Korval's Game (62 page)

“Nelirikk,” she said, mildly.

He swallowed and came to full attention. “Captain.”

“Have you lost your mind?”

“No, Captain.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Right.” She looked up at him. “You want to tell me what you was thinking?”

“Captain. It was the thought of Daav yos’Phelium that Hazenthull Explorer should be brought immediately to give full battle-oath to the captain. He fears that the interim oath he holds from her is not strong enough to bind, if her grief overcomes her reason. He was supported in this by the scouts.”

“Daav yos’Phelium holds temporary oaths from an Yxtrang common trooper and an explorer?” she asked

“Yes, Captain.”

She shook her head and looked again at the scout. “This has got to be your father.”

“He does appear to have something of the familial sense of humor.” His face was bland.

“Is that what you call it?” She sighed. “What else, Beautiful? Might as well spill it all.”

“Captain, there is no more. Your recruits await you, accompanied by scouts.”

“The Irregulars’re out of business,” she repeated, but it was scout she was speaking to. “I don’t guess it would be good form for Line yos’Phelium to hold a private troop.”

“There is,” murmured the scout, “some precedent.”

“Great. I suppose the House routinely hires Yxtrang soldiers to guard its piggy-bank. No—” she raised a hand—”
don’t
tell me.”

“As the captain wishes.”

“No respect, that’s your problem.” She fell silent then, frowning at a space somewhere between Nelirikk’s left elbow and infinity. Eventually, she looked up.

“OK. Get on back. We’ll be there soon.”

Nelirikk saluted. “Captain. Thank you, Captain.”

“Think you’d know better than to thank me by now,” she said, and her voice sharpened. “If the explorer decides her oath ain’t binding, shoot her dead. If her trooper’s reasonable, you can stop there and wait for me. If hell breaks, I expect you and the scouts to be standing when it’s done. This is an order.”

Nelirikk saluted once more. “Yes, Captain.”

“Right. Get outta here.”

Another salute and he was gone.

Miri waited until the sound of his footsteps had faded to nothing before looking into her partner’s speculative green eyes.

“How much precedent?” she asked.

***

THE CHILD IS GOING
to break
, Daav thought, stifling a sigh. Behind his eyes, he felt Aelliana stir, though she offered no comment.

To casual—that was to say, non-scout—eyes, Hazenthull was the picture of well-mannered docility. She sat where she had been directed, on a wide stone bench beneath a fragrant tree laced with fairy lights, Diglon Rifle at her side.

The garden was largely shrouded in night, pierced gently here and there by the spangle of decorative lights. Shadia was invisible between the bench and the outside gate, on the alert for trouble. Clonak had disappeared into the shadows nearer the house, guarding the door against the possibility of an Yxtrang rush.

As oath-holder, Daav occupied the position of greater peril, leaning against an artfully place boulder directly before the stone bench occupied by his oathsworn. He crossed his arms over his chest, which put his right hand on the butt of the pistol riding hidden in his vest.

Gods
, he thought,
I don’t want to waste a scout.

“Nor ought we to endanger the House.” Aelliana’s tone was more than a little acerbic, which was, Daav owned, no less than he deserved, who had placed Erob’s House in peril by insisting upon this mad course.

If the captain comes quickly . . .
he thought. Yes, and if Hazenthull could but hold scout-sense against the rising tide of rage—that the solution which was to have bought her senior’s life had failed, leaving her and her dependent trapped and in the power of the enemy . . .

“She depended upon her senior to find the way clear, once he was healed,” Aelliana said. “She did not plan fully.”

How could she
? he replied, reading the change in Hazenthull’s muscles, malleable under the growing warmth of her rage.
His survival was the essence of her plan.

On the stone bench, Hazenthull shifted, her muscles bunching as if for the charge. Daav’s hand closed around the hidden pistol.

“Explorer.” Unexpectedly, Diglon Rifle leaned forward. “Explorer, the captain comes.”

She turned on him, face set in a snarl, and started badly when the house door snapped open, admitting the person—and the voice—of Nelirikk Explorer.

“Prepare for inspection!” he commanded, in the Yxtrang common tongue.

Diglon Rifle rose at once, marched over to the pool of light spilling from the open door and dropped into parade rest.

Hazenthull Explorer sat, as a woman turned to stone, staring, her face beneath the tattoo work beginning to crumble.

“Explorers kept discipline, when I was in the corps,” Nelirikk said, acidic in the extreme; and then snarled, “Prepare for inspection!”

The command voice sent a little thrill even along Daav’s scout-trained nerves. Diminished as she was, Hazenthull was in no condition to resist.

Sullen, but obedient, she stood, walked out into the light and assumed parade rest slightly in advance of Diglon Rifle, as befit her higher rank. Nelirikk placed himself to the right and slightly forward of both, eyes front.

Daav sighed and stood away from the boulder, hands at his side, pistol nestled yet in its secret pocket, and wondered how soon the captain might arrive.

Wonder was speedily answered.

“Troop! Attention!” Nelirikk bellowed, and all three straightened as the empty doorway framed a slender woman in working leathers, her white shirt laced with silver cord, her red hair neatly braided and wrapped three times around her head, like the crown of a barbarian princess. At her back, not immediately noticeable, walked a man, dressed as she was, in working leathers, his shirt black, his hair dark.

Daav took a careful, quiet breath.
The scout, is it
? he thought.
Aelliana, behold our son
.

His vision slipped, the images going ghostly, as it did when she was actively using his eyes, rather than merely depending upon the data he gathered for both of them.

“A scout sublime,” she murmured. “No more substantive than a thought, and the edges of him so sharp he fairly glows. Though I think that he would not be quite so invisible if his lady did not deliberately draw the eye to herself.” She paused. “A formidable pair of children, to be sure, van’chela—and aptly joined, leaf and root.” His eyesight blurred; became his own once more. “We may be proud.”

Or terrified
, Daav amended, and heard her laugh before she vanished from his awareness.

Straight up to the waiting troops walked the red-haired lady, and stood before them, hands behind her back, chin up. She took her time considering them; the man at her side glanced casually ’round the garden, unerringly picking out the positions of the three scouts.

Apparently satisfied with what she saw, the lady deigned to speak. “I am Captain Miri Robertson, field name Redhead.” Her voice was firm, her Yxtrang slow, but robust, her accent, Daav noted wryly, neither native nor quite as ghastly as his own. “I am in command here. Lieutenant, present the recruits.”

“Captain.” Nelirikk saluted, showily, and barked out. “Candidate Hazenthull Explorer, stand forward for inspection!”

For a marvel, she did so, and saluted, somewhat faintly, her stance eloquent of disbelief as she gazed down upon a captain two-thirds her height and less than half her mass.

“Captain,” she said, warily.

“Explorer.” The captain’s tone was cool

“Candidate Diglon Rifle!” Nelirikk ordered. “Stand forward for inspection!”

He did, saluting with energy. “Captain!”

“Rifle.” Slightly warmer, there, accompanied by an infinitesimal nod of the head. “Why do you want to enlist under me?”

“Captain.” He saluted, looking bewildered, as well he might, thought Daav.
Why
was not the concern of mere Rifles.

“Captain, soldiers need command. We are . . . abandoned in place, without orders, except to resist the enemy until we die.” He paused, brow furrowed, tattoos rumpling. “Captain, I would rather live than die.”

Captain Miri Robertson, field name Redhead, smiled. “So would I.” The smile faded.

“Hazenthull Explorer.”

“Captain.”

“Why do you want to enlist under me?”

There was a pause, possibly longer than was quite considerate of the captain’s honor.

“Captain. Soldiers need command.”

The captain shook her head, Terran-style. “But explorers—like scouts—chafe under too much command. As I well know.” She paused, then snapped in full command mode.

“Explain!”

Hazenthull jerked, and saluted, hastily. “Captain. It was known that the Hero of the Battle for the Airfield had recruited an explorer. It was thought that such a captain might attach more explorers to her unit. The Fourteenth Conquest Corps has deserted us. Without command we are dead and without honor. Under a Hero captain we may serve with honor and die with glory. For the good of the Troop.”

There was a small silence before the captain nodded. “Better.” She glanced at the silent scout, perhaps gaining some information from his face that was invisible to Daav. She brought her gaze back to the two Yxtrang.

“Before I ask for your oaths,” she said slowly, “I will tell you that the troop you came to join, the Lytaxin Irregulars, was a field troop, its ranks filled by survivors from the first wave of the invasion and a few old soldiers who had been separated from their home troops. Having done duty, the Irregulars have—honorably and without prejudice—been disbanded. The survivors have returned to rebuild their homes. The old soldiers, many of them, have been reattached to their home troops, which came in as part of the counterattack. Those who have not are temporarily attached to mercenary units here. They will take transport when the mercenary forces lift and will rendezvous with their home troop out of headquarters. Understand this. I hold rank as a captain of mercenary soldiers, commissioned by Commander Carmody himself, but at this time, I have no command.”

She paused. Neither recruit made a sound.

“In addition to my rank as captain,” she continued, “I owe allegiance to a kin-group—Clan Korval. This kin-group has acquired a worthy and cunning enemy. In order to fight this enemy, we will need soldiers. The sub-group Line yos’Phelium stands ready to receive your oaths, if you wish to give them, but you must understand that this service will be different. You will be required to learn languages other than the tongue of the Troop; cultural study will be required. I expect this of explorer and Rifle, alike. Worse, you will serve not one captain, but the leaders of the sub-kin-group, who are two and equal.” She put her hand, palm flat, against her chest; then likewise touched the man beside her.

“This is Val Con yos’Phelium Clan Korval. He is, among many other things, a Liaden scout and my lifemate.” She tipped her head, and asked a question in Liaden. “Do you understand ‘lifemate’, Hazenthull Explorer?”

“If the captain pleases. As we are taught, it is an arrangement of sexual convenience, with implications of exclusivity.”

“Oh, my,” Aelliana murmured.

She’s young
, Daav countered.
And I will own, my lady, were we both embodied . . .

“True.”

The captain’s eyebrows had lifted. She glanced at the man beside her.

“Hear that?” she said in Terran. “
Convenient
.”

He moved his shoulders. “The interpretation of custom is uniquely subject to error, as even the most careful scholar will confess.”

Hazenthull stirred. “If the captain pleases,” she managed in her ragged Terran. “Does this mean that ‘lifemate’ is not a sexual architecture?”

“In general, it is,” the captain said slowly. “In specific, it’s a lot more. Nelirikk’ll fill you in, and you can mince it up into Rifle-size pieces. If you wanna go through with it, that is. I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want to have nothing to do with swearing to Line yos’Phelium. Nelirikk can fill you in on that, too.”

Hazenthull’s eyes moved, questioning.

“The scout who stands beside the captain is of Jela’s own blood,” Nelirikk said in the tongue of the Troop. Daav saw Diglon start and lean forward, face intent.

“The Line the captain asks you to give oath to is the Line to which I have myself given oath. When the captain and the scout go against the enemy of their blood, I will be at their backs. If there is a place or a service of greater glory in all the galaxy, I have not heard of it.”

There was silence. Hazenthull looked to Diglon Rifle, not as if she were seeing him, Daav thought, but as if she were weighing the burden on her soul. She sighed, and saluted.

“Captain. We came to offer ourselves and our weapons to Captain Miri Robertson. That has not changed. If a captain so wise in war will accept our oaths and weapons, we will serve her until our last bullet is spent.”

The captain nodded, glanced aside—and Daav found himself pinned in a feral gray glance.

“If Scout yos’Phelium will relinquish the short-oaths he holds in my name, this man and I will take your oaths to Line yos’Phelium.”

***

YOS’GALAN
had been roused
from his bed, Emrith Tiazan surmised, not without a certain satisfaction. Not that he was rumpled, mis-buttoned, clumsy, or in any way unseemly; but the silver eyes were heavy, and the charade of the voluble fool was missing entirely. Indeed, one might almost say the bow he accorded her was . . . terse.

“Erob.”

“yos’Galan.” She inclined her head, merely, not bothering to rise from her seat on the edge of the stone bridge; and pointed at the giants slumbering in her quiet place.

“Those are yours, I believe?”

He sighed. “In fact, they are not, though they stand kin to my brother and his lifemate.”

She sighed in her turn. “How else? Well, no matter. Korval’s kin-lines are not mine to tend. Thank the gods. Remove them. Immediately.”