Voices of Chaos (40 page)

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and even the Emperor could not protest. But I will not kill you. Trial for treason, before all Arekkhi space and the outside worlds, will humiliate you worse than any death even
you
could devise. But I
will
try you, here and now. And you will be allowed no voice. You murdered your only son in such a barbarous manner that I name you
less than sentient,
who was Zhenu.

According to Arekkhi law." He turned partway around; impassive eyes met Magdalena's. "You three are witnesses to this hearing."

Her heart froze--dread of more bloodshed, more confrontation. But, his look!

As if she could have been anyone.
He's against the Iron Duke,
she reminded herself. Personal gestures would be out of place; Zhenu would see them as weakness. I
can be professional also... I hope I can,
she added more honestly, then took An-Lieye's shoulders between gentle hands and urged her to her feet, whispering against her ear. The Asha trembled but let herself be moved away from Zhik, to a point where she and the translator could see Zhenu's face, and Khyriz's.

They'd lost some of the proceedings, Magdalena thought; Khyriz had just sent one of his circle back the way they'd come, and he was speaking in an undertone to others. He took a step back, then, and met her eyes.

"Magdalena Perez. We have proof by confession of a personal bodyguard that this male-being originated the plan, spoke the orders, and provided weaponry and funds for the attack on the old palace, and on the CLS team.

Have you and Alexis any proof of your own against the male-being?"

She swallowed. ''I must speak for Alexis Ortovsky. She was injured during our escape from the--the male-being's underlings. She is unconscious." She forced herself to concentrate on what she said, knowing Zhenu would see hesitation or confusion as fear; a little of the earlier anger steadied her. He would not have that satisfaction.

She very briefly told Khyriz how Zhik had rescued them, the few things he had been able to tell her that she could remember, back in the flyer. More haltingly, she told him of Zhik's exchange with Zhenu just before the
zhez
killed him.

"The male-being threatened death to all of you?" Khyriz 277

asked evenly; he glanced away from her as the guard returned, and gestured for him to wait.

Magdalena nodded. "Yes. But he killed Zhik by accident; he intended to first murder An-Lieye. Zhik..." She swallowed, fought air into her lungs, and went on, as dispassionate-sounding as he. "But the male-being would have killed us all if there had been time, I saw it in his eyes. He swore he would kill you be... before me, after he defeated your guards." Zhenu glared at her. Her mouth was very dry, all at once.

Khyriz gestured; the guard handed him a writepad and stylo. An-Lieye flicked her ears upright, shook herself free of Magdalena's grasp, and came forward. The hand clutching the stylo trembled, though, and she looked only at Khyriz. To the translator's relief, he was gentle, and he questioned her only briefly about what she had heard and seen. But before he could turn back to Zhenu, she gestured urgently and again began to write, then handed the pad to him.

Khyriz read silently, ears flicking in surprise. An-Lieye shifted her gaze to the bound noble, her chin high. She stepped back, hesitated, then spun on one foot and walked away. This was surely a first in the Iron Duke's entire life, Magdalena thought. His features showed more astonishment than anger.

Fortunately, he could not see the Asha's face; her ears remained upright, but her eyes were slitted in grief; the dark stripes flanking her nose were wet--

Arekkhi did not cry the way humans did but in extreme distress seeped moisture. The translator wrapped her arms around the grieving young she.

An-Lieye started, forearm hair hackled, then subsided against her.

"How interesting," Khyriz said finally. "Zhik told An-Lieye about certain records he read this morning. Records kept in your lower storage." Zhenu started violently, forced himself back to stillness as the restraints flashed bright blue. When the light faded back to normal, Khyriz held up the pad where the other could read it. "Of course, I already knew of your orders to Hyorr, to murder Asha and the villagers who protect them. Hyorr will not be available to carry them out." Silence. "You seem surprised. I have had your communications monitored for two years. And the raids on your villages Nho Four and

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Lirh Seven, Asha who vanished? I know where they are. Because I moved them to safety." Zhenu glared at him. "I have a team in place just this side of the Uyokkh River, ten flitters of my own armed, and four of the Emperor's flyers under the Heir's orders, ready to invade your--what
were
your estates at first light, and prevent those deaths. We will take control of those lands and restore order--a hundred years too late for many Arekkhi and Asha, but order nonetheless.

"Thanks to An-Lieye's warning, I will see that the holding is entered in secret tonight, long before the hour of attack. The main records, and the backup records belowground, will both be sealed before the clerks can destroy them." Zhenu strained against the bonds, and Khyriz spat laughter. "Hurt yourself all you please, play the mindless
iyfer
in a trap! I care nothing for your pain, and your actions change
nothing!]"

Zhenu glanced away from him, eyes hooded. Khyriz laughed again. "And I know your thought, just now. The restraints cannot be used for long, or death results; you remind yourself, 'At some time, they must loose the mouth-bond for food and water, and for air, and then I will act.' No. No escape, no easy death by blood loss or by suffocation in the restraints." He drew something out of a pocket and held it up--a small sniff-bulb, Magdalena thought; she couldn't be sure for the rapidly failing light. Whatever it was, she was certain the Iron Duke was terrified of the thing; he now desperately fought the bonds.

But the guards had him.

Another clutch of five jumpsuit-clad Arekkhi came from the direction of the gates, followed by a female in the distinctive red of a physician. The guards moved to help with Zhenu at Khyriz's sharp gesture, but the physician ignored them all. Her bright gaze fixed on the translator, and she hurried over to her.

"You recognize this, don't you, male-being?" Khyriz asked mildly. The physician would have spoken to Magdalena at that moment, but the

suddenly nervous translator gestured for silence. "When I first planned for the CLS team to tell the outside worlds about Asha, I obtained tubes of both drugs, so they would know what was being done by beings like you. And in hopes the outsiders could find antidotes. The tube of voice-killer goes to them intact. I hope the CLS scientists will

279

be satisfied with one bulb of mind-death. Because the rest are needed here.

"Of course,
you
know the color and shape of the bulb, and the effects! If you are fed one of these now, by morning you will have difficulty remembering who you are. A second then, a third the next sunrise--and you will be ahla until the Emperor discontinues the dose. If he ever does."

The power bonds flared bright blue as Zhenu fought to free himself, but the
zhez
was helpless. Khyriz firmly squirted the contents into the Iron Duke's nostrils, then turned to his guards. "Put him in the locked sick-room," he said with a snarl. "Two guards, both changed every hour. Remind them all, nothing short of full alert until the drug takes effect. And even then be wary.

My extreme displeasure if anything goes wrong!"

Magdalena turned away, sickened and trembling; she bit the side of her hand to keep from vomiting. An-Lieye took hold of her near arm, her own fingers shaking.
That drug is reversible,
the translator reminded herself as she fought for control.
He said so. And after everything the Iron Duke has
done, just tonight...
After what he had done to An-Lieye, who came from his estates, like Fahara. "Apologies," she stammered, and laid the back of one hand against the other's arm.

"Magdalena-she?" The physician's voice was unexpectedly throaty; that as much as the unexpected sound brought her around with a gasp. She gazed blankly at the red-clad, then shook herself. Physician ...

"Oh, gods, Alexis," she whispered; it hurt to speak. "I am unharmed, but the interrelator fell and hit her head. The bone felt solid to my hand, but she is unconscious, and I can't wake her."

"Concussion," the physician said calmly. "Which I can deal with. I am Unya--

take me to her, please." Magdalena led the way, then waited on the far side of the slope while Unya shouted an order for strong light down in the ditch and descended rapidly to crouch at Alexis's side. As a glare of lamplight bounced along the ledge, then centered on the fallen woman, the Arekkhi deftly raised lids to check her eyes, tested her pulse, felt her arms and legs, and shot a rapid series of

280

questions up at Magdalena. "She walked after this fall? The foot is enlarged--oh, yes, I understand, an earlier injury, a turned foot? She was able to put weight on it? Good, anything broken is small, then, more likely sprain. And the spinal column must not be damaged. We still use great caution here, to move her."
After the way we dragged her into and out of the
flyer, it may be too late,
Magdalena thought gloomily. But the physician's words and actions, as well as her obvious understanding of human

physiology, relieved her. Alexis was still alive. If there
was
damage, CLS

had the med-tech to fix almost anything.

She shielded her eyes against the glare and gazed back toward the flyers.

Zhenu was gone, and so were most of the guards. Flames crackled in one of his flyers and were snuffed at once by the three covered in slick-cloth who watched all three machines in turn, chemical sprayers at the ready. She could just make out two jumpsuited guards beginning to move slowly toward the gates, struggling with an awkward burden. An-Lieye, her size as distinctive as the pale blue robe, moved back and forth behind them.
They
are taking Zhik's body--poor Zhik. Poor An-Lieye.
Bright lights backlit guards and flitters well beyond them, and if she craned sideways, she could just make out the pillars of Khyriz's gates.

Khyriz himself was nowhere in sight.

Magadalena sank down on the edge of the ditch, tears running down her face, trying to pay attention as Unya shouted out an order for a hard carry-mat, then returned to her examination. No use; all she could see was
his
neutral face as he spoke to her, as he pronounced judgment; his hand pressing down on that bulb of poison.
He has things to do, important things,
she tried to tell herself. A high-ranking noble, an ally of the Prelate--and Khyriz had just arrested him and administered drugs that were used to create a slave class.

But the arguments did no good. What he'd said just now, raids on Zhenu's lands--Khyriz must have been working all along to help the Asha. And the things she'd said to him, the night of the ball.... I
was right. I knew I didn't
have the skills to serve in such a... a sensitive position. Rob was wrong.

281

Blanket was wrong. Father... Solomon Smith was right about me all along.

She buried her face in her hands and wept.

The physician touched her hair in concern, bringing her back to the moment.

"Are you injured? The program Khyriz obtained for me explains this as human weeping and, like ours, it means hurt."

The translator blotted her cheeks, gestured a negative, and managed, "It's also for very tired. I'm not hurt."
Physically.
Reassured, Unya turned back to her patient. Moments later, two of Khyriz's household came up in a small ground-flitter, a narrow hover-cart in tow. Unya climbed out of the ditch to study the Arekkhi-shaped niche atop the cart, then ordered mats and bolsters pulled out, a hard-mat dragged from lower storage to be fastened on top, another hard-mat carried into the ditch by three solidly built males in the red and brown of assistants. The physician followed, growling orders.

Magdalena climbed up near the hoverer, to be out of the way, and clutched the rough brown robe around her, eyes fixed on her unconscious colleague.

"Magdalena!" Khyriz's anxious voice brought her halfway around; he drew her into a tight embrace.
"Zhyoya
Magdalena--bright, beloved Magdalena, I thought I would never see you again." Closing her eyes, she clung to him.

He finally released her, but only so he could cup warm hands around her face. "You are not injured? Swear?" She shook her head, then nodded, unable to speak. "But you are so cold! Here--come with me--"

"I should stay," she mumbled through a tight throat. "Alexis--"

"Unya will manage better without you. Come, my flitter is close, and it is warm inside."

"Warm," she whispered, eyes still closed. She felt him bundle her into another garment--his own cloak by its thick softness and the citrusy odor of his favorite fur-softener. He wrapped an arm around her waist then and tugged.

"Apologies, I cannot carry you, you must walk. Unless the hoverer--"

She made an effort, opened her eyes, and stopped swaying

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in place. "No, Alexis needs it. I'm all right, Khyriz. Just-- just cold and...." She couldn't seem to find any words; his fingers tightened on her arm. "I can walk, if there's a warm place at the other end."

The flitter was almost stuffy; there was a jug of heated
rih
and a basket of bread, another cloak to wrap around her feet. The warm liquid eased some of the tension in her throat; Magdalena drank two cups but couldn't face food.

As she set the cup aside, though, tears rolled down her face, and she began to shake uncontrollably. Khyriz held her, his face against her hair, murmuring soft words--she could never remember what he said, but finally the trembling eased. He settled her next to him on a wide padded bench, waited while she dried her eyes and drew a deep, shuddering breath. "Here," he said, and handed her a soft damp cloth. "There is more warmed water for your hands and face."