Destiny's Forge

by Larry Niven

  “Is First-Son-of-Meerz-Rrit there?”

  “Yes…yes…he and his sister. Please, the drug, the drug, oh please…”

  “His sister?” Ftzaal’s ears fanned up, his voice suddenly sharp.

  “No…No…” Telepath struggled, his eyes flickering open as he tried to master his need for the drug.

  “Tell the truth, sthondat, or I’ll leave you with the cravings another day.” Ftzaal withdrew the infuser and Telepath flinched at its absence. “The kzinrette we saw with him. Is it his sister?”

  “Yes…” The word was agonized. “The kz’zeerkti thinks so.”

  “Good. How far?”

  “I don’t know, I don’t know.” Telepath was babbling. “It’s traveled…the kz’zeerkti doesn’t know how far, the Traveler’s Moon, once, twice around the Traveler’s Moon, downstream, or the Hunter’s Moon, it doesn’t know…Everything is burned over…Please…”

  Ftzaal depressed the plunger, watched Telepath’s face tense and then relax, and all of a sudden he was asleep and peaceful, a string of drool hanging from his chin.

  “Senior Guard!”

  “Command me, sire!”

  “See that he’s cleaned up. When he wakes make sure he eats well. He has earned his keep today.”

  “At once, sire.”

  Ftzaal left the pop-dome, went to the larger one that served as his command lair. Its top was shiny black, soaking up sunlight and turning it into power to run the computers and electronics inside. Twice around the Hunter’s Moon, that was the right time-frame. Telepath wasn’t lying, not in the state he was in. Downstream was the natural direction to go, into the dark heart of the jungle where air and space reconnaissance were useless, where tracking was difficult, where every aspect of the living landscape could become a tool to foil the hunt. The information was interesting: more kzinti, and First-Son’s sister. His suspicion had been right. He was on to something bigger than the fleeing First-Son-of-Meerz-Rrit. And if I am right about what it is then the Black Cult has been wrong. Telepath had lasted three days without the sthondat drug, holding out as long as he could. He’s still hiding something. I need to rake that to the surface. This is my key to return to my devotion. For this they will make me High Priest. There was his oath to his brother to consider, but time enough for that later.

  Time enough for pleasant imaginings later. He walked into the command lair. “Ftz’yeer Leader!”

  “Command me, sire!”

  “Prepare my gravcar, and two full swords of Heroes in support. We’ll need sniffers. Leave the raider rapsari at home. Once we find them we’ll bring in the whole force.”

  “Beam weapons or variable swords, sire?”

  “Variable swords and netguns. We want him alive, and more importantly we want his sister alive.” Ftzaal’s mouth relaxed into a fanged smile. “The hunt is on!”

  Lead not by force but by example.

  —Si-Rrit

  Pouncer loped down the jungle trail in the middle of the Ztrak Pride hunt party, once more carrying Cherenkova-Captain. He was tired and the alien was heavy, but he would not show weakness before the pride. That morning Kr-Pathfinder had told him that Ztrak Pride’s lair was another day’s journey downstream, and they had been traveling all day. It couldn’t be much farther. The first sign that there was any habitation in the area was a watch platform, set high in a spire tree and well camouflaged. Pouncer would have missed the sentries except they held their weapons high and called a greeting to the returning group. The valley walls steepened to a cliff face, and past the watch platform a faint path led to a staircase, carefully arranged to look as though the rocks that formed it had simply happened to fall into their configuration by accident. They climbed it and found the den complex of Ztrak Pride. It was a natural cavern halfway up the cliff. It would have overlooked the main river, save for the towering spire trees that blocked the view. Except for a large sandy area near the front reserved for the pride circle fire, the entire floor was covered in polished planks of some dense, fine-grained wood that Pouncer didn’t recognize. A cold stream ran through the center of the main cavern from somewhere deep in the rock, providing fresh water, and spilled out the front of the cavern in a little waterfall. He was surprised to find the czrav had power; warm lights glowed in recesses in the walls. Deeper into the cave were quarters for families and individuals. The raw rock of the ceiling was covered by vast sections of tanned skins, held up by the polished rib and leg bones of some immense creature.

  “Tuskvor!” The realization hit him all at once. He turned to Kr-Pathfinder. “You hunt tuskvor!”

  “Yes.” The lean warrior clearly thought it unremarkable.

  Only a fool hunts tuskvor. It was standard wisdom, but the czrav defied standard wisdom in more than one way. It explained why there had been so many in Kr-Pathfinder’s hunting party, and why they had only carried small game. The vatach and ctlort-myror were simply provisions to feed the hunters while they set up a more worthy kill. A more worthy kill! What did it take to cut a full-grown grandmother from the herd and bring her down? Kr-Pathfinder’s hunt party seemed too few for that task.

  It was difficult to judge how many lived in the cavern complex. It seemed to run quite deep into the cliff face. The circle of sand around the fire stones was big enough for several hundred to gather to hear a story, although only a few were present when they arrived. Cherenkova-Captain drew interested looks, nothing more. The hunting party dispersed, and Kr-Pathfinder brought them deeper into the den to a large side chamber. The highly polished floor was covered in layers of animal furs; the doorway was through the wide open jaws of what could only be a grlor skull. The door was guarded by a still-spotted youngster with a long, curved sword. More furs formed the door, and Kr-Pathfinder pushed them aside and ushered them through. The room was ringed with comfortable prrstet. A large, fit-looking kzin looked up from one as they entered, his eyes deep and compelling. Across the room a tiger-striped kzinrette yawned and stretched on another.

  Kr-Pathfinder claw-raked. “V’rli-Ztrak.”

  “Good hunting, Kr-Pathfinder?” It was, to Pouncer’s surprise, the female who spoke. The Patriarch was a female! A mother Patriarch? How different are the social conventions when females think like males? Cherenkova-Captain may have insight here.

  “Good hunting, in a manner of speaking. The high-stream tuskvor have already moved; we could gain no more. We have found something more interesting.” He motioned to Pouncer, T’suuz, and Cherenkova.

  V’rli-Ztrak nodded. “The migration is beginning soon. Are we prepared?”

  “We will be ready when the herds move.” Kr-Pathfinder made the gesture-of-obeisance. “May I present First-Son-of-Meerz-Rrit; T’suuz, daughter of M’ress of Mrrsel Pride; and Cherenkova-Captain, emissary of the kz’zeerkti. They are under skalazaal and asked sanctuary under the traditions.” The male turned to look at the newcomers, and seemed somehow familiar to Pouncer, something about his eyes…

  “We are blood-bound to Mrrsel Pride. We honor our obligations. You have done well, Kr-Pathfinder.” V’rli twitched her tail and the lean hunter claw-raked and withdrew. She turned her attention to Pouncer’s group. “So, who speaks for you?”

  “I am Speaker for my companions.” Pouncer answered before T’suuz could.

  “Sit, relax.” V’rli-Ztrak waved them into prrstet with her tail. “Quicktail!” Her voice rose.

  “Honored Mother!” The youngster who had been by the door appeared.

  “Food for our guests!”

  “At once!” Quicktail was gone in a flash, proving the worth of his name.

  Honored Mother, Pouncer thought to himself. So this is the form of address for a female Patriarch. V’rli turned her gaze back to him. “So you are here to tell me that your father has been slain in skalazaal with Tzaatz Pride, yes?”

  Pouncer controlled his surprise. How did she learn this, here in the jungle? “News travels quickly.”

  “We learn of important things, eventually. We know the C
itadel of the Rrit has fallen, and there is a new Patriarch.”

  Pouncer growled deep in his throat. “Kchula-Tzaatz is not of the Rrit. Whatever he may call himself he is not Patriarch.”

  “Rrit blood flows in the Tzaatz line, and Kchula has bred the Rrit daughters.”

  T’suuz’s lips curled away from her fangs, in disgust rather than anger. “Just one daughter. I escaped, the rest are too young.” She had no desire to be bred by Kchula-Tzaatz.

  “Kchula’s son will claim the Patriarchy, but he does not,” V’rli went on. “It is Scrral-Rrit who leads now.”

  Pouncer snarled. “My half-brother rules in name only. He is a disgrace to the Rrit line.”

  V’rli flipped her tail. “Perhaps. It is true that he has no choice. Tzaatz warriors control the Citadel. A Rrit must rule the Patriarchy, so say both the Priesthood and the Conservers. So say both the Great and Lesser Prides, and most importantly, so say the kzintzag. Scrral-Rrit gives his name to Kchula-Tzaatz’s edicts and legitimacy to his reign. In return Kchula gives him the name of Patriarch and his life. What would you have him do?”

  Pouncer’s lips curled away from his fangs as anger flooded through his body. “My brother sells Rrit honor for his worthless pelt!”

  “And what of your own honor, you who claim sanctuary with the czrav in the jungle?” V’rli-Ztrak’s eyes bored into his.

  Pouncer’s eyes flashed as he met her gaze. Had she been a male he might have challenge leapt at the insult. How does one deal with matters of honor when females lead Prides.

  Cherenkova-Captain spoke up before he could answer. “First-Son-of-Meerz-Rrit has pledged his life to my protection. I am an alien to your world, and a historical enemy of your species. He has repeatedly risked his life to ensure my safety, simply because I wear his father’s sigil. I am no judge of kzinti, but it seems to me First-Son has more than upheld not only his own honor but the Rrit name as well.”

  V’rli’s ears fanned up. “Is this true?”

  “It is,” Pouncer said. She questions my integrity to test me. Sheath pride and bare honor.

  V’rli turned her paw over. “Through our blood allegiance to your mother’s pride you are entitled to sanctuary here for the time of the Traveler’s Moon. What will you do with it?”

  “I will rest and recover while the Tzaatz will tire of hunting me, and then we will travel to Mrrsel Pride that I may claim a name there.”

  “Oh? You have accomplishment enough to claim a name now?”

  “I fought in defense of my father’s Citadel. I have slain his enemies in single combat and brought honor to the Rrit name. The commander of my father’s zitalyi gave me a wtsai. Yes, I will claim a name from my mother’s pride.”

  “Why not claim one from us?”

  “I have come to you for sanctuary. The Naming Traditions forbid me to.”

  V’rli-Ztrak turned her paw back again and looked at him. “You are wise as well as accomplished.” She flipped her ears and twitched her tail. “Or at least well schooled.”

  “Rrit-Conserver taught me well.”

  “And when you have your name and a place in your mother’s pride?”

  It was a valid question, and one Pouncer had not considered until now. Still, there was only one possible answer. “My brother has taken what was rightfully my father’s, and rightfully mine after him. Kchula-Tzaatz has stepped off the road of honor in his conduct of the skalazaal. I will earn my vengeance in blood and the Patriarchy in my hands.”

  V’rli-Ztrak twitched her tail in amusement. “More Tzaatz arrive daily from beyond the singularity, did you know that? The Lesser Prides haven’t the liver for rebellion. They are fast becoming Kchula’s instruments. The kzintzag complain, but they do his bidding. What you are likely to earn is the Ceremonial Death.”

  “If that is what the Fanged God plans for me I will accept it.”

  “You could choose to turn away from that path, live here with your mother’s pride.”

  “With respect…” Pouncer paused. How to decline such an offer without insult? “With respect, I must follow my own path.”

  “Even if it leads to death?”

  “Then it will be a death of honor.”

  V’rli met his gaze and held it. Under other circumstances Pouncer might have found it uncomfortable, but now he just met it, firm in his conviction. After a long while she spoke. “May Ferlitz-Telepath know your mind?”

  A telepath, here? She tests me further. He could not refuse the request. She read the question on his face and nodded to the silent kzin on the prrstet. Pouncer followed her gaze. Ferlitz was sleek and well muscled, as confident as any warrior, and he bore a name. In that, he was unlike any telepath Pouncer had ever seen or heard of, but his eyes…Now he knew where he had seen them before: Patriarch’s Telepath. “He may.”

  Ferlitz-Telepath blinked, a long slow blink, and Pouncer’s vision flashed. For an instant he imagined he was seeing himself from across the room, and then sensation was gone. Ferlitz turned to V’rli. “He speaks from the liver.”

  “True courage runs in your blood.” V’rli considered, measuring her words. “You will not do this alone.”

  “I am First-Son-of-Meerz-Rrit. I will lead the Lesser Prides, if they will follow, the kzintzag if they will not.”

  “You are bold as well.”

  Pouncer made the gesture-of-lesser-abasement. “I am not bold, and I am not eager for death, but I know the Traditions. The Conservers teach ‘Choose your name wisely and then bring it honor.’ My name is Rrit, though I did not choose it. I am of the Patriarch’s line. I will bring it honor.”

  “Your half name is Rrit.” V’rli corrected “What name will you choose for yourself?”

  Pouncer didn’t hesitate. “I will choose Zree.”

  “Zree-Rrit.” V’rli turned a paw over, considering. “Following the legend of Zree-Shraft-Who-Walked-Alone. An unusual choice.”

  “It is a fitting one, for me.”

  “Yes.” V’rli looked at him speculatively. “Yes, fitting for someone who has lost Pride and birthright together, who finds himself outcast. It is a good name to die with. Will it suit you as well if you are so fortunate as to become Patriarch?”

  “I chose it long before the Tzaatz came.” Pouncer lowered his ears, reminded of the responsibility he had borne in his father’s shadow. “I can imagine no calling more alone than Patriarch.”

  “The burden of your birthright lies heavy on you.”

  “Yes.” I was once reluctant to carry this burden. Now that it has been taken from me I find myself all too eager to pick it up. For a moment he considered taking V’rli’s other option. He could claim a name with Mrrsel Pride and live out his life in the jungle; it would be easier, far easier…But that is not the way of honor.

  “There is nothing more important than a name.” V’rli looked directly into his eyes.

  “Honored Mother!” T’suuz’s snarl cut the room before Pouncer could reply. “He needs to know of the Telepath’s War.”

  “Does he?” V’rli-Ztrak’s voice held a sudden edge “And why?”

  “The lines of Kcha and Vda combine in him and me, and we are of Rrit blood. We are victory in the long struggle. My brother has proven his courage and honor. You have heard his decision. He needs to know.”

  “This is dangerous, and against tradition.”

  T’suuz drew herself up, tail erect. “He has to know his destiny. I am not wrong, V’rli-Ztrak. This our mother taught me, this was the reason she was treaty-gifted to the Patriarch. You know this to be true.”

  V’rli’s reply was interrupted by Quicktail, who came in leading a trio of kittens younger than himself, each carrying a platter piled with slabs of spiced pirtitz. The pungent aroma filled the room. Quicktail himself carried two platters and presented them to Pouncer and T’suuz. Two of the others gave their burdens to V’rli and Ferlitz-Telepath; the smallest, only half grown and still cute in a big eyed, fuzzy way, gave a smaller platter to Cherenkova. If they were
curious about the kz’zeerkti they gave no sign.

  Quicktail performed the ritual abasement. “Honored Mother, honored guests, may you enjoy your feast.” The kittens emulated him, their eyes serious with the burden of their responsibility, and Quicktail led them out again.

  There was silence while they all ate, and V’rli considered Pouncer with huge, liquid eyes. When she had finished she turned her paw over, considering. “So you want to know of the Telepath War, First-Son-of-Meerz-Rrit?”

  Pouncer twitched his whiskers. “It is perhaps enough to know that there is such a war.”

  “Perhaps.” V’rli turned her paw back and looked at him. “These are dangerous secrets. You must pledge your honor and your life to their preservation.”

  Pouncer made the sign of blood-debt-fealty. “I will do that.”

  “And what of your kz’zeerkti? Shall it know our secrets too?”

  “Cherenkova-Captain has my blood debt, and her species may yet be valuable allies.”

  “Hrrr.” V’rli considered further. “Very well. Do you know the legend of Chraz-Rrit-Star-Sailor?”

  “There are many.”

  “There is only one that matters. It is told that in the time between the wet season and the dry Chraz-Rrit-Star-Sailor won the fortress of K’dar from the Sorcerer Pride. Among his prizes he took the kzinrette P’rerr as his own. His consort V’rere became jealous and betrayed him to his enemies in order to gain his empire for herself, and so Chraz-Rrit was nearly slain in an ambush at Hrar. While he lay wounded the Sorcerer Pride attacked the Citadel, and V’rere too was nearly slain in the defense. The Fanged God became angered that V’rere’s ambition had so nearly destroyed the Patriarchy, and so commanded that all kzinretti surrender their reason, so that never again would consort and sire contend against each other. P’rerr wished only to be with Chraz-Rrit and so submitted to the Fanged God’s will, but V’rere refused in her pride, and so the Fanged God banished her to the jungle forever. As a reward for her loyalty P’rerr was told that the line of the Patriarchy would forever flow through her.”