Empyrion II: The Siege of Dome (25 page)

“Protect him from what?”

The young man glanced at his companion, who winced. “I don't know,” he answered hesitantly.

The Supreme Director's eyes narrowed. He clasped his hands and leaned forward. “A Fieri among Nilokerus physicians,” he said thoughtfully. Yes, it came back to him now. The fugitive caught in the Archives—thinking him one of Tvrdy's agents, Hladik had wanted to condition him. A Fieri?

According to Mrukk the Fieri had all escaped—aided, of course, by Tvrdy. Jamrog remembered the debacle well. It was Rohee's handling of the Fieri fiasco that had convinced Jamrog the time had come for him to seize power. If I had been in control then, considered Jamrog, the matter would have been handled differently. Huh! It would be just like Hladik to bungle the conditioning. Luckily this lipreader had some sense. Perhaps now he would have another chance to discover the truth about these Fieri agitators.

His head snapped up. “I would see this Fieri, Osmas. Send for Mrukk.”

The Subdirector hurried away to summon the chief of the Invisibles. Jamrog sat nodding in his chair. “I suppose you think you deserve a reward?”

“It has been said that the new Supreme Director is most generous,” replied the Nilokerus instructor uncertainly.

Jamrog sneered, his lips drawing back from his teeth. “Most generous.” He staggered from his chair, clutching his wrinkled hagerobe. “Go now. Wait below, and I will have Osmas bring your reward.” The Supreme Director lurched off, leaving the two Nilokerus gaping.

They found their way back to the lift, dropped down to the main level, and returned to the bench they had occupied before, there to wait in squirming anticipation.

At the sight of the Subdirector both men leapt to their feet. How much would it be? A thousand shares? Two thousand?

Osmas came toward the waiting men, Mrukk treading softly beside him. “I have brought your reward,” he announced when they had drawn close to the waiting Nilokerus.

The instructor flashed a quick, greedy smile at his pupil. “Our thanks, Subdirector.”

“Three thousand apiece.” Osmas produced a poak imprinter from his yos and raised its glowing point. “The Supreme Director wishes to demonstrate his unquestionable generosity to those who aid Empyrion. Tell your Hagemen.”

He held the stylus up and took the first Nilokerus by the arm.

“Allow me,” said Mrukk, suddenly stepping close.

No one noticed the naked blade as his hand flicked out and up.

Blood cascaded down the Nilokerus' yos, and a look of astonishment appeared on his face. His mouth worked, and his hands fluttered to his neck, trying to rejoin the rent in his throat as he toppled to the floor.

The young lipreader cried out and turned to flee. He dashed a few steps and stopped, arms twisting backward, hands grasping, clawing at a spot between his shoulderblades where Mrukk's knife had suddenly appeared, buried to the hilt in his flesh.

Osmas stared at the carnage, horrified. “What have you done?”

The chief of the Invisibles stooped to retrieve his weapon, and wiped it casually on the clothing of his victim. “I have saved the Saecaraz treasury six thousand shares.”

“When Jamrog finds out about this—”

Mrukk laughed. “You think he doesn't know?”

“But the reward ...”

“Keep it for yourself. A bonus.”

“I couldn't.”

“Then give it to someone who knows what to do with it.” Mrukk laughed again and pushed up the sleeve of his yos. Grimly, Osmas set the imprinter and pressed it to Mrukk's muscled arm. “Now then,” said Mrukk, stepping over the body of the Nilokerus at his feet, “let's go find this Fieri.”

Just
a little east of the tranquil bay, pastel green hills slanted up from the northern shore of Prindahl, to march away into the shimmering blue distance. The hillsides were covered by small round trees with leaves so dark they appeared blue in the morning light, making the hillsides look dotted with miniature balloons ready to take flight on the first breeze. Through these hills wound the deep waters of Taleraan, upon whose broad back the Fieri boats would embark this day.

The glass-smooth lake reflected a high, cloudless sky of chromium blue and a sun rising white into a new day. The ships floated in the crystalline water, painted hulls gleaming, rigging glinting like silver tracery in the sunlight. Atop the tall masts several rakkes had taken residence, holding their wings out to warm in the new sun.

On shore, the travelers awoke to breakfasts of fresh fruit, tea, and flat loaves of sweet bread. They talked excitedly while they ate, some of the younger Fieri slipping off to swim one last time before boarding. In all, it was a leisurely start to the day. Although everyone expressed eagerness to depart, no one appeared in any hurry to leave—a fact Pizzle found slightly maddening. Even if no one else cared to start, he was ready—had been ready for hours before sunrise. In fact, he had not actually slept the night before: he'd been too excited.

After saying good-night to Starla (a process that took well over an hour), he had wandered the beach aimlessly, his head filled with thoughts of love and marriage and family. Then he'd scooped a shallow depression in the warm sand and laid out under the stars contemplating the harmony of the universe.

Now he was anxious to be off, but first he had to locate the Preceptor and request an audience. He lingered near the first ship, the one in which she traveled, hoping to be in the right place at the right time when she appeared. He was not disappointed.

Pizzle was standing at the water's edge, looking hungrily at the happy breakfasters in a nearby pavilion when he turned and found the Preceptor standing on the deck of the boat behind him, watching him.

“Good morning, Preceptor,” he called. “Have you had breakfast?”

“Good morning, Traveler Pizzle,” came her reply. “I have just come from my devotions and have not eaten yet. Will you join me? I would like to speak to you.”

“Sure, whatever you say.” He waded out to the gangplank to meet the Fieri leader. She had changed her white chinti for one of amber yellow, and her hair was braided and tied in a sheer yellow scarf. She came gracefully down the gangplank and entered the water. Pizzle met her and offered a hand which she accepted regally, allowing herself to be escorted to the beach.

A place was made for them at the table inside the pavilion and food was served at once. Most of the Fieri were finished eating and vanished discreetly. “Actually,” Pizzle said after the Preceptor had asked a blessing over the food and they began to eat, “I wanted to speak to you, too. I would like to have an audience.”

“Oh, yes?” The Preceptor looked at him curiously, her amethyst eyes bright with interest.

Pizzle nodded, picked up a small, red plumlike fruit, and bit into it. Juice ran down his arm. “Yeah,” he said with his mouth full. He swallowed and then added, “If it's not too much trouble. It's for myself and Starla.”

“I see.” The Preceptor continued to gaze at him—for such a long time that Pizzle became uncomfortable.

“Is there something wrong?” he asked.

The question was met with a smile. “Please, think no negative thought. I was asking the Teacher for leading.”

“Oh.” Pizzle picked up another plum fruit and ate it thoughtfully.

“I am happy to give you an audience,” the Preceptor said. “Would this evening suit you?”

“That would be perfect.” Pizzle grinned happily.

“You are much changed since you came to us,” the Preceptor observed.

“Was that what you wanted to talk to me about?”

“Yes, and to ask you if you are happy here.”

Pizzle grew solemn. “I've never been happier in my whole entire life. I never knew anyone as happy as I am—I didn't even know it was possible to be this happy,” he declared. “Really.”

“Have you discovered your purpose among us, Asquith?”

“My purpose?”

“Everyone has a purpose given them by the Infinite Father. In order to find true happiness, it is necessary to fulfill your purpose.”

Pizzle thought about this for a moment and had to admit that he didn't know what his purpose was.

“There is time to discover it, Asquith,” said the Preceptor gently, humor shining in her eyes. “But it does not do to put off the search too long.”

Pizzle nodded. “I'll do my best.”

The Preceptor rose. “I'll be waiting for you.” She smiled lightly. “Until this evening, then.”

“This evening,” confirmed Pizzle. He got up slowly, and the Preceptor moved off to greet her people, many of whom had gathered to wait for her. He watched her move among them, giving and receiving blessings, and sharing with them the joy of the day.

Presently he came to himself. Hey! I've got to find Starla and tell her! He grabbed a loaf of the sweet bread and trotted off down the beach.

The Invisibles appeared so
suddenly, there was no time for Ernina to put her plan into action. No time for anything except quick thinking and a desperate hope.

One moment she had been bending over Treet. The next, Mrukk and three of his Mors Ultima were standing in the doorway. She stepped around the bed to meet them. “It took you long enough to get here,” she said angrily. “What kept you?”

Mrukk's eyes flicked from the man in the bed to the flinty old physician. She did not wait for a reply. “Didn't my Hageman tell you it was urgent?”

The Mors Ultima chief regarded her suspiciously. “No.”

“What
did
he tell you?” Ernina demanded, hands on hips.

“Out of the way, woman.” Mrukk made move to push past her. She put her hands on his chest and held him back.

“I sent him to tell the Supreme Director. I found the Fieri. The reward is mine. What did he tell you?”

“You sent him?” Mrukk glared at the immovable woman, and signaled to his men to go ahead with the abduction. They went to the bed and pulled Treet from it. He awoke startled, saw the shimmering black yoses, and hollered. He was dragged from the bed kicking and screaming.

Ernina did not risk so much as a backward glance. “Well? Answer me.”

“The Nilokerus and the Hageman with him said he was a lipreader. They said you had vowed to protect the Fieri—” Mrukk glared at her fiercely.

“Protect the Fieri! Trabant take him!” she shouted, her face livid.

“Ernina!” Treet yelled as he was jerked through the doorway. “What are you doing? For God's sake, help me!”

“Don't you see what they have done? They have cheated me out of my reward. I intend to see the Supreme Director about this. The Fieri was mine! The reward is mine!” she screamed shrilly. “It's mine!”

Mrukk backed away a step. “I know nothing about the reward.”

“Liar!” Ernina advanced toward him.

Treet's cries echoed in the corridor beyond—confused, enraged, helpless.

“The reward is mine. I'm going to the Supreme Director.”

“Do it. I have what I came for. I don't care what you do.” With that, Mrukk spun on his heel and disappeared.

Ernina fell back on the bed, stunned. So it had been Uissal. She had guessed the moment the Invisibles appeared, mentally cursing herself for being so blind. It was all there for her to see: the young physician's absence that day, his habit of lurking nearby whenever she spoke privately with a patient, his perpetually guilty expression ...

She jumped to her feet. There was no time now for that. She had to move at once. She swept through the medical cluster to her own chambers, gathered up a large bundle from her table, and stood a moment looking at her beloved ancient books, running her hand along their disintegrating spines. Then she swung the bundle over her shoulder and departed.

Tvrdy
watched the drills from the wrecked tower of twisted metal that had once served as the outer stairway to a Hageblock long ago reduced to rubble. In the dirt-covered field below, ranks of Dhogs labored to become soldiers: moving here and there in ragged packs, running, diving, lunging, shouting, flailing arms and legs at imaginary enemies under the tutelage of Tanais and Rumon instructors.

The resulting display was so miserable that Tvrdy's frown had passed directly from anger to despair. The Dhogs were a hopeless rabble—dirty, ill-clothed, and ignorant. Even under tight Tanais discipline, they could not be organized; confusion reigned on the drill field. After he'd seen enough, Tvrdy descended from the tower and called one of his lieutenants from the field for a consultation.

“What is going on out there?”

The Tanais, sweating, his face dark with frustration, answered readily. “The Dhogs cannot be taught. They are too stupid for even simple exercises.”

“Do they accept your leadership?”

“It isn't that. These nonbeings, Hage Leader, they think with their stomachs only. They say they are hungry.”

“Are they?”

The man shrugged. “They're always hungry. We all are.”

Tvrdy folded his arms across his chest, lowered his head for a moment in thought. “All right, continue as best you can. But tell them that tomorrow, and from now on, before drills they will be given a meal. Also at night. See that they understand.”

The Tanais instructor nodded to his superior. “As you say, Hage Leader.” He didn't ask where the food was going to come from, although he wondered.

Tvrdy turned and walked from the drill field. How could men think when their bellies were empty? How could they work without food?

The Tanais Director walked briskly across the field to the Hageblock opposite, where Piipo had set up the Hyrgo headquarters in order to be near the Directors' command posts, although the growing fields were being established on the Old Section's outer ring much further away.

“Ahh, Tvrdy!” The Hyrgo leader looked up as Tvrdy entered the ramshackle room. He stood with several Hagemen who were holding transparent sacks of soil for his inspection. “I did not expect to see you again so soon this morning.” To his men he said, “Begin revitalization. I'll join you in the fields.”

They trooped out and Piipo came over to Tvrdy, dusting his hands. “The soil is dreadful—still, not so bad as I expected. We'll be able to work with it.”

Tvrdy noticed a keenness in the Hyrgo's glance and tone. He said, “I believe you are enjoying this, Piipo.”