The Mistress sighed as he wandered off on his task, and Elana turned as the old woman grasped her hand. “I fear,” the Mistress muttered, “it will be a long night.”
† † †
Chapter Two
With one hand Diana n’Athena tossed a log into the already blazing fire. In her other she held a metal chalice of the local version of mead. It was certainly not her first cup for the evening, but she was beyond caring. That imbecile Baily had refused her request for the last of the monarc off, claiming she had so little time left to work that she wasn’t entitled to disappear off to some god-forsaken village for weeks on end. It would never occur to him that he could send to Colmar for her if anything so urgent came up. The problem was — Diana drained her cup — he knew this was probably the last thing he could order her to do, and Thomas Baily was certainly petty enough not to pass it up.
Terran men! She poured the last of the mead from the clay jug and swallowed deeply. He’d be nowhere without Cleis and herself — or rather, he’d be nowhere without Tad Liest and Tad Di’nay. That was how Aggar’s folk knew them, as two men. Could Thomas have any idea how aggravating it was for an Amazon to use her strength and bearing to disguise herself as a man of any race?! No, no, he resented the fact that they could do it at all! Never mind that Aggar’s society didn’t give much freedom to women so they would be rather useless agents if she and Cleis couldn’t pass! His little ego was just too threatened!!
And all this changed nothing. Which went to prove, Diana thought dryly, that it was time to go home. Dear Goddess, after two-and-a-half tenmoons on Aggar and an odd assortment of years and planets before then, it was definitely time for this Sister to go home.
Loneliness grew to an ache, and regretful, Diana dropped down on the large bed. She wondered for a moment where her Sister, Cleis, was this monarc. Friends by circumstances and pillowmates by isolation, they had joined and nurtured their strength to stand against Thomas Baily and his imperial hierarchy. But Diana knew that even if Cleis was here, Thomas wouldn’t have been swayed.
Despairingly Diana emptied the chalice and set it on the floor beside her feet. As the fire and mead warmed her body to a fine sweat, she drew the sleeping shirt off over her head, and her thoughts turned back to Maryl in Colmar. Maryl had made the simple linen nightshirt for her, and the bed had been welcoming even in its celibacy because of Maryl’s companionship.
Maryl had been good to her, even if she had never truly returned the love Diana had given her. Be honest! Diana snorted cynically. She had never been in love with Maryl. She had been infatuated, but Maryl had not returned the sentiment, so they had settled into an odd charade. To outsiders they appeared as man-and-mistress; with desperate fervor Maryl had always played that part for any audience. Alone, Diana had respected Maryl’s silent boundaries and they had become friends.
Actually, she would have suffocated under Maryl’s wifely presence, if it had been a lifetime arrangement. Maryl’s apprenticeship in Mattee’s kitchen had been the one saving grace. The brusque, barrel-chested innkeeper had been downright eager to accept an apprentice whom he could work-a-moon and not pay to support. Although to be fair, he had always been an honest manager in his inn.
He’d been pleased that Maryl roomed with Diana; it saved him the difficulties of finding Maryl accommodations. Maryl had saved him the trouble of looking after Diana’s belongings when she was away on her frequent excursions. As for Diana, Maryl’s working had saved her own peace of mind more than once.
Yes, it had been fine for a tenmoon, but it couldn’t have lasted. Maryl had been too subservient for Diana, despite all the Amazon had tried to teach her of self-esteem. Diana wasn’t a man, and that was difficult for Maryl, difficult and shameful despite Diana’s male guise for outsiders. The strain had begun to show. It had been luck that Diana had run into the young baker again in Colmar. She had known his father and had been saddened to hear of his death, but the young man had been dealing with more pressing troubles. He had inherited his father’s establishment and was despairing of finding a wife with any desire or skill to work in a public kitchen. Unfortunately, the business had been suffering with the lack of his father’s hands. This meant he was not able to obtain an appropriately skilled mate either. That he would even consider a free bride — a woman without dowry or unblemished background — had impressed Diana and eventually Maryl.
In the end, and at Maryl’s request, Diana had arranged for their marriage and Maryl’s settlement in Colmar. She had also promised to visit frequently which had been Maryl’s only real assurance that if the young stranger was not as caring as he appeared, she could change her mind. But she had not, and Diana’s visits had lessened with the news of the expected arrival of their firstborn.
Wistfully her brown eyes turned to the naked pillow, and Diana slid her arm across the quilt beside her. The young man had never known Diana was a woman, and Maryl knew not to enlighten him.
No, as far as Colmar was concerned — or Gronday for that matter — Tad Di’nay the Southern Trader was a barterer for rare trinkets, a carrier of town messages and very much a man. It was not surprising. At six foot two without her boots, who on Aggar would doubt it? Add that little piece of anatomical fact to her swordsmanship, and there were very few of Colmar who would believe in her womanhood. Even — she laughed at the thought — even if she stood naked in the town square, she’d probably not convince everyone.
Not that she would want to. She sobered with a shiver, noticing the night chill was seeping in through the bottle-glass windows. Begrudgingly she rolled under the bedcovers. She wondered why she missed the woman anyway. Still, to leave planet and not say good-bye would be rather unkind. She could always send a note; the baker read. She snuggled down into the downy quilts; yes, that was what she would do. She would send it with Cleis. It would take a while, but at least Cleis would be sure the good-bye was a proper one. She could send an inheritance of sorts too. Some of the pay Thomas was holding for her could easily be converted into tin and pewter dishware — perhaps cooking sheets for the bakery?
Yes — she burrowed into a pillow — that was exactly what she would do… and Thomas wouldn’t have a thing to say about it!
† † †
An infernal pounding shook her mead-drugged sleep. Blurrily, Diana focused on leaping flames. Cold, she thought as she smelled the curling smoke. Soon she would have to stack up a few more logs. The banging began again, and she looked to the loose-fitted door beside the fireplace. The light from a hand held torch flickered through gaps at the edges of the door planks and she pushed herself upright.
Damn, now what? But her head was clearing rapidly, and she could feel her heart begin to quicken as she threw on a night shirt. There was trouble or Mattee would have waited for dawn.
She pulled the door open under the thundering fist. Wordlessly the lumbering male stared at her. Then he grunted and, holding the torch high, pushed into the room. As the door shut, he turned to eye the fire, probably wondered how the Southerner didn’t suffocate in the room’s heat, but he only said, “There’s one of your southways folk just in.”
Diana nodded curtly and waited.
“He’s in the commons.” Mattee ran a palm, callused from the hot kitchen cauldron, across his beard. “There’s no one ’bout this time of night. He’ll not be seen.”
“Good.” She took her breeches from the chair and pulled a glass coin from the pocket. With her thumb she flipped it across the room, and Mattee grabbed it neatly from the air. “See he gets what he needs and I’ll be down soon. If he’s tired, he’ll sleep in here.”
“Aye.” He nodded. “You’re off again, I figured. Already have my woman parceling food. Boy’s set to ready your horse. Do you have a care to which mount? Or don’t you know yet?”
“I’ll know when I see the man,” she replied.
He moved back towards the door. At the latch he paused, and with a merry glint in his eye, ventured, “Was the mead to your liking, Di’nay?”
A shout of laughter escaped Diana as she sat back on the rough table and retorted lightly, “The whole of it’s gone, Mattee. Judge what you will.”
A grin split his grizzled face and he mumbled, “I judge lucky you waken’d.”
He left and Diana turned quickly to her locked chest. Within were laid an assortment of mechanical gadgets, but these were ignored as she pulled one of her fieldsuits from the corner. Made from an ultra-light fiber, it fit her body as comfortably as a second skin; more important, the white jumpsuit was thermal controlled by the power cells sewn into the cuffs and low collar. Gratefully she slid her feet into the suit and pulled the fabric over her strong thighs. As she put her arms in the sleeves and fastened the velcro seam, her toes tingled warmly. She thought that the only time she’d been warm on this planet was when she was suited or in a lover’s arms.
Her dark hide boots were slipped on and laced up to her knees. She found she had to concentrate to keep from lacing the ankle joint too tight. How the local men ever managed to tie themselves together after holiday festivals she’d never understand. But then, she wasn’t in the habit of drinking quite that much either, so she hadn’t had the practice. And on that irritable thought, Diana shouldered her small, ever-ready bag of mechanical tricks and grabbed for her fur-lined cloak.
Commander Baily had sent Stevens, one of the three men who shared the dubious job of planetary cultural liaisons with Diana and Cleis. Stevens looked decidedly uncomfortable standing there in his locally made sword and cloak. Clumsy, she noted and wondered how many years it took Terrans to acclimate culturally? No doubt a good many more than an Amazon.
Her bag and wrap landed with a thump on one of the tables. Stevens jumped but hid it well. Mud was thick on his boots, and his cloak was still wrapped around his shoulders and clenched in his hands. With a touch of satisfaction, Diana realized he was as cold as she had been; there were some things no one was meant to adapt to.
“There’s a fire in my room,” Diana reassured him. “Mattee will send the food that way if you ask him to.”
“No need. I’ve edible supplies with me.” Stevens had not taken time to shave. His mission must be considered urgent. Normally he was smooth shaven like local travelers; it made their expressions of peaceful tidings easier to read.
She suppressed a sigh. How could one be a cultural expert if one wouldn’t even eat the food? “Suit yourself. Now what can’t wait for daybreak?”
He shrugged. “Honestly, Diana, I don’t know the details. I was told to send you back immediately. Baily swore there are ‘interplanetary repercussions,’ but he wouldn’t say what. Cleis is a hundred leagues out, in some healer’s cave with broken ribs. Baily is sure this is beyond me — or Jörges and Cedros for that matter.”
Broken ribs? Diana hid her frown. Her friend had undoubtedly been caught championing some poor soul again; she hoped Cleis was all right. A resigned knot settled into her stomach. She would obviously not be going off-planet as planned. Her dark eyes met his levelly. “What else?”
“Be at HQ come sunrise?” Both of them smiled at Baily’s apparent panic.
“Well, this may be a valid disaster. But he’ll have to settle for darkfall — sundown,” she said quickly. Stevens raised a brow. They had been speaking Imperial Common, yet her unconscious time reference had long ago adopted the cycles of Aggar’s sun and twin moons, and her language reflected the shift. “And you?”
“I’ll stay here for a day, then come on after you. Although I don’t expect to make it back as quickly as I came out.”
“Fine…. Mattee!”
The innkeeper appeared in the kitchen doorway.
“My red stallion and saddle bags only… no pack horse.” Her voice was clipped as she used the local dialect. “I travel fast.”
Mattee grunted and gave Stevens a dubious scowl. He paused in leaving as she added, “Sword and long bow too.”
“Aye,” he said by way of reassurance and departed.
“Do you know where my chamber is?” she asked Stevens, switching smoothly back into Common.
Stevens nodded. “Furthest window still unlatch to let you out onto the roof?”
“Out over the kitchen, yes.”
The Amazon threw on her heavy cape, the hood falling naturally to the back as she fastened the peg-like button. Beside the awkward Terran she looked comfortable and every bit the green-garbed Southern Trader. Her brown hair was short and parted in the middle. There was strength and hard won experience in the lines of her face, although the touch of sun and wind had long ago snatched the feminine softness from her skin. But then Amazons were not women to be measured by the standards of Aggar or the Empire.
“Is there anything else?” Diana asked abruptly, and Stevens shook his head. “Certain you have what you need here?”
He shrugged. “A fire, a drink — a warm bed and I’ll do just fine.”
“You should try their mead.” A wry grin lifted the edge of her mouth as she thought of the empty bottle upstairs. “It really is a very good brew.”
And then she left him.
† † †
Chapter Three
Elana was aware that outside the Great Hall the moons drifted lower as the Seers sipped their wine and mumbled, adding small pieces to the growing matrix. Even with the roaring fire, the Council shivered with foreboding at the scattered words and sent runners in search of translations and ancient symbols.
Slowly, the gameboard became clearer. The risks to Aggar and to the Terran Empire grew more evident. But the Council’s responsibility was not so easily defined. They could react in their own subtle, respectful way or they could stand by patiently and hope that those involved would successfully navigate through the rising chaos. Either path seemed pitifully inadequate in this venture. Yet the time for decisions had come, and the Council of Ten would face that responsibility alone.
Tradesmen, scribes and then finally the Seers drifted away as their roles were finished. Dawn was coming, the Great Hall was nearly emptied, and Elana rose to leave with the last of the guests. But the Old Mistress laid a hand to her arm and drew the young woman along with her to the circle of benches and chairs at the central hearth. The Mistresses and Masters of the Council were gathering there with a handful of their prized apprentices. Elana felt the weight of responsibility more keenly than any elation at the honor of being included. She settled herself solemnly at the feet of her mentor to listen as information was reviewed by the Council.
It appeared that the Terrans had sent this spy, Garrison, into the star systems of their enemy, the Alliance. The Terrans had nearly lost this Garrison. On his return his ship had been pursued, and he had barely managed to cross the galactic border back into the Empire’s zone. His craft had been so seriously damaged that it had reached Aggar only to tumble into the planet’s atmosphere. He had crashed in the Maltar’s realm. Somewhere amidst the northern ice ranges and the great forests of blackpines, the Terran spy and all his information were lost. But the exact location even the best of the Council’s Seers could not determine.
“It may well be a matter of Aggar’s survival,” the elderly Historian finished wearily. “The information this pilot-spy carries may prevent the Empire’s Chairman from being assassinated. As tedious as we find this Terran Empire to be, it is their strength which guards the neighboring galactic border — and us. If their Chairman should be assassinated by the Alliance, interstellar war would certainly follow, and Aggar would ultimately be destroyed.”
“For our own sake this off-worlder pilot must not remain in Maltar territory.” The Council Speaker sighed heavily, surveying the somber faces about him. He was a younger Master than many, his hair still jet black and his skin just beginning to crease around his eyes. “The cultural risks we face should the tribes of Aggar discover the Terran Empire’s continued presence here are enormous. Not only would our autonomy from Terran rule be threatened, but petty disputes over Terran favors, for their technology and metals would arise.
The effects would be catastrophic. Aggar barely managed to survive that battle of two hundred tenmoons past. I think we are clear that we do not want such disaster again.”
“Yet we must move cautiously or we will be inviting the Empire’s so-called ‘protective’ guardianship back,” the Old Master said.
The Council Speaker nodded. “True. The fact that the present Terran base commander is somewhat inexperienced may allow us to guide him into our own plans… if we choose to deal with him.”
“This base commander, Baily,” a younger member said, “is an organizer by nature, not a leader. Once he learns of this crash — and undoubtedly the Terrans will soon know their pilot is missing regardless of our reports — Commander Baily will wish to dispatch a low flying craft to retrieve his pilot. The question is, do we need to dissuade Baily?”
“From flying across our continent? We must,” the Mistress said quickly. “Permit him such free flight and we give him an aerial map of our Northern Continent. That is a gift the Terran strategists would dearly love.”
“The Unseen Wall would still be in place.”
“Around the Terran Quadrant, but not around the planet. Our Seers haven’t the power to sustain that kind of wall! Not with everything they do.” The Mistress snorted impatiently. “No, we can’t risk providing the Terrans with such a map. Give them that and they might finally be able to make sense of their jumbled satellite pictures. And that would give them the ability to pick and choose a number of landing points beyond their base quadrant.”
“Yet if this pilot’s information is too long delayed, their Chairman may be lost,” responded the Master. “Which could mean we’ve no planet left to protect.”
“Perhaps we should merely inform the Terrans of the plot?” A young Mistress folded her hood back from her face as she spoke, but her voice held little conviction. “It is unfortunate that we still do not know which border parsec is in question in the assassination attempt. Without the planned location, I admit the warning would be vague. Perhaps too vague to be helpful?”
Shadows of Aggar (Amazons of Aggar) Page 2
