By Honor Betray'd: Mageworlds #3 (45 page)

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Authors: Debra Doyle,James D. Macdonald

BOOK: By Honor Betray'd: Mageworlds #3
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“He gave the order,” Perada said. “He laid the track. He set hired assassins on you and on your sister, so that the Mages would be blamed.”
“Then he’s mine.”
With that, Ari walked into the fight.
Beka watched him go, her useless blaster still gripped tightly in her hand. “It’s no good,” she said, half to herself and half to Perada. “Ari’s just going to get himself killed.”
Perada laid a hand on Beka’s wrist. “No,” she said. “Errec has always been one to hide away his wounds, from friend and enemy alike. He was hurt when he came here, and now he lacks the strength to hold the citadel together around us. All he can do is keep up an illusion of soundness. That, and fight.”
“And hope for a fair duel,” said Beka. Her lips curled back in a silent snarl. “He doesn’t deserve one.”
“Perhaps; perhaps not,” said the Domina. “But the choice isn’t his any longer.”
Beka turned her attention back to the fight. Ari had stepped into the midst of it, ignoring the random strokes that came his way, and Owen had seen him. Beka, watching them, was sure of it—she saw Owen’s gaze shift away from Ransome for an instant, and focus on his brother.
Then Owen turned his attention back to Ransome, and began a flurry of fast, light attacks to the older Adept’s head—strikes not meant to hurt or slow him, Beka realized, but to distract him from the other man who was approaching from behind. Owen wasn’t even defending himself, even though more than one of Ransome’s blows fell solidly against his body. He didn’t stop weaving his elaborate web of feints and distractions until his brother had come within arm’s reach.
Owen faltered, leaving himself open. Ransome lifted up his staff for the killing stroke. And Ari seized the onetime Master of the Adept’s Guild from behind, lifted him, and slammed him down across his knee. Ransome’s spine broke with a loud crack.
“Hunters kill their own prey,” Ari said, dropping the broken body into. the fog-smoke. “Murderers hire others to do their killing for them.”
The howling in the air faded and died. Only the chilling fog remained.
“Now what?” Beka asked, holstering her blaster. “Ari, Owen—are you hurt?”
“Maybe,” said Ari. “Nothing serious.” He turned to his brother, and his brother’s former apprentice. “Owen—Mistress Santreny—take us home.”
“Hold back,” Beka said, and snatched out her blaster again. Another form was rising from the mist—Errec Ransome, but not as she had ever seen him.
This Ransome was younger, and fanatic hatred had not yet cast its shadow over his face. He ignored all of them, except for the Domina. To her, he held out a hand.
“Perada?” The voice was younger too, with a note of confusion in it. “What are you doing in this place? You should be home, and safe.”
The Domina ignored his outstretched hand. “
Now
believe in ghosts, Errec Ransome. You died before your time, and didn’t have the grace to know it.”
The young Errec lowered his hand and looked ashamed. “Have I wronged you, Perada? What can I do to make it right?”
“You have wronged me grievously, Errec,” the Domina said. “Give me your name and reputation. This bloodstained disaster of a war needs a villain, if I’m going to have a chance at peacemaking afterward—and I will make that villain you.”
Ransome bowed his head. “If I have wronged you, that is only just. Take my name and reputation; use them as you will.”
“I already have them,” Perada said. “Now you are a wanderer. Go repair what you can. I give you leave.”
The Domina of Entibor turned her back on Errec Ransome and faced her children. “Let’s go home.”
 
“Mistress,” said Mid-Commander Taleion, “you have your duties to attend to.”
“Yes, of course,” Llannat said. Her body ached, and her spirit was numb with fatigue, but the Eraasian stood waiting, patiently, for her to take the fealty that he offered. She groped in her mind for the proper orders. “Please have the people here seen to. Heal those who are wounded. Treat them as your honored guests—as you would treat me.”
“Yes, Mistress,” Taleion said. “Come now to the control area. We have been hit by missiles and boarded by Adept-world troops. You are needed.”
Llannat allowed herself to be drawn away, up through
Warhammer
and deep into
Sword-of-the-Dawn
. She went up to the
Sword
’s fighting bridge, with Mid-Commander Taleion beside her, and sat in the Grand Admiral’s command chair. None of the brown-uniformed officers protested, or even appeared surprised. She wondered if they had been expecting something like this—a duel for mastery, and the changes it might bring—ever since
Night’s-Beautiful-Daughter
had brought a strange Magelord to join them.
“Your Circle is gathered,” Taleion said. “Command us.”
Llannat took a deep breath.
I’m a medic. What in heaven’s name am I doing here?
But the Second of her Circle was waiting, and sus-Airaalin’s last command lay heavy upon her. She drew upon what knowledge she had, and spoke. “How stands the battle?”
“At the cusp of victory,” said Taleion. “Or of defeat.”
“You said that we had been boarded?”
“Yes.”
“Have you captured any of the boarding parties?”
“Some have been overpowered. The rest fight on.”
“Then bring the prisoners to me.”
“There were only a few,” Taleion protested, “and fewer of those unwounded. Are you sure?”
Llannat caught her Second’s gaze, and held it with her own. “Do you intend to question my orders, or to obey?”
“I obey,” the mid-commander said, and departed.
Llannat looked at the colored glyphs on the viewscreens around her. She could see the silver cords that surrounded her. They were straight, and overlaid in a pleasing pattern that while itself unmoving, nevertheless suggested movement. She turned her attention to it.
“Mistress, the prisoners.”
Llannat looked at the scene in front of her, with the cords still in her peripheral vision. The cords overlaid the young man in partial blast armor, bleeding heavily from a cut across his forehead. One of his eyes was swollen shut. She recognized his collar insignia—a Republic colonel.
“What is your name?” she asked.
“Natanel Tyche, Colonel, Space Force Planetary Infantry,” he responded. “Who the hell are you?”
That was the question. And she knew the answer, fully and completely. “I am the commander of the Mageworlds warfleet, and the First of all the Circles.”
The pattern was finished, perfect, and the power of the universe flowed through it without break or disturbance.
“I am the First of all the Circles,” she repeated. “Now we stand at the Unification of the Galaxy, as was foretold.”
Beka felt the shock of passage take her as Owen brought them out of the Void—
Exactly like making a hyperspace jump without benefit of engines
, she thought dizzily;
I think I’ll pass on doing it again any time soon
—and they were back inside the familiar, comfortable starkness of
Warhammer
’s number-one cargo hold.
Nyls Jessan was there, bless him, catching her as she stumbled and letting her lean against his shoulder until her shaking stopped. She didn’t see what the others were doing and she didn’t care; it felt too good to be touching someone warm and real for a change.
Finally, she looked up. “At least
that
’s over,” she said.
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” said another voice.
Councillor Tarveet stood in the shadows of the bay—newly shaven, freshly dressed in what Beka recognized as yet another of Jessan’s better robes, with a blaster from
Warhammer
’s weapons locker in his hand.
Beka pulled away from Jessan. “Who the hell let you go?”
Tarveet gestured idly with his blaster. “Our mutual friend General Ochemet was so kind as to shoot open the locked door. His final folly, I’m afraid. Stand over there with the rest, if you please.”
“You slimy, slug-eating bastard,” Beka said. “You’re only alive because I didn’t bother to kill you back on Suivi Point. I tell you what—I’ll let you keep on living, and I’ll let you leave.”
“That’s out of your power, my lady,” Tarveet said. “The decision is mine, now. Maybe I won’t tell your secrets; maybe I will. You told me a lot of secrets, on Suivi Point. And I know some other secrets—like yours, Domina Perada. Shall I tell those, too?”
“Do you think you can buy the Mages with your secrets?” Perada asked. “I tell you, they aren’t interested.”
“Maybe not, my lady,” Tarveet said, “but I’m enjoying this. No matter who wins, I’ll be free. And you’ll be dead.”
Beka drew and fired. Faster than she ever had before, with a speed that only Tarnekep Portree might have equaled. Before Tarveet could push his trigger stud.
For a moment, there was silence in number-one cargo hold, except for the scrabbling noise of Tarveet trying to pull his dropped blaster to him. Lying on the deck with his guts shot out, he wasn’t making much progress.
Beka walked over and set her boot on his wrist just as his fingers touched the weapon’s grip.
He looked up at her, his eyes dimmed with pain.
“I’ll tell you a secret if you’ll let me live. You want to know my secret, don’t you?”
“Not particularly,” said Beka, and shot him in the head.
 
RSF
Veratina
drove in toward the gigantic Mage flagship. The other members of General Metadi’s small task force were out of comms—destroyed, or adrift, or too battered even to respond to hailing—and the ’
Tina
herself was damaged. But the Mage flagship had been damaged too, taking missile hits at close range from some unknown ship. Metadi currently felt a vast sense of gratitude toward the commander of the unknown. Thanks to that vessel, the Mage flagship was now vulnerable, with parts of its sensor suite gone and a good portion of its shielding down.
Metadi maneuvered to remain in the flagship’s sensor gaps. Soon he would be in range for a doubled attack: close enough to his target that none of his missiles would go astray; and close enough that he could time the ’
Tina
’s energy guns to hammer a fraction of a second later against the points where the missiles had hit. Missiles and energy guns together would strike inward, destroying the heart of the ship before the Mageworlders’ damage-control system could begin its work.
“Status of the rest of the task force?” Metadi asked.
“No comms with anyone,” said the TAO.
“Net Patrol?”
“Based on what we saw, they were getting shot up pretty badly too.
Karipavo
was hit, went dark and launched lifepods before we lost her.”
“Right. Concentrate on the target.”
“Ten seconds to designated range. Six. Five. Four …”
The sensor tech stiffened abruptly. “Mage ship is dropping all shields!”
“Missiles away.”
“Message coming from Mage, all frequencies, in Galcenian.” The voice of the external comms tech was almost unnaturally calm, as if an excited stammer were only a few syllables away. “They surrender.”
“Check fire!” Metadi half-rose from his command seat. “Check fire!”
“Hi-comms are back up,” reported the sensor tech. “All Mage vessels have shields down, decelerating.”
“Pass to all units, weapons tight, Metadi sends.”
The comms tech looked up again. “Message from Mage vessel, marked Personal For General Metadi.”
“I don’t have any secrets here,” Metadi said. “Put it on the speaker.”
“On the speaker aye.”
The speaker clicked on. “General, this is Colonel Tyche. I’m on board the Mage flagship. The Mages have laid down their arms. I have control here. The Mage commanders want to speak with you.”
Metadi sat back again in his chair. “Put them on.” Quietly, to the TAO, he said, “Keep their vessel covered with guns. This might be a trap.”
Over the speaker came another voice. “Dadda? This is Beka. I found the bastard who ordered Mother killed. Want to go somewhere for a drink? I’ll tell you all about it.”
“
You’re
the Mage commander?”
“No, my sister-in-law is.”
“Sister-in-law? I think I need that drink.”
“I’m buying the first round. Beka out.”
 
TELABRYK: THE SEVEN ORBS
 
B
Y THE time Commodore Jervas Gil could get away from his battered command, the party at the Seven Orbs Tavern had been going on for several days.
The celebration had begun when the first shuttles from General Jos Metadi’s task force hit portside. It gathered strength and continued as elements from all the other fleets in the system began to gather and send down liberty parties. At some point along the way—probably about the time that Jos Metadi conferred with Gyffer’s Citizen-Assembly and declared that Gyffer and the Space Force between them would pick up the tab—the gathering turned into a full-scale free-spacer’s wake and spilled over into a dozen or more taverns, pubs, bars, saloons, and dives.
Now the epicenter of the party at the Seven Orbs was filled with an odd assortment of privateers from Innish-Kyl, Gyfferan LDF officers, Space Force troopers from Suivi, the Net, and Infabede, and free-spacers from everywhere. There were even a few Mageworlders, quiet and courteous in their plain brown uniforms, sampling the local hospitality and looking somewhat incredulous that they should be drinking here at all.
In one of the tavern’s back rooms, a mixed bag of revelers were singing one of the traditional songs, one that Gil had last heard in the
’Pavo’s
detention block, and before that at Beka Rosselin-Metadi’s wake on Galcen:
“Assemble my spaceship around me
And fuel it with beer when you’re done,
I don’t need a life-support system
If only the engines will run.”
 
Of course, the fighting hadn’t come to an instant stop everywhere in the galaxy with the cease-fire over Gyffer. The Mageworlds reserve force under sus-Hasaaden had run into the Space Force’s Ontimi Sector Fleet a few days later, and each had attempted to surrender to the other before all the signals had been read; and the Pleyveran Sector Fleet was still involved in straightening out the civil war between groundside and High Station Pleyver. Nevertheless, the end of the Battle for Gyffer would probably go down in the history texts as the day the Second Magewar officially ended.
“Then strap me again in my cockpit
And toast me in faraway bars.
Just let me fire off into hyper,
I’ll make my own way to the stars.”
 
Gil supposed that he would be telling his hypothetical grandchildren about what everything had been like when peace broke out. He’d found Doctor Inesi syn-Tavaite among the crew of
Warhammer
, looking about her as if she had similar plans for the future and wanted to make certain she had the details properly fixed in her memory. He didn’t blame her; in fact, he’d spent the last hour or so soaking up impressions himself, especially the conversations going on in corners between people who under normal circumstances might never have spoken at all.
There was someone who looked like Perada Rosselin in deep incognito, for example, sharing a carafe of red wine with Mid-Commander Mael Taleion and discussing, with a frankness that would have appalled the diplomats, future relations between the Mageworlds and the Republic:
“Nobody’s going to give anything away officially at first,” Perada had said. “But there will have to be peace negotiations—your fleet is still strong enough that everybody will agree to that.”
“I am not sure that negotiations will satisfy some of our people, my lady. They are bitter, still.”
Perada laughed and poured him some more wine. “As are some of ours, no doubt. Put all the bitter ones on the negotiating teams and send them to Khesat. Wonderful place to hold diplomatic conferences, Khesat. In my grandmother’s day, there was a two-week war in the Wrysten system that took thirty-five years on Khesat to arrive at a settlement. The ambassadors kept breaking off the talks for more study—most of their study, it turned out later, was being done at the pleasure establishments and opera houses.”
Taleion smiled in turn. “I begin to understand, my lady. And if your Space Force doesn’t bother to enforce the ban at the Gap Between while the negotiations are going on—”
“They won’t,” said Perada. “They’ll be too busy putting themselves back together after some major embarrassments. They’ve got Captain Faramon and the other mutinous officers to deal with, for example. Besides, the Net costs money, and the money will have more important places to go for quite a while. As for your Mage-Circles … I think that the new Master of the Adepts’ Guild sees matters differently from the way the old one did. Having the First of all your Circles for a sister-in-law seems to have changed his mind.”
“All will be well, then, I think,” Taleion said. “The blockade in the Gap Between was futile anyway—space is big and ships are small. We were able to move single cargoes through the Gap whenever we wished once we began to have ships. Give us leave to follow our own ways, and to trade openly with your worlds, and the rest will follow. My lord sus-Airaalin would have been content.”
“Then I’ve kept my word to him,” Perada said, “and so am I. Let’s drink to his memory, Mael—after all, this is a night for toasting absent friends.”
They’d drunk the toast in more of the strong red wine; and Gil, observing, had turned his attention to another corner of the room, where Beka Rosselin-Metadi and Nyls Jessan were drinking beer with her brother Ari and Mistress Llannat Hyfid. The young Domina appeared to be teasing her brother about the joys of married life.
“So how are you going to arrange things, big brother, if the Space Force sends you to the back of beyond somewhere and the Mage-Circles call for Llannat on Eraasi or Ninglin? I know that Adepts and Mages are supposed to be good at doing things long distance, but not even they can—”
“Shut up, Bee,” Ari said. His ears were bright red. “We’ll think of something.”
“I already have thought of something,” Llannat said. “I’m leaving the Space Force. Having the First of the Mages be a Space Force officer is an embarrassment to both sides. I’m going home to Maraghai. If the Mage-Circles need me they’ll know how to find me.”
Ari took her hand. “If you put in your papers, I might as well do it too. I’ll talk to Ferrdacorr about setting up a clinic somewhere in the High Ridges—they need medics up there.” He looked at his sister. “What about you, Bee? I can’t exactly see you settling down into dirtside domesticity.”
“Hell, no,” she said. “As soon as the ’
Hammer
’s fixed, Nyls and I are going back to running cargo through what used to be the Net. It ought to be fun—the outplanets are going to be full of pirates and outlaws and menaces to society.”
“You should fit right in,” Ari had said.
Gil had been forced to agree. It was just as well, he thought, that Domina Beka Rosselin-Metadi had already announced her intention to dissolve the government of Entibor-in-Exile and let the royal title lapse into oblivion. Perada Rosselin had concurred—there were a number of advantages, or so she claimed, to being officially dead, and she planned to enjoy all of them for some time to come.
Now, with Inesi syn-Tavaite on his arm, Gil made his way through the crush to the back of the pub, where the General was holding forth. Perada, her private talk with Mael Taleion safely concluded, was occupying the seat next to him, and looking smug about it.
“What are my plans for the future?” the General asked rhetorically. He had an interested audience of Space Force officers and merchant-captains, all of them pretending they didn’t recognize the blonde, blue-eyed woman beside him. “I’m going to retire from the Space Force and spend my free time touring the galaxy and checking up on old friends.” He caught Gil’s eye. “And
you
, Commodore, are as far as I can tell the senior surviving officer in the late fiasco. If you aren’t the senior survivor now, you will be by the time I’m done. You’re going to take over my job.”
Gil shook his head. “Oh, no, General. Not until I’ve used up my accumulated leave. I promised Inesi—Doctor syn-Tavaite, I mean—that I’d take her back home to Eraasi after the war was over, and I intend to keep my promise.”
“Do it,” said Metadi. “You can relieve me when you get back. Rosel’s tour of duty isn’t up for another year and a half, so she can show you the ropes.”
Gil was beginning to feel trapped. “But didn’t you get my message, sir? Commander Quetaya is dead—your aide is a Magebuilt replicant.”
The General shook his head. “The Mages tried, but I’m afraid they missed.”
“Sir?”
“The last time I saw that replicant, I’d just stuffed her into a garbage hopper at Galcen Prime.” Metadi looked regretful. “She’d been well briefed, but not quite well enough, so I managed to get her before she could remove the original and take her place.
“I was right about the replicant,” the General continued, “but wrong about who was responsible. I thought it was the start of a coup by a faction inside the Space Force—I knew there was something funny going on there; I just didn’t know what. And I knew that if there was one replicant there might be others, so I decided to keep quiet and take care of the problem myself.”
“It worked out,” Gil said, “and it put you in position to deal with Vallant.”
“No,
you
dealt with Vallant—not to mention the Mage flagship.”
“It was pure luck that got my missiles through to
Sword-of-the-Dawn
,” Gil protested. “That’s all.”
“You had luck when you needed it. Those missiles hit at exactly the right time and the right place—and believe me, Commodore, I’m grateful.”
“So am I,” said Perada. “So am I.”
“Under the circumstances,” said Gil, “I suppose I should be grateful too.” He turned to syn-Tavaite. “The evening is growing late. I think it’s time for us to get back.”
*Wait just a minute, Baronet!*
It was Merrolakk the Selvaur, resplendent in a celebratory coat of gold and silver body-paint.
“Ah, yes, Captain?” Gil said. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Metadi watching him with amusement. “You have a problem?”
*They say you’re going to take her—* Merrolakk nodded at syn-Tavaite. *—back home to Eraasi.*
“Well, yes,” said Gil. “I did promise, after all.”
*You made me a promise too,* Merro said. *When I turned her over, you said that if she had any ransom value, it was mine.*
“Yes. And?”
*Seven ships, Commodore. You traded her for seven ships. So the way I figure it, that’s what she’s worth. Pay up.*
Gil drew a deep breath. “I won’t deny that Inesi syn-Tavaite is worth the ransom under discussion—”
*Damned good thing, too.*
“—but I will point out that I don’t
have
the price of seven ships at the moment.”
Merro grunted. *Not my problem. If you can’t pay, I’ll take my prisoner back.*
“Like hell you will,” said Gil. “I’ll just give you the ships, instead.” He reached into his uniform pocket and pulled out a notepad and stylus.
Merro hooted at him with Selvauran laughter. *You’re a pleasure to deal with, for a thin-skin.*
“There,” said Gil, handing over the slip of flimsy. “Orders assigning seven vessels from the Net Patrol Fleet to you for administrative and tactical control. My aide will see to the details. Done?”
*Done,* said the Selvaur, and preferred a green-scaled hand.
They shook hands on the deal. Then, with a sigh of relief, Gil was finally able to start making his way back through the crowded pub toward the door. Beside him, Inesi syn-Tavaite was looking worried.
“Will you get in trouble for giving ships away like that?” she asked. “They belong to the Republic, don’t they?”
“They used to,” he said. “With the Net being dismantled they wouldn’t have a lot to do, anyway. But that isn’t my problem. I’m taking you home before I do anything else. If the Space Force is angry with me for giving away those ships, they can cashier me. If I’m lucky, some job for a penniless baronet is bound to turn up.”
“My people say, ‘Luck belongs to the people who make it,’” syn-Tavaite said.
“I’m planning to make myself quite a lot of it,” Gil said. He offered her his arm. “Starting now, I think. My lady, will you do me the honor of traveling aboard my flagship?”
syn-Tavaite took his arm and smiled. “With pleasure, my lord baronet.”

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