A Forest of Stars - Kevin J. Anderson [85]
Overhead in the soot-stained sky, the Ildiran warliners—all damaged—faced off against the crystalline globes. Jora’h didn’t see how they could survive. The two hydrogue warglobes cruised across the orange-tainted sky, spilling more death. The air echoed with roaring blasts and thunderous explosions.
“I have to protect you, Thor’h. You’re the next Prime Designate. And I…will soon become Mage-Imperator.” He knew that his father would be sensing the Hyrillkan attack through the thism. Perhaps the shock and pain would even hasten the ailing leader’s death. “We must get away from the battle zone, somehow.”
With the diminishing daylight, thousands of dazzling lights automatically shimmered to life within the citadel, as if it were any other day.
Jora’h found his brother Rusa’h amid the chaos of fire and destruction in the open plaza under the tall, vine-covered arches. The chubby Hyrillka Designate raised his hands and waved his arms inside their ballooning sleeves. “We must not panic! Please get to safety.”
“Where?” a dancer cried. “Where can we go?”
Rusa’h grabbed his performers, pushing them away from the fires and explosions. His pleasure mates turned to him for protection, their lovely faces streaked with smoke, dust, blood, and sweat. “Go to the bubbling pools,” he said, still looking pathetically forlorn and helpless. “There will be shelter. I hope.” The women hurried off, confident in his advice, but Rusa’h didn’t seem so certain.
Both hydrogues cruised above the landscape, one crisscrossing the fertile nialia fields with blue lightning bolts, the other with cold white icewaves. As the second warglobe circled, unhindered by the pinpricks of the Solar Navy streamers, Jora’h saw that the governmental citadel would be leveled in the next attack. “Everyone off the hill! Get down and scatter.”
The Hyrillka Designate looked at his brother in confusion; then relief lit his face. “Yes! Do as the Prime Designate says!” The people began to run. Stragglers continued to evacuate from the inner chambers of the citadel palace.
Finally, Adar Kori’nh’s rescue shuttle landed in the courtyard, its hull smoking from a minor hydrogue blast. Many Hyrillkans raced toward the vessel, but burly warrior kithmen strode out of the open hatches, their armor spiny, their eyes alert. “We have come only for the Designates. Stand down! We have orders from Adar Kori’nh.”
Grabbing his uncle’s arm, young Thor’h lurched toward the shuttle, frantic. “Yes, get us out of here.”
Mentally counting, Jora’h addressed one of the warriors from the rescue shuttle. “How many people can fit aboard?”
“You, Prime Designate, your son, and your brother.”
“How many others?” he insisted.
“Our priority is to take you to a safe place. Perhaps some of your brother’s children. That is all.”
“I give the orders. I’m the Prime Designate.” Jora’h waited for an answer.
The warrior finally said, “Forty-eight other passengers, at the maximum lift capacity of this shuttle.”
“Good. Start loading people.”
The Hyrillka Designate tore his arm away from Thor’h. “No! My favorite pleasure mates are still inside the citadel palace. I told them to meet us at the bubbling pool. We have to rescue them. They…They are very important to me.”
“No time,” Jora’h said. Overhead, the warglobe loomed closer. Blue lightning tore the hillside where evacuees were racing pell-mell into the open streets.
“You can’t just abandon them. Some are carrying my children.” The Hyrillka Designate suddenly showed an uncharacteristic expression of determined bravery. He turned and ran inside, fighting his way through the littered and broken corridors. “They counted on me for protection. I will save them.”
Jora’h was amazed at his hedonistic and softhearted brother, whom he had always considered to be spoiled and vapid; but the Hyrillka Designate showed a different side of himself now. Then Jora’h thought of his own lovers, especially of dear Nira Khali. Yes, for Nira he would even have run into a hydrogue attack.