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ghost in it, a friend who loved him. In its guise she'd spoken long to him and
gained his spirit's trust. He was hers, now, as her lover-lord had promised;
all things he learned she'd know as soon as he. None of it he'd remember, just
go about his business of war and death. Through him she'd herd Tempus whither
she willed, and through him she'd know the
Riddler's every plan.
For Nikodemos, the Nisibisi bondservant, had never shed his brand or slipped
his chains:
though her lover had freed his body, deep within his soul a string was tied.
Any time, her lord could pull it; and she, too, now, had it twined around her
pinky.
He remembered none of what occurred after his interrogation in the grove; he
recalled just what she pleased and nothing more. Oh, he'd think he'd dreamed
delirious nightmares, as he sweated now to feel her touch.
She woke him with a tap upon his eyes and told him what he was: her pawn, her
tool, even that he would not recall their little talk or coming here. And she
warned him of undeads, and shriveled his soul when she showed him, in her
mirror-eyes, what Tamzen and her friend could be, should he even remember what
passed between them here.
Then she put her pleasure by and touched the bruised and battered face: one
more thing she took from him, to show his spirit who was slave and who was
master. She had him service her and took strength from his swollen mouth and
then, with a laugh, made him forget it all.
Then she sent her servant forth, unwitting, the extra satisfaction gleaned
from knowing that his
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ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
spirit knew, and deep within him cried and struggled giving the whole endeavor
spice.
Jagat's men would see him to the road out near the Stepsons' barracks; they
took his sagging weight in brawny arms.
And Roxane, for a time, was free to quit this scrofulous town and wend her way
northward: she might be back, but for the nonce the journey to her lord's
embrace was all she craved. They'd leave a trail well marked in place and
plane for Tempus; she'd lie in high-peaks splendor, with her lover-lord well
pleased by what she'd brought him: some Stepsons, and a Froth Daughter, and a
man the gods immortalized.
* * *
In took until nearly dawn to calm the fish-faces who'd lost their five best
ships; "lucky" for everyone that the Burek faction's nobility had been
enjoying Kadakithis's hospitality, ensconced in the summer palace on the
lighthouse spit and not aboard when the ships snapped anchor and headed like
creatures with wills of their own toward the maelstrom that had opened at the
harbor's mouth.
Crit, through all, was taciturn; he was not supposed to surface; Tempus, when
found, would not be pleased. But Kadakithis needed counsel badly; the young
prince would give away his Imperial curls for "harmonious relations with our
fellows from across the sea."
Nobody could prove that this was other than a natural disaster; an "act of
gods" was the unfortunate turn of phrase.
When at last Crit and Strat had done with the dicey process of standing around
looking inconsequential while in fact, by handsign and courier, they mitigated
Kadakithis's bent to compromise (for which there was no need except in the
Beysib matriarch's mind), they retired from the dockside.
Crit wanted to get drunk, as drunk as humanly possible: helping the mageguild
defend its innocence, when like as not some mage or other had called the
storm, was more than distasteful; it was counterproductive. As far as Critias
was concerned, the newly elected First Hazard ought to step forward and take
responsibility for his guild's malevolent mischief. When frogs fell from the
sky, Straton prognosticated, such would be the case.
They'd done some good there: they'd conscripted Wrigglies and deputized
fishermen and bullied the garrison duty officer into sending some of his men
out with the long boats and Beysib dinghies and slave-powered tenders which
searched shoals and coastline for survivors. But with the confusion of healers
and thrill-seeking civilians and boat owners and Beysibs on the docks, they'd
had to call in all the Stepsons and troops from road patrols and country posts
in case the Beysibs took their loss too much to heart and turned upon the
townsfolk.
On every corner, now, a mounted pair stood watch; beyond, the roads were
desolate, unguarded. Crit worried that if diversion were some culprit's
purpose, it had worked all too well: an army headed south would be upon them
with no warning. If he'd not known that yesterday there'd been no sign of
southward troop movement, he confided to Straton, he'd be sure some such evil
was afoot.
To make things worse, when they found an open bar it was the Alekeep, and its
owner was wringing his hands in a corner with five other upscale fathers.
Their sons and daughters had been out all night; word to Tempus at the
Stepsons' barracks had brought no answer; the skeleton crew at the garrison
had more urgent things to do than attend to demands for search parties when
manpower was suddenly at a premium; the fathers sat awaiting their own men's [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]