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By the time they were in the dining room and Daria had brought mugs of aromatic chovas from the always-ready pot in the kitchen, he'd stopped shivering and managed to accept the fact of his new command of Language. He'd also discovered it did him no good to think about how he'd gotten it. When he tried, his thoughts simply shied away from the subject.
He was chilly, wearing only the traditional scarlet trousers and quilted house boots and weaponless; this was the only time a fighter had to go unarmed but he wasn't sure his chill was entirely due to the temperature. First-meal didn't help, either. Instead of the eggs and dornya meat he'd planned on, he couldn't face more than a mug of chovas.
Ten minutes later Medart and Chavvorth were sitting in the senior officers' lounge, drinking coffee and chovas. Medart had adjusted to the idea of magic far more easily than to the idea of Sandemans as enemies; magic was, for all practical purposes, something new, which made it easy to accept.
Apparently Language hadn't been the only thing the Lords taught him; he was reading her expression easily. "Who can say what motivates a god? We can only hope that their intervention now, through you, will save some of us." "Yeah." Tarlac sipped again at his chovas. "Look, will you explain something for me?" "If I can. What is it?" "What in " Tarlac hesitated, modified what he was going to say.
With that, Hovan and Tarlac left the bridge, going to the meal hall to wait the hour or so that was "half a tenth-day." Once they were settled with mugs of hot chovas, Tarlac said, "You must have one hell of a lot of clan status." "Enough," Hovan said with a smile. "I have six younglings shared, and I have an officer been for almost a year.
It didn't end until he'd been seated in a small dining room with a thick dornya sandwich he was amused at how well the word fit into Language and a mug of hot chovas. He ate, savoring the taste and the matter-of-fact thoughtfulness that had provided the meal. Conversation, as usual, surrounded but didn't include him while he was eating.
The gray skin, despite its dense toughness, was soft and supple around his hands. This was a little too much closeness. "Uh, I think the Traiti and Empire have a lot to offer each other. For instance, you " "Steve, es'ruhar . . ." Daria interrupted again, smiling gently as she ran the backs of her claws up and down his forearm. Tarlac shivered, not from cold, and a gulp of hot chovas didn't help.
"To complete it," Kranath said, sitting beside him and materializing a mug of chovas. "I ended the clan wars, to begin the current cycle of history; a human must end this war, with our help, to begin the next." The rest of the Lords, except for Sepol and Carle, vanished. "It all ties together, Steve," Carle said.
I was " "I know," Daria interrupted, putting her other hand over his. "That you continue when you feel certain of death does you honor. You are so intense, Steve. Relax, let the chovas soothe you." "I can now, I guess. But I'm still worried. From what Hovan's told me, the Ordeal's no picnic, even if I do get help from the Lords." "That is true, es'ruhar, but be easy.
He took a drink of his chovas, enjoying the warmth amid his troubled thoughts. He didn't see any alternative to accepting the Lords' reality, like it or not. And he didn't particularly like it. Gods who took an active part in mundane affairs introduced an uncertainty factor that he found unsettling at best. "Why haven't they helped you win the war, though?" he asked. Daria smiled sadly.
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