by Garon Whited
Tauta, 25th Day of Milaskir
Shortly before dawn, Leisel knocked on the door of my workroom. I suspect she sensed the diminishing of magical force as I completed my latest enchanted, light-emitting pebble. Her timing was too perfect.
“All done?” she asked.
“Yes. I may have more lamps than you need, but you’ll need them all eventually, I guess.”
“No doubt.”
“Did you get any sleep?”
“A little. I wanted to catch you before you did anything unpredictable today.”
“Oh? Like what?”
“Like vanish to the warmeet in Sarashda.”
“I’m not sure I’m going. I have other things I could be doing. Don’t we expect a bunch of priests to show up?”
“Three. A triskarte from the Temple in Sarashda. As your vidat, I can handle them in your absence.”
“You’re sure?” I asked, and Leisel visibly restrained herself from rolling her eyes.
“Yes, I’m sure. I’m also sure I don’t want you here while they are.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re a warrior, a wizard, a virazu, and a Mazhani, all at once, possibly a demon, and the gods alone know what else. Now is not the time for them to be asking questions along those lines. We want them to come, look around, and go away.”
“What’s a virazu?”
“The male version of a varazu.”
“Which is…?”
Leisel explained. A virazu is a professional male prostitute. In some respects, it’s a high-priced courtesan with a clear emphasis on bedroom sports, but included more than sex. Think of a professional escort who makes house calls.
“Think I could make a living at it?” I asked, curious.
“No. Well, maybe. The word of mouth on your tongue would get around. You could use some lessons in the finer points of entertaining a woman, though.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m not trying to offend, but I won’t lie to you. You make a woman happy, but you’re not a professional.” She cocked her head in thought. “You know, if you were willing to take some lessons, you might be able to add another occupation to your list.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Good. Now, go ahead to the warmeet,” she advised. “You can take some guards with you and gauge the mood of the council of nine.”
“I can?”
“You can take people with you, can’t you?”
“Yeah, but I meant the part about gauging their mood. If I’m beating on people at a warmeet, the council isn’t my first priority.”
“And you’ll have guards who can do it for you while everyone is watching you.”
“Huh. All right. But if I’m going to the warmeet, I have to finish setting up the closet and put Renata in it.”
Leisel’s face was a study in surprise. I grinned at her.
“It’s a magical closet,” I clarified. “It’s like a magic wardrobe in some ways, but with fewer lions.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Trust me, it’s for the best. Let me get a couple of details worked out while you get Renata and… oh, she gave me a name…”
Illaria, Firebrand supplied, as Leisel said the same thing.
“Right, her. They’re about to depart and then I’ll depart.”
“Do you have any instructions about the kustoni women?”
“Not really. Treat them well, feed them well, show them everything a woman might want—and we can provide—and let nature take its course. I’ll take them home when you feel they’re ready, but don’t tell them that.”
“Of course not.”
“And maybe keep them away from the priests. If the priests aren’t as neutral as we hope, or if they’re blabbermouths, the presence of kustoni might get someone to thinking we’re friendly with them, which we don’t want them thinking. At least, not yet.”
“Do I have a head injury?”
“No?”
“Then I’m not stupid enough to tell the triskarte anything. I’ll send for Renata and Illaria.”
“Thanks.”
I added a couple of subroutines to the shift-closet. I wanted Renata and Illaria to be able to come back anytime they ran into local trouble. Police? Burglar? Hurricane off the Gulf? Tidal wave? Or simply out of cash? Whatever, they should be able to return simply by stepping in and closing the door.
But while they were over there, I wanted the connection to cut, not simply go on hold through a micro-gate. If they hit a nice time-skip forward, Renata would have a baby born and in her arms as soon as I went to the trouble of clicking on her universe repeatedly. They might come back sooner to let me know my crossbow designs were ready. It didn’t matter if only a second passed here since they could control the transit.
The trick was to make sure one didn’t come back for instructions and strand the other for a thousand years while she was here. So, when the booths triggered from their end, there would be a micro-gate connection until someone went back. I had to set that up and test it to make sure it performed as expected. It did, but it necessitated a temporary disconnect from my supply Earth. When I reconnected and looked, the clock on the wall was roughly where it was before, but it didn’t display the date. The weather outside looked much the same, so it was the same time of year, at least…
I gave it some thought while showering for the sunrise. It should be sufficient. Hang around the house, do whatever you like, and come back if you need anything. It’s not like they were all that far away. We would be literally just down the hall.
Renata and Illaria were attentive to my instructions and advice. I sent them back and forth through the shift-booth so they could see how it operated. It’s too simple to accept, sometimes. Close a door and open it again, poof, somewhere else. The brain doesn’t like it. They adapted, though, and disappeared into the Republic of Texas.
They didn’t immediately return with a baby. Well, I’d fiddle with the relative time-streams later, if necessary. Besides, I didn’t want my engineers thinking I’d forgotten them.
Down in the shift-barn, the supplies were already hauled out and put away. Since I already had a wire gate mounted on the wall, I had my bodyguards meet us there while I fetched the tyrannosaur skull. I recognized Velina and Tessera, but not the other two. Bronze took her position in the middle, I sat on her, and the guards each stood next to a leg.
“How’s this big circle-thing work?” Tessera asked, eyeing the wire embedded in the barn wall.
“The magic wire will act like a scrying mirror,” I told her. “When you see the image of a place appear in it, step through and we’ll be in the place, itself.”
“So, magic wire, magic door?”
“Pretty much. Just stay with Bronze when she steps forward and everything will be fine.”
She didn’t seem entirely pleased with it, but she accepted it. I, on the other hand, spent some of the charge from one of my larger power crystals to open a point-to-point gate. It was the standard size for riding through—meaning “huge and expensive”—but it was in the same universe and had a target locus. The main tunnels through the arena where they hold the warmeet were large enough for Bronze, although the side tunnels up into the stands weren’t. I used my pocket mirror to aim for one of the structural arches inside and waited until the tunnel was clear. I opened the gate and we all stepped smartly through.
The gate closed behind us and I heard someone let out a huge breath.
“Don’t sweat it,” I advised into the dimness. “It can be disorienting the first time.”
“Do we have to do it again to go back?”
“Yes.” I failed to mention I’d be casting a gate spell on the way back. Let them think my “magic wire” could be used remotely.
I dismounted and realized we didn’t bring lunch. I really need to plan ahead. I also owed Hazir for last time. So I sent one of my bodyguards to buy lunch—a lot of lunch. Like, several street vendors and all their wares. We migh
t as well feed everyone. Goodwill in Sarashda couldn’t be a bad thing during a vendetta.
The rest of us went into the arena, two of them carrying the toothy trophy. Hazir wasn’t there, yet, but I more than half-recognized the other warriors. A few raised their hands in greeting. I returned the gesture as my bodyguards found us a bench. The ladies put the skull down on the sand nearby. One of my greeters came over and, since he didn’t have a weapon drawn, the ladies let him.
“Hail and well-met, Al of House Lucard,” he said, and we traded the ritual high-five. He didn’t announce himself with his name, since we’d already met.
“Hello. I’m sorry, but I don’t want to mispronounce your name.”
“Zanthar, of House Olanthor.”
“Zanthar,” I repeated. “Aren’t you the one I flipped and disarmed?”
His broad face split in a gap-toothed grin.
“I’m pleased you remember. I was wondering if we could practice that move again? I don’t think I have it right.”
“Happy to. We have a few minutes.”
“Before we do, may I ask about that?” he asked, nodding toward the tyrannosaur skull.
“Did you know Huron?”
“Of Lonoseer? Yes.”
“His final employment was with me, hunting monsters.” I jerked a thumb at the grinning skull. “We went after one of those. He died to kill it, as he intended.”
Zanthar moved a couple of steps to stand over it, hands held behind his back to avoid touching it. He shook his head in wonder.
“I always respected Huron,” he observed, “and I obviously didn’t respect him enough. It’s bound for the Temple?”
“Yup.”
“May we have it on a bench? Others will want to see.”
“Sure.” So we moved it onto a bench. Warriors lined up to see it. Professional interest? Or something like paying one’s respects? Maybe a bit of both.
Zanthar and I, along with the warriors who were finished ogling the bones, worked on improving their form with one type of hip-throw. I found myself teaching quite a number of people how to do it, in fact, and adding elaborations.
“Once you break his balance and have him on the way to the ground, you can keep hold of his hand,” I pointed out, moving slowly through the maneuver with a willing victim. “He’s now on the ground, but I still have his sword-hand. It’s a simple matter to step around it, still holding on, and twist, so.” I took the wooden sword from his hand and helped him up. “Now you do it.”
I also had a few private words with each person I worked with. Not a general announcement, only a quiet comment whenever I helped someone up or accepted help.
“If you’re not employed, talk to me after. I have a siege to lift.”
The response was mostly raised eyebrows and silence. I like it when people can control their curiosity and their mouths.
Hazir came in with his servants while I was demonstrating. He moved to a bench and watched, clearly amused. We didn’t get a chance to talk before someone blew a horn and the formalities started. Everyone circled up while the council of nine—someone already moved up into Tobar’s empty seat—looked down on us.
I recalled the suggestion I bring back some kids. There was one up for adoption, but I didn’t try for him. I’m not against it, but I still think we should wait until after the active vendetta is over. We already had some adoptions to the valley, but I suppose it’s not my call.
Business went as usual, but I noticed a trend. Among the warriors, I think I’m fairly well-respected and possibly even liked. I think it has to do with being a First willing to get dirty, fancy armor and all, with the real warriors. I kept my mouth shut and smiled at everyone who looked my way. I also took note of who tried not to look at me, or dropped their eyes, or openly stared. They might be working for Sarcana or an allied House.
When the challenge period started, my three bodyguards—the fourth wasn’t back, yet—each took a turn excusing themselves to challenge their respective next-highest rung on the ladder. They won, too. Velina did so with a vicious smile. Tessera with a happy laugh and a quick, easy victory. Up in the stands, the privileged few spectating were mixed in their reactions. Quite a lot of them were unhappy about the victories. I couldn’t tell if they were family members, gamblers, or belonged to Sarcana.
Nobody challenged for my position in the hierarchy of Sarcana’s warriors. My position still changed, however—twice, in fact. A plate-armored warrior came up to me as I sat down on the bench, in the shade, between Hazir and the skull. I recognized him. Osric pointed him out, once, as the man directly above me in rank.
“Ivellar of Balladan,” he said.
“Al of Lucard.” Again the ceremonial high-five.
“I am twentieth of the First,” Ivellar went on. “You are twenty-first.”
“I thought I was twenty-second?”
“Tobar is no more, so all have risen.”
“Ah. Makes sense. What can I do for you, Ivellar?”
“Accept my surrender.”
“I accept your surrender,” I told him, and wondered what it meant. I found out when he marched into the center of the arena, held his crested helmet in the crook of one arm, and signaled someone to blow a horn. Practice stopped and everyone looked at him.
“Al of House Lucard, twenty-first of the First of Sarashda, is a more capable warrior than I,” he declared. “I should be cast down and he lifted up, so I surrender my rank to him, accepting the rank of twenty-first, beneath him.”
Without another word, he turned and marched out of the arena. Everyone watched him go. Practice resumed, gradually, amid a hubbub of commentary.
“When’s the last time someone surrendered?” I asked Hazir.
“I do not recall. It is a rare thing.”
“Is Ivellar in trouble?”
“He is somewhat disgraced,” Hazir admitted, “yet he is also to be commended. His rank is diminished, but his honor is the greater, if you see what I mean.”
“Respect him for telling the truth, even if it’s an embarrassing truth?”
“Something like that. Enough. How have you been? I have wondered.”
“Oh, you know how it is. Find a valley, start some mines, clear some land, plant some seeds, build some houses, anger a House, start a vendetta, endure a siege—pretty normal, all things considered.” Hazir chuckled at my litany, thinking it a joke. “How have you been?” I went on.
“Well. I enjoy my work, for the most part. Let us return to this siege of which you speak.”
“What about it?”
“Your home is surrounded?”
“No, no. They have a blocking force keeping supply wagons from coming into the valley.”
“Ah. Did you escape before they were emplaced?”
“No, I went around them. They’re only a blocking force, not a full perimeter.” I went on to explain the layout and Hazir nodded his understanding.
“Will you surrender?”
“Not today.”
“Speaking of surrender,” he went on, more quietly.
“Yes?” I encouraged, also lowing my voice.
“There are those who believe you would be a worthy addition to the council of nine.”
“It’s a long way to go from here,” I objected.
“You are twentieth. Ten places stand between you and the council.”
I felt a cold sensation. Partly because he was right—I was surprisingly close to a position of authority—and partly because I was so close to being sucked into a local political struggle.
Then I realized I was my own House, had a vendetta going on, and was in the middle of a de facto war while attempting to establish diplomatic relations with a foreign power—the barbarians. Add in the formal visit from the Temple scheduled for today and I was more involved in politics than I thought.
My comment was somewhat vulgar, but Hazir took it in stride.
“Are you interested in a seat on the council?”
“No.”
&nb
sp; “I thought not. You do not seem to be as ambitious as some I could name.”
“Good. Why does anyone want me on the warriors’ council, anyway?”
“After.”
I nodded. We’d talk after the warmeet.
“I do have a request, however, if you will indulge me,” he added.
“You can request anything. I might not agree.”
“Would you challenge Thurin of Gazlin?”
“Is he nineteenth?”
“Yes.”
“Can I do that once the challenges are over and practice is started?”
“A challenge may be issued at any time during a warmeet. Most do not challenge after they have worn their edge in practice. As members of the First, of course, we seldom exert ourselves so. And a surrender is not a challenge, so you are not limited to a single rank today.”
“Is this part of someone’s agenda to put me on the council of nine?”
“Yes.”
I thought about it. I didn’t know what Hazir wanted, or even if Hazir was the one wanting anything. He obviously believed it was a good idea, though, and I liked him. If someone wanted me on the council for a damn good reason—a good reason to me—I might decide to do it. If so, I wouldn’t want to waste any time. If not, I would still be nine challenges away from a council seat.
“Fine,” I sighed. “Where is he?”
Hazir nodded toward him. Thurin was a broad-shouldered man with a short beard, medium height, with the usual dark skin and eyes. His helm was done in some sort of predatory fish motif. I didn’t recognize the fish, but it was toothy and sharp-finned. I wouldn’t want to hold the helmet without gauntlets, much less hold the actual fish. Thurin sipped something from a goblet and handed it back to his cup-bearer, chuckling the while at his companion—another First, from the armor, but I didn’t know his name.
The thought struck me that I’d never seen a female First. Because their fighting style didn’t lend itself to plate armor? Or because plate armor was heavy and handicapped them? Women do have, on average, less muscle mass, but all the ones I’ve seen in the warrior caste look quite capable of wearing it effectively. Maybe it’s the fighting style? Regardless of their strength, they tend to favor a faster, more agile technique. If I dug up enough aluminum or titanium we might equalize the playing field.
