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Updated: June 9, 2025
She didn't remove her hand, letting it lie as before over his forearm, but when she spoke her intonation was concerned instead of intimate. "Ruhar, let me help you." ". . . What? Help? I . . . don't need any help. It's just . . . I'm not judging you, but you can't ask me to . . ." Tarlac's voice trailed off.
Apparently it was good style in Ch'kara, though, since Hovan's fit the same way. Tarlac's gun wasn't there, probably in storage with his uniform; instead, he'd been given a knife very similar to the one he'd used in the challenge match aboard the Hermnaen. "I gather you borrowed these from a youngling?" "Yes. And Sandre them tailored, you to fit. Now come.
I'm sure it'd never work a second time, and I'm not crazy enough to try it when they know what to expect." That, when Hovan translated, drew a roar of approval. These were fighters, stark realists all, who could understand and appreciate an honest evaluation of chances. Tarlac's statement, after he'd just finished a knife match unscathed and victorious, was taken as just such an evaluation.
He returned the empty cup and turned again to face the Supreme, who reached out and rested extended claws just below the base of Tarlac's throat. "Tell me, Ranger, when the sweetness turns bitter," the Traiti said quietly. "I will." The liquid, Tarlac knew, was a highly specific drug called Ordeal poison, the dose measured carefully for his body mass and metabolism.
They accepted the reverence they were given, not because they wanted it, but because it was still necessary to those who gave it. Kranath had thought of himself as a parent. Tarlac's experience led him to see the Lord more as a sort of super-powered Ranger. Parents, Rangers, Lords . . . ideally, all served the same function of guardian, using their various powers to help.
He himself will take the center of power, of course " "He'd try for the Palace?" Davis interrupted. "He'd know better than that. It's much too heavily defended, especially after Tarlac's assassination." Blades! Corina thought nervously. How to contradict the Emperor? Not easily, not if you were a youngling with a strong desire to crawl under the table and hide!
"Before we get to serious planning," the Emperor said, "have you given any thought to the arms you want?" "Arms? No, sir." It was traditional, Corina knew, for a new Ranger to use the arms of one who had died but that tradition had not even occurred to her. "May I make a suggestion, then?" "Of course, Your Majesty." "I think Steve Tarlac's would be appropriate.
The tape simply confirmed Hovan's account of the first human/Traiti meeting, adding little to Tarlac's knowledge except a sight of the guardship crew's intense horror when they saw women aboard an armed scout, being taken into danger only males should face. The human scouts had followed first-contact procedure, Tarlac found; the problem was the mixed crew, and there was no point in changing that.
"Rest now, I said. It is over." "Yeah . . . guess so. Worth it, though . . . worth it all. 'M tired . . . so tired . . . gotta sleep . . ." Tarlac's eyes closed and he sighed, going utterly limp. "Steve?" There was no answer; Hovan had known there wouldn't be.
He'd gotten used to the smell, for which he was grateful. That and the fact that Tarlac was beyond the reach of pain were the only good parts he could see. The poison was spreading steadily, but as long as he kept the oozing fluid cleaned off, and kept Tarlac's temperature as low as he could slowly.
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