Shadow's Son by Shirley Meier, S.M. Stirling and Karen Wehrstein ...

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Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html Greetings. The usual nice stuff, Sova, you know, how-de-do's and all that, but less formal, you know, more familiar, since we're dealing with family here and not some tight-assed woolly-haired mucky-muck, got that? All right, uhhhhhh… Everyone's fine so far, healthy, no wounds or ills. So far. Emmmm… We're kicking Arko's asshole all the way up into its heart… wait, girl, maybe I shouldn't say it that way, Rilla might think I'm being crude again. Uuuu-uhnhhnn, all right, write this: we're scoring massive victories against Arko, and that should continue. Can't wait for the sack. Ummmm… We miss you. Urp belch. Errrr… Shit, I'm no good at this personal letter-writing thing,kh'eeredo , I'vesaid everything already. Help? At this juncture, an interjection from aforementioned Megan: "I'vewrittenmy letter, love. You're doing fine; just relax!" Well, what else is there to say? I mean—hey! I've stopped dictating andyou're stillwriting , WHAT ARE YOU WRITING, GLITCH-TAKEN BRAT!? YOU'D BETTER WRITE WHAT I DICTATE, NO MORE, NO LESS, OR I'LL SKIN YOUR HIDE, YOU NO GOOD INSUBORDINATE LITTLE SHIT-KICKER! GOT THAT, OR DO YOU WANT TO BE PEELED FROM HOLE TO HOLE!?Zoweitzum , I've said enough anyway, they'll get the idea and there's the letters fromyou two , just say I love them and all that mushy spouse crap and fuck the rest. As always, my heart brimming with tenderness, SHKAI'RA (her mark) "You're telling me," said Manajas, studying the crystal wine cup he turned delicately in one gloved hand, "that a four-foot witch is sneaking into our camp and causing us to have visions?" Matthas tried to keep from clutching his chair, strained not to seem tense.I had to tell someone. I had to try . "Could be,could be, that's all I said," he answered hastily. "I can't know for sure. I've just heard what strange things have been going on in our camp, and Iknow what this wo…person's capable of." "Oh, justcould be , I see." The foot-commander took a heavy slug from his goblet. "Mm-hmm. You know, friend Nerasas, I see visions too, sometimes. Gods, demons, ghosties, ghoulies, myself getting promoted to Grand Ultimate General of the Empire's Divine Forces… Drink some more, I've always found, and they eventually go away." Matthas tried to keep from biting the inside of his cheek. "Be careful, heart of mine," Shkai'ra brushed her knuckle on Megan's cheek in the familiar gesture of affection. "I'm sending Hotblood to be your backup. Told him I'd skin him alive if you didn't come back." That was not in the plan—when Chevenga had called her up to plot it that day, she'd found forcing all thoughts of what the Arkan was demanding she do out of her mind easier than she had feared it would be—but Hot-blood was a good enough darkworker that no one would ever know. Probably. Megan chuckled a little tiredly. "Such precautions." She started pulling on a tight dusty grayish black tunic. Clear black cloth was too visible, even in the dark. They kissed for luck.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html The moon was down; it was black under the forest with only the soft brilliance of the summer stars for light. The dry dust-smell of summer and the intense green odor of the forest mixed in the night air. Megan sat easily in the crook of an oak, looking out over the Arkan camp, ignoring the damp chill of dew soaking into her clothes. It was abig camp; even now the Empire did things in style. Fifty or sixty thousand men, half that many horses. It smelled worse than the Alliance camp, she found, when the breeze turned for a moment. There was a severely regular ditch and mound with a tree trunk palisade on top, this time; the Alliance had taught the Arkans something about night attacks. The campfires had been many and bright, the men reluctant to turn in until the officers ordered it. Megan waited until the Arkans were as quiet as they would get, then dropped and ghosted over the cleared ground toward the palisade; pause, crawl, pause, pause, becoming a shadow every sentry round. No matter how thoroughly the troops scoured the perimeter there was always a little brush overlooked, left because it wouldn't hide a normal-sized person. The wooden wall was unbarked logs, still studded with lopped-off stubs of branches, formidable to an armored soldier and easy as stairs for her. There was a rattle of armor above, bored Arkan voices with thesolas accent exchanging the password. Far too loudly, she thought.They don't imagine anyone would dare come this close. Arrogant . She rolled over the sharpened points of the logs and dropped down in a soft crouch on the inside; there was a roadway around the interior of the wall, then regular rows of tents graded by rank, like every other Arkan camp. Megan was next to the officer's row of an infantry rejin; there were fires, one in front of every third tent, burned down to grey red pits of ash and embers. An hour before there had still been soldiers up, cleaning their armor, talking, singing; she had heard two youngersolas working out the harmonies to "Under the Lamplight," same melody as in the Alliance camp, the Arkan words fitting just as well.Some things get shared, across the field, somehow. Strange, war . In the still air now she could hear someone snoring, the sound echoing as if his head were still in his helmet.His tent-mates and neighbors must love him , she thought.I'll fix that soon enough . She could almost walk through with her eyes closed the pattern was so regular. The high commanders' tents were near the center, the pickets off that way, upwind so the horses wouldn't smell her, the supply carts over there. On the other side of the neatly laid out section, past the privy trenches and facing toward the Yeolis, was the clump of camp followers and hangers-on, sleeping where they could. No mercenaries attached to this camp, especially since that general, Abatzas Kallen, had tried to doublecross the Schvait and make them fight their own kin at Michere, back in Yeola-e. The story was well known. Three companies of blackshirts had deserted, coming out straight through the sleeping Arkan army—through, in every sense of the term. Arko was having trouble hiring anybody but scum nowadays; using them as sword-fodder in a losing campaign, they didn't have many left. She froze again as the sentry paced by, torch half-burned. Her nose wrinkled at the strong odor of someone who ate beef more than three times a week, and was tense. Waiting for something frightening to happen… she cackled inwardly. Hotblood waited outside the palisade, wanting to come and eat a few moreblondprey , as he had started calling them. She stopped by the infirmary tent, near an ash tree. In this forest country it was too much trouble to clear a camp entirely by logging it. Megan reached inside for themanrauq , the pool of blue/violet behind her eyes. As she found it, she caught her breath, as if making a dive into cool water that tasted blue and sounded of vinegar. The more she practiced it the clearer and sharper it became, as addictive in its way
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people around for camouflage, and t
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Und now I vind dose two—Celestial
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