Fans rise and fall in the hands of Cerpant slaves. Their red, slender, serpentine bodies struggle to keep up the demanding pace of their Lord. Blowing cooling air across his moist, smooth skin. A third slave gently misting water from a hand pumped bottle. All to keep comfortable their Liege and Master. Lord Rie’z lounges in his finely upholstered couch. He is far from his home. Having grown where water was abundant, this harsh, dry air is bad on his white scales. Thrice daily soaks keep his finned limbs from tearing. Drops are applied hourly to his large, black pupils to keep his sight clear. Juice filled fruits keep his wide lips from chapping and his throat from becoming parched. It’s a hard life for a Phiiish, but Rie’z manages.

  From high in his palace, built in the new capital city of Venetian, Rie’z overlooks the Great Mirror Gate. The day's shipment is late, again. Since the rise of the Crimson Empire this has become the norm. Trade, which was once the lifeblood of Dest, has grinded to a halt. It is only Rie’z’s rank and loyalty to the Empire that keeps the Mirror Gate open at all these days. As one of High Emperor Thaed’s Five Lords, he has many privileges and even more demands. Anything to make life on this gritty rock just a little more bearable. It is unfortunate for Rie’z that he was given dominion over Dest of all places. Still, better to be on the top of a dustball than anywhere lower on Quarius. It has been dark times back home. Anything to get away from that terror.

  Rie’z leisure time is cut short as the assault team he sent out returns for their report. A Knight patrol did not return several days ago. When their bodies were discovered, the scene was confusing to say the least. Rautt are not so efficient and would have lost five of their own or more for each Knight. Termitents are far more violent and are not known to use firearms. The bodies were burnt, a common practice of rebels on other worlds but a first for Dest. Oddest of all was that one of the bodies was found several miles away from the others and left unburnt. That is new on any world.

  The Crystal Knight, flanked by its Crimson squadron, bow before Rie’z. In his hand a worn bag.

  “My Liege, we return from our mission to avenge our comrades."

  “Tor, for the last time it-”

  “Captain Tor.”

  “Captain Tor then. This was not approved as a mission of revenge as you continuously insist upon. You were merely to discover the identity of the individuals who terminated our Knights. No excess force was authorized unless defensive. Did you follow these commands as given?”

  “I did indeed my Liege.”

  “Then what have you found?”

  Tor drops the back on the ground. Yellow Saprophite pours out of it. Many with an unflattering coating of red. Rie’z is unimpressed.

  “Common rocks. We have piles of them in the barracks. Of what value are these?”

  “These are not ordinary Saprophite. Their charge is far higher than what we possess. At least five times greater.”

  Rie’z rights himself. Finally hearing something of interest to him.

  “Are you saying we have a lead to the Core?”

  “Perhaps. These were in the possession of a lowly Rautt merchant. Far too valuable to have been obtained on their own. They must have been traded for supplies.”

  “Well bring me this merchant. We must interrogate them.”

  “I am afraid that is no longer possible."

  Rie’z sighs deeply. These Crystal Knights. Unlike the Crimsons they are mortal men. Born of a mother and father, not chemicals and a glass tube. They have just as much ability to think and feel and reason as any other. They simply choose not to. Tor has direct command over the Knights, even superseding Rie’z himself despite being of higher rank. And as the only Crystal Knight on the whole of the planet, it would take only a single word to turn those Knights against their Lord. Despite the endless frustrations, Rie’z needs Tor on his side.

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  “Whoever gave that merchant these Sapro is of immense importance to both our goals. So I suggest you find them and, with as much care as is possible, bring them back so we can properly interrogate them.”

  “I will mobilize our entire force. Nothing will be left standing when I am finished.”

  “You will do no such thing. We have barely enough forces to hold this city let alone go on some half-cocked crusade.”

  “Buyt my Liege-”

  “Listen to me as carefully as you can. Your methods are wasteful. We would be out of Sapro and water in three moons if we did things as you wished. I was put in charge of this planet by order of High Emperor Thaed himself. Until we manage to impress his Highness, we must make do with what limited resources are allotted to us. If you ever want to see your little pet project brought to fruition, you will bring the perpetrator or perpetrators back alive.”

  Of all the Lords Tor could have been trapped under, he had to be stuck with a Phiiish. A decadent, cowardly lot. Rie’z being among the worst of them all. A traitor to his own who used political machinations and calculated incompetence. Tor would love nothing more than to rend that smug face from Rie'z' s scaled head. Unfortunately, Rie’z is right. He is the Lord of Dest and without him no supplies would be brought through the Mirror Gate. Despite the endless annoyance, Tor needs Rie’z on his side.

  “I understand completely. However, I do suggest increasing the size of our patrols. And authorising the use of higher power levels for our spears.”

  “Those can be managed. Do keep the spears at a medium, however. We have been burning though our Saprophite supplies fast enough as it is. How many did you use to find this information, exactly?”

  “Not enough.”

  “I am sure we would disagree on that.”

  A shimmering wave fills the space between the massive metal pillars of the Mirror Gate. An Aurora of colors forming an ethereal doorway. Slowly, a heavy furred beast of burden comes stepping through the gate. Pulling behind it a large wagon full of vital food, arms, medicine and water. Another follows suit until there are five such creatures in the courtyard. Rautt and Cerpant slaves quickly unhook the wagons and replace them with new wagons full of Saprophite stones. Then they turn the beasts around and lead them back through the gate. With the last beast having made it through, the Mirror Gate loses its shimmer. Closing the door to other worlds for another month. Now the wagons begin to be unloaded of their essentials. And a few less than essentials requested by Rie’z himself.

  “Late and less than was asked for. No wonder nothing gets done around here. I must make sure those goods end up where they are meant to be and not in some slave's pocket. Fill out your requests and then rest a while. You can head out in the morning."

  “In all respects my Liege, I would prefer to be back on patrol before the sun sets.”

  “You have been travelling back and forth across all the sands for weeks. A man cannot survive on bread alone, you know. Even the slaves get legumes and roots. I won’t have it. Get a proper meal and rest in a real bed for once. And take a bath, will you? You smell like a Lezzan that was wallowing in its own droppings.”

  “I-”

  “That is an order, Tor.”

  Tor raises his fist in salute and takes his leave. Some lovely Cerpant slaves whisked him away to the private baths. He will be hand washed with silken towels in a spring of fragrant oils. May even take one of those slaves to his bed for the night. Rie’z finds Tor’s insistence on living a hard and uncomfortable life almost amusing. They are both men of power with needs, after all. Just because he is a soldier by trade does not mean Tor needs to be a soldier at all times. Despite their differences they have a plan that will benefit both of their desires. Rie’z desire to leave and Tor’s desire for more forces with which he will finally subjugate this world to the last. All they need is one more Core.

  “You, come here.” Rie’z calls over a Crimson Knight. “Tell me truthfully. Was there any evidence of who our mysterious traders were? Any at all?”

  The Knight speaks in a low, forceful breath. They were meant to take orders, not give them.

  “Before Merchant die, he speak of traders. Words hurried and frightened. Small detail. One was strange bald creature. Tattered clothing. Other very large and black. Broken wings.”

  “I have no idea what the first is. However, the second sounds like a Drak’aan. A black Drak’aan with broken wings all the way in Dest. Hmmmm…”

  Rie’z inspects a blood coated Sapro rock carefully. Considering the possibilities.