The Road to Hell - eARC (21 page)

The report to Dorrick double-checked and tucked carefully into the postal box, chan Rahool set out to arrange a meeting with the Empress Consort of the known Sharonan universes.

He might have had the makings of a soldier after all.

* * *

At the heart of the known Arcanan universes, Garth Showma celebrated winter as only Andarans could: with marches, ice dances, and dragon flights over the frozen falls. Snowfall Night, when the faculty and students of Garth Showma Institute filled the fall’s basin with floats and hung the sky with faerie lights, drew crowds even from Mythal and Ransara.

Her Grace Sathmin Olderhan capably arranged it all each year, and this year was no different…in that respect, at least. There were plenty of other differences, unfortunately, all of them revolving around the hideous news which had reached New Arcana less than two weeks ago.

The only good news was that Jasak was alive and unhurt. Which, she had to admit in her fairer moments, was far more important than anything else. But every other word of the terse hummer reports from Governor mul Gurthak in Erthos about events in the universe which had been—all too aptly for her taste—christened “Hell’s Gate” had only made the unmitigated extent of the disaster clearer and clearer. That contact with another human civilization, after more than two centuries of inter-universal exploration, should have ended in massacre and carnage was bad enough. The news that Arcana’s newly acquired enemies possessed some new, bizarre, and very deadly technology of their own only made it worse. But worst of all,
her
son had been caught in the middle of it—had been the officer whose command first encountered these “Sharonians” and fought the first battle with them.

The public—predictably, in Sathmin’s opinion —had reacted to the news with mingled shock, fear, and ferocity. And after digesting Two-Thousand mul Gurthak’s report, she couldn’t really blame the man-in-the-street for reacting exactly that way. Unfortunately, the official dispatch from mul Gurthak differed in several critical particulars from the private message which had already reached Sathmin and her husband from Jasak. There were no aspects of mul Gurthak’s report which
contradicted
Jasak’s account, but there were certainly some very significant differences of emphasis. Nor had the two-thousand’s dispatch made any mention of Jasak’s decision to declare the two surviving Sharonian prisoners his
shardonai
…or of the reasons which had impelled him to do so. And she knew her husband had cherished some dark suspicions about the reason Jasak’s private message had reached New Arcana almost a full week before the governor’s
official
dispatch. Given the hummer priority accorded to official messages, if there was a discrepancy in arrival times, mul Gurthak’s report should have arrived
before
Jasak’s, not after it.

Thankhar had decided to adopt a wait-and-see posture, and Sathmin hoped it had been the right call. It wasn’t that she thought they had any other option—the plain truth was that they didn’t
know
much more about events than anyone else in the Union’s government—but she
hated
the waiting. And she hated the murmurs already floating around where people thought she wouldn’t hear about them. While mul Gurthak had expressed his personal approval of Jasak’s actions and decisions under the circumstances as Jasak had then understood them, not everyone else agreed. For that matter, even mul Gurthak’s approval had been qualified by those deadly words “under the circumstances.”

Sathmin Olderhan had not been the Duchess of Garth Showma for over thirty years without learning to read between the lines of official statements and recognize the hidden daggers wrapped in carefully chosen turns of phrase. And mul Gurthak was
shakira
. That was more than enough to set her every cat’s whisker of suspicion acquiver under the best of circumstances, which these most definitely were not. And much as she loved her husband, he was Andaran to his toenails. He would
not
launch any sort of preemptive defense of his son until he knew to his own satisfaction what had happened, and that was enough to drive even the most loving wife to screaming distraction…at least in the privacy of her own mind. Besides—

Enough
, she told herself firmly.
Thankhar’s right. You can’t do anything about it until you know more, and nothing you can do is going to get Jasak back home one second sooner than he’d get here anyway. And whatever
else
happens, you still have a Snowfall Night to coordinate, so you’d better get back to doing it!

She smiled slightly at the acerbic edge of her own thoughts, drew a deep breath, and turned resolutely back to her responsibilities.

Magister Loriethe from the college would be arriving for a mid afternoon review with a final update on the Institute’s plans for the midnight grand finale, and Sir Kalivar of the Sarkhala Boy’s School was begging an invitation to have his students join in the Children’s March. Sathmin was inclined to grant the late addition if he’d also be willing to supervise the distribution of candy at the children’s pay call.

But first she had to dress. The staff jokingly called her around-the-estate skirts and blouses “women’s combat utilities.” The clothes didn’t have nearly enough pockets, but other than that, Sathmin didn’t object to the description. In her younger days, before Thankhar, she would have gone to Snowfall just as she was, watched the endurance competitions and enjoyed camping out on the frozen ground to get the best spot for the dragon flight show. The festival was better organized now, but she also had to put up with being one of the things the people came to see. And that involved hiring a dressing assistant.

Tellemay Lissia arrived precisely on schedule—Sathmin loved that about the woman—and produced a multitude of clothes from her baggage, any of which would certainly do fine. Tellemay always produced outfits that fitted the occasion and Sathmin was blessed with spending no more time deciding what to wear than her husband did. Uniforms were a magnificent invention, in her opinion. It was a pity most women—even in Andara—positively rebelled at the idea of all wearing the same thing. Until Sathmin managed to convince her fellow officer’s wives to adopt some manner of civilian uniform, however, she could always depend on her capable dresser.

“Delightful to see you again, Your Grace,” Tellemay said. “I’ve found the perfect things for you today. The absolute perfect! Classic pre-Hathak period reimagined with softened lines and in all the newest colors.” The dresser gave Sathmin a measuring look and added, “And yes, I’ve added pockets. Small ones that don’t ruin the lines. Stand just there in the middle and I’ll have this fitting done for you in no time at all.”

Sathmin complied, and she immediately turned her mind back to more interesting things.

The flights participating in the dragon air show had confirmed. She needed to check with Corilene about the repairs on the estate’s second slidercar. It would be needed to bring the last demo pilots from the landing grounds back to the falls after they flew their passes. The 2038th training wing had confirmed the extra dragon fodder had arrived. The full storerooms and stockyards should be more than enough to keep all the performing dragons comfortably fed.

“I didn’t hear until I went to pick up the new fabric samples, but I suppose you heard with the very first hummer arrival this morning,” said Tellemay as she pinned a coat sleeve.

“Pardon, what?”

Sathmin looked at Tellemay in surprise as the dresser’s comment pulled her mind back from planning details for Snowfall Night. The woman usually spent these moments talking about fashion and why she’d selected the pieces presented for the day’s outfit and hinting about what she was planning for events later in the year, with extra commentary about the occasions when Sathmin would be seen by senior officials or especially large crowds. Those sorts of questions could be answered almost automatically, using only a corner of her surface thoughts to monitor the process, but there was something about Tellemay’s tone.…

“Heard what Telley-dear?” Sathmin asked.

“Oh, you hadn’t heard yet!” Tellemay’s voice rose in delight to be first with the news. “It’s the Sharonians. The truce is over!”

“What?” Sathmin stared at her, stunned by the way the news echoed with her own earlier worried. The truce was over?! How?
Why?
And what was it going to mean for Jasak and—

“We’re back at war,” Tellemay continued blithely. “My cousins are so happy. They were afraid they’d miss it all.”

“Miss it?” Sathmin felt vaguely like she’d entered some other dimension—and not one with a portal route back home to New Arcana.

“Yes, Your Grace. Miss the war. We’ll trounce them all very soon, so the youngest boys will still miss it. But Ollie’s a Trooper out with the Second Andarans now. His brothers are all very jealous that he’ll have combat experience and the war won’t last long enough for them to get any.”

Sathmin placed the names quickly. Ollie Lissia was a reliable young man who’d run his father’s textile shop and supplied most of the cold weather gear for the 2nd Andaran Scouts. He’d finally convinced a retired uncle to come manage the place long enough for Ollie to do a two-year enlistment.

Ransarans and Mythalans would never understand, but as an Andaran of course he’d had to do it. Family deferment or not, a well brought up Andaran boy would fight dragons barehanded if that’s what it took to do his basic service tour. And here was Tellemay, his proud cousin, delighting in the chance of her family member returning with a combat service badge on his shoulder. But—

“Are you sure about the truce?” Sathmin clutched at the hope Tellemay had misheard something.

“Absolutely sure. Everyone’s been getting hummer messages all at once. They don’t say what their orders are or where they’re headed, of course. But the war’s back on. I’m amazed you didn’t hear first. I suppose His Grace was at the Commandery by the time the first hummers arrived.” Tellemay paused a moment to adjust and repin a gather on Sathmin’s left shoulder. “Everyone’s been saying how taken by surprise they were and how the Commandery kept the secret perfectly.”

“I don’t understand,” Sathmin said. “Are you saying
we
broke off the truce talks?”

Tellemay sniffed. “When you say it like that, Your Grace, it just doesn’t sound right. I’m sure that couldn’t be it. The troop letters just say we won a battle and that they’re excited about the next one. The news’ll say more in the morning, won’t it?”

* * *

“They want
what
?” Shalassar Brintal-Kolmayr snapped up from her seat.

Intern Pelgra tried to melt into the Cetacean Embassy floor and only managed to look more puppyish instead.
Not the kid’s fault,
Shalassar reminded herself, and brushed past the young Cetacean Speaker to confront the orca at the pier herself.

The black and white cetacean lifted himself for a flip above the water.

Shalassar corrected automatically. The orca had a tendency to not acknowledge genders in pre-adolescence, but since they didn’t attribute gendered pronouns to prey either, she didn’t care for the implications.

The orca flipped a smiling face above the waves.

Shalassar considered the orca’s great bulk. Teeth Cleaver was significantly larger than the dolphins and porpoises who sometimes expressed interest in entering the aquarium cars to take tours of the insides of the shorelines.

The orca snorted a cetacean laugh with his blowhole.

Shalassar countered.

This did not reassure Shalassar.

She didn’t mention the porpoises. They were included in the mix of sentient cetaceans technically, but the creatures were generally significantly less bright than the dolphins or any of the larger cetaceans. Among all the intelligent sea life, the whales were the deep thinkers, with the thunder-flukes especially reveling in it.

A pod of dolphins played a half mile or so distant, and Teeth Cleaver examined them for a long moment. The orca didn’t eat sentients. They were always quite clear on that. But from time to time some of the cetaceans would add in a proviso.

The orca didn’t eat sentients,
now
.

The dolphins had been at the pier themselves just an hour or so previously enjoying some of the fish treats provided by the Cetacean Institute. But just this minute, they found reason to play further away. Teeth Cleaver’s presence had nothing to do with it. Of course.

Teeth Cleaver said.

And why are the thunder-flukes interested?
Shalassar added, only to herself.

Teeth Cleaver said,

Shalassar stopped unable to refute this unassailable argument.

Teeth Cleaver blew a fine mist and settled deeper in the water, all but vanishing.

He spun beneath the water displaying the clean milky belly that would camouflage him from below.

He burst out of the water for a high twisting leap.

The splash sent ripples racing in all directions.

He snorted a derisive splatter of water in the direction of the pod.

Shalassar wiped the spray off her face. Cetacean Speaker Talent granted the ability to hear, but not always to understand.