her instruments 03 - laisrathera (17 page)

“Slain the House.” Baniel set the telegem aside and stretched before going to the sideboard for a glass of cordial. “Rather with prejudice.”

“Like a male should, then. I didn’t think any of these freaks were capable of showing any horn at all.”

Baniel snorted. “I thought you’d be more disappointed. This reduces the number of potential slaves available.”

“More slaves can be bred,” the Chatcaavan said, uninterested. He held out a hand, expecting a glass of his own. “Yes? That is how you beget your young?”

“I assume the begetting is not dissimilar, since I have seen what remains of the women I’ve sent you.” Baniel poured him some of the cordial, because courtesy seemed associated with weakness in the aliens. He did not mind the creature underestimating him; it was what had allowed him so many hooks into the Chatcaavan already.

“Oh, the act.” The alien shrugged his liquescent shrug. “Of course. Similar enough, anyway. I meant you need to lie with one another to get your heirs.”

“You don’t?” Baniel asked, amused.

“No.”

He paused between sips.

“We Change,” the alien said, and something about the word made him feel its weight, even in Universal. “We can get young on other species. Our seed fools their bodies into nurturing it until it develops, but it is born Chatcaavan.”

“And do your women also transform the leavings of alien males?”

The alien snorted. “What do I care for what females do or do not? But we are not like you, freak. We do not sell our own to our lessers. Even if they are no better than possessions to us, still they are better than that.”

To that, Baniel could only reply, “How pleased I am not to be a woman, then.”

The Chatcaavan smirked. “Were you a woman, alien ally, we would not be having this conversation at all.”

Yes, he had seen that. Once, and that was enough; he left the work of clearing the refuse afterwards to acolytes. He cared very little for what became of his enemies, but blood made a dreadful stain and he found the stench of violent death distracting.

“So this male you’ve found with horns,” the Chatcaavan continued. “Now that he has destroyed his enemies, what does he plan?”

“Now?” Baniel snorted, amused. “He plans to make the long trip back to Ontine with his victorious army, a journey that will take weeks—longer, if the weather worsens. It was brilliant work to use the Pad to transport his army there, but he perhaps did not think through the consequences of having to return the long way.” He grinned. “He may even have failed to adequately plan for that journey. We may be rid of some number of his people, completely by accident.”

The alien sipped his drink, amused. “You are enjoying yourself.”

“It gives me a certain pleasure to watch the demise of people I hate. I imagine you understand.”

“I do. What I don’t is how you can hate all of your own people. Is there no creature you value?”

Baniel considered, then smiled. “Myself.”

The Chatcaavan guffawed, a very inelegant sound for the shape he had wrapped around himself. Lifting his glass, he said, “To the best and first investment.”

“Indee—”

He stopped. That aura… oh yes, the woman. Had she really returned? And at her side, a clot of studied nothingness that could only be….

Baniel started laughing. “Ah, my ally. Come, we have guests. Let us prepare to receive them.”

“Stop,” Val said.

Reese froze, heart racing. She could taste her pulse in her mouth, under her tongue—how did that work? She was ready to be done with this kind of 3deo action hero stuff. She’d had enough of it the first time she’d had to sneak through Ontine. Doing it a second time, even if the halls were practically deserted with all the winter court activities canceled, had only made her more nervy.

When Val didn’t move, she whispered, “Is there something wrong?”

“There’s someone in the room with him. I want to see if he leaves or not.” He glanced at her. “Might as well sit down. We can afford to wait. Give the Swords time to get the people out.”

“Sit? What if someone finds us?”

“No one’s going to find us.” He put his back to the wall and slid down. “No one’s going to bother Baniel in his own den without permission.”

“Then who’s in there with him?”

“I don’t know. I can’t read him.”

Reese glanced at him sharply.

“It happens,” Val said, unconcerned. “Some people are harder to read than others, especially if you don’t know them well. Just relax, Lady. Catch your breath. If he hasn’t left in a handful of minutes, we’ll go in.”

“And you’ll freeze them and I’ll shoot them.”

“Yes.”

Reese rubbed her arms, looking nervously at the tapestry across from them: some kind of horrendous battle scene, of course, involving unicorns and banners and corpses. She hadn’t seen anything like it on the lower floors; maybe that’s why it was up here? Maybe Liolesa thought it was ugly. It was. “Baniel… do you know if he’s as strong as Hirianthial?”

“His brother?” Val looked over at her, curious. “I didn’t think Baniel’s brother had talent.”

Of course… he wouldn’t know, with the talent having developed while Hirianthial was off-world. “He’s a real mind-mage. Like ‘kill people from a distance’ real.”

“Ah? This is new. If we’d known the high priest’s own brother had had such talents….”

“You all would have killed him.” She glanced at Val. “Killed Hirianthial.”

Val said, “Yes.” Considering her, he finished, “That upsets you.”

“Of course it does,” she replied, testy. “Murdering people for having an ability that’s only potentially lethal is wrong.”

“But especially this person?” He smiled at her expression. “Is that how it is, then?”

“I wouldn’t read anything into it,” Reese muttered, folding her arms tightly. Even on the third floor the rooms were cold. Wasn’t heat supposed to rise? It was very obviously not rising here. The first thing going into her new castle during renovations was definitely central heating. “I’m only human.”

“So were we, once.”

She eyed him past the braids crumpled against her hunched shoulder. “You admit that pretty easily, given how long it took for us to drag it out of Hirianthial.”

Val smiled. “I am a renegade, yes?” He closed his eyes, and Reese could see his eyes flicking beneath the lids. “I think we’d better be going. Are you prepared?”

Her hands were shaking, but blood, she had a gun and these people weren’t expecting them and wouldn’t be able to move. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Come on, then.”

It all went wrong from the moment Val pushed in the door. Reese didn’t even remember ending up on the floor unable to move, but it gave her a horrific and very clear view of Val on one elbow and both knees, curled down beneath the foot Baniel had planted between his shoulder-blades. She could see the fabric of Val’s gray coat creasing around the heel.

“The wanderer returns,” Baniel said. “How predictable. Don’t! Even think of it. You won’t succeed.”

“You were never this strong!” Val gasped.

“Things do change.” Baniel smiled and ground his heel against Val’s spine. “How charming it would be to torture you. My newest ally would approve. But you are a touch too troublesome to leave alive for even the short amount of time it would take for you to die.”

Nothing changed in the tableau; not the figure seated in the chair behind Baniel, not the priest himself, not Val. Even so, Reese could feel a pressure in the room, pushing on her skull until her eyes and cheekbones started throbbing. Val had turned his face away from Baniel and his eyes were shut, not in pain, but as if in puzzlement.

Abruptly his eyes flew open, and there was shock there.

Oh!
A voice hissed up through her bones where they met the floor.
Lord and Goddess! I give you this, I pray you give it to him if he is what you say he is—

She wanted to say ‘what?’ but there were no words, only the sudden shock of a blow so powerful she half expected to have been thrown on her back. But there was no blow, and when she gathered herself to look at Val and ask what the hell he’d been on about, she met his eyes just in time to watch the spirit in them gutter and die. His body sagged beneath Baniel’s boot and the priest kicked it aside.

“And that is how we deal with our enemies, mm?” He walked to her and crouched, close enough to touch her, his robes puddling near her cheek. “Captain Eddings. You would have been better off staying far, far away.” His hands slid over her back, down her arm, found the palmer and freed it from her hand. He searched her coat pockets until he liberated the telegem; despairing, she watched him turn it in his fingers. “Not alone, then, I am guessing. Don’t worry. We’ll take care of your incursion.”

He had his own telegem, she saw, and a data tablet, and he used them to summon two guards—Eldritch, at least, so maybe the pirates had died? Blood, let something good have come out of this! The guards bound her hands behind her back and paused at her face, looking to the priest for guidance.

“No, leave her mouth free. She can yell all she wants.” Baniel smiled at her. “In fact, I’d like her to howl as hard as she can, at the top of her voice… and her mind.” He lowered his head until he could look directly into her eyes. “Do that for me, Captain Eddings. Dwell on your dear Eldritch healer. Call for him. Beg him to come to your rescue, the way you did so wonderfully before. That would do very, very nicely.”

How fast could she go from dismay to active nausea? She thought her heart had time to beat once.

“Take her to one of the cells. And don’t harm her.” Baniel stepped over Val’s body and settled in his chair. “For now.”

As they dragged her away, Reese thought about screaming and clenched her teeth.

A most satisfactory day, Baniel thought after taking the guard’s report. The “escape” of most of the Eldritch hostages would probably win him a tiresome interview with Surela, but having them out of the palace suited him; trouble that needed management should be less proximate to his own location, lest it become too immediate for his tastes. He preferred to pick his kills and personalize them to the last detail, and sudden outbreaks of violence did not afford him the luxury of indulging himself. No, let Surela work herself into a froth over the abrupt scattering of her rivals. And Athanesin! It was to laugh. Truly they did the work of dividing their own forces admirably with very little help from himself.

Speaking of dividing his forces… he sat across from the Chatcaavan and waited patiently for color to flare back into the aura. When the dragon spoke, he sounded groggy. “What happened?”

“I fear you fainted,” Baniel said.

“Fainted!” The alien pushed himself upright in the chair and froze, eyes closing. “Ughn, my head.”

“I wouldn’t make too many sudden movements. You have been unconscious for nearly an hour.”

“An hour! What did I miss?”

“There was a fight.” Baniel threaded his fingers together. “I fear your five pirates are dead.”

“Ah?” The Chatcaavan slowly rubbed his head. “Doesn’t matter. Ship should be in orbit by now. Have you called?”

“Not yet. I wanted to see to your health.”

“Yes. My health.” The alien frowned.

“Perhaps it is some malady relating to the shapechange?”

“Perhaps.” Uncertainty, though.

“You should retire, maybe. Rest a little. Or would you like us to put you under the medical equipment you brought…?”

“No.” The Chatcaavan bared his teeth in a grimace that looked out of place on his Eldritch face. “That won’t be necessary. But I think I will have that rest.” He stood and eyed Baniel. “You were helpful.”

“We are allies.”

The alien considered him a moment longer, then shrugged. “So we are. Call the new ship. Have them send down reinforcements. Tell the new ones not to be pathetic enough to die to these puling freaks.”

“I’ll be sure to relay the message.”

The alien nodded once, curt, and left the room… without ever suspecting that most of his responses had been scripted for him, if not in words, than in emotions. Allies! Baniel snorted and went to pour himself a cup of warmed wine. Oh yes. The Chatcaavan was quite the ally, supplying Baniel with the power and reach to slap down his enemy. To think that Valthial had survived! And crept all the way back here to make an ending to an old rival? Amazing! But not, perhaps, as amazing as his having died so easily. When Baniel had told the Chatcaavan to imprint the Eldritch shapeshift pattern off his brother, he hadn’t realized just how strong Hirianthial was. It was to feel himself a god! Was this what had given his brother that unassailable self-assurance when they were younger? Surely not, when Hirianthial was a master of taking on unearned guilt.

No, he had to believe that Hirianthial was too timid and had been bred too well on stories of duty and sacrifice to ever fully take up the powers that he now had to hand… and that Baniel now had as well, through the bond he’d created with the Chatcaavan during their sessions.

Yes, that had worked exactly as he’d hoped.

He took a sip of the wine and smiled over the lip, savoring the memory of Valthial’s shock as he’d fallen. So good. Good enough to almost make him want to oversee his brother’s demise personally.

Speaking of which. He had a new crew of pirates to bring to heel. He took up the telegem and called for them. They were indeed in orbit, and very eager to send down replacements for the pirates who’d died, particularly if they might be able to partake of the local… culture.

Really, sapients were all so much alike. It almost took the pleasure out of manipulating them. Almost.

CHAPTER 12

“I trust you’ve found the journey satisfactory,” Hirianthial said, amused.

Sprawled in one of the mess hall’s chairs, Sascha grinned. “Oh, I think I’ve spent it a little more enjoyably than, say, some people I know who’ve been holed up in the gym.”

Bryer snorted from the corner, where he was tucked into his own wings.

Hirianthial ordered himself a cup of tea from the genie and sat across from the Harat-Shar with the mug it delivered him. Warming his fingers on the ceramic, he said, “Truly, arii. Tell me how you find them.”