Voices of Chaos (39 page)

The wind was much stronger, all at once; he could see the rocky edge that marked the headland, see the distant and distort-fogged manor and the enclosed flitter landing. Khyriz's voice sounded different; Zhik finally identified the change--his cousin was already on the way. "Zhik, more speed if you have it; my overhead pilot tells us there are two flyers coming full-speed down the track from your family's holdings straight for the gates."

"My father?"

"We cannot tell; the machines are unmarked, similar to yours. My pilot will create what diversion he can." The connection went dead; An-Lieye returned the com to its clip, then winced back against Zhik as the flitter that had paced them for so long roared down out of the sky, then veered sharply toward the sea. A shimmering line of heat stabbed where it had been. Zhik keyed for more speed, but their flyer was already going as fast as it could, and bucking dangerously. He still couldn't see the flyers, just Khyriz's flitter, darting in and out of sight, the heat-bolt firing in a vain attempt to bring it down.

And then the main gates: thick metal, topped with the Prince's ducat. Zhik fought the flyer out away from its direct path, so he could approach the gates head-on, but wind caught the near wing and he had to swing it sharply back the other way; An-Lieye clung to the sleeve of his robe desperately, and behind him, Magdalena cried out.

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A flare of brilliant red exploded across the forward view port and the flyer shuddered violently as three voice-alarms shouted urgent warnings:
Downed coolant tank! Shattered Wing! Fire!
The machine jerked halfway around and suddenly he could see the flyers, nearly on top of them. His machine stalled and slammed into the ground, tearing his bruised fingers from the controls.

The cabin was rapidly filling with acrid smoke. He shouted, "Out! Everyone out, now!" and flipped the hatch control, then keyed off everything he could reach. He staggered to his feet, then caught An-Lieye up and limped toward the outside.

Magdalena was already outside the hatch, tugging at an unresponsive Alexis. Zhik let An-Lieye down and said with a hiss, "Move from the flyer and hide!" then caught hold of the interrelator's nearer arm. Somehow the two of them got the unconscious woman out, and into the long, shallow ditch that would be a small river in wet season.

The wind was a chill fury, ripping the heat from his body. He scrambled back to level ground and gazed anxiously toward Khyriz's still sealed gates. They were thirty paces beyond the nose of his burning flyer, but it might as well have been the back side of the jump-station. The two flyers had settled just outside the gates, between them and safety. Body-armored guards poured from the hatch of the first to form a double line, back to back, facing both downed flyer and the gates. They appeared to be armed with everything from stunners to force-beams.

From the second flyer, only five emerged. But Zhik felt the blood leave his face as he identified them: three senior guards, Hyorr, and in the lead---

Zhenu.

Delay them.
Khyriz was their only hope. An-Lieye gasped and snatched at the hem of his robe as he got to his feet and stepped from the ditch, onto flat ground.

The
zhez
hesitated so briefly, Zhik might have imagined it, then came on, his white robe snapping in the wind, stopping once he could clearly see his son's face. One hand held a small weapon of some kind, casually. The other hand was tucked into the snapping fabric.

Zhik blinked rapidly. But it was no trick of the light; his

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father was virtually featureless--nearly as unspotted as an Asha. In his haste, Zhenu had come out without cosmetic. "Zhikna," the noble said with an ominous growl. "I have heard curious things about you since the ball!"

Zhik fought nerves. Part of him wanted to cringe away from his father, flee from his anger. But one injured young noble was the only barrier between the Esteemed
Zhez
Zhenu and three unarmed females. I
am their Voice,
he reminded himself, and took a deep breath. "Yes, Father. Tell me, please, what tales you hear, and perhaps I can sort out the rumors for you."

"Fool!" Zhenu said, a growl, low in his throat.

"Once,
perhaps
I was that, Father." He waited then, physically still, not stuttering, and this seemed to confound his father. "Curious it is, though: I have also heard many things about
you"
He watched impassively as Zhenu's ears flicked. "Treason and sedition--" He got no farther; Zhenu bellowed a particularly filthy curse. Zhik swallowed.

' I will gut you for that,'' the
Zhez
said with a snarl, and freed his other hand from the white robe. Long, curved metal talons glittered on both thumb and first finger. Oddly, the threat and the weapons steadied the younger noble.

He can kill me, yes. He will not break me. Never again. And I must delay
him....

"If you touch me with those, Father," he said evenly, "if you take one drop of blood, the Emperor will execute you. I may appear worthless and weak to you, but to Khezahn, I am noble, and of age. And therefore your equal under his rule!"

"And if I kill him first?" Zhenu rumbled ominously. "Or if I have already killed the she-aliens and he knows it? If I am already dead in his eyes, and all that remains is my execution? Then what does it matter to me who else dies here? Do you think that I would mourn your death, weak and foolish son?"

Zhik gestured a sharp negative. "And if the CLS team is already off-planet?

Or safely back with the Emperor?"

"A lie," Zhenu snapped.

Zhik raised his voice slightly as the wind increased. "Shall I describe to you,
and
to Hyorr, the place where they were held? The guard-captain he gave orders to this morning, in your cellars? The vid to be made--?"

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"You...
you
did that?" Zhenu stared blankly, then spat laughter. "Oh, perhaps you somehow overheard, but nothing more! I will beat you senseless for such a lie, Zhikna. Because you are incapable--!"

"No." Magdalena's resonant voice overrode his. Zhik gestured urgently:
Go
back!
But the translator paid no heed; she came striding up next to him, her chin high. "The interrelator and I
were
rescued by Zhikna. From
your
guards.

The son has honor, unlike his father!"

"You do not
dare
speak to me in such fashion!" Zhenu roared. Magdalena took another step forward, eyes boring into the elder noble's, and Zhik realized with surprise that her silence and her stance unnerved him.

"How
dare
you threaten
me?"
she finally demanded. "After all the interrelator and I have endured these past days, because of you?" He would have spoken then, but she interrupted him--surely the first time such a thing had happened. "I am not your son! I am not your mate, your servants--
or
your Asha!"

Zhik didn't dare look at her; that would mean taking his eyes from Zhenu, who was stuttering in his fury. "Fool of a human woman," the
zhez
finally managed. "I can order you killed, now!"

He gestured an order to Hyorr, who turned and shouted to the double line of guards, "Make certain none come from those gates! Kill those who do!"

"You can't kill everyone!" Magdalena shouted.

One of the guards near the
eroe
end of the arc shouted, "The gates are moving! I can see the Prince's ducat on the lead vehicle!"

"I wil kil your precious, dandy young Prince!" Zhenu bel owed back at her.

"And I cannot imagine a greater pleasure than to let you watch as he dies!"

"You don't know
how
to imagine!" she screamed, eyes black in attack-fury.

"And that is why you will lose!"

"Perhaps." Zhenu emitted a spat of laughter, his own black, flat challenge-stare fixed on his son. "But you and he will not survive to see that moment, will you? And
you
carry no weapons, do you?
Son?"
His voice dropped; now a low, carrying

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purr, travesty of a father's love-growl. "Think; if you had the courage or skill for such weaponry, you might just have protected the alien-she. But poor Zhikna, he cannot kill. The test I set you with the ahla--but you did not destroy it, did you?'' The younger noble strove to answer, but Zhenu snarled, silencing him again. "Do not lie, I know what you did. The creature is here, where you took it." A gesture took in the distort-fence behind them.

Zhik could sense Magdalena's puzzlement and felt sick that An-Lieye might understand his father's words. "Ah-Naul is alive. My duty as a noble is to all sentients, by your own words and by the Prelate's teachings."

"A
sentient
would understand what the Prelate and his father
meant
by such words!" Zhenu said with a snarl.

"I see. My mouth is to swear, while my hands kill? I will
not
! I do not have the honor Magdalena says of me, but I may at least strive for it." Zhenu stared at him. Beyond the smoking flyer, Zhik could hear the sounds of fighting, the sharp cries of wounded. Khyriz was engaged diere, but he couldn't tell anything else. And then the elder noble brought up the hand-weapon. A fire-bolt; smaller version of the weapon that had destroyed the flyer. Magdalena didn't know what it was; he did.
I cannot let him kill her!
But, to die like that----

Zhik

swallowed, and tried to force himself to move.

He simply couldn't. Then Magdalena cried out in surprise and whirled away from him. "No--go back!" she yelled. A small figure in pale blue hurtled from the ditch to catch at his hands, the deep hood fallen forward over her face.

Her hands were trembling. But she eased from his grasp, and placed herself squarely between Zhenu and his son.

Zhenu peered, visibly uncertain who or what stood there. "What... ?" He spat laughter.
"You
spent the past days with a paid-she?" A gust of wind; the hood blew back, exposing pale, golden, spotless fur. The
zhez's
whiskers and ears went flat to his skull. "You ... you ... ? This is that creature bought by the designer-she!"

A sense of unreality filled Zhik as he stepped to put himself between his beloved and his father. The fighting was louder now--nearer. Still, if the
zhez
chose, the women and he, his

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beloved An-Lieye, were all dead in less than a heartbeat.
Delay!
he thought again. Somewhere above them, at least one flitter shrieked louder than the wind, and a red flame-bolt struck just beyond his father's flyers.

"Her name is An-Lieye," Zhik said. "And she is my life-mate."

For a long moment, it seemed nothing moved, not even the dying flames on the broken flyer. Then his father leaped toward him, both hands steadying the flame-bolt, the pinhole of the weapon veering from him to her, then back again. Wildly unsteady. Zhik sidestepped, trying to press An-Lieye behind him; Magdalena tugged at pale blue fabric. An-Lieye shook both of them off and fought to put herself between Zhik and the ugly little flame-bolt.

He pressed her back again, and this time An-Lieye stumbled and fell. "She is
not
your mate!" Zhenu said, hissing. "She is dead!" The
zhez
steadied himself, centered the weapon on the Asha. Zhik met his father's eyes squarely and moved; the bolt caught him midchest.

The pain was excruciating. Zhik shrieked once, horribly, as the chemical spread over his body; the beam sliced through his chest and broke up against Khyriz's distort. Burning, Zhik fell, already dead.

An-Lieye tried to throw herself on him; Magdalena caught hold of the frantic Asha and dragged her back, away from the searing heat. Her eyes fixed on Zhenu, who gazed, stunned at his son's corpse. He snarled a curse, and brought the weapon up again. Magdalena tried to retreat, but her legs wouldn't move. It was all she could do to hold on to An-Lieye. The little Asha trembled violently but made no sound. Voiceless....

One of Khyriz's flitters swooped low, a force-bolt tearing up the ground behind him; the
zhez
stumbled, and his next shot went wild. Before he could fire again, he was surrounded by armed guards, who tore the weapon from his grasp and wrapped him in force-bonds. Magdalena sat down hard as her legs gave out, taking An-Lieye down with her. The young female fought her way free.

Zhik no longer burned; but he was no longer recognizable

273

as Zhik. An-Lieye dragged herself to his side, fingers tearing at the blackened turf, lips moving soundlessly.

Tears blurred Magdalena's vision and slipped down her cheeks....

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CHAPTER 15

***

completely. Magdalena could hear a few high-pitched wails of pain but no more fighting, and the flames on the Iron Duke's flyers were suddenly doused as jumpsuit-clad Arekkhi shot broad fans of liquid over them. As suddenly, the acrid smoke from Zhik's stolen machine was gone, replaced by a faint, sweetish odor.

Movement to her left; she wiped her eyes and blinked rapidly. Five armed Arekkhi clad in blue jumpsuits strode among the wrecks, Khyriz in their midst. She thought he glanced her way but couldn't be certain; she got stiffly to her feet, but he had already turned to confront the bound noble.

Seeing the Prince, Zhenu fought his bonds, but subsided at once.

Magdalena winced, remembering her own brief experience with them in the old palace.
That must have hurt.
He glared down at the slighter Khyriz. A long silence, which the Prince finally broke. "The mouth-bond as well, one of you." He waited while an additional strip was formed over the noble's nose and clamped to the main restraints, then addressed him directly. "We both know how your long-ancestor from the last war bit his tongue and bled to death, Zhenu. I have heard you boast of his courage. You will not suicide as he did. You will appear before the Emperor and await his judgment. But that is my father's business, not mine.

"Here, you have committed crimes on royal land, any of which are such that I could order your immediate execution,