He drew himself up straight, resting his right hand on the hilt of his sword. "Listen carefully, all of you. This . . . person—what's your name?"
No answer.
"I asked your name!"
"Jherant ip Therranj, personal armsman to—"
"I didn't ask your rank." Karl sneered. "I'm not interested. Now," he said, addressing the rest, "Jherant here wants my sword. He didn't ask politely; he demanded it.
"I don't think he's good enough to take it." Karl smiled again. "Little Jherant here doesn't look quite sturdy enough." He looked from face to face as he gripped the sharkskin hilt. "Which of you wants to help him?"
An elf dismounted and tossed his helmet aside. "I will, human," he said, pronouncing the word like a curse. The elf nodded to another, who began to circle around behind Karl. Karl heard a distant whisk of steel on leather as the elf drew a dagger.
"Good," Karl said. He pointed to another. "You, too. And you, and you, and you. We're going to play a little game now. What we're going to do is to see how many of you have to die because Jherant hasn't learned a little bit of elementary politeness. I'm willing to bet my life that it's all of you." He looked Jherant straight in the eye. "But don't go away. You're going to be first. Even if your friend at my back closes—"
Karl kicked back, catching the elf in the solar plexus. As the air whooshed from the elf's lungs, Karl reached up and twisted, relieving him of the dagger, then dropping it point-first into the ground.
Karl lifted the gasping elf in his arms and handed him to the nearest of his companions. "Next?"
Jherant paled. This was ridiculous—one human against more than a dozen elven soldiers?
Slowly, Karl drew his sword, then raised it in a salute. Three of the elves copied him, while others moved away, also drawing their weapons.
He stood, waiting.
Tension hung in the air like taut wires. His sword in his right hand, Karl crooked his fingers and beckoned to Jherant. "Come here. You wanted my sword—here it is."
Another elf snickered and nudged Jherant from behind. White-faced, he drew his sword—
"What goes on here?" a firm contralto demanded. The tent flap was pushed aside and a woman walked out, blinking against the bright sunlight.
She was something from a dream: tall, slim, and fine-boned, her long hair so blond it was almost transparent. Her features were delicate; most beautiful human women would have looked gross and crude standing beside her.
She looked down at the nearest of the soldiers and frowned. "What goes on here?" she asked again.
The elf ducked his head. "Your pardon, Lady. This . . . human wants to fight with us."
She looked over at Karl, one eyebrow raised. "Is this so?"
"Not necessarily. I just want to kill the ones without any manners. Improve the breed a bit for you. I might have given this idiot my sword if he'd asked politely, but he demanded it."
"You're Karl Cullinane, I take it." Her lips twitched. "I see that the stories are true. You'd take on all of my soldiers, hoping to hold out until your reinforcements arrived?"
"You don't know my husband, Lady Dhara," Andy-Andy said, as she pushed through the tent flaps and stood beside the elf woman, Tennetty and Chak to either side of her. "I don't think he's waiting for reinforcements."
"Now," Karl said quietly, "get Andy out of here. No reinforcements. Tell Daven."
Tennetty nodded and pulled at Andy-Andy's arm.
One of the soldiers reached out a hesitant arm as though to bar them; Chak grabbed, twisted the elf's arm up and behind his back, then booted him away, snatching the sword out of his scabbard as he fell on his face.
A thin smile crossing her face, Tennetty's hand snaked out and seized another elf by the trachea. Not daring to move for fear that she would rip his throat out, the elf stood there as she quickly unbuckled his swordbelt and let it drop to the ground. Looking him straight in the eye, Tennetty suddenly snapped her knee into his groin, then stooped to retrieve the scabbard. She turned around, her newly acquired sword held easily in her hand.
Nobody else moved.
"Sorry, Karl," Tennetty said. "I gave them my sword. Andrea said there was to be no trouble."
Dhara eyed Karl. "I take it that you have other ideas."
"Perhaps, Lady. It all depends on you. I've been told that you've come here to negotiate. Would you rather do it with words, or with swords?"
"Words," she said. "Definitely words." She gestured at Jherant. "You are dismissed from my service," she said, before turning to another elf. "Captain, have that fool stripped of his weapons and driven away. Karl Cullinane may keep his sword. Anyone who is discourteous to him will answer to me. If he survives." She gestured toward the tent flap. "Karl Cullinane. If you, your wife, and your two friends would be kind enough to join me?"
Karl sheathed his sword. "Delighted, Lady. After you."
* * *
*You were taking a big chance.*
Karl sipped at his wine. It would have been more of a chance not to.
*You can explain that later.*
"Your eyes look . . . distant, Karl Cullinane," Dhara said, reclining on the opposite couch. She held out her own wineglass for a refill.
"Just talking to the dragon." He jerked his thumb skyward. "No offense intended."
Dhara chuckled. "In your world, politeness must be much more important than it is thought to be here." She wetted a slim finger and ran it around the rim of her glass, enjoying the clear, ringing tone. "Although I must confess that I wonder how serious you were. Mmmm . . . 'No offense intended'—is that the correct phrase?"
Andy-Andy shook her head gravely. "Lady, I wish you wouldn't do that. You weren't around when he declared war on the Slavers' Guild single-handedly. I was."
*From Andrea: "I could back your play better if I knew what it was." She's not thrilled with you, Karl.*
Tell her I'll thrill her later. "If you'd care to find out just how serious I was, Lady, it could be arranged."
Chak sighed and got slowly, painfully to his feet. "Here we go again."
"Hold on for a moment." Tennetty drained her glass. "Can I get in on this? You always get all the fun." She tested the blade of her newly acquired sword with her thumb. "I've heard dull blades are good for cutting cheese—how's yours?"
"Another cheese cutter." Chak shook his head. "Maybe Nehera can put a decent edge on it."
*From Tennetty: "You're absolutely insane, you know."*
"Don't bet against Karl Cullinane, Lady Dhara," Tennetty said. "The odds are too long."
"You think he could take on my fifty soldiers? Even with your help?"
"I didn't think that was the issue. You're an emissary from Lord Khoral, and one of your men challenged Karl—doesn't that make the question whether or not Karl is going to declare war on Therranj itself?"
Dhara paled. "Are you—" She caught herself. "I find myself in an awkward position. Lord Khoral sent me to negotiate your incorporation into Therranj. I seem to find myself having to negotiate a peace treaty instead."
*From Andy-Andy: "I see a method in your madness, but there's still too damn much madness in your method."*
Thanks. "Sit down, Chak. Frankly, I'd rather not get involved in a war with Therranj," he said to Dhara, trying to sound as though he were considering the subject casually.
*I get it. I don't like it, but I get it. If you can create the slightest doubt in her mind that Therranj couldn't take on you alone, then she's not going to have any trouble swallowing the idea that leaving Home alone is the best move—assuming that she can't get you to join up.*
Right. And we've made that point. The threat is patent nonsense—
*Which only makes it better.*
Exactly. 'Legend' is another word for 'nonsense.' She's not sure that she believes any of this, but there have been too many stories about me being passed around, growing in the telling. Last time I heard about how I took on Ohlmin, Slovotsky wasn't in on it, and Ohlmin had a hundred men, not eigh
t. The rest of this is just pro forma; I've made the point.
*And if she had called your bluff?*
Karl didn't answer. There wasn't a real answer. Years ago, it had become clear that he wasn't likely to die of old age. His situation wasn't like that of an Other Side soldier in a normal sort of war; Karl had enlisted for the duration, and the duration was sure to be longer than even his natural lifespan.
If this was where he was going to die, that was the way it would have to be. Chak and Tennetty would have been able to get Andy-Andy out in the confusion, and that would have had to be enough.
*Well, as long as you don't believe your own bullshit . . .*
You so sure it's bullshit?
*Yup. And you are, too. Now, stop sweating and start negotiating.*
The elf woman beckoned another servitor to refill their glasses. "Now, where were we?"
Karl smiled back at her. "We were discussing peace between Therranj and Home. Sounds like a good idea to me—as it should to you."
"I thought the issue was to be the incorporation of the Valley of Varnath into Therranj proper. That is its proper name, you know."
"Not anymore." Karl shrugged. "Look. We're going to have a town meeting on the question of joining Therranj. The majority will decide—"
Tennetty interrupted him with a loud snicker. "Karl's always thought that counting noses means something."
Dhara raised an eyebrow. "And you don't?"
She laughed. "Of course not. But my opinion doesn't matter—it's my loyalty that does."
"Enough," Karl said. "As I was saying, I'm voting against. I think Ahira is going to stay in office, and Home is going to stay independent. But that doesn't mean that we can't continue to trade with you. We have things you want: Riccetti's horsecollars, better plows than you're used to, finer blades—"
"Guns. And gunpowder. We want your Lou Riccetti to produce them for us."
"—and we also produce a food surplus, each and every year. That doesn't amount to much yet, but we're still growing. And as far as the guns go," he said with a shrug, "those are our secret, and are going to stay that way for the foreseeable future."
"Really?" She raised an eyebrow. "I've heard otherwise."
*I don't like this, Karl.*
Neither do I. Has anyone been talking about the slaver powder and guns?
*Negative.* Ellegon made it a blanket statement of fact.
"As a matter of fact," Dhara went on, "there have been guns operating in the war between Bieme and Holtun. I have it on good authority that the Biemish reverses have been due to the Holts' having some."
*I haven't heard anything about this. Pry for more information.*
"I'd have to doubt that, Lady. Your sources must be mistaken. We haven't taken sides in the war—"
"Nevertheless, there have been guns. You would like witnesses?"
At Karl's nod, Dhara snapped her fingers. "Bring them in."
Elven soldiers brought three humans into the tent, guarding them closely.
"Thinking that you might demand reliable witnesses, I couldn't resist buying these, when I ran across them in a Metreyll market. Which is somewhat ironic; it seems that they were originally headed to Metreyll, although not to become slaves. They were captured by mercenaries employed by Holtun—mercenaries who used guns to kill their bodyguards."
Karl started to speak, but as the three were led in, his words caught in his throat. He didn't recognize the adult man, but both the woman and the boy were familiar.
"Rahff!" Karl leaped to his feet. "How? I saw you die—"
"Karl!" Chak caught his arm. "It's not him."
No, it wasn't Rahff. Rahff had died in Melawei, protecting Aeia. If Rahff had lived, he would have been older than this boy. If Rahff had lived . . . but he hadn't.
And then there was the woman. White streaks had invaded the black of her hair, but the high cheekbones and eyes were a feminine version of Rahff's.
They were Thomen Furnael and his mother Beralyn, the baroness.
Years ago, Karl had suspected that Zherr Furnael had a plan to get the rest of his family away from the oncoming war. Just as he had apprenticed Rahff to Karl, hoping that Karl could teach the boy enough to lead the barony through the war.
But it hadn't worked. Rahff had been killed in Melawei, and now it seemed that Furnael's plan to safeguard the rest of his family had failed.
Until now. Ellegon, get the dwarf. I want him to take over Daven's team. Just in case. "Thomen, Baroness," he said, inclining his head. "It has been a long time."
Dhara snapped her fingers. "Beralyn, you will tell him about the guns. Now."
"You don't understand, Lady Dhara," Karl said, his hand on the hilt of his sword. "The baroness and the boy—all three of them are here now, they're under my protection now. They're free. They're beholden to nobody, owned by nobody."
"Another bluff, Karl Cullinane?"
Tennetty was the first to move; she kicked a table toward the nearest guard, then leaped at Dhara, wrestling the elf woman from the couch, bringing one arm up behind Dhara's back in a hammerlock, setting her blade against the elf woman's throat.
One of the soldiers drew his sword and lunged toward her from behind. Chak parried, then kicked at the elf's elbow; the blade fell from nerveless fingers. He stood, smiling at Dhara's guards.
In the distance, three gunshots rang out.
*Nobody's hurt, yet. I've sent for the dwarf instead of fetching him; Daven needed a bit of persuading to stay put. We compromised on a few warning shots.*
"Nobody's seriously hurt yet, Dhara. Those shots were just a warning."
Andy-Andy raised her hands and wet her lips. "These are the mother and brother of Karl's first apprentice, Lady Dhara. I wouldn't push the matter."
Even with Tennetty's blade at her throat, Dhara managed a smile. "Lord Khoral intended to give the three of them to you, as tokens of our sincerity. If you wish to free them, well, that is your concern. Not mine."
Gently, she tried to push Tennetty's blade away; at Karl's nod, Tennetty let her.
"We'll have to continue this discussion later," Karl said. "Baroness, Thomen, and you, whoever you are, if you will follow me, we'll see to your needs."
The three didn't say anything; they just followed sullenly.
Chapter Nine
A Matter of Obligation
A sense of duty pursues us ever. . . . If we take to ourselves the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, duty performed or duty violated is still with us, for our happiness or our misery. If we say the darkness shall cover us, in the darkness as in the light our obligations are yet with us.
—Daniel Webster
"You expect me to be grateful, Karl Cullinane?" Beralyn sneered. "You, who might as well have murdered my son." She sat back in her chair. "Go ahead, kill me. That won't change anything."
The shack was small, but neat; originally, it had been Ahira's house, but now it was one of the three small log cabins that were used for receiving new arrivals, giving them a place to sleep and take their meals until they could adjust to Home life.
Karl bit his lip, opened his mouth, closed it. He turned to the boy.
"Thomen, I need to know something." Karl tapped at the two rifles on the table in front of them. "One of these is a Home rifle; the other is one we seized from slavers just about a tenday ago. The men who killed your guards and took you—which kind did they have?"
Karl was sure what the answer would be—but what if he was wrong? What if someone on his or Daven's or Aveneer's squad had taken up slaving?
Hesitantly, the boy started to point toward the slaver's gun, but his mother's voice brought him up short.
"Don't answer," the boy's mother snapped. "We will give your brother's killer no help."
*Anything I can do?*
No. Just go away. Karl couldn't even work up the strength to blame Beralyn. She had been against apprenticing Rahff to Karl from the first, knowing that it would endanger the boy.
It hadn't just endangered him. It had killed him.
There was a knock on the door, and Aeia walked in without waiting for an answer. "Greetings," she said, her face grave. "Andrea says that Rahff's mother is here. Are you her?"
Beralyn didn't answer.
"We didn't meet when I was in Bieme. But I did get to know Rahff well. You should know something about how your son died."
"I know how my son died."
Aeia shook her head. "You weren't there. I was. If it hadn't been for Rahff . . ." She let her voice trail off
Thomen looked up. "What if it hadn't been for Rahff?"
Aeia smiled gently. "I would have been killed instead. The slavers had gone crazy; they were killing everyone they could reach. Rahff stood between me and one of them."
Karl pounded his fist against the table. If only I'd been a little smarter, a little faster. If he had been only a few seconds faster he would have gotten to the slaver before the bastard opened Rahff's belly. If only Karl had worked out that Seigar Wohtansen would treat his own people first, he would have been able to get the healing draughts to Rahff in time.
Aeia sat down next to Thomen. "Rahff hit me once, did you know that?"
"What for?"
She shrugged. "I doubted Karl—out loud. Rahff sort of elbowed me in the side. What did you tell him, Karl?"
"Aeia . . ." Karl shook his head. "I don't remember."
"I bet Rahff did. You said, 'A man whose profession is violence must not commit violence on his own family, or his friends. You and I are supposed to watch over Aeia, protect her, not bully her.' "
Just as I was supposed to protect Rahff. Teach him, protect him, not watch him die.
*It has been more than five years, Karl. Isn't it time you stopped flogging yourself over Rahff?*
"Don't you ask me that." Karl jumped to his feet. "Ask her, dammit, ask Beralyn. Tell her that it's okay now."
He pounded his clenched fists in front of his face. "There hasn't been a day gone by when I haven't remembered. He trusted me. The boy practically worshipped me." He turned to Beralyn, trying to think of the words that would soften her stony expression. "Baroness . . ." But there weren't any words.
It was too much; Karl pushed away from the table and walked out into the courtyard. He leaned against the wall of the old smithy.
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