The Gathering Flame (50 page)

Authors: Debra Doyle,James D. Macdonald

BOOK: The Gathering Flame

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The iridescent nothingness of hyperspace made its swirling patterns outside the
’Hammer
’s armor-glass viewscreens. Nothing on the console really needed tending while the ship was in hyper—the autopilot, though an older model, was reliable—but neither of the two men in the cockpit cared to attend the ceremony in the common room.

Errec Ransome, in the pilot’s seat, glanced over at the man sitting next to him. “Gentlesir Nivome do’Evaan,” he said. “I believe we need to talk.”

Nivome frowned. “I don’t think so.”

“I do,” said Errec. “You don’t understand. The smell of what you intended to do is impossible to miss. I’m surprised that Mistress Vasari never caught it—I suppose you waited until she was dead?”

The other man’s face darkened with anger. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. I find Mages, and those who deal with Mages. And I can touch your mind, whether you will it or not.”

“You’re lying.”

“So you say. You planned to kill the Domina in her underground shelter—you even brought her the Iron Crown as a pretext for the meeting—but you didn’t find her alone. And then you planned to abandon her on the landing field at An-Jemayne, but the
‘Hammer
showed up before you could get away.” Errec paused. “What did the Mages promise you, Nivome do’Evaan, in return for her death?”

Nivome exhaled heavily, like an animal pawing the ground and getting ready to charge. “I don’t think I’m going to answer that. You have no proof.”

“No,” Errec admitted. “I don’t.”

“Then what’s your point?”

“Just this,” said Errec. “You’ll leave the
’Hammer
as soon as we make planetfall on Galcen. You’ll go back to Rolny, and take up whatever position you hold there. And you’ll never again seek any role in the politics of Galcen, or of Entibor, or of the republic that’s forming.”

Nivome glowered at him. “You’re nobody. You’re from nowhere, and you’re going nowhere. Why should I pay attention to anything you say?”

“Because if you don’t comply willingly,” Errec told him, “I can force compliance upon you. And if you resist me, Gentlesir Nivome, I can do things that will leave what’s left of you fit for nothing except to sit on the sidewalk gibbering.”

There was silence in the cockpit for some minutes. Errec watched Nivome’s expression fade from belligerence to defiance and, finally, to resignation. Errec smiled.

“Good,” he said. “I believe we understand one another now.”

He gave a nod of satisfaction—Jos and Perada would never know about the wedding gift he had given them, but he felt happier for having given it—and went back to watching the mists of hyperspace.

“It was a nice wedding,” said Perada sleepily. The captain’s cabin of
Warhammer
was pleasantly dark and cool, and Jos was a comforting presence beside her on the bed. “I’m sorry we can’t really …”

“It’s all right.” He sounded embarrassed. “There’ll be plenty of time later. On Galcen or wherever.”

“That’s good.” She yawned and nestled close. They were lying front-to-back, like spoons; she’d almost forgotten how good it felt to drop off to sleep knowing that he was there. She was almost asleep when a bubble of curiosity worked its way up to the surface, rousing her. “Why are we going to Galcen, anyway? I forgot to ask.”

“Politics,” he said. “The Centrists on Galcen managed to grab the government when nobody was looking. They want to start holding talks about forming some kind of republic once the war is over.”

“Do they?” She was awake again. “Who do they think is going to be in it?”

“Them, naturally, and—” It was his turn to yawn; she waited impatiently for him to continue talking. “—Gyffer and Maraghai, probably Khesat … I don’t know all that much about it.”

“What about the colonies?” she demanded. “Parezul and Ghan Jobai and Tanpaleyn and all the other little worlds? What do they want to do about
them?”

He yawned again. “Let them in, I suppose.”

“Galcen will eat them up alive. Or Gyffer.” She paused. “Do you think the colonies would let me speak for them, now that I’ve cut my braids and all?”

“Braids grow back.” He tightened his arm around her. “And I think that right now the colonies need to know that Entibor is more than just the home world. The galaxy’s changing; something has to stay the same for a little while, at least. You can be that thing for them.”

“It’s good I didn’t lose the Iron Crown, then.” She could sense the political implications of the new republic unfolding themselves in her mind. It felt like circulation coming back to a deadened limb, painful and vital at the same time. “But I’ll need to do more than wear the crown, if I’m going to reassure the colonies that their luck hasn’t gone completely. A boy-child on the way is encouraging, but they’ll want to see an heir to make certain—and fairly soon, too.”

“That part’s easy,” he said. “Galcen’s lousy with biolabs. Just find a good one and tell ’em what you want.”

“I think I’d sooner do it the way I’m used to,” she said. “If you don’t mind helping.”

Jos laughed quietly. She felt his breath stirring the short hair on the crown of her head.

“I thought I told you,” he said. “I don’t plan on being stupid anymore.”

Also by Debra Doyle and James D. Macdonald, from Tor Books

The Price of the Stars
Starpilot’s Grave
By Honor Betray’d

THE GATHERING FLAME

“You’ve made a name for yourself, Captain Metadi,” the Domina Perada said. “They say you are something more than a successful pirate—”

“Privateer,” he corrected. “I bear letters of marque and reprisal.”

“My apologies, Captain,” Perada said, her expression unruffled. “Privateer. If the newsreaders don’t lie, you have proven yourself able to meld independent raiders into a fleet and carry the war to the enemy.”

“Enemy?” Jos Metadi shook his head. “No. Enemies are personal. None of this is personal with me. I take prizes—rich ones—and I take them for the goods and merchandise they carry. If your sources are any good, they should have mentioned that I don’t fight warships when I can help it.”

“You fight when you must, and you win when you fight.” Her voice remained composed. “I have decided. You are the man who will return with me to Entibor and, once there, make a warfleet for me.”

“You’ve decided, have you?”

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

THE GATHERING FLAME

A Tor book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, Inc.
175 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10010

Tor
^®is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, Inc.

Cover art by Romas

eISBN 9781466802070

First eBook Edition : September 2011

First edition: July 1995