Without a Front

  “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” said Tal. “But it’s life, and we must simply accept it and find ways to work around it.”

  “And Lancer Tal is very good at that.” Micah had just arrived. “She simplifies my professional life with her easy acceptance of this less enjoyable aspect of her title.”

  Now it was Tal’s turn to look discomfited while Salomen smiled broadly. Jaros plowed ahead with more questions from his seemingly inexhaustible supply.

  “So you always have Guards? No matter what you do or where you are? Do you have Guards in your bedroom?”

  “No!” Tal said quickly. She shot an evil look at Micah, who had not quite managed to suppress his chuckle, and continued, “I can move freely in my home and here in yours. But only because I have Guards outside who make sure no unauthorized person can enter. That’s why you had to tell your friends that they couldn’t drop by this moon. They have to go through the Guards first.”

  “Oh.” Jaros poured a glass of juice and drank it with a pensive air.

  “Jaros,” said Salomen as she rose, “why don’t you pour juices for the Lancer and Colonel Micah, and I’ll bring breakfast to the table.”

  Micah rose with her. “May I assist?”

  “Thank you, Colonel, but it’s plain that your duties leave you very little time for relaxation. While you’re my guest, you should relax at least within the confines of my house.”

  The words were gracious and well-spoken, but Salomen had clearly understood every nuance of Micah’s comment regarding his professional life. She swept from the room, and Micah sat with a twinkle in his eye.

  “At last, a little sympathy,” he said.

  “Drink your juice, Micah.” Tal pushed the glass over to him. “At least I have an ally in Jaros.”

  Jaros looked up. “What’s an ally?”

  “A friend who will support me when I need assistance.”

  “Oh!” He nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, I will.” He finished pouring the second glass and handed it to her. She thanked him and took a taste, swallowing hastily when the next question came. “Does that mean you’re my ally too?”

  “Yes, I am.” Never in her political life had Tal been so certain of the sincerity of an ally. “If you ever need help, call me or Colonel Micah.”

  “Thank you, Lancer Tal. And if you ever need help, you must call me as well.”

  Tal put on a properly serious expression. “Thank you, my friend. I will.”

  Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and Tal sensed Herot’s arrival. She gave Micah a knowing look just before the young man walked into the room. His hair was still damp from the shower, and he was wearing nicer clothes than Tal would have expected for someone who would be working in the fields after mornmeal.

  “Good morning.” Herot graced her with an easy grin as he sat next to Jaros. After pouring himself a juice, he reached over and pulled the plate of biscuits from beneath Jaros’s hand just as the boy was reaching for one.

  “Hey!”

  “Wait your turn.” Herot took his time selecting a biscuit before handing the plate back, and Tal did a slow burn.

  “Herot, why in Fahla’s name are you wearing that shirt?” Salomen reentered the room, followed closely by Nikin. As the two eldest children, they held the responsibility of bringing the food to the table. It was an ancient tradition that had fallen into disuse in many city families, but it felt right at Hol-Opah.

  “The others were dirty,” Herot said.

  Tal glanced at Salomen to see if she could sense the obvious lie.

  “You will not impress the Lancer by ruining a dress shirt in the field. Go upstairs and change.” Salomen didn’t even look at him as she set two aromatic platters on the table and pulled out her chair. Nikin put two bowls down and took his own seat with a tiny smile on his face.

  That answered that question, Tal thought. Trust Salomen to show no tact whatsoever. She almost felt sorry for Herot, who pushed his chair back with a baleful glare at his sister and went stomping up the stairs.

  “Please excuse Herot’s…enthusiasm, Lancer Tal.” A warm smile wreathed Salomen’s face just before she turned her head. “Good morning, Father.”

  “Good morning.” Shikal dropped a kiss onto her upturned cheek before taking his seat at the head of the table. “Good morning, Lancer Tal…Colonel Micah.” He smiled at Tal. “I saw you returning from your run this morning. You move like one who knows the winden.”

  “Thank you. I’ve always loved to run, even as a child. It helps me order my thoughts.”

  Shikal nodded. “For that, I go fishing.”

  “You would fish no matter what order your thoughts were in,” Salomen said, but the affection in her tone negated any sharpness in her words.

  Tal studied her in fascination. Salomen had gradually relaxed at their meals, last night’s evenmeal notwithstanding, and Tal was beginning to see a whole new side of her. In their delegate meetings, she had freely acknowledged Salomen’s obvious intelligence and strength of mind, but the woman’s unyielding stubbornness, abrasive personality, and ill-concealed distaste for Tal’s decisions had led to an instinctive antagonism that she hadn’t worked very hard to overcome.

  In her home, surrounded by family, Salomen was a different person. Her face was transformed by a loving smile as she teased her father, and Tal opened her senses to fully appreciate the warmth that poured out of this unlikely source. Unfortunately, being so open meant that she was also treated to the full extent of Herot’s sulking, self-pitying mood as he reentered the room, now in a worn work shirt. Even with that, she enjoyed the exposure to a family situation so different from her own and was sorry when the meal ended.

  The two younger children cleared the table, and Tal noted that Herot managed to carry less than Jaros. She met Micah’s eyes and saw his recognition as well.

  Micah leaned closer. “Give me one nineday for proper training, and I would make him a different man.”

  “By ‘different,’ do you mean dead?”

  “You have such little faith in me. I managed to train you, didn’t I?”

  “I came pre-trained. Your role was largely that of an observer.”

  Micah’s laugh drew the attention of everyone in the room, and he waved a hand at Tal. “Pardon me. The Lancer was testing the limits of my credulity.”

  Tal grinned at him and felt a prickle of surprise from someone in the room. She turned her head just in time to catch Salomen watching her with a thoughtful expression. Then her hostess spoke to Jaros, who was getting ready to leave for school, and the feeling faded.

  There was quite a bit of bustle getting Jaros out the door and the rest of the family to work, reminding Tal of a unit breaking camp and moving. Salomen informed her that today they would be harvesting grain and intimated that the change in routine would give her muscles a break. Tal ignored the gibe.

  She soon found herself in a two-person skimmer, with Salomen driving them to the field currently under harvest. It was a quiet ride down the hill and toward the eastern border, and Tal made no effort to initiate conversation. After the morning’s controlled chaos, she was enjoying a few moments of peace before the day’s labor began.

  When they arrived at the field, her Guards were already there, looking out of place in their uniforms as they patrolled the perimeter. The previous two days she had been buried in tall vines and hadn’t seen them, but today their presence was all too obvious. She called Micah on her wristcom and asked him to provide the Guards with something a bit less conspicuous, and at midmeal they suddenly took on the appearance of field workers. Tal nodded in satisfaction at Micah’s efficiency.

  Through the course of the day, Tal learned a new respect for her hostess. Salomen was physically strong, never flagging as she worked side by side with Tal. She didn’t ask Tal to do anything she wasn’t doing herse
lf, and at midmeal she made sure that all of the field workers were taking the necessary time to relax and eat, even though a few protested that they could finish their tasks if given another quarter-hantick. Tal watched in interest, knowing that not all landholders treated their field workers with such care. But the Opah field workers seemed to be more than just hired laborers. They laughed and joked with Salomen, asking her questions and making observations that demonstrated a personal knowledge of her and her family. Salomen showed the same warmth and affection with them that she had at her own table, and their affection for her was plain to sense.

  After midmeal they resumed the hard physical labor of loading newly cut grain into the bulk transport, and by the end of the workday, Tal was more than happy to throw her tools in the back of the skimmer and take a seat. It wasn’t as bad as her first two days, but she was still relieved to be done.

  Salomen settled in beside her and started the engine. As they sailed over the fields, she glanced at Tal and said, “You’re doing well—for a soft politician.”

  “Thank you so much. I look forward to the day you learn the difference between a soft politician and a trained warrior.”

  Salomen smiled and turned her attention back to the controls. The rest of the drive passed in a silence that was oddly comfortable.

  When they had skimmed back up the hill and pulled in beside the house, Tal gathered their tools and walked toward the equipment outbuilding.

  “What are you doing?”

  She stopped and turned. “Don’t they need to be cleaned?”

  “Eventually, yes, but we’ll be using them again tomorrow and the day after. Leave them in the skimmer and we’ll clean them when we’re done.”

  “And in the meantime, the grime and debris build up and they grow less and less effective. The first rule a warrior learns is that your weapons are only as good as the care you give them.”

  “They’re not weapons,” Salomen said. “They’re tools.”

  “Weapons are my tools. Along with knowledge, power, psychology, and any number of other items at my disposal. I try to keep all of them sharp.”

  “You must take extremely good care of your tongue, then.” Salomen walked up the porch steps and vanished inside.

  Tal stared after her, hardly believing that a producer had just called her sharp-tongued to her face. Did the woman have no respect at all?

  Resuming her trek toward the equipment outbuilding, she chuckled. Rarely had she heard such a perfect example of the knife calling the sword a blade.

  CHAPTER 35

  Speedy

  Evenmeal was more comfortable than the previous night’s had been, but the ease Salomen had shown at mornmeal was absent. Though she presented a sufficient front to avoid any questions from her family, Tal could sense her turmoil.

  Fortunately, Jaros distracted everyone with his happy chatter about the day’s lessons. Apparently, the Lancer’s presence in their community had inspired his instructors to speak in more detail about the history, responsibilities, and legal issues associated with the title, and he was eager to demonstrate his new knowledge. He rattled off several rather bloody historical tales, his eyes shining with enthusiasm.

  “And, Lancer Tal,” he continued after quickly swallowing some food, “we also learned that there is a fifth way your term could end. You didn’t tell me about the ritual challenge of combat this morning!”

  “I didn’t even consider it. That hasn’t been invoked for several hundred cycles.”

  “Tell us about it, Jaros,” said Shikal. He glanced at Tal and smiled, his pride in his son clear to her senses.

  Jaros put his fork down, concentrating on his recitation. “It can only be used by a member of the warrior caste. If a warrior wants to take the title of Lancer, but he doesn’t have enough caste support, he can challenge the Lancer to single combat. To the death.” Plainly, this was an extremely exciting thought. “The winner takes the title legally. Nobody can argue, even if they don’t like the person who won.”

  “Which is precisely why it’s no longer in use,” Tal said. “It’s a relic from the days when Alsean leadership passed from one military leader to another, by right of strength in battle. But good leadership requires more than strength in arms. It requires education, strategic thinking, understanding of Alsean nature and motivations, an ability to plan far beyond the current generation…in fact, a scholar often made a much better Lancer than a typical warrior, and ritual challenge of combat passed out of use shortly after the scholar caste became eligible for the title. Few scholars could have won such a challenge.”

  “But they could choose a champion,” Jaros said.

  “They could, yes. But Alsean culture has changed too much for those old ways. We no longer tolerate rulers who take their title violently. Any warrior who wants to challenge the sitting Lancer today would need the support of the warrior caste or risk being immediately unseated. And if a challenger has the support of the warriors, then the title would be taken by a caste coup, not a single challenge.”

  “Oh.”

  Tal wanted to laugh at his disappointment. “However, there’s one aspect of the ritual challenge that still continues to this day.”

  He perked up. “There is?”

  “All warriors are trained in the art of sword fighting, even though swords haven’t been part of Alsean warfare for generations. But they were the only weapon allowed in a ritual challenge.”

  “Really? So you know how to use a sword?”

  Tal nodded. “I’m not a master by any means, but yes, I’ve trained with a sword since I was your age.”

  “Speedy! Do you have your sword here?”

  Tal turned to Salomen. “Speedy?”

  Salomen smiled. “The newest slang term. It means Jaros is impressed.”

  “It means I want to see it! Fahla, don’t you know what speedy means?”

  “Jaros!” Three adult voices spoke at once, and Jaros sat back in his seat. Even Tal felt a little intimidated.

  “You will not use the name of our Goddess so lightly,” Shikal scolded.

  “But you do.” Jaros’s tone was indignant, and Tal pressed her lips together to prevent the smile from escaping.

  “That’s because Father is an adult,” said Salomen. “When you pass your Rite of Ascension, you can do it too. But not before then.”

  “That’s not fair. If I can say it as an adult, why can’t I say it now?”

  “Because adults carry burdens that children do not,” Nikin said. “So one of our rewards is that we get to use words you don’t.”

  “What burdens? You don’t even have to go to school!”

  “We’ve already been to school. And now we have to work. And worry about things you don’t have to worry about.”

  Jaros grumbled under his breath, not buying a word of it.

  Tal touched his shoulder. “I don’t have my sword here, but I could have it brought later.”

  He looked up, all disgruntlement vanishing under renewed enthusiasm. “Really?”

  She nodded. “Perhaps I could even challenge Colonel Micah to a little sparring. It’s been more than a nineday since I last slapped him with the flat of my sword.”

  “Time has obviously clouded your memory,” Micah said. “The last time we sparred, it was you who found yourself disarmed. My own sword was firmly in my hand.”

  “My memory is perfectly clear. I’m afraid age has affected yours, though. Don’t worry, Micah, there are many ways an aged warrior can make himself useful.”

  “I never worry. As long as your youthful exuberance continues to overpower your wisdom, I’ll always have a job.”

  “How old are you, Colonel Micah?”

  “Jaros,” said Salomen, “that is not an appropriate question to ask an adult.”

  “I’ve no objection to answering,” Micah assured her, then turned
to Jaros. “Sixty-two cycles.”

  Jaros’s eyes widened. “You’re almost as old as Father!”

  Amid the laughter, Micah said, “And aging faster than he, I’m sure. Serving the Lancer has made me old before my time.”

  “I thought you appreciated the challenges of your job. Be sure to notify me if they become more than you can handle. I’ll replace you with someone younger and more exuberant.” Tal looked at the boy next to her. “Perhaps Jaros would accept the position.”

  “Yes!” Jaros lit up, then just as quickly deflated. “But I’m the wrong caste.”

  “A boy of your intelligence and talents could challenge his caste.”

  No sooner were the words out of her mouth than she was pierced by a blast of disapproval. Across the table, Salomen frowned at her.

  “Really?” Jaros asked excitedly.

  “It’s very rare, Jaros.” Salomen turned a more kindly expression on her brother. “And being in the warrior caste is not all glory and adventure, despite what you hear at school.”

  Tal took the hint. “No indeed. Micah could tell many a tale of privation and hardship, and that was before he came to serve me.”

  The laughter shifted the momentary darkness of Salomen’s mood, and for the remainder of evenmeal Tal was careful to steer away from topics that might excite Jaros’s imagination regarding his caste. It was clear that his desire to be a warrior did not sit well with his sister.

  When the meal ended, Tal thanked her hosts and excused herself from the table, allowing Salomen as much peace and space as she could under the circumstances. She expected that the producer might need the rest of the evening to make her decision. After all, whichever way she chose would irrevocably alter her life.

  CHAPTER 36

  First lesson

  Tal was a big fan of the window seat in her room. The cushion was luxuriously comfortable, and if she sat sideways with her back to one wall, she had a lovely view of the Snowmount Range to soothe her eyes whenever she looked up from her reader card. If she had to spend her evenings reading reports and dispatches, the window seat was a fair consolation.