Kate Elliott - His conquering sword

"All the same," said David. "So much for the interdiction. Maybe it was a vain hope." Even under the awning, the breeze wafted flakes and fine chunks of charcoal along to land on the carpet. A singed scrap of parchment rolled in on a gust of wind and sank and came to rest against David's boot. Reflexively, he picked it up. "Look at this, Maggie," he said, raising it up for her to see.

It was a page from a book or a manuscript: a gorgeously painted miniature of a hunting scene, lions and gazelles in flight and horsemen in pursuit, their mounts lovingly portrayed; a piebald, two chestnuts, three blacks, and a dappled gray harnessed with gold bridles and saddles. Through the rocks and bushes behind the mounted men trudged servants bearing two fringed litters in which sat veiled women in rich damask robes. Stylized rows of the angular Habakar script bordered the edge of the painting, where they hadn't been burned away.

"We are going to destroy her in the end." As he said it, he felt the truth of the words, and he felt a deep and abiding sadness for what was bound to be lost.

Maggie took the parchment page from him and smoothed it out. "I'll preserve this," she said. "I'd say that the jaran army is already well on its way to destroying Karkand, and the kingdom, too, I suppose, although they did leave Hamrat and some other cities unmolested."

"No," said David softly. "I meant Rhui."

She grunted. "Well, it's too late to have regrets now. Oh, David. It was bound to happen. At least they'll have a running start. And it will take decades to build up the saboteur network. Where is Ursula, anyway?"

"I haven't seen her since yesterday dawn."

"Let her know, if you see her. I'm going to see Cara and give her the details." She strode away.

With the heavy cloud cover and the screen of smoke along the western horizon, afternoon hazed early into twilight. David cleaned himself up as best he could and crawled into his tent. The camp was deserted. He supposed that Cara and Jo were still at the hospital; certainly they had enough to do. Rajiv-well, wasn't Rajiv having an affair with one of the actors? He leaned back on his bedroll and shut his eyes, but instead of peace he saw the beautiful painting, curled black at the edges, smudged by grit. What had Charles said? "And the approaching tide/ Will shortly fill the reasonable shores/That now lie foul and muddy." But who was to say which was more contaminated, the swelling tide or the waiting shoreline?

"David?" Her voice, a whisper.

"Dina!" The next instant, she had ducked inside the tent. Then, checking her movement, she paused and crouched at the entrance. There was no light in here. He saw her only as a dark shadow against the paler wall of canvas. "Dina. What are you doing here?"

"I don't know." But she shifted and sat, blocking the entrance. "I wanted to see you. My uncle says that the Prince of Jeds is dead."

David swallowed. When he spoke, he found that his voice shook. "Yes. Yes, he's dead. Tess is prince now."

"Tess reigns there, Ilya here," Nadine murmured. "How long until they want to unite their princedoms and all the lands that lie between? David, are you leaving, then? You and the others?"

"I-it's all very abrupt. Yes, we'll have to, as soon as we can get to a port, get ship to Jeds."

"Tess, too? Will she leave for Jeds?"

"I don't think so. I don't know-it's all so sudden."

Even within the tent, the smell of soot and fire and smoke permeated everything. Yet he felt her presence just as strongly, not a meter from him, as still and silent as she sat. It was so unlike her to be so subdued.

When she spoke at last, her voice was so quiet he barely heard it. "May I stay, tonight? And on other nights, now and again, until you've gone?"

He wanted to ask about her husband, but he dared not. He wanted to ask, but he didn't want to know, and in any case, weren't jaran women free to take lovers if they wished to? He wanted her to stay. Tonight especially, after the horrible two days he had spent; for the comfort, yes, but for her more than anything, because he cared for her.

No, it was worse than that. He loved her, but he could not admit it, not to her, not to anyone; barely to himself. So wouldn't a clean break be easiest? Wouldn't it be harder, dragging it out like this, however many days or weeks they, spent with the army, with her, until he left for good?

Even as he sat there, torn, she scooted forward. As soon as she touched him, her fingers brushing up his arm to his shoulder and curving around to die base of his neck, to touch, each one separately, his four name braids, he spoke without meaning to.

"Yes."

By the evening of the second day, Diana was relieved and more than relieved when Dr. Hierakis dismissed her from her duties and told her to go back to the Company camp and sleep. Two days and a night of an unremitting stream of casualties had worn her down to a thread.

Gwyn walked with her through camp, his right hand light on her elbow. "This ash is disgusting," he said, just to talk, she suspected, to have a normal conversation after hour upon hour of tending to bloodied and mutilated soldiers. Karkand lit the western horizon, a dull, ugly glow.

"Yes," Diana agreed, playing into the part, "it's terrible."

"Hey! Wait for me!" Hal jogged up behind them, falling in beside Diana.

"Is there anyone else?" Diana asked.

"No," said Hal. "We're the only ones who can stomach it for that long. Why should they anyway, if they don't want to?"

"How can they not?" demanded Diana. "How can they stand and watch when there's something they could be doing?"

"Di." Hal hesitated.

At once, she knew he'd had news of Anatoly. "What is it?"

"No, I just heard, from a rider-"

"Go on."

"Just a rumor. It's probably not true."

"Go on!"

"That Sakhalin led a charge in through the main gates of the city, and his jahar got caught behind the lines and massacred. But you know it's all confused. Half the army is still out in the city."

Gwyn glanced toward the western horizon. "Surely not in the city still."

"I don't know. Goddess, I didn't want to tell you, but I thought you ought to know what people were saying. What the reports were."

"Thank you," said Diana grimly. But it was what she had expected all along. All day she had wailed for this news. She accepted it bleakly, without surprise. Gwyn's hand tightened on her elbow, and a moment later Hal closed in beside her and rested a hand on her back, so that it was as if they two supported her, the grieving widow. It was some comfort.

At camp, Owen and Ginny had called a meeting inside the big tent, although it was mild outside. Only inside the tents were they free from the constant fall of ash. Gwyn and Hal made a little shield around Diana that only Quinn was allowed to penetrate. Quinn sank down beside Diana and draped an arm over Diana's shoulders, and Diana sighed and leaned her head on Quinn's tunic.

Owen was all on fire. He was focused, and pacing.

"We have two important pieces of news," said Ginny, after Yomi had called everyone to order. "Charles Soerensen left Rhui abruptly, by shuttle, last night."

Anahita, sitting in her usual sullen silence, flared to life. "And he didn't offer to take us with him? The selfish bastard."

"Anahita, shut up," said Ginny mildly. "So, the Company line is that he's dead, and that his sister is now prince. Owen and I just spoke with her in her camp. Poor thing. She'd ridden quite a ways, and her just having lost the baby." She frowned, glanced at her son, and paused.

"We're starting a new experiment," said Owen into her silence, in his fiercest voice, which Diana knew betokened some great roiling plan. "I want your cooperation. I'm bringing a new actor into the troupe. A jaran man. I got a dispensation from less Soerensen to take him and his family off planet with us. I want to see how he adapts to theater, coming from the background that he does."