by Paul Chafe
“Perhaps, but that time is over. The Black Cult will not be able to deny the evidence I present to them, and they will thank me for exterminating in a season what they could not since the time before time. I will rule the High Circle, if I can keep my incompetent brother from destroying the Patriarchy beforehand.”
“At least we agree on something.” She spat the words, and the defiance cost in waves of pain.
Ftzaal rippled his ears, amused. “I think we will agree on a bargain very shortly. Here is what I offer. Tell me where to find First-Son-of-Meerz-Rrit and I will tell you the launch coordinates and trajectory information for the ship that will destroy your world. Nothing less will save your world, Cherenkova-Captain. In addition, I will send you back to your Earth in a fast courier. You, and you alone, can save your species.”
Ayla remained silent, gritting her teeth. Billions of lives are at stake. How could she know he was telling the truth? How could she be sure he would keep his end of the bargain if he was? He is kzinti, his honor is his life. She had learned that honor could be a slippery concept, even among kzinti. But he is more than kzinti, he is a warrior. She didn't want to believe it because she didn't want to face the choice she was now facing, but she knew in her heart of hearts that Ftzaal-Tzaatz was telling the truth. Earth would be destroyed if they weren't given the information necessary to intercept the impactors, and Ftzaal-Tzaatz would give her that information and send her home to give warning if she gave him what he was asking for. But I cannot betray Pouncer. The pain didn't make it any easier to think.
Ftzaal held up another red hot needle, looking over her body as if deciding where to place it. “This is a generous offer, Cherenkova-Captain. I will give you some time to consider it.” For a long moment he waited while she breathed in and out, trying not to anticipate the pain she knew her lack of cooperation was about to bring. Finally he put the needle down in front of her close enough that she could feel the heat of the glowing shaft on her face. It was a warning that there was more to come if she didn't make the right decision. He turned to the acolytes. “Watch her. Make sure she remains alive.”
“As you command, sire.” Ayla barely registered the words; the pain was reasserting itself over her consciousness. She was still coherent enough to be startled when, seconds later, Ftzaal opened his robe and urinated on her, the hot stream splashing over her body, burning where it ran over the needle wounds. In spite of herself she gasped in pain anew, fighting the urge to struggle that would only make it hurt more. He is scent-marking me, to let the others know I'm his property. It was a protective gesture, to keep the acolytes from becoming careless with his prize, but she found it degrading anyway. This means he will be gone longer than before, perhaps much longer. Sleep deprivation and hunger would soon start to erode her will to resist, even her will to survive. Ftzaal left and the acolytes faded into the darkness, leaving her alone with her torture. She would not weep, but her eyes were bright with tears. She could only wait for it to be over. Some timeless time later, in the twilight world of consciousness enforced over sleep by pain, she thought she saw a herd of tuskvor surging over a kill drop, as she had dreamed a lifetime ago coming over the high mountain passes on the czrav migration, only this time it was not Pouncer but Quacy Tskombe who leapt to save her, and this time she could not fly to save them both.
The greatest illusion is the illusion of control.
— Kzin-Conserver-of-the-reign-of-Vstari-Rrit
The broadleaf trees gave pleasant shade to the Sundial Grove. Kzin-Conserver sat on the grass beside a bench, performing the Eight Variations of Honor in his mind. The tranquillity of spirit he had felt in his days as Rrit-Conserver was increasingly eluding him. I am a slave to events, and events are not tranquil. He controlled his breathing, and focused on the discipline.
“Kzin-Conserver.” It was Ftzaal-Tzaatz. Kzin-Conserver abandoned the sixth variation, took a moment to steady his mind before opening his eyes to greet the Black Priest.
“I would walk with you, Conserver.”
“As you wish.” Kzin-Conserver rose and together they headed on the path that led from the grove back to the Citadel. A Tzaatz patrol mounted on rapsar raiders went past, and Ftzaal said nothing until they were alone again.
“We still fight the Honor-War we declared when we took this fortress. First-Son-of-Meerz-Rrit has become a formidible enemy.”
“For a time I think you thought you had won your honor-duel.”
“My brother was convinced. I was not.”
“And now?”
Ftzaal turned a paw over. “The storm is gathering. I can sense it. Now it is my brother who is unconvinced.” He paused. “You favor the Rrit in this.”
“Second-Son is Rrit as well. You mean that I favor Zree-Rrit over the puppet of the Tzaatz.”
“Of course.”
“When I was Rrit-Conserver, I favored the Rrit over the Tzaatz, and yes, First-Son over Second-Son for reasons of both tradition and character. Now it is not my place to favor one side or the other. I only pass judgment on adherence to the Traditions, and give guidance to the other Senior Conservers.”
“And give advice to the Patriarch.”
“When he asks for it.”
“Scrral-Rrit has changed since the Hot Needle.”
Conserver rippled his ears. “I have noticed.”
“Hrrr.” Ftzaal's tail lashed. “He is still unworthy of the title he bears.”
“His future carries the stain of his past.”
“And despite your neutrality you favor his brother in this challenge.”
“I favor no one, which does not mean I have no judgment. Zree-Rrit has shown himself honorable so far. He is the elder brother and so entitled by blood to be Patriarch. For these and other reasons I believe he will serve the Patriarchy better than his brother.”
And my brother. Ftzaal started to say it and didn't. He remained silent until they reached the bank of the Quickwater. On the other bank the Citadel wall rose straight up, its coppery surface glinting in the light of high noon. They turned to parallel it. “There are ships in orbit now. Churrt Pride and Vdar Pride and Dcrz Pride, and others.”
“I have heard.”
“They tell my brother they have come in case the kz'eerkti come, to defend Kzinhome.”
“And you believe differently?”
“I do not believe Zraa-Churrt would dishonor himself with untruth. They are here for the reason they have given. I believe there is a further truth. They have come to bear witness to skalazaal.”
“Perhaps. You have overstepped the traditions, though no one has proof-before-the-pride-circle. The Great Prides fear this more than anything.” Kzin-Conserver looked to the fields beyond the Citadel's northern wall, where a formation of lumbering assault rapsari were going through their paces. “You are expecting a battle. Your forces are growing stronger every day.”
“I have committed everything I can to the defense of this fortress. This is the critical point. My brother believes we must protect Jotok, but it is here we will stand or fall.”
“Against the kz'eerkti or against First-Son?”
“Against both.” Ftzaal paused again. “If First-Son comes here, he will die. If he does not come here…” Ftzaal's lips twitched away from his fangs. “I will rake out his hiding place soon.”
“You have put his kz'eerkti female to the Hot Needle.”
Ftzaal's ears swiveled up. “You have good ears to have heard that.”
“When you are Kzin-Conserver you hear many things. I have also heard the kz'eerkti are in hyperspace to our singularity. I have not heard how your brother intends to deal with them.”
“He has given command to Ktronaz-Commander.”
They walked in silence for awhile, then stopped to watch a squad of Kdatlyno who were setting long metal spikes in a freshly dug defensive ditch. Kzin-Conserver turned to the Black Priest. “Why do you follow your brother?”
“I am his zar'ameer.”
“Even when he violat
es the traditions?”
Ftzaal started to speak, stopped, started again. “It is not for the sword to question the paw that wields it.” His voice held an edge.
“You had a question for me.”
Ftzaal shook himself angrily. “No. I have answered it for myself.” The Black Priest turned and walked back the way he had come.
Kzin-Conserver watched him go. Events are beyond his control now, and his brother's, and mine. He looked up at the sky, where the ships of eight Great Prides were circling invisibly, defense against the kz'eerkti fleet which would inevitably arrive to scour Kzinhome, defense against the temptation for Kchula-Tzaatz to use energy weapons against Pouncer in his War-of-Honor. Each of those Great Prides would be pursuing its own interests too, interests that were now starting to tear the Patriarchy apart. Stability, that sacred goal of the Circle of Conservers, was long gone. I have failed in my responsibility. It didn't help that he knew there was no way he could have succeeded. It was too late by far to save the Patriarchy he had been born into; perhaps it was too late to save it in any form at all. He thought back to the last Great Pride Circle. Stability had seemed so close then. At the time he had no idea how violently the apparent path of history would be diverted. The storm is gathering, and this time I know it. The question is, when will it strike?
Seize the critical moment and the battle is yours.
— Si-Rrit
It was time. Pouncer climbed aboard the tsvasztet strapped to the huge herd-grandmother. Ferlitz-Telepath was already there, and Tskombe-kz'eerkti and the Trina manrette, and Swift-Claw, Z'slee and Night-Prowler, acting now as his personal bodyguards. He looked across to the other beasts, where V'rli had Ztrak Pride marshaled, and where Czor-Dziit led Dziit Pride. The other czrav prides were farther back in the herd; the honor of the fore went to those who had fought with him the longest.
But they are all here! The czrav army was eight-to-the-sixth strong, eight-cubed prides and sub-prides, half eight-to-the-fifth tuskvor, the beasts armored and armed, articulated assault ladders on their necks and heavy weapons on their backs so they could serve as living siege towers at the walls of the Citadel of the Patriarch. His Heroes were trained to a standard even Guardmaster would be proud of, confident and ready for battle. He looked up into the darkening sky, streaked bloodred as the last rays of sunset lit the clouds from the western horizon. And they will have blood themselves, soon enough. Up there were Kzinhome's orbital fortresses, capable of wiping out his entire force in heartbeats. Today is the supreme gamble. The Tzaatz knew something was happening; his spies had told him that. The Great Prides were watching overhead. Skalazaal will be declared and open for all to witness. Kzin-Conserver who had been Rrit-Conserver would ensure that it was. Kchula-Tzaatz might yet decide to wipe out the threat to his rule with lances of fire from space. He would not do it with impunity.
And he will not do it yet. The weather was overcast and they would move at night. The Tzaatz did not know of the force assembled against them, would not know until it was too late. Or so I hope. The Telepaths had searched the minds of their enemies for knowledge of the coming onslaught, but even they could not see everything. There were too many risks in an operation this size, too many loose ends to control them all.
Another kzin climbed aboard, a kzinrette. C'mell!
“You should not be here!” He spoke before she could.
“I should not be anywhere else.” She leapt easily to the front of the travel platform, moved to the tiller bar where Night-Prowler was. The other silently gave way to her.
“Where are the kits?”
“They are with M'mewr.” Expertly C'mell unhooked the tiller bar from its restraints and tightened up the harness lines. Their tuskvor snorted in response to the pressure but didn't balk.
“They need their mother. C'mell…” he started to reason.
“And their father.” She waved a paw. “Who will make sure you are safe if I don't?” She pulled the bar back to raise the beast's head. It grunted and started to move. “And now it is too late for me to leave.”
Their beast lumbered forward and he started to argue. Already the other tuskvor were starting to move with them, the vast herd reacting like a single living organism, gathering momentum. C'mell pulled on the bar to haul the huge head around to set their direction. South! To the mountains and down through the passes, through the northern valleys and into the Plain of Stgrat, to the heart of the Patriarchy, to the Citadel, to battle and to destiny.
I am committed. Pouncer abandoned his argument. Around him the herd picked up speed. The great beast swayed beneath him. There was no need to give any other order. That quickly the plan was in motion. He moved to the side of the travel platform and looked out into the gathering darkness. Strangely, he felt as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Now we travel, and my work is done until the battle begins. Those he had trained were now acting on their own, carrying out the well prepared plan. He looked to the back of the tsvasztet where Battle Captain of Ccree Pride hunched over the combat console with headphones on. Ccree Pride's experts had isolated the Tzaatz command bands. Even without breaking the enemy crypting they would be able to identify enemy units, and with the consoles carried on every command tuskvor, they would be able to triangulate and know their positions. The czrav had vocom too, but they wouldn't use it until the final stages of the battle, when the total security of telepathy was less important than the speed and flexibility of direct vocom. On top of dens scattered through the high forest, jammers would be switching on to delicately confound the ground scanners on the orbital fortresses, while overhead Black Saber's sensors watched the Tzaatz forces for the first sign that the czrav advance had been detected. Inevitably it would be discovered, despite deception and camouflage and countermeasures. It was impossible to move such a vast force in stealth, but with luck and the Fanged God's favor they would be through the bottleneck of the mountain passes and into the Plain of Stgrat by then, where it would be much harder for the Tzaatz to mount a defense.
On the other side of the travel platform Quacy Tskombe paced, worried. The only way they were going to get Ayla back from the Tzaatz was to take the Citadel, he knew that. But what will they do with her when the attack starts? They could kill her on a whim, or as a last-second vengeance for their defeat. Or the attack could fail.
He turned to Ferlitz-Telepath, unable to keep himself from asking the question again. “How is Ayla?”
Tolerantly Ferlitz looked away, closed his eyes, concentrating. Tskombe saw the pain cross his face and flinched. After a time Ferlitz looked at him again. “She is still alive, still in pain.”
“Can you tell her we're coming?”
“It is still too far, and too large a risk if she knows.”
Tskombe breathed in, breathed out. “I know, I know.” He looked out into the gathering darkness, listening to the relentless rumble of the czrav army's advance. Hang on, Ayla, I'm coming. Trina came to stand beside him. Now she is the one who comforts me. He sat down on the prrstet and concentrated on the next phase of the advance. Morning should see them at the northern foothills, the following evening should see them starting the ascent through the passes. The passes were the critical point, and they needed to get through them in darkness.
“Ferlitz, how are our guides?”
Again the telepath closed his eyes, this time reaching for the minds of the scouts pre-positioned along the planned route, and along alternate routes as well in case something forced them to change plans. This time he was lost in the mind-trance for a long time, sometimes muttering to himself. Tskombe himself got flashes of images, a high mountain meadow still sunlit as the lower elevations were not, a river crossing seen from a nearby hill, a camouflaged hiding place beneath a burstflower bush. Ferlitz is sharing what the scouts see. Along with the images came a sense of rightness and safety. So far there were no ambushes. But we have only begun. It would take three days to ride from the passes to the Citadel, and it was certain battle would be
joined before they got there.
The night passed uneventfully. There was a rotation set up between them, so someone would always be awake to watch the combat console, but he and Pouncer weren't part of it. They would alternate, unless there was a battle, in which case the kzin would lead and Tskombe would make sure he got the information he needed. Quacy was surprised to have so much of Pouncer's trust so quickly, but it seemed he was simply stepping into Ayla's shoes as kz'eerkti zar'ameer. She has done a lot here. His thoughts returned to her again unbidden, and he pushed them away. She needs me to be strong now, to do my job to get her out. Eventually exhaustion overcame him and he slept, rocked asleep by the steady swaying of their tuskvor. Fitful dreams made his slumber far from restful, but it was welcome all the same.
Dawn found them in the foothills, as expected, and there was no sign the Tzaatz had noticed their presence, either in the telepathically gathered reports of the scouts or in the imagery downlinked from Black Saber. Tskombe grew tense as the sun rose in a cloudless sky, leaving them vulnerable to the sensors of the orbital fortresses and the Tzaatz ships in orbit, but they continued on their way unmolested. The interference the czrav were beaming skyward was subtle, so as not to give the game away. It was possible to laser-jam the optical sensors as well, but that too-obvious measure had to wait until the battle was joined. The vast tuskvor herd was too big to simply escape notice, but the camouflaged tsvasztet on their backs might, and the Tzaatz didn't know enough about the beast's migratory patterns to realize how unusual their movement south was at this time of year. Darkness came again and they were climbing into the passes. A few more hours is all we need. Tskombe managed to avoid asking Ferlitz-Telepath about Ayla again. The Gifted kzin was spending nearly all his time in the mind-trance now, relaying messages, checking on the advance scouts, searching out the minds of Tzaatz commanders, still too far away to read clearly.
We should have brought another telepath. He had known that from the beginning, but every commander in the force needed a telepath to communicate with his or her command, and even among the czrav there weren't enough to go around. The air grew cooler as they climbed through the passes, and by midnight the lead elements were on their way down again. The Plain of Stgrat lay open before them. We're through. For the first time since they'd started he allowed himself to relax, and he slept again, dead to the world.
