Schism: Part One of Triad (16 page)

cruelty, but until this moment he hadn’t really understood what that meant.

“So you see,” Vitarex murmured, “it is why I need you.” Eldrinson shook his head, then gulped as pain radiated out jj from where it had struck the pole.

“You don’t need me.” “But I do.” He sighed now. “Empaths project their responses more strongly than other people. It heightens the effect. The stronger the empath, the more I transcend.” He lifted his hand, palm up, as if offering Eldrinson a gift. “When you make it possible for me to reach that exaltation, it exalts you as well.”

Eldrinson was too queasy to answer. Vitarex and his ilk might believe themselves more than human, they might even have built an empire based on that belief, but as far as he could tell, they were nothing more than sadists. For all that he had learned their history, it had never seemed real until this Highton lord sat before him, his face smooth with ecstasy while Eldrinson endured the pain in his body—and his heart. Those men who had ridden with him, fought with him, and died with him, they had wives, children, hopes. All gone now.

With Vitarex so close, Eldrinson felt that suffocating sense of cavity from his dream, the crushing darkness. In that place where most people had the capacity for compassion, the Aristo had nothing. Eldrinson teetered above that abyss, falling into its lightless void. His nausea surged. Vitarex had come for his family, the Ruby Dynasty. Each time the fear hit him, it struck with renewed force. Why else would the Traders go to the extremes it must have taken to infiltrate ISC defenses on a world that otherwise had nothing to offer a star-faring civilization? The Aristo surely had the backing of ESComm, or Eubian Space Command, the Trader military; it was the only way he could have infiltrated the defenses here.

“What are you thinking?” Vitarex asked. “Emotions flow across your face. Fear?

Yes. But more, I think.” He tilted his head. “What must it be like for you, eh? An empath on a world of mundane minds.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Eldrinson said.

“You must sense your differences.”

“How would you know more about me than I do myself?” Over the years, Eldrinson had learned a great deal about his abilities, but if Vitarex believed him ignorant, he wasn’t likely to suspect he had captured Roca Skolia’s royal consort.

“I can feel the presence of an empath,” Vitarex said. “Just being near you, I transcend at a low level.”

Eldrinson clenched his fists behind his back. “What do you want with me?”

Vitarex settled himself on his stool, his boots braced against the hard-packed dirt. “I have bestowed a great honor on you.”

“And what might that be?”

“I have decided to allow you to be my provider.”

“That means nothing to me,” he lied.

“My personal slave.”

“You can’t.” It surprised Eldrinson how calm he sounded. “It is against the law.”

“No matter.”

“What makes you think my friends won’t find you?” Eldrinson asked, curious in a morbid sort of way. “They are well armed and numerous.”

Vitarex waved his hand. “I have means to hide. When I finish here, we shall leave.” He smiled benevolently at Eldrinson. “You may come with me.”

Like hell. “Finish what?”

“You come from the Dalvador Plains, yes?”

“That’s right. I’m a farmer in Starlo Vale.”

“Have you ever been to Dalvador? The capital?”

If Eldrinson hadn’t already known Vitarex wasn’t Rillian, that last sentence would have given it away. No one called the village of Dalvador a “capital.”

His people didn’t even have me concept. The only reason he knew its meaning was because Roca had asked him a similar question several decades ago.

“I rarely travel,” Eldrinson said.

Vitarex leaned closer. “Have you heard of Roca Skolia?”

Hearing his wife’s name from this man filled him with anger. It took a great effort of will to appear unaffected. He had to respond like a farmer from Starlo, not the husband of the woman Vitarex dishonored merely by mentioning her name. “The wife of our Bard has a similar name.”

Vitarex wet his lips. “Have you seen her?”

“The likes of me don’t mingle with them.” He hoped Vitarex knew too little about Lyshriol to recognize that lie. Social stratification didn’t exist here.

Everyone mingled. Eldrinson’s children played with the other children in Dalvador. People came to him when they wanted a bard or judge, but they otherwise treated him like any other farmer. He was the closest the Dalvador Plains had to a leader, just as Lord Rillia was the closest they had to a king in all the settled lands, but they didn’t think in terms of class. Any distance that developed between his family and his people came about because he had married a woman that the Lyshrioli believed descended from the sun gods. He knew about social classes from Roca’s people, and he had heard Trader hierarchies were even more stratified. Vitarex wouldn’t expect a low-level farmer to associate with the Ruby Dynasty.

“They say she is a great beauty,” Vitarex mused.

Eldrinson bit the inside of his mouth to keep from responding.

Vitarex was watching him closely. “You have seen her, haven’t you? You find her lovely, eh?” An oily smile spread across his face. ‘Tell me, farmer, do you covet her?”

“Go to hell,” Eldrinson ground out.

Vitarex laughed. “Ah, well, I imagine many men want her.” He stretched his arms. “I shall have her. Perhaps some of her daughters, too.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I suppose I could also take the men. They would fetch a high price.”

Eldrinson had never hidden his emotions well, but he managed now, knowing the lives of his family could depend on his control. He had to hide his rage, lest he reveal himself to Vitarex. He didn’t know which would be worse, if Vitarex captured another of his family or if the Aristo realized he already had a Rhon psion and escaped Lyshriol with him. It didn’t seem possible Vitarex could take them away, but he shouldn’t have managed to trespass here, either. The irony didn’t escape Eldrinson, that he had demanded Soz stay at home so she would be safe, yet he was the one the Traders captured.

When he didn’t respond, Vitarex yawned. “Intellect isn’t one of your strong points, is it?”

Eldrinson spoke dryly. “Bravery isn’t one of yours, is it?”

“I could execute someone for speaking to me with such insolence.” Vitarex’s voice was languid, probably deceptively so.

“The coward’s solution.” Eldrinson hoped he was gauging Vitarex as well as he thought; otherwise he might have just invited his own death.

“Is it now?” The Aristo smiled coldly. ‘Tell me, what are you trying to provoke me into doing?”

What indeed? Eldrinson needed a way to signal Roca and Brad. He couldn’t achieve much tied up; but if he could get out into the open he might have a better chance.

“I’ve a proposition for you,” Eldrinson said.

“Do you now?”

“Entertainment” He thought fast, making it up as he went along. “A sword competition. You’ve surely heard of them. Two men fight until one is disarmed or admits defeat. Winner takes on die next challenger. The rounds go on until only one is left.” He lifted his chin. ‘Take a chance. Set me against your men.”

“What a strange idea.” Vitarex laughed. “You do intrigue me. Where I come from, providers have none of your spark.”

“I can best any single fighter you have.” The claim was bravado, given his injured arm, but he could probably manage a few bouts.

“Is that so?” Vitarex tilted his head. “Where would a farmer learn such skills?”

Eldrinson pretended astonishment. “You don’t know?” Let this Aristo think he had just made a cultural mistake.

Vitarex flushed. “I asked a question. Answer it.”

“I qualified to train for the army.” Any boy with talent and discipline could learn swordplay in Dalvador. It did tend to be children of better-connected families, the closest they had to a highborn class, but it wasn’t restricted.

Boys came from all over the plains to train. Similarly, girls came to become Memories. The Lyshrioli were illiterate; they had no concept of written language. Memories were their depositories of knowledge.

“You won’t defeat my men,” Vitarex said. “I handpicked them for their expertise.”

“Afraid I will win?”

The Aristo considered him. “What do you think you will getoutofthisT’

“The chance to move.” He didn’t have to act when he grimaced. “It hurts.”

“I know,” Vitarex murmured. “I can feel it from all over the camp.” He stood up. “I will think on your suggestion.” With that, he strode away, out of the tent, and set its entrance flap swinging.

Eldrinson exhaled. Vitarex was too confident, too sure of himself. He truly believed he could capture Roca, even more of the family, and take them from Lyshriol. Eldrinson had to stop him.

How, he had no idea.

10

Headquarters City

iesha mesmerized Soz. Its tiny white sun glinted like a bright stud hammered into a pale blue sky. Near the horizon, the sky turned red from dust stirred into the air. The colors left her breathless. Despite the vast red deserts around the port, everything seemed bluer here than Lyshriol, even the sunlight itself, as if someone had put a blue filter over the red world.

ISC maintained the planet for military purposes. Althor had landed at the Red Mountain Starport on the edge of HeadQuarters City, or HQC, a major ISC

command center. They had none of the holdups civilians endured in the commercial port outside the city; indeed, the personnel here expedited their arrival with efficiency and courtesy. A port official personally escorted them through customs and registration. It didn’t hurt that their party included a Fleet colonel and J-Force pilot, even if Althor was still a cadet. Neither she nor Althor identified themselves as Ruby Dynasty. Even if they had been inclined to do so, which they weren’t, Tahota advised against it. Ruby heirs revealed as little about themselves as possible.

Now they stood inside the terminal at a curved desk staffed by a person rather than an EI, a polite fellow in a blue uniform. The white Luminex desk glowed, and silvery mesh components glimmered in its surface. It all unsettled Soz; rather than the upholstered furniture and stained-glass hues of her home, everything here was streamlined and polished. The spacious room had two walls of polarized dichromesh glass that looked out over the teeming, geometric tarmacs of the starport and the towers of HQC beyond, sharp against the red sky. The blue carpet under Soz’s feet rearranged its fibers every time they took a step. Probably it cleaned itself when no one was looking.

She was too light.

Her body had developed on Lyshriol, which had stronger gravity than there.

Diesha made her light-headed, dizzy. She stumbled when she walked, mistiming her steps. Even just standing felt odd. The world didn’t pull enough. When she handed the officer a mesh-card with her documents, her arm came up too fast and too high. Embarrassed, she lowered it to give him the card. He nodded with courtesy and clicked the plex square into a slot on his desk.

The air smelled strange. Here in the port, everything had a sterile scent.

Dry. Parched. Lyshriol smelled so much more alive. Both worlds had been terraformed, with atmospheres agreeable to human life, but a wide variation existed within those parameters. Diesha had a lower oxygen content than Lyshriol. Although she didn’t feel short of breath, she could tell the difference. Lyshrioli air tasted richer.

This place sounded odd, too. She had spent her life in a culture wim no urbanization. Most people lived in rural areas or villages. The largest city, Rillia, had a population of only ten thousand. No machines. Her mother had introduced technology, yes, but it was discreet, blending with the natural ambience of Dalvador. They almost never heard engines or the hum of compressed air, only chirps and trills of the scant wildlife. Humming-flits rustled in the air; tin-beedes tapped on walls; swords clanked in the courtyard as boys trained. Those were the noises of life. Here in the climate-controlled port, HQC rumbled outside, and its surging power vibrated through her.

This wasn’t her first trip offworld. She had traveled with her momer years ago on trips to Parthonia. Roca hadn’t wanted to leave her small children while she attended Assembly. Before marrying Eldrinson, she had won election as a delegate and risen in its ranks until she became the Councilor for Foreign Affairs, a member of the powerful Inner Circle. Soz had grown up watching her mother as a political powerhouse in the gigantic, tiered amphitheater of the Assembly.

Some of Soz’s siblings never traveled. As a toddler, Shannon had cried even when Roca took him into orbit. So she reluctantly left him home. Now they were grown and no longer went wim their momer, except eight-year-old Kelric, who loved to travel. Soz had wanted to continue, but her father had discouraged it. She had never doubted he loved her, but that only made it hurt more when he rejected her dreams.

As Althor gave his mesh-card to the officer, Soz straightened her back. She had to stop brooding. She had made her choice and she would accept the consequences. She gazed out the polarized windows at Diesha, with its chrome glitters and parched sky.

The time had come to face her future.

The days blended into a haze for Shannon. If he thought about it, he remembered he had run away from home three days ago, but mostly he rode in a trance of hunger and thirst, dimly aware of the thinner air as he went higher into the mountains. His head throbbed. Trees up here were stunted, their colors dulled.

When Moonglaze whistled, Shannon surfaced from his daze. “Are you tired, Moon?”

The lyrine answered with a low sound, more an exhalation than a true whistle.

Shannon sighed. “Me, too.” His stomach ached and his throat had gone dry, but he didn’t want to give up. He reined in the lyrine among a cluster of trees and checked his bags to verify the jammer continued to work. He could turn it off, but he wasn’t that desperate yet.

He slid off the lyrine and sagged against its side. Moonglaze bent his head around to nuzzle his shoulder. Shannon scratched the lyrine’s neck where the hair grew in thick curls, and Moonglaze snuffled in appreciation.