I, Dacien

A Story by Onyx Tao

Copyright 2011

Released under the Creative Commons

Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike License

Chapter Eight: Regency

Xavien Lord Green was a difficult master; Erik knew that from experience, but difficult didn't mean impossible, and Eric was slowly starting to like Xavien. Like, as opposed to crave; Erik already knew he craved the minotaur, needed to touch him, taste him, to hear his voice. It was a need like water, or sunlight, and at first he'd hated Xavien for it, once he'd understood it, but now, now ... he knew better. It wasn't anything Xavien had done on purpose, or at least in particular to him, it was something that happened to all humans, all minotaurs, over time. To Xavien, that was how every human he knew was, and so it was the way the black minotaur expected humans to be, and if they weren't that way, something was wrong and different and out of place and Xavien hated out of place. He scheduled himself tightly, and he hated interruptions, distractions, disruptions, anything that didn't go as he had expected. Anything that was out of place.

Erik had thought he was a monster, and sometimes, he still wondered. What had Xavien done to Mikal, whom he now called Dog. Erik couldn't tell what Mikal thought, but he certainly had the same need for Xavien that Erik did. Breaker loved Xavien, and was terrified of him, at the same time. Erik was ...

Love was a hard word to use, and he wasn't even sure he loved Xavien. Needed him, craved him, certainly, but ... love? Like, Erik thought. He could like his master, even if ... he wasn't sure that his master would approve. Erik was a human, valuable with some gift that made him useful to the mage, even if Xavien had not been clear on what that gift was. A human -- a mere human -- had no need to know, any more than that human needed to know what was going to happen today, or tomorrow. When Xavien wanted something, he would explain what he wanted, and it was up to Erik to provide it. Whether Erik liked it was irrelevant; Xavien wanted it so, it would be so.

Such as being renamed Lathe. Xavien hadn't asked him, had barely even told him -- just started calling him Lathe, and expected him to respond to it. Or telling him to forget his friend ... who apparently had a similar gift, and had ended up with Teodor. Forget? How, Erik wondered, do you forget someone you've spent years with? Just ... gone, as if he were dead. No, worse than if he were dead: from time to time, you remembered the dead. Mentioned their names, told their stories, somehow holding them to life in your recollection, and letting them live anew in the memories of those who had never met them. And if he were to forget him, why did Dacien's name keep coming up in Xavien's discussions -- discussions that he, Erik, heard, or half-heard, as Lord Green used magic to speak to others at long distances. It seemed odd, very odd, for Xavien to spend so much time on a human that didn't even belong to him.

He sighed, very quietly, as he was currently laying -- comfortably, he had to admit -- on the floor by a large blue leather chair that currently held Xavien Lord Green. It faced a huge fireplace with a small fire in it, more for appearance, Erik thought, than anything else. That was enough to make him cautious, make him want to draw as little of his Master's attention as possible, but sitting in the other chair was a equally large, black minotaur that Xavien had addressed as My Lord, cousin, and Cresphontes throughout dinner.

The ever-present guards, both Lord Green's and the patriarch's, followed the two minotaurs as they had moved to this smaller room, a library, Cresphontes had called it in his invitation to Lord Green. Cresphontes himself had poured brandy, a thick golden liquid like mead into huge clear half-bubble glasses, and presented one to Xavien. Erik hadn't expected anything, of course, he'd been fed at dinner, from his Master's plate -- a great sign of favor, according to Breaker. Erik would still rather eat by himself; he'd felt like a favored pet earlier, and now, laying half-naked in front of his Master, he felt even more so.

But then, that was what his Master wanted, and he would do whatever his Master wanted. Mostly. Certainly, whatever his Master wanted him to do. What he thought, on the other hand, was still his. Mostly. He found himself dreaming about his Master more and more often, and although he doubted that his Master was doing it a-purpose, it still seemed like something that was inevitable.

"It's a pleasure to see you," Cresphontes said in a rumble much like his Master's voice. "I never expect you to accept my invitations."

"I am rarely able to," Xavien replied. "There are many tasks that fall to me."

"I know," Cresphontes said. "But perhaps that may ease, in the next few years."

"You speak of Lord Fog's discovery?"

"He told you?" Cresphontes sounded surprised.

"He ... hinted. Until even a thick fellow like myself could piece together the clues," Xavien said dryly. "He asked ... well, you know him. He asks the oddest questions, that seem so obvious, and then ..."

"He is a true roan," Cresphontes said. "The sort we would generally never, never, never promote beyond senior warlord, and even then we'd task a general to keep him under control."

Xavien made a choking noise. "You told me he was under control," Xavien said. "But ... I have been thinking of his question."

"What did he ask?"

"He asked, if it better for us that mage-talent is random, that any minotaur may find himself becoming a Lord. What if we could choose? Whom would we choose? How? I paraphrase, of course."

"He is far-sighted to wonder about that," Cresphontes said approvingly.

"And his latest ... I will admit, I thought him, last morning, out of control. Completely, and running away and taking the Council with him. I wondered that you permitted it."

"No," Cresphontes said. "Not."

"He asked you for permission, didn't he."

"Not as such," Cresphontes admitted. "Let us say, he gave me the opportunity to forbid him."

There was a rumble from Xavien, and then a companionable silence settled over the room.

"And these ninja?"

"I've spoken with Viktor," Cresphontes said. "In exchange for our not pressing against them, Viktor guarantees we can draw on theirs. The Lord of Bones is training seventy-five."

"So many!" Erik heard astonishment in his Master's exclamation.

"So he says."

"How?"

Cresphontes stirred himself into a little shake of his head. "I do not know. Especially after that disaster ... It is one of the things I've tasked Polychrome to discover for me, specifically."

"Teodor? In a mission with Polychrome?"

"Under Polychrome," Cresphontes said. "If needs be."

"And he accepted that?"

"I told you he was under control, Xavien," and Cresphontes sighed. "He is one of the most controlled bulls I know. He is a bull in whom I repose an absolute trust. Polychrome agrees, just so you know."

"Hmmm," said Xavien. "And ... Dacien?"

Dacien, thought Erik wildly. Why would this Lord, a Lord of Lords, concern himself with a human? What was this?

"When I did not forbid him, I admit I did not expect ... Dacien," Cresphontes said. "I don't know. We've been over this in Council, Xe. Must we rehash it here?"

"No, My Lord," Xavien said softly. "I do not seek to reopen the discussion ... I do want to understand your decision. Some of it, now that I know Teodor had spoken with you beforehand, I understand. But it seems so ..."

"Reckless?"

"Yes," Erik's Master said simply.

"What's reckless, Xe, is doing nothing. What's reckless is having a mere six Lords to take the place of twenty. With two apprentices, no more. The Guild of Magicians isn't prepared to step into that gap. It's a problem I've been facing for decades, with no clue about the why or wherefore of it. I'm not convinced it's the extension spell, but there's no doubt something has happened."

"Well, something has happened," Xavien said. "Teodor has solved the problem. Again. And anything that a mage can do, a magician can do, eventually. I'm surprised ..." and Erik's master paused. "Or perhaps I am not so surprised. You are asking me to work with Dacien to replicate this feat in a ritual, aren't you?"

"Yes," Cresphontes said. "It is my highest priority. It's why I sent Sasha to get Chelm's and Dacien's initiation over with. It's why I sent Te off on a goose chase in Ouroborous."

"Goose chase?"

Cresphontes shook his head. "Polychrome reports that Nikohorus doesn't have any candidates for ninja training. The only tempus master he's assigned is Crandall -- do you know him?"

"We've met, he's a grandmaster, is he not?"

"For Ouroborous. Kanail was ... less impressed with his skills when they met."

"Kanail," said Xavien. "Another peculiarity."

"I don't know what to make of it. He's loyal, intensely loyal. I have no concerns there at all." Cresphontes shook his head. "I'm sure it's an interesting story, and I intend to set Te on it when he gets back."

"More goose chasing?"

"Partly," said Cresphontes. "Chelm. What do you think of Chelm?"

"Appalling manners," Xavien said. "Admittedly, he was young, but to persist for so long ... appalling. But he seems quite acceptable in other ways. I could chalk up that debacle to his roan blood, and other than that, he seems like an accomplished, ambitious, and talented bull."

"He's the youngest grandmaster Lycaili has ever had."

"Well, he's been working on it for the right amount of time -- he just started young."

"And he's learned in mathematics, alchemy, and jurisprudence."

"I ... wasn't aware of that."

Cresphontes nodded. "Warlord, and armsmaster."

"I knew that," Xavien smiled. "Excellent studies and appropriate achievements for a young bull. Perhaps he's not as, hmmm, roan, as his father."

The other minotaur leaned back in his chair. "Many think so."

"But not you," Xavien said.

"Not me," Cresphontes said. "But I've had talks with some of my advisors who are already assuming he'll be a general."

"Since he's a developing mage, that seems like a moot concern. Besides, he seems stable enough."

"Does he?"

"Yes," said Xavien. "He does."

"Have you wondered how he paid for all that training?"

"Teodor ..."

"No. In fact, Chelm was paying for House Gray during that period. Te made monies available, but Chelm didn't tap them."

"Then how did he afford it?"

"Not to change the subject too much, are you aware of the human wrestling events?"

"Yes. I've been to one or two. A nice night out, I thought."

"Do you know who organizes them?"

"No."

"Chelm." Cresphontes poured himself a little more brandy. "Chelm created the events. Created the rules. Created the sport."

"Oh," Xavien said.

"And those ridiculous Ungoliant tattoos on the wrestlers?"

"I've seen some," saind Xavien. "It's a little extravagant, especially given the questionable provenance of those Ungoliant inks, but the designs are eye-catching, and often very attractive. There's been a lot of Ungoliant ink on the market, I hear."

"Chelm replicated the ink," Cresphontes said. "And he's the supplier, not smugglers."

"Well," said Xavien.

"According to Kanail, Chelm invented a new tempus technique, more or less on the spot, when Kanail approached him about taking grandmaster training. Kanail decided to simply make him a grandmaster then and there. Did you know that?"

"No," said Xavien. "I did not. You're saying he's ... hmmm. Roan."

"More so than Teodor was, I think," Cresphontes said. "Teodor's youth was spent crossbreeding pears with his father. They didn't really come to Maze; I didn't really know him or his father. I don't know that Te ever had anything to show for it, but his father has had a number of interesting hybrids."

"Yes," said Xavien, after a moment. "I recall. I've a number of those pink pear trees, what were they called? Heliotrope. Yes, that's it. Tasty." The mage rose from the chair almost reluctantly. "If you'll pardon me for a moment."

"Of course," Cresphontes said, taking a sip.

Xavien's eyes glanced briefly at Erik, but when he moved to rise, Xavien shook his head, very slightly. That meant, stay. Xavien would return. Erik sighed as he watched the huge double doors to Cresphontes' den open, and Xavien walk out them. The guards, two smaller white minotaur, closed the doors, and slid a heavy bar back across what appeared to be recently added supports. Security; it had tightened around Xavien, and when the senior mage visited the Lycaili Patriarch -- the security was astounding.

Erik had a split-second of surprise as eight white-and-black minotaurs dropped out of nowhere, killing eight of the ten guards almost instantly, but the nearest one to him turned to the Patriarch and then Erik saw no more.

Xavien paused as he felt a faint draft, and the doors to Cresphontes' secure den shut behind him. He could feel his Lathe behind him; the human had been quarrelsome and troublesome and his aggravating mage signature was literally aggravating. Erik's mere presence could drive anyone into a rage when it struck, and it struck, Xavien had determined, whenever bulls could be driven into a rage. It was exactly a charge, it built and built and built and then it struck, like lightning snapping into the sky. Xavien was careful to ground Lathe's magic at least once a day and always after a lensing session. But still, Xavien had built a good rapport with Lathe -- the human submitted to his magic almost instinctively now, holding even the most complex of Xavien's spells so that Xavien could turn his attention and focus to other things.

And that, in turn, meant there was a connection between Xavien and Lathe, just like there was between Xavien and all of his treasured lenses. He could feel Lathe, feel his heartbeat, feel the blood pulse through his body, feel the tensions in his body even as he lay calmly, waiting for Xavien to return, even if the magical wards on the room kept him from feeling anything else. When that pulse stopped, between one heartbeat and the next, Xavien didn't need to feel the ebb of Lathe's magic to know what had happened to his slave.

Heartbeats. Every tempus initiate came to measure things in heartbeats, his own or another's, and with that thought, Xavien dropped like a stone into time, hurling himself into time with an abandon that even a grandmaster would fear. Every student, every initiate, every master, every grandmaster -- all strove for a clean entry into the time distortion of tempus, because anything else would kill. Entering into time was every bit as dangerous as magic and perhaps more so, since every minotaur had some tempus skills. That was why introductory lessons were taught as meditation -- to make the initial contact with time as smooth as possible. The minotaur was holding himself, and to the extent he could, a bubble around him, in a different timeflow. When timeflows touched, there was ... distortion. It didn't matter if that distortion happened in the air, or to metal, or to anything nonliving.

If that distortion happened to living flesh, even flesh as resilient and tough and superior as minotaur flesh, the results were disastrous. Even the pressure of moving from flow to flow, the flow a minotaur imposed on himself, could tire and exhaust and damage him. Tempworn, minotaurs called it, and it wasn't uncommon even for masters and grandmasters to become tempworn or to need a day or three of normal time to recover. Xavien snapped himself into time without care for that, with all the skill of the tempus master he was, and when he emerged, his body would be crippled and dying.

Despite his occasional efforts, Xavien was no grandmaster. He was good, very good, but grandmaster was a level of effort and skill and practice that, laughably, he had no time for. He'd been a master when he became a mage, and with the diligence he applied to everything, he had kept his skills from slipping too far, but that was as much as even he could do.

But he was something more than a master, nevertheless, and he dismissed the time shock -- he was ahead of it, and the entire point of diving so fast into time was to give him the moments he needed to think. There was no doubt that those never to be sufficiently accursed ninja had entered the room even as he'd left it, although why he hadn't felt them in time, or why Vespanio, Cresphontes' Master of Time, hadn't felt them was a puzzle for some other time and perhaps even some other bull. Let Teodor have yet another intractable mystery to sharpen his horns on.

They had surprised him, six months ago, with their speed and even their existence; all he could think about was the defenseless humans in the room when they appeared. Whatever stroke of fortune or good luck or insane eccentricity that had moved Teodor to acquire Dapple had saved him and Teodor and the humans, and Xavien hated luck. Luck was for the needy, luck was for the unprepared, luck was for the defenseless. Xavien wished to be none of those things.

And this time, he was ready. They may have struck by surprise, however they did it, but Xavien had anticipated that. They may have killed his lens -- and Xavien carefully put aside the anger that yet again a human under his protection had been harmed -- but they'd killed the wrong one. He doubted they even knew there was a right one to strike at; after all, how many other minotaurs had both his mastery of earth magic and his level of tempus skill. None in Lycaili, and he would never share these secrets with anyone else. Let them have their own mystery to confound them.

The real problem was the door. As a physical barrier, it was not easy to move aside in accelerated time. A minotaur naturally kept a bubble of air around him, in that speeded-up time, extending it as he moved forward and letting it fade behind him, and one had to keep moving in tempus, lest the air go bad or the light darken so far that one was blind. A door that was no barrier in normal time might well be impassible in tempus simply because the entire door and the air around it could not all be accelerated, and trying to move matter through normal-time air was hard, and the faster one was, the deeper in time, the greater the resistance. A tempus master such as himself, for instance, could run across water because the water had no time to displace even under his weight. One had to manage carefully lest one become entangled in the water -- and that could be a disaster, but then that was the skill of a master. Xavien suspected that a grandmaster could do the same with air, and run through the air even as he could walk on water, but he'd never asked.

Xavien knew he'd never have the opportunity to master the skill, and he respected the secrets of the grandmasters.

A mage, of course, had his own secrets. A door that would take even five heartbeats in real time to open normally was no barrier to an earth-mage. A hundredth heartbeat of normal time would smash it to bits. The wards on it might slow some lesser mage than Xavien, but they were, after all, Xavien's wards and would not hamper him. The debris, travelling at speeds appreciable even to a tempus master would threaten all those inside, but then again, all those inside were tempus masters, and sworn to Cresphontes' defense. They would not thank him for putting their safety over the Patriarch's.

Cresphontes ... he wasn't quite a tempus master, but his raw speed was acceptable. The danger to him was negligible.

Lathe ... was already dead, and again Xavien refused to dwell on that. Later. Later.

Of course, there would be the small matter of those accursed tempus adepts, and they would no doubt be faster than even Xavien could be, but again, this time, Xavien had prepared for them. The sword he had with him was not, technically, in violation of the Truces of Xarbydis so long as he didn't intend to use it as a weapon, however convenient it might be in an emergency like this one. Xavien would have smiled if the pressure of time at this rate would permit him to move instead of merely think. And even that pressure had its use, if one had no cares for the physical damage that letting the pressure snap one back into normal time would inflict.

A millionth of a normal-time heartbeat after he'd plunged into time, Xavien emerged. It didn't even hurt; the damage was both too diffuse and overwhelming to trigger anything like pain. Xavien couldn't work magic, not at this rate, not at this speed, and not as damaged as he was -- but he didn't have to. Decades ago he'd created a set-spell, and dedicated a lens to maintain it. The ongoing concentration of holding the spell had interfered somewhat with the human's cognition, but Xavien had a low opinion of that anyway and frankly found Dog's new personality far preferable to the resistance the feral human had once offered.

And the spell did exactly what Xavien knew it would. Even as he emerged from time, the spell corrected the damage, restored him exactly as he was and Xavien ignored the complex set-spell as he formed and released a much simpler spell. He didn't have the luxury of waiting for it to take effect; he dove immediately back into the timeflow -- more carefully, more smoothly, and he reached the double doors just as the results of the spell became visible.

The doors bowed inwards, further and further, and Xavien worked -- calmly, very calmly -- on slipping deeper into the timeflow. He might not be as fast as the ninja beyond, but every bit of speed he had was one bit less advantage they had. The spell had to work on the doors before he could pass; but that slip of time -- a half heartbeat -- would let him get as deeply into time as he might.

The doors broke, shattering into ragged splinters of steel-shod oak, and raced into the room. Xavien stepped forward, and batted some of the larger fragments out of his way, moving them briefly into his time as he adjusted them. Beyond, Erik's head had just reached the floor, blood beginning to jet out from the neck and a ninja had a blade out reaching for Cresphontes, who was blocking -- slowly, Xavien noticed. The ninja had perhaps a 1:2 advantage on Cresphontes. Other ninja had turned from where they had preemptively slain -- that many! -- eight of the Patriarch's guard. Vespanio was by Cresphontes, prepared to defend him, and to Xavien's eye he was nearly as fast as the ninja, perhaps 10:9, or even closer to their speed.

Xavien himself was closer to 5:4, but his sword was out and three of the ninja were turning on him, raising their own blades and then they picked up speed, moving to 6:4 and then 7:4 as they rushed him and there was simply no way a minotaur moving at four heartbeats to his opponent's seven could hope to win, much less against three such opponents. They knew, they didn't have to wonder, all they had to do was use their speed to shift his blade aside and then he would be as dead as poor Lathe. Xavien knew exactly what their training way, knew exactly how they would fight at that pace -- he'd trained in it himself. He raised his blade to block them, swinging as fast as he could but still too slow for them, and they knew he was doomed.

The first one to reach him slammed his blade into Xavien's, and that's where their training betrayed them. The ninja knew that the blade would resist, move aside, and with his superior speed Xavien's body would be defenseless. The mage, on the hand, had a different expectation. His blade -- enchanted to have a perfect edge -- sliced through the ninja's blade with only a little resistance, something like cleaving soft cheese. The ninja's own momentum, meant to force Xavien's blade aside did nothing but carry the ninja into the blade. It sliced through the fine metal links of his armor and the minotaur himself with even less effort than cutting the sword; like a blade through water. The severed top of the sword had already moved back into normal time.

Nobody expected magic in tempus; the thing was impossible. A mage in time was -- not entirely disconnected from his magic, but the magic did not follow him into time. It was impossible to manipulate it even from a flow as slow as 101:100. Everyone knew there was no magic in time, battles in time were fought with steel, and one's own tempus mastery, nothing else, because there was nothing else.

Until, of course, there was. Xavien had used magic to shape his blade, making it a thousand times more resistant and sharp enough to slice ordinary steel or even stone, giving it an impossibly fine and magiced edge that would cut anything, or at least everything Xavien had tested it on. But the magic was not in the steel, or in the edge -- the magic was in toughening the steel, forming the edge, both things he'd done in normal time.

Both strength and edge remained in accelerated time.

Despite a 30:1 or 40:1 advantage over normal time, Xavien still had expected to be nicked by the severed half of the blade, but it had been diverted slightly in its path. Xavien could turn to deal with the next ninja, and this, this was where his hopes might fail. Any normal minotaur would have seen what happened, realized that Xavien's blade was an unusual and different danger, and react to it. With a clear 7:4 advantage in time, they could evade the deadly edge and still slay him. But if Teodor were right about ninja, right about their training, right about what it did to their minds, then all they could do would be to follow that inflexible and unforgiving training. They would line up for their own execution.

In ten of Xavien's heartbeats and perhaps sixteen of theirs, five more ninja did exactly that. He offered a body-blow, and they reacted with the exactly correct parry and counterattack -- or would have, if the initial parry had worked. It didn't, the mage-wrought blade cut through their own blades and then the ninja themselves and Xavien moved on to the next until they were down, and then he moved towards the unequal battle by Cresphontes.

Cresphontes was at a 10:4 or 10:3 disadvantage, but Vespanio had worked with him, and the Patriarch was hurt, cut, but still fighting defensively, fighting not to defeat his opponent, not even to avoid injury, but avoid lethal injury. If Cresphontes was still alive when Xavien reached him then he would not die. If.

But at a 10:4 advantage swordwork need not be brilliant to overcome even the most cunning defense. As Xavien watched, a sword slammed into Cresphontes' chest, where it could not fail to slice the heart or even the huge arteries surrounding it. The ninja had used the blade not like a knife but a rapier when he'd been stymied by Cresphontes' defense. It left that ninja without a sword, and he paid for that a moment later as a backhanded slash from Vespanio -- was Vespanio at an advantage? -- Xavien thought he might be at 10:9 against the remaining ninja, and easily 2:1 against Xavien himself.

In one more of Xavien's heartbeats, Vespanio dropped the last ninja even as Xavien hurled himself over to his cousin, hoping that perhaps, perhaps ... Xavien didn't bother coming gently out of time, letting the set-spell deal with that damage even as he readied and struck Cresphontes with a spell meant to stop everything, stop the bleeding, arrest the damage of the Patriarch's own uncontrolled reentry to time, if life was still there, then he, Xavien, could hold it there until another earth-mage arrived, Ruus, or Metrios, or even Trand, someone who could heal Cresphontes as Xavien held him to to life.

"Live," he whispered, releasing the spell, but even as he did Xavien could see there was no point. Cresphontes' heart was gone -- destroyed, and what remained was tempworn. The ebon minotaur sighed, and set what had been the Patriarch down gently. "I'm sorry, Vespanio. He's gone."

Xavien waited a half-moment, staring at his cousin's face before the lack of a response struck him as peculiar. He turned, to see Vespanio collapsed behind him. One or two shallow cuts spilled red against the white of his pelt, but he didn't see any lethal wounds. "Vespa?"

The mage hadn't really expected a response, and he reached out to Lathe, forgetting for a moment that his Lathe was gone, and then to Breaker, somewhere much farther away, before testing -- gingerly -- the prone minotaur. A terrible fear rose through him that these were the same kind of cursed weapons that Teodor had encountered, and if so ... but the fear was groundless. There was no curse, just an immense amount of time shock. Potentially lethal, Xavien noted, and that was not something a grandmaster ... ah. Vespiano had, at the end, seemed to accelerate past the ninja, and perhaps this was the price.

"Daring," Xavien muttered to himself. He released the spell on Cresphontes. "Ruus. Who won the game at the club?" That phrase should get his attention.

Xavien. What is it?

"Cresphontes was ... attacked. His guard, all save Vespiano, are dead."

Cresphontes survives?

"No."

Creator's folly. What ... what happened?

"We failed," Xavien whispered. "Tell no one. Reach the generals you can, summon them to the palace, in the name ..." Xavien faltered, the enormity seeping through to him despite his best efforts. In whose name? Not the Patriarch's. And ... no. Anything but that. "In your name, at their best speed, at the highest priority."

Yes, but can't you ...

"There is a chance that Vespiano may yet survive, but that chance lessens as I speak with you. Please do as I have requested. Come yourself, too."

I ... yes. Of course. I beg ...

Xavien let the threads fade even before Ruus had finished the pointless apology, and turned his attention to Vespiano. The shock was severe, but no organs had shut down, not yet, although the kidneys were close, so he decided to start there. It was a much better thing to focus on than the dead body next to him, or the headless man whose blood was turning the carpet into a glistening red cloth.

And not just any human, not just a human under his, Xavien's personal protection, but a lens. A human who had been defanged, broken to his will and need. Xavien spared a glance at the minotaur he'd killed. They were hardly just targets of his anger; they, too, were tools. It might take some time, but Xavien renewed his vow to find the responsible person, and ensure that this would never happen again.

For now, though, Vespiano needed his attention.

It was perhaps an hour later when Xavien felt the musical touch of Ruus's magic washing over Vespiano. "Ah. This would go faster if I held the matrix open." Unfortunately, Ruus was not a water-mage.

"Maybe," Ruus said. "I'm not sure but that you might well be just as fast on your own."

"Flattering but demonstrably untrue," Xavien said, easing his magic back and opening the structures up to Ruus's less skilled but adequate touch. "You're going at least ten times as fast as I could do it alone."

"You'd be faster," Ruus said.

That really had no good answer, so Xavien went with blunt. "Yes. I would. But at the moment, this is the most effective division of our efforts." Perhaps Ruus would stop making stupid comments. Talents were talents, and skill was skill, and Xavien was simply the most talented of any Lycaili mage. Teodor might have been in contention as a healer, if only he'd gotten the earth-magics a true healer needed.

The two of them still finished quickly, in a matter of minutes, and Xavien turned his attention to the three senior generals who had arrived. One of them should have taken charge, announced himself acting regent, and Xavien listened closely to determine who had done so. A few minutes later, he realized that none of them had. General Stefan was ... was he a senior? Xavien suddenly wasn't sure, but he saw no reason General Eomund or General Lyov hadn't declared himself. Instead, they were milling about like confused ... surely they didn't expect him. He was a mage!

But as the time lengthened ... "Ruus, are there any more generals coming?"

"No, Lord Green, almost all of them are at the ceremonies."

"How unfortunate," Xavien muttered, and then, "what ceremonies?"

"Tancresos is graduating a class, Lord Green. I'd planned to be there myself, but ..." and Ruus shrugged, indicating that things happen.

Xavien managed not to glance at either Cresphontes or Lathe. Things happen. "Things are made to happen," he said, a little louder, still hoping that Lyov or Eomund would take the hint. Please. I don't want to do this.

Please don't make me do this. I just want to mourn ...

He would have to mourn later. "Your attention, please," Xavien said, loudly, pitched to carry through the room and the congestion of guards that had come in. "I am assuming the position of Acting Regent."

"What?" said General Stefan, a brown. "That's not ..."

"General Xavien is within his authority," Lyov said.

"General?"

"Quiet!" said Xavien, using a command voice. "Yes, General Stefan. I am a senior General. I no longer attend council, because, frankly, I am too busy. But Lycaili requires leadership." Xavien noted that Lyov looked away when he said that. "It is not a right, or a privilege, but a duty, and I assure you, a painful one. My cousin is dead. His guard are dead. One of my lenses is dead. The ..." and Xavien stopped. Complaining or even explaining just how much he didn't want to do this was hardly what anyone needed to hear. "I, as a senior general and senior mage, will be Acting Regent. Lycaili will continue to function." He looked out over the crowd of guards and officials, and then back to Stefan, who looked ... obstinate.

Good. "General Stefan. I take it this displeases you."

"Yes, General Xavien. I think this is high-handed and an abuse."

Xavien smiled. "Excellent. Then, General, I am appointing you to gather a quorum of generals, to first appoint a Regent, and then choose our next patriarch. Apparently you do have not memorized all the generals of Lycaili."

"No."

"I would suggest your doing so." Xavien said, and turned to Lyov, and then back to Stefan. "Why are you still standing here?"

"I question your right to order me."

"Then if you truly believe that, why are you not gathering a quorum to replace me?"

"That ... you are right, Lord Green."

"Lord Xavien," Xavien corrected, as Stefan walked quickly out of the room. "Speaker Ruus. Please assist General Stefan."

"Yes ... Lord Xavien," Ruus said, and started after Stefan.

"Everyone. That Cresphontes is dead must remain quiet for as long as possible. It is my hope that the we will have a formal Regent" who is not me "to make the announcement. Preparations for Cresphonte's pyre must be made." Xavien paused. "Lyov. Can you deal with that?"

"Yes, Regent."

Creators forbid, Xavien thought."Lord Xavien will do. I am merely acting as Regent, I am not Regent." He paused. "Every fallen guard has the right to accompany Cresphontes in his pyre; contact the families and see if they wish to hold their own fire instead. If they do, I would beg their permission to attend."

"What about these ... attackers?"

"Burn them. Not with Cresphontes." Obviously. "And General Lyov, after that task, I would request a moment of your time."

"Yes, Lord Xavien."

"Eomund," Xavien said. "I would like to speak with you, as well, but there are more pressing matters. Go to the city gates. I want everyone passing through to write out, in his hand, an account of his parentage, his home, the details of his business here, and his whereabouts for the last six months. Everyone. Attached to that note, I want a physical description including height, weight, and measurement of the horns of the minotaur making that attestation."

"Yes, Lord Xavien, but what good ..."

"General, unless you are unclear on what I want you to do, please do it. Consider it your first urgency."

"Yes, Lord Xavien." Xavien watched him leave and then turned back to the remaining bulls, looking for the palace steward ... "Is Ramiro here?"

"Yes, Lord Xavien," a smaller white, almost gray, minotaur pushed his way to the front.

"General Lyov will be dealing with the bodies, but I'm afraid I have to ask you to clean ... this up. I was just visiting, but I'll want one of the guest suites. I want the remainder of Cresphonte's rooms sealed." His sons will want his effects, I suppose. And I'll have to tell them ...

"Of course," Ramiro said. "The Emerald Suite is ready for you."

"Good," said Xavien. "I'll be there. Should there be any business that requires me, of course. Until then, I trust you all have duties to attend to." Xavien stood up.

"My Lord," asked Ramiro.

"Yes?"

"The human" Lathe, thought Xavien. His name was Lathe. "what should I do with him?"

Xavien thought for a moment, and then sighed. "He, too, earned a place of honor in Cresphonte's pyre, and I will not deny it to him. Inform General Lyov."

"He won't like it," Ramiro said.

"Then he is welcome to take the matter up with me," Xavien said. "I trust if you see any of my intentions going astray, you will bring it to my attention."

"Yes, Lord Xavien."

"Then I will be in the Emerald Suite. Carry on."

The Emerald Suite was a set of four rooms, painted in cold greens, carpeted with a lush green carpet with a complex interlocked pattern of squares and diamonds. Under other circumstances Xavien would find it soothing, but not today, and most certainly not now. Dog was coming, being brought by his guard Haifal. Much as he wanted to keep this secret, to be ready for its impact when he had to tell the rest of his clan what had happened, there were a number of persons who had to know, immediately. He'd sent a runner after Sasha after failing to reach him. That wasn't surprising; an air mage like Sasha was almost certainly pushing the borders and the far-talking spell didn't work well in unstable areas. He just hoped the runner could catch up to Lord Doze. It was too dangerous to have Sasha, Dacien, andChelm outside of Lycaili. He'd sent the message with Sasha's code phrase for peril, to return with all haste and caution, but he hadn't given the reason. It had seemed too sensitive to entrust to a message.

Teodor ... after a long, long period of wrestling with his conscience, he'd finally decided not to tell him. What he was doing with Nikohorus was critical, Ourouborous was a critical ally. He'd contacted Nikohorus instead, warned him not to let Teodor know why, but that it might be useful to increase his own security, even if these ninja seemed only to attack Lycaili targets. Since nobody quite knew why the attacks were happening, there was no reason to assume anyone was safe.

Deciding what to tell Ianthos was even harder. He couldn't reach Lord Winter, so he'd had to send a warning. He'd used the phrase for disaster, and added that securing a codicil to the Truces banning ninja was of the highest urgency and to take no chances with his own person. How Ianthos would interpret that he could not know. Undoubtedly Ianthos would be angry with him, he had every right to be called back for Cresphontes' pyre, but Xavien felt the press of time even more keenly now. Every minute was one for the enemies of his clan to work yet more harm and dishonor on them.

"Haifal. Where are you?"

My Lord, I'm at your townhouse. I have Dog and Breaker, and your swords. We will be leaving within five minutes.

"Thank you, Haifal. I have an additional request. Inside my desk there is a concealed drawer. Access it by opening the top and bottom drawers on the left and right, and then press the left horn at the top of the desk -- in the bronzework. It should click, and release the drawer. Please bring me the journal you'll find there."

Yes, My Lord.

"The horn can stick sometimes, but it will click." Xavien had been intending to fix it.

Yes, My Lord.

"Haifal, do you know anything about such mechanisms?"

A little, My Lord.

"Perhaps you could take a look at it, and see if you can fix it. If not, no harm done, but the fewer who know of my hiding place ..."

Yes, My Lord. I will see what I can do.

"Not urgent. Just ...

Xavien definitely owed the next Patriarch a list of his decisions and reasons, and if there was simply no way to remember everything he would need to tell him. Whoever it might be. The only thing he was certain of was that it would not be him, for which he was deeply grateful. At least he had something to pleased about.

He was significantly less pleased the next day, when the General's Quorum confirmed him as Regent over his objections. It would have courteous to thank his peers for the honor -- and it was an honor -- but all he could manage to say was, "Thank you. I can only hope our deliberations for our new Patriarch are as unanimous and successful." And quick. In a perfect world, they could announce the new Patriarch at Cresphontes' pyre, and hold a solemnization the next day. Trand's ascension meant there were now seven mages, and the four of them still within Lycaili made a quorum. Perhaps we can choose our next Patriarch quickly, Xavien thought.

And then he would take a few days after Cresphontes' pyre, to mourn his cousin and lens properly. He took a breath, and then held up the envelope, still sealed with Cresphontes' sigil. He paused for a moment, using the briefest flicker of magic to confirm that it had been sealed by Cresphontes, and unexamined since. He held it up, so that all seated in the auditorium could see it. "This is Cresphontes' missive to us. I am Regent, by your wishes, but I am also Lord Green, and as Lord Green, I tell you that this was written by Cresphontes, and sealed by him. It is unusual, and I suspect unique, for the Regent to also be the mage, and so if it this group's wishes -- indeed, if anyone in this Quorum wishes it, I will summon Lord Chimes or Lord Run to confirm its provenance." He looked out over the group. "Would anyone wish that?" Xavien stared at General Stefan, back in the third row, who, Xavien thought, was at least considering it. It didn't matter to Xavien, except that he would rather not waste the hour or so it would take either of them to arrive.

"Apparently not," General Richarth says. "I would move we accept Lord Green's confirmation, and move on."

The "Seconded," from General Stefan rather surprised Xavien, but he simply nodded.

"The ayes?" There was a general clamor of Aye.

"The nays?" Silence greeted that request and Xavien nodded. "In the opinion of the Regent, the Ayes have it." Xavien broke the seal, unfolded the paper, scanned it quickly, and, he thought, did an excellent job of concealing his shock. Fortunately for him, it fell to someone else to read it, and he passed the letter to General Tholoman.

All he could think was, Creator's folly. What on earth would they do?

An hour later, he knew.