Hell Hath No Fury (32 page)

"With all due respect, Your Highness," chan Skrithik began, "I don't think having you-"

"Regiment-Captain." Janaki's quiet voice cut chan Skrithik off like a knife. Fort Salby's commander looked at him, and Janaki looked back.

"Even with Sunlord Markan's men added to your own, you have fewer than four thousand men," the Crown Prince of Ternathia said, "and you've got better than two thousand civilians to protect right here at Salby. Then there're the TTE work crews out at the railhead."

"And, Your Highness?" chan Skrithik prompted when Janaki paused.

"And you've got at least eight to ten thousand men coming at you, Sir," Janaki said flatly. "With dragons, and those lion-eagle things, and the gods alone know what other 'magic' weapons. If you're going to hold your position and protect the people around you-the Sharonian civilians around you-

then you're going to need me right here."

"But-"

"We're not going to argue about this, Regiment-Captain." Janaki looked chan Skrithik straight in the eye.

"It's the job of an Imperial Marine to protect civilians. It's the job of any member of the Empire's nobility to protect civilians. And it's the job of a Calirath to protect civilians. Who those civilians are, where they came from, and how many of them there may be is beside the point."

Chan Skrithik looked prepared to go right on arguing, but then he stopped. He gazed at Janaki for several seconds, and Janaki wondered exactly what the regiment-captain was seeing in that moment. In one sense, he was clearly chan Skrithik's subordinate, a junior officer the regiment-captain had every right to order to the rear, if he so chose. But he was also the Crown Prince of Ternathia, the Crown Prince of Sharona, elect. And what he'd just said had been the tradition of the Calirath Dynasty literally for millennia.

It was that long, dusty line of ancestors chan Skrithik saw standing behind him, Janaki decided. There were times when being the heir to the oldest ruling family in the history of mankind had its advantages.

"Granting what you've just said, Your Highness," the regiment-captain said instead of whatever he'd been about to say, "the fact remains that you can't be positive your participation will trigger fugue state.

If it doesn't, then having you here would be a pointless, and potentially very expensive, mistake."

"I agree," Janaki replied steadily. "And, as I say, I can't guarantee it will happen. But what I've already Glimpsed includes Seeing myself in fugue state." He really didn't like admitting that bit, but it was the best way to convince chan Skrithik. "That's why I think it's a virtual certainty that it will happen. And the same bits and pieces of Glimpse in which I've Seen that have also shown me that you're going to need me if you hope to hold this position."

Chan Skrithik flinched slightly. Then, slowly and manifestly unhappily, he nodded.

Janaki nodded back, grateful that some of the aspects of the Calirath Talent were so closely held. It would never have done for chan Skrithik to truly understand what Janaki had just told him.

"Assuming that His Highness' Glimpse is indeed accurate," Markan said after a moment, "then it's obvious we must warn higher authority and inform them of what must already have transpired downchain from here."

"Agreed, Sunlord," chan Skrithik said, glancing at chan Darma. "And we need to warn Olvyr Banchu and the rest of his work crew."

"We need to do more than just warn them, Sir," Vargan said. "There's no way we could pull all of them back to safety in the time we appear to have. To my mind, that suggests we have to send a detachment forward to help defend them."

"But if they are too obviously anticipating attack," Markan pointed out in a completely neutral tone,

"and if the Arcanans realize that, then are they not likely to alter the attack plan His Highness has Glimpsed?"

Vargan's expression tightened, but Janaki raised one hand before the company-captain could speak.

"I'm afraid the Sunlord has a valid point, Company-Captain. On the other hand, there are some fragmentary bits and pieces of Glimpse which suggest pretty strongly that the Arcanans aren't planning to attack the railhead itself until after they've dealt with Fort Salby."

"With your permission, Your Highness?" Petty-Captain chan Darma said before Vargan could respond.

"Yes?"

"What you've just said makes a lot of sense, actually."

"It does?" Vargan looked skeptical, and chan Darma shrugged slightly, his expression grim.

"As His Higness has already pointed out, somehow they've kept any hint of warning from reaching us, Sir. They couldn't have done that by accident. That means they have to know about the Voicenet … and that they've somehow been eliminating, or at least silencing, the links in the chain as they advance. If that's the case, though, then when they see a labor force as large as the one Engineer Banchu has out there, they're going to have to anticipate that there's a Voice assigned to it. And I doubt very much that they could believe it would be possible to completely take out that many people, that widely dispersed, before the Voice in question got a warning off."

"He's right, Orkam," chan Skrithik said. "They'll probably count on cutting the Voicenet chain here at Salby, or else slipping a raiding force past us to find and take out the next relay station up-chain. But they're not going to want to risk the construction crew's warning us that they're coming before they get here."

"I still think we should beef up their security, Sir," Vargan said after a few moments. "I know most of them already have their personal weapons, and gods know they've got enough heavy equipment to dig themselves in deep. For that matter, a lot of them are veterans. But most of them are still civilians."

"I'd certainly be willing to do that," chan Skrithik agreed. Then he smiled nastily. "Suppose we mount a couple of Yerthaks on flatcars and send them down to Banchu? We could send along a rifle company to back them up, of course. And what about sending along Platoon-Captain chan Morak, as well?"

Vargan considered the suggestion. Platoon-Captain Harek chan Morak was Company-Captain Meris Nalkhar's senior assistant, and Nalkhar was Fort Salby's senior combat engineer officer.

"I think that would be a very good idea, Sir," he said after a moment.

"Good," chan Skrithik said, then turned his attention back to Janaki. The regiment-captain remained obviously unhappy about the notion of Janaki's remaining at Fort Salby, but he equally obviously knew it was going to happen anyway, which meant it was time to make the best possible use of the resource Janaki represented.

"Very well, Your Highness. What can your Glimpse tell us about their probable attack plan?"

"Well, Regiment-Captain, from what I've Seen so far, they'll open the attack with a couple of those

'dragons' of theirs. They'll come in this way," he turned to trace a line from the Traisum-Karys portal through the mountainous terrain to Fort Salby, "and apparently the range of their … breath weapons, for want of a better term, is fairly limited. They have to get in close, so I'd say they're going to go for surprise. Which means-"

He went on talking, outlining what he already knew, and even as he spoke, other bits and pieces of Glimpses roiled through the back of his brain like unquiet ghosts.

Be patient, he told those ghosts. Be patient … I'll be with you soon enough.

Chapter Twenty-Six

"Sir! Sir, wake up, please!"

Division-Captain chan Geraith twitched awake. His eyes snapped open, and his right hand reached up and closed on the wrist of the hand which had been gently but insistently shaking his shoulder.

"What?"

He blinked, summoning himself back from the depths of sleep, then sat up quickly, eyes narrowing, as he realized he'd been awakened not by his batman, but by Company-Captain chan Korthal.

"What is it?" he asked his staff Voice more sharply.

"Sir, I've just received an urgent message. It's for you-from Crown Prince Janaki."

Chan Geraith's expression didn't even flicker, but he twitched internally in surprise.

"From the Crown Prince?" he repeated in the tone of someone who wanted to be absolutely certain he'd understood correctly. "Not from His Majesty?"

"That's correct, Sir." Chan Korthal's expression, chan Geraith noticed, was tight and worried, and his own inner tension clicked up another notch.

He started to reach for the bedside lamp to turn up the wick, then snorted and diverted his hand to the window shade above his berth, instead.

Like most trans-universal travelers embarked on a lengthy journey by rail, the men of chan Geraith's division hadn't bothered to reset their watches or readjust their internal clocks. They weren't spending long enough in any one universe to even try to acclimate themselves to local time zones, so they might as well wait for that until they reached their destination. Which meant that it was the middle of the night by chan Geraith's body's time sense, but brilliant sunlight was leaking in around the edges of the window shade as it swayed and bounced gently with the staff car's movement.

He raised it a fraction of an inch, letting natural light illuminate his sleeping compartment, then stood.

After so long, he thought as he shrugged into the robe his batman had left ready on the bedside chair, it would have felt unnatural not to have the floor vibrating and swaying underfoot. He belted the robe, then turned back to chan Korthal.

"All right, Lisar. What's this message?"

Chan Korthal looked at him for a moment, then closed his eyes. Because chan Geraith had no Talent at all, he required the services of a particularly competent Voice, and Lisar chan Korthal filled that requirement admirably. When he began to speak a heartbeat later, it was not his voice chan Geraith heard; it was the voice of his future Emperor, perfectly reproduced.

That was chan Geraith's first thought. Then the words chan Korthal was relaying so perfectly registered, and Arlos chan Geraith's face froze almost as solid as the ice forming in his veins.

"… so that's the situation, Division-Captain," Janaki chan Calirath said through chan Korthal's mouth the better part of fifteen minutes later. "What I've Seen so far explains a lot about the Arcanans' transport and combat capabilities, but I still don't have a clue why they're doing this. The fact that we haven't heard a word from Company-Captain chan Tesh, Regiment-Captain Velvelig, or any of our other outposts seems to me to represent clear proof that this is a carefully planned, well thought out offensive which they must have been putting together the entire time they've been ostensibly negotiating with us.

What that says about their ambitions and ultimate intentions-much less about whether or not there's any point even attempting to treat with them-is more than I'm prepared to speculate about at this point.

"I've relayed as many details of my Glimpses to your staff Voice as I could. Unfortunately, those Glimpses are not yet complete. If and as the opportunity arises, I'll send additional details. At this time, my best estimate is that we'll be attacked here within no more than forty-eight hours, and probably sooner than that. Preparations to meet that attack are underway. In my judgment, my presence here will be necessary if that attack is to be successfully resisted."

Chan Geraith's face was carved from stone. The young man who had sent him this warning was vital to the successful unification of his planet. His life, his function in that unification process, were vastly more important than the defense of a single portal fortress and the town about it. There was absolutely no question in Arlos chan Geraith's mind on that point, and unlike Regiment-Captain chan Skrithik, he was a full division-captain, so-

"That's all I can tell you right now, Sir," Janaki said. "Except to add this. Chunika s'hari, Halian. Sho warak."

The division-captain's eyes closed, and the stone of his face twisted. For an instant, he looked twenty years older. Then he inhaled deeply, and nodded.

"Sho warak, Your Highness," he murmured.

Chan Korthal's eyes opened. Like any Voice with the monumentally high security clearance the company-captain had to carry in order to serve as chan Geraith's staff Voice, he knew there were questions which would never be answered. That he would transmit information again and again which meant a great deal to its recipients, but nothing at all to him. As chan Geraith looked into the younger man's eyes, he saw chan Korthal's curiosity … and his awareness that this was going to be one of those times.

And he was right.

"Thank you, Lisar," the division-captain said quietly. "Please ask Regiment-Captain chan Isail to wake the staff. And have him include Brigade-Captain chan Quay in his wakeup call."

"Yes, Sir," chan Korthal replied, equally quietly, and withdrew from the sleeping compartment.

Chan Geraith contemplated the door which had closed behind the Voice, but his thoughts were far away.

They were with the young man who had sent him that final message in a language so ancient that probably no more than a handful of people in all of Sharona would have understood it.

Chunika s'hari, Halian. Sho warak.

"I am your son, Halian. I remember."

Chan Geraith closed his eyes once more, and let those words toll through him. The words which absolutely precluded him from ordering Janaki chan Calirath out of Fort Salby before the hammer blow landed.

"Sho warak," the division-captain murmured one more time. Then he straightened his shoulders and pressed the button to summon his batman with his uniform.

Alivar Neshok sat in his tent, glaring at the words of the report floating in his personal crystal. Outside the tent, the Expeditionary Force's encampment swarmed with activity. The follow-on echelons of transports bringing up the heavy cavalry which had been left behind weren't due to arrive for another several hours, but the preparations for the attack on Fort Salby were moving ahead already.

Moving ahead based on the information I got for them, Neshok told himself bitterly. Moving ahead at the end of an entire advance that's only been possible at all because of the information I got for them!

He managed to keep his teeth from grinding together, but it wasn't the easiest thing he'd ever done. He knew who he had to thank for Two Thousand Harshu's abrupt decision to "relieve you of the stress of the duties you have performed so outstandingly," as Harshu's memo had so cloyingly put it. Thousand Toralk and that sanctimonious prick of a Healer, Vaynair. They were the ones.

Well, we'll see just how well their godsdamned offensives go without me holding their hands and wiping their arses for them!

His nostrils flared, but even as he told himself that, deep down inside of him a tiny voice told him he should have seen this coming long ago. That in the end, it was Harshu, not Toralk or Vaynair. That the two thousand had used him to do a dirty job that needed doing without getting any of the dirt on his own lily-white hands, and that now Harshu had decided to discard him. That the gratitude, the patronage, Neshok had anticipated were going to turn out to be very different things, indeed, as far as Harshu, that

"noble" Andaran, was concerned.

But that was all right, he told that tiny voice right back. He had another patron, one senior to Harshu, and Two Thousand mul Gurthak would appreciate and remember his efforts on mul Gurthak's part.

He'd better, anyway, Neshok told himself grimly. If he doesn't-if he tries to send me for the long drop, too-he won't like what I have to say to the Inspector General. Not one little bit, he won't like it.

A raised voice shouted orders outside his tent, a squad of infantry doubled past, equipment clattering, and somewhere on the far side of the hot, dusty encampment he heard the rumbling grumbles of irritated dragons growing impatient for their meal. Everyone else was so busy, so focused, and here he sat, finishing up his routine paperwork like a good little clerk in a forgotten corner. Tidying up his reports, making sure all the blanks were filled in. And, while he was at it, doing some careful editing about his exact interrogation techniques, as well.

He glowered down at the crystal for several more seconds, then drew a deep breath and got back to work.

"This," Under-Armsman Kardan Verais muttered under his breath, "is a godsdamned pain in the arse!"

It became evident that he hadn't spoken quite as much under his breath as he'd thought he had when Junior-Armsman Paras chan Barsak slapped him across the back of his pith helmet.

"Less bitching, more digging," chan Barsak told him. The junior-armsman was noted for a certain lack of understanding for anyone who gave less than his full effort to the task at hand, but Verais wasn't particularly worried. Given how liberally coated his shirtless torso was with a pasty skim of dust, dirt, and sweat, even chan Barsak had to be relatively satisfied with his efforts.

Of course, Verais reflected, "relatively satisfied" wasn't quite the same thing as "completely satisfied."

"I don't mind digging. It's prying out the godsdamned rocks I hate," he said with a grunt as he heaved another head-sized hunk of stone to one side. "Besides, this is a stupid place to be digging a hole anyway."

"Oh, you think so?" Chan Barsak was just as filthy as Verais-not surprisingly, since he'd been the one doing the digging until they'd changed off again ten minutes ago. "You don't like the field of fire?"

"I like the field of fire just fine … I guess." Verais dragged a forearm across his sweaty face, then spat and watched the dust-darkened spittle disappear over the lip of the nearly vertical slope in front of them.

"We're a long way from the road, but I guess we can reach it from here. But we could've covered it better from closer, and without having to hump the guns and ammo all the fucking way up here! Not to mention-" he started swinging the mattock again, grunting the words between swings "-being a hells of a lot easier to dig in!"

"Yeah?" Chan Barsak looked over the other PAAF troopers working to prepare the squad's position.

Most of them were stripped to the waist, like Verais. Over half of them were digging in the hard, rocky, sunbaked mountainside, hacking out weapons pits that were going to be shallower than The Book wanted no matter how hard they tried. Most of the rest were shoveling the spoil from the pits into the sandbags that were going to go on top of those holes when they were done. All of them were sweating hard under the brutal sun, and unlike chan Barsak, the majority of them weren't Ternathians.

"Look," the junior-armsman said, searching for the best way to explain to a non-Ternathian, "if Crown Prince Janaki says a shit storm's coming, then you better believe it's coming and the crap is gonna be really, really deep. Trust me on this. What? You think maybe his family's been doing what it does for so long without figuring out how to get its shit straight?"

"Yeah, but-"

""thinspace"'But' nothing," chan Barsak interrupted. "If the Regiment-Captain wants us up here after talking to the Prince, there's no way in hell-anyone's hell-I'm going to argue with them. And if I'm not gonna argue with them, then you aren't going to."

"Yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I got it. I got it!" Verais grumbled, swinging the mattock still harder.

"Good."

Andrin Calirath jerked upright in her bed so quickly that Finena reared up on her bedside perch, mantling instinctively.

Andrin never even noticed her beloved falcon. Her sea-gray eyes were wide, unseeing, as she Saw with other senses, another Talent.

How long she sat there, frozen, Watching the horrifying images and sounds rolling through her brain, she never knew. But then, finally, she closed those haunted eyes once more. She sat very still, unmoving in the hushed, comforting midnight silence of Calirath Palace, and her face was white and strained.

"Janaki," she whispered. "Oh, Janaki."

"Are you sure about this, Platoon-Cap-I mean, are you sure about this, Your Highness?" Company- Captain Lorvam Mesaion asked.

Fort Salby's senior artillerist stood on the fort's western fighting step, watching as fatigue parties, reinforced by almost every male civilian above the age of twelve, worked with focused, purposeful intensity.

"Sure about what, Sir?" Janaki asked.

He'd come up to the stretch of wall between the two out-thrust bastions which flanked the main gates and climbed up onto an empty gun platform to gaze out towards the portal. Mesaion wasn't sure exactly what kept bringing the Ternathian Crown Prince back to this position again and again. From his own perspective, it was the ideal place to keep an eye on the preparations for which he personally was responsible, but he knew Regiment-Captain chan Skrithik had been keeping Janaki extraordinarily busy.

Too busy, the company-captain would have thought to be making his way up here every hour or so.

"Sure about putting those things up here," Mesaion said, jerking his head at the sweating, grunting PAAF troopers with sledgehammers who were busy spikingthe base plates of ten Yerthak pedestal guns'

mounts into the solid tops of the towers and bastions. Well, the reasonably solid tops of the towers and bastions; Mesaion had a few private reservations about how well they were going to stand the recoil of any sustained firing. The half-ton weapons themselves sat to one side, and getting those pigs up to the tops of the towers had been anything but easy. In fact, in the end they'd had to move most of them by brute force and human muscle power.