The Ashes of Worlds

As soon as theGoliath and the Mantas began strafing the automated smelters and metal-storage depots, a man’s voice came over the communication lines. “General Lanyan, you have been declared a war criminal. We demand that you submit yourself to the Confederation authorities to face justice.”

Lanyan couldn’t stop himself from chuckling. “Who the hell is this?”

The voice paused, then said, “This is, um, Commodore Robb Brindle, second — no,third — in command of the Confederation military.”

Conrad looked shocked. Lanyan glared at him. “Admiral, I wish you’d keep better control of your son.”

“I knew he’d joined the Confederation, but I never dreamed. ” He shook his head. “CommodoreRobb Brindle?”

Detecting a hint of pride in the man’s voice, Lanyan switched off the comm unit before Brindle could respond. “We don’t need to answer that ridiculous demand.” He sat forward, pressed his palms together. “Spread out and continue our barrage. Pound them into debris until they surrender.”

38

Adar Zan’nh

Deep in the protected mountain tunnels, Zan’nh studied the disposition of his Solar Navy. After the destruction of the warliner carrying ten thousand refugees, he had only nine large battleships left on Ildira. Any ships that tried to leave the planet, even smaller craft, were targeted and destroyed. Hundreds more Ildirans had also died while attempting to escape.

The five damaged warliners from Tal O’nh’s processional septa had recently reported in. The teams of workers Zan’nh had left on the empty, smoke-filled vessels had finished their repairs, and now the scarred battleships had limped back to the system. The Adar swiftly ordered them to remain out of danger, to join the rest of the patrol warliners that dared not approach Ildira. Even though the numbers of his battleships were increasing out there, they were maddeningly out of reach.

Even more large warliners returned, their pilots and crews confused by the disappearance of the Mage-Imperator from thethism. They wanted orders and explanations, but Adar Zan’nh had little reassurance to offer. He ordered them to wait. Because he could not know what the Mage-Imperator’s orders would be in such a situation, he made the best decisions he could.

His nine remaining warliners were combing the landscape for survivors, checking on refugee camps, helping Ildirans to remain marginally safe from the faeros — or so he hoped. His other warliners scattered through the Spiral Arm could do little to support the many parts of the Empire left adrift. Meanwhile, he was stuck here, forcibly separated from the bulk of his Solar Navy.

The Ildiran Empire needed him to come up with some kind of brilliant strategy that would overthrow the faeros and free the people. Zan’nh had made his career by wrenching some kind of solution out of seemingly impossible circumstances. He had proved his mettle many times. Doing the best he could, he now tried to develop a strategy.

But against the faeros, he had nothing yet. He had racked his brains for days, consulted with his best advisers, and could think of no way to stand against the fiery elementals that would not end in total disaster.

In the central grotto, Rememberer Ko’sh had gathered a group of listeners for a tale recently approved to become part of the revisedSaga of Seven Suns. “This is how Adar Kori’nh struck a devastating blow against the hydrogues.”

Zan’nh flinched, wondering if the Chief Scribe had chosen that story as a particular jab at him. Yes, Adar Kori’nh, his heroic predecessor. Even when the hydrogues had seemed invincible,Kori’nh had found a way to inflict harm.

Zan’nh’s thoughts folded inward like serrated blades, cutting into his memories as the rememberer described how the old Adar had sacrificed a whole maniple of Solar Navy warliners to annihilate an equivalent number of enemy warglobes. In the process, Adar Kori’nh had shown the rest of the Ildiran Empire a way to hurt the deep-core aliens.

Zan’nh’s eyes glittered in the well-lit grotto; he ground his teeth in frustration. He would gladly have followed the other Adar’s example, but against the faeros the sacrifice would be pointless. Nor would he waste his remaining Solar Navy ships in suicidal crashes against the fireballs. He had too few ships, and theymust remain undamaged for the defense of Ildira.

During the Chief Scribe’s story, young Ridek’h sat on the stone floor beside Tal O’nh. Yazra’h paced back and forth with her Isix cats, as restless and frustrated as the Adar was. Prime Designate Daro’h stood by himself, clearly disturbed.

Suddenly Zan’nh reeled backward, losing track of the rememberer’s sing-song voice. A great quake passed through thethism, and he felt a thousand screams erupt inside his head. Ko’sh’s voice faltered as he detected it, too.

On the other side of the chamber, Daro’h sank to his knees, gasping for breath. “The faeros have attacked again. Thousands of people just died.”

More affected than any of them, Ridek’h placed his hands against his forehead. “Those were people from Hyrillka. One of the resettlement camps.” He stared around in the underground chamber. “I could hear them shouting, pleading in my head. And then it just stopped.”

Moving impulsively, Zan’nh marched toward the lift platform that led to the mine tunnel’s exit. “I will take the cutter and investigate. Maybe I can help the survivors — if there are any.”

Ridek’h got to his feet. His voice was strained when he spoke. “I am going with you.”

“It is too dangerous.”

The boy crossed his arms over his chest. “Then it is too dangerous foryou, as well, Adar.”

Tal O’nh smiled into his personal darkness. “Take the boy, Adar. The experience will make him stronger.” Zan’nh was reminded of his own relationship with Kori’nh, his teacher. He could not say no.

The glare of smoky daylight was unrelenting as the cutter flew low over the open terrain. In the secondary pilot’s seat, Ridek’h hunched forward to look out the front windowplate. Swift fires had rushed across the croplands and prairies, blackening fields and hillsides. Off in the distance, columns of smoke rose into the air from Mijistra’s ever-burning fires.

Zan’nh felt thethism — ache within him and intentionally flew toward it. The cutter arrived at one of the largest concentrations of Hyrillka evacuees, a geometrically laid out camp with prefabricated buildings and flash-paved streets. The pain in his heart grew sharper from all the recent, sudden deaths.

The camp was nothing more than a smoldering wound. Every structure had been destroyed, the refugees cremated, their soulfires absorbed. “The faeros have been feeding again,” Zan’nh said.

Ridek’h shook his head in dismay. “We evacuated Hyrillka’s entire population, told all those people it was dangerous there. We never told them it would be worse on Ildira.” His reddened eyes showed both disgust and fury. “If Designate Rusa’h once cared for the people of Hyrillka, why would he let the faeros do this? Why?”