Chapter 1
The Hunter
The
door to Kieransar’s suite slammed shut after the young prince stormed out into
the corridor. Servants slipped quietly
away from their master to warn others that the Crown Prince and Heir to the
Hasshevaran Empire was on a rampage through the halls of the castle. The warning, however, was not needed, for
the prince’s angry steps echoed off of the vaulted ceilings, alerting anyone
with ears to their master’s feelings.
The guards straightened their stance, held their laser rifles tightly,
and tried to blend in with the furniture.
Even Kieransar’s servant Ivret, a young male from the warrior ranks,
trailed as far behind his master as could be considered proper.
Kieransar
was blind to his home’s gilded finery, its lofty corridors, rare paintings and
sculptures--the plunder of a score of planets--except to avoid contact with
them. His father would not be pleased
if he lashed out against the trophies of war.
Frustration, unease, agitation--all
of these combined to form a heavy weight in Kieransar’s throat that turned
every pleasantry into a snarl, every comment into a biting retort. If only I knew why!
But no cause jumped out from hiding
to say, “Here I am. I’m the reason
you’re surly and uncommunicative. Now
you can do something about it.”
Instead
the prince fretted and growled and searched for a cure to his emotional
malaise. Maybe a good hunt would fill
the emptiness that gnawed at him, the persistent feeling that he was not as he
should be.
The
only objects that made Kieransar slow his frenetic pace were the statues located
in the Hall of Ancestors, a visual memory of his predecessors for thirty
generations. These were the rulers who
had made the world of Hasshevar great, conquering everything within the reach
of their mighty fleets of starships.
They were the reasons why the two-legged feline Hasshevarans, and no
other species of sentient beings, ruled the Empire.
As
he reached the first arch, Kieransar gave these honored Varans the customary
hnismuth of reverence--wrists crossed at his chest, claws sheathed, and chin
raised to bare the throat--wondering not for the first time why he had to do
so. The thought that he would be
joining this exalted line of gods in fifty or sixty years caused his anger to
again boil over, and he stopped at the end of the line at the last two
pedestals, each almost waist high.
On
the nearer of the two pedestals, covered with a silken tarp, stood the statue
of his father, Hanesar. Only on the day
of the Emperor’s death would the cover be removed to reveal the visage of the
new god in all of his glory and might.
That duty would be left to the Crown Prince, who in that same sacred
moment would be pronounced the new Emperor with the holy blessing of the gods.
The
second pedestal waited for the commissioning of Kieransar’s statue on his twenty-first
birthday. The artists would
diplomatically ignore Kieransar’s tattered left ear, the result of a cubhood
scrap, and also give him a more aristocratic muzzle with longer whiskers and
less tooth. Except for those few
adjustments, the sculpture would look like what Kieransar saw in the mirror
every day.
Kieransar
was a handsome example of a Hasshevaran male with his long brown mane and
pointed muzzle. He stood ten tibs
high--above average for royalty, though the warriors in his personal guard easily
exceeded that measure. His lines were
all pride with just a hint of arrogance.
The six digits on each hand and foot were strong and well clawed, those
same claws unsheathing themselves slightly in response to Kieransar’s bubbling
anger. He caught the warning signs and
forced himself to relax. The last
thing I need is to ruin another pair of court shoes.
As
Kieransar turned to leave, Ivret hesitantly caught up to him. Trying to appease his master’s anger, the
young warrior-servant gave hnismuth to the statues and looked appreciatively at
the empty pedestal. With as formal a
speech as any in the castle, Ivret said in a wavering voice, “My Sar
contemplates the great things of life, does he not?”
The
prince quelled any further comments on his glorious future with a half-lidded
stare. “And what, pray tell, are these
great things you so reverently mention?”
The
young warrior took a quick step backward, and his scent grew strong around
them. With each breath, the prince
could literally taste Ivret’s unease, bitter and unpleasant against the roof of
his mouth. His own scent gave no
comfort, laden with suppressed emotions that Kieransar could neither control
nor release.
“Why--why, the promise of your
ascension, my Sar.”
Kieransar’s
ears perked up in interest as if waiting for an answer that would explain the
emptiness he felt. “What will I ascend
to? Perfection?” For I am definitely not perfect now.
“No,
my Sar. You are already the Perfection
of the people in this life.” The
prince’s ears went flat, but Ivret continued, “Our model by which to live our
humble lives.” Kieransar’s tail lashed
in deeper anger. Ivret gave hnismuth,
vainly seeking the response his master desired. “My Sar, please. You are
the light of our lives. You guide us
and make us whole. You--”
The
prince raised his hand for silence, not trusting his voice to remain
steady. He took a few deep breaths and
forced his tail to settle into a more sedate rhythm. “Make preparations for my hunt,” he said quietly. Ivret hesitated, and Kieransar turned on the
hapless warrior. “Now!” he snarled.
Ivret ran down the corridor,
leaving the prince to his fury.
Once
he was alone, Kieransar dropped himself heavily onto the pedestal, as if his
fierce anger had driven all strength from his limbs. Hands clasped under his chin, he gave a mirthless laugh. “Oh, Ivret,” he sighed softly. “If I’m your light, you are truly in darkness. After all, how can I be your guide when I
can’t see myself where I am going?” At
that moment, the anger left him, the source of his emptiness found.
He
became aware of the incongruity of his position on the pedestal and stood
abruptly, peering around to see if anyone had witnessed his impiety. Seeing no one, he straightened his clothing
and headed for the Hunting Grounds.
As
he approached his father’s private conference room, Kieransar was startled to
hear the sound of raised voices, one of them his father’s. Curious residents loitered in the hall,
trying to catch the essence of the conversation. The guard to the conference room made no move to usher them away
until he saw who was coming down the corridor.
Then he made a show of his authority.
“Go on now,” he huffed. “The
Emperor is not to be disturbed.” The
disappointed retinue dispersed hurriedly.
Kieransar
tapped the guard on the shoulder and pointed toward the far arch. “You will guard over there for now.”
“But
my Sar--”
Kieransar
held up a sheathed hand. “I will guard
my father’s door until further notice.”
He watched as the guard went reluctantly to the new post, then leaned
back against the wall by the door and nonchalantly cleaned his claws while
trying to pick up the conversation inside.
At
first, his keen hearing detected only meaningless babble, but soon that babble
dissolved into the voices of his father and Kelhesa, his father’s First
Counselor and once Kieransar’s royal tutor.
The prince imagined the scene inside with his father, still a formidable
Varan despite his years and gray mane, leaning across the table toward his
advisor. Hanesar would be rubbing his
thumbs together, as he always did when deep in conversation. Or maybe those piercing yellow eyes were
trying to dissect whatever was in front of him as he rolled his long and
handsome whiskers with a careless hand.
Kelhesa,
on the other side, would be a far less imposing figure, being the oldest of the
Council and holding at least fifteen years over the Emperor he chose to
serve. His mane was completely white,
and his fur more gray than bronze these days.
Father
almost never raises his voice. Why
would he now?
“Why?”
moaned the Emperor, an echo of Kieransar’s own thoughts. “Why do you risk my displeasure for a god
brought in by outworlders? Aren’t there
enough gods in the Hierarchy to make a good choice?”
Kelhesa’s
voice came across laced with sadness.
“The people he hunts do not so easily get away from him, my Sar. It is not that I chose him, but that he
chose me.”
Kieransar
winced at the sound of Hanesar’s hand hitting the table before him. “Nonsense,” the Emperor said. “Ours is the choice. Should I not know? Will I not become a god when I go into the next realm and
Kieransar takes my place as ruler?”
An
uncomfortable pause followed. “The
traditions of our ancestors say that this is so, my Sar.”
Kieransar
imagined his father’s spiral eyes peering intently at the submissive form
before him. “And do you agree with the
traditions of our ancestors, Kelhesa?”
The Emperor’s favored counselor remained silent. “Don’t answer. You might be foolish enough to say what you are thinking, and I
would be minus a good advisor.”
The
prince settled his place more firmly, expecting another uncomfortable pause and
a resumption of the original topic--after all, what could the First Counselor
say? Instead, Kelhesa asked abruptly,
“May I retire to my chambers, great Emperor?”
Kieransar’s
ears went up at the effrontery of his old tutor, but Hanesar merely sighed and
said, “You may go, but you are forbidden ever to mention this god of yours
again in this castle unless your Sar gives you leave. Is that clear?”
The
old counselor sighed heavily. “I hear
and obey, my Sar.”
The
door opened. Kieransar’s reflexes left
him--How close was Kelhesa to the door?--and Kelhesa caught him in all
of his guilt.
The
old Varan almost showed long teeth in a suppressed smile, and the prince
avoided his gaze; seldom was he caught so surprised. Kelhesa allowed the door to shut behind him and asked formally,
“What is my Sar doing so close to the door?”
“Guarding
it from the curious, of course,” he answered innocently. He motioned the guard to return to his post.
Kelhesa
unsheathed a claw and nicked his former student’s shoulder. “Of course.” His gray hand lowered itself to rest on that shoulder, and the
counselor’s silver eyes clouded in sadness.
“Of course. You are a good son
to your father, Kieran.”
The
prince’s eyes opened wide in surprise.
“I haven’t been called Kieran since I came of age.”
“Yes.” Kelhesa’s eyes dimmed a moment as if
reliving a seven-year-old memory. Then
he came back to the present with a fierce look. “Well, if you didn’t act like a cub, I wouldn’t find myself
treating you like one.”
Kieransar
smiled, a toothy grin. “Claw to the
heart, Kelhesa. You got me.”
Kelhesa
gave the prince an intent look. “You’re
going to the Hunting Grounds?”
Kieransar nodded, and they walked down the corridor together toward that
end of the park. The counselor broke
the silence first. “So why have the
domestics been skulking from shadow to shadow when you’re around?”
Kieransar
ducked his head to avoid his mentor’s gaze.
“Who says they’re skulking?”
“Who
doesn’t?” Kelhesa stopped and faced his
prince. “Now what is this about? Even your father is hearing the rumors.” Silence.
“A female?”
“You’ve
been listening to the servants too long.”
The
counselor wasn’t to be put off.
“Majisa?”
Kieransar’s
nose wrinkled at the thought of her.
“The Jewel of the Empire? The
Beauty of Hasshevar? The vain,
arrogant--” Kelhesa motioned for him to keep his voice down, “--empty-headed little
. . .” The prince trailed off into a
growl. “My only problem with her is
keeping away!”
The
old counselor smiled at the prince’s discomfort. “You should try to be more tolerant. After all, she is the obvious choice to be your Empress.”
A
small shudder ran down Kieransar’s back.
“I’d abdicate first.” He
grappled with his emotions until they were firmly held and quickly returned to
the first topic of conversation. “Now
that you’ve shoved your whiskers into my private life, it’s my turn. Tell me what you and my father were talking
about.”
“You
heard the Emperor,” the counselor admonished.
“I am forbidden to speak of it until he permits.”
Kieransar
shook his head. “That’s not what he
said. He said, ‘Until your Sar
permits.’ I’m your Sar, too, so talk!”
“Echoing
the words, but not the intent, eh?”
Kelhesa took his hand from the prince’s shoulder, where it had stayed as
they walked. “I don’t think it would
interest you.”
Oh
you don’t, Kieransar thought. Then
you really don’t know what’s wrong with me. “Is it a new god?”
The
advisor shrugged. “New to us, yes.”
He
started walking again. “Where in the
Hierarchy would this god stand?”
“He
wouldn’t.” At Kieransar’s confused
look, Kelhesa added, “He created the Hierarchy.”
Kieransar
halted in shock. “Created?” Seeing his former tutor was not stopping, he
bounded forward, slowing himself abruptly to match pace with the older male. “But the Hierarchy wasn’t created!”
“So
they say.” He pressed his lips
together, a hint that he would not say more.
Ignoring
the hint, Kieransar continued on. “What
does your god say?”
“Who
says he’s my god?” Kelhesa muttered.
Kieransar gave him a skeptical look.
With a sigh, the old counselor answered, “He says that he created
everything, including us, for a purpose.”
They
reached the entrance to the Hunting Grounds, but Kieransar did not go in. “And the gods?”
Kelhesa
motioned him onward. “I will let you
think about what I have just said and leave you to answer your own
question.” With that, he turned and
walked away.
The
prince reached out a hand. “But Kelhesa
. . .” The old counselor did not even
acknowledge he’d heard. Kieransar’s
hand dropped limply to his side, and he entered the sanctuary.
Eager
to reach the place where his prey lay resting, the prince paused only long
enough to take off his shoes and restrictive clothing. He kept only his pair of patris--long, loose
fitting pants that narrowed at the waist and didn’t entrap the tail.
A
servant brought a choice of weapons, but Kieransar waved him off. “No weapons today. Claws and teeth are all I’ll need to hunt hellock.” The servant nodded, the tilt of his ears
betraying how little he liked this news.
Kieransar looked around.
“Where’s Malkut?”
“He
is still patrolling, my Sar. I could
send a hovercraft to pick him up.”
The
prince hesitated for a moment, then shook his head. “No need. I’ll go alone
this time. Which range am I to hunt?”
“Range
four, my Sar, near the lake. A
daar-long run. The one to be culled has
a red circle on its rump.”
Kieransar
was off before the servant could say another word, the urgency he felt building
in his chest threatening to burst if he didn’t do something soon.
He
gave himself up to a ground-eating pace, enjoying the crisp air and vainly
trying to convince himself that the emptiness in his heart had
disappeared. He ran through vale and
forest, fording a river at one point, never threatened by any of the land’s
denizens, for they knew by some sense that he was the hunter and they were the
hunted, should he so desire.
As
Kieransar neared the resting place of the hellock herd and the unsuspecting
cull, adrenaline pumped through his veins, heightening every sense, every part
of his body. The thrill of the hunt
drove out all other rational thought as he climbed a nearby tree, a stunted
giant with thick, leafy branches from which to perch unseen. From tree to entwined tree he ran, never
touching the ground, sometimes testing the air for scent, other times freezing
in place for any betraying sound.
As
simms became a haat and haats became a daar, Kieransar drew nearer to his prey,
resting contentedly near the lake. That
servant was right about how long it would take me to find the herd, he
thought as he circled among the treetops to remain downwind. Finally, the prince got a good look at what
awaited him. A hundred hellock stood
beneath him and beyond him, dotting the hillside with their ponderous hulks. No hunt for kittens these; they were
monarchs of the grass, with noble horns reaching to the skies, ready to slash
at any interloper who would dare disturb their rest. Hellock were the most powerful creatures in the range that the
Emperor permitted to be hunted without weapons, a most exhilarating
challenge.
And
one that in some ways was forbidden to him.
He could only take those with the culling mark on their rumps--not the
great leaders of the herd, the two or three females or, best of all, the
dominant male who drove the herd and guided it to the best forage and
water. They were too dangerous for one
of his rank to contend with, for against them a mistake would be fatal. Not even a Sar’s pride could convince his
people to let him take such a risk.
Suddenly,
a lesser buck, at least seven tibs high at the withers and with two sets of
menacing horns, cried out a danger signal.
The rest of the herd leapt up from their resting places and scouted
nervously for trouble.
Kieransar
tensed, testing the air for what was troubling the herd. Is it me? No. His keen ears
picked up a thrashing in the bushes.
The
bucks stepped in that direction, heads down.
A varaband, a small grass-eater with short, tufted ears and powerful
hind legs, jumped out of the underbrush with a lupine running close behind. The varaband darted in among the hellock,
dodging between legs and leaping into the air to avoid the hunter’s rapacious
lunges. The bucks jumped, but did not
draw back. The lupine looked up from
its prey just in time to avoid being skewered on a pair of horns, yelping and
retreating into the bushes as its intended victim raced across the vale and
into the forest.
But
the damage had been done. The hellock
were on the alert, keeping the more vulnerable members of the herd toward the
center of their circle, including the one with the red mark. Kieransar muttered silently against whatever
fates would keep him longer from his rightful prey and settled himself on the
branch for a more lengthy stay. The
adrenaline flow slowed, saving itself until the right time, and Kieransar found
himself thinking again, much to his dissatisfaction.
Who
is this god of Kelhesa’s, who boasted that he created the universe? What if he had? A feeling of relief swept over the
prince. If Kelhesa’s god did as he
said, then the gods of the Hierarchy would be subject to him. All of the Emperors, who aspired to godhood,
would also be subject. Such a god would
have to guide the universe and its people.
That would mean I wouldn’t have to pretend anymore, the prince
thought. I wouldn’t have to act as
if I know where I’m going. I wouldn’t
have to act as if I never make a mistake.
The
relief turned to fear. But what
would this mean for me? he wondered.
Would this god take an interest in me? Kelhesa had mentioned a purpose.
Would that mean I would have to obey him? What would he ask me to do?
New and uncomfortable questions kept forming in Kieransar’s mind,
culminating in, Does that mean I wouldn’t become a god when I die?
He
shook himself from this troubling realm of thought and checked the herd. They were almost calm again, and his
particular victim was wandering away from the center of the herd, toward the
other side of the vale. It was an older
female, past her prime and fawnbearing years but still powerful in her
motions. Kieransar stretched his
muscles slowly, readying his body for stealthy movements. He tested the wind, then sighed when he
realized it would give him away if he continued on his present course. He would have to cross through the trees
upwind of the herd, an impossible maneuver.
If only I had waited for Malkut, Kieransar thought. This was never a problem for the two of
us, even when we were cubs. Too late
for regrets now, though.
He
glanced through the leaves, hoping the female would change her mind, and saw
another sight that riveted his attention.
The leader of the herd, at least eleven tibs at the withers and with two
sets of horns unequaled in the range, stood right beneath him!
Adrenaline
poured through his body as he hid among the branches, amazed at this fantastic
opportunity. No thoughts of the
consequences crossed his mind as he poised himself for the drop. Not that he would kill the superb creature,
never that, but if he could make the creature, this master of grass and wind,
helpless for just a few seconds, he would have power over not just the animal,
but over all his herd!
The
great leader nuzzled near the base of the tree, looking for a succulent shoot
or leaf, ears angled alertly to either side--but not up. Kieransar’s heart beat an excited pulse
through his body as he crouched, then sprang from his perch and onto the back
of the huge leader. The buck froze for
an instant, then twisted its head to scrape off the annoyance. Kieransar wrapped his arms around the giant
head, making the horns useless, keeping his claws sheathed except for the most
necessary tips to maintain balance. The
beast reared back on its hind legs, and the prince forced its head back. The great horns that had first threatened
the prince now aided him, their weight pulling the buck off balance. As they both crashed to the ground,
Kieransar twisted his body around to land on top. The hellock leader bellowed again while its herd looked on,
startled. The smaller members of the herd
ran toward the water while some of the bucks moved forward, bugling and
slashing the air with their horns.
Kieransar
knelt beside the fallen beast, holding its head to the ground by the strength
of his arms alone. The leader snorted
and tried to break Kieransar’s powerful grip, tried again, and failed, relaxing
for an instant in the prince’s arms.
The bucks stopped their posturing and backed away.
For
that thrilling moment, the hellock and the herd which he led were
Kieransar’s. His eyes shining in
victory, the prince released his hold and jumped straight into the air to grasp
the branch two full body lengths above him.
The
leader was quick to its feet and angrily slashed with its horns, its
fore-hooves resting on the tree itself to reach higher. It struck with a vengeance, and a horn tip
ripped into Kieransar’s right calf. He
growled in pain as he swung his body up onto the tree branch and away from the
buck’s flailing horns. The leader
bellowed once, twice, and then called to its herd. In one swift motion, the hellock turned and galloped onto the
plains.
In
the tree, Kieransar lay back on the branch, tired, wounded, and deliriously
happy. What a wonderful day this had
turned out to be. He might not have
killed his cull, but he had mastered the lead buck. It was a pity he could not tell anyone back at the castle, but
the prince was not in the mood for a lecture.
He
quickly scanned the area for witnesses, knowing that a few guards were assigned
to watch him, though not too closely for fear of disturbing his hunt. He could not see them, so he hoped that they
were too far away to see him and what he had just done. Maybe I’ll tell the warriors in a few
six-days. He would still hear from
the Huntmaster, who had authority over everyone who stepped onto the Hunting
Grounds, title or no, but the distance in time would also mean a less severe
haranguing.
The
hunting high left him, and Kieransar began to feel the intensity of his
wound. He checked his leg and saw that,
while the horn had missed any major muscles, it had taken a piece of flesh
along with it. Nothing dangerous, but
he cleaned it just in case, wincing at the coarseness of his own tongue. It would hold until he returned to the
Hunting Lodge.
As
Kieransar leisurely began to make his way back, a cold chill ruffled the fur on
his back, a chill not made by the wind.
With all thoughts of his triumphant hunt gone from his mind, he scanned
the area uncertainly.
Something
was not right.
He
glanced at the ground and then among the foliage. Nothing larger than a bird caught his attention. He inhaled deeply, but could smell nothing
unusual. Despite the comfort his eyes
and nose gave him, the uneasy feeling grew and became a blazing certainty. He was being watched, and not by the guards. His teeth bared and his claws came fully
unsheathed.
He
was being hunted!
Kieransar
whirled, hoping to catch a glimpse of his pursuer. No sound, no movement betrayed the hidden one’s presence. He paused for a few dasimms, then pelted
among the trees at a breakneck speed.
All the while, his instincts told him that not only was his pursuer
close, but he was getting closer.
Kieransar increased his pace, running dangerously fast along the linked
branches, knowing that he was about to be caught. He dodged and twisted among the trees, hoping for a lessening of
that unalterable conviction, but to no avail.
Finally he stopped and whirled, claws at the ready, waiting for his fate
to come rushing toward him. Chest
heaving, he listened and heard only the birds chastising him for interrupting
their singing. The sense of something
waiting for him, expressly wishing to catch him, was still there, but nothing
else. Without dropping his guard,
Kieransar backed away slowly, heading for the river that was his next step
home.
Humming
sounds across the river drew his attention, and he crouched among the trees,
searching for its source. A hovercraft
carrying the Huntmaster and four guards flew into sight. Kieransar breathed a sigh of relief tinged
with anticipation of an unwelcome lecture.
If the Huntmaster was coming personally, then someone had seen what the
prince had done, wasting no time in calling out the guard.
Kieransar
looked around uneasily one more time, the sense of another presence in the
trees fading with each passing moment as if some great eye had redirected its
attention elsewhere. The prince
smoothed his fear-roughened mane with a shaking hand, trying to collect himself
before the others noticed his condition.
He
jumped down from the tree and limped into a clearing, his wound making itself
once again painfully known to him. Even
before the hovercraft settled to the ground, the Huntmaster was yelling and
pointing and asking him in a rumbling voice if he knew how important he was to
the Empire and how dare he take such risks and the Emperor was going to hear
about this . . . The prince took it all
with a stoic fortitude that showed many years of practice.
The
guards who silently escorted him onto the hovercraft made a display of watching
the forest, though their ears were aimed in the direction of Kieransar and the
Huntmaster. One guard, a hunting mate
at times, gave Kieransar a sly, knowing glance, promising him with that look
that the warriors would know all about the hunt before the hovercraft even
reached the Lodge. Looking down on the
forest to see if he could spot from the air what he had felt on the ground,
Kieransar wondered if that were a blessing or a curse.
Finally,
the entrance of the Hunting Grounds loomed into sight. The prince suppressed a relieved sigh,
though he kept a respectfully attentive look on his face. The Huntmaster ended his harangue by saying,
“I should ban you from the Hunting Grounds for a year for such irresponsibility.”
Kieransar’s
ears went back in surprise. This is
new.
The
Huntmaster held up a hand, his formidable claws only partially sheathed, to
forestall any arguments. “However, if
you promise me you will never do anything like that again, I won’t take
such drastic measures. I’m sure I can
come up with some other punishment to match your disobedience. Of course, this depends on how your father
reacts to the news. My Sar,” he added
with a slight snort, as if not completely willing to give the prince the
reverence he deserved until he had apologized.
Kieransar
did so, with great formality. “I
express my apologies, Huntmaster, for causing you so much worry. Had I known the anxiety I would generate
with my little escapade, the thought never would have crossed my mind. So I give you my promise. I will never again jump a hellock buck
leader who is under a tree without permission.” Of course, if the hellock buck leader were not directly
under a tree . . .
The
Huntmaster nodded, giving the prince an uneasy glance. Kieransar silently swore an offering to the
gods if they kept the Huntmaster from bringing up past promises bent beyond
recognition. A guard watched the
approaching ground fixedly, only his twitching tail betraying suppressed mirth. Finally, the Huntmaster grunted and turned
away from the source of his irritation.
When
they touched down, the Huntmaster ordered the guards away and led the wounded
prince to the medical ward, where they checked Kieransar from ears to tail.
Once
the medics finished with the Sar and left him in blessed peace, Malkut strode
into the room. His handsome face, all
black except for the white circle around his left eye, characteristic of a
warrior of the Tuani clan, lacked the look of awe and wonder that one was supposed
to have when approaching royalty. It
had lacked that look for years.
Instead, an almost proprietary expression stole over his face. Friends and hunting partners since cubhood,
the two were almost inseparable, and Malkut felt a personal responsibility for
the welfare of his Sar.
Unfortunately,
his Sar had other ideas about what did and did not constitute a threat to his
well being, a cause of endless arguments.
Malkut feared this would be another one. He waited motionlessly for permission to speak. Kieransar waved his hand in acknowledgement. “My Sar should have held on to the buck a
little longer. Then he wouldn’t be
sporting the handsome bandage on his right leg.”
The
prince gave Malkut a hard glance. “You
wouldn’t happen to be the one who told the Huntmaster, would you?”
“My
Sar has great insight.”
“My
warrior has great impertinence.” At
these words, Malkut tensed. The prince
continued. “And . . . some small amount
of justification.”
Malkut
cocked his head in puzzlement. “You
aren’t mad?”
Kieransar
shrugged and grinned, a lopsided smile that showed more of his feelings than it
concealed. “You were doing your duty,
unlike myself.” After a quick glance
around the room, the prince asked, “So
how much did you see?”
Malkut
leaned forward. “Everything. Including the part that looked like you were
trying to outdistance something.”
“Did
you tell the Huntmaster?”
“Tell
him what? That the Crown Prince was
rushing around the treetops like a mad thing?
I think not.”
Kieransar
gave a deceptively casual stretch that tested almost every muscle in his
body. “It was the excitement of the
chase.”
The
lie was accepted, if not believed.
“Of
course, my Sar.” Malkut turned to leave
but stopped at the door. “If you need
to talk, I’ll be in my quarters.”
“Surrounded
by thirty warriors who will try every possible means imaginable to get the
story of the Sar’s great hunt out of you.”
Malkut
gave Kieransar a studied look. “Will
they succeed?”
“Only
when they start mentioning bribery.
Large sums. Just remember, I get
half.”
“Of
course, my Sar. When will they hear
your side of the story?”
The prince looked at his bandaged
leg. “Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,
then.” At that, Malkut bared his
throat--the closest he got to hnismuth unless it was a formal setting or he was
displeased with the Sar’s orders--and took his leave.
The
prince lay on the bed for a few more minutes, puzzling out exactly what had
happened to him on the Hunting Grounds.
His anger had vanished as if it had never been, and the feelings of fear
from the daar before were already vague and dreamlike. Kieransar shrugged. What strange tricks a body can play on
itself, he thought, deliberately trying to dismiss the entire episode. But it had seemed so real! Maybe I’ll talk to Kelhesa about it. With that in mind, the prince stretched
again and then checked himself out of the medic’s ward.
As
he crossed the castle’s threshold, the hustle and bustle of palace life whirled
around him, and he found himself relaxing, allowing himself to become submerged
within the swirling eddies of the mundane.
His hunting experience took on the uncontrolled, fantastic colors of
imagination, and he laughed at himself.
Doesn’t seem nearly so serious now. His feet redirected their path and turned toward his own suite of
rooms.
He
hadn’t gone five steps in that direction when the sense of that presence
returned even more strongly than before.
He quickened his pace and glanced nervously over one shoulder, half
expecting the watcher to be right behind him.
Once again, he saw nothing. That’s
it, he thought. Dreams should
not leak into real life. I’m going to
Kelhesa now.
He
found the old counselor in his suite, a ceremonial guard at the door. The prince nodded impatiently to the guard,
who disappeared inside to announce that Kelhesa had a distinguished
visitor. Kieransar walked into the
visiting chamber and shut the door firmly behind him once the guard had resumed
his post. The prince’s body language,
from the dilated pupils to the clenched jaw, spoke volumes.
“What’s
wrong, Kieran?” the counselor asked worriedly.
“Please,
Kelhesa,” the prince asked, “could you tell me about this god of yours?”
The
old Varan looked at Kieransar intently, as if trying to read his emotions and
understand his need. “Will you tell me
what had happened to you?” The prince
nodded urgently. Kelhesa twisted his
whiskers slowly, ears cocked as if listening for an unheard command. Finally he nodded. “Perhaps a walk into the city, away from the business of castle
life, would be in order.”
Kieransar
thought a moment, remembering his father’s instructions, and gave a hesitant
smile. “Echoing his words, counselor?”
“Grab
my walking stick, cub, and be quick about it.”
Kieransar
passed the elaborately carved cane to his old mentor, and the two walked out
together.
The Way
The
sun had almost set when Kieransar, Kelhesa, and their personal guard reached
the large and ornate gates separating the castle from the city. Kieransar waited impatiently as the castle
guards opened the gates and parted the shield to permit entry into the upper
city. He was frustrated by the game
that Kelhesa had begun playing as soon as they were no longer alone. The counselor did not mention their previous
conversation, just pleasant inanities that served to fill time. The way Kelhesa was acting, the prince felt
as if they were spies in the midst of enemy territory.
Kieransar
knew the Sa’s reasons, but he wondered what difference it would make if they
went into the city. After all,
he reasoned, there will be guards in Shadis as well. And they’ll tell Father about our
conversation as quickly as anyone else.
The longer the prince thought about it, the worse he felt.
To
get himself away from this maddening train of thought, Kieransar turned his
attention to the city which surrounded the castle. The prince gazed at the land beneath him and for a moment forgot
what had brought him there. The view
from the gate was spectacular when the sun cast its golden-red rays upon
Shadis, Jewel of Many Facets. Like a
prism, the shield refracted the sun’s light, bathing the city below in an
ever-shifting rainbow of colors. This
would change in a couple of daars, Kieransar knew, as the sun sank completely
behind the mountain chain and true darkness settled over the land. Then the city would create its own
illumination, using lights of all different colors and hues to make itself
glow. Shadis Ma’fa. Jewel of the Night. The most beautiful city on Hasshevar,
Kieransar thought.
Kelhesa
motioned to a guard. “Have an aircar
waiting for us at Field One.”
Kieransar
nodded. That meant their destination
was too far into the city to walk.
Field One was the airfield closest to the castle, since no aircars were
permitted to penetrate the shield to the castle. Only ground transport entered the inner shield, carefully
scrutinized by zealous guards with every kind of sensor imaginable. The imperial family did not tolerate any
breach of their security, however slight.
Not even the Emperor’s aircar traveled through the shield except in case
of dire emergency.
The
counselor’s gaze followed the path their journey would take. “This walk seems longer every time I enter
the city,” he sighed under his breath.
The
prince’s ears twitched. “We could use
ground transport to get to the airfield,” he said, not entirely able to
suppress the condescension hidden within his words.
The
counselor made a sound deep in his throat, a compelling argument against that
and any other remark of its kind.
Kieransar
concealed the smile he felt rising to the surface. He did not personally mind the walk. It did, however, remind him that there was another side to Shadis
besides its beauty, especially for those who attempted entry uninvited.
Shadis,
the capital of Hasshevar and the ancestral home of the royal clan, was
surrounded by the tightest web of security in the Empire. Nothing could slip through the multi-layered
shield and its complex array of scanners without being detected. Or so its designers had boasted when it was
first created. Six hundred years had
passed since the shield’s unveiling, and no one had yet proven them wrong. Of the many assassination squads sent to
destroy the Emperor and his successors, only three had successfully breached
the shield layer between the city’s two levels. And none had come close to the palace, either from above or
below.
Shadis
was actually two cities, with the upper circle reserved solely for royalty and
those warriors, high servants, and noble Ri who attended to their needs. The competition for these coveted positions
was fierce, and even nobles serving in so menial a position as footwasher
brought honor to their families and clans.
The lower circle was open to subjects of all races and species who had
the proper passes and identification.
There they would wait in hopes of an audience with the Emperor, or, more
precisely, the Emperor’s holographic image.
That practice had been put in place even before the building of the
shield, after the assassination of Talesa, brother of the Emperor
Shomesar. After his elite personal
guards had made an example of the lone assassin, the Emperor closed the castle
to all supplicants.
The
isolation of the upper ring had not occurred until the shield’s invention made
it feasible. Then the lower ring of
Shadis thrived, with its proximity to the royal mystique as well as its exact
representation of the throne room, where the Emperor dispensed justice from a
distance.
Slowly,
other members of the extended royal family (who had to worry about unrest on
the planets under their control) had followed their Emperor’s lead. Now all but one major planet, and most
minor-planet groupings, had some variation of the two-tiered city, pale shadows
of Shadis.
A
feast for the senses, Shadis was an artificial world where any imperfections
hid behind closed doors. No unsavory
scent dared wander in from the lower level, and the silvery echoes of chimes
filled the air. Only foot traffic
walked along the Grand Promenade, the whine of aircars and heavier machinery
being relegated to the lower, less important streets leading through the
servants’ area to the castle.
It
was also freedom, or at least an illusion thereof, to those who would otherwise
be surrounded by twenty or more armed guards once they stepped beyond the
safety of the castle’s walls. For
Kieransar, it was a fascinating glimpse into a world different from his own,
the closest he could come to the people who would one day be entrusted to his
care. He recalled the carefree days of
his cubhood, when he had been too young for formal court training, yet old
enough to wander the city with only Malkut and a few older warriors as escort.
It’s
been too long since I was last here, Kieransar thought wistfully.
As
soon as he stepped beyond the gate, his ears perked forward in curiosity and
his pace quickened, the limp barely noticeable. Kelhesa and the guards lengthened their steps to keep up with the
young prince. Kieransar watched them
out of the corner of his eye, regretting the haste which sent him into the city
without Malkut, the one person he would trust with his life. Or his secrets.
While
the prince was acquainted with all of the guards in his service, he had learned
long ago to constrain his tongue around them.
They were Hanesar’s creatures first and foremost. Even if he had sole claim to their loyalty,
the warriors’ barracks were a hotbed of gossip, as bad as the servants’
quarters, and the length of a secret’s life was daars at most.
On
the other side of the argument, Malkut would be the last Varan on Hasshevar to
understand the prince’s dilemma. His
interest in the spiritual was limited to the odd coin and occasional thanks. Even his devotion to Dagmit, god of warriors
and good wine, was more by default than anything else.
Then
there was Ivret. The prince felt a
prickling of guilt for leaving him in what would almost certainly be a state of
bewildered anxiety. I should have
said something to him before I left.
He’s probably still wondering what he did wrong. And when he hears I’ve gone to the city
without him . . . Kieransar
mentally shook his head. But that
would mean yet another warrior with the opportunity to overhear my conversation
with Kelhesa.
Kelhesa
led the small party along the Grand Promenade past the well-stocked shops that
lined it. The crowds parted for them as
if by magic, royalty and nobility alike crossing sheathed hands toward Sar and
First Counselor as they passed. Then
the people continued on with their duties and pleasures, not the least bit
surprised to see the two walking the avenues with their entourage. A few followed from a discreet distance,
ears perked in hopes of overhearing an indiscreet word or two echoing off of
the walls. They were doomed to
disappointment. The castle dwellers
were too aware of the city’s acoustical properties to fall prey to that
particular trick.
Kieransar
played his part well. From his
demeanor, no one would suspect that he was internally bursting with
anticipation. Prince and First
Counselor walked side by side, calmly discussing their best hunts, their hectic
schedules, anything innocuous that came to mind. Slowly, their unwanted retinue dispersed, completely disappearing
by the time they left the Grand Promenade.
Then both Sar and Sa let the conversation die, each preferring silence
to speech.
The
silence lasted until they reached the airfield, a large circle of land just
beyond the first spiral of the Grand Promenade. An unending stream of flying craft flitted in and out of the
area. Kieransar watched the elaborate
pattern of takeoffs and landings in awe, amazed at the abilities of pilots and
air traffic controllers alike.
After
a quick inspection of the aircar, the guards lined up ceremonially outside of
it to let Sar and Sa enter before them.
Kieransar entered first, making himself comfortable in the cushioned
seats. Kelhesa stopped first at the
pilot’s chair to give her instructions.
The prince strained his ears, tilting them forward, but the voices were
too low for him to hear.
When
the counselor eased himself down beside the prince’s semi-recumbent form,
Kieransar asked, “So where are we going?”
“Patience,”
Kelhesa replied, “is a powerful weapon for those who acquire it.” The prince leveled a quelling stare at the
counselor, who countered with a look of amusement.
The
aircar rose straight up from its platform until it could fly high above the buildings
that encircled the field. Kieransar
looked out a window and noticed that the air around them was suddenly
clear. Then the craft shot forward,
leaving Field One behind.
From
the air, Shadis showed an even more spectacular view. The city reflected the natural curves of the forest that had been
their home before the Industrial Rise.
The luminescent buildings of the city’s commercial sector ascended
hundreds of stories above the ground.
No harsh angles intruded, nor stark vertical lines, which the
Hasshevaran eye could not readily see.
As branches interconnected the native trees, so were the buildings
united by numerous walkways. These
long, enclosed avenues looped from structure to structure like the aerial
pathways that had linked the great trees in ancient Shadis. Kieransar could even see vehicles driving on
roads that other species considered impossibly high.
The
aircar lowered altitude as it left the commercial area. The prince could easily see the demarcation
between the business and residential sectors.
The royal mansions were much smaller, the highest reaching only seven or
eight stories. Great trees dotted the
landscape, becoming more and more common as the aircar flew toward the shield
perimeter, where the protected remains of an ancient forest flourished in
unbowed majesty. Any buildings here
were invisible under the foliage, the sky itself seen only in the few clearings
designed for easy access by air.
As
the aircar angled toward the wall that separated the two levels of the city,
Kieransar relaxed, recognizing the area.
He smiled.
“I
see you remember some of your favorite hiding places,” Kelhesa remarked.
“They
obviously weren’t the best. After all,
you found me.”
“And
it only took half a day of frantic searching to do so,” Kelhesa replied, and
the prince’s smile turned into a grimace.
“Your father was not pleased when the guard returned without you. You very nearly got some friends of mine in
trouble with your escapades.”
Kieransar
rubbed his left wrist reflectively. “I
didn’t exactly get away unpunished,” he mused.
Kelhesa
snorted. “I was in favor of something
more severe than a wrist-band locator, myself.
But then I nearly singed the hide off of your father when he did the
same thing himself as a cub.”
“He
did?”
“Oh,
yes.” Kelhesa leaned back in his seat
and stroked his whiskers in contemplation.
“It seems to be a rite of passage for your family. You’d think we’d be more prepared, but every
time it happens, we’re caught by surprise.”
He looked closely at the prince’s arm.
“Your father has the same scars,” he said, tapping Kieransar’s arm with
a claw tip.
The
prince looked at the wrist which had once worn the locator band. The fur had not lain properly since, mute
testimony to his many vain attempts to free himself from the band’s
presence. It grew in convoluted twists
and whorls, though the furless patches were long gone. Even the color was different, a darker gold
closer to the highlights on his face than on his arm. “You mean my father had a band, too?”
“The
same one. And he couldn’t leave it
alone, either.” The counselor
chuckled. “Like sire, like cub. I suppose it will be your youngest brother’s
turn, soon.”
“If
he hasn’t started already.” This time
the conversation continued without strain, unlike the contrived small talk on
the Grand Promenade. Only when the
aircar dipped to land did the prince look again at the view through the
window. At first, he saw only greenery. Then he noticed the trees in the area did
not stand as high as the giants the aircar had just overflown. In fact, few of them had yet reached
maturity, as if nothing had been permitted to grow there until--
Kieransar’s
ears rose in sudden understanding. No
wonder Kelhesa seemed so unconcerned about the presence of the guards. He was going to the one place in the city
that they would not want to enter.
Lohansa’s Memorial. It was as
abandoned as anything in the upper level could get. Kittens occasionally dared each other to run into the Memorial,
tails bristling with excitement and not a little fear, but only the gardeners,
whose job it was to maintain the environs, entered with any regularity.
It
was a beautiful little enclosed park tucked against the wall dividing the upper
and lower rings and so close to the shield that its hum blended with
birdsong. For that reason alone, few
people came to sit under its trees or by its streams. There were other, grander parks growing closer to their elaborate
homes and workplaces. That, however,
was not the only reason for its abandonment.
Nearly
fifty-four years before, it had been a scientific laboratory devoted to finding
new and faster forms of transportation.
In fact, the scientists there had been researching the fastest form of
all--teleportation.
The
focus of their research had been a certain type of crystal, pale orange in
color and not particularly attractive.
First found on a derelict craft of an ancient and unknown origin, the
crystals had been catalogued by royal archivists, studied briefly, and then
stored and forgotten for years. A royal
named Lohansa, digging through centuries of dust, discovered something amazing
about them. When he sent a small charge
through one crystal, it would glow. A
larger charge would make one of its companion crystals glow even if they were
not in the same room. And if more
energy were poured into the first crystal, it would disappear and reappear
beside its counterpart. Teleportation
had been discovered.
Unfortunately,
something went wrong. A spy from one of
the less favored clans had tried to steal some of the crystals. Lohansa discovered him, and in the ensuing
struggle, a laser pistol discharged, striking one of the crystals and starting
a chain reaction among them. Most of
the building disappeared in a cloud of energy, leaving a burning hull
behind. Outer walls and rooms
surrounded a gaping hole in the ground.
Remote scanners had recorded the entire disaster. No one in the inner chambers had ever been
found.
Rumors
began circulating immediately about a curse of the gods for daring to research
a forbidden object. Kieransar’s
grandfather Jalisar, who was Emperor at the time, scoffed at the rumors and
commanded that a memorial be built, but he could not order the people to visit
it. Even so many years later, the
residents of Shadis remembered and avoided the area of the catastrophe.
So
it was no surprise to Kieransar when the guards looked at the opening of the
park with obvious discomfort. As
Kelhesa stepped from the aircar, he gave them an annoyed glare, then shrugged. “You may stay out here. I doubt there is anything in there that
could harm the prince or myself.”
The
guards’ commander aimed his scanner at the interior, moving it from right to
left. When it beeped a negative, he
grunted and nodded, satisfied that no one was inside. His warriors immediately took up positions around the enclosure
without a word being spoken. Kelhesa
motioned the prince to precede him.
Kieransar hesitated a moment before walking into the Memorial. His whiskers twitched uncomfortably at the
strong electromagnetic fields that distorted his directional sense and made the
walls seem to undulate slowly in an unseen current.
As
they followed the well-marked but little-used path, Kieransar opened his mouth
to speak, but was silenced by Kelhesa’s upraised hand. Confused, the prince followed obediently,
noticing as he did so that Kelhesa certainly knew the Memorial well. Not surprising, since Lohansa had been Kelhesa’s
older brother. The counselor led him to
the center of the Memorial, where all paths joined in a spiral reminiscent of a
Hasshevaran’s eye. A large, oval stone
rested in the exact center of the spiral.
Kelhesa eased himself onto its glossy black surface. “Come join me,” he said quietly, his hand
indicating the spot beside him.
As
Kieransar sat down, Kelhesa pulled something from a pocket and began turning
the dials. The prince looked at the
device intently. “A baffler,” he
exclaimed. “What do you need that for?”
“To
give static to any electronic ear that might try to listen,” Kelhesa
replied. “Including the guards’.”
“They
wouldn’t dare!”
The
First Counselor looked at him. “Where
the safety of the Crown Prince is concerned,” he said mildly, “they dare a
great deal.” As the prince digested
that piece of information, Kelhesa continued, “I activated it when we first
talked, but concealing it in clothing limits its usefulness. Now, I believe we should talk quickly. The commander will not appreciate it if we
stay long after dark.”
“So
tell me how you found out about this god.”
“And
you will tell me about your adventure?” Kelhesa asked. The prince nodded. “Very well then. I was
very close to Lohansa before he . . . disappeared. Very close. After his
wife died, I took care of his daughter while he was working long daars at the
laboratory. It was his way of dealing
with his grief, but it was hard on the kitten.
She was the cutest little thing, barely two years old when I began
watching over her. Two wonderful years
I had with her. I wish you could have
met her.” Kelhesa broke off with a
small laugh. “Of course, had she lived,
she would have been your mother.
“I was a guard of your father as
well, though that was a pleasant job at the time. He was only, hmm, four years old himself, and still going by his
father’s name, Jalar. You never saw a
kitten so excited as him the day he got his six-year name. ‘Everyone, I’m Hanis,’ he would say. ‘Not Jalar anymore. I’m six now, so you call me Hanis.’“ Kelhesa
caught the glance Kieransar gave him and cuffed him lightly on the cheek. “Let an old Varan speak, cub. It’s relevant.” He clicked his teeth together in mock annoyance. “No respect from this generation. Now where was I?”
“Your
relationship with Lohansa and his daughter,” the prince supplied helpfully.
“Oh,
yes. It was a wonderful time. But then Lohansa started working with those
thrice-cursed crystals.” Kelhesa nearly
spat out the last few words. “I hardly
saw him for a while, and little Faela just couldn’t understand why papa didn’t
come home to see her. So I brought her
to him. Then I was summoned away on a
security call.” He stopped speaking for
a moment. “Just as I reached the outer
doors of the lab, I heard a terrible noise.
When I looked back, I saw a fireball rushing up the hallway. I ran, and the force of the blast knocked me
clear into the forest, on fire and near dead.
Passersby put out the fire and got me to the medic’s ward in time. For years after, I wished that they had just
let me die. I had lost both my brother
and my niece, and it had been my fault that Faela was there in the first
place.”
Kieransar
interrupted, “But you didn’t--”
Kelhesa
waved the prince’s protest aside. “As
soon as I was able to go off-planet, Jalisar started looking for an assignment
for me. Any assignment. He didn’t care so long as I was so busy I
didn’t have time to think. So I found
myself part of an archivist’s team on an information expedition. A ship of unknown design had been sighted
just inside the Empire’s boundary. The
Emperor ordered it captured, and our warriors found a new species of
intelligent spacefarers. They called
themselves himmans. Or, rather, we
called them himmans, their own pronunciation containing sounds we don’t
use. Humans,” Kelhesa
enunciated, contorting lips around muzzle.
“Ever heard of them?” Kieransar
shook his head. “Didn’t think so. There weren’t many of them in the first
place.”
“What
did they look like?”
“Oh,
the tallest of them was under nine tibs in height, I believe. They were biped, like us. Mostly furless, except a long, flowing mane
on the tops of their heads. The male I
worked with kept his clipped short, but I saw it lengthen rapidly over
time.” Kelhesa closed his eyes for a
moment, as if visualizing the beings he described. “The females were smaller than the males, and they tended to let
their hair grow longer. They had hands
similar to ours, except smaller, of course, but their claws couldn’t
retract. The claws weren’t very
formidable, either; I couldn’t imagine them defending themselves that
way.”
Kieransar’s
ears perked forward at the thought of a fight.
“And how would they defend themselves?
Teeth?”
“Hardly
adequate to tear meat. The himmans I
knew were omnivorous both by disposition and by choice.” Kelhesa looked the prince in the eye. “At first glance, you wouldn’t think a
himman could be that much of a challenge.
However, they are more at ease using anything that comes to hand than we
are. For example,” at this, the
counselor gestured behind them, “what if something tried to attack us right
now? What would your first reaction
be?”
“It
would depend on the creature, I suppose.”
“Even
before you knew what it was.”
“I’d
leap back to a higher place before I . . .” Kieransar hesitated.
“Before
you pounced.” The counselor
nodded. “It’s instinctive. Even if you know you’re outmatched, the
first reaction you have to quell is an outright physical attack.”
“And
what would these himmans do?”
“I
asked one of them that same question.
Without hesitation, he answered, ‘I’d shoot it.’ Others said they would
flee if they could, or look around for a weapon if they didn’t have one on
them, but none of them answered the way you just did.”
“So
they avoid physical contact?”
“No. They merely look for a way to ‘make the
fight more even,’ as one himman said to me.
However, I do not believe we came out here to contrast fighting
styles. May I proceed with the story?” The prince nodded.
“We
began translating the information in their computer databases. It went quickly once some of the himmans
learned Empire Common. I and a royal
archivist were charged with learning about their religion and morality. In doing so, we learned about a holy writ
called the Book of Two Covenants. At
least, that’s how it translated. The
faith was called the Way. We read the
book, talked to the himmans who believed in it, and wrote up our findings after
a few more years of study. In the
process, the archivist became the first Hasshevaran Wayfinder. He lost everything because of it and had to
be smuggled off the planet, but rumor has it he’s still preaching, along with a
few of the himmans who also managed to escape.”
Kieransar
leaned closer to his former mentor.
“And then you became a Wayfinder.”
“Oh,
no, not and risk my position. That came
much later. Three years ago, in fact,
when my wife died. Then those
stories had meaning for me. A young
noble found me reading the Book of Two Covenants, and I discovered that there
were other Wayfinders in the castle as well, a few Ri and several
warriors. Unfortunately, your father
found out and demanded that I change my mind.
‘After all,’ he said, ‘you’ve already changed it once.’ I refused for one reason.”
“What
was that?”
“This
faith taught me how to forgive myself.
After fifty-four years of guilt, I finally could forgive myself. Your father couldn’t understand that,
though. All he saw was the threat.”
“Threat?”
Kieransar echoed, confused.
Kelhesa
spoke slowly, deliberately, as if tasting each word first before letting it
escape his lips. “The God of the Way
has begun moving in the Empire. More
and more of its subjects are turning from the old ways, and not just the poor
anymore. That is what has your father
worried. It’s not just a few powerless
radicals who are proclaiming this God.
Influential people are now joining, and your father fears for the
Empire. He believes that it is
impossible to reconcile this new faith with the Hierarchy.”
“But
the priests say all faiths are contained in the Hierarchy,” Kieransar
protested.
Kelhesa
gave the prince a sad smile, one that seemed to carry all of the burdens of the
Empire. “Then why does the Emperor
forbid me to speak of it?”
Kieransar
opened his mouth, then shut it when no answer was forthcoming. “I guess I’d have to read about this faith
to find out.”
“I
can help you there,” the counselor said, pulling a small, circular computer
disk from his pocket. “This is a
translation. It doesn’t contain
everything, since we’re still trying to figure out the last portion, one called
‘Revealings’ or something like that, and a few others. However, it should at least point you to the
right questions.” He placed the edge in
Kieransar’s waiting hand, then pulled it back abruptly, palming the disk. “I would advise, though, that you not use a
terminal attached to the castle’s main system.” At Kieransar’s startled glance, he added, “Strange things have
been known to happen to these disks when people do.” Kelhesa again proffered the disk.
The
prince took it, but sighed regretfully.
“Do you remember those hectic schedules we were talking about? I think mine’s going to keep me running
until at least the next six-day.”
Kelhesa
smiled. “Don’t worry. If you’re supposed to read it that soon, a
way will be found.” He shifted his
position, trying to find one that did not rub so hard against old bones. “Now I believe it is my turn to hear your
story.”
Kieransar
nodded. “It all began this morning--no,
I can’t say that. I’ve been feeling
like this for some time now. I can’t
even point to a particular time when it all started.”
“Feeling
like what?”
“I
don’t know.” The prince’s tail tip
lashed a regular beat on the stone as he tried to find the right words. “Moody.
Angry over nothing. I didn’t
enjoy what I was doing. As if something
were missing.” A laugh that sounded
more like a growl escaped him. “It
sounds so stupid now that I’ve said it.
I’m the Crown Prince. I can have
almost anything I want, and I’m not satisfied.”
Kieransar
looked at the other Varan, hoping that Kelhesa would say something that would
explain away the inner turmoil the prince had experienced.
The
counselor, however, remained sympathetic but mute. Kieransar re-focused his glance from Kelhesa to the rock’s more
neutral obsidian surface. His hand
absently moved along its smooth contours as he continued his story. “So today I canceled all my appointments and
went hunting, the one thing I always enjoy.
For a while, it worked. I was so
occupied with other things that I stopped thinking.”
“So
it was your thoughts that disturbed you?”
“No. Yes.”
Kieransar abruptly stood, looking around him, then settled into a tense
crouch next to the rock. If Kelhesa
recognized the move as the first step of an instinctive defense posture, he
made no mention of it. “Do you realize
that if Father died today,” Kieransar asked, “I would be Emperor?”
Kelhesa
carefully hid a smile. “It has crossed
my mind, yes.”
“What
if I’m not ready? I would have no idea
what to do. I don’t even know the
people I’m supposed to be ruling.”
“That
matters to you?”
“Of
course it does,” the prince snapped.
“What kind of a question is that?”
“One
that some of your predecessors never once considered. The Empire is generally benevolent now, but it wasn’t always this
way.” The old Varan reached over and
touched Kieransar’s hand with his own, a conciliatory gesture. “But please go on with your story.”
The
prince shook himself, forcing his recalcitrant mind to go further. “There was something there with me,
Kelhesa. Something big. I couldn’t see it, but it was there. The presence I felt was . . .
overwhelming.” A chill rippled across
his back as he recalled the vastness of the Presence he had felt, a restrained
might which had overshadowed everything around him into insignificance.
“I
was,” the prince dragged the word out between clenched teeth, “terrified. Nothing in my life has come even close to
what I felt on the Hunting Grounds, not even in the ceremonies the priests use
to call up power. It wanted me,
Kelhesa.” The prince’s voice fell to a
whisper. “It could have taken me.”
Kelhesa
tightened his grip on Kieransar’s hand as he asked, “Do you sense that presence
now?”
Realizing
that that was exactly what he was trying to do, the prince relaxed into a more
comfortable sitting position. “No. Kelhesa, was it your god I felt?”
“Perhaps.”
The
prince bowed his head for a moment.
“Kelhesa,” he said quietly, “I’m not sure I want to follow a god who
hunts me like this.”
“How
else was he to get your attention, my Sar?” the counselor asked, his voice
equally quiet. Kieransar’s head came up
at this statement, ears swiveling back in surprise. Kelhesa continued, “Would you have noticed anything less?”
“Probably
not. Is that how he approaches
everyone?”
The
counselor chuckled. “Goodness, no. Had he revealed himself to me with such a
show of strength, I would have been mortally offended. For you, though, it may have been
necessary.” Kelhesa rose, wincing as
vertebrae snapped wearily back into place.
“Just remember, if the presence you felt hunting you is the God of the
Way,” he held out a hand toward the prince, who ignored it as he uncurled from
his place beside the rock, “it’s your choice whether or not you get caught.”
* * *
The
commander of the guard was waiting for them when they left the enclosure, his
warriors already in formation. “I took
the liberty of ordering the aircar to remain on standby, Sar, Sa,” he mentioned
smoothly, his outstretched hand guiding them to the machine. “Your highnesses must be anxious to get
back.” A guard gave hnismuth to them
both and opened the door.
Kieransar
entered the car and sat down with obvious relief. Kelhesa looked at him, concerned. “Is everything okay, Sar?”
The
prince waved him off. “Strenuous day, I
guess.” He felt his own forehead and
wondered how he had gotten so hot.
They
did not talk during the flight, and when the aircar reached the castle,
Kieransar immediately headed for his rooms.
His limp was more pronounced than ever.
As
he walked, the prince felt a burning sensation in his leg that grew more
intense with every step. He turned down
the corridor near his suite of rooms, then leaned against the wall to pull up
the leg of his patris. The skin around
his wound was puffy and red. He drew in
a quick breath at the sight and began hobbling hurriedly to his door at the far
end of the corridor.
Just
then, Malkut walked into sight. He took
one look at the prince, sniffed the air, and moved toward his Sar. “You’re sick,” he stated.
Kieransar
only nodded, bringing his foot down and testing to see how much weight it would
hold. He winced.
Malkut
felt Kieransar’s face and laid his ears flat.
“I’ll call a medic.”
The
prince grabbed Malkut’s wrist. “Wait
until I’ve reached my rooms.”
“But
Sar--”
“I
refuse to collapse in the middle of a corridor,” Kieransar hissed through
clenched teeth.
Malkut
muttered a few oaths under his breath as he took Kieransar’s arm. “Then at least lean on me.”
The
warrior walked slowly, helping the prince to balance. His pace grew more rapid when he saw Kieransar’s eyes unfocus,
the spiral opening as already large pupils dilated further. A few dasimms later, the prince only made
the motions of walking, with Malkut carrying all his weight. Kieransar’s breathing grew ragged, and the
warrior gave up all semblance of decorum in his scramble to get Kieransar to
the room.
Malkut
glanced around frantically for some help.
His gaze went past the wide-eyed servants to focus on a female in
medic’s gold at the far end of the corridor.
“Nitae,” he shouted. The figure
turned and stared. “Get down here! The Sar’s ill.”
She
bounded down the corridor as Malkut propped the prince up against the
wall. He fiddled with the palm panel,
calling down curses on its manufacturer when it did nothing. Finally, he slammed Kieransar’s hand up
against the identifier. The door
opened, and he dragged the half-conscious prince to a couch, then sprinted for
the communications link. Nitae ran in,
taking the place Malkut had just vacated, and bent over her patient, checking
the pulse and pulling the eyelids up.
“It’s
his leg,” Malkut called over his shoulder.
“The same one he hurt on the Hunting Grounds.”
“What
did he hunt?”
“Hellock. The lead buck tore his leg with its horn.”
Ivret’s
head popped out of one of the side rooms at the noise. “Malkut, what--”
Malkut
raised an unsheathed hand for silence as he pressed the button. “Medic alert, Kieransar’s suite. We have an emergency.”
“What
is the situation?” a voice responded.
Nitae
pushed the warrior aside. “This is
Nitae, Jashon. It looks like
poison. Banil sap, probably, from the
horn of a hellock. Get a team over here
immediately.”
A
muttered curse floated over the communications link. “I thought we had eradicated that weed. What are his symptoms?”
“Total
dilation of the pupils, rapid and shallow breathing, erratic pulse . . .” As she progressed into more technical
jargon, Malkut returned to Kieransar’s side.
Ivret joined him with a wet towel, which he used to wipe the prince’s
sweat-covered face. Kieransar’s head
lolled in Ivret’s hands.
Nitae
had not even finished her report when the first team burst through the
door. Ivret and Malkut hastily backed
out of their way. The medics examined
the prince, a more in-depth version of what Nitae had already done, and
consulted together.
“It’s
banil,” one said. “If it were chofid,
we wouldn’t see the dilation.”
A
second medic set up the stretcher, directing it to hover at the height of the
bed, while the third prepared a syringe.
Nitae
stopped the latter’s actions with an impatient hand. “Make it a spray; it’ll work faster.” The medic arched his whiskers in agreement and transferred the
sedative from syringe to spray bottle with one practiced motion. Nitae took the spray and shot it into the
prince’s eyes. Kieransar spasmed, then
went limp as the medication raced directly to his brain.
The
medics eased him onto the stretcher and guided it out the door. Malkut shooed curious onlookers away while
the four medics attached the stretcher to one of the hover cycles. Nitae adjusted the weight tolerance of the
stretcher and then eased herself onto its edge, leaning protectively over the
prince and gripping the sides tightly.
The other medics mounted their cycles and checked the fasteners one last
time.
Nitae
turned back to the two warriors, their ears flat and tails still with
worry. “He’ll be all right. Banil sap is too slow acting to be a serious
threat.” As the last words escaped her
throat, the medical team was racing down the wide corridors to the nearest
medical ward.
Malkut
and Ivret followed on foot.
Service
Even
after a six-day, Kieransar’s illness dominated conversation in the city. Hishtari found it hard to disentangle
herself from the hoards of young Varans who descended on her and anyone else
who worked in the castle as they came and went on royal business. She mentally berated the participants as
echoes of partial conversations reached her ears, which were purposefully
directed forward with not even a twitch to the sides to imply she wished to
stop and gossip.
“I
hear the priests have been spending more time with the prince than the medics
have . . .” Hishtari heard one voice say before it faded into the stonework
around her.
Another
voice pulsed in and out, “ . . . younger brothers don’t have half his
potential, from what I’ve been told . . . could have been a real tragedy.”
A
third voice nearly caused her to misstep.
“ . . . strange changes in behavior.
Could the banil have affected his mind?”
Hishtari
lengthened her stride. What a waste
of the day, she thought, wrinkling her nose in disgust. Haven’t they other ways to occupy their
time?
As
she tried to slip past yet another group speculating on what they were not
being told, she winced at the sound of a familiar voice. “Hishtari,” a friend called out. “Any news?”
Immediately, the group encircled her, ears riveting on what she might
say.
“I’m
just a servant in the castle, Jesmari,” she growled. “I’m not even attached to royalty, much less in their
confidence.”
“Don’t
try to fool me,” the younger noble retorted.
“Your ears are as long as anyone’s in the castle.”
“At
least I have the native wit to know when to muzzle myself, Jesmari,” she hissed
in irritation. She pulled him toward
her until her whiskers touched his ear.
“If Security hears this talk, you’ll never have a position in the
castle,” she whispered fiercely.
Hishtari
turned to the rest of the group, raising her voice. “The report is the same as it was yesterday. The Sar is doing well and may be permitted
to leave his rooms today depending on what the physicians decide. Now let me pass or it will be your hides if
I’m late.” An opening in the crowd
appeared as if by sorcery; she wasted no time in using it. “Why don’t you go and do something useful
for a change?” she called over her shoulder.
The
Ri closed her ears to the hisses and growls that greeted her comment, glad of
the scent-hiding perfumes that swirled around her. Else she might have offended someone with the depth of her
irritation. They might also have
smelled a swift array of emotions that she could not immediately quell. Jesmari’s off-hand remark about her supposed
knowledge alarmed her.
I
try so hard not to be noticed!
Hishtari thought back to all of the little tricks she used to make
herself as inconspicuous as possible.
Not that such a pose was possible any more, with the First
Counselor calling on her so often of late.
She
joined the small line at the gate entrance, where guards checked the entrants
with routine thoroughness and ushered them through the shield in small
groups. Hishtari used the delay to collect
herself and her thoughts, using one of the nearby mirrors to check the
condition of her wardrobe. It won’t
do to arrive in disarray, she thought, the turmoil in her mind calming as
she completed her survey.
Anyone
familiar with Hasshevaran clan patterns would know that she claimed the Vorae
standard, with her forest green eyes and shining black fur, naturally short
from her ears to her toes. Her family
had been bred for generations to capture that obsidian luster. Even the jagged white blaze across her
cheek, considered a flaw by genetic purists, only enhanced the Varain’s
beauty. Exotic was the word many had
used.
Her
clothing consisted of hues of red and gold that contrasted well with her fur
tone. A length of copper material
draped across her shoulders to unite at the waist. Elaborate interweavings of scarves flowed across her chest and
down her arms and legs, mostly concealing the rust-colored pants that stopped
at mid-calf. She smiled at the
flattering arrangement of fabric she had designed.
A
guard looked at her admiringly before gesturing her to approach the gates. After that, only a few simms passed before
Hishtari found herself escorted through and on her way to Kelhesa’s suite of
rooms.
Kelhesa’s
personal guard saluted her as she approached.
“The Sa is expecting you,” he said, opening the door. She walked through the visiting chamber,
where another guard opened the door for her to the counselor’s personal rooms.
The
Sa already wore a pair of patris, but nothing else. Servants bustled about pulling out clothing from large closets to
present to the counselor. The number of
pieces piled behind him in rejection was an eloquent explanation as to why
Hishtari had been summoned.
He
glanced up when the door slid shut behind her.
“Ah, Hishtari. Good. I need you to choose my wardrobe today. The old eyes can’t tell shade from shade
anymore.”
She
crossed sheathed hands to him and tilted her chin up just a fraction, as
befitted her rank. “I am always at your
service, my Sa.” At a wave of her hand,
the Sa’s regular servants quietly filed out of the suite. Hishtari picked through the discards,
mentally visualizing Kelhesa in their colors.
“Do you have anything in mind, Kelhesa?”
“It’s a court session, Hishtari, so nothing
too elaborate.” The counselor shook his
head at the colorful piles, growling, “Had I known beforehand what being First
Counselor would entail, I would have taken the military path. Instead, I find myself worrying about all
this,” his nose wrinkled, “frippery.”
Hishtari
tossed the lengths of expensive fabrics aside with a careless flip of her
wrist. “Then we will dispense with the
frippery and aim for a more austere look.”
She looked at him closely from several different angles, absently biting
a nail tip. Her eyes narrowed as they
flicked from one color to Kelhesa and then back to another color.
With
Kelhesa watching her in amusement as she circled him, Hishtari felt not unlike
a small bird of prey hunting one of its larger cousins. He towered over her not because she was
female, but because she was not royalty.
None of her clan had the height or wideness of chest that he displayed
even at his age. In fact, very few of
the royals, young or old, looked so handsome bare-chested. An idea formed.
Finally,
she spoke. “How does ‘barbaric’ sound?”
“I
beg your pardon?”
“Imagine,
patris, belt, court shoes,” Hishtari paused.
“I suppose you need your medallion and hartain.”
“Unfortunately.”
“Add
chestpiece, medallion, hartain, bandeau, those gold wristbands of yours--”
“I
haven’t worn those in years.”
“--but
no shirt or any other ornamentation.”
“Not
even a ceremonial dagger?” he gibed at her gently.
The
Varain centered one ear on him as she dug through a mound of jewelry in the
back of a drawer. “If you desire, my
Sa.”
“No,
I don’t think I could go that far.”
Hishtari
pulled the wristbands out with a hiss of triumph. “You could wear an empty scabbard like they did under Emperor
Shomesar,” she mentioned, buffing them with a cloth set aside for just such a
purpose.
Kelhesa
snorted at that remark, then reached a hand out to her. “I can do that, Hishtari. You start on the rest of my new image.”
Tossing
the bands and cloth to the Sa, the Varain sat in one of the nearby chairs and
swept several strips of different colored fabric into her lap. She cleverly braided the short lengths to
form the Sa’s belt and chestpiece. “How
is the prince doing, Kelhesa?”
“He’ll be completely well in a few more six-days. In fact, that is why I called you
here.” He worked the cloth with a
practiced ease uncommon in the highest class.
“I understand that those two kittens of yours are nearly ready for their
Naming.”
“Why,
yes,” Hishtari answered in confusion.
“We leave for Tahlmin next six-day.”
The
counselor clicked the bands into place.
“Have they completed their first service?”
“Not
yet. Everyone here seems too busy for a
pair of orphans, no matter who their parents were.” Her tail swished at that admission. “I’ve arranged something for them on Tahlmin; a royal there said
he wouldn’t mind sponsoring them.” The
Ri motioned for Kelhesa to raise his arms; she wrapped the belt around his
waist, then brought the remaining fabric up across his chest.
“Good,
good.” The Sa twisted his head slightly
to see her progress. “What if I
arranged for them to do that here?”
“With
whom?” She attached his medallion of
office to the fabric where the two strips crossed.
“Majisa
has invited Kieransar to a small meal, and they will need a few servants for
the occasion.” He craned his neck to
see himself in the mirror, but his angle was wrong.
“The
Sar,” she whispered, half in shock.
“Would
the kittens be ready today?”
“Yes,
yes.” She put a hand to her heart and
felt its rapid beating as she imagined what doors this opportunity would open
for her small charges. “I’ll have
Darine pick them up from school immediately.”
Her glance returned to the old Varan, eyes narrowing shrewdly. “Why do I have the feeling that your favor
has fangs in it?”
“You
always look beneath the surface, don’t you, Hishtari?” Kelhesa spent a moment fiddling with his
wristbands before slowly answering, “I want you to observe Kieransar.”
She
fastened a blue and silver bandeau across his forehead. “What would I be looking for?”
“Just
give me your general impression. I
don’t want to bias you too much.”
“Does
this have anything to do with the prince’s changed behavior lately?”
“It
might.” He placed a hand on her
arm. “I would very much appreciate
this, Ri.”
She
pulled herself from his grip and walked to the other side of the room where his
court outfit rested over the back of a chair.
“Let me think about this.”
“You
don’t have much time to decide.”
“I
know.”
Several
simms passed in silence as Hishtari prepared the silvery blue hartain, the
ceremonial robes worn in court. She
fastened the shoulder-piece in place and untied two small knots, one on each
side of his neck. A long rectangle of
fabric adorned with rounded fretwork fell over each shoulder almost to the
floor.
She
picked up a brush to put the finishing touches on the Sa’s white mane, deftly
twisting small locks of hair around his headband. “There,” she said with approval, transferring her attention to
the clothing. “I really shouldn’t let
you go out like this, or you may start a trend. And where would I be if the court decided for simplicity?”
“Still
telling courtiers why one color will not go with another, even if they are
wearing less clothing.” Kelhesa rose
from his seat and looked at himself in the mirror. “Such good taste you have, Ri,” he remarked, admiring the swirl
of colors. “You can make even so old a
Varan as I look younger.”
Hishtari
did not look up. “I only bring out what
is already there, Sa.”
The
counselor smiled. “You have been a
great help to me lately.” His nose
twitched, reacting to an errant scent, and he turned his head toward Hishtari
in surprise. “What’s wrong? Why are you so anxious at that remark?”
“It’s
nothing, Sa,” she answered calmly.
“Hishtari,
you can’t hide behind sweet fragrances in my chambers. Give me a complete answer.”
The
Ri stopped her adjustments and met the counselor’s eyes in the mirror. “You do call on me a lot. People wonder, especially after your talk
with the Emperor.”
Kelhesa
tilted his head at her, regarding her with a narrowed glance. “Are you worried that someone will find out
you are a Wayfinder?”
“It’s
a legitimate fear, Kelhesa.” She
resumed brushing his hair, not because it required the attention, but because
she needed to keep her hands occupied.
“I saw what happened to Telmar and the others in the Quiet Purge three
years ago.”
“There
won’t be another purge, not while I have the Emperor’s favor.”
“For
the kittens’ sake, I can’t risk disclosure,” Hishtari said soberly. “As their guardian, anything I do or say
will have repercussions on their futures.”
Kelhesa
settled back into the chair. “Perhaps
there will come a time soon when our people won’t need to fear discovery,” he
remarked slowly. He watched the Ri
carefully as he spoke the next few words.
“Even the Imperial Branch is not immune to the Master’s call.”
When
Hishtari caught the hint contained in that ambiguous statement, she nearly
dropped the brush. “You’ve been talking
to the prince, haven’t you?”
“Actually,
he approached me.” The counselor
shrugged. “The Master does as the
Master wills.”
Hishtari
stared at him in horror. “And you’re
trying to tell me there won’t be another purge? The Emperor will want to know everyone you have contact with, and
I’ve been coming nearly every day for the past twelve!”
“Watch
your tone, Ri,” Kelhesa said sharply.
She visibly tensed at his words, and he sighed. “Little one, half the castle calls on you
for your opinions on clothing. No one
will twitch an ear at your visits.”
She
turned her back to him, her hands occupying themselves with the fabric in his
wardrobe. “I must sound like a coward.”
“That’s
the last word I would attribute to you.
As I recall, it was your influence with your family that kept Telmar’s
sentence from being worse than branding and banishment.” His voice softened. “Just don’t let your caution deafen you to a
higher call, Ri.”
Her
eyes and ears tilted to the ground.
Kelhesa
pushed her chin up with one long finger until old eyes met young. “Take your kittens and serve the Sar
today. That’s all I ask.”
“As
you wish, my Sa.”
* * *
The
kittens’ reaction to the news was delightfully predictable. “The prince?” they squeaked, eyes wide, ears
straight, and tails quivering.
Hishtari
winced at the high pitch of their voices.
“Yes, the prince,” she replied.
Darine,
Hishtari’s only live-in servant, drew the kittens through the door where
Hishtari had met them. “And if you
serve well, maybe he will give you your names,” the matronly Varain said.
“We
can really get our names today?” one asked.
“We don’t have to wait--”
“But
we’re not on Tahlmin, yet,” her brother interrupted. “I thought--”
“Enough!” Hishtari cried. “At least wait until I’ve answered one question before asking
another. No, you don’t have to wait
until we reach Tahlmin.”
“So
we do get our names?”
She
nodded. “Solari and Emriri, as
promised.”
“Can
we wear the clothes you made?”
The
Varain swept a hand across the receiving room toward their chambers. “I’ve laid them on your beds.” Before she could blink, they had shed their
school shoes and bags, rounded the corner, and vanished from sight. She followed at a more leisurely pace,
thinking, Would that they always obeyed me so quickly.
As
she passed the stairwell, the Ri glanced longingly up toward her own rooms,
wishing she had time for a shower. No,
what I really want is to bury myself in pillows and not come out again for a
six-day.
“Shall
I help them dress, Ri?” Darine called as she deftly picked up what the kittens
had left behind. “You probably want to
prepare yourself.”
“Yes,
Darine. That would help.” Hishtari leapt up the stairs, calling back,
“But I’ll be down soon to finish them up.
After all, it’s their day.”
Her
home was large, but not palatial by any means.
Certainly not as grand as those of royalty around her in upper Shadis or
in the palace. However, it was more
tastefully decorated than most.
Upstairs, in Hishtari’s private sanctuary, the lighting remained
dimmed. Lights in her tiny sleeping
room didn’t even reach levels of normal illumination, leaving it in perpetual,
soothing twilight. No furniture, just pillows.
In
her study, Hishtari used every color in the rainbow, from rhodis to violet,
each slowly merging into the next.
Cushions and chairs dotted the room so she could choose to surround
herself in whichever color reflected her mood.
Ledges wide enough to support her jutted from the walls at many
different levels, some nearly to the ceiling that rose three full body lengths
from the floor.
Passing
quickly beyond both the sleeping chamber and study, the Ri entered her dressing
room. “Lights, full,” she called. She untied the scarves, carefully hanging
them on rods to keep them from creasing in the wrong places, and chose a more
subdued style of clothing to replace what she had worn in the morning. Can’t outshine the ones you serve, I
suppose, she thought, looking with mild regret at what she had just put
away, and descended to help her young charges.
Downstairs,
the furniture bespoke a more utilitarian style, since many of the finer things
were lost on, if not destroyed by, young kittens. Even here, every piece showed her good taste. Soothing forest tones welcomed the visitor
in the reception room, while more earthy colors dominated the hallways and the
kitchen in the back. Hishtari followed
the corridor even farther back to the chambers of the kittens.
They
were nearly ready when she entered.
Darine turned the kittens toward Hishtari for a final inspection. They were a handsome young pair even in
their unadorned shirts and patris, with their smooth, brown fur and
cream-colored muzzles. Most people
found it impossible to tell the two apart; even the white marks on their ears
matched. Such confusion was normal,
since there was almost no difference in frame between the male and female of
the species.
The
Ri turned to Darine. “I didn’t know
they could dress that quickly.”
“And
everything is in the right place, as well,” Darine replied, nodding her mottled
gray head.
The
kittens were so excited that Hishtari thought their heartbeats would run off
without them. “Let me look at you
both.” She twirled each of them around,
scrutinizing them with a professional eye.
“At least you’re presentable,” the Ri muttered under her breath.
She
wetted a finger with her tongue and smoothed away the remains of lunch on one
kitten’s muzzle. The other came in for
her turn. They submitted cheerfully to
such motherly attention, though they could barely keep themselves still.
Straightening
up, Hishtari gave them one final glance.
“Now, you’ve both had your water?”
They nodded. “And gone to the
bathroom?” Another nod. “So you won’t suddenly need to stop on our
way to the Hunting Grounds.”
“We’re
ready, Hishtari.”
She
took a little hand into each of hers.
“Then why are we standing around here?
Your destiny awaits.”
Hishtari
led her two young charges to the Hunting Grounds, following nearly the same
route she had traversed to reach Kelhesa’s quarters. As they walked, the kittens overwhelmed her with questions.
“But
why do we have to serve? Darine can do
better.”
“Everyone
has to, Sal--”
The
kitten hissed. “Don’t say it,” he
warned, tail swinging back and forth like a pendulum. “Don’t even think it.
That was my dad’s name, not mine anymore.”
“It’s
still yours until . . .” Hishtari looked at the little Varan, whose open face
revealed to her his earnestness. She
crossed sheathed hands to him, though they rested nowhere near her chest. “Very well, oh Nameless One. Even the prince had to serve for his
six-year name.”
“The
Emperor too?”
“The
Emperor too.”
“But
why?”
Why
am I always on the losing side of these “why” games? Hishtari wondered
idly. “Haven’t I answered this question
before?”
“You
said it was to test our scents,” his sister spoke up.
“That’s
one reason, yes. Kittens have a very
special smell to them that Varane don’t like, unless they’re your father or
brothers or closely related. Instinct
would make them react against you. They
wouldn’t mean to, but they might hurt you.”
Or even kill you, she thought but did not say.
“But
you like our scent, right?”
“I
love your scent. All Varaine do. It makes us want to protect you. However, you don’t have that scent anymore,
and this service will prove that.”
“What’s
the other reason?” asked the cub-to-be.
“It’s
the same reason why you will have trials for Coming of Age at twelve and First
Rites at eighteen--to make sure you deserve your titles. Can you obey, are you strong, and, finally,
can you lead?”
“But
why?” two voices wailed in perfect unison.
She
raised her eyes skyward. “Ask the
gods. They’re the ones who ordered it,
the priests say.”
When
they came to the entrance of the Hunting Grounds, Hishtari pulled them both
toward her and nuzzled them, whiskers mingling with whiskers. “I am so proud of you,” she whispered. Her ears twitched as she realized that soon
they would no longer be “kittens” in the legal sense, rankless, genderless,
invisible in the eyes of the law, but young nobility, kit and cub.
Her
tail wrapped around first one waist and then the other as they clung to
her. You won’t be just mine anymore,
she lamented, then controlled herself.
“Now don’t worry, I’ll be right beside you if you need me. Just remember to keep your ears aimed at the
one you are serving, so they don’t have to repeat themselves. And watch how you speak.” She smiled as she let them go. “If your voices go any higher, you’ll run
out of sound.”
With
those words of encouragement, Hishtari pushed them toward the picnic area, a
part of the Hunting Grounds kept clear of any dangerous wildlife. Guards kept watch in inconspicuous places,
Hishtari’s first clue that the prince had already arrived. Malkut and Ivret sat attentively behind the
Sar, who was stretched out on the grass awaiting the arrival of Majisa.
Hishtari
saw his head turn as they approached. A
look of relief swept quickly across his face as he recognized them. Hishtari inwardly chuckled. Are you hoping Majisa will decide not to
come, my Sar? she thought as she gave hnismuth. The twins anxiously bowed; no kitten would show throat to a Varan
for fear the temptation would be too great, and no Hasshevaran other than a
kitten could bow with any grace.
Kieransar
nodded his acknowledgement. “Are these
the ones Kelhesa was talking about, Ri?” he asked.
“Yes,
my Sar,” she replied.
He
sniffed each of them in turn before inclining his head slightly, a signal for
her to proceed.
Hishtari
relaxed and spoke the traditional words.
“Great prince, this one dares to ask permission to serve.”
“May
I request the names of those who serve?”
“This
one is named Hishtari, daughter of Glediri of the Vorae. Two others, who have not yet been given
names, wish to show their worthiness in service.”
Kieransar
looked at the kittens with narrowed eyes, as if debating their worthiness. His tail, however, moved in long arcs of
amusement. “Are you sure they’re old
enough?” he questioned, watching the kittens squirm. At Hishtari’s exaggerated nod, he said, “Very well. I accept your service.”
At
Hishtari’s gesture, her charges gave hnismuth for the very first time--it was a
sight to make her tail kink--and sat near Malkut and Ivret to await Majisa’s
entrance. As soon as they were out of
earshot, the prince tipped his head forward slightly. “How long can they last?” he asked, his voice barely crossing the
distance to the Ri.
“First
serving, maybe pour you a drink,” she whispered back.
“And
then where will you send them while you finish serving here?”
Hishtari
looked at him closely, surprised that he would actually be interested. “This is the Hunting Grounds, my Sar.”
“And
their six-year names are a key to certain previously inaccessible playgrounds?”
“My
Sar speaks the truth. A friend of mine
promised to look after them until I have finished here.”
The
prince nodded and waved her back toward the others. Hishtari knelt near the warriors and watched, blending into her
surroundings, the observer rather than the observed.
Malkut,
too, spent his time in observation, watching his Sar curiously. Kieransar had been acting strangely all
six-day, what with priests entering and leaving his rooms at all daars. Not to mention his unusual interest in the
people around him. It’s as if he’s
seeing them for the first time, Malkut thought. And his temper!
Normally, the prince was irritable at best when ill. This time, he was almost . . . indifferent
to it. Well, Kieransar had let out a
few snarls and biting remarks against Ivret, but--and at this Malkut couldn’t
stop himself from shaking his head in amazement--the Sar had actually apologized. Ivret had looked as if his heart stopped.
Malkut’s
gaze drifted to the warrior sitting beside him. The latest in a long line of servants, Ivret had come far since
his arrival. His reactions during the
Sar’s illness, his ability to keep a calm front when muzzle to muzzle with
panic, had impressed Malkut. He vividly
recalled the scene of a nervous Ivret staving off a group of court gossips who,
except for Kieransar’s weakened condition, would never have dreamed of coming
near the Sar’s rooms. He’s still too
obsequious for his own good, but that will pass. After all, he still has six months to go before his test of First
Rites. After that, he’ll learn that a
warrior can get away with more than an ordinary servant.
A
commotion at the entrance of the Grounds brought Malkut out of his reverie. Majisa entered with four Varaine, warriors
attached to the princess as her personal servants; a few discreet hand signals
spread them out in a large circle, mingling with those of Kieransar’s guard.
Majisa’s
ears flattened when she saw who was to serve them. “I don’t remember asking for more servants.”
“That’s
because I did, Majisa,” Kieransar said calmly.
“I’ve been asked to give them their names, something I will find great
pleasure in doing.”
His
tail didn’t even twitch, Malkut noticed with approval, then quietly sniffed
the air. The prince’s smell remained
unchanged. He’s getting much better
at controlling his feelings.
“Of
course, Kieransar,” Majisa conceded with a demure nod, then sat beside him.
However,
Majisa herself served the prince. The
kittens found themselves scurrying from one dish to the next, bringing small
samples of everything to the princess, who in turn offered them to
Kieransar. Malkut watched in amusement
as the kittens adjusted to this unexpected change in plans with heads close
together and whispered comments. He
couldn’t understand what they were saying, but the glances they gave each other
when they left Majisa’s side made him glad the princess couldn’t hear them
either.
The
conversation meandered from topic to topic, all of which were Majisa’s
choice. Kieransar made the appropriate
noises at the appropriate times, but volunteered nothing. The Sa certainly understands the workings
of the monologue, Malkut thought wryly.
If only she would talk about hunting. Kieransar is always enthusiastic about that. However, no one had spoken to him about
hunting since his accident. Malkut
could have told the Sa she worried needlessly about offending Kieransar, but
that would have been revealing what the warrior considered confidential
information. Besides, her manner,
not to mention her scent, is definitely predatory. Doesn’t Majisa realize that this will only drive the prince
further away? She’s so obvious about
what she wants. No wonder Kieransar is
keeping his distance. He doesn’t like
being hunted.
Judging
from her expression, the princess realized that something was amiss. Her eyes darted from face to face, settling
on her diminutive servants. Majisa
turned to the prince. “These kittens
have served nobly, Kieransar,” she purred.
“They are truly worthy of gaining their names. However, they appear to be growing tired.”
Kieransar,
who looked rather tired himself, motioned for the Ri and her kittens to
approach him. “I have found your
service to be of incomparable value, Hishtari of the Vorae, and that of your
charges as well.” He turned to the
kittens, who, faces blank, looked to Hishtari for help.
“Kneel
down,” she whispered.
They
did so, and Kieransar lightly placed a hand on each small head. “What names have been chosen for them?”
“Solari
and Emriri, my Sar, when they have Come of Age.”
“And
until then?”
“The
one on your left would be Soli, the other Emri.”
“Then
until the day when you gain full rank and title, you, Solari,” he moved his
hand down from the kitten’s head until it cupped her chin, “are Soli, and you,
Emriri,” he did the same to Soli’s brother, “are Emri. Do you accept this as your right and due for
your service here today?”
Big
eyes lifted to his. “Oh, yes, please,”
their little voices piped.
Kieransar
raised his hands to the scent sacs behind his ears and pressed down. “It is so ordered,” he said, rubbing the
scent-laden palms on the head of each kitten, proclaiming them kit and cub for
all the world to know. Their actions
might still show kittenish tendencies over the next several twelve-days--and
adults might still think of them as kittens--but no Varan could harm them. They were safe.
“Now,”
the prince continued, “I believe you have other things to do today.” Soli and Emri did not move from their
kneeling position. “You’re dismissed.”
At
that, Soli’s eyes rose from their view of the ground. “Please, my Sar, could we stay for the rest of the meal?”
“We
won’t get in the way,” Emri added.
Malkut
looked over at Hishtari, who covered her face with her hands.
Kieransar’s
eyes flitted to where Majisa sat, rigid with consternation at the young ones’
request. That’s decided him,
Malkut thought. As long as the
kittens are around, there is no way the Sa can get as close to him as she would
like.
The
prince gestured toward Hishtari’s resting place. “I don’t see why not.”
Malkut
shifted slightly to gain Kieransar’s attention. “Perhaps it would be wise if you returned to your chambers soon,
my Sar.” He rose and offered his hand
to help a startled Majisa rise, whispering as he did so, “I mean no disrespect,
Sa, but Kieransar is uncomfortable showing his injury in front of others. I’m sure you understand why he wants to
leave last.”
“Of
course, warrior,” she said, standing gracefully. Raising her voice, Majisa addressed the prince. “I hope you will join me again soon for a
meal, Kieransar.”
He
smiled politely and nodded, his smile turning into a closed-eye sigh of relief
as he watched her retreating figure.
When Majisa and her warriors could no longer be seen beyond the entrance
of the Hunting Grounds, Kieransar finally relaxed. “That was the longest meal of my life,” he muttered under his
breath, just barely loud enough for Malkut’s pricked ears to catch.
“And
much too short for your hostess.”
Malkut shook his head. “That one
is determined to be Empress with or without your help, my Sar,” he said
soberly.
Kieransar
groaned. “And I’m expected to marry
her!”
Giving
his prince a penetrating stare, Malkut asked, “Is that such a bad thing?”
“Not
if she really is the best choice.”
Kieransar’s eyes glazed slightly on that last word, as if thinking about
other matters. “But how can I know what
the best choice is if I’m not allowed to study the matter? I can’t decide such important decisions
based on a few brief encounters.”
Malkut’s
gaze became quizzical. “But you’ve
known her all your life.”
“I
wasn’t--oh, never mind.”
The
warrior shrugged. “Marrying Majisa
would bring you that much closer to reinstating the two Lines of Succession.”
“Not
to mention giving her a chance at the title of High Empress if she has both a
son and a daughter.”
Malkut
eased himself lazily onto his back.
“Well, you could just make her First Consort instead and dash all her
plans at once.” Ivret looked properly
shocked at that remark.
“Hishtari,”
Soli whispered loudly enough for Malkut to hear. “Wouldn’t Majisa have to be High Empress if she married the
prince?”
Malkut
watched Hishtari’s discomfort with amusement.
How will you get yourself out of this one in Kieransar’s presence,
Ri?
The
prince, who also heard her, saved the Ri from having to answer that possibly
incriminating question. “No, because
she’s not the Scion. You see,” he
continued, leaning toward them, “there were two lines of succession, the Heir
and the Scion. The Heir always became
Emperor with the title ‘Sar.’ The
Scion, well, she always became First Priestess with the title ‘Sara.’
“Every
four generations, the lines came together through marriage. When that happened, the Heir and Scion
received the title of High Emperor and Empress. That was supposed to happen with my father and Faelinsara’s
daughter. However, when she and her
father Lohansa died in that accident, the Line of the Scion died with them.”
“And
Majisa is the closest Varain to that line, which is why Kieransar will probably
marry her,” Malkut interjected, receiving a glare for his helpful commentary.
Soli
and Emri thought about this for a simm, faces screwed in concentration. “So the Scion would have been your mother if
she hadn’t died,” Emri said slowly.
Kieransar
nodded. “And my sister--if I had
one--would have been the new Scion.”
“And
the whole thing would have spiraled all over again,” Hishtari added.
Soli
spoke up. “That means your,” she
paused, “great-grandson would have been High Emperor?”
“Exactly.” Kieransar turned to their guardian. “Smart kittens.”
Hishtari
ducked her head at that remark, but not before Malkut saw the proud smile. “They have promise, my Sar.”
The
prince passed a weary hand over his eyes.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe I’ll return to my rooms.”
“Of
course, my Sar.” As if on cue, the
kittens lost all semblance of decorum and ran yelling through the woods. Hishtari raced after them.
They
watched Hishtari and her two ecstatic charges disappear into the trees before
rising themselves. Kieransar tiredly
dusted the grass and twigs from his clothing and reached for his cane, his only
concession to his infirmity.
Knowing
what the prince’s reaction would be, Malkut did not bother offering to call for
a hoverchair. He reluctantly settled
for walking as close to Kieransar’s stiff leg as he was permitted. Ivret stayed slightly behind the two of
them, watching his prince carefully.
The rest of the guard ranged around the three as they slowly made their
way to Kieransar’s chambers.
* * *
When
Hishtari finally slipped through the door to her home, she did not even turn on
the lights. Racing up the stairs, she
passed a hand over the perfume selectors and then dived into her mound of
pillows. The Ri stayed that way until
the mists spraying above her head seeped into every upstairs corner, their
pervasive smells easily covering her own over-stimulated scent glands. “Spray off,” she hissed, trusting the
computer’s sensitive audio sensors to understand her muffled voice.
An
unwelcome buzz sounded from the door.
The Ri closed her eyes and groaned.
“Door, who is there?”
The
computer’s melodic voice responded, “The First Counselor Kelhesa desires
entrance.”
Definitely
too much excitement for one day, Hishtari thought as she pulled herself up
and headed for the door. “Allow
entrance,” she called. The door opened
for the imposing figure of Hanesar’s favorite advisor.
“I
came to offer my congratulations,” Kelhesa said, looking around, “but it
appears you will have to pass them on for me.”
“I
sent Soli and Emri back to school.” She
motioned for him to sit. “How did the
Court react to your wardrobe?”
The
counselor took the most comfortable chair, saying, “Half were scandalized,
while the other half took notes. In
all, a rousing success.” He tilted an
ear at her. “I’m surprised no one has
called you for your expertise.”
“I
haven’t had a chance to review my messages quite yet.”
“I
can imagine. Taking care of two kittens
who have just received their names must be a tiring job. Your cub and kit must be proud of
themselves.”
Giving
an exaggerated sigh, she said, “They’ll be insufferable now.”
“Word
has it they served for the entire meal.
That’s quite a feat for ones so young.”
Hishtari
nodded. “They lasted far longer than I
would have wagered.” She watched the Sa
shift uncomfortably and guessed at the source.
“It’s obvious you want to ask about Kieransar. Go ahead. The kittens
aren’t here to be offended.” The last
came out in a voice closer to a snarl, and the Varain mentally berated herself
for her lack of control.
“Claws
in, claws in!” Kelhesa cried.
“My
apologies, Sa.”
“None
necessary, Hishtari. Your day has been
unusual enough without my interference.”
Kelhesa gave her a tentative smile, one she did not return. “Well, what were your impressions?”
“I’ve
often served royalty who were in Kieransar’s presence, and that is not the same
Kieransar,” she stated.
“What
do you mean?”
“I’ve
never seen him answer questions so freely.
And the way he reacted to the kittens!
He never has that kind of patience normally. In fact, Majisa must think she’s gained ground in the fight to
win his respect. He didn’t interrupt
her, smell bored, or even yawn, though I know he wanted to.”
“And
what other impressions did you receive?” Kelhesa asked, leaning forward.
Hishtari
sighed inwardly, knowing she would not be afforded the time to find the best
words. “You ask a great deal for such a
short period of observation,” she remarked, though her words lacked bite. “However, he did indirectly speak of a choice
before him, one he was currently unwilling to make.” Even as she said those last words, Hishtari wondered if they were
true, remembering the look of longing that had briefly touched Kieransar’s
face. “Or perhaps unready would be the
better term. He said he needed a chance
to study the issue.”
“By
questioning the priests until all daars, for example?”
“That
would fit with what I sensed,” Hishtari confirmed, then hesitantly added, “I am
assuming the choice would have to do with the Master and the Way.”
Kelhesa
arched his whiskers in agreement and settled back into his chair. “So he hasn’t decided, then.”
“He
may not have announced his choice, but I sense he wishes to accept. Deep inside, perhaps he already has.”
“I
wouldn’t think that discretion is part of Kieransar’s character. When he makes a choice, everyone knows it.”
“Perhaps
when you taught him, but now . . . I think you do him an injustice. Kieransar knows exactly what his father
thinks of the Way, and I’ve noticed that the Emperor is the one person he
doesn’t want to disappoint.”
“Your
ability to discern is far better than mine, Hishtari.”
Even
though he spoke only the truth, Hishtari still thawed slightly at the
compliment. “Diplomat,” she muttered.
He
huffed at her dig, then looked toward the door. “I suppose I should be away before someone wonders about the
length of our talk.”
“Congratulatory
visits do tend to be short, my Sa.” She
let her gaze become more conciliatory.
“Though yours has been less forced than some I’ve seen.”
Kelhesa
shrugged and cocked his head. “It’s the
diplomat in me.”
* * *
Hanesar’s
claws nicked polished wood as he tapped the table in irritation. “You haven’t stated specifically what he
told you, priest.”
Destori,
the First Priest of Hasshevar, took a deep breath before answering. “He has told me very little,
Sar. He questions a great
deal.” At the Emperor’s pointed stare,
the priest elaborated, “The only facts I know for certain are that Kieransar
felt something out of the ordinary on the Hunting Grounds and he wants to know
what it was. Though he refuses to go
into details, I speculate that whatever happened has affected him deeply. A case in point is how I became involved in
the prince’s search.
“A
few days ago, one of my assistants called me in the early daars of the morning
to answer questions he felt were beyond his explanation. The sun was high in the sky before I left
Kieransar’s rooms.” He settled more
firmly into the chair he claimed as his own whenever he met with the Emperor in
the private audience chamber. “It felt
as if his religious training had already started.”
“That
thought should fill you with delight, Destori.”
The
priest slumped forward slightly, affecting a frailer pose. “I am an old Varan, my Sar. I relish a full night’s sleep.”
“You’re
a sorcerer,” Hanesar growled. “You
probably have more years left in you than I’ve already lived.”
Destori
acknowledged the truth of this statement with a nod. Though nearly ninety years old, the priest had the health of a
Varan in his prime. No white streaked
the naturally blue-gray fur, and he still outfought most of the younger priests
he trained. Even the furred tattoos
that covered his left arm in a swirl of inks and dyes had not faded with time. However, it was his eyes that caught and
held the attention of others, those ageless blue eyes that betrayed his
profession. The mark of a sorcerer.
Even
the Emperor had trouble meeting those cerulean orbs for long, though he
tried. What aren’t you telling me,
priest? he wondered as he returned the conversation to its original
topic. “But Kieransar’s ‘experience,’
his recent behavior--none of this can be attributed to the poisoning?”
Destori
shook his head. “Inquisitiveness is not
one of banil’s symptoms, no, Hanesar.”
The Emperor searched the old priest’s face for any hint of humor but
found only seriousness. The priest
added, “And neither are hallucinations.”
“So
you spent an entire day with my son, and you can tell me nothing specific?”
“I
wouldn’t place it at that extreme, my Sar.
His questions do have a certain pattern to them.”
“And
what kinds of questions did he ask?”
“They
center around which gods have the power to contact him directly.”
Hanesar’s
hand reached absently toward his whiskers as he pondered what he had just
heard. “So we’re back to whatever he
felt on the Hunting Grounds.”
“As
I said, the incident seems to have made a deep impression. I told him that only the highest gods in the
Hierarchy have such authority. Of
those, three are currently known to intervene so obviously in mortal
affairs.” He paused. “Unfortunately, the prince seemed
dissatisfied with our answers.”
“How
so?”
“These
gods would give certain distinct signs to prove their legitimacy.” Destori shifted forward in his chair, elbows
resting lightly on the tabletop. “Some
of them you probably learned in school, like Cala and her spear of light. Others are known only to the priesthood, to
confirm a vision or manifestation.”
“So,
you are having a problem identifying one?”
“I
wish it were that easy,” Destori muttered.
“Kieransar maintains that no such manifestations appeared. Frankly, we in the Order are at a loss.”
“None
of our gods fit?”
“None. In fact, Kieransar seemed to expect that.”
“Why? Did he have another god in mind already?”
“It
is a possibility.”
Hanesar
rolled his whiskers in contemplation.
“Has he made any references to Kelhesa’s religion?”
“The
Way?” Destori snorted. “When we asked him if he had heard about it,
he said, and I quote, ‘If it could have any bearing on my experience, I want to
know more. What can you tell me?’“ The priest gave Hanesar an amused look. “Your son is quite adept at answering a
question with a question.”
“So
what is your opinion, Destori? Should I
be concerned about his unusual behavior?”
“Yes,
I believe so.”
“Then
what do you advise?”
The
old priest’s eyes unfocused slightly as he turned inward on the problem. “There have been foreseeings . . .” he said,
more to himself than to Hanesar.
Gray
and gold ears riveted on Destori.
“Foreseeings? About Kieransar?”
Destori
stiffened slightly at his own slip, the only outward sign of his
disquietude. The fact that he had
reacted at all surprised Hanesar. The
sorcerer rarely betrayed what he was thinking.
“A few of the priests sense a coming unrest, a time of danger,” Destori
finally said, “focused in part on Kieransar.”
The
Emperor leaned forward across the narrow table that separated them, bringing
his eyes uncomfortably close to Destori’s.
“Why haven’t I been told about this before?”
Destori
glanced away, unwilling to meet Hanesar’s penetrating stare. “Divination is an inexact science at best,
Hanesar. We didn’t wish to worry you
unduly.”
“Worry
me, Destori?” Hanesar asked mildly, his eyes partially lidded. “Why should the fear of losing my first-born
son worry me? After all, he’s only the
hope of the Empire.”
“I
assure you, my Sar, the prince will sit on high as the next Emperor,” the
priest stated with unwavering intensity.
“Everything we have foreseen points to that. He will be the leader we’ve been waiting for.”
“And
his preoccupation with gods and powers?”
Destori
hesitated. “If there is something, some
power, trying to contact the prince . . .”
“What?”
“We
have no guarantee that this power is benevolent. I would prefer having him under our protection.”
“I
don’t think your priests could make the castle any safer than it already is,
Destori.”
“I
didn’t mean here, my Sar.” At the
Emperor’s questioning glance, the priest added, “I meant Tahlmin.”
A
look of stunned disbelief uncharacteristically crossed Hanesar’s face before
melting into a mask of concentration.
“Perhaps I should talk to Kieransar myself, first.”
Turnings
After
a six-day of constant occupation, Kieransar’s quarters appeared almost
habitable. The servants made sure of
that, once they discovered that the prince wouldn’t throw them out on sight as
he usually did when confined to his rooms.
Of course, the cleaning of his sleeping chambers had been done while
Kieransar was with Majisa. Pillows
which before had been scattered haphazardly throughout the chambers after yet
another game of “pillow-ball” to relieve the day’s tedium were placed neatly in
corners and on the prince’s bed. His
clothes resided in their proper places, and the disks of books stacked up
against the mobile computer terminal rested in their proper casings. Ivret, too, looked less harried than the
prince’s servants usually did under these circumstances.
The
Sar lay sprawled out on his bed with the computer terminal hovering beside
him. The toes of his injured leg peeked
out from underneath a medical blanket.
The thin, specially made fabric sent soothing pulses to counter the
itching common to such wounds. It
helped, though Kieransar’s hand still absently reached downward from time to
time while his mind pondered other things.
He peered intently at the screen, his ears first perked forward, then
laid back in frustration as if competing with the hardware itself.
Aside
from the clans whose specialty they were, relatively few Hasshevarans truly
understood the workings of the machines that made possible the ease of their
daily lives. A person spoke, and the
computers obeyed within the limits of their programming, making further
knowledge unnecessary. Even fewer could
communicate using the machines’ own language, and Kieransar was one of those
few despite his royal birth--an oddity, he realized, in an age of
specialization. He could say without
conceit that there were none better on Hasshevar, though he did garner a
certain amount of pride from that admission.
After all, he could not boast of his looks, since they had been
deliberately encoded within his cells, and though his intelligence was also
given to him, the genetic designers had intended that intelligence to focus on
the vagaries of interstellar rule, not the details of binary code. It was Kieransar’s independence, his way of
saying, “I am more than you made me.”
The
ringing of tones alerted the room’s two occupants to a guest waiting outside,
and the guard in the corridor called, “The First Counselor wishes to see you,
my Sar.”
Kieransar
looked up from his work and casually pushed a button, clearing the screen. “Allow him access.” Ivret opened the inner door to reveal
Kelhesa, still in robes of state.
At
least, he wore the hartain and medallion.
The customary floor-length and elaborately embroidered robes were
nowhere to be seen. Both Kieransar and
Ivret took a long second look at the counselor’s unusual apparel, the warrior
trying not to make his stare too obvious.
The prince didn’t bother to hide his surprised double take. “It appears I’m not the only one giving the
gossips something to talk about.”
Kelhesa
watched the prince’s reaction in amusement.
“I doubt that anything I do could make the court lessen its interest in
its foolhardy prince.” He crossed hands
to Kieransar before making his way to the nearest chair, a heavily padded one
with the requisite slit for the tail.
“How is my Sar feeling today?”
The
prince turned in his bed to face the counselor, wincing at the fire in his
leg. “As well as can be expected, I
guess, after being almost killed from a flesh wound.”
“A
flesh wound contaminated with banil sap, no less.” Kelhesa gave his former student a solemn look.
“How
was I supposed to know that the buck had sharpened his horns on a banilog bush
less than a daar before I jumped him? I
thought we had eradicated it from the Grounds years ago.”
“Weeds
aren’t known for their tractability.”
Was there a hint of a smile on his old tutor’s face? “And neither are Crown Princes.”
Kieransar
fell back on his mountain of pillows, covering his face with large hands. “I know, I know. I’ve gotten that talk from just about everyone who dared. I was wondering when it would be your
turn.” One eye peeked out from between
two fingers. “What do you do, put your
names on a list to see who’s next? Or
is it by rank?”
“We
draw lots.” The old Varan’s smile faded
to a troubled look, but he tried to keep his next words light. “And my sources tell me that your father has
decided by imperial decree that he is next.
But not just to talk about your battle scars.” He glanced meaningfully at the disk beside the computer.
Those
words brought Kieransar to a sitting position.
“How . . .?” He stopped as
Kelhesa’s ears twitched toward Ivret, who was in his accustomed place in the
corner nearest the door.
The
young warrior kept his back straight, and he looked directly into his Sar’s
eyes. His tail moved
uncomfortably. “My Sar’s reading
material is his own business.” The
prince sighed, realizing for the first time how much his servant knew despite
his precautions. As if he knew his
master’s thought, Ivret hastened to comfort the prince. “I would never betray you, keeper of my
soul.”
Kieransar’s
ears perked and his eyes widened in amazement at the use of so powerful a
title. It spoke volumes to the prince
about a side he had never before seen in his young servant. “That’s the Emperor’s role.” Ivret said nothing. The prince motioned to him with a flick of
his hand and said, “Speak freely.”
Ivret
shrugged. “I’m no expert on
religion. But the Emperor himself gave
me to be your strong arm. And if I am
your arm--”
Kieransar
completed the old saying, “--then I am your heart. Thank you, Ivret.” His
mind returned to the problem. “So who
told?”
His
gaze transferred to his old tutor, who shrugged. “One of the maids, perhaps?
It’s impossible to keep a secret for long in this castle. Especially when you draw as much attention to
yourself as you have this past six-day.”
The
prince gave Kelhesa a questioning glance, but it was Ivret who answered. “You have . . . greatly changed since your
last talk with the counselor.”
“Have
I?” Kieransar’s face grew
thoughtful. “I’ve been . . .
experimenting, I suppose, is the word for it.
Acting as if I were a Wayfinder, applying some of its precepts.”
Kelhesa
acknowledged that with a measured sweep of his tail against the side of the
chair. “You certainly have an audience
for it.”
“No
wonder my father wants to see me. Who
has he talked to?”
“Several
of the priests. Destori, of course, and
Jeleret--”
“Jeleret.” Kieransar spit that name out in
distaste. “I haven’t liked him since I
was a cub. Destori sent him to me after
we started talking. He is supposed
to be the resident expert on the Way.”
“Yes,
we’ve had many a talk on the subject.”
“Can
you believe,” and at this the prince shook his head, “that he doesn’t even have
a copy of the Book of Two Covenants?”
“Not
even the Library computer contains a copy, Kieransar.”
“So
I found out after my first talk with Destori,” the prince grumbled. “Emperor’s orders.”
Kelhesa
shrugged. “I’m sure Jeleret has much of
it memorized.”
“Only
the parts he disagrees with, it seems.”
“That’s
unfair, Kieransar,” Kelhesa admonished.
“Well,
how could someone get a balanced view of the Way if Jeleret’s the only source
of information?” Kieransar slipped the
disk into the computer’s slot. At the
counselor’s abrupt intake of breath, he raised a calming hand. “Don’t worry,” he said, a smile twisting its
way to the surface. “I disabled the
system some time ago. This terminal
only does what I tell it to do.”
“You’re
certain?”
Kieransar
nodded. “If my father knows about the
disk, he sniffed out its existence from somewhere else.”
“I
believe the disk is safe for now.
However, if you show more knowledge of the Way than Jeleret has exposed
you to . . .” Kelhesa trailed off
ominously.
“I
just don’t understand how he can feel threatened by this.” At Kelhesa’s glance, the prince
squirmed. “Okay, maybe I can a
little. But it’s not as if I’m allying
myself with Sebe or anything.”
“Hanesar
is worried about you. If he thinks this
‘absurd religion,’ as he calls it, might endanger your chance to gain the
throne, there is very little he wouldn’t do.”
Kieransar
winced at the tone of the counselor’s voice.
“Thank you for the warning, Kelhesa.”
The
old Varan watched his prince intently.
“I am always at your service, my Sar.”
“You’re
placing yourself in an awkward position, you know. The priests already suspect you’ve talked to me about the Way.”
“However,
neither they nor the Emperor know how much to attribute to me and how much to
your…” Kelhesa pulled his chair closer to the prince’s bed, “renowned
stubbornness.”
“And
the disk?” Kieransar asked in a nervous tone.
“We’ll
have to make certain Hanesar never knows I gave it to you,” the counselor
answered firmly.
“I’ll
think of something to tell him if he does know I have it. Besides, losing it won’t hurt my studies
either way. I’ve scanned it into the
memory banks of the Library.”
“And
when your father orders it deleted?”
Kieransar
sat up straighter. “He may find that a
little harder than he thinks.”
The
old Varan waited for more of an answer.
When he didn’t receive one, he asked, “How will you stop it?”
The
prince tapped the computer’s keyboard methodically. “I’ll tell you once I talk with my father. Maybe we won’t need to worry.” But his scent told the others how unlikely
he thought that scenario was.
* * *
Less
than a haat after Kelhesa left, Hanesar made his planned visit. Kelhesa must have some kind of
information network, Kieransar thought admiringly. I should take notes.
As
the door opened to let his father enter, the prince found himself oddly
detached from his surroundings. This
was the moment he had been dreading. Strange. It’s not as if I’ve already made a decision
or anything.
The
Emperor walked into the room and stood at the foot of his son’s bed. Tail twitching uncomfortably, he waited for
a servant to bring in his favorite chair.
He scanned the prince from ears to feet, not saying a word. Kieransar sat patiently, betraying nothing
to his father’s probing yellow eyes, a trick he had learned from that self-same
monarch.
As
soon as his chair had been placed by his son’s bedside, Hanesar waved the
servants out of the prince’s chambers.
He hesitated at the chair as if making a choice, then positioned himself
precariously on the edge of Kieransar’s bed.
The
prince’s eyes absently sought out the Emperor’s wrists, but any scars hid
underneath large communicator bands that allowed constant contact with every
part of the castle. As he watched the
blinking lights, Kieransar realized that he had never seen his father without
them; they had been a part of the image he had of the Sar for as long as he
could remember. I wonder in how many
other ways I’ve mixed “the Emperor” with “Father”?
“The medics tell me that you’re doing
well,” Hanesar began, sniffing the air.
“A few more days of observation here, and then you’re free of them, at
least until the next time.”
Kieransar
lowered his eyes. “I’m hoping to avoid
a ‘next time,’” he said as his hand once again crept down his leg. He quickly suppressed that urge.
“No
dizziness, no movement problems?” A
tremor in the Emperor’s voice caught the prince’s attention.
Kieransar
shook his head, suppressing a smile. Why,
he’s as nervous as I am. Maybe this
won’t be as bad as I thought. “Just
an itch I know I’m not supposed to scratch,” he remarked.
Hanesar
aimed a glance at the stacks on the table before him. “You have been spending a great deal of your time at your
terminal, I see.” He picked up a
handful of disks and read their titles.
“The Great Spiral, The Stories of Romafta and Her Servants,
A Complete Index to the Hierarchy.
Thinking of joining the Order?”
“Just
interested, that’s all.”
Returning
the disks to their original resting place, the Emperor asked, “Why didn’t you
just access the Library’s listing?
These are all in there.”
“I
never connect my personal terminal to an outside source,” the prince stated
emphatically. At Hanesar’s questioning
gaze, he added, “If I can enter another information center, someone can enter
mine.”
Hanesar
arched his whiskers forward, then quickly back to their original position. “Secrets, son?”
“Of
course,” Kieransar answered, startled as he realized the battle of wits had
begun.
“Is
your current preoccupation one of them?”
“No,”
he said and grinned disarmingly. “After
all, you know about it.”
Hanesar
slapped the blanket with his tail. “So
tell me about it.”
“Well,
considering how important the gods are to maintaining the Empire, I figured I
should find out more about them.”
“What
made you take such an interest in the gods now?” Hanesar asked.
“One
seems to have taken an interest in me.”
The prince made a display of rearranging the blanket around his leg with
one hand before adding, “Who am I to disregard a god?”
“Can’t
you wait until you’re twenty-one to choose a god like everyone else?” Hanesar
asked lightly, resting his hand on the prince’s arm.
“I’m
just precocious.” The prince’s face
closed to a more serious gaze. “Father,
I felt something on the Hunting Grounds.
I’ve checked the scanners, and I could find nothing out of the ordinary
in that sector during my hunt. Only
Malkut was anywhere near me; all of the other life signs were animal.”
“From
that you’re certain you met a god?”
“If
it wasn’t a god, it was a good imitation.”
Kieransar leaned toward his father, covering Hanesar’s hand with his
own. “That’s why I’m talking so much to
the priests. I want to investigate any
god who might have done this.”
“Even
Kelhesa’s god?”
Kieransar
didn’t even blink at that challenge.
“If his god has something to say, yes.”
“So
you’ve talked to him about this?”
“Would
you recommend that?”
“No.” Hanesar’s tone was clipped, but he didn’t
pull away from his son. “I wouldn’t.”
“Why
not?”
The
Emperor closed his eyes tightly, a sign Kieransar recognized as deep
concentration. “That religion is for
another race, another time. The people
who wrote its Book of Two Covenants are long dead.”
“Have
you read the Book?”
“Some
of it.”
“I
would read all of it if I could. Then I
could make a decision about the Way based on all of the facts.”
“Why
is it so important for you to learn more about this alien religion? It’s not as if the Hierarchy doesn’t give
you any choices.”
“I
want to learn about them, too.” His
voice rose with excitement. “I want to
know what the gods promise and command.
What they desire from us. What
our purpose is, both now and in the Spiral to come.” Kieransar leaned back, his strength spent.
The
Emperor smiled sadly. “I’ve had this
conversation before.” Kieransar aimed
both ears at him, and Hanesar sighed and squeezed his son’s hand. “Kelhesa said many of the same things when
he became a Wayfinder.”
The
prince cocked his head in confusion. “I
haven’t made a decision yet.” Hanesar
looked unconvinced. “No, really. I don’t know enough yet.”
“And
if you had to decide now?”
Kieransar
was silent for a long moment under Hanesar’s probing eyes. “What would your reaction be if I chose the
Way?”
Hanesar
rose from the bed and walked to his chair, twirling it musingly. “It’s more exciting, isn’t it?” he remarked
slowly, not looking at his son. “A new
god with a new message. Far more
glamorous than the staid and solid gods of the Hierarchy.”
The
tip of Kieransar’s tail curled indignantly.
“You make it sound like something a cub would do.”
“Isn’t
it like a cub to rush in all unknowing?”
“But
that’s why I want to investigate this for myself.” The prince blinked tiredly, trying to focus his thoughts,
realizing how unready he was for this conversation. “It’s important to me,” he pled.
Hanesar’s
eyes softened at the sight of his son’s weakness, and he returned to his place
on the bed. “Then it’s important to me
too, son,” he said, stroking the younger Varan’s cheek. “And you’re right. This issue needs to be studied.
It’s good that the priests are involved already. This problem of the Way should have been
worked out years ago.”
The
prince moved his head back. “Worked out
how?”
“We
have enough information about the religion to compare this god’s powers and
preferences to those of our own.” The
Emperor visibly relaxed as he pondered this solution. “Sacred creatures, spheres of influence, and the like. It should be possible to discover where he
fits in the Hierarchy.”
“What
if he doesn’t want a place in the Hierarchy?” Kieransar asked tentatively.
“What?”
“Well,
the Hierarchy presupposes many gods, each with his or her specialty. What if this god claims he has power over
everything, that he’s not limited to a specific role or niche in the cosmos?”
Hanesar
waved that thought away with a partially sheathed hand. “Nonsense.
Nothing has so much power. It’s
that kind of arrogance that set me against the Way in the first place.”
Kieransar
tried to control his angered smell, his flexing claws, but he was too
tired. “Why are you so afraid of this
god? You ban his works, persecute his
followers, why?”
Hanesar
still did not raise his voice. “Should
we allow into the Empire every god who happens to gain adherents, no matter what
nonsense they spout?”
Kieransar
bit back a bitter tone for a more reasonable one, wishing that his father
weren’t so good at nettling him. “If
it’s nonsense, the light of day will reveal it. There’s no need to forbid it.”
“Son,
the people of the Empire are not as discerning as you may think. Even today, we sometimes find hidden covens
dedicated to Sebe or Mofta. Would you
truly want their followers to openly live in the Empire? Some with positions in the castle, perhaps?”
“Those
gods have proven their alliance with the Void.
This one makes claims of the Spiral.”
“You
argue passionately for someone who hasn’t made a choice yet.”
Kieransar
drew in a ragged breath. “I’m tired,
Father. So much has happened, I don’t
know what to think--”
“Then
forget about this for a time. Wait a
couple of years.”
“I
can’t do that.”
“Very
well.” Hanesar’s voice took on a
commanding edge. “As soon as the medics
pronounce you fit to travel, I’m sending you to Tahlmin.”
“The
planet of the First Priest?” The prince
brought himself up on his elbows. “But
there’s no need--”
Hanesar
pushed his son back gently into the pillows.
“If there is an outside force trying to reach you, I want you as well
protected as possible. You would have
gone for religious training when you had your twenty-first birthday
anyway.” The Emperor shrugged. “You’ll just start early.”
“Two
years early!” Smells of confusion and
anger rose in a nose-wrinkling combination.
“Besides, I’m in no danger here.”
“You’re
obsessed, Kieran.”
“I
always go into things wholeheartedly.”
“Not
like this. It’s not natural. Your words alarm me.”
“You’re
turning my life into chaos over something I said?”
“I
made the decision to send you away even before we talked.” Hanesar pushed a button on his wristband. “The priests agree. I’ll be sending Jeleret with you.”
“So
he can mold me back into something you can use, is that it?”
“Kieransar!”
He
ignored his father’s hiss. “Is it so
dangerous for me to think for myself instead of reciting the thoughts my
teachers put there?”
The
Emperor cocked an inquiring ear. “How
can you be so certain that these are your thoughts?”
“How
could I be certain of my thoughts on Tahlmin?
The priests have a vested interest in keeping me in line.” Before he could continue, the door tones
rang.
“Permit
entrance,” Hanesar said to the computer.
The
door opened, and Jeleret walked in.
Kieransar turned away in disgust.
Like Destori, the marks on Jeleret’s arm showed his affiliation with the
sorcerous side of the Order, though his eyes had not yet deepened into that
soul-piercing blue. He gave hnismuth to
the two and asked the Emperor, “You called me, my Sar?”
“Have
you made arrangements for your people?”
The
priest gave hnismuth again in affirmation.
“As you ordered. The Conqueror
has more than enough room--”
“No.” Both priest and Emperor returned their gaze
to the prince as he spoke. “I don’t
want you along, Jeleret.”
“But
I would be more than happy to instruct you during the trip to Tahlmin, my
prince.”
“When
we get to Tahlmin,” Kieransar snarled, “you will have five years to do what you
will with me, priest. Until then, you
can keep your sorcerous claws away from me.”
One
of Hanesar’s ears rose in shock, a loud admission from one normally so
reserved.
The
priest inclined his head slightly. “As
you wish, young Sar.”
“Kieransar,”
the Emperor began warningly.
“There
is no need, my Sar,” the priest protested.
“I understand completely. Your
son is still weak, and--”
“And
had he been less antagonistic, I might have changed my mind,” the Emperor
interrupted.
At
Hanesar’s words, Kieransar realized that he had just made a monumental
mistake. “But you said you’d already
made the decision.”
“I
say many things to test the reactions of others.” Unblinking yellow eyes betrayed his father’s anger. The Emperor looked at the priest and angled
his head toward the door. After Jeleret
left the room, he continued, “I don’t
know who or what warped your perceptions, but I will find out.”
“What
did I say? I’ve never liked that
priest. You know that.”
“It’s
not just what you’ve said, it’s your attitude, your conduct.”
The
prince turned to Hanesar in desperation.
“Father, I’ll take instruction under the priests, I’ll accept some of
their members as part of my own guard if necessary, just don’t make me go to
Tahlmin!”
“I
have spoken.”
Kieransar’s
voice dropped to a whisper in an attempt to contain his fury. “Forgive me, my S-sar,” he hissed. “My injury forces me to sleep now.” He turned his back on his father and closed
his eyes.
The
Emperor turned slowly from the tense form of his outraged son and opened the
door. As the door slid shut behind him,
he slumped slightly, so slightly that even those nearby him did not notice the
change. “Forgive me, son.” No one heard those words. “I do love you.”
* * *
When
Kelhesa walked into the prince’s room that evening, he found Kieransar busily
at work on a second terminal, hardly turning an ear toward the counselor. “You’re just in time to see my revenge.”
Kelhesa
cocked his head. “Revenge?” he asked
softly.
“Sorry. Wrong word.” But Kieransar didn’t look very contrite. “I’ve almost finished a program that will
make this book the most available story in the Empire.” He tapped in a few more codes, waiting
patiently for their effect.
“What
are you doing, Kieran?” the counselor asked warningly.
The
prince winced at the use of his cubhood name, knowing from experience that
Kelhesa would not rest without an explanation.
Now. “Do you remember the
intruder code that invaded the computers a few years ago, the one that baffled
the technicians for over a year until it mysteriously disappeared? How it kept replicating itself, and no one
could stop it?” A mischievous
expression crossed his face.
“Yes,
but . . .” Then Kelhesa realized what
his former charge was saying, and he laid his ears back in astonishment. “You did that?”
The
prince’s fur ruffled in pleasure at his mentor’s reaction. “I should have been born a technician. Computers, I understand.” The screen flickered, and Kieransar’s
fingers danced once again over the keyboard.
“I’m modifying that code to carry this file with it wherever it
goes. But there’s one difference
between this code and the original.
This one doesn’t have a limited life cycle.”
Kelhesa
shook his head in computer-illiterate exasperation. “A limited what?”
“Life
cycle. It won’t stop like the other one
did. Whenever someone uses the Central
Library, which is every time a ship comes into port, the intruder code will
invade the onboard computer. It’s a
very quiet code, not wanting to call attention to itself. It probably won’t be discovered for
twelve-days. It doesn’t destroy
anything, and it really won’t take that much space, considering how big the
Library computers are. But every once
in a while, someone will activate it.
If they try to erase it, or they come into contact with uninfected
software, the code will order the computer to make copies of the file.” He tapped a few more keys, and the screen
went blank. The prince looked up in
triumph at Kelhesa, who was smoothing back his whiskers in contemplation. “Done.
Now this book will go everywhere.”
He grimaced. “Even Tahlmin. What did I ever do to deserve this?”
“The
same thing I did, I suppose,” Kelhesa mused.
“You spoke your mind.”
“My
mistake.”
“At
least you won’t go alone. I volunteered
to go with you. After all, I know more
about the Way than our resident expert Jeleret.”
“And
my father agreed?”
“Not
entirely. I can teach you for the
twelve-day that it takes to reach Tahlmin.
After that, Hanesar wants you to confine your studies to the Hierarchy.”
“Under
Jeleret’s watchful eye, I suppose.”
The
counselor nodded. “Jeleret has orders
to steer you to a more acceptable god.”
“No
doubt by any method at his disposal,” Kieransar added, smoothing the hair on
his arms back down.
Kelhesa
considered the implications of that statement before replying, “They would need
Hanesar’s explicit authorization to go beyond a certain level of persuasion.”
“Why
doesn’t that make me feel any better?”
“At
least you won’t have to worry about the priests on the way to Tahlmin; they’ll
be traveling on one of the warships. I
did gain that concession from your father.”
“I’m
surprised you even bothered to fight for that,” the prince remarked sourly.
The
acrid smell of displeasure bit the air, and Kelhesa moved as if to leave. “If that’s your attitude, I could just
cancel this altogether.”
“Kelhesa,
I--” Kieransar tried to leap from his bed, but his leg gave out beneath him. The counselor caught him by the arm before he
fell all the way to the floor and helped him into a sitting position.
“Watch
yourself, cub. You’re not quite healed
yet.”
Kieransar’s
tail curled as the stabbing pain raced from his leg to the base of his skull. “So I keep reminding myself.” He waved away Kelhesa’s still-supporting
grip. “I’m fine.”
The
old Varan patted the prince on his shoulder before withdrawing the hand. “Well, then I should be going. I have packing to do.”
“You
won’t be in trouble for this, will you?”
“Well,
your father won’t do anything in haste.
He figures if he gives me a long enough branch to walk on . . .” Kelhesa shrugged the thought aside. “He’s just doing what he thinks is right.”
“I
know,” the prince acknowledged grudgingly, then added in a quiet voice, “I
don’t want to hurt him, Kelhesa.”
The
counselor gave his Sar a sympathetic glance, then left him to his thoughts.
Kieransar
gazed at the empty screen a moment before pushing the terminal away abruptly. “I just hope all this is worth it.”
* * *
Three
days later, the Emperor watched as the ship carrying his son sped away, a
shooting star in the heavens. Impatient
cub, he sighed. Why did you have
to choose this path? At least it
had been stopped before any damage could be done. Five years of training in the Order would surely overcome the
rebellious thoughts of a six-day. As if
one could choose a god in such a short time, with such abandon. The rashness of youth, he thought
sadly. But the old ways will win
out. They always have.