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

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
"The Benaiat will meet you in the center court. He's a little tired." Her voice was low, as if the words
were meant only for Megan.
They walked through the arcades to the courtyard gardens, simple stone and tile and fresh flowers;
spring was well along here. Traveling south down the river was like leaving winter, cold and dark, to sail
into summer; last time they had been here it had been fall, and they'd sailed into winter. Shkai'ra's eyes
appraised all.Still looking at everything as if she were about to sack and burn it , Megan thought.I'll
train her out of that yet .
Benaiat Ivahn was leaning on the edge of one of the lesser pools; looking up, he rose to meet them,
smiling.Stevahn's right , Megan thought.He is looking tired. Nonsense, he's looking the same as
ever, three years older than the Goddess. Like a child when he smiles, except all wrinkles . The
other monks withdrew.
"Megan Whitlock," the old man said, clasping her hands, then Shkai'ra's. "It was a grief to me that I
could not attend your wedding. Your other wife and your husband are not with you on this journey?"
They strolled along the colonnade, the pair matching their pace to the old man's. He moved as smoothly
as he ever did, but more slowly.
"No," she answered. "But we drank some of that case of Saekrberk liqueur you sent. In the glass
loving-cups."
"They were beautiful," Shkai'ra said. "They reminded me of this place."Three years, we've been
together , Megan thought,and she still surprises me .
No doubt Ivahn was surprised, too; but he'd had a great deal of practice in hiding what he thought. They
came to the door of his office, ancient oak, almost black, hinges silent as it swung open. Benaiats from
time out of mind had used this office.Strange to think of anyone but Ivahn being Benaiat; he has
been since long before I was born . He was three times Megan's age. Seventy-five.What will I be like
at that age? Stupid question. If I keep using the manrauqas much as I have lately, I won't die old.
Shkai'ra isn't likely to die old either, unless we really dosettle down after this .
The office was in the outer part of the Benaiat; the view extended down to the docks and across the
river to Brahvniki, back toward the woods and fields as well. The room was very plain, but not stark.
Some monasteries of the Honey-Giving Bear seemed to worship austerity, but Ivahn had always said its
purpose was to free one of distractions, not be held sacred for its own sake. He had bookshelves and
desk and chairs, a row of large books on pegs; the symbol on the wall was his own handiwork, the
colors still bright against whitewash. A warm breeze blew off the sea and in through the narrow windows.
This summer is going to be very hot, droughts in some places .
As Megan and Ivahn gave each other the formal hug, she felt it: he was paper-thin, skin over ribs like
tent-canvas, his grip more like a spider's than a bear's. He settled into his chair by the desk, sighing,
motioned them to sit. His face had always been thin like a fox's; now the fox was a starving one,
hollow-cheeked. Was he ill? But he smiled again, making it all seem imaginary.
A monk brought a tray with a bottle of Saekrberk and glasses, setting them out on the desk with a bow.
"Koru-kai," Ivahn said, lifting his tiny glass. "To your health," Megan said, hearing more meaning in it than
she'd intended. He nodded, and the Saekrberk burned its way across her tongue.
"I share the salt," he said, the ritual words signalling it was time to get down to business; they were too
close to take any longer with small-talk. "And I with you," she answered.