Horizon Storms - Kevin J. Anderson [207]
As the gaunt pilgrims approached, Jora’h saw the shadows behind their eyes, the pain of their world’s recent horrific experience with the hydrogues. He welcomed the visitors when they came before him.
On impulse, the Mage-Imperator climbed out of the chrysalis chair and stood tall on the dais. The Hyrillkan pilgrims were astonished, even angered, to see him flouting sacred traditions, but Jora’h raised his hands. “The people of Hyrillka have been through so much adversity, so much pain. It is not appropriate for me to recline in a comfortable chair when you have expended so much effort just to come and see me. I do you honor by standing here.”
The pilgrims looked at him, some with narrowed eyes, studying their great leader instead of admiring him. Jora’h was puzzled by their odd reaction, but because of the shiing he could read little from them through the thism.
One of the visiting lens kithmen bowed slightly. His words sounded flat and memorized. “You have made our journey here complete, Mage-Imperator. We have now seen what we wished to behold.”
Jora’h saw the shining detachment in their eyes, and he found it unsettling that—like Thor’h—these people had consumed so much shiing before appearing in the reception hall. Perhaps he should institute another remarkable change by telling his people to stop consuming the drug. But shiing was the predominant industry on Hyrillka, one of the few that had survived the hydrogue attack. He frowned, not knowing what to do. “I thank you for your visit to me.”
Jora’h‘s smoky topaz eyes were still intent on the lens kithman when the assassin struck.
The third male in the line snatched out a long, razor-sharp crystal blade from each sleeve. The medical kithman knew exactly how to cut, where to strike. He bounded up the steps, leaping for the Mage-Imperator. Both of the knives swept back as he raised his arms.
Yazra’h and her pets reacted instantly. She and her Isix cats shot forward like a flash of reflected light. Pulling the Mage-Imperator back with both hands, Yazra’h spun to interpose her body between him and the medical kithman. The would-be assassin missed his target with the double slash, ripping open only the colored fabric of the Mage-Imperator’s robe with one knife and slicing into Yazra’h‘s arm with the other.
Urging Jora’h into the shelter of the chrysalis chair, Yazra’h threw herself in front of the Mage-Imperator to shield him against other murderous pilgrims. She did not even try to stop her animals from ripping her father’s would-be slayer into bloody shreds. The muscled Isix cats bore down upon the glaze-eyed medical kithman. His screams cut off quickly. Only one of the three cats suffered a superficial cut as the crystal scalpels clattered out of the doctor’s lifeless hands.
Guard kithmen swarmed forward to seize the other pilgrim-assassins. The Hyrillkans did not struggle. Their minds had been clouded, their thoughts manipulated. Two others were found to be carrying deadly weapons.
Ignoring the gash in her arm, Yazra’h stood menacingly at the front of the dais. Sweat glistened on her muscles. Droplets of the medical kithman’s blood spattered her skin. The Isix cats seemed particularly satisfied and intent on their feeding. With a sharp motion, Yazra’h called them back to her side, though she would have liked to let them finish devouring the traitor while the other captive Hyrillkans watched with appalled apprehension.
“We do not serve a false Mage-Imperator,” said one of the new captives. “You are blinded to the Lightsource. You must be removed so that Ildirans can follow the soul-threads again. Only Imperator Rusa’h can see the true path.”
“Imperator Rusa’h?” Jora’h asked, leaving the chrysalis chair again. “What is my brother doing?”
Before anyone could answer him, the Mage-Imperator felt his chest clench, as if a crystal blade had pierced his heart after all. Another