her controlled tone.  “The way they go about finding--or should I say seducing--husbands is shameful.”

“Nahan?” Raeth said.  “What has she done?”

“She stopped wearing those. . .hoops of hers this morning,” Tae informed.  “She’s made it known--not officially of course--that you were the one who took them.”

Raeth sat stunned for a moment.

“I knew, of course, that her words weren’t true,” Tae informed firmly, staring Raeth directly in the eye.  “No High Aedin of any proper breeding would succumb to such a ploy.  Not only would the action shame him, but it would be an unbearable insult to the honor of his other bride offerings.  Why, if I were in such a position, I doubt I could continue to face the world.”

Raeth shivered at the quiet intensity in the woman’s voice.  She held his eyes, and he could see the seriousness contained therein.  Members of the Ferrous line did not jest.

“You would really do that?” he asked, amazed.  “You would kill yourself?”

“Perhaps,” Tae replied.  “Though, fortunately, my line has another option available to it.  Living as a Corpate is a cold, lonely existence, but it would certainly be preferable to facing the court after such a shame.”

Raeth sat for a moment.  Then he pushed his chair away from the table and stood.  Tae immediately stood as well, waiting subserviently upon his will.

“I. . .must be going,” Raeth informed.  “I have to see that these allegations are properly denied.  Please, continue without me.”

“Of course, my lord,” Tae said, nodding her head.  She remained standing as Raeth turned and marched out of the dining hall.  He found Tarrinon scribbling notes on a ledger just outside of the room.

The scribe looked up as Raeth left.  “My lord?” he asked.  “Is the meal over early?”

“For me it is,” Raeth replied, gesturing for Tarrinon to join him as he marched down the wide, tiled hallway.  “Have you heard about that Mahallen woman?”

“I just received the news, my lord,” Tarrinon said.  “It is an interesting move on her part.”

“She’s claiming that we slept together,” Raeth said with an annoyed voice.

“Yes.  Several sources quote her on it,” Tarrinon agreed.

“What can I do about the claims?” Raeth asked, stopping and turning in the hallway, barely noticing that he was standing directly on a mosaic-face of Vae.

“It’s not true, then?” Tarrinon asked.

“Of course not!” Raeth snapped.

“Then just deny it, my lord,” Tarrinon said.

“And people will believe me?” Raeth asked.

“Of course, my lord,” Tarrinon said, scratching his long beard then moving to pull open his tome.  “You are the Emperor.  All you have to do is write up a formal announcement--the only body that could challenge its authenticity is the Senate, and I doubt they have time to take a vote on your sexual habits.”

“Very well then,” Raeth said, still fuming.  It was bad enough that she’d tried to seduce him, but to lie about the results. . . . “Draw up a formal announcement for me.”

“Immediately, my lord,” Tarrinon said, adding a note to his list of tasks.

Raeth took a breath, calming himself.  What did Nahan possibly hope to accomplish by such a move?  Did she think he would choose her simply because of her allegations?  Raeth shook his head--as if women weren’t baffling enough.

“I’ll send the announcement out before this evening,” Tarrinon said as the two began walking again.  “The girl will, of course, be stoned to death.”

Raeth froze.  “What!” he demanded, turning.

Tarrinon looked up.  “Why, yes, my lord.  It is Mahallen law.  Their society would be chaos without it.  If a woman wanted a rich husband, all she would have to do is stop wearing her hoops and claim she seduced him.  So, when a woman makes such a claim, a man is allowed to deny the allegations.  If he does so, the woman is immediately stoned.”

“That’s horrible!” Raeth said.

“It doesn’t happen very often,” Tarrinon said.  “Nowadays, most women are smart enough to bring witnesses.”

Raeth paused, eyes widening.  “Witnesses?  But, what about my guards?  They saw her go into my quarters. . . .”

Tarrinon shook his head.  “No good,” he replied.  “They didn’t actually see the. . .event.  Your guards were outside.”

Raeth blushed furiously.  “You mean they actually. . . .”

Tarrinon nodded.  “Though, only certified scribes of the court are valid witnesses.  As I hear, the job is quite popular.”

“Tarrinon,” Raeth said, still blushing, “there is something very wrong with Mahallen society.”

“I agree wholeheartedly, my lord.”

Raeth sighed, leaning back against a pillar, his cloak flapping behind him.  “So, if I deny her claim, Nahan will be killed.”

“Yes, my lord,” Tarrinon said.

“But, if I do choose Nahan, Tae just told me she’d turn herself into a Corpate out of shame.”

Tarrinon raised an eyebrow.  “Not an unexpected move, I suppose.”

Raeth groaned, leaning his head back against the pillar.  “What a mess,” he said.  What would he do?  The one he didn’t choose was as good as dead, but neither of them was the one he actually wanted.  “Who would have thought choosing a bride would be so much trouble?” he mumbled.

“I believe you did, my lord,” Tarrinon noted.  “Isn’t that why you commissioned the Ynaa to ask wisdom from your father?”

Raeth looked up, frowning.  “If I didn’t know better, scribe, I’d think you were mocking me in my misery.”

Tarrinon smiled.  “My lord,” he said with a hint of mock indignation.  “I’m a bureaucrat.  Accusing me of having a sense of humor is akin to a vile insult.  Now, I believe you wanted me to make an appointment with the Patriarch for after your meal?”

Raeth sighed, nodding.  Perhaps a trip to the Irae would take his mind off of his women troubles.  Somehow, however, he suspected the Vo-Dari weren’t going to be any less frustrating.

Chapter Twelve

It felt odd to be walking the mudstone corridors of the Irae again.  It had only been two weeks, but his life as Hern had been so markedly different than his one as a Dari that he had trouble associating the two.  The faces and scenes he passed seemed like images from a dream.  A bad dream.  Though he had convinced himself to be content as a Dari, he now regarded those years with a measure of discomfort.

The truth was, the last two weeks had been invigorating.  Despite the frustrations and the problems, despite the war and the brides, everything about his new life felt right to him.  It was what he always should have been.  He finally had a purpose, one that made him feel alive.  His existence in the Irae had been a shadow of that.  He knew the work he had been doing was important, but it just hadn’t fit him.

Perhaps part of his discomfort was from the way people looked at him.  Familiar faces that had once smiled, now turned away in fear.  He was an intruder.  Non-Dari rarely entered the back hallways of the Irae, and his presence disturbed their orderly, uneventful lives.

I am sorry, my old friends, Raeth thought.  I will leave you to your chantings and painting as soon as possible.

He and Tarrinon walked quietly through the hallways, following a brown-robed Dari named Faellos.  Raeth had to be careful to pretend not to know where he was going; though he had visited the Patriarch on many occasions, Hern never would have done so.  In fact, few outsiders knew much of the Patriarch.  To them, the Vo-Dari leader was a mystical religious figure.  Raeth had difficulty regarding him in a similar way--he knew the Patriarch too well.

The entrance to the Patriarch’s chambers was a nondescript wood door set in a mudstone wall.  The Dari knocked, then backed away, gesturing for Raeth and Tarrinon to enter.  They did so, and Raeth had to resist the impulse to bow his head subserviently.

The Patriarch sat behind a low, nondescript table with two Vo-Dari aids at his side.  All three regarded Raeth with dissatisfied eyes--he had invaded their realm.  Then, slowly, all three bowed their heads.  In a half-month of odd experiences, being bowed to by Vo-Dari had to be one of the strangest.

“Emperor,” the Patriarch said with a raspy voice.

Raeth smiled slightly, remembering the day when the kindly, grandfatherly man had first welcomed him to the Irae and set him upon his training as a Dari.  Even then, five years ago, the Patriarch had been so old he could no longer walk on his own.  Yet, there was still a keenness to his eyes--an aged wisdom that few outside the Irae ever had the privilege of knowing.

“Patriarch,” Raeth said, nodding.  “You can probably guess why I wished to see you.”

“You are worried about the invasion, your majesty,” The Patriarch replied.  “Your concern is understandable.  These are dire times.”

Raeth paused.  That wasn’t why he had come--he wanted to know why they had sent him an abridged version of the Kaennis Sha.  However, the old man’s words intrigued him.  “Indeed,” Raeth said.  “I seek counsel, patriarch.”

The Patriarch paused, and one of his aids--a Vo-Dari named Kaennit, spoke up.  “The Ancestors will guide you, your majesty,” Kaennit promised.  “We have over fifty Dari saying Ynaa for yourself and the Senate at this time.”

Raeth paused.  He hadn’t even considered that fact, but it was undoubtedly true.  As soon as he heard about the attack, the Patriarch would have ordered Ynaa to petition the Ancestors for aid.  In addition, private citizens had probably commissioned other Ynaa on Raeth’s behalf.  Across the Imperium there were probably thousands of prayers being said for him each day.

“What can you tell me of our foes, Patriarch?” Raeth asked, turning again to the old man.  “Is this really Yenniv Lan?  Are these really the souls of the Forgotten attacking us?”

“We cannot say for certain what they are, your majesty,” the Patriarch finally replied with his soft, scratchy voice.  He sat slumped over in his chair, so old he could barely hold himself upright.  “The scriptures agree, however, that there is only one thing we can do.  Pray and fight.  The will of Vae and the Ancestors shall be manifest.”

That isn’t much help, Patriarch, Raeth thought, frowning.  “I’m certain it will,” Raeth said slowly.  “However, it is my duty to make certain that their desires are actuated.  Vae’s will finds roots in our actions.”

The Patriarch’s wizened eyes opened slightly in surprise, and Raeth realized he might have misspoken.  Aedin weren’t like Mahallens or Khur, the laymen weren’t expected to know the intricacies of their religion.  That was why Lines chose Dari--one son was given spiritual responsibility so the rest wouldn’t have to worry.  Few men, even High Aedin Line Heads, knew the subtleties of their own religion.

“You are well-versed in doctrine, your majesty,” said the Patriarch’s other aid, a squat bald Vo-Dari named Seth.

“I knew I would rule some day,” Raeth responded.  “A wise ruler understands his assets, and the Ancestors are undoubtedly our greatest asset.”

“Well spoken, your majesty,” the Patriarch noted.

“That is why I am curious to know why my request for a copy of the Kaennis Sha was so obviously ignored,” Raeth informed, his voice polite.

Once again, the Vo-Dari eyes grew shocked.

“We sent the book to you, your majesty,” Seth replied.  “Did you never receive it?”

“It must have become torn in transit,” Raeth said.  “I was under the impression that the Kaennis Sha was over three hundred pages long.  The book I received was barely a hundred.”

The room fell silent.

“I see,” The Patriarch said quietly.  “Our subterfuge has been discovered.”

Raeth nodded slightly.

“There are many sections in the Kaennis Sha that are forbidden to leave the Irae, your majesty,” Kaennit explained.  “We sent you the pieces that we thought permissible.”

Raeth frowned.  He hadn’t heard about that proscription but, admittedly, he was hardly a scholar of doctrine.  He’d gone to his classes, but they had never engaged him.  If he’d paid more attention, he wouldn’t have forgotten whatever it was in the Kaennis Sha that he now sought to read.  “Very well, then,” Raeth said.  “If they are forbidden to leave the Irae, then I guess I’ll have to read them here, won’t I?”

The Patriarch’s eyes thinned slightly.

“I can put a motion to the Senate to force you to let me read it,” Raeth said quietly.  “I don’t want to have to do that.”  He wasn’t certain if he could actually do something like that, but from the worry in their eyes, the Vo-Dari didn’t know either.

“Very well, your majesty,” The Patriarch said, sighing very softly.  “Your man will wait here.  You may come with me.”

#

“You are more than we expected, your majesty,” The Patriarch said in his soft voice.  Several younger Dari walked quietly, carrying him on a litter--a necessity he grudgingly put up with.

Raeth raised an eyebrow.  “You’re not the first to say that, Patriarch,” he noted.

The wizened old man nodded.  Raeth could just barely see the Amberite bud in his palm--the Patriarch was from his Line, which was part of the reason Raeth had received special attention from the man.  The Amberite was faded and dull, however--the rumors said he had been powerful once, but that he could no longer grow more than a few small crystals.

“I always suspected that your father was wise to choose you as Heir,” The Patriarch noted.  “Now I am certain.”

Raeth frowned slightly to himself.  “You. . .knew my brother?”

The Patriarch nodded again.  “He was a Dari in my Irae, after all.”

“What was your opinion of him?” Raeth asked curiously.

“He was unmotivated,” The Patriarch explained.  “I could always sense latent dissatisfaction from him, but he never did anything about it.  It was a shame.  He hinted at such potential, but he never acted on it.  He probably could have become Vo-Dari had he applied himself.”

Raeth barely covered his shock.  “He. . .once told me that he didn’t think he should have been a Dari.  He wanted to be Shaeth or Sworded.”

The Patriarch snorted quietly.  “Half the Dari here say that,” The Patriarch said.  “That’s what comes from a system that lets the father choose the son’s profession.  The ones who succeed are those who get over their self-pity and move on, doing the best with what they have.  Your brother never did that, your majesty.  That’s why he was never happy here.”

Raeth took the news with discomfort.  He’d always thought that he was the odd one, that he was the one that didn’t belong.  He’d thought himself out of place, but he had never bothered to wonder if others felt the same way.

“Here we are, sire,” Even said, nodding toward the Irae library, a room with which Raeth was quite familiar.  “One of these young men will find you a copy of the book.”

#

Raeth sat, staring at the pages.  Hours had passed, and it was growing late, but he still hadn’t found what he wanted.  The problem was that he had three hundred pages of small-print information, and he hadn’t really known what he was looking for in the first place.

In a way, it was a good thing that the Patriarch had tried to send him the smaller version of the book.  That told him two things.  First, there really was something hiding in its pages that made the old man uncomfortable, and second it couldn’t be found in the third they’d sent him.  However, that still left two hundred pages to search.

The Kaennis Sha wasn’t like the Protocols.  The Protocols were simple and straightforward, barely twenty pages long.  They described the duties of an Aedin family.  Both books were attributed to Vae, but they had been penned through inspiration by various Vo-Dari in the early days of Aedin society--before the Imperium, back when the Aedin tribes had lived in the north.  The Protocols had obviously been written for the layman.

The Kaennis Sha, however, was meant for Dari.  It was far more specific--and far more boring.  Most of the writings described the proper way to compose Ynaa, or how to lay out Irae during construction.  It explained the hierarchy of Dari, Vo-Dari, and Patriarch, and gave guidelines for choosing new Vo-Dari.  That was a lot of information to sort through.

True, a number of passages did mention the End of Time.  He read these over again and again, but none of them seemed useful.  They spoke of a cataclysm and a cleansing, followed by a pure rule of Vaeria by the Ancestors, but they were all so vague as to be useless.  The only fact contained in them was a veiled reference to the Forgotten rising up from the Living Night to plague mankind.

Somehow Raeth knew that wasn’t what he was looking for.  He’d read the Kaennis Sha several times during his life as a Dari.  Most of the readings had been done grudgingly, his mind wandering, but something had obviously stuck. If only he could find it.

The passage will mention the Forgotten, he thought to himself with determination, skimming through pages, searching for the specific word.  He stayed away from the more mundane sections on Irae-building, trying to search for those sections that seemed preachy or revelatory--sections that spoke of how a man joined the Ancestors in glory.

His eyes began to unfocus as time wore on and fatigue began to encroach on his mind.  He caught himself dozing off several times, and had to force himself back awake, trying to stay focused.  The problem was, several passages mentioned the Forgotten, but always in conjunction with punishment for wrongdoing.  None of them were helpful.

It was during one of those times, his eyes unfocused, his vision fuzzy, that he finally found it.  He’d found another reference to Forgotten and began reading it mindlessly.  It wasn’t until he’d already turned the page, eyes scanning for the next reference to the Forgotten, that he realized what he’d read.

Raeth snapped into wakefulness, flipping the page back with excitement.  He half-thought the passage was a delusion fabricated by his sleepy mind.  But, there it was, in the center of the page.  It wasn’t long, but it matched the shadowed memory that had been driving him.

Be not unwary when the Forgotten descend, the book read.  Amberite and Bestarin, followers of my brother, will be destroyed.  Vaeria shall be cleansed, and I shall rule.

That was it.  After those three lines, the text turned to a discussion of the importance of Line Heads.

“I see you’ve found what we tried to hide,” a quiet voice noted.

Raeth turned with surprise.  The Patriarch was sitting behind him, in a cushioned chair.  Other than that, the room was empty.

“When. . . ?” Raeth began.

“I came to send you on your way, your majesty, but found you asleep.  I asked them to leave me here to ponder.  I find the presence of the books comforting.”  The old man looked up, nodding at the shelves that lined all four walls of the medium-sized mudstone room.

Raeth turned back to the book before him, its pages illuminated by the single lamp at the edge of his table.  “This is it?” he asked, frowning.

“You see why we have tried to keep it hidden?” The Patriarch asked.  “We’ve told all of the Dari to refrain from mentioning the passage.  Even still, however, I doubted we could keep it quiet for long.”

“I don’t understand,” Raeth confessed.

“Read it again, your majesty,” The Patriarch prodded.  “What does it say?”

“Amberite and Bestarin shall be destroyed,” Raeth said quietly.

“We don’t know what that means,” The Patriarch said.  “We don’t even know if it applies to what is happening now.  Are those creatures the Forgotten Vae speaks of?  Is this truly the End of Time?  We’ve tried to comfort the people--after all, panic will do nothing for us.  But, you’ve undoubtedly felt the growing sense of desperation in the city.  That sense is weak, as of yet, for the threat is far away.  It will grow, however.”

Raeth looked down at the words.  “And you think this would only make them more paranoid?”

“Yes, your majesty.  It doesn’t matter that it’s vague, or that it might not apply.  The people will be afraid, especially those Aedin of the Amberite or Bestarin lines.  If people know of this prophesy, it will divide them.  We of the Vo-Dari wanted to keep that from happening.”

Raeth nodded slowly.  Amberite and Bestarin were the largest lines--if they were destroyed, it would decimate the Aedin population.

Raeth froze.  Cut the population in half.  The other half are in serious danger--your half.  The words, spoken weeks before, returned to him from the back of his memory.

“By the Twins!” Raeth swore, standing, his eyes wide.  He turned back to the Patriarch.  “Thank you for your help, Patriarch,” he said before rushing from the room.

#

He found the Gol ambassador admiring a painting in the Irae’s domed main room.  There were still a few people in the chamber despite the late hour.  Raeth approached the creature with a firm stride, a confused Tarrinon trailing behind him.

“Good evening, your majesty,” the Gol said quietly as Raeth approached.  The tall, brown-furred creature didn’t turn its head, but continued to stare at the panting.

“How did you know?” Raeth asked simply.

The Gol turned, its flat, inhuman face difficult to read.  “Know what, your majesty?” it asked in a deep, accented voice.

“About the prophesy?” Raeth said.  “When you introduced yourself to me two weeks ago, you said that half of the Aedin population was in danger.  How did you know?”

The Gol turned back to the painting.  It was, Raeth noticed with surprise, the one he had seen Jaenor painting two weeks before.  The image of Vae creating mankind.

“Your creation,” the Gol noted, nodding at the painting.  “Life is a marvelous gift.  And, how well man was created.  Look at what you, in turn, can create.  Things of beauty, they are.”

The Gol raised its arm, a wide, thick fingered hand at the end.  The hand was almost more of a paw, with thick fingers and long claws.  “Do you know of our creation, your majesty?” the Gol asked.

A piece of Raeth was annoyed at the creature--the last thing he needed were more riddles and meaningless conversations.  Yet, what did he expect?  The Gol was not human; it didn’t think the same way he did.

“No, I don’t,” Raeth said rather than snapping at the creature.

“We have legends,” the Gol said, still looking at his hand.  “They say we were created to be tools of war.  To kill and destroy.  Our bodies certainly imply that.  We are tall and strong, and can naturally lift massive weights.”

“Yet, your kind have no temperament for war,” Raeth replied.  “You have always been peaceful with the Imperium, even when we treated you poorly.”

The Gol lowered its hand and looked back at the painting.  “We were cursed, the legends say,” it replied.  “One force made us to kill, the other force changed us, to make us useless in war.  It gave us memory and an appreciation for beauty.”

“Forces?” Raeth asked, frowning.

“I believe you call them the Twins, your majesty,” the Gol said quietly.  “Slaughter and Despair.  Good names.  Humans have always had a mastery of words.  I believe it was Slaughter that created the Gol, and Despair who cursed us--gave us a desire for things artistic.”

“That doesn’t sound much like a curse to me,” Raeth noted.

The Gol shrugged--an oddly human gesture.  “We have an appreciation, but no ability.  Our warrior’s hands cannot craft works of beauty, and our minds cannot compose things of wonder.  There is a frustration in being able to see but not do.”

Raeth nodded slowly, thinking back to his days in the Irae.  It would almost have been easier for him if he hadn’t been able to recognize true beauty--then, at least, he wouldn’t have known how pitiful his own works were.  “I think I understand,” he said.

The Gol turned back to Raeth, deep blue eyes staring at him.  The eyes seemed incongruous with the rest of the creature--its body was tall and muscled, its arms long and capable of a wide reach, but its eyes were deep and understanding.

“That is how I knew you were in danger, your majesty,” it explained.

“From the art?” Raeth asked with a frown.

“No,” the Gol said with a shake of its head.  “The Twins.”

“Legends,” Raeth scoffed.

“Legends have truths in them, your majesty,” the Gol replied.  “Or, so we assume.  If one of the Twins survived, he would hate half of you.”

Raeth paused.  “Why half?” he asked.

“In the days of the war,” the Gol said, “the war that earned them their names, the Twins fought each other.  Man was divided between them, half and half.  Gifts were given to each.  Opposites.  Have you forgotten these things?”

“Apparently,” Raeth said, frowning.

“Your memories are short,” the Gol said, staring back at the painting.  “Ours are long.  Perhaps that, too, is a curse.”

Raeth shot a look at Tarrinon, and the Shorriken man just shrugged.  He’d never heard of such things either.  Raeth turned back to the Gol, but the creature seemed lost in thought, its eyes transfixed by the painting.

“Ambassador?” Raeth asked.

“I am sorry, your majesty,” the Gol said.  “I have said both what I know and what I guess.  I will retain what I fear, for now.”

#

Are you there? Raeth asked in his mind.

No reply.

He leaned against the side of his Corpate walker as it trudged through the dark streets of Vae Annitor.  Tarrinon stood a short distance away, looking through his ledger.

Raeth watched the street below, pondering what he had been told.  According to the prophesies of his own holy scriptures, Raeth and his entire Line were doomed.  It was a disconcerting thought--beside it, his troubles with the brides looked almost simplistic.

He’d intentionally tried not to think about what had happened to him the night D’Naa had snuck into his rooms, tried to avoid dwelling on the strange power that appeared to crouch within him.  It had given him abilities he had always wished he possessed--it had granted him the power of a true High Aedin.  And, that was exactly what scared him.  When it had just been a voice in his mind--or even a singular event, like the time the power had rescued him from D’Naa’s Verdant Bonds--he had been able to ignore it, able to pass it off as a trick of the mind.

This was different.  He could still feel it within him, the power he had sensed.  The power he had somehow gained when the drop of blackness touched him.

The Mahallens and Khur call the Aethers demons, he thought to himself.  They say the Aethers give us power at the cost of our souls.

Was a piece of him Forgotten?  The droplet had given him the very power he had always envied.  Was it a temptation of some sort?  And, what of the Gol’s strange words?  He spoke of the Twins as if they were real.  Raeth supposed that they might be, but he’d never really thought of it before.  The Twins were actually a Shorriken legend--one that had found its way into the Aedin religion as well.  However, the Twins were touched only tangentially in any of the Vari Yden writings.  As a Dari he had been taught that the dark gods weren’t real, that there was only Vae, the Ancestors, and the Forgotten.

He said that half of mankind had followed one of the Twins, and that half had followed the other, Raeth thought.  That they had been given gifts.  Opposites.

Maybe Raeth was worrying about nothing.  The Patriarch had implied that there was no real reason to assume that the attack from the north meant the End of Time.  Maybe they were overreacting.

Overreacting to a group of seemingly-invincible dark warriors that had risen from a black pool to attack the Imperium.  Somehow, Raeth doubted it was possible to overreact to such an event.

“Tarrinon,” Raeth said, standing up straight.  “What is my schedule for tomorrow?”

“You only have one appointment, my lord,” the short man replied.  “The Senate vote on whether or not you should be given control of the armies.”  Tarrinon paused.  “Though, after that I suppose there is a battle you’ll want to attend.”

#

“You will vote for the Emperor,” a harsh voice whispered.

Laene jumped, letting out a quiet yelp of surprise.  His chambers were dark, and he was in his sleeping clothes.  His first inclination was to call for his guards, but he held back.  Not only did he fear getting discovered with his. . .visitor, but he doubted the creature would let him do such a thing.

Laene turned slowly.  He had been tired, and had just barely climbed into his bed.  All feelings of fatigue evaporated, however, as he scanned the room around him.  His bed chamber was large and filled with shadows; the only light came from a mostly-shielded lantern on the nightstand.  He stared nervously out into the pool of night that surrounded him and reached reflexively for the lantern.

A bit of the darkness broke free from the far side of the room, trickling toward him, forming into long tendrils.  Laene shied back as the tendrils wrapped his lantern, choking off its light and making the darkness absolute.

“What do you want?” Laene asked, his voice choked with fear.

“The Emperor has scheduled a vote in the Senate tomorrow,” the scratchy voice said from the gloom.  “You will make certain that vote succeeds.”

“The vote?” Laene asked, losing a bit of his fear as he thought of the request.  “But, it is a vote to restore martial autonomy to the Throne.  Hern is an idiot; if we give him control of the military, he’ll lead it to destruction!”

“Exactly,” the voice whispered.

Laene paused, still shivering slightly from fear.  To give Hern control of the military. . .it would be suicide for the Imperium.  He had followed the darkness’ suggestions in the past, but never had he done so against his conscience.  This. . .this could be considered treasonous.

No, Laene, he thought.  You’d just be voting in favor of your Emperor.  There’s nothing wrong with that.  It would be an expression of solidarity, nothing more.

“You will see that Verdant and Ferrous vote for him as well,” the voice commanded.

“It will be difficult,” Laene said slowly.  As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could begin to  make out his visitor’s shape.  As he studied the darkness, he almost wished he hadn’t looked.  He saw a large, inhuman form with multiple trunk-like legs and a massive lump for a body.  He shrank back despite himself.

“Do you wish to take your proper place, first child of Verdant?” the voice asked.  “The Throne?  Do you want it?”

Despite the fear and the discomfort, Laene knew the answer to this question.  “Yes,” he whispered.

“Then do as I say.”  With that, the creature vanished, melding back into the darkness from whence it has come.

Laene slept very little that night.

Chapter Thirteen

D’Naa sat uncomfortably on her seat on the Senate house’s third tier.  She felt out of place amongst the other dignitaries, as if her ruralness somehow showed through her fashionable new dress and quiet bearing.  The Shorriken King sat a few seats down from her, a small plump man surrounded by dozens of aids.  Just two seats to the other side sat Halaa, the Mahallen queen.  She looked much like her daughter, who sat next to her, though the mother was more aged and far more conservatively dressed.  The other brides were seated in various places through the two-hundred or so seats, joining others of their Line or race.  The Kavir contingent was by far the smallest in the group, containing only D’Naa and her grandparents.  The Kavir ambassadors, Shiin and Kle’D, sat below on the main tier, with the rest of the Senators.

D’Naa shot a quick glance at Nahan, frowning slightly.  The woman’s decision to stop wearing her hoops had caused quite a stir amongst the brides.  Most gave the claim little credence--they assumed that Nahan was bluffing, that she hadn’t really gone to the Emperor’s bed.  D’Naa, however, had information they didn’t.

Well, at least he’s living up to his reputation, D’Naa thought angrily.  She knew it was silly, but she’d tried to convince herself that there was some logical reason why she’d caught Nahan in Hern’s rooms.  After all, the Mahallen women were known for their wolf-like ability to pursue men.

Nahan’s assertions, however, were too much to ignore.  D’Naa had to face reality--she’d actually seen the woman standing naked in Hern’s embrace.  Wasn’t that enough?  And, even after it, he’d tried to seduce D’Naa with a kiss.

Except. . .it hasn’t been a kiss of seduction.  As stupid a move as it had been, D’Naa had felt spontaneity, even honesty, in the kiss.  She knew she was probably trying to read too much into it.  She knew what kind of person Hern was.

One thing, however, confused her.  Why hadn’t he turned her in?  So much time had passed, yet Hern had said nothing.  He hadn’t turned her in, and he hadn’t demanded anything from her in exchange for keeping her secret.  He acted as if nothing had happened.

It didn’t make sense, and it left her frustrated.  What did he expect from her?  She saw him enter, and sight of his arrogant, High Aedin form only made her more surly.  She’d barely let her grandfather persuade her to attend the day’s hearings--she felt like avoiding any place where she would be forced to look at Hern.  Still, Hlin claimed the day’s vote would be an extremely important one, and the truth was that there was little else to do.  As beautiful as the city was, walking its streets and markets was beginning to lose some of its charm, now that over two weeks had passed.  Watching the Senate proceedings was bound to be more interesting.

Hern didn’t sit on the speaking dais as he had the last time she’d visited the Senate building, but instead too a seat on the main tier, in a chair set off from the Senators.  As usual, he was the last one to arrive, and the room began to quiet as soon as he took his place.

“What is this vote about again?” D’Naa asked quietly to her grandfather.

“It’s a vote of martial autonomy,” Hlin whispered back.  “Two weeks ago, just after Emperor Hern took the throne, the War Counsel slipped command of the Imperium’s armies away from him.  Apparently, he’s finally realized what they did, and he’s trying to assumed command.”

D’Naa nodded slowly.  Despite the sick feeling seeing Hern gave her, she was glad she had come.  Living in Kavir gave her little opportunity to experience true politics.  Each of the sub-kingdoms were allowed their own system of government, and Kavir used a far less complicated method of rule.  Ala’D was king, and everyone did what he said.  Here in Aedinor, however, even the smallest towns were said to have senates and politicians.

It seemed odd to her that the man everyone called Emperor could so easily be deprived of his military authority, and even odder that he had to go to such lengths to get it back.  However, her grandfather had taught that the Senate brought the Imperium stability.  The idea of representation did what no military force could, it kept the various peoples of the Imperium--especially the Mahallens and Khurs--from rebelling.

Or, at least, that was the theory.  Apparently, both of the Khur Senators had sent letters of abstention from the day’s voting.  The move had created a great deal of speculation in the court--according to her grandfather it was all people were talking about.  Besides Nahan’s breasts, that was.

Laene, the squat High Senator, rose from his seat and took his place at the front podium.  “We begin the day’s hearings with a vote to remove martial autonomy from the War Counsel and revest authority in the Imperial Throne.  As the Emperor was the one to put forward this motion, we will now give him an opportunity to speak.  Emperor Hern.”

Hern got up to speak, stepping up to the podium.  The sight of him only rekindled D’Naa’s anger.  Does he really expect us to all faun over him, even when it’s obvious he’s using us? She wondered as Hern began to speak.

The problem was, she knew the answer to her own question.  Yes, he did expect them to faun over him, and rightfully so.  They were, after all, his Bride Offerings.  They were little more than gifts that had been put forward for him to play with.  In the end, he could only choose one, but why not enjoy them all until that day came?  That was, after all, what the Aedin were supposed to be like.  Arrogant and egotistical, with Hern being their most ideal member.

He annoyed her so much, in fact, that she purposefully ignored most of his speech.  He said something about the Imperium needing a single, firm ruler, and the necessity of making use of all of their resources.

As he spoke, however, she took the opportunity to study him with an honest eye.  He was proving far more subtle than she had been led to believe.  She listened to the court gossip, and everyone was surprisingly impressed with his rule so far.

He was clever, that was certain.  He managed to project an air of confidence without seeming arrogant.  At the same time, there was a sincerity to his voice--an ingenuousness that couldn’t be found in most politicians.  The same sincerity he had projected for her, at the ball.

It had to be a sham, of course.  However, he was a brilliant actor.  At the end of the speech, even D’Naa found her anger abating slightly.  Soon afterward, the voting began.  The first vote went to the High Senator.  He stood and, with a loud voice, proclaimed himself in favor of restoring military power to the Throne.

D’Naa heard a hush of whispers flow through the people around her.  “What?” she asked, leaning over to her grandfather.

“The High Senator is from the Verdant Line,” Hlin explained as the voting proceeded.  “He’s said to be the Emperor’s political opponent.  And, since he votes first, most expected the voting to go against Lord Hern.  But, since he voted in favor. . . .”

D’Naa nodded, understanding.  All five Verdant Senators voted in favor of Hern.  “What does he need to win?”

“Eighty percent,” Hlin explained.  “Twenty-four Senators.  With two abstentions, that’s going to be difficult.”

Difficult indeed.  All five Amberite Senators voted for him, of course, as did the four Bestarin Senators.  The four Ferrous Senators, however, split--two for, two against.  Another oddity; as she remembered, Ferrous was also supposed to side against Amberite.

D’Naa looked down at the floor, where Hern sat watching the voting with a concerned face.  He cringed, his eyes growing increasingly worried as the last two Ferrous Senators stood and delivered their votes.

He can’t possibly be that good of an actor, can he? She thought curiously.  He certainly did look sincere.

The Shorriken Senators voted next.  They split as well, one against and two for.  If two more Senators voted against Hern, the motion would be denied.

D’Naa was actually growing interested.  She leaned down, watching the voting proceed--and as she did so, she caught Hern’s eyes.  He was looking directly up at her.  As she met his eyes, D’Naa realized something.

I can give him this vote.  The Kavir senators had yet to cast their opinions, but her grandfather said they planned to vote against the motion.  But if I do so, will it give me an advantage over him?  He knows my secret, yet he hasn’t said anything.

She could see the plea in his eyes.  A deal?  Or was she reading too much into it?  Quietly, she cursed herself--like most of her people, she had no patience for politics.  She could, however, recognize an opportunity when she saw one.

She intolerantly waved a Shorriken paged over to her.  “Go speak with the Kavir Senators,” she said.  “Tell them that I would consider it a great favor to me if they would vote in favor of the Emperor.”

“Yes, my lady,” the aid said, scuttling away.

He moved too slowly, however.  The first Kavir Senator, Shiin, stood.  “To be honest,” he said loudly, “I am amazed at the way this vote is proceeding.  Our beloved Emperor is a fine leader, but he is untried in battle.  I thought that was why we took martial power from him in the first place.  I vote against the motion.”

He sat down and his companion, the younger Kle’D, stood.  As he opened his mouth, however, D’Naa’s aid rushed up to him and whispered in his ear.  His face grew surprised, and he shot a glance upward, at D’Naa.  She nodded, suddenly feeling embarrassed.  She was meddling in areas where she had little experience.

“I. . .vote in favor of the motion,” he said, sounding a little surprised at himself.  When he sat down, the elder Shiin immediately turned to him and said something far to quiet to be heard.  His face, however, was angry enough to make his emotions clear.

What did I just do? D’Naa thought, sitting back in her chair.  Had he just manipulated her, or had she him?  Would her vote give her leverage, or would he forget it now that the moment had passed?

Reflexively, she glanced down at him.  There seemed to be sincere appreciation in his eyes--even thankfulness.  Somehow, D’Naa suspected he had gotten the better of her, but what else could she do?  He knew her secret.  He could probably order her execution for treason, or at the least have her murdered in her sleep.

The Mahallen Senators began voting and, to the apparent surprise of those around her, they all came up in favor of Hern.  Eventually, only one vote remained, that of a middle-aged Senator who wore an elaborate head-dress.

“Rall Hannin,” Hlin whispered.  “The only King who sits on the Senate.  This should be interesting--everyone expected this vote to be a horrible defeat for the Emperor.  Now it appears he might actually win it.  Depending, of course, on how Rall Hannin votes.”

The Mahallen king sat quietly, a musing look on his face.  D’Naa could practically see the sweat running down Hern’s face.

“I’m afraid that our Kavir Senator did have a point,” Rall Hannin said, rubbing his short-bearded chin.  “Our Emperor is relatively untested.  I’m hesitant to give him so much power to him blindly.”

“What is your vote, your highness?” Laene said, standing at the front of the room.

Rall Hannin didn’t respond immediately.  There was a slight smile on his face, as if he enjoyed the tension in the room.

“I propose a compromise, High Senator,” Rall Hannin finally declared.  “I would like to delay my vote until this evening, until after we give our new Emperor a chance to prove himself during today’s battle.  Let us assume that we invested him with the power for now, at least.  Once the battle is finished, we can make that transfer permanent.  Or, in the case of a disaster, we can choose otherwise.”

Laene stood thoughtfully for a moment.  “Does anyone have an objection to the Mahallen king’s suggestion?”

The room fell quiet.

“Very well then,” Laene declared.  “Irregular though it may be, there are no rules stipulating that Lord Rall Hannin has to vote immediately.  As long as we take no further votes this day, he may wait to decide.  Let us dismiss to the Counsel Room.”

#

“I thought you said you’d support me,” Raeth said, trying not to sound accusatory as he hurried up behind Rall Hannin.  Around them, Senators were leaving the senate hall and climbing aboard Corpates.

The tall Mahallen man turned, a look of slight amusement on his face.  “I told you that En Mahall would support you.  And, as a sub-kingdom, we did.  Four of the five Mahallen Senators voted for you, a strong majority.”

“But the one that counted did not,” Raeth replied, speaking quietly as people filed out of the building around them.  Up ahead over two dozen Corpate walkers waited to transport the Senators to the Counsel room.

Rall Hannin smiled.  “All of the votes counted, your majesty.  If just one of us had voted differently, you wouldn’t even have this chance.”

“If one more had voted for me, I wouldn’t be so worried,” Raeth challenged.

“I didn’t turn you down, either,” Rall Hannin said.  “Let us just say that I did it for your own good, your majesty.”

Raeth frowned.

“The voting went too easily,” the Mahallen said, his dark-skinned face speculative as he turned his eyes toward the exiting Senators.  He focused, Raeth noticed, on a group of High Aedin in green cloaks.  “To be honest, your majesty, I didn’t expect you to win this vote, and neither did anyone else.  I suspect that some of the Senators--especially those who consider themselves allies to your Line--are rethinking their votes.”

Raeth paused.  “I don’t quite understand,” he confessed.

Rall Hannin turned back toward Raeth.  “Votes like this one--votes that everyone assumes will fail--are popular in the Senate.  Those who wanted to cur favor with the Throne could vote for you to show Solidarity, but not have to worry about the consequences of their actions, since the vote is assumed dead from the beginning.”

Raeth’s stomach turned slightly.  “You mean you think I won on a fluke?” he asked.  “They were all trying curry favor, and the voting got away from them?”

“No,” Rall Hannin corrected.  “Only the borderline votes would have gone with you simply to cure favor.  Your enemies still should have voted against you.  That is the truly disconcerting part.”

Raeth followed the Mahallen King’s gaze again, watching as Laene and the others loaded onto a Corpate.  “You think he’s up to something?”

“This is the Senate, your majesty,” Rall Hannin said with a smile.  “We’re all up to something.”  He turned walk from the room.  “Come now--I really am interested to see how you do.  Assuming you acquit yourself well--and, I presume you will, since you have the Counsel to aid you--you will allay any fears the Senate might have in your competency.”

Raeth nodded slowly, following the Mahallen up the Corpate loading walkway and climbing onto one of the vehicles.  Behind him, Darro and Tarrinon appeared from the crowd and joined them.

“This should be interesting,” Darro noted as he hopped onto the Corpate’s silvery platform.

Raeth shrugged.  “Shouldn’t be too bad.  All I have to do is not make a fool of myself.”

Darro smiled ruefully.  “Good thing I don’t ever have to worry about that.  Making a fool of myself is almost a daily habit for me.  What do you want me to do?”

“Well, if you really want to help, make sure we win this battle today.  I’m going to be stuck in a room with about forty of the Imperium’s most powerful, most annoying men.  You’ll be the one out on the battlefield.”

Darro nodded firmly.  “We’ll hold them back,” he promised.

“Your Majesty,” an accented voice noted from the side.

Raeth turned to see Rall Hannin gesturing for him at the front of the Corpate.  Curious, Raeth moved forward to stand beside the Mahallen King.  “Yes, your highness?” he asked.

Rall Hannin nodded toward the Corpate moving down the street in front of their own.  “I didn’t notice them before,” he said.  “They must have gotten on before the Verdant Senators.”

Raeth frowned, looking forward.  Up ahead, he could make out several figures standing atop the other Corpate’s platform.  One plump form in a green cloak was certainly Laene.  Several others were speaking with him.  They looked like. . . .

“The War Counsel,” Raeth realized.

“Indeed,” Rall Hannin said.  “It makes one wonder what business the Counsel has with the High Senator.”

“But General Gaedin is an Amberite Bond!” Raeth said.  “They’re supposed to be my allies.”

“Sometimes annoyance drives men to stronger reactions even than hatred,” Rall Hannin noted.

“Even still. . . .” Raeth said, shaking his head.  “Beyond that, Laene voted for me.  Gaedin should be annoyed with him too.”

“Agreed,” Rall Hannin replied, his eyes thoughtful.

“Well,” Raeth said with a sigh, “whatever it is, at least the Counsel will have to listen to my suggestions now.  For a day, at least.”

The two men fell quiet, both looking at the figures across the gap.  Staring, however, brought them no closer to knowing the answers.  So, eventually, Raeth broached a topic he’d been wanting to discuss with the Mahallen King.

“Your highness,” Raeth began.  “You’ve. . .heard of your daughter’s allegations.”

Rall Hannin’s smile was very slight.  “I warned you about Mahallen women, your majesty.  In Aedinor, hunting is a masculine sport.  In En Mahall, however, the women grow quite deft at it.”

“Your highness,” Raeth began.  “Your daughter is. . .well, I mean--”

Rall Hannin held up a hand.  “Please,” he requested,  “if you’re going to tell me whether or not her allegations are true, forebear.”

“But, don’t you want to know?” Raeth asked.

Rall Hannin shook his head, his face becoming grave.  “If, by chance, you were to tell me that she is lying, it would be my duty as her father to see that her sentence is carried out.  That would be a pity, as there are still two weeks until you must make your choice.”

“I. . .see,” Raeth said, not certain if he did.  “I thought, however, that Nahan’s claims would, perhaps, force the process to move more quickly.”

“No need,” Rall Hannin said.  “Everyone knows that you won’t make your choice until the end of the Ynaa.  If what my daughter claims is true, then your duty as an Aedin will force you to choose her.  If, however, she lies. . .well, then your choice of another will be enough of a denial for our laws.  No one will question your honor as our Emperor.  In that instance, she will be dealt with.”

Raeth could see latent worry in Rall Hannin’s eyes as he turned away, leaning against the Corpate’s railing to stare out over the city.

“She certainly is. . .determined,” Raeth noted, leaning down beside the king.

“She is,” Rall Hannin agreed.  “I asked her not to beg this opportunity, but I have never been able to deny her anything.  In En Mahall we value strength and determination in our women, but it is possible for anyone to go too far.”

Raeth nodded his agreement.

“However,” Rall Hannin noted as the Corpate entered the military district, “you have other items to think about for the moment.  Go and save our country, Emperor Hern.  Troubles with women can wait for a safer day.”

#

The Counsel room was large, but what space wasn’t taken up by the enormous map was usually clogged with pages and bureaucrats.  There would barely be room for all thirty Senators, so most of the other dignitaries--even aristocrats or High Aedin of important Lines--would have to wait in side rooms.  The scene outside the Counsel room was one of mild chaos as the Corpates took turns unloading, and the non-Senator occupants tried to pull rank and get into the Counsel room.  As far as Raeth saw, only the Shorriken king was able to succeed.

Raeth stood impatiently, waiting in the cold.  Now that the entire Senate was attending, the battle had become a formal event.  And so, Tarrinon had explained to him, Raeth had to enter last.  Raeth found it quite odd that the same traditions that named him the most important man in the Imperium also forced him to wait out in the cold as a group of aging men shuffled into the building’s warmth.

Raeth shivered slightly, putting his hands together and summoning Amberite around them to break the wind.  Darro was gone, off to a Sending platform to prepare for the attack.  If the cursed Senators didn’t hurry, the battle would begin before Raeth even got into the room.

As he waited, he noticed a familiar dark-haired form walking down the loading walkway.  D’Naa.  He caught her eye, and the slight-framed girl curtseyed obediently.

Raeth suddenly grew nervous.  He’d avoided her for most of the week, putting his mind to other concerns, but he knew he’d have to confront her eventually.  Her. . .visit had left too many questions.  Gritting his teeth, Raeth forced himself to walk forward.

The girl frowned slightly, then waved her elderly attendants to back away to a respectful distance.

“Lady D’Naa,” he said.  “I am in your debt.  Your intervention gave me that vote.”

She regarded him with curious eyes, though her posture was stiff and unyielding.

“Kavir has long been seeking martial aid from the Throne,” she finally said.  “I thought that if I helped you today, you might be more inclined to send us the troops we need to defend against Harrmen raids.”

Raeth smiled to himself.  You’re right, Rall Hannin.  Everybody is up to something.  The answer, however, gave him no clue to her intentions at sneaking into his room in the middle of the night.  He opened his mouth to ask, but then he suddenly realized where he was and what was happening.  There were too many ears around.

“Either way, my lady,” he said instead, bowing slightly.  “I am in your debt.  I assure you, once this war is over, you’ll have your troops.  If necessary we’ll make Kavir so well-defended that the northern border looks tempting by comparison.”

The woman raised an eyebrow.  “I’ll hold you to that, your majesty.”

“I’ll hold myself to it, Lady D’Naa,” he replied.  Then the both fell silent, staring at each other awkwardly.

“We need to talk,” Raeth finally said.  “I’ve been having the lunches in order of Senatorial prominence as to not show favoritism, but I doubt I can wait to see you for another week.  Would it inconvenience you if I had my steward rearrange my schedule so that we dine together tomorrow?”

“I. . .think that would be all right, your majesty,” the girl replied.  She looked confused, though her hostility was less apparent.

Raeth bowed again and backed away, feeling silly at his formality.  Wasn’t this the girl he had so impetuously kissed just a week before?  His heart was pounding as he stepped back up to Tarrinon--it almost felt like he’d already fought the day’s big battle.  After confronting a woman, how hard could the Forgotten be?

“Tarrinon,” he said, “would you please rearrange my lunch appointments so that I eat with lady D’Naa of Kavir tomorrow?”

Tarrinon frowned, but opened up his ledger.

“What?” Raeth asked at the frown.

“Need I remind you, your majesty, of the importance of appearing impartial?  A good number of people saw you approach and speak with her.  If the others assume that you have already decided on a bride, you will lose a great deal of support in the Senate.  Even if you gain autonomy today, do not forget that it can be removed by another eighty-percent vote.”

Raeth nodded.  “I understand,” he said, forcing himself to keep from looking back at D’Naa.  “But, I need to do this for reason I can’t explain.  You can make the change look like a simple bureaucratic move, can’t you?”

Tarrinon sighed.  “I suppose.  Just remember, your majesty.  Don’t play favorites.  Not yet.”

“All right,” Raeth replied.  “Point taken.  Now, have all of them entered yet?  I’m getting cold.”

#

The nervousness began when Raeth entered the Counsel room.  The shuffling forms grew quiet as he entered, and heads bowed formally.  The map table sat, as always, dominating the center of the room.  Several clerical tables had been removed on the side to make way for thirty chairs, upon which the Senators sat as soon as Raeth bid them do so.

What am I doing? Raeth thought, stepping into the room and surveying the map.  Thousands of pieces had been set upon it, great groups of colored pieces manning the border’s large wall, even larger groups of black pieces representing the Forgotten army.  A childhood and young adolescence of training and study did not compensate for five years reading poems in the Irae.  Raeth was not a warrior.  How could he presume to take command of the Imperium’s armies?

Calm down, he told himself, taking a deep breath.  You don’t have to lead them.  You just want to have a say in what happens.

He paused as General Gaedin stepped forward.  The general bowed stiffly.  “I hereby relinquish command of the United Aedinor Imperium’s forces to you, Emperor Hern.  Use them well.”

Raeth nodded.  “Thank you, general.  We shall continue with some very minor changes.  Please, gather your men for--”

“I don’t think so, your majesty,” Gaedin said, his voice quiet, but hard.

Raeth froze.  “Excuse me, general?” he asked, turning apprehensively to regard the man.

“I said, I don’t think so, your majesty,” Gaedin repeated.  “You wanted autonomy, so the Counsel has been forced to give you autonomy.  Command your armies, Emperor.  You shall receive no help from us.”

Raeth grew cold, then angry.  “This is the fate of our country, you fool,” he hissed.  “Don’t play foolish political games.”

“I know what’s at stake, your majesty,” the lanky man growled back.  “I know it all too well.  The Senate might have forgotten your mistakes of the past, but I haven’t.  I say this with all the respect I can muster, Emperor, but you leading these armies will be a disaster.  Better one disaster than an entire war full of them.  If you fail today, the Senate will forget this idiotic vote, and perhaps we can pick up the pieces tomorrow.”

Raeth sighed.  “General, I don’t want command.  I just want you to listen--”

Gaedin bowed in the middle of Raeth’s sentence, then backed away, obviously not listening.

Raeth paused, fuming.  Could he order them to help him?  Their attitudes seemed to imply that he couldn’t.  He could threaten them with incarceration, but the senate could quickly overturn that.

The entire room was looking at him.  Suddenly, Raeth felt foolish--like he really was Hern.  What good had the vote done him?  The Imperium needed both their War Counsel and their emperor, not one or the other.  Should he just concede?  Perhaps if he gave in now, the Counsel would realize he didn’t want to dominate them, just advise them.

He glanced at the table, studying the hoard of Forgotten.     You can do this, Raeth, he told himself.  You know how they think.  Your plan is a good one.

Besides, he didn’t have to do it alone.  “You,” he said, pointing at a messenger.  “Bring me General Taenen and my brother from the battlefield.”

“Yes, sir!” the courier snapped, stepping onto the Sending platform.

Raeth turned back to the War Counsel, who sat with uniform hard faces in a line of chairs beside the Senators.  He had this one chance to prove himself to all of them.  Perhaps if he succeeded, he would finally be able to live down Hern’s legacy.

A moment later two flashes of light appeared on separate messenger’s Sending platforms.  Darro stumbled forward, grumbling about being bounced back and forth, but Taenen followed more reservedly, perplexment showing in his human eye.

“What’s this about, Hern?” Darro demanded, putting hands on his hips.  He wore an Amberite breastplate--a piece of armor beyond the powers of most Amberite Bonds, but which was an almost negligible thing for Darro.

Raeth waved the two men forward.  “It appears that this battle will be fought without the aid of the War Counsel,” he explained.

Darro frowned in confusion, but Taenen’s eyes opened slightly with understanding.  He shot a look at the ten men sitting defiantly at the other side of the room.

“They didn’t!” the Bestarin general said.

Raeth nodded.  “They think the only way to get rid of me is to embarrass me through failure.”

Darro growled quietly, his Amberite crackling quietly.  “That borders on treason, Hern,” he spat.  “Perhaps I should go ‘encourage’ them to reconsider.”

Raeth snorted.  “They’d be even less use to us if you bashed their heads in, Darro,” he said.

“True,” Darro agreed.  “But it’d be extremely satisfying nonetheless.”

Raeth rolled his eyes, turning back to the map.  “I’m going to need you two.  I’ve thought this battle through a hundred times, but the truth is that I don’t have much experience.”

“I understand, my lord,” Taenen said.  Darro just nodded.

“General,” Raeth said, eyeing the dark pieces as they approached.  “How long would you say we have until the Forgotten reach the border?”

“Two, maybe three hours, my lord,” Taenen said.  “The map is a bit misleading--the mapkeepers scale the distance when groups are further away.”

Raeth studied the border, pushing aside nervousness.  The Imperium forces were arranged by Line and race, as normal.  Two huge blocks of Amberite High Aedin made up the core of the army defending the central wall.  Verdant Bonds were at their flanks, as were Bestarin.  There weren’t any Ferrous Bonds--war Corpates would do little good from atop the wall.

Those warriors that weren’t High Aedin were much more numerous, but they were arranged almost tangentially to the High Aedin.  The regular Aedin troops waited behind the High Aedin, to act as reserves.  The Shorriken and few Kavir troops were at the extreme edges of the walls, and the Mahallen cavalry was back in the compound itself, probably to act as extreme reserves.

It was a decent enough arrangement, considering the lack of space on the wall itself.  There was only one problem--the layout depended on the High Aedin.  This had better work, he told himself.

“All right,” Raeth said, taking a deep breath.  “Here’s what I want you to do.  General Taenen, send messengers to the border with orders for our High Aedin forces to remove their cloaks and give them to the regular soldiers.”

The comment caused a stir in the room, and hushed whispers began.  Raeth tried to ignore the Senators and their attendants as he continued on.

“I want the High Aedin to retreat off the wall and take up flanking positions just in case the enemy breaks through.  Have the regular Aedin and Shorriken troops take their place, wearing the High Aedin cloaks.”

“Yes sir,” Taenen said immediately, moving over to the Sending platform and speaking with one of the messengers.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Darro said quietly.

“I do to,” he replied.  “Now, as for you--”

“Lord Hern,” a voice objected.  Raeth turned to find Laene and several of the other Senators standing from their seats.  “This is very irregular.  What good will it do to dress those troops up as High Aedin?  They still won’t have the Aethers of a High Aedin.”

“That’s what I’m counting on,” Raeth said.

“But--”

“High Senator,” Raeth interrupted.  “Did you or did you not grant me Martial Autonomy?”

Laene’s face fell, and Raeth could see the antagonism contained therein.  Why in the name of the Twins did he vote for me?

“Very well, your majesty,” Laene said, sitting.

Raeth turned back to the map.  “What about archers?” he asked Darro.

“There aren’t any,” Darro replied.  “Arrows don’t seem to affect the creatures--they just keep on moving no matter how many times we hit them.”

Raeth stood in contemplation for a moment.  “Put them back,” he finally said.  “They may not look like they’re doing anything, but they probably aren’t hurting our cause either.”

“If you say so,” Darro said, waving to a messenger.

Taenen was back a moment later.  “It’s done, sir,” he said.  Then, more quietly, he continued.  “They aren’t going to like it very much.”

“I expect not,” Raeth said.  “General, how do you suppose the Forgotten plan to get through the wall?”

The general paused, then he shrugged.  “I don’t know, sir.  I doubt they’ll have siege engines.  The barbarians usually try ropes.”

Raeth ground his teeth.  They knew so little.  Whatever it is within me, he thought.  It reproduced the effect of an Amberite Bond.  It made me armor.  What if these things can do the same? What if they can clone the powers of the Aethers?  The thought of thousands of Forgotten sprouting Verdant vines and whipping easily up the wall flashed in his mind.  His forces would be trapped on a narrow space, unable to retreat or flank.

“Taenen,” Raeth said.  “I changed my mind.  I want to take our forces off the wall.”

The general, despite his composure, blinked in surprise at this.  “Sir?” he asked.

“Bring them down, general,” Raeth repeated.  “Leave only the archers, and I want them to retreat when the enemy gets too close.  Arrange our forces like this.”  He took a stick from a surprised mapkeeper and began to maneuver blocks of men.  He put the regular Aedin and the Shorriken in the core, where the High Aedin should have been.  The High Aedin he put at the extreme flanks, a reserve position.

“Tell them to be ready for the creatures,” Raeth said as he changed the pieces.  While his other order had prompted whispers, this one created mutters of outrage which grew louder as the Senate and War Counsel realized what he was proposing.

“When they start to come down off the wall, that is when we hit them,” Raeth said, speaking only to Taenen and Darro.

Darro and the Bestarin general regarded his plan with consternation.

“We let them in,” Taenen said, “and then crush them back against the wall.”

“Exactly,” Raeth said, still ignoring everyone else.  “What do you think?”

“It certainly is a different way to use a defensive wall,” Darro said musingly.  “They’d only be able to attack us a few at a time.  We’d lose our best defensive fortification, though.”

“I have a feeling that the wall won’t do us much good as a fortification,” Raeth said.  “So far the Forgotten have proven to be stronger and more endurant than men, not to mention the fact that they’re hard to kill.  They seem to be made of smoke--who’s to say they won’t just float over the wall?”

“The plan is clever,” Taenen agreed.  “If we assume that they’ll be able to bypass our fortifications, our men could easily get divided and overwhelmed.  Anyone caught on the wall would be trapped and killed at the creatures’ leisure.”

“And,” Raeth added, “if they don’t have a way over the wall--or if they move up it slowly--we can just order the men back up to the top.”

Taenen nodded.  “A valid point, sir.  I think it might work.”

Raeth turned to Darro, who shrugged.  “Sure, why not?  Nothing else we’ve tried has worked against them.  I don’t think the Senate will be as quick to agree with you, though.”  Darro nodded over Raeth’s shoulder at the group of nervous politicians.

“They’re the ones who put me in charge,” Raeth said.  “Taenen, I want you to lead the main block, those dressed in the High Aedin cloaks.  We’re going to have to depend on the Bestarin--so far, they haven’t appeared to be any less effective against the creatures.  Darro, your job is to hold the High Aedin back and to prepare for our retreat.”

Darro paused.  “Retreat?” he asked.  “Hern, we’ve never retreated from the border before.”

“We may not have a choice,” Raeth said.  “Prime the Mahallens to harry again if necessary, and make sure you gather a good group of Vo-Dari just in case.  All right?”

“All right,” Darro said, shaking his head slightly.  Taenen saluted, and the two stepped up for Sending, leaving Raeth alone with the room-full of hostile aristocrats.

He turned, handing the pole back to the petulant mapkeeper who, with several others, immediately began moving all the pieces back where they had been--though, of course, in a few moments he would just have to move them all back.

The Senators were arguing quietly, and several--all of whom had supported him in the vote--were beginning to speak of another vote.

“We cannot vote again,” Laene said, ignoring Raeth as he spoke to the others.  “The old vote isn’t finished yet.”

The room grew quieter as many of the Senators turned to Rall Hannin.  The Mahallen sat near the back of the group, his hands clasped contemplatively, his eyes interested as he studied the map.

“I don’t think I’ll vote just yet,” he decided.  “Let us see how our young Emperor’s plans progress, shall we?”

The grumbles began again, but Raeth ignored them all, turning and looking again at the map table.  He almost wished Rall Hannin had removed him.  How many people were depending on him?  How many soldiers would die if his plans were flawed?  The burden grew larger as he watched the pieces move, trying to visualize the hundreds of men each one represented.

I’d better be right, he thought to himself with increasing apprehension.  Oh, Ancestors, please let this work.

A few moments later he found himself a stool and sat quietly, thinking and planning as he nervously awaited for the enemy to approach.

Chapter Fourteen

The brides, for the most part, were extremely annoyed at their regulation to the secondary building.  Even though messengers arrived periodically to inform them of the battle’s progress--or, so far, the lack thereof--Alean and the other still felt they should have been given special privilege.

“Take him another message,” Alean ordered a young Shorriken page.  “Lord Hern must not understand.  There’s so much confusion in that room that he must not have noticed that I’m not in attendance.”

D’Naa sat quietly in her chair at the side of the room, listening to Alean haggle.  She wasn’t the only one.  Tae and Hannin--the Bestarin bride--had both sent messengers of their own to demand admittance into the Counsel room.  Even the quiet Shorriken girl had sent a request, though she had stopped after the first rejection.  In fact, the only one other than D’Naa who hadn’t made any demands was Nahan.

D’Naa glanced to the side.  The room was some sort of military training room, filled with uncomfortable chairs.  Nearly every seat was taken--those who hadn’t gotten into the main room at least wanted to have a place in the secondary room, though D’Naa wasn’t certain why it mattered.  There wasn’t anything special about this room besides the people it contained.

The noble occupants had immediately rearranged the chairs into smaller groups, and now sat talking quietly within their cliques.  Not a few had ordered servants to bring them cushions for the chairs, and other were complaining at the cold, though the room’s Corpates seemed plenty warm to D’Naa.

Only one person was independent of the groups--D’Naa’s grandfather.  She was gaining new respect for the old scoundrel as she watched him poke through the room, joining different groups of people, whether they be Mahallen, Shorriken, or High Aedin.  Somehow, he managed to wiggle his way into every one, and soon he was laughing and theorizing with them as if he had always been part of the group.

“He was quite the politician, once,” Shaad said wistfully from beside her, where she sat embroidering a handkerchief.

“Still is, from the looks of it,” D’Naa noted, watching her grandfather animatedly tell a story to a group of Bestarin High Aedin.

“He loves people,” Shaad said.  “That’s why he became a Hlaa.  It gave him the chance to travel and learn.  There was a time when he had an open invitation to visit the homes of the most powerful people in the Imperium.”

D’Naa paused, frowning slightly.  “I’ve always wondered, grandmother.  Why isn’t he a Senator?  Kavir could do much worse, I think.”

Shaad lowered her embroidery hoop for a moment, turning fond eyes on her husband.  “He was, for a very short time.  He got tired of it though, dear.  He couldn’t force himself to stay in one place so much, even if that place was Vae Annitor.”

D’Naa smiled, looking from her grandmother to grandfather.  She could see so much in Shaad’s eyes--a lifetime of experiences, of travel and wonder.  All of it spent with one special individual.

“You have potential in you, child,” Shaad said, still looking at her husband.  “You could be like him.”

D’Naa blushed.  “I doubt it,” she replied.  “I always feel so awkward--like I don’t fit in.”

“Everyone does, at first,” Shaad said, turning back to her sewing.  “But, there’s a reason your cousin sent you on this mission, as opposed to someone else.  He trusts you.  Whenever he sent you as an emissary to one of the villages, he knew that you would strengthen the people and restore their confidence.  You have your grandfather’s personality, but you also have a sense to keep going after the excitement quiets down.  That’s a good trait in a politician.”

D’Naa flushed.  The only way she’d become a real politician was if Hern chose her, and she was increasingly doubtful that would happen.  Unconsciously, her eyes flickered to the side, toward Nahan.  The Mahallen girl sat alone--the only one in the room who was sitting by herself.  Apparently, removing her hoops while there was still two weeks left on Hern’s Ynaa had been a poor political move.  Most of the non-Mahallens didn’t believe that she had actually seduced Hern, and those who did were angry at her for throwing a wrench into their political maneuverings.  If that weren’t bad enough, her own people seemed to be politely shunning her for some reason.

The door opened and a messenger stepped into the room, causing the groups to quiet in anticipation.  “The battle has not begun yet,” he announced.  “The Forgotten are still approaching.”

The people sighed and turned back to their business, a few grumbling at the long delay.  D’Naa’s eyes flickered to the side again, toward Nahan.  She couldn’t help feeling sorry for the woman--she looked so lonely.  Even if she had seduced Hern, it would be his fault as much as hers.  Besides, wasn’t that the way her society taught her to get a husband?

D’Naa, you’re a sentimental rustic, she chided herself.  Still, despite the inner derision, she found herself standing.  “I’ll be right back,” she told her grandmother as she walked over to where Nahan was sitting.

The Mahallen girl looked up immediately, jeweled earrings glistening, her eyes hostile.  D’Naa ignored the look, instead just seating herself on a chair facing Nahan.  There was an uncomfortable silence before D’Naa finally spoke.  “This waiting is difficult, isn’t it?” she said.

Nahan’s eyes flickered suspiciously to the side, as if she expected that D’Naa had been sent to bother her for someone’s amusement.  “What do you want?” the Mahallen finally asked.

D’Naa shrugged.  “You looked lonely,” she said honestly, feeling a bit foolish.  This woman didn’t want her company.  “I figured talking to someone would pass the time.”

Nahan didn’t look convinced.  “You’re mad at me,” she challenged, “because I slept with the Emperor.”

“Maybe a little,” D’Naa admitted.  “But, to be honest, we both know I never had a chance with him.  So, what you do doesn’t really affect me.”

Nahan frowned.  “I don’t know,” she said slowly.  “There are rumors in the court that say he favors you.”

“There are rumors in the court that say he favors all of us,” D’Naa guessed.

Nahan paused, then smiled slightly.  “I suppose there are,” she said.  Then she shot a look at a group of Mahallen businessmen sitting a short distance away.  “Though, you still might not want to talk to me.  Whatever I have might be contagious.”

D’Naa followed Nahan’s gaze.  “I don’t understand,” she admitted.  “How can your own people treat you like this?  Aren’t you kind of on the same side?”

Nahan, frowned as she watched the Mahallens.  “They don’t know what to make of me,” she explained.  “In our land, when a woman makes an accusation, the man responds immediately.  Hern hasn’t said a word, and that confuses them.  I’m either their next empress or I’m a dead woman--if they make any missteps now, it could be embarrassing for them later on.  So, they prefer just to ignore me.”

“That’s horrible,” D’Naa said.

Nahan shrugged.  “It’s a very Mahallen thing to do.  We’re good at ignoring problems.  How else do you think we could marry ourselves off to Aedin, when we consider their Aethers to creations of evil?  Maybe we should be more like the Khur, always fighting.”

“That doesn’t seem to get them very far,” D’Naa noted.  “You have five seats on the Senate, they only have two.”

“Yes,” Nahan agreed, a slight cynical edge to her voice.  “We make wonderful politicians.  I believe he’s coming for you.”

D’Naa paused, following Nahan’s nod.  Her grandfather was approaching with his characteristic spry step.  He smiled pleasantly at Nahan and seated himself with them.  “Very, very interesting,” he mumbled to himself.

D’Naa raised an eyebrow.  “What was that, grandfather?”

“Our Emperor,” Hlin explained.  “A few of the more important attendants of our little function here have managed to slip personal aids into the Counsel room.  Apparently Lord Hern is causing quite a stir.”

Nahan frowned.  “What is he doing?” she demanded.

Hlin smiled mischievously.  “Well, apparently he’s taken away the High Aedin troops’ cloaks, and given them to the regular soldiers instead.”

“What?” Nahan asked.  “Why would he do that?”

Hlin shrugged.  “No one knows.  Some speculate he’s trying to embarrass them for some reason--apparently, embarrassing people is one of Hern’s favorite pastimes.”

D’Naa shook her head.  “Not at a time like this,” she said.  “Even he wouldn’t do something like that.”

“Why, then?” Nahan asked.

D’Naa paused.  “I don’t know,” she admitted.  “Maybe he wants to make a decoy of some sort.  If he disguises the High Aedin, he can use them to attack the creatures by surprise.”

Nahan frowned.  “That seems like it would give the Forgotten too much credit.  They’re supposed to be mindless demons.”

“Well, whyever he did it, Hern didn’t stop there,” Hlin said, his aged eyes twinkling like they did when he had news to share.  “He also ordered the defenses to abandon the wall.  He has them arranged down below, in the courtyard.”

Nahan shot D’Naa a surprised look.  “But, that would leave us exposed,” she said.  “We’ll lose for certain.”

D’Naa shrugged.  She couldn’t make much sense of it either.  What good would it do them to surrender the wall?

Further speculation was interrupted, however, as the door opened to admit another messenger.  “The battle has begun,” he announced in a clear voice.

#

The Forgotten crashed against the border wall--or, at least, their pieces did so as the mapkeepers moved them.  The Forgotten slowed as they reached the fortification, bunching up against it like water pooling against a dam.

Well, Raeth thought, at least they can’t pass right through it.  He waited, sweat trickling down his brow, as the Forgotten progressed.  Despite his position as battle commander, there was relatively little he could do until the creatures forced him to react.  He’d ordered the archers retreat a few moments before.  Now he could only watch and hope his plan worked.

Light flashed from the Sending platform, and every quiet head in the room snapped toward it.

“They’re jumping!” the messenger exclaimed.  “The creatures are jumping--they’re leaping right up onto the top of the wall.”

Raeth let out a held-breath.  He’d been right.  He’d been wrong about the method, but he’d still been right.  If there had been men on top of that wall, they would have been quickly overwhelmed.  His suspicion was confirmed as another messenger appeared and gave directions to the mapkeepers.  In seconds, the top of the wall was flooded with Forgotten.

“Tell the men to hold their position!” Raeth told the messenger.  “They aren’t to attack until the Forgotten have begun to jump down from the wall.  Under no circumstances are they to try and take the wall back.”

“Yes, sir!” the messenger said, then disappeared.

Raeth ground his teeth as he waited for further information.  The first part of his plan had worked.  Would the second?  Could they really pin the creatures against the wall?  If there was no space for the Forgotten to descend, the men could fight them in small groups, neutralizing the creatures’ number advantage.

Updates continued, and the plan set into motion.  Raeth’s troops rushed forward, pinning a group of Forgotten against the wall, stopping their flow.  It was working.

Then Raeth noticed something.  Large groups of Forgotten were pooling at the very edges of the wall for some reason.  He hadn’t noticed them at first--he’d been to focused on the main group.  But, something about their formation bothered him.  It was almost as if they were. . . .

Raeth’s eyes opened wide.  “No!” he yelled in the quiet room, causing Senators to jump.  Even as he spoke, the mapkeepers moved a group of Forgotten down from the side wall--right next to the High Aedin troops.

“Tell the High Aedin not to engage!” Raeth snapped.  “I want them to retreat, right now.  Bring the Mahallen horsemen in to plug that group on the far right.”

However, another group trooped down on the far left, next to the other group of High Aedin.  Seconds later, Raeth realize he’d been duped.  The first Forgotten had attacked his fake High Aedin, but the bulk of the army was flowing to the sides, moving incredibly quick.

How did they know? Raeth thought with frustration.  They lined up that way from the beginning--as if they knew what was on the other side of the wall. . . .

His messenger scampered away, but Raeth already knew he was going to be too late.  The High Aedin wouldn’t be able to restrain themselves, not with enemies before them.  Sure enough, the next update put the Amberite Bonds mixing with the Forgotten on the right flank.  The Verdant Bonds on the left flank soon moved similarly.  More and more Forgotten poured down the sides of the wall.

They knew, Raeth thought with somehow stark clarity.  Somehow they saw through my ruse.  They knew where the High Aedin were the entire time.  And, just like before, they’re striking where we’re weak.

Raeth could see the disaster before it happened.  There were too many Forgotten, especially for the poorly-trained High Aedin.  Their lines would buckle quickly, and they weren’t used to being defeated.  Even when it was apparent they could be hurt, they fought on, their head-strong Aedin natures asserting themselves.

Both flanks collapsed.  I need to retreat, Raeth realized.  Like a game of Jaenya, he could see his defeat dozens of moves before it came.  But, if he retreated, the Senate would certainly remove him from his place of leadership.

Raeth looked up, turning eyes toward the War Counsel.  Men are dying, Raeth thought.  Political position means nothing in the face of that.

“Sound the retreat,” he said.  “Get those men out of there.”

The messenger’s eyes widened with surprise, but he did as ordered.  Immediately, the Senate began to speak, but for once Raeth actually didn’t care what they were saying.  He turned toward the map, toward the pieces both colored and black.

How did they know? He wondered.  Can they sense Aethers somehow?  He paused.  What if the answer was far more obvious?  What if they knew what the Imperium troops were going to do because they had a spy in Vae Annitor?  But who would work with such creatures.

Unless, the spy wasn’t a willing one. . . .

Raeth looked down at his palm, at his Amberite.  He could detect faint wisps of darkness flowing through its otherwise rosy structure.  He heard voices in his head, he had strange powers--powers that were powered by the same darkness that seeped from Forgotten wounds.

The creatures had mysteriously anticipated the Imperium plans twice now.  Both times Raeth had been in the Counsel room.

Twins! He thought with shock.  What if it’s me?  What if they know our secrets because of me, because of the bit of darkness I carry within me?

He looked up.  The regular troops, those under the command of Taenen, were disengaging as ordered.  The High Aedin, however, were not doing likewise.  Their pieces still mixed with the increasingly large numbers of Forgotten.

“What is going on?” Raeth demanded.

“They claim to be unable to disengage,” a messenger informed.

Raeth felt a chill.  This was another possibility he hadn’t considered.  What if they refused to listen to him?

“Reiterate the command for retreat!” he ordered, watching the High Aedin pieces.  The mapkeepers had already begun to remove colored pieces from the board as High Aedin troops fell, a move prompting murmurs of surprise from the Senate.

The messenger dashed away to do his bidding, and Raeth watched, sweating, as the Mahallen cavalry swept in to try and divert the Forgotten.  The stubborn High Aedin refused to disengage, however, even as more and more of them began to fall.  Raeth cursed quietly.

“They won’t listen to you, my lord,” a quiet voice said.  “But they might listen to me.”

Raeth looked up.  General Gaedin was standing a short distance away.  There was no disdain in his face, only concern.  He realized it too--the border was lost.  They needed to fall back.  Gaedin didn’t move, however, to give the command.  Raeth could see in his eyes what he wanted--he stood by his earlier declaration.  The War Counsel would not help with the war unless they had autonomy.

Raeth paused.  Could he do it?  After the fight he’d gone through to get control of the armies, could he relinquish them now?

There’s no other way, Raeth, he realized, turning eyes back on the troops.  A week ago you cursed Gaedin for refusing to listen to you because of his pride.  Don’t make the same mistake.

“Very well, general,” Raeth said.  He turned to the Senate.  “Lord Rall Hannin.  Please cast your vote--against me.”

“You are certain that is what you want?” the Mahallen asked.

Raeth turned back toward the fighting.  The High Aedin were growing increasingly outnumbered as more Forgotten crossed the wall.  A few more moments, and it would all be over.  They move so fast! Raeth thought with concern.

“Yes,” he finally said.

“Very well,” Rall Hannin said.  “I vote against autonomy.”

“The Senate has spoken,” Laene announced.  “Martial Autonomy remains with the War Counsel.”

The Counsel immediately burst into motion, motioning for messengers and giving orders.  Raeth stepped back from the map as the Counsel moved up and began to organize the retreat.

For the first time since the Imperium was founded, the northern border had been breached.

Chapter Fifteen

Raeth sat disconsolately on his throne, paying attention only half-heartedly as a merchant explained why he needed extra compensation for his goods, since he’d had to divert his caravans to avoid the Forgotten’s path.  After over a week spent in the thrall of political maneuverings, it was difficult for Raeth to return to the mundane cases that had occupied his time during his first few days as Emperor.  He knew they were important--these cases provided for the day-to-day functioning of the Imperium.  But it was hard to wait idly on his throne, listening to complaints while his nation slowly fell apart.

And, unfortunately, he knew there was no better place for him.  At least here, under the careful coachings of a dozen aids and lawyers, he wouldn’t make any more horrible mistakes.  He’d put the Imperium through enough already.

Three days had passed since the disaster, and its repercussions could be seen throughout the city, amongst all of its various peoples.  The army had sustained heavy casualties, especially amongst the High Aedin ranks.  Two thousand High Aedin, many from prominent families, had died.  What was worse, over seventy percent of the High Aedin losses had been from the Amberite Line--his own house.  He’d earned the distrust of those who should have been his strongest allies.

They were blaming him, of course, and rightfully so--though they didn’t know the true reason for his guilt.  They said that the disaster had come because Raeth had held back the High Aedin, trying to humiliate them by taking their cloaks.  They didn’t know the truth.  The slaughter had occurred because he himself had been an unknowing spy for the enemy.  His eyes were tainted; somehow, the Forgotten knew what he knew.

Raeth was a traitor--an unwitting one, but a traitor nonetheless.

The merchant finished his petition, and Raeth turned to Tarrinon.  Tarrinon paused, then whispered the proper decision into Raeth’s ear.  Raeth repeated it verbatim, trying to ignore the look in Tarrinon’s eyes.  The scribe didn’t approve of Raeth’s attitude.  However, at least this way Raeth knew he wasn’t being manipulated by the taint of darkness that slept within him.

The herald announced the next case, but Raeth didn’t look up.  He knew he looked like he was brooding--and, truth be told, he did feel a bit of self-pity.  However, mostly he was just worried about what he’d done.  The fall of the Imperium could very well be upon his hands.  He wasn’t trying to act petulant--he just didn’t know what else to do.  If the Forgotten saw what he saw--or, worse, knew what he thought--then the less he paid attention, the better off the Imperium would be.

“Um, my lord,” Tarrinon said quietly.  “You might want to pay attention to this one.  I can’t help you with it.”

Raeth looked up, frowning, then his eyes widened with surprise when he saw who was standing before him.  Shateen, the Shentis ambassador, stood with his arms still wrapped in chains, several guards at his side.

“Good afternoon, your majesty,” the black-skinned creature said with a bow of its head.  “Here I am for our weekly appointment.  You haven’t forgotten about me, have you?”

He had.  Raeth frowned to himself, thinking back to that day, nearly three weeks ago, when the first attack had come.  It seemed so long ago--so much had happened.  Shateen’s crime almost seemed negligible compared to the events of recent days.  After all, hadn’t Raeth caused the deaths of far more people in the failed battle?

“Do you have an answer for me yet, Shateen?” Raeth asked.

The Shentis raised his manacled hands.  “I’ve always had an answer for you, my lord.  Unfortunately, it’s still the same.  I can’t tell you what happened to those children.”

Raeth sighed.  “You realize if you don’t tell me in little over a week, I’m going to have you executed?”

The Shentis man shrugged.  “The way things are going, I don’t know that there will be anyone left to perform that execution, your majesty.”

Good point, Raeth acknowledged, waving his hand.  “Take him back.”

The soldiers bowed and led Shateen from the room.  Raeth sat, waiting for the herald to announce the next case, but the man remained quiet.

“That’s it?” Raeth asked with surprise.

“Only one more item, your majesty,” Tarrinon said, shuffling papers.  “A document for you to sign.”  He pulled out a neat sheet of pressed paper and turned it for Raeth, handing him a pen.

Raeth scanned the document, frowning as he read--it wasn’t very long.  It was a formal announcement from the Khur King, a denunciation of Raeth for his Sending of Frana three weeks before.  The second paragraph was a threat that if Raeth didn’t atone for his act by choosing Frana as his bride, the Khur intended to formally cede from the Imperium.

“They’re still mad about this?” Raeth asked incredulously.

“Apparently, my lord,” Tarrinon said, his face betraying a bit of concern.  “You simply have to sign, showing that you received the news.”

“They won’t carry out the threat, will they?” Raeth asked.

“I. . .don’t know, your majesty,” Tarrinon said.  “They’re always rebellious, but this is the most firm step they’ve ever taken.”

They know we’re weak right now, Raeth thought with frustration.  They think they can get away with more.  Shrugging, he signed it, careful to use Hern’s symbol instead of his own.  If the Imperium lost the war, it didn’t really matter what Khur did.

“That’s everything?” Raeth asked.

“It’s time for lunch, your majesty,” Tarrinon informed.  “The day’s bride is waiting.”

Raeth shook his head.  “I don’t feel like it today,” he said.  “Postpone the lunch.”

“My lord,” Tarrinon said sternly, “with all due respect, you’ve already postponed this young lady twice.  And, since you forced me to rearrange your schedule so you could meet with her in the first place, your behavior is growing increasingly childish.”

Raeth looked up, meeting the shorter man’s eyes.  Then he smiled slightly.  “I suppose I deserved that, didn’t I?”

“Yes, your majesty.  You made a mistake, but you’re still Emperor.”

“For a while, at least,” Raeth mumbled.  “All right, tell Lady D’Naa that I’ll be there after I change.”

Tarrinon nodded, motioning to a lesser aid.  Raeth sat for a moment before moving, however.  Something about Tarrinon’s words had sparked his thoughts.  You made a mistake.

That was the problem.  Raeth hadn’t made a mistake--at least, not one that he could see.  Every time he went over the battle in his mind, he couldn’t think of anything major he would change.  His strategy had been good--or, at least, as good as he could manage.  The acknowledgement brought his mind back to his life as a Dari, painting and writing poetry in the Ynaa.  What did it mean when his best still wasn’t good enough?

#

“Lord Hern is on his way, my lady,” the aid said, bowing slightly.

D’Naa nodded, dismissing the man.  ‘On his way’ probably meant she had another thirty minutes to wait; she knew how bureaucracies worked.  She stood with a sigh, her lace dress ruffling in the quiet stone dining hall.  Several serving men stood on either side of the room, so stiff that they might as well have been pillars.  The chamber was lit by three enormous windows filled with marvelous clear glass, and the light reflected off the marble floor and walls.

Though a Corpate heating pillar burned a deep red on one side of the room, D’Naa still felt a bit cold--which was odd, for her.  It was probably the room itself, and not the actual temperature.  The pale green marble and quiet, open room just felt like it should be cold, no matter what mystical heating it had.

She wandered across the room, passing the dining table set with various golden candelabras and plates, walking toward the windows.  The only sound in the room was that made by her rustling dress and her shoes clicking against the tiled floor.

The city had changed drastically in just a couple of days.  Though it was still more busy than any town in Kavir, it was far less occupied than it had been before.  People streamed from the gates, abandoning the mighty capitol despite repeated assurances from the Senate and War Counsel.  They had been able to ignore the threat as long as it stayed beyond the border, but they were unprepared to deal with a danger actually within the Imperium.  Not everyone was leaving, of course--in fact, only a small minority was.  However, with such a large population in one place, even a small percentage translated to large numbers.

There was a visible tension in those who remained behind.  There was a frantic, desperate edge to the eyes of the people--fear.  D’Naa had seen it before in the eyes Kavir border-towners.  It was the fear of confusion, of worry.  They didn’t know what was happening, or how to deal with it.  Their sacred homeland had been invaded for the first time in centuries.  The last force to successfully invade from the north had been the Aedin themselves.  It was horrible to imagine a foe that could defeat even the might of the Aethers.

D’Naa turned from the window, looking instead across the dining room.  Its perfection--with carefully-arranged table settings, flat-faced servers, and polished marble on all sides--was so statuesque it could have been part of a painting.  Everything was in its place.  She’d noticed that about the palace lately--it was as if its occupants were trying to deny the chaos to the north by reinforcing the order of their own home.  It was a poor facade.  The Forgotten marched closer to Vae Annitor with each passing day, never deviating from their course, destroying any who happened to get in their way.  Ignoring the threat would not neutralize it.

Actually, D’Naa was surprised at how well she herself was taking events.  She knew that the invasion was disastrous for the Imperium, but she had dealt with disasters and invasions for most of her life.  In a twisted way, she was kind of glad to see the Aedin dealing with it for once--perhaps, when this was all over, they would be more willing to listen to Kavir’s petitions for help against the Harrmen raids.

If, that was, the Imperium survived the invasion.

#

Raeth threw off his formal red cloak and shirt, moving to take something more comfortable from a newly-cleaned stack left by one of the palace maids.  One thing, at least, had gotten better during his time as Emperor--Hern’s gaudy decorations had stopped bothering him.  It was odd; so many people had been calling him Hern, and he had grown into the position so quickly, that sometimes found himself thinking that he was actually the Emperor.

He had to remember that he was not.  These rooms, with their overdone luxury, were not his.  The decisions he made every day were not really his to make.  It was all a lie.

The door to his rooms opened, and Raeth turned with surprise.  There was only one person the guards would have let in after an express command to allow no visitors.

“Darro,” Raeth said, pulling on the shirt.

Darro folded his arms, frowning at Raeth.  The muscular man had a bandage on his right arm, but it didn’t seem to impair his movement.

Raeth turned from his brother, reaffixing his cloak.  “I’m busy right now, Darro,” he said.  “We can talk after lunch.”  With that he walked toward the door, passing Darro.

Darro’s hand reached out and grabbed Raeth’s shoulder in a light, but immovable, grip.  “You’ve been avoiding me,” Darro said flatly.

Raeth paused.  How could he explain?  He couldn’t spend time with Darro.  What if his brother let slip some secret of military importance?  A secret that would pass into Raeth’s traitorous ears and go right to the enemy?  It hurt to stay away from Darro--after just a few weeks outside the Irae, he’d come to rely on his brother’s staunch personality more than he would have thought possible.  But he could not ignore the danger.

“You’ve been busy,” Raeth said slowly.  “There’s not much time for discussion.”

Darro snorted.  “What’s going on Raeth?” he demanded.  “The talk of the court is that you’re wallowing in pity, but I know you better than that.  Something’s wrong.”

Raeth shook his head ruefully.  “Our nation is being invaded, Darro.  Isn’t that ‘wrong’ enough for you?”

Darro stood stubbornly, his hand still on Raeth’s shoulder.

“I don’t have time for this, Darro,” Raeth snapped, trying to pull himself free from Darro’s grip.

Darro held on tightly.  “What is it, Raeth?” Darro said firmly, his voice uncharacteristically serious.  “What aren’t you telling me?  Is it true?  Are you feeling sorry for yourself while your country dies?  What about duty?”

“Duty?” Raeth snapped, turning to face the larger man.  “What know you of duty?  Have you forgotten that this seat should have been yours?  That you wiggled free from it, running just like you’ve run from every responsibility you’ve ever been given?  Don’t speak to me of duty, brother.  Go back to your bars and your women.”

Darro growled softly, his eyes burning.  Then, however, his grip weakened and he bowed his head.  Raeth pulled free and moved to leave.  I’m sorry, Darro, he thought.  You didn’t deserve that.

“No,” a firm voice said behind him.  Raeth paused, hand on the door.  He turned to see Darro’s head raised, his eyes still firm, his arms folded.  “People have been shaming me into things since I was a child, Raeth,” he said.  “I’m not perfect, but I’m not stupid either.  You’re hiding something, and you’re going to tell me what it is.”

Raeth groaned quietly.  Then he ground his teeth in annoyance.  “You want to know what it is?” he asked.  “You really want to know?”  He held up his arm, frustration seething inside him--frustration at his inadequacy, frustration at not being able to do anything but watch as the Imperium fell.  He commanded his Aether to grow.

Dark Amberite sprouted from his hand growing quickly up his arm, forming joints where he instructed.  It grew down his leg, crackling as it moved, until it touched the floor and began to spread.  Raeth commanded it stop just before Darro’s feet.

Darro stood with a stunned expression on his face.  “Raeth,”  he said with surprise.  “Your Amberite. . . .”

“It’s not Amberite, Darro,” Raeth said, his frustration waning, replaced by simple tiredness.

“Then, what?” Darro asked.

“It happened three weeks ago,” Raeth said quietly, “during the first attack.  When father was pulled into the pool, he floundered.  A drop of the blackness splashed out and hit me in the cheek.”

Darro blinked in shock.  “But, you should be. . . .”

“Dead?” Raeth asked.  “I know.  But I’m not, but instead. . . .”  Raeth sighed, releasing the false Amberite from his control.  It began to crumble, then dissolved into dark smoke.  “There’s one of them inside of me, Darro,” he whispered.  “I can feel it--sometimes I can even hear it, talking to me.  I think it can see through my eyes.  That’s why my plan for the border defense failed--the Forgotten saw through my ploy.  They saw through it because I knew the truth.”

Darro stood silently, watching Raeth’s false Amberite disappear in wisps of darkness.

“Do you see now?” Raeth asked.  “Do you see why I can’t afford to let myself pay attention?  There’s a chance that whatever I see could compromise the Imperium.  This is my duty, Darro.  I have to remain as uninvolved as possible.  Part of me is a Forgotten.”

Darro continued to stand quietly, and Raeth felt his nervousness grow.  He wasn’t so paranoid that he thought Darro would run in fear, but a part of him worried.  Darro knew the truth--he knew what Raeth was.  How would he react?

Finally, Darro just shrugged.  “So?”

Raeth frowned.  “So?” he repeated.  “Darro, they can see through my eyes!”

“You sure about that?” Darro asked.

“Well,” Raeth admitted, “not completely.  But it makes sense.  Whenever I’m watching the battles they seem to be able to anticipate our moves.”

Darro shrugged.  “They do that when you’re not watching, Raeth.”

Raeth paused.  How could Darro not see the danger?

“It seems to me,” Darro continued, “that whatever happened to you is an advantage.  I mean, even if they can see through your eyes, won’t having a piece of them inside you let you understand them better too?  We haven’t been doing too well against them on our own--maybe you’re what we need.  Besides, your Aether obviously works a lot better now.  That’s a blessing in itself.”

Raeth just shook his head, leaning back against the door.  The things Darro said sounded tempting, but were they rationalization?  “I don’t know, Darro,” he said frankly.  “I don’t think I can trust myself.  If there’s even a possibility that I’m a security hazard, then it’s my duty to stay as far away from important events as possible.”

Darro frowned, walking over to seat himself in one of Hern’s plush chairs.  His bulk made the wood groan slightly in complaint.  “That’s one thing I don’t think you’ve ever understood, Raeth,” he said.

Raeth frowned slightly, moving to take the chair opposite Darro.  “What?” he asked.

“Duty,” Darro explained, staring contemplatively at the floor.

“I don’t understand duty?” Raeth asked with surprise.

Darro nodded solemnly.  “I always used to watch you during our lessons with the mentors,” he explained.  “Every time they talked about duty or responsibility, you perked up.  You were so concerned with proving to father that you understood how to be Shaeth--that he didn’t have to make you a Dari--that you missed the entire point.”

Raeth wasn’t certain whether to be amused or offended.  “And what point would that be, Darro?” he asked.

Darro shrugged.  “To you, Raeth, duty forbids.  It’s always about what you can’t do.  You shouldn’t be involved with the war effort, because of duty.  You shouldn’t express your opinions because you know your duty.  You can’t do anything but sit in your cubicle and pray, because that’s a Dari’s duty.

“You never got to the real essence of it all though.  Duty isn’t about what you can’t do.  It’s about your heart, and it’s about applying what you can do well to what will help the Imperium the most.  At least, that’s how I’ve always understood it.  I know I should be more reserved, but I don’t think understanding responsibility means that I can’t be me.  Maybe I don’t know anything, but at least I’ve always been happy with myself.”

Raeth sat, feeling himself slowly grow stunned.  His mind went back to his visit with the Patriarch a week before.  The old man, thinking he was Hern, had spoken with disappointment about Raeth.  He had said that Raeth never fulfilled his potential because he couldn’t get past feeling he wasn’t suited to be a Dari.

“Darro,” Raeth said softly, “I think that’s the wisest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

Darro smiled.  “Wisdom strikes even the best of us once in a while,” he mumbled.

“I don’t see how it helps now, though,” Raeth said with a shake of his head.  “What if the Forgotten are really watching through my eyes?”

“Then find some other way to help,” Darro said.  “Use your talents; don’t just sit there.”

Raeth sat thoughtfully.  What could he do?  What wouldn’t give any more information to the Forgotten?  Finally, he looked up, meeting Darro’s eyes.  “When’s the next defensive strike slated to happen?” he asked.

“In about an hour,” Darro said.  “I was on my way to be Sent when I saw you were in your rooms.”

Raeth nodded, rising.  “Let’s go, then.  I might not be able to direct the fight, but that doesn’t mean I can’t lend my sword.  If I’m fighting directly then I won’t be able to give them any more than they already know.”

Darro smiled broadly, slapping Raeth on the back and walking toward the door.

“Wait,” Raeth said, pausing.

“What?” Darro asked.

“I have. . .an appointment,” Raeth confessed.  “Lunch, with Lady D’Naa.”
Darro raised an eyebrow.  “I’m all for carousing, Raeth, but there’s a war going on.”

Raeth turned guilty eyes down the hallway.  “I’ve already rescheduled her a couple of times,” he mumbled.  “I supposed I could do it again.”

Darro grabbed him on the shoulder, towing him along.  “She can wait,” he said.  “If you try to reschedule, that Shenk of an attendant of yours will never let you onto the battlefield.”

#

Apparently, her estimate that Hern would take another thirty minutes had been conservative.  An hour later, D’Naa was still waiting in the cold dining room, growing increasingly irate.  She knew the Aedin were an arrogant people, and she knew that Hern was the worst of the worst, but even still she hadn’t expected such treatment.  He’d postponed their lunch twice, now he made her wait for an hour and a half--all after implying that he was vitally interested in speaking with her.

Why do I let him get away with this? D’Naa wondered, sitting petulantly in one of the dining chairs.  It was her secret.  Hern was holding it over her again.  He had her in a vice grip--if she didn’t do what she said, all of Kavir would suffer.

The chamber door opened with a creek just a few minutes later, and D’Naa sighed in relief.  Finally.  It’s about time he came to--

Hern did not enter.  Instead, a faintly-familiar Shorriken scribe strode in.  He was an aging man in the robes of an imperial bureaucrat, his beard-braid filled with beads to indicate a lofty rank.

“My lady?” he asked, his eyes betraying a bit of chagrin.  “I’m afraid the Emperor will not be able to join you this afternoon.”

“What?” D’Naa demanded.  “Where is he?”

“Um,” the elderly scribe said.  “To be honesty, my lady, I’m not quite certain.  We seem to have lost him.”

D’Naa gritted her teeth.  Enough was enough; Emperor Hern knew her secret, there was no way to change that.  The Imperium was bound to find out sooner or later--allowing Hern to blackmail her would accomplish nothing.

She would have to return to Kavir and inform her cousin that they had been discovered--right after she acquired an Amberite Bud, of course.

#

“My lord Hern!” Taenen said with a surprised voice.  “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Nonsense,” Raeth said, stepping out of the ‘Sending platform,’ a roped-off section of frozen ground.  The general stood beside the ropes, probably supervising troop arrivals.  “I can hold a sword as well as anyone; I might as well be doing something useful.”

Taenen frowned in displeasure, but Raeth ignored him, looking over the battlefield.  In the near distance he could see a quiet farming community, but it was hollow and empty.  It would have been evacuated like most of the towns directly in the Forgotten’ path.  Imperium soldiers were arranging themselves into ranks along the snow-covered hills, waiting for the inevitable.  In the distance Raeth could see the darkness--like a cloud shadow moving across the landscape.  He exhaled softly, his breath puffing white before him, as he regarded the tide of creatures.

So this is what it feels like, Raeth thought, trying to still his nervousness.  By the twins!  These poor men.

The Imperium forces looked grand, but Raeth knew that was simply a matter of perspective.  He wasn’t watching the battles, but he did hear occasional bits of information.  The army’s numbers had dwindled--they had barely half the force they’d begun with.  Even with reserves and recruits from the Aedin population, they were still outnumbered two-to-one.

Raeth frowned, noticing a discrepancy.  “Where are the High Aedin?” he asked.

Taenen nodded to a block of troops a good distance behind the main line, in a reserve position.  Most were wearing either red or green cloaks.

“What are they doing back there?” Raeth asked. “Did the War Counsel finally come to its senses?”

“No, my lord,” Taenen said.  “But I think the High Aedin have.  It seems they’re tired taking inordinate casualties.  The ones left have refused to fight in the last few battles.”

Darro growled quietly.  “Most of them aren’t really soldiers,” he said with a snort.  “There’s a reason I prefer the company of regular men.”

“I don’t see any Bestarin with them,” Raeth noted.

Taenen shrugged, holding up his owl’s claw.  “We’re not the same as Verdant or Amberite, my lord.  We aren’t accustomed to invulnerability, so we aren’t frightened of mortality.  Some of us die in every battle, even the ‘easy’ ones against the Harrmen.  We’re just not politically important enough for it to matter.”

Raeth nodded slowly.  The Bestarin Aether was far less potent than the others.  Usually, it was only used to heal its members--a piece of animal skin grafted onto a wound would heal the Bestarin Bond immediately.  However, Bestarin’s power was nothing like that of Amberite or Verdant.  Bestarin had always been considered second-class High Aedin by most.

“Well, it seems your Aethers have served you better in this instance, general,” Raeth said.  “At least you know how to fight.”  He stood for a moment, trying to keep his eyes off the advancing wave of darkness.  Instead, he studied the troop layout.  “What is the Counsel’s plan?” he asked, then cringed slightly.  Keep your mouth quiet, Raeth, he told himself.  The less you know, the better, remember?

Fortunately, Taenen didn’t have much to reveal.  “I don’t know, my lord,” he said.  “I’m not privy to their intentions.  But, assuming they hold to their strategy of the last three days, we’ll engage the Forgotten, fight like madmen for an hour or so, then withdraw like wounded dogs.”

Raeth frowned.  “That’s it?” he asked.  “They don’t try new strategies?”

Darro snorted.  “I don’t think they’re clever enough for that,” he mumbled.

“There’s not much more to try, my lord,” Taenen said.  “Terrain doesn’t seem to affect the creatures, and they see through our ambushes.  We can’t distract or divert them.  It seems that the only thing left to do is to fight, slow them as best we can, and pray for a miracle.”

Raeth looked through the ranks of men, studying their faces.  Most of them seemed to feel as Taenen did--they saw a war that could not be won.  They saw death approaching as a wave of darkness, and they didn’t see any way to escape.

Darro was right, Raeth thought, feeling guilty for his actions of the last few days.  I’ve been ignoring them.  I thought I had a good reason, but I still abandoned my duty.  We have to fight--we have to find a way.

Raeth took a deep breath, Amberite crackling in his hand.  Then he paused, looking down.  “General, bring me a sword,” he said, letting the Amberite drop to the snowy ground.

“My lord,” Taenen said.  “You don’t really intend to stay, do you?”

“I do,” Raeth said firmly.  A chill breeze blew against him, but it didn’t make him shiver.  He could feel his heart pounding in anticipation of the conflict.

“I don’t think that is wise, my Lord. . . .” Taenen began.

“This isn’t a point that can be argued, Taenen,” Raeth said firmly.

Taenen sighed, but nodded in acquiescence, quickly locating Raeth a sword.  Raeth pulled the weapon free, feeling its unfamiliar hilt in his hand.  Beside him, Darro regarded the weapon with a frown.  “Hern,” he said quietly, “I don’t know how to fight with anything but my Amberite.”

“That’s all right, Darro,” he said.  “You’re probably more effective that way.  Just try not to get hit--remember, your armor doesn’t make you invulnerable any more.”

Darro nodded, and began to grow his armor.  He stood perfectly still as the Amberite grew up his arm, then coated his chest and grew down his leg.  Once he had support, the Amberite began to grow beneath him, lifting him up off the ground, thickening and growing.  A few minutes later, Darro’s armor was complete, and he stood like a massive red statue of Amberite.  As he finished, Taenen rode up, followed by a group of twenty regular Aedin soldiers.

“What’s this?” Raeth asked.

“Your honor guard, my lord.”

Raeth opened his mouth to complain, but Taenen cut him off.  “If you insist on fighting, my lord, then I insist you do so with at least some protection.”

Raeth sighed.  “As you wish,” he said quietly.  The men formed with Taenen, Raeth, and Darro in the center.  As the men moved, he noticed something irregular--something he didn’t expect to see.  There was respect in their eyes.  He frowned quietly to himself as they moved forward, walking carefully on the icy ground--sleet had obviously fallen recently--Darro’s massive feet thumping beside him.

He saw it in the eyes of the other men as well, heads turning and ranks shifting slightly as they realized Raeth intended to fight.  He had grown so accustomed to seeing dislike and resentment in people’s eyes over the last few weeks he’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be respected.

“General,” Raeth said softly.  “Why are they looking at me like that?  I was under the impression that I wasn’t well-liked.”

“As a person, my lord, you aren’t,” Taenen admitted.  “But they respect you as a commander--they always have.”

Raeth’s frown deepened.  “But, I’m not a very good commander, Taenen.”

The general shrugged.  “At least you’re here.  Most commanders--the War Counsel included--never even visit the men.  You practically lived on the northern border these last five years.  The men have always respected that, sir.”

Raeth felt a stab of mild surprise as his small force took its place at the head of the ranks.  Hern, he thought, you actually did something right.  It was a startling revelation.  However, it was forgotten the moment Raeth looked up.  The Forgotten were getting closer.

What am I doing? He thought.  The dark army was close enough for its occupants to begin resolving into separate splotches of darkness.  They marched forward uncaringly, as if they hadn’t even noticed the Imperium forces.  Raeth began to sweat in the cold air.  There are so many of them. . . it’s hopeless.

He’d spend most of his childhood and early adolescence trying to prove that he would make a good warrior.  Now, for the first time, he was actually in a battle.  It felt different from what he’d anticipated--he’d expected the nervousness, and the apprehension.  He hadn’t predicted the cowardice.  A part of him--a strong part--felt like bolting.  He could go.  No one would think less of him--how could they?  They already thought he was Hern.

No.  Raeth thought, gripping his sword tightly.  I will fight.  I will understand what we are asking of these men.  I will stand with them; I won’t hide in Vae Annitor.  This is my duty.

“The ice patches will almost negate the usefulness of the Mahallen cavalry,” Raeth whispered quietly, going through a strategic analysis to keep his mind off of running.  “We can’t depend on them for flanking, or to cover our retreat.  We’ll have to use the Verdant High Aedin instead.  The Forgotten might be able to cut through their vines, but a wave of Verdant will slow them down nonetheless.”

Taenen nodded thoughtfully.  “I hope the Counsel realizes that,” he mumbled.

“They have the larger force,” Raeth continued, mostly to himself.  “Two, maybe even three, creatures for every one of us.  Our gravest danger would come from being surrounded.  We have a smaller force, but not that small.  If we spread our lines thinly enough, we should be able to keep them from getting behind us.  It’s dangerous, but it’s better than being flanked.”

“Reserves will be important,” Taenen agreed.  “To shore up weak points.  I just hope we can get the High Aedin to move.”

“We should hold something back,” Raeth said, turning eyes toward the back of the lines.  “Something the Counsel won’t notice--something we can use if the line weakens too much.  How well can those Mahallens fight off of horseback?”

“They won’t like that,” Taenen noted.

“They’d rather risk breaking their horses’ legs?” Raeth said, kicking at the snow.  “Even where there isn’t sleet, this snow is thin.  It will get beaten down quickly once the fighting begins, revealing the ice underneath.  I’m surprised they even brought their horses.”

“The other battlefields weren’t so icy,” Taenen replied, moving to wave over an aid, then quietly giving the order for the Mahallens to dismount.  Raeth blinked in surprise, realizing what he’d done as Taenen gave the order for the Mahallens to dismount and be prepared to act as reserve infantry.

Raeth, you fool.  What will it take to keep you from trying to lead?  You’re just supposed to be a regular soldier.

“Be ready, my lord,” Taenen said.  Raeth turned, hearing a crunching sound steadily grow louder.  Snow being crunched beneath the feet of an approaching army.  Taking a deep breath, he raised his sword and prepared for the onslaught.

Chapter Sixteen

The Forgotten crashed into the Imperium line.  Raeth forgot nervousness and worry as the fighting began.  Raeth’s honor guard stood in a double line to either side of him, but Raeth paid them little heed as he raised his shield to block the first Forgotten attack.  The force of the creature’s blow shook his arm, and Raeth struck immediately, training a half-decade old reacting within him.  Before he knew what had happened, his found his sword piercing the dark void that was his opponent’s chest.

The Forgotten completely ignored the blow, and Raeth cursed, whipping his sword free and raising the shield to block again.  The sounds of men grunting and weapons striking rang around him.  Darkness hissed from the Forgotten’s chest, but it continued to attack, as if ignorant--or just uncaring--of its wound.

Raeth was forced back a few steps as he fought defensively.  Fortunately, the creature didn’t seem extraordinarily skilled--of course, if wounds didn’t matter to it, then it didn’t need to be a master swordsman.

Just like the High Aedin, Raeth realized with a detached portion of his mind.  This creature relies on endurance, not skill.  If there was a connection, Raeth didn’t have time to ponder it.  He pushed his shield to the side, throwing the Forgotten’s blow wide, then snapped his sword forward to take the creature in the neck.  Its dark head hissed free, and the body stumbled, then collapsed to the ground, smoke leaking from its neck.

Raeth stood, puffing in the cold evening air as the battle continued before him.  His honor guard was holding its line, but did so with difficulty.  Often, two or three men would have to focus on a single Forgotten to bring it down.  As if they didn’t already have the number advantage. . . .

Raeth threw himself forward, back into the battle, his feet slipping on the packed snow.  To his far right Darro fought alone--the other fighters knew to give Amberite High Aedin a wide berth to let them take advantage of their massive weapons.  Darro, however, was far less effective than he could have been.  He fought defensively, something he obviously wasn’t used to doing.  His massive armor made it difficult for him to do much more than swing in wide attacks and keep his opponents at bay--a strategy that didn’t let him do much damage.

Raeth’s attention quickly turned from Darro to self-preservation as he engaged another Forgotten.  He took on this one with the aid of an Aedin soldier armed with an eagle’s claw for a hand.  The Aedin took a gash to the side before the dark warrior fell, and had to retreat for Sending to Vae Annitor.

He fought on, sometimes with others, sometimes alone.  Everywhere he turned, there were enemies.  They pressed continually on the Imperium’s line, giving them no room to breath or pause.

No wonder they’ve had so much difficulty, Raeth thought, already tired from the short time of fighting.  On the far side of the battlefield, he could see the Forgotten straining the Imperium line.  Fortunately, a group of reserves in Mahallen head-dresses joined the battle in time to shore the weakening line.

Committing reserves already, Raeth thought with discomfort.  This isn’t good.  The battle was looking to be an even quicker disaster than previous ones.  The men were tired and disheartened--only the Forgotten tendency not to pursue retreating forces had let them survive this long.

We need a new strategy.  But, if I get involved, they might gain an advantage by seeing through my eyes.

Raeth stood for a moment, the battle crashing around him, men falling far too often, Forgotten falling far too infrequently.

Raeth, he realized, what would it matter if they see through your eyes?  We’re losing anyway.

“Darro!” Raeth snapped, drawing his brother’s attention.  The massive suit of a man turned slightly, letting the soldiers to his sides move in and fill his gap in the line.

Raeth motioned Darro toward him with an urgent gesture, pulling back from the fighting slightly.  As Darro approached, Raeth then turned to his honor guard.  Several of the men stood waiting, watching their companions for signs of weakness, ready to jump in and take up the fight should a man fall.

“You two,” Raeth snapped, waving the men toward him.

“Yes, sir?” the soldiers asked.  Both were Aedin, their steel breastplates complimenting their Amberite swords.  Beside Raeth, the ground shook slightly as several thumping footsteps announced Darro’s arrival.

“I want you to go with my brother,” Raeth said, pointing at Darro.  “Stand at his sides and protect him with your shields.  Don’t worry about attacking--fight defensively.  Whatever you do, don’t let any Forgotten blades get through to him.”

The soldiers stood uncertainly--it was odd enough that Darro fought so close to regular soldiers.  High Aedin usually fought in their own, sequestered ranks.  Raeth ignored the soldiers’ looks of discomfort, instead turning to his massive brother.

“Darro,” Raeth said.  “Don’t worry about defense--let these soldiers protect you.  Just kill as many of those things as you can.”

Darro smiled from within his suit’s Amberite chest.  “All right,” came his reverberating reply.  He turned and began to clomp back toward the battle, the two soldiers following obediently.

Raeth took a deep breath and prepared to join them.  An urgent voice interrupted him, however.

“My Lord Hern!” a wounded soldier said, dashing across the dirtied snow toward him.

Raeth paused.  “What?”

“The eastern flank, my lord,” the man said, gesturing.  Raeth looked up, toward the eastern slope, where he could barely make out a group of dark warriors moving toward the extreme edge of the battle line.

Why is he coming to me? Raeth asked as the soldier stumbled toward him.  The War Counsel will take care of it.  Or would they?  Raeth cursed quietly.

“Reserves?” he asked.

“Committed,” a voice said from behind him.  Taenen, looking harried with a cut on his cheek, was approaching, a worried look in his eye.

“Are there any of those Mahallens left?” Raeth asked.

Taenen shook his head, his thin hair blowing almost like feathers in the frigid wind.

Raeth cursed quietly.  Then his eyes fell on a group of men standing quietly at the back of the Imperium line--a proud group, wearing bright red cloaks.

“It won’t work, my lord,” Taenen said quietly.  “The War Counsel already ordered them forward, but they refuse to budge.”

“First we couldn’t keep them out of the fighting, now we can’t get them into it,” Raeth growled.

“I thought you didn’t trust them to fight, my lord,” Taenen said.

“I don’t trust them to form the core of our defense,” Raeth replied, scanning the battlefield.  They didn’t have much time--if the group of Forgotten rounded their forces, the men on the eastern flank would be in serious trouble.  “However, right now any sword--even an untrained one--will help.”

Taenen shook his head.  “They’d never arrive in time, even if they were willing to go.  We’ve lost the opportunity.”

Raeth frowned.  Taenen’s words held disappointing truth.  However, then Raeth noticed something else--another group standing just a few feet away--and he smiled to himself, a plan forming.  It wouldn’t be very nice, but everyone thought he was Hern.  He should probably try to act the part every once in a while.

#

“You have your orders,” Raeth said.  “Get moving.”

The High Aedin men stood with folded arms, staring at Raeth defiantly.  There were around three thousand of them in the block, mostly from predominant families.  Many of them held political and social standing above even the members of the War Counsel--and they obviously didn’t like the idea of taking orders now that they’d realized their lives were in danger.

“Will you ignore your nation?” Raeth demanded with a bellowing voice.  The wind was blowing loudly--a good thing.  It kept the men in the front of the group from hearing the cries of surprise that were coming from the back of their ranks.  “Will you ignore your emperor?” Raeth continued, trying to keep their attention.

“This battle is lost, Emperor Hern,” a man near the front of the crowd said.  “The call for retreat will come soon.  There’s no reason for us to waste our effort.”

“This battle isn’t over until the War Counsel says it is,” Raeth snapped.  “You had no problem fighting when the battles were easy, but those battles didn’t matter.  Now that the Imperium is actually in danger, you’ll stand like traitors and let it be destroyed?”

His voice rang on the wind, and he was surprised to see guilt in the eyes of a good number of the men.  The emotion, however, soon turned to confusion as the ruckus near the back of the group grew louder.  Men began to turn and saw, with surprise, dozens of white streaks rising from their ranks and shooting through the air.  Most of them stood with stunned shock as the Vo-Dari touched them, dissolving their bodies into light.  Only a couple of them men thought to turn to the side, tracing the lines of light to their destination--a patch of ground directly in front of the Forgotten flanking force.

Angry eyes turned toward Raeth as some of the High Aedin belatedly began to dodge away from the Vo-Dari.

“You will go!” Raeth yelled at the group, a lull in the wind allowing his voice to carry over the group.  “Many of your number are already there.  If you run now, you’ll be abandoning them to slaughter.  What of responsibility?  What of Duty?”

The Aedin catch-word made many of the men pause.

“Think of our Ancestors, whose valiance forged this nation.  You are High Aedin, the pride of the Imperium.  Don’t sully your lines with cowardice.  Courage can only exist where there is danger!”

Dozens of other lines shot into the air.  The army maintained a force of nearly a hundred Vo-Dari for Sending wounded to Vae Annitor and in case of a retreat.  The fleet of white robes moved through the High Aedin, catching most of them as they pondered Raeth’s words.  A few moments later, only the ones seriously interested in dodging were left.

Raeth heard a muffled chuckle behind him.  “That was well done, my lord,” Taenen said.

Raeth shrugged, turning back toward the fighting.  “I just had to keep them busy long enough for the Vo-Dari to touch them.  That should hold the eastern flank for a little while at least.  How’s my brother doing?”

Taenen gestured toward the battlefield, where Raeth could make out a twinkling bit of red amongst the warriors.

“I don’t what has changed, my lord,” Taenen said, “but your brother inflicting incredible amounts of damage.  I think this is the first time I’ve seen an Amberite bond do any good against the creatures.”

“I assigned a couple of soldiers to defend him,” Raeth mumbled, studying the battlefield.  Taenen was right--Darro was fighting very well.  He swung a massive sword the size of a grown man, and dozens of smoking Forgotten corpses littered the ground around him.  The Imperium line close to Darro was holding far more solidly the rest of the battle front.

“Why would that matter?” Taenen asked.

“The Forgotten and the High Aedin fight the same way, general,” Raeth explained.  “They both take no heed for their own wounds, instead focusing on hurting their enemy.  When the two groups fight each other, the Forgotten win because there’s more of them.  If the Amberite bonds fight defensively, the Forgotten also win because Amberite High Aedin don’t know how to defend themselves.  However, if we can just keep the Amberite Bonds protected. . . .”

Taenen nodded understandingly.  “We’ll have to use that--”

Yelling sounded suddenly a short distance away, and Raeth turned to see dark forms overwhelming a section of the Imperium line just a few feet from him.  “Twins!” Raeth cursed, dashing forward, Taenen at his side.

Raeth and Taenen crashed into the breech, along with the few men that could break away from other sections.  Fighting became rote to Raeth as he and Taenen battled, dropping Forgotten after Forgotten.  The general fought well--much better than Raeth.  He used his claw like a second sword, ripping off Forgotten faces, sending them stumbling away, smoke hissing from numerous wounds.  However, there were always more creatures to take the place of every one they felled.  Raeth soon felt his muscles growing fatigued--his training from years before might have returned, but he no longer had the endurance.  It was only a matter of time.

“Lord Hern!” Taenen cried in alarm, pointing to the side.

Raeth spun barely in time to block a Forgotten blow with his shield.  The field swarmed with dark forms--there was barely a semblance of a line any more.  Raeth tried to block the creature’s backhand, but a second Forgotten attacked from the other side, hurling itself at Raeth with mindless fury.

Raeth yelled in pain as his maladroit parry earned him a twisted wrist.  The second Forgotten crashed right into him, tossing Raeth to the snowy ground, tearing his shield from his grip.  Cool, muddy red slush splashed against Raeth’s cheek as his head slammed against a patch of ice.

Raeth’s vision fuzzed, pain snapping through his head and down his spine.  He rolled, trying to clear his vision as a dark form loomed over him.  Sight still fizzy, Raeth threw his arm out to parry.  Halfway through the swing, he realized his hand was empty.  Somewhere during the fall he’d dropped his sword.

His vision cleared just enough to see the Forgotten’s own weapon drop.  It looks so human, Raeth thought, incongruously.  It was close enough that he could see its dark features--it even wore clothing.  Its eyes, however, were dark.  Dead.  And they wanted him to join them.

Raeth screamed, his Aether surging.  Dark, musty Amberite exploded from his fist, forming into a sword as he completed his swing.  His sword hit that of the Forgotten.

Immediately, Raeth felt a powerful force press against him.  The battlefield disappeared for just a moment, his mind overwhelmed by the strange pressure pushing against him--as if it were a fist constricted around his very soul.  And so, for lack of anything else to do, Raeth pushed back.

His vision returned with a snap, and the Forgotten exploded before him, vanishing in a wave of dark smoke, like a puff blown from a pipe-smoker’s mouth.  Raeth lay, confused, staring up in to the cloudy winter sky.  What. . . ?

“My lord!” a worried Taenen said, pulling Raeth to his feet.  Several men formed around Raeth, pulling him to safety, away from the chaotic battle.

Raeth cleared his head, ignoring the throbbing from the side of his face.  “No,” he ordered, pulling himself free from Taenen’s grip.  He dashed toward the first Forgotten he saw, one standing over the bleeding form of a fallen soldier.  The creature raised its weapon, but Raeth arrived first.  He swung wildly, striking at the creature’s shoulder.

The feeling was the same--some force pressing against his mind.  However, it was weak.  Like it was distant.  Raeth’s push was even stronger this time.  The Forgotten exploded in a spray of dark smoke, Raeth’s Amberite sword trailing a few wisps behind it as he completed his swing.

“My lord!” Taenen said with surprise.  He and the other soldiers nearby stood with amazed looks on their faces.  “Your Amberite--it’s changed colors.  What did you do?”

“I don’t know,” Raeth said, looking down at his weapon.  “Taenen, begin pulling the men back.  If the War Counsel has any sense at all, it will order a retreat any moment now.  This battle is lost.”

“Yes, my lord,” Taenen said, moving to obey the order.

Raeth continued to stare at his Amberite.  Then he looked up.  The Imperium lines had broken completely.  A short distance away his brother still led a fairly strong resistance, but everywhere else men fought in small, disparate groups.

Raeth clinched both of his fists, feeling his Aether begin to throb.  It pulsed with power--a strength he had never felt before.  A strength augmented by whatever that drop of Living Night had done to him.

Darro was right, Raeth thought with amazement.  I was so worried that the drop might give them power over me that I never considered that I might have gained power over them instead.

His Aether flared, dark Amberite spreading up his arms and across his chest, and Raeth jumped back into the battle, cutting his way toward a group of trapped soldiers.

#

Darkness had fallen before the retreat was fully actuated.  Raeth stayed until the end, watching groups of Verdant High Aedin step forward to blast the Forgotten with vines, allowing soldiers to disengage and retreat.  The Verdant Bonds grimaced with pain as they worked--apparently, touching their Aethers to Forgotten flesh was a painful experience.  The creatures chewed through the vines with horrible speed, but the seconds it took them was enough.

Once again, the Forgotten did not attempt to hunt down the fleeing men and slaughter them.  As the human forces pulled back, the Forgotten carefully reformed into ranks, as if to begin marching again.  However, instead they just stood quietly in the dirty snow, immobile.

“Why aren’t they moving?” Raeth asked quietly, shivering slightly in the night wind.

“They don’t march at night, my lord,” Taenen explained.  “They just stand there, unless we approach them.”

Raeth frowned.  “That’s right,” he mumbled.  “I’d forgotten.  Is the withdrawal complete?”

“Yes, my lord,” Taenen said.

Raeth turned, looking down from the small hill as hundreds of white streaks rose into the air, shooting south.  They would Send all but the most hearty scouts back to Vae Annitor--it was too cold, and the men were too tired, to remain through the night.  The wounded would go first, being Sent directly to the healers.  All except, of course, for the Bestarin wounded, who would go to have animal skin grafted onto their cuts.

“The Imperium doesn’t give your people enough praise, general Taenen,” Raeth noted.

“My lord?” Taenen asked with surprise, looking up from the shivering Shorriken aid who had been giving him battle statistics.

“The Bestarin Line,” Raeth said, nodding toward Taenen’s chest.  The general had taken a serious wound near the end of the battle--it would have incapacitated most men for months, perhaps their entire life.  Taenen had simply reported to the Bestarin tent for healing, where a flap of furry skin had been grafted onto his chest, sealing the wound and healing him immediately.  He’d been back in the battle before an hour had passed.

Taenen shrugged.  “There are a lot of us, my lord, but there is barely any difference between Bestarin High Aedin and regular Aedin.  We have little political power, and our Aether is hardly stunning.”

“Yes,” Raeth agreed, “but there is something to be said for a Line whose members can nearly be killed one day, then be ready to fight again the next.  Bestarin has always formed the core support of the military.  You may not be as flashy as Amberite or Verdant, but we’ve seen what happens when that flash is removed.”

Taenen smiled slightly.  “Thank you, my lord.  I’ll pass your words onto the men.  I think they’ll appreciate your praise.”

Raeth nodded as the Sending continued, the group of soldiers quickly disappearing.  He would leave when they had all left--he didn’t care that the Forgotten never moved after night, he still didn’t trust them.  “How are the statistics?” he asked.

Taenen bid the scribe away, then took a few steps closer, pulling his cloak tight.  “Bad, my lord, but not as bad as some of our other battles.  We held well, all things considered.  The Forgotten forces moved barely half their normal daily march--that in itself is a small victory.”

“Casualties?” Raeth asked.

“Just over two thousand regular Aedin dead, about a thousand hundred non-Aedin, and just over two hundred High Aedin--all Amberite Bonds.”

All from the group I Sent to stop the Forgotten flanking force, Raeth thought.  But if he hadn’t done so, the battle would certainly have fared much worse.

You did well today, the voice inside his mind whispered.

Raeth paused, growing stiff.

“My Lord?” Taenen asked.

“It’s all right, general,” Raeth said with a distracted nod.  The general took the gesture as a dismissal and moved over to supervise the final Sending procedures.

You’ve been quiet for a while, Raeth thought to the voice.

I have been watching, the voice said.  Watching and coming to understand.  This world makes very little sense when all you have known is darkness and nothingness.

Raeth frowned, his coldness forgotten for the moment.  The voice seemed almost. . . .  You speak far better now, he thought, trying to articulate what he’d noticed.

I am learning.

Then perhaps you can finally tell me what you are, Raeth thought.

There was a momentary pause of silence.  I don’t know yet, the voice finally said.  But. . .I think I might be one of them.

Raeth turned his eyes from the Sending, looking to the north.  The Forgotten army stood an uncomfortably short distance away, their ranks nearly indistinguishable from the darkness around them.  Raeth felt a sinking feeling--it was as he had assumed.

One of them? Raeth clarified.  A Forgotten.

Yes, the voice replied.  Your people call them the Forgotten.  That is how I feel.  Forgotten.

Raeth paused, considering the voice’s words.  It didn’t sound very certain of itself.  If you don’t know what you are, perhaps you can help me decide what I am, Raeth thought back at it, remembering the day’s battle.

You are a man.

I meant in regards to my power, Raeth said.  What I did to those Forgotten.  They exploded before me.

You have power over the Chaos, the voice said.  It is in you, part of you.  You can command it.

Raeth frowned.  Command it?  What do you mean?

I must think, the voice replied.

You have to tell me more! Raeth thought with frustration, but he received no reply.  Finally, Raeth just sighed and trudged down from the top of the hill to join the last group of soldiers being Sent home.

“My lord,” a soldier said, approaching with a purposeful step.  He wore the fur-lined greatcloak of a scout, and his shoulder clasp proclaimed him to be of regular Aedin blood.  Amberite, probably.

Raeth looked up questioningly.

“Do you have any special orders for us tonight, my lord?” the soldier asked.

Raeth frowned slightly.  “Not that I can think of.  Just keep an eye on our ‘friends.’”

“Yes, sir,” the man said with a sharp militaristic nod.  He turned to leave.

“Soldier,” Raeth called after the man after a short pause.

The man turned questioningly.

“Why did you come to me?” Raeth asked.  “Why not go to Taenen or one of the other generals for your orders?”

The man shrugged slightly.  “You’re the Emperor, my lord.  I don’t care what the Senate says, in the minds of most of us, you’re our commander.”

Raeth grimaced slightly.  “Not much of a commander,” he mumbled.  “Not after the way I lost us the border.”

“My lord?” the soldier asked.

“Nothing, soldier,” Raeth said with a wave of his hand.

The man, however, didn’t leave.  He looked uncertain.

“What is it?” Raeth asked.

“May I say something, sir?” the soldier asked.

Raeth shrugged.  They stood practically alone on the cold hillside.  Those who hadn’t been Sent home were gathering around watchfires or inside thick tents.

“Sir,” the soldier said, taking a step forward.  “I was on the wall three days ago, when border fell.  Or, at least, I was on the wall until your order brought us all down.  If we’d been atop it when those creatures jumped up, if we’d been surprised in that confined space. . . .well, sir, I doubt I’d be here right now.  I don’t know how you figured out what they’d do, but I’m Ancestors-Blessed thankful for it.  Most of us were hoping you’d stay in charge after that fight.”

Raeth frowned.  “I may have anticipated the jumping, soldier,” he said.  “But I still lost us the battle.”

The soldier shrugged.  “We’ve lost every battle so far, sir.  If you look at them all together, the border fight was actually our best so far.”

Raeth’s frown deepened.  “I thought the border-fight was a disaster.”

“It was for the High Aedin, sir,” the soldier said.  “But some of us aren’t High Aedin.  The regular troops lost barely a couple hundred men that day.”

Barely a couple hundred men.  Phenomenal numbers, all things considered.  The soldier saluted as Raeth stood, pondering, and moved off toward one of the watchfires.

“Soldier,” Raeth called out, stopping the man again.

“My lord?” he said.

“I do have some special orders for you,” Raeth said.  “But they might entail some danger.”

“Whatever it is, we’ll do it, sir,” the soldier said, standing up straight.

Raeth nodded into the darkness.  “I want you to capture one of them for me.”

“Sir?” the soldier asked with surprise.

“Recent events have taught me we don’t know enough about the creatures,” Raeth said.  “Capture one.  You don’t have to do it tonight; just keep your eyes open for an opportunity.”

“Yes, sir!” the soldier said energetically.  Then he waited until Raeth waved him off.  This time, Raeth let the man join the warmth of the fires without interruption.  Thoughtful about the day’s events, Raeth turned toward the last remaining Vo-Dari for Sending.

When he arrived in the palace a few moments later, Raeth finally admitted to himself just how tired he was.  He almost toppled face-first onto the platform when he arrived, a mixture of the Sending’s normal disorientation--including the pain that had accompanied it since Saedin--with his own fatigue.  A couple of Sending-attendants quickly rushed up to help him, and he straightened himself in their grip, then waved them away.  His body was exhausted, but it was a satisfying exhaustion.  It felt good to have actually done something, little though it was.

Tarrinon is going to kill me when he finds me, Raeth realized, moving lethargically toward the Corpate shaft and ordering its Nurturer to take him to the seventh floor.  He’d left for the battlefield without telling anyone where he was going.  Tarrinon had undoubtedly found out where Raeth was eventually, but he probably hadn’t enjoyed the search.  Emperors were not supposed to disappear without notice.

Briefly, Raeth considered going to his brother’s quarters for some conversation, but decided against it.  Darro had returned long before Raeth--the larger man would either be asleep or be gone to one of his taverns.  Visiting the rooms would do little good in either case.  Instead, Raeth walked to his rooms and past the saluting guards.  He closed the door behind himself with a smile, anticipating his bed’s comfort.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t vine you right now,” a firm voice growled.

Raeth looked up with surprise.  He could barely make out the slender, feminine form standing at the back of his rooms, dressed entirely in black.  He sighed softly to himself, rubbing his forehead.

Well, he thought to himself, at least she isn’t naked.

Chapter Seventeen

“Well?” D’Naa demanded.  She could feel her Aether wiggling in anticipation on her arm, and she was tempted to just let it go.  In fact, she probably should have vined him the moment he entered the room.  She had felt just how powerful his Aether was--now that she’d lost the advantage of surprise, she’d never be able to catch him.

At the moment, she didn’t really care about catching him, however.  Such had been her intention when she’d first snuck into the room, over an hour before.  She’d half-expected to find him in the company of Nahan or one of the other brides.  When she’d found the rooms empty, she’d simply decided to sit and wait.

And that, in turn, had given her time to seethe.  She clinched her teeth, raising her arm high, verdant writhing in the air around her open palm.

“I’m sorry,” Hern said with a sheepish shake of his head.  “Lady D’Naa, I. . .I don’t know what to say.”

D’Naa snorted.  “You have attendants and aids.  Men of your importance don’t simply ‘disappear’ from appointments, Emperor.”

If anything, Hern grew more chagrined.  “I. . .kind of left them all behind.  Though, to be honest, they did remind me about our lunch.  I just got a little distracted.  I really am sorry.”

D’Naa lowered her arm slightly.  She’d been prepared with arguments and rebuttals, but she didn’t quite know how to handle his frank honesty.

“So. . . .” Hern said slowly, “are you going to release that Verdant or not.  Because I’m really tired, and if you’re not going to vine me, I’d kind of like to sit down.”

He did look tired.  D’Naa had been so focused on her anger that she hadn’t noticed just how dirty and sodden his clothing looked.  His blonde Aedin hair was mussed, his cloak wrinkled and dirtied, and his clothing was stained in several places with some dark liquid.  Blood?

“I’m going to sit down,” Hern informed, walking over to one of the room’s plush chairs.  “If you want to vine me, you can always just tie me to the chair, I suppose.”

D’Naa frowned, watching him go.  Her sense of cleanliness--instilled by years of training by her grandmother--cringed when Hern seated his dirtied form in the beautiful chair.  Wasteful Aedin, D’Naa thought out of rote.  He’ll probably just throw that chair away and order a new one in the morning.

Hern sighed softly as he settled into the seat.  “Actually, I’m kind of glad that you visited.  There are some questions I’ve been meaning to ask you.  Of course, the conversation won’t be very productive if you don’t say anything.”

D’Naa flushed slightly, then grew angry at herself for responding to his gibe.

I should vine him right now.  He’s in no position to fight me--he looks too exhausted to even stand back up.

She raised her arm.  But couldn’t do it.  He just looked so pathetic.  “Where have you been?” she demanded instead.

“The war,” Hern said.  “Since I didn’t win Martial Autonomy--despite your intervention--I decided the best way to help would be to join the fighting.”  He cringed slightly as he changed positions in his seat.  “Of course, I’ll probably regret that decision when I wake up sore tomorrow.”

D’Naa slowly lowered her arm.  Suddenly, Verdant looked ridiculously overdone--Hern was so exhausted that she could practically have walked over and taken a Bud without using her Aether.  He appeared to have wounds in several places, though they were bandaged--probably by field healers.  They couldn’t have been large wounds, otherwise he would still be in the company of a healer.

Her feelings form before returned, her satisfaction that the High Aedin had to suffer like her people had, and suddenly she was ashamed.

“You can sit, if you want,” Hern said, nodding toward a chair across from his own.

D’Naa eyed the chair, but remained standing.

Hern waited for a moment, then just shrugged.  “I feel bad,” Hern admitted.  “Ever since I saw you I’ve wanted to talk to you, to get to know you, but things keep getting in the way.  We’ve really only had one conversation--that night, at the ball.”

“Yes,” D’Naa said.  “As I remember, you spent that one apologizing as well.”

Hern paused.  “I suppose I did,” he said, then turned to her with a slight smile.  “Sorry about that.”

D’Naa frowned.  There was something very wrong with his mannerisms.  Underneath the fatigue, he looked nothing if not nervous.  He kept looking at her and blushing slightly, as if he didn’t know what to do or say.

This was not the Hern she had been told to anticipate.  Was it an act?  But for what purpose?  Ever since the first Forgotten attack, he had been acting strangely--the entire palace thought so.  And, most of the changes were vast improvements.  Could it be that the infamously childish Hern was actually starting to grow up?

“How did the battle go?” she asked slowly, watching him with curiosity.

“Poorly,” Hern said, shaking his head, his eyes lowering.  “Even when we fight well, we lose.  We don’t have enough men, and those we do have are surprisingly inexperienced.  We’ve always just counted on the Aethers, and without them. . . .  The creatures can bypass Amberite and Verdant somehow.  I. . . .” he trailed off, looking up to meet her eyes with sharp sincerity.  “I think the Imperium might be in serious trouble.  The Aedin have failed you.”

Such honesty. “You’re not what I expected,” D’Naa said slowly.

Hern smiled wryly.  “So I’ve been told before.”

“What of the arrogance?” D’Naa asked, feeling almost robbed, seating herself.  “What of the haughtiness and the insults?”

“A façade,” Hern said quietly.  “I didn’t want people to know who I really was--I was afraid they’d see what I really was.  Incompetent.  I’ve only recently begun to realize that acting that way made me seem like an even bigger fool.”

D’Naa sat quietly for a moment, trying to decide what to think.  It seemed like too smooth an explanation.  “What about this?” she pressed, holding up her hand and letting the Verdant wiggle.  “What do you want from me to keep this quiet?  What price must I pay for your cooperation?”

Hern shrugged.  “I won’t say anything if you don’t want me to,” he said.  “Though I am curious to know where the Kavir got a High Aedin Verdant Bud.”

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that,” D’Naa said firmly, waiting.  Would he rise to the bait?  Would he make demands now that she had refused him?

Hern just leaned back.  “State secret, eh?” he asked.  “Oh well.  I guess it doesn’t really matter.  Unless. . . .” he paused, glancing at her, his eyes twinkling.  “You stole it off of someone.  Like you’re supposed to do to me.”

D’Naa tried to hide her disappointment at the discovery, but she wasn’t really surprised.  The logical jump wasn’t a great one.

“Well,” Hern said contemplatively.  “That answers my other question as well.  “I’ll admit I’m relieved--it isn’t good for a man’s ego to think that one of his potential brides is trying to assassinate him.”

D’Naa sat quietly, realizing she had to make a decision.  Hern went against everything she had been told to expect from him.  He could be playing with her. . .but the reports she had heard said nothing of such savvy in the man.  It came down to one question--did she believe what she had been told, or did she believe what she’d seen?

She looked across at the emperor, who still looked a little nervous.  She stared deeply into his eyes, trying to drag out the secret of his true self.  Eventually, she nodded quietly to herself.  Life had taught her to respect her eyes over other people’s mouths.  If Hern was playing with her, then he was a far better actor than she would ever be able to see through.

“I apologize, Emperor Hern,” she said slowly.  “I seem to have done you a great injustice.”

He shrugged with a smile, relaxing slightly.  “No, you were probably right to judge me.  I’m learning to regret my actions of the past.”

“And our secret?” D’Naa pressed.  “You’ll really keep it without demanding anything in return?”

Hern sat up slightly, his eyes confused.  “Secret?” he asked.

“The truth that non-Aedin can Bond Aethers.  The truth that you High Aedin have been keeping secret from the rest of the Imperium for centuries.”

Hern paused, cocking his head slightly.  “Non-Aedin can Bond Aethers?” he asked.

“What do you think I am?” D’Naa said with exasperation.

Hern shrugged.  “I just assumed that you had some High Aedin blood in you.”

D’Naa froze.  Such a simple explanation.  She sat stunned for a moment.  She’d worried for months what would happen when her Aether was discovered, all to have it waved away.  Still, it was only an explanation for her--not for the others who had Bonded Verdant.

“And if other Kavir could Bond Aethers?” D’Naa asked slowly.

Hern turned suspicious eyes toward her.  “You’re not the only one?” he asked.

D’Naa didn’t respond, suddenly wishing she hadn’t pressed the issue.  If she had judged Hern wrong, then this night could turn out to be a disaster.

It would be a disaster anyway, no matter what you say, D’Naa thought.  All he would have to do is claim I tried to kill him, then show my Aether as proof.  It’s too late to try and keep secrets--he knows too much already.

“Why would Kavir be building it’s own army of Aether Bonds?” Hern asked with a frown.

“Well,” D’Naa defended, “you refuse to protect us from the Harrmen.  We have to find some way to defend ourselves.  Our military is small, and the Kavir border is enormous.  Without Aethers to scare the barbarians away, we’re helpless.”

Hern nodded slowly.  “That’s a good reason,” he acknowledged, somewhat to her surprise. “I wonder if other non-Aedin can bond Aethers. . . .”

“What other explanation is there?” D’Naa asked.  “We’ve already done it in Kavir.”

“The Kavir people might be an exception,” Hern explained.  “Maybe we’re related in some way we don’t know. Some Bonds are remarkable, but hardly conclusive--especially if they all come from the same area.  Who knows, maybe early on in the Aedin invasion the Kavir and High Aedin royal families mixed.”

D’Naa sat back in her chair thoughtfully.  His words did make sense.

“However,” Hern continued, “the thing I’m most interested in is your Bond.  It’s remarkably strong; I know that much first-hand.  Are the others as strong as you?”

D’Naa shook her head.  “I’m the strongest.  Some of them are close, however.”

Hern frowned, reclining in his chair.  She could tell from his posture that he was still exhausted, but his eyes were alert as he pondered.  “You must have mixed with a very powerful High Aedin Line,” he mumbled.

“But, shouldn’t that make our Bonds weaker?” D’Naa asked.  “The mixing would have to have happened centuries ago.”

Hern shook his head.  “That’s not the way it works,” he explained.  “As long as there’s High Aedin blood in one of the parents, the children are High Aedin.  Otherwise, the Emperor would never consider non-Aedin to marry his sons.”

“But, some of Kavir’s Bonds are very weak,” D’Naa said, trying another approach.  “Wouldn’t that mean that we’ve mixed with regular Aedin too?”

Again, Hern shook his head.  “There are weak High Aedin.  The power goes down, but not up.  Regular Aedin just can’t get as powerful as High Aedin.”

“And why is that?” D’Naa asked with a frown.

“Because we’re different races,” Hern explained frankly.  “Just like Aedin and Kavir are different.”

“And couldn’t there be another explanation?” D’Naa continued.

Hern paused.  “Like what?”

“How do newborn Aedin get their Aethers?” D’Naa asked.

“With Buds from a Line Head,” Hern said.

“And High Aedin children?” D’Naa asked.

“From their Line Head as well,” Hern said, frowning slightly in confusion.  “And?”

“Don’t you see?” D’Naa said, leaning forward slightly.  “What if it isn’t about the race, what if it’s about the Buds?  Aedin children have weak Bonds because they receive their Buds from regular Aedin, who are also weak.  High Aedin are strong because they get their Buds from strong Bonds.  If you took a High Aedin Bud to a regular Aedin, I’ll bet they’d be able to create a Bond just as powerful.”

Hern frowned deeply, but she could see in his eyes that he was considering her words.  D’Naa smiled, realizing how much she was enjoying the debate.  Few people, even her grandparents, were willing to take up such issues with her.

“What about the weak High Aedin?” Hern finally objected.

D’Naa shrugged.  “I guess some people just aren’t suited to the Bond.  My cousin can sing beautifully, but two of his children are completely tone deaf.”

Hern sat quietly, mulling over her words.  Finally, he looked up and met her eyes.  “If you’re right,” he said, “then the Imperium is in for some monumentous changes in the near future.  Assuming, of course, we survive the next few weeks.”

D’Naa raised her eyebrows.  “You would let this information get out?” she asked, skeptical.  “We just assumed you knew, and that you were keeping it quiet.”

“I didn’t know,” Hern said thoughtfully.  “Though, to be honest, I came to my position somewhat unexpectedly.  Perhaps someone in the Aedin government has been keeping such secrets.”  He shrugged and reclined in his chair again.  “I doubt it makes much of a difference.  If I don’t tell the people, I assume Kavir eventually will, eh?”

D’Naa studied the young Emperor, respect rising within her.  He didn’t threaten me, even though I know something that could topple his way of life.

“We’ll just have to plan for the release of the information,” Hern continued.  “If what you’re saying is true, then the rest of the Imperium deserves to know.  After all, the nation can only grow more powerful by having more Aether Bonds, can’t it?  I’m High Aedin.  The good of the Imperium is my most solemn duty.”

Then he turned back toward her.  “How do you know all of this?” he asked.  “How did you find out so much about the Aethers?”

“The Hlaa,” D’Naa explained.  “Travelling teachers, like my grandfather.  They visit centers of learning across the Imperium and bring knowledge back to the people of Kavir.”

Hern smiled.  “They’re not just teachers, they’re spies,” he said with amusement.

D’Naa nodded, realizing just how woefully inexperienced Hern was.  He had come to his position unexpectedly indeed--how could he not know the true nature of the Hlaa?  Most of the Senate was reported to have figured it out decades ago.      “I would never have suspected,” Hern mumbled.  “I’ve known a few Hlaa.  They’re all such old men.”  He paused.  “Clever old men, though,” he admitted with a smile.  “I guess that’s why they make good spies.”

Hern met her eyes and held them.  “You’re not so bad yourself.”

D’Naa flushed.  “I’m not a spy,” she said.

“Sneaking into my rooms?  Planning to steal an Aether Bud?”

“That may be what I’ve ended up doing,” D’Naa said, “but it wasn’t my original intention in coming.”

Hern paused.  “That’s right,” he said.  “You came to marry me.”

D’Naa snorted quietly.  “If you want to know the truth, Hern,” she said, “I never had any desire to marry you.”

Hern raised an eyebrow, a bit of surprise in his eyes.

“I came in behalf of Kavir,” D’Naa explained.  “No other reason.  To be honest, the thought of marrying an Aedin has always made me feel a little bit sick to my stomach.  However, Kavir couldn’t pass up the opportunity to gain the Emperor’s ear--even with our Aether bonds, we’re in disparate need of defense against the Harrmen.  Now that you’ve promised troops to me once the current troubles are over, I don’t see any reason at all to marry you.”

Rather than getting annoyed, Hern smiled.  “That’s actually rather refreshing to know,” he said, turning away from her, staring up at the ceiling.  “The other brides are systematically coming up with ways to force me to make a decision.  Nahan’s been telling everyone she slept with me, and will be stoned if I tell the truth.  However, Tae claims she’ll turn herself into a Corpate out of shame if I decide to marry Nahan.  On top of that, the Khur government informs me that they’ll cede from the Imperium if I don’t choose their bride as recompense for ‘sullying’ her when we rescued you all on Saedin.  It’s all enough to make me look forward to the battles--at least I can fight back against the Forgotten.”

D’Naa felt a tiny sting of jealousy as Hern spoke, one she barely acknowledged to herself.  She hadn’t realized the lengths the other brides were going to--she could see from Hern’s eyes the pressure he was feeling from it all.  The more she was learning about Hern the man, the more she was realizing she might actually have a chance at becoming his bride.  But, the other brides would take care to make certain that never happened.

You could always promise not to tell the Imperium about the secret of the Aether Bonds if he agreed to chose you. . . . a quiet voice in the back of her mind pointed out.

She paused, but then clinched her teeth and discarded the notion.  She had always despised the Aedin because of their games--she would not lower herself to such a level.

“I’m. . .sorry,” she said.  “I didn’t realize the position you were in.”

Hern shrugged.  “Next to the Forgotten threat, my marital problems are hardly relevant.  Who knows?  Maybe I’ll get lucky and a Forgotten will kill me before I have to choose one of them.”  He turned toward her, grimacing slightly as he forced his body to move.  “I’m sorry,” he said, “I haven’t been much of a host, have I?  Do you want me to send one of my servants for some tea or something?”

“Wouldn’t that be suspicious?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.  “If you ask for two cups of tea, they’ll probably figure out that you have a visitor. . ..”

Hern grimaced again, this time not from the pain.  “Good point.  There are enough rumors about me already.  You probably shouldn’t even be here.”

D’Naa snorted, tipping her head up.  “Nahan got to visit you in your quarters.  That gives her an unfair advantage--my being here only evens the competition.”

Hern smirked wryly.  “I thought you didn’t want to marry me,” he pointed out.

“I don’t,” D’Naa said firmly.  “But I expect equal treatment nonetheless.”

Hern laughed, climbing to his feet with some small effort.  “Well, if you don’t mind drinking something a little bit old, I think there’s a half-pot of tea from this morning in the other room.  I could warm it up on one of the brazier.”

“That would be nice,” D’Naa replied, remaining seated as Hern wandered into his bed chamber, then returned with a several cups and a iron kettle.  He placed the kettle on the brazier, then searched out a rag to wash the cups.

D’Naa sat through the process with mild amusement.  Lord Hern, High Aedin Emperor of the entire Imperium, was fixing tea for her.

“So,” he said as he stood beside the small coal Brazier, wiping out one of the cups, “your people have been fighting the Harrmen?  I thought our troops had their raids under control.”

“We’ve been fighting them for over fifty years now,” D’Naa said quietly.  “I don’t know why they didn’t come for us earlier.  The northern border is extremely well-defended, but all we have are sheep.  It’s a little harder to get to us, but probably worth the effort.”

“Hum,” Hern said, checking the tea.  “Do they do much damage?”

D’Naa didn’t respond immediately.  “They killed my parents,” she finally said.

Hern froze, one hand holding a cup, the other tipping the kettle to the side.

“They don’t usually burn villages anymore,” D’Naa continued quietly.  “Now they just take our flocks, kill those they run across.  Sometimes they take women instead of murdering them.”

“By the twins,” Hern whispered, setting the kettle back down.  “And this has been going on for fifty years?  Lady D’Naa, I’m sorry.”

D’Naa shook her head.  “It’s not your fault,” she mumbled.  Then, she blinked, amazed at her own words.  It’s not your fault.  All of her life she’d blamed the Aedin for the deaths of her parents--they were the ones who claimed that it was their ‘duty’ to protect the people of the Imperium.  And yet, was there anything Hern could have done to save her parents?

It was growing increasingly hard to maintain her biases.  Hern was just the latest example of things she’d been discovering during Senate meetings and social gatherings.  Many of the things she’d assumed about the High Aedin were true--they were a little bit haughty, for instance.  However, none of it was malicious.  The more time she spent in Vae Annitor, the more she realized that if the High Aedin were guilty of anything, it was innocence.  They just didn’t take threats seriously.  Their Aethers were so powerful that they assumed they could stand against anything.  They thought the squadrons they had stationed in Kavir could easily deal with a few barbarian tribes.  They hadn’t even taken the Forgotten invasion very seriously until it breached their own borders.

The Aedin weren’t evil, or even callous.  They were just ignorant.  For the first time in her life, D’Naa let her frustrations begin to melt away.  “I forgive you,” she whispered.

“What was that?” Hern asked, pouring her a cup of tea, his eyes clouded with consternation.

“Nothing,” D’Naa replied.  She could see concern on his face--he really did care about her loss.  Maybe now that his people had realized the Aethers’ limitations, they would be more likely to help Kavir.  It was too bad the disillusionment had to come at such a price.  “Really,” D’Naa continued, accepting the tea.  “They’ve been dead a long, long time.  I barely even remember them anymore.  I was raised with my cousin and his family.”

“The King?” Hern asked, pouring himself a cup.

D’Naa nodded.

“I hear good things of Ala’D,” Hern said, seating himself.  “I’ll hold to my promise, Lady D’Naa.  You’ll have your troops.  Assuming, of course, there are any left.”  He paused, letting the ominous comment hang in the air, before continuing with a speculative look on his face.  “You know, maybe you can help us.  Fifty years of raiding, you say?”

D’Naa nodded, sipping her tea.  It was, of course, Shorriken root tea, which was far too bitter to compare with Kavir blends.  The night was cold, however, and so she sipped at it thankfully.

Hern sipped at his own tea thoughtfully.  “How have you dealt with it?” he asked.  “How do you stand against an enemy you can’t beat?  The Aedin have never encountered something like these Forgotten before.”

“Well,” D’Naa said thoughtfully, “first we learned how to recover after a raid.  That was actually my job.  The King would send me to a village after it was attacked, to take an assessment of what it needed and to show the people how to cope.”

Raeth frowned wryly.  “Somehow, I think rebuilding the entire Imperium would be something of a larger task.”

“Agreed,” D’Naa said, forcing herself to think.  What did they do?  “We trained our farmers how to defend themselves,” she finally said.  “Kavir doesn’t have much of a military--that’s why we keep asking for more troops--but we figured if we could teach the men to defend themselves, they might be able to survive long enough during a raid to protect their families.”

Raeth shook his head.  “Can’t do that either,” he mumbled.  “If we could conscript, we’d have done it already.  The Senate is forbidden from forcing anyone into military service.  Besides, the dark warriors are moving too quickly.  We don’t have time to train, or even enlist, beyond what we’ve done already.  Anyone with any sort of battle experience is already fighting.”

“Well,” D’Naa said.  “Besides begging for help from the Senate, you know the only other thing we did.  We realized we couldn’t defeat the Harrmen like we were, so we went looking for other options.  Something already proven to defeat our enemy.”

“The Aethers,” Hern surmised.

D’Naa nodded.  “I’m sorry,” she said, shrugging.  “I can’t be of much help.  The Harrmen are different from these creatures--at least our foes bleed.”

“Thank you anyway,” Hern said, finishing off his tea.

“I’m surprised you haven’t come up with anything,” D’Naa said, setting aside her cup.  “You’re the Aedin--you’re supposed to be the experts on magic.”

“Unfortunately, our foes are spiritual, not magical,” Hern mumbled, obviously still considering what she’d said before.

D’Naa shrugged.  “I guess that depends on how you look at it.”

Hern looked up, frowning.  “What do you mean?”

“To you they might be spiritual,” D’Naa explained, “but I don’t believe in your Ancestors.  Forgotten, Aethers, Sending. . .it’s all the same to me.”

Hern sat quietly for a moment, whispering her comment to himself, frowning slightly.  Then, his head snapped up, his eyes wide with shock.

“Emperor Hern?” D’Naa asked uncomfortably.

“By the Twins!” Hern said, standing up abruptly, still staring ahead of him.  “That’s it!  Lady D’Naa, if you’ll excuse me, I have something I need to investigate.”

“Tonight?” D’Naa asked.  “Do you have any idea how late it is?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Hern said, throwing on his red Aedin cloak and striding toward the door.

“Wait,” D’Naa said, standing.  “I want to know what it is you thought of.  I. . . .” want to go with you, wherever you’re going.  But I can’t.  I can’t be seen with him.

“I can’t explain it now,” Hern said, hand on the door.  “Let me look into it first.”

“Then you’ll tell me?” she pressed.

Hern paused, then smiled, meeting her eyes.  “Tomorrow night?  Same time?”

D’Naa smiled back.  “I’ll let myself in.”

#

Darro woke to a merciless pounding in his mind.  He groaned, rolling over in his bed.  How much did I drink last night. . . ? he thought with amazement as the throbbing continued.  As the fuzz left his mind, however, he realized two things.  First, he hadn’t gone drinking the night before, and second, the pounding wasn’t coming from inside his head.  It was coming from someplace outside his bedchambers.

He groaned, tumbling out of bed and stumbling through his quarters toward the front door.  Twins! He thought with annoyance.  Whoever this is, they’d better have some important news.  His body ached from the day’s fighting, his bandaged arm worst of all.  Finally, he reached the door, unlocked it, and pulled it open.

“Darro!” Raeth said eagerly, looking disgustingly perky.  “I think I just figured out something very important.  Come on!”

Darro slammed the door.  He groaned softly to himself, then began to stumble back toward his bed chamber.  Unfortunately, he’d forgotten to lock the door, so a light burst into the room a second later as Raeth pushed it open.

“Darro, this is important!” he exclaimed.

“So’s sleep,” Darro grunted.

“I’m serious,” Raeth said, even-tempered, as always.  Even during his years in the Irae, time Darro knew his brother had loathed, Raeth had always acted like the perfect Aedin.  Calm, dutiful, and understanding.  It wouldn’t hurt the man to get grumpy once in a while, Darro thought.  He sighed, turning and shielding his eyes against the hallway’s light.

“What is this about?” Darro asked.

“You’re sober, aren’t you?” Raeth asked, leaning forward.

“If I say no, will you leave me alone?” Darro asked hopefully.  People always expected him to be drunk, even though he only went out about once a week on average.  To proper High Aedin, that was irregular enough to make him a sot.

“Darro,” Raeth said, leaning in.  “It’s an Aether.”

“What is?” Darro asked.

“The Pool of the Forgotten,” Raeth explained, holding out his hand and crystallizing it with his strange, maroon Amberite.  “Don’t you see?  A drop hit me during Saedin.  It didn’t taint me with the Forgotten.  I Bonded it.”

Darro stood for a moment, trying to force his mind to work.  It’s far too early for thinking.  “Okay,” he said.  “So?”

“So,” Raeth said.  “So, there are five Aethers, not four.  And, if I’m right, there’s another one.  Come on.”

Darro rolled his eyes.  “And this matters because. . . ?”  However, Raeth was already out the door, so Darro sighed, threw on some clothing, and followed behind.

#

Why hadn’t he seen it before?  It had taken D’Naa, an outside observer, to point out the obvious.  Forgotten, Aethers, Sending. . .it’s all the same.  Raeth shook his head as he and Darro rushed through Vae Annitor’s dark streets.  She’d claimed that the Aedin were ‘experts’ in dealing with magic, but it was that familiarity that had kept him from realizing what now seemed so clear.  The Aedin were a people of tradition, and tradition claimed there were only four Aethers.

“Raeth,” Darro said, struggling to keep up despite his longer legs, “you can’t have Bonded another Aether.  You already have one.”

“Why can’t someone Bond two?”

“You just can’t,” Darro argued.  “Everyone knows that.”

“That’s not a good enough reason, Darro,” Raeth said, turning down a side-street.  Even with Corpate lighting pillars set at most major intersections, the city was still uncomfortably dark.  People had continued to flee from the city, leaving behind a fraction of its original population.  In the darkness, the city’s wondrous statues and sculptures threw twisted disconcerting shadows.  The decreased number of lights in homes, combined with the lack of traffic--even normal night-time traffic--combined with the coldness, made for a very uncomfortable trip.

“Should we be travelling alone?” Darro asked uncomfortably, as if noticing the same things as Raeth.  “I mean, aren’t you supposed to be in danger of being assassinated.”

“Oh, that was just D’Naa,” Raeth said, pulling his cloak close against the breeze.  He’d have ordered a Corpate walker, but he didn’t want to make a fuss.  It had been difficult enough to get the palace guards to let him go without an escort.

“What?” Darro asked with surprise.

“I’ll explain later,” Raeth said.  Their destination soon loomed before them, a dark dome set against the clear night sky.  Raeth and Darro marched into the Irae, which had no doors, and entered the circular main chamber.  Here they found several braziers burning, and several supplicants enjoying the peace of the holy place.  A couple of Dari perked up as they noticed Raeth and Darro’s cloaks.

Raeth marched forward, walking directly toward the forbidden passages, causing the Dari to jump in surprise.  “My lord!” one of them barked.

“I need to speak with the Patriarch immediately,” Raeth said, not pausing.

“My Lord, you can’t--” one Dari said, moving to cut him off.

Raeth released his Aether, growing himself an imposing breastplate as he walked, the Amberite crackling in the hollow room.  He pushed right past the Dari, continuing on.

“You know,” Darro said, eyeing his dark Amberite breastplate.  “You’re going to have to come up with some excuse for that discoloration.”

“I know,” Raeth agreed.  “I’ve been telling people it’s come from destroying so many Forgotten--like blood stains on a sword.”

“Not much of an explanation,” Darro said.

“If you come up with something better, I’m willing to listen.”

Darro paused, then shrugged, and they two continued to walk through entered the cramped mudstone tunnels behind the main chamber.

“I always wondered what was back here,” Darro said, finally appearing to lose a bit of his grumpy edge.  Of course, Darro enjoyed any opportunity he had to break convention.

“Not much to see, I’m afraid,” Raeth mumbled as they passed empty alcoves.  The sight brought back images of months and months spent on his knees praying.  He firmed his step and continued forward.  Behind, he could hear Dari exclaiming in disoriented surprise.

Raeth led Darro to the chamber where he’d met with the Patriarch several weeks before, when he’d been trying to get a copy of the Kaennis Sha.  He and Darro seated themselves before the long conference table to wait.  A Dari stumbled into the room a few moments later, looking disheveled and confused.

“My lord, please--” one began.

“Send for the Patriarch,” Raeth said.

The man paused.

“Our nation is balanced on the edge of destruction, Dari,” Raeth said firmly.  “I don’t have time for pleasantries.  Tell the Patriarch his Emperor waits.”

The Dari shied back, then backed from the chamber.

Darro paused, giving Raeth an uncharacteristically thoughtful look.

“What?” Raeth asked.

“Just then,” Darro said.  “You sounded just like father.”

The comment took Raeth by surprise, but eventually he smiled.  “Thank you.”

Darro shrugged, then stretched in his chair.  A few moments later footsteps announced the Patriarch’s arrival.  He was carried in on his litter, four sleepy Dari bearing him.

“Emperor Hern,” the Patriarch said, his aged lips frowning slightly.  “You remembered your way through our passages well.”

“I thought I might need to return some time, Patriarch,” Raeth said, standing as the elderly man entered.  “I apologize for waking you.”

“I was not asleep,” the old man said as his litter-bearers placed him on his chair.  “Why have you come here?”

Raeth nodded toward the Dari litter-bearers.  “You may want to dismiss anyone you don’t want to hear your secrets, Patriarch.  We will be discussing sensitive information.”

The Patriarch’s eyebrows raised in surprise, then he nodded toward the room’s other occupants, dismissing them.  The men’s eyes were uncomfortable, but did as ordered, closing the door behind them.  Then the Patriarch turned inquisitive eyes on Raeth.

“How do you make Vo-Dari?” Raeth asked.

The Patriarch showed no hints of surprise.  He simply sat, regarding Raeth with discerning eyes.  “Why?” he finally asked.

Raeth ignored the question.  “You Bond them to an Aether, don’t you?” he asked.  “A fifth Aether, one no one else knows about.”

This time he got a reaction.  The Patriarch’s eyes widened just slightly, but it was all the confirmation Raeth needed.

“Why?” Raeth demanded, leaning forward and placing his palms on the tabletop, looking the old man in the eyes.  “Why keep it a secret?  Why let us continue thinking there were only four Aethers?”

Finally the old man sighed.  “You know the ways of this city, your majesty,” he said.  “The Dari must be free of politics.  If it were known that Vo-Dari were Illuminous Bonds, there would be talk of Lines and of votes on the Senate.  Instead of serving all, we would begin to serve ourselves.  No, it is better this way.  Most of the Vo-Dari don’t even understand what happens to them.  It is better they think of the Sending as a gift from the Ancestors.”

“A lie,” Raeth said.

“A truth,” the old Vo-Dari countered.  “It is a gift.  A gift that lets us serve without thought for ourselves.  Is it such a bad thing to assume that your ability is a direct blessing from those you revere?”

“So it’s true,” Raeth whispered.  “Anyone can Bond Aethers.  There are Shorriken Vo-Dari.”

“Yes,” the Patriarch replied.

“And one person can Bond different Aethers.”

“As long as they’re not opposites,” the old man confirmed.

Raeth sighed slowly, bowing his head.  “The Lines are fraudulent, then,” he whispered.  “We don’t deserve our Aethers because of our lineage.  I could just as easily have Bonded Verdant or Ferrous.  There is no such thing as High Aedin, is there?”

The Patriarch took a deep breath.  “High Aedin are those who Bond Aether Buds taken from another High Aedin,” he confirmed.

“Twins!” Darro, almost forgotten, whispered from behind.  “Hern, this is dangerous information.”

“You see why we kept our secrets, your majesty?” the Patriarch asked.  “This knowledge has the potential to overthrow our entire society.”

Raeth shook his head.  “It’s wrong,” he said firmly.  “If anyone can have an Aether, they should be given the chance.”

“But, everyone can’t have one,” the Patriarch corrected in his raspy voice.  “True, there is the potential that they could Bond an Aether, but the scarcity of the Aethers is what has brought stability to the Imperium for centuries.  What if everyone had Aethers?  There would be no reliance on the Aedin and their central government.  The Senate would lose power; the kingdoms would fracture, and there would be war.

“Do you realize how incredible an entity the Imperium has been?  Five racially different peoples living together under one government, with virtually no inter-kingdom strife?  Your majesty, it is better this way.  True, the division of Aethers is rather arbitrary, but no more so than the royalty of any other land.  Other nations have kings, and their only call to their position is their blood line.”

Raeth stood quietly, uncertain how to respond.

“Your father knew of this secret, Lord Hern,” the Patriarch said.  “All of the Emperors have, and they have all determined to keep it quiet.  We would have told you, had other matters not been more pressing.”

“You should have told me anyway,” Raeth said, nodding for Darro and turning toward the door.  “Thank you for your time, Patriarch.”

#

Darro flopped down in one of Raeth’s chairs, helping himself to the still-warming tea.  D’Naa was nowhere to be seen.  “I still don’t see what good this does,” he said.

Raeth entered the room, frowning to himself silently.  So much of what I’ve known, what I’ve been, is untrue.  Dare I let it be known?

“Raeth?” Darro asked, frowning.

“I don’t know, Darro,” Raeth said, sighing, but not sitting down.  He hadn’t forgotten his fatigue from the battle, he’d just managed to push it aside.  He was afraid, however, that if he sat down he wouldn’t be able to ignore the exhaustion any more.  He needed his mind alert for a little while longer.  “Somehow, I thought it would tell us more.  The Pool of the Forgotten is an Aether, but what does that mean?”

“That people can Bond it,” Darro said with a shrug.

“But what can it do?” Raeth asked, frowning as he paced.  “It makes my Amberite stronger.  Is that the extent of its abilities?”

Darro downed his cup of tea in a single gulp, then moved to pour himself another cup.  “You seem to be able to destroy the Forgotten with remarkable ease.”

“True,” Raeth realized.  Then, slowly, both brothers met each others eyes.

“Raeth, if every Amberite Bond could do as you do. . . .” Darro said, smiling.

No, the voice snapped suddenly in Raeth’s mind.

Raeth paused.  No, what?

You mustn’t do this thing, the voice said.  It would not work.

How do you know?  Raeth demanded with frustration.

I do, the voice said simply.  I. . .things you say, they make me remember.  Not remember, but think.  Understand.  I keep you safe.  If others Bonded Night. . .He would have power over them.

He? Raeth asked.  He who?

There was no reply.  Raeth sighed to himself, slumping down in a chair.

Darro was regarding him with confused, worried eyes.

“The Voice,” Raeth said.  “It told me not to let anyone Bond Night.  He says it would be dangerous.  Disastrous, even.”

Darro frowned.  Raeth could see a measure of hesitance in his eyes.  “You trust it now?”

Raeth paused.  “No,” he admitted.  “But. . .do we want to take chances?  We know the Pool of Forgotten kills whoever it touches.  My survival is the exception, but the only one we know of.”

Darro sat back, emptying the last of the tea into his cup.  “We still haven’t answered the question of what your new Aether can do.  It destroys forgotten--but you yourself said it’s similar to the Vo-Dari one.  What did the Patriarch call it?”

“Illuminous,” Raeth answered.

Darro shrugged again.  “Amberite and Verdant are opposites, and they both grow things.  Ferrous and Bestarin are opposites, and they both transform their hosts into something else.  Maybe Night and Illuminous both Send.”

Raeth paused thoughtfully.

Suddenly, Darro looked somewhat apprehensive.  “Somehow, I think I just got myself into something I really would rather avoid,” he mumbled.

“Vo-Dari can’t Send themselves,” Raeth said, standing and approaching Darro.  “Where do you want to go?”

Darro sighed.  “A tavern?” he asked hopefully.

Raeth snorted.  “How about your rooms instead,” he said.  He paused for a moment, then took a deep breath and reached out to touch Darro on the head.

Nothing happened.  I have to activate it, Raeth thought, frowning to himself.  He tried to command the Aether to act, but it only started growing Amberite from his palm.  Raeth stood, perplexed, for a moment before Darro finally sighed.

“Not that I don’t appreciate you trying to dissolve me into nothing,” Darro said.  “But if you don’t mind, I think I’d rather just go to bed.”

Raeth stepped back, shaking the Amberite from his hand.  “Apparently it doesn’t work like that,” he assumed.

“Apparently,” Darro said, stretching.  “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.  I assume you intend to continue going to the battlefield.”

Raeth nodded.  Too little time! He thought, his own weariness suddenly dropping on him.  As Darro left, Raeth sighed and walked into his bedchambers, trying to reconcile the knowledge that for all of the day’s accomplishments and discoveries, the Forgotten army was only a five day’s march away from Vae Annitor.  And the Imperium forces had yet to do more than slow them down.

Chapter Eighteen

Rising the next morning was difficult for Raeth.  The soreness was just as strong as he’d feared, especially through his arms.  In addition, the late night had left him with a lethargic drowsiness.  Still, he forced himself out of bed when the sunlight, shining through one of the palace’s glass windows, awakened him.  He resisted the urge to close the shutters and go back to bed, instead beginning to dress.

He was mildly surprised when a tap came at his bedroom door.  “Come in,” he said as he pulled on his trousers.

“Good morning, my lord,” Tarrinon said dressed, as always, in his Shorriken robes and lose hat.

“Tarrinon,” Raeth said, bracing himself for a scolding.  “I’m sorry for leaving yesterday without telling you.”

“It is all right, my lord,” Tarrinon said.  “Just because it’s my job and duty to tell people where you are doesn’t mean you have to inform me of your intentions.  Even if it does make me appear to be an idiot.”

Raeth cringed.  I suppose I had that coming. . . .  “I didn’t do it maliciously, Tarrinon,” Raeth promised.  “I just got--”

Tarrinon held up a hand, continuing in a quiet tone.  “If yesterday’s disappearance means an end to your depression, my lord, then I am more than happy to have been minorly inconvenienced.  Let us speak of it no more.”

Raeth paused, wondering how to explain that his ‘depression’ had been so much more than Tarrinon assumed.  However, for lack of words, he finally just nodded.  “Thank you.”

“I assume you will return to the battlefield today?” Tarrinon asked.

“If possible,” Raeth agreed, continuing to dress.  “Assuming I don’t have any vital appointments.”

“I will rearrange your schedule to see that you are free,” Tarrinon replied.

Raeth looked up with surprise.  Tarrinon, canceling and moving appointments without an argument?

Tarrinon looked back calmly.  “Sometimes, those of us in my position have a tendency to forget about the outside world,” he explained.  “But, well, there are some things even we cannot ignore.  I can only think of one place I would like you to be today, my lord.  The place you can do the most good.”

Raeth sighed quietly.  “I don’t know how much ‘good’ I’ll be able to do, Tarrinon.  It seems like our best efforts barely merit a glance from the creatures.”

“I don’t know about that, my lord,” Tarrinon said.  “Look out your window.”

Raeth shot the little man a confused glance, then did as instructed.  The city extended before him, in all of its beauty and glory.  However, one thing was dreadfully wrong.  Very few people moved down below.  It seemed bare and unpopulated, at least compared to its former state.  “What am I supposed to see?” he asked.

“People, my lord,” Tarrinon said.

“Not very many of them.”

“Still, there are a surprising number, if you ask me,” Tarrinon said.  “They trust you, my lord.  The enemy is less than a week away, yet many people stay.  The High Aedin have always watched over them like careful parents.  Imperfect parents, true, but compassionate ones nonetheless.  They trust you still.  Especially you, my lord.”

“But I’ve only been Emperor for a few weeks,” Raeth objected.

“Still, you are their father.  News of your fighting yesterday has already reached the city.  The rumors say that you held off dozens of the creatures on your own, that you felled Forgotten with every blow.  The exodus from the city slowed today.  It seems more people are willing to stay and trust in you.”

“And what if we fail them?” Raeth whispered, pressing his hand against the glass, staring down at the streets and their specks seven stories below.

“You won’t,” Tarrinon replied.  “You see, my lord, I have faith in you too.”

Raeth took a deep breath.  Who could have known that in leaving the Irae, he would end up with such burdens?  “All right, then,” he said.  “I need to get going.  They’ve probably started the Sending already.”

#

“One thing about this advance, my lord,” Taenen said as he and Raeth inspected the troops. “It lets us choose our battlefields.”

Raeth nodded in agreement.  The site was known as the bells, a series of hills directly north of Vae Annitor.  The military was carefully laid out upon the wide, snow-covered hills. As always, the High Aedin were situated in the far back of the battlefield.  They sternly ignored Raeth, their eyes showing they hadn’t forgotten his trick the day before.  Raeth would be hard-pressed to make use of them again.

The War Counsel’s troop arrangement was a clever one, designed to give the Imperium forces the greatest possible height advantage.  If the Forgotten continued their habits from before, they would rush directly us the hills to attack.  For a regular army, it would be a very difficult battle.

They creatures have only a rudimentary knowledge of tactics, Raeth thought.  They know the value of flanking, but they don’t understand how to engage, or how to use their strengths.  Raeth could think of dozens of ways to monopolize on having an army as difficult to kill as the Forgotten, but apparently such strategies were too complex for the creatures.  If the Forgotten didn’t have that strange ability see through our ambushes, we probably would have destroyed them long ago.  Of course, if they had a better understanding of tactics, they probably would have done the same to us.

It was an imperfect trade-off.  If things continued as they had, the Forgotten would have no trouble reaching Vae Annitor by the end of the week.  Raeth turned to the side, looking out at the horizon.  In the distance, he could see the dark shadow approaching.  The Forgotten continued forward, as inevitable as the weather.

Raeth shook his head, then turned to follow Taenen through the slush.  The day was warmer than the past few had been, a blessing for the Imperium, since the creatures appeared to ignore weather.  As he walked, Raeth thought back to Tarrinon’s words, and those of the soldier the night before.  The people appeared to trust Raeth, untried though he was.

“We have to stop them, Taenen,” Raeth said quietly as he took his position with his honor guard.  “We have to stop them soon.  We don’t have the strength to last much longer.”

“I know, my lord,” the tall general agreed, then turned to leave and take his own position.  A short distance away, Darro--in full armor--waved toward Raeth, his pair of soldiers at his side ready to defend him.

It’s not going to be enough, Raeth thought.  We have to do more.  In order to stop the barbarians, D’Naa’s people went looking for tools.  We have those tools already.  We just have to find a way to use them.

“Taenen,” Raeth said slowly, watching the advancing hoard of darkness.  He had to fight to keep himself from feeling the same dullness he could see in some of the men’s eyes, the sense of inevitability.  In many ways, it was worse than fear.

“Yes, my lord?” the general asked, pausing and turning back toward him.

“Do those groups of Amberite and Verdant Bonds have any leaders?”

Taenen shrugged.  “They’re High Aedin, my lord--they’re so stratified they could probably quote off who’s more important than who right down to the last man.”

Raeth paused, looking at the advancing Forgotten.  He hated to pull out of the fight now, but. . . .  I can do more than provide another sword, no matter how powerful it is.  I can’t destroy every one of them by myself.

“Tell the ten leaders of each Line that I want to meet with them immediately,” Raeth said.

#

They came.  Raeth was more than a little afraid that they wouldn’t.  However, twenty men waited for him beside the command tent, where a constant flow of messengers was being sent to and from the Counsel room.  The sounds of battle rose from behind him.  Shields clinging, men screaming.

“Emperor,” the lead High Aedin said, nodding slightly as Raeth approached the tent.  Raeth recognized him--Avaekon, son of the aged Karril, one of the Amberite Line’s Senators.  There was hostility in all twenty faces--the Amberite Bonds resented him for sending them into battle the day before, and the Verdant Bonds resented him simply because of who he was.

This isn’t going to be easy, Raeth thought.  However, the yells from behind spurred him on.

“I need your help,” Raeth said flatly to the group of twenty men.  All were, of course, older than he, and he could see their dismissal of him in their eyes.

“You killed several hundred men with your stunt yesterday, Lord Hern,” Avaekon said stiffly.

“And I saved ten times that many by blocking the Forgotten movement,” Raeth snapped back.

“The men lost were High Aedin.”

“Whose sworn duty it is to protect the Imperium,” Raeth informed.  Faces darkened among the Amberite Bonds.

Raeth took a deep breath, calming himself.  This is one time he couldn’t afford to act like Hern.

“Lord Avaekon,” Raeth said, “I apologize for my actions yesterday.  They were underhanded.  I should have approached you with my request first, rather than pressing you into service.”

“They wouldn’t have gone,” one of the Verdant Bonds--a man named Ferr--sneered.  “They were too busy cowering.”

Avaekon turned with enraged eyes.  “Verdant isn’t joining the battle either, I’ve noticed.”

“That isn’t our duty,” Ferr said sharply.  “We are Verdant--our vines are meant to attack from a range, and that we have done.  Who was it that provided cover for your retreat yesterday, lord Avaekon?  You would be dead without Verdant.”

“Gentlemen!” Raeth snapped, drawing their attention.  “This isn’t the time for partisan squabbling.  Listen?  Can’t you hear the screams?  Those are men, supposedly lesser men, who are dying to protect the Imperium.  How can supposed High Aedin stand back in cowardice and watch this sacrifice without lifting even an arm in aid?”

This brought a silence to the group, and to Raeth’s heart.  The words sat bitterly in his mouth.  He knew the truth.  ‘High’ Aedin were nothing more than charlatans.

“My Lord,” Avaekon spoke softly, his eyes slightly downcast.  “Can’t you see?  We know that men are dying for the Imperium.  It isn’t cowardice that holds us back.”

Raeth paused, looking over the group of men.  There was agreement in their eyes and something else.  Shame.

“You want the truth, emperor?” Avaekon said, his voice harsh.  “I’ll tell you frankly.  All our lives, we’ve been taught that it was our duty to care for and protect the people.  Yet, in their greatest time of need, what good are we?”

“I knew from that first day that something was wrong,” another man said quietly.  “I saw Amberite Bonds in full armor fall.  I kept trying to ignore it, to continue fighting, but it seemed that I was more of a hindrance than a help.  Everywhere I stepped, I accidentally interfered with other warriors--soldiers who could actually do some good.  I just lumbered around the battlefield, getting in the way, and taking wounds that should never have been able to hit me.”

Avaekon looked up, meeting Raeth’s eyes.  “My lord,” he informed.  “We don’t refuse to fight because we’re afraid, we refuse to fight because we’re useless.  What are we without our Aethers?  We’ve betrayed the Imperium.”

Understanding slowly sparked in Raeth as he regarded the twenty uncomfortable men.  He could see the shame in their eyes, the lack of self-respect.  He could also see the pain, uncharacteristically revealed in their faces.

I have wronged these men, Raeth thought, standing in the cold slush, wind whipping his cloak, the sign of his birth.  The power of the Aethers may be a charade, but we are not.

“What does it mean to be High Aedin?” Raeth asked the solemn group.  “Do you really think it’s the Aethers?  Do we lead simply because we’ve been blessed with more power than others?”  Raeth shook his head.  “I tell you no.  We lead, Aethers or no Aethers, because we took this duty upon ourselves.  We rule because we accept the responsibility to protect and defend.  What are we without our Aethers?  We are a noble and good people, one who has provided the strength and leadership required to forge a peaceful empire that has lasted centuries.”

His words caused a few of the men to look up, a bit of pride stirring within them.  Avaekon, however, voiced their latent concerns.  “But, Emperor,” he said.  “That still doesn’t change the fact that we’re useless in battle.”

“No you aren’t,” Raeth said firmly.  “You’re like I once was--a man put into a position in which he did not think he fit.  I thought I was useless, but I’ve since learned I just wasn’t being useful in the right way.  Come with me.”

Raeth led the group a short distance up to one of the watch hills overlooking the battle.  The High Aedin followed quietly, pausing beside Raeth as he searched the battlefield.  With an aid’s help, he soon found what he was looking for.

“Look there,” Raeth said, pointing down at a red-colored form moving in the affray.

“An Amberite High Aedin,” Avaekon said, squinting.

“My brother, Darro,” Raeth said.  “He’s had no trouble dealing with the Forgotten these last few days.”

“But how?” one of the men asked.

Raeth turned.  “You failed in previous battles because you fought as you always have, in huge blocks of High Aedin.  The Amberite Bonds fell because the enemy overrun them.  The Verdant Bonds failed because the enemy could quickly cut through their vines, eventually reaching them.”

“But what has changed?” a Verdant Bond asked.

“Darro fights with two regular soldiers at his side,” Raeth explained.  “The two men fight completely defensively, never striking a blow of their own, but they keep any hits from reaching Lord Darro.  He, in turn, pummels any Forgotten that gets within reach.”

Eyes widened with understanding.

“We might be noble,” Raeth said, “but we’re also arrogant.  We never thought to ask aid from mere ‘regular’ soldiers.  That was our undoing.”

“Never again,” Avaekon swore, his eyes growing excited.  “Get me some soldiers to fight with.  I’d carry their equipment and fix their meals if it would help us win this conflict.”

Raeth smiled.  “I’m afraid I’ll have to ask something more of you, Lord Avaekon.”

The man looked up with surprise.

“If an Amberite Bond works so well with a couple of regular soldiers,” Raeth said, “think how much damage he’d be able to do with an even better defense.”  Raeth turned eyes to the side, toward the ten Verdant Bonds.

The two groups regarded each other in silence for a moment.

“I know our lines have been historical enemies--” Raeth began.

“Twins take that!” one of the Verdant Bonds said.  “This is war.  Politics is immaterial.”

Raeth’s smile deepened.  “Lord Avaekon.  How many Amberite Bonds are there left in your group.”

“About ten thousand,” the man said.

“And Lord Ferr?”

“About four thousand,” the Verdant Bond said.

“Gather your men,” Raeth said quickly.  “Form them into groups--one Verdant Bond, two Amberite Bonds, and two regular soldiers from the Mahallen reserves in each group.  The Verdant Bond’s job will be to vine everything black that they see.  It will only hold them for a second, but. . . .”

Avaekon smiled.  “It only takes a second for a hammer to fall.”

“Right,” Raeth said.  “The regular soldiers will be there to catch anything that slips past both of you.”

The High Aedin nodded eagerly, their melancholy from before gone.  Raeth knew how they felt--he knew what it was like to suddenly feel you had something important to do.

“Avaekon, take a thousand groups and cover the eastern flank.  Ferr, you take the western flank.  Split the rest into two groups and assign a leader for each; they will hold the middle.  The last thousand Amberite will be reserves.”

“Yes, sir!” the twenty men barked, bursting into motion, practically running down the backside of the hill.

Avaekon held back momentarily.  “I don’t know what happened to you, Hern,” he said, laying a hand on Raeth’s shoulder.  “But I thank the Ancestors for it.  Just tell me one thing.”

“What is it?” Raeth asked

“Did you know about this weakness earlier?” the man asked.  “Is that why you ordered us to give our cloaks to the regular men during the border fight.  Was it an attempt to humiliate us into accepting help?”

“No, of course not,” Raeth said quickly.  “Twins!  I apologize, Lord Avaekon.  I should have made my intentions more clear.  I was just trying to set up a decoy--I knew the High Aedin soldiers were a weakness, so I thought I’d try and tempt the Forgotten into thinking the regular troops were High Aedin, so they’d commit their forces backwards.  They saw through the ruse, though.”

Avaekon blinked in surprise.  “Oh,” he said.  “Why, that was a clever idea, Hern.  If we’d know that was your intention, we’d have been much more receptive.”

“I apologize,” Raeth said again.  “As you might know, I haven’t been very good at explaining myself to people in the past.”

“It’s all right, Hern.  And, before I go, I just want you to know that you’re forgiven.  I don’t know if it even matters to you, but I forgive you for that. . .incident last year.”

Raeth paused.  “Thank you, Lord Avaekon,” he said.  “I should have been man enough to apologize for that long ago,” whatever it was. . . .

Avaekon smiled, then was gone, following the others down the hill.

Raeth turned back to the battlefield.  It was going as it had before--poorly.  Each battle was worse than those before it; the Imperium forces were not only tired and depressed, but they had taken heavy casualties.

I hope this comes in time, Raeth thought apprehensively.

#

Laene squirmed in his uncomfortable chair, looking over the inscrutable war map.  He couldn’t really tell what was going on--the movements of the little colored pieces were beyond him.  However, he suspected the Imperium wasn’t doing very well.  After all, they had lost every other battle, so this one would likely be the same.

Of course, he thought, that’s what we want, isn’t it?  That’s what the strange shadow said.  These creatures will destroy only Amberite and Bestarin, but will leave Verdant alone.  All I have to do is wait, and I’ll be Emperor.

It was a difficult thing to do.  He was accustomed to the politics and backbiting of the Aedin court, but this was something different.  Treason.

It’s not treason, he told himself, it’s the will of the Ancestors.  Besides, you haven’t really done anything wrong, have you?  Talked to a strange voice, voted for the Emperor to take command of the armies. . .nothing serious.  Besides, that vote was useless--Hern got himself kicked out of command almost before he got it.

Still, Laene felt uncomfortable.  Perhaps it was just the chair.  He didn’t see any reason why he had to be in the Counsel room--all the battles went the same way.  The problem was, a few of the Senators had decided to continue attending the battles after the Emperor’s decisive loss.  And, of course, if a few Senators attended, they all had to, lest they risk missing out on some political opportunity.

Laene squirmed again, trying to find some way to sit comfortably.  The room was too cold, as well.  What was it about the military and discomfort, anyway?  He could understand their lack of taste in decorations--they had to keep their minds on their all-important map.  But at least they could order some chair cushions.

“What’s going on?” he asked one of his aids.

“We’re not doing very well,” the young Shorriken explained, studying the map.

“Even I know that,” Laene snorted.  “Give me details, man.  That’s why I pay you.”

“The eastern line is buckling,” the short man explained.  “That’s bad enough by itself, but the creatures are monopolizing on the weakness by committing a large force to try and flank around the western side of the Imperium army.  The generals have to split their reserves to block both weaknesses, and it will leave us far too open on the far eastern side.  In addition, the western line is thinning--a little longer, an it will buckle, and there won’t be reserves to hold it.  The generals will probably--”

“All right,” Laene interrupted.  “Enough details.  You’re going to give me a headache.”

As poorly as Emperor Hern had done in the border fight, the War Counsel didn’t seem to be doing any better.  The Forgotten front was unstoppable.  All things considered, Laene was just glad he was a member of the right Line.

“The western front is buckling,” one of the generals said, bringing Laene’s attention back to the battlefield.

General Gaedin nodded in agreement.  The aging general looked harried from his days of leadership--his eyes were hollow, his demeanor wan.  “We need to retreat,” he said.  “The Bells are lost--we’ll try and stand tomorrow at the northern fields.”

His tone was depressed.  The other generals in the group nodded in unenthusiastic agreement, and began to wave over aids to run their messages.

Well, what did he expect? Laene thought.

“Generals!” a voice exclaimed.  A messenger, a glowing trail of white disappearing behind him as he stepped off the Sending platform.  “The Western line is holding!”

Gaedin and the others looked up with surprise as several other messenger appeared and gave instructions to the Mapkeepers.  Pieces moved and rearranged, and for once Laene was curious to see what was going on.  Apparently it was unexpected.

“What in the name of the Ancestors?” one of generals said.  “The High Aedin--what’s happening to them?  They’re disappearing.”

“Have they been Sent somewhere?” Gaedin asked.

“No, sir,” the messenger explained.  “They’re intermixing with the regular soldiers.”

“What?” Gaedin asked.  “Who gave that order?”

“It doesn’t matter,” one of the other general said with excitement.  “Look, the eastern line is holding as well.  In fact, it’s regrouping!”

“What is going on?” Gaedin asked with wide eyes.

#

“Lord Hern!” a messenger exclaimed.  “The western line is holding!”

“Good,” Raeth said, pulling back from the conflict for a moment, wiping his brow.  “Tell the reserve forces to pull back from the eastern line and let the High Aedin teams hold it.  We might need reserves later.”

“Yes, sir!” the messenger yelled, turning his horse and galloping it across the slush to deliver his command.

Now, if only we can--

Suddenly, he heard screams from beside him, and a small group of Forgotten burst through the Imperium soldiers.

“Darro!” Raeth yelled toward his brother, who fought a short distance away.

“Coming!” Darro bellowed, turning his bulky armor as Raeth dashed forward toward the hole, his honor guard following.

Raeth jumped forward, swinging his Amberite sword for the lead Forgotten’s head.  The creature exploded at his touch, and Raeth skidded in the slush right through its dissolving body to take two more of the creatures with a single swing.  Smokey darkness exploded out before him as he attacked, Forgotten falling with barely a swipe of his blade.  As he spun, one got in a lucky blow, slamming its dark blade directly into Raeth’s chest.

It bounced directly off of Raeth’s dark Amberite breastplate.  The creature actually looked surprised at its failure as Raeth destroyed it with a swipe of his blade.  That isn’t regular Amberite, my friend, he thought with satisfaction.

A few seconds later the gap was plugged.  The ground thumped beside him as Darro arrived with a slightly belated rescue team.  “Twins, Hern!” he cursed.  “We barely even need those High Aedin--you could hold them all off by yourself!”

Raeth snorted, breathing deeply and wiping splashes of slush from his cheek.  “Until one of the tripped me and dropped a rock on me or something.”

“The reserves are back in place, my lord!” a messenger informed, dashing up toward him.

“Good,” Raeth said.  “How’s the eastern flank?”

“No problems, sir,” the messenger replied.

“By the Ancestors,” Darro whispered hollowly from inside his armor.  “We’re actually holding them.  Our forces haven’t lost any ground in over an hour!”

“Lord Hern,” a second messenger said, approaching from the direction of the main camp.

“Yes,” Raeth said, turning.

“Um, sir,” the messenger said uncomfortably, turning his horse.  “General Gaedin has come to the battlefield.  He wants to speak with you.”

Raeth groaned very softly.  You knew this was coming, he chastised himself.  You might as well go deal with it.

#

General Gaedin stood on the very same hill from which Raeth had delivered his speech to the High Aedin.  Raeth approached, his feet suddenly feeling frigid through his boots, the heat of battle no longer warming him.  His muscles had begun to ache again, and he felt an exhaustion that made the previous day’s tiredness seem insignificant.

Gaedin watched the battlefield with discerning eyes, standing quietly as Raeth walked up beside him.

“They look so different, out here,” Gaedin said.  “So different from the board--more confusing, but more alive.”

Raeth nodded silently, studying the battlefield.  Amazingly, it appeared that the Forgotten forces were actually pulling back, disengaging slowly to regroup.

“I rejected the map at first,” Gaedin continued in an almost conversational voice.  “I insisted on going to the border to watch the battles in person.  Eventually, I saw enough that I could use the map for what it was intended--a clear picture of the field.  A tool.”

Gaedin fell silent.  Raeth stood, slightly confused.  Why was Gaedin telling him such things?

“How did you make them fight, Emperor?” he finally asked.

“They’re High Aedin, general,” Raeth responded quietly.  “They know their duty.  They just had to be convinced to see past their insecurity.”

“Amberite and Verdant fighting together,” Gaedin said, still staring out at the battlefield.  “Mixing with regular soldiers.  Three separate parts that couldn’t stand alone, but somehow you made them succeed when you put them together.  I’ve been looking at maps and pieces so long, I fear I made the very mistake I always feared I would.  I stopped seeing people, and started seeing formations.”

Finally, Gaedin turned to look at Raeth.  “I was wrong about you.”

“No you weren’t,” Raeth said with a shake of his head.  “I earned your mistrust.  You were probably right to ignore me.”

Gaedin shook his head, then nodded out toward the battlefield.  “That proves that I was wrong,” he said.  “If you have another vote of autonomy, the War Counsel will support you.”

Raeth smiled.  “General, I never wanted autonomy.  I don’t have your experience--I don’t know the fine details of organizing a battle.  I just have good ideas, and I wanted you to listen to them.”

Gaedin nodded slowly, his eyes unreadable.  “You aren’t Hern, are you?”

Raeth froze, his back growing stiff.

“I’ve made a profession out of knowing what my enemies are going to do,” Gaedin explained, looking out over the field.  “Of knowing their minds.  Though he never knew it, I considered Hern my greatest adversary of all.  There is a select group of us--some generals, some others--who realized what would happen to the Imperium if Hern ever took the throne.  We knew the chance was slim, but we planned nonetheless.  The Imperium has survived incompetent Emperors before, we knew we could help it do so again.”

Raeth stood quietly.  What did he do?  Object?  He knew that his own eyes had already betrayed him.

“You cannot be him,” Gaedin finally said.  “I spent too long studying Hern.  You do a very good impersonation.”

I lived with him for fourteen years, Raeth thought.  Out loud, however, he could give no such confirmation.  “You realize that, even if I weren’t Hern, for the good of the Imperium I would have to deny your claims.”

Gaedin smiled.  “Of course,” he agreed.  “To do otherwise would be foolish.  For now, all I know is that you’re my Emperor.  As of this moment, the War Counsel’s wisdom is at your disposal.”

Raeth nodded, still recovering from his discovery.  What did you think? He wondered.  That no one would figure it out?  Especially after how little like Hern you’ve been acting these last few days.

“Tell me then, general,” he asked, nodding out over the battlefield.  “How long do you think we can hold them off?”

Gaedin’s frown returned as he studied the troops below.  The wounded were already being Sent away, and the sky was striped with their trails.  There were too many, far too many.

“It doesn’t look good, my lord,” he said.  “It looks better than it did, but prospects are still poor.  No matter how well our Aethers work, we can still be overwhelmed.”

Raeth nodded.  He wished he could disagree with Gaedin, but he had noticed the same thing.  Their lines were too thin.  The Forgotten had done too much damage to them over the past month--their force was even smaller than it had been at the beginning, despite the numerous reserves, recruitments, and additions they had made.

“A week,” Gaedin guessed.  “They’re a three-day march from Vae Annitor right now.  I’ll bet we can slow that to a week, maybe a week and a half.  After that, the numbers will be too much for us.  Even if we take down three of them for every man of ours that falls, we’ll still end up losing.”

Raeth’s disappointment grew as he heard the postulation.  We can’t lose now, not after we’ve made so much progress.

“Recommendations?” Raeth asked.

“Retreat,” Gaedin said.  “Evacuate Vae Annitor and move the Imperium government south, to En Mahall or even up to the Kavir Highlands.  Both are much more defensible than these plains.  You know about the Senate vote?”

“No,” Raeth admitted.  “I haven’t been paying as much attention to the Senate as I should.”

“Today was supposed to be our last chance,” he explained.  “They said that if the Counsel lost the battle this day, the Senate would order the evacuation.  I don’t know what they’ll do now that we actually won.”

“But you think we should proceed with the evacuation anyway?” Raeth asked.

Gaedin nodded.  Gesturing toward the Forgotten hoard.  “There are just too many of them.  Vae Annitor is lost.  That is my recommendation, Emperor.  We don’t even know why the creatures are travelling to the capitol.  Perhaps the things will disappear as mysteriously as they appeared once they arrive.”

They won’t, Raeth thought.  Somehow I know.  They’ll hunt us down until every Amberite and Bestarin Bond is destroyed.

“Are there no other options?” Raeth asked.  “If we could just get more troops, we might be able to hold, or even turn the creatures back.”

Gaedin shook his head.  “We’ve drawn on every reserve we have, asked for every trained volunteer we could get.  Even if the law didn’t forbid it, we don’t have enough time to gather an army from the peasant populations--we couldn’t train them in a week, not to fight these things.  They’d be slaughtered.”

“There are High Aedin who aren’t out here fighting,” Raeth noted.

“A lot of them,” Gaedin said.  “And they won’t be coming out here to fight.  We’ve tried--a surprising number are still willing to ignore the threat, even when it’s only days away.  I’ve begun to think that our complacency might be the end of us.”

“The Senate could change the law,” Raeth noted.  “Force them to fight.”

Gaedin snorted.  “With a hundred-percent Senate vote.  No offence, Emperor, but I doubt you could get all thirty of them to agree on your hair color, let alone get them to change of such a significant law.”

“But, the consequence is destruction,” Raeth said, frowning.

“Yes, but the change of the conscription law could theoretically let you force the Senators into fighting as well.”

Raeth frowned, but he knew Gaedin was probably right.  But there has to be a solution!  I need time.

“What do you want the Counsel to do, Emperor?” Gaedin asked.

“I want a week,” Raeth decided.

Gaedin paused.  “I really don’t think that’s wise, Emperor,” he said.

Raeth smiled very slightly to himself.  He could see a small measure of indignation in Gaedin’s eyes.  Despite everything else, Gaedin was still a politician.  Now that he had admitted he’d been wrong about Raeth, and that he’d seen through Raeth’s facade, he assumed that Raeth would do as he suggested.  You shouldn’t have given me the power if you didn’t want me to use it, general, Raeth thought.

“The capitol is the center of our nation, general,” Raeth said.  “I fear abandoning it would break the people.  They still believe in us.  I don’t want to give them reason to abandon hope until we absolutely have to.”

Gaedin frowned, but finally he sighed.  “All right,” he said.  “I told you we’d follow, so we shall.”

“I’ve given you the tools, general,” Raeth said.  “Use them.  Buy me some time.  If one week passes and we still haven’t turned them back, I’ll agree to abandon the city.”

“As you say, Emperor,” Gaedin said, bowing slightly.  “Though I warn you, the Senate probably still intents to make its vote.  If they decide we should retreat. . . .”

“Then we shall do as they say,” Raeth said with a nod.  “Hopefully, I’ll be able to convince them to support me as well.”

Gaedin nodded, then turned to walk down the hill toward the Sending platform.  As he left, Raeth noted a familiar tall form watching a respectful distance away.

“Taenen,” Raeth said, waving for the man to approach.

“Did it go well, my lord?” the Bestarin man asked.  As always, Taenen was proper in his speech, but Raeth could see the unasked question in the reserved man’s eyes.  Was he humiliated?

Raeth smiled.  “I think he’ll listen to me now.”

Taenen smiled.  “That is a blessing from the Ancestors themselves.  The Counsel can be a difficult group to get along with, my lord.”

Raeth nodded, patting the taller man on the back.  “Lets just say, all things considered, I’d still rather have you at my side, Taenen,” Raeth said, turning to walk down the hill.  “We’re going to try and hold the creatures back for a little while longer.”

“The men are very tired, sir,” Taenen noted.

“Hopefully the day’s victory will give them strength,” Raeth replied.  “I think we have a difficult week ahead of us.”

“Yes, my lord,” Taenen agreed.

“I’m going to return to the capitol, Taenen,” Raeth said.  “See to things here.  If anything happens, send a messenger to me immediately.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Raeth bid farewell then walked down through the slush toward the Sending square.  Oddly enough, the day’s problems didn’t weigh on him as much as they might have.  He knew that at the end of it--trials, wars, and difficulties aside--he could at least look forward to the evening.

Chapter Nineteen

“And where are you going?” Shaad asked.  She needn’t have posed the question--it was quite obvious where D’Naa was going.  The girl was wearing her black climbing clothing--though, Shaad noticed with interest, she hadn’t covered up her face.

Of course not, Shaad realized, that would muss up her hair and her makeup.  D’Naa usually took the time to make herself look pleasant--she was by no means a tomboy.  However, she didn’t usually take the extra efforts she had obviously expended this night.  She wore a small pair of wisdom braids, one hanging down over each cheek.  D’Naa often shunned facepaint, but this night she had taken the time to apply it quite carefully.  She even wore a pair of earrings, simple, after Kavir sensibilities.

“Um, out to scout,” D’Naa said.  “Like last night.  Hopefully, the Emperor will be alone tonight, not with his counselors.  Then I’ll be able to steal a Bud from him.”

In facepaint and braids? Shaad thought to herself.  How foolish do you think we are?

Hlin waddled by, humming softly to himself, carrying several books he had borrowed from the palace library.  “Well, don’t be too late then, dear,” he mumbled.  “And don’t take any chances.  The last thing we need is you getting captured and held somewhere.  Who knows when we’ll need to leave the city.”

“All right,” D’Naa said, climbing off the balcony.  She showed a remarkable lack of fear regarding heights as she dangled from the railing, then swung out into the night and was gone.

Hlin whistled to himself as he closed the balcony doors, then picked up one of his books and poured himself a cup of tea.  “Well, I hope she gets it soon,” he said.  “I just got a message from Ala’D.  He wants us to leave as soon as possible and return to Kavir.”

“I highly doubt D’Naa will be returning with the Emperor’s Bud tonight,” Shaad said with a sigh, turning back to her knitting.

“Don’t be so pessimistic,” Hlin chastised.  “How do you know she won’t find the Emperor alone, ready for the picking?”

“Because she won’t be seeing the Emperor tonight,” Shaad replied.

Hlin paused, standing with cup and book in front of his chair.  “What?” he asked.

Shaad rolled her eyes.  “Oh, you old sheep, how can you be so politically astute and so naïve at the same time?”

Hlin plopped down in his chair, eyebrows raised.  “By ignoring women, my dear,” he said.  “I find it leaves me with far fewer headaches.  What sort of fancy have you concocted this time?”

“It’s no fancy,” Shaad said, ignoring his challenge of her practicality.  He always tried to imply that she wasn’t a proper Kavir woman.  “At least, not one of mine.  Our young granddaughter is in love.”

Hlin paused, frowning slightly.  Then he shrugged.  “She’s supposed to be--she’s been offered as someone’s bride, after all.”

“I doubt her infatuation is with the Emperor,” Shaad said with a shake of her head.  “You know what she thinks of High Aedin.”

“Who, then?” Hlin asked.

Shaad shrugged.  “Some guard, perhaps, or a dashing young palace official.  We haven’t kept a very good eye on her during our time here, you know.  She could be sneaking off to meet practically anyone.”

Hlin opened his book.  He obviously wasn’t as bothered by the turn of events as he should be.  “Oh well,” he said.  “Young love--it will be good for her.”

“She’s supposed to be collecting us an Amberite Bud,” Shaad said firmly.  “The entire world is falling down around us--this isn’t the time for foolishness.”

“Well, that’s what we get for sending a girl her age to secure the fate of the nation,” Hlin said absently.  “A little foolishness is to be expected, even from a Kavir woman.  I’m sure things will work out.”

Shaad rolled her eyes again, but eventually she realized she couldn’t do much but turn back to her sewing and wait.

#

“What’s all of this?” a surprised feminine voice asked.

Raeth looked up from the serving plate.  He hadn’t expected her so soon.  He hurriedly scooped the contents of the dish--some baked Mahallen fruits--onto the other serving dish.

“A gift,” he said, standing and gesturing awkwardly toward the impromptu table--his desk, moved from the other room.

D’Naa climbed walked in through the open balcony doorway, closing it behind her.  As usual, she wore a tight black clothing--suitable for climbing around on the outside of walls, he assumed.  At one time, he would have blushed at the idea of a woman in such revealing clothing, but compared to Nahan, D’Naa was conservative.

“A gift?” she asked.

Raeth pulled his eyes off her with some difficulty, sweeping his hand over the table.  “An apology,” he said.  “For not believing you yesterday.”

D’Naa stepped forward, inhaling deeply, obviously enjoying the scents.  “That’s all right.  I made some fairly outrageous claims.”

“All of them true,” Raeth said solemnly.

D’Naa turned with a questioning face.

“Anyone can Bond Aethers,” Raeth said.  “It doesn’t matter what race you are; the only determining factors is the strength of your Bud and your own personal talent.”

D’Naa looked up.  She didn’t seem surprised to hear the admission, but she was concerned.  “I’m. . .sorry,” she said.

Raeth shrugged.  “The Aedin, and the Imperium, are strong enough to survive it, I think.”

D’Naa paused.  “You still intend to let the truth out?”

“Once this war is over,” Raeth said with a nod.  “We have no right to keep the Aethers for ourselves.  It’s our duty, as Aedin, to serve the people of the Imperium.  I don’t see how we could do that while we lie to them at the same time.”  Of course, I am a lie too, Raeth thought guiltily to himself.

D’Naa was still looking at him with an inquisitive expression.  “You’re a good man, my lord,” she finally said.

Raeth blushed.  “You’re just saying that because I brought you roasted Mahallen sweetmellons.”

“That’s part of it, probably,” D’Naa said, turning back to the table.  “This is amazing.  How did you get this all up here without arousing suspicion?”

“I spent the afternoon fighting, and the evening making political visits,” Raeth said, moving over to finish combining the contents of two serving dishes.  “I didn’t have time for food, so when I finally got back, I told the servants I was ravenous.  They’re used to it--my father had a notorious appetite.  I told them what I wanted, and they brought it up.  And, I was also certain to give my guards the night off.  We won’t have to worry about anyone listening at the door.”

“Are you certain that was wise?” D’Naa asked.  “What about the danger?”

Raeth shrugged.  “The Forgotten have never shown any inclination toward assassination. . .the only one who’s ever tried anything like that is sitting here right now.”

D’Naa blushed slightly.

Raeth turned back the meal, smiling.  “Of course, the cooks only sent up one plate.  Fortunately, there are plenty of serving dishes.  I think I can improvise something.”

“I don’t even recognize most of these foods,” D’Naa said with wide eyes as Raeth moved a chair over for her to sit in.

“The palace chef is Mahallen,” Raeth said, taking his seat.

“So, no boiled Verdant, I assume?” D’Naa asked.

Raeth chuckled.  “He won’t even touch the stuff,” Raeth said.  “Most of the dishes are baked fruits--since the Mahallens won’t eat Verdant, they tend to have a bit more variety in their foods than we do in the north.  What do you want?”

“Um, a little of everything,” she said.

Raeth nodded, picking up the clean plate and serving a representative portion of foods from the various dishes.  Venall’s wonderful cooking was one of the things Raeth had missed during his years in the Irae.  Dari, even important ones, usually ate Verdant soup for every meal.

“Don’t think I’m going to let you forget your promise just because you brought me dinner.”

Raeth paused.  Promise?

“You said you’d tell me where you went last night,” D’Naa said.

“Oh,” Raeth said, setting down her plate and serving himself.  “I went to the Irae to speak with the Patriarch.”

“Patriarch?”

“Head of the Aedin religion,” Raeth explained.  “You were right about another thing.”

“I’m developing quite a streak,” D’Naa noted, trying a bite of buttered candyberries.  “What was I right about this time?”

“The Sending,” Raeth said.  “It’s an Aether--or, rather, the Vo-Dari Bond an Aether that lets them perform the Sending.  They call it Illuminous.  And that probably means that the Pool of the Forgotten in Saeris Va is really an Aether too.”

D’Naa frowned between bites.  “So, what does that mean?” she asked.

“I really don’t know,” Raeth admitted.  “I’ve been trying to figure that out all day.  I guess if nothing else it means that we’re not fighting the spirits of our Forgotten ancestors, just manifestations of an Aether.”

“But, wouldn’t someone have to be controlling them?” D’Naa asked.

“I think so,” Raeth said.  “But I don’t know.  Maybe this Aether is different.  The others feel like they have some sort of rudimentary intelligence.  Perhaps this dark Aether is even smarter.”

D’Naa raised her hand, and Raeth could see the spiderwebs of Verdant running between her fingers and across her palm.  As he watched, the Aether’s tips wiggled a bit.  “Maybe,” D’Naa said slowly.  “I don’t know that it’s really intelligence, though.  I’ve always felt. . .I don’t know, like the Aether was connected to something larger, something I could only faintly sense.  But, assuming the Dark Aether is intelligent enough to do as you say, why is it attacking us?”

Raeth shook his head.  “I don’t know.  I don’t know why anyone would want to attack us.”

D’Naa turned back to her eating, but paused, spoon halfway to her mouth.  She regarded him thoughtfully for a moment.  “How long have you people been throwing criminals into that pool?”

Raeth shrugged.  “As far back as the histories go.”

“So, what if these things are those people, only changed somehow?” she asked.

Raeth smiled slightly, chewing on an extremely sweet piece of melon.  “First you convince me that the Forgotten aren’t the spirits of our Ancestors, now you want me to assume they are?”

D’Naa snorted.  “I didn’t try to persuade you of anything,” she said.  “I just told you I don’t believe in the religious implications of the attack.  What if when you tossed people into the pool, they Bonded the Aether?  But, they didn’t Bond it in the usual way.  They were completely submersed in the Aether, so the it saturated their bodies.  Now, there isn’t anything left of them but the Aether and a really, really angry soul.”

“I suppose,” Raeth said with a frown.  “But, how could there possibly be that many of them?  I haven’t looked at the records, but as far as I know we only toss a couple of criminals in a year.  There were two hundred thousand Forgotten in the initial assault.”

D’Naa shrugged.  “I don’t know,” she eventually said, turning back to her meal.

Despite the lack of conclusions, Raeth was impressed.  Except for her accent, D’Naa spoke like an educated cityborn.  He had always been led to believe that those from Kavir were intellectually inferior--they didn’t, after all, have formal schools to teach them.  Perhaps the Aedin underestimated Kavir’s travelling Hlaa teachers.

“I heard good news from the battle front today,” D’Naa noted in-between bites.  “The people are impressed with you.”

Raeth blushed slightly.  “We’ve had some luck recently.”

“Is it true that we won a battle for the first time since the creatures invaded?”

“We didn’t retreat,” Raeth said.  “That isn’t exactly ‘winning,’ but it’s far better than what we’ve managed before.”

“What changed?” D’Naa asked.

“The High Aedin,” Raeth said.  “I convinced them to join in the fighting.”

D’Naa raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” Raeth said in response to her unasked question,  “but we can be a slightly arrogant people.”

D’Naa smiled, popping a bit of kivirn into her mouth.  “I noticed.”

“The High Aedin were ashamed,” Raeth said.  “And, to be honest, I don’t really blame them.  For the first time in centuries, we’re faced by an enemy we can’t defeat.  We’re helpless to protect the Imperium.  That is an embarrassing thing to realize.  It really didn’t take much to get them back into the fighting once we found a way for them to be useful.”

“There are all kinds of stories floating through the city,” D’Naa said, studying him.  “My grandfather came back with a mouthful of gossip and rumors.”  She paused.  “All of them agree that whatever happened today, you were behind it.  The Imperium is safe because of its Emperor.”

“I don’t know about ‘safe,’” Raeth said, shaking his head.  “We held them for one day, but the generals tell me we won’t be able to do it much longer.  We don’t have enough men.  Our troops will run out before theirs do.”

“Still,” D’Naa said.  “So far, no commander has been able to make the creatures so much as flinch, but you held them for an entire day.  The rumors also say that you fight yourself, that you bear the power of the Ancestors with you, destroying Forgotten with every blow.”

Raeth paused, noticing the curiosity in her eyes.  Dare I tell her?  He wondered.  I know the secret of her Aether--it’s only fair she knows the secret of mine.

“That much, at least, is true,” he said, putting down his spoon and reaching his hand across the table toward her.  His Amberite sparkled in his open palm.  “I said I assumed that the dark pool was an Aether, that it could be Bonded.  In truth, it wasn’t so much of an assumption.  More of a statement.”

D’Naa looked up from his palm with surprise.  “You Bonded it?”

Raeth nodded.  “During the initial attack.  When. . .my father was pulled into the pool, his struggling sent up a spray of droplets.  One hit me in the cheek.  I didn’t realize until later what had happened.”

D’Naa peered closely at his Aether, and Raeth let it grow, Amberite crystals creeping out to encase his palm.  Then, he let the darkness bleed into the Aether.  D’Naa peered closer as the Amberite went from rosy to maroon, shadows shifting inside of it.

“What does it do?” she asked.

“It made my Aether more powerful,” Raeth said.  “It grows more quickly, and it can extend further from my body.  I also have some sort of power over the Forgotten.  When I touch them with my Amberite, I can destroy them with barely a thought.”

“Well, that’s what you have to do,” D’Naa said.

“What?” Raeth asked.

“Go Bond more people to this Night.  It has power over the Forgotten.”

Raeth paused.  Could he explain the dark voice’s comments?  No, that was too much.

“I don’t know,” he said slowly.  “We’ve been using the Pool of the Forgotten as a means of execution for centuries.  I don’t know if it would be safe.”

“Could it be any less dangerous than having your country overrun with Forgotten?” D’Naa pointed out, stabbing another kivirn off the serving tray.

“Good point,” Raeth admitted.  “A day ago, I would have jumped at the idea.”

“But?”

“But,” Raeth explained, “the High Aedin are already back in the battle.  Though they can’t destroy Forgotten with a thought, it’s practically the same thing.  Have you ever seen a High Aedin Amberite Bond in battle?”

“Afraid not,” D’Naa said.  “I would have liked to on several occasions, but they always showed up too late to save the village.”

Ouch.  “They’re powerful,” Raeth said after a moment’s pause.  “They crush Forgotten with nearly every blow.  Now that I’ve found a way to keep them protected while they fight, they’re very effective.  It isn’t a matter of power, D’Naa, it’s a matter of numbers.  No matter how strong our warriors are, the Forgotten are going to overrun them eventually.”

D’Naa continued to eat, a thoughtful look on her face.

She’s beautiful, Raeth thought.  The way her hair fell, small braids hanging down over her cheeks.  She was even more attractive to him than that first day he’d seen her, standing on the Sending platform weeks before.  Now he knew she had a mind to go with the face.

“. . .Emperor?”

Suddenly, he realized she was looking at him and speaking.

“Hello?” she asked.  “You still there, Hern?”

Raeth snapped upright.  “Um, yes,” he said.  “Sorry.”

“You certainly get distracted easily,” she noted.

“I. . .have a lot on my mind,” he replied awkwardly.

“Well, like I was saying, there has to be more to this new Aether than just enhancing your old one.”

“I thought so too,” he said, setting down his spoon and knife on his empty plate.  “But I can’t figure out what it is.  I figure it’s probably similar to Illuminous, so it should have kind of the same effect.  Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to get a Sending to work.”

“Maybe it’s different than that,” D’Naa said with a shrug.  “I mean, Bestarin and Ferrous don’t seem all that similar to me, though Grandfather always said they were grouped together.”

Raeth shrugged.

D’Naa sat in consternation, arms folded on the table.  “Do you remember that first night I. . .visited?” she asked.

“The one when you nearly gave me a heart attack from fright?” he asked.  “I heard you clunking around out here and came to see what the noise was.  You vined me before I even realized what was happening.  Why did you vine that statue, anyway?  Was it some way of luring me out of my study?”

D’Naa flushed deeply.  “Never mind,” she said quickly.  “I remember something odd happening that night.  I later convinced myself I was seeing things, but. . .I could have sworn that the darkness itself attacked me.”

Raeth remembered the incident.  She was right about what had happened, but wrong about the one behind it.  The voice was the one who had commanded the darkness, not Raeth.

“Well?” D’Naa urged.

“I remember that night,” he said. He couldn’t tell her about the voice--he still wasn’t completely certain he was sane.   “But I’m not sure how I got free.  I hadn’t had the Aether very long then, and I was somewhat distracted at the time.  I thought you were an assassin, after all.”

“Well, it’s worth a try, isn’t it?” D’Naa pressed.  “See if I’m right.”

Raeth hesitated, but he couldn’t think of any reason no to, so he shrugged in acquiescence.  “What do you want me to do?”

“Try to move the darkness,” D’Naa explained.

“Move the darkness?” Raeth asked.

“Just try.”

Raeth sighed, but he turned toward the balcony.  Uncertain what to do, he stared at the shadows just beyond their lanternlight.  He could separate his Amberite from the second Aether within him, and he commanded it to do. . .what?  What was it supposed to do?

He pushed the Aether to use its power, trying to get the darkness to change.  Nothing happened.  This is foolish, he thought.

No, the voice in his head said.  It is right.

Raeth paused.  What is right?  Once again, there was no response.

Raeth ground his teeth in thought.  The darkness had moved that one night.  Or had it?  He tried to remember back to when D’Naa had first attacked him.  She was a little bit wrong--the darkness hadn’t been what moved, but something had come from within it.

He stared out into the shadows again.

There, the voice said.  Inside the shadows.

And, slowly, Raeth began to sense it.  Something, something within the shadows, like pooled water.  Only, not a liquid--it was more amorphous.  Within it he could sense a power he did not understand.

He reached out to it, tugging on it.  The substance resisted, so he pulled harder, towing it into the light.

“Blessed D’Lum!” D’Naa whispered.

Raeth opened his eyes, staring forward.  He could see a patch of darkness moving along the floor, like a deep shadow.  Sweat ran down his cheeks as he pulled.  It was much difficult than commanding his Amberite.  When his Aether formed him armor or a sword, it did most of the work.  He just had to command.  This was different.  He had to strain and struggle to pull the shadow forward.  Finally, he let out an exhausted breath, and let the darkness free.  It immediately snapped back into the shadows.

“Twins, that’s hard!” Raeth said, wiping his brow with a napkin.

“See!” D’Naa said.  “You should have listened to me.”

“I did listen to you,” Raeth objected.  “That’s why I tried.”

“You were reluctant,” D’Naa accused.

“I was thoughtful,” he corrected.  “A vital attribute in an Emperor, if I do say so myself.”

D’Naa chuckled, her eyes turned toward the darkness.  “So you can command the shadows.”

Raeth shook his head.  “It’s not like that.  I’m not moving the shadows, I’m moving something else.  Something. . . .” he struggled for an explanation.  “Something that hides in the darkness.  I can’t move it very far, though.”

“At least we know what the Aether does,” D’Naa said.

“A little bit,” Raeth agreed.  “You’re a very clever woman, D’Naa.  Where were you when I was trying to figure this all out last month?”

“I was trying to assassinate you, remember,” she said with a smile.

Raeth chuckled lethargically, still exhausted from his testing of the Aether.  “The problem is, we don’t have any experience with this Aether.  There’s no one to teach me how to use it.”

“There’s got to be someone else,” D’Naa said.  “You can’t be the first one who’s Bonded it.  I wouldn’t be surprised to find out this is another secret that’s been kept from you.”

Raeth frowned, leaning back in his chair.  Somehow, he couldn’t imagine that happening.  The Pool of the Forgotten was so taboo in Aedin society. . . .

Unless those who Bonded it weren’t Aedin.

Raeth snapped upright, his eyes opening wide.

“Oh dear,” D’Naa mumbled.  “I did it again, didn’t I?”

“I’ll be right back,” Raeth promised, standing.  “I don’t have to go very far this time.”

#

Raeth had little experience with the palace dungeons.  Most criminals were kept in a more modern jail located on the east side of the city.  The dungeons were almost anachronistic--a throwback to a previous time.  Now, only very special criminals were suited to its gloomy confines.

A Corpate heating pillar glowed quietly in one corner of the large, square room.  There was no Nurturer at its side--it probably only received attention for part of the day.  Even the stoic Ferrous Bonds must have found the dungeon unpleasant enough to avoid.  Other than the pillar, only a solitary lantern provided illumination.  A young Aedin guard sat by the doorway, idly tracking his fingers across the tabletop, his arm in a sling.

Raeth stepped quietly into the room, causing the guard to look up with surprise.  “My Lord Emperor?” he said, dumbfounded.

“Leave us,” Raeth said quietly, ignoring the guard.  His eyes were focused on the cell directly ahead of him.  One occupied by a single, dark occupant.

“Yes, my lord,” the guard said, scurrying from the room.

Raeth stood quietly in the dark room, his cloak pulled tight.  The air seemed cold despite the Corpate’s warmth.

“Quite the accommodations you provide, Lord Emperor,”  an oddly upbeat voice said.  The caged form rustled, a figure detaching itself from the shadows to become a man with dark, bruise-like skin.  “I wasn’t aware such places as this existed in beautiful ‘modern’ Aedinor.”

He probably likes the darkness and the cold, Raeth thought.  It’s no wonder he seems happy.

“I feel honored at your visit,” Shateen continued.  “Usually, our meetings involve shackles and a dozen guards.  This is far more agreeable, don’t you think?”

Raeth still did not respond.  He studied the creature, noting its dark skin, yet human features.  Except for the skin, it looked completely human.  Too human.  It all made sense.

Shateen was an Aether Bond.  Will I look like this some day?

“I suppose my month is up,” Shateen said.  “Though by my estimate, I still had two days left.  I guess scratches on the wall aren’t exactly an accurate measure of time.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Raeth said quietly.  “I know your secret.”

Shateen raised a dark eyebrow, his skepticism showing through.

“You lied to me,” Raeth said.  “The children aren’t dead.  You made them like you.  Into Shentis.”

Shateen’s eyes widened slightly.  But then he smiled.  “Your tales of us being demons are well-publicized, your imperial majesty, even where I come from.  Everyone knows we steal children and replace them with foul creations of Mahallen myth.”

Raeth took a step forward, refusing to be diverted.  “It’s an Aether,” he said quietly.  “You Bond them to an Aether and make them like yourself.  You aren’t demons at all.  You’re human.”

Shateen opened his mouth, obviously to spout off some more diversionary rhetoric, but then his eyes met Raeth’s, and he stopped.  He must have seen something therein, Raeth’s confidence, or perhaps his anger.  Either way, Shateen’s next words were far more subdued than before.

“I was an orphan in this very city, you know,” he said quietly.  “Do you know what it’s like to be an Aedin with no Line?  Duty is everything, so you say, but what of those of us with no duty?  With no heritage?  Do our Ancestors still watch over us, even though we’re not connected to the Line?  Do they even recognize us?”

Raeth paused.  “I don’t know,” he admitted.

“No one did,” Shateen continued.  “With all the talk of family and Lines, what of those of us with no fathers to choose our Place?  According to common wisdom, the lowest level of Imperium society belongs to the Shorriken farmers, yet even their lives are easy.  With the Verdant Bonds producing food, the farmer’s goods are luxuries, and they are paid well for producing them.  No, the worst thing to be in this society, my lord, is an orphan.  That is why I did what I did.  Those children will lead far better lives with us.”

Raeth frowned.  “Is that why you want to destroy us?” he asked.

Shateen paused.  “Destroy you?” he asked with confusion.

“How do you control them?” Raeth demanded, stepping forward, standing only a few inches from the dark iron bars.

“Control what?”

“Do not play with me,” Raeth snapped, anger rising within him.  “Thousands of good men have fallen to your swords, while you wait happily in your cell.  Tell me how you do it.  How do you control that many?”

Shateen shook his head, pretending ignorance.  “I have no idea what you are talking about, Emperor.”

Raeth’s Aethers sensed his emotions, and they began to grow.  Amberite crackled around his clenched fist, and he unconsciously sought out pools of Night crouching in the corners of the cell.  The shadows began to bulge, pressing in at Shateen.  The Shentis man pulled away from them, his composure breaking, his face pulling back in fear.

Mock fear, Raeth told himself.  He’s pretending.

Shateen’s wild eyes turned toward him.  “What are you?” he whispered in horror.

Raeth paused, straining as the Night pushed against the terrified Shentis man.  He didn’t fight back, pulling out his own Night.  He didn’t create a dark warrior to fight for him.  He simply cringed in fear.  Real fear--Raeth could see it in his eyes.

“You really don’t know, do you?” Raeth asked quietly.  The Night popped back into its wells, retreating from the light.

Raeth sighed, his rage abating.  “Where do you find your Aether?”

“We don’t find it anywhere,” Shateen said, regarding the shadows nervously.  “It’s in our blood.  When we inject it into someone else, their skin turns dark, and they become one of us.  Really, we’d like to leave you alone--we mean no harm.  It’s just that, we can’t reproduce once it’s in our blood.  You have children you don’t want, we want offspring.  Lines of our own.  Surely you can understand that.”

Raeth whipped his brow, the exertion of moving the Aether leaving him weakened again.  “How long does it take?” he asked.  “How long before the skin changes colors.”

“It happens immediately,” Shateen said.

Immediately.  “You can’t control the Night?” Raeth pressed.  “You don’t use the Pool of the Forgotten?”

“No, my lord,” Shateen answered honestly.  “I. . .by the Ancestors, what is going on?”

Raeth shook his head, his quick answer to the Forgotten problem evaporating before him.  Raeth turned to leave.  Whatever Shateen was, he wasn’t a Night Bond.

“Um, my lord,” Shateen said behind him.  “You know my secret.  I promise you, those children are being treated well.  Am. . .I still going to be executed?”

“We’ll see,” Raeth said, walking from the room.  “I’m still not sure about you.”

#

The ride back up to the seventh floor was a long one, filled with conflicting thoughts.  If the Shentis weren’t controlling the Forgotten, who was?  He was left with only one conclusion.  The Dari were right--the creatures were Forgotten, after a fashion.  Like D’Naa had said, they had to be the souls of those thrown into the pool.  That much unBonded Aether must have done strange things to them, overcoming their bodies and making them into creatures composed of the Aether itself.

He was still left with one problem.  Had they really thrown that many people into the pool?  The Imperium had existed for centuries, but even still, such numbers from the Forgotten would require the Aedin to have thrown in hundreds of people every year.  Raeth knew that wasn’t true--at least, not in recent history.

Maybe there’s more we don’t know about, Raeth thought.  The histories barely go back a thousand years.  Where did our tradition of throwing criminals into the pool come from?  Perhaps we inherited it from the Aedin tribes of old.  Maybe this has been going on long enough to build up those kinds of numbers.

Raeth shook his head as the Corpate climber stopped on his floor.  He just didn’t know enough.  There could be dozens of explanations.  Perhaps the Harrmen had something to do with the pool--the Aedin only visited it once a year.  What if the barbarians threw their dead into the pool after battles?  Two hundred thousand Forgotten was a lot, but who knew how old the pool was.

He crossed the mosaic floor, his feet falling on the faces of Emperors past.  The Ancestors.  They didn’t seem to be protecting their progeny much in the face of danger.  Of course, we can’t really blame them, Raeth thought, pushing open the door to his rooms.  It’s our fault.  If we’d realized out weakness and started using our Aethers properly from the beginning, maybe we’d have had the numbers to repel the attack.

Raeth looked up, frowning as he shut the door behind him.  Where was D’Naa?  The room was empty, the remnants of their meal sitting half-eaten on the table.

“Looks like dinner for two,” a voice said.

Raeth turned with surprise, jumping slightly as he saw a feminine figure standing in the doorway to his bedroom.  A blonde figure.  Alean.

Raeth opened his mouth, uncertain how to respond.  Anger flashed in him--why had the guards. . . ?

He’d dismissed the guards, so they wouldn’t hear him talking to D’Naa.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Raeth said.  “It’s improper.”

Alean raised an eyebrow.  “Is that so, Prince Raeth?”

Chapter Twenty

D’Naa carefully peeked over the side of the balcony.  She hung in the cold air, dark cloak flapping.  Hern had returned, and he looked surprised to see Alean.

That’s good, D’Naa thought.  Maybe she just came on her own.  Of course, he might have forgotten that he’d invited her.

She shook her head.  She had gotten beyond being suspicious of him, hadn’t she?  It’s a coincidence, nothing else, D’Naa told herself firmly.  Alean used to be the most likely choice, but now it appears that Tae and Nahan are edging her out.  She was bound to make some effort to take him back.

It was a good thing D’Naa had stepped out on the balcony for a moment while Hern was out.  Otherwise, Alean would have caught her.  As it was, the dinner looked suspicious enough.

D’Naa briefly considered climbing back down to her rooms and leaving for the night--hanging off the side of the balcony, even with her vines, wasn’t exactly the most comfortable position.  However, she couldn’t make herself move.  She couldn’t hear what they said, but she could watch.  She knew she had little right, but she felt she had staked a claim on Hern.  She had a right to know what he did with other women, didn’t she?

#

“You seem to have mistaken me for my brother, Alean,” Raeth said firmly, turning on his best Hern imitation, complete with arrogant posture and a condescending edge to his voice.

“Is that so?” Alean said, strolling toward the desk laden with dirty dishes.  She wore a rich green gown that sparkled slightly in the lanternlight.  Her hair was lose and slightly disarrayed, however--an odd state for a High Aedin woman.

Alean selected one of the glazed kivirn and popped it into her mouth.  Though she was of the Verdant Line, no Aether marred her skin.  Raeth found it ironic that D’Naa, a non-Aedin, would have Bonded an Aether while this woman--first daughter of the Verdant Line--had not.

Perhaps we do ourselves a disservice by not letting our women Bond, Raeth thought.  Our army could certainly benefit from the added Aethers in a time of need, especially if any of them are half as strong as D’Naa.

Alean looked up at him, drawing his attention again.  Despite her obvious attempts to look seductive, her overdone curves and blatant sexuality was nothing compared to D’Naa’s simple beauty.

But, why does she think that I’m not Hern?

“I’ve been speaking with your brother, Raeth,” Alean informed, licking the glaze off her fingers.

Raeth paused.  She couldn’t mean. . .Hern?

“He’s a good man,” Alean continued, “but he grows quite talkative once you get enough liquor in him.”

Raeth froze.  Oh, no. . . .

Alean took a step toward him.  “Once you get him into bed,” she continued.  “You can’t keep him quiet.”

Raeth felt a sense of dread.  Darro, what have you done?

Alean’s face suddenly turned hard, all guises of seduction gone.  “You’ve been lying to the entire Imperium, Dari,” she snapped.

“I’m not Raeth, woman.  I am--”

“When did we first meet?” Alean demanded.

Raeth paused.  “I don’t have to--”

“When did we first make love?” she said.

Raeth had no answer.

Alean’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.  “I knew it,” she hissed.  “I knew it from that first day, dancing.  Your surprise betrays you, priest.  Our deal will be a simple one.  Hern and I had an understanding.  I was going to be his wife--I am the only one of the brides worthy of the station.  You want to pretend to be him?  Fine.  Then you will do as he would have.  Choose me as your bride, and I will keep your secret.  Otherwise, I will destroy you.”

Raeth gritted his teeth.  “You would destroy the Imperium then, foolish woman.  I didn’t want this Place, but our people need an Emperor right now.”

“If you hadn’t stepped into a cloak that wasn’t yours,” Alean snapped, “my father would be Emperor right now, and my husband would become Heir.  You’ve stolen the throne from me in more ways than one, idiot priest.  You will choose me.  Do you know the penalty for breaking Place?  Execution?  You’ve made fools of the entire Senate, who ratified an imposter as their Emperor.  Every responsibility they give you, every ounce of respect, is not yours to but Hern’s.  You fail in your most basic duty as High Aedin.  That of honesty.”

“Get out,” Raeth hissed.

Alean turned, walking toward the door.  She paused, turning hard eyes toward him.  “You know what your choice has to be.  Think of. . .the good of the Imperium.”

Raeth stood, fuming but feeling impotent as she closed the door behind her.

#

That went well, D’Naa decided.  She left in a huff.  Did he rebuke her for coming to him alone. . .or did she get angry at him for discovering he’d been dining with someone else?

D’Naa pushed down her suspicions, giving him the benefit of the doubt.  She moved to climb back onto the balcony, but then she saw his face, and something about it made her pause.  She saw a latent, burning anger inside them, barely contained.

Suddenly, he turned and stalked out of the room, slamming the door so hard that she felt it.

Going after her? D’Naa wondered despite herself.  Then, she just shook her head and began climbing back toward her rooms.  She’d know his mind soon enough.  By her calculations, his month was nearly up.  Soon he’d have to make his decision.

#

Raeth stood over his sleeping brother.  Darro lay innocently in his oversized bed, naked save for the sheet covering him.  He snored with the delirium of drunkenness.  On the pillow beside him, beside a mussed blanket that still showed the place where a second person had slept, lay a woman’s glove.  A green glove.

She knew I’d come and check, Raeth realized.  She was crafty, he’d give her that.  Of course, she’d been raised in the court, and by one of the best politicians of their time.

Raeth sat quietly on a chair, still looking at his brother’s sleeping form.  Dear, gentle Darro.  What an idiot you can be.

What could he do?  Alean’s bid for his choice was the most powerful yet.  Raeth had lost track of the days--he wasn’t even certain how long he had left before his Ynaa prayer would be finished--but the Senate would probably force his hand before too long.  If it came before the end of the war, he’d have to choose Alean.  She had all the proof she needed in her head--if she challenged him in front of the Senate, asking questions Hern should have known, his façade would easily come to an end.  The people’s loss of confidence in him could easily destroy the Imperium.  If the Forgotten hadn’t done so already.

He would have to choose her.  Unfortunately, Raeth knew it wouldn’t stop there.  Alean was far to savvy to let a good bargaining tool go to waste.  If he did choose her, she would use his secret against him, twisting his opinions and forcing him to rule as she desired.

However, she didn’t know one thing.  She assumed Raeth cared for his own life more than he did for duty.  She was wrong.  As soon as the Forgotten problem was eliminated, Raeth would expose the truth to the Senate.  Alean was right, they would likely order him executed for the embarrassment he had caused and the entire Aedinor government.  Even if he managed to win the war for them, the Senate would have no choice.  The sanctity of the government was more important than any individual.

But, despite the consequences, Raeth knew he would have no choice but to reveal himself.  Alean’s blackmail ensured that.  Better death then a life being her pawn.

#

The Senate building did not reflect the city’s dwindling population.  People crowded the lower tier, showing an interest in political discussion irregular even for Vae Annitor.  Of course, they had reason to be concerned.

Two days had passed since the infamous battle where Raeth had held the Forgotten forces, and the Imperium had yet to lose the Bells.  Though they had been forced to retreat across much of the hilly terrain, General Gaedin and his War Counsel held tenaciously to their ground, fighting extended bouts against the Forgotten.  Raeth had to admit, as much as the man could put him on edge, Gaedin did know how to keep a promise.

The turn in the war effort was reflected in the faces of the Senators.  Raeth watched them carefully from his seat on the second tier, studying the thirty men.  Though they were worried, many were a lot more relaxed than they had been just three days before.  The might of the Imperium’s forces had reasserted itself.  All was well in the world.

Raeth shook his head.  We’re still naive, he realized.  The threat is sitting just a couple day’s march from our capitol, and already we’ve dismissed it.  Just because we’ve managed to stall it doesn’t mean it will go away.

However, the climate would work to Raeth’s favor.  The last two times he had stood before the Senate he had asked for a favorable vote.  This time was the opposite--he had come to try and buy himself more time.  He would ask them to vote against retreat.

Raeth sought out friendly faces in the crowd, drawing strength from them.  There were some notable admissions, however, Darro at their forefront.  His brother had disappeared two days before, the morning after his tryst with Alean.  No one had seen him since.

Darro, where are you? Raeth thought with frustration.  I need you--these next few days are going to be difficult ones.

So, instead of Darro, Raeth sought out D’Naa.  She was there, sitting on the top tier, and she had a smile for him. While the day’s battles had been difficult, his night’s conversations had been wonderful.  D’Naa’s visits were an expected occurrence now, and Raeth was finding himself increasingly attached to her as the day’s progressed.

Raeth looked down from the aristocrat’s tier, looking instead at the middle one, where the Senators sat.  Most telling of the faces was that of Rall Hannin, the Mahallen King.  He sat with the other four Mahallen Senators.  Unlike many of his Aedin colleagues, Rall Hannin’s eyes were deeply troubled.  He knew the truth.  Over the last month, he had been asked for increasing numbers of troops.  Tarrinon’s sources told Raeth that the Mahallen military was severely undermanned--they had given nearly all they had to the war effort.  If Seaborn raiders fell upon the southern shores, as was common in the spring, then En Mahall wouldn’t be able to defend itself.

He knows, Raeth thought quietly.  He realizes that I’ve only delayed the Forgotten.  They’re still coming.  And, once they take Aedinor, the next richest gem in the Imperium is En Mahall.

There were others as well.  A scattered few amongst the wisest of the Senators bore looks that mimicked that of the Mahallen King.  They were the ones who kept the petition for evacuation from being cast aside, and they had powerful friends who trusted their advice.  Unless Raeth convinced them, the evacuation would go forward.

And, am I absolutely certain I don’t want it to? Raeth wondered, not for the first time.  He was beginning to doubt his words of a few days ago.  Hours spent trying to solve the riddle of the Forgotten had left him with nothing but headaches.  His best efforts so far had only stalled the advance.  Would it be such a bad thing to evacuate Vae Annitor, just in case?

No, he thought with determination.  Tarrinon had agreed with his assertion.  If the Senate left Aedinor, the Imperium’s power would be broken.  It would fracture into its separate kingdoms.  Khur was already dangerously close to ceding, and En Mahall would probably be next.  Kavir was so isolated that it would sever ties without much worry--Raeth guessed from his conversations with D’Naa that they were preparing to do so anyway.  That would leave only Shorriken who, without any form of military whatsoever, would be at the mercy of the advancing army.

Aedinor had to hold strong as long as it could.  If danger got to close, the evacuation could proceed without much trouble.  However, every day they stayed in Vae Annitor was one more day the Imperium stayed cohesive.

“The Emperor has petitioned to speak before us,” Laene said from the pulpit below, bringing Raeth out of his ponderances.  “We now give the floor to him.”

Raeth took a deep breath and marched down the ramp to the podium.  As he turned to regard them, he couldn’t help thinking how differently they looked at him now.  There was respect in their eyes.  He had earned their acceptance--if now he could just get them to trust him.

“Senators of the Imperium,” he said.  “My plea to you this day is a short one.  I urge you to vote against evacuation.  The Imperium has suffered grievous losses, true, but retreat is the final defeat.  The people need a symbol of our continued strength, and this Senate is that symbol.  Withdraw, and I fear it shall break their spirits.”

Raeth paused.  Several of the Senators had turned to whisper to one another.  Raeth frowned at the confusion he saw in their eyes.

“I ask you to trust me for a little longer,” Raeth continued slowly.  “I believe our military can hold the Forgotten at bay.  Let us give them the opportunity.  Let us. . . .”  he frowned as the whispering continued.  “My lords?” he asked slowly.

One of them, Arasisae, the senior Ferrous Senator, stood.  “Forgive us, your majesty,” she said smoothly, “but we are a little confused at your speech.  This isn’t what we expected you to speak about.”

“What?” Raeth asked.

“Your Bride Choosing, Emperor,” Laene informed.  “Your Ynaa prayer finished earlier today.  We assumed you were going to announce your choice of brides.”

Raeth stiffened.  Today.  He shot a look at Tarrinon, and the little man just shrugged.  The aid had assumed, along with Raeth, that the Choosing would wait until it was decided whether or not the Imperium would stay in Vae Annitor.

“My lords,” Raeth said, “I hardly think this is the climate in which such a choice should be made.  The enemy waits just a two day march from our capitol!”

“On the contrary,” one of the Mahallen Senators said.  “We believe this decision is vital, your majesty.  It could have much to do with the future of the Imperium.”

Raeth ground his teeth in frustration.  He understood what they meant--Raeth’s choice would give one faction a political edge over the others.  That would be a vital commodity should the Imperium fracture, new groups attempting to seize power, should the High Aedin be destroyed.  Twins! He thought in anger.  Can’t they forget their political squabblings for just a few days!

“Your majesty,” Arasisae said.  “Sure you--”

“I will not,” Raeth said sharply, cutting her off.  “I am your Emperor, and I will not be forced into this decision until I am certain of my choice.”

“Ah, that is the problem, your majesty,” the Mahallen Senator said smoothly.  “We fear that you have already made your decision, and that you are simply. . .stringing us along.”  The comment prompted more than a few nods of agreement from the collected men.

Raeth frowned to himself.  Of course they know, he cursed quietly to himself.  They’ve been doing this far longer than you have.  They know exactly what you’re doing.

“We fear that you will make a politically unwise choice, your majesty,” Arasisae said.  “Midnight dinners in your rooms, rearranged schedules. . .there are many rumors in court, and for once most of them agree.”

Raeth barely kept his eyes flashing up toward D’Naa.  How did they know that? He wondered with amazement.  What else have they figured out?

“We need some sign, your majesty,” Fael, a Verdant Senator, said.  “Showing your good faith in this matter.”

Raeth ground his teeth in frustration.  He knew what they were getting at.  “I’ve narrowed the choices down,” he announced slowly, a comment that elicited several looks of satisfaction from the crowd.  “I’ll be ready in a few days.”

“With all due respect, my lord,” Fael said.  “That isn’t enough.  If you’ve narrowed down your choice, then tell us what options remain.  Do this, and we’ll be able to move on to other decisions.”

Raeth read the subtext.  Do this, and we’ll vote the way you wish on the retreat.  Raeth looked over the crowd.  There was firmness in the eyes of the senators--even his allies.  That firmness declared one thing.  He had no choice.  He would tell them what they wanted to hear, or he would receive no more lenience from them.

Twins curse you! Raeth thought with a sinking feeling.  Could he do it?

“It seems most likely that I will either choose Mahallen, Verdant, or Ferrous,” he announced.  The most politically important among his enemies.  The others would either support him because of Line affiliation, or were too insignificant to matter.

“And what of Kavir?”

Raeth winced slightly.  She isn’t ruled out, he wanted to say.  The stern faces before him, however, quelled such an announcement.  He knew what they were looking for--what the entire conversation had been about.  The faction he chose would gain too much power; they couldn’t afford to let the prize go to Kavir.  Unless he promised not to choose D’Naa, he would lose his Senatorial backing.  The idea that he might choose insignificant Kavir over another faction wounded their collective pride.

Despite himself, Raeth found himself looking up at the third tier.  There was. . .worry in her eyes.  Expectation.

Duty, Raeth thought.  It always comes down to duty.  It could never have worked anyway.  Not now, not in the position I hold, not with the pressures the others have placed upon me.  Better to let her know the truth now than to delude her.  In the end, when I renounced the Throne, she would just end up hurt anyway.

“Kavir?” he asked, hardening his voice, looking down at the Senate.  “Surely you jest, Senators.  No Imperial son has ever married a bride from Kavir.  What advantage would that bring me?  In many ways I may be considered a fool, but even I am not that much an idiot.  Kavir is ruled out.”  Hern would have been harsher, but he couldn’t bring himself to insult D’Naa directly.

It’s all political.  Please understand that.  When next he looked up, her seat was empty.  Raeth sighed, then continued to deliver the speech he had come to give.  The vote was an easy one--it proceeded drastically in his favor.  They even went so far as to invest him with direct power to call for the evacuation, whenever he deemed necessary.

“You give and you take, my lord,” Tarrinon whispered beside him.  “That is politics.”

Raeth looked up absently as the voting finished and the Senate moved on to further matters, a motion to force Khur to deliver reinforcement troops to the conflict.  It was a meaningless vote--the Khur Senators had locked themselves in their embassy, and refused to make any official statements.  Should the Imperium survive the Forgotten advance, it would be forced to deal harshly with the Khur for such behavior.

I could always submit and chose their bride as my wife, Raeth thought.  Of course, doing so risked alienating more powerful factions.  He needed the Mahallens and the Verdant Bonds far more than he needed Khur.  He needed them far more than he needed his own happiness.  Duty.  What a wicked thing you are.  Because of you men chose lives of misery over joy and call it the right way of things.

“I seem to give far more than I take, Tarrinon,” Raeth said, looking up as the voting proceeded.

“That is the true sign of a good ruler, my lord,” Tarrinon said.

Raeth nodded, sighing and standing.  The other votes could proceed without him.  He wanted a little bit of time to himself before he returned to the battlefield.  Tarrinon followed obediently, joining Raeth as they walked out of the building and around the ramp leaning to his waiting Corpate walker.

“My lord?” a quiet voice asked.

Raeth paused, turning.

A quiet shadow broke off from the building’s exit.  Raeth frowned slightly, noting Nahan’s harried face.  She looked like she had spent days without sleep, and her once luxurious black hair was frazzled and barely combed.

“Nahan?” Raeth said, taking a questioning step toward the tall, tan-skinned woman.

“I’m sorry, Lord Hern,” she said in a quiet voice.  “This is all my fault--your troubles with the Senate, your difficulty making a choice.  All my fault.”

Raeth smiled wryly, shaking his head.  “Not all your fault, Nahan.  Somehow, I think politics would have continued even without your intervention.”

Nahan sighed, looking down at her feet.  “I shouldn’t have lied, my lord,” she mumbled.  “From childhood, from the beginning of our Han Kallhar, girls are taught to seek a worthy husband.  But we are told never to lie.  We must never lie.  My foolishness has drawn your attention from the war.  And, it will cost me.”

Raeth reached out to place his hand on her shoulder.  “Don’t be so pessimistic,” he said.  “The truth be told, if it’s between you, Alean, and Tae, I would certainly prefer you, Nahan.”

She brightened slightly.  Then she bowed and backed from him, returning to the inside of the building.

“That was very odd, Tarrinon,” Raeth said, watching her go.  “She was so confident before.”

“Lady Nahan has been through a lot these past few weeks,” Tarrinon said, frowning.  “Though I should be impartial, my lord, I must be honest in saying I’ve never cared much for the Mahallen system of matrimony.  It seems terribly harsh on those involved, especially the ones who choose poorly.”

Raeth nodded slowly.  Of course, our system of matrimony hasn’t served me very well, either, he noted to himself.  Perhaps if he went to D’Naa and explained. . .but, no.  He’d just announced that he had no intention of marrying her.  What would the Senate think of his duplicity if he immediately went to visit her afterward.

It really is best this way, he told himself firmly.  I could never have chosen her anyway.

“I believe he is coming for you, my lord,” Tarrinon noted, drawing his attention away from self-pity.

Raeth looked up as a messenger dashed up the steps, moving in his direction.  Raeth stepped forward, growing worried.  “What is it?” he asked as the man approached.  “News from the battlefield.”

“No, my lord,” the man puffed.  “We’ve finally located your brother.”

#

Raeth had never been in a bar before.  They were exactly the sort of place that High Aedin were duty-bound to avoid.  Dark and musty, the place’s furniture was stained by numerous washings of Ale froth.  Raeth had to struggle to keep himself from choking on the scents of alcohol, unwashed bodies, and general decrepitude as he followed the messenger down into the broken-down tavern’s confines.

As Raeth’s eyes adjusted, he could make out the a vaguely man-shaped form slumped in a booth on the far side of the room--a form so large it could only belong to Darro.

“I tried to make him come with me, my lord,” the Shorriken messenger explained.  “But. . .well, he didn’t want to go.  He threatened me with bodily harm should I try to remove him.”

Raeth patted the man on the shoulder.  “Let me talk to him,” he said.  He left Tarrinon and the messenger behind--both of them looking incredibly out of place in their fine bureaucratic robes--and scooted past stools and tables toward Darro’s booth.

Darro had removed his cloak, but he would have had to in order to remain undetected for so long.  Raeth’s own cloak was drawing a considerable amount of attention, prompting whispers from the tavern’s dark occupants.  Hopefully, it would be too dark for any of them to read his cloak-clasp or recognize his face.  He shuttered to think how they would react if they knew he was the Emperor.

Darro didn’t look up as Raeth reached the table.  Raeth seated himself on the booth bench, trying not to think about the stains he was getting on his clothing.

“You’ve been gone for several days,” Raeth said, trying to sound comfortable.  “I guess we had no reason to be worried.”

Darro just sighed unresponsively.

“I’m surprised it took us so long to find you,” Raeth continued.  “You certainly do know the spots, don’t you?”

“I told her, didn’t I?” Darro grunted, his voice slurred from intoxication.

Raeth paused.  He could barely make out Darro’s unshaven, disheveled face in the gloom.  “I’d hoped you wouldn’t remember,” he said quietly.

“They always said I was a disgrace,” Darro mumbled.  “I never believed them.  ‘I’m just having a little fun’ I told myself.  ‘No harm in that.’  They were right all along.  I’m not just a disgrace, I’m a traitor.”

“Darro. . . .”

Darro thumped his fist against the table, causing his empty mug to topple on its side.  “I only had one secret to keep, one important task in my life, and I couldn’t do it.”

“Darro, you didn’t know what you were doing,” Raeth said.  “It isn’t your fault.”

“Raeth, how can you of all people say that?” Darro said, his voice gritty and harsh.  “You are the one who taught me about duty, not our tutors.  It wasn’t my fault that I let her into my rooms, even though I knew I shouldn’t?  Isn’t my fault that I let myself get drunk?  Twins, I even recognized that the her wine was stronger than it had any right to be, but I didn’t care.”

Darro sighed.  “I don’t even remember when she stopped asking about the war and started asking about you.  I just remember waking the next morning and knowing I’d done something horribly, horribly wrong.  But, not remembering doesn’t make it not my fault, Raeth.  I should have known.  Everyone told me.  I should have listened.  You’d be better off without me.”

“Darro,” Raeth snapped.  “Don’t say things like that.”

“Why not?” Darro grumbled.  “Truth is truth, Raeth.”

“Darro,” Raeth said, leaning forward.  “Please.  You’re all I have left.  Father, mother. . .even Hern, they’re all gone.  I had friends in the Irae, but they don’t know me any more.  You’re the only one who knows me for who I am.  Don’t leave me alone.”

Darro sat quietly for a moment, then he snorted.  “You sound like me.”

Raeth paused, frowning in confusion.

“Five years ago,” Darro mumbled.  “When you left for the Irae.  I begged you not to go.  But you left without even a whimper.  I think father expected you to object; I know Hern thought you would.  But, you just went.”

“Duty,” Raeth whispered.

“Duty,” Darro agreed.  “Slaughter and Despair take it.  Why do we have to be the ones to take care of an entire nation?”

“Because. . . .” Raeth paused.  He’d been about to say it was their Place, but there was more to it than that.  “Because they need us, Darro.”

Darro sighed.  “I suppose it wouldn’t matter if we were just farmers.  I’d still have betrayed you.”

I betrayed someone today too, Raeth thought, laying a hand on Darro’s arm.  I know how you feel.  “We’ll deal with it,” he said out-loud.  “I don’t think the problem is as big as you might think.  Alean claims she’ll tell if I don’t choose her, but I doubt she’d risk endangering the Imperium.”  I hope.  “And, truth be told, I’ll probably end up picking her anyway.”

Darro looked up, a glint of confusion showing in his reddened eyes.  “But, what about. . . .”

Raeth shook his head.  “She’s not an option.  I have to do what is best for the Imperium.  Duty, remember?”

“Unfortunately,” Darro grumbled.

“Let’s go,” Raeth said, standing.  “We still have a war to win.”

Darro nodded, moving his bulk with some effort and standing woosily to his feet.  He took one step, then collapsed unconscious, the power of his impact rattling tables and tipping over chairs.

Raeth sighed, waving toward the messenger.  “Send for some men.  Let’s get him back to the palace.”

#

It took a good number of men and a small Corpate walker to move Darro.  Raeth leaned against the side of a building outside the tavern, frowning quietly to himself.  Everything was falling apart--they were losing the war despite his best efforts, he’d betrayed D’Naa, and the Senate factions were already beginning to scavenge for power like carrion before a corpse.  And now Darro, on top of it all.

Only one thing matters, Raeth thought.  Stopping the Forgotten.  At least he had a firm purpose.

I’m confused.  The voice popped into his head, just as before.

You aren’t the only one, Raeth noted, secretly glad for the diversion from his doomful thoughts.

I’m confused, the Aether explained.  Am I one of them or not?

I don’t know, Raeth thought.  I used to think so, but I don’t know anymore.  Maybe you’re just an Aether; a very smart one.

I don’t know.  I think the woman’s words might be right.  I. . . feel something.

Feel? Raeth asked.  Feel what?

Anger, the Aether said.  Rage.  I don’t remember why--I can’t think of anything before I was with you.  I only feel this one thing.  I want revenge.

Against us? Raeth asked, feeling chilled.

No, the Aether said.  Not you.  Something bigger than you.  Something I hate.

What?

I don’t know, the Aether said, its tone laced with frustration.  I can’t remember!  Perhaps the girl can figure out what it is.  She seems to know a lot--we should ask her.

Raeth snorted.  I wish we could.  But, I don’t think we’ll be seeing much of her anymore.

Why not? The Aether asked.  We could talk to her.  She’s right behind you.

Raeth laughed.  What? He asked.  Then the vines hit him.

He didn’t even get out a yelp before the vines muffled his face, pulling him into the alley behind.  He got one last glimpse of the soldiers, all focused on towing Darro up onto the Corpate, before he was yanked around the corner.

More vines grew around him, constricting his hands and arms.  At first, Raeth was too stunned to do anything but blink in surprise.  Then, however, he reacted.  The full might of his Night-powered Aether burst from his hand, pressing against the curling vines.  He heard a hiss of pain behind him, a hiss that was matched by an equally sharp pain shooting through his arm.  He pushed on, however, forcing the two opposing Aethers against each other, making the pain build as they dissolved one another.

D’Naa’s Aether surged, pushing back against him, and the agony jumped to a new level.  Raeth tried to scream, but the vine cut off his air.  In fact, it was constricting around his neck, making his breaths come short.

No you don’t! he thought.  I’ll make you give up first!  He pushed harder, and the blinding pain almost made him pass out.  He had freed half of his body--if he could just inch the Amberite up a little further.

Then, he saw her face, a shifting in the vines spinning him slightly.  Her dark eyes were puffy and red from tears, but they were resolute.  At that moment he knew.  He couldn’t stand against those eyes.  In the end, their Aethers were evenly matched, but her desire was stronger.  His pain was only physical.

The vines pulled tight, and Raeth fell unconscious.

#

“How could I let you get to me?” D’Naa whispered harshly, barely keeping back the tears as she fished out her diamond-tipped chisel and hammer.  “I knew what you were all along.  And still I let you get to me.”

The problem was, she knew.  She knew that the High Aedin weren’t what she had once assumed, she knew that Hern really was a caring man.  If she’d been able to convince herself otherwise, the pain wouldn’t have been so acute.  It was so much worse to be betrayed by someone you empathized with, someone you suspected was a good man.

She placed the tip of the chisel in the middle of his palm, like her grandfather had instructed.  “Why couldn’t you have been the hateful man everyone said you were?” she accused.  “Then everything would have been so much easier.”

She snapped the hammer down, and the Aether split directly down the center.  She put the chisel down the center of the split, and, gritting her teeth, pried one half free from Hern’s palm.  The hand immediately began bleeding, and D’Naa began to cry again.  Sniffling, she pulled out two handkerchiefs.  She wrapped the first around Hern’s hand, pulling it tight to stop the blood.  Theoretically, his Aether would grow back in a few months time.  Then she took the second cloth and wrapped it around the Aether Bud, careful not to let it touch her skin.  She didn’t want to Bond it by accident.

She stood, tucking the Bud into her sash.  Hern lay wrapped in vines on the dirty cobblestones.  Oh, my Emperor, D’Naa thought, involuntarily bending over and letting her hand grab hold of his.  Then, strengthening her resolve, she wiped her tears and turned her back on him.  Her grandparents waited at one of the Iraes--they had already paid for a Sending to Elekar.  King Ala’D would have his Aether Bud before an hour passed.

#

“My lord!  My lord, are you all right?”

The dark fuzz slowly retreated from Raeth’s vision, bringing the alley sides and docile sky into view.  Several of his guards knelt beside him on the hard cobbles, shaking him with urgent faces.

Raeth blinked, groaning.  His hand hurt more painfully than any wound he had taken fighting the Forgotten.  He knew what he would see when he held it up before him.  Half of his Aether, gone.  He was surprised to find the bandage.  Had D’Naa done that, or had the guards seen to him?

Well, you have what you came fore, D’Naa, he thought with resignation, sitting.  He couldn’t find it within himself to be angry at her--he knew he deserved her wrath.  Besides, the loss of the Aether wouldn’t really hinder him.  For a time, his Amberite would be weaker than normal, but when one had so little to begin with, additional weakness was rather insignificant.  His other Aether, Night, was doing all the work lately anyway.

He waved aside the guards, pushing himself to his feet.  How would she react when she found out that his Bud was incredibly weak?  Would her people know enough to realize he wasn’t who he said?  Hopefully, they would just assume the person they chose to Bond the Aether formed an inadequate Bond, as Raeth once had.

“We’ve sent out patrols, my lord,” one of the guards promised.  “We’ll catch him this time.”  There was an angry look in his eyes.  Faen was Amberite, as were all of Raeth’s personal guards.  Though they continued to pay lip service to Raeth’s claims that a ‘rogue Verdant’ was trying to kill him, Faen obviously had his own suspicions.

Raeth looked back into the alley.  D’Naa would pay for a Sending as soon as possible.  He could probably catch her before she left--and, even if he didn’t, he knew where she was going.

“No,” Raeth said.  “Don’t bother.  We don’t have to worry about him any more.”

The guard frowned.

Raeth held up his hand.  “They had me unconscious and didn’t kill me,” he explained.  “They just split my Aether, probably in an attempt weaken me and undermine faith in my rule.”

The guard cursed under his breath.  Raeth’s explanation was a poor one, but it did lend credence to the ‘assassin’ being sent by Laene.

“Cursed Verdant will see the entire Imperium fall,” another man swore.

“Speak of this to no one,” Raeth said, still staring after D’Naa.  “Otherwise, their attack will have the desired effect.”

“My lord,” Faen said, “but your hand.”

Raeth formed a fist, ignoring the pain, and focused Night through his remaining Amberite.  The crystals grew as quickly, and as powerfully, as they always did, growing around his fist and coating his chest.  “I think they will find me more powerful than assumed,” he replied simply.  “Come on, let’s get my brother back to the palace.  We still have a war to win.”

He turned to go, joining the men as they walked toward the Corpate walker, Darro slumbering at its top.  He paused, however, turning back to the empty alleyway.

Run, D’Naa.  Go to Kavir, where it is still safe.  For a little while, at least.  If I fail here in the next few days, let us hope that the creatures really are satisfied with just Bestarin and Amberite.

Chapter Twenty-One

The bowmen raised their weapons in unison, bright flames smoking at their tips.  Raeth couldn’t hear the order to fire, but the volley was released into the cold air.  The arrows flew true despite the wind, slamming into the Forgotten line.  The flames extinguished as soon as they touched the dark skin, lodging into the creatures’ strange flesh.  The Forgotten marched forward, heedless of their wounds, advancing on the increasingly-ragged Imperium line.

Raeth cursed quietly.

“What were you expecting?” Darro asked, standing atop the Corpate next to Raeth.  Recent Forgotten advances had brought them nearly to the edge of the Bells, and vantage points to watch the battle were few, requiring improvisation.

“I don’t know,” Raeth admitted, gripping the Corpate’s railing.  The wind was strong, but surprisingly warm.  Winter was at an end, the snows beginning to retreat, as the warm southern air blew across the Aedinor plains.

Raeth shook his head, watching the Forgotten crash into the human lines.  “I’m just trying anything, Darro.  We didn’t know what effect fire would have on them, so it was worth a try.”

Darro didn’t say anything.  The man had grown harder over the last few weeks--but, of course, they all had.  Raeth could see in his eyes, however, that Darro had yet to give himself forgiveness for his betrayal.

Raeth turned back to the battlefield.  Fire didn’t have any effect.  He had suspected as much, but his words to Darro had been truthful.  He was willing to try anything--he was running out of options.  During the last week he had tried every idea that came to his mind, from clever battlefield layouts, to traps and holes dug in the ground, to throwing silver dust at the creatures--a method some legends claimed would ward away Forgotten spirits.

Nothing had worked.  Most things, such as the silver or fire, simply had no effect on the creatures.  Other ideas produced reactions from the Forgotten, but never the ones Raeth had hoped to see.  He had pulled out some aging chariots from times past in the hopes that they would be effective at dividing Forgotten forces, but the creatures appeared to be able to run as fast as any horse when they wanted--though Raeth was baffled why they didn’t make use of such speed at other times.

Every strategy he employed was efficiently countered; though he no longer blamed himself for the Forgotten’s foresight.  Apparently, they could anticipate plans crafted by the Counsel without Raeth’s input--he had tested that theory just to make certain.

The Imperium was in serious trouble.  They had cut the Forgotten numbers by nearly a third, but their own forces were dwindling just as quickly.  Reserves were exhausted, every Aedin who had ever lifted Amberite or Verdant in battle had been recruited, and troops had been sucked from every available source in the kingdoms.

Though, if he was truthful to himself, Raeth knew that the other kingdoms--Khur and En Mahall--were holding back, but he couldn’t blame them.  They, like everyone else, saw Vae Annitor as a lost cause.  If they didn’t hold something back, they wouldn’t have any troops to defend their homelands.

They don’t see, Raeth thought with a shake of his head.  If Aedinor falls, then the Imperium falls.  Once that happens, we’re divided.  If we don’t fall to the Forgotten, then we’ll eventually be destroyed by the Harrmen or Seaborn raiders.  Any number of foes have been waiting for centuries, drooling over the Imperium’s wealth.  They’ll come.  If we fail, the rest of you won’t be any better off than Aedinor.

This was it.  If they didn’t hold the Forgotten before Vae Annitor, then they never would.  Unfortunately, the outcome was looking more and more inevitable.

Raeth stood in the face of the blowing wind, his eyes hard, but his heart wavering.  He had promised Gaedin and the Senate that he could hold the Forgotten, but so far he’d been woefully unsuccessful.  True, the Imperium had retreated more slowly during the last week, but it was still retreating.  In a day or two the army would break, and after that there would be no regrouping.  The Imperium would fall.

He turned to the south, looking across the serenity of melting snow and unploughed fields.  They were close--within a day’s march of Vae Annitor.  Villages dotted the plains, all sustained by the powerful city and its Aethers.  Looking across the land he could almost forget the sounds coming from his right, the sounds of men fighting and dying.

“Send me,” he requested.  A second later, the pain began, lacing through his body as he dissolved into light, but he was growing accustomed to it.  All Sendings were short, but this one extremely so, and a second later he materialized in the Counsel room.  Warmth hit him immediately, but it was an almost unwelcome comfort.  The wind kept him alert.

Raeth shrugged off the nausea and the pain, forcing himself to step off the platform and approach the map table.  Gaedin and the generals stood watching the updates, and their frowns were enough to bespeak their concern.  Several looked up, meeting Raeth’s eyes.

“I know,” Raeth said quietly, placing his hands flat on the table, staring down at the mapkeepers’ pieces.  There has to be a way! He thought with frustration, pouring over the shifting pieces, ignoring the quietly-spoken commands of generals given to messengers.  His eyes burned with fatigue, however, and his body agreed.

The last week had been difficult on him--with D’Naa gone and Darro feeling solemn, Raeth had been left with little diversion except the map.  He replayed every battle with the Forgotten, watching for signs of weakness or insight into his foes.  Three times he thought he’d discovered vital weaknesses in the Forgotten strategy, and three times they had altered their ways before he could monopolize on the weakness.

Raeth watched the battle progress quietly, letting the generals do their jobs.  Occasionally, he would see something they did not and make a change in the orders, but mostly he deferred to their wisdom.  The men fought well--valiantly even.  The groups of Amberite Bonds mixed with either Verdant or regular soldiers worked like individuals, holding back the Forgotten.

But it wasn’t enough.  The Forgotten were much more careful now--they didn’t throw themselves at the Aethers like Raeth had hoped they would.  That was a good thing, in a way--the Forgotten hesitance was what had let the Imperium hold for so long.  However, the long-term effects were not good.  The creatures waited for signs of weakness or opportunity, then swarmed forward upon individual teams, overrunning the Verdant vines and taking down the Amberite Bonds.  Once that happened, the entire team fell easily.

That day’s battle progressed much as Raeth had foreseen.  Like always, they had engaged the creatures a couple of hours after mid-day.  Since the forgotten always stopped at night, that gave the Imperium forces an easy cut-off point at which to disengage, without worry of being followed.

The Imperium retreated slowly during the progress of the battle, forced back onto the plains.  At the end of the day, the Bells were officially lost, and the Forgotten army stepped onto the Annitor flats.  Raeth could see the men’s exhaustion and desperation manifest through the map by the way their lines moved.  They struggled weakly the entire day, like a thread pulled far too tightly.  Soon they would snap.  They wouldn’t last another day.

“All right, general,” Raeth said quietly, not looking up form the map.  “Tell the Senate that the Bells are lost.  Tomorrow, we’ll evacuate the city.”

“Yes, my lord,” Gaedin said.  There was no triumph in his voice, though he had been right all along.

I’ve failed them, Raeth thought, shaking his head.  Or, at least, I will have failed them.  He had given the order for evacuation to start the next day for a reason.  He still had one night, and he intended to spend it pouring over the maps one last time.  Perhaps he would see something that he hadn’t.  Perhaps he would find a way.

“Lord Hern?” a messenger asked, approaching.

Raeth looked up, blinking tired eyes.  “Yes?”

“A Captain Ydallen wishes to speak with you, my lord,” the messenger explained.

Raeth frowned.  He didn’t recognize the name.  “Who?” he asked.

“One of the scouts, my lord,” the messenger explained, his Shorriken hat drooping far to one side.  “He claims you gave him personal orders.  Something about capturing a Forgotten?”

Raeth paused, remembering his conversation weeks before, the day he had first gone to fight the Forgotten.  He’d completely forgotten about the request.

Shaking off his fatigue, he stepped up to the Sending platform and nodded for the Vo-Dari.

#

It looked as if the scouts had used a couple hundred feet of rope to tie their captive to the tree.  Raeth didn’t blame their caution--even the most stout-hearted of men regarded the Forgotten with a measure of disquietude.  The souls of the vilest of traitors, come to exact retribution--such weren’t the sort of enemies one took lightly.

The creature blended with the falling darkness, growing more difficult to make out as dusk passed into night.  Beside Raeth, one of the scouts lit a torch, but the light almost made the creature seem lest corporeal, the fire-thrown shadows shifting and blending with its skin.  Raeth was still baffled as to why the creatures always stopped at night--they didn’t seem any weaker.  One of the first tricks Raeth had tried was to judge their strength in a night battle.  Just like they had every other time, the creatures had responded quickly when approached at night, fighting back with their usual methods.

“The things are Twins-cursed hard to capture,” Ydallen said.  Raeth now recognized the tall Aedin man with his fur-lined cloak.  “They can bend and distort their bodies like no man could.  Bonds don’t hold them like they should.  And, if you do tie one up, you have to make certain it’s not wounded very badly.  Otherwise, the tightness will make all of their insides seep out.”

Raeth regarded the creature thoughtfully, trying not to show how uncomfortable it made him.  He fought them all day, but that was different than standing before one.  There wasn’t time for reflection or study during battle--only time for trying to stay alive.

The creature stared at him with caliginous eyes, not moving, obviously not breathing.  It looked just like a man, only built not from flesh--formed right from the darkness itself.  It had features, but they were difficult to make out, since the skin--or the Night--didn’t reflect light.

If you push on them tightly, their insides seep out of their wounds, Raeth thought.  That’s something, at least.  They’re like. . .dark wineskins, filled with smoke.

However, the knowledge wasn’t much help.  Pressing on them might make the smoke escape faster, but smashing them with an Amberite hammer was even more effective.

“You did well,” Raeth praised, taking a step closer to the creature.  It didn’t move or flinch.

“Thank you, my lord,” Ydallen replied.  Raeth saw hope in his eyes.  He had done as commanded, even if that command had been something of a whim.

“So,” Raeth said, “you captured this one unwounded?”

“He only took one cut,” Ydallen explained, stepping forward.  “On the shoulder.   Right. . . .” the man trailed off, looking closely at the creature.  “I can’t find it,” he confessed.

Raeth frowned.  “Hand me a knife,” he requested, holding out his hand.  A second later one of the guards placed a thin steel blade into his hand.  Raeth stepped forward and, trying to convince himself that he wasn’t been cruel, sliced the creature in the shoulder.

It didn’t wince--it didn’t even change positions.  The gash in its shoulder spurted a dark haze of mist-like smoke.  However, as Raeth watched, the hissing slowed, then disappeared.  The process took a great deal of time, the better part of fifteen minutes.

“That doesn’t happen on the battlefield,” Ydallen noted.  “He bore the other wound all day, and it didn’t heal until we took it captive.”

“That’s something, at least,” Raeth said thoughtfully.  “Do they heal because it’s nighttime, do you suppose?  Or just because the creature’s resting?”

Ydallen stood quietly for a moment, then started, as if realizing that Raeth was actually asking his opinion.  “Um, I don’t know, my lord.  Either one makes sense.  I’ve wondered why the Forgotten stop at night--at all other times, they seem almost invincible.  Could they actually need rest?”

“A good question,” Raeth said.  Well? He asked in his mind.  Do you have anything to add?

I know no more than you know, the voice replied.  Though, I don’t seem to need rest.

My other Aether gets tired if I make it work too hard, Raeth though, frowning slightly.  Don’t you?

Night, the Aether, gets tired.  But I do not.

But you are the Aether, Raeth argued.

The voice did not respond, ending their conversation with its usual bluntness.

Raeth sighed.  He looked down at the knife.  There was one thing he’d been wondering about the Forgotten, one thing he’d never been able to confirm.  He stepped forward and sliced the creature again on the shoulder.  This time he didn’t stop, however.  He cut it again and again, slicing up every bit of dark skin he could find until the hissing from the Forgotten’s wounds rang in the quiet night.

Raeth stepped back.  The men probably thought him a maniac, exacting revenge on their captive.  Raeth stood quietly, watching the wounds leak.  It might have been a trick of the shadows, but the creature’s body seemed to grow thinner in the torchlight.

The wineskin is running out, Raeth though.  “Captain Ydallen,” Raeth said.  “Free the creature.”

“My lord?” Ydallen asked.

“Free it,” Raeth requested again.

The captain nodded to one of his men, who shrugged and cut the bonds.  The hissing lessened slightly as the tension was released and the ropes dropped to the wet ground.

The Forgotten stumbled forward, then jumped straight for Raeth.  Raeth started, hopping back slightly.  However, before the creature made it halfway to Raeth, it stumbled and collapsed to the ground.

The scouts jumped, cursing, but then paused as the Forgotten fell.  The creature slowly pushed itself up onto its feet, wobbled slightly, then began to move toward Raeth again.  Several scouts jumped forward to grab it, an action they had little difficulty taking.  The Forgotten resisted their capture, but its motions were lethargic.

“It’s weaker?” Raeth asked.

“Much,” one of the soldiers said.  “Before, it three of us to hold it still.  Now it barely struggles.”

They fight during the day, then heal and attack refreshed in the morning.  No wonder there always seem to be so many of them.  We’ve been going about this all wrong.  It wasn’t a huge revelation, but it was an edge.  Anything would help.

“Thank you, Ydallen,” Raeth said, turning.  “Tie it up again, just in case we need more information.”

“Yes, Sir,” the soldier said, a bit confused.  He obviously didn’t understand what Raeth had figured out.

#

D’Naa gently folded her silky Aedinor dress, admiring its sheen and lace one final time.  Then she set it aside.  Its fabric was far too thin for the highlands.  Here, there were no Corpates to heat the rooms, and its trestles were too delicate for Kavir cities, where mud-packed earth or well-worn boards replaced shiny marble corridors.  She wore her woolen green dress, the one she had worn on her first day in Vae Annitor, so long ago.

So long ago, D’Naa thought wistfully.  Barely a month has passed.  Why does it feel like so much longer?  Her eyes turned involuntarily to the west, toward Aedinor’s plains.  That life isn’t for you, D’Naa.  It never was.  Her Aether squirmed slightly at the thought, matching the mood of her stomach, but she ignored them both.  Instead she finished her unpacking, stowing the clothing in chests instead of bureaus or closets.

Despite the room’s relative drabness, furnished by aged wooden furniture and a single rug, there was something special about it.  There were brocades or pillars, no mosaics or paintings, but it was home.  And home it would remain.

A knock came at her door.  “Yes?” D’Naa asked.

A serving girl entered, her head slightly bowed.  “The King’s back, my lady,” the girl--barely into her teens--said.  She made a fine contrast to the ruffled Shorriken pages and messengers of the Imperial palace.

“Thank you,” D’Naa said with a nod.  The King had been out visiting another town when D’Naa and her grandparents had arrived the day before.  As soon as he discovered their return, Ala’D had sent a message saying he’d come immediately.  However ‘Immediately’ still took time.  There were few Vo Dari in Kavir, and most people--her cousin included--preferred horses to Sendings.

D’Naa closed the chest and walked out into the hallway.  Ala’D’s ‘palace’ was a long, single-story wooden building that almost served more as an inn for important visitors than it did as the king’s dwelling.  Ala’D and his wife had a room only slightly larger than the rest, though he spent much of his time visiting neighboring villages.

D’Naa found the king and his entourage standing outside the front of the building.  She stepped out into the bitter cold, shivering and pulling her shawl closer.  Wind-bore flakes of snow spun in the dark night, illuminated only by the torch-bearing guards who stood in a quiet circle, unloading packhorses.

How long has it been since I saw a horse? D’Naa thought with amusement.  Vae Annitor’s streets were often too full to allow animals; besides, those with enough money or importance rode Corpates.

Ala’D turned as soon as D’Naa stepped out of the building, smiling broadly.  He was a handsome man, broad of chest after the fashion of the east.  He was young, barely two years D’Naa’s senior, but people had grown accustomed to the youth of their ruler years ago.  Ala’D had ascended to the throne when he was eight years old, after his parents had died in the same raid that had taken D’Naa’s own.

“D’Naa!” Ala’D said, stepping forward and clasping her on the shoulders, then pulling her into a hug.  She wrinkled her nose at the smell of his skins--in Vae Annitor, it had been common to bathe daily in the Corpate-heated palace bathing rooms.

Ala’D finally released her, still smiling broadly, flecks of snow sticking in his beard.

“Shadra and the twins?” D’Naa asked.

“Stayed in Dareen,” Ala’D explained.  It was odd to hear people speaking with a Kavir accent again.  She had grown accustomed to the smoother Aedinor dialect.  “I’ll be heading back there soon.  I just wanted to stop by here and check on things.  You. . .came back with the Bud?” he asked, his eyes intense.

D’Naa nodded.  “It’s inside, cousin,” she informed.

Ala’D’s smile broadened and several of his guards--who also served as Kavir’s ‘military’ leaders let out whoops of excitement.  Beside Ala’D the aging Kaaln, the man who had acted as regent until Ala’D formally took the throne on his fourteenth birthday, nodded.  “Amberite and Verdant,” he said quietly.  “That will give us the edge we need when the Imperium falls.”

Ala’D nodded.  “The barbarians are in for a surprise.” He agreed.  “They assume that when the Imperium is no more, we’ll be easy to pick apart.”

D’Naa stood quietly for a moment.  “Maybe the Imperium won’t fall,” she said.

Ala’D and Kaaln both turned toward her, eyebrows raised.  “You have news, cousin?” Ala’D asked with interest.  “Last I heard the creatures were within a few days march of the capitol.”

“They were,” D’Naa agreed.  “But, the Emperor might be able to stop them.”

Kaaln snorted.  “Hern?” he mumbled, scratching his gray-speckled beard.  “Not likely, from what I hear.”

“The Aedin have been cast down,” Ala’D agreed.  “It’s sad, actually.  I’ll curse them to my final days for not sending us the help we need, but at least the threat of their armies kept the Harrmen from completely overrunning us.  Still, it’s D’Lum’s will.  Aedin callousness and haughtiness has finally earned its fitting reward.”

D’Naa shivered in the cold, but she felt herself growing angry.  “And what if the creatures come after us next?  What if they’re not satisfied with Aedinor, what if they want Kavir too?  What will we do then?”

Ala’D and Kaaln turned toward each other, frowning slightly.  They had obviously considered such an option.

“Look,” D’Naa finally said, still shivering.  “Can we continue this discussion inside?  It’s so cold out here!”

Ala’D burst into laugher, clasping her on the shoulder.  “One month in the lowlands and you’ve already grown weak.  Why, it’s not even cold out tonight.  It’s practically summer!”

D’Naa grumbled her reply, pulling her shawl closer and retreating into the relative warmth of the entryway.  Ala’D and his men laughed at her retreat and continued their unloading.

I’ve haven’t gotten that mad at him in years, D’Naa thought, frowning to herself and controlling her temper.  It’s not my job to defend Hern or his countrymen.  Why do I care?  Especially after what he did to me.

However, the more she thought about it, the more she worried that her actions had been a little rash.  It wasn’t as if Hern had promised to choose her--he’d simply eaten dinner with her a couple of times.  Nothing more had even been intimated.  Rationally, she should have known he’d never be able to choose her.  Weren’t Kavir supposed to be practical in temperament?

She had been there in the Senate building, she’d seen the corner the Senators had backed Hern into.  He’d had to denounce her, hadn’t he?  Political support, and the future of the Imperium, was far more important than a silly girl from Kavir.

It was just too much.  Hadn’t she seen Nahan nude in his arms?  Hadn’t she heard him deride her as being no more attractive than a peasant boy?  Hadn’t she listened to him tell the entire Senate that there was no way he would even consider her as a bride?

Why, then, couldn’t she stop feeling that she’d betrayed him somehow?

“Come, cousin,” Ala’D said, “I want to see this Bud we’ve all been anticipating for so long.”  The king stepped into the entryway, shaking the snow off his cloak.  Kaaln and two of the king’s guards followed, the others moving to carry luggage or lead away the horses.

D’Naa nodded, following the four men as they clomped down the hallway, moving toward Ala’D’s conference room.  The royal house-steward, who watched the palace during Ala’D’s many absences, met them on the way.  It was odd--D’Naa kept expecting him to be Shorriken, even though he was far too tall and broad-chested.

Inside the room, Flent, the steward, removed a key and unlocked a small chest on the broad table.  The men all watched eagerly as the lid fell open, revealing the small gem-like Amberite Bud inside.

Ala’D exhaled softly.  “I debated for a long time who to send to do this task, D’Naa.  It seems I choose correctly.”

“You could have told me what you wanted me to do in the first place,” D’Naa said testily.

Ala’D shook his head.  “I left that decision to Hlin and Shaad.  Where are they, anyway?”

“Sleeping,” D’Naa said.  “And you’re not to wake them.  These last few weeks have been very stressful for them.”

Ala’D smiled slightly, turning eyes back on the Amberite.  “No, cousin, I couldn’t tell you.  Not when there was a chance that the Emperor might actually choose you.  If that happened, then we wouldn’t have had to resort to such. . .dangerous methods.”

“We’re traitors now,” Kaaln said quietly.  “Even if our betrayal isn’t known, we’ve committed the act.  We’ve assaulted the Emperor himself and stolen his power.  We didn’t want to commit to stealing the Amberite if there was even a slight chance we’d be able to get help another way.”

“We knew the Emperor wouldn’t choose a Kavir bride,” Ala’D said.  “But, we were willing to give him the option.  A kind of ‘last chance.’”

“A dangerous one,” D’Naa said curtly.  “What if he’d chosen me?  What about my Aether.”

“You’ve always been one Kavir’s most competent resources, cousin,” Ala’D said.  “You would have found a way to keep it hidden.”

You have too much confidence in me, cousin, D’Naa thought with a turn of her stomach.  I didn’t end up marrying him, but I still let him know our secret.

“He didn’t make his choice, you know,” she said out loud.  “There’s still a chance he would have picked me.”

Kaaln snorted.  “Not when Hern is the one doing the choosing.  Vaetayn we could respect, almost trust.  Not his son.  I visited the northern border several times during the last five years.  I know what kind of man he is.”

“I’m sorry you had to deal with that man, cousin,” Ala’D said truthfully.  “I hear he’s barely as civil as cow and twice as dumb.”

“That’s our Emperor,” D’Naa snapped.  “Speak of him with respect.”

Ala’D blinked in surprise.  “I’m. . .sorry,” he said, slightly confused.

“Not our Emperor for long,” one of the guards mumbled from the other side of the table.  Ala’D, however, shot him a firm look, and the man quieted.

“Anyway,” the king said, “we might as well do something with this Bud.  The longer we wait, the weaker it will Bond.”

“It came from Hern,” Kaaln said.  “We probably have little to worry about.  He’s supposed to be as powerful as he is arrogant.”

Ala’D nodded, then turned to the guard who had spoken earlier.  “So, Brign, it will be you then?”

“Yes, my lord.  I am ready.”  The warrior pulled off his glove and held out a callused palm.

“It’s supposed to be painful to Bond an Aether as an adult,” Kaaln warned.  “Or, at least, so we hear.  Our sources aren’t exactly the most reliable.”

“I understand,” Brign said.  He had a hard, square face and a large body, not unlike the Emperor’s brother.

Kaaln reached in with a pair of tongs, picking up the shard of rosy Amberite.  Brign steeled himself for the pain, then nodded.

Kaaln dropped the Amberite onto his palm.  Brign flinched slightly, then paused, then frowned.

“What?” Ala’D said.

“I don’t know,” Brign said.  “I don’t feel a thing.”  He turned his meaty hand, and the piece of Amberite rolled off onto the tabletop.

Ala’D frowned deeply.  “That’s not supposed to happen, is it?  Shouldn’t it. . .stick to the hand or something?”

“I don’t know, my lord,” Kaaln admitted, scratching his beard.  “The Verdant we’ve Bonded always reacted somehow to human flesh--it stuck even during the weakest of Bonds, though the process wasn’t completed for an hour or so.”

Brign shrugged and picked up the Amberite, placing it in his palm again.  Nothing happened.

Two hours later, they had made little headway.  D’Naa was growing drowsy, and the other men irritated.  They had passed it amongst all four of them, and nothing had happened.  Finally, Brign had taken it and put it in his palm, determined to wait until the Bond occurred.

“Do you feel anything?” Ala’D asked hopefully.

Brign shook his head.

“The Bud is no good,” Kaaln said with a sigh.  “It’s dead.”

All eyes turned toward D’Naa.  “I did everything you told me to,” she defended.  “I don’t know why it isn’t working.”

Ala’D shook his head sighing.  “And so our great schemings end in quiet disappointment.”

“This isn’t supposed to happen,” Kaaln said, not for the first time.  “It came from one of the most powerful Amberite Bonds in Aedin history.  You’re certain you took it from the Emperor?”

“Of course I am,” D’Naa replied.  “You can go check his hand if you want.”

Ala’D shook his head, pushing back his chair.  “No, we believe you.  We weren’t meant to have this Aether, it appears.  D’Lum has made it clear.  Brign, Lin, thank you for your help.  Let us turn in for the night.  Tomorrow we return to Dareen to continue preparations for the Imperium’s collapse.  There isn’t much time left.”

They stood, leaving the traitorous Amberite Bud on the table.  D’Naa sat quietly for a moment, staring at the crystal shard.

And so I betrayed you for nothing, she thought.  I didn’t even end up helping my people.

She stood, bidding good night to her cousin and walking to her room.  There, despite the cold, she found herself pushing open the shutters and staring out into the darkness.  Looking west, again, as if looking in his direction would somehow reconnect her with Hern.

Chapter Twenty-Two

“The evacuation will still happen,” Raeth explained to the collection of drowsy generals.  “However, we won’t start it until later than originally planned.  Have the people ready on the Sending platforms for when the Vo Dari arrive.”

“But,” Gaedin said, frowning, “where will the Vo Dari be?”

Raeth paused.  “I’ll be using them,” Raeth said.

“You don’t intend to tell us,” Gaedin said flatly.  The comment provoked frowns of displeasure from around the room.  The generals were not in a good mood; not only had Raeth awakened them hours before sunrise, he also refused to explain his strategy.

“Generals, I don’t have much choice,” Raeth said, speaking frankly.  He stood at the head of the conference table behind the closed doors of the Counsel Building.  He and the dozen men of the War Counsel were the only ones present, but Raeth feared that even those numbers would be too much.  “We know that the creatures anticipate our strategies somehow.  I can’t risk the chance that there is some leak amongst our numbers.”

“That is preposterous,” Gaedin scoffed.  “You think one of us might be a traitor?”

“No,” Raeth said carefully, “but what if the creatures have some means of listening in upon our conversations.”

“You’re implying that the Forgotten employ spies?” Alaethis asked with a frown, his proud High Aedin face betraying an unusual amount of emotion.  Perhaps it was the early hour.

“I imply nothing except that I want my plan to remain where it is,” Raeth said.  “In my head.  I don’t know how the creatures would react to knowing what I intend to do--I don’t know if they could react--but I think it’s better not to give them the opportunity.”

His words were met with barely-concealed scowls.  None of them challenged him directly, however.  Ever since Gaedin had promised the Counsel’s support, its members had been doggedly loyal to Raeth’s will.  They didn’t like being led in the dark, but they would follow nonetheless.

“All right,” Raeth said with a nod.  “The evacuation should begin about three hours past noon.  By then I’ll be done with the Vo Dari, and our forces will be engaged.  Even in the worst case, the creatures shouldn’t be able to reach Vae Annitor until nightfall.

“You’re going to wait that long to engage?” Gaedin asked.  “They’ll practically be through our gates by then.”

“I know,” Raeth said.

The generals regarded each other with concern.  When no further information was forthcoming, they quietly rose from their seats to follow Raeth’s commands.  Several would organize the army, pulling it back and arranging it for conflict a short distance outside Vae Annitor’s walls.  It felt odd to be abandoning the city’s fortifications--mostly-ceremonial though they were.  However, the Forgotten jumping ability had long ago shown that walls afforded little protection.

He’d put three generals in charge of mobilizing the people for evacuation.  They resented the placement--it wasn’t very martial in nature.  However, their war experience had prepared them for moving large masses of people, and Raeth suspected their presence would help calm the city’s remaining occupants.  Besides, there wouldn’t be much for them to do on the battlefield until the engagement actually occurred.

It will work, Raeth told himself.  It’s desperate, but it will work.  And, even if it doesn’t, the people will still be able to get out of the city in time.  We have nearly a thousand Vo Dari--they can Send the remaining population of Vae Annitor in a couple of hours.

General Gaedin and two others would come with Raeth, to begin actuating the first part of his plan.  It was time to make use of a group of soldiers whose potential had been sorely underused during the entire campaign.

#

“Archers?” Gaedin asked.

“Yes,” Raeth said, inspecting the group of bowmen in the growing light.  Dawn would arrive soon, and with it the awakening of the Forgotten.  There were barely five hundred archers present--their units had been dissolved weeks before and used to fill increasingly large deficiencies in regular foot units, and the fighting had taken its toll on them like it had every other group of men.

They’ll have to do, Raeth though.  They’re all we have.

“My lord. . . .” Gaedin said slowly, following Raeth as he inspected the lines.  The men looked as tired as Raeth felt, but they were obviously happy to have their bows back.

“Yes, general,” Raeth said.

“We tried archers before, my lord,” Gaedin explained.  “Arrows have no effect on the creatures.  In fact, the Forgotten just ignore them.”

“That is what I’m counting on,” Raeth said, turning to the group of Vo-Dari standing a short distance away.  What would we do without you? Raeth wondered, staring at the white-robed men.  Without the Vo-Dari, there could have been no constant retreat, no careful planning of attacks--especially not in the winter.  There could be no meticulous War Counsel, directing troop movements from afar.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Raeth said loudly, speaking so that the leaders of both archers and Vo-Dari could hear him.  “As soon as it’s light, I want the Vo-Dari to Send the archers to a position several hundred feet in front of the Forgotten.  Begin firing as soon as the creatures are in range.”

Vo-Dari and archers alike nodded in understanding.

“As soon as all of the archers are Sent,” Raeth said, “I want the Vo-Dari to Send themselves to the same position--one Vo-Dari per archer.  When the creatures get to close, Send the archers back another hundred feet, then hop over to join them.”

A few of the archer captains frowned slightly.  “And, how long are we to continue this, my lord?” one asked.

“Until you can’t retreat any further,” Raeth said firmly.

Raised eyebrows.  “But, my lord,” the captain said.  “That will take hours.”

“I know,” Raeth said.  “I want so many arrows to fall on those Forgotten that they look like pricklebushes by the time they reach Vae Annitor.”

“We’ll run out of arrows, my lord,” another archer noted.

“No you won’t,” Raeth said.  “We haven’t used archers this entire campaign--we have an enormous store.  Beyond that, I’ve had the fletchers working all night.  If that still isn’t enough, I’ve gathered a group of several hundred men with wounded arms or hands.  They, along with the rest of the Vo-Dari, are going to follow behind the creatures and gather up all of the spent shafts so you can reuse them.”

Archers and Vo-Dari alike regarded each other with trepidation.  Going through that many Sendings would be difficult on the stomach and the mind, not to mention the continued firing of the bows.

“I thought you were tired of being treated like regular footsoldiers,” Raeth guessed, speaking to the archers.  “I thought you resented the fact that your talents were going to waste while your empire collapsed.”

The archer captain nodded in agreement.  “That much is true, my lord.  We’re archers, not swordsmen.  Seems all we’ve been doing this entire war is act as sheaths for Forgotten blades.”

Raeth nodded.  “Then here’s your chance to do something.  This is our last chance, men, the last hour.  If we don’t stop the creatures now, the capital will fall.  I don’t intend to let that happen.”

Raeth saw a hint of something in their eyes.  Surprise.  They assume Vae Annitor is lost.  Well, I won’t let them give up.  Not yet.  Not until Forgotten feet walk the streets of the capitol.

“Yes, sir!” the captains said, saluting.

“Get to it, then,” Raeth said.  “It’s almost dawn.”

The archers moved, the Vo-Dari following behind less enthusiastically.  Gaedin stood at Raeth’s side, frowning as usual.

“I don’t see what this will accomplish,” the general said simply.  “I don’t care how many arrows you poke them with, the creatures aren’t susceptible to such minor wounds.  You have to cut them with a gash as long as a man’s forearm to drop them.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Raeth said, turning eyes north.  Snow still clung in isolated clumps across the plains, despite the growing warmth.  “I don’t want to drop them, general, just weaken them.”

“I don’t understand,” Gaedin said.

“We’ve been playing to the creatures’ strengths, general,” Raeth explained.  “Even though we didn’t know it. We plan our battles carefully, picking strategic locations.  However, despite everything, we’ve been treating the creatures like we would human opponents.  We always attack later in the day--standard strategy against human foes, who would be tired from their extended march.  We favor shorter conflicts, because two short battles will usually slow them down for less casualties than one extended one.  We fight, we retreat.  We fight, we retreat.  We fight, we retreat. It’s standard attrition tactics--we’ve been trying to wear them down.

“The thing is, general.  They don’t wear down.  They heal completely at night, and they don’t get tired from marching.  Even after all this time, we act like we’re fighting normal men.”

“But, aren’t we doing the very same thing today?” Gaedin argued.  “We’re attacking later in the day, and we’ll fight a short battle, just long enough for the city to evacuate.”

“No,” Raeth said.  “Today we fight with a different strategy.”

#

D’Naa’s horse followed closely behind the others in the group, shuffling along the road toward the trading city of Dareen.  Elekar might have been the capitol, but Dareen was Kavir’s true hub.  Since it housed the only Aedinor Irae temple, most of the Aedin and Shorriken foreigners chose to live within the city for religious reasons, and their presence attracted Mahallen traders and Kavir herdsmen alike.  It was little wonder that Ala’D had chosen to coordinate his efforts from there.  Once the Imperium fell, he would probably move the capitol out of necessity.

If the Imperium falls, D’Naa, not when.  It was hard to remain positive, however, in the face of her relatives.  There was a general feeling of acceptance from Ala’D and his counselors.  The Imperium was doomed; Kavir was on its own.  Most of then thought the division a good thing.

But, they didn’t understand, not like D’Naa did.  She pulled her cloak closer against the wind, huddled upon her mount like a bag of luggage.  The trip would have been far easier on a Corpate--she had seen several with tent-like constructions on their top platform.  One could travel in confront and leisure.  Her people didn’t know the wonders they were abandoning with the fall of the Imperium.

Wonders most of them have never seen, D’Naa reminded herself.  What good were the Aethers to Kavir?  Aedinor might as well fall, for all the good it was doing her people.

Yet, despite such thoughts, D’Naa couldn’t help feeling regret.  There was so much potential, so many beauties and feats.  Surely there was a way to bring them to Kavir?  Perhaps she could have found a way.  Had she. . . .

Had she what?  Had Hern chosen her to be his bride?  She had accepted the fact that, even if she hadn’t left, such would have never occurred.  What good could she have done?

All of those beautiful buildings, burned.  All of those people, destroyed.  Aedinor wasn’t a paradise, but with its Aethers feeding the masses, it had been as close as D’Naa had ever seen.  People had time, time to actually live, rather than simply living to make time for others.

A muffled sound drew her attention, and D’Naa peeked through her pulled-up cloak, looking past the line of horses.  There was snow in the air, but most of it was simply wind-blown off the ground.  It was actually a ‘nice’ winter day in the highlands.

A rider was approaching toward them, his mount’s breath puffing out in front of it.  He wasn’t riding horribly quickly.  Ala’D raised a hand, calling a stop to the line, and several of his generals pulled up close to him protectively.  Harrmen raids being what they were, caution was always exercised.

D’Naa pulled her horse out of line, nudging it forward.  Her actions earned her a few looks of surprise from those she passed, but she ignored them.  She pulled up next to Ala’D as the rider reigned in.  The generals relaxed when they saw the man’s face.

“Who is it?” D’Naa asked.

“Just a messenger from Dareen,” the king said.  “I asked for updates if anything important occurred.”  He paused, shooting a look at D’Naa.  “You’ve grown more bold during your time in Aedinor, cousin,” he noted.

“I’ve always been bold,” D’Naa said back, huffing slightly.

Ala’D didn’t reply, but he didn’t shoo her away, either, so she stayed at his side as he raised his hand again, putting the caravan back into motion.  The messenger turned his horse and fell in beside the king, on the opposite side as D’Naa.

I’ve always been bold, haven’t I? She thought to herself.  The king always sent me to help cities that had suffered raids, and he sent me to Aedinor to get the Aether.  Are those duties you entrust to someone who isn’t bold?

“Well?” Ala’D asked of the messenger.

“The final attack has begun, your majesty,” the man explained.  “The creatures should reach the capitol within the day, probably several hours before nightfall.  The Emperor is organizing a final resistance to buy time for the city evacuation, but few think it will hold for long.”

Ala’D nodded understandingly.

“How do you know all of this?” D’Naa asked, frowning slightly.

“Those Aedin priests charge a ridiculous amount for their services,” Ala’D replied, “but they do have their uses.”

An Irae.  Of course, that means Vo-Dari.  The realization stunned her slightly.  She could return.  She could go back to him.

Fool, D’Naa thought.  The Imperium is about to collapse and all you can think of is going back to the man who just rejected you?  What good would you do anyway?  One person, even if she is a Verdant Bond. . . .

One person.  She was right, one person wouldn’t do any good.  She wasn’t alone, however.

“How far are we from Dareen?” she asked suddenly, interrupting the messenger, who was telling the king of his family.

Both men fell silent.  “At this pace?  Five, six hours,” the king said.

“We have to go, Ala’D,” D’Naa said urgently.

“Go where?” the king asked.  Behind, D’Naa caught a glimpse of Kaaln perking up, a frown on his aged face.

“To help him,” D’Naa explained.  She turned, meeting her cousin’s eyes, trying to sound persuasive, like the diplomats from the Senate.  “Can we really just sit and watch while the Imperium falls?  Do you know how many people have died, and are dying, trying to defend us from these creatures?  Do you know what they’re going through down there?”  Images of Hern’s fatigued eyes flashed into her mind, along with sights of wounded soldiers, Sent back from the battle front.

“I know, D’Naa,” the king said.  “But we can’t help them.”

“Can’t we?” D’Naa demanded.  “How many Verdant bonds do we have?  At least a couple hundred.”

“Closer to five hundred, child,” Kaaln said riding up beside her.  “But we need them to defend Kavir.”

“Five hundred Verdant Bonds,” D’Naa said, “along with our military.”

“Farmers and sheep herders,” Ala’D argued.

“Men trained to fight off Harrmen raids,” D’Naa said back.  “Men with real combat experience.  The Emperor told me at least a half-dozen times that he could win this war if he just had more troops.”

“You can win any war with enough troops,” Kaaln said.  “But I don’t see how our few could be of any help.”

“Besides, D’Naa,” Ala’D said dismissively, “I’ve said it already.  We need our men to defend Kavir.  Let Aedinor deal with Aedinor’s problems.”

“How can you say that?” D’Naa demanded, feeling her face flush despite the cold wind.  “Ala’D, you’ve complained as long as I can remember that the Aedin don’t send you the troops you need to defend Kavir.  And you were right; you’ve always been right.  Can you honestly tell me that now, when the situation is reversed, you are going to do the exact same thing the Aedin have been doing to us all these years?”

Ala’D grimaced slightly at her words, his eyes troubled.

“You’re happy to be part of the Imperium when it suits Kavir,” D’Naa said quietly.  “But you aren’t willing to give back when the need is reversed?  Show them that you’re a better man than they expect you to be.”

Ala’D turned west, toward the Aedinor plains, so far away.  “No,” he finally said.  “We can not risk it.”

#

“This is your brilliant plan to save the Imperium?” Gaedin asked, all sense of decorum discarded in the face of total shock.

“Um, yes,” Raeth said.

“You want us to go on the offensive,” General Vaek said flatly.

“We hit them with everything,” Raeth said, gesturing at the map and its pieces.  “So far, we’ve fought defensively.  We’ve engaged and retreated constantly, never fully committing ourselves.”

“That is because,” Gaedin said, “we are at the disadvantage in both numbers and strength.  We can’t afford to do anything else.”

“Not ‘doing anything else’ has nearly cost us our nation,” Raeth said.  “Look at that map, gentlemen.  An enemy force is within an hour’s march of Vae Annitor.  An hour’s march!  We are going to lose our homeland!  Defense seemed logical, but it has failed.”

“That much, at least, is certain,” Vaek said.  The youngest of the War Counsel, he was also one of the most competent.  The others shared his emotion.  Raeth could see the shame in their eyes--shame he himself felt.

“An offensive,” Gaedin said speculatively.

“They should be weakened from the arrows,” Raeth said.  “They won’t be expecting a change in our strategy.”  Raeth paused.  “Besides, generals, tell me honestly.  What reason do we have to hold back?  If we fail now, what is left for us?  Why not commit everything?”

There was a pause as the generals considered his words.  Finally, Dorges, with his bald head and wrinkled face, spoke.  “Why are you telling us this, your majesty?  What about your supposed need for secrecy?”

Raeth paused, blushing slightly.  “Because I’ve already given the orders.  The soldiers are preparing for the offensive right now.”

“So we’re redundant,” Gaedin said angrily.

“No,” Raeth said.  “You’re vital.  Generals, if you don’t agree with this plan, then we can always change the orders.”

The twelve men regarded each other in silence.

“No,” Gaedin said quietly.  For a moment, Raeth almost thought he saw a spark of humility in the man’s face.  “You’re right.”

#

Darro fingered his glass locket quietly, staring out over the plains.  Ranks of troops stood anxiously around him, many muttering silent prayers to the Ancestors.  They had just been informed of Raeth’s orders.  Attack.  Fight until either every Forgotten is destroyed or every man has been slain.  This time, there was no retreat.

It’s wrong, it’s all so wrong.  When did everything start getting so crazy?  He could see the tips of Vae Annitor’s buildings in the distance behind him.  No enemy should ever have been able to get so close to the capitol.  Men, many of them who had barely held a sword in their entire lives, shouldn’t be called upon to give their lives.  None of this should have ever happened.

But it had.  Darro looked down at his locket, filled with dark grains of sand.  It was the one Raeth had made for him, before everything started, filling it with the sand of Darro’s Ynaa prayer for a good wife.  It no longer represented matrimony to Darro, however.  The locket was a sign of a previous time, a time when things had been right.  A time before the spirits of the dead had attacked their descendants and a time before Darro had betrayed his most beloved of bothers.

Darro closed his eyes, shuddering slightly.  When they were growing up, Raeth had always been so protective of Darro.  It should have been the other way around--Darro was the strong one, the one who had gained girth like a man when he was still mostly a boy.  Yet, Hern had known how to get passed strength, to strike right at the heart.  Raeth had been Darro’s shield.

All through their lives, Darro had earned disapproval for nearly everything he did.  The court didn’t like him; his father hadn’t approved of him.  But, through it all, Raeth had been understanding.  No condemnations had ever passed his lips.

And now I’ve betrayed him, Darro thought.  What else would I do when the drink has me?  What other atrocities would I commit?  The locket had been created from the prayers for Darro to be wed, but what right did he have marrying?  How quickly would he forget himself to the drink an betray his wife as well?

I am worth nothing, Darro thought.  What have I done in this life?  Drink, play games?  The one time I had a chance to do something responsible, I passed the throne on to another as quickly as I could.  Ironically, that dodging of duty had probably been the most respectful accomplishment of his life.  It had put a true leader on the throne.

He suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder, and he opened his eyes, looking down.  Raeth stood with an obviously forced smile.  “They’ll do it,” he said.

“I knew they would,” Darro said.  “You’re a hard man to refuse.”

“Especially when I’ve already given the orders behind their backs,” Raeth said wryly.  He turned, looking down the lines of soldiers.

So small, Darro thought in regards to his brother.  Raeth was a full head shorter than Darro, and not nearly as broad.  Yet, somehow he managed to carry weights Darro couldn’t hope to lift.

“It doesn’t look good, does it?” Raeth asked quietly.

Darro shook his head.  Up ahead, streaks of light began to fall to the ground.  The archers, arriving.  The Forgotten wouldn’t be far behind.

“We’ll do it, Darro,” Raeth said firmly.  “The Ancestors willing, we will not fail in our duty.”

It always comes back to duty with you, doesn’t it Raeth?  “The Ancestors. . . .” Darro said quietly.  “Do you really think they’re watching over us?”

Raeth paused, turning and studying Darro with quiet eyes.  “Yes,” he finally said.  “I never was completely sure, even when I was living in the Irae.  I believed, but a part of me wondered.”

“But not now?” Darro asked.  “Now, when we’re about to be destroyed?”

A dark line appeared in the distance, approaching like the shadow thrown by a cloud moving in front of the sun.

“I must believe,” Raeth said.  “Darro, if things like that can exist, then the Ancestors must as well.  The only other option is to admit that the world is a horrible place, and I will not do that.”

Darro nodded slowly, taking a deep breath, drawing strength from Raeth’s conviction.  If we survive this, I will be a better brother, he promised himself.  I will be a better High Aedin.

No, not if he survived.  He would begin being a better High Aedin at that moment; he would perform the only duty he had left.  Protecting Raeth, no matter what happened.  His life meant nothing compared to that of his brother.

Darro reached out, growing his armor and hammer, Amberite crackling.  Beside him, Raeth did the same, his strange dusty Amberite forming around him.  There weren’t enough Verdant Bonds left to go around--Raeth and Darro would be on their own during this battle, the two of them together, Raeth doing his best to keep swords away from his brother.  Protecting Darro, as he always had.

Ahead, the Forgotten line approached like a dark plague.

“Forward!” Raeth yelled, raising his Amberite sword, spurring the Imperium troops into motion.  Though they moved much more slowly than the Forgotten, the men did as commanded.  They marched forward, slowly gaining momentum, yells of defiance rising from their lips.  This time they would not stand and wait.

#

“He’s mounting an offensive, my lord!” the messenger explained, falling in beside Ala’D.  They were only a few minutes outside of Dareen, which was why they had been surprised to see another messenger coming toward them.  D’Naa rode directly behind the king, sitting in angered silence.

“Hern’s an idiot,” Kaaln noted, “but he does have guts.”

“An offensive?” Ala’D said speculatively.  “Can he possibly hope to win?”

Kaaln scratched his beard, then shrugged.  “Honestly, my lord, I have no idea.  I haven’t seen the troops, I don’t know the terrain, and frankly I don’t have the experience.  I’ve spent my life fighting off Harrmen raids, not waging huge campaigns.”

“Most of the city thinks the offensive is a waste of lives, my lord,” the messenger said.  “The creatures have won every battle so far.  Attacking them head-on is considered a foolish tactic.”

“Or a desperate one,” Ala’D noted.

“He needs us,” D’Naa said quietly.

Ala’D and Kaaln turned, amused expressions on their faces.  D’Naa scowled darkly.  Is this how you’ve always regarded me, Ala’D?  Your foolish cousin?  Fine, then, enough diplomacy.

“I’m going to him,” D’Naa announced, pulling her horse out of line.

Ala’D blinked in shock.  “D’Naa?” he asked, his voice growing concerned as she continued moving.  “D’Naa, I am your king.  You will come back.”

“You may be my king, Ala’D,” she said.  “But he’s my Emperor.  He’s yours too, if you haven’t forgotten.”  With that, she kicked her horse into motion, galloping across the cold road toward the city ahead.

#

Ala’D cursed quietly.   “Has she always been this way and I just never noticed?”

Kaaln smiled.  “She saw you as a brother, my lord.  It appears she’s finally found someone more important to her than a brother.”

Ala’D paused, frowning slightly.  “You don’t suppose. . .D’Naa and the Emperor?”

“Stranger things have happened beneath D’Lum’s eyes,” the aging warrior admitted.

Ala’D turned his eyes forward, watching D’Naa’s riding form approach the city.  She’d always tried so hard to be the perfect, practical Kavir woman, but the two of them were too close for her to hide much from him.  There had always been a bit of a rebel inside D’Naa, a sense that enjoyed edginess and danger.  Even as a child she’d begged to be allowed to Bond the Aether, even though most of Ala’D’s counselors had scoffed at the idea.  And, even as a child, Ala’D had always had trouble denying her wishes.

“We would look like quite the heroes, showing up now to help the Emperor, wouldn’t we?” Ala’D said speculatively.

“Probably,” Kaaln agreed.  “Though it would mean revealing that we have Aethers.”

“They were going to find out anyway,” Ala’D said.  “At least this way they wouldn’t have much ground for complaint--our Aethers would have saved them.”

“Assuming we win the battle,” Kaaln noted.  “Odds seem to be implying that wouldn’t be the case.”

Ala’D frowned, turning back the messenger.  “Hopeless, you say?”

“Yes, my lord,” the messenger agreed.  “The Imperium forces are grossly outnumbered, and their men are tired from constant fighting.”

“Sounds like us,” Ala’D mumbled, “after fifty years of fighting the barbarians.”

Do we fight as one country, or do we wait and hope that the creatures will ignore us?  The wind howled through the cliffs above.

“Go to the city,” Ala’D ordered the messenger.  “Tell that Aedin priest to send for as many of his comrades as he can get.  We have to move quickly.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

The Forgotten were ready for the offensive, but it didn’t make much difference.  There was little subtlety about a head-on assault, and the creatures didn’t have the equipment to prepare to defend against a charge.  Raeth and Darro joined in with the foot troops, the few remaining Mahallen cavalry members rushing both sides, and Corpate walkers filled with archers followed along behind.

Raeth noticed something almost immediately.  The creatures were weaker--much weaker.  The arrows had done their job.  The two lines crashed into one another, and then all was chaos.  It was worse than it had been before--there was little attempt at holding the creatures back, no attempt at defensiveness.  Each team worked independently, trying to kill as many creatures as possible, trying to push forward and break their line.

Dark smoke hissed from Forgotten wounds, a cloud of it hanging above the battlefield like a smoky fog.  Raeth slashed and cut, blasting Forgotten away with each strike of his sword.  Darro fought at his side, swinging heedlessly, as if manifesting the Imperium’s reckless assault in his own actions, attacking without any regard for his own life.  Raeth worked to keep blades away from his brother, but many got through anyway, scarring Darro’s Amberite with long gashes.  Darro didn’t even bother to regrow the armor, he just continued swinging, his hammer smashing Forgotten bodies, sometimes blasting them completely to smoke, other times tossing them dozens of feet through the air.

And yet, the creatures continued coming.  Their ranks were endless.  Even though they moved more slowly from the arrow wounds, even though their arms were weaker and their skins less resistant, they were still formidable opponents.  Men screamed and fell around Raeth, entire teams crushed beneath the overwhelming flood of Forgotten.

Raeth swung again and again, almost feeling guilty for the ease of his own conflict.  He need only touch the Forgotten to destroy them--that was why he’d decided not to bring anyone in his own team except for Darro.  The men would be better spent elsewhere.  Even still, he noted that Taenen’s team, along with several others, remained a discreet distance from Raeth and Darro, ready to help in case of an emergency.

Soon, however, his guilt began to get squeezed away by exhaustion and fatigue.  As the hours passed, Raeth’s arm grew tired from the repeated swinging, his motions sluggish from the constant dodging and parrying.  He kept his Shadow-Amberite armor up, but the creatures came closer and closer to tripping him or piling on top of him, or--worst--getting through to Darro.  Raeth could see blood seeping from gashes in Darro’s armor.  Still, both kept fighting.

And, as the time progressed, Raeth realized they weren’t going to succeed.  The chance had been a small one in the first place.  Though his men had started strong, the creatures were more endurant.  If Raeth--whose hidden Aether made him nearly invincible to the Forgotten--could end up fighting defensively, then the others would surely do so.

And this time, they won’t let us retreat.  Somehow, Raeth knew that the Forgotten wouldn’t let them escape.  The creatures had reached their goal.  Now the slaughter would begin.  One half of the Aedin population.  Genocide.  And he still didn’t even know the reason why.

“Why?” Raeth yelled, swinging at another dark form, blasting it into nothingness.  It grew a little more difficult to destroy them each time--the Aether was growing tired.  It was far stronger than his Amberite, but it still had limitations.  Even he would fall eventually.

“Why? Do you hate us so?” Raeth demanded, pausing and staring into the sea of dark forms, a wave of blackness broken by clusters of disparate human soldiers.

There was no hate in the Forgotten’s dark eyes; there was no emotion at all.  Somehow that was even worse.

“My lord!” a frantic voice called.  “My lord Hern!”

Raeth turned, and was amazed to see a determined Shorriken messenger moving through the battlefield.  Dressed in Shorriken robes and even a floppy hat, he managed to wiggle past clumps of Forgotten, dodging blows, running directly for Raeth.

Raeth stepped back and immediately, Taenen’s squad appeared almost out of nowhere to take up the slack in the Forgotten line, giving Raeth a bit of room to breathe.  The messenger reached Raeth in just a few moments.

“My lord,” the man said, puffing.  “Our advance has stopped--all flanks are being pushed back.  The western line is buckling--the creatures are on the verge of dividing us.”

Raeth nodded solemnly.  Though he couldn’t see the battlefield, somehow he had sensed how the conflict was going, as if he could feel the movement of troops and men through the surgings of the battle.

“The War Counsel is providing the tactics,” Raeth said simply.  “Go to them.”

“They sent me to you, my lord,” the messenger explained.

Raeth paused.  The battlefield was oddly quiet--though men grunted and foot fell, there were few metallic clangs.  The Forgotten swords weren’t really metal--they were made from whatever substance it was that Raeth could sense pooling within the shadows.

There is nothing that can be done, he knew.  We have committed all.  Still, he spoke.  “The cavalry?”

“Overrun,” the messenger said.  “The creatures move too quickly--they could get out of the way, then surround the horsemen when the horses tired.”

“Reserves?”

“Both sets are committed,” the messenger explained.  “Hours ago, actually.”

“The archers?” Raeth asked.

“Already joined the foot ranks,” the messenger said.  There was an expectant look on his face.

What does he want from me? Raeth thought.

“The War Counsel, my lord,” the messenger said.  “They said you might have a plan.

They turn to me.  Their emperor.  How do I tell them that our cause is lost?  Raeth must have let some of his despair show, for the messenger’s face fell, and Raeth saw a gleam of understanding in his eyes.  They would not win this battle--few of them would likely even survive.

And then, Raeth saw something.  It fell like luminescent rain from the cloudless sky--dozens, even hundreds, of light trails dropping to the battlefield.  Reinforcements?  But who?  Where?

“Rall Hannin,” Raeth whispered, hope lighting within him.  “I was right--the Mahallens were holding back on us.  Go!  Get those troops to the western line.  Then, as soon as they’ve all arrived, round up the Vo Dari.”

“Retreat?” the messenger asked.

“No,” Raeth said firmly.  “I want everyone left in the city to start collecting large animals.  Cows, horses, pigs, even dogs. . .anything that can be Sent.”

The messenger paused, frowning.  “Send farm animals?” the messenger asked with confusion.

“Yes,” Raeth said.  “A hundred feet or so above the Forgotten ranks should do.”

The messenger smiled, suddenly understanding.

“If that doesn’t work,” Raeth continued, “if the ranks get too intermingled or if the Forgotten can dodge the animals, bring any willing Vo Dari to the battlefield.  Have them begin Sending the Forgotten themselves.”

“Where, my lord?”

“Anywhere,” Raeth said.  “Into the sky, to the ocean, back to Saeris Va--any Forgotten we don’t have to fight today is one we probably won’t have to worry about.”

“Yes, sir!” the messenger said.

“Taenen!” Raeth snapped, turning.  “Make certain this messenger gets back to the Counsel Room alive!”

“Yes, my lord,” the owl-eyed general said, motioning for his group to disengage and surround their diminutive charge.

Raeth turned to Darro.  His brother stood slumped in his armor, leaning tiredly against his massive battlehammer.  Raeth couldn’t see Darro’s face inside, but he could hear the rough breathing.

“Go with them,” Raeth said.

Darro stood, the ground shaking slightly as his crystalline suit righted itself.  “No,” Darro said firmly.

Raeth opened his mouth to object, but paused.  There had been something in Darro’s voice, a passionate determination Raeth had rarely heard from the man.  Raeth shut his mouth, raised his sword, and turned back to fill the place Taenen’s men vacated, Darro at his side.

#

“Farm animals?” General Gaedin asked with a frown.

Laene sat with the other senators, watching the battle.  For once, he didn’t mind the horribly uncomfortable seats--he had a vested stake in the outcome of the day’s battle.  There was a good chance he’d end up as emperor before too long--though, the way things were going, he wouldn’t have much of an army left to command.

“It is an interesting strategy,” said one of the other generals--a weasel-faced man Laene didn’t recognize.

Gaedin shook his head wryly.  “Well, we asked, didn’t we?  Every little bit helps.  Send the extra messengers to start rounding up what livestock we can find.  Have those Kavir finished arriving yet?”

“Nearly, sir,” a messenger piped up.

Laene frowned.  He wasn’t very good with strategy or tactics, but even he had been able to tell that the battle was going poorly.  Now a moderately large group of green blocks had been placed on the map beside the Imperium forces.  How many men had his aid said were in a block?  A hundred?  A thousand?

It won’t matter, Laene told himself.  They can’t win.  After today, this will all finally be over.  Then all the confusion and the dying can stop.  I’ll be emperor, and everything can start getting back to normal.

Still, he couldn’t help worrying.  What if the dark creatures betrayed him?  What if his subterfuge was discovered?  He hadn’t really done anything wrong, had he?  Talking with the enemy wasn’t the same thing as being a traitor.  Senators undermined political opponents all the time.

Still, he sweated.  The tension of the moment, the threat to everything he knew, was great.  Only years of politics kept his stomach in check--that, and the knowledge that he had chosen the right side.  The dark voice had visited him the night before, and had scoffed at his worries.  The creatures knew what they were doing.

“Falling cows and shepherding Kavir with Aethers,” Gaedin mumbled.  “This is a day the Imperium will never forget, that much is certain.”

#

Even the fortuitous arrival of reinforcements wasn’t enough.  Raeth could barely feel his arm, his body was so slick with sweat that he felt as if he’d been drenched in a storm, and despite his armor he’d found ways to take wounds, mostly in the form of bruises and twisted muscles.

The men around him were fairing much worse.  They perked up when they saw Raeth, and that was what kept him going--the hope he saw in men’s eyes.  But they were tired, and there weren’t many of them.  Teams that had started as a dozen men were reduced to just three or four, many without even a High Aedin.  The battlefield was littered with bodies--human and animal.  That plan, at least, appeared to have worked.  Many of the wounded human forms were still moaning, but there was no time to pause.  There were more Forgotten to fight.  There were always more.

However, the worst sign was not on the ground.  It was in the sky.  The sun was growing close to the horizon.  I waited too long to begin fighting, Raeth thought.  When the darkness approaches, they’ll begin to heal.  Then we have lost.

If they hadn’t already.  Darro barely moved any more.  He would droop, leaning against his hammer for long periods, before standing to heave a silent blow at some random Forgotten.  Then he would slump down again.  Raeth had difficulty keeping them away from him, but fortunately the creatures seemed to realize Darro wasn’t much of threat, and they focused their attention on more dangerous foes.  Like Raeth.

He had gathered quite a team over the last few hours--a good twenty men fought with him, all remnants of groups that had lost their High Aedin.  They fought quietly, without strength to yell, or even grunt.

It’s over, Raeth thought.  With one last heave of strength Raeth yelled and threw himself forward, blasting through a Forgotten.  He stumbled forward, looking for another opponent, intending to strike them down until he fell unconscious from fatigue.

But, strangely, he didn’t see any dark figures before him.  Raeth blinked, clearing his sweat-blurred vision, finally comprehending what he was seeing.  Nothing but flat plains.  He spun.  Fighting on one side of him, fighting on the other, but a long hollow corridor down the middle.

“We’ve broken through!” he said with amazement.  “The Forgotten lines are collapsing!”

The soldiers around him looked up, as surprised as he was at the realization.  “You see it, don’t you?” Raeth whispered, staring back toward the city--toward the War Counsel.  “Pull troops from the eastern group and put the remaining soldiers there on defensive.  Send everything we have against the western group of Forgotten.  Surround them and beat them down.  Then move back to the second group.”

The War Counsel did see it.  Troops immediately began to flow as Raeth predicted, men pulling back from the larger group of Forgotten to focus on the smaller one.  “Forward!” Raeth said to the men with him, dashing toward the back of the Forgotten lines.

Just as the previous few hours had felt eternal, the next hour passed in a blur.  The Forgotten reacted poorly to being surrounded.  Raeth had noted before that they had only a rudimentary grasp of tactics, and whatever knowledge they had didn’t lead to fighting defensively.  They continued to throw themselves at the Imperium troops, exposing their comrades, letting their lines get sliced into smaller and smaller groups.

They didn’t stop fighting, however.  They continued to swing their weapons even if they were alone.  Raeth would have admired their tenacity if it hadn’t made finishing them off frustratingly lengthy.  He cringed every time he saw a man fall--in a regular battle, the surrender would have come long ago.  It seemed ridiculous to continue losing men, but there was no other option.  Raeth bid a silent blessing upon those men who died now, their strength finally giving out when the victory was so close.

And then, it was over.  Raeth stood, disbelieving.  Yet, no matter where he turned, there were no more dark forms.  There was no cheering from the men, many just slumped down, exhausted.  The rest stared over the battlefield like Raeth, noticing how many of their comrades had fallen.  The Forgotten didn’t leave behind bodies--every mound on the dimming field was an Imperium casualty.

Raeth released his Amberite, letting it crumble.  “We did our duty,” he said quietly.  “The Imperium is safe.”  Several men around him looked up, nodding weakly.

Then Raeth sat down, his legs too weak to hold him, before slumping backwards and staring into the sky, his mind too weak to think.

#

He didn’t remember falling unconscious.  His vision unfuzzed to a sky spittled by stars.  Something obstructed his view of the sky, however.  A face--one he was surprised to see, but one he had sometimes imagined waking up to find.

“Lady D’Naa?” Raeth asked, his voice coming out as a weak croak.

“I found him!” she said urgently, looking up.

Raeth heard footsteps approaching in the grass.  “Praise to the Ancestors!” a familiar voice said.  A few seconds later Tarrinon’s round face appeared above him.  “Oh, your majesty,” he said with relief.  “Healer!  Someone bring a healer!”

Raeth raised a weak arm.  “I’m all right,” he said, though his voice came out as a whisper.  He forced himself to sit up, though both arms and chest were so sore he could barely manage it.

“We didn’t know what happened to you, my lord,” Tarrinon said, his voice laced with emotion.  It was almost like he were scolding Raeth for getting into trouble.  “Some of the men remembered seeing you, but no one could say for certain what happened to you.  We thought you might be wounded, but we’ve taken care of all those who answered our calls.  With the darkness, it’s been difficult. . . .”

Tarrinon trailed off as Raeth smiled, placing his hand on the Shorriken man’s arm.  “I appreciate your concern, my friend,” he croaked.

Tarrinon smiled, the lanternlight showing a tear in the corner of his eye.  “Where is that healer?” he sputtered, climbing to his feet and stomping off.

Raeth turned his head, focusing on D’Naa, who sat kneeling quietly, her face illuminated by the solitary lantern.

So beautiful. . . .  “How?” he asked.  Then he noticed something--her sleeves were pulled back, small Verdant vines running up her arms.  The vines were exposed.  Then he understood.

“Those weren’t Mahallen reinforcements that arrived halfway through the battle, were they?” he asked.

D’Naa shook her head.  “That Bud you gave us was a dud,” she said.  “So, we came to demand recompense.”

Raeth smiled.  “You’ve saved the Imperium.  After it turned its back on you.”

D’Naa just shrugged.

“D’Naa, I. . . .” Raeth said.

She held up a hand, leaning closer.  Raeth noticed, suddenly, the fatigue in her eyes.  She had fought as well.

D’Naa rested her head on his shoulder, sighing slightly.  “I didn’t come back for the Imperium,” she confessed quietly.  “Besides,” she added a few seconds later.  “I realized something.”

“What?” Raeth asked, his voice still hoarse.

“Most of the time, Kavir is really boring.”

Raeth chuckled quietly.  The next words that left his mouth stunned him, however--perhaps it was the fatigue, perhaps he was tired of subterfuge.

“D’Naa, I’m not Hern,” he said.

She looked up.  “What?” she asked, obviously confused.

“I’m Raeth, his brother,” Raeth said.  “Hern died on Saedin, during the initial attack.”

D’Naa sat for a moment, then rested her head back on his shoulder, leaning against him with a sigh.  “That explains a lot,” she mumbled.

Raeth frowned.  “You don’t care?”

“Why should I?” she asked.  “I never knew either one of you.”

Then he was content to sit, his arm around D’Naa.  It couldn’t last for long, however.  He had to know how bad the damage was.  As soon as he saw Tarrinon approaching with a the stooped form of a healer, he sighed and D’Naa pulled back slightly.

Raeth took a deep breath, then began to struggle to his feet.  D’Naa tried to help, but she looked as tired as he felt.  The two of them barely managed to stand up just in time for the healer to arrive.  He looked them over with disapproval only one of his aged stature could manage.

“Sit back down,” he ordered.  “We’ll have a Vo-Dari Send you to the hospital.”

Raeth made a dismissive gesture, trying to grimace at the pain the move caused him.  “I will walk off this battlefield.”

The healer rolled his eyes, sharing a look with Tarrinon.

“But, before we go anywhere, I need to know one thing.  Where is my brother?”

The healer looked confused, but Tarrinon paused, his eyes betraying hidden knowledge.

“What?” Raeth demanded, his voice strong for the first time since he’d awaked.  “Tarrinon, where is Darro?”

“As far as I know, we haven’t found him either, my lord,” Tarrinon confessed.

Raeth cursed quietly.  He turned, trying to orient himself.  Fortunately, the city glowed with light in the near distance.  He turned toward the north, the back of the battlefield where he had left Darro after breaking through the Forgotten line.

Oh, Ancestors, he thought, if you hear any prayer, please.  Don’t take my brother from me.  He began to limp forward, D’Naa walking quietly beside him, Tarrinon following with worry, trying to convince Raeth to let others do the searching.  Raeth ignored him.

They passed body after body--only the living had been removed, the dead waited quietly in the night.  Raeth felt nauseated by the carnage; it was odd that he would feel so sick after passing through so much, but in battle the death had been as a blur.  Now he was forced to confront it, his conscience making him study each gruesome face to confirm if it was Darro or not.

“Hern,” D’Naa said suddenly, “there.”

Raeth looked up with trepidation.  D’Naa was pointing at an object in the distance--a shadowed mound in the night.  A man-shaped mound.  A suit of Amberite armor.

Raeth moved forward with an urgency, hurrying as fast as his body could go.  How had he ever fought with an ankle so badly twisted, with muscles that hurt so much?  If the armor belonged to Darro, that meant his brother couldn’t be dead.  The Amberite would have fallen to dust.

They found several Shorriken relief workers standing beside the massive suit of Amberite, staring up at it with concern.  When they saw Raeth, they brightened.  “My lord!” one of them said.  “We can’t get through to him.  He won’t move.  Do you think he might be. . . ?”

The suit had a hammer.  Raeth moved forward with increased urgency.  “If he were dead, then the armor wouldn’t be standing,” Raeth informed.  He got up close to the suit, trying to look through its eyeslit, but it was too dark for him to see anything.  “Darro?” he asked.  “Darro!  Are you in there?”

“I should be dead,” a familiar voice whispered back, hallowly ringing from inside the armor.  “I was supposed to die in this battle, to make up for it all.  A lifetime of waste.”

“Darro, you idiot,” Raeth said, relaxing.

The armor crumpled, and Raeth stepped back.  As it fell to dust, a slump-backed form stepped free.

“Darro,” Raeth reaching forward to steady his brother.  Then, however, he noticed his brother’s arm.  The skin was an irregular color, and an enormous gash ran along its side.

Raeth heard a curse from behind, and the healer jumped forward, moving surprisingly spryly for a man his age.  He whipped out a piece of cloth and a length of wood and began wrapping it around Darro’s arm.

“Darro, what happened?” Raeth demanded.

“I couldn’t stop fighting,” Darro said, slumping down to the ground, “so I stopped the blood with my Amberite.  I grew it very tightly around my arm.  That way I wouldn’t die until it was all over.  I needed to keep fighting.”  The healer called over several aids, helping Darro to the ground and working at his arm with proficient dexterity.  Raeth watched with concern.

“Raeth,” Darro mumbled eyes unfocused, “why did you let me drink so much?  I have one Twins-cursed headache.  I feel so groggy. . . .  I thought I told you I wasn’t going to drink any more. . . .”

Raeth looked demandingly at the healer.

“Blood poisoning,” the man explained simply, working quickly.  “Step back.”

Raeth stood, feeling helpless as the healer worked at Darro’s side.  Unconsciously, Raeth reached our for D’Naa, and the two stood quietly until the healer pulled a bone saw from his equipment.  D’Naa gasped slightly and turned away, and Raeth closed his eyes.

A few minutes later, it was over.  Thankfully, Darro had fallen unconscious.  The healer stood, motioning for a Vo-Dari to Send Darro to one of the city hospitals.

“He will live,” the healer explained, wiping the blood from his hands as Darro dissolved into light.  “The tourniquet he made from Amberite must have been incredibly effective.”

Raeth nodded thankfully, trying not to look down at the amputated limb on the ground.

D’Naa pulled close to him.  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“It is better than the alternative,” Raeth said, turning to regard Tarrinon with tired eyes.  “Who else?  Who have we lost?”

“I’m sorry, my lord,” Tarrinon confessed, “but I really don’t know.  There was a lot of chaos following the battle, and when I heard you hadn’t been found. . .well, we bureaucrats have felt very useless these last few weeks.  We were happy to do anything to help, even if it was just searching for survivors.  I’ve been out here looking for you ever since the battle ended.”

Raeth nodded, looking over the battlefield.  Lights moved through the darkness like fireflies--men sorting the wounded from the dead.  Occasionally, a line of light would shoot from the ground, a wounded man being Sent to the city.  However, these were few compared to the number of searchers.

There was a large gathering of lights on one side of the battlefield.  Raeth nodded, and began to limp that direction.  By the time he reached it, he half-wished he had agreed to let the Vo-Dari Send him.

The light resolved into a ring of torches surrounding a group of soldiers organizing the relief effort.  Raeth didn’t recognize any of the men.  His first reaction on arriving was to let go of D’Naa, but resisted the thought.  What did it matter now if his preference were known?

He stepped into the light, and wasn’t prepared for the welcome he received.

The men looked up, their eyes widening with surprise, then they spontaneously began to let out cheers.  Several looked like they wanted to run forward and hug him, though all bore wounds from the battlefield.

“Who is in charge here?” Raeth asked, cutting through the chaotic mirth.

“I am, my lord,” a soldier said, stepping up.  He was a young Amberite Bond, barely old enough to craft a sword.

Raeth frowned.  “Where is general Taenen?” he asked.

The man paused.  “The general didn’t make it, sir,” the soldier informed.

Raeth closed his eyes, wincing slightly.  “General Gaedin then?”

The soldier frowned.  “I’m sorry my lord,” he said slowly.

“What?” Raeth asked, stunned.  “But, the War Counsel. . . .”

“About three quarters of the way through the battle, the Counsel decided that twelve men were redundant, sir,” the soldier explained.  “General Gaedin and five others decided to join the battle.  All of them died, sir.”

You had more heroism in you than I thought, Gaedin, Raeth thought, still surprised.

“There is more, my lord,” the solider said.

Raeth looked up, frowning.

“Seven senators joined the generals,” the soldier explained.  “All either Amberite or Bestarin.  Only one of them survived.”

“A fifth of the Senate,” Raeth whispered.  “How many of our troops survived?”

“Counting the wounded?” the soldier asked.  “So far we’ve found about seven thousand.”

Raeth exhaled slowly, his mind stunned.  The military had been well over fifty thousand just a month earlier.  With all of the additions and reserves that had joined since then, there had probably been nearly a hundred thousand total.

“Blessed Ancestors,” Raeth mumbled.

“That’s not including the Kavir though, my lord,” the soldier added, nodding to the side.  “Most of them survived.  Those sheepherders know how to fight.”

Raeth followed the soldier’s glance to nearby group of lights.  Raeth could make out the forms of several men standing at the center, one wearing a crown.

“Your king?” Raeth asked with surprise.

“Ala’D,” D’Naa said, nodding.

Raeth stepped forward, moving from one patch of lights to another.  Ala’D was a young man--perhaps Raeth’s same age.  He was far broader in the chest, however, if a few inches shorter.  He stood over the body of an elderly man who lay wrapped in a fur cloak, two torches illuminating his face.

Raeth approached quietly.

“He was like a father to me,” Ala’D said with a deep voice.  “He watched over my country when I was too young to care for it myself.”

D’Naa’s grip tightened slightly a she regarded the body, a tear in her eye.  Ala’D stood, studying Raeth with eyes that glowed in the torchlight.  “This battle cost much, your majesty,” he said.  “More for you even than us.”

“There is no you or us, your highness,” Raeth said.  “There is only the Imperium.  The throne will do more to remember that in the future, now that you have reminded us.  The Imperium owes a strong debt to Kavir.”

Ala’D did not dispute the statement.  He turned eyes back on his friend’s body.  “It is odd, in a way.  Aedinor’s negligence is what made Kavir strong.  Without that, we wouldn’t have been able to help this day.”

“A poor excuse for what we did to you.”

“True,” Ala’D said, turning back to him.  “My people will want to return to Kavir as soon as your Vo-Dari are finished locating the wounded.  We have news, some of it bad, to convey to our families.”

“It will be done,” Raeth promised.

Ala’D turned toward D’Naa.  “I assume you’ll be staying.”

She shot a look at Raeth.  “Yes.”

“Very well,” he said, then bowed.  “Your majesty.”

Raeth nodded farewell, letting the man go to confer with several of his attendants.

“Your majesty,” a voice piped up behind him.  Tarrinon stood, once again almost-forgotten, behind him.  “We should return to the city.  The Senate will want to hear of your survival.”

“Yes,” Raeth agreed.  “I suspect some will be more exited to hear the news than others.”

#

Laene still didn’t understand what had happened.  The result of the battle certainly wasn’t what he had expected.  The fighting had come and gone, and the Imperium had won.

Could this be what the creatures wanted all along? He wondered as he stood, waving to the crowd.  Perhaps they simply wanted to kill Hern, thereby putting me on the throne.

Though he smiled, pretending to join in the celebrations, inside he was troubled.  His political senses told him something was wrong.  If the creatures’ goal had been as simple as killing Hern, then assassins--not an army--would have been far more practical.  Besides, his first contact with the dark forms had come before Laene had instilled himself as Heir.  They couldn’t have known that simply killing the emperor would place Verdant on the throne.

Too many questions, Laene told himself.

However, to the celebrating people, life was far more simple.  Laene stood with the other remaining senators atop several Corpate walkers standing in the middle of Vae Annitor’s central square.  The night was warm, and the square was well-lit by Corpates.  Few of the people could believe that their ordeal was finally over.

Or, could they?  There were far more people left in the city than Laene would have expected.  True, the evacuation had been interrupted by the arrival of Kavir’s troops.  However, there shouldn’t have been so many people waiting until the last moment anyway.  Could they really have trusted in Hern that much?

Fools, Laene thought with a shake of his head, still smiling as he waved to the celebrating crowds.  The masses are fools.  He had seriously considered bolting to En Mahall after the border fell weeks before--only his position had forced him to remain.  Did these people really understand how close they had come to death?

The other Senators waved as well, though much of the attention was focused on Laene.  He was heir--since Hern had fallen in battle, he would be the next Emperor.  Even if he hadn’t been heir, he was the High Senator.  It was his duty to lead the people during times of succession.

Perhaps the creatures really were defeated, Laene thought.  Perhaps they underestimated the Imperium forces.  He hoped that was the case.  Far better that he take the throne this way, for there would be no chance of him being implicated in treasonous acts.  It was all very simple.  The emperor had fallen.  The heir would take his place.  Very neat.

“Praise be to the Ancestors!” a voice exclaimed not far from Laene.  Haereden, the last remaining Amberite senator, was speaking with a robed Shorriken messenger.

“What?” Laene asked.  Before Haereden answered, however, Laene saw it.  The crowd parted below, looking away from the senators and toward something else.  A figure approaching on foot, a military escort at his side.  He was still far away, but Laene could make out one distinctive feature that said all he needed to know.  A tattered, but unmistakably red, High Aedin cloak.

#

“How can they celebrate?” Raeth asked as the crowd cheered around him.

“They haven’t been to the battlefield,” Tarrinon replied.  “Give them their mirth, my lord.  A great danger has been defeated.  They will mourn tomorrow for the friends, sons, and husbands they have lost.  But tonight, at least, they should be allowed to celebrate.”

Raeth didn’t feel like celebrating; he felt like collapsing.  However, he knew Tarrinon was correct.  The crowds parted around him, calling praises to his victory and his name.  Though their focus on him--rather than those who had sacrificed their lives--bothered him, he knew the people deserved a opportunity to rejoice.  Even he, deep within, felt an overwhelming relief--even if it was tempered severely by what he had seen.

“I have sent for a Corpate, my lord,” Tarrinon said.  “I assume, now that you’ve actually walked to the city, you will consent to being carried the rest of the distance?”

Raeth nodded.  “Yes,” he said.  “Though I want to see my brother before I return to the palace.”

Something is wrong, the Aether of Night said in his mind.

Raeth’s head snapped up, an action that prompted looks of concern from Tarrinon and D’Naa.

What? Raeth demanded.

I feel something, Raeth, the voice explained.  It is not over.  I. . . .

What? Raeth thought, stopping abruptly.  Tell me what you sense!

“What is it?” D’Naa asked.  “Hern?  What’s wrong?”

Something caught Raeth’s eye, something high in the air.  A white streak of light, falling into the military district.  Someone arriving via Sending; not an uncommon sight in Vae Annitor.

The line of white had come from the north.

Chapter Twenty-Four

“Slaughter and Despair!” Vaemis swore.

Though Raeth didn’t voice the curse, he shared the general’s opinion.  Their vantage on a Cliffside overlooking Saeris Va, the city of the Ancestors, was well-chosen.  Thanks to the moon’s light, they could make out most of the rubbled buildings below, many of them still bearing decorations and tents that had never been reclaimed after the disastrous events weeks before.

The courtyard that marked the Pool of the Forgotten was in the direct center of the city.  The pool’s black waters were obscured by a shifting vale of darkness, motion that could only mean one thing.

The Forgotten were rising again, just as they had on Saedin.

“How many?” Raeth asked quietly.

The scout shrugged.  “We can’t tell very well in this darkness, my lord,” the man confessed.  “Thousands of them, that’s for certain.  We’ve watched that pool every day since Saedin, and it didn’t so much as ripple.  Then, a few minutes ago, it just started shooting them out again.”

Somehow Raeth knew how many would come out.  Two hundred thousand, just like before.  They would bear down on Vae Annitor, just like before.

They’re already dead, Raeth thought.  Why did we assume we could kill them?

Beside him, Vaemis was still swearing quietly, but the curses were less vengeful than they were despairing.  The young general, now the leader of the War Counsel, seemed on the verge of tears.

They will keep coming, Raeth realized.  No matter how many of them we destroy, no matter how hard we fight, they will continue on.  We can’t stop them.’

“This is it,” one of the scouts whispered.  “The Imperium is finished.”

#

Raeth spent most of the next day trying to find a way to disprove the scout’s apocalyptic prediction.  Unfortunately, he had no luck.  Raeth, like the Imperium itself, was exhausted in both body and mind.  He was so sore that moving was agony, and in the back of his mind there was a sense of numbness.  Disbelief.  After all they had been through, how could it not be over?

The Counsel Room, which had once felt so cramped, now seemed empty.  Half of the generals were dead, as were many of the messengers and aids.  The Senate’s chairs stood empty--there was no battle to watch, for there were no troops to fight it.  There were even fewer Shorriken attendants.

“How can they move so quickly?” Vaemis asked.

Raeth shook his head.  The creatures had indeed replenished their numbers.  There was no way to be certain, but Raeth suspected that exactly the same number of Forgotten had reemerged from the pool as before.  And this time they weren’t marching leisurely like they had before.  The creatures ran like horses, flying across the northern hills, moving at an incredible speed.  The strategists projected that they would arrive in Vae Annitor within two more days.

Three days, Raeth thought with shock.  Three days to travel what took them five weeks before.  Why move so fast this time?  Actually, there was a better question.  Why had they moved so slowly before?  Was it because they had been worried about the Imperium armies?  But, why would that matter, if they could just regenerate from the pool?

So much of it made no sense.  Why had they waited until their entire force was destroyed?  Why not replace the fallen members of their force every day after the battle?

Regardless, one thing was certain.  Even if there had been a way to defeat the creatures in battle, the Imperium wouldn’t have been able to manage it.  Including wounded from previous battles, their forces totaled just under twenty thousand men.  A paltry, almost negligible sum.  The creatures would find no resistance this time.

“The evacuation?” Raeth asked.

“Finished, my lord,” Vaemis said.  “Even those who had been reluctant before were. . .easy to persuaded this time.  Only a few hundred non-soldiers remain, the Senate included.”

Raeth nodded--even that motion caused him pain.  How had he managed to make his neck muscles sore?  The previous night’s festivities had come to an abrupt end as news of the oncoming army flowed through the city.  Yells of joy had quickly become cries of despair, as if the people had secretly been expecting such news.

“You see what I see,” Raeth said quietly, staring at the map.  The creatures were moving so quickly that the messengers couldn’t keep up with them, and the mapkeepers had trouble positioning the pieces.

The six generals nodded.  “There is nothing we can do,” Vaemis said, speaking for all of them.

#

D’Naa had to resist the urge to send for her grandparents.  Vae Annitor wasn’t safe--they’d probably just end up leaving in a few days anyway.  However, their absence left her with no one to talk to.

So, since Hern--or Raeth or whoever he was--was out, D’Naa went to see the only other person in the palace with whom she had any sort of connection, even if that connection was tenuous.  D’Naa didn’t even know if she was still in the city.  Vae Annitor was practically empty, now.

D’Naa found her way with the help of a couple aids and knocked hesitantly on the door.  A few moments went by with no answer, enough time that D’Naa was surprised when the door actually opened.

Nahan looked much as she had when D’Naa had last seen her a few days ago.  She wasn’t disheveled or unkempt, but she looked. . .fatigued, her eyes red and tired, her posture slightly slumped.  Her dress was conservative--by Mahallen standards, at least, it was still far thinner and low-cut than anything one would find in Kavir.

The Mahallen woman blinked in surprise when she saw D’Naa.  “Why. . . ?”

“I couldn’t think of anyone else to talk with,” D’Naa explained awkwardly.

The tall woman regarded her for a few moments, then stepped back.  “Please,” she said quietly, “please come in.”

D’Naa nodded thankfully, entering Nahan’s rooms.  She was immediately struck by the luxury.  She’d known that the Mahallens were fond of plushness, but she hadn’t realized how far that sentiment went.  D’Naa had thought Hern’s rooms gaudy, but Nahan’s decorations were far more intrusive.  There wasn’t a wall that wasn’t covered with three our four rug-like drapings, and the room was practically clogged with furniture, all of it dyed bright colors and piled with cushions of one sort or another.

“My ladyservant is out fetching tea,” Nahan apologized, motioning for D’Naa to take a seat.

D’Naa nodded, following the Mahallen girl, weaving through the maze of furniture to a couple of wide sitting chairs.  The room smelt strongly of Mahallen spices, and D’Naa could see several different sticks of incents burning at various corners of the room.

Nahan sat, relaxing into a plush chair piled with so many pillows that she nearly vanished from sight when she settled back.  D’Naa sat in her own chair, yelping slightly as she fell back into its deep embrace.  It was actually quite comfortable, though the deepness of the chair’s cushions made D’Naa feel like it was a beast trying to swallow her.

As soon as she was settled, she realized that Nahan was staring at her.  There was silence between them for a few moments.  Why did I come here? D’Naa thought.

“I hear that our victory yesterday can be attributed directly to you,” Nahan finally said.

D’Naa grimaced.  “If you can call it a ‘victory,’” she replied.

Nahan shrugged.  “Ele Kamman said that all victories, and all losses, are temporary.  At least you showed that you can do something to help the Imperium.  The rest of us, all we’ve done is distract the emperor.  Foolishness.”

“You aren’t foolish,” D’Naa countered.  “The choosing of an emperor’s bride is a very important event.  It’s just that. . .well, other things have gotten in the way.”

“Maybe if I hadn’t distracted him so at the beginning.  It’s just that. . .none of us realized that this would. . . .”

“I know,” D’Naa said.

“Father says that the Imperium is doomed.  He returned to En Mahall this morning to prepare.  I suppose that the Khur were right all along.  Centuries of trafficking with demons has finally earned the Imperium its reward.”

“Demons?” D’Naa asked, frowning slightly.

“Aethers,” Nahan said.  “Creations of the Twins.”

“Do you really believe that?” D’Naa asked.

Nahan shrugged.  “I don’t think many Mahallens did before, not like the Khur did.  But now. . . .  How else would you explain it?”

D’Naa paused.  “I don’t know,” she admitted.

“The Twins,” Nahan said.  “They want to destroy the world, that was why they created the Aethers.  They hate all that lives.  Even the Mahallens weren’t wary.  We didn’t use the Aethers, but we traded and mixed with those who did.”

D’Naa’s Verdant wiggled on her arm.  Though she kept it hidden out of habit, Nahan must have heard about what had happened the day before.

“I’m sorry,” Nahan finally said, looking down.  “I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the old writings.  I didn’t mean. . . .”

“It’s all right,” D’Naa said.

#

A cool breeze from the north harbinged the destruction that was coming.  Raeth looked out from his balcony, gazing across the city into the dark northern sky.  They hadn’t even finished burying the dead from the last battle, and a new doom was already upon them.  And what could they do about it?  Time was precious, yet there was nothing to be done.  The remaining members of the War Counsel had been unable to offer suggestions.  The Senate had argued into the late evening, yet had come to no useful decisions.  Through it all, Raeth had been just as helpless.

An entire day wasted, Raeth thought, yet there is nothing else that we could have done.  Their options were slim.  The military was crippled, the priesthood baffled, and the Senate in disarray.  The only decision that made any sense was the one that had already been done.  Evacuation.

He was accustomed to seeing lights throughout the city.  Vae Annitor was the grandest metropolis in the Imperium, a place where slumber often took second-place to business or leisure.  Yet, this night the city was dark.  A few speckled lights hung in occasional windows; besides them, the only light came from the military watchfires just beyond Vae Annitor’s walls.

So empty, Raeth thought, so dark.  It was almost as if the Forgotten had already arrived, bringing a cloud of blackness with them.  The city was empty.  The rest of the military and the Senate would follow the next day, moving to En Mahall at Rall Hannin’s suggestion.

And what about after that? Raeth thought.  What if the creatures continue on?  Do we keep moving?  Where next?  They could probably move to one of the Seaborn isles, especially if they only took those who were in danger.  There weren’t many of Amberite or Bestarin lines left any more.  Raeth had seen the statistical reports earlier in the day.  Though those two houses had once been the two largest, Verdant now outnumbered them both by several factors.

It’s beginning already, Raeth realized.  That’s why the creatures took so long to get here the first time.  The military was made up of mostly Amberite and Bestarin Bonds--fighting it was a perfect opportunity to begin killing us off.

A bit of motion caught Raeth’s attention, and he snapped to alertness, looking down over his balcony railing.  A shadow was shifting on the side of the wall--one that was spitting out black tendrils and creeping toward him.

Raeth paused.  “D’Naa?” he asked.  He could just barely make out her face.  A few moments later her Verdant crept over the side of the balcony, and she soon followed.

“You know,” Raeth noted, “you can probably use the door now.  I don’t think anyone cares any more.”

D’Naa shrugged.  “This way’s more fun,” she explained.  She wore her black jumpsuit, the one she always used when she snuck up to his rooms.

Raeth smiled slightly, then leaned back against the railing, looking to the north.  “It seems so odd,” he said as she leaned against the railing next to him.  “Before, when the creatures were advancing, I felt so defiant.  Even when I was depressed, there was a piece of me that refused to believe that we couldn’t win.  Now. . .it’s like that piece of me has finally realized it was wrong.”

D’Naa didn’t say anything.

“Looking out there,” Raeth said, nodding toward the darkness, “knowing what’s coming, I can finally believe that everything they’re saying is true.  I can finally believe that this is the end of it all.”

“Nahan believes it is,” D’Naa said quietly.

“Nahan?” Raeth asked, frowning.

D’Naa nodded.  “I spent most of the afternoon with her.  I couldn’t think of anyone else to visit, and sitting around waiting was making me crazy.”

“I didn’t realize she was still here,” Raeth said.  “Her father went to prepare for the Senate’s move.”

“Most of the brides are still here,” D’Naa said.  “I think they almost consider themselves members of the palace community.  They’ll leave when the rest of you do.”

“I’ve put you all through quite a bit, haven’t I?” Raeth mumbled.

D’Naa snorted.  “I don’t really think you’re to blame for what’s happened.”

“True,” Raeth said, “but suffering through the war might have been easier if the question of the bride choosing hadn’t loomed over us all the entire time.  If I had just chosen when I was supposed to, most of you could have returned to your families instead of waiting around the palace.”

D’Naa was quiet for a moment.  “You would have chosen blindly, without knowing any of us?”

“That’s what they wanted me to do,” Raeth said with a shrug.  “I don’t know--I’m not even supposed to be emperor.  I was a Dari, you know.”

D’Naa blinked in shock.  “A priest?” she asked.  “You?  I didn’t know that.  So can you do Sendings?”

Raeth shook his head.  “No, those are Vo-Dari, several ranks above me.  I was at the bottom--all I did was paint paintings, poorly, and write poetry, poorly.”

“How did you. . . ?”

“End up playing emperor?” Raeth asked.  “Darro.  It was his idea, and I just kind of fell into it.”

“And it’s a good thing you did,” D’Naa said, smiling slightly.

Raeth shrugged.  “I don’t know.  I think I probably made as poor an emperor as I did a Dari.”

“You stopped the Forgotten advance,” D’Naa challenged.

“And failed to see that it would just start over again,” Raeth replied.

“No one could have foreseen that.”

“I am emperor,” Raeth said with a shake of his head.  “It is my duty to foresee such things.  If I had realized that the creatures might come back, perhaps I could have saved all those men who died trying to stop them.”

“Would you really?” D’Naa asked.  “If you had suspected, would you really have stopped fighting?”

Raeth paused.  “No,” he finally admitted.  “I wouldn’t have.  Like I said, I never really believed that fighting was hopeless.”

D’Naa fell silent, though she did lean a little closer to him, her eyes sympathetic.  “Back in Kavir,” she finally said, “there are a lot of people who gave up hope of defeating the Harrmen.”

Raeth shook his head.  “That won’t work this time, D’Naa.  You can’t connect the two.  Harrmen you can kill.”

“All right,” D’Naa finally said.  “Then I’ll just ask.  Don’t give up.  Please.”

Raeth sighed.  “I haven’t given up,” he said quietly.  “Not yet.  But it’s hard.”

“You should give up.”

Raeth’s head snapped up.  The comment hadn’t come from D’Naa, and he certainly hadn’t said it.  He spun, tracing out the source of the sound.

A black form hunched in the darkness just inside his room, its lumpish figure obscured by the shadows.  It was large, however, bigger than a man, huge, trunk-like legs.

“Twins!” Raeth cursed, D’Naa hissing in surprise at his side.  He could feel the vines on her arm begin writhing suddenly.

“You can give up,” the shifting lump hissed.  Its voice was scratchy and soft, a whisper without tone.  “There is a way.”

A massive wave of green suddenly smashed through Raeth’s glass door, its tendrils reaching for the dark creature.  D’Naa stood firmly, dozens of thick Verdant vines extending from her arms.

Such power, Raeth thought, once again struck by her strength.  Few High Aedin could manage the intensity of D’Naa’s Verdant.

The creature hissed in surprised anger, and dark Night exploded from its body.  Arm-like constructions of Night ripped into D’Naa’s Verdant, attacking the vines and tearing them free.  D’Naa immediately cried out in pain, her body tensing.  She did not release her Verdant, however.  She continued to push it forward, fighting the Night, even though her body shook with agony.

Raeth grabbed hold of her small body, looking down with concern.  “D’Naa, stop!” he cried.  Then paused.

Stop? He thought to himself, suddenly feeling guilty.  She shows you how to fight.  She hasn’t given up.

Raeth took a deep breath.  If the creatures could control Night, then so could he.  He could feel it around him, pooling in the shadowed corners, a substance that couldn’t be seen but could be felt.  A power.  He drew upon it, focusing through his Aether, pulling with untested muscles.

The Night resisted his tuggings, but it moved like a thick liquid.  D’Naa cried out again, and Raeth’s patience ran out.  He yanked on the Night with a sudden surge of strength, pulling it free and commanding it forward.

Black columns of darkness exploded from the shadows, moving parallel to D’Naa’s vines and slamming into the creature.  Raeth couldn’t manipulate his Night--couldn’t form it into tendrils and fingers like the creature did--but what he lacked in finesse he tried to compensate with passion.  He pushed the creature with all of his strength, trying to force it backward, across his room.  Into the pool of light made by the solitary lamp burning near the far wall.

He could hear grunts of surprise, like multiple voices blended in unison.  The creature struggled for a moment beneath the twin onslaught, then it began to slide backward.

“I did not come to fight you, emperor,” the voice said, its hissings laced with anxiety.  “I came to offer a compromise.  Force me to flee and the hordes will still advance!”

Raeth paused.  Then he released his Night, his body immediately relaxing.  He hadn’t realized how hard he had been working.  “D’Naa,” he said, laying a hand on her vine-covered arm.

D’Naa started, her concentration breaking.  She looked up, then she sighed, releasing her Verdant and letting the vines drop to the floor of his room.  The creature’s Night disappeared immediately, evaporating like dark smoke, just as Raeth’s had.

“Your compromise?” Raeth demanded.

“Amberite and Bestarin must die,” the voice said, “but they needn’t be slaughtered.  My master has agreed to let you live.  Let the cursed Aethers be cut from your bodies and spawn no children, and you may live out the rest of your days amongst the children of Vae.”

“What?” Raeth asked.  “This is your compromise?  I can’t command an entire people not to have children.”

“Only those of Amberite or Bestarin” the voice hissed.  “Steps would have to be taken upon the men to make certain further children of cursed tribes could not be sired.”

“Castration?” Raeth asked incredulously.

“You would rather be slaughtered, child of Makkal?” the voice asked.

Makkal? The voice in Raeth’s head said.  I know that name.

Raeth ignored it for the moment.  “You have no compromise, creature,” he spat.  “To have no children is to end the Ancestral lines.”

“Your Ancestors are already Forgotten,” the voice hissed, “they bear the cursed Aethers.  Who do you think it is that attacks you?  Generation upon generation of High Aedin, unknowingly tainted by the Aethers they bear.  The cycle must stop.  Do not curse your posterity because of your own foolishness, child of Makkal.”

That can’t be true! Raeth thought, feeling numb.  Father, grandfather, the lines of the High Aedin. . .Forgotten?

“I’ve heard enough,” D’Naa snapped, raising her arms again.  The creature cried out in fear as D’Naa let loose another barrage of Verdant.  The vines, however, found nothing to capture.  The dark form vanished before the Verdant arrived, dissolving into smoky Night.

Raeth stood, stunned.

D’Naa let her vines fall dead again, frowning.  “Sorry,” she said, looking up at him.  “I never have been very good at negotiating.”

Raeth shook his head, barely listening to her.  What if they really are just trying to save us? He thought.  What if those creatures are our ancestors, what if they’re trying to protect us, like the stories say they do?  Protect us by destroying Amberite and Bestarin, so no more of us will become Forgotten. . . .

“Raeth,” D’Naa said urgently, reaching up to put her hands on his shoulders.  “You don’t believe that thing, do you?”

“What if it was speaking the truth?” Raeth asked quietly.  “What if all this time we’ve been cursing ourselves without knowing it?”

“Men aren’t cursed because of lineage or Aethers,” D’Naa said firmly.  “They can only curse themselves by what they themselves do.  It was lying to you.”

“Maybe,” Raeth said.

“Definitely.”

Raeth, Night said in his head.  Did you feel it?

Feel what? Raeth asked.

When it left.  Did you feel what it did?  The way it disappeared?

No, Raeth said, waking from his stupor.  Did you?  Can you follow it?

No, I can’t follow, the voice said.  But I do think I know what it did.  You were trying wrong--you tried to Send your brother.  But Night is opposite from what your priests do.  It is different.

It can’t Send others, Raeth realized, suddenly understanding.  Illuminous can send others, but it can’t Send itself.

Here, the voice said, pay attention.  Feel what I do.

And suddenly, Raeth felt his body dissolve into a puff of darkness.

Chapter Twenty-Five

The black pool confronted him, darker even than the night sky above.  Moonlight was lost in the pool’s caliginous depths.  It seemed to draw him forward, pulling on all that was around it.

Why have you brought me here? Raeth demanded.

It was the first place I thought of, Night said.  Can you feel it?

Feel what? Raeth demanded.  Then, however, he realized he could feel something--sense something.  He could feel the pool the way he could feel the Night crouching around, only the pool was far more powerful.  Concentrated.

I was trapped inside it for so long, his Aether said.  I can’t even remember how long it claimed me.

Do you think it’s true? Raeth asked.  Were you once a man, like me.  An Amberite Bond who became Forgotten?

Maybe, Night said.  I remember fleeing to you.

When the droplet of Night touched my skin? Raeth thought, remembering.

When you Bonded it, the voice confirmed.  But, you weren’t the first.  There were others, but I didn’t go to them.

Why? Raeth asked.

I felt something on them.  A taint.  It filled me with hatred, and I shied away from it.

Raeth frowned.  A taint? He asked.  What do you mean?

I. . .don’t know, Raeth.  I can’t answer your questions.

Raeth sighed.

But, the voice said, I. . . .

What? Raeth asked.  You remember something?

No, Night said.  No memory.  More of a sense, something that has always been with me.  A connection.  I cannot answer your questions, but perhaps there is someone who can.  I can feel him now.

Who? Raeth asked.

I don’t know.

All right, Raeth thought.  Where is he then?

I don’t know.

This isn’t very helpful, Raeth thought with exasperation.

I think he’s trapped, like I was.  But, trapped elsewhere.

How do we find him then? Raeth thought.

Find another place like this one, the voice replied.

What do you mean? Raeth demanded.  Night, however, had decided to fall silent.  Raeth sighed again, turning back to the pool.  There were no Forgotten left in the city; they were all on their way to slaughter his relatives.  He still had no idea how to stop them.

However, as he stared at the pool, he began to realize something.  He didn’t have the same feeling of dread he had earlier in the day.  He frowned at his own emotions.  What had changed?  He wasn’t more optimistic, but for some reason he felt light fighting now, when he hadn’t before.

And slowly he realized what it was.  The creature that had appeared to him to offer the deal, it had told him something.  That he had an enemy.  His people weren’t just being attacked by nebulous spirits--the messenger had mentioned a master.  Raeth had an enemy.  He didn’t know who that enemy was, but for some reason the knowledge that he was in a direct struggle with someone, or something, made his determination flare.

Taking a deep breath, the tried to remember what it was that the voice in his head had done in bringing him to Saeris Va.  He gathered the Night, touching the budding senses within himself, and formed an image of his rooms in his mind.  A second later, he fell into darkness as he had before, moving through a dark void rife with chaotic movement that he could sense but couldn’t feel, shooting back toward Vae Annitor.

#

D’Naa stood in Hern’s rooms, still staring at the place where he had been standing a few moments before.  Her Aether was exhausted from trying to attack the creature, and it passed the fatigue on to her.  She ignored it.  A stronger emotion held her attention: worry.

“Raeth?” she asked, unsettled by the fear in her own voice.

They took him, she thought with anxiety.  What should she do?  Call for the guards?  What could they do?

She stood uncertainly, standing before broken glass and discarded Verdant vines, shaking slightly.  It can’t end this way!

And then he was back.  D’Naa blinked in shock as the darkness seeped from the corners of the room, joining into a human-like form that snapped into color.  The emperor stood before her, a look of consternation on his face.

“Well, one thing is certain,” he said, looking over at her.  “It’s certainly more agreeable on one’s stomach than a Sending.”

“What happened?” D’Naa demanded, taking a step toward him.

“The dark Aether,” Hern--Raeth--said, sitting down with a tired sigh, “it can Send just like Illuminous can.  Only, instead of Sending others, it lets me Send myself.  It’s also very exhausting.”

D’Naa stood for a moment, but then she just sighed and sat beside him.  Why not?  One thing was certain, he understood his tiredness.  “Where did you go?” she asked.

Raeth paused, frowning, his eyes studying her.

“What?” she asked.

“This is going to sound very odd,” he finally said.

“Can it be any stranger than anything else that’s happened in this last month?”

“Point taken,” Raeth said.  “Sometimes I hear a voice in my head.”

D’Naa frowned.

“I’m not crazy,” Raeth assured.  “It only started after I bonded Night.  I think it’s the Aether.  Didn’t you say that Verdant is intelligent?”

“Intelligent is the wrong word,” D’Naa said.  “It. . .seems to have emotions.”

“Well, Night talks to me,” Raeth said.  “Anyway, it says we need to find other places, like the pool.”

“What does that mean?” D’Naa asked.

“I don’t know,” Raeth said.  “And apparently it doesn’t either.  The voice doesn’t make much sense most of the time.”

“That’s all right,” D’Naa said, leaning against him, letting herself give into the fatigue of the last few days.  “Nothing else has made sense these last few weeks either.”

Raeth chuckled.  “That’s for certain,” he agreed, settling back, content to just sit for the moment pondering his problems.

#

He was beside the pool again.  Only, this time it didn’t feel by far as powerful as it had.  What had changed?  And why was it suddenly growing lighter?

Raeth’s vision fuzzed, and he blinked, coming awake to a gentle shaking.  His rooms were bright with sunlight, and he was still sitting on the chair, D’Naa a pleasantly warm lump leaning against his side.  He didn’t even remember falling asleep, though he was certain the unnatural position in the chair was going to make his soreness even worse.

“Aren’t I the one who’s supposed to get caught in compromising positions with women?” a voice asked.

The lest vestiges of sleepiness fled Raeth’s mind as he looked up with shock, following the arm that had been shaking him.

“Darro!” Raeth said.  “Why aren’t you in the hospital?”

Darro shrugged, a motion that highlighted the bandaged stump that was the remains of his arm.  It had been amputated about halfway between the shoulder and elbow.

“Why should I stay there?” he asked.  “It’s not like a few healers will be able to make it regrow.”  He settled back, reclining his bulk in a chair across from Raeth’s.  D’Naa moved slightly at the sound, but remained asleep, her head resting on Raeth’s shoulder.

“Last I checked,” Darro noted, “neither of us were married yet.”

Raeth blushed.  “Nothing happened,” he defended.  “We were just--”

Darro’s chuckle cut him off.  “Of course nothing happened,” he said.  “This is you we’re talking about, after all.”  He leaned back, then shuffled uncomfortably as he tried to lean a non-existent limb on the chair’s arm rest.  “You know, I can finally understand why Bestarin let themselves get joined with animals the way they do.  This is Twins-cursed inconvenient.”

Raeth smiled despite himself.  It was good to see Darro back to a bit of his old self.  Though there was a haunted cast to his eyes, it seemed that some of Darro’s jovial nature had returned.

“So, I hear we’re leaving today,” Darro noted.

“Yes,” Raeth said, keeping his voice down as to not wake D’Naa.  “You know what’s happening?”

“I’ve heard,” Darro said with a nod.

Raeth let the comment hang in the air, a sense of gloom entering the room despite the bright spring morning.

“You know,” Darro said, staring off out the broken balcony door, “I thought I’d die on that battlefield.  I promised myself I would die, die finally doing something useful.”  He turned, looking into Raeth’s eyes.  “I’m still here.  Guess the Ancestors have didn’t want to take me.  That means we have something left to do.  What’s the plan?”

Plan? Raeth thought.  “I don’t know,” he confessed.  Something was nagging at his mind.  He couldn’t remember what it was, something he’d been dreaming when Darro woke him.

“You don’t know?” Darro asked.  “Raeth, you’ve always got something ticking inside that mind of yours, whether it be shooting arrows or Sending livestock.  The Imperium could use a couple of falling cows right now.”

He’d been dreaming about the pool.  He’d been near it again.  No. . .thoughts of the pool had interrupted his dream for some reason.  He’d felt near to it again. . . .

“Darro,” Raeth said suddenly, looking up.  “Come here.”

Darro frowned, but stood, walking over.

“Touch my arm again,” Raeth said, “like you did a few minutes ago to wake me up.”

Darro shrugged, but did as requested.  Raeth could feel it the moment Darro’s hand touched him.  It was very faint, but it was the same feeling as before.  The feeling of power and compression.

“It’s the Aether Bud,” Raeth said quietly.

“What do you mean?” Darro asked, standing up straight and looking at his palm.

“The buds, they’re different than the Amberite we make,” Raeth said.  “The Buds don’t crumble when they lose contact with our skin, and they’re the catalyst that lets us create Amberite.  It’s like. . .the buds are more concentrated than the armor or swords we make.”

“So?” Darro asked.

“So,” Raeth said, “where did the first Buds come from?  Where did we get the Aethers in the first place?”

Yes! The voice in his mind said.  Find the sources!  That is where he is.

“I don’t know,” Darro said with a shrug.

“That has to be the answer,” Raeth said quietly.

D’Naa suddenly groaned quietly, turning her head and blinking.  She looked up at Raeth, then turned too look across the room, then sat up suddenly, her eyes growing wide, disheveled locks of dark hair falling in front of her face.  “D’Lum!” she exclaimed, blushing.

Raeth didn’t give her time to adjust.  He reached over and put his hands on her shoulders, looking her in the eyes.  “D’Naa,” he said.  “Where did the Kavir get their first Verdant Bud?  Did you take it off a High Aedin?”

D’Naa blinked in surprise, still a little bit disoriented.  “Um, I don’t know,” she said.  “I was young when it happened.”

“Who would know?” Raeth asked.

“If anyone knows it would be my cousin, the king,” she said, looking over at Darro with confusion.  “Shouldn’t he be in the hospital?”

“That’s what I told him,” Raeth said as Darro shrugged.  “Go find something warm to wear, you two,” Raeth continued.  “We’re going to Kavir.”

#

“Twins, it’s cold here!” Darro swore, pulling his cloak tight.  He’d never visited Kavir, and he’d never wanted to.  Vae Annitor grew cold enough for him, and he’d actually have preferred to live in En Mahall, where it never grew more than a passably chilly, even in the winter.

“Stop complaining,” Raeth chastised, looking unperturbed by the biting wind.  “You have enough padding, after all.”

Darro grumbled quietly to himself, trying to shield his face from the wind.  It was colder here, even, than the northern border.  The worst part was the wind.  It was like a hammer trying to smash the piercing cold through Darro’s skin, the fakes of snow it blew like tiny daggers of ice.

How does someone as small as her stand it? Darro thought, looking down at the Kavir girl who stood at Raeth’s side.  She had absolutely no meat on her, yet she took the cold in stride, leading them up the road toward a large snow-covered building.

Darro tried to pull his cloak tighter--a difficult proposition with only one arm.  He had heard soldiers explain what it was like to lose a limb, but he never thought he’d feel so. . .awkward.  He kept reaching with his stump, feeling with fingers that were no longer there.  At least it hadn’t been his right arm--losing both arm and Aether in one blow would have been more than even he could handle.

Darro shook his head, trudging along behind his brother and D’Naa, a group of six guards surrounding them. Raeth kept looking back at Darro with poorly veiled-concern.  He thought Darro should still be under the healers’ care; however, the healers had plenty of men to deal with that were far worse off than Darro.  Actually, he was surprised at how little pain there was.  It hurt, true, but the hurt was by no means incapacitating.

No, far more agonizing was the realization that he’d done it again.  He’d gone into the battle with good intentions--protecting Raeth, sacrificing himself for the good of the Imperium.  It was only afterwards, while laying in the sick bed the day before, that he’d realized what he’d really done.  He’d tried to dodge responsibility once again, this time through death.

If he’d died a martyr’s death, he wouldn’t have had to live with the knowledge of his betrayal.  He’d nearly gotten himself killed, just to sate his selfish desire to dodge his duty.  What if he had died?  The creatures would have still come back, and Darro wouldn’t have been alive to help.  Raeth still needed him, would probably always need him.

The nine of them piled into the building, and Darro let out a sigh of relief, enjoying the relative warmth.  The building was a large wooden construction, blockish with a peaked roof.  Very functional--the opposite of most structures in Vae Annitor.  Darro awkwardly shook the snow from his shoulders as a servant ran to get the Kavir king.

“What if he doesn’t know where we got the Aether?” D’Naa asked, wiping the snow from her short, dark hair.

“I’m not sure,” Raeth replied.  “We’ll have to think of something else.”

Darro perked up as he heard footsteps approaching.  “The king will see you in his sitting room,” the servant informed, gesturing toward an open doorway down the hall.  Raeth left most of the guards behind, taking only two with him as he followed the servant’s motions.

Darro clumped along beside his brother, curious.  The last time he had seen king Ala’D, they had both been in their first decade of life.  As they reached the doorway, entering yet another austerely-decorated room, Darro was struck by a single thought.

He’s not as big as I expected.  True, most people were small when compared to Darro, but he had heard that the King of Kavir was a large man.  That assessment appeared to be a bit optimistic.  Ala’D was broad of the chest, like most Kavir.  However, also like most Kavir, he lacked height.  He was several inches shorter than Raeth, which put him nearly a head and a half shorter than Darro.  While the man’s rough Kavir beard made him a little more imposing, he still didn’t live up to the stories.

Darro shook his head as Ala’D and Raeth exchanged greetings.  They just didn’t make people very big here in the east.  Probably had to do with the wind--stumpy legs kept them from getting blown over.

“Prince Darro,” Ala’D said, bringing Darro’s mind back to the conversation.  “I had heard of your wound.  It is good to see that you are recovering so well.”

Darro shrugged.  “Laying down doesn’t do much good when there’s a war on.”

“That’s true enough,” Ala’D agreed, motioning for them to sit.

“This will be a short visit, your highness,” Raeth said, seating himself. “I only have a single question for you.”  The room was a small one, and so many people made it cramped.  Darro didn’t take a seat at the table, instead choosing a chair by the wooden wall, where there was a little more space.

“You want to know if you can bring your people to the highlands,” Ala’D said.  “It is a good strategy--the creatures will find it far more difficult to fight on this terrain.”

Raeth paused.  “Actually,” he said, resting his arms on the table, the room’s only furniture besides chairs, “that’s not it.”

Ala’D frowned as a servant entered with a jug of something steaming and began to pour cups.  Darro settled himself in a hard-backed chair, shuffling uncomfortable.  Hadn’t the Kavir ever heard of cushions?

“Why have you come, then?” Ala’D asked.

“It’s about the Aethers,” Raeth explained, accepting a cup.

Ala’D’s frown deepened.  “I hardly think this is the time to discipline us, your majesty.  Kavir will not apologize for what it has done.  It is time someone saw through Aedin lies and took a little power for themselves.”

Raeth flushed slightly.  “That’s not what I meant, Ala’D,” he said.

Darro watched with keen interest as the servant poured him a mug of the steaming liquid.  It didn’t appear to be tea; it had a spicy scent to it, and a dark color.  He’d vowed not to drink alcohol any more, but. . .well, if he didn’t know, then it would be fine, right?  The serving maid handed him a mug, and he regarded its size with consternation, then motioned for her to pour him a second just in case.

“I’m afraid I don’t quite understand,” Ala’D said, still tense.  Despite his arrival to aid the Imperium forces two days before, it was obvious that he still had issues with Aedin rule.

“I need to know where you got your first Verdant bud,” Raeth said.  Ala’D opened his mouth to object, but Raeth continued quickly.  “Not to punish you, Ala’D.  You’re right--even if I were considering such a thing, this is certainly not the time.  I think knowing where the Aethers first originated might help us defeat the creatures.”

Ala’D sat quietly for a moment.  He certainly has grown up to be a stern man, Darro thought, taking a draw on the first mug.  The liquid inside was surprisingly good, sweet with a hint of some peppery spice Darro didn’t recognize him.  Its warmth was very welcome despite the fact that it threatened to burn his mouth.

“I can’t answer that question, your majesty,” Ala’D finally confessed.  “Kaaln was the one who secured our first Aether, all those years ago.”

Raeth frowned in confusion.

“The man you saw dead at the end of the battle,” Ala’D explained.  “He was my mentor and caretaker, regent when I was young.  The Aethers were his idea--back when he was a senator, he somehow found out that they could be Bonded to non-Aedin.  I don’t know who his contact was.”

Raeth frowned deeply, his mug of whatever sitting untouched on the table beside him.

“I didn’t know Kaaln was a senator,” D’Naa said from her chair beside Raeth.

“He abandoned the post when my parents died,” Ala’D said.

“If he spent time in Vae Annitor, he probably got the Aether the same way you tried to get Amberite,” Raeth said, holding up his hand and looking at his chipped Aether.  As he did so, Darro noticed that both D’Naa and Ala’D blushed slightly.

“Excuse me, my lords,” a gruff-looking guard said from the far side of the room.

“Yes, Yanic?” Ala’D said, turning to the man.

“I was with Kaaln when he got the Aether.  It didn’t come from an Aedin man--we tried that first, but abandoned the plan because we couldn’t think of a way to get the Aether without being discovered.”

“How, then?” Raeth asked, perking up.  “Where did you get it.”

“We bought it, my lord,” the aging guard said.  “From a man named Elethis.”

Raeth hissed softly.  “Elethis,” he said.  “The Shentis ambassador.”

“Yes, my lord.”

#

D’Naa stumbled forward, a wave of nausea rushing through her body.  One of the palace Sending-attendants steadied her, waiting with a bag just in case she made sick.

“I’ll never get used to that,” she mumbled, waving the servant away as Raeth and Darro stepped from the platform.

“Don’t worry,” Darro said, clapping her on the shoulder with his good arm, “most of us never do either.

D’Naa smiled.  She hadn’t spent much time with Raeth’s oversized brother, but she was quickly realizing that she liked him.  Darro had a quiet nonchalance about him that made everything, even the Forgotten advance, seem a little less stressful.

“How many secrets can one man hide?” Raeth asked, striding forward without a hint of nausea, as if to disprove Darro’s words.

“Who?” D’Naa asked, taking a deep breath and following him through the circular Sending room and onto the strange Corpate climbing creature.

“Shateen,” Raeth said as Darro and D’Naa joined him.  “The Shentis Ambassador.”

“Wasn’t he executed?” D’Naa asked with a frown as Raeth told the Nurturer to take them down to the underground floor.

“No,” Darro responded.  “Nearly, but he didn’t quite make it into the pool before the creatures started coming out.”

“I’ve been holding him,” Raeth said as the Corpate began to move.  “I sensed he was hiding something, but I thought I’d already figured it out.  It seems that there’s more to the Shentis than assumed.”

D’Naa shivered slightly.  She’d heard about the Shentis, but she’d never met one.  Apparently, there weren’t very many of the creatures.  “The stories say they’re not any better than the things we’re fighting.”

“The Shentis are strange,” Raeth agreed.  “I’m still not certain what to make of them.  We were going to have Shateen executed for buying children from an orphanage.”

“Buying children?” D’Naa asked incredulously.  “Why?”

“Apparently to make more Shentis,” Raeth said.  He fell silent, leaving the strange remark to stand on its own.

D’Naa sighed, her Aether wiggling slightly.  As the Corpate continued climbing, however, D’Naa’s mind drifted to another topic.  It was odd, but for some reason returning to Vae Annitor felt comfortable to her.  She already regarded the palace as her home, though she had only been living in it for a few weeks.

That’s silly, she told herself.  She’d lived in Kavir for all her life--how could she abandon it so quickly in favor of a place she barely knew?  Yet, she couldn’t help her feelings.  Something about the palace felt right to her.  Perhaps it was the people--or rather person--it represented.

D’Naa turned to the side, studying Raeth.  A slight frown of consternation marred his face in the dark corridor and he stared forward, his mind obviously deep in thought.  She had known him--really known him--for such a short time.  Yet, she already felt something she couldn’t deny.  It had begun on that first day, when she had danced with him that day so many weeks ago.  She’d responded to the emotion with forced anger, stamping out any weakness toward him in favor of her predispositions.  Yet, it had grown despite her attempts at ignoring it.  When she had been ready to acknowledge it, it had been ready to blossom.

He was confident, yet at the same time there was an insecurity to him--a tendency to worry too much.  Strong, yet vulnerable.  An attractive combination--especially now that she realized he hadn’t been the one who had insulted her during that first bride choosing.

It was strange--she had to realign her thinking, casting out many of her previous conceptions.  She had rationalized herself into believing that Hern must have been misunderstood, that he was really a good man inside that projected the wrong image.  That wasn’t the case--he really was the good, thoughtful person she had seen.  It was just that he wasn’t Hern.

D’Lum be blessed that the Forgotten took the right brother, D’Naa thought.  Where would the Imperium be if Hern had been the one who survived?

The Corpate slowed and finally stopped, revealing a darkened, musty-smelling room.  “A dungeon,” D’Naa said with surprise.  “I thought the Aedin considered themselves above such things.”

“We only keep special prisoners here,” Raeth said, stepping off the platform.  D’Naa and Darro joined him, following Raeth past several saluting sentries and through a barred gate.  The circular room beyond was lined with cells, only one of which appeared to be occupied.

“Why, my emperor and captor,” a smooth voice said.  A form moved inside the cell, stepping into the light.  D’Naa shied back, at first thinking he was one of the Forgotten, but she quickly noticed differences.  His skin wasn’t black so much as it was a deep bluish purple--as if it were a mass of bruises.  His skin didn’t suck in light like the Forgotten did, it was just dark.  Most importantly, however, his eyes were white and human.

“Shateen,” Raeth said, stepping forward.

“I would offer you a seat, your majesty,” Shateen said, his affable voice a sharp contrast to the gloomy quarters, “but I doubt you would want to join me in the cell.”

“I’ve come to release you, Shateen,” Raeth said.  “The creatures have nearly reached the city.”

“You don’t intend to leave me down here?” Shateen asked, a hint of true surprise in his voice.  “That seems like the easiest way to make certain my execution is completed.  I do believe we’re a few days late on that, though I suppose I shouldn’t remind you.”

“You’re not going to be executed any more,” Raeth said.

“I’m not?”

“I’ve decided you did nothing wrong,” Raeth said.  “At least, nothing worthy of death.  The children you took live on--in one form or another.  I can hardly blame you for trying to ensure the continuance of your people.”

“So you’re letting me go,” Shateen said, his voice doubtful.  “And what is my price?  I’m afraid I’m no good at granting wishes, no matter what the farmwives say.”

“The price is information,” Raeth said.  “A few years ago your predecessor sold the Kavir a Verdant Aether Bud.  Where did he get it?”

Shateen paused, leaning forward, his hands on the bars of his cell.  “I guess I’m just going to have to wait for the creatures to arrive,” he finally announced.  “Perhaps they’ll be more accommodating than my current hosts.”

“Twins, man!” Raeth cursed, stepping forward.  “What does it take to get a little cooperation out of you?”

“I will not reveal the secrets of my people, your majesty,” Shateen said simply.  “One would think that you’d have realized that by now.”

#

Raeth sighed, pushing away his anger.  He’d tried threatening Shateen before, and the results had been pathetic.  The Shentis was obviously willing to sacrifice his life to protect his people, and that gave him a strong edge.

Raeth stepped forward, calming himself.  He paused in front of Shateen’s bars, then leaned against the wall beside them, letting a bit of his exhaustion show.  “You know, it’s frustrating, Shateen.”

“What is that, your majesty?”

“Had this all not happened, I think we would have gotten along very well.  You seem like an irregularly jovial person.”

“Thank you, your majesty,” Shateen noted.  “Though, to be honest, had this not all happened I would probably be dead right now.”

Raeth paused.  “I suppose you’re right,” he agreed.  “I can’t help thinking that a lot of frustration and anger could have been saved if your people had just told us a little more about yourselves.”

“We tried that, your majesty,” Shateen said, leaning with his shoulder against the bars.  “Where do you think all the rumors about us came from?  The truth is, Lord Hern, that secrecy is our only means of survival.  You think people would be comfortable knowing that the stories are true, that the Shentis really do capture children?”

“You really can’t reproduce on your own?” Raeth asked.

Shateen shook his head.  “Only the blood of a Shentis injected into a regular person will make another Shentis.  How do you think the people would react to that knowledge?”

“Perhaps some of them would react poorly,” Raeth said.  “But not all of us would.”

“All respect given, your majesty, I am not so certain.”

Raeth fell silent.  “Tell me one thing, Shateen,” he said.  “Why did you save me?  I was one of those consenting to your execution.  Why rescue me like you did?  Why not let the creatures take me?”

“You are not to be blamed for your fear, Lord Hern,” Shateen explained.  “I was human once, though it was many years ago.  I can remember fear, misunderstanding.  I would be frightened of the Shentis too.”

“That doesn’t explain why you saved me,” Raeth pointed out.

Shateen paused, leaning and blacking his back against the bars, looking up at the top of the cell.

“When I lived,” he finally said,  “I did not live well.  I told you of my life as an orphan, of the hatred and shame I felt.  Then, I was taken away.  Taken by the Shentis and brought to a place where I was loved and cared for.”  He turned, looking Raeth in the eyes.  “Why did I save you, your majesty?  Because it was the right thing to do.”

“You can do that again,” Raeth said.  “Nothing stops these creatures.  Weapons barely hurt them, and even if we do slay them they just get reborn from the pool again.”

“I can’t help you with that, your majesty,” Shateen said.

“Yes you can,” Raeth corrected.  “Just tell me this.  Do you know of a place where Verdant can be found, a place where it grows?  A source of the Aether?”

Shateen paused.  “Yes,” he finally answered.

“Where?”

“The Shentis village,” he said.  “We’ve always known about it.”

“I need you to take me there,” Raeth said.  “There might be a way to stop the creatures.”

Shateen shook his head.  “I can’t, Lord Hern.  Please understand.  Our secrecy is the only think that has kept us alive through the centuries.”

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice but to tell me,” Raeth said quietly.

“Why?” Shateen asked.  “Will you threaten me?  Torture?  Will you bring the darkness again, like you did last time?”

“No,” Raeth said.  “None of that.  I just want you to consider one thing.  What happens to your people when the Imperium falls?  What will happen if the creatures destroy us all?  Tell me, Shateen.  Where will the Shentis replenish their numbers if the people of the Imperium are slaughtered?”

Shateen started, his eyes widening slightly.  Raeth knew his words were a partial lie--the Forgotten didn’t want to destroy the entire Imperium, just half of it.  Shateen, however, did not know that.

“There will be people left,” the ambassador defended.

“Probably,” Raeth agreed.  “Straggling groups.  Nomads.  How will you convince them to give you their children?  How will you even find them?  The creatures will be hunting them too, you know--they may even start hunting you.  The Shentis may be well-hidden, but you don’t know the Forgotten.  They’re merciless.  They don’t stop, and they’re stronger, tougher, and more resilient than any human.”

Raeth turned, taking a step closer to the cell, holding Shateen’s eyes.  “Like it or not, Shateen, your future is directly tied to ours.  Without the Imperium to provide easily-accessed orphans, your people will die out.”

“A. . .compelling argument,” Shateen finally admitted.  “But an irrelevant one.  The village is many day’s travel from here.  You said the creatures are arriving soon--we wouldn’t be able to get there in time.”

“You forget the Sending,” Raeth said.

“None of your Vo-Dari have been to the village,” Shateen said, shaking his head.  “They can’t Send you there.”

“They might be able to Send us someplace close, however,” Raeth said.  “The creatures won’t arrive until tomorrow, and that is just this city, which will be evacuated soon.  We have time.  Not much, but it’s there.”

Shateen closed his eyes, whispering something Raeth couldn’t hear.  “All right,” he finally said.  “But you only.  We’ll have the Vo-Dari Send us to the area, then I’ll lead you the rest of the way.  And, I will have your word that you will not reveal the location.”

“I am emperor,” Raeth said.  “I’m not foolish enough to go alone.”

“Two guards, then,” Shateen said.  “Men you can trust.”

“Very well,” Raeth said.  “You have my word that we will not tell.  Now, let’s go.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Darro did not trust Shateen.  Of course, he didn’t trust Shentis in general.  Knowing more about them didn’t help, either--in fact, it hurt.  Shateen had as much as admitted that the stories were true.  Shentis did steal the life from people, propagating themselves by taking advantage of unsuspecting innocents.

That was why Darro had insisted that Raeth bring him. Stump or no stump, Darro was still the most powerful living Amberite Bond.  Raeth was very clever, true, but he was also too trusting.  His life in the Irae had taught him that people were generally kind and trustworthy.  Darro’s life, one rife with political backstabbings and nights spent in dark bars, had left him with a slightly more discerning view.

Darro was half-expecting to find Shentis assassins waiting to suck their blood when the Sending resolved.  Instead, all he saw was an empty village.  Tessin was a farming community of moderate size, located about a week’s travel north of Vae Annitor.  Its emptiness was not surprising--most of the northern villages had been evacuated.

Shateen materialized next, followed by Raeth and finally D’Naa.  Darro still wasn’t certain it had been wise to bring the girl.  Darro could think of any number soldiers trustworthy enough to take the third spot, but Raeth had been insistent.  He claimed that the girls’ Verdant Bond was as strong as any High Aedin--a fact Darro still had trouble believing.

Four horses materialized a short distance away.  They handled the Sending well--learning to be Sent was a vital part of any cavalry animal’s training.

“Well?” Raeth asked.  “Where to now?”

Shateen turned to the east.  “That way,” he said.  “A half day’s travel.”

“A half day?” Darro demanded.  “You couldn’t have had us Sent closer?”

“The further we ride by horse, my oversized prince, the less chance that Vo-Dari will have of guessing our true destination,” Shateen informed, swinging astride one of the horses.

“You’re taking us there,” Darro grumbled, accepting a horse’s reigns from Raeth.  “Don’t you think secrecy is a bit ridiculous now?”

“Never can be too careful,” Shateen said affably.  He took a deep breath, looking up into the bright sky.  “Winter has passed on while I was in that hole,” he said, almost as if to himself.  “I’d forgotten how wonderful it was out here.”

“A creature of darkness like yourself enjoying a spring afternoon?” Raeth asked, swinging unpracticedly into his horse’s saddle.

“Alas,” Shateen said, “I never did make a very good creature of darkness.  I keep telling people my skin doesn’t do me justice, but for some reason I never get a very good response.”

“Maybe they’d heard that you liked to kidnap orphans and exchange blood with them,” Darro said, climbing into his horse’s saddle--Raeth had, fortunately, given him the biggest one, a massive war-horse with legs almost as squat as Darro’s.

The horse turned as Darro climbed on, regarding him with a look that almost seemed like a roll of the eyes.

“Yes,” Darro mumbled to the animal, “well I’m not to thrilled about the idea of riding you either.”  Horses and he had never gotten along.  He found them ill-tempered and smelly, and they most likely regarded him the same way.  Raeth looked equally awkward astride his beast--both brothers had ridden horses before, of course, but with Corpates and the Sending, High Aedin rarely had to stoop to horseback.

D’Naa, however, seemed right at home.  She patted her beast on the neck, then hopped spryly into its saddle.

“Let’s go,” Raeth said.  “Time is valuable.”

Shateen nodded, turning his horse and leading the way out of the city.  D’Naa and Raeth followed, as did Darro--but only after the horse turned the wrong way several times, as if intentionally trying to aggravate him.

The trip quickly became monotonous.  It was an odd feeling--their nation was in grave danger, and they were riding in a desperate search for information.  However, horses could only move so fast, and they had a long way to go.  Shateen rode at the front, obviously content to enjoy his sky and breeze.  Raeth and D’Naa rode a few lengths behind, their horses pulled close together as they chatted quietly.  Darro rode in the rear.

Darro looked around in his boredom, but the countryside was decidedly uninteresting.  Northern Aedinor was a fruitful area, covered in lush farms and rich soil.  Unfortunately, lushness and richness notwithstanding, farmland made for drab scenery.  The land was a little more hilly than that around Vae Annitor, but there weren’t many trees.  The mountains of the northern border were just barely visible in the distance, their snow-capped peaks marking the edge of the Imperium.

Eventually, with lack of a better option, Darro’s eyes fell on Raeth and the Kavir girl.  They were speaking too quietly for Darro to make out what they were saying, but he got the feeling that it was a conversation that would not appreciate his presence.  D’Naa laughed quietly to something Raeth said, her eyes looking up at him with fondness.

When did it happen? Darro wondered.  He’d known about Raeth’s preference for the girl, but hadn’t realized it went beyond physical attraction.  When had they found time to form a relationship?  D’Naa had only been in Aedinor since the Festival of the Unremembered.

Yet, it was obvious something was happening between the two.  Darro had been utterly shocked earlier when he had walked into Raeth’s rooms to find the two sleeping in the chair together.  He knew, of course, that their actions were benign--Raeth would have been completely lost had it progressed further than that.  Still, the discovery had been shocking.

As he rode alone behind them, Darro grudgingly admitted something to himself.  There were emotions stirring within him.  Jealousy.  Not for the girl particularly--he still didn’t understand what Raeth saw in her.  No, Darro’s envy was for what they had, something that had eluded him in all his years of carousing.  True affection--a relationship that endured.

He’d had a lot of fun, but none of it had lasted more than a few weeks at the most.  There was more to what D’Naa and Raeth had--he could see that, even though the speed at which it had matured baffled him.  How had Raeth, who’d lived his entire life in a monastery, managed to do in one try what Darro hadn’t accomplished in a half-decade?

Somehow, Darro suspected his realization came in part from the changes he was seeing in himself.  Before, he probably wouldn’t have noticed that what Raeth had was different than Darro’s relationships.  If he had noticed, he wouldn’t have felt envious.

Something was different within him, something brought on by the wars, the acknowledgement of responsibility, and his shame over betraying Raeth.  Darro wanted what Raeth had.  Suddenly, the prospect of marriage didn’t look quite so daunting to him anymore.

However, it wasn’t likely to occur unless they saved the Imperium.

#

The ride passed quickly for Raeth--before he realized it, most the day had passed, and the sun was creeping toward the horizon.  Shateen raised a hand, pulling them to a halt.  Trees had grown more common as they rode east, the land raising slightly and the hills becoming more predominant as they approached what would eventually become the Kavir highlands.  Directly to the east, the trees finally begun melding into what was known as the Kaldul Forest.

“The forest,” Raeth said, understanding.

“There aren’t many places to hide out on the plains, your majesty.”

Raeth nodded.  Further to the south the forest was logged heavily for its lumber, but this portion was a little more out of the way.  “It’s still dangerously close to settlements, Shateen.  I’m surprised your people remained hidden for so long.”

“There aren’t many of us,” Shateen said with a shrug, “and few people come through this forest.  The locals repute it to be haunted.”

“A sentiment I assume you encourage,” Raeth noted.

“Of course,” Shateen said with a smile.

“Hern,” D’Naa said suddenly, reaching over to rest her arm on his shoulder, “look up there.”

Raeth followed her nod, turning to the north.  A dark shadow crept across the hills, moving south.  There were no clouds in the sky.

Raeth shivered.  “How can they move so quickly?”

“They’ll easily reach Vae Annitor by tomorrow at this rate,” Darro said from behind.

Raeth nodded.  The Vo-Dari were going to Send scouts to Tessin every hour to check for their emperor’s return, but Raeth and the others would have to ride all the way back to the village first--another half-day wait, even assuming their business with the Shentis went quickly.

Raeth nodded to the forest.  “Lead on,” he said.

Shateen stared at the distant tide of Forgotten for a moment before nodding and turning his horse toward a forest path and leading the way forward.  The rest of them followed, Darro having trouble with his horse, as always.  The woods were composed mostly of conifers, and weren’t thick, so riding was easy.  However, glimpsing the Forgotten advance made everyone edgy, including Raeth, so D’Naa and he did not return to their conversations.  Instead, they rode in silence, the only sound that of their horses’ footsteps.

“They should be spotting us any time now,” Shateen said after about a half hour of riding.  Sure enough, Raeth soon saw movement in one of the trees ahead of them.

Shateen raised his hand, stopping the group.  There was silence for a moment, then a rope dropped from the tree and a dark-skinned form slid to the ground.

“Shateen?” the man asked, stepping forward.  His age was hard to judge because of the odd skin, but he looked to be in his early thirties.

“It is indeed,” Shateen said with a broad smile.

“You’ve betrayed us!” the guard said, backing away, his eyes frightened as they focussed on Raeth and the others.

“Afraid so,” Shateen said.  “But, I didn’t really have much choice.  Run and tell the elders I’ve returned.”

The Shentis man shot a dissatisfied look at Raeth, then did as commanded, turning and dashing into the woods, away from the path.

“Come on,” Shateen said, climbing off his horse and leading it off the path.  “The trail is a diversion; it ends at a clearing about an hour from here.”

Raeth nodded, happy to be off the horse.  He slid free, his legs stiff from the riding, and walked--awkwardly at first--after Shateen.

“You Aedin aren’t too fond of horses, are you?” D’Naa noticed, climbing down and walking beside Raeth.

Raeth shrugged.  “They’re a useful, if archaic, means of getting around.”

D’Naa rolled her eyes.  “Not everyone can have Corpates.”

“Not yet,” Raeth said, winding through the trees behind Shateen.

“What do you mean?” D’Naa asked.  “You plan on making more?  I’m surprised you have as many as you do--I wouldn’t think people, even Ferrous Bonds, would be too eager to get encased in metal.”

“They aren’t,” Raeth said.  “Most Ferrous bonds become Nurturers--either that, or they’re important enough not to worry about what to do with their lives.  But Corpates are immortal.  In the early days of the Imperium, only the Emperor and the Senators had access to them.  Over time, new ones have been made, and the old ones have remained.  Eventually, there should be enough of them that anyone will have access.  They’re already all over Aedinor--even some of the smaller villages have a couple for heating or one walker to act as transport between villages.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” D’Naa mumbled.  “So, why not offer them to Kavir?  We could certainly use a few of those heaters.”

Raeth shrugged, frowning to himself.  “I’m not sure why you don’t have any,” he admitted.  “I guess we never thought to offer them--the Mahallens and the Khur refuse to make use of Aethers on religious principle, and the Shorriken don’t have their own subkingdom; they just live with us.  I guess we just assumed you wouldn’t want them.”

“High Aedin do a lot of assuming,” D’Naa noted.

Raeth paused.  “I guess we do,” he agreed.  “It comes from thinking you’re the center of the world.”

“You know, you probably are,” D’Naa said, frowning.  “But that doesn’t mean you should exploit the fact.”

“I’m working on it,” Raeth promised.  “Unfortunately, other things keep getting in my way.”

“Like an army of angry ancestors?”

“Exactly,” Raeth said, smiling slightly.  Up ahead, he could already see the thatchings of a simple village.  Figures with dark faces were lining up, peering out at the approaching visitors.

“Stop right there!” a strong voice demanded.

Shateen paused.  Raeth walked up beside him, then fell still.  The one who had spoken was a tall, straight-backed man with a long white beard.  He had aged eyes, but an imposing figure.

“You should not have brought them here,” the man announced, pointing at Shateen.  “We cannot let any outsiders leave this wood with knowledge of our home.”

“Is that so, Elder?” Shateen asked, speaking with his customary lilt of affability.  “So, you’d kill them?  In cold blood?”

The Elder paused, lowering his hand.  The rest of the crowd, perhaps fifty people, about a third of them children, watched in silence.

“You might notice,” Shateen said in a low voice, “that I’m not the only one of us who makes a poor ‘creature of darkness.’”

Raeth stepped forward, leaving his horse’s reigns with Darro.  “My intentions are peaceful, Elder,” he promised.  “I do not intend to let your secret out.”

“Who is this man, Shateen?” the Elder demanded.  “He bears the cloak, and the air, of a High Aedin.”

“Ah,” Shateen said.  “Not a High Aedin, but the High Aedin.  Elder, allow me to present Hern, Emperor of the Aedinor Imperium.”

“Blessed Ancestors!” the Elder said, backing away slightly in surprise.  It was an odd oath to hear pass his lips.

They were all probably members of the Imperium at one point, Raeth thought.  They really are our same people, they’ve just undergone a bit of a change.

“The Emperor. . . .” the Elder said quietly.  Then, in a stronger voice, he continued.  “Still, you should not have brought him here.  You know our laws, Shateen, I would have thought you the last person to abandon them.”

“Your assessment of me is true, Elder,” Shateen called out.  “Therefore, you know that my reasoning must be sound.”

The Elder didn’t look very convinced.  He stood quietly, contemplating the decision.

“You’ll have to forgive him,” Shateen said quietly, “the Elder used to be High Aedin.  I’ve noticed they tend to take themselves a little too seriously.”

Raeth smiled despite himself.

“Truly, Elder, these are special circumstances.  The good emperor has promised not to--”

“Shateen?” a feminine voice called.

Shateen turned slightly as a female form broke through the crowd.  She was plump and short, probably from Shorriken stock.  She rushed forward to Shateen and into his embrace.

“Well, hello Kannalonin,” he said with a fond smile.

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” the woman whispered.

“I’m a little surprised by this all myself,” Shateen admitted, then he turned to Raeth.  “Emperor Hern, kindly meet my wife, Kannalonin.”

Raeth nodded to the woman, who was waving toward the crowd of people.  A nervous child stepped forward.

“Shateen,” Kannalonin said, “this is your son.”

Shateen’s smile widened, and he opened his arms to the young boy, who couldn’t have been more than four years old.  “I was hoping you would choose him,” Shateen said in a quiet voice.

“He reminded me of you,” Kannalonin said.

Behind, the Elder had obviously realized that he’d lost the crowd’s focus.  People were beginning to whisper, the word ‘emperor’ sounding several times.  Finally, the aging Shentis man stepped up to Raeth and the others.

“Well,” he finally said, “I suppose you’re already here.  There isn’t much we can do about that.  Welcome to the home of the Shentis, your majesty.  Come, you can come to the village hall to rest yourself.”

“Thank you, Elder,” Raeth said with a nod of his head.  Shateen was still speaking quietly with his wife and child, so Raeth decided he would just have to explain on his own. “I’m afraid I can’t engage in many pleasantries, however.  The Imperium doesn’t have much time remaining.”

The Elder frowned.  “Things are that bad, then?” he asked.  “We hear little from the outside.”

“The Imperium will likely fall by the end of the week,” Raeth said quietly.  “Out military has been completely destroyed, and Vae Annitor has been evacuated.  Most of the Senate has relocated to En Mahall, but Aedinor has been decimated.  Forgive Shateen for bringing us here, but I convinced him it was in your best interest.”

The Elder sighed quietly.  “If things are as bad as you say, your majesty, then you might be right.  The fall of the Imperium serves no one.  You. . .know of our ways?”

Raeth nodded.

The Elder took a deep breath.  “Why have you come here, then?”

“He needs to visit the Verdant, Elder,” Shateen said, standing.

“Why?” the Elder asked with confusion.

“He hasn’t really explained that,” Shateen confessed.  “He sounded fairly certain it would help, though.”

Raeth paused.  How could he explain?  “It’s. . .complicated,” he said.

The Elder sighed.  “Very well,” he said.

#

The elderly Shentis man led them through the crowd and into the village, Shateen staying behind with his family.  D’Naa watched with interest.  The village wasn’t very big at all--smaller, even, than most Kavir cities.  They passed through it quickly and moved onto a well-worn path through the forest.  The light was beginning to grow dim, especially with the trees blocking the sky, but fortunately their trip was short.

“It is in there, your majesty,” the Elder said, gesturing to an area before them broken by large mounds.

D’Naa peered closely, realizing that the ‘mounds’ were far too irregular to be a natural part of the forest. Ruins.  As they approached, she could make out pieces of carved stone peeking out from the moss-covered forest floor.  Fractured arches and weathered pillars, pieces so old that much of their bulk had crumbled to dust.

They stepped quietly along the path, sensing a certain reverence to the location.  As they walked, D’Naa noticed weathered patterns in the stone that she almost recognized for some reason.

“Saeris Va,” Raeth said in a quiet tone.  “This place is like the City of the Ancestors.  The same age, the same. . .feel.”

“Why would the Ancestors build a city in the forest?” Darro asked.

“The forest must not have been here then,” Raeth said, leaning down to study a piece of stone that might once have been a statue, but had been worn beyond recognition.  “This place is old, Darro.  Very old.”

“What you seek is in there, your majesty,” the Elder said, pointing to a large building-like ruin.  It was covered with vines and moss, and could easily have been mistaken for a small hill of earth.  At its front was a barely-discernable opening, overgrown with vines.

Raeth nodded, stepping forward.  Darro, however, placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder.  “I go first,” Darro said firmly.  “We don’t know what’s in there.”

Raeth smiled slightly, then nodded for Darro to go.  The large one-armed man stepped forward, pushing aside the vines and stepping into the dark corridor beyond.  Raeth, then D’Naa and the Elder, followed behind him.  The corridor’s walls were covered with what had once been reliefs, but were now just ripples in the stone.  Its darkness was broken up ahead, and D’Naa could see shadowed daylight.  She followed Raeth through the musty corridor, then stepped into a small room that was dominated by a single, impressive feature.  Verdant.

It grew like a massive tree, but one constructed of hundreds upon hundreds of Verdant vines.  The stone was cut in a circle around its base, as was the ceiling, letting the vines crawl out into the waning light above.   The room itself was as worn as the rest of the ruins, its walls cracked, its floor overgrown by vines and moss.

“Verdant,” Raeth whispered, staring up through the opening.  The twisting mass of vines continued up into the distance, growing tall as the surrounding trees.

D’Naa’s eyes immediately turned toward the elder, and she frowned.  There were no signs of vines on his arms.  “Why haven’t you bonded it?” she asked.

The old man raised a hand, showing a circular-shaped gem in his right hand.  “I was Amberite, though I was weak for a High Aedin.  My father was a traitor, and none of my relatives would take me.  Fortunately, I was given the Gift.”

Raeth raised an eyebrow at the word ‘Gift.’  However, his attention was not focused on the elder.  Instead he stared at the tree-like Verdant, frowning slightly in thought.  Bits of dust from their movement hung in the air, passing through the rays of light that cut through the opening above.

“Well, we’re here,” Darro said.  “Now what?”

“I’m not certain,” Raeth admitted.

You have brought my son.  The voice burst into D’Naa’s mind, making her gasp in surprise.  It was powerful and full, and its words seemed to echo through her body.  Yet, its power was not one of rage or even strength, but of. . .age.

“D’Naa?” Raeth said, turning with concern.  “What is it?”

“You didn’t hear that?” D’Naa asked.

“Hear what?” Darro asked.

“A voice,” D’Naa said.  “In your mind.”

Raeth turned, regarding the mass of vines.  “You see, Darro,” he finally said.  “I knew there was a good reason to bring a Verdant Bond with us.  What did it say, D’Naa?”

“It said ‘You have brought my son.’”

Raeth frowned, taking a step toward the vines.

“Don’t touch it, your majesty,” the Elder warned.  “To touch the Verdant brings immediate death.”

The power is too concentrated, the voice said in D’Naa’s mind.  It will overwhelm your frail bodies.

Raeth turned, studying her eyes.  “What?” he asked.

She repeated the voice’s words, and Raeth turned back to the Verdant.

“So you are intelligent,” Raeth said.  “The Aethers are alive.”

The voice’s response was a slow chuckle.  I am not the Aether, emperor of men, but what is contained inside it.  D’Naa continued to speak the words as they came to her, and as she did, she noticed something.  There was a. . .familiarity about the voice.  Something she seemed to recognize, but only faintly.

“Who are you, then?” Raeth asked.

I am Former, the voice said.  He who creates.  That upon which you stand, and that of which you are, I once made.  I am also Fool.  Father of two sons, both promised the world, a prize I vowed to get to that one who could most fully earn the love of its people.  D’Naa sensed a rambling style to the voice’s words--not an insane or careless rambling, more like that of an aged grandfather, remembering times of the past.

“Two sons. . . .” Raeth said quietly.  “One named Makkal?”

And the other Agaris.  Twins.

“Slaughter and Despair,” Darro said, shivering visibly.  “The Fell Twins.”

Yes, the voice said, its sorrow threatening to overpower D’Naa, bringing an involuntary tear to her eye.  Two sons, both great, both as foolish as their father.  Two sons who, instead of learning to earn the trust and love of mankind, learned to teach hatred.  Instead of seeking to serve the people, they began to envy the followers of their sibling.  ‘The one who earns the love of the most people shall have this world,’ I said.  A difficult task made simple, for they realized that they could fulfill my test by destroying any men who followed their rival.  Death, instead of love, and so became their father a fool.

“So which is it that I carry in my head?” Raeth asked quietly.

Makkal, the voice said.  For he was the one Decay placed inside Chaos.  Makkal.  He was always the more aggressive--I believe he struck first, though the seed of rivalry burned in both their hearts.  But, their followers were too evenly numbered.  No side had the edge.  And so, he had to give them something.  A gift.  An army of warriors crafted from flesh, but without minds.  Hard, emotionless things made only to fight.

But Agaris was always the more clever one.  He could not destroy his brother’s creations directly, but he could twist them.  So clever.  He gave them hearts and emotions.  He cursed them with a love of beauty, and with minds to love, and memories to provide guilt.  After that, the creatures could no longer fight.  Their children live today.

“The Gol,” Raeth guessed.  “What of the Shentis.  Creations of your sons as well?”

A virus, the voice said.  Made by Agaris.  It gave no visible disease, took no life.  It had only one effect, to give sterility.  Through subtlety he thought to infect Makkal’s people so that they would eventually die out and have no offspring.

But, while not as clever as his brother, Makkal was not a fool.  He discovered the virus and changed it, so that it bruised the flesh.  Then his people would know to avoid those infected.  I do not believe Agaris knows his virus lives on.  I have tried to look after these people, but it is not easy.  Decay’s prison is strong, and my ME is split across four different places.  This one is the most central.  That is why you can feel me, child, sometimes.  I am closest to this Aether.

“Former,” Raeth said.  “Your son is trying to destroy us.  I need to know how to stop him.”

The fighting continues, the voice said, speaking as if it hadn’t heard Raeth’s request.  Their hatred is strong.  Their first gifts failed because they were too easily manipulated, so my sons turned to that which is creation itself.  Order and Chaos, Light and Dark, Sha and Lum.  From these they crafted gifts.  Dark, hateful gifts.  Powers that draw upon the essence of that which MAKES.

Each time, the power was not pure enough, and the edge given to their people was not decisive enough.  Ferrous and Bestarin canceled one another.  More was necessary.  Amberite and Verdant canceled one another.  Then my sons did that which was forbidden, granting men Order and Chaos in pure forms.  With these dreadful curses, men nearly destroyed themselves.  But, my sons did not care.  They turned to Decay, that enemy of all Formation, for a final power--power to destroy.  Not to destroy that which is physical, for that is easy, but eternal destruction.  Death of the spirit.  Power to rip apart one’s sibling, one’s competition.  Their jealousy raged on even while man floundered, abandoned, below them.

The voice fell silent.  As it spoke, it’s intensity had lessened, growing quieter.

“And?” Raeth finally asked.

And, what do you think, Emperor of men?  Does not Decay always seed betrayal?  Decay made secret deals with both siblings, promising them power to defeat their brother.  That power had a price.  They had to agree to imprison their father.

And so it was.  I am imprisoned.  In the end, Decay imprisoned them as well, trapping them within the very forces they had manipulated.  Man was left without god.  Broken and betrayed by those who should have sought their love.  And I am to blame.

“Then you have to help us,” Raeth insisted.

Promises.  Promises for me are not what they are for men.  I am made of promises--promises to exist, promises to think, promises to be.  I said I would not intervene in my sons’ contest.  A promise made before their hatred of one another manifest, when they loved.  I am bound.  I cannot intervene any more than you can make the sun vanish, emperor of men.

“He will destroy us!” Raeth said angrily.

He believes that is the way.  His mind is tainted now by his hatred.  Makkal made Amberite and Bestarin from the Chaos, so Agaris will destroy those Aethers.  He fears and hates his brother, and remembers no other emotions.  He is lost.  I am sorry.

#

Raeth clinched his teeth in frustration.  “How can you say that?” he demanded.  “You’re sorry?  You’re sorry for setting up our world as a prize, then letting your two sons use men as pawns to win it for themselves?  You’re sorry for the slaughter of half a nation?”

“Promises,” D’Naa whispered, her voice haunted.  “At least it will end.  Agaris will win.  Then the deaths can end.”

“Wonderful,” Raeth spit.  “It will be over--at least, it will be until your son decides he hates someone else, or fears that they have begun to follow his brother.  Then he will slaughter again.  No, Former, this will not end.”

“Perhaps,” D’Naa whispered.  “You are wise.”

“Not wise enough,” Raeth said with frustration.  “I can’t stop them.  There has to be a way.  Tell me how to do it!”

“I know of none,” D’Naa said quietly.  “You should go now.  They are coming.”

Raeth froze.  “What?” he demanded.

“Raeth. . . .” Darro said, backing away from the wall.

Raeth spun.  The shadows in the room were deepening.  Moving, groping toward them.  Slowly, black figures began to form out of the pools of darkness.

“He knows about me,” D’Naa said, her eyes frightened, but still repeating the Former’s words.  “Agaris knows of this place, because he created Verdant.  I am surprised it took him so long to realize you were here.”

“Darro!” Raeth snapped, pointing at the melding darkness.

“Right,” Darro said, Amberite crackling across his body.  Suddenly, his missing arm was no longer an issue--he just grew a length of Amberite tipped with a hammer from the stump.

Raeth spun back to the Verdant as Darro began to swing at figures, beating them down as they rose from the darkness, destroying them before they could resolve completely.  “You have to answer one thing for me,” Raeth said urgently.  “Tell me.  Are they really the spirits of our Ancestors?”

D’Naa was silent, she turned to Raeth, her eyes unsettled.  “He didn’t respond,” she said.

“Answer me!” Raeth demanded.  “This has nothing to do with your promise.  Tell me what we are fighting.”

“Raeth,” Darro said, grunting slightly as he swung, “these guys are coming up more quickly.  I can’t stop them all.”

“Please,” Raeth said.

“No,” D’Naa finally whispered.  “They are not.  Your Ancestors care for you, emperor of men.  They would not see you in pain.  My son seeks to frighten you.”

Raeth exhaled deeply.  Somehow knowing that one fact made it all so much easier.

“Fear my sons, emperor of men,” the Former whispered through D’Naa.  “My sons are opposites, of opposing substances, like the Aethers themselves.  The seek to destroy each other, and they would take you with them.”

“Raeth!” Darro said warningly.

Raeth turned.  Darro was swinging quickly, his armor only half-made.  More and more lumps were forming from shadowed recesses, moving to surround them.  Darro jumped from one side of the room to another, smashing them as quickly as he could, but he was losing ground.

“Go!” Raeth said to the Elder.  “They don’t want you.”

The man, who had stood amazed during the conversation, was regarding the lumps of darkness with terror and mumbling to himself.  At Raeth’s order, he looked up with surprise, then began to back nervously down the hallway.  The forming creatures ignored him, focusing instead on surrounding Darro.

Raeth summoned a Night-powered sword of Amberite and began to swing, blasting through lumps in an effort to reach the doorway.  Outside, however, he saw the light get blocked off by dark, humanlike forms.

“Twins!” Darro cursed quietly.

Verdant suddenly exploded from beside Raeth, shooting into the open corridor.  D’Naa grunted slightly, filling the entire passageway with vines, choking off the entrance and trapping the creatures outside.

“Now what?” Darro asked.

“Up?” D’Naa said, pointing at the hole in the ceiling.

“Without touching the king vine there?” Darro asked.  “Great.”

Raeth paused.  Darro was still swinging, destroying lumps of shadow, sweat streaming down his face.

“No,” Raeth said.  “I want to try something else.”  He jumped to the side, ducking around an unformed Forgotten to grab D’Naa.

“What?” she asked.

“When the Vo-Dari Send someone, they also Send whatever he’s carrying,” Raeth said.

D’Naa paused.  Then, shrugging, she jumped up into his arms.

“I’ll be right back,” he promised Darro.  Then summoned the Night within him, formed a picture of his rooms in his mind, and released the power.

The black chaos ripped around him, pushing him along like a leaf before a mighty river.  All was dark--he couldn’t even tell if D’Naa was still in his arms.

And then he was there, D’Naa’s arms wrapped tightly around his neck, her eyes squinted closed.  “D’Lum!” she said.  “That’s worse than the other one!”

“Wait here,” Raeth said, dumping her quickly, and rather unceremoniously, into a chair and Sending himself again.

Darro still stood, swinging around himself in all directions in wild, massive sweeps.  D’Naa’s wall of vines had hardened now that she was gone, and the creatures on the other side were making short work of it.

“Darro!” Raeth said, jumping toward his brother.

Darro nodded, catching Raeth’s eye.  He let out one final swing, throwing the hammer and jumping toward Raeth.  Raeth stumbled to a stop, realizing for the first time what was about to happen.

Darro practically tackled him, and Raeth fell backward, trying to hold his brother’s massive bulk.  Just before they hit the ground, he used the Night to Send them.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Raeth was crushed by the enormous weight, his chest pressed tight, barely able to breathe.  “Get off me,” he wheezed.

Darro opened his eyes, blinking in surprise.  “Oh,” he said, looking around.  He stood awkwardly, still trying to use an am that wasn’t there to steady himself.  D’Naa tried to help pull him back, though the size differential was laughable.

Raeth took a deep breath, his heart still thumping from the excitement.

“I hope the Shentis will be all right,” D’Naa said nervously, leaning down to help Raeth up.

“I don’t see why they wouldn’t be,” Raeth said, standing.  “The creatures obviously knew about them before and left them alone.”

“Why did you bring us back here?” Darro asked, sitting down in one of Raeth’s plush chairs.  “Why not back to the city--now the Vo-Dari are going to keep looking for us there.”

“This was the first place I thought of,” Raeth said.  “Don’t complain--I could have left you behind.”

Darro snorted.  “Not complaining,” he said, resting back.  “Even fighting a few Forgotten is worth not having to ride those horses all the way back to Tessin.”

Raeth smiled slightly, settling into a chair, D’Naa seating herself beside him.  “All things considered, Darro, I think the trip was worth your discomfort.”

“Probably,” Darro admitted.

“Your Twins are real,” D’Naa said, her eyes thoughtful.  “I didn’t expect that.”

“Of course they’re real,” Darro replied.  “I don’t curse by them for nothing.”

I wonder which one I am, the voice in Raeth’s head said.

Raeth paused.  The voice had remained silent during the entire conversation with the Former.

What do you mean? Raeth asked.

Am I Slaughter or Despair? The voice asked.  Neither title sounds very appealing.

You’re Makkal, whichever one that is, Raeth replied.

It is odd to hear my father’s words, Makkal said.  Odd. . .and disturbing.  To know the things I have done. . . .

You don’t remember any of it? Raeth asked.

No.  The things He said feel familiar.  They feel right.  But my mind is empty.  The first thing I remember is an empty void.  Nothingness, occasionally split by the taint.  Then you.

“Raeth?” D’Naa asked, slightly concerned.

“I’m speaking with him,” Raeth said, realizing he had been staring off unfocusedly.  “Makkal.”

“He’s in your head,” Darro said, obviously displeased by the concept.  “One of the Twins.”

“Yes,” Raeth said.  “The Pool of the Forgotten--it was his prison.  He fled into me when I Bonded Night.”

I was a horrible creature, Makkal said, his voice unsettled.  I destroyed.  I can feel the hatred in me now.  It is strong.

“That’s it,” Darro said.

Raeth frowned, turning toward his brother.  “What?”

“The solution!” Darro said, standing slightly, his eyes determined.  “Raeth, we know that its one of them inside you--one of the Twins.  We can’t trust it.  We have to Bond our Line to Night--that’s the only way.”

“A clever plan,” said a rasping, familiar voice.

Raeth jumped, spinning in shock.  It stood a short distance behind them, barely visible in the shadows of Raeth’s bed chamber.  Raeth peered through the open doorway into the lightless room, trying to make out the multi-legged creature beyond, but it was too dark.

Fool! Raeth thought.  You saw them form from the shadows of the Verdant temple.  They don’t have to come from the pool.  We aren’t safe here just because we’re in my chambers!

“You could all Bond Night,” the voice said, almost speculatively.  “But tell me, Prince Darro.  How would you fight an enemy that can appear from the shadows while you sleep?  Even if you could destroy them by touch, how long could you stand against an army that can regenerate itself after every battle?  Eventually you would tire.  Weaken.  You are, after all, only flesh.”

“You’ve been playing with us all along,” Raeth said quietly.  “The appearance at Saedin, the slow advance south. . .it was all a ruse.  A means of wearing us down.  If you’d wanted, you could have brought your army to Vae Annitor immediately.”

“Yes,” the voice replied.

“Why?” Darro demanded.  “Why play with us?”

“Because,” the voice said.  “There are those of us who hope that you might still see reason.  You cannot win, Son of Makkal.  The great war is finally at an end.  Give into my terms.  Pass quietly from this world and leave its rule to the victorious God.”

No! Makkal said in Raeth’s head.  The power of his voice was so strong as to make Raeth shutter.  Do not give in to him.

Yet, despite the denial in his head, Raeth found himself considering the offer.

“This is the last time we will offer,” the creature warned quietly.

What is my duty? Raeth thought.  When is it better to surrender?  The price was unbelievably steep, but he would save lives, at least.  The men of his Line would live out the remainder of their days in shame, but at least they would live.  He was Emperor.  Wasn’t it is duty to protect as many of the people as he could?

“Raeth,” D’Naa said, laying a hand on his shoulder.

“We cannot fight them, D’Naa,” he said, looking down.

“Yes you can,” she said quietly.  “You can always fight.  You might not win, but you can always fight.”

Darro nodded.  “Die now with bravery, or die a few years from now in shame, leaving no Line behind.  I know what I’d chose.”

You can always fight.  D’Naa’s words repeated in his mind.  Raeth looked up at the shadowy form.  “Return and tell your master that we’ve considered our options.  Given our choice of gods, we’d rather not have either of you.  There is no deal.”

“Very well,” the creature said, sounding disappointed.  Then it vanished.

Raeth exhaled deeply.  I just signed the execution order for two entire Lines.

Find a way to free me, Raeth! Makkal said.  You heard what my Father said.  I must have been powerful, once.  Agaris fears me--he fears me so much he would slaughter all of you on the chance that it will prevent me from returning.  Free me, and I should be able to help you!

Raeth sighed, shaking his head.  Would you become what you were before? He asked.  Would you throw the world into chaos again?  Your father said that you two nearly destroyed the world once.  How long before you decided to exterminate your brother’s followers just to be certain?

The voice in his mind fell silent again.

Suddenly, Raeth heard screaming.  All three of them perked up, looking at each other with concern.  The yells were coming from outside Raeth’s doors, in the hallways beyond.

“Come on!” Raeth said, standing and dashing toward the door.  D’Naa and Darro followed, Amberite crackling.  Raeth stepped outside onto the tiled floor and saw several servants running in terror.  A group of guards stood at the far end of the corridor, in the direction of Darro’s rooms.  Their weapons were drawn, and they fought against a mass of dark Forgotten.  Even as Raeth watched, the tide of black bodies swarmed over them, dropping the soldiers in a spray of blood and yells.  The servants screamed as well, Forgotten jumping out of every shadow to fall upon them.

“Twins!” Darro said.

We just ran out of time, Raeth realized, pausing in his dash as the last servant fell.  They were beyond his help now.

“Time to leave!” Raeth said, spinning.  The Forgotten moved incredibly quickly--the time for playing and intimidation was over.  It was time for the slaughter.

Darro and D’Naa stood behind him, their faces apprehensive as the Forgotten dashed toward them.  If he took one, would the other be able to stand long enough for him to return?  This time the creatures were already formed, they were surrounded on all sides, and Darro hadn’t even had time to form his armor.

Darro met Raeth’s eyes, then raised his hammer, nodding.  He understood.

Raeth nodded, reaching for D’Naa.  The girl, however, slipped out of his grasp.  “Stupid men,” she snapped, ducking beneath a Forgotten blade and leaping for the window.  “I’ll meet you below.”

Raeth blinked in surprise, but there wasn’t time to think.  He grabbed Darro, and Sent them both as the Forgotten blades began to descend.

#

One thing was certain about these last few days--they had been exciting.  D’Naa rushed down the side of the palace tower.  The thrill of the moment--the closeness by which they had escaped--set her heart and her mind racing.  Raeth had been right.  The creatures could appear anywhere.  The Imperium was in some serious danger.

But, what about Kavir?  She felt selfish considering such a thing as she climbed, but a part of her was relieved that her attempt at stealing Raeth’s Amberite had failed.  Agaris would have no reason to hunt down her people.  Kavir would be safe.

Or would it?  What would the world be like if such a hateful creature gained dominance?  What if it decided her people weren’t pure enough?  Or, what if it decided that all of the kingdoms should worship it?  Her people would not quickly give up their belief in D’Lum--in fact, they would probably rather fight than be forced to abandon their religion.

Raeth and his people weren’t the only ones in danger.  A win for Agaris could only end poorly for Kavir.  She reached the bottom of the tower, then crossed the domed roof of the palace’s southern wing, then dropped the short remaining distance to the ground.  There was no sign of Raeth.

I suppose I could have been a little more specific, she realized, crouching beside the palace wall, her Verdant twitching nervously.  The still streets proved a haunting contrast to the chaos of the palace--she could hear screams and calls coming from within.  Fortunately, she also saw streaks of light shooting away from the fifth floor.  Some of the people, at least, were escaping via Sending.

Should I go in and try to help them?  Was there anything she would be able to do?

A sudden motion made her jump--a shifting in the pools of darkness.  D’Naa yelped slightly, letting out a torrent of vines.

The form grunted, then fell sideways into light cast from a palace window, revealing blonde hair and annoyed eyes.

“You know, this relationship is never going to work if you keep doing that to me,” Raeth mumbled.

D’Naa raised a hand to her mouth in chagrin, then rushed over, touching the vines and commanding them to uncoil.  Raeth brushed himself off, standing.

“Darro!” D’Naa asked with concern.

“I already dropped him off,” he said, holding out a hand.  “Here, come on.”

D’Naa blushed slightly, but let him pick her up.  She gritted her teeth as the world rocked, and they were once again cast into the roaring dark chaos.  Her Aether squealed in pain, its vines all across her body writhing.

Then it was over.  D’Naa blinked, looking around as Raeth set her down.  They stood in another darkened street, apparently still in Vae Annitor.  “Come one,” Raeth said, hurrying down a side street and onto a main thoroughfare where several Corpate pillars glowed brightly.  A crowd of people stood huddled in the light, watching the darkness with fear.  Raeth hurried past them, leading her through an open door into a building D’Naa realized she recognized.  She had been to this place before, during the day, but they hadn’t let her enter because it had been too busy.  The Counsel room.

She followed Raeth inside, entering a room with a large table-like map in the center of the room.

“Report,” Raeth demanded instantly of the generals who stood, with Darro, speaking to messengers.  A group of guards stood placed throughout the room stood, watching corners and shadows with nervous eyes.

“They’re everywhere, sir,” one general said.  “Every major city in Aedinor and En Mahall.  They’re searching out anyone with an Amberite or a Bestarin Bond and killing them instantly.  They ignore everyone else, unless they try to fight.”

Raeth cursed quietly.  “What about our location?”

“Secure, for the moment,” the general said.  “They appear to be concentrating their efforts on the rest of the city first.  Perhaps they fear the soldiers.  Fortunately, Vae Annitor is mostly empty.”

D’Naa could see the pain and frustration in Raeth’s eyes--and the guilt.  I bear part of that guilt, D’Naa thought resting a hand on his shoulder.  I am the one who told him to fight.  It seemed right at the time, but. . .he was right.  How can he fight these creatures?

“We have to leave,” Raeth decided.  “Go somewhere they won’t think to look for us.  That’s our only hope.”

“And if this Agaris is omniscient?” Darro asked pointedly.

“Then we have already lost,” Raeth said.  “But, I don’t think he is.  He didn’t know were to send his creatures to catch me when I picked up D’Naa.”

“He saw through all of our battle plans,” Darro said.

Raeth shook his head, sighing.  “I can’t think of anything else right now.”

“Come to Kavir,” D’Naa said.  “We have a lot of small villages--most aren’t even on the maps.  It’s a perfect place to hide.”

Raeth paused, then nodded.  “To Kavir,” he told the soldiers.  “Do we have any Vo-Dari who have been there?”

“Probably,” the general said, waving to his men.  There was a bustle as the soldiers and aids realized they were leaving, and the entire group followed the generals and Raeth as they stepped out of the room and onto the dark street.  Outside, a large group of people had collected, most of them soldiers, but quite a few scribes, and even regular people as well.  There was a group of a about twelve Vo-Dari in their white robes.  The general approached them, speaking quietly, then returned with a single priest.

“He says he’s been to the cities of Dareen and D’livik, sir,” the general said.

“My sister married a man from Kavir, my lord,” the young Vo-Dari explained.

“D’livik is perfect,” D’Naa said eagerly.  “I’ll bet half of Kavir doesn’t even know where it is.”

“Very well,” Raeth said, motioning to the other Vo-Dari.  “This man will Send the Amberite and Bestarin to Kavir,” he explained quietly.  “The rest of you Send the rest of the people someplace safe--one of the northern abandoned cities.  The creatures should leave them alone.”

“Yes, my lord,” the Vo-Dari said.

#

“I don’t like this, Raeth,” Darro confided as they stood, waiting nervously as the Vo-Dari did their work.  “You’re splitting us up too much.  We’ll barely have a hundred soldiers with us in Kavir.”

Raeth watched the Sendings with consternation, a pit in his stomach.  It was finally happening--the final evacuation of Vae Annitor.  The Imperium’s power was broken.

“I know, Darro,” he said.  Most of the remaining military men were beyond their reach, either in camps outside the city or in other towns.  Hopefully, they would find a way to hide.  “If only there was more I could do!”

Darro nodded understandingly.  “Back to that cold again, I guess,” he grumbled.

Raeth nodded.  The night was very dark around them--it felt odd not to be able to see the lights of the palace in the distance.  The tall building always had at least a few lit windows.  For the first time he could remember, it was completely dark.

He shook his head, shivering and looking across the remaining group of people.  There weren’t many now; the Vo-Dari had done their work quickly.

Raeth froze.  He frowned as he looked closer.  He recognized one of the faces in the dwindling group of waiting people.  He cocked his head to the side.  He felt like he should know the man for some reason.  He was a nondescript balding man, probably regular Aedin or even Shorriken.  He met Raeth’s eyes, then immediately turned away.

Where have I seen him before? Raeth thought with confusion.

“Looks like our luck just ran out,” Darro said, nodding down the street.  The darkness was moving and shifting, and several of the remaining people cried out in fear.  There were only a couple left, however, and the Vo-Dari were making short work of them.

“My lord, time for you to go,” the young Vo-Dari said, approaching Raeth.

“I don’t need to go yet,” Raeth said.  “Take care of everyone else first.”

The Vo-Dari paused, looking uncertain--even nervous--about something.  “I’m sorry, my lord,” he said, reaching out to touch Raeth.

Raeth opened his mouth to object, but it was too late.  He felt himself pulling away from the Vo-Dari, falling into the Sending.  His body shook with sudden pain, the way it had ever since he Bonded Night.

The Vo-Dari watched with go with guilty eyes.  Too guilty.

What is going on here! Raeth thought with confusion.  Then he realized something.  Perhaps the feel of the Sending jogged his memory, but he suddenly remembered where he’d seen that man’s face before.  He’d watched it disappear, like he was watching the young Vo-Dari’s solemn face disappear.  It had been standing alone amongst a hoard of Forgotten.

The unknown man was a Vo-Dari too--the one Raeth had left alone in the City of the Ancestors so many weeks before.  A man who should have been dead.

#

When Raeth materialized, he found no Sending platform below him.  In fact, he found nothing below him.  He immediately began to fall, plunging through the dark sky toward the ground hundreds of feet below.

They Sent me to die! Raeth realized with horror.  Immediately, he Sent himself, entering the dark Chaos.  He appeared on the ground blow, thumping against it slightly, knocking the wind from his lungs.

Raeth blinked in the darkness, his face against the ground.  The Vo-Dari.  But. . . .

Only then did he become aware of screaming.  He looked up with fright.  He recognized the voice.

“Darro!” Raeth yelled, leaping to his feet.  He searched the moonlit sky, his brother’s bellows approaching quickly.

There! Raeth thought, picking a dark form out of the air above him.  He prepared to Send himself to it, so that he could catch Darro and Send them both back to the ground.

NO! Makkal said in his mind.  He would maintain his momentum through the Sending.  He would die anyway.

Then how? Raeth thought with desperation.

Use the Night.  Form it.

Terrified and uncertain, Raeth reached around him, grabbing hold of the formless substance.  It was easier to move with so little light to interfere, but it still resisted him.  He strained, forming it into a large mass and pushing it into the air beneath Darro.

Move it down with him gently, Makkal said.  Slow his fall carefully.

Raeth did as instructed, trying to move the enormous blotch of darkness below his brother, pushing it against the falling form with increasing strength.  Raeth strained against the difficulty of maintaining the Night and forcing it to do as he wished.  However, Darro’s life would be the cost of weakness.  He forced himself to keep working.  It only took a few heartbeats, but the strain was almost enough to knock Raeth unconscious.

Darro, however, landed safely.  Raeth rushed over to where his brother lay, still screaming, on the ground.

“Darro!” Raeth said, urgently.

Darro’s yelling cut off immediately, and he opened his eyes, confused.  He reached down, realizing he was on the ground.

“Raeth?” he asked.  “What happened?  I came out of the Sending and thought I was falling!”

“You were,” Raeth said, reaching down to help his brother stand.  “I used the Night to slow your fall.”

“You can do that?” Darro asked with surprise.

“Apparently,” Raeth said, frowning.  What else can I do with this power?

What can’t you do with it? Makkal returned.  Remember what my father said.  It part of that power which creates, half of the substance of the universe.  It is by this power that Amberite and Bestarin were made; it is by this power that worlds are formed.

Raeth shuttered slightly in exhaustion.  Considering how hard it was for me to catch a falling person, I doubt I’ll be making any worlds in the near future.

All things are taken in relative amounts, of course, Makkal said.

“Raeth,” Darro said, his voice hushed.

Raeth looked up.  Darro had stood, and was pointing at something, something Raeth hadn’t seen for the darkness.  Now that his eyes were adjusting, however, the moonlight clearly illuminated it.

A body.  It lay on the ground a short distance away, twisted and broken from an incredible fall.  “Slaughter and Despair. . . .” Raeth whispered, looking up over the field.  Hundreds of lumps lay strewn across the flat field around them.  Immobile.  Dead.

“What is going on?” Darro asked, his voice choked with emotion.

“The Vo-Dari,” Raeth said, stepping forward, looking down at the bodies, forcing himself to look, against odds, to see if any of them lived.  Most were soldiers, but many wore the uniform of palace servants.  All were Aedin or High Aedin of Amberite or Bestarin, and all were dead.  The corpses were all fresh.  Probably not more than a few minutes old.

“I recognize some of these faces, Raeth.  These are the people that were Sent before us,” Darro said, realizing the same thing.  “Those who were supposed to go to Kavir with us.”

“Yes,” Raeth said.  “And servants who thought they were escaping the palace tonight.  The Vo-Dari are traitors, Darro.”  I hope D’Naa is all right, he thought, feeling sick.  They wouldn’t have any reason to hurt her, would they?  She bonded Verdant.

“But. . .the Vo-Dari, Raeth?  Why?”

Their power, Makkal said.  It is the Aether of my brother.  I remember it.  The other half of the power.  I hate him.  I hate it!

“Blessed Ancestors!” Raeth said, realizing something.  “Darro, come on.”

#

The Irae was empty.  Vae Annitor itself was probably empty--any who hadn’t been Send were dead.  Many of those who had been Sent were dead.  Raeth stepped forward, lowering Darro’s bulk to the ground.  A solitary lantern burned in one corner of the circular main room, illuminating paintings on the walls.

I feel him, Makkal said.  I feel the taint.  It is strong here!

Where? Raeth demanded.

Go.  I’ll direct you.

Raeth stepped forward, Darro, his eyes sad, following behind.  How many people had waited here, in the Irae, until the last moment?  Had any prayed for deliverance this night, then been Sent to their dooms?

Makkal led him through the cramped tunnel-like corridors, past empty alcoves.  Raeth paused briefly beside one.  His own cubical--he remembered it still, with its small alter for his paintings, a cushion for his kneeling legs.  He looked up, turning down the tunnel, striding forward.

There, Makkal said, straight ahead.

Raeth pushed open the door, entering a small storage room.  He’d been in it before--there were no other exits.

Beyond the wall! Makkal said urgently.  I can feel him!

“Darro,” Raeth said, standing back.  “This wall needs to go.”

“Gladly,” Darro said, moving stump and arm together.  Amberite crackled down his good arm as well as down his stump, creating an Amberite arm.  He braced himself with a bit of Amberite down one leg, then formed a massive hammer, as tall as a man and broad as two palms.  “Step back,” he warned, then smashed the hammer into the wall.

The entire wall shook visibly, dust and chips flying free, cracks springing out from the impact.  Darro pulled his weapon back and struck again, bellowing this time.  Raeth could see rage in his eyes, anger over the deaths he had seen, pent-up frustration from not being able to do anything.

The wall only lasted three blows.  It had obviously been built after the rest of the Irae, and it crumbled inward upon itself, crashing to the floor.

Raeth peered through the dust, and saw what he had feared, and hoped, he would find.  Hundreds of men and women sat in meditative positions, their eyes closed.  A single Vo-Dari stood at the sides of the room, a frightened expression on his face.  In the very back of the room, Raeth could see something glowing brightly.  A brilliant white pool.

“What?” Darro asked, kicking aside rubble and stepping into the room.

“These men have Bonded Night,” Raeth said quietly, gesturing at the meditating people.  “Our Forgotten, Darro.  This is where they come from.”

The single Vo-Dari guard jumped forward, and Darro raised his hammer.  Raeth, however, moved first, his adrenaline-fueled senses summoning a column of Night from the shadows.  He smashed it forward, slamming the Vo-Dari back against the far wall, his bones cracking.  The man let out a gasp of pain and slumped to the ground.

“Don’t even think of trying to Send us,” Raeth hissed angrily, stepping into the room.  All this time, they were right here. . . .

“When I heard they had tried to Send you to die, I was worried,” a hauntingly familiar voice rasped.  “We hadn’t realized that you’d Bonded Night until earlier today, and few of the Vo-Dari had been warned.”

Raeth turned slowly, watching a figure approach from the side of the room.  Actually, five figures.  The aging Patriarch sat atop his litter, four men carrying it forward for him.  The multi-legged creature.

“You have betrayed us,” Raeth said, stepping into the room.

“Yes,” the Patriarch said, his eyes sorrowful.  “But it was inevitable, my emperor.  Amberite and Bestarin must fall.  Vae, our God, commands it.”

“You’ve been behind it all along,” Raeth said, his mind numb.  “We’ve been fighting and dying, and the source of our death was just a few feet away from the palace itself.”  Raeth looked up, his eyes blazing with anger.  “I will stop it now,” he snapped, stepping up to the first meditating man, an Amberite sword forming in his hand.  He froze, the blaze raised to strike.  He recognized the man.

“Jaenor,” Raeth whispered, shocked.  His old friend from the Irae.  They always said he would be made a Vo-Dari soon. . . .

“Only Amberite and Bestarin can Bond Night,” the Patriarch informed.  “It will kill Verdant and Ferrous who try to Bond it, for they are opposites.”

Darro hissed in surprise, stepping up beside Raeth, his hammer still formed.  “You mean all of those who have been killing us. . . .”

“Are of your own Lines,” the Patriarch said, raising his hand, revealing the Amberite Bud set in his wrinkled palm.  The aged man’s rasping voice was choked with emotion.  “Would you have it any other way, Prince Darro?  This slaughter must take place.  At least it can be done by those who love, and understand, the ones who must die.”

“That includes you too,” Darro snapped.  “Or will your god made an exception?”

“Once the cleansing is finished, we too will give our lives,” the Patriarch said.  “Please understand, Prince Darro.  This is our Duty.  The Imperium will be far better off once the unholy Aethers have been removed.”

Raeth knelt beside his friend, staring at the man’s face.  Jaenor didn’t react, his eyes closed, his face concentrating.

“Jaenor, why?” he asked.

“You haven’t seen Him, Emperor,” the Patriarch whispered.  “Vae.  Agaris.  He appears in our dreams, speaks in our minds.  We do this not out of delusion or madness, we do it by command.”

Jaenor sat motionless, oblivious to Raeth’s presence.

He’s doing it right now, Raeth realized.  He’s killing my people.

Raeth stood, readying his sword.  “It must be done,” he said firmly.

The Patriarch sighed.  “You still don’t understand, do you?”

Raeth paused.

“Killing us will do you know good.  There are barely two thousand men in this room.  How many are in our army?”

“You mean. . . ?”

“How do you make an army of two-hundred thousand Forgotten?” the Patriarch asked.  “Some of us can create multiple Forgotten--some as many as four--but that still leaves a large number Night Bonds.”

“That’s impossible,” Raeth challenged.  “There aren’t that many Vo-Dari.”

The Patriarch raised his eyebrows.  “These men aren’t Vo-Dari,” the Patriarch said speaking slowly.  Raeth frowned, he seemed too willing to explain.  Too complacent.

“The third child of every Aedin family is made a Dari, my lord.  Over half of those are from Amberite or Bestarin.  They cannot Bond Illuminous and become true Vo-Dari, but instead. . . .”

Raeth blinked in surprise, numbers running through his head.  Dari was the smallest profession--some families didn’t have a third sons, and families with six still only had to send one Dari.  That was a lot of people.  But a hundred thousand?

“Every Irae in the Imperium has a room like this, emperor,” the Patriarch informed.  “Built, then sealed off, with no entrances.  Only Vo-Dari can enter and leave.  We make food with Verdant bonds, and we have wells within the rooms themselves.  No one knows of the Night Bonds but the Vo-Dari themselves.  Most of them have lived here all their lives--we’ve bred them over time, according to Vae’s words, always training, selecting the most devout and giving them Night Bonds.  Vae appears to each one individually, making certain they are devoted, making certain they do only as they are told.”

I can’t stop them all, Raeth realized, finally understanding the futility of his task, his mind numb.  He’d wondered why the Patriarch didn’t seem worried that he’d found them.  After this night and its massacre, there probably wouldn’t be enough Amberite or Bestarin Bonds left to care.

“I told you it was futile, my lord,” the Patriarch said.  “This has been foretold by Patriarchs through the centuries.  That day when you came to search for answers I was worried that somehow you’d read our secret writings.  How glad I was when you found the page we’d marked for you and accepted that as our ‘prophesy.’  If you’d known the entire truth, this would have been much more difficult.  Trust me, emperor.  I’ve tried for years to find a way around this day’s events, but to no avail.  This must occur.”

Raeth stood, striding up to the Patriarch, his Night Bond attendants regarding Raeth with apprehension.

“Just because you believe in what you are doing doesn’t make it right,” Raeth informed quietly.  “Darro, we have gruesome work ahead of us.”

Darro nodded, raising his hammer.

“But, it would be pointless!” the Patriarch insisted.  “You have to listen to what I have to say.  It is--”

He’s stalling, Raeth realized with shock.  That’s why he’s talking so much.

“Every one of you I kill gives innocent people a better chance to escape,” Raeth said firmly, trying not to think about what he was about to do.  How was he any better, slaughtering these men?

There! Makkal said suddenly, making Raeth jump.  He IS here.

Suddenly, Raeth’s attention was focused toward the pool at the back of the room.  He frowned, pushing his way past the Patriarch and walking toward the radiant pool of white liquid.

The source of Illuminous, Raeth realized.

Raeth jumped back slightly as the pool rippled, glowing substance raising into the air.  It formed into a sphere, and then resolved into an enormous glowing face--one Raeth recognized.  He had seen it in paintings, like the one Jaenor had done the day Raeth left the Irae.  It was on the floors of his palace, hung on the walls of his rooms.  Vae, the first Ancestor.

“My Lord and God,” the Patriarch rasped, his carriers kneeling.

The face focused on Raeth, its eyes glowing brightly with rage.  Uh, oh. . . .

Suddenly, Raeth felt a power surge within him.  Darkness coalesced from the sides of the room, swirling toward Raeth in a chaotic cloud.  The power pulsed within him, the mass of Night forming into a face identical to the one hovering above the pool.  Except, Makkal’s mouth was open, and it was bellowing in anger-filled rage.  Raeth shook from the power of the scream, his body going into spasms of pain.  Makkal’s bellow rang through his mind, forcing out all other thoughts, threatening to tear him apart.

Then both faces exploded in showers of light and dark.  Raeth looked up from the ground, blinking as the pain, and the scream, vanished.  All was still.

Raeth stumbled to his feet, uncertain what had happened.

“Raeth, I--” Darro said, drawing his attention.  As soon as Raeth turned, however, he saw something.

“Darro, watch out!”

Darro turned just in time to see the wounded Vo-Dari, crawling across the floor, touch him on the foot.  Darro’s mouth opened to yell, but he dissolved into light before any sound came out.

“Darro!” Raeth screamed.

“It is over, emperor,” the Patriarch whispered.  “Amberite has fallen.  So begins the reign of Agaris.”

“No!” Raeth wailed, stepping forward.  Darro. . . .

Then he turned, enraged, toward the pool of light.  “I will stop this,” he growled.  “I will stop you both.”

Opposites.  My sons are opposites, of opposing substances, like the Aethers themselves.  The seek to destroy each other. . . .  the Former’s words returned to him.  He had given the secret after all.

The gods were opposites.  Amberite and Verdant were destroyed when they touched each other.

Raeth took a deep breath, looking down at the glowing pool.  So it came to this.  The one, ultimate question of duty.

Raeth. . . . the voice in his head said warningly.

“What are you doing?” the Patriarch demanded with concern.

Raeth turned, looked the Patriarch in the eye, then cast himself into the pool.

The flash of light was immediate.  Raeth didn’t even have time to pull his arm back as the blast destroyed the waters around him, engulfing him like a wave of pure fire.  At the same time, he felt something inside himself begin to burn--a piece of himself being ripped away.

Go, Makkal said.  One final gift.

And Raeth felt himself being Sent.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Raeth waited impatiently in the hot sun.  While En Mahall was nice in the winter, the summer was unbearable.  Everything was wet and sticky from the humidity, and one sweated even in the shade.

This day, Raeth didn’t even have shade.  He sat atop his horse, something he had become far more proficient at riding over the last few months.  Options for travel had grown far more limited recently.

“You know, your majesty,” Rall Hannin said, sitting comfortably in the heat despite his massive head-dress, his beard, and his robes, “you actually look quite distinguished with that tan.  Almost Mahallen.”

Raeth snorted his reply.  Rall Hannin and the rest of his people were rather fond of taunting the Aedin for their low tolerance of Mahallen weather.  Raeth turned to the side, looking back toward the city of En Tolall, the Mahallen capitol.  Though it spread out over a large area, its buildings--made of stone and bricks--were squat and unimpressive.  It didn’t have the colors or the unique architectures of the north.  For the time, however, it was home.

“Your majesty,” Rall Hannin said.  “You might want to turn around.”

Raeth snapped around eagerly, looking across the drab, brown Mahallen scrub toward the north.  “It’s about time!” he said excitedly as he noticed the horses approaching in the distance.  “Excuse me, your highness, but I’m going to do something rather un-imperial.”

“Suit yourself,” Rall Hannin said, smiling as Raeth kicked his horse into a gallop, several startled guards hurrying to catch up.

The riders soon resolved into figures--one very large, the other very small.  Raeth stopped his horse a short distance in front of them and leapt off, running the rest of the way as they dismounted as well.  He wasn’t certain which one to hug first, so he just grabbed them both in a large embrace.

Darro slapped him on the back with his arm, and D’Naa just held him tight, sniffling slightly.

“Welcome,” Raeth said, trying to keep back the tears.  “How was your trip?”

“Horrible!” Darro snapped, finally letting go of the embrace.  “Raeth, these horses just aren’t going to work out.  They’re terrible beasts--there has to be a better way to travel.  I mean, three months to travel the distance from the northern border to En Mahall?  That’s ridiculous!”

Raeth laughed, stepping back, arm still around D’Naa.  “Well, unless you’ve found a way to resurrect some Vo-Dari, we don’t have much choice.”

“Every one of them, then?” D’Naa asked quietly.  “You’ve looked?”

Raeth nodded.  They were all gone.  Every Vo-Dari and Night-Bond had immediately fallen dead the moment of Raeth’s cataclysm.

“What about you?” Darro asked quietly.  “Your. . .power.”

“Gone,” Raeth said.  “As far as I can tell, the only Bond I have left is my Amberite--pathetic as ever.”  He left the rest unsaid.  He should have been dead too.  He didn’t know why he wasn’t--something that Makkal had done in that last moment, before the explosion, had ripped the Night from Raeth before it could kill him.  Then, Makkal had Sent him to En Mahall.

The other two, however, had been stuck.  D’Naa in Kavir, Darro on the Northern Border.  Raeth smiled.  “How is the Northern Border this time of year?” he asked, chuckling.

Darro snorted.  “Cold.”

“I thought you were dead, Darro,” Raeth confided, growing solemn.  “When that Vo-Dari Sent you. . . .”

Darro shrugged.  “I recognized him--one of the Vo-Dari that always worked with the War Counsel.  Must have Sent me to the first place he thought of.  I’d almost rather he’d sent me a hundred feet in the air--do you realize how far I had to walk before I ran into people?”

“He’s been grumbling the entire way,” D’Naa said with a fond smile.  Their two teams had met up just outside of Vae Annitor--or, at least, what was left of it.

“You visited the city?” Raeth asked.

“You mean the pit?” Darro asked.  “There isn’t even a cobblestone left.”

“That’s what I hear,” Raeth said.  He’d wanted to visit and see for himself, but. . .well, a two month round trip was a bit much to stomach just to go look at a pit.

“Come on,” Raeth said, gesturing for them to get back on their horses.  “You need to visit the new Senate chambers.”

#

There was something wrong.  Perhaps it was women’s intuition, or perhaps it was just her own foolishness, but D’Naa sensed something from Raeth.  He was happy to see her, he wasn’t making that up, but there was a reservation to his actions.  He was holding himself back.

Has he found someone else? She wondered with a stab of worry as they remounted and began to move toward the city.  Darro began to chat amiably as was his way--sometimes it was difficult to get the large man to be quiet.  Raeth rode along in between their two horses, nodding to Darro’s remarks.  His eyes, however, betrayed a hint of trouble.

He turned, catching her eye, and she knew for certain she was right.  “What?” she mouthed.  Raeth immediately looked guilty and turned his eyes forward again.

“What?” D’Naa asked louder, her impatience for diplomacy showing again.  Darro paused in his narrative of their trek, turning with confused eyes.

Raeth sighed.  “We have a. . .problem.”

“What?” Darro demanded.

“I can’t choose you, D’Naa,” Raeth said, his eyes growing sad.  “I can’t choose anyone.  I have to give up the Throne.”

D’Naa exhaled softly.  She’d been expecting something like this, though that didn’t lessen the blow.

Darro rolled his eyes.  “Not this again?” he asked with a sigh.

“I can’t think of any other way,” Raeth said, speaking lowly so the servants and guards couldn’t hear him.  “Darro, Nahan is going to be stoned if I don’t choose her, and Tae still claims she’s going turn herself into a Corpate if I do choose Nahan.”

“So?  Who cares if she becomes a lantern?”

“That still leaves me marrying Nahan,” Raeth said, not looking at D’Naa.  “And, if I do that, Alean will just reveal who I am anyway.”

Darro frowned.  “New city, same politics, eh?”

“I’ve looked into Mahallen law,” Raeth said, looking down.  “If I tell everyone that I’m not Hern, then Nahan will be released from having to marry me, since she would have ‘seduced’ me under false pretenses.  Alean won’t have anything to blackmail me with, and Tea won’t have to become a Corpate.  In addition, the Khur might actually accept my abdication as reparation for my ‘sullying’ of their bride.  We can’t afford to fight them right now--we don’t have the military anymore.  Revealing myself fixes everything.”

“Well, that’s fine, isn’t it?” D’Naa asked slowly.  “I mean, you won’t be emperor, but you can still. . .choose a bride, right?”

Raeth continued looking down, but Darro met D’Naa’s eyes.  “He’ll be executed,” the large man said quietly.  “Emperor or no, savior of the Imperium or no, the law is explicit.  Duty and Line are everything to the Aedin, and he will have lied about both.  They wouldn’t be able to let him off.”

“I wouldn’t let them,” Raeth whispered.  “I am guilty of the sin whether anyone knows or not.”

#

So it was that Raeth came to stand before the Senate one last time.  The senate building Rall Hannin had given them was wonderful, all things considered.  It didn’t have the three tiers, but it did have comfortable seats for all the senators and a podium for the speaker.  It was constructed of tan Mahallen bricks and white stone, with a dozen broad open doorways to provide a breeze.

The vacancies in the Senate ranks had been replaced, but everyone knew that Amberite and Bestarin were at a severe political disadvantage.  Raeth looked through their ranks, noting all of the youthful faces.  The new Senators took their duties seriously, but they had no seniority.  Part of the reason Raeth had waited so long to abdicate was because he’d wanted to give them time to get on their feet before he made Laene emperor.

It was difficult to do.  He’d put off this day for three months now, always coming up with excuses.  In a way, he felt like he was giving Agaris the victory he had sought.  Raeth was turning the Imperium over to Verdant.  Yet, it was the only way.

The brides sat at the front.  Tea, proper as ever in her high-necked dress despite the heat.  Alean, regarding him with warning eyes that were a little red and tired.  A late night?  Kallana, uncertain of herself, her round face nervous.  Nahan, dressed far more conservatively than she once had.  She’d come to him several times, trying to get him to promise not to choose her, and they’d ended up talking.  It was a shame--she was actually a very clever woman, a fit daughter to Rall Hannin.  Hopefully once he abdicated she would be able to find herself a suitable match.  Finally, at the end of the line, sat D’Naa.

Darro stood at Raeth’s side.  Had things been a little different, Raeth would have chosen a bride for himself, then one for Darro.  Unfortunately, that wouldn’t happen.  Darro would still end up married, though it would probably fall on Laene to do the choosing, since Darro himself had been effectively disinherited by the Senate.

“They’re waiting, my lord,” Tarrinon said quietly.  Raeth turned his eyes down, smiling at the short scribe.  The steward had been invaluable these last few months as they’d tried to rebuild the Imperium.  They would have failed without Tarrinon and Rall Hannin.  Raeth turned, seeking out the Mahallen king in the audience.  He could have probably seized power for himself at any time--they were guests in his kingdom.  Yet, he hadn’t even tried.

“Yes,” Raeth said, standing up straight, taking a deep breath.  “My Senators, Lords, and Ladies.  I’m afraid I have something I must--”

“Wait,” Darro said loudly, stepping forward.

Raeth paused, frowning.  “What are you doing?” he hissed.

“Before my brother makes his choice,” Darro said, “I’m afraid I have something I must confess.”

“Darro. . . .” Raeth warned.

Darro ignored him, reaching beneath his cloak to retrieve something metallic and sparkly.  He whipped out a pair of gem-encrusted, golden hoops and held them aloft.

“Darro!” Raeth said quietly.  “You’ve only been in town one day!  How did you get a pair of breast hoops already!”

Darro snorted quietly.  “It’s not what you think,” he said as the crowd of Senators began to whisper with one another.  “I got them from Tarrinon.”

“Tarrinon?” Raeth asked incredulously.

The scribe blushed deeply.  “I had them made, my lord,” he said quickly.  “I didn’t get them from the. . .regular way.  King Rall Hannin gave us the specifics.”

Raeth turned again, regarding the Mahallen King, finally realizing what was going on.  The distinguished man just shrugged, smiling slightly, as if to say ‘What, you really believed I’d let my daughter get stoned?’

“I can hide it no longer!” Darro proclaimed.  “I’ve already had relations with one of the brides.  She came to my rooms in the dark, thinking they were my brother’s.  She never knew that she had seduced the wrong man.”  He shot a slightly nervous look at Nahan.

The Mahallen girl sat for a moment, her eyes a little shocked.

Darro gave a little ‘hey, it’s better than being stoned’ shrug.

Nahan, apparently, agreed.  She stood with mock indignance.  “By Kamman!” she announced to the crowd.  “I can’t believe it!  No wonder the Emperor seemed so hesitant!  He thought I was lying, but it was I that was deceived!  Prince Darro, I demand you rectify this immediately!  By Mahallen law, you are my husband!”

“No one is going to buy this,” Raeth said quietly, regarding the skeptical Senators.

“They don’t have to,” Tarrinon said.  “As long as the law is satisfied, and no one gets stoned, our purpose will be served.”

“I got you into trouble, Raeth,” Darro mumbled firmly, “I’m going to get you out of it.  Besides, I’ve been thinking about it.  I kind of think I’d like being married to a Mahallen woman--it could be fun.  Better than the other options, that’s for certain.”

Raeth sighed as the commotion settled down.  “Thank you, Darro,” he said, “but that doesn’t solve the problem.  I think I’d rather be executed than end up with Alean for the rest of my life.”

Darro smiled.  “Just wait.”

“Wait for what?” Raeth asked apprehensively.

“Stop this proceedings!” a voice yelled from the back of the room.  A wave of heads turned to regard three tall figures standing in one of the arched doorways.  The three men stalked down the aisle; all three were Mahallen with robes and head-dresses; all three looked very serious.  They stopped at the front of the room, looking into the crowd.

“There!” the lead Mahallen man said, pointing at Alean.

“I concur,” the second man said.  “That is the one.”

“I saw it with my own eyes,” the third promised.  “May I be drowned in the seas if I lie.”

“What is this?” Laene asked, standing indignantly.

“This woman is mine!” the lead Mahallen announced.  “She seduced me last night.  I have two valid witnesses who were on hand to watch the act in its fullness.”

“What did you do?” Raeth asked quietly, mortified.

Darro smiled broadly.  “Got her drunk,” he whispered back.  “Then introduced her to some of my new Mahallen friends.  We had words and, well, let’s just say that Alean should probably pay a little more attention to local customs.  He seemed kind of annoyed that she didn’t have any hoops, but was willing to make allowances for the daughter of the High Senator.”

“Darro!” Raeth said with shock.

Darro’s smile grew wicked.  “I’ve got to tell you, these Mahallens know how to throw a party.  They aren’t big on privacy, however.  Definitely one of the strangest experiences of my life.  Good thing I’m married now--a guy could get into a lot of trouble down here.”

Alean looked horrified.  Suddenly her reddened eyes made a little more sense.

“I demand this woman,” the Mahallen said.  “By our laws, we are already married!  I have witnesses, remember!”

“But--” Laene said, growing red-faced.

Suddenly Alean stood.  “This is a trick!” she announced.  “That man is not Hern, he’s Raeth, the real emperor’s twin!”

The room fell quiet.  Raeth’s stomach fell.

“My dear,” Rall Hannin said loudly, “that is simply absurd.  True, there were rumors in the senate of that very fact, but they disappeared the moment Lord Hern joined in the war.  Why, half the people in this room have seen him make an entire suit of Amberite armor.  Everyone knows prince Raeth couldn’t manage such a feat.  Really, Alean, you need to stay up on your gossip.”

Darro smiled winking at Raeth.  “Involving Rall Hannin was Tarrinon’s idea.  He’s a crafty little Shank.”

“I’m telling you that man is not Hern!” Alean wailed.  “I’ve slept with Hern.  I think I’d know him if he were standing before me!”

If possible, the room grew even more quiet, Alean’s eyes widening as she realized what she’d just said.

“My dear,” Rall Hannin asked drolly, “exactly how many people in this room have you slept with?”

“I don’t care how many men claim her,” the Mahallen suitor said.  “Unless Emperor Hern has two witnesses with the proper court credentials, then she’s still mine!”

Laene plopped down in his chair, face pale.

“Unless anyone has any objections. . . .” Rall Hannin said.

“We are in En Mahall,” Arasisae, the statuesque Ferrous senator announced.  “If this girl was foolish enough to let herself get into such trouble, she should have to pay the consequences.”

Laene just nodded dumbly.

The Mahallen man snapped his fingers, pointing at Alean, and his men rushed forward to pull the dumbfounded girl from her chair.  The man turned and bowed neatly to Raeth, then led his procession out of the building.

Darro was snickering audibly.  However, for some reason, Raeth couldn’t bring himself to chastise his brother.  The truth was, it was rather satisfying to see Alean get hauled away.

“Are you quite finished?” he asked Darro.

“Actually, not yet,” Darro said.  “I have one more for you.”

One of the new Bestarin Senators, a man who had been a soldier before the appointment, stood suddenly.  He looked around the room, a bit apprehensive, then spoke loudly.  “I wish to put a motion before the Senate!” he said.  “It is in regards to the choosing.  I suggest that we demand the Emperor choose the bride from Kavir!  We all know the part the Kavir played in rescuing the Imperium during its most dire times.  They deserve the privilege of marrying their daughter to the emperor.”

“I agree!” said a new Amberite Senator--also an ex-soldier.  “We also know that it’s been discovered that the Kavir, like High Aedin, can Bond Aethers!  Yet, no Kavir bride has ever been married to an emperor.  Can we afford to alienate them now that we know of their power?  Our own forces have been diminished incredibly.  Without the Kavir, we could very well fall to raids from the Harrmen or the Seaborn!  We’ll need their Bonds to defend ourselves.”

Raeth rolled his eyes.  “Friends of yours?” he asked.

Darro smiled self-satisfiedly.  “I was quite surprised to find they’d been made senators.  I couldn’t pass up the opportunity.”

“This must come to pass!” a new senator said, standing.  Raeth blinked in surprise--it was one of the Khur Senators.

“I agree with the two Aedin Senators,” the Khur man said in his thick accent.  “We all know the emperor disapproves of the Kavir woman.  Let him choose her as punishment!  It is his duty to what is best for the Imperium, not to sate his lusts.”

“That was a surprise,” Darro admitted.  “Guess the Khur decided that a non-Aedin bride was close enough.”

“Very well,” Rall Hannin said.  “I think this is a good idea.  Shall we take an informal vote?  Simply to provide a guide for our emperor, of course, since the choosing is solely in his hands?  Who thinks he should choose the Kavir woman?”

Over three fourths of the hands raised.  In their eyes, Raeth could see something.  An honesty, and an understanding.  They didn’t believe most of what had been said herein.  In fact, he wouldn’t be surprised to find that they had known who he was all along.

However, he saw something else.  Loyalty.  They didn’t care which name he went by.  They wanted to follow him.

Raeth stood, stupefied.

A hand fell on his shoulder.  “I’ve learned a lot from you about duty, Raeth,” Darro whispered.  “It’s time you learned one thing from me.  Duty to one’s people is good. Sometimes, however, duty to one’s self is more important.”

The room fell quiet.  Can I really do this? Raeth thought.  Continue pretending to be someone I’m not?  Continue the lie? Then he met D’Naa’s hopeful eyes.

No, Raeth realized, that’s not it at all.  That other me, that was the lie.  This isn’t pretending.  This is who I really am.

“I choose D’Naa of the Kavir!” Raeth announced, smiling broadly.

Epilogue

Decay didn’t understand one thing.  The Former had never been imprisoned.  How could he be in prison when he was placed inside that which he had made, that which he loved, and that which he watched over?  He was connected to the Aethers, and through the Aethers he was connected to the tapestry of the universe itself.  This was no prison; it was what he would have done anyway.

He was in the winds of the highlands, and they called him D’Lum.  He was within the Aethers, connected to the spirits of the fallen, and with them he was the Ancestors.  He was with the Mahallen philosophers, and they named him He who Watches but does not Intervene.  He was in the waves of the sea, and the Seaborn called him Luk To Kanna.  He was in the wild storms of the north, and the frightened Harrmen called on his protection, naming him Harashan.  And he went to them all, comforting them, helping them, watching over them.

A piece of him smiled as he watched the proceedings in the south, where the emperor was wed.  His words to the man had been true--he would not, could not, interfere with the growth of his sons.  And, hopefully, growth it would be.  Only this one blight of darkness worried the Former.

He turned one of his many focuses north, looking in on the wreckage of the city of men, Vae Annitor.  They had called it great, but they didn’t remember the times before, when his sons had earned their names, Slaughter and Despair.  The city called Saeris Va, City of the Ancestors, had been far more advanced, far more beautiful.

Both were gone now, craters left in their places.  At the bottom of each crater was something the men couldn’t see.  An essence was slowly coalescing in the pits, forming over a period of months.  Finally, six months after the cities’ destruction by the counting of men, the essences formed completely.

A naked human form appeared at the bottom of each crater.  The two men blinked, identical save for their hair color--one black, the other white.  The two raised themselves, shaking their heads and focusing on the world around them.

“Let the world shake and men prepare,” the Former whispered, his voice undulating quietly through the world.  “The Fell Twins, Slaughter and Despair, have been released from their prisons.”

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Epilogue