further sign of respect, let alone the wariness or outright fear most serfs displayed in the presence of strange Opiri.
Sergius waved Damon through the door and pointed out the clean towels hanging on racks along the wall. Damon did the best he could to scrape off the dirt and blood he hadn’t been able to wash off after the fight with Lysander. As he worked, he listened for voices within the building.
There were none, nor could he identify any trace of Alexia’s scent. He assumed she was in another building and reminded himself that he would learn nothing unless he controlled his emotions.
When he was finished, Sergius nodded grudgingly and took Damon back across the commons, this time toward a small wooden house which, like the holding cell, was set apart from the others. Damon lengthened his stride.
“Stay behind me,” Sergius said. “Theron—” Damon ignored him and went on to the door. He hesitated only a moment and walked in, Sergius at his heels.
Theron sat behind a neatly made but very plain desk, a stack of papers on one side and a statue of a graceful woman on the other. There was no sign of a computer or any other technology more advanced than the humming generator that stood against the wall and the portable intercom on a table beside it. The generator provided the only light, which outlined the shape of a narrow cot against the back wall.
As soon as Damon had crossed the threshold Theron was on his feet, his mouth stretched in the grin that had always set him apart from any Opir Damon had ever met.
“Theron,” Sergius said, anger in his voice, “this Darketan—”
“Damon!” Theron exclaimed, coming around from behind the desk with arms outstretched. “My dear boy.” He embraced Damon briefly, nodded to Sergius and stepped back.
“Forgive me,” Theron said, his smile fading. “This is quite unexpected. When Sergius said a Darketan by your name had come to Eleutheria claiming to know me—and with a dhampir prisoner, no less—I didn’t believe it at first.”
Damon examined the Bloodmaster’s face. Though his vision was beginning to clear, he found it difficult to accept that Theron could have aged so much in the two years since they had last spoken. Yet the fresh lines were there, lines that would ordinarily indicate extreme old age in an Opir.
Theron was old, but he was not one of the Elders, who were rare and usually lived alone in their towers. His face was still handsome, more rugged than that of most Opiri, his hair still thick and his gaze direct. He was only worn down, bent under the care of bringing together Opiri who would normally resist living in such close quarters.
“You didn’t see us before we entered the valley?” Damon asked. “You didn’t shoot at us?”
“We don’t have the resources to send our people out to shoot at passers-by,” Theron said. “This is all quite a shock to me. Only when the young lady—” He broke off, looking Damon up and down. “You have not been treated well, and for that I apologize.”
He indicated the chair facing the desk. “Sit. Sergius, would you find us some refreshment?”
Damon could hear the Opir’s sharp intake of breath, as if he were about to argue. But after a moment Sergius opened the door and walked out, leaving Damon alone with his old mentor. Theron went back to his seat, but Damon remained standing.
“I am at a loss,” Theron said, the words steeped with weariness. “I have been told that you have come to bring some warning to us, but I have difficulty understanding under what circumstances you would arrive without orders from Erebus. You have been observing us on their behalf, have you not?”
“It is true,” Damon said, holding Theron’s gaze. “I was sent to observe your settlement, but I am not here under orders from Erebus. The instructions under which I was operating no longer apply, and I have had no direct contact with other Council agents for days.” He leaned over the desk. “There is war going on outside your walls, Theron, and it is about to sweep you up.”
“Do you think I am not aware of this?” the Bloodmaster asked. He leaned back in his chair, gazing up at the ceiling. “I am not totally cut off from Erebus, Damon. I know how fortunate we are to have been left alone as long as we have.”
“Left alone?” Damon asked. “Or is it that you have deceived those who supported you, and they are no longer accepting your claims of cooperation?”
“They,” Theron said. He looked at Damon again. “You mean the Expansionists, of course. Naturally the Council believes we are in league with them.”
“I was not told what they believe. But the origins of this settlement are an open question, and since by its very existence it is attempting to expand Opir territory, it seems logical to assume a connection with the Expansionists.”
Theron’s gaze hardened. “Look at me, Damon. You know what
“I can tell you that they plan to attack you, wipe you out if possible, no matter the consequences to the Armistice or the political balance in Erebus.”
“Is it possible you haven’t noticed our defenses?”
“The wall? Do you think that will keep out Opiri bent on killing?”
Theron waved his hand in dismissal. “What of you, Damon? Have you come out of your personal loyalty to me?”
Damon took his seat. “I won’t lie to you, Theron. Once I learned you were here, my primary purpose was to discover why the Expansionists are so eager to destroy you, and why an Opir working as a double agent for the Council would say that the colony was not what they believed.”
“Out of curiosity? Or to gain status in Erebus by dealing in useful information?”
Damon countered with a question of his own. “Did you intend your idea of a free society to include Darketans?”
Theron sighed. “When I began this experiment,” he said, “I knew it was little more than a dream. I knew it would provoke strong, even dangerous reactions from all factions in Erebus and from the Enclave, as well. I understood the risks. But I had hoped Eleutheria might somehow set an example....” He shook his head. “Yes, that was my intention, Damon. I had many of what humans call ‘good intentions.’”
“You no longer stand by them?”
Theron’s hand twitched to the stack of papers. “Where do we begin, my boy? You have questions, and so do I. It seems—”
“I have only one question now. The dhampir I brought with me, Alexia Fox—”
“Ah, yes.” Theron smiled again, but sadly, and spread his palm flat over the papers as if he feared they might blow away. “The young agent. You said you had taken her by challenge from another Opir, and that you claimed her as your property.”
The words sounded almost obscene as Theron spoke them, and they felt that way to Damon. “Yes,” he said. “But your people took her, and I want—”
“You
His chair scraped back, and he rose to walk to the single window. “Is it because you have freed yourself of the Council that you make so bold a move?”
Damon rose, as well. “I have determined to make my own choices, Theron.”
“You will find your choices here are limited.” The Bloodmaster turned to face him, no trace of warmth left in his face. “Whatever you had intended for the young lady, you will find you have no power over her in Eleutheria. You see—” The door burst open behind Damon, and Alexia’s fresh scent filled the room. She was almost on top of Damon when he turned around. He had a few seconds to note that she was wearing a tunic and pants in place of her badly torn uniform, and that she was smiling.
Sergius strode in after her with a lantern in his hand, a barely concealed scowl on his face. “I found her on her way here as I was returning,” he said. “Shall I—”
“It’s all right, Sergius,” Theron said just as Damon put himself between Alexia and the younger Opir. Theron nodded gravely to Alexia, who took Damon’s arm and turned him around to face her again.
