Written in the Stars: Chapter Eleven

He walked down the star ship ramp, his red-bay horse spirit walking with that customary rocking gait at his side, while his human’s fingers were buried in the wiry, black mane.

I almost always forget how much I hate space travel the horse, Peragrin, told his human as his knees wobbled slightly on reaching solid, stone earth.

Still, Timeless Imaginary is a wonderful ship, comforted the man and they took such special care for you.

This did not change Peragrin’s opinion in the least; he hated space, and was far more comfortable in the golden fields of Orhian. Quite frankly, so was the man.

Attendants had now swarmed over him, offering him food, papers, trying to take his coat. “Your Majesty, we’re so glad you’re safe! We were afraid-”

Mohain Borealis cut them off with a sweep of his hand, and his green eyes locked onto that of his best attendant. “Have you heard any word about Rei?” His voice was begging, his eyes were pleading.

The other man shook his head. “Nothing.”

“But…” another protested. “But…I thought His Lordship sent a message to the emperor?”

“I did,” replied Mohain, starting down the dark corridor again. “Several. All irate, demanding to know where she was, what they were doing with her, and that she be returned immediately.”

“Did His Majesty receive any response?”

King Mohain replied with a bitter laugh. “Oh yes. The first was used to deny having heard any such information. When I showed him proof of what he had done to…to my little girl,” Princess Rei was nearly nineteen, and despised being called “little girl,” but her father did it anyway, “he switched tactics; he said that it had been necessary to take the ship, and that they hadn’t known she was aboard.”

“The hell he didn’t,” someone in the crowd around him snarled.

“He then most politely said he’d do whatever he could to make sure she was returned safely, which means that he’ll file the event away, and Rei is stuck there until Spirits know when!” Angrily, he ripped his cloak off, hurling it to the floor, glaring at it, as though it had caused him these hurts. He ground it under his heels as he walked across it, and a servant scooped it up and carried it off to be cleaned.

“My Lord,” said his assistant, stepping up to Mohain’s side, “you look so tired. Please, will His Majesty rest now?”

He was tired. He’d been awakened by the sound of angry, hurt cries in the middle of the night, and an argument that was trying to be hushed outside his door; two officers were debating whether they should wake him in order to inform him of the disaster or not. They nearly jumped out of their skins when he’d opened the slider door and replied “He’s awake now, so you might as well tell him.”

Nervously, a lieutenant stuttered “My Lord Mohain…..Imperials….They’ve just…”

His comrade had to finish it for him: “They’ve just blown Riktoo to pieces.”

The king had to lean against the door frame for support; they’d only left Riktoo four hours ago. Had they delayed at all…..

They’d prepared to leave as soon as he’d heard about what those bastards had done to his daughter. They were probably interrogating her, or Spirits know what else, but if they had harmed one brown hair on her precious, perfect head, he’d rip them limb from limb, or die trying.

And what would your dying accomplish? Demanded Peragrin. It won’t save the girl, and it won’t help the rebels.

Peragrin was always full of wise advice.

“Soon,” promised King Mohain. “I’ll rest soon, Yreka, I swear.”

Mohain’s eyes began to wander across the dark hall, remembering all of the times he and Rei had rushed down it in the middle of the night. Sometimes when she was just a little girl. How could it be that his baby was all grown up now?

Grown up, and in danger, with him near powerless to help her.

The pain of the knowledge stabbed at his heart, and tears threatened to spring from his green eyes.

I failed you, Dama. I failed Rei, too. I promised that nothing would ever happen to her….

What a ridiculous think to promise, snorted Peragrin, flicking his tail and bobbing his head. The king scowled.

I wouldn’t object to a little comfort.

Since when have I ever coddled you?

Inwardly, King Mohain laughed. Never. You gave me tough love, had to keep me strong. And I thank you for it.

Tough love, but love all the same.

Mohain paused to stroke his horse’s velvet neck, planting a kiss on the white star between his eyes. They adored each other, as all spirits and humans do.

They exited the corridor, and entered the rest of the palace. Despite Yreka’s pleading, the king absolutely insisted that he would go to his study first. There was much to be done, including another fiery letter to Emperor Platus demanding his little girl back. He took the back entrance, the exit of which was a false book case, and was about to sit at his desk when he heard voices from behind the front door, where his secretary’s desk was.

Carefully, he crept to the pine door and opened it, to find his secretary glaring daggers at two men sitting across from him, one young, one old. The elder he identified immediately as Oran, and the younger….well, he looked almost like-

The young, blond boy had stood up, shouting angrily, while Oran calmly tried to advise him to sit back down. “Look,” he demanded. “We’re the only ones who can possibly save his daughter, and you won’t even let us see him?”

“I’m sorry, Knight Apprentice, but I have strict orders not to-”

“No, it’s alright, Zyhara, let them come in,” interrupted King Mohain, opening the door fully. Master Oran had stood, smiled, and bowed, while the boy, fish eyed, quickly copied his movements. “Ah, Master Oran, if you would come in alone, first, for a moment.”

The boy was quickly protesting. “Oh, but, sir, I’m the one who-”

“Loarn,” the old man interrupted, “you’re far too impetuous. I’m not going anywhere. His Majesty will talk to you in a moment, unless he has any objections?” He had now turned to look at Mohain, who was staring, puzzled, at the pair.

“You haven’t-” began the king, before he was quickly interrupted by Master Oran.

“Mohain, this is my apprentice, Loarn Pelhane.” Loarn did not bother to hide his shock at the fact that his master spoke to the king in such a relaxed way, and King Mohain was struggling to control his surprise at the name.

“I promise,” Mohain told the boy, “I’ll call you in a minute. I’m most anxious to listen to you. But at the moment, your master and I must speak of a…a private matter.”

“If it’s about the princess, then, sir, I-”

The old man cut the boy off again. “Loarn, what did I tell you about patience?” The Dragon Apprentice muttered something. “Whether it has anything to do with her or not is none of your concern. Now, just wait out here for a moment, will you?”

“Yes, Master,” whispered the boy, and Oran took his hand off his shoulder, entering the king’s study at his request.

…

King Mohain tossed a few sheets of paper, bound with the teal ribbon of Orhian, to Master Oran, who had seated himself in a chair inside the study.

“That’s the akashit that Platus sent me in response to my wind servant sent letters,” he said, turning his back to the old man as he began to read. Instead, he was gazing at a huge, painted portrait he’d had hung on the wall. Several like it decorated the palace walls, all of the same girl and her snowy white dove.

All of his Dama.

That one had been painted when she was fourteen, and he’d commissioned it at the age of twenty seven. Thirteen years separated them, and yet he still adored her. Now he was fifty. Had it really been twenty three years since Dama would watch him lovingly, confide to him her secrets, laugh at his terrible jokes?

Spirits, don’t let it be a day.

It was a lie, what they said about time and healing. The sore caused by Dama’s death was still as open, tender, and bloody as it had been seventeen years previous.

Still, said Peragrin It’s amazing she lasted a year, when Oran hadn’t thought she’d last a month.

That didn’t make a lick of difference to Mohain. A year was still not enough time to even begin to let her go. He’d known her for nineteen years. How could they expect him to let her go in twelve months? Impossible! Not his Dama!

“I’ve often wondered,” said Master Oran, rising and standing behind the king, “if you even have any pictures of Maret left.”

“How long have you been watching?” asked King Mohain, turning his head just enough to see the old man out of the corner of his eye.

“It is unimportant.”

Mohain dug his old, tired hand into his breast pocket, and drew out a small, golden locket, hanging off a platinum chain.

“I keep her here, next to my heart.” He didn’t open the locket, for the mere sight of Maret set Mohain close to tears. Finally, he turned entirely, and swallowed. “They took Maret from me. They took Dama from me. Stardust, Oran, please! Please don’t let them take Rei from me. She’s all that I have.”

Master Oran nodded slowly, his eyes glittering. “I know.” A moment’s pause: “You’ve replaced all of the pictures, haven’t you? Most of them, I knew, but I always thought-”

“Every single one is of Dama. I couldn’t lie to her about who…..” Mohain’s voice trailed off, and he looked back up at the picture wistfully.

“All the same, it would be dangerous if she knew everything.”

“Damn it, she doesn’t know a thing, and she’s in danger now!” The king tried to calm down, realizing that it wasn’t as if Oran had wanted this to happen. “My baby girl’s in danger,” he finished softly.

“I know.”

“That’s why you and the boy came, isn’t it? You’re going to bring her back to me?”

The old man paused a moment. “We’ll rescue her, but you and I both know that she’ll never fully come back. She’s started down her path from her first home, and is looking for her next.”

The king hid the locket and chain back inside his pocket, and closed a fist. “But she is my home! If she leaves me-”

“She’ll never really leave you. She loves you.”

“I know,” the weary man responded softly, before his voice gained strength again. “I didn’t want her to take this mission, to sneak the plans back. So many times I begged her not to go, but she’d never listen.” He paced about the office in a slight rage to hide his worry.

“Her spirit’s strong.”

“She’s stubborn, that’s what it is! She’s too much like her mother.”

“No,” corrected Oran. “I’d say more along the lines of her father.”

King Mohain stopped pacing and looked up, fixing Master Oran with a hard glare, but the Dragon Master did not even flinch, just watched the other evenly. Mohain decided it was better to smooth over the words, pretend they hadn’t been said, move on to a different topic.

“Speaking of which….That boy out there; So he’s really Pelhane’s son, is he?”

“Yes, he is really his son. His name is Loarn, and he is my apprentice.”

“So I gathered, by the tunic and all.” Finally, he took a seat behind the desk, sighing, rubbing his temples and eyes with his hands. “Should I send the emperor another letter?”

The old man drew his chair closer to the desk and sat down again. “If you want to. You realize by now it’s not going to actually do anything.”

“I knew that when I sent the first one. But….Spirits, I was just so worried. No, I was terrified! I couldn’t race to save my baby girl, I was powerless to help her….you don’t know how frightening that is, for a father.”

“I think I could take a guess at it,” he said evenly.

“Yes, well….You better bring that boy in here. No doubt he’s pacing about and wearing holes in my floors.”

“Knowing Loarn, it’s a fair estimate.” Oran rose and went to the door, opening just enough to allow his head to poke through. He said something unintelligible to Mohain’s ear, who was busy shuffling papers on his desk.

Remember, whispered Naka. Try not to look too eager.

But even when concentrating of the calming exercises Master Oran had taught him, he was having trouble keeping his excitement down. A king! Wow!

He came in, and bowed respectfully before being ushered into the chair. King Mohain got his first really good look at him, and was almost astounded. Yes, he was just like Gram, alright. The hair, the eyes, skinny, somewhat tall. Well, he could tell he was taller than Rei, at any rate, not that that was really saying much. Except for one thing: In those icy blue eyes there was no anger, no hate, no violence, no retribution, no betrayal. There was an expectancy, a slight amount of patience, a sense of awe, of adoration, of loyalty, of love. That wasn’t entirely fair. Gram had radiated love, too, on occasion. But only at-

“Go on, Loarn, say hello,” probed the old man.

Nervously, the boy said “Hello, Your Majesty.”

Even his voice was Gram’s.