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
"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