Renaissance: A Novel of Azdhag Survival

by Alma Boykin

  “He was last I heard. He’s the oldest of the council lords, hanging on with all his claws and half his teeth, or so the rumor pack runs.” Tartai savored the light brew. It had a mellow under-taste that trailed off into almost a fruit flavor.

  The largest of the regulars leaned back a little, giving Tartai a sideways look. “You know anything ‘bout this rumor that the Crown’s going to restart Tarkeela lineage? The gov said he’d heard it was, but,” and he made a very rude gesture with one hind foot.

  Tartai rumpled his tail and finished off the beer. “I heard the rumor too, and heard that none of Tarkeela’s juniors want to get involved. Tarkeela said the line was supposed to end with him, and no one wants to make his spirit mad.”

  Two of the males made warding-off signs at his words. The big male tipped his head to the side, then back upright. “Eh, interesting. There’s some as says Tarkeela should come back, to protect people from,” and he gestured in what Tartai guessed was the direction of the palace. “And some don’t give a mammal’s tail.”

  Tartai rumpled his tail again. “No scales off my tail either way,” he lied. “I’ve got my forefeet full with trying to keep my mate and junior fed and in a warm den.”

  “Ain’t that the truth,” the barkeep sighed, leading to talk about the price of grain and beer. Tartai paid for his chase and tipped the barkeep a little more, before excusing himself.

  Fewmets and shell shards, he swore as he began walking back to the palace area. I didn’t think I looked that distinctive. Well, he remembered, he didn’t as long as he was in Schree’s Rest or Mountain’s Edge and Singing Pines Villages. Compared to “normal” Azdhagi he looked like a piece of silverbark stuck into a pile of fresh bloodwood shavings. Tartai found a place that sold meat wrapped in bread and bought one, biting into it without thinking. The reptiles still in line hissed with laughter as his tongue shot out of his muzzle and he gasped for air. Fewmets, but it was hot! He sat on his hind legs and rose up, using one forefoot to fan his open muzzle.

  “Never had fool’s-fire sauce, have you?” a female asked.

  He managed a negation but couldn’t talk.

  “Eat a little farther and you’ll find the cure,” she told him. “You’re supposed to bite off the hot end, then the cool end, until you get to the middle.”

  “OK,” he gasped. “Will do. Thanks.” He rotated the wrap, took a bite, and sure enough, it felt as if he’d dipped his tongue into an ice lake. Tartai managed to hide his sigh of relief.

  He got back to the palace an hour or so later. He’d taken his time, listening and looking around. The guards passed him into a side gate, the one used by the staff, and he hauled himself up to his assigned room. The hot wash felt good, and he flopped onto his flank on the sleeping platform. He was not used to walking that far on hard surfaces. I’ll just let my feet rest . . .

  Large forefeet shook him awake. “Are you coming to dinner under your own power, or can I drag you?” Dak-lee demanded with disgustingly energetic glee. That glee died when he realized where Tartai’s very sharp hind foot talons had started poking.

  “No.” Tartai lunged and rolled, up onto his hind feet and ready for a fight. Dak-lee didn’t quite gulp, but he backed away.

  Fewmets, he’s bigger than I realized. Dak-lee loomed over ninety five percent of Azdhagi, but Tartai easily matched him kilo for kilo and centimeter for centimeter. How had Dak-lee misread Tartai’s size? It must be his color and those loose robes he wears, making him seem long and lean. And Dak-lee had to admit, he kept thinking of Tartai as common-born. No commoner could be as big as a noble, not in Dak-lee’s way of thinking. “The governor wants us to join him for dinner.” Dak-lee wasn’t thrilled with the invitation, but didn’t see a good way to get out of it.

  “I’ll be ready in a few minutes,” Tartai snarled, dropping back onto four feet. “How did you get in, Imperial Highness, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “I slid the door open. It wasn’t locked.” Tartai froze mid step before very carefully setting his hindfoot down and turning to give Dak-lee a strange look. Then he flicked his tail and got dressed. Apparently the door should have been locked. Dak-lee’s neck spines shivered up a centimeter before he got them back under control and flat. Tartai finished pulling on an appropriate robe and footcovers, then followed Dak-lee. They both made certain that their doors were locked.

  “Did you find anything of interest?”

  Tartai made a noncommittal sound. “Good beer, and hot sauce that should be added to the list of prohibited bio-tech, Your Highness. Apparently I gave the food-cart’s other customers a show worthy of the Imperial drama pack.”

  “Does this wonder weapon have a name?”

  “Fool’s-fire sauce.”

  Dak-lee had never heard of such a thing, but he could guess what effect it had. “Is it worse than traitor’s claw sauce?”

  They rounded the corner and passed Leesarae, who bowed to them. Dak-lee flicked his tail at her but kept walking. “Your Highness, I was under the impression that traitor’s claw was poisonous.”

  “It is. There’s a way to process the sap, if it is done early enough, to preserve the fire flavor and remove the toxins.” The resulting paste tasted lovely for the first minute or so, then reminded Dak-lee of how a forest fire felt. He rather liked the stuff, but the cost was exorbitant, even for the palace.

  Tartai made a humming sound. “I wonder who was desperate enough to try it. Or was it a byproduct of medical experiments and herb testing?”

  Dak-lee rumpled his tail. They’d reached the main entrance to the informal dining area. He preferred the warm, lively furnishings in his chambers, but admitted that his uncle knew how to select high quality items. If only they came in some color besides black and white! The public rooms chilled Dak-lee. He wondered why his uncle preferred such a stark setting for a place where he wasn’t trying to project power and authority. The crown prince strolled into the room, Tartai behind him.

  Prince Kalaki waited by the black-trimmed dining table. “Please, join me,” he invited. Tartai bowed as Dak-lee dipped his head in acknowledgment. Dak-lee took the bench on Kalaki’s strong side. Tartai sat across from him. Kalaki asked about the weather and other commonplaces until the main meat dishes arrived. Then he leaned toward Tartai. “Did you find anything in your investigations?”

  Tartai swallowed his piece of roast gantak. “Yes, Your Highness. I fear those seeking conspiracies and plots in the underbrush will be disappointed.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, Your Highness. There is no need for shadowy cabals when bad plumbing is being replaced with worse, apparently.” Dak-lee wondered why Tartai didn’t just track straight to the prey.

  Kalaki sat back. “Bad plumbing?” He sounded puzzled, and turned to Dak-lee. “Truly?”

  “Truly. The Peacekeepers will release their report tomorrow, but the findings are just as Tartai describes.”

  “Fassssscinating,” Kalaki hissed. He narrowed his eyes and sipped some wine. “Were the Peacekeepers helpful?”

  “Yes.” Dak-lee finished his sliced gantak in whiteroot sauce. The others ate in silence.

  Finally, after the servants removed the last course and Tartai began fidgeting for some reason, Kalaki raised a talon. “Prince Dak-lee, I fear I must ask a small favor.”

  “Oh, and what is that, honored uncle?”

  “I must ask you to make a slight correction and a minor addition to your report to his Imperial Majesty. Please remove Sergeant Zee-Shu’s name from the report. It seems he is to be held at rank for another year, and I do not want him mentioned in connection to the attac—excuse me, the accident at the display. He has failed to do his duty at the Imperial Research station and allowed it to suffer from vandals while he was on leave. And please add that I will continue refitting the palace here out of my personal accounts.”

  “I will.” Dak-lee stopped and he turned to face Kalaki. “How did you know that I mentioned Zee-Shu in the report?”

  K
alaki blinked and picked up his wine glass. “Because I read it. All government documents from Pokara must have the governor’s seal, and I refuse to seal what I have not read.”

  As Tartai watched, impressed, Dak-lee’s spines rose more slowly than Tartai thought possible. They came up into the full anger display and the crown prince’s eyes widened. Through clenched fangs he snarled, “You intercepted a private message, under cypher, and took it out of the Imperial communications stream?”

  “Of course, Prince Dak-lee. As I said, it has to have my seal before it can be released.” Kalaki’s languid tone made Tartai grit his own teeth.

  Dak-lee stared at his sire’s brother. “You intercepted a private message to my honored sire, despite my seal and cypher, and you broke the cypher! That is not you prerogative,” he roared.

  “I am governor and it is an official document.”

  “And I am the crown prince of the entire damn Empire, not just of Drakon IV, Uncle,” Dak-lee snapped. “You do not even have the courtesy to ask permission or to notify me that my communications are public documents.”

  “Of course not, because I am the governor here.” Kalaki sipped his wine. Tartai wondered if Dak-lee would execute his uncle right then and there. “I must know everything that passes from Pokara to the Throneworld.”

  Dak-lee shivered with rage. Then he slid off the bench, spun around, and stormed out of the room. Tartai counted to four sixes of seconds before breathing again.

  Kalaki smiled to himself. Dak-lee is insane.

  I’m strolling through the brush and there’s a gantak on one side and a shardi on the other, Tartai whispered inside his mind. And the gantak has black brain-rot. The look in Kalaki’s eyes made Tartai want to grab the heaviest thing in the room and smash the governor’s skull, prince of the Imperial Pack or no. First I have to find Dak-lee, then we have to sort out Kalaki before . . . His mind shied away from the rest of that thought.

  Tartai set down his half-empty wine glass. “My lord governor, if I might be excused? I apologize for departing so soon after such an excellent meal, and I offer my highest compliments to your staff and cook, but I fear the young male’s temper might lead him down a bad trail.”

  Satisfaction replaced the flash of madness in Kalaki’s eyes. “Of course, Lord Tarkeela. I suspect that my nephew is unused to limitations in a civilian setting.”

  “No doubt but that you are correct, my lord governor. By your leave?”

  Kalaki waved his forefoot and tail in graceful, languid sweeps of dismissal. “Of course. A good night to you, Lord Tarkeela.”

  “Bright skies and good hunting on the morrow,” Tartai replied, bowing from his seat before walking out of the cold hall.

  I’m going to rival the lead actor in the palace troupe if this keeps up, he snarled. First, he had to find Dak-lee, then he had to get said male into a safe environment where they could talk.

  Finding Dak-lee proved easier than he’d feared. He encountered Leesarae in the corridor. She bowed and before he could say anything, she hissed, “He’s in the guards’ practice pen. Take the second ramp past your quarters, go down two turns, and out the first door.”

  “Excellent,” he said much more loudly. “And I apologize for the extra work.”

  She made a smooth negation. “It is nothing, truly, Lord Tarkeela, and I will see that everything is ready for your return.” Leeasarae bowed again and bustled off as if on an urgent errand.

  Tartai ducked into his chamber and changed into his plainest robes, looked up the address of a certain type of business establishment, and then locked the door again before trotting out to the practice court. Indeed, he found Dak-lee in the process of murdering a set of practice dummies with his talons. Tartai waited until the prince stopped, panting and calmer, before letting himself in the gate. “Do you need further relief, Your Highness?”

  “I do not,” Dak-lee began. Tartai gave him a significant look and made a sound between a cough and a growl. Dak-lee puzzled for a moment, cooling down, and caught the hint. “Perhaps that would be wise. I’m restless after working at the desk this afternoon.”

  “Indeed, Your Highness.” Tartai waited until Dak-lee put his robe back on and thanked his father’s shade that Dak-lee was not wearing any of his rank markings or badges. Tartai gave him a careful look over and decided that Dak-lee could pass as a young noble out for mischief. As they passed out of the gate, Tartai hissed a quiet word to the guard, ensuring that they’d not be escorted or looked for before dawn.

  Once they got clear of the palace, Tartai stopped and turned to the crown prince. “Your Highness, close your muzzle and listen to me,” he hissed under his breath. “We are going to a pleasure den. After you take care of matters, we are going to sort out how we can work around this new impediment, and how to protect you from your uncle. Because your uncle is going to do something rash, I can tell you already. He has that strain in him.”

  “Fewmets,” Dak-lee swore, equally quiet. “Well, lead on, since you seem to know where we’re going,” he ordered, then swayed a little, as if half-tipsy but not quite intoxicated.

  Good boy, Tartai thought, nudging his “friend” in the right direction. Let’s see how quickly you can learn. They walked almost a kliq until they reached a dignified building with blue lamps beside a green door. Dak-lee took the lead, tidied up his robe, and tapped on the knocker.

  An older female opened the lower half of the door. “May I be of assistance, gentle sir?” She gave the two a thorough once over.

  “Yes, honored matron. My associate and I have heard that one can find dignified, gentle company for the evening in your establishment.”

  Tartai didn’t quite roll his eyes at Dak-lee’s words, but they seemed to do the trick because the matron emerged a little farther. “And what sort of company do you seek?” She sounded suspicious of their real intentions. It was all part of the ritual at this sort of establishment, Tartai seemed to recall. He’d overheard a lot during his military service, and some of it might even have been true.

  “Conversation, honored matron, nothing more,” Dak-lee assured her. “I would not impugn the reputation of your associates by thinking of anything else.”

  “Then enter and be welcome,” she invited, backing out of the way and opening both halves of the door. Dak-lee strolled in, Tartai close behind.

  Oh, my. Tartai wasn’t sure he’d seen this many part-robed, attractive females in one place before. But Dak-lee had, and he pretended to ignore them as he followed the brown-striped matron into a tastefully decorated side room, with comfortable benches. A young female appeared with trays of light, meaty savories for the males. After a moment, several females appeared and took the other benches and the group chatted about inconsequential topics. One female in particular caught Dak-lee’s attention, if Tartai read things correctly. It was a touch difficult to concentrate, because he found the light green female sitting at his weak side very interesting indeed. So interesting, in fact, that he almost missed it when the prince and the dark-brown female got up and left the parlor, along with two of the other females.

  “Good sir, might I interest you in looking at my art collection?” The female inquired, brushing his tail lightly with her own.

  With a silent half-apology to Seelah, Tartai replied, “I would be most interested in viewing your art collection. It’s always good to see new styles.”

  Two hours later, he and Dak-lee returned to the side room, along with Dak-lee’s new friend. “This is Shizara,” the prince informed Tartai. “Her brother does woodwork.”

  Shizara gave the prince a respectful but tired look. “My lord, my brother is a master craftsman who makes talon-carved furnishings.”

  A light dawned, and Tartai asked, “By any chance is he Sheenaki, the one who made the excellent pieces for the palace?”

  “Yes.”

  Tartai made a small gesture with his weak-side forefoot. “I would appreciate an introduction, if doing so would not cause you difficulties.”

>   “I will see what can be done, my lord,” and she turned her attention back to Dak-lee.

  After another half hour of light talk, the two males bid their females a good evening, and retrieved their credit markers from the matron on their way out. “Gentlesirs, I apologize, but you seem to have dropped these,” and she offered them their markers back.

  “Ah, thank you for catching that, honored matron,” Dak-lee said. It allowed both parties to preserve the illusion of not having a commercial transaction. The males slid the markers into their carry pouches and strolled out.

  Well, he’s certainly more relaxed, Tartai decided.

  “Right. You need to talk to Sheenaki,” Dak-lee muttered. He’d begun staggering a little, as if very intoxicated, and Tartai mimicked him.

  “And you need to stay away from your uncle, at least until you can get word to your sire about what’s going on.” Tartai assumed that he’d be followed, but he also needed to keep his wood buyer persona going.

  Dak-lee seemed to be thinking about what to do. “I will accede to my uncle’s wishes in my official report. And what did uncle mean about the sergeant failing to protect the research station from vandals? If he’s on leave, that’s a job for his troopers and second in command, not for him.”

  Tartai needed a moment to follow the prince’s leap. “I’ll check the news feed and see if there’s anything.” They’d reached the edge of the plaza near the museum and Dak-lee stopped, leaning against a wall for a moment before gathering himself and continuing on. Ah, I’m shepherding a very drunk prince back to the palace. He’d done the same thing with some of his fellow loggers a time or two, and Tartai sidled up to Dak-lee, not quite nudging him in the correct direction but not letting him stray too far, either. They kept the game up until they were back at their quarters.

  Dak-lee tugged his door with one talon. It slid open. Tartai’s failed to budge until he unlocked it. Interesting. With that they parted for the evening.