by Sharon Lee
“Lord ven’Astra, allow me to present my grandson, Tom Lei, newly returned to us after serving many years as a soldier in a Terran mercenary unit.”
Lord ven’Astra was a spoilt-looking man in middle years. He wore High House hauteur like a cloak about his elegant shoulders, and looked at grandfather with a slightly bored air.
Tom Lei made his bow.
“Lord ven’Astra, I am honored to meet you,” he said, once again grateful for the training that had taught him to lie with ease and conviction.
“Young pen’Chapen.” The lord returned a nod, and looked momentarily thoughtful. “Newly returned from the mercenaries, are you?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Has your grandfather discussed our little conundrum with you?”
Well, this might be easy, thought Tom Lei. Perhaps all I have to do is play the fool.
“I don’t believe that he has, sir,” he said politely.
Grandfather stepped in.
“Indeed, we have not spoken on the topic. I wished him to hear it first from you, my lord, and to give you his untutored opinion. Everyone here knows that I think we must make an example, or lose melant’i.”
“Quite,” said the lordship, and turned his full attention to Tom Lei.
“The situation is thus, young pen’Chapen. There remain in custody several mercenary soldiers—perhaps a half-dozen— hired by Korval to invade our homeworld and assist in the action against Solcintra. There are those among the Council who believe that we should release these . . . persons to their units. And there are those among the Council who believe that we should make, perhaps, not an example, but a statement. And that statement would be that Liad is not a paltry world that may be invaded at will by Terrans; and that consequences attend such outrages.”
Tom Lei felt cold, hearing the whisper behind the words.
Those others, which included this lord and his grandfather, wished to execute the mercenaries in the Council’s custody.
“The information that reached my unit regarding the strike against Liad,” Tom Lei said carefully, “was that the mercenary units which supported Korval’s action were properly hired by, and under contract to, Clan Korval. Was this not the case?”
“The contracts were produced as evidence,” Lord ven’Astra acknowledged. “Korval had hired them. That does not set aside the fact that they performed outrages against Liad and its citizens.”
“Indeed,” his grandfather said. “It must be made plain that we will not tolerate it.”
“Do you agree, young pen’Chapen?”
But this was absurd! The man went against . . .
“Law and custom have long held that mercenaries properly under contract are in the same class as weapons used in acts of lawlessness: blameless tools. The hiring body is seen by law as the motivating force—the finger that pulls the trigger, if you will—and is, therefore, the responsible party in all legal actions.”
“Tom Lei, you do not properly comprehend the case.” His grandfather was sounding somewhat breathless. “These . . . creatures dared to move against Liad.”
“Yes,” he said patiently, watching Lord ven’Astra’s eyes, “because the contract required them to do so. It was not what we—the mercenaries—call a blood war, in which there is no contract, nor client, and the units act upon their own recognizance.
“In this case, the Terran mercenaries took contract with Korval. They did not invade wantonly, but in good order, in support of Korval’s action, as required by the contract. If the Council of Clans must have more blood—” He made a small bow, as if embarrassed by his lapse, and spoke to Lord ven’Astra.
“Your pardon, sir; I fear that I may have been too long among the mercenaries. Allow me to say, instead, that if the Council of Clans feels that banishment is not Balance enough for the wrongs visited upon the homeworld, then the Council of Clans must reopen its case against the Dragon.”
Lord ven’Astra pressed his lips together, his spoiled face grave.
“The qe’andra do not allow it,” he said, and it was anger Tom Lei heard beneath the words. “There were those of us who wished to see Korval themselves executed, the Dragon’s assets come to the Council, and those remaining set to work off the debt of repairing the damage. We argued for that, hotly. Alas, the Dragon had too many friends on the Council. Execution was made into banishment, and confiscation of assets became divestiture.
“Now, the qe’andra rule that, as Korval has been given the actions it must perform in order to enter into Balance, said actions having a strong deadline attached, to introduce a secondary Balance at this juncture would itself be out of Balance.”
“Even now, reduced as they are, Korval has the qe’andra in their pocket,” his grandfather put in. “Why, dea’Gauss is the chair of their council! The Terran mercenaries have no qe’andra.”
“Which does not make them guilty of war crimes, sir!”
Tom Lei felt ill. What did his grandfather hope to gain from this? ven’Astra’s patronage? A blind man could see what that would be worth, once his lordship had a piece upon which he could place the blame, if opinion and law went against him . . .
“You seem decided in your opinion, young pen’Chapen,” his lordship said, his voice decidedly cool. He looked aside.
“I suppose,” he said to Severt, “that we must expect youth to be idealistic. It is a failing they soon grow out of.”
“Precisely, my lord. I had been certain that Tom Lei was past such kittenish ways!”
“Obviously not.” Lord ven’Astra looked back to Tom Lei, his eyes cold. “I would say that you are correct, sir.”
Tom Lei bowed slightly.
“In what way, my lord?”
“You have been too long among the mercenaries. Severt, a good evening to you.”
Lord ven’Astra strolled away into the depths of the gather, and Tom Lei was left alone with his grandfather’s disbelieving stare.
“Tomorrow!” his grandfather shouted. “Tomorrow, you will go to Lord ven’Astra, and offer him your services!”
“My services?” Tom Lei looked at the old man in astonishment. “As an executioner, perhaps?”
“Do not be insolent, boy! This situation can be rescued—will be rescued. You need only do as you are told.
“You will go to his lordship and you will prostrate yourself. You will tell him that, upon talking the matter over with your elders, and thinking on it overnight, you understand that the insult carried to the homeworld by these Terrans must be Balanced. You will say that you are willing to testify, as a former mercenary familiar with law and custom in such matters, before the Council of Clans.”
“His lordship will scarcely want that!”
“Silence! You will of course testify that law and custom support the execution of barbarians who force an invasion upon Liad.”
Tom Lei stared.
“That,” he said, his voice perfectly flat, “I will never do.”
His grandfather spun around.
“You will do it, because that is what your delm requires of you!”
“No, sir. I will not dice with lives for your ambition.”
“Will you not?” The old man stalked across the rug, until they were toe-to-toe. He thrust his face up into Tom Lei’s.
“You will do as your delm requires, or you will find you have no delm at all!”
“That,” Tom Lei heard someone say in perfectly calm tones, “is acceptable.”
“Oh, is it?”
Tom Lei waited, feeling utterly calm. Severt would never bend before such a challenge, he thought. He must conclude the threat.
But, after a moment, his grandfather drew a breath, stepped back and walked across the room.
“A glass of wine will do us both some good,” he said, and poured with his own hands.
Tom Lei, caught between relief and dismay, crossed to the wine table and received his glass.
“So,” said Severt, when they had each sipped and lowered their glass. “I see it. You were accusto
med to command, a little. You were, perhaps, accustomed to being given reasons for the actions you were commanded to perform, so that you might improvise, when and if necessary. Of course, it is difficult for you to drop such habits, which have, as I must surmise, since you stand here hale before me, served you well for many years.”
He paused.
Tom Lei inclined his head and murmured, “Yes, sir,” which seemed, by far, the safest course. It would seem that he was not to be cast out and declared dead to clan and kin. Or, at least, not immediately.
He mistrusted his grandfather in this eldritch mood. On the other hand, he entertained liveliest curiosity regarding what, in fact, the old man was about. Surely, surely, the reality was nothing so horrifying as his suspicions. Let him know, and perhaps he might sleep easier.
“Know, then, that the work which is underway, and to which I have recruited your assistance, will result in a great improvement the clan’s melant’i. Once the thing is done, we will rise into the circle of the High Mid-Clans. At least, we shall ascend to those ranks. It is not out of the question, that Severt may, as a result of this action, rise to High House.”
Tom Lei blinked.
“And who shall fall?” he asked, for it had been fixed for . . . a very long time, that there were but fifty High Houses.
“Fall? Ask, rather, who will rise!”
Tom Lei knew that he was not a fool. However, it took him more than a heartbeat to realize that his grandfather expected—no! Knew for a certainty!—that at least one clan would seek to rise into Korval’s place. For that was how it was said: There are precisely fifty High Houses. And then there is Korval.
“Korval occupied a . . . unique place because of their contract,” he pointed out.
Severt shrugged. “A contract may be trumped by contacts. And how refreshing to have a true Liaden clan, rather than a hireling, in that most unique position, eh?”
Tom Lei raised his glass, so that his failure to agree might pass unnoticed.
“So,” said his grandfather and his delm again, after he, too, had partaken of his glass. “I will tell you now that these Terran mercenaries whose fate is to become an example for all of Liad’s inferiors—they are hidden, of course.”
“Of course,” Tom Lei murmured.
“And, here is the point upon which our own ascension turns.” His grandfather leaned close, and lowered his voice so that Tom Lei needed to bend at the waist in order to hear.
“We, Clan Severt, hold the prisoners, in trust for ven’Astra.”
Shock jolted him. He had been a fool to hope that the truth was less terrible than his imaginings. He had been a fool to think that his grandfather would be content to gamble only with lives. No, like any gambler, he must ever increase his stakes.
And, now, he diced with Severt’s very existence.
“Does Aunt Manza know this?” he demanded.
“Am I a fool to share such a thing abroad? She knows nothing.”
Relief warred with horror. He took a breath, trying to recruit his thoughts.
“Peace, peace,” his grandfather said, perhaps reading distress on his face. “Whether the scheme is executed, or the mercenaries are returned to their officer, as the qe’andra have ruled, our safety—and thus our reward—are secure.
“Only think! If the matter falls out as ven’Astra wishes, then we are rewarded for our help. If the qe’andra prevail, ven’Astra will be grateful to us for keeping our knowledge to ourselves.” He smiled, and sipped wine.
“Indeed, I am almost wishful that the qe’andra might take the point, for there is a limit to the rewards for good service, and none at all, as I have been able to find, to the amount that will be paid in order to preserve one’s honor.”
Tom Lei saw it in a flash, then. His grandfather was not merely foolish; he was a bad delm, actively dangerous to his clan and those who rested in his care. Indeed, when had Severt ever cared for those who resided under his hand? Only see Aunt Manza, ceaselessly at labor with neither thanks nor input into the clan’s business, her joy broken. Or his own mother, dead by her own choice, rather than endure any more abuse from this delm who was no delm at all! Or—yes!—himself, flung away as useless; his new life broken without a thought to his well-being, when he suddenly came to hold value as a game piece!
“Well?” said his grandfather, false delm. “Now you have the reasons, and the rewards laid down. What think you, now?”
He took a breath, meaning to say that his refusal stood, that he would welcome death rather than continue in such a clan, with such a delm . . .
. . . and he took another breath, thinking, indeed of his mother, and his aunt, and all those caught in the supposed care of this man. He thought of the Code, and the section dealing with those things that are owed, by an individual, to one’s clan; and those other things, which are owed, by a clan, to its members.
He looked down into his grandfather’s face, and he made answer, gently, in the mode of obedience to the delm.
“I would see these prisoners, that Severt holds in care for Lord ven’Astra. And I would see Lord ven’Astra, so that I may, indeed, place myself at service in the matter of their proper disposition.”
His grandfather smiled.
“Excellent! We will tomorrow pay a morning call to his lordship, after which we will together go to the farm—”
He dared to lift a hand. His grandfather paused, and gestured for him to speak.
“I wonder if it might not be profitable, for all of us to meet at the place the prisoners are being kept. Lord ven’Astra may have those things which he may wish to convey to those whose lives he holds, in order that they have a clear understanding of their situation. I am an expert in languages.”
His grandfather smiled again.
“And thus we demonstrate immediately your willingness to assist! Yes! It is well-thought. I shall arrange it!”
“Thank you,” Tom Lei said, and bowed, gods help him, honor to the delm. He straightened.
“If we are done, sir, I will leave you. The night is fine, and I have not yet had my walk.”
“Ah, the energy of youth!” His grandfather laughed. “When this matter is done, and we have our rewards, we must see you married—yes! To a proper daughter of the High! That will fix us well, indeed!”
He moved toward his desk, fluttering his fingers.
“Go, go; have your walk. Only take care that you are sharp for our meeting tomorrow!”
“Never fear, sir. I shall be as sharp as an Yxtrang’s grace blade.”
Lord ven’Astra was to meet them at the place—at Severt’s own estate. That suited Tom Lei, who drove the clan’s lumbering landau, less than half-listening to his grandfather’s instructions regarding his demeanor toward his lordship, and the tenor of his apology.
“Do not be afraid to be bold—a mercenary’s plain speaking will stand you well with him. You saw how it is with him, last evening, I think. He does not care to be gainsaid, but he likes a forthright manner. Only do whatever he asks you—and he will ask something, as a test against your changed opinion!—show yourself able and willing and all may be recovered.”
Yes, certainly, Tom Lei thought, and glanced at the map on the dashboard to see how far yet they had to go.
At last they arrived. His grandfather had him drive past the house, and his stomach tightened, for he knew then where they were going, and the riddle of how a group of seasoned mercenaries were held was answered.
Some generations in the past, the delm had traveled to some or another far outworld and there became introduced to the sport of hunting to the hounds. So enamored of this sport had she become that she imported her own pack, and keeper, and every relumma hosted a hunt throughout the neighboring fields.
The dogs—quite fierce dogs, who bonded to the pack, of which they considered their keeper, but no other human, a member—the dogs required kennels. And the kennel, given the temper of the dogs, was required to mete out stern discouragement of escape.
Once the dogs were kenneled, a switch was thrown, which electrified every floor, every wall, every surface, save those in the dog pens, proper. An escape from the den room into the main hall would be rewarded by a jolt of energy sufficient to stop the heart of a being far larger than a hunting dog.
The dogs were sold off by the delm’s successor, but the kennels had endured.
“Here,” his grandfather said from the seat next to him. “Stop here.”
He had scarcely stopped their vehicle, when Tom Lei spied the approach of another. Moments later, Lord ven’Astra emerged from the small car he had driven himself.
“Severt,” said his lordship. “Good morning to you.”
“A delightful morning, indeed, my lord,” his grandfather responded.
The cool eyes came to rest on Tom Lei, who bowed as one who has discovered oneself in error.
“Your delm tells me that you have undergone a change of ideology, young pen’Chapen. Is it so?”
“My lord, it is,” Tom Lei answered.
“It gratifies me to hear you say so. Let us by all means survey the prisoners, and you may do a small thing for me, if you will.”
“Certainly, my lord,” Tom Lei said calmly.
There were six mercs in the large den room. The water was running in the drinking pool; and a light on inside the basic sanitation unit that had been installed for the use of the hounds’ keeper on the not-infrequent nights when she slept with the pack.
The six prisoners—Terrans, all—looked well enough, though pale. They wore what appeared to be house robes, which were short in length and sleeve, leaving legs, and wrists, and bare feet on display.
“Well, if ain’t Mister Bully-for-Me and Uncle Me-too,” said a voice in Aus-dialect Terran.
Tom Lei glanced at his two companions. If either one understood the dialect, or the insults to themselves, they chose not to react, which seemed like neither of them.
Tom Lei felt his heart lift, slightly, and he turned again toward the former den, one hand against the plexglass window and the other at belt height, fingers dancing lightly in merc sign.
The man who had spoken—his robe so short as to be immodest, and his beard in need of a good trimming—lifted an eyebrow, and braced his feet wide.