very smart chief. Center’s voice almost had a tone in it. Respect, that would have been. he understands, where most barbarians do not, that it is the ability to make a weapon rather than use it which is the ultimate source of military power.
Yes. Agree to it, Adrian, urged Raj. The long-term benefits will be even greater than the short-term. Not for the Confederacy as it is, of course, but that thing is doomed anyway.
Adrian had had no intention of refusing. He was simply a bit skeptical about whether Prelotta’s people were able to do what their chief wanted of them. But, glancing again at the rug, he decided that they might well be. And it wasn’t really his problem, anyway.
“Agreed, Chief.” It was his turn to clear his throat. “But in return—”
Prelotta grinned—that made for an even more grotesque face—and held up his hand.
“Please! Now that negotiations can begin, we will need refreshments.” He clapped his hands loudly; an instant later, a slave appeared through the flap which separated the inner chamber of the tent from the rest of the huge pavilion.
“You will want beer, I assume.”
No. You need a clear head, lad. I’d—
Adrian sent some very unkind thoughts toward Raj. “I’m not a child, damnation!” were the only ones of them which weren’t obscene.
“No, thank you, Chief. Something else.” Inspiration came to him. “Whatever you’ll be having.”
Prelotta’s grin widened, and Adrian felt his stomach lurch.
“Ah. Amazing!” exclaimed the Chief. “Most people not from our tribe—Southrons as much as civilized folk—detest our favored beverage.”
Thank the gods I can’t actually taste anything, remarked Raj idly. The squeezings from swamp weeds, added to rancid milk, all of it left to stew for weeks . . .
very nutritious, though, added Center. assuming you survive.
* * *
The concoction was just as awful as Adrian feared. And politeness forced him to drink three cups of it, in the long hours of haggling which followed.
In the end, however, he did survive. And at least he had the satisfaction of knowing he’d driven a good bargain, as he tottered his way back to the section of Marange which his soldiers had turned into their own quarter of the city.
It was almost nightfall when he arrived before the building which his men had erected to be his own dwelling as well as headquarters. No tent, this, but a wooden structure—and a well-built one, at that. His men might be mostly Emeralds, but many of them had served for a time in the Confederate army. They had learned the Vanbert methods of erecting real fortifications everywhere they went. And so, in the months since their arrival at Marange, they had turned their section of the sprawling port into a fortified city within a city.
Adrian was surprised to see a group of strangers lounging at ease in front of the building. And no Southrons, these, but men from the north. Vanberts, from the look of them, perhaps a dozen in all—and obviously soldiers, even without their weapons.
The youngest of them caught his eye. The man was smiling at him oddly, almost as if he knew him. Adrian couldn’t remember ever meeting the fellow before, but . . . there was something about his face . . .
observe, Center said.
A grid formed over the young man’s face, emphasizing the lines of contour. Next to it appeared a face Adrian remembered perfectly. The resemblance, now that Center had brought it into focus, was unmistakable.
allowing for the difference in gender, the probability is 95%± 2. unity, for all practical purposes.
“Gods,” whispered Adrian. His stomach, already uneasy, began fluttering wildly. An instant later, doubling up, he vomited all over the ground.
The paroxysm of regurgitation submerged all other concerns. Not until he was finished did Adrian notice the presence of the man on one knee next to him.
“Gods, that stinks,” said a cheerful young voice. “Tell me what it is later, so I can be sure to avoid the stuff. But in the meantime . . . are you done?”
Adrian nodded weakly. A pair of strong hands seized him by the armpits and hoisted him easily back onto his feet. Adrian found himself staring at the face whose resemblance to another had sent his emotions whirling.