A Taste of Wine (Wine of the Gods Book 7)

by Pam Uphoff

  Solstice pricked his ears and he and the old dun eyed each other.

  "Yep. And makes sure I do a good job on my part." The kid grinned as he grabbed a brush and tackled Solstice's other side. "This is a good looking fellow, for all the pinto spots. Is he from here? He calls to mind a lot of Sun Gold's foals."

  "I've seen this Sun Gold. But no relation, that I know of." Except that this is probably where all the engineered genes came from, now that I think about it. He cast a glance at the bay. "That one belong to the other guest?"

  "Yeah, he got here yesterday. Crabby old man." The boy rubbed the wear spots on Solstice's shoulder hair. "Harness horse most of time?"

  "Yep. I haul stuff all over. Now I'm just getting away from the city."

  "Aww, the gods won't let that comet hit. And all the witches went to help, too."

  Damien nodded. "I hope not. All right Solstice, you get a well earned rest. I'll go back to worrying." He walked off, tugging at his knit cap with the magnets sewn into it. The crabby old man was probably Usse. He'd need to avoid the man. And that bed had looked awfully soft . . .

  ***

  Brock, of Brock's Dry Goods, the butcher and the farmers were the only men in town. Five school teachers, including the two who had been left in charge of the Inn. They all moaned to each other about how they missed their kids, over breakfast. None of the witch children were in sight. The few kids running around in the eerie overcast seemed to answer to the farmers.

  Usse stomped around a bit. Damien avoided him, but managed to catch bits of his conversation with Brock.

  " . . . insane to think they can divert a comet. Do they realize how large it is? Heh. A mere quarter mile. And they're going to have to reach out far enough to divert it before it hits the atmosphere and that's a hundred miles thick. It can't be done, magically."

  Brock scowled. "They're gods. They can do it."

  Damien considered the possibility. A slow meteor hit at thirty-six thousand kilometers per hour. And these comets were fairly slow, relative to this world. So if these gods and witches of Brock's could do their magic thing all the way to the moon, they'd have nearly eleven hours to push on the comet core. Unfortunately, the magic effects he'd seen personally had all been done at less than a kilometer. Most of them at less than three meters. He supposed that he'd find out soon enough how far the gods could reach. He retreated to his room as Usse pushed back from the table and stomped upstairs. After he'd heard the door close he came back out for lunch and a brisk walk around the area. A trail through the frost killed grass led over a hill and split. To the left it led him to a trio of pools, steam rising from their warm surfaces, despite the freezing water fall that cascaded into the first pool. He backtracked to the fork in the path and went the other way. The path took aim for a winter bare oak, turning at the last moment to dive into a ravine. A stream, warm to the touch and smelling of sulfur, paralleled the path. The ravine walls fell back to show tidy rows of grape vines on their frames, leafless, dormant for the winter. The redwood structure was sleek and modern, looking out of place so close to a medieval village. Redwoods towered over it. They were first redwoods he'd seen here, and he wondered if they'd been brought from Earth when the genetically engineered humans were exiled. No one home, the door closed but not locked. He could smell both wine and sulfur, and circled the building to find another steaming pool. He eyed the unlocked door, then stifled his curiosity and walked back down the ravine. He stopped beside the old oak, letting the bole cut the icy north wind as he studied the village from his slight elevation.

  Everyone but the farmers and the school teachers have gone to stop the comet. Are they down in South Africa, under the strike zone? Children and all?

  From here he had a good view to the south, and guessing from the angle of the sun, just about two hours until the comet hit. They must already be working at it. But though he sat and watched for hours he saw nothing. The farmers and their children weren’t visible. As the sun set there were the usual active meteor flashes.

  And suddenly, lights and sound in the village. Lights went on in houses and the Inn; he could see movement up and down the street. He trotted down the hill, and found the missing villagers.

  Four young women were carrying a shrouded form. The witches hurrying to open a door for them were slumped and weary.

  In front of the Inn a big man leaned on the corner post, protesting that he could walk home, didn't need any help. The Auld Wulf, the teleporter. His lips were a bit bluish, and in the light from the window his eyes looked unfocused. Then he folded. The man next to him tossed his battered, plumed hat on the bench and caught him on the way down.

  Damien jumped in and grabbed as well. "Where does he need to go?"

  The old dark inn keeper shuffled out and eyed the limp man. "Home. He won't sleep well enough here."

  Damien found himself half carrying the man up the path to the winery. The man without the hat carried the other half, and the old innkeeper walked ahead and opened the door. Damien manhandled the tall magician through another door and into a bedroom. The Aulf Wulf completed his collapse and didn't stir when they pulled off his boots and covered him.

  The old man shook his head. "He'll sleep for a year, I suspect. Serves him right, trying to clean up every little piece."

  Damien followed them out and closed the door. Would he really sleep for a year? Or was that just hyperbole?

  The hatless man tossed a grin over his shoulder. "No. We gods really do sleep for very long periods when we've been injured. And yes, over-use of magic does injure the brain." He veered off into the herb garden and Damien slowed as he turned toward the inn.

  The streets were as empty as before, exhausted people all asleep.

  Damien sat down on the bench and surveyed the quiet night. So, the range of magic is far enough over a hundred miles to shift a comet. But if this small one exhausted them, apparently killed one of them, will they be able to shift the big one in eight years? All the little witch children will be grown by then, will it be enough to save this world? He sighed. Moles were not supposed to care about the polities they infiltrated.

  Nor were they supposed to care about the village butcher with the big knife, stalking up the path.

  Damien rose and followed. Just getting some fresh meat in for a celebration and or wake tomorrow. When the butcher turned up the ravine, Damien closed up fast. Just what was going on here? He slowed, trying for quiet as he approached. The figure on the porch turned his knife in his hands, staring at it. The man squared his shoulders and opened the door. Damien walked in on his heels, and waited until the butcher turned toward the bedroom.

  "Why?" He kept his voice quiet.

  The butcher spun, startled.

  "Why do you want to kill a god?"

  The man slumped. "Because of Coo. Oh damn him. Coo was too old for a battle."

  Damien walked a half circle around him and pulled a bottle of wine from the rack. Corkscrew and glasses were right there. He poured two glasses and sat down.

  The butcher set his knife down gently and sat himself. "He was nearly a father to me. My mentor after my power came in. North of the Compass. I worshipped that man. I would have given my life for him. I realized too late what he'd gone to do. When he most needed me I wasn't there. I should have gone. He should have stayed at home. I don't much appreciate coming and going to a god's call, but if I'd known Coo would burst his heart trying to serve that damned god, I would have taken his place."

  Sergeant Damien Malder was more used to counseling soldiers through heartbreak than hero worship, but at least in this case all the memories could be good ones. "What's your earliest memory of him?"

  "He was a teacher at school . . . "

  They talked for hours, and Damien got the butcher quite drunk before he staggered off. Hopefully less homicidal.

  As Damien put up the glasses and headed for the front door, he heard a rustle from the bedroom.

  A tired voice, full of grief. "Thank you. I would hate to
kill him. I've already lost the mages as a true part of our community. I'm surprised they haven't left already. A true community, across the dimensions, now that would be something worth working for, wouldn't it? Not for control, not for ownership or dominance. Neighbors. Keep it in mind."

  Damien nodded in the dark, and slipped out the door.

  There were loose horses on the hill, and wandering the village street. Damien spotted Solstice's pinto spots in the dark. He seemed to be chasing . . . a person. Usse. "Damn it horse, get out of my way. This is my opportunity, and you are not going to stop me!"

  Dark on dark, something loomed that might have been the dun draft horse, veering into the man and knocking him down. Damien's scalp crawled. Whatever Usse was planning, the horses didn’t approve of it. Damien thought it over, and slipped quietly up to his room. A little box with a false bottom and a few useful items . . . DX15. Nasty stuff. It'd knock you out, mess up your short to long term memory transfer and make you very open to suggestion. Highly illegal, favored by rapists and occasionally handy for deep cover moles.

  Back out on the street, the moon was rising. The horses, the three he could see, were standing around a prone Usse. The Oner shoved his arms under him, trying to rise. Damien stepped quickly between Solstice and the chestnut and slapped the injector against Usse's back.

  The Oner sank back to the ground. "Kill . . . kill the gods."

  Damien bit his lip and considered that, and how to use it. Then he started talking, smooth and quiet. "No, you don't want to do that. This little comet was almost more than they could handle. The big one? Not a chance they can deflect the big one. But if they are dead, the King might approach Earth for help."

  "No, stop them, kill them . . . "

  "If the gods die, or disappear, everyone will panic. They'll give themselves to Earth, in exchange for safety. As long as they think the gods will save them, they'll have nothing to do with Earth."

  "Nothing . . . "

  "The big comet will squash them flat, destroy this whole world. If the gods are here, the people will trust them. Leave the gods alone, leave the gods alone to be a false hope. Leave the gods alone. Very humorous, them trusting the gods that could barely turn away the little comet. Sneer at the little fools who trust their so-called gods." Damien bit his lip, the DX would wear off quickly. He started backing away. "You should saddle up your horse and get out of here soon. These horses must have smelled your violent emotions." He kept backing up. Put his shoulder to Solstice's and nudged him back. Dropped his voice so only the horse could hear. "Let him wake up, and then see what he's thinking about." Damien stepped over the herb garden fence and knelt behind an evergreen scrub. He was shivering with more than cold. It was one thing to be quite sure your horse understood when you spoke to him, but a major leap to mind reading.

  The chestnut and Solstice wandered off, and the old dun nosed Usse, turned him over. Usse jerked and scrambled backwards. He looked around and spotted the other horses, faint gleams in the moonlight. "Must be your sense of smell, or something. Doesn't matter. I'm leaving. Let everyone depend on these exhausted wrecks. Pathetic excuses for gods. Heh." He got up and edged his way toward the stable yard. The dun horse followed him off into the gloom.

  A few minutes later he was tying his horse to the front railing, and slipping into the Tavern. The dun tossed his head in alarm, and Damien stepped quietly up to the window. Usse was halfway up the stairs and cursing faintly. Damien slipped through the door and into the darkest shadows and listened to Usse's limping steps receding, and then returning. He must have been packed and ready to leave. He limped straight to the door, showing no sign of hunting down old Harry.

  Damien watched him ride out and sighed with relief. Solstice wandered up looked at him, twitching his ears back and forth.

  "What, you think I haven't noticed you understand everything I say? Let's give him a day's head start, then we'll head back home."

  The horse bobbed his head and trotted off after a pair of dark shadows.

  "Smart horse convention." Damien muttered. He kicked back on the chilly porch and kept watch until dawn.

  ***

  "I caught the reports going both directions. Their Ambassador was shocked that the local gods could divert even a small comet. He was gratified by Usse's descriptions of how much it cost them. And he likes the idea of the gods failing with the big one. That Usse's got a nasty sort of mind. They said they would be moving personnel out again before the big one hit, this time including Usse." Andrai shoved away from the dining room table. "They also said that they were making plans to deal with Earth before then. We'll need to send that out when we resume regular communications. And perhaps we can find out if they are planning on leaving us here for the entire eight years."

  Damien shook his head. "They won't remove us. We're too close to getting inside the Oner's outer perimeter. We could lose it all by playing safe. They ought to send us some youngsters to help infiltrate some other towns. Or at least other businesses."

  "Humph. I think you just don't want to leave your horses behind."

  "What? These damned pintos, don't be silly . . . "

  Rumors

  Chapter One

  Spring 1370, local

  "So, what you're saying is that so many mares are pregnant that I might as well buy all new teams?" Damien sighed in exasperation. "You know, I thought we were done with all that. We're a freight delivery company, not a stud farm." The stables and yard of his freight hauling company seemed to be unreasonably stuffed with horses.

  Code shook his head. "No, it's all right. Midnight didn't do his fence jumping trick until late fall. We had that late warm stretch and the grass greened up and the mares all came into season. So while we need to take the old gals to the farm to foal real soon, you can work the young mares now, that's why I brought them. We'll wean the foals and bring the old mares back way before the young ones are due. It'll work perfectly."

  Max looked over and nodded. "If you want to run three wagons, either buy a gelding to team with Solstice or Midnight, or geld one or both of them."

  "Hmm, yeah, I don't have any need for one stallion, let alone two."

  Code looked indignant. "But they're both such fine animals! People have been paying to breed their mares to Midnight this spring, and if Solstice weren't a pinto, he'd be pulling in some stud fees as well."

  Max snorted. "And it's a lost cause. I suspect you wouldn't let either if them stay gelded. That Havwee temple water really can cure the worse kinds of infertility. I still can't believe that horse regrew his testicles."

  "So did Trickster. Eddy's so proud of that horse." Code grinned. "I think he makes more money racing him than he does running messages and small packages. And he charges a five royal stud fee and gets plenty of takers."

  "As well he should," Damien said. "Trickster's obviously a very well bred horse. He's just a completely different type of horse than ours, which are supposed to be pulling wagons, not lazing around pastures with spotted foals."

  Damien had lived on this World for almost ten years, and enjoyed most of it. Sometimes it seemed a bit tedious, and then he'd trip over some magic, like the flask of Havwee Temple water he now carried instead of a medical kit. What the hell was he doing driving a wagon all over a medieval town? But horses had been a lifelong hobby, along with martial arts and hunting, and cross-dimensional army infiltration teams needed all those skills. He hadn't planned on being a long term mole, but apart from the nasty winters this world had everything a man of his type needed. Ahem. Good food, good booze, cheap whores. Speaking of which he really needed to escape from his supposed aunt and visit the Sooty Duck.

  "Well, why don't we put Midnight in the end stall, all four of the old mares out in the yard and the three young mares can go in the middle stalls, with a space between Midnight and the mares."

  Trickster had been exiled from the main stable for excessive noise when in the presence of mares. His shed and small corral were Eddy's other pride and joy, and
included a room for the boy. Young man rather. At sixteen he was a hard working adult, by the standards of the Docks district.

  Damien just hoped the two stallions wouldn't spend all night verbally bad mouthing each other. His neighbor across the alley was a bit cranky and inclined to complain about noise. So far, Damien had been fortunate in that the few face-to-face complaints had been delivered to Code.

  Since the man was a foreign spy of a rival world, and rumored to have telepathy, the three Earthers had all worked at avoiding him.

  "You're going to have to enlarge the barn if you're going to run three wagons." Code rubbed Sombrero's face and started unbuckling her harness. They all joined him and had the two teams brushed and out in the corral munching hay and grain, and the harnesses wiped down and hung up in good order in a few minutes.

  "Hungry?"

  Code blushed fiery red. "Vani already fixed me something."

  Damien and Max swapped surprised looks, then grinned. "Right, well, we'll see you in the morning then."

  Max headed for his home on the most northerly lot of the three they owned, Damien headed for the opposite one. Vani and Code each had a small apartment attached to the barn. Hmm, enlarge the stable, or build a house and convert the apartments to stalls? He decided to not rush the building plans.

  Andrai was a natural born (chilly, upright, caustic) aunt. Captain Andrai Andrews was also his superior officer. While he and Max wandered the city, both absorbing information and earning the money to support the mole operation, she 'kept house'. As in monitoring communications, analyzing the actions of their neighbors, typing up the reports on the local politics . . . and saving it all for the quarterly burst transmissions they were limited to. Damien rather thought her frustration at not being able to do anything about what they learned was all too often turned to picking on her disgraceful bachelor 'nephew.' However she was also a damned good cook. Fried chicken, mashed potatoes, fresh green beans, apple pie. Another month and she'd be buying fresh peaches and the pies would be even better.