Mouse and Dragon

by Sharon Lee

  "Roll three, Aunt Aelli!" Shan cried, climbing back on the bench.

  "I'll do my best," she said, "but there's no guarantee."

  There were, in fact, some tricks one might play with spin and friction. She gave it her best but—

  "Five," Shan said, disappointed.

  Aelliana picked up the dice and held them out to Pat Rin, standing by so quietly.

  "Will you roll three for your cousin?" she asked.

  "Yes," he said without hesitation, and took the dice from her hand.

  He shook them briefly, and rolled. Shan shouted with laughter.

  "Three!"

  Aelliana sat down on the bench and picked up the dice again.

  "This is my specialty, you know," she said, shaking the dice gently in her palm. "Pseudorandom mathematics, it's called. It means I study things like how cards fall within ordered systems. I've concentrated on card games—my dissertation was about card play—but I've done some study of dice, as well." She looked into Pat Rin's wary brown eyes. He looked—interested.

  "My study has led me to understand that—even given the random nature of events—dice do not always display the number that we wish they would. In fact, very seldom. One might be able to predict, if one had very quick eyes and could count the sides as they tumble, but to call the number before the dice hit the cloth, and be correct, every time—that," she said carefully, "is not how dice operate."

  Pat Rin said nothing.

  Aelliana held the dice out. "I'd like to perform a test, if you will help me?"

  "Yes," Pat Rin said. "I'll be pleased to help."

  "That's very kind of you. I wonder if you would be so good as to roll for me. I'll call the number, as Shan was doing. I would like to do this—a dozen times."

  "All right," Pat Rin said. He took the dice from her hand and looked up at her expectantly.

  "Two," Aelliana said, and he released the dice.

  They did it a dozen times; two dozen, and only once did the dice fall other than the call—and that was because Shan, overcome by excitement, tried to catch them when they struck the riser of the bench and bounced back.

  Aelliana took the dice back.

  "Now you call," she said.

  The dice behaved normally on her run of twelve, so whatever he was doing depended upon his controlling the dice. She suspected a supple wrist and an unusual but not unheard of run of felicity, but—

  "Perhaps Luken will let me come and dice with you again," she said. "That is, if it will not distress you."

  "No," Pat Rin said slowly. "I find it interesting. When I think of my number and throw, I feel that the dice have—" He shot her a conscious glance. "I feel that the dice have listened. When I think the number and you roll, I don't feel that they've heard me at all." He frowned in thought. "I wonder why that is."

  "Sparkles," Shan said, who had long since gotten bored with the dice and had retired with his spaceships to the middle of the balcony.

  Aelliana looked at him. Was it possible, she thought, that there was a . . . Healer talent that encompasses manipulating chance? She would have to ask Jen.

  "Aelliana."

  Daav stepped out onto the balcony, his face alight, his eyes fairly glowing.

  "We may see Nova now."

  He extended a hand to Pat Rin. "That means you, too, Nephew. We must make your new cousin feel welcome."

  "Yes," said Pat Rin, taking Daav's hand with a grave smile. "Father read to me out of the Code and we talked about what might be best. Since she's a little baby, and not accustomed to gifts, Father said that I should bring a kiss."

  "A most excellent gift," Daav told him.

  Aelliana rose, and held her hand down to Shan, still busy at his toys.

  "Don't you want to say hello to your new sister, Shannie?"

  "Yes!" he announced and sprang to his feet. "Father said I had to be quiet," he confided, as they followed Daav and Pat Rin into the parlor. "But he didn't say for how long."

  Anne lay in a chaise, her face sweetly peaceful, her eyes languid. She held a small, blanket-shrouded form against her breast.

  "Such a crowd," she murmured. "When Shannie came there was only Jerzy and Marilla."

  Er Thom touched her cheek.

  "Beloved, here is the delm, come to See our child," he murmured.

  "Of course there is," Anne said dreamily.

  Aelliana stepped forward at Daav's side, took the small bundle that Er Thom handed her and cradled it, in an accommodation that was already second nature.

  She folded the blanket back, turning so that Daav could also see the tiny face and the halo of golden hair. Her eyes were open—violet, like her father's.

  "Korval Sees Nova yos'Galan," Daav said in the Delm's Mode.

  "The Clan rejoices," Aelliana added, and felt that she had never said anything else so true.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Do not stand between a Dragon and its Tree.

  —

  From the Liaden Book of Dragons

  Daav smiled as he knelt beside an overabundant bank of darsibells. The bed should have been thinned some time ago, but he had put the task off, pending the discovery of an appropriate overflow location. Jelaza Kazone's head gardener having only yesterday expressed a need and named an appropriate location in the formal gardens for something very like darsibells, he was now pleased to do the needful.

  Aelliana was on an errand at the port, and had taken their child with her. He supposed she would be home soon. They had tickets to the opening of the High Port Pretenders later in the evening.

  As always, working in the soil soothed him. The sun warmed his back through his shirt, contributing to a feeling of pleasant dislocation, his thoughts drowsy and slow.

  It was a wonder how quickly time fled before joy. The weeks when Mizel had held them apart from each other had each seemed a twelve-year, while the years that had passed since they had at last signed their lines scarcely seemed to encompass days. Indeed, if it were not for the visible evidence of Val Con's growth, he would swear that Kareen's ill-conceived, yet so-useful gather had been but the night before.

  He laughed softly. One very long night, in order to properly encompass the courier contracts accepted and fulfilled, Kiladi's seminars taught, Aelliana's papers delivered, and the endless delight of their love for each other.

  And then there was their child—another order of joy altogether, mixed liberally with astonishment and dismay. So far, Val Con ruled the nursery in splendid isolation. Not that he was by any means isolated; he spent considerable time with his cousins, and with the nursery crew at Glavda Empri, where one or six of Guayar's next generation was also likely to be found. He was a quiet boy, stubborn, merry, and kind to cats. He was quick with his numbers, as one might expect of Aelliana Caylon's child, and had only to hear a song or a story to be able to repeat it, all but verbatim.

  Other things had changed over the long night: The ports had grown chancier; Terran ports, if one were Liaden, chancier still. Ride the Luck carried weapons now—weapons, as Aelliana had it, worthy of Korval's pirate founder, gentle Grandmother Cantra. The Low Port pushed at its limits, reaching stealthy fingers out toward Mid Port's plump pockets, to the point that the Portmaster fielded more proctors, and the Pilots Guild offered warnings to those newly arrived, on a street-by-street basis.

  But those were distant shadows, even The Luck's arming merely the prudence of pilots who were properly concerned for the well-being of their ship.

  He smiled, plying his trowel with a will. Each flower clump united by a common root ball that he excavated, he placed in the moss-lined basket at his side. If it was darsibells Master Rota wanted, it was darsibells she should have.

  Turning back toward the bed, he paused, head cocked to one side, listening.

  Yes, there were footsteps—two pairs. One pair was running, lightly but not quite evenly; the other walking quick and soft. Aelliana had very nearly acquired Scout steps.

  He put the trowel down, set the baske
t back, and turned to face the path, kneeling as he was. No sooner was he settled then his small son burst 'round the corner, shirttail flying and a tear in the knee of his pants.

  "Father!" Val Con cried excitedly, hurtling into Daav's arms. "Father, we saw Clonak!"

  Hugging the small, wiry body tight, Daav felt his heart constrict. Clonak had returned to the homeworld several times since the Deluthia affair had relinquished him, unscathed. To all appearances, his sojourn among danger had mended his wounds, and opened for him a new career path. One for which, he said, with true Clonak style, he even possessed a talent.

  "How did you find Clonak, denubia?"

  "Funny!" Val Con wriggled and Daav loosed him, setting him carefully on his feet and keeping a hand beneath a sharp elbow.

  The small face turned up to his, green eyes trimmed with long dark lashes, the low sun striking red from the depths of the dark brown hair. Daav sighed. He was going to be a beauty, this one. All his mother, there.

  "He is also," Aelliana said, and dropping easily to her knee at Daav's side, "at liberty for an entire relumma. I would not let him go until he had agreed to come to us for Prime."

  "Now I understand what kept you," he said, returning her smile.

  "No, what kept me was the young gentleman you see before you. He wished to insist that he accompany us, when next we lift out."

  "Oh, indeed?" Daav looked down into his son's face. "Has he anything to recommend him?"

  "Do we allow willfulness to count?"

  Daav kept lips straight with an effort. "Only to a point, I think."

  "I know my numbers," Val Con told him earnestly. "I can help."

  "Doubtless you could. However, the pilot had denied you, in which case there is no more to be said. The pilot decides first and best for her ship."

  "I want to go," Val Con said, lower lip becoming prominent.

  "That is a different pot of tea," Daav said. "We do not always get what we want."

  "Unless the luck is kind," Aelliana added, settling on the grass beside Daav. "Have you forgotten your promise, Val Con?"

  Green eyes opened wide, and he was seen to rummage in his pocket, from which he eventually withdrew three seedpods.

  "The Tree gave them, when we stopped to say good-day," he explained, holding them out on an only slightly grubby palm.

  "That was kind of the Tree, to be sure," Daav murmured, eying the offerings. "But which belongs to whom?"

  Val Con looked down at his palm, brows pulled together, then suddenly smiled and put a finger on a pod.

  "This one," he said triumphantly, "is for me."

  "Very well, then, have it off the table! Which is your mother's?"

  Val Con bit his lip, and looked up. "I don't know," he admitted.

  "Ah," Daav considered the two pods yet on offer, and shook his head. "I confess that I don't know, either. However, I do know mine."

  He plucked it up, feeling it fair vibrate with pleasure against his skin, while Aelliana took the pod remaining, and handed it to him.

  "If you please."

  "It is," he assured her, "my very great pleasure." He opened the pod and gave her the pieces.

  "Val Con-son?" he asked.

  The boy sighed and handed over his pod, too.

  "I want to be able to open my own," he commented.

  "Then you will want to grow stronger," Daav told him, returning the pieces.

  "Yes," Val Con said. He sat down without ceremony on the grass and began to eat his treat.

  Daav looked to Aelliana, who had disposed of hers while he had labored, and smiled.

  "How was Clonak?" he asked, breaking his own pod, and taking up a bit of kernel.

  She tipped her head, considering.

  "I find him changed, but cannot say precisely how," she said slowly. "I believe that security must suit him. He spoke of standing captain of a team."

  "Good," Daav said. "Having folk to care for is a tonic."

  "I would wish him more than a tonic," Aelliana said.

  "Clonak said I looked just like you, Father," Val Con stated.

  Daav lifted an eyebrow. "Much as it must pain me to say so, it seems that the Scout's eyesight has betrayed him. You, my child, look like your mother."

  "I look like myself!" Val Con asserted.

  "More so every day," Aelliana agreed, reaching to comb her fingers through his hair.

  "Indeed, one sees signs of an emerging style," Daav added, eying the torn pants leg.

  He glanced at Aelliana. "This state of disarray is notable, even given the source. I hesitate to ask, but feel that I must."

  "I fell," Val Con said, matter-of-factly.

  Again? Daav did not sigh.

  "Well, then, that explains it. Falling is historically hard on the wardrobe." He tipped an eyebrow at the boy. "Would you like a flight upstairs to display yourself to Mrs. pel'Cheela?"

  Val Con fairly danced. "Yes!"

  "Very well. All aboard the Dragon Flight!" He swooped the thin body up and onto his shoulders. Val Con shouted his laughter—and again, as Daav surged to his feet.

  Aelliana rose with him, the basket of darsibells in hand.

  "I'll just drop these off with Master Rota and meet you in our rooms, shall I? We're promised to the play tonight, recall."

  "I do recall," Daav told her.

  "Jets full!" Val Con commanded, and perforce the good ship Dragon Flight took off down the path, flying low and fast.

  He came out of the 'fresher to find her in a charming state of half dress; her hair wisping about bare shoulders. She smiled at him and came forward, running her palms over his chest in teasing circles before stretching high on bare toes and fitting her mouth over his.

  The kiss was long and thorough; he, a surprised but willing participant, fair panting by the time she was done with him.

  Or perhaps not quite done with him. She leaned against him, snug in the circle of his arms, cheek on his shoulder, breasts pressed against him, shivering.

  "Aelliana," he managed, his voice nothing like steady.

  She moved her head, idly nuzzling the skin beneath his collarbone.

  "Aelliana, we will be late."

  Her lips moved, trailing fire. She sighed and looked up at him, eyes as bright as he had ever seen them.

  "Daav," she murmured. "I think we should have another child."

  He considered her. "Do you plan on murdering the one we have, or is this to be in addition?"

  "In addition," she said.

  "Very good. I approve in principle."

  Her hand slid inside his robe, and he gasped, ready all at once.

  "Are we," he asked shakily, "to begin construction at once?"

  Aelliana smiled, her fingers moving maddeningly. "I think that would be perfect."

  "I can scarcely argue with a lady who has a plan. However, I point out that we will miss the play, which means that we must on the morrow write a note. I mention this only because I am aware of how little you like to write notes."

  Her other hand crept up 'round his neck and pulled him down to her.

  "We only have to miss the first act," she whispered.

  * * *

  Aelliana slipped her hand through Daav's arm, letting the familiar and ever-new wash of his signal buoy her. They had parked in Korval's usual space by the theater. Ahead, she could see the intermission crowd just beginning to return to the theater, for the beginning of the second act.

  "There," Daav said. "We shall be seen by all the world; no notes need to be written—truly, a most satisfactory outcome!"

  Something moved in the shadows ahead. She felt Daav take notice, but no more than just that—notice. They walked on, quickly enough that they would merge with the last ripple of returning theatergoers, thus making it appear that they had been there for the entire time. They would go up to Korval's box and—

  From behind them, a shout. Daav half-turned; she felt the stab of his concern.

  A shadow stepped out of the shadow ahead; a tall, broad
-shouldered man—a Terran, she thought with cold clarity. He brought his gun up, unhurried and certain.

  Aelliana saw him acquire his target. Inside her head, she saw the bullet's trajectory, saw Daav's head explode. She jumped, twisting, striking Daav with every bit of her strength, throwing herself forward and up—

  The last thing she knew was satisfaction, and the beloved sense of him holding her close, and forever.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Al'bresh venat'i . . .

  "Daav."

  From the silent, freezing dark of outspace, he took note. Of the word. And of the voice.

  "Daav."

  He drifted closer. The word had a certain familiarity; there was a worn feel to the voice. It was not, perhaps, the first, or even the fiftieth, time it had spoken that word.

  "Daav." The voice caught. "Brother, I beg you."

  He was close now; close enough to know whose voice it was—one of two in all the universe, that might have called him back.

  "Er Thom . . ."

  He felt—a grip. Fingers closing hard around his—around his hand. Yes. He gasped, groped, as if for controls, and opened his eyes.

  For a heartbeat, there was input, but no information. Colors smeared, shapes twisted out of sense, a whispery keening disordered the air. The strong grip did not falter.

  "A moment, a moment. Allow the systems to do their work, Pilot . . ."

  He had weight now, and a form that stretched beyond his hand. The colors acquired edges, the shapes solidified, the keening—he was producing that noise, dreadful and lost.

  "Daav?"

  He blinked, and it was Er Thom's face he saw, drawn and pale, lashes tangled with dried tears.

  He licked his lips, and deliberately drew a breath.

  "Brother . . ."

  The keening stopped, unable to fit 'round the fullness of that word, but the sense of it remained at the core of him, jagged with horror, blighted by loss.

  Fresh tears spilled from Er Thom's eyes. He raised his free hand, and tenderly cupped Daav's cheek.

  "Denubia, I thought you were gone from us."

  "Where?" he asked, meaning, Where would I have gone? but Er Thom answered another question.