The Lost Secret Page 17

“Did you hear? I will beat her.”

  “I heard, Sire. I have no opinion on the subject.”

  “Ha!” the Emperor said, turning to Strand. “Do you hear that, Methuselah Man? Was I right or was I right about my faithful cousin?”

  “It would appear that you were, Sire,” Strand said in an oily voice. “I still believe he evidenced feelings for Venna.”

  “No!” the Emperor said. “You will not slander my cousin. He passed your test. Now, you will trust him as I trust him.”

  Ural nearly felt sick. This was startling. “Sire, do you truly trust Methuselah Man Strand?”

  The Emperor laughed. “The way you say it, you mean, do I trust this snake?”

  “I am uncovered,” Ural said. “Strand is indeed a snake, one we all have reason to hate.”

  “Do you hear that, Strand?” the Emperor said. “You’ve gained a mortal enemy. You practiced your deceit upon Ural too soon.”

  Worry flashed across Strand’s face. “Sire, please, I—”

  “Silence, snake,” the Emperor said.

  Strand fell meekly silent.

  Ural watched, ready to sneer at the Methuselah Man. Then it struck him and struck hard. This was an act between the two. Somehow, Strand had gained ascendancy over the Emperor, or if not that, had played upon his cousin’s fears or worries. What did these two conspire to achieve, and why against him?

  Strand likely feared him because… Was that true, though? Did Strand fear anyone? The Methuselah Man believed himself the cleverest being in existence, and he had good reason to think so. Now that he was out of prison… What lever could Strand have used on the Emperor against him? That part didn’t make sense. Was Strand drugging the Emperor? That hardly seemed conceivable and yet—

  “I see that you brought your saber,” the Emperor said casually.

  Ural almost said, “Because you told me to bring it.” Instead, he merely nodded.

  “I find myself lax, my arms limp. Come, let us practice.”

  “With wooden swords, I would love to—”

  “No, cousin, with tempered steel,” the Emperor said. “Surely, you’ll indulge me.”

  Ural said the only thing he could under the circumstances. “It would be my delight. But may I ask one request?”

  “Name it.”

  Ural turned to Strand. “I imagine you’ve let him out of his cage for a day. Before we duel, don’t you think it would be wise to put him back?”

  “Do you hear that, Strand?”

  The Methuselah Man did not say a word. In fact, he did not move a muscle.

  “Guards,” the Emperor said. “Return the snake to his…to his quarters.” He smiled saying that, as if it was a grand joke.

  The four premen approached Strand. “Up, you,” the burliest said, jerking the beamer up.

  Strand rose, and he bowed low before the Emperor. He regarded Ural, his face blank. Then, the Methuselah Man turned and followed the guards out of the room.

  -30-

  Ural swished his saber through the air, not liking any of this.

  The two cousins stood in a different room, this one without walls. A soft breeze blew through the area, with trees swaying on one side, a small lake rippling in the opposite direction and vast green expanses on the other two sides. There were ten columns, all of them along the edges except for the one central column. On it were ancient bas-reliefs of Roman legionaries forcing captive German barbarians to march in chained ranks.

  “Ah,” the Emperor said, as he swished his weapon. “It’s good to have a saber in hand again. Do you know that I’m having a hard time finding anyone worthy to practice with me?”

  Ural regarded his cousin as a dueling opponent. The man was taller than he was, with slightly longer arms and thus a longer reach. He had dark hair, light-colored eyes and muscles like bands of steel that rippled across his upper body. The skin was golden, although not quite as richly colored as his.

  “It’s been a while, eh?” the Emperor said.

  Ural stood straight, saluting with his saber. The Emperor did likewise. Then, like two beasts of prey, each crouched and began to circle toward the other.

  “I’m better than I used to be,” the Emperor said.

  Ural did not comment. It had never been like his cousin to boast. The change was odd, most odd. They had once been alike in this, letting their exploits speak for them.

  The Emperor cried out as he sprang, the saber thrusting with lightning speed.

  For the next several minutes, Ural concentrated upon parrying his cousin’s increasingly faster attacks. The clash of steel against steel and the shock of the blows were as rare wine to Ural. He found himself grinning, delighting in his cousin’s performance. The man was magnificent, and he did not seem to tire.

  “Have you been practicing?” the Emperor asked.

  “All the time,” Ural replied.

  “Why?”

  “I yearn for excellence in all things.”

  A dark and brooding look shadowed the Emperor’s features. Clearly, he did not like the answer. His eyes flashed and the tempo of his attacks increased, the saber darting like a living thing.

  Now, Ural fenced for his life. The Emperor’s razor-sharp blade nicked his left shoulder, cut a line across his right cheek and managed to make drops squeeze from his right forearm.

  The Emperor growled like a beast, and he slashed at Ural’s neck as if to sever it in a blow.

  Ural backpedaled as the Emperor attacked again and then again. Ural riposted and twisted his body as he began to sweat and breathe heavily. The speed of the Emperor’s blade astonished Ural. The sheen in his cousin’s eyes—

  Drugs; he’s using drugs to help him, Ural realized. The drugs have quickened him and given him great stamina. Has their usage tampered with his moods?

  The use of drugs in this sort of thing was anathema to the Throne World ethos. A dominant was to trust to his own resources. To supplement his speed and stamina—

  The Emperor cried out, his saber a blur.

  I’m dead if I don’t stop this.

  Ural strove to parry the next blow, and he ducked as he did. The Emperor’s blade struck his, and the saber flew from Ural’s hand as if his fingers had become nerveless. The saber twirled over Ural’s head and clattered upon the tiles several meters away.

  “I yield!” Ural shouted.

  The Emperor had brought his saber around and hacked at Ural’s unprotected head. At the last moment, the razor-sharp blade stopped a mere centimeter from parting skin and breaking skull bone. They were frozen like that: Ural crouched and looking up, the Emperor towering over him, with his sword-arm halted at the downswing.

  The Emperor brayed laughter as he straightened, raising his saber high. “I am victorious,” he said. Then he shot out his left hand to Ural.

  Ural took it.

  The Emperor raised him effortlessly to his feet, staring into his eyes. “I could have killed you.”

  “Yes,” Ural said.

  “I could still kill you.”

  “It is within your power, Sire.”

  “Power, yes, but not my right. Is that what you’re saying?”

  “In fact, now that you point it out, I am.”

  “A-ha, Ural! You’re still my favorite cousin.”

  “And you mine, Sire.”

  The Emperor released Ural’s hand, and he brought up the saber to peer at it. With a flourish, he flung it from him so it clattered across the tiles. “Walk with me, cousin. It is time we talked.”

  The two turned toward the small lake, soon leaving the arena, walking down marble steps and approaching the grassy shore. Frogs croaked. A trout jumped up, splashing back into the water. Across the lake, several baroquely dressed women ate a picnic on a blanket and under a large umbrella.

  “Venna is out there,” the Emperor said.

  Ural did not respond.

  “I still plan to beat her for what she did.”

  Ural nodded.

  “Does that displease you?�
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  “Sire, did Strand put such nonsense in your head?”

  “That I beat her?”

  “That you distrust me.”

  The Emperor pursed his lips. “Strand is a devil, isn’t he?”

  “A devil, a snake and a deceiver extraordinaire,” Ural said.

  “Still, snakes have their uses. I have decided the Throne World must expand. We must colonize. For that, we need a slight modification to our genes. For that, we must head to the Library Planet, using Strand’s ancient knowledge to help us grow.”

  “You’ll head the expedition?”

  “Of course.”

  “Am I to go?”

  “I’m taking the best dominants along. Do you think of yourself as one of those?”

  “High enough,” Ural said dryly.

  “I could have easily slain you today.”

  Ural looked up at the cloudless sky. What should he say?

  “Is something troubling you?” the Emperor asked.

  Ural regarded him frankly. “Sire, you used a drug to speed your reflexes.”

  The Emperor actually blushed as he stared at him.

  “I don’t know why you did such a thing,” Ural said, “but it should alarm you.”

  “How dare you?” the Emperor whispered.

  “I’m your cousin. I’ve been your good right hand all these years. If I don’t dare to warn you, who will?”

  “You actually dare to warn me?”

  “You’re mortal like the rest of us, Sire. You can make mistakes. Letting Strand out of prison was one of them. Using drugs to help your dueling skills—no one must ever learn of it.”

  “I see. You’re threatening me with blackmail.”

  “You know that isn’t true. I’m your good right hand. I have been since you became Emperor. Whoever has poisoned your mind against me is making a grave mistake. Yes, I dare to speak to the truth to you. I hope that you still dare to accept hard truths.”

  The Emperor turned away. “I should have slain you, Ural. You’ve become too mighty in your own estimation.”

  “That is untrue, Trahey.”

  The Emperor whirled around to stare at him.

  Trahey was the Emperor’s old name. Few used it anymore. Ural hadn’t since the day Trahey became the Emperor of the Throne World.

  “Golden Ural,” the Emperor said softly. “I have felt…” He shook his head.

  “How can I help you, cousin?” Ural said. “Tell me, and I will do it.”

  “No one has spoken to me like you just did…except for Oran, and that was years ago.”

  Ural didn’t say that it was over thirty years ago since Oran had died to assassins. Oran was Ural’s brother, and the father of Captain Maddox of Star Watch.

  “I miss Oran,” the Emperor said. “I miss him dearly.”

  “As do I,” Ural said.

  “Why was he aiding that woman, helping her to escape our world?”

  “Oran loved his wife.”

  “Wife…” the Emperor said. “Why did he restrict himself to just one woman?”

  Ural shrugged. He didn’t know the answer to that. In many ways, his brother had been strange, perhaps even tenderhearted about matters where hardheaded clarity was needed on the Throne World.

  “Do you still search for his assassins?”

  Something about the way Trahey asked the question alerted Ural. The question seemed innocent, but— Trahey is feigning his manner. I don’t know why. Is this more of Strand’s doing? …Or is there something more going on here?

  “Cousin, I asked you a question.”

  “The trail is icy, Your Majesty. But if I could find them, I would dismember Oran’s assassins limb from limb. Alas, I don’t know where to search next, but I refuse to let it go.”

  “Yes. I approve of your relentless hunt. Tell me when the trail becomes warm again. I would dearly like to find his assassins, as I, too, wish to avenge Oran’s killing.”

  Is that true? How can I doubt the Emperor? Still, there is something off here, something wrong. Perhaps it’s wisest to change the subject.

  “When do you plan to leave for the Library Planet, Sire?”

  “Eh?” the Emperor asked, as he stared across the lake at the ladies.

  Ural repeated the question.

  “Leave?” the Emperor asked, as he faced Ural. “Why, we leave in three days. Didn’t I already tell you that?”

  “If you did, I forgot. How many star cruisers will go?”

  “Six should suffice. Now, if you’ll excuse me, cousin, I have a picnic to attend.” So saying, the Emperor pulled off his boots and then unbuckled his belt. Then, he stripped off his clothing and waded into the lake and dove, beginning to swim for the other side.

  Ural turned away, debating if he should seek out Strand and kill him while he was able. It would be an act of lèse-majesté, and Trahey might slay him for it, but it would likely save the Throne World great sorrow.

  Ural turned and studied his cousin. The man swam strongly, knifing through the water. He had almost reached the other side. Ural lifted his gaze, eyeing the three women watching the Emperor.

  A pang of jealousy touched Ural. Trahey would likely take all three women there on the blanket. Ural didn’t care about the other two, but Venna—

  Ural turned away, stumbling a moment before his strides lengthened. I must rid myself of all feelings for Venna. Someone has engineered them, and no one shall lead me by the nose. I am Golden Ural—

  A terrible thought swept into his mind. If Trahey died, who would become the new Emperor? Who would lead the Throne World into future glory? If he took the drug Trahey had ingested, surely he could defeat the man blade to blade.

  Ural’s eyes widened. What am I thinking? No! I’m honorable, and I will always remain so…even if it means that I will never crush Venna to my chest as we engage in passionate love.

  With a low cry of despair, he ran up the marble steps, wanting to get back to his country estate as soon as possible.

  -31-

  The next day, Ural attended to his affairs, setting matters in order in case he failed to return from the venture to the Library Planet. He thought about Venna several times, scowling each time and dismissing her from his mind.

  Later, he used a medikit in secret, testing his blood, and found nothing to indicate an aerosol or drugs in the condiments yesterday to shift his feelings about the black-manned temptress. She was exceedingly beautiful. The way she’d looked up at him from the floor—

  “No,” he said, frowning, wondering why he kept thinking about her. Yes. Her hair was glorious. Her full breasts, narrow waist and the perfect length of her legs—

  “What am I doing? This is preposterous. I refuse to play their game.”

  He sat down in his study, a place filled with old-fashioned books and a fireplace. A bottle of wine and a goblet waited on the desk. He watched the flames as he replayed in his mind the event in the corridor yesterday.

  He pulled out the cork and poured himself a glass of wine, sipping, thinking and analyzing each particle of the event. Obviously, someone had engineered the meeting. Yes, clearly, Strand had done so. Had it been an independent Methuselah Man idea or one that arose after listening to Trahey complaining about him? His cousin was becoming reckless and profane, rutting in the open like a beast. Did Trahey consider himself above all censure? A god might act as Trahey did, or a man who thought of himself a god. Megalomania and hubris were common ailments among the powerful; the more powerful, the more likely a man was to fall into such delusions of grandeur.

  Ural finished his glass and poured himself another. Like Captain Maddox, his faster-than-normal metabolism made it difficult for him to get drunk, and if he did, to stay that way for long. In this case, the wine helped lubricate his thinking as it helped him move into different channels of thought.

  Strand would not have initiated the ploy without a reason. Thus, the snake of a Methuselah Man must have discovered Trahey’s suspiciousness regarding either him or Ven
na. Ah! Trahey’s reckless rutting might have caused him to doubt his women more easily. Perhaps Trahey had been taking other dominants’ women in secret, and that had made him suspicious that others were doing the same to him. A liar suspected others lying to him. A fornicator or adulterer would more easily assume that others did as he did.

  Ural smiled. Through logic and reason, he’d uncovered one of Trahey’s weaknesses. Perhaps it would serve his cousin right if someone used Venna as Trahey had been using other dominants’ women.

  Ural slapped the desk, scowling. I will not slip into making excuses for bad behaviors. I have many women of my own. I should indulge myself later with one of them and take the edge off. I am the master of my emotions. I will do what is right and honorable.

  He drained the glass and poured himself another, swirling the red liquid as he watched the dancing flames.

  They were leaving in two days. The Emperor had already informed him that he would join the flagship. That meant, he would not have his own ship, but would have to mingle with the Emperor’s chosen guards and women. Strand would surely be aboard the flagship—

  So will Venna.

  Ural looked up at the ceiling. What was wrong with him? With a grunt, he stood. Then, he went to his private quarters. There, he chose a dark-haired lovely and made love to her. It was not passionate, but…

  Ural blanketed his thoughts.

  Later, he showered and returned to his study, his head clearer than before. The sexual fire had dwindled—he stared at the bottle. The wine was lower than he remembered. How had that happened?

  “Franco!” he shouted.

  There was no response.

  Ural did not like to call twice. He rose, and in a thunderous mood, he exited the study, searching for the preman officer, ex-officer of Star Watch.

  He found Lieutenant Franco intoxicated on a couch. The man was sprawled there, with two empty wine bottles on the rug and a third clutched against his side. He’d spilled wine on the material—

  Ural snatched the bottle from the preman, setting it on a table. “Up,” he said.

  Franco stared at him bleary-eyed.

  “You do not understand your place here,” Ural said angrily.

  “You gonna kill me?” Franco slurred.