“The provinces are full of rumors. Nothing certain is known, as nothing is certain about anything in this life.”
“The provinces, but Vondium?”
“I gave orders to my crebents of my estates to root out the priests. They did not catch one. Here in Vondium I have heard nothing.” Then the sly old besom glanced at me and drew the mauve and white flowers down her cheek. “Perhaps you, Prince Majister, are of the Chyyanists?”
“I have no time for slallyfanting in this, kovneva. I too have attempted to root out the evil and now, I think, it is time for stronger measures. You are aware of the creed preached by the priests of the Great Chyyan?”
She flicked the flower. “I care not. They are not of Opaz and therefore are damned beyond redemption.”
Had this old biddy been a commoner she would undoubtedly have formed one of the people in the long chanting processions that wound through Vondium. “Oolie Opaz! Oolie Opaz!” they chanted, up and down, singsong after singsong cadence. “Oo-lie O — paz! Oo — lie O — paz!” On and on and on.
“I know they wish to break our heads and take all that is ours,” said Nalgre Sultant. He looked vicious and mean, a very natural expression for him. “Red revolution! Aye! That is what these Chyyanists want.”
I did not think these nobles had penetrated as far as we had in discovering details of the Chyyanists. I pondered. It might be advisable to tell them more than they already knew. I detested the racters. They had the power and the money. The Chyyanists wanted to take that money and with it the power, in the here and now. Those ends were admirable, in one sense, if they could be achieved reasonably. But red revolution is not reasonable and I have had a hand in more than one red revolution. Once you start to sweep away the old, the process can get out of hand. If Vallia ran red with blood from any cause, I would sorrow. And I did not believe the designs of Makfaril were simple honest revolution. How, once a little power is put into your hands, the evil and corruption grow!
So I told them what we had discovered. They took these revelations seriously. They would. They were experienced people with much at stake.
“Then the Chyyanists present a present threat.” The kovneva had stopped twiddling with her flower.
“Once the temple is brought to Vondium and the priests begin to suborn the masses. . Slaves too, I hear, are sometimes present in the congregations.”
“They aim to enslave the racters,” I said with some satisfaction.
“That has been tried before and was ruthlessly put down. Once the temple is erected in Vondium the evil will gain a greater hold. We must watch every entrance and stop these priests. The idol you describe is not an easy thing to move.”
“I’ll get my men down to the docks,” said the kov, the kovneva’s son, and we all turned to look at him, shocked, as though a ghost had spoken.
“Yes, my son.” The kovneva spoke in a soothing tone. “You do that”
No real surprise could be felt by me that these highly placed nobles should know of the Chyyanists. This kind of information would flow into their bureaus all the time. Now they would take more concern over the Black Feathers. This all added up. It all made sense. But I was banished from Vondium. I said, “I am banished from Vondium. I shall leave now, unless you have any other ideas, and see what I can do in the provinces. I am concerned over the Great Chyyan.” I had told them that Hamal could be the basis of the new creed, but they indicated that did not signify. They’d smash Hamal when the time came. Even Nath Ulverswan was almost reconciled to that view. The main threat, as they saw it, was against themselves. There was no point in my telling them that my chief concern, a concern almost approaching a guilty anguish, was for the poor deluded people who believed this evil creed and imagined they might indulge in all the goodness of Kregen, at once, in the here and now. These noble racters would never comprehend that point of view.
Further talk and a little more bargaining more or less sealed the compact in the view of the racters. If they suspected I merely toyed with them, for I was scrupulous in not giving my word, they did not reveal it. If I was going to have to fight my way out, that, too, did not appear on the surface. The Chuliks had gone, dismissed by a wave of the kovneva’s hand. We walked through the farther recesses of the conservatory. It was a remarkable place. Cages had been positioned about in which were kept examples of many kinds of wild animals, so the place was also a miniature zoo. I said, “We are now talking in circles. I will leave.” I gave a hitch to the cloak and brought the hat up ready to clap it on my head. I was ready, also, to whip out longbow or longsword and swirl the cloak back out of the way for action.
On the way in here I’d observed the fantamyrrh as was proper. It occurred to me I might not be in the mood to observe it on the way out.
Intrigue and dark secrets flourished here as the exotic plants flourished in their heated glass houses. The passions and the feral viciousness here were scarcely matched by the savage beasts penned in their cages.
A number of the kovneva’s Chail Sheom, her pretty little slave girls in their silks and bangles and silver chains, trailed after her carrying her fan and her perfumes and the gewgaws inseparable from a great lady of high rank. Two hulking fellows carried her chair. I had given these slaves a casual glance and saw their hangdog expressions. They brightened up with smiles and laughs when the kovneva looked at them, which is the way of slaves. It sickened me.
Now, as we stood there with the intrigues between us and the secret passions held down, as we made our plans and no doubt made alternative plans to deal more effectively each with the other, so the realization struck through to me that I, that same Dray Prescot who had so ruthlessly driven the slavers from Valka and had fought them over the fair surface of Kregen, was in reality standing here and plotting with Zair-forsaken slave masters and slave profiteers.
I moved away, gripping the hat, stood by a cage in which a graint shambled upright to grip the bars. The others moved with me and I didn’t give a damn if they saw my face and guessed my thoughts. At that moment I’d have cheerfully seen them all consigned to the Ice Floes of Sicce. A scattering screech and a ripping, tearing, chopped-off scream from the cages we had just passed brought us all around to stare upon a scene of horror.
Two feral beasts leaped from the blood-streaming wreckage of a half-naked slave girl to smash a second away with a splintered skull and to spring on two more. The beasts were chavonths. Past them I saw the two chair men running. Someone had deliberately opened the cage. Someone who hated the Dowager Kovneva Natyzha Famphreon had released these savage killer beasts upon us. The scene etched itself on my brain. The parallel lines of cages with their heavy iron bars. The maddened beasts within, scenting freshly spilled blood, joined in the savage chorus. The slave girls huddled, naked arms upraised, silks splashed with blood, feathers and fans and jewels spilling across the floor. The chavonths chewed up their victims and turned, their muzzles smeared, to glare with venomous fury upon us.
And the nobles, these racters, screamed and clawed and ran past me screeching their fear, to find their way blocked by a stout iron grille at the end of the row of cages. Whoever had planned this had schemed well. I fancied the chair men were the culprits. They had run free, arguing a pre-knowledge. But they had so arranged affairs that the chavonths penned us in against iron bars. We were the caged, the chavonths the masters now!
Chavonths are known as treacherous beasts. They are six-legged hunting cats, powerful, and their fur is patterned in hexagons of blue, gray and black. Their fangs may not match those of a leem, their speed not equal that of a strigicaw, but they can smash a man’s head in, their claws can disembowel a poor naked slave girl.