Israi was shoved bodily into this litter, where the anxious hands of the other occupants dragged her the rest of the way to safety. The doors slammed shut, and the litter took off immediately with an acceleration that rocked her against the cushions.
Gasping and shuddering, Israi righted herself with the assistance of a horrified Lord Huthaldraril.
“Is the Imperial Daughter well?” he asked, over and over, as though unaware of what he was saying.
The other ministers of state stared at her, looking stunned and shocked. Governor Unstuleid sat among them. The litter was too crowded with so many passengers. It flew sluggishly, straining its accelerators, and was escorted on either side by military skimmers with blaring sirens.
The governor’s fine coat had been torn, and dirt smeared his face. He was puffing rapidly, and he reached out an unsteady hand to Israi, who shrank back from him.
Lord Huthaldraril intervened, pulling the governor back. “To touch her is not permitted,” he said fiercely, then he turned again to Israi. “Do not fear, highness. All is well,” he said soothingly, yet his voice held a quaver of shock. “All is now well.”
Israi could not speak, could not recover her composure or her wits. Sobbing and rocking herself from side to side, she tried to hold her torn gown together while the litter sped along.
Lord Manhaliz removed his coat and placed it around her while she cringed from him. Gently he finished covering her and backed away.
“She will not speak,” Lord Huthaldraril said in despair to the others.
“She cannot speak,” Lord Brax said gruffly. “Gods, you fool, the Imperial Daughter is in shock. Don’t keep chattering. Don’t pester her. Leave her be until we can get her to safety.”
Israi choked and shuddered, realizing at last that she was in the air, away from the mob, safely away. She made a muffled noise, and Huthaldraril bent close to her with concern.
“Yes, your highness? What did you say?” he asked.
“He left me!” she screamed. “I reached out to him, and he left me!”
“Who?” Huthaldraril asked worriedly. “Who?”
But the plush, crimson interior of the litter began to spin around her. Thinking they were crashing, Israi screamed again and flung herself back against her seat.
Huthaldraril and Manhaliz both tried to calm her, but their efforts only terrified her more.
“No!” she screamed. “No!”
Then the spinning became a blur, and a whiteness around her. Through a haze she faintly heard their voices, rough with growing alarm as they tried to assure her she was safe.
Israi did not believe them. She knew the litter was crashing. She could feel her heart being crushed as the craft plummeted from the sky. Clutching at one of the tiny ports, she tried to claw her way closer to the window.
“Highness, please. You are safe. You are safe.”
The litter slowed down, dropping altitude as it crossed a major intersection. Blinking back her vertigo, Israi peered out at gawking pedestrians and stalled traffic. The city looked foreign and dangerous. Panic flooded her throat with sour bile. “Kill them,” Israi said, her voice suddenly returning to her, shrill and loud. “Kill them all! They are barbarians. I want them punished for this—all of them!”
“She is hysterical,” Lord Brax said. “Driver, call ahead for a physician. Warn him that a sedative is needed.”
Israi wanted to swear at the old fool, but her head was becoming cold and detached from her body. Her ears were roaring. She could not breathe.
And then, for her, there was nothing.
That night and all the next day Malraaket remained locked in the grip of disaster. The governor stormed about his palace, screaming at his underlings. The city had been placed under martial law, and citizens were ordered by blaring announcers floating up and down the streets to stay indoors. No one was allowed outside on pain of arrest.
Israi had been placed in strict seclusion, with only the governor’s personal physician and her ladies in waiting admitted into her presence. Rumors abounded that the sri-Kaa had been killed, that the sri-Kaa had been gravely injured, that she was suffering a nervous breakdown, that she was furious and calling for everyone in the city to be executed.
Governor Unstuleid himself believed he had entered a waking nightmare. This fabulous visit which was to be the crowning achievement of his political career had turned into a disaster. His internal organs felt as though they were being squeezed in a vise. He wanted to take to his bed and seclude himself to recover his nerves, but he dared not. Every few minutes it seemed he was called forth to the linkup to take another call from the Imperial Palace. The interrogations went on forever, repetitious yet terrifying. He spoke to generals. He spoke to Chancellor Temondahl, an awe-provoking individual who squinted at the linkup screen as though he believed nothing the governor said. He spoke to an unidentified individual he was certain must work in the dreaded Bureau of Security. If he was not on the linkup then he was summoned by one of the visiting ministers of state for additional questions. They all wanted answers he could not give.
Thus far, however, he had not heard anything from the Kaa himself. Unstuleid lived in constant fear that at any moment his adjutant would bring him word that the Kaa had landed in Malraaket and was coming here.
Gods, how had such complete ruin fallen upon him so quickly? The Kaa would blame him for this. The Kaa would demand his head. He wondered whether his private shuttle could get him to the spaceport in time to escape the Kaa’s wrath. No, no, he could not flee. The palace itself was under guard. He was under guard. Surveillance monitored his comings and goings. No one could enter the palace without passing stringent security checks. No one was allowed to leave. The Palace Guards had taken over. Anyone who did not obey their orders was shot on sight. One of the storerooms held the corpses of several courtiers and servants who had not learned that lesson quickly enough.
Unstuleid felt a fresh tremor pass through him. He’d had no sleep. His brain could not seem to work. Horror and despair kept overwhelming him, rendering him mute and shaken at unexpected intervals.
His adjutant entered the governor’s office with an abruptness that startled Unstuleid. “My lord,” Xuvar said breathlessly, his tongue flicking in and out rapidly. His rill stood at full extension. “The Kaa wishes to speak to you via linkup.”
At last the dreaded call had come. The governor’s heart quailed inside him. He felt his rill droop around its collar while his hands grew damp and cold. Struggling to breathe normally, Unstuleid attempted to compose himself, then activated his wall screen with a shaking hand.
The Kaa’s resplendent features shimmered into life upon the large screen, filling the room as though a god had entered it. His crimson-stained rill framed his head, and his vivid blue eyes held the coldness of stone.
Gulping, the governor rose to his feet and bowed deeply.
“Unstuleid,” the Kaa said without preamble, using the governor’s name without title or courtesy, “what is your personal report?”
Although what he really wanted to do was crawl beneath his desk, the governor forced himself upright from his deep bow. He struggled to meet the Kaa’s stern gaze. His bowels were water; his tail hung behind him like a leaden weight. Yet he had to stand there and exhibit Viis courage.
“May the Imperial Father have mercy upon us,” the governor began. His voice came out shaky and weak. “We have—”
“Never mind your speeches,” the Kaa interrupted. “What is your report?”
“The Imperial Daughter is unharmed,” Unstuleid said, repeating what he had assured every other official who had called him hour after hour. “She is shaken by this most unfortunate incident, naturally, but I have seen her—um, briefly—and much of her natural force and vigor are entirely returned.” He did not say that when he had ventured into the sri-Kaa’s guest apartments of state, she had screamed at him like a creature gone mad and hurled expensive vases at his head. “My physician assures me that she will
make a swift and full recovery.”
The Kaa’s rill lowered slightly, and he closed his eyes a moment. “The gods be thanked.”
“Indeed, sire. We are all most thankful.”
The Kaa’s stern gaze bored into him again, interrupted only by a band of static that quickly cleared. “Where were your precautions? What are your excuses? How do you explain this assault upon the Imperial Daughter?”
“The crowd was not hostile, sire,” the governor said, trying to keep his voice steady. Again, he repeated the same assurances that he had made to all the others, to the Bureau of Security, to various members of the council, to Chancellor Temondahl, and now to the august visage of Sahmrahd Kaa himself. “We are a loyal people. We revere the Imperial Father and the Imperial Daughter. Never would we harm—”
“Harm was done,” the Kaa snapped while crimson streaks darkened across his rill. “Violence was done.”
“No violent assault was intended, I do assure the Imperial Father. Only excessive zeal and emotion are to blame. The citizens of Malraaket adore the Imperial Daughter. In a spirit of adoration only did they approach her. Their zeal, unfortunately, overcame their—”
“Enough,” the Kaa said. “We have heard this.”
Unstuleid’s tongue tangled within his mouth. Hastily he uncurled it and tried again. “I—I assure the Imperial Father that we took excellent precautions. A squadron of able-bodied soldiers was present. Crowd barricades stood in place. A chune was let through, sire, a small chune carrying flowers to honor the sri-Kaa. We only wanted to honor her. We meant no harm.”
He realized he was babbling like a slave caught in a transgression. Flushed and trembling from head to foot, the governor forced himself to stop talking. He stood there, silent and wilted, fearing the worst.
The Kaa also said nothing. His pupils contracted to tiny black dots, and his gaze remained flat and merciless.
Breathing hard, the governor beat his brain, trying to decide what to add. He dared not lie. The vidcams had recorded everything as it happened. Even if he’d had the chance to have the recordings edited to show something different, there were too many witnesses, too many horrified members of the court present.
“We had hoped, on the basis of old friendships, that you would give us more than these pathetic excuses,” the Kaa said at last. “We expected you to do better.”
Unstuleid found his composure crumbling. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. It was an accident—”
“The sri-Kaa will return to Vir as soon as she is well enough to travel,” the Kaa said. “Our imperial shuttle should be reaching Malraaket at any moment. You will admit it with full security clearance.”
“Consider it done, sire,” the governor said, struggling to hold his voice steady. “Shall I expect the Imperial Father’s presence?”
“No,” the Kaa snapped. “We no longer consider Malraaket to be friendly to our personage.”
“Oh, but, sire—”
“See that all is prepared for our daughter’s return.”
“Yes, sire.”
“You may also expect the arrival of the Commander General and an investigative staff.”
“Yes, sire.”
“You will cooperate fully with that investigation.”
Unstuleid had no desire to meet the Commander General. Lord Belz’s reputation was not amenable. Yet he had no choice but to incline his head again. “Yes, sire.”
“We are not yet satisfied as to the truth of this incident,” the Kaa said stonily. “We are not yet mollified.”
“Sire, I will do anything—”
“We are not yet assured of the safety of the sri-Kaa.”
“Please, sire. I swear that the sri-Kaa is very safe,” the governor said with rising alarm. “She is—”
“You were careless,” the Kaa broke in sharply, anger cutting through every word. “We shall not forget the behavior of Malraaket toward the Imperial Daughter. We shall not soon forgive.”
The governor opened his mouth to reply, but the screen went blank.
Flicking out his tongue, the governor tugged at his constricting rill collar and dropped weakly into his chair. He was still trembling. He found himself without the strength to even summon his adjutant, but Xuvar entered anyway.
“It went well?” he asked hopefully. “The Kaa has always been fond of you. Did you assure him that—”
“I managed to assure the Kaa of nothing,” Unstuleid said in despair. He stared at his adjutant blankly, seeing disaster all around him. “He is furious. He blames us. We—I think we are in grave trouble.”
“But surely the Kaa understands—”
“No,” the governor said softly, lifting his hand for silence. “I have spoken now to them all. They all ask the same questions, and nothing I say satisfies them. Nothing!”
“But, my lord—”
“No, Xuvar, go now,” Unstuleid said wearily, sinking into despair. “Leave me in peace. I—I need a few moments alone.”
Across the planet in his palace, standing in the communications center, the Kaa paused a moment with his hand still on the switch of the linkup. It was unheard of for the Kaa to touch the controls himself. From across the room, the Zrhel technician blinked at him fearfully, dropping feathers where she stood. Flanking her were his green-cloaked guards, weapons hanging in full sight on their belts as they impassively awaited his next move or command.
The Kaa ignored all of them and stood there with his eyes closed as he tried to regain his imperial composure. But fury continued to boil in his blood, hammering through his skull, throbbing in his stiffly extended rill. His body shook with the very pressure of his rage. It had taken all his willpower not to scream curses at the stupid face of Governor Unstuleid. It was taking all his willpower now not to order Malraaket blasted into radioactive dust.
Israi is still there, spoke an icy inner voice to the seething cauldron of his brain. Not until she is safely away.
His Israi, as precious to him as his own heart. Israi, the future of the empire. Israi, an extension of his majesty—carrying his blood, his genetic stamp, his imperial heritage. Israi, with her breathtaking beauty, fiery spirit, and nimble intelligence. How could these fools in Malraaket have let her be mobbed by a common crowd? The very notion of it was inconceivable, yet it had happened.
A hiss broke from him and he whirled around, striking his forearm against the giant screen of the linkup. The glass surface cracked with a loud pop, and pale blue gas began escaping into the air, bringing with it a noxious odor. On screen, the imperial seal logo slid down and began to distort, as though melting.
The Zrhel technician squawked and raced to hit an alarm.
Instantly a siren blared, and a fine whitish dust sprayed from the ceiling, physically pushing the escaping blue gas to the floor.
Shouts of consternation came from outside the encryption room. The guards rushed forward, beckoning for the Kaa to leave for his own safety.
The Kaa hissed again, then let his throat boom as his rage engulfed him. The guards jumped back, their eyes suddenly wary, and pulled themselves to attention, while the white dust coated their cloaks.
Sahmrahd Kaa glared around at all of them—from the cringing technician covering her beaked mouth while she coughed in the dust and gas, to the rigid guards, to the additional technicians peering inside with alarmed curiosity.
“The Imperial Father must come out!” one of the technicians said, looking in horror at the damaged screen. “It’s not safe to breathe the containment dust.”
The Kaa hissed again, but he strode from the encryption chamber, moving so quickly his guards had to jump out of his way.
His matched Kelth heralds jumped up and ran to get ahead of him, crying their official warning. “Heads up! The Kaa is coming! The Kaa!”
The chief communications technician bowed low as the Kaa strode past him. “The Imperial Father has honored us greatly—”
The Kaa swept on without pause. His visage was thunderous.
His air sacs kept filling with an almost painful rapidity. He did not allow his throat to boom again, for that was a primitive sound of attack, yet he wanted to tear something apart. His long legs carried him rapidly past the staring operators and technicians standing respectfully at their stations.
Exiting the communications center, he strode down a passage into the main part of the palace. Hastily his retinue hurried after him while his guards trotted grimly on either side.
He walked through the vast audience hall as the heralds’ cries cleared a path. Courtiers hastily stopped their conversations in mid-sentence and bowed to him with murmurs of respect, but the Kaa looked neither left nor right. He acknowledged no one. He registered not a single face. Their countenances seemed to be only blurs as he passed them.
With every rapid stride, his rage pounded even more strongly through his body.
That anyone could dare to strike at Israi . . . that anyone could even dare think of harming her . . . his vital forces churned and boiled. He felt shaken to his very bones. What madness had seized the city of Malraaket, making it launch a treasonous rebellion against the sri-Kaa? He felt as though he personally had been attacked, and by his own people. Was he not the Imperial Father? Were they not the children of his empire, these subjects who had turned against his majesty with a violence both shocking and unjustified?
Suppliants were lounging outside his apartments as usual, hoping for a private audience. The Kaa’s guards of escort called ahead on their hand-links, and by the time the Kaa reached his quarters, those waiting to see him had been shooed away by the sentries at his door.
The Kaa passed through the tall doors of embossed gold that swung open for him. Making a sharp turn to the left, he entered his study. Only here, in this chamber of reflection and sanctuary, did he come to a halt and stand still, breathing hard, his mind wild, his tongue flickering in and out rapidly.
The study’s tall ceiling was painted in scenes from ancient Viis mythology. Its walls were paneled in expensive wood imported from offworld and carved by master craftsmen whose bones were long since dust. A massive desk, numerous chairs and stools, racks that held antique scrolls in elaborate cases made of ivern and gold, cabinets concealing modern data crystals provided by the archives, a tiny linkup with its own encoding lines for security, and a perpetually spinning model of the many planets and solar systems contained within the empire all served to furnish the room. Costly rugs woven on distant worlds covered the floor. The study was both a place in which to conduct the affairs of the empire and a refuge, where the empire could be shut out.
The Crimson Claw Page 18