Amulet Rampant

by M. C. A. Hogarth

  But he’d been asked a question. So he answered. “Yes.”

  The Hinichi glanced over his shoulder and cocked a brow, and that expression surprised Lisinthir, and amused him, and he knew that he had discovered an unexpected ally. “All right.”

  Lisinthir chuckled, sitting up. “Just that.”

  The Hinichi ignored the comment, stirring cream into his cup, the tinkle of silver against fine porcelain carrying in quiet of the large office. “Coffee?”

  “Yes, please. Black, if you would.”

  The Night Admiral nodded, added a second cup, and poured. He brought both cups on a tray—very civilized, that—and set it on the small table in front of Lisinthir. He took the chair across from him, rather than retreating to the desk... which was, after all, quite a distance from this less formal arrangement, tucked against the window wall overlooking the water. Lisinthir wondered at the water. He hadn’t been told where he was being transported when he stepped over the Pad to come here. He suspected that, like other things, the view was a lie.

  Relaxing, the Hinichi said, “Are you surprised, then?”

  “That you said yes?” Lisinthir turned the cup until the handle faced him, slipped his fingers through it. “I didn’t have any expectations. I came to learn something and I have. I’m pleased that you made the decision you did, of course, because had you not I would have been forced to pursue the matter on my own recognizance.” He quirked a brow. “Which is why you said yes, isn’t it?”

  “Of course,” the wolfine said, unperturbed, but there was a crinkle at his eye that suggested the cheek under it had mounded in a smile hidden by the darkness of his pelt. “It was the only way to have any visibility into the situation. Besides, while I’m sure your Queen could have outfitted you for the job, we can do it better. And better tools will make it more likely you’ll come back with information we can use.”

  “A pragmatist,” Lisinthir said. “I approve.”

  That brought a laugh from a man, Lisinthir decided, who laughed often… if more frequently with his very interesting eyes than with his mouth. The Hinichi sipped his coffee. “My job demands a certain measure of pragmatism, Lord Nase Galare.”

  Strange that the title bothered him. He would have preferred Ambassador. Or, if he was forced to admit, Imtherili. Jahir’s mode of address was growing on him. “I imagine. Shall we discuss the specifics then? I don’t want to tarry overmuch, for reasons you might be able to imagine.”

  “That would be best. Though you’ll forgive me if I begin with some parameters I feel can’t be negotiated?”

  “If you forgive me for wanting the answer to an impertinent question.”

  That brought both the wolfine’s brows up, letting more light into his yellow eyes. “This should be interesting. Go ahead.”

  “Is it a technological solution that makes you black with golden eyes? Some sort of glamor? Or have you dyed your fur and filmed your irises?”

  The Night Admiral put his cup down and deliberately folded his fingers in front of his chest. That was an obvious bid to put him off the question, but Lisinthir could outwait anyone’s intransigence. He found waiting restful, to be truthful; it was pleasant not to have to lunge into action to secure his safety or his objective. He had learned the skills that had saved him in the Empire first in the forests of his homeworld, and a hunter knew the value of patience.

  At last, the Hinichi said, “What makes you ask this question?”

  “There was a hair on the cushion, when I sat. It was silver.”

  “Which could have been my last guest’s.”

  “Possible,” Lisinthir granted. “But unlikely. You’re not the sort of man whose office would be left untidy. You have a staff to keep things clean for you, do you not? And probably machines.” He tried the coffee, found it aromatic and complex, without the bitterness of burnt or cheap blends. A touch floral, perhaps. Maybe a Heliocentrus varietal. “Besides, before coming I did what research I could on your person.”

  “And found nothing,” the Hinichi said with a snort.

  “Only a chance photograph in a news archive,” Lisinthir said. “Your predecessor. Who was also black with golden eyes.”

  “A coincidence.”

  Lisinthir couldn’t read the wolfine’s tone: amusement? Caution? He was speaking casually, but his unblinking gaze bespoke a dangerous intensity. “Perhaps. But there is one more thing.” He leaned forward and set the cup on the tray. “You do not carry yourself like a black wolf with golden eyes.”

  At last he penetrated the other man’s glacial calm. “What?”

  How could he explain it? He couldn’t even explain it to himself. But something about being in danger for so long, riding the edge of his talents where the touch-empathy melded seamlessly with every other more natural sense, heightened his intuition... and all of it agreed. “I read it off you, alet. I couldn’t tell you how. But you move, you act, like someone who is wearing a mask. My guess is the coat color and the eyes, because you meet people’s eyes like someone who does not fear being recognized. And who has that luxury in our arena?” He stretched out a leg on the dense, blue carpet. “So, then. Am I correct?”

  There was a world in which the Night Admiral declined to reply—or lied—and their relationship branched from that choice into something that Lisinthir would have found... less tenable. Manageable, but not optimal. But the moment passed, and Lisinthir could see the Hinichi making the decision, answering with a hint of mischief, but without the resignation he’d expected. “Silver. And brown.”

  “Brown eyes are lovely.”

  The Hinichi chuckled. “And it’s technological. A projection. More reliable than dye. We’ll get you one of the devices since you’ll be slinking around the border worlds. An Eldritch won’t come back from those, no matter how good a fighter he is.”

  “Can it make me look like something else, then?” Lisinthir asked, curious.

  “Look, feel, smell, and taste like something else,” the Hinichi said. “Like someone shorter, or taller. Furred, feathered, what-have-you. You could present yourself as one of the Akubi and people would be able to touch your head nine feet up from the ground.”

  “I don’t imagine I’d feel that touch,” Lisinthir replied, startled.

  “Ah ha.” The Night Admiral grinned, white teeth stark against dark muzzle. “You can be surprised. No, you won’t feel it unless the shape is closely mapped to your own skin. It’s best to change as little as possible—that’ll preserve the illusion in other ways. The device can extrapolate your motions to the body language of your target shape, but they’re... mannequins, we’ll say. No matter how good the algorithms are, they won’t be perfect. Which is why I’m not sure how you saw through mine. This really is just a color overlay. There shouldn’t be any discontinuity.”

  “I am what I am, alet.”

  “I thought you had to touch to do what you do, though.”

  “I do,” Lisinthir said. “But my intuition has been... rigorously exercised, shall we say, on a field where to guess incorrectly would have been fatal. It concentrates the mind wonderfully.”

  The wolfine snorted, but his eyes were thoughtful. “I can see that.”

  “And I would appreciate having one of these items. I imagine there aren’t many of them available.”

  “There are consumer models, but... no. One that can do the things a Fleet version can do? The technology isn’t trivial. Even for us.” Another grin, but more genial. “Don’t worry. You won’t be able to lose it.”

  No doubt it attached to a person intimately. He was certain he would discover exactly how soon enough. “You were saying then, about the task, and items not open to negotiation?”

  “I’m picking the personnel,” the Night Admiral said.

  “Did you think I would insist on doing so? Without knowing so much as a name?” Lisinthir asked, unperturbed.

  “But you do know a name, don’t you.”

  A pause made suddenly electric.

  “You
were thinking about her, weren’t you,” the Night Admiral said.

  “Not… perhaps… until this moment,” Lisinthir replied, and interestingly enough wasn’t sure if it was a lie.

  The wolfine eyed him.

  “The truth,” Lisinthir said. “I so swear.”

  “I’m picking the personnel,” the Night Admiral said again.

  “Of course.” Lisinthir sipped from his cup, feeling the other’s gaze as if it could warm his skin over his cheekbones, the bridge of his nose. “You expected me to object?”

  “Yes?”

  Lisinthir snorted. “Send who you see fit, alet. Allow me to tell you if one of them seems unsuitable, though.”

  The wolfine paused, then nodded. “All right. That’s reasonable.”

  “And,” Lisinthir added, quieter, “Let her make the choice.”

  That earned him a bona fide glare, but there was a time for nonchalance… and a time to answer challenge with defiance. As important as the Night Admiral’s input into the mission was, the wolfine wouldn’t be there, wouldn’t be leading it, and wouldn’t be the one taking the wounds, and that was where Lisinthir drew the line. He met the wolfine’s gaze full-on, let his own implacability surface like fire from banked embers. His lip flared, just a little, over a canine, and it mattered not at all that it was less pointed than the Night Admiral’s.

  The Hinichi didn’t back down, which pleased. Yielding was one thing. Weakness, another entirely. “I won’t let anyone go on a mission this sensitive who might become a liability.”

  “Fine. But let her make the choice. After your doctors say whether she can return to duty. Or…has she already?”

  “We’re not discussing this,” the Night Admiral said with a touch of a growl.

  “Fine,” Lisinthir said. “So long as we have an understanding. Do we?”

  Another silence, this one tense with the contest. Lisinthir enjoyed it entirely, and that, he thought, was why he won. The Night Admiral found no pleasure in such wars. Which led him to another piece of the puzzle, one he hadn’t even known he’d been assembling.

  “Yes, we do. I’ll put the question in front of her… if the healers say it’s safe for her to go.”

  “That’s all I ask,” Lisinthir said, knowing that it wasn’t, and they both knew that as well. They were understanding one another quite comfortably now. Which is why it was the right time to add, “You’re a woman, aren’t you.”

  The Night Admiral stopped short in the act of reaching for his—her—his cup. “What the hell? How—” He bared his teeth. “There is no possible way. None.”

  “As I said… I am a special case.” Lisinthir picked up the wolfine’s coffee, handing it over with a benign smile. “Aren’t you glad I’m on your side?”

  A pause, then the Night Admiral laughed reluctantly. “You’re a bastard, you know that?”

  “Thank you, I do try. So… you were saying about timing?”

  “Fine, we can change the subject.” The Hinichi lifted a finger. “But as far as you know—”

  “The Night Admiral is what he seems, as he should be, and as he has always been since he was first hired for the job,” Lisinthir said. “And we shall do our best to ensure that no shapechanged Chatcaava borrowing an Eldritch’s abilities will ever get close enough to you to divine otherwise.”

  Timing had turned out to be the most difficult of the topics, not just because the Night Admiral needed to muster his resources before he could field them on Lisinthir’s behalf, but because on the broken Chatcaavan vessel where he’d almost died, Lisinthir had dreamed the Emperor’s command to stay clear until he was called. Nothing else could have held him back from the conflict, knowing his lovers were in danger, but he believed in the veracity of the dream… and that put him in the uncomfortable position of having to wait, no matter his personal preferences. Normally he would have found the situation intolerable.

  Normally. Because another of the Hinichi’s demands involved him reconditioning a body only recently rescued by surgery and released from nearly a year of abuses, and this he could bow to with a good will. He would be of no use to the Emperor weak. And that, he thought, would dovetail nicely with his promise to his cousin’s education. The weeks the Night Admiral had requested—required—felt excessive. But he could use them to convalesce and train, and have his cousin at his knee, and the end of that particular holiday would see him prepared for whatever was to come. Too, he had work to do before—gifts he wanted for his cousin, and supplies he needed to buy himself given how much he’d lost in the Empire. As ridiculous as it seemed, he had almost no clothes or luggage to his name anymore: what little had survived his tenure on the throneworld had been lost with the Quicklance.

  All that could be done at Starbase Alpha, where his confederates would be gathering; missions were not launched from his location: in orbit around Selnor with its significant civilian build-up, Fleet Central was an administrative hub, limited in the amount of military traffic it could support. As soon as he could book transport, Lisinthir would be decamping for the much larger base at Alpha. But he had one errand first, which was how he came to be sitting in the waiting room at Fleet Central Hospital, hands clasped on one knee. He imagined he’d earned the curious glances he was ignoring. Bad enough to be one of the few, rare Eldritch seen in the Alliance, but the coat Jahir had had made for him was a showy thing, particularly with the sword at his hip visible against its folds, resting its scabbard’s tip on the floor.

  His quarry came through the doors some half hour later and paused at the sight of him. “Well, they told me someone was waiting for me, but I admit I didn’t think my luck was going to be this good.”

  Lisinthir grinned. “So if I say I am here to buy you a drink, will you faint from shock?”

  “I’d think about it,” the Harat-Shar pard said, grinning back. “But I can hardly enjoy you unconscious, can I? A drink sounds great, thanks. I know a place if you don’t?”

  “Lead, I follow.”

  “Oh, Angels!” the other said, rolling her eyes heavenward. “If I’m dreaming, don’t wake me.”

  That is how he found himself sharing a table in the back of a dusky bar with one of the Harat-Shariin healer-assists who’d helped him through his initial acclimation to the Alliance’s environment. Elena Dovin and her brother Kazimir had run him through more tests and physicals than he cared to remember, but he owed that medical team his ability to function at higher gravity and in good health…and he hadn’t forgotten the assists who’d been at his bedside most of the time, ready with an off-color joke or a steady hand. Elena was the one he’d been able to find on-duty, so she was the one he’d requested, but he would have taken either, or both.

  “I’m flattered that you’re here,” Elena said. “Don’t mistake me. I’d be glad to look at your face any day, though frankly you’ve done some damage to yourself; I assume that’s why you’re drinking tonic water instead of something more recreational but toxic. Do I even want to know why you’ve got those hollows under your cheeks?”

  “No,” Lisinthir said with a chuckle. “And I’m not sure I’d be allowed to tell you if I wanted to.”

  “Naturally,” the Harat-Shar said, shaking her head. She turned her beer on the table, breaking the circles of condensation on the surface. “So, I’m assuming you’re here for some reason. Are you?”

  “I am.” Lisinthir grinned. “You’ll laugh when I tell you.”

  “I will! This should be good.” The woman put her cheek in a palm and said, “Hit me.”

  “I am making a probably unpardonable assumption about your sexual preferences based on the jokes you enjoyed shocking me with when I first arrived. I need someone to teach me those things.”

  Elena had pale green eyes; it made the abrupt dilation of her pupils obvious. “I really am dreaming, aren’t I? An Eldritch is asking me to induct him into sexual perversity? That can’t possibly be anything but a wet dream I’m having right now. But no, you’re serious? You can’t be ser
ious.”

  Lisinthir hid his amusement in his tonic water.

  “You are serious,” Elena breathed. And then frowned. “Why? Why me?”

  “I’m surprised you haven’t yet said something about your stunning attractiveness?”

  “Not a joke,” Elena said, and covered Lisinthir’s drink with a hand. “No, don’t use that to hide your expression from me. You cover them too well without props. Talk to me, alet.”

  “I have a friend I suspect needs rough treatment,” Lisinthir said. “And I have no idea how to give it safely.” He tilted his head. “I don’t know that you are the person to instruct me, but I had the notion that you would be able to refer me to someone who did.”

  “But?” Elena asked, frowning. “I sense there’s a but.”

  Lisinthir inclined his head. “But I hope it will be you, or your brother, or both. We have established some level of body-trust already, since you saw me through the regimens when I first arrived. And you are healers-assist… I must imagine you have an understanding of injury and healing that might be difficult to find elsewhere. I don’t have as much time here as I wish, but I’m hoping what time I do have will be enough for the basics.”

  The Harat-Shar slumped back in her chair and blew out a breath. “My. You really are asking.”

  “I am, yes.”

  Elena folded her arms, chin lowered and ears twitched back. She had one of the more feral-looking faces Lisinthir had seen: almost a true animal’s muzzle, with arresting black stripes framing her mouth and leading back to streaks around her eyes. Her body was nearly androgynous, as hard as a man’s in some ways; her brother, oddly, was softer. They were a genial pair, and he hoped one of them would consent to aid him.

  “All right,” she said. “You raise good points. And… angels, how could I say no?” She scrubbed a hand through her hair, putting tufts of it awry. “Who would?”