Voices of Chaos (32 page)

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust; Khyriz clapped both hands over his nose once they did. The servants assigned here--males he'd known all his life--lay stiff and dead in a wide pool of dried blood. Bhelan stared blankly, then gripped Khyriz's arm, hard, as Jhoric passed them and hissed a warning in the pilot's ear. Khyriz spun away from the sight of so much death.

Magdalena!
But these two had been dead for many hours; the blood had dried. Magdalena had spoken to him not two hours earlier.

Jhue reappeared at his side. "There is no one here," he said. "My brother and I checked each room. The cushions in the talking-pit are still warm, there is chilled
rih
in a cup beside it. There are marks on the back of the door, there, inside the toilet," he added. "It may be the outsider-language; it is no Arekkhi written form that I know." Khyriz sketched a quick thanks and bounded down the hall, Bhelan cursing and right behind him.

It was a message, written in the cosmetic Magdalena used to enhance her eyes, small, printed letters in English. "Good," he whispered as he studied the message. Written Mizari had been his weakest subject, and she knew it.

"Khyriz, they have let us each use this room separately, with the other held hostage so we don't jump from the balconies. They speak of moving us before full dark; while Alexis was in here, someone mentioned a cavern or a grotto, and another silenced him with a blow. I did all I could to appear foolish and too frightened to pay attention to the

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conversation." Below this, a scrawl of words. "Khyriz, please please find us!"

Cavern. Grotto. Everything was suddenly clear; he shoved Bhelan aside with a growl of apology and hastened into the main room, skidding to a halt before the comp unit as he punched in the Emperor's personal code. His father's face appeared on the screen almost immediately--the background, unfortunately, was the main Council chamber, but it could not be helped.

"Father, they are gone!" Excited babble along the table, which the Emperor's gesture silenced. "But it may not be too late. Warn the station to track
any
flitter or shuttle leaving the island, especially from the old sailing-harbor within the grotto! And send guards there at once!" He keyed the transmission off, turned for the main entry, and ran.

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CHAPTER 12

***

The passage to the naturally protected harbor had long been blocked, but when Khyriz entered the main clerk's chamber he could see that the panels had been hacked to splinters, and the passageway was open. The scent of ocean reached his nostrils as he plunged down the long ramp, both guards and Bhelan now well behind him.

Low tide: Waves splooshed softly against the stone pier where ships had once docked. Moonlight shone on water beyond the entrance, but in here, it was dark. Still, there was a dim light to both sides, and as he stepped onto sand, the motion-device triggered them full on. New lights. And two sets of portable flitter-blocks. No flitters; no Magdalena. No one here but himself, the two guards, his breathless pilot.

He pulled out his protected com and keyed in the Emperor's code again.

"Father? Too late." He somehow kept most of the distress out of his voice.

"What vehicles have just left from the old pier? And does the station track them?"

"Khyriz." His father's voice crackled because of the stone above his head.

"At least seven flitters just left the island, all going in different directions and all at the same moment--no doubt part of the overall plan. The station was ordered to track, but councillor Franyoe is unable to reach the master of station--there is no response. Wait where you are. My guards have just entered the old palace."

Khyriz turned back the way they'd come. "I see them... No! these aren't yours, Father, they're Zhenu's!" Ulfar,

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unmistakable, led the twenty or more armed guards who suddenly swarmed into the cavern; they moved neatly off the ramp and across the sand, flanking the bulky assassin. The two guards who'd followed Khyriz stepped between the Prince and this new threat.

"Khyriz?" Emperor Khezahn's voice. Khyriz pressed the low-volume control and turned aside, com against his ear. "Stay behind Jhue and his brother; my armed have just dispatched four who guarded the head of the passage; reinforcements will reach you in moments. Tell Zhenu's armed this."

"Apologies, Father, a better idea," Khyriz murmured into the device, thumbed the "send only" button, and keyed for full volume. He shook off Bhelan's trembling grasp and stepped into the open. "Ulfar!" his voice echoed. "You have no right here, this is the Emperor's private land! Turn and leave!"

Ulfar gestured sharply and his guards moved, half-circling the four. "The alien females are gone, Prince," he said with a snarl, whiskers touching and his ears quivering with pleasure or anticipation. Khyriz fought to keep his own ears upright and utterly still. "Perhaps they have already been dropped into the sea? But what matter how they die, since
you
will not see them alive again!"

Fury almost sent him into attack-rage; he forced it away.
Let him speak. Let
him build a pyre for his master with his own words,
he thought grimly, and held the com by his side, where its speaker could pick up Ulfar's voice.

"You ... you are responsible for this, Ulfar?" He let his voice rise to an undisciplined squeak. To their credit, his father's two guards stood like statuary, alert and weapons ready but their features impassive. Bhelan, he was glad to see, had already faded well back, behind the two. Sensible of him--Ulfar's flat stare promised death. "Those are my friends! What have you done with them, Ulfar?"

Ulfar's whiskers quivered forward; he was enjoying the moment. "Perhaps already dead, their throats cut.... or perhaps they will join the ahla, or be penned with the Voiceless, to work the master's lands!" He spat laughter.

"But you will never know! When the outsider-shes are dead, the aliens will 221

leave our world. Then your weakling father will learn what allies
my
master has!"

"Your master--Zhenu?" Khyriz stammered; this time he wasn't pretending.

Magdalena and Alexis fed
xhezzik,
turned into ... His fingers held the com in a murderous grip. "Zhenu planned this?"

"The
zhez
foresaw everything!" Ulfar boasted. "He has planned for this moment since the Heeyoon traders first came to live on
our
station." Zhenu's bodyguard was positively hissing with pleasure. "Zhenu already spreads rumor that
you
were behind the attack on the old palace, that you and the dark-she have vanished together!"

"No one will believe that I would harm the CLS delegates--!"

"But if rumor spreads that you and the Magdalena-she would be mates, but even the Emperor who indulges you would not permit such heresy? It will be believed because there will be no other explanation. The two-she will vanish; and I am going to kill you here and now, Prince. With your body weighted and thrown into the sea, who wil know what to believe? Until it is too late." He took a deliberate step toward the Prince.

The high whine of stun-fire and the shriek of a wounded guard; the bulky guard spun around as tens of armed Arekkhi, sleeve-marked with the Emperor's ducat, hurtled down the ramp just as two flitters roared through the cave entrance, lights on full. Ulfar and his followers were caught by surprise, surrounded and disarmed.

Khyriz's legs trembled so, he didn't dare move.
Do not let Ulfar see,
he ordered himself. The bodyguard's black stare was fixed on him, whiskers quivering with rage. "I am the personal guard of the Esteemed
zhez,
you dare not touch me!" he shouted, but fell prudently silent as power-braces were clamped around his arms and upper body. If he tried to move or speak now, the bonds would deliver a painful shock. But his eyes still glared through the swarm of guards and found Khyriz.

The Prince held up his hand, the com now visible, rekeyed

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the receive, and spoke into it. "Father? Matters are under control here. Did you hear?"

"We all heard, Khyriz." The Emperor's voice boomed and echoed in the cavern, momentarily silencing everyone. "Have my guards bring them here."

Khyriz sighed; Council would tie things into a monumental wrangle, and there was no time for it. He turned his back on the prisoners and lowered his voice.

"Father, but Zhenu and Nijho will--"

"They will do nothing. Return here and have the prisoners brought. Zhenu's personal craft was one of those that left the island just now; both he and his cousin, the master of station, are missing, and Nijho has barred himself inside the Prelatry."

The shuttle was an older model, the pilot nowhere near as good as Bhelan.

Magdalena sat very still, eyes closed, and concentrated on breathing deeply.

Their captors had grown increasingly nervous, and panic on her part might send one of them over the brink. Alexis's bare forearm rested against hers, silent comfort. The interrelator was quiet, too, though she'd spent most of the day talking--trying to get the members of this so-called Protective League to see them as beings rather than tokens of exchange; trying to learn anything personal she could about any of them, so they would treat the women more kindly. One or two--something about the way they moved suggested they might be barely of age--seemed briefly sympathetic, but as soon as the leader realized that, he made sure they were no longer allowed near the prisoners.

Magdalena tried to think back to the ball, but it seemed like something she might have dreamed years ago. Even her fight with Khyriz felt ancient.

Thank you, Alexis, for insisting on that call.
At least she knew he didn't hate her for the awful things she'd said to him. He'd looked tired, frightened. Well, he had cause.

"Where are you taking us?" Alexis asked quietly. Someone nearby snarled, and she was silent again. Magdalena shifted uncomfortably in the Arekkhi half-egg seat as the shuttle tilted and pressure shoved her back: They were heading up, away from the planet.

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***

In a small, private shuttle bay well downstation from the alien sector and halfway around the cylinder from the royal and noble landing and storage, Zhikna keyed the controls for instant departure, in case it was necessary, and prepared to wait. He had caught a little of an open transmission just before docking: The satellite bank was down, his uncle, the master of station, missing. Briefly he wondered what was going on? But he had his own concerns just now.

He closed his eyes and ran through the plan once again. Bring the flitter to station. Fortunately, it was space-capable. Zhenu knew that, of course, but Zhenu forbade him to travel off-planet. Perhaps he wouldn't look for his son here. And, of course, the flitter wasn't docked where it should be.

He needed to exchange it for a generic model, one of those the Emperor kept by the tens; no one would expect him to travel in such a vehicle. No one would notice one such vehicle traveling around highland Akkherif.

So far, his plan was working: Lhore's father had been one of his tutors; he and Lhore were nearly the same age, and the friendship had been close.

Now the tutor's only offspring worked on-station as head of the repair-center for the four moon-shuttles.

I know he loathes my father.
Zhik hadn't been able to think of anyone else he could trust with even a little of his secret. Khyriz, perhaps, but Zhenu would think of Khyriz immediately. Lhore knew only that his friend was seeking temporary escape from Zhenu's wrath, and he'd willingly agreed to help Zhik change flyers. Better: He'd agreed that if questioned, he would swear the young noble was hiding somewhere on-station; if necessary, he'd show the questioners where the flitter was. Meantime, Zhik would be long gone, back to Akkherif.

It will go right; it must.
The only sticky moment would be when he and An-Lieye emerged from the flitter. There was no way to keep her out of sight; he'd have to hope Lhore would think her a servant or a pet; that he'd dismiss her presence. There were plenty of Asha on-station, after all; most Arekkhi who lived up here didn't pay much attention to them.

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A gentle touch against his cheek roused him from gloomy planning. An-Lieye, her face shadowed by the blue hood, gazed at him anxiously.

"Apologies," he murmured. "I forget that you have never been off-planet before. You are safe with me." She gestured assent, then pressed her fingers against his shoulder, taking comfort from the contact. He freed a hand from the controls to lay over hers, and settled in to wait.

Three humid, still days passed. The station satellite system was up again, but malfunctioning at odd times; whatever the master of station had done to it had been thorough. The Emperor fell back on prestation tech and had flyovers conducted wherever there seemed a chance the kidnapped

delegates might have been taken, but there was no sign of them. Or of Zhenu.

Fortunately, news was tightly monitored, and everything went through the sole government source. Nothing had leaked about the attack on the old palace or the kidnapping. Even Fahara, who had plenty of contacts on the island, knew nothing but the official explanation for the quarantine of the old palace the day after the ball: an underground leak of something noxious-smelling that had somehow gotten into the air system.

Khyriz worried about the designer's safety and tried to persuade her to take shelter in the new palace, but she refused. "If An-Lieye returns, I must be here." The Prince had Bhelan fly one of his most trusted guards down from the North to stay in her apartments.

There had been no word from Zhik or from An-Lieye; no sign of Zhenu, though it was assumed by the Emperor, his depleted Council, and Khyriz that the
zhez
was locked down in his central-Akkherif estates. Most of that palace was very old, built to withstand siege or open warfare.

There
had
been a message, just after Zhenu fled the island-- an encoded message to the Prelate warning him to take no action but to hold ready.