The Children of Anthi: Anthi - Book One

by Deborah Chester

  He concentrated, tensing so hard that his muscles ached, then forced himself to relax physically as he moved forward into the caverns of M’thra. The vision wavered, cleared, then grew murky again. Annoyed, he started to exert more of himself, but suddenly forbore. Danger lay near…danger that smelled of Picyt. Cautious, he froze where he was, unable to see clearly from the shadowy fringes of the deep inner cavern. The unformed rings of Bban’n, dampened and held in the control of Anthi’s greater power, jostled him to the point of anger. But despite their distractions, he knew where he was, for the white vibrant light of the Jewels of M’thra could not be mistaken. Picyt had activated them! The fool must be stopped!

  But even as he gathered himself to sweep forward, he realized the deed had been done. He was far too late to stop it. Small wonder he had been so plagued with unease and restlessness these past few hours. The heart of Anthi had opened, disturbing the natural order of the rings that had encircled Ruantl since the coming of the Great Ones. Why? he wondered furiously. Why had Picyt insisted upon completing the purpose when all was already arranged so advantageously? As long as the Great Ones slept, he ruled unchallenged. Picyt was a fool.

  The disturbance lingered on, however. Alarmed by it, Hihuan brushed aside his anger. More was wrong here than the rising of a Jewel.

  Cautiously he crossed the cavern, seeking answers, and found only the despised priests leading a rabble of Bban’n and a few Henan outcasts in chants of praise to Anthi. Of the four glowing Jewels, one lay open and empty…Asan’s. This time fear clutched Hihuan, nearly destroying his extension altogether. Picyt’s presence lay everywhere, overshadowing the rings lapping and overlapping, and yet Picyt was not here. Hihuan withdrew sharply, his mind questing so rapidly that again he nearly lost control of his senses. If Picyt had dared transfer himself into Asan…

  Desperately, unwilling to consider the overwhelming implications of the threat now before him, Hihuan swept through the rest of the caves swiftly, hardly bothering to protect himself against detection.

  Ah…there!

  He paused, caution reasserting itself as he watched a tall Bban carry Picyt through narrow, twisting passageways of ancient rock. In Picyt lay a widening rift; Hihuan knew at once that his enemy approached death. That was good. The joy of relief swelled strength into Hihuan, clearing the vision yet more. Picyt had failed, coward that he was, to obey his destiny and raise Asan.

  Yet…Asan walked.

  Galled to his core, Hihuan stared at the tall man striding easily behind the Bban who bore Picyt’s limp form. Memory sharp as ice needles flashed through Hihuan, cutting away forgetfulness, and he saw Asan as Asan had been centuries ago, and as he was still. Hatred burned in him, a hatred seared through with envy, as he watched the man move through the passageways with his escort of Bban’jen. The broad shoulders, muscular and powerful, were draped by a long-sweeping cloak of rough cloth ill-suited to cover that golden, magnificent body. Asan bent to duck beneath a long-hanging stalactite, and Hihuan saw his face, noting again the sharp flare of ridged cheekbones and the long curved nose with its thin sweep of nostril. The jaw was clenched hard as though with annoyance, and from beneath black, flared brows intensely blue eyes flecked with amber, jade, and silver swept here and there impatiently. His black hair, thick and vital, sprang back from his high brow and reached almost to his broad shoulders.

  But who had raised him? Who?

  Hihuan gathered himself and leaped, brushing that haughty mind with lightning speed. Had the total Asan walked, he would have caught Hihuan and crushed him. But it was a stranger, one bewildered and unsure, who barely sensed Hihuan’s mind touch. Then Hihuan recognized the mental pattern, and fury leaped through him like a flame. So the n’ka had not died! Merdar take him!

  For a moment Hihuan could do nothing but seethe, his rings trembling from the force of his emotions. Picyt was a fool, an imbecile twisted to utter madness by his obsession with duty and obedience to something that no longer existed. To turn the great Asan and all that awesome power over to a blundering n’ka, who had no conception of the ways of Anthi, was more than folly. The n’ka could destroy all order. He must be eliminated.

  Not stopping to consider the ramifications of what he now dared, Hihuan swept into the loathesome minds of the Bban escort, overwhelming them with more force than skill. Bban’n were so easy to manipulate into attacking. The first one struck, and in his heart Hihuan laughed, no longer afraid as he watched Asan struggle and falter, helpless in the Bban’s deadly grasp. Clearly he had no idea how to employ his personal protections. Hihuan laughed again. So this was what came of all Picyt’s conspiracies. A swift twist of a golden neck, and the mighty Asan would crumble back into dust, never to rise again, never to make Hihuan kneel to him again.

  A sudden flame of blue-white fire lanced through the rings of existence, trapping Hihuan in its agonizing brilliance. For an instant pain cut him so intensely that he could only writhe in its grasp, his screams piercing nothing but his own mind. Then it faded, and he was left gasping and mercifully whole, with one final glimpse of Asan standing unharmed, the dead Bban’jen at his feet, his eyes still glowing blue flame in the darkness of the cave.

  Hihuan fled, withdrawing his rings rapidly in an ever-tightening concentric circle until at last he was back in the private rooms of his palace. Jolted, he blinked, realizing with displeasure that his robe was soaked with perspiration. Angrily he threw it off and summoned a servant to fetch him a fresh garment as Aabrm and the rest stood staring at him foolishly.

  He glared at them, reached for the ewer of wine, and this time poured it himself with hands that shook. His chagrin deepening, he shut his eyes for a moment, then gulped down the wine, seeking to ease the ache still parching his veins. Lli grace them, but Asan had wielded whole power with terrifying strength. Whatever the n’ka was, he obviously had sufficient grasp of principles to be a tremendous threat. The n’ka owed nothing to Picyt’s dead purpose, or to Anthi, or to the present regime so carefully crafted in Altian; what if this new Asan chose to take all of Ruantl for himself?

  Hihuan poured more wine, nearly choking on it this time as his dazed brain staggered under the thoughts crowding it.

  “My Leiil, what have you seen?” demanded Aabrm, his voice shriller than usual.

  Hihuan winced and slammed down the goblet, whirling on them as purpose and determination entered his heart. He was no coward to quake here until disaster fell on him! Asan was not in full control as yet, and Picyt walked toward the hand of death. The time to strike was now.

  His black eyes glittered at them. Tensely he addressed Fflir. “How soon can the Tlar’jen be gathered?”

  The pon drew himself erect, gesturing in puzzlement. “Ten cohorts are assembled now, my Leiil, and along with the urban cadres and palace guard—”

  “Anthi take your tongue!” shouted Hihuan, snatching an emerald robe edged in white borlorl fur from the hands of a cringing slave. He shrugged on the garment, making no attempt to control his rage as he savagely knotted the silken cord around his middle. “Will you prate to us of numbers? We desire the entire jen. Do you understand? How long?”

  Fflir stood frozen while beside him Aabrm frowned and exchanged quick glances with the other two courtiers.

  “Some…time, Leiil,” said Fflir, sweeping out his hand. “With the storms, it will take at least two weeks for the outer patrols to come in. And at this time of year the Bban’jen are not reliable—”

  “We do not request Bban,” snapped Hihuan, in barely controlled desperation. “Use the Henan cohort as front shock troops; they do not matter. But no Bban’n. Drive them out, even the servants in the palace.”

  Aabrm stepped forward, his pouchy face more crumpled than ever by alarm. “Is it the uprising?” Hihuan threw him a contemptuous look, and Aabrm rubbed at his mouth. “The slaves in all the villas must go as well…”

  “A project for you to oversee,” said Hihuan. He looked back to Fflir, wishing he could see through the protecti
on of that mask. “The Tlar’jen will march in one hour. Give the orders. We must be in the valley of the Tchsco Mountains within three dawns.”

  “But, Leiil!” Fflir spread out both his hands, palms down in protest. “There can be no marches across the wastes now! The black devis alone will cut us to pieces—”

  “A dust storm defeats you!” said Hihuan, mocking him. “Is this Tlar honor mewling before us? Transport them if you must.”

  Fflir jerked, stunned.

  “Or seizert them. I care not,” continued Hihuan with a snap. “Haste is essential. We must have that valley!”

  His words rang out over the silent room. They all stared at him, afraid of his temper, distrustful of what their brains could not comprehend. Breathing hard, Hihuan knew a sudden temptation to leave them to their own fates and be done with the fools for all time. But even as the thought crossed his mind, he dismissed it. To remain as Tlar leiil meant power, sweet and absolute; to return to the former circle meant to stand as a speck of insignificance in the shadows of the Great Ones. His powers and Picyt’s were as grains of black sand in comparison to Asan’s, or Aural’s, or Vauzier’s, or even Rim’s. He would not go back to the old ways, bowing to them. He would not!

  Furiously he faced Aabrm, his jaw clenched as hard as the fists held at his sides. “Do you not understand? Asan is risen!” Heedless of whether his words carried to members of the court below his balcony, he swept out his hand. “And if you do not know what that means, then you should. Anthi sleeps no more. She walks, and Asan is her arm. Send the word, Fflir. The Tlar’jen moves north within the hour. Even the guards of the fields.”

  On his way out Fflir came to a halt and turned back in protest. Aabrm, whose face had shrunk upon mention of Asan, now took an unsteady step forward.

  “My Leiil, consider!” he cried, his shrill voice grating on Hihuan’s hearing. “The fields must be protected at all costs. Our food—”

  “Will mean nothing if Asan is not prevented from raising the Bban’jen and their tribes against us!” A vein began to throb in Hihuan’s temple. He glared at Aabrm, so angry that he could barely control the urge to lash out his rings and crush the old fool. “Or if the eight thousand are brought forth,” he said more softly, watching Aabrm flinch, “will it please you to give place to their pleasure?” He clenched a fist. “Do not tax us further!”

  Saluting, Fflir strode out, and Aabrm hastened to bow.

  “I beg my Leiil’s mercy for the slowness of my mind,” he said, grunting as he straightened from his bow. “Shall I go to prepare thy transport, Leiil?”

  Hihuan drew a ragged breath, his temper fading at last as the fear steadied beneath a return of self-confidence. He had the advantage. His army would be swift despite the storms raging between Altian and the northern mountains. Asan could never call enough Bban’n from the wastes in time…providing he even knew how to call them at all.

  Smiling faintly, Hihuan gestured assent. Then he glimpsed the ty-boy huddled in a far corner, and a malevolent glitter entered his black eyes.

  “Stay a moment, Aabrm,” he said, lifting his finger as the courtiers started out. “Let the others go. We must talk.”

  Aabrm puffed, an eager expression lighting his face as he came near Hihuan, entering the close distance reserved for matters of strict confidence or intimacy. “Yes, my Leiil?”

  Hihuan hesitated. “Not here. The Tsla leiis has her spies too near this chamber.”

  “Ah?” Aabrm’s small eyes widened knowingly. He lifted a finger.

  Hihuan caught his meaning and turned over a palm. As soon as this was over, Fflir must be removed.

  Aabrm bowed. “I await thy instructions on how it shall be done.” His smirk left no doubt that he knew exactly what the Tlar leiil intended.

  Hihuan frowned, disliking that his secrets were so well-known, even by his closest adviser. Perhaps Asan, Picyt, Fflir, and others would learn not to underestimate their leiil. They had better all learn it.

  “One moment, Aabrm,” he said, deliberately smoothing his voice to a registry of tones that made the shivering ty-boy look up. “I have a small matter to finish first.” He lifted his finger. “Come, boy.”

  The hireling came at once, his slim, nervous body pathetically eager, his glowing Henan eyes glazed with misery. His hands twisted together in an urgent, frightened gesture as he bowed, and the silver bells chimed prettily.

  “I see,” said Aabrm, seeking to withdraw. “Shall I await my Leiil outside—”

  “No.” Hihuan’s eyes flicked to him, hard and cold, although his voice grew even warmer. “This will be brief. Stay, Aabrm, and increase your education.”

  He noted Aabrm’s distaste and laughed as he stepped forward to the boy. He knew very well that many of his dissolute habits shocked even the mind of his counselor. But he cared not.

  “Approach me,” he said to the ty-boy, watching in amusement as the hireling’s eyes widened as he attempted to throw off fear in order to resume his trained skills. “Gently,” said Hihuan, his voice deepening to a low, vibrant pitch. He extended one hand and placed his fingertips against the bare, shivering flesh of the boy’s chest. He pushed away the boy’s responding hand. “By ring, not flesh. I shall lead this. Obey.” His blood stirred on command, but only enough to communicate itself to the boy, who moaned, unaware of the deception as Hihuan took control of his nerve centers. The boy shut his eyes as Hihuan gave his commands, standing well away as the boy began to sway, his responsiveness heightened to an extreme degree by his fearful desire to please.

  Hihuan put him once again on level five, listening with boredom to the shift in the boy’s breathing. Then suddenly he raised the boy to six. And, Lea’dl, was it possible the boy could be brought to attain level seven, this scrawny Henan? Hihuan hesitated, his own blood beginning to truly stir as he considered the temptation of a new experience. Women reached the sixth and seventh levels of arousal frequently enough under the guidance of his skill to make the sensations for him in return rewarding but no longer special. But never before had he put a ty-boy above a five. He had not even realized such a thing was possible. Curiosity excited him, and he wondered, as he watched the boy stand trembling, poised, and joyous beneath his light touch, if his brush with Asan had heightened his powers. But the thought of Asan darkened his mind, clouding the swirl of passion. Hatred blackened his soul into something twisted and cold. With a swift, utterly ruthless violence, he extended his senses over the boy, forcing the trembling creature past the thresholds of the hireling’s abilities into level seven, where despite his cold detachment he could feel the boy’s thundering heart and follow the dizzying spin of reeling, impossible passion.

  “My Leiil! My Leiil!” gasped the boy, writhing back in a rush of ecstatic anticipation.

  And at that precise moment when the boy could be brought no further, Hihuan dropped his hand from warm pulsing flesh and walked away, cutting off the contact of his rings and not even turning his head for a last glance as the ty-boy collapsed, screaming in such piercing agony that Aabrm whirled to stare at him with a gasp.

  “By the grace of Anthi,” he whispered, white-faced and horrified, raising his fingertips unconsciously to his lips and forehead as the ty-boy convulsed on the floor, his glowing eyes the color of blood and his young features twisted into contortions of unspeakable torture. Then the wild screaming stopped as though a knife had ended it, and for an instant there came no breath of sound through that section of the palace save the faint bubble and splash of the fountains.

  Hihuan laughed, his voice rich and deep as he threw a scornful glance at the servants crowding to the door, their ugly faces frozen with shock as they stared past him at the ty-boy, lying still now in his final contortion, teeth clenched and open eyes colorless in death.

  “Clean it away,” he commanded with a careless gesture. “And double the ty-master’s payment to replace his loss of investment.” Hihuan glanced at Aabrm, who still stood rooted, and lifted his finger impatiently. “It doe
s not please us to await you, Aabrm.”

  The counselor stirred at that petulant snap and came along hastily, but as they left the chamber and strode down a carpeted gallery of narrow windows and soft hangings washed in gentle artificial light, Aabrm cleared his throat.

  “I know he displeased thee, Leiil, but surely such harshness against a mere ty-boy of no worth—”

  Hihuan stopped abruptly and met the revulsion in Aabrm’s eyes full on. “He was a spy, noble.” Hihuan’s black eyes narrowed, daring Aabrm to call his statement a lie. “Do not accuse us further.” And he strode on, his thoughts already flying ahead to war, with a subdued Aabrm at his side.

  Dawn brought a lightening of the black sky to a leaden purple, and for a time it seemed as though the storm would clear in good omen. But the true sun remained lost, sullenly hidden behind the dark masses of clouds that hung over Altian with such heaviness that they seemed almost to brush the protective bubble. It seemed that the world held its breath. In the districts of the seventh vector, where the court of merchants guarded its own walls, shrewd Bban eyes watched the city.