are no great prizes, either.'
'So thank the gods the Conclave had the good sense to pick Emperor Zindel over Chava,' Vargan said with the sort of fervor Kinlafia seldom heard outside temple.
'I can't disagree with that,' Kinlafia acknowledged. 'But should I understand from what you've just said that the Act has actually been approved?'
'Not yet,' chan Skrithik said, then snorted. 'Well, what I actually meant, I suppose, is that it hadn't been as of a week and a half ago.'
Kinlafia nodded in understanding of the qualification. It was hard to remember sometimes just how far places like Fort Salby were from Sharona. The thought that it could take over a week for a Voice message to reach Traisum was sobering proof of just how great the distances involved truly were.
Of course, it wouldn't take that long if it weren't for the water barriers, he reminded himself. It was the need to transport Voices physically across the water gaps too wide for them to span-most of which were up-chain from Traisum-that accounted for the vast majority of the delay, after all.
'So we still don't know if Uromathia is going to sign on,' he said, after moment.
'Oh, I think Chava will sign on the dotted line eventually,' chan Skrithik replied. 'It's not like he has a lot of choice, after all. Even he has to recognize how the appearance of these 'Arcanans' has changed everything.'
'You think so?' Vargan said sourly. Chan Skrithik looked at him, and the company-captain shrugged.
'Logically, I can't argue with you,' he said. 'But I'm telling you, Rof-that man is never going to sign off on the creation of a world Empire, especially under the Caliraths, unless he figures there's some way for him to park his fundament on the throne eventually.'
'You may be right,' chan Skrithik conceded with the air of a man who'd had this discussion more than once already. 'In fact, from what I've seen of Chava, you probably are. But even if you are, what he thinks he's going to get away with, and what he is going to get away with are two different things. I don't care how tough, how sneaky, Chava Busar may think he is, he does not want to piss off Zindel chan Calirath. Believe me.'
'If he's anything like his son, I'm inclined to agree with you,' Kinlafia said.
'Which doesn't mean Chava isn't going to try something, anyway,' Vargan pointed out. 'And if he does, it could get spectacularly messy.'
'Yes, it could.' Chan Skrithik nodded. 'But what Voice Kinlafia was asking was whether or not Chava's going to accept unification at all. And my feeling, from the regular Voicenet messages and the dispatches I've received, is that he's going to. I'm sure he is going to have some … mental reservations, let's say, if he does, but if Emperor Zindel is willing to accept the demand that Janaki marry a Uromathian, I don't think Chava will have any choice but to agree to the unification.'
'Janaki marry a Uromathian?' Kinlafia couldn't quite keep his repugnance out of his voice and expression, and Chalendra Skrithik snorted. It wasn't, Kinlafia noted, a particularly happy snort.
'That's what Chava's been holding out for,' she said. 'And, like Rof says, he may already have gotten it.
According to the last report I heard, the Conclave was supposed to vote on the marriage amendment to the Act of Unification three days ago. So, we ought to be hearing about the outcome in another week or so.'
'I see.'
Kinlafia sat back and took a sip of chan Skrithik's 'decent vintage' while he pondered what Chalendra had just said. It was odd to sit here and realize the outcome of the vote was probably speeding its way down the chain of universes to Fort Salby at this very moment. And it was even odder to realize just how ambivalent Kinlafia himself was about that possible outcome. Despite the optimism everyone else had felt when the Arcanan diplomats turned up, Darcel Kinlafia's belief that Sharona had to reorganize itself into something capable of meeting the Arcanans toe-to-toe had never wavered. Sharona had to unify its competing, squabbling nations. And yet, the thought of the towering young Crown Prince of Ternathia being forced to marry one of Chava Busar's daughters or nieces revolted him. Perhaps it was the sort of dynastic, political calculation kings and emperors routinely had to face, but he liked Janaki. Liked him a lot.
And I don't much like what Vargan was saying, either, the Voice reflected. Because if Chava really does think there's a way to put his arse on the throne, then there has to be at least a line or two in his plans for getting rid of Janaki, first.
Darcel Kinlafia wouldn't like that. He wouldn't like it at all.
So it looks like there's another good reason to go into politics, where I might actually be able to do something about it, he thought, drinking his wine and gazing up at the twinkling stars of Karys.
Chapter One
Commander of One Thousand Klayrman Toralk sat upright in the personnel carrier strapped to his circling command dragon's back, despite the buffeting wind of the beast's passage, so that he could see clearly over the edge of the windshield. The sight was impressive, he admitted, watching critically while the final few transport dragons, scales glittering with gem-like intensity in the last light of day, settled like huge, multi-hued insects onto the handful of islets clustered in the middle of so many endless miles of swamp. Unfortunately, 'impressive' wasn't exactly the same thing as 'well organized.' In fact, the words which came most forcibly to mind were 'awkward as hell.'
And the reason the maneuver looked awkward was because it was awkward, he thought sourly. Despite his deep respect for his immediate superior, this entire operational concept could only have been put together by a ground-pounder. Any Air Force officer would have taken one look at the topographical maps and informed his superior roundly that he was out of his mind. Crowding this many transport and-
especially-touchy, often ill-natured battle dragons into such a constricted space violated every precept of peacetime training regulations and exercise guidelines.
Too bad Ekros never heard about all those regs and guidelines, Toralk thought. Or maybe he did. After all, how could even a demon make sure that whatever could go wrong did go wrong if he didn't know exactly what he was screwing up?
The thousand chuckled with a certain bare minimum of genuine humor. Yet even as he did, he knew that if Commander of Two Thousand Harshu hadn't pushed him-hard-on this, he would have told the two thousand it was impossible. Fortunately for Arcana (if not, perhaps, for the tender sensibilities of one Thousand Toralk), Harshu wasn't particularly interested in the artificial safety constraints of peacetime.
He wasn't overly hampered by excess tactfulness, either. But he was completely willing to absorb a few casualties, among his dragons as well as his troops, to get Toralk's attack force into position with its beasts sufficiently well rested to maximize their combat radius.
And it looks like that poisonous little prick Neshok was right-barely-about whether or not I could fit them all in, Toralk conceded.
The last of the transports landed a bit short of its intended island, and a towering, mud-streaked fountain erupted as the huge dragon hit the water. Fortunately, it was shallow enough that the beast wasn't in any danger of drowning or miring itself in the muck, and the levitation spell kept its towed cargo pod out of the water while it floundered ashore. Of course, Toralk had no doubt that if he'd been a little closer, he would have heard an interesting chorus of yells and curses coming from the infantry inside that pod. It might have stayed out of the water, but that hadn't kept it from bouncing around on the end of its tether like some sort of insane ball. And all of that water and mud the dragon's impact had thrown up had had to go somewhere.
Toralk grinned behind his goggles, despite his tension, then shook his head and leaned forward to tap his pilot on the top of his flight helmet.
'Yes, Sir?' The pilot had to raise his voice to be heard, but not by very much at this ridiculously low speed.
'Let's set it down, Fifty Larshal,' Toralk said, and pointed at the larger island at the center of the halfdozen congested, swampy hummocks which had been chosen for his forward staging points.
'Yes, Sir!' Larshal said, and the command dragon lifted onto its left wing tip, banking more steeply as it circled down towards the indicated perch.
Toralk gazed into the west, where the embers of sunset still glowed on the horizon. This particular bivouac
