"How goes the recoding?"

  "The engine codes have been removed and replaced with clean codes. We are presently operating with the backup computer while PrimeComp's signature is rewritten. We have work boats out repainting the visuals."

  "Good," Gem said. "When you are ready, call and I will give you coords for a courier boat landing. I have here several prisoners who should be returned—alive and hale—to Henron."

  "It will be done," Mael Faztherot assured him.

  "Good," Gem said again. "I have no further orders. Proceed with your necessities."

  "Captain," she said, respectfully. "Acting Captain out."

  For some little time he sat, staring at the comm-light, then finally moved a hand and turned the comm off.

  So, then, he thought, the Ship will map the dam, and I will need to hear from the Telios what they know of the thing and if there is a Combine garrison there, then to get the Garden sorted, and The Combine will be back, no mistake on that. Defenses will have to be made. Perhaps the Ship can leave us outriders, and I will need to study the Trident, refine the operating system, study the Books . . . A hand gripped his shoulder gently and he gasped, starting so badly he knocked the comm to the floor.

  "Anjemalti," her voice was soft, the scent of her as she leaned over him like the finest intoxicant. "Anjemalti," she said. "You cannot solve it all tonight. Come to bed."

  "Bed." He looked up at her, the lovely face, the space-black eyes, the hair that had been newly washed and hung unbraided across her shoulder and over one breast. "Bed," he repeated, "is where you should be. To rest and regain your strength."

  "While you worry yourself into a despair," she said with a touch of her old asperity. "Very good." Her fingers tightened on his shoulder. "Come to bed, Anjemalti. I swear to let you sleep."

  Desire washed through him, and a yearning near pain, yet still he hesitated.

  "Go with her, Anjemalti," Witness said from his corner. "A man may."

  Corbinye laughed and he felt her hand leave his shoulder, felt warm fingers sweep down the side of his cheek. "We have been given approval, cousin. What more would you?"

  He laughed himself then, and pushed back from the table, and let her take his hand and draw him across the stone floor and through the curtain to her chamber.

  After a time, Witness got up from his place before the Smiter, walked over to the table and bent to pick up the fallen comm-link. He placed it carefully beside the Book, then stepped into the center-space and did certain exercises to ease his body and clear his mind. When those were done, he returned to his seat before Shlorba's Smiter and began to order the beginning of this, the greatest of the Telios' most recent Memories.

  His name was Anjemalti Kristefyon and he had been born a Chief of star rovers. While he was yet a child, event did move upon him, and the star rovers cast him out, to be caught by a master wise in the ways and intrigues of event. The boy grew and learned, at the master's behest, a new role and a new name, so event for a time was confounded. Thus, in respect of the master, whose wise trickery preserved the outcast for the Smiter, the tale begins:

  His name was Gem and he was a thief. . .

  DRAGON TIDE: ADVENTURES IN THE LIADEN UNIVERSE®

  Dedicated to Dragon Lovers Everywhere

  Daughter Of Dragons

  Liad

  The Grand Lake Townhouses

  Solcintra

  "All of these dragons have fangs, pretty words and comely bodies notwithstanding."

  —From the melant'i play The Harusha Hillside Massacre,

  by Norista ven'Deelin

  "I feel I know of a citation that may answer this question for us," Lady Kareen said slowly, and with a thought spared to the tickets snugged safe in an inner pocket. "It is perplexing, but if I am able to recall the proper book . . . . Of your goodness, Scholar, a moment to think and remember—and pray do not let it be known that I sometimes consult my notes before I make my decisions! Please pour yourself a glass of the jade. I'm astounded that no one seems to have touched it, and now that they are gone it would be a shame to waste it. I know it to be rather the best wine out today."

  "Thank you, Lady," the scholar murmured. "May I pour for you as well?"

  "Indeed you may," she answered, her attention already inward, deliberately putting the ticket and its deadline from her mind, focusing with studied calmness on the matter brought before her, properly, by one of her oldest and most valued associates.

  The graying gentleman moved to the side table while she studied the floor to ceiling bookcases with some care. Many of the books here were first editions, one or two were simply irreplaceable, except from within her memory . . .

  Some people quietly told each other that she was the most influential person on Liad—carefully making the distinction that, while Korval's delm or first speaker might be the most actively powerful, Lady Kareen yos'Phelium's word was sufficient to certify or decertify an entire clan for a season's visiting lists; and her opinion that this or that person had failed, by reason of Code, to act properly in a certain situation might tarnish a life or even a Line.

  In truth, there was no one with more accuracy or memory when it came to the Code—and if she might occasionally be gently—and properly—corrected by one who would some day be Korval Himself, all others came to her or to the books she had indexed and updated to settle vexing matters of procedure and melant'i. To the polite world of the Fifty High Houses Kareen yos'Phelium was the final authority on matters large and small when it came to proper action.

  Indeed, the just-concluded annual meeting of the League for the Purity of the Language provided a potent example of the niceness of her judgment. Despite rumors that Korval had fled the planet—rumors well-founded in fact—Lady Kareen had been properly at home to the League, on the date and time long set. Those of the League who had come to her were, of course, persons of melant'i, who did not allow ill-bred curiosity into the changes in Korval's business schedules or her own recent notable absence from society to intrude upon the occasion. The agenda of the meeting had after all been fixed for several relumma, and it was treated with all the respect that it deserved.

  If anyone present noticed that they had seen the ensemble Lady Kareen wore to today's meeting at least once before, that was something to be discussed and weighed later, at leisure—and in private. Perhaps Korval's fortunes were indeed on the wane. Or, as was more likely, the clothing itself might have been a reminder that the Code, and not fashion, was the center of the meeting. That Lady Kareen was subtle was not to be doubted.

  On hand in the lady's capacious library had been thirteen Scholars of the Code—Lady Kareen herself and the twelve other contributors to the latest revision—six librarians, and some few others: the protocol officer appointed by the Council of Clans, two people-of-business, a nadelm of a clan off-planet, and a representative of the dramliz, who took notes and said nothing.

  In ordinary times Lady Kareen might have arranged a dinner party or a tea to follow the meeting as well, but again, those who questioned her arrangements would speak among themselves, later. Indeed, the lack of servants had been the greatest obstacle she had had to overcome in this matter, saving only Luken bel'Tarda's surprisingly strong resistance to her necessity. She had considered calling in one of the two fill-in service agencies listed in the kitchen's low-tech directory, but even that would be depending too much on luck for her taste, with an unknown server taxiing to the lake in haste. Still, she had contrived—and all had gone well.

  And now most of her guests had departed, and with them her sense that things were not really as bad as they might have seemed. The meeting itself had been normal and mannerly; the issues worthy of discussion. The out-world version of the Code, based on a centuries old and centuries out-of-date edition, had been neatly rectified, to the mortification of the overdressed nadelm, and the single typographical error in the latest edition had been decreed minor enough not to require an entire new printing. Several questions of taste had been properly put aside, while the major issue—use of three words which had migrated over the centuries from the High Tongue to the Low—had been clarified by perusing several volumes in her library.

  Only this single guest remained now of the many, posing his vexatious question, the worth of which must be balanced against the upcoming departure time. Still, she thought, as the clock chimed discreetly from its station in the hall; she had a few moments more to give to an old friend.

  Turning from the shelves, she received her glass from his hand, raised it, and—choosing a variation of one of the day's perplexities—smiled and said, "To our health!"

  The scholar smiled, too, for the perplexity had dealt with the particular "our" that might be used by a master when talking with a student, certainly not indicating an inclusion of the student. . The scholar and Kareen had been in complete agreement on the matter, as they had been so often in agreement on similar matters, down the years—and so they shared a smile eloquent of long acquaintanceship—even friendship—and each had a sip of the lady's excellent jade.

  "Let me understand your question, Scholar," she said now, glass in hand and gaze abstracted. "You ask, if a clan abandons a holding without properly informing all of the members, are the remaining members still of that clan—that is, may they inherit the clan title and name one from among themselves delm—or are they outcast?"

  "That is correct."

  "And very complex."

  "This is, you understand, the reason I did not wish to bring the matter before the full committee, but rather to refer it to yourself."

  "Of course."

  There was silence for a moment. The scholar sipped his wine, appeared to take momentary and intense counsel of himself, which was his character—and inclined his head.

  "Lady, I believe that I must tell you all. There are a number of us—members of another organization which also believes in the purity of Liaden ways—who are distressed by the unexpected and precipitous withdrawal of Korval from Liad. It appears to us that under the stewardship of yos'Galan Korval's strength, which is at the heart of Liad's strength—as I need not say!—has been dissipated."

  "I see," she said evenly, veteran of many a difficult social evening. "Certainly, I can understand how so forward-looking an individual as yourself might become concerned for the health of the homeworld."

  "Even so." The man sipped of his wine before continuing.

  "And so, you see, my question is a true one, best not shared until we—you and I—come to agreement, with appropriate citations.

  "We—my organization—have been in search of the one of Line yos'Phelium beside yourself to have been properly active in society for this last decade, the one who understands the necessities of melant'i and Code very nearly as much as yourself, the one who is welcome at all events of social significance . . . ."

  She was, in fact, startled, but the dice were hers now, and she must throw in order to understand the game.

  So she murmured, in an accent of perhaps slightly bored interest, "You speak, I think, of my heir Pat Rin yos'Phelium?"

  "Exactly so! If you could assist us in locating him, we feel that Korval might find itself as strong—stronger—than ever. You, of course, would continue to be the guiding light, elevated to a position, dare I say, more public . . ."

  "Ah, but do you know?" she interrupted, maintaining her tone of vague boredom. "I have not been in touch with my son for some time. I believe he travels on pleasure just now—widely, and at whim."

  The scholar inclined his head. "Of course. Indeed. We had ourselves thought we had established his location, but apparently . . . ."

  Established his location? Perhaps it was astonishment she felt. Perhaps it was—surely not!—fear.

  "My son sometimes prefers to game away from the limelight," she reminded the scholar gently.

  "As you say. It is merely . . . ." His voice trailed off.

  Kareen inclined her head in courteous inquiry. "Merely?"

  "My organization—we wish, very much, to speak with him; to . . . illuminate his role in planetary destiny. If yos'Galan has fled the planet, we believe that Code and Council together may act to ensure that Korval lives, and thrives . . . ."

  Kareen bowed.

  "I thank you for your clarification. However, I believe I am hardly worthy of the honor of having my son named as Korval. There exists the small difficulty of the lack of a piloting license . . . ."

  "Ah, but that is why I have come to you!" he exclaimed, his eyes taking fire as they had so often in the past, delighting in the exercise of his considerable intellect. "Surely one who inherits upon abandonment would not be required to follow the strictures of those who had all but caused the Clan to be dissolved. Indeed, to avoid an unseemly and disruptive public challenge to this adjustment we are in the process of insuring that those who have fled Liad, leaving Korval weakened and vulnerable, will not return."

  Kareen sipped the wine, feeling the need of it. Really, it was the best in her cellar, and she would miss it, were it gone. Just as she would miss the library, and indeed, the acclamation of her peers.

  As she missed, from time to time, the outré and unfortunately brilliant presence of her brother Daav, as little love as had been lost between them. Indeed, she felt his lack keenly, just now.

  Well.

  She bowed a bow.

  "Scholar, our discussion has quickened my memory. The answer, I believe, will be found within the Simestan Chronicles. As I recall that Line—"

  "But, of course!" he said, his thought taking fire from hers, as it so often had, over the years. "Yes, I recall it! The mine collapse which took the house and all of the Clan save the—"

  "Indeed. I have the full and certified records here. If you would be so good to ascend the ladder? The volumes are three shelves down from the ceiling, quite nearly before you, bound in lavender leather. I have no doubt that some in council might be brought to see the correlations . . ."

  The scholar, her friend, smiled, and ran to the ladder, moving it carefully across the floor.

  Kareen glanced down, admiring the handloomed carpet, made some centuries ago for the founder of this library of Code and conduct. She would regret being parted from it.

  The scholar had climbed quickly; he was already reaching for the books she had specified.

  Kareen sighed, and set her glass aside, quite steadily. She had always wished to see her son properly acknowledged.

  * * *

  Jelaza Kazone

  The robot was—very likely—the only robot on Liad which was not only capable of doing household chores but of knowing precisely when they needed to be done. It was also the only robot on planet which knew when attending to the social needs of cats was more important than polishing old silver.

  Thus, when the annunciator for the phone went off, the robot was stroking several middling cats in the garden rather than working in the kitchen, as the image it projected to the phone suggested.

  Although Miss Anthora had been napping, the house told him that she was now awake and on her way to the kitchen viewer, that being the unit where she took those calls which might require direct access to the house net or to the files the robot held of itself. Miss Anthora's abilities being of a different order than its own, though certainly reliable, the robot likewise began to move toward the kitchen, its wheeled chassis considerably slower than her light-footed run—and made slower by the necessity to move or carry cats.

  In the meantime, it accessed the incoming call.

  "I have the honor of being Lady Kareen yos'Phelium," an entirely familiar voice stated. "Jeeves, please ascertain as best you may that I am who I say I am."

  "Working," intoned the robot, quickly confirming the origin of the call and utilizing stored cues, confirming that the call was in fact being made from Lady Kareen's own library. An anomaly was noted: Lady Kareen had never before addressed him directly—or by his name.

  The other cues he could take in full or in part over the apparatus: voice pattern, tone, word pattern, partial retinal and other scans, muscle matching—all tended to confirm her identity, as did the fact that the call had bypassed the general screening devices and had activated Daav yos'Phelium's blinking blue "Kareen warning" light on the kitchen unit—an additional fact that he discovered upon his arrival, scant seconds before Miss Anthora.

  "Confirmed, Lady Kareen yos'Phelium."

  "Thank you," said the lady, and this, too, was the first time she had directed such polite words to him rather than to a human in the household.

  "Jeeves, I require assistance. I understand that you may have special knowledge in an area . . . ."

  Anthora arrived, activated the kitchen view screen—and blinked, clearly non-plussed. She made a quick recover, however, and inclined her head courteously.