Even so, he was shocked at her appearance. The woman he'd negotiated with in Tekalos, eighteen years earlier, had been strong, beautiful, radiating unusual energy. Now she was shrunken-tiny and fragile-and nearly bald. She did not sit up to speak, not even propped. Her body aura was alarmingly weak, and her spirit aura showed tenacity more than strength.
She listened to his story, of his dream and A'duaill's, of Vulkan's sense of danger from the Voitusotar, and Cyncaidh's story of the two strange ships. She heard him out, but scarcely reacted. Her focus was totally on the succession, and on surviving till it was worked out. Macurdy understood that. The Sisterhood had been her life and focus for more than two centuries, and now she had no energy for other issues.
She confessed to him a day of discouragement, a sense of defeat, when her ambassador to Duinarog had forwarded Varia's unwillingness to serve. But she'd rallied. "To persist is my only choice," she said.
Macurdy told her that Rillor had destroyed whatever chance there'd been of Varia coming south. She agreed, adding that Rillor had been flogged, demoted, and assigned to the embassy in Miskmehr.
Astonished, Macurdy asked why she'd left him alive.
"You are aware of the infertility problem we've inherited from the ylver," she answered. "Rillor is a proven sire, more fertile than most, and his offspring nave some superior qualities. Mostly physical," she added wryly. "But more to the point, Idri insisted on his being spared." The old dynast chuckled, a sad soft sound. "It is," she said wryly, "the first instance of honest loyalty I've ever seen in her. She is pregnant by him. In her sixty-six years she has had sexual intercourse with innumerable men, but this is her first pregnancy."
The old eyes turned thoughtful, focusing inward, and she rested a minute before continuing. "Given the situation, I have found it necessary to reevaluate the importances of almost everything. Thus I give way on many issues. But from time to time, with Omara's help, I have forced Idri to her knees on some issue or other. To remind her that she is not the dynast." Sarkia paused thoughtfully. "Backing down is far more painful for her than for me. Twenty years ago I could not have said that. I was strong willed to a fault."
She turned her head enough to meet Macurdy's eyes. "Varia knows that as well as anyone. When you see her next, tell her I deeply regret what happened. That I love her and wish her well, as unbelievable as she may find it."
Then her head rolled back and her eyes closed. "I am tired now," she murmured. It was barely audible. "Go. With my good wishes."
Except for her aura, she looked like an embalmed corpse. Macurdy left, far more impressed with her than he'd been when she was strong and beautiful.
Amnevi's office was a door away, and he went to it. To his surprise and momentary shock, she was physically a duplicate of Idri, a clone sister. But her aura reflected a very different personality, and strong talent. He asked for a meeting with Idri, partly to read Amnevi's aura when he asked it.
Idri, she replied, was away from the Cloister. Where, she didn't know. "She comes and goes as she pleases," Amnevi told him, "asking no one. And telling no one, except perhaps the commander of her Tigers."
He thanked her and left the building. When he'd arrived, he'd left Vulkan on the lawn. Now he couldn't see him anywhere. ‹Here, Macurdy,› said the familiar voice. ‹In the shade of the building. Cloaked. I drew undesired attention from a platoon of Tigers marching past.›
Macurdy frowned. "Can they harm you?"
‹They cannot harm me. But in their numbers they could deprive me-and you-of this highly useful body.›
"So you cloaked yourself."
‹Precisely. Cloaked and displaced myself.›
"Displaced? You mean walked?"
‹It is the only means of transportation I have.›
While they talked, three Sisters left the building, looking oddly at Macurdy, who seemed to be carrying on a conversation with himself. So having no confidence in his own cloak, against persons of talent, Macurdy stepped over to Vulkan, disappearing within his. Vulkan's had the further advantage of concealing sound, and Macurdy preferred to voice his words. To simply think them felt unsatisfying and incomplete to him.
"Tell me about that attention they gave you," he said.
‹It was not overt. They simply contemplated action. They regarded me as a challenge.›
"Were they in ranks?"
‹At the time, yes. They did and said nothing, nor was their attention coordinated. But several of them wondered independently how many it would take to make pork of me. There was also the explicit thought of bringing up the matter to others, with the possibility of action. They were not aware of my connection to you.›
"Hmm." Vulkan's addendum relaxed Macurdy somewhat. "How many would it take, do you suppose?"
‹If the situation precluded flight, and I did not cloak myself, half a dozen should suffice. Certainly with spears, but they would be highly dangerous with swords as well. By the standards of your species, Tigers are more than extremely strong and athletic. They are also highly skilled, and do not fear death. Danger is a spur to them. They accept that death is not the end; that they will reincarnate. Where they err is in believing they'll return as Tigers. Given their perspective from the other side, that is extremely unlikely.›
"Other side?"
‹The off-stage side.›
"Huh! What did they think when you disappeared?"
‹They were reminded of my reputation as a wizard.›
Macurdy frowned thoughtfully. "I wonder how good they are at hand-to-hand combat."
‹I do not know. I watched them drill just once, when the Cloister was at Ferny Cove. They drilled with practice swords, appearing to be very quick and highly skilled.›
Macurdy considered what he'd planned for the evening, and how it would affect Vulkan. The boar had eaten a whole lamb the night before in Asrik. "Do you want to wait around here?" he asked. "Or slip out through the gate? Or what?"
Vulkan heaved himself to his feet. ‹I will accompany you,› he said. ‹Cloaked. This environment is not without hazards for you, too, particularly considering what you are contemplating.›
Macurdy went to his sons' company orderly room. Their company, he learned, was outside the wall, training. The desk sergeant notified the company commander, who sent an orderly to take Macurdy to watch them. Afterward, the captain added, the marshal was welcome to eat supper with his sons' squad, or with himself.
After arranging with his sons to spend part of the evening with them, Macurdy ate supper with the captain, questioning him about Guards training, and what he knew of Tiger training.
After eating, he was taken to his sons' barracks. Together they went outside, and began a leisurely walk along the grassy margin of the street. Grinning, they told him they both had breeding duty that evening at nine.
"You like that, do you?" he asked.
"Oh yes," said Ohns. "It's our favorite."
"What do the women think of breeding duty?"
"They like it too, except for Tiger breeding. Tigers are rough, they say, and show no respect. Often they hurt them."
"Do you breed the same ones all the time?"
"It varies," said Dohns. "So far we've been assigned to breed members of three clones. I'll bet anything that if you asked, they'd schedule you in, too."
Nonplused by the suggestion, Macurdy didn't respond. Instead he broached his real interest. "Are Guardsmen trained in hand-to-hand combat? Without weapons?"
"We train in both wrestling and blows," Ohns said.
"Are you good?"
"Very good." Ohns grinned again. "Would you like to test me? We've both wondered how good you are."
Macurdy accepted the challenge, and they stepped onto a lawn, where he took off his belt pack. Ohns fronted off with him, and began to feel him out. Macurdy was more direct. He feinted, drew a countering move, and slammed the young man to the ground with a simple hip throw. Afterward he had them demonstrate Guards wrestling techniques on each other, stopping them now and then with questions. He soon had a sense of the overall style.