Duels of Honour: Giving the Lie

Chapter the Fourth: Graduation


Six years previously

N’tho ‘Sraomee climbed the spiral staircase to the Commandant’s office with a nervous quiver in his mandibles.

Mere moments after the final ceremony had ended and the new graduates of the Tnoknsig War College had marched off the parade square, children no longer, an aide had pulled N’tho out of the press of his comrades and taken him aside. He had been given a message that was simple and brief; to report to the Commandant’s office.

N’tho longed to be back out on the square with his battle brothers. Shortly the graduated females from the nearby Finishing School would be arriving; many of the young Sangheili were looking forward to exercising their rights as adults by taking part in their first sanctioned mating.
Others, however—some of whom had consorts from their school days, others of whom simply preferred the company of their own gender—were leaving in pairs or packs, intending to find a more private place to celebrate their coming of age.

And N’tho was not with either group. Instead he was on his way to see the Commandant.

Why?

Had he done something wrong?

N’tho reached the head of the stairs and turned right, then right again, threading the corridors of the War College until he approached the Commandant’s office.

Standing right outside the door was the Commandant himself. The old Sangheili, recipient of a string of battle honours but too aged to fight in combat any longer, had retired to an honourable career training the next generation of Sangheili soldiers.

N’tho came to attention and saluted his superior officer.

“Greetings, Minor Domo ‘Sraomee.”

Minor Domo. ‘Sraomee, with the serving-soldier suffix on his surname. Cadet no longer.

“The Supreme Commander wishes to speak with you.” The Commandant nodded at the closed door of his office.

N’tho’s mandibles gaped open.

The Supreme Commander of the Fleet of Particular Justice had been the guest of honour at the graduation. A former graduate of the College himself, he had been asked to give a speech to N’tho’s class—something to inspire them to follow in his footsteps.

But why would the Fleetmaster of the Fleet of Particular Justice want to see someone like him? Why not his former consort, Lor’n ‘Malachee, who had graduated at the top of the class?

As N’tho knocked on the office door, the Commandant nodded to him and limped off down the corridor.

“Enter.” The Supreme Commander’s voice was deep, even for a Sangheili.

N’tho obeyed.

Supreme Commander ‘Vadamee was standing behind the Commandant’s desk, back to the room, looking out the Commandant’s window onto the square below. Even from his position, N’tho could see the graduating class milling around below.

‘Vadamee’s position made it seem as though the office belonged to him; he was perfectly at ease and radiating an unquestionable authority. He wore an ornate purple headdress and a matching cloak in the same rich, vibrant colour, the same clothing he had worn at the closing ceremony less than an hour before. N’tho had spent hours polishing his new blue armour, which now looked impossibly grubby next to the Supreme Commander’s robe.

N’tho came to attention and saluted, holding the salute, which the Supreme Commander could not see from his current position. “Minor Domo N’tho ‘Sraomee reporting as requested, sir.”

The Fleetmaster inclined his head, watching N’tho out of the corner of his eye. “At ease, ‘Sraomee. You may close and lock the door.”

Lock? N’tho felt another tremor wriggle down his spine. He fumbled with the latch, willing himself not to be frightened—the Supreme Commander would smell his fear. N’tho succeeded with the lock and hoped he was half as successful with his own self-control as he turned back to the Supreme Commander.

“Come. Join me,” ‘Vadamee beckoned, stretching out an arm.

N’tho stepped forward, hesitantly, then pressed his mandibles together. A Sangheili warrior acted with decisiveness. His next steps were faster, more certain, as he projected a confidence he did not entirely feel until he was standing before the Supreme Commander.

The Commander draped his arm right over N’tho’s shoulders and turned him, bodily, to face the window. N’tho was shocked by the sudden press of the Commander’s side against his own.

“Look,” the Fleetmaster beckoned, gesturing with his other hand to the courtyard. His arm remained over N’tho’s shoulders, heavy and muscular and warm. N’tho could feel the soft caress of the cloak against the back of his neck; the purple hide spilled off the Supreme Commander’s arm and down over N’tho’s side, enveloping N’tho’s arm and curling serpentine around his upper leg.

N’tho did as ordered, watching his brothers below. As he observed, he saw two young warriors—Ta’ak and Xae—slip off into the bushes, holding hands. Others of his classmates were now interacting with the females, some in groups, some in pairs. A handful more stood alone, turning their heads as if searching for someone.

“Is there someone down there who is missing you?” ‘Vadamee asked him.

N’tho swallowed dryly. Earlier this year Lor’n had become his first consort...was consort the right word, when cadets were forbidden from mating by law? Well, they used consort anyway to describe a relationship between students who favoured one another as more than friends.

But his relationship had ended just a week ago, when the cadets had received their final reports. He had not expected his consort to completely lose interest in him once his class was permitted to meet their female counterparts from the Finishing School. That “introduction” had been a thinly veiled excuse to find suitable mates for the graduating females, some of whom would soon be experiencing their first breeding season. Lor’n forgotten all about N’tho once he’d been given the chance to be intimate with a female.

N’tho could see his former consort twined closely around a female from the Finishing School. N’tho couldn’t even remember if it was the female he’d been dumped for, or a different girl.

N’tho wasn’t sure he’d ever actually been in love with Lor’n. Thought he was attractive, definitely. Wanted to fool around with him, oh yes. But love? N’tho wasn’t sure that he’d liked Lor’n as much as he’d liked having a consort, with all the one-on-one attention and social prestige that came with it.

Regardless, being dumped for a female hurt, and the week before graduation, doubly so. Couldn’t Lor’n have waited until afterwards, so that N’tho wasn’t faced with the spectre of being a complete loser on graduation night?

“No, sir,” he whispered. “There’s nobody.”

“Had you been looking forward to sampling the females, then?”

Some of the cadets talked incessantly about females, and breeding, and family lineage, and how they were going to have a hundred sons someday. N’tho—his mother’s first and only child—barely remembered his mother. She had died while birthing an egg when he was very young; he recalled only enough to understand just how much he had lost. While he knew it was his duty to create children, he had no desire to rush into that duty, not now when he was only just become an adult himself. Truth be told, losing his consort to a female had given him a bit of a grudge against the entire gender. He knew his reaction was irrational, but the realization did not make the sentiment disappear.

“I suppose I will sooner or later, sir,” he answered honestly, “but...”

“But?”

N’tho bowed his head. “I don’t know, sir,” he admitted.

“But you don’t understand the depths of some cadets’ fascination with the opposite gender?”

N’tho shrugged. He felt the Supreme Commander’s arm shift with the motion, and forced himself to stand rigid, so as not to shake off his superior and possibly offend him. “My uncles trained me in the mountains. They took turns coming to the camp to see me, rather than raising me in the keep. I don’t think I’ve seen a female my own age up close in...in more years than I can recall.” He held his tongue about hiding in the back of his pack during the recent visit to the Finishing School, avoiding both Lor’n and the females. “And I don’t particularly feel I’m missing anything at this point in my life, so...I believe your summary is correct, sir.”

“Ah.” Did the Commander sound approving? Understanding? “So, you planned to spend the night’s celebrations with a group of your battle brothers, then?”

N’tho was silent. Confessing plans for naked, drunken sexual experimentation in the nearby forests was not an appropriate topic of discussion between a cadet—or even a Minor Domo—and a Fleet Commander. And it wasn’t as though he had plans of any sort, beyond waiting to see what opportunities the evening might offer him.

Or fail to offer. His insides clenched. His chances were narrowing with each moment he spent here.

“Come now,” the Supreme Commander was chiding him. “You are about to join a combat unit made up entirely of males. And as for this evening’s activities, I graduated from this college myself. I remember how graduation night is done.”

N’tho swallowed. “Planned isn’t the right word, sir. I was...open to possibilities. A sister, a brother, whichever. Many of us are looking to pair off. In the absence of such an offer...yes, I suppose I would have gone out to the clearing...do you know the clearing, sir?”

The Supreme Commander favoured him with a smile. “Oh yes. Yes, very well indeed.”

This familiarity was strange, and unsettling.

“N’tho ‘Sraomee.” The Fleetmaster lifted his arm at last and moved away. The cloak whispered over N’tho’s body as its wearer withdrew. N’tho became acutely aware of a shock of cold air against his side where he had been previously pressed against the Commander.

The Supreme Commander moved in front of him, looking him over, blocking his view of the courtyard below.

N’tho finally got a good look at the Fleetmaster up close; he couldn’t not, with the senior Sangheili standing so near, so close he could reach out and touch him if he dared. It was rank, not physical distance, that opened the gulf betwen them.

N’tho was surprised to notice that the Supreme Commander was not as old as he had expected. The Fleetmaster was handsome, and strong, and well-muscled under his armour and jumpsuit, as though he spent his time in battle rather than sitting on the bridge of his flagship. He certainly looked in fine fighting trim; he had not sacrificed one form of prowess for another, not like the Commandant, who had been promoted to his rank at the college when he became too slow to fight in real combat.

Being so close to the Fleetmaster made N’tho’s hearts beat faster.

‘Vadamee was slightly taller than he was; so the caped officer leaned forward to put himself on eye level with N’tho. Their muzzles were bare inches apart. N’tho could feel the Supreme Commander’s breath as a hot whisper on his hide. “You are an adult now, N’tho ‘Sraomee, and empowered to make your own decisions. What I am about to ask you is something to which you must speak your mind. There will be no punishment for you, regardless of the decision you make, so long as your actions are properly respectful. Do you understand?”

N’tho nodded, though he did not entirely trust that there would be no punishment.

“By your word, I would dismiss you, and you could go down there to join your battle brothers or the college sisters.”

Would he even find anyone? How much time had he spent up here? It felt like forever, though it might only have been minutes—but he had watched the other Sangheili pairing off and splitting up. He had a sudden terror of being alone, left behind, a failure who remained a virgin even after graduation night.

Could he find his way to the clearing, alone, as darkness fell?

“Or,” the Supreme Commander said, “you could spend your graduation night here, for a...more private celebration.”

N’tho tilted his head, puzzled. Here? In the Commandant’s office? The notion of such luxury thrilled him, but who would he be celebrating it with...?

Then the Supreme Commander reached out a hand to stroke N’tho on the bottom of his lower mandibles, and suddenly N’tho understood.
No, he had to be mistaken.

But the Fleetmaster was still looking him in the eyes and beginning to smile ever so slightly...

…and ‘Vadamee’s other hand was now resting on N’tho’s hip.

Oh, by the Ancestors, he wasn’t mistaken. N’tho knew his mandibles hung open—he could feel them brushing over ‘Vadamee’s wrist—and he was certain the scent of nervous agitation was rolling off him in waves.

The Fleetmaster’s smile broadened. “You have permission to decline,” he said gently. “Only...choose quickly.”

N’tho forced himself to swallow; his throat was suddenly dry as ash. What choice was there, really? To go down to the courtyard and seek the attention of one of those unwanted ones still left—to spend his graduation night with someone that no other had desired? To go to the clearing and beg the attention of the group would be a better option, even if he might not know the identity of the first one to mount him. But who would choose either of those options when he could claim his adulthood in the company of someone like Supreme Commander ‘Vadamee?

He ducked his head and leaned forward until the end of his muzzle brushed the Supreme Commander’s chest. “I would spend it here, sir.” ‘Sroam flushed. He could feel his cheeks purpling. “Except…”

The Commander’s body drew away from him. He blinked and saw ‘Vadamee looking down at him. The Fleetmaster reached out, gripping N’tho’s lower jaws in his powerful hand. “Except?” He cocked an eye ridge, looking not particularly amused.

N’tho hung his head, or tried to, but the Commander’s hold kept it from descending much at all. “You do know, sir, my final evaluation was barely above average.”

“I read your file.”

“I do not mean to question you, Your Excellency.”

‘Vadamee snorted. “But you do. You wonder why I chose you out of all of them.” He released ‘Sraomee and gestured towards the parade square below.

Of course N’tho wondered, particularly as his eyes followed the sweep of the Fleetmaster’s hand. But did the answer truly matter? He was the one standing next to the Supreme Commander now.

N’tho drew a ragged. “My curiosity is not relevant. I would have you, sir,” he whispered, “be my first.”

Thel’s arms encircled him, strong and reassuring. “Your first?” the Supreme Commander murmured. “Really.”

“Sir?” What was ‘Vadamee trying to get him to admit to? “We aren’t allowed to breed while underage.” Stupid, stupid…of course the Supreme Commander already knew that…

But the Fleetmaster was regarding him with some amusement. “And you listened?”

“I’m a dedicated warrior, sir. My consort, he pestered me, but I couldn’t say yes. It’d be…wrong.”

“Consort?” the Supreme Commander growled. “I thought you were available.”

“I am.” N’tho bowed his head. “My former consort considered my loyalty to the rules less that appealing. Meanwhile, there was a young female who was more than willing to bend those rules to please him.”

“Hence your questioning my choice now.”

N’tho stood silent.

The Supreme Commander took N’tho’s head in both hands and dipped his muzzle to N’tho’s earbud. “Listen to me now, N’tho ‘Sraomee. Loyalty can sometimes be its own reward.” He smirked. “I will not lie to you. There are many in our number who would cut down a battle brother to promote themselves. The Covenant has only partially tempered our old ambitions, our old thirst for conquest, and our species’ age-old struggle for dominance over one another as well as over our surroundings. Some of our number still devote themselves to this internal combat; others are wise enough to value loyalty where it can be found.”

N’tho did not know how to react to this pronouncement. He stood there, confused, as the Fleetmaster looked him up and down.

‘Vadamee finished his inspection and smiled. “What I see before me now pleases me very much.”

N’tho purpled as the blood rushed to his cheeks, but he also felt a flush of pride. “Thank you, sir.”

The Supreme Commander chuckled to himself as he set his hands on N’tho’s shoulders. “Oh, don’t thank me yet. You will have much more to thank me for soon enough.”

‘Sraomee bowed his head. “I am yours to…instruct, Your Excellency.”