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

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well-guarded."
"Hope so. I lugged them right across the Lannic."
"TsehLahnnic?" Peraila shot her that fast horse-merchant glance; it seemed he'd be in on this
questioning.
"From Almerkun. Other side of the big water outside the Mitvald. Big, and godsdamned wet."
"No shit." He seemed to believe right off; of course, he would have an easy way of finding out whether
she was telling the truth, very soon.Probably doesn't think I'd lie under those circumstances , Shkai'ra
thought,and he's right . "You know, tseh morrhe I know of you two, tseh morrhe interesting you get."
Beside the tent was a small table under a canopy, spread with white linen, that the women gestured
towards. For the weapons;Yeolis have a feel for them , Shkai'ra thought, as she laid her two daggers,
sabre and wheelbow on it. Megan would take longer. Needle sword, wrist knives, back knives, boot
knives, thigh, upper-arm, belt-buckle, hair-hidden knife… It didn't help, Shkai'ra knew, that doing this
always made the Zak feel naked. Several Yeoli faces watched, bemused, increasingly amazed. Finally the
Zak completed the pile with her hair-comb.
This was a tent where no one slept, bare to the walls but for a rug, the one candle bright. The wet sky
was finally darkening, and the smell of roasting pork filled the air. Inside, two more nondescript people
came alive from a stock-still stance and left, though not before carefully arranging a pair of pillows side
by side on an open space of the mat, as Megan and Shkai'ra followed Peraila and the woman in. They all
sat.
"You understand," the woman said, "this is in sworn confidence, Second Fire come if I lie, Kahara be
witness,"— she clasped her crystal, the Yeoli swearing-gesture, as she rattled off the highest oath, known
in all nations, something she obviously did every day—"and no questions of a personal nature unless
relevant to our cause will be asked."
"I understand," Megan said, looked to Shkai'ra for her nod. The woman opened a small box, lifted the
needle in thin deft hands. "I'll do you both at once," she said, her tone like a healer's, as she filled its
chamber out of a small glass vial. "When it takes effect, which won't be for a while, you'll have to lie
down," she said, motioning towards the pillows.
And she didn't say a word to the minions who put them there, Shkai'ra thought.If they do
everything this smoothly in this army, no wonder they're winning .
Shit. She rolled up a sleeve of her sodden shirt and presented her arm.I hate needles . The woman's
touch was soft, cool and gentle, the liquid she touched to the inside of the crook of the elbow with a bit
of lint was cold; no surprise, she found the vein on the first try, firmly sliding the point in. It didn't hurt, but
made her skin creep. No strange feelings immediately. She wondered if Megan was all right; helplessness
always struck her at least a flesh wound, inwardly. "Would you like some tea?" the woman said amicably,
once it was done, as if she'd invited them over for an afternoon chat.Ezethra , Yeolis called the weak
green stuff they drank; the grease that kept the wheels of Yeoli social life turning. But a little different
here, she noticed, as another spook with a pot and four cups wordlessly appeared and disappeared as if
summoned bymanrauq .
They're so polite, Shkai'ra thought.The woman's being tender as if she can tell Megan's afraid.
Poor kh'eeredo, she wouldn't like that to be showing. But they're more than polite, they're kind,