Sword of Blue (Tales of a Dying Star Book 3)

by David Kristoph

  One of the child attendants approached. She skipped forward, carefree as custom required. The ceremony was to emphasize that although the military was strong and rigid, the Emperor was immortal and unworrying. Presently it reminded Acteon that the strength in his arm wavered with age. Stars, gold is heavy.

  The girl attendant bowed to the Admiral, took the mace with gentle hands, and returned to the Emperor's cart. She bent prostrate into the carriage, face buried in pillows, extending the mace toward Him.

  The attendants, the welcome party, the Shieldwardens and Flameguards--everyone stood still, waiting. Then the Emperor nodded in acceptance, the barest twitch of his head, hardly noticeable unless one was watching for it.

  The girl closed the curtain and rushed away to join the other attendants as the cart sprung back into motion. The music continued, drifting away as the procession moved into the base of the Olitau. Acteon stood with the others, waiting, until the Emperor disappeared inside the ship.

  Only then did they all relax, as if releasing a long breath. Some of the officers smiled widely, looking around for others to share their excitement. Acteon only frowned. It was but the first of many formalities he would suffer over the course of the Emperor's visit. His weariness would grow.

  Their wait extended while the Emperor's retinue filed into the Olitau one at a time. Drysane tapped her foot impatiently while they waited, which made Acteon smile. For Drysane, the nervous act was the equivalent of a normally-tempered person tearing her hair out.

  When they finally re-boarded the ship half the day had been wasted. Acteon returned to the Olitau's bridge to complete what work he could. But the men were restless and excited, and little was accomplished before Acteon received the formal invitation to dine with the Emperor. The invitation permitted three officers to accompany him.

  "I don't understand why you chose me," Drysane said as they walked to the private dining room. "One of the others would enjoy it more than I."

  Acteon glanced over his shoulder. Marko and Nasir walked ten paces behind them, out of hearing distance. They smiled and spoke quietly. "I need someone level-headed with me, to show him we're not all grovelers. The Emperor respects power, not piety."

  Acteon thought he saw a hint of a smile from his Vice Admiral.

  Shieldwardens stood on either side of the dining room entrance. Their height was accentuated inside the ship, heads almost brushing the ceiling. Acteon stared up into both sets of eyes, looking for his daughter's features, but neither guard was Pavani.

  "My Lord Admiral," the one on the left said. His skin was black behind his helmet, making his blue and white eyes more striking. He did not salute. "We have been made aware of further threats here on Latea. If you don't mind..."

  It took Acteon a moment to understand, but when he did he raised his arms to be searched. The Shieldwarden pulled a small device from his pocket, running it along Acteon's arms, then chest, then along his legs. He nodded, allowing the Admiral to pass.

  Drysane only scowled, but Nasir took it as an affront to his honor. Acteon smiled as Marko, who had just yesterday complained security still wasn't tight enough, silently suffered the search.

  The formal dining room was not completed, but the workers had done what they could on such short notice. Purple curtains hid the unfinished walls, hung from hastily-erected rods near the ceiling. The lights recessed into the walls behind gave the room a deep, erotic feeling, making the guards that stood at the other room entrance--neither of which looked like Pavani--seem more like escorts than soldiers. The table in the center of the room would only serve eight, and was plain Melisao wood without veneer, but it was the best they had--it was brought from one of the administration buildings on the other side of Latea. The chairs made up for the table's simpleness: hand-cut from dark wood, they bore backrests tall enough to satisfy even a Shieldwarden. Swirls and circles were carved into the wood, and the ends of the armrests were shaped like lion paws.

  A purple kerchief draped over a chair at the head of the table indicated the royal seat. Acteon strode to the other end of the rectangular table. Drysane chose the seat to his right, allowing Marko and Nasir to sit nearest His Luminance. They smiled at one-another, pleased with themselves for some reason.

  In truth, as much as Acteon disliked formal ceremonies, he was looking forward to this more private meal. The Emperor was a charismatic man, he remembered, with the easy confidence that came from immortality. Acteon was one of the most decorated officers in the Sarian system, more knowledgeable than any man or woman alive. Yet how could that compare to their God, who had lived a thousand lives? Acteon felt awe for very few things in life, but awe was what he felt when he thought of the Emperor. It would be a pleasure to speak with him without the burden of ceremony.

  And, more importantly, a full table meant more lighthearted conversation. With the others present Acteon was unlikely to be removed from command, if only for that one meal.

  Acteon noticed the Shieldwardens at the other entrance stiffen, and a moment later the doors opened. Two Flameguards entered, one of each gender, their ruby hair flowing as they skipped along. A Shieldwarden followed, legs stiff, arms held at the side in clenched fists. The tall figure stepped aside.

  The Emperor strode into the room with the confident steps befitting a man of thirty years. He still wore the hat and silver veils that covered his face, though now that he stood they only draped down to his midsection. A pair of young boy attendants followed alongside.

  At once Acteon and the others stood, tilted forward, placing their right fist on their forehead in salute. The Emperor stopped. With an arm covered by a long sleeve he gestured to one of the Shieldwardens, who leaned close to the God-in-flesh, bent nearly in two to place an ear near the Emperor's veil. Acteon could hear nothing, but it appeared the holy man was speaking.

  The Shieldwarden rose. "His Luminance requests a private meal with the Admiral." The voice of a man. Not Pavani.

  Acteon gave a start. "I am sorry, Shieldwarden. The invitation permitted me to bring three consorts."

  The Shieldwarden gave a level stare in reply.

  Nasir looked around the table confused, and Marko was clearly disappointed, but Drysane was already moving to the door. Acteon gestured for the Vizers to follow. They obeyed without hesitation, although Nasir gave one final mournful look at the table before the door closed behind him.

  Would that I could retreat with you. Acteon remained standing, alone at the table, knuckles still pressed against his forehead. The presence of the Emperor was overwhelming, the impending chastisement palpable.

  The two child-attendants removed the royal kerchief and spread it on the cushioned seat. The Emperor sat. The attendants went to their knees on either side of him and remained there, facing the floor.

  With slow hands, the Emperor reached to his head and removed the puffed hat, pulling it into his lap. That was the signal to take his seat.

  But when Acteon ended his salute and looked up, he stared, aghast.

  When Acteon had seen the Emperor last, receiving his blessing on the sands of captured Praetar, the holy man was youthful. Boyishly handsome, with well-defined cheeks and the vibrant gold eyes that marked him a God. He was slender, slight of build, but with the easy muscle of adolescence. His gaze was confident. Knowing.

  Although this man's eyes bore knowledge, there was little else similar with who Acteon remembered. The golden eyes were recessed in dark sockets, lanterns deep within a cave. The well-defined jawline had become bony, the cheeks sunken and pale. The skin of his bald head was marked with brown spots. His lips were thin and lifeless.

  This was not the face of thirty years. This was the face of a man dying.

  Acteon sat to conceal his shock.

  Servants emerged and placed bowls of steaming liquid in front of them. Across the table his God spoke.

  "I must apologize for that bit with your lessors, Admiral," he began in a voice like crumpled paper. "It may be true that I permitted them to join
us, but I find my memory weak of late."

  Acteon forced himself to meet his gaze. Memory? The invitation was two hours ago! "No apology is required. We are your humble servants, Your Luminance."

  "Besides," the Emperor said slowly, "I wished to speak with you privately. We have much to discuss, you and I." He spooned some of the liquid to his mouth and slurped. One of the child-servants dabbed at his mouth with a cloth napkin.

  Acteon followed suit, though the spoon burned his tongue. It was a thin broth, flavored with something from the ocean. Eels, he thought.

  "I did not observe Jayce among the welcome party," the holy man said, eyes fixed on his bowl. "He is well?"

  His tone gave Acteon pause. He is playing coy. "Yes, Your Luminance. Jayce still returns from Luccar. I sent him to speak at one of the Academies, with a number of other veterans. It is good that the students hear from those who are experienced."

  In truth it was Jayce's idea to visit the Academies, but Acteon would not shift the blame. Jayce was like a fretful cat, pacing the Olitau and looking for something to do. The man needed to be kept occupied. He will be worse on the journey to Thyr, Acteon mused, but that was not a problem for now.

  The Emperor frowned at his soup. "It is not what they hear that concerns me. You sent cripples, men wounded in the last Praetari rebellion."

  "I did, Your Luminance," Acteon admitted. Was this why he had come? "Who better to instill the importance of thorough training than those wounded in war?"

  "This must end."

  With any other, Acteon would have argued. But this was his Emperor, his God, so all he said was, "May I ask why?"

  The child-servant dabbed at the Emperor's mouth. "Jayce's time is wasted on the youth. His full attention must be on the Fleet."

  Acteon took a moment to choose his words carefully. There was a deeper issue here he could not see. "Your Luminance, our preparations are steady. We will be ready to depart in two months time, as planned. Jayce is a warrior. There is little for him to do until then."

  "Find something. The pilots and soldiers of tomorrow require confidence, not reality. Reality is for old men who have had their optimism stripped away." He lifted the spoon to his mouth. "Besides, the Fleet's departure is something I wanted to discuss. You must depart for Thyr in one month, not two."

  Acteon was still thinking of excuses for Jayce, so it took a moment for the Emperor's words to register. "One month? Your Luminance, I am sorry but that is not possible. All along we have planned for two."

  "Plans can be changed, men can be encouraged to labour harder. You must leave within a month. It is my holy will."

  Acteon thought of his son's killer, possibly making the journey from Praetar even now. He would not arrive before a month. That was no excuse for the Emperor, however.

  Escaping a star's gravity was not simple; they needed to use finesse to accomplish the feat efficiently. The Fleet's course used gravitational assists from the other planets orbiting Saria. Their ships would fly very near Praetar, falling into its gravity the way a marble rolls down a hill. This would greatly accelerate the Fleet, shooting them past the planet with increased speed. They would do this for Praetar, then the gas giant Ouranos, before leaving the system.

  But the planets needed to be precisely aligned for that to occur. With patient deference, Acteon explained as much to the Emperor.

  The shriveled man waved a hand dismissively. "I understand orbital mechanics, Admiral. I have spoken to my navigators and they assure me it is still possible with minor adjustments. It will not be efficient, and the journey may take longer as a result, but the Fleet will escape Saria's grasp all the same."

  Servants arrived to remove Acteon's bowl, replacing it with a plate of eel. The thin, black creature was two feet long and coiled around the outside of the plate, sliced into finger-thin pieces. The meat was still pink, cooked with smoke and not fire, a delicacy prepared raw. In the center of the plate was an array of bushy vegetables floating in yellow butter.

  Acteon waited for the Emperor's plate to be brought, but instead he was given another bowl of the broth. "Your Luminance, I would never presume to question your immortal wisdom. But why must we depart so soon if the result will be a longer and less-efficient journey? What do we have to gain?"

  The Emperor tapped his spoon against the bowl to shake off morsels of food before carefully placing it on the table. "Acteon, I am dying."

  Piety swelled in Acteon. The Emperor was a God, his body but a vessel for his immortal soul. Each time he died he was reborn in the flesh of his son, a continuous male line stretching thousands of generations. Some lived long, others short, as with all flesh.

  The news disheartened Acteon. Prayer came to his lips involuntarily: "The Emperor dies a thousand deaths, for he must live a thousand lives. I will serve the Emperor in whatever body he holds, so long as my lungs draw breath."

  A cackling noise came from across the table, and with shame Acteon realized the Emperor was laughing at him.

  "I am sure you mean well, Admiral, but the prayers are a mockery of me now. You misunderstood my statement. When I die, the Imperial line dies with me."

  Acteon knew his mouth was open. "I don't understand. Your son..."

  "...is a farce," he said with disgust. "The boy that accompanies me to ceremonies is an actor. The composers have identified a... problem with my genetic material, one that has prevented me from producing a son. Or any child, for that matter. It is the same problem that ails me now." He gestured toward his face. "You did not mention my appearance, though you surely noticed. A kindness. The computers can do much with video manipulation, but such cannot be accomplished as easily in person.

  "Already my mind wavers at times, hence the dining invitation. I have medicine that keeps the spells at bay. They tell me I have weeks. I have no heir, no genetic urn into which my soul may flow. My Shieldwardens know, and will do their best to keep my death a secret, but the information cannot be suppressed forever. Eventually the people will know of their God's fate. Luccar will crumble from the news, and the Empire after. It is vital that the Exodus Fleet departs before then, with radios disabled so the news may not taint the journey."

  None of this felt real to Acteon. It was like he was watching a video of another Admiral experiencing the conversation. He was at a loss for words, struggling to think of what to say. "What will we do in Thyr? You are expected to arrive with the Second Fleet."

  The Emperor stared across the table at him for an uncomfortable amount of time. "Do you remember what you swore to me, Admiral? Bent in the yellow sand, with the dead and dying all around?"

  Praetar had just fallen, the Yellow King killed within his palace and the Empire's starburst flag raised above the burning city. Acteon ordered his ships to land in the desert on the outskirts, so that his men could join the looting. The Emperor's own ship descended from orbit to congratulate them personally, such was the completeness of their victory.

  Acteon's Gold Wing was jubilant from the battle, and the Emperor's presence increased their fervor. He was a young and vibrant God then, confident in Acteon and his men, unafraid to set foot near where the battle raged. It was there that he bid Acteon kneel in the sand and remove his helmet. The God bent low and took Acteon's head in his hands, kissing him on cheeks still wet with the tears of victory, and speaking the holy words to raise him to Admiral.

  It was the greatest moment of Acteon's life, the pinnacle of his accomplishments. He remembered it well. He glanced down at his chest, to the sword pin wrought in sapphires.

  "I swore to be Your Luminance's sword. To kill your enemies, to protect your people. To execute your holy will wherever you desired, loyally and without question."

  The Emperor nodded. "It is my holy will that a new Empire be built. An Empire led by men stronger than I."

  "Your Luminance, I don't understand."

  "It is you, Acteon," he said, insistent. "You will be the new Emperor on Thyr. I have already recorded my announcement. When you arrive
you will show it to the people and they will know you as their God. The power will pass on to your son when you die, and his son after that, until the end of time."

  Confusion washed over Acteon. Beneath it was pain, still raw and sharp. When he spoke it was hardly more than a whisper. "My son is dead."

  "Then you will compose another. And you will look forward, Acteon. I understand your desire to have your son's killer brought here, but you must not dwell on the past. I have already contacted the Governor on Praetar to have his transportation canceled. The prisoner will be executed there."

  Acteon did not know what to say. He stared, thinking. "Your Luminance..." he began.

  "I will hear no arguments," the Emperor said. "You will do as I command, as you always have. As you swore you would."

  "I..." Acteon stammered. "I cannot be an Emperor. I cannot be a God. Yours is the only soul that is immortal. The stars across the sky sing their testimony!"

  The Emperor had returned his attention to his soup. "Do you know what immortality is, Acteon? Truly? Immortality is experience. Immortality is knowledge. A man need not live a thousand lives to reap the experience of those who came before him. I am only a man, Acteon. A man with knowledge others do not possess, yes, but a man nonetheless."

  Acteon began to understand what he meant. "But the stars proclaim..."

  "The stars proclaim nothing," he snapped, cutting Acteon off. "They're merely balls of gas, burning as Saria does. Like men they're born and live and die. The astronomers find new specks of light in the night sky and declare them to be evidence of my rebirth, but it is nothing more than superstition.

  "And they will eventually die, as Saria does. She truly does, Admiral. That is not a falsehood. Saria will expand as she fuses the heavier elements together, eventually drowning Melis and Praetar and everything else in her flame. Even if I were a God I could not stop physics. The process takes eons, but we must move forward before that. I may die, but we as people cannot. Emperors before me, my ancestors, would not accept that truth, wishing the burden of Exodus on a future generation." He dropped his spoon into the empty bowl with a clatter. "I will not pass that burden on anymore. I will be remembered as the Emperor who saved them, Acteon. The death of every Emperor before me meant nothing, merely a continuation of the royal line. I do not have that luxury, the luxury of succession. My death must mean something. Would you deny me that? Would you lead the Exodus Fleet to Thyr and there allow it to wither?"