Into Tolari Space (Tales of Tolari Space) (7 page)

Four humans made up the delegation: a gray-haired, stocky man accompanied by a younger woman, and two men who moved like guards, dressed alike and carrying what appeared to be weapons.
Distance weapons
, he thought. He hoped the Monral had thought to disable them. Such weapons might be primitive, but they were profoundly dangerous.

The human guards stayed near the doorway, while the stocky man continued toward the dais with the woman on his arm. They were exotically dressed and reeking faintly of the strange chemical scent
he’d detected in the guest quarters. His eyes began to water. He blinked away the involuntary tearing and focused on them. When they reached the foot of the dais, the male lowered himself to the mats to sit on one hip, like a gravid woman. Kazryn’s mouth twitched. The female, in contrast, sat perfectly on her heels. Both waited politely for the Monral to speak.

Sparks of amusement ran through the Monral as he kept them waiting. Kazryn compressed his lips. It was rude to treat guests in such a manner. The male human appeared to be a trained diplomat, waiting patiently,
though he was in some discomfort. The woman was hiding something. She was dangerous, that one, he decided. He extended a delicate probe into her. She had more real power than her companion, but she was letting him think he was in charge. Very dangerous, Kazryn amended. And sense-blind. She had failed to notice his probe.

The Monral finally spoke. “Welcome,” he said.

Kazryn’s eyes narrowed. That word was the same in Monrali and Suralian.

“You honor me, high one,” the graying man replied in
good Suralian.

Kazryn’s eyebrows shot up. The man didn’t speak Monrali, but he did speak Suralian. He waited for the Monral’s response.

The Monral, clearly enjoying the opportunity to make the human diplomat uncomfortable, merely stared at the man for a time. Finally, he broke the silence. With Suralian. Kazryn smiled grimly.

“Have you consulted your government?” the Monral asked.

“I have, high one,” the human replied. “It isn’t clear to Central Command what you want from us.”

The Monral smiled slowly. “I
will only accept—”

Enough was enough. Kazryn interrupted by bursting into view, drawing on more than a century of authority and his impressive height to make himself as imposing as possible. He was finally back in Suralian blue, in a robe with the extensive white embroidery of the planetary ruler, confronting the Monral. He felt his identity as a farm laborer drop away. He was the Sural again.

The humans startled. The woman uttered a small, involuntary cry, and the human guards raised their weapons in alarm. Even the Monral jerked a little, and every guard in the room flickered into view, focused and ready to attack. The Monral locked eyes with him, then signaled his guards to stand down. The human barked an order in what must have been his own language. The two human guards slowly lowered their weapons.

He broke into an affable smile. “How kind of you to offer my guests the hospitality of your stronghold, Monralar,” he said in a pleasant voice.

“How did you –” The Monral stopped himself, his eyes narrowing. Then his face lit with recognition, and the Sural knew he’d put the pieces together. The Monral stood and bowed, rigid with anger. “Monralar greets you, Suralia. I present to you Ambassador Smithton Russell of Earth and his bond-partner, Adeline.”

The humans stood as the Monral introduced them. The Sural offered them a slight bow. “Welcome to Tolar,” he said.

“High one, I don’t understand,” the Ambassador said to the Monral.

The Monral smiled and opened his mouth to speak, but the Sural silenced him with a gesture.

“I am the Sural,” he said, “leader of the ruling caste and ruler of Tolar.”

Ambassador Russell looked from the Monral to the Sural and back, an expression of comprehension dawning on his face. He smiled winningly and bowed. “Earth is honored to meet you, high one,” he said.

The Sural studied the humans. Then the Monral, in what seemed to be an effort to salvage the situation for himself, muttered a few words in the human’s language. The Sural locked eyes again with the rogue ruler.
You play a dangerous game, Monralar
, he thought. The air crackled, and even the human in front of him seemed to feel it, sense-blind though he was.

“He merely offers some friendly advice,” the Ambassador said.

He turned his attention back to the male human, more impressed by the tone of voice he’d used than the statement itself, which was a glowing lie. “Monralar is known for hospitality,” he said, choosing to counter the lie with a well-known aphorism.

The Monral muttered another unintelligible phrase. The Sural snapped a gesture. “Leave us,” he commanded in Monrali. “Take your advisors with you. Wait in the corridor for me.”

The Monral gave a curt nod and bowed, his lips a thin line as he stalked from the room. His advisors followed, bowing as they passed.

The humans swiveled to watch him leave. The woman uttered some words, then joined her bond-partner, tucking her hand under his arm.

“I do not understand your language, Ambassador,” the Sural said.

“Adeline says
the Monral hates you,” the Ambassador translated.

He raised an eyebrow, considering the woman again. Even sense-blind as she was, the woman was a keen observer. “The Monral has never been a friend of Suralia,” he commented in a neutral voice.

“Are you safe here? We can transport you to your home province, if you like.”

He waved a hand dismissively. “They cannot harm me here, and I must attend to unfinished business in this province,” he told them. “If you wish to have a discussion with one who has the authority to speak for Tolar, you must come to my stronghold in Suralia in three tens of days. We will talk then.”

“Where is Suralia?” the Ambassador asked.

“Servant,” he called. “Bring a map of Tolar.”

A servant brought a beautifully bound book containing a complete atlas of the planet. He showed the Ambassador the location of his stronghold and where Suralia was in relation to Monralar.

“My stronghold lies on a plateau above the city,” he added. “The city lies on the coast. Both are easily located. There is a field the shape of a waning moon halfway down the cliff below the stronghold. You may land your vessel there.”

The Ambassador beamed a smile. “Until we meet again, high one,” he said, bowing. His bond-partner bowed with him.

He watched them leave, satisfied until he sensed guards creeping toward him. “Do you truly wish to walk into the dark?” he warned in Monrali. “The Monral has not dishonored himself – yet.”

The guards stopped. Shaking his head, he headed out into the corridor to confront the simmering Monral. His furious enemy stopped pacing and impaled him with his eyes.

“Show me how you concealed your activity from the rest of the ruling caste,” the Sural ordered.

* * *

He headed up the road toward Jeryth’s farm at dawn, tolerably satisfied the Monral would cause no further trouble. The planetary sensor net was online and no longer being routed through Monralar’s subst
ations. The human ship in orbit was now visible to the rest of Tolar.

The future had become more complicated due to the Monral’s scheming. His old enemy had succeeded in one of his usual goals: the Sural was irritated. He’d taken care not to let the Monral know it.

Sounds of the morning meal greeted his ears as he let himself into Jeryth’s house. Quietly, he went to the eating area of the kitchen and stood in the doorway until they noticed him. When they did, the silence was profound, as the five laborers, the cook and the kitchen servant all stared at him with wide-eyed shock. Jeryth’s shock was mixed with feelings of betrayal. All recognized what his robe meant. Suddenly, they all stood and bowed low, murmuring.

“I knew it! I knew it!” Jeryneth’s pelted into the room and threw her arms around his legs. “You
are
a ruler! You
are
!”

He scooped her up into a big hug. “Yes, Jery,” he said. “You were right.” He fixed her with a look. “Forgive me for making you doubt yourself. You must never doubt your ability again. You have a
special gift.”

She
gave him a happy smile and rubbed her forehead on his cheek. “Are you staying? Are you going to be our ruler now?”

He shook his head. “I am the Sural. I must return to my own people. You will still be ruled by your Monral.”

“When he comes to my school, he’s nice,” she said.

He gave her a fond smile and a squeeze before setting her back down. “Jeryth,” he said.

“Yes, high one?” she answered, bowing low without looking at him.

“When I met you on the road, I
was a farm laborer and nothing more. It was no lie or deception. The Jorann made me so, to accomplish the goal she set for me.”

Surprise flashed through her and made her finally look up to meet his eyes. “The Jorann?”

“The Jorann can strip even the Sural of his rank and title, if she wishes.”

“Aye, so she can,” Jeryth said, looking a little happier. “She must have set you to teach our Monral a little humility, so I say. You rulers can get some high and mighty, now and again.”

Sounds of agreement came from the men. The Sural laughed. “Even so,” he said, sobering. “Jeryth, if you ever need anything—”

“Nay,” she interrupted. “I want for nothing. And there are none in Monralar as would let me nor mine go hungry or dirty.”

“Yes,” he said. “You are a warm and generous people.” He bowed low to them all. “You have honored me with your friendship and your generosity. Each of you will always be welcome in Suralia.”

He turned to leave.

“High one?” Jeryth called.

He looked back.

“You have a good eye for the trade,” she said. “There will be a place for you here, should you tire of being the Sural.”

He smiled and nodded as he disappeared out the door.

###

The Marann (Tales of Tolari Space #1)

"A beautifully realized story that proves that politically driven space opera and tender love stories do not have to be mutually exclusive."
Kirkus Reviews

"For anyone who enjoys tightly written, wonderfully imaginative Science Fiction wrapped with romance, this one is a must!"
InDTale Magazine

A story that will appeal to fans of Marion Zimmer Bradley and Zenna Henderson,
The Marann
recounts one woman's experience on a world where everyone can read her emotions.

Marianne Woolsey is a high school Spanish teacher in rural Iowa, when Earth Central Command decides her linguistic talents would be better exercised if she spent 26 years teaching the daughter and heir of an alien ruler on a planet 24 light years from Earth. Now she's alone on a planet of aliens so humanlike that she has to keep telling herself her student's noble father is just her boss.

Handsome – and deadly – the Sural has ruled his province and led his planet far longer than he can admit to his daughter's human tutor. He hides much more from the space-faring races of the Trade Alliance than he is willing to reveal. What he doesn't want Central Command to know, he has to conceal from Marianne, but Marianne is concealing her own secrets from him – and as an empath, he knows it.

The Marann
is a sweet romance. Might not be suitable for young teens.

A portion of the proceeds from
The Marann
goes to support Warming Hearts, a charity dedicated to providing winter firewood to the poorest of Navaho elders.

Christie Meierz was born in Chicago, grew up in Santa Barbara, California, and met her husband at the 1983 WorldCon
(World Science Fiction Convention) in Baltimore, Maryland. She now lives in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania with her husband, her youngest son, her piano, and a very sharp oboe. When she’s not writing, she enjoys knitting, quilting, reading, and trying to keep her menfolk from telling the odious puns they relish so much.

If you enjoyed these Tales of Tolari Space, please leave a review in your own words on
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Safe journeys to you, dear ones.