Present Tense [Round Two of The Great Game]

by Dave Duncan

  "That was what you used on Golbfish?"

  "Not really. I didn't use anything on him except charisma, and I couldn't help that. Oh, I suppose I was being a little more than naïve. Right at the beginning, as soon as he went up to the altar, I knew he was a very worried man. Probably no one else knew. I had no idea what the matter was, but I felt sorry for him. When I finally got my chance to march up the steps, I tried to give him a bit of cheering up. I gave him one of those looks you do when you want to tell someone something without actually speaking, you know? He sort of grabbed at it, and I realized that he was in mortal terror."

  "Then the goddess came?"

  "At the end she did. If I was tipsy, she must have been completely bung-eyed by that time. She'd all those thousands of people singing hymns to her and then hundreds of men offering blood and pain, all right on her node—mana in torrents! I don't suppose she'd had a feast like that in a generation. And suddenly it was cut off. It was all coming to me, see? So she came to find out what was going on. I'm sure nobody else saw her. I caught a glimpse and thought, Whoops! and she saw me and I'm sure she guessed right away who I was. I was very bad news, because I might queer her with Zath or Karzon or with major intriguing in the Pentatheon. The lady did not want to be involved! So she scarpered."

  "But what did she look like?"

  "Nothing special, as I recall,” he said vaguely. “Big woman. Hardly saw her. It was like two friends passing in a busy street. They tip their hats to each other and are gone. I was more worried about Golbfish."

  "Why? Why did you decide to help him?"

  Edward shrugged, almost shyly. “I didn't do anything, really. He needed a friend and my charisma made him trust me. He thought up his own way out. I was amused to discover I now had a prince under my command. I wasn't thinking too clearly, as I said. I felt invincible! Good day for sailing boats!"

  Alice looked to where the children were playing by the Serpentine.

  "Is that what you want to do? Stop and play with toy boats on a lake, just let the world go by? Two worlds?"

  "I want to enlist."

  "Edward, what exactly is prophesied about you in the other world? What does the Liberator actually do?"

  He turned on her in sudden anger. “I told you: He kills Death. Not real death, just Zath, of course. And that's disaster! It leads to disaster! There's only one way it could be done, and that's for me to set myself up as a god and collect more mana than Zath—and he's been at it for a hundred years. I can't imagine what horrors I'd have to invent to squeeze worship on that scale out of the masses, and what happens after? What happens to me? What happens to them? All that just to kill one stranger, who'll probably be replaced by another in two shakes? Zath's the first one nasty enough to claim to be god of death, but it's such a great swindle he invented that he certainly won't be the last. The guv'nor saw all that, and when I finally got to read the bloody Filoby thing, I saw too, and I won't have anything to do with it! I came Home to enlist, but I also came Home to break the chain, and I'm never going back! Never! I won't! I mean it! That's final!” He spun on his heel and stalked away, walking faster than before.

  She ran after him. “No, I don't see. Are you sure you can't kill Zath without using mana?"

  "Absolutely certain."

  "Then you could take the god of death office yourself, to make sure it isn't abused."

  "Faugh! No. Don't worry about it. It won't happen. I'd rather stop a German bullet any day. What else do you want to know, apart from that?"

  "What happened to Golbfish?"

  Edward sighed. “Ah, that's quite a story. If it wasn't for Golbfish I wouldn't be here. First thing, of course, when we'd barely left the temple, was that a couple of heralds appeared, demanding that he return to the palace."

  "And?"

  Edward grinned, looking suddenly very juvenile. “I told them that Golbfish Warrior was now under my command and I refused to release him. I had a hundred spearsmen with me, so the argument was brief."

  Alice glanced at her watch. They still had an hour before train time.

  "Of course,” he said, “I realized that I had blundered into a major political crisis. We'd hardly got back to camp before I was summoned to appear before Kammaeman Battlemaster, the Joalian general. I was told to bring my new recruit with me, but I didn't. I went alone and explained that the prince couldn't come—he was too busy digging latrine ditches. After that, they sort of lost interest in us."

  "Never mind your confounded modesty! What did you really do?"

  "Nothing much,” Edward said blandly.

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  21

  "TWO FRIENDS ARE BETTER THAN ONE,” SAID DOSH HOUSEBOY, kneading Tarion's calf, “especially if they are enemies."

  "Sounds like one of my dear brother's aphorisms. It's enough to send a whole dining room of sycophants into hysterics."

  "It's from the Green Scriptures, Canto 1576.” Dosh turned his attention to the other leg.

  Tarion was stretched out naked on an auroch hide. The tent was dim and hot. It smelled of leather, his own sweat, and the fragrant oil Dosh was using. After hours of standing in the temple, a massage felt very good. Massages from Dosh always did—he had skill and his hands were much more powerful than they looked. All the thousands of other people who had endured that ceremony would perhaps appreciate similar treatment, but none of them would be getting it.

  "What two friends do you have in mind?” he asked sleepily.

  Dosh chuckled throatily. “You and Golbfish."

  "The Joalians can still play us off against each other, of course."

  "Of course. And the fat man did not die ... which may have been the plan, possibly?"

  Tarion chuckled. “Do my thighs now.” He sighed sensuously as those powerful fingers began to work on the muscle.

  "So you will have to behave yourself, or they can bring him back,” Dosh said, phrasing the words in time with his thrusts. “They do not trust my beloved master.” He was as nosy as an old woman.

  After a while Tarion roused himself to answer. “Mother cannot last much longer. Then the Joalians will have to decide which of us to put on the throne. I think we shall have just time to slaughter a few Lemodians before then. Before the terrible news arrives."

  It would be better for Tarion himself if the time was insufficient for the Lemodian's Thargian allies to arrive on the scene—Thargians were dangerous—but that was in the lap of the gods. “It seems most unlikely that my dear brother will survive more than an hour or two of infantry training. He has the muscle tone of a milk pudding. His comrades will laugh him to death. There must be a limit to the amount of humiliation even that man can absorb. Besides ... Do you want to hear a little secret, dear boy?"

  "You know I love secrets."

  "Then work harder. Harder! I won't break. Ah! Lovely! My whimsical brother took refuge in the Nagian infantry. You know what the Joalians think of the Nagian infantry?"

  "They think it a useless rabble,” Dosh said, panting with effort as he pummeled.

  "Exactly! Our cavalry—my cavalry I mean ... They will allow us to play some minor part. Nothing too critical, I am sure. I hope showy. But the infantry is a mob. A peasant's idea of fighting is to throw his spear at his opponent's shield and then charge him with a club. Even Lemodians can massacre Nagians. They always have in the past. Start on my back now. Kammaeman will hurl the Nagians in first to use up the Lemodians’ arrows. That's what they're for. Dear Golbfish's chances of surviving his first battle may charitably be defined as, ‘remote.’”

  He grunted as Dosh's strong hands pressed down on his torso. He had allowed none of his subordinates to bring personal body servants along to the war, and only the very senior Joalians had them. As leader of the cavalry, though, he needed someone to attend to his mount, his weapons, and equipment. And his more personal needs. Dosh was a real joy, in every way.

  "The Joalians do not trust you, master,” Dosh repeated.

  "I am h
eartbroken,” Tarion said drowsily. “I wonder why not?"

  "Because two friends are better than one, especially when they are enemies."

  Tarion spun over on his back, grabbed a handful of Dosh's hair, and hauled him down. Dosh squealed in surprise and ended leaning on one elbow, nose to nose with his prince and frantically trying not to spill the oil bottle in his other hand.

  "What are you implying?” Tarion said menacingly.

  He saw none of the fear he had hoped to provoke, only amusement.

  "Oh, beloved!” Dosh said in a fake whine of humility. “Who am I to lecture my master on political affairs?"

  "Did I ever tell you you had beautiful eyes?"

  "I don't think so. You've praised just about every other part of me excessively, but I don't recall you mentioning eyes."

  "I do so now only to stress that I should hate to have them put out with red-hot irons. That would spoil your perfection. What were you saying?"

  Dosh still showed no alarm. He smiled, as if this bullying were a form of foreplay—which it probably was, Tarion realized.

  The beautiful eyes twinkled. “I mean that Thargia would be very happy to see Nagland recover its independence. Thargia is not close enough to be a threat to you in itself. I think you are a man of Nagvale, beloved master."

  "My father was a peasant,” Tarion agreed. “And then a palace guard, and then royal gigolo.” He twisted the boy's hair. “Is this what is said about me—that I would sell out to Thargia?"

  "It is what is thought. Nobody says it. Ouch! That hurts!"

  "It is meant to. Do you spy on me for the Thargians or the Joalians?"

  With his head bent over at a critical angle, Dosh regarded the prince sideways and then said, “Both. Whoever pays me."

  "Good. I appreciate honesty and a proper respect for money. Spy all you want, but remember this—while you are mine, you let no other man touch you! Unless I say so, of course."

  "Of course not. I have my standards."

  Tarion chuckled and released him. Then he put an arm around Dosh's neck and hauled him closer. “I love you, you little monster! When we have overrun a village or two in Themodvale, we shall enjoy the spoils of war. What would you like me to bring you? Girls or boys?"

  Dosh's white teeth shone. “Either, as long as they are young and pretty. Like you, I am not fussy."

  "I am extremely fussy."

  "I am flattered."

  From outside the tent flap came the unmistakable sound of a spear being thumped against a shield.

  "Curses!” Tarion said, pushing his body servant off his body. “Just when things were starting to become interesting! See what he wants."

  Dosh rose, straightened his hair, adjusted his loincloth, and took the oil bottle with him.

  Tarion sat up, hearing the Joalian voice outside summoning him to the battlemaster's tent. He had half expected this, and of course he must go. He would be very surprised if his beloved half brother Golbfish was not the first item on the agenda.

  The camp was not large enough to justify riding; the two men walked. With the sun now dipping toward Nagwall, the temperature was becoming bearable, but Kolgan Coadjutant set a very leisurely pace. When the second-in-command of the Joalian army came in person to conduct a mere Nagian to a meeting, one could reasonably assume that he had an ulterior motive. Tarion was now Nagian heir designate and Kolgan was an important Joalian politician. They had never spoken in private before.

  The camp bustled all around them. Troopleaders were drilling long-shadowed squads on the dusty plain; moas were mewing for their evening meal. Smoke trickled up reluctantly from cooking fires.

  "How soon do you expect the final contingents from Joalvale, sir?” Tarion inquired politely.

  "In a few days.” Kolgan was very tall, and even his armor failed to make him look broad. He had a hatchet face and a reddish beard.

  "I hope we shall move out at once. The enemy must know about us by now."

  The tall man chuckled. “And the army is eating the heart out of your capital?” Tents ran off in rows for miles, enough to hold five thousand hungry men.

  "Certainly. Mother will have to raise taxes to pay for it.” On the other hand, the crown's levy on brothels must be paying royally just now.

  "Ah. But the queen's health distresses us all. That unpopular task may fall to her successor."

  "Or, if Karzon favors our cause,” Tarion prompted, “loot from Lemodvale may solve the problem?” But would the Joalians let the Nagians have a significant share?

  "Possibly,” Kolgan said vaguely. “Do you know how I got to be where I am, Tarion Cavalryleader?” He glanced down with a meaningful glint in his eye.

  "Not in detail,” Tarion said diplomatically, “but I have heard how the people's assembly in Joal rejected the Clique's nominee for the position of coadjutant and demanded you instead. Riot was threatened. A great tribute to your reputation, of course."

  "A great tribute to graft. I have no military experience to speak of. I had been sponsoring public games on a scale not seen for many years."

  The People's Assembly was the ultimate authority in Joal, but it was very expensive to buy. Tarion distrusted candor. Candor was dangerous to both candorer and candoree. “How wonderfully public-spirited of you!"

  "I staked everything I possessed and everything I could borrow. Unless I return gloriously victorious and loaded with loot, then I am a ruined man."

  "We must trust in the gods and the justice of our cause,” Tarion said, wondering what this frankness could possibly be leading up to.

  Kolgan's angular face twisted in a grin—or possibly a sneer. It was hard to tell under his helmet. “And you, Prince? How did you come to be where you are?"

  Candor was for others. “Mother has long believed that I would make a better king than my poor brother."

  "Quite!” Kolgan Coadjutant snapped. “But her Joalian allies have never agreed with that viewpoint. Our distinguished ambassador recently switched his support to you—in direct breach of the Clique's instructions."

  "He did,” Tarion agreed blandly. The Joalian ambassador was effectively the resident Joalian governor of Nagland, although one did not say so openly. Bondvaan was another devious politician, a human snake.

  The commander's tent was in sight now. Kammaeman had appropriated the best campsite, under the only decent shade trees. He was sitting on a stool, still wearing armor and watching his subordinates approach. Beside him sat that very same Bondvaan.

  "Three years ago,” Kolgan said, “the old man spent five million stars, bribing the Clique to appoint him. I am sure he has made it all back by now."

  "In his first ten fortnights here, or so he boasts."

  "Well, then!” Kolgan said triumphantly. “Bribery on his scale would be well beyond your means. How did you work it?"

  "Mother persuaded him."

  This time the sneer was unmistakable. “That is not what I heard. I had hoped we might exchange confidences, Tarion Cavalryleader."

  Tarion sighed. “What did you hear?"

  "He is a notorious lecher. He hosts orgies of the foulest perversions. What his age makes impossible for him personally now, he stages to watch. I heard you participated in certain memorable performances at his residence."

  Tarion had never found a smile harder. “I am no prude, but I prefer not to be reminded of those nights.” Candor!

  "Understandably!” The tall man chuckled coarsely. “Great causes require great sacrifices?"

  "Yes."

  "Do we appreciate each other now? Do you know why I dismissed the messenger and came for you myself?"

  Tarion gritted his teeth. “Of course. Kammaeman Battlemaster must be aware of your need for personal glory. A wise Joalian commander never turns his back on his deputy. By arriving with me, you are undermining my reliability in his eyes, and thus hope to enlist me to your side."

  Kolgan laughed. “We do understand each other! Let us make an agreement, then. Help me come out on top in this
and I shall give you Bondvaan Ambassador's privates on a plate. Interested?"

  "Fervently,” Tarion said. “Fried."

  The guards let the visitors pass. They came to a halt and saluted the man who was at the moment autocrat of Nagland. Kammaeman's word could stop any heart in the vale.

  He was close to sixty, a seasoned warrior. He must also be one of the most successful and ruthless politicians in Joal, as he had hung on to his membership in the Clique for more than ten years. The fact that he had dared take command of the army in person and thus absent himself from the city showed how firm his grip must be. He was physically powerful, too. His armor covered his torso and shins, but his bearlike, matted arms and thighs were exposed. Dust and sweat had muddied in the wrinkles in his weathered face and in his beard. His eyes were inflamed by the sun. He nodded at the newcomers without rising or even offering them a seat, although there were stools standing unused at his back.

  Beside him—silver-haired, short, and blubbery—Bondvaan Ambassador favored Tarion with a buttery smile that awakened memories to make his skin crawl.

  Kammaeman was peering up at him from under grizzled brows thicker than many men's mustaches. Black hairs sprouted from his ears and nostrils.

  "Did you enjoy the ceremony today, Cavalryleader?"

  Kolgan alone had been bad enough. Tarion braced himself to deal with three of them. “I hope someday to wean my people from ritual scarring, sir. It is a holdover from our barbaric past and contrary to the enlightened civilization that Joal has brought us, for which we are all so grateful. However, the sight of blood excites me, and you certainly cannot doubt the young men's courage."