Merry took the car slowly up the drive, stopped under the portico and let them out, drove on to put the car in the garage, round the drive and under.
Warrior arrived around the corner of the house, through the narrow front-back access, Raen squinted in the light, anxious about any majat at the moment.
And Max opened the front door, let them both into the shade and coolness of the inner hall. “You’re all right, sera?”
“All right,” she confirmed. “Don’t worry about it. Merry will tell you how it was.”
Warrior stalked in, palps twitching.
“Do you scent greens?” Raen asked. “Greens attacked us. We killed some. They killed humans.”
“Greensss.” Warrior touched her nervously, calmed as she put her hand to its scent-patches, informing it. “Greenss make shift. Reds-golds-greens now. Weakest, greens. Easy to kill. Listen to red-Mind.”
“Who listens, Warrior?”
“Always there. Warrior-Mind, redsss. I am apart. I am Warrior blue. Good you killed greens. Run away greens? Report?”
“Yes”
“Good?”
“They know I’m here now. Let them tell that to their hive.”
“Good,” Warrior concluded. “Good they taste this, Kethiuy-queen. Yess.”
And it touched and stalked back outside.
Jim was standing over against the wall, his face strained. Raen touched his arm. “Go rest,” she said.
And when he had wandered off to his own devices, she drew a deep breath, heard Merry coming in the side door—looked at Max. “No trouble at all while I was gone?”
He shook his head.
“A cold drink, would you?” She walked into the other room, on into the back of the house, toward the comp center.
Messages. The bank was full of them. The screen was flashing, as it would with an urgency.
She keyed in. The screen flipped half a dozen into her vision in rapid sequence. URGENT, most said. CALL DAIN.
One was different. I AM HERE, it said simply. P.R.H.
Pol.
She sat down, stricken.
BOOK SEVEN
i
More reports. Chaos multiplied, even on Cerdin.
Moth regarded the stacks of printouts with a shiver, and then smiled, a faint and febrile smile.
She looked up at Tand.
“Have you made any progress toward the Istran statistics?”
“They’re there, Eldest. Third stack.”
She reached for them, suffered a fluttering of her hand which scattered them across the table: too little sleep, too little rest lately. She drew a few slow breaths, reached again to bring the papers closer. Tand gathered them and stacked them, laid them directly before her. It embarrassed and angered her.
“Doubtless,” she said, “there are observations in some quarters that the old woman is failing.”
From Tand there was silence.
She brushed through the papers, picked up the cup on the table deliberately to demonstrate the steadiness of her right hand…managed not to spill it, took a drink, set it down again firmly, her heart beating hard. “Get out,” she said to Tand, having achieved the tiny triumph.
Tand started to go. She heard him hesitate. “Eldest,” he said, and came back.
Near her.
“Eldest—”
“I’m not in want of anything.”
“I hear rumours, Eldest.” Tand sank on his knee at the arm of her chair; her heart lurched, so near he was. He looked up into her face, with an earnestness surprising in this man…excellent miming. “Listen to me, Eldest. Perhaps…perhaps there comes a time that one ought to quit, that one could let go, let things pass quietly. Always there was Lian or Lian’s kin; and now there’s you; and is it necessary that things pass this time by your death?”
Bewilderment fell on her at this bizarre manoeuvre of Tand Hald; and within her robes, her left hand held a gun a span’s remove from his chest. Perhaps he knew; but his expression was innocent and desperately earnest. “And always,” she whispered in her age-broken voice, “always I have survived the purges, Tand. Is it now? Do you bring me warning?”
The last question was irony. Her finger almost pulled the trigger, but he showed no apprehension of it. “Resign from Council,” he urged her. “Eldest, resign. Now. Pass it on. You’re feeling your years; you’re tired; I see it…so tired. But you could step aside and enjoy years yet, in quiet, in peace. Haven’t you earned that?”
She breathed a laugh, for this was indeed a strange turn from a Hald. “But we’re immortal,” she whispered. “Tand, perhaps I shall cheat them and not die…ever.”
“Only if you resign.”
The urgency in his voice was plain warning. Perhaps, perhaps, she thought, the young Hald had actually conceived some softheartedness toward her. Perhaps all these years together had meant something.
Resign Council; and let the records fall under more critical eyes. Resign Council; and let one of their choice have his hand to things.
No.
She gave a thin sigh, staring into Tand’s dark and earnest eyes. “It’s a long time since Council functioned without someone’s direction. Who would take Eldest’s place? The Lind? He’s not the man for this age. It would all come undone. He’d not last the month. Who’d follow him? The Brin? She’d be no better.”
“You can’t hold on forever.”
She bit at her dry lips, and even yet the gun was on its target. “Perhaps,” she said, allowing a tremor to her voice, “perhaps I should take some thought in that direction. I was so long, so many, many years at Lian’s side before he passed; I think that I’ve managed rather well, have I not, Tand?”
“Yes, Eldest… verywell.”
“And power passed smoothly at Lian’s death because I had been so long at his side. My hands were at the controls of things as often as his; and even his assassination couldn’t wrench things out of order…because I was there. Because I knew all his systems and where all the necessary matters were stored. Resign…no. No. That would create chaos. And there are things I know—” Her voice sank to the faintest of whispers, “things I know that are life and death to the Family. My death by violence—or by accident—would be calamity. But perhaps it’s time I began to let things go. Maybe you’re right. I should take a partner, a co-regent.”
Tand’s eyes flickered with startlement.
“As I was with Lian…toward the last. I shall take a co-regent, whoever presents the strongest face and the most solid backing. I shall let Council choose.”
She watched the confusion mount, and kept a smile from her face.
“Young Tand,” she whispered, “that is what I shall do.” She waved her right hand, dismissing him; he seemed never to have realised where her left one was, or if he did, he had good nerves. He rose, grey and grim as iron now, all his polish gone. “I shall send out a message,” she said, “convoking Council for tomorrow. You must carry it You’ll be my courier.”
“Shall I tell the elders why?”
“No,” she said, knowing that she would be disobeyed. “I’ll present them the idea myself. Then they can have their time to choose. The transition of power,” she said, boring with sudden concentration into Tand’s dark eyes, “is always a problem in empires. Those which learn how to make the transfer smoothly…live. In general chaos who knows whomight die?”
Tand stood still a moment. Moth gave him time to consider the matter. Then she waved her hand a second time, dismissing him. His departure was as deliberate and graceful as usual, although she reckoned what disturbance she had created in him.
And, alone, Moth bowed her head against her hands, trembling. The trembling became a laugh, and she leaned back in her chair in a sprawl, hands clasped across her middle.