The new spate of hydrogue attacks and the Hyrillka Designate’s open rebellion needed to be addressed without delay. Not even the Mage-Imperator could respond to everything at once. Most of all, he reeled from the assassination of Pery’h, and the nearly simultaneous attempt on his own life.
Through his frayed thism, Jora’h detected another emergency brewing on Maratha, but too few people were there for him to get a clear sense of what was happening, and his connection to his brother Avi’h had never been strong.
Yazra’h stood at his side, grimmer and more determined than ever before. Jora’h believed in her completely now after seeing how single-mindedly she had defended him, without thought for her own life. Where the Hyrillkan attacker had slashed her arm, the finest medical kithmen had tended her wound and covered it with a photoactive healing plaster. Her Isix cats sat with shining, slitted eyes, as if eager for another taste of a traitor’s blood.
Now Adar Zan’nh and his repaired warliners raced back to Ildira bearing the survivors from Hrel-oro. As soon as he reached the Prism Palace, the young Adar marched into the skysphere reception hall. Despite the di-saster, Zan’nh’s quick action and relentless work on the rescue operations had saved the lives of many who would otherwise have died.
The Mage-Imperator studied the Solar Navy commander’s face and approved of his brave and determined expression, though he could sense that his son was shaken. “Rusa’h has executed Pery’h,” Jora’h said from his chrysalis chair. “He has killed the Designate-in-waiting!”
“What do you wish done, Liege?” Zan’nh remained formal, now fully in his role as Adar instead of grieving brother. He looked at his half sister Yazra’h as she stood close to the chrysalis chair and nodded with approval. “Shall I launch a reconnaissance team so that we can question the Hyrillka Designate and determine exactly what occurred?”
Jora’h felt a nova of anger burning at the core of his chest. “We didn’t get much information from interrogating the other Hyrillka pilgrims, but I know that my brother has turned against us. He ordered Pery’h’s assassination. It was both deliberate and cold-blooded. I think Rusa’h . . . wanted to get my attention.” The Mage-Imperator looked toward the gathered bureaucrats and advisers.
“We will deal with it in whatever manner you command, Liege,” Zan’nh said.
The Mage-Imperator’s braided hair twitched with anguish while he considered the options. He narrowed his star-sapphire eyes. For the time being, Jora’h had sent away all pilgrims and supplicants, allowing only those trusted advisers who could offer valid strategic advice.
As he thought, the words boiled out of him. “Prime Designate Thor’h is cooperating with my brother in this rebellion. Some of you may make excuses for Rusa’h’s behavior. He was injured, he is no longer himself, his mind has not healed.” His fingers clenched the smooth rim of his cradlelike chair, remembering all the impressions that had flooded into his mind. “But he has murdered my son. And Thor’h let him do it!”
The Mage-Imperator lowered his voice and looked from straight-backed Zan’nh to coiled and watchful Yazra’h. “I have always had my doubts about Thor’h, but I had hoped he would grow into his responsibilities. Instead, he has turned against me, against all Ildirans. This crime cannot be ignored or excused.”
He drew a deep breath, and the words felt like dry stones in his mouth. “Let all know that from this day forward, the murderer Rusa’h may no longer serve in any capacity as Designate. I also rescind Thor’h’s appointment as Prime Designate.”
Even Yazra’h gasped at this declaration. The sound brought her Isix cats to their feet, and they scanned the room for intruders. Advisers murmured in surprise at the unprecedented announcement, but Jora’h had no choice. The Prime Designate had turned against him, could never be trusted as the next Mage-Imperator-in-waiting.
Yazra’h calmed her predatory felines. “Father, the Empire cannot endure without a Prime Designate. You must choose—”
“I have already made my choice,” he said. “It is only through a missed chance of genetics that Zan’nh—my true firstborn son—was not slated to become Prime Designate. His service has been exemplary, and I have complete faith in him. I could not ask for a more worthy successor.” Zan’nh’s eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to protest, but the Mage-Imperator continued. “Therefore, until such time as this matter is resolved, until Thor’h is brought back here and faces me in the skysphere hall, Adar Zan’nh is the provisional Prime Designate.”
Zan’nh looked as amazed as all the listeners; he couldn’t stop himself from swearing under his breath. “Bekh!”
Yazra’h looked over at him and offered a small smile of approval.
Jora’h heard the mutters of astonishment. He had already bent too many time-honored protocols in the Ildiran Empire. He had dared to emerge from his chrysalis chair and set foot on the unhallowed floors. He had selected his own daughter to be his primary protector instead of a member of the warrior kith. And now he had appointed Zan’nh, not even a purebred noble, to be the next Prime Designate. How much more would the people tolerate?
Jora’h clenched his jaw. As much as is necessary.
He was the Mage-Imperator, and he must stand steady like an immovable rock rather than bend and blow in all directions like a blade of tall grass. His commands bound all of his race, except for those people who were blinded by Rusa’h’s treacherous manipulations.
He reached out to clasp Zan’nh’s forearm. “Speak with me if you ever have qualms about taking over your role.”
“I am your Adar, Liege. I have no qualms.” The feeling Jora’h sensed underlying his son’s stony confidence implied otherwise.
Jora’h smiled at him, not fooled. “Yes, you do. But we can be stronger together.”
“I . . . will serve in whatever capacity the Mage-Imperator deems appropriate.” Zan’nh looked down at the polished stones on the floor. “Until such time as order is restored.”
Jora’h felt a slight loosening of the tight responsibilities that clamped around his heart. “Adar, your orders are to go to Hyrillka, seize Rusa’h and my duplicitous son Thor’h. Bring them back to the Prism Palace, where they will face the judgment of their Mage-Imperator. Take a full maniple of warliners so that the Hyrillkans do not resist.”
Ildiran against Ildiran. The advisers in the skysphere hall looked appalled and apprehensive. Their Mage-Imperator was sending a massive military force against his own brother, their own people. Such things simply did not happen in the Empire. Only once before in all the history chronicled in the Saga of Seven Suns had Ildirans faced a civil war, and the outcome had left a scar for centuries. Jora’h hoped he could resolve this problem in a less bloody fashion . . . but it did not appear likely.
The Adar clasped his hands to his heart in the traditional salute. “Liege, even though Qul Fan’nh’s maniple suffered losses during the recent battle at Hrel-oro, I believe his ships should accompany me to Hyrillka. The soldiers in that maniple are worthy, and I wish to reward their courage by showing my faith in them.”
Jora’h nodded, his heart warmed by the idea. “Let it be done. You must depart with all due haste.” He lowered his voice, leaning closer. “Others have been twisted by Rusa’h, and our danger grows worse day by day. This rebellion cannot be allowed to grow.”
Dismissed, Zan’nh marched off to do his duty.
Now the Ildiran leader also had to deal with the hydrogues. From Zan’nh’s report of the Klikiss robot’s grim statement in the wake of the attack on Hrel-oro, Jora’h knew he could no longer delay the inevitable. The solution, much as he dreaded it, was obvious.
Spurred to action by the changes and crises that faced him, the Mage-Imperator turned to his primary advisers. “Lastly, send a message to the Dobro Designate. Tell him . . .” Jora’h paused, but the truth was unavoidable. “Tell him the Klikiss robots have betrayed us. Instruct him to send Osira’h to me. She must be ready.”