Requiem for Anthi: Anthi - Book Two (7 page)

“Unar has fought the usurper? But—”

“Fool!” Aural laughed scornfully. “Unar could not defeat Asan. No, no, my innocent, the Bban horde has risen. And the savages are victorious.”

Zaula gestured, her hands shaking. “They will come here next.”

Aural’s smile widened. She hoped the Bban’jen came quickly. It would be amusing to pit those savages against the fierce little humans.

She glanced at Zaula. “Are you afraid?”

“Aren’t you? No, you are not. What will become of—”

“If you are quiet, keep your place, and cause no trouble, you will be ignored. Do not ask questions, do not seek to impose rank on others, and do not go near Cirthe.”

“But—”

Aural raised a hand to silence her. “You are nothing! As long as you remember that, you will have shelter and food.”

Tears silvered Zaula’s dark eyes. She pressed her clenched fist upon her stomach. “Throughout season I carried that little circle of life within my womb, her rings entwined through mine. Now we are broken apart as cruelly as though I had born her in the midst of our enemies. Is your womb so barren, Dame Aural, that you have forgotten what it means to bear life?”

Aural stepped back, a breath hissing through her teeth. Rage filled her.

“You’ll regret your insolence!” she cried, and struck Zaula with her rings, leaving the fool crumpled and unconscious upon her cushions.

Gathering her pleated robes in her hands, Aural strode from the chamber, only to whirl upon the guard who had been waiting for her outside.

“Bar this door!” she said. “Let there be a guard at all times. No one is to enter. And she is not to come out. Let only food be brought to her. And very little of that.”

The guard saluted stiffly, too well trained to ask questions. “By thy will.”

“Yes,” said Aural, seething. “By my will.”

Leaving the guard behind her, she hurried along the corridor with its arched ceiling of stone and did not pause until she turned a corner out of sight. Then she reached out and caught a stone buttress, jerking herself to a halt. Her anger was a haze in her mind, burning through her until she longed to lash out again and again in destruction. She should have killed the fool. Stupid, arrogant
piedwah
—her insolence would not be tolerated again.

Awkward memories, long suppressed, rose into Aural’s mind. She remembered the days of heartbreak when she still walked at Asan’s side yet could not match her rings to his in order to create a child. She tried every physician, every healer. She even cast the forbidden stones at the Temple of Lli, risking her life on the chance of awakening ancient dangerous forces.

There had been a faction of political lobbyists who urged Asan to put her aside for a more fertile bondmate. Those had been days when she could not sleep for fear that she would awaken to exile, yet Asan had not put her aside. She’d been grateful then, so grateful she’d sobbed into Asan’s palm.

If only that Asan still lived. Aural’s fists curled tightly. The human essence that inhabited his body husk was a weak fool. Why hadn’t Asan fought to live? Why had he let the centuries of sleep stretch out until it was too late to come back to life? If Asan, the true Asan, had not died, there would have been no need to have taken
yde
to remain strong. There would have been no need to fight these wretched fools in order to bend them to her will. There would have been no disconnection of Anthi and no Bban uprising.

But regrets served no purpose. She walked alone; she would rule alone until Rim and Vauzier could be resurrected to join her.

At least now she had a child and a planet of her very own. Cirthe had been shaped and guided by Aural’s own rings in the last days before birth. It had been Aural’s bonds she had broken as she entered the physical world. It had been Aural who had felt the pain of that separation. It had been Aural who first gazed down into those small blue eyes and looked upon Cirthe with truth. Cirthe was unique. Her mental patterns were complex and powerful. She fed hungrily upon Aural’s mind, tapping knowledge as other infants suckled for food.

As for Ruantl…this miserable rock was all that remained of the once mighty Tlartantlan empire. The people here were a pitiable remnant of what had been a once-proud race. But she would rebuild the empire. The brief linkage with the human Saunders’ mind had told her about the worlds inhabited beyond Ruantl’s system. She would take those worlds and rule them eventually. The first step required bringing more humans here; thus, she had activated the distress beacons.

Now the humans had come, and she was ready to deal with them.

Glancing over her shoulder, Aural slipped a small vial of blue powder from her sleeve. She sprinkled some of it onto her tongue and pressed it against the roof of her mouth, closing her eyes against the bitter taste that gradually melted into a haze of comfort. Her rings steadied and grew powerful beneath the influence of
yde
. She was Aural, true leiis, Enchantress of the Winds and Keeper of the Blood. The ancient titles sang in her bones.

Swallowing the powder, she opened her eyes. She blinked slowly, bringing the world back into focus. Her sight was heightened on all levels, augmented by the drug. She could see molecular patterns, energy waves, and thought streams.

She smiled and closed her eyes, forming her rings into order. She quested the heavens for the ships and found one that contained no life. Puzzled, she found the second ship. Eight minds were there, some of them crudely receptive, some of them as blank and impenetrable as a force shield.

For a moment she considered seizerting there, but the distance daunted her. She could see and hear them; she watched them at work, sitting chained like slaves to consoles of equipment. They spoke to each other. Their voices were serious, high-pitched, and slow. She concentrated on their speech patterns, but those were difficult to understand. Monitoring their thoughts, chaotic and not ordered by rings, was not much easier. Frustration filled her.

She projected an image of herself into their midst. Several shouted. One jumped up from his chair, gesturing. His hand signals made no sense. He looked like an idiot. She frowned, displeased to find him in charge.

Then a second man, one seated apart from the others, unfastened the restraints around his body and rose to his feet. He was the calmest of the group. He spoke to the others, his voice sharp but controlled, and they quieted. He stared at Aural with a frown.

He was a short creature, matched in height to most of his crew, yet the top of his head did not come to her shoulder. His hair was the color of vegin wood—dark brown tinted with red—and cropped short to his head. His face was haired below his nose and across his jaw. His eyes were small and repulsively colored. She had never seen eyes that were dots of green in the center surrounded by the white of blindness. He could not have complete vision with such eyes. She wondered how he managed to do his work. Yet all the others had similar eyes and they seemed as unimpaired as he.

She let her image shimmer closer to him. His strange eyes grew wider, but he did not move. They faced each other.

Human
, she said.
Hear me
.

She spoke to his mind. He winced and lifted a hand to his temple. Then he turned away from her and spoke sharply to one of his crew.

Human
. She probed deeper into his mind, cutting across resistance barriers and drawing his chaotic thoughts into a small ring.

Must identify alien life form. Projection. Hologram? No, unlikely. Mental. Demos, my head aches. No telepathic hijinks with me. No! What the devil was Saunders doing all the way out here? I’ll have her busted down to the bottom. Knew her brother. Just as stubborn. Does this alien know her? Why haven’t they put out a communication buoy? Or at least fired warnings? Not even a fleet. Must be wide open. But who is she? Beautiful. A giantess. More than beautiful. Get out of my head, damn you!

I am Aural
, she said, steadying him. She forced his thoughts into order, seeking the ability within him to answer her.
Communicate your name
.

McKey. Angus. Captain Angus McKey of the SIS
Dorian Grey.
Number 444
—

Enough. Why have you come here? To conquer us? We are an independent people. This world is our own
.

We come in peace
, said McKey.
We
—

Don’t lie! I look upon you with truth. You have orders to investigate this world and if it is promising you will claim it for your masters
.

Our sensors have told us
—

I am not interested in your machines. Let us bargain together. I shall give you the mineral wealth of this world in exchange for your ships and crews to man them
.

I am not authorized to make deals. That is for my superior officers
—

Relay to them
.

McKey hesitated, then he said,
We are here in search of a downed ship. The
Forerunner.
Have you encountered either her or her crew? Captain Asos Lute? Navigator Rhyi Saunders? A criminal drone masquerading as Helmsman Blaise Omari? Hassid? Any of these?

Your questions are unimportant at this time
.

Have you knowledge of these people?

Aural frowned. She disliked his insistence. For a moment she withdrew from his mind. He swayed, his face paling to a queer gray color.

Yes
, she replied at last.
I have knowledge
.

Where?

First our bargain, Captain McKey. There is war and unrest among my people. Assist me, and I shall assist you
.

Her strength was exhausted. She withdrew her image from the ship and snapped back within the shaky circle of her own rings. Her eyes fluttered open, but it was a moment before she could see. Her breath rattled in her throat. She reached out and touched the comforting solidity of stone, cold and gritty beneath her fingertips. Her knees gave way beneath her, and she sank down in a heap, fumbling in her sleeve for the vial of
yde
.

She licked up the last of the bitter-tasting powder in desperation, then closed her eyes as it took hold of her and renewed her strength. She should not use
yde
so often. Her addiction might get out of hand. But this time her recklessness was justified. As soon as she had rested she would contact the humans again for their answer.

She rose to her feet and smoothed her pleated skirts. It was time to put the second part of her plan into motion.

The soft patter of slippered feet warned her a split second before a voice as tart as aged honey said,

“Plotting alone in the coldest corner of this old pile. Is there an aesthetic pleasure in it? Does shivering inspire you? But I am being disrespectful once again. How tiresome of me.”

Aural paused a moment, seeking to control her anger, and did not turn to face Dame Pasau until her expression was smoothed into nothing that would betray her. She had not missed the deliberate usage of the familiar “you.” Dame Pasau, like far too many others, refused to completely believe that Aural had returned from the mists of legend to supremacy as Tsla leiis of this miserable world.

“I have been to visit Dame Zaula,” Aural said as though her rings were serene and her fists were not clenched inside her wide sleeves.

The impudent expression vanished from Dame Pasau’s face. Suddenly she looked exasperated and old, her fawn-tinted skin withered at the mouth and eyes, the elaborate tattoo covering her forehead faded of its once-brilliant color. She had been born in the House of Spandeen and was still inclined to their love of excessive display. Her gown was all of gold, stiff and shimmering, with exquisite beadwork across the wide skirts and a pleated ruff standing up behind her head. She looked as though she were dressed for a visit of state, and for an instant Aural thought she was on her way to visit Zaula in the manner of custom.

“Poor idiot,” said Dame Pasau. “Does Zaula understand that there will be no visits, no feasts, no homage? She has never been an intelligent person. Her marriage to Leiil Hihuan was an unrivaled feat of political maneuvering on the part of her father and matriarch. But she must forget all that now. I hope you have not raised hopes in her head by going to her?”

Aural narrowed her eyes. “She is the fool, not I.”

“She should have died. It was a difficult birth. My head still echoes with all the screaming last night. But then she should have died when Hihuan did. Now she will meddle. She will drive Unar mad, or else bewitch him. He never could resist a pretty little body.”

“She won’t meddle.”

Something flickered in Dame Pasau’s eyes. “A riddle, is it? What have you done, locked her away? A waste of guards, especially now when Unar needs all the manpower he can find. The Soot’dla have arrived.”

Aural blinked, startled by that last, unexpected statement. “What?”

“Ah, so there
are
things you don’t monitor.”

Aural frowned, angry at herself for showing surprise and angry at Dame Pasau for provoking it. “They have come quickly.”

“Of course. It is an emergency. The Bban horde must be stopped from committing any more atrocities. Come,” said Dame Pasau, actually taking Aural’s sleeve. “Don’t look at me as though you mean to strike me dead for my impertinence. I’m too old to care, and there’s more at stake here than your notions of self-consequence.” She paused and cocked her head. “Or don’t you want to be present when I receive Dame Agate, the traitoress?”

Aural stared down at her, and after a second her anger began to fade. Reluctantly she returned the matriarch’s smile, recognizing for the first time that perhaps she had a better puppet here than Unar would ever be. Better, because Dame Pasau would assume she was an ally and would never know the extent to which she was being used in a far larger, far more serious contest.

Aural gestured graciously. “Lead, noble dame.”

The reception hall of the citadel was long and narrow with a tall vaulted ceiling that made it impossible to heat or light adequately. Fires had been lit in braziers set all along the room, but they were a poor, smelly comfort. Aural’s eyes stung from the smoke. She retreated, deciding not to go in. These petty political meetings bored her.