The Road to Hell - eARC

by David Weber

  “The fact that far too many men and women—and too many of them Andarans, like that toad Thalmayr, I’m sorry to say—have forgotten how Andaran women fight is secondary to this discussion, however. The point that is pertinent to this discussion is this: the duties and obligations of the Andaran code are as binding on its women as on its men. And that, my dear, is where I shall nail their balls to the floor.”

  “Oh!” Gadrial couldn’t help it. She gaped open-mouth in astonishment; then clapped both hands over her lips. “Sorry,” she gasped. “I just had no idea it really could work that way.”

  “It does and it will,” the duchess assured her. “Under Andaran honor codes, I am the one responsible for the safety and well-being of every member of my household. That’s true whether they’re blood-kin, servants in my employ, or invited guests. I’m required, under a fairly stringent set of rules, embodied in Andaran law, to ensure their comfort and their safety.

  “An Andaran woman who deliberately allows a member of her household to be injured can be punished quite severely under those laws. I don’t mean common accidents, which can’t be foreseen. I mean if she allows anyone to deliberately injure them. It’s a serious charge and therefore a serious obligation.

  “Its origins lie in the endless wars between various noble houses during the pre-Union centuries. A woman who aided her husband by luring his enemies into the home under a guise of hospitality, then betrayed them, was rightly viewed as a dishonorable murderess. That’s why the law is so stringent on that point. And that law has all kinds of ramifications in the modern world, which we Andarans understand quite well. Unfortunately, those ramifications are poorly understood outside the Andaran nations, and it’s been entirely too long since they were publicly reasserted—and demonstrated.

  “What that translates to in our current situation is simply this: I’m legally obligated to protect Jathmar and Shaylar, which means I must ensure their safety, which means I cannot allow anyone to bully, browbeat, threaten, or batter them, even emotionally. Not while they remain part of my household. And since they’re a permanent part of my household, that duty’s legally binding upon me in perpetuity, either for the duration of their lives or mine. Oh, and should they have children, that duty will extend to them as well.

  “I cannot perform that legally-binding duty if I’m not present during their interrogations. Therefore, I must be granted access to the hearings, whether military or civil. They must allow me to attend. Even if they desperately want to keep me out, they can’t.”

  “Can’t?” Gadrial’s eyes widened, and the duchess smiled serenely.

  “Can’t.” She picked up her cup and sipped hot bitterblack. After so many years married to an Andaran, she’d actually developed a taste for the Union Army’s beverage of choice. “It’s always possible they might be foolish enough to try. In fact, I rather wish one of them—a Mythalan, by preference—would be that foolish, although I doubt they’ll oblige me. I would so enjoy ‘bringing the hammer down,’ as Thankhar so charmingly put it.

  “But, as I say, I very much doubt any of them will be that stupid. And since they can’t keep me out, they must adjust their behavior accordingly. Politicians—and officers—who might not balk at savage attacks in my husband or son’s presence will think twice before indulging that sort of nastiness with me in the chamber.”

  Her Grace’s eyes twinkled.

  “Thankhar is a politician and bound by the rules of his office, whereas I’m not a public-office holder. That gives me far more latitude in which to kick up a fuss. I assure you, Gadrial, I can be every bit as difficult, stubborn, and cantankerous as they are, when I put my mind to it. And unlike them, I’m perfectly prepared to take every single archaic, persnickety, underhanded, and devious advantage that antiquated social code you dread bestows upon us ‘poor, downtrodden women.’”

  Gadrial stared at the Duchess of Garth Showma in genuine awe.

  “Perhaps it’s impertinent of me, Your Grace, but I’ll say it, anyway. Jasak has a seriously wonderful mother.”

  “Thank you, my dear.” The duchess’ smile went tender and abruptly watery, and she lifted one hand to touch Gadrial’s cheek. “I’ve hoped for a long time that Jasak would find someone very special. He’s going to need you.”

  “He won’t even talk to me,” Gadrial whispered.

  “No. Not yet. He’s like his father, that way. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve wanted to put Thankhar’s head through the nearest wall. Try to understand, Gadrial. Jasak’s entire focus over the past several months has been getting you and the Sharonians safely home, with as little further hurt as possible. He’s also had the responsibility to bring back a prisoner who quite seriously wants him dead. I refer to the shakira he caught abusing a garthan under his command. And he’s also had the worry of making sure Otwal Threbuch and Jugthar Sendahli reached home safely, as well.”

  Gadrial blinked. “Why would he worry about a pair of veterans who can take care of themselves very capably?”

  “Two reasons. One, Otwal must testify before the Commandery and the court-martial board, which means his life’s as greatly at risk as yours until this whole mess has come to an end. The Olderhans have enemies, Gadrial, a fair number of them. That’s something you must understand from the outset.

  “If you link your life to my son’s, you’ll also become a target of those enemies. In the main, that means political swipes, violated privacy, and the occasional attempt to destroy one’s reputation—or career. That’s a very serious matter for you to consider, Gadrial, which is another reason I wanted to speak to you privately.

  “More importantly, as far as Otwal’s concerned, the man Jasak is responsible for handing over to the Judiciary General on capital charges is a Mythlan with high family connections. Very, very high. If the witnesses whose testimony can exonerate my son—if that’s possible—were to suffer accidents prior to testifying, the court would almost certainly hold against him.”

  Gadrial nodded.

  “Yes, I understand that. In fact, the Duke mentioned it the day we arrived. I just hadn’t realized Jasak was thinking about possible attempts to kill us during our journey. But that’s the real reason the Duke sent Hundred Forhaylin out to New Ransar, isn’t it? Not just to insure our privacy once we got closer to home.”

  “Did Jasak tell you that was why Hathysk was sent to meet you?” the duchess asked, arching both eyebrows, and Gadrial shook her head.

  “No, but he did let me leap to that conclusion without disabusing me of it,” she replied a bit tartly, and the duchess chuckled.

  “I do love my son, but he is very like his father, isn’t he?”

  Their eyes met with a shared warmth, amusement, and exasperation, but then the duchess sighed.

  “Unfortunately, you’re quite right about the reason—reasons, plural, I should say—Thankhar sent him to meet you. A piece of advice, my dear, from a veteran of the nasty little game of politics: never, ever underestimate what a shakira will do to protect himself, his family line, and his culture. Before you point out that you’re only too familiar with shakira machinations, let me say this. There have been times when Thankhar’s put our entire residence and every member of our family under the heaviest wards money can buy from the top security magisters in the business. Ugly accidents tend to befall people who go head-to-head with line lords or who merely incur their wrath.

  “Jasak believed that the initial hummer dispatches had delivered the news of both the battle between his platoon and the Sharonians and the news about the arrest of Bok vos Hoven. Given who vos Hoven is related to—closely related to—it was quite reasonable for him to assume a hummer message could have been sent back down the transit chain with instructions to shakira operatives to arrange a nasty little surprise for your traveling party. Without Otwal’s and Trooper Sendahli’s testimony—or yours—the chance of his conviction would have gone up astronomically. And, of course, if they’d managed to kill all of you, there’d be no need of a cou
rt-martial at all, from their perspective.”

  Gadrial swallowed hard. “That’s ghastly.”

  “Yes,” the duchess said simply. “It is.”

  Anger licked Gadrial’s nerves like tongues of flame, and the eyes which met hers this time held no warmth at all.

  “Forewarned is forearmed, Your Grace. Thank you for that warning.”

  “You’re welcome. Now, then, if Jasak is found guilty in his court-martial, the odds go up that this slimy little shakira won’t be found guilty of his crimes, even with Trooper Sendahli’s testimony.”

  “I don’t understand,” Gadrial moaned, holding her throbbing temples. “He was caught in the act. How much more evidence would the army require?”

  “An officer cashiered for poor judgment is an officer whose judgment—and motives—are suspect in all things. Including the arrest of a shakira allegedly caught beating and extorting money from a lower-ranked soldier. The Olderhans are widely known for opposing the Mythlan caste system, and Sendahli, as a garthan would have an obvious motive for wanting to see a shakira convicted, rightly or wrongly. And I truly hate to say this, my dear, but virtually everyone in the multiverse knows how you feel about shakira…and you happen to be one of the finest theoreticians in all the known universes. If anyone could hack the court’s truth detection spellware to let him lie successfully, it would be you.”

  “I see.” And she did, clearly and hideously. “They’ll say Jasak trumped up the charges against an innocent man, out of prejudice, and that Jugthar went along with it. And you’re right; the shakira would love to drag me into it, as well, wouldn’t they.” She grimaced. “And the court will call that worm vos Hoven as a witness in Jasak’s court-martial, too, won’t they?”

  “Yes.” The duchess nodded. “He was present at the battle that’s the basis for the charges pending against my son.”

  Gadrial’s heart went a little colder and she swallowed hard.

  “Surely the court’s officers will realize that nasty little slimeball will do and say anything to ensure Jasak is destroyed.”

  “Of course they will…but that may not be enough to save the man we both love.” She bit her lip again. “I must ask, Gadrial. Did you actually see the battle?”

  “No,” she whispered. “When we reached the clearing, Jasak realized immediately that the Sharonians might’ve taken refuge in all that storm debris. It was a perfect spot for an ambush, if that was what they intended. He wouldn’t put me at risk. So he assigned two soldiers as bodyguards and kept me back, out of sight. But I heard it all very clearly.”

  Her Grace, Sathmin Olderhan, Duchess of Garth Showma, closed her eyes for a moment. Then she got them open again.

  “Well, that’s better than it might have been,” she said. “You may not be an eye-witness, but you’re aware of what happened, when it happened, and in what order. That’s something the court will have to pay attention to, at least.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t see it, Your Grace,” Gadrial whispered.

  “Don’t fret too greatly, my dear,” Jasak’s mother said firmly. “And given what we’ve just been discussing, it’s time to drop this silly formality. My name is Sathmin. And don’t even try to protest,” she added. “One of the greatest joys of the four years I spent studying in Ransar was the delight of having people use my name, rather than my title or its related formal address.”

  Her smile was soft with memory.

  “Those four years were so…liberating. It took some getting used to, at first, but I missed it desperately when I came home and discovered that my father had set up a marriage arrangement for me.”

  “He arranged your marriage?” Gadrial gasped, horrified.

  “Oh, yes. Most Andaran marriages are carefully arranged by the parents on both sides of a prospective union.”

  Gadrial’s heart sank.

  “Oh, no, dear child,” the duchess said firmly, “none of that! If I thought you weren’t suitable, we wouldn’t be here, this morning, having this conversation.”

  When she finally managed to speak, Gadrial’s voice was filled with wonder. “That’s the second-highest compliment I’ve ever been paid.”

  Sathmin Olderhan blinked, startled and obviously puzzled for a moment; then her eyes softened.

  “The highest was when Halathyn vos Dulainah agreed to train you?” she asked gently.

  “You’re close. That was a profound compliment to a country girl barely turned eighteen. But the highest compliment was the day he resigned from the Mythal Falls Academy. He was furious over the accusations against me, but I couldn’t believe it, when he resigned his faculty post. He was Chairman of the Department of Theoretical Magic Research, the most coveted and honored position in the entire academy. And he threw it away. Threw it into their teeth, like a hurled stone. Over me. I wasn’t worth it,” she whispered.

  “My dear,” Sathmin murmured, taking Gadrial’s hand in hers, “I beg to differ. You most certainly were worth it, or he wouldn’t have done it. You forget how many conversations I’ve had with him, in my role as an Institute advisor and sponsor. Moreover, I’ve watched the Garth Showma Institute prosper and grow and outshine the Mythal Falls Academy again and again, under your leadership. To succeed wildly in an endeavor in which your enemy has attempted to make you fail, Gadrial, is always the very best revenge. Trust me; you’ve accomplished that many times over.”

  The duchess smiled again, sweetly.

  “And by placing me in the same company as Halathyn vos Dulainah, you’ve paid me one of the highest compliments I’ve ever received. So, having settled how admirably suitable you are for my son, let’s get some breakfast into you.”

  Sathmin touched a spell accumulator beside her chair. Nothing happened here, but Gadrial knew the spell would inform the staff that the duchess was ready for the rest of her breakfast. Less than one minute later, that breakfast arrived, set out efficiently by the maids who looked after the family meals. The spell-enhanced serving dishes were the best on the market, programmable for various temperatures, with a simple dial on each serving dish allowed the staff—or diners—to dial the holding temperature up or down, as desired.

  She settled in and tucked into her meal as Sathmin worked exceedingly hard at putting her at her ease. Within minutes, she’d relaxed enough to actually enjoy the stories of Jasak’s childhood mishaps, hijinks, and triumphs. She needed that, and she blessed Jasak’s mother for helping her prepare for the coming ordeal. And she prayed to Rahil, as well. Prayed hard, hoping that what she’d heard that terror-filled, agonizing day in a forest far from this lovely breakfast room, would save the man they both loved.

  The alternative was unbearable.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  January 13

  The door chime rang as the hummer battered its beak against the bell mounted beside Arylis Ulthar’s porch door.

  She turned from the cake she’d been frosting, and her eyes widened as she realized how exhausted that hummer was. The wings were missing a few iridescent green feathers, and whatever Novice or Journeyman had been supposed to recharge the levitation spell at the last way station to help the small beast’s natural magic maintain its breakneck speed had obviously bungled the job. The creature had settled, exhausted, into the open wire cage by the doorpost instead of taking any number of more natural perches in the small yard or nearby trees.

  Strong compulsion spells gave the hummer no choice in its destination, and the crystal chip in the base of the cage glowed as it transferred the message from the travel-worn creature. Arylis wanted that message—wanted it badly—but she knew hummers well enough to realize how thoroughly distressed this one was. The message would be there whenever she got to it; the hummer might not be, if something wasn’t done about its exhaustion.

  She’d worked summers as a hummer trainer and run a hummer nursery business with her sisters before marrying Therman Ulthar. It was the sort of support work—on the edge of the Army but not quite in it—many Andaran women did between sch
ool and marriage and sometimes after, and her family was garthan. They’d found refuge from the nightmare of Mythalan society under the protection of Andara, and like most refugees, their patriotism and devotion to their new home burned hot and fierce, which had made that support work even more satisfying. The young hummers needed about a year’s growth after leaving the nest before they gained enough strength to receive their enchantments, and her family had bought hummer chicks from Gifted breeders and fed them up before reselling the strong, older birds to the Union Army and private communications services. She’d come to love the swift, jewel-like little creatures, and she didn’t bother to close the cage door or slip on the bespelled handling gloves hanging under the cage before she reached for this one with her bare strong, dark-skinned hands. She knew hummers too well to bother with them, and she didn’t care to mess the inside of the gloves with cake frosting from her interrupted baking.

  She handfed the creature a couple of ounces of honeywater with her icing bag. The small magic in the icing tip wasn’t designed to feed birds, but it worked—beading in a fat wet globe at the end of the bag between the hummer’s red-throated gulps. It was very hungry, and she wanted the worn creature fed before she confirmed the download from its message chip and let it follow its next spell-compulsion to streak back to the North Portalis Hummer Aerie. She hoped it would receive a gentle grooming and a few days rest before its next long message route.

  Her half-iced cake had been more in the way of practice than actually needed for a gathering, so she didn’t mind interrupting her decorating efforts to ensure the little creature at least got some sugar in its system before powering back home again. Not only had she spent years raising them for the mail service, but more recently, sleek-winged hummers who’d probably never flown further than the outskirts of Old Portalis on Arcana Prime arrived weekly with short messages from the Commandery’s Bureau of Family Relations and Military Support Services. That always happened when a unit was deployed, and Arylis had grown accustomed to their general nothing messages about Therman’s unit when it was on deployment.