“How? This humiliation? Or is there more?”
Tse’e scratched beneath his desert-cloak. “More. They are to die, Hereksa, and it will be no easier for them than it was for those their countrymen slew. The customary method is harrying. At first it will be like a game, with much jesting and laughter. The womenfolk will drag them to and fro around the cavern; then they will strike them and stone them; then their mouths and other orifices will be stuffed with cactus-thoms; then will come burning with hot coals and piercing with—”
Trinesh would hear no more.
“Stop!” he cried. “None of this will be done! These three are noble folk. They are prisoners of the Imperium, and they are under my protection!”
Of all of the passions of humankind, the lust for vengeance was one of the darkest and yet most universal. Tales of Milumanayani atrocities were as common as CTjri-flies in the Tsolyani barracks. The women were said to be the instigators and the tormentors in the tribes of the Desert of Sighs; once unleashed upon a hapless victim, their cruelty was indescribable. “Sire—” Horusel began in a conciliatory tone.
“Shut up! 1 ordered you to go and free them. Give them desert-cloaks or whatever you have. Then bring them here and form a circle about them!”
The tribesmen had risen to see what transpired. Now they murmured among themselves.
Trinesh seized Tse’e’s bony arm. “Did all of them vote for death?”
The man considered. “Not all. Some did not agree. Yet they were persuaded to abstain out of respect for those whose kinsmen the Yan Koryani slew. An abstention is not a negative vote. No one now urges any course other than punishment.”
Trinesh thought to see a subtle rift among the tribesmen: some were clustered on one side of the open space, the rest on the other. Only a few sat or sprawled independently of these two divisions. He addressed Tse’e. “Tell those who are resolved upon death to stand there on the left, those who would release the captives on the right. We will take another vote.”
Tse’e glowered but spoke as Trinesh directed. The Milumanayani appeared puzzled. Some giggled and jested; others displayed irritation; and everyone chattered. In the end they did as they were told. The majority moved to the left, and only a few went to the right. A sizable number remained in the middle, whispering and staring. Trinesh looked them over. Then he said, “Tell me the words for ‘I vote to free them.’ ”
The renegade’s scowl became a glare. “In the name of all the gods, Hereksa, WHY? Leave well enough alone—” He saw Trinesh’s face and hastily added, “Say lupazhes tezha’i. That is what you want.”
Trinesh waited until all were attentive. Then he turned to Horusel and the rest and said, “We are about to participate in a tribal council. We will vote for the release of these prisoners. Say these words after me and walk to that group there on the right.” He pointed, then uttered the phrase Tse’e had given him.
The others stumbled over the foreign syllables. Only Chekkuru and Horusel stood silent, resentment mirrored in their faces. Trinesh had known this would happen. He eyed his subordinate and snapped, “I gave a command, Tirrikamu. Argue it and Balar there shoots you dead. Balar!” The crossbowman hesitated but cocked his weapon and inserted a quarrel. He pointed it, shakily, at Horusel’s breast. “And you, priest. You are under military law as long as we are in the field. This you know. Arjasu, your bolt will be for Chekkuru hiVriddi! Mejjai, stand ready in case either misses.” This brought compliance of a sort. Chekkuru scuttled over to join Trinesh, and Horusel followed more slowly. One day they must settle this matter, but not now. Trinesh repeated the Milumanayani words, louder this time, and raised his hand to orchestrate a ragged chorus of the same from his followers.
“Now,” he said pleasantly to Tse’e, “we have no unanimity, and what is not completely agreed cannot be done. So you said yourself. Tell them that we are immutable in our resolve. We will hear no more arguments.” He tossed his belt-knife to Chosun. “Horusel seems unable to hear my order. I shall see to having his ears cleaned later. You go and cut our captives free.”
Voluble protests arose, but Tse’e patiently repeated the same phrase over and over. Then it was done, and the two women and the little Nininyal were unbound and allowed to stagger over to stand beside Trinesh.
“I thought you would be happy to see us slain,” Lady Jai Chasa Vedlan said. She permitted Dineva to wrap a desert-cloak about her shoulders.
“Why?” He glanced over at the other woman. “Because your Lady here lied to us? She who is no lowly Tokhn of one thousand but a high general, not some nonentity named Belket Ele Faiz but the High Lady Deq Dimani herself, Matriarch of the Isle of Vridu!”
The Lady turned her perfect, oval face to look upon him. “So you know? The one called Tse’e told you?” She donned the soldier’s tunic Saina held out to her. “I was right,”' she said to Thu’n. “He did recognize me.”
“My Lady did not lie!” It was the first time Trinesh had heard any spark of emotion in Jai Chasa Vedlan’s voice. “Her personal name is Belket Ele Faiz! Deq Dimani is her accession-name, just as your Tsolyani Emperors take haughty titles when they sit upon the Petal Throne!”
“Fa! Thus far we have had nothing but clever subterfuges from your ‘noble’ Lady!”
“What would you have done?” the girl shot back.
“Leave off,” the Lady Deq Dimani said. She had regained most of her equanimity. “We are still a long way from Tsolyanu, and the Weaver must weave a strange skein indeed before I am dragged in chains before your God-Emperor Hirkane hiTlakotani in Avanthar. Now we had best look to our skins. These sand-worms seem displeased with your voting.”
It was so. A single large group had formed to listen to the haranguing of a gray-locked elder. Some slipped away to return with weapons. A woman interrupted to rant and
gesticulate.
Tse’e said fearfully, “I warned you. They vote to slay us all.”
“Tell them that we vote against that course of action,”
Trinesh answered.
“What! You are mad! Back away and ready yourself to die!” The old renegade spoke to the tribesmen, nevertheless. “They vote to expel you from the Folk. When this is done they will slay you.”
“Say that we vote to remain within the tribe.” Trinesh experienced an odd cheerfulness. Either this fanciful stratagem would work, or it would not. If not, they would fight. If they lost, they would die as soldiers.
Chaos ensued. Some tribesmen shouted, others wrangled. Several of the older men stalked off in disgust. An infant piddled in the sand and yowled; one of the women rushed to rescue it.
“Tell them that every action of the Folk will henceforth require a full discussion and a vote. No one shall eat, drink, cook, fill waterskins, hunt, sleep, relieve himself, or perform any other task until we, the community, have heard the proposal and voted upon it.”
One of the younger warriors rushed forward. The crossbowman Mejjai lifted his weapon, but Trinesh shouted an order to desist. The Milumanayani halted in bafflement.
“Inform that man that violence against a fellow-tribesman is a breach of the law. If he attacks, he becomes a felon and is liable to punishment!”
“I admit that I am surprised by your cleverness, Tsolyani,” the Lady Deq Dimani declared. “Still, they will soon become frustrated, and then we are dead.”
Trinesh did not take his eyes from the Folk of Na Ngore. “Wait, Lady. I have one more arrow to my bow. Translate for me again, Tse’e.” He flourished his newly acquired steel sword. “Fellow dwellers, servitors of the Priestkings of Ganga! Know that we, your co-tribesmen, have a proposal of our own to lay before you!” He glanced at Tse’e and growled, “Put my words eloquently, renegade; else you remain to face their wrath!” The old man rolled his good eye in despair but stepped forward. He waved his arms, declaimed, and made dramatic gestures. “Ah, good. Now: tell them that a certain wise and noble member of our party—” he bowed toward Chekkuru hiVriddi “—is a priest of great holine
ss. He commands us to re-enter the egg-thing there, and his sanctity will keep our sinful laymen’s feet from defiling the glory of your—our—temple. Say that this pious priest is upon a mission ordained by the gods, and we are his soldiers! The Folk must now return all of our arms and gear; otherwise we face certain defeat at—at the hands of monsters who will consume us and then come bounding through the tubeway to slaughter the Folk of Na Ngore.”
“Hereksa, you are brilliant,” someone breathed. It sounded like Saina, but it might have been the Lady Deq Dimani.
Tse’e spoke at length. Their audience consulted, and at last the gray-beard arose to address them.
“He says they now vote upon your plan, Hereksa,” Tse’e said.
“Good. I am confident of the outcome. Tell us the words so that we may do our civic duty as well.”
The vote was, not surprisingly, unanimous. A child who did not seem to comprehend the issue was unceremoniously slapped into full concurrence. Trinesh marshaled his comrades into some order and marched off to the temple platform, accepting weapons, bits of clothing, and armor from those within reach as he went. No one objected.
“And what happens,” Chekkuru asked, “if some of their young bravos decide to accompany us upon this divine mission you have laid upon me?”
“Let them,” Trinesh responded. “Our car is too crowded. They must summon a vehicle of their own in which to follow. Are we to blame if the ten studs of their conveyance are set for destinations different from ours?” .
7
I t took the Folk of Na Ngore only moments to realize that their quorum no longer included their unwelcome guests. By the time Trinesh’s party was halfway across the cavern, the Milumanayani were already belling in full pursuit. Army discipline kept the Tsolyani together, however, and they were almost at the top of the timeworn steps of the tubeway platform before the first warriors reached the open space below it. Arjasu and Mejjai picked off two of these, but Balar missed his target. The foe then retreated precipitately to the shelter of the low, ruined walls that crisscrossed this section of the chamber. Whoever had built these partitions and for whatever purpose, they now provided excellent cover for their owners.
“Save your bolts,” Trinesh ordered. “Into the egg-vehicle!” Chosun, the last inside, pressed the door-stud in the very face of a determined rush by a score or so of their erstwhile fellow-citizens.
“When they find the depression by the door we’ll have
them in our laps,” the big man panted. “I see no way to lock it.”
Trinesh dragged Thu’n forward. ‘‘Which button takes us hack to Fortress Ninu’ur? Come, I think you know!” He jabbed his steel sword into the creature’s abdomen for emphasis. It must have hurt but was not meant to pierce the skin. They needed the Nininyal.
‘‘Not I, Tsolyani!” Thu’n gasped. ‘‘I swear it! Our sorcerer said only that one button would take us to Yan Kor— though which city I know not. Another may be set for Fortress Ninu’ur since the car was waiting there when we discovered it. I am an historian and no scholar of machines— that was Qurtul’s work.”
“Cha! Push any button!” Horusel demanded. ‘‘The sand-worms batter at the door!”
The sacred number of Lord Vimuhla was three. Trinesh muttered a prayer and depressed the third stud.
Nothing jiappened. The forward view-portrayer continued to show contorted Milumanayani faces just outside the egg-thing’s curved metal shell. One came close enough to squint into what must be the device’s external lens, treating them to a view of a large and angry eye. The cries of the Folk did not penetrate the vessel’s walls, but the thumping at the door became louder and better organized.
“The third must be the destination button for this place,” Thu’n offered unnecessarily.
Trinesh pushed the second stud.
The sensation of motion was immediate and welcome. Missiles thudded upon the roof of the car as it dropped down into the vertical tunnel whence it had emerged in Na Ngore. Chekkuru hiVriddi uttered a voluble paean of thanksgiving.
Trinesh looked about and counted. All were present, including Tse’e.
“We have no way of knowing whither this vehicle takes us,” he said. “I suggest that we now swear upon our various gods to abandon our hostilities and cooperate. When we reach a destination belonging to one or the other of our sides, we become enemies once more. Thereafter we decide to fight or surrender according to our Skeins of Destiny. Let there be no more perfidy until that time comes.”
All muttered assent. Trinesh glared fiercely at Horusel and Chekkuru, but even they seemed willing enough for a truce.
“Now we see what arms, clothing, and food we have. Each shall reclaim his or her own belongings—including these Yan Koryani.”
There was nervous laughter as each item was brought forth and exchanged. The results were not too discouraging. The crossbowmen had perforce left their shields behind, but they had zealously clung to their weapons—the Folk did not use crossbows and showed no interest in them. Balar had a hand-axe as well. Trinesh and Chosun both possessed swords and belt-knives, Horusel his axe, Saina a saw-toothed bone spear, Dineva only a club, and Jalugan nothing. The renegade, Tse’e, displayed a slender steel poniard in a sheath strapped to his thigh, its hilt bearing the markings of Some Yan Koryani legion.
Chekkuru surprised them all: from beneath his desert cloak and what portions he had recovered of his priestly vestments he withdrew the Lady Deq Dimani’s sword and Thu'n’s double-bladed dagger. These he handed back to their owners.
Armor was a problem. Nothing was complete, but there were enough pieces to make up three composite harnesses. Trinesh commandeered one for himself, gave the second to Chosun, to whom it had mostly belonged, and let the Lady Deq Dimani have what remained of her own elegant equipment. The rest he returned to the others. He was delighted when Horusel reluctantly surrendered his own iron gorget-piece; he had thought it lost for good!
The deep pouches of their several desert cloaks provided a heap of tubers and several strips of dried and salted meat. Chekkuru pronounced the latter to be Hmelu-flesh. Trinesh had his doubts, but he kept these to himself; hunger would
make almost anything palatable, even the last contributions of “one who serves.”
The motion of the car continued, silent and after awhile almost imperceptible. The view-portrayers showed only blackness. Trinesh forbade Thu’n from fiddling with them. Who knew what might thus be alerted to their coming?
He had laid one bothersome question aside during their flight from Na Ngore. Now he had time to ask it. He rounded upon Tse’e. “You recognized the Lady Deq Dimani, did you not? And I think she knew you as well. The need for pretense is past, and I will have your real name and any other relevant truths from both of you!”
The renegade looked away. “1 am Tse’e,” he said softly. “Only Tse’e.”
The Lady Deq Dimani leaned against the rear wall next to the Lady Jai Chasa Vedlan, who seemed dazed. “He revealed my identity to you, Hereksa," she said, “and one bad turn deserves another. Would you know his true name?”
“Please ..” Tse’e murmured. “It no longer matters. , ,
“I shall tell you.” She rose and made a mock curtsy. “Make obeisance, Hereksal You address Prince Nalukkan hiTlakotani, the youngest brother of your Seal Emperor!” Her words left a widening pool of stunned silence.
“When 1 was a little girl this man came to seek refuge upon our Isle of Vridu,” she continued. “My mother turned him away—”
“No,” Tse’e pleaded. “Say no more—already it is too
much. ...”
She went on, relentlessly. “His eldest brother, Mursun Dlekkumine, was bom to Prince Hetkolainen during the reign of their grandfather, the Emperor Arshu’u, ‘the Ever-Splendid.’ Hirkane, who now sits upon the Petal Throne, is the second of Hetkolainen’s heirs, and this ‘Tse’e’ the third and last. In the year 2,291—Thu’n, am I not correct? You know the reckonings better than I—Hetkolain
en became the Seal Emperor under the throne-title ‘He Whose Glory Never Ends.’
His offspring were given commands in the great armies their grandfather had raised for the conquest of the north. When Hetkolainen died in 2,345 neither this wretched ‘Tse’e’ nor Hirkane sought the throne: Hirkane ‘renounced the Gold,’ as your idiom has it, and took no part in the Kolumejalim, ‘the Rite of Choosing of Emperors.’ That left the oldest and the least suited, Mursun, to rule. He perished in 2,346 without issue, and if he is remembered at all, it is only as ‘the Weak.’ Thereupon the priesthoods and the Servitors of Silence came to Hirkane and begged him to think again, to seek the Gold. It was either that or no emperor at all—an interregnum, a struggle between more distant claimants, or even a civil war, with the north in chaos, and with Mu’ugalavya in the west and Salarvya in the east eager to pick up any counters dashed from the board.”
“Lies!” Chekkuru cried. “Once an heir renounces the Gold, he or she can never stand for the Kolumejalim again! Moreover, there is no Nalukkan in any list of Imperial genealogies, . .His eyes narrowed as though he remembered something.
She shrugged and made a scornful gesture. “Genealogies are easily forgotten—or altered—or expunged entirely. As for the rest, do you not say, ‘Even the sun can be moved if the gods so will’—and, ‘Where power exists, there are deeds?’ The jurists of Tsolyanu searched in their lawbooks and discovered that, indeed, one who refuses to join in the Kolumejalim may not come forth later to contest that reign. But no law prevents such an heir from entering into any subsequent competition. Hirkane hiTlakotani was thus technically eligible. So also was Prince Nalukkan hiTlakotani, who styles himself ‘Tse’e,’ but—”
“This cannot be!” Chekkuru shouted again, “Treason—” Trinesh shushed him.
“—Prince Nalukkan had omitted to renounce the Gold when Mursun Dlekkumine stood for the Petal Throne.”
“What?” Trinesh’s face showed honest puzzlement. “That meant that he had to join in the Kolumejaliml An Imperial heir who does not abandon all claim to the throne must participate. Should another candidate win in the contests set by the priesthoods, all of the losers die! Only by renouncing the Gold in advance can a Prince or Princess avoid the competition entirely and remain alive! This—this ‘Prince Nalukkan’ should have perished when Mursun Dlekkumine was anointed in Avanthar—”
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