Schism: Part One of Triad (Saga of the Skolian Empire), Page 2

  “Can’t you feel it?” Eldrinson asked. Surely they must. They, too, were empaths.

  Del tilted his head. “Something …”

  “Yes!” Kelric cried. “Is it him?”

  “Who?” Del squinted at their visitors, who were halfway to Dalvador now. Then he answered his own question. “Oh, I see.”

  Eldrinson stood straighter, filling with joy and uncertainty.

  Althor had come home.

  2

  Warlord’s Legacy

  No one saw Soz enter the Bard’s Hall. Today she preferred it that way. She slipped behind the stone columns that lined its walls. The ceiling arched overhead, high and vaulted, with stained-glass skylights. Sunlight poured through the tall windows and slanted across the hanging tapestries, which showed scenes of Archers in green tunics and leggings. They sat astride lyrine, animals with prismatic horns and hooves and silver coats. The polished floor stretched out ahead of Soz, tiled in pale blue and lavender stone. At the far end of the hall, two great stone chairs sat on a circular dais.

  The Dalvador Bard, her father, stood on the dais, dressed in blue trousers, knee-boots, and a white shirt fastened with thongs. He had donned his ceremonial sword belt with its finely tooled sheath, the leather worked with gold and gems. Amethysts glinted in the hilt of his sword. Sunlight lit up his clothes and hair and surrounded him with a nimbus. But he wasn’t the only sight that enthralled the people gathered around the hall, the staff of the house and Soz’s family.

  A gold giant was kneeling before the Bard.

  The man went down on one knee with his head bowed, his elbow resting across his bent leg. His stark black uniform contrasted with the jeweled colors of the hall. Conduits threaded his pullover, gleaming rings of silver circled his huge arms, metallic studs packed with components glinted on his trousers, and the heavy gauntlets on his wrists glittered with lights. The black bulk of a Jumbler hung low in a holster at his hip.

  Althor had come home.

  One moment Soz longed to throw her arms around the brother she had always admired; the next moment she wanted only to hang back. It had been three years since he had gone offworld, and she no longer felt at ease with him. His skin and hair were metallic gold, inherited from their mother, but he had their father’s violet eyes, though metallic lashes fringed them. His massive physique and great height not only dwarfed the men of Lyshriol, it made him large even among Skolians. He exuded power, authority, and menace. Her brother had become a stranger.

  Her father drew his sword and it glittered in the sunlight. When he raised it over Althor, Soz tensed. Even knowing he would never harm his son, she felt her pulse leap as the blade came down.

  Had a Lyshrioli warrior knelt before him, Eldrinson would have cut off a lock of the man’s shoulder-length hair. Althor had cropped his hair short, so their father only razed off one gold curl. It fell to Althor’s shoulder and floated to the ground. This was the Ritual of the Blade, where a Bard accepted or refused the fealty of a warrior. By drawing his sword, he challenged the man’s courage. If the Bard refused a lock of hair, he spurned the supplicant. Nor did the warrior always survive; a Bard could kill with impunity during the ceremony.

  In reality, Althor served Imperial Space Command, not a supposedly barbarian king on a backward planet. When Althor graduated next year from the Dieshan Military Academy, he would become a fighter pilot in the J-Force, one of the four branches of the Skolian military, along with the Imperial Fleet, Advance Services Corps, and Pharaoh’s Army. Nothing required him to swear fealty to Eldrinson. That he did so anyway spoke eloquently, for all to see, of his esteem for his father.

  Soz couldn’t hear them, but the Bard must have spoken, for Althor rose to his feet, towering over their father. Someone drew in a sharp breath, and Soz glanced around to see several housemaids watching Althor, their violet eyes wide and appreciative. Even through the shields she raised to protect her empath’s mind, she felt their desire, how much he impressed and attracted them. Pah. The concept of her brother being the object of female desire was just too much. Not that he had ever seemed interested in Dalvador girls.

  Her father and brother embraced. Soz suspected Eldrinson had tears in his eyes, but he would hold back, too proud to cry in front of everyone. To have his son descend from the sky in such a dramatic display and then kneel before him had to feel incredible. It touched her heart that Althor chose to greet him this way. If only that could take away the pain. Although their father had always encouraged Althor’s dreams, he refused to hear the same from her. It wasn’t Althor’s fault, but it made being around him difficult. Would he be willing to take her offworld? Her hastily conceived plan had become even more complicated.

  Two men were coming forward from the columns behind the dais. No, one was eight-year-old Kelric, already as tall as an adult. Del walked with him. The woman who had come with Althor stayed behind, unobtrusive, half hidden by a column.

  Kelric took the six stairs of the dais in two big lunges and ran to his brother. Althor pulled him into a hug. Even from here, Soz could see Del’s grin as he slapped Althor on the shoulder.

  “He’s even taller,” a voice said, with a chime on the second word.

  Startled, Soz turned. Her brother, Shannon, stood next to her, slender and supple, his eyes level with hers. She had always wondered what it was like for him, living in the shadow of such giant brothers. He had the silver eyes of a Blue Dale Archer. Somewhere in the distant past, one of their ancestors must have had a child with an Archer. The traits could lie dormant for centuries and still run true when they manifested. Shannon might be one of the few Archers left; no one had heard from them in centuries.

  “My greetings, Shani.” She had been so absorbed in the scene on the dais, she hadn’t felt his pensive mood earlier, but now it came through to her.

  He tilted his head toward Althor. “He is magnificent.” His words flowed like clear water in a stream.

  Soz smiled. “Hero worship? Surely not.”

  “You feel it, too.”

  It wasn’t how Soz would have put it, given her conflicted emotions toward Althor. “I admire what he has achieved.”

  “Do you envy him?” Shannon pitched his words low, so only she would hear.

  “Envy? Why?”

  “Father won’t let you become a warrior. Women cannot.”

  A familiar anger stirred in Soz. “Of course we can. ISC has more women in the military than men.” Dryly she added, “It used to be a matriarchy, Shani.”

  “That may be.” His voice had a singsong quality. “But not here. Father will never let you go offworld.”

  “How is he going to stop me?”

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “He wants you to marry Lord Rillia.”

  “Oh, for flaming sakes.” Soz put her hands on her hips. “I’m not marrying anyone, let alone a man more than twice my age who can’t read or write.”

  “It doesn’t bother Aniece.”

  “She’s eleven years old. She doesn’t know what she wants.”

  “Thirteen,” Shannon murmured, giving their sister’s age in octal instead of decimal.

  “Eleven. And no matter how you count it, she’s too young to marry Lord Rillia and I’ve no intention of doing so.”

  Shannon’s lips curved upward with that otherworldly beauty of his. “Gods help Lord Rillia if Father did make you marry him.”

  “Very funny.” Soz turned to watch Althor, who was talking with Del and Kelric. Her brothers never stopped lamenting poor Lord Rillia’s dire fate, destined to marry her.

  Soz had other plans.

  Eldrinson entered the Hearth Room flanked by his sons, Althor on one side and Del on the other. Kelric came, too. A sense of light filled Eldrinson. Althor’s arrival had been a fine moment, a fine moment indeed.

  A flurry of motion erupted across the room as Roca swept into the hall, surrounded by people. Tall and vibrant, she riveted his attention even after all these years. Her creamy skin had gold highlights and
her eyes resembled liquid gold. Her hair fell down her shoulders, arms, and back, gold, bronze, and copper, all those curls he loved to play with at night. Her face and body had inspired an uncounted number of literary works, symphonies, and other art across the Imperialate. During her years as a dancer with the Parthonia Royal Ballet, she had dazzled audiences. Now she dazzled him.

  One of their other sons arrived with her, Vyrl. Roca had told him the name Vyrl should be pronounced Vahrielle, with an Iotic accent. Eldrinson had never mastered the accent; he drawled Verle just like everyone else in Dalvador. His son’s mane of hair curled to his shoulders, gold and bronze, with metallic glints, but he had the Lyshrioli violet eyes. He was a good head taller than his father, with a muscular, graceful physique honed by years of dance training.

  It bewildered Eldrinson that Vyrl loved to dance. Mercifully, for now the boy had chosen Lily and farming over going offworld to become a performer like his mother. Men in Dalvador never danced. Although Eldrinson understood that no one looked askance at a male dancer among Roca’s people, here it would be a terrible scandal. People would consider such a man female. Well, supposedly. Lily knew and she didn’t seem to mind.

  In any case, it warmed him to see the young couple. And they had brought the grandchildren. Hallie, their three-year-old, skipped through the room, her curls flopping around her shoulders, her eyes bright, her cheeks plump and rosy. Lily carried the two-year-old, and Vyrl cradled the baby in his arms.

  “Althor!” Roca threw her arms around her son. He gathered her into a hug, both of them glimmering in the light from the lamps in the Hearth Room. Then they separated and Roca tilted her head back to look up at him. “Honestly, you’ve grown again.”

  He grinned at her. “Ten more centimeters.”

  Roca’s laugh sparkled. “You will increase the gravity of Lyshriol.”

  Eldrinson slapped Althor on the back. “So he will.” He motioned everyone toward the end of the hall, where sofas and chairs stood around the bluestone hearth. Hallie ran away giggling, chased by Kelric, and the rest followed, Vyrl bouncing the baby.

  One discord jangled in their harmonious gathering: Tahota, the woman who had accompanied Althor, a tall Skolian with gray-streaked hair. She stayed in the background, silent. Her clothes had a military aspect, dark blue tunic and trousers with gold insignia on the shoulders and chest. He recognized only the symbol of the Imperialate, an exploding sun within a circle; the other markings meant nothing to him.

  Tahota seemed bemused by the commotion. Was she a romantic interest for Althor? Surely not. On Lyshriol, a woman of her appearance would be about five octets in age. Given how Skolians could delay getting older, though, she could be any age. Regardless, she was much too mature in years for Althor. Besides, she was obviously inappropriate. A female warrior? No. It was too much. Althor epitomized the military ideal: strong, intelligent, powerful, imposing—and male.

  He did wish Althor would marry, though. Two octets plus five more years in age and still his son had no woman. Roca seemed to think this was normal; indeed, she claimed he hadn’t reached the “age of majority” among her people. Absurd. Althor was well beyond the age when a man started a family.

  They all settled around the hearth while a maid lit the fire. She peeked at Althor, her lovely face glowing. He smiled at her, but his response was polite only, nothing more. Eldrinson sighed. Maybe the boy had a girlfriend somewhere else.

  Althor glanced at him sharply. Eldrinson supposed he wasn’t shielding his mind as well as he might. Well, he had no objection to his son knowing his father wished he would settle down and make grandchildren.

  Everyone was talking at once. Vyrl, Del, and Kelric pumped Althor for news about anything offworld, from technology to sports. Roca asked about his classes at DMA. Eldrinson sat back, content to listen. It gratified him to have them gathered like this, all so healthy and full of life. His family.

  Except they weren’t all here. Chaniece, Del’s fraternal twin, was visiting another village, which could explain why Del was even less settled than usual today. Aniece had fallen asleep upstairs, worn-out from growing; lately his youngest daughter was moody and irritable, a contrast to her usual amiable nature. After seeing so many of his children through adolescence, Eldrinson recognized the signs. She was less a child every day. Denric was probably off somewhere reading and didn’t yet realize Althor had come to visit. How the boy could spend so much time with holobooks, Eldrinson didn’t know. It pleased him, though, that Denric read so well.

  What he didn’t understand was why neither Soz nor Shannon had come to greet Althor. They had both seen him arrive.

  They should be here.

  Soz stood on a balcony of the third story in the house, her arms folded on the bluestone wall that came to mid-torso. She gazed out at the plains. Wind played with her hair, throwing curls around her face. Unlike other girls in Dalvador, who wore their hair long, she kept hers at shoulder length. It was black most of the way down, then shaded into wine-red and turned gold at the tips, bleached by the sun. Her mother called it “sunrise hair.”

  A rustle came behind her. With a start, she turned to see an imposing woman in the doorway of the balcony, a military officer in a dark blue tunic and trousers. The gold studs on the woman’s shoulders and the insignia on her chest indicated she was a colonel in the Imperial Fleet. Why a highranking naval officer would show up with Althor, Soz had no clue. The J-Force and Imperial Fleet were completely different branches of Imperial Space Command.

  The woman nodded formally. “My honor at your presence, Your Highness.” She used Iotic, an ancient language spoken now only by the antiquated Skolian noble Houses and the Ruby Dynasty.

  Soz winced. She so rarely heard her Skolian titles here, she tended to forget she had them. “My greetings, Colonel.” The Iotic came naturally to her. She spoke Trillian more often, the language of Dalvador and Rillia, but she shifted easily between the two.

  “May I join you?” the colonel asked.

  “Yes. Certainly.” Excitement jumped in Soz. She wanted to ask a million questions. How does it feel to fly a starship? But her bluntness could annoy people, and she didn’t want to ruin this opportunity to hear about ISC.

  The colonel came over to stand with Soz. Her gauntlets glittered, alive and active, monitoring the surroundings. She was a good head taller than Soz and had a lean build with well-defined muscles under her uniform. Soz had always considered herself fit, but she could blow away on the wind compared to this woman.

  Subdued, Soz turned back to the view. The house was on the edge of the village. The plains made her think of a silvery ocean with an iridescent sheen on its waves. The suns were low in the sky, behind the house, and long shadows stretched out over the land. Clouds of shimmer-flies drifted across the countryside.

  “It is an uncommonly lovely world,” the colonel said.

  “It’s all right.” Soz actually thought it rather boring, except when the rare storms swept across the land.

  The woman motioned at the sky. “I’ve never seen blue clouds.”

  “It’s from an impurity. Like food dye.” Soz smiled. “It’s most concentrated in the water, but it’s everywhere.”

  “Can you see it in the air?” The colonel sounded intrigued.

  “Sometimes. It comes from the glitter that plants use to reproduce.” It seemed mundane to Soz. “The dye isn’t dangerous, just an irritant, but it can cause problems. We have nanomeds in our bodies to break it down. They’re passed from mother to child.”

  “It’s amazing,” the colonel mused. “Humans can adapt to so many variations in their environment.”

  Soz glanced at her hands, with their four fingers and thumb, so different from most everyone else on Lyshriol. “In people, too.”

  The officer smiled at her. “I should introduce myself. I’m Starjack Tahota, from HQ City on Diesha.”

  “My greetings, Colonel Tahota.” Soz offered her arm and Tahota grasped her elbow while Soz grasped hers. After th
ey separated, Tahota said, “Your father was looking for you earlier.”

  Just thinking about him made Soz tense. She couldn’t talk to Althor about leaving if Father was present. She said only, “I was waiting until I could have Althor to myself.”

  “He expected you might.”

  “He did?” That sounded perceptive for Althor. “Amazing.”

  Tahota laughed. “Brothers can be insightful, too.”

  Soz regarded her doubtfully. “Why does he have a starfighter? He doesn’t have his commission yet.”

  “He’s learning to work with its El brain.”

  “Why are you with him? Aren’t you Fleet?”

  “That’s right.” Tahota was watching her closely. “He isn’t cleared to take a fighter out on his own.”

  “Shouldn’t his instructor be a J-Force pilot?”

  Tahota studied her with that unsettling intensity. “J-Force works with all branches of ISC.”

  Although Soz knew DMA drew its instructors from all four branches of the military, she wouldn’t have expected an officer with such a high rank to accompany a cadet on a training exercise. Nor would she have thought they would let him come all the way to Lyshriol. “He’s lucky to have a colonel to train with.”

  “I also had another reason for coming here,” Tahota said.

  Soz felt a nervous tickle in her throat. “What is that?”

  “I coordinate admissions for the ISC academies.”

  Soz froze. Admissions. Including the Dieshan Military Academy? She had already taken the preliminary exams, but it would be another year before she could submit an application, and that assumed she passed the prelims. It wasn’t a given: she couldn’t even openly train or study for the tests here, and she had no referent to judge her abilities.

  That was her least problem, though. She had taken the exams in secret, without telling her parents, but she couldn’t apply without their permission. Soz could handle her mother; Roca would resist the way she had with Althor, dismayed at the thought of her children in combat, but she wouldn’t stop them if they felt they had to go. However, Soz had absolutely no doubt her father would forbid her to apply. It would start a quarrel between the two of them that would make their others pale in comparison.