Part 12 (1/2)

Apparently it wasn't; she smiled at him. ”The Lords saw fit to summon you quickly. Was the communion pleasant?”

”I don't know,” Tarlac said. ”I don't remember--”

He broke off in shock. She had spoken Language, and he'd answered in it. Not in the halting fragments he'd learned from Hovan, but as easily and fluently as if he'd been speaking Imperial Englis.h.!.+ ”What-- How--”

”The Lords taught you, of course.” She showed no surprise at that.

”But here, I brought a cloak when I sensed them calling you; I thought you would need it. And come, I will get you some hot chovas. It will warm you.”

”Thanks.” Tarlac took the cloak gratefully and wrapped it around his body, feeling a sense of relief. He'd adapted well enough to the in-clan nudity that under most circ.u.mstances being nude himself might not bother him too badly--but this woman was the clan's religious leader, and he was still uncertain enough not to want to commit any Terran improprieties around her. ”The chovas sounds good, too.”

By the time they were in the dining room and Daria had brought mugs of aromatic chovas from the always-ready pot in the kitchen, he'd stopped s.h.i.+vering and managed to accept the fact of his new command of Language. He'd also discovered it did him no good to think about how he'd gotten it. When he tried, his thoughts simply s.h.i.+ed away from the subject.

”Do the Lords do that sort of thing often?” he asked as they took seats. They weren't the only ones in the dining room, even at this hour, but n.o.body paid any noticeable attention to them.

”No, they very seldom intervene,” she said calmly. ”Why? Do your G.o.ds speak often?”

”It hasn't been proven that any ever have. I've never really believed in any of Terra's G.o.ds.” The hot mug between his hands gave off cinnamon-flavored steam. ”I'm not very good at taking things on faith.”

”On faith? Your G.o.ds provide no evidence?” Daria's voice held faint disapproval. ”They must be inferior G.o.ds, then.”

Tarlac had to agree. ”Yeah. The Circle of Lords doesn't leave much room for doubt, does it? No wonder Hovan thought I was naive.”

He took a drink of his chovas, enjoying the warmth amid his troubled thoughts. He didn't see any alternative to accepting the Lords'

reality, like it or not. And he didn't particularly like it. G.o.ds who took an active part in mundane affairs introduced an uncertainty factor that he found unsettling at best. ”Why haven't they helped you win the war, though?” he asked.

Daria smiled sadly. Apparently Language hadn't been the only thing the Lords taught him; he was reading her expression easily. ”Who can say what motivates a G.o.d? We can only hope that their intervention now, through you, will save some of us.”

”Yeah.” Tarlac sipped again at his chovas. ”Look, will you explain something for me?”

”If I can. What is it?”

”What in--” Tarlac hesitated, modified what he was going to say.

”What does a Ranger taking the Ordeal have to do with ending the war?”

Daria was silent for a moment, then she smiled again, easily, at the Ranger's almost aggrieved tone. ”Ruhar, you must have noticed that all officers and high-status males are n'Cor'naya. There is a reason for that; we have so many that there must be a way to select the most capable, courageous, and honorable. The Ordeal has done that for many millennia, though it changed when Lord Sepol was called to the Circle.

”If the war is to be ended with honor, it must be done by someone who has high status on both sides. As a Ranger, you already have that in the Empire; once you pa.s.s the Ordeal, you will also be able to negotiate a peace agreement as a Cor'naya.”

Tarlac frowned. ”Any agreement that will work can't involve you . . .

surrendering”--he had to use the English word--”since that's something you can't do. With the way your people fight, and with us winning as decisively as we are, that is not going to be easy. Will the Lords help me there?”

”I cannot tell you,” Daria said, frowning in her turn, perhaps at the unfamiliar word. ”They have remained unresponsive; I can only pray that they will. But you must not count on it, for they give no more help than they consider essential. If they think there is any possibility you can do it without them, success or failure is up to you. We must learn, they say, by our mistakes.”

”It wasn't your mistake that started this war,” Tarlac said. ”It was the Empire's, but you're the ones paying for it.” He had a sudden thought, frowned again. ”Fleet-Captain Arjen said the Supreme and First Speaker invited me here. That 'invitation' really came from the Lords, didn't it?”

Daria nodded. ”Yes; all the Speakers know. But do not let that make you over-confident of their help. It is quite likely that having you brought here and teaching you Language is all they intend to do.”

She sensed a question he hesitated to ask, and smiled. ”No, Steve, your adoption was not dictated by the Lords. The Speakers were informed of your need to take the Ordeal, and we in turn informed our respective Clan Mothers--but the choice of offering adoption or not was theirs. Ka'ruchaya Yarra, in her wisdom, chose to offer it, and I am glad.”

”So'm I. And it may mean I do have a chance of finis.h.i.+ng.” Tarlac grinned, unable to suppress a short-lived surge of hope. He'd been prepared to die to bring peace; just the thought of living to enjoy it, as Hovan was confident he would, was enough to make him reach out and take Daria's hand even as it faded. ”Thanks, ruhar. I was--”