The Road to Hell (Hell's Gate Book 3)

by David Weber

  His words had cut her like knives, but she’d understood. And now, as the door opened and she looked up, she froze. She wanted to run to her. Wanted to throw her arms around the other woman and beg her to forgive Gadrial for being on the wrong side in this awful war. She wanted—

  She didn’t have to do anything.

  Shaylar, tears streaming, crossed the room and embraced Gadrial. “I couldn’t bear it any longer,” Shaylar said softly. “Knowing how much this wait was hurting you.”

  “But…”

  Shaylar’s arms tightened down; then she stepped back.

  “But you’re my friend, Gadrial. My only friend here. I need you, Gadrial,” she whispered. “And I think you need me?”

  Gadrial hugged her again. “Gods, yes,” she said equally softly. “But I wouldn’t blame you if you never wanted to speak to an Arcanan again!” She felt her own eyes prickle. “After what the duke’s found out so far, knowing there could be even worse to come, I—”

  Shaylar drew a deep, ragged breath. “No, Gadrial. I never felt that. I needed to be…alone for a while. It’s been terribly hard for me. For Jathmar and me, both of us. But I never felt like I didn’t want to see you, ever again.”

  Gadrial’s eyes filled with tears. “Shaylar, there’s nothing I can say that can tell you how horrified I was by that news. How horrified I still am. Nothing justifies that. Nothing.”

  “Thank you, Gadrial. That…helps.”

  Gadrial touched Shaylar’s hair, tucked a lock of it behind her ear. “Thank you, Shaylar. For still being my friend.”

  Shaylar nodded.

  “Jathmar?” Gadrial asked after a moment.

  “He’s…thinking it over,” Shaylar said softly, and Gadrial nodded. Of course he was.

  “I hope he decides to join us, too,” the duchess said, rising to put her own arm around Shaylar and hug her tightly. “But in the meantime, my dears, why don’t we all have some tea and send for something to eat?”

  “I think that sounds like a very good idea, Your Grace,” Shaylar replied, and if her smile was wan and just a bit watery, it was also real.

  * * *

  Three hours and seventeen minutes later, the drawing room door opened again. Everyone jerked around, and Gadrial’s heart shuddered to a halt when she saw Jasak standing in the doorway. For long moments, she was frozen to the chair in which she’d been sitting for the past two hours, too exhausted to continue her pacing. Her eyes met his and the blaze of fire in them left her pulse shuddering, wondering if that fire was the look of a man filling his eyes with the sight of her for the last time or the fire of a man out from under the cloud that had dogged his heels all the way from that pile of wind-wrecked trees. Not to mention the man and woman sitting beside her, whose capture had wrenched Gadrial’s life—and everyone else’s in this room—inside out and upside down.

  Then Jasak spoke. He whispered hoarsely, “The verdict was not guilty, on all charges.”

  Gadrial sobbed aloud once; tears filled her eyes. Someone else was weeping, as well, close by. But then Jasak spoke again, and she stared at him in shock.

  “I…can’t stay in the army,” he said.

  “I don’t understand!” she cried. “You’re innocent! They cleared you! Cleared your name, your reputation, completely! Why can’t you stay in the army? We’ll need good officers!” Even as she said it, a flutter of terror—and raw, selfish gratitude—tore through her. He won’t be going to war! Even though he needed to…and wanted to, being a mad Andaran. “I don’t understand,” she finished, miserable for failing to understand even this about the man she loved, and a strange little smile touched his lips.

  “Yes, I was cleared, completely. But the Army needs someone to take the blame, even so. Someone besides Garlath, who’s been officially found responsible for starting the war, but who’s inconveniently dead and therefore not an ideal candidate. Much of the verdict hinged on his failure to obey my order to hold his fire, as we suspected it would. But that was a two-way sword. They determined that I was in command and that Garlath’s refusal to obey that order started the war. They also determined that my decision to leave him in place was reasonable and correct, given the circumstances surrounding his…attitudes and behavior. Your testimony tipped those particular scales very firmly in the direction of the final verdict, Gadrial.

  “But because I was in command, ultimately the blame for the war rests in part on my shoulders. And however…fraught any decision of mine to summarily relieve him might have been, I didn’t do it. The fact that I obeyed regulations by leaving him in command clears me of legal responsibility, but a lot of people who weren’t there are going to be wise after the fact and second-guess my judgment. There’d probably be fewer Andarans like that than Ransarans or Mythalans, but there’d be more than enough of our own people. Any future military career for me would probably be a disaster, and if I tried to stay in uniform, every single one of Father’s political enemies would have a custom-made club to beat him over the head with in Parliament and public opinion. So I’m resigning my commission to enter politics.”

  Another strange smile curled around his lips.

  “I’ve already been approached, in fact, after the verdict was read, the probable consequences to my career—and the war effort in general, given whose son I am—were discussed. Consequences which I brought up, in fact, when I tendered my resignation on the spot. After the dismissal of the court, Sogbourne approached me, privately.”

  He shook his head. “He begged me to enter the political arena, suggesting I’d be an asset to the Commandery, not because of who my father is, but because of my voluntary resignation. If Father will have me,” he glanced over to meet the duke’s gaze, which hadn’t left his son’s face since he’d entered the drawing room, “I’ll work as an assistant or a page until the next election cycle.”

  “Gladly,” the duke rumbled. “And Sogbourne’s right. We’ll get you qualified in a proper Andaran district and you’ll win that election, make no mistake about that.”

  “Why are you so certain?” Shaylar asked, puzzled, and the duke grinned.

  “Because an officer who voluntarily shoulders the punishment and the responsibility for a serious act he didn’t commit is seen—rightly so—as the most honorable of men. The sacrifice of an army career under those circumstances is the greatest one a man can make, other than to lay down his life. Oh, yes, Jasak will win that election. By a landslide.”

  Gadrial shook her head.

  “That’s nuts!” she protested, and Jasak chuckled.

  “That’s Andaran,” he corrected. Then the mirth faded from his eyes and he crossed the room in three swift strides. Went down on his knees. Took both her hands in his.

  “Gadrial, I’m pleading with you to consider becoming my wife. I swear by all that I hold sacred that you’ll be free to live your life by whatever precepts, whatever mores and beliefs you choose. Your career is the second-most important thing in my life.”

  Her cold hands began to tremble in his.

  “If you’ll agree to tolerate these crazy Andaran rules I live by, I’ll agree to let our children choose which world they want to live in. Yours or mine.”

  Tears were coursing down her cheeks.

  “You crazy, mad, adorable Andaran,” she whispered. “You were listening, weren’t you? To my testimony?”

  His face went red. “Guilty as charged, Madam. It’s an accused man’s right, to hear the testimony for or against him. He just doesn’t sit in the room, because his presence might prejudice or intimidate the witness.”

  “That makes sense, at least,” she said with some asperity. Then she slipped one hand free of his grip and ruffled his thick hair. “Our children, Jas Olderhan, will live in our world. Rahil alone knows what it’ll look like, but it will be ours.”

  In the next moment, Gadrial was in his arms, and she discovered that the kiss he’d bestowed on her in the slider coming into Portalis had been little more than a peck on the lips. The kiss he’
d delivered the day she’d gone tottering off to her lab on campus had been a simple buss on the way out the door. What Jasak Olderhan’s lips wrought here and now was probably illegal in every single town and village in Andara. Hah! Just let them try tossing us in jail, she thought in a muddle somewhere in the middle of that life-altering kiss.

  Then she couldn’t think at all.

  And that was just fine with her.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  Noristahn 14, 5054 AE

  [May 3, 1929 CE]

  Andrin leaned against the ship’s rail, hair flying in the wind as she and Howan watched the glorious fireworks display overhead. The dark waters of the Ylani Straits were a mirror reflecting back the explosions of light and color. The sharp crack and rumbling boom, followed by the staccato crackle of secondary explosions, rolled across the black water like the voices of the very gods lifted in celebration. They’d stopped Arcana!

  The Voice message announcing the recapture of Fort Ghartoun, Hell’s Gate, and the portal to Mahritha had reached Tajvana two days ago. All of Sharona was still awaiting confirmation that Fort Brithik had been retaken, as well, but no one in the entire multiverse seemed to doubt it had been done by now.

  She hugged the joy of it to herself, just as she hugged all her good fortune from these past few days. She’d needed that good fortune, every drop of it. She’d faced so very much, these last months: terror, horror, anguish, numb grief, cold rage…so many emotions foreign to her life, she ought to have been exhausted.

  But the fireworks sparkled in the night sky as brightly as Andrin’s happiness, which knew no bounds, tonight. She knew they still faced danger and pain, but for now, for these few moments, she let herself simply be happy. She felt almost giddy, like a child at Spring Coming. Sharona was safe, Chava Busar had failed to destroy her life in his quest for power, and she’d married a man whose love for her was so deep she knew already she would never taste the bottom of it.

  Each day, each hour they spent together, Andrin realized she’d joined lives with a man as worthy of her respect and love as her father was. For all that he was a reserved and quiet man, he deliberately drew her sense of humor into the open, made her smile and laugh more than she ever had in her life. He sought her opinions and found them sound, agreeing with her a surprising percentage of the time. When they didn’t agree, he said so…and made his case in calm, measured tones, although she could sense the temper that sometimes boiled beneath the surface.

  She glimpsed it, now and again, when some officious twit said or did something that pushed the limits of his patience. He’d come close to losing control of that temper at the last crossing of the swords, so to speak, with Prince Weeva. His Highness would smart for months to come under the sting of Howan Fai’s cold-voiced opinion, which had endeared him to her all the more. Andrin detested that particular son of Chava so deeply it was nearly pathological.

  She put him deliberately out of her mind. She’d much rather think about her husband—his sense of humor, his respect for her opinions, the strength of his own convictions, his soul-shaking tenderness.…

  She didn’t know if this was love or some other emotion, since she’d never felt this way before, but whatever it was, she wanted more of it. And she wanted an excuse to slip away to their cabin and share a little more of that delicious intimacy. She sighed. It had been dark for barely half an hour, and she was only too aware of the eyebrows that would rise if she suggested retiring to bed this early. She nearly giggled aloud, shocked by her own indecent thoughts.

  There’d be time enough for that, later.

  For now, she leaned against the rail, watched the fireworks, stroked Finena’s glossy white feathers with absent fingertips, and stole occasional glances at her husband. Their child was growing well. Not a hint of a belly showed yet, though Dr. Morlinhus warned her that even at her height, a bump was to be expected in the next couple of weeks. The dreams had faded as the child grew, but Howan Fai was slipping her away to safety, she hoped.

  Let it be so, she prayed silently. To that prayer, she added, And please, let me hold onto this happiness, let me hold onto this wondrous man you’ve given me. Grant me this much, at least: a chance to spend my whole life with him, for him to spend his whole life with me. There’s so much we can do, together, to protect the people of our worlds. Grant us the time to do that work together.

  Howan Fai turned to peer into her eyes, sensing a change in her mood. He gave her arm a reassuring squeeze and lifted his chin slightly in inquiry.

  She was afraid to say it, for fear that once uttered, some malevolent demon would hear the words and smash them to pieces. So she merely smiled and said, “It’s nothing.”

  She sensed that he understood her reluctance to speak, that he knew at least some of what she’d been feeling so strongly and concurred with her decision not to voice it aloud. Of course, that might simply have been a caution that was instilled into every man, woman, and child born of Eniath, particularly its aristocracy and royal family. With neighbors like Chava Busar, not voicing certain thoughts had become an ingrained and necessary habit.

  But tonight, those fears and worries were far away and dim. Tonight, the stars were brilliant, the sea and sky were a glorious riot of bursting colors, and joy filled the air. Millions of people stood along the shoreline, on the housetops, in the windows of shops and tall buildings. Every single one of those millions of people shouted and rang bells and set off long chains of fire-poppers. The noise came rolling across the water like a solid wave of sound, filled with bursting happiness.

  It wouldn’t last, she knew; but for tonight, at least, the worlds that had sprung from Sharona—and all the people in them—were safe from the threat of Arcana. That simple, profound truth moved her nearly to tears. She gripped the railing as her yacht moved slowly and softly through the darkness, past the crowd of boats bobbing on the water where even more Sharonians celebrated the halting of the Arcanan menace.

  She smiled as the Peregrine slipped through the dark, color-splashed water, with her security men nearby, her hawk on her arm, and her heart full nearly to bursting with happiness and hope for their future. She turned to tell Howan Fai how very happy she was—

  And the Glimpse struck.

  * * *

  Zindel chan Calirath wandered across the long stone balcony overlooking the Ylani Straits, ostensibly to obtain another glass of wine after draining his first one in toasts to the newly married couple: MP Kinlafia and Voice Yanamar. His real motive was the view. This portion of the balcony gave a better view of the western end of the Straits, where they led into the Imbral Sea and eventually down past Imbral’s Blade and out to the Mbisi Sea. The Straits and the harbors on either side were filled with boats of every size in a confusing jumble that was lit every few seconds by the strobing light of fireworks.

  None of that mattered. The Peregrine’s profile was etched into his memory. He’d learned a deep appreciation of the sailing master’s craft aboard that trim, lovely little ship. She was moving under sail, tonight, creeping softly, silently through the crowded harbor, toward the open channel at the center of the Straits. Her escort destroyers steamed fore and aft—under power at slow speed to follow the rules of the road that granted sailing vessels right of way—as if they’d merely happened to be transiting the Ylani Straits at the same time as Peregrine instead of following careful, Voice-coordinated transit orders. A convenient port call at Larakesh had held them at the ready, and now they were immediately at hand to defend the Peregrine if anyone dared threaten her.

  Zindel had wandered along the length of the balcony several times already, this evening, careful to spend just as much time gazing out across other vantage points. He didn’t want observers to notice his keen interest in the ship moving so slowly toward the deep channel. The fireworks offered the perfect cover under which the Peregrine could run, taking his daughter to a place where she and her husband could learn one another in greater privacy. It was difficult enough for ordinary newlyweds
to learn how to live together. For an imperial heiress, the job was ten times harder.

  Still, he couldn’t help worrying. So he strolled the balcony, watching the Peregrine make her way towards the open sea. He wondered again if he’d made the correct decision, sending her on the yacht, rather than the Windtreader. The Windtreader was harder to attack, certainly, but part of his intention had been secrecy. It would have alerted most of Tajvana, had the Windtreader steamed out in the middle of the victory celebration.

  So he’d arranged for Andrin and Howan Fai to take the sailing yacht, instead, relying on the brand new engines installed in her hull, the Imperial security team onboard, and her destroyer escort. She might be a romantic little ship, but she carried a genuinely nasty sting for anyone foolish enough to attack her, and the two destroyers could blow anything short of a major warship completely out of the water. And for the possibility of major warships, two armored cruisers were waiting to add themselves to the escort once they were safely out into the Mbisi.