C.S. Friedman - The Wilding

THE

WILDING

C. S. FRIEDMAN

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THE WILDING

One cannot predict with certainty the future course of any man.

How then can one hope to predict the future course of his empires?

-From the writings of ZATAR THE MAGNIFICENT, first Pri'tiera of the Braxin Holding

ONE

Is IT ON? Should I start now?

Yes, we're recording. Go ahead.

I guess you want to know about him. (Pause.) I don't remember much. It's strange when I look back, I

can't see his face clearly. Like someone took an eraser and smudged all the colors there. The rest is fine

but I can't see that.

(Pause.)

I don't know that I'm going to be able to do much good here ...

Why don't you just start at the beginning?

... All right. All right. I can do that.

The beginning? (Pause.) I came to work for Aleys and Kel right after the birth. They were a prosperous

couple, I knew that from the start. Had a nice house on Chandra Prime and a private berth at the

spaceport. Really nice. You could tell they both made good money and didn't mind spending it on the things

that mattered. That was a good sign. I also figured that was why they were willing to hire me, because

neither of them wanted to give up their nice income. I mean, it was kind of odd for Chandrans; usually that

race won't let strangers help raise their children no matter what. But I figured that was it, they just needed

a little hand here and there to let them stay in the work force while the kids grew up. Not unheard of. Other

races do it all the time.

So anyway, I got there five days after the birth. You could see right away that the parents were really

glad to have me there. They were a young couple, hardly old enough to be having children, I thought. But

then, you never know. I've heard some of the Scattered Races start with conception while they're still kids

themselves, some kind of hormone preparation thing. Never worked for one of those races myself, but I've

heard tales from nurturers who have. They were pretty critical of the practice, but the way I see it, it's

none of our busi-ness to tell another race when to reproduce, you know? "Human is as human does," or so

they say.

Why don't you tell us about the children?

All right. Well, the first thing you noticed of course was that there were two of them. Two! I mean, it

hap-pens all the time with other races, but when was the last time you heard of a multiple birth with

Chandrans? They like controlling things so much, it's amazing they'd even think about letting an egg split up

all on its own. Or let both halves grow up if it did.

And they were real twins, too. Little girls. (Pause.) Pretty little things. (Pause.) I remember....

(Long pause.)

Go on.

The girls were absolutely identical, a real split-egg pair. And you could see their parents hadn't been

ready to take on two, whatever they might have thought before the birth. So they called me in to help. That

was fine. I settled in fast and pretty much took over, and they were happy with that. The kids were well

behaved, didn't cry much, not unless you separated them. They were bright enough, but they spent a lot of

time just staring at each other. I guess identicals are like that. It's kind of like they only have one brain, you

know, just split up into two parts. I guess there's some part of them that knows what the other is. You could

almost sense that sometimes, when you were watching them. Really eerie.

Did you know about the security issues?

(Pause.) Kel said that because of their genetic code they were at high risk for . .. what was his phrase?

... "lifestyle interruption." He never explained what that meant. I know the parents had special security all

over the place, like this system linked to Chandra Prime's Central Ops that would send people running to

help if there was the least sign of trouble.

You could tell they really wanted to explain things to me, especially Aleys. But they said they couldn't.

Said the facts couldn't be in my brain, or something like that. (Pause. In a whisper:) Poor little kids. You

think if I'd known what was really going on I could have helped more? Oh, the poor babies. He almost got

them, you know?

(Gently:) Please go on.

Not much more to tell, for about six pasats. I don't think you want details of child care, do you? (Pause.)

Anyway, you don't get much variety with Chandran ba-bies. It's all preprogrammed. You know when

they'll have a full head of hair, you know when their first tooth will come in, you pretty much know when

they're going to say their first word. Not much is left to chance, in that race. It's the genetics thing. They

don't trust Nature much.

Tell us about that night.

(Pause.) I was alone with them, you know? Both of their parents were out. I had the alarm system on—I

re-ally did, they've asked me about that a hundred times, you know, but I made sure of it!— Anyway, things

were quiet until about midnight. I had them in bed long be-fore then, of course.

And then I—

(Pause.)

Kallesi?

I'm sorry ... it's hard to remember this part... I don't know why....

Take your time.

(With obvious effort:) I... I think I went into the li-

brary to read. Funny, how even that memory is hazy now, it's all going away, like it never really happened

... I went in there and called up a book. I don't remember what book it was. They've asked me that over

and over again, you know, but I just can't remember. It seems a stupid thing to forget, doesn't it? But how

much can it matter, what book I was reading?

(Gently:) Go on.

Anyway, I must have been there a while. Then ... it was strange ... I thought I heard the portal chime.

But it didn't, did it? The records say no one used it in that time, at least that's what the others told me, when

they investigated.

Just tell us what you remember, Kallesi. Don't worry about the others.

My first thought was—and this was odd, I thought that even at the time—"Ah, he's here." Like I had

been expecting someone all along. But I wasn't, I've told you all that. Aleys and Kel didn't like me

entertaining when no one was home. It was all that security stuff, you know. Something about the kids. So

even then I knew it was a pretty strange reaction to have. Like, I felt. . . . (Pause.)... it was almost like I

was inside my own head, watching my thoughts. You know? Observing them from the outside. Very

strange.

What did you do then?

I ... I ... (Long pause.) I think I went to the portal. I'm sorry I can't be sure ... this whole thing, I can't

re-member it clearly. Like half of me wasn't there at the time. I think I went to see who was there. I

figured I would just tell them to go away and come back later, but I ought to see first who it was....

The portal has a message recorder.

Yes. Yes. I know that. (Pause.) I don't know why I didn't just tell him to use it. That would have been

the right thing to do. That's what I usually did. (Pause.) How much trouble am I going to be in? I mean, the

children—

(Gently:) We'll worry about that later. For now just go on with the story.

Anyway I... I guess I opened the portal. To see who it was.

You couldn't see him through the viewport?

(Long pause.) I guess I could have. I felt... like that wasn't enough. Somehow. It was strange....

Can you describe him?

He was Azean. At least, I thought he was Azean. They tell me now the security images don't match that,

that he didn't look Azean at all. But that's what I saw. And it seemed to me at the time that he was familiar

to me, and I knew from past experience that he was a regular visitor.

So you let him in.

Yes. I let him in.

It's strange, I remember us talking for a while ... but again, there are no records of that, are there? Just of

him sort of staring into my eyes for a few minutes. If not for that I'd have said we spent a long time talking,

about all sorts of things. That's what I remember, you see, even though they tell me now it never happened.

I mean, could the records be wrong? (Pause.)

Anyway, after that... he went down the hall to look in on the children. I wasn't going to follow him there

at first, because I knew he'd visited the babies many times, so all that was okay. But at the same time, I felt

really strange about it. Can't say why. Like something inside me was worried, worried enough that I didn't

want him to be alone with the girls. At first I felt really bad about having that reaction, and I was afraid that

if I followed him and he thought I didn't trust him he might get angry and ... well, angering your employer's

friends is not the best way to get references, you know? But then I thought, you know, these parents are so

careful with their babies, like they continually expect something to go wrong, so if you have any bad

feeling about this, any bad feeling at all, you really ought to go in there and check it out. Just to be sure.

So that's when I went down the hall to go into the nursery myself. And I saw him—

I saw him ...

(Long pause.)

Take your time, Kallesi. Try to remember.

He ... he had one of the babies. The little thing was all wrapped up in something, a kind of bag with long

straps. There was something else ... another bag maybe ... laid out on the dresser. Like he was getting

ready to wrap up the other one too, and take them both.

What did you think when you saw all this?

(Pause.) I thought... (Pause.) It was all okay. It just was, you know? Like ... like their parents had

planned this all along. I mean, that doesn't make any sense now, but back then it seemed to. This man

knew the girls' parents, and he had come to take the babies for a while, and that was all right. I knew that.

And then what happened?

I... I don't really know.

(Pause.)

I really don't.

(Pause.)

I'm sorry.

He looked at you again. Like before.

I guess. The security images show that, don't they? I don't remember it. I'm sorry. That part's just a

blank. Next thing I remember is him reaching for the other lit-tle girl. And somehow . . . that wasn't right.

Like some part of me had suddenly come awake, and knew this whole thing was wrong. I remember

starting to scream. It wasn't because I wanted to scream, but that was the only thing I could do. It was like

all the other stuff in my brain had been shut down, so that I couldn't remember how to make the security

system call for help, or where the panic switches were located, or ... anything. It just all welled up inside

me, all this fear without any way to let it out, and finally I just screamed. Really loud.

Well, he looked at me as if I had gone crazy—and

maybe I had, for a moment—and maybe he would have done something to stop me from screaming, but I

guess the house had some kind of sensor set to respond to loud noises, because the warning light on the

control pad near the door lit up suddenly. Bright green, which meant that help was on its way. He took one

look at that and I guess he decided to run for it. And maybe he fig-ured he couldn't run with a baby in his

arms, or maybe in his panic he just forgot them, but anyway, he bolted for the door without either of the

little girls. And I guess he just beat your people there, because they came only minutes later, but he was

already gone. —You didn't ever catch him, did you?

(Gently:) No. No, we didn't ever catch him.

Are the . . . are the babies okay? They won't let me see them. I really don't know what he was doing in

there with them, but he didn't have enough time to hurt them. Did he? Are they all right? Can I please see

them?

No harm was done. (Pause.) Please try to be calm.

I loved them, you know? I know that doesn't make any sense, they weren't my babies, but when you live

day and night with such little ones, when you're like a mother to them, that's how it is. You would tell me if

they were hurt, wouldn't you?

You would be told if they were injured.

I couldn't bear it if I was responsible for that. Those little girls. Such beautiful babies.

I am sure they will be fine, Kallesi. And your answer-ing all these questions helps a lot.

You're going to catch the man who came after them?

(Brief pause.) Yes. Yes we are.

I'm so glad. He shouldn't have come in, should he? He wasn't really a friend of the girls' parents, was

he?

We'll know all that in time, Kallesi. For now, thank you for coming. There are a few more

questions you will need to answer for our files; the secretary outside can take care of that....

Of course. Of course. Please let me know if anything

changes, will you? Or ... or if I can see the babies

again __

Of course.

(Sound of furniture scraping softly across the floor. Footsteps, tentative and uneven. The whisper of a

portal turning off and on.)

(Long silence.)

She doesn't know.

No. No, she doesn't.

But you said she was told—

She was told. Several times.

And she's seen the child?

Yes, right after the kidnapping. She talked to them as if they were both still there. Quite

unnerving, I'm told. Even reached out to touch the missing child, before someone stopped her. The

mother couldn 't handle it, said she won't risk her one remaining child in the presence of a

mad-woman.

Do you think the kidnapper did that to her? Deliber-ately?

(Pause.) Who knows? From her story it sounds as if he had remarkable powers, maybe he could

alter memories like that. But it seems to me more likely that her mind just snapped. Couldn't handle

the guilt of knowing that she was responsible for the disappearance of one of her pre-cious babies.

You think we may see others with his capacity coming into the Empire?

No way to tell. But if we do, we're going to lose a lot more children, I'll tell you that. There's no

way to defend against something like this. Not that we know about, any-way.

How many have we lost this year, so far?

(Long pause.)

(Sound of a chair scraping back. Hard, angry foot-steps. Whisper of a portal field being dissipated.)

Too damn many.

If you would learn the true spirit of a culture, ob-serve what it does when change is forced upon it.

-from the writings of ANZHA LYU MITETHE

TWO

THERE WAS TENSION in the air. Tathas could taste it as he entered the inn, a heady cloud of

pheromones borne aloft on the scented smoke that filled the D'arkob, underscored by the faint tang of

sweat and the stinging aroma of Braxin beer.

He stood in the doorway for a moment and just drank it in, an ancient cocktail of smells suitable for such

a night as this. It made his blood sing in his veins.

No one noticed him. Of course. On a night like this it was vital he go unnoticed, lest some passing Central

Guard ask who it was that drew such attention, and learn too many things about his business. Accordingly,

as Tathas walked into the common room, he met no eyes, offered no greeting. Others did the same. A

dozen women who might normally have flocked to his side kept their distance. Two dozen men who knew

him by name pretended that he was a stranger to them. Yet he could feel the tension in the air, he could

taste it as he walked. They knew. They knew.

They were Kesserit, of course, every one of them. He could see the tribal heritage in the set of their

eyes, the olive hue of their skin, the strong arched nose set above a narrow, determined mouth. Let other

tribes inter-breed until all their physical characteristics were lost in a sea of mediocrity, drowned out by

those qualities which the Braxana labeled "common." The Kesserit had

never done so. Nor did they allow their women to be victimized by more common tribes, as Braxin law

en-couraged. Each woman in the room wore some sign on her person that she was owned by another,

giving her the right to refuse to serve as a random receptacle of lust. Never mind that most of those signs

were false. The Kesserit took care of their own.

All illegal, of course. So very illegal. The Braxana had no tolerance for tribal traditions outside of their

own, and had made every effort to see them obliterated. Through laws, through custom, and of course

through the most ancient formula of all, genetic dilution. Oh, there were Braxins who thought that the laws

of sexual access had been enacted for pleasure alone, some grand Braxana indulgence that had been

offered as a bribe to the men of other tribes to win their favor. The Kesserit knew better. Ten thousand

years of being forced to bear random seed had made Braxin women the mothers of a new race, one

without clear tribal distinctions. Few Braxins today knew what their true heritage was. Few showed any

sign of tribal heritage in their features. Fewer still had managed to preserve any shadow of tribal custom

down through the ages, against the tide of Braxana dominance.

But there was a core of those who remembered. One tribe that had preserved its memories, in spirit and

flesh both.

And they were here tonight.

They had come from all over, drawn by whispers of the Viak'ket. Kesserit from all across the globe ...

per-haps from other planets as well. He could feel their eyes upon him as he walked across the great room,

their scrutiny like a buzz along his skin. His people. The words had power, he could taste it.

The bar's owner reached over and flicked a switch be-hind the bar. Windows opaqued, shutting out any

view of the street. A sign that announced "CLOSED" filled the portal, thrumming in the sudden silence.

Now, now

the time has come, the gesture said. Now we are alone, and no one can interfere.

"Downstairs," he said gruffly.

Tathas let the crowd precede him. Which one among them was his adversary, that young upstart who

had de-cided that the crown of the tribe suited him? Whose blood would he spill tonight? He felt a wild

hunger course through his veins, not just for killing, but for power. There were other hungers that would

follow in time, and he knew that any woman present would serve him without question, perhaps even

praying that his seed would take root. There was great honor to be had in bearing the child of a Kesserit

prince.

As if she could sense his thoughts, one woman drew back from the crowd, and her eyes met his across

the room. Black hair framed her face, cascaded down her back: pure black, the mark of the Braxana. It

was al-ways hard with women to tell if the color was natural or not, for cosmetic drugs made it easy

enough to change such a thing, but with this one he knew it was. Pale skin, with just a hint of Kesserit gold

to it. Deep green eyes, the same color as his own. The mix of ele-ments in her was always a rush, and he

could feel a stirring in his loins as he gazed at her, half-breed child of the two most aggressive tribes on the

planet. One played its games in the open, observed by all human-ity. One held its contests in secret, and

chose its lead-ers according to a formula centuries old. In her both were reflected, a cultural war that might

find peace only in this woman's features.

She smiled knowingly when she had his eye, then turned and followed the others into the inner sanctum.

Deep within the bowels of the inn was a chamber carved out of the rock beneath, from which neither

sound nor light could escape. Into this the crowd de-scended and instinctively pressed back against the

walls of the room to clear the space in the center.

A circular stage was raised up there, so that all might

see it. About it the tribal elders were already seated, five men and one woman whose wisdom and

dedication to tribal concerns had set them apart from the common blood. The woman wore male clothing,

of course, and bore a male name; such was the custom when a woman was raised to elder status. Thus

was the Goddess of Chaos kept at arm's length, and the prophecies of old defied.

Tathas came down the stairs last and looked at them, studying them all. His people. They were here to

share this moment with him, this secret and forbidden mo-ment, and to feel their Kesserit blood stir once

more as they watched the ancient dance. In that moment, as he gazed upon them, he could feel himself

connected to a thousand generations—to tens of thousands—a line of blood and custom stretching back

farther than the Braxana could even remember. No, the Kesserit had not forgotten their tribal roots. No

simple law could make them forget what was in their very blood.

He could feel the hushed silence like a shiver upon his skin as he strode through the room and stepped up

to the central platform. No doubt there were some who had never seen him before; well, now they would

have their chance. He felt their gaze upon him: curious, de-manding. What would they see when they

looked at him? A Kesserit warrior in the prime of life, who had claimed the tribal crown more than ten

years ago and still held it. A Kesserit prince, in every sense of the word. He glanced down at the elders,

but did not meet their eyes. He must not court their favor now, not visi-bly. Whatever choice they were to

make tonight had long since been decided. To imply that a few special words or a passing glance might

sway their decision at this point would be an insult to them all.

He scanned the crowd, wondering who it was that meant to challenge him. All he knew is that it was a

man from Aldous, who rarely visited the mother planet. After a moment there was movement at the far

side of

the room, and the crowd of spectators parted to reveal a man not much older than himself, whose bare

arms were taut with muscle, whose green eyes gleamed with a variety of lusts. He would be strong, of

course. And skilled in combat. And hungry for power ... that above all else. Tathas studied him as he

moved forward, trying to read meaning into each tiny movement. Hints of weakness, arrogance, fear ...

anything that might affect his performance. Swordplay alone did not make a Kesserit prince, though it was

a vehicle by which other things were judged.

As Tathas had, the man gazed out upon the crowd. Then he, too, ascended to the stage.

Tathas waited until the man seemed ready—a cour-tesy certainly due one who was about to risk his life

in the name of ambition—and then said, in a voice that was strong and unwavering, "I am Tathas, son of

Zheret, Viak'im of the Kesserit. By death I claimed my crown, by death I keep it, and by death, when the

time is right, I will relinquish it." He bowed a respectful head toward the elders where they sat, but though

they gazed back at him, he could read nothing in their eyes. "I submit my-self to the will of the Elders."

Not until his words had settled in the vast room, and all their implications subsided, did his opponent

speak. "I am Sharik, son of Menest. I am of Kesserit blood, of Kesserit upbringing, of Kesserit soul. I have

come to claim leadership of our tribe in the ancient tradition, and to unify the Kesserit of many planets into a

nation greater than what it has been, a nation truly worthy of our great tribal heritage." His gaze upon the

elders chal-lenged them to find fault in him, or any fault in his of-ferings. "The Braxana have ruled long

enough. They are weak now, and in weakness they abandon the traditions that brought them to power. It is

time for the other tribes to rise up and claim what is rightfully their own."

So that's his gambit, Tathas thought, as the elders rose up from their seats. Of course those ancient

judges al-

ready knew Sharik's agenda, and many other things be-sides. Though the elders approached the two men

now, and made a show of inspecting them, Tathas knew that they had already judged the matter, balanced

Sharik's agenda against his past record of leadership, and de-cided who, in their opinion, should lead the

tribe.

Who that was, and how strongly they felt about the matter ... ah, that was something no man could

guess.

It was the female elder who mixed the wine, pouring it into glasses that were already lined with a dust of

herbs and drugs. Not the same, from glass to glass; even from where he stood Tathas could see the

difference in content between the two. In that dust resided a volume of judgement: their assessment of the

tribe's current state, its past trials, its future glories. In it, most impor-tant of all, resided their judgement of

these two men.

She brought him a glass and held it silently out to him, even as one of the male elders did the same for his

opponent. For all that he had grown accustomed to mortal combat, this was the one moment that always

unnerved Tathas. What was in that glass? There was no way to know for sure. If they approved of him it

might be some drug to bolster his strength, or his endurance, or perhaps acuity of mind. If they thought that

his time for leadership had passed it might be some subtle poi-son: perhaps a formula that would delay the

coagulation of the blood, or prevent his body from processing its en-ergies properly, or make the pain of

each blow he suf-fered more acute. Or perhaps the elders had decided that both men had good cause to

claim leadership of the tribe, and all they had added were spices, masking the fact that the decision had

been left to simple combat.

Whatever it was, the effect would be subtle enough that he knew he would never detect it. Only once

had he seen a man so weakened by the elders' offering that he knew himself doomed, and that man in

shame had fallen to his knees then, and offered up his throat to the Viak'im's sword. The Viak'im back then

had been his fa-

ther, and Tathas remembered him explaining later why the ritual was the thing it was, and how the fiery

passion of young men must be tempered by the wisdom of age and experience.

In time, of course, the man had fallen to his son's own sword. Such was the way of things.

With a steady hand Tathas took the glass from her and quickly downed its contents, accepting the will of

his elders. The drugged wine burned his throat going down, and he immediately began to imagine all sorts of

sensations spreading through his body. That was his own agitation making itself known, he told himself.

What-ever the elders might give him, it was subtle enough in its effect that he would never be able to sense

it. The purpose of the ritual libation was to skew the odds of combat ever so slightly, not to mandate a

winner out-right.

Balance. Balance. All things in balance. That was the one thing the Braxana had never learned, and why

they were dying out now.

He handed the empty glass back to the elder, not meeting her eyes. A young girl stepped up to the

plat-form then and offered him a circlet woven of human hair, the so-called crown of combat. In the old

days the Kesserit warriors would have twisted up their own long hair into tight coils about their skulls,

offering some pro-tection against blows; in these days, when long hair on men was against the prevailing

fashion, such tresses made the Kesserit warriors dangerously conspicuous. So this custom had taken its

place. He took the tightly braided band into his hand, savoring the feel of the twisted hair, fingering the

complex pattern of the weave. Each strand had been donated by a woman who favored him, thus making it

as much a talisman of luck and a sign of virility as a simple piece of armor. He even caught sight of some

black hairs among the shades of brown and he smiled despite himself, pleased that she had contributed.

Ah, how they would celebrate when this day was done! Nothing in all the world was sweeter than that,

the pleasure which came after combat.

When the crown was in place he shrugged off his shirt, baring himself to the waist. Whispers

accompanied the act as a nearby woman caught up the garment, and he heard fragments of wagers being

made, admiration and anticipation being voiced. His opponent did the same, and he could see at once that

the man had been in many duels. Scoring his chest and arms were the tight puckered lines of ancient

wounds, which had been en-couraged to scar rather than being healed cleanly, as Tathas' were. Clearly

whatever group this man be-longed to valued the tokens of past combat as a sign of virility, or perhaps

simply a token of luck. Tathas much preferred the effect that came from appearing as though no enemy's

sword had ever touched him... even if that was as much the result of modern medicine as his own martial

expertise.

The female elder remained upon the platform be-tween them during all of this, and if the sight of two

Braxin warriors in their prime stirred any female in-stincts to life within her, she kept it carefully hidden.

When they both seemed ready she handed each of them a sword: matched weapons, finely honed. Illegal

for any-one but a Braxana to wield.

"This fight is to the death," she announced. As if it needed to be said. Any man who didn't know the

tradi-tion must surely be able to smell it in the air, the sharp tang of bloodlust and death-hunger mixed in

with the scent of sweat. She stepped down from the platform then, and turned back to face the combatants.

Studying first one then the other, biding her time as if to see if they had the patience she required, the

self-control... or perhaps searching for signs in them of the elders' drugs working, a faint flush or glistening

sweat that would tell her their will was now manifest in the men's flesh.

At last she seemed satisfied, and nodded to one of the male elders. Of course. No woman could give a

direct command, not even here.

That man stood, and in a voice that rang with author-ity cried out, "Begin!"

The newcomer wasted no time, but began his ap-proach immediately. Tathas assessed him with a

prac-ticed eye even as the distance closed, noting every flick of muscle, every twitch of facial expression.

Twenty years of dueling for the seat of Kesserit power had taught him that men often thought the path to

victory would be that which he expected least. They didn't real-ize that he had seen nearly every trick in

the book. A man doesn't take down his own father without hun-dreds of duels to prepare.

He watched as the man glanced ever so quickly to the audience and back, a mere heartbeat of

distraction, and judged him instantly to be the kind who fought as much for show as for victory. Good, that

was good. Such men could be dangerous opponents but they were often un-nerved by subtlety. So he

would play the less obvious game.

He could feel his muscles tense as he took one step forward, then two, but despite the coiled readiness of

his body, on the surface he held himself still, utterly still. Eerily still. Against the quivering sword of his

opponent his stillness was like a cold wind, and he knew from a flicker of surprise in the other man's eyes

that it wasn't what he had expected. Good. Good. Before the first blow then, the battle was already

engaged. Mind before flesh. It was what his father had taught him, back in the days when they still had the

luxury of casual lessons. Be-fore the former Viak'im had realized that his son might prove a threat to

him, and driven him from the house....

A flicker of movement came toward him, lightning-swift. He parried the opening move with a steady

blade, feeling his wrist absorb the shock as steel struck steel.

That the man's strength matched his own was immedi-ately apparent, and for a moment he could see

respect-ful acknowledgement of it flicker in his opponent's eyes as well; then the momentum of the attack

carried them beyond that point, into an exchange that moved so swiftly it allowed for no further reverie.

Each time their blades made contact he could feel the other man testing him, gauging his strength, his

reaction time, even his strategy ... and he did the same.

Then: stillness for a moment. He could feel the sweat

gathering on his skin as he forced his muscles to be still,

the heat of combat still singing in his veins, crying out

for motion. But the gambit was going to pay off. He

could see the momentary hesitation in the other man's

eyes, as he sought in vain for any clue as to Tathas' in-tentions. All he saw was stillness. Utter stillness.

While

deep inside the Viak'im muscles tensed like a coiled

snake, preparing to strike

And he struck. His opponent's parry was strong but it was wide, and like a snake Tathas twisted into

position about his blade and drove forward. The man leaned sideways to dodge the blow, but a moment too

late for safety; Tathas could feel it in his hands as the sharp blade cut through flesh at the man's waist,

scoring deep into the muscle there. At times like this he could sense the bloodthirst in that cold steel, which

traveled up his arm to take root in his soul. Nothing mattered now but the combat, nothing counted but the

kill. Nothing mat-tered but the dance of blood and power, as ancient as the Kesserit themselves, by which

their leaders had al-ways been chosen.

And always would be. No matter what the God-blessed Braxana had to say about it. Outlaw ancient

weapons? Punish dueling among the "lesser" tribes? It would never change things. The Kesserit had not

for-gotten the days when they wore their own weapons openly, and had never ceased to hate the tribe

which outlawed such things for all but their own race.

Tathas swore softly to himself as his opponent en-gaged him again, this time with a swift combination of

moves that allowed for no opening. The man was learn-ing, and very quickly. It seemed to him, as he

responded, that his reflexes were even faster than usual. Was that possible? Had the elders favored his

reign with a drug that would give him such advantage? If so, then his vic-tory was all but assured.

I am Viak'im! he thought triumphantly, and he pressed forward in a new engagement. Steel against steel

rang in the humid chamber as blade scraped along blade towards its target. Then his sword bit into flesh

once more, and a thin stream of red began to trickle forth from the other man's shoulder. Tathas could see

that his entire leg was streaked with scarlet now, from where the blood flowed freely from his first wound,

and soon the loss would begin to slow his reflexes. Bright red footprints had begun to appear on the floor of

the platform, dangerously slick. The man tried to maneuver away from the wettest ones, but Tathas didn't

allow it. He waited until his opponent's foot came down squarely in a pool of his own blood and then drove

for-ward. Not enough to trip him up. Maybe enough to dis-tract him. It seemed to him for a moment that

the man's sword wavered, and when he drove his own downward towards his opponent's head, lending the

strength of both arms to the blow, such was the raw power of the move that he nearly reached that

arrogant skull. But at the last minute the blade beneath his twisted and angled and the force of his own

momentum carried him inches to the side of his target. Then he was on the defensive again—

A worthy opponent. Rare, for him. On another night he might have counted it a pleasure. On this night,

with his throne at stake, it was merely one more challenge to be overcome.

Sparks played along steel as their blades met again and again, and soon his own flesh felt the bite of that

foreign blade. The floor was slick with blood now, treacherous for them both. Again and again their swords

engaged, and the crimson tally of their efforts began to score both bodies, streaks of red that leaked

strength down their limbs and onto the floor. Yet still the strength rang in Tathas' veins, and with it the

sure-ness of his elders' favor. His opponent was weakening now, he could sense it; in each attack there

was a mi-crosecond of hesitation, in each parry there was a shadow of weakness. Tathas called upon the

uttermost reserves of his strength to drive the advantage home— and then there was a parry that fell short

in execution, and the full weight of his body was behind his blade, and he forced his opponent's sword to

give way and lay the target bare—

Sword into flesh. Deep, deep, beneath the surface muscle, into the soft organs beneath. He could feel the

vibration through his arms as the sword grazed a rib, then pierced that precious prize which the ribs were

made to guard. Blood gushed out of the wound, hot blood, scarlet blood, the flavor and smell of victory. The

body fell; he went down with it. On the floor of the plat-form he knelt over his enemy, feeling the pulse of

his life shiver against the blade that had impaled it. His oppo-nent tried to strike at him, but already the

strength had left his limbs, and his sword arm flopped to the side like a dying fish.

I am Viak'im! Tathas' spirit literally sang the words, a chorus of triumph to accompany his kill. Not until

the flow of blood had ceased to trickle, not until the flailing limbs had ceased to move, the eyes glazed over,

the muscles gone limp with lifelessness, did he withdraw his blade, and dare to breathe an unguarded breath

at last.

It was then that he noticed the silence.

Silence? There should be cheers now, howls and curses from the opponent's side, money changing hands

as bet-ting concluded noisily, women jostling for a better position from which to win his attention ... he had been

through

this before, often enough to know the sound of such things. And this was wrong, this silence. Completely wrong.

He rose to his feet, streaks of red adorning his flesh like some barbaric adornment. And he gazed about

the chamber, and followed the gaze of the people sur-rounding him, to the chamber's one entrance. Where

they stood.

Central Guard.

They were armed, all of them, heavily armed, and it was impossible to see how many of them there

were, for the entranceway was narrow and beyond it lay dark-ness. But it was clear enough that they had

come in force, and as the eyes of the leader met Tathas' own for an instant, he could sense the triumph in

that steely black gaze.

Then: chaos erupted. As if emboldened by his very stillness, the spectators nearest the guards began to

move toward them. Others turned to run—though Where they meant to run to, in a chamber with only one

exit, one could only guess. Battle screams were voiced by some, cries of terror by others, and as a

backdrop to all that was the repeated hum of a neural stun as body after body was paralyzed in mid-motion,

the connection between brain and flesh neatly and painfully severed.

My people, my people!

For an instant he could do no more than stand frozen. His position on the fighting platform gave him an

al-most surreal view of the fight, and in that second he did not even feel a part of it. What could he do? He

would not run. He could not fight. There were too many peo-ple between him and the enemy, he would

have to cut his way through a wall of Kesserit flesh to even make it to the fray.

—Then the warrior's soul inside him rose to the sur-face, screaming its rage at this final indignity. Ten

thou-sand years of hatred and outrage, boiling up into a single cry, a single motion. He could feel it erupt

from his throat in a primal scream of fury, could feel the heat

of it burning along his lacerated flesh. I am your enemy, not them! Over the helpless bodes of his fallen

people the wordless howl resounded, and the lead guard turned from his killing to face Tathas. Cold eyes he

had, black eyes, utterly deserving of death.

C.S. Friedman - The Wilding

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