Free Delia of Vallia by Alan Burt Akers Page B

great aims in our lives that prevents me from accepting.”
    “Are there not secret societies of men? They may not lay claim to our prestige. But they exist.”
    “That is true. My husband has never belonged to any of them in Vallia—”
    “I hear differently, Delia!”
    Delia smiled. This tack would not take the mistress far along the road to converting her.
    “You mean the Kroveres of Iztar? Men said, when the KRVI was formed, that my husband was too proud to join one of their already existing secret orders, but must create his own. That, I need hardly say, was not true.”
    “No. I imagine not. And Zena Iztar would not be fooled by mere men.”
    “Assuredly not!”
    “I have grave news concerning new Orders. There is a new Order that troubles me.”
    “I would have thought we women had enough already.”
    “In view of the new one, I agree. In some of the continents of Kregen women are not regarded in the same way they are regarded here in Vallia. In some places women have to find themselves, understand their rightful place, think of themselves as people, grow in understanding. In some places they are not treated as equals.”
    “Yes.”
    “You chose to take your husband’s name when you married. You need not have done.”
    “I wished it. My husband is as much a Valhan as am I.”
    “That is true. In some places women have only a given name until they marry. They are locked into a way of thinking about themselves that — in our eyes — demeans them, and yet which they, themselves, fail to grasp. When women in those places revolt, the consequences can be ugly. Of course, in the end, it will come all right. But the learning process is painful.”
    Delia knew the mistress was saying this as a part of her tactical advance. She listened dutifully.
    “They overreact, hate everything that is male, and carry on in ways that, while ugly, are perfectly understandable. That is the nature of revolution.”
    Delia found herself saying, “We have had experiences of revolutions.”
    “Two, at least, involved women. There was Queen Fahia of Hyrklana. And the Empress Thyllis of Hamal. The SoR played some part there.”
    “I know and joy in it.”
    “I wish first to speak to you of your friend, Jilian Sweet-Tooth.”
    Delia waited.
    “She is a sister. She is a consummate artist with the Whip and the Claw. She is a good friend to you and your husband and those of your children she has met. Yet she sorely worries me.”
    ‘Tell me, mistress.”
    “I will! Do not deceive yourself on that! This new order of which I spoke. Jilian is being drawn to it. Most of the sisters composing this Order come from the SoR. There are a few from the Sisters of Samphron, the Sisters of the Sword, one or two others. Even the Little Sisters of Opaz have been sucked in. This could prove a most grave crisis.”
    “If they adhere to our principles—”
    “That is a matter of conjecture. They are taking a new and hard line. They call themselves the Sisters of the Whip. They place the symbol of the Whip above all others.”
    Thinking of that thick black lash of vileness safely locked in its box, Delia felt the ominous forebodings.
    “You know, mistress, I prefer the rapier and main gauche, the bow, the terchick — and this new sword my husband and his armorers have developed, the drexer.”
    “Yet your friend Jilian is very apt with the Whip.”
    “Very — apt”
    “We shall not cease from teaching the disciplines of the Claw and the Whip here, at Lancival. But the Sisters of the Whip...” The mistress stopped speaking and put her narrow doubled-up hand to her side. Her face remained unmoved. Delia stood up at once. She could see the mistress was in great pain. Without hesitating, Delia crossed to the desk and rang the silver bell.
    Rosala hurried in, cackling and clucking.
    Delia called as she might call an order to her soldiers in a bloody affray.
    “Yzobel!”
    When Yzobel ran in, between them they carried the mistress to the bed