Shadow's Son by Shirley Meier, S.M. Stirling and Karen Wehrstein ...
Shadow's Son by Shirley Meier, S.M. Stirling and Karen Wehrstein ...
Shadow's Son by Shirley Meier, S.M. Stirling and Karen Wehrstein ...
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Mage'smanrauq- blast? Sometimes it came back, like the memory-residue of a hallucinogen taken years<br />
before; usually in moments of strong emotion. "I'm here, kh'eeredo."<br />
"Someone left me this note, pinned on the tent." She translated in a whisper, looking up as the firelight<br />
painted the planes of Shkai'ra's face, trying to be calm. "Somehow I don't think he wants to talk about<br />
the new taxes in Brahvniki."<br />
Shkai'ra's face didn't change. "Probably not," she said drily. "So, we'll have a little diversion. Glitch visits<br />
again… Oh, well. This war was getting too easy anyway."<br />
A smile forced itself onto Megan's lips."You obviously haven't been sacrificing enough sheep."<br />
Shkai'ra shrugged. "So. You get all the information you can from this…gentleman , <strong>and</strong> we go from<br />
there."<br />
Megan didn't answer immediately, listening to the fire crackle, the sound of a lap-harp drifting from the<br />
next campfire over. "Would you…" She hesitated. "I'm feeling very cowardly about this." She flipped a<br />
h<strong>and</strong>, almost casually, claws flashing. "I feel as if I shouldn't be able to move this easily. It's almost<br />
obscene being this tied but free at the same time." She sighed, looking down at her spread fingers. "I'm<br />
not explaining this very well."<br />
Shkai'ra's arms closed around her, pulled her in close. Megan resisted for a heartbeat, then let herself be<br />
drawn in. "I didn't get where I am <strong>by</strong> panicking," the Zak said quietly into Shkai'ra's shoulder.<br />
"We've been in worse scrapes, love. Remember the alligators? To be eaten in such small bites…" The<br />
Kommanza rubbed a knuckle along Megan's cheekbone.<br />
"I know. I'll do what I have to." She looked up. "Careful: People will stop calling you a barbarian if you<br />
get this soft."<br />
Shkai'ra chuckled. "But I am a barbarian—to anyone who deserves that shit."<br />
Megan nodded. "So, I can't tear this pig-sucker into shreds…yet ."<br />
It's you I smell, she thought,not the latrine . A tricky place for a cl<strong>and</strong>estine meeting; no one would<br />
expect anyone to meet there. The copse was just far enough away from the privy itself to quietly talk<br />
without its many users hearing. Beeches, smooth-trunked with even branches; good climbing trees. She<br />
looked up, but saw no telltale dark shape. Wind pattered the leaves.<br />
"As scheduled," a precise male voice said quietly, from low, in Arkan.The accent … Aitzas?Hardly,<br />
doing this work. He's faking it. Unless he's Mahid . The robed figure had been sitting in the<br />
underbrush; now it rose, <strong>and</strong> leaned casually against a trunk. "You know, you're one person who is<br />
unmistakable, even in silhouette. Who else so short, with those curves… Well, never mind, we have<br />
business."<br />
No. Not Mahid. They don't have a sense of humor. "I prefer to deal in Enchian," Megan said, in that<br />
language. "A more suitable tongue for business of any sort."His face is in shadow, even if the moon<br />
came out clearer I wouldn't see it, here. He made sure of that. If I got truth-drugged again …