by Sharon
He extended a hand on which the master trader’s ring blazed and laid it lightly on her sleeve. “Anne,” he murmured, switching to his accented, careful Terran, “here is my brother, Daav yos’Phelium, Delm Korval.”
She smiled at the dark-haired man and bowed acknowledgement of the introduction. “I am happy to meet you, Daav yos’Phelium.”
“Korval,” Er Thom continued. “This is Anne Davis, Professor of Linguistics.”
From beneath a pair of well-marked brows, bright dark eyes met hers, disconcertingly direct before he made his own bow.
“Professor Davis, I am delighted to meet you at last.” His Terran bore a lighter accent than Er Thom’s; his voice was deeper, almost grainy. He was a fraction taller, wiry rather than slim, with a face more foxy than elfin. A curiously twisted silver loop swung from his right earlobe and his dark brown hair fell, unrelieved by a single curl, an inch below his shoulders.
“And this … ” Er Thom bent, touching Shan on the cheek with light fingertips. “Korval, I Show you Shan yos’Galan.”
“So.” Daav yos’Phelium moved, dropping lightly to his knees before the wide-eyed child. He held out a hand on which a wide band glittered, lush with enamel-work. “Good-day to you, Shan yos’Galan.”
Shan tipped his head, considering the man before him for a long moment.
“Hi,” he said at last, his usual greeting, and brought his free hand up to meet the one the man still patiently offered.
Wiry golden fingers closed around the small hand and Daav smiled. “Did you have a good trip, nephew?”
“OK,” Shan told him, moving forward a half-step, his eyes on his uncle’s face. Reluctantly, Anne relinquished her hold on his hand and he took another small step, so he was standing with his toes nearly touching the man’s knees.
“Do you see sparkles?” he asked, abruptly.
“Alas,” Daav answered, “I do not. Do you see sparkles?”
“Yes, but not the kind to touch. Mirada on hand has sparkles to touch.” He bit his lip, looking earnestly into the man’s face.
“You happen sparkles,” he said plaintively. “Can’t see sparkles?”
The well-marked brows pulled together. “Happen sparkles?” he murmured.
“He means ‘make’,” Anne explained. “You make sparkles.”
“Ah, do I? I had no notion. Have you brought me a nascent wizard, denubia?” This last was apparently to Er Thom.
“Perhaps,” that gentleman replied. “Perhaps a Healer. Or perhaps only one who has the gift of knowing when another is happy.”
“Not too bad a gift, eh?” He smiled at Shan and then sent his brilliant black gaze to Anne’s face.
“If Korval Sees this child, he is of the clan,” he said, voice and eyes intently serious. “You understand this?”
Anne nodded. “Er Thom explained that it was—vital—for the delm to—count—a new yos’Galan.”
“So? And did Er Thom also explain that what Korval acquires Korval does not relinquish? You have seen our shield.”
“The dragon over the tree—yes.” She hesitated, looked from his intent face to Er Thom’s, equally intent. “Shan yos’Galan is my son,” she said to him, voice excruciatingly even. “Whether he is—of—Clan Korval or not.”
“Yes,” Er Thom said, meeting her gaze straightly, hand half-lifting toward her. “How could it be otherwise?”
“Scholar.” Daav yos’Phelium’s voice brought her eyes back to his face, which was no less serious than it had been. “Scholar, if you are at all unsure—stand away. There is no dishonor in taking time to be certain.”
She stared down at him where he knelt in the grass, holding her son by the hand. Leaf-stained as he was, with his fox-face and bold eyes, lean and tough as a dock-worker—He was beyond her experience: Half-wild and unknown; utterly, bewilderingly different than Er Thom, who was her friend and who—she knew—wished her well—and wished to do well for their son.
“It’s what we came to do,” she said slowly, voice cracking slightly. She shook her head, as much from a need to break that compelling black gaze as from a desire to deny—anything.
“Shan was to be shown to Delm Korval and then Er Thom could be easy again, and the clan not be—embarrassed—by there being a—rogue yos’Galan loose in the galaxy—one the delm hadn’t counted. It was—my error,” she explained, looking back to his face. “I—custom on my homeworld is to name the child with the father’s surname in—respect. In—acknowledgement. I hadn’t understood that there would be—complications for Er Thom when I followed my—my world’s custom. Having made the error, it is—fitting—that I do what I can to put the error into—context—and repair any harm I may have done.”
“Hah.” For two long heartbeats, the bold eyes held hers, then he inclined his head.
“So it is done.” He extended the hand that bore the broad enameled band and cupped Shan’s cheek.
“Korval Sees Shan yos’Galan, child of Er Thom yos’Galan and Anne Davis,” he announced. The High Liaden words rang like so many bells across the garden, startling the birds into silence. He bent forward and kissed Shan on the lips before taking his hand away.
“Welcome, Shan yos’Galan. The clan rejoices.”
And that, Anne thought, around a sudden and astonishing surge of joy, is that. I hope Er Thom thinks it was worth all that worry.
Shan laughed and reached forward on tiptoe to pluck the leaf from his uncle’s hair and hold it up for inspection.
“Flower.”
“Leaf, I believe,” Daav corrected gently. “Quite a nice one.” He rose in a single fluid motion, one hand still holding the child and the other sweeping up in a extravagantly wide gesture.
“Thus, matters requiring my attention! Let us go within and have wine—and luncheon, too! For I do not scruple to tell you, brother, that you behold a man who is famished.”
“No new sight,” Er Thom replied calmly, stepping across to offer an arm to Anne and smiling up into her eyes. “Will you take wine and food before we go on to Trealla Fantrol, friend?”
The sense of joy was dizzying, exhilarating beyond reason, so that it was all she could do not to bend and kiss him, with full measure passion, on the lips. Only the understanding that it would not do—not here—kept her emotion in check.
So instead of kissing him, she smiled at him and slid her arm through his.
“Wine and food sounds delightful,” she said warmly and allowed him to lead her into the house.
Chapter Eighteen
In an ally, considerations of house, clan, planet, race are insignificant beside two prime questions, which are:
1. Can he shoot?
2. Will he aim at your enemy?
—Excerpted from
Cantra yos’Phelium’s Log Book
A LIGHT NUNCHEON had been called for, to be brought to the Small Parlor, to which they had repaired. Wine had been poured for each adult—Shan was given a small crystal cup half-filled with citrus punch—and tasted with all due ceremony.
Very shortly after, Er Thom excused himself to place a call to his parent, and left the room. Daav and Shan went to the window, where the man was apparently pointing out sections of shrubbery most likely to yield rabbits, if a boy were patient, and had sharp eyes.
Momentarily left to herself, Anne walked slowly around the room, sipping the slightly tart white wine and trying to absorb everything at once.
The rug—the rug was surely Kharsian wool, hand woven by a single family across several generations. She had seen a hologram of such a priceless treasure once and recognized the signature maroon and cobalt blue among the lesser colors, all skillfully blended to create a riotous garden of flowers, each bloom unique as a snowflake.
At one side of the room, the rug broke and flowed around a hearth of dark gray stone laid with white logs. The mantle that framed the fireplace was of a glossy reddish wood she could not identify, carved with a central medallion slightly larger than her fist. The design tantalized a mo
ment before she named it—a Compass Rose, pure in the smooth red wood.
Turning from the fireplace, she nearly fell over the table and two comfortable-looking chairs. On top of the table was a board, margins painted with fanciful designs. The center of the board was marked into blue and brown squares, bounded by larger borders, like countries. There were twelve countries in all, Anne counted, each containing twelve small squares.
On the table outside the board were four twelve-sided ebony dice. Two shallow wooden bowls likewise sat to hand, each filled with oval pebbles. The pebbles in the right bowl were red; those in the left, yellow.
“Do you play, Professor Davis?” Daav yos’Phelium inquired suddenly from her side.
She glanced up with only a slight start and shook her head. “It’s a counterchance board, isn’t it?”
“Indeed it is. You must ask my brother to teach you—he’s a fiend for the game, you know. And very good, besides.” He flashed a smile up into her face, humor crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Although of course it wouldn’t do for him to hear I’ve said so.”
Anne laughed. “No, I can see that would be a—bad move.”
“Precisely,” he agreed, raising his glass. “I’ve left young Shan scouting for rabbits,” he continued after a moment, gesturing toward the window and the child kneeling motionless before it, nose pressed to the glass.
“That should keep him busy until lunch,” she said, grinning. “There’s a shortage of rabbits on University.”
“Ah. Well, there are more than enough here for him to enjoy, never fear it.” He tipped his head slightly, black eyes quizzical.
Anne lifted her glass—and brought it down as a low move to the right caught her attention.
“What a beautiful cat!” she breathed.
Daav yos’Phelium turned his head. “Lady Dignity, how kind of you to join us! Come in, do, and give grace to the guest.”
The cat paused in her progress across the carpet, considering him out of round blue eyes. After a moment, she sat down, brought up a paw and began to wash her face.
“Wanton,” the man said calmly and Anne laughed.
“Lady Dignity?” she asked. “Is she very shy?”
“Merely shatterbrained, I fear, and a great deal set up in her own esteem. She does well in her role, however, so I don’t like to complain.”
“Her role?” She glanced expressively around her. “Tell me you have mice!”
He laughed—full and rich, a world apart from Er Thom’s soft, infrequent laughter. “No, how could I? But she’s useful, nonetheless.”
Anne looked to where the cat had settled, chicken-fashion, onto the carpet, front paws tucked under creamy chest, blue eyes half-closed within the mask of darker fur.
“She frightens off unwanted guests,” she suggested and Daav opened his black eyes wide.
“Isn’t that why I keep a butler? No, I will tell you—” He sipped wine, glanced over at the cat, then back to Anne.
“My sister is very proper,” he began earnestly, “and I am a great trial to her. She says I have no dignity and I fear she may be correct. Still, scolding will not create what the gods have not provided and I confess I grew tired of being reminded of my deficiency.”
He used his chin to point at the drowsing cat. “So I have employed this lady, here, to act in my behalf. Now, whenever my sister demands to know where my dignity is, I can produce her upon the instant.”
Anne stared at him, a smile growing slowly, curving her big mouth and lighting her eyes. The smile turned to a chuckle and she shook her head at him in mock severity.
“Your poor sister! I don’t expect she was amused.”
Daav sighed dolefully, eyes glinting. “Alas, the gods were behindhand in Kareen’s sense of fun.”
“Daav!” This from Shan, vigilant at the window. “Look, Daav! Cat!”
“Good gods, in my garden?” He was gone, moving across the carpet with a quick, silent stride to lean over the boy’s shoulder.
Anne drifted over just in time to see an enormous orange-and-white cat slink into the bushes at the base of a small tree.
“Relchin,” Daav said. “Doubtless gone birding.” He glanced up at Anne. “He never catches any, you know, but the chase does amuse him.”
“Exercise,” she agreed, seriously.
“Indeed,” he murmured and seemed about to say something else, when there was a step at the door.
“Ah, there you are, brother! We were only just wondering when you might return and free us all to dine!” He slid past Anne and crossed the room, blocking her view of Er Thom’s face. “How do you find your mother my aunt?”
“A trifle—distressed—today.” Er Thom’s voice was soft and smooth as always, yet Anne felt apprehension shiver through her as she reached down to take Shan’s hand.
“Er Thom, if your mother is not—able—to take on the burden of a guest—” she began, and that quickly he was before her, looking seriously up into her eyes.
“No such thing,” he told her, softly, though she was cold with sudden dread. “She sends apology to the guest, that she will be unable to greet you instantly upon your arrival. She looks forward to the pleasure of your company at Prime meal this evening.”
She stared down into his eyes, feeling—knowing—that there was something wrong—badly wrong. Er Thom was lying to her. The thought—the surety—shocked her into still wordlessness.
“Anne?” He extended a hand and she caught it tightly, as if it were a thrown rope and she floundering far out of her depth.
“What’s wrong?” she demanded, voice raspy and dry. “Er Thom—”
His fingers were firm, giving back pressure for pressure; his eyes never wavered from hers.
“My mother is—inconvenienced,” he said patiently. “She is not able to meet you at once, but shall surely do so at Prime.” His grip increased, painfully, but she made no move to withdraw her fingers. “You are welcome in my House, Anne. Please.”
She held his eyes, his hand, for another heartbeat, trying desperately to plumb the wrongness, identify the ill. At last, defeated, she bowed her head and slid her fingers free.
“All right,” she said softly, and raised her head in time to see Daav yos’Phelium’s bold black eyes move slowly from her face to Er Thom’s.
NUNCHEON PASSED IN a flurry of small-talk, of which Er Thom’s brother apparently possessed an unending supply. It seemed absurd, Anne thought as she nibbled cheese, that she should have found him strange and formidable scarcely an hour ago. Now, he was merely an amusing young man with a flair for the dramatic and a penchant for telling the most ridiculous stories with an entirely straight face.
He’s a bit like Jerzy, really, she thought around a stab of homesickness.
Er Thom’s contributions to the conversation were slight: Set-ups for his cha’leket’s absurd stories and tolerant corroborations of unlikely events. Mostly, he busied himself with feeding Shan bits of cheese and slices of fruit from the plate he had filled for himself.
Anne, watching surreptitiously, thought Shan accounted for nearly all of the plate’s contents, and that Er Thom perhaps had a taste of cheese with his wine. Worried, she thought, and wondered how ill his mother was.
When at last nuncheon was over, Daav walked them down the long hall to the door and gave Er Thom another hug.
“Don’t keep yourself far,” he said and Er Thom smiled—wanly, Anne thought, and caught his brother’s arm.
“Come to Prime, do.”
Daav’s eyes opened wide. “What, tonight?”
“Why not?”
“An excellent question. I shall come in all my finery. In the meanwhile, commend me to your mother.”
Er Thom’s smile this time was a little less tense. Daav bent to hug Shan and kiss his cheek.
“Nephew. Come and visit me often, eh? I think we shall deal famously.”
Shan returned the embrace and the kiss with exuberance, then stood back to wave.
“‘Bye, Daav
.”
The man bowed lightly—as between kin, Anne read. “Until soon, young Shan.”
“Professor Davis.” The bow he accorded her was of respect. “We shall speak again, I hope. I have read your work, you know, and would welcome a chance to discuss your ideas more fully, if you will grant it.”
“That would be pleasant,” she told him, returning his bow with one of respect to a delm not one’s own. “I look forward to it.”
“Good.” His eyes were intent on hers and she felt again that he was utterly beyond her, more alien than she could fathom.
“In the meanwhile,” he said, all gentle courtesy, “if there is any matter in which I may serve you, please know that I am entirely at your disposal.”
“Thank you,” she said, matching his inflection as precisely as possible. “You are gracious and—kind—to a stranger.”
For one moment more, the black eyes seared into hers, then he was bowing them gracefully out the door.
“Until Prime,” he called, lifting a hand as Er Thom started the landcar. “Keep well, all.”
Chapter Nineteen
The best advice for any Terran with a yen to visit the beautiful planet of Liad is: Stay home.
—From “A Terran’s Guide to Liad”
“THE NAME OF THE valley,” Er Thom said, deliberately—Anne thought—to cut off any additional questions she might ask, “is Valcon Berant’a. Korval’s Valley, they say in Solcintra. It was ceded by the passengers to Cantra yos’Phelium and Tor An yos’Galan, for the piloting fee. Jelaza Kazone was built first, of course, after the Tree was planted. Trealla Fantrol—the house of yos’Galan—that came later. It was built as a—sentinel post, you would say—to guard the inroad, to act as first deterrent—and to give warning to the delm.”
Anne looked out the window at the lush landscape, turning this burst of information over in her mind. Valcon Berant’a? The Liaden name Er Thom had given did not mean ‘Korval’s Valley’. It meant, she decided after a moment of concentrated thought, ‘Dragon’s Price,’ or perhaps ‘Dragon Hoard’.
“A sentinel post,” she asked as Er Thom slowed and made the turn into another drive. “Were there wars?”