The Guards at the front gate saluted her as she entered the State House grounds. “Lead Guard Vellmar,” one of them said, “Head Guardian Gehrain left instructions that you were to report to the dining room as soon as you arrived.”
“Has something happened?”
“He didn’t say.”
“Very well. Thank you.” She walked briskly down the side path that would take her to the entrance closest to the dining room. Gehrain knew she was still on leave; he wouldn’t have called her in unless it was important. And in their line of work, anything that important was likely to be bad news.
Then again, she thought as she approached the dining room door, bad news wasn’t usually accompanied by party music, was it?
She opened the door to find her whole unit already there, food and drinks in hand and smiles on every face.
“Here she is, our Global Games champion!” Gehrain shouted.
The whistles and applause made her blush. “Are you all that bad at keeping score?” she called over the noise. “I just put the champion on a magtran!”
“Details.” Colonel Micah’s voice cut effortlessly through the room. “We know who the champion is. And even if we didn’t, we can certainly count two blue and two red medals!”
A clamor arose, soon coalescing into a chant. “Show, show, show, show!”
“Well, I don’t walk around town carrying them on me,” she said. “They’re in my quarters.”
“Then go and get them.” Senshalon held up his glass. “We’ll find a way to keep ourselves busy while you’re gone.”
That raised a happy cheer and the sound of many clinking glasses.
“All right, all right,” she said, laughing.
By the time she returned, Lancer Tal and Salomen had joined the party. The chant renewed as soon as she came in the door. “Show, show, show, show!”
She held up one open medal case. “One blue!” she called.
“Blue!” they shouted back.
She handed the box to the nearest Guard and held up a second one. “One red!”
“Red!”
Passing that one off, she held up their twins. “And one more of each!”
They roared their approval, and she received so many backslaps that she was certain she wouldn’t breathe normally again until the next nineday. Then someone shoved a drink in her hand, someone else shouted, “Tell us!” and after that there was nothing for it but to tell the whole story, which until now she had managed to keep to herself.
“You thought it was a child?” Gehrain asked incredulously.
“Just for a piptick. I didn’t know what to think; I just saw the movement, and then I saw whatever it was crawl onto the target. What would you have done if you knew something was about to die and couldn’t identify it?”
“I’d probably have watched in horror as whatever it was died, because there is no way in Fahla’s wildest dreams that I could have made that throw.”
“That was one shekking incredible throw,” Colonel Micah agreed. “And I say that in the best, finest sense of the word.”
This brought on quite a few profane agreements, until Micah held up his hands for attention. “Lead Guard Vellmar,” he said when the room had quieted, “I am pleased to announce that your fellow Guards have pooled their funds to give you a token of their respect for your champion performance.”
“Oh, no.” Vellmar knew she was in trouble when everyone laughed.
With a flourish, Micah produced a wrapped box. “I hope you can fully appreciate the initiative, creativity, and organizational skills your Guards have shown by designing and having this made in just two and a half days. I know I do.”
“Designing? Oh, Fahla, what have you all done?” Vellmar put her drink on the nearest table, accepted the gift, and gingerly began to unwrap it. She took as long as she possibly could, ignoring the calls of encouragement, and finally pulled off the lid. “A tunic?”
The chuckles started even before she lifted the tunic out, swelling to loud laughter as she revealed the design. “You shekking dokkers,” she said, and had to laugh herself.
Someone had gone to the trouble of looking up her family crest, then cleverly redesigned it to include three gamboling vallcat kittens across both front and back. It was well made, extremely cute, and utterly unwearable. No warrior with a shred of pride would have kittens on her family crest.
“Oh, how lovely,” she called out. “A particularly colorful dust rag! Thank you so much!”
“Are you joking?” Senshalon asked. “We all put in a pile of cinteks for that. Do you mean you don’t like it?”
“Of course I like it. I love it. I’ll think of you every time I use it to polish my medals.”
They howled with laughter, and she knew it was more pleasure in their own prank than anything she had said. But it warmed her soul, because her mother was right. This kind of elaborate joke meant that she was fully accepted in this unit, and it was in that spirit that she gave in to their demands and donned the tunic. Roars of appreciation followed as she turned in a circle, modeling the tunic with exaggerated movements.
Salomen came up beside her and held up a hand for quiet. When she could be heard, she turned to Vellmar. “While we honor your good nature and courtesy in wearing a gift we know you hate, I would like to assure you that we’re not quite that evil. This is your real gift.” She held out a box, identical to the first in size, shape, and wrapping. The only change was the color of the ribbon.
“I’m extremely suspicious.” Vellmar accepted the gift, unwrapped it, and lifted the lid. Another tunic was nestled inside, and while it seemed similar to the one she was currently wearing, the lack of laughter told her otherwise. An expectant silence filled the room as she shook out the tunic and held it up.
“Goddess above,” she said quietly, and could speak no more. The lump in her throat was too large.
This tunic, like the other, was modeled on her family crest. But instead of kittens, it had three full-grown vallcats in a gorgeous stylized design. Their bodies blended together, with one cat looking left, one looking right, and the third staring straight ahead. Its yellow eyes were wild, its mouth half open in a snarl, and it exuded a controlled ferocity that made the hairs on her neck stand up. It was glorious, an emblem worthy of a war banner.
She looked at Salomen in mute appeal and whispered, “I don’t know what to say.”
“Say thank you,” Salomen whispered back.
Vellmar took off the first tunic and donned the second, if only to give herself time to swallow that lump. Murmurs of appreciation drifted through the room as she straightened the cloth, and she looked out at a sea of smiles.
“I will wear this with pride,” she said, and if her voice was abnormally rough, no one had the bad manners to comment on it. “In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever been quite so proud. This is the best unit any warrior could hope to serve with, and I thank Fahla that my life has led me to this point. Thank you, all of you.”
“You’re welcome,” Lancer Tal said. “In turn, we’re also thanking Fahla that she led you to us. You haven’t even been here half a cycle, but you’ve already brought us the glory of the Games and a story that all of Alsea will remember for cycles to come. If this is how your first cycle is going, we can’t wait to see what you’ll do next!”
That broke up the rather too-serious moment, and the party picked up again soon after. Vellmar was in top spirits and could hardly remember having been melancholy earlier in the evening. Never in her life had she been so sure that she was where she belonged.
She stayed as long as she could, but her leave would end tomorrow morning, and she was not about to show up for duty with a hangover. The party was still in full swing when she said her goodnights and stepped out the door. She hoped she wouldn’t have to discipline any of her Guards tomorrow.
Wearing one tunic and
carrying the other, she walked back to her quarters and stepped inside with a sigh of relief. It had been an emotionally packed day, and she was glad to be in a place where she didn’t have to work quite so hard to keep herself in check.
After dropping the kitten tunic on a chair, she turned on a lamp and stopped, staring at the out-of-place object on her dining area table. It was a beautifully inlaid wooden case, and the small envelope propped against it bore the Seal of the Lancer.
With a chill settling at the base of her spine, she broke the seal and pulled out a single sheet of paper.
Vellmar,
I hope you don’t mind a little unauthorized entry, but I did not want to give this to you in front of your unit.
It seems Yulsintoh watched the Games and was particularly impressed with the Lead Guard who gave up a championship to save a vallcat. He contacted me to inquire whether you would be interested in carrying his brand in next cycle’s Games. If you win—and he is certain you will—he can greatly benefit by marketing the sword you use.
I told him that in fact you admired his designs and could probably be convinced to carry one if he were to provide it. He was delighted to hear it and asked if I knew of any design in particular that you would want.
I trust I chose well.
Congratulations,
Lancer Tal
With trembling hands, Vellmar unlatched the lid. There, nestled in high-quality foam padding, was a teffalar-wrapped grip with a black and red diamond pattern. It was Yulsintoh’s newest design, the one she had thought she might be able to afford in two cycles’ time.
It fit in her hand as if custom made for her, and when she extended the blade, the balance was perfect. Lancer Tal must have entered her quarters more than once, because the only way this weapon could be so ideal for her was if Yulsintoh had worked from the measurements of her old sword.
She held the blade to the light and sucked in a breath as the golden scrolling glowed, almost as if it were lit from within. This was the most beautiful sword she had ever seen. Like her tunic, it was worthy of a Lancer.
The very room she had been relieved to enter suddenly seemed too small to contain her. She retracted the sword, clipped the grip to her belt, and strode out her door, heading for the nearest exit onto the grounds. As she rounded a corner, she nearly ran into Lancer Tal and Salomen, who had been walking in the opposite direction.
“Going anywhere in particular?” Lancer Tal’s gaze flicked downward to the new grip at Vellmar’s side, and a small smile warmed her expression.
“It’s been a full day,” Vellmar said. “I’m in need of some clean night air.”
“I’ve been feeling rather crowded myself. All of these people in town for the Games, all the journalists wanting quotes and the politicians wanting to be seen, and then that whole mess with the Voloth winning the shooting competition.” The Lancer shook her head. “I’d like nothing more than to get out for a quiet walk under the moons, but Micah would have my head if I left the State House alone.”
“So would your tyree,” Salomen said.
“It seems we both need the same thing.” Vellmar happily accepted the invitation. “I was thinking I might go out to the Games field, now that everyone has gone home. Perhaps we can catch a glimpse of the kittens’ mother.”
“Ah, a stealth mission.” Lancer Tal’s eyes lit up. “We can take my private transport just to the edge of town and go from there.”
“Agreed.”
“Salomen, do you want to come along?”
“I think you two need to skulk off by yourselves. I’ll be happy curling up with a book. But before you go, you might want to put on more appropriate clothing.” She looked pointedly at Vellmar.
Only now realizing that she still wore her new tunic, Vellmar asked, “Meet you back here in three ticks?”
“Agreed. And Vellmar?”
“Yes?”
“The sword looks good on you.”
Three ticks later, they stole out of the State House like a pair of trainees breaking curfew, and soon Lancer Tal was landing her transport in a little copse of trees at the edge of the broad, grassy plain. The lights of Blacksun did not extend this far, but Alsea’s two moons were in half phase, easily lighting their way.
Without a word shared between them, Vellmar took the point position and felt the Lancer following close behind in a single-file formation that minimized the sound of their passing. Mindful of the wind direction, she circled around until they were approaching the den from downwind. When they reached the cordon, she stopped and crouched into the grass, scanning the area intently for any sign of movement.
Lancer Tal knelt noiselessly beside her. “How close do you want to get?” she whispered.
“That bush.” Vellmar indicated the largest shrub between them and the den, which was no more than five handspans high. But it was the best they had.
They waited another tentick before making their move, reaching the bush and taking up position behind it. Now their view of the den was somewhat blocked by branches, but they could see enough.
For nearly a hantick they lay in the fragrant grass, watching and waiting. Vellmar catalogued the sounds and scents around them, and when the grassbuzzers began singing once more, she knew that the creatures living in the immediate area were no longer concerned about the presence of two Alseans. Other than the scent of their bodies, there was now nothing to give their presence away to the mother vallcat. And the breeze was blowing their scent back the way they had come.
It occurred to her that not many people would consider this activity a means of stress release. But the Lancer seemed content, lying on her stomach with her chin propped on her crossed hands as she watched the den. Vellmar remembered her mothers worrying that this woman was a member of the Blacksun elite and wished they could be here now. Surely they would revise their opinions. No image-conscious politician would be lying here in the grass, ignoring flying insects and poking grass stems and every other discomfort, just for the chance of glimpsing a vallcat.
A sudden tension in Lancer Tal’s body alerted her. She looked back at the den and held her breath, stunned by the reality of the adult vallcat. In the past two days, she had become accustomed to the size and appearance of the kittens, forgetting what they would eventually become. This was not an animal she would want to put on the offensive.
The vallcat padded up to the den entrance and dropped a disheveled, limp carcass on the ground. A soft grunt reached their ears, then another, and a moment later the three kittens came rushing out of the den. But instead of falling on the meal as they did when Vellmar made her offerings, they ran in circles around their mother, bumping into her legs and pushing against her body. She sniffed them all carefully, offered a few cursory licks, then lay down with an audible sigh, ignoring them until they left her alone and began tearing into their meal.
Vellmar could not say how long she and Lancer Tal lay there, entranced by the sight of the family. The kittens finished their meal and washed themselves, then began playing on and around their patient mother. It was hard not to laugh when a kitten clambered onto her back, hung for a moment off the side of her neck, and then dropped down, only to climb up and do it again. The mother tolerated endless amounts of exuberant play, her expression one of resigned forbearance, but when she decided playtime was over, she let her kittens know in no uncertain terms. One was sent rolling with a swipe of a massive paw, and a low huff stopped the other two in their tracks. A second huff had them scurrying back into the den, and the mother rose to her feet. She stretched, yawned, gave herself a vigorous shake—and turned her head to stare unblinkingly at her Alsean observers.
Without taking her eyes from them, she stalked forward, every movement a study in grace and power. Vellmar was frozen in place, torn between admiration for this perfect predator and concern for the woman beside her. It had never entered her mind that she might be
putting Lancer Tal in danger during this little escapade.
She slipped one hand out from beneath her chin, reaching toward the sword at her side.
“No,” Lancer Tal whispered, her gaze never wavering from the approaching vallcat. “Drop your front.”
Vellmar glanced at her incredulously. “What?”
The vallcat stopped just on the other side of the shrub and sat down. She lifted her head, nostrils flaring, then lowered it to look directly into Vellmar’s eyes. Her jaw opened slightly, and she huffed.
“Drop your front,” Lancer Tal said more forcefully. She reached down and took Vellmar’s hand in a strong grip. “Feel her!”
Vellmar dropped her blocks, reaching out with her empathic senses. At first the Lancer’s emotions were all she could sense, due to their physical connection, but eventually she was able to make out a different, slightly alien set of emotions, somehow channeled through Lancer Tal. When she identified the strongest one, a shiver tingled her fingers. She had been prepared to draw her sword on this?
Slowly, she pulled herself into a kneeling position.
The vallcat watched, motionless.
Vellmar lowered her head, baring the back of her neck in a language she thought the hunter might understand. When she raised it again, the vallcat huffed once more.
“You’re welcome,” she murmured.
The vallcat rose to her feet and trotted back to her den. Picking up the bare-boned carcass in her jaws, she gave a twitch of her tail and vanished into the night.
Vellmar the Blade Page 10