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They came just before dawn, an hour before the Terrazine flow waned and Slayn’s weak sun fought to be seen through the last of the fog.
Alarak’s eyes snapped open, feeling the extra presence a fraction of a second before it made itself known, only just managing to grab the wrist of the assassin as the knife came down, using all the force he could muster to prevent the blade from driving into his throat.
“Coward.” He growled, spare hand grabbing the knife from under his pillow and shoving it between their eyes, the sickening thunk of the handle against their skull followed by the thud of their body hitting the floor.
Clumsily, Alarak fell out of his bed with them, desperately clinging to the bedframe to try and stand himself up on one leg. He eyed his prosthetic, hearts hammering, but felt another presence in the shadows, cursing his decision to disregard his instinct and allow the scarred, raw stump its rest that night.
In his distraction, the other assailant lunged, taking advantage of his unsteadiness and tackling him to the ground. She growled with the effort, wrestling him onto his back so she could succeed where her companion had failed, pink eyes brimming with fury.
He fought against her grip, tried to reach for the knife still sheathed in the brain of the other assassin as she tried to pin down his arms, bringing his head forward and slamming his forehead between her eyes. She cursed, recoiling enough for him to roll her onto her back, where he was rewarded with a knife buried in his side.
She laughed at his cry of pain, kicking him off her but leaving the knife where it had been stuck. She sprang to her feet, taking a moment to watch as he shakily lifted himself on his arms, but saying nothing, walking over and kicking the knife’s hilt deeper, drawing another choked sound of agony from him.
Quickly, she moved to the corpse he had left, grabbing the knife he had tried in vain to use to defend himself, and stalked back over to him, triumph clear in her eyes; she thought she knew she had won.
Mustering up what strength he could with the haze over his mind, he ignited a spark of psionics between his fingers, using the metal bedframe behind her as a conduit for a bolt of lightning that shuddered through her body, leaving her convulsing, eyes rolled back in her head, until she finally dropped to the floor.
Her body steamed, the smell of cooking flesh permeating the room. Still, he grabbed her by the foot, shoulders heaving, and dragged her towards him, yanking her knife from his side and plunging it at an angle just under her sternum, ensuring he would pierce her heart.
For a moment, he lay there, examining the weapon where it was buried, just trying to take in air despite the stab of pain each time he even twitched.
He finally shook himself out of his reverie and crawled to his prosthetic, dragging himself along with his arms and leaving a trail of blood in his wake against the metal floor. Pulling himself into a sitting position, he quickly clipped the thing into its rightful place so he could finally fully stand and pull on robes.
What could he do? This was another more organised, sophisticated assassination attempt; the third in as many months. Everything that he had earned for himself was slipping through his fingers like sand one after the other. The temple caste, the phase-smiths, the rest of the rabble making their displeasure known…
A wave of dizziness washed over him. He pressed a hand to his wound.
There was no other choice.
Sweeping over to his communications panel, he hailed the signal that he had been given just before he and the Hierarch had parted ways; a door left ajar should he ever change his mind about his sentimental notions of unity.
The signal chirruped continuously for many long, agonising moments, the pain in his side increasing with each second that ticked by.
The Highlord finally growled with irritation, slamming his spare fist against the console.
“Answer, Templar. I do not have time to waste.”
As though summoned by his venomous snarl, the Hierarch appeared on the screen, the last of the evening sun on his planet blazing through the windows to the side of him. He moved to speak, then blinked, face dropping into a confused frown.
“Who is this? Where is Alarak?”
“I am Alarak. Who else would it be, you fool?” He snapped, realising then that he had never actually seen him without his armour concealing the majority of his features. He should be intelligent enough to figure it out.
Artanis looked at him again, taking in the state of him, his expression widening to one of alarm. “Are you alright—?”
“Yes.” He spat, pressing his hand tighter to the wound as more blood soaked into his robes. “Spare me your concern. You will meet me on Aiur; I will hail you when I am in orbit.”
“What… What is this about?” His eyes flickered to the blood, then back to his face. “Alarak if you need help—”
“You will know when I will it.”
Before he could protest, he cut off the communicator, shoulders heaving as he tried to take in more air. For some irritating reason, tears threatened to well up and spill over as his hearts refused to slow their sprint.
His gaze fell on the body of his assailants, their dulled eyes staring up at the ceiling in surprise. A sliver of satisfaction cut through his panic; the fools underestimated him and paid dearly for their mistake.
Wincing, he staggered to the door, knocking on the only other at the end of the long hall and shifting his weight awkwardly; he hadn’t even put his prosthetic on correctly in the aftermath of his panic. The metal casing chafed painfully against his stump.
Almost immediately, his Supplicant answered, cat-like eyes widening at the sight of him.
“Highlord, what happened? Another one?”
“Work quickly, Arun. Have Nyra dispose of the filth in my chambers.”
He ushered him in, seating him in the small common area that was surrounded by five more prism-shaped doors and lifting his hand from his side, parting his robes in the process and making a sound as though he were clicking a tongue.
“Bruising too… How hard did—”
“She made sure to kick it before I fried every synapse in her skull.”
“It’s deep. I will have to open it further to assess organ damage.”
With a short, irritated growl, he waved a hand. “Do what you must.”
Arun nodded, turning towards the doors behind them and tilting his head. It didn’t take long for Nyra to emerge from her chamber, ducking to keep herself from hitting her crest against the doorframe.
Her bionic eyes adjusted in the dark, taking in the scene before her, and she scoffed. “Fuck, you look like shit.”
Alarak glared at her. “You are lucky I am in no condition to answer you insolence; remember who you speak to.”
Unfazed, she banged on the door beside her before walking towards the exit. “How many?”
It had always been so irritating how she in particular refused to take any more than a mild scolding, but, as he had already pointed out, he was in no fit state to make any more of an effort to correct her behaviour. “Two.”
“Alright. Want anything doing to them?”
“Hang them outside the citadel door.” He snarled, partially from the agonising lance of pain as Arun began to clean him up. “And scalp them.”
She nodded, disappearing down the corridor. At least she is loyal.
Two more of his supplicants left the room that Nyra knocked on. Ra’noch and Ka’tor, timid, but with determination on their faces, were already armed with more water, cloth, the rest of Arun’s tools, and a measure of Terrazine.
Ra’noch held out the glowing swirl of gas, passing it over to him to inhale. Everything sharpened except the pain; that dulled to nothing as he sat back to allow Arun to work.
The incisions were no more than the soft drag of a dull claw, the parting of the flesh and slight move of organ and muscle merely an odd sensation in his abdomen. The supplicant adjusted the floating glasses over his eyes, sewed deftly, both inside and out, and kept that disapproving frown over his face the whole while.
“… You will need to rest for this, Highlord.” His eyes flickered up to his, and he sighed before he could say a word in response. “I know you won’t listen, but it will be said regardless.” The final layer after a daub of ointment was a large patch of gauze, held in place with bandages wrapped around his middle.
“I leave for Aiur tomorrow.”
“Aiur?” Arun raised a brow but said nothing more on the matter. “I will pack supplies for you to take; it will need redressing at minimum, unless you plan on re-opening these.”
“Fine.”
Nyra finally reappeared as Alarak closed his robes, covered in blood and holding the cut bundles of the assassin’s cords. “Your trophies, Highlord.”
“Hmph.” He nodded, adjusting his prosthetic and getting to his feet to take them from her. “Good. Perhaps they will be discouraged for a time.”
With that, he swept from the room with all the dignity he could muster, even as the pang of humiliation lanced through his chest. In the moment, it seemed that all he could do was go to Artanis again, but that was when he was panicked, unsure. Now it seemed as though he could handle anything; he had survived again after all.
Reason stopped him at his console once he had reached his now clean chambers. Where arrogance once was, the realisation that this could not go on forever gripped him.
“I will see what I can get out of him.” He sighed, rubbing his temple with a spare hand and putting the cord bundles away with the others; he would cure them later.
For now, he needed to prepare.
His flier landed in a small, secluded station some distance from the glittering capitol of Aiur at the behest of his former ally; he had refused to elaborate when pressed on the reason why, something which was as irritating as the two guards that were stood waiting for him.
They at least had the decency to bow as he stepped down onto the landing pad.
“The Hierarch has requested that we escort you into the city, Highlord.” One spoke, suspicion underpinning the polite façade in his tone. It was clear then what the two of them were truly there for; he did not trust him.
The slats of his armour chafed against the bandages of his fresh wound, the wash of pain reminding him that he had no choice but to take whatever he had decided as a precaution. He was running out of time.
Making his way down the short ramp, Alarak shrugged dismissively. “Hmph. I expected some respect from Artanis. I suppose I will ignore the insult. For now.”
They made no further comment, no outward reaction to his sarcasm. Instead, they took their places either side of him, the blue shimmer of a warp unravelling around them as the docking bay melted away.
He found himself in a large, airy room, mostly made of window and adorned with the usual white, gold, and blue of Khalai structures. He squinted slightly at the harsh sun streaming down onto them, already feeling uncomfortably warm and exposed.
Artanis looked wary, walking over to the three with caution. Still, he bowed his head to his escorts.
“Thank you, you are both dismissed.”
The guards bowed deeply in turn and left them, the soft shift of the closing door leaving them perfectly alone.
“Alarak. You look… Exhausted.”
The Highlord immediately thought of Nyra’s earlier comment, stifling a wry laugh at how diplomatic the Hierarch insisted on being. “Tch. I am fine.”
“Then your call was not as urgent as I had first expected?”
He sighed deeply. This was the part that he knew would be difficult; how could he possibly spin the dire situation he found himself in so that it was not simply a plea for help? How could he keep his dignity intact when only hours ago, he was on Slayn demanding an audience with him?
“I have come to strike a bargain.”
“Oh?”
Drawing himself up, he squared his shoulders, tried to make his tone nonchalant. “My people are rebelling against me, and I require you to aid me in putting a stop to it.”
Artanis raised a brow, tilting his head slightly. “Rebellion? Why would they choose rebellion now and not when you first ascended to rule? I was under the impression that they would not dare question you.”
“I do not know, Artanis; they should not dare question me.” He gestured sharply with the snap of his voice, glaring, so easily losing grip on his composure. “Since Amon breathed his last, something has shifted that I cannot control. They have pestered incessantly for purpose, and as it has worsened, they no longer obey. I have razed entire mutinous colonies, and yet they continue to rebel regardless.”
He tapped his chin, looking at nothing for a few moments before those blue eyes flickered back up to his face.
“This may not be something you can force back to how it was, Alarak. Your people are clearly demanding change—”
“As though I have not considered the possibility of change. Why else would I be here?” He rolled his eyes, but even then he felt those emotions bubble to the surface, cracking his expression, sagging his shoulders slightly. “Change is not something that I would ever consider willingly.”
The Templar seemed to notice, his tone softening. “… When you contacted me, you were injured. What happened?”
“I had expected that I would rule as Highlord without such issue, that I would be challenged according to our laws should they be so displeased with my decisions. Instead, they find ways into my citadel—”
“Assassins?”
“Cowards.” Alarak spat. “I took great joy in slaughtering each of them.”
“What do you need of me, Alarak? Why are you telling me this?”
“Is it not obvious, Artanis?”
His expression dropped just slightly, his tone hardening. “Enlighten me.”
“It is clear that continuing as everything was when Amon still stained this universe is not feasible. I have had to bend to the will of the phase-smiths already. You will advise me on how to proceed with the rest of the masses.”
“And in return?”
“I will consider joining this little ‘Daelaam’ arrangement of yours.”
Every nerve recoiled as the words left him, disgust filling his chest at the idea of unity with the rest of the Protoss that he had considered so unworthy for the majority of his life. It seemed clear Artanis was similarly irritated with his suggestion.
“I will need to speak with the others, Alarak. Your ‘bargain’ is one-sided at best, and I will not have you using our resources with nothing to give in return.”
Panic scraped against his ribcage and took hold of all three of his hearts. He put a sharp edge on his voice to try and cover it up. “You cannot refuse me, Artanis. You cannot go back on what you said as we parted ways—”
“I said that I would be willing to hear from you if you truly wished to join us. You do not. This is a selfish attempt at using me for your own gain, and I will not tolerate being taken advantage of.”
He had clearly grown a little more of a spine than the last time they had spoken. If he weren’t in such turmoil, he might have been a little impressed.
Instead, that panic squeezed harder, the pride of his head suddenly overrun by the desperation of his heart. He stepped forward, for some reason once again gripped with tears that he did not know he possessed. Even as his mind snapped at him, told him that he was above groveling—
“I will not survive the next assassin, Artanis.” The words were out before he could stop himself, his voice raising louder than he usually ever allowed it. “I cannot leave here empty handed; you cannot leave me to die.”
He looked at him, examining him in a way that felt as though he were being stripped of his armour. After a moment, his shoulders relaxed, blue eyes softening into an expression that was difficult to place.
“Give me an answer.”
“… I will have the guards escort you to a sleeping chamber while I deliberate. It is clear you need rest.”
Something in him crumpled, the emotional storm leaving him as rapidly as it had taken him in its grip. He couldn’t even protest; for the first time in his life he was unable to find the words that would make it go his way.
Those two guards entered again, bowing to the Hierarch and allowing that same blue shimmer to swallow them up.
“So Alarak has decided to grace us with his presence.” Vorazun rolled her eyes as Artanis entered the small, round chamber. “After making such trouble with the Terrans, you would think he would know better than to come back so soon.”
“I had always said that if I were to see him again, it would be too soon.” Talandar shook his head.
Rohana landed gracefully on her feet, standing at her place around the table in the centre. “It is certainly unusual. I am curious as to why he has decided to come here after all this time.”
The Hierarch hesitated, looking into the eyes of each of the Protoss gathered there, and let out a sigh.
“He came for a bargain. I told him the terms were weighed too heavily in his favour.”
The Matriarch scoffed. “A ‘bargain’?”
“His people are rebelling against him. He requires my aid to help him quell it.”
“In return?”
Inwardly, he winced, knowing exactly how the Nerazim would react. “He would ‘consider’ joining the Daelaam.”
Predictably, she scowled, throwing up her hands. “And you entertained this? I was diplomatic when the universe was crumbling around us, Artanis, but I refuse to allow you to even consider agreeing.”
Artanis held up both hands to try and calm her. “I did not agree. I am going to redraft his proposal, but I need your advice; this is why I’ve called you all here.”
Talandar shook his head again. “Why even consider his lies?”
“I don’t believe they are lies. He was desperate. If it were not for his pride, I believe he would have begged if he had to… He seemed exhausted; he was on the verge of tears.”
Rohana tilted her head at that, large eyes suddenly narrowed as she brought up the display panel on the table. Large amounts of flickering text scrolled past as she studied it.
“Reports from the Aiur Tal’darim’s fledging council have indicated a spike in what they have deemed to be ‘heart sickness’; a term that is biologically unsound, but symptoms are characterised by floods of emotions that they would not have felt otherwise. It is my understanding that Amon blocked positive emotions so that the effect of Terrazine would be more potent—”
“This would make them more dependent on Amon.” Karax tapped his chin. “The belief that he would gift them the ability to feel even for one moment…”
He nodded, turning this information in his mind. Not that Alarak would ever admit to such a thing, but the usual control he seemed to have over himself had fractured; it was plain to see.
“From these reports,” Rohana added; “There has also been an influx of Tal’darim landing on Aiur recently.”
“Refugees.” Artanis sighed. “I have had to monitor their district closely; the Aiur Tal’darim are not taking kindly to more of those from Slayn.”
“Is he planning on interfering with them, Artanis?” Talandar’s synthesised voice darkened. “Should he wish to bring them under his tyranny again—”
“He has made no mention of that; I doubt that he would go back on his word after so long.”
“Then why is he here?” The Purifier scoffed. “We will not lend our might to crushing these rebellious Tal’darim; I believe it will do him good to face consequences for refusing to change.”
“He has been fighting the rebellion for a while, it would seem. He did not come to me for an army, I would have refused immediately if he did, but he did make mention of already needing to agree to the terms of his phase-smiths. I believe he wants help with doing the same for the rest of them.”
Karax’ eyes narrowed slightly. “They have phase-smiths?”
Rohana nodded. “A group arrived on Aiur some time ago, though there are no records of anything after that. Either way, there may have been more to the societal structure of the Tal’darim than we had first thought.”
“Either way, he is here for change, however begrudgingly. He was injured when he hailed me yesterday; I doubt he will survive if we send him back now.”
“Selfishness—”
“I know that it is selfish, Talandar, but I choose to see the good in this. Even if it is only for his own survival, he would be willing to hear the demands of his people for something more. I think of them, not him. You only need help me with this proposal; he will be my responsibility after that.”
Vorazun’s shoulders sagged. “Artanis… Fine. What did you have in mind?”
“First, there will be no ‘consideration’. The Tal’darim will join the Daelaam if he is to have our help, and that will mean everything that membership comes with whether he likes it or not.”
“Good. At least then we can keep an eye on him.”
“I may also request the sharing of resources, if only to assess what these phase-smiths have to offer.” Karax spoke quietly, a thoughtful look on his face. “I am curious what they have made of the designs they had stolen in previous centuries.”
Artanis nodded. “Consider that done. I will also require him to stay on Aiur; he will need to broaden his experiences if he is to truly go through with what he intends.”
“An Aiur Tal’darim as his aide may prove useful in acclimating him; from my understanding they are different from his people, at least in some respects.” Rohana pulled up another screen. “I will choose a candidate or two from the existing Tal’darim aides here; they have made an effort to integrate, and those efforts should be rewarded.”
“I am unsure if that’s wise.”
Her hand paused over the readings. “Oh?”
“As I have said, they do not take kindly to Slayn Tal’darim. I doubt that working for the Highlord would be appealing. There is also the matter of his safety; he has dealt with assassination attempts, and likely his presence will invite more.”
The preserver looked at him thoughtfully. “Perhaps referring to him as one of Ascendant rank, used interchangeably with the rank of ambassador, would mask his presence further.” She folded her hands together. “Do not say that it is to serve the Highlord, but perhaps an Ascendant. Once accepted, we may have them be complicit in the ruse.”
“That could work.”
“He will have to disguise himself.” Vorazun shrugged. “That armour and his voice are so recognisable that a change in rank would do nothing. If he wants change, he will need to change himself.”
“I agree.” Artanis tapped his chin thoughtfully. He would likely hate the idea, but they were at an advantage; his desperation was key to making this work. “I will discuss that.”
Talandar shifted his colossal weight, pistons and gears shifting. “And in return we will help his people?”
“We will help him to help his people. It will likely be a fight, but I am willing to fight him in order to get what they want. We may yet have a unified Protoss.”
“Would you prefer this agreement in writing?” Rohana gestured to the screens. “It may benefit you to have something tangible.”
“Tal’darim do not make their agreements in that way, Rohana, and I am confident that he will keep to his word; he has no other choice.”
“I trust your judgement, Hierarch; I do not trust him. I will draft something for my own peace of mind.”
“Alright. Thank you all. I will meet with him in the morning.”
“Why not now?” Vorazun’s eyes narrowed.
“I sent him to rest; he is still injured.” Artanis shrugged. “I did not want to be cruel and leave him there while I consulted you all.”
She said nothing to that, but the look in her eyes was enough. Part of him agreed; he was perhaps being too soft, but the way the usually proud Tal’darim had resorted to begging him had shaken him. Perhaps Alarak needed some kindness.
One by one, they left, leaving only himself and Rohana, who eyed him carefully.
“You are troubled, Hierarch.”
“I wonder if I am doing the right thing.” He sighed. “Vorazun does not seem to think so.”
She lifted both hands in a soft shrug. “She has no reason to trust him, but she clearly has not seen what you have. He is not capable of lying, and if he is as desperate as you claim, then he would have no reason to betray you either. As I said; I trust your judgement.”
“… Thank you, Rohana.”
She bowed her head slightly. “One more thing; we will need Terrazine.”
“Why?”
“Slayn’s atmosphere always has some concentration of it in the air; at night it pours from geysers and stains the sky. Tal’darim that leave the planet suffer very painful withdrawal without proper care. Alarak may have mild symptoms in just a few hours. If we do not carefully manage his doses, staying on Aiur may kill him.”
“I will have that dealt with immediately.”
She nodded. “Good luck, Hierarch.”
The room was simple; a bed, a door to a washroom, a small table with a couple of chairs… That was unusual for him; he was used to kneeling when he wanted to sit. A wall of glass opposite the entrance had a door that led out to a small balcony… Opulence for the sake of it.
Alarak may have been Highlord, but the rooms and living spaces of the Tal’darim had always been practical and often passed down from those who had come before. Everything he was seeing here was… new.
He was finally alone, at least, alone to roll how the meeting went over and over again in his mind. The rational part of him bristled at his slipping control, how quickly he had slipped into begging. So much for his dignity.
“At least it seemed to have made him change his mind.”
After ensuring that the entrance door was definitely locked, he turned his attention to the glass one opposite that led out onto the balcony. Despite how high up he seemed to be, he could not rule out an attack from the outside.
He growled a little irritably when he realised that one could not be locked, placing a chair in front of it and drawing the huge, heavy curtains until only a small gap of harsh sunlight could be seen. He would be able to see an attacker before they could see him, should that happen.
He scanned the rest of the room just as carefully, ensuring there were no hidden spaces that could be used against him. It was a habit; the most vulnerable place to catch one off-guard was always where he would usually feel the safest, and after so many nights killing those that had crept in to do the same to him…
“Not that Artanis would stoop so low.”
Once satisfied, he then finally began to remove his armour, slotting the metal neatly in a small closet of sorts and folding the robes in a pile. The bandages were rumpled, but Arun’s stitching seemed to have held; there was no sign of blood.
Next, the washroom. It was spacious enough, he supposed, with no hidden spaces that he needed to double-check. The mirror above the large basin was intact as well, though looking at his face, he partially wished it weren’t. Large, dark circles had embedded themselves under his dull eyes. He was surprised he had even stayed alive for as long as he had with how restless and distracted he had become.
“Fool. You are better than this.” He said to himself, scowling and splashing cold water over his face, hydrating himself and getting rid of any trace of tears.
Drying the last of the water that had not absorbed into his skin, Alarak moved back into the previous room, glancing at the bed. His body tugged at him, begging him for rest as it did so often now. Arun had been insistent that he adhere to a proper sleep schedule, but how could he when a bloodhunter was always waiting for him to close his eyes?
Still; it seemed safe enough. A couple of hours couldn’t hurt.
“Knowing the Templar; it will take him an age to come to a decision anyway.”
For a moment, he hesitated, listening again for anything out of place before being satisfied enough to settle, pulling the neatly made blankets away and sitting on the surprisingly soft mattress. Tal’darim bedding was always hard and harsh, not that he had ever paid any mind.
He debated taking off his prosthetic. The stump ached with the constant pressure, but that poor decision had cost him precious moments last time…
No, he needed to be up quickly should he be called.
“With a favourable answer, I should hope.”
Lying down gingerly, legs hanging off the side of the bed, Alarak placed his free arm over his eyes and tried to sleep.
A sharp knock at the door yanked him awake, his eyes snapping open. For a moment he didn’t even know where he was, the muted white and gold pitting panic in his chest until he got his bearings. Aiur, of course. He glanced at the gap in the curtains. Dawn.
Quickly, he sat up, wincing at the pain that lanced through his temples and his side as he pulled himself out of bed and got into his armour. It was an oddly nauseating pain, a shimmering spot floating just on his periphery; the start of a migraine.
Terrazine withdrawal? He frowned, slotting the pieces into place and fixing his belt to his waist. That shouldn’t have been happening so soon…
Pulling a dose from his belt, he inhaled, allowing the gas to seep through the slats to be absorbed by his skin. Almost immediately, the headache subsided, the shimmering spot dissipated, but it was replaced by an odd sense of dread. He would need more soon, or those symptoms would get worse. But why?
Sweeping to the door, he allowed it to open, revealing those two guards from before in the hallway. They bowed slightly at the sight of him.
“The Hierarch has come to a decision.”
“Then do not waste time loitering.” He waved a hand dismissively to try and offset the fact that the hope he had tried to quell began bubbling to the surface all over again. “Take me to him.”
The guards, thankfully, wasted no time, though Alarak did wonder why they insisted on warping everywhere. It was like when he first landed; the secluded docking bay away from the main city a way to hide him.
But from what?
They materialised in the same room as the day before, though the dawn sun did not touch the large windows, allowing him to see the slight blue shimmer of a forcefield against the glass. At least they had some contingency for all the ways one could fall out of them.
Artanis was stood at the head of the table, his head tilting slightly as he dismissed the guards in a conversation that Alarak was not allowed to be privy to.
He forced himself to wait until the doors had closed before speaking. “You have thought about my bargain?”
“Yes.”
Gesturing sharply, he glared at him. “And?”
“We will help you, Alarak. I cannot stand by and watch your people be destroyed for aspiring for better.”
It was as good a reason as any. Relief washed over him despite the way he wanted to roll his eyes at how idealistic he was. Let him care for the masses that were so eager for his head; he would survive regardless.
“However, there are conditions.”
“What conditions?” His eyes narrowed. Of course; it was a bargain, after all. Something told him he would be paying a far higher cost than he had hoped.
“The Tal’darim will join the Daelaam. Your phase-smiths will share their knowledge and resources with ours, and as we progress the project, we will begin to trade freely.”
“And I will have to keep away from the Terrans, I should suppose?”
“Yes. We have treaties with them that I will not abide by you breaking. If you want change, this is part of it; you will learn to share the sector.”
Of course. After his little spat with the Defenders of Man, he wasn’t surprised that Artanis should immediately draw a line when it came to the primates he cared for so much. Not that he cared about such a condition; he had other things to concern himself with.
“What else?”
“You will need to spend the majority of your time on Aiur, with trips to Slayn for negotiations and whatever duties you have as Highlord. For that, however, we have decided that a disguise is necessary.”
“What?”
“We will refer to you as ascendant or ambassador interchangeably, provide you with a uniform for formal meetings in place of your armour which you will wear when you are here, and I will be your mouthpiece; you will not be able to speak in case you are recognised.”
Disgust writhed in his ribcage. The very idea that he should be controlled in such a manner, that he was barred from being what he had fought so hard to achieve was nothing short of torture. His scowl deepened.
“Why? I did not think you would be one for such games, Artanis. Humiliation? Really? Strip me of my title, my armour, my voice. To what end?”
Artanis shook his head. “Of course I would not humiliate you, Alarak, but the Aiur Tal’darim do not want your people here; I doubt they would be happy that the Highlord has now arrived. This is the only way to ensure your safety.”
“No wonder you have been hiding me. Let them try; I will slaughter them as I have the other cowards.”
“No.” His eyes burned bright, his voice suddenly harsh. “I will not have you deciding to wage a war with the Tal’darim you gave freedom to because you wanted to be reckless, Alarak. You will disguise yourself as I have outlined, or you will leave.”
Alarak sighed, letting it taper into a growl.
“You said it yourself; ‘I will not survive the next assassin’. On Slayn or on Aiur. We will not invite the risk.”
The most irritating part was that the Templar was correct, but there was no way that he was going to admit such a thing. He had taken full advantage of the desperation he had foolishly allowed to take him over the day before, and now he had to agree to whatever was put forward.
“I will not wear whatever you decide is a fitting uniform unless necessary; it is already too hot on this planet as it is.”
“You can wear what you wish so long as it is not your armour, Alarak. I will not deny you comfort.”
The offer of at least some control over these terms eased him slightly; at least he could choose the nature of his prison. “Fine. Anything else?”
“We will provide you with an aide. It will help with the ruse, and we are hoping that we will find an Aiur Tal’darim that will be comfortable with helping.”
Alarak rolled his eyes, scoffing with disbelief at the suggestion. “Yes, just allow one from the group that despises me to follow me around everywhere and know every intimate detail of my routine. You are brimming with excellent ideas today, Hierarch.”
“They will be vetted; I have a list of desirable candidates already. With any luck, they may also be your mouthpiece.”
“This is ridiculous.”
Artanis sighed. “You don’t have a choice. These are my terms. You either accept them or go back empty handed.”
“I will accept, but only if you dismiss these guards you have following me around.”
“They are necessary—”
“They are a nuisance.” He glared. “I did not need them on Slayn, I do not need them here. I should think that a lone Tal’darim and whatever aide you have decided to force upon me would be less suspicious, hm?”
The Templar closed his eyes briefly, as though to calm himself, but nodded. “Fine. I will allow you that.”
“Then I suppose we have a bargain, Artanis.”
“We do.”