“Greetings, Noble Unar,” said Vaani with a triumphant cackle. “I told you she could be brought here.”
“Yes.” He stared at Zaula from behind his mask, filling the sordid room with his height, blocking her from the steps leading out.
“My men?” asked Zaula, dry-mouthed.
He swept out a hand, palm down. “Thou has new servants, noble leiis. And a new jen cadre. Allow us to serve thy will.”
“My will is that you get out of the way. Let me pass!”
“Ah, have care, noble leiis,” he said smoothly, still blocking her path. “The night is full of many dangers.”
Panic cut off her air. She shrank back, trying not to show her desperation. “You dare much, you and your house.”
“My house intends to rule on behalf of Hihuan’s revered daughter.”
Zaula gasped. “How did you know? So soon, when even I—”
Vaani’s cackle shamed her. “Noble dame, just because thy mental powers have been shattered does not mean the rest of us are helpless. Thou has come to me before. It was a simple thing to persuade thee to come again.”
“Tonight was my own idea,” began Zaula hotly.
“A suggestion skillfully placed to coincide with thy own apprehensions and curiosity,” said Unar. “Well done, Vaani. We shall reward you amply. Come, noble leiis. There, is someone at my citadel who wants very much to meet thee.”
Zaula drew herself erect. “It pleases me to return to the palace. If you wish to rule Ruantl, you must vie with the other houses in the honored way.”
“Oh, noble dame, do not be so naive! Now that I have thy honored person in my keeping, I do not intend to let thee go. And if thou wishes thy daughter to grow up with the joy of her mother’s company, thou will accept the assistance of Mura-an.”
“The House of Mura-an is the most powerful, now that Kkanthor is no more,” she said slowly. “If I accept your assistance, what need is there to bear me away from Altian? Why am I not permitted to return to the palace? It is there that Asan must be faced.”
“Thou are not the person to stand against him,” said Unar coldly. “Hihuan’s child must be in a place of safety away from Altian. Now come, good leiis. The night grows short.”
Despair filled Zaula. She would never be free. Hihuan was dead, but she remained a game piece to be moved here and there by those stronger than herself.
“Why should I trust you, Noble Unar?” she demanded.
“Would thou prefer the Spandeen as thy protectorate?” he mocked. “Or even the infamous Soot’dla?”
“Those traitors!” Zaula stiffened. “It is just that you do not respect tradition, noble. You do not come asking—”
He laughed. “No! Good leiis, thou will find I do nothing in the traditional way. I’m not asking thee; I’m taking thee. Now come.”
Seizing her arm without heed for royal protocol, he wrested the jen-knife from her hand and dragged her outside into the icy air.
“May Lli cross thy shadow, good leiis,” said Vaani with a cackle, and slammed shut her door.
Zaula looked right and left, hoping some of her men had survived. But not even her litter remained in sight. Soldiers bearing the insignia of Mura-an stood watchfully in the shadows. Unar hustled Zaula along so quickly she had to struggle to keep up with his long strides. She felt pain in her abdomen and clutched herself.
“Slow down. I beg you, slow down, or there will be no child at all.”
With a muffled oath, he slackened his pace, but his grip tightened on her arm. “It is not far to my transport. Hurry.”
“I cannot. Please…”
But he hurried her on, giving her no more than that brief respite. The footsteps of his cadre echoed behind them. Ahead, shadows lurked and furtive little vermin, gleiglits probably, scrabbled along the stinking gutter. Zaula stumbled, panting now and dizzy.
“Please…”
He scooped her up into his arms and carried her the rest of the way down a twisting alley barely wide enough for two men to walk abreast. At the end of the alley a small transport waited, steps down, guards on alert. Zaula saw the feral glow of Bban eyes watching from the surrounding darkness. She pressed a hand against her mouth to muffle a scream. If the savages should attack now…
But Unar carried her into the transport and seated her. His hand lingered a moment on her shoulder, and she stiffened with a new fear. As long as she carried, she was inviolate. But after the birth, what would become of her? What might Unar require of her in exchange for his protection?
She shrank lower in her seat as Unar moved away to strap himself in. His cadre came aboard, clanking of battle shielding and arms, their voices low and muffled behind their masks. The hatch was secured. A building whine warned her of liftoff. Her hands clenched on her seat. She tried to relax, but her tension only mounted. The child within her cried out as they left the ground, and Zaula bit back a moan. Shivering, feeling the fever returning, she wondered if either she or her precious daughter would survive this night.
Chapter 2
Boredom…
Asan yawned behind his mask as his two cintans argued over the best way to march to Altian without running into a Bban ambush. He sat on a tall chair carved from precious orad wood. He could sense the age of its molecules as his gloved hands curved around the arms. Supposedly it had been brought to Ruantl with the first two colonists. He shifted restlessly on the hard seat, and the voices faltered.
“My leiil wishes to speak?”
Asan flipped his palm down in a swift negative and motioned for them to continue. He yawned again, wishing he had taken a porter out over the low ridges below the Tchsco Mountains. The black desert of the Outerlands was boring too, nothing but an endless expanse of barren dunes and rock. But at least it would have been more interesting than yet another war council.
There had been plenty of strategy meetings during the days of season, in which everyone had been cooped up in the mountain stronghold. Only the occasional Bban raids had provided any excitement at all.
And when the officers were not discussing advance tactics and siege methods, a whole contingent of self-appointed chancellors tried to give him advice on setting up a new government.
He had never thought life at the top would be tedious detail and decision making. Where were the Sybaritic apartments, dancing girls, lavish parties, attentive slaves, and good times?
He had climbed his way up from being a vat boy in a GSI laboratory complex to a blackmarketeer to the ruler of Ruantl, and what did he have to show for it? Approximately 5.9 sextillion tons of planet composed of sand, rock, gold, platinum, blue silver, lead, corybdium, zinc, iron, nickel, copper, zinium, and pressurized carbon nodules. Rubies, sapphires, and highly diverse rezonide crystals were as common as pebbles. To the west beyond the Ddreui plains lay mercury pools. And most of the planet was uncharted.
Frowning, he ran a fingertip around the rim of his goblet. It was made of gold and blue silver alloy and studded with sapphires that winked in the light of the torches. Even the below-caste Henan slaves wore more wealth in the form of jewelry than most executives of the Galactic Space Institute owned in protected vaults. Asan thought he was probably the wealthiest man in the universe. But what good was it on a planet where children threw fist-sized rubies into lakes to tease wild borlorls and gold was as common as dirt? If he couldn’t find a way to distribute these minerals off-planet, then it was all useless to him.
Right now he would have given half of all he owned for a serviceable spaceship, or even a long-range communicator.
“And does my leiil agree?”
Asan glanced up with a blink. He hadn’t heard a word. But he had grown adept at handling moments like this. He moved his fingers in a quick signal to Pon Fflir at his side.
As heads turned to watch Fflir leave, Asan stood up. He walked over to the board where tiny sections of Altian were marked in colors to indicate the interests of the various major houses.
Ggolen had stuck a bronze flag in
to the red sector of the Soot’dla. Asan frowned, one finger tapping the base of his mask. He had met once with Dame Agate. She was a shriveled up old crone who had tried to look upon him with truth and gotten her own rings scorched. Because she was on his side, she expected him to roll over with gratitude and accept her advice. But power was too new to him for him to be willing to share it with anyone.
He looked for Llor’s cluster of flags and found them surrounding the city. Asan grimaced. That was just like Llor, so eager to cover all bets he never won any of them. How he had managed to become a cintan of the Tlar’jen was a mystery.
“I see no purpose in surrounding the city.”
Ggolen and Llor exchanged glances. Ggolen puffed out his chest, and Llor hastened around the end of the mapboard to join Asan.
“Great leiil, please consider once again my reasons. The—”
“No,” said Asan, sweeping out his hand. “Altian is in chaos. There is no force there keeping order. Why not just move in?”
Masked faces looked at one another in consternation. Murmurs broke out among the soldiers crowding the cavern where council was being held.
“Without the Goddess Anthi we dare not,” whispered Ggolen. “We have advised thee several times before, noble leiil. Such a plan is too rash.”
“Let us go in slowly, a vector at a time. With Dame Agate’s support—”
“Which house has the greatest knowledge of technology?”
This time even Ggolen stepped back. “Kkanthor, great leiil. But surely it is not thy plan to allow them to re-form.”
“Demos,” muttered Asan to himself. “No, besides Kkanthor. Who has technicians? Anyone?”
“Mura-an claims knowledge—”
“But it has never been proven, Ggolen!” exclaimed Llor. “Great leiil, I beg thee not to turn to them. They are a devious house and power mad. They cannot be trusted.”
“No, and they have ties to Kkanthor,” said Ggolen.
For once the two men agreed on something. Asan tried to hold down impatience.
“I don’t intend to trust them,” he said. “But if they have technicians, then I want an alliance.”
“Great leiil! It cannot be done without losing the Soot’dla and they—”
“I know,” said Asan with a sigh. “They have food.”
“Indeed, great leiil,” said Yvn from the crowd, “it is not something to dismiss. The fields of the Soot’dla feed Ruantl. It is unwise to lose their support.”
“We won’t lose it,” said Asan.
The confidence in his voice made them glance at each other. Asan gazed across the crowd. Somewhere among the cloaks and masks was a Soot’dla spy. Asan smiled to himself. Dame Agate thought she had him in a corner. It was time to let her know otherwise.
“Without the guidance of Anthi, growing food won’t be as easy for the Soot’dla as it has been,” he said, and listened as gasps of horror spread through the men.
Yvn raised his hands. “Then we are truly doomed.”
“No,” said Asan sharply. “Anthi will return.”
“When? She has spoken to thee again, great leiil? Praise to Anthi!”
Asan stood silent, scornful of their eagerness. They were superstitious idiots. They could not even understand that Anthi was just a life-support computer, not a goddess. He had no intention of telling them that all he had to do was switch her back on.
“It is not our place to question the ways of Anthi,” said Ggolen at last, and the questions ceased.
“No, it is not,” said Asan. “Anthi will return when it is time, not before. We’ll take the most direct route across the Outerlands, flank our formation with the transports, and retake Altian central. The outer sectors are—”
“Forgive me, leiil. Does thou mean vectors?”
“No, I do not! Vector is a mathematical term indicating direction. Sector means an area.”
An abashed silence fell. Then Ggolen bowed.
“We beg thy pardon for our ignorance, great one. We have tried to keep the words of the ancient days true.”
Asan cleared his throat, a little ashamed of his irritation. “Very well. As I was saying, the outlying areas of Altian are unimportant. And we will contact the matriarch of the Mura-an for alliance negotiations. Also, as soon as that is accomplished I want to see representatives of the Spandeen.”
“Those tricksters!” said Ggolen in displeasure, ignoring the growl from Llor who was of that ancestry.
“I am not asking for your approval, cintan,” snapped Asan.
The Spandeen were merchants who traveled farther than anyone else. They would be able to tell him about the southern continent.
Ggolen stepped back with a gesture of apology. Llor tried to smooth ruffled tempers by tapping the mapboard.
“Forgive my failure to understand, great leiil, but why use the transports in the way thou has ordered? Surely it would be better to send them ahead.”
“Why? They are armored. They might as well be used as protection against Bban attacks.”
“But how?”
Asan sighed. “Rig delayed bombs and drop them out the rear exhaust ports. That ought to discourage the Bban’jen.”
“Indeed.” Llor sounded awed. “What a tremendous innovation—”
“It’s a stopgap junk tactic used by fighters who’ve run out of real ammunition,” said Asan impatiently. “Those transports have mounts for heavy guns. Too bad no one can remember how to make replacements.”
“We beg thy forgiveness, great leiil, for our failure to maintain technology—”
“Yes,” snapped Asan, and stepped off the central platform. He didn’t want to listen to excuses. “Prepare the jen. We depart at dawn.”
They snapped to attention and saluted. “By the will of Asan!”
He strode out through the men who moved aside quickly for him. It was a relief to be done with the meeting at last. No more war councils for a while, he promised himself.
Fflir waited for him outside in the dusty expanse of the transport pad carved out of the mountainside. The visible sun was already low. He’d missed most of the afternoon. But at least his porter was ready. Beside it stood five others and a cadre of guards to protect him. Asan cocked his head at these.
“Do not protest, great leiil,” said Fflir with a laugh muffled by his mask. The sunlight shone on the thin bronze insets marking his rank, house, and allegiance. A cold wind whipped out his cloak. “We must go with thee. There have been eight Bban’n killed around the perimeters since the last dawn. They know we are about to leave. Season is over. There is no surprise to it.”
Asan tapped his fingers ruefully on his wrist and was about to answer when a distant vibration brought his head around. He listened, spreading out his rings.
“Leiil? What it is?”
Asan snapped his rings down tightly. “Metal craft approaching 280 kps.”
“Forgive me, leiil. I did not understand thy words.”
With a blink Asan realized he had spoken in Standard. Excitement flared through him, and he whipped out his fire-rod as he ran to his porter and fitted his knees and heels to the controls. It roared to life beneath him and he lifted while Fflir and the guards were still running for theirs.
A gong sounded across the pad, and the maintenance crew who had been playing the Bban game of kri-gri sprang to their feet. A man ran toward Asan, waving his arms.
“Warning! Warning! A craft approaches—”
His words were drowned out by the scream of a ship flashing overhead, a long needle of silver reflecting the sun before it vanished behind the mountains.
“It went into the lower ridges!” shouted Fflir. “Great Anthi, what was it?”
“A ship!” Asan threw back his head and laughed. “A real, honest-to-God ship. Come on!”
“Wait, leiil!” Fflir’s porter swung in front of Asan’s. He held out a hand. “Whose is it? Where does it come from?”
“Who in Merdar cares? It’s a space-lander, and I want it.”
By the time they topped a low ridge and found the ship resting crookedly at the end of a long, smoking groove, Asan’s excitement had cooled to caution. His gloved fingers lifted and the cadre hovered on either side of him. Asan’s eyes narrowed.
“GSI configuration,” he said angrily. “They must have finally heard Saunders’ distress beacon.”
“Please explain, leiil.”
“GSI stands for the Galactic Space Institute. They rule many, many systems. They are my enemy.”
The cadre stiffened as one man, and Fflir said, “Then they are our enemy as well.”
“Good. It was a poor landing. Either they were in trouble, or their pilot is a fool. But it looks intact. I want it to stay that way, Fflir. No Bban’n are to get near it.”
“We shall guard it to the blood, noble leiil.” Fflir spoke briefly into his wrist communicator to summon more men.
Below, the vessel’s hatch opened.
“Let us attack, leiil!”
“No.” Asan grabbed Fflir’s wrist. “They know we’re here.”
“But they have not yet come out. Have they rings to sense us?”
“No. But they have machines that can scan us just as well.”
“A small matter. We’ll blank ourselves out.”
“No. They’ll still read the porters. We must attack on foot in the Bban way.”
“There are eight inside the transport, Pon Fflir,” said one of the men.
“And six of us.” Fflir glanced at Asan. “Is it sufficient?”
“Tlar’n against humans? Yes.”
Asan landed his porter behind the ridge with a soft whine of air. His boots sank into the corrosive sand, and he crouched low, moving along the ridge just below the crest. Fflir followed at his heels.
Requiem for Anthi: Anthi - Book Two Page 2
