PALACE
FOURHUNDRED TWENTYFIVEDAY, VESPERS
Lyte awoke to the sound of furtive rustlings in the room. As his eyes focused, a figure cut off the light in his vision. But the light was pale, as if—as if the star was setting. Damn, I fell asleep.... Lyte gained full consciousness and realized Moran was looking at him. The man looked more rested than Lyte had seen him for a long time. Managing his famous winning smile, Lyte sat up.
“You’re looking good. Have an enjoyable afternoon?” Lyte said.
“Very. How went your exploring?” He replied, turning back to his dressing. His voice was light, amused, and Lyte was certain Moran knew he had never left the room.
“How long until the feast?” Lyte asked instead, getting up and walking over to the shower basin. He recognized the tub and bypassed it, suspecting he’d fall asleep again. The water falling out of the wall was much cooler but effervescent and exhilarating to the touch. His skin tingled as he quickly worked up a lather.
“We can go to the Great Hall at any time. You won’t recognize it.” Moran moved to the mirror and carefully adjusted the starbursts that symbolized the rank of first officer. “Ronüviel will meet us there. I think Braan brought some clothes to the palace, so he’ll also show up quickly.”
“I thought Braan lived in his own house,” Lyte murmured, smearing a depilatory over his cheeks and chin.
“He does but—I thought I told you about his wife.” The face that Lyte turned toward him was puzzled. “Enid is dying,” Moran went on quietly, “and she’s been here at the palace for several years. It was thought too depressing for the children to have it all going on under the same roof. Braan divides his time among the children, his art and his wife’s bedside, although she hasn’t recognized any of them in over five years.”
“There’s a sadness about him. That explains a lot,” Lyte answered. Rinsing off, he stepped out of the shower and dried himself as he walked over to his tackle. The black and silver dress uniform unfolded wrinkle-free, as always. There wasn’t much Lyte hated more than a dress uniform, but protocol demanded it. The sheer number, much less the status of the dignitaries attending, made a simple dodge impossible. He carefully adjusted on his collar the even-armed crosses that were the insignia of his rank, and reached for a hair rake. His hand brushed against his timespot. Intrigued, he picked it up and examined it. A sheen to the finish ... They’re quick here.
“Where do you know Jaacav from?” Moran suddenly asked.
Lyte, masking his surprise, did not look at him. “I don’t, really. A couple of furloughs ago I played against her in a high stakes edifice game on Mercury 7. There were maybe a half-dozen of us. Never did catch her name,” Lyte replied, attaching the timespot to his cuff.
“Don’t sound so casual about it. You obviously recognized her.”
Lyte glanced at him. Was Moran fishing or teasing? He decided he was getting paranoid. “And she recognized me. There aren’t many people capable of holding their own in a game like that—especially in the military. A good-looking woman, a great gambler, of course I remember!” Lyte hoped he didn’t sound defensive.
“Yet you didn’t follow up on her while you were there.”
“I couldn’t—she left mid-game and had left the tratore by the time I had finished.” That was the truth. He hoped Moran would leave it at that. The warrior seemed unperturbed.
“Well, now you have a chance to follow up on it. She’ll be here tonight.”
“I have a lot of things I plan to follow up on,” Lyte finished, flashing Moran what he hoped looked like a confident smile. “It’s time to explore a bit. See you there.” He started for the chamber door.
“Don’t get lost!” Moran called by way of parting.
Lyte ducked out the door of their chamber and into the spacious hallway. He had no desire to pursue the subject of Jaac—now, or at any other time. He found her disturbing, just as he had on Mercury 7, and that was a rare response on his part to any woman. He had no time to think of this, however, for he realized he had forgotten a turn. He saw a figure up ahead enter the corridor, and hurried to catch up.
“Hey, can you tell me—oh, hi.” For a moment he had not recognized Braan. The man had changed into more formal clothes; deep brown, loose-fitting mandraia pants and a pale yellow gauze shirt which was embroidered in a rich brown on the cuffs and pointed collar. “I’m lost. How do I get out?”
“Follow me.” Braan glanced at Lyte’s dress uniform. “Do they never let you out of that thing?”
“Depends on what you mean. My swimming string is blue and I sleep in the raw. Does that count?” It was all he could think of to say. The truth was, he owned three regulation uniforms and a dress suit—nothing else.
“I suppose it is some sort of freedom. I have to make a stop. Come.” Braan turned and started back down the corridor. Lyte did not mind retracing his steps; he was thankful Braan did not ask why he had left without Moran, or at least remark on his being lost. Lyte decided to increase his observations. Moran had a lot of respect for this man. Again, as earlier, he felt something different about Braan. Something elusive. His feet made no sound on the stone floor, though he wore boots.
Interesting ...
They suddenly stopped before a door.
“You may wait here.” He opened the door and walked in. Braan had said may—a choice. Lyte looked in. He was not prepared for what he found. It was apparently a study which had been converted into a bedroom. A dark man he did not recognize was present, passing a small, flat instrument about a meter above the bed. Lying on the bed was a woman. At least he thought it was a woman; she appeared no bigger than a ten-year-old. She was tiny, so incredibly tiny, and very pale, with a mass of dark curls. Lyte noticed a young woman sitting in a nearby chair. She had been reading a tape console, but now raised her head, startled by Braan’s presence. She glanced quickly at the window, and Lyte saw a sundial.
“Go get dressed. You will not be late. Thank you for staying, but you should be out more—your vacation is almost over.” She managed a lovely smile, and then slipped out past Lyte into the corridor. She was small and slender but properly endowed, with long, thick hair the color of raw bee’s honey. Lyte never missed the essential elements of a pretty woman, no matter how young. Looking back, he saw Braan had moved next to the bed.
“No change,” the healer offered. “I am staying the next shift.” His voice did not indicate he had ever expected any change. Lyte studied the tableau; Braan was expressionless. He slowly reached out toward her face, just barely touching a curl. Then he turned abruptly and moved to the door. Lyte quickly backed up.
They swiftly left the room and continued on down the corridor. Braan was still impassive, and Lyte refrained from comment. The woman had to be Enid, and it was clear her condition was deteriorating. Such a contrast; what Braan appeared to be and what old stories, now almost legends, had to say about him. Years of watching his woman die; yes, Lyte supposed it could wither a man.
“Her name is Shinar,” Braan said quietly. Startled, Lyte glanced at the man. The Atare smiled slightly. “The little blonde you were admiring. Her name is Shinar reb^Elana—the daughter of Elana.”
Lyte watched as the tension in the man slowly dissipated. Fascinating, the control this Nualan had over his body. Almost like a commando. Amazing that he’d noticed anything beyond his wife. Shinar ... smooth on the tongue. Where had he heard the name Elana?
“I ... prefer blondes,” Lyte offered vaguely.
“So did I, but I married a brunette.”
The conversation faded as they reached a set of bronze doors. They were now in the Hall of Mirrors. Darkness was falling fast, and the mysterious light source flared brighter, as if in response to the coming night. Instead of being in isolated wall pockets, each firegem was over a window, reflecting eerily in the mirrors on either side.
The two men quickly reached the dome and, as of yet, had met no one. The sound of music and voices could be heard coming from the Great Hall. Braan took hold of the chamber door and swung it inward.
It had been transformed. Lyte found it hard to believe this room had been the dark, empty chamber of a few scant hours ago. The normal light sources were supplemented by blazing torches. They revealed a ceiling almost as tall as the dome, its face resembling interlocking tetrahedrons. The huge tables he had seen earlier were now covered with soft beige cloths and heaped with food both native and imported. All of the visible food containers or supports were blown out of glass or trine gold. Music was provided by one of Amura’s excellent chamber ensembles. Lyte took it all in and quickly dug in his pocket and pulled out his next pill. As he popped it in his mouth, Braan noticed the movement.
“You will regret that,” he warned. Lyte could not cover his grimace. Even polished, the pill had quite an aftertaste. “You would think a technology like ours could do something about that. I suggest you get—” Braan broke off as a waiter passed and grabbed one of the tall glasses of saffra. “Here.” Lyte did not protest, gratefully gulping the drink.
Someone chuckled behind him, and Lyte turned his head. A dark, handsome young man about his own age silently waited, amusement sparkling in his eyes.
“Be honest, Braan. Did you purposely wait to warn him about the pills?” the man asked. Braan’s face took on an air of total innocence. The off-worlder’s interest sharpened; this Nualan addressed an Atare by name.
“Lyte, I would like you to meet my Moran—Gid reb^Tinyan. This is Second Officer Lyte, Moran’s alter ego,” Braan said, dismissing the Nualan’s questions with a gesture. Still unable to speak, Lyte nodded a greeting. “I thought you decided not to attend this night?”
“I wished to meet Lyte before I left for Tolis,” Gid answered. “And I have accomplished my task. I also need to speak with Arrez. Have you seen him yet? I saw Shinar in the hall a few moments ago, but she had yet to dress for the feast.”
“Does this feast have any special significance?” Lyte asked when he had regained his voice.
“The harvest is in full swing. During the festival we reap by day and give thanks by night. This is a fruitful planet, but not without great effort on the part of the planters. The year will be good—already the deep grain vaults are full, the vegetables and fruits sealed.” Pride seemed to radiate from Gid as he spoke. “We have great hopes for the grape and berry crops of both the coast and the desert.”
“Perhaps you would like to sample a few things,” Braan said casually. “Go light on the food, but if you normally hold your liquor the wines will be no problem. Do not eat any of that.” He pointed to a tray heaped with a type of meat or meat substitute rolled in red leaves. “Even the pill cannot counteract a few of those yet.”
Lyte nodded his understanding and then gestured for a cantinamaster to pour golden fire into a green-stemmed glass. Braan’s head suddenly shot up, and he strained to see past the crowd. “Arrez and Elana just came in. Come, we shall introduce you, and then, feel free to mingle.”
The high priest was easy to find in the crowd; he was the only man wearing white. The robe was festive, made not of the mandraia plant but of syluan, one of Nuala’s two priceless exports. Trine gold—trinium—was merely the rarest of the precious metals, but syluan flowers were found nowhere else in the known stellar systems. The faint glimmer always associated with syluan gave him a slightly immaterial appearance, as if he were a dream. Arrez was tall, slender and patrician, his high cheekbones, sculptured features and dark coloring marking him of Latin ancestry. His flashing, dark eyes gave an observer the impression that Arrez missed nothing. Lyte immediately sensed a kinship between the priest and Braan, though they looked nothing alike.
Arrez’s dark tan and long, dark, swept-back hair contrasted vividly with the woman beside him. Elana had chosen a swirling syluan dress the exact color of her deep blue eyes. Lyte had only a moment to wonder if she chose the diaphanous outfit accidentally or by design, and then Braan’s grip on his elbow propelled him before the pair.
“Arrez, I would like you to met Moran’s friend, Second Officer Lyte. This is the High Priest Arrez.”
“My pleasure, warrior. Gid,” Arrez added, nodding to the man. “Lyte, may I present Dr. Elana, my firstwife?” Arrez turned an open, interested, and amused face to Lyte, who was unabashedly staring at Elana. So familiar, so beautiful, and yet ... not just at the transport ship ... “Ah, and our daughter Shinar and Elana’s son, Kire.”
Lyte turned, and beside him was the lovely young woman of Enid’s room, dressed in a riot of aqua syluan and silver netting. Her escort was a tall, handsome young man with dark auburn hair. Lyte stared a moment, and then said, “Your daughter?” He fought to control his embarrassment as he realized how it sounded, but both women were amused by his expression.
“You flatter me, warrior,” Elana began in her warm, rich voice. “Come—tonight you may continue for an indefinite length of time.” She took his arm and gently drew him off. With a quick greeting to Braan and Gid, Kire and Shinar vanished into the crowd, Kal suddenly appearing at Shinar’s side.
oOo
Relieved of his obligation, Braan turned his full attention on Arrez and Gid.
“How are Mariah and Chaka?” he asked, inclining his head graciously to High Priestess Draü and her firsthusband as they entered the hall. Arrez’s third and fourth wives were both in poor health.
“Chaka is ill again, and Mariah had a prophecy this afternoon, and is sleeping things off.”
“It was that bad?” Gid said, concerned. His family had been close to Arrez’s for many years.
Arrez frowned and, gently taking hold of Braan’s and Gid’s elbows, steered them out of the mainstream.
“I really do not know. It is the second time she has had this dream.” The priest’s voice was quiet, as if his words were not for the casual listener. “It begins more as an emotional thing—an overwhelming feeling of terror. I think much of her own fright comes from this weak, helpless feeling. Then she sees the temple, and Draü is at the altar, trying to protect the chalice. Stone is falling. I am a blur, and then gone. Baskh is there and tries to drag Draü away from the altar.” Arrez paused a moment. “And then there is fire—a veil of fire which rises and screens the scene, like syluan, she said—and it grows, consuming everyone, everything. Her last image is of the planet in flames. But they looked ... artificial? I do not think it is a literal dream.”
Braan glanced at Gid, and was disturbed by the expression on his face; he was pale, his skin dusky. This was no jest on the priest’s part—they had all ceased to play games with each other’s minds a long time ago. They knew each other too well.
“Mariah dreams truly —” Gid whispered.
“Not always,” Arrez broke in sharply. “She has a high accuracy rate, true, but no one can see all futures at all times. We have many paths before us.”
“I wonder,” Braan murmured, letting his mind wander down an unpleasant path.
oOo
The crowd burst into excited whispering, and a turn of the head told Braan that Roe and Moran had arrived. He heard the comments—the perfect couple ... Perhaps. Moran the dashing warrior, Roe heart-stopping in a flowing emerald dress. Braan amused himself wondering if anyone else had noticed that Roe had put on weight. He did not doubt the existence of a child.
“What do you think of him?” Arrez asked suddenly.
“I like him. We have not had time to talk at length, but what I have seen, I like.”
The priest nodded, his gaze following the couple with obvious pleasure. Roe was his favorite of all the Atare children. “She will be happy with him. That is most important. He will be a good husband—I think a good father. One of us should talk to him, you know—more than idle chatter. Before he leaves the planet again.”
“I shall work on it. Right now Lyte concerns me more.” Braan had been studying the silvery warrior for several minutes. He was as usual surrounded by women, both Nualan and off-worlder, and was enjoying the attention.
“Lyte? You have been hoping he would come. Granted, he is infatuated with my wife and will undoubtedly seduce—or be seduced by—my eldest daughter before he leaves, but what has he done to concern you?”
Braan laughed. “You are not disturbed at the prospect?”
Arrez smiled in return. “Elana no longer strikes me as eager to continue having children, and a foreign source always increases the chances. But if it was her wish, I would want the best for her. Kire was off-world-sired, though I have never known who his father was. Accordingly, if Shinar finds a joy in Lyte, why not? To add to our family such a healthy child, as I know it would be—it would be marvelous. And a plus for her marriage status.”
“Then you consider him the best?” Gid asked, his face sharp once more.
Arrez inclined his head slightly. “Mariah has dreamt of him and described him quite well, incidentally. She called him a wildman, a heathen king of tremendous loves and hates. She saw him two-faced, and the other was Moran’s. I prefer to interpret it as meaning that there is much of Moran in Lyte and vice-versa. Yes—I have a good feeling about him.”
“So do I,” Braan replied. “That is what worries me. He is sensitive-trained. He knows the empathy of our people, yet he is being very careful. Why? What is he hiding? I sense a fear in him, more than a warrior’s nervousness at being among so many strangers. Lyte does not strike me as a man who frightens easily. If I could just get them away from Amura for awhile ...”
“That can be arranged,” Gid said. “I have spoken to Baskh Atare. There are some rumblings up in Tolis, a disquieting air dealing with the current synod session. It is all explained in this capsule.” Gid held up the tiny, glittering tome, the seal of Baskh visible on its side. “You cannot deny that my parents and the other sinis prefer to deal with you. They trust you as they have not trusted in centuries. It is an official trip, and he would send Tal, but this needs your delicate touch. Why not take Roe, Moran and Lyte and head north with me?”
Braan hesitated. “Enid is worse....”
“I know, my friend. He hesitates to ask but for the seriousness of this business.” Gid’s voice dropped again. “It concerns the current star-shuffle and some land grabbing, among other things. My parents have not spoken openly of it, even to me. There is nothing you can do for Enid; there is much you can do for continued good relations between Amura and Tolis.”
“Look cheerful, we have company,” Arrez said in warning. He put on his warm, embracing smile as Roe and Moran came up to them.
“Gid! I thought you had left!” She embraced the dark man, who suddenly looked almost shy. “I have come to deposit my man safely in your arms, dear brother, and to borrow your man. We must go pick just the right wine for Moran. Arrez, I need your keen nose.” Ronüviel gracefully took the High Priest’s arm and drew him toward the cantinamaster. Arrez’s handsome maturity fell from him, his face lighting up boyishly as he escorted her into the crowd.
“Perhaps an herbidian chablis?” they heard him say as the two disappeared in the press.
“He’d do anything for her, wouldn’t he?” Moran asked rhetorically, nodding a friendly greeting to Gid.
“As long as it was moral and honest, I would say yes,” Braan replied.
“And legal?” the warrior added for him. Braan’s sly smile crept out, and he shrugged.
Gid began laughing. “Come. Food and wine await. You have had the pill series?” Moran nodded in answer to Gid’s question. “Then by all means try the cide.”
Moran reached for a delicate pastry as Braan signaled the cantinamaster. “Dramiera, please.” The warrior glanced back to see this favorite Atare drink, noting Gid’s polite refusal. Then he looked in one of the hall’s upper mirrors—and his expression froze. Seeing Moran’s face, Braan looked up as well. Someone was using the mirrors for observation. An older man, tall, broad-shouldered, with snow white hair and dark eyes—like pits, those eyes ... The look was malevolent. Moran shuddered. The eyes seemed to recognize them, and grew more intent. Braan evenly met the gaze.
“Meant for you?”
“I do not think so ... not this time. We often use the mirrors like his, he and I. To my face he is quite cordial. That is Corymb Dielaan, the head of the Dielaan clan. He hates Atares. Especially Braan of Atare.” Braan turned away and reached for a drink; Moran followed suit. “I do not envy whomever he is seeking.” A tiny gasp of protest reached his ears. Braan’s head snapped back, but only the cantinamaster was present, his face a mask.
“You spoke?”
“No, Seri. I made his drink weaker, and he has yours.”
Moran sipped his liquor. “This is fine, not too strong.”
“In the future, please inquire first before you make such a judgment,” Braan said tranquilly, watching the cantinamaster. The man returned no expression. Turning, the Nualan prince moved away from the table, Moran and Gid following.
“I wanted to ask you to come with me into the coastal mountains,” Braan started. “I have been planning a vacation. However, something has come up, and Gid and I must go north to Tolis. I want to take Roe, though I have not yet asked her. You could bring Lyte, if you think he could handle the trip. You have never been, have you?”
“No, I haven’t. The mountains would have fascinated him. Too bad ...”
“Think about it. I know it is sudden. Here comes Roe.”
The woman appeared before them, balancing three glasses of wine. “We decided on Sonoma River Chardonnay. Arrez was raving about it, but I think you should judge for yourself.” Thanking her, the men took the glasses and tasted the wine. Always appreciative of fine wine, especially white, Moran quickly agreed with Arrez’s taste. Gid and Roe laughed at them as they stood holding a glass in each hand, and then Roe leaned over to whisper to her man. “Moran, I have to talk to you about something before Arrez announces we are getting married.”
“Announces? Tonight?”
Roe looked puzzled. “We decided on the Feast of Adel. That is tonight.”
“That feast is this feast?”
She laughed at his bewilderment and took his arm. “Too late, Arrez is signaling.” She took one of his glasses and started dragging him toward the speakers’ platform. “Here comes Baskh Atare.” Looking around wildly, Moran saw the aging ruler and his consort make their entrance to a grand ovation. Braan and Gid slipped away.
oOo
“Guests of the domain!” Arrez’s authoritative voice boomed out over an unseen amplifier. “Now that our Atare is present, we wish to bring to your knowledge glad tidings for the people of Nuala.” The conversation on the huge floor ceased; Arrez had everyone’s attention as Roe struggled to reach the platform. “Tonight, we wish to announce that another of the house of Atare, of the direct throne line of this generation, has decided to marry in the full sight of Most Holy Mendülay and of proper witnesses. I wish to announce the banns of Ronüviel reb^Ila Atare and First Officer Moran of the Axis Forces.” The uproar that followed drowned out anything else that Arrez intended to say, and finally, with a smile and a helpless shrug, he stepped from the platform and embraced Roe.
The next half hour was joyous, unnerving confusion. They were mobbed by family, diplomats and citizens alike, and emotions ranged from radiant pleasure to tight-lipped formality. Roe was reminded that potential problems were not confined to house enemies and then pushed the thought out of her mind. Her sisters and brothers were full of congratulations and suggestions; even paranoid Deveah relaxed enough to join the small, encouraging group. As the conversation flowed, Roe was suddenly aware of a dark presence and turned to her husband-to-be. Moran was facing Corymb. The elder noticed her movement and smiled graciously, nodding his head respectfully, but Roe could not rid herself of discomfort. Corymb’s smiles always meant something else. She had never doubted that the attempt on the heir’s life, many years ago, had indirectly come from Corymb. Remove Tal, and Deveah would be next in line ... and Corymb controlled Deveah. Moran’s features were carefully neutral, refusing to recoil from the death in Corymb’s face and the lies in Deveah’s eyes. Deveah’s eyes were the most disturbing—one green eye glittered, and the other, the rare Sheel Split of half green, half brown, was dull and lifeless.
Corymb would not allow a silence to settle. “The future Ragäree’s husband is an agroengineer of some renown. I hope your skills shall be as useful to the people.” The elder’s tone was polite, interested—the consummate speaker.
“Ronüviel must think so,” Moran replied. Roe knew that voice—he was controlling anger. Moran was dangerous when he was angry.
“Thank you for coming, Dielaan,” Roe murmured swiftly, using the title of respect for the man. “My man and I have much to speak of. You will excuse us? It seems a good time to leave.”
“Of course.” The colorful, pulsing crowd swirled, and both Corymb and Deveah were gone. She felt Moran relax.
He turned to her. “Thank you. You wanted to tell me something?”
“Yes.” She drew him out of the mob and toward the wall. “I have been trying to tell you that I think I am pregnant, but there has not been time to take the tests. Braan suspects, but no one else.”
Moran looked a bit dazed by the news and stared at her. Then he gently reached out to touch her cheek in a simple caress. Her expression bloomed, and she hugged him.
“Come, get your drink. I want to see Jaac before she takes Braan’s children to bed. She is their godmother, you know.” Reaching to the cantina table, Moran grabbed his Dramiera, swallowed the remainder, and then followed her.
oOo
Lyte floated among the guests, his face the blasé mask of the tratores, his ears absorbing every word and nuance. A familiar name caught his attention, and he paused near two consuls.
“Are you suggesting there are people who could profit from her removal?”
“When one is at the top of one’s profession, life itself becomes a cat-and-mouse game. It’s common knowledge what Elana has been working on for ten years. And I have seen the optics—the rumors of her findings are true!”
“You believe the Nualans are human, as we are human, and no longer need genetic tampering? Even if it is true, do you think her colleagues will stand by and watch their pet projects lose funding?”
So intelligence had been correct: Elana was currently in disfavor over her research. Something about cutting the Nualans loose from their medical intravenous tube and encouraging reproduction with no medical interference ...
“You look much too preoccupied for a party. Can I point you to some diversion?”
Lyte turned and met Shinar’s clear blue eyes. Thick blonde hair tumbling at several levels, held by clasps—what was she, sixteen terra? Gods ... “I think I just found it,” he answered.
“Oh? For the moment, perhaps. You can save the charm because, yes, I am susceptible, and yes, I am on guard. You will have to make other plans for the rest of the evening.”
“Don’t worry, I’m probably twice your age, and that tends to put a kink in my style. Also I don’t trust Nualan women. They steal men’s souls.”
She laughed, the sound of it ringing in the crystal goblets. “Do not let it bother you, I have had lovers much older than you.” And she was gone. Gods ...
“I’m just as interesting as she is.”
Lyte glanced to his side. The speaker was one he had talked with earlier, a person of importance; she was the under secretary of the Military Council and a second officer. She was also a lovely blonde. Lyte had a weakness for blondes.
“Who am I to disagree?” he returned, handing her a drink from the nearby cantinatable. She smiled demurely, turning on the charm. He smiled in answer, with no need to attempt to be charming.
“Just be sure she’s willing—there’s no penalty for mutual seduction, but the penalty for rape is castration.”
Lyte somehow hung on to his composure. “What about a—false accusation? Somehow an apology wouldn’t, well—”
“Make up for things? The punishment for a false accusation is death.” She laughed, then, a perverse humor taking over in her. “Needless to say, they’ve had something like two rapes and one false witness in about four thousand years. I guess it works. The law, and their social system.”
Lyte nodded absently, intending to be very sure of Shinar’s true feelings if he chose to pursue that course. “I don’t know much about Nuala. Suppose we try a few local delicacies, and you can instruct me in some of the upcoming customs. I’ve heard about the grape harvest celebration....”
“This way,” she answered, taking his arm and leading him to a banquet table.
oOo
Something was very wrong. Moran tried to remember if he had taken an anti-rav pill and could not. Of course not, he took the series long ago. For a moment he couldn’t remember where he was, and that frightened him. Suddenly someone was standing next to him, gripping his arm. He turned and tried to focus. Vertigo overwhelmed him. It was Ronüviel.
“Moran? What is it? You did not eat any chéraka, did you?”
He was having trouble focusing on her. “No, I know better than—Lords, I’m dizzy.”
She flinched at the polytheistic off-world oath. “We must get you to a chair. You have a delicate stomach; maybe you need more pills. If that cantinamaster is watering the liquor, I shall have his license.” She began to haul him toward a table.
“No! No, I just want to lie down awhile. Maybe I haven’t eaten enough. Some of these liquors are strong ... and I had wine. Shouldn’t—shouldn’t have mixed ... “ He stumbled, Roe barely able to steady him.
“Come on, then, let us go back to your room. I want to run some tests on you.”
“I thought you ... don’t treat ... family.”
“I shall get Elana, then!” She pulled his arm across her shoulders. “Come on, this way. We do not want the guests to think you have been celebrating all day, do we?” Roe added, attempting to force humor.
oOo
Fortunately they were close to the bronze doors and quickly rounded the corner into the Hall of Mirrors. Moran looked up, and the lights reflecting in the mirrors threw him into such a spin, he collapsed to his knees. At that moment Jaac entered the hallway.
“Roe? What is wrong?” She hurried over to the couple.
“I do not know. I think it may be the water. Help us!”
“Is—not!”
Jaac went to Moran’s other side, and the two hauled him to his feet.
“You must try, Moran,” Roe said, wishing the guaard was not stationed inside the bronze doors tonight instead of outside them. “You must carry some of your own weight!” They were scarcely halfway down the hallway when it became apparent that he was not able to carry any weight. Finally the women let him sit down on the floor, Roe supporting his back and head.
“I shall go bring a stretcher,” Jaac began, “and see if I can find Elana.” She ran back down the hallway to the bronze doors, only to meet Lyte and the under-secretary.
The man stopped her. “What’s wrong? You—“
“It is Moran. He is ill, extremely ill. We need Elana.”
“What!” Lyte dashed down the corridor to the huddled pair. “Never should have left him, never!” he muttered savagely under his breath. “Can you stand?”
“Yes. Room. Please.” Lyte grabbed Moran in a body lock and slowly hauled him to his feet.
“Roe, balance him. Jaacav, get a doctor or somebody! He may have been poisoned!” The woman was already gone. He suddenly realized what he had said. “Oh—you’re a doctor. I’m—“
“Forget it, I do not have my instruments. Let us hurry. If it is rav poisoning he should be lying on his back.” The two dragged him down the hall. The off-worlder woman, momentarily forgotten, followed them.
They left the blonde at the bronze doors, Lyte promising to return to her. It was not far to the guest room, and the guaard helped; only the turns and curves made it seem long. The group had barely set Moran on the bed when Elana, Jaac and Braan entered the room. The doctor went straight to the man and whipped out a meter, passing it above his body while Roe made him comfortable. Using a tiny probe, she withdrew a single drop of blood from his arm and absorbed the fluid into her meter. Ronüviel felt her eyes widen as she read the flashing sequence of lights. Elana took an air injection hypo out of her small bag and gave Moran a shot. The tossing man immediately relaxed, unconscious.
“What—“ Lyte began.
“A common poison,” Elana answered abruptly. She turned to Braan. “How could this have happened?” she asked in Nualan. “Who could have followed him and done this—and why?” Braan did not speak. A guaard signaled for Jaac’s attention, and she left the room.
“We must leave the city,” Roe whispered tightly. “Until Jaac can discover what is happening.”
“That is not a problem. Baskh has requested we go to Tolis. I thought Lyte and Moran could travel with us.”
“The radioactive city?” Lyte asked carefully, visibly grateful they were speaking Axis once again.
“It will be one of the more memorable times of your life, Lyte—the trinium mines are there. And it is the most secure city on the planet—the best place for Moran right now.” Lyte nodded absently, the wheels visibly turning in his mind. Before he could frame a reply, Jaac returned.
“Curiouser—we have a body.” The others stiffened in reaction to her words. “A cantinamaster—his neck is broken, and it could not have happened from a fall, the healer says.”
“Cantinamaster?” Braan repeated sharply. “From what station?” Jaac told him, briefly describing the man. Braan nodded slowly, and then spoke softly. “Lyte, there is nothing we can do for Moran now, except let the antidote run its course. We shall depart on The Nova with the tide, if you have no objections. Try to relax the rest of this evening—Roe is better qualified than any of us to care for Moran. She has the vested interest in his future.” Elana nodded, her gaze upon Braan. Then, with a nod to Roe, she swept out of the room, Jaacav following.
Lyte looked at Braan. The Nualan was pale; this had clearly frightened him. The warrior looked almost reassured at Braan’s reaction as he slowly walked out of the room. Only after Lyte exited did the two guaard leave, the woman setting the door slightly ajar and stationing herself in front of it.
“There is one great problem, Roe....” Braan whispered.
“What?” she asked, not looking up as she loosened Moran’s collar and cuffs.
“The drink of Dramiera—the cantinamaster meant it for me.” Roe’s head shot up, and they stared at one another a long moment. Braan turned to leave. “At tide.”