Page 1 of Touch the Stars (Ghara Empire #1)
Warrior Baatar.
Alone. Alone. Alone. The word repeated in his mind with each click of his booted heels against the floor, echoing what was at stake through the cavernous marble passageway.
Family.
Life.
Honor.
I am not a traitor.
But Buuren was. Like an uninvited guest, the fist of grief squeezed his heart.
How could his older brother have turned traitor to the empire?
Brought dishonor and shame to their family?
Was this why the emperor had summoned him to the sacred planet Ghara, the imperial seat of the Gharan Empire?
To deprive his family of another member as an example to others?
If my death restores my family’s honor, so be it.
Odd, though, that an Undetan warrior, capable of killing a being with his bare hands, had no escort to the imperial audience chamber. Merely leaving his weapons in the imperial docking bay did not render him un lethal.
I am not a traitor.
In the end, his opinion did not matter. The emperor’s proclamation would be the final word. The voice of the empire, the reverent being the Ancient Ones had chosen to be its current overseer twenty years ago.
And I?
Click. Click. Click.
I am alone.
The alabaster-white egress and tall arched doors to the emperor’s audience chambers loomed taller and wider than any on his home-world, dominating his vision. A vivid reminder that even though Undetans stood as tall as two meters, they were not the largest of all the empire’s races.
On the other side of those doors, his fate awaited. For better or for worse. Imprisonment? Death? Pardon?
A hollow gong resonated through the still air, reverberating in his ears like a premonition of doom. Then the massive doors swung slowly and silently inward. A wave of anxiety set his heart beating like the wings of a trapped talon hawk, the fiercest of all the birds of prey back home.
I. Am. Not. A. Traitor.
He was forever a loyal citizen of the Gharan Empire and a warrior of the Undet people.
And a warrior never showed their inner trepidation, especially not to the grand emperor.
That would be akin to admitting familial guilt.
He raised his chin, rolled his shoulders back, then stepped through the doorway.
The audience chamber reflected more white-on-white marbled opulence.
The only color came from the massive columns cut from single pale-yellow gemstones, a few geodes, and small, carved, ornamental stone sculptures.
Each piece of artwork was arranged on tall marble pedestals in the most eye-pleasing positions.
Grandiose, yet none of it was real. The entire imperial complex and everything in it, was no more than an illusion, made possible by the advanced technology of the Ancients.
Each imperial leader defined comfort differently and chose their surroundings accordingly.
As the current ruler was from Ragat, he would naturally find comfort in cold, hard ores and stones.
“You are Warrior Baatar of Undet?” The low, rough voice jerked his attention toward the imposing figure filling the left side archway.
The Ragatian’s putty-gray skin tone emphasized his resemblance to a living, breathing rock formation. His loose, silken shirt and pants in white, the shade worn exclusively by ruling imperials, proclaimed his status.
“I live to serve, my liege.” He lowered himself to his knees, the soft whisper of his brushed-hide uniform seemed louder than a stormy ocean in the austere chamber.
He bent forward until his forehead met the cool, white-veined floor.
Unease tightened his stomach. Traditional formality or not, exposing the back of his neck to anyone went against all his warrior instincts.
Which was the point, after all. Every warrior in the empire was at the mercy of the reigning sovereign.
“Rise, Warrior.” The emperor’s voice rumbled like gravel. “We have much to discuss and little time.”
He allowed a mental sigh of relief as he rose to his feet in a single fluid motion.
All three of the emperor’s arms hung loose and relaxed at his sides; the muscular, dominant right arm was as thick as his own waist. The lesser arm below it, and the single, middle-sized left arm, were no less impressive for their lack of size.
For a race built for war and savagery, and which drank their enemies’ blood, this male had somehow defied his genetic history to remain untouched by such violent tendencies.
So many had feared he would plunge the empire into a civil war or feed the citizens of the other member planets to his own people.
Not only had none of that happened, but the empire had also enjoyed twenty years with no external threats. Even with the Bajiki Syndicate.
“Walk with me, Warrior.” The emperor turned and lumbered, with heavy footfalls, toward the other archway to the right.
I live to serve.
He fell in, a respectful pace behind.
“As you know, the title of grand emperor is not hereditary. Each one is appointed by the Ancient Ones, who speak through the Empire’s Heart.”
“Yes, Great One.”
Appointed, then made a citizen of all the empire’s planets during a raucous, months-long coronation ceremony that progressed from one planet to the next.
He had been a child of ten years when this emperor took up the mantle.
As emperors served until their deaths, and Ragatians were longer-lived than Undetans, it was unlikely he would see another such ceremony.
The fingers of the emperor’s dominant arm curled and relaxed. “They have spoken, and the news is dire.”
Had he been summoned because the Ancient Ones had spoken his name from the holy crystal?
He stepped through the next archway and a sharp, acrid odor enveloped him.
His gaze slid to the blooming Ragatian sida bushes scattered throughout the garden, then swallowed hard to subdue his gag reflex.
If the stink from the yellow-gray blossoms brought joy to the one who had renounced all ties and allegiances to his home world and assumed a lifetime of celibacy, so be it.
Despite the current imperial leader’s questionable taste in horticulture, Ghara was still a gorgeous planet.
None of the other nineteen planets’ skies glowed a soothing shade of pale orange.
As the original home of the Ancient Ones, it had served as the imperial residence since the empire’s formation.
The grand emperor continued deeper into the garden along a wide path of gray and white stones. “They have determined that it is time to search for my successor.”
His stride faltered. A successor already? The grand emperor was still young by Ragatian standards. Younger than his own parents, hardly near the Golden Door.
“How can this be, Great One?”
“I understand your confusion.” The emperor indicated toward the lake-sized expanse of water ahead with one square hand. “Sit with me by the reflecting pool and listen to my words.”
“As you desire, my liege.”
The lake’s surface was as smooth as a polished crystal window pane awaiting imperial bidding.
Unnatural silence pressed against his ears.
No amphibious creatures croaked, no insect wings buzzed, and no fish swirled the water’s surface.
Not even avians warbled their songs. Such creatures would disturb the unmarred surface, rendering the pool useless for its intended purpose. Reflection.
The emperor sank his hulking form onto a large stone bench, leaving a smaller bench for him.
As he lowered himself, he allowed his gaze to glide along the perfect curvature of the water’s edge to a stone bridge that joined the main garden with the small, wooded island in the lake’s center.
The legendary home of the Empire’s Heart, which housed the Ancient Ones.
“A new planet is poised to become a threat to the Gharan Empire.” The emperor sounded troubled. “The Ancient Ones have counseled me, and their wisdom is indisputable. Bringing this planet into the empire’s fold will end that threat. They have decreed that my heir will come from this planet.”
“Adding a planet to the empire has never been done since the original nineteen—”
The red spark of warning flashed in the obsidian eyes. “Question not the Ancient Ones’ will.”
He clamped his lips together and lowered his gaze to focus on the emperor’s squared chin. Since the empire’s formation millennia ago, the Ancient Ones had not once failed the planets in their care.
“Your brother was executed as a traitor on Ragat.”
The blunt words stung.
“Yes, my liege.”
Buuren’s execution had been carried out before his family gained the necessary permissions to land on Ragat. No explanation was given, and the humiliation of it still burned in his soul.
The emperor leaned forward, placing his secondary hand over his dominant shoulder, covering where his heart resided in his armpit. “I am truly sorry for your loss, even though his offense was against me and my people.”
“My family is at your mercy, my liege. May I make a query?”
“You may.” The emperor lowered his hand to his lap.
“Have I been summoned to pay a greater penalty for my brother’s crime on my family’s behalf?”
The emperor’s chuckle rumbled like rocks rolling down a hillside, and his wide smile revealed razor-sharp teeth.
“Not at all, Warrior Baatar. I called you here to offer you the opportunity to restore your family’s honor.
” The macabre grin disappeared as his jaw tightened.
“You must fetch my heir from this new planet.”
A task, then, not death, to regain his family’s honor? A sense of purpose rose in his chest, and he met the imperial gaze. All the red in the royal eyes from moments before, gone.
“My liege is merciful.”
“Indeed,” the great one rumbled. “Alas, it saddens me to say that your brother obtained information about my heir’s location and identity. He sold that information to Bajiki spies before he was caught.”
No. Buuren, why?