by Alison Baird
A brief silence fell. Damion and Lorelyn held their breath.
“You son of a pig,” said Jomar.
Damion closed his eyes, wondering how much it hurt to be killed with a spear.
“Son of a pig I call you,” Jomar shouted. “All very well for you to talk—you, you’re free, you’ve never lived in a dirty disease-ridden camp. What do you know of the suffering of slaves? I never asked to be in the army—they took me by force, after they had enslaved me, thrown me into the arena for their amusement. I fought for all the Mohara there—conquered all the Zimbouran gladiators they sent against me. In there I was the Mohara, a symbol to the Zimbouran scum of something they could never destroy. The Mohara spirit!” Jomar threw out his chest and flung back his head, defiant even in front of the spears. “When they saw they could only beat me by killing me, they decided to execute me in public. I was prepared to die. But the army bought me instead—”
“You should have refused to obey them, and died with honor,” the leader snarled.
“Fool! The Zimbourans wanted me to die—they want us all to die. That’s why I decided to live—to continue fighting them. One day, I knew, I’d get my chance—be able to desert, jump ship, run away, to my real people. Raise a rebellion and come back at the head of it. I’m a Mohara, I tell you, and we Mohara don’t roll over and die. We fight—we survive.”
The men exchanged glances; some appeared to be uncertain.
“And I did desert,” Jomar continued. “And I have come back—with an army, just as I promised. An army, do you hear? We fought the cursed Zims only yesterday.”
“It is true—we saw signs of battle, out in the wasteland,” said one warrior. “And strange lights in the sky.”
“But who fights for you?” asked another. “Is it the Shurka rebels, or the peoples of the Commonwealth?”
Jomar hesitated, wondering whether to tell the truth, wondering if he would be believed. He himself had doubted all the old tales; now it was his turn to face skepticism. “I went away from Zimboura,” he said slowly, “to the country in the north called Trynisia.” A loud murmur went up from the men. “Yes—Trynisia!” he shouted above their voices. “It is real—and so is Eldimia, the land of the gods. I have been in both countries, come to know them and their people.”
“You lie.”
“Do I? Look at this beast you’ve killed—have you ever seen anything like it before?”
Again the mutters of uncertainty. At last the leader spoke again. “Trynisia and Eldimia we have always believed in. It is your word, half-breed, that is suspect. If you are lying, you blaspheme the gods. But we shall see. We will take you and your companions to the oasis now, and decide what your fate shall be.”
10
The Flying Ship
THE IMPERIAL PALACE, Ailia had thought on her first sight of it, would fill even a Loänan with awe. Its adamantine roof soared to such a height that small clouds formed beneath the crystal vault of the main hall, hanging overhead like thick white mists. It stood in the rolling meadows to the north of the dragons’ city, but Auron had explained to her that the whole edifice could be raised aloft by levitation, and even transported to other worlds of the Empire when Orbion chose to make a processional. But now as she entered the vast crystal doorway, Ailia’s head drooped and she scarcely paid any heed to her surroundings. The tidings from the Nemerei of Arainia were terrible: her peacekeeping force savagely attacked by the Zimbourans and vanquished; the surviving soldiers compelled to retreat into the Ether with the Loänan’s aid; many young fighters slain and others taken prisoner. The plan to cow Khalazar had ended in calamity. The Loänan said Damion and Jomar had not been found among the slain, nor had they been paraded through the streets along with the other captives. But they had not returned to Arainia either. The Loänan could not communicate with her friends without betraying their location to the enemy. Some dragons that had tried to conduct an aerial search had seen no sign of the three near the battlefield, and finally had been forced into retreat by a flight of Morlyn’s firedrakes.
Auron had told her, “The youth Raimon has come forth in Arainia, and confessed that he hid and let Lorelyn go in his stead.”
“Lori is there too!” How like her, to run off and join the men! It was a brave thing to do, a splendid thing—what I should have done, if I were really worth all this reverence people heap upon me.
“She has not returned. She was not slain either, so she may be with Jomar and Damion. She left a note in Arainia saying that it was you who inspired her—that you told her life was a tale to be written by those who lived it.”
So that is my doing, also. At least her friends lived—for now. If only she could convince other worlds of the Empire to join with her in battle against Mandrake and Khalazar! Until then her friends must wait in hiding, risking capture with each moment that they remained in enemy territory. And she could do nothing. Ailia glanced down at the casket of the Star Stone that she bore with her, and her hands tightened upon it. But she felt no stir of power within.
There was a great assemblage of creatures within the crystal hall. Ailia’s mind, dulled with misery, at last began to perceive and recognize these from the old stories: dryads, sylphs, dwarfs, Fairfolk, amazons. There were animal-folk who had reverted, in this great open space, to their own natural shapes: kitsune, tanuki, pucas. The last were like small and exquisite horses, more delicately beautiful than any Arainian steed, their eyes agleam with intelligence. A great bird, larger than Taleera, roosted with its head under one bronze-feathered wing. Next to it was a figure with the body of a lion, bird’s wings, and a woman’s head. Ailia had seen many such images adorning the gateposts of grand estates, but this one was not of stone: it was living flesh—and feathers and fur. Its face was fiercely beautiful, with golden eyes and tumbled masses of tawny hair like a lion’s mane.
Ailia and her guardians walked on up the seemingly endless aisle, Ailia striving not to stare at the creatures around her. There was a Myrmecoleon, its furred mammalian head contrasting strangely with its six many jointed legs and chitinous body armor, and a Quetzalcoatl, its serpentine body adorned with iridescent green-plumaged wings and a tall feathery crest like a ceremonial headdress. An adjacent chamber had been half-filled with seawater, and behind its crystal wall there swam many creatures from the oceanic realms, dolphins and makaras and water-dragons. There were other beings she did not recognize, ambassadors of innumerable alien worlds. They all watched Ailia intently and in complete silence as she walked with Auron, Taleera, and Falaar. They must be wondering if she were indeed the figure from their own prophecies. Or did they not believe in the old foretellings?
She raised her eyes to the dais at the far end of the hall. “Is that the Celestial Emperor?” she whispered to Auron, who walked at her side in his dragon form.
Upon the dais stood the Dragon Throne of Talmirennia, a great chair of stone encased in gold leaf, with the sinuous forms of celestial dragons forming its back and sides and its armrests. In it sat a man: old, wizened, the beard sweeping his chest white as a waterfall. He wore a golden robe embroidered in silver with dragons and stars, and a tall crown of beaten gold rested on his head. But his body seemed almost too frail to support these adornments. The gnarled and venous hands trembled on the carved dragon heads of the armrests, and only the eyes, blue and unclouded in the wrinkled-vellum face, seemed alive. Six Imperial dragons flanked his throne.
“It is he,” said Auron. “Orbion, the ruler of the dragons and Emperor of emperors. He has taken human form as a courtesy to you, but he truly is old as he appears. He is near one thousand five hundred Meran years in age. This shape-shift is something of a strain for him.”
“Then he must change back,” said Ailia, distressed. “I don’t want him to suffer any discomfort.”
“No, it is the custom of the Emperor of Heaven to shape-shift whenever he enters a world: he takes on the likeness of the beings who dwell there, and when granting an audience he adopts the form of the be
ing who has requested it. He will observe that custom, however weary he may be. And he does not wish to appear feeble before the Loänan dissenters. This is also a show of his power, for their benefit.”
They had now reached the dais, and all—including Ailia—made the signs of obeisance traditional to their individual races.
“I bid you welcome,” said the old dry voice. “It is my understanding that you would speak with these ambassadors of the worlds. Do you wish to address the assembly now, Princess?”
Ailia bowed and turned to face the creatures, cleared her throat nervously and began her prepared speech. She had grown used to addressing large assemblies on Arainia, but never had she spoken to so vast a gathering as this. Nor to so strange a collection of creatures, only a few of whom bore any resemblance to humans at all. “Peoples of the Empire, I am Ailia Elmiria of the world Arainia, which has long been cut off from your own worlds. My people wish to be reunited with you, and to see a peaceful commerce restored between our worlds.”
The bronze-colored bird took its head out from under its wing, and she saw with a start that it too had a human face, female and beautiful despite its sharp features. “Why were you cut off?” the creature demanded in a shrill voice.
Ailia had not expected to depart from her memorized text, and took several moments to form her reply. “The humans of Mera cut themselves off, saying that they would have no dealings with magic or other worlds. The Loänan, in their wisdom, elected to let humanity alone for a time, and the Elei of Arainia chose to share the Merans’ confinement rather than expel those Merei who dwelt still on their world. But with my coming, the Loänan declared us ready to re-enter the celestial union, if you are all agreed.”
“Are you the one called the Tryna Lia?” a sylph woman asked. The crowd stirred.
“I am,” said Ailia, thinking: What now?
The sylph approached. She was small and slender, gowned in white, and her two sets of wings shimmered like nacre. She spread them to their full span, as though in salute. “My people have long awaited your coming. If you are the one foretold, you are welcome.” She curtseyed, her wingtips sweeping the ground. “I have heard it said that you will defeat Valdur’s minions once and for all.”
“You do not understand,” said Ailia quickly. “I have come to prevent a war, to protect all our peoples from anyone who would destroy the peace we now enjoy. I mean no harm to those who are willing to live with others in harmony.”
“You lie,” rumbled a voice.
Ailia gaped at the dragon that stepped forth: its scales were red, and for a panic-stricken instant she thought it was Mandrake in his draconic form. Then she saw that this was a larger dragon, and its mane was dark rather than russet-colored. “That is Torok, king of the earth-dragons,” Auron told her in a whisper. Ailia inclined her head courteously, as one monarch greets another.
The red dragon approached with a smooth gliding gait, like a cat stalking its prey. Its sulphur-yellow eyes were narrowed, intent. “So this is the creature of whom you spoke?” it demanded of Auron. “Does it expect me to bow down before it?”
“No; and if Your Majesty cannot be courteous enough to address Ailia directly, at least refer to her as she, not it,” said Auron sharply.
“She is human. My people will not be ruled by a human!”
“You appear to hold humans in great disdain, and yet you have also argued that we should accept the Loänei,” noted Auron.
The red dragon growled. “They carry our ancestors’ blood. That blood must be respected, however base the vessel. Ailia and her kind have no such link with us.”
“How can you know she is not of Loänan descent? I think it quite possible that she is.”
“Can you furnish proof of that?”
“Naturally not; and what does it matter, in any case? The prophecies do not say that the Stone’s wielder must have dragon blood.”
Torok said, “There is another claimant to the title, one in whom lies not only the blood of Archons but that of Loänan also.”
Auron hissed. “Morlyn.”
“Do you deny his Archonic ancestry?”
“I do not; it is his own personal history that troubles me. He is an outlaw and renegade of the worst sort.”
“Still, I and many others of my people would choose him to wield the Stone, for the sake of his dragon blood. The Valei have chosen him already for their leader, and would be at peace with us too if we accepted him.” The dragon king’s yellow stare returned to Ailia. “But this is such a little thing to rule a stellar empire.”
Auron took up a protective stance in front of Ailia, head lowered. “You speak like a dragonet, Torok, not like a king. Size has no importance.”
“Is it wisdom to let such a one rule all the Celestial Empire? You have seen how the human creatures govern themselves! They make ceaseless war on one another.”
Ailia could bear this no longer. “I do not wish to rule,” she cried, “nor go to war, but only to see us all live in peace.”
“We have always desired to live in peace with other beings. That is why we always shared our knowledge with humans. If they turned our knowledge to folly we are not to blame.”
“They were too young as a race for the teachings that your people gave them,” retorted Auron. “The fault was yours, not theirs. They have grown in wisdom since.”
“Have they?” The red dragon snorted. “They are flawed as ever. That is why we of the earth blended our blood with theirs long ago, to breed a better race. Even so did the Archons, before us. But you other Loänan turned against us and the Loänei. You scattered them among the stars, beings that were our own kin. You let the weaker humans triumph over their wisdom and might.”
“You bred a race of monsters,” countered Auron, “who were cruel and contemptuous to other humans. We merely corrected your error, and freed the Loanei’s human slaves.”
The red dragon growled low in his throat. “If this Tryna Lia of yours was a true leader, she would duel Morlyn to the death in proper Loänei fashion, to determine the succession. Do not the humans’ prophecies speak of such a conflict? Tell them why you are come, human. You wish to go to war against Morlyn and the Loänei!”
“No! Son of Heaven,” Ailia turned and addressed the Emperor by his ceremonial title, “I am come only to ask your people to aid mine in our struggle against the Avatar of Valdur. I ask you to help us prevent a war.”
The aged face gazed down at her impassively. “The answer is not mine to give, Princess,” the old, dust-dry voice replied. “It is for these beings, the emissaries of their various worlds and star-states, to determine. If we intervene in human affairs, if we take sides, then the followers of Valdur have sworn to rise up against us and make war.”
A tall armor-clad woman stepped forward from the crowd and dropped to one knee. “Son of Heaven, all the races with human blood are in agreement on this: we accept this woman as the one foretold in our prophecies. And we accept the people of Mera as our blood-kin, who require our aid.”
Hada the kitsune also stepped forward from the crowd. He had set aside his true form for his human one: a sign of support for Ailia. “My people too see the humans as kin, since our ancestors long ago shared one world and their blood has mixed with ours since we learned to take their form. It is the same with the nagas and lycanthropes, the tanuki and cait-sith, the pucas and the selkies. But we know not the arts of war, and could not hope to defeat all of Morlyn’s allies. It is the older races of the Imperium who recall the battles against the Valei: we must have their aid if we are to succeed.”
The king of the earth-dragons now leaped forward, challenging. “I will speak for Morlyn and his people!” Torok faced Ailia, his yellow eyes narrowed to slits. “This human creature has no right to command us!” She sensed a mental undercurrent of hostility beneath his words, a message meant for her alone.
“I do not command you,” Ailia replied, distressed. “I only ask you for your help.”
“You ask us to set
peace aside, and go to war with our own kin!”
There was another murmur from the crowd of ambassadors. A manticore stepped forward, a great russet-furred creature with a coarse-featured, almost human face and barbed segmented tail. “We will not make war, even against those who are not our kin!” he bellowed, opening his jaws wide so Ailia could see all his pointed teeth, arranged like a shark’s in many rows. “Why should we rise up against this Prince Morlyn? What has he done?”
“Much,” returned Taleera. She flew upward, hovering over the assembly’s heads. “But it is what he means to do that troubles us most. He wishes to rule the Valei, and breed more Loänei like himself. To challenge our Empire and take Orbion’s place.”
“And why should he not,” demanded Torok, “rather than this small frail creature here?”
“But I do not wish to rule,” Ailia said again. “That has never been my desire.”
The Emperor looked at her. “It is the Stone-wielder’s destiny to rule after me. I shall not reign forever. I have awaited your coming for centuries: the Archons clearly intended that you should rule. In their wisdom they foresaw it, ages ago. The Tryna Lia shall become the princess of the stars: the Celestial Empress. It is for that reason I had this throne made, carved with the likenesses of my people but shaped for one of your kind. A human throne for a human ruler.”
“How do you know that she is the One to fill it, O Emperor?” roared Torok, and the earth dragons that were with him all showed their great teeth. The Imperial dragons upon the dais hissed in reply, and their wings snapped like banners in a sudden wind.
“Peace,” said the Emperor. And though his human voice was weak, the undiminished power of his mind reached out to silence them all. “Princess, perhaps you should present the proof of your identity before the Assembly. Show them that which has come into your keeping.”
The sun had gone behind Alfaran’s great disc, and a blue gloom like the shade of evening filled the hall. Ailia held out the small alabaster casket. “Behold,” she said, “the Stone of the Stars.” She lifted the lid and took the gem from its resting place.