chapter 67

 

 

It was the first time in Tal’s career as Lancer that a full Council had been utterly quiet upon her entrance. She walked to the edge of the dais and stood looking down at Shantu, who had changed into a red fighting suit and was doing a few flashy warm-up moves.

Overconfident, she thought. It was one point in her favor. She made no gesture to draw his attention, perfectly content to let him tire himself out while attempting to impress their audience.

But he saw her, and with a last flourish he retracted his sword and stood waiting. She noticed that he offered no salute, and decided to make him wait a bit longer. The tension rose palpably in the chamber as they stared at each other, and finally Shantu put his fists together and gave her the tiniest of bows. She nodded in return and descended the steps to the floor.

There would be no more grand announcements. The Council was nothing but an audience now, and the Chamber no more than a fighting ring. Though part of Tal was disgusted at the taint of ancient barbarism that Shantu had brought to the State House, another part had to admire his strategy. By thinking purely as a warrior instead of a politician, he had come up with a nearly foolproof plan, just as he’d promised Parser. The only thing that might keep it from being completely foolproof was Tal herself, and she was at a disadvantage.

They met in the middle of the floor and stood an armlength apart.

“You don’t have to do this,” said Tal. “There’s still time to retract your challenge. Better to live an outcaste than to die a mere tool of a merchant.”

He shook his head. “You speak like a coward. Don’t be afraid to die, Lancer. Your Return will put your name in the history books. This will never be forgotten.”

“Don’t you realize that Parser used you?”

He held out his sword grip. “Meet the challenge, Lancer.”

She hadn’t expected him to listen, but it was worth a try. She touched her grip to his, sealing the challenge. They both stepped back, extended their swords, and watched.

Tal’s senses were closed down; she could not afford the distraction of the hundreds of minds around her. But Salomen was there, still calm. Her presence kept Tal grounded, allowing her to focus on Shantu’s body language, his facial expressions, any clue she might have to his intentions.

He grew increasingly impatient, waiting for her to make the first move, and finally began to circle around her. “Afraid to move, are you? Perhaps your legs are too shaky from the fear. I always knew you were more of a carefully constructed myth than reality.”

She turned in place, staying on the balls of her feet, her legs spread and slightly bent for balance. “Planning to pardon Parser when you take the title? You’d better do it right away. He already controls you, even from prison. If you become Lancer he’ll have everything he needs. You’ll be nothing but his puppet. Come to think of it, you already are.”

He lunged at her, testing her defenses with a quick flurry of slashes. She blocked them easily, her muscles well-tuned to the activity, and he drew back again. “I’m surprised,” he said. “You’ve been practicing.”

“I knew what you had planned. I was expecting you, Shantu. Why do you think you had such an easy time getting into the State House?”

His eyebrows rose. “I did think it was a little too simple.”

“Beating me won’t be.”

He laughed. “It doesn’t matter how much you practiced. You never had a chance. You’ve been playing at being a producer for the last moon.” He lunged again, and this time she twisted away from him, lashing out with a kick that was aimed at his knee but connected with his thigh. The blow knocked him off balance, but he caught himself in time and was ready for her follow-up attack. Though her kick had done damage, he was still more than equal to her and soon had her back on the defensive.

“Weighted shoes, nice touch,” he said sarcastically.

She made no answer; the time for verbal parrying was over. She let her body respond automatically while she focused on his moves, looking for patterns and any visual cues, anticipating him by one or two strokes. Then he shifted into a higher speed, pressing her so hard that she was forced to respond blow by blow. It was not where she wanted to be and she looked desperately for a way out, knowing that this kind of fighting would kill her before long. He was favoring overhand smashing strokes, using his height to overpower her, and even though she had long experience with that kind of strategy it was still tiring to counter. She let his blade slide off hers again and again, until at last she found enough of an opening to shove his blade to the side and drive her other fist into his face, feeling the crunch of a cheekbone. His head flew back and she brought her sword grip straight back in, smashing the hard point against his shoulder joint.

It would have been an excellent move if not for the fact that he had his blade in motion sooner than she could respond, and she was wide open to the slashing blow that came in at her side. She saw it coming in time to twist away, but not far enough—the blade caught her in the ribs and sent her stumbling, her hand automatically going to the wound. It was deep, the blood already spilling over her fingers. She was too shocked to even feel the pain.

Vaguely she heard the gasps of the audience, but Salomen’s distress was much more distracting. She shook her head, forcing her body back into a ready position, and wondered why Shantu hadn’t already killed her. Then she saw him standing with his sword half lowered, holding his other hand to his shoulder and grimacing. She’d done more damage than she’d thought.

With a growl she lunged at him, aiming for his weak side, but he quickly switched hands and met her blade with equal strength. Their swords slid to the grips and held as they glared at each other—and then Tal kicked him viciously in the knee. He howled in pain and rage, coming at her with such fury that she could barely counter it, the wound in her side tearing a little more every time she twisted to block a blow. He was limping and down to one arm, but even with that he was still stronger, still faster at swordplay, still better at anticipating her and making her do the work. And now he was careful. She’d surprised him one time too many, but he would no longer underestimate her. So he kept his distance, knowing that time was on his side, and kept her on the defensive where she could find no opportunities for damage.

They battled from one end of the chamber to the other, she always moving backwards or sideways as he pressed into her. Every time she blocked a blow it took a little more energy from a finite store, and the wound was sapping her as well. She’d lost her best chance of ending this fight on her terms, and was now reduced to merely staying alive and hoping he’d make a mistake.

He didn’t. His strategy was simple but effective, and she was tiring. It was taking her a fraction of a piptick longer to block, and the blows began to slip through. A shallow slash to the forearm, a deeper one to her thigh…he was going to cut her to pieces until she could no longer raise her blade, and she could do nothing to prevent it. He left her no openings and no time to attack.

She was desperate now, knowing that her time was running out. She had to get out from under him! But every time she turned, his blade was there; it was as if he knew what she was planning before she did. She understood precisely what was happening; he had the mental space to anticipate her, but she was too busy responding to his attacks to think ahead. Calmly she began to accept the inevitable. She was going to Return, but at least he’d been right about one thing: her death would go down in the history books. And his term as Lancer would probably set a record for brevity; the warrior caste would oust him within days, if not this very day. But his victory in this challenge would eradicate the criminal charges, and he would never pay for his crimes. That thought rankled.

For just a moment she allowed herself to think of Salomen’s grief, a distraction that was nearly fatal as Shantu came within a hair of taking off her leg. She blocked it at the last piptick, forcing his blade away with a sudden fierce determination. She refused to accept the possibility of losing! Accepting her Return was the first step toward death, and she would not go down that path.

Even as she thought it, she noticed that Shantu was using fewer overhead blows and that the overall pace of their fighting had slowed; he was tiring as much as she. The realization gave her new strength and she pressed into him, surprising him with a quick parry and return. Her blade slipped through and sliced into his side, returning his earlier favor, and he stepped back in shock. She followed it up with a slash toward his sword arm, but he recovered in time, and that was the last opportunity he allowed. From that moment on he slowly but surely drove her to the ground. They were both exhausted and bleeding, their swords connecting at a fraction of the pace they had in the beginning, but the damage was no less for the lack of speed. Every blow now seemed to jar her whole body, and though she still felt no pain from her wounds, they were certainly draining her as well. Still she fought with every bit of strength she had, refusing to give in, refusing to think of any option but victory and a long life with Salomen…until the moment came when her tired muscles could not lift the sword high enough, and she failed to block the blow to her upper arm. She heard the scrape as his blade bit into bone.

Her sword dropped from useless fingers, hitting the floor with a clatter that echoed through the chamber; and as she looked at him she saw the triumph in his eyes. His body seemed to ripple and she watched the boot flying toward her, too weak to do anything but wait. The blow caught her square in the chest, sending her crashing onto her back, and she was finished.

He limped up, standing over her with his sword extended as he gasped for breath. “I’ll give you your due,” he rasped. “You fought well. But you had to go, one way or another. The replicators should never have been planned for general release. You would have given them to everyone with your weak-minded ideas about caste equality. But the castes aren’t equal; they never have been, and now the warriors will take their rightful place as the ruling caste. The replicators will insure it.”

She ignored him as she rolled to her left side, putting her good right hand down for leverage and pushing her torso up. Though her body was weak, the determination was still there. She would not lie on her back and die like a fanten at the slaughter.

“Don’t bother,” he said, stepping forward for the killing blow. The point of his sword was almost at her throat when she brought her leg up and lashed out with her heel, crushing his right knee for the second time that morning.

He bellowed in pain, his leg buckling beneath him, and she lashed out again. The second kick caught him in the stomach, levering him away from her as he fell. She gathered her legs beneath her and pushed off with her right hand, propelling herself upright with a sudden burst of energy. Two steps brought her within reach of her sword; she scooped it up in her good hand and raced toward him. He was already struggling to his feet, balancing on his left leg and bringing up his sword. She was beyond strategy, beyond anything but the thought of reaching him before he could defend. He was still straightening and turning to face her when her sword connected, and with all the momentum of her run she drove it straight in, feeling the sudden give as the point exited his back.

His body folded forward, and for just a moment it was only her sword that held him upright. Then she let go, watching with a strange detachment as he toppled to his knees and slumped onto his side. The fingers of his sword hand opened, the blade tipping to the floor and exposing his family crest engraved in the grip.

“How…” he whispered, and his front dissolved, revealing an utter bewilderment. A pool of blood spread beneath him, creeping toward her across the polished wooden floor. His eyes widened; he stared at her in shock and disbelief, and then he was looking at nothing at all.

She swayed on her feet, the exhaustion crashing over her as every wound and every muscle began to hurt. Suddenly she could barely move, but there were still things to do. With excruciating slowness she stepped to his side, painfully lifting a foot to his chest and wrapping her hand around the hilt of her sword. The effort of pulling it out one-handed was almost more than she could muster, but slowly it came free, its normal brilliance dulled by a coating of blood and tissue. She stepped back, bloody sword in hand, and faced the utterly silent Council.

“Alsea!” she cried, raising the sword over her head.

“ALSEA!” came the answering roar of more than five hundred voices; even the people in the visitor galleries responded.

“You are all witness!” She dropped the sword to her side, having no strength left to hold it up. “Six cycles ago I was given this title by a vote of the scholar and warrior castes, but today I hold it by the choice of Fahla herself. Fahla has chosen her champion!”

“FOR FAHLA!” they shouted. “FOR FAHLA AND ALSEA!”

A rumbling sounded as every warrior caste Councilor left their seats; twenty-nine women and men running along the tiers and down the steps to spill onto the chamber floor. A few went to Shantu’s body, lifting it up and carrying it out, but most surrounded Tal, catching her as the last shred of energy left her body. She slumped into a forest of arms that kept her upright, and someone took the sword from her hand, saying something about cleaning it for her. She was carried to the nearest tier, where builder caste Councilors scrambled to make space as gentle hands pushed her into a seat.

Goddess, it felt good to sit down. Lying down would be even better, but she really didn’t want to pass out in front of the entire Council and a worldwide viewing audience.

“Salomen,” she said. “Where is Salomen?” Something was wrong; their bond wasn’t what it should be. It felt as if Salomen were hurt, but that couldn’t be right. She was safe in the VIP gallery. Wasn’t she?

“She’s coming,” someone said, and there were murmurs of agreement.

Tal rested her head against the back of the seat. “I think I need a healer,” she mumbled.

“They’re already here,” said a woman close by. A moment later three healers appeared through the crowd around Tal, pushing a stretcher and carrying supply packs. Once again Tal felt herself gathered and lifted by many hands, and then she was lying on a soft surface, her muscles instantly turning to liquid. At last she could rest.

“Let’s get these wrapped,” said one of the healers. “Greenburn, Hilsip, cut off the sleeve and leg. I’ll get the torso.” Tal closed her eyes as her body was shifted this way and that. There was a burning sensation when the material was pulled away from her wounds, and she vaguely heard the healer in charge tell her assistants to start wrapping the body while she did the arm. Her arm was lifted; she felt movement just below her shoulder, and then she grimaced as the hiss sounded and her wound protested sharply at the sudden pressure. Her legs were being lifted as well; she felt a pressure sack bunched around her hips, and several pairs of hands raised her torso while the bag was tugged up and sealed just above the wound in her side. Another hiss, another fierce sting, and at last the pain settled into a pounding ache that was far more tolerable. A skinspray to her wrist lessened even that, and she opened her eyes in relief.

“Thank you,” she said to anyone who had helped.

The healer in her line of vision nodded, and she felt the stretcher begin to move.

“There they are,” someone said. “Would you look at that?”

“What happened to her?” asked a second voice.

Tal craned her neck, trying to see around the press of bodies. The Councilors in front of her stepped back, giving her a clear sight line down the length of the chamber floor. There were Aldirk and Razine, with Shikal right beside them, holding Jaros by the hand. Jaros kept turning to look behind him, and as Tal’s stretcher rolled closer she saw Gehrain and Vellmar towering behind the others. Their expressions were stern, and they were flanking someone who moved slowly. In the next piptick Nikin came into view, cradling Salomen in his arms. Her arms were wrapped around his neck and her head rested on his shoulder; she looked as if she was barely conscious.

Tal pushed at the people around her, struggling to lever herself up with her good arm, but hands held her back and someone said, “No, Lancer Tal, don’t injure yourself.” She had a completely inappropriate desire to laugh. Injure herself? Wasn’t it a little late for that? But now they were in front of the group, and she saw Shikal pulling a wide-eyed Jaros to one side to let her stretcher pass.

“Stop!” she shouted.

When the healers ignored her she struggled, nearly rolling right off the stretcher. They had to stop then, and Nikin stepped up with a white-faced Salomen who said in tones of absolute authority, “Do not ever ignore an order from the Lancer. You are in the State House, not the healing center. Show your respect.”

The healers stood straight, startled into obedience.

“Salomen…” Tal reached out, needing the contact, and Salomen brought one arm down to gently clasp her hand.

“I’m all right,” she said. “Don’t worry. I’m just a little tired.”

“What happened?”

“I told you. Shantu fought us both.”

For a moment Tal didn’t understand. Then she saw the shadows of pain in Salomen’s eyes and whispered, “You were there with me. Just like you said.”

Salomen nodded. “I would never have let you do that alone.” A tiny smile lifted one corner of her mouth as she added, “It wasn’t exactly regulation.”

The gentle humor helped lift the fog from Tal’s overwhelmed brain. “Every advantage I had,” she said. “Even the ones I didn’t know about.” They stared at each other, absorbing their connection, until Tal finally reminded herself that they were not alone. Shifting her gaze to Nikin, she said, “Thank you for being there for her.”

He nodded. “Perhaps someday you’ll explain to Father and me what just happened.”

“We will. Someday.” She patted the space beside her. “Will you put her here?”

“Lancer Tal,” protested the healer as Nikin walked to the other side of the stretcher.

Tal held up her hand. “It’s wide enough for two, isn’t it?”

The healers looked at each other in dismay as Nikin bent to deposit Salomen on the stretcher. Tal watched her avidly, then narrowed her eyes. “You’re not still Sharing my pain, are you?” she asked in sudden suspicion.

“No. I couldn’t hold it once the fight was over. I think it was my fear that enabled it.”

As the stretcher resumed its motion, Tal remembered that the moment of Shantu’s Return was the moment she’d nearly dropped from exhaustion and a sudden awareness of all her wounds. That was when Salomen had let go.

“You held it all,” she said, realizing it even as she spoke. “From the very first one, in my side. I remember thinking that I was in too much shock to feel the pain.”

“We were both in shock,” said Salomen. “I felt that sword go in. I was focusing so hard on you, trying to help you in the fight, that I must have set up some sort of link without knowing it. Nikin didn’t know what to think when you were cut and I acted as if it had been me.”

“Because it was you. Oh, tyrina…you felt every one of them?”

Salomen nodded, and they were quiet as their stretcher was rolled out of the chamber and into the relative calm of the corridor. She glanced at Tal’s arm and said, “That one was the worst. I thought I’d pass out. Actually I think I did for a moment. The next thing I remember, you were on the floor.”

“That makes sense. The arm cut was when everything slowed down for me, and I couldn’t lift a finger to defend myself when he kicked me onto my back. So you must have woken up again after I cracked his knee.”

“I think so.”

“I had an unbelievable burst of energy after that. A moment before I’d just stood there watching him kick me, and suddenly I was bouncing off the floor and racing for my sword. I should have known that was you. Goddess above, Salomen. You’re the reason I’m alive. I would never have been able to finish him if you hadn’t given me your strength.” A thought occurred to her. “And your will. That was you, wasn’t it? Refusing to let me accept my Return?”

“Visualize your success and achieve it,” said Salomen. “You and Colonel Micah both taught me that. I couldn’t let you think about failure.”

“You realize that’s highly illegal,” said Tal with a ghost of a smile.

“Somehow I don’t think you’ll report me.”

The motion of the stretcher paused as they reached the stairs, but the healers were well trained; the stretcher hardly changed angle as they carried it down. From the bottom of the stairs it was a quick push to the healer transport, where the doors closed off any remaining hubbub from the State House. One of the healers snapped a restraint bar onto the stretcher before taking a seat near Tal’s head and holding a scanner against her unwrapped wrist.

“You’ll be fine, Lancer Tal,” he assured her.

She nodded, never breaking her gaze with Salomen. “I know.”

 

 

 

 

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chapter 68

 

 

“I thought you were supposed to be getting back into this gradually,” huffed Vellmar.

The Lancer glanced over with a smile. “Tired already?”

“Not at all. Just concerned about you.”

“Don’t bother. Salomen takes care of that job.”

Vellmar shook her head. Why was she even surprised that the Lancer had insisted on a run only five days after the challenge? From what she’d learned about this woman, her one day of enforced bed rest was already one too many. She’d been amazed the healers had managed to keep the Lancer in the center that long, and suspected that the only reason they’d succeeded was that Raiz Opah had stayed in the bed with her. Well, that and the fact that she’d slept half the time.

“How is your leg doing?” she asked.

“Fine. Stop worrying, Vellmar. I said I’d only do a length.”

“Yes, but somehow I assumed you meant you’d run it at a more practical pace.”

“I needed to blow the spinner’s webs out of my mind.”

Vellmar could understand that. With Shantu’s death, Lancer Tal’s reputation had moved into the stratosphere. The media had labeled her Fahla’s Chosen, and public support for her had swelled to such an extent that an entire unit of warriors had been called to hold the crowd back from the entrance to the Blacksun Healing Center. The air had been thick with the scent of hyacot twigs, broken and left in piles all along the walls of the center as an homage to the woman inside. Blacksun Temple was ablaze with bowl offerings day and night, as a neverending stream of Alseans offered thanks to Fahla for her Chosen. It was a near deification, and the Lancer was not comfortable with it.

“If it helps,” Vellmar offered, “I’m reasonably certain that Fahla’s Chosen would never wear a shirt with that many holes in it.”

Lancer Tal laughed as she slowed to a walk. “All right. That’s a length.” She turned in place and began walking back the way they’d come. “Salomen detests this shirt, too. You’re in good company.”

Vellmar looked around appreciatively. A trail through a forest was her idea of running perfection, and she’d been delighted when the Lancer had brought her here for their morning exercise. She wouldn’t mind if they did this every day. The forest rang with birdsong, the air was crisp, and the smell of damp soil was delicious. Koneza certainly had offered nothing like this, and it was practically outside her door. Her secondary quarters were only a few hundred paces from the base border and the beginning of this trail.

“What does Raiz Opah think of the base?” she asked curiously.

“She says she understands now why I’d want to bother with two separate sets of quarters only a fifteen-tick transport ride apart.” The Lancer stopped to gently stretch her leg. “It was nice to leave the State House behind.”

“And the chaos.”

“And that.”

Vellmar watched her closely, looking for any signs of pain in her face as she stretched the injured leg. But she saw nothing, and unfortunately did not look away in time to avoid being caught.

“Your record never said anything about you being like a winden with a newborn,” said Lancer Tal in exasperation. “For the last time, I’m fine. None of the cuts hit anything vital, the muscle and skin sealers are all holding perfectly, and I could probably wrestle you to the ground right now without tearing anything open.”

Vellmar raised an eyebrow at that.

“But I wouldn’t try,” conceded the Lancer with a smile.

“Good. Because I know a few more moves than the ones I taught you.”

They walked in silence for several ticks, the Lancer deep in thought and Vellmar content to absorb her surroundings with all her senses. This place was beautiful, and she was looking forward to learning every handspan of every trail.

“I never did thank you, did I?” asked the Lancer.

“For what?”

“Giving me what I needed. It was almost as if you knew how the fight would end.”

Vellmar shrugged. “We both knew he was a better sword fighter. It made sense that at some point you’d be in that position.”

They walked a few more paces before the Lancer said, “Shantu would be proud to think that it took three people to beat him.”

“You think he didn’t have moves he learned from someone else? I just gave you the knowledge, Lancer Tal. And my mother gave it to me. We’re all products of our training.”

“And of our character.” She shook her head. “I keep thinking about what he said just before I killed him. He honestly thought the replicators should be kept for the warrior caste alone. He would have been a terrible Lancer, but at least he wasn’t thinking just of himself. He was motivated by a desire to elevate our caste. But Parser did everything for one man and one man alone. And yet he’s alive, and Shantu is dead. There’s something very wrong about that.”

“Parser is not really alive,” Vellmar pointed out.

It was true. The day of the challenge, the Council had reconvened once the Lancer was known to be safe. With the blood still darkening the floor of the chamber, the Councilors had listened to Colonel Razine present her evidence. They’d listened to Herot Opah’s testimony, and an unexpected testimony by Councilor Zalringer, one of Shantu’s closest allies who had quickly switched sides when his leader had fallen. The judgement of the Council had been swift; by unanimous vote they’d recommended that both Parser and Shantu be stripped of their caste. Yesterday afternoon the merchant and warrior castes had held their own votes, with conclusive results. Parser was now outcaste, a broken and nameless man who was not likely to survive prison without the protection of his fellow merchants. In fact, they were the ones most likely to try to kill him, in vengeance for the tremendous dishonor he’d brought upon their caste.

For Shantu the result was even more horrifying, at least to Vellmar’s way of thinking. Denied a proper pyre, he was buried like a mere carcass, his body left to be eaten by worms. His name would be erased from the rolls of the archives, and as far as the warrior caste was concerned it would be as if he had never existed. Already this morning’s news stories were referring to him as “the warrior defeated by Fahla’s Chosen.” He would certainly be recorded by the history books, but not the way he’d planned.

She glanced at her wristcom, the motion not going unnoticed by her sharp-eyed companion. “Your leave starts in half a hantick, doesn’t it?” asked the Lancer. “Planning to beat up on Senshalon again?”

“Perhaps later.” Vellmar smiled at her. “But first I have an appointment at the healing center.”

Lancer Tal looked away quickly. “Good luck with that.”

The remainder of their walk passed in silence, with Vellmar cursing herself for ruining what had been a remarkably intimate conversation. Lancer Tal had lost a lot of her reserve during that frantic night of preparation for a life or death moment, and it had carried over into their day to day relationship. But since her stay in the healing center she reacted badly to any mention of Colonel Micah, and Vellmar should have known better.

When they reached the base border, the Lancer said, “Enjoy your leave,” and turned toward her own quarters without another glance. Vellmar stood looking after her.

“I will,” she said.

 

 

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Aldirk waited impatiently as the supercilious desk clerk checked the schedule. “Yes, here you are,” the man announced. “You may pass through.”

Grumbling to himself, Aldirk went through the archway into the secured area of the healing center. “You’d better appreciate this, Colonel,” he muttered.

He still couldn’t believe he was actually doing this. But he’d signed the schedule in a moment of euphoria right after the Lancer had miraculously avoided death, and now, five days later, he had to make good on his impetuous promise. It was yet another proof that haste never led to anything good. Surely he should have learned that lesson by now.

He found Colonel Micah’s door, took a deep breath, and walked in.

The room was full of the scent of hyacot twigs. Lancer Tal had brought a bowl from her own room during her day here, and had asked Aldirk to make sure the bowl stayed filled for as long as was necessary. It was certainly a far better scent than the acrid stench of narnell root that marked every healing center.

The Colonel was lying on his side. The healing staff had been turning him regularly to prevent the formation of sores, and Aldirk thought it was just like the man to be in an inconvenient position for a Sharing.

“I suppose it could be worse,” he said, shrugging off his rain cape and hanging it by the door. “You could be on your stomach.”

He approached the bed, taking in the pasty skin and the limp facial features, and for a moment he wondered why the Colonel didn’t just finish the job. This man had already Returned, for all practical purposes; surely everyone could see that? The Lancer did, he knew. After the challenge she’d spent almost as much time in this room as in her own, and when he’d seen her just before her release he’d noticed how she shut down at the mention of his name.

It was that memory that gave him the added impetus to crouch into an extremely uncomfortable position, line up the energy points, and press his forehead against Colonel Micah’s.

Many cycles ago he’d Shared with his brother while his older sibling slept. They’d been discussing what the difference might be between a conscious and an unconscious mind, and like the scholars they were, they’d decided to experiment. He hadn’t liked the feeling then, and he didn’t like it now. The darkness was heavy and pressing, and when he emerged above the surface he found nothing but a distant impression of the man he’d argued with so many times.

All right, Colonel. This is the one and only time I will do this. I know you want to Return, and Fahla knows I shouldn’t stand in your way, but you are needed here.

Do you hear me? Lancer Tal needs you.

He projected his memories of her, recalling every time she’d spoken with him about the Colonel since the injury. One by one he retraced the memories from that first call in the middle of the night, to the day he’d spent in Redmoon, to their flight back to Blacksun and the way the Lancer had insisted on accompanying Colonel Micah into this very room. He remembered setting up the appointments for the entire Opah family to Share with him, and the look on the Lancer’s face four days ago, when she’d so clearly given up. Then he went back to the beginning and started over.

After a few repetitions his mind wandered, and his thought about making those appointments for the Opah family led to the memory of Raiz Opah’s face on his vidcom unit, calling because the Lancer had disappeared. Because somehow, Lancer Tal had known to prepare for a challenge that not one of them had remotely anticipated.

I wonder if you would have caught that one, he thought. You’re just barbaric enough to have thought of it. It certainly never occurred to me. I still watch that recording and shudder. The blood stain won’t come out unless the floor is refinished, and the Council voted to let it stay as a reminder. How disgusting.

You would probably approve.

He stayed in the link for several more repetitions, until the vibration of his wristcom broke into his thoughts. He’d set it for the end of his time slot, and with considerable relief he ducked back into the darkness, relaxing and letting his mind return to his own body. Groaning, he straightened up and rubbed his aching back.

“Perfect,” he grumbled. “I’ll have to pick up paincounters on the way out. Probably your idea of a joke.”

Plucking his rain cape from the hook, he threw it over his shoulders and left, shutting the door behind him.

 

 

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Vellmar waved at the desk clerk as she breezed past. She’d been here enough times now that the staff knew her by sight, and no one stopped her as she ducked through the arch into a very familiar corridor. She strode along the curving hallway, counting doors out of habit, and walked into the Colonel’s room. The scent of hyacot twigs tickled her nose, a welcome relief from the pungency of narnell root.

“Good morning, Colonel Micah,” she said as she hung up her rain cape. “Ready for yet another Sharing?”

He was on his side this time, which made things a great deal more difficult. Sighing, she walked over to the bed and took a giant straddling step, spreading her legs as far as she could without losing her balance. She knew from prior experience that her back would be killing her if she didn’t lower her center of gravity as much as possible when Sharing from this angle.

“You know, if I were you I’d be desperately tired of this by now,” she said, sliding her hands into place. “People coming in at all hanticks, day and night, Sharing with you whether you like it or not. It must be a pain.” Shifting her legs a little further apart, she lowered her head—and stopped in shock as his eyes opened.

They stared at each other for what seemed like half a hantick, with Vellmar so stunned that she couldn’t even summon up her powers of speech. Finally she cleared her throat and said, “Ah…Colonel Micah? Welcome back.”

He made no answer, simply watching her with a furrowed brow. Awkwardly she pulled herself erect, fetched a chair from the side of the room, and sat next to him. He hadn’t moved.

“I don’t know if you remember me,” she said. “I’m Fiana Vellmar. You promoted me to the Lancer’s Lead Guard.”

At last he nodded. “I remember you.”

His voice was raspy and dry, barely more than a croak. She immediately cursed herself for six kinds of fool and punched the healer’s key on the bedside vidcom unit. A healer’s assistant appeared. “Yes?”

“Colonel Micah is awake,” she told him.

His eyes widened. “We’re on our way.” The screen went blank.

She looked back at the Colonel. “There are a lot of people who will be happy to see you, Colonel. And one in particular that I need to call right now.” She raised her wristcom, thought better of it, and picked up the bedside vidcom unit instead.

Lancer Tal answered the call almost instantly, her face tight with fear. “Vellmar? What happened?”

Vellmar couldn’t keep the grin off her face. “There’s someone here you need to see, Lancer.” She turned the unit so that it faced the Colonel and heard a gasp.

“Micah!”

“Andira,” he croaked, and seemed capable of no more than that. Vellmar turned the unit back just in time to witness the most beatific smile she had ever seen on another Alsean. The Lancer was lit from within.

“Vellmar, tell him I’ll be there in fifteen ticks. And tell him to stay out of trouble until I get there.”

“I will.”

“Salomen!” Lancer Tal shouted, just before the screen went blank.

Vellmar put the unit down and grinned at the Colonel. “The base is twenty ticks away. I guess she’s in a hurry.”

The door flew open, admitting a whole herd of healers. They swarmed over the Colonel, checking his signs and asking questions that he couldn’t answer, until finally Vellmar barked at them that the man couldn’t speak, for Fahla’s sake, and when were they going to give him some water? At that the Colonel’s eyes found hers again and crinkled slightly.

“Don’t worry, Colonel Micah,” she said. “We’ll take care of you.”

He nodded, just as a cup and straw were thrust under his chin, and he closed his eyes in gratitude as he drank.

Ten ticks later the healers were gone, Colonel Micah was sitting up in bed, and Vellmar could not believe this was the same man who had looked half-dead just a few ticks earlier. He’d been given a cup of juice and a piece of fresh bread, and after that he’d asked for a toothbrush, brushing his teeth with groans of pleasure and spitting into a bowl she held for him.

“Fahla,” he said, wiping his mouth after polishing off another glass of water. “You have no idea how good that felt.”

Vellmar tried to imagine not brushing her teeth for eight days and decided that she never wanted to know what it felt like. “I’m sure Lancer Tal will be grateful for your consideration,” she said, earning a surprised look from him.

“Getting comfortable in your role already, I see.”

She realized what she’d said and looked down. “My apologies, Colonel. I didn’t mean to offend.” Shek. She’d gotten too used to speaking with him in familiar terms while he was unconscious.

“How many times have you Shared with me, Vellmar?”

She looked up again, seeing no censure in his eyes. “Ah…I actually can’t remember. Three times in Redmoon, and then two more before the Lancer’s challenge, and after that—”

“The Lancer’s challenge?” he interrupted.

She hesitated. “You’ve missed quite a lot, Colonel.”

“Then perhaps you should fill me in while we wait for Lancer Tal.”

It was an order, not a request, and she tugged her chair closer. “Where do I start?”

“Start with our mission. Was Gehrain hurt? I never found him in the basement.”

“Gehrain is fine. He just had a minor concussion, and complained about being held for observation to anyone who would listen.”

The Colonel smiled. “That sounds like him. Anyone else?”

She shook her head. “Not so much as a scratch.”

“Good, I’m glad I was the only one.”

“Herot Opah was a bit banged up, but nothing serious. He’s in custody at the AIF detention quarters right now.”

“Hm.” Colonel Micah made a face. “Did we complete our mission in time? What happened with Parser?”

“He’s finished. But it turned out that the warriors in that house were not sworn to Parser. They were working for Shantu.”

“Shantu!”

“Yes, Parser and Shantu were in it together all along. So Lancer Tal managed to avoid Parser’s trap, but she was still caught in Shantu’s.”

His eyes widened. “You said the Lancer’s challenge, didn’t you? Did you…you couldn’t mean…” He trailed off, looking stricken.

She nodded. “Ritual challenge of combat.”

He slumped against the stack of pillows. “Spawn of a fantenshekken! Never in my wildest dreams would that have crossed my mind. I’m surprised the Council even allowed it.”

“They had to. The ritual challenge predates the Council.”

“So Tal fought Shantu…Fahla. And I was here.”

“She missed you,” Vellmar said softly.

He was shaking his head. “And I was here.”

Vellmar cocked her ear toward the door, hearing footsteps pounding down the corridor. She recognized the stride. “I don’t think Lancer Tal knows you’re not supposed to run in a healing center,” she said.

The door opened and Lancer Tal stepped into the room, her eyes going straight to the Colonel’s as she came to a standstill.

“Micah,” she whispered.

Lighter footsteps came behind, and a moment later Raiz Opah was squeezing into the room around the unmoving bulk of the Lancer’s body. She also stopped, her head turning as she looked from Colonel Micah to Lancer Tal and back again.

Vellmar stood up. “It was nice to speak with you, Colonel,” she said.

He tore his eyes away from the Lancer’s and gave her a smile. “Thank you. We’ll talk soon.”

She nodded, picked up her rain cape, and scooted sideways to get around the Lancer, who was still doing an excellent imitation of a statue. Closing the door behind her, she looked up to find Nilsinian and Dewar flanking the door. “Don’t let anyone else in unless the Lancer specifically asks,” she told them.

“We won’t,” said Dewar. “He’s really all right?”

Vellmar’s smile was enormous. “He’s really all right.”

 

 

-----

 

 

Micah could not take his eyes off Tal. She looked visibly older than when he’d seen her last, and was that just eight days ago? Impossible.

She was still standing there, staring as if she were afraid to get any closer, and he summoned a smile.

“So I hear you beat Shantu in ritual combat.”

His words seemed to loosen her limbs, and she closed the distance between them. “I don’t want to think about Shantu right now. Micah…”

They clasped palms, and she shocked him by kissing his cheek before resting her own against his. It was a gesture of familial affection that she had often given him as a child—but never since her Rite of Ascension. Tentatively he pulled one hand from their clasp and stroked the back of her head. “I’m all right, Andira,” he whispered.

“I know.” She pulled back, keeping a firm grip on his hand and offering a trembling smile. “I am so glad to see you.”

He looked at her sadly, feeling much more than that through their touch. “I’m sorry to have worried you.”

“Worried is not even the word.” She took a sharp breath of air, her eyes brimming with tears. “Frantic, desperate, so shekking scared that I could hardly function, but I had to, and I had to do it without you.” The tears spilled over. “Don’t you ever do that to me again, do you hear me?”

“I won’t,” he promised, and her face crumpled.

“I can’t believe you’re awake,” she said in a choked voice. “I can’t believe it’s finally over.”

Salomen came up behind her, and Micah watched with strangely dry eyes as Tal turned, wrapping her arms around her tyree and making tiny little gasps that broke his heart. Salomen stroked her hair, soothing her with a gentle touch as she looked over at Micah. “It’s good to see you, Colonel. You’ve been more missed than you can ever know.”

He nodded, still in shock at seeing Tal like this. It brought back bad memories, and he began to understand what she had been going through.

“I think I know,” he said.

Once Tal had gotten herself back under control, she and Salomen pulled up chairs and settled in for a long talk. She told him about everything he’d missed, which was an unbelievable amount, and he filled her in the only piece she was missing. She nodded as he described the chase in the basement, her expression showing that he was only confirming what she’d already guessed. When he mentioned the metal control panel, however, her attitude sharpened.

“Micah, you were out there in the middle of an open space with no cover anywhere in sight. What possessed you to shoot the panel instead of the warrior?”

He shook his head. “Something just wasn’t right about it. It was so shiny and new, and everything else in that house was dusty and old. And here was this warrior ignoring disruptor fire…” He stopped and corrected himself. “No, he wasn’t ignoring it, because he was running an avoidance pattern. But he wasn’t returning fire, and this after he’d already pinned me down with four volleys. It didn’t make sense. So I had a moving target that I was having a hard time hitting, and I had a stable target that seemed to be very important to that warrior. And I thought that if it was important enough for him to risk his life to reach it, it was important enough for me to destroy it.” He shrugged. “So I made my decision and nearly died for it. The moment I shot out that panel he was in a rage, firing at me with all the power in his weapon. He just held the trigger down and poured it out. If I could have avoided it for more than five pipticks he would have been out of power and I could have just hit him over the head. But I couldn’t roll away fast enough.”

“Interesting choice, Micah.”

He frowned. “I seem to be making a lot of them lately.”

“Let me give you the answer to why that panel was shiny and new,” she said. “It had been installed just half a moon earlier. And it supplied power to about fifty holes in the basement ceiling. And in those holes were enough explosives to blow the entire house into tiny little pieces, along with everyone in it.”

He stared at her, not understanding how she could look…amused while she said it.

“The house was a trap?”

She nodded. “It was a trap. Your decision nearly got you killed, yes, but without any question it saved four other lives, plus your own. Nilsinian, Dewar, Corlander and Wellernal would all be dead right now if you hadn’t shot that panel. And you, of course. Five lives saved by an instinctive snap decision under fire. Not bad for an old warrior.”

He thought over the whole scenario again, remembering where everyone was and what had been happening, and slowly the truth of it seeped in.

“It was the right decision,” he said.

“You’re damned right it was. So I hope you’ll reconsider that resignation, Micah. I know you never really took it off the table, not in your mind. I want it gone. I have need of an old warrior with instincts like yours. You have a lot to teach our Guards; Gehrain and Vellmar in particular. Gehrain’s done his best to fill in for you, but he needs a lot of seasoning before he can be even half as valuable to me as you are. And Vellmar has all the makings of a future Chief Guardian, but she’s young, very young, and she needs a guide who understands how to shape her potential without shutting it down. What do you say?”

“I say you have a lot of nerve, asking hard questions of a man sitting in a healing center.”

“Only one question, and is it really that hard?”

He smiled at her. “No. It’s not. I want back in.” Her answering smile nearly split her face, and he added, “But we cannot go back to the way it was before, and I wouldn’t want to even if we could. Gehrain is ready to take over the day-to-day duties of running the two units. And I’d like to spend more time training, and more time as Salomen’s Chief Counselor.”

“Done. Good choice, too; I’d never have let you walk out of this healing center if you’d said no. Now you can leave whenever the healers clear you.”

“So it was blackmail!”

“Of course not. It was a free and clear choice. Unless you made the wrong one.”

Salomen laughed. “Colonel Micah, you have no idea how glad I am that you’re back. Andira hasn’t sounded like this for too long.”

“You mean impertinent and demanding and arrogant?” he asked.

“No,” she said, reaching out to caress Tal’s cheek. “I mean happy.” She shot Micah a stern look. “So I’m going to repeat her earlier order. Don’t you ever do that again.”

“Only if you two promise never to fight a ritual combat again,” he said.

“I think we can safely promise that,” said Tal. “Did we tell you that the Council voted not to remove the bloodstains? They wanted them to stay as a reminder of what happened. So that people will remember the day when barbarism was brought back to the State House, and precisely how far it got the challenger. It’s already a new stop on the State House tour.”

“Really? I can see the warrior caste voting for that, but the whole Council?” He shook his head in amazement. “Who knew they had it in them? Maybe there’s hope for that Council yet.”

 

 

 

 

---

chapter 69

 

 

Micah made rapid progress at the healing center, and was released well in time for the autumn feast at Hol-Opah. The Lancer and Bondlancer Guard units held a feast of their own in celebration, though Salomen commented that most feasts she’d attended featured a great deal of food and some spirits, rather than the other way around. Tal just laughed and asked if she’d like another glass.

She spent a good part of the feast watching Micah move around the base dining hall, glass in one hand and staff in the other as he chatted with the warriors in attendance. He would need the support for at least another moon as his new muscles finished their growth, but given the way he was already thumping it on the floor to illustrate conversational points, she foresaw it becoming part of his uniform.

“Trust Micah to turn a walking support into an intimidation factor,” she said during a quiet moment with Salomen. “He’s going to love using that during training.”

“I’m guessing he’ll love thumping it all over Aldirk’s office as well,” said Salomen.

Tal laughed. “Oh, I think he’ll be thumping in moderation there. Aldirk will never let him forget that he was the one who woke him up.”

Salomen sipped her spirits, her lips curving in a smile as they touched the rim of the glass. “There were about thirty other people Sharing with him,” she said.

“Yes, but Aldirk was the last. He’s just certain that his presence was the one that finally jarred Micah awake. Micah’s torn between hating the very thought of it, and being grateful to Aldirk for taking part.”

“Do you think they’ll get along better after this?”

“Of course not.”

Micah was unable to stay long at the party, since he still tired easily. Tal and Salomen walked him back to his quarters before going to their own, but the feast was apparently in full swing until morn-two. At least, that’s what Tal heard from a rather pale-looking Vellmar during their run the next morning. Her Lead Guard was clearly the worse for wear, but Tal had no mercy on her. Vellmar would have to learn, just as every other Guard did, that their Lancer made no allowances for hungover Guards—even if she was the one who had sponsored the feast.

Two days later Herot appeared before the adjudicator, with his family in attendance. Tal sat with them, her presence causing quite a stir of anticipation. The hearing was short; Herot’s guilt was not an issue. An AIF officer presented the government testimony, and when the stern-faced adjudicator asked if any wished to add to the government’s case, every eye turned to Tal. She remained calmly in her seat, an act that set the whole gallery whispering. She could feel the attending journalists glowing with excitement over this unexpected aspect to their stories.

When the adjudicator asked if any wished to speak on behalf of the criminal, Tal stood up and set off such a furious round of exclamations and murmurs that the adjudicator threatened to close the entire proceeding down if the visitor gallery would not silence itself.

“Please speak, Lancer Tal,” she said gravely.

“Honored Adjudicator,” Tal said, “I am invoking my right to petition for a minimum sentence in the case of Herot Opah.”

The adjudicator slammed her palm on her desk, quieting the gasps and whispers. “And for what reason do you offer this petition?”

“Herot Opah is a young man who had the misfortune of learning some important life lessons with the whole world watching. He made a mistake. A big one, attributed to pride and anger and selfishness, but others have made similar mistakes with less devastating impacts. We should not judge him by the end result of his mistake, which involved a chain of events beyond his control and several other players with far more sinister intent. We should judge him instead by the cause of it. And for that cause, he has apologized to me and asked my forgiveness. I have given it to him.”

The visitor gallery rustled and whispered, but this time the adjudicator didn’t seem to hear. She nodded at Tal, her normally stern face softening. “I see. That does have weight.”

“I would like to add that he understands the full extent of his crime, and that he has cooperated in every way possible with the government, including testifying before the Council at my request. These are not the actions of a criminal in need of long term incarceration. Such a result would not benefit Alsean society and it certainly would not be my preference. I believe that Herot Opah has done everything possible to make up for his mistake, and to punish him beyond the minimum sentence would serve only to warn others that cooperation and repentance have no impact on a sentence. That is not the message our justice system should send.”

Tal nodded once more and retook her seat.

“Is there any other who wishes to speak on behalf of Herot Opah?”

“I do,” said Salomen as she stood. The room erupted into whispers and a few too-loud voices, but it died down quickly at the adjudicator’s glare.

“Very well. Please speak, Raiz Opah.”

“Thank you, Honored Adjudicator. Though I do not have the Lancer’s right of petition, I speak as a victim of the crime for which this hearing has been convened. As you have heard in the government’s testimony, the shot that injured Lancer Tal was actually fired at me. I now live with the knowledge that my own brother directly enabled an attempt on my life. It is not an easy thing to know.”

Tal glanced at Herot, sitting in the prisoner’s box at the front of the room, and saw him close his eyes at his sister’s words.

“Yet I also believe that any sentence other than the minimum would be an inappropriate application of punishment. Herot understands the impact of his actions. He has apologized and asked my forgiveness as well, and I have given it to him. His incarceration, even for the minimum sentence, will tear the fabric of our family. The damage would be far greater should he be ordered to serve a longer sentence.”

“It seems to me that the fabric of your family is already torn,” said the adjudicator. “Can you tell me why I should not discount your testimony based on your family connection? How can I know that you would not make this request regardless of Herot Opah’s repentance or lack thereof?”

“Because if Herot had not apologized, if he had not asked forgiveness from both me and Lancer Tal, neither of us would be attending this hearing. And if his actions had been taken with true intent to kill or cause grievous harm, there would be no family connection at all. I am the head of our family, and I would have retracted the name of Opah. You are welcome to scan me if you wish to confirm the truth of my statement.”

Her words ignited the gallery, and Herot stared at his sister in shock. She’d never said that to him in her visits; as she’d told Tal, there was no point. But it was certainly effective in convincing the adjudicator.

“That will not be necessary,” she said. “I believe I can take our future Bondlancer at her word. Thank you.”

Salomen nodded and sat down.

“Since the two individuals most deeply affected by Herot Opah’s actions have both petitioned on his behalf, this court will not presume to impose a justice beyond the minimum called for by our laws. Such an imposition, I am convinced, would not be justice at all but an abuse of it. Herot Opah will serve one cycle and no more.” She picked up the small mallet on her desk and struck the bell. “This hearing is adjourned.”

Amid the bustle and noise Herot stood up, leaning against the waist-high bar separating him from the rest of the court. “Salomen!” he called.

Tal caught the eye of the adjudicator, who nodded and made a gesture at the AIF officer. He came over and bowed, then escorted them out of the guest box and up to the front of the room, where Herot was reaching out for his sister’s hand.

“Thank you,” he said, holding her hand tightly. “And thank you, Lancer Tal. This means a lot. I swear that when they release me I’ll spend the rest of my life working to bring honor to the Opah name. I figure it will take about that long to erase the stain I made on it.”

“I’ll hold you to your word, Herot,” said Salomen. “Please be careful. That Opah name may be a hindrance to you in the next cycle.”

“In that case, I’ll start working on honoring it that much sooner.”

“If your connection with us causes you any trouble, tell us,” said Tal. “Just because you’re not with us doesn’t mean you’re not still family. You don’t have to fight your battles alone.”

“With the greatest respect, Lancer Tal, right now I think I do.” He leaned over the bar and kissed Salomen on the cheek. “Until the first visit, then.”

“Until then. And don’t forget to keep your calendar clear for the fourteenth of Rosslin.”

“I will,” he promised. Turning to Tal, he held up his palm. “Take good care of my sister.”

Tal touched his palm. “You know I will.”

“I know,” he said. “You’re the only person I’d ever trust her with.”

Her surprise must have shown on her face, because he actually winked at her before walking away at the side of the AIF officer. Tal stared after him.

“I think he enjoyed that,” she said.

Salomen nodded. “And I think you just saw a glimpse of who Herot used to be.”

 

 

 

 

---

chapter 70

 

 

Micah stretched his leg more comfortably and looked over at Tal. “Do you think it will be the same?” he asked.

She was watching her control panel as the personal transport rose from the State House landing pad. “Do I think what will be the same?”

“Being at Hol-Opah. The last time you saw all of the field workers, you were practically one of them. This time you’re Fahla’s Chosen.”

“If Fahla had truly chosen me, she’d eradicate that name,” grumbled Tal. She sat back in her seat, tilting the steering yoke, and Micah watched the domes of Blacksun begin passing beneath them.

“You’re the one who gave everyone the idea,” he pointed out, enjoying her discomfiture. Tal had unprecedented public approval, the little remaining opposition to the replicators had dissolved into near-nonexistence, the Council was giving her anything she wanted—though he knew that wouldn’t last—and yet through it all she muttered and moaned about her new title. He had something new to tease her with.

“That just makes it worse,” she said. “And if you keep harping on it I’m going to pull your emergency seat release.”

He grinned at her, then turned his attention to the view as he rubbed the top of his thigh. The muscles were still growing into his new hip joint, and sometimes they produced an ache that just screamed for him to rub out. The problem was that the ache was deep inside his leg; he could never reach it. But he was compelled to try.

He turned his head in time to catch Tal watching him with an expression that had become all too familiar. “I’m all right,” he said. “Just a little itchy.”

“If you were itchy, you’d be scratching. That’s rubbing, and that means it hurts.”

“It doesn’t hurt; it just…throbs. Has anyone ever told you you’re like a winden with a newborn?”

It worked; her expression melted into amusement. “Not lately. Though I seem to recall accusing Vellmar of the same thing about half a moon ago.”

“And why was that?” He knew he had her.

“Because she was driving me insane worrying about me when there was no need. And don’t give me that look. I just had a few easily-sealed sword cuts. You have new body parts.”

“You have a new body part too.”

“A tiny synthetic bone implant hardly counts. They just had to fill in a little chip in my arm. Sorry, Micah, you win this contest. I’m well within my rights to worry about you, and there’s not a thing you can do about it.” She glanced over, her face serious again. “I earned that right.”

That shut him down, and he cast about for a safer topic. “Salomen was certainly distracted this morning. She came by my office to pick up a file clip, and it was the first time I ever felt as if she really wasn’t paying attention. This feast must be quite the production.”

Tal nodded. “Over eighty mouths to feed, and that was before we added ten Guards to the mix. And it’s a point of pride to produce most of the feast from the holding itself. I cannot believe they used to do this without hiring a cook. Apparently the whole family has been working in the kitchen dome for the last half nineday. Salomen hasn’t said it, but I know she feels guilty about not being there this cycle. Even though she was delighted that Wynsill agreed to take her place.”

“Don’t you dare let Hol-Opah steal Wynsill from us,” said Micah. The base cook was a favorite among the Guards, and for very good reason.

“I already told Salomen that was not an option. Actually, I told her that a moon ago, when she had Wynsill make horten soup for our second date.” A wistful smile crossed her face. “We never did get around to a third date.”

“It has been a bit busy,” said Micah. “But I’d suggest you take Salomen out once this feast is over and she’s able to concentrate on something else. Otherwise your bonding ceremony will end up being your third date.”

“Good Fahla, what a terrible thought.” Tal banked the transport as they exited the Blacksun flight path; now they were making a straight shot over the fields and hills to Hol-Opah. “You’re right; I need to make that happen. There’s just been so much else going on, especially with the replacement of two Lead Councilors.”

Micah nodded. He’d never seen Blacksun quite so chaotic, but then again they’d never before lost one-third of the Council leadership in a single day. The campaigning among the merchant and warrior castes was ferocious.

“Do you think Burnall has a chance?” he asked.

“Well, he has no established power base and no experience on the more important committees. But this may be the one time that lack is actually an advantage. The warriors are looking for new blood, someone outside the channels that Shantu touched. They want someone as far from Shantu as they can get.”

“Burnall certainly fits the description.” Micah didn’t know much about the man personally, but he’d looked up his record while sitting in the healing center, catching up on news. He seemed to be a man of integrity, and right now the Council needed that more than political experience.

“I think the merchant campaign is more clear cut. There’s no question in my mind that Stasingen will get the nod.”

“She’d make an excellent Lead Merchant,” Micah agreed. “But that would mean no more shouting matches across the chamber floor between the Lead Merchant and the Lead Warrior. What will we do for entertainment?”

“You’re not one of those who thinks this peace and mutual goodwill is going to last, are you?”

“Your cynicism is showing, my friend.”

“I’m not a cynic. I’m merely a realist.”

“And the Chosen,” he muttered, just loud enough to be sure she could hear it.

 

 

-----

 

 

It was just like old times, Tal thought. Salomen, Shikal, Nikin and Jaros were all waiting outside as she brought the transport down behind the main house. But this time she had no compunction about greeting Salomen with a warmron in front of anyone who wished to see. Though Salomen’s public outing as the future Bondlancer had meant some negative changes, one change that Tal fully approved of was the end of all need for subterfuge.

“I missed you,” she said.

Salomen gave her a quick kiss and pulled back to smile at her. “I only left the State House this morning.”

“And it was an emptier place without you.”

“You had Micah.”

“Micah almost didn’t make it here in one piece,” said Tal, glaring at him.

“Colonel.” Salomen’s voice took on the tone it often did when she spoke to Jaros. “What did you do this time?”

“I merely referred to the Lancer by her new title as an act of respect,” he said. “It’s not my fault she interprets it otherwise.”

“Respect, my backside,” said Tal, and Salomen laughed as she detached herself from Tal to touch palms with him.

“I’m so glad to have you on Opah land again,” she said.

“I’m very, very glad to be here.” He smiled at her. “And ready to eat.”

Tal’s arms had no time to feel empty, as a small body instantly filled them.

“You’re here!” Jaros grinned up at her. “Now the feast can start.”

“You were waiting for us?” Tal looked over at Salomen. “You never said anything about delaying the start until we could get here.”

Shikal stood behind Jaros and touched Tal’s palm over his head. “Believe me, we’ve started. But this feast takes a long time; we’re still on the appetizers. Jaros is just anxious for the fantens to be pulled out of the cooking pits.”

“Whole fantens,” explained Jaros. “Five of them!”

“Speedy,” said Tal, and Nikin laughed.

“I see you’ve picked up some new vocabulary,” he said as they clasped hands.

“Part of my job,” she answered. “Warriors are actually part scholar, you know.”

“The good ones, anyway.” He grinned and turned toward Micah. “Well met, Colonel. And welcome back to Hol-Opah.”

“Thank you. It’s a welcome relief after Blacksun, I can tell you.”

“A bit busy these days, eh?” asked Shikal. “Perhaps later tonight we can wind down with a bottle of spirits in the parlor.”

Tal watched Micah’s face split into an enormous smile. “I’ve been dreaming about that bottle and a crackling fire for nearly half a moon.”

“And the nights are cold enough now for the fire,” said Shikal. “I think we can make your dream come true.”

They trooped around the house, where the land between the front porch and the gates had been transformed into a scene of total chaos. The Opahs had rigged up part of a field cover, and beneath it was a forest of tables, chairs, smoking grills, bottle carts, and some ninety people milling around and talking so loudly that Tal could already pick out voices she recognized, even at this distance. Though a light mist was falling, the revelers were dry and comfortable beneath the field cover, and the atmosphere of celebration was almost physically palpable. Tal felt a smile forming on her face just looking at them.

She’d been a little nervous about this, dreading the possibility of having to make some sort of speech or otherwise acknowledge her status. Of all places, she did not want to be held apart here. These were her friends and coworkers, and she really just wanted to walk in, pick up a drink and start chatting with them.

Salomen sensed her reticence and wrapped an arm around her waist. “Don’t worry,” she said in a low voice. Then, to Tal’s complete shock, she suddenly shouted, “Hoi, everyone, look who came for the fanten!”

“Salomen!” Tal would have ducked behind a tree if there had been one handy.

“Look!” cried someone from the edge of the crowd. “Salomen’s brought her bondmate!”

Heads turned and there was a chorus of greetings as Salomen pulled Tal the rest of the way. As soon as they arrived beneath the shelter of the field cover someone pressed a drink into Tal’s hand, someone else was telling her that she’d better get to the plate of mallowfish before they were all gone, and in moments she had been swallowed into the crowd.

She relaxed as the conversations all seemed to center on Salomen; how was she getting on in the State House, and had she thrown any Councilors out of her office yet? Heads nodded all around as Tal explained Salomen’s new policy of independently meeting with every single Councilor and how most of them were, for now at least, completely charmed.

“We knew she’d do just fine,” said one.

“As long as they don’t make her angry,” said another, and there was a chorus of laughter.

“Aye, Salomen will straighten them out,” commented a third, and everyone seemed to agree with that wholeheartedly. Tal raised an eyebrow at her tyree, who merely gave her a sweet smile and sipped her drink.

It took some time for Tal to understand what was really happening, and when it finally hit her she had to laugh at herself. She’d been so wrapped up in the events at Blacksun that she’d bought into that “Fahla’s Chosen” concept herself, even while she railed against it. But this wasn’t Blacksun. It was Granelle and Hol-Opah, and it was where these people lived out their lives. They hadn’t gathered like this since the last day of harvest, and there were two new babies to be talked about, and gossip as to who had been seen dating whom, and discussions about the harvest and the weather and the plantings next moon. To be sure there was also a great deal of gossip about the arrest of Withernet, Parser’s local spy, but even so they talked more about the local effect of the arrest than its ties to the greater issues. Parser and Shantu were merely names in the news; distant figures who had caused problems both in Blacksun and to the Opahs; but everyone knew Withernet. They’d been in his store, or socialized with his bondmate, or their children were in the same class as his daughter. His betrayal was personal to them; the betrayals of Parser and Shantu were not, or at least not directly.

And Salomen was personal to them as well. She, not Tal, was the figurehead of this feast.

“I just realized something,” Tal said when she found a temporary lull with Micah.

“Me too,” said Micah. “I realized that I’ve never tasted fanten like this before. Can you believe how tender this is?” He took a vast bite and chewed happily.

“Great Goddess, Micah, were you raised in a mud puddle? You’re eating like Jaros.”

His smile was unrepentant, and when he finally had chewed enough to clear his mouth he said, “I have more sympathy for Jaros these days. So what was your great realization?”

“I’m not the Lancer here. I’m Salomen’s bondmate.”

“Finally figured that out, eh?” He took another bite.

“Oh, so you already knew? Good of you to share.”

He waved a hand. “Some things you have to learn on your own, Tal. It has never been my obligation to spoon feed you.”

She glared at him, but there was no heat in it and she soon gave it up. “Not a single person has asked about the ritual combat. I thought they’d be full of questions.”

“I think they would consider it rude to ask you about that. After all, you nearly died and they all saw Salomen being carried down by Nikin because she was too weak to walk. That’s not a topic to be explored at an autumn feast. That would be like Varsi coming up to me at our base feast and asking me how I felt when I was shot in the basement.”

“I see your point.” Tal took a bite of her own fanten and rolled her eyes skyward. “Fahla!”

“Told you,” said Micah with satisfaction.

The feast went on until well after dark, the crisp night doing nothing to dampen the spirits of people so full of excellent food and a significant amount of drink. Someone began tapping out a rhythm on a drum, which appeared to be a signal of sorts as everyone rushed to push tables aside and pull out the chairs. Another field worker began playing a windpipe and a third produced a ten-string, and before long most of the crowd was sitting and rocking their heads in time to the music, while those whose stomachs weren’t overly full found the energy to twirl and sway in front of the players.

Tal was sitting between Micah and Salomen, and as she held Salomen’s hand she thought back to the day when she’d first seen Delegate Norsen’s impromptu replacement in the State House. She squeezed the hand in hers, then brought it to her lips and planted a soft kiss on it. Salomen looked over and smiled.

“What are you thinking?” she asked, leaning in to be heard over the music.

“About the day we met. And how you looked at me with such disrespect, and how I wanted to toss you out of the room but I couldn’t because you turned out to be the most useful delegate in the whole meeting.”

“I’m still disrespectful, my Lancer.” Salomen leaned farther in and gently bit Tal’s earlobe. “When I need to be.”

“Salomen!” Tal pulled back and looked around, but Micah fortunately seemed entranced by the music and the dancers, and no one else had noticed. When she turned back, Salomen was laughing.

“Are you afraid people might see me being affectionate toward you?”

“That wasn’t affection.” Tal shifted uncomfortably, to Salomen’s greater amusement.

“Certainly it was. And love, and a little bit of lust, and since when is any of that a problem? Have you noticed what’s happening at the edges of the field cover?”

Tal had, but she’d considered it impolite to look at any of the couples taking advantage of the darkness. “We’re sitting in the front, Salomen.”

“And you still think everyone is looking at you?”

For just a moment Tal was irritated by the question, but then she shook her head at herself. “I suppose I’m just not used to being one of the crowd.”

“I thought that was what you wanted.”

Tal looked at her, sensing the honest desire to know. Salomen was doing her best to give Tal what she’d wished for; it certainly wasn’t her fault if Tal herself wasn’t clear about those wishes.

“It’s exactly what I wanted,” she decided, and leaned in give Salomen a proper kiss. She sensed a small emotional ripple in the people around them; this kiss was not one that was likely to go unnoticed. But when she straightened, all she saw around her were a few quick smiles as people went back to their conversations or watching the dancers.

“Amazing,” she said, grinning at Salomen. “I really am anonymous.”

“You most certainly are not. You’re my bondmate. That’s what Chosen really means, Andira. Fahla chose you for me.”

Tal’s next kiss was much more difficult for anyone to ignore, but this time she didn’t care.

 

 

 

 

---

chapter 71

 

 

By the time the feast finally wound down and the last guests had left, it was well past Jaros’ bedtime, though he was still wide awake from all the excitement. Salomen and Tal brought him in the house while the others busied themselves vacuum storing the leftovers and doing some basic clean up. The bulk of the tidying would be left for the next day.

Tal sensed a reticence in Salomen that hadn’t been there earlier in the evening, and though she was curious she asked no questions, knowing from experience that her tyree would speak when she found the words. Salomen led them into the kitchen and sat Jaros down with a cup of gassified water. “Andira and I will be in the parlor,” she told him. “Come find us when you’re done. And drink all of it.” He nodded and silently began to sip his water.

“Digestive aid,” said Salomen as she and Tal walked through the dining room and into the parlor. “He always eats himself sick at these feasts; a little gassified water before bed saves everyone a lot of trouble during the night. Takes him a while to drink it, though. He’s never liked the taste.” She sat in one of the two comfortable chairs flanking the empty fireplace, looked up at Tal, and said, “We need to talk.”

Tal sat across from her. “What’s wrong?”

Several pipticks of increasingly uncomfortable silence passed as Tal watched her tyree struggle with the right words. Finally she said simply, “We’re going to show Jaros the recording of the ritual combat.”

“Wh—” Tal fell back in her chair with a thump, staring in complete shock at the woman who just five ticks ago had been perfectly sane. Salomen said nothing, watching her and waiting for the inevitable questions, and after a moment Tal said, “All right. I can feel that you’re already certain about this, and I know you would not make that decision lightly. So tell me what it is that makes you think this is a good idea, because from where I’m sitting it has total disaster written all over it.”

“It has disaster written over it from where I’m sitting, too. But I have to agree with Father and Nikin. It’s the best thing we can do.” She sighed. “Jaros has become obsessed with it. When it happened he didn’t understand why he wasn’t allowed to watch, because none of us knew how to explain that you might not survive it. So Father took him out in the corridor, but of course the proceedings in the chamber are shown all over the State House on vidscreens. Father managed to find a place where Jaros couldn’t see it, but he still heard it. He heard everything, Andira.”

Groaning, Tal said, “That’s my fault. If I’d told you what was going to happen Jaros would never have been there.”

“That’s not the issue. I know you did what you thought was best, and if there was the slightest chance that telling me and dealing with my reaction might have cost you an edge, then I’m very glad you did not. Please don’t focus on that; we have a bigger issue to consider.”

Tal nodded. “So he heard the fight. And of course he saw the aftermath, because he saw Nikin coming out of the VIP gallery with you in his arms.”

“Yes. And he saw you being taken off to the healing center, when just a hantick earlier he’d seen you in full dress uniform looking like you owned the world. He had a lot of questions, and we’ve all done our best to answer, but he knows there are some details we’re not sharing and he’s become increasingly obsessed with seeing it for himself.”

“But why now? He doesn’t have access to it; the broadcasts have never shown the whole thing since the live airing. Let him wait until he’s old enough to handle it. Sometime after his Rite of Ascension, perhaps.”

Salomen smiled at that. “You’ve never had a child, Andira, so let me fill you in on something:  not having access to it at home does not mean he has no access to it at all. That recording has become an underground favorite at his school. The other children are all talking about it; a number of them have seen it and it’s being passed around at an increasing rate. I’ve spoken to some of the other parents; they’re upset and angry about it but they haven’t been able to stop it. Father thinks, and I agree, that it’s only a matter of time before Jaros gets his hands on the file. He’s told me about the teasing he’s already getting from schoolmates who are delighted that they’ve seen it and he hasn’t, especially since he’s your bondbrother. Besides his own personal obsession, now he’s obsessed with being able to fight back against the taunts.”

“He’ll be entering his autumn break in just two ninedays. Surely a moon away from school will put this whole thing to rest?”

Salomen shook her head. “I don’t think we have that much time. It’s already been two ninedays since the ritual combat, and his fascination has risen to alarming levels. Worst of all, I’m sensing a resolve in him that wasn’t there before. He knows we don’t want him to see it, but he has arrived at the point where he no longer cares.”

“I don’t suppose forbidding him on pain of permanent banishment from the State House will work,” said Tal, grasping at straws.

Salomen shook her head.

“But he’s too young!”

“In two moons he’ll be ten cycles. And one moon after that he’ll be the same age I was when I defied the testers. He’s young, but he has my determination, Andira. He’ll make it happen. The question is no longer whether or not he sees it; now the question is how he sees it. And I would rather he see it here at home, with you right there to hold him when it’s over, than at school or a friend’s house with no one around to help him see it in the proper perspective.” Tal felt a wave of compassion as Salomen added, “I know you haven’t seen it, and I didn’t mean to imply that I want you to watch it with him. I’d just like for you to be nearby.”

“Shek.” Tal rested her head against the back of the chair. “What a way to end a perfectly wonderful night.” She raised her head and asked curiously, “Why did you choose tonight, anyway?”

“Because we thought it would be better for him if he’d gotten to spend an entire evening with you beforehand.”

“So you’ve had it all planned out. Nice of you to give me some warning.”

Salomen rose, came across to Tal’s chair and rested her hip on its wide armrest. “I’m sorry, Andira,” she said, wrapping her arm around Tal’s shoulders. “I’m the one who made that decision. We just decided this yesterday, and I knew if I told you earlier you’d spend the whole feast worrying about it. I wanted you to be able to enjoy yourself. I’m truly sorry if that was the wrong choice.”

“It all feels like the wrong choice,” said Tal unhappily.

“That’s because it all came down to a choice between bad and worse. We chose bad. All we can do now is hope to minimize the impact.”

Tal leaned her head against Salomen’s chest. “Damn, damn, damn. I don’t like it.”

“I know,” said Salomen. “None of us do.”

“But I understand your reasoning. I can’t even imagine him seeing that somewhere else. It will be traumatizing enough as it is.”

“Thank you.” Salomen caressed her face. “And thank you for being here to help him afterwards.”

“I’ll be here. I’ll watch it with him. There’s no way I’m going to be somewhere else while you’re all in here with that.”

“Andira, you don’t need to. Take a glass of spirits and go sit on the back porch. I’ll come for you as soon as the recording is over. Nobody expects you to put yourself through that.”

“No,” said Tal stubbornly. “I’m not going to hide. Besides, I should have watched it before now. What better training video could there possibly be?”

Salomen pulled back in surprise. “Great Mother, you really are a warrior. Can you actually watch it with that in mind?”

“That’s probably the only way I can watch it.” She sighed. “You realize this will be the end of him idolizing me. I’m going to miss that.”

“Don’t be too sure.” Salomen kissed her on the top of the head. “I still idolize you, and I saw the whole thing.”

Jaros finished his drink and came looking for them, happily discussing his impressions of the feast. Tal watched him in near silence, worrying herself into such a state that her stomach hurt. She thought wryly that Salomen had been very right not to tell her; she wouldn’t have been able to eat a bite at that feast. Now she just wanted to get it over with. Salomen was the one who responded to Jaros, giving all of the appropriate ‘hm’ and ‘did he?’ sounds that kept him engaged.

Soon the others came trooping in, and Shikal sized up the situation at a glance.

“So she’s talked to you then?” he asked Tal.

She nodded, her eyes going to Micah. Standing just behind Shikal, he was looking at her sympathetically and she suddenly knew that he’d been in on this as well. “You too, eh Micah?” she said softly. “How long have you known?”

“This morning,” he said. “I gave her the file. For what it’s worth, I think it’s the best thing.”

Jaros’ chatter faltered, he’d picked up on the undercurrents and was gazing from one adult to another.

“Jaros,” said Salomen, “now that everyone is here, we’re going to have a family council.”

“Is this about Herot?” he asked.

“Not this time.”

Shikal and Micah sat down while Nikin pressed the control pad in the wall. With a slight hum, the vidscreen lowered from its holder on the ceiling. He slipped a file clip into the pad and took a seat with the others.

“We’ve decided to show you the recording of Andira’s ritual combat,” said Salomen, and got no further as he bounced up excitedly.

“Really? Speedy!” He raced over to Tal and grabbed her hand. “Finally! They wouldn’t let me see it.”

“I know,” said Tal. “For good reason. I haven’t seen it either.”

That stopped him cold. “You haven’t? Why not?”

“Jaros, that was not something I enjoyed. Do you understand that I had to kill a man?”

“I know that! He challenged you to ritual combat, just like in the old stories, and you had to stop him. Everyone says you were the better fighter, because even though he cut you more often, you landed more blows.”

“Great Goddess, Jaros!” Tal could not remember ever having been this bloodthirsty as a child. She looked beseechingly at Salomen, who raised her eyebrows in a see what I mean? look.

“Jaros,” said Shikal, “You seem to have gotten some wrong ideas about that combat. It’s not a story. It was very real, and Andira was hurt, and she had to do something she did not want to do.”

“You mean kill him?” He looked at Tal. “Didn’t you want to? He was bad. He was the one who kidnapped Herot.”

“No, I didn’t want to,” said Tal. “I had already arranged his punishment. He was going to lose his title, his freedom and his caste. There was no greater punishment I could possibly have inflicted.”

“Yes there was,” he pointed out. “And you did. He died because he challenged you and lost.”

“He died because he forced a situation where my only options were to kill him or die myself.” Tal was getting irritated with his ignorant enthusiasm. “And it was close, Jaros. It was very close. That’s why I didn’t want to see it.”

He frowned. “You’re not watching it with me?”

“I’ll watch it. But I don’t want to. I’m here because I think I should be.”

Plainly he didn’t understand that concept, but Salomen cut him short. “Jaros, sit down. You can ask Andira questions afterward, when you know what she’s talking about.”

He sat grumpily, but his pout soon turned to excitement as Nikin activated the file. He leaned forward, watching in eager fascination as a black-suited Tal descended the stairs to the chamber floor. From her perch on the chair arm, Salomen rested a hand on Tal’s neck, softly caressing her and keeping her grounded in the here and now.

For Tal the most remarkable thing about the fight, now that she was finally watching it, was how short it was. When she’d been in the thick of it, every sense straining for the slightest edge, it had seemed to go on for a hantick; but in reality it was less than a tentick. Only ten ticks for two people to drive each other to utter exhaustion.

She kept her senses open, monitoring Jaros, but it turned out to be unnecessary. During the initial feinting and parrying, he was leaning forward, his body shifting as he swung his small arm from one side to the other, imitating what he saw on the vidscreen. “Yes!” he cried as Tal kicked Shantu in the leg. “Good one, Lancer Tal!” And when she crushed Shantu’s cheekbone and shoulder, Jaros was practically levitating. But a moment later Shantu’s sword found Tal’s side, and Jaros went utterly silent as the Tal on screen clutched her side, her hand coming away smeared in blood.

From that point onward, Jaros was increasingly distressed by what he saw:  his idol, fighting with all the strength in her body—and losing. When Shantu landed the devastating blow to Tal’s arm, Jaros let out a small cry of despair as he watched her drop her sword. “No,” he whispered, caught up in the moment. “Pick it up.” But then Shantu kicked Tal onto her back, and Jaros was so upset that Tal almost left her chair to pull him into a warmron. But she knew what was coming, and kept still.

It was strange to see herself looking like this. She was long used to seeing her face on vidscreens or stillframes, but only in her public persona. Shantu had a point about her carefully constructed myth. But here she was drenched in sweat, clearly exhausted, and lying at the feet of an opponent. It was not exactly the image she normally projected. For Jaros’ sake she was grateful for her choice of a black fighting suit; the color hid the blood. She could see it, when the wet fabric glinted in the lights, but he didn’t know what to look for.

Jaros’ relief was vast when Tal rallied, and when she impaled Shantu he was momentarily gleeful. But he became very somber at the sight of the pooling blood, and even more so when he saw Tal falling into the arms of the warrior Councilors. The vidcams recorded the healers treating Tal, wrapping her in pressure bags and wheeling her toward the doors, and that was when Nikin ended the playback. Tal was relieved; she really hadn’t wanted to see Salomen being carried in. Once had been more than enough.

The room was silent as everyone waited for Jaros’ reaction. He turned in his seat, staring at Tal, and then he stood, walked over to her, and crawled right onto her lap—an act he would normally consider himself far too old for. She wrapped her arms around him as he leaned his head against her shoulder.

“You were hurt,” he said finally.

“Yes, I was. You knew that. You saw me being taken to the healing center.”

He nodded. “But it’s different.”

“You mean, actually seeing it happen?”

Another nod.

“I told you, Jaros. I didn’t enjoy it. Now you know why. It was just something I had to do, no matter how much I wished otherwise. Shantu did a bad thing, but he didn’t deserve to die.”

“But he hurt you.” Jaros was fixed on one thing. “They had to carry you.”

Tal squeezed his small body. “But I’m fine now. It turned out all right.”

He snuggled in more closely. “Will you ever have to do that again?”

“No. Even if anyone were so insane as to try it a second time, the Council is currently working on legislation to ban the practice. It was a legacy from our ancestors; no one ever dreamed we’d actually have to pass a law against it. But we are. And there isn’t a person on the Council who will vote against it when it comes to the floor.”

“So no other warrior can challenge you?”

“No,” she said. “If someone doesn’t like my leadership now, an old-fashioned coup is the only option. They’ll have to put me out with a majority consensus of the warrior caste.”

“Good,” he said. “You should be Lancer forever.”

She smiled. “I’ll have to retire someday. But it will be a while.”

He was quiet then, though his eyes were wide open. Tal wasn’t sure what to do next, but the others stirred into activity. Nikin began laying a fire, Shikal fetched a bottle of spirits from his rack, and Micah pulled the glasses from the side cupboard. Salomen brushed Jaros’ hair away from his face and asked, “Was it what you expected, Jaros?”

He shook his head, but said nothing.

“What did you expect?”

“I don’t know.”

Tal did. “Maybe you expected to see me beat Shantu without really being hurt.”

He nodded. “Everyone said you were the better fighter. But he almost killed you.”

“There were two kinds of fighting going on there,” Tal explained. “Shantu was a better sword fighter. I knew that from the start. But I’m better at hand-to-hand fighting, which is something a warrior is far more likely to use in real life situations. So it’s not a surprise that he got in more sword blows, and I got in more hits with my fists and feet. The problem is that swords cause a lot more damage. It wasn’t something glorious and wonderful, Jaros. And those battles and stories you love so much—the people who lived them didn’t think it was glorious and wonderful either. They thought it was frightening and painful.”

“Were you afraid?” he asked, raising his head to look at her.

“I didn’t have time to be afraid during the combat. But I was afraid before it started. Mostly I was afraid of never again seeing the people I love. That’s why I didn’t enjoy killing Shantu. He had a family; people who loved him. And they’ll never see him again.”

Jaros settled back against her chest. Clearly he’d never thought of Shantu having a family; Tal could feel his shifting emotions as he turned that concept around in his mind. He was quiet as Shikal and Micah handed out drinks, and Salomen kissed him one more time before leaving to take the chair he’d been in. The fire crackled, the adults spoke of everything but the combat, and somewhere in the course of the conversation Tal sensed that he’d gone to sleep. She looked over at Salomen, who set her drink aside and came over to take her brother.

“No, that’s all right,” said Tal. “I’ll do it.” She scooted to the edge of her seat and stood, holding Jaros in her arms. “Lead the way.”

The air was noticeably cooler upstairs. While Salomen took an extra blanket from Jaros’ closet, Tal carefully lowered him to his bed and pulled the covers up to his chin. Salomen spread the additional blanket on top and dropped a soft kiss on his cheek. She stood back as Jaros turned to his side, clutching his pillow and frowning slightly in his sleep.

“He has quite a lot to think about now,” said Tal as they watched him.

“More than I could ever have wished.” Salomen stroked his hair, and his frown smoothed out. “But he learned some important lessons tonight, and we controlled the situation. I think it was for the best.”

“I agree. Much as I hated the idea at first.” Tal followed Salomen out and took her hand as they walked down the curving hallway. “You know, someday we’ll have to tell him that you fought that combat, too.”

“Someday,” said Salomen. “But not today.” She squeezed Tal’s hand as they began descending the back stairs. “Did you notice how wrong you were about one thing?”

“What?”

“You’re still his idol.”

Tal nodded. “I know that someday I’ll lose that. But I’m glad it wasn’t today.”

“Not today; not for a long time.”

When they emerged into the darkened dining room Tal drew Salomen close, taking advantage of their moment alone. A low murmur of conversation drifted out from the parlor, but in this room there were no words at all…nor were any needed.

 

 

 

 

---

chapter 72

 

 

When they landed back at the State House, Tal and Salomen could easily sense that Micah was not yet ready for the night to end. It was a simple thing for Salomen to invite him in for a nightcap; he hesitated only for politeness before gladly agreeing.

They’d had this planned for a while. The timing had never been quite right before, not with so much going on, so they’d pinned their hopes on this night in the expectation that the feast would create the kind of mood they all needed for this.

Tal bounced up the stairs, feeling a bit like a pre-Rite child in her intense anticipation. Then she had to stop and wait for Micah, who moved more slowly these days with his staff. Salomen stayed with him, shooting Tal a castigating look, and after that Tal was more sober.

Once they entered their quarters, Salomen sat down with Micah while Tal bustled around, gathering the glasses and the spirits she’d bought for the occasion. Micah’s eyebrows nearly crawled off his forehead when he spotted the label on the bottle.

“Valkinon?” he asked incredulously as he plucked the bottle from the tray. “What are we celebrating?”

“Well, we could celebrate the fact that you’re out of the healing center,” said Tal, taking the bottle back from him.

“Or the fact that we made it through another feast without any major disasters,” said Salomen. “One cycle the fires in the cooking pits never got hot enough, and the fanten wasn’t done in time. We couldn’t start eating it until morn-one.”

Tal popped the tab on the bottle and held it up, letting the blue smoke trickle out. “Or we could celebrate the fact that Aldirk didn’t have a single sarcastic thing to say about you today. That itself was a minor miracle.”

He looked back and forth between them as Tal poured the glasses. “Something is going on. Tell me now; my heart’s too old for this kind of suspense.”

“Give it up, Micah, your heart is not old. Besides, we need to make a toast first.” Tal held up her glass. “To family, the thread that holds all of us together.”

“To family,” said Salomen and Micah, and they sipped their drinks.

“Fahla, this is as good as it was in Meadowgreen,” said Salomen. “Better, I think.”

“That’s because you’re used to drinking better spirits in general now,” said Tal. “I’m afraid you’re developing expensive tastes, tyrina.”

“Good thing I chose a very well-paid warrior, then.”

“All right!” said Micah. “You’re doing this on purpose. I’ve had my drink; now I want answers.”

“Impatient, isn’t he?” asked Tal, who was thoroughly enjoying herself.

“Tal,” growled Micah.

“Don’t look at me. Salomen is the one who has something to ask you.”

Micah turned to Salomen in confusion. “What do you need to ask that requires a set-up like this?”

Salomen put her glass down. “Something very important, actually. A few ninedays back I asked Andira if there was anyone I could petition for inclusion into her family. She said the only living elder relative she had was her Aunt Sima.”

“But I wouldn’t give Aunt Sima the power of granting inclusion,” said Tal. “She’s family in name only.”

“So that left me feeling a bit at a loss,” said Salomen. “Until I realized that Andira certainly does have real family; someone right here in Blacksun. But then you had to go and put yourself in the healing center, and there hasn’t been a tick since then where it really felt like the right time. We hoped tonight would be the moment. And it is.”

Tal’s senses were wide open; she was reveling in Micah’s dawning comprehension. And when Salomen slid gracefully from her chair to kneel before his, that comprehension turned into such an overwhelming shock that it set her back with its sheer power.

“Honored Corozen Lintale Micah,” said Salomen, “as Andira’s only remaining true family, I ask you to hear my petition. Under the eye of Fahla, who sees all, I say that I am deeply in love with Andira Shaldone Tal. Her happiness is my ambition; her well-being is my purpose. All that is mine I place freely at her disposal, including my heart, my soul, and my life, which I would gladly lay down to protect hers. This I swear in Fahla’s name. I am Salomen Arrin Opah, and I ask this gift of you and all your ancestors: Will you do me the honor of accepting me into your family?”

Micah was utterly speechless as Tal joined Salomen on the floor. “You are my family,” she told him. “The only one left whose acceptance I would seek.” Taking Salomen’s hand, she said, “Under the eye of Fahla, who sees all, I say that I am deeply in love with Salomen Arrin Opah. Her happiness is my ambition; her well-being is my purpose. All that is mine I place freely at her disposal, including my heart, my soul, and my life, which I would gladly lay down to protect hers. This I swear in Fahla’s name. I am Andira Shaldone Tal, and I ask this of you: Will you speak for my mother and father, for yourself and all of our ancestors, and accept Salomen into our family?”

As they waited for his response, Tal’s anticipation shifted into concern. Micah’s silence wasn’t from surprise. He was profoundly shocked, more than their petition could possibly explain, and there was an intense conflict going on in his heart as well. He was…afraid.

“Micah?” she asked softly. “What’s wrong?”

“Get up,” he croaked. “Please.”

Salomen and Tal looked at each other in alarm. Without a word they both rose and retook their seats.

Micah passed a trembling hand over his forehead. “Great Mother of us all,” he murmured. “After all this time.”

By now Tal was frightened as well. She could not imagine what could cause such a reaction. Salomen squeezed her hand, needing some sort of assurance, but Tal had none to give.

At last Micah met her eyes. “Before you make this petition, you need to know something. Something I never imagined telling you. But as much as I want—Fahla, as much as I dream of having the right to respond to your petition, I cannot. Not unless you make it knowing the full truth.”

He lifted his glass and took a gulp, steadying himself. When he replaced the glass he nearly tipped it over, barely catching it in time. Tal watched in increasing dread, her emotions sharpening in response to what she could sense in him.

“You’ve asked me many times if I ever gave my heart away,” he said. “I always found a way to avoid the answer. But you have the right to know. Yes, Andira, I gave my heart away a very long time ago. To your mother.”

“What?” whispered Tal.

He nodded sadly. “She was like no one I had ever met, nor did I ever meet her like again. I loved her with all my heart and soul, and she…” He paused, took a deep breath, and finished, “She loved me as well.”

Tal sat mute and stunned, waiting for the answer to the most important question on her mind. He must have sensed it, because he nodded and said, “Yes, she was already bonded to your father. I fell in love with a woman I could never have.”

“Oh, Micah,” murmured Salomen, the sympathy pouring from her.

He gave her a tiny, sad smile before returning his gaze to Tal, who by now had found her voice.

“Did he know?” she asked.

“Of course he knew. But he never spoke of it.”

“He wouldn’t,” Tal realized. “You were his best friend, from long before he met her.”

Micah nodded.

“I don’t understand,” said Salomen.

Tal turned to her. “If Father had ever acknowledged it, he would have been obligated to do something about it. By staying silent he was able to keep Micah’s friendship. But that same silence was a tacit condoning of their affair.”

“And we took advantage of that silence,” said Micah. “I know I should tell you I’m ashamed of that, but I’m not. There is no shame in love. I could not turn my back on her for honor; it would have broken her heart. And I would rather have Returned than cause harm to such a heart.”

Tal was almost afraid to skim him; afraid of what she might find. But her need to know was too great. And when she reached out, she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Micah’s love had not been solely emotional.

Suddenly she needed a stiff drink of her own. Valkinon was meant to be sipped, but she drained half the glass in an effort to steady herself for the question that had to be asked. Setting the glass down, she met his eyes and knew he was waiting for it.

“Does your blood run in my veins, Micah?”

Impossibly, he smiled at her. “Only in my dreams. You would have been all I could ever have wished for in a daughter. But no, we never had a creation ceremony. We both loved your father as well, and we could not betray him in that way. So when your mother held her one and only creation ceremony, I wasn't there. That privilege went to your father. So please don’t ever think she loved him less for loving me. She had a heart large enough for both of us. It hurt her in so many ways, but it would have hurt her more to give either one of us up.”

Tal let out the breath she hadn’t been aware of holding. “Well, I have to admit, you’ve surprised me on this one.” She shook her head. “I don’t know what to think.”

“Don’t think until you’ve heard the rest of the story.” Micah took another drink, his hand steadier now that he’d gotten the worst of it out. “Things changed after your mother became pregnant,” he said. “Not because of her. Fahla, no; her heart never changed. Because of me. I didn’t have the same capacity she did to share. I couldn’t bear knowing that she was carrying a child I’d had no part in creating. I knew that child would bury itself in her heart, and I didn’t trust her to have a heart large enough for three. I was jealous, Andira. Young and full of passion and raging with a jealousy I could not control. I envied your father so much that there were times I could barely look at him. He had everything I’d ever wanted, and even his generosity in sharing that with me just seemed to make it worse. I cursed Fahla for ever allowing it to happen. I simply could not understand how she could put a love like that in my heart and then make it hurt so damned much. So I left. I found a posting in Redmoon, which was as far away from Blacksun as I could get and still be on a career path, and I was gone before you were born.”

“You left?” Tal frowned. “I don’t understand. There’s not a moment in my memory when you weren’t in my life.”

“That’s because Fahla overlooked my curses. She saved me from what would have been my greatest mistake. She sent me a vision.”

Tal sucked in a breath. “The vision you told me about at Whitemoon. You said…” She racked her brain, trying to recall their conversation on the grounds of the Whitemoon Temple. “You said she’d showed you that loss was unavoidable, but through that loss you could gain.”

“I knew you’d remember.” He took another sip. “I made an offering to her, begging her to destroy the love in my heart, because living with it seemed so much worse than living without it. And while I stood there, I saw a vision of you.”

“Of me!”

“Yes. You were already grown; already in the uniform of a Lead Guard. And you were standing in front of a funeral pyre.”

Tal tightened her grip on Salomen’s hand. “My parents,” she whispered.

He nodded. “I saw you standing by yourself, several paces apart from a crowd of mourners, with the torch in your hand and not a single tear on your face. I saw a woman who had lost everything and was utterly, completely alone.”

“But I wasn’t alone,” said Tal in confusion. “You were there with me.”

“I was. But I couldn’t approach you until you’d lit the pyre. That right belongs to family, and I wasn’t family.”

“Great Goddess.” Tal stared at him, but it was a younger Micah she was seeing. The Micah who had walked up to her after she had lit the pyre; who had gently taken the torch from her numb fingers and put it back in the stand; who had held her hands, grounding her with his touch as she finally broke down and cried. “I guess Fahla only showed you the part she wanted you to see.”

He nodded. “I lost both of my fathers before my Rite of Ascension; I knew what it was like to be so alone. You were the daughter of the woman I loved and the man who had been my best friend for half my life; I could not let you face that kind of loss by yourself. And as I stood there in that temple, I felt all my jealousy and pain turn into something completely different. Suddenly I was too far away; I had an almost desperate need to get back to all three of you. I resigned my post and was back in Blacksun before you were seven moons old.”

“So you knew,” said Tal, trying to wrap her brain around it. “You always knew they would die.”

“Yes, but Fahla’s vision never included any specifics. I didn’t know when it would happen or how. There was nothing I could do to protect them. I couldn’t even tell them. It wouldn’t have helped them to prevent it, but it would have condemned them to live with the same kind of fear I felt. I wouldn’t have wished that on an enemy, much less the two people I loved. So I focused on being with them whenever I could, and building a relationship with you. It wasn’t difficult; you buried yourself in my heart before the end of my first visit with your parents. Suddenly I understood why your mother had always said she had enough love for all three of us, because it turned out that I had a heart that big as well. I loved you as much as if you were my own daughter. Sometimes I almost convinced myself that you were. I was so damned proud of you; you were a true blend of your parents, equal parts scholar and warrior. Your mother was sad to lose you to the warrior caste, but I was able to help her with that. After all, I’d known what your choice would be when you were just a few moons old. And of course your father was thrilled; you were following his dream. He nearly burst with pride when you made Lead Guard so young. But the day of your promotion was one of the worst days of my life.”

Tal could not imagine it. To live with the knowledge of impending death, but never know when or from which direction it would come; to see it drawing nearer with every milestone of her life—her choice of caste, her decision to join the Alsean Defense Force, the early accomplishments, and then the promotion that gave her the uniform he’d seen in his vision. And all the time he had loved her mother the way she loved Salomen, the way Shikal had loved Nashta—but he’d never been given the right to love openly.

“Micah…I’m so sorry.” Her heart was breaking for him, and she felt Salomen on the verge of tears. “You lost so much. So much you were never allowed to have.”

He smiled at her. “Oh, but you haven’t heard the rest of it. I told you that Fahla had also showed me something else; that through loss I could gain. The vision had two parts. And in the second part I saw you again, older this time, and not in uniform at all.” He took a deep breath. “I saw you on your knees in front of me, and you spoke to me. You said, ‘You are my family.’”

“Great Mother of us all,” said Salomen. “No wonder you were so shocked.”

He nodded. “I didn’t know what was happening in that vision. I never dreamed it was part of a petition for inclusion. I didn’t see you in it, Salomen.” He met Tal’s eyes again. “But I knew that someday you would see me as your family, and that knowledge changed my whole life. I wasn’t alone anymore. I had you. I’ve always had you, from the very beginning. So don’t pity me; I didn’t lose what you think I did. I tried to; I tried to throw it away with both hands. But Fahla saved me. And yes, the vision meant I lived with a knowledge I never wanted to have, but it also meant that I cherished every moment I had with your mother and father. Every single moment. If I hadn’t had the vision, I probably would never have gone back. I would have missed your childhood and all those precious cycles of friendship and love with your parents, and when they Returned I would have had no right to go to you; no right to comfort you. I lost nothing, Andira. But I gained a family.”

Salomen wiped the tears off her face, and Tal reached out to comfort her. Her own eyes were dry; she was still too stunned. Salomen snuggled into her, wrapping an arm around her waist as she said, “And all this time you never said a word to Andira.”

“My relationship with Reina and Andorin was my own,” he said gently. “We made our choices long before Andira was of an age to understand any of them. And by the time she was of age, she and I had our own relationship, completely separate from what either she or I had with her parents. I never wanted to jeopardize that by telling her a history that could not change the past, but might destroy our future. Even now I was afraid to speak, but your petition made it impossible to keep my secret any longer. I could never give an answer when the question had been asked unknowingly.”

“It’s ironic,” said Tal. “I always thought Father asked you to look after me. That was the only reason I could see for the way you were always there when I needed you, no matter where I was or what was happening.”

He shook his head. “Your father never needed to ask. And he knew that. So did your mother; she once told me that if ever a child had three parents, that child was you. They both knew what you meant to me. They shared you with me in the same way that they shared each other. It was a complicated web, difficult for anyone to understand who wasn’t directly involved. But for a man with no family, I was gifted indeed.”

“So was I.” Tal had begun to think more clearly. “I can’t deny you’ve shocked me, Micah. This is a whole different view of my parents, and now I have to rethink a lot of what I thought I knew. But the end result is, I still have a parent. An unusual one to be sure, but a parent nonetheless. And that is a gift from Fahla.”

He stared at her, his eyes suspiciously shiny. “I don’t know why I was frightened to tell you,” he said. “I should have known you’d react this way. You have your father’s grace and generosity, and your mother’s heart and wisdom. You are truly an honor to them, Andira. They would be so proud of who you’ve become. I know I am.”

“That means a great deal to me,” she said. “Thank you.”

He nodded. “You’re welcome.”

There was an awkward pause, which ended when Salomen sat up straight and said, “Well, Colonel, I believe you owe us an answer.”

He looked from her to Tal, who nodded at him with a smile. “She knows what I feel,” she said. “Our petition stands.”

The shininess in his eyes grew, and he quickly scrubbed at them with his hand. “Then I would be delighted.” He rose from his chair, leaving his staff behind as he took the two steps to their seats. Standing before them, he put a hand on each of their shoulders and said, “My daughters, I hear your petition. Under the eye of Fahla, who connects our past with our future, and in the name of my…” His voice caught, but he cleared his throat and continued, “…my beloved Reina, my best friend Andorin, and all of our mutual ancestors, I say that Salomen Arrin Opah is now one of our family. May our descendants rejoice in this bond, which enriches our family beyond measure.”

“And a unique family it is,” said Tal, smiling up at him. “Thank you, Micah.”

Salomen stood, taking Micah’s face in her hands and kissing both of his cheeks. “Thank you. For accepting me, and especially for looking after her.”

“It was my pleasure,” said Micah. “And if you’re going to be a part of my family, you’d better call me Corozen.”

“All right,” said Salomen with a smile.

“Not me,” said Tal, holding up her hands. “Not a chance. I’ve called you Micah my whole life. I’m too old to change.”

“Dokshin,” said Micah. “You’ve changed more in the past two moons than you realize. But since I would probably pass out if you called me Corozen, I’m glad you have such a belief in your immutability.”

“And what would you like your grandchild to call you?” asked Tal innocently.

His eyes widened. “You…but…”

Tal leaned back in her chair and laughed, while Salomen just shook her head. “Don’t mind her,” she said. “We’ve discussed it, but we’re not there yet. At the very least, there’s a little matter of a formal bonding ceremony first.”

“Thank Fahla,” gasped Micah, grasping at the arm of his chair as he sat down again. “I’m not ready for that yet.”

“Neither am I,” said Salomen, shooting Tal a glare.

“A child from the two of you?” Micah shook his head. “I don’t think Alsea is ready.”

 

 

 

 

---

epilogue

 

 

Vellmar walked around the curve of the sea cliff and smiled as her destination came into view. She’d fallen in love with this particular rock; a huge boulder that had tumbled from the cliffs above and come to rest just above normal high tide. A weathered saddle near its top made a perfect seat, and she came here every day after her shift to climb up, sit and watch the ocean.

Rarely in her life had she been given the opportunity to visit the shore, and when Lancer Tal and Bondlancer Opah had chosen this place for their bonding break, she’d been completely delighted. A chance to spend an entire moon at the water’s edge, and in the company of people who had come to mean a great deal to her…it felt like a blessing from Fahla.

There had been a number of those blessings. It seemed to her that for no reason she could possibly have earned, she’d been plucked out of the life she’d planned for herself and dropped in the middle of something far greater; something she would never have dared to dream of. But here she was, Lead Guard for the Lancer, and actually becoming friends with two of the women she admired most in the world. It was an amazing thing to have to adjust one’s aspirations upward; to find new things to dream of because the old dreams had already been surpassed.

She climbed up to the saddle and settled in, finding the perfect position where the rock supported her back and all of its curves were fitting all the right places. With a sigh of contentment she relaxed, folding her hands over a raised knee and watching the sun sink toward the horizon. Sonalia was already out, a quarter past full but still bright, and as she gazed at the moon her thoughts wandered back to the ceremony.

It had been the most dazzling bonding ceremony imaginable. Lancer Tal had been resplendent in her solid black suit, an emphatic visual reminder to the whole world that she was the Lancer, the only Alsean other than Temple Scholars permitted to wear the color head to toe. By virtue