David Weber - Hell Hath No Fury

Chan Tergis was glad. The truth was that he was going to miss the boy, and he'd given the lad his own bronze falcon badge as a going-away gift. Technically, Syrail wouldn't be allowed to wear it until he'd passed at least his second-stage training and been certified, but chan Tergis had a spare, and he'd known it would be the perfect gift even before he watched those brown eyes go huge and round with delight.

And I can use anything good that happens these days, he told himself.

His expression tightened at the reflection. There was still no word from Roakm Traygan or Shansair Baulwan. In fact, there was still no word from Erthek Vardan, for that matter, and there damned well ought to have been by now. He knew Regiment-Captain Velvelig was more perturbed by the ongoing silence than he'd chosen to let on, and so was chan Tergisx. He was beginning to wonder if something rather more serious hadn't happened to Erthek. Fatal accidents were scarcely unknown out here on the frontier, where a man might be bitten by a snake, mauled by a bear, break his neck in a fall, or be crushed when a falling horse rolled over on him. True, things like that happened rather less frequently to Voices than to others, given the (relatively) sedentary nature of their duties, but they could happen. And he was becoming unhappily certain that he was going to discover that something a lot more serious than a simple allergy or the flu had happened to young Erthek.

Stop borrowing trouble! he scolded himself. If you find out it was nothing serious after all, think how stupid you're going to feel.

Janaki chan Calirath straightened in his seat and stretched hugely as the abbreviated, shabby train hissed and banged to a halt at the Fort Salby station. The standard seats in the Trans-Temporal Express's thirdclass carriages hadn't been designed to fit Caliraths. And the seats the coin-counters in the TTE home offices had seen fit to put into the carriages on their work trains made third-class carriages seem palatial by comparison. Still, as he and Chief-Armsman chan Braikal had already agreed, even this beat the hell out of a saddle.

He snorted with amusement at the thought, then glanced at chan Braikal.

"Go ahead and get them organized to detrain, Chief. I'll find out where we need to put them."

"Yes, Sir."

Janaki left that task in chan Braikal's more than capable hands and climbed down onto the sun-blasted boardwalk of the Fort Salby rail station. It wasn't the first time he'd been here, but the place hadn't gotten much cooler between visits.

There was one notable change, he noticed, and he was glad he'd been warned about it before he saw the Uromathian cavalry standard for the first time. Given the traditional relationship between Ternathia and Uromathia-and his own … unanticipated marital prospects-he wasn't overjoyed to see the crossed crimson sabers on a black field flying from one of the flagpoles on Salby's parade ground.

"Platoon-Captain chan Calirath?" a voice said, and he turned towards the speaker.

"Yes, Sir!" he said crisply, coming to attention and saluting the dark-complexioned company-captain with the pronounced Shurkhali accent.

"Stand easy, Platoon-Captain," the company-captain said dryly and extended a hand. "I'm Orkam Vargan, the XO. And I'm glad to see you, for several reasons. One of which, I don't imagine you're going to like very much."

"Sir?" Janaki said a bit warily, and Vargan gave him a lopsided smile, dark eyes sympathetic.

"I'm afraid there have been some changes in your orders. I know you were supposed to be their military escort all the way back to Sharona, but given what's been going on in Tajvana, the Powers That Be have decided they need you home as quickly as possible, and not as just one more platoon-captain. Which means, I'm sorry to say, that delivering these prisoners to Salby is the last thing you're going to do as an Imperial Marine … Your Highness."

Janaki had guessed where Vargan was headed, and he'd been prepared to protest. But he didn't. He didn't because even as Vargan spoke, a lightning bolt seemed to stab through his brain. It hit so hard, so suddenly, his breath actually caught.

The Glimpse made no sense. Not yet. Regiment-Captain Velvelig had told him about the warning his father had sent down-chain after the Emperor and Andrin had experienced their initial Glimpses.

Unfortunately, the warning hadn't come with a great deal of detail-not unusual, as Janaki knew only too well, where Glimpses were concerned. Yet the little bit Velvelig had been able to tell him resonated strongly with the images of fire and explosions, the sound of screams and the thunder of weapons, ripping through him now.

Janaki's Talent had never been remotely as strong as his sister's. In fact, he'd always been rather guiltily thankful that it wasn't. He'd watched his father and Andrin dealing with the … discomfort of their Glimpses, and he'd been glad his own Glimpses had never hit him that hard.

Today, though, he longed for a bit more of Andrin's sensitivity. Chan Braikal had told him about the Glimpse he'd experienced on their march to Hell's Gate, but Janaki himself remembered nothing from it.

That was more than merely frustrating, although he'd been able to guess-given the fact that the Chalgyn Consortium crew had been massacred only a very few hours after he'd experienced it-what it must have been about. But from the physical reactions chan Braikal had described, it was obvious that it must have been a very powerful Glimpse, much more powerful than he'd ever had before. And because no one had ever expected him to have a Glimpse of that strength, his training in how to dig it back out of his subconscious was nowhere near as good as his sister's.

"Are you all right, Your Highness?"

He heard Vargan's voice echoing weirdly through the power of his Glimpse and tried to force his eyes to focus on the company-captain. For a second or two-possibly even a little longer-they flatly refused.

They were … somewhere else. Somewhere dark and frightening.

Then they did focus, and Janaki sucked in a deep, sudden breath.

"Your Highness?" Vargan repeated, and this time there was genuine concern in his voice.

"I'm sorry, Company-Captain," Janaki said, shaking himself vigorously. "I … guess I really didn't want to hear that."

"I wish I hadn't had to tell you," Vargan admitted.

"Well, I hope all of this enthusiasm to get me home doesn't mean I have to leap right on the next train."

Janaki prayed that his smile didn't look as forced as it felt. "I've been doing nothing but traveling for the best part of four months now-first to Hell's Gate, and then straight back home from Hell's Gate. I'd really, really like to spend one day or so sitting still. Preferably in a deep, hot bathtub somewhere."

"They said they want your return expedited," Vargan said slowly. "Still, it's going to take us most of a day just to figure out the train schedule, given the way the Third Dragoons' movement is screwing up the TTE's timetables. I can't guarantee anything, but I suspect Regiment-Captain chan Skrithik could see his way to letting you have twenty-four hours. Maybe even forty-eight."

"I'd like that, Sir."

"We'll see what we can do, Your Highness. I promise."

"Thank you, Sir."

"And now," Vargan continued, "let's get these POWs of yours off the train. I've arranged suitable-and secure-quarters for them while they're our … guests."

Janaki nodded and followed Vargan as the company-captain strode briskly over to the train, but the crown prince's thoughts were somewhere else entirely. He hoped Vargan was right about chan Skrithik.

If the company-captain wasn't, then it was going to be up to Janaki to find some way to change the regiment-captain's mind. Janaki needed that time here at Fort Salby, and not just for a bath, however sensually seductive hot water and soap might be.