Chapter Twenty-three

Venkatna's dozen top advisors stood, each man shoulder-to-shoulder with two fellows, in the audience hall at Frekka. Torches flaring from wall sconces lighted the gathering.

Venkatna enthroned was the diamond mounted on the ring of his advisors.

"There's no question now," said old Bontempo. "The Mirala kings are getting aid from outside the district."

"Hiring mercenaries!" snorted Weast. "Everybody does it when they know war's coming."

"Heimrtal did it," another laughed.

The women in the Web behind the council circle moaned softly, but the sound had been going on for hours. No one took notice of it or of them. The bands of soft light moved so slowly across the surface of the device that the patterns appeared to be static.

"I don't mean mercenaries!" Bontempo protested. Anger made him wheeze, but he couldn't raise the volume of his voice. "They're being joined by others, some from as far away as the deep South—just to stop us!"

"And by rebels from within our borders . . . ," added Kleber in a tone of dry concern. Kleber viewed battlesuits with disdain. His cold competence in combat—as in all things—had gained him respect though not affection.

A quick knock and the creak of the outer door drew Venkatna's eyes. Several of his advisors glanced around also. The armored guard at the door talked with an usher, then turned and boomed over his loudspeaker, "Your majesty? Lord D'Auber is here."

"Send him in, then!" the emperor said curtly. In a slightly warmer tone he added toward the council, "Since we're discussing rebels."

D'Auber had ridden hard and hastened to the council without bothering to dress or change. His breeches were black with the sweat of his ponies. The warrior's effluvium made the advisors in court dress blink at two meters' distance.

"Another failure with Salles, is it?" Kleber said, guessing aloud from D'Auber's haste and anger.

"Like bloody hell!" the warrior snapped. He raised his eyes to Venkatna. "Your majesty, we've captured the whole lot of them—Salles, Richtig, everydamnbody but a couple got killed. And that pussy bastard Ashley you sent with me, he says not to execute 'em without you say so! He says you gave him the right to overrule my decisions even though we're supposed t' be co-commanders!"

"Too bloody right, we did," Weast muttered.

"I want you t' give me a chit says—" D'Auber continued.

"One moment!" Venkatna said. He leaned forward on the five-step throne. "You captured the rebel warriors alive? You surprised them in bivouac, then?"

"Ah—" D'Auber said. The question shocked him back to a memory of Lord Ashley's nattering after the battle. This was obviously on the way to becoming the same discussion: 'You idiot, D'Auber! We can't kill them until we know what's going on. Don't you even wonder why this happened?'

D'Auber didn't wonder about that at all. He just knew that the best time to kick an enemy was when he was down. When you had the chance to execute thirty rebels, you didn't stand around talking about it.

Other people, particularly ranking people, didn't always see the things that appeared obvious to D'Auber.

"Ah," he repeated. "Actually, it was a battle. They, ah, kind of surprised us, but then they gave up."

In sudden anger at a question which none of the advisors had enough information to ask, D'Auber shouted, "We'd have beat 'em anyway! I was getting things organized!"

"Ashley did well," Venkatna said.

The emperor stood up slowly. Reflected torchlight made his cloth-of-gold robe gleam and turned its ermine trim into a serpent of lambent flame. "Gentlemen!" Venkatna cried. "Let us give thanks to North who rules men's fate! The Web works!"

As if the word were a signal, the women on their benches within the device moaned in unison. They shook themselves, like people awakening from nightmare. All the advisors turned. Even D'Auber was shocked enough out of his confusion to glance around.

The internal lights faded from the Web. The two slaves sat up, shivering. They grasped one another instinctively as they rose to their feet.

The women's eyes were closed or slitted, but they walked out of the maze of wire with the slow grace of a fluid flowing past barriers in a lighter medium. It was as though the location of each portion of the Web was burned into their very cells.

"Who the hell are they, then?" D'Auber asked.

"Your majesty," Race said. "We must rest."

"Food . . . ," Julia whimpered.

"We've done your task," Race continued. She managed to open her eyes. The Searchers huddled together, shuddering uncontrollably though the room was reasonably warm and sealed against drafts. "The Matrix stretches. It will hold its present shape without us f-f-forcing it."

Her eyes scrunched shut again. "For a time."

"Food. . . ."

"Saxtorph!" the emperor shouted. He sat down again. The chamberlain and all of his staff had been excluded from the chamber before the council of war began.

"You at the door," Venkatna said, amending his address to summon the guard. "Get in somebody to take care of these girls. Set up one of the antechambers for them to eat and rest."

He looked at the Searchers, still huddled together. "One of you—Bontempo, your cloak would do for a tent. Put it over them, will you?"

"They're slaves!" cried Weast, not Bontempo himself.

"They are doing my will," said Venkatna in a thin voice. "See to it that you do the same, Count Weast. . . ."

Bontempo draped his garment of foxfur and red velvet over the women. For a moment, they appeared unaware of what was happening. Then Julia raised a trembling hand to grip the garment and hold it in place.

"But the prisoners?" D'Auber said. He hadn't understood what was going on, and it wouldn't have interested him if someone had bothered to explain. "Ashley says—"

"We don't have to kill them now," mused young Trigane; blond, handsome, and as ambitious as he was unprincipled.

"They're still rebels!" snapped Weast. He was angry at his rebuke and determined to take it out on a relatively-safe target.

"They were rebels," the emperor said mildly.

Weast winced and formed his mouth into a tight line, his back to the throne.

"Now they're . . . I wonder just how loyal they are?" Venkatna said/asked.

Race replied with her eyes closed, "Perfectly loyal, your majesty. All those subject to you within your empire will do your will."

Brett and four slaves bustled into the chamber with food and bedclothes. The underchamberlain watched Venkatna out of the corner of his eye. He was afraid to cross the emperor, but the message which the guard had shouted down the hall could have been misconstrued a dozen different—potentially fatal—ways.

"They're warriors, your majesty," Trigane said. "Use them as warriors."

"Yes, use them as the front line against Mirala," the emperor agreed. With growing enthusiasm he went on, "Yes, and against all the other enemies of the peace North chose me to impose on his world! And—"

Venkatna rose to his feet again.

"—those who survive when Earth is united, then they too shall have peace!"

"They'll mostly have found peace before that, your majesty," Kleber said with a tight smile. "The peace of North's battleplain."

The emperor began to laugh. The others joined in, both from inclination and a desire not to stand out; all but D'Auber, who still didn't understand.

The door to the royal apartments opened, so slowly that for a moment no one noticed it. Esme stepped into the large hall, walking carefully.

Venkatna jumped directly to the stone floor and strode to her. "Darling!" he said. "You shouldn't be up when you don't feel well."

"I'm fine, dearest," said Esme, but she took his offered hand with more than conventional ardor. The empress looked as gray and drawn as the two Searchers. "Just a touch of indigestion. And I do like to be with you, you know."

Venkatna's advisors formed small groups, each man with his face turned determinedly away from the imperial couple. D'Auber started to interrupt, but Kleber and Trigane took the warrior firmly aside and spoke to him urgently.

"The Web has done just what . . . ," Venkatna said as he walked his wife toward the throne, his left arm around her and both of her cold hands in his.

He looked at Esme more carefully and his voice softened. "Darling," Venkatna said, "you really don't look well."

"If I can just sit down for a moment, I'll be fine," the empress insisted with forced good cheer.

Venkatna set her on the top step, lifting the slight woman despite her protests that she wasn't a cripple. "Dearest?" he asked. "Would you like me to share your bed tonight? It's been far too long, what with—"

Esme looked beatified. "Oh, darling," she said. "When you're under such strain, you should have someone young and pretty to relax you. I don't need—"

"Nonsense!" said the emperor. The conversations beyond the throne buzzed pointedly louder. "You know you're the only woman I could ever love."

"Oh, darling," Esme murmured as she nestled her face against Venkatna's broad, gold-clad shoulder.