Rod of the Heart

by Cebelius

  'Yes, Master. You see? You like BEING the master, it would be rude not to call you what you are.'

  The pleasurable sensations were still flooding through his middle and over his upper legs, but his previous full stand was now at half-mast as anger coursed through him.

  "Everything you say is manipulative," he growled, struggling to control his temper.

  'Not just everything I say, Master. Everything I do as well. I have motives, and you know exactly what they are. Just because I prefer subtlety at times doesn't make me malicious. Helping you work through these troublesome hang-ups of yours is in my best interest because they make you hesitate at the wrong times. At any rate, my discretion is yours to command.'

  Another freebie I suppose? Like the massage? Thanks for that by the way, but I think I'm done.

  'Don't be petty, Master. It's beneath you. As for pleasure, I can share more with you any time you like. If you prefer pain, I can give you that too. Perhaps you'd like a sparring partner? Someone who can keep up with you, who knows all your tricks ...'

  Again, Prada managed to divert his thoughts into different channels.

  You could do that? Wouldn't you be too light?

  Her laughter was soft and seemed to brush his mind like a woman tracing lips over the shell of his ear as she said, 'Feed me. I can become as large and as dense as any human, but that would hardly be necessary. My ability to absorb and redirect kinetic force allows me to simulate weight or rigidity as long as I'm in contact with the ground. I could armor you head to foot, or fight by your side. I could suffuse your body to increase your strength, endurance, and toughness. I could boost you in soooo many ways ... and then there's what I could TEACH you. Grow me, and you grow your own power in turn. It would have taken Volai years to grow me to a size you could help me achieve in mere weeks, and if she'd done it she wouldn't have been able to maintain me. You can ... you could do it, Master.'

  Before he could really formulate an answer for that, the door began to open. With absolutely shocking rapidity, Prada resumed the shape and texture of a red silk sash, and even arranged herself such that her position looked natural given his posture.

  As his eyes widened, Prada chuckled in his mind.

  "Tee?"

  "Yeah?" he asked, leaning up on his elbows. Shy's luminous green eyes picked themselves out by their soft internal glow, but her moves were hesitant as she stepped into the room.

  Terry couldn't help but notice that she'd left the door open.

  "You sound like you've calmed down," she said, clearly uncertain how to proceed.

  "Yeah. Sorry for acting like a bitch. I wasn't being reasonable about this. I just needed time to get shit straight in my head."

  Shy moved to the edge of the bed, and then slid into place against him, putting her head on his shoulder and draping an arm across his chest. After the silken feel of Prada's ... substance?, the shirt between them felt rough.

  "I won't pretend that I understand your longing for battle, but I am happy that it doesn't overwhelm your common sense," Shy murmured, tightening her grip on him and pressing her body against his.

  He wrapped an arm around her and set his hand on her hip as he tilted his head up to kiss the top of hers. "I hate being broke, and not being able to do the one thing I know how to do to make money has me feeling useless, that's all. I'll adjust."

  "I hate hearing you say that," she said, shifting herself up to lay on top of him, her luminous eyes finding his. "It makes me feel like a failure."

  "I guess I'm not the only one having a hard time being reasonable then," he said, giving her a half-smirk and brushing her leafy hair away from her face. "That makes no sense. Don't worry about it. I had some ideas earlier on other ways to make money. I'm going to ask Ross about a few of them later, supposing I get hold of him."

  She gave him a speculative frown, then asked, "Like what?"

  "Ye of little faith," he said, grinning. "Book stuff. Translation maybe. When I was dumped here I apparently gained a facility for languages. I don't know what language this is, but I'm pretty fucking sure it's not English. Mila told me reading isn't that common, but I can both read and write. I suspect it's more than this one language too, because I understood Cecaelia's people and that surprised them. If I had to guess, I'd say I'm still speaking the language I know, and there's something translating. Something outside whatever power transfer is going on. I don't know. But if I can't be a fighter ... maybe I can at least be a pencil pusher. There's always shit to do for people who can read and write. I'm also pretty handy with math. If I'm going to learn how to live in this world, learn how to take on the Twilight Zone ... I'm going to need SOME kind of way to make my own money."

  He'd been watching her as he spoke, and her expression had only grown more dissatisfied. He scowled and asked, "What now? Afraid I'll get paper cuts?"

  "Terrence Mack, listen to me very carefully. You are not broke. You've got more money than you could spend. I don't know if you heard it, but Euryale dumped her hoard out in the other room in a fit of pique. She is upset at you for not owning up to the fact that she gave you everything she had. She threatened to start stuffing you with coin until you 'shit gold bricks,' and I wasn't entirely certain she was joking."

  Terry chuckled at that, but not very much. Given Euryale's eccentricities, and how upset she'd been, he wasn't entirely sure she was joking either.

  Best play it off and hope it IS a joke.

  "Yeah, thought I heard something, and she calls me 'Master.' She's spent more time ordering me around than vice-versa. Can you believe that noise?" he asked. It was a purely rhetorical question, but Shy put a finger on his lips to still them as she said, "Yes. I can. There isn't a collar or spell anywhere that could compel the sort of devotion she has to you, but she is not unintelligent. Hers is not an aimless, blind devotion, but a genuine desire for not only your happiness, but your happiness with what she has given you of her own free will.

  "Laina's angry too as long as we're talking about your bonds ... and a bit jealous. She was really looking forward to spoiling you rotten with all the coin she was making. You're ruining their fun and taking away their sense of accomplishment by being ... whatever it is you're being."

  He rolled his eyes and shook his head as he said, "Fine. I understand that, but Shy ... understand me. I need to work. I need to earn my keep."

  "Tee, I love you, but you're being an idiot. This isn't the world you came from, and here you are no common laborer. The idea of you sitting on a scribe's stool copying a manuscript is beyond absurd. You will have plenty of opportunities to prove your worth in the coming days, months — and if I get my way — years. If you want to be useful, how about being useful to the women who love you?"

  Quirking an eyebrow at her, Terry asked, "At the risk of pissing off the only woman around me who isn't already mad, how would you suggest I do that? Aside from the sex thing, none of you really need me. I barely know a fucking thing about this world." He laughed as he remembered their first meeting and said, "I still don't even know how to start a fire!"

  Shy tilted her head, considering him thoughtfully.

  At least she's not pissed.

  "Why not explore the new option that has opened to you?" she asked after a long moment's thought. "You have a mage's familiar. Specifically, you have a ruby slime. I don't know much of anything about it, but I do know that Volai Hart was considered a very powerful theurge. Perhaps the slime's wish to contract with you specifically means you have a facility for that type of magic."

  "And what type of magic is that?" he asked, restraining his initial impulse to dismiss the idea out of hand.

  She kissed him and snuggled in close as she said, "Your familiar hasn't already told you? A theurge is someone who controls the magic of the heart."

  "What, LOVE magic? Psh!" He started chuckling, but stopped when Prada spoke into his mind.

  'Blood magic, Master. Theurges are blood magi ... and template blood is the most potent blood on Celestine.
'

  Before he could process that, Laina's voice drifted in from the other side of the door, "Has Boss got his head on straight yet? Ross is due any minute to get that milk!"

  Shy and Terry exchanged glances, and he spoke up, "Come on in, Laina! Let's get it done but fair warning, bring two buckets because Shy and I are going to double-team you!"

  Laina stepped through the doorway, smirk firmly in place and buckets in hand as she said, "Threaten me more."

  As they set up he asked, "Where's Euryale?"

  "Still out there, cleaning up the mess she made," Laina said offhandedly as she unwound her sarashi. "You'd better start letting her treat you or she's going to—"

  "Yeah! Yup! Mmhm. I heard," he said. "We're hoping that's a joke."

  Laina gave him a look and then just shrugged and said, "I wouldn't test her. At the very least, you can let us buy you a razor."

  'There's no need for that. Consider this another bonus because I like you.'

  Before Terry even had time to open his mouth, Prada glided up his body and smoothly engulfed his face. The sensation was beyond strange, like dipping his head in warm jello, but it lasted less than five seconds, and then Prada slipped back off his head and resumed her place as a sash around his waist.

  Wide-eyed, he looked at Laina, who was gawking openly at him, then at Shy, who blinked, reached out, and touched his smooth-shaven cheek as she said, "Well ... that's one way to do it. You look even cleaner than you did the first day we met."

  He touched his face, the sides of his head, then ran his hand over the top. He was now clean-shaven and had exactly the same haircut he'd had when he was shot: not quite white-wall sides and back, too short to grip on top.

  'You're welcome.'

  "Ah ... thanks," he said belatedly, then glanced at his companions as he waved at his waist and said, "By the way, meet Prada. She asked me for a new name and that's the best I could do."

  The knot at his side burbled, "The name suits me well as I truly am the very personification of hellishly avant-garde elegance. It's a pleasure to meet you."

  Terry's lips tightened as he tried not to laugh at the bemused expressions on both ladies.

  Inside jokes? ALREADY?

  'You need every chance to relax you can get, Master. You're too tightly wound. I'll do what I can.'

  Shy was giving him a speculative look, but she kept her thoughts to herself. Laina shrugged and said, "Yeah, likewise. Keep him safe for us."

  "Oh I will," Prada burbled.

  With the two of them working in tandem, they got Laina milked within fifteen minutes, and this time Terry stayed to help with the bottling.

  As they were putting the last corks in, they heard a sharp rap on the outer door. A few moments later they heard Euryale's voice, and she sounded waspish.

  "What?!"

  "Uh ... Commander Ross sent me? For the milk. He couldn't come; he's having to send out extra patrols because of the chaos in the streets."

  Laina grabbed the crate they'd loaded up and walked out with it, Shy and Terry in tow. Terry glanced toward the window, then turned and moved to it. There was a sizable pile of coins, jewels, and sundry items still heaped in one corner and the scattered evidence of Euryale's tantrum was all over the room, but gold and jewels weren't on his mind. 'Chaos in the streets' was on his mind.

  He set a hand on the window and looked out at Florence, and saw the city burning. He looked toward the western gate and saw a sizable mob on both sides of the wall that the blaze of the setting sun made lurid. It was too far away and there was too much smoke billowing between him and the gate to make out much detail, but it was easy to tell that the folk gathered at the wall weren't peaceful.

  I did this.

  'Yes. Your tracks are deep in this land, Master. Many of them will fill with blood.'

  Not helping.

  Prada didn't answer him, and he turned and looked at the man who'd just taken the crate off Laina and seemed to be having considerably more trouble handling it than she had.

  "Where's Commander Ross?" Terry asked.

  "Out in the bailey," the satyr said as he constantly readjusted his grip. "You want me to take you?"

  The man clearly didn't want to take him, but it was a moot point.

  "No," Terry said as he strode purposefully toward the door.

  "I know the way."

  14

  For What It's Worth

  "Keep the gates open, but I want a squad outside and another one inside. Do everything you can to make sure that no zone agents get in with the press. Don't attack people. They're already panicking. The last thing I need is to start blood feuds with the survivors when this is all over. You are to be a presence, not a punishment. These are our people. We have to make sure they understand we fight for them."

  "Yessir."

  The satyr saluted and turned, trotting out of the bailey and into the evening light, headed for the guardhouse to gather the men he'd need.

  Albrecht Ross blinked hard, trying to clear his head of fatigue. The last few days had been a nightmare that had begun with a pair of brilliant-blue eyes.

  The Madsee is here. Could even Cecaelia save us if she turns?

  He didn't know, but he rather doubted it. Not after the entire court of Vicereine Volai Hart had been all but instantly turned to stone. That they'd been restored only solidified the template's hold over Florence. That Albrecht had been chosen to lead was beyond incredible, yet now he stood responsible for the city and its people. The vicissitudes of life were beyond him, yet here he was.

  Lady Luck is ever fickle, but I'll take what I can get at this point.

  He stood on the top step of the mezzanine that rose from the bailey up to the reinforced double doors that led into the mountain, and from here he could look out the gate set in the keep's inner wall to the city beyond. Much of it lay hidden behind a pall of smoke, and though the immediate court where the southern market was held seemed peaceful, that peace was illusory.

  Florence was burning, its people in a panic, and it was only a matter of time before they organized and turned on the keep to demand answers ... and blood.

  A small sound caught his attention and he turned, glancing behind him.

  The template. Just what I need.

  Terry Mack was dressed in a simple peasant's shirt and trews along with the ruby sash Albrecht knew to be a sanguine devil, but his clothes belied his importance. As far as creatures went, he was at once imposing and unremarkable. Imposing because despite the six inches or more of height he had on the template, the man was as broad across the shoulders without armor as the lion man was with his on. His shirt hung loose off a deep chest and shoulders rounded with muscle, and his gray-green eyes were piercing and direct.

  Yet he carried no weapons. His hands ended in nails barely worth a mention. He had no claws, his teeth were flat and unremarkable, and there was nothing about him but his muscle to give any indication that he was any danger. Had Ross not known better, he would have dismissed him as a minor threat at best.

  But I do know better ... and if I didn't, the template was good enough to bring a reminder.

  The almost unnoticeable, short woman wearing a diaphanous white dress and a dryad's mask gave the lie to any impression of weakness. Terry Mack controlled the Madsee, and so he controlled Florence.

  "Terry," the captain, now commander, growled. "You shouldn't be out here."

  "Probably not," the template said, glancing past Ross to look out into the city. "That's my fault ... isn't it."

  "Mostly," Ross agreed, having neither the energy nor the will to sugarcoat the situation. "But not entirely. There are zone agents outside the walls causing a panic and forcing the people who were running away this morning to run back tonight. Bodies are piling up on the road from all reports. It's a nightmare."

  Terry's expression moved from remorse to something else, and his eyes shifted back to Ross. "I could fix that. Say the word and I'll go out and handle it. I don't want to step on your toe
s, but given what you just told me it doesn't sound like you've got people to spare to do the job."

  "I don't need your ... people, out there adding to the panic," Ross said, tilting his head toward the Madsee meaningfully. "One sight of her and things will only get worse. Rumors are already flying. No offense, Lady Euryale."

  "None taken, you're right," the small woman said, shrugging as her snakes quested, looking in all directions absently. "But I can still be dangerous with my mask on. You should send us. Master feels he owes you, and if you don't let him pay up he's just going to mope and make things difficult for the rest of us. I mean he's already doing that, but it'll get worse."

  Albrecht chuffed at that, then laughed out loud as he saw Terry's put-upon expression.

  "I do not mope," the man snapped.

  "You mope like a dry-docked sailor, Master," Euryale replied, putting entirely too much sweetness into her tone. "Besides, this is the first thing you've suggested doing today that isn't a dumb idea. This city obviously hates us. We killed the Vicereine and brought a dragon down on them. Saving their refugees is a chance to pacify the mob."

  For someone who supposedly spent the last thousand years or more in a cave, she certainly seems to have little problem grasping the truth of things.

  Albrecht glanced from the masked gorgon to Terry and back again, then said, "I can't very well stop you, but I'd prefer it if you used the crypt tunnels to get out of the city. They serve as an escape route for the rulers that leads into the mountains west of here. Going through town right now would be ... ill-advised."

  "You mean I'd cause a riot."

  "Too late for that. But you would make the one going on now even worse. You'd wind up having to kill your way to the gate, which I gather isn't the impression you want to make."

  "Stay here," Euryale said, lifting a brazen claw to pat Terry's shoulder. "I'll go get your other women, and ask those adventurers you came to Monsoon with if they'd like to join us for a bit of hunting."

  She turned and left without another word as Terry chuckled and shook his head. "My 'other' women. She says it like they do what I tell them."