A Knight of Ghosts and Shadows Page 21

  odor of bodies, growls to drown out the piping at the windows. Some

  forty males had crowded between the frescoed walls of the mootroom,

  while more spilled throughout the building. They wore their common garb,

  tunic in bright colors thrown over sinewy green frame and secured by a

  belt which held the knuckleduster knife. But this was no common

  occasion. Perched on tails and feet, muscles knotted, they stared at the

  three on the honor-dais.

  Two were human. One they knew well, Kossara Vymezal. She used to come

  here often with Trohdwyr, brother to Khwent, Yffal, drowned Qythwy ...

  How weary she looked. The other was a tall man who bore a mustache,

  frosted brown hair, eyes the hue of today's heaven.

  Ywodh, Hand of the Vach Anochrin, steadcaptain of Nanteiwon, raised his

  arms. "Silence!" he called. "Hark." When he had his desire, he brought

  his gaunt, scarred head forward and told them:

  "You have now heard of the outrages done and the lies proclaimed.

  Between dawn, when I asked you to keep ashore today, and our meeting

  here, I was in phonetalk up and down the Obala. Not an ychan leader but

  swore us aid. We know what Merseian rule would bring.

  "Let us know, too, how empty of hope is a mere rebellion against

  rebellion. We have boats, civilian aircars, sporting guns; a

  revolutionary government would have military flyers and armored

  groundcars, spacecraft, missiles, energy weapons, gases, combat

  shielding. The plotters have ignored us partly because they took for

  granted we care little about a change of human overlords and might

  welcome Merseians--untrue--but mainly because they see us as well-nigh

  powerless against their crews--true.

  "Can we then do aught? These two have made me believe it. Rebellion can

  be forestalled. Yet we've netted a flailfish. We need care as much as

  courage.

  "To most of us, what's gone on of late in Zorkagrad and in space has

  been troubling, even frightening, and not understandable, like an evil

  dream. Therefore we went about our work, trusting Gospodar Miyatovich

  and his councillors to do what was right for Dennitza. Last night's tale

  of his arrest as a traitor stunned us. We'd have stood bewildered until

  too late for anything--this was intended--had not Kossara Vymezal and

  Dominic Flandry come to us in our darkness.

  "The whole planet must be in the same clubbed state, and likewise its

  fighting forces. What to do? Where is truth? Who is friend and who is

  foe? Everyone will think best he wait a few days, till he has more

  knowledge.

  "In that brief span, a small band of well-placed illwish-ers, who know

  exactly what they are at, can put us on the tack they want, too hard

  over to come about: unless, in the same span, we go up against them,

  knowing what we do.

  "This day, leaders will meet in Novi Aferoch and decide on a course for

  us. This morning along the Obala, other meetings hear what I tell you:

  Stand fast with your weapons, speak to no outsiders, keep ready to

  move."

  Father. Mother. Ivan. Gyorgye. Little, little Natalie.

  Mihail. Trohdwyr. And every soul who perished in our home, every living

  thing that did.

  Father of Creation, receive them. Jesus, absolve them. Mary, comfort

  them. Light of the Holy Spirit, shine upon them forever.

  I dare not ask for more. Amen.

  Kossara signed herself and rose. The boulder behind which she had knelt

  no longer hid Nanteiwon. It looked very small, far down the beach

  between gray sea and gray sky. Lutka her doll and Butterfeet her cat

  might take shelter in those houses from the wind that blew so cold, so

  cold.

  Strange she should think of them when their loss belonged to her

  childhood and most of her dead were not a day old. She turned from the

  village and walked on over the strand. It gritted beneath her boots.

  Often an empty shell crunched, or she passed a tangle of weed torn from

  the depths and left to dry out. On her right, a hedge of cane barred

  sight of autumn fields, rattling and clicking. Waves thundered in,

  rushed out, trundled hollowly back again. Wind shrilled, thrust, smacked

  her cheeks and laid bitterness across her lips.

  Do I comprehend that they are gone?

  If only things would move. They had hours to wait, safest here, before

  the ychan chiefs could be gathered together. Flandry had offered her

  medicines from his kit, for sleep, for calm and freedom from pain, but

  when she declined, he said, "I knew you would. You'll always earn your

  way," and when she told him she would like to go out for a while, he saw

  she needed aloneness. He saw deeper than most, did her Dominic, and

  covered the hurt of it with a jape. If only he did not see right past

  God.

  In time? I'll never preach at him, nor admit outright that I pray for

  him. But if we are given time--

  They had had no end to their plans. A house in the Dubina Dolyina

  country, an apartment in Zorkagrad; they could afford both, and children

  should have elbow room for body and mind alike. Quests among the stars,

  wild beauties, heart-soaring moment of a new truth discovered, then

  return to the dear well-known. Service, oh, nothing too hazardous any

  more, staff rather than field Intelligence--nonetheless, swordplay of

  wits in the glad knowledge that this was for the future, not the poor

  wayworn Empire but a world he too could believe in, the world of their

  own blood. Ideas, investments, enterprises to start; the things they

  might undertake had sparkled from them like fireworks ...

  It had all gone flat and blurred, unreal. What she could still hold

  whole in her daze were the small hopes. She shows him an overlook she

  knows in the Vysochina highlands. He teaches her the fine points of

  winetasting. She reads aloud to him from Simich, he to her from Genji.

  They attend the opera in Zorkagrad. They join in the dances at a land

  festival. They sail a boat across Lake Stoyan to a cafe beneath

  flowering viyenatz trees on Gar-landmakers' Island. They take their

  children to the zoo and the merrypark.

  If we prevail.

  She stopped. Her body ached, but she straightened, faced into the wind,

  and told it, We will. We will. I can borrow strength and clarity from

  his medicines. The repayment afterward will simply be a time of sleep, a

  time of peace. She wheeled and started back. As she fared, her stride

  lengthened.

  Novi Aferoch climbed from the docks at the Elena River mouth, up a hill

  from whose top might be spied the ruins of Stari Aferoch when they

  jutted from the sea at low tide. There stood Council Hall, slate-roofed,

  heavy-timbered, colonnaded with carven water monsters. In the main

  chamber was a table made three hundred years ago from timbers out of

  Gwyth's ship. Around it perched the steadcaptains of the Obala. At its

  head, stood their moot-lord Kyrwedhin, Hand of the Vach Mannoch, and the

  two humans.

  A storm hooted and dashed rain on windowpanes. Inside, the air was blue

  and acrid from the pipes whereon many had been puffing. Anger smoldered

&nbs
p; behind obsidian eyes, but the leathery visages were moveless and not a

  tailtip twitched. These males had heard what the voivode's daughter had

  to tell, and roared their curses. The hour had come to think.

  Kyrwedhin addressed them in quick, precise words. He was short for an

  ychan, though when he was younger it had not been wise to fight him. He

  was the wealthy owner of seareaping and merchant fleets. And ... he held

  a degree from the Shkola, a seat in the Skupshtina, a close experience

  of great affairs.

  "For myself I will merely say this," he declared in Eriau. (Flitting

  from Zorkagrad after receiving Ywodh's urgent, argot-phrased call, he

  had been pleased to learn Flandry was fluent in the language, at least

  its modern Merseian version. His own Serbic was excellent, his Anglic

  not bad, but that wasn't true of everybody here.) "The ideas of our

  Terran guest feel right. We in the House of the Zmayi have doubtless

  been too parochial where the Empire was concerned, too narrowly aimed at

  Dennitzan matters--much like the House of the Folk. However, we have

  always kept a special interest in our mother world, many of us have gone

  there to visit, some to study, and the inhabitants are our species. Thus

  we have a certain sense for what the Roidhunate may or may not do. And,

  while I never doubted its masters wish us harm, what news and clues have

  reached me do not suggest current preparations for outright war. For

  instance, I've corresponded for years with Korvash, who lately became

  Hand of the Vach Rueth there. If an attack on us were to be mounted

  soon, he would know, and he must be more cunning than I believe for this

  not to change the tone of his letters.

  "No proof, I agree. A single bit of flotsam in the maelstrom. I will

  give you just one more out of many, given me by Lazar Ristich, voivode

  of Kom Kutchki. Like most members of the House of the Lords, he takes

  close interest in Imperial business and is familiar with several prime

  parts of the inner Empire; he had friends on Terra itself, where he's

  spent considerable time. He told me the story we heard about Kossara

  Vymezal could not be right. Whether truly accused because she belonged

  to an overzealous faction among us, or falsely accused for a twisted

  political reason elsewhere, a person of her rank would not be shipped

  off to shame like any common criminal. That could only happen through

  monumental incompetence--which he felt sure was unlikely--or as a

  deliberate provocation--which he felt sure the present Im-perium itself

  would not give us, though a cabal within it might. He wanted to discuss

  this with her uncle. The Zamok kept putting him off, claiming the

  Gospodar was too busy during the crisis.

  "Well, both Ristich and I know Bodin Miyatovich of old. Such was not his

  way. It had to be the doing of his staff. Expecting we'd get a chance at

  him somehow, soon--since he was never one to closet himself in an

  office--we did not press too hard. We should have. For now he is

  captive."

  Kyrwedhin halted. The wind shrilled. Finally Kossara said, tone as

  uncertain as words, "I can't find out what's really happened to him. Do

  you know?"

  "Nobody does except the doers," he answered. "There are--were--Imperial

  liaison officers about, and their aides. Bodin had explained publicly

  why he, as sector governor, called in chosen craft that serve the

  Emperor directly, as well as those of the Voyska. Besides their guns,

  should Merseia attack, he wanted to demonstrate our reluctance to break

  with Terra.

  "Spokesmen for the Zamok--the Castle," he added to Flandry; "the

  executive center and those who work there--spokesmen for the Zamok have

  said they aren't sure either. Apparently a party of Imperials got Bodin

  alone, took him prisoner, and spirited him away to a ship of theirs.

  Which vessel is not revealed. None have responded to beamed inquiries."

  "They wouldn't," Flandry observed.

  Kyrwedhin nodded his serrated head. "Naturally not. Imperial personnel

  still on the ground deny any knowledge. Thus far we have nothing except

  the statement that a high Terran officer contacted Milutin Protich,

  informed him Bodin Miyatovich was under arrest for treason, and demanded

  Dennitza and its armed forces give immediate total obedience to Admiral

  da Costa. He's the ranking Imperial in the Zorian System at the moment,

  therefore can be considered the Emperor's representative."

  "And who is, m-m, Milutin Protich?"

  "A special assistant to the Gospodar. According to the announcement, he

  was the first important man in the Zamok whom the Terrans managed to get

  in touch with." Kyrwedhin pondered. "Yes-s-s. He isn't

  Dennitzan-born--from a nearby system where many families from here have

  settled. He arrived several years back, entered administrative service,

  did brilliantly, rose fast and far. Bodin had much faith in him."

  Flandry drew forth a cigarette. "I take it everybody's been pretty well

  paralyzed throughout today," he said.

  "Aye. We must decide what to do. And we've fiendish little information

  to go on, half of it contradicting the other half. Were the Imperialists

  essentially right to seize our Gospodar, or was this their next step in

  subjugating us, or even getting us destroyed? Should we declare

  independence--when Merseia lurks in the wings? The Imperials can't

  prevent that; our ships vastly outnumber theirs hereabouts. But if

  fighting starts, they could make us pay heavily."

  "You Dennitzans, human and zmay--ychan--you don't strike me as hesitant

  people," Flandry remarked. "As we say in Anglic, 'He who dithers is

  diddled.' The newscasts have been forgivably confused. But am I right in

  my impression that your parliament--Skupshtina--meets tomorrow?"

  "Yes. In the Gospodar's absence, the Chief Justice will preside."

  "Do you think the vote will go for secession?"

  "I had no doubt of it ... until I heard from Dama Vymezal and yourself."

  The captains gripped their pipes, knife handles, the edge of the table,

  hard. They would have their own words to say later on; but what they

  heard in the next few minutes would be their compass.

  "If you rise and tell them--" Flandry began.

  Kossara cut him off. "No, dear. That's impossible."

  "What?" He blinked at her.

  She spoke carefully, clearly. The stim she had taken made vigor shine

  pale through flesh and eyes. "The Skupshtina's no controlled

  inner-Empire congress. It's about five hundred different proud

  individuals, speaking for as many different proud sections of land or

  walks of life. It's often turbulent--fights have happened, yes, a few

  killings--and tomorrow it'll be wild. Do you think our enemy hasn't

  prepared for the climax of his work? I know the Chief Justice; he's

  honest but aged. He can be swayed about whom he recognizes. And if

  somebody did get the floor, started telling the whole truth--do you

  imagine he'd live to finish?"

  "She's right," Kyrwedhin said.

  Flandry drew on his cigarette till his face creased before he replied,

  "Yes, I'd supposed something like that
must be the case. Assassination's

  easy. A few concealed needle guns, shotted around--and as a backup,

  maybe, some thoroughly armed bully boys hidden away in buildings near

  the Capitol. If necessary, they seize it, proclaim themselves the

  Revolutionary Committee ... and, given the spadework the enemy's done

  over the years, they can probably raise enough popular support to commit

  your people beyond any chance of turning back."

  "If you have thought of this and not despaired," Kyrwedhin said, "you

  must have a plan."

  Flandry frowned. "I'd rather hear what you have in mind. You know your

  establishment."

  "But I am taken by surprise."

  Kossara spoke against storm-noise: "I know. If you and I,

  Dominic--especially I--if we appear before them, suddenly, in

  person--why, killing us would be worse than useless."

  Kyrwedhin's tail smacked the floor. "Yes!" he cried. "My thoughts were

  headed your same way. Though you can't simply walk in from Constitution

  Square. You'd never pass the Iron Portal alive. What you need is an

  escort, bodies both shielding and concealing you, on your way right into

  the Union Chamber."

  "How?" snapped from a village chief.

  Kossara had the answer: "Ychani have always been the Peculiar People of

  Dennitza. The House of the Zmayi has never entirely spoken for them;

  it's a human invention. If, in a desperate hour, several hundred Obala

  fishers enter Zorkagrad, march through Square and Portal into the

  Chamber, demanding their leaders be heard--it won't be the first time in

  history. The enemy will see no politic way to halt that kind of