Of Fire and Night - Kevin J. Anderson [75]
On impulse he looked at Yazra'h's exotic face as she led him from the jousting arena. "Would you like to hear a story?"
"Is it a dramatic one with brave heroes and many fallen enemies?"
"No. It's one about ambition and consequences, the cautionary tale of a man named Faust." He described, as best he remembered, Goethe's epic tale of a man's downfall, how Faust had agreed to sacrifice his soul to the devil in exchange for perfect happiness, and even then had spent his life searching for what he desired. Faust had gotten exactly what he wanted, only to discover that his wants had changed. The price of his bargain had nearly destroyed him.
Yazra'h appeared troubled. "I did not care for that story. The man Faust made a poor choice and then complained about the terms he had accepted. He was without honor."
"Sometimes the bargain itself is without honor," Anton pointed out. "Faust was damned from the moment he was offered the choice. From that point on, given who he was, he had no option."
"He should never have asked for the choice to begin with." For Yazra'h, every decision was clear-cut, black and white. She turned her attention to a particularly furious battle between two huge soldiers. Like giant fighting machines, they pounded each other, barely bothering to parry or dodge, each simply trying to overwhelm his opponent with brute strength and persistence.
"Yazra'h," Anton finally asked, "all those hydrogue warglobes that came to Ildira. They left without firing a single shot. What's going on?" She fixed her gaze on the two dueling soldiers, no longer the least bit flirtatious. "Are you just going to give me the silent treatment? If I'm stuck here, don't I have the right to know?"
"The Mage-Imperator decides what we should know. It is not for me to say." Then, as the interminable clash continued, she tried to discuss the nuances of fighting technique, as if she thought he could be distracted so easily. She never answered his question, which in itself was enough of an answer.
44
MAGE-IMPERATOR JORA'H
When Yazra'h found him on the high, glittering rooftop of the Prism Palace, Jora'h thought his daughter intended to scold him for standing in the open unguarded. But he was confident the hydrogues wouldn't come back to destroy him--not yet. The deep-core aliens had far more insidious plans.
He gestured her forward as he stared at the sweeping geometric skyline of his grand city. "I came up here to be by myself because I am troubled."
He glanced over the edge to the drop far, far below to the spot where the potted treeling had shattered on the interlocked paving stones. Scurrying servant kithmen had scoured away every last speck so no one could see the mark, but for Jora'h the stain was still there. It would always be there. The very thought of what he had done filled Jora'h with revulsion. He knew what Nira would think, if he ever did manage to bring her back to the Prism Palace. The things I have done . . . and the things I may still have to do.
Yazra'h came to stand beside him. When he saw her expression, he knew that she had different concerns. "Father--Liege--I must speak with you. I need to make a request." He could not remember when she had ever asked anything of him. "I do not question the wisdom of keeping certain information from the human government, but neither can I forget that their skyminers helped so many Ildirans. I was there. I was proud of them."
Jora'h nodded. "Sullivan Gold and his companions do not deserve what we have done to them. We should be allies. We should trust them." A stern frown crossed his face. "However, we cannot. They have seen things the rest of humanity cannot know." He thought of the Dobro breeding program and the long-imprisoned descendants of the Burton. "And there are other secrets that would make the humans turn their