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Wei had been shaken badly by the attack, or rather he had been shaken by the suddenness of the betrayal and the sight of someone he had though to be a friend first try to kill him and then be summerily dismembered right before his eyes. Yaroi wasn't really surprised, the Whispered Death assassin sect were masters of that, their assassin religion taught that the feeling of betrayal felt by their quarry right before they died was sacred and so they tried to befriend their mark before killing them. They were lucky the one posing as 'Lord Rashar' was a novice who thought an unpoisoned drink and a bit of light banter would be sufficient to get him to lower his guard, a Whispered Death master would have waited much longer before striking, and by then he may well have.

The little mouse-lord had almost seemed in shock as his servants took his drink-sodden clothes and brought out large, fluffy towels and oil-soaps for a shower, his movements muggy and hesitant. The shower seemed to help though, when he emerged wrapped in a bathrobe he sat mutely while Mara brushed out and dried his headfur but the shellshocked look had been absent, replaced by some fragile but definate hardness, a look of quiet determination that Yaroi had never seen on Wei's face before.

"Captain?" he said at last. Yaroi, sitting in the corner of the room since he decided that he wasn't going to let Wei out of his sight until they were back on the Dragonfly, sat up and cleated his throat.

"Yes, your honour?"

"Do...do you know shiverblade combat?" said Wei, his voice barely above a whisper.

Yaroi paused "The shiverblade is a noble weapon, your honour."

"I did not ask if your class is one that traditionally wields such a weapon, I asked if you knew how to." replied Wei, as firmly as Yaroi had ever heard him speak.

"Then...I may have picked up a little, your honour." said Yaroi, carefully.

"How much?"

Yaroi took a deep breath "About as much as is taught in the Serathis blademaster school." he replied. The mouse maid, Mara, let out a quiet gasp and paused her work for just a moment, meeting Yaroi's gaze for a second before redoubling her efforts, head down. The Serathis blademasters were known even among the common folk, such was their reputation. For that very reason he had never made much issue of his training, the legend of the blademasters had long outstripped the reality of what they actually were; exceptional swordsmen, nothing more. If you believed half the stories his status as an alumnus of the Serathis school qualified him for such feats as breathing fire or levitating under his own power, the willingness of people to invent such fables never ceased to amaze him.

"Good," said Wei, unperturbed "I have a boon to ask of you, Captain."

"Name it, your honour. I am your bondsman, for now at least."

"I want to learn how to fight, Yaroi. I'm sick of being defenceless, being cared for all the time, treated like I was made of glass." with that he reached up and took the hairbrush from Mara's unresisting fingers, the mouse-maiden looked a little hesitant for a moment when Wei continued the job she started himself but bowed and seemed to visibly resolve herself to just stand off to one side and look unobtrusive.

"You shouldn't be expected to defend yourself, your honour, your life is too important, too many other lives rely on it. There is no dishonour in allowing your guards to protect you, that is why we are here."

"And what of when you are not?" said Wei, setting the brush down hard "You cannot guard me every second of every day, what if a strike came during one of those unguarded times and I am helpless in the face of it?"

"I wouldn't let that-" Yaroi began to protest halfheartedly.

"You cannot prevent it, sooner or later there will be an opening in your guard, we cannot trust that our enemies will not exploit that." said Wei, holding up a hand to bid silence, his bearing surprisingly imperious "You must teach me how to fight."

Yaroi leaned forward in his chair "You realise that it is somewhat unorthodox for one who is to be a sapphire husband, such as yourself, to be educated in the martial arts."

"I am aware of that, yes," replied Wei "Though it is not considered a part of formal tradition."

"You would still risk being seen as dishonourable in the eyes of some for breaking such orthodoxy though, however minor."

Wei smiled faintly "Ah, but Captain, you forget; the sapphire husband has no personal honour."

Slowly, a ruefull grin materialised on Yaroi's face "Well then, your honour, all we need is a shiversword." he said.

"I assure you, Captain," said Wei "That will not be a problem."

~~~@*@~~~

Toroi woke peacefully, his consciousness easing its way into wakefulness, that was not how he usually felt in the mornings, usually he would wake with a sudden, violent start already in a surly mood. Apparently frequent and vigorous sex was good for his biorhythms, he noted with an inwardly-directed chuckle. Beside him on the pallet-bed slept Uelo, seemingly soundly though it was hard to tell, he seemed able to detect when Toroi woke even in his own sleep, another lotus path trick, no doubt.

Merciful ancestors, the things they had done! Uelo's knowledge of the erotic arts seemed encyclopedic and more than once had strained Toroi's imagination, he simply couldn't believe there were so many ways it could be done! Some were fairly straightforward, such as a slow, detailed and rather 'hands-on' study of the various erogenous zones, but some were baffling, at least until he tried them. Like when the Lotus Man had bound his hands and eyes with more of those silk scarves he seemingly had an endless supply of and tied his hands to a ceiling pillar. A first it had been a little frightening until Uelo began to pleasure his sightless and immobile form, Uelo had insisted it was important that he know what it was like to be helpless, how that was supposed to make him a better lover he had no idea, but it had ended up being rather agreeable nonetheless. Even more agreeable was when Uelo had consented to the same treatment himself, having the Lotus Man bound and wllingly at his mercy was oddly thrilling but he hadn't abused the opportunity and had instead gone through and replicated the rituals of pleasure as best he could remember, for which Uelo had praised him, saying that he had passed an important milestone.

He hadn't explained what that milestone was, exactly, but it did come as a relief that Uelo now no longer brought up the issue of the Onyx Contract and what it entailed, removing it from its place of shame on the windowsill.

Three days. The realisation struck him like an axe, in three days his betrothed would be arriving and in all likelihood he would not be seeing Uelo again. How strange that after only knowing his company for the better part of a week Toroi was already thinking that he might miss the Lotus Man. His jaw grit and a soft growl rose up unbidden in his throat at the thought of it, immediately Uelo's eyes fluttered open.

"My lord? Something troubles you?" he said, half-rising sinuously and propping himself up on one arm to look into Toroi's eyes with ocean-deep concern.

"Hmmm, nothing of consequence." Toroi growled, tossing the light cover off his body and rising to his feet to fetch clothes. And to flee from Uelo's interrogation, he realised bitterly, cursing his own cowardice.

Uelo blessedly seemed to sense his discomfort and didn't press the issue, instead rising and dressing too in a thigh-length robe of purple silk with pink and blue flower prints. Toroi had abandoned the tradition of being dressed by servants for as long as he had the authority to order them, he always thought it a dreadful annoyance even as a child, some fellow nobles might look down on him for dressing himself like a peasant but as third son he wasn't expected to be a paragon of decorum as he was never really expected to ammount to much more than a House Warmaster so he could ignore them.

That might change soon, after being put in charge of such a large Marche he'd be held to a higher standard, he'd have to follow tradition closely or risk loss of face, and worse; he'd have to engage in politics. Much of that could be delegated to satraps and advisors, of course, which meant that he just had to be careful in who he accorded promotions to, but he'd still be expected to play the role of the courtier from time to time. That was a troubling thought, he hadn't expected this degree of a change in his role, he hadn't prepared for it, hadn't cultivated proper courtly refinement, how he was supposed to navigate the metaphorical battlefield that was the noble courts without making an ass of himself he wasn't sure, those prissy little politicians whispering behind their paper fans could shoot holes in him that couldn't be deflected with ceramsteel or energy shields. He was used to dealing with solid, dependeable things and predictable outcomes, in a battle of soldiers and military tactics he was well equipped but in a battle of legalism and manipulation he stood naked and unarmed, and he knew it.

Damn his father and the inscrutable old bastards obscurantic ways! If he had known about the this cursed marriage all along he could have had his whole life to prepare up to this point, instead he'd have to learn the ways of statecraft by the proverbial seat of his pants, all because Jashiid thought it would be funny to spring this all on him at the last moment. If there was a method in his fathers madness that extended beyond that then it had once again eluded him, the Archduke seemed to positivelty delight in making the lives of his children as unstable as possible, seemingly for no other reason than that it amused him. Even Janai, heir to Ro'Xanshin, didn't escape their fathers games.

A tapping on the screen door to his chambers suddenly caught his attention, he wondered whether he had imagined it for a moment before the tapping began again, a little more insistant this time. That was strange, with his training nobody should have been able to get right outside his door without him noticing them when they were still halfway down the corridor. Nobody except for...

"Tovarich?" came a boisterous and slightly slurred call from outside "What is taking so long? I know you are in there, tovarich!"

"Veoni? Is that you?" Toroi called back, tying his robe closed and rushing for the door, almost tripping over Uelo in his haste.

He threw the screen open, and there stood a rakish grey wolf with a sunburst pattern of yellow pigmented onto the fur around his left eye and dressed in the style of his House - an ornate black coat with gold frogging and exaggerated cuffs and collar over a patterned gold waistcoat and wide-ankled trousers with a red sash at the waist bearing a pair of short shiverblades; Veoni Nal'Galagar, Boyar of Praxis, second son of the Archduke of the Major House Nal'Galagar, duelist, dilettante and incorrigable reveler, he had partied his way a goodly distance across the galaxy for years with no hint of stopping anytime soon, sampling the finest each world along his way had in terms of food, drink, exotic narcotics, art, music and pliant company, often without remembering how he got there in the first place. He was also, with little doubt, Toroi's best friend, their Houses had been allies for centuries and they had known eachother since they were cubs.

"Tovarich!" exclaimed Veoni with a hearty laugh, throwing his arms wide to embrace Toroi, a half-empty bottle of something clear and probably alchoholic in one hand. "Ah, it is good to see you again, tovarich, especially right now, I think I was about to fall over." he said, taking the opportunity after giving Toroi a hug to use his shoulder as a means of support and took a deep swig of whatever was in the rapidly-emptying bottle.

"Veoni..."

"Hmmm? Yes?"

"You're drunk. Very." said Toroi, gently prying the bottle out of Venoi's hand and setting it aside on a table by the door.

"Well of course I am!" bellowed the wolf, making an expansive gesture with his now-empty hand "You, my dearest friend, one who I call tovarich, is to be married. This is a tragedy! A horror! How could I not try and drown my sorrows?"

"All right, Veoni, sit down now. You are quite heavy." said Toroi, helping his friend onto one of the larger cushions.

"One should always be slightly over-weight in my opinion, emaciation is a mark of peasantry." Veoni drawled, wagging a finger.

"As you have often sai-" Toroi answered as he was cut off by a sudden loud sob from the wolf.

"It's all over, tovarich, no more long nights out on the town, no more visits to the casino's, the music-halls, the...delightful pleasure-houses..." said Veoni, mournfully, trailing off, his eyes focusing dreamily on something only he could see.

"Veoni, you've been married for three years and, barring some monumental change of heart since last we met, you still do all those things." said Toroi, patiently, rolling his eyes.

"Yes, but I can't enjoy them properly because that damn harridan never leaves me alone! Everywhere I go she sends her spies to watch me, she harrasses me with video-letters every day, my life isn't my own!" wailed Veoni, slumping back in the cushion and melodramatically throwing an arm over his eyes "The same will happen to you, tovarich, mark my words. It is the curse of marriage."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't it customary for a wife to care about the safety and, perhaps even more importantly, location of her husband?"

"Ah, Toroi, so naive. It's sweet, really." said Veoni, pushing himself up a little and shaking his head "My mother and father have spent most of their lives attempting to ensure that the other one dies in an unfortunate, mysterious and untraceable accident, all while sharing the same bed, I have no intention of sleeping with one eye open or checking my boots for venomous creatures, the less she knows about my whereabouts the better."

Toroi groaned, he had met Venoi's wife, Lady Sabelle, a wolf-maiden formerly of the Minor House Kliath, she was a sensible, level-headed and practical woman with a good mind for business and an impeccable wit for matters of state. In short, the perfect person to make good use of the power Veoni had inherited but had absolutely no ability or inclination to apply. The fact that it was her continued management of his assets that allowed him to cary on with his carefree lifestyle long after he should have been forced to settle down by the weight of his position continued to elude Veoni. Her 'spies' were most likely simply escorts and agents sent to ensure that he didn't end up dead, knifed in an alley, as had nearly happened on more than one occasion in the past, usually with the muggers coming off the worse. It wasn't his fault, really, having been born into the infamously decadent House Nal'Galagar, that Veoni had ended up such a career-sybarite, though he did hone those traits for which his House was famous for to whole new levels on times.

"Veoni, contary to what your parents rather...strained relationship may have led you to believe, not everyone spends their time thinking about how to best assassinate their spouse." said Toroi, wearily.

Veoni made a tutting noise and shook his head again "So naive..."

Toroi growled in frustration "Look, I'm really not in the mood for-"

Before he could finish his sentance Veoni's eyes lit up and he bolted out of the cushion he was sitting on, brushing past Toroi in his haste to get to...oh, merciful ancestors.

Veoni was on one knee before Uelo, looking adoringly into the visibly amused Lotus Man's eyes and lifting one of Uelo's delicate hands in his own to plant a kiss upon it. He should have expected this, one glance at a pretty face and Veoni went into autopilot-seduction, always had done, and when he was intoxicated his standard for what constituted a 'pretty face' dropped rapidly through the floor, someone as already attractive as Uelo had little chance of escaping his attention.

"Tovarich, why have we been wasting time on idle talk when you could have been introducing me to this charming creature?" said veoni in a low, sutlry voice, not taking his eyes of Uelo's for a moment.

Objections rose up and died in his throat, leaving only an exasperated huff "Veoni, this is Adept Uelo of the Lotus Order, Uelo, this is Boyar Veoni Nal'Galagar of Praxis." he said, curtly.

"Toroi has mentioned you, though he certainly didn't do you justice." purred Uelo, a small smirk on his lips.

"Oh, he has? Nothing good, I hope, I wouldn't want anyone to think me anything other than a devil of the darkest sort, it would be unsportsmanlike to conceal my true nature!" said Veoni with undisguised gusto. Toroi suppressed a shudder, only Veoni could speak such utter tripe with a straight face, it was like he half-believed his own ridiculous pickup lines.

"But it seems I have come at a bad time." Veoni announced, jumping to his feet "Far be it for me to interrupt an intimate moment, I'll just be on my way and leave you two alone for a while..."

"Ah, well, I was actually just going to-" stammered Toroi, his ears going bright red in embarrassment.

"Shhh, tovarich, no need to make excuses," Veoni whispered to him in a poor attempt at being conspiratorial, Uelo being much too close not to hear him "Though I must say I never knew you had it in you. Honestly, after all the fuss you made when I wanted to go visit the smile-boys you suddenly develop a taste for males while I'm away? How very convenient." he said with a knowing smile.

"It's not like that, damnit!" protested Toroi, ears flat against his head, not out of anger but to hide that they were turning bright red.

"Of course, of course, I understand, tovarich." giggled Veoni, making placating gestures "I'll be the picture of confidentiality."

"There's nothing to be confidential about!" Toroi hissed back.

Veoni's ears perked up, that was usually a bad sign. "Really? Well in that case I shan't restrain myself, the gossip-mill awaits!"

"Oh, be off with you, you drunkard!" growled Toroi, raising a hand to strike at the wolf.

With his typical bizzare reflexes, Veoni dodged the blow and was out the door before Toroi could react. Veoni's hysterical whoops of laughter echoed down the hall for a goodly distance after he made a dash for it.

"Yes, laugh damnit! It seems the whole damn galaxy is a colossal joke at my expense anyway, so why not laugh about it!?" Toroi yelled down the hall after him before slamming the screen shut.

"Oh, that infernal...gah!" he cried, adequate words eluding him.

"What an interesting fellow." said Uelo, happily.

"That's one word for it." grumbled Toroi, picking up the bottle that Veoni had left in his haste and uncorking it, he took a sniff of the stuff. "But he does at least have impeccable taste, that's one redeeming virtue at least." he said and necked a short swig. A pungent herb liqueur, as it turned out, Veoni always did preffer the unusual where the mundane would suffice.

"Everyone has a friend like that, I think the universe sends them to test our patience." said the ermine, smirking.

"Then it reached the peak of peerless vexation when it created Veoni. I sometimes wonder whether it's just him or whether it's because he's a Nal'Galagar, never met a sane one yet." said Toroi as he resumed dressing.

Uelo rose from the bed and stretched the weariness out of his muscles. "Still, I'd keep him close, if I were you, my lord." he said, his tone even and measured, serious "That one is a very special person."

"Veoni? Bah, Veoni's just a fop. He may be my best friend, much as I might regret it on times, but he's hardly special, the Empire is overflowing with rakes and dandies."

Uelo shook his head slightly. "He has no shackles." he said, simply.

Toroi frowned, pausing in his dressing. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"His fears are only fears of the moment, swiftly forgotten. Such a person is a point about which the universe can be made to move with the right encouragement, a fulcrum mundi, it would be foolish not to cultivate such an asset. In the temple we are taught to watch for those who have no shackles, they are capable of great things when give the appropriate nudge...and terrible things, if nudged in the wrong direction."

"You don't half talk some nonsense on times, lotus man." said Toroi, dismissively, slipping on his sandals.

"Most times, I fear, though I like to think there is the occasional gem buried amongst it all." replied Uelo, smiling faintly.

Toroi ordered a quick breakfast of fruit, marsh-ogren cakes and sweetened water brought to his rooms before leaving. Uelo refused food, claiming lack of hunger, but accepted a little water. The halls of the ancestral manor were quieter than they had been for a while, most of the preparations for Baronet Wei's arrival had already been made, nobody wanted to leave anything to the last minute and risk catastrophe, a Ro'Xanshin wedding was a serious event, even for a third son. He appreciated the peace, he needed to clear his mind and recover a little focus, he'd been off-kilter all week.

Still, there was always one thing guaranteed to help restore his equilibrium.

The ancient home of House Ro'Xanshin was more than just a manor, since the time before the great concord when the Galactic Empire had been formed it was a place of war. The warlords that fought with eachother for control of Byzantium Tertius, and then later the whole Byzantium system, had used it as a base of operations for hundreds if not thousands of years before the House of Ro'Xanshin even existed, and the House kept up the tradition. The manor was merely the tip of the iceberg, in reality it was a fortress; within the compound was stored barracks for a legion of troops, holo-dojo's and firing ranges, armories, vehicle workshops, strategic Comm-relays with the fleet in orbit above, astrometrics stations and the primary command-node for the planetary defence grid. From here it was possible to plan, equip and launch an attack capable of conquering a planet, and anyone foolish enough to attempt to attack the homeworld directly would be walking into a storm of graser and meson-cannon fire.

However, it was the light-craft hangars he headed for. Cut straight into the cliff-face overlooking the plains of peacock-grass, they served a variety of uses, from accepting the personal transports of visitors to handling some of the overflow when ther wasn't enough room on the orbital gantries to deal with all the small ships that needed repair.

The elevator doors opened and a refreshing gust of wind blew in to greet him as Toroi stepped out into the hangar. Bare grey-black stone cut with mathematical precision on all sides, the whine of heavy machinery, the whistle of the wind and the chatter of mechanics, scents of hot metal and chemicals. So unlike the refined elegance of the manor above.

He loved it.

The repair crew paused in their duties as he entered but he bid ease with a wave, they all recognised him and knew what to expect anyway. Loi the foreman, a grey hare in stained overalls who prudently kept his ears tied behind his head with a ribbon, ran up to him after wiping off his hands on a rag.

"Be of service, milord?" said Loi in a friendly manner, at least as much as was seemly when adressing a noble.

"Is my slamfighter fueled and operational?"

"Aye, milord. Will you be taking her out today?"

"I shall. Bring her up."

Unseen mechanisms beneath the floor whined and clanked as his fighter was unloaded and brought up to the hangar-level by the machinery elevator. Named for its almost supernatural acceleration, a slamfighter was a force to be reconed with, it's gravitational engines allowing it to make turns and maneuvers that often seemed impossible, such as making a lock-on foiling 90-degree turn instantly with zero loss of effective speed. Their extreme agility made them the bane of defence outposts, allowing them to clear out minefields and armed satelites in short order before the larger capital craft moved in for the kll. Slamfighter application was a major part of Ro'Xanshin battle doctrine, there wasn't a single member of the family who couldn't at least fly one competently, but few had the sheer love for it that Toroi did. It took a special kind of subtle madness to actually enjoy piloting a slamfighter, the rational response was outright terror.

It was a sleek crescent of red ceramsteel, mimicing the House crest in form, it's wings downswept from the pilots pod in the center. It was lightly armed but what weapons it did sport were of the most lethal variety; twin magnetic accelerators firing ferrite-jacketed ceramsteel slugs the size of ball-bearings at a rate of up to just over three hundred rounds per second and a compliment of as many as forty variable-warhead missiles. It wasn't hard to see why many military commanders would sooner fight much larger ships rather than face a wing of Ro'Xanshin slamfighters. His own was a little different to the standard model, having integrated life-support so he didn't have to wear a bulky EAC-suit.

"Have her armed; half-compliment, no missiles." said Toroi to the foreman.

"That all, milord?"

"Yes, I'm just going to blow off a little steam, no sense in arming for a war."

Yes, an hour or two of destroying derelict satelites would be just the thing he needed. Casting his view about the hangar bay while the techs filled the ammunition hoppers his gaze happened to fall on Veoni's atmospheric transport, that smooth, shiny-black wedge with it's ridiculous gilded ornamentations. Immediately his thoughts returned to its owner.

"Actually, on second thought, add a quarter-compliment of target missiles."

Loi gave him a knowing grin. "Very good, milord." was all he said before bellowing orders to the crew.

~~~@*@~~~

Yaroi stared at the thing laid out before him, resting on a bed of green steelsilk, that he realised was actually a folded set of duelling clothes, in a long carved-wood box was a shiversword of uncharacteristic beauty. He drew it from the scabbard and found that the blade was about a meter long and crafted of gravity-forged steel so thin that when he held it sideways it almost seemed to dissappear, though for all its seeming fragility that metal was harder and more durable than regular steel an inch thick, the pommel sported a fine yellow tassel typical to sword-dancer blades and the hilt...the hilt was crafted in the shape of a blue-enamelled butterfly, the wingtips forming the guard either side of the blade. Within it was contained the sonic-pulse generator that made a shiversword such a lethal weapon. A butterfly-marked blade, he knew what that meant.

"This is a Yaarou blade." he said, holding it up, reverently.

"Yes," said Wei "I inherited it. Yaarou crafted all his blades on the Sirens, you know? From steel hardened beneath the gravity waves."

"I had heard." said Yaroi, still turning the thing over in his hands "But such a thing...it's beautiful. Does it truely make the sound of ten thousand butterfly wingbeats when swung?"

"I do not know, I have never used it." replied Wei, shrugging.

"May I?" asked Yaroi, holding the priceless thing in his hands, for a blademaster the chance to wield a shiversword of such quality was one to be dreamed of.

"By all means, I would like to see how it is done."

Tentatively, Yaroi grasped the grip and removed his other hand from beneath the blade, even contact with the flat of a shiversword whle active could cause grievous wounds. It had been so long since he'd actually held a shiversword but the memory was still firm, his middle finger tightened on the activation ring and he felt the blade begin to hum as the pulse generators primed, the tiny oval cabouchon screen that was set into the butterfly's body read a setting of sixteen kilo-octaves, the setting suitable for carving open armoured vehicles was a little high for a demonstration so he shifted it down to four with a swipe of his thumb accross the screen. Satisfied, he took up a fighting stance.

"If you might back up a little farther, your honour, it would put me at ease." he said to Wei as he silently went through his sword-meditations. With a quick nod Wei retreated to the far edge of the room to watch.

"To master a shiversword you must first be intimately aware of its every aspect and dimension," said Yaroi, twirling the blade slowly in circles before him, hearing the hum intensify as the blade sensed movement "it is not like a normal sword, a static length of edged metal, it moves and changes, pulses in time to combat, growls when drawn from its scabbard, quivers in anticipation during a fight, roars when it descends for a killing blow."

Wei watched him with a serious expression. "You talk of it as though it were a living thing."

Yaroi cracked a small grin, he felt he had the lay of the blade now, at least enough for a simple demonstration.

"In many ways, your honour-"

He gripped the activation ring and made a swift, whipping slash through the air, filling the room with the sound of fluttering wings. The grip span in his hand and he brought the blade back into a reverse scythe-hand that seemed to drag the sussurant noise back with it. Another quick inversion of the grip and he span a three-quarters circle, passing the edge of the blade a millimeter above the rim of an empty glass that had been sitting on a side table. He released the activation ring and the fluttering died away, leaving the room silent besides for the crystaline ring of the glass.

"-it is." said Yaroi, a moment later the glass finally shattered, tinkling to the floor in pieces no larger than the nail on his smallest finger.

Wei's eyes slowly widened, the little mouse looked awestruck. "But, the glass, you didn't even touch it!"

"Harmonics, your honour," Yaroi explained, bending to pick up a fragment "judging by the size of these I'd say this sword is probably polyharmonic, that would explain the layered fluttering sound, it's outputting multiple frequencies at the same time, broadband harmonics, what a wonder." he said, turning the tiny piece of broken glass over between his fingers.

"Is that good?" inquired Wei, nervously stepping a little closer.

"It's rare, making polyharmonic shiverswords is almost a lost art, most swords use sonar feedback from objects they strike to adjust the blade harmonics to the target,"

"But this one does not?"

"No, it overlays multiple resonant frequencies across the acoustic scale, there's no need to record feedback data because regardless of what it strikes it will still have the correct harmonic frequency. There's only a handful of people in the Empire who know how to make a polyharmonic shiversword, most of them Maestros, and even they don't understand how it works, they just know how to put them together. Overlaying multiple frequencies across such a large swathe of the acoustic scale should cause the sound waves to cancel eachother out, turning it into just an ordinary sword, but somehow they don't, the technology is very mysterious."

He handed the inactive blade back to Wei who held it gingerly, as though it were a poisonous serpent. "Then I shall take great care of it. I take it that polyharmonic blades have advantages over ordinary shiverswords?" he said, placing the sword back in its scabbard.

"A few, though they are a little more difficult to handle, there's sort of this gyroscopic effect," Yaroi explained, miming futiley "oh, and if you go into battle with it I'd advise taking several powerpacks, they go through them in only a few minutes."

"There is little chance that such a situation should arise, but I will remember your advice, anything else?" said Wei, earnestly, removing the bundle of green steelsilk from the box.

"Well, its a sixth of a pound overweight somewhere around two fingers from the pommel, might take a bit of compensation for imbalance when you get into the more advanced stages, but other than that I can't think of anything."

"Good," said Wei, and shook out the bolt of steelsilk on the bed, revealing it to be not merely padding for the box but a nobles dueling outfit sized for a mouse, a loose shirt and wide-legged trousers of leafy green trimmed with plum embroidery at the collar and cuffs. "Then we can begin immediately, opportunities will likely become fewer once we reach Byzantium so we shall have to make as much lesson-time as we can now."

~~~@*@~~~

Toroi squeezed the firing studs and another derelict weather-monitor satelite exploded into shards of perforated metal, shredded by the hail of magno-slugs. It was dawning on him increasingly that it really didn't help.

"Damn." he muttered to himself and shifted the sticks appart along a diagonal plane, the slamfighter obediently wrenched itself to the right, a twist of the grips and he was flying straight along the new vector.

A trio of derelics before him became illuminated by tiny red diamonds on his HUD, the first was blown appart by accelerator-fire, the last two by the streaking red comets of his last two target missiles. Vast, soundless, explosions lit the empty space like tiny suns before dying away as the warheads expended the last of their chemical extacy to the coldness of the void. Space-fighter pilots always had a reputation for being slightly touched in the head, only those who had actually tried flying a space fighter knew why, the experience was surreal.

There you were, hurtling through infinite black sky in a cocoon of atmosphere wrapped in a thin wall of ceramsteel, firepower of the gods at your command, imminent death in every direction. Totally alone, even in the midst of a pitched battle, with explosions and weapons-fire all around you, all you hear is the low humm of your own engines, the staccato retort of your own weapons, the pings and clicks of your own instruments, the pulse of your own blood in your ears and your own breath in your lungs. Only the occasional transmission on your comm to remind you that there's another living being in the whole universe.

He'd always found it calming, peacefull, even the blossoming chrysanthemums of fire his weapons made when they destroyed their targets. There was no real violence in it, each blasted satelite was simply a punctuation to a poem, a moment of perfect satori. It was as much a meditative excercise as it was a diversion or test of warrior-skills.

But now he had a problem, and not even flying his slamfighter brought him peace. He didn't want to be alone anymore.

"Damn it all!"

Below him Byzantium Tertius was layed out like a carpet, gloriously vivid colours swirling together like the mixing tray of an artists palette, sparkling glimmers of lights on the dark side, it looked so inviting, as though it were a crier outside a tavern, enticing passers-by in with calls of 'here dwells life'. But, despite all it's gaudy enticements he didn't want to go back, to go back would mean facing the problem, and he wasn't sure he was ready for it. He had tried to quieten his mind with meditation and instead it had merely crystalised the source of his disquiet and held it up before his eyes where he could not ignore it.

He was in love with Uelo.

"Why now? Damn it all, why now!?"