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

by Fletcher DeLancey

  Tal groaned. “That’s my fault. If I’d told you what was going to happen, Jaros would never have been there.”

  “That’s not the issue tonight.”

  It had certainly been an issue on other nights, and Salomen still hadn’t forgiven her. Tal hadn’t forgiven herself, either. Not when Salomen’s nightmares made her realize how much damage she had done.

  And here was one more example.

  “So he heard the fight. And of course he saw the aftermath, because he saw Nikin coming out of the guest gallery with you in his arms.”

  “Yes. And he saw you being taken off to the healing center, when just a hantick earlier you were in full dress uniform, looking like you owned the world. He had a lot of questions, and we’ve all done our best to answer, but he knows there are details we’re not sharing and he’s become increasingly obsessed with seeing it for himself.”

  “But why now? He doesn’t have access to it. The broadcasts have never shown the whole thing since the live airing. Let him wait until he’s old enough to handle it—like sometime after his Rite of Ascension,” she added bitterly. If they waited until Jaros was twenty, it might give her enough time to get used to the idea.

  Salomen smiled at that. “I’m afraid that won’t work. The recording has become an underground favorite at his school. Father thinks, and I agree, that it’s only a matter of time before Jaros gets his hands on it. He’s being teased by schoolmates who are delighted that they’ve seen it and he hasn’t, especially since he’s your bondbrother. Besides his own personal obsession, now he’s obsessed with being able to fight back against the taunts.”

  “He’ll be entering his autumn break in just two ninedays. Surely a moon away from school will put this whole thing to rest?”

  “I don’t think we have that much time. It’s already been two ninedays, and his fascination has risen to alarming levels. Worst of all, I’m sensing a resolve in him that wasn’t there before. He knows we don’t want him to see it, but he’s arrived at the point where he no longer cares.”

  “I don’t suppose forbidding him on pain of permanent banishment from the State House will work.”

  Salomen shook her head.

  “But he’s too young!”

  “In two moons he’ll be ten cycles. And one moon after that, he’ll be the same age I was when I defied the testers. He’s young, but he has my determination. He’ll make it happen. The question is no longer whether or not he sees it; now the question is how he sees it. And I would rather he see it here at home, with you right there to hold him when it’s over, than at school or a friend’s house with no one around to help him see it in the proper perspective.” Compassion warmed her voice as she added, “I know you haven’t seen it, and I don’t want you to watch it with him. I’d just like for you to be nearby.”

  Tal rested her head against the back of the chair. “Shek. What a way to end a perfectly wonderful feast. Why did you choose tonight?”

  “Because we thought it would be better for him if he spent an entire evening with you beforehand.”

  “So you had it all planned out. Nice of you to give me some warning.”

  Salomen’s stare singed her ears and brought the guilt rushing to the surface. They both looked away.

  “If I’d told you earlier, you would have spent the entire feast worrying about it,” Salomen said at last. “I wanted you to be able to enjoy yourself. I’m sorry if that was the wrong choice.”

  “Salomen…I would do it so differently now—” Tal stopped at the upraised hand.

  “Don’t. Not tonight. We have to deal with Jaros.”

  Apologies had limited power, as Tal had recently learned. When the wound was deep enough, all the remorse in the world was not enough to heal it.

  “All right,” she said. “I’ll watch it with him.”

  “What? Andira, no, I’m not trying to guilt you into that. Take a glass of spirits and go sit on the back porch. I’ll come for you as soon as it’s over.”

  “No,” Tal said stubbornly. “I’m not going to hide. Besides, I should have watched it before now. What better training vid could there possibly be?”

  “Great Mother, you really are a warrior. Can you actually watch it with that in mind?”

  “That’s probably the only way I can watch it. You realize this will be the end of him idolizing me. I’m going to miss that.”

  “Don’t be too sure.” Salomen left her chair and leaned a hip on the wide arm of Tal’s. “I still idolize you, and I saw the whole thing.”

  Jaros came clattering in, happily discussing his impressions of the feast before he was even through the door. Tal watched in silence, worrying herself into such a state that her stomach hurt. She thought wryly that Salomen had been very right not to tell her; she wouldn’t have been able to eat a bite at that feast. Now she just wanted to get it over with. Salomen was the one who responded to Jaros, giving all of the appropriate hm and did he? sounds that kept him engaged.

  Soon the others arrived, and Shikal sized up the situation at a glance.

  “So she’s talked to you?” he asked Tal.

  She nodded, then looked at Micah as her senses flooded with his sympathy. “You too? How long have you known?”

  “Since this morning. I gave her the file. For what it’s worth, I think it’s the best thing.”

  Jaros’s chatter faltered. He had picked up on the undercurrents and was gazing from one adult to another.

  “Jaros,” said Salomen, “now that everyone is here, we’re going to have a family council.”

  “Is this about Herot?” he asked.

  “Not this time.”

  Shikal and Micah sat down while Nikin pressed the control pad in the wall. With a slight hum, the vidscreen lowered from its holder on the ceiling. He slipped a file clip into the pad and took a seat with the others.

  “We’ve decided to show you the recording of Andira’s ritual combat.” Salomen got no further as Jaros bounced up excitedly.

  “Really? Speedy!” He raced over to Tal and grabbed her hand. “Finally! They wouldn’t let me see it.”

  “I know,” she said. “For good reason. I haven’t seen it either.”

  “Why not?”

  “That was not something I enjoyed. Do you understand that I had to kill a man?”

  “I know that! He challenged you to ritual combat, just like in the stories, and you had to stop him. Everyone says you were the better fighter, because even though he cut you more often, you landed more blows.”

  “Great Goddess, Jaros!” Tal could not remember ever having been this bloodthirsty as a child. She looked beseechingly at Salomen, who raised her eyebrows in a See what I mean? expression.

  “Jaros,” said Shikal, “You seem to have gotten some wrong ideas about that combat. It’s not a story. It was very real, and Andira was badly hurt, and she had to do something she did not want to do.”

  “You mean kill him?” He looked at Tal. “Didn’t you want to? He was bad. He was the one who kidnapped Herot.”

  “No, I didn’t want to. I had already arranged his punishment. He was going to lose his title, his freedom, and his caste. There was no greater punishment I could possibly have inflicted.”

  “Yes, there was,” he pointed out. “And you did. He died because he challenged you and lost.”

  “He died because he forced a situation where my only options were to kill him or die myself!” Tal had no patience left for his ignorant enthusiasm. “And it was close. That’s why I didn’t want to see it.”

  He frowned. “You’re not watching it with me?”

  “I’ll watch it. But I don’t want to. I’m here because I think I should be.”

  “But—”

  “Jaros, sit down,” Salomen said. “You can ask Andira questions aft
erward, when you know what she’s talking about.”

  He sat grumpily, but his pout turned to excitement when Nikin activated the file. He leaned forward, watching in eager fascination as a black-suited Tal descended the stairs to the chamber floor.

  From her perch on the chair arm, Salomen rested a hand on Tal’s neck, softly caressing her and keeping her grounded in the here and now.

  During the initial feinting and parrying, Jaros leaned forward, his body shifting as he swung his small arm from one side to the other, imitating what he saw on the screen. “Yes!” he cried as Tal kicked Shantu in the leg. “Good one, Lancer Tal!” And when she crushed Shantu’s nose and shoulder, he nearly levitated with pride. But a moment later Shantu’s sword sliced in, and Jaros went silent as the Tal on screen clutched her side, her hand coming away smeared in blood.

  From that point onward, he was increasingly distressed by what he saw. His idol was fighting with all the strength in her body—and losing. When Tal’s sword dropped from her badly wounded arm, Jaros let out a small cry of despair. “No,” he whispered, caught up in the moment. “Pick it up.” Then Shantu kicked her onto her back, and Jaros was so upset that Tal almost left her chair to pull him into a warmron.

  It was strange to see herself looking like this. She was long used to seeing her face on vidscreens and other imagery, but only in her public persona. Shantu had a point about her carefully constructed myth. Here, she was exhausted, drenched in sweat, and lying at the feet of an opponent. For Jaros’s sake she was grateful for her choice of a black fighting suit. She saw the blood when the wet fabric glinted in the lights, but he didn’t know what to look for.

  Jaros’s relief was vast when Tal rallied, and when she impaled Shantu, he was momentarily gleeful. But he became very somber at the sight of the pooling blood, and even more so when he saw her falling into the arms of the warrior Councilors. They watched the healers treating her and wheeling her toward the doors, and to Tal’s relief, Nikin ended the playback there. She had not wanted to see Salomen being carried in. Once was more than enough.

  The room was silent as everyone waited for Jaros’s reaction.

  He turned in his seat and stared at her. Then he stood, walked over, and crawled onto her lap, an act he would normally consider himself far too old for. She wrapped her arms around him as he leaned his head against her shoulder.

  “You were hurt,” he said.

  “Yes, I was. You knew that. You saw me being taken to the healing center.”

  He nodded. “But it’s different.”

  “You mean, actually seeing it happen?”

  Another nod.

  “I told you, Jaros. I didn’t enjoy it. Now you know why. It was just something I had to do, no matter how much I wished otherwise. Shantu did a bad thing, but he didn’t deserve to die.”

  “But he hurt you.” Jaros was fixed on one thing. “They had to carry you.”

  Tal squeezed his small body. “I’m fine now. It turned out all right.”

  He snuggled in more closely. “Will you ever have to do that again?”

  “No. The Council banned the practice. That was the last ritual challenge that will ever be fought.”

  “So no other warrior can challenge you?”

  “If a warrior doesn’t like my leadership now, an old-fashioned caste coup is the only option.”

  “Good. You should be Lancer forever.”

  She smiled. “I’ll have to retire someday. But it will be a while.”

  He was quiet then, though his eyes were wide open. Tal wasn’t sure what to do next, but the others stirred into activity. Nikin began laying a fire, Shikal fetched a bottle of spirits from the rack, and Micah pulled the glasses from the sideboard. Salomen brushed Jaros’s hair away from his face and asked, “Was it what you expected?”

  He shook his head.

  “What did you expect?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Tal did. “Maybe you expected to see me beat Shantu without really being hurt.”

  He nodded. “Everyone said you were the better fighter. But he almost killed you.”

  “There were two kinds of fighting happening there,” Tal explained. “Shantu was a better sword fighter. But I’m better at hand-to-hand fighting, which is something a warrior is far more likely to use in real-life situations. The problem is that swords cause much more damage. It wasn’t glorious and wonderful, Jaros. It hurt, a lot. And those battles and stories you love so much—the people who lived them didn’t think it was glorious and wonderful either. They thought it was frightening and painful.”

  “Were you afraid?” he asked, raising his head to look at her.

  “I didn’t have time to be afraid during the combat. But I was afraid before it started. Mostly I was afraid of never again seeing the people I love. That’s why I didn’t enjoy killing Shantu. He had a family, just like you. He had people who loved him, and they’ll never see him again.”

  Jaros settled back against her chest. He had never thought of Shantu having a family, and Tal could feel him turning that concept around in his mind. He was quiet as Shikal and Micah handed out drinks, and Salomen kissed him before leaving to take the chair he had been in. The fire crackled, the adults spoke of everything but the combat, and somewhere in the course of the conversation, Tal sensed that he had fallen asleep. She looked over at Salomen, who set her drink aside and came to take her brother.

  “No, that’s all right. I’ll do it.” Tal stood, holding Jaros in her arms. “Lead the way.”

  The air was noticeably cooler upstairs. While Salomen held up the blankets, Tal carefully lowered Jaros to his bed. He turned to his side, clutching his pillow and frowning as Salomen settled the covers around him.

  “He has quite a lot to think about now,” Tal said.

  “More than I could ever have wished.” Salomen stroked his hair, and his frown smoothed out. “But he learned some important lessons, and we controlled the situation. I think it was for the best.”

  “I agree. Much as I hated the idea at first.” Tal followed her out and took her hand as they walked down the curving hallway. “When he’s old enough, I look forward to telling him that you fought that combat, too.” She pulled Salomen to a halt. “All that concern about me watching it, and you didn’t mention that you hadn’t seen it either.”

  “I never wanted to.”

  Someday, Tal thought, she might stop underestimating Salomen.

  “I was afraid,” she said. “I thought you were my weakness, and I couldn’t afford it. But I made a mistake. You’re not my weakness. You’re my strength.”

  “And I know you’ll remember that, until the next time you forget.”

  Tal held Salomen’s hand against her heart. “I swear, on my honor as a warrior, that I will never abandon you again.”

  Salomen’s eyes were too shiny in the dim hallway. “The honor you almost died for?”

  Muffled sounds of conversation rose from below them, Micah’s deep timbre distinctive from the others. Tal remembered the last days before he woke and how angry she had been at him for choosing to die. For leaving her.

  “If I leave you, it will not be by choice,” she said. “And I would fight Fahla herself to keep it from happening.”

  Salomen’s fingers clenched in her shirt. “I still need time.”

  “You have it.” Tal drew her into a warmron. “And you have me.”

  “Don’t you ever leave like that again,” Salomen whispered.

  “I won’t.” Tal had made this promise ten times already, but tonight she felt a difference. Tonight, Salomen was ready to hear it.

  CHAPTER 64:

  Inclusion

  Though it was eve-four by the time they landed at Blacksun Base, Tal knew Micah wasn’t ready for the night to end. He hesitated only for politeness b
efore agreeing to their invitation for a drink.

  She bounced up the stairs to the main entrance, feeling a bit like a pre-Rite child in her intense anticipation. Then she had to stop and wait for Micah, who moved more slowly these days with his staff. Salomen stayed with him, shooting her a castigating look, and after that she was more sober.

  When they entered their quarters, Salomen sat down with Micah while Tal bustled around, gathering the glasses and the spirits she had bought for the occasion. Micah’s eyebrows nearly crawled off his forehead when he spotted the label on the bottle.

  “Valkinon?” He plucked the bottle from the tray. “What are we celebrating?”

  “Well, we could celebrate the fact that you’re out of the healing center.” Tal took the bottle back from him.

  “Or the fact that we made it through another feast without any disasters,” Salomen said. “Three cycles ago, we tried a supposedly improved technique for the cooking pits. They never got hot enough, and the fanten wasn’t done in time. We couldn’t start eating it until eve-three.”

  Tal popped the tab on the bottle and held it up, letting the blue vapor trickle out. “Or we could celebrate the fact that Aldirk didn’t have a single sarcastic thing to say about you today. That itself was a minor miracle.”

  He looked back and forth between them as she poured the spirits. “Something is going on. Tell me now; my heart’s too old for this kind of suspense.”

  “Give it up, Micah, your heart is not old. Besides, we need to make a toast first.” She held up her glass. “To family, the thread that holds all of us together.”