Delia of Vallia by Alan Burt Akers

wild barbarian clansman who was to become her husband. It had fallen to the lot of Tharu of Vindelka and Vomanus to find the man so eagerly sought. Tharu had been slain in that service. Vomanus, in his open, reckless, careless way, had later on passed some casual remark about it being better had he, instead of Tharu, who had willed him his kovnate province, been the one to die. His wild and reckless ways distressed Delia. She saw Vomanus as a man as well as a half-brother. Some other, deeper, hurtful, more prodigious reason impelled Vomanus in his wild ways. He had gone through a string of women, friends, acquaintances, always laughing, always reckless, never caring — he seldom bothered to clean his weapons properly after a fracas and one day his sword would snap in the midst of combat because it had rusted away undetected. Delia suffered for Vomanus because he suffered and she could not understand why.
    She could not allow herself to believe the obvious answer — for in that she would sense in herself a rebellion against the mercy of the Invisible Twins made manifest in Opaz.
    Her thoughts jibed with the words of the hymn that moment being caroled out to the raftered ceiling of the Lesser Hall. “In the Light of Opaz we see our beacon guide through the darkness of the world.” Trite words, perhaps, but words always fervently sung and believed. Delia could not quite imagine breaking away from these beliefs, except and only in circumstances arising from her marriage.
    In the course of the evening as the songs and hymns were sung, she contrived a few quiet words with people she wished to gauge. Sounding out their minds, as her old tutor, Rose Mandeling, would have said. She said with a trifle impatience to Thalmi Crockhaden, the pro-marshal, “And that is all you can tell me of this Nyleen Gillois?”
    The pro-marshal did not tear that yellow hair; she looked as though she might have, had she been other than she was.
    “By the Rod of Halron and the Mount of Mampe!” She took a breath. “I had a first-class agent at Delka-Ob. She provided timely, informative, detailed reports. Nothing from her until this morning — and—”
    Delia turned her shoulder on the ranks of singing girls in the Lesser Hall and leaned one elbow on the balass-wood bar. Novices in pretty dresses decently covered by striped rose and yellow aprons served soft drinks like sazz and parclear, and also a wide selection of vintages. The bar area lay recessed from the main hall. The singing served as a pleasant background. Delia saw how upset the pro-marshal was, and half-guessed the cause.
    Thalmi nodded savagely. “A single last message, no doubt as a gesture of defiance, perhaps, I hope, as a sign of some remnants of conscience.”
    “She has joined the Sisters of the Whip?”
    “Aye! May Dee Sheon make her run forever!”
    “So we know the name of the lady that Vomanus of Vindelka has wed. Nyleen Gillois na Sagaie. Sagaie is in Evir, I think?”
    “Yes, right up in the far north, over the mountains, a land of furry savages. They no longer bend the knee to the emperor; they’ve got themselves a king up there, now, after the Time of the Troubles.”
    “It will probably be necessary to bring them back into the fold of Vallia, one day. There are other more pressing concerns at the moment.” Delia stopped herself. She did not wish to discuss strategy of empire here. She wanted to concentrate if she could on Vomanus, on Jilian, on Dayra. Velia might, with any luck, return from her trip for ladies before her mother left. If not, Delia would not wait...
    “Judging by the ‘na’ in her name, she must be of importance.”
    Cattily, Delia said, “And Sagaie could be a one-shanty village.”
    The pro-marshal showed her teeth.
    Yzobel could offer no further information. She knew only what she had been told, and had been sent to Delka-Ob to carry a message to Delia, who had been expected to be there for the wedding. As for Thalmi’s spy — or,