Without a Front (17 page)

PART TWO:
SANCTUARY

CHAPTER 30
Hol-Opah

 

“Welcome to Hol-Opah, Lancer Tal.”

Salomen Opah and her family stood on the front porch of their large home, dressed in what must have been their finest clothing. At the end of the greeting line, a small boy of nine or ten cycles fidgeted with his collar.

“Thank you,” Tal said. “I'm honored to receive your hospitality.”

“Please allow me to introduce you to my family,” Opah continued in a formal voice that Tal had never heard from her. “My father, Shikal Arrin.”

Tal held up her hand. “Well met, Raiz Arrin.”

“Well met, Lancer Tal.” Shikal beamed at her as they touched palms; it seemed he did not share his daughter's political opinions. “You do great honor to our house. I never thought to receive the Lancer herself! My only regret is that Nashta isn't here to see it.”

“Your loss is recent and deep,” Tal said. Salomen and her family were all on the lower end of mid-empathic ability; their fronts were barely there. Shikal's grief for his bondmate was like a second suit of clothing. “Please accept my condolences. She must have been a true heart.”

He nodded. “She was. But her heart lives on in all of us, especially my daughter.”

Opah clearly wanted to end this line of conversation. “These are my brothers, Nikin, Herot, and Jaros.”

Tal touched palms with each brother in turn, thanking them for hosting her and her Guards. They all had the same nearly black hair and deep brown eyes as their sister, and the two eldest shared her height. The Opahs were a tall family.

Nikin was the oldest sibling, his hair already brushed with silver. His smile was open and easy, and Tal liked him on sight. Lurking under his gentle formality was a quick sense of humor.

Herot was younger than Salomen but held himself with a familiar self-confidence. In looks he resembled Salomen more than Nikin, but his squared jaw and thicker facial ridges lent his appearance a masculine charm. He seemed all too aware of his good looks and gave Tal an appraising gaze that made her want to laugh. Obviously, he considered himself irresistible and was enjoying fantasies that she would be glad to disabuse him of.

At the end of the line, she crouched down to look into Jaros's eyes, smiling to see the same dimple in his chin that Salomen had in hers. “Are those clothes as uncomfortable as they look?” she whispered as she held her palm to his.

His eyes lit up. “Yes! The collar itches. But Salomen insisted. She said we must look our best to honor you.”

“Did she?” Tal asked in a louder voice. “I'm delighted to know that your sister finds honor in my visit.”

“Oh yes, she's been talking of nothing else. Lancer Tal this, Lancer Tal that. We must be on our best behavior and speak properly and never—”

“That's enough, Jaros.” Opah's embarrassment was crystalline, and Tal held back a smile.

“Raiz Opah,” she said without looking up, “I am quite interested in what Jaros has to say. Please do him the honor of allowing him to speak as freely as your other siblings.”

Jaros visibly swelled with pride, and Tal knew she had made a devout ally. “Thank you, Lancer Tal,” he said in his best formal voice. Then it broke down as he leaned in excitedly. “Nobody ever speaks to Salomen that way! Is that because you're the Lancer?”

“It's one of the few benefits, yes. May I ask you a question?”

His formal mien returned. “You may,” he said grandly.

“What do your friends at school say about my visit here?” She knew she would get a more accurate picture of the local political climate from this boy than from anyone else on the porch.

“The older ones say they don't care, but my friends are so envious they can barely walk straight! They want to know all about you. When I tell them you touched palms with me, they'll turn red with envy.”

“We'll do more than touch palms, won't we? Do you not plan to work with me on the holding?”

“I will today and tomorrow, because they're free days. But after that I have to go to school. Besides, I'm not allowed to work the field equipment.”

Which told her at least part of what Opah had planned for her. “Then I'll see you at meals, yes?” He nodded, and she gave him a smile before standing.

“Lancer Tal,” Opah said, “while on my holding I will ask you to call me Salomen. I'm not accustomed to formal address in my home.”

“Thank you, Salomen. I'm honored.” Tal did not make a reciprocal offer. She allowed very few people such an informality; surely this producer did not expect it.

It seemed she did, judging by her annoyance. Well, if Salomen Opah chose to be irritated because she was not being given a familiarity that only Tal's closest friends enjoyed, that was a problem of her own making.

“Please come in. I'll show you your room.”

Tal followed her through the door arch into a spacious entry that glowed with the richness of old and oft-rubbed wood. This was a style she appreciated: simple, but of high quality and well-cared for. The ornate décor of the State House had never appealed to her, and not for the first time she wished that she might redesign the entire building. But it was untouchable, part of their global tradition, and she was only a temporary inhabitant.

“This way.” Salomen led her up a flight of stairs, down a curving hallway, and through a door into a spacious, comfortable room. It was lit by a pair of very old lamps that were surely heirlooms. A wide, cushioned window seat was flanked on each side by built-in bookcases crammed with books of every size and color. Through the large window, a magnificent vista of fields and trees stretched toward the Snowmount Range, and Tal knew right away that seat was going to be her favorite part of the room. The bed was neatly made with a hand-sewn quilt featuring the Opah family crest, and on the wall above it was a portrait of a woman who bore a strong resemblance to Salomen.

Tal dropped her bag on the floor. “This is your mother?”

“Yes.”

The answer was short and unemotional, but Tal felt a different story altogether. She examined the portrait carefully. “She was beautiful.”

The pain from behind her was so sharp that she had to close her eyes. Salomen Opah had not recovered from her mother's Return. Tal felt a sudden surge of sympathy; she knew too well what that was like.

“Yes, she was,” Salomen said quietly.

“I see her in you.”

There was no response, and she turned to catch an expression of surprise on Salomen's face.

“Thank you.” Salomen turned toward the door. “Colonel Micah will be in the next room.”

“Yes, he was most pleased about his accommodations.” Tal followed her out and looked through the next doorway with approval. Micah had already settled in and was currently in the kitchen, speaking with the cook regarding the food preparation for the rest of the Guards. “This is far more pleasant than the tent he expected.”

“Lancer Tal,” Salomen said stiffly, “please do me the courtesy of treating me as a landholder, not a mere field worker. I would never house the Chief Guardian of our Lancer in a tent.”

Tal's sympathy vanished as quickly as it had come. “I'll be happy to honor your request, provided you return the favor. You've treated me from the very beginning with a palpable prejudice. I'd appreciate being treated with more respect and perhaps, if it's not too much of a reach for you, an open mind. My words regarding Colonel Micah were not meant as an insult, yet you insist in taking it as such. Are you that unsure of your own position that you feel such a need to defend it?”

Now we're on familiar ground, she thought as Salomen glared at her.

“As long as you're a guest in my home, I will treat you with courtesy. But my respect is earned, not given. And accusing me of prejudice and narrow-mindedness is not the way to earn it.”

“It wasn't an accusation. Merely an observation.” Before Salomen could give her no doubt sizzling response, Tal continued, “Your home is lovely and well-loved. May I see the rest?”

Salomen stood still, her warring emotions clear to Tal's senses.

“Or if you prefer, I could ask Jaros for a tour,” Tal offered.

That galvanized Salomen into action, and Tal passed a pleasant half-hantick viewing the old house and surrounding grounds. That her hostess was fuming beside her bothered her not at all; she had learned at an early age how to tune out the emotions of others. It was an essential self-defense mechanism for a gifted empath and served her well in her role as Lancer.

The main house was a traditional dome design, with six bedrooms arranged around the outside of the top floor so that each would have a view. A circular hallway divided the outside rooms from the inner core, which consisted of three bathrooms, all naturally lit by a glass opening in the roof. Salomen and Nikin each had their own, while Herot and Jaros shared the third. For this moon, however, Salomen would use Nikin's bathroom, leaving hers for Tal and Micah. It had originally been shared by Shikal and Nashta, but when Nashta became ill and could no longer negotiate stairs, Shikal had moved them both to a room on the ground floor. He had never moved back up again, and their original bedroom was now the guest room where Tal was staying.

Two beautiful wooden staircases led up to the top floor, one from the front entry and the other from the large dining area on the opposite side of the dome. The kitchen was located in a smaller, attached dome accessed through the dining area, and the rest of the ground floor was divided into a spacious parlor, an office, a storage room, Shikal's bedroom, and another bathroom.

The entire dome was flanked by a wraparound wooden porch, interrupted only by the kitchen dome. Three steps led up to the porch at the front entry, while the back porch required six due to the sloping land. Tal loved the scenery, which was serene, wide open, and utterly different from the city landscape she was used to. Hol-Opah had a commanding view from its hilltop perch, a fact Micah had approved of when he had done his security check.

Looking west from the back porch, Tal was treated to a spectacular panorama of the Snowmount Range, which loomed far closer here than in Blacksun. Only the very tops of the mountains still held snow this late in the summer, but she could imagine how glorious this scene would be in a few moons.

Off to the south, sunlight glinted off the Silverrun River. It curved sharply around the southeast corner of Hol-Opah and then flowed mostly north, making up both the southern and eastern boundaries of the holding. The river gave Hol-Opah much of its value, providing a natural fence for the herdstock, an endless supply of water, and a regular replenishment of nutrients when it flooded the lower fields. As required by caste law, the Opahs had left a broad buffer of untouched land next to the river, which was marked by a nearly unbroken band of ancient trees. Many of them bore the distinctive black trunk of the molwyn, Fahla's sacred tree.

Tal couldn't wait to go running there.

The outbuildings were all rectangular and clustered in a group north of the main house. Tal was impressed to note that even the harvest storage building was clean and well-kept, and let out a low whistle of appreciation when she stepped into the converted equipment building that now housed her Guards. Each Guard had a cot and a small table serving as a nightstand, complete with water pitcher and lamp. The row of high windows on each wall made the building light and airy; by field standards it was palatial. Five Guards were currently in residence, having rotated off duty just a short while ago, and three of them were fast asleep in their cots, wearing eye masks against the light pouring in the windows. Lead Guard Gehrain moved to wake his staff at Tal's entrance, but she stopped him with a raised hand. “They've earned their sleep,” she said quietly. “Tell them I came by to see how they were doing, and that next time I want to see flowers on those nightstands.”

Gehrain grinned. “It's no field tent.” The grin dropped from his face as Salomen entered behind Tal, and he gave her a short bow. “Raiz Opah, please accept my grateful thanks on behalf of myself and ten very happy Guards. We never expected such comfortable lodgings.”

Tal waited for Salomen to snap at him, since this was nearly the same thing she had said earlier, but the producer gave him a kind smile instead. “You're very welcome, Lead Guard Gehrain. It was the least I could do for the service you perform. If you or your staff need anything else, please let me know.”

Tal barely kept her jaw shut as Gehrain assured Salomen that he couldn't imagine lacking for anything, and when they left the building, she shot a sidelong glance at her hostess. Did Salomen have a twin sister who had switched places with her while Tal's back was turned?

The tour ended at the main house, with Salomen leading Tal up the back stairs and to the guest room. Standing just outside the doorway, she said, “Please make yourself at home. We sit to midmeal in half a hantick.”

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Tal said. “You've gone out of your way to make my staff comfortable, and I appreciate it.”

“You're welcome.” The words were courteous, but the warmth she had shown Gehrain was nowhere to be seen.

Tal gave a mental shrug. “I'll see you downstairs, then,” she said, and began to unpack.

CHAPTER 31
A new field worker

 

Midmeal was a pleasant affair.
Tal liked the gracious but comfortable atmosphere of the dining room, and Salomen's family had enough questions to keep the conversation easy and light. Beside her, Micah rumbled with laughter at many of the questions coming from Jaros, who was overwhelmed at having two high-ranking warriors at his table and determined to make the most of his opportunity.

Eventually, it came to light that this was an unusual meal: during the busy harvest season, the family normally ate in the fields to save time. Tal caught Salomen's eye and saw a telltale glint in them.
Don't expect such coddling after this,
it said, and Tal gave her an acknowledging smile. She would bet half a moon's salary that Salomen was planning to run her into the ground this afternoon.

When Shikal joined them in the six-seat skimmer for their journey to the fields, she had second thoughts. Shikal was older than Micah. If he was involved in today's activities, then the labor couldn't be very physical.

Nor was it. After presenting Tal to her field workers—who politely welcomed her but otherwise kept their distance—Salomen set her up in a row of panfruit vines and showed her how to determine which were ready for harvest. It was simple enough, and for the first hantick Tal quite enjoyed it, though she had to be careful of the thorns on the vines. The sun was warm, the air was laden with the sweet scent of crushed panfruits that had fallen too early, and she was cocooned in a world all her own with the vines towering on either side of her. The only sounds she could hear were bird calls, the conversation of field workers, and the occasional clack of crates being stacked together at the ends of the rows. The work was simple enough to lull her into a state of serenity, and she thought this challenge might have been the best idea she'd ever had. As she expected, this was practically a vacation.

By the end of the second hantick, the repetitive motion of picking panfruits was beginning to make itself felt. The vines were taller than she was and the fruits grew all along their lengths, so she was both reaching over her head and squatting down to pick at ground level. Up, down, up and down, and the sun was warmer than it had been earlier.

After the third hantick, she had been scratched several times by thorns and was dripping with sweat. Her arms, legs, and back ached. Salomen had started in the row right next to hers, but was now two rows away. Tal couldn't believe how fast that woman moved. In fact, everyone was picking at least twice as fast as she was, including Jaros, and he couldn't even reach that high.

A field worker appeared at the other end of Tal's row and began picking. She scowled; he had no doubt been sent by Salomen to help her finish so she could move ahead with the others. She was not used to needing help to keep up and resented this unknown man with his damned efficiency.

He progressed rapidly toward her, and she did her best to speed up, but it was taking a great deal more effort to move from a squat to a stand. She'd had training missions that were easier than this.

They met two-thirds of the way down the row, and he smiled at her. “Never thought I'd see the Lancer in the fields of Hol-Opah. But you're doing fine.”

“I am? I thought I was slower than a zalren after a big meal.”

He laughed. Zalrens might be the most venomous of their serpents, but they tended to swallow prey three times their size and not move for days afterward.

“Nah, you're doing well for a beginner. Salomen didn't think you'd finish the last row.”

She bristled. “Then I'm happy to have surprised her.”

“Aye, you did that. And me as well; I thought you'd be soft.”

He had even less of a front than Salomen, and his lack of judgment made it possible for her to drop her irritation. She wiped the sweat off her forehead and offered him a genuine smile. “Warriors aren't supposed to be soft, Raiz…?”

“Just Jeshen. Can't be bothered with titles except in town.”

She held up a palm. “Well met, Jeshen.”

“Well met. Shall we take a break and then start a new row?”

“A break?”

“Aye, every hantick and a half. Didn't Salomen tell you?”

That little—

“It must have slipped her mind,” Tal said.

“Well, she's had a lot on it lately, what with making Hol-Opah ready for you. Come on, let's cool down.”

He led her out of the row and over to a mobile refreshment unit, where Tal washed her hands and face in the cold water and thought it was paradise. A selection of small pastries had already been well picked over, but there were enough left to quiet the rumbling in her stomach. She had so many other aches and pains that she hadn't even noticed her hunger until now.

She peppered Jeshen with questions about the holding, and in twenty ticks learned more about Salomen than in five moons of delegate meetings. Nashta had trained her daughter to take her role as both landholder and family head, so none of the field workers were surprised when Salomen took over after Nashta's death. Shikal had never been family head; Jeshen called him the “family heart” instead. And while Nikin might have been expected to inherit one or both roles as the eldest sibling, he always deferred to Salomen. Tal thought about the gentle man she had met earlier that day and understood why Nashta chose to pass the responsibilities to her more fiery daughter.

Jeshen's respect for Salomen was obvious, and he spoke warmly of the way she cared for her field workers. Landholders had a traditional duty to their workers, but not all of them upheld that duty with the same care. Salomen was well known in this district for being tough but very fair, and kind to those who needed help.

Tal definitely believed the tough part. The kindness she would believe when she saw it.

Going back to work was harder than she expected. The twenty-tick break had been just long enough for her muscles to stiffen, and asking her legs to squat, stand, and squat again was torture. She was glad Jeshen was at the other end of the row; at least she could grumble about her aches and pains without being overheard. Her arms felt like dead weight, and she was getting scratched by the thorns more and more often.

A quarter of the way down the row, she reached deep into the vine for a particularly well-buried panfruit and let her tired arm drop too soon. A thorn ripped into her skin, tearing open a bleeding wound that burned.

“Ouch! Spawn of a fantenshekken!” She gripped her arm to stop the bleeding, but thought better of it when she remembered how filthy her hand was. The blood dripped off her elbow and the burning increased. Were those damned thorns tipped in some sort of toxin? Why hadn't Salomen warned her?

She rolled her eyes. Of course Salomen hadn't warned her; what was she thinking? That woman had probably been waiting for this.

She walked back up the row, intending to wash off her arm at the refreshment station, but stopped when she saw a familiar figure coming toward her at a fast trot.

“Are you all right?” Salomen reached for her arm. “Let me see.” Her hands felt cool on Tal's aching arm as she examined the wound.

“It's just a scratch,” Tal said. Why did it have to be Salomen who found her bleeding?

“No, scratches are what's covering the rest of your arms. I can't believe you're picking with your sleeves rolled up. You look like you lost a fight with a vallcat.”

Only then did Tal notice that Salomen's long sleeves were still fastened at the wrist. Come to think of it, Jeshen's had been, too.

“It's hot,” she said lamely.

“Of course it's hot. That doesn't mean you should be tempting fate and Fahla. All right, let's get this taken care of.”

Tal followed her out of the row, feeling like a new trainee being called out for a stupid mistake. The embarrassment intensified when Salomen took over, washing her arm and pressing a clean cloth against the wound.

“I can take care of it myself.”

“The way you've taken care of yourself so far? You'll excuse me if I prefer to be sure.” Salomen lifted the cloth and checked for bleeding.

“I do not need—yeow!” Tal sucked in a breath, staring at the white foam on her arm. Salomen had sprayed it with something that felt like icicles shooting under her skin.

“Sorry,” Salomen said, but her amusement belied the apology. “Perhaps I should have warned you about that. It'll feel better in a moment.”

Tal wanted to suggest that she could have warned her about the thorns, too, but clamped her mouth shut and watched the foam on her arm melt away. By the time it was absorbed, both the initial burning sensation and the icicles had vanished.

“Ah,” she said in relief. “Whatever that was, it worked.”

“Panfruit thorns can be nasty. Keep your sleeves rolled down.”

“Thanks for the timely advice.”

Salomen glanced up, then returned her attention to the skin sealer she was applying to the cut. “I didn't think the Lancer of Alsea needed anyone's advice.”

Tal bit back three different rude answers before saying, “If that's true, the government is wasting its cinteks on my advisors.”

“Do you listen to them?”

“That depends on whether their advice is worth taking.”

“Of course.” Salomen rolled down the sleeve and fastened it at the wrist. Without pausing, she rolled down the other as well, making Tal feel like a child being dressed by an adult. “Best get back to it before Jeshen finishes your row.”

She walked away, leaving Tal shaking her head.

“Kind to those who need help?” she muttered. “Sure, Jeshen. I believe that.”