In the Courts of the Crimson Kings (41 page)

That was, if not deserved, only to be expected. What had happened to her was obvious; the Thoughtful Grace
were
too headlong, and they
did
depend too much on the straightforward blade. She had probably been alert for all ordinary treachery, ready to meet or parry outright violence. Of course, she had also had the disadvantage of being away from court intrigue and faction most of her adult life. That would have dulled her instincts.

“It would seem that I command the significant pieces,” Heltaw replied, with a spare gesture.

Sajir raised a brow. “The
vaz-Terranan
? They are useful at times, true, but I have one of my own.”

He indicated Binkis with a slight flick of one ear. The Terran was staring at the rigid form of the Emperor’s offspring; there was something disturbing in his fixed gaze. But then, Binkis had always been disturbing. It might be simple madness . . . or could he perhaps sense the Invisible Crown? Data did suggest that persons once touched by the ancient devices remained somehow in contact, as if their world-lines were thereafter entangled. What had Binkis said once . . .

I also see in my mind devices that are not machines at all but
relations,
contiguities of time and space as complex as the dance of neurons in a brain and as abstract as a mathematical theorem
.

It was severely annoying to have to operate thus on hints and ambiguities. Not unfamiliar, but annoying.

“Supremacy, you seek to irritate me beyond bearing and thus affect my judgment,” Heltaw replied. “I concede that this stratagem has irritated me, but the truth is still plain: The decisive piece on this board is your heir.”

“But the heir is only of value while it exists,” Sajir said. “Since you cannot destroy, you cannot control absolutely.”

“Draw your knife and kill the Terran,” Heltaw said to Deyak.

Teyud
, Sajir thought.

He cocked his head, watching with interest as her hand went jerkily to her harness and began to draw the blade. Her arm trembled, as if something invisible were forcing it to move against every straining sinew. It was tempting to wait a little, and let the complication of Jeremy Wainman be removed before he proceded.

No
, Sajir thought.
I had best intervene. Simplification does not serve my purposes. And I would greatly have appreciated the play of events if someone had intervened on behalf of Vowin
.

“Agreed, you have a
degree
of control,” he said to his opponent.

“Cease!” Heltaw said to Teyud. To the Emperor: “Control of the only possible heir of sufficient genomic resemblance.”

“On the other hand, I have overwhelming physical force, and may—simply by adjusting my own attitudes and priorities—decide that confounding your ambitions is a task more crucial than anything which happens after my death,” Sajir pointed out with cool good humor. “I ruled without an heir for a very long time and presumably would be content to do so again. You, on the other hand, have no fallback position.”

Prince Heltaw was far too experienced to show his surprise by any physical movement; Sajir thought he detected a slight flux in the pupils of his eyes.

“Stalemate?” he said.

“Not necessarily. You may return my offspring, and retire to your estates in Aywandis. I will pledge to take no action against you
or your lineage as long as you remain passive. This would leave you free to act after my span comes to a close.”

“Unacceptable. The loss of prestige would diminish my support to a fatal degree. Nor will I likely have an opportunity to infest the heir again; once infested, twice reluctant to approach.”

“Or we could wage war. I can kill you here, but you would take my heir with you . . . and your lineage, I understand, fled by fast
Paiteng
some time ago. They would undoubtedly rally your supporters in Aywandis.”

“Supremacy, grant me more tactical
nous
than Chinta sa-Rokis, who thought only of preserving the status quo.
Of course
, my lineage fled. Together with most of my personal Coercives.”

Sajir conceded the point with an inclination of the head. “There is little point in destroying infrastructure and killing valuable personnel when the outcome may be settled more economically. Therefore let us use the traditional method of adjudication: the Game of Life. We are already standing on an
atanj
board, after all.”

Prince Heltaw adopted a posture of respectful agreement, with ironic exaggeration. “There is extensive precedent for such a course. If your playing in the Game of Life is as passive as your technique in the nonmetaphorical form, then I have little to fear.”

“You would be prudent to consider the fact that I have reigned for two hundred years of the Real World. And that I have achieved a nearly maximum life span, while thousands of contemporaries and competitors have not. Perhaps a certain degree of watchful passivity is prudent, where a more headlong approach is contra-survival.”

“Your survival is due largely to the fact that you had no close heir,” Heltaw pointed out. “Others could afford to wait.”

Sajir sa-Tomond smiled slightly. “In point of fact, I
do
have a close heir, particularly considering the past interactions of the Tollamune and Thoughtful Grace genomes.
She
has all the necessary markers to control the Devices.”

“An heir whom I now control, as I have demonstrated!”

The ancient face smiled thinly in reply; an ancient wickedness seeming to glow from within for a moment, casting the network of wrinkles into contrast. His voice was imperturbable as it continued, “Yet this, in fact, guarantees my victory. Even if you were to topple
me, and sit upon the Ruby Throne—metaphorically, because a linkage would, in fact, kill you—you could hope to hold it only by a genetic merger with my heir. To do otherwise would alienate far too many, beginning with all the Thoughtful Grace lineages, who now have a genetic stake in the matter as well. Thus, my lineage would prevail, with you as merely an episode.”

“But this would not constitute victory from the viewpoint of your personal continuity of consciousness.”

“Which entropy will sever soon; I freely concede that against
that
opponent, I am overmatched at last. I in turn concede that there would be a deep personal satisfaction in witnessing your demise; yet even if the reverse is true, in a fundamental sense I cannot leave this board defeated, even if my remains are carried from it.”

His smile showed teeth. “As the
vaz-Terranan
say, ‘Heads I win, tails you lose.’ Let the pieces assume their positions.”

Heltaw’s voice was smoothly cruel. “Deyak sa-Sajir, assume the square of the Chief Coercive. The
vaz-Terranan
shall be Consort.”

The earthman they’d called Binkis circled outside the squares of the
atanj
board.

It
couldn’t
be the one who’d disappeared on Venus twelve years ago, could it? He was supposed to be dead . . . he and his wife died in that cave when the ancient whatever-they-were blew up
. . .

Behind Jeremy, he spoke softly, in English, which probably nobody here spoke except the Emperor. “Among its other attributes, the device that the woman found operates to magnify the will,” he said.

“You’re
Binkis
?” Jeremy blurted. “Look—”

“I am the Yellow Jester, here in the Court of the Crimson King,” the man said cryptically. “There is no time for explanations. The Crown strengthens the will but the parasite subverts exactly that. Strong stimulus
might
make it possible to use the one against the other. Throw double or nothing,
Yanki
. So must I. Administer the strongest stimulus you can.”

Jeremy wanted to turn and babble questions, but the dance of death and treachery was beginning across the stone squares of the
atanj
board. Steel flickered and bodies fell; when Teyud fought, it
was with the leopard fluency he’d seen before, and her voice was crisp when she called orders to the Coercive pieces. That was a
bad
sign; the filthy thing in her head must be getting a better grip.

The ancient, seamed face of the Tollamune Emperor was impassive as he directed his pieces, a symbolic representation of his actual life’s work . . . the Game of Life. He spoke, and an unarmed courtier with a bag of symbolic
valuata
stepped toward Jeremy—a Clandestine Subversionist couldn’t take other pieces outright, but it could slide past barriers of Brutes and Coercives as though invisible.

“Usurper’s Consort, you are offered extensive properties to defect,” he said in a Court accent thick enough to cut, with his voice shaking slightly—he had a good deal riding on this game too. “In return for your information, your personal lineage will be preserved.”

Decision welled in Jeremy’s mind.
Double or nothing
.

“I accept and will defect!” he said clearly.

Prince Heltaw turned, the trained calm of his face cracking. The defection of a Consort was an important move in
atanj
; it closed off a whole chunk of the board to him.
Now
he was angry, not just annoyed; incredulously angry. The
vaz-Terranan
worm had turned . . .

“Chief Coercive! Coerce the defecting Consort!” he half screamed. “Administer lethal force to deter others!”

Ooops
, Jeremy thought.
Her father waited until she could access this square before he moved the Clandestine. Guess he was thinking along the same lines. C’mon, bladder and bowels, don’t disgrace me now
.

His guts
did
feel liquid, as those yellow eyes turned coldly on him, and the long blade turned toward him. The half near the hilt still shone, but there was a liquid coat of red on the forward twenty inches. A drop splashed on the marble below as she advanced, feet turned in a perfect Martian fencer’s stance.

“Jeremy,” she said, as she approached.

It was a soft murmur, dreamy and warm like a whisper on a pillow, an utter contrast to the bleak killer’s mask it came from.

“Teyud,” he said, his voice husky with fear and with something else. He spread his arms. “I’m not going to fight you.”

“Jeremy . . .”

Then she lunged, blurring-swift, and the shock of the steel in
his flesh was like a needle of ice. He sank slowly to his knees, looking incredulously at the sword through his shoulder. She fell back from the lunge and into stance, pulling the blade free—and then it
really
began to hurt. Not as bad as Heltaw’s pain-snake, but more real and less virtual; his body knew he’d actually been damaged now, and that his life might pour out. He stifled a scream and clutched at the wound with one hand.

“Teyud, it’s okay,” he whispered, his eyes locked on hers. “I know it isn’t you doing it. I love you. Remember me.”

She lunged again, fluid and swift; the blade pricked his chest just left of his breastbone. It barely dimpled the robe, but the needle point still pierced his skin, and he could feel another trickle of blood starting, this one running down his chest. Teyud’s face was as calm as ever, but she was
sweating
, beads of moisture rolling down into her eyes from her brow, and he could see the faintest trembling.

Jeremy kept silent, eyes still meeting eyes. Behind her Prince Heltaw nearly left his Despot’s square and stopped himself only an instant before he forfeited the game. Instead he pursed his lips and whistled, a coded modulation.

Teyud screamed. The steel bit a little deeper into Jeremy’s chest muscles, and he could feel it quiver with the tension in her hand. From behind the Emperor’s square another whistle rose. Teyud screamed again, and blood was running down her face as well, from her nose and eyes and ears; he could smell the rank salt-and-copper smell of it, stronger than his own.

Then she stumbled back, her face working in a grimace that was half agony and half a feral determination like a wolverine in a trap. Something was
wrong
with her, or with Jeremy’s eyes; she seemed to shimmer as he watched, a silvery nimbus that crackled on a level too low for vision to catch. The sword dropped from her hand, but it seemed to
drift
downward, the flexing bow as it struck the stone and sprang back visible as an undulation in the metal. Teyud was screaming continuously now, raw animal sounds. Her hands went to her head, and she stumbled in a circle howling like a wolf.

God, I’ve killed her
, Jeremy thought numbly.
It’s cutting up her brain inside, I’ve killed her
.

The knowledge that he would die with her didn’t seem to help,
but he knew that the thought of living wasn’t something he could bear.

She fell to her knees, but it was as if she were moving in a different time frame than everyone else. The whole complex dance of the game had ceased, and the great-eyed Martian faces weren’t locked or inscrutable for once. Only the Emperor himself seemed calm. When Teyud spoke, the words rolled inhumanly deep and slow.

“
That . . . Which . . . Compels!
”

There
was
something wrong with the way she looked; it was like staring at a photographic negative with the colors reversed, but also like staring into the heart of a sun. The Invisible Crown wasn’t invisible any more, and the glowing hum that came from it made every cell in his body ache. When she stood, a wave of silver light washed out in a blast wave like an explosion; it didn’t strike him, but he fell backward helplessly anyway.

It isn’t light. I’m not really seeing it with my eyes at all. That’s just how my brain’s interpreting it because I don’t . . . know . . . how
. . .

She screamed again, and flung her hands upward. The column of light around her began to swirl. Prince Heltaw looked up from the surface of the
atanj
square and screamed in counterpoint. He drew his dagger and began plunging it into his own chest, over and over again, long after he should have been dead.