Lee, Sharon & Miller, Steve - Liaden Books 1-9

by Liaden 1-9 (lit)

  "All's well that ends well," he quoted in Terran, "as your lady might agree. Tell her: Be fruitful and multiply."

  Er Thom laughed. "Tell her yourself. We shall want the delm to See us tomorrow, after all."

  "Whatever for? I distinctly recall Master Healer Kestra informing us that your arrangement is beyond the ken of command or Code."

  "Ah, but, you see," Er Thom said earnestly. "There is local custom to be satisfied. I would not wish to be backward in any attention the world might deem necessary."

  "Certainly not. Korval has its standards, after all."

  Er Thom laughed.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  The first attack was a hammer-blow at the Ringstars. A dozen worlds were lost at once, including that which was home to the dramliz and the place the Soldiers call Headquarters. There was rumor of a seed-ship—as high as a hundred seed-ships—sent out from Antori in the moment before it died. Much good it may do them.

  Jela says The Enemy means to smash communications, then gobble up each isolated world in its own good time.

  Jela says anyone with a ship is a smuggler, now. And every smuggler is a soldier.

  I've never seen anything like this…

  —Excerpted from Cantra yos'Phelium's Log Book

  It was early, the halls yet empty of scholars, save the one who walked at Er Thom's side. When they came to a certain door, he stood away, and watched her bend over the lock, quick brown fingers making short work of the coding.

  Straightening from her task, she flung him a smile and caught his hand, pulling him with her into a tiny, cluttered office smelling of book-dust and disuse.

  Just within, he paused, holding her to his side while he scanned the shabby and book-crammed interior. Satisfied that they were alone, he allowed them another step into the room, then turned to lock the door.

  Anne laughed.

  "As if we were in any danger among a crowd of fusty professors!"

  Er Thom bit his lip. Of course, she did not recall. He had not doubted the wisdom of immediately summoning a Healer to ease Anne's distress. To be abducted at gunpoint, to have one's child and one's own life threatened, to make one's bow to necessity and take a life—these things were certainly best quickly smoothed from memory and peace restored to a mind unsettled by violence.

  Yet now it seemed that in doing her the best service he might, he had placed her in the way of future peril. One madman with a gun did not necessarily argue another, but it was only wise to be wary.

  And difficult to be wary when the memory of past danger was washed clean away.

  "Er Thom?" She was frowning down at him, concern showing in her eyes. "What is it?"

  He caught her other hand in his and looked seriously into her face.

  "Anne, I wish you will recall—I am in very earnest, denubia! I wish you will recall that Liad is not a—safe place. There are those who love Terrans not at all. There are those who actively hate—who may seek to do you harm for merely being Terran, or for the direction your work takes you… Liadens—there is pride, you understand. It pleases many to think Liad the center of the universe and all others—lower. With some, this pleasure becomes obsession. Korval's wing is broad, but it is far better to be vigilant, and avoid rousing the delm to balance."

  "Better to be safe than sorry," Anne murmured and inclined her head. "I understand, Er Thom. Thank you." She hesitated; met his eyes once more.

  "I knew how to use a pistol, once. I'm willing to brush up and carry a gun."

  He smiled in relief. "That would be wise. I shall teach you, if you like it."

  "I like it." She grinned, squeezed his hands and let them go, crossing the room in three of her long strides and taking a framed flat-pic down from the wall between two reverent palms.

  "Er Thom," she said, as she lay the frame face down and began to ease the back away. "Aren't you Liaden?"

  He drifted over to the desk, watching her face, downturned and intent upon her task.

  "We are Korval," he said, softly. "You understand, we are not originally from the Old World—Solcintra, it was called. Cantra came from the Rim, so it states in the logs, and her copilot in the endeavor which raised Liad—young Tor An had been from one of the Ringstars, sent to Solcintra for schooling. Poor child, by the time his schooling was done, the Ringstars were no fit place for return."

  Anne had raised her head and was watching him intently. "Every other clan on Liad can trace its origins to—Solcintra?"

  "Yes, certainly. But Solcintra was only one world in what had been a vast empire." He smiled into her eyes. "And not a particularly—forward—world, at that."

  "You know this," she said, very carefully, "historically!"

  He bowed. "It is of course necessary for one who will be Korval Himself—and for one who may be delm—to have studied the log books of Cantra yos'Phelium, as well as the diaries of the delms who had come before."

  She bit her lip. He had a sense of—hunger?—and a realization that, for one who studied as Anne did, such information as he had just shared might be pearls of very great price.

  "One empire," she murmured. "One—language?"

  "An official tongue, and world-dialects. Or so the logs lead one to surmise." He showed her his empty palms. "The logs themselves are written in a language somewhat akin to Yxtrang—so you see they are not for everyone. Korval is counted odd enough, without the world deciding that we are spawn of the enemy."

  "May I see them?" Anne's voice was restrained, intense. "The logs."

  Er Thom smiled. "It is entirely likely that you will be required to see them, beloved."

  Her face eased with humor. "Home study for the new Dragon," she quipped, and turned her attention once more to the task of easing the back from the rickety old frame.

  This went slowly, for Anne seemed as intent on keeping the frame in one piece as the frame itself seemed determined to fail. Her patience won in the end, however, and the frayed backing was set aside.

  Atop the pic-back lay one thin square of gray paper.

  Anne picked it up, frowning at the single row of letters.

  "What is it?" Er Thom wondered, softly, so not to shatter her concentration.

  "A notation," she murmured. "I don't quite—" She handed him the paper, shaking her head in perplexity.

  A notation, indeed, and one as familiar to him as his brother's face.

  "Lower half of the second quadrant, tending toward eighty degrees." He read off the piloting symbols with ease and raised his eyes to Anne. "Alas, I lack board and screens."

  She stared at him. He saw the idea bloom in her eyes in the instant before she caught his arm and turned him with her toward the overfull bookshelves.

  "Lower half," she murmured, moving toward the shelves, her eyes on the books as if they might up and bolt if she shifted her gaze for a moment. "… of the second quadrant…" She knelt and lay her hand along a section of spines, eyes daring to flash a question to him.

  He inclined his head. "Just so."

  "Tending," Anne ran her fingers lightly, caressingly, down the spines. "Tending. Toward eighty de—Dear gods."

  It was a small, slim volume her forefinger teased from between two of its hulking kinsmen, bound in scuffed and grit-dyed leather, looking for all the worlds like someone's personal debt-book that had been left out in the rain.

  Anne opened it reverently, long fingers exquisitely gentle among the densely-noted leaves, her face rapt as she bent over this page and that.

  Er Thom moved to kneel beside her. "Is this the thing you were seeking?"

  "I think…" She closed it softly and held it cupped in her hand as if it were a live thing and likely to escape. "I'll have to study it—get an accurate dating. It looks—it looks…" Her voice died away and she bent her head sharply over the little book with a gasp.

  "Anne?"

  She shook her head, by which he understood he was to be still and allow her time for thought.

  "Er Thom?" Very unsteady, her voice, and she did no
t raise her face to his.

  "Yes."

  "There was a man—a man with a gun. I—the grad student. He killed Doctor yo'Kera. For this. To suppress this." At last she raised her head, showing him a face drawn with sorrow and eyes that sparkled tears.

  "He wanted the information from me—threatened Shan." She swallowed. "I killed him. Fil Tor Kinrae."

  "Yes." He reached out and stroked her cheek, lay his fingers lightly along her brow. "I know."

  She bit her lip and looked deep into his eyes, her own showing desperation. "They're going to come and demand balance," she said. "His clan."

  Er Thom lifted an eyebrow. "More likely they will come and most abjectly beg Korval's pardon for the error of owning a child who would abduct and threaten yourself and our son." He moved his shoulders. "In any wise, it is a case for the delm."

  "Is it?"

  "Indeed it is," he returned firmly. "Shall I fetch you a Healer now, Anne?"

  "You did that before." She bent her head and reached out to take his hand, weaving their fingers together with concentration, the ring he had given her scintillant against her skin.

  "I think," she said softly. "I think I'll try it without—forgetting. It's not—it seems very—misty. As if it happened a long time ago…" She looked up with a smile. "If things start to slip, I'll let you know. OK?"

  "A bargain. And in the meanwhile you shall practice with your pistol, eh?"

  "I'll practice with my pistol," she promised, and glanced down at the little book she held so protectively. She looked back to Er Thom's face. "Will—the delm—want to suppress—assuming it's real!—this information?"

  "The last I had heard, the delm was advised by his grandmother in matters such as these," Er Thom said carefully.

  "That being, you understand, Grandmother Cantra. Her philosophy, as seen through the logs, leads me to believe that the delm will not wish to suppress anything of the sort, though he may very well have certain necessities with regard to the manner in which it is made available to the world." He inclined his head. "For the good of the clan."

  "I—see." One more glance at the book, a brilliant look into his eyes and a warm squeeze of her hand. "Well, it's too valuable to stay here, so I guess I'll just drop it in the delm's lap before we go on our honey-trip." She grinned. "Which reminds me, if we don't move soon, we're going to be late for our own wedding."

  "Now that," Er Thom said, "would be very improper. I suggest we leave immediately."

  "I suggest," Anne murmured, swaying lightly toward him, "that we leave in just a minute."

  "Much more appropriate," he agreed, and raised his face for her kiss.

  Liaden/Terran Dictionary

  A'nadelm: Heir to the nadelm

  A'thodelm: Head-of-Line-to-Be

  A'trezla: Lifemates

  Al'bresh venat'i: Formal phrase of sorrow for another Clan's loss, as when someone dies.

  Al'kin Chernard'i: The Day Without Delight

  Balent'i Kalandon: Our local galaxy

  Balent'i tru'vad: The starweb of all creation

  Cha'leket: Heartkin (heartbrother, heartsister)

  Cha'trez: Heartsong

  Chernubia: Confected delicacy

  Chiat'a bei kruzon: Dream sweetly.

  Ckrakec: (derived from the Yxtrang) Approximately 'Master Hunter'

  coab nrinshak'a: 'Necessity exits'

  Conselem: An absurdity

  Delm: Head of Clan (Delm Korval, Korval Himself/Herself)

  Delmae: Lifemate to the Delm

  Denubia: Darling

  Dramliza: A wizard. PLURAL: dramliz (The dramliz…)

  Dri'atrLeft

  Eklykt'i: Unreturned

  Eldema: First Speaker (most times, the Delm)

  Eldema-pernard'i: First-Speaker-In-Trust :

  Entranzia volecta: Good greetings (High Liaden)

  Fa'vya: an aphrodisiac-laced wine sold at Festival

  Flaran Cha'menthi: I(/We) Dare'

  Galandaria: Confederate? Countryperson?

  Ge'shada: Mazel tov; congratulations

  Glavda Empri: yo'Lanna's house

  I'ganin brath'a, vyan se'untor: Play with the body, rest the mind

  I'lanta: Right

  Ilania frrogudon palon dox: (approx) Young ladies should speak more gently

  Illanga kilachi: (no translation available)

  Indra: Uncle

  Jelaza Kazone: The Tree, also Korval's Own House. Approx. "Jela's Fulfillment"

  Lazenia spandok: Son of a bitch (REAL approximate)

  Lisamia keshoc: Thank you (Low Liaden)

  Megelaar: The Dragon on Korval's shield

  Melant'i: Who one is in relation to current circumstances. ALSO who one is in sum, encompassing all possible persons one might be.

  Menfri'at: Liaden karate

  Mirada: Father

  Misravot: Altanian wine; blue in color.

  Nadelm: Delm-to-Be

  Nubiath'a: Gift given to end an affair of pleasure

  Palesci modassa: Thank you (High Liaden)

  Prena'ma: Storyteller

  Prethliu: Rumorbroker

  Qe'andra: Man of business

  Qua'lechi: Exclamation of horror

  Relumma: Division of a Liaden year, equalling 96 Standard days. Four relumma equal one year.

  Thawla: Mother (Low Liaden; approximately Mommy)

  Thawlana: Grandmother

  Thodelm: Head-of-Line

  Tra'sia volecta: Good morning (Low Liaden)

  Trealla Fantrol: The yos'Galan house.

  Valcon Berant'a: Dragon's Price or Dragon Hoard, the name of Korval's valley

  Valcon Melad'a: Dragon's Way, the Delm's Own ship van'chela: beloved friend va'netra: charity case, lame puppy zerkam'ka: kinslayer

  Scanned by ripXrip.

  Proofed by Highroller.

  Made prettier by use of EBook Design Group Stylesheet.

  Scout's Progress by Steve Miller and Sharon Lee

  How to Find a Lifemate in Several Hundred Not-So-Easy-Steps

  Or

  How to Find Authors You Really, Really Love on the Very First Try

  by Susan Krinard

  I discovered Sharon Lee and Steve Miller's work when their first novel, Agent of Change, appeared from Del Rey lo, these many years ago.

  At the time I was strictly a reader, and had no notion of becoming a published writer in any genre, SF/fantasy least of all. But I was a professional reader. I lived for the hours when I could immerse myself in an author's universe, become the characters, leave behind the all-too-real world that didn't always please me. I was—and remain—an inveterate escape artist. And books were my method of choice.

  Good books. Books that stayed with me, long after the last page. Among the authors who fulfilled this requirement—and my increasingly stringent standards—were (and are) C. J. Cherryh, Lois McMaster Bujold, and Sharon Lee and Steve Miller.

  Each one of these authors writes what I call "intelligent space opera." For some, them's fightin' words; "space opera" is an insult worthy of the dreaded anti-romance expression "bodice-ripper." But I use the term with love, awe, and admiration. The above-mentioned authors are masters and mistresses of the ultimate escape adventure, fully developed characters, complex plots, careful and imaginative world building. When I read a story by these folks, I feel as I did when I first saw Star Wars on the big screen—utterly swept away.

  As such a devotee of adventurous, dare I say it, romantic science fiction, it would have been natural for me to write it myself. Instead, I fell, almost by accident, into writing in a genre often scorned by SF readers: romance. But my love of the fantastic led me to incorporate fantasy elements in my work, and I devoted a year to writing my own science fiction romance, Star Crossed.

  Very few authors of either romance or science fiction have succeeded in "crossing" between genres, appealing to readers of both SF and romance. Sharon and Steve have done so, with bells on. My greatest hope is that the Liaden Universe books will be among the
seminal, classic works in a growing genre of romantic science fiction novels.

  Scout's Progress will hold a place of honor on this list. It is the latest in the beloved series of books about the world of Liad and the folk of Clan Korval. In this episode, we witness the courtship of Daav yos'Phelium and Aelliana Caylon, parents of Val Con yos'Phelium, protagonist in Agent of Change.

  The stakes are high for Aelliana, shy mathematical genius, who faces a dismal future unless she can qualify to become a pilot, and thus escape the rigid caste system of Liaden society and the barbarous treatment of her scheming brother. In the course of her studies, she meets Scout and Master Pilot Daav, who just happens to avoid mentioning that he is the Delm of Clan Korval (and one of the most powerful men on the planet) even as he slowly, subtly finds himself falling in love. The obstacles are many—not least of which are the rigorous demands of melant'i and Balance—but the potential reward is the winning of that most prized and rare object in a culture of contracted marriages—the precious bond of lifemates.

  The love story in Scout's Progress harkens back, in part, to the hallowed roots of Regency romance and the work of Jane Austen—it is a comedy, and drama, of manners set on a world bound by ritual courtesies and the dangerous undercurrents of potential savagery kept in check. One leaves this book—as with all the others—in love with all the marvelous characters, and with the longing for more insights into Liaden history and culture.

  With any luck, Sharon and Steve will keep 'em coming.

  Susan Krinard November, 2000

  For the binjali crew: past, present and future

  CHAPTER ONE

  Typically, the clan which gains the child of a contract-marriage pays a marriage fee to the mating clan, as well as other material considerations. Upon consummation of contract, the departing spouse is often paid a bonus.

  Contract-marriage is thus not merely a matter of obeying the Law, but an economic necessity to some of the Lower Houses, where a clanmember might be serially married for most of his or her adult life.