“Return soon,” Nostik told Dierá. Tears were in the yellow-skinned, bug-eyed luven’s eyes. Dierá could not honestly say that she would miss the luven homeworld. In truth, sight of the luvens with their protruding eyes and thick thorax covered in long hair-like fur unsettled her more than that of the worst of the Drakón. She had to steel herself whenever Nostik touched her. But she knew in her heart she would miss Nostik. He was attentive, honest, and loyal, and that was as much as she could ask of anyone under the current circumstances.
On the far side of the expansive platform, Zanük marshaled great 1,000-member columns. Fhurjurin stood alongside Empyrjurin. Styrjurin with Monsjurin and Hylljurin. Notably missing were the sæjurin, as they were allied with the ageless.
G’rkyr watched the columns pass in review. His right hand was balled into a fist and pressed against the apex of his chest. He was clad in the ceremonial battle regalia of his enclave: a massive græsteel helm crowned with steel thorns, spiked armor with golden bands intertwined with blue chains, chain leggings trimmed in spikes and barbs, and græsteel boots of such fine steel weaves that they kissed the feet of the wearer.
Dierá looked on from the floating circle several chains away. Her pink chiffon dress floated on the breeze. She did not begrudge G’rkyr this honor. Regardless of whether G’rkyr ever convinced Nük T’nyr to assault Cyvair openly, the support of the Jurin armies was vital to her plans. The many decisive victories under G’rkyr’s command in this remote place meant something to Jurin who esteemed strength, decisiveness, and success above all else. In G’rkyr’s absence, Zanük would serve as adjunct commander. The ceremony marked the change of command.
In each column, two Empyrjurin were marked with blue. After passing in review, these members of the columns broke ranks and formed up to G’rkyr’s left. These few were Morkurhedwa—a chosen few who had vowed to become a living testament to their appellation. Among Empyrjurin, becoming Morkurhedwa was a great honor.
Members of the twelve and twenty clans contested for the right to become the blessed death. Memories of bloody matches still haunted Dierá’s dreams at times, for G’rkyr had not only to contest, but to become a chosen one among the chosen few. The selection distinguished him and gave him back his life for the greater good of the clans. Nük T’nyr himself had come, direct from the Siege of R’hamtil, to congratulate his son. The occasion had been seen by those who served G’rkyr as an honor even greater than the selection as Morkurhedwa Praefect itself.
Nostik’s touch on her arm pulled Dierá from her thoughts. The scent of him suddenly was honey sweet. Dierá felt uneasy, almost queasy. She forced herself to focus. She turned her head, saw Nostik as if through a thin veil. The bug-eyed luven was luminous, bathed in a sudden penetrating florescence.
“Be calm,” Nostik said. “I’ve scented you. It will become a part of you now so that other luven forever will see you as I see you. Before your arrival, the Jurin dealt fists. Since your arrival, hands. It matters to me not whether this was because of you or because of your presence. You are a friend, Dierá, and I want all luven to know this. In the face of the cleansing that comes, it is the only gift I can offer for kindness.”
Dierá found herself at a loss for words. She praised Nostik as best as she could, given her limited ability to focus. Nostik directed the circle back to the palace grounds and docked on the second level balcony nearest to Dierá’s rooms. He led her to a large couch upholstered in golden silk and threaded with what looked like the visages of great birds of prey but was in fact a swarm of luven.
“Sit,” he told her. “The effects will wear off soon. This bonding protects as well. No other luven can effervesce you now.”
Dierá lounged quietly for nearly a toll. G’rkyr’s return aroused her. She helped him remove his armor. The helmet alone looked like it should weigh as much as she but was surprisingly light, as were all the pieces of the ceremonial regalia. Jurin craftsmanship with græsteel was as close as she had ever seen to Alvish with lithsteel.
“It is nearly done,” G’rkyr said as Dierá worked around him.
Dierá looked up at him while working free his left boot. “It has only just begun.” Her tone made it seem a scolding, but she had meant it to come out otherwise. She had meant it to be a show of strength. A show of her resolve.
“A hundred Morkurhedwa would break this world if asked. If asked they would strike Cyvair though all the armies of the Hundred Worlds would fall upon them.”
“I did not question resolve—” Dierá started to say, but she did not want to argue. She decided to pleasure him instead. Today was a day of celebration; she wanted it to be joyous. One way sealed it. When he finished, she helped him dress, choosing a shirt and half pants, both of heavy cloth lined with thick fur.
A short walk to the greeting hall followed. Their movements at times like these were a careful dance. Five of Dierá’s small steps to one of G’rkyr’s great ones. Her haste to his saunter.
Zanük entered unannounced a few tocks later. He was clad informally in blue and yellow cloths. The look was a stark contrast to the official uniforms Dierá always had seen him in before. She guessed the clothes marked something she did not understand.
“Brother,” Zanük and G’rkyr shouted at nearly the same time. The two embraced as only Jurin could, smashing heads, locking arms around backs and lifting first one and then the other off his feet. Dierá, as ever, imagined two mammoth bears coming together, locking paws and jaws. Both were in high spirits. The command transfer had gone smoothly without the usual grumblings and opposition.
Jdes, the enclave’s Scarabaeid Praefect, entered next. Jdes was the right hand of Kurl’k. He saw with Nük T’nyr’s eyes. Anything he saw or knew, Nük T’nyr saw and knew.
Dierá quietly moved several steps back and to G’rkyr’s left so she was hidden partially behind G’rkyr and almost out of view. The position was one of highest deference. Alvs were a people conquered by Jurin. The conquered served or were unseen. She had no formal function at this moment, and so she must be unseen. It would not always be so, and she knew this.
“They honor you,” Jdes said loudly. Dierá did not know what the other was talking about until G’rkyr, Zanük, and Jdes moved to the far end of the hall and Jdes opened the great windows. Dierá knew then that it was a blooding from the sounds of wailing and the pungent smell of burning flesh, ash, and copper.
Jdes clasped G’rkyr’s shoulder on one side and Zanük’s on the other. “We feast,” he said as he crashed himself and the other two through the windows and rode a bridge of power with them to the platform below.
Dierá ran from the room, frantic. She rushed first to Nostik’s quarters. Finding his room empty, she hurried to the servant’s wing. She need not have hurried. All the rooms were empty, even those for the youngest luven. She saw their faces; heard their lyrical music. Her heart bled. In one of the windows that faced west by northwest, she saw them then, the great piles of the burning. She had kept this reality as far from her thoughts as possible.
G’rkyr had told her once that armies marched on their stomachs as much as on their boots. She had known the luven had many purposes. Their moderate intellect and easy mannerisms made them good servants if poor soldiers. Their hive mentality and ability to breed swarms made them good food sources if at times too abundant.
She walked at a sedated pace back to her rooms, crawled onto the couch of golden threads and cried herself to sleep. She did not dream, but she did awake to something unexpected. It was Takhbarre, who came of his own volition. How long he watched her she did not know, but she did know that in however long it was he could have killed her and had chosen not to. There were no servants to announce or track his comings and goings. Jurin and all others were occupied elsewhere in feasting and festivities.
Takhbarre said, “Only Empyrjurin feast like that before conflict. It supposes triumph before that triumph is earned.”
Dierá assumed the barb was for her benefit, but its hearing did not please her. She wiped the wetness from her cheeks as she sat up. She focused herself on Élvemere and the rebirth of her people, became again a queen of queens. “You could have taken your freedom just now.”
Takhbarre made a soft mournful sound. “Athania Dierá Steorra, you think you are at your best when you take on regal airs yet it is quite the opposite. To be the thing you want to be you must cast back the walls.”
“I think I’ve opened myself to you quite enough,” Dierá said. “You are not my ally, so don’t pretend to play the part of one.”
“Likely you’ll never know what part I play,” Takhbarre said half to himself. “I’m not here as outlet to your pain. Rather, to tell you of new whispers. It is time. You must begin.”
“And I’m to—”
“In The Abundance, there is discord. To wait until the morning would be too late.”
“And I should what? Interrupt the festivities of G’rkyr, Zanük, Jdes, and the whole of the Morkurhedwa?”
He said aloud, “A queen of queens would,” while whispering to her in thought. Isn’t that the thing you most want to be?
Dierá fled the sitting room, going to her bedchamber and closing the double doors behind her. Her haste was not because she trusted the Prince of Praxix, but rather because she could not be certain he was not telling the truth. Perhaps he had looked into the Path and seen their victory. Just as easily, though, he could have seen their defeat. Either way, a decision was needed.
She changed out of her finery and into the servant’s garb that was laid out for the morning. The two gold armbands she slipped up her right arm to her bicep told of her service in an important house. The red armband that followed told that she was the head of that household service. The final black armband gave her free passage in the slaveways and limited passage beyond.
G’rkyr’s garb as personal champion and protector was more tenuous. Few Drakón kept Jurin servants even before the Hundred Worlds War began. Fewer still did now, primarily only those who served in posts where Jurin assaults were common. Dierá did not fully understand the reasoning behind it, but it was what it was. More important was the fact that Praxix was not one of those posts. Takhbarre had never before kept Jurin.
In choosing the guises, Dierá had asked the prince many pointed questions. All the answers pointed to the choices she had made. There was no time now for second guesses. Action was needed. She swept up G’rkyr’s things, rushed from the room.
The halls were empty. She took the grand stairs, raced outside to the review platform.
She hurried past the dwindling piles of roast luven. She was disgusted, but resolved. Her focus was on what she must do.
G’rkyr, Zanük, and Jdes were inside one of the hastily erected pavilions feasting and drinking. Empyrjurin did not drink strong spirits before battle; they left that vice to those they conquered. Their drink was watered and mostly of a fiery substance that helped their eum flow. Eum was the wellspring of their power. It gave them fire and strength.
Dierá bowed and kneeled when she came to stand before G’rkyr. She did not speak, nor did she look at him. Instead, she held out the clothes as if to remind him that it was time. She meant the gesture as one to steal him away quietly. G’rkyr, not one to understand subtlety truly, stood abruptly, upsetting the table and knocking over his chair in the process.
Eyes that had not seen Dierá’s entrance now did. It was Zanük who came to her aid, sweeping her up and pulling G’rkyr away before Jdes could say anything. Outside beyond the pavilions and fires, Zanük set Dierá down. G’rkyr spoke first. “The luven,” he said, “I know it upsets you. The razing is custom. None now can speak our secrets. I told you of the luven’s purpose. The hive will be reborn. It is the way, and even Nostik will be Nostik once more, though he will not know all things of this life.”
G’rkyr’s words were as close to apology as his nature allowed. Dierá looked beyond Zanük and G’rkyr and saw plenty who could give away secrets. She started to throw her anger at him, thought better of it. She had not come to argue. “That Praxin says we must go now. That morning will be too late.”
Both Zanük and G’rkyr knew Dierá referred to Takhbarre. It was understood. She did not say his name because of the perceived power it gave him. Zanük and G’rkyr asked the same question at the same time, “You trust him in this?”
Dierá could not honestly say that she did, but waiting until morning seemed more wrong than acting now. “I trust only that we must do something now. Either he has seen our destruction or our salvation. Moving now seems to be the right choice. Waiting seems more wrong.”
“We move,” G’rkyr said without hesitation, raising a fist to show his resolve.
Zanük showed that he concurred by raising a fist to his brother’s. Within a half toll, the Morkurhedwa were formed up and waiting. They were one hundred strong, dressed in black steel and blue helms. Dierá stood beside Takhbarre. Zanük and G’rkyr said wordless goodbyes, clasping shoulders and thumping fists. Jdes opened a way portal for them, pulling the power from the earth at their feet and wrapping it with precision until the way opened.
The Morkurhedwa poured into the gate, fought their way out the other side, and then secured the area as needed. G’rkyr, Dierá, and Takhbarre followed. Jdes was last. He rode the final weaving of power out of the gate as the way closed behind them.
The first transition point was Ferfothin, a Trykathian world. G’rkyr expected little resistance. It seemed to Dierá that was what the Morkurhedwa found. Six transitions remained.