by Janet Morris
"You're sure, Commander? He's a porking nasty little porker."
"I'm sure I can handle him."
"Yes sir, Commander." And Gayle removed his blade's point from the throat of the youth he was holding against the rock.
In the dark, Tempus didn't recognize the boy until the youngster said, with just a trace of a Nisibisi accent, "Remember me, Tempus? I'm the one that brought your Nikodemos out to the Stepsons' barracks in Sactuary with his dead partner that day I found them both in the middle of the road."
Then Tempus did remember, though he couldn't recall the slumhawk's name. The boy had been an agent of Niko's, under Grit's control, when Crit had been running covert operations in Sanctuary.
"I paid you for that service at the time. What do you want, boy?"
The moon was waning, but Tempus could see the dark lips twist. "I've got a message from… somebody… in Sanctuary. They didn't want to be named, figured you'd know who sent it. There's trouble there they need your help with—bad trouble, and that's the truth. The town's in the control of the fish-eyed invaders, the prince is in deep trouble… and those Stepsons that you left there—" the youth cowered, expecting this news to bring a blow "—can't fight their way out of an outhouse."
When the blow didn't come and Tempus didn't answer, the youth, breathing hard, said, "They said you'd give me somethin' for my trouble, but I'd just like to walk out of here, no problem."
"Not so fast," said Tempus, hitching himself up on the flat rock, intrigued and a bit disquieted.
"Tell me more."
He interrogated the youth for a while, then said, decided, "If you're going back that way, you can ride along with some men of mine who'll be leaving in the morning."
"Me? Ride with fighters?" The youth spat and said, "Naw… I'll just handle my own troubles and not buy myself anybody else's." Then he seemed to change his mind. "Well, maybe just a little way…"
Tempus called Gayle's name and the Stepson's head popped up from cover not ten yards away. "You heard all that, Gayle. Get this fellow a bed and a mount."
"Yes sir, Commander. Come on, porker. Oh, Commander?"
"Yes, Gayle?"
"If you're sending a strike force down to Sanctuary, I'd like to volunteer—I've never been there. I might be useful. And the Stepsons who served there lord it over those of us who haven't."
"Done," Tempus said.
And Gayle, who'd joined the Stepsons in Tyse and was usually the most controlled of men, let out a whoop of pleasure that Tempus found, when he got back to his campfire, had carried all that way.
"What's up, Commander?" Crit had come back from checking horse lines. "We heard somebody yell like the god had made him king of heaven."
"Crit, you're just the man I want to see."
Taking Critias aside, Tempus explained the mission and said, "But I can't spare you. You'll have to stay with the Nisibisi, with Niko and me, for a time, at least until I see if Niko is serious about going to Bandara—in which case, I'd like you to come with us to the islands."
"To Bandara? Where they teach what Niko knows? I'm honored that you'd— Oh, I see: Strat. And a commander for the strike force…" Crit bent down and picked up a stick, a sure sign that soon he'd start scratching a plan in the dirt, even if it was too dark to see it.
"All right, sir, let's see: Strat will be in charge of the mission, of the Stepsons, and we'll send Sync along to act as his rightman—ad hoc, of course. And Gayle, who wants to go." Crit stopped, looked up, peering at Tempus through the dark. "Oh, I know who I'd like to send there…"
"It's up to you. Anyone you want."
"Randal—they'll need magical assistance in Sanctuary. And—" Crit scratched his head, then said with a grin that flashed in the meager moonlight: "—and Kama, if it's agreeable to you."
When Tempus didn't answer, Crit rushed on. "It's nothing personal, not because of us: she's as good a covert actor as I've ever seen; Strat's used to working with that sort of help. And a woman can do things in Sanctuary that a man never could, especially among the fish-folk, who're ruled by women."
"You don't have to explain yourself to me. It's settled, then. Let's go tell them."
Tempus himself told Strat and Randal, leaving the rest for Crit.
Strat screwed up his face and glared at the wizard. "Well, witchy-ears, what say? Can we do without Niko and Critias, prove ourselves sufficient on our own? There's a chance for adventure here like you've never had, if you've the stomach for it."
"Only if you'll stop calling me 'witchy-ears."
" sniffed the mage.
"Good man, Randal," Tempus said. "Without you I wouldn't chance it—someone has to be there who can keep me informed of what's afoot. Don't hesitate to use the mageguild network or come home by cloud-conveyance: someone at Hidden Valley will always know where I am."
"Yes sir, Commander," Randal said, his chest puffed out, his shoulders straight. "I'd just like to say farewell to Niko—" The Hazard bit his lip.
"We've all got partners to wish life and glory, Randal," said Strat, putting a big hand on Ran-dal's arm. "Come on, I'll walk you over—this sort of thing's never easy on a fighter."
Watching the little mage and the huge Stepson walk back toward the campfire where Niko and Crit were waiting with the best of his officers, Tempus felt just a little bit wistful, but he had a right-side partner and obligations to the larger force. He couldn't just go flouncing off on a new adventure at the drop of a hat.
* 10 *
When the hell-wheeled chariot drove into camp, decked out like a marriage-wagon, three days before the mixed militia arrived in Tyse, Niko couldn't believe his eyes.
He'd said farewell to Randal with a mixture of melancholy and relief: if Randal proved himself in Sanctuary, perhaps he'd outgrow his hero-worship, which made Nikodemos uncomfortable. And Sanctuary was just the place to make the mage a man.
But he'd thought he'd seen the last of sorcery for a while when he'd seen Randal on his way. He'd even gotten misty-eyed as the slight, long-necked mageling rode off with Strat into the south.
Cime and Aŝkelon were so bedecked in gleaming armor and the hell-forged chariot car shone so brightly that Niko, the first to see them riding across the hilly sward, didn't at once realize that they had others in the chariot with them.
The three-man chariot was a relatively new invention—men argued that what was gained by the extra man aboard was lost in maneuverability and speed.
Niko rubbed his eyes at the spectacle approaching, then called out for the Riddler without moving, mesmerized by the oncoming apparition from the land of dreams.
By the time Tempus had been found and a crowd of Stepsons had gathered, well back from the bloodthirsty Aŝkelonian chariot team of mare and stallion, Niko was sure of the identity of the dream lord's extra passengers: one was the supernal sprite, Jihan, golden-eyed and feminine in an overpowered way; the other was a boy, thirteen or so, called Shamshi, whose father had been an archmage and whose mother was a Mygdonian noblewoman.
Aŝkelon raised a hand in greeting and beckoned.
Only then did Niko realize that Tempus was right beside him. The Riddler said under his breath, "Well, go on, Niko, it's you he wants to see."
"Me?" Niko glanced at Tempus, who looked positively nonplussed. "I think it's you, with all respect, Commander."
Tempus sighed rattlingly, his eyes on Jihan, the Froth Daughter. "We'll go together, then, rightman, and face this as best we can."
For the first time, Niko wasn't convinced of the honor of being Tempus's right-side partner.
But go they did, up to that chariot where Cime and Aŝkelon waited, leaning on its bracers, smiling like a pair of cats who'd just upset a milk pail.
By then the Froth Daughter and the wizard's son had scrambled out of the car and Shamshi was racing toward Niko, calling out, "Niko! Niko! Wait till I tell where I've been and all the adventures we've had!"
Skidding to a halt, the tow-headed boy hugged Niko like a long-lost br
other. "You've grown, pud," Niko said, not taking his eyes from the dream lord who watched everything with satisfaction.
And Tempus, beside him, took the chariot horses by their guide-rein, stroking the stallion's arched crest. "What is it now, Ash?"
"What, indeed," Aŝkelon said as, from the horses' far side, Jihan approached the Riddler hesitantly. "We've come to invite you to our wedding feast, and give gifts to the only living relative of my new bride."
Niko, hushing the boy who was chattering on about how glad he was to be back among the living and how Niko had been the Stepson he'd missed most of all, saw Jihan touch the Riddler's arm almost pleadingly and stand on tiptoe to whisper in his ear.
Tempus said, "Cime, is this marriage agreeable to you?"
The Riddler's sister sat sideways on the chariot's rim. "Come now, brother, would I be here if it were not? And who would you recommend for me, if not the lord of dreams? Don't tell me you're not pleased to have your woman-toy back, or that this chariot," she slipped off its side, "isn't to your liking, or that a breeding pair of horses such as these doesn't warm even your wizened heart."
Niko heard Tempus whisper "Damn," and then saw Jihan's fingers twine with his: the Froth Daughter loved the Riddler still.
"And what about Jihan's father? What kind of trick is this?" Tempus growled.
Then Jihan spoke aloud. "My father has relented. He's given me leave to come back and be with you, poor lonely, sleepless man—eternally."
Niko thought he heard his left-side leader groan, but it might have been the chariot's axle or the very earth as Aŝkelon dismounted his car and stepped upon it. Jihan was more than mortal, yet possessed of a child's soul. When she'd been among the Stepsons, the Riddler had gone to great lengths to avoid her.
And yet, to reject her might be to consign her once more to languish in the archipelago of dreams. Niko looked at Tempus, his hand on Shamshi's golden head: the boy hugging him tightly knew that his future was at stake, that if Tempus refused these "gifts" he might end up back in Aŝkelon's immaterial domain.
"We could take Shamshi to Bandara, Commander. It's where he belongs. It would be no trouble…" Niko offered.
A glare from the Riddler hushed him as Aŝkelon held out the chariot horses' reins.
All the men were gathered now, well back, muttering among themselves. These gifts the dream lord offered—a chariot of fiery magnificence, another pair of sables, a mare and stud, which would make the breeding program at Hidden Valley second to none—were rich indeed.
"All this, for doing me a favor and taking my sister off my hands?" Tempus said so low that only those close by heard him.
Aŝkelon smirked sheepishly. "We'd hope to rid you of Death's Queen, the Nisibisi witch. But—" Aŝkelon spread his hands "— some matters belong to fate and not even I can change them. She's loose and in possession of the power globe—although not Datan's. I told you, I come bearing gifts. Randal's, which I will deliver through his dreams, is Datan's globe. Roxane has her own—a matter, you'll remember, over which Death's Queen and I had a slight altercation. So, though Randal's is benign and a counterweight, Nisibisi power globes are loose upon this land. Surely your new god's told you what that means."
"So what? Things aren't any different than they've ever been, that's all. And what do you expect from a god of war—not peace, that's sure. I told him I wasn't interested in chasing after Roxane. I'm telling you the same. Stay out of things that aren't your business, Ash. I didn't want you for an enemy; I don't want you for a friend."
"But you've got me for a brother-in-law, notwithstanding what you want."
Cime had come up close and now she sidled in between Jihan and Tempus, raised her hand to her brother's cheek, and stroked it. "Don't be jealous, dear. It could never have worked with us. Gods know, I tried. Just accept this with what good grace you can muster. Forever is such a very long time."
He shook his head and stepped back from her, his chagrin and fury ill-controlled. "Fine. I'll take the horses, the chariot—I'll even throw a wedding for you two, if that's why you've come. But you'll both be on your best behavior, not disturb any—" here he looked significantly at Niko "—of my men or try to upset what balance remains among us."
Jihan, huge eyes glowing red, tugged on his arm like a schoolgirl and in her husky voice said, "And the boy and I? Riddler, tell him we can stay. I shall make you happy; we'll spend a thousand sleepless nights seeking infinitely better pleasures than we've ever sought before…"
Then Tempus's shoulders slumped and he rubbed his brow. "Jihan…" He stopped, stroked the lead horse who was nuzzling his arm, then said, "This time, you'll have to comport yourself like either a woman or a Stepson, not like a spoiled immortal brat."
"I promise," she said passionately, beginning to raise her arms to heaven, about to swear in her father's name. And as she did, the sky began to boil and to darken and, behind, two dozen Stepsons hit the dirt.
Tempus grabed her wrists and pinned them to her sides. "That's what I mean—no more of that. Life is complex enough without your all-powerful parent's intervention. Just promise, don't swear in the name of anything or anybody. All right?"
Jihan promised softly, her fierce eyes lovesick as a mare's.
Then Ash said, "Fine. It's settled, then."
Cime said, "Finally, brother, you're showing some faint glimmer of intelligence. Accepting the inevitable may make a man of you, yet."
Shamshi said, "Bandara? Really, Niko, you promise? Tell me all about it."
And the sable stallion raised his muzzle to heaven and trumpeted a victory clarion before he turned in his traces and bit his mare upon the neck.
* 11 *
Crit was glad to get home to Tyse, settle back into his Lanes safe haven, and take care of business as usual. He missed Strat, but his guess was that either the strike force would be home soon, or they'd all end up in Sanctuary by and by.
There was, however, one residual matter he felt honor-bound to expedite.
He invited the Riddler and Niko into town one night for dinner at Madame Bomba's to discuss it. And there, in a back room the Madame reserved for guests who needed privacy, they ate duck and oranges and drank Machadi wine and smoked pulcis, now in good supply thanks to Niko's uncle in Caronne.
"We're in good financial shape," Crit said, though he was running out of small talk, "thanks mostly to Niko's uncle and the profit-sharing arrangement with Madame Bomba, but in part also to the stud at Hidden Valley." This was true—Crit had just finished going over the books; the Stepsons' pension fund had fattened while they were gone.
"But no thanks to Theron?" Word had come up from Ranke that certain priests, led by Brachis, still insisted that the death of Abakithis was the 3rd Commando's fault. Tempus continued: "Theron will do the best he can, both in the matter of hostile-fire pay, when he can safely send it up, retroactive to our arrival at the Festival, and in clearing the 3rd's good name."
"It's not the financial part which bothers me," Crit continued, watching Niko, who'd been very quiet and had hardly touched his wine. "It's a little matter of revenge. Niko, tell the Riddler whose name you heard mentioned when Abakithis's priests interrogated you in Ranke."
Niko tipped his chair back on its legs and gazed ruminatively at his plate. Then he said, "You know, Crit, I really don't remember. Painful things are quickly forgotten."
Tempus said, "Crit has a point, Niko. Don't hesitate on my account. We all know who Crit means." "Then, for the record," Niko said, his chair coming down on all four legs with a thump, "I did hear Grillo's name. But Grillo's a good friend of yours, Riddler, and of Bashir's. I'm willing to let it go if you are…" He looked between the two. "And personally, I've lost my thirst for vengeance." Before Tempus could agree with Niko, Crit said, "Well, I'm not willing to let it go. And it's not vengeance, it's security: ours. If he's whispering in Rankan ears, he's no friend of ours—or of Bashir's." "What do you propose, Crit?" The Riddler's gaze was steady, clear.
Though every
one at Hidden Valley talked of his marathon nights with Jihan, Tempus seemed none the worse for wear. Perhaps she was what he needed, an immortal, indestructable sprite for a man somewhat more than human, but Crit had expected to see some sign of dissipation—dark circles around his eyes, hollow cheeks… something different. But the Riddler, as always, was unchanging, just the same.
"I'd like to give him," Crit suggested, "just exactly what Niko got from his Rankan cohorts." Niko said, "I wouldn't wish that on any man."
But Tempus was almost smiling. "If you feel it necessary, Crit, go ahead. But, since we know he's whispering in the empire's ear, and that empire, right now, isn't our enemy, why don't we leave him where he is, so that we can make use of him later if we choose?"
And since this was exactly Critias's sort of solution, the one he'd have put forth himself if Niko hadn't suffered so because of Grillo, Crit agreed: a live double agent was more useful than a dead man, to Grit's way of thinking.
* 12 *
One night soon after, the night that spring's first breeze blew over the Nisibisi border into Hidden Valley and down along Peace River where Partha was in mourning for his slain son, Grippa, Niko paid the bereaved man a call.
Partha's heavy features were drawn with grief; he was sitting in his great hall, alone, bundled up in a bearskin robe before a man-high fireplace.
"Hello, son, it's good to see you," Partha said."Sit, sit."
Niko sat, not in one of the carved chairs, but on the raised hearth, facing Partha, with the fire at his back. When the day had come to break the news to Grippa's father, Bashir had done most of the talking, couching everything in religious terms while Sauni and Niko had supported Partha as he staggered from the blow.
None of what Bashir had said, Niko knew, had brought this old man the right sort of comfort.
Not even the fact that his daughter was a priestess elevated above all other priestesses, who would soon bear the god's child, could do that.