Authors: Tracy St. John
Marzklis was the epitome of the word
‘brute’. Tall and made of honed muscle, his overlarge jaw jutted
aggressively from a face made of heavy brow and broad cheekbones.
He looked downright primitive as he glowered at the information
attendant.
In comparison, Wagnox was a slinking
creature, his face older than his years. While most Kalquorians
wore their hair past their shoulders, Wagnox kept his silvering
locks cut short. His gimlet eyes tried to be angry, but there was a
secretive glee dancing in his expression. Egilka wondered if the
man would wear such an expression if he didn’t have his terrifying
clanmate at his side.
Those squinty little eyes turned the
princes’ way a split second after Marzklis noted their approach.
Wagnox looked as if he’d scored a victory when he saw them coming.
“Here is their proxy now.”
Egilka had never liked Wagnox. He
didn’t seem like a true Dramok in the sense of leadership. In
council, he behaved deferentially to his friend Pwaldur. Egilka had
no doubt it was the more powerful Dramok’s influence that kept
getting Wagnox elected to office.
Clajak’s earlier attempt at humor had
passed. He looked exhausted, even unaware of Wagnox and Marzklis’
odious presence. Egilka was flagging himself, but he summoned the
energy to address the men now heading towards them. “Good evening,
Councilman, Nobek.”
The pair bowed and chorused, “My
princes.” Marzklis’ voice was mostly a growl, a deep undercurrent
to Wagnox’s irritating whine.
Egilka and Clajak halted as the other
two men blocked their way. Clajak stared at them as if he couldn’t
quite place either man. Egilka took the lead.
“Zarl has survived surgery but cannot
see visitors at this time. Emperor Yuder has gone to attend the
Empress’ body. Tidro sits with his Dramok. None of the Imperial
Clan is available to speak to you right now.”
Wagnox’s voice took on an ingratiating
tone, one Egilka had heard often in council chambers. “Then Prince
Clajak will be taking the lead for Imperial governance. Allow
Marzklis and I to express our profound sympathies for the loss of
your mother, my prince.”
While the Dramok managed the
appropriately sympathetic expression, Marzklis didn’t look sorry.
He looked as if he’d like a tasty throat to rip out with his teeth.
However, that could have just been his normal face. Marzklis didn’t
look capable of emoting anything but animal ferocity.
Clajak nodded his head at the pair,
finally pulling his senses together. He seemed to have missed the
first part of Wagnox’s statement. “Yes. Yes, of course. Thank you
for your consideration.”
As if worried they’d forgotten, Wagnox
reminded them, “My colleague Dramok Pwaldur is also in mourning
over the loss of his clan and his daughter’s – your promised
Matara’s – fragile condition.”
Egilka nodded, sympathy rising to the
fore. “We hope Narpok recovers quickly. We will visit her ourselves
as soon as circumstances allow. Please extend our heartfelt
sympathies to Councilman Pwaldur for his great loss.”
Egilka had already offered such to the
councilman himself, but perhaps Pwaldur wouldn’t have remembered.
He’d been very quiet in the bay while waiting for his daughter’s
return, barely acknowledging anyone.
Wagnox adopted a direct tone, squaring
his shoulders and facing the princes with friendly but watchful
formality. “I will inform Pwaldur. I come on his behalf and on the
behalf of those on the council who support his bid for the Head
Councilman’s seat. We need your assurance that you and Clajak will
quickly decide on your Nobek so that your clan may take its place
at the head of the Empire.”
Clajak’s head jerked straight at that.
His gaze riveted on Wagnox. “Clan Zarl is the Imperial Clan. My
Dramok father lives.”
“That may be the case now, but we don’t
know if – ancestors forbid – he will continue to improve.” Egilka
could have sworn a slight smile twitched the corners of Wagnox’s
mouth as he spoke. “Word is that his injuries are horrific and he
will not be able to resume his duties.”
Egilka was aware that Clajak’s body
next to him was stiffening. Marzklis eyed the Dramok prince with
interest. Egilka fought to keep his tone even. “That remains to be
seen. It is too soon to make such determinations.”
Wagnox shrugged. “Perhaps. But it is
clear that we are temporarily without the leadership of an Imperial
Clan. It is a shame to rush such things, but duty is duty. I have
seen the list of suitable Nobeks for your clan. If you cannot
choose, the Royal Council stands ready to vote on your third male
for you.”
Even as Egilka’s jaw dropped at the
man’s impertinence, Clajak’s temper erupted. “I will not clan
anyone I do not choose for myself. And I will not take Zarl’s
place. My father lives.”
Egilka grabbed Clajak’s elbow to calm
his clanmate. “This is not the time to discuss such things in any
case.”
Wagnox looked at him with surprise.
“But it is, my prince. Do you think the Empire’s enemies, known and
unknown, will wait to pounce on Kalquor in deference to your
grieving? You must take up the standard. Your feelings for Zarl are
commendable, but he has fallen—”
“He has not!” Clajak took a step
forward, his hands bunching into fists as he glared at Wagnox. “And
if you speak his name in disrespect again, I will rip your tongue
out!”
Marzklis stepped in front of Wagnox, as
if he’d been awaiting the opportunity for confrontation all along.
Maybe he had, Egilka thought.
The brute snarled, “The only
thing getting ripped apart is anyone who lays a hand on my Dramok.
Even if he is my
prince
.” The last word came out in a sneer.
Clajak’s temper was fed by an endless
ocean of grief, and Egilka could see him losing control of it. The
Imdiko had a vision of Marzklis tearing into Clajak.
They were close, barely a foot apart,
but Egilka tried to get between them anyway. “Wagnox, control your
Nobek! This is not the time!”
“May I be of assistance, my
princes?”
The deep growling voice got everyone’s
attention. It descended over them like a thunderclap, demanding it
be heeded. Like an animal brought to bay by a predator, Marzklis
reacted, spinning around to confront the man standing right behind
him.
Egilka could have cheered to see Bevau.
If not for the fact that the high commander looked as much like
pure threat as Marzklis did, he would have voiced his relief.
Trouble reared its head, stilling Egilka’s joy. From the way the
two Nobeks glared at each other, it seemed all too likely a
bloodbath was about to occur.
Hoping to diffuse this latest drama
before the two warriors went at each other, Egilka said, “Thank
you, High Commander. Dramok Wagnox and his Nobek were just leaving
after expressing their condolences. Our concerns for the Empire’s
welfare along with the high emotions of the last day has made
everyone a little edgy.”
Bevau’s bald stare was riveted on
Marzklis, but Wagnox shrank back, moving out of the high
commander’s immediate reach. He looked from his Nobek to Bevau, his
expression uncertain. Though the monstrous Marzklis eyed the
newcomer with obvious threat, Bevau showed no sign of
wavering.
Egilka also stared, wondering who would
prevail in a confrontation. Marzklis was the elder, an experienced
warrior with plenty of deaths in his wake. Bevau was a vision of
youthful strength and power. His perfect face was every bit as
dangerous as the feral brute before him. It was impossible to know
who would win an outright fair fight.
With neither showing a clear advantage,
Wagnox didn’t want to find out the answer. He grabbed his Nobek’s
arm and said, “Indeed, it is time we left. The matter we spoke of
will be brought up at the Royal Council in one week, my
princes.”
He pulled at Marzklis. His clanmate
never dropped his guard, though he allowed himself to be tugged
away from Bevau. The two Nobeks continued to stare daggers at each
other until Wagnox got Marzklis to board the in-house transport and
its door shut the councilman and his clanmate out of
sight.
Only then did Bevau’s body relax. He
turned to look at Clajak and Egilka, a hint of a smile warming his
face. “Well, that was interesting.”
Egilka sagged. “This is why I prefer my
lab. You’d love politics, Bevau. You go into a debate, and a fight
breaks out.”
“Sounds wonderful.” Bevau looked them
over. A worry line creased the area between his brows as he gazed
at Clajak.
The Dramok smiled at him, but the
emotion was trembling and weak. Now that the danger was over, he
was back to looking exhausted. “It’s good you came, Bevau,” Clajak
said. “I let my temper get me into trouble again.”
“Understandable from the bit of
conversation I heard.” Bevau looked at Egilka and the worry line
deepened. “I know you said you’d com if you needed me, but I
couldn’t stop thinking – well, I was worried about you both. I
couldn’t stay away.”
“I’m glad,” Egilka said with feeling.
“Thank you, Bevau. We were just about to head home. Do you want to
follow us?”
Bevau’s searching gaze made the Imdiko
feel warm all over. Just being under the man’s regard gave Egilka a
sense of security as well as pleasure.
The Nobek shook his head. “Neither of
you looks like you’re in any shape to pilot yourselves. You’re
going to let me chauffeur you.”
Egilka was delighted. Now that Bevau
was there, it felt as if the Imdiko could stop being on guard over
every little thing – and that ability to relax was bringing on his
own exhaustion.
“It would be much appreciated. I doubt
we’ll be very good company for you though. We’ll probably both be
unconscious by the time you get us home.”
Bevau smiled and stepped between the
princes, putting an arm around each of their waists. “Then let me
get the two of you out of here, my princes. You’ve dealt with
enough today.”
The Nobek showing up to check on them
was a simple gesture, Egilka thought as they boarded the conveyance
and Bevau told it where to go. Yet it felt as if Bevau had relieved
them of a crushing weight. Egilka decided that small gestures were
to be treasured during such a horrendous time.
After three long days Zarl was finally
allowed to have more than one visitor at a time. Tidro and Yuder
had kept a constant vigil during that period. Clajak had not been
able to see his father beyond the quick glimpse of his poor broken
body in the shuttle bay when he was brought in.
The moment they got the word they could
see the Dramok emperor, Clajak and Egilka hurried from the
visitor’s waiting area to be at his side. They left Bevau to wait
with the royal aides. The Nobek had been there for support every
moment his schedule allowed. Removed from the emotional storms that
rocked Clajak and Egilka, he had been a steady source of strength
for the bereaved pair.
Clajak had begun to feel some semblance
of his old self returning. Yet panic rose every time he thought
someone might suggest he stand in for Zarl. Since his encounter
with Wagnox and Marzklis three days prior, such proposals had not
reached his ears. Egilka and Korkla had taken all official coms and
messages, shielding him from such demands.
Clajak was grateful, but dread grew
with each passing second. Sooner or later those closest to him
would have no choice but to bring pressure to bear. The Dramok
prince could only hope Zarl would recover and take his rightful
place once more.
Getting word that his father was strong
enough to see him and Egilka sent his spirit soaring. At last, here
was proof that the universe had not gone completely against him.
Zarl was making progress. He would pull through.
Yet Clajak’s glad greeting died on his
lips the instant he walked into Zarl’s hospital room. His strong
and stalwart father lay a twisted old man in the medibed. The
computerized panels shielded much of Zarl’s torso from view, but in
the room’s glaring light it was plain to Clajak that Zarl was not
the robust Dramok he’d known all his life. The emperor had been
reduced to a crooked semblance of his former self, his legs
obviously warped beneath the linens covering them, his head canted
strangely to one side, his face ashen and creased beyond his
years.
He’s still alive,
Clajak reminded himself as tears trickled down his
cheeks.
Flencik said more surgeries would
fix some of the damage.
He stepped close to his father’s
bedside, feeling the comfort of Egilka and his other fathers’ hands
squeezing his shoulders, patting his back, giving him the strength
to face this cruelly misshapen version of his beloved Dramok
father.
Zarl smiled at him, driving the new
wrinkles in his face deeper. His voice was a dry rattle of breath.
“My son.”
Clajak took Zarl’s reaching hand with
great care, too aware of how fragile it felt now. Looking into
Zarl’s still bright and knowing gaze, Clajak choked out, “I’m so
sorry. I was supposed to be with you.”
Zarl squeezed lightly, his grip tenuous
but there. “I am not sorry. Losing Irdis has devastated me. Having
you taken from me as well would have been too much to bear.” Tears
slipped from his eyes. “You couldn’t have done anything to save
her. You would have died as well. I thank the Mother of All with
every breath you and Tidro did not go to Joshada with
us.”