by Pam Uphoff
Damien tilted his head toward the dance floor. "Look how she moves, like a big cat. She's smart and nice . . . athletic . . . and wouldn't I just like to see her do that fancy spin with a lot less clothes on."
The old man looked at him, clearly offended. "Old Gods! That woman is, on paper, the catch of this generation. You can't just mentally strip her."
"Watch me."
The old man started laughing, and looked back at the dance floor. "Do you know? You're absolutely right. How did I not see that?"
"Not see what?" Hastin was back, the other young nobles following.
"None of your business, you young layabout. Come have a drink with me, Mr. Malder. We can admire . . . the scenery, until my dance comes up."
As they stood and admired the scenery, a pair of young women walked up. "Uncle Jek, you are looking cheerful. You must be making progress with the princess. Do you remember Lady Heather? Lord Mella's daughter?"
"Certain. I never forget charming young women. May I introduce Mr. Damien Malder? He's a friend of the princess's."
Three nobles in hearing distance bristled instantly. Lord Merc got in the first word. "I doubt that. I believe Nicole was simply moved by the man's kindness to animals. Frankly though, I suspect he simply took those animals to the knackers for a small profit, playing on the feelings of the children who cared for them."
Damien snorted. "And my trap tonight was pulled by two mares with an amazing resemblance to the two I bought last month. Perhaps we should go check them for signs of abuse."
Merc scowled. "What about the third mare?"
"I bred her to that bay that won the three mile 'chase, then sent her off to the country." Damien looked around as the dance ended. Again, the suitors swarmed.
Jek Succuro claimed the next dance, and gave every sign that he was enjoying the princess's proximity. Afterwards, the princess left the dance floor on his arm.
"Damien, there you are. I saved you a dance."
"I am honored." He led her off quickly.
"If looks could kill, you'd be writhing on the floor in agony." The princess blushed. "Mr. Malder, I feel that I am taking advantage of you."
Damien shook his head. "I think we both know it's just a game. Even if I were the marrying kind, my life isn't one that you could take up. Quite apart from being a foreigner, and thus not acceptable as a stepfather to the Spear Prince."
She sighed resignedly. "True, and I'm glad you see that. I . . . don't like using people."
"I'm enjoying the game. And getting a glimpse of high society I wasn't expecting."
"I want to shake up that lot, see what they're made of. They've got to be honorable and loyal, do their best to raise Staven the way he should be . . . Is it wrong of me to wish at least one of them wanted me?"
"No. You and your next husband setting an example of a happy loving couple will be important to your Staven as well. Shall we up the stakes? If you want to seriously appall those youngsters, invite me for a ride in the park. I have a pinto stallion that will absolutely . . . "
She started giggling. "Mr. Malder, you shock me. Are you a Traveler?"
"Not really. I just happened upon some pintos, and they've all been such excellent animals." He shrugged, grinned. "But the shock value should be good in any case."
"Oh, yes. In two days, at eight in the morning. Meet us outside the Royal stables."
As the music ended, he swung her over to the clump of suitors. "I will be there, with great pleasure."
Backs stiffened.
The princess batted her eyelashes. "Would any of you gentlemen like to join us for a ride?"
"I really hope you have a sense of humor, horse."
Damien's tailor had produced an impeccable Gentleman's Riding Suit. He'd been horrified when he learned Damien was going to ride one of his pinto harness horses. But the clothes were elegant. Boots and tack shone. Silence lapped outward, as the nobles boggled at the big bay pinto.
Eight men and three women, all on pretty and rather lightweight horses. Only the bulky Firth Nutter's horse was built along the lines of the solid frame of the pinto.
"Damien, he's gorgeous." The princess swept out of the stable.
Damien hopped down and bowed over her hand.
"Yes. Despite the spots." He unbuckled the cinch and swept the saddle off as she circled the stallion. Solstice looked amused, and arched his neck to show off.
"My goodness. Well, let me get my horse and we'll be off."
Damien ignored the glares. He saddled up and mounted. The party wound through city streets and out the west gate of the old walls. They were quickly out of the newer parts of the city and on the country roads that led to the coast, and branched off for towns to the south. This close to civilization, the roads were well maintained, turf over a raised gravel foundation, with ditches on either side.
Lord Merc leaned and caught Damien's eye. "This side road makes a three mile loop around to some farms. Want to race?"
Merc's black gelding was light and whippy, elegant and high strung.
Damien smiled. "Oh, I doubt we could beat your beauty, but perhaps we can at least make you exert yourself."
They lined up, the princess waved a lacy hanky and they took off. Solstice had all the endurance in the world, but he was too heavily built for speed . . . or he should have been. At first Damien thought Merc was staying half a length ahead to tempt Damien into exhausting his mount. But the looks Merc kept casting back quickly became worried. They curved around and past a farm entrance. Some local lord's show farm, all pastures and orchards, a big showy mansion on a low hill. The second farm looked more serious, the third was another showplace. Solstice was running even with the gelding now, the other animal slick with sweat, starting to foam, breathing hard. They swung back onto the main road, and Solstice sunk down and stretched out to pass the laboring gelding as they swept up on the waiting princess. Solstice pulled up easily and floated back to the party. Merc dismounted and loosened his cinch. He shook his head. "Must be off today."
Firth nodded. "Pity I'm so heavy, I can't ride a racer like you." He shot a frowning look at Solstice.
Damien dismounted and loosened his cinch, just for show. Solstice was sweating freely, but his breathing was almost back to normal already.
"He's got bags of endurance." He managed to keep a straight face, as he strolled along with the group as they got underway again.
"How about a bit of a gallop? The road is clear." Lord Shy smirked.
Damien winked at the princess. Then tightened the cinch and mounted. Merc just shook his head. "I think I'll take Midnight home."
Damien caught up with the group easily, as they weren't racing. Several ugly looks were sent his direction, and the gallop prolonged, no doubt in the hopes of losing him. The princess pulled her chestnut to a halt at the crest of a hill. The Pacific Ocean, or the Cific, as they called it here and now, stretched out to the horizon, waves rolling into a long sandy beach. The princess headed down and they all followed.
Solstice tipped his ears at the surf, his neck stiff and arched.
"It's water. Very salty, you can't drink it. Those are called waves, and they're kind of fun to play in. You've seen plenty of them from the dock, Silly."
The lady ahead of him, turned and stared. "Talking to your horse?"
"Yes." Damien smiled politely back. Solstice flicked his ears uncertainly, and put his head down to sniff at the foam before dancing nervously into the encroaching water. Damien rode him out knee deep and let him decide for himself that the waves were unmenacing.
The princess rode her gelding out beside him. "The more I see of you, the less I understand. Are you a wizard, talking to your horse?"
Damien gawped. "No. Not at all. In fact I'm still not sure I believe in magic."
They rode down the beach, then circled around though the army base. The young bloods who thought their horses were still up to it tackled the obstacle course. Solstice tossed his head and did it all twice.
"I
f not for those spots, every man here, including the Royal Horsemaster, would be trying to buy him from you." The princess nodded toward the small group of watching men.
"Good thing he's a pinto, then. Saves me a lot of trouble."
They rode side-by-side and chatted about his trips to the south all the way back into the city. Under the glares of the other suitors.
"So you didn't like Fascia?"
"Not at all, it was . . . foreign. Everyone's attitudes and reactions never seemed to be what I was expecting. Unlike the first time I drove through Karista's gates. I felt immediately at home. So here I am, nine years later."
"Not just a Traveler, but a foreign one!" Lord Gode bitched from somewhere behind them.
The party broke up, as the gentlemen and ladies took their tired mounts home. The last two fellows had been silent the whole trip. King's Own, of course.
Damien dismounted to thank the princess for the honor of accompanying her.
She shook her head. "The pleasure was all mine. I was pleased to meet Solstice."
Solstice bowed.
"Oh, you haven't trained him to do tricks, now have you?"
"Certainly not!"
Solstice bobbed his head.
Damien watched her walk inside, and sighed. "Andrai is going to kill me. This is all just a game, you know. I'm not the marrying type."
Solstice snorted his disbelief.
He sent his regrets to the next invitation.
Chapter Five
Spring 1371, local
"The leader of the Gold Gang has a mysterious lover, 'rumored to do magic.' The whole Western Army can't catch Auchel Ibrah. How are you going to find him?"
Owco paced. "That isn't the only rumor about her, you know."
"Just By Chance!" Usse threw up his arms in a very unaccustomed show of emotion. "What more?"
"They say she is hiding from a foreign assassin."
Usse closed his eyes. "You have not been subtle enough. Someone has noticed you."
"No. Not us. You. A foreign assassin. No wonder she can't be found. She's hiding from you."
"I have never met the princess. I am the post head here."
"Why do you want her dead?" Egfi joined the Leader, bracketing Usse.
"I don't want her dead."
"Did she come to you for help? Did you attack her?" Owco loomed.
Usse curled a sarcastic lip and dropped his privacy barrier altogether. "Once I was a Priest of the One. I have no need for women. I only serve the One."
The whole team backed up away from him. He knew damn well how brightly he glowed. All the Power of a Withione, all his Priestly attributes and training, and all the anger at his treatment, all his stubborn refusal to give up his worship of the One. Yeah, they better back up. If these rumors were true, if they intended to harm a princess of the One . . .
"You were cast out? After acceptance? After emasculation?"
"Yes."
"Is this your revenge?"
"Don't be a fool. Don't try to accuse me of what you may be tasked to do." He learned hard on the Withione's barrier. "What are your orders?"
"To retrieve the lost personnel, especially the princess. To punish any traitors to the One we find. Including the princess, if she has turned away." The man was strong but couldn’t wrench his mind away from even so tenuous a grip of the Compulsions. Usse released him and he backed up further. "We will check out this rumor, as we've checked out the others. We certainly hope we don't find a Princess of the One leading a Gang of bandits, using the Power of the One for self-enrichment." He turned and stalked out, his Team following him.
Usse paced, angry, but thinking. He'd heard the rumors about the Gold Gang before, but never considered the possibility that the princess was involved. It made sense, though. The Army's inability to find the Gold Gang could be explained by a strong magical person close to Ibrah.
He heard the Rescue Team repacking to leave, and started packing himself. He needed very little, but he wasn't going to leave his personal notes behind, for those traitors to use. Kill a princess? Insane. Worse than tossing a young priest in the trash heap. Like him, she'd been a pawn, sacrificing her sexuality. In a different way, but just as appalling. Used and discarded. And now to be gotten out of the way lest she become an embarrassment. He wasn't going to stand for it. He pulled out the little grav plate and slung it on the outside of his pack. It looked so much like a gold pan, no one would give it a second glance.
Those fools would head back south, but he knew how to get to the Gold Lands more quickly. The stage to Bridgetown, then take the Old Road over the mountains. Then head south. Everything he'd heard about the 'New Lands' had included the flat lava lands, and the lack of people. A place where he could employ a bit of Oner tech and beat the opposition to the Gold Gang, easily.
In fact the grav plate was useful almost immediately. Once he was off the stage and across the bridge he was out of the sight of anyone, and the Old Road was smooth enough for it to work. It skidded along with almost no friction, the a-grav field orienting so that it tended to keep going the direction it was pushed. He stood on it, just pushing with a foot now and then, cruising along five times as fast as he could walk. It slowed going uphill, and was definitely thrilling going down. He cut a pair of sticks and used them to push, steer and drag to slow and stop. Twice he felt the approach of a Native, and stepped off, walked along normally until they were out of sight. Another five hundred of the local miles, and he was approaching Fort Stag. He hiked innocently past. He got a casual "Good luck in the gold fields" from a passing soldier, and was past them.
Back in the silence of his own head, alone in the world . . . except for something odd ahead. He left his floater dangling on the side of his pack and scanned for the source of the odd . . .
A girl. A teenager, blonde with brilliant green eyes, the warm honey tan complexion of these people. If he'd been susceptible to women, this one would have had him kneeling at her feet. She had a concealed glow that was attracting him even so.
She's a powerful magician. And I'm only twenty miles, if that, from that village where the Action Team died. Dare I test her? Experiment a bit with a handy isolated youngster?
"Now that's a sight to see. Pretty girl and a bottle of wine. Pity I'm too old to take advantage of the girl." He leered at her, aping male behavior.
She pulled the cork and filled the glass. Took a sip.
"Well, have a glass of wine with me. Maybe you'll change your mind." She winked and held out the glass. Probably some cheap local product.
He cackled, and dropped his pack. Tossed back the wine like it was a shot of whiskey.
It hit his brain like a quantum bomb. It felt like every sexual thought he ought to have had in his entire life hit at once.
The hungry young witch pounced on him and took advantage of all that desire. She didn’t quite kill him. Probably only because she wasn’t trying.
Some hours later he pulled himself together, found his clothes by the last twinkle of moonlight, found the gravity plate by tripping over it and had coasted halfway down the mountain before his brain recovered sufficiently to work its way from relief at having survived his encounter with a witch to the realization that he'd lost his virginity, something he'd never considered likely, having been castrated at ten. His second realization was that she'd run off with his back pack. All his notes and money.
The Seal.
He'd lost the Post Seal.
He cringed at the thought of having to confess that. His brief thought to return and find it died as he remembered how incredibly quickly she'd turned him into her sex slave and drained the power from him. He dared not return. He'd just have to confess and take the penalty. They'd pull him out of here so fast . . .
The gravity plate got him back to the first town before he starved to death. He had to use a compulsion at the inn to get a the simple bowl of soup that was all he dared, reacquainting his stomach to food. And then again on the man selling stage tickets.
Back, safe and sound in his warehouse he found himself prey to strange dreams, sexual dreams. His magical abilities had taken a leap, as well. He could see fine grained structure and crystallization, reach out mentally and affect it.
He snorted cynically. "They say the loss of virginity is enabling. I wondered if all priests are eventually given medication to allow sex, and thus speed their magical advancement. Some how I doubt that. They'd have riots, demanding an attempt at regeneration for everyone. But some elite probably does." One! Now that he thought back on it, the corruptness he'd seen in the upper echelons might have been partly hormonally driven.
Two weeks later he was suffering through a horrible belly ache when the Recovery Team returned.
"We had some trouble with the troops down there. We'll have to try again, with a different approach." Owco frowned down at him. "Not gloating? What's wrong with you?" His eye narrowed suddenly as Usse's attempt to look normal was cancelled by a stab of pain that had him doubled over retching.
"Damn Native food. Have you run yourself through the dockbox? That'll get you the right antibiotic for what's hit you. Unless you've got appendicitis or some such."
Damn Native food. The Recovery Team was surprisingly gentle as they closed him in the automated medical center. That wasn't going to make it any easier to confess to losing the seal. Damn it, he'd confess to the Director. These puppies . . . it wasn't any of their business.
"Undescended testicles. No wonder you felt the call of the priesthood. No balls, naturally. I'm surprised they didn't do surgery, though." Ijde whistled absently as the machine injected Usse with a pain killer and a muscle relaxant. Then it released him.
Usse was taken considerably aback. Because he had been castrated, like all who were brought to the priesthood. The removal of the hormones caused the brain to mature a bit more slowly, slightly differently. More powerfully. Had that wine not just stimulated his sexual behavior, but stimulated regrowth of amputated parts? This is very odd, worthy of some hard thinking. That his bed rest and convalescence delayed his return to Fascia and the One World to confess was purely coincidental.
