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40: The Outcast
The night began to fall over the wilderness just outside Rapha'owr. Desslok's host scattered, breaking up into their chosen groups.
Garen, Dara, and Constance crept through the darkness, keeping up with each other as best as they could. Garen and Dara moved much faster than Constance did – due to their experience in the field, which Constance lacked. But, the young woman held her own rather well for a while, all things considered.
The journey was silent, bordering on awkward more than once, but they pressed on, no one really saying much of anything the entire way.
The initial scaling of the cliff that descended into the gigantic valley in which the capitol now rested was one of the most challenging things of the entire trip. Garen began the climb, testing hand and foot holds as he went and guiding Dara and Constance down the precipice. Many of the other groups found their own routes down the cliff face, and a couple even followed Garen's route not long after the threesome had made it to the ground.
The hours passed slowly and quickly all at once and soon the effort proved too much for Constance and she had to stop.
"Go on without me." the young woman urged her mother and Garen.
"I'm not leaving you here by yourself!" her mother whispered loudly. "It's not safe for you to be out here alone."
"But you have to make it to the capitol before dawn." Constance insisted. "You're part of the fighting force... I'm not. Go on." she shooed the older adults away as she sat down heavily on a thick log her energy from the day before now gone.
Dara and Garen looked at each other for a long moment – probably the longest communication they'd had for a while now. Having made a decision, the two nodded to one anther before Dara looked back at her daughter and said, "Garen will go; I will stay with you."
"But – " Constance began, but was cut off by her mother.
"No, Constance. There will be no discussion on this. It's the safest way. You can't go on at this pace, and Garen must. The army will live without me, but they need him there."
Constance looked down at the ground, though she couldn't quite make out too many details in the darkness, then she nodded reluctantly, a bit ashamed that she had been the one to let her mother and friend down.
Dara laid a hand on her daughter's slumped shoulder. "It'll be alright. We've all come too far for this to fail now."
Constance nodded again, still looking at the dirt and listened as Garen's running steps echoed in the darkness, heading away from her and her mother as quickly as he could go, Rapha'owr his steadfast goal.
"No! I'm not leaving you alone." Dommel said to his wife. "We're in the middle of a wilderness; anything could happen out here."
"And that's why we have David with us." Elisa replied, gesturing to her brother-in-law "We'll be alright, Dommel."
"I told you, I'm not –" A knowing look from Elisa stopped him mid-sentence.
"You have to be there when the sun rises. There is no question about that. So go." She gave him a gentle push in the direction of Rapha'owr. "I know how much you want to keep us with you, but that isn't possible. The climb took almost everything out of Deror and we can only carry him so far. It's up to you to get to the capitol now. The lives of everyone depend on as many of us as possible getting to the city by day-break." she stepped away from Dommel, "Go on now. Go!"
With a look of uncertainty, Dommel glanced from his wife, to his brother – who now carried an exhausted Deror – and then on ahead into the darkness.
After a long silence, Dommel nodded, bid his family farewell and started out on his own, setting a frantic pace.
"Gotta get outta here as soon as possible I suppose." Zimring said as he jogged along beside Wolf. "Not really too many other options right now. It's either get that ornery critter outta the palace or get alla us outta here. I like the first option better."
Wolf nodded.
Juji chittered as he sat on Wolf's shoulder, bouncing up and down with the rhythm of Frakken's strides.
"I'm thinkin' he agrees with me." the old hermit laughed, then suddenly lapsed into a coughing fit which stopped him mid-stride, and forced him to double over.
Wolf instantly stopped and flew to Zimring's side. "Sit." he ordered the old man. "This trek will not be kind to you I think."
The hermit shook his head as he continued to cough, but managed to sit down on a mostly-flat boulder. Finally the coughing ebbed away and he looked up at Wolf apologetically. "Perhaps I wasn't the best runnin' partner for you."
"Nonsense." Wolf replied, "I would gladly have you come with me to Rapha'owr. You are my friend and ally. And I know I can trust you with my life."
Zimring started coughing again. "I – think it might be all these tsarebetim." he managed, "They've not agreed with me these past many years. Make me feel older than I am."
Wolf nodded, "I know. But we have to keep going. The farther from the fissures we go the better off you'll be."
The hermit nodded, but said, "I know that, young man, but I'm not going to be able to keep up with you. Go on ahead. I'll find my own way sooner or later."
Wolf protested, "But – but –"
"'But' nothing." Zimring said sternly, almost poking Frakken in the nose with his index finger, "Look here. You've got to get to the capitol by morning. I'm not going to be able to do that, so you've got to leave me here. That's the end of it. Now go."
"But –"
"Go!" Zimring managed before his coughing began again.
"Very well." Frakken said grudgingly, but before he left, he motioned for Juji to hop off of his shoulder and onto the rock next to the old man. "Stay here with him." he ordered the bird.
"Squawk." the bird replied, bobbing his head up and down and waddling over to the hermit before rubbing his beak on the man's arm and then lifting up one foot to scratch the back of his feathered head.
Confident that the animal would stay put, Frakken turned and continued on his way, hoping that the hermit would be a bit better off with a companion than on his own.
They were close now – into the yafeharim's grasslands. The walls of Rapha'owr loomed several miles ahead of them as the prince and Masterson continued onward, relentlessly pressing on towards the capitol in silence.
Ever since their encounter with the shêd just after the taking of Deun's last outpost, the prince hadn't been the same. Something in Desslok had given way, that was clear to Masterson. But there was nothing to be done about it now. It was time to take action against the usurper and dethrone him. As important as it was to find out what was really troubling his friend, stopping to find out now would mean disaster.
Masterson knew that Desslok's soundness of mind could be called into question for his decision to have the strike force – and everyone else for that matter - come in on foot, leaving all the vehicles behind for now. But his decision had not been made lightly, that Talan knew. Marching in on foot was the last thing that Deun would expect. He would be scouring the skies for signs of ships or missiles, or anything other than foot soldiers.
The night sky had yet to begin brightening in preparation for the day ahead. They were right on schedule.
Suddenly he heard movement coming from somewhere in the tall grasses off to his right. The prince had clearly heard it too and was crouched low, his weapon drawn in readiness.
Not wanting whatever it was to know they were there, both men quickly found hiding places, blending into the environment, hoping that whatever stalked them didn't have too many teeth.
They waited. Then, not hearing anything else and not able to waste any more time hiding, they continued on for several seconds. Hearing the strange sounds again, they stopped, remaining absolutely still – waiting and listening.
Suddenly, Masterson heard something much too close for his comfort. He fired a silenced bolt of energy just above where he'd heard the sound coming from.
Instantly sound exploded out from the tall grasses from which the original noises had come. Three shadowy masses flew towards Desslok and Masterson, various weapons held up in their hands shadowy hands.
Bright light struck the three forms, stopping them instantly and eliciting sounds of protest at the eye-blinding brilliance.
"I highly doubt trampling us will accomplish anything." said Desslok as he held up Mintra'el, her photoreceptor blazing in stark contrast to his black-gloved hand. "You've made good time."
"Thank you, Sir. Now, would you mind putting that light away?" Garen Krenshaw asked as he, Dommel and Frakken all squinted at Masterson and their Leader.
The prince sighed and switched the light off, pocketing the computer once again before saying, "Come. We're nearing the city."
Desslok, Masterson and the elite three made it to the walls of Rapha'owr within the hour and were soon followed by the rest of the fighting force.
The gathering was short and quiet.
"We've come a long way," Desslok began, speaking to his troops through the short-range communication devices that they all possessed for the purposes of this strike, "The wilderness was merely the beginning of this mission. To complete it, there is one last step we must take tonight. May the final piece of this long journey end well for you all."
And with that, the force was dismissed to forge on into the capitol on their own.
Once all of the soldiers had gone, Desslok and Masterson activated their holographic masks and set out again, making their way over the city wall with such ease that both men became suspicious that their arrival had been anticipated. But that fear was allayed once they were deeper inside the city. It was evident that the zealots had quite a presence in the capitol. Nearly every turn they made sent them right into the path of a zealot soldier or sympathizer. Many of them now wore the silver amulets that usually only marked the shêd-wielders. Either the ranks of their elite had grown significantly, or the Guardiana followers had finally gotten the idea to hide their valued spirit-summoners among the ranks of the common soldiers.
The prince nearly cursed when he saw it. He knew that, sometime – perhaps in the very near future – he would have to face the zealots, and this just made it that much harder. But there was nothing to be done about it now. The best thing they could do was continue on in the hopes that overthrowing Deun would at least help bring an end to this tyranny of fear that the Guardiana followers had imposed on Rapha'owr.
The two men soon passed the outer ring of the city. Suddenly, for no apparent reason, Desslok turned to Masterson and said, "It is time we parted ways for a while, my friend."
"But, Sire –"
"No, Talan." Desslok held up a silencing hand, "One will be less conspicuous than two."
"Indeed, Sir, but I cannot let you –"
"It is irrelevant what you allow me to do, Masterson. I have made my decision." With that, the prince put on the hooded cloak he had had with him through the entire trek, turned, and disappeared into the night, leaving a stunned Masterson behind.
Talan quickly regained his composure and began to follow Desslok. In the beginning, he was successful, but as the many streets, cross-streets, buildings, and pedestrians – nefarious and well-intentioned alike – went by, it became harder and harder to do so.
"Adonai... You know I cannot do this alone. Either lead me to him so that I may have the assurance of watching over him myself, or let me know that he will be well..." the prayer echoed through him as Masterson continued to search the route he knew the prince was most likely to take to the palace.
Just when he was about to give up on finding the prince before he arrived at the palace, Masterson caught a glimpse of a hooded man getting into an aircar that didn't look familiar in the least. The man turned to look back, and Masterson recognized the prince's mask, obscured as it was by the darkness beneath the hood.
Alarmed at what he'd seen, Talan followed the air car as well as he could, catching a ride on a public transport headed roughly in the same direction as the air car. It was not long before the vehicle the prince was in stopped and he got out.
Talan got off of the transport as soon as he could and followed the prince as he continued on towards the palace. Not long after that, Masterson saw his friend flag down yet another air car and get in. Masterson followed as before, via public transport.
This stop-and-go method of travel lasted through most of the city and ended within a mile's walk of the palace.
Once Desslok had disembarked from his final impromptu vehicle, Masterson was there to meet him. Desslok saw his friend and immediately knew by the look on his face that the other man had been keeping a close watch on him. Instead of giving an excuse for his odd, brash behavior, Desslok simply continued on towards the palace, the lights of the city night-life dimming the closer they got to the grandiose building and its surrounding walls. Only the light of the ever-burning altar in the Temple of Adonai glowed like a beacon of hope for the two men as they continued on together once again, ending their journey just outside the palace walls.
Desslok and Masterson waited for the soldiers to gather, and, slowly, one or two at a time, they came. The elite three were the first there, and they were closely followed by many of the rakabim and then the rest of the troops.
Soon were all gathered, every soldier in Desslok's army plus several of the secondary staff that had made it to the palace with the main force. The rest would wait outside the city walls until such time as it was deemed safe for them to join up with the troops again.
The first hint of dawn was just beginning to show itself in the sky above them.
Desslok looked up, caught sight of the light and smirked, knowing what was to come in the next hours as the sun continued to rise.
When the moment was right, the prince looked out over his band and said simply, "The time has come to expel the usurper."
The excited murmurs were evident when Desslok said this and it took a moment to quiet them again, but once the initial excitement had passed they all were ready to do what needed to be done.
The prince spoke one last time, his voice now infused with an energy that none of them had ever heard before. He held his head high and declared, "The throne room awaits."
They split up into two strike teams, one led by Desslok, the other by Masterson. The troops sneaked into the palace relatively unnoticed – a pleasant surprise since they had expected to have to fight their way through many more guards. The few they did encounter were easily dealt with and soon the first team was traversing the last length of the palace airways and the second was flooding through the halls outside Deun's throne room.
The closer they got, the more they realized that something was going on in the room beyond – something that involved a lot of people.
Reaching the vent, Desslok peered through the openings in the hatch to find out just what his brother was up to. He almost growled in frustration and disgust when he saw a group of upper-class citizens – with an over-abundance of young, beautiful women – milling about with Deun at the center of the hubbub. He silently cursed, realizing that there were now at least a hundred more variables that he hadn't accounted for.
Desslok took a deep breath and resigned himself to the new situation. As quickly as he could, he relayed the new information to Masterson, who briefed the second strike team before giving the prince the signal that they were ready to break through the throne room door. Without another thought, the prince gave the word and the door exploded inward, giving way to a flood of rebels swarming in.
Screams and shouts of surprise and fear filled the room to the brim. Guests began to run frantically in every direction they could go. Some even tried to scramble up to the air vent.
Seeing that it was time to act, Desslok deactivated his mask, kicked out the vent cover and leapt to the floor, landing skillfully and immediately moving out of the way for his troops to follow him. They flowed out of the airway and into the grand chamber, washing over the guests like flood waters over grass.
The volume increased as more and more guests began to panic and more rebels joined in the cacophony with shouts of triumph and determination.
Desslok rushed into the crowd, locating the guards quickly and noting with approval that most of them had already been incapacitated. He quickly directed the troops to leave the guests alone unless they started attacking and solely target Deun.
Almost as soon as he'd given the order, the prince came upon his brother, pinned down by Tyrenel one of the larger rebels.
The razor tip of the burly miner's sword made an indentation in Deun's heavy chest. The man's eyes wildly circled the room to find a way of escape. Without warning, Deun swung out from under the sword, grabbed the big man's wrist and flung him down. He charged out the door, miraculously slipping through the rebels, and fled down the hallway.
"Which way? Which way?" his stunned mind swirled in panic. "I thought Celestella said he was no threat! That he'd never make it half-way to the palace!" his anger began to burn as he started to realize that his new aide hadn't been entirely honest with him.
He chose the passage to his right and thundered down it, heedless of the escaping guests he was barreling through.
The footsteps of his brother's militia rumbled behind him, fueling his ever-rising fear and rage and giving speed to his feet.
Questions flashed through his mind. How had Desslok gotten here? He had had the zealots watching every entry-way to the city. Then he realize what he's just thought – the zealots – they'd betrayed him!The thought of his allies turning on him made his already cold blood freeze in his veins.
He ran into another cross-passage and this time he turned left. If he remembered his childhood palace wanderings correctly, he would be coming out of a side entrance of the prestigious royal dwelling.
His memory proved true and he ran, his lungs burning, toward his only hope of escape.
The great Temple of Adonai was so close. If he could only reach the altar, perhaps he would be safe. After all, what evidence did they have against him? All of the records of any of his transgressions had been expunged by those loyal to him. What harm could Desslok do him in this city of refuge without proof of intent to kill?
Deun ran on. His feet began to sting as the polished expressions of vanity that were his shoes began to dig into his flesh, causing them to blister and bleed. He did not care. He could hear the angry shouts of his brother's men much too close behind him, and he ran for his life through the entrance to the temple and into the outer courtyard.
Once inside he slammed and barred the small door. It would not stop the eclectic group of soldiers for long, but it would buy him precious seconds.
After securing the bar he flew across the great open space. Not half-way across the courtyard, he heard the door splinter and the men flood in. His burning feet carried him to the steps and he leapt up them, taking the stairs three at a time, sometimes missing one and slamming his knees and palms into the rough stone.
Finally his feet gained purchase on the top step and he fell to his knees before the altar, one hand seizing each of the two horns that faced outward toward the courtyard.
"Sanctuary!" he screamed. "High priest! I claim sanctuary here!"
The mob behind Deun halted suddenly as the high priest appeared from inside the temple proper, clad in full ceremonial garb.
Just then, Desslok himself burst through the splintered door and his eyes fell on the scene. He waited respectfully for the high priest to speak.
"What does this man stand accused of?" the priest's voice echoed across the suddenly silent space.
Every man in the temple courtyard turned to stare at Desslok.
"He murdered my father." Desslok said coldly. "And he would have murdered the entire Iscandarian race if history hadn't intervened."
The High Priest glanced first at Deun, then at Desslok and hid the spark of surprise that would have otherwise betrayed itself on his face. "Have you proof that this killing was intentional?"
"I do." Came the ominous answer.
"May I see it?" the priest held out a hand and beckoned Desslok to come to him and present his evidence.
The only sound that could be heard now was the crunching of Desslok's worn black boots in the dry dirt as he took first one purpose-filled step and then another across the expanse that lay between him and his brother's would-be protector. His long strides carried him swiftly and as soon as he stood before the revered priest he placed the hard evidence in the man's hand. At the sight of the small chip Deun's heart nearly stopped.
The high priest withdrew a small holographic projector from an inside pocket of his ceremonial robes and plugged the small vid-chip into the device. For the next several minutes the priest watched and listened as the recording that Deun had thought erased – the recording of him explicitly plotting to kill Leader Deun, his own father – was played for all present to see and hear.
After Deun's scheme was broadcasted, the former Leader Deun I's attending physician appeared and detailed the Leader's diagnosis – a lethal dose of a poison that would kill him within the week. And if this were not condemning enough, the message that Leader Deun had left for his younger son the night that Desslok's brother had planned to kill him began to play. As it ended, deathly silence fell over the courtyard once agin.
Then, a second conversation, began to play – one that Deun had never heard before. The princess, Starsha of Iscandar, spoke of the death of her people at the hands of Deun. The young woman's voice echoed with finality off of the high stone walls.
When the last message had concluded, the High Priest shut the recording off, ejected the chip and placed it back into Desslok's gloved left hand before nodding and announcing his decision.
"I will accept this showing of proof." The priest pointed to a now-trembling Deun. "He is not under my protection or the protection of any in this city." Then he looked at Desslok. "You may exact your vengeance, as the Law allows. His life is yours."
Desslok nodded to the old priest, then he faced Deun and with a look of fierce determination said, "Take him."
"NO!" Deun screamed as two of the biggest of his brother's mercenaries pried his clenched hands from the horns of the altar. "It's a lie! It's all a lie!" Deun wailed pitifully in one last attempt to appeal to the priest. The holy man ignored him, walking back into the Temple and shutting the door quietly behind him.
Deun continued to utter his desperation all the way out of the temple and he spewed curses every so often at his brother and the men who dragged him back into the palace.
Several days passed as Desslok gathered a council to determine Deun's fate and the future of Gamilon. During that time, Desslok's forces sent many of the zealots fleeing from the city, to the relief of the civilians. The rest of the rebel force was sent for as well, as it was now deemed safe. It was a time of celebration for the people of Rapha'owr as their oppressors were finally banished and hopes rose that something could be done to repair their sad world.
The summoned council consisted of Israel Kotlar – the long-standing representative of the Gamilon-Iscandari colony world Galera; a recently-returned Raymond Talan and Naomi Talan; Eliora, the "Light of Adonai"; Dommel and Elisa Lysis; Garen Krenshaw; Baruch, the rakab leader, and his tannin, Shiyah; Wolf Frakken; Dara; and finally Masterson.
The day of the council was a sober one.
The appointed twelve, as well as the high-priest of the Temple of Adonai were all present now, and it was time to begin.
Deun was fetched from the palace's prison and marched into the council room. His hair looked like it hadn't been washed or untangled since he was taken prisoner, and the look of wild rage on his face told the Council everything they needed to know.
Israel – the most neutral party, and designated chairman of the Council stood and began the gathering.
"Deun, son of Leader Deun, you stand accused of murder, and genocide. The proof of your wrong-doing has already been presented. Have you anything to say in your defense?" Israel said calmly.
"I am the rightful Leader of Gamilon!" Deun fumed, "And I will have my throne again someday – no matter what you do to me!"
Israel raised as eyebrow and continued, "The penalty for what you have done is death."
At this Deun's face changed and a look of terror replaced his anger. "No! No, you won't do that!" he looked pleadingly at Elisa, then Dara – he even pleaded with Shiyah, who sat elegantly off to one side of the gathering, her scaled tail wrapped around her body like a giant cat's.
"It does not matter what I decided." Israel's words shocked Deun. "We have given the choice to the one of us you have wronged most – your brother."
"What – but – no – the council –"
"The council has decided." the high priest interjected, silencing Deun who now began to whimper in fear.
The accused fell to his knees before the group. As he did so, his brother came to stand before him. Desslok's shadow fell across the humbled Deun.
"Please..." the defeated tyrant pleaded without looking up, "Please don't kill me... I'll do anything you ask..."
There was silence for a long time. The only sounds were Shiyah's heavy tannin-breaths and Deun's pathetic pleas for mercy.
Finally, Desslok spoke, "I have long considered what I would do should this day ever come." he said, "Death is what you are deserving of; but –" he stopped, bowed his head and took a deep breath, "The Guardiana followers have taken enough from this family. To kill you would bring them yet another victory. As much a I despise you for what you have done, brother. To kill you now would not balance the scales of justice. You must be given a fate worse than death. And thus, it has been determined that you – and whatever followers you still possess – must be banished from Gamilon, Iscandar, and all territories belonging to either world.
If you step foot on any world or travel through any space controlled by the Gamilon-Iscandari Alliance, you will be killed. Do not doubt that."
Deun did not respond.
"Do you understand the terms of your continued life?" Desslok demanded when his brother said something.
"Yes! Yes..." Deun whimpered, scooting away from his brother in a pathetic show of inferiority.
"Then go, coward." Desslok growled, "Ayyah Mavet* awaits your departure."
Deun scrambled to his feet and fled, not once daring to look back.
"The guards will ensure he makes it to his ship." Israel said to the gathering, "But now we have one more matter take care of." Murmurs of agreement spread through the group.
Israel stood, accompanied by the high priest. As they did, a live feed of the event began broadcasting all over the planet on the same holographic screens used to show such planet-wide events as Yom Kippur* or Pashach.*
Israel held in his hands the crown that once Deun I had worn. He stood before Desslok and said, "It is time that the rightful heir to our throne received his just reward. Your father is not here today to present this to you, Desslok of Gamilon, but I am honored to have been the one chosen to do so in his stead. Please, kneel."
The prince knelt before the Galeran and bowed his head. The high priest recited the oath of leadership in the hearing of them all and Desslok accepted it. Then, as was their way, the priest anointed this new Leader in same manner as he had anointed every other whom he had seen during his lifetime. He took the prince's right hand – now bare of its usual glove – and dipped his thumb into the blood of a chosen lamb. After this the old priest dipped his own fingers in the blood and spread it on the tip of the new Leader's right ear.
The anointing complete, the priest took his seat again and waited for Israel to complete the ceremony.
"This day, we crown you Leader Desslok III of Gamilon. May you rule your world well, and may the coming days be filled with the blessings of Adonai." Israel placed the crown on Desslok's head and stepped back.
Desslok stood, met the gaze of the council members one at a time, and then turned to meet the eyes of the citizens of Gamilon who watched it all in unrestrained joy.
* Ayyah Mavet – Deun's ship, literal English translation "Death Hawk"
* Yom Kippur – The Day of Atonement; a day of national atonement for the sins of the people
* Pashach – Passover; a celebration of the deliverance of the children of Israel from the land of Egypt