“And if we find that our King lives not,” she paused. “Then, and only then, will I accept the crown and the title of Queen. For now, Salacia has lost many of her good sons and daughters. We have lost the trust of our fellow Hominids in the galaxy. We have much work to do to replace what we have lost. That work begins now.”
“Long live the Crown Regent,” Uthenu shouted as he stepped forward. Every person in the Hall quickly followed suit.
“Your orders will be carried out my lady,” he said, kneeling before her. “What is your command, Regent?”
“Prepare the prisoners, Uthenu,” she replied. “I will know what has become of my father.”
“Yes, my lady,” he rose and turned to leave.
“Uthenu, one more thing.”
“My lady?” he turned back to her.
“On my ship, the Tempest, you will find an image of Galen Dwyn.”
“We have several of him already right here in the Castle, my lady.”
“I do not want one of him bloody and beaten, Uthenu,” she replied sharply. “You will find the best image of him that is available on the Tempest. You will take that image to our very best stone masons. They are to carve a monument from our finest granite. Our people will never forget him or his name, Uthenu, nor what he did for all of us.”
“It shall be done, my lady,” Uthenu replied. “We will remember him in such a way that when Salacia’s sun finally burns out, his name will be found carved into its very core. I swear it, my lady.”
“Thank you, Uthenu.”
“You will make a great and wise Queen,” Lir said. “When your time comes to take that throne, now or cycles from now.”
“A statue of cold stone,” she replied quietly. “A poor Queen I am that all that remains of him is that.”
“My dear child,” Lir said, waiting until she looked directly at him to continue. “He will always be alive right here,” he touched his chest above his heart, “inside of both of our hearts and in our memories. That is truly the best tribute anyone could ever hope for.”
* * * * *
She could hear them bickering long before she swept into the holding area. Her uncle in a cell at one end of the room, her mother in a cell in the other.
“They’ve been at it non-stop since we hauled them out of the Royal Hall,” Uthenu reported. “Unfortunately, all they’ve had to say so far has been insults directed to one another. We can’t get them to shut up long enough to ask about the King’s whereabouts.”
Rhiannon nodded and continued on until she was standing in front of the wall of cells, directly between the quarreling couple. She stood there, watching and waiting, until they finally took notice of her presence and fell silent.
“One of you,” she said, “is going to tell me where my father is. That person will live. The other, will be taken out to the courtyard. They will kneel before the giant redwood stump and rest their head upon it until the executioner’s axe severs it from their neck. Which one of you will save their own neck first, I wonder?”
Uthenu’s mouth opened but nothing came out such was his shock. Even Lir blinked hard at that statement.
“You wouldn’t dare,” the former Queen replied. “Your own mother?”
Rhiannon walked over to her mother’s cell, grabbed her by the hair on the top of her head, and landed a punch that would shatter granite on her mother’s jaw. The former Queen landed unceremoniously on her backside, rubbing a sore jaw with eyes the size of a small Salacian moon.
“After what you have allowed to be done to me?” Rhiannon’s green eyes were alive with the spirited anger that had so amused Galen. “Never again dare claim special privilege with me, you vile snake, just because you bore me into this world. If I thought it would bring my father back home one second earlier, I would swing the axe that takes your evil head with my own hands.”
Uthenu recovered from his shock enough to lean closer to Arthureal.
“Dwyn was right,” he remarked. “The Princess does hit a lot harder than you.”
Rhiannon spun around and turned her attention to her uncle before he had a chance to retort.
“And you, Uncle mine, how much do you value your neck?”
“I value it,” he said. “And I like it right where it is.”
“Then tell me where my father is, and you’ll keep it there a little longer.”
“What makes you think your boyfriend didn’t kill the only man who knows where your father is?” Arthureal taunted. “Harmool actually took care of all the dirty work after all. What are you going to do, Princess, belt me in the jaw, too.”
The imposter was watching her hands when he should have been watching her feet. He hit the stone floor hard, hands holding his crotch and howling in pain.
“I’d say there’s a set of royal jewels not likely to be on display anytime soon,” Lir said as an aside to Uthenu.
“You just going to stand there and let her assault prisoners,” Arthureal gasped out around the pain. “There are laws against that on this planet.”
“Was a prisoner assaulted?” Uthenu asked, turning to Lir. “Sir, did you witness a prisoner being assaulted?”
“I was napping,” Lir replied, all innocence. “Didn’t see or hear a thing.”
“As was I,” Uthenu said, drawing out his blaster. “I’ve had a long day. Why, I’m liable to nap so hard my blaster will fall right out of its holster again. Last time that happened, a prisoner wound up getting shot, five, maybe six times.”
“I bet that hurt.”
“Oh it did,” Othenu replied. “They couldn’t even find the jewels to put on display after the third shot.”
“Alright, enough!” Arthureal bellowed, sliding across the floor to the cell bunk. “Stop it. Yes, I know where Iodocus is, and he was alive the last time Harmool checked.”
“Then tell me where he is,” Rhiannon demanded.
“Oh, no, not that easy, Princess. How do I know you won’t have us executed the minute you get him back?”
“If you tell me where he is, you will not be executed. That’s the only promise you’ll get.”
“Not good enough,” he shook his head, levering himself up onto the bunk. “You give us a ship, and we’ll send you his location when we are far enough away.”
“You’re mad!” Uthenu yelled. “Princess, he’ll just keep on going and never tell you where your father is, if he is even alive at all.”
Rhiannon looked long and hard at her uncle.
“Princess,” Lir said quietly. “There is an alternative.”
“And that is?” she turned away from her uncle.
“The Jakamal will loosen his tongue.”
She returned her gaze to her uncle, who looked at her in sheer terror. If anyone in this room had the right to call for its use against the man who’d fed her to that demon machine, it was Rhiannon. Uthenu wanted to protest but could not. It was a cruel justice, but he would not deny her that if she chose it.
A full minute passed, and no one spoke, no one hardly even drew breath as they all watched her wage an internal war. Finally, she visibly shook herself and turned away from her uncle and her mother.
“No,” she said. “If I am fated to be Queen without seeing my father alive again, I will accept that fate. But I will not begin my rule with evil, no matter the justification. There has been enough of that here. It is time for a better way.”
“The way of the Knight,” Lir asked, “and his Lady?”
“That is the only way,” she replied. “Uthenu, you will take these two traitors to Woja Keep. They are to be provisioned on half-rations each quarter-cycle. If they are ready to provide me with my father’s location, they will be brought back to face his judgment if he lives and mine if he does not.”
“And if they are not?”
“You will leave the rations with them and leave them there until the next quarter-cycle. You will repeat this process until they talk or until they are dead.”
“A wise and great Queen indeed,”
Lir bowed.
“Woja Keep,” the former Queen whined, still rubbing a swelling jaw. “That frozen hell hole at the northern pole? You can’t do that to your mot…”
Rhiannon cut her off with a glare.
“Tell me where my father is, or enjoy your stay at Woja Keep,” she offered. She was met with silence from them both.
“Take them away, Uthenu, let the ice convince them of the error of their ways,” she ordered as she departed.
“With pleasure, my lady,” he shot a hard look at Arthureal. “With great pleasure.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
Lir caught up with her midway down the corridor. She was leaning against the wall, one hand on her stomach, the other over her eyes. She looked up as he approached, her face ran the full gauntlet of emotion—anger, fear, sadness, torment.
“Some Queen I am,” she said with self-depreciation.
“You are indeed that and much more, my lady,” Lir assured. “A lesser Queen would have used the Jakamal and been the lesser for it. In time, they will break and tell you where he is. And we will search through every record we can and find some clue of what Harmool did with the King.”
“Meanwhile my father may be suffering,” she replied. “And I’m supposed to sit back and do nothing?”
“Judging by what I have seen from you so far, I can see where the strength comes from in your bloodline. Your father will bear his burden as long as he must until you do finally bring him home.”
“And in the meantime?”
“In the meantime, you lead your people, wisely and well,” he replied. “You help rebuild your world and the Alliance. Much of what Arthureal did has fractured it badly. Help heal those wounds and make the Alliance better than it was before.”
“For Galen’s sake?” she offered a smile.
“For him, too,” Lir answered. “The last of the Galactic Knights.”
She pushed away from the wall and looped her arm around his, walking him down the corridor back to the Royal Hall. She pulled up suddenly, a look of surprise on her face.
“What is it, my lady?”
“The Galactic Knights,” she said. “Might for right, you said.”
“Yes?”
“What is it the old galaxy had that which the Alliance does not?” she asked and answered her own question. “The Galactic Knights. A force for good and right. To stand against the evil darkness wherever it may be found. If we’d had the Galactic Knights now, none of this would have occurred. They would have stepped in and stopped it.”
“Perhaps,” Lir allowed. “They were not perfect, of course…”
“But they were there when good required a champion?”
“They were.”
“And they will be there again,” she vowed. “We will reconstitute the Galactic Knights here on Salacia. This will be our legacy and our penance for what we failed to prevent, to this galaxy. This will be Galen’s legacy. too.”
“The Knights of Galen,” Lir tried it out, liking the sound of it.
“Come, Professor, we have a new generation of Knights to train, and you are the only resident expert on the Galactic Knights we have.”
“As my lady commands,” he matched her smile as they resumed their trek to the Royal Hall.
The door at the end of the corridor burst open, and a young man in uniform dashed toward them.
“My lady!” he shouted as he ran. “My lady!”
Lir took a half-step forward, putting himself between the man and Rhiannon.
“What is it, boy?” he demanded.
The man skidded to a stop, tried to bow and catch his breath at the same time, as if he’d run at full speed for a great distance.
“Well, man, don’t stand their gulping air like a landed fish,” Lir demanded. “Out with it!”
“A Caletosian cruiser, my lady,” he huffed out between gasps. “It has just landed outside the palace walls.”
“Well, what is it carrying?” she demanded.
“A miracle, my lady,” he replied. “It carries a miracle.”
* * * * *
Rhiannon raced into the medico hall in the palace only seconds behind ‘the miracle” with Lir running faster than he could ever remember doing so right behind her. Several medicos in their standard purple gowns were gathered around a medico sleep pod. Lir approached a Caletosian officer standing off to the side as Rhiannon went straight to the pod.
“What happened out there,” he demanded without preamble.
“We were searching the area for survivors,” the man explained. “Not that we expected to find any after that… whatever that was got done destroying the fleet. But we had to check, in case anyone made it out in an escape pod before the ships were slagged.
“We were about to abandon the search and head for home,” he continued, walking over to the pod. “Then we picked up a strange signal coming from the area and tracked it to a small pod of unknown design. We brought it aboard and cracked it open. This is what we found.”
Lir looked down into the pod, floating in the milky white fluid—a combination of medicine, liquid oxygen and nannites—and shrouded in a mesh healing net, was Galen Dwyn.
The deep bruises and lacerations from his torture session at the hands of Arthureal’s inquisitor were visible. But of greater concern were the angry electrical scars and burns that laced his face and body.
“I thought he was dead when we pulled him out,” the officer said.
“He very nearly was,” one of the medicos took up the narrative. “I thought we were going to lose him before we got him into the med pod.”
“There must have been an escape pod built in,” Lir mused aloud. “Giving the pilot a chance to survive after triggering the sphere. After so many years, it may not have functioned properly, leaving him severely injured, but alive.”
“We found these with him,” the officer produce a small bundle. Resting on top of Galen’s jacket was his Sabre and his reader and a crystal carving of a white feline. Rhiannon spotted the carving and reached up to take it.
“He brought this with him,” she whispered, barely audible. “All the way from Belisama.”
She leaned back over the pod, tears unashamedly flowing down her cheeks. Lir took possession of the rest of the items and looked down at Galen with a mixture of fear, relief, worry and pride. The Princess asked the question of the medicos that he could not bring himself to ask.
“Will he live?” she raised her tear-stained face to the lead medico.
“We simply don’t know the answer to that question,” he replied sadly. “At least, not yet. He is young and strong. He is obviously a fighter. No man could survive this long and not be that.
“But he suffered greatly, and the physical damage is severe,” he continued. “I believe the wounds will heal; the nannites will see to that, and the med pod will keep him breathing and his heart beating. But what we do not yet know is how long he was without enough breathable air in that pod before we got him out. His body could heal perfectly, but until he wakes up, we will not know what damage was done to his brain.”
“How long?” she asked, wiping away the tears.
“Days, weeks,” the doctor replied. “Possibly even lunes. Or he might never awaken, my lady. We just have no way of knowing right now.”
“When he does awake,” she replied. “I will be here waiting. I will be the first one he sees we he opens his eyes again.”
Lir stepped over to her and placed a light hand on her arm.
“And until he does,” Lir vowed, “and with your permission, my lady, I will search every record until I find your father for you and bring him home to you in the Tempest. And then, when he has recovered from his ordeal, we will rebuild the Galactic Knights, and Galen will be the first among them, just as it was the way of it back in the old galaxy. This I swear to you both.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
Galen had never given much thought to the afterlife when he was alive. It really hadn’t seemed that important to him, no matter h
ow hard Lir—and his other instructors at the Academy—had tried to convince him otherwise. He had to admit though, what he was seeing of it so far was very agreeable.
He was sailing through a warm, milky-white mist with a smiling Rhea at his side. No more running or being shot at, and that suited him just fine. He could do nothing else for eternity but look into those warm green eyes and want for nothing else.
It was odd though, he suddenly realized, he could hear her voice, though it seemed so very far away despite her being right here beside him. Her mouth, while smiling, wasn’t moving either. Suddenly, she leaned forward and kissed him then drifted away, seemingly melting into the milky-white haze. He could still hear her voice, but he still couldn’t make out what she was saying.
“Galen!” a booming male voice caused him to turn around. “Galen Dwyn!”
A man, dressed in polished armor shining painfully-bright, stepped out of the murky fog. A mane of flowing black hair, graying at the temples, and a beard peppered with gray, framed a strong-featured face. His eyes, bright, piercing and space black, spoke of a man accustomed to command. He carried a massive sword that made Galen’s old sabre, even fully extended, look like a toothpick by comparison.
Though Galen knew he had never laid eyes on this man, nor any image of him, in his life, he instantly knew who this man was. How this was so, he could not say, but there was no doubt in his mind.
“Galen Underwood,” and there was no hint of question in his voice. “You’re Galen Underwood.”
“That I am,” the man replied with a beaming smile. “And that, my boy, was one hell of a show you put on back there. I wish I’d had you next to me on the line.”
“You died…,” Galen said, confused.
“Millions of years ago, yes,” Underwood answered. “Well, you call them cycles now, but a long time has passed since I met my fate on the line.”
Galen's Way: A Starquest 4th Age Adventure Page 19