Nemesis (4 page)

“I gathered.” Unfortunately, ‘abdication’ wasn’t a word centaurs were familiar with. Centaurs might live in tribes, but they all answered to the same king–all five million of them. They wouldn’t want the Alliance getting involved if they could help it.

“Those are my delightful cousins. They’re so friendly and accommodating.” He indicated the three other centaurs, two of whom were circling each other in a threatening way.

“I don’t think the council will be particularly happy if there’s a centaur brawl in the middle of the hall,” I said. Even I wasn’t crazy enough to step in the middle of that one.

“You make a good point,” said Markos. “Leonid! Petro! Tryfon! You forget yourselves.”

“On the contrary,” said the centaur who could have been Markos’s twin. “It is you who is a disgrace to our kind, allying yourself with these humans.”

“Yes, we’ve been through this already.” He switched back to English. “By the gods, I never thought I’d wish for the straightforwardness of humans. Everything’s a debate with Aglaians.”

“I don’t think this is the best place for family arguments. Are they the only other candidates for the throne?”

“There’s my sister, but I haven’t seen her in years,” Markos said dismissively. “Haven’t talked to anyone from Aglaia for over seven years until yesterday.”

Well, damn,
I thought again. If I’d had the option to leave Earth for good five years ago, then I might have taken it. But then, I’d been the only Walker remaining, and I’d had a second chance at the Academy. Aglaians were less forgiving of people who went against custom.

“They seem pleased to see you.”

“Absolutely delighted. Frankly, I’m disappointed they weren’t as enthralled by my tales of London as I expected. Even the trickiness of managing stairs and escalators, not to speak of the
climate
. Earth is much more varied than Aglaia. One grows weary of forests for miles on end.”

“Why are you talking to that human?” One of the centaurs approached us, and I tensed instinctively, knowing how fast centaurs might lash out. They could easily outpace a human, and had hooves of steel. Hardly a fair match, without magic, at least. That was the only reason the violent–and more numerous–centaur population hadn’t completely obliterated the humans on Aglaia.

“Because he’s a more interesting conversationalist than you three,” said Markos. “And because the council’s on the way, and I’ll thank you not to make a total embarrassment of yourselves.”

The centaur tapped a hoof. But Markos only shrugged.

“If you would do your duty to Aglaia–” one of the other centaurs began.

“None of that,” said Markos. “I distinctly remember you saying when I left never to darken your doorway again, or something along those lines.”

The centaur advanced on him, tail swishing. Markos stepped forward, bristling.

“Whoa there,” I said to Markos. “I am completely on your side in this one, but if you start a brawl, I’m putting in a call to the council.” I pulled out my communicator for emphasis. “Feel free to start all the arguments you like back on Aglaia, but this is Alliance ground and you do
not
want to piss off Ms Weston.”

Markos twisted to glare at me. “On my side, human?”

I shrugged. “I’ll do what I can, if you try not to murder any of your cousins. Pretty sure that’s punishable by execution, isn’t it?”

“Damn you, human,” said Markos. “I suppose you have our entire law scroll memorised.”

“You’re not the only one who hates politics,” I said. “I’m supposed to oversee the council meetings and make sure the heir–you, I suppose–doesn’t get himself killed, too. How you sort out your feud is
not
my problem.”

“This feud will stop when they erase the word “duty” from their vocabulary.”

I had a few choice things to say on
that
subject… none of which would be advisable in front of four pissed-off centaurs, and most of which wouldn’t translate into Aglaian.

“One quick question,” I said. “None of them understand English, do they?”

Markos shook his head. “Only a handful do on all of Aglaia.”

“Right.” I lowered my voice all the same. “Not to tread on any toes here… or hooves… but is there absolutely no chance the murderer wasn’t a relation? I know,” I added, as Markos’s face darkened. “I know that’s the worst crime. But I don’t want to rule anything out. The title passes only within the family, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, it does. But nobody within would have dared. For a centaur to kill another, it would demand an ambition most of us simply don’t have. We aren’t like humans, Kay.”

“Not all humans are ambitious,” I said. “Can you really say all centaurs aren’t?”

Markos narrowed his eyes. “Alliance law demands all close relations are questioned. That’s the other reason we were arguing. That idiot Tryfon–” He jerked his head in the direction of the centaur who might have been his twin–“is flat-out refusing to go through with it. Says it goes against our customs.”

“Well, I can’t imagine any centaur would want to be subjected to questioning by the Alliance,” I said. “For one thing, I’d wager no one from offworld has ever got close enough to centaur royalty to know the first thing about what might motivate a murder. I sure don’t. Aside from the obvious.”

“Yes, there is that,” said Markos. “Well, if we do manage to get to the stage of appointing a new monarch, it’s customary to have Alliance representatives present, especially with our treaty coming up for renewal next week.”

“Blasted customs,” I muttered. “So, is there anything I need to look out for? People, centaurs or humans, who might see the Alliance as a threat?”

“There are a few, but they’re unlikely to make trouble at the meeting.”

“And could
they
have killed the king?”

“I wouldn’t have thought so,” said Markos, tapping a hoof. “The title is purely ceremonial, and the advisors make most of the decisions in any case. If they wanted power, they’d have targeted our own council.”

“So the king must have had an enemy.”

“Perhaps. The cause of death hasn’t been determined, but it wasn’t magic. That’s why there’s so much conflict. Nothing to prove humans did it, but it’s the natural assumption to make.”

“Not magic?” I said. “I see the problem.”

Magic would point the finger right at the humans. Either a centaur had done it, or a human with the foresight to deflect attention from themselves. Either was equally likely.

“The humans had no motive. There haven’t been any territorial disputes in over ten years, not since we joined the Alliance.”

“Right. I’ll think of the alternatives, but it looks like the council’s ready,” I said, seeing the three figures approaching out of the corner of my eye. Mr Sanders, Mr Shean, and Mrs Grey were, at the moment, the only council members present on Earth. The rest spent most of their time offworld, engaged in various meetings and debates alongside council members from the other branches of Earth’s Alliance. I’d say they
tolerated
me more than that we got along, because I was the one who’d talked them out of arresting the people who’d helped the refugees on Earth. But if it stopped them looking at me like they saw only my father, I wasn’t about to complain.

Markos turned to them, the defiance vanishing from his expression. Kind of odd, considering he towered over everyone and if they wanted, he and his brothers could pound us into the polished floor in a heartbeat.

“What is the problem?” Mr Sanders asked.

“Merely a family misunderstanding,” said Markos. “It seems my presence is required on Aglaia.”

“Then we should go.”

As we left Central, the few passersby on the street stopped to stare or just moved as far away as possible. Sensible thinking. At least they couldn’t understand the centaurs talking about how filthy and hideous London was.

But soon enough, we turned into the side street leading into the Passages. No one lived there anymore, thanks to the damage caused by a rampaging wyvern. Though the torn up cars had been taken away, several houses were little more than crumbled brick and there were deep gouges in the road where the wyvern’s tail had slammed down.

The place where Ada’s attack on the Campbells had burned a small crater into the pavement drew my eyes before I had the sense to look away. Third level magic left permanent marks where it struck. Just outside the Passage entrance, a plaque on the wall had been engraved with the names of the people who’d sacrificed their lives defending Central. Mr Sanders paused by the memorial, head bowed for an instant, then continued into the Passages.

As Earth was back in its low-magic state, it made the impact of magic in the blue-lit corridors even more noticeable. Like an electric surge, and a faint red tint to the air, like through a coloured glass pane. With magic at my fingertips, it was difficult to forget how close I’d come to being another name on the list of the dead.

On Earth, I couldn’t use magic at all, which was why I hadn’t known I was a magic-wielder until I’d first broken into the Passages as a third-year Academy student. After I’d accidentally zapped Aric with second-level magic and nearly killed him, I’d never trusted magic. But in a hostile world like Aglaia, it would be a stupid move to ignore it.

The buzzing grew stronger as we went deeper through the wide, high-ceilinged corridors, past doors which led to various points on other worlds, starting with the Earth’s close neighbours, the original five worlds of the Alliance. Aglaia, as a recent member, was a fair distance from London, almost at the second level, which was reserved for dangerous, non-cooperative worlds like the Enzarian Empire. Almost all were high-magic. On Aglaia itself, third level magic was highly illegal, but if it turned out a human had killed the centaurs’ leader, that was the quickest, deadliest weapon. As easy as hitting a button… except for the backlash, of course. I’d been lucky not to get hit by the recoil when I’d used it, and even then, it had burned the skin off my hands. The aftereffects had gone on for weeks, like an electric shock through my fingers every other minute.

Cut that out,
I thought, as magic tugged at me again. Like I’d fall for that now. I glanced at Raj, but he didn’t appear bothered. I’d wondered before if having an internal source made magic react to me differently. Made it feel too damn good to resist.

But I did, though I half expected an ambush when we stepped through the door to Aglaia. The heat struck first, a marked contrast to London, which was fairly cold for early autumn. Aglaia’s climate felt more Mediterranean. We’d crossed several time zones when moving through the Passages, and it was afternoon here judging by the position of Aglaia’s burnished red sun above the trees. The doorway appeared to have been cut into a large tree, leading into a clearing in the midst of the forest.

Centaur territory.
We were in a sunny, forested glade, and centaurs occupied the areas of the world untouched by humans. Several centaurs waited around a prepared wooden table with seats for the humans–at least, it seemed a thoughtful gesture, but the low seats gave the centaurs even more of a height advantage. I scanned the surroundings and more centaurs lurked behind the trees, armed with crossbows and spears. Not taking any chances, then.

Magic lurked here, too, but not like the wildness in the Passages. More like Valeria, where I could sense I could use it, but not the constant pressure. In Valeria, it was an aftereffect, like smoke from the vehicles that used it as a power source. Here, however, the smoky-red clouds visible through the branches above showed the altered climate from mages constantly adapting the weather conditions to suit what they needed. Like a gigantic ash cloud over the atmosphere. It wasn’t harmful, as far as anyone could tell, but it was yet another point of conflict with the centaurs, who didn’t appreciate the sky turning purple-red on a regular basis.

A string of introductions swiftly descended into another centaur verbal battle, while the council watched helplessly.
Bloody argumentative centaurs.
I’d have thrown Markos an exasperated look, except he was the one doing most of the shouting. Several of the council had their communicators out in case they had to call for backup, and I was acutely aware of being unarmed, except for magic. Raj appeared equally uneasy. He could only use magic up to second level and preferred to avoid it, like every magic-wielder from a non-magic world with a shred of common sense.

In the end, all we gleaned from the meeting was that the centaur king had been killed by a falling tree, not magic (naturally, the first argument was that magic could have been used to knock the tree down, which was undoubtedly true). No one wanted to make any commitments. Markos refused to stay in Aglaia. His siblings weren’t even at the meeting, as they had some kind of mourning phase for close relatives, which Markos hadn’t been invited into. He didn’t seem particularly fussed.

“He wouldn’t have wanted me there,” he told me, when we finally extricated ourselves from the meeting and made our way back through the Passages, leaving the other centaurs behind. “In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me if he rose from the grave to tell me never to come back to Aglaia again.”

“That so?” I’d never asked the centaur about his homeworld before, primarily because a centaur living in London, Earth, of all places, had either been banished by his tribe or exiled himself. Going against family was the worst crime a centaur could commit. And that went double for royalty.