Sharon Lee: Adventures in the Liaden Universe. Collaterial Adventures

“SILENCE!” bellowed Edger and the Broodmother subsided, blinking rapidly. Handler looked from his brother to the small intruder to the T’carais’amp.

Edger gestured and Handler brought his head up, listening, that he might later recall precisely.

“Let it be known,” the T’carais began, regally, and in the tongue known as Trade, “that this man Val Con yos’Phelium Scout has this day saved the lives of both the T’carais of the Knife Clan and the T’carais’amp, placing his life into peril to do so, when he might have run and been safe.

“Armed with a blade of mere metal he came against A’jliata, suffering pain and possible permanent damage in the service of T’carais and Clan.

“Let it further be known,” Edger continued, “that this person shall come into the clan as my brother, which he has earned. His name in present fullness shall be stated at the ceremony of adoption.”

He fixed the bewildered Broodmother with his eye, dropping into the only speech she understood. “This person is honored by me, as he will be honored by the clan, for bravery and service. Know that he alone slew the eldest A’jliata, thereby preserving the line of the T’carais of the Knife Clan. I will hear no further words against him. Do you understand what I have said?”

She lowered her head. “I understand you, T’carais.”

“It is good. Now, take the T’carais’amp and attend him. Later you shall tell me how he came to be in danger!”

The Broodmother came forward, hand extended for her charge, who set up a squall and clung to his soft friend.

Val Con shifted away, prying clutching fingers from his arm. “Gently, child,” he murmured in Trade, “you’ll break me…”

The Broodmother added a few quick words of her own on the subject and the T’carais’amp was borne away. Edger looked at his brother Handler.

“Find you our brother Selector and choose a worthy blade from the Room of Men.”

Handler inclined his head; turned to the man.

“I am proud to have gained so valiant a brother, Val Con yos’Phelium Scout, “he said formally. Then he, too, went away.

Val Con turned to Edger, brow up. “I do not understand, T’carais. You slew—A’jliata—not I. Why honor me?”

Edger blinked. “I hurried what you had contrived. A blind creature in the wild is already dead. I but showed it the mercy one accords a worthy foe. You gave it death with your light.” He slumped, leaning on the lance: it was not necessary to feign tirelessness with this, his brother.

“Will you gather the objects of your name and subsistence, Brother? It is past time that we were home, and I understand men to require some time of sleeping every moontime.”

Val Con stood for a long time, as men measure such things, squinting up at the T’carais. Then he smiled and turned toward the ship.

“I will not be long.”

“So be it,” said Edger, settling to wait. He considered the T’car and sighed gustily.

“Aaii, and they called me hasty anon!”

THE SKY WAS nearly Terran blue overhead, shading to a more proper Liaden green toward planetary east. Shadows were beginning their long evening stretch across the lawns, from the topiary maze to the house.

Up the drive came a slender young man in the leather vest and leggings of a spaceworker. Despite the peremptory summons from his sister, he had walked from Solcintra spaceport, enjoying the taste of natural air.

He paused by the cumbersome landau parked messily across the drive. The crest of his aunt, the Right Noble Lady Kareen yos’Phelium, Patron of the Solcintra Poetry Society, Founder of the League to Preserve the Purity of the Tongue, and Chairperson Emeritus of the Embassy of Form, glittered in the fading light.

Scout Captain Val Con yos’Phelium sighed. Perhaps it was not too late to turn about, catch the evening shuttle to Chonselta City, and thus avoid any contact with his father’s sister, a course he had pursued whenever possible throughout his childhood and halfling years.

He sighed again. No, he decided, better to attend to the business at once and have done.

Thus virtuously armed, he continued up the drive and let himself into the house.

Standing in a small sidehall, he listened, marking the sound of two voices. The first was unmistakably Aunt Kareen, the measured tones of the High Tongue ringing in bell-like purity. The answering voice was lower in pitch and inflection: his fostersister, Nova yos’Galan.

Val Con sighed for yet a third time and slipped silently down the hall to the large parlor. He bowed to his aunt and kissed his pale sister lightly on the cheek.

“Summoned, I obey,” he murmured in her ear. Then, turning, “Will you drink, Aunt? I see you are unrefreshed.”

“Thank you,” said that lady austerely, “but no. I am unable to take a crumb of sustenance; nor even a thimbleful of wine.”

Val Con blinked and darted a look at his sister, who avoided his eyes. No enlightenment from that quarter. He moved silently to a chair near his aunt. Perching on the carved arm, he shook his head.

“That sounds very bad, I must say. Have you consulted a physician?”

The Right Noble sniffed. “I am quite well—physically. Thank you, my Lord. Your concern warms my heart.”

Score one for Aunt Kareen. Val Con hastily schooled his face to that expression of distant interest considered proper when speaking with other members of Society.

“Forgive me, Aunt; I meant no disrespect. The difficulty is that I have only recently returned to Liad. My sister’s message met me at Scout Headquarters, and I obeyed her instructions immediately. You will understand that this left me no time to discover the nature of your trouble.

“I am ready to hear,” he concluded, most properly, “and feel certain that all may quickly be resolved.”

“That is very good, then,” said Aunt Kareen, greatly mollified. “It grieves me that the cause of my distress is the First speaker, your—kinsman—Shan yos’Galan. I am aware of the regard in which you hold him, my Lord; and on a minor matter I would not, of course, approach you. However, this case is such that I am certain it is no less than one’s duty to bring it to the attention of yourself, who will lead Korval next as Delm.” Her eyes sharpened. “If you will ever bestir yourself to take the Ring, of course.”

Val Con resisted the temptation to look at Nova again. with effort, he maintained the proper expression, though one eyebrow did slip upward, just a little.

“Has Shan slighted you, Aunt? It does not seem like him. He is very conscientious in his duty as First-Speaker-in-Trust. It is true that his manner is not quite—polished—but his heart is good and—”

“He is an outrageous rantipole and a disgrace to the Clan!” snapped his aunt. She took a bosom-lifting breath and dabbed at her Temples with an orange silk kerchief.

“Forgive me. It was not my intention to speak thus of a kinsman you hold so dear, though I am certain my feelings on Lord yos’Galan’s past—adventures—have not escaped notice.”

“I am,” said Val Con dryly, “aware of your antipathy for my brother. You are obviously agitated. I make allowance.” He removed his eyes to the Clan sign above the fireplace: Korval’s Dragon hovering protectively over the Tree.

He looked back at the Right Noble, both brows up.

“You have not yet informed me what my brother has done to offend you—this—time, Aunt.”

She drew herself up. “He is—racing!”

Her nephew achieved a new peak of self-discipline and contrived not to laugh.

“Is he? Racing what, I wonder?”

“Skimmers,” said Nova unexpectedly, frowning slightly when he turned to face her. “A new thing off the Terran tracks…” She sighed. “They are dangerous, Val Con. Stick and throttle—no electronics, no safeties.”