The Ashes of Worlds - Kevin J. Anderson [110]
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77
Hyrillka Designate Ridek’h
The young man walked across open country in the unrelenting daylight. Normally he would have taken comfort from the seven suns, but now their light revealed only how bleak and empty Ildira was. He felt no weariness or despair, only a determination to do what he had been born to do, to follow the destiny that had been handed to him. Though he was an untried Designate, Ridek’h meant to hold the faeros incarnate accountable.
Perhaps he would even earn himself a place in the Saga of Seven Suns . . . if any rememberers survived to write it.
He rested when he needed to, always heading toward the majestic capital city that his people had been forced to abandon. Blackened hillsides and charred fields bore mute testament to the brutality of the fiery elementals. Up in the sky, the ever-present fireballs drifted like ominous predatory fish. Ridek’h was sure they saw him, but he did not hide. The hot glare made his eyes sting with tears, but he pressed onward — for days.
He found several crowded refugee camps, and none of the people he talked to believed they were safe. Even though most Ildirans did not know who Ridek’h was by sight, they understood that he belonged to the noble kith. They all begged to know when Mage-Imperator Jora’h would return to save Ildira.
Ridek’h straightened. These people deserved an answer, the best one he could give. “The Prime Designate and Adar Zan’nh will find a way to bring him back.” He paused, giving them an intent look. “And the Ildiran people must do everything possible to help.”
They murmured their agreement. Designate Ridek’h remained with them for a short while longer before moving on. Even if he failed on this audacious — or foolhardy — mission, he hoped to inspire Prime Designate Daro’h and all Ildirans by his example. He refused to believe that his actions would be fruitless. This was the stuff of legends.
He understood that he wasn’t likely to survive — he and Tal O’nh had discussed that at great length — but the faeros incarnate would certainly remember the encounter. The young Designate would get through to him, even if it cost him his life. Rusa’h could not keep inflicting such horror on people — his people! — without being challenged.
Finally, he reached the outskirts of glorious Mijistra. Fires had run rampant through the streets, charring and melting the crystal, stone, and metal structures. Warehouses and habitation complexes were gutted, covered with soot. The seven symmetrical streams that had flowed up the elliptical hill overlooking the city were bone dry.
Ahead, the magnificent Prism Palace, with its bulbous domes and tall spires, minarets, and transparent shafts, glowed with a dazzling, hateful light, like a gem in a furnace. That was his goal. Faeros incarnate Rusa’h waited there for him. The young man was afraid — he was not a fool — but the mad Designate had not killed him in their previous encounter.
Head held high, Ridek’h entered the city without any pretense of hiding while a dozen more fireballs swirled overhead, their flames brightening. He walked through the dazzling streets, remembering the glory of the Ildiran Empire under Mage-Imperator Jora’h. Heat shimmered in the air, reflecting off the numerous flat, mirrored surfaces.
He followed the long, winding pilgrims’ path toward the Prism Palace. Supplicants had once taken this road on their way to behold the Mage-Imperator. His own purpose was not to submit to the mad Designate, but to indicate his resolve by facing the hardship and doing what was necessary, despite the pain.
The faeros incarnate came out to stop him before he could enter the Palace. Clothed in flames, his skin incandescent from the living thermal energy that permeated his body, Rusa’h stood blazing in front of the arched entrance and faced the young Designate. His eyes were brighter than novas.
“You know