by Pam Uphoff
"Does she deserve him?"
"Question is, does Rebo deserve a father-in-law that scary?" Staven watched Gallery shake hands with Rebo, and kiss the air above the woman's glove.
Garit elbowed him. "Is that the daughter?"
Lady Eden hustled nervously through the thin crowd, looking around in confusion, but not lingering.
" . . . and here's my daughter. Lady Eden Gallery, may I present Prince Rebo Negue, and Hoon Withie."
Rebo froze, shook himself slightly, and then reached tentatively out to take the girl's hand.
Garit stopped dead, grabbed Staven's elbow and drew him away. "Do not interrupt this. I've never seen Rebo so . . . gentle."
Staven turned his attention back to Gallery and the woman. They were staring at each other. Hostile, challenging. Silent. If they were alone, I think we'd see some fireworks. If she's a witch—glowing like that, she must be—and he's a wizard or a mage or whatever they call themselves . . . I think this Hoon will find herself barred from interfering with Rebo.
I think this is going to work just fine.
***
When he got back to Rufi's mansion, it was well past midnight. Staven followed the sounds of deep masculine laughter toward Rufi's office.
Two huge crates completely blocked the corridor. In the office, Rufi was chatting with a stranger. On the other side of the crates, the kitchen staff was unloading wine bottles. Toting them down into the wine cellar, no doubt.
Rufi spotted him and waved Staven in. "Come and meet my favorite vintner."
The stranger stood up and extended a hand. Staven blinked up at him. Ceiling is eight feet so he's about seven. "Staven Negue, a pleasure." Sword calluses and a careful grip of a well muscled hand. Broad and muscular, no fat at all. Vintner my ass.
"Wolfgang Oldham."
Rufi looked surprised. "You're getting better at remembering."
"Yep. I think it's the new history they're teaching now."
Staven wondered how to parse that . . . looked back the crates, and his bafflement rose. "How did you get those through the door? They're huge."
"Easy for me, but I really ought to box them up smaller so I can take them right to the wine cellar. Save Rufi's people this early morning exercise." The big man flashed a grin, probably at Staven's expression. "It's magic." He made a swooping motion with his right hand and grabbed . . . absolutely nothing. "Either that, or it's a multi-dimensional bubble." He reached out to Rufi's table and grabbed something. Push pins. He stuck four of them to his handful of nothing then pinned it to the wall. And reached in. The wall swallowed his whole arm up to the shoulder.
Rufi snickered. "Very handy for storing stuff. And boggling young relatives."
The man . . . wizard or whatever . . . retreated and Staven poked at the bronzy square framed by the four tacks. It gave to his finger, as if made of soft rubber. As if the wall behind it had ceased to exist.
He poked it again. Pulled out a tack and moved it. The square distorted, opened wider as Staven moved the other tacks.
The stranger just grinned. "My wife has been known to store entire haystacks. We use them to move buildings, on occasion." He grinned back a Rufi. "And speaking of my wife . . . " He disappeared.
Literally.
Staven froze.
He straightened slowly and looked at his grinning uncle.
The old man's voice just oozed innocence. "Well, the God of War has to do something in between battles. And with that much experience, his wines are fantastic."
Staven raised a disbelieving eyebrow. And looked back at the bronze square. "Do you know what? I think I'm having another good idea."
Chapter Seven
25 December 3505
Early Winter 1389
"Merry Christmas, Uncle Day."
Uncle Day's stiffness evaporated, the corners of his eyes crinkled.
Staven grinned and handed over a slat from the oversized wine crate.
"A board! I've always wanted . . . " He frowned and poked at the bronze square pinned to the slat. His finger sank in and he jumped, dropped the board.
Staven could feel his own grin widening. "It's a magic storage bubble. Or perhaps a permanent multidimensional bubble. I've heard you can stash whole haystacks in them." He noted Andrai and Max staring at the board, as Damien picked it up and poked a fork into it.
The various young women about started giggling.
"How on the World did you get that, Staven?" Mihaela circled around the three Earthers. "I've only seen them in Ash. I didn't think they sold them."
"Oh, the God of War left it behind after he demonstrated it. I guess he and Rufi are pals, and found my bogglement amusing." He shyly fished in his pocket and brought out a wrapped package and handed it to her. Then he shrugged off his backpack and handed out the little trinkets he'd picked up, here and there for all the younger batch.
But his attention was on the man he'd always called uncle, and loved like a father. Who was now experimenting with the broom handle.
I think that just might be a good reminder that we aren't primitives. Aren't easy pickings for a so-called advanced culture. We're magic.
About the Author
I was born and raised in California, and have lived more than half my life, now, in Texas.
Wonderful place. I caught almost the first bachelor I met here, and we’ve just celebrated our thirty-third anniversary.
My degree's in Geology. After working for an oil company for almost ten years as a geophysicist, I "retired" to raise children. As they grew, I added oil painting, sculpting and throwing clay, breeding horses, volunteering in libraries and for the Boy Scouts, and worked as the treasurer for a friend’s political campaign. Sometime in those busy years, I turned a love of science fiction into a part time job reading slush, unsolicited manuscripts, for Baen Books (Mom? Someone is paying you to read??!!)
I've always written, published a few short stories. But now that the kids have flown the nest, I'm calling writing a full time job.
Other Titles by the Author
Wine of the Gods Series:
Outcasts and Gods
Exiles and Gods (Three Novellas)
The Black Goats
Explorers
Spy Wars
Comet Fall
A Taste of Wine (Seven Tales)
Dark Lady
Growing Up Magic (Four Stories)
Short Stories:
Lost Boy
Mall Santa
Writing as Zoey Ivers:
The Barton Street Gym
Chicago
Excerpt from an Upcoming Release
The God of Assassins
Chapter One
Mid Winter 1393
Karista, Kingdom of the West
Captain Prince Staven Negue drug his mind back from the tick of hard snow against the windows, and shook his head at his Uncle Fossi's latest plan to corral the Crown Prince's heir.
My baby brother.
I remember how happy Father was, the day he was born.
Now he just looks tired. So does everyone else. Grandfather—King Leeno— and Uncle Rufi—who is his Spear. The other nations laugh at our two headed arrangement, but Leeno and Rufi support each other and act as a check on each other's power. As Fossi with the Army will both support and limit Rolo when he takes the throne. And here I am. Rebo's spear prince. Old Gods help me!
He squared his shoulders and cleared his throat.
"I guess I'm going to have to be the one to say it. Rebo is not, and in my opinion, never will be, fit to rule the kingdom. I move we summon the Head of the Council and request that he be formally removed from the succession."
"But . . . " Crown Prince Rolo, his father and Rebo's, looked away, a sheen of tears in his eyes.
The king shut his eyes; a vertical line of pain creased his forehead.
Fossi met Staven's eyes. "That means removing you as well."
"And I don't have any more sons." Rolo scowled at him, anger in his voice. "You
can't do this to yourself!"
The king lifted a hand. "Staven can be reinstated. Garit is a year and a half younger, if he was named your crown heir, Staven would be the obvious choice for his Spear."
Rolo was shaking his head. "We can't pass over Mirk . . . who, frankly would be a much better administrator than Garit. He already is."
"Mirk is forty-two. We'd have to find some distant cousin older than him who is in the army, to be his military leader." The king exchanged glances with Rufi.
Rufi shrugged. "Benni's got three or four grandsons who'd qualify. Kersh's sons . . . are a bit old." He shrugged ruefully. "All right, so they are younger than I am. Neither of them are in the army. Pity Fidel's younger boy is so young, he's a fire eater."
Fossi grinned suddenly. "How about Franki?"
"Too young, thank the gods." The old king couldn't suppress a smile, but it was brief. "Well. The only thing I'm not hearing is support for Rebo." He looked around the table, nodded. "Let's make it formal. All in favor of requesting the Council to remove Rebo from the succession?"
Five raised hands. Even father knows it has to be done.
"Very well. I will ask the Head of the Council to attend on me and break the news."
***
Staven looked at the note and cussed. "Oh damn it, Rebo. Couldn't you behave for just another week?" He glanced over at the page, bouncing on his heels, and no doubt word Staven's exasperation with his brother would be all over the palace within the hour. "Fetch my horse, side door." The boy ran off and Staven headed for his wardrobe. He crumpled the note and tossed it in the general direction of his trash can. "Join me for dinner and entertainment? Old Gods know what he considers entertainment." He shut his mouth. Military Officers were not supposed to walk around muttering. Definitely civilian clothes for someplace out in the New Lands.
Staven spotted his little brother, apparently waiting for him at the main entrance to the . . . Edge of the World. He swung down and handed his reins to the stable boy and stalked over to the insufferable brat.
"Huh. Thought I'd get the Bastard, but you'll do." Rebo turned and walked through the open doors.
Lord Keith was waiting inside, and someone or ones were disappearing through a door across the lobby.
He was glad to see that the place was tastefully furnished, tapestries on the walls, and an appetizing odor coming from the kitchens. He relaxed a bit. "Someone has good tastes."
Lord Keith sniffed. "Like I told Rebo, these women can cook, and they know how a man likes to be entertained, too."
Stave gave Keith a dubious look. Not the worst of Rebo's pals. Unfortunately, Rebo hasn't got any "best." No guards in sight, of course. I ought to have notified someone.
Rebo sneered. "You're what? Twenty-five years of age and already a confirmed old stick. You're going to be just like our mutual half-great-uncle. Who is seventy-three years old and never married. Huh. Maybe he likes boys."
Staven ground his teeth. So much for the nice décor. I'm being set up for something. Hopefully just being left holding the bill. Rebo's allowance was minimal, as his father tried to make him pay for past indiscretions. He'd been supporting eight bastard children since a bit before his fifteenth birthday. And complaining bitterly about it every month.
He was about to get another shock.
Staven eyed him. Best I let him enjoy tonight. Maybe even tomorrow. Because as soon as we get back to Karista . . . Well. Grandfather has to talk to the Head of the Council. Officially. From the Throne, in full public view. Everyone will know, by the day after tomorrow, that the king will be disinheriting him. "Well, let's see what sort of entertainment you're going to inflict on me."
Rebo turned and headed for the doorway arch to the left, where a devastatingly beautiful woman waited. Smiling her welcome, she led them into the dining room, and seated them in a private nook with a good view of the stage.
The whole back wall of the room was windowed, looking out over a drop to badlands that vanished into mists. It did, in fact, look very much like the edge of the world. Staven told himself it was just fog from hotsprings down below. Certainly he'd seen the Rip a few times in his nine years in the Army. The geologists at the college claimed the Rip was a "mid-continent spreading ridge." His Uncle Day had nodded as if it weren't news to him, and Staven believed the old Traveler, however unlikely it sounded.
Quiet flute music danced around in the background as beautiful women came and went with wine, bread and cheese, a delicate fish dish, an ice, something the waitress swore was a giant lizard that lived here abouts, and fresh vegetables, steamed with a delicate sauce, and then medallions of wild bison.
As the dishes came and went, dancers on the stage did likewise. Tasteful, yet very, very erotic. As the sun set, the foggy landscape behind them yellowed, reddened, darkened.
The red wine that came with the bison was incredible. He reeled back in his seat and grabbed the arms . . . but couldn't decide if he was keeping himself from falling out of the chair or from throwing himself at the incredible dancer who was floating their way.
Rebo snickered. "You get used to it."
He and Keith swapped grins. "Gotta find the privy, be right back."
"Yeah, me too." Keith was close on his heels.
The lights dimmed, and a feminine form slunk up to him.
He vaguely heard Rebo as the two walked off. "C'mon, let's see if there's any action in the hot springs."
The dancer ran fingers up his arm, and he hoped Rebo wasn't planning on coming back too soon.
***
The dining alcove had curtains. Cushions.
The dancer knew just what to do to please him. She was incredible.
And finally they walked out to cool off a bit. Staven felt dreamy, could barely feel the ground under his heels. Even sounds were muffled. Red Devil neighing, thumps that might be him, or some other horse kicking the stall walls . . . "Devil doesn't kick . . . " Staven lifted his tired head and looked vaguely toward a barn . . . but the dancer leaned against him and urged him onward. Even with no moon, the path was clear in the brilliant starlight.
"The view is so romantic, look up, at all the stars."
Staven blinked at the edge of the cliff. Not really an abrupt drop, more a steep giants' staircase. Human sized steps off to the left. He looked up. The sky was clear of the foggy mists, filled with stars, the milky way stretched overhead.
And he was falling.
She pushed me.
All vagueness fled as he hit the first ledge down, rolled, was rolled over the next. He hit. Was ready this time for the light footfalls and grabbed for the woman, but she laughed and dodged. He was so slow . . . couldn't seem to stand . . .
Drugged.
She kicked and he slid off the next ledge.
He threw a hand out to break his fall. A shooting pain. And she was there again.
Must be a ladder, somewhere. Or stairs.
She kicked him and he scrambled to grab the lip . . . went feet first this time. Hit and rolled like he'd been taught to fall off a horse. He staggered, turned to face the woman as she floated down steps to the left.
"Hey! What are you doing!" An alarmed male voice, echoing up out of the steamy mist.
"Rebo?" Staven spun, was hit broadside and stumbled forward over the next drop. Crashed, rolled.
Saw two men standing a few feet away. Even in the dark the shape, the stance . . . the other man pushed Rebo and he dropped from sight. Yelling. Splashing. Anger turning abruptly to fear and pain. Screaming.
Staven staggered to his feet, rushed the man, skidded to a halt at the edge as the dark figure dodged. Ten feet down, in a confused dark mist, Rebo screamed, splashing, some huge something heaved up, briefly clear. The armored head and long toothy mouth shown clear. The jaws opened.
Staven was reaching for his knife when he was shoved from the rear. He landed on the giant lizard, rolled off into shallow water, scrambled away, drawing his belt knife. The short blade was more of a tool than a weapon. On
e foot sank deep and he reversed course.
Get out of the water!
"Rebo! Rebo?"