Lanaril Satran looked up from her reading at the tap on her study door. “Yes?”
“Excuse me, Lead Templar, but there’s someone here to see you.” Her clerical aide’s eyes were wide and he was exuding an odd mix of nervousness and awe. Someone powerful, then. Fahla save her from Blacksun politicians thinking their needs of the moment were more important than anyone else’s.
“And did you tell whoever it is that this is my quiet time? I would be happy to open my office in…” She checked the antique wall clock. “…another forty ticks.”
Petralsor grew even more nervous. “No, I didn’t. It’s Lancer Tal.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask if he was joking, but his emotions had already provided the answer. Nor was his astonishment any less than hers. Lanaril had long since given up on the piety of Andira Tal, who said and did all the right things to support the religious scholars and temples, but never darkened the doors of Blacksun Temple except for state events.
“Then by all means, show her in.” She carefully marked her place in the book before closing it and setting it on the small table next to her chair. By the time she’d risen and straightened her tunic, Petralsor was back.
“Please enter, Lancer Tal,” he murmured, bowing his head.
“Thank you.” The Lancer’s voice was equally quiet, and when she stepped in, there was a subdued air about her that contrasted sharply with every experience Lanaril had ever had with the woman before now. She’d always seen a vibrant politician in full control of her public image, but in this moment she understood that it was not the politician who currently stood in her study.
Petralsor closed the door almost soundlessly, and Lanaril stepped toward her guest, holding out a palm. “Well met, Lancer Tal. I would say it’s a surprise to see you, but I do hate stating the obvious.”
That earned her a small smile. “Well met, Lead Templar. I’m glad to hear you say that, because today of all days I have no use for the obvious.”
The glimpse of emotions that came through their palm touch confirmed her assumption, and she gestured at one of the comfortable, high-backed chairs facing the window. “This won’t be an official discussion, will it?”
“Not at all.” Lancer Tal sat gracefully as Lanaril retook her own seat. “And I do apologize for interrupting your quiet time. Your aide didn’t know how to say no to me and I’m afraid I took advantage of that. But my time is not my own right now, and this was my only opportunity.”
“You’re very gracious, and I certainly understand the demands on your time. Which can only have tripled since the arrival of our alien visitors.”
“At least.” She rubbed her temples and frowned, and Lanaril didn’t bother to ask before rising again to fill a glass with water from her sideboard. A quick check in the left-hand drawer confirmed that her kit was stocked, and she returned with the glass in one hand and a skinspray in the other.
“Here. It will help.”
Lancer Tal accepted both offerings with a grateful look, emptying the glass in one long drink and injecting herself with the spray immediately afterwards. With a sigh of relief, she let her head fall against the chair back and closed her eyes. “Ah, much better. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Pardon me for asking, but don’t you have people who are supposed to take care of you? Because they’re not doing a very good job.”
“I’m not letting them. I don’t have time.” Her eyes opened again, and in the bright afternoon sunlight they seemed to glow. “Lead Templar, I need your counsel as the one who is closest to Fahla among all of us.”
“I see. Well, in that case, I am not your Lead Templar and you are not my Lancer. We are all family in the eyes of Fahla, and I don’t call my family by their titles. Please call me Lanaril, and if you don’t mind, I will call you Andira.”
The audacity of her request showed in the Lancer’s eyes. “I haven’t used that name in quite some time.”
“That’s not surprising, considering that you live with a title twenty hanticks a day, every day. And if you’re like the other warriors I counsel, all of your friends are warrior caste and have long forgotten you ever had a given name.”
“You’re certainly right about that.” Lancer Tal studied her. “Which does give me hope for this discussion. So yes, call me Andira.”
“I’m honored to do so. Tell me what concerns you, Andira.”
The immediate name usage startled her guest, who paused a moment before asking, “Can I assume, since we’re speaking on a matter of private counsel, that what I say stays in this room?”
“Yes, of course.”
Andira nodded. “Then this is what concerns me. I’ve just spent two hanticks making condolence calls to sixteen families who lost their loved ones yesterday. Every one of those calls was wrenching, but in every one I was able to say, ‘Your loved one died with honor.’ And when I was done, all I could think about was the fact that within the next nineday, it’s quite likely that I’ll be going to my Return as well. But I don’t know if people will be able to say the same thing about me. Lead—Lanaril,” she corrected herself, “I have lived my entire life by the Truth and the Path, and I’ve striven for honor at every opportunity. But the course of action I’m planning right now has very little honor in it. I need to know if you think I can still find a welcome when I Return to our goddess, despite what I have to do to save Alsea.”
Lanaril took a slow breath. “Before I answer that, I need to know a little more about your situation. First, what is your relationship with Fahla right now? Before you do this thing that lacks honor?”
“I’m not as impious as you probably think. Just because I don’t burn offerings doesn’t mean I don’t honor our goddess. It’s just that I don’t feel her in temples, in the places built by Alsean hands. I feel her in the places she built.”
“You’re an outdoor worshipper.”
“Are we that common?”
“Oh, yes. Though your type does make my job harder. I never know who you are until you come through my door. Your worship has no less value for its location; it’s just less convenient for me.”
Andira smiled. “Sorry about that. But I’m afraid even Blacksun Temple can’t compare to a good run through the forest.”
“Well, I’m rather proud of Blacksun Temple, but let me tell you a secret.” Lanaril leaned closer. “Fahla never specified that her people could worship only in her temples. In fact, she left our options wide open.” She laid a finger on her lips before adding in a whisper, “Don’t tell or we’ll find our budget cut in next cycle’s Council finance assessment.”
With a surprised chuckle, Andira said, “You’re not what I expected.”
“Good, because you’re not what I expected either. Funny how we all look so different without our public image, isn’t it?”
“True words.”
“And that’s what I love about my job. When people come to me, they show me who they really are. Somewhat different from your job, I suspect.”
“Even truer words. But I might have a little more insight into the sort of honesty you experience after spending a day and a half with the Gaians. They have no fronts at all. Everything they feel is there for the taking. It doesn’t even require a surface skim; they just bombard you with their emotions. And yet they’re all sonsales.”
“All of them?”
“The entire race. Every alien out there, on many different worlds. They’re all sonsales. Fahla gave her gift only to us.”
Lanaril sat back against her chair with a muted thump. “Great Goddess. I never thought—well, who would have—but this is—” She stopped and gathered herself. “I have so many questions.”
“And there’s one Gaian in particular who would love to answer them, if you don’t mind answering a thousand of hers in turn. She’s fluent in High Alsean, so there won’t be any barrier to an exchange of knowledge.”
“Are you suggesting that you’d allow me to meet her?” She was so excited at the thought that it took her a moment to see the pain in Andira’s expression. “Wait. This thing you have to do, that you’re so worried about—it has to do with this Gaian, doesn’t it?”
“She’s been betrayed twice already, and I’m about to make it three times. The third will be the worst of all.”
Lanaril reached out to rest her hand atop Andira’s, absorbing her distress. “Tell me.”
She did, and it was a story that took Lanaril’s breath away. She’d had no idea of the truth behind yesterday’s emergency announcement or that their world was so close to annihilation. Andira’s desperate plan was all that stood between Alsea and a horrifying fate, but it was a plan that required her to sacrifice her personal honor.
“Is there any moral law older than the law of self-determination?” Andira asked, her voice rough. “We put people who break that law five levels underground.”
“You have a warrant. You’re not breaking the law.”
“I’m not breaking Alsean law. But I’m breaking Fahla’s. Warrants are for criminals—or at least people we can reasonably assume have some guilt. This woman is an innocent. And if I die in the next battle, I won’t have had time to make up for it. There won’t be any redemption.”
“Oh, Andira.” Lanaril squeezed her hand. “That’s not how it works. Do you think that Fahla would just dismiss your entire life prior to this act? That wouldn’t give people much incentive to live with honor, knowing that it would all be moot after the very next slip.”
“It’s hardly a slip.”
“It’s not a slip at all. You have to do this. Fahla protects us, and she clearly protected us from that Voloth invader. But we can’t just sit back and expect her to do all the work. That would make us unworthy, and then what would be the point of saving us? Self-determination also includes saving ourselves. Fahla gave us her gifts for a reason.”
“Do you really believe that? The ends justify the means? We made the greatest warrior in our history an outcaste because he acted on that belief.”
“That’s a politician’s argument, conflating two very different situations.”
“How are they different? He united the seven kingdoms under the Alsean banner. He brought peace after generations of war.”
“Yes, and who did he do that for? Me? You? The baker who made his bread? He did it for himself. For power. Are you seeking power now? You already have it, Lancer Tal.”
The use of her title brought Andira’s eyes up. “And I’d give it up right now if it would save Alsea.”
“Then there’s your answer. It’s not about the act, it’s about the motive behind it. You’re acting on our behalf. Your motive is unimpeachable, and that’s what Fahla sees.”
She held Andira’s gaze, projecting her own conviction. This woman had burdens enough; she didn’t need a crisis of faith on top of them.
Andira was the first to look away, picking up her empty glass and holding it out. “Might I ask for a refill?”
“Of course you may.” Lanaril took the glass to the sideboard, understanding that her guest needed a little time to think. She neatened up the stack of books next to the fruit bowl before slowly pouring the water, and when she turned around, Andira was standing in front of the window.
“You have a lovely view,” she said as Lanaril came up beside her. “Though I imagine it’s a bit nicer with glass instead of construction sheeting.”
“I think you have a better one.” Lanaril handed her the drink. “You get to see this beautiful temple. I just see the top of the State House over the trees in the park.”
Andira smiled. “Your pride is showing. Thank you for this,” she added, and sipped the water.
“You’re welcome. And my pride is entirely justifiable. Only the Lead Templar of Whitemoon could lay claim to a more beautiful temple, and even then I’d have to remind him that Blacksun Temple is bigger.”
Andira sputtered and hastily took the glass away from her mouth. “I would give much to hear that argument.” She put the glass on the windowsill and turned. “I’m grateful for your words. You’ve given me hope that perhaps I can make peace with this. But I might be coming back to speak with you in a few days.”
“You’re welcome any time. You always have been.”
“Thank you. I, ah, haven’t made a habit of speaking to religious scholars…”
“I noticed,” said Lanaril dryly, and Andira chuckled.
“Well, it seems I’ve been denying myself a good debate partner. Despite the topic, I’ve enjoyed our discussion.”
“As have I. But I’ve enjoyed getting to know Andira Tal more. You ought to come out from behind that public persona more often.”
“There aren’t many places I can safely do that.”
“You can do it right here.”
Andira nodded and held up her hand. “Until next time, then.”
It was when Lanaril touched her palm and realized just how deeply her dread still went that the idea struck. Intertwining their fingers and closing her own, she held Andira in place and said, “Let me do it.”
“What?”
“The Gaian is coming here to speak with me, is she not? It’s the perfect time.”
Andira went still, her expression turning to stone even as the shock radiated through their palm touch. “I’d ask if you had any idea what you’re saying, but…you do. Why would you take this on yourself?”
“Because I’m a child of Fahla as well. This is a fight for all of us. I’m not a warrior, but this particular battle is in here, not out there.” She laid her other hand over Andira’s heart. “And it just might be that the scholar in this room is better equipped to fight that battle than the warrior.”
Andira shook her head. “I’m the Lancer. It’s my responsibility—”
“—to do what only you can do. Not the things that others can do for you.” Lanaril released their hands and stepped back. “Don’t be selfish.”
“Don’t be selfish? As if I want to take…” She trailed off. “There’s no glory in this, if that’s what you seek.”
“Spoken like a warrior. I seek no glory. Besides,” Lanaril added, indicating the room around them, “I’m already the Lead Templar of Blacksun. How much more glory do I need? This is not about honor, or glory, or a place in the songs of our children’s children. It’s about sharing burdens and doing what needs to be done. You have a task that needs to be done. I can do it more easily than you. Let me.”
Once again she held Andira’s gaze, but this time neither of them looked away. At last Andira inclined her head.
“You’ve convinced me. I’ll have your name put on the warrant.”
“You will? I mean…” She paused in the face of Andira’s knowing look. “I’m surprised. Pleased, but surprised.”
“As I said, you’re good at debating. I accept your points. And I’m grateful for your willingness to take this burden.” She glanced at the clock. “I must go. You’ll be hearing from Colonel Razine of the Alsean Investigative Force.”
“I look forward to it.”
“If you tell her that, she’ll wonder why for days.”
Lanaril smiled. “You really aren’t what I was expecting, Andira.” She walked her guest to the door and paused before opening it. “I forgot to ask. Why the scholar and not the captain?”
“Because the captain would be far harder to turn. It would be an even greater betrayal. And it’s not necessary; to have one is to have the other. They’re tyrees.” Andira opened the door. “But they don’t know it, and I don’t think we should tell them. Until next time, Lead Templar.”
She strode down the hall without a backward glance, leaving a shocked Lanaril staring after her.
“Tyrees,” she whispered to herself as she closed the door. “Alien tyrees. Oh, Fahla, what have you done?”