Braxi-Azea - In Conquest Born Part 20

The Derlethans would not permit him to send aircraft low over the ice-fields, as he otherwise would have done to keep track of the young woman's progress. Since Derleth was to be absorbed and not conquered, the natives' will was law; ver Ishte couldn't take life-readings through the paniculate cloud-cover and therefore had no access to reliable information. "She would be this far" a Derlethan would say, indicating a point on the ice-map, "if she is still alive."

The unpleasant thing was, he had a feeling the Director of StarControl would kill him if he were responsible for her young protegee's disappearance.

Periodically, meandering packs of local life wandered close to the western mountains. An alarm would ring inside ver Ishte's ear-clasp and he would hurry to the point of possible contact; then the local life would pa.s.s on its way south, or continue north, or turn back to the east, and ver Ishte would be left waiting. So on this night.

The alarm rang shrilly, awakening him from a restless sleep. "All right!" he muttered, "what is it?"

A voice came through the receiver. "Section five, Amba.s.sador. Looks like a pack of kisunu. Major predators."

"And our agent would be among them?"

He could almost hear the other shrug. "You said to let you know any time a lifeform approached the mountains."

"Yes, I know." Already he was rising. "I'm coming."

Section five-halfway across the length of an unbelievably boring mountain range. When he had first come to the western mountains, he had thought them beautiful; pale white cliffs and ravines, matte here or glossy there as the snowfall dictated, but if you had seen one ice-mountain you had seen them all. And ver Ishte had been looking at them for nearly three years now.

He let the window of his transport fog over on the way to section five and didn't feel he was missing anything.

"Anything clearer?" he asked as he disembarked.

"Pack of kisunu, all right. Large ones-no young." The agent for this section handed him a copy of the readout. "And something that isn't a kisune."

Ver Ishte looked up sharply at the man; it was a question.

"Could be, sir," the other said softly. "And it's coming right this way."

Alive. If only she had made it across the ice-plain alive! Whatever damage had been done to her body, Azea could repair-whatever hurt her mind had suffered, psychic morale adjustment could handle. All she had to do was deliver herself to them. . . .

One of the Derlethan natives manning this post waved to him. "Over here," he called, in that monotonous collection of sounds that Derleth termed a language.

"One can see them."

Ver Ishte climbed up to where the native stood, on the last high point before the flat plains began. Sure enough, something moved in the distance.

"If it's a pack of kisunu . . ." he began.

"They do not come into the mountains," the native a.s.sured him. "They remain on that which is flat."

Ver Ishte took the news with a goodly proportion of skepticism. If three years on Derleth had taught him nothing else, it had given him an appreciation of how much his native guides really knew about these predators-and weren't telling.

They came swiftly, white upon white. Their approach was without shadow and from certain angles, when the light was right, they were invisible on the s.h.i.+ning plain.

"How many?" ver Ishte muttered.

"Thirty-six," the local agent told him. And then, after double-checking: "One of them's human."

Praise Hasha! the Amba.s.sador thought fervently.

They were clearly visible now, and if he looked carefully ver Ishte could pick out individual animals. They were each as long as a man was tall, or more so, and carried a good deal of body weight on slender but well-muscled legs.

"Is this normal?" he asked in Derlethan. "Some kind of escort-?"

The natives did not answer him. They had fallen to their knees.

He could pick her out now, a tiny figure staggering to match the kisune pace.

Her walk was uneven and spoke of pain-some injury, no doubt. His first instinct was to run forward to meet her. His second, that of self-preservation, kept him from doing so.

"Anzha lyu . . ." he whispered.

She had come to the foot of the first rise and laboriously began to climb. Now that he could see her face he discovered it was that of a stranger. Patches of dead white covered its surface, which had aged twenty years, it seemed, in three. Her eyes glowed with a cruel fervor which was at once more and less than human.

She felt her gaze upon him and raised her eyes to meet his. There was suffering evident in them such as he could only begin to guess at. Her cheeks were hollow with hunger and dark circles underscored her gaze; if he had imagined a manifestation of Death it could not have looked worse.

She seemed to struggle with her thoughts, as though fighting to recall the nature of human language. "Feed them," she whispered finally.

"Anzha lyu-"

"Feed them, d.a.m.n you!"

He waved hurredly to his own agents and they ran back to the shelter to get meat for the ice-killers.

"I ... promised them." She seemed to be struggling for each word, as though it were an effort to think in human terms at all. She looked at the kneeling Derlethans. "As well you should . . ."she whispered.

The men came back with meat and threw it to the kisunu. The starving animals waited until it had all been set before them and then, as was their wont, divided it into thirty-six portions. The last they left behind as they exited, each with his own rightfully earned share, seeking the silence of the ice-field and the privacy of the pack presence in which to share the joy of eating.

The young woman did not stir until they were gone. Nor did she wish to be approached. Only when the kisunu had pa.s.sed from sight did she take another step forward, weakly, as if she meant to join the human company but lacked the strength to make the climb. Ver Ishte went to her, half-running and half-sliding, and came to her as she fell.

As soon as he touched her he sensed what was so desperately wrong.

"By the Firstborn," he murmured, and rather than lifting her as he had meant to do, he sat by her side and cradled her in his arms. She resisted, as a wild animal will do, but only for a moment. Then with a low cry she buried her face in the fur of his coat and clutched at him in terror, and in need.

He held her for some time like that, sensing that this was something she needed more than food and warmth if he was to bring her home again. And she held him tightly until she could pull herself no closer, desperately absorbing the essence of humanity from him through the closeness, fighting to reestablish her connection to their mutual species. Slowly, gradually, the frightened whine which issued from her throat became a human sobbing; tears, which the kisunu do not shed, began to squeeze frozen from her eyes.

And the world was gray once more.

Harkur: Never underestimate man's ingenuity in masterminding his own destruction.

Twelve.

To Kaim'era Lord Zatar, Zarvati, son of Vinir and K'siva From the Elders of the Holding The Elders respectfully remind you that it is required of each purebred Braxana male that he sire four registered purebred children during his lifetime.

While we recognize that you are still young in age, your involvement in the War forces us to consider the possibility that you may not enjoy the full life expectancy of the Braxana'. Therefore we urge you to deal with your reproductive responsibility as soon as possible. Attached you will find a list of purebred Braxana" women who have not yet borne their quota. We hope you will consider this request in light of your military interests and do your part in maintaining the number and thus the power of our Race.

The Braxana estate on Karviki sprawled across acres of lush territory, richly purple in the fading red sunlight. The main house was an odd mixture of traditional Braxana (or Neo-Barbaric, as some critics called it) and the local architectural styles.

Zatar regarded it for a long while before approaching. It disturbed him in a way he did not fully understand. Many Braxana designed their homes to incorporate foreign elements (his own tended toward Aldousan) but the mark of the Master Race was always dominant. Not so here. The primary impression was one of gla.s.s: glittering, fragile, worked in patterns of rose and blue between gleaming stone arches. Not true gla.s.s, he knew, nor a modern subst.i.tute, but the aurastone native to this planet. Viewed from inside, it would shatter the sun's ruby light into a kaleidoscope of star-like fragments. Beautiful . . . but vulnerable. He had a warrior's distaste for any House guarded by such insubstantial walls, but was not surprised to see it. Given its owner, it was appropriate.

He glanced at the letters he had brought with him; one was a flatrendering of the Elders' message, which he had perused so often that the plastic was noticeably worn. The other was a message from Yiril, which he held in his hand a moment longer, re-reading it in the dying sunlight.

Kaim'era Zatar-lt means what you think it does. Make your choice with care.

Kaim'era Yiril, Lord and Elder Tucking the letters back into his tunic, he walked from the landing platform to the main house. It gave him time to admire the native sunset and its attendant blood-colored shadows. Workmen fell to their knees as he pa.s.sed and touched their heads to the ground in a Karviki gesture of reverence. Yes, he thought, there are advantages to leaving Braxi proper.

The door opened as he reached it; he smiled his appreciation of the timing, a subtle expression that received its acknowledgment in the groveling of the guard who admitted him.

"Kaim'era Zatar," he told him, "son of Vinir and K'siva. I would like to speak to Lady L'resh."

"The Lady is at home," the native responded in fairly good Braxin. "Please come in and be comfortable while I tell her you are here."

Zatar nodded and followed him into the House, through the forehall and into one of the visiting rooms. It was comfortably furnished in a Karviki/Braxana manner, this time less ostensibly native. Thick cus.h.i.+ons covered the floor, intri- cately covered in geometric examples of Karviki embroidery. There was a firepit, bounded on three sides by a lowtable of inlaid wood. A golden decanter sat ready upon its surface, flanked by twelve matching goblets, each with a spray of Rask bloodstones upon its lip. And of course there was the last of the sunlight, filtered through aurastone windows that were set in golden tracery, sprinkling the room with patterns of its own. He was pleased by the interplay of shadow and color even as he mused upon the rarity of such display in the Central System. There, this room would have been a conference chamber, hence without windows, and with a minimum of distraction. Here, the decorating was much more attuned to pleasure than to politics. It was, he admitted, very much to his liking.

"Lord Zatar. You honor me."

The woman in the doorway was attractive-all Braxana women are-but in a way that was alien to Braxi. Her smile was naturally welcoming, and if she meant him any insult by denying him his political t.i.tle it was not evident in her expression. "May I offer you wine?" she asked, and when he nodded she came to the lowtable, knelt beside it, and poured some. Blue, he noticed, surprised; one could take even the color of wine for granted. He sat down beside her as she offered him his choice of gla.s.ses, pleased to note that the cus.h.i.+ons were as comfortable as they were attractive. Seeing her, he could imagine nothing else.

"You are welcome in my House," she said formally, and with a wave of her hand encouraged: drink! He bowed slightly and did so, with genuine pleasure.

Her presence was even more pleasing than he had expected it to be, from her gentle appearance to the natural delicacy of her smallest movement. It wasn't an image he was accustomed to seeing.

"I'm surprised, of course, to find you here, but a visit from a Central Lord is always welcome and yours is no exception. Will you permit me to offer you further refreshment?"

"Please." He watched as she gestured to a servant in the hallway, issuing orders that were not commands only by virtue of linguistic technicality. It would satisfy this man to have food brought. . . . Briefly he wondered who served as Token Dominance, acting as Master of her House, and what the relations.h.i.+p was between them. Female-owned Houses were always a careful study in social balance.

She turned back to him, her face a thing of sunlight. "If you tell me it isn't some sort of business that brought you all the way out here, I'd be pleased. Of course, I wouldn't believe you for a moment."

At that moment the light entering the room must have fallen below some preset standard, for a golden beam from the ceiling ignited the firepit, which burst into matching flames. The fuel had apparently been scented; as, it burned it released a gentle perfume into the room's cool air. "Lovely," he admired.

She lowered her eyes, acknowledging the compliment. How strange she was, how non-Braxana! All the body language he had come to a.s.sociate with his people was absent in her, and in its place was an uninhibited lightness which seemed entirely alien to his tradition. Yet what was there in the social codes that decreed excessive seriousness? Even her manner of dress, though technically Braxana, displayed more individuality than Central tradition usually inspired.

The hands which poured him more wine were clothed in dove-gray sueded leather, and the surface of her matching tunic had been brushed to a soft nap.

The harsh line of the high Braxana boots were missing from her; instead of tight breeches and black leather she wore soft leggings of the same gray, and the tips of her footwear barely peeked out, matching, from beneath the hem. The only black she wore was a sash-which drew attention to her small waist-and a collar, which set off by contrast the glowing white of her face. Over her shoulders black hair spilled richly, thick with curls, a pure and velvet black to be silhouetted against the firelight. To Zatar, who was accustomed to the harsher Central styles, she seemed delightfully exotic and strangely fragile.

"If somewhat alien," he added.

"But pleasing?"

"Oh, yes." He sipped the wine and found its surprising lightness not without attraction. "Very much so."

"The Karviki excel in many areas, food and decor being two of them. I think one of the greatest advantages of living far out in the Holding is an opportunity to taste the truly alien. Don't you?"

"One of them." He dared, "Is that what prompted you to leave Braxi?"

He had s.h.i.+fted into a more s.e.xual speech mode and perhaps it was that which caused her to look away from him, as if something she saw in his eyes disturbed her. She forced a laugh; it lacked the spontaneous lightness of her previous expressions. "I wasn't Braxana enough for Central life, if you must know." She had begun the sentence in the Basic Mode but concluded in the Negative, as if to say that what lay beneath his words should not be discussed, was an unwelcome topic. "I found it nothing more than a progression of unwelcome political maneuverings, and the Central Braxana no more than the slaves of their politics."

She caught his eyes and her expression clearly said: men such as yourself. "I stayed as long as I had to and then sought out a better place." She leaned against the table, languid and comfortable. "Here I'm a G.o.ddess. The locals adore me. I feed their pride just by being here; would a purebred Braxana make her home on Karviki if the planet wasn't in some way superior? And that's what our image is all about, I think-certainly a just reward for all the social nonsense we put up with. But it's different here. I don't have to spend every waking moment proving I'm more Braxana than anyone else. These people take my racial superiority for granted. And they would do anything to please me-anything at all." She smiled.

"I like that."

A servant entered, bowed, and presented a golden tray for their perusal. "Sihk- tail, broiled in sekwa-b.u.t.ter." It was clear from his demeanor that he was bound to her more by awe and devotion than by mere wages. "A Karviki delicacy, Lord."

Zatar accepted a long, slender fork and lifted one of the bits of spiced seafood to his lips. He tasted it, savored it, then nodded. As if that signaled the appropriateness of the offering, L'resh had the man put it on the table between them.

"Most unusual," he a.s.sessed, not unpleased.

"Most of Karviki is, to the Central mind." She leaned forward, then hesitated, as if she lacked the proper words to begin what she wanted to say.

"Please be free," he encouraged.

"All right, Lord Zatar. Why have you come here? I told you-" she spoke hurriedly "-I hate the social games of your planet. And I don't play them well. So please, if you would just come to the point and explain yourself. . . ."

He put down the fork and looked at her carefully. Whatever doubts he had entertained regarding this move had been banished by the light of her presence.

"If I must," he said finally, then softly, as befit her person: "I've come to court you for Seclusion."

It was hard to say if astonishment, anger, or fear weighed more heavily in her expression; a moment later, however, all but the first had vanished. With careful control she told him "I've borne four living children."

"I know that."

"Do you also know what that entails? Do you have any concept of the pain involved?" Emotion poured into her voice-proud, angry, wounded. "Do you know what it's like to endure those zhents of waiting, to live with that hope, and never know if it's going to prove worthwhile in the end? A man knows nothing of such things, Zatar! I'm an Elder. I've had my four children for the sake of the Holding. What makes you think I would ever willingly go through that again?''

It was not in his best interest, he knew, but nonetheless he countered, "Perhaps I forget your earned t.i.tle as easily as you forget mine."

"Very well, Kaim'era," she snapped, and then, with an effort, calmed herself.

"You're right, and I'm sorry. The fact that men of your position were a constant annoyance to me during my years on Braxi is no reason to deny you your right to stand among them. Nevertheless, another Seclusion is out of the question; there are no words you can say that will change that. Surely you knew that would be the answer. Why did you come all this way just to hear it?"

"My bloodline is Plague-p.r.o.ne," he said quietly. He was using the Basic mode but added a s.e.xual undertone, to indicate that his attraction to her was above and beyond his proposition. "A condition that was probably worsened by my parents'

inbreeding. I think you can understand that if I'm going to be pulled away from the War to sire a child, I would like to create one that might stand some chance of survival."

"Is that the only reason?"

"Isn't it enough?" Her eyes chided him: Have it all out in the open. No games.

Very well. "I need a Seclusion close to the War Border."

"So you came all the way out here? Wrong direction, Kaim'era."