From Ruins

by M. C. A. Hogarth

  /Yes,/ came the gentle reply. /And your information brought them here safely, to this fight./

  The urge to weep was sudden and overwhelming. /It was not in vain. All... all of this./

  /No, my dearest. Now, hold fast a little longer. You are nearly quit of your durance./ A sudden grin, lighting the words with fire. /I have rescued an emperor. A prince should make for a nice encore./

  /I do not need rescue.../

  /Say that again when I no longer hear the fatigue soaked through your voice. Cousin... love. You have done enough. All you need do now is await us./

  Had he done enough? Perhaps there was never enough, and knowing that was wisdom because it allowed one to be content with what one had managed. /You are a persuasive man, Imthereli./

  /When motivated... cousin? Cousin!/

  Jahir stared into the eyes of the Usurper, shocked by the abrupt removal of the blindfold. The slow smile that spread over the Chatcaavan's mouth spurred his heart.

  Laniis couldn't believe she was here again, in uniform this time, and armed. She watched the Silhouette arc away and exhaled, trembling.

  "Your show now," Na'er said. "What are we up to, arii?"

  A stream of Chatcaava were exiting the assault shuttle, jogging past them toward the palace. Laniis ignored them, looked toward the terraces that framed the court where she and the Slave Queen had once watched an Eldritch Ambassador stride into the palace. Lowering her eyes, she saw him stepping out of the shuttle behind the Emperor, and he looked no less the power now than he had then. More so. The intensity of his focus seemed to crystallize every detail around him, from the shine of the afternoon light on the Emperor's wings to the pale hair swinging past the Eldritch's shoulders. Laniis remembered that hair pooling on the stone floor when the Ambassador had bowed before the Exalted Emperor. She wondered how much blood would be dripping from it before evening.

  Laniis shook herself. "We follow them and keep them alive." Looking past Na'er at Dellen and Andrea, she said, "The Chatcaavan Queen already evacuated all the women and children, but there may be other innocents. And we know there's at least a few of our operatives inside. They're our priority after the Emperor. Come on."

  Walking to the Emperor on this field, in the shadow of these towers, wasn't the hardest thing Laniis had ever done, but it felt like the most momentous. So much had changed between the first and last time she'd seen the throneworld. Stopping in front of Chatcaavan and Eldritch, she said, "We've got your back."

  "Try to stay close," the Eldritch said. "We'll be moving quickly."

  "We're up to whatever you've got," Na'er said behind Laniis.

  A smile flickered over Lisinthir's mouth. "We'll see. Exalted?"

  The Emperor glanced at Dellen and Andrea: no hesitation there, Laniis saw. Not like when he looked at her. But he dipped his head to her before turning, and when he went, by the Speaker-Singer, he went. The Eldritch sprinted after him, and she could have sworn they were... happy? Excited?

  "They're crazy," she whispered.

  "They're getting away," Na'er said dryly.

  Laniis swore and ran.

  The first few Chatcaava they met were in no condition to fight them. Lisinthir bent over one, watching him try to dig his talons into the stone floor.

  "Your cousin's doing," the Emperor guessed.

  "Yes," Lisinthir said, and followed him, and the Pelted came behind.

  "He makes it too easy," the Emperor said when they reached the second landing. "We will leave too many alive."

  "Why is that a problem?" Laniis asked.

  "Because," the Emperor said, skirting a knot of downed bodies, "there is no precedent for considering the guilt or innocence of individual criminals at this level of society. We don't even have a prison to keep them in."

  "Sure you do," Na'er said. "You could lock ‘em up in your harem."

  Lisinthir shot him a glance, but the Emperor laughed. "Well-aimed, that blow, alet. But winged males would make short work of escaping it."

  As they moved toward the Emperor's former tower, they began finding dead. "The work of the flagship's assault team," Lisinthir said. "They're clearing the rest of the palace?"

  The Emperor scanned the area, then led them under one of the arcades. "I told them to leave my tower and the harem to me, as those will be the most likely locations of the Usurper."

  The doors to the harem tower were unguarded. As they stepped through, the males lurching against the walls shook their heads and straightened. Seeing them, they yelled, "INVADERS! WE ARE ATTACKED!"

  The Emperor lunged for the first and Lisinthir took the second, swords dripping.

  "The effect has worn off, I see," the Emperor said.

  Lisinthir reached for Jahir and felt nothing. "Something's happened."

  "Let us be swift, then."

  "Yes."

  They went up the broad stairs together, and the enemy came down to meet them.

  "What are they," Laniis breathed, watching the two carve a path in flesh and bone.

  "Reapers," Andrea said, coming alongside. "Reapers of the dead."

  "Not much for us to do here," Dellen said.

  Dellen was right. The Emperor flowed from one shape to the next so quickly Laniis couldn't pin him down to a single body; every time she looked, he was killing someone with a different set of hands, until his fur was bloody, and his hide, and his talons, and his claws, and his fingers. And the Ambassador... no one could touch him. She had no words for what he was doing, but she felt it anyway, like the aftermath of lightning, like air burnt by too close a strike and vibrating with it.

  "They don't need us," Laniis said. "Let's go see what we can do elsewhere."

  "You serious?" Na'er asked. "You think the two of them alone are going to take the tower?"

  "I think it's far more likely we'll get in the way. Let's backtrack, see if we can't support the Chatcaava we dropped off to clear the rest of the palace."

  "Do you think they need much support?" Na'er asked, ears flicking back. "If one Chatcaavan can do that...."

  "That Chatcaavan can do that," Laniis said briskly. "Fortunately, he's one of a kind. Come on."

  They reached the top of the tower on a crest of exhilaration, frustration, and on Lisinthir's part, fear. Where was Jahir? Why could he barely sense his cousin anymore? Lisinthir paced the perimeter of the Slave Queen's former quarters. "Nothing."

  "Only memories," the Emperor agreed, shedding the Seersa body for the draconic as he stalked to the window. Resting a hand on its edge, he said, "It's a shame you cannot shift your shape, Ambassador."

  "To fly?" Lisinthir came alongside, following his lover's gaze to the Emperor's tower. "A pity, yes. I would have liked to be able to. But we would miss all the killing we'd do on the way up the stairs... and I would hate to disappoint the Usurper's lackeys, who are no doubt awaiting us."

  "True. But ending this more quickly would be useful." The Emperor grimaced. "I would like to know how the Admiral-Offense's side of this is going."

  "No doubt he is doing the best he can," Lisinthir said. "Which is significant and formidable." He squinted into the distance. "It looks as if flying would have been barred to you anyways. If I am not mistaken there's an energy field around your tower's pinnacle."

  "So there is." The Emperor's brow ridges rose. "My successor is paranoid."

  "With reason. Shall we?"

  "As you say. We would hate to disappoint."

  As they headed down the blood-slicked stairs, Lisinthir said, "He knows we're coming, Exalted."

  "Yes. But he won't stop us. A cornered animal is dangerous, but it's still only an animal."

  Kuuvel squawked and jumped backwards as the male he was examining stopped twitching and opened his eyes. "Looks like something's changed."

  "Again," the Surgeon said. "Do you hear that?"

  "Running," Kuuvel agreed, and joined him at the wall. "I have to admit, O Valedictorian, when you tell a joke, you don't fool around."

  "I had decade
s of pranks to make up for," the Surgeon said, waiting, tense.

  Tsonet appeared at the head of a line of servants, and not all the lithe delicacy of his castrate's body made him look any less vicious, with his maw open and his hands gore-streaked. "Get them," Tsonet hissed, and the Chatcaava fell on the males who had not yet recovered from their fugues. The one who managed to stagger upright lasted maybe two breaths before the servants dragged him down. Pack hunting, the Surgeon thought distantly, was always more effective than single combat.

  As the group continued down the corridor, Tsonet met the Surgeon's eye, challenging. He stood straight, his head raised at a proud angle, and there was a nearly invisible thread around his neck, one that led to the hint of an ivory medallion tucked under his vest.

  "I am guessing you won't be returning," the Surgeon said.

  "You guess correctly."

  "If you decide to come back," the Surgeon said, "I'll train you in surgery."

  Kuuvel eyed him. The Surgeon ignored him. So did Tsonet, who canted his head, frowning.

  "You have a deft hand," the Surgeon said. "It would be a pity to waste it. Revolutions don't last forever."

  "I'll keep that in mind," Tsonet replied.

  The Surgeon dipped his head in acknowledgment. The other male watched, frowning, then inclined his before following his mob down the hall.

  "Well," Kuuvel said. "That was... something."

  "Even the clawless need freedom," the Surgeon said.

  "I'm just glad the clawless have decided we're among the oppressed," Kuuvel said dryly. "What do we do now?"

  More footfalls. Before the Surgeon could draw back, a handful of aliens turned the corner, and the one in the lead stopped at the sight of him. He stared at her.

  The tallest of the aliens asked something, eyeing him skeptically.

  Khaska said, "Yes, I know him. That's the Surgeon."

  It was the fight Lisinthir had been expecting since they landed. The moment they passed through the doors into the Emperor's tower, they were beset, and not by the handfuls of guards at a time they'd killed there. The entire stairwell for as far as he could see was choked with Chatcaava. He put Imthereli's swords through the first, bashed his shoulder into the second to knock him out of the Emperor's way, and then they were climbing.

  Had he thought this ascent laborious when he'd first been assigned here? Healthy, he'd still felt its endlessness, until his heels and spine had ached from the constant motion. Later, raddled with hekkret poisoning, too much alcohol, and too little sleep, the journey had tortured him and he hadn't noticed, too far gone in his own concerns to heed his body's warnings.

  Reprising the climb at the Emperor's side finished a pattern he hadn't realized he'd been grasping for. His talents slid before them, amorphous, englobing them or squeezing between their foes, pushing them off balance, fouling their arms, their wings. And the Emperor ahead of him scythed through their enemies, and that harvest poured blood down the steps so that everyone's footing went grim and treacherous.

  There was no stopping them, though. And there was a savage joy in using his abilities at last, and he felt the Emperor's matching pleasure at the use of his own.

  The last male fell, leaving them in a silence broken only by their pants and the drip of fluid off Lisinthir's swords. The Emperor's fur was matted in blood; it stuck to him as he shifted into his Chatcaavan shape and rested his hands on the door. Lisinthir shook out his sodden coat to no avail and raised his chin.

  "It ends here," the Emperor said, low. "Are you ready?"

  "Past it," Lisinthir began, and stiffened at the touch that slid off his mind: too diffuse by far save for the alarming sensation of the blood running over cold skin, too hot. /Cousin!/

  Almost too soft to be heard. /Don't... trust him. He has... weapon.../

  Lisinthir ignored his dread to focus on what few images accompanied Jahir's sending. "He's armed. By the balcony in your study."

  The Emperor nodded and shoved the door open. They flowed like shadows through the empty rooms, finding them transformed: all the furniture gone, the wall-hangings, everything that had made the suite Kauvauc's. And yet, they were full anyway: with the ghosts of their earlier selves, talking in the chairs that had once been arranged before that balcony, making love on the rug that no longer graced the floor, brushing the hair of the Queen Ransomed in that alcove that had once overflowed with satin pillows. He heard snatches of those long-gone conversations, some brutal, some terrifying in their tenderness. All around him was what they'd had, and what they would, God and Lady, have again.

  That was in his head when he saw the Usurper standing by the balcony, holding Jahir in front of him like a shield.

  So many futures before them. They forked with the suddenness of lightning, blinding Lisinthir's mortal eyes. The Usurper pontificating. The Usurper threatening his cousin. The Usurper attacking them and dying, or fleeing. The Usurper using that weapon he felt like a burning stone in his mind, and killing everyone.

  Lisinthir crushed the male in place.

  The Emperor tore open his throat.

  It should have felt anti-climactic. Instead it was a fulfillment of expectations, deeply satisfying in the core where his sense of rightness lived. And he would have celebrated, had he not been so desperate at the sight of his cousin. He lunged to Jahir's side, catching his arm. The Emperor had the other, keeping the Eldritch from sliding too close to the balcony's edge.

  "He looks exactly like you," the Emperor said, sounding disturbed.

  "Roquelaure off," Lisinthir snapped, and the seeming dropped. It left his cousin's state disastrously clear. "Oh, God, God and Lady, he needs a healer immediately. Crosby. Andrea. The Surgeon. Someone."

  The Emperor had already moved to the desk and was speaking into it. Trusting his lover, Lisinthir gathered Jahir against his chest and pressed his nose into the other Eldritch's hair, near the part where he could smell skin, and sweat, and pain. /Oh, Galare, Galare. I will punish you severely for hurting yourself thus./

  /...rather... defeats the purpose?/ Jahir sounded far too peaceful for Lisinthir's taste. Like a man drifting away from pain and living.

  "Don't you dare," Lisinthir whispered. "Don't you dare die on me, Jahir. I will never forgive you for dying in my arms like this, after we've won."

  /Promise... won't. Told Vasiht'h... we would die together... /

  "And he's not here," Lisinthir said fiercely. "So hold you on, cousin. Don't you stray. Stay."

  "The Surgeon's coming, and bringing aid," the Emperor said. "But I have my own task to do, Perfection."

  Lisinthir looked up at the Chatcaavan, unwilling to relinquish his hold on Jahir's far too cold body. "You will make a statement."

  "An ugly but necessary one, yes." The Emperor scooped the Usurper's corpse up.

  "Will it put an end to the conflict in the system?"

  "I doubt it," the Emperor said. "But the statement must be made."

  "Yes," Lisinthir said. "Go, my Emperor. I will join you when I am able."

  The Emperor's eyes fell to Jahir's slack face, then rose again, somber. "Not long, Perfection. We will save him."

  Lisinthir closed his eyes and nodded against Jahir's hair. A few moments later, he heard the scrape of the Emperor's footsteps and then the snap of air under wings.

  "You know aliens?" Kuuvel asked, wings sagging. "Air and breath, the depths you've been hiding all these years! And you never told me. I'm hurt."

  "He doesn't know me," Khaska said. "He's seen me, that's all." Meeting the Surgeon's eyes, she said, "You helped engineer the Usurper's downfall."

  "That would be crediting me with more work than I have done," the Surgeon replied, wary of these strangers. They might not be offering violence yet, but the tension animating their frames made the possibility credible. And what had he ever done to win the trust of aliens? "I made a small effort toward a much greater work."

  Kuuvel snorted. "He's being modest, which I'll tell you now isn't one of his flaws. Y
ou must be flustering him." He padded closer. "I'm Head Surgeon of the big station you've probably already subdued. We're... what exactly are we doing, O my colleague?"

  "We're looking for where we can do the most good," the Surgeon answered, resigned. One of the aliens was studying Kuuvel with a detached interest he recognized. Was this another alien physician? "But the servants don't appear to need our help, and the Usurper's reinforcements are dying or dead."

  "You're so furry," Kuuvel said to the alien examining him.

  "You've never seen one of us before?" that alien asked, dry.

  "Not in person."

  "Not all of us are furry, then." The alien pointed at another, a smooth-skinned female. "As you can see."

  "If you're done with the chitchat," the tallest alien said. "We've got work to do. Besides, we still don't know whether these two are on our side."

  "They're on our Emperor's side," Khaska said.

  "Yes, and? Plenty of people on his side probably own a couple dozen ‘wingless freaks' as slaves."

  "Not for long, if the Emperor has any say," the smooth-skinned alien said.

  "I would like to be on your side!" Kuuvel said.

  "Colleague mine," the Surgeon hissed.

  "What? They are fascinating. Look, that looks like a medical kit. Is it a medical kit?"

  The alien facing him held out a palm. "Yes. I'm Healer Dellen Crosby. This is my assistant, Emergency Medical Technician Andrea Tran." When Kuuvel didn't move, the alien added, "You cover your hand with mine. That's how you greet someone like me."

  "But only like him," the one named Andrea Tran said. "People like me shake hands. Except when we don't."

  "Are we done?" the tallest alien growled.

  The portable comm on the medical kit vibrated. Surprised, the Surgeon pried it off and held it to his ear. "Yes?"

  "Triage. You have a call from the Emperor. You are needed in his tower immediately."

  "Which Emperor?" the Surgeon asked.

  A pause in which the Surgeon could sense Triage's irritation. "I don't know. Whatever Emperor would ask for treatment for an alien."