Of Fire and Night - Kevin J. Anderson [119]
Riding beside them, Vao'sh smiled. From the colors flushing through his facial lobes, Anton could tell the old historian was both amused and impressed. "Perhaps you have a hint of rememberer kith in you, Yazra'h."
She sniffed, as if she considered his comment to be a vague insult. "I have many unexpected skills. The Mage-Imperator has enough confidence in those skills that he asked me to educate the Designate. I understand honor, how to fight for a cause, how to learn from mistakes."
Anton was rooting for Ridek'h. He suspected that young man's shortcomings were primarily from inexperience, and that through careful mentoring and guidance he could reach his potential.
Yazra'h stood behind the boy, gripping his shoulders, both to prop him up and to make sure he saw everything below. They gazed out over an expanse of blackened nialia vines and dry irrigation channels.
She was taking it upon herself to make certain the new leader of Hyrillka turned out properly. If anybody could do it, Anton thought, Yazra'h certainly could. She had enough strength and confidence to share with her nephew, as well as the people on Hyrillka.
68
MAGE-IMPERATOR JORA'H
Sooner than Jora'h had feared, the hydrogues returned to Ildira to deliver their specific instructions. So far, Adar Zan'nh and his experts had been unable to offer any miraculous new defenses against the enemy. Without a proven way to fight them, Jora'h might be forced to concede after all, or accept a death sentence for the Ildiran race.
After sending Osira'h away to Dobro, the Mage-Imperator had recalled four of his seven Solar Navy cohorts to stand guard over Ildira. Tals Nodu'nh, Lorie'nh, Tae'nh, and Ur'nh lined up more than thirteen hundred of the ornate battleships overhead. The hydrogues seemed neither intimidated nor impressed by the show of force. Twelve diamond spheres simply shot through the numerous septas of Solar Navy warliners as if they were no more than blowing leaves. The hydrogues did not open fire . . . yet.
Inside the Prism Palace, Jora'h steeled himself. This time, he did not have Osira'h to act as a bridge. On the other hand, the hydrogues could not use their strange connection with her to eavesdrop on his own plans either.
The Mage-Imperator stood from his chrysalis chair, left the audience chamber and his guards and attendants, and ascended one of the tallest towers. He moved like a man going to meet his executioner.
"I am the leader of all Ildirans," he said to himself. "In my hands and thoughts I control and protect an Empire that has stood for millennia. I will do what is necessary to save my civilization." No matter what damnation it may bring.
His father would have agreed to help destroy the humans without a moment's hesitation, without a flicker of conscience or remorse. Mage-Imperator Cyroc'h had done many unpalatable things for the good of the Empire.
But I am not my father. Not yet.
A solitary figure atop the tallest tower, he waited under the bright sunlight from half a dozen stars in the sky. The mirrored warglobes dropped like asteroids toward the Prism Palace, and Jora'h felt as if a great fist hung above him, waiting for the whim of a powerful being to smash him, his Palace, and the whole city.
Jora'h knew that patrolling Solar Navy warliners had reported other battlefields around flaring stars, faeros fireballs and hydrogue warglobes locked in mortal combat. Apparently, however, the war against the faeros did not make the deep-core aliens forget their other threats.
The foremost warglobe descended to the level of his balcony, and a tiny sphere detached like a dewdrop. The small chamber held a single hydrogue shaped as the Roamer man they always copied. Was this the same emissary who had delivered the original demands, or a new one? Did it make any difference? In resonant tones, a voice emanated from the pressure sphere. "Our plans have become crystal, and your part will soon