Part 5: Dorian and Mirien

Sunday, May 1, 2011


The palace of the Archduke of Regina, that monument of paradox to the Vihlani nobility. A beautiful building complex surpassing Versailles and the Taj Mahjal, filled with priceless art treasures and surrounded by gardens from paradise. But under this facade lay a black basalt foundation with the reinforced ferro-concrete structure of a massive bunker protected by the leading edge of energy shield and weapons technology. The present Archduchess, Larrienne, had enhanced the beauty and atmosphere of the palace, nearly doubling the size of the gardens and the Archduke, Luthur, had made it the safest place in the Vihlani Empire save for the great Imperial Palace at Barlim on Vihlany.
           The present Archduke, Luthur HiVilany, has reigned for 118 Vihlani Temporals (205 Earth years) and has steadily manoeuvred his destiny towards the Imperial Throne to such an extent that only the Emperor, Jevon HiVas, stood in his way. Not for much longer if Luthur had anything to do with it. But the art of Vihlani leadership is to be the last one standing.
           Luthur had killed Tybalt HiVas, his father’s murderer, who had been Emperor Jevon’s right hand man. This had been cleverly allowed by Jevon to eliminate his chief rival and placate Luthur at the same time. But now Jevon knew his confrontation with the wolf of Regina was imminent, and he laid his plans against him.

           Dorian and Mirien were in the magnificent atrium in the centre of the palace. Beautiful multicoloured flying creatures, some of which we would recognise as birds, others far more exotic, painted their chatoyant colours over a living tapestry of luscious diversiform of plant life, some of which were semi-intelligent.
           “You are special...” Mirien’s tone flowed over Dorian as the caress of the autumn sun on the leaves: wondrous, but doomed to fall. “...to me. I have spoken with father...He seems to want the whole event to be forgotten...It is almost like he is pleased. I worry when he can seem to take it so.” She always spoke in a deliberate manner, firmly engaging her interlocutor, her companion. 
           The Daysar plants had come over to her as soon as Dorian and she had sat down in the atrium. Four of them had waddled over as fast as their stumpy little tentacles could carry them, vying for her heavenly caress.
           “Father has a sense of justice. He will measure what is right. Egon and myself will accept his ruling. It is the customary way. I do not fear the outcome.” Dorian could not hear his own defiance in those last words, but Mirien did, and was alarmed.
           “Father has his own sense of everything! Nothing, absolutely nothing is without measure to some plot, some purpose.” She looked at him with the exasperated wisdom of the loving flower among the poisonous weeds. She had long learned the weariness of her survival: life predicated on staying out of the power games of her father and the inexorable pursuit of her chastity by her predatory contemporaries, male and female!
           “Beloved. Do not worry yourself. I...we will survive this.” Dorian moved along the bench towards her putting his arm around her. One of the Daysar plants, the smallest, gave up trying to reach over his larger brethren and waddled over to Dorian. He greeted it with his free hand stroking it under it’s head carapace. They both shared a smile as it began a soft pitched chime as he did so.
           “I know that I will survive as long as you do...Dorian. I have always known so.” She reached over and kissed him tenderly on the cheek. Her perfumed energy caressed Dorian, creating the singularity of love.
           “Yes, if all that I do come to in one measure of my worth, then your comfort, your happiness, your life is that measure.” He looked at her angelic face. He knew there could be no other light like this in his life, his existence.
           The image and conversation faded out on the video-com monitor as Luthur switched it off by telekinesis, his mind mulling over the words he had overheard. His son’s attachment for Mirien was so strong-it beckoned an angle of purpose-a use to be realised...  “if all that I come to in one measure of my worth...” Those words reverberated around Luthur’s supra-genius mind gathering and forming purpose and plot. Deep inside his being it all came together and immerged as a low, sonorous chuckle. He would put his plan into action that very night.

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