Chapter 20
“SO THIS IS WHAT we are reduced to? The terrorizing of children?”
“They are Davorins!”
Caze Paledan turned to look at the governor. He’d wondered once, while reading an historical account of the Triotian Wars, what had become of the man, but it was of so little import to him he’d never thought of him again. He’d been much more interested in the account of the battles. He was adept at reading between the lines, and enough of a tactician to see what had been left out or twisted. The end result had been a reluctant but definite admiration for the king who had managed to defeat the forces of the Coalition with courage, a ragtag force, and sheer bluff.
And who had apparently passed the same courage and cleverness down to his son, as the second invasion of Arellia had shown.
And he’d smiled inwardly when he read the scathing opinion the chronicler had let creep into what was supposed to be a dry, historical recounting. The writer obviously disapproved mightily of the king’s choice of a disreputable, notorious skypirate as his defense minister. The skypirate who had spawned the woman who, together with the prince, a Triotian orphan rescued by that same skypirate, and a homegrown hero, would repel the Coalition a second time, permanently ending for all intents and purposes the Coalition domination of the region.
He had smiled because as a very young cadet being transported on a Coalition cruiser to the training facility on Alpha 2, he’d had an encounter with that same skypirate. And the results were something he’d been sworn never to admit to; no flight captain would ever willingly admit he’d been bested by the likes of the infamous Dax Silverbrake. Which had perhaps led to the badly flawed assessment in that chronicle.
But now he had a much less worthy opponent to deal with. A man he found to be the worst kind of bureaucrat, one who was in it for what prestige and power it would gain him. “So,” he said coolly, “it is a name you are afraid of?”
“Afraid? Of a name? How dare you?”
He met Sorkost’s glare levelly. “The eldest Davorin is by all appearances cowed, beaten. The next is but a girl. And these two barely reach to my elbow. Since there is nothing to fear there, what is left but their name?”
“You only say that because you did not know Torstan Davorin.”
That much was true; he had been nowhere near Ziem when the riots sparked by Davorin’s fiery speeches had turned into outright rebellion. But when he had been given the assignment to quell the last of the troubles here on this mist-shrouded planet, he had done his studying. He had spent most of the trip here secluded in his quarters, reading and watching not just the accounts of the conquering, but the history of Ziem itself. He had always thought that in order to keep order, one must understand those you were trying to control.
And he had immediately seen the problem with Ziem. It was a planet with a relatively small land mass amid expansive seas that gave it the climate so loathed by the troops stationed here. And an also relatively small native population, a large portion of which was centered in the city of Zelos. The rest was scattered along the main road from the shrouded lowlands to the upper flats, the only place crops of any use could be grown. And the more scattered, the harder they were to control. Especially when those in the outer sections were notoriously independent and resistant.
“No,” he agreed, “I did not know him.”
And he regretted that; after reading and watching recordings of several of the man’s fiery speeches, he would have liked to have met him. He could appreciate a fine orator, even when what they were speaking was treason, at least to the Coalition.
“If you had, you would see the threat in his name surviving,” Sorkost said, seeming calmer now.
“And this,” Paledan said thoughtfully, “would perhaps explain why you monitor Drake Davorin as if he were a greensnake you are not quite sure you’ve beheaded?”
“He is beaten,” Sorkost said. “But that does not mean others might not try to rally to him, force him to follow his father’s path of treason and sedition.”
“And what is it you are afraid these . . . children heard? What is it you were discussing out in the open?”
The governor shifted uncomfortably. “Nothing of import, but that is not the point.”
“If there was nothing for them to overhear, then what is?”
“The point is they’re Davorins and—”
A knock on the door, followed by the door swinging open without waiting for an invitation, interrupted whatever Sorkost had been about to declare.
Speaking of treason, Paledan thought as he watched the man who hurried in. He had no respect for Barcon Ordam. His actions may have made the conquering of this resource-rich world much easier for the Coalition, but Paledan had always preferred an honest fight to the hidden intrigues and manipulations men like Sorkost and Ordam dealt in.
He also knew that someone who would betray his own would betray them just as quickly.
“Governor, I hear—” Ordam stopped suddenly when he noticed who else was in the room, and Paledan had the pleasure of seeing fear spark in the man’s narrow eyes. He enjoyed this one being afraid of him. He sat on the edge of Sorkost’s desk with arms folded across his chest, saying nothing, and making no move to leave. Technically, the governor could order him out, but Sorkost had no more nerve than Ordam, and Paledan was confident the man wouldn’t even try.
He did not.
“What is it, Barcon?”
“I . . .” Another glance at him. Paledan stared steadily. Nervously, the man turned back to the governor. “I understand you have the Davorin twins?”
“Yes. They were caught spying on a private meeting.”
“A private meeting?”
Paledan nearly laughed aloud, not only at the absurdity of the charge, but at the sound of Ordam’s voice, which had taken on a note of umbrage. As if any meeting from which he was excluded was an affront.
“Between Jakel and I,” Sorkost said, just the mention of the enforcer’s name an implicit threat. Paledan had yet to meet the man, but he’d heard enough already to know what sort he was. He had also heard that, while he ostensibly worked for Ordam, he could be bought.
“I see.” The nervousness in Ordam’s voice increased.
“What has it to do with you?” the governor demanded.
Ordam swallowed visibly. “Have you decided what you will do with them?”
Paledan had had enough. He uncrossed his arms and stood. Two heads swiveled as both men looked at him with visible unease.
“That is my province,” he said flatly, brooking no dissembling.
“But I—”
“It is why the governor requested my presence.”
“I just thought—”
“You question Coalition authority in the dispensation of spies?” he asked with a brow raised at Ordam, but the governor in his peripheral vision. Both of them blanched slightly.
“Of course not,” Ordam said hastily. Sorkost merely grimaced, then waved his hands as if washing them of the entire question.
“Then I will be about my duty,” he said, and left them there.
He walked down the hall toward where two men stood outside a door. They snapped to attention the instant they spotted him, and saluted formally when he stopped before them. He barely managed not to grimace at the sight. Two fully armed guards for a pair of thirteen-year-olds? Sorkost was a bigger coward than he had even thought.
He said nothing, only nodded toward the door. One of the men quickly unlocked it and pulled it open for him.
In the corner of the room two children huddled together. They looked up when he stepped in, the boy’s expression defiant, the girl’s quietly mutinous. Whatever else they were, these two were not broken. He felt one corner of his mouth twitch and suppressed the urge to smile.
He could see the resemblance, in the upturned noses, the red of their hair, the stubborn chins, and the glint in their matching, Ziem-blue eyes. He could also see marks upon them: a red mark on the boy’s left cheek that would soon be a bruise, and a similar mark on the girl’s right wrist, as if she’d been grabbed and yanked.
He turned on his heel. Stepped back outside and spoke to the guards.
“Bring them to me. And,” he added, his brows lowered at them both, “they had best arrive in no worse shape than they are now.”
The man who had unlocked the door merely nodded, but Paledan saw the other man glance toward the governor’s office. He gave the man a closer look, saw the distaste that flickered in his eyes for an instant. He eased his voice, knowing for certain now what he had guessed before; it was not these men responsible for the bruises on those children.
“Quickly,” he said, but not sharply.
“Sir,” the man with the key began, “the governor—”
“I have dealt with him. Bring them. I want them in my office.”
He thought he saw the other man smother a smile before he stepped in to gather up the prisoners.
He had only been back a few minutes when the tap on the door came. He took just long enough to shut down his comm system—he wanted no listeners to this—blanking out the viewscreen that was displaying an annoying number of messages that had come in during his brief absence, and shelving the maps and technical sheets he’d been studying. When he called out “Enter,” the man who had betrayed his feelings about Sorkost opened the door.
“They are here, sir.”
He glanced about the room once more; it would not do to underestimate this pair and prove Sorkost right. But there was nothing still visible they could learn anything from, so he nodded at the guard.
The two shuffled in. He heard the clank of metal, realized the two had been chained. He strode over to them. They looked at him warily, but did not cower. Which was more than he could say for half the contingent here, he thought wryly. He looked at the cuffs that held their small wrists linked together.
“Truly?” he said, looking up at the guard.
“Governor’s orders, sir.”
He reached down and took the boy’s hand. He resisted.
“Don’t,” he said quietly, and lifted that hand. His fingers encircled it easily. He turned it in the metal cuff until he could put his own thumb over the boy’s and press down. He took the cuff in his other hand and tugged. With a minimum of effort, it slid off the slender wrist and over his hand. All the while he watched the boy’s face. There was no sign of surprise.
He had known he could free himself. A glance at the girl’s face told him she had known, too.
Moments later, they were free of the chains and he ordered the guard out. The man hesitated.
“I think I can hold my own should they decide to attack,” Paledan said.
Flushing, the guard nodded and backed out the door. And Paledan turned his attention to his two spymasters.
This should make my day more interesting.