by Alma Boykin
As the two walked back toward the manor, Rada stopped him. “It might not hurt to have the juniors and Elder Uncles and Aunts start marking nutroot plants and other wild edibles, to use to stretch the harvest.” The steward backed a pace: what Ni Drako suggested was not permitted this late in the season, lest it disturb animals before the hunters arrive. “There’s not going to be an Imperial hunt this fall, Sh’eet,” she informed him quietly, as if reading his mind.
“Why not?” He demanded, neck spines starting to quiver with worry.
His lord’s words froze him in place. “Because his Imperial Majesty will be joining his honored ancestors very soon, Royal Steward, and I suspect that his new heir will be too busy to hunt this year-turn. And this goes no farther, do you understand?”
“How do you know this, Lord Mammal?”
You’re right to be suspicious, Rada thought. “I’m a Healer, Sh’eet, and I know the signs of incurable disease when I see them,” she reminded the reptile. He bowed a little at the rejoinder and the two royal servants walked back to the manor house, both considering what to do next.
Rada began checking in with the other estates, inquiring discreetly about their harvest and if they would have any grain to sell in case Singing Pines ran short that winter. Burnt Mountain seemed to have been spared the blight but most of the larger lowland estates had the same problem as Singing Pines. Blacklands had lost its entire harvest already and even the straw was useless because the domestic stock like shootee wouldn’t eat it. And if the herd beasts wouldn’t touch the stuff it had to be utterly rotten, since shootee normally ate anything even vaguely plant-like.
When Zabet arrived the next day, she had more news of interest. She downed half a pot of tea and then toyed with a mug of the local beer. «Pet, something’s in the air. I can’t put my talon in what, but things feel wrong.»
Rada sat back in her chair, glad of the distraction from her increasingly bleak mood. “Howso wrong, Boss? More than just worries about the grain failure?”
Zabet started counting off on her deadly-sharp talons. «The harvest is definitely one thing, plus the usual tension around a pending Imperial succession. But there’s something else. Not so much among the nobles I did business with, but that merchant family.»
Ni Drako pulled up the account. “Deeskat? The ones who bought the ceramics to use as part of a mate-gift?”
«Yes. Apparently they are scaling back the celebrations around both the mate taking and around their second son being named to the Foreign Ministry.» Zabet frowned, obviously concerned. «And they were much, much more discreet about the delivery than usual. As if they were trying to keep a low profile.»
“That does suggest that at least someone is worried,” Rada agreed. “Of course, it could be the fear of getting a revised tax assessment from a new King-Emperor that’s causing them to lay low.”
The True-dragon made a noncommittal noise, not convinced. The computer chimed and the reptile’s business partner pulled up the incoming file. She skimmed it and then reread it more carefully. “And it’s going to be a lean winter. I hope it’s going to be a mild one,” the mammal frowned, not optimistic. “The Palace isn’t going to distribute any of the official grain reserve until, quote, ‘there is proven cause,’ quote.”
«Spiffy. That sure helps the estates that get cut off from bulk deliveries in the winter.» Zabet’s sarcasm was fully justified in Rada’s opinion, although she didn’t say anything.
“Now I really hope there’s not an official hunting season this year, if only so we’ll use less food.” The mammal made a note on her calendar to take her Tenth in meat animals and not predators or hide species.
«And in further good news, Lord Schlee learned how to swim,» Zabet announced as she finished her beer.
“Huh?”
«He went over Great Lord Shu’s garden wall and fell into the Whitestream when Shu got home early last sixt.» Zabet, in her role as courtesan and concubine, had her talons in all the gossip and Rada snickered at the mental image of the vain reptile dragging himself out of the rather ironically and inaccurately named Whitestream.
“Slow learner,” she observed with mock gravitas.
Zabet nodded. «Indeed.»
Things remained quiet if somewhat tense for another moon as harvest, such as it was, got under way for those who had grain left to harvest. Rada was sound asleep when “Lord Mammal, Lord Mammal!” someone pounded on the door to her quarters. The Wanderer was up, armed, and at the door before she even fully awoke.
“What?” she demanded. The junior on message duty looked frantically from the Lord Defender toward the communications center and Rada brushed past him, charging down the corridor. She was in her seat and typing access codes before the messenger caught up with her.
The Wanderer listened to the formal, official phrases of the Imperial death announcement and shuddered. She sent back an equally formal acknowledgement of the news, her condolences to the Imperial family, and renewed her pledge of support for the people of Drakon IV. Then she signed out. “Print the announcement and post it,” she ordered the technician on duty. “Full mourning will begin at noon, estate time.”
Rada’s abrupt departure had woken Zabet, who waited in their quarters. Rada closed and bolted the door, then took off her weapons belt and sat heavily on the edge of the sleeping platform. “His Imperial Majesty is dead. I have a nasty feeling that things are about to get very, very interesting.”
«How interesting?» Zabet wanted to know. «As in ‘was remembered fondly for decades’ or as in ‘historians now consider the event to have marked the start of the collapse of’ et cetera and so forth?»
“As in ‘I want you off this planet’ interesting.” Rada sighed, reaching over and scratching around Zabet’s ears. “There’s just too much tension at Court and in the country for this to bode well, somehow. I hope and pray that I’m wrong, Boss, but it feels like the air just before one of those twist-wind storms on the eastern plains.” And guess who might end up getting to collect the broken pieces after the storm passed, Rada thought very privately.
«You’re serious about my leaving?» Zabet’s tail lashed back and forth, scattering pillows.
“Very. I’ll have to go to the Palace tomorrow, and you come with me. That way, when you leave it won’t be too noticeable.”
The reptile shook her head. «Then you lose your ears and eyes on the back hallways,» she pointed out. «And I can take care of myself.»
“I know you can, silver dancer. But you are incredibly visible, and to be honest? You eat a lot, no offense.” Rada was apologetic but she knew Zabet would get her point. “I can do fairly well on tree-fuzzies and field pests, in a pinch.”
«Fewmets, you think it’s going to be that bad?» Rada nodded. «Then leave too. Come with me and you can return if needed.»
“Thanks, but something says I need to stay here. Call it a hunch,” she said.
Tensions ran high at the Palace for the next sixt. The King-Emperor’s cremation ceremony was simpler than some Rada remembered, but then he’d always been skilled at reading the wind. King-Emperor Shar looked uncomfortable as he took the oaths of the Court nobles and she sympathized. He’d had only a few moons to go from planning a military career with the Imperials to being ruler of the Azdhag Empire. At least his sire had insisted that all his offspring learn about government. Prince Heest was almost as uncomfortable, although in his case it had to do with the bruises he’d been collecting from the drill sergeants. He was making very good progress but Rada didn’t tell him, lest he get lazy. The older princes, especially the second son Daetak, made their unhappiness plain to their siblings but kept their muzzles shut about it in public. Who knew—they could just have been irked at having to give up sporting with their courtesans and drinking friends for the two sixts of formal full mourning.
As per her primary vows, Rada saluted King-Emperor Shar as commander of the Defenders and ruler of Drakon IV, but did not swear personal allegiance to him. Hi
s sire’s reign had been long enough that the Court had forgotten about her unusual situation, and she heard the murmurs and whispers beginning almost the moment the last words left her lips. Any gossip and rumor about her drowned under the flood of stories already coming in from the estates. Whispers about the Lord Defender’s obvious blindness also flashed through the nobles and servants’ ranks and she caught several people watching her carefully for any other signs of weakness. Rada made certain that her weapons practices were observed. She remained good enough that no one beat her easily, a fact that dissuaded a few young hotheads from being terminally stupid.
Fall shifted into winter and Rada alternated between the estates, visiting Defender posts, and the Palace. Normally she would have stayed in the uplands, but Sh’eet knew better than she did how to manage things and Rada and her guards were three more mouths to feed. The first snows fell early and the Royal Meteorology Department’s forecast for a hard early winter seemed to be coming true. The Lord Defender missed her “concubine’s” presence, but drew on her own contacts within the lower nobility and Palace servants, as well as the Defenders’ own intelligence sources. As a result, she was less surprised than many when restlessness became revolution.
The Lord Defender was spending the afternoon with Lord Sirlah, a minor noble related by mating to House Kirlin. Sirlah had been in the Defenders many years before, and the two soldiers sat in the small garden within Sirlah’s compound, soaking up the weak winter sun and comparing notes. The old reptile sighed and drank more tea, his blotchy dark-brown tail swishing back and forth restively. His estate, like others in the coastal lowlands, had been spared the blight so his people were fairly well stocked with watergrain, and some kurstem as well, although it was very far south for the latter. However, a rare frost had cost them some of the legumes they used for extra protein.
“I don’t like it, Lord Mammal,” he stated at last. “Soldier-to-soldier, my lord, something is going to snap. The hunger is bad enough, especially for the mid-country estates and towns, but his Imperial Majesty should not have let Lord Daestar get away with killing that Healer.” Sirlah shook his head, a grim expression in his yellow-green eyes.
Rada chose her words carefully as she watched a bright blue nirrso bird back-wing neatly to land on a crimson fanleaf branch. “I am inclined to agree with you, Sirlah. Apparently several of the Great Lords and others do as well, because Blee is going to present a motion to the Planetary Council making Healers a protected class, no matter their birth rank. He has the backing of at least four Greats and about a score of other noble houses.” The mammal accepted a tea refill from her host and nibbled on a sweetened piece of star melon.
The old reptile snorted hard enough to disturb a few of the gold and red leaves that had fallen on the stone flags around the sitting area. “That’s not the problem, Lord Defender. The problem is the killing of a commoner without cause or trial. Especially by an ennobled lord. The commons won’t take it, my lord.”
“You’d prefer Daestar had killed a noble without cause?” Ni Drako inquired dryly, although she knew the answer. Sirlah and his relatives in House Kirlin had a reputation for “unconventional philosophies,” which explained both Sirlah’s relatively low rank and the family propensity for serving off planet, in the less tradition-bound atmosphere of the colony worlds.
“Yes, and I’d nominate a few! Protecting the Healers isn’t enough, my lord,” Sirlah snapped. “What about the merchants and artisans, hmm? You heard what Great Lord Zhi-king’s heir did?”
Rada nodded. “In glowing detail, Lord Sirlah. Gilded, burnished, and illuminated so all the nuances were visible,” she sighed. Just before she left, Zabet had given her pet an earful and a half about Zhi-king’s son’s confiscation of half of a textile merchant’s goods under the pretext of feudal dues. “If his sire would clamp down on his heir’s gambling and smoking ysh, Zhi-king might have fewer headaches and more young people staying on his estates.”
Talk shifted to less worrisome topics and the two soldiers got up and walked back indoors for the evening meal. Sirlah’s mate had just set a portion in front of the ancestors’ altar when a commotion arose outside the dining room and one of Rada’s guards slid open the swamp-grass screen. He sketched a bow and said, “Lord Mammal, Lord Zhi-king and most of his family are dead and Grass Sea manor has been burned to the ground!”
“Invaders?” Rada asked, not even blinking at the news. Lord Sirlah nodded to his mate, who had been hesitating, and she returned to her seat and directed the servants to serve the meal.
“No, Lord Mammal, as best anyone can tell. People from the manor,” Corporal Ssree informed his commander.
The two nobles exchanged looks. “Thank you, Corporal Ssree,” Rada said. “I will return to the base as soon as I finish my meal. Please continue to monitor the comm net and inform me if trouble arises elsewhere.” Her voice remained tranquil, her face serene and undisturbed as she picked up a pair of eating sticks. But her ears lay flat against her skull and the tip of her long black tail twitched under the hem of her skirt. Still, she and Sirlah ate calmly, enjoying the light but well-chosen dishes. Sirlah’s mate had created some of the recipes and Rada complimented her hostess on the flavors and presentation. The female acted properly modest, but fooled no one as she basked in the recognition of her effort and talents. Commander Ni Drako reluctantly begged to be excused after the fruit course and Lord Sirlah insisted that she stay, as etiquette demanded, before escorting his guest to the gates of his small manor.
“Eye to your tail, Lord Defender,” he offered instead of the usual road cup.
“I will. Thank you for your hospitality and be careful,” Rada bowed, then swung into her seat in the transport. Sirlah watched her leave, then went back inside, wondering if his world had just changed. He and his mate were not young, but they could still defend themselves and the noble trusted his bodymen. The blotchy-brown reptile sighed to himself, mourning for what might be starting, and lit two sticks of incense at the ancestral shrine before retiring to the family rooms in the house.
Years later, to Rada’s grim amusement, Azdhagi historians still speculated as to the exact cause of the eruption at Grass Sea manor, crediting hunger, poor management, outside agitation, and even possible psychoactive effects of the grain smut. People with a less rarified view of their world firmly believed that the story centered on a female. If Lord Daestar’s killing a Healer in a fit of pique had not been enough to outrage the average Azdhag, just the rumors of what Great Lord Kar Zhi-king had done sent frustrated and hungry reptiles over the edge.
A custom dating back to the Great Relocation allowed the manor lord to make use of one female from the estate per year-turn. The tradition had almost died out and even where it was practiced, the noble was careful to placate the female’s relatives by supporting her and providing a mate gift when the time came, if he didn’t keep her on as a concubine in his household. In a fit of, “utter, complete and absolute stupidity worthy of immortality as the God of Fools and Dung Pits,” as Lord Kirlin eloquently phrased it, Zhi-king had done none of those things. Worse, he’d taken a mated female, used her roughly enough that she needed a Healer afterwards, and then turned her out of his chambers to make her own way back to her dwelling. One of Zhi-king’s bodymen, the only one to survive what followed, helped the female get to shelter and called for the Healer.
That was the spark to the tinder. Popular legend maintained that Zhi-king’s people, led by the headman from one of the estate villages and the female’s mate, attacked the Grass Sea manor house. Zhi-king’s bodymen gave only token resistance and soon died at the talons of the angry commoners and peasants. The noble’s two concubines, the servants, and any juniors were allowed to leave, but the crowd massacred Zhi-king, his grown sons, and his mate. The manor house burned around the bodies once the manor residents had stripped it of anything usable or edible. There were stories that Zhi-king and his heir had not been dead when they burned, but the other Great Lords did not ca
re to look too closely into the matter.
Chapter 2: Times that Try
Rada kept her eye and ears open for further explosions in the sixt that followed the Grass Sea killings in much the same way that she monitored the seismic equipment at Burnt Mountain. She couldn’t stop a pending eruption, but she wanted every warning she could possibly get.
The situation remained quiet until just after Breakdark. Rumor and conversations revealed that the other nobles assumed that now that one of the worst offenders was dead, things would settle down and relax. Besides, everyone worried about food, be they commoner or noble. The royal weather forecasters had, alas, been correct in their predictions of a hard winter, which meant that people needed more food and fuel to keep warm. The snow-drifted roads made it harder to reach some of the towns.
Rada sat on the Planetary Council in her role as Lord Defender, although she was better noted for her absences from the sessions than for her contributions. When she did attend she normally restricted her comments to those matters directly within her purview, but one late-winter day she waded into the discussion. “My lords, we have to get supplies to Schree’s Rest. And to these other towns,” she stated, calling up the information on the other councilors’ computer displays.
“Are they having actual shortage, Lord Defender?” Kirlin frowned, studying the map.
“These are, my lord,” and she highlighted a dozen or so towns, most in the forests and hills a few hundred kliqs north of the Palace-Capitol. “There was a grain riot in Schree’s Rest last sixt, Great Lord. One of the merchants was accused of overcharging and hoarding, so the locals raided his store, shared out the contents, and paid him what they felt was a just price.”
“Typical blood sucker,” Lord Blee snorted, “those merchants take every advantage they can.”
Lord Shu made a cautious gesture, waving a talon at Blee. “They may well be ‘bloodsuckers,’ as you put it, Blee, but they also transport and distribute most of the foodstuffs consumed on planet. If we don’t at least support the best of them, we could well face even more problems later on.”