“Of course not, my lord,” agreed the king.
“Now, after wars and infection by alien influence forced upon us by our hosts, you have allowed your minions to transgress once again. You allowed them to unleash the unspeakable, and for that there are repercussions.
“You, Kanarthiel, are the truly responsible party,” the Emissary said, turning toward the Alkan king. “It is my judgement that your realm shall be reduced to a principality. Your line shall falter. Your people shall be under especial scrutiny. And you, King Kanarthiel, are thus condemned for your poor action in this crisis. It is the judgement of myself and the Council of the realm that you shall die. Immediately.”
The old Emissary looked up at Raer Rinthon. As much as it pained him, he nodded in turn, and did his duty.
“King Kanarthiel, due to your failures, by the vote of the Council and the recommendation of the Emissary of the High Kings, I now condemn you to death,” Rinthon said, in a monotone, as he removed the long wire from his pouch. He regarded the old Alkan sympathetically – Kanarthiel was a fool, but he was an honest fool. He did not deserve this. The realm did not deserve this.
But when had the universe decided that life was fair? Rinthon knew that it was a foolish conceit to think it so.
“I submit myself to the judgement of the Three High Kings and the Council,” Kanarthiel said, sadly, looking at the floor.
“By this order, I hereby perform the sentence,” Rinthon said, regretfully. With a swift motion he wrapped the long wire around King Kanarthiel’s throat and began to twist. He continued to twist while the Alkan struggled, his honor and his dignity forgotten as he attempted to preserve his life.
That was not to be. Rinthon had fought the Draolani viciously during the wars. He had slain many, many of his foes, in much worse manner than this. He regretted being the one chosen for the task, but he could not blame himself. He could not even blame Kanarthiel. Nor even the Emissary sent to pass judgement.
He blamed the Draolani. If it had not been for their insidious influence, none of this would have happened. But that didn’t matter. Regardless of the origin of evil, there had to be accountability. There had to be a reckoning. He was well versed in death and battle. Executing a king, however distasteful it was, was well within his capabilities as a warrior.
Once Kanarthiel’s body was limp on the floor next to the Kilnusk king’s bloody corpse. Davachan was on his knees, weeping next to Prince Charak. And the Emissary was looking coolly at them all.
“We have but a few brief millennia left on this world,” he sighed, as he turned to look at the stone casket. “There is no benefit to causing an unnecessary stir over ancient history. Let this chamber be sealed, the dead warding the secrets that must be kept, lest we lose our patronage. Let no word of this go forth, even a whisper. And let no Alon who witnessed this disgrace speak of it again. So says the Emissary of the High Kings.”
“So shall it be,” Rinthon agreed, with the others, as the wire he had used to strangle Kanarthiel hung loosely in his hands. The hands of a regicide, now, he realized, detachedly.
He had had a long life. He had seen war, he had seen the sniveling politics of those who cleaned up after war, in the shadow of their failures. He did not feel pride in this execution, save the pride of honor. He had done as the Council had bidden. He had done his duty. And the realm was poorer because of it.
“So shall it be,” the Emissary said . . . as I was pulled from the bitter, old warrior’s memory and speeded into my next host. A Karshak Alon named Umank.
Umank stared at his bandaged hands drunkenly – no, he realized, his stupor was not that of strong drink. He was feeling drugged. As the strange humani music played softly in the background, his tired mind took stock of his condition. His hands were injured – but they were still intact. Damaged – perhaps permanently – but intact.
That, at least, was a relief. He could vaguely feel the pain in his fingers and hands, but some factor intervened and kept him from screaming the way he knew he should be doing.
A Karshak’s hands were his life, his livelihood, his vocation. To have them wrecked so was anathema to his soul. He could not rightly recall the circumstances of his injury, he realized under the fog of the drugs, but he understood the implications. He would never be the craftsman he aspired to be, now. Perfection would ever elude his injured hands. He felt his eyes well up unbidden.
“By the Seven, I am undone!” he moaned in his own language.
“By the Seven, you are preserved,” came another voice from behind him, in his own language. Though it spoke Karshak, it was not a Karshak voice.
He turned his head but slowly. Every muscle in his body hurt, and he was bedridden. While his head swam with confusion, he had presence of mind enough to understand where he was, and even why.
Umank peered around the room, and his eye finally settled on the form in front of him. An Alka Alon maiden, transformed, in a white humani coat. Though she bore the shape of a humani, he was passing familiar with the result of the Alka Alon sorceries. Indeed, she looked almost human. The ears and the eyes and the mannerisms told her out as Alkan. This was one of the Immortals, probably one of the unfortunate few tasked with observing the aliens.
He had been amongst the humani, himself, for nineteen months, now. The ephemeral newcomers had been an intriguing novelty, when he had volunteered to visit their island and consult with them on their efforts to make the mainland more like their estranged homeworld. Now he counted some of them as his friends.
He had enjoyed the effort; unlike some of his kin, he respected the humani-style engineering as elegant, in its brutish fashion. He knew many Alka Alon who didn’t share that opinion, despite the proof of his admiration in the structures the humani had assembled, since their arrival. To some of the Alon, the humani could do nothing right. He was not among them.
For nineteen months he had offered his expertise as a stonesinger and engineer to the humani. In that time, he had been amazed as much as his humani colleagues were with his ability to tell them what the stone of the island was saying.
But that reminded him of his last conversation with Emariel, the Versaroti spellsinger assigned to the humani project. That was why his hands were burnt. And that led him to despair.
A Karshak’s hands were his life, his livelihood, his liberty. A Karshak’s skill determined his status and wealth, his ability to attract a quality mate, his security for his children, should he choose to have them. To see his precious hands burnt and damaged, two flaming flares of pain and suffering under the bandages, that was an invitation to despair.
The injury was compounded by the betrayal, though, Umank knew. Emariel’s treachery went beyond mere duplicity or spite; it aimed to destroy the relationship between the humani colonists and the Alka Alon Council. Perhaps even the Vundel. Indeed, thanks to Emariel’s arrogant confession, Umank expected no less.
“You’re awake!” the Alkan attendant noted. No other race could manage that certain patronizing note in only two words.
“Am I?” Umank croaked. “My hands . . .”
“Your hands are the least of your concerns, after your close call,” the attendant insisted, as she studied one of the humani machines in her hands. “Master Umank, you have several severe wounds, which I find remarkable,” she said, in unaccented Karshak. “You have burns over twenty percent of your body. Your mane, alas, is a wreck. But you survived,” she said, optimistically. “You will heal. And you will live to sing the stone once again.”
“What about Charles?” he demanded, ignoring his own prognosis. “What happened to Avital?”
“Director Avital was rescued at the same time you were,” the attendant assured, checking her device. “He went through three hours of surgery, but has been released to a convalescent ward in serious but stable condition. He will awaken any time now,” she predicted. “He was very lucky. But not as lucky as you,” she asserted, setting down her device. “You, my friend, managed to survive a fire that req
uired three departments’ response. If you had not done what you did, Director Avital would likely be dead.” She sounded hopeful and optimistic.
“I think he will wish to be, after . . . wait, how long have I been here?”
“Four days,” the attendant reported. “It has been four days since you were brought in. You’ve had three surgeries since then,” she added, her voice serious, now. “Any one of them could have seen your life ended, even without my assistance. If it had been up to the humani, they would have considered you too far gone to repair. Thankfully, I am a superior craftsman,” she said, proudly.
“Thankful am I for the wisdom of the Alka Alon,” he said, formally and automatically. He knew his manners. The immortals were always paid their deference. Whether they earned it or not.
“Oh, stop,” the attendant insisted, a little irritated. “We aren’t in a refuge, somewhere. This is Perwyn. A cosmopolitan place. A humani place. We Alon must maintain our close relations, here. We live amongst ambitious barbarians.”
“They aren’t all that bad,” Umank sighed. “Some are my genuine friends. Like Avital. He’s quite intelligent, for a humani.”
“I’ve met Director Avital, before,” agreed the attendant. “He is quite intelligent. Twice so, for his gift of rajira.”
“Yes, well, he mostly tries to ignore that part,” Umank assured her, sleepily. “But I must tell you – tell someone – that the humani effort on Perwyn is compromised.”
“Compromised? How so?” the attendant asked, as she re-activated her device.
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” Umank said, patiently. “The figures supplied by Emariel are faulty. If the project is activated, disaster may result. There is a—”
“As fascinating as technical details about geology might be,” the attendant interrupted, “they are not my concern. Your health is. You were in a fire only four days ago, and you barely survived. Your anxiety over your work can wait. There is nothing more important than your health,” she assured. “I am Dr. Lilastien,” she continued, pointing at her nametag. “Your health is now my consideration, according to the New Leiden Medical Center Xenobiology Clinic. Not construction plans.”
“But if that project is activated, the limestone under the island will collapse,” the stonesinger insisted. “The density of the rock is low, and its structural integrity is weak. Far weaker than Emariel reported. There are gaps, cavities . . . if the humani persist in their plan to recover the bay,” he explained, “they could well collapse the rock that supports their colony!”
“Only this island,” the attendant dismissed. “The humani already have an abundant colony on the mainland, now. And elsewhere. But that is not your concern, anymore, Umank. Your recovery is. How is your level of pain? On a scale of one to ten, one being no pain and ten being . . . well, excruciating.”
“I . . . I feel little pain,” he lied. “I must get a message to the humani authorities!” he insisted.
Dr. Lilastien studied him. “You’re a poor liar, Master Umank,” she said, shaking her head. “I’ll give you something for the pain you say you aren’t feeling. Medbay, have Cindy bring up a neolaudilin drip with a myaprophin kicker, dosage optimized for patient’s species and weight,” she added, in the human tongue.
“Yes, Dr. Lilastien,” the medical CI replied from the bed, in the same language.
“Now,” she continued, in Karshak, “Getting a message to the humani authorities shouldn’t be any trouble. But the reclamation project has already begun. Drilling started two days ago, according to the Colonial Authority. So that stone has fallen, already.”
“No!” Umank moaned in despair. “They were betrayed,” he said, sinking back down into the bed. “I tried to show Charles the truth, but he wouldn’t believe me until I sang the stone with him.”
“You stonesingers can do that?” Dr. Lilastien asked, surprised.
“With other Karshak. It was the first time I tried with a humani. Charles has rajira,” he reminded her in a low voice.
“That’s starting to happen more and more,” the doctor agreed. “How deep is it?”
“Very deep, I think,” Umank said. “He’s been having visions. He’s altering things unconsciously. Spontaneous events keep happening. He denied it, at first, but it is very deep, I think. He couldn’t deny it forever. So I tried to sing the stone with him. I showed him what I sang. It proved that Emariel had purposefully given him the incorrect report.”
“Why would he do that?” she asked, concerned. “Emariel is a senior emissary to the colony. He’s on the Alka Alon Council.”
“That’s the reason he attacked us,” sighed Umank. “I discovered he’s . . . he’s Enshadowed,” he whispered.
“Enshadowed?” Lilastien asked, covering her mouth in shock. “You’re certain?”
“Absolutely,” Umank nodded. “He admitted as much to us before he tried to kill us. There was a fight. Somehow Charles conjured flame, and then the entire flat was on fire. I awakened first and dragged him outside. But Emariel had locked the door. Metal,” he added, holding up his bandaged hands. “I had to knock it down.”
“That would explain the broken knuckles and contusions, as well as the burns,” the doctor said, nodding slowly. “Emariel tried to kill you? You’re sure?”
“Karshak are not in the habit of lying, my lady,” Umank said, a little stiffly.
“Of course. That is . . . that is disturbing news. Indeed, it could cause many problems between the colony and the council. I would keep it to yourself, for the moment.”
“The colony will soon have enough problems, if they’ve started the project,” Umank said, sullenly. “Once the rock face has been pierced, it will only be a matter of time. Two, perhaps three years, and the entire island will slide into the sea.”
“I’m sure there is something that can be done,” Lilastien assured, as a humani woman in white garments approached with a machine and a bottle in her hands. The doctor switched back to the humani tongue, and her manner became overly friendly. “Master Umank, this is your nurse, Cindy England. She’ll administer the painkillers and get you anything else you require for your comfort.”
“At your service, Master Umank,” the humani woman said in halting Karshak.
His singed eyebrows rose in surprise, despite his maudlin mood. “You speak my tongue?” he asked.
“Study language shortly,” the nurse replied, slowly and carefully. “Interest much great Karshak is studies. Mine,” she corrected. Umank tried not to wince in front of her. It would have been rude.
“You’re doing quite well,” he assured her, in her own tongue. “Thankfully, I learned your speech before I came here. Thank you for the courtesy of learning mine,” he said, sincerely. Too many of the humani balked at learning any of the Alon tongues, he’d noted in the short time he’d been on Perwyn.
“I’ve been teaching a few of the staff elementary phrases and basic languages for the Alon races,” Lilastien informed him. “There are not many Alon on the island, but it is important for the staff to be able to communicate effectively with the ones who have need of this clinic. Cindy is one of my star pupils. She’s even better in Alka Alon, now,” she added, with pride.
“Want study Elf-folk words,” Nurse England agreed, in Karshak. “Great power words, very pretty. Sing voice not good but many learned words useful are.”
“Very good,” Umank praised, after he paused for a moment to figure out what the humani woman was trying to say. “Keep practicing,” he added. “You can only get better.”
That produced a beaming smile in the nurse as she began inserting a needle into his arm at the crook of his elbow. As she set up the device, Dr. Lilastien continued to speak to him in Karshak, though she chose her words very carefully.
“Beware the infection of the shadowy ones,” she said, as she stared at him. “It can lead to decay that blights the entire body. There are those among our guests who favor their policies, though they cannot abide each other naturally
. It is difficult to trust even the Masters of this strange lodge, for not all of their masons hew to the same plan. Some seek to undermine the foundation of the rest and make cause with the shadows to further their own ends.”
Umank considered. If that was true, then there were, indeed, some humani who were not happy with the arrangement the Alka Alon had reached with the strangers from the sky. Just as the Enshadowed saw them as a pollution of a world they saw as rightfully theirs. He could see why that would be concerning to the doctor . . . and the Council.
If the Enshadowed had found allies amongst the humani, there was no end of the trouble they could cause – as Emariel had arrogantly suggested, while they had fought in a burning building.
But while he had a fierce desire to shout what he knew to whomever would listen, if the doctor was correct, a word in the wrong ear could do harm. He studied the Alka Alon’s transformed face. He probed her eyes. He saw the sincerity there. She really was trying to help.
“I will keep the secrets of my lodge,” he promised her. “I will guard against the infection of shadow. I rely on your judgement to inform the chiefs of their clans to the danger involved in this development.”
“Thank you, Umank,” Lilastien said, touching his shoulder – about the only part of him that wasn’t burnt or bruised. She shifted her speech to the humani tongue once again. “I’ll make a note in your record and discuss this case with the proper folks in Administration. You just focus on getting well,” she urged. “I’ll take care of this issue. You should start feeling the medicine any time now,” she added, as the machine the nurse set up made a soft noise. Why did the humani insist that their machines sing and beep and play a merry tune, every time they wanted your attention? It was annoying, he thought, as his eyelids began to get heavier.
“Do look in on Charles for me,” he pleaded, as the pain receded and a warm, soft feeling began to infect his aching limbs. “He really is valiant; one of the best engineers I know. It would be a pity to lose him to something like this.”
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