The regiment arrived at Splenn by ship. There Romlar arranged with the Confederation Ministry for Gulthar Kro's passage to Iryala. Kelmer Faronya and his wife would ride home in a courier. The regiment gated home, arriving at a security area of the Landfall Military Reservation. They were quartered overnight there, and given a reception next day by the OSP, with the king himself attending briefly. Interesting, Romlar thought. Why the king? Colonel Voker had flown down from Blue Forest, which was a lot easier to understand, and Varlik Lormagen, the original "White T'swi," from the school he and his wife operated on the coast.
The next day the troopers were given new paycards that accessed the credits they'd accrued, and they dispersed for a dek, most to visit their families.
Romlar, however, was taken by limousine to Lord Kristal's handsome home on the royal estate. Lotta Alsnor met him at the horseshoe drive, and they faced off, holding hands between them, looking at each other. He grinned broadly. "How come I get to have such a pretty girl?" he asked.
She laughed. "Bullshit, Artus; I'm a scrawny little minx. Wiry anyway. But say it again; I like it." She paused for a moment, squeezing his thick hands. "I suppose you're wondering why you were brought here. And what I'm doing here."
"It has crossed my mind."
"Well then, let me take you to Emry and we'll uncross it."
She led him inside and through halls, his attention not on what he might or might not learn there, but on the beauty and harmony of the art and other furnishings he passed. He'd never imagined a home like this before.
It was more than a home. One wing held Kristal's staff—offices with people sitting at monitors, dictating to computers, talking with each other. Kristal's receptionist didn't seat them. "Just a moment," she said, then spoke quietly to a commset and disconnected. Smiling, she motioned toward a door to one side. "Go right in."
The old man was on his feet to greet them. He took Romlar's thick hard hand in both of his slender ones, and shook it. "Artus, it's good to have you back. It's spring where you've come from, right?"
"Spring going on summer."
"Well. And here you find summer half used up." His deep bright eyes examined Romlar's. "I have a new assignment for you. To start when you've had your leave." He paused. "And when I say a new assignment, I mean a new assignment.
"I take it your regiment came home in good mental and spiritual condition?"
"Absolutely. Most of them better than I did."
Kristal nodded as if he knew what Romlar alluded to. "Good," he said. "Good.
"Your regiment will not be contracted out again. The Confederation has its own need for it. An imperial invasion fleet is on its way, little more than two years distant. I want you to be part of a secret royal commission to develop strategies and tactics to counter it. Defuse it if possible. This will mean turning over regimental command to someone else—whoever you consider best suited to the job."
Romlar wasn't smiling now, but his face was relaxed, his answer casual. "Coyn Carrmak," he said. "He's my best battalion commander, and the smartest man I've got. Men tend naturally to listen to him and do what he says, and beyond that, he's the luckiest person I know." He glanced at Lotta then. "With the exception of your brother. Jerym's come through more than anyone else in the outfit, and unscratched."
He turned back to Kristal then. "You said the regiment isn't going to be contracted out again. What are you going to do with it?"
"Train it. That's partly where you come in. Over a period of time the commission will develop strategies and tactics, as I said. Your regiment will learn and train in tactics and techniques no one's invented yet.
"Are you willing to have the job?"
Romlar grinned. "I'm your man. It sounds interesting."
"Fine. It's yours. To begin with, you'll work here at the capital. Part of the time just down the hall."
Romlar put a hand on Lotta's arm. "And where does Lotta fit in?"
The king's personal aide laughed. "She'll take you to lunch and tell you about that. Meanwhile, I have a great deal to do here." His gesture took in not only his desk and monitor, but the whole wing. "We'll talk again, very soon. Perhaps over dinner this week."
Lotta led Romlar to his lordship's conservatory, and the small staff dining room there. They sat in a private corner beside a bank of Iryalan tropical flowering ferns, their fronds soft green. A waiter came over, described the menu and took their orders, then left.
"So what hat do you wear in all this?" Romlar asked.
"I'm Emry's psychic resource and special intelligence section."
"Then we'll both be working here."
"That's right."
"If you'll marry me, we can take an apartment together and save on rent."
"I'm afraid I can't share an apartment with you."
His eyebrows raised. "Why not?"
She laughed. "Because Emry has assigned me a small house on the hill, as free from psychic disturbances as you can get near the capital. Free official housing for his special assistant; I'm one of a kind, he tells me. To be more exact, he said: 'Lotta, you're like Artus. You're one of a kind.' "
Her smile softened. "There's lots of room for two, if you'd like to share it with me. Our schedules won't always match, but we'll be together a lot more than once every few years."
Romlar chuckled. "I love you, Lotta. Very much. I'm sure I've told you that before."
"I seem to recall something like that. Would you like to see the house? Before we fill out the marriage application?"
He laughed aloud, then leaned across the table and they kissed.
THE END