Horizon Storms - Kevin J. Anderson [59]
Jora’h reached along the bright mental thread that connected him to each of his subjects, especially to his brothers and his noble-born sons. The Dobro Designate had a powerful mind and a firm grasp on the thism, and Jora’h could detect no outright deceit. Udru’h did not flinch or fidget during the drawn-out waiting game.
The grief was suffocating. Jora’h had been Mage-Imperator for only a short while, had intended to rush to Dobro and rescue his beloved Nira within days—but now it was too late. Yes, she must be dead after all. Once again, before Jora’h could manage to right a wrong, he had failed.
Shaking, the Mage-Imperator leaned forward. His voice was hoarse and sharp. “I want you to relinquish control of Dobro as soon as possible, Udru’h. Daro’h is the Designate-in-waiting, and you will teach him everything he needs to know.”
“That is tradition, Liege. I will of course do as you command.”
Jora’h thought of his son, an intelligent and cooperative young man. He was reluctant to send Daro’h to such a hard and grim place, but Ildiran tradition had the weight of law. Because of his place in the birth order, not his aptitude, the second son had always been destined to be the Designate-in-waiting for Dobro. From now on, Jora’h was prepared to keep a closer eye on the experimental work there—until he could decide how to end it.
If he could end it.
“Even if Nira is dead, Udru’h, I still intend to go to Dobro so I can see this breeding program and learn exactly how you treat the human prisoners. I will do everything in my power to right the wrongs that have been inflicted upon them for generations.”
But there was no urgency now. Nira was gone.
What if his father was right? What if freeing the human subjects would eventually doom the Ildiran Empire? The hydrogues continued their attacks. A new alliance would need to be struck…
Overhead in the skysphere, buzzing birds chittered. He glanced up at the lush foliage, thinking of lovely Nira and her work as a green priest, the beautiful forests of Theroc, the sentient worldtrees. “And I also intend to meet my daughter. Finally.”
Jora’h saw a gleam of genuine pride and respect on his brother’s face. “Yes, Liege, you must see Osira’h—and then you will realize that all of the work has been warranted. Your daughter will keep the Ildiran Empire safe in this war.”
Servant kithmen carried a restless Mage-Imperator up to a high platform on the tallest spire of the PrismPalace. Basking in the warm light from multiple suns, his brother Rusa’h stood in pale robes, his face tilted up so that pure sunshine flooded his features. He stared unblinking at the dazzling stars, as if immune to the threat of blindness. Four curious lens kithmen and two rememberers surrounded the newly awakened Hyrillka Designate, all of them eager to hear his story and his thoughts.
Rusa’h had been holding forth, attempting to find words that described what he had experienced, what revelations he’d received. The intent rememberers memorized his every word. The lens kithmen gasped at his descriptions, weighing the implications for everything that they taught and believed. They turned at the commotion of the Mage-Imperator’s arrival.
Jora’h looked at his brother, whose direct gaze remained fixed on the bright suns in the sky. “Are you making up for lost time, brother? Trying to seize all the light you missed while in your sub-thism sleep?”
Rusa’h shifted languidly to face him. “I have seen the Lightsource itself. All the suns in the Ildiran sky, or in the whole Horizon Cluster, cannot compare.” Previously, the hedonistic Rusa’h would have delighted in the crowds of people, tedious