Hell Hath No Fury (45 page)

He didn't speak. He simply opened his arms, and she fell into them, weeping. He held her close, rocked her gently, then guided her into the living room. He drew her down beside him on the divan in a pool of moonlight, and she huddled against him while she sobbed.

He surrounded her with his arms, with his love, with the caress of his Voice and the bond between them.

There were no words, for there was no need for words. There were only the two of them, clinging to one another in the midst of their grief, and that was enough.

"Reports are still coming in from Traisum," she whispered finally. "Chan Geraith's first report of the battle was relayed while he was still eleven hours out from Salbyton. He's sent three more since then.

It's … horrible."

She relayed the images Kaliya chan Darma and Lisar chan Korthal had transmitted up the Voicenet.

Images of Fort Salby, still smoking, with a huge, monstrous winged creature draped over one tower.

Images of men burned into twisted charcoal, or lying like tattered scarecrows where lightning had left them. Bits and pieces of the bodies of Sharonian soldiers, and strewn among their mangled bodies the tumbled carcasses of the unnatural fusion of lion and eagle which had killed them. More bodies, breaches in a wall of adobe and stone, things which looked like horses, but obviously weren't, shattered platforms filled with the broken bodies of Arcanan soldiers, gun pits, row after row of bodies laid out in canvas shrouds … .

They went on and on, a catalog of destruction and desecration, and Darcel Kinlafia fought the surge of acid trying to come up out of his belly. His arms tightened around Alazon, and he held her while she shared the horror with him.

The images ended at last, and he kissed her hair, murmuring wordlessly to her. He never knew how long they sat there, just being there for each other, clinging to their love like some last, unshakable rock of sanity in the midst of a multiverse gone mad.

"How are they holding up?" he asked finally.

"Andrin is sedated now, too," Alazon said. "She didn't want to take it, but His Majesty insisted. She wanted to stay with Razial and Anbessa, but she has to rest-really rest."

Kinlafia nodded, his jaw tightening once more.

"The Empress is in deep emotional shock," Alazon continued. "She knew the danger was there, but somehow it seemed so remote, especially when Janaki was ordered home with the Arcanan prisoners.

But I think … I think she'd guessed what's been worrying His Majesty and Andrin. She just didn't want to admit it to herself. He's her only son, Darcel, and-"

Her voice caught raggedly, and she shook herself.

"I already told you Razial had been sedated, but she's awake again. And Anbessa is finally realizing what's happened, I think. Both of them were clinging to their mother when I left the imperial apartments.

And Zindel-"

Her voice broke off again.

"What about him?" Kinlafia pressed gently, and she inhaled deeply.

"I've never seen His Majesty like this. He can barely speak above a rasping whisper. It's more than just losing his only son. He feels responsible for the massacres, for failing to move quickly enough and get reinforcements forward soon enough."

"That's ridiculous!" Kinlafia snapped in hot defense. "I've worked that transit chain, Alazon. Nobody could have moved in troops or material any faster-nobody! He isn't a god, to wave one hand and magically transport a division!"

"I know all that, Darcel. And he knows that, too. But he's a Calirath. He feels responsible for the deaths, for the undermanned forts. And he's not the only one." Alazon shivered. "Orem Limana is nearly suicidal with remorse. He feels like he's betrayed them, all of them-soldiers and civilians-by trying to build new forts before he had troops in place to adequately man them. Before he had artillery in place to defend their walls."

"He's not a soldier," Kinlafia protested. "It's not his job to think like one. Besides, no one ever intended those portal forts to stand up to anything more dangerous than a few bands of brigands! There's never been anything more dangerous than a few bands of brigands-until now!"

"I know that, too." She nodded. "And the Emperor knows that. When Yaf Umani Spoke to me from Exploration Hall, he Said His Majesty's ordered two of the PA's Distance Viewers to watch the First Director twenty-four hours a day until this emotional shock passes. The Emperor has ordered Orem not to suicide."

That shocked Kinlafia. Orem Limana was one of the strongest men he'd ever known. If he was that shaken, then … .

"What about the First Councilor's contacts with the other delegations?" he asked.

"It's going to be ugly," Alazon told him. "The Emperor was right about that, too. Isseth's requested an emergency meeting of the Conclave later this morning."

"Isseth?" Kinlafia repeated incredulously.

"Everyone knows perfectly well that Chava is really behind it," she said. "No one's going to admit it, though."

"And the Coronation?"

"That's been postponed," she said bitterly. "This 'spontaneous' request for a Conclave session supersedes it, under the circumstances."

"That's just wonderful."

"Actually," she said unwillingly, "it was inevitabe. If Isseth hadn't requested it, we probably would have had to do it ourselves, under the circumstances. Not that Isseth-or Chava-did it to do us any favors!"

Fresh anger swirled about deep inside Darcel Kinlafia, but he made himself step back from it. He remembered what Janaki had told him about the deadliness of hatred, yet that wasn't what let him step away from the demons of his inner fury. No, it was the woman in his arms. The lifeline he clung to. And as he did, he felt her clinging to him, in turn. Their strength flowed together, melding, merging into something greater than the sum of its parts, and he turned her tear-soaked face up to his and kissed it gently.

"All right," he said softly. "His Majesty was right about Andrin needing to rest. Well, so do we. Come with me."

He stood, then scooped her up in his arms and carried her through the moonlight towards his bedroom door. She looked up at him, and he smiled crookedly.

"I said 'rest,' love," he Told her, "and I meant rest. There'll be time for other things later."

"I didn't realize you were so chivalrous," her Voice murmured in the back of his mind. "Refusing to take advantage of a maiden's grief."

He laughed softly, despite their grief, despite their loss, and kissed her once again.

"Chivalrous isn't exactly a word I'd apply to myself, love. Let's try … patient, instead."

"I prefer chivalrous," she Told him. "And in this case, I think I may just know you better than you know yourself."

"Maybe. But either way, woman," he turned back the light spread at one side of the enormous bed and tucked her under it, "you need rest. And so do I. So-" he bent over to kiss her once again, very gently "

– go to sleep."

Chapter Thirty-Five

The tension in the Emperor Garim Chancellery could have been used to chip flint as Darcel Kinlafia settled into the place in the gallery to which his candidacy for the House of Talents entitled him.

The sunlight streaming in through the windows framed in the black-and-white banners of mourning revealed a very different set of faces from the ones he'd seen there just the day before. The vast majority of naysayers and fence-sitters had disappeared. Today's faces were shaken, sick … and enraged.

Zindel chan Calirath, who should have been at the Temple of Saint Taiy, preparing for his coronation, sat like a statue of Ternathian granite. The black mourning band around his right arm was matched by the bands around the arms of every other man and woman in that enormous chamber, and the flags of every nation of Sharona flew at half-mast. The death of the heir to any imperial throne was always a world-shaking event; the death of this particular heir had shaken an entire universe to its foundation.

Andrin Calirath sat beside her father, her own face pale and drawn with grief. The preparation of her Glimpse had done nothing to lessen her sorrow or the profound, brutal shock of her loss, and nothing could have prepared her to deal with her younger sisters' grief. She'd argued against her father's decision the night before, but she knew now that he'd been correct. She had needed rest … and she was profoundly grateful that her mother and sisters had no official reason to be here this morning. Indeed, she wished desperately that she hadn't had to be here, either. But there was absolutely no choice about that, despite her youth.

With Janaki's death, Andrin Calirath, at seventeen, had become not Heir-Secondary to the Winged Crown of Ternathia, but Heir Apparent to the Throne of Sharona, and all the crushing weight of the multiverse seemed to be bearing down upon her shoulders.

I should still be with my tutors, a small voice wailed in the back of her mind. I'm not ready for this-it wasn't supposed to be my job!

Yet even as that little voice cried out in protest, she knew it was her job. That it had always been here, waiting for her, if anything happened to Janaki.

Shamir Taje, unlike Andrin, was not in his place at his Emperor's elbow. Since the formal ratification of the Act of Unification, Taje, as the effective First Councilor of the worldwide empire to be, had replaced Orem Limana as the presiding officer of the Conclave. Under the terms of the Unification, the Conclave was to continue to function as the effective caretaker government of the new empire until after the formal parliamentary elections scheduled for two months after the official Coronation. Now, that Conclave's members sat almost as still as Zindel as Taje stepped up to the podium Orem Limana had occupied when it first assembled.

"This Conclave is now in session," Taje announced. "All rise as for the invocation."

That morning, the invocation was short and to the point: Guard us, heavenly protectors, and help us choose wisely in this battle to save ourselves.

Then Taje took the podium once again.

"As all of us, I'm sure, have already been informed," he said, his voice harsh and rusty with fatigue,

"Crown Prince Janaki chan Calirath has fallen in battle against the enemies of Sharona. Regiment- Captain chan Skrithik and Division-Captain chan Geraith both agree that it was only the Prince's Glimpses which allowed Fort Salby to hold. And-" he looked up, forced to clear his throat hard, despite all his years of political experience "-the Division-Captain has confirmed that Prince Janaki knew it was a Death Glimpse before he chose to remain as part of the garrison defending Fort Salby and Salbyton's civilian population."

There was a moment of profound silence, and then Taje straightened his shoulders.

"Rather than rehearse the truly harrowing details, which have been summarized in reports that are being bound for distribution as we speak, I will turn the podium over to His Imperial Majesty, the Emperor- Elect of Sharona. But first, I ask that all please rise and bow heads for a moment of silence to honor the Crown Prince and the thousands of others that we estimate have been murdered in this Arcanan assault."

Kinlafia heard Temple bells tolling in the distance as the word raced out through Tajvana and the rest of Sharona, signaling Voices across the world to sound the bells in honor of their dead, royal and common, military and civilian. He shivered as the listened to those deep, rolling tones of grief and respect. He'd never heard so many Temple bells at one time. The sound reverberated through the city, through his bones. They rang out their dirge for five full minutes, calling to the thousands of Sharonian souls trying to find their way to the heavens of home.

In the end, the last shivery tone died into silence, and Zindel chan Calirath took the podium.

It was obvious he hadn't slept. Kinlafia's seat was close enough for him to see the bloodshot eyes, haggard with dark circles. The Emperor gripped the sides of the podium for long, silent moments, simply standing there in the heartlessly plain black and white mourning tunic and trousers instead of the jeweled coronation robes he ought to have been wearing.

Then he began to speak.

"Over the past several weeks," he rasped, his deep voice rough-edged with fatigure and grief, "we have wondered and debated over Arcanan's possible intentions. Those intentions are now brutally clear. We neither asked for nor provoked this war. We attempted to deal fairly and openly with the enemy-only to be met with treachery and escalating violence.

"I have been closeted with the Chiefs of Staff, the elected Speakers of this Conclave, and the first Director of the Portal Authority for most of the night. We've discussed threats and options for meeting them, and we have reached the following decisions.

"We are instituting an immediate recall to active duty of every Soldier, Sailor, and Marine under the age of forty. We realize the terrible hardship this will place on families and businesses, but we have no choice. Our standing army is far too small to fight a war of this magnitude. If circumstances force our hand, we will recall all former military personnel under the age of fifty, placing those with health and eyesight difficulties in administrative slots that must also be filled in order to make this war effort succeed.

"We are also asking for emergency volunteers from the Talents to fill critical positions in communications, intelligence gathering, medical care, and many other areas. If we cannot fill those needed positions through volunteerism, we will have no choice but to institute conscription."

Shock detonated through every Talented delegate to the Conclave. Even Darcel was stunned by the suggestion. Of all the major Sharonan nations, only Uromathia practiced conscription. Ternathia, Farnalia, Harkala, and New Ternath and New Farnal all relied upon a tradition of voluntary military service. So did virtually all of the smaller Sharonian nations, and even in Uromathia, the Talents were automatically exempt from conscription because they were so relatively scarce, as necessary to the civilian infrastructure as to the mnilitary. What Zindel had just suggested-or threatened-was unprecedented, hadn't happened in over four hundred years, and a roar of protest rose. It hammered at the Chancellery's banner-hung walls and-

"You will be silent!"

Zindel chan Calirath's bull-throated bellow stunned the entire vast chamber into silence.

"By our best estimate, judging from when we initially lost contact with our forces in Hell's Gate," he said into the ringing stillness, biting off each rough-edged, husky word like a sliver of bone, "the Arcanans advanced over four thousand miles in approximately twelve days. They are now little more than forty-four thousand miles from Sharona. If they launch a second-and successful-assault on Fort Salby and continue to advance at the same pace, they could cover the remaining distance to this very city in barely three months. Do not presume to protest anything the Throne demands in a war of survival. We don't have time for it, and I will not let any of you jeopardize all of us. Is that clear?"

No one said a word, and Zindel chan Calirath's nostrils flared with satisfaction.

"Good," he said much more quietly. "Then understand this, as well-all of you. We did not start this war, but we will finish it. We will take back the portals they've taken from us in their treacherous attack.

We will punish the atrocities they have committed against our people. And we will insure that this

'Union of Arcana' will never again pose a threat to us, to our children, or to our grandchildren."

A roar of approval went up, louder by far than the previous protest. Kinlafia found himself on his feet with the rest, applauding madly, yet even as he did, he looked down from the gallery at Chava Busar's face and saw the cold, calculating eyes that watched Zindel with carefully veiled contempt.

When the tumult finally died, Zindel continued his implacable, methodical outline of his preparations.

Troops to be raised and trained, railroads to be extended, shipyards to be built, munitions factories to be expanded, fortifications to be planned and built, weapons to be improved, developed, and deployed … the list went on and on, marshaling the resources of every universe Sharona had ever explored and hammering them into a weapon of war.

"What I require from you," he finished finally, "is the immediate passage of sufficient taxation to pay for these utterly critical measures. We do not have time to wait for formal parliamentary elections. The Arcanans have taken that luxury out of our hands. When those elections are held, I will seek approval of our present emergency revenue measures from that Parliament, but they must be passed now, and they will not be a negligible burden for anyone. This will be an expensive war. Never doubt that. Every Sharonian will feel the bite of higher taxes, and that bite will be deep. Many will protest when they realize just how deep. But when they do, ask them this question. Which do you prefer-higher taxes and higher prices, or Arcanan dragons in your skies, burning down your homes and loved ones? That is their choice. We did not ask for this war, but we will, by the Triad, fight it with everything we have-with every ounce of strength we possess!"

Another ovation met that statement, although it was more subdued than the last one. Talk of things like higher taxes and conscripted labor forces had that effect.

"That concludes my prepared remarks," Zindel said when silence had fallen once again. "Does anyone have questions? Not debate-questions?"

No one spoke for several seconds, but then the Emperor of Uromathia stood in the heart of his own delegation.

"Your Majesty," he began, bowing in Zindel's direction, "and esteemed colleagues, Uromathia shares the profound grief which the heroic death of Crown Prince Janaki has brought to all of Sharona and applauds the Emperor of Ternathia's determination to deal with this crisis."

Something flared deep inside Kinlafia as Chava said the word "Ternathia."

"However," Chava continued, "while no one could deny the necessity of the measures which he has outlined, Uromathia must question whether or not he possesses the authority to demand them." A stir of protest began, but he continued speaking, clearly and strongly. "It is unfortunately true that Crown Prince Janaki's death has reordered both the Ternathian imperial succession and the proposed succession of the Empire of Sharona. And it is also unfortunately true that as of this moment, there is no 'Emperor of Sharona,' nor an Empire for him to rule. There has been no Coronation, and the conditions specified by the Act of Unification for the Empire he is to rule have not been-and cannot, as written, be-

satisfied."

"What are you suggesting?" Ronnel of Farnalia demanded furiously.

"I am simply suggesting," Chava replied, "that this is a time of enormous uncertainty, and that under those circumstances, it is particularly important that all these matters be handled in strict accordance with the provisions under which the nations represented at this Conclave agreed to surrender their sovereignty. Yes, we are at war. Yes, it may be a war for our very survival. But if we are to face our enemies as a single, cohesive whole, we must be truly united, and there must be no question of the legality and legitimacy of the government under which we will fight."

"Come to the point-quickly," Zindel chan Calirath said icily.

"Very well, Your Majesty." Chava bowed once more. "My point is this. The death of your son has invalidated Section Three of Article Two of the Act of Unification. Unless the provisions of that article and section are satisfied, the Act is not binding upon Uromathia or any other signatory power. If there is to be a true Empire of Sharona, then I must respectfully request that the succession be secured as contemplated by Article Two in light of the changed circumstances resulting from your son's lamentable death. Is Crown Princess Andrin ready to marry the son I designate as her groom?"

A savage roar of outrage erupted. Half the members of the Conclave were on their feet, shouting and demanding Chava's ejection from the Chancellery, and Zindel's hands tightened on the podium with such force that Kinlafia expected the wood to crack. Then the gavel crashed down again and again, hammering for order, and all the while, Chava stood in the tumult, eyes defiantly insolent and wearing a smug little half-smile of satisfaction.

The furor died down at last, trickling slowly away into silence. When the entire Chancellery was still once more, the Emperor turned his attention back to Chava Busar.

The Uromathian's smile faltered as Zindel chan Calirath's icy gray eyes bored into him with scalpelsharp contempt.

"The son you designate?" the Emperor said, and Chava actually blanched at the menace in his deadly soft voice. "Haven't you overstepped your authority by presuming to name which of your lecherous, illbred mongrels will have the right to rape my daughter?"

Chava Busar's face went sickly white with shock, then purple with rage.

"How dare you-?!" he began.

"Do not presume to dictate terms to me!" Zindel thundered.