When she turned, Shantu was struggling to his feet, balancing on his right leg and bringing up his sword with his left hand. She lunged for him, seeing his blade cross his torso in a late parry. The disengage came without thinking, her blade slipping under the outward arc of his weapon hand and up, inside his guard. The tip plunged into his chest, and with all the momentum of her run she drove it in, feeling the sudden give as the point exited his back.
He folded forward, hunched over her sword. For one moment he hung suspended, a bubbling expulsion of breath carrying red froth from his lungs. Then he toppled, his weight tearing the grip out of her hand as he fell.
“How…?” he whispered.
It was the last word that Prime Warrior Shantu spoke. His front dissolved, revealing utter bewilderment. A pool of blood spread beneath him, creeping toward her across the polished wooden floor. His eyes widened; he stared at her in shock and disbelief, and then he was looking at nothing at all.
Tal swayed on her feet, the exhaustion crashing over her as every wound and muscle began to hurt. With dragging steps she moved to Shantu’s side, painfully lifted a foot to his chest, and wrapped her good hand around the grip of her sword. The effort of pulling it out one-handed was almost more than she could muster, but slowly it came free, its normal brilliance dulled by a coating of blood and tissue. She stepped back, bloody sword in hand, and faced the silent Council.
“Alsea!” she cried, raising the sword over her head.
“Alsea!” came the answering roar of more than three hundred voices. Even the people in the visitor galleries responded.
“You are all witness!” She dropped the sword to her side, having no strength left to hold it up. “Six cycles ago I was given this title by a vote of the scholar and warrior castes, but today I hold it by the choice of Fahla herself. Fahla has chosen her champion!”
“For Fahla!” they shouted. “For Fahla and Alsea!”
A rumble sounded as the warrior caste Councilors left their seats, running along the tiers and down the steps to spill onto the chamber floor. A few went to Shantu’s body, lifting it up and carrying it out, but most surrounded Tal, catching her as the last shred of energy left. She slumped into a forest of arms that kept her upright, and someone took the sword from her hand, saying something about cleaning it for her. She was carried to the nearest tier, where crafter caste Councilors scrambled to make space as gentle hands pushed her into a seat.
Goddess, it felt good to sit down. Lying down would be even better, but she really didn’t want to pass out in front of the entire Council and a worldwide viewing audience.
“Salomen,” she said. “Where is Salomen?”
Something was wrong. Their bond had weakened. It felt as if Salomen wasn’t quite there, but she was safe in the guest gallery. Wasn’t she?
“She’s coming,” someone said, and there were murmurs of agreement.
Tal rested her head against the back of the seat. “I think I need a healer,” she mumbled.
“They’re already here,” said a woman close by.
Three healers appeared through the crowd, pushing a stretcher and carrying supply packs. Once again she felt herself gathered and lifted by many hands, and then she was lying on a soft surface, her muscles instantly turning to liquid. At last she could rest.
“Let’s get these wrapped,” said one of the healers. “Cut off the sleeve and leg. I’ll get the torso.”
Tal closed her eyes as her body was shifted this way and that. Blades hissed through cloth, and her bodysuit was peeled away in several places. Someone lifted her arm, a pressure sack crinkled, and the sudden push on her worst wound made her head swim. She gritted her teeth, waiting for the rest.
Capable hands began wrapping the wound on her thigh. Other hands raised her torso, supporting her while the wound in her side was padded and wrapped. At last they laid her down again, and the pain settled into a pounding ache that was far more tolerable. A skinspray to her wrist lessened even that, and she opened her eyes in relief.
“Thank you,” she said.
The healer in her line of vision nodded, and her stretcher began to move.
“There they are,” someone said. “Would you look at that?”
“What happened to her?” asked a second voice.
Tal craned her neck, trying to see around the press of bodies. The Councilors in front of her stepped back, giving her a clear sight line down the length of the chamber floor. There were Aldirk and Razine, with Shikal beside them, holding Jaros by the hand. Jaros kept turning to look behind him, and as Tal’s stretcher rolled closer, she saw Gehrain and Vellmar towering behind the others. Their expressions were stern, and they were flanking someone who moved slowly.
Lead Guard Ronlin appeared next, bristling with protective menace as he glared around him. Right behind him was Nikin, who cradled Salomen in his arms. Her arms were wrapped around his neck, her head rested on his shoulder, and she seemed barely conscious.
Tal pushed at the people around her, trying to lever herself up, but hands held her back.
“No, Lancer Tal, don’t injure yourself,” said one of the healers.
She wanted to laugh. Injure herself? Wasn’t it a little late for that?
The stretcher kept moving, and Shikal pulled a wide-eyed Jaros to one side to let her pass.
“Stop!” she shouted, though it came out as more of a croak.
When the healers ignored her, she struggled to get free, nearly rolling off the stretcher. They had to stop then, and Nikin stepped up with a white-faced Salomen, who now looked more alert.
“Do not ever ignore an order from the Lancer,” she said in a tone of absolute authority. “You are in the State House, not the healing center. Show your respect.”
The healers stood straight, startled into obedience.
A vidcam swooped in, its operator apparently deciding that since the combat was over, the order regarding distance no longer applied. Before Tal could say a word, Ronlin snatched it out of the air, threw it to the floor, and stomped it into fragments.
“Well done,” Vellmar said.
“Salomen…” Tal reached out, needing the contact, and Salomen brought one arm down to clasp her hand.
“I’m all right,” she said. “Don’t worry. I’m just a little tired.”
“What happened?”
“I had faith in you. Just as I said.”
Tal was too exhausted for riddles and opened her mouth to say so when she saw the shadows of pain in Salomen’s eyes.
I have faith, because you have me, Salomen had said.
She had not fought that combat alone.
Salomen managed a tiny smile and added, “It wasn’t exactly regulation.”
“Every advantage I had,” Tal said. “Even the ones I didn’t know about.” They stared at each other, absorbing their connection, until Nikin shifted his hold and she realized he had carried her all the way down from the guest gallery.
“Nikin, thank you for being there for her,” she said.
“I could be nowhere else. Perhaps someday you’ll explain to Father and me what just happened.”
“We will. Someday.” She patted the space beside her. “Will you put her here?”
“Lancer Tal,” a healer protested as Nikin walked to the other side of the stretcher.
Tal held up her hand. “It’s wide enough for two, isn’t it?”
Nikin bent down to deposit Salomen, who immediately rolled onto her side and brushed her fingers across Tal’s cheek. Her voice shook slightly as she said, “I think this might be the only part of you that isn’t hurt.”
Tal rested her hand atop Salomen’s, forgetting all about the other Opahs as the stretcher resumed its motion. Then a suspicion flared and she narrowed her eyes. Pitching her voice low to avoid being overhe
ard, she asked, “You’re not still Sharing my pain, are you?”
“No. I couldn’t hold it once the fight was over. I think it was my fear that enabled it.”
The moment of Shantu’s death was the moment Tal had nearly dropped from exhaustion and a sudden awareness of all her wounds. That was when Salomen had let go.
“You held it all,” she said, realizing it even as she spoke. “From the very first one, in my side. I thought I was in too much shock to feel it.”
“We were both in shock. I felt that sword go in. I was focusing so hard on you, trying to help you in the fight, that I must have set up some sort of link without knowing it. Nikin didn’t know what to think when you were cut and I acted like it was me.”
“Because it was you. Oh, tyrina—you felt every one of them?”
Salomen nodded.
Their stretcher rolled out of the chamber and into the lobby, where several Guards were holding back a noisy crowd. Tal saw a blur of faces, all staring. Some looked horrified, others triumphant. One older man was weeping.
Vellmar and Ronlin followed them into the lift. As Ronlin turned to face outward, he glanced at Salomen and his scowl softened into a look of near worship. Of course, Tal thought. He had been sitting next to her during the fight, and he was a smart man. He knew their secret. Judging by his watchfulness, it had only increased his sense of responsibility. Micah had chosen well.
The lift doors closed, sealing them into a blissful silence. Salomen touched Tal’s other arm above the pressure sack and whispered, “That was the worst. I thought I would faint. Actually, I think I did for a moment. The next thing I remember, you were on the floor.”
“That was when everything slowed down for me, and I couldn’t lift a finger to defend myself when he kicked me onto my back. So you must have woken up again just before I cracked his knee.”
“I think so.”
The doors opened, ending their quiet moment. They rolled into the soaring ground floor lobby, where more Guards were holding back an even larger crowd that gasped and began calling out as soon as Tal was recognized.
Under cover of the noise, she said, “I had an unbelievable burst of energy after that. A moment before, I just stood there watching him kick me, and then I was bouncing off the floor and racing for my sword. I should have known that was you. Goddess above, Salomen. You’re the reason I’m alive. I’m not sure I could have finished him if you hadn’t given me your strength—and your will,” she added. “That was you, wasn’t it? Refusing to let me accept my Return?”
“Visualize your success and achieve it. You and Colonel Micah taught me that. I couldn’t let you think about failure.”
“You realize that’s highly illegal.”
“Somehow, I don’t think you’ll report me.” Salomen gave her a tired smile and closed her eyes.
Perhaps she was too weary to realize what she had done. Or perhaps she simply didn’t understand the import. But Tal did, and she watched her tyree in increasing wonder.
When Salomen took her pain the night of the assassination attempt, they had been physically connected. This time, she had done it from across the Council chamber while simultaneously using empathic projection to bolster Tal’s resilience. The first should not have been possible, and the second was an advanced skill Salomen had never learned.
She remembered sitting in Lanaril’s study and understanding for the first time that she shouldn’t have been able to save Salomen from that window seat. You did the impossible for her, Lanaril had said.
“We did it for each other,” she whispered, but Salomen didn’t hear her over the calls from the crowd.
They passed through the main entrance and were carried down the stairs to the transport waiting at the bottom, its engines already spun up for instant liftoff. Ronlin and Vellmar climbed in after them, taking seats on the side bench as someone shut the doors from outside.
In the sudden quiet, Vellmar caught Tal’s eye and gave her an approving nod. It might have been odd, given their differing ranks, but last night Tal had been her student.
She had passed the test.
One of the healers snapped a restraint bar onto the stretcher and told the pilot to go. As the transport rose into the air, he sat at Tal’s side and held a scanner against her wrist.
“You’ll be fine, Lancer Tal,” he assured her.
She turned her head to look at Salomen, whom Shantu had dismissed as a mere producer—and who had been the one weapon he could not block. Smiling, she said, “I know.”
PART FIVE:
INCLUSION
CHAPTER 58:
First run
“I thought you were supposed to be getting back into this gradually,” Vellmar huffed.
Lancer Tal glanced over, her pace easy and fluid. “Tired already?”
“Not at all. Just concerned about you.”
“Don’t bother. Salomen takes care of that job.”
Vellmar shook her head. Why was she even surprised that the Lancer had insisted on a run only five days after the challenge?
“How is your leg?” she asked.
“Fine. Stop worrying, Vellmar. I said I’d only do a length.”
“Yes, but somehow I assumed you meant you’d run it at a more practical pace.”
“I needed to blow the spinner’s webs out of my mind.”
She could understand that. With Shantu’s death, Lancer Tal’s reputation had gone into orbit. The media labeled her Fahla’s Chosen, and public support for her had swelled to such an extent that an entire unit of warriors was called to hold back the crowd from the entrance to Blacksun Healing Center. The air had been thick with the scent of hyacot twigs, broken and left in piles all along the walls as an homage to the woman inside. Blacksun Temple was still ablaze with bowl offerings day and night, as a never-ending stream of Alseans offered thanks to Fahla for her Chosen. It was a near deification, and Lancer Tal was not comfortable with it.
“If it helps,” Vellmar offered, “I’m reasonably certain that Fahla’s Chosen would never wear a shirt with that many holes in it.”
The Lancer laughed as she slowed to a walk. “All right. That’s a length.” She turned in place and began walking back the way they had come. “Salomen detests this shirt, too. You’re in good company.”
Vellmar looked around appreciatively, still not quite believing this was considered duty. A trail through a forest was her idea of running perfection, and she had been delighted when the Lancer brought her here for their morning exercise. She wouldn’t mind if they did this every day. The forest was old, its massive trees so tall that their tops would vanish when the low clouds of winter came. Birdsong rang all around them, with most of the singers invisible in the heights, though they had startled quite a few lower-dwelling birds during their short run. The crisp air was laden with the scent of damp soil and leaves, and a stream rushed over rocks somewhere behind them. She would bet a nineday’s pay that the trail eventually joined it.
Koneza had nothing like this. On top of everything else, it was practically outside her door. Her secondary quarters were only a few hundred paces from the base border and the beginning of the trail.
“What does Raiz Opah think of the base?” she asked.
“She says she understands now why I’d want to bother with two separate sets of quarters only a twenty-tick transport ride apart.” Lancer Tal stopped near a knee-high boulder, set her foot atop it, and gently stretched her injured leg. “It was nice to leave the State House behind.”
“And the chaos.”
“And that.”
Vellmar watched her closely, looking for any signs of pain, and unfortunately did not look away in time to avoid being caught.
“Your record never said anything about you being like a winden with a newborn,” Lancer Tal said in exasperation. “For t
he last time, I’m fine. None of the cuts hit anything vital, the muscle and skin sealers are all holding perfectly, and I could probably wrestle you to the ground right now without tearing anything open.”
Vellmar raised an eyebrow at that.
“But I wouldn’t try,” Lancer Tal conceded with a smile.
“Good. Because I know a few more moves than the ones I taught you.”
They walked in silence for several ticks, the Lancer deep in thought and Vellmar content to absorb her surroundings with all her senses. This place was beautiful, and she was looking forward to learning every handspan of every trail.
“I never did thank you, did I?” Lancer Tal asked.
“For what?”
“Giving me what I needed. It was almost as if you knew how the fight would end.”
Vellmar shrugged. “We both knew he was a better sword fighter. It made sense that at some point you’d be in that position.”
They walked a few more paces before Lancer Tal said, “Shantu would be proud to think that it took three people to beat him.”
“You think he didn’t have moves he learned from someone else? I just gave you the knowledge. And my mothers gave it to me. We’re all products of our training.”
“And of our character.” She shook her head. “I keep thinking about what he said just before I killed him. He truly believed that the matter printers should be kept for the warrior caste. He would have been a terrible Lancer, but at least he wasn’t thinking just of himself. He was motivated by a desire to elevate our caste and to keep Alsea strong and independent. But Parser did everything for one man and one man alone. Yet he’s alive, and Shantu is dead. There’s something very wrong about that.”
Without a Front: The Warrior's Challenge (Chronicles of Alsea Book 3) Page 45
