Dragonfly

  "We move out at first light," said Ramil, "so everyone get some rest."

  "What about our guests?" asked Yelena, gesturing to the caged merchants.

  "If we're abandoning this position, what shall we do with them?"

  "Kill them," suggested a man from Kandar running his thumb down the edge of his knife.

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  "Now, now," said Yelena, batting him playfully on the arm, "none of that.

  After all, I've got quite fond of my pet master and wouldn't like to see him hurt."

  "And neither do we want to start the day with revenge killings," Ramil added.

  "If they are guilty of crimes against you, they should be given a trial, but unfortunately there's no time. No, I think the best thing to do is to leave them here. They have served their purpose. Once we move, either we'll be strong enough to defend ourselves or we will have failed and they become

  irrelevant. Besides, I imagine we will have plenty of new hostages to handle if we get as far as the palace."

  This comment met with a general murmur of assent.

  The meeting was on the point of breaking up when Jules, one of Yelena's troops, entered the shed at a run.

  "Prince, there's a man here who wants to speak to you," she announced breathlessly.

  "One of the merchant families come to bargain, I expect," Ramil said with a groan. He had suffered these embassies repeatedly over the past week. "I swear they are trying to wear me down so 1 drop my price."

  "That's merchants for you," said Gordoc with a shrug.

  "He's not a merchant; he's--" Jules began.

  "Let me through, let me through!" Professor Norling forced his way past the guard and marched into the shed. "Ah, it is you! I thought as much when I heard the rumors of a dark prince being in residence. What

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  foolishness made you a slave, eh? See what happens when I leave you children to your own devices!"

  "Professor!" Ramil leapt up and embraced the doctor. Then Gordoc thumped him on the back, Melletin shook his hand vigorously, and Yelena planted a kiss on his blushing cheek.

  Smiling at this welcome, Norling looked round the room. "And where's our little princess?"

  Melletin shook his head, trying to warn him off the subject. Ramil closed his eyes; in the tumult of the past days, he'd managed not to dwell too much on Tashi's fate. Yelena whispered in the old man's ear.

  "I see." Norling coughed awkwardly. "I'm more sorry than I can say."

  Ramil braced himself; he could not slide back into paralyzing grief again. If Tashi were dead, he would soon be joining her if he didn't focus on the task at hand, and she would never forgive him.

  "I take it, Professor, this is not only a social visit?" he asked, his voice almost normal.

  "No, of course not. I've come to ask why on earth you haven't called on me before now?"

  Ramil took a step back. "Er . . . well, we've been a bit busy, Professor."

  "I can see that for myself. I had a terrible job getting here: they've ringed you off with troops five men deep. I had to crawl through the tunnels and some of them are in a disgusting state." Norling sniffed his robe with a doubtful look.

  "But why you did not

  think to ask the

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  resistance for aid is beyond me. We can be immensely helpful to you."

  Ramil struck his forehead with the palm of his hand. "Stupid! I should have been drowned at birth," he muttered.

  "Oh, I wouldn't go that far," said Norling generously. "I don't think it's too late.

  In fact, I'd say that you've managed very well without me."

  "So, what can you do?" asked Melletin, pulling up a barrel for him to sit on.

  "Firstly, I can move your men around the city for you undetected--that's if you don't want to fight your way out of here."

  "I'd prefer not to," admitted Ramil.

  "Then my people can show you the tunnels under the city. The resistance have been using them for years to pass unnoticed and to smuggle people in and out."

  "Thank you, that is most timely."

  "And there's more. I bring news that is both good and bad."

  "Yes?" Ramil looked puzzled.

  "Fergox is on his way back."

  Ramil slapped his thigh. "Brilliant!"

  "For Gerfal perhaps, Prince, but not for us," Norling said soberly. "He's pulled back two thousand men and is making for us at high speed. And you can bet that he will not be in a very loving mood when he gets here. It's not just you slaves that need to be worried: it's every man, woman, and child in Tigral now. You can expect him within a fortnight, maybe earlier."

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  "Then we'll be ready for him. He won't recognize his capital when he gets back." Ramil stood up and shook each of his commanders by the hand.

  "There's no time to lose. We're moving headquarters. Take your men out of here under the cover of darkness--the professor will show you the way. We attack at dawn. I'll see you all in the palace tomorrow night. Don't be late to the party or I'll have to start without you."

  Ramil watched his men file out, wondering just how many of them he would see again.

  At dawn, bells began to ring all over Tigral. The meat market was on fire, the smell of frying pork wafting enticingly over the lower city. Traders shut up shop and kept their families inside as the streets descended into an anarchy of looting and burning. The Guild Hall went up in flames. Next came the news that the fort was under attack; the Shoemakers' Street was reported to be a running battle between the watch and rebels, animals released from their pens adding to the confusion.

  The officer in command of the troops surrounding the slave market waited for orders from the City Guild. In contrast to the rest of the capital, the market was eerily calm. Eventually, a messenger arrived from the city authorities.

  "You're to take your men to restore order in the Cloth Market!" the man gasped. He'd run all the way from the burning Guild Hall and inhaled far too much smoke.

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  "But what about the slaves?" the officer asked, gesturing towards the barricaded market. "You won't want them escaping and adding to the riots."

  The messenger shook his head in disbelief. "They're already out. Surely, you realize you're guarding an empty cel ?"

  The officer gulped, anticipating the court martial already. Knowing he would be blamed if this was a ruse to let the slaves escape, he decided quickly that he was not going anywhere until he had seen the evidence with his own eyes. He gestured roughly to his lieutenant.

  "We're taking the slave market back and then proceeding to the Cloth Market," he announced, sounding more confident than he felt.

  With a heroic cry, he led his men over the barricades, bringing much noise and swinging of weapons, only to be met with stony silence.

  "You and you, search the buildings!" he barked, pointing at two of his most reliable officers. He could feel his authority ebbing away in the scornful looks of his men. "The rest of you, form up. We are going to teach those filthy slaves a lesson."

  Yelena, lying on a roof top of a nearby house, grinned as the merchants were led out of their cage, blinking as they stepped into the sunlight. She blew a farewell kiss to her pet, then slithered out of sight.

  The resistance network had a back door into the palace, thanks to the offices of a sympathetic cook in

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  the massive kitchen complex. So many people came and went to supply the appetite of the court that an extra delivery was not likely to raise suspicions.

  Ramil, Gordoc, and two men waited outside the walls, sides of stolen meat on their shoulders, their weapons hidden in the carcasses. A guard came to check them over.

  "Delivery for kitchen, sir," said the cook, a little man prone to sweating when nervous, as he was now. Ramil wished the man would stop wringing his hands; he would give them away if he carried on like that. "I'm making the First Wife's favorite for a dinner party. She's particular about wanting it fresh."

  The
guard body-searched the butcher's boys before waving them through.

  "Don't expect her party will be going ahead," the guard grumbled, "not with all that trouble down in the city."

  "In that case, sir, I'll bring it to your mess," babbled the cook, rather too keen to please. "Must hurry. Lots to do."

  He ushered the four rebels into a pantry and waited while they pulled out their swords.

  "Thanks, my friend," said Ramil, shaking his hand. "Keep your head down.

  It's going to get interesting in here."

  They had chosen the northern gate. As most of the trouble was happening to the south, Ramil guessed all eyes would be turned in that direction. They ran swiftly and silently through the slave quarters. Though they were seen by many of Fergox's household, no one

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  stopped them. Most just turned their eyes away, having learned that it was best not to notice, but a few more adventurous souls grabbed makeshift weapons and ran after the rebels, poised to defend their backs.

  Ramil paused in the shelter of a doorway opposite the gate. He glanced out: there were five guards, armored and alert. He leant back, taking a pause before the plunge.

  "Do you remember Tashi dancing before those guards at Felixholt?" Ramil asked Gordoc.

  "Aye, Ram."

  "Of all the stupid, brave things to do! I was so angry with her."

  "So was I. She could be very stubborn."

  "For her then."

  "For her."

  The two men launched themselves across the courtyard, unaware that they now had twenty slaves behind them in addition to their back-up of two. The soldiers grabbed their weapons but too late. Slaves smashed them over the head with logs, buckets, anything they could lay their hands on, as the rebels ran them through with swords. The skirmish was bloody but brief.

  Clearing the bodies to one side, Gordoc opened the gate with a heave and the men waiting outside rushed in.

  "You know your targets!" Ramil shouted, abandoning stealth. "Attack!"

  Half the slaves swarmed up the walls, engaging the soldiers in close combat. Ramil led the rest towards the

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  main palace buildings. Arrows whizzed overhead. A man on his right fell with a grunt. Surprise gave the slaves a huge advantage. Ramil took out the captain of the guard on the steps of the throne room while Gordoc saw to the man ringing the alarm. The big bell stopped tolling.

  "Is that it?" Ramil asked, wiping his brow. It had all seemed so sudden. He had expected more resistance. Unknown to him, in the other buildings of the palace complex, word had gone out and slaves had quietly slit the throats of the men-at-arms. Few had been left to defend Fergox's throne. Like Tigral itself, years of abuse had made the palace ripe for picking.

  Gordoc and Ramil shoved the double doors open.

  "I never did like Fergox's taste," Ramil said with a curl to his lip.

  The high hall was decked in red cloth, falling in swaths to the ground like rivers of blood. The ceiling was held up by black pillars rising out of a black marble floor. A gold throne sat under a canopy at the far end. But the hall was not empty. Standing on the steps to the throne was a grey-haired woman dressed in a gold silk robe. Three children clung to her skirts. Ramil glanced at Gordoc, who shrugged, as surprised as him. They expected everyone to have fled by now.

  Ramil advanced, sword still drawn. He had learnt from Yelena never to underestimate a lady.

  "That's right, slave scum!" the woman said, clutching her children to her.

  "Run me through in cold

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  blood!" She wrenched aside her robes, inviting the killing thrust.

  Ramil put his sword point on the floor and leant on the hilt.

  "I have no intention of doing any such thing, madam. Who are you, pray?"

  The woman looked a little confused to have her dramatic gesture rejected but she did not give an inch.

  "I am the First Wife of Fergox Spearthrower. I ask no mercy for me or my children. Kill us now, rather than subject us to the mockery and disgrace of being prisoners of slaves."

  Ramil bowed, now understanding exactly with whom he was dealing.

  "Honored to meet you, madam. I have heard about you from your husband."

  The woman laughed wildly. "You? You've heard of me from the Emperor? I think not."

  "I did, when guest of your husband in Felixholt. He was planning to dispose of you, if I remember, and replace you in his affections with a younger woman."

  The First Wife spat. "The witch!" She had obviously heard the rumors.

  "In your place, I would reserve my anger for the husband, not the unfortunate woman of his choice. Anyway, I can assure you that he will not be marrying her." Ramil spun his sword on its tip, wondering what he should do about Fergox's family. The First Wife would make a terrible hostage if Fergox wanted her

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  dead--and Ramil had an inkling that he could not live under the same roof as her for long.

  "You claim he was going to get rid of me?" The woman hugged her eldest daughter to her side. "He wouldn't dare!"

  "I'm afraid he would." Ramil sighed. "I wish no harm to come to any innocents caught up in the transfer of power. But neither can I leave you to cause trouble for me." He had a sudden idea--brilliant if he could negotiate it.

  "I would like to offer you the choice to go into exile--you and the other wives."

  "Exile? Exile where?" The woman frowned.

  "The Blue Crescent Islands. I understand they give shelter to women in their temples and treat them much better than here."

  The woman looked aghast. "You would send me to that island of witchcraft and demon worship?"

  "Or would you prefer to stay here as a slave captive and await your loving lord to rescue you? He was talking to the royal axeman about your neck last time I saw him."

  The First Wife glowered. "It seems I have no choice. I will go into exile, but return triumphant when you meet your doom."

  "Quite so. I'm glad you have seen reason. I suggest you leave as soon as I can arrange passage as I fear you won't like the changes I'm about to make to your domestic arrangements." He bowed, waving her in the direction of her pavilion.

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  With a flounce of her skirts, the First Wife swept out. "What a woman!"

  Gordoc sighed appreciatively as he watched her disappear in a swirl of indignant silk.

  The interrogation of the Fourth Crown Princess took place in a plain white room near the Silent Court, the Third Princess on one side of a grille, Tashi on the other. Tashi sensed that her answers did not satisfy her inquisitor.

  Court scribes hovered in the background taking notes. Scrupulously keeping to the truth, Tashi admitted that Fergox had told her he had paid for her election and bullied her into doubt for a short while. Korbin seemed less interested when Tashi explained how she had regained her faith and rediscovered the beauty underlying the rituals.

  "1 fear, my sister, your election was tainted from the beginning," the Third Princess announced at the end of the session. "You are blameless in this, but it undermines our system of government if such things are left to stand."

  "Perhaps," said Tashi, but then she recalled how the Princess before her represented the most powerful family on Rama. "However, all of us were elected through a system open to human greed and ambition. We have to trust the Goddess's hand is upon the process."

  "You are not comparing your case with mine and my sisters', I hope?" Korbin asked primly, fluffing up her robes like a cat with her fur on end.

  "Actually I was. I'm sorry if you find that offensive."

  The Third Princess twitched her skirts round as

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  she walked out of the room, not deigning to give a response.

  Well, that went well, Tashi thought bitterly, tapping her fingers on the table.

  The new moon rose over an expectant Rama. The fleet was already far away on its journey to Gerfal, but the people were more interested in the drama clos
e at hand. Tashi's grandmother, the matriarch of the family, had come to court to hear the Third Crown Princess's findings. She had not yet been allowed to see her granddaughter, but had been given a place in the front of the audience for the hearing. The old lady sat grim-faced. If the rumors were true, then their girl had failed them all in a spectacular fashion.

  When Tashi was led into the Hall of the Floating Lily, her grandmother was the first person she saw. She had managed to remain calm until this point, but the sight of the matriarch's disapproving expression made her hot with shame and fear. The awareness that she was displaying her emotion made Tashi feel even more wretched. Now she understood the function of all that white paint.

  The three Crown Princesses were already seated. In the space usually occupied by the Throne of Nature, someone had found her a plain wooden chair. Tashi sat down quickly, wishing she could make herself invisible.

  A bell rang and the Third Princess rose.

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  "Taoshira of Kai, I have investigated the matters concerning your fitness to rule and will present my conclusions. Firstly, my sisters join me in regretting the ordeal you endured in Gerfal and your subsequent incarceration. We are aware that this would test the strength of any of us. However--"

  Tashi flinched at the "however." She guessed that it boded ill for her.

  "Two concerns remain. The first is that you publicly doubted the Goddess, undermining the reputation of our creed before the eyes of the world. This is contrary to your vows of office in which you promised to defend our faith until death."

  Tashi pressed her lips together. So Korbin expected her to die rather than waver a fraction. If so, then she could have no conception of what Tashi had endured and how death would have even been welcomed by her. Only Ram had saved her from throwing her life away.

  Ram.

  I must be strong for Ram, she thought, and raised her chin.

  "The second concern," continued Korbin, "admittedly beyond your control, is that it has emerged that your election was flawed. The Chief Priest on Kai is now under arrest while this matter is investigated. This fact, coupled with your weakness under trial, suggests that you should never have been chosen for the role you now occupy. The Goddess's will was not followed when you were erroneously instated as Princess."