Wine of the Gods 03: The Black Goats

by Pam Uphoff

  He dressed in front of the still supine man, and left before he was recognizable. For now he preferred to not need to hide. So he walked away, still heading south. Another ten days to Farofo at this rate, then he could take the Old Road of the South to the east almost all the way to Scoone.

  He soaked up sunshine as he strode along bare headed, and started checking what he could and couldn't do. Still couldn't shake the last clinging bit of the goat spell. He rewrapped his hoof, and looped the sling around his neck.

  He felt so energized he walked far into the night before curling up in a field. He gotten to where he really liked laying out in the grass, watching the stars. Being a goat wasn't all bad.

  The next week he reached Farofo, full of sunshine and warm brown people, and sniffed his way around the small town. Having thus identified the inn with the best cook, he walked in and engaged a room for the night. They had a proper dining room, no rowdy drunks to interfere with the savoring of dinner. Half way to a table he froze at the sight of a familiar face. He turned to run . . . he tried to turn, to back up, to look away . . .

  King Nihility crooked a finger and Dydit walked up to him like a well trained dog. "Why Dydit, haven't seen you for months. Do join me, excellent cook here."

  Dydit pulled out a chair and sat down. He couldn't even feel the compulsion, was it gone? Had it ever been? Perhaps he was just a well trained goat.

  "Not what you're used to, of course. Shall I ask if they have any hay?"

  "No thank you." He could feel his privates trying to pull into his body in terror. He wished he could join them.

  "In that case I recommend the standing rib roast. It's excellent."

  A waitress brought a menu to him, but he was afraid to take his eyes off the King. "Rib roast, rare."

  "So, Dydit, headed south, are you? I'm going east myself. Care to join me?"

  "Scoone. You're going back to Scoone?"

  "I thought I'd take a look around the old place, kill anyone that was still looking for me, and so forth."

  Dydit shuddered. "How long has it been? Do you think Deldrious is still alive? Still King?"

  Nil snorted, and covered his mouth with his linen napkin to stifle laughter.

  Dydit glared.

  "I shouldn't have expected goats to keep time, but really! You've been free for nearly a year and it hasn't occurred to you to find out what year this is?"

  Dydit hunched a shoulder. "These Westerners use some old calendar. They think it's 1353."

  Nil sighed and shook his head. "Goats! It is 1353. You were a goat for a bit over seven hundred years."

  Dydit sat very still for a very long time. A plate of succulent rare beef swimming in juices appeared in front to him and he twitched. Vegetables, warm yeasty rolls. He fumbled with fork and knife and started eating. Put the silver down and swallowed.

  "Who is king?"

  "I haven't been able to find out. I keep being told the most absurd things. It would be funny if everyone wasn't saying roughly the same thing. According to these tall tales they—the entire citizenry—choose a new king every ten years."

  "Ah. And then they burn the old one at the stake?"

  The hideous old man brightened. "I hadn't thought of that! That does make sense."

  Dydit cautiously resumed eating.

  "In any case, I'm going there. Who knows which wizards may have survived."

  "And you are going to kill them."

  "I'm thinking about it. So, do you want to come?"

  Dydit tried to put the brakes on, tried to slow down. However tempting it was to have someone this powerful to both fight beside and hide behind, and frankly to gather all the attention . . . he knew there was a catch. There had to be.

  "What's the catch?"

  "I may need a goat, here and there."

  Dydit clutched his hoof to his chest.

  "Hmph. Still having a problem with shreds, I see. Didn't Maleth teach you to do boxes?"

  "Boxes?"

  The old man looked him straight in the eye, and fuzzy little spell shreds all over his brain fizzled away. "What a mess. Nasty little bits of Maleth everywhere. No wonder you're having trouble being a decent human being. I'm surprised you can think at all."

  "Oww!" Dydit flexed his fingers inside the bandage, then took it out of the sling and unwrapped it under the table. The Goat Spell was gone. Entirely gone. His hand looked fine. "Boxes?"

  "Like this."

  And the whole of the goat spell rolled out for his inspection, hanging in the air between them. Incredibly intricate, amazing. Beautiful. Then it was rolled back up and placed in a box. The old man stared in his eyes and he could see the box floating between them. 'Evil Goat Wizard ' was written on it, clearly. The latch was a simple hook.

  The Wizard King reached out and pushed the box into his brain. "And there it is. Right there." He tapped Dydit's forehead.

  "Yeah." He examined the box with wonder, and started to mentally reach for the latch.

  "Whoa. You don't want to do that in here, do you?"

  "Umm, no?"

  "Check it in two days when we leave town." The old king commanded.

  "Two days? What are you doing, tomorrow?"

  "Buying you a horse. Or were you planning on walking to Scoone?"

  "They have stages."

  "Do they? Hmm . . . Well go ahead and take one if you wish. I'm riding." The old man finished his meal and sat back. "See you in the morning, then."

  ***

  Oscar followed Lieutenant Byson closely, Bran on his heels. They had cornered Duke Rivolte on the Auralian border, and the colonel was determined to finish the matter here.

  "The Duke has a decent claim to the throne through his grandfather." Byson explained. "And with Auralian backing, or rather the Auralian's using him as an excuse, we could wind up in another war. We must not let him cross the border."

  So a dozen troops were afoot, winding through this maze of desert arroyos, trying to cut off a line of retreat before the battle started. Byson waved them down behind some brush, and started climbing the low wall to check their position.

  Oscar turned a worried eye on Bran. He was paler than even a redhead should be. Rubbing his arms uneasily. He caught Oscar's eye and flushed, embarrassed. "I keep thinking about those goats. I don't know why. It's like they're right there!"

  He pointed and for just a second Oscar could swear he saw a dark form . . . he was carrying a crossbow, already cocked, and he fitted a bolt carefully.

  "What are you doing?"

  "I sort of see them, too." He remembered too many wild hide and seek games with mage and witch children to doubt what he saw. And what had worked for witches . . . "Bran, that blood spell you used to do, when we hunted witches."

  Bran looked at him blankly, then pulled out his boot knife and nicked his wrist. Drew lines on the arrow. Touched the knife to Oscar's forehead. His mouth moved in silent words.

  Oscar looked up, and as the goat lowered its head to charge the Lieutenant, he loosed his bolt.

  Byson snapped around at the snap of the bowstring, leaping out of the way as the goat tumbled passed him and collapsed. "What the . . . where did that come from? What are you doing shooting goats?"

  Bran darted forward and rolled the carcass. "Look, sir." The goat had a human hand in the place of its right front foot.

  Byson snapped his mouth shut and swallowed. "It seems the general was right about, umm, uncanny . . . Old Gods! All right, since you two can see these things, you lead off."

  Bran marked more bolts and foreheads. And swords. But only Oscar spotted the second goat, and it was gone before he could aim.

  They skulked about for an hour before the rumble of hooves warned them of approaching horses. The duke was leading his troops in a ragged retreat. They had obviously been in a battle, blood was flowing and there was little order to the column. They numbered perhaps twenty.

  "Take down the duke's horse as soon as he's opposite those two rocks." Byson ordered two troops. "You t
wo keep your eyes open for uncanny anythings and shoot them. The rest, take down the riders."

  Oscar looked out at the approaching mass of riders. The duke had a spare horse running beside his . . . or did he?

  "Bran, the horse beside the Duke, is there anyone riding it?"

  Bran paled suddenly. "That's him." He suddenly clutched his crotch.

  "What?"

  "The one that, the one that . . . owns me." He dropped his crossbow and curled up in pain.

  "Oh crap." As the other crossbows started thwapping, he stood up, took careful aim and shot for the empty space above the running horse. Bran screamed, then pulled his sword and turned toward Oscar, sweating. Stopping. Sweating. Dropping the sword. Then he suddenly took a deep breath, grabbed the sword and turned to the melee. Oscar kept one eye on him, while he cocked and reloaded his crossbow. He shot a man in the duke's livery that veered toward Bran, then drew his own sword. But Lieutenant Byson had the duke at sword point and the remaining men dropped their weapons.

  Bran stabbed the bare ground. Pulled back and swung and chopped, and suddenly they could all see the man, sprawling dead on the ground. Oscar reached down and stripped a bandage off the man's right hand. He recoiled from the hoof. The duke's men were as horrified as the King's. Even Duke Rivolte shuddered and turned his head away.

  More riders approaching proved to be Colonel Rufi. He stared grimly down at the body, then turned his gaze to the duke. "Seems you've been keeping interesting company, Rivolte."

  They packed the two goat-men in salt and headed for the City.

  ***

  Dydit slept in as late as he could stand. Later. The brisk knock was followed by Nil's entry. "I locked that door."

  "Yes, I noticed that when I unlocked it. Don't you want to come down and see your horse?"

  "No. Go away."

  The king clicked his tongue reprovingly, and left.

  Dydit pulled the covers over his head. Couldn't stand it. That beautiful spell. Boxes. The wizard king could teach him so much. Must teach him.

  He dressed and walked out to the stable behind the Inn.

  Nil was opening a bottle of wine. "Decided we'd probably need a pack horse so I bought two of them." He nodded at the end stalls.

  "What? These wrecks?" The two mares were ancient old nags. The bay had a delicate dished face and a thin blaze. Once upon a time she'd been a valuable animal. The other mare was a bit coarser, but long legged, and even more run down. "Where's your horse."

  "That Chocolate fellow behind you."

  Dydit turned. "Now that's more like it." The big brown stallion was fit and strong. Not a particularly good head, but the legs couldn't be faulted. He looked like what nobles called a heavy hunter, or the cavalry called a medium warhorse. Tending towards heavy, actually. Up to Nihility's size and weight. He glanced at the old wizard. Very tall, six and a half feet, strong in a lean sort of fashion. Dydit was only three inches shorter and outweighed him. He wasn't fool enough to think he'd have any advantage over him in a fight.

  Nil pulled the cork and poured a quarter of the bottle in each mare's empty water bucket.

  The mares sniffed, then sucked it down, as Nil recorked the bottle and walked out of the barn. Dydit turned to follow him, then stuck his heels in stubbornly. "I'm not your dog to follow at your heels," he muttered. "I'm not." Crossing his arms and hunching his shoulders.

  A deep nicker from the stallion, made him turn around. The horse was pressed against the stall bars, his attention on the old mares.

  The bay gave a little shriek and tossed her head and danced around her stall.

  Dydit rubbed his eyes and looked again. The coat he'd thought was dull was gleaming. And the mare certainly didn't look decrepit. The dun mare shook herself, and hair flew. She was pretty shiny under the shed hair as well.

  The stallion grunted at them, and they both flirted their tails at him, squealing.

  An old man came trotting down the aisle.

  "You Mister Danger's friend? The one he bought those old nags for?"

  "Yes, but you know, he just gave them a tonic, and . . . " he jerked his chin at the mares.

  The hostler peered, then leaned in and looked at first one mare and then the other. "What in Ba'al's name was in that tonic?"

  "Ba'al?" Dydit felt a stirring in his loins.

  "Got to be some damn devil's work." The hostler spit.

  "Ah," Dydit relaxed. "I was afraid you might be a worshipper."

  He got a dirty look. The hostler reached in and ran a finger around the bay mare's pail, then licked his finger. "Wine. Herbs of some sort I 'spect. Hmph." He gave the mares another look, then squirming a bit, hitching at his britches, strode back toward the stairs to the loft, where he most likely had his quarters.

  Over the mares' and the stallion's conversation, Dydit heard an surprised female exclamation from upstairs, and then some rhythmic thumping.

  Dydit ran his finger around the dun mare's bucket and licked his finger. Wine and some herbs. Oh gods, among other things a powerful aphrodisiac. Hoowah! He wondered if the Hostler wanted to share.

  The stallion pranced in place and grunted at the mares.

  "Ha! You want them? Serve you right!" And irritate the hell out of Nil.

  There was no sign of the hostler, but plenty of thumping still going on upstairs. Dydit looked out the back of the stable. The small corral was empty. He snickered, and put first the mares (sniffing and shoving at him) and the stallion (dragging him eagerly) out there.

  Dydit played innocent the next morning, when they rode out. The stallion was practically dragging.

  Nil had just snorted and saddled up anyway.

  "Why didn't you get geldings, and avoid this mess?" Dydit asked.

  "As you well know, nads can grow back." The wizard shot an evil grin over his shoulder at Dydit. "Although three stallions might be less trouble than a stallion and two mares."

  "They'll be out of season in a few days, right?" The dun mare kept crowding up closer to the stallion. Dydit had the bay mare on a lead line, and she was just as fixated on the brown stallion. She spent most of her time trying to push past Dun.

  By noon the horses had settled down, and keeping the stallion tied away from the mares, they stopped for lunch then continued.

  That night the mares worked their way loose. Fortunately the stallion stayed tied, so they didn't have to chase them down.

  The third day the potion wore off, or at any rate the mares went out of season and the stallion relaxed after getting kicked a couple of times.

  It increased the mileage covered for energy expended amazingly.

  ***

  With the retreat of the snow in the mountains, Never figured it was time to seriously explore the expansion of her abilities. With Rustle in a sling, a shovel, and enough food for a week in her pack, Never headed for the Gray Valley.

  The old eroding volcanic plugs were rich in diamonds, and in theory she should now be able to sense the density differences in the sediments and pick out the diamonds. As with most things it was harder in practice than theory. Mostly it was hard to tell how far away the diamonds were. She dug plenty of holes, only to sense the diamond still down there, somewhere.

  And sand and dirt and hard labor didn't combine well with the care and nursing of a growing baby. Not that Rustle was fussy or demanding, but she was four months old and she wanted, needed, her mother to talk and sing and play with her, encourage her as she rolled and tried to figure out how to crawl.

  Never sorted hastily through her last shovel full of sand and gravel. "I'll be right there, Rustle. That wretched little diamond is in here somewhere. And then I can clean up for the day and spend all evening playing . . . I know, I know, you're hungry. Ah ha! There you are you little . . . Look, sweetie! A nice sized one. Wrap it in paper and drop it in my unfortunately small pouch and look! I'm washing up and dinner is on the way." Despite her babble, the baby was getting louder and more insistent. But the sand was off enough to feed her.
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br />   "Because you see, sweet heart, however nice the fabrics we make, and however much we charge rich duchesses for fancy embroidery, the bulk of our funds come from diamond mining. And we need the money for necessities like chocolate, iron, and salt."

  Rustle was happy with either the explanation or the sustenance. Never took a quick dip in the chilly stream, and laid in the bright sun warming up while playing peek-a-boo with her daughter. Life, while occasionally dirty or cold, was very good.

  ***

  Earthquakes hundreds of years ago had thoroughly rearranged the Old Road of the South. More modern, that is to say recently enough that they had an actual written record of the work, construction had stitched the longer sections together into a snaky but generally passable road across the rolling plains and into the Southern Divide. They passed several merchant trains, getting a good looking over by the guards in each, but being allowed to pass them, rather than filled with arrows.

  Dydit couldn't feel the old man doing anything. It was rather spooky.

  A town at the foot of the mountains replenished their trail supplies and supplied warnings about the Auralian raids on the road.

  Dydit grumbled and complained. "Am I going to have to change my name to Thricecutt?"

  The old man had thought that was quite funny. Dydit supposed that if he'd been on the other end of the knife he would have thought it was funny too.

  These southern mountains weren't as tall as the ones near Ash, but were substantial enough. Almost a thousand miles of rough terrain. On the plus side, the Old Road was intact through them, which was why the route was so often traveled. They were passing a wagon train that was headed west on a long gradual climb, rough hillside climbing steeply to their right and dropping steeply to their left when the arrow took the driver of the first wagon in the neck.

  Nil gave a flick of his wrist and Dydit flinched as an arrow bounced off of solid sunshine about an inch from his eye, and then screaming warriors were pouring down the hillside.

  "Kill them," Nil snapped.