Prologue
“Is that one still alive? Drag him over here.”
Shoen watched, stone-faced, as two of his fighters dragged the limp Gate Cleric over and dropped him into a pile at his feet. He looked down at the pathetic man in disgust, sneering at his robes of office. He kneeled and rolled the man over to see the cleric’s eyes squeezed shut in fear and his lips pressed into a thin line.
“The codes,” Shoen said softly. “Give them to me. Now.”
“I will die first!”
“Yes. You will die. That is something no longer in your control. What you can control is how that happens…quickly and without pain, or in agony as your fellows did.”
“You…animals!” the cleric hissed.
“Animals?” Shoen chuckled humorlessly. “I hardly think so. We simply refuse to live under the boot heel of tyrants. Our methods are borne of necessity, not cruelty.”
“You can call yourselves whatever you—”
“This is not a negotiation, Cleric. The codes…or you die screaming.” Shoen stood. “Your family is on the planet below, are they not?”
The Gate Cleric froze, the color draining from his face. He trembled as he pulled a ring off his left hand and gave it to Shoen.
“There,” he whispered. “It’s all there. But it won’t do you any good! This Gate hasn’t been active for centuries! We’re simply caretakers here. All the primary systems are dormant.”
Shoen ignored him and inspected the ring. It was an ostentatious piece like all the other adornments the clerics of the Osterias Society honored themselves with. It was a clever way to hide something as precious as the command-and-control authentication for a Gate. He had assumed one of the clerics would be hiding the codes on their person, possibly all of them were now that he knew what to look for.
“Coded?” Shoen asked.
“To my DNA,” the cleric confirmed.
“Of course, it is,” Shoen said, handing the ring back. “Put it back on.”
He motioned to one of his men and pointed at the ring. The masked fighter nodded his understanding and knelt by the cleric, inspecting the ring before producing a powered molecular-edge blade.
“It is not that simple,” the cleric said.
“You would be wise to make it simple,” Shoen said. “Your life is not the only one hanging in the balance right now.”
“The hand cannot be removed,” the cleric said. “The artifact will know.”
The cleric wordlessly took the thumb of his opposite hand and pressed it onto the face of the ring, rotating it a quarter turn clockwise, and then back and then reached up, touching it to the console. The displays lit up immediately, and full access was granted.
“Transfer initialized,” one of Shoen’s men said from another terminal. “Twenty seconds, sir.”
“My…my family…” the cleric muttered.
“Is safe,” Shoen said. “You have my word.”
“Transfer complete,” the fighter said, pulling the lead out of the console.
“Return to the ship and tell the pilot to prepare for departure,” Shoen said. After his crew left, he knelt in front of the cleric again. “I take no pleasure in this. You are very likely a decent man doing what you think is an important, honorable job.”
“Then, why do this?” the cleric whispered.
“There can be no witnesses. I know this won’t make you feel better, but you are simply a victim of circumstance. A cog in a machine that has been running so long that we no longer even notice its existence. But it’s a machine that is holding us back…and it must be destroyed.”
“I-I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”
“I know.” Shoen smiled sadly, then raised his weapon and shot the cleric through the chest. It was over so quickly that the man likely didn’t fully realize he had been shot before he died.
“I know you don’t,” Shoen repeated. “But this is the way it must be, nonetheless. You will be remembered as a martyr when the new histories are written.”
He didn’t see that one of the technicians behind him had sat up. Shoen assumed that they had all been killed during the initial boarding. The wounded man pulled a long, thin field probe from a tool kit that had fallen on the floor and lunged with the remnants of his fading strength.
Shoen sucked in a breath, feeling a pinch. He looked down and saw an alloy rod with a sharpened end sticking from his chest. It was so sharp he had barely felt it enter, but he could see that it had almost certainly pierced his heart. An icy pain spread along his back and his vision darkened at the edges as he collapsed onto his side.
“Shoen!” one of his men shouted, running over.
Shoen looked down and saw that blood now pumped freely from his chest. He would be dead soon.
“Give…this…to Rohn,” he said, lifting a shaking hand and putting the Gate Cleric’s ring in his partner’s hand. “Tell him…” As the last motes of light faded from Shoen’s vision, and he could feel the edges of the veil closing in, he wasn’t certain if he’d finished his sentence or not.
Chapter 1
“You know that you cannot sneak up on me.”
“I was not trying to, Adran. I was simply coming to say goodbye to my son.”
Adran Eado turned and smiled as his mother came up the path that led to the overlook. It was a stunning spot on a cliff overlooking the South Sea, the one spot where Adran could come to be alone and think when he was home.
The cold, dry, Tradus air filled his lungs.
His world was a harsh one. Rocky terrain, cold climate, exceedingly so in some regions. Sparse fresh water on the surface. The brutal, unforgiving climate of Tradus was reflected in her people and the cities they built. Tradusians were rugged and resourceful, forging a society that was as hard and unyielding as the stone under their feet.
“I would have come down and visited with you before I departed, Mother,” he said. “I wish I could have stayed longer.”
His mother didn’t answer. They both knew he was lying. She smiled sadly and reached out for his hand, holding it tightly as they looked out over the roiling sea. A powerful storm had just moved through the previous night, and the air was sharp and clear, the haze from the northern foundries that helped give Tradus its power was blessedly absent.
“Lady Eado,” a liveried servant said as he jogged up the path. “My apologies for the intrusion, but Lord Xavis requests Adran’s presence.”
“Please inform Lord Xavis that I will be there at once,” Adran said. The servant gave a short bow and ran back the way he’d come.
“I would take it as a kindness if you would find some way to make peace with him,” Seliah said.
“I will try, but it is ultimately not up to me,” Adran said. It was a conversation they’d had often. His mother was an eternal optimist and thought that there was nothing that could not be fixed, and he didn’t have it in his heart to take that from her.
“I can ask for no more.”
They turned together, and Adran looked over the expansive compound that had been his childhood home.
Wingskeep.
The stone fortress was the ancestral birthright of his family. In modern times, it was the seat of power on Tradus. Dark and forbidding, it held few happy memories for Adran. He may have been born and raised there, but he would be glad to leave it behind once and for all.
****
“My father summoned you?”
Adran turned and gave Armanis Eado a blank stare, not giving the eldest son and heir apparent to House Eado the satisfaction of seeing him provoked.
Like most men of the northern regions, Adran had pale skin and dark hair, as did his brothers. While he was away, he had grown both in height and bulk. He was no longer intimidated by an older brother who used to tower over him.
“Were you not?” he asked. Armanis sat in a well-appointed antechamber with a handful of ministers and lesser administrators waiting for an audience with Lord Xavis Eado. When Adran walked in, he was told he would be announced at once and to remain standing and ready.
“Lord Xavis will see you now,” the attendant said, holding out his hand expectantly. Adran lifted his hands.
“I am unarmed in my father’s house,” he said. “But feel free to check.”
“That will be unnecessary, Sir Adran. Please proceed.”
Adran walked between the two soldiers flanking the heavy wooden doors and into the inner sanctum of Xavis Eado. In recent years, he’d heard his father rarely ventured from the opulent office suite, even taking to sleeping on the sofas and having his meals brought to him.
The suite was a stunning fusion of old-world elegance and modern technology but, to Adran’s eyes, it just looked old. Old and worn, just like so much of the rest of Tradus. House Eado had been the controlling family on the planet for over five centuries but under Xavis II, the economy of Tradus struggled. Decades of unfavorable treaties and a decline in contracts left Tradus falling behind.
The planet’s main export was weapons, but for that to be profitable there had to be a war. Since the Second Reconciliation three hundred years prior, the Imperium remained unified without so much as a regional skirmish to boost sales.
As he absently stared at the large relief of House Eado’s crest, his Sight flared to life. He gasped as the probability lines stretched out in front of him, reaching farther than they ever had before. Farther than he ever thought possible. Dangerously far. There were six distinct futures coalescing around House Eado. Five of those ended in ruin. He blinked and shook his head, breathing heavily and feeling the prickle of sweat on his back despite the coolness of the room.
“Still having trouble with control, I see,” a deep voice said from behind him.
“It will sometimes come upon me unasked when the probabilities vary greatly or there is an emotional bond with the subject I’m observing,” Adran said, turning and bowing at the waist. “It is good to see you again, Lord Xavis.”
“I remember when you used to call me father,” Xavis said wearily as he walked back to his desk.
“It would not be appropriate to continue with that deception, My Lord,” Adran said stiffly.
“And what is that supposed to mean?” Xavis asked irritably.
“It means I fully understand my place in this family, sir.” Adran waved his hand in front of him. “I also understand your feelings on the matter. Now that my training is complete, the order will ensure that I am no longer around to make you and your real sons…uncomfortable.”
“Adran,” Xavis sighed, leaning back, and rubbing his eyes. “Adran, I thought we had settled this long ago before you left for training. The nature of your conception…the attack on your mother…it was a lot to digest. When she decided she was keeping you, I was conflicted…and angry. So very angry. I took it out on you in ways I’m deeply ashamed of. You should never have had to carry that burden. You shouldn’t have even known about it. I know I’m not your real father, and I likely gave up the right to that forever, but I am proud of you.”
“Of course, sir,” Adran said. “I apologize if I seem…ungrateful.”
“You can think what you want of me, son, but please give Seliah the gift of pretending you don’t despise me,” Xavis said. “Now, on to the real reason you are here. You will be going to Thuna to represent Tradus during the Reconciliation Day festivities.”
“I am honored, sir, and I will certainly be there with Corvin and Armanis when they present—”
“Your brothers are not going. You will be the only family member of House Eado attending, Adran. Things are happening right now, shifting below the surface. I can’t have those two bumbling drunks on the loose wreaking havoc at official state functions. They cannot be trusted to put their duty ahead of their own desires. You can.”
Adran didn’t know what to say. Xavis had never spoken an ill word about his other children before. He certainly hadn’t called them bumbling drunks out loud, no matter how true that might be.
“I am not trained in matters of state, My Lord,” he said carefully. “Not to mention the conflict of interest as I will be there as a member of my order.”
“You will not be asked to violate your oath as a Knight Eternal,” Xavis assured him. “And you won’t be alone. All the usual ministers and administrators will be accompanying you, but you will be the only member of the family in attendance.”
“Why aren’t you going yourself, if I may ask?” Adran asked.
“You may,” Xavis said. “It’s not a time for me to be leaving Tradus. House Eado has ruled for centuries, but that time has not been without challenges to our authority. The other great houses are always looking for an exploitable moment.”
“I understand, sir,” Adran said, keeping his voice and face expressionless. It didn’t fool Xavis. He narrowed his eyes and cocked his head as he stared at his son.
“You saw something,” he whispered. “Tell me. What will happen to me? To us?”
“I can’t predict the future,” Adran said, shaking his head as he mentally prepared himself for a repeat of the same argument he’d had with his father for years. “That just isn’t how Sight works. I can see multiple probabilities at once but, even then, it’s not with a level of accuracy that could be called a prediction. The farther out I see, the less accurate it is.”
“Would you even tell me if you did?” Xavis asked. Adran paused. His father knew that his oath as a Knight Eternal prevented him from using his Sight to provide aid or advantage to his homeworld. It was one of their most strictly enforced commandments.
“I would not,” Adran said. Xavis just nodded.
“And I suppose I would think less of you if you did,” he said. “I should not have let my desperation push me to asking that you violate your oath, my son. Please accept my apology.”
“What is it you wish me to accomplish on Thuna?” Adran asked, wanting to put the uncomfortable interaction behind them.
“You will find out the specifics when you get there,” Xavis said. “I plan on steering Tradus into new industries. I’m sure you can understand why. The profitability in heavy weapons and warships has been in steady decline for longer than I’ve been alive, but the curve is steepening.”
“The Upper Council will not like that,” Adran said. “You will face strong opposition.”
“Does your Sight tell you this?” Xavis said with a half-smile.
“Just common sense, My Lord.”
“Of course,” Xavis said, turning away from Adran and looking out the windows. “You may leave, son. Please send Armanis in on your way out. I will have to break it to him that he won’t be going to Reconciliation Day at the capital to embarrass our house this year, as is his annual tradition.”
Adran left his father’s office, waving his brother in without a word. He’d only been back on Tradus for two days. That was just enough time to shake off a nasty bout of Gate Transition Syndrome that left him bedridden the first day from vertigo and headaches. Even now, the faint metallic aftertaste of the Gate still lingered at the back of his throat, a reminder that no matter how many times he stepped through, his body never quite forgave the journey.
Now, he was heading right back through Tradus Alpha Gate on his way to Thuna, the capital world of the Imperium…and back to everything he hated.
Chapter 2
“Sir Knight.”
Adran nodded to the attendant but said nothing. It was a sweltering summer day in Antwaran Square. The capital world, Thuna, had a warm climate compared to Tradus, and the light shone with more of a reddish hue compared to his homeworld’s cool blue. The Reconciliation Day festivities had evolved over the years so that it was an entire week that shut down Capital City, culminating in the last-day festival at Antwaran Square.
Walking through the crowd was an exercise in patience. The hot, fetid air from so many bodies crammed into a limited space made breathing torturous. On Tradus, the wind off the sea would have cut through the heat; here, it only stirred the smell of sweat, spiced street food, and too many perfumes fighting for dominance.
Adran’s heavy black uniform, despite its active cooling, still clung damply in places. He kept his shoulders squared and his stride measured, letting the fear and respect his order commanded do the work of parting the sea of humanity. Yet, he still felt crushed as he made his way across the square.
“The lift is coming down now, sir,” the attendant said.
“My thanks,” Adran said, looking out over the crowd.
A moment later, the lift car softly landed on the platform and the doors slid open with a hiss. Adran waited for a pair of inebriated, giggling women to clear the car before getting in and spinning his finger in the air to indicate he was ready to go up. The doors hissed closed, and there was a thrum as the car climbed up to the VIP platform that was forty meters above the square.
There were twenty-six luxury viewing platforms temporarily set up on towers around the square for the Reconciliation Day event and people spent considerable political capital and currency to secure a spot on one. Having a reserved spot on a VIP platform was a status symbol one would brag about, usually having worked years to get it. As a Knight Eternal and a member of House Eado, Adran had his pick of twelve different platforms he could observe the proceedings from.
“Sir Adran Eado, you honor us with your presence.”
“Minister Avitz, a pleasure to see you again,” Adran said, shaking the hand of the man who was head of the Tradus mission on Thuna. He oversaw all the official diplomatic affairs as well as vital commercial interests for Tradus firms wanting to secure contracts with the Imperium or other worlds. All of it was negotiated on Thuna, which meant all of it filtered through Avitz’s office.
“How is your father?”
“He is sorry he could not attend personally,” Adran said, breathing in deeply of the cool, filtered air on the platform. It boasted a contained environmental system that was kept in place with electrostatic barriers.
He rarely gave any thought to luxuries his position afforded him as he’d grown up surrounded by opulence. On days like this, however, he had to admit to himself it was rather nice. The cool, filtered air kissed the sweat on the back of his neck. Below, the square still shimmered with heat haze; up here the electrostatic barriers kept even the sound of the crowd at a polite distance. It felt like stepping from one world into another.
“Of course. Please…enjoy yourself,” Avitz said. “Hospitality is to your left, and the view out from under the canopy is quite breathtaking.”
“Thank you.”
Adran didn’t drink nor was he hungry after his trek through the heat, so he skipped the catering tables and the bar. He nodded politely to those who acknowledged him and stepped out from under the canopy and walked down the shallow flight of steps to the observation platform. At the rail, he had his first unobstructed view of the square and it took his breath away. The sheer volume of humanity packed into one area was incredible. Antwaran Square, named for the final, decisive battle of the Second Reconciliation, was surrounded by statues of the battle’s heroes towering fifty meters above the square. Each was captured in a way that imparted a sense of resolve and strength, all of them beautiful in a way that they certainly could not have been in real life.
Among the statues was something that surprised Adran: Titans. The giant, bipedal machines of war towered over them like forgotten gods of war, weapons bristling, hulls still scarred from battles the Imperium pretended no longer happened.
Never an especially effective weapon on the battlefield, not fitting in to any sort of strategic doctrine, they existed to instill terror and hopelessness in the people they were unleashed upon. It felt obscene to have them there, looming over the crowd as they celebrated.
Movement from one of the Titans caught his eye, and he looked to his left, recognizing Blade Keeper, one of only two Titans left in service to Tradus. He couldn’t remember who the pilot was, but they apparently recognized him. Blade Keeper’s head had turned to look directly at him across the square, nodding to him. He returned the nod, and as he gazed upon the crest of House Eado on the Titan’s left shoulder, his Sight moved to the forefront, but none of the probability lines would reveal themselves. It was just blurry motion that made him nauseous.
“A drink, sir?” a server asked.
Before Adran could answer, his Sight flared, and he clearly saw four distinct probability lines, all of them ending in carnage and death…and it would happen in the square. Soon.
“Sir?”
“Silence!” he hissed, bending all his concentration into forcing the strongest probability line from the background noise. The threads were tantalizingly just beyond his reach…and then they were gone.
“Sir?” the server asked again nervously.
“I am fine, thank you,” Adran said to her, turning to walk back to the lifts. He was required to make an appearance, and he had done that. He had no intention of standing around all day watching dignitaries become more and more intoxicated as they waited for the evening’s entertainment.
Adran had just stepped up off the observation platform when an explosion ripped through the square. The tower swayed and people screamed, losing their balance as the active stabilizers stepped in and locked the platform back into position. He picked his way through the wailing partygoers and made it to the lift just as Avitz did.
“Never a dull moment in the Capital,” he said.
“You seem rather calm about the whole thing, Minister,” Adran said. He’d meant it as a compliment, though it oddly came out sounding like an accusation. Avitz just smiled.
“You’ll learn more at our meeting, Sir Knight,” he said. “The eyes of the entire Imperium are upon us during Reconciliation Day but these attacks are something we’ve been forced to live with for some time. It’s simply been kept quiet and handled locally.”
Adran thought about that on the ride down to the street level. He’d spent the last four years of his life on Thuna, but at a remote site on a different continent. The Capital and the surrounding boroughs were an entirely different world despite being on the same planet. It didn’t help that during the Forging his access to communications and media were tightly controlled. It was plausible that there had been a rash of terrorist attacks on Thuna that his preceptors would have kept hidden from him.
He’d felt the Call to Sight very young, and thanks to his father’s high station, the finest specialists were brought in to identify it rather than it being dismissed as mental illness. After growing up on Tradus as an unwanted and ostracized burden, he’d been brought to Thuna to begin his training. After four grueling years, he had finally taken his place among the Knights Eternal, an order of sentinels with the power of foresight who had protected the Imperium of Light for millennia.
“I assume you have an escape method nearby?” Adran asked.
“Of course, Sir Knight,” Avitz said. “The building this tower is anchored to has access to a private sub-level tram. It runs all the way back to Embassy Row. I would offer you a ride, but I’m certain you are about to wade out into the chaos.”
“It is my job.”
“Is it? To be fair, sir, I’ve never been entirely sure what your job is. By that, I mean that of your order. You seem to fit neatly outside all the normal chains of command.”
Adran gave Avitz a warning look and turned away.
“I would not say such things in front of the wrong people. Especially here in this city,” he said as the lift slowed to a stop. “I will call on you when I am ready for our meeting.”
“You’ve changed, Adran,” Avitz said as Adran walked out of the lift. “More than you probably realize.”
Adran stopped but didn’t look back.
“You knew a child, Minister Avitz,” he said. “Heed what I said.”
Avitz wisely remained silent as Adran made his way quickly to the front of the building. He could see the chaos through the tinted glass as people screamed and fled in any direction they could. His Sight remained quiet as he looked out over the scene, trying to decide how best he could be of service. He wasn’t considered law enforcement or even military, but the public still looked to his order in situations like this, believing them to have powers of clairvoyance that would be used to protect them from further harm. The truth was a bit more complicated and mundane than all that.
Clearing his mind, he reached inside his outer garment where the controls were and selected combat mode. The flowing black cloak shrunk and pulled tight, stiffening up over vital areas and forming soft armor. The same thing happened to the loose leggings to protect his knees and shins while providing greater mobility. The last thing were the hex-swarms that flowed out from concealed compartments and assembled themselves into the familiar crimson red helmet and black armor of the Knights Eternal. He gripped the sword at his left hip and the sidearm on his right and walked out into the maelstrom.
****
“Make way! Make way for a Knight!”
Captain Kuris of the Capital Peacekeepers looked up in annoyance in the direction of the commotion. Sure enough, a Knight Eternal strode toward him as the crowd parted around him. The sun glinted off his red helmet, and he walked with a forceful gait.
“My Lord Knight,” he said loudly. “How may I serve?”
Kuris had only seen a real Knight Eternal a handful of times despite living in the Capital the entirety of his life. His political leanings were such that he didn’t like them, thought they were an unnecessary anachronism, but he wasn’t foolish enough to openly disrespect one. He wasn’t sure he believed all the stories about their powers of precognition, but they were fierce fighters and enjoyed the favor of the crown.
“I am here to be of service to you, Captain,” the knight said, his voice harsh through the helmet. “What might I be of assistance with?”
Kuris blinked at that.
“To be honest, Lord Knight, if you can stand there and appear intimidating, it would help keep the crowd back,” he said. “Everything is choked up, and we’re trying to evacuate them as quickly as we can, but it’s slow going.”
“How bad was it?”
“Four dead, which is astonishing given the power of the explosive used. It was in one of the service vehicles, and the blast was directed upward. Two of the four that died were elderly and expired due to shock.”
“May I see the remains of the vehicle?” the Knight asked. Again…a request, not a demand. Kuris relaxed, a glimmer of hope shining through that the black and red figure wasn’t going to make his life more difficult.
“Of course, sir,” Kuris said.
The Knight inclined his head and strode off, slipping under the cordon. Kuris watched as he slipped gracefully through the emergency responders, viewing the charred and smoking remains of the automated vehicle from multiple angles. After a few minutes, he walked back.
“This was not an attack that was meant to kill anybody,” he said.
“You can tell that from looking at the wreckage for a few seconds?” Kuris asked. “Sir?”
“Yes,” the Knight stated.
“May I ask—”
Kuris couldn’t complete his sentence. The Knight lunged forward and grabbed him, pulling him off his feet and putting him onto the ground. As he hit the ground, he looked over in time to see three projectiles slam into the pavement right where he’d been standing.
As he realized the Knight had just saved his life, he heard the screaming start again as a fresh wave of panic rushed through the crowd.
****
The man in a light brown suit and white, wide-brimmed hat lowered the optics, rubbing the sweat from his eyes as he contemplated what he had just watched.
“Well?” his companion asked. He looked at her and held up a finger for silence as he motioned for the others with him to begin packing up their gear.
“Tell him that his fears were founded,” the man said. “This Knight indeed has the gift of Sight. It appears to be of sufficient power to be a problem.”
“He will not be happy,” the woman said. “We lost two skilled operatives in your little test.”
“They were an expendable resource given to me to use as I saw fit,” the man said. “I was tasked with finding out how credible the reports were about this Knight of House Eado. Now we know, and plans will need to be altered.”
“It’s possible you gave too much away already. That bomb can be traced back to us.”
“Unlikely. We were careful in contracting its construction. I needed to make it real enough to trigger a Sight vision. He will be happy I succeeded.” “I doubt he will be happy about any of this. Not at all.”