The Tiger in Winter Page 3

  “Hmm. Heard talk like that in the south and west, and it’s the same here, too, eh? The rebel armies had competent leaders in both those places. How about here?”

  “The best leader the rebellion’s had since its inception. His name is Gilshark, it seems.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Villages near the borders of our domain frequently come under attack by bandits. They used to take whatever they wanted, but since Gilshark came to power, I hear they haven’t come around much lately.”

  “Must be a hell of an opponent. No doubt he runs a tight ship, too. And the duke doesn’t go out to mop ’em up?”

  “He often did, until a decade ago. However, he never could catch their leader, and lately his heart really doesn’t seem to be in it.”

  “But it ain’t as if they’ve suddenly started behaving themselves.”

  “No, they seem on course to overrun the capital of the northern Frontier sectors.”

  “And he’s just letting them do it? That doesn’t sound like a man they’d call the Tiger.”

  The two were conversing in hushed tones. Because they were hardly the only ones on board.

  “What about an heir?”

  The voice had suddenly changed. A dark delight spread across Shyna’s face.

  “If his three children are gone, ordinarily he’d bring someone else in and adopt him,” the Hunter continued. “But he hasn’t done so?”

  “That is correct.”

  On hearing her reply, D said something.

  “Tigris Rex?” the hoarse voice inquired. “Oh, you mean the Tiger King? Well, this king seems awful tired to me!”

  At that point, the voice of Duke Van Doren, who occupied the cockpit’s single seat, rang through the airship. “We’re beginning our descent,” he said. “We shall be landing in a minute.”

  High-Level Talks

  Chapter 2

  Scenery began to stream vertically past the windows. The aircraft was making its descent. There wasn’t so much as the faintest shudder.

  At that very moment, a mechanical voice that sounded perfectly human was heard to say, “We’ve spotted a flying object leaving the ground. It’s confirmed as a missile. And it’s closing on us.”

  To that, the duke appended, “If we shift the gravity field, the missile’s course will be altered. Have no fear.”

  The android soldiers and doctors were implanted with Noble psyches, so they feared naught save sunlight and stakes. The duke’s remark must’ve been directed toward D and Shyna.

  “Ain’t he the considerate one,” the hoarse voice replied snidely.

  “This isn’t good,” D said in return.

  “What isn’t?”

  “It’s changing direction.”

  Just then, the duke was heard closer at hand saying, “Damnation.”

  D looked out the window. To the northeast, black smoke and flames rose. Both were climbing toward the heavens.

  “The missile got caught in our gravity field and fell in the village of Orret. Change of plans—we’ll go there to offer medical assistance. After we’ve landed, you’re still not to leave this ship.”

  The gravity propulsion system made the ship fly by creating a gravitational field in the direction they wanted to go. By shifting the gravity field, they could fly in any direction, so virtually any desired course change was possible. It would be a simple matter for the craft to go from flying horizontally to a vertical climb without ever turning. However, anything making contact with its exterior would bounce off, assailed by the gravitational shift, and fly off in another direction. That was what D meant when he said, “It’s changing direction.”

  As soon as the aircraft touched down, it transformed into a swift surface vehicle. The ship’s body contracted to the size of a small truck, speeding along with its tightly packed occupants.

  There was a plain nearby with a view of a forest.

  “No rebel forces around?” the hoarse voice inquired. “Well, after a screw-up like this, I don’t suppose they’d follow up with another attack right away. Blew the freaking people they’re supposed to be protecting to bits. Another fiasco like this and they’ll lose popular support. And making such a rank amateur mistake ain’t inspiring me with much confidence in this great leader they’re supposed to have.”

  “Perhaps they weren’t trained very well,” Shyna suggested.

  “Whoever gave somebody like that a surface-to-air missile ain’t been trained very well. Could be they hate the Nobility so bad they’ll fire another one in for good measure! Best stay on our toes.”

  In about ten minutes’ time, they reached the village of Orret. Apparently the missile had been the compact type fired from a portable launcher, so the damage wasn’t as bad as a proton missile or a plasma warhead would’ve been, but a crater fifty yards in diameter spread from where it’d struck on the southern edge of the village, with much of the neighboring forest uprooted and the remaining trees engulfed in flames. The houses nearest the blast had been vaporized, a number of others were partially or completely destroyed, and villagers who’d rushed there to help could only stand there dumbfounded, powerless to do anything.

  The first one out of the vehicle was a gigantic figure whose exact nature was unclear. On his back, he carried a metal case taken from the vehicle, which was almost two feet long, a foot high, and eight inches thick. Picking his way through burning branches and pillars, he came to the edge of the black crater, looked around, and then pointed straight ahead with his right hand.

  The purpose of the case finally became evident. A small sphere rose from it, arcing over to where he’d pointed—a spot about twenty yards from the edge of the crater. It appeared to be propelled by magnetic force. The surprising part came next. The sphere split in two. A moment later, an aid station complete with medical equipment and dozens of beds suddenly took shape. And then a second sphere split over the spot. The hitherto-exposed aid station was shielded by a ceiling and semi-cylindrical walls.

  “The hospital is ready,” the duke informed the hoary-headed mayor who’d come over. “Bear the wounded over there. If less than an hour has elapsed, we can even bring your dead back to life.”

  Android doctors and nurses were already headed toward the aid station.

  “My liege, we thank you for your assistance. But what’s the meaning of all this?”

  “A bomb intended for my person fell here by mistake.”

  “Why, that’s—” the mayor began before words failed him, his wrinkled face twisting with bewilderment.

  “How many dead?”

  “We’re not entirely certain yet—but from a quick look around, the blast took out one, two, three . . . eight houses . . . I suppose about thirty people died.”

  “Give the local magistrates a precise figure for the number of dead and the total damage before the day is out. And tell them this: I want the families of those who can’t be resuscitated to be amply compensated.”

  The mayor bowed deeply. Behind him, villagers were visible. They were all staring. Though their eyes seemed to stab at the Nobleman, when they met the duke’s eyes, their gazes quickly lost their strength. With one notable exception.

  A young farmer’s wife with her singed hair tied back. Her rustic countenance was smeared with blood and grease. She stepped forward. Her arms were raised, as if in offering. And what she proffered the duke was the headless body of an infant. Though it had no more blood to shed, the plump little body was still poised as if he were chasing chickens around in the yard.

  “You’re a Noble, ain’t you?” the farmer’s wife said, shoving her burden against the duke’s chest. “Yeah, I thought as much. Well, if you are, then you oughta be able to make us like you. Bring my baby boy back to life. Please, bring him back to me. Do like your kind always does and drink his blood to make him one of you. It shouldn’t matter that he don’t have a head. I’m begging you! Bring my boy back to life. He’s only two and a half. I don’t care if he comes looking to drink my blood when he’s a Nobl
e, just put him back the way he was.”

  “He has no head, you say?” the duke inquired. “If we had it, we might manage something.”

  “How’s that?” the woman said, tears streaming from her eyes. “What did you say? If you had the head—?”

  Suddenly the duke cupped his right hand to his ear and turned his gaze to the emergency aid station. Then looking back at the farmer’s wife and her decapitated son, he said, “It seems a head landed over there. Check and see if it’s your child’s.”

  The farmer’s wife froze, then after a short time, slowly turned her eyes toward where the aid station had sprung from the sphere.

  A “doctor” was waving his right hand around. It was clear that a small lump swayed at the end of the hair he held it by.

  “Check and see,” the duke repeated. His words were for the benefit of the farmer’s wife. Of that there could be no mistake.

  The mother screamed. Her howl of madness actually made the duke furrow his brow. Even after she raised the corpse she carried high over her head, he still didn’t understand what had happened.

  She swung her arms down again, but before she could release her burden, someone gently took hold of both it and her. Maddened eyes wet with tears caught sight of Shyna.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” the farmer’s wife asked, her mouth flapping angrily. “You’re one of them, ain’t you? Stay out of this!”

  “I have a heart, just like the rest of you. That’s why I stopped you. You mustn’t do this.”

  “Ain’t he the one who said he’d put my boy’s head back on?”

  No one tried to stop the sobbing mother. Her actions were sanctioned by an authority far higher than their feudal lord.

  “That bastard over there’s got my boy’s head and he’s swinging it all over the place. And this one’s got the nerve to tell me to go check it out. I have to go see if that’s my son’s head, he tells me. If it’s his, they’ll put it back on, he says. If you’ve got a heart just like us, you know how I feel. What the hell else am I supposed to do?”

  The farmer’s wife hugged her burden close. Tears fell like rain on the burnt, blistered remains. Holding it close, she squatted down and began to wail like a beast.

  “What are you crying about?” the duke finally inquired. “If we reattach his head, we can bring him back to life. It’s as simple as that. Shyna, is that not what the woman wanted?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why does she weep so? Why did she try to dash her child against the ground? I find her behavior incomprehensible.”

  Shyna said nothing.

  Two women who looked to be about the same age as the farmer’s wife hurried over to her and gently helped her to her feet.

  At that point, the duke said to her, “The responsibility for your child’s death lies with the traitors who fired a missile at my person. I promise you they will be caught, and then drawn and quartered before your very eyes. Just wait and see.”

  All who heard this looked down at the ground and sighed deeply.

  Tearing free of the other two women, the farmer’s wife turned to face the Nobleman. Though her features were streaked with tears, sanity had returned to them.

  “My lord, you’re wrong. You always think you’re doing what’s best for us, and this time’s no different. Hell, I know that. I’m sure there ain’t another lord in the world as good as you. But you’re dead wrong.”

  After staring at the woman’s back for a while as she walked away, the duke turned to the mayor, who stood beside him, and said, “They’re all leaving. Even the wounded are leaving the aid station. Mister Mayor, long have I had these thoughts. Which of us is mistaken? Is it my actions that are wrong, or the woman’s words?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know,” the mayor of the village replied, and though the old man kept his head bowed, the duke didn’t even notice.

  “That’s what you always say. Every single time, without fail. Is that easy for you?”

  The mayor made no reply.

  “Very well,” the duke said with a nod, not seeming bothered by it. “We shall leave you the aid station and its equipment. The doctors and nurses have work to do elsewhere, though. The sick or gravely wounded can come here later. The automated equipment will take care of them.”

  “Many thanks,” the mayor said, taking the duke’s hand firmly with both of his own. That was the best thing to do.

  “Send me all your nonmedical concerns at a later date.” And having said that, the duke turned to the doctors and nurses who’d come out of the aid station, gave a toss of his chin, and said, “We’re off.”

  He walked at the fore of the group as they headed toward the vehicle. Though the duke’s back was straight, it looked like it would buckle under the slightest load.

  “Now there’s something,” the hoarse voice said, drawing a look from Shyna. “It ain’t often you find a man who understands humans so little. Yeah, a real sight for sore eyes.”

  “All Nobles are like that,” D replied.

  Shyna grew even more confused. “Humans and Nobility—at what point do they intersect?” she asked.

  “Maybe in a million years, maybe not,” the hoarse voice responded in vain, and D started to walk away.

  II

  The rest of the duke’s tour went according to plan. There were no further attacks by the rebels. Perhaps that was due to the tragic consequences of their first attempt.

  In every village an instant hospital and a place for filing grievances were erected, with android doctors and treatment equipment in the former, and the duke himself serving in the latter.

  “He’s an odd one, ain’t he?” the hoarse voice would say from time to time.

  At present, they were in the aircraft as it made its way back to the castle.

  “Nobody could possibly have enough time to listen to every little complaint from the folks in their domain, or usually have any interest in ’em in the first place. Normally, that’s the kind of thing androids would get stuck with. But he meets ’em head-on. Hmm, that might be the secret to how he keeps ’em from fleeing his domain.”

  Since the heyday of the Nobility, serfs fleeing a domain had been a common occurrence, but when every attempt ended in failure, the number of attempts tended to peter out. That was because fleeing serfs would be pursued and captured, after which they faced a cruel and unusual punishment. For example, they would be skewered from anus to mouth and left lining both sides of the highway or standing in the village square. And they weren’t allowed to die quickly. The Nobility impaled them in a way that was both the most painful and allowed the victim to survive the longest time. These highways lined with convulsing, screaming people were known as “staked roads,” and every Frontier sector had dozens of them.

  Even though their numbers dwindled, the bids for freedom never ceased entirely. The outer limits of the Frontier sectors were surrounded by haunted seas and steep mountain chains where even the Nobility and their monsters hesitated to set foot. No one was ever known to have crossed them, so passage to the outside world was impossible. Until a decade ago. And it was all thanks to a dozen groups united under a single leader. Granted, the Nobility’s power was at its nadir, but the humans had still managed to fight off their pursuers with what little knowledge and the few weapons they possessed, then cross over mountains infested with demons and monsters to make good their escape. And then they’d come back.

  About five years ago, the resistance had boiled over in every sector of the Frontier. At that time, as a result of careful study of their activities, it was determined that this was the result of the efforts of a single leader, or else a group of leaders. The Nobles realized the rebels who’d disappeared beyond the blustery snow and ice of the mountain chains had come back again. Though the Nobility were said to be nearly extinct, their power remained overwhelming at present, and after consecutive rebellions met with heavy casualties and the “staked roads” were reinstituted, rebel activities were snuffed out. But the probi
ng eyes of the Nobility were never able to locate their leader, and even now guerrillas who’d trained under him continued an unending chain of sporadic acts of rebellion.

  The fact that this northern Frontier sector alone had essentially zero incidence of people fleeing from the domain was cause for suspicion and envy in Nobles administering the neighboring territories.

  “Even if they could allay suspicions, they wouldn’t do the same,” said Shyna. “Medical services and hearing of grievances are the purview of the magistrates. No Noble save Duke Van Doren goes out personally to see them.”

  “Hmm. So he wants to score points with ’em. But they call Van Doren ‘the Tiger,’ don’t they? The stories that reached our ears had him as being so cruel that whenever anyone displeased him, even a Greater Nobleman on the Privy Council, he’d have them torn apart just as he would a human being. When did he change?”

  “That was after the coming of Lady Sirene.”

  Once she’d said that, Shyna was called by the Tiger, who was still seated in the cockpit. “Be mindful of what you say,” he told her.

  That was enough to silence Shyna.

  On their return to the castle, D was immediately invited to the duke’s chambers.

  “We’ve received word that the ruin survey team of humans from the Archeology Bureau departed the Capital today. They shall arrive in two days’ time.”

  “I’m surprised you let ’em come,” said the hoarse voice.

  “Well, the applications had been coming for some time. I don’t think the ruins of particular value, and they’ve promised not to stray from the area I’ve designated.”

  “And you trust humans?”

  The duke was confused. The voice had changed. But he gave his answer soon enough, saying, “This issue isn’t as overreaching as all that. They simply want to dig some holes. Something of that scale matters little to me.”

  “Let them come once, and they’ll come again.”

  “And I shall deal with that when the time comes.”

  “Just when did you come to decide it matters so little to you?”