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

by Liaden 1-9 (lit)

  He bowed to Bindan's outraged face. "Good-day, ma'am. Pilot. Sleep well."

  "If your Lordship," Bindan's butler murmured from the doorway, "will attend me. I will escort you to the door."

  Charged with unexpended adrenaline, Daav strode across the glade, laid both palms against the trunk and glared up into the branches.

  "You may give over terrorizing Samiv tel'Izak," he said, voice shaking. "She and I will not wed."

  The bark beneath his hands warmed. "Yes, very good!" he snarled, snatching his hands away. "Approve me, do! What shall it mean to you, that a fine pilot was all but destroyed for your whim? What shall any of us mean to you, who has seen us all die—from Jela to Chi! Breed-stock, are we? Then hear me well!"

  He was in the center of the glade now, with no clear notion of how he had gotten there, hands fisted at his sides, shouting up into the branches as if the ancient, alien sentience cared— had ever cared—for his puny, human anguish.

  "I shall lifemate Aelliana Caylon, if she will have me, and if you dare—dare!—frighten or in any way discontent her, I will chop you down with my own hands!"

  His words hung for a moment, and were gone, swallowed by the still, warm air. Daav took a breath—another—deliberately relaxed his fists…

  In the height of the branches, something moved.

  He tensed, recalling the torrent of trash that had greeted Samiv tel'Izak, thinking that the Tree could easily and with no harm to itself loose a branch onto his unprotected head, thus disposing of a breed-line that had failed of its promise.

  The noise grew louder. Daav crouched, ready to leap in any direction.

  And fell to his knees as dozens of seedpods cascaded around him.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  The heart keeps its own Code.

  —Anonymous

  The doorkeeper showed him to a private parlor, served him wine and left him alone, murmuring that the Master would be with him soon.

  The wine was sweet and sat ill on a stomach roiled with fear. He set it aside after a single sip and paced the length of the room, unable to sit decently and await his host.

  Behind him, the door opened, and he spun, too quickly. Master Healer Kestra paused on the threshold and showed her hands, palms up and empty, eyebrows lifted ironically.

  Ignoring irony, Daav bowed greeting, counting time as he had not done since he was a halfling, throttling pilot speed down to normality, though his nerves screamed for speed.

  The Healer returned his bow with an inclination of her head and walked over to the clustered chairs. She arranged herself comfortably in one and looked up at him, face neutral.

  "Well, Korval."

  He drifted a few paces forward. "Truly, Master Kestra?"

  She waved impatiently at the chair opposite her. "I will not be stalked, sir! Sit, sit! And be still, for love of the gods! You're loud enough to give an old woman a headache—and to no purpose. She's fine."

  His knees gave way and, perforce, he sat. "Fine."

  "Oh, a little burn—nothing worrisome, I assure you! For the most part, the Learner never touched her. She knew her danger quickly and crafted her protection well. She created herself an obsession: an entire star system, which required her constant and total concentration—I should say, calculation!— to remain viable." She smiled, fondly, so it seemed to Daav. "Brilliant! The Learning Module will not disturb rational cognition." She moved her shoulders.

  "Tom Sen and I removed the obsession, and placed the sleep upon her. We did not consider, under the circumstances, that it was wise to erase painful memory, though we did put— say, we caused those memories to feel distant to her. Thus she remains wary, yet unimpeded by immediate fear." Another ripple of her shoulders.

  "For the rest, she passed a few hours in the 'doc for the cuts and bruises. I spoke with her not an hour ago and I am well-satisfied with our work."

  Daav closed his eyes. She was well. He was trembling, he noted distantly, and his chest burned.

  "Korval?"

  He cleared his throat, opened his eyes and inclined his head. "Accept my thanks," he said, voice steady in the formal phrasing.

  "Certainly," Kestra murmured, and paused, the line of a frown between her brows.

  "You should be informed," she said, abruptly, and Daav felt a chill run his spine.

  "Informed?" he repeated, when several seconds had passed and the Healer had said no more. "Is she then not— entirely—well, Master Kestra?"

  She moved a hand—half-negation. "Of this most recent injury, you need have no further concern. However, there was another matter—a trauma left untended. Scar tissue, you would say."

  "Yes," he murmured, recalling. "She had said she thought it—too late—to seek a Healer."

  "In some ways, she was correct," Kestra admitted. "Much of the damage has been integrated into the personality grid. On the whole, good use has been made of a bad start—she's strong, never doubt it. I did what I could, where the scars hindered growth." She sighed lightly and sat back in her chair.

  "The reason I mention the matter to you is that I find—an anomaly—within Scholar Caylon's pattern."

  Daav frowned. "Anomaly?"

  The Healer sighed. "Call it a—seed pattern. It's set off in a—oh, a cul-de-sac!—by itself and it bears no resemblance whatsoever to the remainder of her pattern. Although I have seen a pattern remarkably like it, elsewhere."

  "Have you?" Daav looked at her. "Where?"

  Master Healer Kestra smiled wearily, raised a finger and pointed at the vacant air just above his head.

  "There."

  It took a moment to assimilate, wracked as he was. "You say," he said slowly, "that Aelliana and I are—true lifemates."

  Kestra sighed. "Now, of that, there is some doubt. The seed-pattern was found in the area of densest scarring." She looked at him closely, her eyes grave.

  "You understand, the damage in that area of her pattern was—enormous. Had a Healer been summoned at the time of trauma—however, we shall not weep over spilt wine! I have—pruned away what I could of the scar tissue. At the least, she will be easier for it—more open to joy. That the seed will grow now, after these years without nurture—I cannot say that it will happen."

  He stared at her, seeing pity in her eyes. His mind would not quite hold the information—Aelliana. She was his destined lifemate—the other half of a wizard's match. He was to have shared with Aelliana what Er Thom shared with his Anne… She had been hurt—several times hurt—grievously hurt and no one called to tend her, may Clan Mizel dwindle to dust in his lifetime!

  He drew a deep breath, closed his eyes, reached through the anger and the anguish, found the method he required and spun it into place.

  He was standing in a circle of pure and utter peace, safe within that secret soul-place where anger never came, and sorrow shifted away like sand.

  "And who," Kestra demanded, "taught you that?"

  He opened his eyes, hand rising to touch his earring. "The grandmother of a tribe of hunter-gatherers, on a world whose name I may not give you." He peered through the bright still peace; located another scrap of information: "She said that I was always—busy—and so she taught me to—be still."

  "All honor to her," Kestra murmured.

  "All honor to her," Daav agreed and rose on legs that trembled very little, really. "May I see Aelliana now?"

  The room was sun-filled and fragrant, with wide windows giving onto the Healers' extensive gardens. She stood in the open window, looking out on the rows of flowers—a slender woman in a long green robe, her tawny hair caught back with a plain silver hair-ring.

  He made no noise when he entered, but she turned as if she had heard him, a smile on her face and her eyes gloriously green.

  "Daav," she said, and walked into his arms.

  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 minshak'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'at - Left

  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, encom passing 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

  About the Authors

  Sharon Lee and Steve Miller live in the rolling hills of Central Maine. Born and raised in Baltimore, Maryland, in the early '50s, they met several times before taking the hint and formalizing the team, in 1979. They removed to Maine with cats, books, and music following the completion of Carpe Diem, their third novel.

  Their short fiction, written both jointly and singly, has appeared or will appear in Absolute Magnitude, Catfantastic, Such a Pretty Face, Dreams of Decadence, Fantasy Book, and several former incarnations of Amazing. Meisha Merlin Publishing has or will be publishing four books set in the Liaden Universe: Plan B, Partners in Necessity, Pilots Choice, and I Dare.

  Both Sharon and Steve have seen their nonfiction work and reviews published in a variety of newspapers and magazines. Steve is the founding curator of the University of Maryland's Kuhn Library Science Fiction Research Collection.

  Sharon's interests include music, pine cone collecting, and seashores. Steve also enjoys music, plays chess, and collects cat whiskers. Both spend way too much time playing on the internet, and even have a website at:

  www.korval.com

  There are secrets in all families--

  - George Farquhar, 1678-1707

  Liaden Currency

  12 dex to a tor

  12 tor to a kais

  12 kais (144 tor) to a cantra

  1 cantra = 35,000 Terran bits

  Standard Year

  8 Standard Days in One Standard Week

  32 Standard Days in One Standard Month

  384 Standard Days in One Standard Year

  Liaden Year

  96 Standard Days in One Relumma

  12 Standard Months in One Standard Year

  One Relumma is equal to 8 twelve-day weeks

  Four Relumma equal One Standard Year

  Cast of Characters

  Gobelyn's Market out of New Carpathia

  Arin Gobelyn, Iza's deceased spouse, Jethri's father

  Cris Gobelyn, first mate, La's eldest child

  Dyk Gobelyn, cook

  Grig Tomas, back-up everything, Arin's cousin

  Iza Gobelyn, captain-owner

  Jethri Gobelyn

  Khatelane Gobelyn, pilot

  Mel Gobelyn

  Paitor Gobelyn, trader, Iza's brother

  Seeli Gobelyn, admin, La's second child

  Zam Gobelyn

  Elthoria out of Solcintra

  Kor Ith yo'Lanna, captain

  Noire ven'Deelin, master trader

  Pen Rel sig'Kethra, arms master

  Gar Sad per'Etla, cargo master

  Gaenor tel'Dorbit, first mate

  Ray Jon tel'Ondor, protocol master

  Vil Tor, ship's librarian

  Kilara pin'Ebit, technician

  Rantel ver'Borith, technician

  Tarnia's Clanhouse

  Stafeli Maarilex, Delm Tarnia

  Ren Lar Maarilex, Master of the Vine

  Pet Ric Maarilex, his son

  Pen Dir, a cousin, off at school

  Meicha Maarilex, a daughter of the house

  Miandra Maarilex, a daughter of the house

  Flinx, a cat

  Mr. pel'Saba, the butler

  Mrs. tor'Beli, the cook

  Anecha, a driver

  Graem, Ren Lar's second in the cellars

  Sun Eli pen'Jerad, tailor

  Zer Min pel'Oban, dancing master

  Day 29

  Standard Year 1118

  Gobelyn's Market

  Opposite Shift

  "Down all that long, weary shift, they kept after Byl," Khat's voice was low and eerie in the dimness of the common room. The knuckles of Jethri's left hand ached with the grip he had on his cup while his right thumb and forefinger whirled ellipses on the endlessly cool surface of his lucky fractin. Beside him, he could hear Dyk breathing, fast and harsh.

  "Once--twice--three times!--he broke for the outring, his ship, and his mates. Three times, the Liadens turned him back, pushing him toward the center core, where no space-going man has right nor reason to be.

  "They pushed him, those Liadens, moving through the night-levels as swift and sure as if it were bright world-day. Byl ran, as fast as long legs and terror could speed him, but they were always ahead of him, the canny Liadens. They were always ahead--'round every corner, past every turning in the hall."

  Mel, on Jethri's left, moaned softly. Jethri bit his lip.

  "But then!" Khat's voice glittered in the gloom. "Then, all at once, the luck changed. Or, say, the gods of spacers smiled. He reached a corridor that was empty, turned a corner where no Liaden crouched, gun aiming for his heart. He paused then, ears craned to the rear, but heard no stealthy movement, nor boot heels sounding quick along the steel floor.

  "He ran then, light of heart and all but laughing, and the way stood clear before him, from downring admin all the way to the outing, where his ship was berthed; where his mates, and his love, lay awaiting his return.

  "He came to th
e bay door--Bay Eight, that was where. Came to the bay door, used his card and slipped through as soon as the gap was wide enough to fit him. Grinning, he pushed off in the lighter grav, taking long bounds toward Dock Three. He took the curve like he'd grown wings, singing now, so glad to be near, so glad to be home...

  "That was when he saw the crowd, and the flashing lights that meant ring cops--and the others, that meant worse.

  "He shouted and ran, waving his arms as if it all made a difference. Which it didn't. Those lifelines had been cut good hours ago, while he had been harried, hounded and kept away--and there was eight zipped bags laid out neat on the dockside, which was all that was left of his mates and his love."

  Silence, Jethri's jaw was so tight he thought teeth might shatter. Mel gasped and Dyk groaned.

  "So," said Khat, her voice shockingly matter-of-fact. "Now you see what comes to someone who cheats a Liaden on cargo."

  "Except," Jethri managed, his voice breathless with tension, though he knew far better than what had been told--Khat on a story was that good. "Excepting, they'd never done it that way--the Liadens. Might be they'd've rigged something with the docking fees--more like, they'd've set the word around, so five ports later Byl finds himself at a stand--full cans and no buyers, see? But they wouldn't kill for cargo--that's not how their Balancing works."

  "So speaks the senior'prentice!" Dyk intoned, pitching his voice so deep it rumbled inside the steel walls like a bad encounter with a gabber-hook.

  "C'mon, Jeth," Mel put in. "You was scared, too!"

  "Khat tells a good story," he muttered, and Dyk produced a laugh.

  "She does that--and who's to say she's wrong? Sure, you been studying the tapes, but Khat's been studying portside news since before you was allowed inside ship's core!"

  "Not that long," Khat protested mildly, over the rustle and scrape that was her moving along the bench 'til she had her hand on the controls. Light flooded the cubby, showing four startlingly similar faces: broad across the cheekbones and square about the jaw. Khat's eyes, and Jethri's, were brown; Dyk and Mel had blue--hers paler than his. All four favored the spacer buzz, which left their scant hair looking like dark velvet caps snugged close 'gainst their skulls. Mel was nearest to Jethri in age--nineteen Standards to his seventeen. Khat and Dyk were born close enough to argue minutes when questions of elder's precedence rose--twenty Standard Years, both, and holding adult shares.