Alien Chronicles 2 - The Crimson Claw (31 page)

CHAPTER
•THIRTEEN

The crowds of Shrazhak Ohr were cheering for the Crimson Claw and stamping in unison on the benches. “Kill! Kill! Kill!”

She flicked her ears back, circling her staggering opponent with lithe, deadly intent. He was a Gorlican, awkward on his stumpy legs, his shelled torso showing a bright yellow gash where her parvalleh had struck deep in the first flurry of blows. His blood dripped steadily on the dirty sand, and his orange eyes were glazed over with pain and fear. His scaled hands held a stave and a cheaply forged glaudoon. He looked like a common laborer who had been shoved into the arena without any training. He didn’t even know how to swing his glaudoon properly.

Armed with her parvalleh and glevritar, Ampris had sized him up in a single glance the moment she strode into the arena. She could have struck off his head in the first blow, which was the swiftest, most efficient way to kill a Gorlican. It was also the kindest death, but she had her instructions from Halehl.

The Gorlican was condemned to death for having struck his Viis owner. Ampris was to spin this out as long as possible, giving the crowd maximum enjoyment.

So she’d struck the first blow at his shell, gashing him deeply but not letting it be a mortal strike. Since the Gorlican’s blood had begun to drip the crowd had been constantly on its feet. Halehl’s voice whispered to her through her collar, praising her.

“Time for another blow,” he murmured to her now. “Stalking is good, but it’s gone on long enough.”

Backing her ears, Ampris sprang at the Gorlican with a roar that startled him. Yelling, he stumbled back and lost his balance. Dropping his stave, he windmilled his arms frantically to keep from toppling over as Ampris closed in.

She knew if he fell on the ground she would have to finish him, and Halehl would be displeased with her.

Growling, she reached out and blocked his wildly swinging glaudoon, nearly getting her ear nicked in the process as she pulled him upright. With her other hand, she swung the glevritar up and down, making the serrated blade whistle, and hacked off the outer edge of his shell in a long, gleaming strip.

He cried out, and the crowd went wild.

The chanting resumed. “Ampris, kill! Ampris, kill!”

More blood dripped. The Gorlican was staggering heavily now. His beaked mouth opened in distress. “Kill me,” he pleaded hoarsely. “Have pity. Make it quick.”

Ampris could not bear his begging. Closing off her pity, she snarled at him. “Hold up your weapon, fool! Make this look good for the crowd.”

But he barely seemed able to focus, much less hold up his glaudoon. “Why should I please them?” he said, his orange eyes flashing in momentary defiance before pain clouded them again. “Why should I care?”

“Circle him, Ampris,” Halehl whispered through her collar. “Close in, and toy with him.”

She gouged the Gorlican in his leg with the tip of her glevritar, and again the crowd cheered. Ampris felt sick to her soul.

“At least defend yourself!” she shouted at him.

“Kill me, please.”

Ampris could bear it no longer. Compassion swept her. She knew there was only one thing she could do now for him.

“Listen to me,” she said. “I’ll finish you with mercy if you will help me.”

“Anything,” he panted, his voice weak and desperate. “Please.”

“Attack me,” she told him. “Lift your glaudoon high. No, change your grip.”

Again she sprang in and out, nicking him to keep the crowd and her trainer happy. She despised herself.

“Change your grip!” she said angrily. “Look like you can fight. I can’t do anything to help you if you don’t appear to challenge me.”

“Just kill me,” he whispered.

“Raise your glaudoon and charge at me with all your strength and speed. Come at me fast and hard, and I will make it quick and merciful.”

Although her voice was cold, inside she wanted to weep for this pathetic doomed creature.

Fire kindled in his eyes. He raised his glaudoon as she instructed, and suddenly released a shrill yell that startled her. He charged, full tilt, coming at her with more strength and speed than she had expected.

Caught slightly off balance, Ampris pivoted on her back foot and swung the glevritar aloft with a swift flourish that made the blade flash in the lights. The blade hit the Gorlican’s neck between jaw and shell and sliced cleanly.

His head went rolling off in a shower of blood, and Ampris moved smoothly to one side like a dancer as the Gorlican’s body crumpled to the ground.

The crowd roared acclaim, and Ampris brandished her bloody sword in a champion’s salute, swaggering around the arena in victory the way she’d been taught. But tears ran down her muzzle for the Gorlican lying behind her on the sand.

In the Kaa’s palace, all lay hushed and quiet. Servants crept about their duties, hardly daring to make a sound. Courtiers clustered in knots, worried and chattering in low voices. Members of the council came and went, looking grave, speaking to no one idly.

Outside the palace, Viis citizens began to assemble at the gates, keeping vigil. Newscams hovered, reporting rumors and speculation as to the state of the Kaa’s health. The sri-Kaa emerged from the palace in the afternoon of the second day of the crisis, attired magnificently, and rode in a processional litter of state with the imperial wives and members of the council surrounding her. The procession went to the Temple of Life in the historical district, where Israi and other ladies delivered ceremonial prayers to the gods on behalf of the dying Imperial Father.

When the procession returned to the palace, spectators saw that the sri-Kaa rode veiled and motionless. As was proper, she did not wave to the crowd.

As soon as Israi was back inside the palace, she stepped down from the litter and tossed aside her veil impatiently. “What news?” she asked Temondahl.

He bowed to her and shook his head. “No change.”

Wearily, Israi sighed. She was fatigued and feeling cranky from the strain of this vigil. On the first day it had pleased her to sit at her father’s bedside, reading to him. But when he made no response and seemed completely unaware of her presence or her efforts, she found herself losing interest. This morning he seemed no better. If anything his vital force had dimmed even more. Had Temondahl said he was better, she would have gone straight to his bedside. But now, tired and wind-whipped from riding in the open litter, she wanted her rest.

“I shall be in my apartments momentarily,” she announced. “Inform me immediately of any change. Instruct the physicians that I shall soon join my father’s side.”

“Your concern is most commendable, highness,” Temondahl said in approval.

“I shall be there as soon as I can,” Israi said and left him.

In her bedchamber, she dismissed her ladies in waiting and allowed her slaves to undress her. Old Subi had died during the past winter, and today Israi missed her servant. She felt isolated and alone. No one had ever understood her as well as Subi—or Ampris.

Swiftly Israi closed the thought of Ampris from her mind. She would not think of the golden pet of her chunenhal, now turned into some common gladiator cheered by the masses. But for just a moment, as she wandered to the tall windows and pressed her brow ridge against the cool, smooth surface, she longed for the past, when her life had been simple, when her father had been strong and handsome, granting all she desired, when Subi had cared for her exactly the way she liked best, when Ampris would have caressed her and soothed her, adoring her without question.

Then Israi stiffened her spine and pulled herself erect. She closed off the past, reminding herself that to reach behind her was to be weak. She had to be strong now. She had to be ready for the moment when it came.

But, oh, why did her father linger? Why did he not release his vital force into the hands of the gods and just
go?

Then she could mourn him. Then she could get on with her life.

Ampris shifted restlessly on the hard bench, bumping Teinth with her shoulder without meaning to. He lifted his hand and gripped her shoulder affectionately for a moment before releasing her. At the other end of the bench, Nink was groaning and flexing his bandaged leg.

They were waiting for Halehl’s training lecture on what they’d have to do tomorrow for the final day of the Triad Sweeps. Their quarters on the station were cramped and uncomfortable. Ampris and Lamina were sharing quarters. Teinth and Nink had been paired, although Teinth had asked to share with Ampris. Sanvath and Omtat took the third compartment. Elrabin and the other servants had to sleep on the floor here in the conference room, which also served as massage and mess area. Halehl’s temporary office was located on the opposite side.

Ampris glanced over at Elrabin now, where he was crouched on the floor against the wall with the other servants. He looked cranky and was rubbing his slim muzzle thoughtfully. She wondered if he still intended to slip away tonight after everyone was bunked. It was risky, but Elrabin was an expert at getting out. He claimed he’d found a schematic for the ventilation system of the station and he thought he could make his way to the central axis shops without being seen. Then he would meet with a representative of the station’s abiru workers and slip back to their quarters before day shift.

Although Ampris had given him permission to try to keep this rendezvous when he’d first asked her, now she had doubts. She wondered if she’d been wasting her time, trying to unite the abiru folk. What good were the old legends or the heroes such as Zimbarl or Nithlived? The Viis were never going to let their slaves go. They were too dependent, too lazy to do much work. They had built their empire by harnessing the talents and creative ideas of other races, but what could they do themselves?

“Cheer up,” Teinth murmured to her hoarsely, elbowing her as Halehl came in. “Only one more day, then we be off this space derelict.”

Ampris sighed and nodded, trying to shake off her sense of depression. She did not know why, but Shrazhak Ohr gave her a strange feeling of impending doom. She had felt it from the moment of their arrival. It was even more oppressive now. Absently she stroked her Eye of Clarity, sitting erect and pretending to listen as Halehl started his lecture. But her mind remained parsecs away, drifting and unfocused, unable to concentrate on what was said.

An insistent tapping on her chamber door awakened Israi from a deep, dreamless sleep. She sat up, scattering her sleeping cushions, and let her robe drop heedlessly off one sloped shoulder. The room was very dark, its lamps unlit.

Israi hated waking up in the dark. “Lights on, dim,” she commanded, and several lamps came on to cast soft, ambient illumination about the room.

“Highness, forgive me for disturbing your rest.” It was Lady Moxalie, her chief lady in waiting after having replaced Lady Lenith years ago. She entered now, wrapped in an exquisite embroidered robe, her head and rill swathed in an oil-saturated cloth to pamper her skin at night. “Chancellor Temondahl has requested your presence immediately.”

“Is it—” Israi cut off her own question. One glance at Lady Moxalie’s wide, frightened eyes told her enough. Besides, speculation only fed rumors, and there were enough of those circulating through the palace already. “My clothes, quickly.”

A slave came to help, and in a few minutes Israi was dressed in a plain gown of soft rose velvet that made her golden skin glow. She did not bother with accessories or jewelry aside from a rill collar of plain gold studded with green Gaza stones.

Guards in their distinctive bright green cloaks stood waiting outside her apartments to escort her. In silence they hurried to the chambers of the Kaa.

When Israi entered, all the low, murmuring conversations ceased as though cut off. Israi stopped breathing. Her gaze flashed around the room and landed on Temondahl.

He went to her at once, bowing low. “Highness, your father has called for you.”

The clenched knot inside her torso eased, and she began to breathe again. The Kaa was not dead. Perhaps he was mending, especially if he was able to speak. Yet the faces around her looked grave indeed. Her mind felt tangled, unclear.