her instruments 03 - laisrathera Read online

  CHAPTER 1

  For a time during which time had no definition, he knew nothing but a desperate urgency: sleep, mend, mend, God and Lady, stay alive long enough to discharge this duty (what duty) this duty greater than any he had yet shouldered. He clung to life with a tenacity honed by far too many bitter encounters with foes greater than his strength, and renounced death, and cursed it, and held fast, and held fast, and held fast—

  —and heard, at last, from a great distance, the musical progressions of a halo-arch in heavy use. Not long now, he thought, ferocious, and fought the chains that bound him, of weakness and pain and injury too close to endings. He pushed so long he no longer remembered any existence other than effort, so when he won free from sodden unconsciousness he woke disoriented. Where was he? He did not recognize the room, nor the halo-arch that prisoned him, hissing and chirping through its diagnostic and monitoring cycles. Some vague voice woke in time to whisper, “Not long now—”

  The halo-arch sang a rising arpeggio, signaling his change in status, and Hirianthial struggled to rise as much as he might in order to better espy the person set to the patient watch. She would be there, he thought. She had brought him out of the catacombs. He had felt her fingers on his hair, the tears that had fallen from her eyes to his cheek, still warm as her coursing blood. She would be here; she could be nowhere else.

  But the person who charged into the room in the wake of the stranger in a healer’s garb was not Captain Theresa Eddings, but her pilot, Sascha… and everything in his aura howled the wrongness of it. As the healer checked the readings, Hirianthial pinned the Harat-Shar tigraine with his gaze and said, “Where is she?”

  Did he imagine the hesitation? No. A syncopation in the conversation that should have beat steady as a metronome. “She’s a sector away… on your homeworld.”

  ”WHAT!”

  He had never yelled before, and Sascha’s ears flattened instantly to his head. The healer began to speak and Hirianthial ignored him to say, voice hard, “You did not abandon her there. Among our enemies!”

  “I didn’t abandon anyone!” Sascha exclaimed, anger seaming his aura like magma thrusting up against stone. “She chose to stay! Ask your cousin, it’s the Angels-blessed truth, I swear it!”

  “My cousin is here?” Anger made it hard to think, and the halo-arch began whining.

  “Excuse me,” the healer interrupted. “Can we have this tête-à-tête later? Like, maybe, when my patient’s not still being held together with spit and bailing wire?”

  “No,” Hirianthial replied. “No, it cannot wait.” He glared at Sascha. “Tell her to come. Now.”

  Sascha folded his arms, teeth bared and fur visibly bristling at the neck and upper arms. But he forced himself to look away and inhale through his nose, exhale. “Well,” he said. “Now I know you love her too, so I won’t take it personally. But she’s not the only one on your homeworld ‘among our enemies,’ arii… my twin is, too. Keep that in mind before you yell at me again.” And then he left, trailing an aura dense with unspoken fears and ferocities.

  “Now,” the healer drawled. “If you’re done, maybe you can give me some of your attention?”

  Hirianthial glanced at him, torn between irritation, to be pulled from matters of staggering import… and rue, that he was treating someone with such discourtesy. The healer was one of the Pelted, a Hinichi wolfine man with fur the color of iron and eyes like winter skies, so pale they were almost white.

  “Good, so your hearing is selective, not damaged,” the healer continued. “Before you berate me, Lord Sarel Jisiensire, let me inform you that you arrived here in hypovolemic shock. I’m told you have a license to practice several forms of surgery, so this will have some meaning to you.”

  “I beg your pardon,” Hirianthial said, startled. “How is that possible?”

  “It might have had something to do with the spleen that was leaking into your abdominal cavity,” the healer said dryly. “Did I mention there were perforations in your intestines? And a lung that was thinking very seriously of collapsing. Someone apparently plumped it up just enough to keep you breathing. For a while.” He pursed his lips and looked up at the ceiling contemplatively. “Your insides reminded me a little of a custard someone hadn’t baked quite enough to set. You were obviously under a halo-arch for just long enough to keep from dying immediately, but not long enough to actually be fixed.” He turned narrowed eyes on the Eldritch. “You may understand why I think your problems can wait.”

  “But they can’t,” he said, thinking of his brother’s revelations. “And you have done a good job of mending me.”

  “I haven’t—”

  “The halo-arch hasn’t made a single noise associated with stabilization of a body following surgery,” Hirianthial said, raising his voice just enough to convince the Hinichi to be silent. “Nor any that indicate complications from those surgeries.”

  The healer opened his mouth, then closed it, baring his teeth. “Fine. You’re right. But if you know that, you can also tell that it’s not reporting normal function either. You need more time here. And especially more time unconscious. Don’t make me sedate you to fulfill that condition.”

  “I promise to rest,” Hirianthial said. “But I must speak to my queen first. I must.”

  The wolfine searched his eyes, then flipped his ears back. “Fine. But the moment she leaves, you had better be unconscious, or trying to be, or I’ll be back in here with an AAP faster than you can say ‘I didn’t sign any consent forms for treatment.’” At Hirianthial’s look, the healer finished, dryly, “Your queen signed them for you. She claims to be a family member.”

  “She is,” Hirianthial murmured. And sighed. “I apologize for my conduct.”

  The wolfine snorted. “Don’t. We both know doctors make horrible patients.” He tapped the halo-arch. “You know this is the call panel. I’m Healer Rosser. Your other physician is Doctor Mayfield. You have an entire nursing team; if we don’t answer, they will.”

  “I will keep that in mind,” Hirianthial said, and then an aura welled into the door that he would have recognized half-dead: the steel in it, the power, and the ardor, red as blood and pulsing with simmering wrath. His expression caused the wolfine to glance over his shoulder and sigh.

  “I’ll be back,” he said, and Liolesa stepped aside to let him pass.

  She drew a stool to his bedside and settled on it, pulling her skirts out of the way and then resting her gloved hands on her lap, calm… far too calm for the volcanic fury roiling beneath the surface of her aura. Before he could ask, she said in their tongue, “I swear it, Hiran. My soul to the Goddess, I swear it, that I did not compel her, nor even give her the idea. She advanced it to me herself, that she should stay that we might have a people to return to, when we do. But having heard the offer—” And here Liolesa’s gaze grew sharp as a blade, “I could no more repudiate her than I could command my heart not to beat. She is human, and not of us, and yet has the heart and the instincts of a true liegewoman. I would not deny her.”

  “Liolesa—”

  “Hirianthial,” she interrupted. Her voice was tense, and every word was shaded in the white mode of their language for the sanctity of truth. “I would not. It would break the vows between us, liegelady to liegewoman. I pledged my troth, cousin.”

  He looked away from the blaze in Liolesa’s aura, so bright his eyes watered. “You left her behind.”

  “But not alone,” Liolesa said, silvering the words for hope in dark places, and this was surely a very dark place. “I left the vixens with her, and her tigraine, and Urise’s acolyte. And she will have allies on the ground. They will educate her on the geography and the resources ava
ilable to her, and she will bring to them her knowledge of the technologies that will be used against them by the Chatcaava—”

  Of course. Of course. Her aura, the raw power of her anger. “You know!”

  “I know,” she said, some of that anger leaking into her words. “We fled the system after the arrival of a pirate ship, and there were too many coincidences for it to be unaffiliated with the dragons. The pattern is suggestive. You have proof?”

  “From my brother’s lips,” Hirianthial growled. “I should have slain him as you bade me, when he first betrayed the family.”

  She was silent, studying him; it was a kindness that she did not press him on how much pain they would have avoided had he performed that execution, long ago. But that anger remained; it was impossible not to feel it, like the radiation off the sun. He knew better than to think it was directed at him. “Pirates,” he said, quieter. “One ship only?”

  “Is not one ship enough?” she asked, each word clipped and shadowed.

  For centuries they had kept the secret of their world’s location from the universe at large. To have a sole lawless vessel there, and now able to carry that information away…. “Where are we?” he asked at last.

  “Starbase Omega,” she said. “Which is far too far from the seat of the Alliance for me to plead my case with any immediacy. It is also, however, very comfortably far from the conflict that is ripping the borders and spilling, finally, into war.”

  Then he truly did try to sit up, and was repelled by the halo-arch for his temerity. Wincing, he pressed a hand to his chest and said, “You do not tell me that it has come. Oh, cousin—”

  “Our allies are hard-pressed,” she said, the words again in the shadowed mode. “The Empire is a good third larger than they are, and I judge it would be a disastrous war for both sides if I had not handed the Alliance an assassin’s blade to use on the throat of its enemy.” At his look, she smiled, thin. “The heir to Imthereli has vanished into the fray.”

  “The one you sent before,” he murmured, frowning.

  “As ambassador to dragons,” she agreed. “Who returned their rulers’ lover. A duelist, cousin, and half-dragon himself. Unlooked-for aid, and it is in my heart that he will make a difference. But that avails us not at all, for the Alliance no longer has an armada to send to my cause. They have promised they will see what they might spare, and it is that word we await before we ourselves move… well, that and the other iron I have in the fire.”

  “Which would be….” He paused, then nodded. “You mean to call in my kinsman.”

  She tipped her head. “The Tams have been waiting full long enough for their chance to come home,” she said. “Their resources will be of little use if we cannot secure enough time to put them to use, but I have summoned Lesandurel all the same. Once I have gathered what strength I may, we will return at best speed. But we cannot go home without some sword to lift against our enemies, Hiran. Surely you know it.”

  He did. But he could not resist speaking, his own words clouded with shadows. “You left her amid them, on a world she barely knows. With winter approaching, who has never known a winter.”

  “Has she never?” Liolesa asked, the searing lava of her aura fading briefly at the distraction of the thought. “How extraordinary. Are you certain?”

  Swift as rain coursing he felt the rush of all the memories he’d ever gathered from her mind, by accident or by gift. “Unless you count the ball of ice where the crystals dwelt, then no. But what good can she possibly do, Lia?”

  “I don’t know,” Liolesa said. “But I have done her the grace of leaving her to make the attempt. You should rest, ere that healer returns to reproach us both. Mend now while you may, cousin, for when we leave I need you on your feet.” She rose, skirts hissing as they slid from the stool. “It will not be long now.” She hesitated, then added, “I have done with seeing you laid so low, Hiran. Prithee, sleep and fade the memories.”

  “I will,” he promised. And added, quiet, “You said of the Tams… ‘a chance to come home.’ To our world.”

  “No mistake there,” his cousin said—who was also Queen of the Eldritch, and the third to reign since their Settlement centuries ago. “When all this is over… our world will be home to more than the Eldritch.” And then, in a show of affection that startled him, she touched the backs of her fingers to his temple, and let him feel the sharpness of her worry for him straight through the fineness of the fabric of her gloves. Even her tone of address became familiar. “Now, to bed with thee, I charge it.”

  It was not in him to argue. If she was right and they were leaving soon, he needed all the rest he could have now… because when they left for home again, there would be nothing between him and Theresa but the bodies of their enemies, and he fully vowed to be the one to slay them all.

  Reese’s breath came in clouds, misting her lips as she stared through the trees. “You’re making a joke.”

  “No,” said Taylor from behind her. “No, the map’s right. What about it, Belinor-alet?”

  The Eldritch youth—a youth who was twice her age, for all Reese knew—joined them at the forest’s edge, keeping a proper distance from them. There he studied the vista, shivering in the cold but holding himself with a dignity so determined Reese decided he was maybe closer to half her age instead. In his accented Universal, he said, “She has the right of it, Lady. That is the castle Rose Point.”

  “Wow,” Irine murmured from behind her. “Somehow I expected it to be… more… “

  “More what?” Taylor asked with interest, glancing at the Harat-Shar.

  “More less of everything.”

  That said it all, Reese thought, trembling, and not with cold. When she had put her idea to the Queen of the Eldritch, that she should stay and find some way to do something heroic—what, she had no idea—she and the others had debated where they should set down. Liolesa’s Eldritch enemies would expect her to go to one of the two strongholds of her allies: either to Jisiensire in the south or to the western Galares, further inland. The pirates would expect her to stay in the capital and try to take Ontine. Maybe. Right?

  What they were all pretty sure of was that she wouldn’t head for the land the Queen had deeded her, for the very good reason that it was at the northern edge of nowhere and abandoned. There was no hope of finding allies there; certainly there were no resources ready to hand. It would have made a great ballad, Reese thought: gathering everyone to the flag of a dead land, and from there marching to the capital singing. On horseback, knowing the Eldritch. But it was also a stupid idea, and they’d been betting that their enemies wouldn’t think they’d do something stupid.

  What Reese hadn’t counted on was arriving to find a real castle, still mostly intact. An enormous castle, perched alongside the sea, a beautiful castle. Her castle. A castle of her own. Who’d never so much as owned a patch of dirt. Whose only home for years now had been a rattletrap freighter with just enough crew space to sleep in. And now she had a castle—an intact castle, a large castle—a castle with sheep grazing around it, and in its courtyard. Wild sheep. Dirty sheep. Were they supposed to be that grayish color?

  “Blood in the dirt,” she muttered. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

  “That’s fine,” Taylor said. “Just don’t tell anyone else.” The Tam-illee foxine glanced at her data tablet. “The sheep make for a fine confusion of life signs, and they’re probably in and out of here all the time, so a few more warm bodies won’t make a difference. Why don’t we go take a closer look?”

  “Sure,” Reese said. “That sounds like a great idea.”

  Reese watched the woman set off. The Eldritch youth glanced at her. “My Lady,” he said. “It will be no warmer inside, but at least we won’t be exposed to the wind.” Then he followed Taylor, leaving Reese standing beside the trees with Irine, who’d been her irreverent co-pilot, employee and the ship busybody for years now.

  “You have a castle,” Irine observed.

  “I h
ave a castle.”

  “You don’t know how to feel about that.” Irine cocked her head, mouth twitching.

  “Have I told you yet how ridiculous you look with a shirt wrapped around your head?”

  “Yes, well, if my gorgeous ears get frostbitten I won’t be able to tell when Sascha’s nibbling on them.” Irine rested a hand on Reese’s shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go get settled.”

  As they walked, Reese said, “I have sheep.”

  “I think those sheep have themselves,” Irine answered. “But I guess if you can find someone to round them up and put them in one place… then yes, you’ll have sheep.”

  But the tigraine was frowning. It was such a normal thing, to see Irine frown, such a welcome thing to have some normalcy at that point, that Reese said, “What?”

  “I was thinking about us having sheep,” Irine said. “To eat. Tonight.”

  “You can eat sheep?”

  Irine covered her face with one hand and used to the other to keep pushing Reese in the right direction.

  They caught up with the others in front of the enormous doors set into the castle wall, where Taylor was consulting her data tablet and Belinor was waiting, huddled in robes that seemed thick enough to keep him warm, but didn’t seem to be doing the job. As they approached, he said, “Yon fox is finding whether it be safe to open them. Those doors are centuries old now.”

  “I’m surprised they haven’t rotted,” Irine said, and paused. Reese looked past her and hissed.

  “My castle’s missing a tower!”

  “So it is,” Belinor said, subdued.

  “Why is my castle missing a tower?” Reese asked, trying not to be surprised. When Liolesa had granted her the property she’d expected ruins, so finding the building still upright had been a pleasant surprise. It also made the hole in the castle’s side feel like an unexpected wound.

  “Because,” Belinor said. “This was once the home of Corel.” At their blank stares, he said, “The mind-mage. The first mind-mage. The one who went mad, and upon whom Queen Jerisa threw her legions, and they died and watered this field with their blood.”