Chaos Rising

by Timothy Zahn

  Two switchbacks later, the spike clusters suddenly reappeared with a vengeance. Another tall spike, even longer and more elaborately carved than the first one, was set back fifteen meters from the path on a small hummock. Nestled around it were at least fifty other spikes, again of varying heights, again with no pattern of size or positioning she could see.

  From that point on the spikes never went away. Tall ones, short ones, occasional huge ones—they were all over the place, set back from the path or running right up beside it.

  Two more switchbacks, she decided as she once again changed direction. Two more switchbacks, and if she hadn’t found a pattern by then she would head over for a closer look.

  “Impressive, aren’t they?”

  Thalias jerked, nearly twisting her ankle as she spun around toward the voice. Set back ten meters from the latest curve in the path, beneath the gently waving branches of a group of trees, was a carved wooden bench. Seated at one end was an old man, his skin pale with age, his eyes unusually bright as he peered out of the shadows. His hands were folded together in front of him, resting on the top of a walking stick that was as elaborately carved as any of the spikes Thalias had seen. “Yes, they are,” she replied, her heart beating a little faster. The first person she’d seen since Thurfian disappeared…

  He might have been reading her mind. “No, I’m not part of the Trials,” he said with an amused and rather conspiratorial smile. “They don’t know I’m even up here. Probably tearing their hair out looking for me. But I wanted to speak with you in private, and this seemed the best way to do it.”

  “I’ve been here for two days,” Thalias reminded him, trying to get a clear view through the dappling of light through the tree leaves. She’d seen that face somewhere before.

  “Oh, I know,” he said. “I’ve been watching you. But while it may have looked like you were alone, you never were. Not until they sent you up here.” He waved a hand around him. “Besides, there’s such a rich sense of Mitth history on this mountain. Makes it the best place to discuss the future of our family.” His waving hand stopped at the group of spikes Thalias had just been studying and extended a finger to point at the largest one. “What do you think?”

  “I—don’t know,” Thalias stalled. He looked so familiar. “It’s impressive enough. But I don’t—”

  “Impressive?” The old man gave a snort. “Hardly. He was a grandstander who always put his own glory above the family. At some point, you see, bringing in Trial-borns and turning them into cousins becomes less about the family’s needs and more about impressing those who are dazzled by mere numbers.”

  “Yes, of course,” Thalias said, an electric jolt running through her as she realized what she was looking at. Someone of Mitth blood—a syndic, Councilor, or some other upper-level Aristocra—was memorialized here. The large spike, surrounded by the memorials of those he’d brought into the Mitth from other families.

  And with a second jolt she finally recognized the old man facing her. “You’re Mitth’oor’akiord,” she breathed. “You’re the Patriarch.”

  “Very good,” Thooraki said. “You paid attention to the row of simulatings along the grand hallway. Impressive.” He shrugged. “Sadly, that level of observation skill has nothing to do with the Trials, or you’d have just earned yourself extra points.”

  “Thank you, Your Venerante,” Thalias said. “But honestly, I don’t think you’re the type to be dazzled by mere numbers.”

  “Very good, my dear Thalias,” the Patriarch said, his smile broadening. “Indeed not. I search for quality and cleverness.” He cocked his head slightly. “Speaking of which, I was called away as you were starting the water-channel challenge and haven’t had a chance to review the recordings. Would you be so good as to enlighten me as to your solution?”

  “It wasn’t that hard,” Thalias said. “The channel’s only about a meter deep, so I took two boards, placed their ends together in the middle of the channel, then pushed one board to the opposite side and lowered the other to my side. With the two of them angled up against the channel’s edges, I laid another board horizontally across them.”

  “I don’t believe that would quite clear the water,” the Patriarch pointed out.

  “No, Your Venerante, it didn’t,” Thalias agreed. “So I added two more angled boards, these set into the center of the horizontal, and placed one final horizontal across them.”

  “Very nice,” the Patriarch said. “I remember one Trial-born who began as you did, but then simply laid more boards across the first horizontal until the stack was above the water level.”

  Thalias felt her lip twitch. Focused on angles and engineering, that solution hadn’t even occurred to her.

  “Equally effective, but not nearly as elegant,” the Patriarch added. “I’ve always liked elegance, and your records during your sky-walker years suggested you were of that frame of mind. Indeed, that was why I made the decision to bring you in.”

  “You brought me into the Mitth? You yourself?”

  “Why not?” he said. “Watching over the family also means watching for those who will make the family stronger.”

  “I’m honored,” Thalias said, feeling a sudden stifling sense of her own shortcomings and inadequacies. “I can only hope I’ll someday be able to live up to your trust in me.”

  “Someday?” He gave another snort. “Really, child. You’ve already repaid my trust many times over. Even now you stand guard between my greatest achievement and those determined to destroy him.”

  “I don’t understand—” She broke off. “You mean…Thrawn?”

  The Patriarch nodded. “Another whom I personally chose to join us.”

  “Really,” Thalias said, frowning. “I thought it was General Ba’kif who pointed the Mitth to him.”

  “And who do you think pointed Ba’kif?” the Patriarch countered. “Oh, yes. Labaki—that was his name back then—Labaki and I have known each other for a long time. I’m the one who told him about Thrawn and encouraged him to point that fool Thurfian toward him.”

  He sighed. “I saw greatness in him, Thalias,” he said, his eyes and voice going distant. “Greatness, and skill, and loyalty. He will be my crowning, the memorial staff that will someday stand close beside my own.” He tapped his walking stick as his gaze clouded over. “If he survives.”

  “I’ve seen him in battle, Your Venerante,” Thalias assured him. “He’ll survive.”

  “You think I fear his loss in war?” The Patriarch shook his head. “No. Barring something unforeseen or uncontrollable, he’ll never taste more than temporary defeat. No, Thalias, the threat to him comes from within the Ascendancy. Possibly from within the family itself.” He beckoned to her. “Come. Sit beside me, if you would. I fear I have but little time left.”

  Carefully, uncertainly, Thalias walked across the grass and eased herself onto the bench beside him. “What can I do for you?” she asked.

  “You’re doing it,” he assured her. “You’re listening to me, as few others in the family do anymore. More important, you’re watching over Thrawn, working with him as an unflinching ally and assistant. Guarding him against his enemies.”

  He waved out over the mountain. “The transfer of leadership from one Patriarch to the next is designed to run smoothly. Usually it does. But sometimes it belies that promise. Even as we speak, there are several who are preparing their challenges and arguments, maneuvering for the moment when my walking stick is handed over to the historians and carvers for the version that will stand in the soil of the homestead. Some of those see Thrawn as an asset to the Mitth. Others see nothing but threat and danger.” He shook his head. “If one of the latter ascends to the Patriarch’s Seat…” He left the sentence unfinished.

  “I don’t understand that,” Thalias said. “He’s a magnificent warrior. How can they see danger in him?”

 
“The danger is that he’ll overreach himself, or take the Mitth into some adventure that leaves us politically vulnerable. Should that happen, our rivals will surely take advantage of our momentary weakness. These particular contenders for the Patriarch’s Seat would prefer to trade any potential glory Thrawn might bring to the family for the assurance that he won’t bring an equal degree of infamy.”

  Thalias nodded. “Seeking a steady path without risks.”

  “Which is foolish,” the Patriarch said, his mouth twisting with contempt. “The cautious path merely guarantees a slow slide to irrelevance. The Mitth must take risks—calculated and well planned, but risks nonetheless—if we’re to maintain our position among the Ruling Families.”

  For a moment the only sound was the rustling of the wind through the trees. “What can we do?” Thalias asked at last.

  “I honestly don’t know,” the Patriarch conceded. “I’ve done all I can. Even as my life stretches toward its conclusion, so my power and authority wane.” He smiled sadly. “Don’t look at me that way, child. This is as it should be, and as it must. The reins of command must be neatly gathered so as to be handed over to my successor without any sort of delay or uncertainty, lest the other families leap in to exploit such confusion to our detriment.”

  “I understand,” Thalias said, shivering. She’d seen how politics colored relationships even among the professional warriors of the fleet’s warships. It must be far more virulent in the Syndicure. “Tell me how to protect him.”

  “He has friends,” the Patriarch said. “Allies. He may not know how to gather them to his side when necessary. That will be your task.” He shook his head. “I knew from the start that politics wasn’t his strength. But I never realized just how blind he was to those shifting winds.”

  “I’ll do my best,” Thalias said. “Assuming I’m still in the Mitth at day’s end.”

  “Still in the family?” the Patriarch echoed, frowning at her. “What are you talking about, child? Of course you’re in the family. Your travel through the Trials may not have shown brilliance, but it was more than adequate. You’re officially a Trial-born now, Thalias, only one step from advancement to ranking distant.”

  “Thank you,” Thalias said, bowing her head to him as a flood of relief washed through her.

  “But only if you aren’t reported as apparently having fallen off the mountain,” the Patriarch said, some of his earlier humor peeking through the darkness of his warnings. “You’d best continue to the top. Study the staffs as you climb. Note the pattern and flow of family history. Meditate on the lives and triumphs of the Mitth.”

  “And on their occasional failures?”

  The Patriarch nodded, the humor fading again. “Especially their failures,” he said quietly. “Note closely the gaps in the memorial record, the asymmetries where a syndic’s or Aristocra’s efforts have been cut off. Failure can be a harsh but capable teacher.”

  “But only when those who observe it learn from it.”

  “Indeed.” The Patriarch reached over and squeezed her hand. “Thank you for speaking with me, Thalias, Trial-born of the Mitth. And watch over your commander. I cannot help but feel that he holds the key to the Ascendancy’s future, whether that future be triumph or ultimate destruction.”

  “I’ll watch over him,” Thalias promised. “To my own life or death, I’ll watch over him.”

  * * *

  —

  The sun had long since set, but there was still a glow in the western sky when Thalias finally emerged from the path. Thurfian had clearly been watching, and as she walked toward the mansion he appeared through the door and motioned her toward a tunnel car waiting by the mosaic map.

  “Change of plans,” he called as she came within earshot. “I’m needed back at the Syndicure, and the Patriarch said I should take you with me.”

  “Is there trouble?” Thalias asked.

  “None that I’m aware of,” Thurfian said. “But Admiral Ar’alani sent a message asking that you be returned to the Vigilant as soon as possible.” He gave her a suspicious look. “I also note that while I was conveniently distracted, Thrawn managed to slip away.”

  “That was certainly not my intent,” Thalias said, knowing full well that she wasn’t fooling him in the slightest. “But since you bring up the Trials, when will I know if I passed them?”

  “You think too much like a schoolgirl,” Thurfian said sourly. “The Trials aren’t an essay to be graded and returned after class.” His lip twisted. “Yes, you passed. You’re now a Trial-born of the Mitth. Congratulations. Get in.”

  “Thank you,” Thalias murmured.

  She sat sideways in her seat as they headed out, watching the mansion, the mountain, and the homestead fading in the distance behind them, until the tunnel wall abruptly blocked it from her sight. She’d never dreamed she would actually meet the Patriarch of her adoptive family, let alone have a long and serious conversation with him. She would hold that meeting, and her promises to him, locked away in her heart.

  And even as a new chapter of her life was beginning, so now did an era in the Mitth family’s life draw to a close.

  Once, it was said, the March of Silence in Convocate Hall had been used by leaders of the Ruling Families to arrange for their enemies’ censure, imprisonment, or execution. Its construction and acoustics were such that a conversation could realistically hold no more than four or five people without those on the outside edge being unable to hear what was being said in the center.

  But that had been thousands of years ago. Now, with the enlightenment that came from political maturity, the March had become a gathering place for Speakers and syndics who wished to discuss political matters without one of them having to show the weakness inherent in meeting in another’s office.

  As Councilor Thurfian watched Councilor Zistalmu approaching from the other end of the March, he wondered if the Irizi would appreciate the irony of the proposal he was about to lay out.

  Zistalmu’s path was by necessity somewhat meandering as he carefully skirted the other conversational groups at distances calculated to avoid unintentional eavesdropping. Finally, he reached Thurfian and stepped up beside him. “Aristocra Thurfian,” he said, nodding.

  “Aristocra Zistalmu,” Thurfian returned the greeting. “Let me get straight to the point. I understand the Irizi have approached Senior Commander Mitth’raw’nuru about detaching from the Mitth and joining your family.”

  A flicker of surprise and suspicion touched Zistalmu’s usually unreadable expression. “I was under the impression such offers were confidential until and unless they were finalized.”

  “It was a chance overhearing,” Thurfian said. “I also understand that he declined your offer.”

  “Not officially,” Zistalmu hedged. “The offer remains open.”

  “No, he’s declined it,” Thurfian said. “You’ve seen Thrawn’s record. He doesn’t hesitate when he sees a tactical advantage. If he hasn’t accepted by now, the answer is no.”

  “Perhaps.” Zistalmu eyed him. “I presume you didn’t invite me here simply to gloat at our failed attempt.”

  “Not at all,” Thurfian said. “I invited you here to see if you had any interest in bringing him down.”

  The unreadable expression held firm this time. But Thurfian could tell it was a near thing. “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s simple enough,” Thurfian said. Zistalmu could cause immense trouble for him, he knew, if he repeated any of this to one of the Mitth Councilors or syndics. But Thurfian had a good feel for Zistalmu’s goals and politics, and he was pretty sure that wouldn’t happen. “I’ve seen Thrawn’s record, too. He has the potential to do great things in the service of the fleet. He also has an equal potential of bringing ruin to the Mitth, and possibly to the entire Ascendancy.”

  Zistalmu favored him with a mocking smile “Bringing r
uin to the Mitth doesn’t sound so bad.” The smile faded. “But the Ascendancy is another matter.”

  “Then you agree with me?”

  “I don’t know how you made that jump from a simple comment in favor of the Ascendancy,” Zistalmu said. “But if we’re being honest…yes, I see the same potential for both glory and disaster.”

  “Though the rest of the Irizi apparently don’t.”

  Zistalmu waved a hand. “The recruitment offer was their attempt to steal Thrawn away from the Mitth. I doubt any of them bothered to look deep enough into his record to see what you and I are seeing. So what exactly are you proposing?”

  “At this point, nothing but watchfulness,” Thurfian said, feeling a slight lessening of his tension. “That should be easy to do, given that our two families have already assigned us to watch over military matters. We simply continue that procedure, only with an eye toward coordinating our response if we see something dangerous in the works.”

  “Won’t be easy,” Zistalmu cautioned, his eyes narrowed in thought. “For whatever reason, he seems to have made staunch allies of General Ba’kif and Commodore Ar’alani. Those are powerful and influential people.”

  “I agree,” Thurfian said. “Ba’kif’s probably untouchable, but Ar’alani was once Irizi. She might still be amenable to pressure.”

  “I doubt it,” Zistalmu said sourly. “I’ve talked with her once or twice since her promotion, and she’s very intent on upholding her new nonfamily status.”

  “Then we focus on Thrawn,” Thurfian said. “And, perhaps, some of his less highly placed allies.”

  “You’d know more about that than I would,” Zistalmu said. “Very well. We’ll watch, and wait, and see.” He looked around. “And of course, we’ll speak of this to no one.”