Kamoj rocked back and forth, agonized. Vyrl was dying and she was helpless to do anything. Even his healers couldn’t stop the demon that wracked him like a stick-man made of twigs.
"Give him more meds!" Dazza said. "Double-dose the chest wound."
"He’s got too many in his body already," a man said.
"Do it!" Dazza ordered.
A woman said, "Heartbeat and blood pressure dropping below critical levels. Colonel, we’re losing him."
"No. Gods, no." Dazza gripped the pallet. "Vyrl, come back! Don’t let go. Not now. Not after you’ve come so far."
"The nanomed concentration in his blood is too high," a man said. "They’re starting to break down his tissues."
"Clean them out," Dazza said. "Neutralize now!"
Vyrl stopped jerking. As his body went limp, a healer said, "Neural inhibition working. Neurons fatiguing." Riding on the tail end of her words, a man said, "His right lung collapsed," and another said, "Med concentration decreasing."
Dazza glanced at a man bent over a panel of lights. "Can we save the lung?"
"The meds got to the puncture site before we flushed," he said. "I’ve got the pneumothorax under control and regeneration around the wound is taking."
The colonel nodded, then turned to a woman who was studying a collection of ghosts above a silver platform. "What happened to him?" Dazza asked.
"That was a grand mal seizure," the woman said. "A generalized tonic-clonic attack, like an epileptic convulsion. I haven’t tracked down the cause yet."
"There!" a man said. He held up the arrow that had been in Vyrl’s chest. When Kamoj saw blood gush out of Vyrl’s wound, bile rose in her throat. It wasn’t the blood; she had tended injured farm hands with wounds just as serious. But it had never been her husband before, bleeding away his life. His lung had collapsed. How could he survive such wounds?
Someone said, "We have the second one," and held up part of another bloody arrow. Kamoj hadn’t even realized part of that one had stayed in Vyrl’s body. Other healers attached patches to the inside of his elbows while a man pressed a tube against his neck.
"Colonel, I’ve got what caused his seizure." That came from the woman bent over the silver ghosts. "The last sedative, the Perital, interacted with the alcohol in his bloodstream. It set off a reaction in the series-N nanomeds he carries, which acted on the psiamine receptors in his brain. With all those extra neural structures he has up there, it was too much. His neurons started firing like mad and the excitation spread." She glanced at the doctor. "His brain went into overload."
Dazza nodded tiredly. "Log the whole cycle, Lieutenant. Next time we’ll know."
A man’s voice came out of the air. "Colonel Pacal, shall I take the shuttle up to the Ascendant?"
"Yes," Dazza said.
"No," Vyrl whispered.
Dazza leaned over him, two tears running down her cheeks. "Holy saints, Vyrl, don’t you ever stop arguing?"
Opening his eyes, he looked up at her. "Never want . . . see that medical bay again."
Her voice gentled. "We need its equipment."
"Everything you need . . . at palace."
"I’ll feel better with you on the ship."
"Won’t go back there."
"I can have Jak Tager meet us at the docking bay–"
"No! Told you. Don’t need him."
"Vyrl, I’m sorry. But I want you on the cruiser."
His eyes closed. "Then the hell with you."
"Doctor-Colonel," Kamoj said.
Dazza looked up. "Kamoj? Are you hurt?"
"No, ma’am." She tried to make her voice calm, so Dazza would listen to her, but it made the words come out stilted. "If you break the spirit of a greenglass, you can still force it to serve you. But it will serve neither willingly nor well. Break the king of the stags and the entire herd dies."
"What the hell?" a healer said. Another said, "She’s just a kid. She’s probably scared."
"No." Dazza was watching Kamoj. "I know what she means." She pushed her hand through the silver tendrils of her hair. Then she said, "Major, change of orders. Take us to the palace."
The disembodied voice said, "Will do, ma’am."
Kamoj closed her eyes with relief. When she opened them, Azander was watching her from the other side of the bird, where he stood against a wall. He nodded as if to thank her for intervening on Vyrl’s behalf. Then he dropped his gaze to indicate respect. She swallowed, grateful he saw her as an ally now instead of an enemy.
"Colonel Pacal." One of the healers working on the Ironbridge man spoke. "We’ve a problem."
"What’s wrong?" Dazza asked.
"We’re having trouble replicating this man’s erythrocytes. We need a transfusion from someone native to this biosphere."
"Do you have a compatible donor listed in the files?" Dazza asked.
"We aren’t sure." The healer glanced up at Azander. "Can you try? You’re the closest match."
Azander nodded, seeming to understand the odd words. He moved away from the wall and knelt by the Ironbridge soldier. The healers attached tubes to his arms that went to their various machines. Silent and tense, they concentrated on their displays, their faces furrowed as the studied the flickering ghosts.
Suddenly one of them said, "It’s good."
With obvious relief, the healers made more adjustments to their boxes, then used the tubes to connect Azander with the dying stagman. Soon red liquid was moving through the tubes. Azander remained utterly still, like a statue, staring at the liquid as it flowed, his face pale. With a jolt, Kamoj realized his blood was in those tubes.
Finally a healer said, "We have replication." Others went to work on Azander and his blood stopped flowing. Soon they had him free of their machines.
"Will your patient survive?" Dazza asked.
A healer working on the Ironbridge archer said, "It looks like it."
Kamoj stared at them. Who were these people, that they could give life to a man who for all intents and purposes was already dead?
Turning back to Vyrl, Kamoj saw he had succumbed to the sleep makers. Or she thought he had. Then he mumbled something.
Dazza leaned closer. "Again?"
"Kamoj," he said.
"She’s here," Dazza said. "We’re going to the palace."
"Good . . ." Vyrl’s breathing eased into sleep.
He looked so pale. But Kamoj saw no blood, neither on his body nor spilled onto the bird’s guts. In fact, she couldn’t see his wounds at all. Where ragged gashes had rent his body, now new skin showed. Then she realized the "skin" was a bandage.
"Colonel." The voice came out of the air. "We’re coming into the palace."
Dazza glanced at the healers around the Ironbridge man. "As soon as we have Prince Havyrl off the shuttle, take your patient up to the Ascendant. I don’t want him anywhere near the palace until we figure out why the two of them were trying to kill each other."
An odd sensation came over Kamoj, as if she were falling. The bird jolted and its dull thunder stopped. In a whoosh of air its mouth gaped open, leaving only a shimmer. Sunshine poured into the stomach.
With the Lionstar stagman at her side, Kamoj walked through the mouth. Incredibly, they came out onto the courtyard in front of the palace. The stagman glanced at her and spread his hands, the disquiet on his face mirroring what she felt. Only moments ago they had been in the forest.
The healers brought Vyrl out on the floating stretcher, with a silver sheet over his body. Servants threw open the doors of the palace and the healers strode inside.
* * *
Kamoj slept in a sitting position, leaning against the headboard of the bed. Vyrl lay next to her, either asleep or unconscious. Each time she awoke, she saw Dazza in an armchair by the nightstand, watching Vyrl, dozing, or studying images in her book-box.
Sometimes the colonel spoke to the nightstand. Different voices answered, most in unfamiliar languages. A few used their odd Bridge dialect. Dazza discussed Azander’s p
aramedic training with one, saying she wanted more of the household staff to learn it. Another voice told her the Ironbridge stagman was recovering on the Ascendant. Later someone said a delegation from the Ascendant had gone to Ironbridge to speak to Jax.
From what Kamoj gathered, it sounded like Vyrl’s people were holding the second Ironbridge archer in Argali, until they decided what to do about his shooting Vyrl. Apparently the Lionstar stagman had knocked him out with a sleep weapon. Kamoj didn’t understand how a tube could carry sleep or how a person could throw that sleep at others, but nevertheless, it had happened.
She was dozing when a rustle of sheets woke her. She opened her eyes to see Vyrl jerking, restless with his dreams. Dazza sat slumped in her chair, asleep, but when Vyrl groaned she snapped awake. The doctor took one look at him, then opened her case and removed a black tube. She stood up, leaning over Vyrl as she brought the tube to his neck.
"Wait," Kamoj said. "He hates that."
Dazza exhaled. "I know. But if he jerks like that, it could tear open his wounds."
Vyrl’s fingers curled into claws. His breathing had grown ragged and his forehead contorted as if he were in pain.
"There might be another way." Kamoj slid the pillow out from under his head and put herself in its place, sitting cross-legged with his head in her lap, his curls spread across her legs in red-gold profusion. Then she massaged his head. As she worked, his face relaxed and his breath slowed to an even rhythm.
"Well, I’ll take a launch off a lily-pad," Dazza said.
Kamoj looked up at her. "Ma’am?"
Smiling, Dazza said, "It seems you’re effective alternative medicine."
Kamoj hesitated. "May I ask a question?"
"Of course."
"That sound Vyrl’s body was making today, when he was hurt. How did it do that?"
"He has an implant," Dazza said. "If he’s in trouble, it sets off alarms, including the siren. It also activates a neutrino beacon. That’s how we found him." She paused, her head tilted as she considered Kamoj. "May I ask a question?"
It felt odd to have the doctor request permission to seek information. Kamoj had no idea what position "colonel" occupied in the hierarchy of things, but Dazza clearly ranked high among Vyrl’s people.
"I will answer to the best of my ability," Kamoj said.
"Why did Vyrl try to kill the Ironbridge man?"
"Because he tried to kill Vyrl."
"The Ironbridge soldiers claim they acted in self-defense." Dazza settled back into her chair. "We’ve done scans on them. They’re both telling the truth as they see it."
"Didn’t know who I was," Vyrl mumbled. He opened his eyes and looked at Dazza, his gaze bleary.
She leaned forward. "How are you feeling?"
"Lousy." He closed his eyes. "Flaming sedatives."
"I’m sorry," Dazza said. "But I had to do what I thought necessary." With the look of someone who already knew what response she was going to get, she added, "That’s why I’ve posted Jagernauts as your bodyguards. You will have two with you at all times, even in the palace. Right now they’re on the landing of this suite."
His eyes snapped open. "Damn it, Colonel. I’m tired of privacy being a luxury I’m forbidden."
She crossed her arms. "What did you expect? That ISC would stand by while you steal state-of-the-art special operations gear, ride off in a drunken rage, and almost get yourself killed?"
Vyrl scowled at her.
In a quieter voice, Dazza said, "Why would an Ironbridge archer try to kill you?"
After a pause, Vyrl answered. "Because of what he saw. It probably looked like I was threatening the other Ironbridge man with his own sword. And I had Kamoj. The archer was defending his partner and Kamoj’s honor. Or else he thought like the first one, that Kamoj was committing adultery with me."
"Adultery?" Dazza asked. "With her own husband?"
"Interesting concept, yes?" Vyrl hesitated. "The stagman . . . ?"
"He will live," Dazza said. As relief sped across Vyrl’s face, she added, "You damn near killed him. Why did you stab him? He was just trying to recover his weapon."
"Why do you think? Someone shot me. Then this one lunged at me. I reacted in reflex."
"I hadn’t realized you knew how to use a sword like that."
He shrugged. "I learned on Lyshriol."
"You trained with swords on your home planet?"
"All highborn boys do there. It’s part of the culture."
"It just seems so–" Dazza squinted at him. "Barbaric."
Vyrl scowled. "What, if I crisped him with a laser carbine, that would be civilized? Hell, we could be really civilized and have the Ascendant drop an antimatter bomb on Ironbridge."
Dazza didn’t answer, and Kamoj could tell Vyrl’s words bothered her. She had been prepared to hate Dazza, after what Vyrl had told her this afternoon. Instead she kept remembering Dazza’s tears, so uncharacteristic of the craggy colonel, when the doctor realized Vyrl was going to live.
"What I don’t understand," Vyrl said, "is why Ironbridge stagmen are prowling around my woods."
Dazza glanced at Kamoj. "Would you feel more comfortable if I told him?"
Kamoj nodded, wondering what Dazza knew.
"Told me what?" Vyrl asked.
"We sent people down to talk with Maxard Argali," she said. "It seems your bride was betrothed to Jax Ironbridge."
Vyrl stared up at Kamoj. Mortified, she averted her eyes.
"Their marriage was arranged years ago," Dazza said. "Apparently Ironbridge is quite fond of her."
Kamoj almost gagged. If Jax was fond of her, she would hate to see how he treated people he didn’t like.
Vyrl spoke gently. "Look at me, water sprite." When she met his gaze, he said, "I’m sorry. I should have realized a woman such as yourself would already be spoken for."
She wished she could disappear into the woodwork. Vyrl glanced at Dazza and tilted his head toward the door.
"Uh–ah, yes, well." The colonel stood up. "I have to check in with the Ascendant. I’ll look in on you later."
When Kamoj and Vyrl were alone, he said, "I truly am sorry. I figured there might be others, but I assumed if something was serious, you would refuse my offer. It didn’t occur to me that you would have no choice." After a moment he added, "Or maybe I didn’t want it to occur to me."
"You established your bid legally," Kamoj replied. "No one could match it."
"I don’t get it," Vyrl said. "How did the concepts of slavery and a dowry get mixed up together here?"
"Slavery? What do you man?"
"Don’t you hear what you’re saying? I outbid him for you. How can you not hate me?"
"You did nothing wrong."
"I bought another human being. That’s wrong. On top of which, it was a woman who had already given her word to another man." Dryly he added, "A woman younger than most of my granddaughters."
Granddaughters? Older than her? Surely she heard wrong.
Then again, Jax was Vyrl’s age and he had illegitimate children everywhere, some of them adults with their own children. That, she realized, was what bothered her. Not that Vyrl had children but how he came about them. With Jax she had almost managed to convince herself she didn’t care what he did. With Vyrl, an agony of jealousy rose in her.
"What’s wrong?" he asked.
She stopped massaging his head. "Nothing."
"Something about my children," he said. "Their mother?"
"Men can marry only one woman here. Perhaps in your Imperial court it is different."
He laughed. "Concubines and court intrigue? Gods, Kamoj, that isn’t me. I may have more titles than I know what to do with, but I’m still a farm boy from nowhere. All I ever wanted was my wife, my family, and my land."
She spoke with care. "Then you are widowed?"
"I married my childhood sweetheart when we were kids." In a voice soft with sorrow, he added, "Ten years ago she took a fall in the Backbone Mountains. She died insta
ntly."
"Hai," she murmured. "I’m sorry."
"It was a long time ago." His voice gentled. "We had many good years, twelve beautiful children, over forty grandchildren so far, and gods know how many great-grandchildren." He paused, squinting at her. "I get mixed up which of the new ones are grandchildren and which are great-grand. There’s even a few great-greats in there."
She stared at him. "But you are so young."
"People marry young where I come from. I was fourteen." He laughed. "When I told Dazza that, she nearly went through the wall. Legal age in the overall Imperialate culture is twenty-five, and the average number of children for a conventional couple is two. By the time I was ‘legal,’ I had six children."
It didn’t sound odd to Kamoj. In her experience, people married young and had as many children as possible, with the hope that at least some would survive until adulthood, and perhaps, if the family was lucky, even prosper.
But the numbers and his age still didn’t fit. She struggled to work it out. Although she was better at mathematics than most people, she usually had wires with beads to do problems as difficult as this one. No matter how she looked at it, she kept coming up with the same impossible results.
Finally she said, "Even if your children married as young as you did, I don’t see how you could have so many descendants, especially great-grandchildren and great-greats."
"Why? I’m sixty-three."
Her mouth fell open. "What? No. That can’t be."
"It’s true." He grinned. "But if you want to tell me how young I look, I won’t object."
She smiled. "You can angle for compliments all you wish, my handsome husband. But I still don’t understand. How can you look so young?"
"Good genes and exercise, I suppose. Also, the nanomeds in my body do some repairs, enough to help delay aging." He hesitated. "Did you really mean what you said this afternoon, about wanting me to stay with you?"
"Yes."
"Even though you could have your betrothed back if we arranged for me to ‘die’?"
"Jax Ironbridge is a–" The word slug tempted her, but she held it back. No more appropriate word came, though. She kept imagining a slug making its way through the mud.