Chapter 32
The meeting at the High Temple of the Suns had not gone well, and the council members who deigned to meet with the revolutionaries had reneged on their agreement to turn Bran over to them.
The Supreme Council’s perfidy resulted in violent backlash, and much of the capital city now lay in rubble.
Victory was bittersweet, but what remained of the Guard Supreme finally delivered Bran to Gil’s care.
Yiis wasted no time summoning a physician.
Gil urged the physician to greater effort to save his Prime.
Bran looked worse than Crow had after the berserker’s last, fatal battle.
He tried to console himself with the fact that the Guard Supreme had not lopped off any limbs, although no other part of Bran’s body remained free of damage.
Contusions, lacerations, and burns covered him from pate to tail tip to toenails, some of which had been pulled out.
The council had not fed him well, either, if the protrusion of his ribs and general gauntness were any indication.
The physician withdrew the flexible tube which delivered both sustenance and healing agents directly into Bran’s veins. He looked up and sighed. “That’s all I can do for now. The rest is up to him.”
Gil understood what the physician did not say: that Bran needed the full complement of his bonds. They would give him the connections of encouragement, love, mental and emotional strength, and support he needed to live. The physician could only tackle the physical damage.
His consciousness traveled up the triad bond which still remained silent.
He paused at the barrier Bran had erected to keep his pain and suffering from flooding the connection and igniting Zul’s berserker rage where that rage could not be relieved without hurting those whom they cared about.
Gil wanted to think that Bran had sought to spare him, too. Bran was noble like that.
However, Bran was now weak and the barrier flimsy.
Gil broke through it with ease, although it would have been more accurate to say he dismantled it.
Dismantling involved guile and subtlety, not brute force.
Sliding through the thin barrier to the core of the connection, he found the blood-red strand that led to Zul.
With ghostly fingers, he plucked the strand.
Zul responded immediately. Gil.
Zul. It’s time to return. Come to the capital.
There was a brief pause. How is Bran?
Bad. He needs all of us here—you, Ursula, and Crow.
We’ll come as quickly as we can. There was another pause. How goes the rebellion?
Gil snorted. I think we won, but it feels like a hollow victory. The populace is in an uproar. Two members of the Council Supreme were killed. The city is in ruins.
Were they assassinated?
Gil snorted again. They were challenged and they lost. He paused, thinking how their ancient laws of right by combat had actually worked in their favor.
He flexed his hands, relishing the memory of tearing out that smug council member’s throat and watching his blood spill onto the arena’s sandy floor.
Too many assumed him weak because he was the Second, neither the dominant Prime nor the brawny berserker Third.
It had been satisfying to prove them wrong and validate himself before his own people as a strong, skilled, and worthy warrior.
He continued his summary report: Six more abandoned their positions and fled for safety before they, too, could be challenged.
The three who remain in the capital cannot govern.
The Council Supreme has effectively been defeated.
Gil made no mention of the deployment of troops against the people, the pitched battles within the capital and beyond, the toll of rage, resentment, and death upon Urib society.
Zul would see and understand all that soon enough.
You acquitted yourself well, Zul complimented him, catching a mental whiff of Gil’s memories of that duel. Councilor Ur’uki was a skilled fighter.
That’s why he yielded to the council’s urging to accept my challenge by combat, Gil replied.
He underestimated you.
Many do.
But they digressed, and Bran’s mind grew restless sensing the intrusion of Gil’s presence.
Zul, I must go. Come quickly. I will send transportation.
Zul relayed the coordinates for their location and terminated the connection. Knowing that arrival of the conveyance would take time, he added, Alert us when our transportation is near.
I will. Sitting at Bran’s bedside, Gil returned his focus to his Prime. He took Bran’s hand in his, hoping the physical touch would keep his Prime anchored to life. He spoke to Bran, oftentimes nothing more than nonsense, hoping the sound of his voice would draw him back.
As the days passed, Pako, Yiis, and Mosk, who recently arrived with Carmen and their children, took turns with Gil, sitting by Bran’s bedside to ensure he knew he would never be left alone or abandoned.
One afternoon, the captain of the Guard Supreme visited the house where they were staying. Mosk greeted him with a blade leveled at his throat and snarled, “What do you want?”
The captain met his gaze with cool respect, but did not step back from the blade’s lethal edge. “The Council Supreme has disbanded, and the senior member invites you and the new council to the palace.”
Mosk’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “And why would he invite us?”
“The Council Supreme agreed upon a peaceful surrender.”
“They do not wish to die,” Mosk stated.
“No, they do not, and they understand they cannot refuse honorable challenge by combat,” the captain replied, knowing the Fangrys and Omari Triads would decimate the remaining council members in trials by combat.
“They also do not want to see Uribern governed by a council made solely of disgruntled warriors.”
Overhearing the conversation, Yiis approached Mosk from behind and snorted. “They’ve finally figured out that a ruling council appointed from a single caste isn’t in Uribern’s best interests, hm?”
The captain’s chin dipped once. Raising it, he replied, “They do care about our planet and its people.”
“Not enough,” Mosk snapped. He lowered his knife and glanced at Yiis. “What say you?”
Yiis’ expression soured. “Brannal cen’Vyr hovers near death.”
“I regret his injuries,” the captain said, as much of an apology as they were going to get.
“You are responsible for those injuries,” Yiis pointed out.
“The Council Supreme wanted worse.”
“What’s going on?” Gil asked, joining them. He looked drawn and weary. “I heard voices.”
“We’ve been invited to the palace,” Mosk explained. “Apparently, the senior member of the Council Supreme wishes to officially transfer power and authority from them to the new governing council.”
“I’ll need to get word out,” Gil said. His lips peeled back from his pointed teeth as he said to the captain, “Guard the senior councilor well and let him know we will come when we are ready and when Brannal cen’Vyr is strong enough.”
The captain nodded. “I will inform him myself.”
“Yes,” Mosk murmured. “We wouldn’t want the senior councilor to die, would we?”
Yiis leaned forward. “Guard him well, for if that miscreant dies, I’ll challenge you myself.”
“My lords,” the captain replied with a bow. He turned on his heel and walked away.
Before he’d gone three steps, the door closed behind him.
“What do you make of that?” Mosk asked.
“They’re aiming for a bloodless hand-off,” Yiis replied with a snort. The rebellion had not been bloodless in the least. He shrugged. “It will impart some legitimacy, and we won’t be seen as usurpers—or at least not as much so.”
Gil rolled his shoulders to ease the kinks of tight, sore muscles. “Each caste will have to elect its own leaders to represent them in the new governing council. That will take some time.”
“And blood,” Yiis murmured.
Mosk nodded and added, “We’ll set a date by which time they must present the leaders they wish to represent them.”
Gil shook his head and chuckled.
“What’s so amusing?” Yiis asked.
“Our mates would be very proud of us right now.”
The other two males paused to ponder that, then they began to laugh.
“And rights for females?” Mosk asked after their moment of mirth.
Gil shrugged. “Ursula once urged me to read her country’s Constitution. The revolutionaries who founded her homeland were, indeed, revolutionary. But even so, they did not afford females rights: such rights were later added through amendments.”
“Do you have a copy of this Constitution?” Mosk asked.
“I do. I’ll send it to you to read.”
“What right does Ursula expect?” Yiis asked.
“She wants the right to vote, to have a voice in determining the laws that govern her.” Gil met their eyes. “After having been ruled by a corrupt Council Supreme for far too long, we want the same, do we not?”
Mosk grinned. “We do.”
Yiis nodded. “Carmen will be pleased.” He grinned. “And a pleased Carmen is eager to become a satisfied Carmen.”
“I can’t wait,” Mosk said, rubbing his hands together. “It has been too long since we fucked our mate.”
Gil agreed. It had been too long since he, Bran, and Zul fucked their mate. The next time the four of them joined in the bedchamber, perhaps they would be fortunate enough to impregnate Ursula. She glowed when she was pregnant, so round and ripe and beautiful.
Mosk slapped him on the back of the shoulder. “You look like shit. Get some rest. I’ll sit with Bran while you sleep.”
“And get something to eat first,” Yiis added.
Gil nodded and rubbed the back of his neck. “After I alert the castes. They need to hold elections—and quickly.”