Voices of Chaos (8 page)

The last such was more than

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enough. Zhenu and the Prelate will not openly cause such war, either--

though more because of the outside worlds. Appearances, remember?"

"But if they believed themselves right, would appearances matter?"

"Perhaps. I hope so. Khyriz--do you ever wonder why I employed the best history tutors for you?"

"I... no. Why?" He knew, but the question would be expected.

"Because violence in our history has always come from those who know nothing of their own past. The last Civil War, a hundred years ago, began when the controlling nobles repressed the lower ranks, who then rebelled.

This threatened the Emperor's control; he quelled the uprisings and the nobles, but his coffers were quickly drained by his own armies, and then the Prelate's forces took control. In the end, the Emperor won--but a weakened Emperor. You know the result of
that,
Khyriz."

"Yes." Certain of the lower classes had eventually regained their proper place in Arekkhi society. Others had not.
Do not think about them, not here.

Even a slight body movement or change of expression might give his thoughts away; his father was a master reader of such things. I
could tell
him--I believe I could. But he has his own problems. And--if I misread him?

No. Too much rode on common knowledge that the youngest Prince was nonpolitical and interested only in his estates, his clothing ... and the outsiders.

Khezahn was following his own thoughts. "Most of the nobles loathed the Prelate of that day more than their Emperor, which was the only reason the Emperor's forces won. But because the war made great rifts--and because many such ancient hatreds still exist--the question of Asha has never been resolved. And now it has returned to haunt your father."

"Haunt? Why, Father?" Khyriz knew, of course, but the matter was supposed to be a Council secret. His father would expect the question.

"You know, of course, that several rebel groups have sprung up--out-of-the-way places such as Mibhor, and the back highlands of Akkherif." He glanced at Khyriz, who

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gestured an affirmative. The Prince knew of at least two rebel groups who did what they could to resolve the question of Asha--either by killing them off, or by rescuing them. Best if he showed no interest, either way. "At best, the matter of Asha is a shameful secret. And a difficult one to hide, especially in such outlying regions," the Emperor went on. "And it's tied to the outsiders.

It's common knowledge that the Prelate would destroy the new jump station and order the Heeyoons and their trading company from our space if he could. But others on the Council see the wealth promised by outside trade; even Zhenu sees the promised wealth as a positive factor, and counsels Nijho to press for no sudden decision against the outsiders. Since he is behind funding for the armed who would fight for the Prelatry, Nijho must at least appear to agree with him.

"I try to argue for common sense. If we trade with the outsiders, accept their system of integration, find a way to become an associate member of their League, learn what is out there and how to deal with it--see what we as Arekkhi can contribute ..." Khezahn paused. "We who urge common sense are more voices than you might think, Khyriz ... but not enough."

"Father--I--I didn't know," Kyriz faltered. "Apologies."

"You weren't supposed to know," the Emperor replied quietly. "And remember that events discussed in secret Council are never to see light outside that chamber. But discussions in regular Council are likewise sealed--on this subject."
He's reminding me to keep my mouth closed,
Khyriz decided. "Also, you should know that Zhenu and the Prelate--and those they could bring to a temporary alliance wanted to banish you to your estates, hold you in communicado, until they found a way to expel the CLS. That notion was so extreme, even Zhenu couldn't hold it together, but I doubt he will give up all hope of that."

Khyriz realized he was staring once more. "Father--if the CLS pulled out of Arekkhi space entirely ...!"

"... then many of us would be greatly displeased, but Prelate Nijho would not be one. I think, Zhenu would not, either. He is so wealthy already, I doubt he would note the increase to his purse from outside trade. But no one, except perhaps

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Nijho, knows what Zhenu wants." The elder glanced at his son. "The CLS

will remain here, at least for now. And I am working to gain allies in council so the threat posed by the Duke and the Prelate is entirely removed. But this returns us to the CLS, and appearances. Khyriz, I told the Council I would speak with you about your attention to the outsiders. I have. I did not say I would put restrictions on you, and I will not. However,
if
you appear to act in such a way, then the Council will be appeased."

Khyriz gestured assent, and fought to keep his whiskers from going flat. "I...

understand. Father, I shall."

"Good. You are the most intelligent and open-minded of my offspring, Khryiz.

I... you should also know this: Since the Heeyoons came, the Prelate has raised the problem of Asha"--the older Arekkhi hesitated--"insisting we must destroy them all."

"Kill...?" Khyriz stared, his ears now as flat as his whiskers.

"Essentially. Compose yourself!" The Emperor ordered sternly. His son forced ears partially erect. "Good. I understand the shock this gives you." He turned away from the table, yellow and brown patterned royal silk swirling, then settling in smooth folds. Khyriz watched him, still stunned.
How long
has he known this, and kept it secret?
"As much a shock," the Emperor went on, "as when I learned by happenstance that Nijho would add
xezzik
to the water given to all Asha, along with the
ephana
worker-Asha are all already fed."

Xezzik
--mind destroyer. Khyriz fought for control, but the very thought of the drug that created ahla-Asha and ahla-Arekkhi had the power to make him ill.

The voice-killing
ephana
was bad enough!

The Emperor gazed long and searchingly at his son, who could find no words to say. "The drugs will not be so misused. Once I have sufficient allies, and enough armed, the stores of those drugs will be destroyed.

Believe that, Khyriz." His father's ears quivered.
He likes this no better than I,
Khyriz realized,
impulsively, the Prince held out his hands.

"I do believe it. I want the same thing, Father." But if his father's count of allies was wrong! Changes of alliance were

52

common among high-ranked Arekkhi. Like Zhenu. "Zhenu," he said aloud. "I never trusted him! If he plots treachery...!"

He hadn't realized such behavior was more than proof of a lack in the Arekkhi people, until Magdalena Perez had taught him something of Renaissance and post-Renaissance Earth European history. Manipulation, treachery, religious warfare, marriages for political gain, assassinations, circles within circles: Since those few sessions with Magdalena, he'd thought of his cousin's abusive, arrogant father as the English Iron Duke--

Zhenu was, to him, very like the narrow and chill-hearted leader Cromwell, who'd battled to destroy a pleasant way of life, and behead a king.

Magdalena.
My Magdalena.
She was so near. But he dared not think of
her,
either. If his father knew his immediate thoughts, he'd have cause for concern. The Emperor didn't need the distraction.
Any more than I need to
explain it or even examine it.

His father was talking to him, his voice again at normal pitch. "I just want you to realize that matters are difficult at present, and more complex than you realized; I do not need arguments with either council over you." Anxious eyes met his.

Khyriz directed his gaze toward the floor and flattened one ear in token of submission. "Of course, Father. I won't go to the station to greet the outsiders. But"--he hesitated briefly, as if the idea were only just occurring to him--"if I might suggest that we send the pilot you hired for me, Bhelan? He flies into my estate, after all, even in the worst weather. He is one of the best we have."

"I thought my own pilot--" the Emperor began.

"But you never travel in adverse weather, Father," Khyriz replied smoothly.

"And your pilot seldom has reason to leave Arekkhi atmosphere. One doesn't anticipate any problem on the descent from station, but in case ..."

He only just managed not to hold his breath as the Emperor considered this, then finally gave assent. A moment later, Khyriz had the small chamber to himself.

No need for his father to know that he himself flew the shuttle under the former actor's guidance more than Bhelan

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flew it himself. Or need for his father or anyone else to know that the two males had become firm allies: Bhelan's many-times-father had fought the Civil War among other impoverished Arekkhi tenant-farmers and their Asha coworkers; Bhelan was proud of the martyr's memory--and willing to aid Khyriz
now.

I have coached him well,
Khyriz reminded himself,
he knows what emotion
to show, what answers to give. Magdalena may well wonder, but that is as it
should be....

Khyriz left the breakfast room and turned left, heading for his old rooms; his mother, the Empress Neoha, had the tiny bedroom kept ready for him always, though he'd maintained a small suite of apartments on the top floor of the Old Palace for his rare visits here. From that squat, ancient building he could come and go as he chose.

His whiskers curved slightly as he stepped onto the moving walk that would take him most of the way to the family's wing. Amazing, how naive he'd been before StarBridge: unaware of the secret layers of government and astonished to learn how many of the ancient rumors were true. He'd been almost trembling in his new hide boots the day he walked onto the Heeyoon ship that would take him to the Academy: How could he dare obey the inner Council--but what if he didn't? And if he dared tell the StarBridge authorities what his people demanded of him? Nightmares had plagued him the entire journey: visions of the advisers at StarBridge deciding he was mad and sending him straight home. Or believing him, but then isolating the Arekkhi and informing them why, only
then
sending their unwanted Prince home ...

You did the best you could, under the circumstances,
he assured himself.

The Council hadn't been overly pleased with his silence, his dearth of

"secret" information, but they'd let him have nearly two years away. In that time he'd found friends and allies, something he'd never considered possible.
How could I have known there'd be a Rob Gable, a Mahree
Burroughs?

How could anyone have imagined Magdalena Perez? She
knew
about peoples like his. Her planet's history was rife with

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times when government was all-controlling, when lying was an art form, where manipulation was so much a part of daily life....

At least Arekkhi weren't as violent as much of human history. Not always ...

Khyriz discovered that Bhelan was not in the Prince's old bedroom. The Prince waited for some time, then decided to head toward his personal flitter, in case they'd missed one another: In a building that sprawled the way this one did, such things often happened.

The pilot, Bhelan, had in fact been on his way to meet Khyriz, when without warning a heavy hand gripped his forearm and another covered his mouth.

Before he could react, he was jerked back against a muscular body, pulled off the moving walk, and hustled into a small, dark storage room. The door slammed, then locked behind him.

Bhelan cried out as his assailant shoved him against the wal and held him there. As the light sensor adjusted, the pilot could make out baskets piled high with pillows and shelves of body cloths, and then the short, squatty form of Ulfar, Duke Zhenu's favorite bodyguard. The solidly built male gazed up at him, eyes all pupil, incisors bared in a mirthless grimace--a killing face, doubly terrifying in this scarred male. "A message for you, pilot," he murmured softly.

"Message" Bhelan repeated unsteadily. A steel fighting talon tapped casually against his face; he closed his mouth at once. The deadly bits of metal were formed to fit over blunted claws, held in place with adhesive; they had been outlawed for centuries, almost as long as real claws had been named illegal weaponry. Bhelan tried to force his eyes away from it; Ulfar's whiskers flicked forward as he pulled his hand back, letting the room's dim light flicker on the shining, deadly weapon.

"Be still, listen," Ulfar whispered. "The young Prince is no protector for you and your kin, nor are the alien females who arrive today. We know Khyriz will go himself or send you to retrieve them. We know your family history, and your family's softness for Asha." Silence. The back of the fighting 55

talon slid smoothly over his cheekbone--turned, it could lay his face open, or kill him. Ulfar eyed him for a moment, then, apparently satisfied, stepped back a pace. "You will say nothing to the aliens that might arouse suspicion.

They will not learn how to fly our ships, not from you. Nothing of our politics--

nothing of Asha, not even the word."

Silence.
He wants me to say something,
Bhelan realized; but his throat was too dry for sound. He let his gaze slip briefly down and away, submissively; shame heated his skin. Ulfar bared his teeth, then said, "Martyr yourself for the young Prince if you will--but then your family is dead as well. But not as quickly or easily as this--" Bhelan cowered back involuntarily as the talon flashed past his eyes and flipped his right whiskers forward, travesty of a lover's gesture. "Say nothing! Remember... who is the strong one? Your young Prince, the Emperor--or Lord
Zhez
Zhenu? Obey Zhenu, and live--for now." Before the pilot could even draw breath, the bodyguard was gone, the door closing silently behind him.

Bhelan stood very still.
Let him get some distance from here, before you step
out,
he told himself; in honesty, he needed the time to get his shaking body and his face under control.