| |
Their approach was tracked – not by any advanced technology, but by the extrasensory perception of witches. These witches, with their large pointed heads, jewel encrusted faces and long trunk-like noses, were one of three species that inhabited the planet Malass. They shared the planet with the Fire Breathers and the Gobbleskypes and, although they had their differences, relative harmony prevailed.
Very few visitors were welcome and most of the beings travelling through space avoided its orbit. It was a planet of mystery and of magic and ships had been known to evaporate into thin air, never to be seen or heard of again, whenever they’d been unlucky or foolish enough to have ventured too close.
Although Malass was closed to most other species, the witches had thought nothing of invading other worlds. Every witch on every planet across hundreds of galaxies owed their very existence to the witches of Malass seeding their populations with their own genetic material.
The two escape pods were sighted in the mind’s eye of Laylamunger, the High Witch. She had scanned the inhabitants thoroughly and considered their fate. In the one pod were two Icarrion royal guards and, in the other, was a half-breed royal guard, a human man, a human girl and a dog. She was intrigued, so didn’t immediately reach a conclusion as to what to do with them. The girl interested her. She sensed dormant powers in the child and wanted to study her closer.
‘You hesitate,’ Inferno said at her side.
Laylamunger nodded at the Fire Breather and turned to the two witches behind her. ‘Send for Hannass,’ she said. ‘Tell him a sister approaches.’
Hannass received the summons in his den and immediately responded. Although he was a Gobbleskype, and although he was technically the planet’s ruler, he knew better than to refuse a summons from the High Witch.
‘You say that she is a sister?’ He queried as soon as he entered the high chamber. ‘And, the others?’
‘Of little consequence,’ she replied.
‘You will allow them to land?’
She nodded. ‘I sense no danger.’
‘I sense danger,’ Cauldronia, a witch, stated. ‘It’s not immediate, but it draws close.’
‘They are being hunted,’ Laylamunger said. ‘They seek refuge here.’
‘They are hunted by many,’ Cauldronia added. ‘But, the danger is, as yet, far off.’
‘They want the girl,’ the other witch, Catalanna, put in. ‘She is blood of Petross and...’
‘Of Lillyanna,’ Cauldronia added.
‘And, she is blood of the dragon,’ Laylamunger concluded.
‘And, a sister?’
Laylamunger nodded once more at Hannass. ‘A rare creature, indeed.’
*
THEY HAD DECIDED ON two escape pods and, once Astra recovered from the shock of the super-charged launch from the cargo vessel, she relaxed back and attempted to adjust to the uncomfortably cramped quarters. She didn’t know where they were headed and didn’t believe there was much use worrying about it. They would go where her father dictated and be safe, or not.
Like most spacecraft, the pods’ engines were powered by sunstrong – a super-charged fuel that allowed the craft to travel vast distances in very short periods of time. Even without the space fold, it took most vessels hours, or at most, days to reach their destinations. It did, however, make for a most uncomfortable ride in the smaller crafts, such as the space pods, and Astra was feeling decidedly nauseous.
She shared the pod with Darius and her father – and, of course, Sam – and, for the first hour of their journey there was no conversation.
Finally, her father said, ‘There’s only one planet within our scope of travel that has air pure enough to breathe, but they would expect us to head there, so we’re going to one of the others.’
Astra thought about that for a moment. ‘I don’t think you’ve thought that through,’ she said.
‘Oh?’ Her father raised an eyebrow. ‘What makes you say that?’
‘Well,’ she began – not entirely sure of herself. ‘They would suspect that we’d guess what they were thinking. They would know that we’d be cautious of going to a planet that would allow us to breathe.’
‘And, you think they would know that we’d go elsewhere?’
She nodded.
‘You credit them with too much sense,’ her father said.
‘So, shall I stay on course to Malass?’ Darius asked.
Bill nodded. ‘Set speed for a twelve-hour arrival time.’ He pulled himself to his feet, stretched and yawned. ‘I’m off for
a nap. Wake me in four hours.’
When her father crawled into the small sleeping space at the rear of the pod, she addressed Darius. ‘Malass?’
‘The planet of witches.’
She laughed. ‘You’re joking, right?’
Darius kept a straight face. ‘Why would I joke about something like that?’
‘A planet of witches? A whole planet of witches?’
‘Well, not just witches. There are fire-breathers and Gobbleskypes as well.’
‘I hate to ask, but...’
‘What are Gobbleskypes?’
‘Yes, well, fire-breathers I can take a guess at.’
He didn’t answer her for a moment. Gobbleskypes were difficult to describe. Finally, he said, ‘They’re ugly creatures, but very intelligent. They form the government of the planet and do a pretty good job of keeping the witches from the throats of the fire-breathers.’
‘Sounds like a charming place.’
‘It’s not. They may incinerate us before we have a chance to enter orbit.’
‘I thought the pods were undetectable?’
‘Not to witches. Witches see everything.’
‘Why would they incinerate us, Darius?’
‘They don’t take kindly to strangers.’
‘Then, why would my father risk taking us there?’
‘Because he has no other choice.’
The escape pod didn’t have a stable environment and didn’t have the level of technology that the cargo ship had to prevent rolling, so Astra felt sick to her stomach. There was nothing she would rather do than curl up into a tight ball, close her eyes, and attempt to ward off the danger of spewing everywhere. But, she was too curious about their destination.
‘How will we breathe on Malass? You said the air wasn’t pure.’
‘You take a pill,’ he replied. ‘A little pink one. It will oxygenate your blood.’
‘That’s quite marvellous.’
He looked confused. ‘It’s just a pill. There’s nothing marvellous about a pill.’
‘Do you have a pill or a potion for sickness?’
He noticed that she was a little green around the gills and bellowed out a laugh.
‘What’s so amusing?’
‘You’re travel sick. I’ve never known a creature with that ailment before.’
‘You must’ve led a very sheltered life, then.’
‘I thought you were made of sterner stuff.’
The pod rocked violently and did a complete one-hundred-and- eighty-degree roll. She swallowed back a mouthful of bile, gagged and turned her head away, lest he popped out another derogatory laugh.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t do that on purpose.’
‘Yeah, sure,’ she managed to choke out.
‘We do have a potion for sickness,’ he said with sudden sympathy. ‘Although I’ve never known anyone who needed to take it.’
She was determined not to appear any weaker in his eyes, and said, ‘I don’t need anything, thanks all the same.’
‘Suit yourself.’ He smiled to himself and mentally notched one up for her bravado.
He was beginning to like her feisty character and no-nonsense approach to the predicament they’d found themselves in. He’d known many human women over the years and tended to measure them against the qualities he admired in his grandmother and mother. So far – Astra being the exception – they had all come up short. Most had been vapid and one-dimensional. All they’d seemed to care about was mating and having babies. He was sensible enough to realise that those women weren’t the mould from which all human women were created – he had his grandmother and his mother to attest to that fact – but was, nevertheless, pleased to find in the human girl at his side one who lived up to his hopeful expectations.
He believed that she would make a good queen for Icarrion. She was brave and spirited and – most important of all – she was obviously highly intelligent. The thought of one of the five pretenders winning the throne was so far beyond reprehensible that he refused to contemplate the possibility.
He knew all five of them. They’d crossed paths many times.
A frequent visitor to Asson, Darius had come to know Acertron extremely well. He was one of the worst of the pretenders, but Darius held no fear that he would, inexplicably, seize the throne. The planet Asson was not renowned for producing any creature of character, but it had unfortunately produced three of the bloodline – a result of some of the females’ lax morals and a willing Petross. The only thing that the Asson pretenders had going for them was their acute cunning, but that – it itself – wouldn’t be enough to win them any followers. They would have to engage mercenaries if they had any chance of winning the throne.
Then, there was Damanacree. He was a different kettle of fish. Darius had never known Petross, but – by all accounts – Damanacree was the only one who had inherited every one of Petross’ traits. He was older than the others – being the only grand-child, as opposed to great-grandchild, of Petross. He was a handsome, aggressively proud warrior from Plutonia. As a youth, he had been wily enough to hide the worst of his character and, because of that, he won many friends and
forged many alliances.
Finally, there was Sytor. Sytor was... well, Sytor was the strangest of all. People wondered how Petross could have ever mated with his Xanetteian grandmother, because the people of Xanetteia were vile, ugly creatures with dripping, slimy skin and breath that could fell a giant Monmma at fifty paces. No one gave Sytor even the slimmest chance of taking the throne and most had completely disregarded him. Not so, Darius.
He had first met the Xanetteian as a child. Sytor’s mother had brought him to Aggerron’s court in a bid to get the queen to accept him as her blood. Sytor had aroused the curiosity of many at Aggerron’s court and, at first, the queen was welcoming. She knew of him, of course. She knew all her son’s progeny and every one of his by-blow’s whelps and she wasn’t adverse to giving them the benefit of the doubt. Sytor was allowed to stay and was given a privileged education and many opportunities befitting his bloodline. Darius was his playmate and, as they grew up together, Darius found that he actually liked him. When Sytor murdered and devoured his personal body servant, Darius’ opinion did a one hundred and eighty degree turn.
Banished to Xanetteia, a bitter and resentful Sytor grew to adulthood, amassed a fortune and plotted and schemed his way to power. Everyone discounted him because his appearance and his penchant for feasting on the flesh of Sensient beings meant that the people of Icarrion would never accept him. Darius believed that Sytor wouldn’t give them a choice.
He gave himself a mental shake and thrust all thoughts of the pretenders from his mind. The only heir to Icarrion that was important was Astra. If necessary, he would kill the others to ensure her safety.