Chapter 1

The Hunter

The door to Kieransar’s suite slammed shut after the young prince stormed out into the corridor. Servants slipped quietly away from their master to warn others that the Crown Prince and Heir to the Hasshevaran Empire was on a rampage through the halls of the castle. The warning, however, was not needed, for the prince’s angry steps echoed off of the vaulted ceilings, alerting anyone with ears to their master’s feelings. The guards straightened their stance, held their laser rifles tightly, and tried to blend in with the furniture. Even Kieransar’s servant Ivret, a young male from the warrior ranks, trailed as far behind his master as could be considered proper.

Kieransar was blind to his home’s gilded finery, its lofty corridors, rare paintings and sculptures--the plunder of a score of planets--except to avoid contact with them. His father would not be pleased if he lashed out against the trophies of war.

Frustration, unease, agitation--all of these combined to form a heavy weight in Kieransar’s throat that turned every pleasantry into a snarl, every comment into a biting retort. If only I knew why!

But no cause jumped out from hiding to say, “Here I am. I’m the reason you’re surly and uncommunicative. Now you can do something about it.”

Instead the prince fretted and growled and searched for a cure to his emotional malaise. Maybe a good hunt would fill the emptiness that gnawed at him, the persistent feeling that he was not as he should be.

The only objects that made Kieransar slow his frenetic pace were the statues located in the Hall of Ancestors, a visual memory of his predecessors for thirty generations. These were the rulers who had made the world of Hasshevar great, conquering everything within the reach of their mighty fleets of starships. They were the reasons why the two-legged feline Hasshevarans, and no other species of sentient beings, ruled the Empire.

As he reached the first arch, Kieransar gave these honored Varans the customary hnismuth of reverence--wrists crossed at his chest, claws sheathed, and chin raised to bare the throat--wondering not for the first time why he had to do so. The thought that he would be joining this exalted line of gods in fifty or sixty years caused his anger to again boil over, and he stopped at the end of the line at the last two pedestals, each almost waist high.

On the nearer of the two pedestals, covered with a silken tarp, stood the statue of his father, Hanesar. Only on the day of the Emperor’s death would the cover be removed to reveal the visage of the new god in all of his glory and might. That duty would be left to the Crown Prince, who in that same sacred moment would be pronounced the new Emperor with the holy blessing of the gods.

The second pedestal waited for the commissioning of Kieransar’s statue on his twenty-first birthday. The artists would diplomatically ignore Kieransar’s tattered left ear, the result of a cubhood scrap, and also give him a more aristocratic muzzle with longer whiskers and less tooth. Except for those few adjustments, the sculpture would look like what Kieransar saw in the mirror every day.

Kieransar was a handsome example of a Hasshevaran male with his long brown mane and pointed muzzle. He stood ten tibs high--above average for royalty, though the warriors in his personal guard easily exceeded that measure. His lines were all pride with just a hint of arrogance. The six digits on each hand and foot were strong and well clawed, those same claws unsheathing themselves slightly in response to Kieransar’s bubbling anger. He caught the warning signs and forced himself to relax. The last thing I need is to ruin another pair of court shoes.

As Kieransar turned to leave, Ivret hesitantly caught up to him. Trying to appease his master’s anger, the young warrior-servant gave hnismuth to the statues and looked appreciatively at the empty pedestal. With as formal a speech as any in the castle, Ivret said in a wavering voice, “My Sar contemplates the great things of life, does he not?”

The prince quelled any further comments on his glorious future with a half-lidded stare. “And what, pray tell, are these great things you so reverently mention?”

The young warrior took a quick step backward, and his scent grew strong around them. With each breath, the prince could literally taste Ivret’s unease, bitter and unpleasant against the roof of his mouth. His own scent gave no comfort, laden with suppressed emotions that Kieransar could neither control nor release.

“Why--why, the promise of your ascension, my Sar.”

Kieransar’s ears perked up in interest as if waiting for an answer that would explain the emptiness he felt. “What will I ascend to? Perfection?” For I am definitely not perfect now.

“No, my Sar. You are already the Perfection of the people in this life.” The prince’s ears went flat, but Ivret continued, “Our model by which to live our humble lives.” Kieransar’s tail lashed in deeper anger. Ivret gave hnismuth, vainly seeking the response his master desired. “My Sar, please. You are the light of our lives. You guide us and make us whole. You--”

The prince raised his hand for silence, not trusting his voice to remain steady. He took a few deep breaths and forced his tail to settle into a more sedate rhythm. “Make preparations for my hunt,” he said quietly. Ivret hesitated, and Kieransar turned on the hapless warrior. “Now!” he snarled.

Ivret ran down the corridor, leaving the prince to his fury.

Once he was alone, Kieransar dropped himself heavily onto the pedestal, as if his fierce anger had driven all strength from his limbs. Hands clasped under his chin, he gave a mirthless laugh. “Oh, Ivret,” he sighed softly. “If I’m your light, you are truly in darkness. After all, how can I be your guide when I can’t see myself where I am going?” At that moment, the anger left him, the source of his emptiness found.

He became aware of the incongruity of his position on the pedestal and stood abruptly, peering around to see if anyone had witnessed his impiety. Seeing no one, he straightened his clothing and headed for the Hunting Grounds.

As he approached his father’s private conference room, Kieransar was startled to hear the sound of raised voices, one of them his father’s. Curious residents loitered in the hall, trying to catch the essence of the conversation. The guard to the conference room made no move to usher them away until he saw who was coming down the corridor. Then he made a show of his authority. “Go on now,” he huffed. “The Emperor is not to be disturbed.” The disappointed retinue dispersed hurriedly.

Kieransar tapped the guard on the shoulder and pointed toward the far arch. “You will guard over there for now.”

“But my Sar--”

Kieransar held up a sheathed hand. “I will guard my father’s door until further notice.” He watched as the guard went reluctantly to the new post, then leaned back against the wall by the door and nonchalantly cleaned his claws while trying to pick up the conversation inside.

At first, his keen hearing detected only meaningless babble, but soon that babble dissolved into the voices of his father and Kelhesa, his father’s First Counselor and once Kieransar’s royal tutor. The prince imagined the scene inside with his father, still a formidable Varan despite his years and gray mane, leaning across the table toward his advisor. Hanesar would be rubbing his thumbs together, as he always did when deep in conversation. Or maybe those piercing yellow eyes were trying to dissect whatever was in front of him as he rolled his long and handsome whiskers with a careless hand.

Kelhesa, on the other side, would be a far less imposing figure, being the oldest of the Council and holding at least fifteen years over the Emperor he chose to serve. His mane was completely white, and his fur more gray than bronze these days.

Father almost never raises his voice. Why would he now?

“Why?” moaned the Emperor, an echo of Kieransar’s own thoughts. “Why do you risk my displeasure for a god brought in by outworlders? Aren’t there enough gods in the Hierarchy to make a good choice?”

Kelhesa’s voice came across laced with sadness. “The people he hunts do not so easily get away from him, my Sar. It is not that I chose him, but that he chose me.”

Kieransar winced at the sound of Hanesar’s hand hitting the table before him. “Nonsense,” the Emperor said. “Ours is the choice. Should I not know? Will I not become a god when I go into the next realm and Kieransar takes my place as ruler?”

An uncomfortable pause followed. “The traditions of our ancestors say that this is so, my Sar.”

Kieransar imagined his father’s spiral eyes peering intently at the submissive form before him. “And do you agree with the traditions of our ancestors, Kelhesa?” The Emperor’s favored counselor remained silent. “Don’t answer. You might be foolish enough to say what you are thinking, and I would be minus a good advisor.”

The prince settled his place more firmly, expecting another uncomfortable pause and a resumption of the original topic--after all, what could the First Counselor say? Instead, Kelhesa asked abruptly, “May I retire to my chambers, great Emperor?”

Kieransar’s ears went up at the effrontery of his old tutor, but Hanesar merely sighed and said, “You may go, but you are forbidden ever to mention this god of yours again in this castle unless your Sar gives you leave. Is that clear?”

The old counselor sighed heavily. “I hear and obey, my Sar.”

The door opened. Kieransar’s reflexes left him--How close was Kelhesa to the door?--and Kelhesa caught him in all of his guilt.

The old Varan almost showed long teeth in a suppressed smile, and the prince avoided his gaze; seldom was he caught so surprised. Kelhesa allowed the door to shut behind him and asked formally, “What is my Sar doing so close to the door?”

“Guarding it from the curious, of course,” he answered innocently. He motioned the guard to return to his post.

Kelhesa unsheathed a claw and nicked his former student’s shoulder. “Of course.” His gray hand lowered itself to rest on that shoulder, and the counselor’s silver eyes clouded in sadness. “Of course. You are a good son to your father, Kieran.”

The prince’s eyes opened wide in surprise. “I haven’t been called Kieran since I came of age.”

“Yes.” Kelhesa’s eyes dimmed a moment as if reliving a seven-year-old memory. Then he came back to the present with a fierce look. “Well, if you didn’t act like a cub, I wouldn’t find myself treating you like one.”

Kieransar smiled, a toothy grin. “Claw to the heart, Kelhesa. You got me.”

Kelhesa gave the prince an intent look. “You’re going to the Hunting Grounds?” Kieransar nodded, and they walked down the corridor together toward that end of the park. The counselor broke the silence first. “So why have the domestics been skulking from shadow to shadow when you’re around?”

Kieransar ducked his head to avoid his mentor’s gaze. “Who says they’re skulking?”

“Who doesn’t?” Kelhesa stopped and faced his prince. “Now what is this about? Even your father is hearing the rumors.” Silence. “A female?”

“You’ve been listening to the servants too long.”

The counselor wasn’t to be put off. “Majisa?”

Kieransar’s nose wrinkled at the thought of her. “The Jewel of the Empire? The Beauty of Hasshevar? The vain, arrogant--” Kelhesa motioned for him to keep his voice down, “--empty-headed little . . .” The prince trailed off into a growl. “My only problem with her is keeping away!”

The old counselor smiled at the prince’s discomfort. “You should try to be more tolerant. After all, she is the obvious choice to be your Empress.”

A small shudder ran down Kieransar’s back. “I’d abdicate first.” He grappled with his emotions until they were firmly held and quickly returned to the first topic of conversation. “Now that you’ve shoved your whiskers into my private life, it’s my turn. Tell me what you and my father were talking about.”

“You heard the Emperor,” the counselor admonished. “I am forbidden to speak of it until he permits.”

Kieransar shook his head. “That’s not what he said. He said, ‘Until your Sar permits.’ I’m your Sar, too, so talk!”

“Echoing the words, but not the intent, eh?” Kelhesa took his hand from the prince’s shoulder, where it had stayed as they walked. “I don’t think it would interest you.”

Oh you don’t, Kieransar thought. Then you really don’t know what’s wrong with me. “Is it a new god?”

The advisor shrugged. “New to us, yes.”

He started walking again. “Where in the Hierarchy would this god stand?”

“He wouldn’t.” At Kieransar’s confused look, Kelhesa added, “He created the Hierarchy.”

Kieransar halted in shock. “Created?” Seeing his former tutor was not stopping, he bounded forward, slowing himself abruptly to match pace with the older male. “But the Hierarchy wasn’t created!”

“So they say.” He pressed his lips together, a hint that he would not say more.

Ignoring the hint, Kieransar continued on. “What does your god say?”

“Who says he’s my god?” Kelhesa muttered. Kieransar gave him a skeptical look. With a sigh, the old counselor answered, “He says that he created everything, including us, for a purpose.”

They reached the entrance to the Hunting Grounds, but Kieransar did not go in. “And the gods?”

Kelhesa motioned him onward. “I will let you think about what I have just said and leave you to answer your own question.” With that, he turned and walked away.

The prince reached out a hand. “But Kelhesa . . .” The old counselor did not even acknowledge he’d heard. Kieransar’s hand dropped limply to his side, and he entered the sanctuary.

Eager to reach the place where his prey lay resting, the prince paused only long enough to take off his shoes and restrictive clothing. He kept only his pair of patris--long, loose fitting pants that narrowed at the waist and didn’t entrap the tail.

A servant brought a choice of weapons, but Kieransar waved him off. “No weapons today. Claws and teeth are all I’ll need to hunt hellock.” The servant nodded, the tilt of his ears betraying how little he liked this news. Kieransar looked around. “Where’s Malkut?”

“He is still patrolling, my Sar. I could send a hovercraft to pick him up.”

The prince hesitated for a moment, then shook his head. “No need. I’ll go alone this time. Which range am I to hunt?”

“Range four, my Sar, near the lake. A daar-long run. The one to be culled has a red circle on its rump.”

Kieransar was off before the servant could say another word, the urgency he felt building in his chest threatening to burst if he didn’t do something soon.

He gave himself up to a ground-eating pace, enjoying the crisp air and vainly trying to convince himself that the emptiness in his heart had disappeared. He ran through vale and forest, fording a river at one point, never threatened by any of the land’s denizens, for they knew by some sense that he was the hunter and they were the hunted, should he so desire.

As Kieransar neared the resting place of the hellock herd and the unsuspecting cull, adrenaline pumped through his veins, heightening every sense, every part of his body. The thrill of the hunt drove out all other rational thought as he climbed a nearby tree, a stunted giant with thick, leafy branches from which to perch unseen. From tree to entwined tree he ran, never touching the ground, sometimes testing the air for scent, other times freezing in place for any betraying sound.

As simms became a haat and haats became a daar, Kieransar drew nearer to his prey, resting contentedly near the lake. That servant was right about how long it would take me to find the herd, he thought as he circled among the treetops to remain downwind. Finally, the prince got a good look at what awaited him. A hundred hellock stood beneath him and beyond him, dotting the hillside with their ponderous hulks. No hunt for kittens these; they were monarchs of the grass, with noble horns reaching to the skies, ready to slash at any interloper who would dare disturb their rest. Hellock were the most powerful creatures in the range that the Emperor permitted to be hunted without weapons, a most exhilarating challenge.

And one that in some ways was forbidden to him. He could only take those with the culling mark on their rumps--not the great leaders of the herd, the two or three females or, best of all, the dominant male who drove the herd and guided it to the best forage and water. They were too dangerous for one of his rank to contend with, for against them a mistake would be fatal. Not even a Sar’s pride could convince his people to let him take such a risk.

Suddenly, a lesser buck, at least seven tibs high at the withers and with two sets of menacing horns, cried out a danger signal. The rest of the herd leapt up from their resting places and scouted nervously for trouble.

Kieransar tensed, testing the air for what was troubling the herd. Is it me? No. His keen ears picked up a thrashing in the bushes.

The bucks stepped in that direction, heads down. A varaband, a small grass-eater with short, tufted ears and powerful hind legs, jumped out of the underbrush with a lupine running close behind. The varaband darted in among the hellock, dodging between legs and leaping into the air to avoid the hunter’s rapacious lunges. The bucks jumped, but did not draw back. The lupine looked up from its prey just in time to avoid being skewered on a pair of horns, yelping and retreating into the bushes as its intended victim raced across the vale and into the forest.

But the damage had been done. The hellock were on the alert, keeping the more vulnerable members of the herd toward the center of their circle, including the one with the red mark. Kieransar muttered silently against whatever fates would keep him longer from his rightful prey and settled himself on the branch for a more lengthy stay. The adrenaline flow slowed, saving itself until the right time, and Kieransar found himself thinking again, much to his dissatisfaction.

Who is this god of Kelhesa’s, who boasted that he created the universe? What if he had? A feeling of relief swept over the prince. If Kelhesa’s god did as he said, then the gods of the Hierarchy would be subject to him. All of the Emperors, who aspired to godhood, would also be subject. Such a god would have to guide the universe and its people. That would mean I wouldn’t have to pretend anymore, the prince thought. I wouldn’t have to act as if I know where I’m going. I wouldn’t have to act as if I never make a mistake.

The relief turned to fear. But what would this mean for me? he wondered. Would this god take an interest in me? Kelhesa had mentioned a purpose. Would that mean I would have to obey him? What would he ask me to do? New and uncomfortable questions kept forming in Kieransar’s mind, culminating in, Does that mean I wouldn’t become a god when I die?

He shook himself from this troubling realm of thought and checked the herd. They were almost calm again, and his particular victim was wandering away from the center of the herd, toward the other side of the vale. It was an older female, past her prime and fawnbearing years but still powerful in her motions. Kieransar stretched his muscles slowly, readying his body for stealthy movements. He tested the wind, then sighed when he realized it would give him away if he continued on his present course. He would have to cross through the trees upwind of the herd, an impossible maneuver. If only I had waited for Malkut, Kieransar thought. This was never a problem for the two of us, even when we were cubs. Too late for regrets now, though.

He glanced through the leaves, hoping the female would change her mind, and saw another sight that riveted his attention. The leader of the herd, at least eleven tibs at the withers and with two sets of horns unequaled in the range, stood right beneath him!

Adrenaline poured through his body as he hid among the branches, amazed at this fantastic opportunity. No thoughts of the consequences crossed his mind as he poised himself for the drop. Not that he would kill the superb creature, never that, but if he could make the creature, this master of grass and wind, helpless for just a few seconds, he would have power over not just the animal, but over all his herd!

The great leader nuzzled near the base of the tree, looking for a succulent shoot or leaf, ears angled alertly to either side--but not up. Kieransar’s heart beat an excited pulse through his body as he crouched, then sprang from his perch and onto the back of the huge leader. The buck froze for an instant, then twisted its head to scrape off the annoyance. Kieransar wrapped his arms around the giant head, making the horns useless, keeping his claws sheathed except for the most necessary tips to maintain balance. The beast reared back on its hind legs, and the prince forced its head back. The great horns that had first threatened the prince now aided him, their weight pulling the buck off balance. As they both crashed to the ground, Kieransar twisted his body around to land on top. The hellock leader bellowed again while its herd looked on, startled. The smaller members of the herd ran toward the water while some of the bucks moved forward, bugling and slashing the air with their horns.

Kieransar knelt beside the fallen beast, holding its head to the ground by the strength of his arms alone. The leader snorted and tried to break Kieransar’s powerful grip, tried again, and failed, relaxing for an instant in the prince’s arms. The bucks stopped their posturing and backed away.

For that thrilling moment, the hellock and the herd which he led were Kieransar’s. His eyes shining in victory, the prince released his hold and jumped straight into the air to grasp the branch two full body lengths above him.

The leader was quick to its feet and angrily slashed with its horns, its fore-hooves resting on the tree itself to reach higher. It struck with a vengeance, and a horn tip ripped into Kieransar’s right calf. He growled in pain as he swung his body up onto the tree branch and away from the buck’s flailing horns. The leader bellowed once, twice, and then called to its herd. In one swift motion, the hellock turned and galloped onto the plains.

In the tree, Kieransar lay back on the branch, tired, wounded, and deliriously happy. What a wonderful day this had turned out to be. He might not have killed his cull, but he had mastered the lead buck. It was a pity he could not tell anyone back at the castle, but the prince was not in the mood for a lecture.

He quickly scanned the area for witnesses, knowing that a few guards were assigned to watch him, though not too closely for fear of disturbing his hunt. He could not see them, so he hoped that they were too far away to see him and what he had just done. Maybe I’ll tell the warriors in a few six-days. He would still hear from the Huntmaster, who had authority over everyone who stepped onto the Hunting Grounds, title or no, but the distance in time would also mean a less severe haranguing.

The hunting high left him, and Kieransar began to feel the intensity of his wound. He checked his leg and saw that, while the horn had missed any major muscles, it had taken a piece of flesh along with it. Nothing dangerous, but he cleaned it just in case, wincing at the coarseness of his own tongue. It would hold until he returned to the Hunting Lodge.

As Kieransar leisurely began to make his way back, a cold chill ruffled the fur on his back, a chill not made by the wind. With all thoughts of his triumphant hunt gone from his mind, he scanned the area uncertainly.

Something was not right.

He glanced at the ground and then among the foliage. Nothing larger than a bird caught his attention. He inhaled deeply, but could smell nothing unusual. Despite the comfort his eyes and nose gave him, the uneasy feeling grew and became a blazing certainty. He was being watched, and not by the guards. His teeth bared and his claws came fully unsheathed.

He was being hunted!

Kieransar whirled, hoping to catch a glimpse of his pursuer. No sound, no movement betrayed the hidden one’s presence. He paused for a few dasimms, then pelted among the trees at a breakneck speed. All the while, his instincts told him that not only was his pursuer close, but he was getting closer. Kieransar increased his pace, running dangerously fast along the linked branches, knowing that he was about to be caught. He dodged and twisted among the trees, hoping for a lessening of that unalterable conviction, but to no avail. Finally he stopped and whirled, claws at the ready, waiting for his fate to come rushing toward him. Chest heaving, he listened and heard only the birds chastising him for interrupting their singing. The sense of something waiting for him, expressly wishing to catch him, was still there, but nothing else. Without dropping his guard, Kieransar backed away slowly, heading for the river that was his next step home.

Humming sounds across the river drew his attention, and he crouched among the trees, searching for its source. A hovercraft carrying the Huntmaster and four guards flew into sight. Kieransar breathed a sigh of relief tinged with anticipation of an unwelcome lecture. If the Huntmaster was coming personally, then someone had seen what the prince had done, wasting no time in calling out the guard.

Kieransar looked around uneasily one more time, the sense of another presence in the trees fading with each passing moment as if some great eye had redirected its attention elsewhere. The prince smoothed his fear-roughened mane with a shaking hand, trying to collect himself before the others noticed his condition.

He jumped down from the tree and limped into a clearing, his wound making itself once again painfully known to him. Even before the hovercraft settled to the ground, the Huntmaster was yelling and pointing and asking him in a rumbling voice if he knew how important he was to the Empire and how dare he take such risks and the Emperor was going to hear about this . . . The prince took it all with a stoic fortitude that showed many years of practice.

The guards who silently escorted him onto the hovercraft made a display of watching the forest, though their ears were aimed in the direction of Kieransar and the Huntmaster. One guard, a hunting mate at times, gave Kieransar a sly, knowing glance, promising him with that look that the warriors would know all about the hunt before the hovercraft even reached the Lodge. Looking down on the forest to see if he could spot from the air what he had felt on the ground, Kieransar wondered if that were a blessing or a curse.

Finally, the entrance of the Hunting Grounds loomed into sight. The prince suppressed a relieved sigh, though he kept a respectfully attentive look on his face. The Huntmaster ended his harangue by saying, “I should ban you from the Hunting Grounds for a year for such irresponsibility.”

Kieransar’s ears went back in surprise. This is new.

The Huntmaster held up a hand, his formidable claws only partially sheathed, to forestall any arguments. “However, if you promise me you will never do anything like that again, I won’t take such drastic measures. I’m sure I can come up with some other punishment to match your disobedience. Of course, this depends on how your father reacts to the news. My Sar,” he added with a slight snort, as if not completely willing to give the prince the reverence he deserved until he had apologized.

Kieransar did so, with great formality. “I express my apologies, Huntmaster, for causing you so much worry. Had I known the anxiety I would generate with my little escapade, the thought never would have crossed my mind. So I give you my promise. I will never again jump a hellock buck leader who is under a tree without permission.” Of course, if the hellock buck leader were not directly under a tree . . .

The Huntmaster nodded, giving the prince an uneasy glance. Kieransar silently swore an offering to the gods if they kept the Huntmaster from bringing up past promises bent beyond recognition. A guard watched the approaching ground fixedly, only his twitching tail betraying suppressed mirth. Finally, the Huntmaster grunted and turned away from the source of his irritation.

When they touched down, the Huntmaster ordered the guards away and led the wounded prince to the medical ward, where they checked Kieransar from ears to tail.

Once the medics finished with the Sar and left him in blessed peace, Malkut strode into the room. His handsome face, all black except for the white circle around his left eye, characteristic of a warrior of the Tuani clan, lacked the look of awe and wonder that one was supposed to have when approaching royalty. It had lacked that look for years. Instead, an almost proprietary expression stole over his face. Friends and hunting partners since cubhood, the two were almost inseparable, and Malkut felt a personal responsibility for the welfare of his Sar.

Unfortunately, his Sar had other ideas about what did and did not constitute a threat to his well being, a cause of endless arguments. Malkut feared this would be another one. He waited motionlessly for permission to speak. Kieransar waved his hand in acknowledgement. “My Sar should have held on to the buck a little longer. Then he wouldn’t be sporting the handsome bandage on his right leg.”

The prince gave Malkut a hard glance. “You wouldn’t happen to be the one who told the Huntmaster, would you?”

“My Sar has great insight.”

“My warrior has great impertinence.” At these words, Malkut tensed. The prince continued. “And . . . some small amount of justification.”

Malkut cocked his head in puzzlement. “You aren’t mad?”

Kieransar shrugged and grinned, a lopsided smile that showed more of his feelings than it concealed. “You were doing your duty, unlike myself.” After a quick glance around the room, the prince asked, “So how much did you see?”

Malkut leaned forward. “Everything. Including the part that looked like you were trying to outdistance something.”

“Did you tell the Huntmaster?”

“Tell him what? That the Crown Prince was rushing around the treetops like a mad thing? I think not.”

Kieransar gave a deceptively casual stretch that tested almost every muscle in his body. “It was the excitement of the chase.”

The lie was accepted, if not believed.

“Of course, my Sar.” Malkut turned to leave but stopped at the door. “If you need to talk, I’ll be in my quarters.”

“Surrounded by thirty warriors who will try every possible means imaginable to get the story of the Sar’s great hunt out of you.”

Malkut gave Kieransar a studied look. “Will they succeed?”

“Only when they start mentioning bribery. Large sums. Just remember, I get half.”

“Of course, my Sar. When will they hear your side of the story?”

The prince looked at his bandaged leg. “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow, then.” At that, Malkut bared his throat--the closest he got to hnismuth unless it was a formal setting or he was displeased with the Sar’s orders--and took his leave.

The prince lay on the bed for a few more minutes, puzzling out exactly what had happened to him on the Hunting Grounds. His anger had vanished as if it had never been, and the feelings of fear from the daar before were already vague and dreamlike. Kieransar shrugged. What strange tricks a body can play on itself, he thought, deliberately trying to dismiss the entire episode. But it had seemed so real! Maybe I’ll talk to Kelhesa about it. With that in mind, the prince stretched again and then checked himself out of the medic’s ward.

As he crossed the castle’s threshold, the hustle and bustle of palace life whirled around him, and he found himself relaxing, allowing himself to become submerged within the swirling eddies of the mundane. His hunting experience took on the uncontrolled, fantastic colors of imagination, and he laughed at himself. Doesn’t seem nearly so serious now. His feet redirected their path and turned toward his own suite of rooms.

He hadn’t gone five steps in that direction when the sense of that presence returned even more strongly than before. He quickened his pace and glanced nervously over one shoulder, half expecting the watcher to be right behind him. Once again, he saw nothing. That’s it, he thought. Dreams should not leak into real life. I’m going to Kelhesa now.

He found the old counselor in his suite, a ceremonial guard at the door. The prince nodded impatiently to the guard, who disappeared inside to announce that Kelhesa had a distinguished visitor. Kieransar walked into the visiting chamber and shut the door firmly behind him once the guard had resumed his post. The prince’s body language, from the dilated pupils to the clenched jaw, spoke volumes.

“What’s wrong, Kieran?” the counselor asked worriedly.

“Please, Kelhesa,” the prince asked, “could you tell me about this god of yours?”

The old Varan looked at Kieransar intently, as if trying to read his emotions and understand his need. “Will you tell me what had happened to you?” The prince nodded urgently. Kelhesa twisted his whiskers slowly, ears cocked as if listening for an unheard command. Finally he nodded. “Perhaps a walk into the city, away from the business of castle life, would be in order.”

Kieransar thought a moment, remembering his father’s instructions, and gave a hesitant smile. “Echoing his words, counselor?”

“Grab my walking stick, cub, and be quick about it.”

Kieransar passed the elaborately carved cane to his old mentor, and the two walked out together.

CHAPTER 2

The Way

The sun had almost set when Kieransar, Kelhesa, and their personal guard reached the large and ornate gates separating the castle from the city. Kieransar waited impatiently as the castle guards opened the gates and parted the shield to permit entry into the upper city. He was frustrated by the game that Kelhesa had begun playing as soon as they were no longer alone. The counselor did not mention their previous conversation, just pleasant inanities that served to fill time. The way Kelhesa was acting, the prince felt as if they were spies in the midst of enemy territory.

Kieransar knew the Sa’s reasons, but he wondered what difference it would make if they went into the city. After all, he reasoned, there will be guards in Shadis as well. And they’ll tell Father about our conversation as quickly as anyone else. The longer the prince thought about it, the worse he felt.

To get himself away from this maddening train of thought, Kieransar turned his attention to the city which surrounded the castle. The prince gazed at the land beneath him and for a moment forgot what had brought him there. The view from the gate was spectacular when the sun cast its golden-red rays upon Shadis, Jewel of Many Facets. Like a prism, the shield refracted the sun’s light, bathing the city below in an ever-shifting rainbow of colors. This would change in a couple of daars, Kieransar knew, as the sun sank completely behind the mountain chain and true darkness settled over the land. Then the city would create its own illumination, using lights of all different colors and hues to make itself glow. Shadis Ma’fa. Jewel of the Night. The most beautiful city on Hasshevar, Kieransar thought.

Kelhesa motioned to a guard. “Have an aircar waiting for us at Field One.”

Kieransar nodded. That meant their destination was too far into the city to walk. Field One was the airfield closest to the castle, since no aircars were permitted to penetrate the shield to the castle. Only ground transport entered the inner shield, carefully scrutinized by zealous guards with every kind of sensor imaginable. The imperial family did not tolerate any breach of their security, however slight. Not even the Emperor’s aircar traveled through the shield except in case of dire emergency.

The counselor’s gaze followed the path their journey would take. “This walk seems longer every time I enter the city,” he sighed under his breath.

The prince’s ears twitched. “We could use ground transport to get to the airfield,” he said, not entirely able to suppress the condescension hidden within his words.

The counselor made a sound deep in his throat, a compelling argument against that and any other remark of its kind.

Kieransar concealed the smile he felt rising to the surface. He did not personally mind the walk. It did, however, remind him that there was another side to Shadis besides its beauty, especially for those who attempted entry uninvited.

Shadis, the capital of Hasshevar and the ancestral home of the royal clan, was surrounded by the tightest web of security in the Empire. Nothing could slip through the multi-layered shield and its complex array of scanners without being detected. Or so its designers had boasted when it was first created. Six hundred years had passed since the shield’s unveiling, and no one had yet proven them wrong. Of the many assassination squads sent to destroy the Emperor and his successors, only three had successfully breached the shield layer between the city’s two levels. And none had come close to the palace, either from above or below.

Shadis was actually two cities, with the upper circle reserved solely for royalty and those warriors, high servants, and noble Ri who attended to their needs. The competition for these coveted positions was fierce, and even nobles serving in so menial a position as footwasher brought honor to their families and clans. The lower circle was open to subjects of all races and species who had the proper passes and identification. There they would wait in hopes of an audience with the Emperor, or, more precisely, the Emperor’s holographic image. That practice had been put in place even before the building of the shield, after the assassination of Talesa, brother of the Emperor Shomesar. After his elite personal guards had made an example of the lone assassin, the Emperor closed the castle to all supplicants.

The isolation of the upper ring had not occurred until the shield’s invention made it feasible. Then the lower ring of Shadis thrived, with its proximity to the royal mystique as well as its exact representation of the throne room, where the Emperor dispensed justice from a distance.

Slowly, other members of the extended royal family (who had to worry about unrest on the planets under their control) had followed their Emperor’s lead. Now all but one major planet, and most minor-planet groupings, had some variation of the two-tiered city, pale shadows of Shadis.

A feast for the senses, Shadis was an artificial world where any imperfections hid behind closed doors. No unsavory scent dared wander in from the lower level, and the silvery echoes of chimes filled the air. Only foot traffic walked along the Grand Promenade, the whine of aircars and heavier machinery being relegated to the lower, less important streets leading through the servants’ area to the castle.

It was also freedom, or at least an illusion thereof, to those who would otherwise be surrounded by twenty or more armed guards once they stepped beyond the safety of the castle’s walls. For Kieransar, it was a fascinating glimpse into a world different from his own, the closest he could come to the people who would one day be entrusted to his care. He recalled the carefree days of his cubhood, when he had been too young for formal court training, yet old enough to wander the city with only Malkut and a few older warriors as escort.

It’s been too long since I was last here, Kieransar thought wistfully.

As soon as he stepped beyond the gate, his ears perked forward in curiosity and his pace quickened, the limp barely noticeable. Kelhesa and the guards lengthened their steps to keep up with the young prince. Kieransar watched them out of the corner of his eye, regretting the haste which sent him into the city without Malkut, the one person he would trust with his life. Or his secrets.

While the prince was acquainted with all of the guards in his service, he had learned long ago to constrain his tongue around them. They were Hanesar’s creatures first and foremost. Even if he had sole claim to their loyalty, the warriors’ barracks were a hotbed of gossip, as bad as the servants’ quarters, and the length of a secret’s life was daars at most.

On the other side of the argument, Malkut would be the last Varan on Hasshevar to understand the prince’s dilemma. His interest in the spiritual was limited to the odd coin and occasional thanks. Even his devotion to Dagmit, god of warriors and good wine, was more by default than anything else.

Then there was Ivret. The prince felt a prickling of guilt for leaving him in what would almost certainly be a state of bewildered anxiety. I should have said something to him before I left. He’s probably still wondering what he did wrong. And when he hears I’ve gone to the city without him . . . Kieransar mentally shook his head. But that would mean yet another warrior with the opportunity to overhear my conversation with Kelhesa.

Kelhesa led the small party along the Grand Promenade past the well-stocked shops that lined it. The crowds parted for them as if by magic, royalty and nobility alike crossing sheathed hands toward Sar and First Counselor as they passed. Then the people continued on with their duties and pleasures, not the least bit surprised to see the two walking the avenues with their entourage. A few followed from a discreet distance, ears perked in hopes of overhearing an indiscreet word or two echoing off of the walls. They were doomed to disappointment. The castle dwellers were too aware of the city’s acoustical properties to fall prey to that particular trick.

Kieransar played his part well. From his demeanor, no one would suspect that he was internally bursting with anticipation. Prince and First Counselor walked side by side, calmly discussing their best hunts, their hectic schedules, anything innocuous that came to mind. Slowly, their unwanted retinue dispersed, completely disappearing by the time they left the Grand Promenade. Then both Sar and Sa let the conversation die, each preferring silence to speech.

The silence lasted until they reached the airfield, a large circle of land just beyond the first spiral of the Grand Promenade. An unending stream of flying craft flitted in and out of the area. Kieransar watched the elaborate pattern of takeoffs and landings in awe, amazed at the abilities of pilots and air traffic controllers alike.

After a quick inspection of the aircar, the guards lined up ceremonially outside of it to let Sar and Sa enter before them. Kieransar entered first, making himself comfortable in the cushioned seats. Kelhesa stopped first at the pilot’s chair to give her instructions. The prince strained his ears, tilting them forward, but the voices were too low for him to hear.

When the counselor eased himself down beside the prince’s semi-recumbent form, Kieransar asked, “So where are we going?”

“Patience,” Kelhesa replied, “is a powerful weapon for those who acquire it.” The prince leveled a quelling stare at the counselor, who countered with a look of amusement.

The aircar rose straight up from its platform until it could fly high above the buildings that encircled the field. Kieransar looked out a window and noticed that the air around them was suddenly clear. Then the craft shot forward, leaving Field One behind.

From the air, Shadis showed an even more spectacular view. The city reflected the natural curves of the forest that had been their home before the Industrial Rise. The luminescent buildings of the city’s commercial sector ascended hundreds of stories above the ground. No harsh angles intruded, nor stark vertical lines, which the Hasshevaran eye could not readily see. As branches interconnected the native trees, so were the buildings united by numerous walkways. These long, enclosed avenues looped from structure to structure like the aerial pathways that had linked the great trees in ancient Shadis. Kieransar could even see vehicles driving on roads that other species considered impossibly high.

The aircar lowered altitude as it left the commercial area. The prince could easily see the demarcation between the business and residential sectors. The royal mansions were much smaller, the highest reaching only seven or eight stories. Great trees dotted the landscape, becoming more and more common as the aircar flew toward the shield perimeter, where the protected remains of an ancient forest flourished in unbowed majesty. Any buildings here were invisible under the foliage, the sky itself seen only in the few clearings designed for easy access by air.

As the aircar angled toward the wall that separated the two levels of the city, Kieransar relaxed, recognizing the area. He smiled.

“I see you remember some of your favorite hiding places,” Kelhesa remarked.

“They obviously weren’t the best. After all, you found me.”

“And it only took half a day of frantic searching to do so,” Kelhesa replied, and the prince’s smile turned into a grimace. “Your father was not pleased when the guard returned without you. You very nearly got some friends of mine in trouble with your escapades.”

Kieransar rubbed his left wrist reflectively. “I didn’t exactly get away unpunished,” he mused.

Kelhesa snorted. “I was in favor of something more severe than a wrist-band locator, myself. But then I nearly singed the hide off of your father when he did the same thing himself as a cub.”

“He did?”

“Oh, yes.” Kelhesa leaned back in his seat and stroked his whiskers in contemplation. “It seems to be a rite of passage for your family. You’d think we’d be more prepared, but every time it happens, we’re caught by surprise.” He looked closely at the prince’s arm. “Your father has the same scars,” he said, tapping Kieransar’s arm with a claw tip.

The prince looked at the wrist which had once worn the locator band. The fur had not lain properly since, mute testimony to his many vain attempts to free himself from the band’s presence. It grew in convoluted twists and whorls, though the furless patches were long gone. Even the color was different, a darker gold closer to the highlights on his face than on his arm. “You mean my father had a band, too?”

“The same one. And he couldn’t leave it alone, either.” The counselor chuckled. “Like sire, like cub. I suppose it will be your youngest brother’s turn, soon.”

“If he hasn’t started already.” This time the conversation continued without strain, unlike the contrived small talk on the Grand Promenade. Only when the aircar dipped to land did the prince look again at the view through the window. At first, he saw only greenery. Then he noticed the trees in the area did not stand as high as the giants the aircar had just overflown. In fact, few of them had yet reached maturity, as if nothing had been permitted to grow there until--

Kieransar’s ears rose in sudden understanding. No wonder Kelhesa seemed so unconcerned about the presence of the guards. He was going to the one place in the city that they would not want to enter. Lohansa’s Memorial. It was as abandoned as anything in the upper level could get. Kittens occasionally dared each other to run into the Memorial, tails bristling with excitement and not a little fear, but only the gardeners, whose job it was to maintain the environs, entered with any regularity.

It was a beautiful little enclosed park tucked against the wall dividing the upper and lower rings and so close to the shield that its hum blended with birdsong. For that reason alone, few people came to sit under its trees or by its streams. There were other, grander parks growing closer to their elaborate homes and workplaces. That, however, was not the only reason for its abandonment.

Nearly fifty-four years before, it had been a scientific laboratory devoted to finding new and faster forms of transportation. In fact, the scientists there had been researching the fastest form of all--teleportation.

The focus of their research had been a certain type of crystal, pale orange in color and not particularly attractive. First found on a derelict craft of an ancient and unknown origin, the crystals had been catalogued by royal archivists, studied briefly, and then stored and forgotten for years. A royal named Lohansa, digging through centuries of dust, discovered something amazing about them. When he sent a small charge through one crystal, it would glow. A larger charge would make one of its companion crystals glow even if they were not in the same room. And if more energy were poured into the first crystal, it would disappear and reappear beside its counterpart. Teleportation had been discovered.

Unfortunately, something went wrong. A spy from one of the less favored clans had tried to steal some of the crystals. Lohansa discovered him, and in the ensuing struggle, a laser pistol discharged, striking one of the crystals and starting a chain reaction among them. Most of the building disappeared in a cloud of energy, leaving a burning hull behind. Outer walls and rooms surrounded a gaping hole in the ground. Remote scanners had recorded the entire disaster. No one in the inner chambers had ever been found.

Rumors began circulating immediately about a curse of the gods for daring to research a forbidden object. Kieransar’s grandfather Jalisar, who was Emperor at the time, scoffed at the rumors and commanded that a memorial be built, but he could not order the people to visit it. Even so many years later, the residents of Shadis remembered and avoided the area of the catastrophe.

So it was no surprise to Kieransar when the guards looked at the opening of the park with obvious discomfort. As Kelhesa stepped from the aircar, he gave them an annoyed glare, then shrugged. “You may stay out here. I doubt there is anything in there that could harm the prince or myself.”

The guards’ commander aimed his scanner at the interior, moving it from right to left. When it beeped a negative, he grunted and nodded, satisfied that no one was inside. His warriors immediately took up positions around the enclosure without a word being spoken. Kelhesa motioned the prince to precede him. Kieransar hesitated a moment before walking into the Memorial. His whiskers twitched uncomfortably at the strong electromagnetic fields that distorted his directional sense and made the walls seem to undulate slowly in an unseen current.

As they followed the well-marked but little-used path, Kieransar opened his mouth to speak, but was silenced by Kelhesa’s upraised hand. Confused, the prince followed obediently, noticing as he did so that Kelhesa certainly knew the Memorial well. Not surprising, since Lohansa had been Kelhesa’s older brother. The counselor led him to the center of the Memorial, where all paths joined in a spiral reminiscent of a Hasshevaran’s eye. A large, oval stone rested in the exact center of the spiral. Kelhesa eased himself onto its glossy black surface. “Come join me,” he said quietly, his hand indicating the spot beside him.

As Kieransar sat down, Kelhesa pulled something from a pocket and began turning the dials. The prince looked at the device intently. “A baffler,” he exclaimed. “What do you need that for?”

“To give static to any electronic ear that might try to listen,” Kelhesa replied. “Including the guards’.”

“They wouldn’t dare!”

The First Counselor looked at him. “Where the safety of the Crown Prince is concerned,” he said mildly, “they dare a great deal.” As the prince digested that piece of information, Kelhesa continued, “I activated it when we first talked, but concealing it in clothing limits its usefulness. Now, I believe we should talk quickly. The commander will not appreciate it if we stay long after dark.”

“So tell me how you found out about this god.”

“And you will tell me about your adventure?” Kelhesa asked. The prince nodded. “Very well then. I was very close to Lohansa before he . . . disappeared. Very close. After his wife died, I took care of his daughter while he was working long daars at the laboratory. It was his way of dealing with his grief, but it was hard on the kitten. She was the cutest little thing, barely two years old when I began watching over her. Two wonderful years I had with her. I wish you could have met her.” Kelhesa broke off with a small laugh. “Of course, had she lived, she would have been your mother.

“I was a guard of your father as well, though that was a pleasant job at the time. He was only, hmm, four years old himself, and still going by his father’s name, Jalar. You never saw a kitten so excited as him the day he got his six-year name. ‘Everyone, I’m Hanis,’ he would say. ‘Not Jalar anymore. I’m six now, so you call me Hanis.’“ Kelhesa caught the glance Kieransar gave him and cuffed him lightly on the cheek. “Let an old Varan speak, cub. It’s relevant.” He clicked his teeth together in mock annoyance. “No respect from this generation. Now where was I?”

“Your relationship with Lohansa and his daughter,” the prince supplied helpfully.

“Oh, yes. It was a wonderful time. But then Lohansa started working with those thrice-cursed crystals.” Kelhesa nearly spat out the last few words. “I hardly saw him for a while, and little Faela just couldn’t understand why papa didn’t come home to see her. So I brought her to him. Then I was summoned away on a security call.” He stopped speaking for a moment. “Just as I reached the outer doors of the lab, I heard a terrible noise. When I looked back, I saw a fireball rushing up the hallway. I ran, and the force of the blast knocked me clear into the forest, on fire and near dead. Passersby put out the fire and got me to the medic’s ward in time. For years after, I wished that they had just let me die. I had lost both my brother and my niece, and it had been my fault that Faela was there in the first place.”

Kieransar interrupted, “But you didn’t--”

Kelhesa waved the prince’s protest aside. “As soon as I was able to go off-planet, Jalisar started looking for an assignment for me. Any assignment. He didn’t care so long as I was so busy I didn’t have time to think. So I found myself part of an archivist’s team on an information expedition. A ship of unknown design had been sighted just inside the Empire’s boundary. The Emperor ordered it captured, and our warriors found a new species of intelligent spacefarers. They called themselves himmans. Or, rather, we called them himmans, their own pronunciation containing sounds we don’t use. Humans,” Kelhesa enunciated, contorting lips around muzzle. “Ever heard of them?” Kieransar shook his head. “Didn’t think so. There weren’t many of them in the first place.”

“What did they look like?”

“Oh, the tallest of them was under nine tibs in height, I believe. They were biped, like us. Mostly furless, except a long, flowing mane on the tops of their heads. The male I worked with kept his clipped short, but I saw it lengthen rapidly over time.” Kelhesa closed his eyes for a moment, as if visualizing the beings he described. “The females were smaller than the males, and they tended to let their hair grow longer. They had hands similar to ours, except smaller, of course, but their claws couldn’t retract. The claws weren’t very formidable, either; I couldn’t imagine them defending themselves that way.”

Kieransar’s ears perked forward at the thought of a fight. “And how would they defend themselves? Teeth?”

“Hardly adequate to tear meat. The himmans I knew were omnivorous both by disposition and by choice.” Kelhesa looked the prince in the eye. “At first glance, you wouldn’t think a himman could be that much of a challenge. However, they are more at ease using anything that comes to hand than we are. For example,” at this, the counselor gestured behind them, “what if something tried to attack us right now? What would your first reaction be?”

“It would depend on the creature, I suppose.”

“Even before you knew what it was.”

“I’d leap back to a higher place before I . . .” Kieransar hesitated.

“Before you pounced.” The counselor nodded. “It’s instinctive. Even if you know you’re outmatched, the first reaction you have to quell is an outright physical attack.”

“And what would these himmans do?”

“I asked one of them that same question. Without hesitation, he answered, ‘I’d shoot it.’ Others said they would flee if they could, or look around for a weapon if they didn’t have one on them, but none of them answered the way you just did.”

“So they avoid physical contact?”

“No. They merely look for a way to ‘make the fight more even,’ as one himman said to me. However, I do not believe we came out here to contrast fighting styles. May I proceed with the story?” The prince nodded.

“We began translating the information in their computer databases. It went quickly once some of the himmans learned Empire Common. I and a royal archivist were charged with learning about their religion and morality. In doing so, we learned about a holy writ called the Book of Two Covenants. At least, that’s how it translated. The faith was called the Way. We read the book, talked to the himmans who believed in it, and wrote up our findings after a few more years of study. In the process, the archivist became the first Hasshevaran Wayfinder. He lost everything because of it and had to be smuggled off the planet, but rumor has it he’s still preaching, along with a few of the himmans who also managed to escape.”

Kieransar leaned closer to his former mentor. “And then you became a Wayfinder.”

“Oh, no, not and risk my position. That came much later. Three years ago, in fact, when my wife