Free The Phoenix in Flight by Sherwood Smith, Dave Trowbridge Page B

Qoholeth intercepted him trying to flee—he had
discovered our intentions toward Galen ban-Arkad.”
    Barrodagh swallowed painfully; Eusabian stood absolutely
still, staring out the window at the tortured expanse of Jhar D’ocha, the
domain his ancestors had held for centuries, which his grandfather had made
supreme on Dol’jhar when he established himself as the Avatar of Dol. The
growing light deepened the lines that absolute power and its exercise had
graven in the Avatar’s face.
    Barrodagh continued quickly to prevent Eusabian from asking
what had alerted Cheruld to the plot. No one could have known what the Heart
would feel like. The Lord of Vengeance would not accept such an excuse,
especially since it had been his orders, in accordance with hallowed ritual,
that had involved Cheruld with the artifact in the first place. “I interrogated
him under veritonin. He had sent messages via scheduled couriers to Arthelion,
Narbon, Talgarth, and Lao Tse. But analysis of probable spacetime delays makes
it unlikely that any will be received in time.”
    Barrodagh hurried on, anticipating the next question. “There
is thus no threat to your paliach against the Panarch or his sons. The message
to Narbon might get there before the scheduled assassination, but our backup
plan will ensure success even if the Tarathen woman attempts to warn the
Aerenarch.”
    Although a 100-megaton fusion bomb won’t leave much of a
paliachee.
    A flutter of laughter behindBarrodagh’s ribs warned
of hysteria—mania—not far off. He dug his nails deep into the palm of his hand,
using the pain to regain control as he spoke. “We expect no difficulty on
Talgarth or Arthelion: it is impossible for any warning to reach them in time.
The same is true for Lao Tse.”
    Eusabian turned slowly, expressionless, and Barrodagh’s
voice began to fail him, as in a nightmare, when the scream so much desired,
the scream that would wake one from the horror if uttered, will not come—and
yet the urge to laugh had not subsided.
    “There is more?”
    “Lord... the Heart of Kronos arrived two weeks early, and
Cheruld sent it to Charvann, to a professor of Urian studies.” Barrodagh’s
voice was hoarse. “We estimate it will arrive there three weeks after the
assassinations. In the meantime, as before, it is safe in the ParcelNet.”
    Eusabian was silent for a time that seemed endless to
Barrodagh. “I have not heard of this Charvann.”
    “It is a planet of no military significance at all, and so
was not assigned a fleet in the opening phase of your paliach.”
    “Then how will you retrieve the artifact?”
    The inexorable expectation of success in Eusabian’s voice
would have further terrified Barrodagh, but there was no adrenaline left in his
system. “We will need to delay Rifter action along the most probable ParcelNet
paths from Qoholeth to Charvann until it is safely delivered. I suggest that we
divert one of the fleets affected to Charvann with instructions to wait until
directed to attack, after we are sure the Heart has been delivered.”
    “Which of those is closest to Charvann?”
    Barrodagh relaxed just enough to draw a slow breath. The
answer to Eusabian’s question really didn’t matter, for either fleet would have
to wait outside the Charvann system until the signal for attack was given. But
he dared not remind Eusabian of that.
    In any case, Barrodagh had anticipated Eusabian’s concern
and had already made his decision. Only two fleets lay between Qoholeth and
Charvann, both reserves. Charterly’s fleet was closer, but Hreem’s was the only
flagship on which Barrodagh had no spy. That damned pet tempath of his.
    Both fleets were sizable, their reputations formidable.
Charterly was independent, Hreem notorious for ambition and excess. So far
Barrodagh had been reluctant to commit them, hoping to use them only in
conjunction with a larger battle—preferably under the direct command of
Kyvernat Juvaszt, but to them he said he was