by David Weber
He cleared his throat.
"There might be survivors. It's not much of a hope," he added quickly, hating to crush the sudden wild hope in her parents's eyes, "but the nearest fort has sent out a rescue party. On the chance that somebody survived the second attack. It's?"
He had to pause, had to swallow hard. He wasn't a telepath himself, but even the secondhand description had been brutal.
"It's very unlikely that anyone lived," he said softly, levelly. "But we're going to find the people who did this, and we're going to find out whether or not they took prisoners. And there will be payment for it," he added in a voice which sounded like a stranger's. "We?the Portal Authority Director, King Fyysel and Crown Prince Danith, Alimar and myself?we wanted you to receive your daughter's last message before we go public with this.
"Sharona's world leaders have already met in a Voice Conclave today, to decide how Sharona will respond to the crisis. That will be reported on, even if we tried to keep it quiet, and know that reporters know there's been a Conclave, they're going to start asking why. We wanted to be certain that you were told before that happened."
Shaylar's mother lifted her face, and her voice was brittle.
"And how will Sharona's leaders respond?"
Halidar Kinshe drew a deep breath and told her. When he mentioned the high probability that Sharona's military would be drastically expanded, Shaylar's parents went pale again. He wasn't surprised. He knew very well that Shaylar's military-age brothers would shortly discover a burning reason to volunteer for combat.
"I'm sorry," he said gently. "I could introduce legislation barring enlistment of every single son from one family. It might well pass … but even that might not deter them from enlisting under false names."
Shaylar's father held his gaze for long moments, then shook his head.
"No, it wouldn't," he said gruffly. "My sons are too much like me to expect anything different of them. But thank you for considering our fear, for offering to help. It was a great kindness. What it would cost us if they?"
He halted, unable to go on, and a ghastly silence hovered until Crown Prince Danith broke it.
"My father begged me to bring you a personal message from His Majesty. With your permission, I'll deliver it now, not … after the Voice has given you the message he carries."
Dr. Kolmayr-Brintal's throat worked. She tightened her fingers around her husband's already firm grip and seemed to settle even deeper into the straight backed chair.
"Go on," she said in a voice of gravel.
"His Majesty wants you to know that he will never stop the search for your daughter, will never rest until answers, at least, are found. Shurkhal is raising troops, as agreed upon in today's Conclave. Those troops will have one order, above and beyond all else: find Shaylar Nargra-Kolmayr … or the people who killed her."
Shaylar's mother flinched, and his face tightened.
"I'm sorry," he said in a voice raw with his own pain, "but we must face the likelihood that she's gone and act accordingly."
He drew a deep breath and continued.
"The people of our Kingdom will feel this loss deeply, as a wound not just to our national pride, but to our national heart. His Majesty begs you to remember that your daughter was loved by millions?and so you shall be, when this news is released. His Majesty knows how desperately private your grief will be, so he has made arrangements to send a small full-time staff to you, to handle the response when people are told. If there's some small office, perhaps here at the Institute, where they could work out of your way, they'll take charge of all that, giving you the privacy you need and dealing with the chaos for you. Is that acceptable to you?"
Shaylar's parents only stared at him, too shellshocked to respond. Perhaps, Kinshe thought, neither of them had fully understood until that moment how deeply proud of their daughter all of Shurkhal had felt?and how keenly the Kingdom would feel her loss. Even those who hadn't approved of her taking on a "man's job" in the first place … or perhaps, in their way, especially those who hadn't approved.
Her father unfroze first.
"That isn't?that is?Do you really think this is necessary?"
"Yes, sir," Crown Prince Danith said quietly, putting the concern he felt into every word. "I do believe it will be necessary. So does His Majesty."
"I agree," Kinshe added quietly. "Your family will become the focus of all Sharona's shock and outrage. We?the King, Parliament, the entire Kingdom?cannot leave you to face this alone, unprepared to deal with what will come when word of this is released. What we're offering to do, to handle the uproar for you, isn't much?not nearly enough, compared with the magnitude of your loss. But you will need someone who can deal with all of. Please let us help, even in so small a way."
Shalassar nodded, her head moving like a broken marionette's. Thaminar simply looked lost, a strong man whose grief and anger had been punctured by something he couldn't understand. Something he feared. His gaze?which had gone to a place very far from this small room with its wooden file cases, its thick walls and open window, the scent and sight and sound of the sea?gradually pulled itself back and focused on the King's heir.
"Very well," he said, his voice low and hollow. "If more trouble must fall across our shoulders, it will be restful to have someone help us carry the weight." Kinshe sensed a gathering of strength within him, or perhaps merely a gathering of the shreds of courage. Then he turned to the Voice.
"You have a message from our child?"
"I do." Wilkon's voice was thick with pain. "I beg your forgiveness, both of you, for what I am about to show you."
Shaylar's parents' hands gripped tighter even than before, tight enough for knuckles to whiten and tremble.
"Show us," Thaminar said hoarsely.
They closed their eyes, and for an instant?perhaps two heartbeats, certainly no longer?nothing happened.
Then, as one person, they flinched violently back. Kinshe couldn't even begin to describe the sound that broke from Shaylar's mother. It was like cloth ripping, or a whimper … or something soft dying under the wheels of the train. He couldn't bear to look at them, yet couldn't wrench his gaze away from the sweat, the muscle-knotting agony, the?
A sudden scream ripped into his awareness, and not from Shaylar's parents. It came from outside?from beyond the window. From the sea …
Kinshe whipped around to stare out the window. The sea inside the floating ropes that marked the cetacean's embassy had gone mad. The dolphins surged from the water, fifty or sixty of them rising on their tail flukes, and the sound that broke from them turned his blood to ice. Then a deeper bellow broke across the chittering snarls, and a whale broached. Larger than the Crown prince's train car, it roared out of the water, standing for just an instant on its own tail fluke, a mountain of glistening flesh spearing straight toward the desert sky. Sound exploded into the air, a shockwave of sound that struck Kinshe's bones through the open window like a fist. Water crashed outward from its massive weight as it came down again, and the dock and bell splintered under the impact.
A humpback, he realized through numb shock. One of the singing whales. Only that was no whalesong bursting from it. That was rage. Pure, distilled, and terrible rage.
Gods, Kinshe realized. Shaylar's mother was broadcasting what she saw. She probably didn't even realize it, but the cetaceans did, and he jerked his gaze back to her. She was shuddering, eyes clenched tightly shut, her sounds like those of some small, trapped animal. Then she stiffened, and her eyes flew wide.
"Shaylar!" she screamed, and her husband flinched so violently he nearly went to the floor. Then Shalassar collapsed. She sagged in her chair, her head falling forward in merciful unconsciousness.
Kinshe stared at her, his eyes burning, and took a single step forward.
"Stay away from her!" Thaminar snarled.
His eyes were burnt wounds in his face, and he bent over his wife, stroking hair back from her wet face and murmuring her name over and over. Fragile eyelids
fluttered. Opened. For long moments, there was no sense in Shalassar's eyes at all. Then remembrance struck like a crack of thunder, and she began to weep. She sobbed, the sound deep and jagged, while her husband cradled her close looking utterly bereft.
Kinshe could only stand there, feeling a tear trickle down his own cheek, wondering what to do. What anyone could do. And then?
"You men, out," Alimar Kinshe said firmly to her husband, her Crown Prince, and Samari Wilkon, and it was an order, not a request. "Go. Find something to do?I don't care what. Just go."
She didn't even look at them. She simply marched across the tiny office, gathered Shaylar's mother into her arms, and turned to Shaylar's father.
"Go and get some brandy, if you have any," she commanded. "Wine, if you don't. She needs it."
To Kinshe's infinite surprise, Thaminar rose without a sound of protest and left the office, like a ghost walking through terrain it can no longer see or touch. Kinshe watched him go, and then he understood.
He needed to feel useful. Needed to do something for his wife. He just didn't know how.
Halidar Kinshe's respect for his wife, already high, soared to dizzying heights, and he tiptoed very softly from the room, beckoning the others to follow.
Alimar clearly understood what needed to be done far better than he did, so he left her to do it.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chief Sword Otwal Threbuch moved through the darkness like a ghost.
He felt like a ghost must feel?cold, empty inside, and incredibly ancient. He shouldn't have been alive, and after what he'd seen, there was a part of him which wished he wasn't. He told himself that was exactly the kind of thinking he'd spent decades hammering out of raw recruits who'd heard too many stupid heroic ballads, but that did nothing to soften the pain. Or his sense of guilt.
He'd lain on that limb, watching, helpless to intervene as the portal defenders were cut to pieces. He'd been as surprised as anyone when the enemy artillery opened fire through the portal, and he had no doubt that the shock of that totally unanticipated bombardment explained how quickly Charlie Company?his company?had been slaughtered. But it wasn't the full explanation, and deep in his heart of hearts, Otwal Threbuch cursed Hadrign Thalmayr even more bitterly than he had Shevan Garlath.
He'd known what was coming the instant that idiotic, incompetent, stupid excuse for a hundred opened fire on someone obviously seeking a parley. He'd recognized Thalmayr, of course, and the moment he'd seen the other hundred, he'd also recognized the answer to his questions about Hundred Olderhan's apparent lapse into idiocy. Not that his relief over the fact that Sir Jasak's brain hadn't stopped working after all had made what had happened to Threbuch's company any less agonizing.
Every ounce of the chief sword's body and soul had cried out for him to do something as the debacle unfolded. But the steel-hard professionalism of his years of service had held him precisely where he was, because there'd been nothing he could do. Nothing that would have made any difference at all to the men cursing, screaming, and dying in front of him. It might have made him feel a bit better to try, might have spared him from this crushing load of guilt at having survived?so far, at least. But that was all it could have accomplished, whereas the information he already possessed might yet accomplish a great deal, if he could only report it. Besides, as far as he knew, he was the only uncaptured survivor from the entire company, which meant he was also the only chance to report what had happened to Five Hundred Klian.
He clenched his jaw, eyes burning, as he reflected on everything he had to report, including the death of Emiyet Borkaz.
Borkaz had been unable to force himself to sit out the fight. When the desperate survivors had launched their hopeless charge in a despairing bid to get their own support weapons to this side of the portal, Borkaz had left his cover and run madly towards them, screaming and cursing. He'd managed to get most of the way through the trees before he was spotted, and Threbuch thought he'd managed to kill at least one of the enemy on the way through (which was more than Threbuch had managed), as well. And then at least three of those hideous thunder weapons had struck him almost simultaneously. He must have been dead before he hit the ground, Threbuch thought grimly.
But at least the enemy could make mistakes, too. The fact that Borkaz had obviously come from behind them ought to have set off a search for whoever else might be behind them, as well. On the other hand, perhaps he was being too hard on them. Given the nature of the terrain, they might not realize where Borkaz had come from at all. They might think he'd come from the swamp side of the portal and simply gotten further than any of the rest.
The chief sword froze abruptly. Something had moved, and he stood motionless, straining his eyes and ears. There!
The enemy sentry hadn't moved very much at all. Probably nothing more than easing a cramped limb. But it had been enough, and Threbuch slid silently, silently to his right, giving the other man a wider berth.
Part of him was intensely tempted to do something else. His arbalest would have been all but inaudible under cover of the night wind sighing in the trees. For that matter, he probably could have gotten close enough to slit the other man's throat. It was something he'd done before, and the thought of managing at least that much vengeance for Charlie Company burned within him like a coal. But his job wasn't to kill one, or two, or even a dozen enemies, however personally satisfying it might have been. His job was to get home with the most deadly weapon in any universe?information?and if he left any dead bodies in his wake, the enemy would know at least one Arcanan had gotten away. They'd also know how important his report might be, and a dead sentry would set off a relentless search he might well fail to evade.
He felt the moment of transition as he belly-crawled across the portal threshold, moving instantly from autumnal chill into steamy tropical heat, and he fought down a sudden sense of release, of safety. Any soldier with an ounce of competence?which, unfortunately, these bastards certainly appeared to have?would have sentries on both sides of the portal.
He kept going, easing forward, working his way cautiously through the dense swamp grass and mud at one edge of the portal and praying that he didn't startle some nesting swamp bird into sudden, raucous flight.
Somehow, he managed to avoid that, and to creep silently behind the one additional sentry he did spot on the swamp side of the portal, silhouetted against the moon. It took him almost three hours to cover a total distance of little more than another eight hundred yards, but he made it. And once the wrecked base camp was a quarter-mile behind him, he rose to his feet at last, got out his PC, activated the search and navigation spellware, took a careful bearing on Fort Rycharn, and started walking. The thought of hiking seven hundred-plus miles across snake and croc-infested swamp, without any rations at all, was scarcely appealing, but he couldn't think of anything better to do.
Just over an hour later, Threbuch stiffened in astonishment. He froze instantly, listening to the night, and looked down at his PC. The crystal's glassy heart glowed dimly, its illumination level deliberately set low enough to keep anyone from seeing it at a distance of more than a very few feet, and the chief sword's eyes widened as he saw the small, sharp-edged carat strobing at one side of the circular navigation display.
He stood very still for several more moments, watching, but the carat was equally motionless. After a moment, the noncom turned towards his right, rotating until the strobing carat and the green arrowhead indicating his own course lined up with one another. Then he moved slowly, cautiously, forward through the currently knee-deep swamp.
The carat strobed more and more rapidly, and then, abruptly, it stopped blinking and burned a steady, unwinking green.
Threbuch stopped, as well, standing in a dense, dark patch of shadow in the lee of a cluster of scrub trees growing out of the swamp. The combination of moonlight, shadow, and swamp grass rippling in the wind created a wavering sea of eye-bewildering movement, and he cleared his throat.
"Who's there?"
he asked sharply.
"Chief Sword?" a hoarse voice gasped. "Gods above, where've you been?"
"Great thundering bollocks?Iggy?"
"Yes, Chief."
Threbuch watched in disbelief as Iggar Shulthan crawled cautiously out of the scrub trees. The other Scout's silhouette looked misshapen, and Threbuch's eyes went even wider as he realized what Shulthan had strapped to his back.
"Gods!" the chief sword half-whispered in the reverent voice of the man who'd suddenly discovered there truly were miracles. "You've got the hummers!"
The company's hummer handler reached out. Threbuch extended his hand, and Shulthan gripped it so hard the bones ached. The younger noncom's face was muddy, and even in the uncertain moonlight, Threbuch could see the memories of the horror Shulthan had witnessed in his eyes. Or perhaps he couldn't, the chief sword reflected. Perhaps he simply knew they had to be there because he knew they were in his own eyes.
"I-I ran, Chief." Shame hovered in the javelin's voice. "I grabbed the hummers, like Regs said, and ran with 'em. I ran, Chief!"
Tears hovered in Shulthan's voice, and Threbuch released his hand to grip both of the younger man's shoulders hard.
"Son, you did exactly the right thing," he said. "Don't you ever doubt that! Those regulations were written for damned good reasons. You're the Company's link with the rest of the Army. When the shit hits the fan, and the bottom falls out, somebody's got to get word back. The hummer handler's the only man who can do it."
"But the Hundred never gave me the order," Shulthan whispered, blinking hard. "He went down so fast, and they were dropping us like flies, and?"
"I know, Iggy," Threbuch said more gently. "I was trapped on their side of the portal. I had to sit there and watch it all, because my recon report for Five Hundred Klian is every bit as critical as yours." Threbuch found it abruptly necessary to swallow hard a few times. "That was the hardest thing I've ever had to do?ever. So don't think for a minute I don't understand exactly what you're feeling right now, Iggy."
