Chapter Six

Carann, Royal Palace

Mardoban stood on the walkway leading to one of the palace's landing platforms, his cape whipping in the wind behind him. At his back stood Gilgam and a squad of other guards, arranged in an ordered military formation with weapons at the ready. None of them expected trouble, but, well, one could never be too careful when even one of the Dukes of the council arrived in person, and especially when that duke was Respen. But whatever his faults, he respected military order and discipline, and that was what Mardoban intended to show him. It wouldn't do to show weakness in front of any guest, and especially not this one.

A loud roar echoed through the air as a small shuttlecraft descended towards the platform, painted the silver of its master's house colors. It landed carefully and its engines died with a loud whine, and then a ramp extended from the back of the craft and Respen descended, flanked by guards of his own.

In person, Duke Respen ast Aurann was an imposing man, tall and slim but with a military bearing emphasized by his uniform and ever-present dueling sword; he walked down the ramp with one gloved hand resting on the hilt. He wore his dark hair trimmed short and his handsome face was set in its usual coolly superior expression. Like Mardoban, he wore a cape; Respen's was the same shade of silver as his ship and fluttered in the wind behind him. All three of his guards were knights, two men and a woman; they wore matching suits of sleek body armor with cloaks across their shoulders, and like their lord, their clothing was silver, and they had swords belted at their waists.

"Duke Respen," Mardoban said, giving the proper bow for a respected equal. "An honor to have you with us. I trust your journey was pleasant."

Respen returned the bow, dipping his head the bare minimum that propriety demanded. "My lord regent," he said in reply. "Forgive my rudeness, but I have no time for or interest in pleasantries today; I'm here for one reason only. Where is it?"

There was no need to say what "it" might be. Duke Respen ast Aurann was the Queen's cousin – his father had married her aunt – and he was the closest of all the dukes in blood to the throne. He had made it plain many times over the years that he felt said blood entitled him to be her successor, but in the Dozen Stars, bloodline alone did not make a monarch. The council had to approve a claimant before they could be crowned, and no one had voted for Respen. Some had cited his youth – though already duke after his father's death, he'd been barely twenty when the Queen was assassinated and some deemed him too young; even now, in his thirties, he was still one of the younger members of the council. But more than that, few of the other Dukes had wanted to place themselves under the authority of a man of such naked ambition and ruthlessness, one of the few council votes in his time as regent that Mardoban had fully approved of.

Unfortunately, the council hadn't united behind anyone else, either.

All of this flashed through Mardoban's mind as he regarded his visitor, and with a sigh he gestured towards the palace. "The crown awaits in the council chamber," he said. "If you will please follow me."

"Of course," Respen said, flashing one of his characteristically predatory smiles. Mardoban turned and led the way back towards the palace, with Respen following a step behind and his knights and the palace guard taking up their positions in the rear. Respen didn't speak during the walk through the palace's sweeping corridors, and Mardoban had no desire to engage him in small talk; instead, he regarded the other duke carefully from the corner of his eyes. Respen was looking straight ahead with an intense expression, as of a man who felt that something he had desperately wanted was in his grasp, but he also betrayed nervousness as well. His hands were twitching, and occasionally he would let his shoulders sag before squaring them again. Whatever his outward presentation, Respen wasn't completely confident in his chances of success; he was someone who saw the goal he'd been reaching for most of his life was close at hand and was uncertain if he could claim it.

Finally, they entered the council chamber; Respen held up his hand and his knights took up their positions beside the door while he and Mardoban approached the throne. When they reached the great chair and looked down at the crown that rested upon it, the regent could hear his companion draw in a sharp, sudden breath.

"There it is," Respen whispered. "Whosoever shall wear the crown, rules. Isn't that what the message said?"

"Yes," said Mardoban softly. "The scroll said that whoever wears the crown shall rule… if they be worthy. Are you certain you are?"

Respen closed his eyes, squared his shoulders, and nodded. "I am," he said. "Who else could it mean? I was cousin to a queen; I have royal blood in my veins. Aurann is mine, by right of birth and attainment. I have the most powerful military in this kingdom. If I am not worthy, who could be?" He looked back at Mardoban and smiled. "Today, I lift your burden from your shoulders. Are you sure you'll be ready to start calling me 'Your Majesty'?"

"We'll see, Respen," Mardoban muttered, bracing himself for what he was increasingly sure was coming.

If Respen heard his words, he didn't acknowledge them. Lifting the crown from the throne, he held it in his hands reverently, and then, in a single, swift motion, placed it on his head. For a long moment he stood there, tall and regal, with the crown upon his brow, and a sudden fear rose up in Mardoban's gut. Had he been wrong? Was Respen truly worthy to take the throne of the Dozen Stars?

Clearly, his knights thought so. "Behold, the king!" one of them declared, dropping to one knee, the other too following suit. Respen turned to face them, regarding them with a beatific smile – and then, he started to scream. The Duke of Aurann collapsed to his knees on the dais, clutching his head and howling in apparent agony. Still, despite his pain and the fact that he clawed at his forehead, he didn't remove the crown; he seemed determined to master it, whatever it inflicted upon him. Finally, however, whatever he suffered grew too great even for him to overcome; with a last howl he tore the crown from his brow and hurled it across the room.

"My lord!" the female Aurannian knight shouted; she and one of the men hurried to their duke's side and helped him to his feet, while the other man regarded Mardoban murderously, as if this was his fault. Respen stumbled, rubbing his forehead, and managed to regain his balance; having done so, he shoved both of his knights away.

"Worthless garbage," he snarled, all pretense of discipline gone. "It's a trick, obviously. A trap, designed to kill us off, one by one. Well here is what I think of that!" Faster than the eye could follow, he pulled his dueling sword from its sheath; he thumbed the small switch on the hilt and the blade activated, arcs of energy coursing along its length. Stalking across the chamber floor, he raised the sword above his head and brought it down with all his might on the crown.

There was a flash of brilliant light, and Mardoban had to shield his eyes. When he could see again, he beheld Respen, his hair and uniform scorched, having been blasted against one of the council seats, which he now leaned against heavily. The duke of Aurann was panting hard, an expression of shock written across his face; the dueling sword still sparked feebly in his hand. Around the room, both the royal guards and Respen's three knights looked stunned, as if they had no idea how to react; Mardoban was certain there was an identical expression on his own face.

The crown still lay where it had fallen when Respen cast it aside, whole and undamaged with no sign of the duke's attack.

"What devilry is this?" Respen finally managed to say between heavy breaths.

"I think the answer is not what but whose," Mardoban said quietly.

Respen laughed. "What, you mean you really think that this is his handiwork? The Professor's? Don't look so surprised – who else would try setting something like this up? Well, if it was the old man, I think this was his idea of a practical joke. If I'm not fit to be king, I'd swear to the Lord none of the rest of you are." He stood with as much dignity as he could muster before flipping his sword off and slamming it back into its sheath.

"And I think you have just shown why the crown judged you and found you wanting," Mardoban said. "And don't forget that one of the council's duties is to appoint a new monarch, should the throne become vacant. We have failed to do that; perhaps it's unsurprising that someone decided to force our hand."

"Keep telling yourself that, my lord regent," said Respen. "But it seems more likely to me that this crown will merely pass to each of us, tormenting us all in turn and then leaving us no better off than we were before. I don't know far you plan to trust it, or how you plan to find someone who it considers worthy, but you will do both without me."

"I see," said Mardoban. "And shall I have guest rooms prepared for you, or do you plan to leave at once?"

"I intend to return to my ship; this journey was pointless." Respen turned and began to stalk off towards the door, his cape swirling around his shoulders as his knights took up their positions behind him. When he reached the door, however, he turned back to look at Mardoban, and smiled one of his cold smiles. "Good luck," he said in a voice thick with mockery, and then he was gone.

Mardoban picked up the crown from where it lay and regarded it carefully as he replayed the events in his mind, weighing the meaning in Respen's words.

/

The palace gardens were situated near the center of the complex, protected under a great dome of multi-faceted glass. Here were brought specimens of plants from across the Kingdom, and a few from worlds beyond; maintaining such a collection with its wildly diverse needs of soil and environment, was a daunting task, but in Mardoban's opinion, it was worth it. The riotous assortment of shapes and colors presented an almost overwhelming display, such as could be found few other places across the stars.

Mardoban strolled along the paths among the vivid array, seemingly casual; in truth, however, there was someone he had come here to meet. The gardens sat between the main body of the palace and the Lord's Cathedral, seat of the Church in the Dozen Stars, and the High Prelate often came here to walk and meditate – and like, the Duke thought, to nap; it had been a long time since the kingdom's senior priest had been a young man.

Mardoban considered himself a religious man, albeit not perhaps as devout as he should have been, but while he respected the Church as a religious institution, he'd always been somewhat wary of it as a political one. It was, after all, headquartered within the Empire, though the Emperor technically had no jurisdiction over the land where the Grand Cathedral lay; it was said to be in the Empire but not of it, a distinction that always gave the Duke a headache when he tried to make sense of it. Still, the Church in the Dozen Stars had always been rather independent of the central hierarchy, and the current High Prelate was a man who had put politics behind him long ago.

The Duke found the elderly man seated on a bench across from an artificial waterfall whose rocky sides were festooned with vines that bore vivid, multicolored flowers. The bench itself sat in the shade of a large tree; it was one of the High Prelate's favorite spots, and Mardoban had thought it likely to find him here. Today the priest was awake; he wore his black clerical robes and had his hands folded in front of him and regarded the waterfall with alert eyes in that aged face.

"Duke Mardoban ast Orlanes," the High Prelate said. "Will you sit with me?"

"I will, Your Excellency." The Duke took his seat on the bench behind the High Prelate, and for a long time the two of them watched the waterfall together in silence. Finally, the priest spoke.

"I heard about what happened with Duke Respen earlier today," he said. "Honestly, some of the younger priests swear they could hear him shouting all the way in the cathedral. I trust we are not at war with Aurann?"

"We aren't, thank the Lord," said Mardoban. "Fortunately, only Respen's pride was wounded, and I think he blamed the crown itself more than me." The Duke shook his head. "Though I suspect he's right about one thing; even if the other Dukes try it, I doubt it will find any of them worthy either. Not that any of them are likely to try it now anyway. They're proud people, and I don't think they'd voluntarily put themselves through that kind of humiliation."

He paused, considering the waterfall again for a long time before continuing. "What would you recommend I do, Your Grace? The throne is empty, the Kingdom is falling into chaos. I fear that soon, we will be at war, whether with Respen or one of the others. Do you think that trying to use the crown to find a worthy successor is the right thing to do? Or is it a trap – should I throw it away and find some other way? Call another vote in the council or even just proclaim myself? What does the Church recommend?"

The High Prelate too was silent, and then he began to speak, his words carrying the tone of a formal recitation. "In the beginning," he said, "our creed teaches us that the cosmos was unformed, unshaped, a chaos of unrealized potential. Then that chaos exploded into being, and from that moment of sudden birth arose a consciousness to guide the creation – thus was the origin of the being we call the Lord. But it is the nature of all things that they cannot exist without opposites by which they are defined, and so, just as we could not know heat without cold or light without darkness, a second power came into being, seeking to restore the universe back to the primal chaos from which it came. We call this being the Evil One. As humans – as all sapient beings – we are called to do the Lord's work, to foster order and enlightenment so that the balance will not tip, and the universe will not fall back into nothingness."

Mardoban merely nodded – all this was in the Canon, and he'd heard it many times before – but the High Prelate continued. "Over the last fifteen years, I've seen this kingdom falling ever closer towards that oblivion. I wish I was a young man again, but as I am now, I'm too old, too tired, to make much of a difference. But I still think that this has gone on long enough, and I think that the Lord does too, and he sent that crown to force us all to act."

"I recognized the handwriting on the scroll left with the crown," Mardoban said. "I think it was the Professor who sent it to us, not the Lord."

The High Prelate chuckled. "Is that old rascal still around?" he asked. "He and I had our differences, philosophically, and he meddled in things only priests and holy sisters should touch, but I would guess he agrees that enough is enough too. And who says the Lord can't do his work through people? Indeed, some of the theologians I've studied would say that's the only way he's ever worked." The High Prelate coughed before continuing. "But I'll say this; the Dozen Stars needs a leader. If the crown finds a worthy candidate, and the council agrees, I will preside at the coronation, and give the Church's blessing. I'm afraid it's all I can do."

"I understand," Mardoban said, rising. "Thank you, Your Grace." He turned to walk away, then paused and looked back. "And if no one can be found, what then?" he asked. "There is one heir to the throne living, if it comes to that."

Both men shared a dark look; the High Prelate knew to whom Mardoban was referring. The precocious, unsettling girl who'd been accepted into the holy sisters at ten, renouncing her claim to the throne, and been cast out of their ranks before she turned twenty for reasons the Duke wasn't entirely certain of. No one had heard from Midaia ast Carann in years, but Mardoban had no doubt she was still alive, somewhere among the stars.

The High Prelate only smiled sadly. "I don't think that one will ever sit on a throne," he said. "And I'm not certain whether to be grateful or disappointed by that fact."

"You're probably right," the Duke allowed. "Hopefully we can talk again soon, Your Grace."

"You can usually find me here," said the High Prelate. "I'll be waiting.

/

"I don't like this," Pakorus said as he accompanied his father out to the small shuttle that waited for them on the landing platform.

"This trip to Tantos Station is one of our more likely leads for finding out about the pirates and their intended next move," Mardoban replied. "My informant is very well-connected, and if he doesn't have the information we need, I'd lay good odds he knows who does."

"But what I don't understand is why you have to go in person," Pakorus said, fidgeting nervously. "Why not send someone else, or even communicate over holo? Trying to get you there in person – I'm just worried that it's a trap. I don't want something to happen to you."

Mardoban turned and put a hand on his son's shoulder. "Don't worry," he said. "I know this man from back before I was Duke; he's paranoid, and to make sure he's not cheated, he's agreed to meet only with me, and only face-to-face. That's how he usually operates. But he's enough of a coward – though he’d call himself a pragmatist - that I can't imagine he'd try to kill a duke, for any money. It's too dangerous for his line of work, too much of a risk if he gets caught. He's not the sort to get his hands dirty – he just keeps an eye out for things, and then sells what he learns to the highest bidder." The Duke smiled. "Besides, I'll have Gilgam with me; he'll keep anything from happening."

"All right," Pakorus said, breathing heavily. "Well, then. Good luck. And please come back safe."

"Don't worry, son – I will." Mardoban wrapped his son in a tight embrace, then pulled back and regarded the boy's face for a long moment. Pakorus swallowed, then nodded; his father returned the gesture. Then the Duke turned away and boarded the shuttle, the exit ramp closing behind him.

He approached the pilot's seat, where Gilgam sat waiting, and took the seat beside it. The guard was wearing plain working clothes rather than his usual elaborate uniform – that would stand out, where they were going. Mardoban himself had another change of clothing already stowed in the back that was much the same; he'd change when they arrived.

"All right, my lord?" Gilgam asked as Mardoban strapped himself into his chair. "How was Pakorus doing?"

"He'll be all right," Mardoban said, and nodded. "Are you ready?"

"Of course, my lord," said Gilgam. He flipped the last few switches on the shuttle's dashboard, then took the controls in hand. Beneath them, the engines activated with a resounding roar that shook the small craft, and then they were rising off the platform. From the window, Mardoban thought he could see the single, small figure below them who stood still, watching them leave.

Then the shuttle tilted back and launched itself towards the sky, towards space and ultimately, to Tantos Station – and, hopefully, for some answers.