Yazra’h had a feral look in her eyes, anger at what Rusa’h had forced them to do. “It is a devastating blow.”

“But a necessary one.” The Prime Designate was shuddering. The path of the descending shipyards left a scar like a black gash in the air.

The Chief Scribe brushed off his robes as he climbed to his feet. He was speechless as he watched tumbling waves of smoke and fire pour into the sky. The wondrous capital city had vanished, leaving only a vast, boiling crater. Finally, he said, “The Hall of Rememberers is lost! Our history, ourSaga.”

“Our city, our Prism Palace,” Daro’h added. “But our race survives. Maybe this was an unforgivable act, but it is a second chance.”

“But theSaga — ” Ko’sh moaned.

“You are a rememberer! We will remember in our hearts and minds. Do not lose sight of what this has bought us. Now Adar Zan’nh can rejoin the Solar Navy. Without the faeros pursuing him, he will free the Mage-Imperator.” Daro’h prayed that his father would someday find a way to pardon him for what he had done.

As his head throbbed from the shockwave and his eyes burned from the flash, he made out a figure coming closer, a silhouette stumbling away from the holocaust. Daro’h tried to catch his breath, but his lungs burned. He shaded his eyes, then pointed.

Yazra’h saw the young man staggering along, exhausted, stunned. She shouted, “It is Designate Ridek’h! He survived!” She began waving her arms.

The brave boy looked burned, shell-shocked, but determined. He saw Yazra’h’s movement, though he seemed unable to hear her calling for him. Daro’h led the way, and they met him on the hillside. The Prime Designate caught Ridek’h just before his legs gave out. “You are safe now. You have escaped.”

The boy blinked several times, disoriented. Finally he shuddered, then used the support of Daro’h and Yazra’h to get back to his feet. He turned and stared at the still-smoking impact site and the raging fires on the perimeter of what had been Mijistra.

“I ran and ran,” he said, his voice ragged. “I did not look back. Not until now.” He began to cough, his chest spasming; the sounds turned into sobs.

“Do you think Rusa’h is dead?” Yazra’h said.

Daro’h stared at the holocaust. He could not imagine how the faeros incarnate could have survived that, but he was unwilling to assume anything.

84

Adar Zan’nh

At the moment of obliteration, Adar Zan’nh seized his chance. The massive spacedocks and construction yards crashing down from orbit provided more than enough diversion for his nine warliners to escape from the faeros on Ildira. He felt a deep ache in his heart as his ships put distance between themselves and his beloved home planet.

The beautiful, ancient city from which Mage-Imperators had ruled since the beginning of the Empire was no more. He knew what had been lost, knew that Ildira would never be the same. The impact was like a bright splash of blood and fire on the landscape. Mijistra. the Prism Palace. So much history, so much culture. all gone.

And, he hoped, faeros incarnate Rusa’h as well.

Yet the desperate tactic was their only hope of surviving as an Empire, perhaps even as a race. At last, the Adar had a mission he could expect to accomplish. If he could indeed rescue the Mage-Imperator from captivity, the Empire would be far stronger with its rightful ruler.

“Even when we free our father, the war will not be over,” said Osira’h, who had asked to accompany him while her four siblings remained with the Prime Designate on Ildira. “Even if Rusa’h is dead, the faeros are still a threat.”

Zan’nh looked down at the strange little girl. “All the more reason why we must free him.”

“Yes, we must.”

As the warliners raced away from the planet, they broadcast instant commands to Tal Ala’nh and his hundreds of waiting warliners outside the system. The Adar no longer needed to keep his plans secret. He could tell the cohort commander their objectives and reveal where the Mage-Imperator was being held. With all the fiery elementals stunned and distracted, the bulk of his Solar Navy prepared to depart en masse.

Behind them, the faeros ricocheted like sparks in a frenetic storm. Zan’nh had hoped the conflagration of Mijistra would occupy them for some time. but as his nine warliners sped away, several of the fireballs streaked after them. They seemed attracted by the movement, seeking anything to destroy.

“Increase acceleration. Prepare to activate stardrives.” He had not gained as much distance as he had hoped. With or without Rusa’h, the faeros could act.

In the command nucleus, his well-trained soldiers worked like machines despite the dread that gripped them. They knew full well what was at stake.

“The faeros are closing in on us, Adar.”

His warliners strained to get out of the system, gaining speed, changing course, ready to activate their stardrives. An increasing number of fireballs followed them like flaming projectiles. “Tell Tal Ala’nh to set course for Earth and to depart immediately. We will follow as we can.”

Osira’h said in a small voice, “Whether or not the impact destroyed him, Rusa’h learned what we intended to do, and so the faeros knew. They will still try to come after you. They know we are going to Earth.”

“But they will not catch me.” Zan’nh flashed a hard smile at his half-sister. “We will have the Mage-Imperator back before they get there.”

“Stardrives are ready, Adar,” said the helmsman.

“Activate them.” On the screen he watched the ravenous flaming ellipsoids closing the gap. Tal O’nh had made an immeasurable sacrifice, not just of his life but of the heart of Ildira. Zan’nh refused to let it be in vain.

The warliners leaped ahead, leaving the fireballs behind with a terribly scarred planet.

85

General Kurt Lanyan

He wasn’t surprised that Admiral Willis and her rebel ships would simply run, but Lanyan was shocked that his own gunners couldn’t shoot down theJupiter in the first volley of weapons fire. A target as big as a Juggernaut, flying right in front of them! TheThunder Child should have made swift work of it.

He wondered if the systems were sluggish — some flaw in the robot repairs, perhaps? Or maybe the rebels had upgraded Admiral Willis’s ships more than just scouring off the EDF logo and painting a new sign on the hull plates. On the other hand, he could blame the botched job on new recruits, insufficient training, and even a dash of blind bad luck. And on Conrad Brindle.

Of all the people he knew in the EDF, Brindle was one of the most dedicated and unshakeable. But at the crucial moment, he had intentionally placed his Manta in the line of fire, blocking shots that should have decapitated the rebel Confederation force. And it could not have been an accident.