Arkship Obsidian

by Niel Bushnell

  Ahead, movement caught his eye; someone was waiting for him at the end of the library. Her frame was exactly as he remembered it, the same striking face, the same quizzical smile, but her robes gave her a regal quality that he had never seen before. Even so, she had barely changed in the intervening years, unlike him. Derward was tired, his body worn, his mind fatigued, so different to how he had been back then. It was as if that old life belonged to another person, Derward realized as he smiled to greet the Scribe.

  ‘Well, this is a surprise,’ she said, laughing as she pulled him into an embrace. Derward tensed, taken by surprise.

  The Scribe, pushed him back, holding his shoulders to look at him. ‘What? You weren’t so formal the last time I saw you?’

  ‘That was a long time ago, Scribe,’ Derward muttered. ‘We were different–’

  ‘Oh, come on, Derward! Relax, will you? Yes, it was a long time ago. Yes, we’ve both changed, but it’s good to see you. I had hoped you would be glad to see me too. And don’t you dare call me Scribe.’

  Derward stumbled over his words.

  The Scribe closed her eyes and shook her head, disappointed. ‘I think I preferred you in purple.’

  She let him go and sat at a nearby table, a decorative tea set placed on its cloth-covered surface. Derward hesitated before joining her. He sat formally, keeping his eyes on the steam gently rising from the tea pot.

  The Scribe reached out her hand and touched his, making him flinch.

  ‘Tea?’ she asked, pouring from the teapot before he could respond. ‘I’m glad you’re safe. I have heard about Melchior,’ she added without looking up from the cups.

  ‘You know?’ Derward gasped.

  ‘What would be the point in me being the Scribe if I didn’t know what was going on?’ She grinned mischievously. ‘Biscuit?’

  Derward declined the offered plate. ‘Scribe, what have . . .’ He faltered, seeing her scolding him with her keen eyes.

  ‘Sorry,’ Derward continued, ‘Ermen, what have you heard? Was it Draig? Did they attack Melchior? I spoke to Reader Durante not long before and–’

  ‘And he betrayed your trust and orchestrated the attack,’ the Scribe interrupted. ‘He seems to be working to his own interpretation of the plan, one that benefits from the destruction of Melchior.’ She sighed, looking weary. ‘Yes, there are many ways to slice the plan – you know this better than most, Derward . . .’

  Derward Tarkkail reddened, guilt stifling his response.

  ‘But the plan is more than just an elaborate simulation,’ the Scribe continued as she blew on her tea. ‘It is a starting point, an aid to enlightenment, not the end result. Reader Durante has taken it upon himself to interpret the plan without my guidance, and the people of Melchior have paid the price for that decision.’

  ‘What of Durante?’ Derward asked.

  The Scribe hesitated. The high collar of her cream robe gave her a stern pose, her long neck upright, ringed by the chains of office. ‘He is returned to us.’

  ‘He’s here?’ Derward exclaimed.

  Scribe Ermengarde Barrahaus put down her tea and crossed her hands in her lap. ‘Yes, he’s here. He returned to us after the destruction of Melchior. He seemed to think we’d hail him a hero, a prophet of the Infinite Gods.’ She rolled her eyes in disgust. ‘He was convinced he’d interpreted the plan correctly, that I was in error.’

  Derward could hardly believe it. ‘He questioned the Scribe?’

  She held up her hands. ‘He’s getting help.’

  ‘He should be killed,’ Derward muttered.

  ‘There’s still time,’ the Scribe agreed. ‘But I don’t like to rush such things. He’s still being . . . debriefed.’

  Derward pictured the captive Durante in the hands of the Church’s inquisitors, and he almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

  ‘But, you survived Melchior,’ the Scribe noted with an optimistic tone. ‘Where have you been since then?’

  ‘You don’t know?’ Derward sneered.

  The Scribe’s eyes narrowed. Of course, she knew. But she said nothing and waited for his response.

  ‘I have come from the arkship Caerleon.’

  The Scribe feigned surprise. ‘The last Kenric arkship. And now you are back here, on Icarus, back in the bosom of the Church.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘For the first time in . . . what? Ten, twelve years?’

  ‘More than fifteen,’ Derward replied.

  ‘Fifteen? Yes, I suppose it must be.’

  Derward put down his cup. ‘You know how long it’s been, stop playing games!’

  The Scribe inhaled sharply. ‘Yes, I know, Derward. And in all that time you’ve not once come back. You’ve never called. I can understand you running away from the Church. I can understand you turning your back on the other Readers, even the Scribe. But you’ve never once contacted me.’

  ‘You are the Scribe!’

  ‘I am now, but before that I was Ermengarde, your Ermen.’

  Derward hung his head, the memories of those last days here refusing to diminish. ‘I had no choice. To return here, to contact you might have put you in danger.’

  ‘A handy excuse.’

  ‘The truth.’

  Her jaw remained stern, her lips tight, but there was a flicker of emotion at the edge of her eyes. She stood, turning her face away from him. ‘So why now? Why have you come back today?’

  ‘I need your help,’ Derward admitted.

  ‘My help?’

  ‘The Church’s help. I’ve been sent by the Lord Chamberlain to the House of Kenric.’

  ‘Cam Tanis?’ the Scribe checked, incredulous. ‘He’s asking for the Church’s help?’

  Derward nodded. ‘They fear an attack from the House of Draig any time now. They do not stand a chance against them.’

  ‘The Church does not interfere.’

  Derward laughed disdainfully. ‘We both know that’s not true. The Church interferes whenever and wherever it sees fit.’

  ‘When the plan demands it,’ the Scribe corrected him.

  ‘And what does your precious plan say now? What happens to the balance of power if the House of Kenric is no more?’

  Scribe Barrahaus hesitated. ‘It does cause some deviation.’

  ‘And do you think Orcades Draig will stop at the House of Kenric? How much more deviation will the Church allow before it’s forced to act?’

  ‘We cannot be seen to take sides. We can’t favor one House over another. We have influence across the Cluster. The Church keeps the families in balance.’

  ‘Exactly!’ Derward rose from his chair, becoming animated. ‘That’s all I’m asking you to do. Right now, the House of Draig has upset that balance, and the House of Kenric is too weak to stand up to them. All you’ll be doing is redressing that situation.’

  The Scribe avoided his stare. ‘Orcades has a legitimate birth right. He is only claiming what is–’

  ‘You know that’s not true!’ Derward interrupted. ‘Orcades is out of control. His claim is tenuous.’

  ‘But there is no other, not since the destruction of the Obsidian.’

  Derward chuckled to himself as he slumped back in his chair. ‘It seems the Scribe is not all-knowing after all.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ she asked angrily.

  ‘It means that the rightful heir is still alive. Prince Halstead is on board the Caerleon.’

  ‘But . . .’ the Scribe faltered. ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘I’m certain. I have been following him since Melchior, watching over him. He is back with his people, but they don’t stand a chance without our help.’

  The Scribe smiled, her voice soft. ‘Our help? Are you part of the Church again, Derward.’

  ‘No. I’m not asking the Church, I’m asking you . . . I’m asking Ermen to stand with me.’

  The Scribe gazed into his eyes, a melancholic smile on her beautiful face. ‘You always were so overly dramatic, Derward. I’d forgotten that.’
<
br />   ‘These are dramatic times,’ he said, letting his hand touch hers. She looked down, her eyes lingering on his fingers, then she pulled away from him, straightening her spine.

  ‘The Church does not interfere,’ she repeated firmly, as if to convince herself rather than him.

  ‘You must!’

  ‘Sol! Derward, what you ask, it’s too much. The plan will not–’

  ‘I don’t care about your plan!’ Derward shouted as he marched away. ‘I gave up caring about it fifteen years ago.’

  ‘Derward, please, don’t go,’ she called after him.

  He stopped by the doorway, looking back at the distant figure, dwarfed by the walls of books. There was so much he wanted to say, but it was too late. It’s always too late, he told himself as he turned his back on the Scribe and marched out of the library.

  TERMS

  Wynn stood on the hill and stared in awe at the cobalt sky. He had never seen a place like this before, but it reminded him in parts of Melchior’s great fields and parks. But this landscape did not curve round over his head, it stretched out in all directions, cutting the view in two: blue above, green below.

  ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’

  Startled, Wynn turned to see a man striding up the slope of the hill to meet him. He was of a similar age, perhaps a few years older, tall with a confident swagger to his walk. His face was long, hard lines softened by stubble and black hair that blew in the breeze. He stopped in front of Wynn, his piercing eyes studying him with a look of contempt.

  ‘This was Earth,’ he said without breaking his stare, ‘from before the Fracture. When it was still a planet. Can you imagine what it must have been like?’

  He turned his back on Wynn, gesturing at the distant line of hills. ‘So much land . . . so much space. Ten billion people. It’s hard to picture.’

  ‘You are Orcades Draig?’ Wynn asked, already knowing it must be him.

  Orcades ignored the question and pointed to a distant line of grey-blue that glittered in the light. ‘See that?’ he asked. ‘A sea. A world of water, so deep, full of life. I’ve seen pictures, simulations, but it still doesn’t seem real. Perhaps none of this ever existed.’ He turned to Wynn again, a dark smile on his face. ‘Yes, I am Valtais Orcades Draig of the House of Draig. And you are Prince Halstead Kenric of the House of blah, blah, blah.’ He began to laugh. ‘It’s all so formal, isn’t it? Can we not be just two friends, meeting to talk?’

  ‘Friends?’ Wynn replied bitterly. ‘You tried to kill me. You destroyed the Obsidian. You killed my father.’

  ‘Mine too,’ Orcades said regretfully. ‘Did you know that? We’re half-brothers, you and me. I’d have thought someone would have mentioned it, but I can see this is a surprise to you. Old Thyred the third, Thyred the unready they’re calling him now, you know? I was his firstborn, his true heir, but he refused to acknowledge my claim.’

  ‘You killed him for that?’ Wynn said, feeling his anger grow. ‘You killed all those people just for that?’

  ‘Aren’t you listening? I am the true heir to the House of Kenric!’ Orcades spat. ‘I could have united both houses, but Thyred would not submit. This is his doing. The blood is on his hands, not mine.’

  Wynn stared at him, disgusted. He seemed to believe every word he was saying. ‘What do you want, Orcades?’

  The anger ebbed away from Orcades’ features and he began to smile. ‘I wanted to see you,’ he said with a dismissive wave. ‘I wanted to look you in the eye, see who it was I’m about to kill. I wanted to make sure you had survived. And to give you the chance to surrender.’

  ‘Surrender?’

  ‘Of course! There is no need to kill anyone else, no need for further destruction. All you need to do is turn the Caerleon over to me and declare me the rightful heir to the House of Kenric. That’s all I want. Then, once I’m named prince, I’ll kill you. Sound fair?’

  Wynn shook his head and laughed. Orcades joined in, his voice bellowing.

  ‘You’re insane,’ Wynn said.

  ‘Insane?’ Orcades pondered this then shook his head. ‘Halstead, I’m offering you a way out! The Kenric name will be consigned to history, but what’s in a name? It’s not worth fighting over, is it? Think about it! Minimal bloodshed, just one life lost, no damage to any arkship. That seems like a pretty good outcome, don’t you think?’

  ‘I tried to surrender to you before, remember?’

  ‘Yes,’ Orcades laughed. ‘I fired on you, didn’t I. But it’s different now. You have something I want, and your surrender means I get what I want without all that noisy death and destruction.’

  Wynn turned away, staring at the vastness around him. There was the sea, its surface glinting, the water breaking silently over distant rocks. His eye traced the line of blue as it cut into the green, narrowing as it zigzagged over the land towards the hills. It really was quite beautiful. He thought again of Melchior, and Bara came to mind. If he agreed to Orcades’ offer she would be safe. Everyone would be safe. Everyone except for Wynn.

  He turned back and squared up to Orcades. ‘How can I trust you? How do I know you’ll do as you say?’

  Orcades Draig’s eyes narrowed malevolently. ‘You don’t have to trust me, Halstead, you just have to surrender. I’ll take it from there. I’ll give you ten minutes to talk it over with your people, if I’ve not heard from you by then . . .’ Orcades grinned. ‘Well, it’ll get very hot and bright over there.’

  The image of Orcades Draig flickered and broke apart. Wynn took one last mournful look at the simulated landscape, then he lifted off the holograph lens and let his eyes focus on the Caerleon’s flight deck. In front of him was the Lord Chamberlain Cam Tanis, flanked by his advisers and subordinates. Behind them was Gofal, observing passively. Finally, he saw Bara, a pensive expression on her face. He gazed into her eyes and he wished he was back on Lexica, just the two of them, before he knew who he really was.

  ‘You heard all of that?’ Wynn checked.

  Tanis nodded grimly. ‘Draig cannot be trusted. Surrender is not an option.’

  ‘But if it saves lives,’ Wynn said, feeling unconvinced.

  ‘No,’ Tanis straightened, his shoulders pushed back. ‘We will not surrender. You cannot give yourself to him.’

  Gofal approached, standing beside Tanis. ‘Lord Chamberlain, Prince Halstead. The armament of the Draig arkship is equal to ours but I would anticipate that they have additional arkships within range.’

  Wynn looked at the dark shape of the Draig arkship and made up his mind. ‘No one else has to die.’

  The Lord Chamberlain took his arm, speaking quietly into his ear. ‘Prince Halstead, you must not do this.’

  ‘If I am truly your prince then you will obey my command.’

  Their eyes locked, then Tanis released him and lowered his head.

  Wynn nodded. ‘Contact the Draig arkship.’

  ‘You can’t!’ Bara gasped. ‘Wynn, please, don’t do this.’

  He couldn’t look at her, he knew if he did he might buckle. He didn’t want to die, he didn’t feel brave, but he knew this was the best chance for everyone else to survive.

  ‘Channel open,’ one of the bridge officers announced.

  Wynn composed himself and said, ‘Draig, this is Prince Halstead.’ He paused, sensing how odd it seemed to use that name, then added, ‘We agree to your terms for surrender.’

  ORDERS

  ‘He surrendered?’ Orcades Draig said to himself as he muted the communication to the Caerleon. ‘Why would he surrender?’

  ‘It is the preferred choice, is it not?’ The voice belonged to the newly-promoted Commodore Valine, a young woman with an ambitious streak that had caught Orcades’ eye.

  ‘Preferred? Yes . . .’ Orcades’ mind drifted. It was so hard to focus on the details, to keep it all clear in his head. The prince had surrendered. Why would he do that? Why would he let himself be killed? He swung round to glare at his Commodore. ‘Well?’

  Commodore Valine
didn’t flinch. ‘Well, what?’

  ‘I asked you a question. Why would he do that? Why would he surrender?’

  Valine eyed him with a contempt that didn’t suit her rank. ‘You didn’t ask, but I’d imagine he is keen to minimize the death toll and the damage to his arkship. I’m sorry, Valtais, but that is what you offered him, isn’t it?’

  ‘Offered him, yes, but I never expected him to take it.’ Orcades stared out of the windows at the Caerleon. ‘He is their leader, their prince. He would never give that up, not without a fight. I looked into his eyes, I saw determination, I saw his anger. He was much like my father. But he has surrendered. That is . . . disappointing.’

  The throbbing in his head grew stronger, a rhythmic beat he could no longer ignore. He punched the console next to him, startling the officer sat there. The pain eased, and his mind cleared.

  ‘He would not surrender,’ Orcades muttered, ‘I see that now. He would not!’

  ‘Sir?’ Commodore Valine inquired.

  Orcades laughed at her. ‘Don’t you see? It’s a trap. He’s fooling us, he’s going to attack.’

  ‘But–’

  ‘He will not surrender, and neither will I!’ Orcades took a breath, satisfied with his conclusion. ‘Begin your attack, Commodore.’

  ‘Sir, you wish me to attack the arkship Caerleon?’ Commodore Valine checked, sounding uncertain.

  ‘Yes!’ Orcades shouted. ‘Attack them, now!’

  ‘As you wish, sir.’

  Orcades eyed her intently. ‘Commodore?’

  Valine edged closer, awaiting his response.

  ‘You have served me well so far, but I have been disappointed in my last two Commodores,’ Orcades whispered.

  Commodore Valine nodded officially. ‘I understand.’ She turned to face the flight deck. ‘Chief of the Watch?’

  A middle-aged man with a neat beard approached her. ‘Commodore?’

  ‘Power up all engines, bring our weapons online. Set Condition Red throughout the ship, and have the Gargan and the Hestr stand by.’

  ‘Yes, Commodore,’ the chief replied, then he began to carry out her orders.

  Orcades watched his commodore as she walked to the operations map and opened a com channel. ‘This is Commodore Valine. Valtais Orcades has authorized an attack on the arkship Caerleon. Prepare the ship for battle. All divisions stand by.’