by Paul Chafe
“Don't worry, it's nothing an autodoc won't fix.” He tried to be gentle as he carried her, but there was still a battle going on, and speed was critical. He took a moment to kiss her though, gently at first because he was afraid he might hurt her, and then hard because he loved her and had lost her and wanted her to know that he'd never let her go again. And then they had to go, so he carried her up the spiral staircase into the light. He found himself in the same garden as before, but on the other side of the tower. Pouncer's instructions were right, I should have gone right around the tower on the outside. But he hadn't and who knew how fate would have woven events if they'd taken the easy way. Trina's luck worked in mysterious ways.
“We have to get the black-furred one.” Ayla was breathless, still trembling in his arms. “Ftzaal-Tzaatz.”
“Oh we will.” He clenched his jaw grimly. Sounds of combat rose over the Citadel walls.
Kr-Pathfinder dropped to attack-crouch, searching for hidden dangers in the ornate garden. He made tail signals, commanding his half-sword into defensive positions, then keyed his vocom. “Sire, we have the Cherenkova-Captain and the other kz'eerkti.”
Tskombe looked at him, only then realizing that the big kzin's appearance was not coincidence but plan. Pouncer is winning here. He found that somehow surprising, and he realized he had never allowed himself to think in terms of final victory, even as he planned for it. Because to win I had to have Ayla, and now I do.
A crystal iron crossbow bolt embedded itself in the tower's stonework with an audible spang, a handsbreadth from his head. One of Kr-Pathfinder's sword wheeled and fired an arrow back, knocking a Tzaatz warrior from the battlements. Other Tzaatz appeared. And now I have her, we've got to get out of here while we still can.
Scream and leap.
— The Dueling Traditions
Ftzaal-Tzaatz watched the battle unfold from the security of the Patriarch's Tower. Far below Heroes contended with sinew and steel, fighting for every last stone of the Citadel. The czrav forces had made it over the north wall and penetrated as far as the Middle Fortress. That was as it should be. He turned to the semi-comatose form drooling on the prrstet beside him, one of two telepaths he had managed to extract from the Black High Circle.
“Where is First-Son-of-Meerz-Rrit now?” He almost purred the words.
The telepath's eyes rolled back in his head. “He is… he is rallying warriors to storm the Hall of the Patriarch.”
“Is he still in the mind-trance?”
“No… Not in the trance… but still aware… aware of mind space…”
“Excellent.” Ftzaal turned his palm over. “It is time to put the bait in the trap.” He looked again to the unfolding battle and keyed his viscom. A holo appeared, showing the Command Lair where Kchula-Tzaatz watched the battle with his entourage.
“Brother.” Kchula's voice came over the voice link.
“The battle threatens you. I have created a secure area in the Patriarch's Great Hall. You must move there with your staff.”
“From the Command Lair?” Kchula's voice was incredulous. “If they can get me here, how is the Great Hall safer?”
“Because I so command it to be safer.” Ftzaal snapped the words testily. “There is a secret way to the Command Lair. They may use it.”
“I will go then.” Kchula broke the carrier.
Ftzaal returned his attention to the battle unfolding beneath him. My brother serves his purpose at last. The Rrit still feels the effects of the sthondat. He will sense Kchula and go to him. His claws extended of their own accord. And when he does I will capture him, and test a theory. He keyed his com again.
“Assault rapsar parties, move now. Citadel defense, fall back. The trap is set, Ftz'yeer, stand by for my word. Remember I want him alive.”
“As you command, sire…” “As you command, sire…” The voices cracked back. Outside in the forests eight-cubed assault rapsari began moving to cut off and encircle the czrav. They had Ftzaal's other telepath with them to shield their minds from the czrav. Their presence would be a complete surprise. Neither the czrav nor the Rrit would escape him today. Unconsciously, his jaw relaxed into a fanged smile. I will go there myself to see the Rrit taken. He turned to the telepath beside him. “In a moment you will cease shielding my brother's presence. We will show this leader-of-czrav what he is really up against.”
Eat today or be hungry tomorrow.
— Dolphin saying
Crusader fell in toward the Traveler's Moon, and Curvy watched on her battleplot as the two fleets closed. The kzinti weren't climbing up to meet the UN force high in the gravity well, as they usually did. Instead they were waiting for the UN ships to close. Their battle plan was clear. They would let their orbital fortresses engage the human fleet while their battleships and other heavy units maneuvered for close combat, accepting high casualties to get at the carriers that were the heart of the UN attack plan. Still, she could see advantage to be gained. The kzinti were deployed in battle groups, and it was clear from their motions that they were not well coordinated. They were probably acting independently, and if the human force could split them and engage them separately they could keep their casualties to a minimum. She keyed data into her console. Projections on her strategic matrix ranged from twenty-five to fifty percent casualties for the UN force, a heavy toll for ultimate victory. Kzinhome was well guarded, but there were no outcome spaces that did not result in UN success, so the only problem was how to minimize the losses.
There was a higher level problem, which was the response that the rest of the Patriarchy would mount to the destruction of their homeworld. It was a large empire, its full extent still unknown, though it would probably collapse with its central authority removed. What might happen after that was worrisome. The UN had demonstrated how easy it was to devastate a world. Her strategic matrix showed a nearly ninety percent probability of kzinti retaliation in kind, with a thirty percent probability that they were already mounting an exterminating attack. That probability had dropped somewhat when she'd seen how many major kzinti combat units were committed to the defense of their homeworld, but it was still far from zero. A fleet attack was only one way of razing a world, and not even the most efficient. The UN had proven that too.
She nosed her way to the bottom of the tank to snap down a salmon, and then swam over to nudge Zwweee(click)wurrrrtrrrtrrr from his nap. They mated in an amorous flurry, and then she let languor overtake her and she half-napped while he watched the unfolding battle. They worked in split watches now. Even with the end of worlds at hand life's pulse goes on uninterrupted. They would destroy Kzinhome and the universe would continue. There was no sense in regretting what she couldn't control.
To see is not to understand.
— Patriarch's Telepath
The Tzaatz screamed and leapt, and Pouncer's variable sword was already in the trajectory of his leap, canted just so. The Tzaatz died, decapitated as Pouncer's slicewire found the gaps in the neck articulation of his armor. In mind space Pouncer felt him die, and the sudden terminal pain flooded his awareness. He shook off the sudden paralysis, then froze again as he felt a disturbance in mind space. The sthondat extract had worn off to the point he could no longer know thought, only presence, but this presence was special. Kchula-Tzaatz! He is in my father's hall. He looked around to assess the battle, saw the Heroes of Ztrak Pride, much diminished, had secured the House of Victory. He was already in position to attack. We can take the Great Hall and end this here.
He raised his voice. “Ztrak Pride, with me, skirmish order. Advance!”
His warriors leapt to obey, and he could not help but purr at the crisp discipline of his command, even as he appreciated the gravity of their task. His forces held the entire north wall now, and his furthest advance scouts were as far south as the Inner Keep. I will win this yet. He looked to C'mell, leading his left forward four-sword now, and to Swift-Claw, leading his right forward. We have lost so many… He would not falter now, so close to vic
tory. Their deaths would not be in vain.
“C'mell, take your four-sword to secure the rear of the Hall. Don't let anyone escape that way.”
“As you command.” Her reply was clipped, as professional as any zitalyi. I cannot show her favor.
“Sire, we have the Cherenkova-Captain and the other kz'eerkti.” It was Kr-Pathfinder, his voice confident.
“Acknowledged. Move to the Great Hall of the Patriarch. We are securing it now.”
“As you command.”
They advanced against trivial resistance. The Tzaatz forces seemed to be falling apart. It was almost too easy, and he reached out into mind space to detect a trap. There were potentials, to be sure… More sthondat would let me know their thoughts, know their intentions. He pushed the thought away. I cannot allow myself to become addicted. He would have to make do with what he had.
They gained the entrance to the Great Hall, rushed up the ancient stone stairs into the vaulted antechamber. Tzaatz grav skirmishers still leapt overhead and arrows fell sporadically, but resistance seemed to be dying down already. He could sense Kchula-Tzaatz inside. And my brother! He contained his eagerness to confront them in favor of caution and security. I owe it to my warriors not to squander their lives. He sent a sword forward to secure the entrance, and they reported it clear.
He advanced another sword and followed it. The hall was large, full of hiding places. Clearing it would take time. As he moved forward he was struck by the changes that had taken place since the last time he had entered its familiar confines. I have lost my father, become a warrior, taken a name, found a mate, fathered kits of my own, forged an army and led it here… Meerz-Rrit would be proud of him, and there was both joy and sorrow in that realization.
Kill screams echoed, cutting off his reverie, and at the same instant mind space was flooded with new awareness, eight-cubed bright spots of awareness, close. Ambush! With the realization came the knowledge that he had been tricked, that the Tzaatz had shielded their numbers from him in mind space, had encouraged him to overconfidence and overextension. Red and gold mag armor. The elite Ftz'yeer were leaping to the attack. At the same time voices flooded the com channel.
“Sire! Rapsari to our north, eight-squared…”
“Sire! We need reinforcement…”
A flash in mind space, lumbering rapsari in wedge formation, closing in on the prides who held the perimeters. They were built like raiders but quadrupedal and bigger, much bigger. They made these to kill tuskvor. In that instant he realized how long the Tzaatz had been anticipating his attack. They have kept their own secrets well. In the vision the wedge slammed into his perimeter guard like an in-falling comet, fangs slicing tuskvor flesh, and then a Tzaatz screamed and leapt and he nearly died as he pulled his variable sword in line to block the blow.
“Ztrak Pride! To me, defensive circle now!” He screamed the command, and blocked again as the Ftz'yeer swung overhand. His warriors responded, and he anticipated another attack, feinted low and then sliced his opponent's belly open when he fell for it. There was no time to celebrate the victory — two more Tzaatz leapt to attack him. He parried one and dodged the second, and then had to fall back to the forming defensive circle. The sthondat extract aids my anticipation. He felt another attacker closing from the flank, pivot turned and cut him in half almost without effort, and then he was in the circle. Something popped and he ducked in time to avoid a monofilament net that flew over his head to entangle the czrav warrior beside him. He turned and hooked his slicewire into the mesh and brought it up, ripping the net open, but the distraction left him vulnerable, and the Tzaatz he had just blocked whipped his slicewire up and under Pouncer's sword arm. Pouncer leapt vertically and the slicewire cut empty air instead of amputating his arm from the armpit up. He swung as he came down and decapitated the Tzaatz from above, spinning in midair to gut the second one even as he screamed and leapt. Victory, for a heartbeat, but more netguns were firing and the tight defensive circle of czrav was disintegrating. A mind flash showed tuskvor in lakes of blood, his support prides fighting for their lives as the Tzaatz cut the Citadel off with eights and eight-squareds of rapsari.
We will live or die in the next moments. The czrav beside him went down and he slipped sideways and brought his slicewire up to gut the Ftz'yeer who'd overextended himself to gain the kill. These Ftz'yeer are too good. In the raiding campaign he had grown used to the low standard of battle discipline in the Tzaatz rank and file, but Ftzaal-Tzaatz's elite were as good as any czrav, and here with the advantage of surprise and numbers they were going to win. His defensive circle was starting to collapse under the pressure. More netguns popped, and he risked a glance backward to see a quarter of his force struggling under the monofilament mesh. They mean to take us alive. That was bad, that meant the Ceremonial Death…
No time to consider it. He stepped forward, feinted, blocked and slashed downward, and a Tzaatz fell at his feet gushing blood. They will not take me alive… He stepped back again. The defensive circle was getting smaller. His death of honor would come soon. Flashes of pain and fear struck him in mind space. His force was being slaughtered. The Tzaatz had laid their trap well. But I can save what I can. The prides outside the Citadel walls could escape, if they could disengage from the rapsari. It would be a shameful retreat, but the shame would be his, and he would not have to endure it long. His warriors would survive, with their honor intact. Sometimes honor demands that we accept shame. He keyed his vocom to give the order.
“Ftz'yeer! Hold!” The voice rose over the din of battle, and Pouncer looked up, surprised. The kzin who gave the order was standing by the high-arched entrance to the main hall, broad shouldered in red-and-gold armor. The circle of Tzaatz drew back, and Pouncer looked around the antechamber. He had a pitiful pawful of warriors left, standing back-to-back and watching warily for any renewal of attack. They were outnumbered four-to-one at least, the outcome of the battle, this part of it anyway, was in little doubt. Why did they stop? He reached out with mind awareness but sensed only the presence of his enemies.
“Zree-Rrit-First-Son-of-Meerz-Rrit, show yourself.” The Tzaatz leader's eyes searched the circle, searching. “An honor truce has been commanded.”
Honor truce? Why? He stepped forward. “I am Zree-Rrit.”
The Tzaatz made the gesture-of-respect-to-an-enemy. “I am Ftz'yeer Leader. Come with me.”
Warily, Pouncer followed him into the Great Hall, his warriors coming after him. Could it be a trap, even with the Pride-Patriarchs watching? It seemed unlikely; the Tzaatz had victory within their grasp without the need for trickery. Inside the vaulted chamber he understood the reason for the sudden truce. C'mell was there, her four-sword deployed to guard a small group of kzinti in noble's robes.
“Look what I have caught for you, Zree-Rrit.” C'mell's tail stood straight with pride and pleasure as she met his eye. She made the gesture of mate-fealty and pointed. In the center of the ring of slicewires was Kchula-Tzaatz. There were others at the front of the hall, Zraa-Churrt and the Pride-Patriarchs he had asked to come bear witness to the traditions, his traitorous brother Scrral-Rrit — and Rrit-Conserver! No, he is Kzin-Conserver now. He resisted the urge to greet his old mentor. There will be time for that later. He looked to C'mell and returned the gesture. She must have infiltrated her small force into the Great Hall and taken the Tzaatz leader by surprise. She has forced Kchula to the truce and saved us all. There were sporadic sounds of battle from outside the hall, but they quickly faded. Skalazaal was over. Now it was time for skatosh.
The Pride-Patriarchs were watching, and Kzin-Conserver himself. I must be true to the finest point of honor. He stepped forward, drawing his variable sword, waving C'mell's warriors out of the way so he could stand before his enemy face to face. “Kchula-Tzaatz. For the death of my father, for the usurpation of my birthright, for the dishonor you have brought this house and the Patriarchy, I challenge you to single combat.” Fear in Kchula's mind. His mind-awareness was increasing ag
ain; it seemed to come and recede in gradually diminishing waves. Pouncer dropped into attack crouch. He is old and fat. I will finish this here. He shot a glance at Scrral-Rrit. And I will deal with my traitorous brother later.
There was a commotion at the entrance to the hall, a wedge of Ftz'yeer entered, and a black-furred kzin. Ftzaal-Tzaatz dismissed his bodyguard and drew his variable sword. “I stand for my brother.” The black killer stepped forward, extending the slicewire of his variable sword. “Leap if you dare, Rrit.”
Pouncer had turned to face the newcomer, and he screamed and leapt, his own slicewire blurring around to catch Ftzaal before he could take a defensive stance, but Ftzaal turned sideways and brought his blade up and blocked the blow effortlessly. Pouncer fell back before Ftzaal could counterstrike, but Ftzaal followed, delivering a swift left-right combination that Pouncer wasn't ready for, nearly breaking his guard. Pouncer flexed his knees to bring his center of gravity lower and present a smaller target, hiding behind his own blade as though it were a sapling. There was a split second while Ftzaal flowed into a lower stance to match him, and in that instant Pouncer kicked out with his forward leg, hoping to connect with his opponent's knee and break it. Ftzaal was ready though, and pivoted slightly, catching Pouncer's heel with his own and hooking it forward. Pouncer sprawled to the ground. I've been trapped. Even as he had that awareness he was rolling to get out of the way of the killing blow he knew was coming. Ftzaal's blade came down a handsbreath from his head. Pouncer knocked it clear and rolled again, flipping back to his feet, and the pair faced each other, eyes locked. I have the mind gift, what is he thinking? But Ftzaal's awareness was muted to his mind sense even this close, and Pouncer couldn't see enough to give warning of the Black Priest's next move. The black fur gene is at work.
