The Final Key: Part Two of Triad Read Online Free PDF Page B

when his tutors said he had a good mind: he knew he was slow. A barbarian. It gave him a certain pride that he had ridden to war at sixteen and distinguished himself in combat, but remorse haunted him. What did he have to offer a star-spanning empire—that he could kill with a sword, even his bare hands, but he couldn't read or write? At home he had been a hero; anywhere else, his life would have marked him as a juvenile criminal.
    After his combat experiences, his confusion had surged. He hadn't known how to deal with the vastly different cultures of his mother and father's universes. Guilt and self-doubt plagued him, and frustration with his inability to learn. He had grown angrier each day. Finally he lost control and went on a rampage in the school his parents insisted he attend—he who had fought as a warrior. His tutor had stood flattened against the wall, his face terrified, while Eldrin hacked apart the desk console with the same sword he had used to kill two men.
    His parents had sent him offworld then. At first he hadn't understood. If he couldn't manage his life at home, how
    would he deal with the Orbiter, a space station, a center of Imperialate civilization? But instead of the heartless ship he had expected, he found a paradise of rolling hills and wild-flowers that existed within a gigantic sphere. The habitat had only one sun, a lamp actually, but it was extraordinarily beautiful. Its one city was all gossamer towers and pastel hues. His tutors at the school there specialized in "learning disabilities." They said he had many talents. Then they taught him to read.
    It was one of the greatest gifts anyone had ever given Eldrin. They linked it to his music. He had sung all his life, as heir to his father, the Dalvador Bard. First Eldrin had learned to read music. The day he wrote the words of a ballad he had composed, he cried, in private where no one could see. He learned to read what other musicians wrote. Then he read about the musicians. One day, he realized he could read and write about other subjects. It was one of the most gratifying moments in his life.
    He and his son Taquinil had studied together. Initially his tutors wanted to separate them, afraid it would discourage Eldrin to learn with a toddler who was less than two years old. Eldrin insisted they stay together. It gave him no end of joy that his miraculous son was a genius.
    Eldrin's abilities with a sword bemused the people on the Orbiter, who seemed both fascinated and bewildered by bis antediluvian talents. But they lauded his voice without reserve. In his first concert, when he had been seventeen, millions had tuned into the virtual mesh-cast. Millions. The Parthonia Choral Society had paid an exorbitant fee to provide listeners with verification that his voice, including his five-octave range, was genuine, untouched by technological improvements. Reviewers used heady words like "spectacular" and "unparalleled." Doctors studied his vocal cords. Skolians championed his art. It changed his life, giving it exquisite textures he had never imagined.
    He was less sure of Dehya, his wife, this enigmatic pharaoh of an empire. They had been strangers when the Assembly arranged their marriage, forcing the union despite their objections. Dehya was much older, though she didn't look it, and related to him through his mother's side.
    Legally, their contract was on shaky ground. The Assembly demanded it anyway, in desperation. They called on an ancient law that decreed a Ruby Pharaoh must choose her consort from among her own kin, supposedly because only they were exalted enough for such a union. It was ludicrous and the Assembly knew it, but the law had never been repealed.
    The Assembly wanted them to have children. Skolia couldn't exist without the meshes that tied it into a coherent civilization, and fast communication across interstellar distances was possible only through the Kyle web, which existed outside of spacetime. Humans could enter Kyle space