Chapter 8

 

 

“Are you trying to kill me?” Micah was so upset that he could not remain seated. He began pacing Tal’s quarters, running his hand through short hair that was already sticking straight up.

“Micah—”

“Could you at least have considered the ramifications before agreeing to such idiocy? I cannot believe this. What were you thinking? How am I supposed to protect you while you run around a holding with a woman who, by all accounts, believes you’re attempting to destroy her caste? You will be sleeping in the house of your enemy, for Fahla’s sake!”

Tal looked up at him calmly. “Micah, she’s not an enemy. Her voice is simply louder than her thought.”

“Voices can cause a great deal of damage, Tal. They can incite action.”

“Then do you not agree it would be more dangerous not to do this? What better way to silence that voice, and all others who might take up the cry, than by actively proving it wrong? I’m truly at an impasse with the producers. Almost a full cycle of meetings and they still don’t trust my intentions. Something has to change, and my instinct tells me this could be it.”

Micah paced back to his chair and collapsed into it with a sigh. “You realize that every gray hair on my head is thanks to you.”

Tal laughed. “You lie. I well recall my first days in your unit; you had gray hair then.”

“Yes, and I acquired every strand of it the moment I learned that Andira Shaldone Tal had been assigned to me.” He looked at her beseechingly. “If I cannot inspire sense in you, can I at least inspire caution? Please take this situation seriously. Your security will be difficult to safeguard in this environment. You must allow me to do my job.”

“I promise,” said Tal. “I think you’re overstating the danger, but I’ll do as you ask.”

“Thank you.”

They sat in companionable silence, until Micah began to chuckle.

“You told her you were bringing twenty Guards?”

Tal grinned. “I did.”

“Poor woman.”

 

 

-----

 

 

Tal waited two days before calling Opah with the news that she would in fact only require ten Guards. The woman’s relief, obvious even over the vidcom, made her fight back a smile. After terminating the call she actually felt a tiny bit guilty; she was enjoying this far too much.

No more than that woman has enjoyed tormenting me, she thought. She set up the field of conflict, now she must let the battle play out.

A few days later Micah returned from inspecting the holding, and reported that Opah had managed to create a makeshift bunkhouse in the building normally reserved for storing heavy equipment. “It’s better than a field tent by an order of magnitude,” he said. “And she and her family will be preparing our meals. No field rations—the Guards will be ecstatic. Other than the headache of protecting you in such an exposed location, this will be a plush assignment.”

“She’s making the meals?” asked Tal incredulously. “For ten Guards?”

“She seemed to believe it was required.”

Tal began to laugh. “Aldirk must have told her that when he briefed her. No doubt she’s wondering if she hasn’t poured more than she can drink.” She sobered. “Feeding ten Guards for a moon will be expensive, Micah. Tell Aldirk to allocate appropriate funding if he has not already done so. Knowing his miserly ways, he hasn’t. And add a cook to our Guard complement.”

“So now I must go back and tell her we are eleven, not ten?”

“I see you’ve already run afoul of her sharp tongue, my friend. Your fear is palpable.”

He gave her a mock glare. “The day a producer strikes fear into my heart is the day you set my pyre alight.” His eyebrows lifted. “However, I will readily admit that Raiz Opah has the most…direct communication style I’ve encountered in many cycles. She would make an excellent unit trainer.”

“Were she to train units, we should have an entire Defense Force cowering at the sight of any member of the producer caste.”

“I’m quite sure Raiz Opah would consider that a positive development.”

 

 

-----

 

 

“Greetings, Lancer Tal. Welcome to Hol-Opah.”

Salomen Opah and her family stood on the front porch of their large domed home, dressed in what must have been their finest clothing and looking quite uncomfortable. Particularly the small boy, whom Tal guessed to be nine or ten cycles.

“Thank you,” she said. “I’m honored to receive your hospitality.”

“Please allow me to introduce you to my family,” continued Opah, in a formal voice Tal had never heard from her. “My father, Shikal.”

Tal held up her hand and touched Shikal’s briefly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said.

“The pleasure is mine, Lancer Tal.” Shikal beamed at her; obviously he did not share his daughter’s political opinions. “You do great honor to our house. I never thought to receive the Lancer herself! My only regret is that Nashta is not here to see it.”

“Your loss is recent,” said Tal, who could easily sense it, “and deep. Please accept my condolences. She must have been a true heart.”

He nodded. “She was. But her heart lives on in all of us, especially my daughter.”

Opah intervened; her desire to end this line of conversation was clear to Tal’s senses. “These are my brothers, Nikin, Herot, and Jaros.”

Tal touched palms with each brother in turn, thanking them for hosting her and her Guards. They all had the same nearly-black hair and deep brown eyes as their sister, and the two eldest shared her height. The Opahs were a tall family.

Nikin was plainly the eldest, his hair already brushed with gray. His smile was open and easy, and Tal liked him on sight. Lurking under Nikin’s formal behavior, she knew, was a man with a quick sense of humor.

Herot was younger than Salomen but held himself with a familiar self-confidence. In looks he resembled Salomen more than Nikin, but his squared jaw and thicker facial ridges lent his appearance a masculine charm. Unfortunately, he seemed all too aware of his good looks, and gave Tal an appraising gaze that made her want to laugh. Obviously he considered himself irresistible and was already enjoying fantasies that she would be glad to disabuse him of.

At the end of the line, Tal crouched down to look into Jaros’ eyes as she held her palm to his. “Are those clothes as uncomfortable as they look?” she whispered.

His eyes lit up as he perceived a friend. “Yes! The collar itches,” he complained. “But Salomen insisted. She said we must look our best to honor you.”

“Did she?” asked Tal in a louder voice. “I’m delighted to know that your sister finds honor in my visit.”

“Oh yes, she’s been talking of nothing else. Lancer Tal this, Lancer Tal that. We must be on our best behavior and speak properly and never—”

“That’s enough, Jaros!” Opah’s embarrassment was crystalline, and Tal held back a smile.

“Raiz Opah,” she said without looking up, “I am quite interested in what Jaros has to say. Please do him the honor of allowing him to speak freely, as your siblings have.”

Jaros visibly swelled with pride, and Tal knew she had made a devout ally. “Thank you, Lancer Tal,” he said in his best formal voice. Then it broke down as he leaned in excitedly. “Nobody ever speaks to Salomen that way! Is that because you’re Lancer?”

“It’s one of the few benefits, yes,” she said. “May I ask you a question?”

His formal mien returned. “You may,” he said grandly.

“What do your friends say about my visit here?” She knew she’d get a more accurate picture of the political climate from this boy than from any other person on the porch.

“The older boys say they don’t care, but my friends are so envious they can barely walk straight!” Jaros was instantly enthusiastic. “They want to know all about you. When I tell them you touched palms with me they’ll turn red with envy.”

“We’ll do more than touch palms, won’t we?” she asked. “Do you not plan to work with me on the holding?”

“Oh, no. I have to go to school. Besides, I’m not allowed to work the field equipment.”

Which told Tal at least part of what Opah had planned for her. “Then I will see you at meals.” He nodded, and she gave him a smile before standing.

“Lancer Tal,” said Opah, obviously not happy with the conversation she’d overheard but determined to get through the evening on her own terms, “while on my holding I will ask you to call me Salomen. I am not accustomed to formal address in my home.”

“Very well, Salomen. Thank you.” Tal did not make a reciprocal offer. She allowed very few people such an informality; surely this producer did not expect it. Nevertheless, she felt a quick annoyance from her hostess at her lack of response, and had to hold back a smile. If Salomen Opah chose to be irritated because she was not being given a familiarity that even Tal’s advisors did not enjoy, then that was a problem of her own making.

“Please come in. I’ll show you your room.” Salomen stepped aside, and Tal moved through the doorway to find herself in a spacious entry that glowed with the richness of old and well-rubbed wood. She felt immediately comfortable. This was a style she appreciated: simple, but of high quality and well-cared for. The ornate décor of the State House had never appealed to her, and not for the first time she wished that she might redesign the entire building. But it was untouchable, part of their global tradition, and she was only a temporary inhabitant.

“This way.” Salomen brushed past, leading Tal up a flight of stairs, down a curving hallway, and through a door into a small but very comfortable room. It was lit by a pair of lamps that Tal was certain were from the last age; they were probably heirlooms. The bed was neatly made, with a hand-sewn quilt featuring the same design Tal had seen on the gates to the holding—no doubt the Opah family crest. A wide window seat looked onto the fields behind the house, and was flanked on each side by built-in bookcases crammed with books of every size and color. On the wall above the bed was a portrait of a woman who bore a strong resemblance to Salomen.

Tal dropped her bag on the floor. “This is your mother?” she asked.

“Yes.” The answer was short and unemotional, but Tal felt a different story altogether. She examined the portrait carefully.

“She was beautiful,” she said, and the pain from behind her was so sharp that she had to close her eyes. Salomen Opah had plainly not recovered from her mother’s Return.

“Yes, she was,” came the quiet response.

“You look very like her.” Tal felt a sudden sympathy for her hostess; the pain she’d sensed was all too familiar. She understood the loss of a loved parent.

There was no response, and she turned to catch an expression of surprise on Salomen’s face.

“Thank you.” Salomen turned toward the door. “Your personal Guard will be in the next room.”

“Yes, Colonel Micah was most pleased about his accommodations.” Tal followed her out and gazed through the next doorway with approval. She recognized the bag tucked under the bed; Micah had already settled in and was currently in the kitchen, speaking with the cook regarding the food preparation for the rest of the Guard. “This is far more pleasant than the tent he expected.”

“Lancer Tal,” said Salomen stiffly, “please do me the courtesy of treating me as a landholder, not a mere field worker. I would never house the Chief Guardian of our Lancer in a tent.”

Tal’s momentary sympathy vanished as quickly as it had come. “I will be happy to honor your request, provided you return the favor. You’ve treated me from the very beginning with a palpable prejudice. I would appreciate being treated with more respect and perhaps, if it’s not too much of a reach for you, an open mind. My words regarding Colonel Micah were never meant as an insult, yet you persist in taking it as such. Are you that unsure of your own position that you feel such a need to defend it?”

Now we’re on familiar ground, she thought as Salomen glared at her.

“As long as you’re a guest in my home, I will treat you with the utmost courtesy,” said Salomen. “But my respect is earned, not given. And accusing me of prejudice and narrow-mindedness is not the way to earn it.”

“It was not an accusation,” said Tal mildly. “Merely an observation.” Before Salomen could give her no doubt sizzling response, Tal continued, “Your home is lovely, and well-loved. May I see the rest?”

Salomen stood still, and Tal could feel her warring emotions.

“Or if you prefer, I could ask Jaros for a tour,” she offered. That galvanized Salomen into action, and Tal passed a pleasant half-hantick viewing the old house and surrounding grounds. That her hostess was fuming beside her bothered her not at all; Tal had learned at a very early age how to tune out the emotions of others, especially those regarding herself. It was an essential self-defense mechanism for a gifted empath, and served her well in her role as Lancer.

The main house was a traditional design, with six bedrooms arranged around the outside of the top floor so that each would have a view. A circular hallway divided the outside rooms from the inner core, which consisted of three spacious bathrooms, all naturally lit by glassed openings in the roof. Salomen and Nikin shared one, Herot and Jaros shared another, and the third was for guests. Tal learned that the third bathroom had originally been shared by Shikal and Nashta, but when Nashta became ill and could no longer negotiate stairs, Shikal had moved them both to a room on the main floor. He had never moved back up again, and their original bedroom was now the guest room where Tal was staying.

The house had two beautiful wooden staircases, one leading up from the entryway and the other from the large dining area on the opposite side of the dome. The kitchen was located in a smaller, attached dome accessed through the dining area, and the rest of the main floor was divided into a spacious parlor, an office, a storage room, Shikal’s bedroom and another bathroom.

The entire dome was flanked by a wraparound wooden porch, interrupted only by the kitchen dome. Three steps led up to the porch at the front entry, while the back porch required five steps due to the sloping land. Tal loved the view from the back porch—there was nothing but fields and trees as far as the eye could see. It was wide open and utterly different from anything in Blacksun.

The outbuildings were all rectangular and clustered in a group away from the main house. Tal was impressed to note that even the harvest storage building was clean and well-kept, and let out a low whistle of appreciation when she stepped into the converted equipment building that now housed her Guards. Each Guard had a cot and a small table serving as a night stand, complete with water pitcher and lamp. The row of high windows on each wall made the building light and airy; by field standards it was palatial. Five Guards were currently in residence, having rotated off duty just a short while ago, and three of them were fast asleep in their cots, wearing eye masks against the light pouring in the windows. Gehrain, Tal’s Lead Guard, moved to wake his staff at Tal’s entrance, but Tal stopped him with a raised hand. “They’ve earned their sleep,” she said quietly. “Tell them I came by to see how they were doing, and that next time I want to see flowers on those night stands.”

Gehrain grinned. “It’s no field tent.” The grin dropped from his face as Salomen entered behind Tal, and he gave her a short bow. “Raiz Opah, please accept my grateful thanks on behalf of myself and nine very happy Guards. We never expected such comfortable lodgings.”

Tal waited for Salomen to snap at Gehrain, since he’d just said nearly the same thing she had earlier, but the producer gave him a kind smile instead. “You’re very welcome, Lead Guard Gehrain. It was the least I could do for the service you perform. If you or your staff need anything else, please let me know.”

Tal barely kept her jaw shut as Gehrain assured Salomen that he couldn’t imagine lacking for anything, and when they left the building she shot a sidelong glance at her hostess. Did Salomen have a twin sister who’d switched places with her while Tal’s back was turned?

The tour ended at the main house, with Salomen leading Tal up the back stairs and to the guest room. She stood just outside the doorway and said, “Please make yourself at home. We sit to evenmeal in half a hantick.”

“Thank you for your hospitality,” said Tal. “You’ve gone out of your way to make my staff comfortable, and I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome,” said Salomen, but the warmth she’d shown Gehrain was nowhere to be seen. Tal gave a mental shrug.

“I’ll see you downstairs, then,” she said as she stepped into her room. Not one to waste time, she immediately unzipped her bag and began to unpack, but Salomen did not leave. Tal could feel the eyes on her, and after a few pipticks she paused, her back still to the door. “Was there something else you wished to share?”

When there was no answer, she turned to see Salomen looking at her with a bemused expression.

“Why are you here?” Salomen asked at last.

“You accepted my challenge,” said Tal, but the glib response was a cover. Something was off; the readings she was getting from Salomen made no sense.

“No.” Salomen shook her head. “That’s the political answer. You could have refused my counterchallenge without losing face; surely a Lancer cannot easily leave the capital for an entire moon. I can’t even imagine the preparations you must have been required to make. But you accepted, and I’ve been trying to figure out why ever since.”

Tal went still. She cannot be doing that. Surely not! She was so startled by the impossible source of the feeling that it had taken her a moment to identify it.

“Great Goddess, you’re probing me,” she breathed.

Salomen’s eyes went wide, her instant fear slicing into Tal’s mind. “No, I—”

“You are. Don’t lie to me.”

“I…I didn’t mean to. Please accept my apology.”

Tal walked up to her, feeling Salomen’s fear growing stronger with her every step. She stared into the dark brown eyes opposite her own, focusing all of her empathic powers directly on Salomen’s mind for the first time in their acquaintance. It would have been a violation at any other time, but Salomen’s own transgression had changed the rules.

There was no sound but Salomen’s quick breathing; the woman was quickly losing control of her emotions. Instinctively Tal wrapped her own front around Salomen’s mind to protect her from being read by anyone else. Even the least empathic Alseans were usually sensitive to their own family members, and though Tal had no great liking for this woman, neither did she wish her fear to be exposed. Jaros in particular would probably be very upset; it was clear from their meeting on the porch that he was closely bonded to his sister.

After nearly a full tick, Tal withdrew from her probe and took a step back, letting physical distance reduce the perceived threat. Projecting calm, she said quietly, “How is it possible that you are this strong and yet untrained?”

Salomen sagged against the doorframe, her distress transmitted as clearly as if she were a small child. Feeling slightly awkward at the shift in their dynamic, Tal took her hand, drew her into the room and gently pushed her down on the bed. “Sit here,” she said, and crouched on her heels in front of her. “You need not fear me. I have no desire to prosecute.”

“But I probed you.” Her voice was so small that Tal had to lean in to hear. “I probed the Lancer. Fahla, I didn’t even realize…I’m so sorry. It was an accident. Please forgive me.”

“I already have.” Tal rested her hand on Salomen’s leg, transmitting her calm through the touch. “But you haven’t answered my question. This is important.”

Salomen said nothing, but Tal could feel her fighting panic.

“Listen to me.” Wide eyes looked into hers. “Take a deep breath, and let it out slowly. Good. Now another.”

Slowly the fear receded, until Salomen shook her head. “You’re being kinder than I have a right to expect.”

“I would not prosecute an innocent probe. You have no control, but you need to learn it. Probe the wrong person and you could be in serious trouble. Do it more than once and you could find yourself in the pit.”

“I know,” Salomen whispered, dropping her eyes.

“Why are you not scholar or warrior caste? With your powers you should have been marked by your tenth cycle.”

Another head shake.

“Salomen…” The sound of her name brought Salomen’s eyes back up. “Tell me.”

Clearly her hostess wished to be anywhere else, but under Tal’s steady gaze Salomen finally gained control of both her emotions and her voice. “Because I didn’t want to go.”

“Most children are afraid of the separation, but it’s necessary. How did you manage to stay out of the system?”

“Please rise. You’re making me uncomfortable there.”

Tal complied, removing her hand from Salomen’s leg and sitting on the bed next to her. “And you’re stalling.”

Salomen rested her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands. “I never spoke of my powers,” she said to the floor. “None in my family have them, nor did my friends. They marked me as something…different. I didn’t want that. I never asked for it.”

Tal sympathized. She came from a family of strong empaths; her own talent had been expected and nurtured. But she could easily imagine how confusing such powers could be to a young child who did not understand them.

“Then the testers came, and spoke of changing castes and all that a high empath could look forward to. I was ten cycles and from a producer community. All I knew of warriors was what I read in books. They always seemed to be sleeping outside in the rain, or getting in fights and having friends die, and they never stayed at home. I couldn’t imagine it. The only scholars I knew were my own teachers, and I didn’t care for any of them either. The idea of leaving my family was frightening enough; doing it to become like my teachers or like those warriors in the stories was unthinkable. I would not let them take me.”

“Determined and stubborn even at ten cycles,” said Tal, attempting to lighten the mood. Salomen raised her head and looked at her in surprise. “Merely an observation,” Tal added.

“Not an accusation?” There was a hint of humor in the question.

“No. Now tell me how you avoided being marked.”

Salomen shrugged. “I cannot. Truly, Lancer Tal, I don’t know. I went to my test knowing that I could not allow them to see what none before them had seen. And they didn’t.”

“You beat the testers?!” Tal was shocked. She’d expected Salomen to say that she simply hadn’t gone to her testing and somehow the omission had been lost in the records. This story was barely credible; she’d never heard of such a thing. Avoiding marking by a tester would have required a level of focus that was nearly inconceivable for a child of ten. Somehow the young Salomen had managed an impenetrable front for the short time that she’d needed it to hide her gift. When the testers departed, taking all of the gifted children with them, she had been left behind to grow up surrounded by those with far weaker powers than her own. It was not surprising that she’d never run into anyone who could sense a probe; that required a level of power and training that Tal suspected was in very short supply in Granelle.

Salomen shrugged. “I did what I had to do.”

Tal was swiftly revising her assessment of this woman; Salomen’s roots ran deeper than she’d suspected. “This cannot continue,” she said. “An untrained empath of your strength is a danger.” She held up her hand at the sudden surge of dread from the woman beside her. “No, don’t worry. I won’t report you. But there is a price.”

Instant wariness. Salomen might be a strong empath, but she was utterly unable to front her emotions from Tal’s senses. “And what is that?”

“You will accept an instructor immediately. I know several who would be honored to train one of your strength. The Sensoral Institute in Whitemoon is the finest on Alsea; I believe you could—”

“No. I will not go.”

Tal could not believe her ears. “You would rather be reported?”

“Lancer Tal, please…I cannot leave my family. Not for that length of time. Do you not see the role I play here? I’m the head of our house; if I spent the next five cycles in Whitemoon, what would happen to my father? And Jaros? Nikin and Herot can run the holding, but they don’t have the capacity to hold our family together.”

Tal considered her thoughtfully. Taking a child of ten from her family was one thing; removing the head of the house was another. Salomen had a point—full training, and the change of caste it would entail, would devastate her family. The law existed both to protect less gifted Alseans, and to make sure that gifted empaths were detected and given the means of developing their powers. But Salomen clearly did not wish to develop her full potential. It was a tragic waste, but it was her loss and affected no one else. If Tal could guarantee that Salomen had sufficient skills to protect other Alseans from the potential misuse of her powers, then the main concern of the law would be satisfied.

“Then there is only one alternative,” she said. “I will instruct you.”

“Ah. Right. The Lancer of Alsea just happens to have sufficient spare time to spend five cycles training a single person—I think not.”

“No, I don’t have five cycles. But I have two moons, and in that time I can teach you the absolute basics—enough for you to protect yourself.”

Salomen gave a short, humorless laugh. “And you believe I would allow you into my mind?”

“Stop me if you can,” said Tal, and dove into her. Salomen had no blocking ability; the penetration was effortless as Tal projected her own decision. From a distance, she heard Salomen’s voice.

“I want no other—no instructor but you. Please train me.”

Tal withdrew and watched the shock register. “I didn’t mean that!” Salomen said, appalled.

“Of course not. But you have the power to do what I just did. You could force unwilling victims to transfer their fortunes to you. You could influence a Council member’s vote. You could even use another Alsean to commit murder. You are a danger.”

“I would never do any of those things!”

“In this instance, I’m afraid your word is not sufficient. There is another danger as well. Though you would not commit any of these crimes, you could be easily used by another who would. It was quite simple for me to enter your mind, even with you on your guard. Another strong empath could do the same thing, with a more sinister intent. You could be forced to use your powers to corrupt others. You’ve avoided discovery so far, but I cannot allow this situation to continue. You either accept me as your instructor, or leave your family for a full training and change of caste.”

“Shek!” Salomen looked at her in despair. “Such an attractive set of options. Leave my family and abandon my caste, or allow the most proud, unfeeling, arrogant woman I have ever met full access to my mind.”

Tal felt the words hit with surprising force. Certainly she felt the same about Salomen—at least, regarding the pride and arrogance—so why would it bother her to know that Salomen felt that way about her?

“What you lack in tact or consideration you certainly make up in honesty,” she said. “But you needn’t have made the effort; I’m already quite aware of your feelings toward me. They are not the point. You have a choice, Salomen. Consider it, and give me an answer by tomorrow at this time.” She stood up. “Now if you don’t mind, I wish to unpack before coming down to evenmeal.”

Slowly, Salomen made her way to the door. At the entrance she paused, her gaze on her mother’s portrait. Tal felt her shame and regret, as well as the fear and unhappiness which overwhelmed them. But Salomen’s emotions were not her problem. Turning her back on her hostess, she silently resumed unpacking. A moment later she heard the door close, and felt Salomen’s presence move down the hall.

 

 

-----

 

 

Evenmeal was not nearly as awkward as she had expected, thanks to the curious mind of one small boy. Jaros was old enough to know that housing the Lancer was a mark of enormous distinction, but not old enough to be burdened with a sense of awe. He asked questions freely and in rapid succession, and Tal enjoyed answering them, after first assuring his older siblings that she did not find his curiosity out of place. Quite the contrary, she thought; they needed Jaros to brighten up the meal since Salomen was so uncharacteristically quiet.

“So you get to tell everyone what to do?” Jaros wanted to know. “And they have to do it, right?”

“If only it were that simple,” said Tal. “There are laws far older than you or I which bind all of us, including me. I’m limited in what I can order citizens to do.”

Jaros reached out for a biscuit, frowning. “Then why be Lancer if you can’t tell everyone what to do?”

Good question, thought Tal.

“If someone wished to harm your holding or your family, would you allow it?” she asked.

He bristled. “I would make them sorry they ever had the thought!”

She nodded. “I feel exactly the same way about Alsea. Your holding is Hol-Opah; mine is Alsea. Your family sits here in this room; mine is the entire population of our world. You’re my family too, Jaros, along with your sister and brothers and father. I want to protect all of you, and all of Alsea, from any who would wish it harm. When I was younger I did that as a warrior, but even a ranking warrior has limited power. To truly protect Alsea, I had to become the most powerful warrior of all. Now I fight different battles, but the purpose is the same: I love Alsea, and my job is to keep her whole and safe and productive. That’s why I’m Lancer.” She paused, and allowed a smile to cross her face. “But it is nice to be able to tell people what to do. Sometimes they have to do it.”

Jaros smiled back as he chewed. “So you—”

“Jaros,” interrupted Salomen, “do not speak until you have swallowed.”

Instantly he swallowed an enormous amount of food, and Tal winced.

“So you’re like Salomen,” he said, as soon as he was able to get his mouth open. “She’s the head of our family. You’re like her, but head of Alsea.”

“Yes,” said Tal. “That’s exactly it.”

“But you’re not as bossy as she is.”

Micah snorted, and Tal shot him a glare. It was hard enough not to laugh without his input.

“She certainly is,” said Salomen. “You just haven’t seen it yet, Jaros.”

Tal leaned in toward the boy. “I am not,” she whispered, and he grinned.

The rest of the meal went by relatively quickly, with the Opah family gradually becoming more at ease, though there was a difficult moment when Jaros announced that he wanted to be a warrior and Salomen informed him that he most certainly would not. Tal answered many more questions about her role as Lancer, eventually turning the conversation toward the holding itself. She learned a great deal about its crops, operations, and market transport, though most of the information came from Shikal and his sons. Salomen was still quiet, and Tal knew her family noticed. They were curious and concerned, but would not speak of the matter in front of the Lancer and her Guard.

As soon as she could politely do so, Tal gave Micah a nod and stood up, thanking the family for the meal and asking what time she should be ready in the morning.

“We normally have mornmeal just after sunrise,” said Salomen, giving her a look of challenge. “I apologize if that is too early for you, but—”

“No apology necessary,” said Tal smoothly. “I’ll have finished my daily run by then and will be more than ready for mornmeal. Thank you.”

She exchanged goodnights with the family and climbed the stairs to her room, Micah close behind her.

“I’m revising my opinion,” said Micah as they approached her doorway. “I thought this assignment would be an enormous headache, but instead it shows much promise. I shall enjoy watching the battle.”

“There will be no battle, Micah.” Tal opened her door and stepped through.

He stood in the doorway, a broad grin on his face. “Ah, but there already is. Tell me, why does she dislike you so intensely? You must have done something special to earn it.”

“I’ve done nothing but my duty,” said Tal. “She apparently has a different definition of my duty, and will not forgive me for not performing to her expectations.”

“Then you have earned her ire. And I suspect it will only get worse.” Chuckling, he turned away. “I’m fortunate to have the best tickets in the house.”

“Don’t be too satisfied with your seats, Micah. You might find yourself injured by an ill-aimed weapon, namely Raiz Opah’s tongue.”

He raised a hand behind him and vanished into his own room. Tal shook her head as she closed her door, stood for a moment, then crossed the room to pick up her reader card. The only means of pacifying Aldirk had been to agree to regular meetings during the next moon, and the first was in two days. For the foreseeable future, she would be performing two duties:  Lancer of Alsea, and field worker on the Opah holding.

She made herself comfortable on the window seat and slipped the reader card from its case. “Oh, Fahla,” she groaned. “Twelve reports?”

 

 

 

 

---

chapter 9

 

 

The Guards who greeted Tal for her morning run looked somewhat the worse for wear. As they set off along the route that had already been scouted, she looked over to Gehrain. “Tiles last night?”

He grimaced, then nodded. “It won’t affect our performance,” he added quickly.

“Of course not,” she said. They ran in silence for a few pipticks before she continued, “I had hoped to extend my usual run this morning…” The total dismay of every Guard taxed her ability to keep a straight face. “…but I must be at mornmeal on time or risk verbal annihilation. So I’ll be content with the route we planned.”

A collective relief flooded her empathic senses, and she had to turn her head to hide her smile. “The next best thing, then, is to run the route at a faster pace, don’t you agree?”

“Yes, Lancer,” groaned Gehrain, and she laughed as she put on a burst of speed.

 

 

-----

 

 

Tal felt a great sense of satisfaction at Salomen’s surprise when she strolled into the dining room, alert and freshly bathed. She sniffed the air with appreciation.

“Good morning. Is that fanten?”

“Yes,” said Salomen. “We raise them for ourselves. You won’t find a fresher cut anywhere.”

“Excellent! I adore fanten.” Tal poured herself a cup of shannel and sat across from Salomen, savoring the refreshing scent wafting off the hot drink. After her run, she could use its energy-giving properties. “Your holding is beautiful and very well cared for. I ran the south border this morning.”

“Which part?” asked Salomen.

For a moment Tal didn’t understand the question. Then she smiled. “All of it,” she said. “It was a little short for my normal run, but I wanted to be sure that I’d be at mornmeal on time.”

“You ran the entire south border,” repeated Salomen blankly. “That’s eight lengths.”

“Mm hm.” Tal sipped her shannel and closed her eyes as the flavor burst through her mouth. The first sip of shannel was always a bit of a jolt. “It’s truly a pleasure to explore new running paths; I could run those around Blacksun with my eyes blindfolded.”

Any reply Salomen might have made was preempted by the noisy arrival of Jaros.

“Lancer Tal!” He bounded into the room and happily pulled out the chair next to hers. “I saw you from my window, coming up our road.” He looked at Salomen. “She runs with five Guards.”

“Yes, I know.” Salomen was far less impressed, but she smiled at her brother, who was already gazing up at Tal with worshipful eyes.

“Are those Guards the fastest in all Alsea? Is that why they run with you?”

“No.” Tal couldn’t help but feel affectionate toward this boy who seemed so happy to have her in his house. “They run with me for my protection.”

He frowned. “You don’t need protection. You’re the most powerful warrior on Alsea.”

“But I’m not immune to physical harm,” said Tal. “Not all Alseans agree with my policies, and some of them feel Alsea would be better served with another in my place. So they seek to remove me.”

“They cannot,” Jaros said stoutly. “We learned in school that the Lancer cannot be replaced except by military coup or a voluntary succession. And we also learned that you have named no successor, and the warrior caste supports you, so there will not be a coup. You can’t be replaced.” He sat back, proud of his grasp of civics.

Tal, who felt his pride and was highly amused by it, reached out to lightly ruffle his hair. “You’ve obviously paid attention in class.”

A secondary pride filtered through, and she looked across the table as Salomen said, “He always does. Jaros leads his class.”

Jaros straightened his shoulders and attempted to look modest, but his emotions had all the unfronted strength of most children his age. Tal smiled at him. “You have the right to be proud,” she said. “Knowledge is what separates those who do from those who don’t. But there is one more means of removal than the two you learned about. It’s called assassination.”

“Assassi…assassination?” Jaros had not heard of it, and Tal could feel Salomen’s instant concern. She looked up.

“He hosts the Lancer of Alsea in his home, Salomen. He should know.”

After a pause, Salomen nodded, but she was plainly unhappy with the conversation.

“Know what?” Now Jaros was dying of curiosity.

“Assassination means murder for political or religious reasons,” said Tal. “There are those who wish to kill me for my beliefs and my policies. The Guards run with me to prevent that from happening.”

Eyes wide, Jaros said, “But why would anyone want to kill you? Salomen says Alsea has never been so prosperous as it has been under your rule. She says you’re the best Lancer Alsea has had in many generations.”

Salomen shook her head, a wry smile on her face. “Jaros, saying anything to you is like notifying the news organizations.”

“It is not!”

Tal turned to her hostess. “I appreciate his honesty. It’s refreshing to hear the full truth.” She put a very slight emphasis on the word “full,” but tempered her words with a smile. Salomen flushed slightly and looked at her brother.

“Lancer Tal is a good leader,” she said seriously. “But no matter how good any leader is, there will always be some who disagree with the government. And of those who disagree, there will always be a few who are willing to kill for their beliefs. So Lancer Tal can never just run on the public road like you and me. She has to have Guards.”

Jaros shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“No, it doesn’t,” said Tal. “But it’s life, and we must simply accept it and find ways to work around it.”

“And Lancer Tal is very good at that.” The deeper voice belonged to Micah, who had just arrived. “She simplifies my professional life with her easy acceptance of this less enjoyable aspect of her title.”

Now it was Tal’s turn to look a bit discomfited, as Salomen smiled broadly. Jaros plowed ahead with more questions from his seemingly inexhaustible supply.

“So you always have Guards? No matter what you do or where you are? Do you have Guards in your bedroom?”

“No!” said Tal a little too quickly, and heard Micah suppress a snort. She shot him an evil look and continued, “On any military base, and within my home—and here within yours—I move freely. But only because I have Guards outside who make sure no unauthorized person can enter. That’s why you had to tell your friends that they couldn’t simply drop by this moon; they have to go through the Guards first.”

“Oh.” Jaros poured a glass of juice and drank it thoughtfully.

“Jaros,” said Salomen as she rose, “why don’t you pour juices for the Lancer and the Colonel, and I’ll bring breakfast to the table.”

Micah rose instantly. “Please allow me to assist, Raiz Opah.”

“Thank you, Colonel, but it’s plain that your duties leave you very little time for relaxation. While you are my guest, it is my wish that you relax at least within the confines of my house.”

The words were gracious and well-spoken, but Tal knew Salomen had understood every nuance of Micah’s comment regarding his professional life. At its heart, the pretty statement was a remonstrance of Tal. Micah sat again as Salomen swept from the room, and Tal recognized the twinkle in his eye.

“At last, a little sympathy,” he said.

“Drink your juice, Micah.” She pushed the glass Jaros had poured over to him, and shook her head at his wide grin. “At least I have an ally in Jaros.”

Jaros looked up. “What’s an ally?”

“A friend who will support me when I need assistance.”

“Oh!” He nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, I will.” He finished pouring the second glass and handed it to her. She thanked him and took a taste, swallowing hastily when the next question came. “Does that mean you are my ally?”

“Yes.” Never in her political life had Tal been so certain of the sincerity of an ally. “If you ever need help, call me or Colonel Micah.”

“Thank you, Lancer Tal.” Jaros obviously felt the moment was of great import. “And if you ever need help, you must call me as well.”

Tal put on a properly serious expression. “Thank you, my friend. I will.”

Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and Tal sensed Herot’s arrival. She gave Micah a knowing look just before the young man walked into the room. His hair was still damp from the shower, and he was wearing somewhat nicer clothes than Tal would have expected for someone who would be working in the fields after mornmeal.

“Good morning, Lancer Tal.” Herot graced her with an easy grin as he sat next to Jaros, pulling the plate of biscuits from beneath Jaros’ hand just as the boy was reaching for one.

“Hey!” Jaros was indignant.

“Wait your turn.” Herot took his time selecting a biscuit before handing the plate back to Jaros, and Tal did a slow burn. To her senses, Herot’s arrogance was positively cloying.

“Herot, why in Fahla’s name are you wearing that shirt?” Salomen reentered the room, followed closely by Nikin. As the two eldest children, they held the responsibility of bringing the food to the table. It was an ancient tradition that had fallen into disuse in many city families, and Tal rather liked seeing it here; it felt right at Hol-Opah.

“The others were dirty.” Herot’s tone was defensive, but to Tal the lie was obvious. She glanced at Salomen to see if she could sense it as well.

“You will not impress the Lancer by ruining your best shirt in the field. Go upstairs and change.” Salomen didn’t even look at him as she set two aromatic platters on the table and pulled out her chair. Nikin put his bowls down and took his own seat with a tiny smile on his face.

That answers that question, thought Tal. Trust Salomen to show no tact whatsoever. She almost felt sorry for Herot, who pushed his chair back with a sizzling glare at his sister and went stomping up the stairs.

“Please excuse Herot’s…enthusiasm, Lancer Tal.” A warm smile wreathed Salomen’s face just before she turned her head. “Good morning, Father.”

“Good morning.” Shikal dropped a kiss onto her upturned cheek before taking his seat at the head of the table. “Good morning, Lancer Tal…Colonel Micah.” He smiled at Tal. “I saw you returning from your run this morning. You move like one who knows the winden.”

“Thank you.” Tal couldn’t help but be pleased. “I’ve always loved to run, even as a child. It helps me order my thoughts.”

Shikal nodded in understanding. “For that, I always go fishing.”

“You would fish whether your thoughts were disordered or not,” said Salomen, but the affection in her tone negated any sharpness in her words. Tal had felt this the previous night, though not as strongly. Salomen’s love for her family was at the very core of her being, and Tal found herself reconsidering her earlier impressions. In their caste meetings she had acknowledged Salomen’s obvious intelligence and strength of mind, but the woman’s unyielding stubbornness, abrasive personality and ill-concealed distaste for the Lancer’s decisions had led to an instinctive antagonism that Tal hadn’t worked very hard to overcome.

In her home, surrounded by family, Salomen seemed to be a different person. Her face was transformed by a loving smile as she teased her father, and Tal opened her senses to fully appreciate the nuances of the warmth that poured out of this unlikely source. Unfortunately, being so open meant that she was also treated to the full extent of Herot’s sulking, self-pitying mood as he re-entered the room, now in a worn workshirt. Still, she enjoyed the exposure to a family situation so different from her own. Having grown up as an only child, the dynamics of a large family like this were endlessly fascinating to her. She immersed herself in the conversation and the unspoken currents of emotion, and was actually sorry when the meal ended.

The two younger children cleared the table, and Tal noted that Herot managed to carry less than Jaros. She met Micah’s eyes and saw his recognition as well. Micah leaned closer to her. “Give me one nineday with him in my unit, and I would make him a different man.”

“By ‘different,’ do you mean dead?”

“You have such little faith in me. I managed to train you, didn’t I?”

“I came pre-trained, my long-suffering friend. Your role was largely that of an observer.”

Micah’s loud laugh drew the attention of everyone in the room, and he waved a hand at Tal. “Pardon me. The Lancer was testing the limits of my credibility.”

Tal flashed a grin at him, and felt a prickle of surprise from someone in the room. She turned her head just in time to catch Salomen watching her with a thoughtful expression. Then her hostess turned to Jaros, who was getting ready to leave for school, and the feeling faded.

There was quite a bit of bustle getting Jaros out the door and the rest of the family to work, reminding Tal somewhat of a unit breaking camp and moving. Soon she found herself in a two-person transport, with Salomen in the pilot seat as they flew to the field currently under harvest. It was a quiet ride, and Tal made no effort to initiate a conversation with her hostess. After the morning’s controlled chaos, she was enjoying the few moments of peace granted her before the day’s labor began.

When they arrived at the field her Guards were already there, looking out of place in their uniforms as they patrolled the perimeter. Tal immediately called Micah on her wristcom and asked him to provide the Guards with something a bit less obvious, and at midmeal they suddenly took on the appearance of field workers. Tal nodded in satisfaction at Micah’s efficiency.

Through the course of the day, Tal learned a new respect for her hostess. Salomen was physically strong, never flagging as she worked side by side with the Lancer. She never asked Tal to do anything she wasn’t doing herself, and at midmeal she made sure that all of the field workers were taking the necessary time to relax and eat, even though a few protested that they could finish their tasks if just given another half-hantick. Tal watched in interest, knowing that not all landholders treated their field workers with such care. But the Opah field workers seemed to be more than just hired laborers. They laughed and joked with Salomen, asking her questions and making observations that demonstrated a personal knowledge of her and her family. Salomen showed the same warmth and affection with them that she had at her own table, and their affection for her was plain to sense.

After midmeal they resumed the hard physical labor of loading newly cut grain into the bulk transport, and by the end of the workday Tal was more than happy to throw her tools in the back of the personal transport and take a seat. She had never allowed herself to grow overweight and weak, as some warriors did once they moved off the field and into office, but neither was she accustomed to doing repetitive tasks for an entire day. Her arm and shoulder muscles were definitely making their displeasure known, though she was careful to hide it. The day she showed any weakness to Salomen Opah was the day she gave up her title.

Salomen settled in beside her and smoothly piloted the transport back to the house. As they sailed over the fields, she glanced at Tal.

“You did well,” she said. “For a soft politician.”

“Thank you so much,” Tal answered. “I look forward to the day you learn the difference between a soft politician and a trained warrior.”

Salomen smiled and turned her attention back to the controls. The rest of the flight passed in silence, but Tal did not find it uncomfortable. When they arrived at the house, she gathered both her tools and Salomen’s and began to walk toward the equipment outbuilding.

“What are you doing?” asked Salomen.

Tal stopped and turned. “They require cleaning, do they not?”

Shaking her head, Salomen said, “Ideally, yes, but we’ll be using them again tomorrow and the day after. Leave them in the transport and we’ll clean them when we’re done.”

“And in the meantime, the grime and debris builds up and they grow less and less effective,” said Tal. “The first rule a warrior learns is that your weapons are only as good as the care you give them.”

“Those are not weapons. They’re tools.”

“Weapons are my tools. Along with knowledge and power and psychology, and any number of other items at my disposal. I try to keep all of them sharp.”

“You must take extremely good care of your tongue, then.”

Tal stared as Salomen turned and walked toward the house.

Did she just call me sharp-tongued?

I think she did.

Resuming her trek toward the equipment outbuilding, Tal smiled. Rarely have I heard such a perfect example of the knife calling the sword a blade.

 

 

 

 

---

chapter 10

 

 

Evenmeal was more comfortable than the previous night’s had been, but the ease Salomen had shown at mornmeal was largely absent. She presented a sufficient front to avoid any questions from her family, but her emotions were in turmoil. Though Tal could not determine whether Salomen had made a decision regarding her training, she could certainly see how much it was costing her.

Fortunately, Jaros distracted everyone with his happy chatter about the day’s lessons. Apparently the Lancer’s presence in their community had inspired his instructors to speak in more detail about the history, responsibilities and legal issues associated with the title, and he was eager to demonstrate his new knowledge. He rattled off several rather bloody historical tales, his eyes shining with enthusiasm.

“And, Lancer Tal,” he continued after quickly swallowing some food, “we also learned that there is a fourth way you could be replaced. You didn’t tell me about the ritual challenge of combat this morning!”

“To be honest, I didn’t even consider it,” said Tal. “That hasn’t been invoked for several hundred cycles.”

“Tell us about it, Jaros,” said Shikal. He glanced at Tal and smiled, his pride in his son clear to her senses.

Jaros put his fork down, concentrating seriously on his recitation. “It can only be used by a member of the warrior caste. If a warrior wants to take the title of Lancer, but he doesn’t have enough other warriors on his side, he can challenge the Lancer to single combat. To the death.” Plainly this was an extremely exciting thought. “The winner takes the title legally. Nobody can dispute it, even if they don’t like the person who won.”

“Which is precisely why it hasn’t been invoked for hundreds of cycles,” said Tal. “It’s a relic from the days when Alsean leadership passed from one military leader to another, by right of strength in battle. But good leadership requires more than strength in arms. It requires education, strategic thinking, understanding of Alsean nature and motivations, an ability to plan far beyond the current generation…in fact, a scholar often made a much better Lancer than a typical warrior, and ritual challenge of combat passed out of use shortly after the scholar caste became eligible for the title. Few scholars could have won such a challenge.”

“But they could choose a champion,” said Jaros.

“Yes, they could. But there’s another reason challenges are no longer used.”

“What’s that?”

“Alsean culture has changed too much. As a people, we no longer tolerate rule by right of might. Any warrior who wants to challenge the sitting Lancer today would need the support of the warrior caste, or risk being immediately unseated. And if a challenger has the support of the caste, then the title would be taken by military coup, not a single challenge. A coup usually guarantees longer-lasting results.”

“Oh.”

Tal wanted to laugh at Jaros’ disappointment. “However, there’s one aspect of the ritual challenge that still continues to this day,” she said.

He perked up. “There is?”

She nodded. “All warriors are trained in the art of swordfighting, even though swords haven’t been a significant part of Alsean warfare for generations. But they were the only weapon allowed in a ritual challenge.”

“Really? So you know how to use a sword?”

Tal nodded. “I’m not a fencing master by any means, but yes, I’ve trained with a sword since I was your age.”

“Speedy! Do you have your sword here?”

Tal turned to Salomen. “ ‘Speedy’?”

Salomen smiled. “The newest slang term. It means Jaros is impressed.”

“It means I want to see it! Fahla, don’t you know what speedy means?”

“Jaros!” Three adult voices spoke at once, and Jaros sat back in his seat. Even Tal felt a little intimidated.

“You will not use the name of our Goddess so lightly,” scolded Shikal.

“But you do,” Jaros protested.

Tal pressed her lips together to prevent the smile from escaping.

“That’s because Father is an adult,” said Salomen. “When you pass your Rite of Ascension, you can do it too. But not before then.”

“That’s not fair. If I can say it as an adult, why can’t I say it now?”

“Because,” said Nikin, “adults carry burdens that children do not. So one of our rewards is that we get to use words you don’t.”

“What burdens? You don’t even have to go to school!”

“No, but we work instead. And worry about things you don’t have to worry about,” said Salomen.

Jaros grumbled under his breath. Plainly he wasn’t buying a word of this, and Tal felt sorry for him. After all, his position was completely understandable. She touched his shoulder.

“I don’t have my sword here, Jaros, but I could have it brought later.”

He looked up, all disgruntlement vanishing instantly under renewed enthusiasm. “Really?”

She nodded. “Perhaps I could even challenge Colonel Micah to a little sparring. It’s been some time since I last slapped him with the flat of my sword.”

“Time has obviously clouded your memory,” said Micah. “The last time we sparred it was you who found yourself disarmed. My own sword was firmly in my hand.”

“My memory is perfectly clear,” said Tal. “I’m afraid age has affected yours, however. Don’t worry, Micah; there are many ways an aged warrior can make himself useful.”

“I never worry. As long as your youthful exuberance continues to overpower your wisdom, I’ll always have a job.”

“How old are you, Colonel Micah?” asked Jaros.

“Jaros,” said Salomen, “that is not an appropriate question to ask an adult.”

“I’ve no objection to answering, Raiz Opah,” Micah assured her. He turned to Jaros. “I’m fifty-eight cycles.”

Jaros’ eyes widened. “You’re almost as old as Father!”

Amid the laughter, Micah commented, “And aging faster than he, I’m sure. Serving the Lancer has made me old before my time.”

“And here I thought you appreciated the challenges of your job,” said Tal. “Be sure to notify me if they become more than you can handle, Micah. I’ll replace you with someone younger and more exuberant.” She looked at the boy next to her. “Perhaps Jaros would accept the position.”

“Yes!” Jaros lit up, and just as quickly deflated. “But I’m the wrong caste.”

“A boy of your intelligence and talents could challenge his caste.” No sooner were the words out of Tal’s mouth than she was pierced by a blast of disapproval. She looked up the table at Salomen, who was frowning at her.

“Really?” asked Jaros excitedly.

“It’s very rare, Jaros.” Salomen turned a more kindly expression on her brother. “And being in the warrior caste is not all glory and adventure, despite what you hear at school.”

Tal took the hint. “No indeed. Micah could tell many a tale of privation and hardship, and that was before he came to serve me.”

The laughter shifted the momentary darkness of Salomen’s mood, and for the remainder of evenmeal Tal was careful to steer away from topics that might excite Jaros’ imagination regarding his caste. Plainly his desire to be a warrior did not sit at well with his sister.

When the meal ended, Tal thanked her hosts and excused herself from the table, allowing Salomen as much peace and space as she could under the circumstances. She expected that the producer might need the rest of the evening to make her decision; after all, whichever way she chose would irrevocably alter her life.

 

 

-----

 

 

Tal was a new fan of the window seat in her room. The cushion was luxuriously comfortable, and if she sat sideways with her back to one wall, she had a lovely view of Hol-Opah land to soothe her eyes whenever she looked up from her reader card. If she had to spend her evenings reading reports and dispatches, the window seat was a fair consolation.

She settled down to work, and had barely read through four of the dispatches when she felt Salomen’s presence approaching her door. She glanced at her wristcom, surprised to see that it had only been half a hantick. Salomen clearly did not put off distasteful tasks.

“Enter,” she said, purposely not waiting for the knock, and watched as Salomen walked in. The woman’s bearing exuded self-confidence as she closed the door behind her, but her emotions told a different story.

“I accept you as my instructor,” she said stiffly. “I think you know this is not my desire. But it’s the only choice I can make. You will not mention this training to my family; they are not aware of my…talent. I’ve told them that we will be working on delegate matters in the evenings.”

Tal nodded. “Then I accept you as my student, and your family will hear nothing of it from me. Please sit,” she said, indicating the chair she had placed facing the window seat.

Salomen sat, her back rigid. Tal looked at her in silence, then raised her eyes to the portrait of Nashta Opah.

“Tell me about your mother,” she said.

“What?” Salomen frowned. “My mother has nothing to do with this.”

“Everything that makes you who you are has something to do with this.” Tal put her reader card back in its case and sat up straight. “Your emotions cannot be unlinked from your past or your present. To be effective as your instructor, I need to know you. I already know the present. But I need you to tell me about the past.”

“And this is what any other instructor would say?”

Tal let that question hang in the air before asking quietly, “Are you accusing me of something?” She watched the blood rise in Salomen’s face as her student looked down.

“I don’t…no. I’m not.” Salomen raised her head again and took a deep breath. “This frightens me.”

Tal already knew that, but Salomen’s willingness to speak of it surprised her—and earned a grudging respect.

“It takes true courage to admit fear,” she said. “You’re a courageous woman, Salomen. It will be my honor to teach you.”

Salomen’s expression shifted. “Thank you.” This time her voice was warmer. “From you that means something.”

“You’re welcome. Thank you for accepting me.”

She saw Salomen open her mouth slightly and knew the retort that was coming—but at the last moment Salomen seemed to catch herself, leaning back against the chair and brushing an invisible bit of lint from her pant leg.

“My mother was my best friend,” she said, after a pause. “We were the only women in a house full of men, so we naturally gravitated toward each other. But it was more than just that. I shared everything with her, far beyond the age at which most young women begin keeping secrets from their parents. I just never felt the need to assert my independence; maybe because Mother treated me with so much respect. From the moment of my Rite of Ascension she treated me almost as an equal, asking my advice on things and telling me some of her hopes and dreams.”

She raised her head and met Tal’s gaze. “I was there at Jaros’ birth. As you might have guessed, he was a surprise.”

Tal nodded; the age difference between Jaros and Herot made that fairly obvious.

“I’ve never been able to prevent myself from feeling the emotions of others.” Salomen gave Tal a half-smile. “Even at the best of times. But when the healer put Jaros in Mother’s arms, I had to sit down. Her love for him was—” she searched for a word, and shook her head. “Completely overwhelming. It was so strong that it hit me physically. To this day I think it must have lodged in my heart. I don’t love him like a brother; I love him like my own child. I always have. And when Mother fell ill…”

There was a long pause while Salomen struggled. Tal said nothing, respecting her grief.

“She asked me to finish what she could not,” said Salomen at last. “It was never a burden to me; I accepted without a second thought. But it’s been very hard without her. I miss her. I miss my best friend.” She folded her hands in her lap and stared at them, plainly unwilling to say anything more. Tal watched her, surprised at the depth of her own sympathy. Salomen Opah had been an unremitting pain in her backside since their very first meeting, but this kind of grief was something she would not wish on even an enemy. And after seeing Salomen in her own home, surrounded by her family, Tal’s opinion of her had changed. Fahla only knew why, but she wanted to help.

“My mother was my friend too,” she said.

Salomen’s head lifted, a startled look in her eyes. Tal nodded. “But my father was my best friend. I was a little too…active for Mother’s tastes. She was scholar caste, and had hopes for me that did not include wielding a blade or a cellular disruptor. But I wanted to be like my father. He was my hero.”

“So you chose his caste and his name.” Salomen had been drawn in despite herself.

“Yes. Mother was very good at fronting her emotions, but I always knew that it hurt her when I chose not to be Shaldone. She told me that if I went into the scholar caste, I had the potential to be Lancer. She never had faith in my abilities as a warrior, and honestly believed that I could rise further as a scholar. But Father believed enough for both of them. The moment my warrior training began, my Lancer training began as well. I think it never occurred to my father that I would not be Lancer someday.”

“Well, he was right.”

“He was.” Tal took a breath before saying the rest. “But his dreams cost both him and my mother their lives.”

Salomen’s brows drew together. “But your parents died in a transport accident.”

“You’ve done your research, I see.” Tal smiled at Salomen’s discomfiture, and held up a hand. “I’ve worked with you for nearly five moons, Salomen. Your thoroughness does not surprise me.” Her smile dropped. “But you didn’t find the whole truth in this case. My parents did not die in an accident.” This was not something she told casual acquaintances; in fact, the circumstances of her parents’ deaths had been kept from public knowledge. But she needed Salomen to trust her in order for the training to be effective, and the best means of earning trust was giving it.

Salomen’s disbelief was wide open. “Are you…they were murdered?”

“They were assassinated,” said Tal flatly. “My father had made alliances and deals for my benefit, preparing as much of my way as he could with the connections he had. But others saw his actions and interpreted them incorrectly. They thought he sought the title of Lancer for himself. So they removed him, and my mother along with him.”

“Lancer Tal…” Salomen’s voice was pained. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know you are. Thank you for that.”

“But…why did they leave you alive? I mean, sooner or later it must have become obvious that you were seeking the title.”

Tal watched her for a moment, considering her answer.

“When you researched me, did you learn about The Truth and The Path?”

“The warrior’s code.” Salomen shook her head. “I know of it, but no, I didn’t spend much time on the details.”

“Considering how many details there are, I’m not surprised. Warriors spend several cycles learning them all. But there are a few bedrock principles, and one is that loyalty, once given, cannot be withdrawn unless the recipient proves her or himself unworthy. Loyalty and honor govern a significant part of a warrior’s life, and bind us to certain paths. For instance, we are bound to avenge any mortal harm to our superior officer, or anyone to whom we have given our loyalty. The tie to family, of course, is the strongest and most sacred of all. So when I learned the truth about my parents’ accident, I was bound by the code to avenge them.” She paused. “It was not a hardship.”

“When you say ‘avenge,’” said Salomen slowly, “I have a feeling you are not referring to capturing the assassin and placing him in the hands of the Alsean Investigative Force.”

“The AIF does not have jurisdiction in these cases. Neither does the High Court.”

They stared at each other in silence.

“So you…killed him?” It was a hesitant question, spoken by one who wasn’t certain she wanted to know the answer.

“There were three. And yes, I fulfilled my obligation.”

“Fahla.” Salomen leaned back in her chair. “Suddenly I’m understanding who I have under my roof. You are a terrible enemy.”

“I’m a good friend and ally, and a loyal warrior. And as your instructor I will also be your friend and ally.”

“Well, I would certainly prefer that to making you an enemy!” Salomen ran her hand through her hair. “Shek! This is…” She dropped her hand and shook her head. “I’m not comfortable with this.”

“There is nothing comfortable about this kind of instruction. That’s not what I seek. I seek your trust.”

“I’m supposed to trust a woman capable of what you’ve just admitted to?”

“And if someone hurt Jaros, what would you be capable of?”

The question hit Salomen hard. She stared at Tal, her emotions shifting rapidly. Clearly she had never considered this, not in a conscious, honest manner. Looking down, she admitted quietly, “I would kill them with my bare hands.”

Tal nodded. “Then perhaps you understand me more than you thought.”

She waited patiently, undisturbed by the long silence, and knew the precise moment when the decision was made. A sense of resolution descended on Salomen’s mind—an assurance that was critical to their relationship as instructor and student.

“I’m not sure why you’ve told me this,” said Salomen. “But it certainly does give me a different view of you. You make me nervous, Lancer Tal. You’re not a safe woman.”

“I’m not in a safe line of work.”

Salomen shook her head. “I don’t think I fully realized that until tonight. But I believe I can trust you. We’re here right now because you chose not to follow the letter of the law and report me.” The look she gave Tal was clear and penetrating. “I don’t understand the code you follow. But if you offer me your friendship and alliance, I will accept it.”

Tal noticed that Salomen didn’t offer her own friendship in return, and smiled inwardly. This woman did not give of herself lightly. Neither did Tal, but she had a better understanding of the nature of the relationship they were about to enter.

“Then we can begin,” she said.

Salomen nodded, visibly preparing herself.

“This will not resemble traditional instruction in any way,” said Tal. “We don’t have time for that. My priorities are to teach you blocking and fronting techniques, as well as the discipline to prevent yourself from probing others. We’ll start with the first step in both blocking and fronting. Close your eyes.”

She was not surprised that Salomen hesitated before obeying. No, this was not a traditional instructor/student relationship at all.

“Now,” she said, lowering her voice, “think of a time when you were utterly serene. Calm, content, quiet…at peace. Tell me when you have that time in your mind.”

She waited, and knew before Salomen spoke that she’d found the right thought.

“I have it.”

“Good. Focus on that. Close down every other thought, every other concern. There is nothing right now but that single thought. This is your place of serenity. It’s a place only you know about; a place where you can go and no one else can follow. Just stay there and enjoy it; hold that place close.”

She extended her own senses, feeling Salomen gradually centering herself. When no more progress had been made for several ticks, she judged that Salomen had gone as far as she was capable—which was surprisingly far for a beginning student. Now sharpening her senses to a focused point, she sent them toward Salomen’s mind in a quick probe. She got through easily, but it required more power and focus than it had the previous night.

“Oh!” Salomen’s eyes flew open. “What was that?”

Tal couldn’t stop her smile. She felt oddly proud.

“That was something you shouldn’t be detecting at this point in your training. It was me probing you, and the fact that you felt it puts you several steps ahead of where I thought we’d be starting. Your powers are very impressive, Salomen.”

“Thank you. But why didn’t I feel it last night?”

“Because last night your mind was spread thinly, which is normal for an untrained individual. A scattered thought pattern is easy to penetrate. But when you focused yourself as you just did, your emotions and mental powers coalesced into something far more dense. My probe impacted your thoughts, and that’s why you sensed it.”

“Remarkable,” Salomen breathed. “Can we do it again?”

Tal almost laughed; in that moment Salomen had sounded just like Jaros. “We can, and we will,” she said. “So many times that you’ll grow tired of it.”

“I do not think I will ever grow tired of this.” Salomen’s wonder was crystal clear.

“We’ll see.” But Tal well remembered the joy of learning control, and understood Salomen’s feelings completely. “Ready for another try?”

Salomen closed her eyes, a small smile playing about her mouth. “I’m ready.”

“Then concentrate, and take yourself back to your place of serenity.”

 

 

 

 

---

chapter 11

 

 

Life at Hol-Opah settled into a pattern. Tal began each day with her run, using the exercise as a means of exploring every corner of the Opah holding. After mornmeal she worked in the fields with the Opah family and the field workers. She listened to the spare conversation of people who had known each other for a lifetime, and found herself wondering about the richness of detail that was absent from their words but plainly present in all their memories. She wondered also at some of the practices she observed, but said nothing. For now she was simply gathering data.

At one time or another, each member of the Opah family contrived to work next to her. She enjoyed her conversations with all of them except Herot, who reminded her of a first-cycle warrior who hadn’t yet had his ego deflated to the proper size. There was a reason why Micah was the trainer of warriors and not her; she had no patience for arrogance originating in ignorance. Salomen’s arrogance at least had a reasonable source; the woman really was extremely intelligent and accomplished. Herot was coasting on the responsibility and success of his siblings, and Tal wondered why none in his family seemed to notice or take it seriously.

After her daily fieldwork was done she became Lancer again, reading dispatches and reports, consulting with her advisors, and making the thousand decisions that rested in her hands. Sometimes it truly felt as if the weight of the world were on her shoulders as she took responsibility for funding, allocation of resources, health issues, social issues, environmental concerns, and—something new since the advent of the crashed Borg ship—planetary defense. Mindful of Kathryn’s stunned reaction to their nanoscrubbers, and of the data she’d shared regarding the Borg, Tal had assigned a group of elite engineers to the design and production of a series of modified anti-Borg nanoscrubbers. From a tactical point of view, she had to assume that Kathryn or her Federation government would eventually use the weapon she’d given them; therefore it was in Alsea’s best interests to produce something different. Another team of engineers continued work on the Borg ship, though with considerably greater understanding since Voyager’s visit. She hoped that someday this research would send them to the stars, but knew it probably wouldn’t be in her lifetime. In a way, she was glad. Dealing with the repercussions of a mere visit by otherworlders had already thrown Alsean society into upheaval; she could hardly imagine the kinds of change that would come with interstellar travel. Then again, she thought wryly, she’d never imagined herself preparing Alsea for replicator technology, either.

With decisions in hand she would then send instructions to Aldirk, who never missed an opportunity to inform her of how difficult the arrangement made his life. When he arrived at the holding for their first meeting, she left the field at midmeal to spend the rest of the day sorting out the kind of minutiae that made her question her own sanity for giving so much of her life and soul to this position. Making decisions regarding planetary defense, corruption in the merchant caste, and environmental concerns was one thing; deciding whether or not to close a crafters market due to complaints by neighboring landowners was something quite different.

If Jaros were here, he’d want to know the point of all this. I confess to some doubt myself. But then she received the report that the new healing center in Redmoon had opened its doors—the healing center which she had funded by diverting monies from wealthier districts, and over the protests of the Councilors who had lost some of their comfortable cushion. Redmoon’s existing healing center was now in the process of transferring its overflow patients, and she smiled at the thought. That is the point. To have the power to change lives for the better. And she plowed through the rest of the meeting with a better will.

At the end of the day, when she’d completed both her fieldwork and her Lancer’s duties, Tal became an instructor. Every night after evenmeal, Salomen came to her room for a lesson. Tal found herself looking forward to these times, which were a unique mixture of study, practice, and subtle battle, demanding a mental alacrity very different from what was normally required of her. Salomen was definitely a worthy opponent. She would walk in, stiff and reserved, and Tal would smile from the window seat and disarm her with questions she knew Salomen did not expect:  what kind of toys she played with as a child, how her parents met, why she chose the various crops she planted. When she asked why the Opah fanten tasted so much better than any fanten she had ever had elsewhere, she had the great satisfaction of watching Salomen’s reserve melt away in her earnest response on the advantages of the feed she used for the animals, as well as the unique quality of the grass they grazed on in the south pasture. When Salomen discussed her holding, she seemed to forget her distrust and spoke almost as to a friend. Perhaps, Tal mused, it was because she was speaking of a friend, for that seemed to be how Salomen viewed her holding—as an old, dear, and well-loved friend, worth every bit of the love and labor she poured into it.

One night she asked why the holding used so many field workers, instead of investing in labor-saving equipment. In truth, the question arose as much from her own aching muscles as from a desire to learn more about Salomen’s business practices—even after more than a nineday, she was having to conceal how much this work was taking out of her.

Her query inspired a startled look and then a lecture on the economics of the Opah holding, as she learned that most of the profits of each cycle’s harvest went to pay off last cycle’s debts and the laborer’s wages.

“But if you took out a second loan to buy the equipment, you would be using the profits to pay that instead of worker’s wages,” argued Tal. “And within a few cycles you will have paid off the equipment and can begin investing the profit in other improvements.”

“And just how ‘improved’ do you think my worker’s lives would be?” asked Salomen. “I don’t employ them simply to work my fields, Lancer Tal. I employ them because they have always worked this holding, as their parents did before them, and their grandparents before them. I have a responsibility to them, handed down to me through the same generations. We depend on each other, and I will not be the first to end that.”

Suddenly Tal understood a great deal more about the woman facing her, and found her respect rising. She and Salomen had more in common than she’d first thought.

“That’s why I’m so afraid of your policies,” Salomen continued. “By destroying our profitability, your replicators will end the livelihoods of these people more surely, and more quickly, than any equipment I could buy.”

“I can understand why you would think that,” said Tal carefully. “But think about this as well: it is not just the need for workers that will be reduced. The workers’ need for money will also be reduced. If they can acquire the same goods and services without spending six or eight hanticks in the field every day, is that not an improvement for them? Is it not an improvement for you to work less hard, produce the same output, sell it for less so that more can benefit from it, and have more time to enjoy your life? Because the same lower prices for goods and services will apply to you, too. Or, if you wish, you could reinvest that income into growing more varieties and improving the holding. You have so many options! That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you in our meetings—yes, the replicator technology will reduce your profitability. But it will also reduce your expenses, and that’s the key.”

“Do you really believe that will happen?” Salomen asked.

“Yes! I would never proceed otherwise. I want to improve their lives too, Salomen. And yours.”

She held her breath as Salomen considered it. This was what they’d fought over so furiously during their last few caste meetings, and the fact that they were now speaking in normal tones of voice was already an enormous step forward.

“I want to believe your vision,” said Salomen at last. “It sounds wonderful. But I’m afraid it’s just fanciful economics, and that we’ll pay the price for it.”

“Do you honestly think I would risk the very fabric of Alsean culture on fanciful economics? Remember what I told Jaros at our first evenmeal:  Alsea is my holding. I’m responsible for the lives of all Alseans. I’m not making choices based on what’s best for certain castes, Salomen. I’m making them based on what’s best for all of us.” She was close to a breakthrough; it was right at the surface of Salomen’s emotions. Time to change this evening’s instruction plan, she thought. Out loud she said, “Don’t take my word for it. Feel for yourself.”

That earned her a wide-eyed stare, and the rest of the evening was spent on a lesson in controlling emotional skimming. Once again Salomen was an excellent student. Not only that, but by the end of the evening Tal thought she might even have converted Salomen to her policies. But the infuriating woman wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of saying so.

After half a moon, Tal had become quite comfortable at Hol-Opah. She was working her legs off, but there was a peace in this place that eluded her in Blacksun. And strangely enough, she’d even become comfortable with Salomen. Though their training sessions continued to be a form of genteel combat, something had shifted between them. It was less edgy, somehow. Of course, that didn’t prevent Tal from occasionally baiting Salomen. She couldn’t help herself; it was far too much fun. On the night she asked Salomen to tell her an amusing story, she could barely keep her face straight at the woman’s instant look of dismay.

“A story about what?”

“Anything you find amusing.”

“But…I can’t think up something just like that. It has to be more spontaneous.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Tal returned Salomen’s glare with a bland smile. After a few moments of icy silence, she added, “All right, I’ll make it simpler. Tell me about a time when you were so embarrassed you wanted to crawl under a rock. I’m sure that will be amusing.”

Now the glare turned sizzling, and Tal gave up the fight, dissolving in laughter. She could feel Salomen’s outrage, but it soon changed to a wry amusement and something else; an emotion that barely came to the surface and was swiftly hidden again before Tal could put her finger on it. She straightened up, still chuckling, and was happy to see a smile on Salomen’s face.

“You’re different when you laugh,” Salomen said.

“You’re different when you smile.” The moment soon became awkward, so Tal added in a brisk voice, “And I’m still waiting for that story.”

After a pause, Salomen began to speak, but her story was not what Tal had expected. She told of an evening when she was a young woman of nineteen cycles, just before her Rite of Ascension. A local boy had invited her to join him at a dance, and since it was the first time anyone had asked her, she had been full of excitement—until she arrived at the tavern where the party was to take place and learned that there was no dance after all. It was just another night at the tavern, and she stood out like a Council member at a fanten farm in her fine clothes. A shout of laughter had drawn her eyes to a table near the fire, where she saw the boy who had invited her holding out his hand. “Pay up!” he’d called, loud enough for everyone to hear. “I told you I could do it!” And to her complete mortification, half the boys in the room had shuffled over to slap coins on the table. Amid a general roar of laughter, she’d turned and left, her cheeks burning with rage and humiliation.

Tal felt the anger, and for just a moment thought she was absorbing it from Salomen. Then she realized that Salomen’s feelings were only a memory, while hers were very much in the present. The understanding startled her; why would she have such a strong reaction to something that had happened over fifteen cycles ago, and to a woman for whom she had no loyalty—nor even a real friendship?

“That was not amusing at all,” she said stiffly. “Does that boy still live around here?”

“No, but you’ve met him,” said Salomen. “It was Parkstone.”

Parkstone. The overweight, pasty man who, so far, had said nothing of value in their meetings.

“Parkstone is a waste of space,” she growled. “You’re worth ten of him.” Salomen looked at her in surprise, and Tal took a deep breath, centering herself and fronting her emotions. Calmly, she asked, “Why did he do it? What made you the target?”

“I think it was because I didn’t take part in the social life of our school and town. I had too many responsibilities on the holding. By then I was doing our accounting, and worrying about whether this cycle’s harvest would pay last cycle’s debt and still leave us enough to repair the south fence line and the oldest outbuilding. But the others in my class were worrying about wearing last cycle’s fashions, or buying the fastest transport. Their concerns seemed so trivial, and I don’t think I hid my impressions very well.”

“So you snubbed them, and they made you pay?”

“They must have thought I was snubbing them. But I wasn’t. I liked most of them; I just couldn’t understand why they attached so much importance to such minor issues.”

“Ah. You grew up before they did.”

Salomen shrugged. “I suppose that’s what happened. And they could not forgive me for it.”

A half-moon of practice had vastly improved Salomen’s ability to front, but her expressive face often reflected the emotions she was working so hard to conceal. As Tal watched her, she felt a wistful sympathy for that young pre-Rite girl who had taken on so many responsibilities, and paid such a high price.

Had much changed since then? Salomen was head of Hol-Opah now, with far greater responsibilities, but her determination to do the right thing was the same. She still did what she felt was right and necessary, with little regard for what others thought of her.

Correction, thought Tal. She has great regard for what others think of her. That just happens to be the one thing she’s always known how to front. And I, of all people, have been taken in by that front.

Salomen Opah had antagonized her from day one, but really, what had she ever done besides defend and advocate for the things that were important to her? She had seemed so proud and prickly, but Tal now saw those same behaviors through a less judgmental set of eyes. It took only a moment for this new view to bring another realization: Salomen had chosen her story to make a point. For half a moon their lessons had been more than just instruction; they had also been a subtle war of words and power. Salomen would not fully accept the subordinate role of student, and Tal could not prevent herself from repeatedly asserting her authority. In truth, it had never been a healthy student/teacher relationship.

She looked at Salomen with reluctant admiration. “You’ve changed the rules of our engagement, haven’t you?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Yes, you do. We’ve fenced since the day we met. You wield your words like a master, and I’ve had no qualms about meeting you with equal weaponry. But you just dropped your sword, and I think you did it intentionally.”

There was a flicker in Salomen’s eyes. “You asked for an embarrassing story. To amuse you.”

Now it was Tal who was embarrassed. Hearing her own request repeated back to her made it seem so…callous. Had she been as thoughtlessly cruel as Parkstone?

“I’m not like you, Lancer Tal,” Salomen added softly. “I do not always have the stomach for fencing.”

For one who professed not to be fighting, Salomen had nevertheless managed to land a combination blow that left Tal speechless. A slow wave of dismay washed over her as she began to realize the extent of her own arrogance. By admitting her vulnerability, Salomen had brought Tal’s behavior into sharp focus and made it impossible to avoid the truth: she had allowed personal reactions to influence her professional behavior. When she looked back at all of instances where she’d used her position to needle, poke and bait her student, she was ashamed. It was one thing to engage in not-quite-friendly sparring in the context of Lancer and delegate, or landowner and field worker, or even hostess and guest. It was quite another to do the same thing in the context of instructor and student. In this, Tal’s actions had been completely inappropriate.

No longer able to hold her student’s gaze, she looked up to the portrait of Nashta Opah and felt even worse. She was living on Nashta’s holding, under her roof, and doing battle with her daughter in the name of instruction. What would her own mother have said if she’d seen this behavior?

And then I call Salomen the arrogant one.

Resolutely she met Salomen’s eyes again. There was only one thing to do.

“I am ashamed,” she said. “And I apologize.”

Salomen stared, her astonishment not even remotely fronted. Plainly this was the last thing she’d expected.

“You’re right,” Tal continued. “There is no reason you should be forced to fence with me in this room.” She waved her hand toward the window and said, “Out there, or in the State House, we’ve been in a civilized form of battle from the moment I walked into that delegate meeting and heard you questioning my competence. You’ve made no secret of your disdain for my policies or for me personally, and I think…no, I know that I’ve enjoyed having someone of your caliber to spar with. You don’t back down, Salomen. Sometimes it drives me to drink, but at the same time I’ve respected you as a truly worthy opponent. But you should not be my opponent here. Not while I’m teaching you. I carried that relationship over from outside and didn’t even recognize it until now, and for that I am truly ashamed.” She paused before adding, “I gave you very few options when we began. You deserved more than that. If you would prefer a different instructor, I’d understand. I can find someone who will train you here on Hol-Opah; you would not be required to leave. It’s the least I can do.”

Resolutely she closed her senses down. Of course Salomen would leap at the opportunity to learn from someone else. She had never really trusted Tal in the first place—and for good reason, as it turned out. Tal didn’t want to feel her student’s relief at being released; nor did she wish to examine too closely her own inexplicable regret at having to relinquish her role as instructor. Hadn’t this been a thorn in her side since the first day? Why wouldn’t she want someone else to take over? Fahla knew she could use the extra time.

She looked into Salomen’s eyes and thought, Because I would miss this.

As if she’d heard her thoughts, Salomen rose from her chair, stepped to the window seat and deliberately took one of Tal’s hands into her own.

“On our first night I told you that accepting you as my instructor was not a free choice.” Her voice held a gentle tone that Tal recognized, though until now she had never heard it directed toward herself. “But that was because you were more an opponent than anything else. I think, perhaps, you are not my opponent now.”

“No,” said Tal ruefully. “You just knocked me flat in the dirt, without even a sword in your hand. I believe I’ve lost the desire to fence—I’m completely overmatched.”

Salomen chuckled. “Somehow I don’t think that’s likely. But if we’re done with fencing, then I’m not interested in another instructor. I’ve learned so much from you in the last half moon, and I don’t wish to start over with someone else. You are my choice.”

Rarely had Tal been so thoroughly humbled. “Thank you,” she managed. “I’m honored to teach you.”

Salomen squeezed her hand, then stepped back and sat down, settling herself comfortably in her chair. “So, what is tonight’s lesson?” she asked.

“You must be joking,” said Tal. “Tonight’s lesson has already been taught. I’m still recovering from it.”

The full smile that earned her made all the rest worthwhile.

 

 

 

 

---

chapter 12

 

 

If Salomen changed the rules of engagement that night, on the next night she changed the battlefield completely. She arrived at the usual time, sat in her chair, and spoke before Tal could say a word.

“How did you feel when you killed the ones who murdered your parents?”

Tal stared. “What?”

Salomen watched her in silence.

“No,” said Tal. “I know what you’re doing, and it’s not appropriate.”

“Why not? Are you the only one who can ask questions?” Before Tal could respond, Salomen pressed her advantage. “You said that you needed to know my past and present to teach me. I think I need to know your past and present to learn.”

“Salomen…” Tal rubbed her forehead. “That is not part of an instructor/student relationship.”

“Do we have a normal instructor/student relationship?”

Tal sighed. “I think there is very little about us that could be considered normal.”

“I agree.” Salomen was smiling now. “Then you’ll answer my question?”

Two days ago Tal would have met that request with a stinging parry, but after last night’s session she found herself unable to refuse. Besides, some part of her actually wanted to reveal more of herself to this woman. It was the same part that was inexplicably pleased that Salomen cared enough to ask.

Nodding, she said, “I will. But take care in your choice of questions; you may not enjoy the answers.” She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the window, allowing her thoughts to revisit a room she had not opened in some time.

“The first one made me sick,” she said at last. “I tracked him down and waited until he was alone in his home, except for the guard that he was never without. The guard was good. I was better.” She paused, remembering that fight. It had been silent, quick and vicious. Both combatants had their honor at stake, and it made both of them brutal. She had not wanted—

“Did you kill him?” Salomen’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “The guard, I mean.”

“I knew what you meant.” Tal was faintly amused. “And no, I didn’t. I just made sure she couldn’t stop me.” By ending her fighting days forever. That had made her just as sick as the actual killing, because she truly had no quarrel with the guard. The woman was just doing her duty, and Tal had been too young and inexperienced to know how to defeat her without causing permanent damage. She would do it so differently now.

“The guard was right outside the door of the study. I had to take her out silently, and block her emotions as well, because I couldn’t give Norshank any warning. If he’d heard or felt anything, I had no doubt he would have been gone before I could get into the room. But I surprised him.”

You know why I’m here, she’d said.

Yes, he’d answered, facing her with an insufferable lack of fear. Because I made the mistake of not killing you as well.

Now is your chance to rectify your error, she’d said, and he’d tried.

“He had a cellular disruptor in his desk drawer, and when I opened the door he already had his hand in the drawer. Either he heard something, or he simply lived in that much paranoia. But it didn’t matter; I was ready for him. When he lifted his arm I put a knife through his shoulder joint.”

“You stabbed him?”

“No.” Tal’s eyes were still closed; she was watching the scene playing out in her memory. “I threw it from across the room.”

“Fahla.” It was a whisper, and Tal barely heard it.

“He dropped the disruptor, and I walked up to him with another knife in my hand. I wanted him to savor his death. That’s why I didn’t shoot him; it would have been too quick. I’d planned this for a long time, and I had so much hatred. Nothing but a slow death could satisfy me. I needed him to die slowly enough to know he was dying, and to know that he had no control, and that I was watching every moment of it. Because he had taken both of my parents from me.”

There was no sound from Salomen, but Tal could feel her horror. She opened her eyes. “You wanted to know.”

“Yes.” Salomen met her gaze steadily. “I still do.”

Tal nodded, but she was no longer seeing Salomen in front of her. It was Norshank’s face she saw, full of fear. Finally.

“He tried to run. I hadn’t expected that kind of cowardice. I thought he would die like a warrior, but he was a warrior in name only. But I would not have it said that I stabbed a man in the back, so I brought him down and smashed his face into the floor until he stopped struggling. Then I turned him over so that he could look into the face of his Return.”

Her eyes refocused; Salomen’s expression had not changed. “And that was when I lost the taste for a slow death.”

“Why?” The question was very gentle.

“Because of the damage I had already done. He was broken and bleeding, and his lips were a pulp, and I thought it would make me feel…right. Because I had honor on my side. But it didn’t feel right, it just felt…unnecessary. I had the right to kill him. But I did not have the right to make him suffer.

“I had planned to stab him through the heart. A punctured heart pumps more slowly, and far less efficiently, so it takes longer to bleed out. The quickest death is to sever the artery above the heart. And it was so simple. I slid the blade in and released his life, and I watched him Return. And when it was done I felt tired and ill. I had looked forward to some sense of satisfaction, but in the end it just felt like the fulfillment of an unpleasant duty. And I was not yet done; there were two more.”

“Were they any easier?”

“Yes. Because I no longer expected the kill to make me feel better.”

“So when it didn’t…”

“I wasn’t disappointed. Killing them did not bring my parents back.”

Salomen’s brows contracted. “But you knew it would not.”

“No, I had to learn it. I had to learn the difference between avenging my parents, and revenging myself. One was a duty. The other is an emotion that a true warrior rejects. And since then, I have.”

“You have never killed in revenge?”

“No.” Tal’s answer was firm. “Not since that first time.”

Salomen nodded, and a silence settled on the room. Tal reached out with her senses, relieved to see that Salomen’s horror had faded into acceptance. Not understanding, but acceptance. Tal did not think she could hope for more than that. A warrior’s code was learned over a lifetime, and it was too much to ask that one not raised in the code could easily comprehend the loyalties and duties that made some actions not simply justifiable, but necessary.

“Thank you,” said Salomen, startling Tal out of her thoughts.

“You’re welcome. Why did you ask?”

“Because I wanted to understand you.”

“Do you?”

“No. But I’m one step closer.”

Tal looked into dark eyes that seemed so much warmer than they ever had, and spoke the truth in her heart. “I think…that I want you to understand me.”

The smile that appeared on Salomen’s face was truly beautiful, she thought. She was too lost in contemplation of it to be prepared for what came next.

“I owe you an apology, Lancer Tal.”

“What?” Tal shook herself out of her daze. “No, you don’t.”

The smile turned self-deprecating. “Yes, I do. The night you arrived I stood here beneath my mother’s portrait and called a guest in my home proud, arrogant and unfeeling. She would have been ashamed of me.”

There was nothing Tal could say to that, so she simply waited.

Salomen took a deep breath. “Last night you apologized to me. The Lancer of Alsea, apologizing to a landholder. I thought you proud, and you humbled me. I thought you arrogant, and you showed up my own arrogance. I thought you unfeeling, but now…” She paused. “I confused depth of emotion with lack of it. And I of all people should know better. Will you accept my apology?”

“Without hesitation,” said Tal. “I misjudged you as well, with very little excuse. I’m a fully trained high empath, yet I still mistook your integrity and strength of will for arrogance. You fight for what you believe is right, and I suspect that very few people truly see or appreciate what you do.” She looked up at the portrait. “I did not have the pleasure of knowing your mother, but I think she would have had much to be proud of.”

Salomen’s eyes grew suspiciously shiny and she dropped her head, but hiding her face could not conceal her emotions. Tal watched in alarm, praying that Salomen wasn’t actually going to cry.

The prayer was to no avail, and when she heard the quiet sniff Tal found herself slipping off the window seat to kneel by Salomen’s chair. “Please don’t,” she said. “Warriors have no idea what to do with tears.”

Salomen laughed and wiped her eyes, but the tears continued to flow. “Neither do stubborn producers who carry the weight of a family and a holding on their back. Fahla, I miss her.”

She looked into Tal’s eyes and opened herself, and Tal was taken aback at the sudden onslaught of grief and longing. Salomen Opah had been keeping a great deal of pain inside for a long time.

A memory flashed into Tal’s mind, perhaps released by the longing she felt from Salomen:  her own longing, so carefully put away, for a woman she could never have. She remembered the compact body molding itself to hers; the throaty voice saying softly, This is a custom of our race. It’s called a hug, or an embrace. And we give it only to people who are very special to us.

When Kathryn had released her, she’d looked into those gentle blue eyes and answered, And on my planet, not a single breathing person would dream of doing what you just did. But I wish they would.

Perhaps warriors did know what to do with tears.

“Come,” she said quietly, standing up and pulling Salomen with her. “I think you might require a hug.”

“A what?”

“A warmron, but between unbonded adults.”

“But…”

“I know, it’s not done. And that’s our loss.” At Salomen’s questioning look, she added, “I learned something from the Federation people during their stay. The captain of Voyager taught me that in their culture, warmrons are not limited to bondmates, or parents and children. And they do not cease when the child reaches the Rite of Ascension. They are given freely, among family, friends and lovers, from birth to death. If you’ll allow me, I would like to give one to you. I can tell you from experience that it’s a wonderful thing.”

“Experience? You allowed one of them to give you a warmron?”

Tal didn’t even need her emotional sense to know how shocked Salomen was at that bit of news.

“Look into me.” She dropped her own blocks and let her mind replay the precious memory, unable to stop the smile as she did so. She had never envisioned herself sharing this with anyone, but felt certain that Salomen would keep it safe. Even so, she was careful to exclude her deepest emotion from the remembrance, guarding her love for Kathryn out of long habit. None but Micah knew of it, and he would be both first and last.

“And I called you proud and unfeeling.” Salomen’s tone was self-castigating, and Tal shook her head.

“We’ve both made mistakes. But we have also taught each other a great deal in these last two days. Will you let me teach you this?”

Salomen searched her face for long moments, then nodded. Tal felt a sudden sense of responsibility; Salomen had placed an enormous amount of trust in her. Such close physical contact would render not just their surface emotions but also some deeper emotions instantly clear; in a way it was like partially dropping a front. But she thought Salomen needed more than just words. She needed to know that someone understood what she felt, and Tal knew from experience that such understanding combined with physical closeness was the most comforting thing in the world.

Carefully she wrapped the other woman in her arms, not surprised at the initial rigidity. But within a few pipticks Salomen had melted into her and was holding on tightly, absorbing the comfort with something approaching anxiety, as if she were afraid it would end before she could get her fill. Tal tightened her own hold in response.

“Why do we ever give this up?” Salomen asked, her voice thick with tears.

“Because it’s too close to a Sharing, I suppose. But this is one thing the humans do far, far better than we.”

“Oh, Fahla…” Salomen burrowed deeper into the warmron, clinging desperately, and her pain poured out. Tal held her close, projecting her sympathy and understanding. Salomen’s emotion was all to familiar to her. It had been many cycles since her parents’ Return, but that kind of pain could never be forgotten.

“I think,” she said quietly, “that we have allowed fear to keep us from comfort.”

Salomen made a small sound, then loosened her hold and pushed herself back. But she did not release her arms from around Tal’s waist, and Tal did not correct a presumption which would have been inconceivable at any other time.

“You mean that we withhold warmrons after the Rite of Ascension because of the emotional connection?”

“Yes.” Tal looked into the dark brown eyes so close to hers. Until last night she had never seen Salomen this close, and then she’d been too consumed by her own shame to really observe her. Now she noticed the marks that cycles in the fields had left on Salomen’s face: the lines radiating outward from the corners of her eyes, the slight creases around her mouth. They complimented her cheekbone ridges and set off her eyes, which held a depth and seriousness that belied their owner’s age. Salomen was younger than she, but her face was older; and Tal felt an impulse to speak the truth aloud—that Salomen’s life and her character had marked her with beauty. But she knew that such a statement would send her student to the other side of the room more quickly than anything else she could possibly say, so she shuttered those feelings and concealed them with the ease of long practice.

“For a culture built around emotions, we seem to have a surprising number of defenses against them,” she said. “We deny ourselves the comfort of physical touch for fear of revealing too much, and in the process forget how necessary that touch is. We accept it as normal and desirable from birth until the Rite of Ascension, and then we’re expected to relinquish it, instantly and without regret. And we do, because we’re taught to revere the loss as a mark of adulthood. Loss disguised as gain. It took an alien culture to show me that no matter the disguise, it is still a loss.”

“It is.” Salomen was lost in the wonder of her realization. “And we are fools.”

“We are the result of generations of tradition,” Tal corrected gently. “We’re only fools if we continue to follow it blindly, even after our eyes are opened.”

“My eyes feel wide open.” But Salomen’s eyes took on a distant expression that contradicted her literal meaning. “I held my mother this way, just before her Return. I swore that I could feel her leaving; she was so fragile in my arms. And she smiled up at me with such joy…I thought then that she must be reliving her childhood, as they say we sometimes do when our minds leave our bodies. I couldn’t understand any other reason for the way she accepted the warmron, and I couldn’t stop myself from giving it to her. It felt selfish, and I was ashamed, but…she was so happy.”

“It is not selfish to give a gift.” Tal reached up to brush away a tear that Salomen seemed not to have noticed. “Your mother felt that for what it was. You made her last moments joyous, and none of us could ask for more than that.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“What have we been doing in this room for the last half-moon if not to make such a question unnecessary? Look for yourself.”

Tal watched as Salomen centered herself and extended her senses. Her powers and discipline were remarkable; even after this short period of training, Tal could feel a pronounced change in her abilities. This time, less than half a tick went by before she felt the brush of another mind against hers, and she willingly opened her emotions to the skim.

A sad smile crossed Salomen’s face. “Thank you,” she said. “You have no idea what your belief means to me.” She shook her head, releasing her hold and stepping back. “Of course you do. Sometimes I forget how powerful you are. You have such control that I'm almost never aware of it when you skim me.”

“I didn’t need to skim you. Your emotions are stronger than you realize; to my mind they’re very clear.”

“Have I not gained any strength in my fronting, then?”

“Of course you have. But—” Tal stopped, and Salomen looked at her curiously.

“But what?”

There was no option but to speak the truth; a truth which Tal herself was just realizing.

“I’m paying closer attention.”

“Because I’m your student.”

Tal shook her head. “Not just that. Because I care.”

Salomen frowned slightly in concentration, and Tal knew when she had sensed what she was reaching for. The tiny frown changed to a lovely smile, transforming her face.

“You’re not what I took you to be, Lancer Tal. But perhaps I have not been paying attention. The Lancer I thought I knew would never have said something so kind, nor would she have apologized to a mere landowner.”

“The Lancer of Alsea did not apologize to a landowner. Andira Shaldone Tal apologized to Salomen Opah.”

“Salomen Arrin Opah,” corrected Salomen. “My father’s name.”

Tal nodded; she knew that Hol-Opah had been passed down through a matriarchal lineage. “Forgive me,” she said. “I didn’t mean to dishonor your father’s line by omitting his name. I’ve just never heard you use it.”

“I only use it on formal occasions.” Salomen lifted an eyebrow. “We producers seldom have need for all of our names, you know. Not like fancy warriors.”

Though the bait was dangled temptingly, Tal had something else in mind. “I think I have little need of all my names in this room.” She took a breath. “When we are here, alone, will you call me Andira?”

Salomen’s emotional front was improving, but she was still unable to block her pleased surprise. Like the well-bred woman she was, however, her words did not reflect it.

“I am honored,” she said simply. Then she narrowed her eyes. “Is this what any other instructor would say?”

Tal smiled as she recognized the words from their first night. “Not a single one I can think of. Are you accusing me of something?”

“Yes. I’m accusing you of being a friend.”

“Then I have no defense, and can only await the judgment.”

“No judgment,” said Salomen softly. “Just my thanks, and the offer of my friendship, whatever it’s worth.”

“It’s worth a great deal.” Tal knew this for a certainty. “I suspect you do not offer it easily, and I’m honored by it.”

Salomen looked away, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. When she looked back her expression was nearly as open as her emotions. “Do you think…I mean, could we…”

“Yes,” said Tal, opening her arms, and Salomen lost no time moving into her embrace.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

When they finally released each other, both of them knew that they had crossed a line, but neither knew what it meant. The uncertainty was disquieting, and Tal took refuge behind her instructor’s responsibilities.

“You’ve done an admirable job of distracting me,” she said. “But we’re still having a lesson.”

“And what did you have planned for tonight?” Salomen played along, and Tal could sense her relief at having something familiar to fall back on.

“Broadsensing.”

“What?”

“Opening your senses to the point where you can feel the surface emotions of everyone around you.”

Salomen frowned. “I already do that. I don’t like it. Can you teach me how to turn it off instead?”

“To learn one, you must fully understand the other.”

“I knew you’d say something like that,” said Salomen in exasperation. “Remind me again why I chose you?”

 

 

 

 

---

chapter 13

 

 

Micah punched the feed button for his reader card and gratefully divested himself of his belt and weapons as it loaded the day’s news, dispatches and reports. He was thoroughly enjoying being out of Blacksun, which sometimes felt like a pit of venomous zalrens. Point him toward an enemy or a clearly defined project, and he was a happy man. But Blacksun was full of shadows and half-truths and actions with multiple motives, and nothing was as clearcut as he would have liked. He had never, ever wanted to be involved in government, but he would have waded through those zalrens and more for Andira Tal. Besides being the daughter of his closest friends, she was a friend in her own right, and had earned his loyalty ten times over.

He was very grateful to her for bringing him on what he was increasingly considering a vacation. For once in her life, Tal was making things easy for him. Other than the morning runs, she didn’t move around much, and in the last nineday had never left the Opah holding. It made guarding her no more challenging than guarding a dokker. He chuckled at the thought, knowing that Tal would be outraged at the comparison.

The chuckle died in his throat as he scanned the first story on his card. He went back to the beginning and read the whole article carefully, then dropped his head back to glare at the ceiling. Fahla was a capricious Goddess, damn her.

“Couldn’t you have let just one thing go right?” he demanded. “Why did it have to be her?”

 

 

-----

 

 

Tal found a rather unwelcome addition to her running group when she walked out the back door at dawn. Herot dawdled just outside the group of Guards, conspicuous by both his lack of uniform and his bearing. The Guards stood straight, watching him with bemusement, and Tal could feel their uncertainty. As the younger brother of their hostess, he had certain rights; but no one had the right to run with the Lancer unless she had specifically stated it. And she certainly had given the Guards no such statement.

Rolling her eyes, Tal trotted down the porch stairs and strode toward the group. She was only surprised that Herot had waited this long.

“Good morning,” she said, addressing them all together. The Guards chorused a response, while Herot flashed her a smile.

“Good morning, Lancer Tal,” he said, his tone of voice intimating at a friendship to which he had no claim. Tal resisted the urge to dump him on his backside.

“I have little time,” she said. “Did you wish to speak to me about something?”

“Nothing in particular.” He glanced at the Guards, then looked at her with what she imagined was supposed to be a charming grin. “I don’t see you in the fields as often as I’d like, so I was hoping I might join you on your run.”

“Do you run often, Herot?” She knew he didn’t; in half a moon she’d never seen him awake before mornmeal, and nobody on the holding had time to run during the day. Nor was anyone energetic enough to do it after evenmeal.

“No, but I used to. I’ve been meaning to start again, and I thought now would be a good time. You set such a good example.”

The contempt rolling off her Guards was palpable. They would love nothing more than for her to put this presumptuous young man in his place.

Well, Guards, this is my gift to you this morning. She smiled at Herot and pronounced his doom.

“Then by all means, join us.” And with no further words she set off, running easily at half speed. She’d already stretched in her room, preferring to do it in privacy. Her Guards knew this and had completed their stretches as well. Tal was reasonably sure that Herot had not, and knew full well that the pace she was setting would render him very, very sore if he tried to keep up with cold muscles. And, of course, he tried to keep up. He even made a few attempts at conversation, but she put an end to that by announcing that she was nicely warmed up now, and it was time to begin the run.

“Begin?” Herot gasped, and that was the last word he said for quite some time. Tal was now running at full speed, and the effort of keeping up rendered Herot incapable of speaking, which Tal—and all the Guards, she knew—considered a vast improvement.

She showed no mercy, her speed unchanging even as Herot’s distress became obvious. A part of her grudgingly respected him for pressing on, despite the agony she knew he must be feeling. If he actually made it through their entire ten-length run, she might even revise her opinion of him.

He didn’t. Less than two lengths into the run he stopped, tumbling onto his back in the grass and gasping for air. Tal didn’t sl