Fires of Nuala

by Katharine Eliska Kimbriel

  Cort Atare had not died naturally, the obvious assumption. It was murder.

  The announcer’s lips moved slowly, maintaining professional calm. Forcing her mind to read the words flowing across the bottom of the picture, Mailan let the crisis register: Others of the royal family were also attacked. No other specifics were forthcoming.

  First order of business is the Seri, she reminded herself, even as she moved to the wall box to contact the center command. Sweet Mendülay, she had forgotten to report in last night. It was not required when an Atare left home, but she had to tell center where her successor —

  To her surprise, it was the barracks, not the center, her fingers had tapped into the membrane.

  “Jude,” she heard herself request, even as a terrible thought formed in her mind. To kill the Atare, they — surely more than one — would have had to kill his guaard. What was powerful enough, skillful enough, to overcome guaard?

  “This is Jude.” Only Mailan would have noticed the rawness in her voice.

  “Mailan here. What has happened, Jude? Who was — ”

  “Mailan?” It was soft, a squeak, drawn raggedly from the depths of her solid frame. “Mailan?”

  “I sound like Fion or Crow, maybe? What — Jude? What is wrong?” Suddenly the woman’s reaction was not merely unexpected, it was disturbing.

  “But… but Dirk said…” There was a long pause. “Hold the line.” Jude abruptly disappeared.

  Remaining on the wall box, Mailan wished for a vid. These inexpensive lines in the temple rooms were totally inaccurate when dealing with guaard. One had to see the person to know what they were feeling.

  Another click on the line, and Jude’s rough voice once again seized her attention. “Mailan? Damn the Path! They said you were dead!”

  That took a moment to assimilate. Standing in a daze, Mailan finally heard Jude say: “Mailan? Are you still there? Mailan?”

  “Why?” It seemed the obvious question. “Who said?” That would do for a follow-up.…

  “May, the Atare is dead!”

  “I saw, on the omni. But — ”

  “So is Seri Baldwin. And Seris Caleb, Dimitri, and Fabe. Seri Iver was injured, but he lives. May, they said Sheel and the woman with him were dead, and you were missing and presumed dead! They are dragging the pond by his house!”

  “Sweet Mendülay.” It was barely a whisper. Mailan leaned back against the wall. After a time she realized Jude was speaking once again. “Jude, I am with Sheel. He did not go home last night, he — he loaned the house to a friend. Dear Lord of Life… You are certain about the heirs?”

  “Not only the heirs, but their guaard. I saw Martin’s body when I was sent to Baldwin’s home. Also Baldwin’s wife, and Dimitri’s wife. The others either were not in town or not sleeping with their husbands that night — no one heard anything, Mailan!”

  Her mind was churning, light exploding from within. Shaking her head to clear it, she asked: “Are you on duty?”

  “Not yet. I am an alternate today.”

  “I need you. Come to the obelisk in the temple gardens. I will meet you there in, oh, twenty minutes. Do not ask anyone about anything, just enter a request from Sheel taken though the current guaard. Do not list a destination. Just come.”

  “Mailan, I — ”

  “I am dead on my feet, Jude, and it will take me some time to remember what is wrong. I need someone with Sheel I can trust.” She took a deep breath. “Please. I will explain when I know what to tell you. Sheel will cover for you.”

  “You know you have only to ask.… Are you sure you are all right?” Jude asked carefully, as if expecting her to suddenly give a death rattle.

  “Twenty minutes.” The wall box disconnected with a jangling, discordant sound. Mailan leaned against the smooth controls, reaching with one hand to blacken the omni. Far above them, in one of the twin towers, the bell was still ringing.… Three minutes for each member of the royal house, for each guaard who died in the line of duty.… Dear Sweet Mendülay, how many had died?

  “Well?” Sheel’s soft, weary voice penetrated the tolling of the bell. Glancing over at the entrance of the sleeping room, Mailan studied her sworn lord and master. He had found one of the thick, warm robes always provided in the temple guest rooms — his slender frame was lost in the folds.

  How does one say this? She straightened slowly and turned with exquisite grace, her face frozen in its stillness. “This is one,” she started.

  “One? How have you managed to indebt yourself to me before Kee has fully risen? Or am I indebted to you?” The smile was slight; careful. He had heard some of the conversation, then.

  “I promised another guaard that you would countenance my request for a back-up,” Mailan continued.

  “And we need a back-up because…”

  “Because The Atare was murdered last night, as well as several other members of the line. Jude believed both you and me dead until my call.” She studied his expression, looking for reaction, but at this distance even his pale blonde stubble was invisible. “Something I have learned this morning, either from the omni or from Jude, has stirred an incongruity. I need time to think; I cannot do it unless I know you are safe.” There was really nothing more to be said, except… “Seri, I am sorry.”

  “Murdered?” Sheel’s inflection was not exactly a question. Moving slowly to the window, he leaned against the sill and surveyed the pale morning.

  “It was the word chosen by the local listing, Seri.” There was a long silence. Dear Ones, he is going into shock.

  “Why kill him in a manner that is obvious? He was not a strong man; they could have smothered him with a blanket.” The question was odd, coming from Sheel at this moment, even as it crystallized one of Mailan’s thoughts.

  “Seri… are the guaard so feeble on the scale of the Seven Systems that strangers could have devastated our ranks in one night?” Perhaps it was arrogant; very well, she would admit to inordinate pride. But she was guaard, damn it all, and she had yet to learn of a technique that could stop her. A mag gun, maybe.… But only a distance weapon. What else could kill a guaard?

  There was a sigh from the window, and Sheel sat down in a chair facing the glass. “No, Mailan. I have yet to hear or see anyone or anything that could overpower a guaard.” Another long pause, and then he said: “If they thought us dead… there must not be much left of Rob.…”

  That startled her; she had completely forgotten the implications of Jude’s phrasing. If they had assumed the bodies were Sheel and a night visitor, then… Mailan felt momentarily ill. The young nobleman had been Sheel’s closest friend; he had even accompanied the Seri to Emerson.

  “I suppose it is too late to play dead.” Mailan felt her eyes widen as Sheel looked her way. “No, do not blame yourself, I would not have thought of it, either. But if someone went to this kind of trouble to kill off the family… I doubt it will end here. Unless they were careless and left evidence of their deed.”

  “Do you wish to remain here, Seri? I have arranged for my alternate to meet me a few moments from this place. No one knows of our whereabouts.”

  “Except possibly Archpriest Ward,” Sheel murmured. For a moment he looked very old. “Who else is dead?”

  Tempted to vacillate, Mailan hesitated. But then Sheel would know if she withheld information.… “The Seri Baldwin, his wife, the Seri Caleb, the Seri Dimitri, his wife — ”

  “Enough.” Anger threaded the word, and Mailan hoped he would let more of it out. A wintry smile crossed his face, and he turned back to the window. “I should have asked who lives.”

  “The Seri Iver apparently lives, as well as your sisters.”

  Sheel’s eyes closed in response, as if exhaustion swept through him. “Poor Iver,” he murmured. “The last thing in this life he would want, and now it is his.… “ Folding his hands across his knee, he asked: “Suggestions?”

  As though she were the Captain himself.… “Caution costs nothing, my Seri. Something is
wrong, although I have yet to solve the mystery. Remain here, with another guaard, while I make inquiries. Fion worked very hard on my intuitive capabilities. It would be foolish to ignore this… itch… in the back of my consciousness.” Thinking it sounded vague, she added: “I am sorry I am hazy, Seri, but something struck me as wrong, and until I figure out what it is, I will be worried.”

  “My life is always in your hands,” Sheel said gently, not lifting his gaze from his knee. “What of Darame?”

  Ah… the woman. Mailan had consciously forgotten her, even as her ears had listened for the rustle of sheets. “I doubt she could be a part of this, else you would not have lived to see the dawn. But undoubtedly she will be questioned. I will stop at her hostel and bring her a few things. Is there anything you would like me to bring you?”

  “A change of clothes, if it is not too much trouble. My medical bag, when you stop to check on Iver. Tell Avis and Leah I am well, if chance allows it. And Mailan… if you are in the vicinity… see if they killed the cats.” Finally glancing up, he added: “If so, it tells us something about the individuals behind the violence.”

  Nodding, Mailan automatically examined the window and doors of the room, making sure they were secure. Leaving an Atare unattended, who would have thought it? Why was she so nervous? What had Jude — the omni? — said to distress her subconscious? As her gaze passed Sheel, she noted the odd expression on his face. “Seri?”

  “Mailan… Do you trust the guaard who is coming?”

  Mailan stared at him. What kind of question?… “Seri?”

  Vaguely waving her on, Sheel looked back toward the window. “It is nothing… only a dream I had last night. The angle was wrong.…”

  She waited, but no more was forthcoming. What had he meant? Nodding again, she moved toward the bedroom.

  Awake, yet waiting silently. Mailan paused in the doorway, meeting the off-worlder’s gaze. Somehow the woman had reached for the other robe without making an audible sound. Now she was wrapped in it, slowly moving into a sitting position. Did she speak Nualan? Unlikely.… Few were the ambassadors who learned the language. This planet was not sought as a permanent post. That point would have to be explored, and soon.

  “There has been an altercation in the city,” Mailan said clearly in Caesarean. “You will have to remain closeted for a time. I will try to secure your possessions before returning to this place. Please do not attempt to leave or to use the wall box. For now, come with me.” Nodding formally to the woman, Mailan slipped back into the lounge.

  Drawing one of her cat knives from its upper arm sheath, she extended it hilt-first to Sheel.

  Sheel merely lifted an eyebrow as he accepted the knife.

  Turning to the off-worlder, who stood uncertainly in the bedroom doorway, Mailan reached for a handful of robe and firmly guided the woman through the outer door.

  o0o

  Still deserted and filled with early-morning fog, the temple grounds were unnaturally silent. Only the bell intruded, driving away fauna and visitors alike. Approaching the obelisk from a side path, Mailan slowed as the off-worlder stepped on something sharp. No cry of pain — she, too, felt something oppressive about the scene. Eyes wide and face white with strain, the woman pulled the robe tightly around her tiny form and limped on.

  Jude waited in the shadow of the pillar. Continuously turning, alert to any movement, she saw them long before she heard them. Gesturing with her free hand, Mailan moved further into the shadow of the trees. “Have you heard anything more?” she asked in Nualan.

  Her friend shook her head and reached into a pocket. “They increased the guard on the survivors — here is the revised schedule.” Pressing the filmy ring into Mailan’s palm, Jude said: “Should we call others?”

  “Not yet. I am sorry I am being so mysterious, but — ” Suddenly she was at a loss for words; if Fion had been there, he would have understood.…

  “It is nothing,” Jude said, interrupting. “If Fion, if an Atare, can trust these moods which take you, why not a fellow guaard?” Glancing around, she continued: “Where is he?”

  “Temple guest rooms, third from the left.” Indicating the off-worlder with a jerk of her chin, Mailan added: “I told her not to leave or to contact anyone. No trouble so far.” The exhaustion was catching up to her; she was having trouble thinking straight. “I am no longer on official duty since third bell, and they will be annoyed that I did not call in during the night — ”

  “Whatever is bothering you, see to it,” Jude told her. “Then come back.” Pausing a moment to grip the other’s arm, Jude set a firm hand on the off-worlder’s shoulder and gestured back toward the temple. Moving silently down the side path, the two faded from view.

  Mailan stood very still, her inaudible cursing a litany that finally roused her feet. Why was she so fearful? What was making her so irritable? No matter what she did, there would be trouble. On one hand, there was Dirk, looking for a chance to show fault; on the other, Sheel, who would protect her… but at what cost? If her subconscious fears fizzled into nothing, would Sheel ever trust her again?

  Why did they assume the body in the bed was Sheel? Dirk knew of his habits as well as any guaard. A check of the files would show the temple as one of Sheel’s retreats. Had they contacted the temple even as she and Jude conversed?

  Did the people doing the killing know so little of Atare that they saw no difference? Or was it something else?

  Something she had heard, something was not right — The words beat a drum tattoo to accompany her pace as she headed for the hostel. Easy things first; time enough to think out her path.

  There was no problem gaining access to the off-world woman’s room. Not a lot of possessions, thankfully. Worth searching? No. Quickly packing a small roll with a few days’ necessities, Mailan stopped by the mail drop for messages.

  Only one — it was a frage. Controlling the frown that hovered behind her calm, Mailan carefully accepted it and signed the receipt. They were being extremely cooperative for hostel employees — had other guaard been here before? But to ask was to reveal that her own visit was irregular. Let them think an off-worlder had finally caught Sheel’s eye. Nodding a polite farewell, grateful the uniform kept them from including her in their whispered speculations, Mailan moved out the door.

  Silence. The bell had ceased. She could see Sheel’s home from where she stood. And a few guaard, patrolling the perimeter. No such luck — the barracks would be easier. No conversations with any guaard until she found Captain Dirk. Spinning on her heel, Mailan took off toward the barracks.

  As she had hoped, it was deserted. Tossing some uniforms into the off-worlder’s roll, she pulled out the packet containing a change for Sheel and slipped it in as well. Fortunate she had thought to store some things here, the last time Sheel had left town for the mountains. Then she paused to check the roster Jude had given her.… Dirk was listed as at Baldwin’s home. A tiny sigh — now or later, it made no difference. Plucking the ring from the wall screen, Mailan stuffed it back into her shirt. Still in dress black, very conspicuous for daytime use, but no time to change, she feared to change —

  Voices in the corridor. Seizing the bag, her hand dropping to the sill, Mailan was out the window and among the foliage before they ever approached the room. At least my reflexes are still good. Turning south, she started toward the palace and the heir — former heir’s — home.

  There was something… ah. The frage. She touched the pocket where it rested. An unusual sort of message, a frage. The tiny cylinder actually unrolled, a delicate filament carrying a transmittal wrapped around the center peg. But to know its contents was to destroy it; a frage could only be read once. Somehow Mailan doubted it was incriminating.… A frage attracted too much attention as it was.…

  Damn you to The Path, Dirk! The thought was sudden — savage. Tired, too tired, and it was because of his pride, his stubbornness, that her seri was in danger, in the hands of guaard both exhausted and inexperienced — Mai
lan pushed the thought away, concentrating on the path beneath her feet, oblivious to the crisp autumn morning.

  Behind the palace, a winding stone path led to the sprawling, gracious home which had belonged to Baldwin reb^Riva Atare. Guaard swarmed over the area, engrossed in their search for clues, for evidence pointing toward a motive, a suspect. To her surprise they ignored her; all were meticulously studying the ground, the entranceway, the windows.

  “Mailan?” The voice was incredulous. She turned, seeking a source, and realized that one of the searchers was Crow.

  How could I have missed — “Crow?” Why she made the word a question she was not certain. The young man’s dark form sprung up from the step he was examining. Dark, like tarnished copper, this one, and smooth-skinned, his dark eyes looking out from a face as broad as Jude’s. But sharper — Crow’s cheekbones stood out prominently, contrasting with his strong jaw.

  “Do I look like the Captain?” Impatient, always impatient, was Crow. Always in a hurry, reaching for the last word, the final gesture, the ultimate experience — even in a woman’s arms, he reached ahead of himself.…

  Except when I slow you down… Aware that exhaustion was gaining the upper hand, Mailan stiffened her spine.

  “Where have you been? What happened? Where is Seri Sheel — ”

  “Safe,” she said flatly in a voice which did not encourage speech. “I need the Captain. Have you seen him?”

  “Gone. To the hospice, I think, to check on Seri Iver. Mailan, what is going on?”

  “Do you think I know?” The explosion was soft, terse, but her expression caused him to take a step backward. “Do not push, Crow, I can barely see straight, much less think — ”

  “Who is with Sheel — ”

  “Jude. He is fine.” Stubborn, to keep insisting, but Jude could take care of him. “I must report to Dirk. When did he leave?”

  For once Crow’s words did not flow over her own. This surprised Mailan enough that she paused, facing down his stare.

  “You are in trouble again,” he stated, and she could hear the clean breaks between each word. “How can I help? Extra guaard are needed on every Atare.”