Without a Front: The Warrior's Challenge (Chronicles of Alsea Book 3)

by Fletcher DeLancey

  “With considerable help from his drinking partner, Herot Opah,” Micah said in disgust.

  “Does the rest of the family know yet?”

  He shook his head. “They’re shaken up enough as it is, what with half the room being destroyed by the plasma blast. Salomen spoke with Nikin a hantick ago. They were still cleaning up the mess. I told them to send any bills to me.”

  “Good. Do we have any leads on Herot?”

  “Not yet. The tavern owner says he left half a hantick after Cullom did, but none of the Opahs ever saw him. I’m still trying to guess his state of mind. Did he have no idea that Cullom would act on his information, and that’s why he stayed at the tavern? Or did he know what Cullom planned, and stayed precisely for that reason?”

  “And Cullom can’t tell us that.”

  “No. We need to find Herot.”

  Tal processed that for a few moments, then asked, “What about the media?”

  “It hasn’t been publicized yet. Miltorin is making an announcement in five hanticks. He’ll say there was an attempted assassination, that you sustained minor injuries from which you will fully recover—we didn’t think it wise to advertise just how badly you were actually hurt—and that the criminal has been identified and detained.” For the first time in his report, Micah hesitated. “In the absence of instructions to the contrary, I told Miltorin to keep Herot’s name out of it.”

  “You did right. He doesn’t deserve the consideration, but his family does. But we’ll need to prepare them for the inevitable. Herot’s absence won’t go unnoticed for long.”

  “No, it won’t. But at least we can give them a little room to breathe.”

  “Very little. What a mess. It couldn’t get much worse, could it?”

  “Oh, yes,” he said quietly. “It could have been far, far worse.”

  Tal’s imagination brought up a vivid illustration of just how bad it could have been, so horrifying in its intensity that for half a piptick she could hear the screaming.

  “Is that all of it?” she managed.

  He nodded. “At this point it’s mostly a matter of waiting.”

  “Then would you ask Salomen to come back in?”

  “Certainly. Salomen!” Micah called.

  Tal glared. “I could have done that myself.”

  “You could have, but you asked me to.”

  The door opened, and Salomen settled down next to Micah. Just seeing her alive and in one piece was an enormous relief, but when she looked up, Tal’s heart stuttered. She had been crying.

  “Now you know,” she said softly. “I’m so sorry, Andira. I have no defense for my brother; he’s brought dishonor to our name even if this wasn’t intentional. And I can only pray that it wasn’t.”

  Tears were rising in Tal’s eyes as well, just from seeing her misery. Damned medication!

  “Micah, I need to see Salomen alone.”

  To her confusion, Micah turned to Salomen and said, “Will you aid an old warrior?”

  “You’re not old. Just slightly dented.” She wrapped her hands around Micah’s upper arm and helped him to his feet.

  Tal gasped. “Micah! Your hands!”

  He crouched down again, back into her field of view, and looked at his hands as if he hadn’t noticed they were encased in gel gloves. “As she said, I’m slightly dented.”

  “He burned nearly all the skin off his hands trying to get the molten glass off you,” Salomen said.

  The realization sent shivers all the way to Tal’s toes. “That was Fahla’s sign. At Whitemoon Temple.”

  They looked at each other, then at her. “We hadn’t thought of that,” Micah said.

  Salomen nodded. “Too much else to think of.”

  “It was never about me. It was about you.”

  “Perhaps it was about both of you,” Salomen said.

  “Perhaps.” Micah looked at his hands again. “Or perhaps it was about more than that. I believe I’ll have a cup of shannel and give this some consideration. Call me if you need me.”

  As he walked toward the door, Tal said, “Micah, thank you. You’re one of the reasons it wasn’t worse.” He would say it was merely his duty, but truly it required a special kind of courage to voluntarily put one’s hands in fire.

  He stopped with his back to her. “You owe me no thanks.”

  The door shut behind him, and Salomen returned to her spot on the floor. “He’s very upset. He feels responsible.”

  “He’s not responsible for the fact that Cullom Bilsner was given privileged and very specific information.” Tal barely stopped herself from adding by your own shekking excuse for a brother. “Nobody can guard against that.”

  “Maybe not, but that’s what I’m sensing.” Salomen scooted closer. “I’ve been waiting and waiting for you to wake up, and now that you have, I don’t know what to say. You have every right to your anger.”

  Tal closed her eyes. The bond. Salomen could feel everything now, but thanks to the drugs, it only went one way. “I’m sorry you felt that. Yes, I’m angry, but I don’t know how much is me and how much is the medication. Mostly, I’m worried about you.”

  “I’m not the one in the restriction bed.”

  Tal carefully moved her arm, found it functional, and slipped it off the support. As soon as Salomen felt the hand on her cheek she reached up to hold it there, her face crumpling.

  “I’m so sorry,” she choked. “So sorry. You were hurt so badly! I tried to help you, but even that little bit that I could Share was unbearable, and I couldn’t hold it…”

  “Shhh, Salomen, please. None of this was your fault. And it wasn’t a ‘little bit’ that you took from me; it was a great deal. I saw what it did to you. It broke my heart.”

  “How do you think I felt when I let go? You were in agony because I wasn’t strong enough.”

  “Oh, tyrina. If you were any stronger, you would not be Alsean. I’ve never seen anything like what you did. It humbled me.”

  Salomen’s laugh was bitter. “I humbled you? If you could feel me, you’d know how ridiculous that is.”

  “And if you’re feeling me right now, then you know this is the truth. I love you.” She would not let one more piptick go by without saying it, not after such a brutal reminder that time was finite. “I’m sorry I didn’t have the courage to say it earlier. I felt it; I just couldn’t…speak it out loud. And now I don’t even remember why.”

  A fresh surge of tears streamed from Salomen’s eyes as she turned her head and kissed Tal’s palm before lacing their fingers together. “I told you not to say it until it came from your heart.”

  “It does,” Tal whispered. “You know that.”

  Salomen nodded. “I’ve known it for a while. Probably longer than you did. That’s partly why I put off our Sharing. Most people need it to see into a heart, but those flashes…I saw yours. For me, the benefit was far outweighed by the consequences.”

  “Is it still?”

  “Oh, Fahla, no. If I hadn’t had this connection with you, I would have gone insane the moment you passed out on top of me. I thought you were dead at first; you were so heavy and limp, and Colonel Micah—I’ve never seen him like that. I was starting to lose my mind, but then I felt a tiny little thread that had never been there before. It was holding us together, and it never broke all these hanticks I’ve been waiting for you to wake up.” Her mouth twisted. “I could hate Herot for taking this from us. Because of him, our first Sharing was torture. And because of him, I’m alone in this bond. All this time I put it off, and now that I want our full connection—Great Mother, I want it now—but it’s not there. You’re sonsales.”

  Tal would have given anything for that connection as well. For a moment she wondered if this was a punishment for the way they had delayed
their Sharing and denied the divine spark.

  “I’m only sonsales for a few days,” she said, trying to convince both of them. “After that, you won’t be able to get me back out of your mind again. And you don’t hate Herot. He’s your brother.”

  “If we find out that he did this intentionally, he is not my brother. I won’t share our mother’s name with him, and I doubt Father would share his, either.”

  Retraction of a family name was one of the greatest punishments that could be incurred outside the justice system, and Tal could not believe Salomen would actually do it. “Then for all our sakes, I hope he was just a drunken fool.”

  “So do I.” Salomen used her free hand to wipe the tears from her cheeks. “I’m also extremely angry that after all this waiting, we’re finally at the point of being able to touch each other without fear and I still can’t have you. You’re so—” Her breath shuddered in her throat. “Hurt,” she finished in a whisper.

  “But you said the damage can be repaired, yes?”

  She nodded.

  “Then in a few days I won’t be hurt anymore. And I can tell you right now that thinking about our joining is going to make me heal twice as fast.”

  Salomen gave her a watery smile. “At least we’re both still here. I’d have been very upset if one of us went to our Return before we ever got a chance to join or Share properly.”

  “Fahla would never let it happen. Not even she would incur your wrath lightly.”

  “You wouldn’t let it happen, either. I know you’re going to tell me this isn’t necessary, but I believe it is. Thank you, Andira. First for saving my life, and then for saving my body.”

  Tal opened her mouth before realizing that she was about to say exactly what Salomen had predicted. “Well, I had to get you out of that window seat one way or another. I told you it was mine.”

  Salomen kissed the back of her hand. “Next time, you can have it.”

  CHAPTER 2:

  Incompetence

  Spinner stabbed his finger on the encrypted message, deleting it forever, and threw the reader card on the desk.

  “Fahla-damned idiot!” he shouted. Furiously he grabbed the first thing that came to hand, a statuette that had stood on his desk for fifteen cycles, and threw it as hard as he could. It shattered against the far wall with a satisfying crash, destroying four thousand cinteks of value in an instant.

  It didn’t make him feel better.

  How could Withernet have been so stupid? A shekking assassination attempt on the Lancer? It was the last thing he wanted! Ten moons he had spent on this plan; ten moons of applying either influence, cinteks, or both as he carefully put all the pieces in place. Tomorrow was supposed to be his day of triumph. It was supposed to be the day he put the final tile in place and it all began to fall apart for Lancer Tal. Instead, she was in Blacksun Healing Center in Fahla only knew what shape. The plasma blast had taken out half the wall of her room; there was little hope she would come out of that intact enough to keep her title—if she was even alive. Either way she would be of no use to him.

  And now he had lost his leverage with Challenger as well. He had just gone from triumph to disaster, all because of the flaming incompetence of a grainbird who had the bright idea of exceeding his instructions. In his message, Withernet had the horns to suggest Spinner would be pleased at the news.

  At the moment, Spinner thought darkly, the only thing that would please him would be news of Withernet’s demise. That man was too stupid to live.

  He spent the next two hanticks pacing his study, trying to find a way to salvage the situation while waiting for the inevitable announcement on the news. When Communications Advisor Miltorin finally appeared onscreen, his face grave as he addressed the people, Spinner’s heart rate doubled.

  Two ticks later, a broad smile creased his face. Minor injuries? She had escaped that with minor injuries? Either Fahla herself was looking out for that woman, or Miltorin was lying through his teeth. One of those was far more likely than the other. But Miltorin wouldn’t have promised her full recovery if that much weren’t true. Somehow, Lancer Tal had managed to survive in good enough shape for the healers to put her back together.

  The game was still on.

  By the end of Miltorin’s announcement, Spinner’s mood had rebounded to near euphoria. Cullom Bilsner was in custody, but no mention had been made of Herot Opah. If they had Cullom, they knew about Herot. And if they weren’t mentioning Herot, there could only be two reasons. One, they were covering up his involvement. Two, he had run and they would not admit they had lost him. Either of those options gave him excellent leverage.

  Humming an old ballad, he retrieved his reader card and began sending out orders.

  CHAPTER 3:

  Non-interference

  The sun had just cleared the horizon when Gehrain arrived with Tal’s gear bag. “I picked up everything that seemed important,” he whispered as he set the bag on a chair. “Or that was salvageable. How is she?”

  Micah looked at the unmoving figure in the restriction bed. “She’s…” Torn apart, his conscience helpfully informed him. Alive only because of her own instincts, and no thanks to you. “On the mend. But the drugs have knocked her out. You can speak normally; you won’t wake her.”

  Gehrain studied her. “I can hardly believe she’s still breathing. That room…the whole window seat is gone. And the bookcases, and half the wall. But Raiz Opah is walking around with hardly a scratch. Fahla must have been in the room with them.”

  “And a good thing, too,” Micah said bitterly. “We certainly weren’t any help.” He held up a hand as Gehrain turned toward him. “No. I don’t want to hear it. But you were right, and I was wrong. We should have moved the net farther out.”

  “He had inside information, Colonel.”

  “And I should have accounted for that possibility. Take a lesson from this. Always, always plan for the worst scenario.”

  Gehrain nodded, though he clearly wanted to say more. “I’ve set up the Guard rotation for the next five days,” he said instead. “And pulled in more warriors from the base. Blacksun Healing Center is officially a fortress.”

  “Good. If I had my way, she wouldn’t put a boot anywhere on Alsea without fifty warriors around her.”

  “She would never allow that.”

  “I know.” Micah glanced back at Tal. “Fahla save us from brick-headed warriors.”

  It was exactly what Aldirk would have said. They looked at each other and then snorted with laughter. It felt disloyal and wrong, with Tal so grievously injured, but he couldn’t stop and neither could Gehrain.

  An odd chime broke into their stress release, and they gazed around the room for the source.

  “Is that…?” Gehrain pointed toward the status displays on the far wall.

  “I don’t think so.” Another chime brought Micah’s head around to the gear bag. He took a step forward and reached for the tabs, then cursed at his useless gel-gloved hands. “It’s coming from there.”

  Gehrain opened the bag and rustled around. “Ah. It must be—” The chime sounded again just as he held up a familiar pad. “There’s Gaian script showing, but I can’t read it.”

  “It’s Captain Serrado.” Micah couldn’t read it either, but there wasn’t a doubt in his mind. “They talk about once a moon, and it’s been a moon since the last one.”

  The pad chimed again, and Micah weighed his options. “I can’t activate it with these damned gloves,” he said, gesturing toward the counter at the side of the room. “Set it up there so I can stand in front of it, and then tap the screen.”

  Gehrain did as requested. The moment his finger touched the screen, the alien script vanished and Captain Serrado appeared. Her smile faded when she saw the two men looking at her. “Colonel Micah, Lead Guard Gehrain. I would say well met,
but you don’t seem—” Her gaze moved over their shoulders. “Those are status displays. Are you in a healing center? Is Lancer Tal all right?”

  “Thank you, Gehrain,” Micah said. “That’s all I need for now.”

  “Yes, Colonel.” Gehrain nodded at the captain. “It’s good to see you again, Captain Serrado.”

  “And you.” She waited silently while Gehrain exited the room, but her expression spoke volumes.

  As soon as the door shut, Micah said, “She’s not all right. But she will be.”

  The horror showed clearly on her face as he explained, but by the end she had put on a professional mask. “Are you certain this was an isolated action? I know she’s still facing censure for her decision at the Battle of Alsea.”

  “I’m as certain as we can be, given our current knowledge. That’s not to say that an attack might not materialize from a different quarter, but this one had nothing to do with Fahla’s covenant.”

  “This one,” she repeated, her eyes narrowing. “I am not reassured. If you need any assistance at all, tell me. I can have the Phoenix there in sixteen of your days.”

  “Didn’t you just get that ship?” Tal would never want Captain Serrado to risk her career again, and the last thing she needed was for her lost love to show up now.

  “I did, and we just finished our shakedown cruise.” The captain leaned forward. “The Protectorate is very invested in keeping Lancer Tal in power. We know there are voices on Alsea calling for an end to this treaty, and we know who those voices belong to. One of them is on the High Council. It wouldn’t take but a word from me to have orders in hand, directing me to burn my engines all the way to Alsea. I can help.”

  Micah swallowed his surprise. It had never occurred to him that the Protectorate would be tracking Alsean politics that closely. But it made sense—why else have an ambassador living in Blacksun?