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

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"Jaiwun Allmate, tell me I wasn'tthat drunk," she muttered, climbing slowly to her feet and pushing erect
with her palms on her knee. The ache in her head was as much like the aftermath of a warhammer as a
hangover; the false dawn stabbed fingers of pain into her eyes as she gathered up her clothes, and there
was a particularly irritating prickle of discomfort inside the cheek of one buttock.What the fuck have I
been doing ? The last clear memory was walking—not staggering, walking— toward the river to wash
up.I am definitely getting too old for this shit .
"I may never know," she said aloud, and regretted it, wincing as she began walking very carefully
through the sleeping camp, buckling on her swordbelt and stepping into her boots but leaving the rest of
the clothing over one shoulder. Her skin was clean, but the clothing was smelly and clammy to a degree
that Megan had trained her out of tolerance for.
Normally there would be a fair amount of activity at this hour, but not after a major victory and a
celebration like the one the night before. The fires had died down to ash and embers, and the tents were
silent. From the figures sprawled about, you might have thought that it was the Alliance who had been
slaughtered two days before. A company coming in from night patrol passed her, half Moghiur and half
Royal Enchian. The Moghiur were in their usual motley of fur and leather and bits of metal; one
wild-looking woman with hawk feathers in her black braids and a blue cape gave her a mock-smile and
anawwwwwww of false sympathy. The Enchians were like some mural of ancient Iyesi; tall slender men
in chain and graven steel on fine horses, armed with rapiers and lances and bows, which did not prevent
them from catcalling amiably as they passed. "Fuck you very much too," Shkai'ra shouted back; the
sexual words were pretty much the same as in trade-Enchian.
The guards around the Elite section were offensively sympathetic, and Shkai'ra passed them with a
growl. That turned into a full-fledged scowl as she reached her tent and found Sova standing with the tall
Yeoli boy she had been spending a lot of time with tonight, the two cuddling close beneath a single cloak
and murmuring to each other in the light of the last pale stars. "Hmmmf," she grunted, dropping boots and
clothing and racking her weapons and drinking from the water-bag beside the entrance before crawling in
beside her wife. Megan stirred sleepily and muttered before settling down again.
At least we can sleep, Shkai'ra thought. The thought of a day's march was unbearable.
So. Matthas read through his notes again.Some people get so loquacious as truth-drug takes effect .
The big fighting-wench had propositioned him, of all things. "Such a nicely turned bottom you have,
ahhhhh…" A moment's image came of being in bed with her, in those gristly arms that were such
perverse imitations of men's, and those massive tree-trunk thighs with the dank, dark nest of impurity
between them. A touch of nausea came, too.They don't wash …
He read the notes again. Megan's link with Mikhail Farsight and Brahvniki-Yeoli dealings was far more
tenuous than he'd expected; well, all right, might as well say it out. Nonexistent. At least as far as the big
woman knew; but he'd made sure to ask, "Does she hold you in entire confidence?" To which Shkai'ra
had answered, "Yes." No, there was nothing so calculated. For Megan and Shkai'ra, this was not even a
vendetta—surprising for them—but a family affair. Megan wanted to rescue a son, enslaved long ago,
and for her there was no other way into Arko.
Shit, he thought.And it was such a beautijul conspiracy theory, too. Am I losing my touch ? No, he
realized, the conspiracy was happening, but elsewhere, through other agents; he'd chased a red herring
and had no idea where to pick up the real trail.All the way to Setzetra, smoothly infiltrating the Yeoli