Read Online Hell Hath No Fury by David Weber, Linda Evans - Free Book Online
Authors: David Weber, Linda Evans
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difficult to maintain his air of concentration, to respond to Simrath's statements with the proper degree of normality. He'd expected some of that, but he hadn't anticipated just how difficult it might prove, and he found himself unexpectedly grateful for Simrath's earlier abrasiveness. The Sharonian diplomat had introduced a confrontational atmosphere which, in turn, offered an acceptable pretext for any sharpness on Skirvon's part, especially in the wake of all of the unfortunate outbursts of temper over the past couple of weeks. As a matter of fact, those "outbursts" had been carefully designed for the specific purpose of covering any last-minute tension on the Arcanans'
part if the Sharonians happened to notice it.
None of which made the diplomat feel one bit calmer as the last few moments trickled past.
Tharian Narshu's right thumb hooked into his broad, stiff sword belt.
It was a completely natural-looking mannerism, if not precisely the most militarily correct posture in the world. In fact, he'd taken considerable pains to display that particular"sloppy habit" to the Sharonians for the last couple of weeks. It was about as unthreatening as it could be-his hand was on the opposite side from his sword's hilt, after all-but he'd wanted that sharp-eyed bastard Arthag to be accustomed to it.
The last thing Narshu needed was for the Sharonian officer to notice anything out of the ordinary on the day when it finally mattered.
The fifty's own eyes never strayed from their slightly bored, incurious focus on Viscount Simrath, but his carefully trained peripheral vision made one last sweep to confirm that the rest of his men were in position. Only his SpecOps squad had a clue about what was going to happen. The rest of his "honor guard" detachment were all tough, capable vets, but they weren't SpecOps. They lacked the specialized training and experience of Narshu's own squad, and he'd decided against briefing them in ahead of time on the theory that what they didn't know was coming they couldn't inadvertently give away.
I'm going to have to apologize to them when this is all over, he thought. They're good troops, and they're going to have a right to be pissed off when they find out what's really been going on.
But he'd take care of that later; at the moment, he had other things to think about.
He completed his methodical check of his troopers' positions. Everyone was exactly where he was supposed to be. That was good. In fact, the only flaw in Narshu's satisfaction was that Arthag was outside his field of view.
It was just like the bastard to be uncooperative, the fifty thought sourly. He knew where Arthag was, of course, but he wasn't about to turn his head and look for the man-not at a moment like this. Besides, Arthag wasn't Narshu's target. Seltym Laresk was responsible for dealing with him, and the sword was perfectly positioned to Narshu's left rear.
Yes, he is, the fifty told himself. So why don't you stop worrying about Seltym, and get on with it?
It was, he decided, an excellent question, and his right hand flexed.
Hulmok Arthag's expression never even twitched-he was an Arpathian septman, after all-but he'd felt the tension coiling tighter inside his Arcanan counterpart for the last twenty minutes. The man was good; Arthag had to give him that. Looking at Narshu from the outside, there was absolutely nothing to indicate his spring-steel tension. But Hulmok Arthag was watching the Arcanan from the inside.
He wished, not for the first time, that his Talent had been more amenable to direction. He knew, beyond any doubt, that Narshu was totally focused on some action, some mission, but he had no way of knowing precisely what that mission was until the Arcanan actually acted. Which meant Arthag couldn't act until then, either. Whatever the Arpathian might "know," there was absolutely no supporting evidence. The other man's hands weren't even close to his sword, and his body language was relaxed, almost
part if the Sharonians happened to notice it.
None of which made the diplomat feel one bit calmer as the last few moments trickled past.
Tharian Narshu's right thumb hooked into his broad, stiff sword belt.
It was a completely natural-looking mannerism, if not precisely the most militarily correct posture in the world. In fact, he'd taken considerable pains to display that particular"sloppy habit" to the Sharonians for the last couple of weeks. It was about as unthreatening as it could be-his hand was on the opposite side from his sword's hilt, after all-but he'd wanted that sharp-eyed bastard Arthag to be accustomed to it.
The last thing Narshu needed was for the Sharonian officer to notice anything out of the ordinary on the day when it finally mattered.
The fifty's own eyes never strayed from their slightly bored, incurious focus on Viscount Simrath, but his carefully trained peripheral vision made one last sweep to confirm that the rest of his men were in position. Only his SpecOps squad had a clue about what was going to happen. The rest of his "honor guard" detachment were all tough, capable vets, but they weren't SpecOps. They lacked the specialized training and experience of Narshu's own squad, and he'd decided against briefing them in ahead of time on the theory that what they didn't know was coming they couldn't inadvertently give away.
I'm going to have to apologize to them when this is all over, he thought. They're good troops, and they're going to have a right to be pissed off when they find out what's really been going on.
But he'd take care of that later; at the moment, he had other things to think about.
He completed his methodical check of his troopers' positions. Everyone was exactly where he was supposed to be. That was good. In fact, the only flaw in Narshu's satisfaction was that Arthag was outside his field of view.
It was just like the bastard to be uncooperative, the fifty thought sourly. He knew where Arthag was, of course, but he wasn't about to turn his head and look for the man-not at a moment like this. Besides, Arthag wasn't Narshu's target. Seltym Laresk was responsible for dealing with him, and the sword was perfectly positioned to Narshu's left rear.
Yes, he is, the fifty told himself. So why don't you stop worrying about Seltym, and get on with it?
It was, he decided, an excellent question, and his right hand flexed.
Hulmok Arthag's expression never even twitched-he was an Arpathian septman, after all-but he'd felt the tension coiling tighter inside his Arcanan counterpart for the last twenty minutes. The man was good; Arthag had to give him that. Looking at Narshu from the outside, there was absolutely nothing to indicate his spring-steel tension. But Hulmok Arthag was watching the Arcanan from the inside.
He wished, not for the first time, that his Talent had been more amenable to direction. He knew, beyond any doubt, that Narshu was totally focused on some action, some mission, but he had no way of knowing precisely what that mission was until the Arcanan actually acted. Which meant Arthag couldn't act until then, either. Whatever the Arpathian might "know," there was absolutely no supporting evidence. The other man's hands weren't even close to his sword, and his body language was relaxed, almost
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