“In a sense. The various com-net startexes we have monitored indicate tremendous pressure building up within the Axis—military secrets exposed, systems up in arms against the republic, attempts to make Nuala take the fall.” His voice sank to a whisper. “Tay, I am no longer sure we shall ever be able to reenter the Axis.” She said nothing; he looked up, his gaze piercing. “That is not for general hearing.”
“I am always discreet, Atare,” she answered formally. Irritated by a second of intimacy destroyed, Braan stood and paced to the large thermacontrol window, the first to be placed.
He touched its sill gently. “We have a chance. Several chances. The first we shall discuss today.” He was interrupted by pounding on his metal shield. “Enter.” Moran, Roe and Gid appeared, trooping past the two silent guaard, another guaard in tow. Braan smiled faintly. “I want a real door.”
“With a doorkeeper? The guaard will not take on anything extra. Some people do not have units yet, and you and Dylan have this to yourself!” Roe answered, amusement in her voice.
“That may change,” Braan replied. He gestured to the low chairs. “We have several people to wait for. Sit down. Did you ask Lyte?”
“He said, ‘No thankyou,’” Roe supplied.
Braan’s eyes narrowed. So—he had not imagined it. Lyte was angry and avoiding his friends.
Moran looked momentarily pained. “I’ll just lecture it to him later. He has no choice.”
By this time the sounds of other participants in the meeting came to their ears. Lars, the head planter, and his major assistant, Brett, were the first through the doorway, followed by Liel and Arrez. Liel was regaining her full spirits, jokes and good humor coming in rapid-fire order. The twins followed, and the gathering was gratified to see that Shinar had been with Kalith. Braan was unable to suppress a smile. He had seen them walking and talking earlier, and for a moment the past year was swept away and they were two young people reveling in the silent intensity of their love. Kal was trying to shake his inhibitions and come to some semblance of peace with himself, but it was difficult. While Kal took leave of Shinar, Kavan immediately took a seat, attentive to every word and movement. He had settled down, Braan reflected. Still the Atare temper, but he had better control over it. He took his responsibilities seriously. Jaac slipped in alone.
Finally Justinian and Url entered, the heads of the Synod. The couple brought with them the dignity of royalty, immediately formalizing the meeting. The two settled in on one couch. After they looked comfortable Arrez offered up a prayer. Then he looked expectantly at Braan.
Braan’s gaze took in the gathering. “I have called you all here to discuss our immediate course of action, and the general consequences if we do not move with purpose. Let no one leave confused.” He turned to Lars. “Can you explain this better than me?”
Lars coughed. He started to stand and then seemed to think better of it. Leaning back in his chair, he began to speak: “The winter harvest is stored, and we are preparing the seed grain for the summer crop, which, if the monsoons prove to be ended, will be planted this weekend. As everyone here has heard, several of our sister cities are in desperate need of food and seed grain. We are the major agricultural suppliers for this region and everything extending north. It is a heavy responsibility.”
“Was the harvest adequate?” Justinian asked.
“Adequate? Depending on how we look at it, yes. We produced enough grain to feed ourselves and eleven other population centers through this fall, and the rest of the seedgrain for this spring. Then there is the fall harvest.”
“And?” Arrez supplied.
“We can feed ourselves but not the other cities. Our farming was artificially controlled to produce that much food. We no longer have the means, and even with new land under cultivation, we do not have the seed. We will barely have seed to plant for winter, and it will produce a small crop. To spread things thinly is to provide an inadequate nutrition level for everyone.”
“Somehow I don’t think the people of Merigwin are going to lie down and starve peacefully. We are left with two choices; is that what you are suggesting? Find more food or be prepared for a global war to control what there is.” Teloa stared at Moran, amazed he could announce it so calmly.
“We have numerous tasks. Some will take time, such as rediscovering the farming skills of our ancestors,” Braan continued smoothly. “Lars and his fellow planters are convinced our soil can produce without chemical boosters and pesticides but that involves setting up a complicated crop rotation with tier planting, fertilization and a natural pesticide system. And, most importantly, getting new seed.”
“Smuggled?” Brett asked with enthusiasm. Liel’s smothered laughter and Braan’s smile immediately dashed his hopes of adventure.
“The rumors in the synod suggest you intend to deal with the Cied.” Justinian let his words hang in the air a moment. “Is this true? Is it wise? We are not sure the Cied have the added resources to help us. Or will be willing to—”
“The resources exist,” Gid interrupted. “Braan and I have spent considerable time in the ciedär, even the interior. And in the midst of that great desert lies an unimaginable oasis, created by the Ciedärlien planters. It is bounty in the midst of endless famine and feeds all the great and middle tribes with extra to barter, which they do on occasion. That land is the one thing their people do not fight over. I have seen it—it exists. And they protect it with their lives. Seed they will sell, for the right price. They, too, suffered from the attack, and acquiring material, weapons, metal, and housewares is difficult for them. They are not merchants or artisans—they depend on the coast for these things. Their farming secrets they may be more loath to give up, but it would amuse them to have us in their debt. I am not that proud, Justinian—I know what it is to go hungry.”
Lars cleared his throat, capturing their attention. “I agree with the Atare. We must go to the Cied, to the deep sand mountain Dragoche clan, to the Dragoche Baakche himself. We must deal with him one-on-one, with a representative of high standing with the Atare to act as emissary. The Cied call councils of tribal leaders, but they have no permanent, elected parliament—and recognize only one ruler. If we go representing separate tribes or houses, they will see that as a weakness. The fact we do not have a priest-king is bad enough for our bargaining position, or so records say.”
“We do.” Arrez did not look away from the window. “Just because he is not anointed a priest does not make him any less a servant of God.” Braan winced—the fact that there had been no coronation needed to be rectified as soon as possible.
“What do we have to offer the tribes?” Url asked.
“The usual—and more,” Braan answered, satisfied with what was coming out of the discussion. “I have already sent messages causing a temporary cessation of trade with the Cied. As Gid said, they are planters of the highest caliber, but they make nothing—no cloth, no weapons, no lasting abode. They barter for everything, specify their designs for material and weapons, rarely construct their own tents. They are trackers, hunters.” The Amurans shivered. The Cied ate meat. Not as much as off-world humans, but more than most Nualans.
“They also covet our metals. But can they not make what they have stretch an extra season or two and then take what they want when we are too weak to fight them?”
Braan smiled. “No. The Cied were hurt worse than us—their life is a harsh one, and their cities are dependent on the trade caravans. They will not change into craftmasters and city dwellers overnight. And they are Nualans—slavery disgusts them as it would you. They are people concerned with honor and duty to Mendülay above all things; and their own situation not far behind. They will help us. The questions are: How much? At what price? For how long? As friends or as taskmasters? And will they deal with Corymb, with Atare, or still someone else?”
“You mentioned ‘more.’ What do you have in mind, Braan?” Kavan asked.
“The Cied understanding of weapons is knives and swords
, arrowtips to fight animals and one another.”
“A debatable difference,” Brett threw in. Lars hushed his assistant with a glance.
“I know that several Cied have been off-world in the last tenyear. Baakche’s heir is among them. The man Genuar is shrewd and intelligent—he understands the connection between the attack and the probable return of our enemies, I am certain ... or he can be made to see it. And the Fewhas will make Nuala totally their own, if they return. Even if they want our homes only for an outpost, they will sear the planet to a crisp first. We have the ability to protect the Cied. Tolis builds missiles, and the new shield. However, if we have to threaten to leave them unshielded, we will threaten.”
“We may not have to threaten. They remember prophecies from holy books we no longer read,” Arrez said cryptically.
“So it is plain that we must go to the Dragoche. I assume you have given thought as to who is to go?” Jaacav broke in smoothly.
“I know who is not going. You are not, my friend. You are the only one experienced enough to supervise the assembly of the shield, and we cannot wait the twentyday for you to finish. They must leave immediately. I hope for some aid from the tribes to increase this crop’s yield, not just the fall plantings.”
Jaac must have expected this, as she did not protest Braan’s decision. “You have found someone with my desert skills in condition to travel?” Her gaze at Roe was pointed.
“No. Roe needs a fortyday yet before she will gain her normal strength. We need someone with the equivalent authority to my own, since I doubt that the synod would be pleased with my leaving.”
“They would not,” Justinian replied just as easily.
“I was thinking Kalith and Kavan could go.” The young men straightened and tried to cover their astonishment. Braan went on quickly. “I feel the synod underestimates their ability to conduct state business, especially together. As a team they are practically unbeatable; and they were also on the last journey to Cied. I trust the experience is as engraved on their memories as it is on mine. They understand the protocol.”
“It would most likely be satisfactory, providing two elders selected by the synod accompanied them.”
“May I suggest the two be of personalities not averse to working through the Atares? We need no egos to salve on this trip. And myself—” Lars threw in.
“No. You’re too important here. I could just as easily go.” Everyone looked at Teloa. “I am Caprican, I was raised on a planet where the daytime temperature averaged forty degrees Celsius. I’ll learn the tricks of this desert quickly, and I know what questions to ask.”
Braan hesitated, unwilling to admit to himself how much her words frightened him.
“And Brett could go along, to insure we receive the proper amounts of each type of seed. Tay is not familiar with that part of our work, since our shipments have been cut back to almost nothing,” Lars offered. Brett immediately turned to Teloa, looking ridiculously pleased over the idea, totally missing the implications to his future as Lars’ assistant. Tay was facing Braan. The Atare let himself go only a moment, his encompassing gaze worried, and then the mask slipped up, his smile barely wavering. He took an intense dislike to the confident young planter Brett, recognized the jealousy, and mentally kicked himself.
“Jaac?” Braan forced out.
“Six warriors with planter skills, one of them guaard.”
“Six? Is that nec—”
“Yes, Justinian, six,” Jaac rushed on. “That is the minimum I shall allow, or I shall insist on the traditional Atare guaard. They shall be hard to placate as it is; they have been left in the dark too long.”
The idea alarmed both Justinian and Url. “We cannot have too many, it would look as if we were expecting treachery!”
“Agreed,” Braan interrupted. “We go to parley, not to fight. But we cannot be foolish. The tribes are never totally united, even behind the Dragoche, and we must not forget it for a second. Any less would not be prudent, any more not only asking for trouble but also a waste of warriors. If a group such as a Stigati tribe intends to attack, you would need a platoon to beat them off. I send these six only to have something between you and a knife in the dark.”
“It is settled, then? The synod shall choose the two this afternoon, and the chosen shall leave in the early morning,” Url said.
“Agreed.” But Braan knew he did not sound entirely pleased with the arrangement.
THE GROTTO
TWOHUNDRED THIRTEENDAY, PRIME
They sat quietly on the rocks, the watchers, as the last packs were secured on the hazelles. Roe looked up at the curving expanse of rock above them, a delicate rose-pink in the reflected light. Teloa had called the yawning opening “the grotto” from almost the very beginning, though it was truly the mouth of the western cavern. The name had stuck. The Atare woman looked over at Teloa, who was off to one side making her farewells to Zair and the akemmi. No wains were going; the long trek over the desert, most of it nothing but mountains and waves of sand, would be too much for their feet. No water could be spared for pets. The big hound whined softly as the Caprican scratched his ears; he knew something was wrong. Tikki scrambled off, vanishing in the brush. Dylan stood nearby, not as overjoyed as expected over gaining Zair’s company. He was fond of Tay and worried about her already.
Jaacav was with the half dozen warriors who were to accompany the group. Ronüviel could hear snatches of conversation and instruction. They carried side knives, a few clubs and Cied swords, and the group leader had a normally forbidden blaster. In the depths of the previous night Jaac had admitted her fears. She did not expect to see them ever again.
Roe could not accept it then, and believed it no more by the light of day. Studying the two elders chosen, Roe decided they were probably an adequate selection. Not distinguished, but honest, fairly objective, and able to keep their mouths shut during the bulk of the negotiations. If only Kal would spring back completely ... if only Brett would stop annoying Teloa. At least Roe would have found his pronounced attentions vexing. Teloa thought it was terribly amusing.
Kal had already said his good-byes and stood among the hazelles, his focus on the distant sea. Shinar had chosen to remain at Roe’s side and watched him thoughtfully. The warriors were helping the elders up on their hazelles and seeking their own mounts. Teloa now moved away from Dylan and the dog, starting down the path to the huddled beasts. Braan was standing between Roe’s perch and the road and reached out to touch Tay’s shoulder in passing. The woman hesitated.
“I have something for you,” Roe heard Braan say. “You may need it.” The man dipped into a pocket of his poncho and pulled out what Roe recognized as a hunting cat, a deadly knife used to skin tazelles, among other things. It was also known to even up the odds when one was cornered by a katt. It was in a case and had a strap attached.
“For me?” Tay was clearly surprised and puzzled.
“Never go far without a good knife and some rope,” Braan said briskly, opening the case with the flick of a finger to reveal knife, oil and stone. “Eon can carve the grip to your hand tonight. Do not allow it to rust in the case. Become familiar with it. There are many dangers in the ciedär.” Roe looked up to see Tay quietly studying him, and her expression indicated she saw beyond the words and the manner. For once Braan did not immediately move away and met the off-worlder’s gaze with his own. He closed the case and placed it in her right hand.
“Thank you.”
“Be careful.”
It was much later that Ronüviel asked Teloa what thought had moved her in those moments, for the woman’s final gesture had been unlike the restrained individual they knew. Yet it seemed so normal, so natural, for the scene. Tay had scrutinized him once again, her expression searching, and then had wordlessly reached up and caressed his cheek with her fingertips. Of all Nuala, only Lyte and Braan had patronized the tratores, and only they could know what that motion cost her. But Mercury 7 was in the past, and only a person well-trained in
the tratore customs would remember long ago and worlds away. No citizens were present to mark boldness in the company of royalty.
The woman turned and hurried toward her hazelle. Mounting with the fluid grace of one familiar with four-legged transportation, she nodded to Eon, the palace guaard in charge of the group. A flick of his crop and his beast led off, the others falling in behind. Roe realized her knuckles were white from gripping her caftan and that she had reached for Braan’s sleeve without knowing it. The whole of the distant sea sparkled like silver in the starlight as Kee finally rose above the mountains; the travelers, however, were bathed in shadow as they hugged the rocky terrain, headed for the pass and to the east. Roe trembled in the rising breeze.
PAINTING ROCK, THE CIEDÄR
TWOHUNDRED SIXTEENDAY, PRIME
She sat as still as death, watching the star leap up over the farthest mountains and into the sky. It was the highest point in the region, this jumbled pile of rocks, and her sanctuary against the coming day. Teloa did not even allow herself to stretch; not long ago Brett had come up to join her and had been unable to find her among the boulders. The deception pleased Tay, and she wedged herself tighter into the crevice, reveling in the freedom. She tucked her water flask into her beige robes to protect it from the coming heat.
Three days they had ridden, following a caravan route. The land was blooming in the wake of the recent monsoons, a soft blue-green as far as the eye could see. The hazelles often had to be driven to keep them from eating too much of the fresh grass and foundering. She sighed, thinking about the hazelles. Each animal carried the personal effects and water of its rider, and soon she would have to go down to load her beast. Eon would probably help her, but she didn’t want to burden him. The packs were not heavy, just awkward.
Tay shifted, staring off north to the next pile of rocks, a mountain chain in miniature that was slowly wearing away to become more desert. A taller range was beyond them, lost in Nualan mist. The route was easy for those who knew the signs. Eon and Kal had taught them to her, and she amused herself by pacing the trip. This was the easy part, the part that was a day’s walk to each water source. But when they passed the painting rock, they reached the open desert, the great sands, which was what ciedär meant. After that every oasis and stone formation was found by following the stars—and to fail was to wander endlessly in the ever-changing dunes, until dehydration and starstroke made an end of the story. Then the small, water-seeking crustaceans and the drying winds took care of the rest ...
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