“You’re exactly on time, sir,” Nerevor said. It was impertinent of her to make the observation, but she spoke with real delight.
Cheris raised an eyebrow. She couldn’t help appreciating the other woman’s forthrightness. “I trust best of five will do, Commander?”
“Of course, sir.”
Four servitors marked the corners of the dueling rectangle, birdforms rather than deltaforms. Cheris bowed slightly to each of them as she took her place across from Nerevor. Nerevor raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment. The servitors might not divulge their names to humans, but service was still service.
Numbers flashed backwards, then forwards, as Nerevor readied her stance and activated her calendrical sword. Hers was fierce yellow-white. It was too bad they couldn’t be allies. Under other circumstances Cheris would have enjoyed serving under someone with such obvious enthusiasm for the Kel cause.
Cheris’s sword was blue and red. The academy instructors had assured them that the colors had no meaning, but people liked to speculate anyway.
“Count of four,” Nerevor said.
The servitors made four clicks, perfectly synchronized.
Nerevor was fast. The blade leapt in her hand and took Cheris in a great slash across the chest while Cheris was still trying to work out what her feet were doing. The slash stung momentarily, but the blade wasn’t in lethal mode.
At least Nerevor didn’t humiliate Cheris with commentary, although her mouth pulled down in disappointment. She was unnecessarily cautious in the second round. Cheris suspected she was trying to squeeze out a more exciting victory. Although Cheris knew better than to slow down and think through her responses, she did it anyway. Her parries were soft and uncertain, and Nerevor tired of the exchanges and ran her through.
Well, this will be over with quickly, Cheris thought. She hated to make such a poor showing, even though Nerevor was legitimately better than she was. On the other hand, this was hardly the worst of her problems, so there was no use fretting over it. In a way, it was a relief to know herself so thoroughly outclassed.
As Cheris took up her position the third time, she smiled at Nerevor, feeling genuinely calm. Nerevor’s eyes slitted, and a line formed between her brows.
Nerevor came at her fast again. Cheris stopped thinking through moves and counters and footwork, and simply reacted. There it was, that funny thing with her balance, but she let herself keep moving, aware simply of the necessity never to stay still. Nerevor wanted a flashy exhibition of sword-skill, but Cheris had no intention of letting her have it. She pivoted neatly, slipped under Nerevor’s guard, and took her between the ribs at a precise angle.
“Point to the general, I believe,” Nerevor rasped. “Really, sir, was it necessary to feign such incompetence?”
Cheris blinked at her, trying to connect what had just happened to what Nerevor was saying. She couldn’t pretend she had been feigning – that would just be insulting – but she didn’t think it would be any better to explain that she had surrendered to a dead man’s expertise. “Fight harder,” she said instead.
“I will indeed,” Nerevor said, smiling.
Cheris won the last two rounds faster than she meant to. Apparently Jedao had believed in ruthless, decisive action. She was uncomfortably aware of Jedao’s dueling record. He had only lost to one Kel.
Nerevor saluted her without any trace of irony. “I will remember not to underestimate you,” she said. “This has been most informative.”
“I’m honored to have faced you,” Cheris said, because it was true.
People were staring at her shadow with its inscrutable eyes, but there was nothing to be done about that. Liis looked worryingly pleased.
Nerevor nodded, then walked off, looking cheerful.
“That was the thing,” Jedao said the instant they were back in her quarters. “You kept thinking about what you were doing. Calculating. The body isn’t about thought. It’s about reflex. Especially in combat. You would have figured this out sooner if somebody had come at you with a real weapon, but I couldn’t very well advise the commander to set her sword to lethal mode in a friendly duel.”
“You could have told me,” Cheris said, looking at her hands as she turned them over, palms down. They were the same hands she had grown into, but she kept expecting them to be larger, longer. She was momentarily convinced that if she took her gloves off, her hands wouldn’t belong to her anymore. “Does this go away after you’re not anchored to me anymore?”
“I don’t have that information,” Jedao said. Then: “You’re not in a good mood.”
“That obvious?” Cheris said.
“Seriously, what’s bothering you?”
“It wasn’t a fair fight.”
Jedao’s brief silence spoke volumes. “The point of war is to rig the deck, drug the opponent, and threaten to kneecap their family if they don’t fold,” he said. “Besides, you didn’t use any resources Nerevor didn’t know of in advance. She knew I was anchored to you. If she couldn’t compensate for it, that’s not your fault.”
“That’s a good way to save lives,” she said, a chill in her voice.
They weren’t discussing the duel anymore. “The faster it’s over with, the fewer people die,” Jedao said. “I realize you have delicate Kel sensibilities, but please accept my advice. You can’t leave advantages lying around, either, or people will use them against you.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Cheris said stiffly.
Jedao sighed, but didn’t press the point.
ON THE NINETEENTH day, Cheris was reviewing the New Anchor Orientation Packet, hoping for clues on how to handle Jedao, when the chime came. “Commander Nerevor requests your presence,” Communications’ voice said. “Scan indicates possible guardswarm contact.”
“I’m on my way,” Cheris said.
“We’re going to try to coax some information out of the enemy,” Jedao said. “You’re going to have to talk your swarm commanders through it. Be ready.”
The cindermoth realigned itself briefly so she could reach the command center more quickly, although the savings in time was a matter of seconds. Cheris entered and looked around. Nerevor was pacing.
“General,” Nerevor said with a rapid salute. “I don’t like it. There’s something peculiar going on with the formation effects, probably the jinxed calendricals, but that looks like a full defense swarm and it’s moving to intercept.”
“Let me see the formation data,” Cheris said. Scan routed the information to her terminal. She looked through the decay coefficients, then set up some preliminary computations, frowning to herself. “Doctrine, what do you have on the rot?”
“Summary or equations, sir?” Rahal Gara asked.
“Equations,” Cheris said. Subvocally, she said, “Jedao, you need to tell me what the plan is or we’re going straight to the fight.”
“We can’t surprise them,” Jedao said, “but we can confuse them. Listen, they have to have some plan beyond sitting under siege for, what was it, thirty years? They won’t have supplies for that long. They must expect a relief force to make their heresy viable. It could be a conspiracy, but whatever Captain Ko’s suspicions are, I don’t think the hexarchate is quite that lax. Which leaves foreign intrigue. Pretending to be their allies might do the trick.”
Cheris started to say, But that’s treason, then reconsidered. “We can’t act like a foreign swarm! They know what Kel moths look like. And we don’t even know who they’re expecting.”
“True, but we can be the next best thing: opportunistic domestic allies. Just be prepared to be firm with your officers.”
“There it is,” Scan said. “See that odd formant in the readings, sir? That’s got to be a rot effect, and I’m convinced it’s keeping me from getting a closer look at the lead warmoth.”