Blood Ties tw-9

by Robert Lynn Asprin

She gave him her look of mock-innocence, picked up his mug, and drained the contents. "But I did want to talk about Tempus," she replied. "At least about a proposal Tempus suggested to me."

  She crooked a finger, beckoning him close again. "Your Riddler wants me to seize control of your PFLS. He thinks I can shape it into an adequate defense force to replace his Stepsons and the 3rd Commando when he leads them out of Sanctuary."

  A hint of red colored Zip's cheeks. He straightened, took a step away from her. "You play dangerous games, Rankan." His eyes glinted. "So you'll just take over? You think it's that easy?" He chuckled at her.

  She threw a fist at his face. Zip raised an arm to block it. But her move was only a feint. Chenaya caught his rising arm at the elbow, tugged, and kicked his foot when he tried to catch his balance. Zip fell heavily, stunned. She straddled him, sat on his chest, and brought one of her boot daggers to rest at his throat.

  Then, she smiled at Zip, and suddenly her lips crushed down on his. There was power in her kiss; it didn't surprise her at all when he began to return it. She sat up, wiped her mouth, grinning.

  "Just that easy. Zip, my love," she told him. "And Tempus knows it. That's why he approached me." She tangled her hand through his hair and kissed him again.

  When she sat up, the point of her blade flashed downward to bite deeply into the boards near Zip's ear. She left it quivering there while she loosened the laces at the neck of his dirty tunic. "But I'm not interested in running your little social club," she whispered, "and what Tempus wants is unimportant." She dragged her nails teasingly over the exposed portion of his chest. "However, I have some proposals of my own. Would you like to hear them?"

  His eyes reflected so much: uncertainty, defiance, curiosity, lust-all half hidden behind a facade of nonchalance. Zip drew a breath. "Get the frog off of me." The knife was still there by his ear. He could have gone for it-his eyes slid that way-but he didn't.

  She patted his cheek. "Soon, lover, when we have an agreement. But right now. Mama Becho is going to bring us a couple more drinks, right. Mama?"

  The old proprietor said nothing, but waddled over with two mugs of bad wine. It was too far for her to bend over and place them on the floor, so Chenaya reached up to accept them. Mama Becho grumbled incoherently and backed away.

  "I'm supposed to drink from here?" Zip asked caustically.

  Chenaya moved one of the mugs near to his head, dipped a finger in it, and held it to his lips. After a moment's hesitation, Zip's tongue poked out and licked away the red droplets, their gazes remaining locked all the while.

  "I know the funds from your Nisi supporters have dried up lately." Chenaya dipped her finger again and held it for him to suck. "The PFLS needs money, like any group, and I've got plenty of that. We've also got mutual enemies, so it's only natural that we should join our efforts." She paused long enough to swallow a draught from her own cup. "You want to free Sanctuary from the Rankans and Beysibs." She tapped his chest. "I want to drive out the Beysibs, too. But it looks like I've got to get rid of a Rankan to do that."

  One of Zip's men slipped through the door and made a move toward his leader. A throwing star flashed briefly through a random sunbeam that spilled through a crack in the ceiling and thunked into the wall. The man leaped back. Chenaya clucked her tongue and wagged her finger, and he leaned uncomfortably against the doorjamb.

  "Kadakithis?" Zip guessed. "But isn't he your cousin?"

  She spat. "He's going to marry that fish-eyed slut, Shupan-sea, in defiance of Rankan law. Bad enough that he allowed them to land here without a fight. Bad enough that he beds the silly carp. But to marry one? To make her part of the royal family, a princess of Ranke?" She spat again. "Blood is only so thick, lover."

  "I'd 'preciate it if ye'd stop that," Mama Becho snapped. "Someone's gotter mop up when yer gone now."

  Zip shifted beneath her, locking his hands together behind his head, an arm cocked around her dagger. He tried to look innocent and almost achieved it. But his face was full of suspicion. "All right, lover," he mocked her. "What you got in mind?"

  She pulled the dagger from the floorboards and returned it to her boot, rose, and extended a hand to help Zip to his feet. Unsurprisingly, he declined her offer and got up on his own. He made a show of brushing Mama Becho's dust from his clothing.

  "Tomorrow night," she told him, "meet me with as many of your men as you have the entire PFLS-at the old stables near the granaries."

  Zip frowned, bent down, and picked up the mug of wine that yet remained on the floor. He turned it in his hands without drinking. "That's right across from the dungeons."

  Chenaya taunted him with a nasty grin. "Don't get nervous, Zip. I heard you were a man of action. Well, action is what I'm going to give you." Let him interpret that as he wished, she thought wickedly. "I happen to own the guard who works the Gate of the Gods tomorrow night-he has a very expensive krrf habit-and a word from me will open that passage. It's a very brief run from there to a side entrance into the palace itself." She pushed back her hair with one hand, raised herself from the floor with the other, and poured the last of her own bitter wine down her throat. Her hand opened then, and the earthen mug shattered at her feet.

  "Now," she challenged, "you and your playmates can go on butchering helpless shopkeepers and limp-wristed nobles and getting nowhere with your so-called revolution..." She took the cup he'd been fidgeting with, raised it in a silent toast to him, and drained it, too, regarding him over the rim. An instant later it joined the first one in pieces on the floor. "... or the PFLS can at last strike a meaningful blow. What do you say?"

  Zip looked thoughtful. "With Kadakithis dead we'd still need some kind of defense for when Theron returns." He scratched his chin, frowning.

  "Theron will probably thank you," she pointed out. It was safe to gamble that Zip had never met the usurper, knew nothing of the subtle workings of the old general's mind. Theron wanted Sanctuary for a bastion on Ranke's southern border. Nothing would convince him to release the city from the Empire's iron grip. Not even the execution of the legitimate claimant to the very crown he had stolen.

  But Zip wouldn't understand that. He was a fighter, no politician.

  "No need for all my men," Zip argued. "A small force- two or three-just enough to sneak in and do the job."

  Chenaya stepped closer. She was almost as tall as Zip, almost as broad through the shoulders. Again, she inhaled the smell of him and bit her lip. "A small force for the prince and his fish-faced consort," she agreed, nodded her head as a patient teacher might with a dim-witted but struggling pupil. "The rest will take care of every other Beysib in the palace- and anyone else who gets in the way."

  Plainly, Zip's thoughts were churning. He glanced at his man by the door. He'd heard every word; eagerness gleamed in his face, though he kept his silence. Zip began to pace back and forth, crushing pottery under his tread. "And the garrison?" he asked. "What about a way out? Armed resistance inside?"

  Chenaya scoffed at his endless questions. "Tempus told me you were a man who knew when to act, yet you sound like Molin Torchholder with your endless queries."

  Zip shut up, but continued to pace.

  "Would you do it with Tempus to lead you?"

  He stopped in mid-stride, regarded her through narrowed eyes. Still he said nothing, but questions hung on his lips.

  She spat again, but this time for Mama Becho's sake the wad landed squarely on Zip's boot. "I'm everything that Tempus is, lover," she said, grim-voiced, mocking his trepidation. "And more. You don't believe that yet, but you will." She turned her back to him, went to the serving board. To Mama she said, "Got a pair of dice?"

  The old woman reached up onto a shelf and found a pair of yellowed ivory cubes. She set them on the counter with a rude grunt. Chenaya crooked a finger at Zip. "Roll 'em," she ordered. "High number wins."

  He paused, studying her, their gazes locked in a game of dare and challenge. Finally, he swept up the cubes and tossed them. "Eleven,
" Chanaya announced. "Not bad." Then, she rolled them. "Twelve." Zip seized the dice again and beamed when eleven black dots showed up once more.

  Chenaya didn't even bother to look as she gathered and dropped the ivory bits.

  Zip blinked.

  Twelve.

  "I can't be beaten," she assured Zip, never taking her eyes from his. "Not at anything."

  "Kind of takes the fun out of life, doesn't it?" Zip said, dead-pan.

  She flicked a glance over her shoulder. "Call your man," she instructed him.

  Zip did. The man she'd nearly shaved with the throwing star took a step forward. "The black smudge on the far wall," she suggested. The man threw his belt dagger. One of the daggers from her boot followed. Two good throws, but hers was clearly nearer the center of the mark. "Not at anything," she repeated.

  "So you have luck and skill," Zip conceded. "That doesn't mean squat against the Riddler's god-or his curse, or whatever it is."

  She rolled her eyes; a long sigh hissed between her teeth. "I'll bet you another kiss," she said at last. "You've played guess-the-number?" She waited for him to nod. "Go to the far end of the bar, take your knife, and carve any number between one and ten. No, wait. Let's make it fun-between one and twenty-five."

  Mama Becho waddled up, her gray hair flying. "Oh, no, ye don't!" she cried. "Yer not cuttin' on my fine board, yer not. Not easy to come by good wood. An' I've jus' about enough of this spittin' and breakin' mugs an'-"

  Chenaya pulled her purse free and upended it on the counter. Coins spilled everywhere. She dropped the empty leather bag on the top of the pile. "Mama," she said softly, "shut up."

  "All right," Zip announced from the other end, covering his scratching with one hand, flipping his knife nervously and catching it.

  "Forty-two," she answered smugly. "Cheater."

  Zip stared at the number he'd carved into the wood, at his knife, at his men, at her. Without another word, he went to Chenaya and made good on his bet.

  The glaring sun had long since disappeared beyond the western edge of the world, and beautiful Sabellia, resplendent in her fullness, scattered diamond ripples over the ocean's surface. Chenaya dangled her feet over the end of Empire Wharf, stared at the glistening water, and listened to the muted sounds of a nearly silent thieves' world. The old pilings creaked gently, rocked by the relentless surf; the riggings and guy wires of nearby fishing ships hummed and sang in the night wind. There was little else.

  It was one of the places she went when she was troubled. She couldn't say for sure exactly what it was disturbed her, but she felt it like a gloomy darkness on her soul. She tried to dismiss it. The water often made her melancholy. But the mood lingered.

  She touched the bag that was tied to her belt. It contained a mixture of sugar and the high-grade krrf Gestus had obtained for her. She squeezed it and grinned. No, it certainly wasn't that which bothered her. She planned to enjoy her little prank on Tempus.

  What then?

  Far out on the water something flashed in the moonlight. There was a muffled splash. She peered, straining to see, and spied the silver gleam of a dorsal fin as it cut through the waves. Briefly visible, it submerged and was gone. A dolphin, she wondered? A shark?

  The world-particularly this thieves' world-was full of sharks. She thought of Kadakithis and Shupansea hidden away in their palace, and she thought of Zip and Downwind. She thought of the betrayal she planned.

  She knew, then, the cause of her dark mood.

  But it must be done, she swore. Sooner or later, it would be done.

  Chenaya extended her arm; the metal rings of her manica shone richly under Sabellia's glory. She pursed her lips, gave a thin, piercing whistle.

  It was impossible in the darkness to see Reyk; she didn't even hear the beat of his pinions, leading her to guess he had been circling overhead and had simply plummeted in response to her call. She felt only a sudden rush of air on her cheek and then his weight and the tension of his talons on her forearm.

  She stroked the falcon very lightly down the back of his head and between his wings. "Hello, my pet. Did you feast?" She had expected to find traces of beyarl plumage between his talons. Several of the sacred birds had skimmed the water earlier. But Reyk's claws were clean. She took a jess from her belt and slipped it around his leg.

  Together, they sat quietly and watched the goddess's argent chariot sail over the ocean. Chenaya didn't even mind that the moon seemed to watch her, too. The light seemed to ease her troubled spirit, and eye to eye, she thanked Sabellia for that small relief.

  Reyk stretched suddenly to full wing-span. Talons tightened on her arm; he emitted a single, sharp note.

  The falcon's keen eyes had spotted Dismas before Chenaya had heard his footsteps on the wharf. Reyk calmed immediately, recognizing the gladiator as he padded with a burglar's swift stealth toward his mistress. "Now, lady," Dismas whispered urgently. "It's the perfect time and place. We may not get a better chance."

  Chenaya squeezed the bag of krrf and sugar again, feeling her pulse quicken. She had waited at the wharf a long time for Dismas to report. "What of Walegrin and Rashan?" she asked, getting to her feet.

  "They should already be on their way to Land's End. Gestus carried your message and returned to keep watch while I came for you."

  She removed Reyk's jess and returned it to her belt one-handed. "Where is he?"

  The huge gladiator hesitated only a moment and swallowed. "With the vampire woman, Ischade." He wiped a trickle of sweat from his brow. "Not far, but a good run. We should hurry. He's been there an hour already."

  "Then up, pet." She sent Reyk aloft. His pinions beat a steady rhythm as he climbed into the night sky and disappeared. She squeezed the krrf bag once more. "Let's go," she called, tapping her friend on the arm in comradely fashion. There was more than a hint of glee in her voice.

  Dismas led her down the Wideway, up the Street of Smells and along a narrow road she didn't know. The road rutted out; they were in undergrowth denser than any she'd imagined this side of the White Foal. They stopped in a wide ditch.

  "There," he whispered.

  The windows were dark; no light spilled out. Nothing told that anyone was within. Yet Tempus Thales' huge-muscled Tros horse was tethered to the gate.

  "An hour, you say?" she questioned Dismas. "Where's our other partner?"

  He pointed silently to the deeper brush.

  She smiled and stole a peek at Tempus's magnificent mount. A very rare breed, Tros horses. No other steed could match them for strength, endurance, intelligence. She had seen only two others in her lifetime. It was a cause for wonder that Tempus had left the beast unguarded.

  Yes, a rare breed, Tros horses, and she meant to have one.

  "Get Gestus and make for Land's End as quick as you can. Have everything ready at the family stables when I arrive. Have Walegrin and Rashan there, too."

  "But, mistress," Dismas protested. "The vampire and the Riddler-you may need our help."

  Chenaya shook her head sternly. "I can handle them. Do as you're told and have everything ready. Discreetly, too. I don't want my father to know anything about this." She smacked his chest with the flat of her hand and gave him a little shove. "Go!"

  She watched as he faded back into the night, then leaned back in the shadows and drew a slow breath. With her friends gone she could safely get on with her little prank. It would have been an insult to two good men if she had explained why she sent them on. But she knew Tempus Thales, and she knew the stories about Ischade. If anything went wrong with her plan she didn't want her men to pay the price.

  Chenaya took the bag of krrf and sugar from her belt, loosened the strings that held it shut, and moved toward the dark house. The Tros horse, she suspected, had been trained to recognize warriors. She would have trained it to do so, and she expected no less of Tempus. But she was a woman and had left her weapons at home this night. Reyk was weapon enough-and her god-spawned luck.

  She approached the beast
slowly, mumbling soft words. The Tros eyed her with suspicion and snorted once. It kept still, though, and that encouraged her. She reached into the bag and extracted a handful of powder. Holding her breath with excitement, she took the final step that brought her within reach of the horse.

  The Tros smelled the sugar but not the raw krrf. He licked it eagerly from her hand and whickered for more. Chenaya gladly obliged. There was enough drug mixed in the sugar to kill several big men. Enough, she hoped, to make this creature very, very happy.

  Handful by handful, the beast consumed the entire contents of the bag. Chenaya cast cautious glances over her shoulder from time to time, watchful of the doors and windows in Ischade's home, ready to bolt if anyone peered out.

  The horse's eyes quickly glazed over. It slurped the last of the powder from her fingers and palms and gave her a look that almost made her laugh aloud. If a horse could go to heaven, this one was on its way.

  Have a good time, horsie, she thought, grinning, and don't give me any trouble.

  She didn't actually underestimate Tempus or his pride; unguarded as the horse might appear, it wouldn't easily be stolen. Carefully she untied the reins and stroked the horse along the withers while muttering in its ear. The Tr6s didn't move or make a sound. She held her breath and locked her fingers around the pommel, levering herself quickly into the saddle. The animal trembled; its ears twitched. She paused, then settled herself more comfortably, smiling.

  Then her head snapped back, rolled around on her shoulders, threatening to rip off first to the left then the right. Her spine folded backward; whipped forward. Her right leg came free of the saddle and she kneed herself in the eye.

  The world spun crazily. Were those bright stars in the heavens or in her head? She squeezed with her thighs as tightly as she could, clung to the saddle with one hand, to the reins with her other.

  There was a metallic creaking and breaking. The Tr6s stumbled and lurched, making a ruin of Ischade's fence and gate. The beast reared, pounding the twisted wrought iron with its shod hooves. It reared again, screamed, raced away from the house, and collided with a good-size tree.