The Three-Cornered War| Chapter | F | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 |
The Three-Cornered War
Briefly she took her attention from them, and sank triangular serrated teeth into a haunch. Her powerful neck jerked viciously, then she tossed her head and swallowed before returning her gaze to the bipeds.
The Garthids watched patiently. Others of their pack would arrive soon; there’d already been an ululating answer from the edge of hearing. Peripherally one of them saw a movement, and murmured. The others turned their heads slightly. "Shafa," one guessed aloud, for the biped loping toward them was alone. As the newcomer neared, the hunters could see a sinew tied loosely around the thick neck, bones and feathers strung on it. A flute would hang between the shoulder blades. A shafa.
The newcomer slowed to a walk. The lizard watched, then returned her attention to the carcass. The shafa approached her without even displaying his parietal hood. After speaking quietly, he crouched by the kill, lowered his jaws and set heavy fangs, then tore a mouthful from a shoulder. Briefly he chewed, then swallowed. The young complained at the intrusion but did not stop their feeding. When the shafa had taken several bites, he stood, murmured again, and left.
Their voices guttural, the other Garthids spoke respectfully to him as he passed. He gestured a salute, and a moment later broke into his tireless lope.
They did not resent the performance. Shafan were shafan. They lived and traveled alone, attacking neither beasts nor other Garthids. Rather, they healed. They even healed animals. Now and then one stopped with a resting Garthid pack, and spent an hour or several. Fed with them. Healed wounds, infections, broken limbs. Chanted a tale or two, then left. It brought luck to have one stop.
In the packs, only an occasional offspring showed the gifts. Invariably these left as preadolescents, to learn from some older shafa.
The ululations of other pack members were much nearer now—two trios from different directions. The three gripped their spears in anticipation. They were hungry, and hoped the lizard would leave without a fight, as usual. When they didn’t, Garthids sometimes died.
The lizard watched the Garthid reinforcements approach, and with a clawed forefoot slapped her young from their feeding. Her legs were longer than they looked, and she straightened them, raising her swag belly a yard above the ground. Expanding her frill, she opened her gape at the gathering thieves. Then, hissing like a steam vent, she backed away, dangerous head swinging from side to side, her young dodging nimbly underfoot. Finally she turned and left resentfully at a swinging trot, her young scurrying beside her.
G G G
Approximately an imperial year after the Karghanik Armada left the Varatos System, it "entered" Garthid space. But only figuratively. It traveled in hyperspace, the only feasible means of crossing such distances. Its admiral had no intention at all of emerging into that sector of four-dimensional F-space—Familiar space—where a Garthid patrol might be encountered.
The Karghanik Empire knew next to nothing about the Garthids. Didn’t even have a name for them. They called them simply the "aliens"—and wanted no trouble with a species whose military capacities were unknown. They knew, of course, that their Klestronu cousins had violated alien space and fired on alien patrol ships. And they assumed the aliens would remember.
They were correct. What they did not imagine was the vast sentry system the aliens had recently emplaced in the hyperspace potential of their sector.
Admiral Kurakex sekTofarko stood stoney-faced and rigid while the Surrogate gave him more instructions than any commander would ever want. Why should he be burdened with such constraints? The aliens had entered Garthid space. That in itself was an affront, and reeked of ill intent. And had fired on a patrol ship—first!—demonstrating ill intent without any conceivable doubt. Then they’d fled, displaying their cowardly, devious, cunning nature. Devious, cunning, dangerous.
Only to emerge again near the far edge of the Khanate. And who knew how many places in between, undetected? Any fool could see they were carrying on a reconnaissance, and the only possible reason was war! Raiding. Maybe conquest.
Yet here was the Surrogate warning him to avoid war unless the intruders displayed ill intentions. That question had already been answered, and war it would be! He’d have to be very careful, of course, cover his nape at all times, say the politically correct things . . . That was the hard part—saying the politically correct things.
The Surrogate paused, his eyes drilling deeply. "Do you have any questions?"
"No, Your Potency."
The words were sour in Kurakex’s mouth. Both were of the guardian gender, the admiral as large as the Surrogate, and perhaps stronger. Younger by more than a decade—still in his prime. It seemed to him he could take the old ruler, throw him, roll him in the dirt, kill him if it came to it. But politically it would be disastrous, for himself and his clan.
"Good," said the Surrogate. His gaze was intense. "I know you well, Admiral." Again he paused, then his heavy features relaxed a bit, though the red-brown, slit-irised eyes remained hard. "I am aware that my admonitions seem onerous to you, that you would prefer to simply attack in force. But we do not know what sort of beings you will find out there." The Surrogate gestured skyward. "Or in what strength, or how great their empire." He paused, and when he continued, the words were like slow drumbeats, measured and powerful. "We must not make war needlessly. Unjustly. Recklessly. Do you understand? But if we must make war, it is vital that we prevail."
His jaws, during his student days, had been famed for their strength. He clamped them now like a killer lizard’s, their heavy muscles bulging from jawline to the crest of his skull. Finally he continued: "My instructions to you have been recorded in the central computer. Even now they are being distributed planetwide. Empirewide with the daily pods." He paused again, for emphasis. "So there will be no misunderstanding. When you return, I would much prefer to reward you than execute you."
"Yes, Your Potency!" The threat, and the hard-bodied imperial guards nearby, made Kurakex overheat. None were friends of Clan Tofarko. He had to fight the panting reflex.
"Good." The Surrogate’s demeanor turned casual, despite what he’d just said. "I would send someone with a reputation for moderation, but if there is fighting, we must win decisively. And you are my best commander." Again he paused, his eyes half hooded now. "My misgivings are serious. Therefore I am sending someone with you, to help you maintain perspective. Someone who carries my full authority."
Kurakex felt his chest tighten. What could this mean?
"Esteemed Valvoxa will accompany you as your spiritual overseer and my personal representative. When he speaks, he will speak for me. And more importantly he will speak for God! Remember that well, Lord Kurakex! He will attend you at his personal will. You will keep nothing from him. He will have free access to all meetings, orders, records and instructions. You will yield to him in all matters except military strategy and tactics."
The Surrogate’s rough lip callosities pressed briefly, meaningfully together. "And be sure that no harm comes to him. His life is your life. Understood?"
Kurakex’s gut burned like coals. "Understood, Your Potency!"
"There must be no war unless the intruders are set on it. But if Esteemed Valvoxa agrees that war is necessary—if he agrees!—then you must move promptly. Send couriers back, crush whatever force confronts you, and from there, follow your own judgment."
At that, Kurakex had tingled from foreplate to heels. It took strong will to prevent his hood from flaring. There could be no doubt that war was necessary; anything less was wishful thinking. "Yes, Your Potency!"
"Good. You are dismissed."
Kurakex gave the deep bow of submission, holding for a moment at the bottom, exposed, should the Surrogate choose to strike. Then he straightened, turned, and left the Supreme Presence, already examining ways he could deal with the imposition of a shafa on his bridge.
Watching him leave, the Surrogate damned the clan politics that had forced Kurakex sekTofarko on him. Well. It was in the hands of God now. And God’s servant Valvoxa.
| Chapter | F | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 |
