Chainer heard a voice from very far away mutter, "The Cabal is here, Pater," and then realized it was his own.
"And everywhere." The First's eyes were milky white, but this indicated an increased facility rather than a diminished one. It was said that the First could see through a person's soul as easily as he could through walls. The gray-white orbs darted and focused around the room.
"I understand you have something for me." From the far end of the room, the First stretched out his hand, palm up, and one of his attendants bearing the skeletal hand standard approached Chainer. "I will have it now, Mazeura."
The attendant's eyes were blank and glassy as the man waited to receive Chainer's package. Chainer hesitated only long enough to glance at Skellum. He had been determined to put the sphere directly into the First's hands, but it seemed these people were his hands. Chainer untied the drawstring on his satchel and held the sphere at arm's length, so that it hovered six inches above his hand. The sphere floated from over Chainer's hand to the hand-attendant's. Numbly, the man turned and carried the sphere to the First.
Chainer did not breathe while the First examined the sphere.
"Remarkable," he said at last. Balancing it over his right hand, the First gestured with his left. Two more of the hand-attendants came forward, bearing a sturdy black box with runes engraved in a band around its lid. The First placed the sphere inside the box, closed the lid, and muttered a few words. The lock flashed, the seam between the lid and the box disappeared, and the attendants carried the sealed cube away.
The First turned to face Chainer. "Remarkable," he repeated. He regarded the younger man, a finger tapping his upper lip. "You call yourself Chainer."
"Yes, Pater."
"Chainer. You have my thanks. Such a treasure, freely given. Do you have any idea what it is?"
"No, Pater."
The First touched his temple, and one of the skull-standard attendants stepped forward. "I think I might."
To the attendant, he said, "Make a note. I want Chainer summoned to me again when we've determined exactly what his treasure is. I want him to know as soon as we do." The attendant nodded, bowed, and stepped back.
The First glanced over at Skellum, and then stared hard at Chainer.
"I wonder, Chainer," he said, "if you would have beaten such a path to my study if you'd known exactly how powerful that sphere is. Either you are very loyal or very unobservant."
Chainer felt the back of his neck go cold. "I am your obedient child."
The First stepped behind Chainer, his attendants trailing behind him. Some of the guards shifted their positions in response to the First's movement.
"Or maybe," he continued, "you did know how powerful it was, and you knew that it was only a matter of time before it found its way to me. So you sought my favor by bringing it here directly."
Chainer felt dizzy. He caught Skellum's warning stare and choked on silence.
"Bringing it here directly," the First mused, "and en route attacking one of my children, hijacking my communications network, and killing an officer of the Order to get it here. All this for something whose value you could not precisely estimate."
The First left Chainer shaking and nauseated as he glided over to Skellum, surrounded by a silent swarm of attendants and guards.
"Master Skellum. I hope that your apprentice's sphere is very valuable indeed. It may have already cost us a great deal."
"In all fairness, Pater," Skellum's voice was as deep and as rich as molasses, "it was only an Order officer's pet he killed."
The First scowled. "A pet."
"Yes, Pater. I may have spoken imprecisely earlier. It was not the officer my apprentice killed, but his war bird."
Chainer went freshly cold as the First turned and peered at him again. The First glared at him for a moment through cloudy eyes, then snapped the fingers on each hand twice and reached forward with his right hand toward Chainer. All six hand-attendants came forward and ushered Chainer forward. He offered no resistance as they led him forward, stopping just outside the Cabal lord's reach.
The First towered over Chainer and took one step closer. His voice was calm, barely above a whisper. "You know what we do here, apprentice. You are at least familiar with how the Cabal operates." Close up, Chainer could feel the nauseous aura that surrounded the First. Standing in his presence was like standing on the edge of a bottomless pit. There was a sick odor about the First, as well. Not a foul smell, but the sour waft of ashes from a sickroom fireplace.
"The Cabal, Apprentice." Chainer's eyes darted to Skellum, then back to the First. "Tell me now what the Cabal does."
"We survive," Chainer answered immediately. Like every Cabal-ist, he had gone through the Cabal's cram indoctrination program and knew the routine of call-and-response by heart.
The First took another step forward, and Chainer began to feel physically ill, and he knew it wasn't just his nerves. His throat and nostrils were becoming raw, as if he'd been breathing smoke.
"We survive," the First echoed. "We feed, we gather, we absorb." He waited, and Chainer finished the list for him. "By the will of the First, we kill."
"By my will," said the First, "and mine alone. And my will is to kill nothing unless there's a long-term benefit. The more people there are alive, the more people there are in the arenas and gambling houses. The more patrons there are for the moneylenders and the flesh mills. We have a thousand uses for people when they're alive. We have only one or two when they're dead."
"It was an animal, Pater," Chainer said. "A bird of prey on a leash. He ordered it to attack me. I defended myself." "By my will alone," the First repeated. "And my will in all cases having to do with the Order is no killing. I am quite comfortable with the current relationship between their governing body and ours. They claim to be the law, while we are content to be all that is outside the law. Even as they recruit and convert warm bodies, our endeavors see higher and higher profits. They suppress society's truest urges, and we release them. It is a delicate situation, one that I spent years creating. Do you understand, Apprentice?"
"Yes, Pater."
"If there is to be an escalation of hostilities, it will be according to my schedule and my agenda."
"Yes, Pater."
The First drifted back to his spot under the painting at the far end of the room. His attendants silently followed.
Chainer exhaled, drawing fresher air into his lungs. He felt stronger with each step the First took away from him.
"Skellum," the First sounded casual, almost conversational, "tells me that at least you didn't waste the death."
"No, Pater. As he taught me, 1 captured the bird's essence."
"Then this has not been a total loss. Chainer."
"Yes, Pater?"
"Come here."
The First spread his arms out in a wide welcome, with his attendants keeping three feet of space between themselves and his person at all times. Chainer knew Skellum would be trying his utmost to will Chainer into a state of calm, but Chainer was overwhelmed beyond panic. He stood silent and still as a stone. If the First rewarded him here and now, or killed him outright, or burned out his brain and slapped a hand-standard blouse on his back, he didn't think he'd even flinch.
The sickly odor hit Chainer again as the First brought both his arms together in front of him. In response, one of the hand-attendants stepped forward. The attendant hugged Chainer, fairly lifting him off his feet, then stepped back into the ranks. Two other hand attendants urged Chainer to his knees, tilted his head, and cupped their hands around his ear.
"I said your sphere was remarkable," the First spoke in a conspiratorial stage whisper that was clearly meant for Chainer alone. "And so I remark upon it.
"What you have done is a great service to the Cabal and a great honor to me. I offer you my hand in gratitude." One of the attendants came forward and held out his hand, palm-down. Chainer took the hand and pressed it into his forehead.
"You will be fairly re
warded for your services tonight. And more, you will be remembered." The attendant pulled his hand away, and all of the attendants around Chainer stepped back to let him rise. "Go back to your quarters and wait. I would speak with Master Skellum about your future. He will tell you what we decide. But rest easy on the cushion of a job well done, Chainer. I see your future as one of wealth and power." The First crossed his arms behind his back, signifying that the interview was over.
A human guard tapped Chainer on the shoulder and gestured with his pike.
"The First is wise," Chainer said. "Long live the Cabal," the First replied.
Chainer was led out, but he saw Skellum smiling. He was led all the way out of the building, past the sharp-nailed guard and out onto the street.
When his escorts turned back, Chainer walked on in a kind of daze. He touched his dagger, reassured himself that his satchel was finally empty, and broke off a three-foot length of chain with a whispered word and a shimmer of air. He began spinning the truncated chain around his fingers, one of the most basic dexterity exercises he knew.
He felt drained, but his head was still buzzing. He couldn't feel his legs, yet knew he could walk for miles. He sauntered on, spinning the chain as he strolled, faster and faster. He smoothly transferred it from hand to hand as he walked, and he realized that he was happier than he'd ever been in his life.
*****
"I think he is ready, Skellum. You may begin."
"He is ready, Pater. But I would prefer to have another few months before-"
"He is ready, but needs a few more months? Speak clearly, Skellum."
"Pater. He is ready to begin his dementist training. I can have him back in the pits in six months."
The First waited silently, then said, "You are being evasive, Skellum, something I taught you. Normally, I would be proud. Right now, I want you to get to the point." "Sorry, Pater. The point is, he would be going back to the pits. The ones who start out in the pits aren't usually fit for anything but guard duty or rough muscle. My method is to pick out the most promising candidates for my academy during the indoctrination cram, and most of them wind up in the pits as simple dementia casters. Chainer is capable of doing much more for the Cabal. He could be a full-fledged dementist."
"Everything you are saying is known to me, Skellum."
Skellum nodded. "We are pushing Chainer toward his strengths. I'm not questioning that. I am simply wondering if we're pushing too fast. Dementia training has snapped many a young mind beyond repair. We both have high hopes for Chainer. I don't want to lose such a valuable asset after investing so much time and effort."
The First looked mildly amused, something Skellum had not seen before. "You make it sound so clinical, Master Skellum. Hard facts, hard values. This is your favorite pupil we're talking about."
"Pater. I'm only trying to keep my personal attachment to the boy separate from my opinion of his ability."
"Why would you want to do that? Business is business, but then again, family is family." "Yes, Pater."
"So speak, Skellum. Tell me why you want to wait." "I want him to be a dementist, not just a pit caster. You know his history, you know his temperament as well as I do. If he masters dementia training and returns to the pits, I'm afraid he'll become unbalanced. Dangerous to himself. To others."
"You have just described most of our current crop of dementia casters and all of the truly great ones. I fail to see your concern."
"Despite what we made him recite, Pater, the Cabal is about control. We amass power, and we control it. Chainer has the potential to be extremely powerful. That power will need to be carefully monitored and molded as it grows."
"Master Skellum," the First said. "That is exactly what I am proposing you and I do for the boy."
"Yes, Pater." Skellum knew when to abandon a failing argument. "Skellum," the First said, "listen to me carefully. I am aware of your concerns. I share them. The boy is too reactive, like all pit veterans. He assesses a threat, and he strikes. They have to be taught how to think before they act.
"But that is what you and I will teach him, my child. Imagine the perfect blend of pit fighter, dementist, and caster. To have in one man the body of an athlete, the mind of an artist, and the instincts of a trained warrior. Imagine him as a pit boss, supplying an entire games with just the monsters in his mind. Or picture the spectacle he'll put on when he enters the pits himself. And if the Order declares crusat, and the death squads come calling again, imagine how hard he will fight to defend his home and family."
"Pater?" Skellum hesitated, then blurted, "Are the death squads forming again? Has Captain Pianna violated the arrangement?"
"No. But her grip on power is not absolute. And none of us are immortal." The First smiled patiently.
"No, Pater."
"Do not worry, Skellum. Begin the next stage of Chainer's training first thing tomorrow. We will not lose him. "And tonight," he went on, "I want you and him to join me in my private box for dinner and the main event." His face alive with showmanship, the First's voice rose with gentle anticipation. "We're having a quartet of cephalid deep-sea warriors fight to the death against four flying Nantuko bug people. The Master of the Games is going to enchant the arena- cancel gravity-to let them float around freely, so they can have a good and proper crack at each other."
"We'll be there by the opening horn, Pater."
"Outstanding." The First crossed his arms behind his back.
"The First is wise."
"Long live the Cabal."
Skellum was escorted from the chamber and went off to tell Chainer the news.
CHAPTER 4
The southern capital of Mer Emperor Aboshan's realm lay three hundred miles out from and four miles below Cabal City. Built into the luminescent coral at the bottom of an undersea canyon, Llawan City had been renamed after Aboshan's wife when she retired from public life and took up residence there.
The empress's city consisted of only one actual building, but Llawan made it the grandest city ever contained in a single structure. The coral reef provided both light and natural forms for many of its residents and guests to inhabit. Llawan's servants had magically extended the natural growth of the coral into an elegant flow of knots and bulges that crawled halfway up the canyon walls. Her coralsmiths went on to hollow out and buttress the reef into a huge, interconnected series of rooms and hallways that served simultaneously as fortress, palace, and diplomatic retreat. Though any interior room could be warded and drained for use by air breathers, cephalids like Llawan lived in the submerged chambers constructed on the canyon walls. Guests from the surface stayed in the suites built specifically for them on the canyon floor. Llawan's architects had made full use of the odd space in an effort to achieve the sheer scope and scale demanded of them. The docks on the rim of the canyon were big enough to receive both undersea ships and creatures as large as whales. The Imperial Guards' barracks outside the city were capable of housing five hundred cephalids who could be mobilized for action in mere minutes. For the Empress's more diplomatic occasions, the palace could accommodate upward of a dozen visiting dignitaries and the formal dining room had a seating capacity of over one hundred.
First daughter of a noble house, Llawan had been part of a power-sharing arrangement between Aboshan, her own father, and several other high- ranking cephalids. Aboshan got the political and military clout he needed to cement his position as emperor, Llawan's father got the post of Imperial Treasurer, and the nobles got to avoid another financially disastrous civil war. Llawan, it was whispered, got her city-in-a-palace.
Tonight, as Llawan swam around her private suite of chambers, she smiled. Gossips among her court in the south and Aboshan's in the north couldn't help but comment on her clear pattern of marriage, retirement, and relocation. The rumors describing her as a kept woman in a golden cage amused Llawan a great deal, almost as much as the ones describing her as a beaten, bitter exile. Indeed, she had started both stories to keep her name circulating around Abos
han's court, lest she be completely forgotten.
Llawan was thinking of her husband the emperor as the strangers swam off the walls of her private corridor. She only thought for a moment, however, before she spun in place and jetted back the way she'd come. It didn't really matter if Aboshan had sent the three cephalids armed with tridents and the huge, yellow shark-man who were now pursuing her. What mattered was survival.
Llawan propelled herself forward on a powerful stream of water jetted from her octopod body. Her two forelimbs stretched out to pull herself along and to steer, while her six secondary limbs trailed out behind her. Her imperial crown was both ornament and helmet, protecting her soft skull while cleaving the water before her as she swam. Over short distances, there weren't many things in the sea faster than she was. The shark-man was capable of giving her a good chase, but he seemed to be held back by the others.
The corridor was long, however, and every time Llawan stopped to draw in more water her pursuers gained on her. Two of the cephalids hurled their tridents, and Llawan froze while the spears buried themselves in the coral by her head. Before she could regain her momentum, the unleashed shark surged up and clamped down on one of her tentacles with its powerful, jagged teeth.
Llawan did not cry out. She curled her forelimb around the tridents in the coral, and as the huge creature heaved its head back Llawan and her weapons were dragged off the wall and into the center of the corridor. After a whistled command from one of the cephalids, the shark turned Llawan loose and began to swim around her in a tight circle.
"Your empress is under attack," she clicked as loudly as she could. "Assassins! Murder!" Then she drove her borrowed tridents into the shark-man's vacant, black eyes. His shriek of pain vibrated against Llawan's skin as it echoed and reechoed off the walls.
Llawan jetted toward the nearest assassin as the blinded brute flailed and roared. Her offensive charge surprised her attacker, and Llawan wrapped her forelimbs around his soft cephalid skull. She gave the assassin's head a mighty squeeze, and he went limp.
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