Korval's Game (78 page)

He was seeing a ghost.

The soft black eyes widened, and the smile did, too. “Shannie!” The deep voice was lighter, the graininess softened by the burr of a Chonselta accent. “Now, shall I come the flutterhead and exclaim over your gains in height?”

“Aunt Aelli,” he smiled at her, as gently as he knew how. “You were never a flutterhead. Even I knew that.”

She gave a peal of appreciative laughter. “Well done! But if you wish to make a bow, you know, you must do so quickly. It would be too bad of me to give Daav a headache, which he will have, if I linger overlong.”

“I see.” He bowed, affectionately. “Aunt Aelliana, it is good to see you again.”

She extended a hand to touch his cheek. “Thank you, Shannie. I am glad to see you, too. Take good care, now.” She closed her eyes.

“Well.” The voice had returned to its proper depth, the accent of Solcintra highlighting the grain, rather than softening it. The eyes opened, black and incisive. “That was a quick chat, for kin so long apart.”

“She wished not to be the cause of a headache.”

The smile was soft, but not in the least tentative. “She guards my health closely.” He paused, as one considering the issue from all sides. “Someone should, I suppose.” He moved his shoulders, something of experiment, or so Shan thought, and nodded, Terran-fashion.

“Well enough, for an old scout,” he said. “Now, what news? Your brother and his formidable lady have not yet returned from their pursuit of our enemy, you said. Have they been long away?”

“A few hours. What’s worrisome is that the soldiers dispatched by Erob have not as yet picked them up in their sweep.”

“Which only means they’ve gone beyond, or gone aside, or stayed within,” Uncle Daav pointed out. “A scout commander, as I hardly need to tell you, is no inconsiderable force in his own right. A scout commander seconded by Miri Robertson Tiazan . . .” He shook his head. “My imagination trembles.”

Shan grinned. “Would you like some tales from the late war?”

“I have had tales from Jason Carmody, and from Nelirikk Explorer, enough to fray the nerves of even an old scout who is well-accustomed to Clonak ter’Meulen.” He lifted an eyebrow. “I suppose that Clonak is with Line yos’Phelium’s newest dependents?”

Shan shook his head. “Last seen, he was off to confer with the techs who had charge of the dead, leaving Scout Ne’Zame and Nelirikk to wait for the others to emerge from the ’docs. When I looked in, the scout was coaching the explorer on the finer points of Terran poker. The tech let me know that the two in the ’docs had fallen on poor times of late and were in need of supplements, in addition to the cancellation of their
vingtai
.” He paused. “In all fairness, you should also know that my sister Nova is to house. Just now, she’s with Erob—”

“Which is where we should be,” Val Con said.

Shan spun, gasping. “How many times did father ask you
not
to do that?”

His brother grinned, and shook the renegade lock of hair back from his face. “My deplorable manners.”

“He forgot,” his lifemate said earnestly from his side. “He’s never at his best right after he’s blown up a ship.”

“I’ll remember that.” He blinked. “Blew up what ship?”

“Surely, the Department’s ship?” Daav murmured.

Val Con nodded, and looked seriously to Shan. “Brother, will you bear us company? Father?”

“Certainly,” Daav said, quietly.

Shan sighed. “I’ve been doing my utmost to stay out of Erob’s path—and you’d be wise to do the same. The moment you meet her, she’ll be demanding that you remove the Clutch turtles from her garden.”

“Yes? Could she not simply ask them to go? Edger is a courteous man, and Sheather only one step from timid.”

“They’re asleep.”

“Ah. That does put another face on it.” He looked at Miri.

She grinned and shrugged. “Have to risk it, I guess.”

“Indeed.” He tipped his head. “Hazenthull and Diglon?”

“Still in the ’doc. Now that she has them, the tech refuses to let them go until they have reached perfection.”

“An artist. That is good. Now, which way to Erob?”

***

“I AM TO UNDERSTAND
that these outlaws, then, were in pursuit of Nadelm Korval?”

Nova inclined her head. “Erob, it is so. Scout ter’Meulen had performed a preliminary identification of the three who were . . . dispatched on-site. Nadelm Korval and his lady are thought to be in pursuit of the fourth.”

“Scarcely healed and already in turmoil.” The old woman sighed. “If it were not unworthy of an ally, I should insist that you depart, Korval-pernard’i. This planet has lately endured two military actions. We need no more peril, just now.”

A rebuke, Nova thought, and a just one. She inclined her head. “Indeed, it was not our intention to burden Erob with our unseemly disputations.”

“However, the dispute in question is not merely Korval’s, but of all Liadens.”

Heart in mouth, Nova turned in her chair.

There were four walking into the conference room, but she had eyes only for one.

Dark hair overlong and a little mussed, as if he had been out in the wind, the errant forelock falling, as it always had, across the smooth forehead and almost into the brilliant green eyes, her brother Val Con stood tall on his own two legs, one hand hooked in his belt, the other finger-woven with the red-haired woman at his side.

He might have been a shade too thin for a sister’s comfort; the high curve of his cheekbones a thought too sharp, but he was Val Con, alive, walking—and even now one well-marked eyebrow was rising, as it certainly should, with her gawking at him like a half-wit.

“Sister ain’t talking to you?” Miri Robertson asked him, while Shan and a grizzled man in scout leathers paused behind them.

“Alas,” he said softly. “I fear I am in disgrace.” The eyebrow was well up, now; the green eyes quizzical. “Come, Nova, cry friends.”

“Frien—” the word died in her throat. She took a deliberate breath, and made another attempt.

“Friends,” she said, and then, more sharply than she had intended—
much
more sharply, gods, but it was such a relief just to behold him—“Where the devil have you been?”

Val Con laughed, and bowed, jauntily, still holding hands with the red haired woman. “A theme, in fact! I fear that a complete answer will need to wait upon current business.” He looked to the woman at his side.

“Cha’trez, have you met my sister Nova?”

“Real quick, in the hall, right before the little dust-up in the garden,” she said. She produced a nod and a grin. “Hi, Nova.”

“Good morning,” Nova told her, quellingly, and was not at all comforted to see Miri’s grin grow wider.

“Good.” Val Con moved a hand and the elder scout stepped forward. “And here is my father, Daav yos’Phelium, joyously returned to us, and accepted of his thodelm.”

Thus introduced, Daav yos’Phelium inclined his head and smiled. “Good morning, child,” he said, gravely. “You resemble your father extremely.”

“So do you,” she said, which was true, in some way that she could not quite quantify.

“Hah. An artifact of our upbringing, perhaps.” The black eyes moved. “Good morning, Emrith,” he said to Delm Erob.

“Daav yos’Phelium.” She sighed and leaned back in her chair. “It needed only you.”

His eyes gleamed. “I hold neither Ring nor rank. What possible harm can I do?”

“Do you know,” she said dryly, “I was only just asking myself that same question.”

He laughed. She did not.

“Win Den will want to see you. He owes you a cantra, I believe.”

“So much? I will be certain to look him up immediately.”

“Yes, do that.” She looked to Val Con. “So, Korval, what is this danger which threatens all Liadens?”

“It is called the Department of the Interior,” he said, softly. “Four of its Agents came into your garden last night.”

Erob moved a hand. “Korval-pernard’i allows me to know that those persons were in pursuit of yourself.”

He inclined his head. “On this occasion, they were. However, the Department has taken from every clan. Pilots, scouts, accountants, scholars—if the Department has a use for someone of talent, it matters not to which clan that one belongs. The Department subverts and makes them their own.” He paused, green eyes thoughtful.

“The odds that the Department of the Interior was instrumental in engineering the domestic dispute which preceded the Yxtrang invasion borders on certainty. Erob became a target because of its ties with Korval. I do not hide that from you. They will try again to cripple you—I do not hide that, either.”

She considered him, silently, for some few moments. “You can, of course,” she said eventually, “provide proofs for these assertions.”

He bowed. “Proofs may be obtained, yes.”

“So. And what is the great House of Korval doing to stop this terrible enemy of all Liadens? I believe protection of all Liadens falls within your contract of hire?”

“Indeed it does.” Once more he bowed—employee to employer, as Miri read it, with a movement of the hand indicating both irony and dedication to duty.

“Korval plans a return to Liad,” he said, straightening and looking directly into her eyes. “We shall take the war to our enemy in his home.”

“We certainly shall not!” Nova surged to her feet, staring at him in horror. “Have you taken leave of your senses? Plan B is in effect—do you know it? I refuse to sanction any such madness.” She raised her hand, showing him Korval’s Ring. “As Korval-pernard’i—I forbid it.”

“Oops,” Miri Robertson said, into the absolute silence that followed this.

“Precisely,” Val Con agreed. Hand-linked, they walked forward, until they were two paces from where Nova stood, rigid and outraged.

Together, they bowed honor to the trust-holder. Together, they straightened. It was Val Con who said the words—his right and his duty, as delm genetic.

“The Ring passes.”

What Nova should have done next, according to the Code Miri had sleep-learned, was bow in exactly the same mode, repeat “The Ring passes,” and hand the thing over, no muss, no fuss.

Nova shook her head, bright hair swinging around her shoulders.

“The Ring does not pass merely because you have taken a pet,” she said, scolding, in the mode between kin.

Shan moved forward a step. “Nova . . .” he began—and stopped when Val Con raised a hand.

“Sister,” he said, very softly, “we are facing an enemy that I know all too well. I
am
the Captain Genetic, truly lifemated. We have made promises and taken oaths, on behalf of Korval and of the passengers. The Ring passes now because it must. I will tell you plainly that I wish it fell into any hands but ours.”

Nova hesitated for a heartbeat longer while she searched first Val Con’s face, then Miri’s. Finally, she bowed as the Code set forth. Straightening, she announced, “The Ring passes,” removed it from the second finger of her left hand, and held it out in her palm. It was a massive thing, heavy with enamel-work, taking fire from the room’s dim lighting.

Solemnly, Val Con received it, turned and held it out. “Cha’trez, please familiarize yourself with this object.”

Blinking, Miri took the Ring, and stood frowning down at it.

Brilliant it might be, but up close, it showed its age. There was a runkle in top of the band, as if somebody had used the edge to strip wire, or maybe to scratch a message into hull plate. And while the intarsia work depicting Korval’s Tree-and-Dragon was intact, one of the two emeralds framing the carved
Flaran Cha’menthi
showed a dark crack at its heart, and the other, whole, held more than a tinge of yellow.

“Emerald’s bust, boss,” she said, turning the Ring around and peering inside the band for an engraving.

“It has been so for . . . quite some time,” Val Con said.

The inside of the band was smooth; any engraving that might have been there had probably been worn away by generations of Korval fingers.

She gave it one more hard stare, then handed it back to Val Con.

“Got it.”

“Good.” He stood for a moment, his eyes on the thing cupped in his palm. Then, with an air of decision, he slid it onto the third finger of his left hand. In her head, Miri heard a
snap
, as if a something had been locked tight into place.

There was a funny couple seconds, then, as if nobody was sure of what to do next.

It was Daav who finally moved, stepping forward and sweeping a profound bow to the delm’s honor, beautifully timed and directed precisely between the two of them.

“
Korval
.”

They bowed together, delm to clanmember.

“Korval Sees Daav yos’Phelium,” Val Con murmured, which was what the Code stipulated he had to say.

Shan was next, face stern and silver eyes austere. His bow, deliberate and eloquent of more than mere duty, was in the mode of thodelm to delm.

“Korval. yos’Galan is yours.”

Beside her, she felt Val Con sigh, and then they both bowed, as they had to, from delm to thodelm.

“Korval Sees Shan yos’Galan, thodelm,” Val Con said.

Shan went back a step and it was Nova’s turn, bowing simply as clanmember to delm.

“Korval,” she said, softly.

For a third time, they bowed together, delm to clanmember. Miri caught the shoulder-twitch on the way up, and took her turn.

“Korval Sees Nova yos’Galan,” she said, with a seriousness that went clean through to her soul. Nova had just given them life-and-death over her and hers—and they had just accepted. Miri didn’t know how Nova felt about it—the other woman’s face was a cool, golden mask—but she felt like bawling.

Nova stepped to Shan’s side, and Daav stepped forward once more, bowing honor to the delm.

It was, Miri thought, a much different bow than his first—plainer by several degrees of flamboyance, and considerably less bold. When he straightened, she saw that his face was also considerably less bold; the eyes wide and soft.

“Korval,” he stated, and his accent was different, too.

Biting her lip, she bowed with Val Con, caught the signal again as they came up and hoped she was right.

“Korval Sees Aelliana Caylon,” she said, and Daav went back to his place beside Nova.