by Matt Russell
Cassian smiled. At least Soulic was still an ass. After the ordeal they had been through together, that was somehow very comforting. "How many people have come to see me?"
"Last I checked, there were about eighteen-hundred petitioners outside the palace gates, but that was at sunrise. After glancing out the window a moment ago, I would guess that number has possibly doubled."
"Wonderful," Cassian said with a sigh of profound annoyance. He rose and wrapped his speech around its wooden roller, tied it with a leather band, and placed it in the corner of his desk. Then he picked up the golden laurel and put it on his head. He turned and gazed at his reflection in the mirror on his dresser and found that the ensemble made him appear exactly as he might imagine a crown prince should look. Strangely, there was no elation in seeing this image.
There were certainly advantages to the new title. Cassian had a yearly discretionary fund of fifteen million desseks – more than enough to begin implementing his plans for public education. He also had veto power over all bills in the Senate, he could sit in as judge on any criminal or civil trial in the Empire and could pardon individuals of their crimes, and he was now essentially the second highest ranking military official in the world, beholden only to Emperor Tacitus himself. Expensive gifts were already starting to pour in from the nobles of the capital and the surrounding great cities, and more were sure to follow from every corner of the empire. All these things should have filled him with... something—a feeling of accomplishment, but they did not. The laurel on his head had been paid for with the life of his mentor and best friend.
Cassian reached toward the top right cubby hole across from his desk, and the piece of legislation he had written with the old man shot from its resting place and into his hand. He knew the document perfectly, but he unraveled the vellum sheet and did so anyhow, his mind flashing through the hours of debate that had gone into every word. He could actually pass this law on freedom of religion now. As both crown prince and 'messiah," his point of view on freedom of religion would be extremely difficult to refute now. The bill he had written with Dojinko on slavery would be a different matter. The old man had proposed beginning by following the kingdom of Aloria's example and dictating that slaves could not remain in bondage for more than five years. This would allow a transitional period for slave-driven sections of the empire's economy such as food production to adjust. The wealthy senators and their families—who owned more than two-thirds of the Empire's slaves—would not want to adjust of course, but there were numerous ways to deal with their intransigence.
Cassian turned and headed toward the mahogany door to his room, willing it to swing open before him. Still in a somber mood, he walked down the winding spiral stairway to the lower level, and as he did, he reached in and clutched his Elokien. With a simple mental command, an illusion was cast around him, and he was no longer the messiah but a simple, middle-aged and very plain looking soldier of the Imperium. His illusionary chainmail even made chinking and scraping sounds as he moved. In this guise, he passed through the front gates and past his own soldiers into the crowd of worshippers. The instant he did, a rather large peasant man with a gray mane of hair around the lower half of a bald head clutched his arm exclaimed: "Did you see him? Did you lay eyes on the Messiah? Please tell us!" A handful of accompanying faces turned in anticipation of the answer.
"Yes, and he was irritable with me," Cassian said in a voice that came out a little deeper than his own. He pulled free of the man's grip and hurried on through the capital streets, trying to enjoy the few moments he had without the burden of his new titles. Most of the shops were empty, as so much of the city's population was clamoring to see him, but here and there he saw men and women going about their regular business. At least some people had sense.
Cassian felt somewhat refreshed when he came to the massive cylinder-shaped structure of pillar and stone that was the imperial senate-house. A small contingent of guards stood outside brandishing spears and swords. They eyed him suspiciously, but he simply unfurled the illusion around his body, and, with astonished looks, they saluted him and made room, the largest of them muttering: “Greetings, Messiah.” Every soldier immediately dropped into a kneel.
“T-thank you,” Cassian said, hoping exasperation did not leak into his voice as he brushed passed the men. The senators ahead were far less likely to hold him in adulation. As he mentally prepared for the arguments that surely lay ahead, his senses focused suddenly on a strange, unnatural convergence of magic just ahead, and then every muscle in his body constricted in anger and disbelief. Would the little bastard dare show his face now?
Cassian moved up the polished granite steps and onto the famous senate floor, distantly hearing his name announced ahead of him. Senators rose from their curving bench seats and applauded his entrance, but he paid them no attention whatsoever. His eyes were fixed down the long purple carpet to the iron chair where the newly appointed senatorial consul was seated. Pale-faced and nervous as ever, Arkas Adronicus occupied the seat.
Cassian hissed. He could feel desperation coming off the horrid son of the Emperor in waves. Arkas had not wanted to be here of course, but it was not difficult to guess why he was: his father had forced him. Nearly everyone in the capital knew by now that the ‘claw-hand-prince’ had worked directly with the Nemesai to apprehend Cassian. The fact that Arkas had been away during the now infamous prison break and destruction of the Nemesai temple was already drawing whispers from the people that he was a coward. Tacitus would bear no such disgrace from his offspring, and so he had given the little son of a bitch a seat directly next to Cassian's in the Senate. They were to work side by side!
"Crown Prince Asango!" the speaker of the senate rasped. Cassian's eyes shifted to an exceptionally old man in white robes he knew to be Senator Baelen Makah. The poor, decrepit creature was oozing anxiety at the destruction of the floor, but at least he had the courage to try to bring the situation under control. "T-there is an inaugural ceremony which we need to—"
"Prince Arkas, Stand Up!" Cassian snapped, and his tone silenced every whisper in the room.
Arkas began to visibly shake in his chair. He rasped: "Prince C-Cassian, we are in the Senate and this—"
"STAND UP!" Cassian shouted, this time letting his power amplify his voice to inhuman volume.
Arkas flinched so hard he nearly toppled backward in his chair. As this happened, Cassian suddenly heard the telepathic voice of the Emperor in his mind from off at the palace:
"Arkas Adronicus, I challenge you to a duel," Cassian said.
Arkas's face went several shades whiter. Again, the Emperor's telepathic voice tore into Cassian's mind:
Cassian took several steps toward the sniveling prince and said: "Stand up, or I will kill you where you sit."
Arkas somehow rose to his feet, though his body was shaking so violently that he could barely keep his balance. His breathing became a series of high-pitched whimpers as his mind shrieked:
"This venue is as good as any," Cassian said. He looked around at the senators in their high seats and their many wide eyes and raised his voice to them: "I give you my word that none of you
are in danger. This duel will be over in seconds."
"On the count of ten, Arkas," Cassian said, glaring at the terrified prince.
A pair of tears appeared in Arkas's eyes, and he dropped to his knees. "I yield!" he whimpered.
"I do not accept your yield. Stand up or die on your knees."
"Please!" Arkas shrieked, and he bowed his head to the floor before Cassian's feet. "I beg for mercy!"
Whispers began to echo through the Senate chamber. This groveling was beyond disgraceful. If Arkas lived, he would never again be able to command respect in Imperial society. It was a kind of victory, but it was not enough to pay the debt for the old man’s life.
"Ten." Cassian counted.
"Nine."
"Gods!" Arkas whimpered, and he crawled forward and began to openly sob at Cassian's feet, shrieking: "Please!" over and over again.
"Eight."
"Seven. Six. Five."
Suddenly Arkas jerked upward and moved his left hand toward Cassian's stomach. The prince had not summoned a spell but simply willed all the raw magic he had into a quick, focused burst. Cassian had been expecting exactly this. If Arkas were going to muster the courage to attack, of course it would not be honorable. He would move like the little snake he was.
Cassian's own hand shot out, and it was power against power, only his magic was so vastly superior to Arkas's that he completely enveloped and contained the attack. There was nothing more than a white flash, and then the prince jerked his hand back in a scream.
"Mercy!" the Prince sobbed.
Cassian reached out to Arkas's forehead and gripped. The battle – if it could even be called a battle – was over. His telepathic might overwhelmed the fractured psyche of the little coward’s mind and assumed control.
The prince went rigid as he lost the ability to control his own muscles, and he had just enough control to manage a psychic whimper:
‘If you kill in hatred, it mutilates your soul,’ the old man had said. The memory flashed with sudden and overwhelming vividness. Somar had taken Cromlic’s life to save Cassian from his "darkest sin." It had been his dear friend’s dying act, and it gave him pause. Killing Arkas now would be self-indulgent betrayal of that sacrifice.
Cassian said in a telepathic voice as he stared down at the trembling prince,
Cassian plunged deeper into the mind of his victim—into the core of Arkas's magical aura. He could see it suddenly in his mind's eye: the brilliant golden energy meant for the true fifth starborn was held by unnatural tethers of dark and terrible power. These, Cassian knew, had been constructed by Tacitus himself years ago. They were incredibly concentrated threads of magic, but Cassian was more than happy to test the limits of his abilities against those of a younger Tacitus. He focused his own magic into a fine blade within Arkas's brain and slashed at the first of these threads, severing it.
The starborn aura rose out of its unnatural host, and Cassian watched it float in front of him in a brilliant flare of sparkling energy. He stared at it—a disembodied power just like his own. The rest of the world seemed to fade away as it glided toward him. He sensed it touch his own aura and felt the essence of the abounding love that he and the other starborn instinctively felt for one another.
Suddenly Cassian was rising, yet when he looked down, his body was standing below him on the floor. He held up his hands and saw that they were translucent—almost invisible. This was mental projection, but on a level he had never before achieved. His conscious was wholly separated from his body yet still in the physical world, gliding up with the swell of starborn magic. As disorienting as the situation was, he did not feel afraid. The aura did not want to hurt him, he was certain. It seemed to be seeking his help for some yet unknown purpose, and he felt inclined to cooperate.
They rose together over the heads of the gawking senators and passed through the stone ceiling of the Senate building. The aura carried Cassian through the air over the townspeople in the capital and all the myriad buildings strewn about the bustling streets. Gradually, they gained speed together and soared past the borders of the great city into the vast expanses of forests, mountains, and valleys. The movement was without physical sensation save the inner thrill at moving more swiftly even than Titus could fly. In the span of a moment or two, they seemed to cross half the empire—dozens of mountains, lakes, villages, and forests—and then the pace slowed as they came to a city near the lower western coast, where the aura took them down.
Cassian observed in wonder as his massless form passed through the wooden roof of a small keep in the center of this city and then whisked downward into what appeared to be a small chamber lit only by a few candles. Against the wall of this room, a very pretty girl around Cassian's age with straw-like blond hair looked up, casting her blue eyes around suspiciously, yet she could not seem to decipher either his existence or the aura's. At that moment though, Cassian saw the thin slave mark on her cheek that was crossed to indicate she had been freed. This former slave had a remarkably powerful veil around her mind—the strongest he had ever seen—but he pressed his mental strength against it and forced a psychic tendril inside, desperate to know who she was. The girl gave a gasp at the invasion just as a tumult of information flashed from her consciousness to Cassian: she was wrongfully imprisoned, she was the true fifth starborn—his lost sister—and her name was Livia.
It was in that instant that Cassian felt a defensive mechanism trigger within this Livia’s brain—a curse. It attacked him viciously, trying to rip his psyche apart, but he focused his will and knocked it back. Livia shrieked in pain, clutching at her head. The dark spell was rebounding on her, and this infuriated Cassian. He forced his way still further into her mind, and when he did, he perceived not only the curse that had tried to block him out but others as well. Tacitus had laid spells to block the poor girl from using her voice so that she might never attempt a spell and draw upon the fraction of magic left behind when he had stolen her power. There was a curse to block her telepathy, though he sensed Livia’s mind was so strong that she had broken through it to a degree. The most virulent spell of all was a wall around her brain, blocking the reentrance of the aura that had brought Cassian to her—closing her off from everything she was meant to be.
"AHHH!" she cried in a hoarse rasp. The sound of her own voice seemed to frighten her nearly as much as the awesome energy that was welling up inside her. Cassian watched in wonder as his lost sibling's mind awakened to powers she never dreamed of and could not possibly understand within the span of a few seconds. The poor girl was terrified, and she let out several more rasping shrieks, gripping at her throat with her hand. Then her eyes fixed suddenly on Cassian. Already, her psychic senses had taken root, and she could perceive him.
Livia gasped again and flattened against the wall.
Livia panted and then coughed. Cassian sensed that her throat hurt from only the few sounds it had made. Her vocal chords must have atrophied. He could feel the confusion in her racing mind. Amidst that chaos of thought, a small table to Livia’s right lifted up off the stone floor and then fell back down, which in turn caused her to flinch away from it and raise her hands in a defensive gesture. The magic inside Livia reacted to her fear, and a tendril of it shot out and attacked the offending desk, ripping it into a dozen pieces that went flying at the walls of the room.
Livia swallowed and looked at him. She was so confused, but he sensed within her the desire to trust him. She reached a trembling hand into a pocket in her skirt and drew out a pencil and paper. Glancing nervously at him, she flattened the sheet against the wall of her room and scribbled with quaking fingers. When she finished, she held up the note, which read: