Empyrion II: The Siege of Dome (36 page)

The blade slashed down, and another finger rolled to the floor. Mrukk stooped to retrieve it, held it up before Danelka's ghostly face. “Perhaps he did not tell you precisely what his plans were,” he said, turning the severed finger around. “But he told you something. What did he tell you?”

Mrukk lowered the razor-sharp blade slowly onto Danelka's little finger. The hand, held firm by the wire at the wrist, twitched, but could not evade the knife. The blade pressed down.

“The Trabantonna!” Danelka yelled. “The Trabantonna ...”

“What will happen?”

Danelka squeezed his eyes shut as tears streamed down his face. “Assassination.”

Mrukk straightened, grimacing fiercely. “You stinking Tanais filth!”

Danelka's eyes flew open. “I—I told you ... release me!”

Mrukk's hand blurred in the air, and the knife sliced through the soft flesh of his victim's neck. Danelka's scream died bubbling in his throat.

Mrukk
entered Jamrog's kraam, was met by Osmas, and passed quickly through to Jamrog's private bedchamber. There Mrukk found the Supreme Director in the company of three comely young Hagemates. The girls giggled as the Mors Ultima commander came in.

“Ah, Mrukk,” said Jamrog, rolling out of bed. “I expected you much earlier and grew tired of waiting.”

“The subject was quite unresponsive, Supreme Director. He required extensive convincing.”

“And was he convinced?”

“In the end.”

Jamrog laughed. “You can be most persuasive, Mrukk.” He held out his arms for one of the girls to drape a hagerobe over him. “Leave us for the moment,” he told them. The girls tittered, and Mrukk's eyes followed their easy movement as they flounced from the room. Jamrog saw the look and said, “Yes, they are beautiful, aren't they? But you don't like women, do you? What do you like, Mrukk? I wonder.”

The Mors Ultima stiffened.

“Ah, well, what did your inquiries produce?”

“It is as we suspected, Supreme Director,” Mrukk replied tersely. “Tvrdy and the others have fled to the Old Section. They have formed an alliance with the Dhogs.”

Jamrog nodded, walked to a table, took the flask from the warming cradle, and poured two cups of souile. He handed one to Mrukk and downed his cup in a single swallow, poured another, and sipped slowly. “Yes, it is as we suspected. Continue.”

Mrukk stared at the cup in his hand. “They are transferring information freely from the Hages to the Old Section.”

“Yes, yes,” said Jamrog impatiently, “do go on.”

Mrukk glanced up and eyed the Supreme Director.

“What is it?” demanded Jamrog. “Why do you look at me like that?”

“There is to be an assassination.”

“An attempt on my life? When?”

“During the Trabantonna.”

“During the Trabantonna!” Jamrog cried. “Wonderful!”

“We don't know where.”

Jamrog sipped the warm souile and said, “It doesn't matter. We'll be ready for them. This will be a triumph, Mrukk. A triumph!” Jamrog downed his cup in a gulp and poured another. “We must make special arrangements for our unexpected guests. You'll see to it, Mrukk.”

The Mors Ultima nodded slowly. “I will see to it.”

“Tvrdy has overreached himself at last, and will be destroyed!” Jamrog spun and smashed his cup down on the table. The cup shattered, and glass fragments scattered over the floor. Jamrog raised a bleeding finger to his mouth and sucked it. “I don't want him killed, Mrukk. Instruct your men; they can kill the others, but not Tvrdy.”

“They will be instructed.”

Mrukk turned and made his way to the door. “Remember,” Jamrog called after him. “I want him alive. Alive!”

The night before Trabantonna
the Hage priests hold vigil in the temples of Empyrion. Black tapers of rendered human fat with wicks made from the braided hair of children are burnt though the night, while the priests pour libations over themselves and submit their bodies for ritual cleansings.

As dawn draws near, the priestly revel reaches its climax as the Hage priests, having chosen the corpse of a recently deceased Hageman, strip the corpse, paint it red, and bind it to a thronelike chair. In an elaborate ceremony the cadaver is consecrated to Trabant Animus. The chair and its grotesque occupant are then lifted high and marched around the temple.

As morning's first light strikes Dome's massive crystal panes, the painted corpse emerges from the temple borne on the shoulders of the Hage priests. The procession is greeted by the people who have gathered before daybreak to await the spectacle. The priests push through the crowd and move slowly down the ramp and into the temple square now thronged with onlookers. Those closest to the priests press themselves closer still in an effort to touch the lifeless celebrant as the chair passes.

The chair is carried in this way to the center of the Hage where, in the largest square or plaza, it is established at the head of a table set up on a stage or scaffold. The corpse is officially welcomed and the title Chairman of the Feast conferred upon it. The populace then engages in rites of mourning: men shout and curse and pound the stones with their fists; women wail and throw themselves to the ground, tearing at their clothing and hair.

When the ritual mourning reaches a fevered emotional pitch, a Hage priest, dressed in a scarlet yos, moves through the crowd, scattering warm blood (from freshly killed sacrificial animals) over the mourners. Upon receiving the spattered blood on clothing, faces, and hands, the people leap up and begin dancing hysterically, throwing themselves into wild and unnatural contortions. They scratch themselves and claw at their flesh, they writhe and squirm, they shake with convulsions—all this to the accompaniment of a ghastly chorus of howls and shrieks.

The mad dance continues until exhaustion overcomes the participants. Gradually the screams die and the people lie still. The priests then move through the cataleptic throng touching the people on the back of the neck with a ceremonial bhuj. At the touch, each unmoving Hageman rises slowly and goes to the table where, taking up a bowl and filling it from the mounds of food piled in the center of the board, he sits down to eat.

So begins the Trabantonna, the Feast of the Dead.

Jamrog
looked out on Hage Saecaraz from a rimwall overlooking Threl Square, where the Saecaraz Trabantonna celebration had just commenced. The squares, filled to overflowing with bellowing, gyrating Hagemen, were ringed with gigantic banners bearing the Supreme Director's likeness. Mrukk stood beside him, restless, wary, tense.

“Relax, Mrukk,” Jamrog cooed. “It is early yet. The Feast is just begun. He will not strike so soon. He will wait until the evening, when the chaos is complete. Then Tvrdy will come. And then we will spring our trap.”

“Underestimate Tvrdy today, Supreme Director,” replied Mrukk stiffly, “and you will pay with your life.”

“Have you no faith in your own Mors Ultima to protect me?” Jamrog's smile was fierce and rigid.

Mrukk did not answer. Instead he said, “I have posted men in every Hage. We will be in continual contact with them as we move from Hage to Hage. Any unusual activity today will be met with extreme force.”

“Pity the celebrant who drinks too much souile and wanders off to puke in the river.” Jamrog's laugh was a sharp bark.

“We are not playing tuebla. Let Tvrdy outsmart you and tomorrow Empyrion will have a new Supreme Director.”

“You would like that, Mrukk, would you?” Jamrog laughed again and turned to gaze out over the square where the celebrants writhed and flailed, their screams ringing off the stone. “Listen, it's the music of misery,” said Jamrog. “This will soon be Tvrdy's song as well.”

“You wish to join the feast now?” asked Subdirector Osmas, deep lines of anxiety etched across his forehead. He and several underdirectors stood back among the Invisibles; they knew of the impending assassination attempt and were trying to remain inconspicuous.

Mrukk stood with arms folded across his chest, black yos glistening in the morning light, narrow eyes sweeping the scene below, watching for any unusual detail: a figure too aloof, an eye too watchful, a shadow out of place.

“It's a long day. There's no need to hurry it along. We can wait here a few more minutes. I will make my appearance when the feast has begun.”

They watched as one by one the celebrants grew still. When all the square lay covered with unmoving bodies, the Saecaraz priests began moving among the silent populace, touching each celebrant on the neck and passing on. When all the people had been thus resurrected, Jamrog turned to Mrukk and said, “Now I will go down to them.”

Jamrog turned and, with Mrukk at his right hand and his close bodyguard of handpicked Mors Ultima right behind, made his way down to the square. There, to the loud acclaim of his Hagemen, he climbed to the high table where the grinning corpse sat overlooking the feast. The Supreme Director gazed benevolently out upon the proceedings and spoke a few words of license to the revelers. He was presented with a bowl of food, which he accepted and immediately passed to one of his bodyguards. Jamrog then walked among the celebrants for a time.

So caught up was he in the drama of his own presence, Jamrog did not notice that their greetings were perfunctory and subdued—as if the people were afraid to address him at all, yet feared not addressing him even more.

When he had tired of the Saecaraz, Jamrog and his entourage left Threl Square, boarded waiting ems, and were whisked away to Hage Nilokerus. There they were greeted by Director Diltz, who welcomed them warmly and led them along to the feast site. “As you have ordered, Invisibles are scattered among the celebrants, and the perimeter is under hidden patrol. There have been no reports of anyone leaving the feast, and all who arrive are searched.”

“Have you found anything?” asked Mrukk.

“Nothing.”

“You won't find anything,” said Jamrog. “Tvrdy will not attack here. He will choose a neutral place. Hage Nilokerus is too hostile for him. He needs a place where he can maneuver more easily—Hyrgo, Rumon, or Tanais would suit him best.”

“I'd say Tanais,” offered Diltz. “There his network, if he has one, will be ready.”

“It would suite Tvrdy's arrogance,” said Osmas. He shrank back as soon as he had spoken, remembering his plan to stay out of sight.

“Enough,” Jamrog said. “I have come to participate in a feast, not a funeral. We'll stay with our plan and trust to Mrukk's invincible efficiency.”

Mrukk grunted, and they moved off. A few hours later the party moved on to Chryse Hage, arriving by boat. They disembarked and were greeted by Director Dey and his underlings, who escorted the growing entourage to the feast site where the Chryse, in an effort to outshine the other Hages in an extravagant show of loyalty, had constructed a huge, octagonal tower in the center of the feast square and scores of long poles around its perimeter. Each side of the tower, as well as every pole, wore Jamrog's huge portrait framed in Saecaraz red.

The gesture was not wasted on the Supreme Director. “I'm impressed, Director,” he whispered. “I did not expect the Chryse to respond so warmly.”

Dey caught the insinuated reference to the imprisonment of the seventy-five Chryse and replied, “My Hagemen would not have you think that all Chryse are suspect. They want you to know that they are forever loyal to their beloved Supreme Director. This ...”—he gestured to the massive display—over a hundred gigantic banners in all—“is but a small token of Chryse sentiment.”

“I'm sure it is,” Jamrog replied. “I am flattered. What is more, such a demonstration requires a response of equal magnitude. Once their reorientation is completed, Director, I will personally see to it that your Hagemen are returned to Hage Chryse rather than being reassigned elsewhere.”

“You are too gracious, Supreme Director,” bubbled Day. “But the Chryse seek no special favors. We are only happy to serve.” He inclined his head toward Jamrog in a gesture of submission, but did not take his eyes from the Supreme Director's face.

“You have earned this favor, Dey. It is a feast day, and I can afford to be generous. And since I am in a generous mood, I invite you to join my party.” Thus, several more bodies were added to the number surrounding the Supreme Director.

As
the afternoon drew on, and the Hage celebrations continued, Tvrdy, Cejka, Kopetch, Piipo, Bogney, and all those chosen to join the raid readied themselves and their equipment—most of it retrieved earlier from Tvrdy's private stockpile—for the trek through the Isedon Zone to the Hages they would strike. When all was ready, the leaders went through the details of the plan yet once more.

“This is the last time we do this,” said Tvrdy gravely. “If there are questions, ask now.” He looked at Bogney as he said this, but the Dhog leader did not respond. “All right, Cejka, you first. The Nilokerus temple is furthest from the feast site. That is where we will stage our first deception. Cejka, you must make certain the flames are seen before you leave. Sound the alarm yourself if you have to, but we must be certain that the Nilokerus know the temple is on fire. At the same time, four of your men will set fire to two Hageblocks,” he pointed to the map, “here and here. They are enough distance from the temple that you will not have any trouble getting away safely. The temple is the crucial distraction; let them find the Hageblock fires on their own. It will produce more panic if discovered separately. Once the fires are lit, get away. Make your way to the rendezvous place in Isedon and wait for us. We will signal you if we need you.”

Cejka nodded solemnly. “I understand.”

Tvrdy swung to Piipo. “You and Bogney will go in with Cejka, but wait until the flames are sighted and the alarm given. You know where the Starwatch level is—” They both nodded. “So get there as quickly as possible. Ernina has given you a complete list of the supplies and equipment we need. Get what you can and get out. In the confusion, it will not be difficult to pass yourselves off as security. No one will question you if you shout orders and insults along the way. Meet Cejka at the rendezvous and wait for him. We will reclaim the supplies later.” He paused. “I wish Pradim were here for this, but we don't have a guide, so you'll have to trust your own eyes and senses.”