“This time you lost your weapon and your balance,” he said, laugh­ing.

  “I am forced to admit that fighting the V’ornn way is more compli­cated than it looks.” Wiping mud off her hands, Eleana grimly took up her shock-sword again and began to circle him. “The second rule of engagement is always take the high ground and keep it.”

  Rekkk nodded as he turned with her. “I created an ion-charged feed­back loop that took my energy and combined it with yours. It is not an easy maneuver. It is imperative that you engage your opponent’s weapon at the tips. If you get it wrong—lower down the blade or near the guard—the feedback loop will shatter your sword, possibly all the bones in your hand as well.”

  “I will try to remember that,” Eleana said as she lunged at him. He twisted away, but on her second attempt, she engaged the tips of his blades with hers. She could almost feel the charge as he grimaced. But he did not drop his weapon as she had expected. Instead, he thumbed off his own ion-charge, disengaged, thumbed it on again, and deftly disarmed her.

  “Eleana, you must try to keep hold of your shock-sword.”

  “Believe me, I am trying.” Once more, she picked up the weapon, wiping mud off it.

  “Try harder.”

  “I am trying as hard as I can!” she shouted, just as he lunged at her.

  She parried, danced away, struck back, engaged the tips of his shock-sword for just an instant and, as she saw him react, whipped her weapon in toward his neck, where the twin blades hung, just centi­meters from his skin.

  “Third rule of engagement,” she said without a trace of smugness. “Make your enemy see your strength as your weakness, and your weak­ness as your strength.”

  He smiled, and she relaxed. “You are a quicker study than I had imagined.”

  “For a female, you mean?”

  He laughed. “I am learning that Kundalan females can be formidable in their own right.”

  The compliment took her by surprise, as it was meant to do. In the time it took her to blink, he had moved inside her defensive perimeter, jammed the heel of his hand under her chin, and grabbed the guard of her shock-sword. This time, however, though he had taken her some­what by surprise, she did not let go of her weapon. Instead, she twisted it in his grip and, using his own strength against him, pushed instead of pulled. The hilt of the shock-sword smashed into his chest, knocking him back a pace.

  They faced each other, back on equal footing, within the circle of combat.

  “That was well done,” he whispered. “But don’t you think we should concern ourselves with the possibility that more Khagggun scouts might have infiltrated—“

  “The fourth rule,” she said, never taking her eyes off his, “is to learn your opponent’s tactics while never repeating yours.”

  “I mean it,” he whispered. “There are two more Khagggun behind you. They are watching us right now.”

  “I don’t believe—“

  But he had already recommenced his circling, deliberately bringing her around so that she could see what he had seen. When he saw the tremor of recognition go through her, he said, “Right now they do not have a clue what is going on. That is the only thing that has saved us.”

  She looked into his eyes. “The fifth rule of engagement: when out­numbered by your enemy, divide him.”

  He grinned. “Strike me down.”

  “What?”

  “Do what I tell you!” he hissed furiously. “N’Luuura take it, strike me dead!”

  Fire in her eyes, she lunged at him, saw him try and fail to parry her thrust. Her ion-charged blades ripped open his clothes on the left side. She saw turquoise blood spatter, and he went down as if poleaxed. But now she understood his intent. From where the Khagggun crouched, it would look as if she had delivered a mortal blow. Playing the part to the hilt, she straddled his prone form.

  “Die, V’ornn scumV she cried, and drove her shock-sword into the ground not a centimeter from his neck. These two near misses must have hurt Rekkk, she knew. She was stunned by his iron-willed courage.

  From their point of view, the Khagggun scouts chose their moment well. Together, they leapt from their hiding places the moment she buried her weapon in the ground. She heard them, tried to turn, but she could not pull her shock-sword free.

  “Turn off the ion flowV Rekkk shouted as he slid out from under her and jammed his weapon into the lower belly of one of the oncoming Khagggun. The force of his momeritum carried Rekkk down and onto his back, while the spitted scout, blood streaming from his wound, kicked and flailed frantically.

  The other Khagggun had one mailed hand on Eleana by the time she had extracted her shock-sword. He spun her around, driving to lock the tips of his shock-sword with hers. Eleana kept her ion flow off as his weapon touched hers. Then she deftly turned her blades ninety degrees, switched on her ion flow. The resulting jolt sent the Khagggun to his knees, and she stepped inside his defense.

  He was bent over so she was taken unawares when he jammed the short-hafted studded globe into her rib cage. She screamed with pain, but did not drop her shock-sword. Her breath whistled through gritted teeth, her knees trembled and her legs turned to jelly. She thought of the pain Rekkk had taken. Could she do any less? Vision blurred as her eyes leaked tears. Dimly, she was aware of the Khagggun grinding the globe into her. She felt as if her body was being ripped apart, the agony exploding every nerve ending in her body.

  She narrowed her concentration on the weight of her shock-sword as she swung it in a horizontal arc. It seemed to move in slow motion. She was aware of a screaming coming as if from far away. The blades swept ever closer. The screaming threatened to derail her concentration. She was weeping as she sliced the blades through the Khagggun’s armor plating. They stuck at the juncture of his shoulder and neck while his blood spurted through the rent.

  The pain overcame her and she slid to her knees, her forehead resting on the bloody V’ornn armor. She could feel him spasming and shaking, and now she left her blades to do their work on his neck while she grabbed his fists, jerked them upward. The studded globe smashed into the underside of his helm and he toppled backward.

  She lay athwart him, half-insensate, grateful that the screaming had stopped but curious as to what kind of creature had made it. Her throat was raw. Which was when she realized she was the one who had been screaming.

  At length, she felt someone pulling her up and, thinking it was an­other scout, ripped the studded globe out of the Khagggun’s grip. Snarl­ing, she brandished it.

  “Easy. That ion mace is a nasty weapon,” Rekkk whispered in her ear. “Its ion excitation jumps from spike to spike in an energy web that is tuned not to cut and slice but to overstimulate nerve endings.” As she reared back, he opened his arms wide. “Do you want to kill me, too?”

  She began to sob, then, clinging to him as he carried her and her weapons back to where Giyan was waiting, white-faced with worry.

  “Müna protect us” she cried when she saw the blood all over them. “Is she hurt?”

  “We’re good,” Rekkk said, unconsciously slipping into Khagggun bat­tlefield terminology.

  She pointed to his side. “You’re bleeding.”

  “It’s nothing. Look, just a flesh wound.”

  She directed him to set Eleana down on the riverbank. She stroked the girl’s hair as she began to wash her hands and face.

  “Scouts from Olnnn Rydddlin’s pack,” he said as he hunkered down beside them to wash away the Khagggun’s blood and viscera. “Eleana’s convinced they came from the easterly passage, and I agree.”

  She gave him a quick look.

  “All dead.” He nodded in Eleana’s direction, “She was very resource­ful, very brave.” He put his hand on the girl’s shoulder and turned her toward him. “We who have faced death salute your first kill.” He set the ion mace in her lap. “Sixth rule of engagement.” He saw her smile and put the back of his hand against her cheek. “Or as we V’ornn say: to the victor belong the spoils.”

  Dew glittered at the ends of spear-shaped leaves. The tips of ladylace ferns unfurled like dark sails. A qwawd lowed, deep in the under­brush. The sky, dense with cloud all night, was clearing and, with it, the scent of bitterroot rose from the damp, springy earth. “They’re coming,” Giyan said. It was still dark. They could see nothing beyond the treetops at the edge of the plateau. The sky was a lambent black, fading now in the east.

  Rekkk knew she was using Osoru to “see” their movement in the darkness. Osoru was good for many things, but as Giyan described it, it was Müna’s Gift, never meant for battle. There were no means in Osoru to subdue a score of fierce Khagggun. He believed her. Other­wise, the V’ornn would never have been able to subjugate the Kun-dalan.

  “What approach are they taking?” he asked her.

  “The east,” she said. “The south.”

  “Which is it?” Eleana asked.

  Giyan looked at them. “Both.”

  It was first light. Crawling to the edge of the plateau, they saw signs of movement far off in the shadowy orchards. Clouds crowded the western sky, but in the east it was cTear, and when the sun broke above the horizon its pellucid, piercing light threw every object into stark relief.

  “I count a score,” Eleana said.

  “Another score is coming from the east,” Giyan told them.

  “What is going on?” Eleana whispered.

  “Olnnn Rydddlin has once again moved up in the world,” Rekkk said. “He is commanding two packs. He has chosen to attack us in Squall Line formation.”

  “That cannot be good,” Giyan said.

  “No.” Rekkk stared out at the mass of Khagggun swarming past the orchards on their way to scaling the plateau.

  Eleana came and stood beside him. “The sixth rule of engagement you already know,” she said softly. “The seventh, and last, rule is: always have an exit strategy.” She looked at him. “Rekkk, do we have an exit strategy?”

  Ghosts

  Star-Admiral Kinnnus Morcha was preparing for sleep when a dis­creet knock sounded on his bedroom door. For a moment, he stood still, contemplating the anomalous sound in the night. The door was hidden, as were the walls of the bedroom, by the protein-net battle tent he had had erected inside it. Truth to tell, he had spent so many nights on the fields of battle, he felt most at home this way. Inside a battle tent, he always knew where he was and how to act.

  “Come,” he said, not bothering to cover his near nakedness.

  “There is a visitor, sir.” Julll, his deputy protocol officer, stood just inside the tent flap.

  Kinnnus Morcha studied Julll’s face without success. One of the pro­tocol officer’s assets was that he never betrayed his emotion.

  “A Looorm, sir,” Julll said.

  “It is late, First-Captain. I ordered no such entertainment.”

  “This Looorm is the regent’s own, sir.”

  If the Star-Admiral had had eyebrows, they would have been raised. “At this hour? Tell her to come back in the morning.”

  “Perhaps that would not be the wisest choice, sir.”

  Over the years, Kinnnus Morcha had learned to listen to his protocol officers. They never opened their mouths unless they had something cogent to say.

  “Continue.”

  “It has been my experience that Looorm are repositories, sir.”

  “Of precisely what, besides social diseases?”

  To his credit, Julll would not be goaded. “Because they are invisible, sir, they are often witness to bits of intelligence unavailable elsewhere.”

  The Star-Admiral grunted. “As you can see, First-Captain, I am un­prepared for visitors.”

  “She is a Looorm, sir. No protocol is required.”

  Kinnnus Morcha sighed and nodded. Julll vanished, reappearing a moment later with Dalma. She stood demurely, hands clasped loosely against the folds of her deep red robes. The regent’s color. Kinnnus

  Morcha was momentarily reminded of the former regent’s Kundalan Looorm, whom he hated beyond all reason. Unlike Wennn Stogggul, the Star-Admiral had once admired Eleusis Ashera, believing him to be a good regent who had allowed himself to be compromised by the Kundalan sorceress. He could not in all good conscience stand idly by and allow the regent to be corrupted.

  “Thank you for seeing me, Star-Admiral.”

  “It is very late,” he said irritably. “Please state the nature of your business.”

  When she hesitated, Kinnnus Morcha signed to Julll, who promptly left the room.

  Silence enveloped them. Dalma put on her sexiest pout. “Won’t you even offer me a drink?”

  Kinnnus Morcha grunted. “You are the regent’s Looorm. How could I refuse you anything?” «

  She smiled. “Must you look so cross about it?

  He went to a folding camp table and poured two glasses of fire-grade numaaadis. Handing her one, he lifted his glass in toast. “To the regent,” he said.

  She touched the rim of her glass to his, the resulting sound like hail upon a metal shell. “It is about the regent that I have come,” she said. There was a brief pause while they sipped the strong liquor. “Would you mind if I sat down?”

  “As you wish,” he said, perching himself on the end of the bed.

  “I enjoyed our little conversation at dinner this evening.” When she sat in the simple folding chair, her robes parted slightly. It appeared to Kinnnus Morcha that she was naked underneath. Her oiled skin shone in the fusion-lamp light.

  “I cannot imagine that the mind of a Khagggun would be of interest to you.”

  She rose abruptly, tossing off her drink. “I will tell you what is of no interest to me. That cor of a V’ornn!”

  Kinnnus Morcha watched her with enigmatic eyes.

  Dalma smiled sweetly at him and went to pour herself another drink. As she bent, he received like an unexpected gift a full view of her unbound breasts. “Do you know how badly he treats me? I am a virtual prisoner in the regent’s palace. He castigates me if I even leave the private quarters. He treats me like dirt. He has… strange habits in the bedroom.” She took a sip of the numaaadis. “I have come to despise him.”

  The Star-Admiral, watching her carefully, shrugged. “Why tell me, my dear? It is the regent you need to communicate with.”

  She tossed off the second glass of liquor. Then she came and sat on his lap. As she straddled him, her robes fell open, revealing creamy thighs. “He’s hurt me.” Her hands lay flat on his bare chest. “I want to get back at him.” They began to move in slow, deliberate circles. “I want to hurt him as much as he has hurt me.” She leaned in, her tongue running around his lower Up. “That is why I have come. Advise me how to do that.”

  His arms, browned, scarred, muscled, drew her to him. His tender parts rose to meet hers. Their hips locked as their tongues met. For a long time, they rocked together, intermittently shuddering like ice mov­ing in spring. The night air, scented by the ammonwood, gentled them in a caress. The small sounds of their lovemaking filled the tent, quick­ening, signaling the end was near. It came for her, but he held back, letting her pleasure build again, spill out again until she was like a spring, now taut with quick tension, now released, over and over until at last her wet gasping sent him hurtling over the edge.

  Spent, they crawled over each other into the bed and the night closed around them. Sounds of the insects entered the open window, mingling with the soughing of their breath. Her body glimmered with oils and sweat, reminding him like a ghost of stealthy and treacherous campaigns past. None, however, was as treacherous as this one.

  “I thought I ordered you never to come here,” he said at length.

  “I had no choice, darling. It was the regent’s idea.”

  He stirred. “You’re joking.”

  “It’s true.” She made a sound, muffled by her hand, and he knew she was giggling. “He wants me to gather up all your dirty little secrets and deliver them back to him.”

  The Star-Admiral sat up. Then, abruptly, he threw back his head and began to laugh. He laughed until his chest hurt and his eyes watered. He laughed, and Dalma joined him. “Oh, this is rich,” he finally man­aged to gasp. “This is too much.”

  “The Kundalan sorceress works quickly. Already she is leading Sto­gggul around by his tender parts. She is daily making him weaker and more predictable.” Dalma looked up at Kinnnus Morcha, her dark eyes shining. “Please remind me, darling, which one of you I am spying for.”

  The Star-Admiral reared over her, rampant again, “How is this for a reminder?”

  “Oh, yes,” she moaned, clutching at him. “Oh, yes.”

  Malistra began to pour the hot wax. Beneath her, Wennn Stogggul shuddered but made no sound. Very quickly she had learned that he needed to endure pain. It was like an addiction to laaga, something you knew was unhealthy yet could not do without. Enduring pain made him feel worthy, better than his father, better than everyone else. With­out the secret knowledge of his victory over it he could not face the daylight world and win. All this and more she had gleaned with the first sweep of her fingers over his hairless skin, simply by touching the three medial points—the Seat of Dreams over his hearts, the Seat of Truth at the crown of his head, the Seat of Deepest Knowledge at the center of his forehead.

  There was an ecstatic pleasure in this for her, a kind of intimacy denied her in the joining of the flesh. There was a level of cruelty to it she could never find in mundane activities. The stealing of another’s secret self had been taught to her many years age, by direct example, in an act so profound its mark disfigured her soul as a war wound deforms a warrior’s face, transforming it into something other, some­thing both unknown and unknowable. What bleak landscape now oc­cupied the core of her only one being could say, and he never delivered up secrets, only gathered more like a miser hoards his wealth.

  Malistra’s mother never married. She liked to tell stories of Malistra’s father’s midnight visit—was he a thief, a would-be murderer?—when he appeared as if out of thin air. Of course he must have been a thief of sorts; he had successfully picked the lock of their back door or else had gained entrance by defeating a locked window. Whether Malistra’s mother had been afraid of the outside world or been in love with locks was irrelevant. Whatever the truth of it, the house was sealed day and night like a tomb or an armory.

 

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