Requiem for Anthi: Anthi - Book Two (2 page)

“Dame Zaula! Ahh…” At once the seer scuttled through the cramped darkness, rattling and puffing as she lit a meager fire and from it set a torch glowing.

Her dwelling was but a single room which sprang into being from the darkness. There were a cot hidden behind a tattered chaka hide, a battered metal table, and a single metal stool. Zaula sank onto this and held out her chilled hands to the fire. Shelves filled the walls, supporting countless bottles and jars and small bundles of herbs. Chaka dung fueled the fire. Its acrid stench made Zaula cough. She would leave here stinking like a Bban nomad.

“If thou had but warned me, good leiis—”

“Hush,” said Zaula nervously. “There is not much time. I want you to look upon my womb with truth and tell me…” She bit her lip and glanced over her shoulder. “Pon Oomx, take the men outside.”

“I dare not leave the Tsla leiis unguarded—”

“Go!”

They swung open the door, letting in a draft of icy air that nearly blew out the fire, and filed out.

“Now,” said Zaula. “Hurry. I must know the sex of my unborn child.”

Vaani’s fingers spread open in surprise. “But surely thou can—”

“Just do it! Hurry, old woman. You will be well paid.”

Zaula drew out the pouch of meat pellets and laid it on the table. Vaani’s nostrils twitched, and she sucked on her blackened teeth in appreciation.

“The leiis is generous.”

Zaula kept her hand on the pouch. Her eyes burned at the old woman who was wasting time. “Hurry, or I shall give you nothing. Do you think the Bban savages will pay you more to detain me here?”

Vaani tapped her wrist in amusement, her silver Henan eyes glowing. “The Bban’n will let me live through the night.”

“And I shall give you something to eat,” snapped Zaula. “Which is more important?”

“A full stomach is primary,” said Vaani, and placed her withered hand upon Zaula’s stomach.

Despite all her intentions, Zaula flinched at the questing brush of the old woman’s rings against her own. She drew hers aside, shutting her eyes on the pain, to expose the baby. How long did it take? Surely a moment only. Yet Vaani’s hand seemed to stay clamped upon her for an eternity. Her mind—twisted, foreign, and tinged blue with doses of
yde
—probed with a liberty that infuriated Zaula. Yet she endured it because the more knowledge of the child Vaani gained for her, the stronger chance of survival she would have.

“Well?” she demanded.

Vaani lifted her head. Her silver eyes were unfocused and dull. Then she blinked and drew a sharp breath.

“Old woman! Tell me—”

“The child in thy womb is female, noble dame.”

Female! Zaula drew back, slumping in her chair. After all these bleak months living in fear and apprehension, to know the truth at last stunned her.

“You’re sure? Absolutely sure?”

“I have looked with truth,” said Vaani, affronted. “What I have said is so. I honor thee in thy good fortune, noble dame.”

Zaula smiled, only now beginning to believe it. Relief flooded her. Asan had the right to slay a son of the fallen tyrant, but daughters carried the blood. In her womb, Hihuan’s line continued. Zaula’s hand slid protectively over her stomach. The great houses would support her cause, not Asan’s.

Vaani had the food pouch and was peering into it. Zaula rose to her feet, wishing she had brought even more wealth to distribute.

“My thanks, seer—”

A commotion outside made her turn. Shouts and the whine of a fire-rod panicked her.

“Bban’n? I must flee this place.”

“Wait, good leiis.” The old woman’s dirty hand closed over Zaula’s wrist with surprising strength. “Do not go out into the battle.”

“But I dare not be trapped here. Loose me!”

When Vaani did not release her, Zaula drew her jen-knife. At once Vaani stepped back.

Outside, someone screamed in death. Zaula jumped, uncertain what she should do. As she hesitated, the sounds of fighting ceased. Zaula drew an unsteady breath. Her jen cadre was more than a match for the rabble. She need not be afraid.

The door opened, and a cloaked figure descended the rickety steps with a faint clatter of battle shielding.

Zaula hurried toward him. “Pon Oomx, I am ready to depart at once…”

Her voice trailed off as she realized it was not her pon who towered over her, but a stranger. His mask bore the proud tracings of the House of Mura-an, and his battle shielding gleamed gold in the flare of torchlight. The cloak sweeping off his shoulders was black embroidered with purple and gold threads at the borders.

“Greetings, Noble Unar,” said Vaani with a triumphant cackle. “I told you she could be brought here.”

“Yes.” He stared at Zaula from behind his mask, filling the sordid room with his height, blocking her from the steps leading out.

“My men?” asked Zaula, dry-mouthed.

He swept out a hand, palm down. “Thou has new servants, noble leiis. And a new jen cadre. Allow us to serve thy will.”

“My will is that you get out of the way. Let me pass!”

“Ah, have care, noble leiis,” he said smoothly, still blocking her path. “The night is full of many dangers.”

Panic cut off her air. She shrank back, trying not to show her desperation. “You dare much, you and your house.”

“My house intends to rule on behalf of Hihuan’s revered daughter.”

Zaula gasped. “How did you know? So soon, when even I—”

Vaani’s cackle shamed her. “Noble dame, just because thy mental powers have been shattered does not mean the rest of us are helpless. Thou has come to me before. It was a simple thing to persuade thee to come again.”

“Tonight was my own idea,” began Zaula hotly.

“A suggestion skillfully placed to coincide with thy own apprehensions and curiosity,” said Unar. “Well done, Vaani. We shall reward you amply. Come, noble leiis. There, is someone at my citadel who wants very much to meet thee.”

Zaula drew herself erect. “It pleases me to return to the palace. If you wish to rule Ruantl, you must vie with the other houses in the honored way.”

“Oh, noble dame, do not be so naive! Now that I have thy honored person in my keeping, I do not intend to let thee go. And if thou wishes thy daughter to grow up with the joy of her mother’s company, thou will accept the assistance of Mura-an.”

“The House of Mura-an is the most powerful, now that Kkanthor is no more,” she said slowly. “If I accept your assistance, what need is there to bear me away from Altian? Why am I not permitted to return to the palace? It is there that Asan must be faced.”

“Thou are not the person to stand against him,” said Unar coldly. “Hihuan’s child must be in a place of safety away from Altian. Now come, good leiis. The night grows short.”

Despair filled Zaula. She would never be free. Hihuan was dead, but she remained a game piece to be moved here and there by those stronger than herself.

“Why should I trust you, Noble Unar?” she demanded.

“Would thou prefer the Spandeen as thy protectorate?” he mocked. “Or even the infamous Soot’dla?”

“Those traitors!” Zaula stiffened. “It is just that you do not respect tradition, noble. You do not come asking—”

He laughed. “No! Good leiis, thou will find I do nothing in the traditional way. I’m not asking thee; I’m taking thee. Now come.”

Seizing her arm without heed for royal protocol, he wrested the jen-knife from her hand and dragged her outside into the icy air.

“May Lli cross thy shadow, good leiis,” said Vaani with a cackle, and slammed shut her door.

Zaula looked right and left, hoping some of her men had survived. But not even her litter remained in sight. Soldiers bearing the insignia of Mura-an stood watchfully in the shadows. Unar hustled Zaula along so quickly she had to struggle to keep up with his long strides. She felt pain in her abdomen and clutched herself.

“Slow down. I beg you, slow down, or there will be no child at all.”

With a muffled oath, he slackened his pace, but his grip tightened on her arm. “It is not far to my transport. Hurry.”

“I cannot. Please…”

But he hurried her on, giving her no more than that brief respite. The footsteps of his cadre echoed behind them. Ahead, shadows lurked and furtive little vermin, gleiglits probably, scrabbled along the stinking gutter. Zaula stumbled, panting now and dizzy.

“Please…”

He scooped her up into his arms and carried her the rest of the way down a twisting alley barely wide enough for two men to walk abreast. At the end of the alley a small transport waited, steps down, guards on alert. Zaula saw the feral glow of Bban eyes watching from the surrounding darkness. She pressed a hand against her mouth to muffle a scream. If the savages should attack now…

But Unar carried her into the transport and seated her. His hand lingered a moment on her shoulder, and she stiffened with a new fear. As long as she carried, she was inviolate. But after the birth, what would become of her? What might Unar require of her in exchange for his protection?

She shrank lower in her seat as Unar moved away to strap himself in. His cadre came aboard, clanking of battle shielding and arms, their voices low and muffled behind their masks. The hatch was secured. A building whine warned her of liftoff. Her hands clenched on her seat. She tried to relax, but her tension only mounted. The child within her cried out as they left the ground, and Zaula bit back a moan. Shivering, feeling the fever returning, she wondered if either she or her precious daughter would survive this night.

Boredom…

Asan yawned behind his mask as his two cintans argued over the best way to march to Altian without running into a Bban ambush. He sat on a tall chair carved from precious orad wood. He could sense the age of its molecules as his gloved hands curved around the arms. Supposedly it had been brought to Ruantl with the first two colonists. He shifted restlessly on the hard seat, and the voices faltered.

“My leiil wishes to speak?”

Asan flipped his palm down in a swift negative and motioned for them to continue. He yawned again, wishing he had taken a porter out over the low ridges below the Tchsco Mountains. The black desert of the Outerlands was boring too, nothing but an endless expanse of barren dunes and rock. But at least it would have been more interesting than yet another war council.

There had been plenty of strategy meetings during the days of season, in which everyone had been cooped up in the mountain stronghold. Only the occasional Bban raids had provided any excitement at all.

And when the officers were not discussing advance tactics and siege methods, a whole contingent of self-appointed chancellors tried to give him advice on setting up a new government.

He had never thought life at the top would be tedious detail and decision making. Where were the Sybaritic apartments, dancing girls, lavish parties, attentive slaves, and good times?

He had climbed his way up from being a vat boy in a GSI laboratory complex to a blackmarketeer to the ruler of Ruantl, and what did he have to show for it? Approximately 5.9 sextillion tons of planet composed of sand, rock, gold, platinum, blue silver, lead, corybdium, zinc, iron, nickel, copper, zinium, and pressurized carbon nodules. Rubies, sapphires, and highly diverse rezonide crystals were as common as pebbles. To the west beyond the Ddreui plains lay mercury pools. And most of the planet was uncharted.

Frowning, he ran a fingertip around the rim of his goblet. It was made of gold and blue silver alloy and studded with sapphires that winked in the light of the torches. Even the below-caste Henan slaves wore more wealth in the form of jewelry than most executives of the Galactic Space Institute owned in protected vaults. Asan thought he was probably the wealthiest man in the universe. But what good was it on a planet where children threw fist-sized rubies into lakes to tease wild borlorls and gold was as common as dirt? If he couldn’t find a way to distribute these minerals off-planet, then it was all useless to him.

Right now he would have given half of all he owned for a serviceable spaceship, or even a long-range communicator.

“And does my leiil agree?”

Asan glanced up with a blink. He hadn’t heard a word. But he had grown adept at handling moments like this. He moved his fingers in a quick signal to Pon Fflir at his side.

As heads turned to watch Fflir leave, Asan stood up. He walked over to the board where tiny sections of Altian were marked in colors to indicate the interests of the various major houses.

Ggolen had stuck a bronze flag into the red sector of the Soot’dla. Asan frowned, one finger tapping the base of his mask. He had met once with Dame Agate. She was a shriveled up old crone who had tried to look upon him with truth and gotten her own rings scorched. Because she was on his side, she expected him to roll over with gratitude and accept her advice. But power was too new to him for him to be willing to share it with anyone.

He looked for Llor’s cluster of flags and found them surrounding the city. Asan grimaced. That was just like Llor, so eager to cover all bets he never won any of them. How he had managed to become a cintan of the Tlar’jen was a mystery.

“I see no purpose in surrounding the city.”

Ggolen and Llor exchanged glances. Ggolen puffed out his chest, and Llor hastened around the end of the mapboard to join Asan.

“Great leiil, please consider once again my reasons. The—”

“No,” said Asan, sweeping out his hand. “Altian is in chaos. There is no force there keeping order. Why not just move in?”

Masked faces looked at one another in consternation. Murmurs broke out among the soldiers crowding the cavern where council was being held.

“Without the Goddess Anthi we dare not,” whispered Ggolen. “We have advised thee several times before, noble leiil. Such a plan is too rash.”

“Let us go in slowly, a vector at a time. With Dame Agate’s support—”

“Which house has the greatest knowledge of technology?”

This time even Ggolen stepped back. “Kkanthor, great leiil. But surely it is not thy plan to allow them to re-form.”

“Demos,” muttered Asan to himself. “No, besides Kkanthor. Who has technicians? Anyone?”