The Pearl Saga - Mistress of the Pearl Part 39

His gesture, so full of tenderness and benevolence, genuinely moved her. "SaTrryn, about what I said before-I had no excuse to speak to you that way."

He smiled sadly. "But, you see, I have been running away."

"It feels better now."

He removed the tumbler, and she reb.u.t.toned her clothes.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"I don't know. I ..." Far to the north, thunder rumbled like the growl of a marauding perwillon. "I don't think I was truly alive before I met her. She was an artist-very talented. She saw the world in an astonishing way. And she was strong-as strong as any male." He shook his head, confused. "Amazing, really. She taught me so many things I could never have learned elsewhere."

"You are a lucky V'ornn, SaTrryn."

"Really?" He thought about this for some time, wondering how much she had to teach him. "Tell me about you and Teww Dacce."

"Not much to tell, really. There was actually a time I was in love with him-madly, completely, absolutely." She shrugged. "Why not? He seemed attentive, loving, pa.s.sionate. And he was a powerful Khagggun on his way up. I can see now that he was everything, in fact, I desired from a male. But none of it was real. I saw what I wanted to see, what I needed to see." She looked up at him. "In order to please my father."

He said nothing, but he was watching her, and in his eyes she saw something that stirred her. He leaned toward her and she to him. A heat arose between them, drawing them closer. Leyytey knew this strange attraction was wrong, that whatever happened now would do so because of their mutual sorrow, their loneliness. Another false foundation. But she could not stop, for it was not only physical desire that welled up inside her, but an almost desperate longing to open herself completely to him. In this moment of intimacy she wanted to tell him her secret so badly she could taste the truth on her lips even as he tenderly bruised them with his own. He was different from all the males she had ever encountered. She felt as if he held the caustic flame of her life in his tender hand and did not flinch.All around them the bower of leaves rustled and shook in waves with the stirring of the fitful wind. The moonslight outside where they sat bleached out the colors so that the tiny garden appeared limitless. The four deep red jasper walkways that led from the cardinal points of the compa.s.s to the tortuosa shimmered in the monochrome light, ethereal until they arrived beneath the thick canopy of interlaced leaves. There came to them the scent of orangesweet, the attar of star-roses, their ruffled petals turned startlingly black in the drench of moonslight.

Locked in his embrace, she heard herself begin. SaTrryn, I have something tell you. She imagined that she said it so softly that at first Sornnn would not be certain what he heard. It's about Raan Tallus.

Even though this was taking place inside her head, her hearts were hammering, and she could scarcely breathe. She registered the responses of her flesh with only half her mind. In the other, the imaginary dialogue was continuing.

It's a confession, really.

A pair of gimnopedes flitted through the gnarled branches, pecking at each other in the beginning of their complex mating ritual.

I should have told you sooner.

And what would he answer? Go on. It's all right, Leyytey.

But that would be before he was made privy to the secret she had kept inside her.

When I told you I was familiar with Roan Tallus it was because of Teww Dacce. The truth about lovers, SaTrryn, is that they lie, inevitably they lie. The solicitor-general hired Teww Dacce.

Not that Teww Dacce told me. On the contrary. But I found out, anyway. Despite his lies. There was only one reason a Bashkir would hire a Khagggun, and it was never, ever spoken about. The only reason a Bashkir hired a Khagggun was to murder someone.

It was Hadinnn SaTrryn. There were tears in her eyes, but Sornnn did not see them. Neither did he hear her. He remained locked within his own thoughts, oblivious to the knowledge she kept inside her.

On Roan Tattus' orders, Teww Dacce killed your father.

Fleet-Admiral Ardus Pnin was working on command changes, specifically the vexing question of who should take control of the important Sudden Lake Corridor sector, when he heard the sound he had for some time been dreading.

He rose from his desk and walked with an unhurried pace to a window, where he looked out on seven hoverpods descending on his villa compound. Seven, he thought. Bit of an overkill.

All the hoverpods were etched with the sigil of the new Star-Admiral. They landed all at once, and with synchronized precision Iin Mennus' Khagggun quietly took possession of the compound. Pnin's own guard did not resist, neither did they retreat. They stood their ground while they were disarmed. Not one of them was hurt or humiliated. Pnin was proud of the discipline he had instilled in them.

Sunset cast a melancholy patina across the villa walls. The garden was already dark with blue shadows, leaf-laden branches clattered softly in a brief gust of wind, a final exhausted exhalation before the wind died altogether as was often the case in that lugubrious slide into dusk. Why was it, Pnin wondered, that battlefield deaths occurred in the sheen of sunlight, but the wasting away by illness or old age took place in the dark?

He saw Iin Mennus now, resplendent in his Star-Admiral's armor. He was without a helm and, it appeared, any form of weapon. That could be taken either way-as a sign of respect or of contempt.

The long shadows made Iin Mennus' skull seem even more misshapen, the scar down the left side of his head deep as an ice creva.s.se in the Djenn Marre. Pnin watched him striding toward the villa and he stepped away from the window. The interior was preternaturally still, as if the building were already in mourning. He looked down at his impeccably polished boots. They were indigo, the traditional color of death. That was when he realized that something inside him had known the end was here when he had dressed that morning.

He was back, seated behind his desk, when his adjutant showed the Star-Admiral in. Pnin caught theaggrieved look on his adjutant's face. He had revealed nothing to Iin Mennus. Again, Pnin felt pride swelling his chest. He gave his adjutant an imperceptible nod, the door swung shut, and he was alone with the Star-Admiral.

For a long moment, Iin Mennus stood silent, surveying the room. Then, slowly and deliberately, he stripped off his alloy-mesh gloves.

"It is good to be home," he said. And that summed it up-the excision order of the high command, the years of exile, the humiliation, the brooding, the need for revenge, the eventual triumphal return to Axis Tyr, the nexus of power.

He crossed to a sideboard, stood looking at the crystal decanters.

"Drink?" he said.

Pnin's silence did not deter him. He filled two goblets with Arggge-dian ice-marc, set one down on the desk in front of Pnin. As he did so, he looked at the data-crystal readouts. A sly smile pa.s.sed across his lips. Or, with his disfigurement, what pa.s.sed for a smile.

"The command at Sudden Lakes, eh?" The data crystals vanished into his huge fist. "You'll have no more need of these, Fleet-Admiral."

Pnin's continued silence seemed to needle him. He took a quick pull of the ice-marc, grimacing slightly at its acidic strength. Then he downed the rest, put the goblet aside. Hooking a booted toe around the leg of a camp chair, he drew it over and lowered himself heavily into it. Sitting there in his shining armor plate, he looked like some great squat beetle, ugly and dangerous.

"The question is what to do with you."

"Put me in the caverns with the other Admirals of the high command."

"Nothing would please me more," Iin Mennus said. "Unfortunately, that would not be the wisest course of action. "You still have too many adherents. Your incarceration and interrogation would likely cause a rebellion. No, better by far to keep you here in isolation."

"House arrest, you mean."

"Under protection, officially." tin Mennus' grin was horribly lopsided, a travesty, really. "Haven't you heard, the Resistance has put a price on your head."

"You could murder us all."

"Believe me, I have considered that." Iin Mennus made a show of pocketing the data crystals.

"However, I have no wish to martyr you. Or to start a civil war."

"Of course not. Get off on the wrong foot with your master."

Mennus frowned. "We are all servants of the regent."

Pnin had a sardonic response to that, but he was acutely conscious of the Star-Admiral's desire to trap him into saying something treasonous. He was not fooled by Mennus' urbane facade. The Star-Admiral would use any excuse at all because he meant what he said-he desperately wanted to interrogate Pnin. He wanted to see him suffer, he wanted to break him. Then and only then would his thirst for vengeance be sated.

"So." Mennus hunched forward, making him seem even more like an insect, if that were possible.

"Now your order of excision has been negated. Now I am in charge of the high command. That must displease you greatly."

"I fear for the Modality, if that is what you mean."

Mennus' eyes glittered. "That is precisely what I mean."

"What is it you want, Star-Admiral? Do you want my humble apologies, do you want me to admit that the order of excision was in error? I would, certainly, if your actions warranted it. However, just the fact that you would consider murdering me and all the Khagggun loyal to me is proof positive that the order of excision was not only justified but absolutely required. You are as dangerous to us as you are to the enemy."

Mennus kept his seat, though muscles had begun to twitch in the side of his skull. His lack of height had taught him to avoid standing in a room with other Khagggun whenever possible. "I was almost killed, you know." He ran a fingertip down the deep indentation in his skull. "Close-hand fighting. Carnage all day and night without surcease, a pyre of the enemy growing around me, stinking to high heaven. Idispatched twenty-seven of their souls that day. And then out of nowhere a Kraelian battle-ax." He looked at his fingertip as if expecting to see blood and gore. "I fell, a piece of my would-be killer's axe still lodged in the bone of my skull, but on my knees I slaughtered him."

But, as Pnin saw it, that was not his meaning. This bragging of his battlefield prowess was really a question: How could you have drawn up an order of excision on such a hero? That was what ate at him. Which meant that he had not heard a word Pnin had said. Typical of him.

"It is true that I am dangerous," Iin Mennus continued. "Dangerous to those within our own caste who would seek to undermine the Khagggun mission to seek and destroy."

"We are on Kundala now, and it seems we will be here for some time," Pnin said. "If we continue to seek and destroy, there will be only V'ornn left."

Mennus spread his hands. "You see, this is what I mean. It is this soft thinking that is undermining the discipline of the Khagggun."

"The Khagggun under my command are the most highly disciplined in the caste."

Because he could not refute that, Mennus took a different tack. "As a caste, we are becoming bored, listless. We lack direction and focus. The Kundalan Resistance should have been completely wiped out by now. We long ago should have occupied the southern continent."

"I was there in the Great Arryx when the Gyrgon ordered us home. Would you gainsay their decision?"

"I point this out because it has come to my attention that the Sar-akkon have become more active of late. More of them are here in Axis Tyr than ever before. We do not even have a coordinated means of keeping track of them."

"They are traders. Why track them?"

"Do you know a Sarakkon named Lujon?"

Pnin shook his head. But of course he did know Lujon. They had met when Pnin had been in the southern continent. No one could have been sorrier than he that the Gyrgon had ordered them home. At the time, he had considered it a serious mistake, and nothing since that time had disabused him of that conviction. Quite the contrary. Pnin knew that Lujon was not just another Sarakkon. He knew that he was not a trader. Lujon had presented himself as a priest, but he was too slick, too glib, too ready with the answers to all Pnin's questions. Pnin had not believed anything he had said.

After the interview, he had made it his business to follow Lujon, not an easy task for a V'ornn on the southern continent. Fortunately, he had found someone on the Orieniad who had agreed to help him.

From this, Pnin had deduced that there was a serious schism in the Sarak-konian ruling council.

The member of the Orieniad-Cerro was his name-had introduced him to a Sarakkon by the name of Courion, and it was Courion who had led Pnin into the Axetl River basin, where Pnin had seen the Temple of Abrasea, where he had learned that some among the Sarakkon secretly practiced their own form of sorcery-an astonishing ability to murder.

Then, abruptly, the Gyrgon had ordered him and his Khagggun back to Axis Tyr. He had dutifully dictated his report, but before he could deliver it to the Star-Admiral, he was visited by a Gyrgon named Nith Batox.x.x, who requested of him a verbal report, then promptly relieved him of the data crystal, admonishing him never to speak of it with anyone. That was the last he ever heard of the matter.

"This is what I mean," Iin Mennus said now. "Lujon has been making strategic alliances."

"As all traders must."

Iin Mennus glowered. "You cannot hide your incompetence. We believe there is something more to Lujon. We believe he is a smuggler."

Pnin wanted to laugh. Instead, he pasted a blank expression on his face. When Nith Batox.x.x had popped up at Kurgan Stogggul's side, Pnin's interest had been piqued. He had discovered that Courion was in Axis Tyr, and he knew that, subsequently, Nith Batox.x.x had murdered him. This had put him on high alert, and, in due course, he had been informed the moment Lujon had set foot in Axis Tyr. He knew that he had set himself up in a long-abandoned Ramahan watchtower east of the city. He was under surveillance because Pnin very much wanted to know if he, too, would be contacted by the Gyrgon. Why had the Gyrgon decided to leave the Sarakkon alone when they could have been so easily plucked offthe vine? That had been a question that had haunted him ever since the order had been given. He suspected Lujon knew the answer.

"Smugglers abound, some doing business with the Gyrgon," Pnin said with a shrug. "He is one Sarakkon. What mischief?"

"Gyrgon? Involved in smuggling with the Sarakkon?" Iin Mennus snorted. "Now I know that you have lost your mind."

Your intelligence network will have to be better than that if you want to remain Star-Admiral, Pnin thought, but he remained mute. No good could come from provoking Mennus. He did what he always did to calm himself. He looked at the small array of artifacts on his desk: a VIII Dynasty Nieobian prayer vase, a Kraelian idol, a pair of meshed Argggedian crystal spheres, mementoes of wars, of b.l.o.o.d.y battlefields, of hard-won victories, and of compatriots lost but not forgotten.

They glimmered, as if speaking to him. For many years, longer than he could remember, it had seemed to him as if his life was populated by the dead. The enemy, yes, in great number, but more importantly compatriots, friends, rivals, all brothers-in-arms. The sadness of this host's presence was visited on him, like a pain in his chest that defied diagnosis, let alone a cure. He breathed in the dust to which they had returned. When he ate it was with their eyes watching him. And when he slept there they were again, walking toward him through the unspeakable mire of their own offal.

In many ways, they were more real to him than the living. The world he awoke to each morning was like smoke, a dream through which he drifted, always aware of the dead, of their dark eyes, of their breath soughing through the trees of his garden. He found a curious kind of comfort in their sorrow, for he knew they were waiting for him to join them.

"You are old and weak," Iin Mennus said, intuiting the silence, Pnin's decision not to respond to the verbal challenge. "You have a chance to step aside, to announce your retirement. I give you this one chance, more than you gave me. Otherwise"-he shrugged. "Isolation. Impotence. You will never go beyond these walls again. Not a fitting end for a Khagggun."

Pnin was suddenly tired of the bullying. He wanted nothing more than to put his feet up and close his eyes, fall into slumber, joining again with the host of the dead. That would be fitting for a Khagggun, bereft of a son, a leader who could with his strong arm and keen mind pierce this cloud of conspiracy and pry him from the not-so-tender mercies of the new Star-Admiral, but what, instead, did he have? A daughter from whom, for all her prowess forging weapons, he could expect nothing. She was utterly impotent, incapable of mustering support among those still loyal to him or lending help of any kind. With hearts made heavy by this burden, he rose. In a flash, Iin Mennus drew an ion dagger from a sheath hidden inside his armor and nailed his left hand to the desk.

"Did I tell you to get up?" Mennus twisted the blade an eighth of a turn. Blood began to seep out, and Pnin felt a fiery pain race up his arm into his shoulder and chest. "From now on, Little Admiral, this is the way it will be." Another eighth, and Pnin was forced back into his chair. "Ah, yes. I see we are clear on this point."

Konara Inggres burst through the high bastion gates of the Abbey of Floating White, and such was her agitation that the Ja-Gaar began to howl. At once, the Nawatir came at a run, his long, powerful legs eating up the s.p.a.ce between them. It had begun to rain, big, fat drops that shimmered on the ghostly white-stone paving. His long blond hair and beard were jeweled with it.

She had given the remaining decoction to the second companion, instructing him to deliver three drops hourly onto the wounded male's tongue.

"Will he live?" the companions asked again.

"He will," she had said, because their belief would help buoy their fallen comrade, and every little bit helped. But whether it would be enough she did not know.

As she left them, they were carrying him home.

"What is it?" the Nawatir said now. His mysterious cloak whipped about his ankles like a stormy sea."What has happened?"

As the Ja-Gaar prowled around her, restless, infected by her agitation, she told him what had happened in Stone Border.

"Why are they coming here now?" she concluded. "And why so many of them?"

"Wing-Adjutant Wiiin."

Konara Inggres shook her head.

"Come."

The Nawatir took her by the elbow, led her inside a smallish out-temple. It was pillared but without walls. The rain hammered down on the thick tiles of its steeply canted roof. He told her how he and Eleana had met Wing-Adjutant Wiiin, how Eleana had pretended to be his Ramahan contact, how he had threatened the peace of the abbey if she did not deliver new and relevant information about Resistance activities.

"So Konara Urdma was spying for the Khagggun?"

The Nawatir nodded. "Konara Bartta, as well. It went all the way back to Konara Mossa. She made the original deal with the Khagggun in order to spare Floating White."

"The last bastion of Ramahan culture and training. I have long wondered why we were spared."

Konara Inggres let her voice trail off. She shivered at the thought of the evil pact her predecessors had made.

They sat together on the porphyry altar watching the grey rain flash down, bounce against the stone paths. Somewhere, thunder rumbled through the valleys, rolling upward toward them.

"This is my fault," the Nawatir said bitterly. "I completely forgot about Wing-Adjutant Wiiin. He seemed more of an administrator than a warrior, and I did not take his threat seriously."

"Useless to apply blame," she said softly. "What are we to do?"

"Don't worry, Inggres, we will find a way to defend ourselves."

She sat quite still. Her cheeks were flaming, her heart pounding. Inggres. No one had called her that, not since she had come to the abbey at a very early age. Inggres. It felt so naked, so intimate to be called by her name without the armor of her Ramahan honorific. Unbidden, a thrill ran down her spine, pooled in her loins.