he was troubled by a strange dream. He was not a little child, but himself, and he was sitting at a table on a stone balcony overlooking green fields lined with trees flowering red, and there were two moons in a sky so blue as to be nearly purple. A glass of juice sat on the table in front of him. He tasted it; the drink was bubbly, and had a sharp tang he didn’t recognize. Petyr suddenly appeared, as if condensed out of vapor in the air, and sat across from him.
“Do you like it?” asked Petyr. “Has a bit of a bite.”
“What are you doing in my dream?” asked Trae, and Petyr smiled.
“Well, it’s not exactly a dream, and I’m not Petyr. You seem so relaxed around him, so I thought his presence would be good for this. You and I are going to be having some serious conversations from now on. Your mother won’t be here for them, but she sends her love, and she’ll come to you at other times. You’re going to be busy, Trae.”
Trae felt drowsy, even in his dream, and he felt amused by Petyr being there. “Are you going to tell me something I need to know?”
“Oh, yes,” said Petyr. “Yes, indeed.”
And he told him.
Trae awoke with a start. Light was dim in the compartment, all of it coming from the video screen that showed the page of a book. Petyr was lying in the bed next to his, reading, turning pages with a remote in his hand. He glanced at Trae. “Did I wake you? I couldn’t sleep.”
Trae shook his head, and Petyr looked closer at him. “You had a dream.”
“Yes.”
“Anything?”
“When we get to Ariel II we go to Port Four, Station Six. Our passes are waiting for us there. We’re going to Galena, and someone will be taking us to the court of Emperor Rasim Siddique.”
“Ah,” said Petyr, and smiled.
CHAPTER 6
I t was not the first time Fedor Quraiwan had been the bearer of bad news for his master, but this news was worse than bad and he feared for his safety. Emperor Khalid Osman was not a merciful man, and was subject to outbursts of temper in lesser circumstances than this. Bad news could be dangerous for the bearer, for Osman’s rage was often manifested by the act of throwing any object at hand, be it knife, cup, or small furnishings. Good news, on the other hand, could generate a hearty laugh, a hug for an old servant, a trinket or gold coin kept for minor rewards in a small, oaken chest on his desk. Alas, today’s was not good, and Fedor Quraiwan could only hope his master was in a peaceful state.
He’d been waiting for more than an hour, sitting on a bench by the great double doors of the judgment room, now closed. Osman was inside with an emissary from Nevice who had traveled four weeks to meet with him on a trade matter. Another step in the expansion of Gan’s trading influence, and it would undoubtedly create new wealth for the intimate circle of supporters of the planet’s monarchy. Osman made business simple for them, with few restrictions and generous tax benefits for those who created jobs, and higher taxes for those who were employed by them. It all seemed to work well, despite the unrest of the masses, despite threats in the past. But today there was a new threat. Fedor was about to announce it to The Leader of All The World, and he was afraid.
The doors opened and Osman came out with his arm around the shoulders of a small, dark man with amazing amber eyes. They were laughing at some private joke. The small man bowed and pumped Osman’s hand vigorously, whispered something and walked away with a smile on his face. Osman was smiling, too, rubbed his hands together, then turned and saw Fedor sitting there. Beckoned to him.
“Come in, come in. Took longer than I expected, but was worth it. Those Neviceaens do love to bargain.”
Osman seemed pleased with himself. That was good. He closed the tall doors behind them, a golden robe spilling over the curves of his bulk. There was no one else with them in the room: domed ceiling held up by eight, marble
“Do you like it?” asked Petyr. “Has a bit of a bite.”
“What are you doing in my dream?” asked Trae, and Petyr smiled.
“Well, it’s not exactly a dream, and I’m not Petyr. You seem so relaxed around him, so I thought his presence would be good for this. You and I are going to be having some serious conversations from now on. Your mother won’t be here for them, but she sends her love, and she’ll come to you at other times. You’re going to be busy, Trae.”
Trae felt drowsy, even in his dream, and he felt amused by Petyr being there. “Are you going to tell me something I need to know?”
“Oh, yes,” said Petyr. “Yes, indeed.”
And he told him.
Trae awoke with a start. Light was dim in the compartment, all of it coming from the video screen that showed the page of a book. Petyr was lying in the bed next to his, reading, turning pages with a remote in his hand. He glanced at Trae. “Did I wake you? I couldn’t sleep.”
Trae shook his head, and Petyr looked closer at him. “You had a dream.”
“Yes.”
“Anything?”
“When we get to Ariel II we go to Port Four, Station Six. Our passes are waiting for us there. We’re going to Galena, and someone will be taking us to the court of Emperor Rasim Siddique.”
“Ah,” said Petyr, and smiled.
CHAPTER 6
I t was not the first time Fedor Quraiwan had been the bearer of bad news for his master, but this news was worse than bad and he feared for his safety. Emperor Khalid Osman was not a merciful man, and was subject to outbursts of temper in lesser circumstances than this. Bad news could be dangerous for the bearer, for Osman’s rage was often manifested by the act of throwing any object at hand, be it knife, cup, or small furnishings. Good news, on the other hand, could generate a hearty laugh, a hug for an old servant, a trinket or gold coin kept for minor rewards in a small, oaken chest on his desk. Alas, today’s was not good, and Fedor Quraiwan could only hope his master was in a peaceful state.
He’d been waiting for more than an hour, sitting on a bench by the great double doors of the judgment room, now closed. Osman was inside with an emissary from Nevice who had traveled four weeks to meet with him on a trade matter. Another step in the expansion of Gan’s trading influence, and it would undoubtedly create new wealth for the intimate circle of supporters of the planet’s monarchy. Osman made business simple for them, with few restrictions and generous tax benefits for those who created jobs, and higher taxes for those who were employed by them. It all seemed to work well, despite the unrest of the masses, despite threats in the past. But today there was a new threat. Fedor was about to announce it to The Leader of All The World, and he was afraid.
The doors opened and Osman came out with his arm around the shoulders of a small, dark man with amazing amber eyes. They were laughing at some private joke. The small man bowed and pumped Osman’s hand vigorously, whispered something and walked away with a smile on his face. Osman was smiling, too, rubbed his hands together, then turned and saw Fedor sitting there. Beckoned to him.
“Come in, come in. Took longer than I expected, but was worth it. Those Neviceaens do love to bargain.”
Osman seemed pleased with himself. That was good. He closed the tall doors behind them, a golden robe spilling over the curves of his bulk. There was no one else with them in the room: domed ceiling held up by eight, marble
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