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The Gildshuttle seemed to drift for the dark, thick clouds for hours. The slender young man in the uniform of a Tarian Navy cadet stared out the shuttle's starboard window. For a time, all he could see was the grayness. Then, off and on through breaks in the cloud cover, he could see the entrance shelters of Gildskoe huddled together in the twilight, whipped by blowing snow. The shuttle dropped lower. the narrow stone shelters reached stark and gray out of the whiteness. Snow gusts concealed them for a moment each time the shuttle flew over. Lower and lower the shuttle circled, waiting for the wind to die briefly. A clear stretch of the landing pad, a lull in the wind, and the shuttle dropped with a bump to the ground. The pilot killed the engines. For a moment the only sounds were the rattle of hard-driven snow against the shuttle's sides and the howling of the winds of Gorny. Then the pilot lifted off her headset and turned toward her passenger.
"Sir, I've been told that you won't be allowed to leave this craft until you agree to submit to a complete med-psyche."
A flash of anger crossed the thin, tired face of the naval cadet. He stood and straightened to his full height. His golden eyes blazed in his brown face. "I am Anen Kurharay, Kererr of House Kurharay, head of one of the Nine Families! The Gild has no right to detain me!"
The pilot looked down at the headset and turned it over in her hands, then turned it back. She looked up at the young Kererr. "We must protect our neutrality, sir. The Gild recognizes no rank, class, or politics, and until now, that's been sufficient. But someone brought your clan's feud, your planet's politics, aboard a Gildship. We can't risk the charge of helping to murder you; it would shake our reputation across all the known planets."
"Gentlefem, a med-psyche takes one week, the Houses-in-Congress holds its last meeting of the year in three days and the fate of my House hangs on that meeting. I must be present!"
"I'm sorry sir, but the politics of Mirl'da V aren't the Gild's concern. Our continued neutrality is. The Gild can't risk the possibility that you carry slow-acting poisons in your body."
The young Kererr spun and slammed his fist on the edge of his seat. He looked down, took a deep, unsteady breath, and let it out very slowly. "It seems I have no choice. Open the lock. I'll submit to your damn tests!"
The lock slid open, Anen Kurharay slid down the shuttle's ramp and dashed across the pad to the customs house entrance shelter. The wind bit through his uniform, designed for the mild climate of Raaros, and stung his nose and ears. Sharp, icy pellets slid under his collar and blew up his sleeves. The moment Anen ducked into the shelter a proxsensor opened the lift door for him and shut it once he was inside. Anen stamped the snow off his boots and scraped the ice out of his collar. He shivered in the unheated lift.
I've grown too used to the temperate planets, he told himself. If the Lifesavers don't bring clothes more suited to Mirl'da V in the middle of Gorny, I'm going to have a very cold flight home.
His mouth tightened, thinking of the warm clothes and other possessions that had been in his compartment aboard the Zhernak when the bomb exploded. The clothes I can replace, but the painting Stanis did for me----I could bring so little with me on such short notice and now I have nothing to remember Stanis and his sire by.
Anen turned away from the bitter thought. Stanis Karzhov had been closer to anyone but his brother Din, and Stanis's sire, Abram Karzhov, had treated Anen as if he were one of the Kazhov boys and had shown him that powerful love can exist between a man and his sons without damaging their manhood. That's all in the past, like everyone and everything else on Raaros, he reminded himself.
The lift had descended forty meters to customs house check-in. It opened its door and the young Kererr stepped out into the warmth of Gildskoe and the slightly stale smell of constantly recirculated air. The 1st Merchant stood waiting, his orange-and-yellow uniform with the red rocket-and-gyro symbol that identified him beyond the shadow of a doubt.
"Peace be upon your House, Kererr Kurharay."
"And upon yours, peace and prosperity, 1st Merchant."
"Right this way, sir. The Guildmeds are waiting for you."
The clinic was only a few strides from the lift. When Anen entered it, 3 physicians, dressed in white, bowed very slightly, the most recognition a Gildsman ever gave to rank. The oldest of the three, tall and gray-haired, smiled thinly.
"We'll start by assuring you that no women will assist in any part of your exams, sir. We thought abiding by Puredorv custom safest, even though you've lived long with other ways." He cleared his throat, as if aware he was treading on the edge of insult. "Also, the exam will be relatively quick, sir, much quicker than usual. The Medical Officer of the Zhernak sent down much of what we needed. You were likely unaware of how thoroughly he examined you while you were unconscious after the accident with the gas."
Anen looked sharply at the physician. No, he decided, the man didn't think that the gas in the passenger module was an accident any more than Anen did. He was just defending the Gild. The gray-haired man continued.
"The Medical Officer also sent a sworn statement that, since the poisoning, you neither ate nor drank anything he had not personally tasted first. You were very lucky he was aboard, sir. A lesser doctor might not have been able to save you." The man motioned towards a small cubicle. "Most of the devices we'll use are in there. Please disrobe inside and sit on the table."
An incredible four hours later, the physicians dismissed Anen from the clinic. A Gildclerk guided Anen to the small park on the upper level of Gildskoe. The drooping features and short, silver-gray fur of the clerk didn't startle Anen as they would have six years before. Six years before, the Gild had not posted ExTers to Mirl'da V.
"The Gild invites you to wait here for your escort, sir." The clerk's voice was as furry as its body. "A storm is raging, and your escort has been delayed over Ptov. You know how Gorny is, sir."
Anen sighed impatiently. "I know how Gorny is. Arrange for me to talk to the manor house, please."
The clerk nodded and turned down one of the narrow streets around the edge of the tiny park. Anen watched the clerk pad out of sight, then turned to the small square of plants and grass, artfully landscaped to appear bigger than it was. The park's bright greenness contrasted sharply with the graystone walls of the ceiling and buildings around it. A fountain splashed in its center against a backdrop of pinkpines and tiny-leaved shrubs. The pinkpines, which had been no taller than he when left for the Academy almost six years ago, now stretched toward the plant and day/night lights on the high, curved stone ceiling. Steppingstones, with a fringe of delicate, green grass, led from each of the streets. Anen stared blindly at the water leaping up and splashing down.
Congress called me home, saying only that my sire and brothers had been killed and that I was Czar-of-House, he thought. How did they die, my family? Who killed them? Only Tomok Moaekod would hire assassins so inept they failed four times to kill me. But Lido Pisaeosem, my sire, was fast and clever and had outwitted Moaekod for 20 years. Now all four are dead and I have not been trained to rule.
A hand touched his arm. He started and turned.
"I beg your pardon, sir," the clerk's furry voice said. "We've been unable to reach Castle Kurharay since the captain of your escort said they were leaving. Perhaps the storm is interfering with transmissions."
Anen felt a prickle of warning, an instinctive feeling even five years at the Academy could not dull. "Are you having trouble reaching other Houses?" he asked sharply.
"Not that I know of." The clerk turned to leave. "I shall come for you when your escort arrives, sir."
"Thank you." Years of control training kept Anen's face impassive but could not stop cold sweat from trickling down his back. Something's wrong! And I've been away too long even to make a good guess what it is.
Anen looked again at the tiny park, trying to divert his mind from useless worrying. It would be better to think of neutral things until he had some data. House Kurharay had no such gardens. When Castle Shauphori and the city had been cut deep into the stone more than 20 generations past, no provision for gardens had been made. Surviving Mirl'da V's winter had been the colonists' only concern. Castle Shauphori's only trees and flowers grew in tubs and window boxes. Anen walked to the edge of the fountain, stepping carefully on the stones of the path so his feet didn't touch the fragile grass, and held one hand in the cool spray. The rhythmic splash of the water was soothing. Here, in the damp air, some of the green fragrance of the grass and trees lingered, despite the pull of the ventilating fans. For a moment Anen's mind flew to the misty greenness of Raaros, its airy buildings with their glass walls and huge windows looking out on trees and hills and sky year-round, and he felt a sharp pang of longing.
"Your escort is here, sir."
The Gildclerk's voice broke into Anen's thoughts. Anen turned to find the ExTer standing at the edge of the park.
"Follow me, sir...."
Anen took one last look at the sparkling fountain, then followed the clerk through the maze of halls and passages, past warehouses, offices, and repair shops, to a lift. The doors slid shut and Anen stared at the red rocket-and-gyro embossed on them until they slid open again at the flitter pad. Above, snow piled against the curved sides of the pad canopy and gusted across the top of it in streams of white. Anen shivered and hugged himself to stay warm. A cluster of black, two-man flitters crouched on the pad. Nine men, wearing the dark purple of House Kurharay came toward Anen. Their leader, his face seamed and scarred with years in the Kererr's service, sank to one knee before Anen and his men followed his lead.
"Peace be upon you, milord."
"And upon you, peace. Rise. We have much work ahead of us."
The leader stood, stepped one pace forward, and snapped a salute. "Captain Stepanov at your service, Lord Anen."
How does he feel, serving the "woman" of my sire's sons?" Anen wondered, feeling the old anger rise and shaking it off with difficulty. "Which ship am I getting?"
Stepanov nodded towards the nearest flitter, then motioned forward one of the guardsmen, a dark, stocky, young man with merry eyes and a crooked smile. The young guardsman saluted. "I'm your pilot, milord."
Anen nodded acknowledgment and turned toward the flitter, already thinking about how to relearn the intricacies of Puredorv politics very fast.
"Milord?" Stepanov said sharply.
Anen stopped and turned back. He waited with barely hidden impatience for the officer to speak.
"Milord, House Moaekod laid siege to the castle only hours ago. We cannot take you home, lord."
Anen bent his head, appearing to study his boots, to conceal the tension in his face. Moaekod! Tomok Moaekod must be dead for his House to be this effective! When he looked up, he had his face under control. "Why didn't the Congress summons that brought me back tell me that a siege had been set? I was still on Raaros when Kurharay declared it."
"There was no forty-day notice, milord."
"By my Sire's Blood!" Anen spun away and stared up at the gray light above the pad canopy. His thoughts whirled around the meaning of such an unlawful siege. House Moaekod must be out of that incompetent Tomok's hands and into another's, Anen told himself. Ivan's? The Four Sentinels protect my House if Ivan's older brother's dead!
Stepanov cleared his throat ostentatiously. "House Moaekod has much support in Congress now, milord. As you know, your sire's Will made the Dlinnyy regent, even for so short a time. It's against all tradition, milord. Beggin' your pardon, lord, but Moaekod thinks to use that part of the Will to take Kurharay Holding."
The unspoken conclusion to this summary was that Nikita Kurharay's frank contempt for his wiry, "weakling" son greatly strengthened Tomok's position. Anen's mouth tightened into a hard, bitter line. We're not built like bulls, sire, my lady mother, and Maya and I, but that doesn't mean we're weak! And I learned the basics of Puredorv law despite you, at the Academy. He knew what he had to do. He turned to his men. "Congress must lift an illegal siege. We'll do directly to Congress ground." The decision took some of his tension from him. Anen sprinted to his flitter, vaulted onto the wide wing, and slid into the passenger seat.
The pilot was only a moment behind him. He adjusted several knobs and switches, tossed a heavy coat and a zapper to Anen, and buckled himself into his safety webbing. Then he turned and extended his hand, Family style. "I'm Kosh, milord. Kosh Borisovich Bubov."
Anan clasped the offered hand and looked keenly at the young man. "Does the Grand Duke know you're with me? Even acting as a pilot for my House can give yours the seeming of an alliance."
Bubov smiled crookedly. "He knows because we are allied, Lord Anen. Someone has to support House Kurharay. If one House can threaten another as Moaekod is doing, then no House is safe. Are you ready to leave, milord?"
Anan nodded, slid the zapper under his belt, finished pressing the coat, and fastened his webbing. Anger was bitter in his mouth. Even the essential knowledge of who Kurharay's allies were had been kept from him. The flitter and its four escorts lifted off before the pad canopy had fully opened, slipping through the widening slit into the night and swirling snow. The moon, Adorran, had risen, and its pale blue light made the landscape below look even colder than it really was. Plumes of blowing snow skimmed over the rolling hills, twisting, thinning, fanning out in the wind.
Anen looked over at the pilot. "You weren't in the Purples when I lived here, yet you fly the Kererr himself. That's a senior officer's job."
Bubov laughed, a deep contagious chuckle that reminded Anen of Grand Duke Nikolai Bubov. "I may be only months in House Kurharay's service, Lord Anen, but I'm the best pilot this side of the equator, and that makes me the Kererr's pilot. The Dlinnyy assigns people by ability, not seniority." he didn't sound like he was bragging and his position as an official pilot to the Kererr suggested what he said was true.
Anen shifted to a more comfortable position. "If you're Bubov, and you are by your looks and your voice, why haven't we met before?"
And with his question, Anen realized he could always be in a Moaekod trap. He knew none of House Kurharay's officers. He stiffened and his hand dropped to the bulge of the zapper under his coat.
Bubov's eyes caught the motion and one corner of his mouth twisted wryly. "If I were a Moaekod man, you'd already be dead, milord. And you'd never have gotten hold of a zapper," he added quietly. "My mother married into House Muscovy, and we've lived south of the equator for the past 15 years. Uncle Nick called me back two years ago when---but you don't know, do you? Toben's dead."
"Toben dead? How?"
"He was killed by Damir Zonov, in a duel."
Anen suddenly felt older than his years. Toben Bubov had been Ivan's closest friend. Now he, too, was dead, in a duel to the death. Ivan and Toben and Din and Linar and---he shook his head. Now was not the time for grieving but for planning.
"Milord, ships on the scope, coming fast!"
Anen flashed a look through the flitter's canopy. One moment there was only the wrinkled blue face of the moon and tails of blowing snow, the next moment a heat beam passed, betrayed by its purple tracer. The rear wing edge of the nearest Kurhuray escort glowed red and sagged. The flitter nose-dived and crashed in flames.
"Hold on, lord!"
Bubov banked the flitter sharply away from the downed craft. He shot a glance at Anen. "There's a lifesuit in the locker behind your seat. Get in on and grab a crash kit. We can't shake fighters; they're too fast for a flitter." Another tracer flashed pat. "If we'd known Moaekod was going to set siege, you can bet we wouldn't be out in these! I'm going to drop this thing twice. There are some ruins"---Bubov jerked the flitter violently over---"near here. You'll have a chance of safety there, milord."
Anen sprang up, grabbed the back of his seat as the flitter banked, snatched a survival suit from the locker, and whipped the suit on over everything with greater speed than he remembered ever managing for crash drills.
"Out the cargo hatch on the next dip, lord."
Anen ignored the outraged voice of his sire's ghost, shouting in his head that he was letting a subordinate tell him what to do, and crouched beside the cargo hatch, gripping the crash kit between his chest and his right arm. A small silver fighter with no identifying markings swept past overhead, banked, then started back. Anen watched the tracer leave the fighter and speed towards him. Bubov let the flitter drop fast, then jerked it sharply upward.
"Open the door now. The ruins are to the left. Hold on!"
Anen clung to the loading arm with his free hand. The pilot banked sharply and then dropped the flitter. Through the canopy, Anen saw a purple streak pass where they had been seconds before. Below, the snow interrupted occasionally by jumbled boulders and mounds of rubble, streamed past at alarming speed.
"Now, lord!"
Anen swung over the hole and compelled his straining fingers to let go. He hit the ground hard and rolled, coming up against the foot of a broken wall. He lay quietly in its shelter, shaken and afraid. He watched silver fighters dive after the flitter. The flitter wobbled, corrected course, and swooped upward away from the fighters. A heat beam touched its tail, Anen thought as he saw a dark shape leave, and then the flitter vanished in a flash of brilliant white light. Had Bubov escaped? Through the swirling snow, Anen could not be sure. The flitter crashed, burning, and two of the unmarked silver fighters followed it down. Blowing snow half hid them as they descended, then blotted them out completely.
Unarmed flitters, unmarked fighters, illegal siege. Rage burned away Anen's fear. They have orders to be sure there are no survivors! By the Four Sentinels, I'd give half the Holding to know who's responsible and be able to tell the Congress!
A break in the clouds let through a shaft of moonlight, light enough to hunt by. Anen scuttled along the ruined wall, seeking a door, a gate, or even a deep hole, anywhere that offered him sanctuary from the searchers. A dark patch on the wall ahead turned out to be the head of a stairwell. Anen looked over his shoulder. Gusts of wind were already filling his trail with snow and closing the gap in the clouds overhead. Darkness and blowing snow would make searching that much more difficult. Anen said the soldier's prayer for those who departed in battle in Bubov's name and turned to the stairs. They were very dark, but the sparkler from the kit would mark him like a beacon. He gripped the crash kit more tightly about his chest and started down the stairs with one hand on the wall, feeling the step ahead with his foot, cautiously putting his weight on it, hoping the Dawn People had put none of their traps so close to the surface.
His descent was agonizingly slow. The treads were cracked, broken, littered with rubble from the building above, and slick with dry, korn snow. The searchers had lights and numbers on their side. Anen licked dry lips. Any moment now a light might shoot down the stairwell, outlining him against the darkness below. The tread under Anen's foot teetered. He windmilled for balance. The tread tipped and Anen fell. He grabbed at the darkness, desperate to catch a tread edge, a protruding stone, a chunk of rubble----anything to stop the horrible descent, but the stones he clutched were loose and fell with him, showering him with dust and bits of masonry and a cloud of snow. He tumbled and slid helplessly into the darkness below.
ns 15.158.61.40da2
