Sword of the Lamb

by M. K. Wren

  “But how—” He stopped, eyes narrowing. “Robek.”

  “Yes. Alton’s backed Trevor into a corner, too. Alton and Julia may find themselves married to each other in penance for their sins. Fallor was hoping for an alliance with Woolf or Selasis, but he’ll take Robek now and be grateful. That still aligns him with Galinin and Woolf.”

  Alexand gave a short laugh. “It sounds like a Volante—everyone changing partners at the next chorus.”

  “So it does. Of course, there’s still a chance it won’t—”

  “Mother, must I turn your sage advice back to you? In matters of this sort, I’m well aware that nothing can be counted done until the contracts are signed.” He paused, smiling. “But I’ll hold the hope still.”

  “Good.” She touched his check gently, then sighed and looked at her watch. “I must go check the cleanup crews; everyone falls into total disorganization after the holiday.”

  He nodded absently. “I thought I’d ask Rich if he’d like to spend a few days at the Barrier Reef estate.”

  “That would be a marvelous idea.” He walked with her to the door, where she stopped, averting her eyes uneasily. “Alex, when you talk to Phillip—”

  He laughed. “I’m not to let him know you’ve said a word about this Volante he’s set in motion.”

  Her cheeks went hot, then finally she laughed, too. “He should know better than to tell me about it. It’s asking too much of a mother to hold a secret like that.” She touched the doorcon and stepped out into the anteroom, then paused to take his hand, studying the strong, muscular contours of it, remembering the hand that once lay in a tiny furled fist in her palm.

  “Alex, it’s good to have you home.”

  Alexand walked down the slate path, and the leaves of the eucalypts whispered happily among themselves in the spring breeze; as he crossed the footbridge, the white-foamed streamlet laughed aloud. A flock of lorikeets took flight at his approach in a joyful flourish.

  Hope. Humankind’s gift to itself, and every gift has its price. But perhaps he’d paid the price of this gift yesterday at Alber.

  No. Not now. He refused to think of that now.

  Rich was at his desk in the school room; he smiled as if he’d been expecting him.

  “Alex, you look well.”

  He laughed. “I am well.” He went to the desk, which was littered with tape spools and sheets of vellam covered with cryptic notes. “I’m sorry I gave you such a scare last night. It certainly wasn’t intentional.”

  “I should hope not. but if nothing else, you got a good night’s sleep out of it. How else would Dr. Stel get a sedative into you unless you were beyond balking?”

  Alexand absently picked up a tape spool and turned it in his fingers. “I may have more than a good night’s sleep out of it. Can I talk to you about something? Something private?”

  Rich understood that guarded query. “We’re safe here. I’ve installed permanent jamblers and a warning system.”

  Alexand put the spool down and looked directly at Rich. “Mother just left me. She told me about certain plans Father is pursuing; plans for a Woolf-Eliseer marriage.”

  Rich regarded him with a bemused smile. “Yes, I know about that.”

  “What are the odds, Rich? In my favor?”

  “I can only give you an educated guess. Yes, Alex, they’re in your favor; yours and Adrien’s.”

  Alexand’s eyes closed briefly, then he laughed. “God, I can’t get my balance. From . . . yesterday, to this. Did you talk to Adrien last night?”

  “Not at any length. I wish I could have had more time with her. Father talked with her for quite a while, though.”

  “Did he?” Alexand nodded. “Mother says he wants to see me happy, and I believe that. Happiness may be an ephemeral state, but I’m grateful for it. Grateful to him.”

  “So am I,” Rich said softly. “And grateful he finally has a chance to do what he’s wanted so desperately to do all these years.” He paused. “But something’s bothering you.”

  Alexand’s eyes flashed to his. “At least, something’s aroused my curiosity.”

  “The raid on the float?”

  “Yes.” He turned and began aimlessly pacing the room. “Conpol wouldn’t waste time on an Outside float normally, but they were told eladane was involved. An anonymous tip.” He stopped to face Rich. “Where did that tip come from?”

  “A Phoenix agent.” The answer was flat, nearly devoid of expression. Then he smiled faintly and leaned forward. “You’re always under surveillance; protective surveillance. An agent was on hand, and a monitor went into your pod at the float almost as soon as you arrived. And, by the way, if Adrien hadn’t come to your rescue, someone would have brought you home safely, although your memory of the trip might’ve been a little vague. Our agent sent a Pri-One alert to HQ when he heard the word ‘eladane.’ He was in constant contact with his superiors, and they—at least, one of them—with me. The potentials inherent in the situation were recognized and the tip went to Conpol—after you and Adrien were safely out of the float. Alex, the Phoenix has been waiting for an opportunity to break Fallor’s hold on Father since that hold came into existence. When the opportunity arose, they were ready. And so was Father.”

  Alexand shook his head, as if he could shake off the feeling of uncertainty. “But why, Rich?”

  “Not because of any sympathy for star-crossed lovers. It’s very simple. We protect and aid the liberal Houses whenever and however we can. That includes Woolf and Eliseer. Eliseer is of particular interest to us for the same reason it is to Father. Loren Eliseer is the strongest Lord in the Centauri System and the best hope for keeping Orin Selasis out of Centauri. Woolf and Galinin and the Phoenix have one thing in common, Alex: we all recognize Selasis as a threat to the stability and survival of the Concord. So, to protect Centauri and bolster Eliseer, the Phoenix encourages an alliance with DeKoven Woolf, with the future Chairman. Is that so unreasonable?”

  Alexand took a long breath and let it out slowly. “The people responsible for this gambit—tell them for me, whatever their motives, I’m grateful. Perhaps the day will come when I can express it in more than words.”

  Rich smiled obliquely. “Perhaps it will.”

  “And Rich—” Alexand closed his eyes against the burning in them, wondering why he was trembling. “Rich, if this . . . this hope is realized, I know one thing: I’ll never give her up again. Not for anything.”

  “A spirit weft,” Rich said with a long sigh. “That’s what the Shepherds would call it: a bond of souls. A spirit weft can’t be broken. It’s more than a life vow. It holds into the Beyond.”

  Alexand nodded. “Then I’m so bound.”

  7.

  “Dr. Lile, my head is aching with all this effort.” Adrien Eliseer waved off the reading screen and rose, noting the brief disequilibrium. Strange that it always seemed to take longer to readjust to Castor’s lighter gravity than to adjust to Terra’s. “Come, let’s go out on the terrace. I’ll ’com Mariet for tea. I don’t think I can bear to look at one more sporozoa or phytoplankton.”

  Lile Perralt’s lined face crinkled with his smile. “It’s mind-boggling. Adrien, I’ll admit.”

  “That’s not very encouraging. I’d never have enrolled in this microbio class if I didn’t think I could depend on you to get me over the rough spots.” She touched a button on the desk comconsole. “Mariet?”

  After a moment, Mariet’s face appeared on the screen. “Yes, my lady?”

  “Tea for Dr. Perralt and me, please, in my suite.”

  “A few minutes, my lady.”

  “Thank you.” She turned and took Perralt’s arm as they walked out onto the terrace. “I only have two days before classes resume, and of course VonHart scheduled the test on the first day. You’d think he’d have more respe
ct for the Concord Day holiday.”

  Perralt laughed. “Postholiday tests are an age-old tradition, Adrien, and it was your error to count on me to get you over these particular rough spots. It’s been a long time since I’ve read a biology textape.”

  Adrien went to the terrace railing and looked up at the blue-black sky and the faint sprinkling of stars visible beyond the sheen of the atmobubbles. In spite of the ‘bubbles, the morning light cast black shadows and narrowed her eyes into a reflexive squint. In the distance, seemingly impaled on Helen’s towering, needle-slim buildings, hung the blue crescent of Pollux.

  She turned, watching Perralt as he sat down in one of the chairs under the striped umbrella shading the table, noting the care with which he moved. He was perfectly all right, only a few years older than he liked to admit—so he answered all her anxious inquiries.

  She smiled as he looked up at her. “Dr. Lile, you’ve been very patient with me, but I think I’ve learned my lesson. Science isn’t my forte.”

  “Don’t be so modest. You’re doing very well, and I’ve heard of VonHart. He has a reputation for—” He stopped, looking toward the salon at the sound of footsteps. Then he rose.

  Adrien’s eyes widened questioningly as Lord Loren Eliseer walked out onto the terrace. It was unusual for him to take time in the midst of his workday for a casual visit, and she knew this would be a crowded day. He’d stayed in Concordia another day after the rest of the family departed and had just returned yesterday evening. She went to him, turning up her cheek for the expected paternal kiss.

  “Well, this is a delightful surprise, Father. We’re having some tea. Will you join us?”

  “No tea for me, Adrien, but I will join you for a short while. Hello, Dr. Perralt.”

  “Good morning, my lord. Uh . . . perhaps you’d like to speak with Lady Adrien alone.”

  “No, Doctor. Please—sit down.” He took a chair across from Perralt at the table, and Adrien approached slowly, studying her father, wondering at the light in his blue eyes, the slight flush that always colored his fair skin when he was pleased or angry. And she knew he wasn’t angry.

  “In fact, Doctor,” he said, “I think it particularly fitting that you should be here, since Adrien calls you her second father.”

  Perralt glanced at Adrien. “I’m flattered, my lady.”

  “It’s true, Dr. Lile, you know that.” She sat down at the table, eyeing Eliseer. “What’s this all about, Father?”

  “Whatever do you mean? Is it so strange for me to pay a visit to my daughter?”

  “It’s strange in the middle of a busy day, and strange when you’re grinning as if you’d just discovered the secret of turning sand into gold.”

  He laughed ruefully as he reached into the inner pocket of his doublet. “Such a suspicious nature she has, Doctor.”

  “I’ve learned deception is futile with her, my lord.”

  “Indeed, and I wouldn’t attempt it.” He had a flat, leather-bound case in his hand. Adrien felt a chill at the back of her neck; the case was scarlet, with the eagle crest of DeKoven Woolf embossed in gold on the top.

  “Father, what . . . what is it?”

  “Well, it seems this just arrived by special messenger from Concordia.” When she made no move to take it from him, he put it on the table before her. “It’s for you, Adrien.”

  She knew she was pale, and she couldn’t control the trembling of her hands as she reached for the case and cautiously opened it. A folded slip of vellam fluttered to the floor, but she was too distracted to notice it.

  A lining of black velvet; inscribed in the lid, initials shaped in a golden, intertwining scroll: A.C.E. and A.DeK.W. And, resting in a precise circle in the bottom of the case, glinting against the velvet, a necklace.

  She gazed at it numbly. The delicate chain was beaded with pearls, and attached to it with a cluster of golden, pearl-dewed leaves, was a tear-drop stone a full three centimeters long, a magnificent, fiery stone with a blue cast, transmuting the sunlight into a shower of rainbow flashes. When it came to her that it was a diamond, she could only stare at it in bewilderment.

  “Father . . . ?”

  “It’s an old custom, Adrien.” He smiled as he handed her the vellam that had slipped from the case. “Here. I rather imagine this will make everything clear.”

  She unfolded the sheet, feeling the wrenching quickening of her pulse as she recognized the straight, spare handwriting.

  Adrien—

  Now I can say it, even put it down on vellam with no fear of consequences, and I find no words adequate. But you know my heart and mind, and can read past the words. The vows—the public vows—will be said and sanctioned later, but I’ve already taken my own life vow, a vow to love my lady until death. Thus this gift, asked by custom, offered in love. Pearls because they suit you, diamond for immutability. Never doubt I love you, Adrien, and I always will. . . .

  “Alexand . . .” She wasn’t aware of reading the name aloud, nor at first of her father’s soft laughter. She looked up at him pleadingly.

  “What does this mean?”

  “It means you’ve just received the traditional betrothal gift, and in two weeks, you’ll go to Concordia to take your vows and become the Promised of the Lord Alexand.”

  Tears slipped down her cheeks, falling onto the vellam; she closed her eyes to hold them back.

  Alexand, all the vows are already made. . . .

  8.

  A marriage of destiny.

  On the evening of 30 Octov 3250, the vidicom screens brimmed with the betrothal ball at the DeKoven Woolf Estate, and the society commentators agreed unanimously, and repetitiously, that it was a marriage of destiny.

  The newscasters and vidicam crews were excluded from the betrothal ceremony at the Cathedron, but the guests were inventoried in detail on their arrival. They represented all the Houses of the Directorate, and included the Chairman himself, and every Cognate House of DeKoven Woolf and Camine Eliseer. The vows were blessed by none other than the High Bishop, the Revered Archon Simonidis.

  The ball following the ceremony attracted over a thousand guests, and was open to the ecstatic ’casters, all of whom gave glowing accounts of the Cotilonna, the stately circle dance that traditionally marked the betrothal of Elite couples, a dance in which the Promised pair and their parents formed a small circle within the concentrically larger ones of the assembled guests. It was reported that never had such a handsome trio of couples graced the inner circle of the Cotilonna: the betrothed pair themselves; the dark-haired Lady Galia and as a perfect foil, Lord Loren, fair and blond; the Lord Woolf, elegantly austere, and, of course, the recognized reigning beauty of the Concord, the Lady Elise.

  The reporters catalogued the entertainments, the refreshments, the décor—the theme was gold, the huge ballroom was resplendent with it—and dwelt lovingly on the costumes, noting every nuance of detail. The betrothal ring and the fabulous blue diamond betrothal gift each rated a full five minutes in some accounts.

  But if any of the casters noticed that soon after the Cotilonna the Promised couple was no longer in evidence in the ballroom, no mention of it was made. There were other couples to note and speculate about, especially Lord Karlis Selasis and Serra Janeel Shang, the Lady Adrien’s cousin.

  But there was general agreement that it was, beyond a doubt, as Frer Simonidis reiterated, a very auspicious occasion.

  On my immortal soul, I take this vow for life and unto death . . .

  Alexand listened to the sound of their footfalls on the slate walk and the soft whisper of the eucalypt leaves moved by a wind cool in the spring night. Adrien Eliseer would grace the House of DeKoven Woolf as Elise Galinin graced it, and she would grace his life; she would be a wellspring of strength, as Rich was, mentor and balance wheel, another linked-twin soul.

  He l
ooked down, watching the dappled moonlight moving across her quiet face as she walked beside him under the arc of his arm. This he would never forget: Adrien as she was now, as she was when she stood beside him before the Cathedron’s magnificent Altar of Lights. She was all in gold, a gown of a gossamer material that shimmered in the currents of her slightest movement; a veil trailed behind her, a golden cloud caught in a brocaded koyf framing her face, edged in pearls that seemed to take warmth from her skin. At her throat the pearl-flowered diamond caught the muted light.

  It would be nearly three years before this vow was finalized, but the legal covenant was already made in the Contracts of Marriage and given religious sanction tonight. The Church marriage ceremony would be only a formality to give the union the sanction of tradition.

  But he didn’t wish that final sanction done now, not while Confleet held him bonded. He would endure these next years so he could take his Promised to wife free of the invisible chains, the nightmares that haunted his sleep. First Alber, and now he could add to his mnemonic catalog of horrors the Delai Omer uprising in Coben only three days ago. And in Coben he had been a good soldier; a good, unthinking, unquestioning soldier. If only he could also be an unremembering soldier.

  “What is it, Alex?”

  Even the fleeting memories created a tension that transmitted itself to her.

  “It’s . . . not important; not now.”

  “It’s something you don’t want to talk about.”

  He shrugged. “Yes.”

  She was silent for a while, then with a long sigh she rested her head against his shoulder.

  “So, it’s finally done. I wonder when I’ll believe it.”

  He smiled at that. “Frer Simonidis calls it done, and it would be nearly blasphemous to question his word.”

  That called up a short laugh. “I’d rather take old Malaki’s word. He calls it a Rightness.”

  “Or a spirit weft?”

  She looked up at him. “Yes, he used that term. Where did you learn it?”