"I'm not one for modesty," the Adjunct said. "Enter and close the door behind you."
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Paran did as he was bidden. He looked around. Faded tapestries lined the walls. Ragged furs covered the stone tiles of the floor. The furniture~what little there was was old, Napan in style and thus artless.
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The Adjunct rose to shrug into her leather armor. Her hair shimmered in the red light. "You look exhausted, Lieutenant. Please, sit."
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He looked around, found a chair and slumped gratefully into it."The trail's been thoroughly obscured, Adjunct. The only people left in Gerrom aren't likely to talk."
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She fastened the last of the clasps. "Unless I were to send a necromancer."
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He grunted. "Tales of pigeons- I think the possibility was foreseen."
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She regarded him with a raised brow.
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"Pardon, Adjunct. It seems that death's heralds were. . .birds."
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"And were we to glance through the eyes of the dead soldiers, we would see little else. Pigeons, you said?"
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He nodded.
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"Curious." She fell silent.
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He watched her for a moment longer. "Was I bait, Adjunct?"
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"No."
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"And Topper's timely arrival?"
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"Convenience."
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He fell silent. When he closed his eyes his head spun. He'd not realized how weary he'd become. It was a moment before he understood that she was speaking to him. He shook himself, straightened.
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The Adjunct stood before him. "Sleep later, not now, Lieutenant. I was informing you of your future. It would be well if you paid attention. YOu completed your task as instructed. Indeed, you have proved yourself highly . resilient. To all outward appearances, I am done with you, Lieutenant. You will be returned to the Officer Corps here in Unta. What will follow will be a number of postings, completing your official training. As for your time in Itko Kan, nothing unusual occurred there, do you understand me?"
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"Yes."
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"Good."
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"And what of what really happened there, Adjunct? Do we abandon pursuit? Do we resign ourselves to never knowing exactly what happened, or why? Or is it simply me who is to be abandoned?"
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"Lieutenant, this is a trail we must not follow too closely, but follow it we shall, and you will be central to the effort. I have assumed--perhaps in error-that you would wish to see it through, to be witness when the time for vengeance finally arrives. Was I wrong? Perhaps you've seen enough and seek only a return to normality."
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He closed his eyes. "Adjunct, I would be there when the time came."
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She was silent and he knew without opening his eyes that she was studying him, gauging his worth. He was beyond unease and beyond caring. He'd stated his desire; the decision was hers.
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"We proceed slowly. Your reassignment will take effect in a few days' time. In the meanwhile, go home to your father's estate. Get some rest."
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He opened his eyes and rose to his feet. As he reached the doorway she spoke again. "Lieutenant, I trust you won't repeat the scene in the Hall of the Throne.
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"I doubt I'd earn as many laughs the second time around, Adjunct."
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As he reached the stairs he heard what might have been a cough from the room behind him. It was hard to imagine that it could have been anything else.
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As he led his horse through the streets of Unta he felt numb inside. The familiar sights, the teeming, interminable crowds, the voices and clash of languages all struck Paran as something strange, something altered, not before his eyes but in that unknowable place between his eyes and his thoughts. The change was his alone, and it made him feel shorn, outcast.
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Yet the place was the same: the scenes before him were as they always had been and even in watching them pass by all around him, nothing had changed. It was the gift of noble blood that kept the world at a distance, to be observed from a position unsullied, unjostled by the commonry. Gift . . .and curse.
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Now, however, Paran walked among them without the family guards. The power of blood was gone, and all he possessed by way of armor was the uniform he now wore. Not a craftsman, not a hawker, not a merchant, but a soldier. A weapon of the Empire, and the Empire had those in the tens of thousands.
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He passed through Toll Ramp Gate and made his way along Marble Slope Road, where the first merchant estates appeared, pushed back from the cobbled street, half hidden by courtyard walls. The foliage of gardens joined their lively colors with brightly painted walls; the crowds diminished and private guards were visible outside arching gates. The sweltering air lost its reek of sewage and rotting food, slipping cooler across unseen fountains and carrying into the avenue the fragrance of blossoms.
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Smells of childhood.
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The estates spread out as he led his horse deeper into the Noble District. Breathing space purchased by history and ancient coin. The Empire seemed to melt away, a distant, mundane concern. Here, families traced their lines back seven centuries to those tribal horsemen who had first come to this land from the east. In blood and fire, as was always the way, they had conquered and subdued the cousins of the Kanese who'd built villages along this coast. From warrior horsemen to horse-breeders to merchants of wine, beer, and cloth. An ancient nobility of the blade, now a nobility of hoarded gold, trade agreements, subtle maneuverings, and hidden corruptions in gilded rooms and oil-lit corridors.
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Paran had imagined himself acquiring trappings that closed a circle, a return to the blade from which his family had emerged, strong and savage, all those centuries ago. For his choice, his father had condemned him.
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He came to a familiar postern, a single high door along one side wall and facing an alley that in another part of the city would be a wide street. There was no guard here, just a thin bell-chain, which he pulled twice.
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Alone in the alley, Paran waited.
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A bar clanked on the other side, a voice growled a curse as the door swung back on protesting hinges.
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Paran found himself staring down at an unfamiliar face. The man was old, scarred and wearing much mended chain-mail that ended raggedly around his knees. His pot-helm was uneven with hammered out dents, yet polished bright.
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The man eyed Paran up and down with watery gray eyes, then grunted, "The tapestry lives."
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"Excuse me?"
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The guardsman swung the door wide. "Older now, of course, but it's all the same by the lines. Good artist, to capture the way of standing, the expression and all. Welcome home, Ganoes, Paran led his horse through the narrow doorway. The path was between two outbuildings of the estate, showing sky overhead.
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"I don't know you, soldier," Paran said. "But it seems my portrait has been well studied by the guards. Is it now a throw-rug in your barracks?"
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"Something like that."
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"What is your name?"
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"Gamet," the guard answered, as he followed behind the horse after shutting and locking the door. "In service to your father these last three years."
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"And before that, Gamet?"
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"Not a question asked."
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They came to the courtyard. Paran paused to study the guardsman. "My father's usually thorough in researching the histories of those entering his employ."
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Gamet grinned, revealing a full set of white teeth. "Oh, that he did. And here I am. Guess it weren't too dishonorable."
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"You're a veteran."
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"Here, sir, I'll take your horse."
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Paran passed over the reins. He swung about and looked round the courtyard. It seemed smaller than he remembered. The old well, made by the nameless people who'd lived here before even the Kanese, looked ready to crumble into a heap of dust. No craftsman would reset those ancient carved stones, fearing the curse of awakened ghosts. Under the estate house itself were similarly un-mortared stones in the deepest reaches, the many rooms and tunnels too bent, twist- ed, and uneven to use.
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Servants and groundskeepers moved back and forth in the yard. None had yet noticed Paran's arrival.
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Gamet cleared his throat. "Your father and mother aren't here."
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He nodded. There'd be foals to care for at Emalau, the country estate.
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"Your sisters are, though," Gamet continued. "I'll have the house servants freshen up your room."
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"It's been left as it was, then?"
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Gamet grinned again. "Well, clear out the extra furniture and casks, then. Storage space at a premium, you know . . ."
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"As always." Paran sighed and, without another word, made his way to the house entrance.
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The feast hall echoed to Paran's boots as he strode to the long dining table. Cats bolted across the floor, scattering at his approach. He unclasped his traveling cloak, tossed it across the back of a chair, then sat at a longbench and leaned his back against the paneled wall. He closed his eyes.
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A few minutes passed, then a woman's voice spoke. "I thought you were in Itko Kan. He opened his eyes. His sister Tavore, a year younger than him, stood close to the head of the table, one hand on the back of their father's chair. She was as plain as ever, a slash of bloodless lines comprising her features, her reddish hair trimmed shorter than was the style. She was taller than the last time he'd seen her, nearly his own height, no longer the awkward child. Her expression revealed nothing as she studied him.
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"Reassignment," Paran said.
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"To here? We would have heard."
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Ah, yes, you would have, wouldn't you? All the sly whisperings among the connected families.
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"Unplanned, he conceded, "but done nevertheless. Not stationed here in Unta, though. My visit is only a few days."
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"Have you been promoted?"
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He smiled. "Is the investment about to reap coin? Reluctant as it was, we still must think in terms of potential influence, mustn't we?"
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"Managing this family's position is no longer your responsibility, brother."
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"Ah, it's yours now, then? Has Father withdrawn from the daily chores?"
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"Slowly. His health is failing. Had you asked, even in Itko Kan.."
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He sighed. "Still making up for me, Tavore Assuming the burden of my failings? I hardly left here on a carpet of petals, you may recall. In any case, I always assumed the house affairs would fall into capable hands . . ."
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Her pale eyes narrowed, but pride silenced the obvious question.
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He asked, "And how is Felisin?"
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"At her studies. She's not heard of your return. She will be very excited, then crushed to hear of the shortness of your visit."
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"Is she your rival now, Tavore?"
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His sister snorted, turning away. "Felisin? She's too soft for this world, brother. For any world, I think. She's not changed. She'll be happy to see you."
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He watched her stiff back as she left the hall.
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He smelled of sweat-his own and the mare's-travel and grime, and of something else as well . . . Old blood and old fear. Paran looked around. Much smaller than I remembered.
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