The Crimson Claw

by Deborah Chester

  “Where is the sri-Kaa?”

  Temondahl stirred at this question, as though to remind the Kaa that Israi was en route. The Kaa shot him a glare, and Temondahl said nothing.

  Belz was already replying. “The sri-Kaa is flying under military escort. Her transit time has been shortened and she should be arriving at the Imperial Palace in Vir in less than an hour. She is under the full protection of my personal staff, and will be returned to her Imperial Father shortly.”

  “Excellent,” the Kaa said in approval. He had always liked Belz, one of the rare highborn Viis who got things done in a very short amount of time. A member of the First House, Belz came from a long line of warriors who had all distinguished themselves in service to the throne. The Kaa leaned forward. “You will of course investigate the guards assigned to her service on this trip.”

  “That investigation is already in place. Interrogations are proceeding,” Belz said. “Loss of civilian life is totaled at one hundred twenty-four. I have no accurate figures on the number of injuries. Numerous arrests have been made. Those under arrest will be questioned at length. It would seem the guards were lax in depending on the local security arrangements. However, none of the early evidence points toward a coup on their part.”

  “We are relieved to hear it,” the Kaa said. “Well done, Lord Belz.”

  The Commander General flicked out his tongue. “I wish to add on the guards’ behalf that they acted swiftly to separate the sri-Kaa from the crowd. They got her out of the area, and contained the riot. While a reprimand is in order, court-martials would cause more harm to morale than is necessary.”

  The Kaa said nothing. He knew that Belz always put the welfare of his forces first. He would naturally protect the guards involved. This kind of leniency the Kaa could accept.

  Temondahl rubbed his hands together and flicked out his tongue. “Lord Belz has delivered excellent news. As always, the Commander General is most efficient in the performance of his duties. It is a considerable relief to hear that the government of Malraaket has not rebelled. I am sure that the situation can be smoothed over now quickly and without further delay. No doubt Malraaket will wish to tender its apologies on behalf of all involved citizens and—”

  The Kaa lifted his hand for silence.

  Temondahl’s voice faltered to a halt. He stared at the Kaa, his rill raised inquiringly.

  The Kaa sat erect as though carved from wood. His gaze remained on the screened image of the Commander General. The anger went on pulsing inside him, stabbing him. Had he possessed a sword at that moment, he would have sliced off Temondahl’s head.

  “This incident will not be smoothed over and it will not be forgiven. This we have said. This will be so.”

  Temondahl turned to the Kaa in dismay. “But sire,” he said. “Malraaket and Vir have been on excellent terms for centuries. This is our sister city, the second capital of the homeworld. We—we depend on Malraaket for our—”

  “Malraaket must be punished,” the Kaa said implacably. His voice was hard and without mercy.

  “Surely the Imperial Father is not going to blame the entire city for the actions of a few—”

  “Malraaket is responsible for the actions of its citizens. And its vagrants. Where was the intelligence force? Why were these Rejects not being watched more closely to avoid trouble? Why was security not tightened when word came that the sri-Kaa was to visit?”

  The Commander General was nodding on the screen. “I agree with the Kaa’s assessment. No mob should have been allowed to form behind the barricades, much less find a way to break through. No riot should have taken place. The forces stationed in Malraaket are lax and undisciplined. They were not prepared. This could have been avoided with proper precautions.”

  Looking annoyed, Temondahl opened his mouth, then closed it without speaking.

  The Kaa glanced at Lord Belz. “What should be done to the city, to teach it a lesson it will never forget?”

  Temondahl sputtered protests, his staff tapping on the floor in his agitation. “Please, sire! Please, my lord general. This is a matter of diplomacy, not force. Malraaket is too important to—”

  Again the Kaa cut him off. “What is your recommendation, Lord Belz?”

  The Commander General did not hesitate. “My recommendation is that the city remain under martial law. This is the first step in teaching them that they must not harm the imperial presence.”

  The Kaa’s rill lifted behind his head, spreading itself to its full extent. He said, “That is not enough.”

  Again Temondahl sputtered, but no one paid any attention to him.

  Belz regarded the Kaa. His gaze was clear and direct. “Does the Imperial Father order the destruction of Malraaket?”

  “No,” Temondahl said. “By all mercy and justice, no!”

  The Kaa ignored him. “No city on our homeworld will be destroyed,” he said coldly.

  Temondahl loosed an enormous sigh. “At last, the wisdom of the Kaa is seen.”

  The Kaa kept his gaze on Lord Belz’s screened image. “We wish harsh sanctions leveled upon the city. There will be no trade to Malraaket. All imperial franchises will be canceled. It will be a crime to deliver anything other than food and the most basic necessities there. Malraaket’s warehouses are to be confiscated and emptied; the contents now belong to the crown. Malraaket will not be permitted to export its goods or manufacture. Its factories may operate to supply its own needs, and nothing more. The city will exist in isolation under armed barricades. No individual may visit it. No individual may leave it, not even for Festival migrations. This is our imperial will.”

  A silence fell over the room, as though no one dared breathe. The Kaa’s words seemed to echo in the study.

  The Commander General bowed to him from the screen. “As the Imperial Father commands. I will report our progress tomorrow morning. Belz out.”

  The screen went blank, displaying once again the Commander General’s silver and blue seal before fading to black.

  The Kaa drew a deep breath, satisfied at last, and only then turned to look at his agitated chancellor.

  Temondahl’s eyes held dismay. He opened his mouth, but the Kaa spoke swiftly to cut him off.

  “We will not hear protests, chancellor,” he said coldly and formally. “We have made our decision. No more will be said.”

  Temondahl drew a deep breath and shuddered visibly. “May the Imperial Father forgive me,” he said in a quiet voice of despair. “Does the Imperial Father realize that he has doomed Malraaket to economic ruin, and all of Viisymel with it?”

  “Nonsense,” the Kaa said sharply. “Malraaket is swollen with riches. It has enjoyed protected trade for three centuries. It can live off its own fat until the sanctions are lifted.”

  “May I ask the Imperial Father how long such sanctions will be in place?” Temondahl asked softly.

  The Kaa glared at him, wanting no censure, no criticism in either tone or implication. “You may not ask,” he said, his voice sharp as a whipcrack. It pleased him to see the chancellor flinch. “We will not relent until we are satisfied that Malraaket has learned its lesson. This audience is ended, and you are dismissed, chancellor.”

  There was no more Temondahl could say without risking death. He made a deep obeisance, then gathered his staff of office close to his side and walked to the door with his shoulders slumped and his head low.

  Alone at last, the Kaa sat in his chair while a slave brought him a full wine cup. He sipped slowly, his heart cold and stony inside his torso. Despite his illness, he felt like a warrior for the first time in too many years. Sometimes it was good to cast the diplomats aside and slip the tight leash off the army.

  He knew, as Belz and Temondahl both knew, that tonight and in the nights to come the military forces would loot Malraaket. It was Viis tradition that whenever the army occupied a city it could take what it wanted.

  In the Kaa’s long memory, he could not recall a moment in history when the army had looted
a Viis city on the homeworld.

  For a second, a chilly sliver of concern touched him. Was he doing the right thing? Or had he been too harsh?

  The Kaa held out his cup for more wine. He turned the questions over and over in his mind like polished stones in the hands of a juggler.

  Sahmrahd Kaa knew his own reputation. Most of the time he dispensed justice tempered with mercy and leniency. But some actions he did not condone or forgive. He would not forgive Malraaket, no matter what Temondahl said. And although he might have led the chancellor to think his orders regarding the city were temporary, inside his own mind the Kaa’s decision was firm: While he lived, Malraaket would remain cut off from the rest of the empire, a prisoner exiled within its own walls, forever.

  Across the empire, his enemies and critics alike would see the strength and harshness of the Kaa. He would be feared, as was proper.

  No matter how much Temondahl might moan, the Kaa knew he had done the right thing. Malraaket, city of old history, city of merchants with provincial ways, was indeed doomed—as it deserved to be for allowing Israi to get hurt. And as the citizens of Malraaket fell tonight into the hands of the army, which would loot, burn, and destroy anything it wanted, let them be thankful, he thought, that they had been spared at all.

  CHAPTER•ELEVEN

  Ampris awakened in a strange place of sterile gray, a place of indistinct light and muted sounds. A steady humming from equipment surrounded her. She tried to lift her head, but it weighed too much. Weakly she let it fall back.

  Someone came to her, a shadowy figure draped in a gray smock. Not until it leaned over her to adjust placement of the monitor clip in her ear did Ampris see that her attendant was a female Aaroun with pale beige-colored fur and a V of dark brown shading her throat.

  “Awake?” the female whispered, her voice so low and soft Ampris could barely hear it. “Any pain?”

  Ampris stirred, restless and groggy. “Not much.”

  “You are healing quickly,” the Aaroun told her with a gentle smile. She rubbed Ampris between her ears, and the caress was comforting. “The medics are pleased with your progress.”

  Ampris tried to remember what had happened, but couldn’t. “What is this place? Who—”

  “Hush. You must stay quiet and rest. You will heal better if you allow the machines to do their work. If you cause trouble, the guards will return and you will have to wear your restraint collar.”

  Ampris tilted her head just enough to look at the rectangular block of metal fastened across her midsection. It was the source of the humming she’d heard. And now she could feel a strange sensation crawling through her stomach, not unpleasant but odd.

  “What happened?”

  The Aaroun nurse smiled. “You won a great victory,” she said. “In the season finale of the gladiatorial games. People have been yelling your name in the streets. Many made fortunes on you.”

  Ampris smiled back drowsily. “Did you?”

  The Aaroun’s long-lashed eyes dropped modestly. “I am of the abiru. I am not permitted to place bets.”

  “But you did,” Ampris said astutely.

  The Aaroun’s eyes flashed up, gleaming, then lowered again. She said nothing, but satisfaction radiated from her while she retucked the blankets over Ampris’s feet. “I have three cubs,” she said with pride, her gaze flicking to the far side of the ward where a cluster of medics stood talking. “Now all will have enough food this winter. All will have warm clothing. My mate will not have to work the dangerous third shift the rest of this year.”

  Memory returned to Ampris. She backed her ears in sudden distress, making something beep above her head.

  “Hush,” the nurse said soothingly, bending over her again. “Hush. You are safe. You are healing well.”

  “I killed my teammate,” Ampris said. Tears filled her eyes, blurring her vision, but she could not lift her hands to wipe them away. Puzzled, she tugged harder, and this time saw the restraint cables fastening her wrists to the sides of her bed.

  She growled.

  “Hush,” the nurse said, again glancing over at the medics. “They’ll sedate and collar you if you cause trouble. That’s why you’re so groggy now. They’ve pumped you full of chemicals to keep you unconscious.”

  Ampris had her emotions back under control now. She met the concerned eyes of the nurse and saw no hostility there, only kind concern and decency.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. “I’m thirsty.”

  The nurse nodded and vanished for a time. When she returned, the medics had left the ward. All was quiet and still except for the moaning of another patient several beds away.

  “Here,” the nurse said, lifting her head so that she could drink. “Very small sips.”

  The water was tepid, with a harsh chemical taste, but Ampris drank all she was allowed. When the nurse eased her down, Ampris gazed up at her and forced her voice to stay steady.

  “Have I been sold?”

  The nurse’s eyes widened. “No, of course not. You’re famous now. You should see the tributes that have been sent here for you. Packages of all kinds, torn-up wager tickets, fruit offerings, flowers, and oh, I cannot remember half of it. None of those things are allowed in here, but your servant comes every day to collect them.”

  “Am I back on Fariance?” Ampris asked in confusion.

  “No. You haven’t been cleared for travel yet. When you are dismissed from this facility, you will be collected by your trainer and taken back to where you belong.”

  “I want to see Elrabin,” Ampris said. She was beginning to feel better, more alert. “Is he here?”

  The nurse smiled and shook her head. “That one. He’s a sly fellow, isn’t he? The things he will say. He isn’t allowed to visit you, but he hangs around the nurses’ station and flirts with everyone. He comes only in the mornings. Of course, the medics won’t let him stay here long. They send him away as soon as they know he’s in the facility, but he comes back again the next day.”

  Ampris felt confused. “He’s allowed to come by himself? Where are the guards? Where is Master Halehl?”

  “You’re getting tired. You’d better rest,” the nurse said.

  “Is it morning now? Will he come soon?”

  “It’s late afternoon. The medic on call will be making his rounds soon. If you pretend to be asleep, I’ll reset your vital signs on the scanner to match. Then he won’t order another sedative for you that you don’t really need. As long as you’re not in pain, there’s no need for you to be kept unconscious.”

  Gratefully, Ampris said, “You’re very kind. Why are you helping me?”

  “Told you. You helped me by winning in a big way. It’s the least I can do. Besides . . .” The nurse paused, staring down at Ampris. “We Aarouns should help each other. You’re of the Heva clan, aren’t you?”

  “I—” Ampris hesitated, not sure what to say. Embarrassment flooded her, but at last she spoke the truth. “I don’t know. I was taken too young from my mother.”

  “I think you are,” the nurse said with sympathy, tilting her head as she scrutinized Ampris. “It’s in the shape of your eyes and that golden tint to your fur. And of course you’re beautifully proportioned. All the Heva are quite handsome.”

  Modesty made Ampris unsure of what to say to such compliments, but at the same time she smiled eagerly at the nurse. “Are you of the Heva clan?”

  “No. I have the blood in me, from my father’s side, but I am descended from the Firze clan. We carry our ancestry through our mothers, we Aarouns do.”

  Ampris could not believe her luck. At long last, after a lifetime of searching, she had found someone who could answer her questions. “What is your name?”

  “Fula.”

  Ampris’s smile widened. “I am pleased to make friends with you, Fula. Your kindness means a great deal to me.”

  “Kindness is our responsibility toward all strangers,” Fula said softly, but she looked pleased. “It is the Aaroun way.”

/>   Ampris didn’t explain that Fula was the first Aaroun she’d ever met who’d said so. Dozens of questions crowded her brain. “There is so much about our race that I want to know.”

  Fula chuckled. “Why, all Aarouns know—”

  “I don’t. I don’t know anything except a few names of our legendary leaders and—”

  “We can’t talk about them,” Fula said, flattening her ears warily. She looked around the ward to make sure no one was listening. “That is forbidden.”

  “But you know them,” Ampris said, refusing in her delight to heed caution. “You know their names.”

  “Of course. But you have to rest now. You’re getting too excited, and the medic will know.”

  “Zimbarl,” Ampris whispered, her voice very soft.

  Fula nodded, pretending to look exasperated. “And Nithlived,” she said, equally softly. “Satisfied?”

  “Will you tell me the old stories?” Ampris asked eagerly. “Will you teach me the songs that mothers are supposed to teach their daughters?”

  Fula’s eyes softened. For a moment Ampris thought she saw pity glisten in them. Again Fula’s hand rubbed her between her ears.

  “You poor erizana,” she whispered.

  “Erizana?” Ampris asked eagerly. “What does that mean?”

  “It means beloved girl-cub and last of litter.” Fula backed her ears, struggling for a clear translation. “The last born. When a female Aaroun knows she will bear no more cubs, she turns a special affection on the one born to her last of all. It is not the same affection shown to the firstborn of all her cubs. We have different words for all these things.”

  “How do you know so much?” Ampris asked her, drinking in every word. “Who taught you? Your mother?”