A Warrior's Sacrifice (13 page)

Corwin shrugged and dipped his spork into Phae's abandoned dish. Kai ate his food in silence, alternating between his protein dish and the vegetables on the side.

Phae returned not long after with a plate piled high with protein cubes the same dull gray of the plasteel that comprised the Republic's cities. She popped one into her mouth and chewed, smacked her lips, all the while keeping her eyes fixed on Chahal. The Exilist didn't seem to mind, or even notice, caught as she was in the rapture of her communion with the First Exiles.

When Chahal didn't take the bait, Phae turned her attention elsewhere, this time to the contents of the two small bowls that Corwin now added to his vegetables. "What are those?" she asked, mouth full.

Corwin pointed to the coarse crystals. "Salt," then to the yellow congealing liquid, "butter." He pushed the bowls closer to Phae. "Try some."

She eyed first Corwin, then the salt, and took a pinch. After rolling it around on her finger tips, she dabbed a little onto her tongue, made a noise of approval, and sprinkled the rest onto her pile of protein.

She went back for another, and Corwin said, "A little goes a long way."

"I'll be the judge of that." She took a larger pinch than she'd at first intended.

The strawberries arrived. Corwin gobbled down the remainder of his vegetables. The fruits were each about the size of his thumb, plump, firm, with the deep red of ripeness. With deft fingers he took one, plucked the leaves and stem off, and popped it into his mouth. It was sweet, the flavors deep, tasting of the sun and the earth on which it grew. He smiled.

The other Maharatha, who had by now finished their own food, looked on with a mix of envy and reserve.

Corwin slid the bowl into the center of the table. "Go ahead. We can get more."

Kai took one and ate it, stem and all; Phae followed Corwin's lead and first removed the stem, then sprinkled a little salt on top.

Chahal took one and held it close to her eyes for study. "And they pulled forth red fruits from the vines at the mountain's foot and ate until their mouths and tongues and hands were stained and their bellies filled. They gathered all that remained to sustain them in their journey." She placed the strawberry into her mouth and chewed, each bite a silent homage.

"Do you have some religious quote for every piece of food we're going to eat?" Phae asked, reaching for another berry.

"The finding, preparation, and consumption of food was a major focus for the First Exiles. Their directions, first inscribed on something called 'paper', then transmitted orally, helped ensure the continued survival of the Humans during and in the four centuries following the Siloth invasion."

Phae snorted, but Kai looked thoughtful. "How is it," he began, his low bass rumble easy to hear even over the bar's din, "that Corwin eats the same foods — or even knows of them."

For a moment, everyone blinked at each other and then looked at Corwin.

He shrugged. "We ate what we ate because we grew and produced our own foods. There were some Quislings that traded for the Choxen protein, but my family saw it as a waste."

A sly smile slid up the side of Phae's mouth. "You know, Chahal, I wonder. Corwin's family lived on the fringes, every day one of survival, eating and living as the First Exiles lived. Corwin is more Exilist than you."

The table was silent.

Instead of growing angry, Chahal looked thoughtful. She stared at Corwin for a long time before answering. "The path of the First Exiles was one of brimstone and death. They were tested by the twin flames of famine and war, the weak culled from the strong. How old was your family?

Corwin shrugged, nervous under Chahal's intense glare. "My family told stories of a time before constant war and struggle."

"Your family was old," Kai said. "They predated the Republic."

Chahal's eyes hardened. "I don't know what to make of it."

Corwin threw himself back into the conversation before Phae could instigate Chahal further. "They're just stories, and the food is just a coincidence. We used what we had, and goats were hardier than sheep and smaller than cattle. Besides, there are only so many ways that one can combine ingredients."

Phae snorted and turned back to her beer, lifting the orange slice into the air with two fingers. She wiggled it like a fish. "What is this thing? I've never seen anything so orange except the Laborer Caste's road cleanup uniforms."

"It's in the citrus family; an orange," Corwin said, squeezing his into his beer and swirling. "At least a slice from one."

Chahal sucked in a breath, taking her slice and nibbling on the orange flesh. "The citrus, the mango, and the banana they counted among the most longed-for of fruits, for the mountains were too cold and the yield too small to sustain them."

Phae rolled her eyes. She bit into the fruit and made a surprised noise. "Hey! That's really good." She took a pinch of salt, sprinkled it on the orange, and bit it; her face reflected her poor choice. She forced it down anyway — for any other action would be jendr — and chased it with a large swig of beer. The others, more cautious, followed Corwin's example and enjoyed the orange crushed into the yeasty wheat beer.

They finished their beer, each of them sliding a little farther down in their chairs as exhaustion and comfort set in. Kai yawned, shook his head, and stood, saying, "I'll req the next round."

A commotion stopped him and turned everyone's attention towards the front door. A man had entered from the street, and he spoke with hurried words and sharp gestures to anyone listening. A murmur passed through the crowded room, each person passing the news on to the next. The Maharatha were on their feet, rifles in hand, eyes scanning the crowd.

Kai grabbed a passing man by the shirt collar and spun him around. "What's happening?"

Kai's physical stature and the strength of his voice cowed the man's surprised anger. "There's vehicles coming. No one knows if they're friendly or not."

Kai let the man go. "We might have a problem," he said, rushing past the table of Maharatha, who fell in behind. The way out was crowded as the bar denizens tried to get outside all at the same time, heedless to what was behind.

"MOVE!" Kai shouted, his voice cutting through the excited hum of voices, the press of anxious bodies. He projected, too, his Word of Command and Sahktriya cleaving a pathway to the exit.

Outside, the streets were chaotic. People, drunken and fearful, spilled from bars and apartments out onto the streets; farmers and cooks packed up their carts; men and women on horseback pushed through the crowded streets using their horses' size to make way. Every hand held a weapon, and Civil Police tried to keep order while Wei officers struggled to organize their defensive troops.

Kai led the small procession across the street to a stairwell that granted them access to the top of the wall. He entered his code and held the door for the others of his Void.

The Maharatha streamed upward, the wall defenders sparing them a short glance as they prepped themselves for battle against unknown enemies. Corwin slid to the front, and he led his Void in a low crouch along the wall to where they could best see the oncoming enemy. The cavalcade approached along the southern road and was just now streaming from the cover of the woods into the open killing grounds.

"Get eyes on targets," Corwin said, staying low but throwing his rifle up onto the edge of the parapet and looking out through the scope. The others did the same, Chahal's weapon and scope both larger and longer than the others.

The scopes compensated for the low light, and it was obvious now that the onrushing vehicles bore Republic colors, the tanks dressed in flat gray, turret gunners in the gray-on-gray combat suits of the Teyma Caste. A single man stood straddling the main gun atop the lead tank. His suit, pressed and neat, bore the markings of a Teyma Mobile Sergeant.

Corwin played his scope over the Sergeant's face, checking for the tell-tale scars and same-face of the Choxen.

Finding none, Corwin stood, slinging his rifle behind his back. "Stand down, everyone. They are Republic soldiers."

Along the wall-top, nearby city defenders cheered. It spread, picking up speed as those in the streets below, relieved, joined in. Cheers raced round the city until it seemed like everyone had taken up the same excited call.

Everyone that is, except Corwin and his Void. Corwin's frown only deepened. "All right," he said, "let's go receive the good Mobile Sergeant and ask him why he didn't announce himself sooner."

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The four Maharatha waited with Mayor Yanmao a dozen meters beyond the southern gate. Yanmao glanced around, his eyes scanning the tree line.

The tank rolled to a stop before the Maharatha, the Mobile Sergeant eying them for a moment. He slid down the armor plating to the ground. Languid brown eyes with dropping eyelids swept across the gathered Maharatha, at once taking them in and dismissing them.

He bowed at the perfect angle but still somehow managed to make it disrespectful; perhaps it was the set of his lips, almost smiling but more of a smirk. "I am Mobile Sergeant Jame Shota. You give me dreng with your presence."

Yanmao frowned, and his haggard face took on a little more worry. "I am Oniwabanshu Mayor Yanmao. This is Maharatha Void Commander Shura and his Maharatha Void."

Shota inhaled a sharp sniff. "Yes. I've heard of you and your successes, along with the others." He swept his eyes over them again, assessing, judging.

"Why didn't you announce yourself sooner?" Corwin asked, steel in his voice.

"We, my superiors and I, have reports that things are getting out of control here and that announcing our presence may have, in fact, endangered our lives and our mission." Shota stared at Yanmao, eyes intensifying with each word.

"Your superiors know better—" Yanmao began.

Shota interrupted. "I am here as a special envoy working under the Beirat. My superiors are the highest members of that esteemed institution, and they
do
know better than the likes of a Mayor of a border settlement —
especially
with regards to galactic diplomacy."

Yanmao's mouth snapped shut.

"We will conduct our own operations in this sector." He turned to face Corwin and bowed. "Working in conjunction with the Maharatha, of course." He gave them a shark's smile.

Corwin's frown deepened. "You are an envoy? To whom?"

"While I am not
required
to give you the details of my mission, for the sake of interagency cooperation, I shall. We were sent to receive Alliance dignitaries who are scheduled to arrive within the week. I am tasked with handling any diplomatic agreements as well as their safety while they make their rounds. I trust that you will make yourselves available should they need defending." It was not a question.

"As official representatives of the Oniban, we are trained in diplomacy and are also authorized to make agreements on behalf of the Republic — better qualified, in fact, than even the highest diplomat within the Beirat," Corwin said. "You will notify us as soon as they arrive so that we may be present to greet them with all the accolades they deserve. I would hate for them to take offense at being greeted by a mere Mobile Sergeant."

Anger flashed over Shota's features, but he smothered it and bowed again. "I'll make sure of that, sir. I must see to my men and women." He turned and left.

"That wickting guy," Phae said, turning to Corwin. "Nice job putting him in his place."

Yanmao raised a hand in warning. "Let's speak somewhere private. Quickly. Follow me, please."

The Void looked to Corwin. He shrugged. "Let's go."

Yanmao activated his blackout device and rubbed his hands over a weary face. "This is maybe the worst situation, beyond all-out Choxen invasion, that we could face right now."

"Who is that guy? He's a wickt." Kai's voice was painful in the enclosed space.

"And how does a Teyma get off talking down to you?" Phae asked.

"Jame Shota," Yanmao said, taking the glass container from his desk and pouring off three fingers of the golden liquid inside, "is a rising star in the small military force that the Beirat created a few years back."

"I never heard about that," Corwin said.

Yanmao shook his head. "Not many did." He took a sip of his drink. "We, that is, the Oniwabanshu, kept it out of the public eye — didn't want the public to think that the Oniban's power was waning."

"But the Beirat holds no real power. They work on the enactment and reformation of Republic laws, limited diplomatic relations. Why does the Beirat need a military?" Corwin asked.

Yanmao took a larger sip of his drink. "At its formation, the Beirat was just an empty micro organization that the First Oniban consulted on basic domestic issues. The creation of the Beirat was in response to concerns that the First Oniban had, or would become, a dictator. At the time it was thought that it would mimic some preinvasion governments and provide a check to the Oniban's power.

"In reality, the small society of Human survivors couldn't survive in a democratic state. They were a hodgepodge from different nation-states, religions, and castes, and they were too close to extinction to engage in the democratic process of debate. From the start, the seats within the Beirat were staffed with those loyal to the Oniban. It provided the illusion of control that helped assuage the fears of those not in power.