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Boniface the Pretender

Spoilers ahead, proceed with caution

There were smaller pieces under glass, epaulets belonging to famed commanders out of history, a roundel showing the Imperial sunburst that had purportedly been part of a suit of armor made for Prince Cyrus the Golden . . . the shattered remnants of the White Sword that had executed the pretender Boniface in the fifth millennium.

Tor Paulos, Howling Dark - Chapter 34: In the House of Kharn Sagara

Construction on the Eternal City began early in the sixth millennium under the direction of Emperor Raphael IV while the Empire—and Avalon in particular—was still recovering from the devastation caused by Boniface Grael’s brutal interregnum.

Tor Paulos, Demon in White - The Aventine Dynasty & The Eternal City

Human settlement on Colchis goes back to the fifth millennium ISD, following the Hundred Year Terror, in which House Avent was removed from the throne by Boniface the Pretender. In the wake of that civil war, the newly reinstated Emperor Gabriel II ordered the Imperial Archives moved from Avalon to the newly minted colony of Colchis, then a remote military outpost.

Tor Paulos, Demon in White - On Colchis

The Green Sea (on Gododdin) was not grassland, but hundreds of square miles of fields where the Legions grew their bromos, the genetically engineered oats that have kept billions of our soldiers on their feet since the time of Boniface the Pretender.

Tor Paulos, Demon in White - Chapter 7: Before the Sun Fell

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Cid Arthur

Empire of Silence
Chapter 24: Those Mindless Days
They say that when he was a boy, the prince Cid Arthur was kept in a pleasure palace by his father’s faithful archon, isolated from death, disease, and poverty, for a vate had prophesied that if he should see the ugliness of the world, Cid Arthur would renounce his father’s throne and become a preacher himself. I had always wondered at this, for I had grown up in a palace myself, and I knew of poverty and sickness and had had my own brushes with death—first with my grandmother, then later when Uncle Lucian had died in his shuttle crash. I could not understand how Arthur had been so blind.

I understood it now.

Just as there is a difference between the news of a distant planet’s destruction and the bloody death of a coliseum slave, it is one thing to know there is poverty and illness and another to walk among the poor and suffering.

...

Like Cid Arthur on his quest for the Merlin Tree, I did what I had to do to survive. I ate fish raw from the canals, raided compost bins. I depended upon the kindness of street vendors—a class of men not much noted for their charity—and I learned to beg. I will not say I was good at it, but desperation eventually broke down the dregs of my palatine dignity.

Chapter 31: Mere Humanity
Cid Arthur found more than poverty when he escaped his father’s palace. He found sickness, too. As did I. The Gray Rot...

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Kasia Soulier

Privateer Admiral in the Foundation War (Chapter 77 of Empire of Silence). See TEXT OCCURRENCES below for context.

In EoS Chapter 35, Switch mentions that there were movies made about Kasia's adventures.

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Kharn Sagara

The King with a Thousand Eyes; The Undying; Commander of the Extrasolarian Sojourner ship Demiurge. King of Vorgossos. Presumably the same Kharn Sagara from the ancient legends, implying that he is nearly fifteen thousand years old.

—His children, REN and SUZUHA, apparently his clones.

—His servants:

—BRETHREN, a Mericanii artificial intelligence composed of human tissue designed to grow forever. Confined to an underground sea in order to support its weight.

—YUME, an android which acts as the Undying’s caretaker and butler.

—CALVERT, the Exalted in charge of Kharn Sagara’s cloning program and body farms.

—NAIA, a homunculus.

Empire of Silence
Chapter 31: Mere Humanity
“All right.” I sucked in a rattling breath, held it so it wouldn’t come out a sob. “I’ll tell you a story.” A year passed, it seemed, or a century before I chose a story for her as I had countless times. It was one she’d heard before and one I knew almost as well as Simeon’s. “Once upon a time, on an island far from Earth, upon the margins of untrammeled space, there stood a city of poets. The Empire was young in those days, and the last of the Mericanii were broken.

“The city of poets had been built as a haven, as a place for men to hide from the Foundation War and compose their arts in peace. The city had only one law: that none may use force against another. So the city flourished and was made beautiful by all the artists who dwelt behind its walls and prospered by their fellowship.”

“Except for Kharn.”

“Kharn had not chosen the city for his home but had been born to it, the child of a great poet. And as the children of great warriors are often not warriors themselves, so he was no poet. He dreamed of being a soldier, a hero like those in the epics his people composed. His people would hear none of it. ‘We have no need for soldiers here, nor the burden of arms,’ the poets said, ‘for we are far from Earth, and the walls of the city are strong.’

“‘Those who will not live by the sword will die by one,’ Kharn insisted, for so the poems said. But the poets did not believe their own words, believing stories to be dead trifles under their command. Yet truth is neither opinion nor its slave, and the day came when the sky was darkened by sails. The Extrasolarians had arrived. Men like monsters in the Dark, the children of the Mericanii in their black-masted ships. And they burned the city and the poets in it.”

“Except for Kharn.”

Here I paused to brush the hair from Cat’s face and to mop her brow. That accomplished, I continued, “Kharn fought them, and the Exalted—who are kings among the Extrasolarians—recognize only strength. So they spared him even as they cut the hearts from his people and set their bodies to crew their vile ships. They spared him. And Kharn lived among them for many years and with them pillaged other cities, other worlds.”

I do not know how long I spoke or how long I held her hand. I told the whole story. How all the while Kharn Sagara harbored vengeance in his heart. How he turned the Exalted against one another, slaying their captain and taking command of their ship for himself. How he set a course for their home: the frigid Vorgossos and its dead star. I told her how he took their planet for himself, how he made himself king of that dark and frozen world. It was the story from the book Gibson had given me, The King with Ten Thousand Eyes. It was not a happy story, nor was it a short one.

Chapter 42: Speak Like a Child
The word was that they were keeping something in the solitary confinement ward of the underground prisons amongst the madmen and the murderers who died in Colosso in the most spectacular of ways. Some said it was an Exalted, one of the demoniacs who ply the Dark between the stars, as in the tale of Kharn Sagara.

Chapter 76: Deathbed Conversions
“Tell the others my wound took me,” Uvanari said. “Tell them anything, but do not tell them it was like this.” I could hear the defeat in its tone, the surrender. I nearly choked on it, having already betrayed the truth to Tanaran and the others. I offered a stiff nod, a gesture wholly meaningless to the creature. At last it spoke again. “The world? Vorgossos.” I froze, and the sensation of shapes crawling spiderlike in my mind intensified. Vorgossos . . . “Vorgossos is a myth!” But a myth the Cielcin had heard of? Surely such a myth set its roots in truth, in the world of atoms and darkness? The ichakta was dying, threat or no; that last twist of the knife had severed some vital artery or nicked some precious organ. The blood fell hot past my hand in galloping spurts, darker than ink. And then the lights returned, returned as Uvanari, weak now, murmured, “Vorgossos.” “It’s not real,” I said, unable to say anything else. “There’s no such thing as Vorgossos.” The door hissed behind me, and I panicked, drawing the knife up sharply and deeply notching a rib as more blood spilled like the dark between stars onto white flesh. As legionnaires poured in, I staggered backward, slumping to the floor at the foot of the torturer’s cross. My knife had done its work. Uvanari was dead before even the first of the soldiers could reach it. EOS 77 - From his place upon the high seat—a hulking confection of native corals grown in a radiating, treelike pattern of greens and gold—the count waved a ringed hand. “Besides, you cannot honestly tell me, Inquisitor, that you believe this Vorgossos nonsense.” When Agari opened her mouth, Lord Balian continued, “If it ever existed, Vorgossos is long dead. Just a thing in old stories.”

Chapter 77: A Rare Thing
Agari still knelt, head downcast. “With respect, Your Excellency, Your Reverence, ladies, I cannot see how the dead xenobite could have known of Vorgossos unless it is real.”

...

Lady Kalima stood, pivoting in a mirror of Olorin’s gesture as she said, “We should be considering the original proposal: using the Cielcin captives to negotiate peace with their leader.”

“One little clan? Out of how many?” interjected Chancellor Ogir from a pew along the wall, drawing the eye of all those about the throne. “We don’t even know where they are.”

“Vorgossos!” I said brightly, clutching my arm as I turned to the chancellor. “You all heard the name, but before the power cut on, the ichakta indicated a relationship between the Cielcin and the Extrasolarians.”

Ligeia found her voice, perhaps emboldened by her hatred of me. “Demoniacs! Allied with the Pale? Traitors and apostates!”

Howling Dark
Chapter 18: The Other Edge
Not knowing what to say or how to react to this piece of news, I said, “Oscianduru,” using the word the Cielcin used to refer to their great worldships, though I had no notion what to expect from the Extras. Mother’s operas led me to suspect some dim industrial hell, a place of grinding machines and shadow. Still other tales spoke of crystal palaces, like those on Jadd. Vorgossos itself was meant to be a palace of ice and diamond, a faerie city peopled by demons such as the legendary Kharn Sagara had tamed when he cast out the Exalted.

Chapter 20: The Bonecutter
Cento drew a dirty kerchief from another pocket, polished the lens before screwing it back into his face. “Vorgossos . . . no one gets to Vorgossos except through his Exalted.”

“His Exalted?”

“The Undying who rules Vorgossos,” Cento said, pressing his lips together. “This is the story you hear, yes? The Undying who shares his gift to those who pay for it. A cure for death. This is why you seek Vorgossos?”

A cure for death. That was true, in a sense. Only it was not my death that concerned me, for I was young and not then afraid of my fortified mortality. Unbidden, the black scar on Rustam’s surface filled my vision, that aching ruin of a city. I heard again Uvanari screaming under the cathar’s knives, and saw men writhe in the dark as Cielcin stooped over them, blood on their faces like vampires.

A cure for death.

“Yes,” I said, swallowing. “I was told you Extrasolarians had such a thing.”

“Extrasolarians . . .” Cento almost laughed. “We are not a people, Gibson. We are people. There are Extrasolarians and Extrasolarians. I am only a doctor. The Exalted . . . you have heard stories.”

I had. My mother was fond of them. The Exalted had appeared as villains in some bad Eudoran masques, in so many great operas. It was against them that the legendary Kharn Sagara had fought after they destroyed his home. They were beyond humanity, it was said, creatures who had given so much of themselves to their machine daimons that almost there was nothing left. The very word conjured impressions of bloody fangs in metal jaws, of eyes dead as old metal, and vague shapes lurching about the dark corridors of the mind.

“The Exalted serve Vorgossos?”

“Some of them do,” Cento said. “They are not an order; they are not a people. Some of their captains answer to the Undying, but not all. Only they know where the world is.”

“How is that possible?” I said. “It’s a planet, isn’t it? How does one hide a planet for . . . centuries?”

Cento’s human eye wrinkled in amusement. “No one knows, and yet no one will tell you where it is.”

“You know, then?” I took a step forward, emphasizing as I did so my height advantage. I towered head and shoulder over the little Lothrian, and the gravity on March Station was not so strong as on Emesh. I might have lifted him with one hand if I wished it.

“No! No!” Cento raised his hands. “You need to ask right people. Vorgossos has contacts. Traders. Men who know right ships. Cento is not one of them. Cento does not know. You have to go to the traders. To the docks. Not ships captains. Shipping companies. The Exalted have people on March Station. Some are Vorgossos. Some not.”

I brandished the universal card again. “A name, Cento. I need a name.”

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Kharn Sagara's host body, as first mentioned in Howling Dark, was killed by Bassander Lin in ISD 16227 during the Battle Aboard the Demiurge.

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Ren Sagara

Child of The Undying Kharn Sagara, King of Vorgossos.

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Following the death of Kharn Sagara's host body, as first mentioned in Howling Dark, during the Battle Aboard the Demiurge, Ren Sagara and Suzuha Sagara jointly become the next host of Kharn Sagara.

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Suzuha Sagara

Child of The Undying Kharn Sagara; Witch-Queen of Vorgossos.

Home Planet: Vorgossos
Birth Year: ISD 16212.07.22
Species: Human
Nationality: Extrasolarian
Blood Type: AB-
First Appearance: Howling Dark

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King William Windsor, the God Emperor

King William VII Windsor, called William the Advent, the God Emperor, Emperor of Avalon and Eden, Last King of the United Kingdom of Great Britain, King-in-Avalon, and Lord Sovereign of the Kingdom of Windsor-in-Exile. The first Sollan Emperor, deified by the Chantry.

—His descendant, EMPEROR WILLIAM XXIII

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Lucas Skye

Empire of Silence
Chapter 30: The Umandh
We sing songs, spin tales of Sir Antony Damrosch—born a serf himself—or of Lucas Skye, stories I had shared with Cat by night a hundred times. We like to imagine it is easy to rise, to stand. The be a hero. It is not. This was not my moment. I was not a hero. Am not, or was not then.

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Simeon the Red

Simeon's tomb is near Athten Var on Judecca.

Empire of Silence
Chapter 29: Less Wings to Fly
“Have you ever heard of Simeon the Red?” She shook her head. I forced myself not to blurt a panicked “What!” at her and said instead, “He was my greatest hero. Simeon was a scholiast. No court vizier, but a ship’s science officer and part of the Expeditionary Corps. This was . . . oh, thousands of years ago, back when the Empire was young. His was one of the first ships into Centaurus, surveying worlds for future colonies. Mostly they found freeholders, barbarian men who preferred the frontier to civilization, like the Normans today. These they let be or traded with or conquered in the name of the Emperor, striking ever outward into the Dark. There they found a strange new world, a freezing, craggy place ruled by giant birds and by a race of flying xenobites.”

“What were they like?” Cat asked. “The xenos?”

“Like birds themselves. A little smaller than us but with great wings for arms and short beaks.”

“And talons?” She leaned her weight against me.

“Oh yes,” I said, gesturing. “And claws at the end of their wings that they used to wield cutlasses tall as I am!” I raised a hand to indicate how tall those weapons were. “So Tor Simeon led missions to the surface, trading with the natives. The Irchtani, they called themselves. He learned to speak with them and to understand the sign language they used, and all was well between our people and theirs.

“But they had sailed too far for the crew. The men were sick at their guns and for want of home and human women. And while Simeon was on the ground with his guard and his science team, the crew mutinied, killed Simeon’s captain and the other officers, and were going to take their ship out to the freeholds and live like pirates. But they made a mistake.”

“They forgot Simeon?”

“Oh no, they didn’t forget him. They wanted him. Simeon could speak to the Irchtani, see? He could persuade their chieftains to sell their enemies to the mutineers as slaves. No one in the galaxy but them had seen an Irchtani before. Imagine the price one of them would fetch! For research at an athenaeum, or in Colosso, or sold to some old-blooded lord. They meant to be rich, you see, and they thought Simeon would help them. No, the mistake they made was thinking Simeon could be bought. He couldn’t. Simeon was a scholiast and renounced wealth when he donned the green robes of his order. Worse, Simeon had befriended the Irchtani princes and banded with them to fight the mutineers when they came in their shuttles to find him. Simeon had never been a soldier, but he led the xenobites against the human traitors all the same and helped organize their retreat to the temple at Athten Var, the holiest of holies to the Irchtani people.”

“What was it like?”

I waved a hand. “They said their gods built it all of black stone on the highest mountain on the world and that it could be defended. That was where they made their stand. Simeon and the Irchtani were victorious, the mutineers were thrown off the mountaintop, and Simeon retook his ship. And as a gift the Irchtani gave to Simeon a great cloak such as their princes wore. ‘It is like your robe!’ the Prince of the Birds said, but it wasn’t. The Irchtani do not see color like men do, and the cloak they had made was red, not green. And thereafter Simeon was called ‘The Red’ for the cloak of the Irchtani, and he called the planet Judecca for the treason that was suffered there. The Empire named him captain and furnished him with a new crew, and they traveled farther into the Arm of Centaurus and brought to many other worlds the light of the Imperial Sun.”

“And what happened to the xenos?” Cat asked. “When the Empire arrived? Are they gone now?”

“They’re still there,” I said. “I forget which house rules Judecca now. Calbren, maybe? Or Brannigan? There are actually Irchtani auxilia in the Imperial Legions, fighting the Cielcin. I once heard talk that the Emperor was considering citizenship for those who served the standard twenty-year period.”

“Really?”

“Really!” I said, squeezing her with one arm.

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Sir Antony Damrosch

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Prince Cyrus the Golden

Unconfirmed: Potentially a reference to "The Travels of Cyrus" by Andrew Michael Ramsey (1727) in which, like Xenophon of Athens, the author fictionalizes the life and travels of Cytrus the Great, the 6th century (BC) found of the first Persian Empire.

Robert Betteridge, in his web article "Curators' Favourites: The Travels of Cyrus," describes the narrative:

Cyrus’s travels begin when his mother Mandana takes him to the court of his grandfather Astyages at Ecbatana. There he distinguishes himself in both his conversation and military prowess and his mother, sensing this may go to his head, warns him against being seduced by the luxuries of the court. This introduces a recurring theme whereby states and their leaders are weakened, corrupted and led astray as the introduction of luxury to society breeds destructive greed, jealousy and ambition. Cyrus’s virtue is also preserved by his love for Cassandana despite the obstacles in their path. After leaving Persia Cyrus’s travels take him to Egypt, Greece, Crete and Cyprus before he returns to his homeland.

On his journeys Cyrus meets famous figures such as the philosopher Pythagoras, the Athenian lawmaker Solon, the spiritual leader Zoroaster and the Spartan general Leonidas. He is told the histories of his hosts’ nations and stories that illustrate moral virtue and how a wise leader should act. These and other historical figures presented in the book were a more immediate vehicle for Ramsay’s ideas than we might find them today, being familiar to educated readers of the 18th century who received much of their education via the authors of classical Greece and Rome. Cyrus’s time with Solon is used by Ramsay to illustrate the author’s own view that the best form of government was a benevolent monarchy advised by an aristocratic senate, avoiding “all the disorders of a popular government”. The mysteries revealed to Cyrus include the Greek philosophy of metempsychosis involving the reincarnation of the soul, and Ramsay blends Christianity with Newtonianism: something that appealed to his freemasonry where he became a leading figure in France. Several times Ramsay refers to a “first Mover”. Zoroaster tells Cyrus “the first Mover draws all spirits to himself, & by his almighty attraction unites them in different societies; so does he likewise continually act upon all bodies, give them a tendency towards each other, & thereby range them with order into different systems.”

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Julian Felsenburgh

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