Jarnell stood just outside the door and cleared his throat loudly. “Anyone wanting a bedtime story had better be in their bed by the time I come in this room, or—”

A cacophony of small feet thudding across the wooden floor interrupted him, followed swiftly by creaking bed frames and the whoosh of blankets as his two children raced to beat the deadline. By the particularly loud creak of Milena’s bed, he guessed she’d leaped into it from a good two paces away. If that bed lasted through her tenth cycle, he would be amazed.

“Look at that, already in bed,” he said, walking through the door as if he’d just arrived. “What a nice surprise! You didn’t wait until the last possible tick this time!”

Milena and her younger brother Pendar blinked up at him, their covers pulled up to their chins. “No, Father,” said Milena without a trace of guilt. “We were just waiting for you.”

“I see. So your teeth are brushed?”

She nodded.

“Face washed?”

Another nod.

“Toes washed?”

A giggle escaped. “Father!”

“You didn’t wash your toes?”

“We don’t wash our toes before bedtime!”

He turned around. “Pendar? Are your toes washed?”

Pendar smiled widely. “No, but my toes don’t stink like Milena’s. She didn’t put on clean socks this morning.”

“I did too!”

“Did not.”

“Did too!”

“Enough!” Jarnell cut them off before they could wind themselves up. “Milena, let me see your feet.” He pretended not to notice the tongue she stuck out at her brother even as she pushed her feet out from under the covers. Making a show of approaching carefully, he gave an exaggerated sniff. “Well, they don’t seem too bad…”

“They’re clean!”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” he observed, pointing.

She pulled her foot up to inspect it. “That’s just from my socks.”

“Your dirty socks,” muttered Pendar.

“All right, all right.” Jarnell pre-empted another argument as he tucked Milena’s feet back in and settled the covers over her. “Pendar? Teeth and face?”

“Clean, Father.”

“Then I suppose it’s time for a story.” He turned around and tidied Pendar’s blanket, which as usual was a twisted mess. “Which one shall I tell tonight?”

“I want to hear about Trevan the Treecat and how she fooled Moonbird into leaving her nest so that she could eat all the eggs!” It was Pendar’s favorite.

“Father, no! We had to hear about Trevan last time!” At nine cycles, Milena fancied herself much too old for Trevan the Treecat stories.

“That’s true,” Jarnell told his son. “Last time we did Trevan and the winden.”

Pendar’s face fell. “But I like Trevan.”

“So do I,” said Jarnell. “In fact, I like Trevan the best of all the animals. But your sister is right, it’s her turn to choose.” He pulled the small chair out from the wall and sat down. “What would you like to hear, Milena?”

She flipped onto her side and propped her head on her hand, eyes sparkling. “The battle of Sonalia!”

“Where did you hear about that?”

“Some of the boys were talking about it at lunch today. About how some bad scholars tried to destroy the moon dome because they thought Fahla never meant for us to live there, and the warriors had to come in and kill all the scholars, but the dome was broken anyway and all the air got out, and everybody inside died!”

“First of all, not everyone died,” said Jarnell, who could never understand where his daughter got her bloodthirstiness. “Second, it was a terrible time for Alsea, one of the worst wars we ever fought, and that’s not the kind of story I want to tell at bedtime. If you really want to know more about it, we’ll talk tomorrow at mornmeal. Choose something else.”

She pouted for a moment, then brightened. “Tell the story of Vellmar the Blade and how she lost the championship at the Games.”

“Ah, that’s a good one,” he said in relief. “Vellmar the Blade, hm? Well, that was a long, long time ago. Many generations, before Alseans settled the moons, before they even left homeworld. It was back in the Golden Age of Tal the Wise, and Salomen the Strong, when Alsea prospered in the Hundred Cycle Peace.” He paused, smiling as Milena settled onto her back and closed her eyes, the better to listen.

“It all began when Vellmar, who had just become Lead Guard for Lancer Tal, decided to enter the Games…”

 

 

---

 

 

“Why not?” asked Lancer Tal.

“Because my birth mother already entered! I was going to ask her if we could divide up the competitions between us, but when I called it was too late—she had already filled out her card. She’s in every blade handling event. How am I supposed to compete against my own birth mother?” Vellmar stood in front of the Lancer’s desk, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, too agitated to stand still. “It took me almost three moons to decide to enter at all, and then when I finally got my courage up, I was one day too late. One day!”

“Vellmar, sit down. I’m getting tired just watching you.”

She sat, suddenly aware that her mood had no place in this office. “I apologize, Lancer Tal. This is not your concern—”

“What do you mean, not my concern?” The Lancer leaned forward, hands clasped on the top of her desk. “My Lead Guard is passing up the chance to bring the glory of the Games to this unit and it’s not my concern? It most certainly is my concern. And do please stop drumming your fingers.”

Belatedly, Vellmar realized she’d been beating out a tattoo on her leg. She flattened her hand and rested it on her knee, then moved it to her thigh, then propped her elbow on the arm of the chair.

“Good Fahla, I’ve never seen you so jumpy. If I hadn’t already watched you on a mission I’d wonder about your capability.”

She looked up in alarm, but the Lancer was smiling at her. “I’m not jumpy,” she said, straightening in her chair and crossing her hands across her stomach. “I’m just…dismayed. All this time I’ve been working myself up to it, and now I have to wait until next cycle. I feel like a grainbird.”

“What exactly is the problem of entering the same competitions as your birth mother? Are you worried she’ll beat you? There wouldn’t be any shame in that; she is the reigning champion, after all. And I would be proud to have you bring a blue medal back to our unit. Not getting a red medal isn’t the end of the world.”

“No, that isn’t—” Vellmar paused, knowing that she was about to make herself sound like an arrogant pup. “With respect, Lancer, I’m not worried about her beating me. I’m worried about me beating her.”

“Ah, I see.” Lancer Tal relaxed into her chair. “Go on.”

“She taught me blade handling from the moment I could understand which end of a knife was which. I’ve been her student all my life. But last cycle in Koneza—we had so much time on our hands, and so much of what we did was busywork. I petitioned the colonel to allow me to use duty time for throwing practice, and he approved. In effect, I trained nonstop for over a cycle. She never had that kind of time available to her.”

“And you believe you’ve surpassed her in skill.”

“I know it sounds overconfident, but yes, I do.”

Lancer Tal glanced down at her desk for a moment, then pinned Vellmar with a serious stare. “Point number one. If you are truly at the top of your field in a skill, it is not overconfidence to state as much. Have pride in your accomplishments, don’t hide them. Take care in how you speak of them, yes, but false modesty is not a virtue. Not in my unit. I need to know the skills of my Guards, just as you need to know the skills of every Guard you’re leading.”

Chastened, Vellmar nodded and cursed the embarrassment that was heating her face. She could front the emotion, but she couldn’t hide the flush.

“Point number two. If your birth mother is a good instructor, and I’ve no reason to believe she is anything else, she will not be hurt or upset if you win any of those competitions. Your triumph would not diminish her.”

How could it not? Vellmar kept the thought to herself, but somehow the Lancer seemed to hear it anyway.

“You disagree?” she asked.

Vellmar didn’t know how to explain it. Finally, she said, “Mother is one of the best warriors I know. She takes pride in that. She always taught me that the difference between good and better is usually a matter of work, and she works hard. But…she’s aging. I don’t want to be the one who takes her title away from her.”

“At some point, somebody will. Do you think she would prefer that title go to someone else rather than you?”

She hadn’t considered that.

“Tell me,” said Lancer Tal, without waiting for her response, “How long have you been training Senshalon in knife fighting? Five moons?”

“Yes, almost.”

“And how do you think you’ll feel the day he surprises you, and disarms you with a move you taught him?”

It only took a piptick for Vellmar to see the logic trap. With her face warming even more, she admitted, “I’d be proud of him.”

“Just of him?”

“Well…”

“No false modesty. Wouldn’t you be proud of yourself as well?”

She was distinctly uncomfortable with the turn this conversation had taken, but she’d gotten herself into it. Lifting her chin, she said, “Yes, I would. Because that would mean I’d done a good job training him.”

The Lancer nodded in approval. “And his success would reflect positively on your skill as an instructor.”

“Yes, it—” She stopped, finally making the real connection. “Oh.”

A wide smile brightened Lancer Tal’s face. “I do believe I just saw a light go on behind your eyes.”

“You did. A rather blinding one, in fact.” Vellmar felt an answering smile pushing its way out. “I never thought of it that way. I could bring her honor in this.”

“A great deal of it,” agreed Lancer Tal. “You’re not just any competitor. You’re her daughter, and her student. If you win, she does as well.”

Vellmar relaxed into the chair, all of her agitation and worry draining out in the space of two heartbeats. She’d needed a Fahla-damned map to find the truth, but there it was in front of her at last. She was so relieved that she nearly laughed. “I wish I’d spoken with you three moons ago. You could have saved me a lot of wasted angst.”

“Keep that in mind for the next time, then.”

“I suppose I’ll also have to keep in mind that Senshalon can occasionally be right. He’s the one who first got me thinking seriously about entering the Games. He said Mother would be proud of me.”

“Senshalon only looks like a muscle-head. But I’ve never chosen my Guards based solely on their strength.” The knowing expression directed her way made her face warm again, but this time it wasn’t embarrassment.

“Thank you, Lancer. I appreciate this more than you know. And I’ll try not to act like a muscle-headed warrior in the future.”

“You haven’t yet. Don’t worry, if you do I’ll have Micah straighten you out immediately. He’s very good at that.”

“I have no doubt.” She slapped her hands on her thighs and rose from the chair. “Then if you’ll excuse me, I have a few calls to make.”

“Excellent! I’ve a few calls to make as well—we’ll need a proper celebration for all those red medals you’ll be bringing back.”

Vellmar opened her mouth to protest, but then saw the twinkle in Lancer Tal’s eyes. She raised a finger in a warning gesture. “False modesty may not be a virtue, but neither is tempting Fahla. Don’t put a cloud of bad luck on me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. But you might keep one thing in mind.”

“What is that?”

“Don’t underestimate older warriors. I still haven’t forgotten the lesson I learned the last time I made that mistake.”

“How long will I need to serve with you before I can hear that story?”

“More cycles than you have left in your lifespan,” said the Lancer dryly.

 

 

---

 

 

“And so, after much persuasion, Lancer Tal finally agreed to allow Vellmar to enter the Games,” said Jarnell.

“Why didn’t she just say yes to begin with?” asked Milena.

“Well, probably because Vellmar was her Lead Guard. That’s an extremely important and serious position. There was prestige associated with a Games medal, to be sure, but Vellmar already held one of the most prestigious ranks a warrior could hope to attain. And she had to spend a great deal of time training for the Games, which could take away from her duties.”

“Vellmar would never have shirked her duties,” said Milena stoutly. “She would have trained on her own time.”

“Perhaps. But the truth remains that we don’t hear stories of many Guards of the Lancer taking part in the Games, do we?”

“It still doesn’t make sense. I don’t think Lancer Tal would have kept Vellmar from the Games. I think the story’s wrong.”

“And who is telling this story tonight, you or me?”

When no answer was forthcoming, Jarnell reached out, ruffled her hair, and continued.

 

 

---

 

 

Vellmar was in what she called her focused zone. She’d been in the training room at the base of the State House since the end of her shift, practicing her throwing. It was just her, the knives and a target, with nothing and no one around to interrupt, and she had long since lost track of time. Her vision had tunneled down so far that all she could see was the target, and her body felt as if it were an extension of her thoughts. She was no longer making any physical effort at all; she simply envisioned the throw and then watched the knife leave her hand. These were the moments she treasured, when her skill took over her body and made it nearly impossible to miss.

Nearly.

She had set a goal of twenty-five perfect throws at the thirty-pace short-blade competition distance, and was not allowing herself even a hair’s width of error. Each time her blade landed anywhere other than dead center in the target, she restarted the count. It did not matter if the throw was still in the red zone; in fact, she never threw a knife anywhere but in the red zone. What mattered was that it was in the exact center, because she would need to be more than excellent to win this event. She would need to be perfect.

Thunk.

Dead center; that was twenty-one. She waited for the target to eject her knife, then picked up another from the case at her feet. Take position, envision the throw…

Thunk.

Twenty-two. This was where she’d lost the count last time.

Come on, just three more, she thought. Take position, envision the throw…

Thunk.

Thunk.

Thunk.

“Yes! Finally!” With a whoop, she picked up a knife from her case and tossed it high into the air. As it came down she snatched it by the handle, flipped it in her hand and fired it at the target.

Thunk. It wasn’t perfect, but it was still in the red.

“If I hadn’t seen what you can do, I’d have thought that last move was a bit dangerous,” said a voice behind her.

Vellmar whirled in shock, her heart beating triple-time. “Great Goddess above!” she gasped. “You just scared me halfway to my Return!”

Salomen Opah, Bondlancer of Alsea, pushed off from the wall she’d been leaning against. “I’m sorry,” she said, but a snort of laughter escaped, belying the words. “Damn, I’m glad you weren’t holding a knife just now.”

“You would never have been in danger.” Vellmar was offended at the thought, and more than a little disgruntled to see her Bondlancer laughing at her.

Salomen shook her head, still smiling. “Fiana, I do apologize. I honestly thought you knew I was there. I wasn’t trying to be quiet when I came in, but you have a focus like nothing I’ve ever seen. I really didn’t mean to startle you.” She held a palm out in an invitation that would have been rude to refuse. Vellmar met it with her own, relaxing as Salomen’s emotions flowed through the physical connection. An apology via palm touch could never be insincere.

“Am I forgiven?”

“Yes, of course.” Vellmar was already past her momentary umbrage. “I didn’t realize you took such pleasure in throwing events.” Salomen’s vast enjoyment could hardly be missed, even by an empath of half Vellmar’s strength.

“I never did until now. It really was a beautiful sight, and that’s not a word I ever thought I’d associate with a weapon. But what you do with them…there is no other word for it.”

Vellmar leaned down to pull another knife from her case. “They are beautiful to me,” she said. “The way the grip fits perfectly into my palm, the weight of it, the craftwork, even the shine off the blade.” She held it out, handle first, and Salomen grasped it carefully. “It’s quite sharp,” she added.

“So I see.” Salomen folded her fingers around the grip and hefted it. “You’re right, it does fit nicely into the palm. And this is certainly more finely crafted than any blade I’ve ever used on the holding.”

“You use work blades. These are throwing blades. They’re two different animals.”

“The difference between a fanten and a winden, hm?”

“That’s a good analogy, in truth. Fantens are sturdy stock. They thrive in every environment, eat almost anything, but they’re never going to outrun you. And they’re not very beautiful.”

“But the winden is wild, fleet and free,” finished Salomen. “Creatures of the mountains, outrunning anything on legs.” She tilted the blade, watching the play of light along its length. “Yes, it really is a marvelous piece. May I be rude and ask how much a blade like this would cost?”

“I have never heard you speak rudely before, and still have not today.” In fact, Vellmar thought her Bondlancer had quite a bit in common with the winden, given her natural elegance. She had an innate ability to make everyone around her stand a little taller, and Vellmar couldn’t help but think that she looked good with a blade in her hand.

“Thank you, but that was not an answer to my question.”

“Right. Let me think…the case cost a little over three thousand cinteks, so the blade you’re holding would be about two hundred.”

Salomen’s eyes widened. “Two hundred! For one?” She hastily offered the knife back, but Vellmar held up her hands.

“Please, keep it. If it brings you pleasure.”

“Oh, Fiana, I cannot. This is yours.”

“Which means it is mine to give away. It seems to belong in your hand, Bondlancer.”

“Salomen,” she corrected. “You are not on duty, and we are not in public.”

“And I am still not accustomed to it,” admitted Vellmar.

“You’re not accustomed to me using your first name either, are you? Every time I call you Fiana, you look startled.”

Vellmar rubbed the back of her neck. “It’s not a name I hear often.”

“Yes, the warrior tradition of using family names. I’ve never quite understood it. Andira has known Colonel Micah for her entire life and still won’t call him Corozen.”

“Good Fahla! Of course she can’t call him that!”

Laughing at her horrified reaction, Salomen held the knife out again. “Really, this is much too precious for you to give away.”

Vellmar crossed her arms over her chest. “You will insult me if you do not accept.”

Salomen met her eyes, then nodded. “I would never wish that. Very well, I accept your gift. Thank you, I’m honored by it.” She lifted the knife once more, examining it closely, and Vellmar’s practiced eye could see the difference. Already she was handling the blade more confidently. Ownership changed everything.

“I would ask a gift in return,” Vellmar said.

“Of course. What can I do for you?”

“Let me teach you to use it.”

Salomen’s eyes widened. “Oh, no. I don’t think so. Fiana, no. Ask me something else.”

“Bondlancer…Salomen,” Vellmar corrected herself, “please hear me out. You are the second most targeted Alsean on the planet. Your Guards are some of the best to be found, but they cannot be everywhere all the time, and they are not infallible. If the worst occurred, you should be able to defend yourself. At the very least, you should know how to use a weapon.”

“I am not a warrior.”

Oh, but you are, thought Vellmar, who had seen this woman show more strength than an entire unit of warriors put together. But she chose a different tack.

“What do you think it would do to the Lancer if anything happened to you? Would she even survive the loss of a tyree bond?”

Salomen paused, then frowned at her. “You do not fight fairly.”

“I fight to win. And what I am offering is the gentlest method of defense possible. Think about it. A cellular disruptor causes horrific damage, even when the shot is not fatal. You’ve seen that. But a knife cut is clean and minimally damaging if the wielder knows what she’s doing. To be honest, it’s one of the reasons I prefer blades. I’m not a good shot with a disruptor, but even if I were I think I would still use blades. If I need to, I can kill quickly and painlessly, and that’s impossible with a disruptor. And when I am seeking only to neutralize, I can do so without permanently disabling my target. Now, the easiest weapon for you to learn to use would be a disruptor. But you would never carry one.”

“You’re quite right, I would not.”

“But you could carry a knife, easily, without it weighing you down or constantly reminding you of its presence. And if you were properly taught, you could use one—for self-defense only, and only to disable. Not to kill. The only weapon less damaging than a knife is your hand, and frankly I don’t think hand-to-hand is a skill you would want to learn. Even if you did want it, the learning curve is steep and long.”

Salomen looked at her thoughtfully. “You’ve put quite a lot of consideration into this. I believe I’ve just walked into a trap that was waiting to be sprung.”

There was no use denying it. “I have considered this since the moment I met you and offered you my sword.”

“Then I suppose I should be grateful that it took you five moons to spring your trap.” Salomen sighed. “Andira has been saying much the same thing, and I’ve been putting her off as long as I could. I just didn’t want to accept this part of my title.”

“I’m sorry,” said Vellmar, and she meant it. Despite her warrior heart, Salomen was a gentle being whose soul would suffer if she were forced to inflict harm. But better that than the loss of such a soul altogether.

Salomen sighed and turned to gaze at the target across the room. “What would you teach me? To throw like you do?”

“Yes, though not at such a distance. If you needed to defend yourself, chances are that by the time you realized it, your target would be only a few paces away. Perhaps even within arm’s reach. I would teach you close-in throwing, and for the arm’s reach targets, butterfly fighting.”

“Butterfly fighting? What is that?”

“A specialized style of knife fighting, relying on speed and small, targeted cuts. You would never have to stab. You could take down an opponent twice your size, without causing debilitating injury, and with less risk to yourself. It’s very, very difficult for an opponent to disarm a skilled butterfly fighter.”

Salomen didn’t answer, and after a moment Vellmar left her to think about it. Walking to the target to retrieve her blades, she went over her argument and concluded that she had done the best she could. To her mind, Salomen was a babe in arms, a tender target for anyone violently opposed to the Lancer’s rule. She had no idea how Lancer Tal lived with the fear, but she knew it was there.

Salomen’s gaze was on her as she turned to make her way back, and never wavered until Vellmar knelt to replace her blades in the case. Still the silence filled the room, and when Vellmar closed her case and stood, she said nothing to break it.

At last Salomen gave her a wry smile. “Butterfly, hm? It sounds so…harmless.”

“There is nothing harmless in preventing your own death or injury. And to be honest, I do not concern myself for a piptick with the well-being of anyone who would attempt to harm you. But I am concerned about your well-being. And I know that you would mourn forever if you were forced to truly hurt another Alsean.” She did not add, “or to kill.” She didn’t need to.

Salomen tapped the flat of the blade against her leg. “Very well,” she said. “I agree. I don’t like it, but I see the necessity. And I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have teaching me. Thank you, Fiana.”

“Don’t thank me. This is your gift to me, it’s I who should be thanking you.”

“I meant, thank you for caring so much that you spent five moons planning your argument.”

Vellmar ducked her head, embarrassed. “It’s my duty.”

“If that’s all it is, then I have misjudged our relationship. Are we not friends?”

There was a sad note in Salomen’s voice, and Vellmar felt an immediate need to smooth it away. “I would count your friendship among my greatest honors,” she said.

“Good. Because I would rather have a friend teaching me than Andira’s Lead Guard.”

“Then that is who will teach you.”

They smiled at each other, the tension of the moment broken. Salomen’s expression turned playful as she reached out and squeezed Vellmar’s upper arm. “I thought so. You’ll soon be lopsided, growing such muscles on your throwing arm. You’ll find it difficult to walk a straight line.”

“That’s why I only use this arm half of the time. Then I switch.”

“You do not!”

Vellmar laughed. “I really do. But I’m terrible with my right arm. I can only hit the red zone seven out of ten throws.”

“Good Fahla. No wonder Andira likes you. You’re possibly the only warrior in this building even more obsessed with perfection than she is.”

Vellmar held the door open for her, enjoying the thought. More obsessed than the Lancer? She could live with that.

 

 

---

 

 

“Salomen was so smart to ask Vellmar to teach her,” said Milena.

“She was the most beloved Bondlancer in history,” Jarnell said. “She didn’t get that way by being stupid, or letting opportunities pass her by. She went out and made things happen.”

“Imagine having Vellmar the Blade personally instructing you…” Milena’s sentence drifted into a hero-worshipping sigh. “I wish I could travel back in time. I’d ask her to teach me, too.”

“As if you could get near her even if you were there,” scoffed Pendar. “She’d never even notice you.”

“She would too! She noticed everything! She was the best warrior ever!”

“No, she wasn’t. Lancer Tal was.” Pendar had his own hero.

“Lancer Tal could never throw a sword.”

“No, but she could fight with one.”

“Not as well as Vellmar.”

“Vellmar wasn’t the one who killed the Warrior With No Name.”

“Yes, but Vellmar—”

“Stop!”

Both children went silent.

“Thank you,” said Jarnell. “Now if you’re done arguing about who was the best, shall I go on?” Seeing the vigorous nods, he stifled a smile and said, “Let’s see, where was I? It’s so hard to remember with all these interruptions…”

“Vellmar was training,” said Milena.

“Ah, of course. Well, Vellmar trained like a warrior possessed, every day, for hanticks at a time. Sometimes other warriors came to watch, but she didn’t enjoy having an audience. She said that blade practice was a solitary pursuit. Yet she never minded when Salomen came, because the Bondlancer never cheered or offered boisterous encouragement like the other warriors. She simply watched in respectful silence. Many cycles later, Vellmar said that was the secret to Salomen’s success—her genuine respect for others, no matter what their station in life.”

“Of course she respected Vellmar! Who wouldn’t?” asked Milena.

That wasn’t quite the point Jarnell wanted to make, but he could teach that with a different story. “No one dared to ask if they could train with her,” he continued. “No one, that is, but a single person. There was one person she would not say no to, who was skilled enough to provide her with the enjoyment of a true training partner. And that one person was—”

“Lancer Tal!” cried Pendar.

 

 

---

 

 

“May I join you?” asked the Lancer.

Vellmar glanced at the case in her hand and smiled at the prominent mark on the side. “That looks familiar.”

“I did notice that you have excellent taste as well. Yulsintoh’s craftwork is well represented in this room.”

“No other maker crafts blades with the same sense of balance,” Vellmar agreed. “Someday I’ll have a sword to match my throwing blades.”

“You still haven’t bought one? Even after he lowered his prices?”

Yulsintoh was famed worldwide for being the Lancer’s blademaker of choice, and had raised his prices accordingly—so high that rank-and-file warriors could no longer afford them. When Lancer Tal had learned of his price gouging, she had promptly threatened to carry another maker’s sword at her bonding ceremony if he didn’t make something more affordable for a warrior’s wages. Yulsintoh had responded with a new product line of high quality blades lacking any adornment, which were now selling better than many of his other designs. Vellmar had seen a Guard in Salomen’s unit carrying one just a few days ago.

“No,” she admitted. “Because now those blades are starting to be popular. I want a Yulsintoh, but not one that looks the same as every other sword I see.”

“Don’t tell me you want one of those jewel-encrusted monstrosities,” teased the Lancer.

“And look like some puffed-up, pot-bellied warrior whose last mission was running supplies between Blacksun and Redmoon? Not a chance!”

Lancer Tal laughed. “Fahla, what an image! No, I can’t see you with one of those. So which one are you wanting?”

“Have you seen the one with the red and black diamond pattern on the grip? And the golden scrolling on the blade?”

“His new design? Yes, I saw a review of it last moon, I think. Stunning looks and a new self-cleaning retraction mechanism.” The Lancer let out a low whistle. “Your taste is more than excellent. I think that’s the best blade he’s making right now, but it costs even more than the jeweled ones.”

“I know,” sighed Vellmar. “But it’s so beautiful.”

“Then you’d better start saving.”

“I have been since you promoted me.” Vellmar pointed at the case still in the Lancer’s hand. “Please, put that down. I’d appreciate a little company; I’m starting to get tired of myself.”

“Excellent. Can we start at fifteen paces? I’ll need to work myself back up to thirty.”

Vellmar agreed, and they began their training. It was harder for her to get into her focused zone this way, but she needed to practice that, too. In competition she would not have the luxury of being alone in a silent room. And she truly enjoyed working with Lancer Tal, whose own skill enabled a steady rhythm of throws that soon lulled her into a state that was, if not quite her zone, at least a peaceful cousin to it.

The only time they spoke was when they were walking to the target to collect their knives, and then the conversation revolved largely around the minutiae of State House life and guesses as to the likely performance of various Games competitors. The very mundanity of it suddenly struck Vellmar as humorous, and her smile attracted Lancer Tal’s attention.

“Something amusing?”

As they knelt at the base of the target, sorting knives into two piles, Vellmar chuckled. “I was just thinking that six moons ago, if someone had told me I’d be chatting with the Lancer today about whether Burnswallow could win the sniper competition, I would have thought they were in need of a Healer. I guess I still haven’t adapted to the changes in my life.”

“I think you’ve adapted quite well, and the proof of that is the new knife Salomen recently acquired. That was well done, Vellmar. I don’t know if she would ever have accepted one from me, but you managed to get around her. Which tells me that you’re fitting into our family just fine.”

Vellmar paused, taking a moment to bask in the unexpected compliment. “Thank you, Lancer.”

“It’s I who should be thanking you.” Lancer Tal put her last knife into the case and closed it. “Salomen has made many friends in Blacksun, but she has little trust in their motives. On the Opah holding, she knows she is loved for herself. Here, she never knows if it’s her personality or her title that people find attractive. There are two people she never doubts, however: Colonel Micah, and you.”

Not knowing how to respond, Vellmar found refuge in good manners. “I take the greatest honor in her regard, and I swear to you that—”

“Don’t swear anything to me,” interrupted the Lancer. “This isn’t between you and me. It’s between you and Salomen. I’m simply telling you that she needs a friend, and she has chosen you. Now, I know how honorable you are, and I know the difficult situation this puts you in. Your respect for the Bondlancer title pulls you one way, while Salomen’s affection may pull you another. I will say only this: When it does not conflict with your duty, give the greater weight to her affection. Don’t hurt her with formality.”

Vellmar remembered the sadness in Salomen’s voice when she’d asked if they were friends, and suddenly understood the import of what Lancer Tal was saying. “I would never willingly hurt her. But what you’re asking me…that’s not how I was taught. She’s the Bondlancer. And my private oath holder!”

“If I told her that she had to choose between holding your oath, and being your friend, I know what she would say. Don’t you?”

Of course she did. What she didn’t know was how to reconcile the two positions that the Lancer was asking her to occupy. “It might take me some time to find my way in this.”

“Salomen will give you all the time you need.”

“Will you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Friendships are not always perfect. Sometimes people make mistakes. Sometimes they get angry or hurt. If I make a mistake with Salomen, what will you do?”

There was a flash of something quickly hidden in her eyes. “That would depend on the mistake.”

Gathering her courage, Vellmar said, “Then you didn’t mean it when you said this wasn’t between you and me.”

The instant tension in the room was so great that she could hardly maintain their gaze. But in the end, it was the Lancer who sat back on her heels. “Shek, Vellmar. Now you’re the one putting me in a difficult position.”

Vellmar was silent, her whole body thrumming with the shock of having faced down her superior officer. No one ever told her that the greatest risks she might take as a warrior could be in a silent training room, with no enemy in sight.

“The learning opportunities never end, do they?” murmured Lancer Tal. She looked up with a wry smile. “You have the right to ask me that, and more wisdom than I have at the moment. I honestly don’t know how I would handle it. My first instinct if you hurt Salomen would be to send you back where I found you, with a boot print on your back. But you can’t be her friend if you’re always fearing my reaction.” She ran a hand through her hair and sighed. “I suppose the only thing I can do is make you a promise that no matter my personal feelings, I will not allow them to affect our professional interactions. And I will not interfere with the relationship between the two of you. Is that enough?”

After careful consideration, Vellmar nodded. “It’s enough.”

They sealed the agreement with a palm touch, and the Lancer curled her fingers around to hold Vellmar’s in a firmer grip. “Great Fahla, you’re good at keeping your feelings off your face,” she said softly. “I am sorry for causing you this fear.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” Vellmar answered, realizing the truth of it even as she spoke. “I’m afraid of the mistake.”

“Then you and I have something else in common.”

Suddenly, with a flash of intuition she could never explain, Vellmar understood what Lancer Tal was saying. She wasn’t speaking just of a possible mistake with Salomen, but of all the mistakes she could make in her governance of Alsea. Every day of her life she lived with that fear, and every day she shouldered the same responsibility in spite of it. The realization gave Vellmar even greater respect for her, and she squeezed her hand before letting go.

“Thank you for trusting me with her,” she said.

Lancer Tal nodded and stood, picking up her knife case. “I’m ready to try thirty paces now.”

They walked back to resume their practice, and for the next hantick neither one spoke a word. But something had changed in that room, and Vellmar would look back at it later as one of the great defining moments of her life. It was the moment she stepped into a new role with Salomen—and learned what it meant to be Lancer.

 

 

---

 

 

“And that’s why she was such a great Lancer herself,” said Milena.

“Because she learned from the best,” said Pendar. “Lancer Tal taught her everything she knew before she retired.”

“I think you two might be forgetting someone in your mutual hero worship,” Jarnell observed. “Both Tal and Vellmar learned from someone else as well. Neither of them would have been the rulers they were without Salomen’s influence. It was her producer point of view that tempered their warrior outlook.”

“But Salomen was more warrior than producer,” Milena asserted.

“Where did you get that idea?”

“She was Salomen the Strong!”

Jarnell laughed. “She didn’t get that name by being the strongest warrior on Alsea, daughter. She got it by being the strongest empath.”

“Oh.” Milena sounded disappointed.

“Well, I know which story I’m telling next time. You two are just a little fixated on warriors. There are five other castes, you know. Wait…isn’t your bondfather in one of those castes?” he asked in exaggerated tones. “Remember him? The man downstairs making your midmeals for tomorrow?”

“Father!” They giggled in unison, and Pendar added, “We know! But warriors are more exciting.”

That was true, Jarnell thought. Though the castes were equal, each tended to focus on the exploits of their own. Only the stories of warriors were loved regardless of caste.

He was definitely telling a Salomen story next time.

“Well, on to the exciting part of this tale,” he said. “The Games opened with great fanfare, under clear blue skies, and Blacksun Valley was full to bursting with competitors and spectators. The blade throwing events took place over three days, and the battle between Vellmar and her birth mother attracted every journalist in the area. They tried to make it seem as if the two were in a fierce rivalry, but the truth was…”

 

 

---

 

 

“Shek, Mother, couldn’t you miss once in a while?” grumbled Vellmar.

Linzine Vellmar laughed. “I will if you do it first.”

“I can’t, you never taught me how.”

That brought a full-throated laugh, and Linzine slapped her daughter on the back. “Well said! So if you miss, I’ll know you never learned it from me.”

Vellmar couldn’t keep the grin off her face. Any lingering fears she’d had about her mother’s reaction to this competition had vanished the first day, when she’d taken the red medal for the thirty-pace short-blade event and relegated her mother to blue. The difference between the two medals was, just as she’d predicted, the width of a hair. All of her practicing had paid off, and Linzine had been as thrilled as if she’d won the red herself. It was just as Lancer Tal had said—Linzine felt that Vellmar’s win was a reflection on her. That night they had gone to meet Linzine’s unit, who had all flown to Blacksun in support of their star member, and Vellmar spent a rather loud and boisterous evening being introduced as “my daughter, the one who took my medal away from me.” The spirits had flowed freely and the bets were enthusiastically placed for the next day’s event, and Vellmar was never quite sure the next morning just how she’d gotten back to her quarters. When she lost the red to her mother in the fifteen-pace event, she blamed it on the spirits that had been poured down her throat and good-naturedly accused Linzine of scheming to accomplish exactly that. Linzine had responded that if Vellmar couldn’t hold her drink, she had no business being in the bar.

The third day was busier, with both final events taking place in the afternoon. Vellmar and her mother battled each other for the twenty-pace moving target event, and in the end the judges had to assign a tie-breaking round. Vellmar won it and was startled when her mother leaped on her, pounding her back and laughing.

Now they were out in the heat of the late afternoon, vying for the last medal of the blade-throwing events. This was the forty-pace moving target competition, the toughest of them all and the one that Vellmar had found most difficult to practice for. Nevertheless, she was keeping up with her mother and they had long since left the rest of the competitors behind.

She stepped up to the line and waited for the bell that would signal the start of the timer. When it rang, she would have five pipticks to hit a moving circle on the target forty paces away. The heat waves rising off the field were making it more difficult to focus, and the sweat rolling down her face didn’t help. She lifted her sleeve to mop the sweat and was caught mid-wipe when the bell rang.

“Shek!” she swore, blinking away a drop of sweat and peering at the target. Going on pure instinct, she let her blade fly and was surprised to see it stop the circle. It wasn’t dead center, but in this event that kind of precision wasn’t required.

“I thought for sure I had you on that one,” said Linzine. “First rule of competition, daughter: bring a cloth for wiping the sweat.”

“Now you tell me. Thanks so much.” Vellmar headed for the refreshment table and picked up a bottle of water, sighing in relief as the cool liquid slid down her throat.

“Lead Guard Vellmar? Would this help?” asked a voice at her side.

She turned to find a young girl in the uniform of a Games volunteer, looking up at her with what could only be described as worship. In her hand she held a small kerchief.

“Yes it would, thank you,” said Vellmar, accepting the kerchief and immediately wiping her face with it. “Ah. Much better.” She unfolded the cloth and looked in surprise at the initials sewn into one corner. “Wait, is this yours?”

“You can keep it,” blurted the girl. In a whirl of long hair, she turned and scurried away, and Vellmar watched in bemusement as she joined another volunteer and whispered excitedly into her ear. Both girls grabbed each other and jumped up and down, screaming.

“I do believe you have your first fan,” observed Linzine from behind her. “Get used to it. By the way, it’s your turn. I didn’t miss.”

“Why not? You’ll have to at some point.” Tucking the kerchief into her pocket, Vellmar ignored the even louder scream from the girls and walked back to the line. She didn’t miss either, and after two more throws the event ended its regulation time, with a tied score for the lead.

“The tie-breaker round will begin after a fifteen-tick rest,” announced one of the judges, and a roar arose from the crowd in the temporary seat risers. Many of them began climbing down, headed for either the restrooms or the snack stands, and the noise level rose considerably. Vellmar took the opportunity to sit down under a sun shade, enjoying the break from the never-ending glare. Koneza had nothing on Blacksun Valley for summer heat and glare, she decided.

Linzine slid into the seat beside her, a bottle of water in her hand. “Fiana, whatever happens in this next round, I want you to know that this has been the best Games I’ve ever entered. It’s such a pleasure to have you at my side.”

Vellmar smiled at her. “It’s a pleasure to be here. I wanted to do this last cycle, you know.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“Because I didn’t want to compete against you.”

Linzine looked at her blankly. “Why not?”

“Well…” It sounded so stupid, now that she was here. “I was afraid it might…hurt you, somehow, if I won and took your title.”

“Oh, daughter. I hardly know what to say. I appreciate your thoughtfulness, but truly, how could you not have known I’d be proud of you?”

“Because I was a grainbird?”

“That you were!” Linzine stood and upended her bottle over Vellmar’s head, taking her completely by surprise.

“Mother!” Vellmar launched herself off the chair, tackling her mother around the waist and taking them both down to the trampled grass. Linzine lost her grip on the bottle and it rolled out of her reach, still releasing water. Laughing uproariously, they both grabbed for it, but Vellmar had the better position and scooped it up, immediately pouring the remainder of its contents on Linzine’s chest. “Thanks for the shower, but I think you needed one too!”

“You little wretch! To think I gave birth to such an ungrateful child!” Linzine struggled to get away, but couldn’t move in time to avoid her own soaking. By the time she shoved Vellmar to the side, the bottle was empty and they both collapsed onto the ground, still laughing.

“Oh, Fahla, that did feel good,” said Vellmar, sitting up and squeezing the water out of her hair. “Not that I would recommend you try it again!”

Linzine pulled herself into a sitting position and tried ineffectually to wring the water out of her shirt. “You realize that we’re going to be all over the news tonight, and they’ll call it a spite fight between mother and daughter.”

“Let them.” Vellmar gave up on her hair and raked it back with both hands. “They have no idea—” She stopped, startled, as her mother leaped to her feet, stood straight and thumped both fists to her chest.

There was only one person that salute could be for. She turned her head and groaned silently at the sight of not just Lancer Tal, but Salomen as well, standing two paces away with identical grins on their faces. With a flush that instantly erased the cooling effect of her wet hair, she stood beside her mother and offered the same salute.

“Well met, Vellmar,” said the Lancer, still smiling. “Will you introduce us?”

“Of course,” said Vellmar hastily. “This is my birth mother, Linzine Vellmar. Mother, please greet Lancer Andira Tal and Bondlancer Salomen Opah.”

“I am deeply honored,” said Linzine, with no trace of embarrassment on her perfectly neutral face. “Please excuse our appearance. Had we known you were coming we would certainly have—”

“Behaved in an entirely upright fashion and denied us the first opportunity we’ve had to see Lead Guard Vellmar so relaxed,” finished Lancer Tal. “Please, Guard Linzine, do not apologize. I shall carry this memory for a long time to come.”

“Oh, wonderful,” muttered Vellmar.

Salomen chuckled. “I think we should endeavor to surprise her more often, Andira. Who knows what sights we might see?”

Vellmar shot her a pleading look, meeting an entirely unrepentant expression in return.

“I can assure you that my daughter does not normally disgrace her uniform,” Linzine persisted, clearly alarmed by Salomen’s suggestion. Vellmar could sense that that she was laboring under a mistaken impression and finally unbent enough to take her arm, conveying her own lack of worry through the touch.

“Mother, they’re teasing us. Lancer Tal would never judge one of her Guards for a moment of off-duty playfulness. And Bondlancer Opah is…my friend.”

“Indeed I am, and grateful to be so,” said Salomen, stepping forward to offer a palm. “Well met, Guard Linzine. I hold your daughter in the highest regard, and a little wet hair won’t change that.”

Linzine touched her palm and looked at her in wonder. “Thank you, and well met, Bondlancer Opah.” Her expression grew more astonished as she touched palms with the Lancer. “Well met, Lancer Tal.”

“Well met,” answered the Lancer. “I do apologize for worrying you. I assumed you would know that Vellmar has a special standing in our unit.”

“Yes, don’t you tell your mother anything?” asked Salomen mischievously.

“You are not helping!” Vellmar said, eliciting chuckles from her tormentors and a wide-eyed look from Linzine.

“Well, the real reason we came out was to congratulate both of you on an incredible performance,” said Lancer Tal. “I can’t recall enjoying the blade throwing events at a Games quite so much.”

“I feel the same way,” said Linzine, losing a bit of her awe. “My daughter is here with me. It changes the nature of the competition, because no matter who wins, I cannot lose.”

“It’s all the same honor, isn’t it?” asked Lancer Tal, and Linzine nodded.

“It is. The two reds she holds right now are still in the Vellmar name.” She winked at Vellmar and added, “Of course, two are all she’s going to get.”

“Keep dreaming,” Vellmar shot back. “I’m taking this one.”

“I think you’re about to settle the question,” said Salomen, pointing behind them, and they turned to see the three judges mounting the judging stand.

“Time to go,” said Lancer Tal. “Guard Linzine, it was an honor. I hope to see you again in future. Perhaps your daughter might show you where she works someday.”

Linzine turned to her the moment they left. “How in the name of Fahla could you not tell me about this? The Bondlancer of Alsea is your friend? And I’m not even sure what to think about the Lancer’s feelings!”

“Mother…it’s complicated. I don’t know from one day to the next quite what the Lancer thinks. But I did help her the night before her challenge, when she knew she might not live through the next morning, and you can’t just go back to normal after something like that. And my friendship with Salomen—”

“Salomen? You’re on a first name basis with the Bondlancer?”

“It just happened in the last few ninedays! She needs a friend in Blacksun, and the Lancer all but ordered me to ignore her title.”

The bell rang, summoning them back to the competition. As they turned back toward the line, Linzine put a hand on Vellmar’s shoulder. “These are dangerous friends, daughter.”

“I know that. But I think they are also good friends.”

Linzine shook her head, her concern unabated, but their arrival at the line precluded further conversation.

The tie-breaker round was more difficult than regulation competition, with the targets moving twenty percent faster than before. Vellmar’s very first throw missed, raising an enormous shout from the crowd, but Linzine missed three throws later, tying the score. Neither of them missed again, and when that round finished and a second tie-breaker began, with the targets now moving one-third faster than normal, they still hit every one. They were allowed a five-tick water break then, and Vellmar was startled to see that the crowd in the seat risers had swollen to well beyond capacity. A volunteer told her that the other afternoon Games events had ended, releasing their audiences, and many of those people had heard the noise and come to see what it was about.

On the third round the target speed was at its maximum, fifty percent above normal. Every throw raised a huge shout, the announcers were scrambling to find new adjectives to describe the action, and the noise and tension finally broke through Vellmar’s focus. She misjudged the speed of her target, anticipating it too much, and her blade landed a hair’s width in front of it. The howl from the crowd was so loud that it hurt her ears.

There were two throws left in the round. She hit them both, but so did her mother. The moment Linzine’s blade buried itself in the final target, she threw her head back and roared a victory cry, which was all but drowned out by the pandemonium of the crowd. It had been the most hotly-contested throwing event in recent memory, and while Vellmar hated losing it, she couldn’t help but be proud that her mother still held the record.

“Congratulations, Mother,” she called over the noise. “You deserve the red.”

“But you made me work for it,” laughed Linzine. “Fahla, did you make me work! I can’t wait to do this again next cycle!” They came together in a double palm touch, grasping each other’s hands tightly and grinning like fools, and then the officials were hustling them to the podium to accept their medals. It wasn’t until the announcer called out the results to the crowd that Vellmar realized the implication of her mother’s win. They were now tied in the blade-throwing events, with two red and two blue medals each, which meant there was no clear winner of the champion’s title.

“After a fifteen-tick break,” boomed the announcer, “we will determine the champion with a final event. It has not been necessary for eight cycles, but today, there will be a sword-throwing competition!”

The crowd shook the risers, and Vellmar stared at her mother in shock. “I didn’t even think about that!”

“You have your sword, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course, the regulations required it. I just didn’t stop to think about why.”

“Well, drink a bottle of water and start thinking about it, daughter. You still have the chance to take my title.”

They swung by the refreshment table, where Vellmar was grateful to find a volunteer holding two pastries for them. The moment she saw them her stomach rumbled, reminding her that midmeal had been several hanticks ago. Thanking the volunteer, she picked up a bottle of water as well, and had managed to consume the entire pastry before they even made it to the equipment tent. Their knife cases were already there, having been collected while they were being given their medals, but her gear bag was not where she’d left it. Worried, she spun around and nearly walked into a wall disguised as an Alsean.

“Looking for this?” said the man, holding out her bag.

“Senshalon!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here? And yes, I was looking for that.”

Senshalon, by far the largest Guard in her unit, gave her a brilliant smile. “I’m the target thrower. They wanted someone who could get some distance.”

She dropped the bag next to her knife case, unzipped it and pulled out her sword case. “Well, they picked the right person, then. Just don’t throw the targets so far that we can’t reach them.” Unsnapping the case, she gazed at her sword grip nestled in the foam. “Never thought I’d be using this today.”

“Have you practiced enough with it?” he asked worriedly. “I haven’t seen you throwing it anywhere but the base, and you haven’t been on the base much lately.”

“Well, I certainly focused a lot more on knife throwing,” she said, straightening up with her grip in hand. “But I still put in a few sessions, and I did it so much back at Koneza that it’s built into my muscle memory.”

He nodded in understanding, then looked over as Linzine appeared with her own grip.

“Ready, Fiana?”

“I’m ready. Mother, this is Senshalon, the Guard I’m training in knife fighting. He’s our target thrower.”

“Well met, Guard Senshalon,” said Linzine.

“Well met, and a true pleasure.” Senshalon touched her palm. “I wish we could talk, but you two have to go out and make a whole unit of journalists deliriously happy. All of the other events are done for the day, so every journalist in Blacksun Valley is right here.”

“Well then, let’s give them a show.” Linzine led the way out with all the calm of a seasoned competitor. Vellmar followed, feeling far less settled, and Senshalon brought up the rear.

The moment they emerged into the open space near the throwing line, the air rang with the roar from the crowd. The announcer was shouting something over the sound system, but Vellmar couldn’t make out a word of it. She was on sensory overload, feeling the emotions of such a crush of excited Alseans as a heavy pounding against her mental shielding. Closing her eyes, she took herself to her place of serenity, centering her own emotions and gradually shoring up her shielding until she felt, if not calmer, at least less overwhelmed. When she opened her eyes again, her mother was watching her knowingly.

“It’s not usually like this,” Linzine said, speaking loudly to be heard over the background noise. “In fact I’ve never seen it quite like this. Don’t look at them. Look out there.” She swept her hand outward, indicating the open field they faced. The seat risers were set on three sides of a rectangle, but the fourth was open to the land as dictated by a tradition as old as the Games themselves. Vellmar could see the foothills in the distance, and behind them the great mountains ringing in the valley. Just the sight of them calmed her further, and she gave her mother a grateful nod.

She was never able to remember the details of this last event. She didn’t hear the announcer explaining the rules to the audience, didn’t even know it had begun until Senshalon stepped up with a stack of the large round targets. In a daze she watched him throw one, then the other out in a sidearm motion. She took her place at the line next to her mother, extended her sword and waited. At the sound of the bell they both threw their swords at their targets, and she knew it would be a tie long before they landed.

Volunteer runners raced out to retrieve the swords, and then Senshalon was at the line again, this time throwing with greater force. The targets landed almost seventy paces away, a challenging distance, but the result was still a tie. When the runners held up the swords, each with a target impaled on it, the crowd noise swelled to such a level that Vellmar’s head began to throb. She was now at the point where she simply wanted to finish this and get out. Far from being in her focused zone, she felt as if her brain were wrapped in foam, dulling her perceptions.

Senshalon’s third throw was impressive. The targets landed at the upper range of her limit, and she focused on hers, readying herself for the throw. She stepped up to the line, her vision tunneling down—and then frowned as something caught her attention. A movement, right next to her mother’s target. The foamy feeling vanished, all of her senses came into sharp focus, and she gasped as a small body appeared. It was too far to see what it was, but it was clearly alive, and it had now clambered onto the target.

“Wait!” she cried, but the sound of the bell drowned her out, and then Linzine was throwing her sword.

Vellmar didn’t even think about it. Her own sword whipped through the air, impacting her mother’s with a clash of metal. As the crowd exclaimed in shock, both swords dropped to the ground several paces short of the target.

“What in the name—” her mother was saying, but Vellmar was already running, needing to know what was out there. Her overwrought brain was saying child, but even as she drew near she realized that no child could have gotten that far into the target range without someone else seeing it first. As she pounded up to the target, she saw the fur and the curious yellow eyes staring at her, showing no fear.

“Fahla on a shekking funstick,” she swore, dropping to her knees. She had just disqualified herself and thrown away the championship title—all for a young vallcat. As she sat there cursing her luck, two other kittens appeared, squeaking as they tumbled over each other. With a trembling hand she reached out, gently nudged the first kitten off the target, and lifted the edge. Then she did the only thing she could: she laughed.

What were the odds that Senshalon would throw a target precisely onto the opening of a vallcat’s underground den?

 

 

---

 

 

“…and it wasn’t until it stood up and shook itself that everyone else could finally see what Vellmar had seen before them: the biggest, most magnificent vallcat that ever lived. We do not see its like today,” said Jarnell.

“How big was it?” asked Pendar. This was his favorite part.

“It was so big that if it were to lie upon your bed right now, there would be no room for you. It had teeth the length of your hands, and claws as long as your feet. Its fur was so thick that you could put your hand on its neck and bury it right to the wrist. And its eyes—great, unblinking, yellow eyes—were the mark of a ferocious hunter.”

“But Vellmar wasn’t afraid!” said Milena.

“No, Vellmar wasn’t afraid. She reached out and let it sniff her hand, and then the great beast sat down and bumped her with its head.”

“Because it knew! It knew she saved its life.”

“Indeed it did. And from that day forward, Vellmar took the vallcat as her personal emblem. She changed her family crest to honor the hunting cats, and whenever anyone saw it, they remembered the day that Vellmar the Blade chose life over glory, mercy over pride. This was the day when Alseans first recognized the warrior who would become their next Lancer.”

 

 

---

 

 

“I cannot believe I gave up the title for a passel of vallcat kittens,” said Vellmar, for at least the fifth time.

“I can,” said Salomen, topping up her glass. “Here, drink up. You still need it.”

Blindly, Vellmar reached out for the glass and took a deep draught. She wasn’t even certain how she’d gotten to the Lancer’s State House quarters; the details were a bit fuzzy after leaving the Games. She remembered the crowd of people that had surrounded her in the field, calling out questions and frightening the kittens back into their den with the commotion. She’d sympathized with the kittens then, thinking that she’d have followed them down if only she could have fit. Overwhelmed by the sheer size and volume of the crowd, she had finally shouted at everyone to back away, and demanded that the area be cordoned off so that no harm would come to the den while the Games were still running. Lancer Tal had appeared from nowhere and taken over, ordering the safety of the den and telling Vellmar to go with Salomen and her Guards. From that moment to this one, however, she could recall nothing but a gray blur.

“What a mess,” she mumbled, dropping her head to the table. “They must all think I’m as cracked as a bad blacknut.”

“Fiana, nobody thinks that. You acted on pure instinct—a very good instinct, it turned out. It just took some time before everyone realized it. Linzine said she would have been devastated if she’d impaled a vallcat kitten on her sword, and that’s exactly what would have happened if you hadn’t done what you did.”

“But I’m a laughingstock! How am I supposed to command a Guard unit now?”

“You are not a laughingstock. Don’t you realize what you did? You knocked your mother’s sword out of the air! Andira said she’d never seen anything like it. She thought you were amazing back in Koneza, when you hit a tin of shannel, but she says this was much more difficult. My own Guards think you’re half a goddess. If the championship were awarded on skill alone, versus hitting an approved target, you’d have it right now.”

“But I don’t have it, do I? Because I threw it away.”

Salomen made an inarticulate sound of exasperation. “Maybe I should save my breath until you’re sober, and just focus on getting you so drunk that your brain lets go of this single thought you seem to be fixed on.”

“You don’t understand! I worked so hard. I trained for moons for this.”

“No, you didn’t.”

Vellmar lifted her head in confusion. “I didn’t?”

“No, you grainbird. You trained for the medals. And you brought home four of them.”

Vellmar blinked. There was something wrong with this logic, but it was true that she had four medals. Except…except she didn’t know where they were!

“My medals,” she said, standing up. “I lost my medals! We have to go back!”

Salomen gently pushed her down again. “I have your medals, Fiana. Don’t worry. You haven’t lost them.”

“You have them?”

“Yes. Great Goddess above, you are going to be so mortified if you remember any of this conversation tomorrow.”

“How is she?” asked Lancer Tal, who had once again appeared out of nowhere.

“Drunk as a Mariner on leave,” said Salomen. “But still very upset.”

“Well, she’s got a reason for it. But you should hear the talk out there. I feel sorry for all the other competitors at the Games, because they just became a footnote in the news. Vellmar is the star, no doubt about it. Linzine said only her daughter could turn a loss into the biggest win of the Games.”

“She doesn’t feel like a winner. Andira, we can’t let her go back to her quarters like this.”

“I know. Besides, I had a feeling we wouldn’t get her out of here without carrying her, and that would stir up gossip she doesn’t need.”

“I’ll make up the couch.”

They talked back and forth while Vellmar watched, but her brain stopped processing the words. And then she laid her head back on the table, and stopped processing anything at all.

 

 

---

 

 

“And the vallcat became Vellmar’s friend, didn’t it?” asked Pendar.

“Yes, it did. She would often return to that part of Blacksun Valley to visit it.”

“Why didn’t she just take it home with her?” Milena wanted to know. “That’s what I would have done!”

“Because it was a wild animal. It would have been miserable in the city.”

“Not if she kept it at Redmoon Base. There’s a whole forest around the base.”

“Vallcats aren’t forest animals. They’re specialized for hunting in long grass. You can’t take a wild animal out of its home and expect it to be happy. Vellmar knew that.”

“But imagine having a vallcat of your own,” mumbled Milena.

 

 

---

 

 

Vellmar woke in a room she didn’t recognize. Alarmed, she pushed herself into a sitting position and immediately regretted it. With a groan she closed her eyes and held her head in her hands, trying to keep it from flying into pieces.

“Good morning,” said an entirely too cheerful voice.

“Ugh.” She wanted to say more, to fully express the agony she was currently experiencing, but it wasn’t possible.

“Give me your hand.”

Someone tugged one of her hands away from her head, an imposition that she resisted fiercely. It wasn’t until her spirit-soaked brain finally recognized Salomen’s voice that she let go. A skin spray hissed into her wrist, something clattered, and Salomen said, “I’ve just given you an analgesic and anti-nausea spray. Now if you’ll drink this, you’ll start feeling a lot better.”

She opened her eyes, staring blankly at the glass of juice that filled her vision. Carefully she reached out, took the glass with both hands, and sipped it. Her stomach stayed where it was supposed to be, which she took as a good sign. A full gulp also produced no untoward gastrointestinal activities, but it did serve to activate a suddenly powerful thirst. She drained the glass gratefully, and when she handed it back she was already sufficiently recovered to speak a full sentence.

“You just saved my life.”

Salomen chuckled. “I think you give me a little too much credit. In truth, I’m feeling guilty for getting you so drunk.”

Vellmar looked around, realizing that the room wasn’t unfamiliar after all. “Fahla! I spent the night here? In the Lancer’s quarters?!” Shek, her career was over. What must the Lancer think of a Lead Guard who couldn’t even make it to her own rooms?

“May I remind you that these are my quarters, too? Now you’re not giving me enough credit! Stop being a shekking Lead Guard for a piptick. You stayed here because you’re my friend, and I have never seen you so upset as you were last night. I was not about to leave you alone in your quarters, so I brought you home. Andira was in full agreement.”

“Oh, perfect. Better and better.” Vellmar was on the verge of saying something she would regret, but then she caught the look in Salomen’s eyes and stopped herself. Taking a deep, cleansing breath, she managed a small smile. “I’m sorry. Shattering headaches make me a little short-tempered. Thank you for…everything you did for me. Even though I can’t remember exactly what it was.”

That seemed to have been the right thing to say. “You’re welcome. I really am sorry about the shattering headache. I just didn’t know how else to calm you down.”

“It was probably for the best.” She saw her boots lined up neatly at the foot of the couch, and then realized that she was still in yesterday’s clothes. “I’m not sure how you can stand being this close to me. I was sweating like a dokker yesterday.”

“Yes, you’re a little ripe.” Vellmar looked up sharply, only to see an amused smile on Salomen’s face. “I’m teasing you. But a sonsales could sense how uncomfortable you are, so why don’t you go take a shower?”

“I will.” Vellmar reached for her boots and joked, “I feel like a rude date, sneaking out the morning after.”

“You’re not sneaking out.” Salomen stopped her with a hand. “You have a clean uniform right there, and you know where our shower is.”

“I can’t—”

“Listen, Fiana, I’ve been here long enough to understand the value of appearances. You’re not going out there until you’re the very picture of a perfectly sober, perfectly in control Lead Guard, ready to face the world.”

Vellmar sat back in surprise. “When did you become a politician?”

“Probably the day I moved into these quarters.”

The shower cleared the last vestiges of spirits from her brain, and by the time she was done the analgesic had kicked in. She felt almost normal, and began trying to piece together her scattered memories of the day before. It wasn’t until she was pulling on her fresh uniform that she realized how aberrant the behavior of those kittens had been. Buttoning her collar, she strode into the living area and found Salomen sitting at the table. “Do you know anything about vallcats?”

Salomen looked up from a pad she’d been writing in. “You seem to be feeling better. Yes, we have them on the holding. Why?”

“They don’t usually come out in the heat of the day, do they? Why were they out of their den? And where was their mother?”

Putting down her pen, Salomen considered it. “Now that you bring it up, I would guess that their mother is staying far away during the daytime, with all the activity of the Games. She’s probably only able to bring food back at night, which means those kittens are on half rations. Maybe when the target landed on their den, they thought it was their mother bringing food. So they went out looking for her.”

“And if they were that hungry, it explains why the one on the target didn’t hide when I came running up. It just sat there, staring at me. None of them were frightened until everyone else started crowding around. Salomen—we have to go feed them.”

A slow grin took over Salomen’s face. “Last night you were devastated about giving up the championship title for what you called ‘a passel of vallcat kittens.’ And now you want to save them?”

“I’m not so upset about the title anymore. I do remember one thing you told me last night, about what I was really training for. You were right, I have four medals, and two of them are red. The title wasn’t meant to be mine this cycle. If it had been, Senshalon would not have thrown that target where he did. And yes, I want to go save them. You didn’t see the look that little kitten gave me—as if it were just waiting for me to take care of it.”

Rising from her chair, Salomen tapped Vellmar over the heart. “You just look like a tough warrior on the outside. In here there’s a pile of goo.”

“Don’t tell, my reputation would be destroyed.”

“That’s the trouble with warriors. They all think they’re the only ones with soft hearts.”

“I’m going to pretend that I didn’t hear that. Now, what do we feed a passel of vallcat kittens?”

“At this stage? Their mother would probably bring them a long-eared field digger.”

“Perfect,” said Vellmar in relief. “We can pick one up at the market.”

“No, we can’t.”

“We can’t?”

“We’ll have to locate a specialty butcher. It needs to be freshly killed, with the fur still on.”

“Yuck.”

Salomen laughed. “You warriors are a soft bunch! You’ve never butchered your own food, have you?”

“I prefer mine already…plucked.”

“Then this will be an education for you.”

As it turned out, it was an education for more than just Vellmar. By the time she had located a butcher who could supply their needs, Lancer Tal had returned from her morning meetings. She wanted to go along, which necessitated not just the Bondlancer’s Guards but also the Lancer’s. While the preparations were being made, Linzine appeared—by direct invitation of the Lancer, Vellmar learned in some amazement—and wanted to accompany them as well. As word continued to travel, Colonel Micah, Senshalon, and Head Guardian Gehrain joined the group, losing no time in teasing Vellmar about her rescue mission. There were now no fewer than seventeen people in need of transportation, which required a full-sized military transport, which was entirely too large to land in front of the butcher’s shop. Lancer Tal took over the logistics, ordering most of the group to fly directly to the field in the military transport, while she, Salomen, Vellmar and Colonel Micah would take her personal transport to town.

The butcher nearly fell over himself with shock when both the Lancer and Bondlancer appeared in his shop, and it took all of Vellmar’s patience to convince him that she was his customer. After far too much obsequiousness, she finally made it out with a freshly killed field digger, which to her considerable disgust was still warm to the touch. Salomen, however, pronounced it to be perfect.

They landed next to the military transport, well away from the cordoned-off area around the vallcat den. Vellmar took one look at the crowd already standing just behind the ropes and was newly grateful for the full security. Since she’d left this field the day before, the den had apparently become a tourist attraction.

“How in the name of our Goddess is the mother vallcat supposed to get through that?” she asked as their group walked over.

“She won’t,” Salomen answered. “But I would think the crowd will disperse once the events are over for the day. And there are only two more days left in the Games. Once the arenas are disassembled, we can take down the cordon and there won’t be a visual marker to give away the den’s location.”

The Guards took up positions just inside the ropes, staring outward at the crowd, and Salomen informed the rest of their group that they would be staying behind as well. This was met with a chorus of groans, but the Bondlancer had learned to wield her authority, and no one questioned it. Only Lancer Tal accompanied them to the den itself.

They approached carefully, seeing no activity, and settled themselves just beyond the opening.

“How do we call them out?” whispered Vellmar.

“Unless you can imitate the grunt of a mother vallcat, you won’t be calling them. The blood will,” answered Salomen. “Go ahead, cut it open.”

Vellmar looked at her in disbelief. “Cut it open?”

Salomen covered her eyes and laughed quietly. “Warriors. You all carry knives and you haven’t the slightest idea what they’re really used for. Give me that.” She held out her hand, and Vellmar gratefully dropped the field digger into it. Her eyebrows rose as Salomen pulled out a well-worn, curve-bladed knife, slipped the point beneath the digger’s skin at its neck, and ripped downward with one brisk motion.

“This isn’t how I’d butcher it for myself,” Salomen said in a low tone, “but the kittens aren’t concerned about skin and fur. They just need immediate access to the meat and organs. So you open it enough for them to get started.” She made side cuts halfway up each leg, pulled the skin back enough to expose the meat, and set the bleeding carcass on the ground at the lip of the den. “Now we wait.”

As she wiped her knife clean on the grass and sheathed it, Vellmar met Lancer Tal’s eyes over the top of her head. “Did you know she could do that?” she whispered.

The Lancer shook her head, her expression every bit as startled as Vellmar felt. “She didn’t even get blood on her hands.”

“Amazing what you can learn from a producer, isn’t it?” Salomen said, without taking her eyes off the den opening.

That ended the conversation, and they waited in silence for the kittens to appear. It didn’t take long. Within five ticks, the first kitten crawled cautiously to the opening, its nose wriggling as it scented the blood. When it saw the field digger, hunger overcame caution and it rushed out, falling upon its prey with a small growl. This seemed to be the magic call, and the other two kittens were soon competing for the meat. Between the three of them, they tore apart the field digger with a ferocious efficiency that was all the more surprising for their cute appearance. Vellmar felt her respect rising as she watched. These weren’t helpless kittens, they were miniature predators.

“You’re just a little warrior with fur, aren’t you?” she whispered to herself, watching the first kitten as it braced itself with two paws and wrenched away a mouthful of meat. “A new hunter, just learning her craft.”

Salomen glanced over and smiled at her. “And you saved her.”

“I did, didn’t I?” Vellmar felt a rush of pride burn away the last vestiges of yesterday’s regret. She’d done a good thing. True, it had cost her the championship title, but given a second chance she would make exactly the same decision. She lifted her head and found her mother, standing back with the Guards at the ropes. When their eyes met, her mother nodded, and Vellmar felt an enormous grin splitting her face. Never would she have imagined she could feel so good about losing a championship.

By the time the kittens had eaten their fill, they appeared to have accepted their benefactors to such a degree that instead of retreating into the den, they sat down to clean their fur in the sunshine. With this important task complete, they flopped one by one into the grass, bodies tangled together, and slept.

“They’re trusting us to guard them,” said Salomen. “They wouldn’t sleep outside the den otherwise. We’re standing in for their mother.”

“So we can’t leave until they’re awake?” asked Lancer Tal. “Tyrina, I have meetings. Much as I would wish to stay, I cannot.”

“I know.” Salomen leaned in and kissed her. “I’d like to stay, though. Do you mind?”

“No, of course not. You’re being guarded by the best blade handler on Alsea.”

“One of the best,” Vellmar corrected. “But I’m happy with that.”

Lancer Tal looked at the sleeping kittens, whose striped fur provided near-perfect camouflage in the grass. “You have a gift, Vellmar. Only Fahla knows how you could have seen something this small and this well-hidden, from almost one hundred paces away. It wasn’t even your target. I trust you more today than I did yesterday, and yesterday I already trusted you with my life. Today I trust you with Salomen’s.” She gave Vellmar a short nod, then rose and walked away.

One of the kittens opened its eyes at the movement, its ears already alert for danger. It looked after the Lancer, then checked to see that Salomen and Vellmar were still there. Confirming their presence, it yawned, settled back, and slept once more.

Vellmar reached out and tentatively touched its fur. When it merely shifted deeper into the pile of bodies, she indulged herself by stroking it head to tail.

“How does it feel?” asked Salomen.

Vellmar smiled at her. “Feels like the best day of my life.”

 

 

---

 

 

“I still don’t think it’s fair that she lost the championship title,” Milena complained. “They should have given it to her.”

“But she disqualified herself,” said Pendar. “You can’t win when you break the rules.”

Jarnell thought that wasn’t exactly true, but it was much too soon for his children to be learning that particular lesson. “Pendar’s right. Vellmar knew what she was doing. She made a choice, and sometimes that’s what you have to do in life. Sometimes you can’t have everything you want.”

“So you have to choose which thing you want more,” said Pendar wisely.

Jarnell smiled. “And other times, you have to choose which thing is right, even if you don’t want it.”

“But that’s not fair! She did the right thing, and she was punished for it!”

“I don’t think Vellmar considered it a punishment, Milena.”

“I don’t see how she could not,” she grumbled.

 

 

---

 

 

“I wish you weren’t leaving so soon,” said Vellmar, watching her mother pack.

“Well, at least I finally got that tour of the State House,” Linzine teased. She folded a tunic and set it in the bag. “But I have so enjoyed this time together, daughter. I only wish your bondmother could have been here as well. She’s going to be halfway to the moon when she hears all that has happened.”

“Of all the times to be on a training mission,” Vellmar agreed. “I still can’t believe her colonel wouldn’t give her leave.”

“It’s an important mission. And when it comes right down to it, what she’s training to do is more important than how well you or I can throw a blade.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

“And speaking of that…” Linzine lifted the case emblazoned with the championship emblem. “I believe this is yours.”

With wide eyes, Vellmar opened the case and gazed at the beautifully crafted blade belt nestled within, its golden buckle proclaiming its wearer the champion blade handler of Alsea. She lifted it out and looked at her mother, who nodded.

“I’ve been looking at that belt for the past three days, and each day I thought the same thing. You won it. That last throw of yours was sensational. I could not have duplicated it in fifty attempts. I don’t care what the judges say, you’re the champion now. And I’ve never been so proud of you.”

Vellmar swallowed the lump in her throat. With great care, she folded the belt back into the box, closed the lid, and held it out. “Your pride is the award I want, Mother. But this is not mine. The judges chose the right person.”

“Fiana—”

“No, listen. I was at the end of my endurance in that event. You had to calm me down, remember? The noise, the pressure, all those unshielded Alseans…I lost my focus. You were the better competitor. You were just as calm and focused in the final event as you were in the first one. So it doesn’t matter how good my last throw was. The truth is that I was burned out, and you were still going strong.” She smiled. “But you’d better watch out next cycle, because I won’t be a tender newbie anymore.”

Linzine accepted the box with an answering smile. “I’ll look forward to the competition, then.” She tucked the case into her bag, zipped it shut, and pinned her daughter with a serious stare. “Now I must speak to you about the one thing that distresses me the most.”

“I’ll be careful, Mother.”

“That might not be enough. Duty and honor are not just ideals. They are also your protection against the venomous zalrens infesting this city, and the intrigues and games they play.”

“I know that. But I also know that a person I admire greatly, and who deserves nothing but the best, has offered me her friendship. Am I to throw it back in her face just because I fear the political advantage others might make of it? Besides, I like her. She has already been a good friend.”

“And what happens when you fall from her favor? You cannot treat this like any other friendship. If this one goes bad, your career goes with it.”

“She would never do that!” Realizing too late that the heat of her response made her sound precisely as naive as her mother feared, Vellmar held up her hand to forestall the argument. “I understand why you’re worried, and if I did not know Salomen, I’d probably think the same thing. But she is not a fickle member of the Blacksun elite. In fact, she hates that mentality as much, or possibly more, than we do. She’s a producer, as true and solid as any of our friends, and yet look where she is. How is she ever to find honest friends of her own if everyone she meets sees her only as the Bondlancer? I admit that I have a hard time getting past her title myself, but it’s not for fear of her power. I think the only way I could lose her favor would be if I failed in my duty, and in that event I would not deserve it anyway.”

“She may be a producer, but power changes those who hold it.”

“But it can only change a person within the constraints of their heart. Salomen’s heart is not that small.”

“You’re very protective of her,” Linzine observed.

“I’ve felt that way since almost the moment I met her,” admitted Vellmar. “She had so little idea then of what her title truly meant. She knows more now, but…yes, I worry about her. And I do not want you to judge her in the same way everyone else does. She deserves better.”

Linzine’s eyebrows lifted. “I believe I’ve just been chastised. You’re right, I have no basis for my fears other than her title and the history that comes with it. But she is not the only one in this picture, and Lancer Tal is a member of the Blacksun elite. Her favor may not be as solid as you believe the Bondlancer’s to be.”

“I know. That’s why I asked her about it.”

“You—” Linzine stopped. “You what?”

“I asked her. No one can be a perfect friend, so I asked her what she would do if I somehow hurt Salomen, by word or deed.”

“You asked the Lancer…Great Goddess above. What did she say?”

“She promised not to let my friendship with Salomen affect her professional relationship with me. And before you ask, yes, I believe she will keep that promise. If I didn’t believe in her integrity, then how could I give her my public oath?”

It was nice to know she could still surprise her mother, Vellmar thought. Linzine looked shocked.

“I’m just now realizing that you have bigger horns than even your bondmother. She will love hearing that one! Sweet shekking sunrise, you put your career on the line, just for…for…” She sputtered to a halt, unable to find the words.

“For a clear view of the field, Mother. I am not going into this blind.”

“And are you truly that comfortable with your view?”

“Of course not. I’m completely out of my element. But that is how we grow, isn’t it? At least, that’s what I remember being taught when I was young.”

“So we’ve come to this, when you use my own words against me.” She tapped Vellmar on the chest. “You’re still young, you know.”

“I know. But I am also Lead Guard of the Lancer’s unit.”

They watched each other in silence, until Linzine gave her a slow nod. “That you are. I had thought you might be blinded by loyalty and inexperience, but it does seem that your eyes are wide open. I can only hope that those who hold your trust are deserving of it. But the Lancer obviously respects you, and I must admit that watching our Bondlancer butcher a field digger makes me believe she is not quite what I had thought.”

“You should have been there the next day, then, when our Bondlancer taught me how to butcher a field digger. I made a bloody mess of it!”

To Vellmar’s relief, Linzine chuckled. “I had thought it would be more exciting to watch the running sharpshooter finals, but clearly I was mistaken. Were your butchering talents improved this day?”

“They were, though I think Salomen was still quite amused. She says warriors have an inordinate fondness for blades despite never using them for anything practical.”

“Well, a producer would certainly define the term differently, wouldn’t she? What a interesting pair they make,” Linzine mused. “I wonder what drew them together? They are from such different worlds.”

Vellmar looked at her in disbelief. “I know they have perfect fronts, but can you not see it in their faces? Did you not feel it when they touched your palm? They love each other. What drew them together was nothing less than the choice of Fahla, directing their hearts. That is why I trust them.”

“I know you do.” Linzine sighed. “And I did raise you to trust your own instincts, so I suppose it would be hypocritical of me to argue against it any further. I will try not to worry so much.”

“If you must worry, worry about my reputation,” said Vellmar, attempting to lift the mood. “If the teasing I’ve taken from my unit for the past three days is any indication, I’ll spend at least the next cycle living these Games down.”

“Then you’re well accepted,” said Linzine. “They wouldn’t tease you otherwise. That’s good to know. Well, daughter…” She raised her palms, and Vellmar met them with her own. She happily absorbed the unstinting love that came through their physical touch, and leaned in to kiss first one cheek and then the other.

“That second kiss was for Bondmother,” she said. “Tell her I love her.”

“She knows, but I’ll tell her again.” Linzine shouldered her bag. “Walk me to the street?”

A shuttle was already waiting to take Games competitors to the transport field, leaving them no opportunity for further goodbyes. Linzine had time only to wave before boarding, and Vellmar turned to make her way back to the State House. Her mother’s presence had made Blacksun seem more like home, but now the melancholy was settling in. It was the one hardship of a warrior’s life that she had never reconciled herself to: the constant shifting of bases, units and friendships. Gehrain had once told her that Lancer Tal kept good warriors forever, and his own six-cycle stint as Lead Guard seemed to bear that out. She could only hope that doing her best would be sufficient, because more than anything else, she did not want to start over again in a different place.

The Guards at the State House gate saluted her as she entered. “Lead Guard Vellmar,” said one of them, “Head Guardian Gehrain left instructions that you were to report to the meal room as soon as you arrived.”

“Has something happened?”

“He did not specify.”

“Very well. Thank you.” Moving considerably faster, she headed down the side path that would take her to the entrance closest to the meal room. Gehrain knew she was still on leave; he wouldn’t have called her unless it was important. And in their line of work, anything that important was likely to be bad news.

Then again, she thought as she approached the meal room door, bad news wasn’t usually accompanied by party music, was it? And sure enough, when she opened the door, her whole unit was already there, food and drinks in hand and smiles on every face. A general roar arose as she was recognized, and Gehrain shouted out, “Here she is, our Games champion!”

The applause and shouts brought a flush to her face. “Are you all that bad at keeping score?” she called over the noise. “I just put the champion on a shuttle!”

“Details,” boomed Colonel Micah, his voice effortlessly cutting through the melee. “We know who the champion is. And even if we didn’t, we can certainly count two blue and two red medals!”

Another roar rose from her colleagues, and a chant soon followed. “Show, show, show, show!”

“Well, I don’t walk around town carrying them on me,” she told them. “They’re in my quarters.”

“Then go and get them,” said Senshalon. “We’ll find a way to keep ourselves busy while you’re gone.”

That raised a happy cheer and the sound of many clinking glasses.

“All right, all right,” she said, laughing.

By the time she returned to the meal room, Lancer Tal and Salomen had joined the party. As soon as she came in the door, the chant rose. “Show, show, show, show!”

She held up one open medal case. “One blue!” she called.

“BLUE!” they shouted back.

She handed the box to the nearest Guard, and held up a second one. “One red!”

“RED!”

Passing that one off, she held up their twins. “And one more of each!”

They roared their approval, and she received so many backslaps that she was quite certain she wouldn’t breathe normally again until at least the next nineday. Then someone shoved a drink in her hand, and someone else shouted, “Tell!” and after that there was nothing for it but to tell the whole story, which until now she had managed to keep to herself.

“You thought it was a child?” asked Gehrain incredulously.

“Just for a piptick. I didn’t know what to think, I just saw the movement, and then I saw whatever it was crawl onto the target. What would you have done if you knew something was about to die and couldn’t identify it?”

“Well, I’d probably have watched in horror as whatever it was died, because there is no way in Fahla’s wildest dreams that I could have made that throw.”

“That was one shekking incredible throw,” agreed Micah. “And I say that in the best, finest sense of the word.”

This brought on quite a few profane agreements, until Micah held his hands up for attention. “Lead Guard Vellmar,” he said when the room had quieted, “I am pleased to announce that your fellow Guards have pooled their funds to give you a token of their respect for your champion performance.”

“Uh oh,” said Vellmar, and knew she was in trouble when everyone laughed. With a flourish, Micah produced a wrapped box.

“I hope you can fully appreciate the initiative, creativity and organizational skills your Guards have shown by designing and having this made in just three days,” he said. “I know I do.”

“Designing? Oh, Fahla, what have you all done?” Vellmar put her drink down, accepted the gift, and began to gingerly unwrap it. She took as long as she possibly could, ignoring the calls of encouragement, and finally pulled off the lid. “A tunic?”

The laughter started even before she lifted the tunic out, swelling to a roar as she revealed the design. “You shekking dokkers,” she said, and had to laugh herself. Someone had gone to the trouble of looking up her family crest, and then cleverly redesigned it to include three gamboling vallcat kittens across both front and back. It was very well made, extremely cute, and utterly unwearable. No warrior with a shred of pride would have kittens on her family crest.

“Oh, how lovely,” she called out. “A particularly colorful dust rag! Thank you so much!”

“Are you joking?” asked Senshalon. “We all put in a pile of cinteks for that. Do you mean you don’t like it?”

“Of course I like it. I love it! I’ll think of you every time I use it to polish my medals.”

They howled with laughter, and she knew it was more pleasure in their own prank than anything she had said. But it warmed her soul, because her mother was right. This kind of elaborate joke meant she was fully accepted in this unit, and it was in that spirit that she gave into their demands and donned the tunic. Roars of appreciation followed as she turned in a circle, modeling the tunic with exaggerated movements.

Salomen came up beside her then and held up a hand for quiet. When she could be heard, she turned to Vellmar and said, “While we honor your good nature and courtesy in wearing a gift we know you hate, I would like to assure you that we’re not actually quite that evil. This is your real gift.” She held out a box, identical in size, shape and wrapping to the first. The only change was the color of the ribbon.

“I’m extremely suspicious,” Vellmar said, but she accepted the gift and unwrapped it. Lifting the lid, she saw another tunic that seemed similar to the one she was currently wearing, but the lack of laughter told her that this one was very different. An expectant silence filled the room as she shook the tunic out and held it up.

“Great Goddess,” she said quietly, and could speak no more. The lump in her throat was just too large.

This tunic, like the other, was modeled on her family crest. But instead of kittens, it had three full grown vallcats in a gorgeous stylized design. Their bodies blended together, while one cat looked left, one looked right, and the third stared straight ahead. Its yellow eyes were wild, its mouth half-open in a snarl, and it exuded a controlled ferocity that made the hairs on her neck stand up. It was simply glorious, an emblem worthy of a war banner.

She looked at Salomen in mute appeal, and whispered, “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say thank you,” Salomen whispered back.

Vellmar ripped off the first tunic and donned the second, if only to give herself time to swallow that lump. Murmurs of appreciation drifted through the room as she straightened the cloth, and she looked out at a sea of smiles.

“I will wear this with pride,” she said, and if her voice was abnormally rough, no one had the bad manners to comment on it. “In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever been quite so proud. This is the best unit any warrior could ever hope to serve with, and I thank Fahla that my life has led me to this point. Thank you, all of you.”

“You’re welcome,” said Lancer Tal, speaking for the rest. “In turn, we’re also thanking Fahla that she led you to us. You haven’t even been here one full cycle, but you’ve already brought us the glory of the Games and a story that all of Alsea will remember for cycles to come. If this is how your first cycle is going, we can’t wait to see what you’ll do next!”

That broke up the rather too-serious moment, and the party picked up again soon after. Vellmar was in top spirits, and could barely even remember having felt melancholy earlier in the evening. Never in her life had she felt so strongly that she was precisely where she belonged.

She stayed as long as she could, but her leave ended tomorrow morning, and she was not about to show up for duty with a hangover. The party was still in full swing when she said her goodnights and stepped out the door, and she hoped she wouldn’t have to discipline any of her Guards tomorrow.

Wearing one tunic and carrying the other, she walked back to her quarters and stepped inside with a sigh of relief. It had been an emotionally packed day, and she was glad to be in a place where she didn’t have to work quite so hard to keep her own emotions in check.

Dropping the kitten tunic on a chair, she turned on a lamp and stopped dead, staring at the out-of-place object on her dining area table. It was a beautifully inlaid wooden box, and the small envelope propped against it bore the seal of the Lancer.

With a chill settling at the base of her spine, she broke the seal and pulled out a single sheet of paper.

 

Vellmar,

I hope you don’t mind a little breaking and entering, but I did not want to give this to you in front of the entire unit.

It turns out that Yulsintoh watched the Games, and was particularly impressed with the young Lead Guard who gave up a championship to save a vallcat. He contacted me to inquire whether you would be interested in carrying his brand in next cycle’s Games. If you win—and he is certain you will—he can greatly benefit by marketing the sword you use.

I told him that in fact you admired his designs, and could probably be convinced to carry one if he were to provide it. He was delighted to hear it, and asked if I knew of any design in particular that you would want.

I trust I chose well.

 

Congratulations,

Lancer Tal

 

With trembling hands, Vellmar unlatched the lid and lifted it. There, nestled in high quality foam padding, was a grip with a black and red diamond pattern. It was Yulsintoh’s newest design, the one she had thought she might be able to afford in two cycles’ time.

It fit perfectly in her hand, and activated with a subtle shinnng. The balance was just as ideal as she’d known it would be, and the golden scrolling on the blade was stunning. This was quite simply the most beautiful sword she had ever seen. Like her tunic, it was worthy of a Lancer.

The very room she’d been relieved to enter suddenly seemed too small to contain her. She retracted the sword, clipped the grip to her belt and strode out the door, heading for the nearest exit onto the grounds. As she rounded a corner she nearly ran into Lancer Tal, who had been walking in the opposite direction.

“Going anywhere in particular?” asked the Lancer. Vellmar saw her gaze flick downward to the new grip at her side, and a small smile warmed her expression.

“It’s been a full day,” said Vellmar. “I find myself in need of some night air.”

“I’ve been feeling rather crowded myself. All these people in town for the Games, all the journalists wanting quotes and the politicians wanting to be seen…I’d like nothing more than to get out for a quiet walk under the moons, but Micah would have my head if I left the State House alone.”

“It seems we both need the same thing,” said Vellmar, accepting the invitation. “I was thinking I might go out to the Games field, now that everyone has gone home. Perhaps we will catch a glimpse of the kittens’ mother.”

“Ah, a stealth mission.” The Lancer’s eyes lit up. “We can take my private transport just to the edge of town and go from there.”

“Agreed.”

“But we might wish to put on more appropriate clothing.”

For the first time, Vellmar remembered that she was still wearing her new tunic. “Meet you back here in five ticks?”

“Agreed. And Vellmar?”

“Yes?”

“The sword looks good on you.”

They stole out of the State House like a pair of trainees breaking curfew, and in less than a tentick had landed the transport in a little copse of trees at the edge of the broad, grassy plain. The lights of Blacksun did not extend this far, but Alsea’s two moons were in quarter phase, easily lighting their way.

Without a word shared between them, Vellmar took the point position and felt the Lancer following close behind, in a single file formation that minimized the sound of their passing. Mindful of the wind direction, she circled around until they were approaching the den from downwind. When they reached the cordon she stopped and crouched into the grass, scanning the area intently for any sign of movement.

Lancer Tal knelt noiselessly beside her. “How close do you want to get?” she whispered.

“That bush.” Vellmar indicated the largest shrub between them and the den, which was no more than three handspans high. But it was the best they had.

They waited another tentick in motionless silence before making their move, reaching the bush and taking up position behind it. Now their view of the den was somewhat blocked by branches, but they could see enough.

For nearly a hantick they lay in the grass, watching and waiting. Vellmar catalogued the sounds and scents around them, and when the grassbuzzers began singing once more, she knew that the creatures living in the immediate area were no longer concerned about the presence of two Alseans. Other than the scent of their bodies, there was now nothing to give their presence away to the mother vallcat. And the breeze was blowing their scent back the way they’d come.

It occurred to her that not too many people would consider this activity a means of stress release. But the Lancer seemed content, her chin propped on her crossed hands and her body utterly relaxed as she watched the den. Vellmar remembered her mother worrying that this woman was a member of the Blacksun elite, and wished Linzine could be here now. Surely she would revise her opinion. No image-conscious politician would be lying here in the grass, ignoring flying insects and poking grass stems and every other discomfort, just for the chance of glimpsing a vallcat.

A sudden tension in Lancer Tal’s body alerted her. She looked back at the den and held her breath, stunned by the reality of the adult vallcat. In three days she’d become accustomed to the size and appearance of the kittens, and had forgotten what they would eventually grow to become. This was not an animal she would want to put on the offensive.

The vallcat padded up to the den entrance and dropped a disheveled, limp carcass on the ground. A soft grunt reached their ears, then another, and a moment later the three kittens came rushing out of the den. But instead of falling on the meal as they did when Vellmar made her offerings, they ran in circles around their mother, bumping into her legs and pushing against her body. She sniffed them all carefully, offered a few cursory licks, and then laid down with an audible sigh, ignoring them until they left her alone and began tearing into their meal.

Vellmar could not say how long she and Lancer Tal lay there, entranced by the sight of the full family. The kittens finished their meal and washed themselves, then began playing on and around their patient mother. It was hard not to laugh when a kitten clambered onto her back, hung for a moment off the side of her neck, and then dropped down, only to climb up and do it again. The mother put up with no end of exuberant play, her expression one of resigned forbearance, but when she decided playtime was over, she let her kittens know in no uncertain terms. One was sent rolling with a swipe of a massive paw, and a low huff froze the other two in place. A second huff had them scurrying back down into the den, and the mother rose to her feet. She stretched, yawned, gave herself a vigorous shake—and then turned her head to stare unblinkingly at her Alsean observers.

Without taking her eyes from them, she stalked forward, every movement a study in grace and power. Vellmar was frozen in place, torn between admiration for this perfect predator, and concern for the woman beside her. It had never entered her mind that she might be putting Lancer Tal in danger during this little escapade.

She slipped one hand out from under her chin, reaching toward the sword at her side.

“No,” whispered the Lancer, her gaze never wavering from the approaching vallcat. “Drop your front.”

Vellmar glanced at her incredulously. “What?”

The vallcat stopped just on the other side of the shrub and sat down. She lifted her head, nostrils flaring, then lowered it to look directly into Vellmar’s eyes. Her jaw opened slightly, and she huffed.

“Drop your front,” said Lancer Tal more forcefully. She reached down and took Vellmar’s hand in a strong grip. “Feel her!”

Vellmar dropped her blocks, reaching out with her empathic senses. The Lancer’s emotions almost overpowered her, due to their physical proximity, but eventually she was able to make out a different, slightly alien set of emotions. At last she identified the strongest ones, and a shiver tingled her fingers. She had been prepared to draw her sword on this?

Slowly, she pulled herself into a kneeling position. The vallcat never moved. Vellmar lowered her head, baring the back of her neck in a language she thought the hunter might understand. When she raised it again, the vallcat huffed once more.

“You’re welcome,” Vellmar murmured.

The vallcat rose to her feet, turned and trotted back to her den. Picking up the bare-boned carcass in her jaws, she gave a twitch of her tail and vanished into the night.

“Holy shekking Mother,” breathed Lancer Tal, rising to her knees. “Absolutely incredible!”

“How did she know it was me?” Vellmar was still stupefied.

“She smelled you. Did you see her sniffing her kittens? And then she came over here and sniffed you. You’ve been petting them, haven’t you?”

“I have.” Vellmar had felt guilty about it, but they were so irresistible.

“Your scent is on their fur. And surely she must be able to smell that there were other carcasses here that she didn’t bring. That’s how she knew her kittens have been eating while she was gone. I’ve no idea how she knew we were here, but she certainly knew you were the one.” An enormous smile broke across Lancer Tal’s face. “I cannot wait to tell Salomen how right she was about that tunic design!”

“She drew that?”

“She had the idea that first day, when you said the kittens were just little warriors with fur.”

Vellmar looked at the den, then back to her Lancer. “When I become head of my family,” she swore, “I’m changing our family crest. This will be remembered among the Vellmars. We make such a mistake, thinking we’re the only ones with real emotions.”

“That’s a lesson we can all learn,” said Lancer Tal as they turned to leave. “Perhaps it won’t be just the Vellmars who remember.”

 

 

---

 

 

Jarnell ended his story and looked for signs of wakefulness in his children. They were both asleep, breathing deeply. Pendar’s mouth was slightly open, his face utterly relaxed, and Jarnell dropped a kiss on his forehead before straightening out the blanket that had already gotten tangled.

Milena was frowning slightly in her sleep, apparently still indignant over Vellmar being punished for doing the right thing. She was such a fierce child, so concerned with fairness and justice. But unlike others her age, she did not reserve that concern solely for herself. She was just as likely to be outraged about injustice to another, a tendency that had already resulted in several fights at school on behalf of younger children.

He kissed her as well, and tucked an errant foot back under the covers. Then he straightened and turned toward the door, smiling at the sight of Milena’s favorite poster. Others had come and gone, but this one seemed to be standing the test of time. It was Vellmar the Blade, wearing the family crest she had created in honor of the hunting cats. At her side sat a giant vallcat, its proud head coming all the way to the level of her waist, and she rested one hand on its neck. Her other gripped a gold and silver sword, ablaze with reflected light.

“She wants to be just like you,” he told the figure in the poster. “And I think she’s well on her way.”

He tapped the poster as he passed and turned out the light. A last look in the darkened room confirmed that his children were still asleep, probably dreaming of glory and Games and ferocious vallcats. Sometimes he envied their simple dreams, but then he reminded himself that his job as a father was to keep that simplicity in their lives for as long as he could. So far, he was doing his job right.

With a quiet tread, he stepped into the hall and closed the door, leaving them to their dreams.

 

 

 

~ fin ~