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"Kranath's Vision was . . . well, as thoroughly as Terra's been explored, I'd have said it was impossible. It's hard to believe archaeologists would miss " He broke off, telling himself to get to the point. "Hovan, what Kranath's Vision showed me was that the Traiti originated on Terra.
If anything, they had more status than any males except the n'Cor'naya, the Honored Ones who'd passed the Ordeal. They were responsible for both religion and clan life, things which were far more important to the Traiti than humans had guessed. The clans, not warfare, were the center of Traiti culture. And yet, even with females running those two vital areas, it wasn't a matriarchy.
Medart entered the appropriate order, took the steaming cup when it appeared, and handed it to the Traiti, then took his own seat. "You said you'd start teaching me magic. I know better than to tell a teacher how to teach, but I have a feeling I'm going to need something I wasn't wearing when Ranger Ariel summoned me. So I think I'd better learn that summoning spell first."
Chavvorth blew out the candle, his expression bemused, and put it down. "That was more . . . dramatic than I had expected, Ranger." "A hell of a lot more than I expected," Medart said. "Let me see your hand." The Traiti obeyed. Medart took it, concentrating again but this time it was a familiar, trained ability he called on. Redness faded, vanished; he released the hand. "There.
Traiti too badly wounded to fight, or those hit by stun-beams and taken prisoner, never lived for long. Once they decided escape was impossible, those who were able to committed suicide, usually by clawing out their throats. Those who for one reason or another couldn't actively kill themselves simply lost the will to act and then to live, dying usually within a week of capture.
Ariel exclaimed in relief. "My spell said he should be, but when he denied it How powerful?" "The strongest I have ever felt, sir." The Traiti smiled at Medart, gestured as he murmured something, and was holding a candle. "You have had no instruction, but your raw power should be adequate to light this if you concentrate."
"Welcome, Ruhar," said the one Tarlac recognized as the presence which had brought him here. The voice was as clear and pure as the light. "And welcome to your place in the Circle of Lords." Tarlac recognized him from the statuettes and from his Vision. He took a deep breath of the sweet, vital air before he spoke. "My place, Lord Kranath? I'm human, not Traiti."
He missed the sleeproom, the comfortable presence of his n'ruhar and the sounds of their quiet breathing as they slept. He smiled drowsily, thinking that he'd shared sleeprooms with a lot of Traiti, and he'd never heard one snore . . . As always outdoors, he slept lightly, waking from time to time to feed the fire until dawn finally roused him for the day.
Hovan would never make a Ranger he was too old, too molded by Fleet discipline, and far too clan-oriented but there would be non-human Rangers someday, and eventually a non-human Sovereign. He liked that idea. Intelligence was what counted, and the Traiti certainly had as much of that as any of the Imperial races.
Hovan agreed, but assured him nobody would expect perfection, only that he learn enough to avoid giving serious offense. The first lesson, reasonably enough, dealt with military customs, and Tarlac found out that wearing his gun had meant respect to the Traiti, not a threat.
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