The Gathering Flame (36 page)
Read The Gathering Flame Online
Authors: Debra Doyle,James D. Macdonald
“Yes. And if convincing Her Dignity to commit to an alliance on our terms was difficult before …”
Guislen smiled. “I wouldn’t worry. The pressure on the Domina will continue regardless.”
Oldigaard regarded the Adept narrowly. “What do you mean?”
“Entiborans—the common mass of them—are a superstitious lot,” said Guislen. “If the autumn harvests are troubled with blight and crop failure, the people will remember that Perada has as yet no heir, and she will be pushed toward a second attempt well before she apparently desires to make one.”
“Entiborans are also stubborn. And I’m not fool enough to count on blights and droughts showing up when they’re needed.”
“Maybe you can’t trust Entiborans—or Entiboran weather—but I think you can trust the Mages.”
“What do you mean?”
“Their biochemical knowledge is legendary in the outplanets,” said Guislen. Again he smiled. “If unaided nature fails to bring about a useful state of terror, the Mages will assist things until it does.”
The main landing field of An-Jemayne Spaceport was strictly out-of-bounds for unauthorized personnel. Skipsleds scooted back and forth at speed between the ships and the pallets of cargo, throwing up plumes of water from the rain-slicked pavement as they went; heavy machinery—loading cranes, repair booms, catchcradles—worked without regard for spectators. Mistress Vasari had no business being there, standing well inside the safety lines and watching the spaceport traffic.
There was a lot of traffic to watch, even with the Fleet and the Mages skirmishing on a daily basis in the outer system. The field was forested with ships, small and medium-sized ones mostly, though from the vantage point of a person on foot they loomed like giants. The truly big ships never landed at all, but were built in orbit and spent their working lifetimes far beyond any planetary atmosphere. An-Jemayne’s ground facility had enough business without them: couriers and other small Fleet craft, deadly and bright with blue and silver trim; midsize freighters in the colors of the big shipping lines, or in a patchwork of independent hues; light orbit-to-atmosphere shuttles taking off and landing, the flame of their jets making dots of orange against the low grey clouds.
And not far from where Vasari watched, the ship was landing that she had come this far to see.
Warhammer
came down in a roar of engines and a tooth-rattling drone of heavy-duty nullgravs. The nullgravs slowed the last stages of the descent, and kept the starship from grounding until the pilot had maneuvered the ship’s bulk into the proper orientation and extended the landing legs. Then—slowly, a delicate balancing of three systems at once—the engines fell silent, the nullgravs faded out, and the hydraulics in the landing legs groaned and took the strain.
came down in a roar of engines and a tooth-rattling drone of heavy-duty nullgravs. The nullgravs slowed the last stages of the descent, and kept the starship from grounding until the pilot had maneuvered the ship’s bulk into the proper orientation and extended the landing legs. Then—slowly, a delicate balancing of three systems at once—the engines fell silent, the nullgravs faded out, and the hydraulics in the landing legs groaned and took the strain.
Gracefully, for all her awkward shape and size, the
’Hammer
settled into position. Vasari waited. A few seconds later, a skipsled arrowed out onto the field from somewhere in the heart of Fleet territory. No cargo rode on the sled for this trip—the load platform held a group of uniformed types, hanging on to the safety railing while the sled’s driver fired it up to unprecedented speed.
’Hammer
settled into position. Vasari waited. A few seconds later, a skipsled arrowed out onto the field from somewhere in the heart of Fleet territory. No cargo rode on the sled for this trip—the load platform held a group of uniformed types, hanging on to the safety railing while the sled’s driver fired it up to unprecedented speed.
They must really want to talk to him
, Vasari thought.
, Vasari thought.
Someone aboard the
’Hammer
must have been watching the monitors. The ramp went down; the main hatch opened. Figures emerged: Metadi, in mufti—plain shirt and trousers, boots, black velvet. long-coat with silver buttons; a tall woman in Fleet uniform who had to be Admiral Lachiel; two more women in free-spacers’ rig; and last, an unobtrusive figure in a mechanic’s coverall. Errec Ransome.
’Hammer
must have been watching the monitors. The ramp went down; the main hatch opened. Figures emerged: Metadi, in mufti—plain shirt and trousers, boots, black velvet. long-coat with silver buttons; a tall woman in Fleet uniform who had to be Admiral Lachiel; two more women in free-spacers’ rig; and last, an unobtrusive figure in a mechanic’s coverall. Errec Ransome.
It only took Vasari a few seconds to realize that nobody else was noticing Ransome at all. She wasn’t surprised when he failed to join Metadi and the others on the crowded skipsled. Instead, he moved off at an angle, threading his way in between the puddles of rainwater and the crates and stacks of cargo, on what errand she couldn’t tell.
Vasari smiled. She’d done her homework before coming out to the field; she knew where the nearest civilian gate lay in relation to
Warhammer
’s berth. If she headed straight there, instead of trying to shadow a powerful Adept who already had a head start …
Warhammer
’s berth. If she headed straight there, instead of trying to shadow a powerful Adept who already had a head start …
Her gamble paid off. When Errec Ransome, still unnoticed by untrained eyes, had finished making his circuitous way to the civilian gate, Mistress Vasari was able to step out of the shadows into his path.
“Going somewhere?” she asked.
He gave a vague shrug. “No place in particular.”
“Fine,” she said. He was probably lying, or at least telling a bit less than the truth, but it didn’t matter. “Because I want to talk to you. Have you been thinking about that discussion we had?”
“Yes. I can’t go back. Not yet.”
“Good.”
Errec looked amused—or as amused as he ever seemed to look these days, more like a man remembering an emotion than like someone feeling it—and said, “I thought this was going to be another one of those interviews where you try to talk me back into the fold.”
“Later. Right now I need your help.”
“What kind of help?” His voice and eyes were both wary—
Nothing remembered about that emotion
, Vasari thought;
it’s all there and all genuine.
Nothing remembered about that emotion
, Vasari thought;
it’s all there and all genuine.
“The Mages are active again on Entibor,” she said. “I need you to help me find them.”
“And what then?”
The rain had started up again while they spoke, soaking both Vasari’s working blacks and Ransome’s frayed coverall. Vasari didn’t care; she could tell by the look on Ransome’s face that she had him now.
“After we find them, we pump them dry.” She smiled at him sweetly. “And after
that
, Errec dear, you can do whatever your bloodthirsty little heart desires.”
that
, Errec dear, you can do whatever your bloodthirsty little heart desires.”
The winds of late autumn blew around the Summer Palace of House Rosselin, making the big, airy building unpleasantly chill and damp. The Summer Palace, with its high ceilings and ample cross-drafts, had never been meant for keeping warm, and unlike the Palace Major it had never been retrofitted with advanced environmental controls. Perada wore a half-cape these days when she went for an afternoon’s walk along the graveled paths of the formal garden.
Today she’d kidnapped baby Ari from the nursery staff—dedicated professionals all, whose respectful demeanor almost concealed their unspoken opinion of the Domina as an untrained dilettante—and carried him off to the garden. Ari was toddling now; it amused her to contemplate the grave concentration with which he made his slow, careful progress from one point of interest to the next. He was a quiet child, even-tempered and not given to crying, who seldom wanted anything that she could not provide. For that alone she would have loved him; after hours each day spent talking with diplomats and government ministers and petitioners from this district or that guild, all of them needing her to do the impossible.
This morning’s report by the Minister of Agriculture had distressed even Ser Hafrey, who normally paid no heed to the work of the various ministries. Sometime during the course of the last few weeks of fighting, a Mageworlds task unit had reached the outer fringes of the atmosphere before being detected and destroyed. Not soon enough, apparently; the ministry reported a subsequent withering of food grains in areas free of drought or natural disease.
“We are looking,” the Minister had said, “at the possibility—indeed, at the probability—of a biological attack.”
Perada shivered, not so much from the autumn wind as from the memory of the pictures that had accompanied the minister’s report: bare swaths of muddy, rainwashed ground; fruits and vegetables crumbling into loathsome dust; acres of brown leaves on brittle stalks, in a district where the grain should have rippled like a golden carpet from horizon to horizon. And the blight was growing, following the prevailing winds. The minister had brought a list of recommendations with him—strict quarantines, interruption of on-planet and off-planet movement, stockpiling—but not even his most optimistic projections had contained any assurance of success. The name of Sapne had not yet been spoken aloud, but the plague world was close to the front of everybody’s mind.
Nobody thought that a whole planet could go down so fast,
Perada thought. She took away a lump of gravel that Ari had decided to chew on, and let him use her long skirt to pull himself back up to a standing position.
Everybody thought the disasters on Sapne were natural until it was too late.
Perada thought. She took away a lump of gravel that Ari had decided to chew on, and let him use her long skirt to pull himself back up to a standing position.
Everybody thought the disasters on Sapne were natural until it was too late.
And now it’s happening to us.
She heard footsteps crunching on the gravel behind her, and turned to see who it was that approached. Her heart leapt—
An absurd term,
she thought,
but how else to describe the sensation?
—when she saw that it was Jos Metadi who stood there, hatless as always, with the tails of his black long-coat catching and lifting on the rising wind.
An absurd term,
she thought,
but how else to describe the sensation?
—when she saw that it was Jos Metadi who stood there, hatless as always, with the tails of his black long-coat catching and lifting on the rising wind.
“’adda!”
Ari didn’t have many words, but that was one of them. He let go of Perada’s skirt and ran toward Metadi. Jos caught the boy before he could overbalance, and lifted him up to sit in the crook of one arm. Perada came forward more slowly, extending her hand and letting him take it in his free one.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t welcome you properly inside,” she said. “But I didn’t know—”
“Didn’t anyone at Central bother to tell you the
’Hammer
was landed? They snatched me off to a briefing the moment I arrived,” Jos said; “surely they had time.” Ari was pulling at the buttons of his coat, but he didn’t seem to notice.
’Hammer
was landed? They snatched me off to a briefing the moment I arrived,” Jos said; “surely they had time.” Ari was pulling at the buttons of his coat, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“Central rations its electronic messages these days,” she said. “Out of caution, I suppose—the Mages are probably listening to everything they can pick up.” She gave a nervous laugh. “I’m sure that the letter announcing your arrival will get to me in a day or two.”
He didn’t smile. The hand gripping hers tightened for a moment. “Let me announce myself, then. I’m back.”
“I’m glad.” The wind gusted, whipping her skirts around her ankles and tugging at the hem of her cape. “It’s getting cold—let’s go inside, and you can tell me how things went on Maraghai.”
“If that’s what you want to hear.”
There was an edge to his voice. She could tell he was tense about something, but he didn’t speak further.
They walked to the palace in silence and entered through the terrace door. An armed trooper straightened to attention and presented his ceremonial pike as they passed. A modern energy lance, slung from his back with the power cells inserted, showed that the antique weapon wasn’t his major defense.
One of the nursemaids met them just inside the door. She reclaimed Ari so deftly that the baby was on his way upstairs to the nursery before Perada could raise a protest—it was Metadi’s presence that had done it, she decided. The staff had their doubts about her, maybe, but they had absolutely no doubts whatever about Jos.
Still saying nothing, they passed through the antechamber into the private reception area known—from the tall, narrow windows that lined it on both sides—as the hall of light. The afternoon sun slanted through diamond-shaped panes to fall onto the polished floorboards. Except for a table and chairs of pierced fruitwood that had stood in the hall since the day the first Rosselin heir had assumed the Iron Crown, the room had no furniture; it had all been taken to augment the display in the public rooms.
Finally Perada couldn’t put off asking the question any longer. “Did the mission go well?”
“We got what we went for,” Jos said. “The Selvaurs are willing to make an alliance.”
The wave of relief that washed over her was so strong that she had to sit down in one of the delicate carved chairs. She hadn’t realized until now how much she had wanted—how much she had needed—to hear that Entibor was not alone.
“Thank fortune,” she said. “And thank
you
. You couldn’t have brought me a better gift if you’d ransacked half the galaxy for it.”
you
. You couldn’t have brought me a better gift if you’d ransacked half the galaxy for it.”
Jos didn’t smile back at her. His expression—his whole bearing—was tense and edgy. “It looks like you haven’t done too badly in that line yourself.”
“You’re talking about the Galcenians?”
He gave a curt nod. “They were all over system space when we came in. The briefing at Central was long on speculation but short on facts. My commanders insisted on calling them our ‘allies.’”
“I wouldn’t really call them allies,” she said. “They want something a bit more permanent than that.”
“You could do worse.”
“It’s hard to see how,” she said. “Strip away the fine words, and Galcen wants to make Entibor into a client world—a colony, is more like it. At least the Mages are honest about what they’re after.”
“The Galcenians are good fighters, though. Better to have them on your side than not.”
“I suppose.” She looked at him. He stood near the foot of the carved table, too far away for their hands to touch, and his face had not lost its lines of tension. She licked suddenly dry lips and went on. “But I want them with us on our terms, not theirs. This alliance you’ve brought back from Maraghai sounds like enough to tilt the balance.”
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