Rital of Proof (24 page)

Jorlan's lips twitched as he watched the silly scamp. "Can we get a snogglehound?"

"I don't see why not." Green grinned at the pup.

"Spoiling him, already, eh, Marquelle? That's the way to do it!" As if the fil-Earlene Shazi would know anything about it! The elder man had never fastened, but was a much loved wit in the Slice. Green had always liked him. He was a sharp old nog and a close friend of the Reynards. She had seen Jorlan speaking with him for quite some time before they went in to dinner.

"Did I hear you say you want a snogglehound?" Earlene Chamford paused, her spoonful of crawlsinthedark soup dripping onto the Balinting lace table cloth. "Why, take Hugo! He'll be my postfastening day gift to you both!"

Green blanched. "But, Earlene, he is your pet! We couldn't do that."

"Sense and sensibility! I insist! There, it's done!"

Green's eyes filled with tears, and not because of the generosity of the gift. She simply could never understand the callous disregard the Slice had for things and people they considered beneath them. Poor Hugo looked from the Earlene to them in complete bewilderment, having no idea his entire future had just changed.

The Earlene had already forgotten him. She was conversing with a newly widowed Baroner who had caught her eye. And when she was done with him, no doubt he would be discarded much the same as Hugo.

Hugo made a pitiful questioning sound. Green wiped her eye to hide her display of sentimentality. Jorlan's hand covered hers. "He'll come to us," he spoke quietly to her. "Watch." He held out a treat to the little snogglehound.

Hugo hesitated at first, sensing that something important had happened.

Jorlan's eyes softened in a way that made Green's heart thump. Hugo came galloping over to him. He took the treat and licked Jorlan's fingers, then sat up straight and waved three of his legs at Green.

"See?" he whispered to her. "He loves you already."

"Jorlan," she breathed in an undertone. "How did you—?"

"I know how he feels." He glanced at her through his spiky lashes.

Her breath stopped in her throat.
What was he saying?
Surely not what she...

"About being a pawn of the Slice, that is." His irises glittered mysteriously.

Green exhaled. For a moment there, she had thought he had meant something else.

"What are you whispering about over there?" Marqueller Goodcock leaned forward, his bared chest almost completely spilling free of his shirt. He had been drinking heavily all evening. His name-giver laughed raucously and reached over to tie a few of his laces.

"Nothing like a fine set of pecs to get the appetite up!" General Staunchly quipped, just before she belched loudly and rang for another goblet of hameeri.

"A toast!" Fil-Earlene Shazi lifted his glass. "To whatever gets it
up\"

Everyone burst into laughter at the bawdy cheer.

Except Jorlan, who blushed crimson. And Hugo, who snatched a piece of sausage from Claudine's plate.

"Like that, do you?" Claudine smiled evilly at the snogglehound. "Here—why don't you have the rest of it?" She reached over and picked up the whole piece of sausage. Her intent was clear to Green.

"Don't give him that."

"Why not? He seems to want it." She dangled the foot-long piece of sausage over the snogglehound. Hugo sat up and waved all his feet madly.

"It's too much! He won't be able to digest it."

"Nonsense." Claudine lowered the sausage to Hugo.

Real distress showed on Green's face. By the time she got around the table it would be too late. "No, don't," she pleaded.

The snogglehound was just about to snap up the sausage when Jorlan spoke. "Hugo," he said in a low, even tone.

The snogglehound stopped and stared at him quizzically.

"Come here." He patted his side.

Hugo hesitated. On the one hand was a snoggle-hound's dream piece of food; on the other...

"Come, Hugo." Again Jorlan spoke in that calm, even tone.

Unbelievably the snogglehound turned away from the Jacama lowlander sausage and trotted happily over to Jorlan.

Jorlan petted hi's small head and told him to stay by Green.

Hugo sat by Green.

"I say! That was quite amazing!" Lordene Emiline sputtered. "I have a way with them but nothing like that—you must be very gifted, Marqueller."

Green glanced around the table, worried. "Should we not ask the Marquelle about that?" Anya bantered, changing the focus back to the usual postfastening ribbing. Everyone guffawed. Green flashed her a grateful look.

At that moment,
Billings approached her. "I have an urgent message for you, Marquelle!"

Concerned, Green took the placardview from her, putting it in privacy mode to read the missive. Her brow furrowed.

"What is it?" Jorlan asked.

"There is trouble on one of my estates on the edge of the Southern Lands."

"Does it say what it is?"

"Something about an unidentified sickness affecting the household. Apparently it is not deadly, but the locals are very superstitious about such things. The majordoma tells me I need to come at once."

"How far away is it?" Jorlan's eyes lit with the prospect of travel. It was something he always wanted to do—only under better circumstances.

"It is three weeks' journey from here. But you cannot come, Jorlan. It is a dangerous route, fraught with peril."

He viewed her silently. There was no way he would let her go into such danger alone. Not now, not ever. He leaned forward as if to whisper in her ear. "I am coming with you, Green. If you refuse, I shall follow you on Sabir."

"Don't be ridiculous! Sabir could never make such a journey."

He arched his brow. "Shall we bet?"

She exhaled noisily. "Please, Jorlan, it is too much of a risk; you know nothing of the wilderness and—"

He laughed, tickling her ear.

"What?"

"Let us just say I know more than you think. I'm coming."

She was getting to recognize that look. "Very well. But you must heed my instructions at all times."

His lips twitched. "Yes, my name-giver."

"And do as I say."

His hot tongue flicked her ear. "Yes, my name-giver."

"And you will have to ride a Kloo. A long trek like this is no place for a Klee."

He paused to sigh deeply. He caught her earlobe in his teeth and tugged. "Yes, my name-giver."

She smiled, but her eye caught Claudine's. The woman was too smug.
She's behind this, I know. The Founder alone knows what we'll find there—if we get there.

Green sent a message to Avatar to prepare for the journey and to make sure an extra contingent of protector-guards accompanied them. She was not going to put Jorlan at risk.

Jorlan stood. "I'll be back in a moment. There is something I need to get."

"Where are you going?"

"Upstairs to my old room."

"We moved all of your clothing and personal items to Tamryn house. What do you need?"

He bent over and said to her alone, "My meteor-blade."

Green sucked in her breath. "you
wield a meteor-blade?
But how?"

Jorlan placed his index finger up to his mouth, cautioning her to be silent. Then he left.

While Green apologized to the guests for their abrupt departure, her mind was reeling with what he had just revealed to her. As far as she knew no man had
ever
wielded the blade. They were forbidden. The deadly weapon required the utmost skill and concentration. There were very few women who could accomplish it.

But that wasn't the only thing that bothered her.

Whoever mastered a meteor-blade must also master the mysterious forms of Gle Kiang-ten.

Which meant only one thing.

Jorlan was a platinum class warrior.

And if anyone found out, his life would be in danger.

They set out almost immediately upon their return home.

Avatar, the master organizer, had everything arranged by the time their coach delivered them to the doorstep.

Everything, that is, except Jorlan's gear.

"Mathers, have one of the boys pack some of Jorlan's things—he is coming with me," Green called out. She handed Hugo to her and told the majordoma to make a comfortable bed for the sweet snogglehound in the corner of the kitchen. Hugo's whole body wagged.

Avatar gasped in horror. "You're not bringing that snap-branch come-out on a trip like this!"

"I am." She nodded firmly. Jorlan met her eye and smiled proudly at her.

"Have you lost your sense? It is a grueling journey! He has no sense of any life outside of the sheltered care given all veils! It's not right of you to bring him! As your advisor, I must strongly caution you against it."

Green gave the feisty woman a disbelieving look. "Since when have you become my advisor?"

Avatar harrumphed. "Marquelle, the rigors of such a journey, despite any comforts you bring along, will prove too much for him. What's more, he knows nothing of rustic life! He's just as liable to step on a razor rock as to avoid one." Razor rocks were extraterrestrial nonintelligent life forms that were highly toxic when stumbled upon. It was believed the life forms inadvertently "rode" to Forus on a meteorite (or another craft—which had never been proven) eons ago, finding a natural niche on the high open desert where they could slowly munch on the nitrogen-rich sand.

Since they didn't eat much and grew very, very slowly, they were mostly ignored, except if they were inadvertently stepped on or brushed against. Then razor-sharp shards sprung up, forming a shield all around them. The natural and formidable defense mechanism was presumably geared to prevent them from being munched on by predators that had a taste for extremely crunchy fare.

Besides causing nasty slice-cuts, the razor points could, in some rare cases, infect the bloodstream with silicon-based "organisms" that continued to grow inside the human body, turning lethal. The methodologists had developed a rather nasty cure for the nanosites, but one needed to get to them in time.

In fact, the meteor-blade weapon had been fashioned after the razor rocks. Using selective genen techniques on the silicon life forms, methodologists were able to produce a small number of hybridized razor rocks for meteor-blade use. The resultant form was noninfective, but its blades were deadly sharp.

The process was expensive, strictly monitored, and lengthy. Which made meteor-blades nearly impossible to acquire. Usually, they were only given to masters of Gle Kiang-ten by their masters. Only a master of Gle Kiang-ten had the inner stillness and strength of will to work such a weapon. Most never achieved the status.

Green still wondered how Jorlan had been able to achieve this. Especially at his age. She vowed she would get answers to those questions—and soon.

"And that's just one of the dangers!" Avatar blustered on. "Add to that raiders, highwaywomen, and all manner of beasties, and—"

Green put up her hand. "I appreciate your concern for my name-bearer. Avatar, but I am taking him with me. He will be fine. Besides, this is not a journey to the deeper regions. There is just a stretch of high desert on the route, the rest is—"

"Through jungle!" Avatar crossed her arms over her sizable chest, not backing down a bit. Green rather thought the woman couldn't bear the thought of having to lug a man along with them. Some women were like that, believing men truly belonged lounging in the home and bed and nowhere else. Others were just plain superstitious, maintaining that a male on a traveling party
boded ill luck. The attitude tracked all the way back to I the
NEOFEM.
|

Green was very fond of Avatar, but some of her beliefs could be considered rather primitive.

Mathers bustled back down the stairs and into the grand foyer. "He's all set, Marquelle! I packed him up myself. Had one of the lads add his baggage to the pack Kloo."

"Good. Thank you, Mathers." Green went back to arguing with Avatar.

"Threw in some surprises for you, too, lad." Mathers winked coyly at him. "For catching the Marquelle's eye at night, if you know what I mean." She guffawed suggestively and elbowed him sharply in the side, twice.

"Omph!"
Jorlan gave her an incredulous stare. "What was the woman thinking? That he was going to drape himself in a sheer Ramagi robe so that he could... Hmmm.

Mathers winked again and nodded her head encouragingly.

Grinning, Jorlan asked Green if she was ready to go.

They left with Avatar grumpily marching beside them.

The protector-guards, six women, highly trained in the art of defense, were already mounted, waiting for them. Their leader, Miara, had not yet become adept with the meteor-blade, but she was fluent with many weapons and was a strong, dependable leader who inspired loyalty in her crew.