"Ah." Kurqosz turned. "Lord Quaie. Remind me why you have come here."
Varia had already been impressed with the voitik fluency in Yuultal. She'd long since read of their hive mind; perhaps when one of them learned a language, it was accessible to all. All they'd need to do was practice using it.
"Your Majesty," Quaie said, "I am volunteering my services to you. I am expert in ylvin government and politics, and of course in the ways and attitudes of my people. In fact, during my fifty-seven years of life, observation, and study, I have learned much about all of Yuulith and its peoples. I can advise you and your generals on the most effective ways of dealing with them. And when your conquest is complete, on administering them with the greatest profit and least aggravation for Your Majesty."
"Hmm. Interesting. But as a person of power and position, why ally yourself with an enemy?"
"Why, it's clear that you will win. In Duinarog, the pessimism was so thick, you could cut it with a knife."
"Indeed? And your gift to me?" He turned to look again at Varia. "Why did you bring her?"
"As a token of my respect, and to demonstrate my knowledge and ability. She is the wife of Lord Raien Cyncaidh, you see, the Western Empire's most powerful duke, and the emperor's chief advisor. Yet I stole her without difficulty." He smirked. "She's very beautiful, don't you think? You may find her useful as a hostage. Or for your royal pleasure. Or both."
There was a sharp rap at the office door and, scowling, the crown prince turned to it. "What is it?" he said sharply.
The answer was in Hithmearcisc. "Your Majesty, an ylvin prisoner has been brought in. By his insignia, a general. He was wounded and captured while attacking a supply train."
Kurqosz responded in Vismearcisc, seemingly for the benefit of his visitors. "A general? Leading raiders? Interesting. Is his wound serious?"
The man at the door switched to Vismearcisc to fit the crown prince's pleasure. "Your chief physician is with him now, Your Majesty."
"Your Majesty," Quaie interjected, "it is quite possible I can identify him for you." He had no doubt the prisoner was Cyncaidh.
"Can you now? Hmm." He turned to the door again. "Bring him in when Agr: Ucirc; x has finished with him. I want to see this general who leads his men instead of sending them. Either he has a poor opinion of his importance as a strategist, or a very high one of his importance as a fighting man."
He turned back to Quaie. "As for your gift, I already have ylvin women. Several of them, selected from thousands for their beauty. This one…" He gestured. "… is sufficiently robed, that all I can see is her face."
Kurqosz paused. "But the crux of the matter is your qualifications as an advisor. Tell me about them."
Quaie began to recite a resume. As he ran on, Varia was vaguely aware that it was almost totally false-his father's, not his own. His own acts, his abilities, even his evils were trivial by comparison with the elder. But her mind was not on Quaie. It was on the captured general. An icy fist had gripped her heart. It's Raien, she thought. It has to be.
There was another rap at the door, followed by a murmured exchange with the junior officer tending it. The young voitu interrupted Quaie's recitation. "Your Majesty, the ylvin general is here, unconscious on a stretcher. Agrux is with him." He'd spoken in Vismearcisc. It seemed to be his master's choice this evening.
"Have him brought in." Kurqosz turned to his aide, and gestured. "Clear that table for the stretcher."
Raien Cyncaidh's torso had been bared and bandaged. His face, always fair complected, was ivory white.
"I know him!" Quaie said.
The crown prince stilled him with an imperious gesture. "What are his wounds?" he asked the physician.
"A crossbow bolt struck his chest, Your Majesty, but his unconsciousness is from a heavy blow to the head. He will probably awaken from it before morning."
"Then he is not near death?"
"Seemingly not, Your Majesty."
The crown prince turned to Quaie. "Tell me his name."
"He is Lord Raien Cyncaidh of Aaerodh, Your Majesty. Gavriel's-the emperor's-chief advisor and sometime deputy." He pointed at Varia. "Her husband."
The crown prince smiled at Quaie. "I could as well have named him for you. He is not our first prisoner, you see, and we always question them. It is standard intelligence procedure, and occasionally recreation."
He pursed his lips in mock thoughtfulness. Quaie began to sense that he was in trouble. "I do not envision needing a viceroy. I will rule by force, not politics. As for an advisor…" Kurqosz paused, watching emotions wrestle in Quaie's face. "I can smell liars," the crown prince said, "and liars make poor advisors. No, I have no need of your services."
Again he paused. "But I will reward you for your gift of the general's wife. Yes." He stroked his chin. "But what will it be? Hmm." He turned to the scarred, hard-eyed rakutu who stood behind Quaie, and spoke in Hithmearcisc: "Strangle him, Tsulgax."
Tsulgax reached a forearm across Quaie's throat and pulled him backward hard against him. The ylf's eyes widened, and he clawed at the rakutu's wrist and hand.
"You'll find it quick and relatively painless," the crown prince told him. "Merciful, compared to the death I will visit on Lord Cyncaidh."
The whole room watched till Quaie's heels stopped drumming the floor. When it was over, Varia looked pleadingly at Kurqosz. "Your Majesty," she whispered, "please. Don't torture my husband, I beg you."
"My dear woman," he said. "Consider all the trouble he's been to me! It would be utterly immoral not to."
She ran to the table then, and turned to face the crown prince, her arms spread as if in protection, or supplication. The move captured every eye in the room. Tsulgax moved to get her, but his master stopped him with a gesture.
One of her hands rested on the knob of Cyncaidh's boot knife, concealed by the folded top of a heavy woolen stocking. "Please!" she said. "I beg you. I'll…" Abruptly she drew the knife, and turning, plunged it into Cyncaidh's solar plexus, thrusting upward, twisting. Blood gushed over her hand and wrist, then a fist struck her, knocking her to the floor. There, on all fours, she vomited. Tsulgax jerked her upright by the hair, to face the crown prince, her eyes wide with shock, mouth open, vomit on her chin.
Kurqosz's eyes had widened. "Well!" he said. "We have a wildcat among us! Remarkable!" He laughed, the sound genuinely admiring. "You fooled us all with your act of the pitiful wife.
"You will pay me for that, you know, but not with your life. You are loyal and highly courageous, and you think quickly. An excellent bloodline. The pleasure of fathering sons on you will be my recompense."
To the crown prince, the death of the ylvin commander, and possession of his beautiful wife, were favorable omens. Quaie he'd already forgotten.
Shortly before his orderly would have wakened him, Kurqosz came awake on his own. And sat up abruptly with a new knowingness: Conditions would be right! Soon!
Without bothering to have Gorvaszt brought to him-it was a familiar channel-he reached through the hive mind to his younger brother. ‹Chithqosz,› he said mentally, ‹come to my headquarters! As quickly as you can! With your circle. Leave this morning! I need you here!›
36 Decision
When Macurdy and the 1st Cohort had reached forest again, he'd divided its four companies into two independent forces. Blue Wing, through the great raven hive mind, had already called for another great raven to work with the second force. After that the two forces traveled north still as a unit, to the district through which the supply routes ran. There they separated.
Macurdy's first ambush was a success: somewhat costly, but less than he'd feared. They'd ambushed a company of rakutur patrolling the road, outnumbering the half-voitar nearly two to one. No prisoners were taken, and so far as he knew, none of the rakutur had run. All, or nearly all, had died.