Chapter One: the Homecoming
Twenty Years Ago
His father had called him home from school a month early. It was the final year in the primary grades and he had wanted to spend the last month of the session hunting instead of hiding from his father's wrath. The few times he had been home had not gone well. Finally, his exasperated and exhausted father decided it was best that he was sent for only when necessary. In the last three years, he could count the times he had been home on one hand – his sister's wedding, an official state visit by King Bhorn of the First Kingdom, and last, but not least, when he was made Crown Prince. He had been there for three whole cycles. After that, he was left alone.
The other boys went home for the holidays, but he was never sent for. He spent those days with either the custodial staff or some lowly scholar forced to put up with him. In his mind, he created a tale that he was an orphan. He imagined that his two loving parents that had been killed in a fiery crash with his sister, Leanarra. Other times, he imagined that he would find his sister and that they would be co-rulers of his father's vast Empire. His first reaction to the summons was sheer panic. He had been terrified. Even at the age of ten, he was quite aware that he was expendable. The older boys in school made him well aware of that.
They teased him about his small frame calling him a half-breed and a mongrel. Sometimes their words came with fists. They told him how much the court hated his mother and had begged his father to take a more suitable mate. They told him that his father hated her and that there were celebrations in the street when she died. The Drule king, they whispered, could not stand the sight of his puny child and that is why he was never called home. They told him that his father had taken another Drule to wife and would execute him when another son was born. Of course, Borak, his father's counselor had assured him that these were lies but he still had doubts. He did not doubt for a moment that his people wanted an heir of Korrinite blood to rule them and he barely had any of it running through his veins. They looked at him and saw a High Drule though a Drule of that variety would also offer derision on his appearance. The truth was that he was a hybrid of the worse kind; he had both human blood and that of the feared Wyvern running through his veins, neither group popular with the majority of any race of Drules.
He had tried hard to put their harsh words aside. Self-doubt was not in his nature. If his teachers had to define the boy's main characteristics they would call him arrogant, stubborn and persistant. Some of the arrogance was earned. He worked harder than all the others – be it in academics, athletics or the sword. His father had sent him there after his mother died. That, in itself was unusual, since his caste never went to the First Schools. He had been very young. Most children of his age and status were still confined to a harem. Instead of academics, they were taught martial arts and forced to face the fists of their father's other children. But for some reason, his father did not have any other children but Leanarra and himself. It was not for lack of trying, his harem was filled with women but only his mother had ever produced any offspring.
His mother, Althea, died when he was seven. No one knew what to do with the boy. He could not stay in the harem which was so oddly childless over the years. Except for the boy's mother the other women had produced no offspring. The child was a stark reminder that they would never be elevated to queen. In the fragile world of music, silk and perfumes his life was in mortal danger. No other war master had come forward to take guardianship either. The Great King had spurned their own daughters to take to wife and had instead made a harem slave, a human alien, his de facto queen and declared her child to be their Crown Prince.
Most of his life he had been cared for by various governesses and slaves and so his father initially kept to this. His mother had not been an ordinary concubine so she had little time for him. It was not for lack of love, Althea had adored him, it was just that his father had adored her even more and hated for her to leave his side. He had no interest in a child sitting beside them as he conducted whatever kingly duties kept him busy. In truth, though she was fiercely protective of both his sister and him, but the day to day chores of mothering did not interest her much.
Many times the boy had the sense that she resented bearing the children of the man he called father. At times, she seemed to reject her offspring. They were a reminder of the humiliation of her enslavement. This in itself was not the worse thing save for the gossip it incurred. Althea's wrath could be as bad as his father's when he was whiny or not cooperative. At times she had banned him from her presence for his misbehavior. This had been worse than any corporeal punishment his father had wracked upon his body. The court whispered that she hated the child since the Great King had forced himself upon her, but he never sensed that emotion in her. Althea was a complicated creature even when it came to how she felt about his father, or her children for that matter. The young child sensed her loathing and revulsion for his father, but there were others times he felt her begrudging sense of pride for the man who had chosen her above all others. It all depended upon her mood which changed like the unpredictable weather of their world. She was a temperamental creature.
In truth, it was a good thing that he spent his days with servants. The child had an incredible memory and a talented ear. In his child's mind, he just assumed everyone spoke their own language – and he became adept at learning them quickly as each year brought a new slew of servants from far off lands. His father's realm was large and there was much to learn.
His father had attempted to raise him at court but the task soon became too overwhelming. After his mother's death, he became a difficult child. He was openly defiant to both his father and his caretakers. He was always under everyone's feet. It was not all the child's fault. His father, for reasons the boy could not fathom, no longer tolerated his presence. The child acted out accordingly in hopes of getting his attention, usually in a negative way. The Great King appeared diffident to the child's fate. He was the first born son of a warmaster. It was his father's job to give him his first training in the sword. The swords were ordered, and his aides came to ask about the celebration that would mark this momentous milestone, but the party never occurred. This further confused the court. The court was rife with rumors that the king would declare the child unfit. He would then leave him to die in the mountains as was the warmaster's tradition. But he did not. He just ignored him.
So, after much debate with his warmasters, the Great King sent him away. It was decided that he would choose another mate and bring forth another heir to the throne. The child was sent away but the king did not move to take another woman for that purpose. The warmasters could push all they wanted but they realized that their king had unilaterally decided that Lotor would be his heir. It seemed that a bastard son, more human than anything else, was destined to be their king's heir.
The task of finding a suitable solution as to what to do with the child, as with all unusual problems that did not require the use of force, had fallen to Borak, the Royal Magistrate. The child was too young to survive a military academy. The King had left no orders about what to do. Borak handled the situation the best he could by drawing upon his own children's upbringing. It was not a perfect solution, but it was an acceptable alternative. He sent a warrior's son to a magistrate school – an idea, on the surface, that appeared ludicrous. The children of war had little to do with the children of letters. The school, hesitant at first, accepted the prince after his father paid the amount of a thousand tuitions. Who were they to question the judgment of the Royal Magistrate?
School also proved to be a nightmare of another sort. The other children refused to accept him. He was small. He had not been properly socialized in the ways of their caste. Instead of words he used his fists to show his anger, his schoolmates, who were much bigger, responded in the only discipline he seemed to understand. He was beaten by them frequently, and eventually no argument was needed for this to occur. His school masters did not fail to notice the bruises and cuts that covered the boy. Twice he had been sent to the hospital with life threatening injuries that required surgery It was Borak, and not his father, who came to visit him while he recovered. He would not name his attackers nor was he pressed to do so. Though a fair amount of hazing was customary in any Drule school, the school masters were aware that lines were being crossed. They feared that if the Great King Zarkon's only son died under their care then they would, even though these types of deaths were a common occurrence in these facilities, suffer the loss of their own heads. At other times, the schoolmasters assumed that the father was hoping that the half-breed would expire. They never heard from the Great King just the Royal Magistrate Borak– it was though the boy was an orphan.
The sons of warriors never came to their schools. They were raised in their father's harems until they went to their various military academies. The schoolmasters were not used to the ways of the warriors – they just taught academics. Yet, there amongst them walked a future warmaster, a thing feared by even their own people. They took what they wanted by Right of Might, an antiquated moral code. The lowliest of the boy's caste kept villas and harems, paid for by the wealth plundered from other worlds. It was payment for commanding the large armies that kept Korrinoth safe. The irony of it all was that the boy did not look like the fierce image that came to mind when one thought of a warmaster. They were an imposing lot. Most warmasters stood close to seven measures. They were hard as stone. Their bodies rippled with muscles from years of training. He was small and thin. The only thing about him that showed any future promise was his large hands which seemed to be out of proportion to the rest of him. The other thing that seemed out of place for his position was his beauty. It was as he stepped out of a child's fantasy book. He looked every bit a prince, not of the Drule Supremacy, but a magical forest.
Borak, as always, was efficient and professional. Every night he called the boy's tutors. He talked with the scholars. He checked the boy's homework and encouraged him. He was surprised how easily he kept up with the other boys. He had assumed that his mother, being human, would have left him a dullard – hardly capable of handling a Magistrate School. But then, he had the Mark of Jain which was usually accompanied by great intelligence, if not intellect. He was being schooled with the intellectual elite, not the brutish warriors that his father associated with, and was excelling. Borak was starting to take a perverse pride in the child and redoubled his efforts to coach him through. A warrior, he thought, trains his son with a sword and teaches his son to use his fists instead of words. Deep down, Borak looked down on that caste as all magistrates did. A magistrate, he thought, trains his son with books and teaches him how to use his brain. One ruled through fear, the other through law.
Upon the Royal Magistrates advice, the staff brought in a retired warmaster named Charak to teach him the martial arts. The warrior's prowess with the sword was legendary. The warmaster delighted in the child's agility and quickness. He taught him how to use not one but two swords. HeThe warmaster was pleased with his pupil.
The warmaster wondered why the boy's father, one of their greatest warriors, had refused to train his own son. This was considered to be one of life's greatest pleasures. Still, the training was necessary. If the child was truly one of their kind he would be very aggressive in his reactions to the world. With no preparation, he would be no better than a clever animal subject to the arbitrary laws of nature. He needed discipline to be able to deal with the nature that that came with his legacy of bloodlust, but there was none offered. Perhaps, the Great King wanted him to die as was the fate of the unfit. Yet, save for his size, there was no detectable defects except save impatience and arrogance. The impatience, Charak reasoned, could be dealt with through meditation and discipline. Arrogance, unfortunately, could only be tempered by life experience. The boy was clever. The boy was sly. The boy had no fear. The boy was a good hunter. He had the Mark of Jain. These traits, when combined with discipline, had the makings of a fine warrior king.
The warmaster shook his head as he watched him best his older and bigger classmates in the school's small arena . Every Korrinoth male was trained to the sword in case the ancient laws of the High Drule were invoked. These laws were laid down by the Great Empress herself and every sentient was allowed their protection. True, they were just the sons of magistrates but some had possessed the predatory lust that characterized their people. One of them had been fool enough to challenge the boy. The prince had almost killed his classmate when the warmaster had to grab his arm. The lazon sword almost burned the warmaster who then struck the boy for his foolishness. He looked at the crumbled figure on the ground and sighed. The boy needed a father to show him the ways of discipline.
"I hate you." The boy sobbed. The warmaster did not know if the cries were from pain or because he had been denied his kill. The older boy had brutalized him often.
"When I am older I shall challenge you to my father'sthe Arena. I will cut you to quarters for this insult. Warmaster Charak, it will give me great pleasure to watch your blood run." The warmaster lifted the child off the ground. He has used the breaking arts and he was sure he had heard some of the ribs crack.
"Then, little brother, I shall die happy for I will have served my king well." He gingerly carried the child out of the staging area. A broad smile crossed his face. How he had prayed that the gods had granted him such a son.
His school masters sent home glowing reports of his academic prowess but warned his father that the boy's growing ego was a sign of something more disturbing. It was suggested that it would be beneficial if the boy was placed in a less stressful environment until he was of age. The Great King Zarkon crumbled up the report and roared. He decided it was best to get the boy away from these fools who would only encourage his weaker side. It only proved what he feared. His son, corrupted by Arussian blood, was weak. The witch came with an idea. It would be good if he could understand their enemy. Perhaps, he should visit the humans in the neighboring system and learn their ways. The child was sent for.
The boy came home for three hours. Two and a half were spent with his father's intelligence officer, a quiet man named Timon, who carefully laid out for him what his father's intentions were and what was expected of him. All in all, he was to gather an impression of their Arussian neighbors. His father was planning on making a bold move soon that would shake up the Denubian Galaxy starting with Arus. Lotor thought little of this. For years he had heard whispered rumors of a planned grand invasion of the worlds his father traded with. He did not understand this as Korrinoth had grown so rich on diplomacy and trade and felt it was mostly just talk to keep the court gossip machine going and his father's warmasters busy in the command college planning theoretical attacks on Korrinoth's trading partners. Drules were one to make big boasts that hopefully were never fulfilled.
The boy was then called into his father's personal study. He fell before him in submission. Due to his age, he could not speak unless spoken too which served him well. He had nothing to say to the man. A full year had passed since he had laid eyes on the huge man. The young boy's eyes flew open as he stared at the man who glowered at him. He had forgotten how large the man was when one compared him to the size of the magistrates. A cruel smile crossed his face.
"I fathered only little girls. My son grows prettier every year." The clawed hand stroked his cheek. Lotor's face burned with shame. His father's insults were not so different from his classmates.
"My Lord, I took first in sword." The boy's words sputtered out.
"…Against future lawyers and bureaucrats. Of what glory is that? Did I ask you to speak? Do you think the words of a child interest me? At least your sister was easy to be rid off – but what do I do about you?" A sliver of a smile crossed his lips as he approached the boy.
"For the time being, I have arranged for you to live with the Royal House of Arus. One day, Arus will be ours – a fact that you will not share. It would behoove you to learn their ways and customs as you might rule over it one day if I have not replaced you by then." His fingers found the throat of the boy and lifted him high into the air. The child grasped at the hand trying to claw it away from his throat. His lungs felt like they were going to burst.
Finally Zarkon released him. Falling to the floor, he crawled away into the corner. Zarkon shook his head.
"The gods have cursed me with you. Leanarra is more painful to look at. She has her coloring, her eyes, her hair – . Her looks remind me of your mother - but where it counts she is all mine. You are something else. I have read your teachers reports. You have her temperment. I wish she had never birthed youI will turn you into a Drule if it kills you." Zarkon walked over and pulled the boy up. The boy brushed himself off, fixed his father with an arrogant eye, and dared to speak to the Great King.
"Why have you not taken another to bed? It should not have taken so long to replace me?" Zarkon was taken back by the boy's insolence. He wondered if the child had a death wish like his mother before him.
"I have not found a suitable mate. But when I do, it will be the first thing I will take care of." Zarkon's eyes had narrowed. He was well aware that the boy was watching his every move. He was focusing on his face, listening to his heartbeat, smelling his frustration. These things pleased Zarkon to no end. Perhaps, there was some hope.
"It should not be that hard. After all, my mother was just a human slave." At that, he slammed his fist into the boy's head which crashed the child into the wall. It was inappropriate for the child to show such disrespect to his mother. The child crumpled to the ground, obviously unconscious.
"I like to tell myself that you do not matter anymore. There is comfort in that. Leanarra is pregnant with twins and maybe my mistake can be undone." He hissed under his breath.
Zarkon was angered by himself, not for what he had done to the boy, but for letting thate damn child get to him again. This is how it was always between them. Zarkon had tried to blame it on the boy's humanness. Deep down, he knew it was the Drule blood in the boy that kept on edging him for the fight. Even at such an age he challenged him when the average Korronnite, let alone a child, would have shown him respect or fear. The fear was there, that he had felt, but the boy had swallowed it deep. He called the guards to get the boy and place him on the transport.
As they carried the child off, his advisor, the witch called Haggar, entered the room as the guards were carrying off the boy..
"Sire, I see your reunion went as well as your last parting." Her voice dripped with sarcasm.
"You were supposed to find me the woman to bear my perfect heir." He growled. "Instead, I have produced a weak, bratty whelp with that Arussian whore." It always amused Haggar that no one else could disparage Althea but him.
"Althea was many things but I have never heard her called a whore. It was she that always paid the price for your affections and not the other way around. I remind you that she never took to your bed willingly. I never understood why you always wanted to negotiate what I was always so willing to give freely. It could still be yours if you want it." Haggar walked over and poured him a drink.
She fixed his cloak. It had become upended in the interview he had with his son. The Wyvern witch was still beautiful. He had taken great pleasure in her bed. He had thought to restore her place by his side after Althea died. Yet his lust for a woman's flesh had died when the Arussian did. It was not that women did not please him anymore. He enjoyed their company after a long day with men. But alas, when after watching them dance or feeling their hands on his flesh, he could no longer bring them affection. No amount of lust could rise that dead thing between his legs. Althea had truly left him cursed. The child, taunting him about not taking another to his bed, was only speaking the truth.
Obviously, the gods had deemed that Lotor would be his only son. He considered the little boy who had stood up to him and smiled. There was some strength in the child., and the arrogance that people would just assume came from his station was pure Althea. Oh, how that woman could rile those about her. His court, especially the women, had positively detested her. For a moment, he closed his eyes and brought forth her image. She had the most ridiculous smirk the Universe had ever seen. He had adored it.
Years later, that same smirk would return in the flesh to haunt him. And even though he would yell and downgrade its possessor, he would secretly delight when it emerged. That smirk would beg for a certain princess. And even though he knew what could happen when one fell for a cursed beauty, he would let his son go and after her. In his heart, it was not Lotor but Althea who was begging him the favor. Even then, with so many years between them, who was he to refuse her whims.
It was Haggar who returned his thoughts to the present. She heard him discussing Lotor again. He always wondered why she was so possessive of her rival's child.
"You did not ask me for a perfect heir. You asked me to find a mate that would produce the most cunning warrior the Universe had ever known. I have kept my part of the bargain." She handed him the wine.
"Really…I have no proof this deed was done." He grabbed the glass from her hand, draining it completely.
"He is but a boy. You put him away with legalists what did you expect? Give him time. Why did you hit him?" He placed the goblet on his desk and sighed.
"He questioned me. It was as though Althea was standing there. Althea is taunting me from the grave with that boy. Willing me to take her life rather than put up with my demands." Zarkon's hands smashed against his desk.
"She had no skill for self-preservation. Trust me, he yearns to live. This child is fated. He will not die by your hands though you will try to make it come about. You will find him a frustrating adversary more than a son." Haggar stated with a matter-of-fact tone. "It is good that you are sending him to Arus. Batak will make him strong there. When he is Emperor, he will move the capitol of the Drule Empire there."
"More of your fairy tales witch. You know I do not believe in the gods." The king moved to the large bay windows watching the transport take off. Deep down, he knew the witch told the truth. He harbored Wyvern blood and was also possessed with the Sight. He also had the dream. From the moment he saw the shock of white hair on the newborn's head, the Mark of Jain, he knew that his child would be Emperor. His family's name would live on through eternity. There would be a terrible price to pay for that privilege. At times, he wondered if it was worth the price of overturning the whole order of the Universe by introducing human blood into their line. He feared what he had wrought. Deep down he knew it was a great mistake. He also knew that it could not be undone.
"Is there no way to alter what will be? Perhaps, I should kill him now." Zarkon murmured.
"Something would prevent it. He is loved protected by the dark gods." She whispered back.
"He hates me. I can see it in his eyes. I feel it in his heart. He will bring about my death." Zarkon sighed.
"You brought down his wrath yourself. It is his right to seek vengeance for his mother but he may hold his hand. Your death is clouded to me, but if he does bring it then you shouldwill die happy. Your son will be more Wyvern than human, just like you wanted." Haggar walked away. She looked back once and shook her head. She had warned him about the law of unintended consequences when he kicked her out of his bed for the Arussian.