Chapter Four

Carann, Capital City, Royal Palace

"My Lord?" Gilgam asked hesitantly as Mardoban fell silent. "What does it mean?"

The Duke slowly lowered the scroll, and then let his gaze slide to the crown where it rested on the throne. "I believe I know who left this crown, and why," he said. "It was created by one of the Queen's old advisors, a man I spoke to on the day she died – a scholar, and a mystic, among other things. He told me then that he had plans, and this must be one of them. Whoever wears the crown, rules. But what does it mean, to be worthy?" Placing the scroll on the throne, Mardoban carefully lifted the crown. "There is, I suppose, only one way to be sure," he said, and prepared to place it on his head.

"Wait, my lord!" Gilgam said, and the Duke paused. "You don't know for certain that you're right about your friend, or the crown. It might be a trick, trapped to kill you as well. As an officer of the guard, I can't in good conscience allow you to attempt this." He held out his hand. "Please, my lord. Allow me to try it first. If it is trapped, then we'll know."

"Assuming the trap isn't keyed to my DNA, you mean," Mardoban said, scowling and handing the crown to Gilgam. He didn't think it likely it was a trap – this had the signs of the Professor’s handiwork all over it, down to that damnable habit of never explaining anything – but there was still a chance it would risk the guard's life. He didn't want to put Gilgam at risk, but all the same, the man was right – this was his job.

Gilgam lifted the crown slowly, and Mardoban and the other guards took an involuntary step back; then he placed it on his head. For a moment, nothing happened – and then suddenly Gilgam fell to his knees, screaming and clutching his head. Mardoban hurried forward, reaching out a hand, but before he could do anything Gilgam reached up and tore the crown from his head, flinging it against the base of the throne. He remained on his knees, panting heavily.

"What the hells was that?" the woman who'd first noticed the crown's appearance asked in a hushed voice.

"I'm not sure," Gilgam said slowly. "I felt like it was prying into me, like it knew my whole life and career, and all my secrets. I didn't feel like it disapproved of me, exactly, but I also knew I wasn't who it was looking for. That's when the pain started."

"Like it knew… do you mean that thing had some sort of artificial intelligence in it?" Mardoban demanded. Machine intelligences weren't illegal, exactly, but they might as well be – frowned on, considered dangerous, nobody wanted to be connected with creating one. There was a reason mechs were designed to be limited solely to their functions, after all. Things were simply safer that way.

"I don't know," Gilgam said. "I just got feelings, really, not even thoughts. But I think it's a test. It's supposed to find someone who fits its criteria…" his voice trailed off.

"And that someone might be able to become our new ruler," Mardoban muttered. A dangerous game his old friend was playing, if so. But was it any less dangerous than the day-by-day slide of the Kingdom into a dozen fractured duchies? He wasn't sure, and that scared him more than anything.

"Are you going to try it, my lord?" Gilgam finally asked.

Mardoban shook his head. "No," he said. "If what you say is true, I doubt I'd fare any better than you. I never wanted to be Regent, and honestly, I haven't cut a very spectacular figure in the job. The Dozen Stars needs someone else – someone new. I'm sure of that much." He carefully picked up the crown and set it back in the throne, then stepped back and regarded it critically.

"What are you going to do about it, then?" Gilgam asked.

"I'm not sure," Mardoban admitted. "But I'll figure something out." He turned to look at the guard. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"Yes," Gilgam said. "The pain is fading; I think it was just a warning, to keep anyone it didn't find worthy from wearing it. I'll get myself looked at, but I don't think there was any lasting injury- I've had worse."

"I'm glad to hear it," Mardoban said, genuine relief in his voice. "But I think getting yourself checked out by the physicians is a good idea, too. As for me… I'll stay here for now. I have some thinking to do."

/

A pair of towering armored figures guarded Ambassador Quarinis's private chambers. Mardoban knew that they were Imperial Praetorians, the Emperor's most elite and feared fighting force, and he was privately glad he'd never had to face one on the battlefield. More than a head taller than the Duke, each of them was encased in gleaming metal and appeared to the untrained eye to be entirely machine, though Mardoban knew that there was supposed to be, at the very least, a human brain and possibly more somewhere inside that shell. Mechs were not to be trusted with weapons on the battlefield, and human flesh was weak, prone to injury or fatigue – the Empire had found a solution by combining the strengths of both worlds. The Duke, despite himself, couldn't help but find the creatures unsettling. Man and machine should be kept separate.

He was careful not to allow any of those thoughts to show on his face as he approached Quarinis's door. "I have an appointment with the Ambassador, and I mean him no harm," he said in a clear voice. "Allow me to pass."

One of the Praetorians lowered its head and regarded the Duke with its impassive metal face. "You are expected," it rumbled. "Enter." The cyborg creature raised a hand and the door slid open; Mardoban nodded to it in acknowledgment and stepped inside.

The ambassador's office was kept neat and spartan, though whether this was a trait that was rooted in the man himself or the regime he represented Mardoban was less certain. The far wall was largely taken up by a window that looked out upon Carann's capital city, in front of which sat a large desk where Quarinis did most of his work. An old bookshelf lined one wall; the only decoration on the other was a steel icon of the great bird of prey that was the Empire's emblem, below which hung a portrait of the current emperor, Verus Licinius, resplendent in his classical robes of state.

Ambassador Publius Vedrans Quarinis himself was currently seated at his desk, hands folded in front of him as he regarded the Duke with polite interest. Quarinis was an older man, perhaps fifteen years Mardoban's senior with hair gone almost entirely to grey, but his posture was still dignified and his gaze keen; this was not a man to cross. He was clean-shaven, after the manner of most Imperial men, and wore, as always, his plain white uniform with its small cluster of medals on one side; in striking contrast, his hands were gloved in black. Mardoban took a seat across from him and regarded him with careful scrutiny; he'd known this man for decades, and because of that fact, he knew far better than to trust him.

But Quarinis was a patriot, above all else; his interests were his Empire's interests, and that made him in some ways a predictable, even respectable foe; there were days that Mardoban found fencing with the ambassador to be a far more appealing prospect than dealing with his own council.

"My lord regent," Quarinis said, his slight accent still noticeable even after so long in the Dozen Stars. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"

"It seems that the Kingdom has something of a pirate problem," Mardoban said carefully. "The council his brought it to my attention and tasked me as regent with leading a task force to deal with the issue."

"A wise choice," said the ambassador. "I wish you the best of luck. However, I am uncertain as to why you saw fit to meet with me about this. Surely a memo would have sufficed? Unless you're intending to request that I accompany you on your mission, in which case I must decline. I would poorly serve my emperor by getting myself killed as part of a minor dispute in foreign territory, after all."

"Believe me, that was the farthest thing from my mind, Ambassador," said Mardoban. "I just wanted to ask you some questions. You see, the pirates have been using some very interesting technology – stealth technology, of the kind used by the Queen's assassins years ago. The Empire wouldn't happen to have any information on how, exactly, a gang of outlaws managed to get their hands on such things, would they?"

Quarinis frowned. "As I told you years ago," he said, "the cloaking technology you showed me is not used in the Empire, and neither are the cybernetic implants retrieved from the assassins' corpses. As much as it would please me to answer your questions, I'm afraid I'm as much in the dark as you are. However, I have to note a certain level of accusation in your voice, my lord regent. Are you, by chance, trying to imply that the Empire may be responsible for these pirate attacks?"

"I don't mean to impugn your character, ambassador," said Mardoban, "but I can hardly ignore the most powerful nation in this region of the galaxy, particularly when my own people have had a less than amicable history with yours. I think it's best to air the question up front and get it over with, don't you agree?"

"Quite." Quarinis stood and turned to look out the window, regarding the city spread out beneath him. "I assure you, Duke Mardoban, that fighting a proxy war in the Dozen Stars is the farthest thing from my lord the Emperor's mind. I already told you that we neither make nor use the cloaking technology you've described, a fact I'm sure your intelligence service can confirm for you. And more than that, the Empire has more than enough troubles of its own. We are already at war with the rising power of the Alaelam Alliance, and though there are certain factions within our Senate who have made their desire to reclaim your Kingdom very clear, the Emperor has neither the time nor the patience for such petty matters at this time. As I said, we have no desire to waste resources to fight a proxy war in your territory; you may trust me on that."

Quarinis turned back to face Mardoban, and the Duke studied his face for a long moment, trying to find any hint of duplicity, then nodded. "Thank you for your reassurance, ambassador," he said. "It's much appreciated."

"Of course," Quarinis replied. "We have no desire to jeopardize our relationship with our friends in the Dozen Stars, after all." He paused for a moment, made as if to turn back to the window, then stopped himself and regarded Mardoban slyly from the corner of his eye. "Which reminds me. I've been hearing the strangest rumors concerning something which happened in the council chamber yesterday. I was hoping that while you were here, you'd be able to either confirm them or put them to rest for me. I so hate uncertainty."

As if, Mardoban thought, you don't already know the story. Quarinis had his sources – the Duke was certain he'd paid off members of the palace staff or even the guards to pass information to him, and he wouldn't be surprised if he hadn't managed to program a mech or two to do the same – and it was usually best not to underestimate the ambassador's knowledge, or to try to lie to him. "The rumors are true," Mardoban finally said.

"Well then," Quarinis asked, his tone casual but his eyes betraying the intensity of his interest, "what are you going to do about it? Throw that crown away and pretend it never appeared at all? Or do you trust the one who sent it enough to actually try to find someone worthy to wear it?"

"At this point, all options are on the table," Mardoban said, keeping his voice carefully neutral.

Quarinis shrugged. "As you wish," he said. "I never knew him well, but from all I hear, the Professor was a very clever man – and he always had his own agenda. I'd watch out for his gifts if I were in your position."

Mardoban started slightly; he couldn't help himself. Apparently Quarinis's sources were even better than he'd realized, if he'd already connected the crown's appearance with that name. "I'll keep it in mind," he said, and then rose. "Thank you for your time, ambassador," he said, "but I'm afraid I have other duties to attend to."

"As do I," said Quarinis. "A pleasure as always, my lord regent." Marbodan nodded to him, and the ambassador returned it; he then turned and prepared to leave, but before he could do so, Quarinis's voice stopped him.

"Your son Pakorus was the one who informed me that you wanted to set up an appointment," he said. "I was impressed by him; he's grown into a fine young man. You must be proud."

Mardoban stopped for a long moment, staring at the door, before he finally responded. "I am," he said quietly, and left.

/

Later that day, Mardoban sat at his desk in his own office, hands folded in front of him as he contemplated his conversation with Quarinis. He didn't think that the ambassador had told any direct lies; that wasn't his way. But he was certain that there were loopholes in his wording that were significant, and he certainly wasn't willing to rule out any connection between the Empire and the Kingdom's pirate troubles.

There had never been a war with the Empire during Mardoban's lifetime, but no one rose to a position of power in the Dozen Stars without being aware – and wary – of the potential threat the neighboring power offered. After all, the Dozen Stars had been an Imperial province before Artax the Founder had led the rebellion that one them their independence, and the Imperial Senatorial class were proud men and women who were not the types to take any defeat, or the reminder of it, kindly. The Empire was much weaker now than it had been in Artax's time, of course, but there were certainly those high in its ranks who would like nothing more than to avenge their centuries-old shame and take back what they considered rightfully theirs.

Of course, for the past century or so the Empire had been in no position to make war on the Dozen Stars or any other rebellious province, as they were rather more concerned with battle on another front. Mardoban knew little of the Alaelam Alliance save that it was a sort of religious federation that had arisen beyond the Empire's far borders, in a region of space that the Dozen Stars had little explored; they had contested Imperial control of a number of important border worlds and the struggle left either nation little time for other interests. For that reason, above all, Mardoban believed Quarinis that the Empire wasn't going to commit resources to undermining his Kingdom; they simply couldn't afford to fight a war on two fronts.

The Duke sighed, resting his chin on his hands. Between the pirates, the Empire, the other Dukes and their continuous infighting, and the question of what to do about the sudden appearance of the crown and what it portended, he felt that whichever way he turned, events were closing in on him. And while as regent he was the titular head of the Dozen Stars, in practice he knew full well how little power he really had.

All he could do, he decided, was to try and use what power he had to organize and solve his problems as efficiently as possible. The first to tackle would also be the easiest – the pirate threat.

Picking up his tablet, the Duke keyed up an image of a space station near the edges of the Tantos system, a free port where through which all manner of illicit trade and other activities flowed. Mardoban had visited the place on occasion during his youth, before he'd succeeded to the duchy of Orlanes and become a member of the Queen's court. It had been years since he'd been back, but he had a contact there who kept himself informed much that went on in the seedier side of the Kingdom's affairs, and last he'd heard, the man was still alive. The pirates had attacked shipments leaving Tantos III, and it seemed more than likely that they or their cargo had passed through Tantos Station; if so, Mardoban's contact most likely had information on them.

Mardoban quickly typed up a coded message and transmitted it to the address the man had used for his private communications; that should get his attention. For now, at least, all he had to do was wait. If he was correct – and he thought he was – setting up a meeting on the station shouldn't be hard and might well be the first step in getting some answers.

The door to his office opened suddenly, and Pakorus stepped in. "Father," he said, "I don't mean to bother you, but something just came up – it's urgent."

"What happened?" Mardoban asked, sitting up straight, wondering what other fool thing he was going to have to add to his already full agenda.

"An official transmission was broadcast to the royal palace from Aurann," Pakorus said. That got Mardoban's attention; Aurann was Duke Respen's seat. What was he up to now?

"I sent messages to all the Dukes informing them of the crown's appearance and the note that was left with it," Mardoban said. "I hadn't heard much from any of them beyond basic acknowledgments; I assume that they were trying to figure out what it means and how to deal with it as much as we are. Apparently Respen decided to make his move. What does he want?"

"That's just it, father," Pakorus said. "Duke Respen is coming here. 'To claim that which is his by right of blood and attainment' was what the transmission said."

"Meaning the crown – and with it, the throne," Mardoban muttered angrily. "I should have known something like this would happen. As if we didn't have enough to deal with…"

"What should we do?" Pakorus asked hesitantly, for once looking as young as he actually was.

"We show Respen the courtesy due him as a Duke of the Realm, of course," said Mardoban. "And we pray to the Lord that whatever system is in that crown does not find that jumped up tinpot despot worthy, or we'll soon be finding ourselves with an entirely new set of problems."