Origins: The Oath

"Je'daii prize balance, but what happens when we can no longer tip-toe the razor's edge? An abyss awaits, deeper than you can know."

Vor'dana, 10,439 TYA

532 LE

It had been a long time since Oziaf was on all fours, frantically running for his life. Decades ago, when he'd been a slave to criminals and pirates, it had been almost normal. After rising high with Xim he'd fallen out of practice and he'd last done it on Abraxin, when he'd dashed away from the Red Witch and her Tyrant rescuers.

Now, six years later, he was running with her through the bowels of Whitewall Palace on Ranroon.

They'd made it all the way to these underground corridors which led to the palace's emergency rocket silo. Boots clapped behind them in pursuit. Despite that, Essan skidded to a halt. Oziaf stopped and so did Xim and Indrexu. Ranroon's queen was breathing hard but in better condition than Xim, who was bruised from the beating his father had given him.

Essan pointed back the way they'd come. "We have to stop them here. Otherwise we'll be caught in a pincer."

"How many are there?" asked Xim.

Essan frowned and reached out to sense. "I can't tell. At least a half-dozen."

Oziaf had no idea if that was true; he couldn't use his third eye, lest he alert Essan to his abilities. Gedor had stressed this. If she or Erakas were anywhere near, he must not call on his powers. It was frustrating to have to restrain himself.

"And many more in the other direction," he chimed. He might be suppressing his instincts but he'd gotten very useful glimpses of the plotters' troop deployments. "Majesty, I noticed that grenade at your belt."

Indrexu touched the explosive dangling at her waist. "There are blast doors around the silo. This won't break through."

"I was going to suggest we toss it in the other direction." Oziaf looked toward the fast-approaching boot-claps. "Let me toss it, since I don't have any weapons otherwise." Which wasn't wholly true: no matter where he went, he always carried one slim poisoned needle within a secret pocket in his vest. But that was a last-ditch defense, not useful against armored commandos.

"That's not a good idea," Essan said. "Look around. All these pipes, the cables, the gasses and fuel running through here. They must be toxic."

"In that case I'm sure it's a good idea. That magic of yours can move objects, it must be able to move air. Give our pursuers a gust of something truly foul."

Essan looked to the queen for instruction. A fascinating bond they had, Oziaf thought, perhaps a little like his to Xim, but the witch was honest and open with her powers.

Indrexu said confidently, "Oziaf, Essan, take the ones behind us. I'll scout ahead and see what's at the blast doors."

"I'll come with you," Xim told his queen.

Orders were orders. They turned and ran back down the hall, toward the oncoming enemy.

This was the trial he'd engineered for Essan. Per Gedor's instruction he'd moved the conspiracy to the point of execution, but it had veered out of his control. There were too many pieces in play and not enough time for him to manage them all. He'd done his best, but he wasn't sure that would be enough.

First, he'd arrived early on Ranroon and put his powers to work. From First Minister Rossu he'd plucked the location of the Tyrant Star Forge, as well as key-codes to secure data-vaults. After wiping Rossu's memory he'd accessed maps for some—but not all—of the Palace's secret interior passages.

He should have taken more precautions. Grand Duke Vardoc had acted with more alacrity than expected, cutting closed-door deals with Rossu and President Gelistar. They'd rushed Xim's capture without keeping Oziaf informed, which was disappointing but not surprising. When dealing with traitors, you expected to be betrayed.

Oziaf had done his best. He'd used his power to slip past the control room's guards before Xer could order him seized, and before escaping he'd sent a pre-recorded message from the Palace's main comm relay. This message was beamed directly to a very special shuttle in orbit, one stolen from a Hutt hierophant by Nikto rebels. This shuttle used its foreign, translight comm system to relay Oziaf's plea instantly to the Star Forge.

He hoped Erakas heard and was on his way now, because as good as Essan was, she alone wasn't going to get them out of this mess.

The witch stopped as abruptly as before, right before a hallway bend. Oziaf pulled the grenade from its place inside his dirtied waistcoat, right beside the poison needle.

"Throw it forward on my mark," Essan said, though forward ended three meters dead ahead.

"Now?" he asked, for the boot-clatter was almost on them.

"Now."

Oziaf pulled the pin and tossed it with both paws. The grenade lopped into the air, and Essan made a small batting gesture that knocked it around the curve. The boots clattered to a stop just before the grenade went off.

Oziaf had been close to explosions before. He knew their heat, the concussive punch of air, the way they set your ears to ring. None of that happened here. Essan stood her ground and raised both hands, open palms forward, like she was holding up a wall, but the wall was in her mind.

It was, Oziaf saw with awe, an inviolate barrier. Flame, heat, and freed gasses surged toward them, then simply stopped. Essan held them for what seemed likely several minutes, until the hacking coughs and falling bodies around the corner ceased to sound. Then she took a deep breath and pushed the wall away.

Back it went. The gas-clouds receded as though pushed by a mighty wind. Flames still flickered in the hall beyond, and Oziaf only felt their heat as Essan lowered her barrier.

"Impressive," he said honestly.

There wasn't time for more words. Gunfire sounded in Xim and Indrexu's direction. Essan and Oziaf raced for their monarchs. The witch was fast but Oziaf was even faster on all fours. The gunfire kept chattering—never a good sign—then ceased just before he rounded the final corner.

The heavy blast doors leading to the rocket silo were still sealed. Bullet-marks laced the walls and three Ranroon soldiers had fallen. So, too, had Indrexu, who lay face-up in a spreading pool of blood.

Xim knelt beside her. His left shoulder blossomed scarlet from a gunshot wound. Indrexu's head was in his lap and he was hunched over it, face slack, eyes hollow. Oziaf had never seen his friend and master like this.

But this was exactly where Oziaf had put him.

Essan knelt beside them and touched Indrexu's hand. Her expression fell.

Xim croaked, "Save her."

"I… I can't," Essan said. "I'm sorry."

Xim's free hand grabbed Essan's. The witch tried to pull away but Xim had her in a vise.

"Do it," he demanded. "Bring her back."

"I can't! She's already dead."

Xim let her go. He lifted his face, exposing the faint gleam of tears. Oziaf had only seen those once before, on the starlit night when he'd first met the lonely pirate prince.

Xim's next words were a choked cry: "Then what is the point of your magic?"

And what, Oziaf wondered, was the point? For decades he'd schemed in service of two masters and pledged never to betray either. Yet this was what he'd wrought: Xim cradling his dead queen's body, their lives in utter peril. Despite not meaning to, despite trying so hard, he'd broken his oath.

Despair almost swallowed Oziaf. "We can't stay like this."

Xim and Essan both looked at him, like they'd remembered he was there. Then the blast doors began the slow, noisy process of cranking open. Guards inside the silo were coming out, and they were in no shape to fight. The outer doors began to peel into the walls; next the inner set would recede into floor and ceiling.

"It's no good here," Oziaf insisted. "We have to fall back and come up with another plan."

"What plan?" Essan asked. "What could we possibly—"

Xim grabbed her again and pulled her into a pool of Indrexu's blood.

"She swore an oath," Xim stared the witch in the eye. "So did you. Does it stand?"

"What does it matter now?" Essan tried to stand but Xim wouldn't let her.

"I will honor her pledge if you honor yours. Does it stand?"

There was no time for this; he heard the soldiers on the other side calling for grenades. Oziaf snapped, "We have to go back the way we came! Please!"

Xim kept staring. Essan relented, "Yes. Yes, it stands."

Another oath sworn, the oath Gedor had wanted above all, the one Oziaf had gone to such lengths to engineer.

At least one master would be pleased.

Xim released her. They rose and gathered weapons. Then all three ran together deeper into darkness.