by Pam Uphoff
Easterly pictured Quicksilver and repeated what he'd said.
:: Oh. Hmm. Damn, I hate doing this to the little wreck. And as for you . . . ::
Easterly felt something weird shiver over him.
:: You ought to be back to your usual self. Check a mirror, and I'll check, closer up, in a few hours. ::
Easterly slipped down to the stables.
Deena pounced on him. "Your illusion is gone. What happened?"
"Quicksilver took it off after, er, it had served its purpose."
"Awww." Lily grinned. "Ricardo's such a pretty little boy. You ought to have kept it for a while."
Easterly rolled his eyes and headed across the stable yard. He ducked through the back door of the Tavern and they followed.
"So?"
"So, t'chatty little creature nattered away. Ricardo is pretending to be 'Hugo', and he's close enough that he could have ridden his horse there. She hasn't seen Heso or Zap, they headed south."
Then he had to give them the verbatim conversation. With gestures, descriptions of action. "Good thing she didn't talk, during, umm . . . that just wasn't natural. I think Ricardo did something to her."
Lily snickered. Deena glowered. Easterly had a nasty suspicion he was blushing.
Dissatisfied, they ate the dinner Flare had kept warm. Quicksilver slipped in and joined them for dessert. Easterly compared her to Teri. Instead of underfed, she was smoothly rounded with muscles, not overly busty, but shapely. Not terribly sexy. I wonder if she can "not project" sexuality, magically. He jerked his attention back to the matter at hand.
"So, she suggested that he come back tomorrow. Of course that was really me she was talking to. But shall we assume that there's often a several day window that he might use? We should watch for him tomorrow."
Quicksilver straightened. "Teri comes for three days at a time. Four nights. So . . . do you want to arrest him?"
Lilly shook her head. "He's just a nasty little pervert. Wacolm wants the man who hired him. We need to find out where Ricardo goes."
"How many Hugos do we know? And what's the big deal about stealing the horse?"
Quicksilver looked absentminded for a minute. "Hazel says one of the horse statues we stole from the God of Art ages ago is missing.”
“T’what?”
“Genetically engineered horses, the old original ones. Jet, Sungold, Pyrite, the Old Dun. Art had some of them in inside-out bubbles and on display. Xen must have been about five years old, and he and some other kids were climbing on some of the statues when Art decided Mom would be a nice addition to his gallery. Mom traveled rather hastily, grabbing all the statues, and kids. Dad showed Xen how to get Pyrite out. The others we’ve left there--in the Rip, about two miles south of the Inn.”
Deena frowned. “You mean where the Rip Witches have their homes, their ceremonies? That group of horse statues are real horses and Ricardo waltzed in and stole one?”
Quicksilver nodded. “Ricardo’s pushing the limits. Taking risks . . . I’ve seen Xen do things no sensible person would try. I think it’s almost like drunken overconfidence, sometimes. Something to do with having a strong connection to the collective subconscious.”
Easterly snorted. “So Ricardo now has a very good horse. Could he be staying with someone living within riding distance?"
Quicksilver nibbled a fingernail. "Well, there are a few ranches about. More to the west and southwest, but still nothing within fifty miles of the Crossroads."
Deena shook her head. "He can travel. How about corridors? He may be the one making them, for the gang."
Easterly frowned, "We're pretty close to t'Province boundary, aren't we? With Three River's Province . . . section two? That's Lord Jalasi's grant. His home is on t'east side. There was a magazine article about it, a couple of years ago. All snooty, showing off t'mansions of t'High and Mighty stuff."
"Easterly, does it hurt to have a memory like that?" Deena asked.
"All full of information? Nah, I like living in a trash heap. It's t'source of my bachelor strengths. But that's probably only a bit more than a hundred miles. If distance matters, when traveling."
Quicksilver nodded. "My family is very good at it. Most people are lucky to go ten miles."
"So we need to find out if the Jalasi's have a guest named Hugo." Deena said. "Quickly, because Teri is so chatty, she's bound to give you away."
"Not a guest. A son." Easterly searched for more information, came up empty.
"And there's no rush." Quicksilver squirmed. "I, umm, removed her memories of tonight. She thinks she walked from tavern to my place, saddened that Ricardo wasn't there."
Deena leaned back thoughtfully. "So if you were to give her some innocent sounding bit of information . . . and it showed up in Karista, we might be able to trace it back to someone who is in contact with Ricardo. I talked with Colonel Kester, he says they want the whole organization, if at all possible. But first and foremost, the man who hired them. So a trace on his city contacts would be valuable."
Easterly tented his fingers. "So, what tasty bit of disinformation shall we pass on to Ricardo?"
"It's going to have to be subtly possible, or he won't give it enough credit to pass on." Deena shot a sudden look at Quicksilver. "What are you grinning about."
"We could hit him in his tender spot. How about if I'm disturbed, because I've been approached and asked if it's really possible to turn girls into boys? I won't specify who asked me. Just hint that Felashi and Hedi were being considered."
Deena bit her lip. "No. That would make them a potential target. Speculate on which pair of Princesses they could possibly mean. Demiteri and Eleganza? Surely not, they're married women! Imeldi and Jasquin? They're so young it might not be tramatic. Or is this future speculation, that if Amilie had a baby girl, it would become a baby boy? Or if she was set aside, a younger wife's daughters? Or could there be bastards out there? Maybe one old enough that they could ditch Xen and keep Garit for the crown?"
"Ah. A thicket of possibilities. If Ricardo is curious enough, he might ask his contacts to find out." Quicksilver nodded. "All right, I'll go get all cozy and have a girl-to-girl chat with Teri and drop too much information. Or maybe some now and some in the morning when I’m trying to give her some lessons and training."
Deena looked curious. "I know I missed a lot of training, but I thought until she was older she wouldn't have much ability?"
"Heh. She may be sixteen, but she has a six month old daughter that she abandoned. My aunt Obsidian is raising the baby, but Teri's a Halfmoon."
"She abandoned a baby? I thought you witches were all so free of inhibitions about bastards. Was she raped?"
"No. She was tight with Jade for awhile, our full blown Black Widow. I think they both got pregnant while playing around with one of their victims. When Jade's murders were discovered, they both just left their babies and rode away. Teri came slinking back a few months later, and never mentioned the baby." Quicksilver shrugged. "About half the witches think she ought not be trained any further. But an untrained witch who can't control her subconscious use of magic is also dangerous. She needs to get the basics down solid. Shielding is especially important, and a good way to practice holding multiple spells."
Lily looked over. "Why would you need more than one shield spell? Or do you mean, hold a shield while doing other things?"
"Both. Shields have to be pretty specific. The wider the types of spells your shield will deflect, the thinner it gets. A physical shield, a shield against mental intrusions and a third against heat is a good combination. It covers the most common spells. But if you're holding those three, you won't have much mental attention for tossing spells. And you won't be blocking cold or light spells, or if you drop one of the others and block cold, you’re vulnerable to the more commonly used spells you aren't shielded against, now. Nor are you protected against any of the really advanced spells, or a simpler spell with so much power behind it that it penetrates readily."
&n
bsp; "Ouch! You make magic duels sound painful!"
"I've only been on the sidelines of a real one, once, but Nil can make you think you'd regret not being able to diagnose what's about to hit you. Which turned out to be a good thing for me." She grinned. "Anyway, that's one reason witches triads are so effective. We can hold two shields each, and still throw spells. Good thing Teri's alone."
Easterly eyed her. "There were eight men at t'orgy. A Mage Compass?"
"Keith wasn't at all magic . . . But Rebo probably had the Royal family's mage version, which is very subtle . . . Good point. Talk to Xen, there may be an eighth magician out there."
Chapter Twenty-eight
Winter 1393, day 16
Crossroads, Section 1, Foothills Province
The Goddess of Mercy stood in solitary splendor, still glaring at her hand.
Good. Maybe it's safe for Grace to come to Ash. Not to mention River and Simon. A physics professor with a hobby of rock collecting? I wonder if Wallenton needs a college?
Xen eyed the slight mound in front of the Goddess. "So, they buried your victim at your feet? Not sure they were thinking straight about that. I don't think you'd be shamed. I suspect you'd think it a fitting tribute to your magnificent self." He spun around suddenly, surveyed the trampled area of the Lover's camp. Someone is watching me . . .
"Yes. I suspect she would."
Art's purring tones, laced with both anger and caution. The god himself was nowhere to be seen. "Who are you, to have done this to a Goddess? I hate being out of touch like this, sidelined even in the relationships among the gods."
Xen half closed his eyes, looked for mental, magic, glow. Nothing. Art was closed up tight. "I think your main problem is the way you treat people. Kidnapping people and turning them into artwork? I can see it as a way to deal with . . . enemies. If Mercy had just been bubbling those drunken idiots, I'd have left her alone. But I wasn't about to stand by and watch her commit murder."
Pyrite was staring at a spot to the northeast. Xen focused on it. Was there a faint distortion in the light?
"Who are you?" Art appeared, an arm halfway through a dramatic swing, as of an invisible cape. "You told Mercy you were a descendant of Harry and Chance. But then she said you were War's. I told her the Wulf had never had children of the body."
"Lieutenant Xen Wolfson, of the King's Own." Will he behave if he realizes he's not all that unique anymore? "Wolf. Son. And Harry and Chance on my mother's side. The magic genes are accumulating; a lot of us are very strong. That's why Heliotrope was able to escape from you. Why on the World did you think you could use a daughter of Michael's in such a way?"
A dismissive snort. "The God of Just Deserts! He just spoils everything. Including my reintroduction to society."
Xen shook his head. "You were doing just fine as a rich man, and a patron of the arts. Why the rush to be at the very top, to rule? Why here, if you must be on top? Look at New Bombay, all you needed to do was find people who wanted to start anew and help them move there. Or start with a blank slate in the wilderness."
Art growled. "I am a god. I don't have to start small."
I need to stop getting into fights with gods. Sooner or later it's going to end badly.
"And I don't have to listen to snotty children." He rubbed his fingers together, concentrating power.
Right handed. He's not experienced with mixed fights. Xen turned slightly, surveying the area, as if wary. Did Art have no backup at all? Turned partially back toward Art, keeping his left hand down, behind his back. Grabbed a bubble. Envisioned it as quite small. Pried it open, turned it inside out, stuck it to his pants. Grabbed another. How many layers will I need, all at once?
Three was all he had time for.
Art threw a fireball, followed with another . . .
Xen threw up shields, mental and physical. Energy. He bounced the first fireball, as he ran forward. Dropped the energy shield and absorbed and channeled the second fireball. Slice, spin, sleep, and stun all bounced off his shields. He flicked all of his shields off just long enough to toss his nastiest web of spells. Spells of all sorts, mental, physical and energy. With the Black Goat Morph and the Chain spell at the end of it all. He'd spent years analyzing and duplicating Nil's favorite overwhelming reaction to attack.
Art wasn't as able to shrug aside the spells as Mercy had been. He cursed, tried to draw a sword, dropped it from a hand trying to become a hoof . . .
Xen snatched his layered bubbles, widened their matching openings and swooped them over the god.
The half transformed man-goat froze in mid writhe on the ground.
Xen eyed it, and added an extra layer. "Because if you had any idea what an ugly statue you are, you'd be even more pissed."
Pyrite nodded his agreement.
He turned and walked away. If Janic wanted to talk to either God, well, most likely they'd both be right here. "Safer than having them in Karista, where word of them will get out. They're more likely to get out through someone either rescuing them, or just ignorant and curious."
::Bury them. Hide them. ::
"Oh. Good idea." He levitated a large plug of dirt beside Art. Pyrite shoved and tumbled the statue into the hole. "Ashes to ashes, Art to dirt?" Xen shook his head and levitated the dirt back into the hole on top of the god. He walked back to Mercy. Buried her beside her victim and turned to walk away. "May the true God have mercy on her soul, if she ever actually dies."
Pyrite snorted skeptically.
"Yeah, don't tell Uncle Kurt I said that. He already thinks I'm a heretic. Knows. Well, that wraps up my 'watch the gods' assignment. So, Horsie, what trouble shall we get into for the rest of the day?"
Pyrite swiveled an ear and eyed Xen's shoulder.
"Oh, Damn. I forgot all about Prince Staven's horse!"
***
Staven stared at his piles of scribbled notes. As expected, his handwriting was worse than Markly's.
Markly and Passe looked as glum as he felt.
"The problem is, I'm not a policeman. I don't know a thing about the local criminal gangs, how one might go about finding an assassin. Even considering magic . . . even if Ricardo is a god . . . how did anyone first think to pray for an assassin? Someone must have told him, perhaps a gang member?" He threw himself back in his chair. "I don't need a law degree, I need street experience."
He stared at the nearest stack. Wolfson's.
"I need to know more about magic, too. Let's go find Wolfson."
"Magic Central" was empty. The dubious looks he got when asking where and when the wizard had been seen spoke volumes. This man is being considered as a Spear? Some of the troops admire his sword work, but even they are appalled by the body count the man apparently accumulates every time he fights. And the rest of them are spooked by the stories about the magic.
They finally tracked Wolfson down in the barn.
The tall lieutenant was giving orders to the stable boys.
" . . . with chlorine bleach." He glanced over, nodded to Staven. "We've run out of people to harass for the moment, so I thought perhaps I ought to do something about your horse."
Staven stiffened.
"I have him in a dimensional bubble. Do you know about . . . ? Good. So he's still in the condition I found him. I didn't have time to examine him, that night. I . . . will try to save him. I'm very good with horses."
"You'd damn well better be. That horse saved my life." It came out in a shaky whisper. More threatening and more frightened than he'd intended.
Wolfson's black eyes were unreadable. He just nodded and turned back to the stall.
Double sized, stripped to the concrete and being scrubbed.
Staven counted breaths, got himself back under control.
The head of the veterinary staff hustled up, and nodded approvingly at the clean floor. And swapped an uncertain look between Staven and Wolfson. "So . . . where is the patient?"
"If you are ready, I'll fetch him." Wolfson frowned at the vet, who had no equi
pment what-so-ever.
The vet started to grumble, caught Staven's glare, and hustled off. He returned with two assistants and a cart full of rattling bottles and oddly shaped . . . tools.
Wolfson stepped into the stall. "Be careful. He was panicked, in pain, badly injured. No doubt suffering from shock and blood loss." He mimed pulling something off his shoulder. Setting it down. Ripping . . . The stifling humidity and sulfur stench of the hotsprings . . .
Devil was on his knees, blood streaming down his neck. Glassy eyed, he still tossed his head, startled. Threw one foreleg out, to try to stand . . . Swayed . . . his left hind leg sprawled in an abnormal position . . .
Staven found himself with his good arm around Devil's neck, bracing him.
Felt the horse relax abruptly.
"That was a spell to block pain. And the bleeding . . . right. Got it." Wolfson moved to the rear, where the vet was shaking his head.
"He's hamstrung, the stifle and hock joints are both dislocated. He . . . "
Wolfson interrupted. "Right, so we need to get the joints back the way they ought to be, then repair the tendon . . . "
"Are you insane?"
"No. I am a very powerful magician. Watch. Umm, Captain Negue, I'm going to make Devil sleep. We need him laying down on his right side, so if you would pull him that way as he starts to sag . . . "
Devil's head sank, Staven pulled. Cursed his lack of two hands and tried to nudge the horse's leg with his own. Tried to slow his fall, to prevent any further injury . . .
Out of the corner of his eye he could see Wolfson pulling the horse's good hind leg out from under him. Staven hopped back as Devil rolled down flat. Then relaxed and . . . slept.
He walked around and broke into a sweat at the sight of the horse's left hind leg. The lizards had nearly had him. Mihaela . . . I think she must have thrown a spell, the way they slid away. Another second and they'd have had his leg off.
He crouched down, tried to breathe evenly. Even with the shredding rips of the fangs it wasn't bleeding badly.