Future Dreams (22 page)

“And when does this impulse begin to overtake a cleansed Guard?” Jame asked.

“Shortly after their cleansing,” Onderal said.

“And what is done to alleviate this impulse while a Guard goes through rehabilitation?”

“You should know. You’ve spent enough time with your client.” Onderal almost sneered.

Jame shrugged. “I’ve never witnessed the impulse or the remedy all the time I’ve known Tigh. This impulse must not come very often, if I haven’t seen it.”

The seven members of the Tribunal stared tensely at Jame.

“According to the healers, the impulse is always present and must be indulged every three days. If the Guard can’t give in to this impulse, it begins to affect their personality,” Onderal said, although most of the spectators knew the details. “The healers control it by meeting with the Guard every other day and administering an antidote.”

“I’d like to call Pendon Larke, the healer in charge of Tigh’s rehabilitation, before the Tribunal,” Jame said.

The Tribunes exchanged puzzled glances as a grinning Pendon approached the bench.

“Thank you for coming today, Healer Larke,” Jame said. “Could you relate to the Tribunal your experiences with controlling Tigh’s impulse to fight.”

“I’m unable to speak on that subject.” Pendon let the silent shock hang for a dramatic moment. “I’ve never had to administer an antidote to Tigh for that particular problem.”

The Keeper of the Bench sounded the pipe several times to bring the ensuing noise down to a stunned mutter.

“What have you been doing to control her impulse?” Onderal asked.

“Tigh has never manifested that problem,” Pendon said. “As has been stated before in this chamber, Tigh’s cleansing has been the most successful one we’ve ever attempted. She’s been freely wandering this compound all summer and, unlike the other Guards undergoing rehabilitation, there have been no reports of problems or incidents instigated by her. In contrast, the fourteen other Guards being rehabilitated during the same period have been involved in thirty-one angry disputes, sixteen incidents with patients in the injury ward, and twenty-three physical fights. And before you drag out the incident at the Emoran safe house, Tigh didn’t instigate that event and didn’t fight back. She doesn’t have the impulse to fight.”

“How do you know it won’t suddenly emerge at some point?” Onderal asked.

“How can we predict that about any of us?” Pendon asked. “Has anyone witnessed even a passing anger from her? You, on the other hand, Tribune Onderal, have been sporting an angry scowl ever since you entered this chamber.”

Onderal looked outraged, then, as if realizing he had just verified Pendon’s words, relaxed his expression. “Are you willing to stake your reputation on your testimony that Tigh is completely free from violent impulse.”

“Yes. Except under one circumstance,” Pendon said, with a twinkle in his eyes. “I have no doubt Tigh would do anything to protect the person who has captured her heart.” He turned to a shocked Jame. “In other words, she possesses the most natural impulses in the world.”

Onderal scowled at the sentiment and glanced at the Tribunes on either side of him. “Is that all you wish to say, Healer Larke?”

“That’s all I need to say,” Pendon said before returning to his seat in the chamber.

“Is that the only uncertainty and fear that you have concerning Tigh’s rehabilitation?” Jame asked, calming her growing anticipation of bringing this long ordeal to a close.

The Tribunes murmured to each other for several heartbeats.

“We are ready to deliberate the case,” Onderal said.

The Keeper of the Bench sounded the pipe and the Tribunal went to their deliberation chamber.

Jame sank down onto the bench and Tigh wrapped her hand around hers.

“EVERYONE AROUND HERE seems to think that they’re a couple,” Poag muttered, as the three Emorans leaned forward in their seats and huddled their heads together.

“That doesn’t mean that she’s not using Jame,” Sark muttered back.

“But what if we’re wrong?” Tas asked, flicking furtive glances at the pair in the defendants’ box.

“If we’re wrong we report it back to the queen. If we’re right, we do everything we can to get Jame away from that woman,” Sark said.

THE SIDE DOOR scraped opened and the seven Tribunes, wearing inscrutable expressions, entered the chamber.

A grim-faced Onderal cast impatient eyes about the chamber as the spectators returned to their seats and waited in tense silence. “Will the defendant stand.”

Tigh and Jame stood up. Tigh couldn’t keep the nervous flutters away and resisted the need to take Jame’s hand.

“The case of Paldar Tigis has been a unique one from the beginning of her recruitment into the Guards.” Onderal’s voice was laced with reluctant resignation. “But she had always been a model soldier and she led the victorious campaigns that ended the Wars. She has also been a model patient in the rehabilitation program. But we still have the issue of outside perception to deal with. The situation that happened in Glaus will be a common occurrence until the world gets used to a cleansed Tigh the Terrible. We also know that reversals can occur, despite our diligence in the cleansing process. We’re releasing Paldar Tigis from service to the Southern Territories under the following conditions.”

He paused to let the mumbled reaction subside.

“Paldar Tigis must report to the healers every two fortnights for a year as a precaution. If at any time during her life she shows any reversal in the cleansing process, she is to be taken back into the custody of the state. Are these conditions understood?”

Tigh clasped her shaking hands behind her back. “Yes, Tribune.”

“Do you agree to these conditions?”

“Yes, Tribune,” Tigh said.

“Then we release you from your service to the state,” Onderal said. “Come forward and receive your sword.”

A startled Tigh blinked at Onderal. No one had told her they got their swords back. Jame stepped out of the defendants’ box and guided Tigh to the Keeper of the Bench, who held a scabbard and sword.

The Tribunal stood.

“For your military service to the Southern Territories, we present your sword as a gift,” Onderal said.

Tigh stared at the scabbard for several heartbeats and then accepted it from the Keeper of the Bench. The memories of the solid feel of the weapon in her hands and how it had been a part of her body and soul saturated her senses.

She turned to Jame and dropped to one knee. “I pledge my sword to the service of Jamelin Ketlas to be her peace warrior for as long as she’ll have me.” Her emotion-filled words were for Tribunes’ ears but her eyes were all for Jame.

Jame stared at Tigh with an expression that was both stunned and delighted. “I wouldn’t want anyone else as my protector.”

The Tribunal engaged in a muttered conference and then returned their attention to Jame and Tigh.

“In that case,” Onderal said, “you must report to peace warrior training to gain your medallion and become, once again, a servant of the state.”

The solution was so simple, Tigh wondered why none of the people in charge of her rehabilitation had thought of it. She could have her freedom and still be under the authority of the state, making her much easier to control if there was a need.

Tigh grinned and stood up. “I’ll report first thing in the morning.”

“Very, well. Good luck.” A relieved looking Onderal and the other Tribunes sat back on the bench. “Next case.”

SHOCK WAS TOO mild a word for what Sark felt as the Emoran delegation followed the other spectators out of the chamber into the warm afternoon sun.

“Jyac’s not going to be happy,” Sark said as they joined the knots of people waiting for Tigh and Jame to finish their paperwork.

Tas shook her shaggy head. “Argis is going to be livid.”

“Gindor is never going to understand.” Poag stared at the adobe brick ground.

“If she doesn’t feel ready to come home, we just have to give in to her wishes,” a woman said.

The Emorans looked up to see Paldon and Joul Tigis walk by.

“She just needs to settle her life down a bit,” Joul said.

Paldon stopped walking. “She could learn a lot from being the companion to an arbiter.”

“This could turn into a treasured gift for the House of Tigis,” Joul said.

Sark was so intrigued by Tigh’s parents’ foreign attitude that she didn’t notice Jame until she was next to her.

“My princess,” Sark said as she watched Tigh follow after her parents.

“Thank you for attending my first case as an arbiter.” Jame had an ironic twinkle in her eyes. “We’re having a little celebration in our home a sandmark from now. I’d love for you to be there.”

Sark turned to Tas and Poag. Their expressions went from outrage to puzzlement to curiosity. It’d be an opportunity to observe Tigh, now that she no longer needed Jame’s arbiter skills. The pledge of her sword may have been a ruse. At least, that was what they were suppose to think given their queen’s and the Council’s conviction that Tigh was using Jame. Sark didn’t dare to admit it out loud but she’d be surprised if Tigh was anything but sincere in her pledge.

“We’ll be there,” Sark said.

“Thank you. That means a lot to me.” Jame’s sincerity made Sark feel a little guilty about their mission. Everything had been so clear and so certain back in Emoria.

TIGH SHUFFLED HER soft boots against the ground as she listened to her mother’s speech about how proud they were of her and that they understood her need to rediscover her life before returning to Ingor and taking her place in the House of Tigis. She knew her destiny was wherever Jame led her, but she didn’t want to disappoint her parents. They had suffered enough because of her.

“Thank you for understanding,” Tigh said. “I’ll be sharing Jame’s quarters with her. She’s moved into regular housing. We’re having a little celebration. I’d like for you to attend.”

“We’d be delighted,” Paldon said. “It’ll give us a chance to thank everyone for the excellent job they did in restoring our daughter to us.”

TIGH FINALLY MADE it past the well wishes of their friends and found Jame. She was surprised at how many lives both of them had touched during her rehabilitation.

“I think we’re going to have a full house,” Jame said when they ducked down the side lane to their new quarters.

Tigh nodded. The numbness that had accompanied the realization that her ordeal was over had worn off and the reality that she was free hit her with full force. For the first time, she was free to make her own choices for her life and she had given that privilege to Jame. She had never experienced such a wonderful feeling.

Tigh glanced around and tugged Jame into an alley. Before Jame had a chance to say anything, Tigh enveloped her in her arms and gently assaulted her lips.

“Thank you,” Tigh said as she soaked up Jame’s closeness.

Jame snuggled closer. “Thank you for allowing me into your life.”

Tigh smiled. “I had no choice. You bewitched me with your voice. Now I’m yours forever.”

Jame looked up with eyes full of wonder. “Forever. Sounds fine to me.”

Chapter 17

Tigh grinned at the inscrutable expressions on her parents’ faces as a glowing Bede described how she was a natural for treating sick and injured children. This also helped raise her spirits as she dealt with too many people in a small space. The sooner her parents realized she hadn’t changed in the way they had hoped she would, the better. Her sisters were much more suited to the family business.

As she wove around the clusters of friends, Tigh noticed she was being trailed by a group of children and she escaped out the back door.

SARK WAS NOT a happy soul. She looked around the tidy enclosed back yard at the freshly dug holes waiting for a fall planting and realized Jame was serious about making this place her home. She watched as Jame and her mentor discussed what to plant as they hovered over a cascade of pots in the corner of the tiny lot. She found it disconcerting to see her princess so comfortable around these people from all over the Southern Territories. No one in Emoria had even considered that Jame had become a part of this strange but close community at the military compound.

“What do you think?” Tas asked as she juggled a plate of food and a mug of spiced ale.

Sark sighed. “She seems to be well respected.”

“They both seem to be well respected,” Tas said.

They watched three children crawl all over a patient Tigh while she received genial congratulations from several healers and counselors.

“Even if we were wrong about Tigh, she still isn’t a suitable consort for our princess,” Sark said. “Surely Jame sees that.”

A bemused laughter bubbled up from the people as Tigh lifted one child to straddle her neck and cradled the other two youngsters in each arm.

“I told you she was strong enough,” the girl clinging to Tigh’s head said.

Pendon laughed. “The back of an ox.”

A grinning Tigh lowered the children in her arms to the ground and swung the delighted girl from her neck and over her head. She held her there for several heartbeats and then her lowered her to the ground.

Sark saw Jame. “Keep mingling.”

Tas swallowed a mouthful. “With pleasure.”

Sark strode to Jame.

“She’s so good with children,” Jame said.

“She appears to be,” Sark said. “May I have a private word with you?”

Jame nodded and led Sark through the house into the quiet bedroom and shut the door.

Sark looked around the neat oversized room with a cozy sitting area near the fireplace, the chests that contained their clothes and other possessions, the large bed, the black bladed sword in its scabbard hanging on the wall . . .

“We just moved in Tigh’s things,” Jame said. “She had to stay in her own quarters until she was released from the state.”

“So she hasn’t been living here with you yet?” Sark asked.

“Not yet,” Jame said.

“Rehabilitated or not, the queen and the Council are not going to accept her as a suitable life companion for you,” Sark said. “You have to realize, deep down, that a union with that woman will never work.”