Ruler of Naught (2 page)

They slowed, unable to avoid glancing at him in fearful
respect. Acting on impulse, Anaris bared his teeth and rapped his hand on the
wall from which the haunt had emerged.
“Ka-nimichh duuni ni-pelanj marhh,”
he said.
The shade of my enemy holds no power over me.

One of the Tarkans blanched before both resumed the forward
march. The rank-inflection Anaris had used for the word “enemy” made it obvious
to whom he referred. Coining so soon after their passage through the Phoenix Antechamber,
the effect was all he could have wished.

He was aware of Morrighon’s observant gaze, but when Anaris
turned his attention that way, the secretary properly looked down. He was
apparently unaffected by the haunting.
Does he see what I’m doing?
The
real questions was what he might report, and to whom. The Bori’s ugly face gave
no hint of his thoughts. Anaris began to suspect that more than simple
routine-keeping was going on in that head.

After crossing another garden to enter the Palace Minor, their
escort halted before a set of tall, carven doors guarded by another pair of
Tarkans. The guards grasped the door handles and the doors swung open,
releasing a waft of cool air against Anaris’s face. Inside, the marble flooring
gave way to a soft, high-napped carpet in burgundy and subtle greens, with dark
wood paneling below a high, white ceiling. Anaris recognized the room as one
that the Panarch had often used to receive minor officials, or to speak
in
petto
with those he did not wish to expose to the glaring publicity of
court. Near the windows, against a rich backdrop of drapery whose heavy folds
admitted only a sliver of bright daylight against the mellow light within, a
tall chair framed the straight-backed figure of Anaris’s father, the Avatar.

His eyes alone acknowledged Anaris. There was a hint of
thunder in his brow and the set of his broad shoulders.

Near him, in smaller chairs set before a small table, sat
others. First was the Avatar’s secretary Barrodagh, whom Anaris had not seen
for a very long time: their communications had been through labyrinthine
channels. The Bori’s short, slight figure seemed thinner than ever, his pale
skin stretched over his bones as if tension had been his only companion for far
too long. Barrodagh glanced up at him, his dark eyes betraying no recognition,
though he nodded respectfully.

Anaris turned his attention to the others gathered there: Almanor,
a Catennach woman second only to Barrodagh; Kyvernat Juvaszt, and two other men
Anaris at first didn’t recognize. Then, as he approached his father, he
realized that the small man was Lysanter, the Urian specialist. The other was a
tall, fat young man with a florid complexion and the demeanor of a technician.
Anaris guessed this was Ferrasin, a Panarchist computer tech who was now
showing up in Anaris’s reports with much greater frequency since Morrighon
became his secretary.

Anaris stopped before his father and bowed. Eusabian
acknowledged by indicating a seat, which Anaris took, opposite his father.
Morrighon sat next to him.

There was silence for a time. Juvaszt sat as if carved from
stone. Barrodagh’s eyes ferreted back and forth between Anaris and the Avatar,
and Anaris knew without looking that his secretary’s were doing the same. He
stifled a spurt of amusement, remembering Morrighon’s wall-eyed stare.
No
one can tell where he’s looking—definitely a survival trait on Dol’jhar.

The Avatar spoke to Anaris. “I will open my mind to you
regarding my paliach.”

Anaris hid his reaction as the ritual formula confirmed his
guess; another step in the struggle for succession. Another layer of secrecy
stripped away. Now he would see much that Barrodagh had not been allowed, or
had not wished, to share with him.

His father gestured, and Barrodagh stood. He faced Anaris
but, as was proper, did not look directly at him as he spoke.

“All major centers of Panarchist resistance have now fallen.”
Barrodagh’s voice was slightly hoarse. “We are on-schedule for establishing
control of the anachronic hubs. Our forces have begun the next phase of
occupation, dealing with secondary centers, while administrators have been
dispatched from Dol’jhar to the octant capitals. Drafts of labor and materiel will
soon begin to flow as we regain control of the Acheront sector.”

As Barrodagh continued with supporting details, Anaris saw
that Morrighon had several other windows open on the data now flooding in. He
seemed to be paying little attention to Barrodagh, but then, the Avatar’s
secretary was merely rehearsing what Anaris already knew. Anaris’s fingers
itched for his own compad, but no Dol’jharian lord could be seen in public dependent
on a mere device.
Even though they’re generally more trustworthy than a
Catennach.

Anaris studied Barrodagh’s haggard face. The Avatar’s
lieutenant had not interfered with Anaris’s other channels of information. He
was playing a careful game.

Even so, what hidden struggles have I missed?

“Operating through the Syndics of Rifthaven, we have
encouraged raids elsewhere in the Thousand Suns by non-allied Rifters to
confuse the strategic picture, with excellent results.” Again, more familiar
details followed.

In the normal course of affairs a succession duel would take
years.
But we are no longer on Dol’jhar
. Eusabian no longer had the
luxury of time, just as the Panarch had said, in the fey convulsions induced by
a shock collar.
Whether my father realizes it or not, the Panarchy is far
more dangerous and subtle than Jhar D’ocha. There is much room for error.

And Barrodagh knows that applies to me as well as to my
father.

The thought gave him a frisson of challenge.

“As a result, resistance has been sporadic and ineffective,
and is dwindling rapidly. Our force’s ability to keep ahead of the news of the
attack combined with the power of their weapons guarantees that nothing can
stand between us and complete control of the Thousand Suns,” Barrodagh
finished.

He had elided immense complexity, but it would not do to
underestimate the Avatar’s secretary. Eusabian’s fierce will had driven the
war, but Barrodagh’s planning had carried it off.

Eusabian remained still.

“Nothing except Ares, and the Fleet,” Juvaszt finally said
in a flat voice, with a glance at the Avatar.

“They cannot stand against the power of the Suneater, even
without the Heart of Kronos,” Barrodagh stated.

Heart of Kronos?
Anaris had learned about the
Suneater when he was briefed about the imminent attack on the Panarchy, but he
had been given few details. He cut a questioning glance at Morrighon, whose
compad’s display flipped to accommodate him.

KEY TO FULL SUNEATER POWER. THOUGHT LOST BY TREACHERY.

Perhaps my new Bori is going to be of more use than I assumed.
Anaris sensed attention, and discovered Barrodagh watching him, his
forehead tight, making Anaris wonder if Barrodagh hidden this crucial fact from
him as touching the Avatar’s Will.

Or to keep me safely ignorant.

“The Panarchist Fleet is more dangerous than you can imagine,”
Juvaszt replied, and Barrodagh’s facial muscles tightened even more. “Let me
remind you that it was treachery that bought us Arthelion. They very nearly
defeated our forces at Narbon and Lao Tse, the other key systems...”

Almanor gave a thin smile; no doubt she’d managed the moles
who had undoubtedly been worming into Panarchist defenses throughout Anaris’s
stay. He appreciated the irony.

As for the fight itself
, Avatar’s Sword
and
Hammer
of Dol
, two of the laboriously-constructed Dol’jharian destroyers nearly up
to Panarchist technology, had been at Narbon, Anaris knew. They had done
fearsome work against Admiral Koestler’s forces before being demolished. The other
destroyer,
Urtigen’s Wrath
, had been battered nearly to scrap at Lao Tse
by the battlecruiser that had brought the Panarch and the Privy Council there.
It might spend months in repair and refitting.

Anaris was surprised at Juvaszt’s forthright acknowledgement
of his losses, and he wondered again what had happened yesterday.

“... and partly the auxiliaries, who performed better than I
had expected.”

“Yes, it was our Rifter auxiliaries that helped carry the
day, there and elsewhere,” Barrodagh said, bringing the meeting’s focus back to
himself.

Anaris knew that after the war began Juvaszt increasingly
challenged Barrodagh’s control of their Rifter forces, arguing that military
expertise was what was needed now. Anaris hadn’t been able to find out how
effective the auxiliaries were.

The lines in Juvaszt’s scarred face deepened to a sneer. “Do
not overestimate them, either. Their losses were even worse, and it was in
trying to compensate for their tactical ineptitude that our destroyers were
lost.”

Barrodagh smiled tightly. “Ah, yes. Tactics. I defer to you
there. But it was not Rifters, was it, that destroyed the Node while failing to
stop Krysarch Brandon’s escape from Arthelion?

Brandon? Alive?
Anger burned through Anaris, then
cooled into self-mockery. Why not look forward to hunting him down and
finishing him?

Morrighon swiveled his compad towards Anaris with a succinct
summary.

So that was how the haunt had been reactivated!
Brandon
Arkad looted the palace, stole an important prisoner, in effect wrecked the
Node, and thumbed his ear at the
Fist
.
And lost only one of his
force, a diseased female Rifter.

Anaris’s self-mockery sharpened at the situation’s symmetry.
My father is free, and I imprisoned, while Brandon’s father is imprisoned,
and he is free.

Anaris glanced at Juvaszt with new respect—he must be even
better than Anaris had assumed, for his father not to have purged him instantly
after such a spectacular failure. The Avatar’s wrath must have been impressive.

Juvaszt is on thin ice here.
No
doubt Barrodagh had some more easily-managed officer in mind for command of the
flagship.

“If you mean the Aerenarch Brandon vlith-Arkad,” the kyvernat
said to Barrodagh, emphasizing his own noble birth by stating Brandon’s correct
title and inheritance sur-prefix, “You have already read my report. The
Fist
of Dol’jhar
was on the other side of the planet when I was—too late—ordered
to intercept.”

Ferrasin yanked his finger away from an in-depth exploration
of his nose and jerked upright. “It wasn’t my fault. Serach Barrodagh’s
secretary wouldn’t listen to me, and the palace computer misled me when I tried
to reach him in person to report the Arkad’s presence.”

Barrodagh glared at the technician.
Bad move,
thought
Anaris. Barrodagh would resent this attack—as he would interpret it—in front of
the Avatar. Being the top computer technician in his father’s entourage could
only protect Ferrasin so far. Here lay opportunity.

Ferrasin probably didn’t even realize what he had just
done—that type rarely understood human interactions, and he definitely did not
perceive that silence was safest around the Avatar, unless you had some news
that he wanted to hear.

Sure enough, Barrodagh turned toward Ferrasin. “Speaking of
ineptitude, perhaps we should discuss your delay in dealing with the dog
sabotage and the...” Barrodagh hesitated, searching for a neutral word.

“Apparition,” Morrighon whined, his countenance respectful.
At the same time he flipped the display on his compad again for Anaris to see:
FERRASIN, HEAD COMPUTER TECHNICIAN, confirming Anaris’s guess.

Anaris remembered the Arkad dogs with loathing—it had been
difficult to finally catch Brandon without one nearby. Interesting that they
were now an agent of sabotage—but why was the computer tech tasked with finding
them? Surely that was a job for the military. There had to be a human
resistance directing the animals.

Barrodagh glared at Ferrasin. “Well?”

The Avatar made a slight movement. Anaris looked up and
their eyes met. Anaris recognized that unfamiliar expression as amusement, of a
sort his father had never evidenced on Dol’jhar. Eusabian’s gaze touched
Morrighon, inviting Anaris to share his amusement.

Do you know why I chose him?
Anaris permitted his
lips to relax in a hint of smile, then turned his attention back to the
computer tech, whose florid features were now shiny with sweat as his lips
struggled to form a reply.

“The system is the m-most complex in the Thousand S-s-s—”
began Ferrasin, but Eusabian’s secretary overrode him.

“Why can’t you just cut out the circuits responsible for the
apparition and get this under control?” Barrodagh demanded. “Just yesterday,
because of your incompetence and delay in dealing with this, two of the Tarkans
posted in the Ivory Antechamber were tricked by the apparition into shooting
each other. One of them will likely die.”

But Barrodagh had gone too far. By making his accusation so
specific, within the realm of the tech’s profession, he’d given Ferrasin an
out.

“C-c-c-c-ut out the circuits?” The tech’s voice squeaked
with nervousness as he forced his way past a painful stammer, but the sarcasm
came through clearly nonetheless. He gulped and resumed speaking with a hint of
singsong, his stammer subsiding somewhat. “Do you think the palace computer is
like your compad, a little chip on a substrate? This system is almost a
thousand years old, distributed across thousands—perhaps millions—of nodes
throughout the Mandala and the entire planet, self-maintaining... ” He paused,
swallowed as a strange expression crossed his face and his voice dropped to a
tone of almost superstitious awe. “... almost self-aware.”

Anaris listened carefully. He could sense a faint fear that
the apparitions were more than just computer artifacts—or perhaps that was just
Ferrasin’s Panarchist terror of trespassing the Ban. But certainly the majority
of Dol’jharians in the palace would interpret the specters as supernatural, no
matter what explanations were offered.