Sweep of the Blade

When the procession descended the trail, Maud saw two figures waiting for her on the edge of the bridge leading to the upper levels of the castle. Both were blond. The first, huge and made even larger by his armor, leaned against the stone rail that shielded the patio from the drop below. The second, tiny, sat on the said stone rail with her legs crossed.

Maud fought the urge to speed up. Like it or not, she wasn't going anywhere until the women in front of her exited the trail.

"How adorable," Seveline murmured behind her, her voice sickeningly saccharine.

It took all of Maud's control to not spin around and punch the other woman in the mouth. Seveline was a threat and the wasteland taught her to eliminate threats before they had the chance to blossom into full-blown danger. Spin around, kick Seveline off the trail, spin back, lock an arm around Onda's throat, and choke her until she passed out and she could crush her windpipe... Maud shook herself. She had bigger fish to fry.

The women in front of her veered left, toward the bridge, while Maud turned right and headed for the two people waiting for her.

A long brown smudge crossed Helen's face. On closer examination, the smudge appeared to be sticky, decorated with tiny bits of bark, and smelling faintly of pine resin. Maud slowly shifted her gaze to Arland. A series of similar smudges stained his armor.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?"

"No," Arland and Helen said in the same voice. Maud compared the expression on their faces. Identical. Dear universe, she could almost be his child.

Something green peeked from between the strands of Arland's blond mane. Maud reached over, plucked it, and pulled out a twig with three leaves still attached. She held the twig between them. Arland stoically refused to notice it. Right. She let the small branch fall. "Are the others watching us?"

"Mhm." Arland's face remained relaxed.

"I need some information," she murmured. "About the Kozor and Serak."

"What sort of information?" Arland asked, keeping his voice low.

"Rank and power structure."

"Is it urgent?"

"It might be."

Arland offered her his arm. She rested her fingers on his elbow and together they strolled to the bridge, letting the last of the bridal party go before them.

They crossed the bridge leisurely, Helen walking in front of them.

"Where are we going?" Maud asked.

"To see my dear uncle. I so miss him."

Maud hid a smile.

The last robed woman disappeared into the nearest tower. They followed, but where the women went left, they went right. As soon as the bend of the hallway hid them from the view of the departing bridal party, both she and Arland sped up as if they had planned it. Helen ran to catch up. Arland bent down, picked Helen up and carried her, and Helen let him, as if it was a thing he did every day.

They took a lift up three floors, crossed a breezeway, then another, until they came to a solid, almost square tower secured with a blast door solid enough to take a hit from an aerial missile. The door slid open at Arland's approach, and Maud followed him inside, through yet another, blissfully short, hallway to a large room.

If they had shown her twenty different rooms and asked her which was Soren's, she would immediately pick this one. A thick rug, looking as old as the castle, cushioned the floor. The skulls of strange beasts and arcane weapons decorated the gray stone walls between the banners of House Krahr and antique bookcases. The bookcases were made with real wood and filled with an assortment of objects and trophies, chronicling decades of war and dangerous pursuits: odd weapons, maps, rocks, data cores of every shape and size, uncut gems, an otrokar charm belt-Soren either made friends with an otrokar shaman or killed one, and knowing the history of the Holy Anocracy and The Hope-Crushing Horde, the latter was far more likely. Money from a dozen galactic nations, daggers, dried plants, shackles, several Earth books, one of them probably Sun Tzu's Art of War, unless she read the golden Hanzi logograms incorrectly, and a Christmas ornament in the shape of a big blue ball with a sparkling snowflake inside rounded up the bizarre collection. Here and there padded chairs and a couple of sofas offered seating. In the middle of the room a large desk held court, so massive and heavy, Maud doubted Arland could lift it alone. Behind the desk, in an equally solid chair, sat Lord Soren, carefully studying some document on his reader.

The room screamed Veteran Vampire Knight. It was so classic, it hurt.

The door slid shut. Lord Soren raised his head and regarded the three of them with his dark eyes. He scowled at Arland, nodded to Maud, smiled at Helen, and resumed scowling at his nephew. "What?" Arland asked.

"Did you have to break his arm?"

Arland made a noise deep in his throat that sounded suspiciously like a growl.

Lord Soren sighed. "To what do I owe the pleasure of the visit?"

"I need to understand the structure of House Serak," Maud said.

Lord Soren nodded and flicked his fingers across his desk. A giant screen slid out of the ceiling on Maud's right and presented two pyramids of names connected by lines. The one on the left read Serak, the other Kozor. "Who you interested in?" Lord Soren asked.

"Tellis Serak," she said.

Helen crawled onto one of the sofas, curled up on the big blue pillow, and yawned.

"Ah. The dashing groom." Soren flicked his fingers, and Tellis' name near the top of the pyramid, ignited with silver. "His father is the Preceptor; his mother is the Strateg."

"Who is the Marshal?" she asked.

Another name ignited in the column to the left. "Hudra. She is the Marshal in name only."

"Why?" Arland asked.

"She has five decades on me," Soren said. "She was fierce in her day, but time is a bitter enemy, and it always wins."

Interesting. "Are they grooming Tellis to become the Marshal?" Maud asked.

"He is the most obvious choice," Soren said. "His ascension to Marshal would cement the family's hold on the House. They have been preparing him since childhood. Not that he is ready, by any means. Too young, too reckless. Tonight is the perfect example. What sort of fool requests permission for a fighter flight just so he can fan his bride's hair while she is standing on a cliff?"

Of course. If Arland had buzzed his bride in the fighter, he would be dashing. But since this was the scion of Serak, Tellis was reckless. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but Marshal candidates must be well-rounded in their military education?" "Indeed," Soren said. "They are trained to lead. They spend a certain amount of time with every branch of the House's military to familiarize themselves with the people under their command, but the bulk of their education centers on the effective deployment of these forces and military strategy."

"A Marshal usually has a specialty," Arland added.

"Yes," Soren confirmed. "Typically they concentrate on whatever aspect of warfare presents the greatest threat to the House in the foreseeable future."

Maud turned to Arland. "What's yours?"

"Ground combat," he said.

"Arland was trained to lead us into battle on Nexus," Soren said. "We had anticipated being embroiled in that conflict several times over the next few decades, but thanks to your sister, it's no longer a concern." It was just as she thought. "How likely is it for the Marshal to have other pursuits?"

Arland's thick blond eyebrows rose. "What do you mean?"

"If you wanted to devote a lot of your time to something not vital to the House, could you do it? For example, if you enjoyed target shooting, could you spend a significant chunk of your time practicing it?"

"Would I have time to devote to hobbies and leisurely pursuits?" Arland frowned, pretending to think. "Let me ponder. Two weeks! I took two weeks off in the last six years, and my uncle came to fetch me as if I were a wayward lamb. Because the great House of Krahr cannot endure without my constant oversight. My job, my hobby, my off time, my 'me' time, all my time consists of taking care of the never-ending sequence of mundane and yet life-threatening tasks generated by the well-honed machine that is the knighthood of House Krahr. I haven't had a moment to myself since I was ten years old."

Lord Soren stood up, took a small blanket off the back of the nearest chair, walked up to Arland, and draped it over his nephew's head like a hood.

Okay. She hadn't encountered that before.

"He is giving me a mourning shroud," Arland said and pulled the blanket off his head. "Like the mourners wear at funerals."

"So you may lament the tragic loss of your youth," Soren said.

Arland draped the blanket over Helen, who'd fallen asleep on the pillow. "To answer your question, my lady, no. A Marshal has no time for any significant pursuits outside of his duties." "Tellis of Serak has logged over three thousand hours in a small attack craft," Maud said.

Both men fell silent.

Years ago she watched a science fiction epic with its fleets of small attack crafts spinning over enormous destroyers. The reality of space combat vaporized that romantic notion about as fast as an average warship would vaporize the fleet of individual fighters. Even if the fighters somehow managed to make it through the shields, the damage they would inflict would be insignificant. It would be like trying to attack an aircraft carrier with a fleet of row boats. They could spend their arsenal, resupply, spend it again, and still the capital vessel wouldn't be disabled.

"It's my understanding that small attack crafts are used only for one thing," Maud said.

"Boarding," Arland said, his voice a quiet snarl. "Once a ship surrenders, the fighters deliver the boarding crew to take charge of the vessel and secure its cargo."

"Explains the flying acrobatics," Soren said, his face grim.

Maud glanced at Arland.

"After the battle, there is usually a debris field," Arland said. "Chunks that used to be escorts flying in all directions. The pilot needs a maneuverable ship and quick hands."

"Is there any reason House Serak would ever board pirates?" Maud asked. The question sounded ridiculous even as she said it, but it needed to be voiced.

"No," Lord Soren said.

"Pirate ships are glass cannons," Arland said. "They're modified to inflict maximum damage and rapidly scatter when necessary. Most of them are held together by hopes and prayers. The vessels have no value, and the crews have even less. I wouldn't waste time or resources on boarding. I'd simply blow them out of existence."

"So, who is he boarding?" she asked.

Silence reigned. All three of them were thinking the same thing. There were two kinds of vessels in the vicinity of Serak system: pirates and traders. And if Tellis wasn't boarding the pirates...

"This is a hefty accusation," Soren said. "We have no proof. We might even be mistaken."

"I heard it quite clearly," Maud said.

Soren raised his hand. "I don't dispute that. But we don't have all the facts. Perhaps Tellis is indulged and he simply likes to fly around Serak dodging asteroids."

"Three thousand hours?" Arland asked.

"Stranger things have happened."

"There may be a way to obtain confirmation," Maud said. "I would need an untraceable uplink that could reach beyond this system.

Arland walked over to Soren's desk and placed his palm on its surface. A red light rolled over the desk. The screen blinked, and the blood-red symbol of House Krahr appeared on it. Maud blinked. Arland had just taken over the entire communication node. The power of a Marshal on display.

Arland recited a long string of numbers. The screen went black and winked back into existence, a neutral gray.

"What did you do?" she asked.

"Bounced the signal off the lees' cruiser," he said. "They encrypt their communication origins, so they can't be traced. I'm hitching a ride on their encryption system. If the call's recipient tries to trace it, the signal will look like it's bouncing around from random spots in the galaxy."

Wow. "Impressive."

Arland shrugged. "Nuan Cee spies on us every chance he gets. I'm simply balancing the scales."

She was suddenly acutely aware of the data sphere hidden in the inner pocket of her robe.

"Whom would you like to call, my lady?" Arland asked.

"Someone from my other life." Maud walked over and sat on the other of the two couches, away from Helen. "It might be best if you stay silent and remain offscreen."

Soren grimaced but stayed by his desk. Arland dragged his fingers across the desk's controls, turning the screen toward her. A second screen appeared in the wall, showing a duplicate image, a one-way feed. They would be able to see what she saw but they would be invisible to the other person. Which was just as well. The last thing she wanted was to introduce everyone to each other.

"I need the names of two cargo ships," she said. "One from your House and one from Serak."

The names popped into her harbinger.

Maud pulled up a long sequence. Not a call she thought she would ever make.

From where she sat, she had an excellent view of both vampires and the screen. This would suck.

The screen remained blank.

She waited.

A long minute passed.

The screen flared into life. The bridge of a spaceship came into view. Renouard sprawled in the captain seat. He looked the same older than Arland by about a decade and a half, long dark hair spilling over his back and shoulders onto jet black armor without a crest, a ragged scar chewing up the left side of his face. The bionic targeting module in his ruined eye focused on her. From this distance, it looked filled with glowing silver dust.

Renouard leered at her. A familiar shiver of alarm gripped her. Ugh.

"The Sariv," he said. If wolves could talk in the dark forests, they would sound like him. "Karhari's gentle flower. So you managed to get out after all."

Arland narrowed his eyes.

"No thanks to you."

"I made you an offer."

Yeah, there wasn't a mother alive who would have taken him up on it. "You told me my daughter would fetch a good price on the slave market."

"I was joking. Mostly. I heard you bagged yourself a pretty boy Marshal."

The pretty boy Marshal went from annoyed to furious in an instant.

"The word is, you haven't managed to seal the deal yet." Renouard leaned forward. "Does he not do it for you? I could give him some lessons." Arland's face went stone hard.

"I see the scar on your groin wants a twin," she told him.

He bared his teeth and laughed.

"I have a job," she said. "I'm all ears."

"I need cargo retrieved from two ships. They'll be passing through the quadrant at the following coordinates." She tagged the section of the quadrant near the Serak system and sent it to him. "Not a large volume, two crates off the first vessel, one off the second, less than three cubic meters and roughly one hundred and twenty kilos of mass."

"Who is hauling this precious cargo?"

"The first ship is the Silver Talon."

Renouard checked his screen. "House Krahr. So the rumors are right. You're playing the Marshal. I always knew you had it in you." He winked to make sure she got it.

Ugh. "Can this be done or not?"

"It can be done," he said. "For the right price. I won't do it, but I'll act as an intermediary. What's in the crates?"

"That's not important."

He smiled. "Second vessel?"

"Valiant Charger."

"No."

He hadn't even bothered to check the screen this time.

"It's a barge," she said. "You can do it with your eyes closed."

"I told you, that's not my territory and my contact won't go after that ship."

"Get someone else."

"There is nobody else. That playing field is a monopoly."

"The deal's off," she said. "I'll find someone else."

She flicked the screen blank, severing the connection, and looked at Arland and Soren.

"House Serak is pirating that quadrant," Arland said. "Independent pirates are too fragmented and too weak to monopolize a star system. Of course, they wouldn't pirate their own traders."

"And Kozor is in on it," his uncle added. "Alone, neither House has sufficient resources to pirate and to hold the other at bay. They are evenly matched. If they were still at war and either Kozor or Serak devoted part of their fleet to piracy, the other would seize the opportunity to attack."

"I wonder how long ago they formed an alliance," Arland said.

"At least ten years," Soren said. "That's when they had their last serious battle. They bad-mouth each other at political gatherings in front of other Houses and they have small skirmishes from time to time, but nothing serious enough to really bloody each other's noses."

"Their combined fleet isn't enough to get close to our nose, let alone bloody it," Arland growled.

"So why House Krahr?" Maud asked. "Wouldn't it make more sense to go for a smaller House?"

"If they're going to expose themselves as pirates and allies, they want to reap the greatest benefits," Arland said.

"They're pirates," Soren said, "and we are the richest prize."

"How?" Maud asked. "There are only two hundred of them."

"I don't know," Arland said. "But I will find out."

"It's a fun game they're playing." Soren bared his sharp fangs. "I welcome the challenge."

***

Teeth. Running. Running so fast. Big ugly shape behind her. Footsteps stomping.

Dad stepping into her path, his innkeeper robe solid black, his eyes and the broom in his hand glowing with turquoise fire. Teeth. Right behind her.

Maud opened her eyes. Another nightmare, the same one, muddled and odd, as if it were less a dream and more a memory.

This place is driving me crazy.

She turned to check on Helen.

Her daughter's bed was empty.

Panic stabbed her. Maud bolted upright and saw the open door to the balcony. Sunlight sifted through the pale gauzy curtains, painting bright rectangles on the floor. As they parted, coaxed by the breeze, Maud glimpsed a small figure sitting on the stone rail.

Maud picked up a robe off the chair, pulled it on, and walked onto the balcony. It stretched along the entirety of their quarters, thirty feet at the widest part. On the right, a fountain protruded from the wall, shaped like a flower stalk with five delicate blossoms that reminded her of bell flowers. A man-made stream about a foot wide stretched from the fountain's basin, meandered in gentle curves along the perimeter of the balcony and disappeared into the wall. Both the stream and the fountain had run dry. A couple of benches had been set up, inviting a quiet conversation. The balcony begged for plants. It seemed almost barren without them.

Maud crossed the parched stream and leaned on the stone wall of the balcony next to Helen. The ground yawned at her, far below, hidden by the breezeways, towers, and finally trees. A normal mother would've pulled her daughter off the rail, but then there was nothing normal about either of them.

Helen had found a stick somewhere and was poking the stone wall with it. Something was bothering her. Maud waited. When she was little, she used to sit just like that, sullen and alone. Eventually Mom would find her. Mom never pried. She just waited nearby, until Maud's problems finally poured out of her.

For a while, Maud just stood there, taking a mental catalogue of the aches and pains tugging at her. Her ribcage hurt. It was to be expected. She should've spent yesterday in bed, not hiking up a mountain and dodging vampire knights who tried to throw her off the path. The booster had taxed her body further and exacted its price. She'd slept like a rock for over twelve hours. The sun was well on its way to the zenith. Soon it would be lunchtime.

She had to have missed breakfast. There were probably messages on her harbinger. She would check them, but not yet.

The breeze stirred her robe. Maud straightened her shoulders, feeling the luxurious softness of the spiderweb thin fabric draped over her skin.

Seeing Renouard last night had dredged up the familiar paranoia. It had hummed through her like a low-level ache, a wound that bled just enough to make sure you couldn't ignore it. She fought it for a while, but eventually it won, as it always did, and she'd excused herself, picked up Helen off the couch, and carried her to their room, driven by the urgent need to hole up behind solid doors. Arland seemed to sense that she needed it and he hadn't offered to take Helen from her. Instead they walked in comfortable silence to her room.

Feeling Helen's weight draped across her chest and shoulder and the familiar scent of her hair had soothed her a little. Helen was safe. They were both safe.

Once at her door, Maud had stepped inside and carefully put Helen on her bed. She put her daughter's daggers next to her, tucked her in, and straightened. She'd left the door open and Arland waited at the threshold.

Last night, she turned and saw him standing there, in the doorway, half hidden in shadows, tall, broad-shouldered, his armor swallowing the light. His hair had fallen over his face, the line of his chiseled jaw hard against that backdrop, and when the light of the two moons caught his eyes, they shone with blue green. He took her breath away. He looked like an ancient warrior, a wandering knight who somehow found his way out of a legend and into her room, except he was real, flesh and blood, and when she looked into his eyes, she saw heat simmering just under the surface.

She had forgotten what it felt like when a man looked at her like that. She wasn't sure Melizard even had, although he must have. Every nerve in her body came to attention. Her breath caught. All she wanted to do, all she could think of in that moment, was closing the distance, reaching up, and kissing him. She wanted to taste him. She wanted to drop her armor, to see him abandon his, and to touch him, body to body, skin to skin. Even now, as she remembered it, her heartbeat sped up.

Helen had fallen asleep. Arland's quarters were only a short hallway away.

One step. One word. That was all it would've taken. A tiny, minute sign, the faintest expression of desire.

She wanted to. Oh, how she wanted to. Instead she stood there like a statue, as if she had been frozen. He told her good night and she just nodded.

He'd left.

The door slid shut.

She let him go. She let him slip away and then she had stripped off her armor, pissed off, and climbed into bed. The booster kept her up for another half hour and she lay on the covers, mad at herself, trying to figure out what happened and failing.

She'd never had problems with intimacy. Melizard wasn't her first, and whatever problems they had in their marriage, sex wasn't one of them. Bodies spoke their own language, in love and in war, a language Maud innately understood. A blind woman could've read Arland last night, and if Maud told herself she didn't know what she wanted, she would be lying.

What's wrong with me?

"Am I a mongrel?"

Helen's question caught her off guard. Maud blinked, trying to switch mental gears.

"It's fine if I am," Helen said. "I just want to know."

"Did someone call you that?"

Helen didn't answer. She didn't have to.

"Did they use that word?"

"They called me erhissa." Maud's hands curled on the stone wall. Helen must've plugged the word into her harbinger, and the translation software spat out the closest equivalent: mongrel. They called her that, those assholes. In that moment, she could've hurt whoever said it and she didn't particularly care if it was an adult or a child.

Maud gripped her anger with her will and bent it until she was sure her voice would sound calm and measured. She had to explain. Hiding the truth wouldn't serve either of them well.

"Touch this." She held out the sleeve of her robe. Helen brushed her fingers over the smooth material.

"The vampires breed a special creature, a type of strange-looking snake. The snakes secrete long threads of silk and spin their nests from them. The vampires collect these nests and make them into fabric. There are two main types, kahissa, which make very thin, light fabric like this one, and ohissa, which make stronger fabric that's warm and durable. Both are useful. Sometimes kahissa and ohissa breed and they make a third kind of snake, erhissa. Erhissa don't make nests.

They're poisonous and they bite."

"To vampires, erhissa have no purpose," Maud said. "But the erhissa knows the world doesn't revolve around vampires. It doesn't care what vampires think. It just keeps doing its own thing."

Helen flinched.

"So, I'm a mongrel."

"On Earth, that's a word people use when they don't know what breed a dog is. You know who you are. You are Helen."

Helen looked down and dragged her stick across the stone, her jaw set.

"Each of us is more than just a human or just a vampire. There is only one you. Some people realize that, and others refuse to see it."

"Why?"

Maud sighed. "Because some people have rigid minds. They like everything to be clearly labeled. They have a box for everyone they meet. A box for vampires, a box for lees, a box for humans. When someone doesn't fit into their boxes, they

panic."

"But why?"

"I don't exactly know, my flower. I think it's because they lack confidence. They think they figured out the rules of their world and when something falls outside those rules, it scares them."

"So, I'm scary?"

"To those people? Yes. If the rules they made up don't apply anymore, they don't know how to act, and it makes them feel like their survival is in doubt. Instead of adapting to a new situation and coming up with a new set of rules, some of them will fight to the death trying to keep the world the way it was. Do you remember when we lived in Fort Kur? What was written above the door?"

"Adapt or die," Helen said.

"It's impossible to stop change," Maud said. "It's the nature of life. Those who refuse to adapt will eventually die out. But before they do, they will get nasty. They might even hate you."

Helen looked up. Her eyes flashed. "I'll hate them back!"

"Hate is a very powerful tool. Don't waste it. People who don't like you because of what you are may change their minds when they get to know you. But some people will hate you because of who you are. If they were honest with themselves, they would admit that they don't like you because something about you makes them feel inferior. They might think you're a better fighter, or you're smarter, or prettier, or you're taking up attention they think should be going to them. Those people are truly dangerous. If they get a chance, they will hurt you and those you love. Save your hate for those people. Never hurt them first, but if they hurt you or your friends, you must hurt them back harder. Do you understand?"

Helen nodded.

"Do you want to go back to Aunt Dina's inn?"

Helen's shoulders sagged. "Sometimes."

Maud stepped close to her daughter and hugged her. "We can go anytime. We don't have to stay here."

"But sometimes I like it here," Helen said into her shoulder. "I like Ymanie. Aunt Dina's inn doesn't have Ymanie."

"No, it doesn't." If they went back to Dina's inn, Helen would have to be homeschooled. Even if Maud could alter her daughter's outlook on life, there was no way to disguise the fangs, or her strength, or the way her eyes caught the light at night. Growing up at the inn was interesting and fun, but it had its lonely moments. All three of them, Klaus, Maud, and Dina, had dealt with it in their own ways. Klaus left the inn every chance he got. He and Michael, his best friend and another innkeeper's son, went on excursions, to Baha-char, to Kio-kio, and every place they could possibly reach from either of the inns. Maud had burrowed into books and spent way too much time practicing martial arts with their father and then various tutors. And Dina went through phases when she tried to pretend to be just human and attempt to go to public school to find friends. Friendships built on lies never lasted. Maud hugged Helen tighter. There were no perfect options.

She wanted to fix it. If she could wave a magic wand and streamline the galaxy for the sake of her daughter, she would do it in a heartbeat.

"It doesn't have to be here or the inn," she said. "We can try living somewhere else. We can open a shop at Baha-char. We can get a ship and travel the galaxy."

Helen's harbinger chirped. She poked at it with her finger. "Ymanie says there are baby birds on Tower 12."

Maud sighed. In the end, Helen was just five years old. "Would you like to go and see baby birds?"

"Yes!" Helen jumped off the wall onto the balcony.

"Go ahead. No heroics, Helen. No touching the birds, no climbing up dangerous high places, and no-"

"Yes, Mommy!"

Maud closed her mouth and watched her daughter sprint inside and to the door.

Right now, baby birds fixed all of Helen's problems. But she wouldn't be five forever.

What do I do? What's the right thing here?

In this moment, Maud would've given ten years of her life to be able to call her mother.

She went inside. Her harbinger glowed. Great. A high priority message, ten minutes ago. At least it didn't sit there for too long.

Maud touched the screen. Lady Ilemina's face appeared.

"Lady Maud," Arland's mother said. "Do join me for lunch."