her instruments 03 - laisrathera

by M. C. A. Hogarth

  “Yes,” he said, quiet.

  “Then whatever it takes,” Sascha said, meeting his eyes with that fierceness. “To make my sister safe, and my friends.”

  What could he say to such ardor? Nothing. He offered his hand instead, saw the incredulity that flashed through Sascha’s gaze before the Harat-Shar stepped forth and took it. Warm fingers, bare skin on one side, furred on the other, but callused from the work of repairing a ship and strong from moving cargo. Had grief never driven Hirianthial from his world, would he have experienced such a touch? Felt the loyalty burning in it, stronger than stars? Been changed by it, and made more whole?

  “For once,” Hirianthial said, because it would make the tigraine laugh, “We shall be the rescuers.”

  It startled Sascha out of the intimacy of the touch; his laugh had a precipitous feel. “Reese will be so confused.”

  “Hopefully,” Hirianthial said, “not as confused as our enemies.”

  “So?” the Chatcaavan asked, lounging in a chair in his borrowed Eldritch shape, very like a noble in his indolence. Baniel thought it added significantly to the verisimilitude of the body, one that was flawless save for the eyes… and the fact that the Chatcaavan spoke only Universal. And his own language, presumably, which Baniel had not bothered to learn.

  “So,” he said, setting the data tablet he no longer needed to hide on the table. “It is what I expected. The Well repeaters are gone.”

  “Gone?” the Chatcaavan repeated, quirking a brow.

  Strange how similar the expression was, and unlike the more limited espers that comprised the majority of his race, Baniel could read the alien’s aura, enough to tell that the emotions matched. Either skeptical Chatcaava arched whatever passed for brows on a dragon’s face, or the shape-change was even more complete than anyone thought. “Yes. I had wondered if the Queen had some sort of self-destruct for them, since the arrival of an unwanted ship would have been disastrous if it had been able to use them to send word of the planet’s location. Now I know. They’re definitely gone. If we want a message to go out, we will have to send the ship. It shouldn’t have to go far to reach a public Well repeater.”

  “Then send it now,” the Chatcaavan said. “No use baiting a trap you can’t trip.” He flexed his fingers, as if unused to them, though from what Baniel had seen the Chatcaava had fine hands of their own. Tipped with scythe-like talons, perhaps, but not so different as all that. “Will we be able to keep our pets in check until then?”

  “The others?” Baniel shrugged easily. “The new queen will serve us admirably there.”

  The way the other canted his head, though… that felt alien. More a predator’s motion than a humanoid’s. “You think she has the strength to do this? A female?”

  “Her sex is immaterial,” Baniel answered. “Her ambition and her naiveté are all that need concern us. She wants all the Eldritch to bow to her as their new sovereign and thinks that merely deposing her predecessor should be enough to ensure it.”

  The Chatcaavan snorted. “Ridiculous. When one usurps a throne, one must kill one’s enemies and extirpate their families, possessions and allies. Nothing less will serve.”

  “It would be the wise course,” Baniel agreed. “But I think she is too aware that doing so would deprive her of half the population of the existing Eldritch. She will try everything in her power to keep them from requiring that of her. And then she will fail.”

  “Because her enemies will fight her?” the Chatcaavan said.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Baniel said, looking out the window at the cold wind rippling the lake outside the palace. “It would be convenient for me if Liolesa’s allies took the battle to her. But you can never be sure with them, with the Alliance influence they’ve allowed into their heads. They might parley because they believe in talk. Or they might parley to keep Surela from attacking until rescue arrives. Or they might kill her. Or surrender. Who knows?” He shook his head. “No, I dislike leaving such things to chance. There is a man who has been paying court to Surela since she was presented, and whom she has been ignoring for just as long. He now begins to wonder if the Eldritch are ready for a king. I have arranged for him to advance his own plans.” He smiled thinly. “It turns out that he has a finer grasp of the potential uses of technology than the woman who’s spurned him.”

  The Chatcaavan chuckled, a low, growling sound. “You are cruel. I approve.”

  “I’m glad. So, shall we send the ship?”

  “Let us,” the Chatcaavan said. “Though if it is only going as far as the next repeater, it would be pointless to send gifts… and I had anticipated sending the gifts.”

  “Ah?” Baniel asked, curious.

  “My patron would have enjoyed them,” the Chatcaavan said. “I would have sent him two, maybe three. Women, though. Your men are too much trouble.”

  Baniel smiled a little. “Are they? I had no idea. Still, a pity not to make the gift. Unless you’d like it instead?”

  The Chatcaavan yawned. “It would be pleasing. The body has needs.”

  “I’ll arrange it,” Baniel said. “How many of the men must go with the ship, to fly it?”

  “Oh, most of them,” the Chatcaavan said. “But then, between the two of us, we can control a great deal. Can’t we.”

  “You are ready for another lesson in mind-magery then?”

  The alien reached for him with an alacrity that was more akin to a serpent’s, and made a lie of his borrowed body. “Always.”

  “Very good,” Baniel said, and extended his hand. “I love a willing pupil.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Leaving Taylor and Belinor to watch over their… prisoner, she guessed she had to call him, Reese took Irine with her to explore the castle. The two of them made a tour through the gardens, as best they could; the paths in it were visible only because they were less choked with thorned vines, and both she and Irine stabbed themselves more than once stepping over or pushing past them. They’d reached a large structure in the middle, with another set of those enormous doors, and inside found something more like the castle Reese expected, with a great hall and stone steps leading up to floors with multiple rooms… empty now. Scavenged, she wondered? Had someone removed everything in an orderly way, or had things been stolen? There was detritus in the corners, and a lot of sand blown in through windows that had once held glass, from the jagged teeth and broken black frames. But no furniture, no signs of habitation except for the inevitable nests made by (thankfully) small animals.

  They climbed the stairs to the very last landing and found that it opened on a walkway around the conical roof, and from there they could see… forever, Reese thought, her heart pounding. Her agoraphobia? Maybe not. She wasn’t afraid. Or she was, just not of the size of the sky and the sea.

  “You okay?” Irine asked, gently.

  “I… um… could use a hand,” Reese admitted, and was glad of the one the tigraine slipped into hers. She accepted the squeeze, let it center her. “Planets still scare me sometimes. Unconstrained ones, anyway.”

  “Are you sure it’s not the size of your responsibilities?”

  “That too.”

  Irine chuckled. She pointed with her free hand. “Look at that! It almost looks like there used to be something there.”

  “Like what?” Reese asked, squinting.

  “Like a statue, maybe? Outside the castle though!” The tigraine glanced around. “Actually, the castle itself is pretty spectacular from up here. It’s big. Like ‘fit a town in the courtyard’ big.”

  “I wonder why there isn’t a town then?” Reese wondered. “I thought castles had towns in them.”

  “Maybe this one did before the garden ate it.” Irine started pacing the parapet, leading Reese by the hand. Reese narrowed her eyes against the cutting wind, trying not to shiver. She was still blinking against the weather when Irine said, somber. “Oh, okay. That’s why there’s no town in the castle’s courtyard. The town’s already outside it.”

 
“What?” Reese exclaimed.

  “Look.”

  She and Irine had been surveying the north, further up the coast. To the south, though, the coast zagged inward toward a forest, and there if she squinted she could see gray roofs. As towns went it was tiny; she doubted it was much larger than a handful of her neighborhoods on Mars. But it was very distinctly a town.

  “Maybe it’s abandoned?” Irine said.

  Reese thought of the Queen’s charge. Hadn’t she said something about Eldritch here that needed a lady? “No… no I think there are people there. Just not many.”

  “I’m glad we have someone along who speaks the language, then. It will be nice to be able to explain why there’s an army marching on them with flaming palmers.”

  Reese covered her face with her hands, something Irine allowed by letting go of her fingers. The tigraine hugged her. “Come on, let’s go back down and see about some food. Maybe we can contact Malia and see how she’s getting on with those Swords we sent her to meet up with.”

  “Right,” Reese said, dragging in a deep breath. It cut her throat. “Ugh, why does it have to be so cold?”

  “Because you like it cold,” Irine said. “Why do you think I had to buy so many socks?”

  “A town?” Belinor said when they asked him about it. “I suppose there must be one. There are no castles or estates without towns. But I have to imagine it was abandoned long since. There is no lord here anymore to serve them.”

  “What do lords do, exactly?” Reese said, sitting on the floor. Someone had managed to light a fire in the great room’s hearth. The blaze looked very tiny, given that the fireplace was longer than Reese was tall, but at least it gave some meager warmth to the part of the room they were using.

  “They… are lords!” Belinor said, confused. “They caretake the people.”

  “Where’s Kis’eh’t to say something acid where we need her,” Irine said.

  “He’s not kidding,” Taylor said, unexpectedly. She was sitting behind their prisoner, keeping her palmer trained on him. When they looked at her, she continued, “It’s supposed to be a circuit. The people who work the land do that. The people in the castle protect and feed them, get them what they need—”

  “Feed them?” Irine asked, skeptical. “Aren’t they the ones ‘working the land’?”

  “Sure,” Taylor said. “But it’s not enough to feed everyone. And if you have a little bit of one thing and a little bit of another, and a cow and a few chickens, all of a sudden you’re doing a billion chores. If you’re just raising wheat, and you give part of your harvest away and get back eggs and milk and meat, that’s more efficient.”

  “More efficient is farming with machines,” Irine said.

  “But they don’t have machines here.”

  Reese shook her head. “Whether it makes sense or not to us, Irine, it’s what they do. Still, I can’t help but think they wouldn’t need protection if their lords weren’t fighting over whatever the heck it is they fight over.” She glanced at Belinor.

  The priest said, “There are no wars like that anymore, my Lady. But there are… creatures.”

  “Creatures?”

  “He means monsters,” a voice croaked. Taylor leaped to her feet, pointing her weapon at their guest. “Please, tell your fox I don’t mean to flex so much as a thought, much less a muscle. What did you hit me with?”

  “Two palmers, set to stun,” Reese said, watching the other Eldritch blink blearily and try to sit up. He failed and slumped back to the ground.

  With a shudder, he said, “Can I at least have a blanket? This floor’s damned cold.”

  Reese nodded to Irine, who brought one from a pack and set it carefully around his shoulders. “You were saying?”

  “When we first settled,” the man said. “There were more of them. Centuries of harassing them have made them move away. But there are things in the forests here that make short work of people. They’re huge, they’re territorial, and they can project some sort of aura, and it petrifies people.”

  “Are you serious?” Reese asked, startled.

  “We call them basilisks.” He smiled, faint. “That was a job that used up a lot of us, initially. Mostly men. Men died often, defending women and children. It’s why we have such a complicated family structure. We came back from a small base of people. If you can call what we’ve got now successfully coming back.” He glanced at Belinor. “Of course, we complicated that process by killing off a lot of the people who showed stronger than average talents.”

  “This is blasphemy,” Belinor said to Reese, shoulders squared. “Blasphemy, my Lady.”

  “But true?” Reese asked, glancing at the stranger.

  “Blasphemy can’t be true!”

  “I dunno,” Taylor said. “His story sounds plausible.”

  “Who are you?” Reese asked finally.

  “I’m Val,” the stranger said with a crooked grin. “Former priest of the Lord.”

  Belinor half-stood, his outrage palpable.

  “And you left the priesthood because… you’re a blasphemer?” Reese asked, curious.

  “I left because the Lord’s priests hunt and kill people with the potential for a mind-mage’s talents, and there was nothing I could do to end it. I was tired of killing people innocent of anything but a hypothetical future crime.”

  A long pause. Reese said, “Um, and they didn’t kill you because?”

  “Because most of the priests of the Lord have better than average talent, and some of them are mind-mages themselves,” Val said dryly. “So in addition to being murderers, we were also hypocrites.”

  Now Belinor was also staring at their visitor.

  “They don’t tell you that part, do they,” Val said. He shifted against his bonds and grunted. “Do you really have to bind me like this? It’s uncomfortable.”

  “You did just admit to being a murderer,” Irine said, tail twitching.

  “I won’t deny it.” He grimaced. “When I was young I believed the stories. Whole-heartedly. I needed to believe them, because I did have those talents.” He glanced at Belinor. “You understand, my only choices were to believe myself a monster, or believe that I had been anointed by the Lord to serve His sacred mission. Which would you have chosen?”

  “I… I don’t know.” Belinor sounded stricken.

  Val nodded. “There you are, then.” He closed his eyes. “You have become very thoughtful, Lady of the Castle.”

  “Reese,” she said. “My name’s Reese Eddings. And yes. I maybe know a little bit about how hard it is to break away from your social conditioning. Enough to do something everyone else thinks is horrible.”

  “And this makes you trust me?”

  “No,” she said, honestly. “I trust you because I like your eyes.”

  Irine pressed a wrist to her mouth.

  “Yon tigress seems to find that amusing.”

  “Yon tigress has a filthy imagination, and she’s always teasing me about not joining her in the gutter,” Reese said wryly. “I think you can untie him.”

  “My Lady! At least ask him what he’s doing here!”

  “That matters?” she asked the acolyte, confused.

  “He is dallying here where he does not belong,” Belinor said firmly.

  “Because he had so many other places to go?” Irine lifted her brows. “What with the ‘people kill mind-mages and apparently hate rogue priests’ thing?”

  “He’s right to be suspicious,” Val said. His eyes were sparkling again, and Reese liked it and was instantly wary. And then he finished: “I’m here because I’m the reincarnation of Corel.”

  CHAPTER 4

  In the morning, Hirianthial asked to be shown to Urise’s room and followed one of Lesandurel’s kin—for he should so call them now, shouldn’t he?—to the priest’s door. Chiming for entrance, he received not the Alliance’s computer-thrown voice, but a mindtouch: Come, my son.

  Entering, he found the priest… in a chair by the window, once aga
in lost in the voluminous folds of his robes, smiling the same smile he’d worn when they first met in Ontine. Startled, Hirianthial said, “It is as if you have merely been transplanted, Elder.”

  “This chair is more comfortable,” Urise said. “Prithee, don’t tell the Queen I said so.”

  “Oh, she already knows.” Hirianthial sat across from him. “Given how many of them she has warmed off our world. How do you fare, then?”

  “Better than before I left.” The priest flexed his fingers beneath the concealing sleeves, making the fabric flutter. “Truly, the medicine of these non-Eldritch astonishes.” He lifted his brows. “And you, my son? You look more hale yourself.”

  “If a touch like a shorn sheep?” Hirianthial smiled a little. “I am as well as could be expected, given the circumstance.”

  “Which involves the ending of the Veil, yes?”

  “You knew?”

  “That it would come or that it has?” Urise shook his head minutely, and the words were delicately stippled, part shadows, part silver. “It was inevitable. And nothing less than violence would have served. It has become too comfortable, the Veil. All things must change if they would live.”

  “So I noted,” Hirianthial murmured.

  “So you have. And what will you do with that knowledge, mmm?”

  Hirianthial looked up. “Beg a few last lessons from you ere I go back, Elder. Where I go now, I must have every weapon to hand.”

  “Ah?” Urise narrowed his eyes. “Have you given over your horror so quickly, then?”

  Had he? He looked at the priest and said, “They sell our own to slavery, to die in the arms of dragons. They use weapons given to them by pirates and drug lords. They have ships, and they have our world at their mercy. Whatever advantage I have, I must use. Must use. Everything is at stake.”

  “And if I told you that you could stand at the head of a battlefield and rip the souls from a thousand men, as Corel once did?” Urise asked, his tone more a question than an attack. And because of that, Hirianthial hesitated, took the idea seriously, tried to imagine it… and couldn’t.