Alien Chronicles 2 - The Crimson Claw (24 page)

With every rapid stride, his rage pounded even more strongly through his body.

That anyone could dare to strike at Israi . . . that anyone could even dare think of harming her . . . his vital forces churned and boiled. He felt shaken to his very bones. What madness had seized the city of Malraaket, making it launch a treasonous rebellion against the sri-Kaa? He felt as though he personally had been attacked, and by his own people. Was he not the Imperial Father? Were they not the children of his empire, these subjects who had turned against his majesty with a violence both shocking and unjustified?

Suppliants were lounging outside his apartments as usual, hoping for a private audience. The Kaa’s guards of escort called ahead on their hand-links, and by the time the Kaa reached his quarters, those waiting to see him had been shooed away by the sentries at his door.

The Kaa passed through the tall doors of embossed gold that swung open for him. Making a sharp turn to the left, he entered his study. Only here, in this chamber of reflection and sanctuary, did he come to a halt and stand still, breathing hard, his mind wild, his tongue flickering in and out rapidly.

The study’s tall ceiling was painted in scenes from ancient Viis mythology. Its walls were paneled in expensive wood imported from offworld and carved by master craftsmen whose bones were long since dust. A massive desk, numerous chairs and stools, racks that held antique scrolls in elaborate cases made of ivern and gold, cabinets concealing modern data crystals provided by the archives, a tiny linkup with its own encoding lines for security, and a perpetually spinning model of the many planets and solar systems contained within the empire all served to furnish the room. Costly rugs woven on distant worlds covered the floor. The study was both a place in which to conduct the affairs of the empire and a refuge, where the empire could be shut out.

He had come straight here without thinking, without planning. Now, he stood in the center of the room, stunned by his own exertion, and had no idea of what to do.

Finally he strode over to a table which held a tray of wine cups with a matching ewer. The Kaa pointed to this, and a slave hurried forward to fill a gold and jewel encrusted cup with his favorite wine. The Kaa drank, gulping the exquisite liquid without tasting it. He tried to pull his wits together without success. All he could register was the burning anger inside him. His body had ceased to be made of flesh and bone. No, he was fashioned of wire, stretched taut and humming.

Only when he turned around did he see Temondahl bowing low to him. The chancellor—silent and unobtrusive until now—wore a coat of red flax cloth very finely crosswoven. He held his staff of office at exactly the correct angle to indicate his respect. With dignity the chancellor approached the Kaa and made a second, deeper obeisance. His motions were graceful and well-executed, but at that moment the Kaa looked at Temondahl without appreciation.

“If my presence displeases the Imperial Father,” Temondahl said, “I will leave at once.”

“No,” the Kaa replied, pointing to the wine table again. The same slave hurried forward to pour a cup for the chancellor, who took it politely.

Then the slave refilled the Kaa’s gold-encrusted cup and placed it in the Kaa’s outstretched hand. He drank, but still tasted none of it. Slamming down the cup, he turned and glared at Temondahl.

“Speak,” he commanded.

Temondahl inclined his head respectfully. “I was waiting to hear from the Imperial Father’s own mouth what the governor of Malraaket had to say. Was he more truthful with you, sire?”

“The same lies and excuses.”

“What does the Imperial Father intend to do?”

The Kaa glared at him. “How long until Lord Belz lands in the city?”

“I believe he has yet an hour of transit time.”

The Kaa curled his tongue inside his mouth. Nothing he heard pleased him. “These formenters of rebellion in Malraaket have committed a grave error against us,” he said stormily.

Temondahl, ever calm, regarded him without blinking. “The Imperial Father must weigh all sides of the situation—”

“All sides!” the Kaa broke in with fresh fury, filling his air sacs until the skin on his throat stretched painfully. “How many turns of the lie must we weigh before we perceive the untruth? We’re uninterested in delicate negotiations, or diplomatic care. We are injured by this. We have been deeply insulted, and we shall not forgive.”

“Sire, naturally the Imperial Father has been most concerned over the sri-Kaa’s well-being, but I have received another assurance from Lord Brax and Lord Manhaliz that the sri-Kaa is in good health. She is recovering quickly from this experience.”

“Experience!” the Kaa exclaimed. He pointed at his cup again, and again the slave refilled it. His fingers curled tightly around the jeweled sides of the golden goblet and for a moment he was tempted to hurl the thing, contents and all, at Temondahl’s pale blue head. “Experience! Our daughter mobbed in a riot. Our daughter attacked in open rebellion. The city should be razed to the ground.”

“Sire, please!” Temondahl said, beginning to sound concerned. “Do not judge in haste. The riot was not treachery planned and executed.”

“Now you sound like Unstuleid. That whining, shivering fool. He has bowed and cringed to us, but no truth of this matter comes forth. Is the Imperial Father considered stupid? Naive? Is the Imperial Father expected to believe this nonsense of emotional crowds, of excessive zeal and adoration? Bah!”

“The sri-Kaa is stunning,” Temondahl said carefully. “It is possible her presence overwhelmed the good sense of the crowd.”

“We shall not hear this nonsense,” the Kaa declared with a sweeping motion of his hand. “Had this occurred on a barbarous planet on the frontier side of the empire, perhaps we might believe such a feeble explanation. But this is homeworld, the very cradle of our civilization! These citizens were incited to rise up and smite the Imperial Daughter. Someone organized them. We shall know who.”

“The Bureau of Security is conducting its investigation with all due haste,” Temondahl assured him.

The Kaa paced back and forth, his tail swinging beneath the long hem of his coat. “The Bureau had better discover the truth of this plot quickly.”

“All preliminary investigations still point to a happenstance, sire. Suppose there was no treason. Suppose there was no plotting involved.”

The Kaa waved this statement aside, refusing to discuss such stupidity. “Are you asking us to ignore this event?”

Temondahl’s rill darkened. “Not at all, sire. I merely wish to point out the need for mercy. People have been killed—”

“Good.”

“Sire, consider. The guards have killed many, over a hundred citizens at the last accounting. Is that not sufficient punishment?”

The Kaa stared at him in disbelief. Was Temondahl actually advocating forgiveness? Was he mad? “We have not even begun to consider the appropriate punishment.”

“Hasty decisions can lead to unwise acts,” Temondahl said as though tutoring a young ta-chune. “Until the Commander General has assessed the situation and received a more accurate picture, let us not speak of destroying such an important city.”

“Malraaket is no longer our friend,” the Kaa said. “Planned or not, treason was done. They must be punished.”

“Sire, please have patience,” Temondahl said again, his pupils dilating in visible alarm. “There are other answers to be found. I realize Governor Unstuleid is a fool, yes, and blame must be assigned, but to destroy the entire city! Its importance to the entire homeworld . . . its contribution to our trade, our economy—”

“We do not wish to hear these assurances,” the Kaa said raggedly. His breathing was coming with difficulty. Again he puffed out his air sacs, but it did not seem to help. He felt as though a band were constricting his body. For a moment he felt quite dizzy. He could not seem to focus or comprehend what Temondahl said. Then he managed to draw breath again. He wished with all his heart for the sage counsel of old Gaveid. Temondahl—possessing the mind of a minor bureaucrat—had no understanding of the warrior heart.

“You speak of patience,” the Kaa said, his voice hoarse. “You speak of waiting. You ask us to stay our hand until more is learned. But hear this. Already we know enough to make up our mind. Malraaket has much to answer for.”

“But, sire—”

“Silence!” The Kaa’s voice seemed to echo loudly in his own ear canals. His heart was thundering inside his torso. He opened his mouth to pronounce the judgment, but the band was back, tightening around him. He felt a sharp pain stab all the way to the vital part of him. Gasping, he dropped his cup. It bounced with a clang on the floor. Wine splashed across the Kaa’s slipper.

“Sire?” Temondahl said. “Is something amiss? Is the Imperial Father unwell?”

The Kaa could not speak. The world was spinning around him. It grew dark, as though the lamps had been extinguished by invisible slaves. He could see Temondahl’s worried eyes staring at him. The chancellor leaned forward, yet was too timid to come closer.

“Sire? Can you speak?”

The Kaa was swaying on his feet. The band of pain around him tightened even more until he felt as though it would squeeze him in half. Fear touched him for the first time. He could not answer. With all his will he tried not to fall, not to give way to whatever illness had suddenly struck him.

Temondahl exclaimed something the Kaa did not understand and hurried past him to the door. “Guards!” he said sharply. “Send for—”

“No!” the Kaa rasped out, somehow by sheer will managing to speak the protest.

No matter how feeble, it was enough to stop Temondahl immediately. The chancellor spun around, staring at the Kaa with wide eyes. “But, sire, you are unwell.”

“Don’t,” the Kaa gritted out. His rill was standing up furiously behind his head. With the last of his strength he gestured at a chair.

Temondahl quickly beckoned to a slave, who pushed the chair over just as the Kaa’s legs failed him. He dropped heavily into the chair and felt the blackness come nearer. Again he fought it off, refusing to give way. His blood was thudding inside him. The pain grew, encompassing his consciousness.

Although he could hear Temondahl shrilly giving orders to the personal slave in attendance, the Kaa seemed to be far away. He clutched the arms of his chair harder than ever, feeling the carved wood crush ever so slightly in his grip. Meanwhile, the slave hurried out, then returned moments later with others. They bustled around, competent and well-trained. After peeling off his beautifully tailored coat, they loosened his clothing to give him comfort. One brought him a cup of chilled water, sweetened with the juice of ripe plubiots. The cup was held to the Kaa’s mouth. He sipped weakly, gasping for breath. Another slave brought a cloth dampened with fragrance, which was pressed against the Kaa’s fevered skin. A third swept a fan back and forth, while the first propped a stool beneath his feet. Eased by these ministrations, the Kaa closed his eyes and sighed.

Temondahl hovered nearby. “Sire,” he said, “in the name of the gods, allow me to summon your physician.”

The Kaa gestured, and when Temondahl ventured closer, leaning down, the Kaa reached out and gripped the chancellor’s sleeve. “No,” he croaked while inside his rage flailed like something bound within the pain. Temondahl was indeed a fool among fools. Could he not see that no one at this moment
—no one
—could know that the Kaa was ill? Not when the entire planet was galvanized by the news of the treasonous attack on the sri-Kaa. Not when the whole empire was waiting and watching, some with fear, some with eagerness to find any weakness. There were always enemies, always those anxious to seize the throne. The Kaa had to be strong, had to remain glorious, a figure larger than life to all his subjects, or there was no majesty. For without majesty there was no respect. And without respect, finally, there could be no throne.

The Kaa held on to Temondahl’s sleeve, refusing to let the chancellor go. He had not the strength or the patience to explain this most basic pretext to his fool of an adviser. No matter what path of bureaucracy and public service Temondahl had taken to get to this position, he did not truly understand imperial politics.

Finally, after what seemed like forever but was really less than an hour, the band of pain weakened, allowing the Kaa to draw full, deep breaths again. Sighing with relief, he closed his eyes and let his head lean back against his chair. His fingers loosened on the chancellor’s sleeve, but Temondahl did not move, as though he dared take no initiative action on his own.

Again, deep in his heart, the Kaa cursed his adviser and wished for someone better to guide him at this moment. But there was no one. Temondahl was the best of the available chancellors. The Kaa sighed, weary now to his very bones. In this newest crisis of his rule, he needed help and guidance, but he knew he must make his decisions alone, depending on his own judgment first and foremost.

A soft tapping sounded at the door. One of the guards stuck in his head. Temondahl hurried to him and stood in a way that blocked the guard’s view of the Kaa. There was a murmured exchange, then the door closed and Temondahl returned.

“Sire,” he said, his voice anxious and hushed. He crept up to the Kaa as though afraid the Imperial Father might collapse completely.

The Kaa opened his eyes and gazed at the chancellor in silent acknowledgment.

Temondahl bowed. “Word has come that the Commander General has landed in Malraaket.”

The Kaa forced himself to sit erect. He felt weak, but at least he now had breath enough to speak. “Let us know as soon as he makes his report.”

“Indeed, I shall, sire,” Temondahl promised him. “The technicians are working now, with all haste, to install a new link in the communications center.”

If there was a note of censure or rebuke in Temondahl’s voice, the Kaa did not wish to hear it. He closed his eyes again, aware that his private linkup here in his study was powered directly from the communications center. “Let them hurry,” he said. “Notify us when the sri-Kaa leaves Malraaket.”

Temondahl bowed deeply and went away, leaving the Kaa to rest. When he returned, sometime later, the Kaa was startled from the doze he had fallen into.