by Alma Boykin
Two hours later, Daesarae stalked up to the lead vehicle blocking the main road into Schree’s Rest. “What happened?” He pointed back to the flat transport with his tail.
“Tree fell on it, great my lord,” the closest armsman replied.
And I have a fur coat under my armor, a tree just fell on it. Daesarae snarled. “Have they surrendered?”
The sergeant in charge made a negation. “No, great my lord.”
“Too bad. We’re going in. Spare all the juniors under eight year-turns if you can, and do not destroy more buildings than you have to. Don’t touch the timber depot,” Daesarae ordered.
The first vehicle to roll across the invisible line dividing Schree’s Rest from the Lineage lands vanished in a gout of parts and fire. “What the hell?” Had the stormcatchers mined the road? A shrill whistle overhead told the noble the answer, as a ground-attack fighter with Defenders’ markings streaked past.
“That’s not fair!” Daesarae shook himself, getting back under control. “Idiots, mistaking us for the rebels,” he snarled.
“Great my lord, behind us!” He turned and ducked the outwash as a fast-transport landed on the road behind them, the engine wash churning the loose snow into a local blizzard. When he managed to clear his eyes, he saw six enormous males stalking out of the transport. Two took up defensive positions on either side of the others and he recognized them as Imperial body men. King-Emperor Tahdak and lords Blee, Sheedak, and Diisch walked up to him, the lords flanking their king.
“You failed to heed our warning,” Tahdak stated, his breath steaming in the cold. He wore full armor and the low sunlight flashed off the winter version of the steel gauntlets of the palace guard. The other great lords also wore armor, and Sheedak carried a recording device.
Daesarae launched his defense, too rattled to follow protocol. “What do you mean, Imperial Majesty? I’ve taken pains to avoid the royal holdings to the west, and I ordered my men to stay well clear of the Defender post near the rebels’ settlement.”
Diisch tipped his head to the side, his long, skinny tail sweeping from side to side over the snow. “Rebels?”
Daesarae made an affirmation, even as he motioned to his men with his hind foot to continue the attack on Schree’s Rest. “They defied royal authority.”
Sheedak and Blee exchanged glances, and Blee made a complicated gesture with one hind foot and his tail. Sheedak asked, “How so?”
Could they not see it? “They refused to recognize your authority, Imperial Majesty, and defied your orders to follow Pack law and Lineage law.”
“Ah,” and a white cloud of a sigh escaped Tahdak’s muzzle as he stepped forward one pace, then another. “And so you took it upon yourself to enforce those laws as you understood them, sparing me the effort. Despite my orders to stay out of Schree’s Rest.”
“Yes, ah, that is, Imperial Majesty, not exactly. Because of their repeated defiance, and evidence of larceny, it became necessary to,” he ducked as something exploded behind him. “What are you doing?”
Daesarae knew that Tahdak’s armor made him seem larger than he really was, but when the king-emperor drew within a tail-length, Daesarae blinked. He’s big. Very big. Not like Kaeshare, but damn. Pale-brown eyes bored into his face, and Daesarae wondered what he’d missed.
A glimpse of talons flashed in the corner of his vision before the world turned red, then black. Tahdak planted that forefoot and pivoted on it, swinging his mass into the reeling, blind noble, knocking Daesarae off his feet. His hind talons sliced the noble’s throat open. “My judgment is witnessed and recorded?” Tahdak inquired as he watched brown blood bubbling from the gaping, steaming wound.
“Yes, Imperial Majesty,” Sheedak replied for the others. He turned off the recorder and “signed” it with his seal and thumbprint before passing the device to Blee, who repeated the gesture. Diisch walked up to the twitching body and made note of the exact time that the blood stopped gushing.
Tahdak tapped the snow with his tail. “He was warned.”
“That he was, Imperial Majesty,” Diisch agreed. Damn, you idiot, but you’ve made a stinking mess of fewmets for the rest of us to clean up. He wasn’t quite a supporter of the Free Towns, but Diisch had decided some moons before that an escape valve made life much easier for everyone else. He rumpled his tail. Daesarae had been warned, and the council had voted with the Pack’s backing. That should have ended the matter.
“Your justice has been recorded and entered into the law-files, Imperial Majesty,” Scheedak reported, looking up from his tablet.
“Good.” Tahdak looked over at Blee, who had been speaking to someone on his communication headset. “Difficulty?”
“No, Imperial Majesty. The Defenders are broadcasting Daesarae’s order to withdraw on the emergency and general frequencies, along with the Pack’s decision. Confirmation of receipt has come in from Schree’s Rest.”
“Good.” The nobles parted as he stalked between them. “To Daesarae Lineage’s main holding. A regency meeting is in order.”
“Yes, Imperial Majesty,” the others murmured, falling in behind. Diisch kicked a little snow on the body, partial recompense for being dragged out of his nice warm quarters and away from an especially talented cook to witness the execution for the Pack.
As the Imperial transport aircraft landed near Daesarae’s main residence, an emergency message came through for Tahdak. “Imperial Majesty, there’s been an attack on Lady Tarkeela and her son.”
Tahdak’s eyes bulged and his neck spines began rising. The others leaned as far away from him as they could in the confines of the aircraft. “At Mountains’ Edge?”
“Yes. The attackers appear to be dead, but Sergeant Taek is taking no chances and he’s asked permission to move Lady Tarkeela to her mate’s quarters in the palace.”
“Do it. Does he know who instigated the attack?”
The second pilot licked the tip of his muzzle. “According to this, some of the attackers wore Daesarae badges. One might have worn Peitak, but Lady Tarkeela did not leave enough for a positive identification, Imperial Majesty.”
Scheedak and Blee both gulped. The attackers must have cornered the dam and her junior. That tended to be a terminal mistake.
Tahdak bared his fangs and tapped the floor with one steel-covered talon. “Interesting.”
Sgt. Taek looked from the bloody remains to his charges and back. “Well done, my lady,” he managed to squeak. He’d served with the Defenders for twenty year-turns and he’d never seen carnage like the two bodies now scattered in bits and chunks across the end of the hallway. Two more wounded males had been hauled off for interrogation and patching up. They’d survive long enough to receive his Imperial Majesty’s justice, assuming Taek and the other soldiers could keep Lady Tarkeela away from them.
Looking at her reminded Taek of depictions of Hell in the temple. Brown blood covered her robes and bits of offal clung to her talons. More blood splashed her muzzle and head. None of it seemed to be hers.
Seelah shook all over, then draped her tail over Tarlah once more. “Thank you,” she panted. She needed to begin training again—she’d gotten out of shape. Tartai had taught her how to use the big logger’s pikes and limb saws, and the pole-mounted blades for trimming branches on standing trees. He’d also helped her practice the close quarters talon fighting all free-born females learned as soon as they were old enough. But she had not done more than the basic drills since her last double-moon of pregnancy, and it showed.
The Defender sergeant licked his muzzle again, then coughed. “Ah, my lady, what happened, exactly? I take it the fight began back there?” Taek pointed to the door to the lodge’s guest room, the one by the top of the ramp up to this floor. The blood trails began there, just inside the doorway.
She tried to recall. It had turned into a blood-brown blur at some point. “Ah, I’d been out with Tarlah, getting some sun on the basking porch,” on the south side of the building. “We saw someone coming, so
meone I didn’t recognize. They moved wrong, if that makes sense, sergeant.”
It did. “Yes, my lady. And you came in?”
“Yes. I thought the staff would stop them if they weren’t supposed to be here, and if not, I had some things in our chambers that would work.”
Well, obviously the staff had failed to challenge the would-be assassins, Taek snarled. He pointed down, indicating the dead-end of the hallway. “Why here and not in your quarters?” They’d have had more cover there, and she could have stuffed her junior into a cubby and out of danger.
“Gas. They tossed a gas maker into the room. I used the butt of the limb saw to break the window, then fought through them and tried to flee. They weren’t expecting me to fight, so I caught two of them by surprise.” She pointed behind her with one hindfoot. “But I panicked and forgot that there’s not a second exit from this floor.” The dark green female lowered her head and growled, “They cornered us. They died.”
Taek wondered if the attackers had intended to kidnap rather than murder Tarkeela’s female and junior. That would explain the gas and the apparent reluctance to just shoot the female and her charge. He rumpled his tail. At this point it didn’t matter. She’d gravely injured two of the attackers with her pole arm, keeping all five away from her and her junior. One had fled uninjured, only to be caught by the servants.
“And these two, my lady?”
She gave the remains a cold look that she turned on the Defender sergeant. He’d just thought the snow outside was chilly—the expression in Lady Tarkeela’s eyes could have frozen a volcano. “They attacked Tarlah. I stopped them.”
Later, an expert determined that she’d crippled the two males with the pole arm, then ripped them apart with her talons and teeth. At the moment, Taek didn’t really care exactly how the female had committed the massacre. He just wanted to get her away from the mess and cleaned up, so he wouldn’t have to try and wrap his brain around what a single female could do if cornered. Somehow he didn’t think any of the males on duty at Mountains’ Edge would be pressing their attentions on unwilling females for the next few sixts, not after they saw this.
“My lady, if you do not mind, would you and your son object to staying in the Imperial family quarters for a few hours before moving to the palace, at least until we sort out who did this and if they intend to try again?”
She shook all over, as if waking up, and glanced back at her son. Tarlah seemed more puzzled than upset, and he’d started sniffing the blood and other things, poking the remains of a lower jaw with his talon. “No, don’t eat that, dear,” she sighed automatically. “Very well, Sergeant.” Taek didn’t try to stop her from picking up the gore-coated limb saw and carrying it with one forefoot as she led Tarlah through the abattoir and down the ramp to the Imperial family quarters below.
One of the troopers came up the ramp and found Taek still staring at the remains. “Fewmets, Sergeant! Did the female do that?”
“Lady Tarkeela did that. I suggest that you not make her angry.”
“I, I, I,” he gulped. “I’ll do my best not to, Sarge.”
Taek turned around and scuffed some invisible dirt over the remains with his hindfoot. “Good decision, soldier.”
A sixt later, Tahdak read the sergeant’s report and ran a talon along the edge of his muzzle as he watched his queens sparring. Sleezhi and Beeshah had welcomed Lady Tarkeela to court, and in turn she’d offered to teach them the basics of fighting with a pole arm. Now, yellowy-brown Sleezhi stood on her hind legs, beating a practice dummy to death with the heavy metal rod the Palace Guard used for basic training. She’d taken to the exercises with what her mate considered to be unholy glee. Beeshah appeared to be a slower study, but could already hold off the officer cadets during practice bouts. Lady Tarkeela stood off to the side of the practice area, discussing her now-famous limb-cutter with one of the weapons procurement officers. Tahdak did not quite know what to think about females fighting, although he winced as Sleezhi got an especially good blow on the dummy. He had definite thoughts about the matter at Mountains’ Edge, however.
If Daesarae were not already dead, Tahdak would have executed him slowly, in front of the entire planetary council. Daesarae’s hired thugs had told their guards everything they’d ever wanted to know, including that the great lord had paid them cash from his own talons, and that they believed that one of the dismembered males had been cashiered from the Defenders and had found work in Peitak’s household. Tahdak fumed. They dishonored me by attacking my guests after I’d given Tartai my word that I’d protect his mate and junior. It had not been a Lineage feud or vendetta. That he could have overlooked. No, this was an attack against the king-emperor as much as against Tartai’s family, and that he would not tolerate. Plus it infringed on crown property, just as Daesarae had done at Schree’s Rest. And now he had the messages from Dak-lee and Tartai on Pokara.
If he closed his eyes, Tahdak thought he could see the Empire spinning apart. Nobles attacking commoners without provocation despite the Pack’s orders, a royal governor driving the colonies away from Drakon IV, and the Morinci fleet drawing closer to Imperial space. How could one reptile hold it all together? It seemed that the entire mass of Drakon IV crushed him, forcing the life out of his body.
No! He snarled silently. I am a warrior. I am Seetoh’s heir. The Pack will hold. Tahdak sent two messages, one to the Imperial council and one to Tartai and Dak-lee. Then he went and composed his thoughts.
The next day Tahdak glared down at the gathered Great Lords. “We will say this once only. The Free Towns remain unmolested and untouched. A few Azdhagi in every generation choose to leave their Lineages or are driven from them. The Pack needs a place for them where they can live without poisoning the Pack, either by accident or deliberately. As long as they remain loyal—and you should recall that almost a third of the Imperials and Defenders come from the Free Towns—they shall remain under royal protection but self-governing.”
Peitak opened his mouth, then closed it without making a sound. He’d been shown the images of Daesarae’s execution, and of what Lady Tarkeela had done to his purported agent. Apparently Peitak valued his life more than traditions and Lineage squabbles, Tahdak snorted when no protest emerged.
“A wise decision, Imperial Majesty,” Kaeshare intoned.
Ro-diit sniffed. “Makes sense. Everything else has a pressure outlet, Pack needs one too.”
Shah-Kirlin, sitting in for his dying sire, gestured his agreement.
No one else spoke, so Tahdak moved to the next piece of business. “Lord Zhi-king, as minister of defense, what is the status of the Imperials?”
The tan-and-dark-green reptile coughed. “Imperial majesty, my lords, the naval units assigned to Sidara and Teelkan are en route to intercept the Morinci fleet. Ancestors willing, all they will have to do is escort the fleet through Imperial space and make certain that they don’t linger. But they have orders to fight if the Morinci start it.”
Diisch raised his tail. “Has anyone heard anything from the Regis and Teedar?”
Zhi-king hesitated. “Not precisely, Diisch, but the rumors are . . . worrisome. I hesitate to speak further without confirmation and hard data, because we all know how many false trails rumors have led us down.” He licked his wide muzzle. “I will just say that if your Lineage corporations have business with Teedar, plan on that business ceasing in the near future.”
Several of the lords shuddered. Beesh rubbed under his muzzle, a thoughtful expression appearing in his eyes. “Lord Zhi-king, why did the Imperials from Pokara not muster?”
“Because they cannot be trusted,” Tahdak rumbled. All eyes turned to the king-emperor as he sighed. “It appears we misjudged when we dispatched our brother to serve as royal governor. That error is being rectified.”
Ro-diit started to speak but Shu and Kaesharae both clamped forefeet over his muzzle. With unusual tact, Shu said, “Thank you, your Majesty, and if it is not too early, allow me to offer my cond
olences to the Imperial Lineage.”
“The council will be notified if a mourning period is necessary. Given Lord Sharlin-Kirlin’s seniority and long service to the Pack, his obsequies will take priority for the court when the time comes.”
Mottled brown Shah-Kirlin bowed from his seat. “Thank you, Imperial Majesty.”
And may the ceremonies only be for my mad brother and not my heir, Tahdak prayed to whomever might listen.
Tartai assumed that he had a shadow, so he took his time looking at the display of playthings suitable for an energetic, curious junior well into the “taste everything” phase. He couldn’t think of many things worse for Kalaki’s agent than having to follow someone through the toy market. The shadow stood out from the milling shoppers like a needle-leaf tree after the first snow. Among other things, the only males besides Tartai all stood behind their sales counters and tables. Maybe I should just go over and ask if he’d be willing to carry a bag for me? I could get some of the miniature cooking and weaving sets, in case our next junior is a female. The thought amused Tartai, the first amusement he’d had since returning from TarKili.
Dak-lee, all but trapped in his “guest rooms,” now had a temper that bordered on lethal. If he hadn’t been going down to the Imperials’ practice area and training with the drillmasters twice a day, he’d have done something fatal a sixt ago. As it was, the two males knew that they’d have to act soon, either leaving Pokara or challenging the governor. Prince-Governor Kalaki had begun dropping hints about having found a way to solve all the problems and disputes over urban governance once and for all, something that made Tartai’s neck-spines spring into full display. Dak-lee agreed with Tartai. He’d also been forced to stop visiting Shizara, which did not help his temper one shed scale’s thickness.
Tartai glanced around the market, paid for the junior-sized tool kit, and added it to the carry pack. He looked at the home brewing set at the next booth and wondered how long Seelah would make him sleep in the toolshed if he brought that home. He cherished wonderful memories of blowing up a lean-to in the forest near Mountains’ Edge as an older junior when the still and brewery that he and another male had rigged up had exploded. They’d forgotten just how much carbon dioxide fermenting mash created, with loud, messy, and spectacular results. His dam had almost drowned him twice: once when she threatened to dump him into the Zhangki River for being so stupid, and then again as she held him down in the soaking pool and tried to scrub the fermentation scent off his hide.