Resolution (47 page)

Tom nodded. Adam had won his first award for bravery in Dilvin, at the Battle For Kithin Blŵr.

‘Libron called us all “dears”,’ Adam continued, ‘even while he was ranging parashrikes against incoming minemists. Kept us almost laughing, when half our men were dying there.’

Adam had known of Corduven’s proclivities. Did he think that Tom and Corduven were other than just friends?

‘Is there a point to this?’

‘After the war was over, I tried to track Libron down. He was a minor Lord-sans-Demesne, and his family had been apprised of his, er, off-duty wartime activities.’

‘Fate.’

‘Right. They found Libron hanging from a gargoyle. Ilsed his dress-uniform’s lanyard just to make the point.’

There was an edge to Adam’s tone, which made Tom ask: ‘Why are you telling me this?’

‘Permission to speak freely? I hate to see the bravest warrior I know being betrayed by the person who ought to care for her the most.’

Obviously he was referring to Elva. Tom had seen the way that Adam looked at her.

There was nothing Tom could say.

‘I ...’Adam shook his head. ‘I’ve an ordnance inventory to complete. Sorry ... Tom.’

Tom could only nod. His stomach felt sour.

At least someone knows the meaning of loyalty.

‘I’ll see you later, Adam.’

‘Yes, I... Yes, of course.’

Drapes of opulent vermilion furled back as Tom approached the Receiving Court. Servitors bowed deeply. Tom ignored them, walked through the small knot of freeborn supplicants waiting for an audience - they drew apart to either side - and brushed past an ambassadorial entourage.

One of the ambassador’s bodyguards, a hulking housecarl with a black spade beard, appeared about to step in Tom’s way. Then the carl stopped, looked closely, and gave a tiny nod of respectful acknowledgement which had nothing to do with Tom’s noble-house status.

Well met, my brother berserker.

Elva, in her raised throne of quartz and parafur, sat very still. Then she stood up, throwing aside her white surcoat to reveal a plain grey jumpsuit without insignia, and half-ran down the steps to meet Tom.

‘My Lord.’

Tom took hold of her left hand, pressed it against his chest. ‘My Lady.’

Her grey eyes held no accusation, merely love tempered with a hint of caution.

In the official visiting entourage, the ambassador - whose name Tom had forgotten - executed a courtly bow. ‘Perhaps Lady Strelsthorm needs a private meeting at this time.’

At that, a majordomo clapped his hands and announced: ‘The audience will be postponed until tomorr—’

‘For two hours,’ said Elva.

‘—until Sunbloom Hour today. Thank you, my Ladies and my Lords, and good freepersons all.’

There was one freedman near the back who began to mumble; he was quickly hushed by those who surrounded him. Among the others, solemn faces mixed with smiles as they left, staring back at the one-armed Lord who had interrupted their audience.

In three minutes, the chamber contained only Tom and Elva, and a cage full of fluttering blindmoths whose odd fluting music formed a fitting accompaniment to the Corcorigans’ fiery hot kiss.

The universe lurched back into its rightful position.

Later, he said: ‘I spent some time with a strange Lady recently.’

Cradled against him on the quartz throne, Elva tensed.

Expecting betrayal?

Tom swallowed, then: ‘She was all of crystal. Do you know who I’m talking about?’

‘Fate.’ Elva drew back. ‘You met
her?’

‘Yes ... It was some kind of miracle. But if you want to know what we discussed, I can’t tell you. It’s like a ... dream.’

Elva blinked, and Tom knew she was reviewing conversations stored in her perfect memory: remarks her parents might have made when Elva was young; hints her superior officers dropped when she was a Grey Shadows operative.

‘That’s consistent,’ Elva said after a while. ‘Some people have been known to break down after such a meeting. That’s part of the reason why it - she - is considered a myth.’

‘What, or who, is she really?’

‘Shh.’ Elva’s finger pressed against his lips. ‘Only you can determine that.’

She slid her fingertip down his chest and reached his stomach. Something liquid and vulnerable, like a pool disturbed by deep movement, shifted in her eyes.

‘Isn’t it time I met the ambassador?’ murmured Tom.

‘He can wait.’

Lord Khaliran was dark-skinned and very thin, and his clasped fingers were like spiders’ legs as he considered his opening remarks. Aides sat on either side of him, facing Tom and Elva across a conference table formed of diamond.

‘Svadini-ihm-Kaltrin Gestalt,’ he said, using the collective name for four large realms which formed a significant federation, ‘is concerned by the lack of Fire Watch reports around our borders.’

A tactical display hovered near Elva, but she did not need to look at it: the disposition of Enemy forces was in her mind, and she would not forget.

‘Conversely,’ Lord Khaliran continued, ‘we have suspiciously rosy descriptions of life in Realm Tangori and Hilkin Demesne. These are reports which cannot possibly be true.’

Tom gestured, rotating the display. Too many hotspots bloomed around the sector’s edges.

‘In one sense,’ he said, ‘the reports are probably correct. It was one of the signs, when I was in the Aurineate Grand’aume during the occupation. Normal crime dropped to zero. It was the
lack
of disruption, the inability to raise a dissenting voice ... There was just something in the air that told you immediately something wasn’t right.’

Tom’s deputy had been Tyentro, hot-headed and aggressive, but a good man to have beside one in a crisis. Tom wished Tyentro had survived.

‘I fear, Lord Corcorigan, we will be requiring advice on setting up resistance groups very shortly. Any assistance you can give on optimal communication channels and operative training, that sort of thing ... would be very welcome.’

Tom noted the yellowish tinge to Lord Khaliran’s eyes, the sagging skin beneath.

‘How long,’ he asked gently, ‘did it take you to travel here?’

‘Two days. I could not be sure of Fialangin Fault: it’s an easy place to ambush. We took a roundabout route.’

Tom understood the trembling weariness which lurked behind Lord Khaliran’s every gesture. ‘You think your own realm might already have fallen.’

‘Or been infiltrated. How does it start? My daughters ... No matter. A whole sector is at stake. More than that.’

‘They matter,’ said Elva. ‘Everybody matters.’

‘As for how it starts’ - Tom stared into his own dark memories - ‘no-one knows how the Anomaly works. Does a mental influence reach through spacetime, Absorbing victims? Or does the Anomaly first manifest itself, transporting some of its component entities into place?’

Tom’s stomach rambled, and something sour moved inside him.

‘Excuse me.’ He stood up. ‘I’ll be back in just a minute.’

‘My Lord.’

Elva was already opening up a network diagram showing resistance cells and how they might communicate. ‘You’ll notice in this holo that the internode coupling varies according to—’

Tom stepped through the nearest membrane door, and froze.

There’s something odd here.

Guards came to attention.

‘Relax,’ Tom said. ‘Um, can you show me where the ablutions chamber is?’

‘My Lord.’ One of the guards gestured and the opposite wall liquefied. ‘The nobles’ facilities are down the corridor, but... just through there, is where
we
go. If you’re, er, in a hurry—’

Ah. A door there. Right there. That’s right. I remember ...

‘This is fine,’ said Tom. ‘Thanks, my friend.’