Blood Ties tw-9

by Robert Lynn Asprin

  It staggered back a pace; stared with huge, wet eyes at the offending obstacle. Dazed, confused, it took a side step, then another, and stood still.

  Chenaya hesitated, afraid to let go of saddle or rein. Her heart thundered against her ribs, a trickle of blood ran down her chin; she had bitten her lip. Finally, she dared to let go of the saddle. With her free hand, she rubbed the small of her back. Breath held much too long hissed between her teeth. She glanced back at Ischade's fence, let go a low chuckle, then reached down and stroked the Tros's powerful neck.

  "That looked like fun. Do it again."

  Chenaya knew that voice by now. Her gaze rose to find her observer. He looked down at her from a comfortable notch in the very tree the Tr6s had struck.

  "Does the Riddler know you're stealing his horse?" Zip asked sardonically.

  She put a finger to her lips and glanced back at Ischade's darkened windows. "I think he's too busy knowing the vampire woman, if you get my meaning," she answered, matching his lighthearted tone. "Are you doing anything tonight? How about a date?"

  Zip swung his legs back and forth absent-mindedly, much as she had done earlier at the wharf. The similarity struck her as odd.

  He rubbed his chin, a barely visible shadow against the starlit night. "It has been rather dull. Nothing I'd like more," he said in his most affected Rankene. "You're so easy to follow."

  "When I want to be," she acknowledged. "I figured you couldn't keep your eyes off me." She stared upward, craning her neck, guessing what was going through his mind as he rose to stand in the notch. She admired his daring, if not his sense, as he balanced above her.

  "A date, you say?"

  She stroked the Tros again. "How about a ride?" She put on a big grin. Zip wore the shadows like a cloak, but she was limned in Sabellia's light. She knew he could see her smile. "You can help me with my prank on Tempus Thales. Make up your mind, though." She cast another glance over her shoulder at the darkened estate. It occurred to her to wonder why all the racket had roused no one. She didn't particularly care to wait around to find out-not on Zip's account. "This isn't a very good neighborhood, I'm told, and a lady has to guard her reputation."

  "You expect me to ride behind you?" His voice was incredulous. "After what I just saw?"

  Chenaya leaned forward, scratched the horse between'its ears. "It's all right," she assured. "We're good friends now, aren't we, horsie?" The Tros didn't contradict her.

  Zip hesitated. She wondered if he had ever ridden before, or if he was daunted by the fact it was Tempus's horse he was being invited to help steal? In either case, she couldn't wait around for Zip to find his balls. Dismas had assured her that Tempus was inside Ischade's house. At this very moment he might be struggling into his breeches, reaching for his sword....

  She blew Zip a kiss. "Sorry, lover," she called. "It's yes or no and no time to think about it-that's the way it is with me." She gathered the reins in both hands. "But how about tomorrow night?" She nudged the Tros with her heels and clicked her tongue. The horse raced through Shambles Cross and turned onto Farmer's Run before Zip could say another word.

  Though Lowan Vigeles's properties extended all the way to the Red Foal River, the major portion of the estate was ringed by a massive, fortified wall. Along the southern rampart, with gates of their own, stood the stables. It was through this gate that Chenaya rode. Dismas held it open, hailed her, then leaped frantically clear before the Tr6s trampled him into the dirt.

  Chenaya jerked on the reins with all her might. The war-horse's hooves tore up chunks of earth. It reared, nearly throwing her again, then stopped, completely still, trembling.

  She blew an exhausted breath, swung one leg over the Tros's neck, and slid to the ground. Dismas, Gestus, Walegrin, and Rashan hurried to her side.

  "Damn beast nearly gave it to me!" Dismas mutterred, brushing dust from his sleeves, looking as if he'd eat the Tr6s if given time to build a fire.

  Chenaya pushed the hair back from her eyes. Her golden mane was a tangled mess; sweat and dirt streaked her cheeks. She wiped her face with the back of her hand and passed the reins to Gestus. "Put him in the pen with Lowan's mare. Hurry! She's in heat, and this one's got enough krrf in him to incite the lusts of an army." She swatted the Tros's rump as the gladiator led him away. "Rashan, I want you to invoke Savan-kala's blessing on this union. The mare must conceive. I want a strong foal from her."

  The priest's eyebrows shot up. "You want me to bless copulating horses?"

  "You're a priest, aren't you, the Eye of Savankala?" She embraced him and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. Rashan had lived at Land's End while he oversaw the building of her private temple on the shore of the Red Foal. They had shared many late night discussions, and he had taught her much.

  "Very well," he agreed, rolling his eyes. "But we must speak this night before we part." He turned to follow Gestus, but continued talking over his shoulder. "I've had another dream. You must hear the message. It was the voice of the Thunderer himself."

  She watched him go, saying nothing. But his words disturbed her. His walk and bearing were those of a warrior, not a priest, and his body was developed as befitted a Rankan. Yet a priest he was, and first among Savankala's hierophants. Yet, lately, Rashan had been having dreams, messages from the god, he claimed, visions that foretold Chenaya's future and her destiny. All through the winter they'd argued the meaning of his dreams. Not messages at all, she'd tried to convince him. Just the wishful thinking of an old man who saw his nation decaying around him.

  She clung to that argument now as he disappeared inside the stables with Gestus and the Tros. There could be no truth to his dreams. She was not the Daughter of the Sun. That was only a name, an appellation pinned on her by arena spectators and fellow gladiators. Nothing more.

  There was movement on her right side. She had forgotten her other guest.

  "Lady," Walegrin said uneasily. "It's the middle of the night. Your man said it was of the direst importance that you speak with me, that I come dressed thus out of uniform. Because you are Lord Molin's niece I hastened, but the morning-"

  She cut him off with a curt gesture. "If you came only because of Uncle Molin, Commander, then you may leave again." She looked him straight in the eye, not at all intimidated by his towering height. "If you came, though, to enhance your own career or to do good service to your prince, then stay and hear me out."

  His eyes grew wide in the moonlight, but she turned her back on him and spoke to Dismas. "There's a sectarius of red wine on a peg in the stables. Bring it."

  A sudden din from the stables interrupted her. They all looked toward the building. There came a crashing and cracking of wood, the challenging cry of the Tros horse, the lamentation of the mare. There was cursing from Gestus, and Rashan's shouted prayers soared over the whole.

  "Bring the wine," she repeated, touching Dismas's arm in comradely fashion. "There's parchment and ink there as well. Bring them along, too."

  She turned back to Walegrin when they were alone. "You command the garrison in this garbage pit," she said, folding her arms over her chest, regarding him evenly. "And the closest thing to a police force in Sanctuary is your men. I'm not going to hold it against you that you've been keeping company with that scheming uncle of mine. We all seek advancement by the fastest means, after all."

  "If your uncle schemes," Walegrin broke in defensively, "he does so on Sanctuary's behalf."

  Chenaya threw back her head and smiled scornfully. "Molin Torchholder does nothing except in his own behalf. But I didn't call you here to argue my uncle's lack of virtue. As you pointed out, it's late." She rubbed her backside. "And I've had a rough night."

  Walegrin folded his arms, unconsciously imitating Chenaya's aggressive stance. He looked down at her. "Then what did you call me here for?"

  "You're the police," she said over the noise from the stables. "What's the biggest problem you've got in the city right now?"

  He scratched his chin and considered
. "Right now?" He pursed his lips, put on an expression of intense seriousness. "I'd say it's finding the thief who stole Tempus's horse before he takes the town apart."

  She stared disdainfully at him, gave him her back, and headed after her friends. "Go back to your bunk. Commander. I picked the wrong man. I'll take care of Kadakithis myself as I've always done."

  He came after her, caught her by the shoulder. Chenaya whirled, knocked his hand away. "Wait," he pleaded as she started to leave him again. "What about Kadakithis? If thfcre's some trouble, let me help."

  She ran her gaze up and down his rangy height, taking his measure. She'd kept an eye on him during her time in Sanctuary and generally considered him one of the few honest men in the city. Reportedly, he was competent with his weapons, though not a brilliant fighter. He did seem, however, to have the loyalty of his men, and that counted for much.

  She not only needed his help, she wanted it.

  "The PFLS," she said at last, drawing a deep, calming breath. "They started out murdering Rankans and Beysibs in cold blood. Men, women, children-armed or unarmed, it didn't matter. They began a reign of terror that ended up carving Sanctuary into sections like a big pie, and their terrorist activities have earned them the animosity of nearly every citizen in town." She paused, thinking suddenly of Zip. "Their leader still harbors dreams of Ilsig liberation, but the rest kill and kill simply for the feeling of power it gives them when they grind someone else into the dirt."

  Dismas came back bearing the sectarius of wine, the parchment, and the inkpot. "Keep those," she told him, taking the leather vessel. She unstoppered it, swallowed a mouthful, wiped her lips, and passed it to Walegrin who followed her example. "How goes it in there?" she asked Dismas, nodding toward the stables.

  The gladiator looked askance and grinned. "Such a mating as I've never seen. Hear for yourself how the mare enjoys her pleasure. I thought they were going to tear the stalls down, but they've taken more than a liking to each other."

  "I thought I heard Gestus cursing." She took the wine from Walegrin, offered it to her man. Though her gladiators called her mistress, she treated them fully as equals.

  Dismas lifted the bottle and swallowed. "He got kicked in the hand," he explained. "He tried to unsaddle the Tros, but the mare already had her tail in the air."

  "I've met men who similarly couldn't wait to undress," she quipped. "I guess you're all part horse." She hesitated purposefully, then added, "or some part of a horse." She slapped her rump and winked.

  "The PFLS," Walegrin reminded her, trying to remain patient. "And Kadakithis. Is there some threat?"

  The noise from the stables suddenly ended. A few moments later, Rashan emerged and started across the lawn. She waited for the old priest to join them and offered him the wine. He drank deeply, then accepted the parchment and ink-pot from Dismas. He gave Chenaya an inquiring look.

  "Tempus came to me with a proposal," she said to Walegrin. "One with implications for all of Sanctuary. You know that Theron has promised to return at New Year's and make this city what he wants most-a bastion for the Rankan Empire's southern border." She glanced at Dismas and a silent message passed between them. "You also know that I have no love for Theron."

  Walegrin surveyed the faces of those around him. "It was you and your gladiators who attacked his barge and killed his surrogate." He said it with absolute calm and certainty.

  Chenaya reached up and tapped his forehead exactly as her lather would have done to her. She had never attempted to make a secret of it, just as she had never thought to fail. In fact, she hadn't failed, just shot her bolt at the wrong target. The man in Theron's robes hadn't been Theron at all, and the Usurper had gotten out of town before she could try again.

  Her mouth shaped itself into a smirk. "Tempus was stupid enough to try to blackmail me with information that seems to be common knowledge. He'll be leaving soon with his Stepsons and the Third Commando." Walegrin nodded. The imminent departure of the two groups was not news. "Well, he had an idea that I should take control of the PFLS and use it to weld the various factions into a Sanctuary defense force." That much of her speech was the truth, then she added her own thoughts and plans. "And use it to resist Theron when he returns."

  The garrison commander rubbed his chin, his nose, an ear, wishing he hadn't heard that tidbit, thinking about what he'd have to do with it. "You realize you're accusing him of a treasonous offense?"

  Chenaya shrugged, took another drink of wine, passed him the sectarius. "I wouldn't try to make it stick," she advised. "Tempus owes more loyalties than you and I can begin to guess. He joins Theron but plots against him. Who can know his motivations?" She shrugged again. "Anyway, I thought there was some merit to the idea-but not the way he formulated it. Take a look around, Walegrin. You don't expect this city to become just another good little satellite obedient to the Empire, do you? Something's brewing here. Call it rebellion."

  Rashan spoke up, passing the wine to Dismas. "If you expect resistance when Theron returns," he said softly, "then Sanctuary will need a defense force. Theron is a murderer and a usurper. Loyal Rankans should rise up against him."

  Chenaya waved a hand, dismissing his speech. "Loyal Rankans have little to do with this," she said. "But Sanctuary is a different matter entirely, a melting pot of many interests, none of which favor Theron. Yes, Tempus had the right idea, but because he is Tempus Thales, and a fool, he overestimates the importance of his Stepsons and commandoes. Even without them Sanctuary is far from defenseless. And we don't need the PFLS to take their place, either."

  She held up her fingers and began to tick off a few numbers. "The Beysibs have a good five hundred warriors; that doesn't include the Harka Bey, who are an unknown quantity. The garrison houses at least sixty men-at-arms, almost all of them raised and recruited locally. There are the Hell-Hounds, who feel the Empire has deserted them; I think they'll fight for us. There are Jubal's minions-they have nothing to gain and much profit to lose if Theron should pacify this region." She tapped her chest with one hand, rapped the knuckles of her other on Dismas's shoulder. "Then I have my twelve gladiators, the finest arena-flesh in the history of the games. And by the New Year I'll have a hundred more, the best fighters ever to come out of Rankan schools."

  Walegrin looked thoughtful, seeming to forget that, as he spoke, he was also committing a treasonous offense. "We could dredge up more from the streets," he observed, "and we have our wizards. Sanctuary is full of wizards."

  "What we don't need," Chenaya continued, encouraged by his participation, "is the PFLS. That group has caused too much dissension, actually fostered the factionalism that has cost so many lives. The swiftest thing we can do to unify those factions is to put an end to Zip and his bloodthirsty band."

  The garrison commander nodded slowly, perceiving the truth in her words. Even Zip's own people, most of the Ilsigi population, had turned away from the ideas espoused by the PFLS when it became general knowledge that the group was backed by Nisibisi insurgents who wanted only to stir up trouble on Ranke's rear border while their demon-spawned sorcerers pushed their conquests from Wizardwall through the surrounding kingdoms.

  "Without the Third Commando liaison, we've never been able to lay hands on Zip," Walegrin complained. "What makes you think that's going to change? They're like rats. And it's not just Ratfall that they call home; the Maze and Downwind belong to them as well."

  Chenaya took another swallow of wine when it came her way again. "Any rat can be lured out of its hole with the right cheese," she said. "I've already set the trap. I only need you to help spring it."

  Gestus emerged from the stables leading the Tros by the reins. The big creature seemed completely bewildered, still in the krrf's embrace. Chenaya could almost swear the beast was grinning. She pointed to the parchment and the inkpot that Rashan held. "Write for me, Priest, " she instructed. "Use your finest calligraphy."

  Rashan looked over his shoulder, located the full moon, and positioned himself in the best
light. He took the stylus from the inkpot and held himself poised for the first stroke.

  "Write..." Chenaya paused, thoughtful. "Thanks for the stud service, lover." She laughed then, remembering her garden encounter with the Riddler. "Sign my name in big letters."

  Rashan gave her a disapproving look, the kind Lowan Vigeles would have given her. She paid him as much attention, and he wrote. When he was done she took the parchment and gave it to Gestus. "Fix it to the saddle," she instructed, "and let the Tros go."

  The gladiator looked shocked. He was, after all, a thief, and he thought he'd taken part in a very clever and daring theft. A good thief didn't give back the booty. "Let go horse?" he mumbled.

  "Let it go?" Walegrin echoed in better speech.

  Chenaya repeated herself. "I'm no fool. Commander. Though I enjoy pricking Tempus's bubble a little, I don't underestimate him. In a short time, the mare will have a foal, then I'll have a half-Tros of my own to ride. I can wait a couple of years. Keeping this one could lead to a direct conflict between the two of us." She glanced up at Sabellia floating serenely in the dark sky. "Who knows what cosmic forces that would unleash, what war among the gods would result?" She shook her head. "No, when I risk that, it will be for something far more important than a horse, even a Tr6s."

  Rashan made the sign of his god. "Let us hope Tempus has as much sense. You know him better than he knows you, child."

  Gestus led the Tr6s toward the gate. But before he got beyond it, a penetrating and high-pitched whistle sawed through the night. Chenaya cried out in pain, clapped hands to her ears to stop the sound. Through tear-moistened eyes she watched her companions do the same. The Tr6s reared unexpectedly, jerking the reins from her gladiator's hand. It whinnied and sped out of sight, as if in response to the strange whistle, the sound of its hooves adding thunder to the shrill, knife-edged keening.

  Abruptly, the sound ceased, and Chenaya straightened. Despite the ringing in her ears, she found strength to smile. "I don't know what that was," she said, "but I think our living legend finally missed his mount." She rubbed her ears and the side of her neck. "I hope the note doesn't fall off."