For herself, Muree’n seemed to have something to prove. She had grown her hair long like Yazra’h’s, but hers was darker, and she braided it with jewels and heavy metallic weights as decorations that could be disentangled and used as surprise weapons in a desperate situation.
Muree’n bowed, as if conceding defeat, then she drove forward to ram her head into Yazra’h’s stomach, knocking her off the sphere. Yazra’h fell backward, unable to catch her balance in time, and landed hard against another one of the spheres.
The halfbreed girl was reckless, Yazra’h knew, but sometimes it paid off. Among Nira’s children from the breeding program, Muree’n was the youngest, and the lowest born, from a guard kithman. Her brother Rod’h was the son of a Designate, Gale’nh the son of an Adar, Tamo’l the daughter of a lens kithman, and Osira’h, the oldest and most powerful of the five halfbreed children, was the daughter of Mage-Imperator Jora’h himself. None of them, though, could outfight Muree’n.
Yazra’h had taken the girl under her wing as a special student, and now Muree’n had fought her mentor to a standstill. Over the years, Muree’n had suffered many bruises and broken bones, and her skin showed numerous scars, but the girl considered each one a badge of honor.
Yazra’h picked herself up from the ground, panting. “I know few opponents who fight so wholeheartedly.” She extended a hand.
Muree’n hesitated, suspicious, before she helped Yazra’h up. “Half measures are for the hesitant.”
Yazra’h chuckled. “I’ve never known you to hesitate, but you charge into a fray without planning ahead.”
Muree’n shrugged. “I haven’t once been seriously hurt, so I keep fighting.”
Yazra’h removed a short fighting stick from her belt, adjusted it to the length of her forearm, and motioned for Muree’n to do the same. “Close combat now, so I can look into your eyes and see what you’re thinking.”
Muree’n adjusted her own fighting stick so that it matched Yazra’h’s. “I’m thinking that I’ll defeat you this time.”
Yazra’h decided she should pummel some caution into the girl. She was a better fighter in every measureable way, but Muree’n’s energy and enthusiasm often took her aback.
The staffs hammered together with a loud report, then again. Each end was a whirling blur, but somehow Muree’n anticipated Yazra’h’s every move. Yazra’h pushed harder, tried new tricks.
Muree’n flailed and attacked. Finally, needing a momentary pause to catch her breath, Yazra’h clouted the girl on the side of the head and stunned her.
Reeling, Muree’n collapsed to sit heavily on one of the mirrored spheres, shaking her head. Yazra’h stepped aside. “Being impetuous isn’t always the best strategy.”
The halfbreed girl rubbed what would surely be a large bruise on her skull. “No, but it is unpredictable. It throws my enemies off balance.”
“You might also find that you’ve thrown yourself off a cliff.”
Muree’n laughed. “But then I would fly!”
Yazra’h knew that no matter how many times she defeated the girl, Muree’n would come back for another round. She had no humility, no fear, no caution—and Yazra’h could never train that out of the girl. Catching her breath, Yazra’h realized she would just have to make certain that Muree’n got into situations where those qualities were useful, rather than a detriment.
As Muree’n climbed back to her feet and held up her fighting staff, ready to pounce, Yazra’h noticed a figure standing nearby on the otherwise empty observing stand: Mage-Imperator Jora’h in his lush robes, with his long braid of office. Yazra’h turned to her father and bowed with respect. Muree’n was ready to strike when her opponent lost focus, until she spotted the Mage-Imperator as well.
The girl waved, and Jora’h raised his hand, obviously proud—and with good reason, Yazra’h knew… unfortunately, the Mage-Imperator’s praise would not make Muree’n any easier to control.
FIFTEEN
PRINCE REYN
The trees on Theroc towered taller than most skyscrapers on Earth—or so Prince Reyn had heard. He would see for himself, soon enough. The worldforest conveyed a true feeling of vastness, but Theroc was just one of so many worlds in the Confederation. It was intimidating!
His sister Arita had visited many more worlds than he had, studying alien plants and fungi. Even now, she was off on an empty Klikiss planet studying sentient cacti. Reyn missed her…
As the twenty-year-old son of King Peter and Queen Estarra, he had met many important diplomats, but he had not traveled much himself. Soon, though… He needed to see more, learn more, experience more if he was going to be the Confederation’s next King.
The Confederation’s official capital was here on Theroc. From there, the King and Queen guided the various planets and peoples in the human alliance. The main governing structure was a fungus-reef that covered large sections of an enormous worldtree. On six adjacent trees, smaller fungus-reefs formed Confederation office complexes and residential structures for visiting dignitaries. The hard shelf fungi growths had been hollowed out and turned into a city suspended above the ground, studded with balconies and openings at all levels.
After checking his chronometer, Reyn tightened the sash around his indigo tunic and set out. The fungus-reef structure bustled with business conversations, tourists. Jewel-winged insects flitted about, as well as flying contraptions made from discarded condorfly wings grafted onto engines.
Reyn rode the lift to the canopy, where the sky opened up and ships could land. The historian Anton Colicos would arrive soon from Ildira with his newly translated section of the Saga of Seven Suns, which he would present to the green priests.
Reyn’s parents both had full schedules, but since Anton Colicos was an important visitor, King Peter had turned to his son. “Receive him with proper formalities, then take him to see Kennebar. The green priests will want him to start reading aloud to the trees right away. We’ll hold a formal reception later in the evening—there’s supposed to be a firefly storm tonight.” Peter frowned as he saw what appeared to be hesitation on Reyn’s face. “You’ll do fine.”
It was not hesitation, though. Reyn felt a shotgun blast of pain through his nerves, as if a set of white-hot wires had been yanked through his body with a swift, vicious jerk. He had to devote his full concentration to hide the pain, refusing to let his father see. He clenched his left hand, focused his thoughts there, forced the tremors to go away.
“Yes, I’ll do fine,” Reyn echoed, letting his father interpret the reluctance as shyness. “I’m sure I’ll get along with Anton Colicos.” Neither of his parents knew how much the pain increased month by month; he had managed to hide it from them so far. Only Arita knew, and she wasn’t here…
The canopy level was a vast prairie of interlocked worldtree fronds with some sections paved over so that spacecraft could land. Ships circled and hummed as they settled down. Silver observation towers directed traffic. As he watched, a cargo ship fired its engines and accelerated up to the stratosphere, unreeling a long vapor trail behind it.
Reyn watched three green priests board a bright shuttle, each one carrying a potted treeling, ready to set out as ambassadors or missionaries. Many green priests were leaving Theroc to offer their services to the Confederation, to private employers, and also to help spread the interconnected verdani mind.
Some distance from the paved landing zone, another group of green priests sat among the scattered fronds. Four emerald-skinned priests guided the acolytes, singing songs, telling tales, dictating histories and technical reports—any sort of information whatsoever—to the voraciously curious worldforest.