EIGHT
KRONUS TOSSED AND turned, unable to find an attitude of comfort in his soft cushions. Odrim Sid had become a specter hovering behind his eyelids, preventing all his attempts to sleep. At last, tired of fighting a losing battle with his anxiety, he rose from his bed and drew on his cloak and slippers. Stifling a yawn, he moved onto his balcony.
The air was still and cool. The last vestiges of autumn were fading, the colors dribbling away to become a dreary gray. Still, the shores of Brigantia would never suffer the frigid cold of the northern lands. The temperate currents of the sea moderated the climate. More often than not, there was only a chill, blanketing fog to contend with in the winter moons. There was also the rain, though the sky tonight was clear of both mist and cloud.
Kronus sat in his chair overlooking the garden. Apart from the sparsely spaced lamps of teklume, the night remained shrouded in darkness. Dawn was yet some hours away. Silence hung heavy over the castle, and he drew his cloak more closely about his shoulders.
He had begun his Pentarchial service as a lad of twenty and five, now many hundreds of cycles in the past. He was so used to his duties and responsibilities he had smugly thought few happenings could surprise him. How wrong he had been! The coming of Talisman had opened the floodgates of perplexity and pandemonium. And the furor when the affliction of Odrim becomes public knowledge…what then?
He shuddered, and not from the chill alone. The holomen had not dared release any statements over the network as yet, but it was only a matter of time. The death of the rigan was imminent—perhaps before the ringing in of the new millennium.
The archduke had summoned the Genetic Engineers that very evening. He had put tremendous pressure on Daedalus and the others, though all had pleaded ignorance of the malady—and of the cure.
Daedalus, however…
Kronus could lay no claim to an abundance of intuition, yet he was sure he had detected a subtle shifting in the engineer’s eyes, and furtiveness in his manner even more abstract than normal. Kronus had always considered the man mad. Had the archduke noticed? He had said nothing after his command to exert the utmost effort in Odrim’s behalf, yet little passed the eyes of Victor Mondragon unheeded. In the political arts, the archduke had no equal.
Kronus was so mired in his thoughts he blinked and came to a shuddering halt. He realized he had almost reached the stairs leading to the garden. It was uncomfortably close to sleep-walking, and he paused long enough to look sheepishly over his shoulder.
He steadied at once, noting he remained alone in his wakefulness. Rather than return to his dreary chamber, he continued on and soon stepped onto the soft carpet of garden grass. The threads were cool, some long enough to tickle his bare ankles, causing a smile to contort his cherubic features.
He paused beneath the spreading branches of an ancient oak, leaning against the knobby trunk. Lifting his head, he saw how low Orion stood in the night sky, yet there was no trace of dawn. He saw no other movement in the heavens. Strange how the lords of the Fifth Wen had not yet arrived for the festivities. It was unlike Shaka and Roland to be so tardy. If they left it any longer, they would be in danger of a flagrant breach of etiquette.
Kronus caught his breath as he recognized the glowing strobe of a descending Flitter. His first thought was for the wenlords. Only a handful possessed the key to the castle shield, and they were among that number. But as the Flitter landed and its skin slit open soundlessly, he saw it was not them but Lord Vull who descended, accompanied by a small contingent of Grimman-Seth.
Without thought, Kronus hugged the roughened bark of the oak so it blocked his corpulent frame from view. He felt more than a little foolish, yet he quashed these feelings. There was something strange, even ominous about this gathering.
The Grimman-Seth halted twenty paces from his position and showed no sign of moving. They perched on one of the many roosts scattered throughout the garden, their gaze directed toward the castle. Kronus shifted his eyes but could see nothing except darkened walls of stone.
He hardly dared to breathe. The bird kind had less than average hearing, but their eyesight was far beyond the human norm. At that moment it looked as though Vull’s gaze passed directly over his position, yet there was no pause and Kronus knew he remained unseen. He breathed easier.
An unfamiliar excitement filled him, alien to his calling. He could almost envision himself as one of the ancient, valorous heroes of the scrolls. The absurdity of this image nearly forced a titter of laughter, and he clamped his hand over his mouth. The gravity of his position sobered him. He had seen the glint of a disruptor beneath Vull’s cloak.
The minutes ticked sluggishly, and not only Vull but the other two birdmen shifted on their perches. The sudden lifting of Vull’s head alerted him. From the corner of his eye, Kronus saw a rippling motion on the wall like a spider descending a web. Black and shapeless at first, the spider transformed itself into a man.
His eyes widened in horror as he recognized the shadowed visage. He blinked again in disbelief, convinced his eyes were deceiving him. But the vision was real: Daedalus!
His startled intake of breath sounded harsh to his ears, yet the Grimman-Seth remained fixed upon the Genetic Engineer as he scuttled over the ground, leaning low. He was almost simian-like as his arms swayed, nearly touching the grass tips.
Kronus was now aware of the night chill, the dampness of the ground, and the discomfort of remaining in his cramped position. He forced himself to hang motionless as he heard the low and rasping sound of Daedalus’ challenge, like the hiss of a snake in the darkness.
“Why have you come? To explain your failure, of which I am already aware?”
“It was unavoidable.”
Vull’s growler-distorted voice sounded much rougher than Kronus remembered.
“We know the strength of the red-robes to within a small percentile, yet this Talisman uses the sword-force strangely and in unordinary ways.”
“Why do you think I want his blood, fool?” Daedalus snarled. “It is because of these glaring differences!”
Kronus saw a blurred movement. Vull had hopped off his perch and now towered over the much shorter engineer. “Have a care with your tongue, Fleshdabbler!” he hissed. “The filthy scum of your blood may yet stain this garden floor!”
When no answer came, Vull hopped away and paced in agitation. He then spoke as though berating himself. “We would have taken him had it not been for the untimely arrival of the beadsman and his ilk. There was no choice but to flee.”
“They identified you?” Daedalus demanded harshly, undeterred by the recent threat.
“Unlikely,” Vull replied. “I wore both cloak and cowl, as did the others with me. But it is of no consequence. Soon the swordsmen will be powerless. Discovery will then make no difference. Also, you shall have what you seek. As for now, the broodmaster orders you to deliver the prototype.”
Once again, Daedalus appeared to pluck up his courage. “You can’t have him. Despite all my urging, you have failed the task I set for you. Your guarantees are hollow.”
“You have no choice,” Vull warned. “Comply or forfeit your miserable life here and now!”
Kronus felt shocked as he listened to the play unfold. It was not only Vull’s apparent willingness to make good his threat. He could not credit the treachery he witnessed with his own eyes.
“It will not be easy to smuggle him out…” Daedalus voice wavered with the first sign of fear as Vull fingered his disruptor. As Kronus watched, he could almost hear the thoughts spinning in the man’s head. Was the birdman bluffing? Or would he carry out his threat?
The engineer’s fleeting bravado at last evaporated before the towering menace of the Grimman-Seth warlord. “…Though he appears as you in most respects, except for the wings and…ah…a few minor changes in physique. I cannot do it tonight at any rate. There is little time remaining until dawn, and I must return swiftly to my quarters.”
Even Kronus could sense Vull's unwillingness to agree to the delay.
“If I am discovered, all will be for naught,” Daedalus cautioned further. “We can do it on the morrow after the festivities. By then, everyone will be replete with goodwill. Even the guards will be careless.”
“Very well,” Vull agreed, though his growler-voice remained brittle. “But do not waste too much time, Fleshdabbler. We will brook no more problems or delays after this turn.”
The tall figures spun abruptly and their shadows soon blended with the night. Daedalus’ sticklike form scuttled crablike up the wall and melted into the stone. Seconds later, the Flitter rose and disappeared into the night sky.
Kronus waited long after they had gone. His body was chill and his movements slow and awkward as he hobbled away from the trunk. Conflicting emotions strained for dominance. Anger, disgust, and loathing were among them. Worst of all was the fear, and with it a growing certainty of approaching doom.
He allowed the anger to hold sway, for it seemed the cleanest emotion. What punishment but death could such treachery merit?