Warlord

'I hate to let those savages through into civilized country,' Klostermann said. Raj found himself joining all the others present in staring at the older man; his eyes met the Vice-Governor's, and Raj knew they shared a thought. He's been out in the bundu too long.

'Five thousand gold,' Tzetzas said decisively. 'Half in cash, half in munitions.' A quirk of the lips, half-hidden behind a hand. 'One must remember these savages are not accustomed to East Residence prices.'

You'd think it came out of his own pocket, Raj thought. Then: Well, it does, in a manner of speaking.

'Then we make demonstration raids all along the southern border,' Raj continued. His finger traced an arc from Ty-Och in the west to Sandoral in the east.

'That'll be like sticking your dicks into a hornet's nest!' Klostermann half-shouted. Then, turning to Anne, 'Begging your Ladyship's pardon.'

'Granted,' she said dryly, raising a sealion ivory cigarette holder to her lips and puffing.

'You'll set the whole bloody border aflame!' the general continued.

Raj remembered the petitioners. 'It's already bloody aflame, you idiot! On our side!' His hand swept along the dotted line on the map. 'If we let them think we're softening them up for an attack, they'll have to concentrate their forces. Which means they'll have to draw into places with enough food surplus to support large bodies of men and dogs; pull in their horns and group at the riverbank fortress-cities.'

'Enough.' They all looked up: the Vice-Governor had settled back in his chair, resting his chin on one fist. His orders rapped out, clear and decisive; it was no accident that Barholm Clerett had held the reins of power in East Residence for more than a decade. 'We'll send the five thousand to the Skinners: Tzetzas, coordinate with the Ministry of Barbarians and see to it.' A hot black glare. 'And I want it done, Tzetzas, understood? None of your little games now. This isn't the time for them.'

The Chancellor bowed with hand on heart. Barholm continued. 'General Klostermann, you'll mobilize your forces, down to the infantry rabble, and deploy strong blocking forces in the passes over the Oxheads, leaving enough to cover the Halvardi if necessary-and to keep those devils of Skinners in line, remind them which direction they're supposed to go.'

'Whitehall, Stanson,' he went on. 'You'll each take one battalion of Residence Area cavalry-pick as you please-with appropriate guns and supporting elements, and proceed east to the fortress-city of Komar. You'll take command there and use it as base for the demonstration raids. Kill and burn, chop up any Colonist units you can, make them think we've gone out of our minds. Oh, and don't leave a mosque standing, I've got that Outer Dark cursed ecclesiastical synod to oversee and I'd better show some zeal. Tzetzas, further orders to the Ministry of War, to General Heartwell in Sandoral. Probing attacks down the river and into the farm country to the southeast; maximum devastation, and I want to see some worthwhile loot, prisoners from the Settler's Regulars, and captured guns.'

He stood. 'Is that clear, gentlemen?'

Hard, Raj thought, as they all rose and bowed. Barholm's a hard man. . but brittle. Cool decisiveness now; it was difficult to remember the Vice-Governor's hours of trembling panic during the riots. He shrugged mentally; there were plenty of men who could handle physical danger, the immediate and unexpected challenge, but who froze when they had to make the big decisions. Barholm's weaknesses were tolerable ones in a Governor, as long as he had a staff to handle the pressures he could not. And Lady Clerett; Anne has backbone enough for two.

'Dismissed. Not you, Whitehall.'

The Vice-Governor's manner changed completely as soon as the door closed behind the last of the men. 'Good work, Raj,' he said, coming around the table and slapping the younger man on the shoulder. 'Damned good work. We're not ready for a real war yet, Tzetzas is still filling the treasury, but by the Spirit this'll put the fear of civilization into that ragheaded wog bastard Jamal.'

He handed Raj a glass, raised his own. 'To victory!'

'To victory,' Anne murmured. Raj became conscious of her with a slight start as she rose and came to stand beside her husband, laying an arm around his waist. It was amazing how self-effacing she could be at need; part of her theatrical training, he supposed.

'And,' Barholm said, 'good work taking care of the Poplanich matter. Smooth, getting him going on those trips with you before you dropped the axe. Very smooth.' Anne was nodding and smiling in a way which nearly blanked out the undertow of attraction nearly every male felt in her presence. Spirit of Man, if I woke up with that on my shoulder I'd gnaw my arm off to get free without waking her, Raj thought in horrified fascination.

Aloud, he managed, 'Ahh, I'm sure I don't know what you mean, sir.'

Barholm laughed aloud, jovial and proud. 'And they say we Descott men are bluff and simple!' He gave Raj an elaborate wink. 'To be sure, the dirty little traitor-' for a moment his face twisted, then settled back into man-to- man good nature '-just happened never to come back. To be sure. Well, I won't keep you from your duties, Raj. A young man who'll go far, eh, m'dear?'

As Raj bowed salute Anne gave him a slow nod and another smile.

deadlier than the male, Center observed.

The young man felt the skin between his shoulder-blades ripple slightly as he turned to go.

Chapter Four

'Apologies, master,' the servant said.

Raj grunted, pulling himself out of a bright hologram of Tewfik's Colonists digging in around a border hamlet. The two slaves maneuvered themselves through the doorway, a huge wicker hamper of household goods slung between them on poles.

He blinked in surprise, then slid past them into the antechamber of his apartment. As a Captain, and more importantly a Guard, Raj and his wife qualified for a six-room suite in the South Wing, one side of a two-story block around a small garden quadrangle. It had seemed grand enough when he arrived, a single officer fresh from the backcountry. Hillchapel manor house was much larger, but it was as much fort as dwelling place and severely plain within. Nothing like these cool gray marble floors covered in Colony-made rugs, mosaic walls, tall clear-glass windows looking out on the fountain and lilac and potted lavender bushes of the courtyard.

The air was cool from shade and thick stone; there was a smell of dust in it, overlaying the usual odors of beeswax and incense and flowers. Most of the furniture had been pushed back against the walls and draped in canvas sheets, but everything else seemed to be going into hampers, and where had all that bedding and knicknacks and clothes and general folderol come from? Raj suppressed an uneasy consciousness that much of it had been Suzette's. She had agreed with matter-of-fact practicality that the jewelry she had received as gifts from others before their marriage should be sold-he had been surprised at how much it came to, and how shrewdly she invested the proceeds. He had no need to live on his pay or draw much on the estate, unless he wished. Many of the finer artwork and ornaments had come with her as well. The Wenqui line was as ancient in the City, as old as the Poplanich gens, and a few of the antiques were her family's heirlooms. Those that had not been sold in the long losing struggle against bankruptcy that had left her orphaned and not-quite-penniless at fourteen.

'Tingra, Mustfis, be careful with that!' Suzette's voice rang sharp from one of the inner rooms. Then: 'Darling!' as she saw him and ran over to give him a kiss of greeting.

Raj felt something loosen in his chest at the sight of her; it was always that way, had always been since the first day he met her at Uncle Alois' garden-party. He had to bend to meet her face as she put her hands on either side of his; she was a small woman, barely up to his shoulder. Slim-built, with the greyhound grace of long breeding and a tensile alertness that did not make her look in the least jumpy. Feather-soft black hair was cropped close to her head, convenient for the long blond Court wigs she often wore; her eyes were a hazel-green, wide and startling in the dusky olive of her oval face, tilted by the fold at the corners.

'Congratulations, darling,' she said, a trifle breathless after the kiss. The servants bustled on around them, ignored as such always were. Except that Suzette said you should always remember they had ears,