Destiny's Queen, 3

 

Chapter 3

 

Harkon and Ralthur came to observe Clodax before going to talk to him, wanting him as rattled as possible. Harkon was startled to see his sister in the other cell.

Kaz glided in.

“She’d warded her tent against everything, including air,” she said. “She’ll turn. We just need to love her into submission.”

“I... thank you for saving her,” said Harkon. “I have to handle this job, though.”

“Of course. We can send for you if we need you,” said Kaz. “If you go visit Thyella, though, don’t be offended by the tipsy air spirit. We paid him off with attar of roses and it has a profound effect.”

“I... actually, I’m not sure I want to know,” said Harkon.

Kaz sniggered.

“Are you going to keep Clodax off balance by feeding him well, and with my babbling juice in it?” she asked.

“I think so,” said Harkon. “And by serving men who don’t talk to him or even seem to hear.”

 

Clodax was frustrated not to be told anything, but he was hungry, so he dug in to a good meal. He was being treated well, as befitted his station; and he was beginning to wonder if he had made a mistake about the status of Fadabius and Aquilix. His prayers did not reach Thanus, so he concluded that he must be in the religious enclave of Selen, within the palace. When prayers to Selen failed, he remembered that it was said that some of the secret police gave their service to Daze, and that frightened him. Clodax, though well trained in military matters, was essentially an administrator, and administrators secretly hated the extreme chaos of Daze. It spoiled his appetite somewhat; but not entirely. He was hungry.

When he had finished, the same silent men cleared away.

The magical lights dimmed.

Clodax was wondering what it meant when the door opened again, and he thought two men came in. One of them sat down opposite Clodax, and set up a lamp opposite him. It shone brightly into Clodax’s eyes and did not illuminate the two men. Clodax felt his guts crawl.

“You may make yourself comfortable in the necessary before we start, if you like,” said the voice, pleasantly. It was, he thought, that blond brute, Aquilix.

Clodax had two choices. Brazen it out and fear to lose control of himself; or give them the moral victory of using the necessary.

He used the necessary; it meant he still had some control, or so he told himself. There was a siphon to wash himself, and a flush mechanism. Definitely, he had to be in the palace for such civilised luxury.

“I did not know there was a temple to the trickster in the palace,” he said, conversationally, when he returned, hoping to catch them off guard.

“There are many things you do not know, Clodax Dren,” said Aquilix.

Well, that was confirmation he was with the Trickster; it was a classic Daze answer.

“I did not realise you were with the secret police, nobody told me,” he babbled.

“Of course not; as your loyalties were in question, you had no need to know,” said Harkon/Aquilix.

“I swear by Selen, Thanus, and Librax that I am loyal!” Clodax squeaked.

“Interesting trinity to choose,” rumbled Ralthur/Fadabius.

“They are the ones I worship!” yelped Clodax.

“Of course,” said Aquilix, soothingly. “But oaths in another temple’s surrounds are worthless. Tell us your suspect list and your immediate underlings.”

Clodax babbled. A scribe in the service tunnel took down everything. Eventually, Aquilix got out two sheets of parchment.

“Sign the bottom of both,” he said.

“Wh... what is it?” asked Clodax.

“Proof of your co-operation,” said Aquilix.

Clodax signed.

In the dark, Fadabius/Ralthur smirked. He had just signed two very good forgeries of identification for one Fadabius Kron, and Aquilix Drex as the highest ranked secret policemen.

“You will have to stay here whilst we verify everything,” said Harkon/Aquilix. “But your stay should not be too unpleasant.”

“Thank you!” gasped Clodax.

His lights resumed when he was alone, and presently a silent servant brought him some books and writing materials, and a pack of cards, so he could pass the time with solitaire games if he wanted. The books were all novels, but he appreciated the courtesy.

 

oOoOo

 

Thea/Sjurgi leaped up when Harkon went into her cell.

“Harkon!” she flung herself into his arms.

“I’m sorry it took so long, lass,” said Harkon. “Da wouldn’t let me leave to look for you until I was sixteen, and a man grown; and by then he needed me, as he was so frail. Not that he lived long after I turned sixteen. I sold the farm to Bjern Woollybritches to kit myself out, and found that Torval had left me some money as well.”

“You were twelve when they took me; by the time you were sixteen, I’d been trapped with riddles and runes in poems I had to learn to recite,” said Sjurgi. “But I don’t know who I am any more!”

“You’re my sister, and I love you, and I will help drag you out of the maze of the trickster,” said Harkon. “But I’m also fighting a war, so I won’t always be around; but anyone who comes to you is a friend of mine.” He kissed her forehead. “Be well, little sister. You can pray to Alethos freely here; you would not be the first of those following Thanus to realise that betrayal cannot carry a truth glyph. And to recognise that to switch service from a betrayer is not betrayal.”

“I... I do not know,” said Sjurgi.

“You do not have to know immediately,” said Harkon.

 

oOoOo

 

 

“How are we going to work this?” asked Ralthur.

“We’re going to pull in everyone who is suspect, use our inbuilt truthsense  gift from Alethos to find out how loyal they are, and recruit anyone who is willing to work from within,” said Harkon. “And arrest everyone who is loyal.”

“You’re a force of nature,” said Ralthur.

Harkon pulled a face.

“According to a prophecy, I’m going to be,” he said. “‘Those who hold the seasons in their grip will be tried twice, once in the maelstrom where they might be given succour and once again when the endgame is in motion against those powers of the void when the hooves of the Skyhorse shall fall to the bloody wolf. He shall be avenged by the Bride of Storms and his powers assumed by her and her beloved.’ Moreover, ‘If the horse abjures poetry and concentrates on planning, he will grow and overcome.’”

“And what the hell does that mean?” asked Ralthur.

“When Chaos first came, the weather gods were herded into the Maelstrom by the Healing Trio – Alethos, Latrika, and Phrodine, Death, Healing, and Love, and were pulled out one by one, and healed of the madness that had overcome them. There is enough ambiguity in the description of ‘those who hold the seasons in their grip’ to cover gods of seasons and what is associated with them, or in other words, those who threw in their lot with the so-called ‘Knights of the Clear Starlight,’ who believe they can get rid of the Red Moon, but have never mentioned healing the Blue Moon, because on the whole, they are Human gods. The toróg have minor gods covering similar functions, but the seasonal gods’ origins are too ancient to say whether they even have a race. As far as I know, the oldest race is the Hamae, the forest beings, who live with nature, who laugh at those who cultivate crops and at husbandry. I think the true gods of the seasons are their gods, who are not spoken about to outsiders, and it pleases them to let the sunlings, children and grandchildren of Solos, think they have some dominion. But I think the prophecy meant the sunlings, who associate themselves with Ombros and his ilk. And Ombros is known to the plainsfolk as the Skyhorse. And much of it turns on whether they can change and adapt, or whether they will wither and die because they cannot accept what I believe will be a compromise – that now some chaos is here, to remove Daze and Selen totally, we will have to accept that some chaos, or disorder, will remain, as random chance.”

“Was there no random chance before?” asked Ralthur. “I mean, that governs dice games and the like.”

“In the times before chaos, most humans lived in verdant valleys in what is known now as the Ghostlands,” said Harkon. “We haven’t found a single game board there when we’ve been exploring. So, maybe not?”

“I can live with that much chaos,” said Ralthur.

Harkon shrugged.

“Even random chance obeys rules,” he said. “A die has no memory. There is a one in six chance it will come up any given face any time it is rolled. It’s why Kaz doesn’t dice. She’s been known to throw double six fourteen times in a row, even using a variety of dice to prove she wasn’t cheating, but it makes whispers. I believe many trógling, without having a chaos taint, are either lucky, or unlucky. I’ve heard so many tales of escapes where luck was involved, and tales of those willing to escape whose efforts were dogged at every turn by bad luck. I think Kaz will take on the mantle of ‘Chance’ to absorb chaos.”

“And you are the beloved of the bride of storms. Thyella, the celestial virgin.”

“As was,” said Harkon, blushing. “And Thyella is spending time with her brother because she believes he cannot change; her parents have accepted me, but Ombros finds it hard to believe that his sister chose love over her eternal soubriquet.”

“So, we’ll be going up against Lycos, father of Lycoids?”

“I’d not turn down your company,” said Harkon. “As well as the vengeance aspect, I’ll be backing up Vulk, who wants to free lycoids of chaos and disease, as a father of the wolves and wolfingas, under the pantheon of Alethos.”

“What of the sun, though? Is Solos not eternal and unchanging?”

“Solos and Pollonis have accepted that there are shadows as well as dark and light; and take the trógling as shadowfolk, not creatures of darkness; and both Solos’s daughter Mycota and her new husband, Zog are of shadow since we won her away from imprisonment by Tor.”

“I move in exalted company,” laughed Ralthur.

 

oOoOo

 

Julus Helio, unlike Clodax Dren, actually did the work of running the secret police for his superior. He had risen through the ranks of the so-called Crimson Guard, officially named Internal Crimson Executive, into whose headquarters people disappeared, and if they came out, they came out... changed. The whispers of brutal torture and at best, holding prisoners in miserable conditions were never spoken aloud; but the whispers persisted. Julus Helio was happy with that. He wanted the Crimson Guard to be feared; and if they were hated, he did not care. His top operatives did not enjoy torture, but nor did they balk at it.  He recruited amongst those who were socially shunned, and the almost aggressively camp Fadabius and Aquilix were just the type he valued. He was disturbed that he had never met them.

“So, you were recruited by Clodax Dren himself?” he asked, sceptically. “He has prejudices, you know.”

“Yes, and he made them clear,” said Harkon. “But he wanted to emulate your successes, and to have operatives outside of your control to spy on you, and to engineer his social rise.” This Clodax had actually babbled, as he was jealous of his nominal underling.

Julus narrowed his eyes.

“And why are you telling me this?” he asked, coldly.

“To demonstrate our loyalty, of course,” said Ralthur. “Anyone thinking he was on the level has been played for suckers by Dren, and we captured him, and we put him on ice, and persuaded him to talk. Interesting plans he has. So, we came to you to do our duty, and let you know what he was up to.”

“And where is he now?” asked Julus.

Harkon examined his finger nails, and actually, to Julus’s distaste, pulled a file to shape one better.

“Where, that’s a little difficult to be specific about,” he said. “See, any one rat can only manage to eat a certain amount, and they spread out... so, I suppose you could say any corpse they dined on is all over the city. In the sewers and so on. Unless part of him took ship.”

“You killed him and fed him to the rats?” said Julus, appalled.

“Oh, no, no, no, we didn’t kill him,” said Harkon.  “You know how it is when some people are more delicate than you anticipate and accidentally.... enter the nether planes.”

“You got careless and he died,” said Julus.

“I wouldn’t put it like that,” said Harkon, shiftily. So far he had not told a single direct lie and nor had Ralthur. The misdirection was wearing, but they managed it.

“And the best way to get rid of a body is to leave it for the rats,” said Ralthur.

“I could arrest you for that.” Julus glared at them.

“I think it would be better to make use of us,” said Harkon.

“We’re very good in combination,” agreed Ralthur.

“And we are very loyal,” said Harkon.

He did not say to whom they were loyal.

But then, Julus did not think to ask.

 

a complicated courtship is live

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a fun adventure associated with the Brandon Scandals

Destiny's queen 2

 

Chapter 2

 

Dron was a strong trógling who was an expert miner, and good at mining cantrips. He had gone on the run when he irritated the darkling overseer by complaining that the said overseer, his half brother, as it happened, took the credit for saving a vein of copper, and incidentally, a dozen trógling which had been Dron’s initiative.

The darkling had placed Dron in the food pens, along with those he rescued, in case any of them talked, for causing the collapse which Dron had saved them from. Dron had an encyclopaedic knowledge of the caves, and with his dozen colleagues had tunnelled directly down a level to the mine galleries, taking any of the other food trógling who dared come, and snuck out of the caves, killing three darklings, and collecting another half dozen trógling on the way.  They had survived purely because some of Vulk’s wolfingas and wolves, who had had their chaos removed, had standing orders to seek and rescue tróglings. The weakest and wounded were carried on wolves, and the wolfingas stood by the stronger tróglings to fight off pursuit.

Dron could have made trouble, if he had challenged Kaz’s position, but he was shrewd enough to realise there was more going on than met the eye; and settled for being chief of the mining trógling, invited to some war councils, and learned to appreciate that here, he was given credit for his work.

And then, he had been caught in a freak accident, a tunnel collapse when undermining the enemy camp; and he had prayed to the new mother of trógling, and she turned up. And it was Kaz.  And she had rescued him at some risk to herself.  Dron was one of Kaz’s most fervent worshipers, and was well on his way to being her first Glyph Lord. To be chosen to be one of the two picked to work with her, the other being her long-time friend, Rynn, was an honour to him.

“What if this Thea Drex tries to kill us for not realising we’re saving her arse?” he asked.

“Use an aggressive blast of darksense right in her face, which will make her giddy,” said Kaz. “Or hit her on the head. Use your initiative.  She’s been turned into a rabid Selenite; we have to turn her back. She was taken as a slave at eight years old; you know how many trógling half worship their darkling or high toróg mothers if convinced to do so from an early age.”

Dron grunted.

“We called it ‘Value disease,’” he said. “Those designated as ‘values’ could be stupidly loyal.”

“And we can break it; because her brother is my sword-brother and a dear comrade,” said Kaz.

“You’re pregnant,” said Dron. “And it’s growing too fast.”

“It’s a side-effect of divinity,” said Kaz.  “I have to eat almost constantly, but at least I won’t be heavy during the hot months.”

Dron grunted.

He was not sure he approved of gods and mortals mixing together; but then, anything that would free trógling from the curse, so there were no more born to be abused, tortured, eaten, and enslaved, was a good thing. He was a good soldier; he asked enough questions to understand what was going on, and then obeyed.

 

The tunnel to Thea Drex’s tent came off a storm drain. One of the ones barred by the Selenites, as it happened; but no longer guarded, since in the confusion of the exchange of garrisons, mentioning guarding the river end of the tunnels had been forgotten. The trógling had used ore-moving cantrips on the metal stakes at the end of the tunnels, driven in to contain them, turning the bronze into tin and copper ore until they were weak enough to be broken.  The ore, after all, could be re-used. Kaz had also been experimenting with creating spells to turn darksense into a weapon, refining the echo-location of the sound emitted from the slight muzzle that gave trógling what some described as a kittenish face, to concentrate it to cause enough vibration to cause humans acute headaches, and to weaken metal by flexing it. It took a number of trógling concentrated on a particular piece of metal at the moment, but it was a start. It was built on those mining cantrips unique to the toróg and their weaker, cursed kin, which loosened sand and rock and ores. Cantrips could be used by most trógling, but many had too weak a kormajaia to cast more complex spells without exhaustion. Increasing the amount of magic put into cantrips could, with some, significantly increase the effects. Dron had been a great help in trying out some of Kaz’s ideas, and adding his own thoughts. He, Rynn, and Kaz worked well together in digging through and shoring up a way into the Selenite camp. Kaz’s friend, Protasion, glyph lord and priest of Alethos, and military engineer of the group, had taken sightings to make a precise measurement of reaching Thea’s tent. It was a large, officer’s tent, which gave them longer before she died of suffocation, if indeed she had made it impervious to air as well as everything else, but it was as well that Protasion had been able to work fast.

It had taken the three trógling over an hour to reach the spot at which they tunnelled upwards, most of which involved the removal of spoil. They had also had to drag along a rather unwilling spirit of air, indentured for them by Thyella, as its ability to generate air to breathe would counteract any bad air which should sink into their tunnel from the tent, and sent ahead of them would help dissipate the stale air. It grumbled constantly.

“You’ll be able to get back to the sky soon,” said Kaz. “And then you’ll get paid by Thyella with the fine perfumes you asked for.”

“Sewer sludge and bad breath, I should have asked for more,” grumbled the spirit.

“Oh, hush, now! Think of that attar of roses,” said Kaz.

“Why couldn’t I be paid up front?” asked the belligerent spirit.

“We went into that,” said Kaz. “I don’t doubt Thyella’s word that on the good stuff, you might as well be too drunk to do anything except giggle for a week.”

The spirit subsided. It did not like confined passages.

“Most people just bind spirits to do their bidding,” said Dron.

“Yes, and I call that slavery,” said Kaz. “I’d rather bargain over a temporary binding. Save with volonteers like cult spirits.”

“You have a point,” said Dron. “I make it that we’re here.”

 

They dug upwards, Kaz having cast the breathe-easy  spell on all of them, to help cope with any bad air, which lasted for an hour, and brought fresh air to the lungs directly from... somewhere. The spirit would help a lot, though, as there were limits to what the breathe-easy spell could overcome, and there did need to be some good air somewhere nearby for it to work.

And then they were through, and the stale air sinking and pouring into the passage. Kaz was glad of the aid of the spell as well as the presence of the spirit. They clambered up, and out into a fairly frugal tent, as those of Selenite officers went. There was a desk with maps, a few chairs, and a folding bed. Thea Drex lay face down on the bed. Kaz, tied to a god of death, could tell she was alive, and promptly cast the breathe-easy spell on her, turning her over.  Her lips were blue, but began to regain a better colour as the spell took hold, and the spirit displaced bad air.

Kaz gave the jewel which contained the spirit to Rynn.

“Go to the end of the tunnel and release him,” she said. Rynn nodded. Carrying Thea, or Sjurgi, was a job for two, and Rynn trusted Kaz’s reflexes if the heroine came back to her senses fighting.

Kaz shoved all the maps and documents she could find into her bag. They might as well have as much intelligence as possible.

 

oOoOo

 

Thea Drex sneezed.  And sneezed again. She was being carried... it was dark. She was still semi-conscious, trying to work out what was happening. She had stormed into her tent, and cast every spell she knew, and made up a few on the fly as well, using sheer power to meld magic to her will, and had thrown herself onto her bed to cry into her pillow over... well, she was still not sure what. That barbarian Harkon... her brother. He was her brother, she remembered him, before he had facial hair, but the way he rolled his shoulders... once he had called her Sjurgi, a name she had forgotten, a name she had not been known as for.... well, a decade and a half at least. Twice as long as she had born the name Sjurgi, she had been Thea, renamed, and beaten if she did not respond to it. A child of eight years old can only hold out so long against that. Children who were too defiant... disappeared. She remembered deciding to comply outwardly, and cling to who she was, internally. There were punishments for remembering her birth culture; rewards for behaving correctly in the new culture, memorising poems of praise to the red moon. She had always had a good memory, and repeated things glibly for treats, praise, and extra merit. And she was able to take out her anger in swordplay as she was trained for the arena. When did she stop complying as lip service and start giving real worship to Selen? When did she start believing the poems she learned so glibly? Were there compulsions.... there were patterns on the boarders of the poems. They were glyphs, runes and sigils to urge belief and acceptance. Thea had screamed in real horror, glad that the sound would not escape her tent.  Where was Sjurgi, and when had she been stolen by Selen? What became of her determination to escape? But she had become the pet of Selen as she had progressed in her studies, working under Thanus himself eventually, apostate hero of Alethos, Daulthus in their own language, lord of endings and absolutes. And how could Thanus be true to Truth if he betrayed his own lord? She had been fooled, and duped...

And it was about this point that Thea... Sjurgi... realised that she was thinking sluggishly, that breathing was getting harder, and that she had done something stupid... but it was too hard to think what it was that she had done that was stupid. And the next thing she knew was that she was sneezing in an acrid atmosphere in the dark.

 

oOoOo

 

It was not a good day for high ranking Selenites.

Clodax Dren came to in a prison cell.

Granted, as prison cells went, it was moderately comfortable, in a sparse sort of way; it had no window, but it was not damp, nor cold.  It had a stone floor, with a rug on it, he was lying on a bed which was not luxuriously soft, but nor was it unpleasantly hard, in a bed which was narrower than he was used to, but definitely not a plank, such as might be found in many prisons. There were magical lights, and a table with a chair. Behind a screen, he could see some kind of lavatory, and a faucet for water, and a basin under it. A fire danced in a grate, which had a heavy iron grill across it; either it was magical or it was tended by someone who could remove the grate.  And the answer to that became apparent, when the back of the fire moved aside, and someone added a log to it.

“Hey!” shouted Clodax.

The back of the fireplace closed off, as if he had not been heard.

 

Back in Selenopolis, the army led by Orgeron Cass decanted themselves off the barges, Orgeron having decreed that they might as well use the barges, emptied of much bad grain after the rodent infestation. Erlax Sorn made sure to get out of the barges and get to the palace as fast as possible, in order to get his retaliation in first.

And as Orgeron Cass managed to make his hungover way onto the wharf, having decided that the best way to make more room was to drink the wine supplied for the officers, he was arrested for dereliction of duty, cowardice, and incompetence.

His cell was a lot less comfortable than that of Clodax Dren, despite his exalted name. His army was the laughing stock of the plainsfolk, and it was said that the women of the plain had a new joke which ran, ‘Who was that soldier I saw you with last night? – that was no soldier, that was a member of the Selenite army.’

 

oOoOo

 

“What’s happening?” asked Thea Drex.

“Awake? Would you like a drink?” she was asked.

“Yes... please,” she said. She was tilted into a more upright position, and found a flask at her mouth, which poured slowly. Gratefully she gulped honeyed water. It was withdrawn.

“Not too much or you’ll be sick,” said the voice.  It was female. “That was remarkably silly, warding your tent against fresh air.”

“I... was not thinking straight,” said Thea.

“No, you had just had someone break through the years of lies,” said the voice. “We’ll find Sjurgi, don’t worry.”

Thea wanted to say, ‘but I was happy, I knew who I was, I had purpose.’ She was angry to have had that certainty stripped from her.

And she was angry that the certainty and purpose was built on lies and theft of her childhood. She wept again, silent sobs shaking her frame.

Kaz could see the woman’s reaction with darksense, and was pleased. It meant that a breakthrough was possible.

“Another drink?” she offered. It was accepted. This one had a sleeping draught in it; and Thea/Sjurgi drifted off to sleep before they left the tunnels.

She was left in a cell very like that of Clodax Dren. In fact it was on the other side of the service tunnel which led to the fires, whose chimneys joined above the passage. There were spyholes as well, or rather, rock which was transparent one way only. The lower levels of the temple of Alethos had a number of surprises, one of which was their use as holding cells for high ranking prisoners of war or hostages.

Thea/Sjurgi was less disquieted than Clodax.

She knew with absolute clarity, as well as she knew that she was in a temple, and out of all contact with her goddess, that she would either discover who Sjurgi was, and embrace that change, betraying all she had been for so long, or she would die for her goddess. And Thea/Sjurgi did not want to die for someone who had tricked her.

And it was not Selen who had seen her dying and saved her; it was her brother’s people. They could have left her, and let him grieve her death and move on.

It was much to ponder.

 

Destiny's Queen 1

 

Chapter 1

 

Clodax Dren smiled grimly as he watched the two drunkards stumble into the alley. He had them now; the alley was a dead-end.

One of the drunks was blond; one dark. Both wore the short, well-trimmed facial hair permitted only to the nobility, and often effected by those only nominally noble to make a point about their rank. Their hair was long, showing them to be out of the military structure, and, he sneered, they seemed to show a great deal of affection towards each other. Clodax despised such men, and was looking forward to taking down the pair who were known as Fadabius and Aquilix, and find out what they were up to.

He strode into the alleyway with his two bodyguards, looking for the drunkards; and discovered that his bodyguards had already found them, and were lying on the ground unconscious or dead, struck down from ambush by the two men, somewhat less drunk now, who had lurked in the shadows of the the archway leading into the alley.

“Hello, sweetness,” said the blond. “Fadabius and I want to talk to you.”

“Hey! You’re Fadabius this week! It’s my turn to be Aquilix,” said the dark one.

Clodax looked from one to the other, puzzled.

“You’re under arrest,” he tried.

“Listen to him, Fadabius, isn’t he just the most precious little funny?” said the blond.

“Oh, just hit him so we can take him away,” said the dark one.

Clodax never even saw it coming.

Ralthor Kron, and Harkon, who were playing the parts of the outrageous Fadabius and Aquilix, picked up Clodax, and sprang into the air with a loud crack! noise, and the smell of ozone. They needed to question Clodax about the organisation of the secret police so they could fit in, claiming to be from a different city if questioned. Kaz had devised a way to use her famous powdered mushroom with wine in precise doses to make the victim garrulous; far preferable to either torture or some brute force invasion of the mind, which could be damaged by resistance.

It was perhaps a job which could be done by lesser men than a Hero of the cult of Alethos like Harkon, and his friend, hero-questing Glyph lord and priest, apostate from Selen’s mockery of Alethos in his one-time hero, Thanos, but Ralthur had suggested it to divert Harkon’s mind from the discovery that the enemy’s Heroine was none other than his long-lost sister. Sjurgi, now known as Thea Drex, who had won herself an exalted surname by defending the empress from a traitor. Ralthur had confessed to Harkon that he had always found Thea more attractive than the political match of his one-time betrothed, Vaudia Cass.

 

On the god plane, more specifically, the sky dome of Solos, god of the sun and ruler of the heavens, two of his minor daughters were squabbling. This was a sufficiently common occurrence that nobody took any notice or listened in; which was fortunate for one of them.

“You made a real mess of that, Zeandine,” taunted Secalia. “Trying to make her lust after her own brother.”

“At that, if I’d known, it would have been an even more delicious punishment for Harkon, for making me look silly,” sulked Zeandine. “Now she’s sulking in her tent, and he’s lost to women by turning to Ralthur Kron for his gratification.”

“For a goddess of lust, you’re particularly dim,” said Secalia. “Now, I may only be a grain goddess, but I do understand seed, and they don’t exchange it.”

Zeandine flounced.

“Well, what can I do to him?” she demanded.

“If you’ll take my advice, you’ll let it go and live it down, as I have been,” said Secalia. “Harkon is as beloved of our father, the sun, as any who is not one of his, for restoring Mycota to his court.”

Zeandine stamped a foot.

“And with a trog lover!” she said, outraged.

“And Zog, lord of rock and sand, asked to be of the shadows, not of dark, as dominion over rock and sand is in daylight as well as below ground,” said Secalia. “And then there is all the business of the Daykaz, which I do not perfectly understand, who is Death’s beloved, and really, do you want to be on the wrong side of Alethos? And by the way, Harkon is a favourite of his, too.”

“He is sexy, though,” said Zeandine. “I’m prettier than any damned trogling.”

“She insists it’s ‘trógling,’” said Secalia. “And you know fine well, Alethos’s sisters are Latrika, goddess of healing, and Phrodine, goddess of love. And lust never trumps true love.”

Zeandine hunched her shoulders and scowled. She knew Secalia was right, and the humiliation still stung, having been told off by someone then still a mortal when she, Secalia, and Thyella, goddess of lightning, had been duped into competing for a golden egg. And it was a further humiliation that it actually held a god of discord, wrought by The Trickster, brother to Selen, the blood moon.

“Thyella’s looking sleek these days too,” complained Zeandine. “I heard she’s caring for her brother’s child.”

“Taken from Selen, who was hurting the child to force out her powers for her own ends,” said Secalia. “Be careful, Zeandine, that you do not become like Selen, power-hungry and filled only with hatred. If the real powers obliterate you, any number of us could assume your role.”

Zeandine  shuddered in real fear; it was true enough. Her true remit as goddess of spring and lust was to make sure the animals were ready to mate, though she did interfere occasionally in the lives of mortals, which was an encroachment on Phrodine. And Phrodine’s stern brother might be attractive, but he also frightened Zeandine.

Even Solos jumped if Alethos got demanding.

Even gods could die and be subject to the god of death.

 

 

Erlax Sorn hated Orgeron Cass.

The feeling was mutual; he had no illusions regarding that.  But Orgeron was in nominal command now Thea Drex had left, because he was Erlax’s social superior. Because that was the way it worked.

And the overdressed ninny had no clue how to cope with rats in the grain barges that toiled upriver whilst the army marched. Nor the lack of grain to be requisitioned from the plainsmen, who shrugged and spoke of bad storms. They displayed empty granaries, but managed to look sleek enough that Erlax just knew they were lying. But their stories could not be broken, and no amount of searching could uncover granaries. Erlax had suggested a few hostages might break the spirit of the plainsman; and Orgeron Cass had seized every female in a village over the age of ten and threatened to turn them over to the troops if grain was not forthcoming.  And how well that had gone. The women had been carrying knives, and killed the men they were given to, and vanished in the night; and then the damned whole horde of plainsmen had attacked, and carried off what good food they still had.  There was an old adage, that the plains bred men who were real men, and women who were real men too. Erlax was glad he had not had anything to do with that fiasco.

In fact, he was now writing reports in which he made it plain he was obeying orders and that the orders which caused the problems originated from Orgeron Cass.

The army was already weakened and depleted by sickness from eating contaminated grain. The priests had been working overtime to contain the diseases, not entirely successfully. Then the horde had attacked, appearing out of nowhere, firing arrows and throwing javelins into the straggle of men, and then wheeling and disappearing back onto the endless steppe. The light cavalry had chased them, whooping and hollering, vanished over the conveniently rolling land.... and disappeared.  Heavy cavalry were sent to look for them the next morning, but there was no sign of them. Not even blood stains.

Erlax admitted freely to himself that this spooked him more than a little.  He had no way of knowing that trógling had worked tirelessly overnight erasing all signs of the ambush and battle whilst the tribesmen removed the horses and the bodies for looting, and any live ones for ransom... later. Or as slaves, if unlikely to be ransomed. And the plainsfolk knew how to plait and knot slave bracelets in complex rope-sigils that would keep them compliant and drain their kormajaia so they could not cast spells.

There was plenty to be looted on the rich caparisons of the aristocratic young men. And traders would purchase slaves for those places which had not declared slavery outlaw. Which was everywhere but Mesolimnos and Sideropolis.

Erlax struggled on to the rim of the Great Lake, ready to requisition shipping from the numberless fishing villages and the traders of Aktekome, one of two major trading towns on the southern rim of the great lake.

There were no ships. And the town was deserted. And the marsh at the southeastern corner did not help their health.

Erlax sent out his healthiest troops, who struggled on along the side of the lake, and returned to report.

No ships. No fishing boats. The fishing villages had emptied. It was as if they knew the army was coming, and wanted nothing to do with them.

Meanwhile, the soldiery were overcome by the urges of soldiery everywhere, and started looting.

And deserting.

The army was a travesty, and even Orgeron Cass realised it. But Erlax let Orgeron give the order to return to Selenopolis.

 

oOoOo

 

 

Kaz was irritable.

She was with child, perpetually hungry, and tired. This was because she was developing very fast in her pregnancy, which, according to her sister-in-law, Latrika, goddess of healing, was quite normal for divine pregnancies.

“It’s one reason there are not many demigods running about,” said Latrika, in her no-nonsense manner. “Without realising this, many mortal mothers do not understand the need to care for themselves, and they, or the foetus, die for a lack of sustenance, and more important, the sacrifice of power to sustain their kormajaia, their magical centre.  You, my dear, are already receiving sacrifice of power from your followers, those trógling you have rescued, and Alethos and I are ready to add to what is needed. You need to eat more often because of the speed of the development, as much meat as possible. You should continue to exercise as much as possible, and it should all be fine.”

“Thank you, Latrika,” said Kaz. “Am  I allowed to be irritable?”

“As much as you like,” said Latrika. “Blame Alethos; it’s his divine little soldiers who got you into this.”

“I was an enthusiastic participant,” said Kaz, a purple flush on her blue cheeks.

“Phrodine thinks it all wildly romantic,” said Latrika. “But as something between a heroine and a demi-goddess, romantic does not hack it when you are still more corporeal than divine.”

Kaz sniggered.

“Alethos was pretty corporeal,” she said.

“Good, you haven’t lost your sense of humour,” said Latrika. “Eat meat as rare as you can bear.”

“I’m a trógling; I can eat raw meat,” said Kaz.

“Even better! You’re so tiny, I’m going to worry about you, but if you can eat raw meat, I’ll worry less. You can absorb its goodness directly.”

“I feel a need to sort things out without having the energy to do so, and that makes me both irritable and weepy,” said Kaz.

“Well, I’m going to try giving you some ambrosia,” said Latrika. “It’s a bit too much for most mortals, but a drop or two medicinally should help.”

Kaz obediently opened her mouth for three drops to be squeezed in. She made a face.

“You know, the fuss that’s made about this in legends suggests it should be delicious,” she said.

“I find it delicious; you don’t?”

“It’s sickly,” said Kaz. “But it seems to be working; I am suddenly struck with an urge to springclean the temple, and as there are more important ways to divert my energies, I shall go organise my spy tróglings.”

“Enjoy yourself, dear sister,” said Latrika. “I’ll leave you enough for a week, three drops a day.”

“Thank you,” said Kaz.

 

oOoOo

 

Thea Drex had shut herself in her tent, with layers of spells to make it into a fortress, and impenetrable. Sobus Aren, commander of the replacement garrison, and Ariella Garth, high priestess of Selen for the army had both tried.

“She’s just a stupid little girl using her noble family to call herself ‘heroine’” opined Sobus Aren.

“Be careful; you come close to heresy,” said Ariella Garth. “Our goddess herself named her ‘heroine,’ and she has achieved Glyph rank to have even been eligible to become one.”

Sobus scoffed.

“I could break her in two, in a fight,” he said. “She doesn’t even bother with proper armour.”

“Because she has spells which make it unnecessary, and I’ve heard stories. You aren’t even good enough to touch her with a sword,” said Ariella.

“Well, I suppose you women would stick together,” sneered Sobus. “It’s a mistake to bring women to war, if you ask me. War is men’s business.”

Ariella said nothing, but she reported his attitude in her prayers.

Svargia, in a slave tunic and fake magic-suppressing bracelets reported gleefully.

Kaz frowned.

“I wonder if she has accidentally made her tent impervious to air as well?” she said.

“Good riddance,” said Svargia.

“No,” said Kaz. “It’s our duty to save her, and help her understand who she really is, for Harkon’s sake. Knowing that the only Selenite hero-rank is his sister almost broke him.”

“I suppose so,” said Svargia. “He’s a good man. I suppose she was very young and they brainwashed her.”

“And much depends on whether we can unbrainwash her,” said Kaz.

“It’s been bothering me; there’s a whole bunch of us reaching for herodom,” said Svargia. “But she’s the only Selenite I’ve heard of.”

Kaz gave a wry smile.

“Selen is jealous,” she said. “She does not rejoice in those who reach for greatness, she destroys them in case they become a threat to her.”

Svargia stared.

“Alethos does not see any of us as threats,” she said.

“No, but then, he’s so secure, he does not need to even consider it,” said Kaz. “Even having had Thanos go apostate, he’d welcome him back.”

“The difference between a real god and an interloper goddess,” said Svargia.

“Yes; and I have to get moving, I’ve a heroine to rescue. And I need to brush up on that spell we used when rescuing Kurihor, the breathe-easy spell.”

“You aren’t going, are you?”

“I’m the best choice,” said Kaz.