Bright Swords of Serena

Chapter 2

No one had ever sailed around the world; no one could spare the ships to try it. Tymar and Aethir were two lonely island nations, with only the myth of the Great Continent to keep them company on that world. Being thus alone, they could either have become fast friends or lethal enemies, and history had taken them down the second road. That was why the ships couldn't be spared, and why they were always at war with each other—on and off, but mostly on: a constant struggle for the limited resources of the only lands they knew.

Never a true peace. Never a real end to it.

So thought Rhea Clark, eighteen years Count for Diamor, as she perched on the windowsill of the Council chamber. Her back to the magnificent view over the city, she counted her colleagues as they arrived in ones and twos, looking for two people in particular. She had her husband, her three daughters and their brother, her friends; but these two men, colleagues and allies, she cherished beyond reason. Ah, and there was the first.

"Anders!" she called, slithering off the windowsill. He saw her, waved and changed direction, making his way through the crowd to join her. He had three inches of height on her and possessed the lithe build and supple muscles of a trained swordfighter. Everyone got trained for it, as a matter of law, but Hollander actually looked the part. He met her mid-chamber and said, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Yes, 'tis."

"'Tisn't either."

He frowned. "'Tis too and you're going to tell me."

"We should get our seats, Anders."

"There's time, so what is it?" he said.

She sighed. "Jeannie."

"What's wrong with my godsdaughter?" Clark's youngest, whom Hollander, son of a midwife, had delivered in the absence of Clark's own midwife.

"It's just... she's sixteen."

"I know that."

"She's growing up." Clark couldn't help the only-half-a-smile.

Hollander hugged her. "I'll see what I can do about it next time I—"

The arrival of the second object of Clark's search cut off Hollander's sentence. "Ho, you two! I've been looking for you."

"You can't have been looking long," Hollander said witheringly to the third core member of the liberal alliance, Gordon Devran, Count for Fernea. "The room isn't that big."

"Yah, I love you too," Devran said, hugging first Hollander, then Clark. "What's your bet about what's going on?"

"I can do better than a bet," Hollander said. "I have genuine information. Do you want it now or shall we wait for Camille?"

"Do you want to tell us now, or shall I bash your head in?" Devran inquired. He towered over Clark, tall and thin, bronze-skinned and black-eyed, his smooth black hair drawn tight in its usual braid. He was forty-six to Hollander's forty-five, and had joined the Council the same year. Hollander lifted an eyebrow.

"Have you been experiencing a lot of these violent tendencies, Geordie?—all right, all right." Hollander ducked as Devran raised a mock-threatening fist. "I talked to Nicky. She was here before me. She implied military action, though it wasn't clear whether it's happened yet or is about to. Sasha nosed around among the staff and confirmed that she got here two days ago. I'll leave the details of the chronology to your imagination."

A hubbub arose at the door of the chamber. Clark peered around Devran and saw the Coordinator of the Council, accompanied by her Deputy. Clark frowned. "Speaking of odd arrivals..."