83 - Decision Time

“General.” Nadian drank the honey syrup from a silver spoon.

“Yes, Naser?” You suck the shit out of every word. Nadian hated him even as he opened his words to him. “Tell me... Naser... do you like the way the Feather-Spitters have gone this last while?”

A loyal son of a moa wouldn’t hesitate. “Naser... why... um... er...”

“I... find that His Radiance is... fading.” The General coughed and coughed again. He cleared this throat. “You... think we should expand more... aggressively ... than we have been?”

“Oh, yes. General, we have been far, far too ‘genteel’ in our willingness to expand.”

And you think I am missing your eyes lighting up, with the idea of boys enslaved, boys of the conquered people, open to your taking? You perverted, hidden man. I despise you, boy-lover. “I understand,” the General said. “We should truly have control over the wild, barbarian Milari as well as all the northern tribes... as well as the delta lands.”

“Ah. It seems that we are of a mind, General.” Nadian smiled at him and stepped a half-step away from him. De’Molfe smiled.

“Of course, Hive Lord.” He set his cup and skewer down on a small table and brushed his hands together. “It is a matter of who holds power.”

**

Dukir, out on the mountain, on the other side of the raw scar of the landslide, where no one could see him, reached into his sash and pulled out the ‘stinger’.

“Heh. I’m glad enough that this is only once that I can use this, else I’d be a pin-cushion making my reports.” He held it on his flat hand and said clearly and slowly. “Activation. Dukir to Diryish!” He did not flinch as the small, flat gold-coloured bead stung him.

“Deenay confirmed. Demand underway.” It said. I’m glad I’m enough of your blood to use such things, Diryish but the magic still makes me nauseous. The air above his hand vibrated, glowing and shifting, a veil of light as if the desert sun had poured itself into the specific place at His Radiance’s demand.

**

Diryish felt the vibration in the sun-gem in one earring. He turned to Shashi. “Escort me, my dear.”

Having been in the loggia before he knew very well where the washroom was but, being who he was, never went anywhere unattended. It was actually rare enough that he could beat off his young Hive Lords to go even there without at least two following.

He closed the door on Shashi’s veiled wink and locked himself in, moving over slowly to settle on the closed bowl. 

“Diryish, accept.” Because the gem was already in a piercing it did not need to re-pierce his skin. “Deenay confirmed.” The voice was one that only he could hear.

“Old friend,” he said. He closed his eyes to see the image of his spymaster more clearly. “You have news for me?”

“The boy is the bastard son of the champion, Kyrus Talain, and is your blood. We were lucky. We have been astonishingly lucky because the boy grew up in the Basin, but made his own way here to demand their surdeniliarch teach him to be a warrior. Not diseased, broken or tainted apparently. He’s a reasonable warrior with some of his deceased father’s talents. Even the Milar respect the man… and thus the boy.”

“And your judgment of him? You have spoken to him?”

“He reminds me of you but I never knew you when you were young, old man. He was polite, well-spoken… and you might get a possible marriage by alliance if what I saw was accurate and he and the Milari princess -- whatever -- carry on the way they have been.”

“You mean Ilaxandal’s daughter?” Diryish snorted and laughed.  “I saw her as a little mite of a thing, last.”

“Your grandson appears to be in love with her, and is very protective of her and of his friends.”

“Great-grandson. Never mind. You like him?”

“Does that matter, Diryish?”

“I would rather not settle for ‘good enough’ to find he is gangrene wrapped in sugar.”

“I like him. He’s not a fool and I don’t think the princess… whatever they call her… I realize… they vote and such…In the time Raghnall and I spoke to her she appeared smart as a razor beak.  She wouldn’t cover for an idiot or a brute.”

“Good. I trust your judgment, Dukir. Thank you.” Diryish, feeling an enormous weight come off his shoulders, ran a hand over his face, feeling the dry, papery rasp. “I’m holding on, my friend. He will be my Siwion, my Young Apis. You tell him and you and our young Emir-al… you are now his bodyguards. Bring him home. Bring him home quickly.”

“I obey, my Resplendence. Diryish, you have the strength. We’ll see that there is someone to keep these cloaca-lords from tearing the Lainz to pieces and picking over the carcass. Until next month.”

**

The image of the Immutable, eyes closed, faded to a pin-point and vanished, the stinger let go of his hand, leaving behind only the memory of pain. Dukir tucked it away into his sash carefully, even if he could not use it again perhaps the Emperor would be able to make it work for someone else.

He rubbed his palm thoughtfully as he got up and went to look for his new Siwion, Kyrus Talain.

**

Kyrus gingerly opened the door of the Dee school, poked his head out, looked one way, then the other. No sign of either of the Feather-spitters, though he couldn’t be sure because he couldn’t see the Unity hitching post from here, to see if the moa was still snoozing in front of it.

He eased out and jogged down the street, glancing up the road to check and see the Emir-al’s moa still at the Unity. He breathed a sigh of relief and picked up speed. I’ll head over to Verpiccaus’s place. They’ll never think of inquiring after me there… He heard the scrape of the war-bird’s claws on the cobbles. It wasn’t moving very quickly, just a walk but a bird’s walk ate ground double the speed a man could run. It was right behind him and he just knew that the rider was after him.

Without thinking, he wheeled… saw the Amir’s war-bird immediately behind him, ducked and ran straight between the legs. He yanked hard on the tail-feathers as he passed under them, felt the bird scramble, screeching.

“Leave me alone, Hive-bird!” He shouted as he dove into an alley at an angle. It was too narrow for the bird to follow. He’d be out past the butcher’s and half-way across the village before the Amir got himself straightened out.

“Talain! Wait!” The name was enough to make him slow down. “I must speak to you.” Ky straightened, slowed. I don’t want to talk to you. But I have to stop running. He turned and made his way back down the alley, retracing his steps. The Amir was down off his bird, the hood blinding and tying it where it stood, waiting at the end of the alley when he emerged.

“Hive-bird.” Kyrus crossed his arms belligerently. “You must speak to me, you say. I’m here.”

The Amir looked at him with a very strange look on his face, reached up and removed his veil and very precisely, very formally, offered the Great Salaam. “I shield my humble eyes from the newly discovered Young Apis, the Siwion of Lainz.” Going to his knees in the Viltarian street, he offered his bare face and his sword.