by Mark Eller
"Hear! Hear!" Kim seconded.
"Then it's up to Harvest to stop the war and make everybody happy," Aaron said reasonably.
Patton frowned. "Winning the war is what Melna was leading up to. If things go as planned, we can win with only a twenty or thirty percent loss. The ideas Melna showed me are absolutely─"
Aaron broke in. "Wrong, they are absolutely wrong."
"But you haven't even seen them yet!"
"I don't have to. If people are dying, then your plans are wrong." He indicated the watching Chins. "Tell me, why do our people answer to you quicker than they do me?"
Patton looked around, seeing the gathered Chins watching. He saw scars, twisted lips, a missing nose…and then he saw a woman with a large dent in one side of her skull.
Patton released a small laugh. "Because I can beat them up with a stick?"
"Because you proved yourself better than their best," Aaron corrected. "You're the first man to win the T'chung in living memory, and the only foreign born one. They respect your prowess like they could never respect mine. It's one reason Clack's Chins broke away. Helmut Kline proved himself in single combat. So did Clack. I never did except with a gun, and guns don't count. Set up a challenge for tomorrow. Beat their best, and the empire will be reunited.
Melna nodded. "It might work. It really might." She looked worried. "Or you might get killed."
Aaron pushed his way past them. Kim followed, a shadow on his heels. He started walking toward a still unclaimed tent, paused, and turned back. "Harvest, I'm sure you remember the man you pulled over the wall. Armand Crowley. His wife is named Faith, and she's out there with the mob. Take care of them. Set them up in a house. Another woman is with Faith. Make sure she stays away from me."
Patton stared while Aaron Turner walked away. Kim strode exactly half a pace behind.
"Well," Melna asked. "How does it feel to be emperor?"
"Same game, different title," Patton answered. "He tells me what to do, and I do it."
"That's the way it usually works out," Melna noted. "Aaron often thinks other people make all the decisions, but they generally do what he wants." Releasing his hand, she gave him a sad smile. "I'll see about organizing some sort of relief effort. Why don't you get extra tents set up, some food prepared, and send somebody over to tell the mob they're welcome to come inside as soon as we're ready? Get that Faith person and her husband assigned a house. Oh, and find yourself a big stick. You'll need it."
She left, but not so soon she missed hearing Patton mutter. "Aaron's not the only one who gets what they want."
* * *
"This is a perfect example of the power to be found by having the right connections," Armand called out from the bedroom.
"Yes, dear," Faith answered from the far side of the closed door. She remained in the sitting room, cleaning up from their evening of celebration, which in this case meant carrying two empty glasses and a half-filled bottle of Runeburg Red into the kitchen.
After removing his clothing, Armand posed in front of the bedroom mirror. All in all, he approved because he appeared both muscular and thin. The recent walk and substandard rations had taken care of his growing paunch. A little gray showed in the hair on his chest, belly, and further south, but what did it matter? Gray hair only proved he'd lived long enough to know what to do.
He tried flexing his chest muscles, but all he got in return was a slight wiggle. So okay, maybe his body needed a little work there.
"Best house in town," he called to Faith. "Accommodations are thin everywhere, but we got an entire house to ourselves. Don't even have to put it on our expense account. Can it get better than this?"
Opening the door, Faith stood still for a moment while taking in his pose. Armand looked back. Faith was absolutely gorgeous in the cast-off pants and a faded workman's shirt somebody found for her. Her clothes might not be the latest fashion, but they were clean and didn't smell. He also appreciated the fact her unfastened shirt displayed Faith's cleavage along with her perfectly cute belly button. Enjoying the view, Armand cast a small prayer of thanks to the One God for the bottle of Runeburg. When drunk, Faith owned few inhibitions. She didn't have many when sober, either.
Faith grinned. "I've seen better bodies, but it's been a while. Several years of monotony can have that effect. I'm sorry, I meant monogamy."
Armand turned so she could get a good look at his manly reflex. He frowned. Needed a little work there, too. His reflex wasn't quite as evident as it had been ten years earlier. Before long, he would have to cut back on either sex or drinking, and damn if he knew which would be worse.
"There's a cure for such boredom. It's called divorce, sweets," he said. "All the latest rage. You might want to try it sometime, and aren't you a bit overdressed for the occasion?"
"What occasion, and I'm not in favor of divorce. I prefer Brenda's solution. If I want a new husband, I'll murder the old one first. I noticed a fellow named Lorn earlier today. He looked tasty."
Doing a half turn, Armand leaped onto the softest damn bed he had ever jumped into. The sheets were so slick he almost slid off.
Turning on his side, he patted the bed. "You're over-dressed for this occasion, dahlin'. I've nasty evil plans for you."
Shaking her head, Faith casually leaned a shoulder against the doorframe. "Nope."
"What!"
"Not in the mood. Been thinking about shoveling coal while you lazed around. Besides I'm upset with you for another thing. Look around. We've been together almost sixteen years, and in all that time have you found a second wife? Noooo. You haven't even tried. How do you think it makes me feel? Who is there to help me with the housework, the cooking, and taking care of the children? Nobody. And will you pick up the slack? Another no."
Hoping, Armand patted the bed again, but hesitantly because he wasn't sure he liked this game. "Faith, me love, you don't cook, don't do housework, and don't do anything else domestic. We hire people. An' I'm pretty sure we don't have kids. I'd have noticed them running around if we did. Besides, sweetums, every woman pales in comparison to you."
"Can't argue with you there," Faith agreed. "It's become apparent you haven't been looking so I picked out a prospect of my own.
Swallowing, Armand glanced down to see his manly reflex had become not quite so manly. He looked back up just as Faith stepped through the doorway and moved to the side. Another woman entered the bedroom. He noticed she wore no clothes. He also noticed she owned incredibly blue eyes and spectacular breasts.
Armand groaned. "Heshel? What are you doing here?"
"I'm spending the night with my future co-wife and her husband," Heshel replied. "Isn't this exciting? I knew you liked looking at my boobs, but I never suspected you wanted to marry me. Faith explained it all. Told me how you're too shy to say how you feel, and how you have a few performance problems and how those are sometimes common with older men, though I really don't think you're old. Well, not very old. Faith says you admire me for lots more than my boobs. She says you like me because I ask lots of questions and because I know everything about everybody. Who would have thought following a fake prophet could bring the three of us something so good? My papa will be so excited. You just have to meet him."
While she droned on, Armand stared past his smirking wife. Listening to the totally mindless Heshel, Armand despaired of his future. Glancing down at his manhood, he saw it was every bit as depressed as he felt.
After several minutes, a miracle occurred. Heshel shut up. Of course, by the time she did Armand was intimately familiar with her second mother's brother's brother-in-law's third cousin and with every family member in-between.
"Dahlin'," Armand said. "Much as I'm fascinated by your family, an' much as I'm ready for anything you got to deliver, I need one little favor out of you."
"Sure, pudding, what does my widdle baby want?"
Armand knew his forced grin was more of a grimace. "Sweetheart, I need a little something to fire me up. There's a bottle or
two of Runeburg in the kitchen. Could you fetch 'em for me?"
"Sure!"
Heshel bounced out of the bedroom, proving her behind view was every bit as good as her front one. Armand thought it a damn shame a woman could look so good and be so stupid.
Faith sat in the plush chair set before the bedroom's lone window, her shirt fully fastened, one leg casually crossed over the other, and her hands folded on her knees.
"You know damned well you just took our games too far," Armand told her.
"Maybe with her," Faith agreed, "but if it's not her, it will be somebody else." She patted her stomach. "Now I won't hire a nanny, and I won't give up my career, so unless you want to become a house husband, I need a co-wife. I won't quit my job to raise our kid."
Armand grabbed his pants and pulled them on. "House husband! I'll never be a house husband. Good God, woman, what kind of man do you think I--did you just say our kid?"
"I believe I did," Faith replied. "I'd like to say I'm surprised, but I'm not. I asked a fellow named Doc Gunther to have a little look at me before we left Isabella. He's a fellow with a Talent Stone who dropped by N'Ark looking for Aaron before heading back out to the Clan lands. We chatted for a bit, and then he did something to put my plumbing to rights."
Heshel sauntered into the room, holding a wine bottle in one hand and two glasses in the other. She handed them to Faith. "Here you go, Mistress Crowley. Thanks for letting me have some fun." She looked to Armand. "Did you seriously think I was interested in you? You're way too old, and you need glasses."
Grinning, she turned and left, still without clothes, still looking pretty damn good.
Faith held up the bottle. "Our special bottle of Runeburg Gold. I carried this all the way from home because I suspected we'd have something to celebrate. Now, are you going to help me drink this, or do I have to drink it all myself. Either way, it's getting drunk tonight because I had a hell of a time protecting it while we were with the horde."
Armand rehinged his jaw. "Dahlin', you better set the bottle down and come over here. I have wicked, nasty plans for you.
"Purrrrr," Faith replied.
Chapter 25
Two days later Yan Chuk threw a fast strike towards Patton's right knee. Patton took a quick half step back, but the blow still grazed his right leg, ripping a hole in his pants.
Eyes narrowed, Patton glided forward, his stick moving almost too quick to see.
Yan Chuk blocked a blow to her side, ducked beneath a quick jab at her forehead, and stopped when wood connected with her thigh.
After taking a sip of fresh water from his hip flask, Armand jabbed an elbow into his wife's ribs. "Exciting stuff, doncha know. My money's on the woman."
"Your money better be on Harvest Patton," Faith shot back. "If he loses, we're at war tomorrow, and you know as well as I do it's a war we can't win now that Aaron's allowed the enemy inside."
"Hmmm," Armand responded, but he could not stop a secretive smile.
Faith shot him an angry glare. "You know something. Come on. Give!"
"Well, the dear man has won seventeen bouts in a row. It only seems right he loses one, especially since he must be exhausted.
"Do you want to die?" Faith threatened as Brenda Montpass weaved toward them through the throng of watching Chins."
Armand chucked his wife lovingly beneath her chin. Brenda stopped before them. Eyes alight, she breathed heavy, which meant her chest did lots of entertaining things. Armand paid particular attention to those things because Faith watched, but there was no fun in it now. She knew him for a fraud.
"I didn't see you until just now." Brenda said. She watched the fight for a few moments and winced. "Ow. That hurt. Um, I just spoke to the ex and maybe future empress. She filled me in on what's happening."
Faith gave Armand a hard look. "And just what is happening? My dear husband is keeping me in the dark."
Brenda laughed. "Why am I not surprised? The war's over. Doesn't matter which way the fight goes." She gestured toward the combatants. "All we're determining now is if there's going to be an Emperor Patton or Empress Chuk. Either way, every contestant agreed to follow Mister Turner's plans for the city and university." She peered around. "Where's Heshel?"
Faith shrugged. "Don't know. The powers that be separated us. We'll ask Aaron when we meet him later today."
Brenda quirked an eyebrow. "Can I come with?"
"Don't see why not," Armand butted in. "Afterwards, maybe you and me can get together for a little canoodling, if you know what I mean."
Laughing, Brenda twirled a strand of hair with one finger. "Ya think? I've only had sex with one man, and I killed him. Wanna be number two?"
"Maybe not," Armand temporized.
"Just as well. I'm sort of saving myself."
Simultaneous groans and cheers caught Armand's attention. Turning his eyes back to the contest, he released his own groan.
Patton was down. Blood ran across his face, and he no longer held a stick.
Yan Chuk struck again and again, raising dust from the ground while Patton rolled and twisted away from her blows. He flipped to his back, paused as Yan's stick came down, and then grabbed its end between his hands. When Yan tried to jerk it free, she only pulled Patton to his feet.
Patton released his hold, dropped, and leg swept Yan Chuk. Yan fell, twisted, and was up again, her stick held ready.
Harvest Patton waited with his retrieved stick in hand. Blood ran into his left eye. He was clearly on his last legs.
Yan Chuk looked much worse.
Scowling, Yan rushed in, stumbled, and then the contest was over.
Harvest looked at his broken stick with unbelieving eyes. Yan lay at his feet, scalp bleeding, unmoving.
"Not good," Brenda whispered, but then Yan stirred, moved, and raised her hand. Shaking his head, Ard moved forward to grasp his sister's arm and help her rise.
"Looks like we have a rejoined empire," Armand said happily. "Our job is done."
"Rejoining the empire was not our job," Faith reminded him. "Besides, we had nothing to do with it. All we did was watch."
Armand grinned. "So? Our bosses don't have to know that. Grab credit for everything good and slip the blame whenever you can. Do it my way, and you'll go far."
"Not when I have you anchoring me down." Faith tapped his arm. "Let's go see the former emperor."
* * *
Aaron sat behind his desk in the town hall and stared two surly women down. After taking a couple days to recover from his showdown with the Prophet, it was back to business no matter how much he disliked it. Patton, after a day of battle wasn't in any shape to deal with settling the remaining mass into quarters. At least he knew Faith and Crowley had spent the last few nights in a comfortable house, but their time alone was now over.
The women glared at him, their imperious expressions demanding he give in to their wills. One, a middle-aged dark-haired woman named Borland, wore a condescending smile. It was the type of smile often given to those too ignorant to understand life's more serious matters. The Lundy woman, blond, statuesque, and starvation thin, appeared angry.
"You don't understand," Borland said slowly, as if she were trying to get an obvious point across to a moron. "We two are not like those others. Tents and blankets thrown on the ground suits them well enough since most have never known better. Miss Lundy and I run multi-million silver conglomerates. We employ thousands and live in extensive mansions, so tents will not do. Tents put us on their level."
"We require a small mansion at the least, if nothing better is available," Lundy snapped, "or preferably, separate suites within the emperor's castle with a staff provided to see to our needs. We demand ready access to the emperor so he can consult us about future trading opportunities. Nothing else will do."
Leaning forward, she shoved her face close to Aaron's. "Do we make ourselves clear? Must we bring your incompetence to the emperor's attention?"
Nodding, Aaron gestured to Kim. "Please have som
eone show them their assigned tent."
Lundy slammed a clenched fist down on his desk, making papers jump. "Gods damn you! Stand up when you are addressed by your betters!"
"Mistress Borland," a voice said from the doorway. "Mistress Lundy, why am I not surprised to find you here?"
Aaron looked to the door and stilled. Cold shock ran through his body, shivered through his bones, and settled in the pit of his belly.
Spinning on her heels, Lundy pointed an accusing finger. "Montpass and the Crowley's. Why am I not surprised to find you three here?"
"Probably because you know you're butting in where you don't belong," Armand answered. "Mister Turner, may I introduce you to the two most irritatingly snobby bitches it has ever been my displeasure to meet. If I had the choice between them and those slavers you and I once encountered, I'd take the slavers."
Hissing, Mistress Borland stalked towards Crowley, but Lundy caught her sleeve.
"Did you say Mister Turner?" Her eyes fastened on Aaron. "Aaron Turner?"
"The same," Aaron answered. He nodded toward Kim and spoke in Chin. "Get rid of them. Assign them a tent near the pits if no place more odious can be found."
Grinning, Kim pulled a knife from her belt, pointed at the women, and gestured toward the door.
Taking the hint, Borland and Lundy straightened regally and stamped outside. Their dignified exit was ruined when Armand slapped Lundy's butt.
"Kinda bony," he observed.
Lundy gave him a steady look. "We'll address this later."
Armand shook his head. "Nah. I like my women with more meat and less attitude."
After they left, Armand faced his wife's steady stare.
Faith quirked an eyebrow. "More meat? Less attitude?"
Armand released a boyish grin. "That's for lesser women, doncha know. Yer backside is deliciously proportioned, yer belly is delightfully full, an' yer attitude is what makes you so delectable."
"My belly," she said, "is not delightfully full. It is merely pregnant. Hello, Aaron."
