Pretender

“One hardly knows how to stop them at this point,” Banichi muttered, bending low to have a look at what now was out of sight.

“We can at least keep up with them, nadiin,” Bren said.

“Yes,” Banichi said, and moved forward in the bus, up to talk to the driver, and presumably to the old lord of Dur, who, conspicuous in his court dress, in a seat next the driver, and accompanied by several dark-clad bodyguards, was surely due the courtesy of an address. Bren moved up into the general neighborhood, and heard Banichi pointing out the situation to the lord of Dur. The lord—Rejiri’s father—got up from his seat, leaned on the rail, gazing out the front windows at a fading column of lamplit dust, and waved commands at the driver, who with powerful moves of the wheel, swung the bus out of the column in relatively hot pursuit.

“Keep up with them!” the lord of Dur urged his driver. “Go. Go!”

“Your lordship,” Bren said diffidently, edging into the lord’s presence.“One is grateful, for the sake of the young gentleman and the dowager. I am Bren, the paidhi-aiji, an old associate of your sonc”

“As who could ever mistake the paidhi-aiji!” Dur cried, and gave a little nod by way of a bow. His personal name was Adigan, Bren recalled that detail the moment the man spoke, immensely relieved to have old resources coming back to him at need. “The distinguished associate of my foolhardy son! Indeed, we are honored, nand’ paidhi, extremely honored to provide yourself and the aiji’s heir our stolen transport. In the haste of boarding and departure, there was little leisure, nor any desire to distract your lordship from needful ordersc but one is extremely glad to find you well.”

“The honor is very much mine, nand’ Adigan. One offers most profound gratitude for your gracious welcome, above all for the steadfastness of your house and that excellent young man, your son—” The courtesies flowed desperately on, needful as a steady heartbeat, while the bus engine roared and the driveshaft and the oil pan somehow survived the impact of rocks flung up from underneath as the bus lurched.

Then brush scraped under them, the bus ru

“The boy and that machine, baji-naji, the delight of his days!” The bus jolted. Adigan caught himself by the overhead rail, at the same time making a grab to steady Bren, no slower than his bodyguard.

“Faster, Madi-ji! Will an Atageini driver lose us?”

Faster it was. The bus passed others, roaring off into the dark wherever there was an appearance of flat ground, finding its way over open meadow, hitting brush, then falling back into the column where it must, not giving up on the car, in no degree, only seeking a chance to get by. Another bus had swerved aside from the general column, veering into their path, and the driver honked vigorously, while Lord Adigan swore and waved as if the other driver could see his indignation.

“Now! Now!” he cried, and the bus veered far out and around.

They passed the second bus. And hit a depression at the bottom of the hill, a streambed. The bounce of stout shock absorbers nearly threw them all in a heap as they went over the bank. Water splashed up into the headlamps, splattered the windshield. Then they met the far bank, lurched up and over, and climbed, wheels laboring, then clawed their way up at an angle, until one and then the other wheel rolled over the crest. Banichi steadied both of them, and the Dur bodyguard had likewise stood up, prudently holding on, trying to urge their lord to safety.

“The fool!” Adigan cried, ignoring the guards, waving at the other bus, now behind them.

“Best sit down, Bren-ji,” Banichi said quietly—in point of fact, Bren had little to see at all past that wall of atevi, but a fleeting glimpse of that pair of taillights, like a ruddy will of the wisp, flitting ahead of them. Questions came from the rear of the bus, what was going on, were they under attack, had the brakes failed?

One was a high young voice, demanding information.

Adigan turned and shouted to his household and his provincials: “We are following a car in which the aiji-dowager has taken passage with the Atageini! That fool driver will never leave Dur in the dust!”

One certainly understood where Rejiri derived his notions. A cheer went up from the folk of Dur, a general approbation of their lord’s defiance, and in that commotion Bren began to find his way back to his seat.

“The paidhi-aiji is with us,” Dur shouted out, “and the young heir of Tabini-aiji!”

“Hai!” the cheer went up, to a man.

Well, it was something, being cheered by an allied clan that still owned itself allied, after all the troubles. It set a warmth into one’s bones.

“Thank you, Dur!” Cajeiri waved his arms above adult heads, in mid-aisle, silhouetted in the glare of headlamps behind them. He had a sure grasp of politics, even at his age.

“Hai for Dur!” his young escort yelled out, everyone congratulating everyone else, while Adigan’s bus driver fought manfully not to be wrecked or overset, and Bren clawed his way past and into his seat. Cajeiri hung onto the seat back rail to cheer with his young bodyguard, and the bus bounced and lurched. Their objective, meanwhile, was nimbly eluding them, and they had not even made the train station, let alone Shejidan.

But they were still in pursuit.

If our transmission holds up, Bren said to himself, bracing himself at an angle between the wall and the seat ahead of him.

They were going to die in a bus wreck, never mind enemy fire, and it was his fault for suggesting they give chasec But they could not let Ilisidi go commit suicide alone, could they?

He knew the dowager’s ways, her absolutely outrageous ways, and in his mind, she was likely challenging the Kadagidi in that open car for a reason—her popularity—her absolute idolized status in the east. Let the aiji-dowager die in an outrageously heroic action against Murini and the whole east would blow up, that was what she was about. He could think of half a dozen eastern lords who would break from any western hold over them if Murini was remotely shown to have targeted her. He could think of a dozen more lords in the midcontinent that would become untrustworthy if the far east ever broke away from the aishidi’tat— The whole aishidi’tat would break apart, was what—shatter into a hundred rival states. Kill Ilisidi, and it guaranteed Murini would not be in charge when the kyo finally showed up in orbit, even if not a single member of Tabini’s household survived.

And if it did happen, if they failed in this mad venture, someone else would make a power grab, to be sure, name himself or herself aiji and cut Murini’s throat in the process—give it two weeks, at maximum.

Meanwhile Mospheira would lose no time stabilizing the situation by appointing Yolanda Mercheson his replacement. There was an idea worth staying alive to prevent.

And they had visitors coming in from space who expected to deal with a stable, reasonable authority down here.

God, if only Ilisidi had consulted him. He would have flung himself bodily in the way of her getting in that car. He would have argued with her that they—he, the dowager, and the heir—should run for it if Tabini had the notion of going back for a frontal assault on Shejidan. Run for the hills, hell. They should just go back to the coast, go to Mospheira, get back into space and use technological means, like a meaningful near-earth-orbit satellite system and broadcasts and even weapons they controlled, to become an unassailable nuisance to any usurper— But he hadn’t had a chance to pose that argument to her.

Security staffs had separated their assets, and right now there was no way in hell this overloaded bus was going to overtake that touring car on rough ground—not until their refueling, presumably at the train station.