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relationship.
All of it seemed to have become somewhat moot, now. Here she was, a
solider in this weird army in this weird Valley where the leaders thought they
were magicians and goddesses and wanted to take over the world with swords
and knives and  magic. But as insane as they all seemed, they certainly had
power over the soldiers and the Dweln. Could she hope to beat the power they
possessed?
She believed that it could be beaten. What kept the Dweln and the
soldiers in line was the illusion of power that Elstän and her  magicians had
crafted through brainwashing and who knew what else. Gwen herself had
experienced that seeming  magic, but she had to believe that it had been
achieved by hypnosis or drugs or some such method. She would not fall prey to
the same superstition and apathy that kept the others cowed. She would escape,
even if she had to leave without Kris, and once she was out of the Valley she
could inform authorities who could do something about what was going on here.
As she desperately reinforced her plans in her mind, it occurred to Gwen
that she heard the buzz of many voices through the window of the building she
stood against. It also occurred to her to wonder what sort of building it was that
she had chosen to shelter beside; it might be someone s house for all she knew.
There were two metal plaques by the door; one bore what she recognized
as Dweln script, even if she could not read it. The other plaque was in the written
form of the soldier s language and it identified the establishment as a Dweln
social meeting place, a Dweln sort of pub or restaurant.
Gwen knew that, generally speaking, the soldiers were to avoid casual
contact with the Dweln, both for the sake of keeping the Dweln happy by leaving
them alone and for the sake of maintaining a certain distance from those the army
had invaded and technically ruled. It would not do for Gwen to be forming
friendships with those whom she would soon be leading out on work details and
expect to have some form of authority over; she had to be able to command
respect if she and a handful of other soldiers were to maintain control over a
group of several dozen healthy Dweln. She was also aware that few soldiers
wanted to have any close contact with the Dweln, their superstitions (of their own
121
B.A.McFadden
H"
creation and those fed to them by the trainers) making them wary of the
 bewitching race.
Gwen, however, was different from most of the soldiers in that she had
come from a time and space location where social and racial equality was
preached as an ideal (even if it was not practiced very successfully). She did not
see why the Dweln should be treated as beneath anyone else; from what she had
heard, the Dweln were in many ways superior to humans, but she suspected that
such ideas were merely part of the superstitions and more reasons to avoid the
Valley s native race. In any case, she decided that it would be wise and noble of
her to step into the establishment and join these Dweln.
Gwen tugged open the thick wooden door and stepped into the midst of
sweet fragrance and fluid conversation. The  common room was centered
around a large round table piled with various breads, fruits, and pitchers of drink.
Around this central table were several smaller tables, also round, where
numerous Dweln sat eating, drinking, and generally being merry. Some puffed on
fragrant pipes. In one corner, a slim young Dweln girl played an instrument
similar to a harp, producing a wondrous background ambience. All of the Dweln
were graceful of form and feature, mostly dark-haired and dark-complexioned to
various degrees, and very nice to look upon. Gwen found it all quite inviting and
pleasurable save for one thing.
She could not understand a word any of them were saying.
She had only been standing in the door for several seconds when several
of the pleasant, conversing faces turned toward her and their conversations
ceased, as did the music. The effect was rather contagious, quickly spreading to
everyone in the room until all eyes were on her in the silence.
 I think I m in the wrong place, Gwen said, aware that her vast
propensity for understatement would be lost on them completely. With what she
was sure were a silly grin and wave, she backed out through the door and closed
it behind her.
Suddenly, running through the rain to the barracks seemed like a very
good idea.
122
The Death of Santa Claus
H"
Chapter 11
Gwen was already in bed when Renet and the others returned, audibly
and raucously inebriated. Though drinking was allowed, and drunkenness was of
course expected to occur, the commanders were not kind to those soldiers who
were incautious in their alcohol consumption. Far from being easier on them in
training and exercises, the commanders would be harder on them; a wise soldier
would not become drunk too often except on the night before an off day. Some
commanders would even rouse soldiers for training on an off day if they felt a
lesson was needed.
Gwen was not yet asleep, but she pretended to be, having no desire to
speak to Renet as yet. She had little to worry about; in the state Renet was in, she
would not have been able to form a coherent sentence.
Even after the torches were extinguished, Gwen lay awake, thinking. For
some reason she kept calling to mind the things Lin had said, and the way Renet
had described the Compelled girl s worldview and perceptions. Gwen also found
herself thinking a lot about Tryst, wondering for the first time in a while what [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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