Hell's Gate m-1

by David Weber

  The younger man nodded wordlessly, and the chief sword gave his shoulders another squeeze before he released them, stood back, and cleared his throat roughly.

  "So, do you think anyone else got out?"

  "No, Chief." Shulthan shook his head. "I haven't seen anyone. Not even them."

  "I haven't seen any signs of pursuit, either," Threbuch said with a nod, although that wasn't exactly what he'd asked. He'd already known Shulthan was alone. Unlike the hummer handler's PC, the chief sword's carried specialized spellware which could give him the bearing to any of his company's personnel within five hundred yards. Bringing up the S amp;N spellware had automatically activated the locator function, thank the gods! But because of that, he'd known none of their other people were within a quarter mile of his current location. He'd simply hoped?prayed?that Shulthan might have seen someone else get out. Someone else who might be hiding out here, beyond the spellware's reach, trying to make his own way back to the coast.

  "Where's Borkaz, Chief?" Shulthan asked after moment, and Threbuch's jaw tightened.

  "Didn't make it." He shook his head and started to explain, then stopped himself. Shulthan's anguish at having cut and run while his friends died behind him was only too obvious. He didn't need to be told how Borkaz had died running in the "right" direction. Not, at least, until he had enough separation from his own actions to realize just how stupid Borkaz's had been.

  "All right," the chief sword continued after moment. "Have you already sent back a hummer?"

  "No, Chief." Shulthan shook his head. "I've just been running and hiding," he admitted in a shamefaced tone.

  "Don't think I've been doing anything else since it happened," Threbuch said, shaking his head. The chief sword looked at the sky. The night was at least half over, he reflected.

  "We need to send one back now, though," he continued. "It's going to take the rest of the night just to reach the coast, and we need to let Five Hundred Klian know what's happened. Come to that, we need to set up an LZ for them to pull us out of here, too."

  "Yes, Chief."

  Threbuch looked down at his PC again, trying to decide on the best spot. He didn't want a dragon within miles of the base camp. Gods alone only knew how far those bastards could throw whatever they'd used for artillery!

  His empty stomach rumbled painfully while he was thinking, and he glanced at Shulthan again.

  "You wouldn't happen to have anything to eat on you, would you, Iggy?" he asked, and blinked as Shulthan actually chuckled.

  "Matter of fact, Chief, I managed to grab my whole pack. I've got a couple of blocks of emergency rats."

  "Iggy, it's too bad you're not a woman," Threbuch said with the fervor of a man who hasn't eaten in well over twenty-four hours. "Or maybe it isn't. If you were, I'd have to marry you, and you're ugly as sin." The chief sword looked back down at his PC, picked the coordinates he needed, and then glanced back up at Shulthan. "Let's get that hummer on its way. Then lead me to those rations and stand back."

  "Is a … unicorn," Shaylar said in slow, carefully enunciated Andaran.

  "Yes, exactly!" Gadrial replied in the same language with a broad smile. She leaned closer to the breathtakingly life-like image displayed above the gleaming crystal on her tiny desk and indicated the booted and spurred man standing beside the beast in an anachronistic-looking steel breastplate. "And this?"

  "Is a war-rider," Shaylar said firmly. Gadrial nodded once more, and Shaylar smiled back at her. Then she glanced at Jathmar, sitting beside her on the unused bed in the quarters which had been assigned to Gadrial, and felt her smile fade around the edges as she tasted his reaction to the imagery Gadrial was showing them through the marriage bond.

  The coal-black creature Gadrial had just informed her was called a "unicorn" was unlike anything either of them had ever seen before, yet it was close enough to familiar to make it even more disturbing than something as totally alien as a dragon. The beast was roughly horse-sized and shaped, except for the legs, which were proportionately too long, and the improbably powerful looking hindquarters. But no horse had ever had those long, furry, bobcat-like ears, or that short, powerful neck, or the long, deadly-looking tasks?like something from some huge, wild boar?and obviously carnivorous teeth. Or the long, ivory horn which must have been close to a yard in length. And then there were the eyes. Huge green eyes with purple irises and catlike slitted pupils.

  Jathmar, she decided, had a point. Compared to that bizarre, opium-dream improbability, the half-armored cavalry trooper standing beside it with his lance and saber looked downright homely.

  "Your words?" Gadrial asked, and Shaylar looked back at the images and shrugged.

  "No word," she said, pointing at the 'unicorn' and grimacing. Then she pointed at the man standing beside it. "Cavalryman," she said, and watched the squiggles of Gadrial's alphabet appear briefly under the image.

  "Good. Thank you," Gadrial said, and touched the small wand-like stylus in her hand to the crystal-clear sphere of her "PC." The image changed obediently, and this time it showed something Shaylar and Jathmar recognized immediately.

  "This," Gadrial said "is called an 'elephant.'"

  Gadrial watched her "students" studying the floating picture of the elephant and tried to keep her bemusement at their rate of progress from showing.

  She'd almost forgotten that she had the language spellware package with her. It wasn't something she'd ever used before, but it had come as a standard component of the "academic" package an enterprising vendor had managed to sell the Garth Showma Institute a year or so before. Gadrial had been perfectly happy with the previous package's general capabilities?most of the spellware she used in her own work was the product of her own department at the Academy, or at least so highly customized that it bore very little relationship to its original form?but the Academy had insisted on providing the new and improved spellware to all its faculty members. She'd been more than mildly irritated at the time, since she probably would never use more than twenty percent of the total applications and the changeover had required her to become familiar with the new package's idiosyncrasies (which were, as always, many). But she'd long since learned not to waste energy fighting over the little things, and it wasn't exactly as if the bundled spells providing all the useless bells and whistles she'd never need were going to use up a critical amount of her PC's memory.

  Over the last four days, though, she'd actually found herself deeply and profoundly grateful for the white elephant with which the Academy's administration had lumbered her. She'd thought she remembered something in the manual about language and translation spellware. After their arrival at Fort Rycharn, she'd hauled out the documentation and, sure enough, she had a comprehensive translation spell package, capable of both literal and figurative translations between any Arcanan languages. More importantly, under the circumstances, it also included what she thought of as a "Learn Ransaran in Your Spare Time" spell platform for people who preferred to master those other languages for themselves, rather than relying upon magical translations. Of course, it couldn't simply magically stick another language inside someone else's head, but it was well designed to introduce that language to a new student in a carefully structured format. The people who'd put it together had assumed?not unreasonably?that their students would speak at least one of Arcana's languages, which created quite a few problems of its own, but it had still provided her with an invaluable basis from which to begin teaching Shaylar and Jathmar Andaran.

  She hadn't even considered teaching them Ransaran, for several reasons. First, even though it sometimes irked her to admit it, Ransaran wasn't an easy language to learn. There were those, especially in Mythal, who were wont to refer to Ransaran as a "bastardized mongrelization," and she couldn't really dispute the characterization. Ransaran was riddled with irregular verb forms, homonyms, synonyms, irregular spellings, nonstandard pronunciations, and appropriations from every other major language. One of her friends at the Academy had a T-shirt which procl
aimed that "Ransaran doesn't borrow from other languages. It follows other languages down dark alleys, knocks them on the head, and goes through their pockets for loose grammar." Over the centuries, Gadrial cheerfully admitted, Ransaran had done precisely that … which was why it was unparalleled for concision, flexibility, and adaptiveness. Indeed, she'd heard it argued that the notorious Ransaran flexibility and innovativeness stemmed directly from the semantic and syntactic responsiveness of the Ransaran language.

  But it was a difficult language to learn, even for another Arcanan.

  Andaran, on the other hand, was a very easy language to learn, although she'd always found its tendency to create new words by compounding existing ones rather cumbersome compared to the Ransaran practice of simply coining new words … or stealing someone else's and giving them purely Ransaran meanings. It had virtually no irregular verbs and very few homonyms, and a completely consistent phonetic spelling. If you could pronounce an Andaran word, you could spell it correctly.

  And it was the official language of the Arcanan Army. Not surprisingly, she supposed, given that seventy to eighty percent of the Arcanan military was also Andaran.

  Gadrial had actually become quite fond of Andaran during her years in Garth Showma with Magister Halathyn. It might not be the most flexible language imaginable it was far more flexible than the various Mythalan dialects. Actually, Mythalan was probably the most precise of any of the Arcanan language groups, which lent itself well to the exact expression of nuance and meaning required by high-level arcan research. But its very precision made it inflexible. It didn't lend itself at all well to improvisation or adaptiveness, which Gadrial had often thought had a lot to do with the preservation of Mythal's reactionary, xenophobic society and its caste structure.

  Andaran was much less … frozen than that, and she had to admit that it had a rolling majesty all its own, well suited to oratory and poetry. In fact, it was quite beautiful, and she'd become a devotee of ancient Andaran literature. There were still plenty of things about Andara that she found the next best thing to totally incomprehensible. The entire society was, after all, a military aristocracy?or perhaps it would actually be more accurate to say military autocracy?with strict codes of honor and lines of responsibility, obligation, and duty, while she was one of those deplorably individualistic Ransarans. Most of the Andaran honor code continued to baffle her, but the ancient heroic sagas often brought her to the edge of feeling as if she ought to understand Andara.

  In this instance, however, the fact that it was the Union of Arcana's official military language carried more weight than any other single factor. Eventually, as she was certain Shaylar and Jathmar were well aware, the military was going to insist on talking to them.

  Despite the unanticipated advantage the language spellware provided, Gadrial had expected the teaching process to be clumsy and time-consuming, at least at first. Shaylar, however, had an almost uncanny gift for languages. Her accent was odd, lending the sonorous Arcanan words and phrases a musical overtone that was as pleasant to the ear as it was unusual, but her ability to pick up the language was astounding. She was clearly much better at it than Jathmar, and although it was still going to be some time before she started building complex sentences and using compound verb forms, her basic ability to communicate was growing by leaps and bounds.

  In fact, Gadrial had come to the conclusion that there was more than a mere natural ear for language involved in the process. It had become abundantly clear to her that Magister Halathyn had been correct in his initial assessment that Shaylar and Jathmar's people had never even heard of anything remotely like magic. And yet there was something about Shaylar …

  Gadrial hadn't forgotten that bizarre moment on Windclaw's back, when she'd understood beyond any possibility of doubt that Shaylar was begging her to get the dragon "out of her head." When Gadrial added that to the tiny woman's obvious and exquisite sensitivity to the moods and emotions of those about her, plus Shaylar's breathtaking language skills, the only explanation she could come up with was that Shaylar truly did have some strange talent?almost the equivalent of a Gift, perhaps. Gadrial wasn't prepared even to speculate on how that "Gift" might work, and she'd kept her suspicions about it to herself, but she'd become more and more firmly convinced that whatever it was, it existed.

  And she was taking advantage of it for more than one purpose. Not only was she teaching Shaylar and Jathmar Andaran, but she was simultaneously building up a vocabulary of their language, as well. They understood exactly what she was doing, and they clearly weren't exactly delighted by the thought, but they equally obviously understood?and accepted?that it was inevitable.

  Somewhat to her own surprise, Gadrial had found the language lessons a soothing distraction while she and Jasak awaited Chief Sword Threbuch's return. What didn't surprise her a bit was that she needed that distraction, and not just because of Threbuch. She still couldn't stop fretting about Magister Halathyn and his obstinate refusal to show enough common sense to accept that he had no business at all that close to the swamp portal under the present circumstances. She'd told herself repeatedly that she was probably being too alarmist, but she'd also recognized the self-convincing tone of her own mental voice whenever she did.

  "All right," she told her students, shaking herself free of her gloomy thoughts and bringing up the image of a slider chain and indicating the third car in it. "This is called a 'slider car,' and it's?"

  She broke off as someone tapped on the frame of her open door. She turned towards the sound, and her eyebrows rose as she realized it was Jasak Olderhan who had knocked. Then she stiffened as his appearance registered. He was standing in the doorway like a man awaiting an arbalest bolt, and his face was bone-white, his shoulders rigid.

  "Magister Kelbryan," he said in a desperately formal voice, "Five Hundred Klian begs a few minutes of your time."

  "What's wrong?" She came to her feet, nearly dizzy with fear, her eyes on his face as his body language and expression sent spikes of apprehension hammering through her, but he shook his head.

  "Not here," he said, and that was when she noticed the other men with him. The Gifted healer who'd healed Shaylar stood behind him, and behind him was an armed guard.

  "What is it?" she repeated, and heard her own voice go thin, almost shrill. Jasak obviously heard it, too. She saw it in his face and eyes, and he swallowed.

  "News from the portal," he said hoarsely. "Please, come with me," he added, making it a plea a rather than a command. "These gentlemen will stay with Jathmar and Shaylar."

  She realized she was wiping damp palms against her trousers. She looked at him for a moment longer, then turned to Shaylar, who was proving the faster of the two at absorbing her language lessons.

  "I go, Shaylar," Gadrial said, speaking carefully and slowly. "With Jasak. I'll be back soon. Understand?"

  The other woman nodded, and her eyes were dark with concern.

  "Gadrial?" She held out one hand, touched Gadrial's arm gently in that concerned, almost tender way that seemed habitual with her. "Is there … trouble?" she asked. She clearly had to search for a moment to come up with the second word, and Gadrial gave a helpless shrug.

  "I don't know," she admitted. Shaylar bit her lower lip, then nodded. Jathmar was staring at the armed guard, eyes hooded and lips thin, and Gadrial turned to the healer … and the guard.

  "If you don't mind, please leave the door open. It distresses them less, to leave the door open."

  Something moved in the guard's eyes?something dark and dangerous, almost lethal. What in Rahil's name had happened at the portal? She felt a chill chase its way down her back as she asked herself the question … and remembered who had stayed behind.

  "Please," she added, catching and holding the guard's eye. "They're civilians." She stressed the word deliberately. "Frightened, bewildered civilians whose lives we?" she indicated herself and Jasak "?smashed to pieces. Whatever's happened, none of this was their fault."

  The guard'
s jaw muscles clenched, but he gave a stiff nod.

  "As you wish, Magister. I'll leave the door open." And I'll watch them like a gryphon looking for a meal, his eyes and body language virtually shouted.

  Gadrial held those hard, dangerous eyes for a moment, then nodded and followed Jasak into the corridor. A moment later, they were outside, where the stiff sea breeze ruffled her hair and carried her the clean scent of salt water while afternoon sunlight poured golden across the open parade ground. Then she noticed the gates; they were closed. The massive wooden locking beam had been dropped into its brackets, and sharp-eyed sentries manned the parapet, weapons in hand, while field-dragon gunners stood ready behind the relatively small number of artillery pieces Five Hundred Klian had retained when he sent the rest forward to Hundred Thalmayr.

  What in hell had happened?

  Jasak walked beside her in total silence, nearly as ramrod-straight as the sword at his hip. She studied his profile, trying to understand the complex emotions seething just below the surface of the rigidly formal mask his face and voice had become. There wasn't time to decipher it, though, before they had crossed the parade ground and entered the fort's central administrative block.

  Sarr Klian's clerk practically leapt from his chair, coming to attention with a sharply snapped salute.

  "Sir! The Five Hundred is waiting for you, Sir!"

  The one, quick look the clerk shot at Gadrial left her insides quaking, and then Jasak rapped sharply on the five hundred's door.

  "Enter!" Klian's voice called almost instantly, and Jasak opened the door, holding it for her as he gestured her into the room ahead of him. She started forward, then caught sight of Chief Sword Threbuch and the company's hummer handler, waiting for them.

  "Chief Sword!" she cried, smiling and hurrying forward to grasp his hands in sudden delight. "We were so worried about you! I'm so glad you made it back safely."