by Kay Kenyon
"-it all, yes," Mo Ti finished for her.
A silence fell. Outside, the distant snort of an Inyx came from the pasture where the herd slept standing, sending their dreams to their riders.
Mo Ti began again. "The weak place," he said. "Everyone has a weak place. Even them."
Sydney thought of the lords and tried to imagine a weak place.
Mo Ti's voice came soft, high, and calm. "The Inyx must find the weak place."
She took a wonder-filled breath. The Inyx are the key, she thought.
Riod sent negation. We hate them. We choose never to touch their minds.
"That must change," Mo Ti murmured.
And they had watched over Akay-Wat in silence then, each with their own thoughts.
Now, at the base of the cliff, Sydney looked up at Mo Ti's high perch. "What do you see?"
Mo Ti answered, "Priov comes."
"How close?"
"Close now, mistress. And he has many mounts with him."
To fight, then. It was all very well to dream of fighting the lords, but here came a more immediate foe.
Mo Ti's sure, muscular movements soon brought him down from his perch on the rock wall, and he mounted Distanir.
Riod approached Sydney, dipping front legs for her to mount.
"Who's coming with Priov?" Sydney asked.
Riod sent, The mares.
"Don't fight," she said. They were outnumbered, and Priov had blood on his mind. He would stamp out free bond and Riod all at once. But Riod didn't answer. Ahead of them was a canyon with no exit. Riod set off at a gallop toward it.
"Turn back," Sydney pleaded. Riod's only answer was a dark resolve.
Mo Ti urged his mount close to her, saying, "Let him prove himself, mistress. It begins here."
They thundered into the canyon. Riod's thoughts were strangely hidden from Sydney as they came to the snub-nosed end of the canyon. Around them soared columns of rocks, casting a reflected yellow light. Riod circled to face the oncoming group.
Mo Ti rested a hand on Sydney's arm to steady her. "Come over to me."
She clambered behind him onto Distanir's back, holding tight while he carried her to the canyon wall. There, they dismounted. Hooves echoed in the ravine as Priov's band came around a bend in the cliffs.
Through Distanir's eyes, Sydney saw Riod standing alone, his black coat glistening.
Distress and excitement colored Distanir's perceptions: Priov thundered into the arena formed by the stone walls. Feng slipped off Priov's back as the mares bunched around Priov, cantering and snorting. Separating himself from them, Priov pranced for their benefit. The canyon echoed with the shrill screams of the mares as they lifted their tails, spraying feces.
This should not be happening. It should wait for mating season, when the mares were at issue. Today, though, it wasn't about mares, as everyone knew.
Riod stood unmoving, conserving energy under the molten bright.
Beloved, Sydney murmured.
Mo Ti admonished her: "Do not weaken his concentration, mistress."
Well then, Sydney thought. Let it begin. She calmed her mind to better receive the images sent by Mo Ti's mount. The mares quieted, retreating behind Priov.
Then, posturing done, Priov charged.
As he raced in, Riod's head lowered, bringing his horns to the fore. Priov feinted toward Riod and raced away. Circling around, he charged again, this time with his head lowered, veering to the side to swipe at Riod, who evaded, taking a defensive stance.
Across the expanse of spike grass, Feng stood like a queen, her hand on the hilt of her sheathed knife. Sydney felt for her own knife, patting it. Beside her, Mo Ti stood quietly with his mount.
Again Priov charged, this time clanking horn to horn with Riod. Hide ripped and separated. Blood flowed. It was Riod's blood. His flank. Mo Ti rested a hand on her arm, giving her his strength.
Out of season, Riod wasn't fighting well. Priov, on the other hand, had been stoking his own resolve all across the steppe.
Priov raced in again, making sickening contact in a crack of locked horns. Digging in his front legs for leverage and twisting violently, he yanked Riod down to his foreleg knees.
Disengaging, Priov pranced for his mares. For his arrogance, he took a wrenching kick in his ribs as Riod rolled on his side to bring his own legs in the air.
Enraged, Priov turned on his rival again, dashing in to slash Riod's foreleg.
Blood spattered as Riod scrambled to an upright position, and both mounts breathed fitfully, near exhaustion.
Then one of the mares came forward. With a burst of speed, she ran toward Riod, swiping his flank with her own body and dashing away. Then another mare dashed in to attack.
By Sydney's side, Mo Ti stirred.
He climbed onto Distanir. Of one mind, he and his mount plunged into the fray.
The mares pounded to and fro, in a confusing tumult of viewpoints and emotions. But Sydney could just discern Mo Ti's strategy: he didn't strike at the mares, but herded them. Expertly, he led Distanir in herding patterns that cut off the mares, and left Riod to recover his wind.
Seeing that Riod would only get stronger, Priov charged once more. The older mount's head was down, coming at Riod, forehorns aimed low. Their skulls crashed together; then, as they separated, Riod turned his head to the side and gored Priov's mouth. Priov roared in pain.
Sydney heard something behind her. She spun, drawing her knife at the same time. Someone was there.
"Little rose," Feng's voice growled.
Sydney now had her own fight. She held out her knife, turning in one direction and then the next, listening for Feng.
The whoosh of air came-the path of a knife.
And again Feng's weapon flashed by. Having a fix on Feng's position, Sydney dove for the big woman's legs, bringing her down with a thump. They thrashed, but Feng was bigger, and gave Sydney a punch that knocked the wind out of her. For a moment she was helpless before a bigger, better fighter.
But then Feng paused, hearing, as Sydney did, the outcry of the mares.
Feng sobbed, "Priov." And then she pounded away, leaving Sydney to pick herself up. Quiet surrounded her.
Amid a new and dreadful silence, Sydney staggered in the direction of the bloody arena. As she pushed her way among the now-quiet mares, she began picking up images: Two mounts, gushing blood. One mount on the ground, one standing.
Sydney made her way, grasping for sight, at last seeing through dozens of viewpoints: Priov was on the ground, horribly torn. His lip fell away in a slab of meat. He tried to stand, but Feng urged him to lie still. Beside Priov, Riod stood, with wounds on his flank and foreleg welling blood. But he could still move, and now he paced closer to Priov. Feng was on her hands and knees next to her mount. She looked up with loathing as she sheltered Priov's head with her body.
Riod had won.
The mares stood quietly, absorbing the meaning of all this. Riod ducked his head at two mares, and, instead of shying, they came to sniff him, breaking the tension. Riod pranced into the middle of the crowd of mareshe managed what might be called a prance-and nuzzled a few of them, which they allowed. Sydney would have run to him, but this was not a time for her to interfere, she knew. Riod must take the mares, take their loyalty.
Then, with a trumpeting sound, Riod signaled for the mares. They slowly sorted themselves out-the eager, the tentative-but all came to him. Gathering them together, Riod galloped down the canyon, leaving behind the former leader. A dying one.
Mo Ti reached down for Sydney's hand and, clasping it, pulled her up to ride behind him. Now Feng had a duty she must perform-a duty Sydney had once carried out for Glovid, but with less anguish.
Mo Ti turned Distanir away, leaving Feng to her task.
"He won," Sydney murmured to Mo Ti, leaning exhausted against his back.
"Yes, my lady."
She leaned against Mo Ti's back as they trotted down the valley, with the bright beating hard on her head and
each stride bruising her anew.
"Why did you call me lady?" Sydney said into Mo Ti's strong back.
"Because that's what you are now. If Riod is our master."
"We have no lords and ladies," Sydney said.
"That will change."
He had his large ambitions. Too large, she thought, while still thrilled that he would think them. That anyone would think them. Where had Mo Ti learned such high ideas? He had only told her that many people thought thus.
"Take me home, Mo Ti." She was too weary to think. And taking command of the herd was enough for one day.
Out on the flats, Riod's commanding presence came to her. He had not forgotten her, but he was bringing the mares to his side.
She urged him on, fierce with pride.
Later that day back in the encampment, Sydney went searching for Akay-Wat.
Feng's special quarters were now hers, along with a new deference from the riders. Even Puss, whose real name was Takko, gave her a nod, almost a bow.
Wordlessly, Sydney passed through the yard, unaccustomed to esteem, or even courtesy. But evidently, Priov and Feng would not be missed.
She found Akay-Wat resting behind the barracks. Her right foreleg, with its molded prosthesis, lay stretched out before her. Sydney sat next to her on the hard-packed clay.
The Hirrin blurted out, "Now, free bond comes to us, oh yes? We will have it at last, my lady?"
Sydney rested her arms on her knees, preoccupied. Softly, she asked, "When will you be strong enough to ride?"
Akay-Wat flattened her ears, worrying about her answer. "Oh dear. No riding yet, for Akay-Wat."
"When you can, I want you to leave."
Akay-Wat gasped.
Sydney didn't have time or leisure to argue with the Hirrin. Akay-Wat was either up to the task or not. Sydney was getting tough under Mo Ti's tutelage, so she had decided to pass it along.
"We'll find you a mount who wants free bond, Akay-Wat. When we do, you'll go to Ulrud's herd."
Akay-Wat was as silent as the steppe around them.
"Live there and teach them of free bond," Sydney said.
Akay-Wat made a mourning noise deep in her long throat. "My lady ..." Then she breathed, "Don't send me away. I will serve you, I will be brave, I will do anything you say, will Akay-Wat. Please, mistress."
Sydney couldn't bear this pleading. Yes, it was hard. Yes, Akay-Wat was afraid and wounded. Get tough, my Hirrin, she thought.
"Akay-Wat, listen now. I need those around me I can trust."
"You can trust me, you can!"
Sydney interrupted. "Prove it."
Then, slowly, Akay-Wat staggered to her feet. Her voice warbled in a plaintive ululation.
Sydney rose, too. Remembering Mo Ti's steady hand, she placed her own on Akay-Wat's back, pressing down firmly. They stood together for a few moments, and she felt the Hirrin's warm hide tremble under her hand. Then she walked away, leaving Akay-Wat to cry in privacy.
And make up her mind.
CI AfTEK TWENTY-FIVE
May the dragon you find be well fed.
-a blessing
NZI WALKED BESIDE QUINN to his meeting with the high prefect. He'd confessed to her that he'd gone walking in the city, and now she refused to stay behind in his cell. Here at his side, she was determined to prevent similar lapses in judgment. So it was just as well he hadn't told her about Small Girl.
Although she was dressed in stolen clerk's attire with sloping hat, she made an unlikely bureaucrat. She strode tall, lacking the hunched back and squinting eyes. The garb had served double duty so far, since they'd used the hat to read Cho's redstone. The uniform wasn't all that she'd taken. In order to ascend one of the other pillars of the Ascendancy, she'd assumed another visitor's identity. She delighted him with her audacity, and he was surprised by how glad he was to see her-even as dangerous as her presence was.
He'd kidded her, "So I wasn't ready to do this on my own, after all."
She had pursed her lips, but the smile came through. "I'm selfish, Dal Shen. My uncle would have me whipped for leaving you." She'd let him save face, but he knew he was better off with her near.
And he'd been glad of her company last night as they pored over the document Cho had provided: Kang's account of the interrogations of Johanna. It was a dry summary, but Johanna shone through because of the lies she'd told. She had lied about Earth politics and company politics. Lied about Minerva, about technology, and about small personal matters. How many children did she have? Eight. How long had she lived? Fifty years. It was as though she was determined to thwart them even if it did no good. She had fought them with all her wits, and enjoyed it. No wonder he loved her.
Here, close to the salon of the high prefect, legates packed the halls, clutching scrolls or pausing to gossip, while clerks mingled with downcast eyes to avoid continuous bowing. Fluted columns framed the views of the heartland, now fallen into a dusty lavender time. Since Cixi preferred to meet in the ebb of day, it had become the fashion on this level of the Magisterium to work all ebb and sleep all day.
A wide staircase marked the boundary of the high prefect's salon doors. Legates stood in knots on the stairs, glancing at times to the gilded doors, hoping for a glimpse of Cixi.
Barely hiding a growing elation, Quinn walked to his interview. Drawing closer, he drew looks from legates who must have wondered how someone dressed in plain silks could hope to find a place in line. He bowed to the closest few. He was ready for his greatest challenge: securing the old woman's endorsement of his journey to the Inyx.
Pausing before the steps, Anzi whispered, "I will wait for you here, Dal Shen."
"No, Anzi. Too conspicuous."
"I will wait, I think."
The legates on the stairs were watching him; it was time to go. He looked at her. Faithful Anzi. In danger because of him. He would send heron a harmless errand. "Find me a toy boat," he said.
Anzi looked doubtful.
He lowered his voice. "One about this big," he said, gesturing. "A boat that can be put in the water."
He glanced up at the legate guarding the salon doors. The practice matches with Min Fe and Shi Zu were over. "To the dragon," he said.
Anzi whispered, "Remember not to step on the dragon."
He started up the stairs, threading his way through legates and precon- suls, the finely plumed birds of Cixi's aviary, whether Chalin, Ysli, or Hirrin. They turned to watch him as he made straight for the door, clutching his summons. This he presented to the Chalin gatekeeper, who perused the scroll and, finding it in order, reached to open the door. At that moment Quinn caught a glimpse of a familiar legate standing off to the side. Min Fe bowed in his direction, a jackal on the fringe of the lions.
Quinn stepped into Cixi's domain, into a foyer. A spike of worry hit him, that the old woman would remember him. Unlike the Tarig, Chalin were good at faces.
A Hirrin servant stood guard at yet another door. On the floor at the Hirrin's feet coiled an inlaid design in the likeness of a snake that appeared to slither under the door.
As Quinn approached, the servant opened the door, ushering him into an expansive colonnaded room with a sweeping view out to the city. Amid a dozen Hirrin attendants, Cixi sat on a raised chair. Dwarfed by the elaborate chair, the old woman perched there, her feet supported by a footstool. A Hirrin knelt at her side applying a lacquer to the prefect's fingernails. The fumes of the lacquer swept over Quinn's Jacobson's organ, along with smells of Hirrin perfumes.
The prefect's stiff gown and hair created an imposing facade, but the woman herself, as he'd noted before, was as small as a child. Her startlingly black hair was sculpted into a high bonnet framing a lined and crumpled face. Her fingernails were three inches long, curling in at the ends. She hadn't changed a bit.
Next to the dais, but standing somewhat back, was a huge man clad in a tentlike embroidered jacket and pants. This, he guessed from his glimpse of the man the other day, was Zai Gan. The man's scowl cut int
o the folds of his face. He looked like his rotund brother, but a crueler version.
Quinn bowed, noting that beneath his feet was the rest of the snake that he'd seen in the foyer. However, now he saw that it was no snake, but a dragon, scaled and whiskered. Jeweled teeth glowed in the grinning mouth.
When he rose from his bow, Cixi was glaring at him. The Hirrin at her side had stopped her ministrations and also stared at him.
Cixi looked at Zai Gan. Her deep voice had lost none of its authority: "Stands on Breathing Fire, Preconsul. You saw?"
"Shocking, High Prefect," Zai Gan said.
Quinn had shocked her before he had even opened his mouth. She'd said stands.... He looked down, seeing that he stood on the dragon. Moving to the side, he stepped off it. The Hirrin attendants on the sidelines moved their heads in unison to note this.
Cixi smirked at him. "Born in a minoral?"
"My noble father despaired of me, Your Brilliance."
She regarded him for a moment. "Are you of my acquaintance, petitioner?" Her face was all squinting eyes and wariness.
"It has never been my honor, High Prefect."
"Yet you sound familiar."
A pause stretched long enough to shred his stomach lining.
The Hirrin attendant blew too strongly on her nails, and Cixi jerked her hand away, frowning and readjusting the drape of her robes. "Minor son of Yulin. No, I suppose not. Does your father still pretend to service ten wives?"
"Nine, these days, Your Brilliance." He'd seen Caiji's funeral procession.
A hiccup emerged from the prefect, an eruption that passed for a laugh. "Even so." The Hirrin spectators fluttered their lips in amusement, and in an instant the suspicion on her face had passed.
"Which wife must claim you?" she asked.
"I am nothing so grand, High Prefect. No wife claims me." With Yulin's brother standing close by, Quinn hoped to avoid speaking of things Zai Gan would know intimately. But Cixi, of course, controlled the conversation.
Cixi examined her glowing purple nails. "Well then, bastard son of the One Who Shines, is it an insult to send such a messenger to the high prefect?"
