A battle song told of Greek destroying Trojan — but who among the blazing stars could still pronounce the names of those jealous warriors whose power had brought them only death?
Joesai’s eyes raked the horizon, a band of haze that blended into the blue sky. He was restless to move on Soebo and yet restrained. Victory was essential but could one bargain with the rubble his forces would create? Power was not to be had through transient victory.
Tae had endlessly reminded his clan that the Gathering of Ache achieved dominion over the Arant by terror, then created the Kaiel to oversee the terror but, that strong as terror gripped, it was a transient glue. Had not the Arant, decimated and scattered — cowed — nevertheless subdued the Kaiel through the backdoor of remorse, so that the Kaiel body now walked with a double soul?
Joesai knew that he could strike immediately while his group was still alive. A small band could take Soebo. Who else but he — and perhaps his crazy two-wife — understood the uses of the madness in The Forge of War? The Mnankrei would be able to defend themselves but they would not be able to comprehend the battle tactics in time. The victory would be stunning, complete, even awesome, its reward a cowering populace who anticipated every need of the conquering Kaiel.
The victors would be bathed, fed, carried, served, charmed. Every order would be obeyed. Yet the children would be hidden, and who would ever know the thoughts behind the smiling faces trying so anxiously to please? His Arant mind told him how cities responded to fear, and his Kaiel mind showed him the future: a Kaiel body thrown to the stones of a Soebian back alley, stomped, its throat slit, blood flowing between the stones to the gutter; a Kaiel body floating in a canal; a Kaiel body hastily butchered and roasted, its skin destroyed; his body; Teenae’s body; his grandson’s body. He shrugged, dismissing his main battle plan. There could be no victory unless the children came to greet you. No children cheered the German troops across the steppes of Russia. No children cheered the Russian butchers in Afghanistan. No children cheered the Amerikan troops at My Lai.
Whenever Joesai was perplexed he chose direct confrontation. He knew he did not know enough to make a decision that would honor the Over Strategy. Find out. He took ten youths he had observed all the way from Kaiei-hontokae. They melted through the Mnankrei watch stations unnoticed, first invisibly by night, then later in full view. Forethought had long ago provided safe houses in Soebo.
Cautiously Joesai contacted Hoemei’s spies. He did not know who they were, or where their rayvoice tower was located — such was the way Hoemei operated — but communication channels were open. Puzzlement met his requests. They knew nothing of sacred micro-life that could kill a host and then move to a new body. Joesai pondered his next move.
He set up an escape route over rooftops and into a canal barge, stationed men, and in broad orange daylight entered the Soebo hive of the Liethe. He waited in a room of tapestries, idle, amused. A startled girl found him. They were not used to receiving men. “I am Joesai maran-Kaiel, High Face of the Advance Court of the Gathering of Outrage.” He took a breath. The girl became even more surprised. She fled and was replaced by an old woman.
He was alert for signs of deceit, for the small flicker of wrinkled face that would tell him these women were holding him until they could inform the Mnankrei. “I am the se-Tufi Who Rings the Soul’s Bell. You must tell me the purpose of your visit.” This one had an iron calmness which could hold either fidelity or treachery.
“Bell of Supreme Excellence, from Kaiel-hontokae we once contacted you regarding those Kaiel captured at sea by the Mnankrei. We were informed that they languished in the Temple of Raging Seas.”
“Ah, and you are here to free them. A difficult task.”
Such was not his task. He was using the suggestion of an escape attempt as a probe of Liethe intentions. Joesai noted that he was being offered no help. “I realize you are allied with the Mnankrei and that makes your position delicate. Should the Mnankrei win this game and determine that the Liethe helped us in our failure, then it would go badly for your presence here.”
The witch smiled. “You are telling me with your Kaiel tongue that if the Kaiel win the game and we do not help you, then events will begin to go badly for us.”
With great formality, Joesai countered her thrust. “You are too familiar with the ways of the Mnankrei. Do not compare us. In all ways we are more generous. I make no threats. I cannot ask you to violate the ancient customs of Soebo established when the Kaiel were but worms. I promise only that no word of any help the Liethe give us shall ever be revealed by us.”
“The Death Oath?”
Joesai took his knife and opened a small wound in his finger. “The Death Oath is upon my whole clan.” That was as strong as he could make his contract. No Getan would lightly commit the gene pool of his entire clan. Treachery masked in honest words was never forgiven in the harsh courts of kalothi. He touched his blood to the crone’s tongue.
“Then I have a girl for you. The fee will be dismissed since this is a matter between priests. You will like her. The wench’s name is Comfort and she is mistress of High Wave Ogar tu’Ama who leads the opposition to the Central Watch of the Swift Wind.” The crone clapped her hands and a child Liethe appeared, listened and then slipped away.
Ho, already she has the grace, Joesai thought, remembering Hoemei’s Honey moving through the Palace as the hoiela moved upon the breeze.
“Please be corrected,” said the old one who could still ring the bell in a man’s soul. “We are not allied with the Mnankrei. We are allied with all priests who come from God’s Womb. We serve those who serve Geta.” She smiled and touched the small amulet he wore around his neck. “You have earned the heart of one Liethe. Who was she?”
“A dancer of the Prime Predictor.”
“She gave that to you when she knew your life was in danger.”
“My life has always been in the shadow of Death,” he grinned.
“You did not come here alone. Your friends will be hidden outside, watching.”
“If two lovely women leave the hive holding hands, one wearing a hat with hoiela wings, they will be assured of my safety and will await a second signal from me in twenty sun-heights.”
“It will be done. But you have a bizarre idea of the finery we possess!” Soul’s Bell escorted Joesai along a corridor with a hand that well knew how to hold a man’s arm. They met a tiny Liethe child, fortified by the beginnings of a large vocabulary, who was outraged at the presence of a male and hit at his knees with clenched fists. Other eyes watched them from hiding.
He was led to a room that was meant for no man. Its luxury was eccentric. Satin pillows, lit by an eerie mixture of sunlight and bioluminous glow, spilled on the floor overlooking the garden. A platinum globe-swing hung from the ceiling beside a torch rack and a bookcase. Dominating the corner was a great wardrobe made of pressed woven iron-reed, inlaid with a lustrous stone. The tapestries were of the finest oz-Numae weave depicting the faery world of the mythical forests of Scowlmoon.
Then Comfort emerged from across the garden, carrying a tray of o’ca porcelain. The snouts of the centerpiece steamed with the aroma of herb tea. There were sipping cups for warming the hands and spice cake. She set the tray on a small table and sank to her knees before him.
“How may I serve you,” she said to his feet.
Instead of asking her to rise he lowered himself onto a pillow beside her. The crone disappeared. Damn fool Liethe, he thought while he poured them both some tea, they never think a man can take care of himself. She let him serve her, gracefully accepting the unexpected. The face, the delicate body, was se-Tufi, like Honey, and that disturbed him. She wore a pink robe of knotty texture tied beneath her breasts, casually, and tiny red jewels in the corners of her eyes. She was dressed for seduction, not talk. Did that mean they were afraid of him?