The Rebel of Rhada by Robert Cham Gilman Page A

honor.”
    “I’m touched,” Kier replied dryly.
    The procession moved slowly through the tangled ancient slums of the city, where the buildings were decayed blocks of glass and plastic and rusted god-metal, toward the new town, where stone houses and the massive cylindrical form of the citadel dominated the narrow, crooked streets.
    Gret whispered to Kier, “They will take us when we enter the citadel.”
    Kier replied in Rhadan, which Landro did not speak. “Are you certain?”
    The Vulk shrugged. “I sense it so.”
    Cavour said, “You knew it when we put our heads into the mouth of the beast.”
    “I had hoped it would be different. We are in the hands of God,” Kier said.
    “We are in the hands of Landro,” Cavour remarked acidly. “Which is not at all the same thing. Do we fight?”
    Kier shook his head.
    Cavour said, “It is just as well. I am a poor swordsman.” Kier half smiled at his warlock. No man could doubt his courage, though warlocks were not famed as fighting men.
    And then, for reasons that he could not imagine, the young star king found himself thinking of Ariane, that princess he had not seen for many years. What had become of her, he wondered. If there was, in fact, treachery and treason everywhere, could the transgressors have allowed her to live?
    Landro was pointing at the new weapons on the flat roofs of the citadel. They were stone throwers of a new design, with slings loaded with what seemed to be thousands of pieces of jagged god-metal. Each war engine commanded an avenue of approach to the tiered residence of the Galacton.
    “The designs of a warlock named Kelber,” Landro said conversationally.
    The name meant nothing to Kier. He said, “What enemy are you expecting, Landro? It seems those catapults were meant to be used against your own people.”
    “The Nyori are an unruly lot.”
    Kier studied the shrapnel-loaded machines of death. “That unruly? This city seems more a war camp than the capital of an empire.”
    “The times are troublesome, cousin,” Landro said. “Surely you’ve heard.”
    “Times are always troublesome. But on Rhada we don’t arm against our own people. I wonder if you really do in Nyor.”
    “I say it, Kier,” Landor said with growing coldness. “Then it must be so.”
    Landro laughed suddenly. “On the word of a Veg.”
    Cavour raised his eyes to the wet sky, and Gret made a chuckling sound.
    They had reached the gate to the Citadel. It stood open, and within the first courtyard Kier could see still more Vegan troops with crossbows. The Vyks of the Imperial guard were nowhere to be discovered. It was obvious that Landro, as commander of the garrison, had sent them all elsewhere.
    The cavalcade rode into the yard, and the gate swung closed behind them. Kier raised his eyes to the top of the wall and saw Mariana standing there, cloaked against the rain. Then, not knowing why he did it at such a time, he looked even higher, to the narrow window of the round tower dominating the courtyard. He had a flashing glimpse of a young, narrow face framed in straight black hair--a Vykan face behind an X of god-metal bars. Was it Ariane? He had no time to consider, for Gret said clearly, “It happens now, King.”
    Kier wheeled his mare to face Landro just as he heard the twang and whir of crossbows. The three Rhadan mounts screamed in pain and fury and went down under a hail of quarrels. Kier struck the ground painfully, one leg caught beneath his murdered horse. Gret and Cavour were down as well, sprawled on the wet stones of the prison yard.
    His war-trained reflexes brought the young star king to his feet instantly, sword bared in his hand. He had said they were not to fight, but his instincts demanded it. On the wall a second rank of crossbowmen raised their weapons.
    “Wait!” Landro commanded.
    The three Rhadans stood together at bay while their animals twitched and died miserably behind them. Kier felt a sick fury at the way it had been done. He had