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

Und now I vind dose two—Celestialis, I'm Jikken thinking in it. To the better, really, that he thought
and felt his part as well as spoke it; he'd more likely react in character in a crisis.But it's damned
irritating after this long . Almost a month, to catch the fikken Yeolis and their allies, now stabbing deep
into the Empire along the Eastern Wing highway; long enough both to get used to going without gloves
and acquire a fair tan on the backs of his hands. Like eating mutton instead of beef, so he didn't smell
Arkan; they hadn't thought of teaching that in spy-school, but to his mind it was a basic precaution.
The trip had been happily uneventful, the one rough spot coming when one of the hirelings had turned out
to be Thanish of all things, her face lighting up when she'd found out, or thought she'd found out, his
nationality. Her tongue had launched into a great long string of fast non-stop Thanish, of which he could
understand not a syllable. "Ve not speak dat in de new country, only in olt," he snapped back. She'd
bought it, but for a time his heart had beat at a speed he really was too old for. From then on he'd
avoided her.
And I find those two, he continued his thought.Anddo what I have to. Whatever it takes . Next order
of business, make some contact with the Arkan army, if he could find one, that opposed this circus of
sixty-thousand, for a source of aid and an escape route already paved in case of trouble. Hopefully he
could find someone of high-rank who wasn't a complete moron, though the Yeolis had been cutting the
smart ones down—one of his favorite tactics, that brilliant lunatic ex-gladiator barbarian
whoreson, because he knows damn well smart Arkan generals are rare. They wouldn't know he was
out of favor with his superior, with orders to work alone; one thing he'd learned to count on, dealing with
the Empire's lumbering mastodon of an administration, was that the left hand never knew what the right
hand was doing unless it read it in thePages , which would solemnly report that it had eight fingers.
VII
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Megan woke up with Fishhook hopping over her face, velvet wings flapping. She pulled the blanket up
and tried to ignore the fact that she wasn't asleep anymore. She never slept well anyway while they were
on the road; Shkai'ra snored.Fish-guts —it's still dark.
The Kommanza wiggled out of the covers and got up. It was still overcast out, though it had stopped
raining. Megan told herself she must be asleep, because she'd heard Sova.I must be drea —
"ZAIK DAMNED YOUR MAGGOT-EATEN SOUL, YOU SHEEPRAPING STEERFUCKING
LITTLE BITCHCOLT, WHAT THE ZOWEITZUM ARE YOU DOING HERE? I'M GOING TO
KICK YOUR UNPADDED ASS ALL THE WAY BACK HOME THEN WALLOP IT UNTIL
YOU RIDE STANDING THE REST OF YOUR LIFE!"
Oh. Sovaishere . Resignedly Megan threw back the covers and clambered out.Nobody's going to get
any sleep around here now . From other tents all around, she could hear angry mutters, curses and yells
to shut up.
Fishhook yawnedsleepsleep and crawled under the pillow.
Shkai'ra spoke in something more like words. "And howdid you get here?"