The expansive parklike campus was crowded with earnest young students who were not yet scarred by the cynicism of real life. As a researcher here, Anton had been oblivious to the treacheries and convolutions of faculty politics, which were a far cry from mythic story arcs and great epic cycles. His goals had seemed lofty to him at the time: striving for tenure, submitting a unique interpretation or a new translation, engaging rival professors in vehement but irrelevant academic debates. Since then, he had experienced so much more — from the Ildiran Empire, to treacherous black robots, the hydrogues, the worldforest. and now, betrayal by his own government. Yes, university politics seemed laughably insignificant by comparison.

As the two walked across the campus, Anton tried to ignore the veritable army of security guards that accompanied them at a not-terribly-discreet distance. He stopped by a mirrored fountain whose design had been copied from a counterpart in Mijistra. “This section of the campus is the Department of Ildiran Studies. This is where we’ll be spending most of our time.”

Before Anton’s departure years ago, the dean had promised that as long as he was on his remarkable mission to Ildira, Anton would be considered a great asset to the department, a feather in the university’s cap. Now, when he led Vao’sh into the old college administration building, he didn’t realize what a stir he would cause. Hansa guards rushed ahead to sweep the building, to inform the administrators and their staff. Anton was embarrassed by all the attention.

The dean bustled out to greet them, speaking with a German accent. “I am so pleased you have finally returned to us, Dr. Colicos.” He held out a big hand. “And Rememberer Vao’sh, we have heard much about you.” The dean, an older man whose thick red hair was obviously dyed, had somewhat heavyset cheeks and lips too large for his face. He was said to have an acid wit, especially at cocktail parties after a glass or two of wine, though Anton had never been invited to such a prestigious department function.

Looking askance at the Hansa guards who stood by the doorway, the dean shook Anton’s hand, then did the same to Vao’sh. “We were absolutely delighted to receive your first translations of theSaga, Dr. Colicos. They were delivered here — smuggled, actually. We’re greatly indebted to the trader captain, whoever she was.”

“I could tell you her name, but I’m afraid the Hansa might punish her.”

“Pffft! They are perfectly happy with our Ildiran studies. In fact, I’ve assigned four full professors to study your translations. You have given us fodder for years of work.”

“That epic took my people millennia to compose,” Vao’sh pointed out.

“Of course. Of course,” the dean said, grinning. “These translations are worth more than a hundred dissertations. Come, we’ve restored your office exactly as you remember it.”

Restored it? So the dean had reassigned his office in the meantime, but must have scrambled to put everything back in order as soon as the Chairman’s instructions had come down.

“We found your notes for the biography of your parents. Fascinating people.” The dean stumped down the hall on short legs. “I glanced at a few of your drafts. I hope you don’t mind.” Actually, Anton did mind, but he decided not to make an issue of it. “For the time being, however, your Ildiran work must take priority.”

Hansa guards waited at the far end of the hallway, still cautious, still watching. The dean looked uncomfortable. “And I understand Rememberer Vao’sh will be helping us with a research project for the Chairman?”

Let our scholars debrief him thoroughly, Basil Wenceslas had said. Anton wasn’t surprised at how the dean had interpreted it.

“I am willing to tell parts of theSaga,” Vao’sh said. “That is my purpose as a rememberer.”

“So, you will deliver guest lectures? We can host an entire series of talks, as many as the rememberer chooses to give. Would they be private affairs, or open to the entire student body?”

Anton tried to hide his surprise. “Oh, we’d like to make them as public as possible.”

60

Hyrillka Designate Ridek’h

He found Tal O’nh sitting outside the caves again, staring with impunity into the multiple suns. After returning from the obliterated camp of Hyrillka refugees — the peoplehe was supposed to protect — the young man no longer felt like a mere substitute for his father, whom Rusa’h had killed. Now he finally, wholeheartedly thought of himself as the true Hyrillka Designate.

Ridek’h joined his mentor. “I should not be hiding here in these caves.”

“No, you should not. None of us should. but do we flee? Do we provoke the faeros? Do we engage in a direct battle — and all die? We will get no guidance from the Mage-Imperator, as long as he remains imprisoned by the humans, and we have no way of rescuing him. And what can we do ourselves?”

“Indeed,” Ridek’h said. “What can we do ourselves?” He voiced it as a challenge rather than an admission of failure.

After the Mage-Imperator had been returned to thethism web, his presence had shone like a reignited blazer. Across the Empire all of the panicked and dismayed Ildirans would have felt at least a glimmer of reassurance. In response, Tal Ala’nh, who commanded one of the remaining cohorts of free Solar Navy ships, had gathered his dispersed warliners and charged back to Ildira. Seven complete maniples, 343 battleships, all ready to throw themselves at the fireballs.

Adar Zan’nh had stopped them, refusing to let so many warliners be destroyed in a pointless sacrifice. And so a frustrated Tal Ala’nh waited at a distance, in nominal command of the gathering off-planet military force, with orders to remain intact, ready, and unobtrusive.

After what he had seen in the burned refugee camp, Ridek’h’s attention was focused on the remaining Hyrillkans on Ildira. More than a million of the people evacuated from his world were still scattered across the Ildiran landscape. The faeros could exterminate them at any time they chose, whenever the mad Designate let them. Ridek’h could barely contain himself, quivering with the need to act.

“I should challenge him.I am the rightful Hyrillka Designate. I have faced Rusa’h before, and he didn’t kill me.”

“Some would call that a miracle,” O’nh said, his scarred face troubled by memories of that awful encounter. “What would it accomplish to tempt fate again?”

“I will sacrifice myself if I must.”

“I would prefer you did not, young man. I can see no way it would be helpful.”

Ridek’h tried to make his decision sound less impulsive than it was. “In the command nucleus of your warliner, Rusa’h said we would face each other again. I want to do it now, on my own terms. I will make the long journey back to Mijistra alone, enter the Prism Palace, and confront him. If Rusa’h was going to kill me, he would have done it already.”