The Dragon Variation (81 page)

Mizel raised her head and stared at the man standing before her desk. A man dressed for traveling and not in the first style of elegance. The cloak was serviceable but shabby. The shirt and trousers had been made for him, but some time ago. The boots—would be a difficulty for him. He wore no jewelry. His face was pale.

"Mizel does not sanction kinslaying. Having shown yourself capable of such horror, the delm is unable to do otherwise than declare you dead. You will leave this house now. At once. You will never return. You have no call upon Mizel. You are clanless and outcast."

The man before her bowed his head.

"Because you were once my son, I give you somewhat to take away with you. The clothes you stand in. A cantra-piece." She reached into the desk drawer, removed the keepsafe that had belonged to her mother and the half-gone box of pellets. "A weapon."

Ran Eld looked up, face wet with tears. She put gun and ammunition on the desk. After a moment, he picked them up. Mizel inclined her head and stood.

"I will escort you to the door."

He walked silent beside her down the hall, silent across the foyer. When she opened the door, he turned, but she averted her face and in a moment heard him walk down the steps, whereupon she closed the door and locked it.

Duty done, Mizel gave way to Birin Caylon, whose son had just now died, she lay her cheek against the inner door—and mourned his passing.

He found it in a desert, so he told me—the only living thing in two days' walk. A skinny stick with a couple leaves near the top, that's all it was then.
I don't remember the name of the world it came from. He might not have told me. Wherever it was, when his Troop finally picked him up, Jela wouldn't leave
'
til he'd dug up that damned skinny stick of a tree and planted it real careful in an old ration tin. Carried it in his arms onto transport. And nobody dared to laugh.

—Excerpted from Cantra yos'Phelium's Log Book
 

"YES,"
the doorkeeper at Chonselta Healer Hall sighed, stepping back to allow them inside. "Jon dea'Cort had said you would be here and that it was out of his power to prevent you." He closed the door and beckoned. Silent, they followed him down a short hallway and into a small parlor.

"There is wine on the sideboard, and filled bread. Hall Master will be down to speak to you very soon. In the meanwhile, I am asked to convey to Pilot yos'Phelium the Master's most urgent plea for serenity. We have novices in-Hall." He bowed and left them, the door swinging shut on his heels.

In the center of the room, Korval sighed, then turned, looking down at her from eyes as giving as obsidian.

"Shall you wish refreshment, Pilot?" he asked, with a gentleness she would not have expected, from such eyes. "Seat yourself, I beg. I have used you cruelly this evening, when you are already in pain through my ineptitude. At least, let me bring you a cup of wine."

"Thank you," Samiv said, moving to a doublechair and sinking into the soft cushions with bleary gratitude. "I believe I will sit, but I do not think wine . . ."

The door swung open and a white-haired woman in plain shirt and trousers stepped into the chamber. She bowed, briefly.

"Chonselta Hall Master Ethilen. Pray, Pilot tel'Izak, do not trouble yourself to rise. Recruit your strength." She turned her face toward the man in the center of the room.

"Well, Korval?"

"Not well, Master Ethilen," he replied. "You have Aelliana Caylon in keeping here. The report I have of her condition from the pilots at Chonselta Guild is—terrifying. I will see her, of your kindness."

"Alas."

Samiv saw Korval's shoulders tense, though his voice was as calm as always.

"She had wanted me, said the pilots at Guildhall. I would show her she is not abandoned by one in whom she placed trust. I am her copilot. I have this right."

"Masters Kestra and Tom Sen are with Pilot Caylon. I cannot allow interference of their work at this juncture. The report you have from the pilot's guild-fellows appears overstated. It is in her best interest that her copilot allow himself to be satisfied with this preliminary information and retire to Solcintra."

"I—"

"Korval, you are blinding the House," the old woman said sternly, and held up a hand. "Yes, I See that you are attempting to control yourself, and I thank you most sincerely for the effort. Without it, my shielding would not be sufficient to allow me to stand in the same room with you and converse. However, no amount of converse will deliver you to Pilot Caylon's side this evening. Believe me in verymost earnest." She sighed and lowered her hand.

"Daav, go home. Come again tomorrow. She will love you no less then."

There was a moment of silence charged so strongly Samiv felt the hairs rise on her arm. Then, Korval swept a bow to the old Healer.

"Tomorrow, Master Ethilen, I am not denied."

She inclined her head.

Samiv got her feet under her and rose, muzzy-headed and aching.

"Pilot."

She looked up into a face utterly without expression. Korval offered his arm.

"Allow me to take you to your delm."

SHE SAT IN THE copilot's chair,
but her board was dark. Korval flew, silent, as he had been since leaving Healer Hall.

"Samiv," he said, and she started, though he spoke gently.

She straightened against the webbing and looked to him, seeing the side of his face, the quick, clever fingers, moving among his instruments.

"Yes, Pilot?"

He glanced over to her—lightless eyes in a hewn-gold face—then went back to his board. "I wish you will tell me true. May you?"

She licked her lips. "Yes."

"Good," he murmured. "I wish to know if you, of your own will and heart, desire this marriage which is promised to your delm."

Of her own will and heart
. A Scout's question, phrased as if one's own will and heart had place within the weavings of kin and duty. And yet . . .

"If I were—my own delm—I would not seek the marriage," she said slowly, feeling along those unaccustomed threads of personal desire. "I—forgive me . . ."

"I had asked," he said softly. "There is no need to ask forgiveness for truth, among comrades, eh?"

"Just so." She took a breath, hands fisted on her lap. "Truly, Korval, I find I—like—you much more than ever I—But I do not think that we should—that we should—
suit
," she finished, somewhat helplessly.

"Ah." More silence, and she sat back into the chair. It came to her to wonder what her delm might think, could she hear Samiv in such a conversation with her affianced husband, and hiccuped a laugh.

"Are you able to bear some little of your delm's displeasure?" he asked abruptly. "I swear that I will take all that I might to myself. But she is bound to be displeased with you."

"She is displeased with me now," Samiv said blearily. "I was never to have come to ask your aid, you know."

"I see. In that wise, I believe we may win you free of the Tree's attentions, Pilot. You need only stand firm and quiet. And swear me one thing."

She blinked. "What shall I swear?"

He looked at her, one dark brow up. "Come to me, when your delm's anger has cooled, and let us finish Balance between us."

"Korval, there is nothing owing. I—"

"I must beg you to allow me to know the extent of my own debt," he interrupted, all stern-voiced and by-the-Code. Samiv strangled a rising giggle and managed to incline her head.

"As you will, sir. When I may, I will come to you, in order to complete Balance. My word upon it."

"Thank you," said Korval, and flicked up the comm toggle.

"
THIS
IS YOUR notion of propriety?"
Delm Bindan demanded. "Of withholding from scandal? Of safety and respect for Bindan's treasure? I suppose it a mere trifle for you, Korval, nothing higher than a lark! Certainly, go to the opposite end of the world for your mischief, force yourself into a clanhouse, hold a nadelm at gunpoint, subvert the youth and steal away the second daughter! Amusing in the extreme, I make no doubt! Certainly, Delm Guayar thought the news delicious. He called while I was yet at breakfast to share it with me. I could have hidden my face!

"And
you
—" She turned her eyes to Samiv.

"I have only respect," Daav murmured, "for the honor and the fortitude of Samiv tel'Izak, who stood staunch, as a troth-wife must and—"

"Troth-wife!" Bindan spun. "If you dare believe, after last evening's escapade, that I will allow one of Bindan to risk herself and her honor in support of your mad whim—Good-day, sir! Your man of business will hear from mine."

Had he not been frantic to return to Chonselta, he would have laughed aloud. Clonak's father had done his work with admirable thoroughness. And, doubtless, he thought wryly, enjoyed every moment of it.

He bowed to Bindan's outraged face. "Good-day, ma'am. Pilot. Sleep well."

"If your lordship," Bindan's butler murmured from the doorway, "will attend me. I will escort you to the door."

CHARGED WITH UNEXPENDED adrenaline,
Daav strode across the glade, laid both palms against the trunk and glared up into the branches.

"You may give over terrorizing Samiv tel'Izak," he said, voice shaking. "She and I will not wed."

The bark beneath his hands warmed. "Yes, very good!" he snarled, snatching his hands away. "Approve me, do! What shall it mean to you, that a fine pilot was all but destroyed for your whim? What shall any of us mean to you, who has seen us all die—from Jela to Chi! Breed-stock, are we? Then hear me well!"

He was in the center of the glade now, with no clear notion of how he had gotten there, hands fisted at his sides, shouting up into the branches as if the ancient, alien sentience cared—had ever cared—for his puny, human anguish.

"I shall lifemate Aelliana Caylon, if she will have me, and if you dare—dare!—frighten or in any way discontent her, I will chop you down with my own hands!"

His words hung for a moment, and were gone, swallowed by the still, warm air. Daav took a breath—another—deliberately relaxed his fists . . .

In the height of the branches, something moved.

He tensed, recalling the torrent of trash that had greeted Samiv tel'Izak, thinking that the Tree could easily and with no harm to itself loose a branch onto his unprotected head, thus disposing of a breed-line that had failed of its promise.

The noise grew louder. Daav crouched, ready to leap in any direction.

And fell to his knees as dozens of seed-pods cascaded around him.

The heart keeps its own Code.

—Anonymous
 

THE DOORKEEPER
showed him to a private parlor, served him wine and left him alone, murmuring that the Master would be with him soon.

The wine was sweet and sat ill on a stomach roiled with fear. He set it aside after a single sip and paced the length of the room, unable to sit decently and await his host.

Behind him, the door opened, and he spun, too quickly. Master Healer Kestra paused on the threshold and showed her hands, palms up and empty, eyebrows lifted ironically.

Ignoring irony, Daav bowed greeting, counting time as he had not done since he was a halfling, throttling pilot speed down to normality, though his nerves screamed for speed.

The Healer returned his bow with an inclination of her head and walked over to the clustered chairs. She arranged herself comfortably in one and looked up at him, face neutral.

"Well, Korval."

He drifted a few paces forward. "Truly, Master Kestra?"

She waved impatiently at the chair opposite her. "I will not be stalked, sir! Sit, sit! And be
still
, for love of the gods! You're loud enough to give an old woman a headache—and to no purpose. She's fine."

His knees gave way and, perforce, he sat. "Fine."

"Oh, a little burn—nothing worrisome, I assure you! For the most part, the Learner never touched her. She knew her danger quickly and crafted her protection well. She created herself an obsession: an entire star system, which required her constant and total concentration—I should say, calculation!—to remain viable." She smiled, fondly, so it seemed to Daav. "Brilliant! The Learning Module will not disturb rational cognition." She moved her shoulders.

"Tom Sen and I removed the obsession, and placed the sleep upon her. We did not consider, under the circumstances, that it was wise to erase painful memory, though we did put—say, we caused those memories to feel
distant
to her. Thus she remains wary, yet unimpeded by immediate fear." Another ripple of her shoulders.

"For the rest, she passed a few hours in the 'doc for the cuts and bruises. I spoke with her not an hour ago and I am well-satisfied with our work."

Daav closed his eyes. She was
well
. He was trembling, he noted distantly, and his chest burned.

"Korval?"

He cleared his throat, opened his eyes and inclined his head. "Accept my thanks," he said, voice steady in the formal phrasing.

"Certainly," Kestra murmured, and paused, the line of a frown between her brows.

"You should be informed," she said, abruptly, and Daav felt a chill run his spine.

"Informed?" he repeated, when several seconds had passed and the Healer had said no more. "Is she then not—entirely—well, Master Kestra?"

She moved a hand—half-negation. "Of this most recent injury, you need have no further concern. However, there was another matter—a trauma left untended. Scar tissue, you would say."

"Yes," he murmured, recalling. "She had said she thought it—too late—to seek a Healer."

"In some ways, she was correct," Kestra admitted. "Much of the damage has been integrated into the personality grid. On the whole, good use has been made of a bad start—she's strong, never doubt it. I did what I could, where the scars hindered growth." She sighed lightly and sat back in her chair.

"The reason I mention the matter to you is that I find—an anomaly—within Scholar Caylon's pattern."