by Glen Cook
“The pitchblende. These aliens wanted it?”
“The brethren believed so. Apparently they use it in power plants of the sort you once predicted in one of our discussions. It seems the Ponath deposit is a rich one indeed. It was because of it that the dark-faring brethren took control of all the brethren. They believed they could use the ore to buy technology. And thus the power to destroy all silth. But for you they might have succeeded.”
“Me?”
“You have a friend among the brethren. You were open with him apparently, even when relationships were most strained. The brethren, like silth, are able to extract a great deal from very little evidence. Like the Serke and Gradwohl and everyone else who paid attention to you, they saw what you might become.”
“Bestrei’s replacement.”
“Exactly. With a strong conservative bent and a tendency to do things your own way. The brethren foresaw a future in which they would lose privileges and powers. Also, you are more than Bestrei’s potential successor. You have a reasonable amount of intelligence and a talent for intuiting whole pictures from the most miniscule specks of evidence. That you insisted on isolating yourself in a remote industrial setting only further disturbed those who feared you. You recall the stir at the time of your first visit here? You recall me remarking that everyone was following you closely? Had you spent more time in TelleRai you might have been more aware of what you are and how you are perceived.”
“Such talk mystifies me, mistress. I have heard it for years. It always seems to be about someone else. I think I know myself fairly well. I am not this creature you are talking about. I am no different from anyone else.”
“You compare yourself to older silth, perhaps. To sisters who have risen very high, but who are in the main within a few years of death. They have passed their prime. You have your whole life ahead of you. It is what you might become that scares everyone. Your potential plus your intellectual orientation. That can frighten meth who, to you, may seem unassailable.”
Marika looked inside herself and did not find that she felt special. “Where do we stand now? Where are we headed? You wished specifically to know about my position on the convention.”
“Yes. It is critical that none of us holds a hard line. We must not give the dark-faring brethren excuses to recapture control. We must be satisfied with recapturing yesterday. The ruling brethren are eager to please right now.”
“They attacked —”
“I know what they did, pup! Damn you, listen! I know bloodfeud. I come from a rural background. But you cannot make enemies of all brethren. That will give the wicked among them ammunition. In that you risk defeat for all silth.”
Marika moved toward her saddleship, suddenly aware that Kiljar was unusually tense. There was a threat implicit in her plea.
“Yes,” Kiljar said, reading her well. “If you sustain your stance, you will find yourself very unpopular. It is my understanding that some elements within the Reugge have sent out feelers seeking aid in removing you.”
“I see. And if I bend? If I go along? What is in this for me?”
“Probably anything you want, Marika. The Communities want to avoid further confrontation. You could name your price.”
“You know what I want.”
“I think so.”
“That is the price. I will put it to the convention formally.”
Kiljar seemed amused. “You will do nothing the easy way, will you?”
“Mistress?”
“The dark-faring Communities will shriek if you demand extraplanetary rights for the Reugge.”
“Let them. That is the price. It is not negotiable.”
“All right. I will warn those who should know beforetime. I suggest you present a list of throwaway demands if you wish to make them think they have gotten something in return.”
“I will, mistress. I had better return to the cloister. I must shift my course there, too. Immediately.”
Kiljar seemed puzzled.
Marika slipped astride her saddleship and took flight. She rose high above TelleRai and pushed the saddleship through violent, perilous maneuvers for an hour, venting her anger and frustration.
Chapter Twenty-eight
I
Marika told the gathered council of the Reugge Community, “I have changed my mind. I am laying claim to first chair. I have seen that there is no other way for the Community to properly benefit from the coming convention.”
None of the sisters were willing to challenge her. Many looked angry or disappointed.
“I have been to the Redoriad cloister. They showed me evidence, collected upon their estates, that Most Senior Gradwohl is no longer with us. Despite my claim, however, my attitude toward the most senior’s position has not altered. I intend to retain first chair only long enough to win us the best from the convention and to set our feet upon a new, star-walking path. Once I succeed, I will step aside, for I will have a task of my own to pursue.”
Blank stares. Very blank stares. No one believed.
“Does anyone wish to contest my claim? On whatever grounds?”
No one did.
“Good. I will leave you, then. I have much to do before tomorrow morning. As long as you are all here, why not consider candidates for seventh chair?” She thought that a nice touch, allowing them an opportunity to strengthen themselves by enrolling another of her enemies in the council.
She truly did not care. Like Gradwohl before her, her strength was such that she could do what she liked without challenge.
She departed, joined Grauel, who had awaited her outside the council chamber. “Gradwohl’s darkship crew is here in the cloister somewhere. Assemble them. We have a flight to make.”
Grauel asked no questions. “As you command, mistress.” She persisted in her formal role.
“Have Kublin and Bagnel brought to the darkship court. We will take them with us. And have someone you trust care for Barlog. Most of the Maksche survivors have arrived now, have they not?”
“Yes, mistress.”
“Go.”
Marika hurried to her quarters, quickly sketched out what she would demand from the convention. Space rights for the Reugge. Serke starworlds for the Reugge. The void-ship Starstalker for the Reugge. The other orders could squabble over Serke properties on-planet.
Bar the brethren from space forever, not just for a generation. Disarm the brethren except in areas where weapons were necessary to their survival. Allow them no weapons exceeding the technological covenants for any given area, so that brethren in a region like the Ponath, a Tech Two Zone, must carry bows and arrows and spears like the native packs. Demand mechanisms for observation and enforcement.
There would be screams. Loud and long. She expected to surrender on most all the issues except Reugge access to space and a Reugge share of Serke starholdings. As Kiljar had said, let them think they had won something.
“Ready, mistress,” Grauel said from the doorway. “The bath were not pleased.”
“They never are. They would prefer to spend their lives loafing. Kublin and Bagnel?”
“They are being transferred to the courtyard. I told the workers to break out a darkship. Everything should be ready when we arrive.”
The flight was uneventful, though early on Marika had to lose a darkship following her at the edge of sensing. She crossed the snowline and continued north, and by moonlight descended into the courtyard of Gradwohl’s hidden darkship factory. “Good evening, Edzeka,” she said to the senior of the packfast. “Have you been following the news?” The fortress could send no messages out, except by touch, but could collect almost everything off almost every network. Gradwohl had established one of Braydic’s interception teams there. She would miss Braydic more than anyone else who had died at Maksche.
“Yes, mistress. Congratulations. Though I was unhappy to hear that Most Senior Gradwohl has left us for the embrace of the All.”
“There will be no changes here, Edzeka. We will continue
to do what we can to make the Communities independent of the brethren. We will expand our operations when we can.”
Edzeka seemed pleased. “Thank you, mistress. We were concerned when it seemed you would forego first chair.”
“There is a great deal of pressure on me to abandon the ideals that drew Gradwohl and me together, and you to her. I may have to present the appearance of abandoning them. It will be appearance only. The fact that you continue your work will be my assurance that I have not changed in my heart.”
“Thank you again, mistress. What can we do for you?”
“I need one of the new darkships. Tomorrow I must speak for the Reugge before a convention of the Communities. I thought I might make an unspoken statement by arriving aboard one of your darkships.”
“You have males with you.”
“Yes. Two very special males. The one who is not bound is a longtime friend, one of the few survivors of a bond friendly to the Reugge, who may be at risk in these times. I wish to keep him safe. He is to be accorded all consideration and honor.”
“And the other?”
“A prisoner. One of the commanders of the attack upon Maksche. He is to be assigned to the communications-intercept section to translate messages out of the brethren cant. Do what you need to to enforce his cooperation. Otherwise do not harm him. I may have a use for him. Now. May I have one of the new ships?”
“Of course. I will give you the one prepared for the most senior.”
“Good. I cannot spend time here, unfortunately, for I have to be back in TelleRai early. I will need to borrow bath as well. Mine need rest. I will need a Mistress of the Ship also, if I am to get any rest myself.”
“As you wish.”
“And something to eat.”
“Never any problem there, mistress. Come down to the kitchen.”
II
Grauel wakened Marika as the darkship approached TelleRai. She checked the time. Edzeka had not given her the strongest of Mistresses. It was later than she had hoped. There would be no time to pause at the cloister. She touched the Mistress, told her to proceed directly to convention ground. The convention would meet there despite the weather, which threatened snow.
The flight south had encountered patch after patch of snowfall, the Mistress being unwilling to climb above the clouds. She was young and unconfident.
It smelled like another hard winter, one that would push farther south than ever before.
A victory today, Marika reflected, and she would be in a position at last to do something about that.
The sky over TelleRai was crowded. Every darkship seemed to set a course identical to Marika’s. She edged up to the tip of the wooden cross, touched the Mistress, took over.
The moment the silth reached the axis, Marika took the darkship up five thousand feet, well above traffic, and waited in the still chill till it seemed the crowd should have cleared. Then she dropped a few hundred feet at a time, feeling around in the clouds.
If something was to be tried, this was the time.
So many enemies.
She glanced over her shoulder. Grauel was alert, her weapon ready. She checked her own rifle, then allowed the darkship to sink till it had cleared the underbellies of the clouds.
Still a fair ceiling. The snow might hold off awhile.
The air was less crowded. In fact, the few darkships aloft seemed to be patrolling.
She let the bottom fall out.
Startled touches bounced off her, then she was swooping toward the heart of convention ground as faces turned to look. The glimpses she caught told her they were thinking of her as that show-off savage, making a late, flashy entrance.
Exactly.
She touched down fifty feet from the senior representatives of the Communities. Kiljar was the only silth she recognized. The Redoriad came toward her, skirting a small pond.
Tall, slim trees surrounded the area, winter-naked, probably dying. The heart of convention ground centered upon a group of fountains surrounded by statuary, exotic plantings, and benches where silth came to meditate in less exciting times. A dozen Serke waited near the trees in silence, eyes downcast, resigned. On the opposite side of the circle stood a larger group of males, most of whom were old. Marika spied the tradermales from Bagnel’s quarters among them. She raised a paw in mocking greeting.
The males were sullen and hateful.
They were resigned, too, but theirs was not the resignation of the Serke. Marika sensed an undercurrent, something resembling the odor of triumph.
Was there something wrong here? A truthsaying might be in order.
“I had begun to be concerned,” Kiljar said. “Where were you? Your cloister told me you were away.” She eyed Marika’s darkship. While not as fancy as those of times past, it was large and ornate. “Where did you get that?”
“Sisters made it. That was Gradwohl’s legacy. A first step toward independence for the brethren.”
“You might avoid that subject.”
“Why did you wish to contact me?”
“Shortly after you announced you would become first chair of the Reugge, there was a rebellion among the brethren of the Cupple Islands. They have taken control there. What they do next depends upon what you say now.”
“I see.”
“I hope so.”
“I thought it was foregone what would happen. Dismember the Serke and ban the brethren from space for a while.”
“Essentially. But the details, Marika. The details. Your past attitude toward the brethren is well-known.”
“These prisoners. They are the sacrificial victims?”
“You could call them that.”
“The males are old. Those who will replace them are all younger?”
“I would not be surprised.”
“Yes. Well. To be expected, I suspect. I have brought a list. As I said, I will negotiate on everything but a Reugge interest in the void.”
“Understood. Come. I will introduce you. We will get into the details, then go to the convention for approval. Simply a matter of form, I assure you.”
Marika scanned the encircling trees. Here, there, curious faces peeped forth. Silth by the hundred waited in the greater park outside. “Have those meth no work?”
“This is the event of the century, Marika. Of several centuries. I will gather everyone. Tell them what is on your mind.”
Marika watched Kiljar closely, wondering about her part in the game. She was behaving as though there was some special alliance between herself and the new most senior of the Reugge.
Random snowflakes floated around. Marika glanced at the overcast. It would not be long.
“Speak, Marika,” Kiljar told her. And in a whisper, “Demand what you like, but avoid being belligerent.”
Marika spoke. The silth listened. She became uncomfortable as she sensed that they were trying to read into her tone, inflexion, and stance more than was there. She was too young to deal with these silth. They were too subtle for her.
Her speech caused a stir among the trees. Many silth hastened away to tell others farther back.
Kiljar announced, “The Redoriad endorse the Reugge proposal.” More softly, she said, “Remember, Marika, this is an informal discussion, not the official convention. Do not take to heart everything that is said.”
“Meaning your endorsement is a maneuver.”
“That, and that some unpleasant attacks may be made by those opposed. Those who speak against will not be declaring bloodfeud.”
The various representatives responded individually. Some felt compelled to do so at great length. Marika seated herself on a bench. She felt sleepy. Sitting did not help. She caught herself nodding.
The breeze became more chill. The snowflakes became more numerous, pellets of white that swirled around the heart of the park. They caught in the grass and whitened it till it looked like the fur of an old female. Kiljar settled beside Marika. “That fool Foxgar will never shut up.”
“Who is she?”<
br />
“Second of the Furnvreit. A small Community from the far south with limited holdings in the outer system. In a convention the smallest order speaks with a voice equaling that of the largest. Unfortunately. She may be stalling in hopes her vote will be bought.”
“Do the Furnvreit have any claim on the Serke?”
“None whatsoever. Few Communities do. But they all want a share of the plunder. And they will get it. Otherwise the convention will go nowhere.”
“Wonderful.”
A slith came from the trees, hastened to Kiljar, whispered. Kiljar looked grim.
“What is it?” Marika asked. A bad feeling twisted her insides.
“Somebody relayed your opening terms to the Cupple Islands. Those ships we saw around Starstalker. A great many of their type are lifting off, packed with brethren.”
Marika’s bad feeling worsened.
III
An old silth appeared, too excited to retain her cool dignity. “The darkships are leaving the cloister at Ruhaack! The Serke are... are...”
“You would deal with brethren!” Marika snapped at Kiljar. She raced to her darkship. “Grauel! Get aboard. Bath! Mistress! Get it airborne.”
The remaining silth stood bewildered for a moment, then scattered.
Marika was well away before anyone else lifted off. She touched the Mistress of the Ship. The Reugge cloister. Hurry.
“What is it, Marika?” Grauel asked. She kept turning, weapon ready, seeking something she could not find.
“I don’t know. But I don’t like this. I have a bad feeling. A premonition. I don’t want to be caught on the ground. We’ll pick up Barlog, then head for Ruhaack.” She was as confused as any of the silth aboard the darkships swarming up below.
Any course of action had to be positive.
The enemy was on the move.
She touched the Mistress of the Ship again, showed her where to go as Grauel protested, “Marika, Barlog is in no condition to —”
“I don’t care. I want her with me till we see what’s going to happen.”
The Mistress of the Ship brought the darkship to rest beside the window to Marika’s quarters. Marika gestured violently. The Mistress rotated the darkship, brought one arm into contact with the windowsill. “Hold it there!” Marika ordered. “We’ll be back in a minute. Grauel, break that window.”
