The Archons of the Stars Read online

  “Ana,” Ailia whimpered, tossing from side to side. “Ana . . .”

  But this face vanished also, and then in its place she saw a vast burning blue-white light: a star, distorted into the shape of a tear. From its end there bled a long streamer of blue flame that curled around upon itself, making a circle with a black hole at its center. That darkness gaped at her like a mouth, pulling her toward itself. She could not resist: she would be drawn in along with the dying spiral of star-fire and devoured . . .

  A voice that was not a voice spoke from the midst of the black maw. Behold the Mouth of the Worm, the darkness no light of Heaven can pierce. There is no escaping from the void within. Who enters here comes not forth again.

  With a violent start she woke and sat up, shaking with terror, fearing for an instant that the darkness surrounding her was that of the fathomless pit. Always she had feared the dark, from her very earliest childhood, but there was in this enveloping blackness a different quality—a lurking malevolence. With unsteady hands she lit a candle, banishing the darkness back into the far corners of the room. Then she lay down once more, but did not sleep again until the light of dawn came into the sky.

  AURON FLEW OUT OF THE soft dim radiance of the Ether and into the midst of battle.

  All about him were the gleaming stars and the limitless black deeps of the heavens. Behind and to his left the unveiled sun blazed fiercely bright, and before him the world of Mera returned its radiance like a vast blue jewel. But directly ahead of him a great light shone, round and white and surrounded by a hazy aureole, and about it many smaller shapes swarmed like moths drawn to a lamp. As he sped onward with wings furled, propelled through the airless night by enchantment alone, proximity and changing perspective revealed the pale halo to be a cone of luminous vapors, streaming back from the bright globe as long tresses of hair are blown back in a wind. It looked to extend for many millions of leagues. The shining object was a comet, hurtling straight toward him, and shedding its outer mantle as it drew ever nearer to the fires of the sun. Dark-winged shapes were defending it, while Loänan and eagle-winged cherubim assailed it on all sides.

  One of the black shapes, all but invisible against the void, lunged toward him and he swerved, avoiding its attack. Thwarted, the firedrake snapped its jaws and glared with its cold red eye—savage as a wild beast’s, yet filled also with a malign cunning. But its flaming breath could not reach him in the void, for the envelope of air that sustained the creature ended very close to its own body. As it turned to dive on him again he faced it, then at the last moment rolled to bring himself underneath his assailant’s body. The plate armor on the monster’s belly was not so thick and strong as the scales on its back, and a swift and deadly thrust from all four of his claws together scored it deeply.

  Another time he would have fought it to the finish, but Auron had been sent here by the Celestial Emperor Orbion merely to observe the progress of the battle, and report back to him. He left the wounded drake to be slain by two of his fellow Loänan, and flew in closer to the comet’s head. It burned only with the sun’s reflected glow: the surface of its nucleus was not hot, but formed of gray-white ice, deeply seamed and fissured like the face of a glacier. It was, in truth, a gigantic hailstone, formed far out in the perpetual cold of the regions between the stars. As he passed over a dark cave in its sunward side there flew up from its depths the dark shapes of still more firedrakes. At once the other Loänan and cherubim descended to challenge them. Their cries were soundless, as they could not carry through the void beyond the individual cocoons of air, but Auron mentally sensed the bursts of pain and rage from the combatants. They battled all around him as he dropped toward the comet’s surface. And then it was not a surface but a landscape, a gray-white plain gaping with black crevasses and walled with frozen cliffs. In the sky above, the comet’s flowing tail glimmered like a pale aurora. He alighted on one of the icy crags and stood for a moment contemplating the scene before him. In days of old the Nemerei mages had ridden on comets for pleasure, and even he felt the wonderment of traveling upon this swift-moving celestial body.

  An eagle-headed cherub glided down out of the sky and alighted on the ice beside him. Well met, Loänan! it called out silently, mind to mind.

  How goes it, Falaar? he replied.

  We have succeeded in changing this one’s course. The firedrakes sought to prevent us and failed! We will send it flying harmlessly into the sun, Falaar answered.

  But can we turn them all in time? Auron asked, eyes sweeping the blackness above him. Dozens more comets, their gauzy tails fanning behind them, shone overhead. They were aimed at Mera, like a flight of flaming arrows loosed at a target. Long ago the Loänan and cherubim had attempted to turn another bombardment of comets like this, and had succeeded with all but one, resulting in the Great Disaster on Mera.

  My people shall not fail the worlds again. The firedrakes have learned to fear us: they now flee before us. Falaar shifted his strong, clawed lion’s feet, eager to be off fighting again.

  I am glad to hear it! You cherubim are well named the Hounds of the Gods, Auron replied with a draconic salute.

  How is it with the Celestial Emperor? the cherub asked. I have heard that Orbion’s strength fails.

  The Son of Heaven is very old and very weary, Auron answered. His end is near, I think. Sorrow filled him as he spoke. The dragon spread his wings, and soared up again through the void and among the other comets, with the cherub following after. He does not leave the palace now. Indeed, he does not stir from the Dragon Throne. He has coiled himself about it, as if he would protect it with what life remains to him, and there he lies day after day. Often he sleeps, but when he does not his eyes stare at nothing, and are filled with fear and sadness. He does not dread the approach of death: no Loänan does. We trust in the Power that made us to receive us into itself again. But Orbion is filled with anguish to see the Empire torn with conflict, and our people divided. He would not see Talmirennia leaderless. Yet though he asks that Ailia come to him and take the throne, ensuring the succession, she does not answer his summons. She has never desired to rule, and now her mind is filled with other cares.

  There thou touchest on another matter of urgency, the cherub told him as they passed through a comet’s tail, into the bright blizzard of swirling, sunlit ice motes that to terrestrial observers looked like glowing flame: it was here that many of the firedrakes hid, lunging out at the dragons and cherubim when they flew past. When didst thou last have words with the Tryna Lia?

  Not since we parted in Mera. I left her in the land of Zimboura. Why do you ask? he inquired, uneasy.

  She departed that place while thou wast in Temendri Alfaran attending the Emperor, we know not whither. She did not take the Star Stone with her. Some say that she desired to see Queen Eliana again and hear her counsel, and others that she sought her Meran family, to see if they are safe. However that may be, she is gone from Zimboura.

  Auron turned to him, distraught, as they burst out of the comet’s tail again with their hides all diamonded with frost. Then I must go to Mera and seek for her! Whether she will take the throne or no, the time draws near for her ordained battle.

  Even so, Falaar said. Prince Morlyn is the chief danger. The Darklings have many powerful champions, but they mean to make greatest use of the Dragon Prince. He is heir to both Loänan and Archonic powers, and the heart of the Valei’s schemes. Remove him, and the chief threat is gone. But for that we need the Tryna Lia.

  I will go, Auron said. Another can bear my tidings back to Orbion. Fight on, hound of Athariel! I journey to Mera.

  Leaving the celestial field of battle to his fellow warriors, Auron hastened toward the blue sphere of the embattled world, and the woman he had sworn to protect since before her birth.

  2

  The Councils of Kings

  IN THE TREASURE-CHAMBER OF the Forbidden Palace in Nemorah, four people of very different appearance sat together, speaking in low voices. One was Roglug, ki
ng of the goblin-people: bald and grotesque of feature like all of his kind, more apelike indeed than human, save for the gleam of cunning in his small dark eyes. Beside him sat the black-robed Regent of Ombar, Lord Naugra, whose wizened face bore the marks of a mixed human and goblin ancestry. With them sat another man whose youth and haughty beauty were like a living reproach to the hideousness of the other two: Erron Komora of the Loänei, tall and proud in his embroidered robes, with his straight black hair falling loose and luxuriant down his back. The enchantress Syndra sat apart from the other three, gowned in scarlet, her dark hair bound up in a crown of interwoven braids. All about the chamber were arrayed the fabulous treasures of the Dragon Prince, Morlyn, which he had gathered throughout his centuries-long life: jeweled chalices, a great scrying-globe of crystal, a brazen head upon a plinth. A suit of armor was mounted in a corner of the room, one of many that the prince had worn in battle five hundred years before, when he was a knight in the service of his father, King Andarion of Mera. This suit had been Prince Morlyn’s favorite: it was of Kaanish make, a gift to him from the ruler of the Archipelagoes in Mera, and made in the island race’s distinctive style. The visor was a steel mask patterned on the prince’s own features, to make him proudly recognizable on the field of battle, while the helmet was topped with fierce hornlike projections. The breastplate was composed of many overlapping pieces, somewhat resembling the ventral plates of a serpent. The armor was black as onyx, and gleamed as if newly made, with only a few minor dents and scratches to show its long years of use. Next to it was mounted a sword with a dragon-patterned hilt and notched blade.

  It was clear that the armor was but a curiosity now, a relic of the prince’s early life before his mastery of magic. Morlyn (or Mandrake, as he preferred to be called) could, by taking on a dragon’s form, sport scale-armor twenty times as strong as this: armor that need never be removed, even for sleep. Indeed, he spent as much time as possible in draconic form these days for that very reason. The suit of human armor, with its dark and vacant eyeholes, its now useless gauntlets and greaves and breastplate, had a forlorn and abandoned air. It bore mute testimony to the weaker creature who had once required these protections: the empty and discarded shell of his humanity.

  “It is as I told you,” Naugra said. “The plans laid by our master thousands of years ago are unfolding exactly as he foresaw. The Empire founded by Valdur’s foes has been weakened and divided, and our own strength grows. Morlyn has at last accepted his role as Avatar—”

  “Whatever will you do now, Naugra?” asked Roglug with a mocking look.

  “What do you mean?” Naugra turned on him, cold and contemptuous.

  “Well, you can’t go calling yourself Regent anymore. Not now that we have our new ruler.”

  “You understand nothing, as is your wont. Morlyn has not yet become Avatar in full. He must journey to Ombar to take Valdur’s throne and be filled with the Master’s spirit there. Until then he remains as vulnerable as any mortal. We must protect this chosen vessel of our Master’s as best we may.”

  “He is safer in draconic form at least,” said Erron, “and we Loänei guard him night and day, as do the dragons that serve him. But we cannot repel the forces of the Tryna Lia unaided. Ombar must send more guardians: firedrakes, and Morugei soldiery.”

  “If we do as you ask, Morlyn will have no need to go to Ombar at all,” returned the Regent. “He will feel secure here in Nemorah. It is our wish that he should be afraid, and seek for safety in our world. Once there, he will be forced to yield himself up to his master. And the Tryna Lia will be powerless against Valdur.”

  Syndra listened to the others speak, but said nothing. She had reasons of her own to preserve Mandrake unharmed. If he were to defeat the Tryna Lia, and become Talmirennia’s ruler, then he should have a consort. One to rule by his side and give him heirs—and why should that not be Syndra herself? It had troubled her to see him drawn toward Ailia, and though there was now little chance of any reconciliation between them, she still felt pangs of resentment and jealousy. To win Mandrake for herself, she reasoned, she must become more powerful: Ailia’s appeal for him had no doubt lain in her superior sorcery, which made her a consort worthy of him. The Dragon Prince was, after all, a being to whom power was the supreme goal—or so she believed, for it was what she herself had always desired, and what she most admired in him. She perceived her contest with the Tryna Lia as one of strength pitted against strength. When two animals battled over mates or food in the jungle, she had observed, it was always the stronger one that emerged victorious. And the supernatural realm was but an extension of the natural, an enlargement and expansion of its themes: within it the same rules would certainly obtain. Syndra gazed at the discarded armor in the corner, and pondered how to win her desire. There were many books of grammarye in Mandrake’s library: he never made use of them now, for his mastery of magic was complete, and they had nothing more to teach him. But there might yet be something in one of those volumes, some piece of arcane lore or spellcraft that could help her to augment her own sorcery.

  “It is time that the Avatar showed himself again to the Valei,” Naugra went on. “They grow restless, and need reminding that their ruler has come. Roglug, go and tell him this.”

  “I? Why must I go? He’s grown so suspicious, so dangerous—”

  “You are safe enough. No one fears a fool.”

  The goblin-king rose with a grimace of reluctance, and left the room.

  On the lower level of the palace a door led to a long downward-sloping tunnel, and this in turn brought Roglug to a large cavern half-filled by a hot spring. He entered the cave and approached the steaming pool’s edge. “Highness,” he said, bowing low.

  The wisps of steam stirred, and the pool’s dark surface rippled. A red scaly back appeared, glistening in the dull light, and then a horned head rose dripping from the water. The lids of the dragon’s golden eyes parted, and it looked down on the goblin from the towering height of its great neck.

  “We await your command, Lord Prince,” Roglug said. “The enemy is massing in strength, and the Valei yearn to behold their leader!”

  The dragon’s reply rumbled through the cave as if the volcanic forces deep in the earth below had awakened. “They have nothing to fear. I shall be victorious. Already I wield such power as I have never known before. And it is growing.”

  The goblin bowed again. “Your Highness’s victory is indeed assured. But—”

  The dragon’s golden gaze dwelled upon him. “I was as you are, once. Small, feeble, helpless. But no more. To be human is to be weak, and I must be strong to face what will come. Go now, and leave me to my rest.”

  Two shimmering ethereal forms suddenly appeared in the air at Roglug’s side, startling the goblin considerably, though the dragon paid little attention. It was Elazar and Elombar—or so the originators of these projected images named themselves, declaring that they were the ancient Archons of Azar and Ombar. Both Mandrake and Roglug suspected that they were in fact goblin-sorcerers aligned with Naugra, for in all things they agreed with the Regent. The demonic-visaged Elombar spoke in a rasping voice: “You were right to set aside your human frailty, Prince. Your body may have been human, but your soul was always Loänan—full of power. You will defeat Ailia.”

  The dragon began to circle his pool restlessly, head above the water like a swimming serpent. “When I was human I pitied her, for like calls to like. But I feel no bond with her now.”

  The tall saturnine image of Elazar spoke next. “That is well, but you are not yet safe. You must destroy her, or lose all. It is the will of Valdur.”

  “I am Valdur.”

  “No, not yet.” Elombar countered. “It is not enough to make the claim. You know that you must go to Ombar and receive the crown, and with it the power of Valdur. Until then you are the Avatar only in name.”

  “But I am your ruler—yes, even yours, even if you are an Archon. And Valdur himself boasted no more power than I do now.”
With that pronouncement the dragon closed his eyes again, and sank back into the pool. The royal audience was at an end.

  Once he was submerged and his unwelcome visitors were banned from sight, the dragon curled around himself and waited, his head resting on his foreclaws. He could hold his breath for an hour and was prepared to do so, giving Roglug and the others time to leave his sanctuary. Few were suffered to enter it these days, for he trusted no one. His human form was, indeed, a thing of the past. He needed the security of this well-protected body, the natural armor and weaponry of scales and claws, and wings to fly to safety. He shuddered to recall the fragility of his human body, its vulnerability to attack, and felt little regret at the loss of his man-self. True, it had brought pleasures along with its weaknesses. But he was a creature of the elements, of elemental needs and passions, now. This new nature protected him from the human susceptibility to temptation, even as the scaly body protected him from all but a few weapons—the adamantine blades of the Paladins, and swords of cold iron. These he still feared. But he was a living fortress in this form, and deadly as an army. With the addition of his magical powers no foe could hope to match him, save only the Tryna Lia.

  Ailia! Where was she now? He dared not risk putting out a feeler of thought into the Ether to search for her. They said that she had grown great in power. Had the long-vanished Archons who had assigned to him this role made him adequate to the challenge? However that might be, he was caught now in their trap. Fear followed him even in sleep. He dreamed often of seeing a dragon swoop down upon him—a dragon with Ailia’s eyes.