Prophecy of Tears: CH3: Renn

Renn - part 2

The doctor was gentle, but Renn felt as though ghostly hands trailed through his innards. He sat stiffly upright on a stool, torso bare as the doctor changed the filters on the toxin-extraction unit grafted into left Renn's side under the floating ribs. The device resembled a fist-sized black tick with legs thrust into his flesh. Renn hated it.

And he blessed it. Without the extractor pulling the cancer's toxins from his blood like a second liver, he would have died long before the Firetruce.

And he was here at last, thanks to the grace of the Bright Lord! He let his gaze wander as the doctor worked. The room was airy and pleasant. Large windows showed off a beautiful garden designed in traditional Diamond Sword style, with neatly curving paths that snaked around artfully placed boulders and tall stands of feathered grass.

None of it real, of course.

An elaborate hologram display disguised the meters-thick stahlplast armor that sheathed the quarters of the Phoenix Prime. Illusion, but Renn appreciated it nevertheless. A scatter of small trees and shrubs gave the impression of random placement. He smiled, amused at the thought of the Sworders permitting carelessness to penetrate their designs. A small brook wove its way through the garden, emptying into a pond clustered with the rose and violet of taisha lilies. Even the scented breeze felt genuine. Renn suppressed the urge to sigh in pleasure. Sighing was painful. Instead, he continued to enjoy the carefully cultivated surroundings.

Faux sunlight streamed into the room and illuminated hand-carved furnishings polished until they showed reflections moving like shadows in the grains of the wood. Silken tapestries woven with jeweled thread hung from a lofty ceiling. The effect was majestic but at the same time tranquil. Renn wanted nothing more than to let it lull him into slumber and rest, but he could not afford such a luxury.

A Tanar wearing the black of his elite guard approached, her uniform's gold piping glittering as she passed through a panel of sunlight. Her face was strong and composed, and Renn approved of her bearing. Tanar Geliss had been under his direct command for over a year now, and her crisp competence reassured him the Phoenix Prime would remain effective even as his body failed.

Pain struck him in the next instant, like a barbed knot yanked through his guts. From long practice in masking his condition, he maintained his composure, but his hand tightened on his knee, and nausea assaulted him in the wake of the pain. The attack ended as quickly as it had begun. Renn inhaled slowly, willing himself to relax.

The doctor murmured an apology. A rank smell stabbed the air, the odor of the biotoxins his own body manufactured now. Renn offered a fractional nod to show he understood. There was nothing to forgive. His life continued by the grace of medical technology and its specialized priesthood. Blessed Harabec had only granted him a reprieve, and only a short one if Renn's intuition was accurate.

"Yes, Tanar Geliss?" he said at last, turning his attention to the officer before him. Her features were tight. Out of a desire to keep his illness secret, Renn had ordered his staff and guard to treat him as though he were completely healthy, but they found it difficult not to react during one of his attacks. Despite his efforts, the ones closest to him had learned to recognize the signs.

"Everything is CC, my Lord," she replied after saluting. "We discovered several monitoring devices and placed our own lock and sensor systems at all doors. The niwa'aban - that's what the Diamond Sword call the force responsible for enforcing security here - have been most helpful, though they neglected to tell us how thoroughly they'd bugged us." She smiled wolfishly. "I thanked them for their assistance and assured them of our utmost confidence in the Diamond Sword's arrangements. Meanwhile, we quietly adjusted their bugs to provide harmless data."

"Good. Let's hope they find it entertaining."

The doctor straightened, holding a vial filled with a thick gray-green liquid. "Your toxin levels are increasing, my Lord," the doctor warned.

"I am dying, doctor. I am not surprised the cancer has become more enthusiastic." Renn smiled. "I will see you at our next appointment." The doctor bowed and withdrew.

"Hand me my tunic, Tanar." Renn stood and looked down at the obscenity grafted onto his side. Not a pretty sight. He accepted a deep green firesilk tunic from Geliss and pulled it on. His side felt like a raw nerve, as it always did after a filter change, but that was nothing compared to the agony he suffered from his attacks, and barely more than the constant background pain he felt in his stomach these days. He made himself pay attention to every twinge and ache, if only to remind himself that pain came in levels other than excruciating. Wisdom was borne of suffering, according to the Scriptures.

The thought made him grin. "I must be a wise man indeed!"

"Milord?"

"Nothing, Tanar. A stray thought from an old man." He stretched gingerly and slipped a long vest on over the tunic, adjusting it carefully over his stomach until he was satisfied with the look and fit. It was vital both politically and personally that he not allow his condition to undermine the disciplines of living. Appearances would be vital over the next few weeks. Or days, perhaps. However long the Bright Lord gave him.

His mind turned again to the question of the young Speaker, Shana Dawn Terayl. He had spoken to her during the mercifully short walk to his apartments, and his initial impression had given way to wonder. Yes, she was young and charismatic, but there was far more to this one than appeared on the surface. A spiritual hunger, perhaps, but wedded to a self-possession he found startling in such a youth. Already she had become very popular among the independents. He wondered again why the Diamond Sword had chosen her. The Sworders were fond of riddles. Here was one posed to his face.

"Tanar, fetch me all available data on Shana Dawn Terayl and the Sons of Thunder tribe," he ordered. "Immediately."

"At once, milord," Geliss made the sign of the Phoenix over her chest and departed.

Aside from the guard in the antechamber, Renn realized he was alone. A rare moment to himself, perhaps a brief opportunity to savor the solitude.

He decided to explore what he knew would be his last home. Armed with a glass of chilled meerfruit juice, Renn wandered from piece to piece, admiring the taste and workmanship of the Sworders who had furnished his quarters. Everything was immaculate. The rooms contained only the finest quality furniture and many delightful pieces of art. He would not have been surprised to hear every article in the room had been specifically crafted according to his particular psychological profile, for so it seemed to his eye.

One thing caught his attention: a Trigon board lay on a table by the window overlooking the garden, in an inviting space among three chairs. At first Renn merely glanced at it in passing, but then the realization struck him that the stones' placement on the playing grid depicted a game in progress. A complex game.

Curiosity piqued, he returned and examined the board. Like many political observers of the Diamond Sword, he had learned to play the Sworders' obsessively arcane game, and though he had no special talent at it, he was far from incompetent.

He sat and studied the placement of the stones. White was the aggressor, with passive support from red. The green pieces were arrayed in an classic formation Renn immediately recognized. It was called "The Cusp of Phoenix." He tapped a finger against his glass as he considered what hidden meaning waited for him here. This particular strategy demanded a substantial amount of risk for the green player. Timing was crucial, as the ancient patterns created by the stones depended heavily on the unoccupied "ghost" spaces to control the sequence of play across the grid. It produced a daring game of feints and bluffs that culminated in a sudden stroke that either swept the opponent off the board in an instant or resulted in shattering defeat for the moving player.

The Diamond Sword did nothing without profound deliberation. The history of the wilderzone had proven that insight repeatedly until it was a traditional stereotype like Blood Eagle brutality or Starwolf fractiousness. The stone placement was not a coincidence. A threat? The Sworders were not given to making such subtle threats, at least not to outsiders. A feint of some kind? If so, it was too obtuse for him. Yet there was a message here. Renn knew it as surely as he knew he would see his last days here. Moved by impulse, he took up a green stone from the bowl next to the board and placed it on the grid. It was a bold move in keeping with the strategy. He would play the Phoenix.

And he would not go to his grave with this riddle nipping at his heels. Not if he could help it.

"Tanar!" he barked, knowing her commlink would pick him up through the receivers placed in his room. "Send Gornon Zigradan at once!" The gnomish spymaster would be the best person to delve into this matter.

Renn looked again at the placement of the gleaming stones, disquieted by the cold riddle they posed.

What in cold hells were the sandrakers up to?

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