The God of Assassins (Wine of the Gods Book 11)

by Pam Uphoff

  The bearded man tipped his chair back into the wall, and grinned. "She knows us well enough to not bother asking."

  She whisked back out, a pot and a bowl of bread for the kids' table. Apparently they were going to try the "fondoo," whatever the heck it was.

  Two tall steins of ale for the "gods." Pot roast on the next trip.

  Staven applied himself to his own plate. It was very good pot roast.

  Giggles from the kids' table. Long strings of stretchy cheese . . .

  More people, old women and young. Kids and babies. More waitresses. The snotty teenagers left, and were replaced by a group of ancient women.

  Staven absorbed the chatter. The young women talked about men and fashions, the older about spells. Except when it was taxes and the deplorable manners of youth.

  He paid for Markly's table as well as theirs, and they wandered out.

  "Well, I'm not sure what I expected to find, or what I can do here."

  "What were you hoping for?"

  Passe started and they both turned. The tall bearded man had come up behind them.

  "Well, I'm looking for whoever is behind the Crown Heir's assassination. Mind you, I wouldn't mind catching any of the actual killers, but they're too young to have created that setup."

  The purported god scratched his bearded chin. "I wouldn't sell any of them too short, as far as ingenuity is concerned. And the proper application of magic can make easy some things that would otherwise require a great deal of money and labor. I'm delighted that none of them are actually from here, although their parents were. The men's parents. The women are completely unknown here."

  Staven frowned. "And this Wizards' School?"

  The big man nodded down the road. "Ten miles to the south there's an ugly tower and otherwise nice horse and sheep farm. The gate to Prairie Coast and the Wizards' School is in a small courtyard on the north side of the tower. Anyone there can show it to you, assuming anyone is there, not out on the beach."

  "Humph."

  Staven spun around. A little old lady, leaning on a cane . . . "Oh, you're . . . "

  "Indeed I am. And while I do like to see my patients up and around as soon as possible, I really dislike them overdoing and having relapses. Come with me." She turned and walked off, cane tapping away.

  Staven drifted after her . . . that hut in the garden . . . was it familiar or not?

  "You mostly saw the inside of it, young man!"

  He followed her through the gate and into the hut. Passe hovered nervously . . . backed out of the hut and then back in. "It's bigger inside than it ought to be!" He kept his voice to a hiss, but the old woman smirked. And made Staven take off jacket and shirt.

  "Now sit down and let me see what's going on . . . Oh, lots of stem cell conversions, excellent. That wine has spells to regrow glands . . . Well, I've heard you silly city boys like to play games dosing geldings, so no doubt you know all about that. Limbs, on the other hand, are rather more difficult. Lots of nerves to grow, feed-back between movement and bone growth, and the adult hormonal environment is not conducive to keeping the genes turned on that are usually only on during the basic embryonic organizational stage. But you're young enough that everything looks positive. Now don't wrap the stump up so tight. You don't want to squash anything that might be trying to grow."

  "Are you . . . " Staven had to stop and swallow. "Are you saying my arm is going to grow back, like a lizard's tail?"

  "It might. It'll do something, but only time will tell if it does it as well as you would no doubt like. But I'm working on it, now. I suspect we can get you well enough for practical purposes."

  He gulped. Tried to breathe evenly. Please, don't give me false hope.

  She snorted. "Now go back and investigate, if you must exert yourself." She shook her head. "That nasty little boy, the collective subconscious has got their hooks into him. Not that he's fighting it, but don't underestimate him. What's pushing him . . . knows a whole lot about how to be successfully evil."

  "Nasty little . . . Ricardo?"

  She nodded.

  "He's what, eighteen, nineteen? He's the youngest of the bunch, he can't be the leader."

  "The collective subconscious includes tens of thousands of the worst people imaginable, who have been figuring out how to get away with their crimes for over a half century. Each. Killers, rapists, thieves, embezzlers." She straightened up, a wash of light, or perhaps magic swept over her. An attractive, dignified matron stared down at him as he shrunk back in the chair. "And the effect can also be something close to a drunken euphoria. He will be taking risks, loving the rush of danger. Be. Careful."

  Passe half dragged Staven out of the hut, getting himself between Staven and the hut. The guard was sweating, his panting breaths fogging in the chilly air. "Tha, that . . ."

  "The Goddess of Health and Healing." Staven smiled and refused to faint, right there on the frozen ground. "Let's carefully take a trip to this Wizards' School."

  ***

  In the barn behind the Inn, he found the aisle blocked by a belligerent figure facing off with Markly.

  "Well, Damien isn't here so I damn well want to know how his horse got here."

  Staven snickered. "I rode him here. Hi Code. I thought that was Sanda I spotted earlier. Is the whole family here?"

  "Staven!" Code sounded surprised. "I didn't expect to see you on your feet so soon. Mihaela's . . . account was pretty scary."

  Staven swallowed. "Is she here? I . . ."

  "Heh. Your fellow troopers have requested that she stay in Karista while they make inquiries."

  "Oh. Yeah, I suppose so. I'll . . . I should go let her know I'm . . . better."

  Code's eyes dropped to the stump of his arm. "Yeah. That's not going to be easy. And I see why Damien gave you Solstice. You look like you're going to faint."

  "Oh, that's just Lady Gisele scaring the hell out of me."

  The wiry man gave a bark of laughter. "If that's the effect she has on you, avoid Answer at all costs." His forehead creased. "What are you doing here?"

  "Investigating. The assassins were wizards and witches, for the most part." Staven huffed out an irritated breath. "I don't understand this culture. I was hoping to . . . I don't know. Hear about Prince Garit being corrupted by the people here? About the sly, murderous Xen Wolfson? Doesn't seem to be happening. So I'm going off to someplace called the Wizards' School to talk to the men who trained those amoral killers."

  "Umm, Staven . . . consider being polite when you get there."

  Staven nodded. "I will be. I'm just blowing off steam at you because you won't turn me into a toad."

  "Around here? It's goats and purple rabbits. And believe me, a large pissed off purple rabbit has to be seen to be believed."

  Passe eyed him.

  "But I've got to say, the lieutenant was quite well behaved, after that."

  Solstice nosed Code aside. Markly had saddled up while they were talking.

  "I'll go for 'quite well behaved' before anything drastic happens."

  Looking at the sharp predatory gaze of the Archwizard, Staven was very glad he hadn't tried a more forceful approach.

  "I closed the school." Nil shrugged, looking irritated. "I wondered, years ago, whether it was wise to bring wizardry back into the world. Trained, powerful wizards. Damn it all. I figured it wouldn't matter, what with witches, mages and gods walking around loose.

  The surf crashed on the sand in front of them, children's shrill voices laughed as they ran and played in water and waves.

  They were sitting on a low dune, the sun baking the winter chill from Staven's bones.

  The wizard was wearing nothing but a shabby pair of pants. Tall, bony, but with plenty of muscle. Sword callouses on both hands. Scars. Lots of scars. Greying brown hair fluttered in the warm breeze.

  Staven had peeled off his jacket, but having struggled to get it buttoned, he wasn't going to take his shirt off again. Sweat trickled down his ankles, soaking the thick socks inside
his winter riding boots.

  The Archwizard glanced over at the horses, standing with their reins dropped. "So, the hauler loaned you a horse?"

  Staven braced himself to defend spotted horses.

  "Handy to have him around on occasion, I've bred a few mares to him." A faint crinkle at the corners of his eyes. "I have a fondness for the pintos, and they make such a good disguise. Once people decide you're a Traveler, they hardly look at you."

  Yes, that's how Uncle Day hid in plain sight for so long.

  Nil sighed and returned to the question he asked. "Heso, Zap, and Ricardo. Eternal too, although that boy appears to have learned something from his punishment. Ricardo . . . just got angry. More arrogant, hard though that was."

  "Heso and Zap?"

  "They looked shocked to learn that Ricardo'd taken money to set up that orgy for Rebo. Claimed they hadn't had sex with the bride." Nil gazed off at the horizon. "Ricardo said that Rebo thought Eden's father had spells on both of them. To make them fall in love. To control them. I couldn't tell if that was what Rebo'd told him, or if he'd made it up on the spot. No excuse for what they did to the girl, nor that they thought that sex with a half dozen strangers was what it would take to free her from his influence."

  "So you punished Ricardo and Eternal? How?"

  "Turned them into women for a year."

  Staven's mind stuttered to a halt.

  Passe choked. "How did they take it?"

  "Poorly. Part way through the transformation, when they both had enough of both parts, they got into a fight and raped each other. Far as I could tell, they never spoke or worked with each other again."

  Staven cleared his throat. "Well, that stands as the most unique punishment I've heard about. And Heso and Zap?"

  "They didn't stay much longer, haven't been back since." Nil scowled. "I'd thought better of Eldon and Ronnie. Going to have to re-evaluate who I do and don't train. They'll train each other, but there just aren't that many truly well trained wizards around. I'll warn them to evaluate the boys they might train. Fortunately the Army's keeping Xen too busy to do much."

  "Wolfson?"

  "Yeah, I expect you've met him."

  The man with the illusions. A powerful wizard who knows all the assassins.

  And is in tight with Garit.

  Old Gods damn it . . . speaking of which . . .

  "I don't understand about these . . . gods. I know all the new histories, highly magical exiles and all that. But I've got to say, Lady Gisele just scared the hell out of me."

  The archwizard chuckled. "Indeed. She has the most obvious physical manifestation of . . . being something outside of the ordinary. But all of them—I've known her, the God of War and the God of the Roads all my life. The God of Love and Goddess of Logic are late arrivals to the valley, and Logic has moved to Charliesville." He shook his head. "Their brains really did get scrambled. Over a long period of observation, you realize that they no longer react quite like normal people. They see something important, and never think to mention it to others. They are controlled by the collective subconscious: when someone prays, they can't block it out. Can't not respond. Anyone near by, they tend to pick up organized thoughts. And they either answer as if you said it out loud, or they just ignore it." He gestured in frustration. "We had three Oners scouting out the village. The gods recognized that they were very different, that they were magic, that they were scouting out the centers of magic . . . and the gods never told anyone."

  A gorgeous dark hair woman wearing scandalously little had walked up as they talked. "They could have killed those children."

  Staven raised enquiring eyebrows.

  "My not-wife Justice." Nil gave a thin smile. "A team of eighteen trained killers were sent to attack the village. They had orders to kill everyone. I suppose they thought they could slip in and start slicing throats. They were walking in, after dark, and encountered a bunch of teenagers. They were out in the woods, two girl gangs settling a grudge, and a few fellows. Poor Oners didn't survive the attack."

  "Poor Oners, my ass." The woman growled. "I still can't believe only a single girl was seriously injured. None of our people were killed."

  "Umm, do you think they're not that big of a threat?" Staven eyed them. "Rufi said the wizards were there, at the Crossroads battle."

  Nil nodded. "I grabbed a couple of Oners and ripped out some information. They out number us ten to one, if not more. They outnumber us magical types enormously. They've got weapons we can't counter. If Rustle's kids hadn't got the gate closed, we'd be dead, or vassals, by now."

  ***

  Staven rode back to the inn and turned Solstice over to Markly, in the barn. He strolled around the inn, down the side road along the fragrant evergreen shrubs in the herb garden.

  So he had a clear view when the woman appeared from thin air.

  She was short, but not drastically so, beautiful verging on spectacular, with a long navy skirt, no it was pants, with very full legs, and a white shirt. Dark brown hair fought an attempt to tame it into braids.

  She looked like she was working on taming a temper as well, as she frowned at the little old lady who popped up in the herb garden, then turned and stalked toward the second house across the street.

  "Answer! Are you hiding Grace from me?" She made it an accusation, not a question. And a rather loud and public one.

  The old woman half the village was terrified of walked out of her house, frowning. "Mercy. How nice to see you again. I do not know anyone by the name of Grace." She stepped out into the street and Staven saw that she was barefoot. She didn't look cold. She looked powerful.

  "Don't lawyer me, Witch! I want my daughter."

  More women were emerging from houses and stores up and down the street. Two older women came to stand on either side of Answer, just behind each shoulder.

  Three women came together off to Staven's left, and he started easing back. Mihaela says witches work in threes. And I'll bet they fight in threes as well. Another trio to the right, or was the proper term Triad? Somehow all the random women emerging from homes had fallen into a pattern. Three women together, and then three Triads standing in triangles.

  Galloping hoofbeats, and the God of War, armed and armored was vaulting off a giant horse and stalking forward.

  The Goddess of Health joined him as Mercy turned and faced him. "Where is Grace?"

  "I don't know. She is an adult and if she has left you, that is her right. If she comes here seeking sanctuary, we will give it to her."

  Staven's hair was standing up on his head, and the air seemed filled with some dangerous potential. Everyone was sparkling with power barely restrained behind shields.

  Mercy was rubbing her fingers together and Staven could see the static sparking between her fingers. "When that son of yours shows up with her, you'd better send her right back to me. Preferably with his unattached head." She knotted her fists and glared. Disappeared.

  Lady Gisele sniffed dismissively. "That woman could give Goddesses a bad reputation."

  "I'll warn everyone. And find out what the boy is up to." The God of War turned to his horse. The big black creature finally registered on Staven. It was as tall as a draft horse, and built just slightly lighter, with a long shoulder, and walked with a smooth ripple of muscle, clean legged with none of the feathery hair a draft horse would sport.

  No wonder The War Horse is nearly as mythical as his rider.

  The God was taller even than Xen, but still jumped for the stirrup and swung aboard. The horse pivoted and cantered up the road and out of sight behind the barn.

  A huff of breath behind him. Passe relaxed his grip on his sword.

  "Damn." Staven looked back at the village crossroads, where the witches' pattern had vanished with the slightest of shifts. This time he used the back door of the Tavern, and installed himself in as obscure a corner as possible, as witches came and went, and he absorbed their chatter.

  The Goddess of Mercy hadn't seemed very merciful, t
o him. An interesting addition to his collection of magical knowledge.

  He listened as he ate, but learned little beyond witches not being afraid of gods or goddesses—so long as they could gang up on them.

  And as for Wolfson, they considered it more likely that the girl had run off after him as he ran away from her.

  Is he a coward? Or does he not like women? Markly's buddy said he ran from witches, too. I think I need to go home and think this over. Talk to Asti, perhaps.

  ***

  It was late before Xen got back to the Tavern. Grace, Simon and River were chatting over the remains of dinner. He waved as he crossed to the front door and opened it.

  :: Dad? Can you come to the Tavern? I've got a surprise for you. I think. ::

  "Like kidnapping the Goddess of Mercy's daughter?" His father stepped up onto the porch. The spot just in front of the tavern had been a common recognition point for centuries. "What were you think . . . " He stopped dead, then a slow smile crossed his face. "Simon Golan. What are you doing still alive?" Then his eyes widened further. "River!"

  The witch flung herself at him, and was swept into a big hug.

  Oh, shit. Xen cleared his throat. "Art had them triple reverse bubbled and set up as objects de art in his museum."

  A brief flare of magic, sign of a flash of temper. "Art, again. Next time I won't be so polite. I'll just kill him on sight. And Mercy? I thought you had better sense than to tackle two gods at once."

  Another step behind him. Mom. Oh I really hope this isn't embarrassing. Painful.

  Dad just grinned wider. "Rustle, this is River Fireflydaut of the no-longer-existing Tripoli Pyramid. She's a child my second wife and I semi-adopted . . . thirteen centuries ago. And Dr. Simon Golan, a professor of physics, and retired spy."

  "Old Gods! Thirteen centuries old? How did you manage that!" Rustle shook hands with both of them

  "Apparently inside three layers of bubbles, imitating statues." River looked over her shoulder as Harry led Grace over to them.