Sword of the Lamb (6 page)

“Picking up a few pointers, Alex?”

“Just admiring, Father. A good match.”

“So it was. I’ll always be grateful to Fenn. Without him, I’d have succumbed to ulcers long ago. Tell me, Fenn, how is your student progressing?”

Lacroy put on a stern frown. “Well, passably, my lord. He thinks he’s ready for a point of honor, but I have my doubts.”

Alexand laughed and retorted, “I
would
be ready if you didn’t keep forcing me to fence left-handed.”

“Good,” Woolf said firmly. “You’re too strongly right-handed. At any rate, calling points of honor is a game for VisLords.”

“Oh? I seem to remember hearing about an encounter you had with the Lord Cadmon . . .”

Woolf raised an eyebrow, not quite succeeding in repressing his smile.

“That was when I was too young to know better.” Then he glanced at his watch and his smile faded. “I suppose I must prepare myself for the guests.”

Lacroy asked, “A shower and massage, my lord?”

“No, not here.” He crossed to one of the benches against the wall where he’d left his shirt and street boots. “Send Chapman up to my suite, Fenn.”

“Yes, my lord. And you, Ser Alex? Are you ready for a match or two?”

“All right. In a few minutes, Fenn.”

Lacroy realized he was being dismissed. He hung the foils and masks in the racks on the wall, then started for the dressing room door.

“I’ll find Chapman, my lord.”

Woolf nodded. “Thank you. I enjoyed the match, Fenn.”

“My pleasure, my lord.”

Woolf sat down on the bench and stripped off his fencing boots, and Alexand waited in silence until Lacroy was gone, aware of his father’s intent scrutiny.

“Alex, I’m sorry about Theron’s . . . retirement.”

He said tightly, “I’m sorry, too, Father.”

“And Rich—where is he?”

“In the school.”

“Alone?”

“He seemed to want to be alone for a while.”

Woolf concentrated on pulling on his boots.

“Was he . . . upset?”

“Yes. But he’s looking forward to corresponding with Lector Theron. He said you’d know his ’tape seq.”

Woolf rose and shrugged on the full-sleeved shirt, still watching Alexand as he tied the laces at the neck.

“I’ll go talk to Rich now. Damn this holiday. A hundred House guests and half of them relatives. What about you? I mean, with Theron leaving.”

Alexand didn’t look at him. “I’ll miss him very much.”

“So will I, the old gadfly.” He pulled in a deep breath, letting it out in a weary sigh.

“Father, what was the Quiller thesis about?”

Woolf’s expression didn’t change, but Alexand felt the sudden tension radiating from him.

“How did you know about that?”

“I heard you and Mother talking in the grove yesterday.”

“You were eavesdropping?”

“Yes. I was there when you passed by. I simply didn’t make my presence known.”

Woolf gave a short laugh, then sobered. “Then you know Theron isn’t retiring. Does Rich know?”

“No.”

“Thank the God.” He ran a hand through his hair distractedly. “Alex, you must understand I couldn’t protect him. It was all I could do to keep him from being executed. I didn’t tell Elise that; she’s upset enough as it is.”

Alexand felt a chill. It was incomprehensible, insane, that such a man might have met that fate.

“I know you did all you could, Father.”

Woolf saw the pain hidden in his son’s face, and his inclination was to reach out to him, to hold him as he had when he was a child. But Alexand was no longer a child. They grow up too fast, Woolf thought, realizing with a faint shock that Alexand was almost as tall as he.

“The Quiller thesis,” he said finally, “concerns the inception of the War of the Twin Planets.”

“Why was it classified as subversive?”

“For one thing, it was strictly factual. Quiller dug into old communiqués and Confleet orders, cross-checked dates and agreements. What he came up with doesn’t put the Concord in a good light. It shows that we broke certain agreements, and in fact made the first overt move.”

“But that’s no great secret.”

Woolf smiled bitterly, then began walking toward the windowall, Alexand falling into step with him.

“No, it’s no great secret among the Elite, or even a few upper-class Fesh, but that isn’t the version taught in every Fesh Basic School. We’re less than a hundred thousand out of four and a half billion, Alex. The Elite—and the Concord—can’t survive without Fesh loyalty. So—” His shoulders came up in a quick shrug. “—we must be careful not to disillusion them, and that isn’t easy these days.”

At the windowall, Alexand stared bleakly at the sprawling glitter of Concordia. The pervading hum of the city, a sound as incessant as surf on the sea, didn’t penetrate the ten centimeters of flexsteel-reinforced glass.

Woolf went on irritably, “Quiller is a young man enamored of the great god Truth—or, rather, Fact. He decided all this was so important, every literate citizen should know about it. He tried to slip it through with a Pri-Four rating, and that was his error. The Board of Censors wouldn’t have objected so much to a Pri-Three.”

Alexand looked at his father questioningly. “He wanted to publish it as a booktape on the open market? That falls under DeKoven Woolf franchises.”

“If you’re wondering if I had anything to do with it coming before the Board, the answer is no. I didn’t hear about it until the judgment was passed.”

Alexand nodded. The publishing branch of-the House was run by his uncle, Ives, a man whose rigid morals always made Alexand question his ethics.

“Ives sent the thesis to the Board?”

“Yes. Then Theron stepped in claiming it as his own—
after
the Board passed judgment on it.”

Alexand stared out into the midday glare, his eyes aching with more than the light.

“What about Quiller? What will happen to him?”

“Nothing. It’s been assumed he laid claim to the thesis for exactly the reason Theron did: to protect a friend. He’ll be reprimanded by the Board, but that’s all.”

“Lector Theron must have felt very strongly about Quiller to sacrifice himself for him.”

“Apparently.”

“I . . . suppose he did what he thought was right.”

“I’m sure he did. Alex, I’m glad we had a chance to talk this over, and I’m bitterly sorry to lose Theron. But, as you said, he did what he thought was right. If he’s caused us any pain, that must be forgiven.”

“Forgiven.” Alexand considered the word, gazing out at the sun-jeweled city, but seeing the lined face of Theron Rovere with his patient, cognizant eyes. “There’s nothing to forgive. He did what he believed he had to do.”

Woolf was silent for a moment, and Alexand was roused by that silence. One of his father’s eyebrows came up almost imperceptibly.

“Unfortunately, Alex, an action taken out of one’s convictions isn’t necessarily good—or forgivable.”

He replied levelly, “No, but one must consider the source of the convictions, the kind of person holding them.”

“True.” Woolf smiled. “A point, and accepted.”

Alexand called up a smile in response, but couldn’t hold on to it. He noted Woolf’s glance at his watch.

“Father, I know you’re busy now.”

“At least I
should
be,” he agreed with an annoyed sigh, but he made no move to leave. Apparently he had something more to say, but seemed uncharacteristically hesitant about it. He turned to face the windowall, hands clasped behind his back, then, “Alexand, you’re fifteen, and it may seem premature, but the time is coming when we must consider your marriage.”

Alexand studied him. “I know.”

It was strange that his father seemed more uncomfortable with the subject of his future marriage than he. This wasn’t the first time it had been broached, nor was it surprising that it came up now. The Elite were gathering in Concordia. The week of the Concord Day celebrations saw more economic and political agreements made and more marriages arranged than any other week in the year.

“Have you any specific candidates in mind, Father?”

“There are several possibilities; you know that. I hope you also understand that I’ll make no commitments at this early date. Still, we must begin to study some of the possibilities more closely.”

Alexand nodded, again feeling that curious sense of isolation. It was unlikely that any definite commitment would be made before he reached Age of Rights. There would be tentative explorations, and the promise of a union with DeKoven Woolf would be useful as a bargaining lever. But Age of Rights was a comfortable five years in the future.

“Father, why haven’t you and Mother had more children?”

He was a little surprised at the question himself: it seemed to come without conscious thought. Woolf’s surprise was obvious, and it was more than surprise. Alexand saw him go pale.

“I suppose it’s because Elise found it difficult to face having more children after . . . after Rich . . .”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.” The grief always waited; it crouched in ambush to spring at unexpected moments. He forced it back—he’d become adept at that—and brought out a smile. “Am I correct in assuming I’m to meet a potential bride?”

“Yes.”

“What House? Desmon Fallor?”

“No, although Julia Fallor is still a possibility. You’ve met Julia.” It was a question, even if it had no questioning inflection.

“Yes. She’s . . . very attractive.” The adjective was bitterly apt for the daughters of the Court of Lords. That was their function: to
attract
mutually profitable political and economic unions. “And Fallor
is
a Directorate House.” This wasn’t the time to comment further on Julia herself.

“Yes, but that isn’t a prerequisite, although it might be desirable.”

“You’re considering a non-Directorate House?”

“Yes. Camine Eliseer.”

Alexand frowned. The Lord of Castor must be a rising power indeed if Phillip Woolf was considering an alliance by marriage with his first born. Camine Eliseer was a young House, established after the Fall of the Peladeen Republic. Not a likely candidate for a union with DeKoven Woolf.

He turned to his father. “Is it a controlling influence in the Centauri System that attracts you?”

“That and keeping Orin Selasis
out
of Centauri.”

Selasis. It was all but inevitable that Selasis would have a bearing even on this.

The House of Badir Selasis had held all extraplanetary transport franchises for eight generations and a seat on the Directorate for six, and, through all those generations, a bitter antagonism existed with DeKoven Woolf and Daro Galinin at one pole, Badir Selasis at the other, and the prize of the Chairmanship of the Directorate always in the middle.

And Alexand wondered for how many generations the name of Selasis had been universally evocative of fear and even loathing. Certainly it was true of this generation.

He couldn’t think of Lord Orin Selasis without remembering the black eyepatch; it seemed to sum up the man somehow. He had lost his left eye in his youth in a point of honor duel with Kiron Woolf, Alexand’s grandfather. What was revealing was that the patch wasn’t necessary; an artificial eye would make the loss unnoticeable. But Orin Selasis chose to wear the patch, and for him it was a symbol of a pledge of retribution. That Kiron Woolf was twenty years dead now didn’t diminish his fierce resolve. Only the downfall of the House of Woolf itself would satisfy that pledge.

“Then Selasis is trying for a foothold in Centauri?”

Woolf laughed caustically. “ ‘Stranglehold’ would be more apt, and the Selasids have been working at that since the Fall of the Republic.”

“He already has something of a stranglehold over D’Ord Hamid.”

“Yes, but Hamid can no longer claim to be the most powerful House in Centauri. Lazar isn’t the man his father was.”

Alexand restrained a smile. That was an understatement, particularly from Phillip Woolf.

“So Eliseer is putting Hamid in the shade?”

“And in the full light of Orin’s attention, and he’s been quite solicitous lately.” Woolf’s narrowed eyes were turned outward on the city, but his mental focus was inward. “There are some rather ironic aspects in that. Eliseer is a Cognate House of Camine, which has seen better days and never was a major House, but when the two new Centauran Houses were established after the Fall, Jofry Selasis backed Almor Eliseer for First Lordship of one of them.”

“The Selasids backed him? Why?”

“Because both the last and present Lords Selasis underestimated the Eliseer. They had Hamid in their palm, and they didn’t think Eliseer would survive. They were ready to pounce when the House collapsed and have Centauri all to themselves, except for Drakonis, who wasn’t strong enough to offer them a real challenge.”

“But that was thirty-four years ago.”

Woolf gave him a wry smile. “It seems the Eliseer foiled the Selasids by flourishing. Loren Eliseer has done especially well for his House. Apparently he has an excellent intelligence system. At any rate, Camine Eliseer is in better shape financially than some Directorate Houses, and Lord Loren has put aside a respectable capital reserve and made good use of it. Lazar Hamid is deeply indebted to him at this point.”

Alexand frowned slightly at that. “I’d think Hamid would go to Selasis for money.”

“He would and has, but Loren Eliseer offered him loans at a substantially lower interest rate.”

“I see. But what about Drakonis? Isador Drakonis seems to have flourished, too, and he’s certainly not in the Selasid palm.”

Woolf nodded. “For one thing, his income is derived from energy franchises; he isn’t dependent on Selasis for freight. And Isador is a very adaptable man. But I think he owes his survival to some extent to Eliseer.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ten years ago Drakonis was desperately in need of capital to enlarge the power plants on Perseus, and he made the error of borrowing from Selasis. The note came due a few months ago. It was a very secret transaction. I knew nothing of it, and our intelligence system is excellent. Nor did Mathis, and the Galinin intelligence system is second to none. But Eliseer found out about it. Drakonis had his back to a wall; he didn’t have the liquid assets to meet the note, but, fortunately, Eliseer stepped in at that point.”