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She could not deny that he had pleased her. He was good-natured and carried brilliance enough to match her own. She loved his parties. She loved the casual way he wielded power, bending rules, doing whatever had to be done. But she hated him.

God’s Mind, that man is awesome! Because of him, she had a clan of her own, destined, she thought, to be so dynamic that it would rule beside the Kaiel. Because of him she had been able to snap her fingers and create an instant family — in which she did not belong.

She had everything. She had a son she adored. Nobody believed her but he would be the Savior Who Speaks to God. She could feel it. He had Joesai’s strength and her mind. But his father was far away in exile.

She had intellectual adventure. The breaking of the code that had led to the revelations of The Forge of War was enough excitement for one lifetime. But more had followed. Hints from descriptions of military weapons had propelled her simultaneously into subatomic theory and cosmology and all the land between, from rayvoice instruments that could be etched into a thumbnail of silicon to rockets that could reach God.

And yet she was alone.

The happiest time in her life had been that brief courtship with the maran family. It seemed so long ago. When she first met Gaet, showing him one of the first primitive rayvoices, there had not been a wirevoice in all of Kaiel-hontokae; now they were everywhere, weaving their copper webs like an insect species gone wild at the discovery of a new prey. Men had walked; now they rode their skrei-wheels. The Kaiel had been a clan confined to the mountain steppes; now they ranged over half the Njarae and in the northeast were pressing against the Itraiel. Life had become a maelstrom.

How does one refuse a man of power?

Sometimes, at the height of her hatred for Aesoe, in those rare times when she had taken Hoemei to the pillows out of a kind of nostalgia for lost love, the tenderness she met was almost too much to bear. Gaet still courted her but with the genteel formality of the compulsive flirt. It was a duty he felt toward all women. Joesai’s love had turned to anger and that puzzled her. She kept track of them all. Noe had been to Soebo, a logistics coordinator for the Gathering. Teenae was still trying to organize the world into logical categories — contracts were to be met, secrets were to be kept, and betrayal was to be answered with a lead pebble between the eyes.

An Ivieth found Kathein on the road. He gave her water and watched her skeptically when she told him that she was all right. He made the decision that she should come back with him to the city. The Ivieth were keepers of the road and none defied them there, not even priests.

So she arrived at the Kaiel Palace anyway, her revolt short-lived. She was half a day late and Aesoe was distraught. He was not pleased with her leggings or the dust in her hair or the dirt clogging her toenails. He sent her with his servant, one of his budding creche daughters, to be bathed and dressed. After an interval of sufficient length to have allowed a woman to wash off the first layer of grime, he arrived in the bathhouse himself to hold court as was the custom among the Kaiel when they had lost time and matters were pressing. Such was Aesoe’s way of telling Kathein that he was displeased with her tardiness.

He brought with him two priests of the Itraiel, both formally attired in headdresses of iridescent insect wings and in black suits fronted by scarf-like collars of brass mail. Each wore large brass buckles inlaid with erotic platinum figures that hooked down to protect the genitals. Black leggings of iron cloth hugged the skin, their interwoven platinum tracery describing the same lethal flower that scarred the faces of the priests.

They bowed to her in the tub, and if they were astonished by Kaiel custom, they did not show it. They did not bathe in water and bathhouses were not within the stricture of their rules. Kathein coldly extended her dripping hand and each man kissed it in turn.

“Kaesim of the kembri-Itraiel,” said one.

“Suesar of the kembri-Itraiel,” said the other.

Aesoe brought his mistress a bowl of rinse water. “Our honored friends travelled with the Gathering to Soebo and served as administrators there and are now returning home. They offer us a proposition we must take seriously. I wish you to discuss with them the weapons of The Forge of War.”

Kathein wiped the foaming suds from her hair with several backstrokes of her hands. The weapons of the Riethe madmen were not her favorite subject. “Why?”

“Kaesim and Suesar have been observing our rule in Soebo and have decided that there are advantages to ceding their land to the Kaiel. This is, of course, a bargain, and our end of the bargain must have substance.”

Kathein poured the warm rinse water over her head. Her reply was sarcastic. “In exchange we give them weapons to fry whole towns, cities even, and machine rifles to murder more women and children than can be eaten before they rot?”

Suesar bowed. He was not insulted. “You impugn our morality,” he said formally.

Kathein laughed. “No. I was questioning the sanity of my bed-mate.”

“Sanity!” Aesoe snorted. “Even Hoemei believes that the Sky is full of enemies and that we survive only because we have not been found. God’s Sky is also full of other gods, and where one god has gone, so can another bring himself. And what is our defense? Shall we sit and beat these Sky Demons at kol? Shall we take them through the desert and covertly scratch their legs so that they sicken and pass away? Shall we pompously declare them of low kalothi and offer them the knife and a pretty courtesan in some temple tower? Who is to defend us, Kathein? The Race is not alone!”

“The fire that burns the son, burns the daughter!” Water cascaded from Kathein as she stood and stepped into the towel held by Aesoe’s daughter-servant.

“Geta needs a ‘military’ clan.” Aesoe used the word from The Forge of War for there was no such word in the Getan language. “They must know the game of the enemy so that when we meet him we can define the play. Such a role I propose for the Itraiel. We rule; they defend. It is a role that requires study, foresight, dedication, bravery, great game minds and great kalothi. I think the Itraiel are worthy of this trust and will be challenged by it.”

“Perhaps.” She considered.

“We think we are well suited to the role,” said Kaesim.

Kathein cut him short. “I know the Itraiel.”

They were fierce desert rovers, rulers of a nomadic domain. They had no knowledge of genetic manipulation and she doubted that they had a single genetics workroom. Their temples were tents. They were known for their strange gentleness. What clan made less fuss over physical handicaps? It was said of the Itraiel that they would hold up a legless man with their right hand while lopping off the legs of an enemy with their left. It was said that no man could attack a kembri-Itraiel with a dagger and live. It was said that none played games like the Itraiel. Their kalothi rituals were almost purely game-determined. At their annual competitions the big losers were expected to organize the joyful Dispersion Feast and by their Ritual Suicide provide sustenance for the long journey home. They demanded no less of the underclans who used their land.

Aesoe brought out several gowns he had ordered for Kathein, some in dubious taste. Politeness demanded that he offer the privilege of dressing her to his guests who were requested, after much bowing between the three men, to adorn her in such a way as to most please themselves. Kathein was amused. Suesar wanted no part of the ritual and stepped back a pace — a pace long enough to put Kaesim in command but short enough not to insult Kathein.

Kaesim examined the robes, absorbing yet another strange Kaiel custom with complete ease. Each perusal was accompanied by an unobtrusive glance at Kathein. Thus he was able to dress her in the attire which most pleased her. Kathein was willing to bet a gold piece that Kaesim was the finest diplomat of the kembri-Itraiel.