I Dare (5 page)

"These devices are all in discord!" cried the turtle named Sheather. "They interfere with the truesong of my sister's self. We hear that our brother is more grievously damaged still. I fear—in my heart, I fear—that the machine which imprisons him, helpless and unable to communicate his own needs, may also slay him."

Shan frowned. "And yet our sister has come successfully out of a similar machine, healed of her injuries and only needing to regain her strength. Many—" What had Val Con said the Clutch called the family of humankind—aha! "Many of the Clans of Men do exactly that, every Standard Year. It is how we heal ourselves of physical wounds."

"Yet, as my younger brother will have it, we hear discord emanate from yon devices and know too well the damage that may be done. Our sister is surrounded by those things which leach her strength, and make her path to full vibrancy into a perilous journey, uncertain of a happy outcome." Edger blinked his eyes solemnly. "Our sister tells us that you are one who may see into the fabric of others, and who may reweave somewhat that which has become unwoven."

"I am a Healer," Shan said slowly. "But I have no skill in mending physical hurts—only common first aid, which this med tech will trump, without a single machine to aid her."

"It is your skill in seeing that we would harness, for the lives of our sister and our brother," said Sheather. "We have already observed the skill with which you silenced the medical technician and soothed her anger before she became a danger to herself."

He had
what
? Shan looked over to the med tech, sitting peacefully in her chair. Carefully, he extended his regard and brushed her pattern, encountering an overlay of cool patience, beneath which the rest of the woman's . . . essence . . . appeared to slumber.

Oh, gods
, he thought in consternation.
Shan, you idiot, what have you done?

"I will have to confess," he said, looking up into Sheather's enormous eyes, "that I am not entirely certain that . . . whatever . . . I've done to this person has been in her . . . best care."

Edger turned his massive head and—sang, one high, whispery note that was gone before Shan could quite—

"She takes no harm. She reposes in calmness and heals herself of her distress. It is well done," Edger stated.

"They said," Miri rasped from the bed, "that they could do a demo, like, and let you decide if what they thought was best would kill us or not."

He looked at her. "
I'm
to decide? How delightful for me! Val Con did mention to you that I'm his heir, didn't he? This is the perfect opportunity for me to murder you both and grasp Korval for myself."

"Sure it is," Miri said, agreeably. "Look, whyn't you turn off the monitors for a couple minutes while the tech's having her nap, and let Edger sing you a couple bars, OK?"

"My sister's plan has merit," Sheather said.

Miri turned her head on the pillow and addressed Alys, her voice almost steady in the mode between kin. "Cousin, you are wanted elsewhere. What we undertake now is Korval's affair, and nothing that should trouble the sleep of one who belongs to Erob."

For a moment it seemed that Alys would protest, then she bowed, as kin, to the woman in the bed—"Cousin Miri"—and as housechild to the turtles and Shan alike—"Wisdoms. Lord yos'Galan."—before walking away, with chilly dignity, and letting herself out into the hall.

Shan met Miri's eyes down the room. "You're certain you want to try this?"

She gave him a lopsided grin. "Hate to break it to you, but I've breathed unfiltered air before and didn't take no lasting harm."

He sighed. "I'll take that as a 'yes'." He moved over to the wall and threw the first switch, then the other five in quick succession. Across the room, the med tech sat, dream-eyed, in her chair.

The last unnatural hum faded from the air and the room filled up with quiet. Sheather filled his lungs, tasting the various scents on the confined air, soothed by the absence of discord. His work at the wall of instruments completed, Shan yos'Galan returned to them, his hair pale as the light of the homeworld's lesser moon; his eyes the color of the substance Men named silver.

"Very well," he said, his voice pleasing in its conservation of power. "I have a subject for a test, if you are willing, sirs."

One's brother blinked down at the man, tasting, Sheather was certain, of his power and his courage. "Say on, Shan yos'Galan."

The white-haired man bent and touched his right knee lightly. "I very foolishly wrenched my knee—it's too trivial a thing for the 'doc, but I will confess that it does irritate one." He straightened and looked from one to the other of them with his sightful silver eyes. "Is this the sort of thing one of you might put right, while I watch?"

One's elder brother signed that he would undertake this minor bit of healing. Thus released, Sheather moved away down the room, to stand by the bedside of his sister, Miri Robertson.

"Understand, this will be a very small thing, in comparison to what we propose on behalf of our brother and sister," Edger said.

"I understand perfectly, sir. What we wish to prove here is the concept. If my leg shatters under your care, it is an inconvenience, quickly put right by some time in the 'doc, and we have our answer without risk to either our brother or our sister, both of whom are as precious to me as I know they are to you." He paused and tipped his head. "I hope you won't be offended by my screams, if it should happen to occur that my leg does shatter."

"I believe you will not find it necessary to scream, Shan yos'Galan," Edger said solemnly. "I ask you now to open your eyes and hold yourself to silence."

Shan yos'Galan straightened and closed his outer eyes. Sheather heard the song of his power intensify even as Edger opened his mouth and sang the two notes required.

SHAN COMPOSED himself and dropped his inner shields, watching with Healer's eyes.

At this exposure, the turtles stood revealed as systems of all but intolerable complexity, informed by a method entirely outside of his understanding, stretching far beyond his ability to read, yet tantalizingly familiar, as if . . .

All at once he had it: Himself, just home from Healer Hall and quite vain of his new-trained powers, striding up to Korval's Tree, the redoubtable Jelaza Kazone, and flinging his shields down like a dare.

Immediately, he had been swept into a long, slow, greenness that spiraled on—forever, or so it seemed to his shortsighted eyes. Every turn of the spiral was unique, rich with nuance and surprise. Ensorcelled, Shan hung, and watched, and was delighted—until Val Con knocked him into the sodden grass, and lay across his chest, shouting in his ear that it was " . . . 
raining
, and our mother has been looking for you
every
where!"

Val Con
.

Shan took another breath, deliberately imposing calm, sternly refusing the impulse to enclose himself in puny protections. This was for Val Con's life; he dared not make an error—of any kind. His knee ached, a little; Healer eyes saw the irritation as an angry red glow. He allowed the minor pain to remain within his consciousness.

Faintly, a note sounded. He heard it as the warm wash of rain against his naked skin; saw it as a bell tone, attenuating . . . The first note was joined, complimented, enlarged, by a second, inspiring the gentle shower to rain in earnest as the tone coalesced into a ball that grew dense, denser, dense to the point of implosion . . .

The music was ended. His knee was pain-free. A quick scan showed an entire absence of the angry glow of injury that had surrounded it.

Shan opened his eyes.

"Well?" Miri rasped.

He turned to look at her.

"Perfectly well," he said, and took a harder breath, deliberately strengthening his hold on the physical world. Slowly, he brought his protections up; and found himself saddened to lose sight of the turtles' vast incomprehensiveness.

If they can heal Val Con of the effects of the poison. If he can walk. If he can fly . . . 
he thought exuberantly; and then, more soberly.
If it fails, we may lose both.

He stepped to the bed and bent down to take Miri's thin, cold hand between two of his.

"I give you the judgment of your thodelm, Korval," he said, in the mode used when addressing one's delm.

She blinked. "I ain't Korval."

"The Code teaches us that lifemates are one melant'i in two bodies. Val Con is nadelm—Korval-in-future. You are true lifemates, bound by the soul. My own father died of his lifemate's death-wound. You speak for both of your lives in this—and for Korval entire."

She paused, her eyes losing a little focus, as if she consulted her memory of the Code, which was ridicul—

Her gaze sharpened. "It is," she said, her voice pure and firm in the High Tongue, "as you have said. I decide as Korval in this, for the good of Korval. Let Thodelm yos'Galan render his judgment."

"I believe it to be—the best gamble for the clan, to allow these your brothers to attempt their peculiar form of healing. I say
gamble
. I have heard the judgment of the medical technicians; in best case, my brother will emerge from the 'doc able to care for himself, to speak, to reason, and to walk, for some limited distances. Your brothers offer a potential for a greater win—and a greater loss.

"I may not convey what I have seen, just now. However, as a Healer, I approve both the method and the results." He paused, then added in Terran.

"It could work."

She was utterly still for a moment, limp and white-faced against the pillows, then nodded.

"That's a go, then," she said in Terran.

Shan released her hand and straightened. "As Korval wishes."

"It is therefore decided," Edger proclaimed, and fixed Sheather in his eye. "This my brother will remain and sing our sister into harmony. Shan yos'Galan and I will make haste to the side of our brother and discover us the song we must craft for his whole good health."

"Sounds like a plan," Miri said, and gave Shan another of her ragged, heart-stopping grins. "Take the med tech with you, and drop her someplace to sleep it off, OK? I don't want her waking up halfway through the proceedings and getting her nose outta joint all over again."

COMMANDER OF AGENTS closed the file and leaned back in his chair.

He was not one to indulge optimism out of season; however, he allowed the plans lain for Clan Korval's confoundment to be . . . adequate.

Of necessity, the plans of action were several, for Korval presented several fronts to the offense.

There was, first, the on-going effort to recover Val Con yos'Phelium, rogue agent and Korval's delm-to-be. A breakthrough had been made on this front, in the form of a gene-match program run against the supposed "Terran mercenary," Miri Robertson. The odds that yos'Phelium was on Lytaxin, sheltering with Korval's oldest ally, Clan Erob, now approached certainty. Recent reports of Yxtrang activity near or on the planet, followed by a rumor of hurried retreat, and other rumors of a strangely behaving vessel seemingly carved from rock—these reports only added weight to the prediction of the odds.

So, a team of four full Agents of Change had been dispatched to Lytaxin, to recover Val Con yos'Phelium—alive. Alive, he yet had value to the Department he had betrayed. Alive, he would serve as both bait and bridle to the remainder of Korval, for surely his kin would do nothing to endanger the life of the one who would be delm? Surely, they would do all they were bidden, in trade for a guarantee of his safe return?

Commander of Agents was prepared to guarantee Val Con yos'Phelium's safe delivery back into the midst of his kin. Val Con yos'Phelium, after all, had been an Agent of Change, fully trained by the Department. And those who had once been trained could be retrained.

The second object of the Department's attention was Anthora yos'Galan, the sole member of Clan Korval remaining upon Liad. She had prudently withdrawn from yos'Galan's Line House, Trealla Fantrol, and established herself at Jelaza Kazone, Korval's ancient stronghold.

It was . . . daunting . . . that the masters of the dramliz, despite repeated testings, had failed to measure the limits of Anthora yos'Galan's abilities. According to one confidential guild report, she was not merely the best of the current depleted population of wizards, but the most puissant dramliza to manifest since Rool Tiazan's death, forty years after Cantra yos'Phelium brought her passengers safe to the planet they would name Liad.

Wizardly power, however, is but a matter of degree. The results of research done some years earlier and set aside for lack of relevance suddenly proved illuminating. It had been found then that certain modifications to a standard stasis box produced interesting reactions in a dramliza confined therein, not the least of which was an effective neutralization of wizardly abilities. Commander of Agents had ordered such a box constructed, and rendered mobile. It was even now in the final stages of testing. When it was completed, Anthora yos'Galan would give up her residence at Jelaza Kazone, from which base she might provide unknown, and potentially disastrous, assistance to her scattered kin, and live at the pleasure of the Department.

It was possible that Korval's wizard had value to the clan, though the clan left her alone and unguarded upon Liad while the rest fled to safety—somewhere. The Commander accepted that Anthora, too, might hold value as a hostage. It might be—should Val Con yos'Phelium not survive his recapture—that his half-Terran foster-sister would fulfill the roles intended for him, even to the ultimate destruction of the clan. Commander of Agents allowed himself some flexibility on this point of planning, pending clarity from the team sent to recover yos'Phelium.

Commander of Agents allowed himself a small smile before he pushed back from the desk and rose. Strike at the heart—once, twice, thrice—and Korval
would
fall.

It was well.